work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3800,"","Searching ""haunt"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-06-08 00:00:00 UTC,"Meantime, when thoughts of death disturb thy head,
Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead;
Ancus, thy better far, was born to die,
And thou, dost thou bewail mortality?
So many monarchs with their mighty state,
Who ruled the world, were overruled by fate.
That haughty king, who lorded o'er the main,
And whose stupendous bridge did the wild waves restrain,
(In vain they foamed, in vain they threatened wreck,
While his proud legions marched upon their back,)
Him death, a greater monarch, overcame;
Nor spared his guards the more, for their immortal name.
The Roman chief, the Carthaginian dread,
Scipio, the thunderbolt of war, is dead,
And, like a common slave, by fate in triumph led.
The founders of invented arts are lost,
And wits, who made eternity their boast.
Where now is Homer, who possessed the throne?
The immortal work remains, the immortal author's gone.
Democritus, perceiving age invade,
His body weakened, and his mind decayed,
Obeyed the summons with a cheerful face;
Made haste to welcome death, and met him half the race.
That stroke even Epicurus could not bar,
Though he in wit surpassed mankind, as far
As does the midday sun the midnight star.
And thou, dost thou disdain to yield thy breath,
Whose very life is little more than death?
More than one half by lazy sleep possest;
And when awake, thy soul but nods at best,
Day-dreams and sickly thoughts revolving in thy breast,
Eternal troubles haunt thy anxious mind,
Whose cause and cure thou never hop'st to find;
But still uncertain, with thyself at strife,
Thou wanderest in the labyrinth of life.
Oh, if the foolish race of man, who find
A weight of cares still pressing on their mind,
Could find as well the cause of this unrest,
And all this burden lodged within the breast;
Sure they would change their course, nor live as now,
Uncertain what to wish, or what to vow.
Uneasy both in country and in town,
They search a place to lay their burden down.
One, restless in his palace, walks abroad,
And vainly thinks to leave behind the load,
But straight returns; for he's as restless there,
And finds there's no relief in open-air.
Another to his villa would retire,
And spurs as hard as if it were on fire;
No sooner entered at his country door,
But he begins to stretch, and yawn, and snore,
Or seeks the city, which he left before.
Thus every man o'erworks his weary will,
To shun himself, and to shake off his ill;
The shaking fit returns, and hangs upon him still.
No prospect of repose, nor hope of ease,
The wretch is ignorant of his disease;
Which, known, would all his fruitless trouble spare,
For he would know the world not worth his care:
Then would he search more deeply for the cause,
And study nature well, and nature's laws;
For in this moment lies not the debate,
But on our future, fixed, eternal state;
That never-changing state, which all must keep,
Whom death has doomed to everlasting sleep.
Why are we then so fond of mortal life,
Beset with dangers, and maintained with strife?
A life, which all our care can never save;
One fate attends us, and one common grave.
Besides, we tread but a perpetual round;
We ne'er strike out, but beat the former ground,
And the same mawkish joys in the same track are found.
For still we think an absent blessing best,
Which cloys, and is no blessing when possest;
A new arising wish expels it from the breast.
The feverish thirst of life increases still;
We call for more and more, and never have our fill;
Yet know not what to-morrow we shall try,
What dregs of life in the last draught may lie.
Nor, by the longest life we can attain,
One moment from the length of death we gain;
For all behind belongs to his eternal reign.
When once the fates have cut the mortal thread,
The man as much to all intents is dead,
Who dies to-day, and will as long be so,
As he who died a thousand years ago.
",,9795,"•The passage is rich with metaphorics. REVISIT.
•Cross-reference: his may be one source for Pope's""A mighty maze!"" in Essay on Man I.6",Eternal troubles may haunt an anxious mind,"",2009-09-14 19:34:29 UTC,""
3813,"","Searching ""inward"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-06-08 00:00:00 UTC,"Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore
The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar;
Not that another's pain is our delight,
But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight.
'Tis pleasant also to behold from far
The moving legions mingled in the war;
But much more sweet thy labouring steps to guide
To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supplied,
And all the magazines of learning fortified;
From thence to look below on humankind,
Bewildered in the maze of life, and blind;
To see vain fools ambitiously contend
For wit and power; their last endeavours bend
To outshine each other, waste their time and health
In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth.
O wretched man! in what a mist of life,
Inclosed with dangers and with noisy strife,
He spends his little span; and overfeeds
His crammed desires, with more than nature needs!
For nature wisely stints our appetite,
And craves no more than undisturbed delight;
Which minds, unmixed with cares and fears, obtain;
A soul serene, a body void of pain.
