Lucasta, Richard Lovelace
Lucasta, Richard Lovelace, Kessinger 2004
To the Sea of Chaste Delight;
Let me cast the Drop I write.
/ And as at Loretto's shrine
Caesar shovels in his mine,
Th' Empres spreads her carkanets,
The lords submit their coronets,
Knights their chased armes hang by,
Maids diamond-ruby fancies tye;
Whilst from the pilgrim she wears
One poore false pearl, but ten true tears:
/So among the Orient prize,
(Saphyr-onyx eulogies)
Offer'd up unto your fame,
Take my GARNET-DUBLET name,
And vouchsafe 'midst those rich joyes
(With devotion) these TOYES.
/Richard Lovelace
(The Dedication/To the Right Hon. My Lady Anne Lovelace)
I.
If to be absent were to be
Away from thee;
Or that when I am gone,
You or I were alone;
Then my LUCASTA might I crave
Pity from blustring winde or swallowing wave.
II.
But I'le not sigh one blast or gale
To swell my saile,
Or pay a teare to swage
The foaming blew-gods rage;
For whether he will let me passe
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.
III.
Though the seas and land betwixt us both,
Our faith and troth,
Like separated soules,
All time and space controules:
Above the highest sphere wee meet,
Unseene, unknowne, and greet as angels greet.
(Song/To Lucasta, Going Beyond the Seas)
I.
Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
To warre and armes I flie.
II.
True: a new Mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
III.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.
(Song/To Lucasta. Going to the Warres.)
Through foul we follow faire
(A Paradox)
The god, that constant keeps
Unto his deities,
Is poore in joyes, and sleepes
Imprison'd in the skies.
This knew the wisest, who
From Juno stole, below
To love a bear or cow.
(A Paradox)
I.
Amarantha sweet and faire,
Ah brade no more that shining haire!
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it flye.
II.
Let it flye as unconfin'd
As it's calme ravisher, the winde,
Who hath left his darling, th'East,
To wanton o're that spicie neast.
III.
Ev'ry tresse must be confest:
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clue of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.
IV.
Doe not then winde up that light
In ribands, and o'er-cloud in night,
Like the sun in's early ray;
But shake your head, and scatter day.
V.
See, 'tis broke! within this grove,
The bower and the walkes of love,
Weary lye we downe and rest,
And fanne each other's panting breast.
VI.
Heere wee'll strippe and coole our fire,
In creame below, in milk-baths higher:
And when all wells are drawne dry,
I'll drink a teare out of thine eye.
VII.
Which our very joys shall leave,
That sorrowes thus we can deceive;
Or our very sorrowes weepe,
That joyes so ripe so little keepe.
(Song/To Amarantha; That She Would Dishevell Her Haire.)
And now this heart is all his sport,
Which as a ball he boundeth
(A Loose Saraband.)
Sometimes he cloathes it gay and fine,
Then straight againe he strips it.
(A Loose Saraband.)
There warme it gan to throb and bleed;
She knew that smart, and grieved;
At length this poore condemned heart
With these rich drugges repreeved.
(A Loose Saraband.)
She proab'd it with her constancie,
And found no rancor nigh it
(A Loose Saraband.)
Lu. But ah, this ling'ring, murdring farewel!
Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures the ill.
Alex. It is the glory of a valiant lover,
Still to be dying, still for to recover.
(Dialogue.)
Alex. No, whilst light raigns, LUCASTA still rules here,
And all the night shines wholy in this sphere.
Lu. I know no morne but my ALEXIS ray,
To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day.
(Dialogue.)
I would love a PARLIAMENT
As a maine prop from Heav'n sent;
But ah! who's he, that would be wedded
To th'fairest body that's beheaded?
(To Lucasta. From Prison)
Eastrich! thou feathered foole, and easie prey,
That larger sailes to thy broad vessell needst;
(Lucasta's Fanne, With a Looking-Glasse in It.)
Sometime they wing her side, (thee) strive to drown
The day's eyes piercing beames, whose am'rous heat
Sollicites still, 'till with this shield of downe
From her brave face his glowing fires are beat.
(Lucasta's Fanne, With a Looking-Glasse in It.)
Yee drops, that dew th'Arabian bowers,
Tell me, did you e're smell or view
On any leafe of all your flowers
Soe sweet a sent, so rich a hiew?
(Lucasta, Taking the Waters at Tunbridge.)
And now her teares nor griev'd desire
Can quench this raging, pleasing fire
(Lucasta's World.)
Gentle as chaines that honour binde,
More faithfull then an Hebrew Jew,
But as the divel not halfe so true.
(The Apostacy of One, and But One Lady.)
Amyntor, a profounder sea, I fear,
Hath swallow'd me, where now
My armes do row
(Amyntor from Beyond the Sea to Alexis.)
From thy tempestuous earth,
Where blood and dearth
Raigne 'stead of kings, agen
Wafte thy selfe over, and lest storms from far
Arise, bring in our sight
The seas delight,
Lucasta, that bright northerne star.
(Amyntor from Beyond the Sea to Alexis.)
From the dire monument of thy black roome,
Wher now that vestal flame thou dost intombe,
As in the inmost cell of all earths wombe.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Arise and climbe our whitest, highest hill;
There your sad thoughts with joy and wonder fill,
And see seas calme as earth, earth as your will.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Shrill trumpets doe only sound to eate,
Artillery hath loaden ev'ry dish with meate,
And drums at ev'ry health alarmes beate.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Trees borrow tongues, waters in accents fall,
The aire doth sing, and fire is musicall.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Up with the jolly bird of light
(Amarantha.)
Faire Amarantha from her bed
Ashamed starts, and rises red
(Amarantha.)
By nature in sate close and free,
As the just bark unto the tree
(Amarantha.)
No cabinets with curious washes,
Bladders and perfumed plashes;
No venome--temper'd water's here,
Mercury is banished this sphere:
(Amarantha.)
So like the Provance rose she walkt,
Flowered with blush, with verdure stalkt;
Th'officious wind her loose hayre curles,
The dewe her happy linnen purles
(Amarantha.)
If ever earth show'd all her store,
View her discolourd budding floor;
(Amarantha.)
Now the rich robed Tulip who,
Clad all in tissue close, doth woe
Her (sweet to th'eye but smelling sower),
She gathers to adorn her bower.
(Amarantha.)
And now the sun doth higher rise,
Our Flora to the meadow hies:
The poore distressed heifers low,
And as sh'approacheth gently bow,
Begging her charitable leasure
To strip them of their milkie treasure.
(Amarantha.)
Garnisht with gems of unset fruit,
Supply'd still with a self recruit;
Her bosom wrought with pretty eyes
Of never-planted Strawberries;
(Amarantha.)
And as againe her arms oth'ground
Spread pillows for hear head...
(Amarantha.)
Ye blew-flam'd daughters oth'abysse;
Bring all your snakes, here let them hisse;
(Amarantha.)
(To show our wound is half to heale),
(Amarantha.)
Imbark thee in the lawrell tree,
And a new Phebus follows thee,
Who, 'stead of all his burning rayes,
Will strive to catch thee with his layes;
(Amarantha.)
But not untill those heavy crimes
She hath kis'd off a thousand times,
Who not contented with this pain,
Doth threaten to offend again.
(Amarantha.)
Now walks she to her bow'r to dine
Under a shade of Eglantine,
Upon a dish of Natures cheere
Which both grew, drest and serv'd up the there:
(Amarantha.)
If in me anger, or disdaine
In you, or both, made me refraine
From th' noble intercourse of verse,
That only vertuous thoughts rehearse;
Then, chaste Ellinda, might you feare
The sacred vowes that I did sweare.
(To Ellinda, That Lately I Have Not Written.)
Thou snowy farme with thy five tenements!
Tell thy white mistris here was one,
That call'd to pay his dayly rents;
(Ellinda's Glove./Sonnet.)
For cherries plenty, and for croans
Enough for fifty, was there more on's;
For elles of beere, flutes of canary,
That well did wash downe pasties-Mary;
For peason, chickens, sawces high,
Pig, and the widdow-venson-pye;
(Being Treated./To Ellinda.)
Such a fate rules over me,
That I glory when I languish
(To Ellinda./Vpon His Late Recovery. A Paradox.)
And as men in hospitals,
That are maim'd, are lodg'd and dined
(To Ellinda./Vpon His Late Recovery. A Paradox.)
Chloe, behold! Our fate's the same.
Or make me cinders too, or quench his flame.
(To Chloe, Courting Her for His Friend.)
The Us'rer heaps unto his store
By seeing others praise it more;
Who not for gaine or want doth covet,
But, 'cause another loves, doth love it
(To Chloe, Courting Her for His Friend.)
I.
See! with what constant motion
Even and glorious, as the sunne,
Grataina steeres that noble frame,
Soft as her breast, sweet as her voyce,
That gave each winding law and poyze,
And swifter then the wings of Fame.
II.
She beat the happy pavement
By such a starre-made firmament,
Which now no more the roofe envies;
But swells up high with Atlas ev'n,
Bearing the brighter, nobler Heav'n,
And in her, all the Dieties.
III.
Each step trod out a lovers thought
And the ambitious hopes he brought,
Chain'd to her brave feet with such arts,
Such sweet command and gentle awe,
As such when she ceas'd, we sighing saw
The floore lay pav'd with broken hearts.
IV.
So did she move: so did she sing:
Like the harmonious spheres that bring
Unto their rounds their musick's ayd;
Which she performed such a way,
As all th'inamour'd world will say:
The Graces daunced, and Apollo play'd.
(Gratiana Dauncing and Singing.)
