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Graft such another in its stead,
Lasting thus ever in your prime,
‘Till th’ sithe is snatcht away from Time.<37.18>

<37.1> In the MS. copy this poem exhibits considerable variations, and is entitled “Gratiana’s Eulogy.”

<37.2> ARIGO or ARRIGO is the Venetian form of HENRICO. I have no means of identifying CHLORIS or GRATIANA; but AMYNTOR was probably, as I have already suggested, Endymion Porter, and ARIGO was unquestionably no other than Henry Jermyn, or Jarmin, who, though no poet, was, like his friend Porter, a liberal and discerning patron of men of letters.

“Yet when thy noble choice appear’d, that by Their combat first prepar’d thy victory: ENDYMION and ARIGO, who delight
In numbers–“
Davenant’s MADAGASCAR, 1638 (Works, 1673, p. 212).

See also p. 247 of Davenant’s Works.

Jermyn’s name is associated with that of Porter in the noblest dedication in our language, that to DAVENANT’S POEMS, 1638, 12mo. “If these poems live,” &c.

<37.3> This and the five next lines are not in MS. which opens with “Her lips,” &c.

<37.4> So original; MS. reads OF.

<37.5> This and the next thirteen lines are not in MS.

<<37.6>> i.e. tribute.

<37.7> FAIRE–MS.

<37.8> HER FAIRE–MS. The story of the phoenix was very popular, and the allusions to it in the early writers are almost innumerable.

“My labour did to greater things aspire, To find a PHOENIX melted in the fire, Out of whose ashes should spring up to birth A friend”–
POEMS OF Ben Johnson jun., by W. S., 1672, p. 18.

<37.9> This and the next eleven lines are not in MS.

<37.10> The MS. reads SHE.

<37.11> The MS. reads for BUT TH’ “the.”

<37.12> In the houses of such as could afford the expense, the walls of rooms were formerly lined with tapestry instead of paper.

<37.13> So MS.; original has A.

<37.14> An allusion to the fable of Jupiter and Ganymede.


<37.16> This and the succeeding line are not in MS.

<37.17> This and the six following lines are not in MS.

<37.18> Here we have a figure, which reminds us of Jonson’s famous lines on the Countess of Pembroke; but certainly in this instance the palm of superiority is due to Lovelace, whose conception of Time having his scythe snatched from him is bolder and finer than that of the earlier and greater poet.


Why shouldst thou<38.2> 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.

Have I not lov’d thee much and long, A tedious twelve moneths<38.3> space?
I should<38.4> all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new imbrace;
Should<38.5> I still dote upon thy face.

Not but all joy in thy browne haire In<38.6> others may be found;
But I must search the black and faire, Like skilfulle minerallists that sound
For treasure in un-plow’d-up<38.7> ground.

Then if, when I have lov’d my<38.8> round,
Thou prov’st the pleasant she;
With spoyles<38.9> of meaner beauties crown’d,
I laden will returne to thee,
Ev’n sated with varietie.

<38.1> This poem appears in WITS INTERPRETER, by John Cotgrave, ed. 1662, p. 214, under the title of “On his Mistresse, who unjustly taxed him of leaving her off.”

<38.2> So Cotgrave. LUCASTA reads SHOULD YOU.

<38.3> So Cotgrave. This is preferable to HOURS, the reading in LUCASTA.

<38.4> So Cotgrave. LUCASTA reads MUST.

<38.5> So Cotgrave. LUCASTA has COULD.

<38.6> So Cotgrave. LUCASTA reads BY.

<38.7> UNBIDDEN–Cotgrave.

<38.8> THEE–Cotgrave.

<38.9> IN SPOIL–Cotgrave.


I saw a little Diety,
MINERVA in epitomy,
Whom VENUS, at first blush, surpris’d, Tooke for her winged wagge disguis’d.
But viewing then, whereas she made
Not a distrest, but lively shade
Of ECCHO whom he had betrayd,
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!
I will un-God that toye! cri’d she; Then markt she SYRINX running fast
To Pan’s imbraces, with the haste
Shee fled him once, whose reede-pipe rent He finds now a new Instrument.
THESEUS return’d invokes the Ayre
And windes, then wafts his faire;
Whilst ARIADNE ravish’t stood
Half in his armes, halfe in the flood. Proud ANAXERETE doth fall
At IPHIS feete, who smiles at<39.2> all:
And he (whilst she his curles doth deck) Hangs no where now, but on her neck.
Here PHOEBUS with a beame untombes
Long-hid LEUCOTHOE, and doomes
Her father there; DAPHNE the faire
Knowes now no bayes but round her haire; And to APOLLO and his Sons,
Who pay him their due Orisons,
Bequeaths her lawrell-robe, that flame Contemnes, Thunder and evill Fame.
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.
Transfixed VENUS stood amas’d,
Full of the Boy and Love, she gaz’d, And in imbraces seemed more
Senceless and colde then he before. Uselesse Childe! In vaine (said she)
You beare that fond artillerie;
See heere a pow’r above the slow
Weake execution of thy bow.
So said, she riv’d the wood in two, Unedged all his arrowes too,
And with the string their feathers bound To that part, whence we have our wound.
See, see! the darts by which we burn’d Are bright Loysa’s pencills turn’d,
With which she now enliveth more
Beauties, than they destroy’d before.

<39.1> Probably the second daughter of Frederic and Elizabeth of Bohemia, b. 1622. See Townend’s DESCENDANTS OF THE STUARTS, 1858, p. 7.

<39.2> Original has OF.


Were it that you so shun me, ’cause you wish (Cruels’t) a fellow in your wretchednesse, Or that you take some small ease in your owne Torments, to heare another sadly groane, I were most happy in my paines, to be
So truely blest, to be so curst by thee: But oh! my cries to that doe rather adde, Of which too much already thou hast had, And thou art gladly sad to heare my moane; Yet sadly hearst me with derision.

Thou most unjust, that really dust know, And feelst thyselfe the flames I burne in. Oh! How can you beg to be set loose from that Consuming stake you binde another at?

Uncharitablest both wayes, to denie
That pity me, for which yourself must dye, To love not her loves you, yet know the pain What ’tis to love, and not be lov’d againe.

Flye on, flye on, swift Racer, untill she Whom thou of all ador’st shall learne of thee The pace t’outfly thee, and shall teach thee groan, What terrour ’tis t’outgo and be outgon.

Nor yet looke back, nor yet must we
Run then like spoakes in wheeles eternally, And never overtake? Be dragg’d on still
By the weake cordage of your untwin’d will Round without hope of rest? No, I will turne, And with my goodnes boldly meete your scorne; My goodnesse which Heav’n pardon, and that fate MADE YOU HATE LOVE, AND FALL IN LOVE WITH HATE.

But I am chang’d! Bright reason, that did give My soule a noble quicknes, made me live
One breath yet longer, and to will, and see Hath reacht me pow’r to scorne as well as thee: That thou, which proudly tramplest on my grave, Thyselfe mightst fall, conquer’d my double slave: That thou mightst, sinking in thy triumphs, moan, And I triumph in my destruction.

Hayle, holy cold! chaste temper, hayle! the fire Rav’d<40.2> o’re my purer thoughts I feel t’ expire, And I am candied ice. Yee pow’rs! if e’re I shall be forc’t unto my sepulcher,
Or violently hurl’d into my urne,
Oh make me choose rather to freeze than burne.

<40.1> Carew (POEMS, ed. 1651, p. 53) has some lines, entitled, “In the person of a Lady to her Inconstant Servant,” which are of nearly similar purport to Lovelace’s poem, but are both shorter and better.

<40.2> RAV’D seems here to be equivalent to REAV’D, or BEREAV’D. Perhaps the correct reading may be “reav’d.” See Worcester’s DICTIONARY, art. RAVE, where Menage’s supposition of affinity between RAVE and BEREAVE is perhaps a little too slightingly treated.


Oh thou, that swing’st upon the waving eare<41.2>
Of some well-filled oaten beard,<41.3>
Drunk ev’ry night with a delicious teare<41.4>
Dropt thee from Heav’n, where now th’art reard.

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.

Up with the day, the Sun thou welcomst then, Sportst in the guilt plats<41.5> of his beames,
And all these merry dayes mak’st merry men,<41.6>
Thy selfe, and melancholy streames.

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.

Poore verdant foole! and now green ice, thy joys Large and as lasting as thy peirch<41.7> of grasse,
Bid us lay in ‘gainst winter raine, and poize Their flouds with an o’erflowing glasse.

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.

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.

Dropping December shall come weeping in, Bewayle th’ usurping of his raigne;
But when in show’rs of old Greeke<41.8> we beginne,
Shall crie, he hath his crowne againe!

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.

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.

<41.1> Charles Cotton the elder, father of the poet. He died in 1658. This poem is extracted in CENSURA LITERARIA, ix. 352, as a favourable specimen of Lovelace’s poetical genius. The text is manifestly corrupt, but I have endeavoured to amend it. In Elton’s SPECIMENS OF CLASSIC POETS, 1814, i. 148, is a translation of Anacreon’s Address to the Cicada, or Tree-Locust (Lovelace’s grasshopper?), which is superior to the modern poem, being less prolix, and more natural in its manner. In all Lovelace’s longer pieces there are too many obscure and feeble conceits, and too many evidences of a leaning to the metaphysical and antithetical school of poetry.

<41.2> Original has HAIRE.

<41.3> i.e. a beard of oats.

<41.4> Meleager’s invocation to the tree-locust commences thus in Elton’s translation:–

“Oh shrill-voiced insect! that with dew-drops sweet Inebriate—-“


<41.5> i.e. horizontal lines tinged with gold. See Halliwell’s GLOSSARY OF ARCHAIC WORDS, 1860, art. PLAT (seventh and eighth meaning). The late editors of Nares cite this passage from LUCASTA as an illustration of GUILT-PLATS, which they define to be “plots of gold.” This definition, unsupported by any other evidence, is not very satisfactory, and certainly it has no obvious application here.

<41.6> Randolph says:–

“—-toiling ants perchance delight to hear The summer musique of the gras-hopper.” POEMS, 1640, p. 90.

It is it question, perhaps, whether Lovelace intended by the GRASSHOPPER the CICADA or the LOCUSTA. See Sir Thomas Browne’s INQUIRIES INTO VULGAR ERRORS (Works, by Wilkins, 1836, iii. 93).

<41.7> Perch.

<41.8> i.e. old Greek wine.


Hither with hallowed steps as is the ground, That must enshrine this saint with lookes profound, And sad aspects as the dark vails you weare, Virgins opprest, draw gently, gently neare; Enter the dismall chancell of this rooome, Where each pale guest stands fixt a living tombe; With trembling hands helpe to remove this earth To its last death and first victorious birth: Let gums and incense fume, who are at strife To enter th’ hearse and breath in it new life; Mingle your steppes with flowers as you goe, Which, as they haste to fade, will speake your woe.

And when y’ have plac’t your tapers on her urn, How poor a tribute ’tis to weep and mourn! That flood the channell of your eye-lids fils, When you lose trifles, or what’s lesse, your wills. If you’l be worthy of these obsequies,
Be blind unto the world, and drop your eyes; Waste and consume, burn downward as this fire That’s fed no more: so willingly expire; Passe through the cold and obscure narrow way, Then light your torches at the spring of day, There with her triumph in your victory.
Such joy alone and such solemnity
Becomes this funerall of virginity.

Or, if you faint to be so blest, oh heare! If not to dye, dare but to live like her: Dare to live virgins, till the honour’d age Of thrice fifteen cals matrons on the stage, Whilst not a blemish or least staine is scene On your white roabe ‘twixt fifty and fifteene; But as it in your swathing-bands was given, Bring’t in your winding sheet unsoyl’d to Heav’n. Daere to do purely, without compact good, Or herald, by no one understood
But him, who now in thanks bows either knee For th’ early benefit and secresie.

Dare to affect a serious holy sorrow, To which delights of pallaces are narrow, 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; Flame there as lights that shipwrackt mariners May put in safely, and secure their feares, Who, adding to your joyes, now owe you theirs.

Virgins, if thus you dare but courage take To follow her in life, else through this lake Of Nature wade, and breake her earthly bars, Y’ are fixt with her upon a throne of stars, Arched with a pure Heav’n chrystaline,
Where round you love and joy for ever shine.

But you are dumbe, as what you do lament More senseles then her very monument,
Which at your weaknes weeps. Spare that vaine teare, Enough to burst the rev’rend sepulcher.
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.

<42.1> Cassandra Cotton, only daughter of Sir George Cotton, of Warblenton, Co. Sussex, and of Bedhampton, co. Hants, died some time before 1649, unmarried. She was the sister of Charles Cotton the elder, and aunt to the poet. See WALTON’S ANGLER, ed. Nicolas, Introduction, clxvi.

A SONG.<43.1>

Sing out, pent soules, sing cheerefully! Care shackles you in liberty:
Mirth frees you in captivity.
Would you double fetters adde?
Else why so sadde?

Besides your pinion’d armes youl finde Griefe too can manakell the minde.

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–

Tryumph in your bonds and paines,
And daunce to the music of your chaines.

<43.1> Probably composed during the poet’s confinement in Peterhouse.


You that shall live awhile, before
Old time tyrs, and is no more:
When that this ambitious stone
Stoopes low as what it tramples on: Know that in that age, when sinne
Gave the world law, and governd Queene, A virgin liv’d, that still put on
White thoughts, though out of fashion: That trac’t the stars, ‘spite of report, And durst be good, though chidden for’t: Of such a soule that infant Heav’n
Repented what it thus had giv’n:
For finding equall happy man,
Th’ impatient pow’rs snatch it agen. Thus, chaste as th’ ayre whither shee’s fled, She, making her celestiall bed
In her warme alablaster, lay
As cold is in this house of clay:
Nor were the rooms unfit to feast
Or circumscribe this angel-guest;
The radiant gemme was brightly set
In as divine a carkanet;
Of<44.2> which the clearer was not knowne,
Her minde or her complexion.
Such an everlasting grace,
Such a beatifick face,
Incloysters here this narrow floore, That possest all hearts before.

Blest and bewayl’d in death and birth! The smiles and teares of heav’n and earth! Virgins at each step are afeard,
Filmer is shot by which they steer’d, Their star extinct, their beauty dead,
That the yong world to honour led;
But see! the rapid spheres stand still, And tune themselves unto her will.

