work_id,theme,id,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,created_at,context,comments,text,reviewed_on,provenance
5572,"",14883,"""Till then, old red-nos'd Wilson's art / Will hold its empire o'er my heart.""",Empire,2014-03-03 19:59:51 UTC,2004-08-22 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"•The poem's subtitle/summary calls Wilson ""the English Claude."" The poet mocks Chamberlin and Loutherbourgh."," Thy portraits, Chamberlin, may be
A likeness, far as I can see;
But, faith! I cannot praise a single feature:
Yet, when it so shall please the Lord,
To make his people out of board,
Thy pictures will be tolerable nature.
And Loutherbourgh, when Heav'n so wills
To make brass skies, and golden hills,
With marble bullocks in glass pastures grazing;
Thy reputation too will rise,
And people, gaping with surprise,
Cry, 'Monsieur Loutherbourgh is most amazing!'
But thou must wait for that event;
Perhaps the change is never meant--
Till then, with me, thy pencil will not shine:
Till then, old red-nos'd Wilson's art
Will hold its empire o'er my heart,
By Britain left in poverty to pine.
But, honest Wilson, never mind;
Immortal praises thou shalt find,
And for a dinner have no cause to fear.
Thou start'st at my prophetic rhimes:
Don't be impatient for those times;
Wait till thou hast been dead a hundred year.
(cf. pp. 8-9 in 1782 ed.)",2012-06-27,"Searching ""empire"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO."
5830,"",15551,"""Bid your minds then sit calmly on their thrones, amidst the hurly burly of critical attacks.""","",2014-03-03 20:34:10 UTC,2009-09-14 19:43:57 UTC,"","","So much to the liberal critics;--what shall I say to the illiberal?
Rake, if you please, the kennel of your brains,
And pour forth all the loaded head contains;
I shall not suffer by it, I am sure!--
Nay, my poetic plants will better thrive;
Exalt their heads and smile--be all alive;
As mud is very excellent manure.
Brother authors, attend unto the wisdom of Peter. Are the cries of the malevolent and envious against you? Be silent, and let your works fight their own battle. Are they good for nothing? Let them die. Possess they merit? They need not be afraid.--Bid your minds then sit calmly on their thrones, amidst the hurly burly of critical attacks.
Go take a lesson from the glorious sun,
Who, when the elements together run
In wild confusion--earth and wind and water,
Looks on the tumult down without dismay,
Nay, bright and smiling--seeming thus to say,
'Lord! bustling gentlefolk, pray what's the matter?'
",,""