work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
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,""
3633,"","Reading. Found again in Margaret Doody's The Daring Muse: Augustan Poetry Reconsidered (Cambridge: CUP, 1985), 8. And again, Martin Kallich, ""The Association of Ideas and Critical Theory: Hobbes, Locke, and Addison"" ELH 12:4 (1945): 295n.
",2004-01-26 00:00:00 UTC,"The composition of all poems is or ought to be of wit, and wit in the poet, or wit writing (if you will give me leave to use a school distinction), is no other than the faculty of imagination in the writer, which, like a nimble spaniel, beats over and ranges through the field of memory, till it springs the quarry it hunted after; or, without metaphor, which searches over all the memory for the species or ideas of those things which it designs to represent. Wit written, is that which is well defined the happy result of thought, or product of that imagination. But to proceed from wit in the general notion of it to the proper wit of an heroic or historical poem, I judge it chiefly to consist in the delightful imaging of persons, actions, passions, or things.'Tis not the jerk or sting of an epigram, nor the seeming contradiction of a poor antithesis (the delight of an ill-judging audience in a play of rhyme), nor the jingle of a more poor paranomasia: neither is it so much the morality of a grave sentence, affected by Lucan, but more sparingly used by Virgil; but it is some lively and apt description, dressed in such colours of speech, that it sets before youre eyes the absent object as perfectly and more delightfully than nature. so then, the first happiness of the poet's imagination is properly invention, or finding of the thought; the second is fancy or the variation, driving or moulding of that thought, as the judgement represents it proper to the subject; the third is elocution, or that art of clothing and adorning that thought so found and varied, in apt, significant, and sounding words: the quickness of the imagination is seen in the invention, the fertility in the fancy, and the accuracy in the expression. For the two first of these Ovid is famous amongst the poets, for the latter Virgil. Ovid images more often the movements and affections of the mind, either combating between two contrary passions, or extremely discomposed by one: his words therefore are the least part of his care, for he pictures nature in disorder, with which the study and choice of words is inconsistent. This is the proper wit of dialogue or discourse, and consequently, of the drama, where all that is said is to be supposed the effect of sudden thought; which, though it excludes not the quickness of wit in repartees, yet admits not a too curious election of words, too frequent allusions, or use of tropes, or, in fine, anything that shows remoteness of thought, or labour in the writer. On the other side, Virgil speaks not so often to us in the person of another, like Ovid, but in his own; he relates almost all things as from himself, and thereby gains more liberty than the other to express his thoughts with all the graces of elocution, to write more figuratively, and to confess as well the labour as the force of his imagination.
(pp. 26-7 in Walker's edition) ",2012-01-28,9431,"•Dryden calls it a metaphor, but it looks like a simile to me! META-METAPHORICAL.
2008-12-03","""The composition of all poems is or ought to be of wit, and wit in the poet, or wit writing (if you will give me leave to use a school distinction), is no other than the faculty of imagination in the writer, which, like a nimble spaniel, beats over and ranges through the field of memory, till it springs the quarry it hunted after; or, without metaphor, which searches over all the memory for the species or ideas of those things which it designs to represent.""","",2012-01-28 20:00:55 UTC,""
3617,"","Whitman, James Q. The origins of reasonable doubt: theological roots of the criminal trial. Yale UP, 2008. p. 179. <Link to Google Books>
",2010-01-13 20:37:45 UTC,"2. Against a doubting conscience a man may not work but against a scrupulous he may. For a scrupulous conscience does not take away the proper determination of the understanding; but it is like a Woman handling of a Frog or a Chicken, which, all their friends tell them, can do them no hurt, and they are convinced in reason that they cannot, they believe it and know it ; and yet when they take the little creature into their hands, they shreek, and sometimes hold fast, and find their fears confuted, and sometimes they let go, and find their reason useless.
(p. 160)",,17674,"","""For a scrupulous conscience does not take away the proper determination of the understanding; but it is like a Woman handling of a Frog or a Chicken, which, all their friends tell them, can do them no hurt, and they are convinced in reason that they cannot, they believe it and know it ; and yet when they take the little creature into their hands, they shreek, and sometimes hold fast, and find their fears confuted, and sometimes they let go, and find their reason useless.""","",2010-01-13 20:38:13 UTC,"Book I, Chapter 6, Rule II"
3626,"","Reading Martin Kallich, ""The Association of Ideas and Critical Theory: Hobbes, Locke, and Addison"" ELH 12:4 (1945): 295n.",2012-01-28 20:25:39 UTC,"The advantages which rhyme has over blank verse, are so many, that it were lost time to name them. Sir Philip Sydney, in his Defence of Poesy, gives us one, which, in my opinion, is not the least considerable; I mean the help it brings to memory: which rhyme so knits up by the affinity of sounds, that by remembering the last word in one line, we often call to mind both the verses. Then in the quickness of repartees, which in discoursive scenes fall very often, it has so particular a grace, and is so aptly suited to them, that the sudden smartness of the answer, and the sweetness of the rhyme, set off the beauty of each other. But that benefit which I consider most in it, because I have not seldom found it, is, that it bounds and circumscribes the fancy: for imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless, that, like an high-ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the judgment. The great easiness of blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant; he is tempted to say many things which might better be omitted, or at least shut up in fewer words: but when the difficulty of artful rhyming is interposed, where the poet commonly confines his sense to his couplet, and must contrive that sense into such words, that the rhyme, shall naturally follow them, not they the rhyme; the fancy then gives leisure to the judgment to come in; which seeing so heavy a tax imposed, is ready to cut off all unnecessary expences. This last consideration has already answered an objection which some have made; that rhyme is only an embroidery of sense, to make that which is ordinary in itself, pass for excellent with less examination. But certainly, that which most regulates the fancy, and gives the judgment its busiest employment, is like to bring forth the richest and clearest thoughts. The poet examines that most which he produceth with the greatest leisure, and which, he knows, must pass the severest test of the audience, because they are aptest to have it ever in their memory; as the stomach makes the best concoction, when it strictly embraces the nourishment, and takes account of every little particle as it passes through. But as the best medicines may lose their virtue by being ill applied, so is it with verse, if a fit subject be not chosen for it. Neither must the argument alone, but the characters and persons, be great and noble; otherwise (as Scaliger says of Claudian) the poet will be ignobiliore materia depressus. The scenes, which, in my opinion, most commend it, are those of argumentation and discourse, on the result of which the doing or not doing some considerable action should depend.",,19547,"","""But that benefit which I consider most in it [rhyme], because I have not seldom found it, is, that it bounds and circumscribes the fancy: for imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless, that, like an high-ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the judgment.""",Fetters,2012-01-28 20:29:25 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,""
7270,"",Searching in HDIS (Drama),2012-06-29 16:44:28 UTC,"JACINTHA.
