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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?

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
Rose
Among
Reason
Would
Roses
Dwell
Smell

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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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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.
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Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
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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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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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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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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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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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Books should, not Business, entertain the Light And Sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.
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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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The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made themselves, under whatsoever form it be of government the liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends.
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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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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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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.
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Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
Abraham Cowley
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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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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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