Selected quad for the lemma: love_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
love_n	know_v	let_v	see_v	5,984	5	3.0591	3	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A28571	The art of poetry written in French by the Sieur de Boileau ; made English.; Art poétique. English	Boileau Despréaux, Nicolas, 1636-1711.; Soames, William, Sir.; Dryden, John, 1631-1700.	1683 (1683)	Wing B3464; ESTC R3959	16,988	70

and Place Keep the Stage full and all our Labors grace Write not what cannot be with ease conceiv'd Som Truths may be too strong to be believ'd A foolish Wonder cannot entertain My mind 's not mov'd if your Discourse be vain You may relate what would offend the Eye Seeing indeed would better satisfy But there are objects that a curious Art Hides from the Eyes yet offers to the Heart The mind is most agreably surpris'd When a well-woven Subject long disguis'd You on a sudden artfully unfold And give the whole another face and mould At first the Tragedy was void of Art A Song where each man Danc'd and Sung his Part And of God Bacchus roaring out the praise Sought a good Vintage for their Jolly dayes Then Wine and Joy were seen in each man's Eyes And a fat Goat was the best Singer's prize Thespis was first who all besmear'd with Lee Began this pleasure for Posterity And with his Carted Actors and a Song Amus'd the People as he pass'd along Next Aeschylus the diff'rent Persons plac'd And with a better Masque his Players grac'd Upon a Theater his Verse express'd And show'd his Hero with a Buskin dress'd Then Sophocles the Genius of his Age Increas'd the Pomp and Beauty of the Stage Ingag'd the Chorus Song in every part And polish'd rugged Verse by Rules of Art He in the Greek did those perfections gain Which the weak Latin never could attain Our pious Fathers in their Priest-rid Age As Impious and Prophane abhorr'd the Stage A Troop of silly Pilgrims as 't is said Foolishly zealous scandalously Play'd Instead of Heroes and of Love's complaints The Angels God the Virgin and the Saints At last right Reason did his Laws reveal And show'd the Folly of their ill-plac'd Zeal Silenc'd those Nonconformists of the Age And rais'd the lawful Heroes of the Stage Only th' Athenian Masque was lay'd aside And Chorus by the Musick was supply'd Ingenious Love inventive in new Arts Mingled in Playes and quickly touch'd our Hearts This Passion never could resistance find But knows the shortest passage to the mind Paint then I 'm pleas'd my Hero be in Love But let him not like a tame Shepherd move Let not Achilles be like Thyrsis seen Or for a Cyrus show an Artamen That strugling oft his Passions we may find The Frailty not the Virtue of his mind Of Romance Heroes shun the low Design Yet to great Hearts some Human frailties joyn Achilles must with Homer's heat ingage For an affront I 'm pleas'd to see him rage Those little Failings in your Hero's heart Show that of Man and Nature he has part To leave known Rules you cannot be allow'd Make Agamemnon covetous and proud Aeneas in Religious Rites austere Keep to each man his proper Character Of Countryes and of Times the humors know From diff'rent Climates diff'ring Customs grow And strive to shun their fault who vainly dress An Antique Hero like some modern Ass Who make old Romans like our English move Show Cato Sparkish or make Brutus Love In a Romance those errors are excus'd There 't is enough that Reading we 're amus'd Rules too severe would then be useless found But the strict Scene must have a juster bound Exact Decorum we must always find If then you form some Hero in your mind Be sure your Image with it self agree For what he first appears he still must be Affected Wits will nat'urally incline To paint their Figures by their own design Your Bully Poets Bully Heroes write Chapman in Bussy D'Ambois took delight And thought perfection was to Huff and Fight Wise Nature by variety does please Cloath diff'ring Passions in a diff'ring Dress Bold Anger in rough haughty words appears Sorrow is humble and dissolves in Tears Make not your Hecuba with fury rage And show a Ranting grief upon the Stage Or tell in vain how the rough Tanais bore His seven-fold Waters to the Euxine Shore These swoln expressions this affected noise Shows like some Pedant that declaims to Boys In sorrow you must softer methods keep And to excite our tears your self must weep Those noisy words with which ill Plays abound Come not from hearts that are in sadness drown'd The Theatre for a young Poet's Rhymes Is a bold venture in our knowing times An Author cannot eas'ly purchase Fame Critics are always apt