Blooming boy, and blossoming mayd,
May your faire sprigges be neere betray'd
To eating worm or fouler storme;
No serpent lurke to do them harme;
No sharpe frost cut, no North-winde teare,
The verdue of that fragrant hayre;
But may the sun and gentle weather,
When you are both growne ripe together,
Load you with fruit, such as your Father
From you with all the joyes doth gather:
And may you, when one branch is dead,
Graft such another in its stead,
Lasting thus ever in your prime,
'Till th'sithe is snatcht away from Time.
(Amyntor's Grove,/His Chloris, Arigo, and Gratiana. An Elogie.)
I.
Why shouldst thou sweare I am forsworn,
Since thine I vow'd to be?
Lady, it is already Morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
II.
Have I not lov'd thee much and long,
A tedious twelve moneths space?
I should all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new imbrace;
Should I still dote upon thy face.
III.
Not but all joy in thy browne haire
In others may be found;
But I must search the black and faire,
Like skilfulle minerallists that sound
For treasure in un-plow'd-up ground.
IV.
Then if, when I have lov'd my round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant she;
With spoyles of meaner beauties crown'd,
I laden will returne to thee,
Ev'n sated with varietie.
(The Scrutinie.)
But viewing then, whereas she made
Not a distrest, but lively shade
OF ECCHO whom he had betrayed,
Now wanton, and ith' coole oth'Sunne
With her delight a hunting gone,
And thousands more, whom he had slaine;
To live and love, belov'd againe:
Ah! this is true divinity!
(Princesse Loysa Drawing.)
And he (whilst she his curles doth deck)
Hangs no where now, but on her neck.
(Princesse Loysa Drawing.)
There kneel'd ADONIS fresh as spring,
Gay as his youth, now offering
Herself those joyes with voice and hand,
Which first he could not understand.
(Princesse Loysa Drawing.)
Or that you take some small ease in your owne
Torments, to hear another sadly groane,
I were most happy in my paines...
(A Forsaken Lady to Her False Servant)
And I am candied ice...
(A Forsaken Lady to Her False Servant)
I.
Oh thou, that swing'st upon the waving eare
Of some well-filled oaten beard,
Drunk ev'ry night with a delicious teare
Dropt thee from Heav'n, where now th'art reard.
II.
The joyes of earth and ayre are thine intire,
That with thy feet and wings dost hop and flye;
And when thy poppy workes, thou dost retire
To thy carv'd acorn-bed to lye.
III.
Up with the day, the Sun thou welcomst then,
Sports in the guilt plats of his beames,
And all these merry dayes mak'st merry men,
Thy selfe, and melancholy streames.
IV.
But ah, the sickle! golden eares are cropt;
CERES and BACCHUS bid good-night;
Sharpe frosty fingers all your flowrs have topt,
And what sithes spar'd, winds shave off quite.
V.
Poore verdant foole! and now green ice, thy joys
Large and as lasting as thy peirch of grasse,
Bid us lay in 'gainst winter raine, and poize
Their flouds with an o'erflowing glasse.
VI.
Thou best of men and friends? we will create
A genuine summer in each others breast;
And spite of this cold Time and frosen Fate,
Thaw us a warme seate to our rest.
VII.
Our sacred harthes shall burne eternally
As vestal flames; the North-wind, he
Shall strike his frost-stretch'd winges, dissolve and flye
This Aetna in epitome.
VIII.
Dropping December shall come weeping in,
Bewayle th'usurping of his raigne;
But when in show'rs of old Greeke we beginne,
Shall crie, he hath his crowne againe!
IX.
Night as cleare Hesper shall our tapers whip
From the light casements, where we play,
And the darke hagge from her black mantle strip,
And sticke there everlasting day.
X.
Thus richer then untempted kings are we,
That asking nothing, nothing need:
Though lord of all what seas imbrace, yet he
That wants himselfe, is poore indeed.
(The Grassehopper.)
Mingle your steppes with flowers as you goe
(An Elegie./On the Death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, Only Sister to Mr. C. Cotton.)
And, lasting as their smiles, dig you a roome,
Where practise the probation of your tombe
With ever-bended knees and piercing pray’r,
Smooth the rough passe through craggy earth to ay’r
(An Elegie./On the Death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, Only Sister to Mr. C. Cotton.)
Rise and walk home; there groaning prostrate fall,
And celebrate your owne sad funerall:
For howsoe’re you move, may heare, or see,
YOU ARE MORE DEAD AND BURIED THEN SHEE.
(An Elegie./On the Death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, Only Sister to Mr. C. Cotton.)
Live then, pris’ners, uncontrol’d;
Drink oth’strong, the rich, the old,
Till wine too hath your wits in hold;
Then if still your jollitie
And throats are free—
Chorus
Tryumph in your bonds and paines,
And daunce to the music of your chaines.
(The Vintage to the Dungeon.)
Such and everlasting grace,
Such a beatifick face,
Incloysters here this narrow floore,
That possest all hearts before.
(On the Death of Mrs. Elizabeth Filmer.)
How it commands the face! So sweet a scorne
Never did HAPPY MISERY adorne!
(To My Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly:/On That Excellent Picture of His Majesty and the Duke of Yorke, Drawne By Him at Hampton-Court.)
Not as of old, when a rough hand did speake
A strong aspect, and a faire face, a weake;
When only a black beard cried villaine, and
By hieroglyphicks we could understand;
When chrystall typified in a white spot,
And the bright ruby was but one red blot;
(To My Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly:/On That Excellent Picture of His Majesty and the Duke of Yorke, Drawne By Him at Hampton-Court.)
Who ne’re ‘til now thinks himself slave and poor;
For though nought else, he had himself before.
He weepes at this faire chance, nor wil allow,
But that the diadem doth brand his brow,
And under-rates himselfe below mankinde,
Who first had lost his body, now his minde
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Let me leape in againe! and by that fall
Bring me to my first woe, so cancel all
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Informe my tongue in labour what to say,
And in what coyne or language to repay.
But you are silent as the ev’nings ayre,
When windes unto their hollow grots repaire.
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
When she walks forth, ye perfum’d wings oth’East,
Fan her, ‘til with the Sun she hastes the th’West
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Slow Time, with woollen feet make thy soft pace,
And leave no tracks ith’snow of her pure face;
But when this vertue must needs fall, to rise
The brightest constellation in the skies;
When we in characters of fire shall reade,
How cleere she was alive, how spotless, dead.
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Buffoones and theeves, ceasing to do ill,
Shall blush into a virgin-innocence,
And then woo others from the same offence
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
My wit shal be so wretched and so poore
That, ‘stead of praysing, I shal scandal her,
And leave, when with my purest art I’ve done,
Scarce the designe of what she is begunne:
Yet men shal send me home, admir’d, exact;
Proud, that I could from her so wel detract.
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
The swelling admiral of the dread
Cold deepe, burnt in thy flames, oh faire!
Was not enough, but thou must lead
Bound, too, the Princesse of the aire?
(A Lady with a Falcon on Her Fist./To the Honourable My Cousin A[nne] L[ovelace.])
The lines each honest Englishmann may speake:
Yet not mistake his mother-tongue for Greeke
(A Prologue to the Scholars./A Comaedy Presented at the White Fryers.)
Nor would he now exchange his paine
For cloudes and goddesses againe
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
Or ‘gender with the lightning? trye
The subtler flashes of her eye:
Poore SEMELE wel knew the same,
Who both imbrac’t her God and flame;
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
If you meane HER, the very HER,
Abstracted from her caracter,
Uhappy boy! you may as soone
With fawning wanton with the Moone
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
Like to the sordid insects sprung
From Father Sun and Mother Dung
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
I.
When love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates;
And my divine ALTHEA brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lye tangled in her haire,
And fetterd to her eye,
The birds, that wanton in the aire,
Know no such liberty.
II.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying THAMES,
Our carelesse heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,
When health’s and draughts go free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,
Know no such libertie.
III.
When (like committed linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King.
When I shall voice aloud, how good
He is, how great should be,
Inlarged winds, that curle the flood,
Know no such liberty.
IV.
Stone walls doe not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Mindes innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedome in my love,
And in my soule am free,
Angels alone that sore above
Enjoy such liberty.
(To Althea./From Prison.)
To his lovely bride, in love with scars,
Whose eyes wound deepe in peace, as doth his sword in wars
(Sonnet./To Generall Goring, After the Pacification at Berwicke. A la Chabot.)
Give me scorching heat, thy heat, dry Sun,
That to this payre I may drinke off an ocean
(Sonnet./To Generall Goring, After the Pacification at Berwicke. A la Chabot.)
Againe,
Thou witty creull wanton, now againe,
Through ev’ry veine,
Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev’ry dart,
Againe,
Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine.
I have no heart,
Nor can I live but sweetly murder’d with
So deare, so deare a smart.
(The Answer)
Doth laugh and sing at thy distresse;
Not out of hate to thy reliefe,
But joy t’enjoy thee, though in griefe.
(A Guiltlesse Lady Imprisoned: After Penanced.)
IV.
And play about thy wanton wrist,
As if in them thou so wert drest;
But if too rough, too hard they presse,
Oh, they but closely, closely kisse.
V.
And as thy bare feet blesse the way,
The people doe not mock, but pray,
And call thee, as amas’d they run
Instead of prostitute, a nun.
(A Guiltlesse Lady Imprisoned: After Penanced.)
Then from thy firme selfe never swerve;
Teares fate the griefe that they should sterve
(To His Deare Brother Colonel F. L./Immoderately Mourning My Brothers Untimely Death at Carmarthen.)
This is the prittiest motion:
Madam, th'alarums of a drumme
That cals your lord, set to your cries,
To mine are sacred symphonies.
