work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3258,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-06 00:00:00 UTC,"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.
",,8515,"","""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.""","",2011-06-27 21:23:31 UTC,""
3620,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"The Microcosm, little world, or Man,
Containeth all the outward great world can;
Is it not strange, and wonderfull that such
A little thing as Man, should hold so much?
Man is a wonder, and Gods image divine,
(If truly Man) within his breast doth shine.
It is not head, arms, body, members fair,
That maketh Man; he rather may compare
Himself unto some beast in painted dress,
Except the inward do him Man express.
What difference is there 'twixt a man and beast,
(None sure at all, or little to be guest)
If't wan't for Reason, and an immortal spark,
Which hides it self within his hollow Ark?
This makes him Man, and like a man to act,
Which gon, he's like a beast in shew and fact.
A man hath sense, he eats, he drinks, he sleeps,
Wallows in pleasure, seldome measure keeps,
Subject to hunger, thirst, to heat, and cold,
Sicknesse, Diseases, and converts to th' Mould
Of which he's fram'd; and like to other creatures,
There perisheth his beauteous forms, and features:
All this the Beast doth; then we thus may say
The fairest Beast is made upright of clay.
Men that we see within the great Creation,
Lie wallowing in all abomination,
In filthy Lusts, contagious pleasures foul,
As if they never, never had a soul,
Are not such Beasts? yea perfect Beasts, or worse,
For Beasts (most commonly) follow natures course,
Their beastial actions, acting in sobriety,
When men fulfil their Lusts in all Impiety,
Acting most beastly in all foul inormity,
And worser then the brutes, in their deformity:
That were it not for this their outward case
In PLUTO'S Court they would usurp a place;
For when the outward body doth consume,
In Hell such take their Hell-prepared room,
Their souls there having some such shape, or hue
Of beasts, whose actions they inclined to,
Assuming there some hideous form, or feature,
Rarely resembling their deformed Nature.
Thus may you see within this outward place,
We're either Men, or Beasts: when here our race
Is run, we shall to the Tartarean den
Go if we beasts are, but to Heav'n if Men.
Man was a Man created, and a King,
And Lord, and Ruler over every thing,
But now that state h'as lost, for which he groans,
Having gain'd dunghils,, for his Crowns, and Thrones.
Now of a King he is a servant made,
Who once immortal, now to Death betray'd:
Therefore behold him pourtrai'd to thine eye,
See where himself, his Crown and Scepter lye,
The Lamb the Type of Innocency too,
(Which LUCIFER with ADAM overthrew)
Under the great and massy Globe of Earth,
As if deprived both of Life, and breath.
This is the fallen state of Man, who must
His Crown not unregarded in the Dust
Permit to lye, but, what some e'r it cost,
Strive for to gain the Scepter that he lost;
And tho he now lyes slain depriv'd of all,
Crush'd with the weight of this terrestrial ball;
Yet shall this fallen Man at last arise,
And o're his now lost Kingdoms Regalize.
O man with joy expect this blisseful day,
Rouze up thy self, enquicken'd with the ray
Of life divine: Shake off this clogging Earth,
And strongly presse after another birth:
For that attained once, thou shalt be then,
As once thou wast, a Lord, and King agen.",,9400,"","""For when the outward body doth consume, / In Hell such take their Hell-prepared room, / Their souls there having some such shape, or hue / Of beasts, whose actions they inclined to""","",2009-09-14 19:34:11 UTC,""
3618,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2006-01-17 00:00:00 UTC,"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.",2012-01-09,9402,•Translated from Silius Italicus.,"""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.""","",2012-01-09 16:41:52 UTC,""
3636,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2003-08-21 00:00:00 UTC,"Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap'd the Stygian pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne,
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night;
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to re-ascend,
Though hard and rare: Thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs,
Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt,
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath,
That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget
So were I equall'd with them in renown,
Thy sovran command, that Man should find grace;
Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides,
And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old:
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal note.
