With whom more venturers might boldly dare DONNE. Their thoughts and expreffions were fometimes 92 grofsly abfurd, and fuch as no figures or licence 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, 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, A Lover's heart, a hand grenado. COWLEY. Wo to her stubborn heart, if once mine come Into the felf-fame room, 'Twill tear and blow up all within, Like a grenado shot into a magazin. Then shall Love keep the afhes, and torn parts, 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 thofe wombs of ftars, the Bride's bright eyes, 95 And fowes the court with ftars, and doth prevent Than from their beams their jewels luftres rife ; DONNE. THEY were in very little care to clothe their notiens with elegance of dress, and therefore miss the notice and the praife which are often gained by those, who think lefs, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts. That a miftrefs beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expreffed : Thou in my fancy doft much higher stand, To change thee, as thou'rt there, for very thee. That prayer and labour fhould 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 raise; By the fame author, a common topick, the danger of procrastination, is thus illuftrated : That which I fhould have begun. In my youth's morning, now late must be done; Which ftray or fleep all day, and having loft Light and strength, dark and tir'd must 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 Think in how poor a prifon thou didft lie; Think, when 'twas grown to moft, 'twas a poor inn, A province pack'd up in two yards of ikin, 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. 100 Cowley thus apoftrophifes beauty: -Thou tyrant, which leav'ft no man free! Thou fubtle thief, from whom nought fafe can be! Thus he addreffes his Miftrefs: 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 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 breast a brothel keep; Awake, all men do luft for thee, 107 103 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 falfe, that taste not juft like mine. 104 This is yet more indelicate: As the fweet fweat of rofes in a ftill, As that which from chaf'd mufk-cat's pores doth trill, Such are the fweet drops of my miftrefs' breaft. DONNE THEIR expreffions fometimes raife horror, when they intend perhaps to be pathetic: As men in hell are from difeafes free, COWLEY. THEY were not always ftrictly curious, whether In vain it fomething would have fpoke : 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 fceft me here at midnight, now all rest: Time's dead low-water; when all minds diveft To-morrow's bufinefs, when the labourers have Such reft in bed, that their laft church-yard grave, Subject to change, will fcarce be a type of this, Now when the client, whose last hearing is To To-morrow, fleeps; when the condemned man, Thou at this midnight feeft me. IT must be however confeffed of these writers, that v if they are upon common fubjects often unneceffarily and unpoetically fubtle; yet where fcholaftick fpeculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness and acuteness may juftly be admired. What Cowley has written upon Hope, fhews an unequalled fertility of invention: Hope, whose weak being ruin'd is, Of bleffing thee; If things then from their end we happy call, Hope, thou bold tafter of delight, Who, whilft thou should'st but taste, devour'ft it quite! By clogging it with legacies before! The joys which we entire fhould wed, Such mighty cuftom's paid to thee: For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; If it take air before, its fpirits waste. 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 or ingenuity has the better claim: |