![]() | The Third Part of the Works of Mr. Abraham Cowley
Being his Six Book of Plants | ![]() |
THE
Author's Preface
To his Two first BOOKS of
PLANTS,
Published before the rest.
COnsidering the incredible Veneration which
the best Poets always
had for Gardens, Fields, and Woods, insomuch that in all other
Subjects they seem'd to be
banished from the Muses Territories, I wondered what evil Planet
was so malicious to the
Breed of Plants, as to permit none of the inspired Tribe to
celebrate their Beauty and
admirable Virtues. Certainly a copious Field of Matter, and what
would yield them a
plentiful return of Fruit; where each particular, besides its
pleasant History (the extent
whereof every body, or to speak more truly, no body, can
sufficiently understand) which
contains the whole Fabrick of humane Frame,
I have added short Notes, not for ostentation
of Learning (whereof
there is no occasion here offered; for what is more easie than to
turn over one or two
Herbalists?) but because that beside Physicians (whom I pretend not
to instruct, but divert)
there are few so well vers'd in the History of Plants,
I was therefore willing to cite proper
Witnesses, that is, such as writ
in loose and free Prose, which compared with Verse, bears the
Authority of an Oath. I have
yet contented my self with Two of those, (which is the Number
required by Law)
Pliny and Fernelius I have chiefly made
choice of, the first being an Author of unquestion'd Latin, and the
latter amongst the
Moderns of the truest Sentiments, and no ill Master of Expression.
If any except against the
former, as too credulous of the Greekish idle Tales, that he may
not safely be credited, he
will find nothing in this Subject mention'd by him, which is not
represented by all that write
of Herbs. Nor would I have the Reader, because I have made my
Plants to discourse,
Having given you this Account, if any shall light upon this Book who have read my former, published not long since by me in English, I fear they may take occasion from thence, of reprehending some things, concerning which it will not be impertinent briefly to clear my self before I proceed. In the first place, I foresee that I shall be accused by some of too much Delicacy and Levity, in that having undertaken great Subjects, and after a day or two's journey, I have stopt through Lazyness and Despondency, of reaching home, or possess'd with some new frenzy, have started into some other Road, insomuch, that not only the half (as they say) but the third part of the Task has been greater than my whole performance: Away (they cry) with this Desultory Writer. Yet with what Spirit, what Voice threatning mighty Matters; he begins
In the first place therefore, that which is
most truly asserted of
Human Life, is too applicable to my Poetry; that it is best never
to have been born, or being
born, forthwith to die; And if my Essays should be carried on to
their Omega
(to which the Works of Homer by a peculiar
Felicity were continu'd vigorous) there would be great danger of
their falling into Dotage
before that time. The only thing that can recommend Trifles, or
make them tolerable is, that
they give off seasonably, that is suddenly; for that Author goes
very much too far, who leaves
his Reader tired behind him. These Considerations, if I write ill,
will excuse my brevity,
though not so easily excuse the Undertaking; nor shall my
Inconstancy in not finishing what
I have begun, be so much blamed as my Constancy in ceasing not
continually to begin, and
being like Fortune, constant in Levity. But
if Reader (as is my
desire) we have furnished you with what is agreeable to your
Appetite, you ought to take
it in good part, that we have used such moderation, as neither to
send you away hungry, nor
cloy your Stomach with too much satiety: To this you must add, that
our Attempts, such as
they are, may excite the Industry of others who are enabled by a
greater genius and strength
to undertake the very same or more noble Subjects. As
Agesilaus
of old, who though he made no great progress
into Asia,
yet being the first in that Adventure, he opened
the way to Alexander
for a glorious and entire Conquest.
When thou thy self (say they) hast thus
declared with the
Approbation of all good Men, and given an Example in thy
Davideis
for others to imitate; dost thou, like an
Apostate Jew loathing Manna, return
to the Leeks and Garlick of Egypt? After the appearance of Christ
himself in thy Verse, and
imposing silence on the Oracles of Demons, shall we again hear the
voice of Apollo
from thy profane Tripod? After the Restauration
of Sion,
and the Purgation of it from Monsters, shall it
be again possessed by the
drery Ghosts of antiquated Deities.
A heavy Charge indeed, and terrible at the
first sight; but I esteem
that which celebrates the wonderful Works of Providence, not to be
far distant from a
Sacred Poem.
There remains a third Difficulty which will not perhaps so easily be solved. I had some time since been resolved in my self to write no more Verses, and made thereof such publick and solemn protestation, as almost amounts to an Oath:
When behold I have set in anew. Concerning which matter, because I remember my self to have formerly given an account in Metre: I am willing (and Martial affirms it to be a Poets Right) to close my Epistle therewith; they were written to a learned and most ingenious Friend who laboured under the very same Distemper, though not with the same dangerous Symptoms.
Foul Man, to the Disease thou hast forsworn,
'T 'as reach'd thy Marrow, seiz'd thy inmost sense,
And Force nor Reason cannot draw it thence.
Think'st thou that Heaven thy Liberty allows,
And laughs at Poets, as at Lovers Vows;
Forbear my Friend to wound with sharp Discourse
A wretched Man that feels too much Remorse.
Fate drags me on against my Will, in vain
I struggle, fret, and try to break my Chain.
Thrice I took Hellebore, and must confess,
Hop'd I was fairly quit of my Disease.
But the Moons Power to which all Herbs must yield,
Bids me be mad again, and gains the Field.
At her Command for Pen and Ink I call,
And in one Morn three hundred Rhymes let fall;
Which in the Transport of my Frentick Fit,
I throw like stones at the next Man I meet;
E'en thee my Friend, Apollo-like I wound,
The Arrows fly, the String and Bow resound.
What Methods canst thou study to reclaim
Whom nor his own nor publick Griefs can tame,
Who in all Seasons keep my chirping Strain,
A Grasshopper that sings in Frost and Rain.
Like her whom Boys and Youths and Elders knew,
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I see the Path my Judgment shou'd pursue,
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But what can naked I, 'gainst armed Nature do?
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I'm no Tydides who a Power divine
Could overcome; I must, I must resign.
E'en thou, my Friend, (unless I much mistake)
Whose thundering Sermons make the Pulpit shake,
Unfold the Secrets of the World to come,
And bid the trembling Earth expect its doom;
As if Elias were come down in Fire,
Yet thou at night dost to thy Glass retire,
Like one of us, and (after moderate Use
Of th'Indian Fume and European Juice,)
Sett'st into Rhyme and dost thy Muse caress,
In learn'd Conceits, and harmless wantonness.
'Tis therefore just thou shouldst excuse thy Friend,
Who's none of those that trifle without end:
I can be serious too when Business calls,
My Frenzy still has lucid Intervals.
![]() | The Third Part of the Works of Mr. Abraham Cowley
Being his Six Book of Plants | ![]() |