THE LIFE OF COWLEY.

ABRAHAM COWLEY was born in London in the year 1618. His father, a reputable citizen, dying

before his birth, left him to the care of his mother, but, in circumstances so straitened, that with difficulty could the procure for him a literary education, which, from marking the early bloom of his infant understanding, was an object she had much at heart: She lived however to enjoy the reward of her solicitude, by seeing her son eminent and profperous, and by receiving in her turn from him, the just tribute of filial gratitude.

Cowley, at a very early age, by an accidental perufal of Spencer's "Fairy Queen," discovered his own propenfity for the muses. Such trivial occurrences not unfrequently indicate to a man the peculiar bent of his genius, and determine his future destination in life.

He was first fent to Westminster school, where it is recorded of him, that, unable to endure the drudgery of acquiring the rules of grammar in the usual manner, he obtained a perfect knowledge a of the learned languages without them.

While at school, he displayed a vernal maturity of intellectual powers, unequalled, perhaps, by any author at the fame period of life. Milton and Pope indeed gave early proofs of extraordinary mental vigour ; but their juvenile pieces, it is almost certain, received the correction of their riper judgments, as they were not publifhed till fome years after they were compofed. The specimens which Cowley gave of the maturity of his genius, are unequivocal; for, besides writing a comedy, called "Love's Riddle," published afterwards when he was at college, he actually gave to the world, in the thirteenth year of his age, a volume of poems, containing, among other pieces, his tragical history of "Pyramus and Thisbe," written in his tenth year, and his "Conftantia and Philetus," written two years after.

In 1636 he was removed to Cambridge, where, notwithstanding the intenseness of his studies, he is faid to have compofed the greater part of his " Davideis;" a work, the very collecting of materials for which, at fo early an age, evinced a mind of uncommon ardour and application; but which, from a subject ill chofen, and worse conducted, was never in any esteem, and is now utterly neglected. The Prince of Wales paffing through Cambridge at the breaking out of the civil war, was entertained by the scholars of the university, with a play called the "Guardian," sketched out for the occafion by Cowley. This play, fome time after the restoration, the author brought on the stage, under the title of "the Cutter of Coleman-ftreet :" it was however, to his no small disappointment, damned, and, strange to add, for being a supposed satire on the royalifts! The piece itself, though printed among his works, is now scarcely known; it is very entertaining, and has something of the rough vigorous wit, and strong-marked character of the comedies of Ben Johnson.

From Cambridge, he was neceffitated, by the prevalence of the parliament there, in 1643, to remove to Oxford, which was the head quarters of the royalifts, whofe good graces he obtained, by the fuavity of his manners, and the unreserved warmth of his loyalty: The virtuous and accomplished Lord Falkland, in particular, honoured him with his entire friendship.

From Oxford he followed the Queen to Paris, as fecretary to the Earl of St. Albans, where he was engaged in the highly confidential and honourable employment of cyphering and decyphering the letters that passed between the king and queen. He was absent from his native country about twelve years; during which time be had his share of the diftreffes of the royal party, and performed several journies to Holland, Flanders, Scotland, Jerfey, and elsewhere, as the cause he was engaged in res quired.

In 1647, he published his " Mistress," an amorous effufion to an ideal Fair-one, where metaphy. fical fubtlety and far-fetched conceit, ufurp the fentiments of paffion and of nature; how different from the elegant and pathetic fonnets of Petrarch, infpired by a real object!

About the year 1656, he returned to his native country, his prefence being judged more neceffary in England, to give occafional notice of the pofture of affairs in the kingdom. Here, notwithstanding his caution to remain concealed, he was arrested, having been mistaken for another, and after an examination, was put into confinement from which however he was liberated, on finding fecurity for a thousand pounds, given by Doctor Scarborough.

About this time he collected and published his poems, in the preface to which, he declares his refolution" to retire himself to some of the American plantations, and to forfake this world for ever." In the viciffitudes of human events, poets were never remarkable for conftancy or fortitude; and Cowley found it expedient to temporize with the ruling powers, to be permitted to live in peace.

