text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"A Cave there is wherein those Nymphs reside
Who all the Realms of Sense and Fancy guide;
Nay some affirm that in the deepest Cell
Imperial Reason's self does not disdain to dwell:
With Living Reed 'tis thatch'd and guarded round,
Which mov'd by Winds emit a Silver Sound:
Two Crystal Fountains near its Entrance play,
Wide scatt'ring Golden Streams which ne'er decay,
Two Labyrinths behind harmonious Sounds convey:
Chiefly, within, the Room of State is fam'd
Of rich Mosaick Work divinely fram'd:
Of small Extent to view, 'twill all things hide,
Heav'n's Azure Arch it self not half so wide:
Here all the Arts their sacred Mansion chuse,
Here dwells the Mother of the Heav'n-born Muse:
With wond'rous mystic Figures round 'tis wrought
Inlaid with Fancy, and anneal'd with Thought:
With more than humane Skill depicted here
The various Images of Things appear;
What Was, or Is, or labours yet to Be
Within the Womb of Dark Futurity,
May Stowage in this wondrous Storehouse find,
Yet leave unnumber'd empty Cells behind:
But ah! as fast they come, they fly too fast,
Not Life or Happiness are more in haste:
Only the First Great Mind himself can stay
The Fugitives, and at one Glance survey;
But those whom he disdains not to befriend,
Uncommon Souls, who nearest Heav'n ascend
Far more, at once, than others comprehend:
Whate'er within this sacred Hall you find,
Whate'er will lodge in your capacious Mind
Let Judgment sort, and skilful Method bind;
And as from these you draw your antient Store
Daily supply the Magazine with more.
Furnish'd with such Materials he'll excel
Who when he works is sure to work 'em well;
This Art alone, as Nature that bestows,
And in Perfection both, th' accomplish'd Verser knows.
Knows to persuade, and how to speak, and when;
The Rules of Life, and Manners knows and Men:
Those narrow Lines which Good and Ill divide;
And by what Balance Just and Right are try'd:
How Kindred-Things with Things are closely join'd;
How Bodies act, and by what Laws confin'd,
Supported, mov'd and rul'd by th' Universal Mind.
When the moist Kids or burning Sirius rise;
Through what ambiguous Ways Hyperion flies,
And marks our Upper or the Nether Skies.
He knows those Strings to touch with artful Hand
Which rule Mankind, and all the World command:
What moves the Soul, and every secret Cell
Where Pity, Love, and all the Passions dwell.
The Music of his Verse can Anger raise,
Which with a softer Stroak he smooths and lays:
Can Emulation, Terror, all excite,
Compress the Soul with Grief, or swell with vast Delight.
If this you can, your Care you'll well bestow,
And some new Milton or a Spencer grow;
If not, a Poet ne'er expect to be,
Content to Rime, like D---y or like me.",2013-11-13 05:10:37 UTC,"""Nay some affirm that in the deepest Cell / Imperial Reason's self does not disdain to dwell.""
",2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"",•REREAD. Interesting passage. Confuses interior and exterior. A metaphor of mind that is not in the mind!,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10320,3978
"A Cave there is wherein those Nymphs reside
Who all the Realms of Sense and Fancy guide;
Nay some affirm that in the deepest Cell
Imperial Reason's self does not disdain to dwell:
With Living Reed 'tis thatch'd and guarded round,
Which mov'd by Winds emit a Silver Sound:
Two Crystal Fountains near its Entrance play,
Wide scatt'ring Golden Streams which ne'er decay,
Two Labyrinths behind harmonious Sounds convey:
Chiefly, within, the Room of State is fam'd
Of rich Mosaick Work divinely fram'd:
Of small Extent to view, 'twill all things hide,
Heav'n's Azure Arch it self not half so wide:
Here all the Arts their sacred Mansion chuse,
Here dwells the Mother of the Heav'n-born Muse:
With wond'rous mystic Figures round 'tis wrought
Inlaid with Fancy, and anneal'd with Thought:
With more than humane Skill depicted here
The various Images of Things appear;
What Was, or Is, or labours yet to Be
Within the Womb of Dark Futurity,
May Stowage in this wondrous Storehouse find,
Yet leave unnumber'd empty Cells behind:
But ah! as fast they come, they fly too fast,
Not Life or Happiness are more in haste:
Only the First Great Mind himself can stay
The Fugitives, and at one Glance survey;
But those whom he disdains not to befriend,
Uncommon Souls, who nearest Heav'n ascend
Far more, at once, than others comprehend:
Whate'er within this sacred Hall you find,
Whate'er will lodge in your capacious Mind
Let Judgment sort, and skilful Method bind;
And as from these you draw your antient Store
Daily supply the Magazine with more.
