Ah, sottish soul, said I, When back to its cage again I saw it fly : And row her galley here again! Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn! Once dead, how can it be, Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, A Lover's heart, a hand grenado : COWLEY. Wo to her stubborn heart, if once mine come Into the self-same room; "Twill tear and blow up all within, Like a grenado shot into a magazin. Then shall Love keep the ashes, 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. The poetical propagation of Light: The prince's favour is diffus'd o'er all, COWLEY: 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 prevent, 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 desire. 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 less, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts. That a Mistress beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expressed: Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand, That very thee. prayer and labour should co-operate, are thus taught by Donne: ger In none but us are such mix'd engines found, We till with them; and them to heaven we raise : By the same author, a common topick, the danof procrastination, is thus illustrated : That which I should have begun In my youth's morning, now late must be done; Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost All that man has to do is to live and die; the sum of humanity is comprehended by Donne in the following lines: Think in how poor a prison thou didst lie; Think, when 'twas grown to most, 'twas a poor inn, Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatch'd but now. THEY were sometimes indelicate and disgusting. Cowley thus apostrophises beauty: Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Thou murderer, which hast kill'd; and devil, which would'st damn me! Thus he addresses his Mistress: Thou who, in many a propriety, Add one more likeness, which I'm sure you can, Thus he represents the meditations of a Lover: Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracts have been So much as of original sin, Such charms thy beauty wears, as might Desires in dying confest saints excite. Thou with strange adultery Dost in each breast a brothel keep; D 2 The 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. This is yet more indelicate: As the sweet sweat of roses in a still, DONNE. As that which from chaf'd musk-cat's pores doth trill, As the almighty balm of the early East; Such are the sweet drops of my mistress' breast. They seem no sweat drops but pearl coronets: DONNE. THEIR expressions sometimes raise horror, when they intend perhaps to be pathetick: As men in hell are from diseases free, Free from their known formality: COWLEY. They 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 The love within too strong for't was, COWLEY. IN 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: Thou at this midnight seest me. IT must be however confessed of these writers, that if they are upon common subjects often unnecessarily and unpoetically subtle; yet, where scholastick speculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness and acuteness may justly be admired. What Cowley has written upon Hope shews an unequalled fertility of invention: Hope, whose weak being ruin'd is, Whom good or ill does equally confound, Vain shadow! which dost vanish quite, Both at full noon and perfect night! The |