On reading the following lines, the reader may perhaps cry out - Confusion worse confounded: Here lies a she sun, and a he moon here, She gives the best light to his sphere, DONNE. Who but Donne would have thought that a good man is a telescope? Though God be our true glass through which we see All, since the being of all things is he; Yet are the trunks, which do to us derive Things in proportion fit, by perspective Deeds of good men; for by their living here, Virtues, indeed remote, seem to be near. Who would imagine it possible that in a very few lines so many remote ideas could be brought together? Since 'tis my doom, Love's undershrieve, All arm'd in brass, the richest dress of war, An universal consternation: His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws COWLEY. Beasts creep into their dens, and tremble there; Their fictions were often violent and unnatural. The fish around her crowded, as they do To the false light that treacherous fishers shew, As she at first took me: For ne'er did light so clear Among the waves appear, Though every night the sun himself set there. The poetical Effect of a Lover's name upon Glass. My name engrav'd herein Doth contribute my firmness to this glass; Which, ever since that charm, hath been COWLEY. COWLEY. Upon a Paper written with the Juice of Lemon, and read by the Fire. Nothing yet in thee is seen, But when a genial heat warms thee within, A new-born wood of various lines there grows; And all the flourishing letters stand in rows. COWLEY. As they sought only for novelty, they did not much inquire whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little. Physic and Chirurgery for a Lover. For I too weak of purgings grow. The World and a Clock. Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face Through all the turns of matter's maze did trace; Made up the whole again of every part. COWLEY. COWLEY. A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but, that it may not want its due honour, Cleiveland has paralleled it with the Sun: The moderate value of our guiltless ore Had he our pits, the Persian would admire Then let this truth reciprocally run, The sun's Heaven's coalery, and coal's our sun. Death, a Voyage. E'er rigg'd a soul for Heaven's discovery, DONNE. Their thoughts and expressions were sometimes grossly absurd, and such as no figures or license can reconcile to the understanding. A Lover neither Dead nor Alive. Then down I laid my head Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead, And my freed soul to a strange somewhere filed; Ah, sottish soul, said I, When back to its cage again I saw it fly; And row her galley here again! Fool, to that body to return Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn! Once dead, how can it be, Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, That thou should'st come to live it o'er again in me? A Lover's Heart, a Hand Grenado. Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come Into the self-same room; 'Twill tear and blow up all within. Like a grenado shot into a magazin. Then shall love keep the ashes, and torn parts, Shall out of both one new one make: From her's th' allay, from mine the metal take. The Poetical Propagation of Light. The prince's favour is diffus'd o'er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall; COWLEY. Then from those wombs of stars, the bride's bright eyes At every glance a constellation flies, And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent, In light and power, the all-eyed firmament: First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes, Then from their beams their jewels' lustres rise: And all is warmth, and light, and good desire. DONNE. They were in very little care to clothe their notions with elegance of dress, and therefore miss the notice and the praise which are often gained by those who think less, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts. That a Mistress beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expressed: Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand, To change thee as thou'rt there, for very thee. That prayer and labour should co-operate, are thus taught by Donne: In none but us are such mix'd engines found, As hands of double office; for the ground We till with them; and them to Heaven we raise; Who prayerless labours, or, without this, prays, By the same author, a common topic, the danger of procrastination, is thus illustrated: That which I should have begun In my youth's morning, now late must be done; And I, as giddy travellers must do, Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost Light and strength, dark and tir'd, must then ride post. All that man has to do is to live and die; the sum of humanity is comprehended by Donne in the following lines: Think in how poor a prison thou didst lie; After enabled but to suck and cry. Think, when 'twas grown to most, 'twas a poor inn, A province pack'd up in two yards of skin, And that usurp'd, or threaten'd with a rage Of sicknesses, or their true mother, age. But think that death hath now enfranchis'd thee; Think, that a rusty piece discharg'd is flown In pieces, and the bullet is his own, And freely flies; this to thy soul allow, Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatch'd but now. They were sometimes indelicate and disgusting. thus apostrophises beauty: Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Cowley Thou murtherer, which hast kill'd; and devil, which would'st damn me! |