Of life and motion, and with equal art
Made up the whole again of every part.

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
Makes no man atheist, and no woman whore;
Yet why fhould hallow'd veftal's facred fhrine
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 Perfian would admire
No fun, but warm's devotion at our fire:
He'd leave the trotting whipfter, and prefer
Our profound Vulcan 'bove that waggoner.
For wants he heat, or light? or would have
ftore,

Or both? 'tis here: and what can funs give
more?

Nay, what's the fun but, in a different name,
A coal-pit rampant, or a mine on flame!

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,

1

With whom more venturers might boldly dare Venture their stakes, with him in joy to fhare. DONNE.

THEIR thoughts and expreffions were fometimes groffly abfurd, and such as no figures or licence can reconcile to the underftanding.

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 foul to a strange somewhere fled;
Ah, fottish foul, faid I,

When back to its cage again I faw it fly;
Fool to refume her broken chain !

And row her galley here again!

Fool, to that body to return

Where it condemn'd and deftin'd is to burn!

Once dead, how can it be,

Death fhould a thing fo pleasant seem to thee, That thou fhould'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 shall Love keep the afhes, and torn parts, Of both our broken hearts:

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 those wombs of ftars, the Bride's bright eyes,

At every glance a conftellation flies

And fowes the court with stars, and doth prevent In light and power, the all-ey'd firmament: First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes,

Then from their beams their jewels luftres rife; And from their jewels torches do take fire, And all is warmth, and light, and good defire. DONNE.

THEY were in very little care to clothe their notions with elegance of dress, and therefore mifs the notice and the praise which are often gained by thofe, who think lefs, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts.

That

That a Miftrefs beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expreffed:

Thou in my fancy doft much higher ftand,
Than women can be plac'd by Nature's hand;
And I must needs, I'm fure, a lofer be,
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 fuch mixt 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,
Doth but one half, that's none.

By the fame author, a common topick, the danger of procraftination, is thus illuftrated

That which I fhould have begun

In my youth's morning, now late must be done;
And I, as giddy travellers must do,

Which stray or fleep all day, and having loft
Light and ftrength, dark and tir'd, muft then

ride poft.

VOL. I.

E

All

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 prifon thou didst lie;
After enabled but to fuck and cry.

Think, when 'twas grown to moft, 'twas a poor
inn,

A province pack'd up in two yards of fkin,
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 expanfion now, and liberty;
Think, that a rufty piece discharg'd is flown
In pieces, and the bullet is his own,

And freely flies: this to thy foul allow, [now.
Think thy fhell broke, think thy foul hatch'd but

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

Thou tyrant, which leav'ft no man free! Thou fubtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Thou murtherer, which haft kill'd, and devil, which would'st damn me!

Thus