text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"Whate'er you write of pleasant or sublime,
Always let sense accompany your rhyme.
Falsely they seem each other to oppose;
Rhyme must be made with Reason's laws to close;
And when to conquer her you bend your force,
The mind will triumph in the noble course.
To Reason's yoke she quickly will incline,
Which, far from hurting, renders her divine;
But if neglected, will as easily stray,
And master Reason, which she should obey.
Love Reason, then; and let whate'er you write
Borrow from her its beauty, force, and light.
Most writers mounted on a resty muse,
Extravagant and senseless objects chuse;
They think they err, if in their verse they fall
On any thought that's plain or natural.
Fly this excess; and let Italians be
Vain authors of false glittering poetry.
All ought to aim at sense; but most in vain
Strive the hard pass and slippery path to gain;
You drown, if to the right or left you stray;
Reason to go has often but one way.
Sometimes an author, fond of his own thought,
Pursues its object till it's overwrought:
If he describes a house, he shows the face,
And after walks you round from place to place;
Here is a vista, there the doors unfold,
Balconies here are ballustred with gold;
Then counts the rounds and ovals in the halls,
""The festoons, friezes, and the astragals:""
Tired with his tedious pomp, away I run,
And skip o'er twenty pages, to be gone.
Of such descriptions the vain folly see,
And shun their barren superfluity.
All that is needless carefully avoid;
The mind once satisfied is quickly cloyed:
He cannot write, who knows not to give o'er;
To mend one fault, he makes a hundred more:
A verse was weak, you turn it much too strong,
And grow obscure for fear you should be long.
Some are not gaudy, but are flat and dry;
Not to be low, another soars too high.
Would you of every one deserve the praise?
In writing vary your discourse and phrase;
A frozen style, that neither ebbs nor flows,
Instead of pleasing, makes us gape and dose.
Those tedious authors are esteemed by none
Who tire us, humming the same heavy tone.
Happy who in his verse can gently steer,
From grave to light; from pleasant to severe:
His works will be admired wherever found,
And oft with buyers will be compassed round.
In all you write, be neither low nor vile;
The meanest theme may have a proper style.
",2011-06-27 21:23:31 UTC,"""To Reason's yoke she quickly will incline, / Which, far from hurting, renders her divine; / But if neglected, will as easily stray, / And master Reason, which she should obey.""",2005-02-06 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),8515,3258
"Once by the Argive People (strange to tell!)
A Lute was heard, that did the Rocks compell
To follow, and the flying Stones to stand,
Fix'd into Walls. Touch'd by Amphion's Hand,
This rais'd the Theban Walls; while to the Skies
Flints, of themselves, in Heaps, congested, rise
T'enchanted Tow'rs. Another by his Lays
The Phocæ tam'd, becalm'd the raging Seas,
And Protheus drew through all his Shapes, and bore
Arion, on a Dolphin's Back, to Shore.
But that, whose Sound, in the Pelîack Cave,
A Bridle to the Minds of Heroes gave,
And great Achilles Thoughts, the Centaure lov'd,
And when, upon the Strings, his Finger mov'd,
Hell's, or the Ocean's Fury 'twould allay.
He Chaos, and the World, once wanting Day,
Or Light, a starless Lump; and then how God
Diffus'd the Waters of the Deep abroad,
And bound the Globe of Earth amidst the Frame;
How high Olympus to the Gods became,
By his appointment, a Secure Abode,
And chaster Age of Father Saturne shew'd.
But those sweet Nerves, by Orpheus touch'd, to whom
The Gods, and Shades below, did listning come,
Their Quill emerited, now shine among
The brightest Stars. His Mother his sweet Song
Admir'd, and her Aönian Sisters too;
His Musick the Pangæan Hills pursue.
Hemus, and farthest Thrace, Beasts, with their Woods,
Him follow, and the Mountains with their Floods;
Unmindefull of their Nests, Flight lai'd aside,
Birds, Captiv'd, in th'unshaken Air abide.
And, when the Pegasæan Ship (before
The Sons of Earth were skill'd beyond the Shore)
Refus'd the Sea to enter, by His Song,
Entic'd up to the Poop, the Waters throng.
He those pale Kingdoms, whither Ghosts retire,
And Acheron, that with Eternal Fire,
And Flames, still Ecchoes, by His Lays alone
Subdu'd, and fix'd the ever-rolling Stone.
