theme,metaphor,work_id,dictionary,provenance,id,created_at,updated_at,reviewed_on,comments,text,context
"","""Nay some affirm that in the deepest Cell / Imperial Reason's self does not disdain to dwell.""
",3978,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10320,2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,2013-11-13 05:10:37 UTC,,•REREAD. Interesting passage. Confuses interior and exterior. A metaphor of mind that is not in the mind!,"A Cave there is wherein those Nymphs reside
Who all the Realms of Sense and Fancy guide;
Nay some affirm that in the deepest Cell
Imperial Reason's self does not disdain to dwell:
With Living Reed 'tis thatch'd and guarded round,
Which mov'd by Winds emit a Silver Sound:
Two Crystal Fountains near its Entrance play,
Wide scatt'ring Golden Streams which ne'er decay,
Two Labyrinths behind harmonious Sounds convey:
Chiefly, within, the Room of State is fam'd
Of rich Mosaick Work divinely fram'd:
Of small Extent to view, 'twill all things hide,
Heav'n's Azure Arch it self not half so wide:
Here all the Arts their sacred Mansion chuse,
Here dwells the Mother of the Heav'n-born Muse:
With wond'rous mystic Figures round 'tis wrought
Inlaid with Fancy, and anneal'd with Thought:
With more than humane Skill depicted here
The various Images of Things appear;
What Was, or Is, or labours yet to Be
Within the Womb of Dark Futurity,
May Stowage in this wondrous Storehouse find,
Yet leave unnumber'd empty Cells behind:
But ah! as fast they come, they fly too fast,
Not Life or Happiness are more in haste:
Only the First Great Mind himself can stay
The Fugitives, and at one Glance survey;
But those whom he disdains not to befriend,
Uncommon Souls, who nearest Heav'n ascend
Far more, at once, than others comprehend:
Whate'er within this sacred Hall you find,
Whate'er will lodge in your capacious Mind
Let Judgment sort, and skilful Method bind;
And as from these you draw your antient Store
Daily supply the Magazine with more.
Furnish'd with such Materials he'll excel
Who when he works is sure to work 'em well;
This Art alone, as Nature that bestows,
And in Perfection both, th' accomplish'd Verser knows.
Knows to persuade, and how to speak, and when;
The Rules of Life, and Manners knows and Men:
Those narrow Lines which Good and Ill divide;
And by what Balance Just and Right are try'd:
How Kindred-Things with Things are closely join'd;
How Bodies act, and by what Laws confin'd,
Supported, mov'd and rul'd by th' Universal Mind.
When the moist Kids or burning Sirius rise;
Through what ambiguous Ways Hyperion flies,
And marks our Upper or the Nether Skies.
He knows those Strings to touch with artful Hand
Which rule Mankind, and all the World command:
What moves the Soul, and every secret Cell
Where Pity, Love, and all the Passions dwell.
The Music of his Verse can Anger raise,
Which with a softer Stroak he smooths and lays:
Can Emulation, Terror, all excite,
Compress the Soul with Grief, or swell with vast Delight.
If this you can, your Care you'll well bestow,
And some new Milton or a Spencer grow;
If not, a Poet ne'er expect to be,
Content to Rime, like D---y or like me.",""
"","""The Mind no nobler Wisdom can attain, / Than to inspect and study all the Man: / His awful Looks confess the Race Divine; / In him the Beauties of the Godhead shine: / With Majesty he fills great Reason's Throne, / The Subject World their rightful Monarch own.""",4141,Throne,"Searching ""throne"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry)",10643,2004-07-27 00:00:00 UTC,2013-06-26 17:10:53 UTC,,""," The Mind no nobler Wisdom can attain,
Than to inspect and study all the Man:
His awful Looks confess the Race Divine;
In him the Beauties of the Godhead shine:
With Majesty he fills great Reason's Throne,
The Subject World their rightful Monarch own:
His ranging Soul in narrow Bounds contains
All Nature's Works, o'er which in Peace he reigns;
His Head resembles Jove's Eternal Seat,
In which Inthron'd, he sways the Heav'nly State,
And with assembled Gods, consults of Fate:
The feather'd Envoys, all in shining Crowds;
Attend his Throne, and watch his awful Nods:
Catch his Commands, and thro' the Liquid Air
To the low World the Sacred Errand bear:
Just so the Head of Man contains within
The Intellect, with Rays and Light Divine:
The Senses stand around; the Spirits roam
To seize and bring the fleeting Objects home:
Thro' every Nerve and every Pore they pass,
And fill with chearful Light the gloomy Space;
The Heart, the Center of the manly Breast,
Just like the Sun, in lovely Purple drest,
Diffuses all the Liquid Crimson round,
Whence Life, and Vigour, Heat and Strength abound:
And as great Phoebus sometimes rages high,
And scorches with his Beams the sultry Sky:
So when the Heart with Rage, or flaming Ire,
Grows warm, or burns with Love's consuming Fire:
The catching Virals spread the Flames afar.