What, though 'tis said I have a voice;
I know 'tis but that hollow noise
Which (as it through my pipe doth speed)
Bitterns do carol through a reed;
In the same key with monkeys jiggs,
Or dirges of proscribed piggs,
Or the soft Serenades above
In calme of night, when cats make love.
Was ever such a consort seen!
Fourscore and fourteen with forteen?
Yet sooner they'll agree, one paire,
Then we in our spring-winter aire;
They may imbrace, sigh, kiss, the rest:
Our breath knows nought but east and west.
Thus have I heard to childrens cries
The faire nurse still such lullabies,
That, well all sayd (for what there lay),
The pleasure did the sorrow pay.
Sure ther's another way to save
Your phansie, madam; that's to have
(Tis but a petitioning kinde fate)
The organs set to Bilingsgate,
Where they to that soft murm'ring quire
Shall teach you all you can admire!
Or do but heare, how love-bang Kate
In pantry darke for freage of mate,
With edge of steele the square wood shapes,
And DIDO to it chaunts or scrapes.
The merry Phaeton oth'carre
You'l vow makes a melodious jarre;
Sweeter and sweeter whisleth He
To un-annointed axel-tree;
Such swift notes he and 's wheels do run;
For me, I yeeld him Phaebus son.
Say, faire Comandres, can it be
You should ordaine a mutinie?
For where I howle, all accents fall,
As kings hanangues, to one and all.
Ulisses art is now withstood:
You ravish both with sweet and good;
Saint Syren, sing, for I dare heare,
But when I ope', oh, stop your eare.
Far lesse be't aemulation
To passe me, or in trill or tone,
Like the thin throat of Philomel,
And the smart lute who should excell,
As if her soft cords should begin,
And strive for sweetnes with the pin.
Yet can I musick too; but such
As is beyond all voice or touch;
My minde can in faire order chime,
Whilst my true heart still beats the time;
My soule['s] so full of harmonie,
That it with all parts can agree;
If you winde up to the highest fret,
It shall descend an eight from it,
And when you shall vouchsafe to fall,
Sixteene above you it shall call,
And yet, so dis-assenting one,
They both shall meet in unison.
Come then, bright cherubin, begin!
My loudest musick is within.
Take all notes with your skillful eyes;
Hearke, if mine do not sympathise!
Sound all my thoughts, and see exprest
The tablature of my large brest;
Then you'l admit, that I too can
Musick above dead sounds of man;
Such as alone doth blesse the spheres,
No to be reacht with humane eares.
(To a Lady That Desired Me I Would Beare My Part with Her in a Song.)
Now fire upon that everlasting life!...
(Valiant Love.)
Cheape then are pearle-imbroderies,
That not adorne, but cloud thy wast;
Thou shalt be cloath'd above all prise,
If thou wilt promise me imbrac't.
Wee'l ransack neither chest nor shelfe:
Ill cover thee with mine owne selfe.
(The Faire Begger.)
Or wouldst thou have thy life a martyrdom?
Dye in the act of thy religion,
Fit, excellently, innocently good
(An Elegie./Princesse Katherine [[An.3]] Borne, Christened, Buried, in One Day.)
Or, in your journey towards heav'n, say,
Tooke you the world a little in your may?
Saw'st and dislik'st its vaine pompe, then didst flye
Up for eternall glories to the skye?
(An Elegie./Princesse Katherine [[An.3]] Borne, Christened, Buried, in One Day.)
And teach your soules new mirth, such as may be
Worthy this birth-day to divinity.
(An Elegie./Princesse Katherine [[An.3]] Borne, Christened, Buried, in One Day.)
Hearke, reader! wilt be learn'd ith'warres?
A gen'rall in a gowne?
(To My Truely Valiant, Learned Friend; Who in His Booke/Resolv'd the Art Gladiatory into the Mathematicks.)
Heare ye, foul speakers, that pronounce the aire
Of stewes and shores, I will informe you where
And how to cloath aright your wanton wit,
Without her nasty bawd attending it:
View here a loose thought sayd with such a grace,
Minerva might have spoke in Venus face;
So well disguis'd, that 'twas conceiv'd by none
But Cupid had Diana's linnen on;
And all his naked parts so vail'd, th'expresse
The shape with clowding the uncomlinesse;
That if this Reformation, which we
Receiv'd, had not been buried with thee,
The stage (as this worke) might have liv'd and lov'd
Her lines, the austere Skarlet had approv'd;
And th'actors wisely been from that offence
As cleare, as they are now from audience.
(To Fletcher Reviv'd.)
LUCASTA, frown, and let me die,
But smile, and see, I live;
The sad indifference of your eye
Both kills and doth reprieve.
You hide our fate within its screen;
We feel our judgment, ere we hear.
So in one picture I have seen
An angel here, the devil's there.
(To Lvcasta./Her Reserved Looks.)
Night! loathed jaylor of the lock'd up sun,
And tyrant-turnkey on committed day,
Bright eyes lye fettered in thy dungeon,
And Heaven it self doth thy dark wards obey.
Thou dost arise our living hell;
With thee groans, terrors, furies dwell;
Until LUCASTA doth awake,
(Night./To Lucasta.)
I.
Introth, I do my self perswade,
That the wild boy is grown a man,
And all his childishnesse off laid,
E're since LUCASTA did his fires fan;
H'has left his apish jigs,
And whipping hearts like gigs:
For t'other day I heard him swear,
That beauty should be crown'd in honours chair.
II.
With what a true and heavenly state
He doth his glorious darts dispence,
Now cleans'd from falsehood, blood and hate,
And newly tipt with innocene!
Love Justice is become,
And doth the cruel doome;
Reversed is the old decree;
Behold! he sits inthron'd with majestie.
III.
Inthroned in LUCASTA'S eye,
He doth our faith and hearts surved;
Then measures them by sympathy,
And each to th'others breast convey;
Whilst to his altars now
The frozen vestals bow,
And strickt Diana too doth go
A-hunting with his fear'd, exchanged bow.
IV.
Th'imbracing seas and ambient air
Now in his holy fires burn;
Fish couple, birds and beasts in pair
Do their own sacrifices turn.
This is a miracle,
That might religion swell;
But she, that these and their god awes,
Her crowned self submits to her own laws.
(Love Inthron'd./Ode.)
I.
Twas not for some calm blessing to deceive,
Thou didst thy polish'd hands in shagg'd fur weave;
It were no blessing thus obtain'd;
Thou rather would'st a curse have gain'd,
Then let thy warm driven snow be ever stain'd.
II.
Not that you feared the discolo'ring cold
Might alchymize their silver into gold;
Nor could your ten white nuns so sin,
That you should thus pennance them in,
Each in her coarse hair smock of discipline.
III.
Nor, Hero-like who, on their crest still wore
A lyon, panther, leopard, or a bore,
To looke their enemies in their herse,
Thou would'st thy hand should deeper pierce,
And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce.
IV.
No, no LUCASTA, destiny decreed,
That beasts to thee a sacrifice should bleed,
And strip themselves to make you gay:
For ne'r yet herald did display
A coat, where SABLES upon ERMIN lay.
V.
This for lay-lovers, that must stand at dore,
Salute the threshold, and admire no more;
But I, in my invention tough,
Rate not this outward bliss enough,
But still contemplate must the hidden muffe.
(Her Muffe.)
Like to the sent'nel stars, I watch all night;
For still the grand round of your light
And glorious breast
Awake in me an east;
Nor will my rolling eyes ere know a west.
(To Lucasta.)
Look up then, miserable ant, and spie
Thy fatal foes, for breaking of their law,
Hov'ring above thee:...
(The Ant.)
I.
Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;
Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine:
You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought,
To think it may be in a cobweb caught.
What, though her thin transparent lawn
Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn:
Not all of arms the god of fire ere made
Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade.
II.
Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress
In her fair soul's immac'late glass.
Then by reflection you may have the bliss
Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;
When all your gawderies will fit
Those only that are poor in wit.
She that a clinquant outside doth adore,
Dotes on a gilded statue and no more.
(Song.)
Now tell me, thou fair cripple,
That dumb canst scarcely see
Th'almightinesse of tipple,
And th'ods 'twixt thee and thee,
What of Elizium's missing,
Still drinking and still kissing;
Adoring plump October;
Lord! what is man, and sober?
(A Loose Saraband.)
Faire Princesse of the spacious air,
That hast vouchsaf'd acquaintance here,
With us are quarter'd below stairs,
That can reach heav'n with nought by pray'rs;
Who, when our activ'st wings we try,
Advance a foot into the sky.
(The Falcon.)
I.
In the nativity of time,
Chloris! it was not thought a crime
In direct Hebrew for to woe.
Now wee make love , as all on fire,
Ring retrograde our lowd desire,
And court in English backward too.
II.
Thrice happy was that golden age,
When complement was contru'd rage,
And fine words in the center hid;
When cursed NO stain'd no maid's blisse,
And all discourse was summ'd in YES,
And nought forbad, but to forbid.
III.
Love then unstinted love did sip,
And cherries pluck'd fresh from the lip,
on cheeks and roses free he fed;
Lasses, like Autumne plums, did drop,
And lad indifferently did drop
A flower and a maiden-head.
IV.
Then unconfined each did tipple
Wind from the bunch, milk from the nipple;
Paps tractable as udders were.
Then equally the wholesome jellies
Were squeez'd from olive-trees and bellies:
Nor suits of trespasse did they fear.
V.
A fragrant bank of strawberries,
Diaper'd with violets' eyes,
Was table, table-cloth and faire;
No palace to the clouds did swell,
Each humble princesse then did dwell
In the Piazza of her hair.
VI.
Both broken faith and th'cause of it,
All-damning gold, was damn'd to th'pit;
Their troth seal'd with a clasp and kisse,
Lasted until that extreem day,
In which they smil'd their souls away,
And in each other breath'd new blisse.
VII.
Because no fault, there was no tear;
No grone did grate the granting ear,
No false foul breath, their del'cat smell.
No serpant kiss poyson'd the tast,
Each touch was naturally chast,
And their mere Sense a Miracle.
VIII.
Naked as their own innocence,
And unembroyder'd from offence,
They went, above poor riches, gay;
On softer than the cignet's down,
In beds they tumbled off their own:
For each within the other lay.
IX.
Thus did they live: thus did they love,
Repeating only joyes above,
And angels were but with cloathes on,
Which they would put off cheerfully,
To bathe them in the Galaxie,
Then gird them with the heavenly zone.
X.
Now, Chloris! miserably crave
The offer'd blisse you would not have,
Which evermore I must deny:
Whilst ravish'd with these noble dreams,
And crowned with mine own soft beams,
Injoying of my self I lye.
(Love Made in the First Age./To Chloris.)
For since thy birth gave thee no beauty, know,
No poets pencil must or can do so.
(Ode.)
He proffers Jove a back caresse,
And all his love in the anitpodes.
(Cupid Far Gone.)
Was it not better once to play
I'th'light of a majestick ray,
Where, though too neer and bold, the fire
Might sindge thy upper down attire
(Cupid Far Gone.)
Fair as original light first from the chaos shot,
When day in virgin-beams triumph'd, and night was not
(Female Glory.)
Whilst the gay girl, as was her fate,
Doth wanton and luxuriate
(The Toad and Spyder.)
Preventing rival of the day,
Th'art up and openest thy ray;
And ere the morn cradles the moon,
Th'art broke into a beauteous noon.
Then, when the Sun sups in the deep,
Thy silver horns e're Cinthia's peep;
And thou, from thine own liquid bed,
New Phoebus, heav'st thy pleasant head.
(The Snayl.)
And when thou art to progress bent,
Thou mov'st thy self and tenement,
As warlike Scythians travayl'd, you
Remove your men and city too
(The Snayl.)
But as at Meccha's tombe, the devout blind
Pilgrim (great husband of his sight and mind)
Pays to no other object this chast prise,
Then with hot earth anoynts our both his eyes:
So having seen your dazling glories store,
It is enough, and sin for to see more.
(The Triumphs of Philamore and Amoret./To the Noblest of Our Youth and Best of Friends, Charles Cotton, Esquire./Being at Berisford, at His House in Staffordshire. From London./A Poem.)
But whether am I hurl'd? ho! back! awake
From thy glad trance: to thine old sorrow take!
Thus, after view of all the Indies store,
The slave returns unto his chain and oar;
Thus poets, who all night in blest heav'ns dwell,
Are call'd next morn to their true living hell;
So I unthrifty, to myself untrue,
Rise cloath'd with real wants, 'cause wanting you,
And what substantial riches I possesse,
I must to these unvalued dreams confesse.
(The Triumphs of Philamore and Amoret./To the Noblest of Our Youth and Best of Friends, Charles Cotton, Esquire./Being at Berisford, at His House in Staffordshire. From London./A Poem.)
Draw all your sails in quickly, though no storm
Threaten your ruine with a sad alarm;
For tell me how they differ, tell me, pray,
A cloudy tempest and a too fair day?
(Advice to My Best Brother,/Coll: Francis Lovelace.)
And the pale frights, the pain, and fears of hell
First from your sullen melancholy fell.
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
When beauty once thy vertuous paint hath on,
Age needs not call her to vermillion;
Her beams nere shed or change like th'hair of day,
She scattered fresh her everlasting ray.
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
Where then, when all the world pays its respect,
Lies our transalpine barbarous neglect?
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
Whilst he, who in seven languages gave law,
And always, like the Sun, his subjects saw
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
A beauteous offspring is shot forth, not born
(An Anniversary of the Hymeneals of My Noble Kinsman,/Tho. Stanley, Esquire.)
And now me thinks we ape Augustus state,
So ugly we his high worth imitate,
Monkey his godlike glories; so that we
Keep light and form with such deformitie,
As I have seen an arrogant baboon
With a small piece of glasse zany the sun.
/Rome to her bard, who did her battails sing,
Indifferent gave to poet and to king;
With the same lawrells were his temples fraught,
Who best had written, and who best had fought
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
You that do suck for thirst your black quil's blood,
And chaw your labour'd papers for your food,
I will inform you how and what to praise,
Then skin y'in satin as young Lovelace plaies.
Beware, as you would your fierce guests, your lice,
To strip the cloath of gold from cherish'd vice;
Rather stand off with awe and reverend fear,
Hang a poetick pendant in her ear
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
It is a mortal errour, you must know,
Of any to speak good, if he be so.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Yet there belongs a sweetnesse, softnesse too,
Which you must pay, but first, pray, know to who.
There is a creature, (if I may so call
That unto which they do all prostrate fall)
Term'd mistress, when they'r angry; but, pleas'd high,
It is a princesse, saint, divinity.
To this they sacrifice the whole days light,
Then lye with their devotion all light,
Then lye with their devotion all nightl
For this you are to dive to the abysse,
And rob for pearl the closet of some fish.
Arabia and Sabaea you must strip
Of all their sweets, for to supply her lip
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Of minced verse a miserable pye.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
O more then conqu'ror of the world, great Rome!
Thy heroes did with gentleness or'e come
Thy foes themselves, but one another first,
Whilst envy script alone was left, and burst.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
If it be sacriledge for to profane
Their holy ashes, what is't then their flame?
He does that wrong unweeting or in ire,
As if one should put out the vestal fire.
[unweeting = unwitting] (On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
There is not in my mind one sullen fate
Of old, but is concentrated in our state:
Vandall ore-runners, Goths in literature:
Ploughmen that would Parnassus new-manure;
Ringers of verse that all-in-chime,
And toll the changes upon every rime.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
These scorpions, with which we have to do,
Are fiends, not only small but deadly too.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Now as her self a poem she doth dresse.
And curls a line, as she would do a tresse;
Powders a sonnet as she does her hair,
Then prostitutes them both to publick aire.
Nor is't enough, that they their faces blind
With a false dye; but they must paint their mind,
In meeter scold, and in scann'd order brawl
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Heark! how the moving chords temper our brain,
As when Apollo serenades the main,
Old Ocean smooths his sullen furrow’d front,
And Nereids do glide soft measures on’t;
Whilst th’air puts on its sleekest, smoothest face,
And each doth turn the others looking-glasse;
So by the sinewy lyre now strook we see
Into soft calms all storm of poesie,
And former thundering and lightning lines,
And verse now in its native luster shines.
(Commendatory Verses,/Prefixed to Various Publications Between 1652 and 1657./To My Dear Friend Mr. E[ldred] R[evett]./On His Poems Moral and Divine.)
But all these flour’shing hiews, with which I die
Thy virgin paper, now are vain as I:
For ‘bove the poets Heav’n th’art taught to shine
And move, as in thy proper crystalline;
Whence that mole-hill Parnassus thou dost view,
And us small ants there dabbling in its dew
(Commendatory Verses,/Prefixed to Various Publications Between 1652 and 1657./To My Dear Friend Mr. E[ldred] R[evett]./On His Poems Moral and Divine.)
Obscured with the false fires of his sceme,
Not half those souls are lightned by this theme.
(On the Best, Last, and Only Remaining Comedy/Of Mr. Fletcher./The Wild Goose Chase.)
Though you hold out your selves, he doth commit
In this a sacred treason in your wit;
Although in poems desperately stout,
Give up: this overture must buy you out.
(On the Best, Last, and Only Remaining Comedy/Of Mr. Fletcher./The Wild Goose Chase.)
For singing, troth, is but in tune to speak
(To My Noble Kinsman Thomas Stanley, Esq./On His Lyrick Poems Composed By Mr. John Gamble.)
Tis not from cheap thanks thinly to repay
Th’immortal grove of thy fair-order’d bay
Thou planted’st round my humble fane, that I
Stick on thy hearse this sprig of Elegie:
Nor that your soul so fast was link’d in me,
That now I’ve both, since’t has forsaken thee:
That thus I stand a Swisse before thy gate,
And dare, for such another, time and fate.
(To the Genius of Mr. John Hall./On His Exact Translation of Hierocles/His Comment Upon the Golden Verses of Pythagoras.)
Let others dream thy shadow wandering strays
In th’Elizian mazes hid with bays;
Or that, snatcht up in th’upper reason,
‘Tis kindled there a constellation;
I have inform’d me, and declare with ease
THY SOUL IS FLED INTO HIEROCLES.
(To the Genius of Mr. John Hall./On His Exact Translation of Hierocles/His Comment Upon the Golden Verses of Pythagoras.)
I cannot tell who loves the skeleton
Of a poor marmoset, naught but bone, bone.
Give me a nakedness with her clothes on.
Such whose white satin upper coat of skin,
Cut upon velvet rich incarnadine,
Has yet a body (and a flesh) within.
Sure it is meant good husbandry in men
Who do incorporate with airy lean,
T’repair their sides, and get their rib again.
Hard hap unto that huntsman that decrees
Fat joys for all his sweat, whenas he sees,
After his ‘say, nought but his keeper’s fees.
Then Love, I beg, when next thou tak’st thy bow,
Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go,
Pass rascal deer, strike me the largest doe.
(La Bella Bona Roba, * not included in Kessinger edition.)
To the Sea of Chaste Delight;
Let me cast the Drop I write.
