text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"Thoughts as a Pen do write upon the Braine;
The Letters which wise Thoughts do write, are plaine.
Fooles Scribble, Scrabble, and make many a Blot,
Which makes them Non-sense speak, they know not what.
Or Thoughts like Pencils draw still to the Life,
And Fancies mixt, as colours give delight.
Sad melancholy Thoughts are for Shadowes plac'd,
By which the lighter Fancies are more grac'd.
As through a dark, and watry Cloud, more bright,
The Sun breakes forth with his Resplendent Light.
Or like to Night's black Mantle, where each Star
Doth clearer seem, so lighter Fancies are.
Some like to Rain-bowes various Colours shew,
So round the Braine Fantastick Fancies grow. ",2012-04-26 20:40:58 UTC,"""Thoughts as a Pen do write upon the Braine; / The Letters which wise Thoughts do write, are plaine.""",2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",2007-04-26,Writing,"",Reading Ron Cooleys' website. <http://www.usask.ca/english/phoenix/cavendishpoems1.htm>.,9317,3596
"Thoughts as a Pen do write upon the Braine;
The Letters which wise Thoughts do write, are plaine.
Fooles Scribble, Scrabble, and make many a Blot,
Which makes them Non-sense speak, they know not what.
Or Thoughts like Pencils draw still to the Life,
And Fancies mixt, as colours give delight.
Sad melancholy Thoughts are for Shadowes plac'd,
By which the lighter Fancies are more grac'd.
As through a dark, and watry Cloud, more bright,
The Sun breakes forth with his Resplendent Light.
Or like to Night's black Mantle, where each Star
Doth clearer seem, so lighter Fancies are.
Some like to Rain-bowes various Colours shew,
So round the Braine Fantastick Fancies grow. ",2012-04-26 20:42:30 UTC,"""Or Thoughts like Pencils draw still to the Life, / And Fancies mixt, as colours give delight.""",2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",2007-04-26,Writing,"",Reading Ron Cooleys' website. <http://www.usask.ca/english/phoenix/cavendishpoems1.htm>.,9318,3596
"I Language want, to dresse my Fancies in,
The Haire's uncurl'd, the Garments loose, and thin;
Had they but Silver Lace to make them gay,
Would be more courted then in poore array.
Or had they Art, might make a better show;
But they are plaine, yet cleanly doe they goe.
The world in Bravery doth take delight,
And glistering Shews doe more attract the sight;
And every one doth honour a rich Hood,
As if the outside made the inside good.
And every one doth bow, and give the place,
Not for the Mans sake, but the Silver Lace.
Let me intreat in my poore Booke's behalfe,
That all may not adore the Golden Calf.
Consider, pray, Gold hath no life therein,
And Life in Nature is the richest thing.
So Fancy is the Soul in Poetrie,
And if not good, a Poem ill must be.
Be just, let Fancy have the upper place,
And then my Verses may perchance finde grace.
If flattering Language all the Passions rule,
Then Sense, I feare, will be a meere dull Foole. ",2012-04-26 20:52:27 UTC,"""So Fancy is the Soul in Poetrie, / And if not good, a Poem ill must be.""",2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",2007-04-26,"",Is this a real metaphor of mind? DELETE?,Reading Ron Cooleys' website. <http://www.usask.ca/english/phoenix/cavendishpoems1.htm>.,9325,3598