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As men in hell are from diseases 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 strictly curi

Ris, whether the opinions from which they drew their illustrations were true; it was enough that they were popular. Bacon remarks, that some falsehoods are continued by tradition, because they supply commodious allusions. It gave a piteous groan, and so it broke; In vain it something would have spoke : The love within tod strong for’t was, Like poison put into a Venice-glass.

COWLEY.

IN forming descriptions they looked

out not for images, but for conceits. Night has been a common subject, which poets have contended to adorn. Dryden's Night is well known; Donne’s is as follows:

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Thou seest me here at midnight, now

all rest : 'Time's dead low-water; when all minds

divest To-morrow's business, when the la

bourers have Such rest in bed, that their last church

yard grave, Subject to change, will scarce be a type

of this, Now when the client, whose last hear

· ing is

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To-morrow; Neeps ; when the con

demned man, Who when he opes his eyes, must shut

them then ... Again by death, altho' sad watch he

keep, Doth practise dying by a little sleep, Thou at this midnight seest me.

IT must be however confessed of these

writers, that if they are upon common subjects often unnecessarily and unpoetically subtle; yet where scholastick fpeculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness and acuteness may justly be admired.' What Cowley has written upon Hope, shews an unequalled fertility of invention :

G3 Hope,

Hope, whose weak being ruin’d is,

Alike if it succeed, and if it miss; Whom good or ill does equally confound, And both the horns of Fate's dilemma

wound. Vain shadow, which doft vanish quite, . Both at full noon and perfect night!

The stars have not a possibility"

Of blessing thee; If things then from their end we happy

call, 'Tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of

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Hope, thou bold taster of delight,
Who, whilst thou should'st but taste,

devour ft it quite !

Thou

Thou bring'ít us an estate, yet leay'st

us poor, . .?! By clogging it with legacies before! The joys which we entire should

wed, Come deflow'r'd virgins to our þed ; Good fortunes without gain imported þe,

Such mighty custom's paid to thee: For joy, like wine, kept clofe does bet.

ter taste; If it take air before, its spirits waste.

To the following comparison of a man that travels, and his wife that, stays at home, with a pair of compasses, it may be doubted whether absurdity or ingenuity has the better claim.

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