In the following year, the better to screen himself from notice, he took out a Degree of Doctor of Phyfic at Oxford, in which profeffion it does not appear that he ever practifed. He retired however to Kent, where he studied botany, and afterwards published in Latin verse, six books on Plants. Doctor Johnfon prefers Cowley's Latin performances to Milton's, because the latter was contented to think as the ancients might have done, and to express himself in their language; whereas Cowley, in language equally claffical, thinks for himself; but his conceptions are just the fame in Latin as in English; and if these feem exotic and uncouth in their native foil, how must they appear in a foreign one? On the death of the protector, he went again to France, where he remained in the king's fuite till the refteration, reinftated in his former employment.

At the restoration, after his long and faithful fervices, he found himself, like many others with equal pretenfions to favour, neglected; upon which he retired, querulous and disappointed, not indeed to America, but to Chertsey in Surrey, where, however, by the exertions of his friends--the Earl of St. Albans and the Duke of Buckingham-he foon obtained a plentiful income; but he did not long experience the tranquillity or irksomeness of folitude; his conftitution, previoufly weakened by a flow fever, taken on his first removal to the country, was unable to refist a severe defluxion on his lungs, occafioned by a neglected cold, which hurried him off, after a fortnight's confinement at the Porch House in Chertsey, in the year 1667, and the 49th of his age. His funeral was fumptuoufly attended to Weftminster Abbey, where his remains were depofited between thofe of Chaucer and Spencer.

The countenance and deportment of Abraham Cowley were fweet and amiable, a real index of his mind; in his manners and person, there was nothing fingular or affected: He had the modesty of a man of genius, and the humility of a christian: His wit, however great, never gave pain to another, and his learning, though profound and extenfive, was ornamental, not cumbersome to his mind. In fine, his eulogy pronounced by Charles II, has never been contradicted by envy or faction, viz. "That Mr. Cowley had not left a better man behind him in England.

The poetry of Cowley has had its full fhare of Praife during the life of its author. And the ramb ling measure of his odes, which was called Pindaric, inundated the regions of poetry for half a century. after his death, in violation of taste, correctness, and nature. Though unable to recognize wit by any of its definitions, every one readily perceives where it is not; no one therefore can ever mistake the conceits of the metaphyfical poets (as Doctor Johnson terms them) for wit; of thefe, Cowley was the chief; he found their poetry the fashion of his day; and he preferred it to the pure models of antiquity, which he was fo wel' acquainted with. It is to be lamented, that fo much learning and genius has been lavished, now, to fo little purpofe; for, those who read Cowley, must be contented to admire rather than to be pleased. From this however, in his voluminous works, there are many exceptions, His anacreontics in particular, are peculiarly delightful, perhaps equal to their ancient models; and their diction is fo finely polished, that the ruft of time has not as yet been able to tarnish their lustre.

THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

gan to look it over, and changed it very much, ftriking out fome whole parts, as that of the Poet and the Soldier; but I have loft the copy, and dare not think it deferves the pains to write it again, which makes me omit it in this publication, though there be fome things in it which I am not afhamed of, taking the excufe of my age and small experience in human conversation when I made it. But as it is, it is only the hafty first fitting of a

ingly. From this which has happened to myself I began to reflect on the fortune of almost al writers, and especially poets, whofe works (commonly printed after their deaths) we find stuffed out either with counterfeit pieces, like false money put in to fill up the bag, though it add nothing to the fum, or with fuch, which, though of their own coin, they would have called in themselves for the bafenefs of the alloy. Whether this proceed from the indifcretion of their friends, who think a vast heap of ftones or rubbish a better monument than a little tomb of marble, or by the unworthy avarice of fome ftationers, who are content to diminish the value of the author, fo they may increase the price of the book, and, like vintners with sophifticate mixtures, fpoil the whole veffels of wine to make it yield more profit. This hath been the cafe with Shakespeare, Fletcher, Johnfon, and many others, part of whofe poems I should take the boldness to prune and lop away, if the care of replanting them in print did belong to me; neither would I make any fcruple to cut off from. some the unneceffary young fuckers, and from others the old withered branches; for a great wit is no more tied to live in a vaft volume than in a gigantic body; on the contrary, it is commonly more vigorous the lefs fpace it animates, and, as Statius fays of little Tydeus,

