id,comments,provenance,dictionary,created_at,reviewed_on,work_id,theme,context,updated_at,metaphor,text
8650,"•I've included twice: Furniture and Rooms
• QUOTED IN DICTIONARY",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),Rooms,2005-06-03 00:00:00 UTC,2011-12-21,3374,Inner and Outer,I've included the entire Poem,2011-12-21 18:28:50 UTC,"""This is the case of many a beau / Who gives up all for glare and show. / Outside and front all fine and burnish'd, / But the inner rooms are thinly furnish'd.""","""Ingenium ingens inculto latet hoc sub corpore.""
Philosophers of old dispute ye
Whether mere virtue without beauty,
Unhewn, unpolish'd, better is
Than vitium cum illecebris.
The man who, twenty years undusted,
In books and single life has rusted,
Contemns the world, commends his college,
And talks of solid sense and knowledge.
For through a medium form'd by reading,
Unrectified by sense or breeding,
Who views the world, but must despise?
Who is there will not trust his eyes?
And though ill-form'd, who will suspect
In his own judgment a defect?
A man brought hither from the moon
(For rhyme's sake) in an air balloon,
Would stare to see our people throw
Away their victuals when they sow;
But this good soul who saw corn sowing,
Yet had no notion of its growing,
Were he to laugh at us, I trust,
His censure would be thought unjust.
Who hears a story but half told,
Who knows no learning but the old,
Their judgments equally must fail
In censuring the times or tale:
The world must his contempt despise
Who looks at them with borrow'd eyes.
Now let us hear what says the beau--
""Politeness is a passe pour tout.
""Latin and Greek, old fogrum stuff,
""Don't signify a pinch of snuff.""
Suppose a house built, if you please,
With cornice, architrave, and frieze,
Entablature of colonnade,
And knicknacks of the building trade;
Grand and complete, it draws the eye
Of passengers a-riding by;
The very connoisseurs allow
No palace makes a nobler show;
Yet you would think the man but silly
Who having built this sumptuous villa,
Had not a tolerable room
To show his friends in when they come
This is the case of many a beau
Who gives up all for glare and show.
Outside and front all fine and burnish'd,
But the inner rooms are thinly furnish'd.
Suppose another's mind so grovelling
That a most execrable hovel in
He, strangely whimsey-struck, should like
To fix the pictures of Vandyke;
I say, if such a den he chose,
Each passer-by would turn his nose.
But should he chance to enter in,
'Twere then, indeed, another thing.
He'd talk of attitudes and contours,
Show his own taste and flatter yours;
And though a little odd your plan,
Call you a reasonable man;
But thousands that remain without
Think you a madman past all doubt.
This is the only difference on't,
To those who know you or who don't;
To seem a fool, the difference this
'Twixt pedant and 'twixt coxcomb is;
The man of real worth and merit,
The praise of either will inherit."
15032,"","Searching HDIS for ""master passion""","",2004-06-01 00:00:00 UTC,,5618,"","",2009-09-14 19:42:35 UTC,The body may feast while the mind may fast,"So charm the News; but we, who far from town
Wait till the postman brings the packet down,
Once in the week, a vacant day behold,
And stay for tidings, till they're three days old:
That day arrives; no welcome post appears,
But the dull morn a sullen aspect wears:
We meet, but ah! without our wonted smile,
To talk of headachs, and complain of bile;
Sullen we ponder o'er a dull repast,
Nor feast the body while the mind must fast.
A master-passion is the love of news,
Not music so commands, nor so the Muse:
Give poets claret, they grow idle soon;
Feed the musician, and he's out of tune;
But the sick mind, of this disease possess'd,
Flies from all cure, and sickens when at rest.
"
15033,"","Searching HDIS for ""master passion""","",2004-06-01 00:00:00 UTC,,5618,Ruling passion,"",2009-09-14 19:42:35 UTC,Love of news may be a master-passion,"So charm the News; but we, who far from town
Wait till the postman brings the packet down,
Once in the week, a vacant day behold,
And stay for tidings, till they're three days old:
That day arrives; no welcome post appears,
But the dull morn a sullen aspect wears:
We meet, but ah! without our wonted smile,
To talk of headachs, and complain of bile;
Sullen we ponder o'er a dull repast,
Nor feast the body while the mind must fast.
