work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3242,"","Searching ""reason"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"The Farmer's Toil is done; his Cades mature,
Now call for Vent, his Lands exhaust permit
T'indulge awhile. Now solemn Rites he pays
To Bacchus, Author of Heart-cheering Mirth.
His honest Friends, at thirsty hour of Dusk,
Come uninvited; he with bounteous Hand
Imparts his smoaking Vintage, sweet Reward
Of his own Industry; the well fraught Bowl
Circles incessant, whilst the humble Cell
With quavering Laugh, and rural Jests resounds.
Ease, and Content, and undissembled Love
Shine in each Face; the Thoughts of Labour past
Encrease their Joy. As, from retentive Cage
When sullen Philomel escapes, her Notes
She varies, and of past Imprisonment
Sweetly complains; her Liberty retriev'd
Cheers her sad Soul, improves her pleasing Song.
Gladsome they quaff, yet not exceed the Bounds
Of healthy Temp'rance, nor incroach on Night,
Season of Rest, but well bedew'd repair
Each to his Home, with unsupplanted Feet.
E'er Heav'n's emblazon'd by the Rosie Dawn
Domestic Cares awake them; brisk they rise,
Refresh'd, and lively with the Joys that flow
From amicable Talk, and moderate Cups
Sweetly' interchang'd. The pining Lover finds
Present Redress, and long Oblivion drinks
Of Coy Lucinda. Give the Debtor Wine;
His Joys are short, and few; yet when he drinks
His Dread retires, the flowing Glasses add
Courage, and Mirth: magnificent in Thought,
Imaginary Riches he enjoys,
And in the Goal expatiates unconfin'd.
Nor can the Poet Bacchus' Praise indite,
Debarr'd his Grape: The Muses still require
Humid Regalement, nor will aught avail
Imploring Phoebus, with unmoisten'd Lips.
Thus to the generous Bottle all incline,
By parching Thirst allur'd: With vehement Suns
When dusty Summer bakes the crumbling Clods,
How pleasant is't, beneath the twisted Arch
Of a retreating Bow'r, in Mid-day's Reign
To ply the sweet Carouse, remote from Noise,
Secur'd of fev'rish Heats! When th'aged Year
Inclines, and Boreas' Spirit blusters frore,
Beware th'inclement Heav'ns; now let thy Hearth
Crackle with juiceless Boughs; thy lingring Blood
Now instigate with th'Apples powerful Streams.
Perpetual Showers, and stormy Gusts confine
The willing Ploughman, and December warns
To Annual Jollities; now sportive Youth
Carol incondite Rhythms, with suiting Notes,
And quaver unharmonious; sturdy Swains
In clean Array, for rustic Dance prepare,
Mixt with the Buxom Damsels; hand in hand
They frisk, and bound, and various Mazes weave,
Shaking their brawny Limbs, with uncouth Mein,
Transported, and sometimes, an oblique Leer
Dart on their Loves, sometimes, an hasty Kiss
Steal from unwary Lasses; they with Scorn,
And Neck reclin'd, resent the ravish'd Bliss.
Mean while, blind British Bards with volant Touch
Traverse loquacious Strings, whose solemn Notes
Provoke to harmless Revels; these among,
A subtle Artist stands, in wondrous Bag
That bears imprison'd Winds, (of gentler sort
Than those, which erst Laertes Son enclos'd.)
Peaceful they sleep, but let the tuneful Squeeze
Of labouring Elbow rouse them, out they fly
Melodious, and with spritely Accents charm.