/ And as at Loretto's shrine
Caesar shovels in his mine,
Th' Empres spreads her carkanets,
The lords submit their coronets,
Knights their chased armes hang by,
Maids diamond-ruby fancies tye;
Whilst from the pilgrim she wears
One poore false pearl, but ten true tears:
/So among the Orient prize,
(Saphyr-onyx eulogies)
Offer'd up unto your fame,
Take my GARNET-DUBLET name,
And vouchsafe 'midst those rich joyes
(With devotion) these TOYES.
/Richard Lovelace
(The Dedication/To the Right Hon. My Lady Anne Lovelace)
I.
If to be absent were to be
Away from thee;
Or that when I am gone,
You or I were alone;
Then my LUCASTA might I crave
Pity from blustring winde or swallowing wave.
II.
But I'le not sigh one blast or gale
To swell my saile,
Or pay a teare to swage
The foaming blew-gods rage;
For whether he will let me passe
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.
III.
Though the seas and land betwixt us both,
Our faith and troth,
Like separated soules,
All time and space controules:
Above the highest sphere wee meet,
Unseene, unknowne, and greet as angels greet.
(Song/To Lucasta, Going Beyond the Seas)
I.
Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
To warre and armes I flie.
II.
True: a new Mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
III.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.
(Song/To Lucasta. Going to the Warres.)
Through foul we follow faire
(A Paradox)
The god, that constant keeps
Unto his deities,
Is poore in joyes, and sleepes
Imprison'd in the skies.
This knew the wisest, who
From Juno stole, below
To love a bear or cow.
(A Paradox)
I.
Amarantha sweet and faire,
Ah brade no more that shining haire!
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it flye.
II.
Let it flye as unconfin'd
As it's calme ravisher, the winde,
Who hath left his darling, th'East,
To wanton o're that spicie neast.
III.
Ev'ry tresse must be confest:
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clue of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.
IV.
Doe not then winde up that light
In ribands, and o'er-cloud in night,
Like the sun in's early ray;
But shake your head, and scatter day.
V.
See, 'tis broke! within this grove,
The bower and the walkes of love,
Weary lye we downe and rest,
And fanne each other's panting breast.
VI.
Heere wee'll strippe and coole our fire,
In creame below, in milk-baths higher:
And when all wells are drawne dry,
I'll drink a teare out of thine eye.
VII.
Which our very joys shall leave,
That sorrowes thus we can deceive;
Or our very sorrowes weepe,
That joyes so ripe so little keepe.
(Song/To Amarantha; That She Would Dishevell Her Haire.)
And now this heart is all his sport,
Which as a ball he boundeth
(A Loose Saraband.)
Sometimes he cloathes it gay and fine,
Then straight againe he strips it.
(A Loose Saraband.)
There warme it gan to throb and bleed;
She knew that smart, and grieved;
At length this poore condemned heart
With these rich drugges repreeved.
(A Loose Saraband.)
She proab'd it with her constancie,
And found no rancor nigh it
(A Loose Saraband.)
Lu. But ah, this ling'ring, murdring farewel!
Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures the ill.
Alex. It is the glory of a valiant lover,
Still to be dying, still for to recover.
(Dialogue.)
Alex. No, whilst light raigns, LUCASTA still rules here,
And all the night shines wholy in this sphere.
Lu. I know no morne but my ALEXIS ray,
To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day.
(Dialogue.)
I would love a PARLIAMENT
As a maine prop from Heav'n sent;
But ah! who's he, that would be wedded
To th'fairest body that's beheaded?
(To Lucasta. From Prison)
Eastrich! thou feathered foole, and easie prey,
That larger sailes to thy broad vessell needst;
(Lucasta's Fanne, With a Looking-Glasse in It.)
Sometime they wing her side, (thee) strive to drown
The day's eyes piercing beames, whose am'rous heat
Sollicites still, 'till with this shield of downe
From her brave face his glowing fires are beat.
(Lucasta's Fanne, With a Looking-Glasse in It.)
Yee drops, that dew th'Arabian bowers,
Tell me, did you e're smell or view
On any leafe of all your flowers
Soe sweet a sent, so rich a hiew?
(Lucasta, Taking the Waters at Tunbridge.)
And now her teares nor griev'd desire
Can quench this raging, pleasing fire
(Lucasta's World.)
Gentle as chaines that honour binde,
More faithfull then an Hebrew Jew,
But as the divel not halfe so true.
(The Apostacy of One, and But One Lady.)
Amyntor, a profounder sea, I fear,
Hath swallow'd me, where now
My armes do row
(Amyntor from Beyond the Sea to Alexis.)
From thy tempestuous earth,
Where blood and dearth
Raigne 'stead of kings, agen
Wafte thy selfe over, and lest storms from far
Arise, bring in our sight
The seas delight,
Lucasta, that bright northerne star.
(Amyntor from Beyond the Sea to Alexis.)
From the dire monument of thy black roome,
Wher now that vestal flame thou dost intombe,
As in the inmost cell of all earths wombe.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Arise and climbe our whitest, highest hill;
There your sad thoughts with joy and wonder fill,
And see seas calme as earth, earth as your will.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Shrill trumpets doe only sound to eate,
Artillery hath loaden ev'ry dish with meate,
And drums at ev'ry health alarmes beate.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Trees borrow tongues, waters in accents fall,
The aire doth sing, and fire is musicall.
(Calling Lucasta from Her Retirement.)
Up with the jolly bird of light
(Amarantha.)
Faire Amarantha from her bed
Ashamed starts, and rises red
(Amarantha.)
By nature in sate close and free,
As the just bark unto the tree
(Amarantha.)
No cabinets with curious washes,
Bladders and perfumed plashes;
No venome--temper'd water's here,
Mercury is banished this sphere:
(Amarantha.)
So like the Provance rose she walkt,
Flowered with blush, with verdure stalkt;
Th'officious wind her loose hayre curles,
The dewe her happy linnen purles
(Amarantha.)
If ever earth show'd all her store,
View her discolourd budding floor;
(Amarantha.)
Now the rich robed Tulip who,
Clad all in tissue close, doth woe
Her (sweet to th'eye but smelling sower),
She gathers to adorn her bower.
(Amarantha.)
And now the sun doth higher rise,
Our Flora to the meadow hies:
The poore distressed heifers low,
And as sh'approacheth gently bow,
Begging her charitable leasure
To strip them of their milkie treasure.
(Amarantha.)
Garnisht with gems of unset fruit,
Supply'd still with a self recruit;
Her bosom wrought with pretty eyes
Of never-planted Strawberries;
(Amarantha.)
And as againe her arms oth'ground
Spread pillows for hear head...
(Amarantha.)
Ye blew-flam'd daughters oth'abysse;
Bring all your snakes, here let them hisse;
(Amarantha.)
(To show our wound is half to heale),
(Amarantha.)
Imbark thee in the lawrell tree,
And a new Phebus follows thee,
Who, 'stead of all his burning rayes,
Will strive to catch thee with his layes;
(Amarantha.)
But not untill those heavy crimes
She hath kis'd off a thousand times,
Who not contented with this pain,
Doth threaten to offend again.
(Amarantha.)
Now walks she to her bow'r to dine
Under a shade of Eglantine,
Upon a dish of Natures cheere
Which both grew, drest and serv'd up the there:
(Amarantha.)
If in me anger, or disdaine
In you, or both, made me refraine
From th' noble intercourse of verse,
That only vertuous thoughts rehearse;
Then, chaste Ellinda, might you feare
The sacred vowes that I did sweare.
(To Ellinda, That Lately I Have Not Written.)
Thou snowy farme with thy five tenements!
Tell thy white mistris here was one,
That call'd to pay his dayly rents;
(Ellinda's Glove./Sonnet.)
For cherries plenty, and for croans
Enough for fifty, was there more on's;
For elles of beere, flutes of canary,
That well did wash downe pasties-Mary;
For peason, chickens, sawces high,
Pig, and the widdow-venson-pye;
(Being Treated./To Ellinda.)
Such a fate rules over me,
That I glory when I languish
(To Ellinda./Vpon His Late Recovery. A Paradox.)
And as men in hospitals,
That are maim'd, are lodg'd and dined
(To Ellinda./Vpon His Late Recovery. A Paradox.)
Chloe, behold! Our fate's the same.
Or make me cinders too, or quench his flame.
(To Chloe, Courting Her for His Friend.)
The Us'rer heaps unto his store
By seeing others praise it more;
Who not for gaine or want doth covet,
But, 'cause another loves, doth love it
(To Chloe, Courting Her for His Friend.)
I.
See! with what constant motion
Even and glorious, as the sunne,
Grataina steeres that noble frame,
Soft as her breast, sweet as her voyce,
That gave each winding law and poyze,
And swifter then the wings of Fame.
II.
She beat the happy pavement
By such a starre-made firmament,
Which now no more the roofe envies;
But swells up high with Atlas ev'n,
Bearing the brighter, nobler Heav'n,
And in her, all the Dieties.
III.
Each step trod out a lovers thought
And the ambitious hopes he brought,
Chain'd to her brave feet with such arts,
Such sweet command and gentle awe,
As such when she ceas'd, we sighing saw
The floore lay pav'd with broken hearts.
IV.
So did she move: so did she sing:
Like the harmonious spheres that bring
Unto their rounds their musick's ayd;
Which she performed such a way,
As all th'inamour'd world will say:
The Graces daunced, and Apollo play'd.
(Gratiana Dauncing and Singing.)
Blooming boy, and blossoming mayd,
May your faire sprigges be neere betray'd
To eating worm or fouler storme;
No serpent lurke to do them harme;
No sharpe frost cut, no North-winde teare,
The verdue of that fragrant hayre;
But may the sun and gentle weather,
When you are both growne ripe together,
Load you with fruit, such as your Father
From you with all the joyes doth gather:
And may you, when one branch is dead,
Graft such another in its stead,
Lasting thus ever in your prime,
'Till th'sithe is snatcht away from Time.
