Abraham Cowley (1618 – 1667)
English metaphysical poet.
Life is an incurable disease.
What shall I do to be forever known,
And make the age to come my own?
When Israel was from bondage led,
Led by the Almighty's hand
From out of foreign land,
The great sea beheld and fled.
Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?
Hope, of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure.
Thus would I double my life's fading space;
For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.
If of their pleasures and desires no end be found;
God to their cares and fears will set no bound.
What would content you? Who can tell?
Ye fear so much to lose what you have got
As if ye liked it well.
Ye strive for more, as if ye liked it not.
Words that weep and tears that speak.