Of enormous and disgusting hyperboles, these may be examples:

By every wind that comes this way, Send me at least a sigh or two, Such and so many I'll repay As shall themselves make winds to get to you.--COWLEY.

In tears I'll waste these eyes, By love so vainly fed: So l.u.s.t of old the deluge punished.--COWLEY.

All arm'd in bra.s.s, the richest dress of war, (A dismal glorious sight!) he shone afar.

The sun himself started with sudden fright, To see his beams return so dismal bright.--COWLEY.

A universal consternation:

His b.l.o.o.d.y eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws Tear up the ground; then runs he wild about, Lashing his angry tail and roaring out.

Beasts creep into their dens, and tremble there; Trees, though no wind is stirring, shake with fear; Silence and horror fill the place around; Echo itself dares scarce repeat the sound.--COWLEY.

Their fictions were often violent and unnatural.

Of his mistress bathing:

The fish around her crowded, as they do To the false light that treacherous fishers show, And all with as much ease might taken be, As she at first took me; For ne'er did light so clear Among the waves appear, Though every night the sun himself set there.--COWLEY.

The poetical effect of a lover's name upon gla.s.s:

My name engraved herein Both contribute my firmness to this gla.s.s: Which, ever since that charm, hath been As hard as that which graved it was.--DONNE.

Their conceits were sometimes slight and trifling. On an inconstant woman:

He enjoys the calmy sunshine now, And no breath stirring hears, In the clear heaven of thy brow No smallest cloud appears.

He sees thee gentle, fair and gay, And trusts the faithless April of thy May.--COWLEY.

Upon a paper written with the juice of lemon, and read by the fire:

Nothing yet in thee is seen, But when a genial heat warms thee within, A new-born wood of various lines there grows; Hers buds an L, and there a B, Here sprouts a V, and there a T, And all the flourishing letters stand in rows.--COWLEY.

As they sought only for novelty, they did not much inquire whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross; whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little.

Physic and chirurgery for a lover:

Gently, ah gently, madam, touch The wound, which you yourself have made; That pain must needs be very much Which makes me of your hand afraid.

Cordials of pity give me now, For I too weak of purgings grow.--COWLEY.

The world and a clock

Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face Through all the turns of matter's maze did trace; Great Nature's well-set clock in pieces took; On all the springs and smallest wheels did look Of life and motion, and with equal art Made up the whole again of every part.--COWLEY.

A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but, that it may not want its due honour, Cleveland has paralleled it with the sun:

The moderate value of our guiltless ore Makes no man atheist, and no woman wh.o.r.e; Yet why should hallow'd vestal's sacred shrine Deserve more honour than a flaming mine?

These pregnant wombs of heat would fitter be, Than a few embers, for a deity.

Had he our pits, the Persian would admire No sun, but warm's devotion at our fire: He'd leave the trotting whipster, and prefer Our profound Vulcan 'bove that waggoner.

For wants he heat, or light? or would have store Of both? 'tis here: and what can suns give more?

Nay, what's the sun but, in a different name, A coal-pit rampant, or a mine on flame?

Then let this truth reciprocally run, The sun's heaven's coalery, and coals our sun.

Death, a voyage:

No family E'er rigg'd a soul for Heaven's discovery, With whom more venturers might boldly dare Venture their stakes with him in joy to share.--DONNE.

Their thoughts and expressions were sometimes grossly absurd, and such as no figures or licence can reconcile to the understanding.

A lover neither dead nor alive:

Then down I laid my head Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead, And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.

Ah, sottish soul, said I, When back to its cage again I saw it fly; Fool to resume her broken chain, And row her galley here again!

Fool, to that body to return Where it condemned and destined is to burn!

Once dead, how can it be, Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, That thou should'st come to live it o'er again in me?--COWLEY.

A lover's heart, a hand grenado:

Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come Into the self same room; 'Twill tear and blow up all within, Like a grenade shot into a magazine.

Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts, Of both our broken hearts; Shalt out of both one new one make; From hers th' allay, from mine the metal take.--COWLEY

The poetical propagation of light:

The prince's favour is diffused o'er all, From which all fortunes names, and natures fall: Then from those wombs of stars, the Bride's bright eyes, At every glance a constellation flies, And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent In light and power, the all-ey'd firmament: First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes, Then from their beams their jewels' l.u.s.tres rise; And from their jewels torches do take fire, And all is warmth, and light, and good desire.--DONNE.