In tears I'll waste these eyes, By Love so vainly fed; So lust of old the Deluge punished. --_Cowley_. All arm'd in brass the richest dress of war, (A dismal glorious sight) he shone afar. The sun himself started with sudden fright, To see his beams return so dismal bright. --_Cowley_. An universal consternation: His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws Tear up the ground; then runs he wild about, Lashing his angry tail and roaring out. Beasts creep into their dens, and tremble there; Trees, though no wind is stirring, shake with fear; Silence and horror fill the place around: Echo itself dares scarce repeat the sound. --_Cowley_. Their fictions were often violent and unnatural. OF HIS MISTRESS BATHING. The fish around her crowded, as they do To the false light that treacherous fishers shew, And all with as much ease might taken be, As she at first took me: For ne'er did light so clear Among the waves appear, Though every night the sun himself set there. --_Cowley_. The poetical effect of a lover's name upon glass: My name engrav'd herein Doth contribute my firmness to this glass; Which, ever since that charm, hath been As hard as that which grav'd it was. --_Donne_. Their conceits were sometimes slight and trifling. ON AN INCONSTANT WOMAN. He enjoys thy calmy sunshine now, And no breath stirring hears, In the clear heaven of thy brow, No smallest cloud appears. He sees thee gentle, fair and gay, And trusts the faithless April of thy May. --_Cowley_. Upon a paper written with the juice of lemon, and read by the fire: Nothing yet in thee is seen: But when a genial heat warms thee within, A new-born wood of various lines there grows; Here buds an L, and there a B, Here sprouts a V, and there a T, And all the flourishing letters stand in rows. --_Cowley_ As they sought only for novelty, they did not much inquire whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross; whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little. PHYSICK AND CHIRURGERY FOR A LOVER. Gently, ah gently, madam, touch The wound, which you yourself have made; That pain must needs be very much, Which makes me of your hand afraid. Cordials of pity give me now, For I too weak for purgings grow. --_Cowley_. THE WORLD AND A CLOCK. Mahol, th' inferior world's fantastic face, Through all the turns of matter's maze did trace; Great Nature's well-set clock in pieces took; On all the springs and smallest wheels did look Of life and motion; and with equal art Made up again the whole of every part. --_Cowley_.