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 Miftrefs beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expreffed:

Thou in my fancy doft much higher stand,
Than woman 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 fhould co-operate, are thus taught by Donne :

In none but us are fuch mix'd engines found,

As hands of double office; for the ground

We till with them; and them to heaven we raise;
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 illuftrated:

In

That which I should have begun

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

Which ftray or fleep all day, and having lost

Light and strength, dark and tir'd, must then ride post.

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 didft 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 fkin,
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 fies: this to thy foul allow,

35

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

THEY were fometimes indelicate and difgufting. Cowley thus apoftrophifes beauty:

-Thou tyrant which leav'st 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 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 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 confest faints excite.

Thou with ftrange adultery

Doft in each breast a brothel keep;

Awake all men do luft for thee, And some enjoy thee when they fleep.

The true tafte of Tears.

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 tafte not just like mine.

This is yet more indelicate:

As the fweet fweat of rofes in a still,

DONNE.

As that which from chaf'd mufk-cat's pores doth trill, As the almighty balm of th' early Eaft;

Such are the fweet drops of my miftrefs' breaft.

And on her neck her fkin fuch luftre fets,
They feem no fweat drops, but pearl coronets:
Rank, fweaty froth thy miftrefs' brow defiles.

DONNE.

THEIR expreffions fometimes raise 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 supply commodious allufions.

It gave a piteous groan, and fo it broke:
In vain it fomething would have fpoke;

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 last church-yard grave,
Subject to change, will fcarce be a type of this;
Now when the client, whofe laft 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 practile dying by a little fleep;

Thou at this midnight feeft me.

IT must be however confeffed of these writers, that if they are upon common subjects often unneceffarily and unpoetically fubtle; yet, where fcholaftick 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 mifs;
Whom good or ill does equally confound,
And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound;
Vain fhadow which doft vanith quite,

Both at full noon and perfect night!

The stars 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,

Who, whilft thou fhould'ft but tafte, devour'ft it quite!

Thou bring'ft us an eftate, yet leav'ft us poor,

By clogging it with legacies before!

The jovs which we entire fhould 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 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 stays at home, with a pair of compaffes, it may be doubted whether abfurdity or ingenuity has better claim:

Our two fouls, therefore, which are one,
Though I muft 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 fix'd foot, makes no fhow
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 juft,

And makes me end where I begun.

DONNE.