work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3898,"",Found again searching HDIS (Poetry),2004-06-14 00:00:00 UTC,"THE GOLDEN AGE
The Golden Age was first; when man, yet new,
No rule but uncorrupted reason knew;
And, with a native bent, did good pursue.
Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear,
His words were simple, and his soul sincere.
Needless was written law, where none opprest;
The law of man was written in his breast.
No suppliant crowds before the judge appeared;
No court erected yet, nor cause was heard;
But all was safe, for conscience was their guard.
The mountain trees in distant prospect please,
Ere yet the pine descended to the seas;
Ere sails were spread, new oceans to explore;
And happy mortals, unconcerned for more,
Confined their wishes to their native shore.
No walls were yet, nor fence, nor moat, nor mound;
Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound;
Nor swords were forged; but, void of care and crime,
The soft creation slept away their time.
The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough,
And unprovoked, did fruitful stores allow:
Content with food, which nature freely bred,
On wildings and on strawberries they fed;
Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest,
And falling acorns furnished out a feast.
The flowers, unsown, in fields and meadows reigned;
And western winds immortal spring maintained.
In following years the bearded corn ensued
From earth unasked, nor was that earth renewed.
From veins of valleys milk and nectar broke,
And honey sweating through the pores of oak.
",2012-01-11,10081,"•See also the ""all was safe, for conscience was their guard"" which is a kind of personification (albeit one I haven't been including in database to date).
INCLUDED (1/11/2012)","""Needless was written law, where none opprest; / The law of man was written in his breast.""",Court,2012-01-11 21:17:53 UTC,First Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses
3898,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2012-01-11 21:19:11 UTC,"THE GOLDEN AGE
The Golden Age was first; when man, yet new,
No rule but uncorrupted reason knew;
And, with a native bent, did good pursue.
Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear,
His words were simple, and his soul sincere.
Needless was written law, where none opprest;
The law of man was written in his breast.
No suppliant crowds before the judge appeared;
No court erected yet, nor cause was heard;
But all was safe, for conscience was their guard.
The mountain trees in distant prospect please,
Ere yet the pine descended to the seas;
Ere sails were spread, new oceans to explore;
And happy mortals, unconcerned for more,
Confined their wishes to their native shore.
No walls were yet, nor fence, nor moat, nor mound;
Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound;
Nor swords were forged; but, void of care and crime,
The soft creation slept away their time.
The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough,
And unprovoked, did fruitful stores allow:
Content with food, which nature freely bred,
On wildings and on strawberries they fed;
Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest,
And falling acorns furnished out a feast.
The flowers, unsown, in fields and meadows reigned;
And western winds immortal spring maintained.
In following years the bearded corn ensued
From earth unasked, nor was that earth renewed.
From veins of valleys milk and nectar broke,
And honey sweating through the pores of oak.
",,19441,"","""No suppliant crowds before the judge appeared; / No court erected yet, nor cause was heard; / But all was safe, for conscience was their guard.""","",2012-01-11 21:19:11 UTC,""
7521,"",Reading,2013-07-10 21:20:32 UTC,"Some Sons, indeed, some very few, we see
Who keep themselves from this Infection free,
Whom Gracious Heaven for Nobler Ends design'd,
Their Looks erected, and their Clay refin'd.
The rest are all by bad Example led,
And in their Father's slimy Track they tread.
Is't not enough we should our selves undo,
But that our Children we must Ruin too?
Children, like tender Osiers, take the bow,
And as they first are Fashion'd, always grow.
By Nature, headlong to all Ills we run,
And Virtue, like some dreadful Monster, shun.
Survey the World, and where on Cato Shines,
Count a degenerate Herd of Catilines.
(pp. 277-8)",,21622,"OED: An osier is ""Any of several willows with tough pliant branches used in basketwork, esp. Salix viminalis; (also) a flexible branch of any of these willows. Also with distinguishing word.""
Note, the distich is cited as a commonplace in the eighteenth century. See for example, Edward Bysshe's Art of English Poetry (1718), ""Education""; Eliza Haywood's Female Spectator, book x; Samuel Whyte's The Shamrock (1772), p. 277n; Ignatius Sanchos's Letters (1782), vol. I, letter xxviii; and various other works. ","""Children, like tender Oziers, take the Bow, / And, as they first are fashion'd always grow.""","",2013-07-11 14:49:41 UTC,""
7528,"","",2013-07-11 14:38:28 UTC,"The craving Wife, the force of Magick tries,
And Philters for th' unable Husband buys:
The Potion works not on the part design'd,
But turns his Brain, and stupifies his Mind.
