work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
7528,"","",2013-07-11 14:38:28 UTC,"The craving Wife, the force of Magick tries,
And Philters for th' unable Husband buys:
The Potion works not on the part design'd,
But turns his Brain, and stupifies his Mind.
The sotted Moon-Calf gapes, and staring on,
Sees his own Business by another done:
A long Oblivion, a benumming Frost,
Constrains his Head; and Yesterday is lost:
Some nimbler Juice wou'd make him foam, and rave,
Like that Caesonia to her Caius gave:
Who, plucking from the Forehead of the Fole
His Mother's Love, infus'd it in the Bowl:
The boiling Blood ran hissing in his Veins,
Till the mad Vapour mounted to his Brains.
The Thund'rer was not half so much on Fire,
When Iuno's Girdle kindled his Desire.
What Woman will not use the Poys'ning Trade,
When Caesar's Wife the Precedent has made?
Let Agripina's Mushroom be forgot;
Giv'n to a Slav'ring, Old, unuseful Sot;
That only clos'd the driveling Dotard's Eyes;
And sent his Godhead downward to the Skies.
But this fierce Potion, calls for Fire and Sword;
Nor spares the Commons, when it strikes the Lord:
So many Mischiefs were in one combin'd;
So much one single Poys'ner cost Mankind.
(pp. 121-2, ll. 794-819)",,21638,"","""The craving Wife, the force of Magick tries, / And Philters for th' unable Husband buys: / The Potion works not on the part design'd, / But turns his Brain, and stupifies his Mind. / The sotted Moon-Calf gapes, and staring on, / Sees his own Business by another done: / A long Oblivion, a benumming Frost, / Constrains his Head; and Yesterday is lost.""","",2013-07-11 14:38:28 UTC,Browsing in EEBO
7537,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 15:09:47 UTC,"PERSIUS.
Tis not, indeed, my Talent to engage
In lofty Trifles, or to swell my Page
With Wind and Noise; but freely to impart,
As to a Friend, the Secrets of my heart:
And, in familiar Speech, to let thee know
How much I love thee; and how much I owe.
Knock on my Heart; for thou hast skill to find
If it sound solid, or be fill'd with Wind;
And, thro the veil of words, thou view'st the naked Mind.
For this a hundred Voices I desire;
To tell thee what an hundred Tongues wou'd tire;
Yet never cou'd be worthily exprest,
How deeply thou art seated in my Breast.
(p. 61, ll. 27-39)",,21651,"","""Knock on my Heart; for thou hast skill to find / If it sound solid, or be fill'd with Wind; / And, thro the veil of words, thou view'st the naked Mind.""","",2013-07-11 15:09:47 UTC,""