A master-passion is the love of news,
Not music so commands, nor so the Muse:
Give poets claret, they grow idle soon;
Feed the musician, and he's out of tune;
But the sick mind, of this disease possess'd,
Flies from all cure, and sickens when at rest.
"
15034,"","Searching HDIS for ""master passion""","",2004-06-01 00:00:00 UTC,,5618,Ruling passion,"",2009-09-14 19:42:35 UTC,The mind may be diseased,"So charm the News; but we, who far from town
Wait till the postman brings the packet down,
Once in the week, a vacant day behold,
And stay for tidings, till they're three days old:
That day arrives; no welcome post appears,
But the dull morn a sullen aspect wears:
We meet, but ah! without our wonted smile,
To talk of headachs, and complain of bile;
Sullen we ponder o'er a dull repast,
Nor feast the body while the mind must fast.
A master-passion is the love of news,
Not music so commands, nor so the Muse:
Give poets claret, they grow idle soon;
Feed the musician, and he's out of tune;
But the sick mind, of this disease possess'd,
Flies from all cure, and sickens when at rest.
"
15067,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""invad"" in HDIS (Poetry)",Empire,2005-05-04 00:00:00 UTC,,5618,"","",2009-09-14 19:42:41 UTC,"""Hapless the lad whose mind such dreams [of scribbling] invade, / And win to verse the talents due to trade.""","Last in these ranks, and least, their art's disgrace,
Neglected stand the Muses' meanest race;
Scribblers who court contempt, whose verse the eye
Disdainful views, and glances swiftly by:
This Poet's Corner is the place they choose,
A fatal nursery for an infant Muse;
Unlike that Corner where true Poets lie,
These cannot live, and they shall never die;
Hapless the lad whose mind such dreams invade,
And win to verse the talents due to trade.
"
15094,"•Wolcot here uses a metaphor of mind with self awareness INTEREST. USE IN ENTRY?
•I've included twice: Dumpling and Cell",Searching in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO.,Rooms,2005-03-26 00:00:00 UTC,2012-06-27,5647,"",Canto I,2014-03-03 18:19:21 UTC,"""Thus a large dumpling to its cell confin'd / (A very apt allusion to my mind)."""," What dire emotions shook the Monarch's soul!
Just like two billiard balls his eyes 'gan roll,
Whilst anger all his royal heart possess'd,
That, swelling, wildly bump'd against his breast,
Bounc'd at his ribs with all its might so stout,
As resolutely bent on jumping out,
T'avenge, with all its pow'rs the dire disgrace,
And nobly spit in the offender's face.
Thus a large dumpling to its cell confin'd
(A very apt allusion to my mind),
Lies snug, until the water waxeth hot,
Then bustles 'midst the tempest of the pot:
In vain!--the lid keeps down the child of dough,
That bouncing, tumbling, sweating, rolls below.
(pp. 11-2 in 1785 edition)"
15095,"•Do these belong in Mineral or Uncategorized?
•INTEREST. USE in Entry
•Footnotes give, ""1. The larder. 2. This will be deemed strange by my country readers--but it is nevertheless true.""
• Reviewed 2007-04-26","Searching ""soul"" and ""Brass"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again, ""pence;"" confirmed in ECCO.