The sotted Moon-Calf gapes, and staring on,
Sees his own Business by another done:
A long Oblivion, a benumming Frost,
Constrains his Head; and Yesterday is lost:
Some nimbler Juice wou'd make him foam, and rave,
Like that Caesonia to her Caius gave:
Who, plucking from the Forehead of the Fole
His Mother's Love, infus'd it in the Bowl:
The boiling Blood ran hissing in his Veins,
Till the mad Vapour mounted to his Brains.
The Thund'rer was not half so much on Fire,
When Iuno's Girdle kindled his Desire.
What Woman will not use the Poys'ning Trade,
When Caesar's Wife the Precedent has made?
Let Agripina's Mushroom be forgot;
Giv'n to a Slav'ring, Old, unuseful Sot;
That only clos'd the driveling Dotard's Eyes;
And sent his Godhead downward to the Skies.
But this fierce Potion, calls for Fire and Sword;
Nor spares the Commons, when it strikes the Lord:
So many Mischiefs were in one combin'd;
So much one single Poys'ner cost Mankind.
(pp. 121-2, ll. 794-819)",,21638,"","""The craving Wife, the force of Magick tries, / And Philters for th' unable Husband buys: / The Potion works not on the part design'd, / But turns his Brain, and stupifies his Mind. / The sotted Moon-Calf gapes, and staring on, / Sees his own Business by another done: / A long Oblivion, a benumming Frost, / Constrains his Head; and Yesterday is lost.""","",2013-07-11 14:38:28 UTC,Browsing in EEBO
7529,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:40:24 UTC,"Say, Goat, for whom this Mass of Wealth you heap?
For whom thy hoorded Bags in silence sleep?
Apulian Farms for the Rich Soil admir'd?
And thy large Fields where Falcons may be tyr'd?
Thy Fruitful Vineyards on Campanian Hills?
(Tho none drinks less, yet none more Vessels fills)
From such a Store 'tis barbarous to grudge
A small Relief to your Exhausted Drudge:
Weigh well the matter, wer't not fitter much
The Poor Inhabitants of yonder Thatch
Call'd me their Lord (who to Extreams am driven)
Than to some worthless Sycophant be given?
(Yet what smooth Sycophant by thee can gain?
When Lust it self strikes thy Flint-Heart in vain?)
A Beggar! Fie! 'tis Impudence, (he cry'd)
And such mean shifting Answers still reply'd;
But Rent unpaid, says Begg till Virro Grant;
(How ill does Modesty consist with Want?)
My single Boy (like Polyphemus Eye)
Mourns his harsh Fate, and Weeps for a Supply.
One will not do, hard Labour'd and hard Fed,
How then shall Hungry two expect their Bread?
What shall I say, when rough December Storms?
When Frosts, and Snow, have crampt their Naked Arms
What Comforts without Money can I bring?
Will they be satisfy'd to think on Spring?
(p. 181, ll. 100-125)",,21639,"","""(Yet what smooth Sycophant by thee can gain? / When Lust it self strikes thy Flint-Heart in vain?)""","",2013-07-11 14:40:24 UTC,""
7530,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:43:19 UTC,"Those Senses lost, behold a new defeat;
The Soul, dislodging from another seat.
What Musick, or Enchanting Voice, can chear
A Stupid, Old, Impenetrable Ear?
No matter in what Place, or what Degree
Of the full Theater he sits to see;
Cornets and Trumpets cannot reach his Ear:
Under an Actor's Nose, he's never near.
His Boy must bawl, to make him understand
The Hour o'th' Day, or such a Lord's at hand:
The little Blood that creeps within his Veins,
Is but just warm'd in a hot Feaver's pains.
In fine, he wears no Limb about him found:
With Sores and Sicknesses, beleaguer'd round:
Ask me their Names, I sooner cou'd relate
How many Drudges on Salt Hippia wait;
What Crowds of Patients the Town Doctor kills,
Or how, last fall, he rais'd the Weekly Bills.
What Provinces by Basilus were spoil'd,
What Herds of Heirs by Guardians are beguil'd:
How many bouts a Day that Bitch has try'd;
How many Boys that Pedagogue can ride!
What Lands and Lordships for their Owners know,
My Quondam Barber, but his Worship now.
