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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!

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
Life
Dost
Proudly
Vain
Rise
Eternity
Weak
Built
Isthmus
Two
Eternities

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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
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Ah, yet, e'er I descend to th' grave, May I a small House and a large Garden have. And a few Friends, and many Books both true, Both wise, and both delightful too. And since Love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as Guardian angels are, Only belov'd and loving me.
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends not on number, but the choice of friends.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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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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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.
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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Nothing in Nature's sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high-- Fill all the Glasses there for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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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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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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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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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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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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I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, to-morrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them I have lived today.
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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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