(Amyntor's Grove,/His Chloris, Arigo, and Gratiana. An Elogie.)
I.
Why shouldst thou sweare I am forsworn,
Since thine I vow'd to be?
Lady, it is already Morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
II.
Have I not lov'd thee much and long,
A tedious twelve moneths space?
I should all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new imbrace;
Should I still dote upon thy face.
III.
Not but all joy in thy browne haire
In others may be found;
But I must search the black and faire,
Like skilfulle minerallists that sound
For treasure in un-plow'd-up ground.
IV.
Then if, when I have lov'd my round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant she;
With spoyles of meaner beauties crown'd,
I laden will returne to thee,
Ev'n sated with varietie.
(The Scrutinie.)
But viewing then, whereas she made
Not a distrest, but lively shade
OF ECCHO whom he had betrayed,
Now wanton, and ith' coole oth'Sunne
With her delight a hunting gone,
And thousands more, whom he had slaine;
To live and love, belov'd againe:
Ah! this is true divinity!
(Princesse Loysa Drawing.)
And he (whilst she his curles doth deck)
Hangs no where now, but on her neck.
(Princesse Loysa Drawing.)
There kneel'd ADONIS fresh as spring,
Gay as his youth, now offering
Herself those joyes with voice and hand,
Which first he could not understand.
(Princesse Loysa Drawing.)
Or that you take some small ease in your owne
Torments, to hear another sadly groane,
I were most happy in my paines...
(A Forsaken Lady to Her False Servant)
And I am candied ice...
(A Forsaken Lady to Her False Servant)
I.
Oh thou, that swing'st upon the waving eare
Of some well-filled oaten beard,
Drunk ev'ry night with a delicious teare
Dropt thee from Heav'n, where now th'art reard.
II.
The joyes of earth and ayre are thine intire,
That with thy feet and wings dost hop and flye;
And when thy poppy workes, thou dost retire
To thy carv'd acorn-bed to lye.
III.
Up with the day, the Sun thou welcomst then,
Sports in the guilt plats of his beames,
And all these merry dayes mak'st merry men,
Thy selfe, and melancholy streames.
IV.
But ah, the sickle! golden eares are cropt;
CERES and BACCHUS bid good-night;
Sharpe frosty fingers all your flowrs have topt,
And what sithes spar'd, winds shave off quite.
V.
Poore verdant foole! and now green ice, thy joys
Large and as lasting as thy peirch of grasse,
Bid us lay in 'gainst winter raine, and poize
Their flouds with an o'erflowing glasse.
VI.
Thou best of men and friends? we will create
A genuine summer in each others breast;
And spite of this cold Time and frosen Fate,
Thaw us a warme seate to our rest.
VII.
Our sacred harthes shall burne eternally
As vestal flames; the North-wind, he
Shall strike his frost-stretch'd winges, dissolve and flye
This Aetna in epitome.
VIII.
Dropping December shall come weeping in,
Bewayle th'usurping of his raigne;
But when in show'rs of old Greeke we beginne,
Shall crie, he hath his crowne againe!
IX.
Night as cleare Hesper shall our tapers whip
From the light casements, where we play,
And the darke hagge from her black mantle strip,
And sticke there everlasting day.
X.
Thus richer then untempted kings are we,
That asking nothing, nothing need:
Though lord of all what seas imbrace, yet he
That wants himselfe, is poore indeed.
(The Grassehopper.)
Mingle your steppes with flowers as you goe
(An Elegie./On the Death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, Only Sister to Mr. C. Cotton.)
And, lasting as their smiles, dig you a roome,
Where practise the probation of your tombe
With ever-bended knees and piercing pray’r,
Smooth the rough passe through craggy earth to ay’r
(An Elegie./On the Death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, Only Sister to Mr. C. Cotton.)
Rise and walk home; there groaning prostrate fall,
And celebrate your owne sad funerall:
For howsoe’re you move, may heare, or see,
YOU ARE MORE DEAD AND BURIED THEN SHEE.
(An Elegie./On the Death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, Only Sister to Mr. C. Cotton.)
Live then, pris’ners, uncontrol’d;
Drink oth’strong, the rich, the old,
Till wine too hath your wits in hold;
Then if still your jollitie
And throats are free—
Chorus
Tryumph in your bonds and paines,
And daunce to the music of your chaines.
(The Vintage to the Dungeon.)
Such and everlasting grace,
Such a beatifick face,
Incloysters here this narrow floore,
That possest all hearts before.
(On the Death of Mrs. Elizabeth Filmer.)
How it commands the face! So sweet a scorne
Never did HAPPY MISERY adorne!
(To My Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly:/On That Excellent Picture of His Majesty and the Duke of Yorke, Drawne By Him at Hampton-Court.)
Not as of old, when a rough hand did speake
A strong aspect, and a faire face, a weake;
When only a black beard cried villaine, and
By hieroglyphicks we could understand;
When chrystall typified in a white spot,
And the bright ruby was but one red blot;
(To My Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly:/On That Excellent Picture of His Majesty and the Duke of Yorke, Drawne By Him at Hampton-Court.)
Who ne’re ‘til now thinks himself slave and poor;
For though nought else, he had himself before.
He weepes at this faire chance, nor wil allow,
But that the diadem doth brand his brow,
And under-rates himselfe below mankinde,
Who first had lost his body, now his minde
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Let me leape in againe! and by that fall
Bring me to my first woe, so cancel all
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Informe my tongue in labour what to say,
And in what coyne or language to repay.
But you are silent as the ev’nings ayre,
When windes unto their hollow grots repaire.
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
When she walks forth, ye perfum’d wings oth’East,
Fan her, ‘til with the Sun she hastes the th’West
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Slow Time, with woollen feet make thy soft pace,
And leave no tracks ith’snow of her pure face;
But when this vertue must needs fall, to rise
The brightest constellation in the skies;
When we in characters of fire shall reade,
How cleere she was alive, how spotless, dead.
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
Buffoones and theeves, ceasing to do ill,
Shall blush into a virgin-innocence,
And then woo others from the same offence
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
My wit shal be so wretched and so poore
That, ‘stead of praysing, I shal scandal her,
And leave, when with my purest art I’ve done,
Scarce the designe of what she is begunne:
Yet men shal send me home, admir’d, exact;
Proud, that I could from her so wel detract.
(The Lady A. L./My Asylum in a Great Extremity.)
The swelling admiral of the dread
Cold deepe, burnt in thy flames, oh faire!
Was not enough, but thou must lead
Bound, too, the Princesse of the aire?
(A Lady with a Falcon on Her Fist./To the Honourable My Cousin A[nne] L[ovelace.])
The lines each honest Englishmann may speake:
Yet not mistake his mother-tongue for Greeke
(A Prologue to the Scholars./A Comaedy Presented at the White Fryers.)
Nor would he now exchange his paine
For cloudes and goddesses againe
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
Or ‘gender with the lightning? trye
The subtler flashes of her eye:
Poore SEMELE wel knew the same,
Who both imbrac’t her God and flame;
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
If you meane HER, the very HER,
Abstracted from her caracter,
Uhappy boy! you may as soone
With fawning wanton with the Moone
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
Like to the sordid insects sprung
From Father Sun and Mother Dung
(Against the Love of Great Ones.)
I.
When love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates;
And my divine ALTHEA brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lye tangled in her haire,
And fetterd to her eye,
The birds, that wanton in the aire,
Know no such liberty.
II.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying THAMES,
Our carelesse heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,
When health’s and draughts go free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,
Know no such libertie.
III.
When (like committed linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King.
When I shall voice aloud, how good
He is, how great should be,
Inlarged winds, that curle the flood,
Know no such liberty.
IV.
Stone walls doe not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Mindes innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedome in my love,
And in my soule am free,
Angels alone that sore above
Enjoy such liberty.
(To Althea./From Prison.)
To his lovely bride, in love with scars,
Whose eyes wound deepe in peace, as doth his sword in wars
(Sonnet./To Generall Goring, After the Pacification at Berwicke. A la Chabot.)
Give me scorching heat, thy heat, dry Sun,
That to this payre I may drinke off an ocean
(Sonnet./To Generall Goring, After the Pacification at Berwicke. A la Chabot.)
Againe,
Thou witty creull wanton, now againe,
Through ev’ry veine,
Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev’ry dart,
Againe,
Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine.
I have no heart,
Nor can I live but sweetly murder’d with
So deare, so deare a smart.
(The Answer)
Doth laugh and sing at thy distresse;
Not out of hate to thy reliefe,
But joy t’enjoy thee, though in griefe.
(A Guiltlesse Lady Imprisoned: After Penanced.)
IV.
And play about thy wanton wrist,
As if in them thou so wert drest;
But if too rough, too hard they presse,
Oh, they but closely, closely kisse.
V.
And as thy bare feet blesse the way,
The people doe not mock, but pray,
And call thee, as amas’d they run
Instead of prostitute, a nun.
(A Guiltlesse Lady Imprisoned: After Penanced.)
Then from thy firme selfe never swerve;
Teares fate the griefe that they should sterve
(To His Deare Brother Colonel F. L./Immoderately Mourning My Brothers Untimely Death at Carmarthen.)
This is the prittiest motion:
Madam, th'alarums of a drumme
That cals your lord, set to your cries,
To mine are sacred symphonies.
