He fees thee gentle, fair and gay, And trufts 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 feen, 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 flourishing letters ftand in rows. COWLEY. AS they fought only for novelty, they did not much enquire whether their allu allufions were to things high or low, elegant or grofs; whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little. Phyfick and Chirurgery for a Lover. 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; F 3 Great Of life and motion; and with equal art Made up again the whole of every past. COWLEY. A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but that it may not want its due honour, Cleveland has paralleled it with ONE 9. the Sun: The mod'rate value of our guiltless ore, Makes no man atheift, nor no woman whore: Yet why fhould hallow'd veftals facred fhrine, Deferve more honour than a flaming mine? Thefe Thefe pregnant wombs of heat would fitter be Than a few embers for a deity. Had he our pits, the Perfian would admire No fun, but warm's devotion at our fire: He'd leave the trotting whipfter, and prefer Our profound Vulcan 'bove that wag goner. For wants he heat? or light? or would have ftore? Or both? 'tis here: and what can funs give more? Nay, what's the fun, but in a different name, A coal-pit rampant, or a mine on flame ! Then let this truth reciprocally run, The fun's heaven's coalery, and coals our fun. Death, a Voyage: No family Ere rigg'd a foul for heaven's difcovery, With whom more venturers might boldly dare Venture their stakes, with him in joy to fhare. Donne. THEIR thoughts and expreffions were fometimes 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 |