Book - Lj-^t n( ^ 
 
 Copyright N°. 
 
 ft 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 

SONGS AND SONNETS 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 [i] 
 
n . T ..^ u 1 --,- r >- r t ,1 I 1 I T 
 

 

 ■Hfc' LIBRARY OF 
 CONQRESa 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 SEP. 21 1901 
 
 >pvwght Eirnry 
 
 
 COPY A. 
 
 Copyright, l(?Oi, 
 by 
 
 Robert Howard RusselL 
 
E, H. Sot hern as Richard Lovelace. 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 RlCHARD LOVELACE, the eldest son of 
 Sir William Lovelace of Woollidge in Kent, 
 Knight, was born in that country in 1618, edu- 
 cated in grammar learning in Charterhouse School 
 near London, became a gent, commoner of 
 Gloucester Hall in the beginning of the year 1634, 
 and in that of his age sixteen, being then accounted 
 the most amiable and beautiful person that ever 
 eye beheld ; a person also of innate modesty, 
 
 [vii] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 virtue, and courtly deportment, which made him 
 then, but especially after, when he retired to the 
 great city, much admired and adored by the 
 female sex. In 1636, when the King and Queen 
 were for some days entertained at Oxon, he was, 
 at the request of a great lady belonging to the 
 Queen, made to the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 then Chancellor of the University, actually 
 created, among other persons of quality, Master 
 of Arts, though but of two years' standing; at 
 which time his conversation being made public 
 and consequently his ingenuity and generous 
 soul discovered, he became as much admired by 
 the male, as before by the female, sex. After he 
 had left the University, he retired in great splen- 
 dour to the Court, and being taken into the favour 
 of Lord George Goring, afterwards Earl of Nor- 
 wich, was by him adopted a soldier, and sent in 
 the quality of an ensign, in the Scotch expedition, 
 an. 1639." Such is the account left by Anthony 
 Wood of Lovelace's youth. 
 
 [ viii ] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 Although Whitelock, in his Memoirs, speaks 
 very highly of Goring's military character, the 
 campaign — if such it may be called — of 1639 can 
 have afforded Lovelace scant opportunity for the 
 display of any soldierly qualities he may have 
 possessed. The general-in-chief of the army was 
 the Earl of Arundell, who had never looked on 
 the face of war; the command of the horse, 
 through the influence of the Queen, had been 
 given to the Earl of Holland, "the most incom- 
 petent of men ,? and, according to Sir Philip 
 Warwick, " fitter for a show than a field "; while 
 to the Earl of Essex, whose military experience, 
 gained in the Palatinate, was next to nothing, was 
 assigned the office of second in command of the 
 entire Army. A contemporary account speaks 
 of the march of the army to the North resem- 
 bling a triumphal procession rather than a military 
 expedition, and of the prevalent idea being that 
 the campaign would terminate in bloodless com- 
 promise rather than in active warfare. Sir John 
 
 [ix] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 Suckling, in a letter written to a friend from the 
 banks of the Tweed, voices this general senti- 
 ment. He says : 
 
 " We are at length arrived at that river, about 
 the uneven running of which, my friend, Mr. 
 William Shakspeare makes Henry Hotspur 
 quarrel so highly with his fellow-rebels ; and, for 
 his sake, I have been something curious to con- 
 sider the scantlet of ground that angry Monsieur 
 would have had in ; but cannot find it could 
 deserve his choler ; nor any of the other side, 
 ours ; did not the King think it did. 
 
 The account I shall now give you of the war, 
 will be but imperfect, since I conceive it to be in 
 the state that part of the four-and-twenty hours 
 is in, which we can neither call night nor day. I 
 should judge it dawning towards earnest, did not 
 the Lord's Covenanters' letters to our Lords here 
 something divide me. 
 
 So, Sir, you may now imagine us walking up 
 and down the banks of Tweed, like the Tower 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 lions in their cages ; leaving the people to think 
 what we would do if were let loose. The enemy- 
 is not yet much visible : it may be it is the fault 
 of the climate, which brings men as slowly for- 
 ward as plants. But it gives us fears that the 
 men of peace will draw all to a dumb show, and 
 so destroy a handsome opportunity, which was 
 now offered, of producing glorious matter for 
 future chronicle. 
 