Furnish'd with such Materials he'll excel
Who when he works is sure to work 'em well;
This Art alone, as Nature that bestows,
And in Perfection both, th' accomplish'd Verser knows.
Knows to persuade, and how to speak, and when;
The Rules of Life, and Manners knows and Men:
Those narrow Lines which Good and Ill divide;
And by what Balance Just and Right are try'd:
How Kindred-Things with Things are closely join'd;
How Bodies act, and by what Laws confin'd,
Supported, mov'd and rul'd by th' Universal Mind.
When the moist Kids or burning Sirius rise;
Through what ambiguous Ways Hyperion flies,
And marks our Upper or the Nether Skies.
He knows those Strings to touch with artful Hand
Which rule Mankind, and all the World command:
What moves the Soul, and every secret Cell
Where Pity, Love, and all the Passions dwell.
The Music of his Verse can Anger raise,
Which with a softer Stroak he smooths and lays:
Can Emulation, Terror, all excite,
Compress the Soul with Grief, or swell with vast Delight.
If this you can, your Care you'll well bestow,
And some new Milton or a Spencer grow;
If not, a Poet ne'er expect to be,
Content to Rime, like D---y or like me.",2009-09-14 19:34:53 UTC,"""Whate'er within this sacred Hall you find, / Whate'er will lodge in your capacious Mind """,2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Inhabitant,•REREAD. Interesting passage. Confuses interior and exterior.,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10321,3978
"A Cave there is wherein those Nymphs reside
Who all the Realms of Sense and Fancy guide;
Nay some affirm that in the deepest Cell
Imperial Reason's self does not disdain to dwell:
With Living Reed 'tis thatch'd and guarded round,
Which mov'd by Winds emit a Silver Sound:
Two Crystal Fountains near its Entrance play,
Wide scatt'ring Golden Streams which ne'er decay,
Two Labyrinths behind harmonious Sounds convey:
Chiefly, within, the Room of State is fam'd
Of rich Mosaick Work divinely fram'd:
Of small Extent to view, 'twill all things hide,
Heav'n's Azure Arch it self not half so wide:
Here all the Arts their sacred Mansion chuse,
Here dwells the Mother of the Heav'n-born Muse:
With wond'rous mystic Figures round 'tis wrought
Inlaid with Fancy, and anneal'd with Thought:
With more than humane Skill depicted here
The various Images of Things appear;
What Was, or Is, or labours yet to Be
Within the Womb of Dark Futurity,
May Stowage in this wondrous Storehouse find,
Yet leave unnumber'd empty Cells behind:
But ah! as fast they come, they fly too fast,
Not Life or Happiness are more in haste:
Only the First Great Mind himself can stay
The Fugitives, and at one Glance survey;
But those whom he disdains not to befriend,
Uncommon Souls, who nearest Heav'n ascend
Far more, at once, than others comprehend:
Whate'er within this sacred Hall you find,
Whate'er will lodge in your capacious Mind
Let Judgment sort, and skilful Method bind;
And as from these you draw your antient Store
Daily supply the Magazine with more.
Furnish'd with such Materials he'll excel
Who when he works is sure to work 'em well;
This Art alone, as Nature that bestows,
And in Perfection both, th' accomplish'd Verser knows.
Knows to persuade, and how to speak, and when;
The Rules of Life, and Manners knows and Men:
Those narrow Lines which Good and Ill divide;
And by what Balance Just and Right are try'd:
How Kindred-Things with Things are closely join'd;
How Bodies act, and by what Laws confin'd,
Supported, mov'd and rul'd by th' Universal Mind.
When the moist Kids or burning Sirius rise;
Through what ambiguous Ways Hyperion flies,
And marks our Upper or the Nether Skies.
He knows those Strings to touch with artful Hand
Which rule Mankind, and all the World command:
What moves the Soul, and every secret Cell
Where Pity, Love, and all the Passions dwell.
The Music of his Verse can Anger raise,
Which with a softer Stroak he smooths and lays:
Can Emulation, Terror, all excite,
Compress the Soul with Grief, or swell with vast Delight.
