"Those Senses lost, behold a new defeat; / The Soul, dislodging from another seat."
— Dryden, John (1631-1700) [Poem ascribed to]
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for Jacob Tonson
Date
1693
Metaphor
"Those Senses lost, behold a new defeat; / The Soul, dislodging from another seat."
Metaphor in Context
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)
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)
Categories
Provenance
Browsing in EEBO
Citation
The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis. Translated into English Verse By Mr. Dryden and Several other Eminent Hands. Together with the Satires of Aulus Persius Flaccus. (London: Printed for Jacob Tonson, 1693). <Link to EEBO>
Date of Entry
07/11/2013