 These are but conjectures, Sir; the last part 
 of my letter I reserve for a great and known 
 truth, which is, that I am, Sir, 
 
 Your most humble servant, 
 
 John Suckling." 
 
 It is a matter of history how, after weeks 
 wasted by Charles in fruitless negotiations, a de- 
 tachment of 3,000 foot and 300 horse under the 
 Earl of Holland was sent upon June 3rd to drive 
 out a considerable Scottish force which had estab- 
 lished itself at Kelso ; how Holland, finding his 
 force outnumbered, retreated — contemporary ac- 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 counts say ran away — without striking a blow, 
 and rejoined the main army at Berwick. On 
 June 1 8th the Treaty of Berwick was signed, 
 whereby the King engaged to send back his 
 soldiers to their homes. " Posterity must tell this 
 miracle," wrote Suckling, " that there went an 
 army from the South, of which there was not one 
 man lost, nor any man taken prisoner but the 
 King." 
 
 It may well be that Lovelace, in this cam- 
 paign, either met for the first time, or renewed his 
 acquaintance with, Sir John Suckling, with whom 
 he was, later, on terms of intimacy, and through 
 him came to know James Shirley, who served 
 under the Duke of Newcastle, and, perhaps, 
 George Wither, who was at this period of his 
 varied career a Captain and Quarter-master-gen- 
 eral in the Royal army. His friendship with 
 Andrew Marvell was of later date. 
 
 By August, 1640, the Scots were again in the 
 field and preparing to cross the Border. Charles, 
 
 [xii] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 who never wanted in personal bravery, upon 
 receipt of the new^s set out from London for 
 York, to place himself at the head of his army, 
 hurriedly got together, without a commander, and 
 already disordered. On the 25th of August the 
 Scottish army, 25,000 strong, crossed the Tweed, 
 and by the 28th were at Newburn, about four 
 miles above Newcastle, where the Tyne is forda- 
 ble. The raw English troops opposed to them, 
 under the command of Conway, had never been 
 under fire. They threw down their arms, and 
 fled. The cavalry, under Astley, were driven 
 from the field at the first charge. Astley endea- 
 voured to rally his men, but the Scots, with Leslie 
 in person at their head, charged once more and 
 put them to rout. Such as were not taken 
 prisoners fled to Durham, where they were re- 
 joined on the 30th by the retreating infantry. 
 Newcastle, left to its fate, was occupied by the 
 Scots, who were not slow in following up their 
 advantage, and forcing upon Charles the unpala- 
 
 [ xiii ] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 table Treaty of Ripon. At the conclusion of the 
 Treaty, Lovelace retired to his native country, 
 with the rank, of Captain, and took possession of 
 his estate at Lovelace Place, in the parish of 
 Bethersden, at Canterbury. 
 
 Small share of military glory had Lovelace 
 got in either campaign ; what was more important 
 in shaping his life was the fact that his loyalty 
 to his King had steadily grown as the King's 
 cause became more and more desperate. In 
 April, 1642, he was chosen by the county of 
 Kent to deliver to the House of Commons the 
 Kentish Petition for the restoring of the King to 
 his rights, and for settling the government — " For 
 which piece of service he was committed to the 
 Gatehouse at Westminster, when he made that 
 celebrated song called Stone walls do not a Prison 
 make, &c" 
 
 After seven weeks' imprisonment he was lib- 
 erated on bail at ^4,000, " not to stir out of the 
 lines of communication without a pass from the 
 
 [xiv] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 speaker. During the time of this confinement to 
 London, he lived beyond the income of his es- 
 tate, either to keep up the credit and reputation 
 of the King's cause by furnishing men with horses 
 and arms, or by relieving ingenious men in want, 
 whether scholars, musicians, soldiers, &c. Also, 
 by furnishing his two brothers, Colonel Franc. 
 Lovelace and Captain William Lovelace, with 
 men and money for the King's cause, and his 
 other brother, called Dudley Posthumus Love- 
 lace, with moneys for his maintenance in Holland, 
 to study tactics and fortification in that school of 
 
 war." 
 
