theme,metaphor,work_id,dictionary,provenance,id,created_at,updated_at,reviewed_on,comments,text,context
"","""[I]f thou wilt prolong / Dire Compotation, forthwith Reason quits / Her Empire to Confusion, and Misrule, / And vain Debates""",3242,"","Searching ""reason"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry)",8496,2004-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:33:36 UTC,,•Cider will cause reason to quit her empire.,"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.
",""
"","""As if his hollow Skull had been / A Hive fill'd full of Bees within"" who ""To Wax and Honey turn'd his Brains; / For the long Speech he did transmit, / Was sometimes hard, and sometimes sweet""",4099,"","Searching ""brain"" and ""wax"" in HDIS (Poetry)",10552,2005-04-11 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:04 UTC,,•I've included twice: Hive and Wax and Honey,"In this Surprize I stood a while,
And sometimes cough'd to hide a Smile;
For Flesh and Blood, that did but see
Their Looks, and their Hypocrisy;
The Postures of the Zeal-mad Noddies,
The Motions of their Heads and Bodies,
Could not forbear a Laugh, to smother,
At some odd Passage or another.
Some held their Hands upon their Jaws,
As if the Tooth-Ach was the Cause,
Whilst other Zealots thump'd their Breast,
As if with Grief or Flegm opprest,
And such strange antick Gestures had,
That shew'd 'em not devout, but mad,
As if old Satan had, in spite
Of all their boasted inward Light,
Blown out the Heav'nly shining Spark,
And left the inward Man i'th' Dark:
For Satan is a cunning Fiend,
That lies perdue to gain his End,
And most industriously invents
Strange Ways to disappoint the Saints.
At last a Churl, with grizly Beard,
Whose Eyes like any Fury's star'd,
I'th' Gall'ry from his Seat arose,
With Hat pull'd o'er his Beetle Brows,
Who when he'ad posturiz'd his Face,
And humm'd for some few Minutes Space,
As if his hollow Skull had been
A Hive fill'd full of Bees within,
Who had, by their industrious Pains,
To Wax and Honey turn'd his Brains;
For the long Speech he did transmit,
Was sometimes hard, and sometimes sweet.",""
Magnetism,"""Gold is the Magnet whose Attraction / Commands his Heart in ev'ry Action: / To that his Avaricious Soul / Points like the Needle to the Pole:""",4099,Metal,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10554,2005-05-27 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:04 UTC,,"","The humble Look, and formal Grace,
That sanctify'd his meagre Face,
From Eye to Chin are chang'd, and now
An awful Pride adorns his Brow.
His Frowns demand low Reverence,
And nods like Comma's point his Sense.
Each solemn Promise that he makes,
If not with Int'rest back'd, he breaks;
Ensnaring even those that love him,
Oppressing such that can't approve him,
And undermining all above him.
He looks with a revengeful Eye
On all that at his Mercy lye,
And blusters in Authoritie
Like Boreas in a Storm at Sea,
'Till hated worse by Men of Sense,
Than Flatt'ry or Impertinence.
He's scornful, jealous, and severe,
Base, false, and proud as Lucifer,
And thinks his Rise but justly due
To Merits, which he ne'er could shew.
Tho' Rich and Great, he's ne'er at Ease,
But restless as the rowling Seas,
Which are to Rage so much inclin'd,
They swell with ev'ry Blast of Wind.
His Trust he does but ill discharge;
His Pow'r is exercis'd at large.
The Bags which do his Coffers load,
Are gain'd by Sinistry and Fraud.
Gold is the Magnet whose Attraction
Commands his Heart in ev'ry Action:
To that his Avaricious Soul
Points like the Needle to the Pole:
By that alone he steers his Course,
And yields to its prevailing Force.
In short, his Malice and Ambition,
His Avaricious Disposition;
His Pride, his Cruelty, his Hate,
His hasty Temper to be Great;
His Heat, his Fury, and his Passion,
Makes him appear to all the Nation,
The meer Reverse of Moderation.",""
"","""You know, Lavinia, once I lov'd you well; / Nor has your Crimes yet chang'd my Heart to Steel.""",4101,Metal,"Searching ""steel"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",10555,2005-06-11 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:04 UTC,,•Also appears in Nuptial Dialogues (1723),"Husband.
What Pow'r has faithless Beauty in her Tears?
How Guilt withdraws, when Penitence appears?
You know, Lavinia, once I lov'd you well;
Nor has your Crimes yet chang'd my Heart to Steel.
I cannot hear you so much Grief express,
But still must pity your Unhappiness.
I own, Lavinia, I'm a little mov'd
To ease that Heart I once so dearly lov'd.
Could I forget, methinks I could forgive;
But Crimes like yours, will still unbury'd live;
In the most patient Bosom knawing lie,
And, like the Worm of Conscience, never di",""
"","""So fell Great Britains Orpheus in his Rage, / When Furies in his Breast began to howl, / And Cares that wait on Life's uncertain Stage, / Had quite untun'd his Soul.""",4131,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10602,2006-04-14 00:00:00 UTC,2011-05-25 21:07:40 UTC,,•I've included twice: Tuning and Inhabitants,"Tell how his nimble Fingers mov'd
Upon the yielding Keys,
Whilst Men and Angels equally approv'd,
His melting Strains, which could no less than please,
Those pious Souls who lov'd,
Such Musick that inspir'd the Mind with Peace,
But now no more shall we be blest,
With the soft Touches of that pow'rfull Hand,
Which senthi s Soul to rest;
Who did all Harmony Command,
That could beneath the Heavens be exprest,
To raise Devotion in his Native Land.
Yet jarring Discord made him court his Death,
And put a fatal stop to his harmonious Breath.
So the old Romans Wise and Brave,
By their Example taught,
'Twas easier to embrace the Grave,
Than bear the stabbing Force of anxious Thought.
The Disappointments of the Field,
Where Lawrels grow, with Blood manur'd.
Are worse than being kill'd,
To the undaunted Breast innur'd,
To the destructive Sword,
And the defensive Shield.
So the great Soul harmoniously compos'd,
Only made fit to entertain
Sweet Musick's Art by Heaven disclos'd,
To elevate the Thoughts of Men;
If once with Worldly Cares opprest,
It Labours to expire,
And Courts the trembling Hand to give it rest,
That when its unconfin'd
From Flesh and Blood to which 'tis join'd,
It then may mount in search of the Celestial Quire.
So fell Great Britains Orpheus in his Rage,
When Furies in his Breast began to howl,
And Cares that wait on Life's uncertain Stage,
Had quite untun'd his Soul;
Who hating Discord, could not bear
The Troubles of a tortur'd Mind,
Skill'd only in harmonious Air,
And quite avers'd to Care,
That oft afflicts the best of Humane Kind;
But when he found his strugling Breast
With insupportable Remorse opprest,
Such that could only have its Rise
From wanton Love or stubborn Vice,
He clapp'd Death's fatal Engine to his Head,
And hoping for eternal Rest.
Conquer'd those Vipers in his Conscience bred,
And with himself, shot all the stinging Fantoms dead.",""
"","Mr Clark ""Conquer'd those Vipers in his Conscience bred, / And with himself, shot all the stinging Fantoms dead""",4131,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10604,2006-04-14 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:35:07 UTC,,"","Tell how his nimble Fingers mov'd
Upon the yielding Keys,
Whilst Men and Angels equally approv'd,
His melting Strains, which could no less than please,
Those pious Souls who lov'd,
Such Musick that inspir'd the Mind with Peace,
But now no more shall we be blest,
With the soft Touches of that pow'rfull Hand,
Which senthi s Soul to rest;
Who did all Harmony Command,
That could beneath the Heavens be exprest,
To raise Devotion in his Native Land.
Yet jarring Discord made him court his Death,
And put a fatal stop to his harmonious Breath.
So the old Romans Wise and Brave,
By their Example taught,
'Twas easier to embrace the Grave,
Than bear the stabbing Force of anxious Thought.
The Disappointments of the Field,
Where Lawrels grow, with Blood manur'd.
Are worse than being kill'd,
To the undaunted Breast innur'd,
To the destructive Sword,
And the defensive Shield.
So the great Soul harmoniously compos'd,
Only made fit to entertain
Sweet Musick's Art by Heaven disclos'd,
To elevate the Thoughts of Men;
If once with Worldly Cares opprest,
It Labours to expire,
And Courts the trembling Hand to give it rest,
That when its unconfin'd
From Flesh and Blood to which 'tis join'd,
It then may mount in search of the Celestial Quire.
So fell Great Britains Orpheus in his Rage,
When Furies in his Breast began to howl,
And Cares that wait on Life's uncertain Stage,
Had quite untun'd his Soul;
Who hating Discord, could not bear
The Troubles of a tortur'd Mind,
Skill'd only in harmonious Air,
And quite avers'd to Care,
That oft afflicts the best of Humane Kind;
But when he found his strugling Breast
With insupportable Remorse opprest,
Such that could only have its Rise
From wanton Love or stubborn Vice,
He clapp'd Death's fatal Engine to his Head,
And hoping for eternal Rest.
