Then down I laid my head
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h, 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 returnWhere it condemned and destined 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 me?—COWLEY. A lover’s heart, a hand grenado: Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine comeInto the self same room;’Twill tear and blow up all within,Like a grenade shot into a magazine.Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts,Of both our broken hearts;Shalt out of both one new one make;From hers th’ allay, from mine the metal take.—COWLEY.
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