theme,metaphor,work_id,dictionary,provenance,id,created_at,updated_at,reviewed_on,comments,text,context
Refinement,"""Some livelier spark of heaven, and more refined / From earthly dross, fills the great poet's mind.""",3318,Metal,"Searching in HDIS (Poetry); Found again ""dross"" and ""mind""",8585,2005-05-11 00:00:00 UTC,2011-05-30 14:49:03 UTC,2008-09-24,"•Another version of this poem is attributed to Richard Duke. ""To the Unknown Author of Absalom and Achitophel.""
•The poem is indeed by Richard Duke (9/23/2008).
","I thought,--forgive my sin,--the boasted fire
Of poets' souls did long ago expire;
Of folly or of madness did accuse
The wretch that thought himself possessed with muse;
Laughed at the God within, that did inspire
With more than human thoughts the tuneful quire;
But sure 'tis more than fancy, or the dream
Of rhymers slumb'ring by the muses' stream.
Some livelier spark of heaven, and more refined
From earthly dross, fills the great poet's mind.
Witness these mighty and immortal lines,
Through each of which th'informing genius shines.
Scarce a diviner flame inspired the king
Of whom thy muse does so sublimely sing.
Not David's self could in a nobler verse
His gloriously offending son rehearse,
Though in his breast the prophet's fury met
The father's fondness, and the poet's wit.
(ll. 1-18)",""
"","""No more; I'm thine, and here I seal my heart to thee for ever.""",3718,"","Searching ""seal"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Drama)",9612,2005-04-24 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:21 UTC,2009-06-09,"","GOODV.
No more; I'm thine, and here I seal my heart to thee for ever.",Act IV
"","""Dares afraid his reasons house / (Though he had scarce so much as goose) / About his batter'd ears should tumble""",3722,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),9616,2006-01-25 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:21 UTC,,"","Dares afraid his reasons house
(Though he had scarce so much as goose)
About his batter'd ears should tumble,
Was half ith'mind in manner humble.
To crave in time a Letter of Licence.
He lik't not banging sans defeizance.
While t'other labors all he can
To make a window to his brain .
Dares was in condition sad,
His face was swell'd big as his head,
His head was swell'd as big as his hat,
And he himself just falling flat
Upon his bloody bruised nose;
When all in hast Æneas throws
Himself between the blowes so thick:
Good faith 'twas well he came ith'nick.
For had he had but one more thwack
Upon his head or his Sto--mack
Dares had given the Crows a pudding;
And Death had come before his Wedding.
For now Entellus Clawes were up,
And falling just was fatal swop.
But just in time Æneas spruce,
And brave Acestes cry'd, Kings scruce.
With coaxing words Æneas mellows
The bloudy heart of vex'd Entellus.
Good Sir quo, he your wrath forbear,
Man stout at Cuffs as ere stole Deere,
Next time shall Dares learn more manners
Then let his wits be his Trappanners,
Thus to provoke a man whose wrists
Can powder Rocks of Amethists;
With nailes like fleas crack Adamants;
And puff down Armed Elephants.
These gentle words made Gaffer Thwacksides
Most patiently lay by his Ox-hides.
Such credit had Æneas there,
Quo he, your will be done Menheire.
Then Sir Æneas, turning face
To him that was in doubtful case;
So bruis'd and batter'd, and so swel'd,
(He scarce could stand unless upheld)
Made him to the best of my memory,
This pithy speech consolatory.",""
"","""He lik't not banging sans defeizance. / While t'other labors all he can / To make a window to his brain.""",3722,Rooms,"Searching ""brain"" and ""window"" in HDIS (Poetry)",9617,2006-01-25 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:21 UTC,,"","Dares afraid his reasons house
(Though he had scarce so much as goose)
About his batter'd ears should tumble,
Was half ith'mind in manner humble.
To crave in time a Letter of Licence.
He lik't not banging sans defeizance.
While t'other labors all he can
To make a window to his brain .
Dares was in condition sad,
His face was swell'd big as his head,
His head was swell'd as big as his hat,
And he himself just falling flat
Upon his bloody bruised nose;
When all in hast Æneas throws
Himself between the blowes so thick:
Good faith 'twas well he came ith'nick.
For had he had but one more thwack
Upon his head or his Sto--mack
Dares had given the Crows a pudding;
And Death had come before his Wedding.
For now Entellus Clawes were up,
And falling just was fatal swop.
But just in time Æneas spruce,
And brave Acestes cry'd, Kings scruce.