to hiss and blame You may be Judg'd by every Ass in Town The Priviledge is bought for half a Crown To please you must a hundred Changes try Sometimes be humble then must soar on high In noble thoughts must every where abound Be easy pleasant solid and profound To these you must surprising Touches joyn And show us a new wonder in each Line That all in a just method well design'd May leave a strong Impression in the mind These are the Arts that Tragedy maintain The Epic. But the Heroic claims a Loftier Strain In the Narration of some great Design Invention Art and Fable all must joyn Here Fiction must employ its utmost grace All must assume a Body Mind and Face Each Virtue a Divinity is seen Prudence is Pallas Beauty Paphos Queen 'T is not a Cloud from whence swift Lightnings fly But Iupiter that thunders from the Sky Nor a rough Storm that gives the Sailor pain But angry Neptune plowing up the Main Echo's no more an empty Airy Sound But a fair Nymph that weeps her Lover drown'd Thus in the endless Treasure of his mind The Poet does a thousand Figures find Around the work his Ornaments he pours And strows with lavish hand his op'ning Flow'rs 'T is not a wonder if a Tempest bore The Trojan Fleet against the Libyan Shore From faithless Fortune this is no surprise For every day 't is common to our eyes But angry Iuno that she might destroy And overwhelm the rest of ruin'd Troy That Aeolus with the fierce Goddess joyn'd Op'ned the hollow Prisons of the Wind 'Till angry Neptune looking o're the Main Rebukes the Tempest calms the Waves again Their Vessels from the dang'rous quick-sands steers These are the Springs that move our hopes and fears Without these Ornaments before our Eyes Th'unsinew'd Poem languishes and dyes Your Poet in his art will always fail And tell you but a dull insipid Tale. In vain have our mistaken Authors try'd These ancient Ornaments to lay aside Thinking our God and Prophets that he sent Might Act like those the Poets did invent To fright poor Readers in each Line with Hell And talk of Satan Ashtaroth and Bel The Mysteries which Christians must believe Disdain such shifting Pageants to receive The Gospel offers nothing to our thoughts But penitence or punishment for faults And mingling falshoods with those Mysteries Would make our Sacred Truths appear like Lyes Besides what pleasure can it be to hear The howlings of repining Lucifer Whose rage at your imagin'd Hero flyes And oft with God himself disputes the prize Tasso you 'l say has done it with applause It is not

Sence Displease us if ill English give offence A barb'rous Phrase no Reader can approve Nor Bombast Noise or Affectation Love In short without pure Language what you Write Can never yield us Profit or Delight Take time for thinking never work in hast And value not your self for writing fast A rapid Poem with such fury writ Shews want of Judgment not abounding Wit More pleas'd we are to see a River lead His gentle Streams along a flow'ry Mead Than from high Banks to hear loud Torrents roar With foamy Waters on a Muddy Shore Gently make haste of Labour not afraid A hundred times consider what you 've said Polish repolish every Colour lay And sometimes add but oft'ner take away T is not enough when swarming Faults are writ That here and there are scattered Sparks of Wit Each Object must be fix'd in the due place And diff'ring parts have Corresponding Grace Till by a curious Art dispos'd we find One perfect whole of all the pieces join'd Keep to your Subject close in all you say Nor for a sounding Sentence ever stray The publick Censure for your Writings fear And to your self be Critic most severe Fantastic Wits their darling Follies love But find You faithful Friends that will reprove That on your Works may look with careful Eyes And of your Faults be zealous Enemies Lay by an Author's Pride and Vanity And from a Friend a Flatterer descry Who seems to like but means not what he says Embrace true Counsel but suspect false Praise A Sycophant will every thing admire Each Verse each Sentence sets his Soul on Fire All is Divine there 's not a Word amiss He shakes with Joy and weeps with Tenderness He over-pow'rs you with his mighty Praise Truth never moves in those impetuous ways A Faithful Friend is careful of your Fame And freely will your heedless Errors blame He cannot pardon a neglected Line But Verse to Rule and Order will confine Reproves of words the too affected sound Here the Sence flags and your expression's round Your Fancy tires and your Discourse grows vain Your Terms improper make them just and plain Thus 't is a faithful Friend