(Bk. III, ll. 13-40)",2009-07-31,9453,•Exordium. I've included twice: Feeding and Birds,"""Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move / Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird / Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid / Tunes her nocturnal note.""","",2013-06-10 18:12:43 UTC,Book III
3757,"","Reading Norton Critical Edition of Seventeenth Century British Poetry, 1603-1660; found again reading Rosalie Osmond's Imagining the Soul: A History (Phoenix Mill: Sutton Publishing, 2003), 139.",2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,"Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide;
There like a bird it sits and sings,
Then whets, and combs its silver wings;
And, till prepar'd for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.
(ll. 49-56)",2012-04-04,9692,2008-12-03,"""Here at the fountain's sliding foot, / Or at some fruit tree's mossy root, / Casting the body's vest aside, / My soul into the boughs does glide; / There like a bird it sits and sings, / Then whets, and combs its silver wings; / And, till prepar'd for longer flight, / Waves in its plumes the various light.""",Animals,2013-06-04 15:20:31 UTC,""
3768,"","Searching ""rule"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-06-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Whether it be fair or just,
Men, more than Brutes, continual Lust?
How does Reason rule the Rost.
When Lasciviousness rides Post?
They couple only for a Brood,
Men for every wanton Mood.
They take their times for Generation,
Men at all times without Moderation.
",,9714,•I've included twice: in Government and in Animals.,"Reason may (not) ""rule the Rost""","",2009-09-14 19:34:25 UTC,Listed under Minor Burlesques and Travesties
3768,"",Searching HDIS (Poetry),2004-06-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Whether it be fair or just,
Men, more than Brutes, continual Lust?
How does Reason rule the Rost.
When Lasciviousness rides Post?
They couple only for a Brood,
Men for every wanton Mood.
They take their times for Generation,
Men at all times without Moderation.
",,9716,
,""" How does Reason rule the Rost. / When Lasciviousness rides Post?""","",2009-09-14 19:34:26 UTC,Listed under Minor Burlesques and Travesties
7232,"","Searching ""soul"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-04-27 18:20:51 UTC,"In Meditation let Devotion be
The Hand-maid to the Hearts Soliloquie.
The Eagle casts her eye upon the Sun,
So Contemplation doth her courses run,
Fixing the minde upon no Object less
Than the bright Beams o'th' Sun of Righteousness.
Or else unto those Birds (aspiring) rare,
The Soul contemplative I may compare,
Of whom King David worthily attests,
That by the Holy Altar build their Nests:
So Meditation's said in holy Story,
To build her Nest about the Throne of Glory.
This Bee of Paradise all days and hours
Sucks Honey from the choicest Garden flowers.
By Contemplation I with God can talk;
In Mansions of Eternity can walk.
Then, O my Soul, what mak'st thou here below
Where nought but thorns do spring, and weeds do grow;
Where nothing thrives but loose unlawful Tares,
Watered with Tears, and nourished with Cares?
Then mount, my Soul, from this terrestrial Bubble,
This heap of Sin, and wilderness of Trouble:
Mount to the Land of Promise, where thy Wings
Shall Consorts finde of Angels, and of Kings.
Though present Habitation
Here is given,
Yet let thy Conversation
Be in Heaven.",,19727,"","""Or else unto those Birds (aspiring) rare, / The Soul contemplative I may compare, / Of whom King David worthily attests, / That by the Holy Altar build their Nests: / So Meditation's said in holy Story, / To build her Nest about the Throne of Glory.""",Animals,2012-04-27 18:21:29 UTC,""
7233,"","Searching ""soul"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-04-27 18:41:01 UTC,"Nay, now forbear; for pity sake give o're,
You that would make the Clergy none, or poor:
We are made miserable enough this year,
That we have lost our Reverend Whitaker;
Loss above Deans and Chapters! had but he
Liv'd still and preach'd: Ziba take all (for me.)