",Coinage,2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,2012-06-27,5647,"",Canto II,2014-03-03 18:24:27 UTC,"""Yet are there some who think (but what a shame!) / Poor people's souls like pence of Birmingham, / Adulterated brass--base stuff--abhorr'd-- / That never can pass current with the Lord; / And think because of wealth they boast a store, / With ev'ry freedom they may treat the poor.""","In that snug room, the scene of shrewd remark,
Whose window stares upon the saunt'ring park;
Where many a hungry bard, and gambling sinner,
In chop-fall'n sadness, counts the trees for dinner
In that snug room where any man of spunk
Would find it a hard matter to get drunk;
Where coy Tokay ne'er feels a cooks embraces,
Nor port nor claret show their rosy faces;
But where old Adam's beverage flows with pride,
From wide-mouth'd pitchers, in a plenteous tide;
Where veal, pork, mutton, beef, and fowl, and fish,
All club their joints to make one handsome dish;
Where stew-pan covers serve for plates, I ween,
And knives and forks and spoons are never seen;
Where pepper issues from a paper bag,
And for a cruet stands a brandy cag;
Where Madam Schwellenberg too often sits,
Like some old tabby in her mousing fits,
Demurely squinting with majestic mien,
To catch some fault to carry to the queen:
In that snug room, like those immortal Greeks,
Of whom, in book the thirteenth, Ovid speaks--
Around the table, all with sulky looks,
Like culprits doom'd to Tyburn, sat the cooks:
At length, with phiz that show'd the man of woes,
The sorrowing king of spits and stew-pans rose;
Like Paul at Athens, very justly sainted,
And by the charming brush of Raphael painted,
With out-stretch'd hands, and energetic grace,
He fearless thus harangues the roasting race;
Whilst gaping round, in mute attention, sit,
The poor forlorn disciples of the spit:
'Cooks, scullions, hear me ev'ry mother's son--
Know that I relish not this royal fun:
George thinks us scarcely fit ('tis very clear)
To carry guts, my brethren, to a bear.'--
'Guts to a bear!' the cooks, up-springing, cry'd--
'Guts to a bear,' the major loud reply'd.
'Guts to the dev'l!' loud roar'd the cooks again,
And toss'd their noses high in proud disdain:
The plain translation of whose pointed noses
The reader needeth not, the bard supposes;
But if the reason some dull reader looks,
'Tis this--whatever kings may think of cooks,
Howe'er crown'd heads may deem them low-born things,
Cooks are possess'd of souls as well as kings.
Yet are there some who think (but what a shame!)
Poor people's souls like pence of Birmingham,
Adulterated brass--base stuff--abhorr'd--
That never can pass current with the Lord;
And think because of wealth they boast a store,
With ev'ry freedom they may treat the poor:
Witness the story that my Muse, with tears,
Relates, O reader, to thy shrinking ears:
(cf. pp. 27-9 in 1787 edition)"
16355,"","Searching ""paper"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO","",2005-03-26 00:00:00 UTC,,6179,"","",2014-03-03 17:16:37 UTC,"""In vain at glory gudgeon Boswell snaps-- / His mind's a paper kite--compos'd of scraps / Just o'er the tops of chimneys form'd to fly.""","In vain at glory gudgeon Boswell snaps--
His mind's a paper kite--compos'd of scraps;
Just o'er the tops of chimneys form'd to fly;
Not with a wing sublime to mount the sky.
Say to the dog, his head's a downright drum
Unequal to the history of Tom Thumb:
Nay tell of anecdote that thirsty leech,
He is not equal to a Tyburn speech.
"
16360,"","Searching ""brain"" and ""mint"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO.",Coinage,2005-04-14 00:00:00 UTC,2007-04-26,6183,"","",2014-03-03 18:05:57 UTC,"""But let me give his m*****y a hint, / Fresh from my brain's prolific mint.""","
But let me give his m*****y a hint,
Fresh from my brain's prolific mint--
Suppose we Amateurs should, in a fury,
Just take it in our John-Bull heads to say
(And lo! 'tis very probable we may)--
'We will have oratorios at Drury?'
"
18903,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""chain"" in HDIS (Poetry)",Fetters,2011-07-18 17:51:54 UTC,,7013,"","",2011-07-18 17:52:32 UTC,"""Heav'ns! of how cynnical a Nature / The school-taught Race of ALMA MATER! / Who, of cramp'd Mind and clouded Brain / Bind GENIUS in a Gothic Chain.""","Yet are there some can waste their whole Age
Amid the Dullness of a College;
Whom Reason and Goodsense deride;
The Sons of PEDANTRY and PRIDE!
Heav'ns! of how cynnical a Nature
The school-taught Race of ALMA MATER!
Who, of cramp'd Mind and clouded Brain
Bind GENIUS in a Gothic Chain;
Whose Learning only proves of Use
Reason to vitiate or traduce;
While dark SMIGLECIUS frowns away
Each unsophisticated Ray!
Yet such as these affect the Skies;
Too supercilious to be wise!
(16-17, ll. 253-66)"