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,""
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,""
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,""
7240,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-04-29 19:03:50 UTC,"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.",,19738,"","""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.""",Beasts,2012-04-29 19:03:50 UTC,""
7295,"","Searching ""horse"" and ""imagination"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-07-05 14:03:15 UTC,"A thought for Breeding would a Travellour be,
The several Countries in the Brain to see;
Spurr'd with Desires he was, Booted with Hope,
His Cap Curios'ty, Patience was his Cloak:
Thus Suited, strait a Horse he did provide,
And Strong Imagination got to Ride;
Which Sadled with Ambition, Girt with Pride,
Bridled with Doubt, and Stirrups on each Side
Of Resolution, he did Mount, and went
In a full Gallop of a good Intent:
Some ways i'th' Brain were Ill, and Foul withall,
Which made him oft into deep Errours fall;
Oft was he hid by Mountains high of Fear,
Then slid down Precipices of Despair;
Woods of Forgetfulness he oft past through,
To find the Right way out, had much ado;
In Troubles he had Travel'd a long way,
At last he came where Thieves of Spight close lay,
Who coming forth, drew out Reproachfull words,
Which wounded Reputation, as sharp Swords;
When he did feel the Wound smart, he drew out
Truth from Time's Scabbard, and Fought well and stout;
With an Innocent Thrust he left Spight Dead,
Wip'd of the Blood of Slander, Purple Red:
Then coming to a River of Temptation,
Which Deep and Dang'rous was of Tribulation,
He Swum with Temp'rance, and got out at last,
And with Security all Dangers past:
At last he to the City came of Power,
Where Tyranny did stand, a great high Tower,
With Discords populous, where Riot rules,
Great Colleges there were, to breed up Fools;
Large Houses of Extortion high were Built,
And all with Prodigality were Gilt;
Their Streets were Pitcht with Dull and Lazie stone,
Which never hurt the Feet, when Trod upon;
Markets of Plent'ful Circuits were there,
Where all Sorts came, and did Buy without care;
Herbs of Repentance there were in great store,
But Roots of Ignorance were many more;
The Carts of Knowledge much Provision brought,
And Understanding, which Truth Sold, some bought;
All what was Bought, prov'd good or bad by chance,
For some were Cousened by false Ignorance.
Then forthwith into Shamble-row he went,
VVhere store of Meat hung up, for 'twas no Lent;
There lay an Head with Wit and Fancies fill'd,
And many Hearts by Grief and Sorrow Kill'd;
Bladders of VVindy Opinions were there,
And Tongues of Eloquence hung on an Ear;
VVeak Livers of great Fear lay there to Sell,
And Spleens of Malice very Big did Swell;
Tough Lungs of VVilfulness were hard and dry,
VVhole Guts of Self-conceit did hang thereby.
Then to a Poult'rers Shop, he went to see
VVhat Foul there was, if any Good there be;
There lay wild Geese, though black and heavy Meat,
Yet some Gross Appetite lik'd them to Eat;
The Cholerick Turkie, and the Peacocks Pride,
The Foolish Dotterels lay there close beside;
Capons of Expectation Cramm'd with Hope,
And Swans of Large Desires lay in the Shop;
Reproachfull Words were Sold by Dozens there,
And Ignorant Gulls did Lye every where;
Poetical Birds many were to Sell,
More Fowl, which he remembred not to tell:
But being a Travellour, heel'd see all there,
And strait did go to Churches of great Fear,
VVhere each one Kneel'd upon the Knee of Pain,
And Prayers said with Tongues that were Prophane;
Petitioning Tears dropt from Coveting Eyes,
Deceitfull Hearts on Altars of Disguise;
Earnest they were to th'Gods, that they would give
Worldly Request, not Grace for Souls to Live:
But Travels of Experience he would see,
Which made him go to th'Court of Vanity;
The Porter Flattery Sate at the Gate,
Who Civil was, and Carried him in strait;
To Beauty's Presence-chamber first he went,
There staid some time with great and sweet Content;
Next to the Privy-chamber of Discourse,
Where Ignorance and Nonsense had great Force;
Then to the Bed-chamber of Love's Delights,
The Grooms which served there were Carpet Knights;
Thence he to th'Council of Direction went,
Where Great Disorder Sate as President;
No sooner this poor Stranger he did view,
Reproachfull Words out of his Mouth he threw,
Commanding Poverty a Sergeant poor,
To take and cast this Stranger out of Door;
Strait Flattery for him Intreated much,
But he Disorder's Ear doth seldome Touch;
For Cast he was into Necessity,
Which is a Prison of great Misery:
But Patience got him an Expedient pass,
So Home he went, but Rid upon an Ass.
(pp. 261-4)",,19864,"","""A thought for Breeding would a Travellour be, / The several Countries in the Brain to see; / Spurr'd with Desires he was, Booted with Hope, / His Cap Curios'ty, Patience was his Cloak: / Thus Suited, strait a Horse he did provide, / And Strong Imagination got to Ride; / Which Sadled with Ambition, Girt with Pride, / Bridled with Doubt, and Stirrups on each Side / Of Resolution, he did Mount, and went / In a full Gallop of a good Intent.""",Beasts,2014-07-11 18:05:32 UTC,I've included the entire poem
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,""
7960,Flights of Fancy,Reading,2014-07-08 19:18:23 UTC,"Sure there are Poets which did never dream
Upon Parnassus, nor did tast the stream
Of Helicon, we therefore may suppose
Those made not Poets, but the Poets those.
And as Courts make not Kings, but Kings the Court,
So where the Muses & their train resort,
Parnassus stands; if I can be to thee
A Poet, thou Parnassus art to me.
Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my flight,
By taking wing from thy auspicious height)
Through untrac't ways, and aery paths I fly,
More boundless in my Fancy than my eie:
My eye, which swift as thought contracts the space
That lies between, and first salutes the place
Crown'd with that sacred pile, so vast, so high,
That whether 'tis a part of Earth, or sky,
Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud
Aspiring mountain, or descending cloud,
Pauls, the late theme of such a Muse whose flight
Has bravely reach't and soar'd above thy height:
Now shalt thou stand though sword, or time, or fire,
Or zeal more fierce than they, thy fall conspire,
Secure, whilst thee the best of Poets sings,
Preserv'd from ruine by the best of Kings.
(ll. 1-24; cf. pp. 1-2 in 1655 ed.)",,24142,"","""Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my flight, / By taking wing from thy auspicious height) / Through untrac't ways, and aery paths I fly, / More boundless in my Fancy than my eie.""","",2014-07-08 19:24:07 UTC,""