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Amongst Dryden's friends was the excellent and ingenious Abraham Cowley, whose youth had given the promise of distinction his manhood fulfilled. It is related that when quite a lad, he found in the window recess of his mother's apartment a copy of Spencer's "Faerie Queene."
At this time he was Professor of Poetry; but, alas, he lectured just at the hour when wickets were pitched on Cowley Marsh, and I never was present at his discourses, at his humorous prophecies of England's fate, which are coming all too true. So many weary lectures had to be attended, could not be "cut," that we abstained from lectures of supererogation, so to speak.
If Marino and Cowley be greater poets than Ariosto and Milton, let young poets imitate the former with might and main, and avoid spoiling their style by any perusal of the too-intelligible common sense of the latter.
"Why, I asked the way to Cowley Castle," said Wilton, both embarrassed and annoyed; for the Messenger stood coolly by, without any attempt to aid him, and, in truth, enjoying a little difficulty. "But you are not going to Cowley Castle at this time of night," said the man: "why, the only house there is the great house, and that is empty."
About the time when the Pindaric odes of Cowley and his imitators, and the productions of that class of curious thinkers whom Dr. Johnson has strangely styled metaphysical Poets, were beginning to lose something of that extravagant admiration which they had excited, the Paradise Lost made its appearance. 'Fit audience find though few, was the petition addressed by the Poet to his inspiring Muse.
One rapped on a door, one tapped with a knock, did he knock Paul de Kock with a loud proud knocker with a cock carracarracarra cock. Cockcock. Tap. Qui sdegno, Ben, said Father Cowley. No, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered. The Croppy Boy. Our native Doric. Ay do, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Good men and true. Do, do, they begged in one. I'll go. Here, Pat, return. Come. He came, he came, he did not stay.
His cap was pulled down over his eyes and a sullen determined look was on his face. "You come on outside with me," he said, stepping in and closing the door. He kept his hand on the knob as though prepared to resist anyone else coming in. "You just come along outside. I want to see you." George Willard and Elmer Cowley walked through the main street of Winesburg.
The reigning taste was so bad, that the success of a writer was in inverse proportion to his labour, and to his desire of excellence. An exception must be made for Butler, who had as much wit and learning as Cowley, and who knew, what Cowley never knew, how to use them. A great command of good homely English distinguishes him still more from the other writers of the time.
'I am very glad indeed that we did meet. Stay with us over tomorrow. I only wish I were not obliged to go to London on Wednesday. Look, Fanny, isn't that a hawk, over Cowley Bridge? 'Do you feel you would like to shoot it? asked Miss Moorhouse who a moment ago had very closely examined Peak's face. 'To shoot it why do you ask that? 'Confess that you felt the desire.
It is necessary to inform the reader that about this time he was introduced by Congreve to Montague, then Chancellor of the Exchequer: Addison was then learning the trade of a courtier, and subjoined Montague as a poetical name to those of Cowley and of Dryden. By the influence of Mr.
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