RICHARD CRASHAW. 1615-1652. The conscious water saw its God and blushed.* In Praise of Lessius' Rule of Health. A happy soul, that all the way To heaven hath a summer's day. THOMAS DEKKER. 1638. Old Fortunatus. And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds, There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors. Honest Whore. P. ii. Act i. Sc. 2. We are ne'er like angels till our passion dies. ABRAHAM COWLEY. 1618-1667. The Waiting Maid. Th' adorning thee with so much art 'Tis like the poisoning of a dart, * Lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit. - Latin Poems. The Motto. What shall I do to be for ever known, On the Death of Crashaw. His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might The Garden. Essay V. From Anacreon. The thirsty earth drinks up the rain Should every creature drink but I? SIR JOHN DENHAM. 1615-1668. Cooper's Hill. Line 189. O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull; The Sophy. A Tragedy. Actions of the last age are like Almanacs of the last year. EDMUND WALLER. 1605-1687. Verses upon his Divine Poesy. The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,* Upon the death of the Lord Protector. Under the tropic is our language spoke, On a Girdle. 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. How small a part of time they share * Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as harbingers to heaven; and her soul saw a glimpse of happiness through the chinks of her sickness-broken body. Holy and Profane State. Book i.ch. ii. – FULLER. To a Lady singing a Song of his composing. That eagle's fate and mine are one Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high. MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. Song "My Dear and only Love.” I'll make thee famous by my pen, He either fears his fate too much, WILLIAM BASSE. 1613-1648. On Shakespeare. Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh JOHN MILTON. 1608-1674. PARADISE LOST. Book i. Line 10. Or if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flowed Fast by the oracle of God. Book i. Line 22. What in me is dark, Illumine; what is low, raise and support; Book i. Line 62. Yet from those flames No light; but only darkness visible. Book i. Line 65. Where peace And rest can never dwell: hope never comes, That comes to all. Book i. Line 105. What though the field be lost? All is not lost. |