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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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Abraham Cowley
Age: 49 †
Born: 1618
Born: January 1
Died: 1667
Died: July 28
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
the City
May
Grant
Mean
Grants
Contempt
Envy
Lows
High
Lying
Means
Scorn

More quotes by Abraham Cowley

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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning's gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill 'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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We may talk what we please, he cries in his enthusiasm for the oldest of the arts, of lilies, and lions rampant, and spread eagles, in fields d'or or d'argent but, if heraldry were guided by reason, a plough in a field arable would be the most noble and ancient arms.
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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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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.
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Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.
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Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
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Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land yield incomparably more poetic variety than the voyages of Ulysses or Aeneas?
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What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
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Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th' approaches of the last.
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And I myself a Catholic will be, So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below.
Abraham Cowley
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All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
Abraham Cowley
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To-day is ours what do we fear? To-day is ours we have it here. Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish, at least, with us to stay. Let's banish business, banish sorrow To the gods belong to-morrow.
Abraham Cowley
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The present is an eternal now.
Abraham Cowley
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
Abraham Cowley
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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
Abraham Cowley
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The world's a scene of changes.
Abraham Cowley