"As unregarded thro' the Vaulted Skies, / The Wat'ry South in Noisy Tempest flies: / Just so the vain Expressions touch our Mind, / Nor any strong Impressions leave behind."
— Oldisworth, William (1680-1734)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed, and sold for the Benefit of the author, by George Sawbridge ... Robert Knaplock and Henry Clements [etc.]
Date
1715
Metaphor
"As unregarded thro' the Vaulted Skies, / The Wat'ry South in Noisy Tempest flies: / Just so the vain Expressions touch our Mind, / Nor any strong Impressions leave behind."
Metaphor in Context
How can Discretion so misguide thy Tongue,
That thus thou ever argu'st in the wrong?
As unregarded thro' the Vaulted Skies,
The Wat'ry South in Noisy Tempest flies:
Just so the vain Expressions touch our Mind,
Nor any strong Impressions leave behind.
Respect to Heaven is now no more thy Care,
Nor dost thou seek thy Angry God with Prayer:
Art thou Cooeval with this Frame of Earth,
Or had'st thou e'er the Hills were made thy Birth?
Has God his Secrets only show'd to thee,
To thee alone disclos'd the Mystery?
'Bove Twice thy Age I've seen, our Silver Hairs
Will almost treble thy short Lease of Years;
What hast thou seen, that is to us unknown?
Or else is Wisdom given to thee alone?
Thy secret Pride will fatal to thee prove,
Why dost thou slight these Overtures of Love?
Too Willful Wretch, all Deaf to Mercy's Cries,
Thou stop'st thy Ears, and shut'st thy Guilty Eyes;
Each Word, each Action, does produce a Crime,
And Mute in Sullen Silence do'st Blaspheme:
Who can be Righteous that is Born in Sin,
The troubled Fountain makes the Stream unclean?
When in his sight the Heavens imperfect seem,
And Saints themselves are capable of Blame;
How Loathsome then the Race of Man appears
Whose Numerous Sins out-vie the Countless Stars.
That thus thou ever argu'st in the wrong?
As unregarded thro' the Vaulted Skies,
The Wat'ry South in Noisy Tempest flies:
Just so the vain Expressions touch our Mind,
Nor any strong Impressions leave behind.
Respect to Heaven is now no more thy Care,
Nor dost thou seek thy Angry God with Prayer:
Art thou Cooeval with this Frame of Earth,
Or had'st thou e'er the Hills were made thy Birth?
Has God his Secrets only show'd to thee,
To thee alone disclos'd the Mystery?
'Bove Twice thy Age I've seen, our Silver Hairs
Will almost treble thy short Lease of Years;
What hast thou seen, that is to us unknown?
Or else is Wisdom given to thee alone?
Thy secret Pride will fatal to thee prove,
Why dost thou slight these Overtures of Love?
Too Willful Wretch, all Deaf to Mercy's Cries,
Thou stop'st thy Ears, and shut'st thy Guilty Eyes;
Each Word, each Action, does produce a Crime,
And Mute in Sullen Silence do'st Blaspheme:
Who can be Righteous that is Born in Sin,
The troubled Fountain makes the Stream unclean?
When in his sight the Heavens imperfect seem,
And Saints themselves are capable of Blame;
How Loathsome then the Race of Man appears
Whose Numerous Sins out-vie the Countless Stars.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "mind" and "impression" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
05/16/2005