Thus, although this marble must,
As all things, crumble into dust,
And though you finde this faire-built tombe Ashes, as what lyes in its wombe:
Yet her saint-like name shall shine A living glory to this shrine,
And her eternall fame be read,
When all but VERY VERTUE’S DEAD.<44.3>

<44.1> This lady was perhaps the daughter of Edward Filmer, Esq., of East Sutton, co. Kent, by his wife Eliza, daughter of Richard Argall, Esq., of the same place (See Harl. MS. 1432, p. 300). Possibly, the Edward Filmer mentioned here was the same as the author of “Frenche Court Ayres, with their Ditties englished,” 1629, in praise of which Jonson has some lines in his UNDERWOODS.

<44.2> Original reads FOR.

<44.3> “Which ensuing times shall warble, When ’tis lost, that’s writ in marble.” Wither’s FAIR VIRTUE, THE MISTRESS OF PHILARETE, 1622.

Headley (SELECT BEAUTIES, ed. 1810, ii. p. 42) has remarked the similarity between these lines and some in Collins’ DIRGE IN CYMBELINE:–

“Belov’d till life can charm no more; And MOURN’D TILL PITY’S SELF BE DEAD.”


See! what a clouded majesty, and eyes Whose glory through their mist doth brighter rise! See! what an humble bravery doth shine, And griefe triumphant breaking through each line, How it commands the face! so sweet a scorne Never did HAPPY MISERY adorne!
So sacred a contempt, that others show To this, (oth’ height of all the wheele) below, That mightiest monarchs by this shaded booke May coppy out their proudest, richest looke.

Whilst the true eaglet this quick luster spies, And by his SUN’S enlightens his owne eyes; He cures<45.2> his cares, his burthen feeles, then streight Joyes that so lightly he can beare such weight; Whilst either eithers passion doth borrow, And both doe grieve the same victorious sorrow.

These, my best LILLY, with so bold a spirit And soft a grace, as if thou didst inherit For that time all their greatnesse, and didst draw With those brave eyes your royal sitters saw.

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; Thou dost the things Orientally the same Not only paintst its colour, but its flame: Thou sorrow canst designe without a teare, And with the man his very hope or feare; So that th’ amazed world shall henceforth finde None but my LILLY ever drew a MINDE.

<45.1> Mr., afterwards Sir Peter, Lely. He was frequently called Lilly, or Lilley, by his contemporaries, and Lilley is Pepys’ spelling. “At Lord Northumberland’s, at Sion, is a remarkable picture of King Charles I, holding a letter directed ‘au roi monseigneur,’ and the Duke of York, aet. 14, presenting a penknife to him to cut the strings. It was drawn at Hampton Court, when the King was last there, by Mr. Lely, who was earnestly recommended to him. I should have taken it for the hand of Fuller or Dobson. It is certainly very unlike Sir Peter’s latter manner, and is stronger than his former. The King has none of the melancholy grace which Vandyck alone, of all his painters, always gave him. It has a sterner countenance, and expressive of the tempests he had experienced.”–Walpole’s ANECDOTES OF PAINTING IN ENGLAND, ed. 1862, p. 443-4.

<45.2> Original reads CARES.

THE LADY A. L.<46.1>

With that delight the Royal captiv’s<46.2> brought
Before the throne, to breath his farewell thought, To tel his last tale, and so end with it, Which gladly he esteemes a benefit;
When the brave victor, at his great soule dumbe, Findes something there fate cannot overcome, Cals the chain’d prince, and by his glory led, First reaches him his crowne, and then his head; Who ne’re ’til now thinks himself slave and poor; For though nought else, he had himselfe 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,

With such a joy came I to heare my dombe, And haste the preparation of my tombe,
When, like good angels who have heav’nly charge To steere and guide mans sudden giddy barge, She snatcht me from the rock I was upon, And landed me at life’s pavillion:
Where I, thus wound out of th’ immense abysse, Was straight set on a pinacle of blisse.

Let me leape in againe! and by that fall Bring me to my first woe, so cancel all: Ah! ‘s this a quitting of the debt you owe, To crush her and her goodnesse at one blowe? Defend me from so foule impiety,
Would make friends grieve, and furies weep to see.

Now, ye sage spirits, which infuse in men That are oblidg’d twice to oblige agen,
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.<46.3>
Oh, then accept the all that left me is, Devout oblations of a sacred wish!

When she walks forth, ye perfum’d wings oth’ East, Fan her, ’til with the Sun she hastes to th’ West, And when her heav’nly course calles up the day, And breakes as bright, descend, some glistering ray, To circle her, and her as glistering haire, That all may say a living saint shines there. 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. All you that are a kinne to piety:
For onely you can her close mourners be, Draw neer, and make of hallowed teares a dearth: Goodnes and justice both are fled the earth.

If this be to be thankful, I’v a heart Broaken with vowes, eaten with grateful smart, And beside this, the vild<46.4> world nothing hath
Worth anything but her provoked wrath; So then, who thinkes to satisfie in time, Must give a satisfaction for that crime: Since she alone knowes the gifts value, she Can onely to her selfe requitall be,
And worthyly to th’ life paynt her owne story In its true colours and full native glory; Which when perhaps she shal be heard to tell, Buffoones and theeves, ceasing to do ill, Shal blush into a virgin-innocence,
And then woo others from the same offence; The robber and the murderer, in ‘spite
Of his red spots, shal startle into white: All good (rewards layd by) shal stil increase For love of her, and villany decease;<46.5>
Naught<46.6> be ignote, not so much out of feare Of being punisht, as offending her.

So that, when as my future daring bayes Shall bow it selfe<46.7> in lawrels to her praise,
To crown her conqu’ring goodnes, and proclaime The due renowne and glories of her name: 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’v 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.

Where, then, thou bold instinct, shal I begin My endlesse taske? To thanke her were a sin Great as not speake, and not to speake, a blame Beyond what’s worst, such as doth want a name; So thou my all, poore gratitude, ev’n thou In this wilt an unthankful office do:
Or wilt I fling all at her feet I have: My life, my love, my very soule, a slave? Tye my free spirit onely unto her,
And yeeld up my affection prisoner? Fond thought, in this thou teachest me to give What first was hers, since by her breath I live; And hast but show’d me, how I may resigne Possession of those thing are none of mine.

<46.1> i.e. Anne, Lady Lovelace, the poet’s kinswoman, who seems to have assisted him in some emergency, unknown to us except through the present lines.

<46.2> Caractacus(?).

<46.3> The mythology of Greece assigned to each wind a separate cave, in which it was supposed to await the commands of its sovereign Aeolus, or Aeolos. It is to this myth that Lovelace alludes.

<46.4> A very common form of VILE among early writers.

<46.5> This reads like a parody on the fourth Eclogue of Virgil. The early English poets were rather partial to the introduction of miniature-pictures of the Golden Age on similar occasions to the present. Thus Carew, in his poem TO SAXHAM, says:–

“The Pheasant, Partridge, and the Lark Flew to thy house, as to the Ark.
The willing Oxe of himself came
Home to the slaughter with the Lamb. And every beast did thither bring
Himself, to be an offering.”
Carew’s POEMS, 1651, p. 34.

