work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4090,"","Found searching ""fancy"" and ""guest"" in HDIS (Poetry); text from to ECCO-TCP",2006-03-14 00:00:00 UTC,"MADAM, There's nothing here that's free
From wearisome Anxiety:
And the whole Round of Mortal Joys
With short possession tires and cloys:
'Tis a dull Circle that we tread
Just from the Window to the Bed,
We rise to see and to be seen,
Gaze on the World a while, and then
We Yawn and Stretch to Sleep again.
But FANCY, that uneasie Guest
Still holds a Lodging in our Beast;
She finds or frames Vexations still,
Her self the greatest Plague we feel.
(pp. 189-190 in 1706 ed.)",2014-02-07,10536,"From Book II. Sacred to Virtue, Honour, and Friendship
Note variant in 1810: ""Varia"" for ""Madam""","""But FANCY, that unease Guest / Still holds a Lodging in our Beast; / She finds or frames Vexations still, / Her self the greatest Plague we feel.""",Inhabitants,2014-02-07 15:50:34 UTC,""
4209,"",HDIS,2003-10-26 00:00:00 UTC,"To him then Hector with Disdain return'd;
(Fierce as he spoke, his Eyes with Fury burn'd)
Are these the faithful Counsels of thy Tongue?
Thy Will is partial, not thy Reason wrong:
Or if the Purpose of thy Heart thou vent,
Sure Heav'n resumes the little Sense it lent.
What coward Counsels would thy Madness move,
Against the Word, the Will reveal'd of Jove ?
The leading Sign, th'irrevocable Nod,
And happy Thunders of the fav'ring God,
These shall I slight? and guide my wav'ring Mind
By wand'ring Birds, that flit with ev'ry Wind?
Ye Vagrants of the Sky! your Wings extend,
Or where the Suns arise, or where descend;
To right, to left, unheeded take your way,
While I the Dictates of high Heav'n obey.
Without a Sign, his Sword the brave Man draws,
And asks no Omen but his Country's Cause.
But why should'st thou suspect the War's Success?
None fears it more, as none promotes it less:
Tho' all our Chiefs amid yon' Ships expire,
Trust thy own Cowardice to 'scape their Fire.
Troy and her Sons may find a gen'ral Grave,
But thou can'st live, for thou can'st be a Slave.
Yet should the Fears that wary Mind suggests
Spread their cold Poison thro' our Soldier's Breasts,
My Javelin can revenge so base a Part,
And free the Soul that quivers in thy Heart.
(ll. 267-94)",,10922,•I've included twice: Poison and Inhabitant,"""Yet should the Fears that wary Mind suggests / Spread their cold Poison thro' our Soldier's Breasts, / My Javelin can revenge so base a Part, / And free the Soul that quivers in thy Heart.""","",2009-09-14 19:35:23 UTC,Hector's Speech
5366,"",HDIS (Poetry),2004-01-06 00:00:00 UTC,"For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch
Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string
Consenting, sounded through the warbling air
Unbidden strains; even so did nature's hand
To certain species of external things,
Attune the finer organs of the mind:
So the glad impulse of congenial powers,
Or of sweet sound, or fair proportion'd form,
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
Thrills through imagination's tender frame,
From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive
They catch the spreading rays: till now the soul
At length discloses every tuneful spring,
To that harmonious movement from without
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain
Diffuses its inchantment: fancy dreams
Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves,
And vales of bliss: the intellectual power
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
And smiles: the passions, gently sooth'd away,
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy
Alone are waking; love and joy, serene
As airs that fan the summer. O! attend,
Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch,
Whose candid bosom the refining love
Of nature warms, o! listen to my song;
And i will guide thee to her favourite walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.
(Bk. I, ll. 109-39, pp. 17-8)",2011-06-11,14404,"•Edited to include more lines: Throne and Population now lumped in; two entries deleted.
•INTERESTING. The intellectual power is often female.","""Then the inexpressive strain / Diffuses its inchantment: fancy dreams / Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves, / And vales of bliss: the intellectual power / Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear, / And smiles: the passions, gently sooth'd away, / Sink to divine repose, and love and joy / Alone are waking; love and joy, serene / As airs that fan the summer.""",Inhabitants and Throne,2011-06-11 19:18:54 UTC,Book I
7407,"",Reading,2013-06-10 19:54:27 UTC,"And, first, the importance of our end survey'd.
