Page:The Works of Abraham Cowley - volume 1 (ed. Aikin) (1806).djvu/222

Will you into your sacred throng admit
The meanest British Wit?
You, general-council of the priests of Fame,
Will you not murmur and disdain,
That I a place among you claim,
The humblest deacon of her train?
Will you allow me th' honourable chain?
The chain of ornament, which here
Your noble prisoners proudly wear;
A chain which will more pleasant seem to me
Than all my own Pindarick liberty!
Will ye to bind me with those mighty names submit,
Like an Apocrypha with holy Writ?
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Whatever happy book is chained here,
No other place or people need to fear;
His chain 's a passport to go every-where.

As when a seat in heaven
Is to an unmalicious sinner given,
Who, casting round his wondering eye,
Does none but patriarchs and apostles there espy;
Martyrs who did their lives bestow,
And saints, who martyrs liv'd below;
With trembling and amazement he begins
To recollect his frailties past and sins;
He doubts almost his station there;
His soul says to itself, "How came I here?"
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$It fares no otherwise with me,
When I myself with conscious wonder see
Amidst this purify'd elected company.