 In 1646, after the rendition of Oxford, partly 
 impelled thereto by the utter hopelesness of the 
 cause of the King he loved but was unable to 
 serve, and partly owing to his having well-nigh 
 consumed his estate, he left England, and formed 
 a regiment, of which he was colonel, for the service 
 of Louis XIV. in the Netherlands. At Dunkirk 
 he was severely wounded, but recovered, and 
 
 [xv] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 appears to have served in the Netherlands until 
 his return to England in 1648, when he, together 
 with his brother Dudley Posthumus, who had 
 served as a captain under him, " were both com- 
 mitted prisoners to Peter House, in London, 
 where he framed* his poems for the press, entitled, 
 Lucasta : Epodes, Odes, Sonnets ', Songs, &c, Lond. 
 1649, Oct. The reason why he gave that title 
 was because, some time before, he had made his 
 amours to a gentlewoman of great beauty and 
 fortune, named Lucy Sacheverell whom he usually 
 called Lux casta ; but she, upon a stray report 
 that Lovelace was dead of his wound received at 
 Dunkirk, soon after married." 
 
 Shortly after the execution of Charles I. Love- 
 lace was set at liberty, but he was a broken man, 
 in spirit and in fortune. He "grew very mel- 
 ancholy," says Anthony Wood, "(which brought 
 him at length into a consumption), became very 
 poor in body and purse, was the object of charity 5 
 went in ragged cloathes (whereas when he was in 
 
 [xvi] 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 his glory he wore cloth of gold and silver), and 
 mostly lodged in obscure and dirty places, more 
 befitting the worst of beggars and poorest of 
 servants. . . . He died in a very mean lodging 
 in Gunpowder Alley, near Shoe Lane, and was 
 buried in the west-end of the church of S. Bride, 
 alias Bridget, in London, near the body of his 
 kinsman Will. Lovelace, of Gray's Inn, Esq., in 
 sixteen hundred fifty and eight, having before 
 been accounted by all those that well knew him 
 to have been a person well versed in Greek and 
 Latin poets, in music, whether practical or theo- 
 retical, instrumental or vocal, and in other things 
 befitting a gentleman. Some of the said persons 
 have also added, in my hearing, that his common 
 discourse was not only significant and witty, but 
 incomparably graceful, which drew respect from 
 
 all men and women." 
 
 FitzRoy Carrington, 
 
 [xvii] 
 
SONG 
 
 TO LU C AST A 
 
 GOING BEYOND THE SEAS 
 
 I 
 
 I. 
 
 F to be absent were to be 
 Away from thee ; 
 Or that when I am gone, 
 You or I were alone ; 
 
GOING BEYOND THE SEAS 
 
 Then my Lucasta might I crave 
 
 Pity from blustring winde, or swallowing wave. 
 
 II. 
 
 But Tie 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 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. 
 
 [ a ] 
 
GOING BEYOND THE SEAS 
 
 IV. 
 
 So then we doe anticipate 
 Our after-fate, 
 And are alive i' th' skies, 
 If thus our lips and eyes 
 Can speak like spirits unconfin'd 
 In Heav'n, their earthy bodies left behind. 
 
 [3] 
 
SONG 
 
 TO LU C A S T A 
 
 GOING TO THE WARRES 
 
 I 
 
 T: 
 
 ELL me not, (Sweet,) I am unkinde, 
 That from the Nunnerie 
 Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde 
 To Warre and Armes I flie. 
 
 [4] 
 
GOING TO THE WARRES 
 
 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. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Yet this Inconstancy is such, 
 
 As you too shall adore ; 
 I could not love thee (Dear) so much, 
 
 Lov'd I not Honour more. 
 
 [5] 
 

 A PARADOX 
 
 5^p 
 
 X IS true the beauteous Starre 
 To which I first did bow 
 Burnt quicker, brighter far, 
 
 Then that which leads me now ; 
 Which shines with more delight, 
 For gazing on that light 
 So long, neere lost my sight. 
 
