Lives of the Poets Part 3

The poetical effect of a lover's name upon gla.s.s:

My name engrav'd herein Doth contribute my firmness to this gla.s.s; Which, ever since that charm, hath been As hard as that which grav'd it was. DONNE.

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

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.

Physick 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 for purgings grow. COWLEY.

The world and a clock:

Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face Thro' 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.

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 wh.o.r.e; 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 wagoner.

For wants he heat, or light? or would have store Of 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 awhile 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 destin'd 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? COWLEY.

A lover's heart, a hand grenado:

Wo to her stubborn heart, if once mine come Into the self-same room; 'Twill tear and blow up all within, Like a grenado 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 hers th' allay, from mine the metal take. COWLEY.

To 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, In light and power, the all-ey'd firmament: First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes, Then from their beams their jewels' l.u.s.tres 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 plac'd 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 cooperate, 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 topick, the danger of procrastination, is thus ill.u.s.trated:

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 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 sicknesses, or their true mother, age.

But think that death hath now enfranchis'd thee; Thou hast thy expansion now, and liberty; Think, that a rusty piece discharg'd is flown In pieces, and the bullet is his own, And freely flies: this to thy soul allow, Think thy sh.e.l.l 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 d.a.m.n 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 tracks 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; Awake, all men do l.u.s.t for thee, 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, And try your mistress' tears at home; 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, As the almighty balm of th' early east; Such are the sweet drops of my mistress' breast.

And on her neck her skin such l.u.s.tre sets, They seem no sweat-drops, but pearl coronets: Rank, sweaty froth thy mistress' brow defiles. DONNE.

Their expressions sometimes raise horrour, when they intend, perhaps, to be pathetick: