work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4153,Flights of Fancy,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"Here proper Ferments animate the Blood,
And give just Vigour to the bounding Flood.
The vital Streams with due impulsive Force
Spring from the Heart, and triumph in their Course;
Rarely a dull unagitated Mass
Do's lazy linger in its circling Race:
Nor do's a flaming rapid Torrent fry
The winding Tubes, and leave the Muscles dry;
While the mild Dews, forc'd with too great a Fire,
Desert the Limbs, and thro' the Pores perspire.
The Purple Streams, warm to a just Degree,
From Dregs and unconcocted Juices free,
As they pervade the Channels of the Brain,
Their purer Parts thro' the fine Meshes strain.
These active Liquors, which Admission find
Thro' the strait Paths, and leave the coarse behind,
Swift to the inmost Rooms their Passage beat,
And crowd around the Soul's Imperial Seat;
Of subtile Matter form'd, refin'd and bright,
As Light'ning sprightly, and serene as Light,
Watching their Soveraign's Nod, they ready stand
Apt to perform the Mind's supream Command.
Such noble Vital Instruments are fit
For Reason's Works, and beauteous Turns of Wit.
With finer Strokes they move the tender Strings
Tun'd in the Brain, whence clear Perception springs.
When Fancy makes superior Flight her Aim,
Wing'd with this vig'rous, clear seraphick Flame,
She ranges Nature's universal Frame;
Bright Seeds of Thought from various Objects takes,
Whence her fair Scenes and Images she makes:
Spirits so swift, so fine, so bold, so strong,
Gave Milton Genius fit for Milton's Song.",2009-07-31,10720,•I had included twice: Birds and Seeds. — I've since decide this is not an Animal metaphor: REVISED (Uncategorized::Wing),"""When Fancy makes superior Flight her Aim, / Wing'd with this vig'rous, clear seraphick Flame, / She ranges Nature's universal Frame; / Bright Seeds of Thought from various Objects takes, / Whence her fair Scenes and Images she makes: / Spirits so swift, so fine, so bold, so strong, / Gave Milton Genius fit for Milton's Song.""","",2013-06-04 15:27:07 UTC,""
6718,"",Reading,2010-06-08 21:34:49 UTC,"If your mistakes their ill opinion gain,
No merit can their favour reobtain:
And if they're not vindictive in their fury,
'Tis their unconstant temper does secure ye;
Their brain's so cool, their passion seldom burns;
For all's condens'd before the flame returns;
The fermentation's of so weak a matter,
The humid damps the fume, and runs it all to water.
So, tho the inclination may be strong,
They're pleas'd by fits, and never angry long.
(Part II, p. 41, ll. 558-67)",,17875,"","""Their brain's so cool, their passion seldom burns; / For all's condens'd before the flame returns; The fermentation's of so weak a matter, / The humid damps the fume, and runs it all to water.""","",2010-06-08 21:34:49 UTC,Part II
7957,"",Searching in ECCO-TCP,2014-07-02 15:40:18 UTC,"Away the Skilful Doctor comes
Of Recipes and Med'cines full,
To check the giddy Whirl of Nature's Fires,
If so th' unruly Case requires;
Or with his Cobweb-cleansing Brooms
To sweep and clear the over-crouded Scull,
If settl'd Spirits flag, and make the Patient dull.
But asking what the Symptoms were,
That made 'em think he was so bad?
The Man indeed, they cry'd, is wond'rous Mad
You, at this Distance, may behold him there
Beneath that Tree in open Air,
Surrounded with the Engines of his Fate,
The Gimcracks of a broken Pate.
Those Hoops a Sphere he calls,
That Ball the Earth;
And when into his raving Fit he falls,
'Twou'd move at once your Pity, and your Mirth,
To hear him, as you will do soon,
Declaring, there's a Kingdom in the Moon;
And that each Star, for ought he knows,
May some Inhabitants enclose:
Philosophers, he says, may there abound,
Such Jugglers as himself be in them found;
Which if there be, the World may well turn round;
At least to those, whose Whimsies are so strange,
That, whilst they're fixt to one peculiar Place,
Pretend to measure far extended Space,
And 'mongst the Planets range.
Behold him now contemplating that Head,
From which long-since both Flesh, and Brains are fled;
Questioning, if that empty, hollow Bowl
Did not ere while contain the Human Soul:
Then starts a Doubt, if 'twere not to the Heart
That Nature rather did that Gift impart.
Good Sir, employ the utmost of your Skill,
To make him Wiser, tho' against his Will;
Who thinks, that he already All exceeds,
And laughs at our most solemn Words and Deeds:
Tho' once amongst us he wou'd try a Cause,
And Bus'ness of the Town discuss,
Knowing, as well as one of us,
The Price of Corn, and standing Market-Laws;
Wou'd bear an Office in his Turn,
For which good Purposes all Men were born;
Not to be making Circles in the Sand,
And scaling Heav'n, till they have sold their Land.
Or, when unstock'd below their Pasture lies,
To find out Bulls and Rams, amidst the Skies.
From these Mistakes his Madness we conclude;
And hearing, you was with much Skill endu'd,
Your Aid we sought. Hippocrates amaz'd,
Now on the Sage, now on the Rabble gaz'd;
And whilst he needless finds his artful Rules,
Pities a Man of Sense, judg'd by a Croud of Fools
Then how can we with their Opinions join,
Who, to promote some Int'rest, wou'd define
The Peoples Voice to be the Voice Divine?
(pp. 286-8)",,24130,"","""Away the Skilful Doctor comes / Of Recipes and Med'cines full, / To check the giddy Whirl of Nature's Fires, / If so th' unruly Case requires; / Or with his Cobweb-cleansing Brooms / To sweep and clear the over-crouded Scull, / If settl'd Spirits flag, and make the Patient dull.""",Rooms,2014-07-02 15:40:42 UTC,""