work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3215,"","Searching ""rule"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again searching ""court"" and ""reason""",2004-06-15 00:00:00 UTC,"With Him the past abides--the eternal past--
The future is fulfill'd--and first and last
Stand obvious to the immeasurable sense,
Mere digits in the vast circumference.
Thro' chinks and crevices we dimly trace
Existence in the forms of time and place;
Predicamental loopholes, poor and small,
That bound our vision through the dungeon-wall:
The future, or the present, or the past,
The there or here--a simultaneous, vast
Infinite omnipresence--First and last
Centre in Him, the ineffably sublime,
Beyond all thought or language. If a crime--
I feel it or I fear it even thus,
In words of human usage to discuss
The Eternal Essence, and delineate
Infinitude--Shall the puny prate
Be suffer'd, which would limit and confine,
In an imaginary moral line,
The compass of eternal power and law?
Shall human reason frame a rule to draw
Before its puny court the cognizance
Of a Divine eternal ordinance
With warrants of its own? Not more uncouth
The fines or forfeits in a barber's booth,
Or regulations in a billiard-room--
If quoted and applied to guide the doom
Of ermined judges in the learned hall
Bent on a serious plea--than those you call
Your axioms absolute and general.",2009-05-20,8445,•REVISIT and find publication information.,"""Shall human reason frame a rule to draw / Before its puny court the cognizance / Of a Divine eternal ordinance / With warrants of its own?""",Court,2013-06-12 17:32:44 UTC,""
3226,"","Searching ""throne"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry); again ""passion""",2004-07-19 00:00:00 UTC,"Rash, angry words, and spoken out of season,
When passion has usurp'd the throne of reason,
Have ruin'd many. Passion is unjust,
And for an idle, transitory gust
Of gratified revenge, dooms us to pay
With long repentance at a later day.
",,8471,"","Rash, angry words may be ""spoken out of season / When passion has usurp'd the throne of reason""","",2009-09-14 19:33:36 UTC,""
3242,"","Searching ""reason"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"The Farmer's Toil is done; his Cades mature,
Now call for Vent, his Lands exhaust permit
T'indulge awhile. Now solemn Rites he pays
To Bacchus, Author of Heart-cheering Mirth.
His honest Friends, at thirsty hour of Dusk,
Come uninvited; he with bounteous Hand
Imparts his smoaking Vintage, sweet Reward
Of his own Industry; the well fraught Bowl
Circles incessant, whilst the humble Cell
With quavering Laugh, and rural Jests resounds.
Ease, and Content, and undissembled Love
Shine in each Face; the Thoughts of Labour past
Encrease their Joy. As, from retentive Cage
When sullen Philomel escapes, her Notes
She varies, and of past Imprisonment
Sweetly complains; her Liberty retriev'd
Cheers her sad Soul, improves her pleasing Song.
Gladsome they quaff, yet not exceed the Bounds
Of healthy Temp'rance, nor incroach on Night,
Season of Rest, but well bedew'd repair
Each to his Home, with unsupplanted Feet.
E'er Heav'n's emblazon'd by the Rosie Dawn
Domestic Cares awake them; brisk they rise,
Refresh'd, and lively with the Joys that flow
From amicable Talk, and moderate Cups
Sweetly' interchang'd. The pining Lover finds
Present Redress, and long Oblivion drinks
Of Coy Lucinda. Give the Debtor Wine;
His Joys are short, and few; yet when he drinks
His Dread retires, the flowing Glasses add
Courage, and Mirth: magnificent in Thought,
Imaginary Riches he enjoys,
And in the Goal expatiates unconfin'd.
Nor can the Poet Bacchus' Praise indite,
Debarr'd his Grape: The Muses still require
Humid Regalement, nor will aught avail
Imploring Phoebus, with unmoisten'd Lips.
Thus to the generous Bottle all incline,
By parching Thirst allur'd: With vehement Suns
When dusty Summer bakes the crumbling Clods,
How pleasant is't, beneath the twisted Arch
Of a retreating Bow'r, in Mid-day's Reign
To ply the sweet Carouse, remote from Noise,
Secur'd of fev'rish Heats! When th'aged Year
Inclines, and Boreas' Spirit blusters frore,
Beware th'inclement Heav'ns; now let thy Hearth
Crackle with juiceless Boughs; thy lingring Blood
Now instigate with th'Apples powerful Streams.
