theme,metaphor,work_id,dictionary,provenance,id,created_at,updated_at,reviewed_on,comments,text,context
"","""Not the gross act alone employs her pen; / She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band, / A watchful foe! the formidable spy, / Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp; / Our dawning purposes of heart explores, / And steals our embryos of iniquity.""",7400,Inhabitants,Reading,20402,2013-06-05 21:02:12 UTC,2013-06-05 21:02:12 UTC,,"","O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep
On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein,
And give us up to licence, unrecall'd,
Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful foe! the formidable spy,
Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.
As all-rapacious usurers conceal
Their Doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs;
Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats
Us spendthrifts of inestimable time;
Unnoted, notes each moment misapplied;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,
Writes our whole history; which Death shall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear;
And Judgment publish; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans resound.
Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast!
Such is her slumber; and her vengeance such
For slighted counsel; such thy future peace!
And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon?
(ll. 256-283, pp. 57-8 in CUP edition)",Night the Second
"","""Speech ventilates our intellectual fire; / Speech burnishes our mental magazine, / Brightens for ornament, and whets for use.""",7400,"",Reading,20413,2013-06-05 21:25:02 UTC,2013-06-05 21:25:02 UTC,,"","Know'st thou, Lorenzo, what a friend contains?
As bees mix'd nectar draw from fragrant flowers,
So men, from FRIENDSHIP, wisdom and delight;
Twins tied by Nature, if they part, they die.
Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach?
Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Had thought been all, sweet speech had been denied;
Speech, thought's canal! speech, thought's criterion too!
Thought in the mine may come forth gold or dross;
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth.
If sterling, store it for thy future use;
'Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps, renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possess'd:
Teaching we learn; and giving we retain
The births of intellect; when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our mental magazine,
Brightens for ornament, and whets for use.
What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie,
Plunged to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And rusted in; who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech;
If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue!
'Tis thought's exchange which, like the' alternate push
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum,
And defecates the student's standing pool.
(ll. 461-487, p. 63 in CUP edition)",Night the Second
"","""Pleasure and Pride, by nature mortal foes, / At war eternal which in man shall reign, / By Wit's address, patch up a fatal peace, / And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch, / From rank refined to delicate and gay.""",7407,"",Reading,20473,2013-06-10 19:21:55 UTC,2013-06-10 19:21:55 UTC,,"","Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprise.
Since joys of Sense can't rise to Reason's taste,
In subtle Sophistry's laborious forge
Wit hammers out a reason new, that stoops
To sordid scenes, and greets them with applause.
Wit calls the Graces the chaste zone to loose,
Nor less than a plump god to fill the bowl;
A thousand phantoms, and a thousand spells,
A thousand opiates scatters to delude,
To fascinate, inebriate, lay asleep,
And the fool'd mind delightfully confound.
Thus that which shock'd the Judgment, shocks no more;
That which gave Pride offence, no more offends.
Pleasure and Pride, by nature mortal foes,
At war eternal which in man shall reign,
By Wit's address, patch up a fatal peace,
And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch,
From rank refined to delicate and gay.
Art, cursed Art! wipes off the' indebted blush
From Nature's cheek, and bronzes every shame.
Man smiles in ruin, glories in his guilt,
And Infamy stands candidate for praise.
(ll. 25-46, pp. 117-8 in CUP edition)",Night the Fifth
"","""Nor is it strange; light, motion, concourse, noise, / All scatter us abroad; Thought, outward-bound, / Neglectful of our home-affairs, flies off / In fume and dissipation, quits her charge, / And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe.""",7407,Empire,Reading,20478,2013-06-10 19:27:40 UTC,2013-06-10 19:27:40 UTC,,"","Virtue for ever frail, as fair, below,
Her tender nature suffers in the crowd,
Nor touches on the world without a stain.
The world's infectious; few bring back at eve,
Immaculate, the manners of the morn.
Something we thought, is blotted; we resolved,
Is shaken; we renounced, returns again.
Each salutation may slide-in a sin
Unthought before, or fix a former flaw.
Nor is it strange; light, motion, concourse, noise,
All scatter us abroad; Thought, outward-bound,
Neglectful of our home-affairs, flies off
In fume and dissipation, quits her charge,
And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe.
(ll. 139-52, pp. 120-1 in CUP edition)",Night the Fifth
"","""""Reason with Inclination why at war? / Why sense of guilt? Why Conscience up in arms?""",7411,Inhabitants,Reading,20574,2013-06-12 17:28:23 UTC,2013-06-12 17:28:23 UTC,,"","""Why life, a moment? infinite, desire?
""Our wish, eternity? our home, the grave?
""Heaven's promise dormant lies in human hope;
""Who wishes life immortal, proves it too.
""Why happiness pursued, though never found?
""Man's thirst of happiness declares It is ;
""(For Nature never gravitates to nought;)
""That thirst unquench'd declares, It is not here.
""My Lucia, thy Clarissa, call to thought.
""Why cordial friendship riveted so deep,
""(As hearts, to pierce at first, at parting rend,)
""If friend and friendship vanish in an hour?
