"O'er Sense, o'er Reason, and o'er Love it Rules, / Custom, the Guardian, and the guide of Fools."
— Hopkins, John (b. 1675)
Author
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by Tho. Warren
Date
1700
Metaphor
"O'er Sense, o'er Reason, and o'er Love it Rules, / Custom, the Guardian, and the guide of Fools."
Metaphor in Context
TO AMASIA. COULD YOU BELIEVE MY FLAME, WOULD THAT RELIEVE?
Could you believe my Flame, would that relieve?
You would but scorn the more, as you the more believe.
A real Passion but disdain Creates,
And Pride's a Monster that on Beauty waits.
Custom has taught all Virgins to be coy,
And feeds their Vanity, but starves their Joy.
O'er Sense, o'er Reason, and o'er Love it Rules,
Custom, the Guardian, and the guide of Fools,
Custom, which leads us out, and brings us in;
And yet, 'tis Custom chiefly makes Men Sin.
When we do ill, the weak pretence we show,
The Poor excuse, is, Custom taught us so,
And all the World must with the Fashion go.
If then, that Phantom must all Acts approve,
Know, that 'tis Customary too to Love.
Common to all as Death;--the Rural Swain
Sighs for the Nymph that Charm'd him on the plain
And sits, and Sings like me, like me, in vain.
Forsakes his Flocks, and seeks some cool Retreat,
Shunning the Sun's, and Love's more scorching heat,
Supine he lies--
Gazing on others Herds, and as he Sighs, they bleat.
The Soldier too, proud in his own Commands,
Receives the Signal from his Mistress Hands,
O'er him Triumphant still, where'er she goes,
At every Glance Alarm'd--
More than with Drums, and Trumpets from his foes.
From Noisy Nonsense Calm, entranc'd he lies,
And Swears not now,--but by his Charmer's Eyes.
The pleading Lawyers from the Bar remove,
And slight all suits, but the soft suit of Love.
An other's case, Loquacious, they make known,
Impertinently loud;--
But as their Clients, silent, in their own.
Love, by strange Pow'r, maintains his Conqu'ring Sway,
And we must, in our own despight, obey,
Speaking the least, who have the most to say.
Amasia, thus I prove my claim to you,
All Mankind Love--
But none of all, as I, unhappy, do.
There I transcend the Custom, bold, extravagantly new.
In other things--
Let all your Sex to their old Law refer,
Amasia is belov'd, Love should be Law to her.
Let others boast their Titles, or their Arts,
But only Hearts should have a right to Hearts.
And yet, I own you are not blindly led,
For Reason bids you shun the humble Bed;
Reason?--who ever Lov'd, that did with Reason Wed!
Could you believe my Flame, would that relieve?
You would but scorn the more, as you the more believe.
A real Passion but disdain Creates,
And Pride's a Monster that on Beauty waits.
Custom has taught all Virgins to be coy,
And feeds their Vanity, but starves their Joy.
O'er Sense, o'er Reason, and o'er Love it Rules,
Custom, the Guardian, and the guide of Fools,
Custom, which leads us out, and brings us in;
And yet, 'tis Custom chiefly makes Men Sin.
When we do ill, the weak pretence we show,
The Poor excuse, is, Custom taught us so,
And all the World must with the Fashion go.
If then, that Phantom must all Acts approve,
Know, that 'tis Customary too to Love.
Common to all as Death;--the Rural Swain
Sighs for the Nymph that Charm'd him on the plain
And sits, and Sings like me, like me, in vain.
Forsakes his Flocks, and seeks some cool Retreat,
Shunning the Sun's, and Love's more scorching heat,
Supine he lies--
Gazing on others Herds, and as he Sighs, they bleat.
The Soldier too, proud in his own Commands,
Receives the Signal from his Mistress Hands,
O'er him Triumphant still, where'er she goes,
At every Glance Alarm'd--
More than with Drums, and Trumpets from his foes.
From Noisy Nonsense Calm, entranc'd he lies,
And Swears not now,--but by his Charmer's Eyes.
The pleading Lawyers from the Bar remove,
And slight all suits, but the soft suit of Love.
An other's case, Loquacious, they make known,
Impertinently loud;--
But as their Clients, silent, in their own.
Love, by strange Pow'r, maintains his Conqu'ring Sway,
And we must, in our own despight, obey,
Speaking the least, who have the most to say.
Amasia, thus I prove my claim to you,
All Mankind Love--
But none of all, as I, unhappy, do.
There I transcend the Custom, bold, extravagantly new.
In other things--
Let all your Sex to their old Law refer,
Amasia is belov'd, Love should be Law to her.
Let others boast their Titles, or their Arts,
But only Hearts should have a right to Hearts.
And yet, I own you are not blindly led,
For Reason bids you shun the humble Bed;
Reason?--who ever Lov'd, that did with Reason Wed!
Provenance
Searching HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1700).
Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses. A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr. John Hopkins. (London: Printed by Tho. Warren, 1700). <Link to ESTC><Link to EEBO>
Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses. A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr. John Hopkins. (London: Printed by Tho. Warren, 1700). <Link to ESTC><Link to EEBO>
Date of Entry
06/14/2004
Date of Review
06/16/2011
