Abraham Cowley

thumb|Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal now does always last. Abraham Cowley (1618 – July 28, 1667) was an English metaphysical poet. In his own time he was widely considered the greatest poet of the age. See also: Davideis (1656) Quotes Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise. Ode Upon a Copy of Verses of My Lord Broghill's, iv (1663) Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find, Occasion once passed by, is bald behind. Pyramus and Thisbe, xv (1684) The Mistress (1647) Love in her sunny eyes does basking play;Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;Love does on both her lips for ever stray;And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.In all her outward parts Love's always seen;    But, oh, he never went within. The Change The world's a scene of changes, and to beConstant, in Nature were inconstancy. Inconstancy Lukewarmness I account a sinAs great in love as in religion. The Request, iv Well then; I now do plainly seeThis busy world and I shall ne'er agree;The very honey of all earthly joyDoes of all meats the soonest cloy,  And they (methinks) deserve my pity,Who for it can endure the stings,The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings  Of this great hive, the city. The Wish, st. 1 Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' graveMay I a small house, and large garden have!And a few friends, and many books, both true,    Both wise, and both delightful too!    And since Love ne'er will from mee flee,A mistress moderately fair,And good as guardian angels are,    Only belov'd, and loving me! The Wish, st. 2 Poems (1656) thumb|What shall I do to be forever known,And make the age to come my own? What shall I do to be forever known,And make the age to come my own? The Motto Fond archer, Hope! who tak'st thy aim so far,That still or short, or wide thine arrows are! Against Hope, st. 3 Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover? Bathing in the River, st. 2 Th' adorning thee with so much artIs but a barb'rous skill;'Tis like the pois'ning of a dart,Too apt before to kill. The Waiting Maid, st. 4 Hope, of all ills that men endure,The only cheap and universal cure. For Hope, st. 1 Beauty, thou wild fantastic apeWho dost in every country change thy shape! Beauty, st. 1 Life is an incurable disease. To Dr. Scarborough, st. 6 We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine,But search of deep philosophy,Wit, eloquence, and poetry;Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine. On the Death of Mr. William Hervey, st. 5 Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, Have ye not seen us walking every day? Was there a tree about which did not know      The love betwixt us two? On the Death of Mr. William Hervey, st. 6 Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given The two most sacred names of Earth and Heaven. On the Death of Mr. Crashaw                                                      Thou Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now, Whilst Angels sing to thee their airs divine, And joy in an applause so great as thine. Equal society with them to hold, Thou need'st not make new aongs, but say the old. On the Death of Mr. Crashaw Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets Militant below! On the Death of Mr. Crashaw His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets mightBe wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right. On the Death of Mr. Crashaw Compare: "For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, He can't be wrong whose life is in the right", Alexander Pope, Essay on Man, epilogue iii, line 303 Words that weep and tears that speak. The Prophet, st. 2 Compare: "Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn", Thomas Gray, Progress of Poesy, iii. 3, 4 The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,And drinks, and gapes for drink again;The plants suck in the earth, and areWith constant drinking fresh and fair. Anacreontiques, ii. Drinking Fill all the glasses there, for whyShould every creature drink but I?Why, man of morals, tell me why? Anacreontiques, ii. Drinking A mighty pain to love it is,And 't is a pain that pain to miss;But of all pains, the greatest painIt is to love, but love in vain. Anacreontiques, vii. Gold Davideis Davideis (Cowley) I sing the Man who Judahs Scepter boreIn that right hand which held the Crook before;Who from best Poet, best of Kings did grow;The two chief gifts Heav'n could on Man bestow. Book I, lines 1-4 Ev'en Thou my breast with such blest rage inspire,As mov'd the tuneful strings of Davids Lyre Book I, lines 25-26 Lo, this great work, a Temple to thy praise,On polisht Pillars of strong Verse I raise!A Temple, where if Thou vouchsafe to dwell,It Solomons, and Herods shall excel.Too long the Muses-Land have Heathen bin;Their Gods too long were Dev'ils, and Vertues Sin;But Thou, Eternal Word, hast call'd forth MeTh' Apostle, to convert that World to Thee; Book I, lines 33-40 Well did he know how Palms by oppression speed,Victorious, and the Victors sacred Meed!The Burden lifts them higher. Well did he know,How a tame stream does wild and dangerous growBy unjust force; he now with wanton play,Kisses the smiling Banks, and glidesBut his known Channel stopt, begins to roare,And swell with rage, and