""Is not this Torment in the mask of Joy?
""Why by Reflection marr'd the joys of Sense?
""Why Past and Future preying on our hearts,
""And putting all our present joys to death?
""Why labours Reason? Instinct were as well;
""Instinct, far better; what can choose, can err:
""O how infallible the thoughtless brute!
""'Twere well His Holiness were half as sure.
""Reason with Inclination why at war?
""Why sense of guilt? Why Conscience up in arms?""
(ll. 606-627, pp. 194-5 in CUP edition)",Night the Seventh
"","""One Argument is ballanc'd by another, / And Reason Reason meets in doubtful Fight, / And Proofs are countermin'd by equal Proofs. / No more I'll bear this Battel of the Mind, / This inward Anarchy.""",7619,"",LION,22304,2013-08-17 21:29:01 UTC,2013-08-17 21:29:01 UTC,,"","DON ALONZO
Oh, what a Pain to think! when every Thought,
Perplexing Thought in Intricacies runs,
And Reason knits th'inextricable Toil
In which her self is taken. I am lost,
Poor Insect that I am, I am involv'd,
And bury'd in the Web my self have wrought.
One Argument is ballanc'd by another,
And Reason Reason meets in doubtful Fight,
And Proofs are countermin'd by equal Proofs.
No more I'll bear this Battel of the Mind,
This inward Anarchy; but find my Wife,
And to her trembling Heart presenting Death,
Force all the Secret from her.
(IV.i, p. 36)",Act IV
"","""Imagination is the Paphian shop, / Where feeble Happiness, like Vulcan, lame, / Bids foul Ideas, in their dark recess, / And hot as hell, (which kindled the black fires,) / With wanton art, those fatal arrows form / Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and fame.""",7665,Metal,Reading,22640,2013-09-02 03:20:49 UTC,2013-09-02 03:20:49 UTC,,"","Imagination is the Paphian shop,
Where feeble Happiness, like Vulcan, lame,
Bids foul Ideas, in their dark recess,
And hot as hell, (which kindled the black fires,)
With wanton art, those fatal arrows form
Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and fame.
Wouldst thou receive them, other Thoughts there are,
On angel-wing, descending from above,
Which these, with art Divine, would counterwork,
And form celestial armour for thy peace.
(p. 175, ll. 994-1003)",Night the Eighth
"","""Wouldst thou receive them, other Thoughts there are, / On angel-wing, descending from above, / Which these, with art Divine, would counterwork, / And form celestial armour for thy peace.""<",7665,Metal,Reading,22641,2013-09-02 03:22:17 UTC,2013-09-02 03:22:17 UTC,,"","Imagination is the Paphian shop,
Where feeble Happiness, like Vulcan, lame,
Bids foul Ideas, in their dark recess,
And hot as hell, (which kindled the black fires,)
With wanton art, those fatal arrows form
Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and fame.
Wouldst thou receive them, other Thoughts there are,
On angel-wing, descending from above,
Which these, with art Divine, would counterwork,
And form celestial armour for thy peace.
(p. 175, ll. 994-1003)",Night the Eighth
"","""Sense is our helmet, Wit is but the plume; / The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves.""",7665,"",Reading,22650,2013-09-02 03:35:26 UTC,2013-09-02 03:35:26 UTC,,"","""Sense is our helmet, Wit is but the plume; / The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves.""
Wit, how delicious to man's dainty taste!
'Tis precious, as the vehicle of sense;
But, as its substitute, a dire disease.
Pernicious talent! flatter'd by the world,
By the blind world, which thinks the talent rare.
Wisdom is rare, Lorenzo! wit abounds;
Passion can give it; sometimes wine inspires
The lucky flash; and madness rarely fails.
Whatever cause the spirit strongly stirs,
Confers the bays, and rivals thy renown.
For thy renown 'twere well was this the worst:
Chance often hits it; and, to pique thee more,
See, Dulness, blundering on vivacities,
Shakes her sage head at the calamity
Which has exposed and let her down to thee.
But Wisdom, awful Wisdom, which inspects,
Discerns, compares, weighs, separates, infers,
Seizes the right, and holds it to the last;
How rare! in senates, synods, sought in vain!
Or if there found, 'tis sacred to the few;
While a lewd prostitute to multitudes,
Frequent, as fatal, Wit: in civil life,
Wit makes an enterpriser; Sense, a man.
Wit hates authority, commotion loves,
And thinks herself the lightning of the storm.
In states, 'tis dangerous; in religion, death:
Shall Wit turn Christian, when the dull believe?
Sense is our helmet, Wit is but the plume;
The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves.
Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound;
When cut by Wit, it casts a brighter beam;
Yet, Wit apart, it is a diamond still.
Wit, widow'd of Good Sense, is worse than nought;
It hoists more sail to run against a rock.
Thus, a half-Chesterfield is quite a fool;
Whom dull fools scorn, and bless their want of wit.
(pp. 180-1, ll. 1232-1267)",Night the Eighth