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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.

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
Gone
Exhausted
Stills
Store
Doe
Yield
Still
Stores
Wells
Till
Come
Draw
Well
Yesterday
Draws
Morrow

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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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Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.
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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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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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Thus would I double my life's fading spaceFor he that runs it well, runs twice his race.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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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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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.
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Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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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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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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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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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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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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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends not on number, but the choice of friends.
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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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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