Think, when 'twas grown to moft, 'twas a poor inn,
A province pack'd up in two yards of skin,
And that ufurp'd, or threaten'd with a rage
Of fickneffes, or their true mother, age.
But think that death hath now enfranchis'd thee;
Thou haft thy expansion now, and liberty;
Think, that a rusty piece discharg'd is flown
In pieces, and the bullet is his own,

And freely flies: this to thy foul allow,

Think thy fhell broke, think thy foul hatch'd but now.

THEY were fometimes indelicate and difgufting. Cowley thus apoftrophifes beauty:

-Thou tyrant which leav'ft no man free!

Thou fubtle thief, from whom nought fafe can be! Thou murtherer, which haft kill'd; and devil, which would't damn me!

Thus he addreffes his Miftrefs:

Thou who, in many a propriety,

So truly art the fun to me,

Add one more likenefs, which I'm fure you can,

And let me and my fun beget a man.

Thus he reprefents the meditations of a Lover:

Though in thy thoughts fcarce any tracts have been
So much as of original fin,

Such charms thy beauty wears, as might

Defires in dying confeft faints excite.

Thou with ftrange adultery Doft in each breaft a brothel keep;

Awake all men do luft for thee, And fome enjoy thee when they fleep.

The true taste of Tears.

Hither with cryftal vials, lovers, come,

And take my tears, which are love's wine,

And try your mistress' tears at home;

For all are falfe, that tafte not just like mine.

This is yet more indelicate:

As the fweet fweat of rofes in a ftill,

DONNE.

As that which from chaf'd mufk-cat's pores doth trill,

As the almighty balm of th' early Eaft;

Such are the fweet drops of my miftrefs' breaft.

And on her neck her fkin fuch luftre fets,

They feem no fweat drops, but pearl coronets:
Rank, fweaty froth thy miftrefs' brow defiles.

DONNE.

THEIR expreffions fometimes raife horror, when they intend perhaps to be pathetick:

As men in hell are from difeafes free,

So from all other ills am I,

Free from their known formality:
But all pains eminently lie in thee.

COWLEY

THEY were not always ftrictly curious, whether the opinions from which they drew their illuftrations. were true; it was enough that they were popular. Bacon remarks, that fome falfehoods are continued by tradition, because they fupply commodious allufions.

It

gave a piteous groan, and so it broke: In vain it fomething would have spoke;

The

The love within too ftrong for 't was,
Like poifon put into a Venice-glass.

COWLEY.

IN forming defcriptions, they looked out not for images, but for conceits. Night has been a common fubject, which poets have contended to adorn. Dryden's Night is well known; Donne's is as follows:

Thou feeft me here at midnight, now all reft:
Time's dead low-water; when all minds divest
To-morrow's bufinefs; when the labourers have
Such reft in bed, that their last church-yard grave,
Subject to change, will fcarce be a type of this;
Now when the client, whofe last hearing is
To-morrow, fleeps; when the condemned man,
Who, when he opes his eyes, muft fhut them then
Again by death, although fad watch he keep,
Doth practife dying by a little fleep;

Thou at this midnight feeft me.

IT must be however confeffed of these writers, that if they are upon common fubjects often unneceffarily and unpoetically fubtle; yet, where fcholaftick fpeculation can be properly admitted, their copioufnefs and acutenefs may juftly be admired. What Cowley has written upon Hope fhews an unequalled fertility of invention:

Hope, whofe weak being ruin'd is,
Alike if it fucceed and if it mifs;
Whom good or ill does equally confound,
And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound;
Vain fhadow! which doft vanish quite,

Both at full noon and perfect night!

The stars have not a poffibility

Of bleffing thee;

If things then from their end we happy call,

'Tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.

Hope, thou bold tafter of delight,

Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'ft it quite

Thou bring'ft us an eftate, yet leav'st us poor,

By clogging it with legacies before!

The joys which we entire should wed, Come deflower'd virgins to our bed; Good fortunes without gain imported be,

Such mighty cuftom's paid to thee:

For joy, like wine kept clofe, does better taste;
If it take air before its fpirits waste.

To the following comparison of a man that travels and his wife that ftays at home, with a pair of compaffes, it may be doubted whether abfurdity of ingenuity has better claim:

Our two fouls, therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expanfion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two fo

As ftiff twin compaffes are two;
Thy foul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if th' other do.
And though it in the centre fit,

Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who muft
Like th' other foot obliquely run.
Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

DONNE.

In all these examples it is apparent, that whatever is improper or vitious is produced by a voluntary deviation from nature in purfuit of fomething new. and strange; and that the writers fail to give delight by their defire of exciting admiration.

HAVING thus endeavoured to exhibit a general representation of the ftyle and fentiments of the metaphyfical poets, it is now proper to examine particularly the works of Cowley, who was almoft the laft of that race, and undoubtedly the best.

His Mifcellanies contain a collection of short compofitions, written fome as they were dictated by a mind at leisure, and some as they were called forth by different occafions; with great variety of style and fentiment, from burlesque levity to awful grandeur. Such an affemblage of diverfified excellence no other poet has hitherto afforded. To choose the beft, among many good, is one of the moft hazardous attempts of criticifm. I know not whether Scaliger himself has perfuaded many readers to join with him in his preference of the two favourite odes, which he estimates in his raptures at the value of a kingdom. I will, however, venture to recommend Cowley's firft piece, which ought to be infcribed To my Mufe, for want of which the fecond couplet is without reference, When the title is added, there will still remain a defect; for every piece ought to contain in itself whatever is neceffary to make it intelligible. Pope has fome epitaphs without names; which are therefore epitaphs to be lett, occupied indeed for the prefent, but hardly appropriated.

The ode on Wit is almoft without a rival. It was about the time of Cowley that Wit, which had been