An univerfal confternation: His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws Beafts creep into their dens, and tremble there; COWLEY: THEIR fictions were often violent and unnatural. Of his Mistress bathing. The fish around her crowded, as they do To the falfe light that treacherous fishers fhew, As fhe at first took me : For ne'er did light fo clear Among the waves appear, Though every night the fun himself fet there. COWLEY. The poetical effect of a lover's name upon glass : My name engrav'd herein Doth contribute my firmness to this glass; Which, ever fince that charm, hath been As hard as that which grav'd it was. DONNE. THEIR conceits were fentiments flight and trifling. On an inconftant woman: He enjoys the calmy funshine now, And no breath ftirring hears, In the clear heaven of thy brow, No fmalleft cloud appears. He He fees thee gentle, fair and gay, And trufts the faithlefs April of thy May. COWLEY. Upon a paper written with the juice of lemon, and read by the fire : Nothing yet in thee is feen, But when a genial heat warms thee within, A new-born wood of various lines there grows; Here spouts a V, and there a T, And all the flourishing letters ftand in rows. COWLEY. As they fought only for novelty, they did not much enquire whether their allufions were to things high or low, elegant or grofs: whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little. Phyfick and Chirurgery for a Lover. Cordials of pity give me now, The World and a Clock. Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face Thro' all the turns of matter's maze did trace; COWLEY. COWLEY. A coal 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 Makes no man atheist, and no woman whore; Had he our pits, the Perfian would admire Then let this truth reciprocally run, The fun 's heaven's coalery, and coals our fun. Death, a Voyage: No family E'er rigg'd a foul for Heaven's discovery, DONNE. THEIR thoughts and expreffions were fometimes grofsly abfurd, and fuch as no figures or licence 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, Ah, Ah, fottifh foul, faid I, When back to its cage again I faw it fly; And row her galley here again! Where it condemn'd and deftin'd is to burn! Once dead, how can it be, Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, That thou should't come to live it o'er again in me? A Lover's heart, a hand grenado: Wo to her ftubborn heart, if once mine come Into the felf fame room; 'Twill tear and blow up all within, Like a grenado fhot into a magazin. Then fha Love keep the afhes, and torn parts, Shall out of both one new one make: From her's th' allay, from mine the metal take. COWLEY. The poetical Propagation of Light: The prince's favour is diffus'd o'er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall: Then from thofe wombs of ftars, the Bride's bright eyes, At every glance a conftellation flics, And fowes the court with ftars, and doth prevent, First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes, Then from their beams their jewels' luftres rife: And from their jewels torches do take fire, VOL. IX. D DONNE. THEY. 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 lefs, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts. That a Miftrefs beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expreffed : Thou in my fancy doft much higher stand, To change thee as thou'rt there, for very thee. That prayer and labour fhould co-operate, are thus taught by Donne: In none but us are fuch mix'd engines found, As hands of double office; for the ground We till with them; and them to heaven we raise; By the fame author, a common topick, the danger of procrastination, is thus illuftrated: That which I fhould have begun In my youth's morning, now late must be done; Which stray or fleep all day, and having loft Light and strength, dark and tir'd, must then ride poft. All that man has to do is to live and die; the fum of humanity is comprehended by Donne in the following lines: Think in how poor a prison thou didst lie; After enabled but to fuck and cry. |