"Thou know'st the secret Soul's imperial Throne / Surrounded with thick Darkness, like thy own, / Where she to all the Senses Audience gives, / Appoints their Tasks, their Messages receives, / And passes Judgement in her Sov'reign Court / On every Envoy's true or false Report / How her sole Nod our Motions does controul, / And guide the various Parts to serve the Whole."
— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Work Title
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by W. Botham, for James Knapton
Date
1723
Metaphor
"Thou know'st the secret Soul's imperial Throne / Surrounded with thick Darkness, like thy own, / Where she to all the Senses Audience gives, / Appoints their Tasks, their Messages receives, / And passes Judgement in her Sov'reign Court / On every Envoy's true or false Report / How her sole Nod our Motions does controul, / And guide the various Parts to serve the Whole."
Metaphor in Context
Thou know'st the secret Soul's imperial Throne
Surrounded with thick Darkness, like thy own,
Where she to all the Senses Audience gives,
Appoints their Tasks, their Messages receives,
And passes Judgement in her Sov'reign Court
On every Envoy's true or false Report;
How her sole Nod our Motions does controul,
And guide the various Parts to serve the Whole;
Can'st say what diff'rent Turns the Spirits take,
When they of diff'rent Kinds Impressions make;
What vital Springs those Spirits in their Flight
Strike to cause Torment, what to give Delight;
Can'st tell the Manner how the Actors move,
When they excite our Anger or our Love,
By what Contrivance and mechanick Art
Our Passions interrupt the beating Heart;
How they encrease the vital Lab'rour's Toil,
When they constrain the Blood to freeze or boil;
Whence martial Ardour warms the Heroe's Breast,
How shiv'ring Fears th' arterial Flood arrest;
How active Joy dilates the swelling Veins,
And Shame the modest Face with Blushes stains:
Thou know'st these Secrets, and ten thousand more,
Which narrow-sighted Man can ne'er explore,
Who to a high Conceit of Wit arrives,
Yet knows not how he thinks, or moves, or lives,
(pp. 100-1)
Surrounded with thick Darkness, like thy own,
Where she to all the Senses Audience gives,
Appoints their Tasks, their Messages receives,
And passes Judgement in her Sov'reign Court
On every Envoy's true or false Report;
How her sole Nod our Motions does controul,
And guide the various Parts to serve the Whole;
Can'st say what diff'rent Turns the Spirits take,
When they of diff'rent Kinds Impressions make;
What vital Springs those Spirits in their Flight
Strike to cause Torment, what to give Delight;
Can'st tell the Manner how the Actors move,
When they excite our Anger or our Love,
By what Contrivance and mechanick Art
Our Passions interrupt the beating Heart;
How they encrease the vital Lab'rour's Toil,
When they constrain the Blood to freeze or boil;
Whence martial Ardour warms the Heroe's Breast,
How shiv'ring Fears th' arterial Flood arrest;
How active Joy dilates the swelling Veins,
And Shame the modest Face with Blushes stains:
Thou know'st these Secrets, and ten thousand more,
Which narrow-sighted Man can ne'er explore,
Who to a high Conceit of Wit arrives,
Yet knows not how he thinks, or moves, or lives,
(pp. 100-1)
Provenance
HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1723).
Richard Blackmore, Alfred. An Epick Poem. In Twelve Books (London: Printed by W. Botham, for James Knapton, 1723). <Link to ECCO><Link to LION>
Richard Blackmore, Alfred. An Epick Poem. In Twelve Books (London: Printed by W. Botham, for James Knapton, 1723). <Link to ECCO><Link to LION>
Date of Entry
07/28/2004
Date of Review
01/10/2012