And all the Limbs the hot Contagion share,
As solid Shores contain the liquid Seas,
Just so the Stomach, a soft watry Mass,
Stagnates beneath and fills the lower Space:
Here, Winds, and Rains, and humid Vapours lie,
And these exhal'd with Heat, all upwards fly:
As mantling Clouds conceal the fickly Sun,
Dissolve in Dew and drive the Tempest down:
So when thick Humours from the Stomach rise,
They damp the Soul, and sprightly Faculties:
Then Night and Death their gloomy Shades display,
Till the bright Spark within, the heav'nly Ray,
Dispels the Darkness, and restores the Day.
",""
"","The soul may become ""Oblig'd the subject Senses to obey, / And only range, where they direct the Way""",4141,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10668,2005-07-19 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:10 UTC,,"","But since the Vertues all, a lovely Train,
That raise the Soul, and beautifie the Man;
Depend upon the Judgment of the Mind,
Thence to the Will an easie Passage find,
And ripen into Action: Guard with Care
That bufie Part, from Clouds and Vapours clear,
With Art and Industry the Soul refine,
And let the Morn with all its Lustre in;
The Fates indeed obstruct the Noble Art:
The Search of Truths too long and Life too short:
Black Night comes on, and interrupts the Day,
E'er it can chase the Mists and Fogs away;
The Dregs of Flesh and Drossy Lees, o'errun
The Soul, and weigh the strugling Spirit down:
In Darkness hid, it wanders far astray,
Oblig'd the subject Senses to obey,
And only range, where they direct the Way;
But tho' the Task be difficult and hard,
Despair not, Wisdom will the Toil reward:
The Globe with Objects fill'd, a vast Immense,
Breeds various Forms for Reason, and for Sense:
Seek not to know, or comprehend, the Whole,
But chuse the brightest Objects for the Soul.",""
"","A beloved may make her lover's heart a ""Sov'reign Throne"" and ""reign unrivall'd there""",4163,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""throne"" in HDIS (Poetry)",10739,2004-08-09 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:14 UTC,,"","O thou most charming kind Temptation,
More fragrant than the sweet Carnation,
Soft as the Belly of a Snail,
And brighter than the Glow-worm's Tail;
Oh that I durst, or was but free
T'improve this Opportunity,
In paying to so dear a Creature
The warm Acknowledgments of Nature;
But I alas am riveted
By Wounds and Bruises to my Bed,
And to my Grief by spiteful chance
Am doom'd to present Impotence;
Besides to this unlucky Bar
Ill Fortune adds a greater far,
Which is the plighted Faith between
My self and Beauty's only Queen,
A certain Princess young and gay,
Whose Name is Fair Dulcinea,
Born at Toboso, she alone
Has made my Heart her Sov'reign Throne,
Where I have vow'd that she shall bear
The Rule, and reign unrivall'd there.
",""
"","In Catholicism ""All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place, / And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.""",4168,"",HDIS,10757,2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:15 UTC,2009-04-15,"","All Learning to themselves the Church ingross'd,
The Layman's Right of Literature was lost:
God's Word they made peculiar to their Schools,
Learn'd were their Shepherds, but their Flocks were Fool
Who pray'd and paid, and without further thought,
Believ'd in gross whate'er the Pulpit taught.
All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place,
And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.
So blind was Zeal, the People so unwise,
That in their transubstantiate Sacrifice,
They'd trust their erring Guides before their faithful Eyes,
Believe the Euch'rist to be Flesh indeed,
Which their own Senses prov'd to be but Bread.
Sure that Relig'on ne'er could be of Heav'n,
That robs us of that Knowledge God has giv'n.
If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light,
How came our Guides to know the wrong from right,
Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain,
Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.
I doubt, were they of Reason dispossest,
'Twould puzzle 'em to determine which was best.
Reason's the heav'nly Ray that lights the Soul,
And the Faith dark that does its Power controul.
Fools without Thought are in Opinion stiff,
But wise Men on sound Reason ground Belief:
How that they find what for the Soul is good,
As by their Smell and Taste they judge their Food;
For who but each Man's Reason ought to try
'Tis Faith, who must be sav'd or damn'd thereby.
But useful Reason was, alas! deny'd,
And Souls depended on their outward Guide.
Th'eternal Word implicitly they took,
And did not dare to soil the sacred Book;
But, hoping well, took all things on content,
And, to enrich their Priests, kept always Lent;
Gave Sums of value, each to his degree,
For worthless Baubles of Idolatry;
Increas'd their own great Miseries and Wants,
T'adorn with gay Attire their wooden Saints.
