The poetical propagation of light: The prince's favour is diffus'd o'er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall; Then from those wombs of stars, the bride's bright eyes, At every glance a constellation flies And sowes the court with stars, and doth prevent Then from their beams their jewels lustres rise; DONNE. THEY were in very little care to clothe their notions with elegance of dress, and therefore miss the notice and the praise which are often gained by those, who think less, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts. That a mistress beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expressed : Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand, To change thee, as thou'rt there, for very thee, That prayer and labour should co-operate, are thus taught by Donne : In none but us, are such mixt engines found, We till with them; and them to heaven we raise; By the same author, a common topick, the danger of procrastination, is thus illustrated : That which I should have begun In my youth's morning, now late must be done; Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost All that man has to do is to live and die; the sum of humanity is comprehended by Donne in the following lines: Think in how poor a prison thou didst lie; After enabled but to suck and cry. Think, when 'twas grown to most, 'twas a poor inn, A province pack'd up in two yards of skin, And that usurp'd, or threaten'd with a rage But think that death hath now enfranchis'd thee; Think, that a rusty piece discharg'd is flown And freely flies: this to thy soul allow, Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatch'd but now. THEY were sometimes indelicate and disgusting. Cowley thus apostrophises Beauty: Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Thou murtherer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which wouldst damn me. Thus he addresses his mistress: Thou who, in many a propriety, So truly art the sun to me, Add one more likeness, which I'm sure you can, Thus he represents the meditations of a lover: Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracts have been So much as of original sin, Such charms thy beauty wears as might Desires in dying confest saints excite. Thou with strange adultery Dost in each breast a brothel keep; And some enjoy thee when they sleep. The true taste of tears: Hither with crystal vials, lovers, come, And take my tears, which are love's wine, For all are false, that taste not just like mine. DONNE. This is yet more indelicate : As the sweet sweat of roses in a still, As that which from chaf'd musk-cat's pores doth trill, Such are the sweet drops of my mistress' breast. And on her neck her skin such lustre sets, They seem no sweat drops, but pearl coronets: DONNE. THEIR expressions sometimes raise horror, when they intend perhaps to be pathetic : As men in hell are from diseases free, VOL. I. COWLEY. THEY were not always strictly curious, 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 ; 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: Thou seest me here at midnight, now all rest: |