Nay I believe had sacrilegious hands
Finger'd our poor remains of Tithes and Lands,
Whil'st he surviv'd they had but pray'd in vain,
Whitaker would have pray'd them back again,
As Luther did a young mans Soul repeal,
Giv'n to the Devil under Hand and Seal,
A Chariot and an Horseman we have lost,
In whose each single Pray'r incamp'd an Host.
How have I heard him on some solemn Day,
When doubtful War could make all London pray)
Mount up to Heav'n with armed cries and tears,
And rout, as far as York, the Cavaliers!
Have you not seen an early-rising Lark
Spring from her Turf, making the Sun her mark,
Shooting her self aloft, yet higher, higher,
Till she had sung her self into Heaven's Quire?
Thus would he rise in Pray'r, and in a trice
His Soul become a Bird of Paradise:
And if our faint Devotions Prayers be,
What can we call his less than Extasie?",,19728,"","""Have you not seen an early-rising Lark / Spring from her Turf, making the Sun her mark, / Shooting her self aloft, yet higher, higher, / Till she had sung her self into Heaven's Quire? / Thus would he rise in Pray'r, and in a trice / His Soul become a Bird of Paradise.""",Animals,2012-04-27 18:41:01 UTC,""
7296,"","Searching ""fancy"" and ""horse"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-07-05 14:34:34 UTC,"You happy Issue of a happy Wit,
As ever yet in charming numbers writ,
Welcom into the Light, and may we be
Worthy so happy a Posterity.
We long have wish'd for something Excellent;
But ne'r till now knew rightly what it meant:
For though we have been gratifi'd 'tis true,
From several hands with things both fine and new,
The Wits must pardon me, if I profess,
That till this time the over-teeming Press
Ne'r set out Poesie in so true a dress:
Nor is it all, to have a share of Wit,
There must be Judgment too to manage it;
For Fancy's like a rough, but ready Horse,
Whose mouth is govern'd more by skill than force;
Wherein (my Friend) you do a Maistry own,
If not particular to you alone;
Yet such at least as to all eyes declares
Your Pegasus the best performs his Ayres.
Your Muse can humour all her Subjects so,
That as we read we do both feel and know;
And the most firm impenetrable breast
With the same passion that you write's possest.
Your Lines are Rules, which who shall well observe
Shall even in their Errors praise deserve:
The boyling Youth, whose bloud is all on fire,
Push'd on by Vanity, and hot desire,
May learn such Conduct here, men may approve
And not excuse, but even applaud his Love.
Ovid, who made an ART of what to all
Is in it self but too too natural,
Had he but read your Verse, might then have seen
The Stile of which his Precepts should have been;
And (which it seems he knew not) learnt from thence
To reconcile Frailty with Innocence.
The Love you write, Virgins and Boys may read,
And never be debaucht but better bred;
For without Love, Beauty would bear no price,
And Dulness, than Desire's a greater vice:
Your greater Subjects with such force are writ
So full of sinewy Strength, as well as Wit,
That when you are Religious, our Divines
May emulate, but not reprove your Lines:
And when you reason, there the learned Crew
May learn to speculate, and speak from you.
You no prophane, no obscene language use
To smat your Paper, or defile your Muse.
Your gayest things, as well exprest, as meant
Are equally both Queint, and Innocent.
But your Pindarique Odes indeed are such
That Pindar's Lyre from his own skilful touch,
Ne're yielded such an Harmony, nor yet
Verse keep such time on so unequal feet.
So by his own generous confession
Great Tasso by Guarini was out-done:
And (which in Copying seldom does befal)
The Ectype's better than th' Original.
",,19866,"","""For Fancy's like a rough, but ready Horse, / Whose mouth is govern'd more by skill than force; / Wherein (my Friend) you do a Maistry own, / If not particular to you alone; /Yet such at least as to all eyes declares /Your Pegasus the best performs his Ayres.""",Beasts,2012-07-05 14:35:12 UTC,""