I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life to the culture of them and the study of nature.
ABRAHAM COWLEYI might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life to the culture of them and the study of nature.
ABRAHAM COWLEY:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
ABRAHAM COWLEYAll the world’s bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
ABRAHAM COWLEYWhen Harvey’s violent passion she did see, Began to tremble and to flee; Took sanctuary, like Daphne, in a tree
ABRAHAM COWLEYSleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, and yet so humble too as not to scorn the meanest country cottages.
ABRAHAM COWLEYNeither the praise nor the blame is our own.
ABRAHAM COWLEYAcquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
ABRAHAM COWLEYThe 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. And this is Musick.
ABRAHAM COWLEYBegin, 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 COWLEYAwake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master’s humble taleIn sounds that may prevail;Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire
ABRAHAM COWLEYWhy dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou who art under ground to lie? Thou sow’st and plantest, but no fruit must see, For death, alas! is reaping thee.
ABRAHAM COWLEYAs for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal; whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.
ABRAHAM COWLEYHope is the most hopeless thing of all.
ABRAHAM COWLEYWhy to mute fish should’st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
ABRAHAM COWLEYPoets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
ABRAHAM COWLEYI never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that
ABRAHAM COWLEY