work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
5614,"",HDIS,2003-12-17 00:00:00 UTC,"In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loath
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.
What!--will a man play tricks, will he indulge
A silly fond conceit of his fair form
And just proportion, fashionable mien
And pretty face, in presence of his God?
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,
As with the diamond on his lily hand,
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes
When I am hungry for the bread of life?
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames
His noble office, and instead of truth
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock.
Therefore avaunt! all attitude and stare
And start theatric, practised at the glass.
I seek divine simplicity in him
Who handles things divine; and all beside,
Though learn'd with labour, and though much admired
By curious eyes and judgements ill-inform'd,
To me is odious as the nasal twang
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes
Through the prest nostril, spectacle-bestrid.
Some, decent in demeanour while they preach,
That task perform'd, relapse into themselves,
And having spoken wisely, at the close
Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye,
Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not.
Forth comes the pocket mirror. First we stroke
An eyebrow; next, compose a straggling lock;
Then with an air, most gracefully perform'd,
Fall back into our seat; extend an arm
And lay it at its ease with gentle care,
With handkerchief in hand, depending low.
The better hand more busy, gives the nose
Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye
With opera glass to watch the moving scene,
And recognize the slow-retiring fair.
Now this is fulsome, and offends me more
Than in a churchman slovenly neglect
And rustic coarseness would. An heavenly mind
May be indifferent to her house of clay,
And slight the hovel as beneath her care;
But how a body so fantastic, trim,
And quaint in its deportment and attire,
Can lodge an heavenly mind ,--demands a doubt.
(Bk. II, ll. 414-62, pp. 149-50)",,15005,"","""An heav'nly mind / May be indiff'rent to her house of clay, / And slight the hovel as beneath her care""","",2009-09-14 19:42:31 UTC,"Loathing ""affectation"" in ministers"
5614,"",HDIS,2003-12-17 00:00:00 UTC,"In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loath
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.
What!--will a man play tricks, will he indulge
A silly fond conceit of his fair form
And just proportion, fashionable mien
And pretty face, in presence of his God?
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,
As with the diamond on his lily hand,
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes
When I am hungry for the bread of life?
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames
His noble office, and instead of truth
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock.
Therefore avaunt! all attitude and stare
And start theatric, practised at the glass.
I seek divine simplicity in him
Who handles things divine; and all beside,
Though learn'd with labour, and though much admired
By curious eyes and judgements ill-inform'd,
To me is odious as the nasal twang
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes
Through the prest nostril, spectacle-bestrid.
Some, decent in demeanour while they preach,
That task perform'd, relapse into themselves,
And having spoken wisely, at the close
Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye,
Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not.
Forth comes the pocket mirror. First we stroke
An eyebrow; next, compose a straggling lock;
Then with an air, most gracefully perform'd,
Fall back into our seat; extend an arm
And lay it at its ease with gentle care,
With handkerchief in hand, depending low.
The better hand more busy, gives the nose
Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye
With opera glass to watch the moving scene,
And recognize the slow-retiring fair.
Now this is fulsome, and offends me more
Than in a churchman slovenly neglect
And rustic coarseness would. An heavenly mind
May be indifferent to her house of clay,
And slight the hovel as beneath her care;
But how a body so fantastic, trim,
And quaint in its deportment and attire,
Can lodge an heavenly mind,--demands a doubt.
(Bk. II, ll. 414-62, pp. 149-50)",,15006,"","A body ""queint in its deportment and attire"" may (not) lodge ""an heav'nly mind""","",2009-09-14 19:42:31 UTC,"Loathing ""affectation"" in ministers"
5726,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""cell"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO",2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"As blythe Valentinois, with choicest flowers,
Bedeckt the chosen seat of Anet's bowers,
To cheer her faithful but unhappy king,
Of whom we ponder and the minstrels sing;
E'en thus will I my crested Harry greet,
And strew the rose, to hail his war-worn feet;
Then seize my warrior to my aching breast,
Wipe off the dust, and teach him to be blest,
My eager lips shall gather dew from thine,
And all the rage of extacy be mine--
Oh! wayward fancy, why will you create
Such florid scenes to mock my wretched state?
No sportive frail ideas should restore,
Those joys, those revels, which, alas! are o'er;
That hope's deceas'd who gave my youth command,
The quivering pen forsakes my palsied hand;
Thick vapours circumvolve the vision's ray,
And Desperation vitiates my day:
My bosom bleeds, th' associate of Desire,
My thought is madd'ning, and my brain's on fire!
Oh Henry pity Gabrielle's distress,
Take heaven's example and be pleas'd to bless!
Tho' thus your adamantine will I prove,
Come, and receive the amnesty of Love!--
The last sad tears that glisten in my eye,
Expression's strugglings, and my final sigh,
I give most chearfully to Faith and You,
But come, ah come, and own thy Gabrielle's true!
Assuage the horrors of afflictive death,
Chear my last pang, and cheat me of my breath:
Then as I lay a lifeless heap of dust,
Bereft of being, to my fame be just;
Place my cold head upon your steel-clad knee,
And bathe with tears, that nymph who died for thee:
Hark! hark! what means that tumult in the field,
What mean those coursers, do the rebels yield?
See the meek dove, her milk-white wings expand,
Bearing her olive, o'er a woe-rent land;
The babbling trumpet rends its brazen throat,
And Echo hangs upon the martial note!
Such rapturous accents brought the ear delight,
When the Creator gave this planet light;
My fancy swims before the airy spell,
My heart throbs high, as if 'twould burst its cell.
Has Henry conquer'd, sure it cannot be,
Is he victorious, does he live--'tis he!
Be joyant Nature, let high Phoebus sing,
I see, I know the super-human king!
He comes, he comes, with more than mortal charms,
I feel, I faint, my God, I'm in his arms!
(cf. p. 32 in 1788 printing)",,15263,"","""My heart throbs high, as if 'twould burst its cell.""",Rooms,2014-02-26 22:02:57 UTC,""