samuel johnson

samuel johnson the same time their power of producing love in him, he considers them as burning-glasses made of ice. Finding himself able to live in the greatest extremities of love, he concludes the torrid zone to be habitable. Upon the dying of a tree, on which he had cut his loves, he observes, that his flames had burnt up and withered the tree.’ 1340 These conceits Addison calls mixed wit; that is, wit which consists of thoughts true in one sense of the expression, and false in the other. Addison’s representation is sufficiently indulgent. that confusion of images may entertain for a mo-ment; but being unnatural, it soon grows weari-some. Cowley delighted in it, as much as if he had invented it; but, not to mention the ancients, he might have found it full-blown in modern Italy. 1350 Aspice quam variis distringar Lesbia curis, Uror, et heu! nostro manat ab igne liquor; Sum Nilus, sumque Aetna simul; restringite flammas O lacrimae, aut lacrimas ebibe flamma meas. One of the severe theologians of that time censured him as having published a book of pro-fane and lascivious Verses. From the charge of pro-faneness, the constant tenour of his life, which seems to have been eminently virtuous, and the general tendency of his opinions, which discover no irreverence of religion, must defend him; but 60 THE LIFE OF COWLEY that the accusation of lasciviousness is unjust, the perusal of his works will sufficiently evince. Cowley’s Mistress has no power of seduction; ‘she plays round the head, but comes not at the heart.’ Her beauty and absence, her kindness and cruelty, her disdain and inconstancy, produce no correspondence of emotion. His poetical account of the virtues of plants, and colours of flowers, is not perused with more sluggish frigidity. The compositions are such as might have been writ-ten for penance by a hermit, or for hire by a phi-losophical rhymer who had only heard of an-other sex; for they turn the mind only on the writer, whom, without thinking on a woman but as the subject for his talk, we sometimes es-teem as learned, and sometimes despise as tri-fling, always admire as ingenious, and always condemn as unnatural. The Pindarique Odes are now to be consid-ered; a species of composition which Cowley thinks Pancirolus might have counted in his list of the lost inventions of antiquity, and which he has made a bold and vigorous attempt to recover.The purpose with which he has paraphrased an Olympick and Nemeaean Ode is by himself sufficiently explained. His endeavour was, not to shew precisely what Pindar spoke, but his manner of speaking. He was therefore not at all restrained to his expressions, nor much to his sentiments; nothing was required of him, but not to write as Pindar would not have written. Of the Olympick Ode the beginning is, I think, above the original in elegance, and the conclusion below it in strength. The connection is supplied with great perspicuity, and the thoughts, which to a reader of less skill seem thrown together by chance, are concatenated without any abruption. Though the English ode cannot be called a translation, it may be very properly consulted as a commentary. The spirit of Pindar is indeed not everywhere equally preserved. The following pretty lines are not such as his deep mouth was used to pour: Great Rhea’s son, If in Olympus’ top where thou Sitt’st to behold thy sacred show, If in Alpheus’ silver flight, If in my verse thou take delight THE LIFE OF COWLEY My verse, great Rhea’s son, which is Lofty as that, and smooth as this. In the Nemeaean ode the reader must, in mere justice to Pindar, observe that whatever is said of the original new moon, her tender forehead and her horns, is superadded by his paraphrast, who has many other plays of words and fancy unsuitable to the original, as, The table, free for every guest, No doubt will thee admit, And feast more upon thee, than thou on it. He sometimes extends his author’s thoughts without improving them. In the Olympionick84 an oath is mentioned in a single word, and Cow-ley spends three lines in swearing by the Castal ian Stream. We are told of Theron’s bounty, with a hint that he had enemies, which Cowley thus enlarges in rhyming prose But in this thankless world the giver Is envied even by the receiver; ‘Tis now the cheap and frugal fashion Rather to hide than own the obligation: Nay, ’tis much worse than so; It now an artifice does grow Wrongs and injuries to do, Lest men should think we owe. It is hard to conceive that a man of the first rank in learning and wit, when he was dealing out such minute morality in such feeble diction, could imagine, either waking or dreaming, that he imitated Pindar. 