With coaxing words Æneas mellows
The bloudy heart of vex'd Entellus.
Good Sir quo, he your wrath forbear,
Man stout at Cuffs as ere stole Deere,
Next time shall Dares learn more manners
Then let his wits be his Trappanners,
Thus to provoke a man whose wrists
Can powder Rocks of Amethists;
With nailes like fleas crack Adamants;
And puff down Armed Elephants.
These gentle words made Gaffer Thwacksides
Most patiently lay by his Ox-hides.
Such credit had Æneas there,
Quo he, your will be done Menheire.
Then Sir Æneas, turning face
To him that was in doubtful case;
So bruis'd and batter'd, and so swel'd,
(He scarce could stand unless upheld)
Made him to the best of my memory,
This pithy speech consolatory.",""
"","""'Tis not a Flash of Fancy which sometimes / Dasling our Minds, sets off the slightest Rimes; / Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done; / True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun; / Which though sometimes beneath a cloud retir'd, / Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.""",3766,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),9708,2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:25 UTC,,•I've included twice: Flash and Sun,"Of Things in which Mankind does most excell,
Nature's chief Master-piece is writing well;
And of all sorts of Writing none there are
That can the least with Poetry compare;
No kind of work requires so nice a touch,
And if well done, there's nothing shines so much;
But Heav'n forbid we should be so prophane,
To grace the vulgar with that sacred name;
'Tis not a Flash of Fancy which sometimes
Dasling our Minds, sets off the slightest Rimes;
Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done;
True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun;
Which though sometimes beneath a cloud retir'd,
Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.
Number, and Rime, and that harmonious sound,
Which never does the Ear with harshness wound,
Are necessary, yet but vulgar Arts,
For all in vain these superficial parts
Contribute to the structure of the whole
Without a Genius too, for that's the Soul;
A Spirit which inspires the work throughout,
As that of Nature moves this World about;
A heat that glows in every word that's writ,
That's something of Divine, and more than Wit;
It self unseen, yet all things by it shown,
Describing all men, but describ'd by none;
Where dost thou dwell? what caverns of the Brain
Can such a vast and mighty thing contain?
When I at idle hours in vain thy absence mourn,
O where dost thou retire? and why dost thou return,
Sometimes with powerful charms to hurry me away
From pleasures of the night, and business of the day?
Ev'n now too far transported I am fain
To check thy course, and use the needfull rein;
As all is dullness, when the Fancy's bad,
So without Judgment, Fancy is but mad;
And Judgment has a boundless influence;
Not upon words alone, or only sence,
But on the world, of manners, and of men,
Fancy is but the Feather of the Pen;
Reason is that substantial useful part,
Which gains the Head, while t'other wins the Heart.",""
"","""Where dost thou dwell? what caverns of the Brain / Can such a vast and mighty thing contain?""",3766,"","Searching ""brain"" and ""cave"" in HDIS (Poetry)",9709,2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:25 UTC,,"","Of Things in which Mankind does most excell,
Nature's chief Master-piece is writing well;
And of all sorts of Writing none there are
That can the least with Poetry compare;
No kind of work requires so nice a touch,
And if well done, there's nothing shines so much;
But Heav'n forbid we should be so prophane,
To grace the vulgar with that sacred name;
'Tis not a Flash of Fancy which sometimes
Dasling our Minds, sets off the slightest Rimes;
Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done;
True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun;
Which though sometimes beneath a cloud retir'd,
Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.
Number, and Rime, and that harmonious sound,
Which never does the Ear with harshness wound,
Are necessary, yet but vulgar Arts,
For all in vain these superficial parts
Contribute to the structure of the whole
Without a Genius too, for that's the Soul;
A Spirit which inspires the work throughout,
As that of Nature moves this World about;
A heat that glows in every word that's writ,
That's something of Divine, and more than Wit;
It self unseen, yet all things by it shown,
Describing all men, but describ'd by none;
Where dost thou dwell? what caverns of the Brain
Can such a vast and mighty thing contain?
When I at idle hours in vain thy absence mourn,
O where dost thou retire? and why dost thou return,
Sometimes with powerful charms to hurry me away
From pleasures of the night, and business of the day?