<46.6> Vice.

<46.7> We should read THEMSELVES.


This Queen of Prey (now prey to you), Fast to that pirch of ivory
In silver chaines and silken clue,
Hath now made full thy victory:

The swelling admirall of the dread
Cold deepe, burnt in thy flames, oh faire! Wast not enough, but thou must lead
Bound, too, the Princesse of the aire?

Unarm’d of wings and scaly oare,
Unhappy crawler on the land,
To what heav’n fly’st? div’st to what shoare, That her brave eyes do not command?

Ascend the chariot of the Sun
From her bright pow’r to shelter thee: Her captive (foole) outgases him;
Ah, what lost wretches then are we!

Now, proud usurpers on the right
Of sacred beauty, heare your dombe; Recant your sex, your mastry, might;
Lower you cannot be or’ecome:

Repent, ye er’e nam’d he or head,
For y’ are in falcon’s monarchy,
And in that just dominion bred,
In which the nobler is the shee.


A gentleman, to give us somewhat new, Hath brought up OXFORD with him to show you; Pray be not frighted–Tho the scaene and gown’s The Universities, the wit’s the town’s;
The lines each honest Englishman may speake: Yet not mistake his mother-tongue for Greeke, For stil ’twas part of his vow’d liturgie:– From learned comedies deliver me!
Wishing all those that lov’d ’em here asleepe, Promising SCHOLARS, but no SCHOLARSHIP.

You’d smile to see, how he do’s vex and shake, Speakes naught; but, if the PROLOGUE do’s but take, Or the first act were past the pikes once, then– Then hopes and joys, then frowns and fears agen, Then blushes like a virgin, now to be
Rob’d of his comicall virginity
In presence of you all. In short, you’d say More hopes of mirth are in his looks then play.

These feares are for the noble and the wise; But if ‘mongst you there are such fowle dead eyes, As can damne unaraign’d, cal law their pow’rs, Judging it sin enough that it is ours,
And with the house shift their decreed desires, FAIRE still to th’ BLACKE, BLACKE still to the WHITE-FRYERS;<47.2>
He do’s protest he wil sit down and weep Castles and pyramids . . .
. . . . . . No, he wil on,
Proud to be rais’d by such destruction, So far from quarr’lling with himselfe and wit, That he wil thank them for the benefit,
Since finding nothing worthy of their hate, They reach him that themselves must envy at:

<47.1> This was the theatre in Salisbury Court. See Collier, H. E. D. P. iii. 289, and Halliwell’s DICTIONARY OF OLD PLAYS, art. SCHOLAR. From the terms of the epilogue it seems to have been a piece occupying two hours in the performance. Judging, I presume, from the opening lines, Mr. Halliwell supposes it to have been originally acted at Gloucester Hall. Probably Mr. Halliwell is right.

<47.2> A quibble on the two adjacent theatres in Whitefriars and Blackfriars.


The stubborne author of the trifle<48.1> crime,
That just now cheated you of two hours’ time, Presumptuous it lik’t him,<48.2> began to grow
Carelesse, whether it pleased you or no.

But we who ground th’ excellence of a play On what the women at the dores wil say,
Who judge it by the benches, and afford To take your money, ere his oath or word His SCHOLLARS school’d, sayd if he had been wise He should have wove in one two COMEDIES; The first for th’ gallery, in which the throne To their amazement should descend alone, The rosin-lightning flash, and monster spire Squibs, and words hotter then his fire.

Th’ other for the gentlemen oth’ pit, Like to themselves, all spirit, fancy, wit, In which plots should be subtile as a flame, Disguises would make PROTEUS stil the same: Humours so rarely humour’d and exprest,
That ev’n they should thinke ’em so, not drest; Vices acted and applauded too, times
Tickled, and th’ actors acted, not their crimes, So he might equally applause have gain’d Of th’ hardned, sooty, and the snowy hand.<48.3>

Where now one SO SO<48.4> spatters, t’other: no!
Tis his first play; twere solecisme ‘tshould goe; The next ‘t show’d pritily, but searcht within It appeares bare and bald, as is his chin; The towne-wit sentences: A SCHOLARS PLAY! Pish! I know not why, but th’ave not the way.<48.5>

We, whose gaine is all our pleasure, ev’n these Are bound by justice and religion to please; Which he, whose pleasure’s all his gaine, goes by As slightly, as they doe his comaedy.

Culls out the few, the worthy, at whose feet He sacrifices both himselfe and it,
His fancies first fruits: profit he knowes none, Unles that of your approbation,
Which if your thoughts at going out will pay, Hee’l not looke farther for a second day.<48.6>

<48.1> Perhaps TRIFLING was the word written by Lovelace. A VENIAL OFFENCE is meant.

<48.2> It would be difficult to point out a writer so unpardonably slovenly in his style or phraseology as Lovelace. By “Presumptuous it lik’t him,” we must of course understand “Presumptuous that he liked it himself,” or presumptuously self-satisfied.

<48.3> i.e. the rough and dirty occupants of the gallery and the fair spectators in the boxes.

<48.4> An exclamation of approval, when an actor made a hit. The phrase seems to be somewhat akin to the Italian “SI, SI,” a corruption of “SIA, SIA.”

<48.5> i.e. they do not know how to act a play.

<48.6> This prologue and epilogue were clearly not attached to the play when it was first performed by the fellow-collegians of the poet at Gloucester Hall, as an amateur attempt in the dramatic line, but were first added when “The Scholars” was reproduced in London, and the parts sustained by ordinary actors.


Vnhappy youth, betrayd by Fate
To such a love<49.1> hath sainted hate,
And damned those celestiall bands<49.2>
Are onely knit with equal hands;
The love of great ones is a love,<49.3>
Gods are incapable to prove:
For where there is a joy uneven,
There never, never can be Heav’n:
‘Tis such a love as is not sent
To fiends as yet for punishment;
IXION willingly doth feele
The gyre of his eternal wheele,
Nor would he now exchange his paine For cloudes and goddesses againe.

Wouldst thou with tempests lye? Then bow To th’ rougher furrows of her brow,
Or make a thunder-bolt thy choyce?
Then catch at her more fatal voyce; Or ‘gender with the lightning? trye
The subtler<49.4> flashes of her eye:
Poore SEMELE<49.5> wel knew the same,
Who<49.6> both imbrac’t her God and flame;
And not alone in soule did burne,
But in this love did ashes turne.

How il doth majesty injoy
The bow and gaity oth’ boy,
As if the purple-roabe should sit,
And sentence give ith’ chayr of wit.

Say, ever-dying wretch, to whom
Each answer is a certaine doom,<49.7>
What is it that you would possesse, The Countes, or the naked Besse?<49.8>
Would you her gowne or title do?
Her box or gem, the<49.9> thing or show?
If you meane HER, the very HER,
Abstracted from her caracter,
Unhappy boy! you may as soone
With fawning wanton with the Moone, Or with an amorous complaint
Get prostitute your very saint;
Not that we are not mortal, or
Fly VENUS altars, and<49.10> abhor
The selfesame knack, for which you pine; But we (defend us!) are divine,
[Not] female, but madam born,<49.11> and come
From a right-honourable wombe.
Shal we then mingle with the base,
And bring a silver-tinsell race?
Whilst th’ issue noble wil not passe The gold alloyd<49.12> (almost halfe brasse),
And th’ blood in each veine doth appeare, Part thick Booreinn, part Lady Cleare;
Like to the sordid insects sprung
From Father Sun and Mother Dung:
Yet lose we not the hold we have,
But faster graspe the trembling slave; Play at baloon with’s heart, and winde
The strings like scaines, steale into his minde Ten thousand false<49.13> and feigned joyes
Far worse then they; whilst, like whipt boys, After this scourge hee’s hush with toys.