Ar my return lately into England, I met, by great accident, (for fuch I account it to be, that any copy of it should be extant any where fo long, unless at his houfe who printed it) a book intitled, The Iron Age, and published under my name during the time of my abfence. I wondered very much how one who could be fo foolish to write fo ill verfes, fhould yet be fo wife to set them forth as another man's rather than his own; though perhaps he might have made a better choice, and not father-picture, and therefore like to resemble me accorded the baftard upon fuch a perfon, whofe ftock of reputation is, I fear, little enough for maintenance of his own numerous legitimate offspring of that kind. It would have been much lefs injurious, if | it had pleafed the author to put forth fome of my writings under his own name, rather than his own under mine: he had been in that a more pardonable plagiary, and had done lefs wrong by robbery, than he does by fuch a bounty; for nobody can be justified by the imputation even of another's merit; and our own coarfe clothes are like to become us better than thofe of another man's, though never fo rich: but thefe, to fay the truth were fo beggarly, that I myfelf was afhamed to wear them. It was in vain for me that I avoided cenfure by the concealment of my own writings, if my reputation could be thus executed in effigy; and impoflible it is for any good name to be in fafety, if the malice of witches have the power to confume and deftroy it in an image of their own making. This indeed was fo ill made, and fo unlike, that I hope the charm took no effect; fo that I clteem myself lefs prejudiced by it than by that which has been done to me fince, almost in the fame kind, which is the publication of fome things of mine without my confent or knowledge; and thofe fo mangled and imperfect, that I could neither with honour acknowledge, nor with honesty quite difavow them: of which fort was a comedy called the Guardian, printed in the year 1650, but made and acted before the Prince, in his paffage through Cambridge towards York, at the beginning of the late unhappy war; or rather neither made nor acted, but rough drawn only, and repeated; for the hafte was fo great, that it could neither be revifed nor perfected by the Author, nor learned without book by the actors, nor fet forth in any measure tolerably by the officers of the College. After the reprefentation "(which I confess was fomewhat of the lateft) 1 be

1

---Totos infufa per artas

Major in exiguo regnabat corpore virtus. Stat. T. 1. Theb.

I am not ignorant, that by faying this of others, I expofe myfelf to fome raillery, for not using the fame fevere difcretion in my own cafe, where it concerns me nearer; but though I publish here more than in ftrict wifdom I ought to have done, yet I have fuppreffed and caft away more than I publish; and for the ease of myself and others, have loft, I believe too, more than both. And upon thefe confiderations I have been perfuaded to overcome all the just repugnances of my own modefty, and to

produce thefe Poems to the light and view of the world, not as a thing that I approved of in itself, but as a lefs evil, which I chofe, rather than to ftay till it were done for me by fomebody elfe, either furreptitiously before, or avowedly after my death; and this will be the more excufable, when the reader fhall know in what refpects he may look upon me as a dead, or at leaft, a dying perfon, and upon my Mufe, in this action, as appearing like the Emperor Charles V. and affifting at her own funeral.

Ovid.de Trift.the humbled and dejected condition of fpirit with which he wrote it; there fcarce remains any footsteps of that genius.