1440 In the following odes, where Cowley chooses his own subjects, he sometimes rises to dignity truly Pindarick, and, if some deficiencies of lan-guage be forgiven, his strains are such as those of the Theban bard were to his contemporaries: 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, 1450 And to my song with smooth and equal measure dance; While the dance lasts, how long soe’er it be, My musick’s voice shall bear it company; Till all gentle notes be drown’d In the last trumpet’s dreadful sounds. After such enthusiasm, who will not lament to find the poet conclude with lines like these! But stop, my Muse-Hold thy Pindarick Pegasus closely in. Which does to rage begin- COWLEY -‘Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth’d horse-‘Twill no unskilful touch endure, But flings writer and reader too that sits not sure. The fault of Cowley, and perhaps of all the writers of the metaphysical race, is that of pursu-ing his thoughts to their last ramifications, by which he loses the grandeur of generality; for

samuel johnson They were not always strictly curious, whether the opinions from which they drew their illustrations were true; it was enough that they were popular. Bacon remarks that some falsehoods are continued by tradition, because they supply commodious allusions.It gave a piteous groan, and so it broke; In vain it something would have spoke: The love within too strong for ‘t was, Like poison put into a Venice-glass COWLEY In forming descriptions, they looked out not for images, but for conceits. Night has been a common subject, which poets have contended to 1070 adorn. Dryden’s Night” is well known; Donne’s is as follows: Thou seest me here at midnight, now all rest: Time’s dead low-water; when all minds divest To-morrow’s business, when the labourers have Such rest in bed, that their last church-yard grave, Subject to change, will scarce be a type of this, Now when the client, whose last hearing is To-morrow, sleeps; when the condemned man, Who, when he opes his eyes, must shut them then Again by death, although sad watch he keep, Doth practise dying by a little sleep, Thou at this midnight seest me³.SAMUEL JOHNSON It must be however confessed of these writ-subjects often ers, that if they are upon common unnecessarily and unpoetically subtle; yet where scholastick speculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness and acuteness may justly be admired. What Cowley has written upon Hope shews an unequalled fertility of invention: Hope, whose weak being ruin’d is, Alike if it succeed, and if it miss; Whom good or ill does equally confound, And both the horns of Fate’s dilemma wound. Vain shadow, which dost vanish quite, Both at full noon and perfect night! The stars have not a possibility Of blessing thee; If things then from their end we happy call, ‘Tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of all. Hope, thou bold taster of delight, Who, whilst thou should’st but taste, devour’st it quite! Thou bring’st us an estate, yet leav’st us poor, By clogging it with legacies before! The joys which we entire should wed, Come deflower’d virgins to our bed; Good fortunes without gain imported be, Such mighty custom’s paid to thee: For joy, like wine, kept close, does better taste;If it take air before, its spirits waste”. To the following comparison of a man that travels, and his wife that stays at home, with a pair of compasses, it may be doubted whether absurdity or ingenuity has the better claim: Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin-compasses are two; Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if th’ other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must Like th’ other foot, obliquely run. Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begun. SAMUEL JOHNSON In all these examples it is apparent, that whatever is improper or vicious, is produced by a voluntary deviation from nature in pursuit of something new and strange; and that the writers fail to give delight, by their desire of exciting admiration. 51 Having thus endeavoured to exhibit a general rep-resentation of the style and sentiments of the metaphysical poets, it is now proper to examine particularly the works of Cowley, who was almost the last of that race, and undoubtedly the best. 1140 His Miscellanies contain a collection of short compositions, written some as they were dic-tated by a mind at leisure, and some as they were called forth by different occasions; with great variety of style and sentiment, from burlesque levity to awful grandeur. Such an assemblage of diversified excellence no other poet has hitherto afforded. To choose the best, among many good, is one of the most hazardous attempts of criti-cism. I know not whether Scaliger himself has persuaded many readers to join with him in his preference of the two favourite odes, which he estimates in his raptures at the value of a king-dom. I will, however, venture to recommend Cowley’s first piece, which ought to be inscribed To my muse, for want of which the second cou-LIFE OF COWLEY plet is without reference. When the title is added, there will still remain a defect; for every piece ought to contain in itself whatever is necessary to make it intelligible. Pope has some epitaphs without names; which are therefore epitaphs to be let, occupied indeed for the present, but hardly appropriated. 