work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3214,"","Searching ""rule"" and ""reason"" in HDIS",2004-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,"""My love! nay rather my damnation thou,""
Said he: ""nor am I bound to keep my vow;
The fiend thy sire has sent thee from below,
Else how couldst thou my secret sorrows know?
Avaunt, old witch, for I renounce thy bed:
The queen may take the forfeit of my head,
Ere any of my race so foul a crone shall wed.""
Both heard, the judge pronounced against the knight;
So was he married in his own despite:
And all day after hid him as an owl,
Not able to sustain a sight so foul.
Perhaps the reader thinks I do him wrong,
To pass the marriage-feast, and nuptial song:
Mirth there was none, the man was à-la-mort,
And little courage had to make his court.
To bed they went, the bridegroom and the bride.
Was never such an ill-paired couple tied!
Restless he tossed, and tumbled to and fro,
And rolled, and wriggled further off, for woe.
The good old wife lay smiling by his side,
And caught him in her quivering arms, and cried,--
""When you my ravished predecessor saw,
You were not then become this man of straw;
Had you been such, you might have scaped the law.
Is this the custom of King Arthur's court?
Are all Round-table Knights of such a sort?
Remember I am she who saved your life,
Your loving, lawful, and complying wife:
Not thus you swore in your unhappy hour,
Nor I for this return employed my power.
In time of need I was your faithful friend;
Nor did I since, nor ever will offend.
Believe me, my loved lord, 'tis much unkind;
What fury has possessed your altered mind?
Thus on my wedding-night--without pretence--
Come turn this way, or tell me my offence.
If not your wife, let reason's rule persuade;
Name but my fault, amends shall soon be made.""
(pp. 810-11, ll. 334-364)",2008-09-24,8444,•Appears Twice: Also in Ogle's Canterbury Tales (1741). See also entry under Ogle. ,"""If not your wife, let reason's rule persuade / Name but my fault, amends shall soon be made.""","",2009-09-14 19:33:34 UTC,""
3258,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-06 00:00:00 UTC," Whate'er you write of pleasant or sublime,
Always let sense accompany your rhyme.
Falsely they seem each other to oppose;
Rhyme must be made with Reason's laws to close;
And when to conquer her you bend your force,
The mind will triumph in the noble course.
To Reason's yoke she quickly will incline,
Which, far from hurting, renders her divine;
But if neglected, will as easily stray,
And master Reason, which she should obey.
Love Reason, then; and let whate'er you write
Borrow from her its beauty, force, and light.
Most writers mounted on a resty muse,
Extravagant and senseless objects chuse;
They think they err, if in their verse they fall
On any thought that's plain or natural.
Fly this excess; and let Italians be
Vain authors of false glittering poetry.
All ought to aim at sense; but most in vain
Strive the hard pass and slippery path to gain;
You drown, if to the right or left you stray;
Reason to go has often but one way.
Sometimes an author, fond of his own thought,
Pursues its object till it's overwrought:
If he describes a house, he shows the face,
And after walks you round from place to place;
Here is a vista, there the doors unfold,
Balconies here are ballustred with gold;
Then counts the rounds and ovals in the halls,
""The festoons, friezes, and the astragals:""
Tired with his tedious pomp, away I run,
And skip o'er twenty pages, to be gone.
Of such descriptions the vain folly see,
And shun their barren superfluity.
All that is needless carefully avoid;
The mind once satisfied is quickly cloyed:
He cannot write, who knows not to give o'er;
To mend one fault, he makes a hundred more:
A verse was weak, you turn it much too strong,
And grow obscure for fear you should be long.
Some are not gaudy, but are flat and dry;
Not to be low, another soars too high.
Would you of every one deserve the praise?
In writing vary your discourse and phrase;
A frozen style, that neither ebbs nor flows,
Instead of pleasing, makes us gape and dose.
Those tedious authors are esteemed by none
Who tire us, humming the same heavy tone.
Happy who in his verse can gently steer,
From grave to light; from pleasant to severe:
His works will be admired wherever found,
And oft with buyers will be compassed round.