What have you laid an ambush for me?
WILDBLOOD.
Only to make a Reprisal of my heart.
JACINTHA.
'Tis so wild, that the Lady who has it in her keeping, would be glad she were well rid on't: it does so flutter about the Cage. 'Tis a meer Bajazet; and if it be not let out the sooner, will beat out the brains against the Grates.
WILDBLOOD.
I am afraid the Lady has not fed it, and 'tis wild for hunger.
JACINTHA.
Or perhaps it wants company; shall she put another to it?
WILDBLOOD.
I; but then 'twere best to trust 'em out of the Cage together; let 'em hop about at libertie.
JACINTHA.
But if they should lose one another in the wide world.
WILDBLOOD.
They'll meet at night I warrant 'em.
JACINTHA.
But is not your heart of the nature of those Birds that breed in one Countrie, and goe to winter in another?
WILDBLOOD.
Suppose it does so; yet I take my Mate along with me. And now to leave our parables, and speak in the language of the vulgar, what think you of a voyage to merry England?
JACINTHA.
Just as Æsop's Frog did, of leaping into a deep Well in a drought: if he ventur'd the leap, there might be water; but if there were no water, how should he get out again?
(II)",,19817,"","""'Tis so wild [Wildblood's heart], that the Lady who has it in her keeping, would be glad she were well rid on't: it does so flutter about the Cage. 'Tis a meer Bajazet; and if it be not let out the sooner, will beat out the brains against the Grates.""",Beasts,2012-06-29 16:45:15 UTC,Act II
7270,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Drama)",2012-06-29 16:46:16 UTC,"JACINTHA.
What have you laid an ambush for me?
WILDBLOOD.
Only to make a Reprisal of my heart.
JACINTHA.
'Tis so wild, that the Lady who has it in her keeping, would be glad she were well rid on't: it does so flutter about the Cage. 'Tis a meer Bajazet; and if it be not let out the sooner, will beat out the brains against the Grates.
WILDBLOOD.
I am afraid the Lady has not fed it, and 'tis wild for hunger.
JACINTHA.
Or perhaps it wants company; shall she put another to it?
WILDBLOOD.
I; but then 'twere best to trust 'em out of the Cage together; let 'em hop about at libertie.
JACINTHA.
But if they should lose one another in the wide world.
WILDBLOOD.
They'll meet at night I warrant 'em.
JACINTHA.
But is not your heart of the nature of those Birds that breed in one Countrie, and goe to winter in another?
WILDBLOOD.
Suppose it does so; yet I take my Mate along with me. And now to leave our parables, and speak in the language of the vulgar, what think you of a voyage to merry England?
JACINTHA.
Just as Æsop's Frog did, of leaping into a deep Well in a drought: if he ventur'd the leap, there might be water; but if there were no water, how should he get out again?
(II)",,19818,"Meta-metaphorical comment on the ""language of parable""","""But is not your heart of the nature of those Birds that breed in one Countrie, and goe to winter in another?""",Beasts,2012-06-29 16:46:39 UTC,Act II
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
7684,"","Reading Irvin Ehrenpreis, Swift: The Man, his Works, and the Age, 3 vols. (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1962), I, 176. ",2013-09-22 04:58:59 UTC,"Amongst all those passions which ride men's souls none so jade and tire them out as envy and jealousy; theire journey is longer than any of the rest, they bate seldomer, and commonly ride double, for sure a man cannot bee jealous of his Mistrisse without at the same time envious of his rivall; they seeme to bee twins of one birth, branches of one root, love being the cause of both and hatred the effect; they differ in that the object of envy is some quality wee love in a person wee hate, and of jealousy some quality wee hate in a person wee love. I wonder they should bee so common being allwayes founded upon an opinion of meannesse or some defect in ones selfe. Envy is the more vicious and unreasonable of the two for that proposes good to fasten upon, whilst jealousy proposes at least the appearances of evill, but withall tis not so incurable a disease, being remedyed if not by a mans one virtue yet by his enemyes fall and misfortune, whereas jealousy is desperate of any cure, all thinges nourish, nothing destroyes it, as indeed what can poyson an asp which is it self the most deadly of all poy[s]ons. [...]
(pp. 166-7)",,22809,"Ehrenpreis notes ""the quiet metaphor gives life"" to the claim (176).","""Amongst all those passions which ride men's souls none so jade and tire them out as envy and jealousy; theire journey is longer than any of the rest, they bate seldomer, and commonly ride double, for sure a man cannot bee jealous of his Mistrisse without at the same time envious of his rivall.""",Animals,2013-09-22 04:58:59 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,""