1160 The ode on Wit is almost without a rival. It was about the time of Cowley that Wit, which had been till then used for Intellection, in contra-distinction to Will, took the meaning, whatever it be, which it now bears. Of all the passages in which poets have ex- 1170 emplified their own precepts, none will easily be found of greater excellence than that in which Cowley condemns exuberance of Wit: Yet ’tis not to adorn and gild each part, That shews more cost than art. Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear; Rather than all things wit, let none be there. Several lights will not be seen, If there be nothing else between. Men doubt, because they stand so thick i’th’sky, 1180 If those be stars which paint the galaxy”.In his verses to lord Falkland, whom every man of his time was proud to praise, there are, as t there must be in all Cowley’s compositions, some striking thoughts; but they are not well wrought. His elegy on Sir Henry Wotton” is vigorous and happy, the series of thoughts is easy and natural, and the conclusion, though a little weakened by the intrusion of Alexander, is elegant and forcible. 1190 It may be remarked, that in this Elegy, and

samuel johnson As they sought only for novelty they did not much enquire whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross; whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little.Physick and Chirurgery for a Lover. Gently, ah gently, madam, touch The wound, which you yourself have made; That pain must needs be very much, Which makes me of your hand afraid. Cordials of pity give me now, For I too weak for purgings grow” COWLEY The World and a Clock. Mahol, th’ inferior world’s fantastic face, Through all the turns of matter’s maze did trace; Great Nature’s well-set clock in pieces took; On all the springs and smallest wheels did look Of life and motion; and with equal art Made up again the whole of every parts. COWLEY A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but, that it may not want its due honour, Cleiveland has paralleled it with the Sun: The moderate value of our guiltless ore Makes no man atheist, and no woman whore; Yet why should hallow’d vestal’s sacred shrine. Deserve more honour than a flaming mine? These pregnant wombs of heat would fitter be Than a few embers, for a deity. Had he our pits, the Persian would admire No sun, but warm’s devotion at our fire: He’d leave the trotting whipster, and prefer Our profound Vulcan ‘bove that waggoner. For wants he heat, or light? or would have store Of both? ’tis here: and what can suns give more? Nay, what’s the sun but, in a different name, A coal-pit rampant, or a mine on flame! Then let this truth reciprocally run, The sun’s heaven’s coalery, and coals our sun”. Death, a Voyage: No family E’re rigg’d a soul for heaven’s discovery, With whom more venturers might boldly dare Venture their stakes, with him in joy to share”. DONNE Their thoughts and expressions were some-times grossly absurd, and such as no figures or licence can reconcile to the understanding.A Lover neither dead nor alive: Then down I laid my head, Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead, And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled: Ah, sottish soul, said I, When back to its cage again I saw it fly; Fool to resume her broken chain! And row her galley here again! Fool, to that body to return Where it condemn’d and destin’d is to burn! Once dead, how can it be, Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, That thou should’st come to live it o’er again in me58? COWLEY A Lover’s heart, a hand grenado Wo to her stubborn heart, if once mine come Into the self-same room, ‘Twill tear and blow up all within, Like a grenado shot into a magazin. Then shall Love keep the ashes, and torn parts, Of both our broken hearts: Shall out of both one new one make; From her’s th’ allay; from mine, the metal take”.The poetical Propagation of Light: The Prince’s favour is diffus’d o’er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall; Then from those wombs of stars, the Bride’s bright eyes, At every glance a constellation flies, And sows the court with stars, and doth