Ev'n now too far transported I am fain
To check thy course, and use the needfull rein;
As all is dullness, when the Fancy's bad,
So without Judgment, Fancy is but mad;
And Judgment has a boundless influence;
Not upon words alone, or only sence,
But on the world, of manners, and of men,
Fancy is but the Feather of the Pen;
Reason is that substantial useful part,
Which gains the Head, while t'other wins the Heart.",""
"","""Fancy is but the Feather of the Pen; / Reason is that substantial useful part, / Which gains the Head, while t'other wins the Heart.""",3766,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),9711,2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:25 UTC,,"","Of Things in which Mankind does most excell,
Nature's chief Master-piece is writing well;
And of all sorts of Writing none there are
That can the least with Poetry compare;
No kind of work requires so nice a touch,
And if well done, there's nothing shines so much;
But Heav'n forbid we should be so prophane,
To grace the vulgar with that sacred name;
'Tis not a Flash of Fancy which sometimes
Dasling our Minds, sets off the slightest Rimes;
Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done;
True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun;
Which though sometimes beneath a cloud retir'd,
Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.
Number, and Rime, and that harmonious sound,
Which never does the Ear with harshness wound,
Are necessary, yet but vulgar Arts,
For all in vain these superficial parts
Contribute to the structure of the whole
Without a Genius too, for that's the Soul;
A Spirit which inspires the work throughout,
As that of Nature moves this World about;
A heat that glows in every word that's writ,
That's something of Divine, and more than Wit;
It self unseen, yet all things by it shown,
Describing all men, but describ'd by none;
Where dost thou dwell? what caverns of the Brain
Can such a vast and mighty thing contain?
When I at idle hours in vain thy absence mourn,
O where dost thou retire? and why dost thou return,
Sometimes with powerful charms to hurry me away
From pleasures of the night, and business of the day?
Ev'n now too far transported I am fain
To check thy course, and use the needfull rein;
As all is dullness, when the Fancy's bad,
So without Judgment, Fancy is but mad;
And Judgment has a boundless influence;
Not upon words alone, or only sence,
But on the world, of manners, and of men,
Fancy is but the Feather of the Pen;
Reason is that substantial useful part,
Which gains the Head, while t'other wins the Heart.",""
Ruling Passion,"""Examine how your Humour is inclin'd, / And which the Ruling Passion of your Mind""",3799,"","Searching ""ruling passion"" in HDIS (Poetry)",9794,2004-05-18 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:29 UTC,,"","Each Poet, with a different Talent writes,
One Praises, One Instructs, Another Bites.
Horace did ne're aspire to Epick Bays,
Nor lofty Maro stoop to Lyrick Lays.
Examine how your Humour is inclin'd,
And which the Ruling Passion of your Mind;
Then, seek a Poet who your way do's bend,
And chuse an Author as you chuse a Friend.
United by this Sympathetick Bond,
You grow Familiar, Intimate and Fond;
Your thoughts, your Words, your Stiles, your Souls agree,
No Longer his Interpreter, but He.
",""
"","""Truth Stamps Conviction in your Ravisht Breast.""",3799,"","Searching ""stamp"" and ""breast"" in HDIS (Poetry)",9805,2005-04-11 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:34:29 UTC,2009-03-23,"","
What I have instanc'd only in the best,
Is, in proportion true of All the rest.
Take pains the genuine Meaning to explore,
There Sweat, there Strain, tug the laborious Oar:
Search ev'ry Comment, that your Care can find,
Some here, some there, may hit the Poets Mind;
Yet be not blindly guided by the Throng;
The Multitude is alwayes in the Wrong.
When Things appear unnatural or hard,
Consult your Author, with Himself compar'd;
Who knows what blessing Phæbus may bestow,
And future Ages to your Labour owe?
Such Secrets are not easily found out,
But once Discover'd, leave no Room for Doubt.
Truth Stamps Conviction in your Ravisht Breast,
And Peace, and Joy attend the glorious Guest.",""
"","""The first Impression in her Infant Breast / Will be the deepest, and should be the best.""",3799,Impression,"Searching ""breast"" and ""impression"" in HDIS (Poetry)",9810,2005-05-20 00:00:00 UTC,2011-06-06 03:08:49 UTC,2011-06-05,"","With how much ease is a young Muse Betray'd,
How nice the Reputation of the Maid!
Your early, kind, paternal care appears,
By chast Instruction of her Tender Years.
The first Impression in her Infant Breast
Will be the deepest, and should be the best
Let no Austerity breed servile Fear,
No wanton Sound offend her Virgin-Ear.
Secure from foolish Pride's affected state,
And specious Flattery's more pernicious Bait,
Habitual Innocence adorns her Thoughts
But your neglect must answer for her Faults",""