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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 should hallow'd vestal's facred shrine
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,

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

THEIR thoughts and expreffions were fometimes groffly abfurd, and fuch 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 fomewhere 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 so 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 self fame room,

"Twill

"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 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 drefs, and therefore miss the notice and the praife which are often gained by thofe, who think lefs, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts.

That

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That a Mistress 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 raife;
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 illuf trated,

That which I should 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 strength, dark and tir'd, must then

ride post.

VOL. I.

E

All

1

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 prison 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 skin,
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 hast 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 dif gufting. Cowley thus apoftrophifes 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'ft damn me!

Thus

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