buffet the dull shore.His mutinous waters hurry to the War,And Troops of Waves come rolling from afar.Then scorns he such weak stops to his free source,And overruns the neighboring fields with violent course. Book I, lines 49-60 Here Lucifer the mighty Captive reigns;Proud, 'midst his Woes, and Tyrant in his Chains. Book I, lines 91-92 Unable to corrupt, seek to destroy;And where their Poysons miss, the Sword employ. Book I, lines 105-106 He saw the beauties of his shape and face,His female sweetness, and his manly grace Book I, lines 109-110 Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,But an eternal now does always last. Book I, lines 361-362 See also "One of our poets (which is it?) speaks of an everlasting now", Robert Southey, The Doctor, chap. xxv. p. 1 Such was Gods Poem, this Worlds new Essay;So wild and rude in its first draught it lay;Th' ungovern'd parts no Correspondence knew,An artless war from thwarting Motions grew;Till they to Number and fixt Rules were broughtBy the eternal Minds Poetique Thought.Water and Air he for the Tenor chose,Earth made the Base, the Treble Flame arose,To th' active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave,To Saturns string a touch more soft and grave.The motions Strait, and Round, and Swift, and Slow,And Short, and Long, were mixt and woven so,Did in such artful Figures smoothly fall,As made this decent measur'd Dance of All. Book I, lines 451-464 When Israel was from bondage led,Led by the Almighty's handFrom out of foreign land,The great sea beheld and fled. Book I, lines 483-486 An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,And fell adown his shoulders with loose care. Book II, lines 801-802 Compare: "Loose his beard and hoary hair / Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air", Thomas Gray, The Bard, i. 2 Thus each extream to equal danger tends,Plenty as well as Want can separate Friends; Book III, lines 205-206 Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master's humble taleIn sounds that may prevail;Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. Book III, Song, st. 1 Works (1668) thumb|His time is forever, everywhere his place. thumb|right|The fairest garden in her looks,And in her mind the wisest books. His time is forever, everywhere his place. Friendship in Absence, st. 3 To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city; to be a philosopher, from the world; or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is man's, into the world, as it is God's. Of Agriculture I never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them and the study of nature,And there (with no design beyond my wall) whole and entire to lie,In no unactive ease, and no unglorious poverty. The Garden, Preface The fairest garden in her looks,And in her mind the wisest books. The Garden, i God the first garden made, and the first city Cain. The Garden, ii To virgin minds, which yet their native whiteness hold,Not yet discoloured with the love of gold(That jaundice of the soul,Which makes it look so gilded and so foul) Of Greatness If of their pleasures and desires no end be found;God to their cares and fears will set no bound.What would content you? Who can tell?Ye fear so much to lose what you have gotAs if ye liked it well.Ye strive for more, as if ye liked it not. Of Greatness Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,And all the fools that crowd thee so,Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,A village less than Islington wilt grow,A solitude almost. Of Solitude, vii The monster London laugh at me. Of Solitude, xi We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blush'd before. Discourse concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell, vii This only grant me, that my means may lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high. Of Myself, ix Acquaintance I would have, but when't depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends. Of Myself, ix Thus would I double my life's fading space;For he that runs it well, runs twice his race. Of Myself, xi Compare: "For he lives twice who can at once employ / The present well, and ev'n the past enjoy", Alexander Pope, Imitation of Martial I would not fear nor wish my fate,    But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to-day. Of Myself, xi A man in much business must either make himself a knave, or else the world will make him a fool. The Dangers of an Honest man in much Company Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all,Both the great vulgar and the small. Horace, Odes, book iii, no. 1 Oh happy, (if his happiness he knows)The Countrey Swain! on whom kind Heav'n bestowsAt home all Riches that wise Nature needs;Whom the just Earth with easie plenty feeds. Virgil, Georgics, book ii, line 458 Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name. Virgil, Georgics, book ii, line 72 Compare: "Ravish'd with the whistling of a name", Alexander Pope, Essay on Man, epistle iv, line 281 Quotes about Cowley Read all Cowley; he is very valuable to a collector of English sound sense. William Wordsworth, in Memoirs of William Wordsworth, Vol. II (1851), p. 477 External links Category:Poets from England Category:People from London Category:1667 deaths Category:1618 births Category:Essayists from England Category:University of Cambridge alumni