 [6] 
 
A PARADOX 
 
 II 
 
 Through foule we follow faire, 
 For had the World one face 
 And Earth been bright as Ayre, 
 We had knowne neither place; 
 Indians smell not their Neast; 
 A Swisse or Finne tastes best 
 The spices of the East. 
 
 III. 
 
 So from the glorious Sunne 
 
 Who to his height hath got, 
 With what delight we runne 
 To some black Cave or Grot ! 
 And, Heav'nly Sydney you 
 Twice read, had rather view 
 Some odde Romance, so new. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The God, that constant keepes 
 Unto his Dieties, 
 
 [7] 
 
A PARADOX 
 
 Is poore in Joyes, and sleepes 
 Imprison'd in the skies. 
 This knew the wisest, who 
 From Juno stole, below 
 To love a Beare, or Cow. 
 
 [8] 
 
 
SONG 
 
 TO A MA R A NT HA 
 
 THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL 
 HER HAIRE 
 
 ^MARANTH A 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 NeasL 
 
 III. 
 
 Ev'ry Tresse must be confest ; 
 But neatly tangled at the best ; 
 
 [9] 
 
THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL 
 HER HAIRE 
 
 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 milke-baths higher : 
 
 And when all Well's are drawne dry, 
 I'le drink a teare out of thine eye. 
 
 [10] 
 
 
THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL 
 HER HAIRE 
 
 VII. 
 
 Which our very Joys shall leave, 
 That sorrowes thus we can deceive ; 
 
 Or our very sorrowes weepe, 
 That joy es so ripe so little keepe. 
 
 [»] 
 
SONNET 
 
 I 
 
 D 
 
 EPOSE your finger of that Ring, 
 And Crowne mine with't awhile ; 
 Now I restor't — Pray, do's it bring 
 
 Back with it more of soile ? 
 Or shines it not as innocent, 
 As honest, as before 'twas lent ? 
 
SONNET 
 
 II. 
 
 So then inrich me with that Treasure, 
 
 9 Twill but increase your store, 
 And please me (faire one) with that pleasure 
 
 Must please you still the more. 
 Not to save others is a curse 
 The blackest, when y'are ne're the worse. 
 
 [13] 
 
ODE 
 
 TO LUCAS T A 
 
 THE ROSE 
 
 I. 
 
 OWEET serene skye-like Flower, 
 
 Haste to adorn her Bower; 
 
 From thy long cloudy bed 
 Shoot forth thy damaske head. 
 
 II. 
 
 New-startled blush of Flora I 
 
 The griefe of pale Aurora^ 
 
 Who will contest no more, 
 Haste, haste, to strowe her floore, 
 
 En] 
 
THE ROSE 
 
 III 
 
 Vermilion Ball, that's given 
 From lip to lip in Heaven ; 
 Loves Couches cover-led, 
 Haste, haste, to make her bed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Dear Offspring of pleas'd Venus^ 
 
 And jollie plumpe Silenus ; 
 
 Haste, haste, to decke the Haire, 
 Of th ' only sweetly Faire. 
 
 V. 
 
 See ! Rosie is her Bower, 
 Her floore is all this flower ; 
 Her Bed a Rosie nest 
 By a Bed of Roses prest. 
 
 [15] 
 
THE ROSE 
 
 VI 
 
 But early as she dresses, 
 
 Why fly you her bright Tresses ? 
 
 Ah ! 1 have found, I feare ; 
 
 Because her Cheekes are neere, 
 
 [16] 
 
SONG 
 
 LOVE CONQUER' D 
 
 T. 
 
 I 
 
 HE childish God of Love did sweare 
 Thus ; By my awfull Bow and Quiver, 
 Yon' weeping, kissing, smiling pair, 
 Tie scatter all their vowes 'ith Ayr, 
 And their knit imbraces shiver. 
 
 [17] 
 
LOVE CONQUE R' D 
 
 II. 
 
