ABRAHAM COWLEY
So high that all the virtues there did come,
As to their chiefest seat
Conspicuous and great; So low, that for me too it made a room.
Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, As if for him Knowledge had rather sought; Nor did more learning ever crowded lie
In such a short mortality. Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or writ,
Still did the notions throng
About his eloquent tongue, Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit.
His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit,
Yet never did his God or friends forget;
And when deep talk and wisdom came in view, Retired, and gave to them their due.
For the rich help of books he always took,
Though his own searching mind before Was so with notions written o'er,
As if wise Nature had made that her book.
With as much zeal, devotion, piety,
He always lived, as other saints do die.
Still with his soul severe account he kept, Weeping all debts out ere he slept.
Then down in peace and innocence he lay, Like the sun's laborious light, Which still in water sets at night,
Unsullied with his journey of the day.
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