When the Church Puppits were t'appear in State,
No Robes could be too rich, no Cost too great;
Each Bigot club'd, that the unharnas'd Shrine,
For sainted Log, might be profusely fine.
The People largely gave, but Heaven knows,
The Priest play'd booty when he bought the Cloaths,
And could not for his Soul be so upright,
To do his Saints that Justice which he might.
New Tissue Mantles for the Waxwork Child,
New Clouts and Cradle, for the Old were soil'd.
For good St. Peter a Pontifick Dress,
And costly Net his Function to express,
Of Gold and Silver made, which shew too plain,
Those were the only Nets to fish for Men:
Yet tho' their Saints were all so nobly clad,
The saving Clergy this wise Conduct had,
To keep their wooden Gods thus fine and gay,
Like foundling Bastards, at the Parish Pay.
Ten thousand Fopp'ries more did they contrive,
To gull the Laity that the Church might thrive.
Indulgences for any Sins they sold,
None fear'd Damnation, lest they wanted Gold:
But rigid Penance was enjoin'd the Poor,
And all such Misers as conceal'd their Store:
For very strait and rugged was the way
To Heav'n, for him that could and would not pay:
This Text was greatly by the Priests admir'd,
Where much is given, much shall be requir'd;
Whose genuine sence they basely did confound,
And, to their Gain, the sacred Words expound.
Thus their poor Hearers craftily were won,
First to be Bigots, next to be undone.
The Catalogue of mouldy Saints, 'tis true,
And number of their Beads, the People knew;
Were also taught in a strange Tongue to pray,
And could their Ave and Pater say:
But the blind Suppliants understood no more,
The sacred Jargon that they mumbled o'er,
Than Sappho's Parrots, taught to cry aloud,
That Sappho was a great and mighty God.",""
"","""If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light, / How came our Guides to know the wrong from right, / Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain, / Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.""",4168,Court,"Searching ""judge"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry)",10758,2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,2013-11-03 03:34:42 UTC,2009-04-15,"","All Learning to themselves the Church ingross'd,
The Layman's Right of Literature was lost:
God's Word they made peculiar to their Schools,
Learn'd were their Shepherds, but their Flocks were Fool
Who pray'd and paid, and without further thought,
Believ'd in gross whate'er the Pulpit taught.
All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place,
And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.
So blind was Zeal, the People so unwise,
That in their transubstantiate Sacrifice,
They'd trust their erring Guides before their faithful Eyes,
Believe the Euch'rist to be Flesh indeed,
Which their own Senses prov'd to be but Bread.
Sure that Relig'on ne'er could be of Heav'n,
That robs us of that Knowledge God has giv'n.
If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light,
How came our Guides to know the wrong from right,
Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain,
Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.
I doubt, were they of Reason dispossest,
'Twould puzzle 'em to determine which was best.
Reason's the heav'nly Ray that lights the Soul,
And the Faith dark that does its Power controul.
Fools without Thought are in Opinion stiff,
But wise Men on sound Reason ground Belief:
How that they find what for the Soul is good,
As by their Smell and Taste they judge their Food;
For who but each Man's Reason ought to try
'Tis Faith, who must be sav'd or damn'd thereby.
But useful Reason was, alas! deny'd,
And Souls depended on their outward Guide.
Th'eternal Word implicitly they took,
And did not dare to soil the sacred Book;
But, hoping well, took all things on content,
And, to enrich their Priests, kept always Lent;
Gave Sums of value, each to his degree,
For worthless Baubles of Idolatry;
Increas'd their own great Miseries and Wants,
T'adorn with gay Attire their wooden Saints.
When the Church Puppits were t'appear in State,
No Robes could be too rich, no Cost too great;
Each Bigot club'd, that the unharnas'd Shrine,
For sainted Log, might be profusely fine.
The People largely gave, but Heaven knows,
The Priest play'd booty when he bought the Cloaths,
And could not for his Soul be so upright,
To do his Saints that Justice which he might.
New Tissue Mantles for the Waxwork Child,
New Clouts and Cradle, for the Old were soil'd.
For good St. Peter a Pontifick Dress,
And costly Net his Function to express,
Of Gold and Silver made, which shew too plain,
Those were the only Nets to fish for Men:
Yet tho' their Saints were all so nobly clad,
The saving Clergy this wise Conduct had,
To keep their wooden Gods thus fine and gay,
Like foundling Bastards, at the Parish Pay.
Ten thousand Fopp'ries more did they contrive,
To gull the Laity that the Church might thrive.
