Abraham Cowley

“ It feeds it strongly, and it cloathes it gay,
And when it dies, with comely pride
Embalms it, and erects a Pyramide
That never will decay
Till Heaven it self shall melt away,
And nought behind it stay.
Begin the Song, and strike the Living Lyre;
Lo how the Years to come, a numerous and well-fitted Quire,
All hand in hand do decently advance,
And to my Song with smooth and equal measures dance. ”

“ Some descend from Clouds on high,
Some from Metals upwards fly,
And where th' attending Soul naked, and shivering stands,
Meet, salute, and joyn their hands.
As disperst Souldiers at the Trumpets call,
Hast to their Colours all.
Unhappy most, like Tortur'd Men,
Their Joynts new set, to be new rackt agen.
To Mountains they for shelter pray,
The Mountains shake, and run about no less confus'd then They. ”