If this you can, your Care you'll well bestow,
And some new Milton or a Spencer grow;
If not, a Poet ne'er expect to be,
Content to Rime, like D---y or like me.",2009-09-14 19:34:53 UTC,"""He knows those Strings to touch with artful Hand / Which rule Mankind, and all the World command: / What moves the Soul, and every secret Cell / Where Pity, Love, and all the Passions dwell.""",2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Rooms,•REREAD. Interesting passage. Confuses interior and exterior.
•I've included twice: Cell and Dwelling,"Searching ""soul"" and ""cell"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again ""reason""",10322,3978
"Fetch me, said she, a mighty Bowl,
Like Oberon's capacious Soul,
And then fill up the burnisht Gold
With juice that makes the Britains bold.
This from seven Barley Corns I drew,
It's Years are seven, and to the view
It's clear, and sparkles fit for you.",2009-09-14 19:34:59 UTC,"""Fetch me, said she, a mighty Bowl, / Like Oberon's capacious Soul.""",2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-03-23,"","",Searching HDIS (Poetry),10438,4032
"These would be Powerful Arguments, 'tis true,
Did Happiness consist in outward shew;
But since we all, by Just Experience, find
Content is only seated in the Mind,
We must not Judge from his External State,
That therefore he's more Happy, but more Great:
Tho' he Commands, Rewards, Dislikes, Approves,
And Glitt'ring Pomp surrounds him as he moves,
Fears, Cares, and Sorrows may his Mind Depress,
Beneath the Standard of Tærrestial Happiness.
The Ambitious Eagle often takes Delight,
To Soar beyond the reach of Humane Sight;
Yet Providence the like regard does show,
To each small Bird that Chirping sits below;
So Mercenary Slaves that Fight for Pay,
Conquer for Plunder, and for Bread Obey.
Possess those Blessings to the Great unknown,
That make their Painful'st Lives go smoothly down:
Kings are but Joyful when their Arms Succeed,
So also are the Servile Troops they lead;
Fortune to both doth equal Comfort give,
And both alike at their Misfortunes grieve.
Thus Providence keeps all things in a poise,
All Stations have their Fears, their Cares and Joys.
But then say you much happier are the Host,
That Won the Field, than those the Battle Lost.
",2014-06-22 18:39:13 UTC,"""But since we all, by Just Experience, find / Content is only seated in the Mind, / We must not Judge from his External State, / That therefore he's more Happy, but more Great.""",2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Empire,•A watered down metaphor. Not really artchitectural. REVISIT.,HDIS (Poetry),10459,4039
"All Learning to themselves the Church ingross'd,
The Layman's Right of Literature was lost:
God's Word they made peculiar to their Schools,
Learn'd were their Shepherds, but their Flocks were Fool
Who pray'd and paid, and without further thought,
Believ'd in gross whate'er the Pulpit taught.
All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place,
And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.
So blind was Zeal, the People so unwise,
That in their transubstantiate Sacrifice,
They'd trust their erring Guides before their faithful Eyes,
Believe the Euch'rist to be Flesh indeed,
Which their own Senses prov'd to be but Bread.
Sure that Relig'on ne'er could be of Heav'n,
That robs us of that Knowledge God has giv'n.
If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light,
How came our Guides to know the wrong from right,
Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain,
Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.
I doubt, were they of Reason dispossest,
'Twould puzzle 'em to determine which was best.
Reason's the heav'nly Ray that lights the Soul,
And the Faith dark that does its Power controul.
Fools without Thought are in Opinion stiff,
But wise Men on sound Reason ground Belief:
How that they find what for the Soul is good,
As by their Smell and Taste they judge their Food;
For who but each Man's Reason ought to try
'Tis Faith, who must be sav'd or damn'd thereby.
But useful Reason was, alas! deny'd,
And Souls depended on their outward Guide.
Th'eternal Word implicitly they took,
And did not dare to soil the sacred Book;
But, hoping well, took all things on content,
And, to enrich their Priests, kept always Lent;
Gave Sums of value, each to his degree,
For worthless Baubles of Idolatry;
Increas'd their own great Miseries and Wants,
T'adorn with gay Attire their wooden Saints.
When the Church Puppits were t'appear in State,
No Robes could be too rich, no Cost too great;
Each Bigot club'd, that the unharnas'd Shrine,
For sainted Log, might be profusely fine.
The People largely gave, but Heaven knows,
The Priest play'd booty when he bought the Cloaths,
And could not for his Soul be so upright,
To do his Saints that Justice which he might.
New Tissue Mantles for the Waxwork Child,
New Clouts and Cradle, for the Old were soil'd.