will freedom use But Authors partial to their Darling Muse Think to protect it they have just pretence And at your Friendly Counsel take offence Said you of this that the Expression's flat Your Servant Sir you must excuse me that He answers you This word has here no grace Pray leave it out That Sir 's the proper'st place This Turn I like not 'T is approv'd by all Thus resolute not from a fault to fall If there 's a Syllable of which you doubt 'T is a sure Reason not to blot it out Yet still he says you may his Faults confute And over him your pow'r is absolute But of his feign'd Humility take heed 'T is a Bait lay'd to make you hear him read And when he leaves you happy in his Muse Restless he runs some other to abuse And often finds for in our scribling times No Fool can want a Sot to praise his Rhymes The flattest work has ever in the Court Met with some Zealous Ass for its support And in all times a forward Scribling Fop Has found some greater Fool to cry him up End of the first Canto Canto II. Pastoral AS a fair Nymph when Rising from her bed With sparkling Diamonds dresses not her head But without Gold or Pearl or costly Scents Gathers from neighb'ring Fields her Ornaments Such lovely in its dress but plain withal Ought to appear a Perfect Pastoral It s humble method nothing has of fierce But hates the ratling of a lofty Verse There Native beauty pleases and excites And never with harsh Sounds the Ear affrights But in this stile a Poet often spent In rage throws by his Rural Instrument And vainly when disorder'd thoughts abound Amid'st the Eclogue makes the Trumpet Sound Pan flyes Alarm'd into the neighb'ring Woods And frighted Nymphs dive down into the Floods Oppos'd to this another low in stile Makes Shepherds speak a Language base and vile His Writings flat and heavy without Sound Kissing the Earth and creeping on the ground You 'd swear that Randal in his Rustick Strains Again was quav'ring to the Country Swains And changing without care of Sound or Dress Strephon and Phyllis into Tom and Bess. Twixt these extreams 'tis hard to keep the right For Guides take Virgil and read Theocrite Be their just Writings by the Gods inspir'd Your constant Pattern practis'd and admir'd By them alone you 'l easily comprehend How Poets without shame may condescend To sing of Gardens Fields of Flow'rs and Fruit To stir up Shepherds and to tune the Flute Of Love's rewards to tell the happy hour Daphne a Tree Narcissus made a Flower And by what means the Eclogue yet has pow'r To make the Woods worthy a Conqueror This of their Writings is the grace and flight Their risings lofty yet not out of Sight Elegy The Elegy that loves a mournful stile With unbound hair weeps at a Funeral Pile It paints the Lovers Torments and Delights A Mistress Flatters Threatens and Invites But well these Raptures if you 'l make us see You must know Love as well as Poetry I hate those Lukewarm Authors whose forc'd Fire In a cold stile describes a hot Desire That sigh by Rule and raging in cold blood Their sluggish Muse whip to an Amorous mood Their feign'd Transports appear but flat and vain They always sigh and alwayes hug their Chain Adore their Prison and their Suff'rings bless Make Sence and Reason quarrel as they please 'T was not of old in this affected Tone That Smooth Tibullus made his Amorous moan Nor Ovid when Instructed from above By Nature's Rules he taught the Art of Love The Heart in Elegies forms the Discourse Ode The Ode is bolder and has greater force Mounting to Heav'n in her Ambitious flight Amongst the Gods and Heroes takes delight Of Pisa's Wrestlers tells the Sin'ewy force And sings the dusty Conqueror's glorious Course To Simois streams does fierce Achilles bring And makes the Ganges bow to Britan's King Somtimes she flies like an Industrious Bee And robs the Flow'rs by Nature's Chymistry Describes the Shepherds Dances Feasts and Bliss And boasts from Phyllis to surprise a Kiss When gently she resists with feign'd remorse That what she grants may seem to be by force Her generous stile at random oft will part And by a brave disorder shows her Art Unlike those fearful Poets whose cold Rhyme In all their Raptures keep exactest time That sing th' Illustrious Hero's mighty praise Lean Writers by the terms of Weeks and Dayes And dare not from least Circumstances part But take all Towns by strictest Rules of Art Apollo drives those Fops from his abode And some have said that once the humorous God Resolving all such Scriblers to confound For the short Sonnet order'd this strict bound Set Rules for the just Measure and the Time The easy