Tixall Poetry/Upon Mr Abraham Cowley's Retirement

by unknown author

Upon Mr Abraham Cowley's Retirement.

Ode

 

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I.
No, no, unfaithfull world, thou hast
 Too long my easy heart betray'd;
 And me too long thy football made.
 But I am wiser grown at last,
 And will improve by all that I have past.
 I know 'twas just I should be practis'd on,
    For I was told before,
 And told in sober and instructive lore,
 How little all that trusted thee had won;
 And yet I would make haste to be undon.
 Now by my suffering I am better taught,
 And shall no more commit the stupid fault.
    Go, get some other foole,
    Whom thou mayst next cajole:
 On me thy frowns thou dost in vain bestow,
    For I know how
 To be as coy and as reserv'd as thou.

II.
 In my remote and humble seat,
   Now I'me again possest
   Of that late fugitive my breast.
 From all thy tumults, and from all thy heat,
 I'le find a quiet and a coole retreat:
 And on the fetters I have worne,
 Looke with experienc'd and revengfull scorne:
   In this my sov'rain privacy,
   'Tis true I cannot governe thee;
   But yet myselfe I may subdue:
 And 'tis the nobler empire of the two.
   If every passion had got leave
   Its satisfaction to receive,
Yet I would it a higher pleasure call,
To conquer one, then to endulge them all.

III.
For thy inconstant sea, no more,
I'le leave that safe and solid shore.
No, tho' to prosper in the cheat,
Thou shouldst my destiny defeat,
And make me be belov'd, or rich, or great;
Nor from myselfe shouldst me reclaim,
With all the noise, and all the pomp of fame.
  Judiciously I'de thee despise,
Too small the bargain, and too great the price,
  For them to cosen twice.
At length this secret I have learn'd,
Who will be happy will be unconcern'd:
Must all their comfort in their bosom wear,
And seek their treasure and their power there.

IV.
  No other wealth will I aspire
  But that of nature to admire;
  Nor envy on a laurell will bestow,
  While there do any in my garden grow.
   And when I would be great,
   'Tis but ascending to a seat,
  Which nature in a lofty rock hath built;
  A throne, as free from trouble, as from guilt;
   Where when my soul her wings doth raise,
   Above what worldlings fear or praise,
 With innocence, and quiet pride, I'le sit,
 And see the humble waves pay tribute to my feet.
  Oh! life divine, when free from joys diseas'd!
  Not alwais merry, but'tis alwais pleas'd.

V.
A heart, which is too great a thing
To be a present for a Persian king,
Which God himselfe would have to be his court,
Where angels would officiously resort,
 From its own hight would much decline,
 If this converse it should ressigne,
   Ill natur'd world for thine.
Thy unwise rigour hath thy empire lost,
   It hath not only set me free,
   But it hath made me see,
They only can of thy possession boast,
Who do enjoy thee least, and understand thee most
 For lo, the man, whom all mankind admir'd,
 By every grace adorn'd, and every muse inspir'd,
   Is now triumphantly retir'd!
  The mighty Cowley this hath done;
 Aud over thee a Parthian conquest won,
   Which future ages shall adore;
   And which in that subdues thee more,
Then either Greek or Roman ever could before.

 

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