ABRAHAM COWLEY. 41 Books should, not business, entertain the light, LIBERTY. And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the WHERE honor or where conscience does night. My house a cottage more My garden painted o'er With Nature's hand, not Art's; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabine field. Thus would I double my life's fading space; not bind, No other law shall shackle me; Who by resolves and vows engaged does stand For days that yet belong to Fate, estate Before it falls into his hand. For he that runs it well twice runs his The bondman of the cloister so race. And in this true delight, These unbought sports, this happy state, I would not fear, nor wish, my fate; But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them; I have lived today. All that he does receive does always owe; And still as time comes in, it goes away, Not to enjoy, but debts to pay. Unhappy slave! and pupil to a bell! Which his hour's work, as well as hours, does tell! Unhappy to the last, the kind releasing knell. |