COWLEY. THE COMPLAINT. In a deep Vision's intellectual scene, Of the black yew's unlucky green, Mix'd with the mourning willow's careful gray, And, lo! a Muse appear'd to his clos'd sight, In which all colours and all figures were, And with loose pride it wanton'd in the air. A crown was on her head, and wings were on her feet. She touch'd him with her harp, and rais'd him from the ground, "Art thou return'd at last," said she, As ever any of the mighty Nine Had to their dearest children done; When I resolv'd t' exalt thy anointed name, Thou, changeling! thou, bewitch'd with noise and show, In all the follies and the tumults there : Thou would'st, forsooth, be something in a state, Of human lusts, to shake off innocence; Business! the grave impertinence! Business the thing which I of all things hate; Business! the contradiction of thy fate. "Go, renegado! cast up thy account And see to what amount Thy foolish gains by quitting me: The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty, Thou thought'st, if once the public storm were past, Behold the public storm is spent at last, But, whilst thy fellow-voyagers I see All march'd up to possess the promis'd land, "As a fair morning of the blessed spring, Such was the glorious entry of our king; One of old Gideon's miracles was shown; The fruitful seed of Heaven did brooding lie, When God to his own people said, (The men whom through long wanderings he had led) That he would give them even a heaven of brass; They look'd up to that heaven in vain, That bounteous Heaven, which God did not restrain Upon the most unjust to shine and rain. "The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more Though she contracted was to thee, Given to another, who had store Of fairer and of richer wives before, And not a Leah left thy recompense to be! Into the Court's deceitful lottery; But think how likely 'tis that thou, With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough, Should'st even able be to live; Thou to whose share so little bread did fall, In that miraculous year, when manna rain'd on all." Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head, The melancholy Cowley said: "Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where, Still I rebel, still thou dost reign; The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever grow. "When my new mind had no infusion known, Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own, That ever since I vainly try To wash away the inherent dye : Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite; To all the ports of honour and of gain Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again. The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsy. This was my error, this my gross mistake, Myself a demi-votary to make. Thus, with Saphira and her husband's fate, And perish for the part which I retain. "Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse! The heaven under which I live is fair, Mak'st me sit still and sing, when I should plough. How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse! Kings have long hands, they say; and though I be However, of all princes, thou Should'st not reproach rewards for being small or slow; Thou who rewardest but with popular breath, And that too after death!" RESOLVED TO LOVE. I WONDER What the grave and wise Whether our pretty fooleries Their mirth or anger move; They understand not breath that words doe want; Our sighs to them are insignificant. One of them saw me th' other day, Touch the dear hand which I admire, My soul was melting strait away, And dropt before the fire. This silly wise man who pretends to know, Another from my mistress' dore Saw me with eyes all watry come, L L |