 Up then to th' head with his best Art 
 
 Full of spite and envy blowne, 
 At her constant Marble Heart, 
 He drawes his swiftest surest Dart, 
 
 Which bounded back, and hit his owne, 
 
 III. 
 
 Now the Prince of fires burnes ! 
 
 Flames in the luster of her eyes ; 
 Triumphant she, refuses, scornes ; 
 He submits, adornes and mournes, 
 
 And in his Votresse Sacrifice. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Foolish Boy ! Resolve me now 
 
 What 'tis to sigh and not be heard ? 
 He weeping kneel'd, and made a vow, 
 The world shall love as yon' fast two, 
 So on his sing'd wings up he steer'd 
 
 [18] 
 
A LOOSE SARABAND 
 
 I 
 
 A 
 
 H me ! the little Tyrant Theefe 
 As once my heart was playing, 
 He snatcht it up and flew away, 
 Laughing at all my praying. 
 
 [19] 
 
A LOOSE SARABAND 
 
 II. 
 
 Proud of his purchase he surveyes 
 
 And curiously sounds it, 
 And though he sees it full of wounds, 
 
 Cruel still on he wounds it. 
 
 III. 
 
 And now this heart is all his sport, 
 Which as a Ball he boundeth 
 
 From hand to breast, from breast to lip, 
 And all it's rest confoundeth. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then as a Top he sets it up, 
 
 And pitifully whips it ; 
 Sometimes he cloathes it gay and fine, 
 
 Then straight againe he strips it. 
 
 V. 
 
 He cover'd it with false belief e. 
 Which gloriously show'd it ; 
 
 And for a morning-Cushionet 
 On's mother he bestow'd it. 
 
 [20] 
 
A LOOSE SARABAND 
 
 VI. 
 
 Each day, with her small brazen stings, 
 
 A thousand times she rac'd it ; 
 But then at night, bright with her Gemmes, 
 
 Once neere her breast she plac'd it. 
 
 VII. 
 
 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. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 She washt the wound with a fresh teare, 
 
 Which my Lucasta dropped, 
 And in the sleave-silke of her haire 
 
 ' Twas hard bound up and wrapped. 
 
 IX. 
 
 She proab'd it with her constancie, 
 
 And found no Rancor nigh it ; 
 Only the anger of her eye 
 
 Had wrought some proud flesh by it. 
 
A LOOSE SARABAND 
 
 X. 
 
 Then prest she Narde in ev'ry veine 
 Which from her kisses trilled ; 
 
 And with balme heald all its paine, 
 That from her hand distilled. 
 
 XL 
 
 But yet this heart avoyds me still, 
 Will not by me be owned ; 
 
 But's fled to its physitians breast ; 
 There proudly sits inthroned. 
 
 [22] 
 
SONG 
 
 ORPHEUS TO BEASTS 
 
 I. 
 
 H 
 
 ERE, here, oh here ! Euridice, 
 
 Here was she slaine ; 
 Her soule 'stilPd through a veine : 
 
 The Gods knew lesse 
 That time Divinitie, 
 
 Then ev'n, ev'n these 
 
 Of brutishnesse. 
 
 [*3] 
 
ORPHEUS TO BEASTS 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh! could you view the Melodie 
 
 Of ev'ry grace, 
 And Musick of her face, 
 
 You'd drop a teare, 
 Seeing more Harmonie 
 
 In her bright eye, 
 
 Then now you heare. 
 
 [^4] 
 
DIALOGUE 
 
 L U C A S r A , ALE X IS 
 
 T: 
 
 L 
 
 Lucasta 
 
 ELL me, Alexis , what this parting is, 
 That so like dying is, but is not it ? 
 
 Alexis 
 
 It is a swounding for a while from blisse, 
 'Till kind how doe you calls us from the fit 
 
 [*5] 
 
DIALOGUE 
 
 Chorus 
 
 If then the spirits only stray, let mine 
 Fly to thy bosome, and my soule to thine : 
 Thus in our native seate we gladly give 
 Our right for one, where we can better live. 
 
 II. 
 
 Lucasta 
 
 But ah, this ling'ring, murd'ring farewel ! 
 
 Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures the ill. 
 