In all you write, be neither low nor vile;
The meanest theme may have a proper style.",2011-06-27,8514,"","""Falsely they [sense and rhyme] seem each other to oppose; / Rhyme must be made with Reason's laws to close; / And when to conquer her you bend your force, / The mind will triumph in the noble course.""",Court,2011-06-28 02:17:38 UTC,""
3258,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-06 00:00:00 UTC,"Whate'er you write of pleasant or sublime,
Always let sense accompany your rhyme.
Falsely they seem each other to oppose;
Rhyme must be made with Reason's laws to close;
And when to conquer her you bend your force,
The mind will triumph in the noble course.
To Reason's yoke she quickly will incline,
Which, far from hurting, renders her divine;
But if neglected, will as easily stray,
And master Reason, which she should obey.
Love Reason, then; and let whate'er you write
Borrow from her its beauty, force, and light.
Most writers mounted on a resty muse,
Extravagant and senseless objects chuse;
They think they err, if in their verse they fall
On any thought that's plain or natural.
Fly this excess; and let Italians be
Vain authors of false glittering poetry.
All ought to aim at sense; but most in vain
Strive the hard pass and slippery path to gain;
You drown, if to the right or left you stray;
Reason to go has often but one way.
Sometimes an author, fond of his own thought,
Pursues its object till it's overwrought:
If he describes a house, he shows the face,
And after walks you round from place to place;
Here is a vista, there the doors unfold,
Balconies here are ballustred with gold;
Then counts the rounds and ovals in the halls,
""The festoons, friezes, and the astragals:""
Tired with his tedious pomp, away I run,
And skip o'er twenty pages, to be gone.
Of such descriptions the vain folly see,
And shun their barren superfluity.
All that is needless carefully avoid;
The mind once satisfied is quickly cloyed:
He cannot write, who knows not to give o'er;
To mend one fault, he makes a hundred more:
A verse was weak, you turn it much too strong,
And grow obscure for fear you should be long.
Some are not gaudy, but are flat and dry;
Not to be low, another soars too high.
Would you of every one deserve the praise?
In writing vary your discourse and phrase;
A frozen style, that neither ebbs nor flows,
Instead of pleasing, makes us gape and dose.
Those tedious authors are esteemed by none
Who tire us, humming the same heavy tone.
Happy who in his verse can gently steer,
From grave to light; from pleasant to severe:
His works will be admired wherever found,
And oft with buyers will be compassed round.
In all you write, be neither low nor vile;
The meanest theme may have a proper style.
",,8515,"","""To Reason's yoke she quickly will incline, / Which, far from hurting, renders her divine; / But if neglected, will as easily stray, / And master Reason, which she should obey.""","",2011-06-27 21:23:31 UTC,""
3618,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-08-07 00:00:00 UTC,"Is then the Birth, and Title of a King,
(Ye Gods, from whom Kings, sprung) so vain a thing;
That, with one Shock of Fortune onely, I
Must fall so low, into Captivity,
As to become their Slave to whom, of late,
I was a Terrour? Are the Laws of Fate
Of so great Force, that whatsoe're's Design'd
By them, by all must be obey'd? must binde
The Deities themselves? Alass! if so,
Why do poor Mortals to their Temples go,
And vainly crave that Aid, which cannot be
Confirm'd, unless the Fates the same decree?
How oft did I, before I took in hand
This War, their Counsel, and Consent demand?
As oft, their Tripods what I ask'd allow'd.
And I, as often, to their Honour vow'd
Dardanian Spoils. But, since I am or'ethrown,
'Tis not my Crime they want them, but their own?
From them it was, that Sophonisba's Charms
Prevail'd, and Head-long thrust me into Arms:
Against that Faith, which I to Rome, before,
Religiously had sworn. I would no more
Of this complain, had we together dy'd.
Or, had not Masanissa both my Bride,
My Throne, and Crown enjoy'd. Ye Gods, You were
If not Unjust in this, at least, Severe.
Else wherefore did I not, when Hostile Fire
Had seiz'd my Camp, within those Flames expire?
