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To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.

Abraham Cowley

The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Fate Giving Money Present Ready
It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Head Largeness Made Sleep Wight
Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Doubt. Time Enough Giving Life
Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master’s humble taleIn sounds that may prevail;Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Awake Humble Inspire May Prevail Sound Talent
Coy Nature, (which remain’d, though aged grown, A beauteous virgin still, enjoy’d by none, Nor seen unveil’d by anyone),
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Anyone Enjoy Nature Passion Science Still Virgin
Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise, He who defers this work from day to day, Does on a river’s bank expecting stay
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Bank Day Expecting Running Time Wise
Life is an incurable disease.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Disease Incurable Life Success
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 lived today.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Cloud Display Fate Fear Morrow Night Wish
Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Cheap Cure Endure Healing Hope Universal
Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Or what is worse, be left by it? Why dost thou load thyself when thou ‘rt to fly, Oh, man! ordain’d to die?
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Art Dost Heap Left Lying Man Wealth Worse
Both wise, and both delightful too. And since Love ne’er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as Guardian angels are, Only belov’d and loving me.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Delightful Flee From Guardian Moderate Since Wise
Why to mute fish should’st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Discover Less Lover Mute Silent Thyself
Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning’s gentle wine!
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Compared Gentle Happiness Happy Insect Morning Self Wine
And I myself a Catholic will be, So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Best Care Catholic Great Now Religion Saint Triumphant
Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Acquaintance Choice Depend Friendship Number
It is a hard and nice subject for a man to speak of himself: it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader’s ear to hear anything of praise from him.
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Disparagement Hard Heart Man Nice Speak Subject

To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.

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To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.

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