Perpetual Showers, and stormy Gusts confine
The willing Ploughman, and December warns
To Annual Jollities; now sportive Youth
Carol incondite Rhythms, with suiting Notes,
And quaver unharmonious; sturdy Swains
In clean Array, for rustic Dance prepare,
Mixt with the Buxom Damsels; hand in hand
They frisk, and bound, and various Mazes weave,
Shaking their brawny Limbs, with uncouth Mein,
Transported, and sometimes, an oblique Leer
Dart on their Loves, sometimes, an hasty Kiss
Steal from unwary Lasses; they with Scorn,
And Neck reclin'd, resent the ravish'd Bliss.
Mean while, blind British Bards with volant Touch
Traverse loquacious Strings, whose solemn Notes
Provoke to harmless Revels; these among,
A subtle Artist stands, in wondrous Bag
That bears imprison'd Winds, (of gentler sort
Than those, which erst Laertes Son enclos'd.)
Peaceful they sleep, but let the tuneful Squeeze
Of labouring Elbow rouse them, out they fly
Melodious, and with spritely Accents charm.
'Midst these Disports, forget they not to drench
Themselves with bellying Goblets, nor when Spring
Returns, can they refuse to usher in
The fresh-born Year with loud Acclaim, and store
Of jovial Draughts, now, when the sappy Boughs
Attire themselves with Blooms, sweet Rudiments
Of future Harvest: When the Gnossian Crown
Leads on expected Autumn, and the Trees
Discharge their mellow Burthens, let them thank
Boon Nature, that thus annually supplies
Their Vaults, and with her former Liquid Gifts
Exhilerate their languid Minds, within
The Golden Mean confin'd: Beyond, there's naught
Of Health, or Pleasure. Therefore, when thy Heart
Dilates with fervent Joys, and eager Soul
Prompts to persue the sparkling Glass, be sure
'Tis time to shun it; if thou wilt prolong
Dire Compotation, forthwith Reason quits
Her Empire to Confusion, and Misrule,
And vain Debates; then twenty Tongues at once
Conspire in senseless Jargon, naught is heard
But Din, and various Clamour, and mad Rant:
Distrust, and Jealousie to these succeed,
And anger-kindling Taunt, the certain Bane
Of well-knit Fellowship. Now horrid Frays
Commence, the brimming Glasses now are hurl'd
With dire Intent; Bottles with Bottles clash
In rude Encounter, round their Temples fly
The sharp-edg'd Fragments, down their batter'd Cheeks
Mixt Gore, and Cyder flow: What shall we say
Of rash Elpenor, who in evil Hour
Dry'd an immeasurable Bowl, and thought
T'exhale his Surfeit by irriguous Sleep,
Imprudent? Him, Death's Iron-Sleep opprest,
Descending careless from his Couch; the Fall
Luxt his Neck-joint, and spinal Marrow bruis'd.
",,8496,•Cider will cause reason to quit her empire.,"""[I]f thou wilt prolong / Dire Compotation, forthwith Reason quits / Her Empire to Confusion, and Misrule, / And vain Debates""","",2009-09-14 19:33:36 UTC,""
4239,"","Searching ""court"" and ""fancy"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-26 00:00:00 UTC,"London.
How happy are we in this sweet Retreat?
Thus humbly blest, who'd labour to be great?
Who for Preferments at a Court would wait,
Where ev'ry Gudgeon's nibbling at the Bait?
What Fish of Sense would on that Shallow lye,
Amongst the little starving wriggling Fry,
That throng and crowd each other for a Taste
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd Paste;
When the wide River he behind him sees,
Where he may launch to Liberty and Ease?
No Cares or Business here disturb our Hours,
While underneath these shady, peaceful Bow'rs,
In cool Delight and Innocence we stray,
And midst a thousand Pleasures waste the Day;
Sometimes upon a River's Bank we lye,
Where skimming Swallows o'er the Surface fly,
Just as the Sun, declining with his Beams,
Kisses, and gently warms the gliding Streams;
Amidst whose Current rising Fishes play,
And rowl in wanton Liberty away.
Perhaps, hard by there grows a little Bush,
On which the Linnet, Nightingale and Thrush,
Nightly their solemn Orgyes meeting keep,
And sing their Vespers e'er they go to sleep:
There we two lye, between us may be's spread
Some Books, few understand though many read.