pre-vent In light and power, the all-ey’d firmament: First her eye kindles other ladies’ eyes, Then from their beams their jewels’ lustres rise; And from their jewels torches do take fire, And all is warmth, and light, and good desire60. DONNE They were in very little care to clothe their notions with elegance of dress, and therefore miss the notice and the praise which are often gained by those, who think less, but are more diligent to adorn their thoughts That a mistress beloved is fairer in idea than in reality, is by Cowley thus expressed: Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand, Than women can be plac’d by Nature’s hand;44 THE LIFE OF COWLEY And I must needs, I’m sure, a loser be, To change thee, as thou’rt there, for very thee That prayer and labour should co-operate, are thus taught by Donne: In none but us, are such mixt engines found, As hands of double office: for the ground We till with them; and them to heaven we raise; Who prayerless labours, or without this, prays, Doth but one half, that’s none62. By the same author, a common topick, the danger of procrastination, is thus illustrated: That which I should have begun In my youth’s morning, now late must be done; And I, as giddy travellers must do, Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost Light and strength, dark and tir’d, must then ride post63 All that Man has to do is to live and die; the sum of humanity is comprehended by Donne in the following lines:Think in how poor a prison thou didst lie; After, enabled but to suck and cry. Think, when ’twas grown to most, ’twas a poor inn, A province pack’d up in two yards of skin, And that usurp’d, or threaten’d with a rage Of sicknesses, or their true mother, age. But think that death hath now enfranchis’d thee; Thou hast thy expansion now, and liberty; Think, that a rusty piece discharg’d is flown In pieces, and the bullet is his own, And freely flies: this to thy soul allow, Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatch’d but now. They were sometimes indelicate and disgust-ing. Cowley thus apostrophises beauty: -Thou tyrant, which leav’st no man free! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Thou murtherer, which hast kill’d, and devil, which wouldst damn me!Thus he addresses his Mistress: Thou who, in many a propriety, So truly art the sun to me, Add one more likeness, which I’m sure you can, And let me and my sun beget a man 66. Thus he represents the meditations of a Lover: Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracts have been So much as of original sin, Such charms thy

samuel johnson ma There is reason to think that Cowley prom-ised little. It does not appear that his compliance gained him confidence enough to be trusted without security, for the bond of his bail was never cancelled; nor that it made him think him-self secure, for at that dissolution of government, which followed the death of Oliver’s, he re turned into France, where he resumed his for-mer station, and staid till the Restoration. ‘He continued,’ says his biographer, ‘under these bonds till the general deliverance’; it is therefore to be supposed, that he did not go to France, and act again for the King, without the consent of his bondsman: that he did not shew his loyalty at the hazard of his friend, but by his friend’s permission. Of the verses on Oliver’s death, in which Wood’s narrative seems to imply something en-comiastick, there has been no appearance. There is a discourse concerning his government, indeed, with verses intermixed, but such as certainly gained its author no friends among the abettors of 3 usurpation. A doctor of physick, however, he was made at Oxford, in December 1657; and in the com-mencement of the Royal Society, of which an account has been published by Dr. Birch¹6, he appears busy among the experimental philoso-phers with the title of Doctor Cowley. There is no reason for supposing that he ever attempted practice; but his preparatory studies have contributed something to the honour of his country. Considering Botany as necessary to a physician, he retired into Kent to gather plants; and as the predominance of a favourite study affects all subordinate operations of the intellect, Botany in the mind of Cowley turned into po-etry. He composed in Latin several books on Plants, of which the first and second display the SAMUEL JOHNSON qualities of Herbs, in elegiac verse; the third and fourth, the beauties of flowers in various meas-ures; and in the fifth and sixth, the uses of Trees in heroick numbers. At the same time were produced from the same university, the two great Poets, Cowley and Milton, of dissimilar genius, of opposite principles; but concurring in the cultivation of Latin poetry, in which the