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s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.

Abraham Cowley

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Abraham Cowley
Age: 49 †
Born: 1618
Born: January 1
Died: 1667
Died: July 28
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
the City
Nature
Change
Inconstancy
Changes
Constant
Scene

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Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Or what is worse, be left by it? Why dost thou load thyself when thou 'rt to fly, Oh, man! ordain'd to die? Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou who art under ground to lie? Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see, For death, alas! is reaping thee.
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Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master's humble taleIn sounds that may prevailSounds that gentle thoughts inspire:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
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Solitude can be used well by very few people. They who do must have a knowledge of the world to see the foolishness of it, and enough virtue to despise all the vanity.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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A mighty pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss But, of all pains, the greatest pain Is to love, but love in vain.
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Our yesterday's to-morrow now is gone, And still a new to-morrow does come on. We by to-morrow draw out all our store, Till the exhausted well can yield no more.
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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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Gold begets in brethren hate Gold in families debate Gold does friendship separate Gold does civil wars create.
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Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
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The world's a scene of changes.
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Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
Abraham Cowley
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I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a little feast.
Abraham Cowley
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Man is too near all kinds of beasts,--a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture.
Abraham Cowley
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Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, and yet so humble too as not to scorn the meanest country cottages.
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As for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.
Abraham Cowley