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Yet are the trunks, which do to us derive
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,
Why this reprieve?
By candle's end,
Life's taper out?
OF enormous and disgusting hyperboles,
By every wind, that comes this way,
repay. As shall themselves make winds to get to you.
In tears I'll waste these
All arm'd in brass, the richest dress of war,
An universal consternation: His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws Tear up the ground; then runs he wild about, Lashing his angry tail and roaring out. . Beasts creep into their dens, and tremble there; Trees, thono wind is stirring, shake with
Silence and horrour fill the place around:
HEIR fictions were often violent and unnatural.
Of his Mistress bathing: The fish around her crouded, as they do To the false light that treach'rous fishers
As she at first took me:
Among the waves appear,
The poetical effect of a Lover's name upon glass :
My name engrav'd herein,
Which, ever since that charm, hath been
HEIR conceits were sometimes flight and
On an inconftant woman.
And no breath stirring hears,
He sees thee gentle, fair and gay,
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;
Here buds an L, and there a B,
Here sprouts a V, and there a T,
they fought only for novelty, they did not much enquire 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.
Physick and Chirurgery for a Lover. Gently, ah gently, madam, touch
The wound, which you yourself have made; That pain must needs be very much,
Which makes me of your hand afraid.
The World and a Clock.
Mahol, th' inferior world's fantastic face,
A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but that it may not want its due honour, Cleveland has paralleled it with the Sun: The mod'rate value of our guiltless ore, Makes no man atheist, nor no woman whore. Yet why should hallow'd vestals sacred shrine, Deserve more honour than a flaming mine? These pregnant wombs of heat would fitter be Than a few embers for a deity.
Had he our pits, the Persian would admire No sun, but warm's devotion at our fire : He'd leave the trotting whipster, and prefer Our profound Vulcan 'bove that waggoner. For wants he heat ? or light? or would have
Itore? Or both ? 'tis here : and what can suns give more D
Nay, what's the sun, but in a different name,
Death, a Voyage :
HEIR thoughts and expressions were sometimes grossly absurd, and such as no figures or licence can reconcile to the understanding.
A lover neither dead nor alive :
Then down I laid my head,
Fool to resume her broken chain !
Fool, to that body to return
Once dead, how can it be,