Then might I to the Shades below have gone,
At least, a King. Then I had onely known
The Fate of being conquer'd, not the Shame:
Nor then had Rome recorded Syphax Name
Among her Captives. Nor, then, had these Hands,
That shook a Scepter o're so many Lands,
Been thus bound up in Chains. But, why do I
Complain of Life, and not resolve to Dy?
What? though they study to preserve me still,
A living Trophy here; yet is my Will
Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde,
I still retain the Empire of my Minde,
That stands above her reach, where I alone
Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne.
This said; a sudden Silence seiz'd his Soul:
And, as deep Waters in still Chanels roul,
And, murm'ring less, into the Ocean flow;
So the Resentments of his Griefs, that grow
Too great to be express'd, through ev'ry part,
Like a swift Fever, runs, till his great Heart,
Resolv'd to bear that Load no more, deny'd
Nature her common Food, and, starv'd, He dy'd.
And, as a Lion, that hath long in Blood
Maintain'd his Empire in some Libyan Wood,
Surpriz'd at last in Toils, and kept to be
The Pastime of the Cirque, raging to see
His Native Freedom lost, doth, roaring, round
His Prison walke, and (with that dreadful Sound,
Was wont all other Beasts to Terrify,
And, with their Flocks, make trembling Sheepherds fly)
Shakes all about. But, when he findes, at length,
That nor his Rage prevails, nor yet his Strength
Can his Escape procure; all proffer'd Food
He growling flies, forgets all thirst of Blood,
And, in Disdain of his Captivity,
Resolves in sullen Silence there to dy.
So that great King, to whom, not long before,
Rich Gems were from the Erythræan Shore,
For Tribute brought: to whom, with Lions Tame,
And towred Elephants, Getulians came,
And, prostrate at his Feet, Obedience pay'd:
At first in Love, then War, a Captive made,
In a dark Dungeon dy'd, and the sole Fame,
That he 'gainst Scipio fought, preserves his Name.",,9391,•Translated from Silius Italicus.,"""[Y]et is my Will / Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde, / I still retain the Empire of my Minde, / That stands above her reach, where I alone / Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne.""",Empire,2012-01-09 16:42:21 UTC,Death of Hannibal
3618,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,"This said, he silent sate, as custom was:
The Senate streight proceed their Votes to pass,
While Hanno urgeth to restore the Spoils
Of War, and add's the Authour of those Broils.
With that the Fathers, leaping from their Seats,
Amazd, as if the Fo were at the Gates
O'th' Temple, Pray the Gods, that it may be
A Fatal Omen unto Italy.
Fabius, perceiving that their thoughts were far
From Peace, and, treacherously, enclin'd to War,
No longer able to conceal his Ire,
With speed another Council doth require:
And to th'assembled Fathers doth Declare,
That in his Bosom he brought Peace, or War,
Demands their Choice, that, Him they would no more
Detain, with dubious Answers, as before.
But, when no Choice of either they exprest,
(As if he'd powr'd whole Armies from his Breast,)
Take then a War (said He) (with that let's fall
His folded Garment) take a War, which shall
To Lybia, like the former, fatall be,
In its Events. This said, incensed, He
The Temple, and the City quit's, and home
Returns, a Messenger of War to Rome.
While such at Carthage was the State of things:
Fierce Hannibal, enrich'd with Trophies, brings
Again his Arms before Sagunthus Walls,
And, to his Aid, those many Nations calls,
Whose Faith to Rome was shaken by the Fear
Of dubious War; while they continued there,
The People, that inhabited the Coast,
Presents (the best Callaick Art could boast)
Brought to the General. A shining Shield,
That Beams, like Lightning terrible, did yield.
An Helmet on whose rising Crest, a Plume
Did tremble, and in Whiteness overcome
The Alpine Snow. With them a Sword, and Spear
Which afterwards to thousands Fatall were:
With treble Chains of Gold, a Coat of Mail,
Studded, 'gainst which no Weapon could prevail.
These made of Brass, and harder Steel, inlay'd
With Tagus Wealth, triumphing, he survey'd,
And in the Carved Works was pleas'd to see
His Nations happy Birth, and History.
