Think, when 'twas grown to moft, 'twas a poor inn, 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 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: 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: 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, 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: 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, 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; 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, 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; Yet, when the other far doth roam, And grows erect as that comes home. 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 |