Indulgences for any Sins they sold,
None fear'd Damnation, lest they wanted Gold:
But rigid Penance was enjoin'd the Poor,
And all such Misers as conceal'd their Store:
For very strait and rugged was the way
To Heav'n, for him that could and would not pay:
This Text was greatly by the Priests admir'd,
Where much is given, much shall be requir'd;
Whose genuine sence they basely did confound,
And, to their Gain, the sacred Words expound.
Thus their poor Hearers craftily were won,
First to be Bigots, next to be undone.
The Catalogue of mouldy Saints, 'tis true,
And number of their Beads, the People knew;
Were also taught in a strange Tongue to pray,
And could their Ave and Pater say:
But the blind Suppliants understood no more,
The sacred Jargon that they mumbled o'er,
Than Sappho's Parrots, taught to cry aloud,
That Sappho was a great and mighty God.",""
"","""Who can just Laws without Reserve obey, / Laws made secure from Arbitrary Sway, / Where Pow'r is limited, Justice confin'd, / To Rules of Reason, not a lawless Mind, / For that is Tyranny in any kind?""",4210,Court,"Found again searching ""law"" and ""mind HDIS (Poetry)",10938,2004-06-21 00:00:00 UTC,2010-01-26 18:06:34 UTC,2010-01-26,""," Good Heavens! Is this our Native Property,
For which we so much Time and Blood imploy?
No sure, 'tis something more and greater still,
We fancy't Freedom to do what we will.
Alas! is this the Liberty we boast,
For which just Heav'n our great Forefather curst?
Then he that is most Happy, and most Free,
Is he that knows least of such Liberty.
Who can just Laws without Reserve obey,
Laws made secure from Arbitrary Sway,
Where Pow'r is limited, Justice confin'd,
To Rules of Reason, not a lawless Mind,
For that is Tyranny in any kind?
",""
"","In Elections ""A Man who must not make the least Pretence / To judge by Reason, or be rul'd by Sence""",4210,"","",10941,2004-09-01 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:24 UTC,,"","Thus Liberty you see's a Heav'nly Thing,
That some wou'd not exchange to be a King;
While Bribes can make a Senate chosen Free,
And Gallick Wine buy English Liberty:
While good and honest Men these things abhor,
Strong Beer and Brandy makes a Senator.
But 'tis our English Birthright to be Free,
Elections are a kind of Jubilee,
By Custom privileg'd for Villany.
The Mob are then our Sov'reign Lords, that rule,
And who they chuse must be their Idol Fool.
A Man who must not make the least Pretence
To judge by Reason, or be rul'd by Sence,
But must, for what they chuse him, still maintain
Their Liberty and Property to reign.
The People then are mad with Liberty,
Tho' that's the meanest Blessing they enjoy.
Mistaken in their Aim, they miss the End,
That Happiness for which they so contend.
The Use of Liberty is known to few
Who steer aright, and can their Course pursue.
Man's Will's so various, Wise Men only know
What 'tis they wou'd, or what they wou'd not do.",""
Ruling Passion,"""Blows only pass 'twixt Porters and their Trulls, / Where brutish Rage, instead of Reason, rules, / Those of our Rank, altho' the Cause be great, / Should scorn to jar at such a scoundrel Rate.""",4335,"","",11334,2004-06-22 00:00:00 UTC,2011-08-30 14:39:25 UTC,2011-08-30,•I've included twice in Government: Rule of Passion and Rule of Reason,"Hardships, like these, I own might prove too great
For feeble Woman to sustain their Weight.
Had any Mistress in your Heart a share,
I must confess I no Revenge should spare.
The patient'st Wife alive, could never, sure,
A Rival in her nuptial Bed endure:
Such humble Acquiescence would proclaim
A Woman's Folly, to her publick Shame,
And shew the Wretch ridiculously tame:
Or should you strike me in an angry Mood,
You may be sure I'd poys'n you, if I cou'd:
But Men, like you, of Breeding and of Birth,
Can ne'er so far degen'rate from your Worth.
Blows only pass 'twixt Porters and their Trulls,
Where brutish Rage, instead of Reason, rules,
Those of our Rank, altho' the Cause be great,
Should scorn to jar at such a scoundrel Rate.
All but these grand Abuses, as I live,
I could forget, nay, heartily forgive;
But Blows and Rivals are Affronts so evil,
They'd make an Angel of a Wife turn Devil",Dialogue XVI
"","When passion cools, ""Reason may again bear Rule""",4335,"","",11336,2004-06-22 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:48 UTC,,"","
Indeed, Sir Samuel, if you do,
I'll cry out Cuckold, Cuckold too.
However, since your Spleen's so high,
I'll quit your Room till by and by,
And give your Passion time to cool,
That Reason may again bear Rule.
",Dialogue IX