Thus Teuthras, with His Thespian Lays their Hearts,
Hard'ned in War, to softer Ease diverts.",2012-01-09 16:41:52 UTC,"""But that, whose Sound, in the Pelîack Cave, / A Bridle to the Minds of Heroes gave, / And great Achilles Thoughts, the Centaure lov'd, / And when, upon the Strings, his Finger mov'd, / Hell's, or the Ocean's Fury 'twould allay.""",2006-01-17 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2012-01-09,"",•Translated from Silius Italicus.,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),9402,3618
"The Sickness not at first past cure,
By this Relapse despiseth Art:
Now, treacherous Boy, thou hast me sure,
Playing the Wanton with my Heart,
As foolish Children that a Bird have got,
Slacken the Thread, but not unty the knot.",2012-04-29 19:03:50 UTC,"""Now, treacherous Boy, thou hast me sure, / Playing the Wanton with my Heart, / As foolish Children that a Bird have got, / Slacken the Thread, but not unty the knot.""",2012-04-29 19:03:50 UTC,"","",,Beasts,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Poetry)",19738,7240
"XVIII.
But why must those be thought to scape, that feel
Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel
Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls,
And spreads Amazing Terrors through their Souls?
Not sharp Revenge, not Hell it self can find
A fiercer Torment, than a Guilty Mind,
Which Day and Night doth dreadfully accuse,
Condemns the Wretch, and still the Charge renews.
(p. 267, ll. 248-55)",2013-07-11 14:48:29 UTC,"""But why must those be thought to scape, that feel / Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel / Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls, / And spreads Amazing Terrors through their Souls?""",2013-07-11 14:48:29 UTC,"","",,Animals,"",Browsing in EEBO,21642,7532
"If a Rich Wife he Marries, in her Bed
She's found by Dagger or by Poison, Dead.
While Merchants make long Voyages by Sea
To get Estates, he cuts a shorter Way.
In mighty Mischiefs little Labour lies:
I never Counsel'd this the Father cries:
But still, base Man, he Copy'd this from Thee:
Thine was the Prime, Original Villany.
For he who covets Gain to such excess,
Does by dumb Signs himself as much express,
As if in Words at lngth he showd his Mind:
The bad Example made him Sin by Kind.
But who can Youth, let loose to Vice, restrain?
When once the hard-mouth'd Horse has got the Rein,
He's past thy Pow'r to stop; Young Phaeton,
By the Wild Coursers of his Fancy drawn,
From East to North, irregularly hurl'd,
First set on Fire himself, and then the World.
(p. 287, ll. 283-301)",2013-07-11 14:50:50 UTC,"""When once the hard-mouth'd Horse has got the Rein, / He's past thy Pow'r to stop; Young Phaeton, / By the Wild Coursers of his Fancy drawn, /
From East to North, irregularly hurl'd, / First set on Fire himself, and then the World.""",2013-07-11 14:50:50 UTC,"","",,Animals,"",Browsing in EEBO,21643,7521
"Then, Death, so call'd, is but old Matter dress'd
In some new Figure, and a vary'd Vest:
Thus all Things are but alter'd, nothing dies;
And here and there th' unbodied Spirit flies,
By Time, or Force, or Sickness dispossest,
And lodges, where it lights, in Man or Beast;
Or hunts without, till ready Limbs it find,
And actuates those according to their kind;
From Tenement to Tenement is toss'd;
The Soul is still the same, the Figure only lost:
And, as the soften'd Wax new Seals receives,
This Face assumes, and that Impression leaves;
Now call'd by one, now by another Name;
The Form is only chang'd, the Wax is still the same:
So Death, so call'd, can but the Form deface,
Th' immortal Soul flies out in empty space;
To seek her Fortune in some other Place.
(p. 512, cf. p. 821 in OUP)",2014-05-26 20:18:09 UTC,"""Thus all Things are but alter'd, nothing dies; / And here and there th' unbodied Spirit flies, / By Time, or Force, or Sickness dispossess, / And lodges, where it lights, in Man or Beast; / Or hunts without, till ready Limbs it find, / And actuates those according to their kind; / From Tenement to Tenement is toss'd; / The Soul is still the same, the Figure only lost.""",2014-05-26 20:18:09 UTC,"","",,Rooms,"",Reading,23860,7163