Friends counsel quick dismission of our grief.
Mistaken kindness! our hearts heal too soon.
Are they more kind than He who struck the blow,
Who bid it do His errand in our hearts,
And banish peace, till nobler guests arrive,
And bring it back a true and endless peace?
Calamities are friends: as glaring day
Of these unnumber'd lustres robs our sight,
Prosperity puts out unnumber'd thoughts
Of import high, and light Divine, to man.
(ll. 299-309, pp. 124-5 in CUP edition)",,20492,"","""Mistaken kindness! our hearts heal too soon. / Are they more kind than He who struck the blow, / Who bid it do His errand in our hearts, / And banish peace, till nobler guests arrive, / And bring it back a true and endless peace?""",Inhabitants,2013-06-10 19:55:06 UTC,Night the Fifth
7407,"",Reading,2013-06-10 20:08:03 UTC,"Is this the cause Death flies all human thought?
Or is it Judgment by the Will struck blind,
(That domineering mistress of the soul,)
Like him so strong, by Delilah the fair?
Or is it Fear turns startled Reason back,
From looking down a precipice so steep?
'Tis dreadful; and the dread is wisely placed,
By Nature, conscious of the make of man.
A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind,
A flaming sword to guard the tree of life.
By that unawed, in life's most smiling hour,
The good man would repine; would suffer joys,
And burn impatient for his promised skies.
The bad, on each punctilious pique of Pride,
Or gloom of Humour, would give Rage the rein,
Bound o'er the barrier, rush into the dark,
And mar the schemes of Providence below.
(ll. 417-433, pp. 127-8 in CUP edition)",,20496,"","""Is this the cause Death flies all human thought? / Or is it Judgment by the Will struck blind, / (That domineering mistress of the soul,) / Like him so strong, by Delilah the fair?""",Inhabitants,2013-06-10 20:08:03 UTC,Night the Fifth
7682,"",Reading,2013-09-18 15:09:49 UTC,"Wit, like a hasty Flood, may over-run us,
And too much Sense has oftentimes undone us:
Wit is a Flux, a Looseness of the Brain,
And Sense-abstract has too much Pride to reign:
Wit-unconcoct is the Extream of Sloth,
And too much Sense is the Extream of both;
Abstracted-Wit 'Tis own'd is a Disease,
But Sense-abstracted has no Power to please:
For Sense, like Water, is but Wit condense,
And Wit, like Air, is rarify'd from Sense:
Meer Sense is sullen; stiff, and unpolite,
Meer Wit is Apoplectick, thin, and light:
Wit is a King without a Parliament,
And Sense a Democratick Government:
Wit, like the French, wher'e'er it reigns destroys,
And Sense advanc'd is apt to Tyrannize:
Wit without Sense is like the Laughing-Evil,
And Sense unmix'd with Fancy is the D---l.
Wit is a Standing-Army Government,
And Sense a sullen stubborn P---t:
Wit by its haste anticipates its Fate,
And so does Sense by being obstinate:
Wit without Sense in Verse is all but Farce,
Sense without Wit in Verse is all mine A---.
Wit, like the French, performs before it thinks,
And thoughtful Sense without Performance sinks;
Sense without Wit is Flegmatick and pale,
And is all Head, forsooth, without a Tail:
Wit without Sense is Cholerick and Red,
Has Tail enough indeed, but has no Head.
Wit, like the jangling Chimes, rings all in one,
Till Sense, the Artist, sets them into Tune:
Wit, like the Belly, if it be not fed,
Will starve the Members, and distract the Head.
Wit is the Fruitful Womb where Thoughts conceive,
Sense is the Vital Heat which Life and Form must give:
Wit is the Teeming Mother brings them forth,
Sense is the Active Father gives them Worth.
United: Wit and Sense, makes Science thrive,
Divided: neither Wit nor Sense can live;
For while the Parties eagerly contend,
The Mortal Strife must in their mutual Ruin end.
(pp. 165-7, ll. 353-394)",,22803,"","""Wit is the Fruitful Womb where Thoughts conceive, / Sense is the Vital Heat which Life and Form must give: / Wit is the Teeming Mother brings them forth, /
Sense is the Active Father gives them Worth.""",Inhabitants,2013-09-18 15:12:10 UTC,""