Part 3 (1/2)
The poetical effect of a lover's name upon gla.s.s:
My name engrav'd herein Doth contribute my firmness to this gla.s.s; Which, ever since that charm, hath been As hard as that which grav'd it was. DONNE.
Their conceits were sentiments slight and trifling. On an inconstant woman:
He enjoys the calmy suns.h.i.+ne now, And no breath stirring hears; In the clear heaven of thy brow, No smallest cloud appears.
He sees thee gentle, fair and gay, And trusts the faithless April of thy May. COWLEY
Upon a paper, written with the juice of lemon, and read by the fire:
Nothing yet in thee is seen, But when a genial heat warms thee within, A new-born wood of various lines there grows: Here buds an L, and there a B; Here sprouts a V, and there a T; And all the flouris.h.i.+ng letters stand in rows. COWLEY.
As they sought only for novelty, they did not much inquire, whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross; whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little.
Physick and chirurgery for a lover:
Gently, ah gently, madam, touch The wound, which you yourself have made; That pain must needs be very much, Which makes me of your hand afraid, Cordials of pity give me now, For I too weak for purgings grow. COWLEY.
The world and a clock:
Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face Thro' all the turns of matter's maze did trace; Great nature's well-set clock in pieces took; On all the springs and smallest wheels did look 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 wh.o.r.e; Yet why should hallow'd vestal's sacred 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 Persian would admire No sun, but warm 's devotion at our fire: He'd leave the trotting whipster, and prefer Our profound Vulcan 'bove that wagoner.
For wants he heat, or light? or would have store Of both? 'tis here: and what can suns give more?
Nay, what's the sun, but in a different name, A coal-pit rampant, or a mine on flame!
Then let this truth reciprocally run, The sun's heaven's coalery, and coals our sun.
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 awhile 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? COWLEY.
A lover's heart, a hand grenado:
Wo 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 hers th' allay, from mine the metal take. COWLEY.
To poetical propagation of light;