For good St. Peter a Pontifick Dress,
And costly Net his Function to express,
Of Gold and Silver made, which shew too plain,
Those were the only Nets to fish for Men:
Yet tho' their Saints were all so nobly clad,
The saving Clergy this wise Conduct had,
To keep their wooden Gods thus fine and gay,
Like foundling Bastards, at the Parish Pay.
Ten thousand Fopp'ries more did they contrive,
To gull the Laity that the Church might thrive.
Indulgences for any Sins they sold,
None fear'd Damnation, lest they wanted Gold:
But rigid Penance was enjoin'd the Poor,
And all such Misers as conceal'd their Store:
For very strait and rugged was the way
To Heav'n, for him that could and would not pay:
This Text was greatly by the Priests admir'd,
Where much is given, much shall be requir'd;
Whose genuine sence they basely did confound,
And, to their Gain, the sacred Words expound.
Thus their poor Hearers craftily were won,
First to be Bigots, next to be undone.
The Catalogue of mouldy Saints, 'tis true,
And number of their Beads, the People knew;
Were also taught in a strange Tongue to pray,
And could their Ave and Pater say:
But the blind Suppliants understood no more,
The sacred Jargon that they mumbled o'er,
Than Sappho's Parrots, taught to cry aloud,
That Sappho was a great and mighty God.",2009-09-14 19:35:15 UTC,"In Catholicism ""All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place, / And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.""",2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-04-15,"","",HDIS,10757,4168
"All Learning to themselves the Church ingross'd,
The Layman's Right of Literature was lost:
God's Word they made peculiar to their Schools,
Learn'd were their Shepherds, but their Flocks were Fool
Who pray'd and paid, and without further thought,
Believ'd in gross whate'er the Pulpit taught.
All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place,
And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.
So blind was Zeal, the People so unwise,
That in their transubstantiate Sacrifice,
They'd trust their erring Guides before their faithful Eyes,
Believe the Euch'rist to be Flesh indeed,
Which their own Senses prov'd to be but Bread.
Sure that Relig'on ne'er could be of Heav'n,
That robs us of that Knowledge God has giv'n.
If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light,
How came our Guides to know the wrong from right,
Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain,
Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.
I doubt, were they of Reason dispossest,
'Twould puzzle 'em to determine which was best.
Reason's the heav'nly Ray that lights the Soul,
And the Faith dark that does its Power controul.
Fools without Thought are in Opinion stiff,
But wise Men on sound Reason ground Belief:
How that they find what for the Soul is good,
As by their Smell and Taste they judge their Food;
For who but each Man's Reason ought to try
'Tis Faith, who must be sav'd or damn'd thereby.
But useful Reason was, alas! deny'd,
And Souls depended on their outward Guide.
Th'eternal Word implicitly they took,
And did not dare to soil the sacred Book;
But, hoping well, took all things on content,
And, to enrich their Priests, kept always Lent;
Gave Sums of value, each to his degree,
For worthless Baubles of Idolatry;
Increas'd their own great Miseries and Wants,
T'adorn with gay Attire their wooden Saints.
When the Church Puppits were t'appear in State,
No Robes could be too rich, no Cost too great;
Each Bigot club'd, that the unharnas'd Shrine,
For sainted Log, might be profusely fine.
The People largely gave, but Heaven knows,
The Priest play'd booty when he bought the Cloaths,
And could not for his Soul be so upright,
To do his Saints that Justice which he might.
New Tissue Mantles for the Waxwork Child,
New Clouts and Cradle, for the Old were soil'd.
For good St. Peter a Pontifick Dress,
And costly Net his Function to express,
Of Gold and Silver made, which shew too plain,
Those were the only Nets to fish for Men:
Yet tho' their Saints were all so nobly clad,
The saving Clergy this wise Conduct had,
To keep their wooden Gods thus fine and gay,
Like foundling Bastards, at the Parish Pay.
Ten thousand Fopp'ries more did they contrive,
To gull the Laity that the Church might thrive.
Indulgences for any Sins they sold,
None fear'd Damnation, lest they wanted Gold:
But rigid Penance was enjoin'd the Poor,
And all such Misers as conceal'd their Store:
For very strait and rugged was the way
To Heav'n, for him that could and would not pay:
This Text was greatly by the Priests admir'd,
Where much is given, much shall be requir'd;
Whose genuine sence they basely did confound,
And, to their Gain, the sacred Words expound.
Thus their poor Hearers craftily were won,
First to be Bigots, next to be undone.
