Abraham Cowley

“ And they (kind spirits!) shall all rejoice, to see
How little less than they exalted man may be.
Still the old Heathen gods in Numbers dwell;
The heavenliest thing on earth still keeps up hell!
Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Christian land;
Still idols here, like calves at Bethel, stand.
And, though Pan's death long since all oracles broke,
Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke:
Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we
(Vain men!) the monster Woman deify;
Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face,
And paradise in them, by whom we lost it, place. ”

“ And made thee render up thy tuneful breath
In thy great mistress' arras, thou most divine
And richest offering of Loretto's shrine!
Where, like some holy sacrifice t'expire,
A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire. ”

“ His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right; ”