 Alexis 
 
 It is the glory of the valiant lover, 
 Still to be dying, still for to recover. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Soldiers suspected of their courage goe, 
 That ensignes and their breasts untorne show : 
 Love nee're his standard, where his hoste he sets, 
 Creates alone fresh-bleeding bannerets. 
 
 [a6] 
 
DIALOGUE 
 
 III. 
 
 Alexis 
 
 But part we, when thy figure I retaine 
 
 Still in my heart, still strongly in mine eye ? 
 
 Luc as t a 
 
 Shadowes no longer than the sun remaine, 
 But whe his beams, that made 'em fly, they fly. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Vaine dreames of love ! that only so much blisse 
 Allow us, as to know our wretchednesse ; 
 And deale a larger measure in our paine 
 By showing joy, then hiding it againe. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alexis 
 
 No, whilst light raigns, Lucasta still rules here, 
 And all the night shine wholy in this sphere. 
 
 Lucasta 
 
 I know no morne but my Alexis ray, 
 
 To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day. 
 
 I>7] 
 
DIALOGUE 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Alexis 
 
 So in each other if the pitying sun 
 
 Thus keep us fixt, nere may his course be run 
 
 Lucasta 
 
 And oh ! if night us undivided make ; 
 
 Let us sleepe still, and sleeping never wake ! 
 
 The Close 
 
 Cruel adieus may well adjourne awhile 
 The sessions of a looke, a kisse, or smile, 
 And leave behinde an angry grieving blush ; 
 But time nor fate can part us joined thus. 
 
 [*8] 
 
SONNET 
 
 I 
 
 W 
 
 HEN I by thy faire shape did sweare, 
 And mingled with each Vowe a teare, 
 
 I lov'd, I lov'd thee best, 
 
 I swore as I profest ; 
 For all the while you lasted warme and pure. 
 
 My Oathes too did endure ; 
 
 [>9] 
 
SONNET 
 
 But once turn'd faithlesse to thy selfe, and Old, 
 They then with thee incessantly grew Cold. 
 
 II. 
 
 I swore my selfe thy sacrifice 
 
 By th' Ebon Bowes that guard thine eyes, 
 
 Which now are alter'd White, 
 
 And by the glorious Light 
 Of both those Stars, of which their spheres bereft, 
 
 Only the Gellie's left : 
 Then changed thus, no more I'm bound to you, 
 Then swearing to a Saint that proves untrue. 
 
 [30] 
 
. -•> ■ 
 
 .«V- 
 
 SONG 
 
 LUCASTA WEEPING 
 
 I. 
 
 L 
 
 UCASTA wept, and still the bright 
 Inamour'd God of Day, 
 With his soft Handkercher of Light, 
 Kist the wet Pearles away. 
 
 [31] 
 
LUCAS TA WEEPING 
 
 II. 
 
 But when her Teares his heate ore'came, 
 In Cloudes he quensht his beames, 
 
 And griev'd, wept out his Eye of Flame, 
 So drowned her sad Streames. 
 
 III. 
 
 At this she smil'd, when straight the Sun 
 Cleer'd, with her kinde desires ; 
 
 And by her eyes Reflection, 
 Kindled againe his Fires. 
 
 [3*] 
 
UPON THE CURTAINE OF LU- 
 CASTA' S PICTURE IT WAS. 
 THUS WROUGHT 
 
 Oh, stay that Covetous hand — first turn all Eye, 
 All Depth, and minde ; then Mystically spye 
 Her Soul's faire Picture, her faire Soul's, in all 
 So truely Copied from th' Originall, 
 That you will sweare her Body by this Law 
 Is but its shadow, as this its ; — now draw. 
 
SONNET 
 
 ELLINDA'S GLOVE 
 
 I 
 
 T. 
 
 HOU snowy Farme with thy five Tenements! 
 Tell thy white Mistris here was one, 
 That call'd to pay his dayly Rents ; 
 But she a-gathering Flowr's and Hearts is gone, 
 And thou left voyd to rude Possession. 
 
 [34] 
 
ELLI NDA'S GLOVE 
 
 II. 
 