So little this corporeal frame requires,
So bounded are our natural desires,
That wanting all, and setting pain aside,
With bare privation sense is satisfied.
If golden sconces hang not on the walls,
To light the costly suppers and the balls;
If the proud palace shines not with the state
Of burnished bowls, and of reflected plate;
If well-tuned harps, nor the more pleasing sound
Of voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound;
Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade,
By the cool stream, our careless limbs are laid;
With cheaper pleasures innocently blest,
When the warm spring with gaudy flowers is drest.
Nor will the raging fever's fire abate,
With golden canopies, and beds of state;
But the poor patient will as soon be sound
On the hard mattress, or the mother ground.
Then since our bodies are not eased the more
By birth, or power, or fortune's wealthy store,
'Tis plain, these useless toys of every kind
As little can relieve the labouring mind;
Unless we could suppose the dreadful sight
Of marshalled legions moving to the fight,
Could, with their sound and terrible array,
Expel our fears, and drive the thoughts of death away.
But, since the supposition vain appears,
Since clinging cares, and trains of inbred fears,
Are not with sounds to be affrighted thence,
But in the midst of pomp pursue the prince,
Not awed by arms, but in the presence bold,
Without respect to purple, or to gold;
Why should not we these pageantries despise,
Whose worth but in our want of reason lies?
For life is all in wandering errors led;
And just as children are surprised with dread,
And tremble in the dark, so riper years,
Even in broad day-light, are possessed with fears,
And shake at shadows fanciful and vain,
As those which in the breasts of children reign.
These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell,
No rays of outward sunshine can dispel;
But nature and right reason must display
Their beams abroad, and bring the darksome soul to day.",,9818,"•I've included thrice: Hell, Beam, Darkness","""These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell, / No rays of outward sunshine can dispel; / But nature and right reason must display / Their beams abroad, and bring the darksome soul to day.""","",2009-09-14 19:34:30 UTC,""
7097,"","Searching ""mind"" in Google Books",2011-09-20 16:25:31 UTC,"There is not so Disproportionate a Mixture in any Creature, as that is in Man, of Soul and Body. There is Intemperance, join'd with Divinity; Folly, with Severity; Sloth, with Activity; and Uncleanness, with Purity. But, a Good Sword is never the worse for an ill Scabbard. We are mov'd more by Imaginary Fears, than Truths; for Truth has a Certainty, and Foundation; but, in the other, we are expos'd to the Licence, and Conjecture of a distracted Mind; and our Enemies, are not more Imperious, than our Pleasures. We set our Hearts upon Transitory Things; as if they Themselves were Everlasting; or We, on the other side, to possess them for Ever. Why do we not rather advance our Thoughts to things that are Eternal, and contemplate the Heavenly Original of all Beings? Why do we not, by the Divinity of Reason, triumph over the Weaknesses of Flesh, and Blood? It is by Providence that the World is preserv'd; and not from any Virtue in the Matter of it; for the World is as Mortal as we are; only the Almighty Wisdom carries it safe through all the Motions of Corruption. And so by Prudence, Human Life it self may be prolong'd if we will but stint our selves in those Pleasures, that bring the greater part of us untimely to our End. Our Passions are nothing else but certain Disallowable Motions of the Mind; Sudden, and Eager; which, by Frequency, and Neglect, turn to a Disease; as a Distillation brings us first to a Cough, and then to a Phthisick. We are carry'd Up to the Heavens, and Down again into the Deep, by Turns; so long as we are govern'd by our Affections, and not by Virtue: Passion, and Reason, are a kind of Civil War within us; and as the one, or the other has Dominion, we are either Good, or Bad. So that it should be our Care, that the worst Mixture may not prevail. And they are link'd, like the Chain of Causes, and Effects, one to another. Betwixt violent Passion, and a Fluctuation, or Wambling of the Mind, there is such a Difference, as betwixt the Agitation of a Storm, and the Nauseous Sickness of a Calm. And they have all of them their Symptoms too, as well as our Bodily Distempers: They that are troubled with the Falling-Sickness, know when the Fit is a coming, by the Cold of the Extreme Parts; the Dazling of the Eyes; the Failing of the Memory; the Trembling of the Nerves, and the Giddiness of the Head: So that every Man knows his own Disease, and should provide against it. Anger, Love, Sadness, Fear, may be read in the Countenance; and so may the Virtues too. Fortitude makes the Eye Vigorous; Prudence makes it Intent; Reverence shews it self in Modesty; Joy, in Serenity; and Truth, in Openness, and Simplicity. There are sown the Seeds of Divine Things in Mortal Bodies. If the Mind be well Cultivated, the Fruit answers the Original; and, if not, all runs into Weeds. We are all of us Sick of Curable Diseases; And it costs us more to be Miserable, than would make us perfectly Happy. Consider the Peaceable state of Clemency, and the Turbulence of Anger; the Softness, and Quiet of Modesty, and the Restlessness of Lust. How cheap, and easie to us is the Service of Virtue, and how dear we pay for our Vices! The Sovereign Good of Man, is a Mind that subjects all things to it self; and is it self subject to nothing: His Pleasures are Modest, Severe, and Reserv'd; and rather the Sauce, or the Diversion of Life, than the Entertainment of it. It may be some Question, whether such a Man goes to Heaven, or Heaven comes to Him: For a good Man is Influenc'd, by God himself; and has a kind of Divinity within him. What if one Good Man Lives in Pleasure, and Plenty, and another in Want, and Misery? 'Tis no Virtue, to contemn Superfluities, but Necessities: And they are both of them Equally Good, though under several Circumstances, and in different Stations.
