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 mix'd engines found, As hands of double office: for the ground 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 Light and strength, dark and tir'd must then ride post. 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; Think, when 'twas grown to most, 'twas a poor inn, 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 murderer, which hast kill'd; and devil, which would'st 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, And let me and my sun beget a man. Thus he represents the meditations of a Lover: Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracts have been 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 try your mistress' tears at home; For all are false, that taste not just like mine. This is yet more indelicate: As the sweet sweat of roses in a still, DONNE. As that which from chaf'd musk-cat's pores doth trill, They seem no sweat drops, but pearl coronets: DONNE. THEIR expressions sometimes raise horror, when they intend perhaps to be pathetick : As men in hell are from diseases free, 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. The love within too strong for 't was, 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: 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 speculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness and acuteness may justly be admired. What Cowley has written upon Hope shews an unequalled fertility of invention: Hope, whose weak being ruin'd is, Whom good or ill does equally confound, And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound; Vain shadow! which dost 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 all. Hope, thou bold taster of delight, Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st it quite! By clogging it with legacies before! The joys which we entire should wed, Come deflower'd virgins to our bed; Good fortunes without gain imported be, Such mighty custom 's paid to thee: For joy, like wine, kept close, does better taste; 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 better claim: Our two souls, therefore, which are one, A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Yet, when the other far doth roam, And grows erect, as that comes home. Like th' other foot obliquely run. DONNE. |