 But grieve not, pretty Ermin Cabinet, 
 
 Thy Alabaster Lady will come home ; 
 If not, what Tenant can there fit 
 The slender turnings of thy narrow Roome, 
 But must ejected be by his owne dombe ? 
 
 III. 
 
 Then give me leave to leave my Rent with thee 
 Five kisses, one unto a place : 
 For though the Lute's too high for me, 
 Yet Servants, knowing Minikin nor Base, 
 Are still allow'd to fiddle with the Case. 
 
 [35] 
 
SONG 
 
 THE SCRUTINIE 
 
 I 
 
 W 
 
 HY should you 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. 
 
 13*1 
 
THE SCRUTINIE 
 
 II. 
 
 Have I not lov'd thee much and long, 
 A tedious twelve houres space ? 
 
 I. must all other Beauties wrong, 
 And rob thee of a new imbrace ; 
 Could I still dote upon thy Face. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Not, but all joy in thy browne haire 
 By others may be found ; 
 
 But I must search the black and faire, 
 Like skilfull Minerallist's 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 return to thee, 
 Ev'n sated with Varietie. 
 
 [37] 
 
A SONG 
 
 THE VINTAGE TO THE 
 DUNGEON 
 
 I 
 
 S 
 
 ING out, pent Soules, sing cheerefully 
 Care Shackles you in Liberty : 
 Mirth frees you in Captivity. 
 
 Would you double fetters adde ? 
 Else why so sadde ? 
 
 [38] 
 
THE VINTAGE TO THE 
 
 D UN GEO N 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Besides you pinion'd armes you'l find 
 Griefe too can manckell the minde. 
 
 II. 
 
 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 th' Musick of your Chaines, 
 
 I39-] 
 
E P O D E 
 
 TO LUCASTA 
 
 FROM PRISON 
 
 I 
 
 L 
 
 ONG in thy shackels, liberty 
 I ask not from these walls, but thee ; 
 Left for awhile another's bride, 
 To fancy all the world beside. 
 
 [40] 
 
FROM PRISON 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet e're I doe begin to love, 
 See how I all my objects prove ; 
 Then my free soule to that confine, 
 ' Twere possible I might call mine. 
 
 III. 
 
 First I would be in love with Peace, 
 And her rich swelling breasts increase, 
 But how, alas ! how may that be, 
 Despising earth, she will love me ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Faine would I be in love with War, 
 As my deare just avenging star ; 
 But War is lov'd so ev'rywhere, 
 Ev'n he disdaines a lodging here. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thee and thy wounds I would bemoane, 
 Faire thorough-shot Religion ; 
 
 [41]" 
 
FROM PRISON 
 
 But he lives only that kills thee, 
 And who so bindes thy hands, is free. 
 
 VI. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Next would I court my Liberty, 
 And then my birth-right, Property; 
 But can that be, when it is knowne 
 There's nothing you can call your owne ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A Reformation I would have, 
 As for our griefes a Sov'raigne salve; 
 That is, a cleansing of each wheele 
 Of state, that yet some rust doth feele, 
 
 [42] 
 
FROM PRISON 
 
 IX. 
 
 But not a reformation so 
 As to reforme were to ore'throw, 
 Like watches by unskilfull men 
 Disjoynted, and set ill againe. 
 
 X. 
 
 The Publick Faith I would adore, 
 But she is banke-rupt of her store : 
 Nor how to trust her can I see, v 
 For she that couzens all, must me. 
 
 XL 
 
 Since then none of these can be 
 Fit objects for my love and me ; 
 What then remaines, but th' only spring 
 Of all our loves and joyes, the KING? 
 
 XII. 
 
 He who, being the whole ball 
 Of day on earth, lends it to all ; 
 
 [43] 
 
FROM PRISON 
 
 When seeking to ecclipse his right, 
 Blinded we stand in our owne light. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And now an universall mist 
 
 Of error is spread or'e each breast, 
 
 With such a fury edg'd as is 
 
 Not found in th' inwards of th' abysse, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Oh, from the glorious starry waine 
 Dispense on me one sacred beame 
 To light me where I soone may see 
 How to serve you, and you trust me ! 
 