The Catalogue of mouldy Saints, 'tis true,
And number of their Beads, the People knew;
Were also taught in a strange Tongue to pray,
And could their Ave and Pater say:
But the blind Suppliants understood no more,
The sacred Jargon that they mumbled o'er,
Than Sappho's Parrots, taught to cry aloud,
That Sappho was a great and mighty God.",2013-11-03 03:34:42 UTC,"""If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light, / How came our Guides to know the wrong from right, / Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain, / Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.""",2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-04-15,Court,"","Searching ""judge"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry)",10758,4168
"All Learning to themselves the Church ingross'd,
The Layman's Right of Literature was lost:
God's Word they made peculiar to their Schools,
Learn'd were their Shepherds, but their Flocks were Fool
Who pray'd and paid, and without further thought,
Believ'd in gross whate'er the Pulpit taught.
All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place,
And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.
So blind was Zeal, the People so unwise,
That in their transubstantiate Sacrifice,
They'd trust their erring Guides before their faithful Eyes,
Believe the Euch'rist to be Flesh indeed,
Which their own Senses prov'd to be but Bread.
Sure that Relig'on ne'er could be of Heav'n,
That robs us of that Knowledge God has giv'n.
If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light,
How came our Guides to know the wrong from right,
Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain,
Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.
I doubt, were they of Reason dispossest,
'Twould puzzle 'em to determine which was best.
Reason's the heav'nly Ray that lights the Soul,
And the Faith dark that does its Power controul.
Fools without Thought are in Opinion stiff,
But wise Men on sound Reason ground Belief:
How that they find what for the Soul is good,
As by their Smell and Taste they judge their Food;
For who but each Man's Reason ought to try
'Tis Faith, who must be sav'd or damn'd thereby.
But useful Reason was, alas! deny'd,
And Souls depended on their outward Guide.
Th'eternal Word implicitly they took,
And did not dare to soil the sacred Book;
But, hoping well, took all things on content,
And, to enrich their Priests, kept always Lent;
Gave Sums of value, each to his degree,
For worthless Baubles of Idolatry;
Increas'd their own great Miseries and Wants,
T'adorn with gay Attire their wooden Saints.
When the Church Puppits were t'appear in State,
No Robes could be too rich, no Cost too great;
Each Bigot club'd, that the unharnas'd Shrine,
For sainted Log, might be profusely fine.
The People largely gave, but Heaven knows,
The Priest play'd booty when he bought the Cloaths,
And could not for his Soul be so upright,
To do his Saints that Justice which he might.
New Tissue Mantles for the Waxwork Child,
New Clouts and Cradle, for the Old were soil'd.
For good St. Peter a Pontifick Dress,
And costly Net his Function to express,
Of Gold and Silver made, which shew too plain,
Those were the only Nets to fish for Men:
Yet tho' their Saints were all so nobly clad,
The saving Clergy this wise Conduct had,
To keep their wooden Gods thus fine and gay,
Like foundling Bastards, at the Parish Pay.
Ten thousand Fopp'ries more did they contrive,
To gull the Laity that the Church might thrive.
Indulgences for any Sins they sold,
None fear'd Damnation, lest they wanted Gold:
But rigid Penance was enjoin'd the Poor,
And all such Misers as conceal'd their Store:
For very strait and rugged was the way
To Heav'n, for him that could and would not pay:
This Text was greatly by the Priests admir'd,
Where much is given, much shall be requir'd;
Whose genuine sence they basely did confound,
And, to their Gain, the sacred Words expound.
Thus their poor Hearers craftily were won,
First to be Bigots, next to be undone.
The Catalogue of mouldy Saints, 'tis true,
And number of their Beads, the People knew;
Were also taught in a strange Tongue to pray,
And could their Ave and Pater say:
But the blind Suppliants understood no more,
The sacred Jargon that they mumbled o'er,
Than Sappho's Parrots, taught to cry aloud,
That Sappho was a great and mighty God.",2009-09-14 19:35:15 UTC,"""Reason's the heav'nly Ray that lights the Soul, / And the Faith dark that does its Power controul.""",2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-04-15,"","",HDIS,10759,4168
"All Learning to themselves the Church ingross'd,
The Layman's Right of Literature was lost:
God's Word they made peculiar to their Schools,
Learn'd were their Shepherds, but their Flocks were Fool
Who pray'd and paid, and without further thought,
Believ'd in gross whate'er the Pulpit taught.
All humane Sense to holy Craft gave place,
And Reason was a Slave to doubtful Grace.