Sometimes we Virgil's Sacred Leaves turn o'er,
Still wond'ring, and still finding Cause for more.
How Juno's Rage did good Æneas vex,
Then how he had Revenge upon her Sex
In Dido's State, whom bravely he enjoy'd,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd;
He knew the fatal Danger of her Charms,
And scorn'd to melt his Virtue in her Arms.
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire,
Their gentle Friendship, and their Martial Fire
We praise their Valour 'cause yet matcht by none
And love their Friendship, so much like our own.
But when to give our Minds a Feast indeed,
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read,
Who can our Transports, or our Longings tell,
To taste of Pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
With Thoughts of Love, and Wine, by him we're fir'd,
Two Things in sweet Retirement much desir'd:
A generous Bottle and a Lovesome She,
Are th'only Joys in Nature, next to Thee:
To which retiring quietly at Night,
If (as that only can) to add Delight,
When to our little Cottage we repair,
We find a Friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverly, kind as parting Lovers Tears
Adderly, honest as the Sword he wears,
Wilson, professing Friendship yet a Friend,
Or Short, beyond what Numbers can commend,
Finch, full of Kindness, gen'rous as his Blood,
Watchful to do, to modest Merit, good;
Who have forsook the vile tumultuous Town,
And for a Taste of Life to us come down;
With eager Arms, how closely then we embrace,
What Joys in ev'ry Heart, and ev'ry Face!
The moderate Table's quickly cover'd o'er
With choicest Meats at least, tho' not with Store:
Of Bottles next succeeds a goodly Train,
Full of what cheers the Heart, and fires the Brain:
Each waited on by a bright Virgin Glass,
Clean, sound and shining like its drinker's Lass:
Then down we sit, while ev'ry Genius tries
T'improve, 'till he deserves his Sacrifice:
No saucy Hour presumes to stint Delight,
We laugh, love, drink, and when that's done 'tis Night:
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we part,
Each takes th'obedient Treasure of his Heart,
And leads her willing to his silent Bed,
Where no vexatious Cares come near his Head,
But ev'ry Sense with perfect Pleasure's fed;
'Till in full Joy dissolv'd, each falls asleep
With twining Limbs, that still Love's Posture keep,
At Dawn of Morning to renew Delight,
So quiet craving Love, 'till the next Night:
Then we the drowsie Cells of Sleep forsake,
And to our Books our earliest Visit make;
Or else our Thoughts to their Attendance call,
And there methinks, Fancy sits Queen of all;
While the poor under-Faculties resort,
And to her fickle Majesty make Court;
The Understanding first comes plainly clad,
But usefully; no Ent'rance to be had.
Next comes the Will, that Bully of the Mind,
Follies wait on him in a Troop behind;
He meets Reception from the Antick Queen,
Who thinks her Majesty's most honour'd, when
Attended by those fine drest Gentlemen.
Reason, the honest Counsellor, this knows,
And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes;
Lets Fancy see her loose irregular Sway,
Then how the flattering Follies sneak away!
This Image, when it came, too fiercely shook
My Brain, which its soft Quiet streight forsook;
When waking as I cast my Eyes around,
Nothing but old loath'd Vanities I found;
No Grove, no Freedom, and, what's worse to me,
No Friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my Thoughts with their old Tyrant care
Were seiz'd; which to divert I fram'd this Pray'r:
Gods! Life's your Gift, then season't with such Fate,
That what ye meant a Blessing prove no Weight.
Let me to the remotest Part be whirl'd,
Of this your play-thing made in Haste, the World;
But grant me Quiet, Liberty and Peace,
By Day what's needful, and at Night soft Ease;
The Friend I trust in, and the She I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I wish Remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in Power, the wofull'st State of Man;
To be by Fools mis-led, to Knaves a Prey.
But make Life what I ask, or take't away.",,11028,"","""Fancy sits Queen of all; / While the poor under-Faculties resort, / And to her fickle Majesty make Court""","",2009-09-14 19:35:29 UTC,""
4239,"","Searching ""court"" and ""fancy"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-26 00:00:00 UTC,"London.
How happy are we in this sweet Retreat?
Thus humbly blest, who'd labour to be great?
Who for Preferments at a Court would wait,
Where ev'ry Gudgeon's nibbling at the Bait?
What Fish of Sense would on that Shallow lye,
Amongst the little starving wriggling Fry,
That throng and crowd each other for a Taste
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd Paste;
When the wide River he behind him sees,
Where he may launch to Liberty and Ease?
No Cares or Business here disturb our Hours,
While underneath these shady, peaceful Bow'rs,
In cool Delight and Innocence we stray,
And midst a thousand Pleasures waste the Day;
Sometimes upon a River's Bank we lye,
Where skimming Swallows o'er the Surface fly,
Just as the Sun, declining with his Beams,
Kisses, and gently warms the gliding Streams;
Amidst whose Current rising Fishes play,
And rowl in wanton Liberty away.
Perhaps, hard by there grows a little Bush,
On which the Linnet, Nightingale and Thrush,
Nightly their solemn Orgyes meeting keep,
And sing their Vespers e'er they go to sleep:
There we two lye, between us may be's spread
Some Books, few understand though many read.
Sometimes we Virgil's Sacred Leaves turn o'er,
Still wond'ring, and still finding Cause for more.
How Juno's Rage did good Æneas vex,
Then how he had Revenge upon her Sex
In Dido's State, whom bravely he enjoy'd,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd;
He knew the fatal Danger of her Charms,
And scorn'd to melt his Virtue in her Arms.
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire,
Their gentle Friendship, and their Martial Fire
We praise their Valour 'cause yet matcht by none
And love their Friendship, so much like our own.
But when to give our Minds a Feast indeed,
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read,
Who can our Transports, or our Longings tell,
To taste of Pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
With Thoughts of Love, and Wine, by him we're fir'd,
Two Things in sweet Retirement much desir'd:
A generous Bottle and a Lovesome She,
Are th'only Joys in Nature, next to Thee:
To which retiring quietly at Night,
If (as that only can) to add Delight,
When to our little Cottage we repair,
We find a Friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverly, kind as parting Lovers Tears
Adderly, honest as the Sword he wears,
Wilson, professing Friendship yet a Friend,
Or Short, beyond what Numbers can commend,
Finch, full of Kindness, gen'rous as his Blood,
Watchful to do, to modest Merit, good;
Who have forsook the vile tumultuous Town,
And for a Taste of Life to us come down;
With eager Arms, how closely then we embrace,
What Joys in ev'ry Heart, and ev'ry Face!
The moderate Table's quickly cover'd o'er
With choicest Meats at least, tho' not with Store:
Of Bottles next succeeds a goodly Train,
Full of what cheers the Heart, and fires the Brain:
Each waited on by a bright Virgin Glass,
Clean, sound and shining like its drinker's Lass:
Then down we sit, while ev'ry Genius tries
T'improve, 'till he deserves his Sacrifice:
No saucy Hour presumes to stint Delight,
We laugh, love, drink, and when that's done 'tis Night:
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we part,
Each takes th'obedient Treasure of his Heart,
And leads her willing to his silent Bed,
Where no vexatious Cares come near his Head,
But ev'ry Sense with perfect Pleasure's fed;
'Till in full Joy dissolv'd, each falls asleep
With twining Limbs, that still Love's Posture keep,
At Dawn of Morning to renew Delight,
So quiet craving Love, 'till the next Night:
Then we the drowsie Cells of Sleep forsake,
And to our Books our earliest Visit make;
Or else our Thoughts to their Attendance call,
And there methinks, Fancy sits Queen of all;
While the poor under-Faculties resort,
And to her fickle Majesty make Court;
The Understanding first comes plainly clad,
But usefully; no Ent'rance to be had.
Next comes the Will, that Bully of the Mind,
Follies wait on him in a Troop behind;
He meets Reception from the Antick Queen,
Who thinks her Majesty's most honour'd, when
Attended by those fine drest Gentlemen.
Reason, the honest Counsellor, this knows,
And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes;
Lets Fancy see her loose irregular Sway,
Then how the flattering Follies sneak away!
This Image, when it came, too fiercely shook
My Brain, which its soft Quiet streight forsook;
When waking as I cast my Eyes around,
Nothing but old loath'd Vanities I found;
No Grove, no Freedom, and, what's worse to me,
No Friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my Thoughts with their old Tyrant care
Were seiz'd; which to divert I fram'd this Pray'r:
Gods! Life's your Gift, then season't with such Fate,
That what ye meant a Blessing prove no Weight.
