work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3227,"",HDIS (Poetry),2004-07-27 00:00:00 UTC,"But most Alas by vain opinion lead
Ore the wild maze of erring passions tread
& now to this & now to that we go
& each desire & neither rightly know
& act irresolute in all we do
& seldom stay to search our objects through
Desire is vain & wanton free to range
Fond of a Chace & fond the Chace to Change
By turns a thousand inclinations rise
& each by turns as impotently dies
Now thought grows wild if loose Aminta's kind
Shee spreads her Charms & captivates the mind
Anon Aminta leaves the thought at ease
No more her aires & soft Allurements please
We love reclining in ye shady bowers
by running waters near sweet banks of flowrs
To surfeit nature with full bowles of wine
& with forcd appetites on bliss refine
Then buisy then fantastically wise
Then to be some thing else we streight devise
For Fancy still undreind affors supplys
tis thus if reason from the throne be gon
The madd affections bear their master on
His life proves restless & his labour vain
By hurrying after Phantomes of the brain
So the brave Falcon when its glorys fade
When its strong wings their generous forces shed
The vacant holds ignobler birds supply
With Ravens feathers impd she mounts on high
& weak or giddy strayes along the sky
",,8475,"•At what point in the history of the usage do phantoms become ghosts and not mental ""phantasms""? INTEREST. ","""His life proves restless & his labour vain / By hurrying after Phantomes of the brain.""","",2014-03-11 17:52:09 UTC,""
3259,"","Searching ""stamp"" and ""thought"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-04-09 00:00:00 UTC,"By a cold Region next the Rider goes,
Where all lies cover'd in eternal Snows;
Where no bright Genius drives the Chariot high,
To glitter on the Ground, and gild the Sky.
Bleak level Realm, where Frigid Stiles abound,
Where never yet a daring Thought was found,
But counted Feet is Poetry defin'd;
And starv'd Conceits that chill the Reader's Mind
A little Sense in many Words imply,
And drag with loit'ring numbers slowly by.
Here dry sententious Speeches half asleep,
Prolong'd in Lines, o'er many Pages creep;
Nor ever shew the Passions well exprest,
Nor raise like Passions in another's Breast.
Here flat Narrations fair Exploits debase,
In Measures void of ev'ry shining Grace;
Which never arm their Hero for the Field,
Nor with Prophetick Story paint the Shield,
Nor fix the Crest, or make the Feathers wave,
Or with their Characters reward the Brave;
Undeck'd they stand, and unadorn'd with Praise,
And fail to profit while they fail to please.
Here forc'd Description is so strangely wrought,
It never stamps its Image on the Thought;
The liveless Trees may stand for ever bare,
And Rivers stop, for ought the Readers care;
They see no Branches trembling in the Woods,
Nor hear the Murmurs of encreasing Floods,
Which near the Roots with ruffled Waters flow,
And shake the shadows of the Boughs below.
Ah sacred Verse, replete with heav'nly Flame,
Such cold Endeavours wou'd invade thy Name!
The Writer fondly wou'd in these survive,
Which wanting Spirit never seem'd alive:
But if Applause or Fame attend his Pen,
Let breathless Statues pass for breathing Men.",,8554,•CRASHED HERE!!! IS DATABASE GETTING TOO BIG?,"""Here forc'd Description is so strangely wrought, / It never stamps its Image on the Thought""","",2009-09-14 19:33:38 UTC,""
4026,"",HDIS (Poetry),2004-02-25 00:00:00 UTC,"Dear angry Friend, what must be done?
Is there no Way?--There is but One,
Send Her abroad; and let Her see,
That all this mingled Mass, which She
Being forbidden longs to know,
Is a dull Farce, an empty Show,
Powder, and Pocket-Glass, and Beau;
A Staple of Romance and Lies,
False Tears, and real Perjuries:
Where Sighs and Looks are bought and sold;
And Love is made but to be told:
Where the fat Bawd, and lavish Heir
The Spoils of ruin'd Beauty share:
And Youth seduc'd from Friends and Fame,
Must give up Age to Want and Shame.
Let Her behold the Frantick Scene,
The Women wretched, false the Men:
And when, these certain Ills to shun,
She would to Thy Embraces run;
Receive Her with extended Arms:
Seem more delighted with her Charms:
Wait on Her to the Park and Play:
Put on good Humour; make Her gay:
Be to her Virtues very kind:
Be to her Faults a little blind:
Let all her Ways be unconfin'd:
And clap your Padlock--on her Mind.
(p. 109, ll. 55-81)
",2011-05-23,10429,"•See also previous stanza where the wife is locked up and the husband keeps the key ""in his Pocket"" (l. 52). Cross-reference: Pope's ""jingling padlock"" hung on the mind in the Dunciad.
• USE in Fetters entry?","""Let all her Ways be unconfin'd: / And clap your Padlock--on her Mind""","",2011-05-23 18:31:53 UTC,""
4044,"",HDIS (Poetry),2004-02-25 00:00:00 UTC," Oh! where shall I begin? what language find
To heal the raging anguish of your mind?
Or if you deign a willing ear to lend,
Oh! where will my disastrous story end?
(p. 798)",,10477,•Attributed to Prior,"""Oh! where shall I begin? what language find / To heal the raging anguish of your mind?""","",2013-06-04 21:32:22 UTC,""
4208,"",Reading,2009-12-28 05:24:36 UTC,"But when to Mischief Mortals bend their Will,
How soon they find fit Instuments of Ill!
Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting Grace
A two-edg'd Weapon from her shining Case;
So Ladies in Romance assist their Knight,
Present the Spear, and arm him for the Fight.
He takes the Gift with rev'rence, and extends
The little Engine on his Fingers' Ends;
This just behind Belinda's Neck he spread
As o'er the fragrant Steams she bends her Head:
Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprights repair,
A thousand Wings, by turns, blow back the Hair;
And thrice they twitch'd the Diamond in her Ear,
Thrice she look'd back, and thrice the Foe drew near.
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought
The close Recesses of the Virgin's thought;
As on the Nosegay in her Breast reclin'd,
He watch'd th' Ideas rising in her Mind,
Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her Art,
An Earthly Lover lurking at her Heart.
Amaz'd, confus'd, he found his Power expir'd,
Resign'd to Fate, and with a Sigh retir'd.
(pp. 230-1, III, ll. 125-46)",,17604,Rising like steam? (Coffee or tea?),"""As on the Nosegay in her Breast reclin'd, / He watch'd th' Ideas rising in her Mind, / Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her Art, / An Earthly Lover lurking at her Heart.""",Inhabitants,2009-12-28 05:53:22 UTC,Canto III
6718,"",Reading,2010-06-08 21:25:56 UTC,"Poets long since Parnassus have forsaken,
And say the ancient bards were all mistaken.
Apollo's lately abdicate and fled.
And good king Bacchus reigneth in his stead:
He does the chaos of the head refine,
And atom-thoughts jump into words by wine:
The inspiration's of a finer nature,
As wine must needs excel Parnassus water.
(Part II, p. 39, ll. 491-498)",,17874,"","""He [Good King Bacchus] does the chaos of the head refine, / And atom-thoughts jump into words by wine""","",2010-06-08 21:32:24 UTC,Part II
6718,"",Reading,2010-06-08 21:34:49 UTC,"If your mistakes their ill opinion gain,
No merit can their favour reobtain:
And if they're not vindictive in their fury,
'Tis their unconstant temper does secure ye;
Their brain's so cool, their passion seldom burns;
For all's condens'd before the flame returns;
The fermentation's of so weak a matter,
The humid damps the fume, and runs it all to water.
So, tho the inclination may be strong,
They're pleas'd by fits, and never angry long.
(Part II, p. 41, ll. 558-67)",,17875,"","""Their brain's so cool, their passion seldom burns; / For all's condens'd before the flame returns; The fermentation's of so weak a matter, / The humid damps the fume, and runs it all to water.""","",2010-06-08 21:34:49 UTC,Part II
7682,"",Reading,2013-09-18 14:37:46 UTC,"Wit, like a hasty Flood, may over-run us,
And too much Sense has oftentimes undone us:
Wit is a Flux, a Looseness of the Brain,
And Sense-abstract has too much Pride to reign:
Wit-unconcoct is the Extream of Sloth,
And too much Sense is the Extream of both;
Abstracted-Wit 'Tis own'd is a Disease,
But Sense-abstracted has no Power to please:
For Sense, like Water, is but Wit condense,
And Wit, like Air, is rarify'd from Sense:
Meer Sense is sullen; stiff, and unpolite,
Meer Wit is Apoplectick, thin, and light:
Wit is a King without a Parliament,
And Sense a Democratick Government:
Wit, like the French, wher'e'er it reigns destroys,
And Sense advant'd is apt to Tyrannize:
Wit without Sense is like the Laughing-Evil,
And Sense unmix'd with Fancy is the D---l.
Wit is a Standing-Army Government,
And Sense a sullen stubborn P---t:
Wit by its haste anticipates its Fate,
And so does Sense by being obstinate:
Wit without Sense in Verse is all but Farce,
Sense without Wit in Verse is all mine A---.
Wit, like the French, performs before it thinks,
And thoughtful Sense without Performance sinks;
Sense without Wit is Flegmatick and pale,
And is all Head, forsooth, without a Tail:
Wit without Sense is Cholerick and Red,
Has Tail enough indeed, but has no Head.
Wit, like the jangling Chimes, rings all in one,
Till Sense, the Artist, sets them into Tune:
Wit, like the Belly, if it be not fed,
Will starve the Members, and distract the Head.
Wit is the Fruitful Womb where Thoughts conceive,
Sense is the Vital Heat which Life and Form must give:
Wit is the Teeming Mother brings them forth,
Sense is the Active Father gives them Worth.
United: Wit and Sense, makes Science thrive,
Divided: neither Wit nor Sense can live;
For while the Parties eagerly contend,
The Mortal Strife must in their mutual Ruin end.
(pp. 165-7, ll. 353-394)",,22794,"FIXING TYPO in C-H Lion: ""rarisy'd""","""For Sense, like Water, is but Wit condense, / And Wit, like Air, is rarify'd from Sense.""","",2013-09-18 14:40:28 UTC,""
7682,"",Reading,2013-09-18 15:02:12 UTC,"Wit, like a hasty Flood, may over-run us,
And too much Sense has oftentimes undone us:
Wit is a Flux, a Looseness of the Brain,
And Sense-abstract has too much Pride to reign:
Wit-unconcoct is the Extream of Sloth,
And too much Sense is the Extream of both;
Abstracted-Wit 'Tis own'd is a Disease,
But Sense-abstracted has no Power to please:
For Sense, like Water, is but Wit condense,
And Wit, like Air, is rarify'd from Sense:
Meer Sense is sullen; stiff, and unpolite,
Meer Wit is Apoplectick, thin, and light:
Wit is a King without a Parliament,
And Sense a Democratick Government:
Wit, like the French, wher'e'er it reigns destroys,
And Sense advanc'd is apt to Tyrannize:
Wit without Sense is like the Laughing-Evil,
And Sense unmix'd with Fancy is the D---l.
Wit is a Standing-Army Government,
And Sense a sullen stubborn P---t:
Wit by its haste anticipates its Fate,
And so does Sense by being obstinate:
Wit without Sense in Verse is all but Farce,
Sense without Wit in Verse is all mine A---.
Wit, like the French, performs before it thinks,
And thoughtful Sense without Performance sinks;
Sense without Wit is Flegmatick and pale,
And is all Head, forsooth, without a Tail:
Wit without Sense is Cholerick and Red,
Has Tail enough indeed, but has no Head.
Wit, like the jangling Chimes, rings all in one,
Till Sense, the Artist, sets them into Tune:
Wit, like the Belly, if it be not fed,
Will starve the Members, and distract the Head.
Wit is the Fruitful Womb where Thoughts conceive,
Sense is the Vital Heat which Life and Form must give:
Wit is the Teeming Mother brings them forth,
Sense is the Active Father gives them Worth.
United: Wit and Sense, makes Science thrive,
Divided: neither Wit nor Sense can live;
For while the Parties eagerly contend,
The Mortal Strife must in their mutual Ruin end.
(pp. 165-7, ll. 353-394)",,22797,"","""Wit without Sense is like the Laughing-Evil, / And Sense unmix'd with Fancy is the D---l.""","",2013-09-18 15:02:12 UTC,""
7682,"",Reading,2013-09-18 15:05:45 UTC,"Wit, like a hasty Flood, may over-run us,
And too much Sense has oftentimes undone us:
Wit is a Flux, a Looseness of the Brain,
And Sense-abstract has too much Pride to reign:
Wit-unconcoct is the Extream of Sloth,
And too much Sense is the Extream of both;
Abstracted-Wit 'Tis own'd is a Disease,
But Sense-abstracted has no Power to please:
For Sense, like Water, is but Wit condense,
And Wit, like Air, is rarify'd from Sense:
Meer Sense is sullen; stiff, and unpolite,
Meer Wit is Apoplectick, thin, and light:
Wit is a King without a Parliament,
And Sense a Democratick Government:
Wit, like the French, wher'e'er it reigns destroys,
And Sense advanc'd is apt to Tyrannize:
Wit without Sense is like the Laughing-Evil,
And Sense unmix'd with Fancy is the D---l.
Wit is a Standing-Army Government,
And Sense a sullen stubborn P---t:
Wit by its haste anticipates its Fate,
And so does Sense by being obstinate:
Wit without Sense in Verse is all but Farce,
Sense without Wit in Verse is all mine A---.
Wit, like the French, performs before it thinks,
And thoughtful Sense without Performance sinks;
Sense without Wit is Flegmatick and pale,
And is all Head, forsooth, without a Tail:
Wit without Sense is Cholerick and Red,
Has Tail enough indeed, but has no Head.
Wit, like the jangling Chimes, rings all in one,
Till Sense, the Artist, sets them into Tune:
Wit, like the Belly, if it be not fed,
Will starve the Members, and distract the Head.
Wit is the Fruitful Womb where Thoughts conceive,
Sense is the Vital Heat which Life and Form must give:
Wit is the Teeming Mother brings them forth,
Sense is the Active Father gives them Worth.
United: Wit and Sense, makes Science thrive,
Divided: neither Wit nor Sense can live;
For while the Parties eagerly contend,
The Mortal Strife must in their mutual Ruin end.
(pp. 165-7, ll. 353-394)",,22799,"","""Wit, like the French, performs before it thinks, / And thoughtful Sense without Performance sinks.""","",2013-09-18 15:05:45 UTC,""