(pp. 474-476)",,19195,Rich Passage: see 5 entries following,"""There is not so Disproportionate a Mixture in any Creature, as that is in Man, of Soul and Body ... But, a Good Sword is never the worse for an ill Scabbard.""","",2011-09-20 16:25:31 UTC,Epistle XXII.
7097,"","Searching ""mind"" in Google Books",2011-09-20 16:27:19 UTC,"There is not so Disproportionate a Mixture in any Creature, as that is in Man, of Soul and Body. There is Intemperance, join'd with Divinity; Folly, with Severity; Sloth, with Activity; and Uncleanness, with Purity. But, a Good Sword is never the worse for an ill Scabbard. We are mov'd more by Imaginary Fears, than Truths; for Truth has a Certainty, and Foundation; but, in the other, we are expos'd to the Licence, and Conjecture of a distracted Mind; and our Enemies, are not more Imperious, than our Pleasures. We set our Hearts upon Transitory Things; as if they Themselves were Everlasting; or We, on the other side, to possess them for Ever. Why do we not rather advance our Thoughts to things that are Eternal, and contemplate the Heavenly Original of all Beings? Why do we not, by the Divinity of Reason, triumph over the Weaknesses of Flesh, and Blood? It is by Providence that the World is preserv'd; and not from any Virtue in the Matter of it; for the World is as Mortal as we are; only the Almighty Wisdom carries it safe through all the Motions of Corruption. And so by Prudence, Human Life it self may be prolong'd if we will but stint our selves in those Pleasures, that bring the greater part of us untimely to our End. Our Passions are nothing else but certain Disallowable Motions of the Mind; Sudden, and Eager; which, by Frequency, and Neglect, turn to a Disease; as a Distillation brings us first to a Cough, and then to a Phthisick. We are carry'd Up to the Heavens, and Down again into the Deep, by Turns; so long as we are govern'd by our Affections, and not by Virtue: Passion, and Reason, are a kind of Civil War within us; and as the one, or the other has Dominion, we are either Good, or Bad. So that it should be our Care, that the worst Mixture may not prevail. And they are link'd, like the Chain of Causes, and Effects, one to another. Betwixt violent Passion, and a Fluctuation, or Wambling of the Mind, there is such a Difference, as betwixt the Agitation of a Storm, and the Nauseous Sickness of a Calm. And they have all of them their Symptoms too, as well as our Bodily Distempers: They that are troubled with the Falling-Sickness, know when the Fit is a coming, by the Cold of the Extreme Parts; the Dazling of the Eyes; the Failing of the Memory; the Trembling of the Nerves, and the Giddiness of the Head: So that every Man knows his own Disease, and should provide against it. Anger, Love, Sadness, Fear, may be read in the Countenance; and so may the Virtues too. Fortitude makes the Eye Vigorous; Prudence makes it Intent; Reverence shews it self in Modesty; Joy, in Serenity; and Truth, in Openness, and Simplicity. There are sown the Seeds of Divine Things in Mortal Bodies. If the Mind be well Cultivated, the Fruit answers the Original; and, if not, all runs into Weeds. We are all of us Sick of Curable Diseases; And it costs us more to be Miserable, than would make us perfectly Happy. Consider the Peaceable state of Clemency, and the Turbulence of Anger; the Softness, and Quiet of Modesty, and the Restlessness of Lust. How cheap, and easie to us is the Service of Virtue, and how dear we pay for our Vices! The Sovereign Good of Man, is a Mind that subjects all things to it self; and is it self subject to nothing: His Pleasures are Modest, Severe, and Reserv'd; and rather the Sauce, or the Diversion of Life, than the Entertainment of it. It may be some Question, whether such a Man goes to Heaven, or Heaven comes to Him: For a good Man is Influenc'd, by God himself; and has a kind of Divinity within him. What if one Good Man Lives in Pleasure, and Plenty, and another in Want, and Misery? 'Tis no Virtue, to contemn Superfluities, but Necessities: And they are both of them Equally Good, though under several Circumstances, and in different Stations.
