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Death, a Voyage.

No family
E'er rigg'd a soul for Heaven's discovery,
With whom more venturers might boldly dare
Venture their stakes, with him in joy to share.

DONNE,

Their thoughts and expressions were sometimes grossly absurd, and such as no figures or license can reconcile to the understanding.

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 soul to a strange somewhere fled;

Ah, sottish soul, said I,
When back to its cage again I saw it fly;
Fool to resume her broken chain,
And row her galley here again!

Fool, to that body to return
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,
That thou should'st come to live it o'er again in me?

A Lover's Heart, a Hand Grenado.
Woe 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.

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 stars, the bride's bright eyes

At every glance a constellation flies,
And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent,

In light and power, the all-eyed 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 desire.

DONNE.

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 can,

And let me and my sun beget a man.
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;

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

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 musk-cats pores doth trill,
As the almighty balm of the early East;
Such are the sweet drops of my mistress' breast.
And on her neck her skin such lustre sets,
They seem no sweat-drops, but pearl coronets:
Rank, sweaty froth thy mistress' brow defiles.

DONNE.

Their expressions sometimes raise horror, 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.

COWLEY. They were not always strictly curious, whetherthe 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.

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