'Midst these Disports, forget they not to drench
Themselves with bellying Goblets, nor when Spring
Returns, can they refuse to usher in
The fresh-born Year with loud Acclaim, and store
Of jovial Draughts, now, when the sappy Boughs
Attire themselves with Blooms, sweet Rudiments
Of future Harvest: When the Gnossian Crown
Leads on expected Autumn, and the Trees
Discharge their mellow Burthens, let them thank
Boon Nature, that thus annually supplies
Their Vaults, and with her former Liquid Gifts
Exhilerate their languid Minds, within
The Golden Mean confin'd: Beyond, there's naught
Of Health, or Pleasure. Therefore, when thy Heart
Dilates with fervent Joys, and eager Soul
Prompts to persue the sparkling Glass, be sure
'Tis time to shun it; if thou wilt prolong
Dire Compotation, forthwith Reason quits
Her Empire to Confusion, and Misrule,
And vain Debates; then twenty Tongues at once
Conspire in senseless Jargon, naught is heard
But Din, and various Clamour, and mad Rant:
Distrust, and Jealousie to these succeed,
And anger-kindling Taunt, the certain Bane
Of well-knit Fellowship. Now horrid Frays
Commence, the brimming Glasses now are hurl'd
With dire Intent; Bottles with Bottles clash
In rude Encounter, round their Temples fly
The sharp-edg'd Fragments, down their batter'd Cheeks
Mixt Gore, and Cyder flow: What shall we say
Of rash Elpenor, who in evil Hour
Dry'd an immeasurable Bowl, and thought
T'exhale his Surfeit by irriguous Sleep,
Imprudent? Him, Death's Iron-Sleep opprest,
Descending careless from his Couch; the Fall
Luxt his Neck-joint, and spinal Marrow bruis'd.
",,8496,•Cider will cause reason to quit her empire.,"""[I]f thou wilt prolong / Dire Compotation, forthwith Reason quits / Her Empire to Confusion, and Misrule, / And vain Debates""","",2009-09-14 19:33:36 UTC,""
3799,Ruling Passion,"Searching ""ruling passion"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-05-18 00:00:00 UTC,"Each Poet, with a different Talent writes,
One Praises, One Instructs, Another Bites.
Horace did ne're aspire to Epick Bays,
Nor lofty Maro stoop to Lyrick Lays.
Examine how your Humour is inclin'd,
And which the Ruling Passion of your Mind;
Then, seek a Poet who your way do's bend,
And chuse an Author as you chuse a Friend.
United by this Sympathetick Bond,
You grow Familiar, Intimate and Fond;
Your thoughts, your Words, your Stiles, your Souls agree,
No Longer his Interpreter, but He.
",,9794,"","""Examine how your Humour is inclin'd, / And which the Ruling Passion of your Mind""","",2009-09-14 19:34:29 UTC,""
3886,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-19 00:00:00 UTC,"But now, thou soft Enchantress of the mind,
Farewel, a change, a mighty change I find;
The Empire of my Heart thou must resign,
For I can be no longer thine.
A Nobler, a Diviner Guest,
Has took possession of my Breast;
He has, and must engross it all,
And yet the room is still too small.
In vain you tempt my Heart to rove,
A fairer Object now my Soul does move,
It must be all Devotion, what before was Love.",,10061,•INTEREST. Switch from love to devotion. Use in entry.,"A ""soft Enchantress of the mind"" may have to resign the empire of her lover's heart","",2009-09-14 19:34:41 UTC,""
3901,"","Searching ""reason"" and ""judge"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-09-01 00:00:00 UTC,"With those who are to your sage Sect inclin'd,
Beyond gross Sense and Reason too refin'd,
The surest way to see is to be blind;
That thus, their eyes subdu'd, and mortify'd,
They, with Tradition's broken Reed supply'd,
May grope about for some unerring Guide.
That Criminal must have a desperate Cause
Whose only Plea's t'object against the Laws:
The Statute's clear, but those it won't acquit
May well use all their skill to darken it.
Cast by plain Texts, you to your selves appeal,
By your own Votes declar'd infallible.
Reason and Scripture both alike cry down,
Since they defend not you, you them disown.
You urge not Reason, you, but its pretence,
Not Scripture, but false Glosses drawn from thence,
Reject--But is it not the same if you,
Must the sole Judges be of false and true?
Reason you plead, if you it seems t'acquit,
But if condemn'd, its Vote you won't admit.
But still, if private Reason you pretend
Must be the Judge, Disputes will never end:
Were this suppos'd, you cou'd but thence infer
That men must still be men, and still may err.
Nor shall they that, if they with Minds prepar'd
A higher Guide than Reason's self regard,
Attending, free from Prejudice and Sin
The Word without, th' unfailing Spirit within.
Still you complain the Scriptures are not clear,
And you the Spirits must try before you hear:
Your meaning is, you fairly both reject,
For both Tradition and the Church erect:
But what can easier be to understand
Than Gods own Word, his own express Command?
Or what's more plain than that on no pretence
[1]You ought must add, or ought diminish thence?
That his blest Law all perfect is, and pure,
[2]Nor can Tradition's base Alloy endure.
Perfect as well as clear, approv'd and try'd,
In every part of Life a Rule and Guide.
In Faith and Life the Scriptures both avail,
Nor can you give one Instance where they fail.
The justest Notions they, of God, impart,
And teach to serve him with a humble heart,
Describe the terms of Happiness, and more
That wond'rous Prince who shall the World restore,
That Christ, that true Messia we adore:
By whom, if ought from Ages past conceal'd,
The Fathers Will's entirely now reveal'd.
If then some Books are lost, (which if they are,
Where's the High Priests and Elders boasted Care?)
This not affects the rest, since still we find
A clear and perfect Rule is left behind.
Much of the Cabala, so highly priz'd
Are Trifles by the Learned World despis'd;
Your Sephiroth are Truths i'th' Scriptures plain,
But darken'd whilst you them unfold in vain.
Ezra and the great Synagogue you boast,
Whose Doctrine both and Piety you've lost:
Much younger those Traditions you embrace
Beside the Word; for them in vain you'd trace
One step beyond the Hasmonæan race.
Fallacious all those Arguments you use,
And for Infallibility produce:
Tho' manag'd they with all your Art and Care
They still against plain Fact expresly bear;
For tho' High Priest and Sanhedrim you say
Can without Error shew to Heav'n the way,
'Tis plain to Sense, you this unjustly boast,
Themselves in Error oft, or Vices lost,
Sometimes th' High Priests, as you must own, embrace
Th' abhorr'd Opinions of curst Sadoc's Race;
The Elders too, as sacred Writ averrs
Have Israel's God deny'd, and turn'd Idolaters:
And can two crooked Lines compose one right?
Two Finites ever make an Infinite?",2009-04-14,10087,"","""Reason you plead, if you it seems t'acquit, / But if condemn'd, its Vote you won't admit. / But still, if private Reason you pretend / Must be the Judge, Disputes will never end.""",Court,2009-09-14 19:34:42 UTC,""
3978,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"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.",,10320,•REREAD. Interesting passage. Confuses interior and exterior. A metaphor of mind that is not in the mind!,"""Nay some affirm that in the deepest Cell / Imperial Reason's self does not disdain to dwell.""
","",2013-11-13 05:10:37 UTC,""
4141,"","Searching ""throne"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-07-27 00:00:00 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.
",,10643,"","""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.""",Throne,2013-06-26 17:10:53 UTC,""
4168,"",HDIS,2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,"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.",2009-04-15,10757,"","In Catholicism ""All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place, / And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.""","",2009-09-14 19:35:15 UTC,""
4168,"","Searching ""judge"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,"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.",2009-04-15,10758,"","""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.""",Court,2013-11-03 03:34:42 UTC,""
4210,"","Found again searching ""law"" and ""mind HDIS (Poetry)",2004-06-21 00:00:00 UTC," 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?
",2010-01-26,10938,"","""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?""",Court,2010-01-26 18:06:34 UTC,""
4210,"","",2004-09-01 00:00:00 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.",,10941,"","In Elections ""A Man who must not make the least Pretence / To judge by Reason, or be rul'd by Sence""","",2009-09-14 19:35:24 UTC,""