Conquer'd those Vipers in his Conscience bred,
And with himself, shot all the stinging Fantoms dead.",""
"","""'Tis not Tasting alone that causes such different Impressions on our Organs, 'tis very probable that other Objects may have the same Effect.""",4040,Impressions,Searching in C-H Lion,21101,2013-06-21 16:07:07 UTC,2013-06-21 16:07:07 UTC,,"","But as the organs in most Men are differently dispos'd, for that reason the Object works differently on their Senses; 'tis that is the Cause of the Natural Aversions which are observable in some Persons that can neither suffer the Sight nor Approach of some Objects: We may from the same Reasons concede to different Opinions, since the same Objects excite different Sensations, according to the Dispositions of the Fibres; and that which Pleases the Palate of one, causes a great Distaste in another.
'Tis not Tasting alone that causes such different Impressions on our Organs, 'tis very probable that other Objects may have the same Effect. Perhaps what seems to one Black, may seem to another of a different Colour; in short, we cannot absolutely determine whether or no the Eyes are not like Glasses differently cut, which after that manner changes the Colours of Objects.
(II, pp. 123-4)",""
"","""Perhaps what seems to one Black, may seem to another of a different Colour; in short, we cannot absolutely determine whether or no the Eyes are not like Glasses differently cut, which after that manner changes the Colours of Objects.""",4040,"",Searching in C-H Lion,21102,2013-06-21 16:08:02 UTC,2013-06-21 16:08:02 UTC,,"","But as the organs in most Men are differently dispos'd, for that reason the Object works differently on their Senses; 'tis that is the Cause of the Natural Aversions which are observable in some Persons that can neither suffer the Sight nor Approach of some Objects: We may from the same Reasons concede to different Opinions, since the same Objects excite different Sensations, according to the Dispositions of the Fibres; and that which Pleases the Palate of one, causes a great Distaste in another.
'Tis not Tasting alone that causes such different Impressions on our Organs, 'tis very probable that other Objects may have the same Effect. Perhaps what seems to one Black, may seem to another of a different Colour; in short, we cannot absolutely determine whether or no the Eyes are not like Glasses differently cut, which after that manner changes the Colours of Objects.
(II, pp. 123-4)",""
"","""It is not to be doubted but that these things, altho' purely material, contribute to the Beauty and Nicety of Wit, because the Soul, when it is enclos'd in the Body, depends on the Organs, and those, when well dispos'd, are of much greater Aid to it in the performance of its Duty. Suppose a Painter be never so expert, he must have a Pencil for his Purpose when he has aim'd to draw fine and delicate Lines.""",4040,"",Searching in C-H Lion,21103,2013-06-21 16:09:15 UTC,2013-06-21 16:09:15 UTC,,"","There are Men of Sense as well as Wit, who think differently of every thing. Those who are endow'd with a fine and delicate manner of discerning, conceive those things under nice Ideas to be the same as they really are: Wits of a narrower Size generally conceive but the superficial Part of Objects. Subtle Wits define too much, and evaporate all their Conceptions into vain Imaginations. The difference which is observable in these arises from the Disposition of the Organs Diversity of the Fibres of the Brain, and the Substance wherewith it is fill'd. It is not to be doubted but that these things, altho' purely material, contribute to the Beauty and Nicety of Wit, because the Soul, when it is enclos'd in the Body, depends on the Organs, and those, when well dispos'd, are of much greater Aid to it in the performance of its Duty. Suppose a Painter be never so expert, he must have a Pencil for his Purpose when he has aim'd to draw fine and delicate Lines.
(II< pp. 124-5)",""
"","""Children have Masters to teach them to Dance and Sing, &c. but few or none to form their Minds, and teach them good Sense; that is not thought of; which is therefore the only Reason why most Men are more govern'd by Caprice and Fancy, than by the Guide of their Reason, which is not sufficiently cultivated.""",4040,"",Searching in C-H Lion,21104,2013-06-21 16:11:27 UTC,2013-06-21 16:11:27 UTC,,"","The little Care taken in forming the Reasons of some Men, is the Cause why they produce so little in their Actions; Children have Masters to teach them to Dance and Sing, &c. but few or none to form their Minds, and teach them good Sense; that is not thought of; which is therefore the only Reason why most Men are more govern'd by Caprice and Fancy, than by the Guide of their Reason, which is not sufficiently cultivated. It must be observ'd too, that few Men are willing to curb their Passions, for all their Applications are only to find out Means to justifie them, and when they are forc'd to own themselves to be in the wrong, they answer they cannot help it.
(II, pp. 126-7)",""