Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep’rate friends.
ABRAHAM COWLEYCome, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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Poets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
The monster London laugh at me.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Nothing in Nature’s sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
The world’s a scene of changes.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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 -
Man is too near all kinds of beasts,–a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Our yesterday’s to-morrow now is gone, And still a new to-morrow does come on. We by to-morrow draw out all our store, Till the exhausted well can yield no more.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Gold begets in brethren hate; Gold in families debate; Gold does friendship separate; Gold does civil wars create.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Coy Nature, (which remain’d, though aged grown, A beauteous virgin still, enjoy’d by none, Nor seen unveil’d by anyone),
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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 -
Why 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 COWLEY -
The 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 COWLEY