Quem nec Jovis ira, nec igncs, &c

The cold of the country had ftrucken through all
his faculties, and benumbed the very feet of his
verfes. He is himfelf, methinks, like one of the
ftories of his own Metomorphofes; and though
there remains fome weak refemblances of Ovid at
Rome, it is but, as he fays of Niobe,

In vultu color eft fine fanguine, lumina moftis
Staut in mota genis; nihil eft in imagine vivum,
Fiet tamen...
Ovid. Metam. L. vi

Hor. Sat. 1. 1. ii. Serv

For, to make myself absolutely dead in a poetial capacity, my refolution at prefent is, never to exercife any more that faculty. It is, I confefs, but The truth is, for a man to write well, it is neceffary feldom feen that the poet dies before the man; for to be in good humour. Neither is wit lefs eclipfed when we once fall in love with that bewitching with the unquietnefs of mind, than beauty with art, we do not use to court it as a miftrefs, but the indifpofition of body; fo that it is almost as marry it as a wife, and take it for better or worse, hard a thing to be a poet in defpight of Fortune, as an infeparable companion of our whole life: as it is in defpight of Nature. For my own part, but as the marriages of infants do but rarely prof- neither my obligations to the Mufes, nor expectasper, fo no man ought to wonder at the diminutions from them, are fo great, as that I fhould tion or decay of my affection to poefy, to which I fuffer myself on no confiderations to be divorced, had contracted myself so much under age, and fo or that i fhould fay, like Horace, Quifquis erit vitæ, fcribam, color much to my own prejudice, in regard of those more profitable matches which I might have made fhall rather ufe his words in another place, among the richer fciences. As for the portion which this brings of fame, it is an estate (if it be any, for men are not oftener deceived in their hopes of widows than in their opinion of exegi monumentum are perennius) that hardly ever comes in whilft we are living to enjoy it, but is a fantastical kind of reverfion to our own felves; neither ought any man to envy poets, this pofthumous and imaginary happinefs, fince they find commonly fo little in prefent, that it may be truly applied to them which St. Paul fpeaks of the firft Chriftians, "If their reward be in this life, they are of all "men the moft miferable."

And if in quiet and flourishing times they meet with fo fmall encouragement, what are they to expect in rough and troubled ones? If wit be fuch a plant that it scarce receives heat enough to preferve it alive even in the fummer of our cold climate, how can it choose, but wither in a long and fharp winter? A warlike, various, and a tragical age, is beft to write of, but worst to write in: and I may, though in a very unequal proportion, affume that to myfelf which was fpoken by Tully to a much better perfon, upon occafion of the civil wars and revolutions in his time, Sed in te intuens, Brute, doleo, cujus in adolefcentiam per medias laudes quafi quadrigis vehentem tranfverfa incurrit mifera fortuna Reipublica. Cic. de Clar. Orator.

Neither is the prefent conftitution of my mind more proper than that of the times for this exercife, or rather divertisement; there is nothing that requires so much ferenity and cheerfulness of fpirit; it must not be either overwhelmed with the cares of life, or overcaft with the clouds of melancholy and forrow, or shaken and disturbed with the forms of injurious fortune: it must, like the halcyon, have fair weather to breed in. The foul must be filled with bright and delightful ideas, when it undertakes to communicate delight to others, which is the main end of poely. One may fee through the style of

Vixi camænis nuper idoneus,
Et militavi non fine gloria,
Nunc arma defumq; hello
Barbit on hic parie, nabebit.

Lill. Car. Ode 26. Vixit puellis, &c.

And this refolution of mine does the more befit
me, because my defire has been for fome years
paft, (though the execution has been accidentally
diverted) and does ftill vehemently continue, to
retire myself to fome of our Anierican planta-
tions, not to feek for gold, or enrich myself with
the traffic of these parts, (which is the end of moft
men that travel thither) fo that of thefe Indies it
is truer than it was of the former,

Improbus extremos currit mercator ad Indos
Pauper ugiens.

but to forfake this world for ever, with all the va-
nities and vexations of it, and to bury myself
there, in fome obfcure retreat, (but not without
the confolation of letters and philofophy)

Oblitriq; meorum, oblivifcendus et iilis.

as my former author fpeaks too, who has enticed me here, I know not how, into the pedantry of this heap of Latin fentences. And I think Dr. Donne's Sun-dial in a Grave is not more ufclefs and ridiculous than poetry would be in that retirement. As this, therefore, is in a true sense a kind of death to the Mufes, and a real literal quitting of this world, fo, methinks, I may make a juft claim to the undoubted privilege of deceased poets, which is to be read with more favour than the living

|