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A lover burnt up by his affections is compared to Egypt:

The fate of Egypt I sustain,

And never feel the dew of rain
From clouds which in the head appear;
But all my too much moisture owe

To overflowings of the heart below.

COWLEY.

The lover Supposes his lady acquainted with the ancient laws of augury and rites of sacrifice:

And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her appear:
When sound in every other part,
Her sacrifice is found without a heart.
For the last tempest of my death

Shall sigh out that too with my breath.

That the chaos was harmonized, has been recited of old; but whence the different sounds arose remained for a modern to discover :

Th' ungovern'd parts no correspondence knew;
An artless war from thwarting motions grew;
Till they to number and fixt rules were brought.
Water and air he for the tenor chose,

Earth made the base; the treble flame arose.

COWLEY.

The tears of lovers are always of great poetical account; but Donne has extended them into worlds. If the lines are not

easily understood, they may be read again.

On a round ball

A workman, that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,

And quickly make that which was nothing all.
So doth each tear,

Which thee doth wear,

A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,

Till thy tears mixt with mine do overflow

This world, by waters sent from thee my heaven dissolved so.

On reading the following lines, the reader may perhaps cry out-Confusion worse confounded:

Here lies a she sun, and a he moon here,
She gives the best light to his sphere,
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe.

DONNE.

Who but Donne would have thought that a good man is a

telescope?

Though God be our true glass through which we see
All, since the being of all things is he;

VOL. V.-D

18

Yet are the trunks, which do to us derive
Things in proportion fit, by perspective

Decds of good men; for by their living here,

Virtues indeed remote, seem to be near.

Who would imagine it possible that in a very few lines se many remote ideas could be brought together?

Since 'tis my doom, Love's undershrieve,
Why this reprieve?

Why doth my she advowson fly

Incumbency?

To sell thyself dost though intend
By candle's end,

And hold the contrast thus in doubt,
Life's tapers out?

Think but how soon the market fails,
Your sex lives faster than the males;
And if to measure age's span,

The sober Julian were th' account of man,
Whilst you live by the fleet of Gregorian.

CLEIVELAND.

Of enormous and disgusting hyperboles, these may be exam

ples:

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His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws
Tear up the ground: then runs he wild about,

Lashing his angry tail, and roaring out.

Beasts creep into their dens, and tremble there :
Trees, though no wind is stirring, shake with fear;
Silence and horror fill the place around;

Echo itself dares scarce repeat the sound.

Their fictions were often violent and unnatural :

Of his Mistress bathing.

The fish around her crowded as, they do

To the false light that treacherous fishers show,
And all with as much ease might taken be,
As she at first took me ;

COWLEY.

For ne'er did light so clear

Among the waves appear,

Though every night the sun himself set there.

The poetical effect of a lover's name upon glass:

My name engrav'd herein

Doth contribute my firmness to this glass :

Which ever since that charm, hath been
As hard as that which grav'd it was.

Their conceits were sentiments slight and trifling.

On an inconstant woman.

He enjoys the calmy sunshine now,
And no breath stirring hears,

In the clear heaven of thy brow,

No smallest cloud appears.

He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,

And trusts the faithless April of thy May.

COWLEY.

DONNE.

COWLEY.

Upon a paper written with the juice of lemon, and read by

the fire:

Nothing yet in thee is seen,

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 stand in rows.

COWLEY.

As they sought only for novelty, they did not much inquire whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little.

Physic and Chirurgery for a Lover.

Gently, ah gently, madam, touch,

The wound which you yourself have 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 of purging grow,

The World and a Clock.

Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face

Through all the turns of matter's maze did trace;
Great nature's well-set clock in pieces took :
On all the springs and smallest wheels did look
Of life and motion, and with equal art
Made up the whole again of every part.

COWLEY.

COWLEY.

A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but that it may not want its due honour, Cleiveland has paralleled it with the sun :

The moderate value of our guiltless ore

Makes no man atheist, and no woman whore;
Yet why should hallow'd vestal's sacred shrine
Deserve more honour than a flaming mine?
These pregnant wombs of heat would fitter be,
Than a few embers, for a deity

Had he our pits, the Persian would admire
No sun, but warm's devotion at our fire:
He'd leave the trotting whipster, and prefer
Our profound Vulcan 'bove that waggoner.

For wants he heat, or light? or would have store,

Or both? 'tis here: and what can suns give more?
Nay, what's the sun, but in a different name,
A coal-pit rampant, or a mine on flame!.

Then let this truth reciprocally run,

The sun's Heaven's coalery, and coals our sun,

Death, a Voyage.

No family

E'er rigg'd a soul for Heaven's discovery,
With whom more venturers might boldly dare
Venture their stakes, with him in joy to share.

DONNE.

Their thoughts and expressions were sometimes grossly absurd, and such as no figures or license can reconcile to the understanding:

A Lover neither dead nor alive.

Then down I laid my head

Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled;
Ah, sottish soul, said I,

When back to its cage again I saw it fly;
Fool to resume her broken chain,

And row her galley here again!

Fool to that body to return

Where it condemn'd and destined is to burn!

Once dead, how can it be,

Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,

That thou should'st come to live it o'er again in me!

A Lover's heart, a hand grenado.

Woe to her stubborn heart if once mine come
Into the self-same room;

'Twill tear and blow up all within,

Like a grenade shot into a magazin.

Then shall love keep the ashes, and torn parts,
Of both our broken hearts:

Shall out of both one new one make;

From her's th' alloy, from mine the metal take.

COWLEY.

The poetical propagation of light:

The prince's favour is diffused 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,

In light and power, the all-eyed firmament:

First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes,

Then from their beams their jewels' lustres rise;
And from their jewels' torches do take fire,
And all is warmth, and light, and good desire.

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,
Than woman can be placed by Nature's hand:
And I must needs, I'm sure, a loser be,

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 ;

Who prayerless labours, or, without this, prays,
Doth but one half, that's none.

By the same author, a common topic, the danger of procrastination, is thus illustrated:

-That which I should have begun

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

Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost

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

All that a 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

Of sickness, or their true mother, age.

But think that death hath now enfranchis'd thee;
Thou hast thy expansion now, and liberty;

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