To Lucasta, Her Reserved Looks

Lucasta, frown, and let me die,
But smile, and see, I live;
The sad indifference of your eye
Both kills and doth reprieve.
You hide our fate within its screen;
We feel our judgment, ere we hear.
So in one picture I have seen
An angel here, the devil there.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Upon the Curtain of Lucasta'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.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Oreheus To Woods

Heark! Oh heark! you guilty trees,
In whose gloomy galleries
Was the cruell'st murder done,
That e're yet eclipst the sunne.
Be then henceforth in your twigges
Blasted, e're you sprout to sprigges;
Feele no season of the yeere,
But what shaves off all your haire,
Nor carve any from your wombes
Ought but coffins and their tombes.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Dr. F. B[eale]; On His Book Of Chesse.

Sir, how unravell'd is the golden fleece:
Men, that could only fool at FOX AND GEESE,
Are new-made polititians by thy book,
And both can judge and conquer with a look.
The hidden fate of princes you unfold;
Court, clergy, commons, by your law control'd.
Strange, serious wantoning all that they
Bluster'd and clutter'd for, you PLAY.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Oreheus To Beasts

I.
Here, here, oh here! EURIDICE,
Here was she slaine;
Her soule 'still'd through a veine:
The gods knew lesse
That time divinitie,
Then ev'n, ev'n these
Of brutishnesse.

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.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta, Going To The Wars

Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee (Dear) so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Courante Monsieur

That frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd
Thy bright front's pow'r, and crown'd
Me that was bound.
No, no, deceived cruel, no!
Love's fiery darts,
Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts.

Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see!
Thy angry flames meant me,
Retort on thee:
For know, it is decreed, proud fair,
I ne'r must dye
By any scorching, but a melting, eye.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta

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.

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.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta, I Laugh and Sing

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.

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.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Mar. Lib. Iv. Ep. 33.

MAR. LIB. IV. EP. 33.

Et latet et lucet, Phaetontide condita gutta
Ut videatur apis nectare clausa suo.
Sic modo, quae fuerat vita contempta manente,
Funeribus facta est jam preciosa suis.

IN ENGLISH.

Both lurks and shines, hid in an amber tear,
The bee, in her own nectar prisoner;
So she, who in her life time was contemn'd,
Ev'n in her very funerals is gemm'd.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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