Thus Donne fhews his medicinal knowledge

in fome encomiaftick verses:

In every thing there naturally grows
A Balfamum to keep it fresh and new,
If 'twere not injur'd by extrinfique blows;
Your youth and beauty are this balm in
you.

But you, of learning and religion,
And virtue and such ingredients, have made
A mithridate, whofe operation

Keeps off, or cures what can be done or faid.

Though the following lines of Donne, on the last night of the year, have fomething in them too fcholaftick, they are not inelegant:

This twilight of two years, not paft nor next,

Some emblem is of me, or I of this,
Who, meteor-like, of stuff and form perplext,
Whose what and where, in difputation is,
If I should call me any thing, should miss.
I fum the years and me, and find me not
Debtor to th' old, nor creditor to th' new,
That cannot fay, my thanks I have forgot,
Nor truft I this with hopes; and yet scarce true
This bravery is, fince these times fhew'd me
DONNE.

you.

Yet

Yet more abftruse and profound is Donne's reflection upon Man as a Microcofm:

If men be worlds, there is in every one
Something to answer in fome proportion
All the world's riches: and in good men, this
Virtue, our form's form, and our foul's foul is.

F.

OF thoughts fo far-fetched, as to be not

only unexpected, but unnatural, all their

books are full.

To a Lady, who wrote poefies for rings.
They, who above do various circles find,
Say, like a ring th' æquator heaven does bind.
When heaven shall be adorn'd by thee,
(Which then more heaven than 'tis, will be)
'Tis thou must write the poefy there,
For it wanteth one as yet,

Though the fun pafs through't twice a year,
The fun, which is esteem'd the god of wit.
COWLEY.

The difficulties which have been raised about identity in philofophy, are by Cowley with still more perplexity applied to Love Five years ago (fays, ftory) I lov'd you, For which you call me most inconftant now; Pardon me, madam, you mistake the man; For I am not the fame that I was then;

No flesh is now the fame 'twas then in me, And that my mind is chang'd yourself may fee.

The fame thoughts to retain ftill, and intents,
Were more inconftant far; for accidents
Muft of all things moft ftrangely inconftant
prove,

If from one fubject they t' another move;
My members then, the father members were
From whence these take their birth, which now
are here.

If then this body love what th' other did,
"Twere inceft, which by nature is forbid.

The love of different women is, in geographical poetry, compared to travel through

different countries:

Haft thou not found, each woman's breaft (The land where thou haft travelled)

Either by favages poffeft,

Or wild, and uninhabited?

What joy could't take, or what repose,
In countries fo uncivilis'd as those?
Luft, the scorching dog-ftar, here
Rages with immoderate heat;
Whilst Pride, the rugged Northern Bear,
In others makes the cold too great.

And where thefe are temperate known,

The foil's all barren fand, or rocky ftone.

COWLEY.

A lover, burnt up by his affection, is com

pared to Egypt:

The fate of Egypt I sustain,

And never feel the dew of rain,
From clouds which in the head appear;
But all my too much moisture owe
To overflowings of the heart below.

COWLEY,

The lover fuppofes his lady acquainted with the ancient laws of augury and rites of facrifice:

And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her appear:

When found in every other part,
Her facrifice is found without an heart.
For the last tempeft of my death
Shall figh out that too, with my breath.

That the chaos was harmonifed, has been recited of old; but whence the different founds arofe, remained for a modern to dif

cover:

Th' ungovern'd parts no correspondence knew, An artless war from thwarting motions grew;

Till they to number and fixt rules were brought. Water and air he for the Tenor chofe,

Earth made the Bafe, the Treble flame arose. COWLEY.

The tears of lovers are always of great poetical account; but Donne has extended them into worlds. If the lines are not eafily understood, they may be read again.

On a round ball

A workman, that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afric, and an Afia,

And quickly make that, which was nothing, all.
So doth each tear,

Which thee doth wear,

A globe, yea world, by that impreffion grow,
Till thy tears mixt with mine do overflow
This world, by waters fent from thee my heaven.
diffolved fo.

On reading the following lines, the reader may perhaps cry out-Confufion worse confounded.

Here lies a fhe fun, and a he moon here,
She gives the beft light to his sphere,

Or each is both, and all, and fo
They unto one another nothing owe.

DONNE.

Who