text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
" Painters and Poets never should be fat--
Sons of Apollo! listen well to that.
Fat is foul weather--dims the fancy's sight:
In poverty, the wits more nimbly muster:
Thus stars, when pinch'd by frost, cast keener lustre
On the black blanket of old mother night.
Your heavy fat, I will maintain,
Is perfect birdlime of the brain;
And, as to goldfinches the birdlime clings--
Fat holds ideas by the legs and wings.
Fat flattens the most brilliant thoughts,
Like the buff-stop on harpsichords, or spinets--
Muffling their pretty little tuneful throats,
That would have chirp'd away like linnets.
(cf. pp. 12-3 in 1787 ed.)",2014-03-03 19:51:45 UTC,"""Fat is foul weather--dims the fancy's sight""",2005-06-01 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2012-06-27,"","•I've included twice: Weather and Vision.
",Searching in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO.,14889,5574
" What dire emotions shook the Monarch's soul!
Just like two billiard balls his eyes 'gan roll,
Whilst anger all his royal heart possess'd,
That, swelling, wildly bump'd against his breast,
Bounc'd at his ribs with all its might so stout,
As resolutely bent on jumping out,
T'avenge, with all its pow'rs the dire disgrace,
And nobly spit in the offender's face.
Thus a large dumpling to its cell confin'd
(A very apt allusion to my mind),
Lies snug, until the water waxeth hot,
Then bustles 'midst the tempest of the pot:
In vain!--the lid keeps down the child of dough,
That bouncing, tumbling, sweating, rolls below.
(pp. 11-2 in 1785 edition)",2014-03-03 18:19:21 UTC,"""Thus a large dumpling to its cell confin'd / (A very apt allusion to my mind).""",2005-03-26 00:00:00 UTC,Canto I,"",2012-06-27,Rooms,"•Wolcot here uses a metaphor of mind with self awareness INTEREST. USE IN ENTRY?
•I've included twice: Dumpling and Cell",Searching in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO.,15094,5647
"What, Lonsdale, melted down thy ruthless rage?--
With dæmons once thy spirit dar'd engage,
Spat on the mob that Freedom's ensigns bore,
Smil'd at his storm, and mock'd his thunder-roar;
Fac'd keen Contempt, and Murder's sanguine eye,
And horsewhipp'd whining Mercy to her sky.
How art thou sunk! how wither'd!--Lost, I fear,
Where is the Lowther spirit--tell me where?
Speak, can the ghost of Conscience haunt thy mind?
Hear'st thou the call of Death in ev'ry wind?--
Lo, Resolution to thy terror turns,
And o'er the skeleton of Manhood mourns!
Go, Wonder, to Earth's utmost limits fly,
And, say, if aught like this e'er stretch'd thine eye.
",2009-09-14 19:43:22 UTC,"""Speak, can the ghost of Conscience haunt thy mind?""",2004-06-08 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-01-23,"",•Earliest appearance in Gentleman's Magazine Vol. 61. ii. p. 1131 R.,"Searching ""haunt"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",15332,5752
"In vain at glory gudgeon Boswell snaps--
His mind's a paper kite--compos'd of scraps;
Just o'er the tops of chimneys form'd to fly;
Not with a wing sublime to mount the sky.
Say to the dog, his head's a downright drum
Unequal to the history of Tom Thumb:
Nay tell of anecdote that thirsty leech,
He is not equal to a Tyburn speech.
",2014-03-03 17:16:37 UTC,"""In vain at glory gudgeon Boswell snaps-- / His mind's a paper kite--compos'd of scraps / Just o'er the tops of chimneys form'd to fly.""",2005-03-26 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","","Searching ""paper"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO",16355,6179
"List to the oracles I now advance--
A man stark blind should never races run;
A cripple never should pretend to dance;
A head of wax should never court the sun.
Then bid Miss Hannah More her pen confine:
Repress the vainly rhiming, prosing rage,
That makes us sinful damn the nerveless line,
Un-Job-like curse the pen'ry of the page.
",2014-03-03 17:50:50 UTC,"""A head of wax should never court the sun.""",2005-04-11 00:00:00 UTC,Epistle III,"",,"",•Taking a swipe at Hannah More. ,"Searching ""wax"" and ""head"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO.",16358,6181