(pp. 204-5, ll. 334-357)",,21640,"","""Those Senses lost, behold a new defeat; / The Soul, dislodging from another seat.""",Throne,2013-07-11 14:43:19 UTC,""
7531,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:45:36 UTC,"First from a Cloud, that Heaven all o'recast,
With glance so swift the subtle Lightning past
As split the Sail-Yards; trembling, and half Dead
Each thought the blow was level'd at his Head:
The flaming Shrouds so dreadful did appear,
All judg'd a wreck cou'd no proportion bear.
So Fancy paints, so does the Poet write,
When he wou'd work a Tempest to the height.
This danger past, a second does succeed;
Again with pity, and attention heed:
No less this second, tho' of diff'rent kind;
Such as, in Isis Temple, you may find
On votive Tablets, to the Life pourtray'd;
Where Painters are employ'd, and earn their Bread.
What Painters in their liveli'st Draughts express,
May be a Copy of my Friend's distress. [...]
(p. 242, ll. 27-42)",,21641,"","""So Fancy paints, so does the Poet write, / When he wou'd work a Tempest to the height.""","",2013-07-11 14:45:36 UTC,""
7532,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:48:29 UTC,"XVIII.
But why must those be thought to scape, that feel
Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel
Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls,
And spreads Amazing Terrors through their Souls?
Not sharp Revenge, not Hell it self can find
A fiercer Torment, than a Guilty Mind,
Which Day and Night doth dreadfully accuse,
Condemns the Wretch, and still the Charge renews.
(p. 267, ll. 248-55)",,21642,"","""But why must those be thought to scape, that feel / Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel / Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls, / And spreads Amazing Terrors through their Souls?""",Animals,2013-07-11 14:48:29 UTC,""
7521,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:50:50 UTC,"If a Rich Wife he Marries, in her Bed
She's found by Dagger or by Poison, Dead.
While Merchants make long Voyages by Sea
To get Estates, he cuts a shorter Way.
In mighty Mischiefs little Labour lies:
I never Counsel'd this the Father cries:
But still, base Man, he Copy'd this from Thee:
Thine was the Prime, Original Villany.
For he who covets Gain to such excess,
Does by dumb Signs himself as much express,
As if in Words at lngth he showd his Mind:
The bad Example made him Sin by Kind.
But who can Youth, let loose to Vice, restrain?
When once the hard-mouth'd Horse has got the Rein,
He's past thy Pow'r to stop; Young Phaeton,
By the Wild Coursers of his Fancy drawn,
From East to North, irregularly hurl'd,
First set on Fire himself, and then the World.
(p. 287, ll. 283-301)",,21643,"","""When once the hard-mouth'd Horse has got the Rein, / He's past thy Pow'r to stop; Young Phaeton, / By the Wild Coursers of his Fancy drawn, /
From East to North, irregularly hurl'd, / First set on Fire himself, and then the World.""",Animals,2013-07-11 14:50:50 UTC,""
7533,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:57:37 UTC,"Why have I Learn'd, say'st thou, if thus confin'd,
I choak the Noble Vigour of my Mind?
Know, my wild Fig-Tree, which in Rocks is bred,
Will split the Quarry, and shoot out the Head,
Fine Fruits of Learning! Old Ambitious Fool,
Dar'st thou apply that Adage of the School;
As if 'tis nothing worth that lies conceal'd·
And Science is not Science till Reveal'd?
Oh, but 'tis Brave to be Admir'd, to see
The Crowd, with pointing Fingers, cry That's he:
View document image [202] containing page
That's he, whose wondrous Poem is become
A Lecture for the Noble Youth of Rome!
Who, by their Fathers, is at Feasts Renown'd:
And often quoted, when the Bowls go round.
Full gorg'd and flush'd, they wantonly Rehearse:
And add to Wine the Luxury of Verse.
One, clad in Purple, not to lose his time,
Eats, and recites some lamentable Rhime:
Some Senceless Phyllis, in a broken Note;
Snuffling at Nose, or croaking in his Throat:
Then, Graciously, the mellow Audience Nod:
Is not th' Immortal Authour made a God?
Are not his Manes blest, such Praise to have?
Lies not the Turf more lightly on his Grave?
And Roses (while his lowd Applause they Sing,)
Stand ready from his Sepulcher to spring?
(pp. 7-8, ll. 55-80)",,21644,"","""Why have I Learn'd, say'st thou, if thus confin'd, / I choak the Noble Vigour of my Mind? / Know, my wild Fig-Tree, which in Rocks is bred, / Will split the Quarry, and shoot out the Head, / Fine Fruits of Learning!""","",2013-07-11 14:57:37 UTC,""