Abraham Cowley

1618-1667 / English
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Against HopeHope, whose weak Being ruin’d is, / Alike if it succeed, and if it miss; / Whom Good or Ill does equally confound,
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A SupplicationAwake, awake, my Lyre! / And tell thy silent master’s humble tale / In sounds that may prevail;
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Beautyafter the Anacreontea / Liberal Nature did dispence / To all things Arms for their defence;
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Cheer Up, My Mates(Sitting and drinking in the chair made out of the relics / of Sir Francis Drake’s ship.) / Cheer up, my mates, the wind does fairly blow;
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DestinieStrange and unnatural! lets stay and see / This Pageant of a Prodigie. / Lo, of themselves th’enlivened Chesmen move,
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DrinkingThe thirsty earth soaks up the rain, / And drinks and gapes for drink again; / The plants **** in the earth, and are
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Hymn To LightFirst born of Chaos, who so fair didst come / From the old Negro’s darksome womb! / Which when it saw the lovely Child,
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Ode Of WitTell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit, / Thou who Master art of it. / For the First matter loves Variety less;
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On The Death Of Mr. CrashawPoet and saint! to thee alone are given / The two most sacred names of earth and heaven; / The hard and rarest union which can be,
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On The Death Of Mr. William HerveyIt was a dismal and a fearful night: / Scarce could the Morn drive on th’ unwilling Light, / When Sleep, Death’s image, left my troubled breast
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