So blind was Zeal, the People so unwise,
That in their transubstantiate Sacrifice,
They'd trust their erring Guides before their faithful Eyes,
Believe the Euch'rist to be Flesh indeed,
Which their own Senses prov'd to be but Bread.
Sure that Relig'on ne'er could be of Heav'n,
That robs us of that Knowledge God has giv'n.
If Reason must not judge of Faith's true light,
How came our Guides to know the wrong from right,
Or, how their rev'rend Heads distinguish plain,
Betwixt the Bible and the Alchoran.
I doubt, were they of Reason dispossest,
'Twould puzzle 'em to determine which was best.
Reason's the heav'nly Ray that lights the Soul,
And the Faith dark that does its Power controul.
Fools without Thought are in Opinion stiff,
But wise Men on sound Reason ground Belief:
How that they find what for the Soul is good,
As by their Smell and Taste they judge their Food;
For who but each Man's Reason ought to try
'Tis Faith, who must be sav'd or damn'd thereby.
But useful Reason was, alas! deny'd,
And Souls depended on their outward Guide.
Th'eternal Word implicitly they took,
And did not dare to soil the sacred Book;
But, hoping well, took all things on content,
And, to enrich their Priests, kept always Lent;
Gave Sums of value, each to his degree,
For worthless Baubles of Idolatry;
Increas'd their own great Miseries and Wants,
T'adorn with gay Attire their wooden Saints.
When the Church Puppits were t'appear in State,
No Robes could be too rich, no Cost too great;
Each Bigot club'd, that the unharnas'd Shrine,
For sainted Log, might be profusely fine.
The People largely gave, but Heaven knows,
The Priest play'd booty when he bought the Cloaths,
And could not for his Soul be so upright,
To do his Saints that Justice which he might.
New Tissue Mantles for the Waxwork Child,
New Clouts and Cradle, for the Old were soil'd.
For good St. Peter a Pontifick Dress,
And costly Net his Function to express,
Of Gold and Silver made, which shew too plain,
Those were the only Nets to fish for Men:
Yet tho' their Saints were all so nobly clad,
The saving Clergy this wise Conduct had,
To keep their wooden Gods thus fine and gay,
Like foundling Bastards, at the Parish Pay.
Ten thousand Fopp'ries more did they contrive,
To gull the Laity that the Church might thrive.
Indulgences for any Sins they sold,
None fear'd Damnation, lest they wanted Gold:
But rigid Penance was enjoin'd the Poor,
And all such Misers as conceal'd their Store:
For very strait and rugged was the way
To Heav'n, for him that could and would not pay:
This Text was greatly by the Priests admir'd,
Where much is given, much shall be requir'd;
Whose genuine sence they basely did confound,
And, to their Gain, the sacred Words expound.
Thus their poor Hearers craftily were won,
First to be Bigots, next to be undone.
The Catalogue of mouldy Saints, 'tis true,
And number of their Beads, the People knew;
Were also taught in a strange Tongue to pray,
And could their Ave and Pater say:
But the blind Suppliants understood no more,
The sacred Jargon that they mumbled o'er,
Than Sappho's Parrots, taught to cry aloud,
That Sappho was a great and mighty God.
(Cf. pp. 5-8 in 1705 ed.)",2013-11-03 03:40:22 UTC,"""[W]ise Men on sound Reason ground Belief: / How that they find what for the Soul is good, / As by their Smell and Taste they judge their Food; / For who but each Man's Reason ought to try / 'Tis Faith, who must be sav'd or damn'd thereby.""",2004-08-31 00:00:00 UTC,"",Taste,2009-04-15,"","",HDIS (Poetry),10760,4168
" Good Heavens! Is this our Native Property,
For which we so much Time and Blood imploy?
No sure, 'tis something more and greater still,
We fancy't Freedom to do what we will.
Alas! is this the Liberty we boast,
For which just Heav'n our great Forefather curst?
Then he that is most Happy, and most Free,
Is he that knows least of such Liberty.
Who can just Laws without Reserve obey,
Laws made secure from Arbitrary Sway,
Where Pow'r is limited, Justice confin'd,
To Rules of Reason, not a lawless Mind,
For that is Tyranny in any kind?
",2010-01-26 18:06:34 UTC,"""Who can just Laws without Reserve obey, / Laws made secure from Arbitrary Sway, / Where Pow'r is limited, Justice confin'd, / To Rules of Reason, not a lawless Mind, / For that is Tyranny in any kind?""",2004-06-21 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2010-01-26,Court,"","Found again searching ""law"" and ""mind HDIS (Poetry)",10938,4210