What, though 'tis said I have a voice;
I know 'tis but that hollow noise
Which (as it through my pipe doth speed)
Bitterns do carol through a reed;
In the same key with monkeys jiggs,
Or dirges of proscribed piggs,
Or the soft Serenades above
In calme of night, when cats make love.
Was ever such a consort seen!
Fourscore and fourteen with forteen?
Yet sooner they'll agree, one paire,
Then we in our spring-winter aire;
They may imbrace, sigh, kiss, the rest:
Our breath knows nought but east and west.
Thus have I heard to childrens cries
The faire nurse still such lullabies,
That, well all sayd (for what there lay),
The pleasure did the sorrow pay.
Sure ther's another way to save
Your phansie, madam; that's to have
(Tis but a petitioning kinde fate)
The organs set to Bilingsgate,
Where they to that soft murm'ring quire
Shall teach you all you can admire!
Or do but heare, how love-bang Kate
In pantry darke for freage of mate,
With edge of steele the square wood shapes,
And DIDO to it chaunts or scrapes.
The merry Phaeton oth'carre
You'l vow makes a melodious jarre;
Sweeter and sweeter whisleth He
To un-annointed axel-tree;
Such swift notes he and 's wheels do run;
For me, I yeeld him Phaebus son.
Say, faire Comandres, can it be
You should ordaine a mutinie?
For where I howle, all accents fall,
As kings hanangues, to one and all.
Ulisses art is now withstood:
You ravish both with sweet and good;
Saint Syren, sing, for I dare heare,
But when I ope', oh, stop your eare.
Far lesse be't aemulation
To passe me, or in trill or tone,
Like the thin throat of Philomel,
And the smart lute who should excell,
As if her soft cords should begin,
And strive for sweetnes with the pin.
Yet can I musick too; but such
As is beyond all voice or touch;
My minde can in faire order chime,
Whilst my true heart still beats the time;
My soule['s] so full of harmonie,
That it with all parts can agree;
If you winde up to the highest fret,
It shall descend an eight from it,
And when you shall vouchsafe to fall,
Sixteene above you it shall call,
And yet, so dis-assenting one,
They both shall meet in unison.
Come then, bright cherubin, begin!
My loudest musick is within.
Take all notes with your skillful eyes;
Hearke, if mine do not sympathise!
Sound all my thoughts, and see exprest
The tablature of my large brest;
Then you'l admit, that I too can
Musick above dead sounds of man;
Such as alone doth blesse the spheres,
No to be reacht with humane eares.
(To a Lady That Desired Me I Would Beare My Part with Her in a Song.)
Now fire upon that everlasting life!...
(Valiant Love.)
Cheape then are pearle-imbroderies,
That not adorne, but cloud thy wast;
Thou shalt be cloath'd above all prise,
If thou wilt promise me imbrac't.
Wee'l ransack neither chest nor shelfe:
Ill cover thee with mine owne selfe.
(The Faire Begger.)
Or wouldst thou have thy life a martyrdom?
Dye in the act of thy religion,
Fit, excellently, innocently good
(An Elegie./Princesse Katherine [[An.3]] Borne, Christened, Buried, in One Day.)
Or, in your journey towards heav'n, say,
Tooke you the world a little in your may?
Saw'st and dislik'st its vaine pompe, then didst flye
Up for eternall glories to the skye?
(An Elegie./Princesse Katherine [[An.3]] Borne, Christened, Buried, in One Day.)
And teach your soules new mirth, such as may be
Worthy this birth-day to divinity.
(An Elegie./Princesse Katherine [[An.3]] Borne, Christened, Buried, in One Day.)
Hearke, reader! wilt be learn'd ith'warres?
A gen'rall in a gowne?
(To My Truely Valiant, Learned Friend; Who in His Booke/Resolv'd the Art Gladiatory into the Mathematicks.)
Heare ye, foul speakers, that pronounce the aire
Of stewes and shores, I will informe you where
And how to cloath aright your wanton wit,
Without her nasty bawd attending it:
View here a loose thought sayd with such a grace,
Minerva might have spoke in Venus face;
So well disguis'd, that 'twas conceiv'd by none
But Cupid had Diana's linnen on;
And all his naked parts so vail'd, th'expresse
The shape with clowding the uncomlinesse;
That if this Reformation, which we
Receiv'd, had not been buried with thee,
The stage (as this worke) might have liv'd and lov'd
Her lines, the austere Skarlet had approv'd;
And th'actors wisely been from that offence
As cleare, as they are now from audience.
(To Fletcher Reviv'd.)
LUCASTA, frown, and let me die,
But smile, and see, I live;
The sad indifference of your eye
Both kills and doth reprieve.
You hide our fate within its screen;
We feel our judgment, ere we hear.
So in one picture I have seen
An angel here, the devil's there.
(To Lvcasta./Her Reserved Looks.)
Night! loathed jaylor of the lock'd up sun,
And tyrant-turnkey on committed day,
Bright eyes lye fettered in thy dungeon,
And Heaven it self doth thy dark wards obey.
Thou dost arise our living hell;
With thee groans, terrors, furies dwell;
Until LUCASTA doth awake,
(Night./To Lucasta.)
I.
Introth, I do my self perswade,
That the wild boy is grown a man,
And all his childishnesse off laid,
E're since LUCASTA did his fires fan;
H'has left his apish jigs,
And whipping hearts like gigs:
For t'other day I heard him swear,
That beauty should be crown'd in honours chair.
II.
With what a true and heavenly state
He doth his glorious darts dispence,
Now cleans'd from falsehood, blood and hate,
And newly tipt with innocene!
Love Justice is become,
And doth the cruel doome;
Reversed is the old decree;
Behold! he sits inthron'd with majestie.
III.
Inthroned in LUCASTA'S eye,
He doth our faith and hearts surved;
Then measures them by sympathy,
And each to th'others breast convey;
Whilst to his altars now
The frozen vestals bow,
And strickt Diana too doth go
A-hunting with his fear'd, exchanged bow.
IV.
Th'imbracing seas and ambient air
Now in his holy fires burn;
Fish couple, birds and beasts in pair
Do their own sacrifices turn.
This is a miracle,
That might religion swell;
But she, that these and their god awes,
Her crowned self submits to her own laws.
(Love Inthron'd./Ode.)
I.
Twas not for some calm blessing to deceive,
Thou didst thy polish'd hands in shagg'd fur weave;
It were no blessing thus obtain'd;
Thou rather would'st a curse have gain'd,
Then let thy warm driven snow be ever stain'd.
II.
Not that you feared the discolo'ring cold
Might alchymize their silver into gold;
Nor could your ten white nuns so sin,
That you should thus pennance them in,
Each in her coarse hair smock of discipline.
III.
Nor, Hero-like who, on their crest still wore
A lyon, panther, leopard, or a bore,
To looke their enemies in their herse,
Thou would'st thy hand should deeper pierce,
And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce.
IV.
No, no LUCASTA, destiny decreed,
That beasts to thee a sacrifice should bleed,
And strip themselves to make you gay:
For ne'r yet herald did display
A coat, where SABLES upon ERMIN lay.
V.
This for lay-lovers, that must stand at dore,
Salute the threshold, and admire no more;
But I, in my invention tough,
Rate not this outward bliss enough,
But still contemplate must the hidden muffe.
(Her Muffe.)
Like to the sent'nel stars, I watch all night;
For still the grand round of your light
And glorious breast
Awake in me an east;
Nor will my rolling eyes ere know a west.
(To Lucasta.)
Look up then, miserable ant, and spie
Thy fatal foes, for breaking of their law,
Hov'ring above thee:...
(The Ant.)
I.
Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;
Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine:
You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought,
To think it may be in a cobweb caught.
What, though her thin transparent lawn
Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn:
Not all of arms the god of fire ere made
Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade.
II.
Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress
In her fair soul's immac'late glass.
Then by reflection you may have the bliss
Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;
When all your gawderies will fit
Those only that are poor in wit.
She that a clinquant outside doth adore,
Dotes on a gilded statue and no more.
(Song.)
Now tell me, thou fair cripple,
That dumb canst scarcely see
Th'almightinesse of tipple,
And th'ods 'twixt thee and thee,
What of Elizium's missing,
Still drinking and still kissing;
Adoring plump October;
Lord! what is man, and sober?
(A Loose Saraband.)
Faire Princesse of the spacious air,
That hast vouchsaf'd acquaintance here,
With us are quarter'd below stairs,
That can reach heav'n with nought by pray'rs;
Who, when our activ'st wings we try,
Advance a foot into the sky.
(The Falcon.)
I.
In the nativity of time,
Chloris! it was not thought a crime
In direct Hebrew for to woe.
Now wee make love , as all on fire,
Ring retrograde our lowd desire,
And court in English backward too.
II.
Thrice happy was that golden age,
When complement was contru'd rage,
And fine words in the center hid;
When cursed NO stain'd no maid's blisse,
And all discourse was summ'd in YES,
And nought forbad, but to forbid.
III.
Love then unstinted love did sip,
And cherries pluck'd fresh from the lip,
on cheeks and roses free he fed;
Lasses, like Autumne plums, did drop,
And lad indifferently did drop
A flower and a maiden-head.
IV.
Then unconfined each did tipple
Wind from the bunch, milk from the nipple;
Paps tractable as udders were.
Then equally the wholesome jellies
Were squeez'd from olive-trees and bellies:
Nor suits of trespasse did they fear.
V.
A fragrant bank of strawberries,
Diaper'd with violets' eyes,
Was table, table-cloth and faire;
No palace to the clouds did swell,
Each humble princesse then did dwell
In the Piazza of her hair.
VI.
Both broken faith and th'cause of it,
All-damning gold, was damn'd to th'pit;
Their troth seal'd with a clasp and kisse,
Lasted until that extreem day,
In which they smil'd their souls away,
And in each other breath'd new blisse.