Dido, the first Foundation there did lay,
Of Carthage: and, her Navy sent away,
The Work begun, th'industrious Youth pursu'd.
Some with long Piles, and Banks, the Port include:
To others Reverend Bitias prepares
Their Houses Platforms, all in equal shares.
And, as they turned up the Fertile Ground,
A Warlike Horses Head, by chance, they found.
The Omen, with an universal Shout
Of Joy, they all appeared to Salute.
Among these Figures sad Æneas stands,
Wrack'd on her Coasts, and with extended Hands,
Deprived of his Fleet, and Friends, is seen
To crave Assistance. Him th'unhappy Queen
Views with an earnest Eye, and Entertains
With Smiles: for Love within her Bosom Reigns.
Then they Describ'd the Cave, and secret Rites,
The Lovers us'd to warrant their Delights.
Mean while the Cries of Men, and Dogs, appear
To Strike the Marble Sky; till suddain Fear,
Of an Impetuous Storm, the Hunters all
Constrain'd, for Shelter, into Woods to fall.
Not far from these, upon the Empty Shore,
Eliza Weeps, and did, in Vain, implore
The Trojan-Fleet's return, that now to Sea
Had hois'd up Sails, and bore her Love away.
Then on a lofty Pile, at last, She stands,
Wounded; and to the Tyrians commands
Revenging Wars: the Trojan Prince, the while,
Beholding, from the Sea, the flaming Pile,
To the propitious Fates his Sails doth spread,
Resolv'd to Follow, wheresoe're they Lead.
Apart from these, at Stygian Altars, stood
Young Hannibal (a Childe) who secret Blood
Offer'd, with the infernal Priest; and there
The War against Æneas Race did swear.
But Old Amilcar's Image seem'd to be
Alive, and Triumph over Sicily:
You'd think he breath'd forth War; within his Eys
A Flame of Terrour, with grim Aspect, lies.
Upon the left Side of the Shield, a Band
Of Spartans, with their ragged Ensigns, stand:
Whom Bold Xantippus, as a Conqu'rour, led,
From fair Amycle, fam'd by Læda's Bed.
Near these, hung Regulus, their sad Renown,
Upon a Cross; and, to the trembling Town,
Faith's great Example was. A joyfull Face
Of Things adorns the rest: where some the Chace
Of Beasts pursue, and carved Houses shine.
Not far remote from them, with parched Skin,
The black-Moor's Sister, in an horrid Dress,
Tames, with her Country's Speech, a Lyoness.
Then, through the Fields the wandring Shepherd moves
Free without Stop, through unforbidden Groves:
Near them his Dart, and (whom he Cydon names)
His barking Dog, his Cottage, and hid Flames
In Veins of Flint; then, lively, they exprest
His Pipe, familiar to the lab'ring Beast.
Then on a lofty Hill Sagunthus stands,
And by unnumbred Nations, and Bands
Of Fighting men, Besieged-round appears,
And to be push'd at, by their trembling Spears.
About the Borders, rich Iberus seems
To make the Circle up, with winding Streams:
Over whose Banks fierce Hannibal, from far,
Calls Africk-People to the Romane War.
On his broad Shoulders, as he, smiling, tries
These wealthy Presents; proudly, thus, he cries.",,9403,•Translated from Silius Italicus.
,"""Him th'unhappy Queen / Views with an earnest Eye, and Entertains / With Smiles: for Love within her Bosom Reigns.""","",2009-09-14 19:34:11 UTC,""
3957,"","Searching ""throne"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-07-07 00:00:00 UTC,"""The Cause and Spring of motion, from above,
Hung down on earth, the golden chain of Love;
Great was the effect, and high was his intent,
When peace among the jarring seeds he sent:
Fire, flood, and earth, and air, by this were bound,
And love, the common link, the new creation crowned.
The chain still holds; for, though the forms decay,
Eternal matter never wears away:
The same first Mover certain bounds has placed,
How long those perishable forms shall last;
Nor can they last beyond the time assigned
By that all-seeing, and all-making Mind:
Shorten their hours they may; for will is free;
But never pass the appointed destiny.
