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A lover's heart, a hand grenado. Wo to her stubborn heart, if once mine come

Into the self-fame room,

'Twill tear and blow up all within, , Like a grenado shot into a magazin. Then shall love keep the ashes, and torn

Of both our broken hearts :

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; Then from those wombs of stars, the Bride's

bright eyes, At every glance, a constellation flies, And sowes the court with stars, and doth pre

vent In light and power, the all-ey'd firmament; First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes,

Then from their beams their jewels lustres

rise ;

And from their jewels torches do take fire, And all is warmth, and light, and good defire.



HE Y 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.


D 2

That a mistress beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expressed :

Thou in my fancy doft much higher stand,
Than women can be plac'd by Nature's


And I must needs, I'm sure, a loser be,
To change thee, as thou’rt there, for


That prayer and labour should co-operate, are thus taught by Donne ;

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In none but us, are such mixt engines

found, As hands of double office : for the ground We till with them; and them to heav'n we

raise ;

Who prayerless labouis, or without this,

prays, Doth but one half, that's none.

By the same author, a common topick, the danger of procrastination, is thus illustrated :

-That which I should have begun
In my youth's morning, now late must be


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

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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 :

poor inn,

Think in how poor a prison thou didst lie,
After, enabled but to suck and cry.
Think, when 'twas grown to most, 'twas a
A province pack'd up in two yards of skin,
And that usurp’d, or threaten'd with a rage
Of ficknesses, or their true mother, age.
But think that death hath now enfranchis'd

Thou hast 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 soul allow,
Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatch'd

but now.

They were sometimes indelicate and difgusting. Cowley thus apostrophises beauty : -Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe

can be !

Thou murth’rer, which haft killed, and devil,

which would'st damn me.

Thus he addresses his Mistress :

Thou, who in many a propriety,
So truly art the sun to me,
Add one more likeness, which I'm sure you

And let me and my sun beget a man.


Thus he represents the meditations of a
Lover ;
Tho' in thy thoughts scarce any tracts have

So much as of original fin,
Such charms thy beauty wears as might
Desires in dying confest saints excite.

Thou with strange adultery
Dost in each breast a brothel keep;

Awake, all men do lust for thee,
And some enjoy thee when they neep.

The true taste of tears.

Hither with crystal vials, lovers, come,

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

And try your mistress' tears at home, For all are false, that taste not just like mine.

DONNE, This is yet more indelicate : As the sweet sweat of roses in a still, As that which from chaf'd mulk-cat's pores

doth trill, As the almighty balm of th' early East, Such are the sweet drops of my mistress' breast. And on her neck her skin such lastre sets, They seem to sweat drops, but pearl coronets: Rank sweaty froth thy mistress' brow defiles.


HEIR expressions fometimes raise horșor, when they intend perhaps to be pathetic: As men in hell are from diseases free, So from all other ills am I,


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



HEY were not always strictly curious, whether the opinions from which they drew their illustrations were true ; it was enough that they were popular. Bacon remarks, that some falsehoods are continued by tradition, because they supply commodious allusions. It gave a piteous groan, and so it broke ; In vain it something would have spoke: The love within too strong for’t was, Like poison put into a Venice-glass.


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

Thou seest me here at midnight, now all rest: Time's dead low-water; when all minds

divest To-morrow's business, when the labourers

have Such rest in bed, that their last church-yard

grave, Subject to change, will scarce be a type of

this, Now when the client, whose last hearing is


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