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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 | The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley |  |
Ode.
Upon Liberty.
1.
Freedome with Virtue takes her seat,Her proper place, her onely Scene,
Is in the Golden Mean,
She lives not with the Poor, nor with the Great.
The Wings of those Necessity has clipt,
And they'r in Fortunes Bridewell whipt,
To the laborious task of Bread;
These are by various Tyrants Captive lead.
Now wild Ambition with imperious force
Rides, raines, and spurs them like th' unruly Horse.
And servile Avarice yoakes them now
Like toilsome Oxen to the Plow.
And sometimes Lust, like the Misguiding Light,
Drawes them through all the Labyrinths of Night.
If any Few among the Great there be
From these insulting Passions free,
Yet we ev'n those too fetter'd see
By Custom, Business, Crowds, and formal Decency.
And whereso'ere they stay, and whereso'ere they go,
Impertinencies round them flow:
These are the small uneasie things
Which about Greatness still are found,
And rather it Molest then Wound:
389
But Cares do swarm there too, and those have stings:
As when the Honey does too open lie,
A thousand Wasps about it fly:
Nor will the Master ev'n to share admit;
The Master stands aloof, and dares not Tast of it.
2.
'Tis Morning; well; I fain would yet sleep on;You cannot now; you must be gone
To Court, or to the noisy Hall:
Besides, the Rooms without are crowded all;
The st[r]eam of Business does begin,
And a Spring-Tide of Clients is come in.
Ah cruel Guards, which this poor Prisoner keep!
Will they not suffer him to sleep?
Make an Escape; out at the Postern flee,
And get some blessed Houres of Libertie,
With a few Friends, and a few Dishes dine,
And much of Mirth and moderate Wine.
To thy bent Mind some relaxation give,
And steal one day out of thy Life to Live.
Oh happy man (he cries) to whom kind Heaven
Has such a Freedome alwayes given!
Why, mighty Madman, what should hinder thee
From being every day as Free?
3.
In all the Freeborn Nations of the Air,Never did Bird a spirit so mean and sordid bear,
As to exchange his Native Liberty
Of soaring boldly up into the sky,
His Liberty to Sing, to Perch, or Fly,
When, and where'ver he thought good,
And all his innocent pleasures of the Wood,
For a more plentiful or constant Food.
Nor ever did Ambitious rage
Make him into a painted Cage;
Or the false Forest of a well-hung Room,
For Honour and Preferment come.
390
Who keep their Primitive powers and rights so well
Though Men and Angels fell.
Of all Material Lives the highest place,
To you is justly given;
And wayes and walkes the neerest Heaven.
Whilst wretched we, yet vain and proud, think fit
To boast, That we look up to it.
Even to the Universal Tyrant Love,
You Homage pay but once a year:
None so degenerous and unbirdly prove,
As his perpetual yoke to bear.
None but a few unhappy Houshold Foul,
Whom human Lordship does controul;
Who from their birth corrupted were
By Bondage, and by mans Example here.
He's no small Prince who every day
Thus to himself can say,
Now will I sleep, now eat, now sit, now walk,
Now meditate alone, now with Acquaintance talk.
This I will do, here I will stay,
Or if my Fancy call me away,
My Man and I will presently go ride;
(For we before have nothing to provide,
Nor after are to render an account)
To Dover, Barwick, or the Cornish Mount.
If thou but a short journey take,
As if thy last thou wert to make,
Business must be dispatch'd e're thou canst part,
Nor canst thou stirr unless there be
A hundred Horse and Men to wait on thee,
And many a Mule, and many a Cart;
What an [unwieldy] man thou art?
The Rhodian Colossus so
A Journey too might go.
Thus to himself can say,
Now will I sleep, now eat, now sit, now walk,
Now meditate alone, now with Acquaintance talk.
This I will do, here I will stay,
Or if my Fancy call me away,
My Man and I will presently go ride;
(For we before have nothing to provide,
Nor after are to render an account)
To Dover, Barwick, or the Cornish Mount.
If thou but a short journey take,
As if thy last thou wert to make,
Business must be dispatch'd e're thou canst part,
Nor canst thou stirr unless there be
A hundred Horse and Men to wait on thee,
And many a Mule, and many a Cart;
What an [unwieldy] man thou art?
The Rhodian Colossus so
A Journey too might go.
5
Where Honour or where Conscience does not bindNo other Law shall shackle me,
Slave to my self I will not be,
391
By my own present Mind.
Who by Resolves and Vows engag'd does stand
For days that yet belong to Fate,
Does like an unthrift Mor[t]gage his Estate
Before it falls into his Hand,
The Bondman of the Cloister so
All that he does receive does always owe.
And still as Time comes in, it goes away
Not to Enjoy, but Debts to pay.
Unhappy Slave, and Pupil to a Bell!
Which his hours work as well as hours does tell!
Unhappy till the last, the kind releasing Knell.
6.
If Life should a well-order'd Poem be(In which he only hits the white
Who joyns true Profit with the best Delight)
The more Heroique strain let others take,
Mine the Pindarique way I'le make.
The Matter shall be Grave, the Numbers loose and free.
It shall not keep one setled pace of Time,
In the same Tune it shall not always Chime,
Nor shall each day just to his Neighbour Rhime,
A thousand Liberties it shall dispense,
And yet shall mannage all without offence;
Or to the sweetness of the Sound, or greatness of the Sence,
Nor shall it never from one Subject start,
Nor seek Transitions to depart,
Nor its set way o're Stiles and Bridges make,
Nor thorough Lanes a Compass take
As if it fear'd some trespass to commit,
When the wide Air's a Road for it.
So the Imperial Eagle does not stay
Till the whole Carkass he devour
That's fallen into its power.
As if his generous Hunger understood
That he can never want plenty of Food,
He only sucks the tastful Blood.
And to fresh Game flies cheerfully away;
To Kites and meaner Birds he leaves the mangled Prey.
| The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley | |