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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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Abraham Cowley
Age: 49 †
Born: 1618
Born: January 1
Died: 1667
Died: July 28
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
the City
Dog
Beasts
Thieving
Kind
Wolf
Rapacious
Men
Foxes
Crocodile
Lion
Vulture
Lions
Crocodiles
Beast
Robbing
Decoy
Near
Treacherous
Fawning
Kinds
Roaring
Dissembling

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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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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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When Israel was from bondage led,Led by the Almighty's handFrom out of foreign land,The great sea beheld and fled.
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His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong his life, I'm sure, was in the right.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
Abraham Cowley
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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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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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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
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s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
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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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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.
Abraham Cowley
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Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
Abraham Cowley
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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.
Abraham Cowley
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What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
Abraham Cowley
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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.
Abraham Cowley
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Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
Abraham Cowley
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May I a small house and large garden have And a few friends, And many books, both true.
Abraham Cowley