The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed: And Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now Published out of the Authors Original Copies ... The Text Edited by A. R. Waller |
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To his very much honoured Godfather,
Master A. B. |
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 | The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley |  |
53
To his very much honoured Godfather, Master A. B.
I love (for that upon the wings of Fame
Shall perhaps mock Death or times Darts) my Name.
I love it more, because 'twas given by you;
I love it most, because 'twas your name too.
For if I chance to slip, a conscious shame
Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name.
Shall perhaps mock Death or times Darts) my Name.
I love it more, because 'twas given by you;
I love it most, because 'twas your name too.
For if I chance to slip, a conscious shame
Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name.
I'm glad that Citie t'whom I ow'd before,
(But ah me! Fate hath crost that willing Score)
A Father, gave me a Godfather too,
And I'm more glad, because it gave me you;
Whom I may rightly thinke, and terme to be
Of the whole Citie an Epitomie.
(But ah me! Fate hath crost that willing Score)
A Father, gave me a Godfather too,
And I'm more glad, because it gave me you;
Whom I may rightly thinke, and terme to be
Of the whole Citie an Epitomie.
I thanke my carefull Fate, which found out one
(When Nature had not licenced my tongue
Farther then cryes) who should my office doe;
I thanke her more, because shee found out you:
In whose each looke, I may a sentence see;
In whose each deed, a teaching Homily.
(When Nature had not licenced my tongue
Farther then cryes) who should my office doe;
I thanke her more, because shee found out you:
In whose each looke, I may a sentence see;
In whose each deed, a teaching Homily.
How shall I pay this debt to you? My Fate
Denyes me Indian Pearle or Persian Plate.
Which though it did not, to requite you thus,
Were to send Apples to Alcinoüs,
And sell the cunning'st way: No, when I can
In every Leafe, in every Verse write Man,
When my Quill relisheth a Schoole no more,
When my pen-feather'd Muse hath learnt to soare,
And gotten wings as well as feet; looke then
For equall thankes from my unwearied Pen:
Till future ages say; 'twas you did give
A name to me, and I made yours to live.
Denyes me Indian Pearle or Persian Plate.
Which though it did not, to requite you thus,
Were to send Apples to Alcinoüs,
And sell the cunning'st way: No, when I can
In every Leafe, in every Verse write Man,
When my Quill relisheth a Schoole no more,
When my pen-feather'd Muse hath learnt to soare,
And gotten wings as well as feet; looke then
For equall thankes from my unwearied Pen:
Till future ages say; 'twas you did give
A name to me, and I made yours to live.
| The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley | |