text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id "He paused a while, stood silent in his mood;
For yet his rage was boiling in his blood:
But soon his tender mind the impression felt,
As softest metals are not slow to melt,
And pity soonest runs in gentle minds:

Then reasons with himself; and first he finds
His passion cast a mist before his sense,
And either made, or magnified, the offence.
Offence! of what? to whom? who judged the cause?
The prisoner freed himself by Nature's laws:
Born free, he sought his right; the man he freed
Was perjured, but his love excused the deed:
Thus pondering, he looked under with his eyes,
And saw the women's tears, and heard their cries;
Which moved compassion more: he shook his head,
And softly sighing, to himself he said:--
(p. 598, ll. 328-43)",2009-09-14 19:34:53 UTC,"""As softest metals are not slow to melt, / And pity soonest runs in gentle minds:""",2005-04-06 00:00:00 UTC,Book II,"",,Metal,"John Dryden. Ed. Keith Walker Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 1987.",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10310,3957