(pp. 474-476)",,19196,"","""Our Passions are nothing else but certain Disallowable Motions of the Mind; Sudden, and Eager; which, by Frequency, and Neglect, turn to a Disease; as a Distillation brings us first to a Cough, and then to a Phthisick.""","",2011-09-20 16:27:19 UTC,Epistle XXII.
7097,"","Searching ""mind"" in Google Books",2011-09-20 16:34:14 UTC,"There is not so Disproportionate a Mixture in any Creature, as that is in Man, of Soul and Body. There is Intemperance, join'd with Divinity; Folly, with Severity; Sloth, with Activity; and Uncleanness, with Purity. But, a Good Sword is never the worse for an ill Scabbard. We are mov'd more by Imaginary Fears, than Truths; for Truth has a Certainty, and Foundation; but, in the other, we are expos'd to the Licence, and Conjecture of a distracted Mind; and our Enemies, are not more Imperious, than our Pleasures. We set our Hearts upon Transitory Things; as if they Themselves were Everlasting; or We, on the other side, to possess them for Ever. Why do we not rather advance our Thoughts to things that are Eternal, and contemplate the Heavenly Original of all Beings? Why do we not, by the Divinity of Reason, triumph over the Weaknesses of Flesh, and Blood? It is by Providence that the World is preserv'd; and not from any Virtue in the Matter of it; for the World is as Mortal as we are; only the Almighty Wisdom carries it safe through all the Motions of Corruption. And so by Prudence, Human Life it self may be prolong'd if we will but stint our selves in those Pleasures, that bring the greater part of us untimely to our End. Our Passions are nothing else but certain Disallowable Motions of the Mind; Sudden, and Eager; which, by Frequency, and Neglect, turn to a Disease; as a Distillation brings us first to a Cough, and then to a Phthisick. We are carry'd Up to the Heavens, and Down again into the Deep, by Turns; so long as we are govern'd by our Affections, and not by Virtue: Passion, and Reason, are a kind of Civil War within us; and as the one, or the other has Dominion, we are either Good, or Bad. So that it should be our Care, that the worst Mixture may not prevail. And they are link'd, like the Chain of Causes, and Effects, one to another. Betwixt violent Passion, and a Fluctuation, or Wambling of the Mind, there is such a Difference, as betwixt the Agitation of a Storm, and the Nauseous Sickness of a Calm. And they have all of them their Symptoms too, as well as our Bodily Distempers: They that are troubled with the Falling-Sickness, know when the Fit is a coming, by the Cold of the Extreme Parts; the Dazling of the Eyes; the Failing of the Memory; the Trembling of the Nerves, and the Giddiness of the Head: So that every Man knows his own Disease, and should provide against it. Anger, Love, Sadness, Fear, may be read in the Countenance; and so may the Virtues too. Fortitude makes the Eye Vigorous; Prudence makes it Intent; Reverence shews it self in Modesty; Joy, in Serenity; and Truth, in Openness, and Simplicity. There are sown the Seeds of Divine Things in Mortal Bodies. If the Mind be well Cultivated, the Fruit answers the Original; and, if not, all runs into Weeds. We are all of us Sick of Curable Diseases; And it costs us more to be Miserable, than would make us perfectly Happy. Consider the Peaceable state of Clemency, and the Turbulence of Anger; the Softness, and Quiet of Modesty, and the Restlessness of Lust. How cheap, and easie to us is the Service of Virtue, and how dear we pay for our Vices! The Sovereign Good of Man, is a Mind that subjects all things to it self; and is it self subject to nothing: His Pleasures are Modest, Severe, and Reserv'd; and rather the Sauce, or the Diversion of Life, than the Entertainment of it. It may be some Question, whether such a Man goes to Heaven, or Heaven comes to Him: For a good Man is Influenc'd, by God himself; and has a kind of Divinity within him. What if one Good Man Lives in Pleasure, and Plenty, and another in Want, and Misery? 'Tis no Virtue, to contemn Superfluities, but Necessities: And they are both of them Equally Good, though under several Circumstances, and in different Stations.
