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

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 woman can be plac'd by Nature's hand;
And I muft needs, I'm fure, a lofer be,

To change thee as thour't 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 prayerlefs 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 should have begun

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

Which ftray or fleep all day, and, having loft
Light and strength, dark and tir'd, muft then ride poft.

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 haft thy expanfion now, and liberty;
Think, that a rufty piece difcharg'd is flown
In pieces, and the bullet is his own,
And freely flies: this to thy foul allow,

Think thy fhell broke, think thy foul hatch'd but now.

THEY were fometimes indelicate and disgusting. 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 Mistress:

Thou who, in many a propriety,
So truly art the fun to me,

Add one more likeness, which I'm fure you can,
And let me and my fun beget a man.

Thus he represents the meditations of a Lover:

Though in thy thoughts fcarce any tracts have been So much as of original fin,

Such charms thy beauty wears as might

Defires in dying confeft faints excite.

Thou with strange 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 East;

Such are the fweet drops of my miftrefs' breaft.
And on her neck her fkin fuch luftre sets,

They feem no fweat drops, but pearl coronets:
Rank, fweaty froth thy miftrefs' brow defiles.

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:
But all pains eminently lie in thee.

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 fo it broke:
In vain it fomething would have spoke :

The

The love within too ftrong for 't was,
Like poifon put into a Venice-glass.

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:
Time's dead low-water; when all minds divest
To-morrow's bufinefs, when the labourers have
Such reft in bed, that their laft church-yard grave,
Subject to change, will scarce be a type of this,
Now when the client, whofe last hearing is
To-morrow, fleeps; when the condemned man,
Who, when he opes his eyes, muft fhut them then
Again by death, although fad watch he keep,
Doth practise dying by a little fleep;

Thou at this midnight seeft me.

IT must be however confeffed of thefe writers, that if they are upon common fubjects often unneceffarily and unpoetically fubtle; yet where scholaftick fpeculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness 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,
Alike if it fucceed, and if it miss;

Whom good or ill does equally confound,
And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound;

Vain fhadow! which doft vanish quite,

Both at full noon and perfect night!

The ftars 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,

Equite!
Who, whilft thou should'ft but tafte, devour'ft it
Thou bring'ft us an eftate, yet leav'ft 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;
If it take air before its spirits waste,

To the following comparifon of a man that travels, and his wife that ftays at home, with a pair of compaffes, it may be doubted whether abfurdity or ingenuity has the better claim:

Our two fouls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet

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;
Thy foul the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.
And though it in the centre fit,

Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,

And grows erect as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who muft

Like th' other foot obliquely run.
Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

DONNE.