English, till their works and May’s poem appeared, seemed unable to contest the palm with any other of the let-tered nations. If the Latin performances of Cowley and Milton be compared, for May I hold to be supe-rior to both, the advantage seems to lie on the side of Cowley, Milton is generally content to express the thoughts of the ancients in their lan-guage; Cowley, without much loss of purity or elegance, accommodates the diction of Rome to his own conceptions. At the Restoration, after all the diligence of his long service, and with consciousness not only of the merit of fidelity, but of the dignity of great abilities, he naturally expected ample preferments; and, that he might not be forgotten by his own fault, wrote a Song of Triumph. But this was a time of such general hope, that great numbers were inevitably disappointed; and Cowley found his There is reason to think = মনে করার যথেষ্ট কারণ আছে that Cowley promised little. = যে কাউলি খুব সামান্যই প্রতিশ্রুতি দিয়েছিলেন। It does not appear = এমন কোনো প্রমাণ পাওয়া যায় না that his compliance = যে তাঁর এই সমঝোতা gained him confidence enough = তাঁকে এতটা বিশ্বাসযোগ্য করে তুলেছিল to be trusted without security, = যাতে জামিন ছাড়াই তাঁর ওপর ভরসা করা হতো, for the bond of his bail = কারণ তাঁর জামিনের বন্ড was never cancelled; = কখনো বাতিল করা হয়নি; nor that it made him think himself secure, = আবার এটাও নয় যে, এর ফলে তিনি নিজেকে নিরাপদ মনে করেছিলেন, for at that dissolution of government = কারণ সেই সরকারের পতনের সময়, which followed the death of Oliver, = যা অলিভারের মৃত্যুর পর ঘটেছিল, he returned into France, = তিনি আবার ফ্রান্সে ফিরে যান, where he resumed his former station, = সেখানে তিনি তাঁর আগের পদে পুনরায় যোগ দেন, and staid till the Restoration. = এবং রাজতন্ত্র পুনঃপ্রতিষ্ঠিত হওয়া পর্যন্ত সেখানেই থাকেন। “He continued,” says his biographer, = তাঁর জীবনীকার বলেন, “তিনি থেকে গিয়েছিলেন “under these bonds = এই জামিনের বাধ্যবাধকতার অধীনেই till the general deliverance;” = সাধারণ মুক্তি না আসা পর্যন্ত।” it is therefore to be supposed, = তাই ধরে নেওয়া যায়, that he did not go to France = তিনি ফ্রান্সে যাননি and act again for the King, = এবং আবার রাজার হয়ে কাজ করেননি, without the consent of his bondsman: = তাঁর জামিনদাতার সম্মতি ছাড়া; that he did not shew his loyalty = অর্থাৎ তিনি তাঁর আনুগত্য প্রদর্শন করেননি at the hazard of his friend, = বন্ধুকে বিপদের মুখে ফেলে, but by his friend’s permission. = বরং বন্ধুর অনুমতি নিয়েই করেছিলেন। Of the verses on Oliver’s death, = অলিভারের মৃত্যুর ওপর লেখা কবিতাগুলোর মধ্যে, in which Wood’s narrative = যেগুলোর ব্যাপারে উডের বর্ণনা seems to imply = যেন ইঙ্গিত করে something encomiastick, = যে সেখানে প্রশংসাসূচক কিছু ছিল, there has been no appearance. = তার কোনো প্রমাণ পাওয়া যায়নি। There is a discourse = তবে একটি আলোচনা-গ্রন্থ আছে, concerning his government, indeed, = যা তাঁর শাসনব্যবস্থা নিয়ে রচিত, with verses intermixed, = এবং যার মধ্যে কিছু কবিতাও সংযোজিত আছে, but such as certainly gained = কিন্তু সেগুলো নিশ্চয়ই its author no friends = লেখকের জন্য কোনো বন্ধু অর্জন করেনি among the abettors of usurpation. = ক্ষমতা দখলকারীদের সমর্থকদের মধ্যে। A doctor of physick, however, = তবে চিকিৎসাবিদ্যায় ডক্টর উপাধি he was made = তিনি লাভ করেন at Oxford, = অক্সফোর্ডে, in December 1657; = ১৬৫৭ সালের ডিসেম্বর মাসে; and in the commencement = এবং প্রতিষ্ঠার প্রারম্ভিক সময়ে of the Royal Society, = রয়্যাল সোসাইটির, of which an account = যার একটি বিবরণ has been published = প্রকাশ করেছেন by Dr. Birch, = ডক্টর বার্চ, he appears busy = সেখানে তাঁকে সক্রিয় দেখা যায় among the experimental philosophers = পরীক্ষামূলক বিজ্ঞানীদের মধ্যে, with the title of Doctor Cowley. = “ডক্টর কাউলি” উপাধি নিয়ে। There is no reason = এমন কোনো কারণ নেই

samuel johnson Town, lying there one night. I write this in pain, and can say no more: Verbum sapienti. 22, He did not long enjoy the pleasure or suffer the uneasiness of solitude; for he died at the Porch-house in Chester in 1667, in the 49th year of his age. He was buried with great pomp near Chaucer and Spenser; and king Charles pronounced, ‘that Mr. Cowley had not left a better man behind him in England.’ He is represented by Dr. Sprat as the most amiable of mankind; and this posthumous praise may be safely credited, as it has never been contradicted by envy or by faction. Such are the remarks and memorials which I have been able to add to the narrative of Dr. Sprat; who, writing when the feuds of the civil war were yet recent, and the minds of either party easily irritated, was obliged to pass over many transactions in general expressions, and to leave curiosity often unsatisfied. What he did not tell cannot, however, now be known. I must therefore recommend the perusal of his work, to which my narration can be considered only as a slender supplement.Cowley, like other poets who have written with narrow views, and, instead of tracing intellectual pleasure to its natural sources in the mind of man, paid their court to temporary prejudices, has been at one time too much praised, and too much neglected at another. Wit, like all other things subject by their na-ture to the choice of man, has its changes and fashions, and at different times takes different forms. About the beginning of the seventeenth century appeared a race of writers that may be termed the metaphysical poets; of whom, in a criticism on the works of Cowley, it is not im-proper to give some account. 