VII.
Because no fault, there was no tear;
No grone did grate the granting ear,
No false foul breath, their del'cat smell.
No serpant kiss poyson'd the tast,
Each touch was naturally chast,
And their mere Sense a Miracle.
VIII.
Naked as their own innocence,
And unembroyder'd from offence,
They went, above poor riches, gay;
On softer than the cignet's down,
In beds they tumbled off their own:
For each within the other lay.
IX.
Thus did they live: thus did they love,
Repeating only joyes above,
And angels were but with cloathes on,
Which they would put off cheerfully,
To bathe them in the Galaxie,
Then gird them with the heavenly zone.
X.
Now, Chloris! miserably crave
The offer'd blisse you would not have,
Which evermore I must deny:
Whilst ravish'd with these noble dreams,
And crowned with mine own soft beams,
Injoying of my self I lye.
(Love Made in the First Age./To Chloris.)
For since thy birth gave thee no beauty, know,
No poets pencil must or can do so.
(Ode.)
He proffers Jove a back caresse,
And all his love in the anitpodes.
(Cupid Far Gone.)
Was it not better once to play
I'th'light of a majestick ray,
Where, though too neer and bold, the fire
Might sindge thy upper down attire
(Cupid Far Gone.)
Fair as original light first from the chaos shot,
When day in virgin-beams triumph'd, and night was not
(Female Glory.)
Whilst the gay girl, as was her fate,
Doth wanton and luxuriate
(The Toad and Spyder.)
Preventing rival of the day,
Th'art up and openest thy ray;
And ere the morn cradles the moon,
Th'art broke into a beauteous noon.
Then, when the Sun sups in the deep,
Thy silver horns e're Cinthia's peep;
And thou, from thine own liquid bed,
New Phoebus, heav'st thy pleasant head.
(The Snayl.)
And when thou art to progress bent,
Thou mov'st thy self and tenement,
As warlike Scythians travayl'd, you
Remove your men and city too
(The Snayl.)
But as at Meccha's tombe, the devout blind
Pilgrim (great husband of his sight and mind)
Pays to no other object this chast prise,
Then with hot earth anoynts our both his eyes:
So having seen your dazling glories store,
It is enough, and sin for to see more.
(The Triumphs of Philamore and Amoret./To the Noblest of Our Youth and Best of Friends, Charles Cotton, Esquire./Being at Berisford, at His House in Staffordshire. From London./A Poem.)
But whether am I hurl'd? ho! back! awake
From thy glad trance: to thine old sorrow take!
Thus, after view of all the Indies store,
The slave returns unto his chain and oar;
Thus poets, who all night in blest heav'ns dwell,
Are call'd next morn to their true living hell;
So I unthrifty, to myself untrue,
Rise cloath'd with real wants, 'cause wanting you,
And what substantial riches I possesse,
I must to these unvalued dreams confesse.
(The Triumphs of Philamore and Amoret./To the Noblest of Our Youth and Best of Friends, Charles Cotton, Esquire./Being at Berisford, at His House in Staffordshire. From London./A Poem.)
Draw all your sails in quickly, though no storm
Threaten your ruine with a sad alarm;
For tell me how they differ, tell me, pray,
A cloudy tempest and a too fair day?
(Advice to My Best Brother,/Coll: Francis Lovelace.)
And the pale frights, the pain, and fears of hell
First from your sullen melancholy fell.
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
When beauty once thy vertuous paint hath on,
Age needs not call her to vermillion;
Her beams nere shed or change like th'hair of day,
She scattered fresh her everlasting ray.
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
Where then, when all the world pays its respect,
Lies our transalpine barbarous neglect?
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
Whilst he, who in seven languages gave law,
And always, like the Sun, his subjects saw
(Peinture./A Panegyrick to the Best Picture of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.)
A beauteous offspring is shot forth, not born
(An Anniversary of the Hymeneals of My Noble Kinsman,/Tho. Stanley, Esquire.)
And now me thinks we ape Augustus state,
So ugly we his high worth imitate,
Monkey his godlike glories; so that we
Keep light and form with such deformitie,
As I have seen an arrogant baboon
With a small piece of glasse zany the sun.
/Rome to her bard, who did her battails sing,
Indifferent gave to poet and to king;
With the same lawrells were his temples fraught,
Who best had written, and who best had fought
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
You that do suck for thirst your black quil's blood,
And chaw your labour'd papers for your food,
I will inform you how and what to praise,
Then skin y'in satin as young Lovelace plaies.
Beware, as you would your fierce guests, your lice,
To strip the cloath of gold from cherish'd vice;
Rather stand off with awe and reverend fear,
Hang a poetick pendant in her ear
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
It is a mortal errour, you must know,
Of any to speak good, if he be so.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Yet there belongs a sweetnesse, softnesse too,
Which you must pay, but first, pray, know to who.
There is a creature, (if I may so call
That unto which they do all prostrate fall)
Term'd mistress, when they'r angry; but, pleas'd high,
It is a princesse, saint, divinity.
To this they sacrifice the whole days light,
Then lye with their devotion all light,
Then lye with their devotion all nightl
For this you are to dive to the abysse,
And rob for pearl the closet of some fish.
Arabia and Sabaea you must strip
Of all their sweets, for to supply her lip
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Of minced verse a miserable pye.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
O more then conqu'ror of the world, great Rome!
Thy heroes did with gentleness or'e come
Thy foes themselves, but one another first,
Whilst envy script alone was left, and burst.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
If it be sacriledge for to profane
Their holy ashes, what is't then their flame?
He does that wrong unweeting or in ire,
As if one should put out the vestal fire.
[unweeting = unwitting] (On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
There is not in my mind one sullen fate
Of old, but is concentrated in our state:
Vandall ore-runners, Goths in literature:
Ploughmen that would Parnassus new-manure;
Ringers of verse that all-in-chime,
And toll the changes upon every rime.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
These scorpions, with which we have to do,
Are fiends, not only small but deadly too.
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Now as her self a poem she doth dresse.
And curls a line, as she would do a tresse;
Powders a sonnet as she does her hair,
Then prostitutes them both to publick aire.
Nor is't enough, that they their faces blind
With a false dye; but they must paint their mind,
In meeter scold, and in scann'd order brawl
(On Sanazar's Being Honoured with Six Hundred Duckets/By the Clarissimi of Venice, For Composing an Eligiack Hexastick of the City./A Satyre.)
Heark! how the moving chords temper our brain,
As when Apollo serenades the main,
Old Ocean smooths his sullen furrow’d front,
And Nereids do glide soft measures on’t;
Whilst th’air puts on its sleekest, smoothest face,
And each doth turn the others looking-glasse;
So by the sinewy lyre now strook we see
Into soft calms all storm of poesie,
And former thundering and lightning lines,
And verse now in its native luster shines.
(Commendatory Verses,/Prefixed to Various Publications Between 1652 and 1657./To My Dear Friend Mr. E[ldred] R[evett]./On His Poems Moral and Divine.)
But all these flour’shing hiews, with which I die
Thy virgin paper, now are vain as I:
For ‘bove the poets Heav’n th’art taught to shine
And move, as in thy proper crystalline;
Whence that mole-hill Parnassus thou dost view,
And us small ants there dabbling in its dew
(Commendatory Verses,/Prefixed to Various Publications Between 1652 and 1657./To My Dear Friend Mr. E[ldred] R[evett]./On His Poems Moral and Divine.)
Obscured with the false fires of his sceme,
Not half those souls are lightned by this theme.
(On the Best, Last, and Only Remaining Comedy/Of Mr. Fletcher./The Wild Goose Chase.)
Though you hold out your selves, he doth commit
In this a sacred treason in your wit;
Although in poems desperately stout,
Give up: this overture must buy you out.
(On the Best, Last, and Only Remaining Comedy/Of Mr. Fletcher./The Wild Goose Chase.)
For singing, troth, is but in tune to speak
(To My Noble Kinsman Thomas Stanley, Esq./On His Lyrick Poems Composed By Mr. John Gamble.)
Tis not from cheap thanks thinly to repay
Th’immortal grove of thy fair-order’d bay
Thou planted’st round my humble fane, that I
Stick on thy hearse this sprig of Elegie:
Nor that your soul so fast was link’d in me,
That now I’ve both, since’t has forsaken thee:
That thus I stand a Swisse before thy gate,
And dare, for such another, time and fate.
(To the Genius of Mr. John Hall./On His Exact Translation of Hierocles/His Comment Upon the Golden Verses of Pythagoras.)
Let others dream thy shadow wandering strays
In th’Elizian mazes hid with bays;
Or that, snatcht up in th’upper reason,
‘Tis kindled there a constellation;
I have inform’d me, and declare with ease
THY SOUL IS FLED INTO HIEROCLES.
(To the Genius of Mr. John Hall./On His Exact Translation of Hierocles/His Comment Upon the Golden Verses of Pythagoras.)
I cannot tell who loves the skeleton
Of a poor marmoset, naught but bone, bone.
Give me a nakedness with her clothes on.
Such whose white satin upper coat of skin,
Cut upon velvet rich incarnadine,
Has yet a body (and a flesh) within.
Sure it is meant good husbandry in men
Who do incorporate with airy lean,
T’repair their sides, and get their rib again.
Hard hap unto that huntsman that decrees
Fat joys for all his sweat, whenas he sees,
After his ‘say, nought but his keeper’s fees.
Then Love, I beg, when next thou tak’st thy bow,
Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go,
Pass rascal deer, strike me the largest doe.
(La Bella Bona Roba, * not included in Kessinger edition.)
posted by Raul de Saldanha at
9:22 AM
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