So men oppressed, when weary of their breath,
Throw off the burden, and suborn their death.
Then, since those forms begin, and have their end,
On some unaltered cause they sure depend:
Parts of the whole are we; but God the whole;
Who gives us life, and animating soul.
For nature cannot from a part derive
That being, which the whole can only give:
He, perfect, stable; but imperfect we,
Subject to change, and different in degree;
Plants, beasts, and man; and, as our organs are,
We, more or less, of his perfection share.
But, by a long descent, the ethereal fire
Corrupts; and forms, the mortal part, expire.
As he withdraws his virtue, so they pass,
And the same matter makes another mass.
This law the Omniscient Power was pleased to give,
That every kind should by succession live;
That individuals die, his will ordains;
The propagated species still remains.
The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees,
Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees;
Three centuries he grows, and three he stays,
Supreme in state, and in three more decays:
So wears the paving pebble in the street,
And towns and towers their fatal periods meet
So rivers, rapid once, now naked lie,
Forsaken of their springs, and leave their channels dry:
So man, at first a drop, dilates with heat,
Then formed, the little heart begins to beat;
Secret he feeds, unknowing in the cell;
At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the shell,
And struggles into breath, and cries for aid;
Then, helpless, in his mother's lap is laid.
He creeps, he walks, and, issuing into man,
Grudges their life, from whence his own began;
Retchless of laws, affects to rule alone,
Anxious to reign, and restless on the throne;
First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last;
Rich of three souls, and lives all three to waste.
Some thus, but thousands more in flower of age;
For few arrive to run the latter stage.
Sunk in the first, in battle some are slain,
And others whelmed beneath the stormy main.
What makes all this, but Jupiter the king,
At whose command we perish, and we spring?
Then 'tis our best, since thus ordained to die,
To make a virtue of necessity;
Take what he gives, since to rebel is vain;
The bad grows better, which we well sustain;
And could we choose the time, and choose aright,
'Tis best to die, our honour at the height.
When we have done our ancestors no shame,
But served our friends, and well secured our fame;
Then should we wish our happy life to close,
And leave no more for fortune to dispose.
So should we make our death a glad relief
From future shame, from sickness, and from grief;
Enjoying, while we live, the present hour,
And dying in our excellence and flower.
Then round our deathbed every friend should run,
And joy us of our conquest early won;
While the malicious world, with envious tears,
Should grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs.
Since then our Arcite is with honour dead,
Why should we mourn, that he so soon is freed,
Or call untimely, what the gods decreed?
With grief as just, a friend may be deplored,
From a foul prison to free air restored.
Ought he to thank his kinsman or his wife,
Could tears recall him into wretched life?
Their sorrow hurts themselves; on him is lost;
And, worse than both, offends his happy ghost.
What then remains, but, after past annoy,
To take the good vicissitude of joy;
To thank the gracious gods for what they give,
Possess our souls, and while we live, to live?
Ordain we then two sorrows to combine,
And in one point the extremes of grief to join;
That thence resulting joy may be renewed,
As jarring notes in harmony conclude.
Then I propose, that Palamon shall be
In marriage joined with beauteous Emily;
For which already I have gained the assent
Of my free people in full parliament.
Long love to her has borne the faithful knight,
And well deserved, had fortune done him right:
'Tis time to mend her fault, since Emily,
By Arcite's death, from former vows is free;
If you, fair sister, ratify the accord,
And take him for your husband and your lord.
'Tis no dishonour to confer your grace
On one descended from a royal race;
And were he less, yet years of service past,
From grateful souls, exact reward at last.
Pity is heaven's and yours; nor can she find
A throne so soft as in a woman's mind.""