520Cowley, like other poets who have written with narrow views, and, instead of tracing intellectual pleasure to its natural sources in the mind of man, paid their court to temporary prejudices, has been at one time too much praised, and too much neglected at another. Wit, like all other things subject by their na-ture to the choice of man, has its changes and fashions, and at different times takes different forms. About the beginning of the seventeenth century appeared a race of writers that may be termed the metaphysical poets; of whom, in a criticism on the works of Cowley, it is not im-proper to give some account. The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to shew their learning was their whole en-deavour; but, unluckily resolving to shew it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry, they only wrote verses, and very often such verses as stood the trial of the finger better than of the ear; for the modulation was so imperfect, that they were only found to be verses by counting the syllables. If the father of criticism has rightly denomi-nated poetry τέχνη μιμετκη, an imitative art, 23Cowley, like other poets who have written with narrow views, and, instead of tracing intellectual pleasure to its natural sources in the mind of man, paid their court to temporary prejudices, has been at one time too much praised, and too much neglected at another. Wit, like all other things subject by their na-ture to the choice of man, has its changes and fashions, and at different times takes different forms. About the beginning of the seventeenth century appeared a race of writers that may be termed the metaphysical poets; of whom, in a criticism on the works of Cowley, it is not im-proper to give some account. The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to shew their learning was their whole en-deavour; but, unluckily resolving to shew it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry, they only wrote verses, and very often such verses as stood the trial of the finger better than of the ear; for the modulation was so imperfect, that they were only found to be verses by counting the syllables. If the father of criticism has rightly denomi-nated poetry τέχνη μιμετκη, an imitative art, The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to shew their learning was their whole en-deavour; but, unluckily resolving to shew it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry, they only wrote verses, and very often such verses as stood the trial of the finger better than of the ear; for the modulation was so imperfect, that they were only found to be verses by counting the syllables If the father of criticism has rightly denomi-nated poetry τέχνη μιμετκη, an imitative art, these writers will, without great wrong, lose their right to the name of poets; for they cannot be said to have imitated anything; they neither copied nature nor life; neither painted the forms of mat-ter, nor represented the operations of intellect. Those, however, who deny them to be poets, allow them to be wits. Dryden confesses24 of himself and his contemporaries, that they fall below Donne in wit, but maintains that they surpass him in poetry. If Wit be well described by Pope, as being ‘that which has been often thought, but was never before so well expressed25,’ they certainly never attained, nor ever sought it; for they en-deavoured to be singular in their thoughts, and were careless of their diction. But Pope’s account of wit is undoubtedly erroneous: he depresses it below its natural dignity, and reduces it from strength of thought to happiness of language. If by a more noble and more adequate conception that be considered as Wit, which is at once natural and new, that which, though not obvious, is, upon its first production, acknowl-560 edged to be just; if it be that, which he that never found it, wonders how he missed; to wit of this kind the metaphysical poets have seldom risen. Their thoughts are often new, but seldom natu-ral; they are not obvious, but neither are they just; and the reader, far from wondering that he missed them, wonders more frequently by