This<49.14> heard, Sir, play stil in her eyes, And be a dying, live<49.15> like flyes
Caught by their angle-legs, and whom The torch laughs peece-meale to consume.

<49.1> i.e. THAT hath sainted, &c.

<49.2> So the Editor’s MS. copy already described; the printed copy has BONDS.

<49.3> So Editor’s MS. Printed copy has– “The Love of Great Ones? ‘Tis a Love.”

<<49.4>> Subtle–Editor’s MS.

<49.5> Semele she–Editor’s MS.

<49.6> She–Ibid.

<49.7> Dombe–LUCASTA.

<49.8> BESS is used in the following passage as a phrase for a sort of female TOM-O-BEDLAM–

“We treat mad-Bedlams, TOMS and BESSES, With ceremonies and caresses!”
Dixon’s CANIDIA, 1683, part i. canto 2.

And the word seems also to have been employed to signify the loose women who, in early times, made Covent Garden and its neighbourhood their special haunt. See Cotgrave’s WITS INTERPRETER, 1662, p. 236. But here “naked Besse,” means only a woman who, in contradistinction to a lady of rank, has no adventitious qualities to recommend her.

<49.9> Original reads HER.

<49.10> Altars, or–LUCASTA.

<49.11> Borne–LUCASTA.

<49.12> Allay’d–LUCASTA.

<49.13> So Editor’s MS. LUCASTA has HELLS.

<49.14> From this word down to LIVES is omitted in the MS. copy.

<49.15> Original has LIVES.


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,<50.2>
And fetterd to her eye,<50.3>
The birds,<50.4> that wanton in the aire,
Know no such liberty.

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 healths and draughts go free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,
Know no such libertie.

When (like committed linnets<50.5>) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetnes, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King.
When I shall voyce aloud, how good
He is, how great should be,
Inlarged winds, that curle the flood, Know no such liberty.

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.

<50.1> The first stanza of this famous song is harmonized in CHEERFULL AYRES OR BALLADS: FIRST COMPOSED FOR ONE SINGLE VOICE, AND SINCE SET FOR THREE VOICES. By John Wilson, Dr. in Music, Professor of the same in the University of Oxford. Oxford, 1660 (Sept. 20, 1659), 4to. p. 10. I have sometimes thought that, when Lovelace composed this production, he had in his recollection some of the sentiments in Wither’s SHEPHERDS HUNTING, 1615. See, more particularly, the sonnet (at p. 248 of Mr. Gutch’s Bristol edition) commencing:–

“I that er’st while the world’s sweet air did draw.”

<50.2> Peele, in KING DAVID AND FAIR BETHSABE, 1599, has a similar figure, where David says:–

“Now comes my lover tripping like the roe, And brings my longings tangled in her hair.”

The “lover” is of course Bethsabe.

<50.3> Thus Middleton, in his MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN, printed in 1657, but written before 1626, says:–

“But for modesty,
I should fall foul in words upon fond man, That can forget his excellence and honour, His serious meditations, being the end Of his creation, to learn well to die; And live a PRISONER TO A WOMAN’S EYE.”

<50.4> Original reads GODS; the present word is substituted in accordance with a MS. copy of the song printed by the late Dr. Bliss, in his edition of Woods ATHENAE. If Dr. Bliss had been aware of the extraordinary corruptions under which the text of LUCASTA laboured, he would have had less hesitation in adopting BIRDS as the true reading. The “Song to Althea,” is a favourable specimen of the class of composition to which it belongs; but I fear that it has been over-estimated.

<50.5> Percy very unnecessarily altered LIKE COMMITTED LINNETS to LINNET-LIKE CONFINED (Percy’s RELIQUES, ii. 247; Moxon’s ed.) Ellis (SPECIMENS OF EARLY ENGLISH POETS, ed. 1801, iii. 252) says that this latter reading is “more intelligible.” It is not, however, either what Lovelace wrote, or what (it may be presumed) he intended to write, and nothing, it would seem, can be clearer than the passage as it stands, COMMITTED signifying, in fact, nothing more than CONFINED. It is fortunate for the lovers of early English literature that Bp. Percy had comparatively little to do with it. Emendation of a text is well enough; but the wholesale and arbitrary slaughter of it is quite another matter.


Now the peace is made at the foes rate,<51.3>
Whilst men of armes to kettles their old helmes translate, And drinke in caskes of honourable plate. In ev’ry hand [let] a cup be found,
That from all hearts a health may sound To GORING! to GORING! see ‘t goe round.

He whose glories shine so brave and high, That captive they in triumph leade each care and eye, Claiming uncombated the victorie,
And from the earth to heav’n rebound, Fixt there eternall as this round:
To GORING! to GORING! see him crown’d.

To his lovely bride, in love with scars, Whose eyes wound deepe in peace, as doth his sword in wars; They shortly must depose the Queen of Stars: Her cheekes the morning blushes give,
And the benighted world repreeve; To LETTICE! to LETTICE! let her live.

Give me scorching heat, thy heat, dry Sun, That to this payre I may drinke off an ocean: Yet leave my grateful thirst unquensht, undone; Or a full bowle of heav’nly wine,
In which dissolved stars should shine, To the couple! to the couple! th’ are divine.

<51.1> Particulars of this celebrated man, afterward created Earl of Norwich, may be found in Eachard’s HISTORY, Rushworth’s COLLECTIONS, Whitelocke’s MEMOIRS, Collins’ PEERAGE by Brydges, Pepys’ DIARY (i. 150, ed. 1858), and Peck’s DESIDERATA CURIOSA, (ed. 1779, ii. 479). Whitelocke speaks very highly of his military character. In a poem called THE GALLANTS OF THE TIMES, printed in “Wit Restored,” 1658, there is the following passage:–

“A great burgandine for WILL MURRAY’S sake GEORGE SYMONDS, he vows the first course to take: When STRADLING a Graecian dog let fly, Who took the bear by the nose immediately; To see them so forward Hugh Pollard did smile, Who had an old curr of Canary oyl,
And held up his head that GEORGE GORING might see, Who then cryed aloud, TO MEE, BOYS, TO MEE!”

See, also, THE ANSWER:–

“GEORGE, Generall of Guenefrieds,
He is a joviall lad,
Though his heart and fortunes disagree Oft times to make him sad.”

Consult Davenant’s Works, 1673, p. 247, and FRAGMENTA AULICA, 1662, pp. 47, 54. Lord Goring died Jan. 6, 1663 (Smyth’s OBITUARY, p. 57; Camden Soc.).

<51.2> A LA CHABOT was a French dance tune, christened after the admiral of that name, in the same manner as A LA BOURBON, mentioned elsewhere in LUCASTA, derived its title from another celebrated person. Those who have any acquaintance with the history of early English music need not to be informed that it was formerly the practice of our own composers to seek the patronage of the gentlemen and ladies about the Court for their works, and to identify their names with them. Thus we have “My Lady Carey’s Dumpe,” &c. &c.

<<51.3>> Expense.



No more
Thou little winged archer, now no more As heretofore,
Thou maist pretend within my breast to bide, No more,
Since cruell Death of dearest LYNDAMORE Hath me depriv’d,
I bid adieu to love, and all the world beside.

Go, go;
Lay by thy quiver and unbend thy bow Poore sillie foe,
Thou spend’st thy shafts but at my breast in vain, Since Death
My heart hath with a fatall icie deart Already slain,
Thou canst not ever hope to warme her wound, Or wound it o’re againe.]


Thou witty cruell 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.

Then flye,
And kindle all your torches at her eye, To make me dye
Her martyr, and put on my roabe of flame: So I,
Advanced on my blazing wings on high, In death became
Inthroan’d a starre, and ornament unto Her glorious, glorious name.


Heark, faire one, how what e’re here is Doth laugh and sing at thy distresse;
Not out of hate to thy reliefe,
But joy t’ enjoy thee, though in griefe.

See! that which chaynes you, you chaine here; The prison is thy prisoner;
How much thy jaylor’s keeper art!
He bindes your hands, but you his heart.

The gyves to rase so smooth a skin, Are so unto themselves within;
But, blest to kisse so fayre an arme, Haste to be happy with that harme;

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.

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.

The merry torch burnes with desire
To kindle the eternall fire,
And lightly daunces in thine eyes
To tunes of epithalamies.

The sheet’s ty’d ever to thy wast,
How thankfull to be so imbrac’t!
And see! thy very very bonds
Are bound to thee, to binde such hands.


If teares could wash the ill away,
A pearle for each wet bead I’d pay; But as dew’d corne the fuller growes,
So water’d eyes but swell our woes.

One drop another cals, which still
(Griefe adding fuell) doth distill; Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish,
We need no cherishing to languish.

Coward fate degen’rate man
Like little children uses, when
He whips us first, untill we weepe, Then, ’cause we still a weeping keepe.

Then from thy firme selfe never swerve; Teares fat the griefe that they should sterve; Iron decrees of destinie
Are ner’e wipe’t out with a wet eye.

But this way you may gaine the field, Oppose but sorrow, and ’twill yield;
One gallant thorough-made resolve
Doth starry influence dissolve.

<52.1> Thomas Lovelace. See MEMOIR.


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,<53.2> when<53.3> cats make<53.4> love.

Was ever such a consort seen!
Fourscore and fourteen with forteen? Yet<53.5> sooner they’l 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,<53.6> madam; that’s to have
(‘Tis but a petitioning kinde fate) The organs sent to Bilingsgate,
Where they to that soft murm’ring quire Shall teach<53.7> 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<53.8> to it chaunts or scrapes.
The merry Phaeton oth’ carre
You’l vow makes a melodious jarre;
Sweeter and sweeter whisleth He
To un-anointed<53.9> 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 harangues, to one and all.<53.10>

Ulisses art is now withstood:<53.11>
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<53.12> tone,
Like the thin throat of Philomel,
And the<53.13> smart lute who should excell,
As if her soft cords should begin,
And strive for sweetnes with the pin.<53.14>

Yet can I musick too; but such
As is beyond all voice or<53.15> 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,<53.16>
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<53.17> unison.

Come then, bright cherubin, begin!
My loudest musick is within.
Take all notes with your skillfull eyes; Hearke, if mine do not sympathise!
Sound all my thoughts, and see exprest The tablature<53.18> 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, Not to be reacht with humane eares.

<53.1> “Madam A. L.” is not in MS. copy. “The Lady A. L.” and “Madam A. L.” may very probably be two different persons: for Carew in his Poems (edit. 1651, 8vo. p. 2) has a piece “To A. L.; Persuasions to Love,” and it is possible that the A. L. of Carew, and the A. L. mentioned above, are identical. The following poem is printed in Durfey’s PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, v. 120, but whether it was written by Lovelace, and addressed to the same lady, whom he represents above as requesting him to join her in a song, or whether it was the production of another pen, I cannot at all decide. It is not particularly unlike the style of the author of LUCASTA. At all events, I am not aware that it has been appropriated by anybody else, and as I am reluctant to omit any piece which Lovelace is at all likely to have composed, I give these lines just as I find them in Durfey, where they are set to music:–


“Come, pretty birds, present your lays, And learn to chaunt a goddess praise; Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
Employ’d to serve her deity:
And warble forth, ye virgins nine, Some music to my Valentine.

“Her bosom is love’s paradise,
There is no heav’n but in her eyes; She’s chaster than the turtle-dove,
And fairer than the queen of love: Yet all perfections do combine
To beautifie my Valentine.

“She’s Nature’s choicest cabinet,
Where honour, beauty, worth and wit Are all united in her breast.
The graces claim an interest:
All virtues that are most divine Shine clearest in my Valentine.”

<53.2> Nights–Editor’s MS.

<53.3> Where–Ibid.

<53.4> Do–Ibid.

<53.5> There is here either an interpolation in the printed copy, or an HIATUS in the MS. The latter reads:–

“Yet may I ‘mbrace, sigh, kisse, the rest,” &c.,

thus leaving out a line and a half or upward of the poem, as it is printed in LUCASTA.

<53.6> MS. reads:–“Youre phansie, madam,” omitting “that’s to have.”

<53.7> Original and MS. have REACH.

<53.8> This must refer, I suppose, to the ballad of Queen Dido, which the woman sings as she works. The signification of LOVE-BANG is not easily determined. BANG, in Suffolk, is a term applied to a particular kind of cheese; but I suspect that “love-bang Kate” merely signifies “noisy Kate” here. As to the old ballad of Dido, see Stafford Smith’s MUSICA ANTIQUA, i. 10, ii. 158; and Collier’s EXTRACTS FROM THE REGISTERS OF THE STATIONERS’ COMPANY, i. 98. I subjoin the first stanza of “Dido” as printed in the MUSICA ANTIQUA:–

“Dido was the Carthage Queene,
And lov’d the Troian knight,
That wandring many coasts had seene, And many a dreadfull fight.
As they a-hunting road, a show’r Drove them in a loving bower,
Down to a darksome cave:
Where Aenaeas with his charmes
Lock’t Queene Dido in his armes
And had what he would have.”

A somewhat different version is given in Durfey’s PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, vi. 192-3.


<53.10> This and the three preceding lines are not in MS.

<53.11> Alluding of course to the very familiar legend of Ulysses and the Syrens.

<53.12> A quaver (a well-known musical expression).

<53.13> A–MS.

<53.14> A musical peg.

<53.15> AND–MS.

<53.16> A piece of wire attached to the finger-board of a guitar.

<53.17> Original and MS. read AN.

<53.18> The tablature of Lovelace’s time was the application of letters, of the alphabet or otherwise, to the purpose of expressing the sounds or notes of a composition.


Now fie upon that everlasting life! I dye! She hates! Ah me! It makes me mad;
As if love fir’d his torch at a moist eye, Or with his joyes e’re crown’d the sad. Oh, let me live and shout, when I fall on; Let me ev’n triumph in the first attempt! Loves duellist from conquest ‘s not exempt, When his fair murdresse shall not gain one groan, And he expire ev’n in ovation.

Let me make my approach, when I lye downe With counter-wrought and travers eyes;<54.1>
With peals of confidence batter the towne; Had ever beggar yet the keyes?
No, I will vary stormes with sun and winde; Be rough, and offer calme condition;
March in and pread,<54.2> or starve the garrison.
Let her make sallies hourely: yet I’le find (Though all beat of) shee’s to be undermin’d.

Then may it please your little excellence Of hearts t’ ordaine, by sound of lips, That henceforth none in tears dare love comence (Her thoughts ith’ full, his, in th’ eclipse); On paine of having ‘s launce broke on her bed, That he be branded all free beauties’ slave, And his own hollow eyes be domb’d his grave: Since in your hoast that coward nere was fed, Who to his prostrate ere was prostrated.

<54.1> This seems to be it phrase borrowed by the poet from his military vocabulary. He wishes to express that he had fortified his eyes to resist the glances of his fair opponent.

<54.2> Original reads most unintelligibly and absurdly MARCH IN (AND PRAY’D) OR, &c. TO PREAD is TO PILLAGE.


Tell me, ye subtill judges in loves treasury, Inform me, which hath most inricht mine eye, This diamonds greatnes, or its clarity?

Ye cloudy spark lights, whose vast multitude Of fires are harder to be found then view’d, Waite on this star in her first magnitude.

Calmely or roughly! Ah, she shines too much; That now I lye (her influence is such),
Chrusht with too strong a hand, or soft a touch.

Lovers, beware! a certaine, double harme Waits your proud hopes, her looks al-killing charm Guarded by her as true victorious arme.

Thus with her eyes brave Tamyris spake dread, Which when the kings dull breast not entered, Finding she could not looke, she strook him dead.

<55.1> This word, though generally used in a bad sense by early writers, does not seem to bear in the present case any offensive meaning. The late editors of Nares quote a passage from one of Cowley’s ESSAYS, in which that writer seems to imply by the term merely a fine woman.

<> Since the note at p. 133 was written,
the following description by Aubrey (LIVES, &c., ii. 332), of a picture of the Lady Venetia Digby has fallen under my notice. “Also, at Mr. Rose’s, a jeweller in Henrietta Street, in Covent Garden, is an excellent piece of hers, drawne after she was newly dead. She had a most lovely sweet-turned face, delicate darke browne haire. She had a perfect healthy constitution; strong; good skin; well-proportioned; inclining to a BONA-ROBA.”

I cannot tell, who loves the skeleton Of a poor marmoset; nought but boan, boan; Give me a nakednesse, with her cloath’s on.

Such, whose white-sattin upper coat of skin, Cut upon velvet rich incarnadin,<56.1>
Has yet a body (and of flesh) within.

Sure, it is meant good husbandry<56.2> in men,
Who do incorporate with aery leane, T’ repair their sides, and get their ribb agen.

Hard hap unto that huntsman, that decrees Fat joys for all his swet, when as he sees, After his ‘say,<56.3> nought but his keepers fees.

Then, Love, I beg, when next thou tak’st thy bow, Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go, Passe RASCALL DEARE, strike me the largest doe.<56.4>

<56.1> i.e. Carnation hue, a species of red. As an adjective, the word is peculiarly rare.

<56.2> Management or economy.

<56.3> i.e. Essay.

<56.4> A RASCAL DEER was formerly a well-known term among sportsmen, signifying a lean beast, not worth pursuit. Thus in A C. MERY TALYS (1525), No. 29, we find:–“[they] apoynted thys Welchman to stand still, and forbade him in any wyse to shote at no rascal dere, but to make sure of the greate male, and spare not.” In the new edition of Nares, other and more recent examples of the employment of the term are given. But in the BOOK OF SAINT ALBANS, 1486, RASCAL is used in the signification merely of a beast other than one of “enchace.”

“And where that ye come in playne or in place, I shall you tell whyche ben bestys of enchace. One of them is the bucke: a nother is the doo: The foxe and the marteron: and the wylde roo. And ye shall, my dere chylde, other bestys all, Where so ye theym finde, Rascall ye shall them call.”


Divine Destroyer, pitty me no more, Or else more pitty me;<57.2>
Give me more love, ah, quickly give me more, Or else more cruelty!
For left thus as I am,
My heart is ice and flame;
And languishing thus, I
Can neither live nor dye!

Your glories are eclipst, and hidden in the grave Of this indifferency;
And, Caelia, you can neither altars have, Nor I, a Diety:
They are aspects divine,
That still or smile, or shine,
Or, like th’ offended sky,
Frowne death immediately.

<57.1> Original reads AU.

<57.2> In his poem entitled “Mediocrity in Love rejected,” Carew has a similar sentiment:–

“Give me more Love, or more Disdain, The Torrid, or the Frozen Zone,
Bring equall ease unto my paine; The Temperate affords me none:
Either extreme, of Love, or Hate, Is sweeter than a calme estate.”
Carew’s POEMS, ed. 1651, p. 14.

And so also Stanley (AYRES AND DIALOGUES, set by J. Gamble, 1656, p. 20):–

“So much of absence and delay,
That thus afflicts my memorie.
Why dost thou kill me every day, Yet will not give me leave to die?”


Comanding asker, if it be
Pity that you faine would have,
Then I turne begger unto thee,
And aske the thing that thou dost crave. I will suffice thy hungry need,
So thou wilt but my fancy feed.

In all ill yeares, was<58.1> ever knowne
On so much beauty such a dearth?
Which, in that thrice-bequeathed gowne, Lookes like the Sun eclipst with Earth, Like gold in canvas, or with dirt
Unsoyled Ermins close begirt.

Yet happy he, that can but tast
This whiter skin, who thirsty is!
Fooles dote on sattin<58.2> motions lac’d:
The gods go naked in their blisse. At<58.3> th’ barrell’s head there shines the vine, There only relishes the wine.

There quench my heat, and thou shalt sup Worthy the lips that it must touch,
Nectar from out the starry cup:
I beg thy breath not halfe so much. So both our wants supplied shall be,
You’l give for love, I, charity.

Cheape then are pearle-imbroderies, That not adorne, but cloud<58.4> thy wast;
Thou shalt be cloath’d above all prise, If thou wilt promise me imbrac’t.<58.5>
Wee’l ransack neither chest nor shelfe: Ill cover thee with mine owne selfe.

But, cruel, if thou dost deny
This necessary almes to me,
What soft-soul’d man but with his eye And hand will hence be shut to thee?
Since all must judge you more unkinde: I starve your body, you, my minde.

<58.1> Original reads WA’ST.

<58.2> Satin seems to have been much in vogue about this time as a material for female dress.
“Their glory springs from sattin, Their vanity from feather.”

<58.3> Original has AND.

<58.4> Original reads CLOUDS.

<58.5> i.e. TO BE embraced.


Cord. Distressed pilgrim, whose dark clouded eyes Speak thee a martyr to love’s cruelties, Whither away?
Amor. What pitying voice I hear, Calls back my flying steps?
Cord. Pr’ythee, draw near. Amor. I shall but say, kind swain, what doth become Of a lost heart, ere to Elysium
It wounded walks?
Cord. First, it does freely flye Into the pleasures of a lover’s eye; But, once condemn’d to scorn, it fetter’d lies, An ever-bowing slave to tyrannies.
Amor. I pity its sad fate, since its offence Was but for love. Can<59.1> tears recall it thence?
Cord. O no, such tears, as do for pity call, She proudly scorns, and glories at their fall. Amor. Since neither sighs nor tears, kind shepherd, tell, Will not a kiss prevail?
Cord. Thou may’st as well Court Eccho with a kiss.
Amor. Can no art move
A sacred violence to make her love? Cord. O no! ’tis only Destiny or<59.2> Fate
Fashions our wills either to love or hate. Amor. Then, captive heart, since that no humane spell Hath power to graspe thee his, farewell. Cord.<59.3> Farewell.
Cho. Lost hearts, like lambs drove from their folds by fears, May back return by chance, but not<59.4> by tears.]<59.5>

<59.1> So Cotgrave. Lawes, and after him Singer, read CAN’T.

<59.2> So Cotgrave. Lawes and Singer read AND.

<59.3> Omitted by Lawes and Singer: I follow Cotgrave.

<59.4> So Cotgrave. Lawes printed NE’ER.

<59.5> This is taken from AYRES AND DIALOGUES FOR ONE, TWO, AND THREE VOYCES, By Henry Lawes, 1653-5-8, where it is set to music for two trebles by H. L. It was not included in the posthumous collection of Lovelace’s poems. This dialogue is also found in WITS INTERPRETER, by J. Cotgrave, 1662, 8vo, page 203 (first printed in 1655), and a few improved readings have been adopted from that text.



You, that can haply<60.2> mixe your joyes with cries,
And weave white Ios with black Elegies, Can caroll out a dirge, and in one breath Sing to the tune either of life, or death; You, that can weepe the gladnesse of the spheres, And pen a hymne, in stead of inke, with teares; Here, here your unproportion’d wit let fall, To celebrate this new-borne funerall,
And greete that little greatnesse, which from th’ wombe Dropt both a load to th’ cradle and the tombe.

Bright soule! teach us, to warble with what feet Thy swathing linnen and thy winding sheet, Weepe,<60.3> or shout forth that fonts solemnitie, Which at once christn’d and buried<60.4> thee,
And change our shriller passions with that sound, First told thee into th’ ayre, then to<60.5> the ground.

Ah, wert thou borne for this? only to call The King and Queen guests to your buriall! To bid good night, your day not yet begun, And shew<60.6> a setting, ere a rising sun!

Or wouldst thou have thy life a martyrdom? Dye in the act of thy religion,
Fit, excellently, innocently good,
First sealing it with water, then thy blood? As when on blazing wings a blest man sores, And having past to God through fiery dores, Straight ‘s roab’d with flames, when the same element, Which was his shame, proves now his ornament; Oh, how he hast’ned death, burn’t to be fryed,<60.7>
Kill’d twice with each delay, till deified. So swift hath been thy race, so full of flight, Like him condemn’d, ev’n aged with a night, Cutting all lets with clouds, as if th’ hadst been Like angels plum’d, and borne a Cherubin.

Or, in your journey towards heav’n, say, Tooke you the world a little in your way? Saw’st and dislik’st its vaine pompe, then didst flye Up for eternall glories to the skye?
Like a religious ambitious one,
Aspiredst for the everlasting crowne?

Ah! holy traytour to your brother prince, Rob’d of his birth-right and preheminence! Could you ascend yon’ chaire of state e’re him, And snatch from th’ heire the starry diadem? Making your honours now as much uneven,
As gods on earth are lesse then saints in heav’n.

Triumph! sing triumphs, then! Oh, put on all Your richest lookes, drest for this festivall! Thoughts full of ravisht reverence, with eyes So fixt, as when a saint we canonize;
Clap wings with Seraphins before the throne At this eternall coronation,
And teach your soules new mirth, such as may be Worthy this birth-day to divinity.

But ah! these blast your feasts, the jubilies We send you up are sad, as were our cries, And of true joy we can expresse no more
Thus crown’d, then when we buried thee before.

Princesse in heav’n, forgivenes! whilst we Resigne our office to the HIERARCHY.

<60.1> All historical and genealogical works are deficient in minute information relative to the family of Charles I. Even in Anderson’s ROYAL GENEALOGIES, 1732, and in the folio editions of Rapin and Tindal, these details are overlooked. At page 36 of his DESCENDANTS OF THE STUARTS, 1858, Mr. Townend observes that two of the children of Charles I. died in infancy, and of these the Princesse Katherine, commemorated by Lovelace, was perhaps one. The present verses were originally printed in MUSARUM OXONIENSIUM CHARISTERIA, Oxon. 1638, 4to, from which a few better readings have been obtained. With the exceptions mentioned in the notes, the variations of the earlier text from that found here are merely literal.

<> P. 140. PRINCESSE KATHERINE, BORNE, &C., IN ONE DAY. In Ellis’s ORIGINAL LETTERS, Second Series, iii. 265, is printed a scrap from Harl. MS. 6988, in the handwriting of the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of Charles I., giving a list of the children of that prince by Henrietta Maria, with the dates of their birth. There mention is made of a Princess Katherine, born Jan. 29, 1639. 1639 is, I believe, a slip of the pen for 1637; that is to say, the princess was born on the 29th of January, 1637-8. This discrepancy between the CHARISTERIA and the memorandum in Harl. MS. escaped Sir H. Ellis, who was possibly unaware of the existence of the former. For, unless a mistake is assumed on the part of the writer of the MS., the existence of TWO Princesses Katherine must be granted.

<60.2> This reading from CHARISTERIA, 1638, seems preferable to APTLY, as it stands in the LUCASTA.

<60.3> So the CHARISTERIA. The reading in LUCASTA is MOURNE.

<60.4> In LUCASTA the reading is BURIED, AND CHRIST’NED.

<60.5> This word is omitted in the LUCASTA; it is here supplied from the CHARISTERIA.

<60.6> LUCASTA reads SHOWE’S. SHEW, as printed in CHARISTERIA, is clearly the true word.

<60.7> i.e. freed. FREE and FREED were sometimes formerly pronounced like FRY and FRYED: for Lord North, in his FOREST OF VARIETIES, 1645, has these lines–

“Birds that long have lived free,
Caught and cag’d, but pine and die.”

Here evidently FREE is intended to rhyme with DIE.


Pray, ladies, breath, awhile lay by
Caelestial Sydney’s ARCADY;<61.2>
Heere’s a story that doth claime
A little respite from his flame:
Then with a quick dissolving looke
Unfold the smoothnes of this book,
To which no art (except your sight) Can reach a worthy epithite;
‘Tis an abstract of all volumes,
A pillaster of all columnes
Fancy e’re rear’d to wit, to be
The smallest gods epitome,
And so compactedly expresse
All lovers pleasing wretchednes.

Gallant Pamela’s<61.3> majesty
And her sweet sisters modesty
Are fixt in each of you; you are,
Distinct, what these together were; Divinest, that are really
What Cariclea’s<61.4> feign’d to be;
That are ev’ry one the Nine,
And brighter here Astreas shine;