Abraham Cowley Quotes

Fond archer, Hope! who tak'st thy aim so far,
That still or short, or wide thine arrows are!

Words that weep and tears that speak.

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 grow
By unjust force; he now with wanton play,
Kisses the smiling Banks, and glides
But 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.

Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

Thus would I double my life's fading space;
For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.

A mighty pain to love it is,
And 't is a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain.

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.

We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blush'd before.

Hope, of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure.

Here Lucifer the mighty Captive reigns;
Proud, 'midst his Woes, and Tyrant in his Chains.

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 Me
Th' Apostle, to convert that World to Thee;

Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all,
Both the great vulgar and the small.

Thus each extream to equal danger tends,
Plenty as well as Want can separate Friends;

Awake, awake, my Lyre!
And tell thy silent master's humble tale
In sounds that may prevail;
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire:
Though so exalted she
And I so lowly be
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.

The fairest garden in her looks,
And in her mind the wisest books.