(pp. 474-476)",,19200,"","""It may be some Question, whether such a Man goes to Heaven, or Heaven comes to Him: For a good Man is Influenc'd, by God himself; and has a kind of Divinity within him.""","",2011-09-20 16:34:14 UTC,Epistle XXII.
7530,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:43:19 UTC,"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)",,21640,"","""Those Senses lost, behold a new defeat; / The Soul, dislodging from another seat.""",Throne,2013-07-11 14:43:19 UTC,""
7532,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 14:48:29 UTC,"XVIII.
But why must those be thought to scape, that feel
Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel
Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls,
And spreads Amazing Terrors through their Souls?
Not sharp Revenge, not Hell it self can find
A fiercer Torment, than a Guilty Mind,
Which Day and Night doth dreadfully accuse,
Condemns the Wretch, and still the Charge renews.
(p. 267, ll. 248-55)",,21642,"","""But why must those be thought to scape, that feel / Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel / Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls, / And spreads Amazing Terrors through their Souls?""",Animals,2013-07-11 14:48:29 UTC,""
7534,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 15:00:41 UTC,"As Maids to Venus offer Baby-Toys,
To bless the Marriage-Bed with Girls and Boys.
But let us for the Gods a Gift prepare,
Which the Great Man's Great Chargers cannot bear
Soul, where Laws both Humane and Divine,
In Practice more than Speculation shine:
A genuine Virtue, of a vigorous kind,
Pure in the last recesses of the Mind:
When with such Off'rings to the Gods I come;
A Cake, thus giv'n, is worth a Hecatomb.
(p. 26, ll. 126-135)",,21645,"","""But let us for the Gods a Gift prepare, / Which the Great Man's Great Chargers cannot bear / Soul, where Laws both Humane and Divine, / In Practice more than Speculation shine: / A genuine Virtue, of a vigorous kind, / Pure in the last recesses of the Mind.""",Rooms,2013-07-11 15:00:49 UTC,""
7535,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 15:03:22 UTC,"Yet, thy moist Clay is pliant to Command;
Unwrought, and easie to the Potter's hand:
Now take the Mold; now bend thy Mind to feel
The first sharp Motions of the Forming Wheel.
But thou hast Land; a Country Seat, secure
By a just Title; costly Furniture;
A Fuming-Pan thy Lares to appease:
What need of Learning when a Man's at ase?
If this be not enough to swell thy Soul,
Then please thy Pride, and search the Herald's Roll:
Where thou shalt find thy famous Pedigree
Drawn from the Root of some old Thuscan Tree;
And thou, a Thousand, off, a Fool of long Degree.
Who, clad in Purple, canst thy Censor greet;
And, loudly, call him Cousin, in the Street.
(pp. 33-4, ll. 38-52)",,21646,"Much cited, I think. I feel I've seen these lines variously Englished by different poets and cited as is.","""Yet, thy moist Clay is pliant to Command; / Unwrought, and easie to the Potter's hand: / Now take the Mold; now bend thy Mind to feel / The first sharp Motions of the Forming Wheel.""","",2013-07-11 15:03:22 UTC,""
7535,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 15:04:24 UTC,"Thy Years are ripe, nor art thou yet to learn
What's Good or Ill, and both their Ends discern:
Thou, in the Stoick Porch, severely bred,
Hast heard the Dogma's of great Zeno read:
Where on the Walls, by Polignotus Hand,
The Conquer'd Medians in Trunk-Breeches stand.
Where the Shorn Youth, to Midnight-Lectures rise,
Rous'd from their Slumbers, to be early wise:
Where the coarse Cake, and homely Husks of Beans,
From pamp'ring Riot the young Stomach weans:
And, where the Samian Y, directs thy Steps to run,
To Virtue's Narrow Steep, and Broad-way Vice to shun.
And yet thou snor'st; thou draw'st thy Drunken Breath,
Sour with Debauch; and sleep'st the Sleep of Death.
Thy Chaps are fallen, and thy Frame dis-joyn'd:
Thy Body as dissolv'd as is thy Mind.
(pp. 36-7, ll. 99-115)",,21647,"","""Thy Chaps are fallen, and thy Frame dis-joyn'd: / Thy Body as dissolv'd as is thy Mind.""","",2013-07-11 15:04:24 UTC,""