text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"God, as a fierce, relentless Foe appears,
And in his Fury me in pieces tears.
He grinds his raging Teeth, and from his Eyes
A Flame against me keen, as Light'ning flies.
My Friends elated with prodigious Pride,
Stand gaping on me, and my Grief deride.
From distant parts they come, not to asswage
My Anguish, but my Suff'rings to enrage.
God has expos'd me likewise to the Bands
Of fierce invaders from the neighb'ring Lands,
And giv'n me up a Prey to impious hands.
My Dwelling flourish'd, and I liv'd at ease,
With Plenty blest, and the soft Joys of Peace;
When God denounc'd his unexpected War,
And with his Darts did me asunder tare.
Me in his griping Arms th' Almighty took,
And with such mighty force my body shook,
That all my Members were in pieces broke.
He sets me as a mark on rising ground,
And his fierce Archers compass me around.
In Showers of singing Death their Arrows fly,
And in my tortur'd Entrails buried ly.
My Gall, so deep, so mortal is the Wound,
As well as Blood, flows out and stains the Ground.
Black throngs of Woes invade my frighted Soul,
As crowding Billows on each other roll.
Th' Almighty runs upon me in his rage,
As a fierce Gyant eager to engage.
Sackcloth I wear, of Ornaments despoil'd,
And in the Dust my Glory lies defil'd.
My Cheeks with Everlasting Weeping fade,
And on my Eye-lids hangs a dismal shade.",2009-09-14 19:34:53 UTC,"""Black throngs of Woes invade my frighted Soul, / As crowding Billows on each other roll.""",2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-01-20,"","",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10313,3963
"The Passions still Predominant will Rule,
Ungovern'd, Rude, not Bred in Reason's School;
Our Understanding They with Darkness fill,
Cause strong Corruptions, and pervert the Will;
On These the Soul, as on some Flowing Tide,
Must sit, and on the raging Billows Ride,
Hurry'd away, for how can be withstood
Th' Impetuous Torrent of the boyling Blood?
Begon false Hopes, for all our Learning's Vain,
Can we be free, where These the Rule Maintain?
These are the Tools of Knowledge which we use;
The Spirits heated will strange Things produce;
Tell me who e'er the Passions cou'd Controul,
Or from the Body disengage the Soul;
Till this is done, our best Pursuits are vain
To conquer Truth and unmix'd Knowledge Gain.
Thro' all the bulky Volums of the Dead,
And thro' those Books that Modern Times have Bred.
With pain we Travel, as thro' moorish Ground,
Where scarce one useful Plant is ever found;
O'rerun with Errors which so thick appear,
Our Search proves vain, no spark of Truth is there.
(pp. 4-5)",2011-07-18 18:22:34 UTC,"""On these [passions] the Soul, as on some Flowing Tide, / Must sit, and on the raging Billows Ride, / Hurry'd away, for how can be withstood / Th' Impetuous Torrent of the boiling Blood?""",2004-06-22 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2011-07-18,"","•I've included thrice: Tide, Billows, Torrent
•There is not any clear tempest here... FIXED",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),11432,4353
"Those who wou'd Learning's glorious Kingdom find,
The dear bought Purchase of the Trading Mind;
From many Dangers must themselves acquit,
And more than Scylla and Charibdis meet;
Oh! What an Ocean must be Voyag'd o're,
To Gain a Prospect of the shining Shore;
Resisting Rocks oppose th' Inquiring Soul,
And adverse Waves retard it as they Rowl.
(p. 9)",2013-06-26 16:03:25 UTC,"The ""Trading Mind"" must voyage over an Ocean, but ""Resisting Rocks oppose th' Inquiring Soul, / And adverse Waves retard it as they Rowl.""",2011-07-18 18:52:40 UTC,"","",,"",Trade? Interesting stanza. The mind is a ship? Or is the mind on board some ship.,Reading,18909,4353
"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)",2013-09-18 14:48:49 UTC,"""Wit, like a hasty Flood, may over-run us, / And too much Sense has oftentimes undone us.""",2013-09-18 14:31:26 UTC,"","",,"","FOUND and FIXED TYPOS in C-H Lion transcription: ""rarisy'd"" and ""advant'd""",Reading,22791,7682
"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)",2013-09-18 14:49:18 UTC,"""Wit is a Flux, a Looseness of the Brain, / And Sense-abstract has too much Pride to reign.""",2013-09-18 14:33:58 UTC,"","",,"","OED: ""An abnormally copious flowing of blood, excrement, etc. from the bowels or other organs; a morbid or excessive discharge. spec. An early name for dysentery; also †red flux, †flux of blood, bloody flux (see main entry).""",Reading,22792,7682
"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 advant'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)",2013-09-18 14:40:28 UTC,"""For Sense, like Water, is but Wit condense, / And Wit, like Air, is rarify'd from Sense.""",2013-09-18 14:37:46 UTC,"","",,"","FIXING TYPO in C-H Lion: ""rarisy'd""",Reading,22794,7682