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Books should, not Business, entertain the Light And Sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.

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
Light
Book
Entertain
Sleep
Books
Business
Death
Night

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Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
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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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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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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!
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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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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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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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There is some help for all the defects of fortune for, if a man cannot attain to the length of his wishes, he may have his remedy by cutting of them shorter.
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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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May I a small house and large garden have And a few friends, And many books, both true.
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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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Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise, He who defers this work from day to day, Does on a river's bank expecting stay, Till the whole stream, which stopped him, should be gone, That runs, and as it runs, for ever will run on.
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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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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
Abraham Cowley
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To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city to be a philosopher, from the world or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is man's, into the world, as it is God's.
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Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught Smiths (who before could only make The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man's left to epitomize!
Abraham Cowley
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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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