SIR JOHN DENHAM. 1615-1668. Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold; O, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream dull; Strong without rage; without o'erflowing full. Line 189. 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 Of Eastern kings, who, to secure their reign, slain.1 On Mr. John Fletcher's Works. 1 Poets are sultans, if they had their will; For every author would his brother kill. Orrery, "in one of his Prologues," says Johnson. Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear like the Turk, no brother near the throne. Pope, Prologue to the Satires, Line 197. That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer; A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit. The first true gentleman that ever breathed.1 The Honest Whore. Part i. Act i. Sc. 12. We are ne'er like angels till our passion dies. What shall I do to be for ever known, The Motto. 1 Of the offspring of the gentilman Jafeth, come Habraham, Moyses, Aron, and the profettys; and also the Kyng of the right lyne of Mary, of whom that gentilman Jhesus was borne. - Juliana Berners, Heraldic Blazonry. His time is for ever, 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; Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine. On the Death of Mr. William Harvey. His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right.1 On the Death of Crashaw. We grieved, we sighed, we wept: we never blushed before. Discourse concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell. The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, From Anacreon. Drinking. Why Should every creature drink but I? A mighty pain to love it is, Ibid. Gold. 1 For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, He can't be wrong whose life is in the right. Pope, Essay on Man, Ep. iii. Line 306. Th' adorning thee with so much art Is but a barb'rous skill; 'Tis like the poisoning of a dart, Too apt before to kill. The Waiting Maid. Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, Davideis. Vol. i. Book i. The monster London . . . . Let but thy wicked men from out thee go, Of Solitude. God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.2 The Garden. Essay v. Hence ye profane, I hate ye all, Both the great vulgar and the small. Horace. Book iii. Ode 1. Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name.3 Words that weep and tears that speak.* The Prophet. One of our poets (which is it?) speaks of an everlasting now. - Southey, The Doctor, Ch. xxv. p. 1. 2 Compare Bacon, Of Gardens. 3 Ravish'd with the whistling of a name. Pope, Essay on Man, Ep. iv. Line 283. 4 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. Gray, The Progress of Poesy, iii. 3, 4. EDMUND WALLER. 1605-1687. The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,1 Verses upon his Divine Poesy. A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair: Take all the rest the sun goes round. Go, lovely rose ! On a Girdle. Tell her that wastes her time and me When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Go, lovely Rose. How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair! Ibid. Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse. For all we know Panegyric on Cromwell. Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing and that they love. While I listen to thy voice. The yielding marble of her snowy breast. On a Lady passing through a Crowd of People. I See Fuller, The Holy and the Profane State, i. ii. |