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Actions of the last age are like almanacs of the last year.
The Sophy. A Tragedy. But whither am I strayed ? I need not raise Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise; Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built; Nor needs thy juster title the foul guilt Of Eastern kings, who, to secure their reign, Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain.1
On Mr. John Fletcher's Works.
RICHARD CRASHAW. Circa 1616-1650.
The conscious water saw its God and blushed.2
Whoe'er she be,
Wishes to his Supposed Mistress.
from mortal eye, In shady leaves of destiny.
Ibid. Days that need borrow No part of their good morrow From a fore-spent night of sorrow.
Life that dares send
1 Poets are sultans, if they had their will ;
ORRERY : Prologues (according to Johnson).
Pope : Prologue to the Satires, line 197. 2 Nympha pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit (The modest Nymph saw the god, and blushed). – Epigrammationa Sacra. Aquæ in vinum versæ, p. 299.
Wishes to his Supposed Mistress.
In Praise of Lessius's Rule of Health. The modest front of this small floor, Believe me, reader, can say more Than many a braver marble can, “Here lies a truly honest man!” Epitaph upon Mr. Ashton.
RICHARD LOVELACE. 1618–1658.
Oh, could you view the melody
Of every grace
And music of her face,
Seeing more harmony
In her bright eye
Orpheus to Beasts.
To Lucasta, on going to the Wars.
When flowing cups pass swiftly round
To Althea from Prison, ii.
Fishes that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty,
1 See Browne, page 218.
The mind, the music breathing from her face. — BYRON: Bride of Abydos, canto i. stanza 6.
2 See Shakespeare, page 103.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
That for an hermitage;
And in my soul am free,
Enjoy such liberty. To Althea from Prison, ir.
ABRAHAM COWLEY. 1618–1667.
What shall I do to be forever known,
The Motto. His time is forever, everywhere his place.
Friendship in Absence. We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine,
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poetry;
On the Death of Mr. William Harrey.
On the Death of Crashaw. The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair.
From Anacreon, ü. Drinking. Fill all the glasses there, for why Should every creature drink but I ? Why, man of morals, tell me why?
1 For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight,
Pope: Essay on Man, epilogue iii. line 303.
A mighty pain to love it .is,
From Anacreon, viïGold.
Is but a barb'rous skill; 'T is like the pois’ning of a dart, Too apt before to kill.
The Waiting Maid. Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal now does always last.
Davideis. Book i. Line 25. When Israel was from bondage led,
Led by the Almighty's hand
From out of foreign land, The great sea beheld and fed.
Line 41. An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair, And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.?
Book i. Line 95. The monster London laugh at me.
Of Solitude, xi. 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.
Ibid. vii. 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.
i One of our poets (which is it?) speaks of an everlasting now. – SOUTHEY: The Doctor, chap. xxv. p. 1.
2 Loose his beard and hoary hair
GRAY: The Bard, i. 2. 3 See Bacon, page 167.
Hence, ye profane! I hate ye adl,
Horace. Book iii. Ode 1.
Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name.'
l'irgil, Georgics. Book ii. Line 72. Words that weep and tears that speak.? The Prophet. We griev'd, we sigh’d, we wept; we never blush'd before.
Discourse concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell. Thus would I double my life's fading space; For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.3
Discourse zi. Of Myself. St. zi.
RALPH VENNING. 1620(?)-1673.
All the beauty of the world, 't is but skin deep.4
Orthodoxe Paradores. (Third edition, 1650.) The Triumph of
Assurance, p. 41.
Mysteries and Revelations, p. 5. (1649.)
ANDREW MARVELL. 1620-1678.
Orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night. And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.
1 Ravish'd with the whistling of a name. – Pope: Essay on Man, epistle iv. line 281.
2 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. GRAY: Progress of Poesy, in. 3, 4.
8 For he lives twice who can at once employ
Pore: Imitation of Martial. 4 Many a dangerous temptation comes to us in fine gay colours that are but skin-deep. – HENRY : Commentaries. Genesis rii.
6 See Skelton, page 8.