Let me to the remotest Part be whirl'd,
Of this your play-thing made in Haste, the World;
But grant me Quiet, Liberty and Peace,
By Day what's needful, and at Night soft Ease;
The Friend I trust in, and the She I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I wish Remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in Power, the wofull'st State of Man;
To be by Fools mis-led, to Knaves a Prey.
But make Life what I ask, or take't away.",,11029,"","The understanding is first to pay court to Queen Fancy, ""plainly clad,
But usefully; no Ent'rance to be had""","",2009-09-14 19:35:29 UTC,""
4239,"","Searching ""court"" and ""fancy"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-26 00:00:00 UTC,"London.
How happy are we in this sweet Retreat?
Thus humbly blest, who'd labour to be great?
Who for Preferments at a Court would wait,
Where ev'ry Gudgeon's nibbling at the Bait?
What Fish of Sense would on that Shallow lye,
Amongst the little starving wriggling Fry,
That throng and crowd each other for a Taste
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd Paste;
When the wide River he behind him sees,
Where he may launch to Liberty and Ease?
No Cares or Business here disturb our Hours,
While underneath these shady, peaceful Bow'rs,
In cool Delight and Innocence we stray,
And midst a thousand Pleasures waste the Day;
Sometimes upon a River's Bank we lye,
Where skimming Swallows o'er the Surface fly,
Just as the Sun, declining with his Beams,
Kisses, and gently warms the gliding Streams;
Amidst whose Current rising Fishes play,
And rowl in wanton Liberty away.
Perhaps, hard by there grows a little Bush,
On which the Linnet, Nightingale and Thrush,
Nightly their solemn Orgyes meeting keep,
And sing their Vespers e'er they go to sleep:
There we two lye, between us may be's spread
Some Books, few understand though many read.
Sometimes we Virgil's Sacred Leaves turn o'er,
Still wond'ring, and still finding Cause for more.
How Juno's Rage did good Æneas vex,
Then how he had Revenge upon her Sex
In Dido's State, whom bravely he enjoy'd,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd;
He knew the fatal Danger of her Charms,
And scorn'd to melt his Virtue in her Arms.
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire,
Their gentle Friendship, and their Martial Fire
We praise their Valour 'cause yet matcht by none
And love their Friendship, so much like our own.
But when to give our Minds a Feast indeed,
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read,
Who can our Transports, or our Longings tell,
To taste of Pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
With Thoughts of Love, and Wine, by him we're fir'd,
Two Things in sweet Retirement much desir'd:
A generous Bottle and a Lovesome She,
Are th'only Joys in Nature, next to Thee:
To which retiring quietly at Night,
If (as that only can) to add Delight,
When to our little Cottage we repair,
We find a Friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverly, kind as parting Lovers Tears
Adderly, honest as the Sword he wears,
Wilson, professing Friendship yet a Friend,
Or Short, beyond what Numbers can commend,
Finch, full of Kindness, gen'rous as his Blood,
Watchful to do, to modest Merit, good;
Who have forsook the vile tumultuous Town,
And for a Taste of Life to us come down;
With eager Arms, how closely then we embrace,
What Joys in ev'ry Heart, and ev'ry Face!
The moderate Table's quickly cover'd o'er
With choicest Meats at least, tho' not with Store:
Of Bottles next succeeds a goodly Train,
Full of what cheers the Heart, and fires the Brain:
Each waited on by a bright Virgin Glass,
Clean, sound and shining like its drinker's Lass:
Then down we sit, while ev'ry Genius tries
T'improve, 'till he deserves his Sacrifice:
No saucy Hour presumes to stint Delight,
We laugh, love, drink, and when that's done 'tis Night:
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we part,
Each takes th'obedient Treasure of his Heart,
And leads her willing to his silent Bed,
Where no vexatious Cares come near his Head,
But ev'ry Sense with perfect Pleasure's fed;
'Till in full Joy dissolv'd, each falls asleep
With twining Limbs, that still Love's Posture keep,
At Dawn of Morning to renew Delight,
So quiet craving Love, 'till the next Night:
Then we the drowsie Cells of Sleep forsake,
And to our Books our earliest Visit make;
Or else our Thoughts to their Attendance call,
And there methinks, Fancy sits Queen of all;
While the poor under-Faculties resort,
And to her fickle Majesty make Court;
The Understanding first comes plainly clad,
But usefully; no Ent'rance to be had.
Next comes the Will, that Bully of the Mind,
Follies wait on him in a Troop behind;
He meets Reception from the Antick Queen,
Who thinks her Majesty's most honour'd, when
Attended by those fine drest Gentlemen.
Reason, the honest Counsellor, this knows,
And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes;
Lets Fancy see her loose irregular Sway,
Then how the flattering Follies sneak away!
This Image, when it came, too fiercely shook
My Brain, which its soft Quiet streight forsook;
When waking as I cast my Eyes around,
Nothing but old loath'd Vanities I found;
No Grove, no Freedom, and, what's worse to me,
No Friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my Thoughts with their old Tyrant care
Were seiz'd; which to divert I fram'd this Pray'r:
Gods! Life's your Gift, then season't with such Fate,
That what ye meant a Blessing prove no Weight.
Let me to the remotest Part be whirl'd,
Of this your play-thing made in Haste, the World;
But grant me Quiet, Liberty and Peace,
By Day what's needful, and at Night soft Ease;
The Friend I trust in, and the She I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I wish Remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in Power, the wofull'st State of Man;
To be by Fools mis-led, to Knaves a Prey.
But make Life what I ask, or take't away.",,11030,"","The Will, ""that Bully of the Mind,"" is next to pay court to Queen Fancy: ""Follies wait on him in a Troop behind; / He meets Reception from the Antick Queen, / Who thinks her Majesty's most honour'd, when / Attended by those fine drest Gentlemen""","",2009-09-14 19:35:29 UTC,""
4239,"","Searching ""court"" and ""fancy"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-26 00:00:00 UTC,"London.
How happy are we in this sweet Retreat?
Thus humbly blest, who'd labour to be great?
Who for Preferments at a Court would wait,
Where ev'ry Gudgeon's nibbling at the Bait?
What Fish of Sense would on that Shallow lye,
Amongst the little starving wriggling Fry,
That throng and crowd each other for a Taste
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd Paste;
When the wide River he behind him sees,
Where he may launch to Liberty and Ease?
No Cares or Business here disturb our Hours,
While underneath these shady, peaceful Bow'rs,
In cool Delight and Innocence we stray,
And midst a thousand Pleasures waste the Day;
Sometimes upon a River's Bank we lye,
Where skimming Swallows o'er the Surface fly,
Just as the Sun, declining with his Beams,
Kisses, and gently warms the gliding Streams;
Amidst whose Current rising Fishes play,
And rowl in wanton Liberty away.
Perhaps, hard by there grows a little Bush,
On which the Linnet, Nightingale and Thrush,
Nightly their solemn Orgyes meeting keep,
And sing their Vespers e'er they go to sleep:
There we two lye, between us may be's spread
Some Books, few understand though many read.
Sometimes we Virgil's Sacred Leaves turn o'er,
Still wond'ring, and still finding Cause for more.
How Juno's Rage did good Æneas vex,
Then how he had Revenge upon her Sex
In Dido's State, whom bravely he enjoy'd,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd;
He knew the fatal Danger of her Charms,
And scorn'd to melt his Virtue in her Arms.
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire,
Their gentle Friendship, and their Martial Fire
We praise their Valour 'cause yet matcht by none
And love their Friendship, so much like our own.
But when to give our Minds a Feast indeed,
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read,
Who can our Transports, or our Longings tell,
To taste of Pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
With Thoughts of Love, and Wine, by him we're fir'd,
Two Things in sweet Retirement much desir'd:
A generous Bottle and a Lovesome She,
Are th'only Joys in Nature, next to Thee:
To which retiring quietly at Night,
If (as that only can) to add Delight,
When to our little Cottage we repair,
We find a Friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverly, kind as parting Lovers Tears
Adderly, honest as the Sword he wears,
Wilson, professing Friendship yet a Friend,
Or Short, beyond what Numbers can commend,
Finch, full of Kindness, gen'rous as his Blood,
Watchful to do, to modest Merit, good;
Who have forsook the vile tumultuous Town,
And for a Taste of Life to us come down;
With eager Arms, how closely then we embrace,
What Joys in ev'ry Heart, and ev'ry Face!
The moderate Table's quickly cover'd o'er
With choicest Meats at least, tho' not with Store:
Of Bottles next succeeds a goodly Train,
Full of what cheers the Heart, and fires the Brain:
Each waited on by a bright Virgin Glass,
Clean, sound and shining like its drinker's Lass:
Then down we sit, while ev'ry Genius tries
T'improve, 'till he deserves his Sacrifice:
No saucy Hour presumes to stint Delight,
We laugh, love, drink, and when that's done 'tis Night:
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we part,
Each takes th'obedient Treasure of his Heart,
And leads her willing to his silent Bed,
Where no vexatious Cares come near his Head,
But ev'ry Sense with perfect Pleasure's fed;
'Till in full Joy dissolv'd, each falls asleep
With twining Limbs, that still Love's Posture keep,
At Dawn of Morning to renew Delight,
So quiet craving Love, 'till the next Night:
Then we the drowsie Cells of Sleep forsake,
And to our Books our earliest Visit make;
Or else our Thoughts to their Attendance call,
And there methinks, Fancy sits Queen of all;
While the poor under-Faculties resort,
And to her fickle Majesty make Court;
The Understanding first comes plainly clad,
But usefully; no Ent'rance to be had.
Next comes the Will, that Bully of the Mind,
Follies wait on him in a Troop behind;
He meets Reception from the Antick Queen,
Who thinks her Majesty's most honour'd, when
Attended by those fine drest Gentlemen.
Reason, the honest Counsellor, this knows,
And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes;
Lets Fancy see her loose irregular Sway,
Then how the flattering Follies sneak away!
This Image, when it came, too fiercely shook
My Brain, which its soft Quiet streight forsook;
When waking as I cast my Eyes around,
Nothing but old loath'd Vanities I found;
No Grove, no Freedom, and, what's worse to me,
No Friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my Thoughts with their old Tyrant care
Were seiz'd; which to divert I fram'd this Pray'r:
Gods! Life's your Gift, then season't with such Fate,
That what ye meant a Blessing prove no Weight.
Let me to the remotest Part be whirl'd,
Of this your play-thing made in Haste, the World;
But grant me Quiet, Liberty and Peace,
By Day what's needful, and at Night soft Ease;
The Friend I trust in, and the She I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I wish Remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in Power, the wofull'st State of Man;
To be by Fools mis-led, to Knaves a Prey.
But make Life what I ask, or take't away.",,11031,•See previous. ,"""Reason, the honest Counsellor, this knows, / And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes; / Lets Fancy see her loose irregular Sway, / Then how the flattering Follies sneak away!""","",2009-09-14 19:35:29 UTC,""
6727,"",Reading,2010-06-22 20:37:00 UTC,"The teeming Mother, anxious for her Race,
Begs for each Birth the Fortune of a Face:
Yet Vane could tell what Ills from Beauty spring;
And Sedley curs'd the Form that pleas'd a King.
Ye Nymphs of rosy Lips and radiant Eyes,
Whom Pleasure keeps too busy to be wise,
Whom Joys with soft Varieties invite
By Day the Frolick, and the Dance by Night,
Who frown with Vanity, who smile with Art,
And ask the latest Fashion of the Heart,
What Care, what Rules your heedless Charms shall save,
Each Nymph your Rival, and each Youth your Slave?
An envious Breast with certain Mischief glows,
And Slaves, the Maxim tells, are always Foes.
Against your Fame with Fondness Hate combines,
The Rival batters, and the Lover mines.
With distant Voice neglected Virtue calls,
Less heard, and less the faint Remonstrance falls;
Tir'd with Contempt, she quits the slipp'ry Reign,
And Pride and Prudence take her Seat in vain.
In croud at once, where none the Pass defend,
The harmless Freedom, and the private Friend.
The Guardians yield, by Force superior ply'd;
By Int'rest, Prudence; and by Flatt'ry, Pride.
Here Beauty falls betray'd, despis'd, distress'd,
And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.
(pp. 66-7, ll. 319-342)",,17902,"•Well, is it a metaphor for the mind? Seems so and a psychomachia to follow. But no explicit location","""With distant Voice neglected Virtue calls, / Less heard, and less the faint Remonstrance falls; / Tir'd with Contempt, she quits the slipp'ry Reign, / And Pride and Prudence take her Seat in vain.""",Throne,2010-06-22 20:37:00 UTC,""