In the heart, "by jarring tempests tost, / Truth, honour, reason, virtue all are lost"
— Combe, William (1742 -1823)
Author
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for S. W. Fores [etc.]
Date
1785
Metaphor
In the heart, "by jarring tempests tost, / Truth, honour, reason, virtue all are lost"
Metaphor in Context
But let no slavish pomp your feasts restrain,
Beneath your gilded roofs let freedom reign,
Push round the glass, command th' enliv'ning bowl,
Let the gay juice unlock the secret soul;
Chase vain distinction; from your frizled hair
Pluck the Tiara chance has planted there,
Forget thyself,--to aid the mystic plan,
Lay royalty aside and play the man;
Or if 'twould more enhance the general joy,
Let manhood rest awhile and,--play the boy!
'Twill well reward thy pains, for great's power
Of Bacchus gay intoxicated hour,
To tell the secret thoughts, and to impart
The hidden purpose of the cunning heart.
But would you know the passions that infest
With dead'ning influence the human breast,
Chase the gay scene, the ready dice command,
Let the box rattle in each eager hand.
Mix with the noisy tribe and mark by turns
How swelling hope within each bosom burns;
How, in a moment, forc'd by pale despair,
It quits the harrass'd throne it sought to share;
How, in the heart, by jarring tempests tost,
Truth, honour, reason, virtue all are lost.[1]
--Let not the frenzy fright thee; rather try
What venture waits upon the treach'rous die.
Who knows but, spite of every secret art,
Thy lucky throws may wring the gambler's heart.
But should'st thou lose, in fortune's fickle hour,
Mortgage the promises of future power.
Should clam'rous duns assail thy wearied gate,
And sorry tradesmen with impatience wait
Their ling'ring dues, 'till Hotham's eyes behold
Your coffers shining with replenish'd gold,
Withdraw your favours,--let the crew bemoan
The gilded plumes that made their traffic known:
Is it no honour that your name should grace
The splendid portals of the thankless race?
Or lends it not the privilege to cheat
The wealthy little ones who ape the great?
Grant then the favour, where your frequent name
May give the ponderous ledger half its fame.[2]
Beneath your gilded roofs let freedom reign,
Push round the glass, command th' enliv'ning bowl,
Let the gay juice unlock the secret soul;
Chase vain distinction; from your frizled hair
Pluck the Tiara chance has planted there,
Forget thyself,--to aid the mystic plan,
Lay royalty aside and play the man;
Or if 'twould more enhance the general joy,
Let manhood rest awhile and,--play the boy!
'Twill well reward thy pains, for great's power
Of Bacchus gay intoxicated hour,
To tell the secret thoughts, and to impart
The hidden purpose of the cunning heart.
But would you know the passions that infest
With dead'ning influence the human breast,
Chase the gay scene, the ready dice command,
Let the box rattle in each eager hand.
Mix with the noisy tribe and mark by turns
How swelling hope within each bosom burns;
How, in a moment, forc'd by pale despair,
It quits the harrass'd throne it sought to share;
How, in the heart, by jarring tempests tost,
Truth, honour, reason, virtue all are lost.[1]
--Let not the frenzy fright thee; rather try
What venture waits upon the treach'rous die.
Who knows but, spite of every secret art,
Thy lucky throws may wring the gambler's heart.
But should'st thou lose, in fortune's fickle hour,
Mortgage the promises of future power.
Should clam'rous duns assail thy wearied gate,
And sorry tradesmen with impatience wait
Their ling'ring dues, 'till Hotham's eyes behold
Your coffers shining with replenish'd gold,
Withdraw your favours,--let the crew bemoan
The gilded plumes that made their traffic known:
Is it no honour that your name should grace
The splendid portals of the thankless race?
Or lends it not the privilege to cheat
The wealthy little ones who ape the great?
Grant then the favour, where your frequent name
May give the ponderous ledger half its fame.[2]
Categories
Provenance
HDIS
Date of Entry
08/07/2004