(pp. 631-4, ll. 1024-1134",,10286,"John Dryden. Ed. Keith Walker Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 1987.","One cannot find ""A throne so soft as in a woman's mind""","",2009-09-14 19:34:52 UTC,""
3618,"","Searching ""bond"" and ""thought"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-01-09 16:45:56 UTC,"Here all are busy to express their Care
To entertain Him, and to such, as were
Inquisitive to know, what did invite
Him thither, cunning, He, reply'd: I might
(Indeed) have gone to Tyre another Way;
But none so near I judg, since I this Day
Must spend in Sacrifice, to th'Pow'rs above,
That what I there must prosecute, may prove
Propitious to the State, which thither Me
Hath sent, and since, within this Island, We
Few Trees for Shelter finde, let Me entreat
Your Sails, this Day, to shroud Us from the Heat
O'th'scorching Sun. No sooner said, but all
Their Hands employ; some from the Masts let fall
The Sails; some lift them with their Yards to Land,
On which extended streight, for Tents, they stand.
And now whatever Rare the Isle affords,
Makes up the Feast, and round the hast'ned Boards
Lyæus flows: and first, To Liberty
A Bowl is crown'd, which all as greedily
Quaff off, as if in it they thought to finde
Their Wish, and Sense of Bondage from the Minde
Expel. And, as the sparkling Liquour warms
Their Blood, each man, as if he were in Arms,
Defies the Pow'r of Rome; now scorns to bear
That Yoak, which, in a Sober mind, his Fear
Would prompt him to imbrace, and what before
He durst not Think, he now dares Act, and more.
All former Fears are banish'd: This exclaims
'Gainst Hanno's Pride; and That his Countrey blames
For want of Courage, bids the Prince again
Attempt to take away that Fatal Stain,
For which, as in th'inflaming Juice he steeps
His Brains, he in a Drunken Pity weeps.
",,19412,"","""To Liberty / A Bowl is crown'd, which all as greedily / Quaff off, as if in it they thought to finde / Their Wish, and Sense of Bondage from the Minde / Expel.""",Fetters,2012-01-09 16:45:56 UTC,""
7537,"",Browsing in EEBO,2013-07-11 15:10:40 UTC,"CORNUTUS
Free, what and fetter'd with so many Chains?
Can'st thou no other Master understand·
Than him that freed thee, by the Praetor's Wand?
Shou'd he, who was thy Lord, command thee now,
With a harsh Voice, and supercilious Brow,
To servile Duties, thou wou'd'st fear no more·
The Gallows and the Whip are out of door.
But if thy Passions lord it in thy Breast,
Art thou not still a Slave, and still opprest.
(p. 67, ll. 180-8)",,21652,"","""But if thy Passions lord it in thy Breast, / Art thou not still a Slave, and still opprest.""",Fetters,2013-07-11 15:10:40 UTC,""
7163,"",Reading ,2014-05-26 20:23:16 UTC,"For thus old Saws foretel, and Helenus
Anchises drooping Son enliven'd thus;
When Ilium now was in a sinking State;
And he was doubtful of his future Fate:
O Goddess born, with thy hard Fortune strive,
Troy never can be lost, and thou alive.
Thy Passage thou shalt free through Fire and Sword,
And Troy in Foreign Lands shall be restor'd.
In happier Fields a rising Town I see,
Greater than what e'er was, or is, or e'er shall be:
And Heav'n yet owes the: World a Race deriv'd from Thee.
Sages, and Chiefs of other Lineage born
The City shall extend, extended shall adorn:
But from Julus he must draw his Breath,
By whom thy Rome shall rule the conquer'd Earth:
Whom Heav'n will lend Mankind on Earth to reign,
And late require the precious Pledge again.
This Helenus to great AEneas told,
Which I retain, e'er since in other Mould:
My Soul was cloath'd; and now rejoice to view
My Country Walls rebuilt, and Troy reviv'd anew,
Rais'd by the fall: Decreed by Loss to Gain;
Enslav'd but to be free, and conquer'd but to reign.
(pp. 527-8; cf. pp. 831-2 in OUP)",,23863,"","""This Helenus to great AEneas told, / Which I retain, e'er since in other Mould: / My Soul was cloath'd; and now rejoice to view / My Country Walls rebuilt, and Troy reviv'd anew, / Rais'd by the fall: Decreed by Loss to Gain; / Enslav'd but to be free, and conquer'd but to reign.""","",2014-05-26 20:23:27 UTC,""