 [44] 
 
SONG 
 
 TO A L TH E A 
 
 FROM PRISON 
 
 I 
 
 W 
 
 HEN Love with unconfined wings 
 Hovers within my Gates ; 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 To whisper at the grates ; 
 
FROM PRISON 
 
 When I lye tangled in her haire, 
 And fetterd to her eye, 
 
 The Gods 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 loyall Flames ; 
 When thirsty griefe in Wine we steepe, 
 
 When Healths 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 sweetnes, Mercy, Majesty, 
 And glories of my King. 
 
LOVELACE IN PRISON 
 
FROM PRISON 
 
 When I shall voyce aloud, how Good 
 He is, how Great should be, 
 
 Inlarged Winds, that curie 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. 
 
 [49] 
 
1 
 
 SONG 
 
 TO LVCASTA 
 
 HER RESERVED LOOKS 
 
 l^UCASTA, 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 hear, the devil there. 
 
 [ 50 ] 
 
SONG 
 
 TO LUCAS T A 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 LAUGH and sing, but cannot tell 
 Whether the folly on't sounds well ; 
 
 But then I groan, 
 
 Methinks, in tune; 
 Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air 
 
 Of my despised prayer. 
 
 [Si] 
 
TO LUCASTA 
 
 II. 
 
 A pretty antick love does this, 
 Then strikes a galliard with a kiss ; 
 
 As in the end 
 
 The chords they rend ; 
 So you but with a touch from your fair hand 
 
 Turn all to saraband. 
 
 [52] 
 
INDEX TO FIRST LINES 
 
 If to be absent were to be . 
 Tell me not, (Sweet,) I am unkinde, 
 ' Tis true the beauteous Starre . 
 Amarantha sweet and faire, .... 
 Depose your ringer of that Ring 
 Sweet serene skye-like Flower, . 
 The childish God of Love did sweare 
 Ah me ! the little Tyrant Theefe ! . 
 Here, here, oh here ! Euridice, . 
 Tell me, Alexis, what this parting is, 
 When I by thy faire shape did sweare, . 
 Lucast-a wept, and still the bright 
 Oh, stay that Covetous hand — first turn all 
 Why should you sweare I am forsworn, . 
 Sing out, pent Soules, sing cheerefully ! . 
 Long in thy shackels, liberty 
 Thou snowy Farme with thy five Tenements 
 When Love with unconfined wings . 
 Lucasta, frown, and let me die, . 
 I laugh and sing, but cannot tell 
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
 Eye 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 4 
 6 
 
 9 
 
 12 
 
 *7 
 
 19 
 2 3 
 25 
 29 
 
 3 1 
 33 
 
 36 
 38 
 
 40 
 
 3+ 
 47 
 5° 
 5i 
 
LIST OF THE COMPOSERS WHO SET TO 
 MUSIC CERTAIN SONG SAND SONNETS BY 
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE 
 
 MR. THOMAS CHARLES 
 
 Why should you sweare I am forsworn. 
 
 f^ssE^n 
 
 MR. CURTES 
 Here, here, oh here ! Euridice. 
 
 MR. JOHN GAMBLE 
 
 Tell me, Alexis, what this parting is. 
 
 MR. HUDSON 
 
 Depose your finger of that Ring. 
 MR. JOHN LANIERE 
 
 Lucasta wept, and still the bright. 
 Tell me not, (Sweet,) I am unkinde. 
 
 MR. HENRY LAWES 
 
 Ah me ! the little Tyrant Theefe ! 
 
 Amaranth a sweet and faire. 
 
 If to be Absent were to be. 
 
 The childish God of Love did sweare, 
 
 [56] 
 
MR. WILLIAM LA WES 
 
 Sing out, pent Soules, sing cheerefully ! 
 When I by thy faire shape did sweare. 
 
 DR. JOHN WILSON 
 
 Sweet serene skye-like Flower. 
 When Love with unconiined wings. 
 
 [57] 
 
SEP 21 1901 
 
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