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University of Virginia Library

Lucasta

Epodes, Odes, Sonnets, Songs, &c. To which is added Aramantha, A Pastorall. By Richard Lovelace

Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658)

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THE DEDICATION. To the Right Honourable, my Lady ANNE LOVELACE.

To my best Brother on his Poems, called Lucasta.

To my much loved friend, Richard Lovelace Esq.

To my Noble and most ingenious Friend, Col. Richard Lovelace, upon his LUCASTA.

Another, upon the POEMS.

To his much honoured Friend Mr. Richard Lovelace, on his Poems.

[The world shall now no longer mourne, nor vex]

To his Noble Friend Mr. Richard Lovelace, upon his POEMS.

To Colonel RICHARD LOVELACE, on the publishing of his ingenious Poems.

To the Honorable, Valiant, and Ingenious Colonel Richard Lovelace, on his Exquisite POEMS.

To his Honoured and Ingenious Friend Col. Richard Lovelace, on his LUCASTA.

To my Deare Brother, Colonel Richard Lovelace.

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Song. To Lucasta,

Song. To Lucasta,

Song. To Amarantha,

Ode. To Lucasta.

Gratiana dauncing and singing.

Princesse Loysa drawing.

Princesse Katherine borne, christened, buried in one day.

Love Conquer'd.

A loose Saraband.

A forsaken Lady to her false Servant that is disdained by his new Mistris.

Orpheus to Beasts.

Orpheus to Woods.

The Grasse-hopper.

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Dialogue. Lucasta, Alexis.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

Lucasta Weeping.

The Vintage to the Dungeon.

On the Death of Mrs. Elizabeth Filmer.

To Lucasta. From Prison.

Lucasta's Fanne,

Lucasta, taking the waters at Tunbridge.

To my Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly:

To Fletcher reviv'd.

A Prologue to the Scholars.

Clitophon and Lucippe translated.

To my truely valiant, learned Friend, who in his booke resolv'd the Art Gladiatory into the Mathematick's.

Amyntor's Grove, His Chloris, Arico, and Gratiana,

Against the Love of Great Ones.

Lucasta paying her Obsequies to the Chast memory of my dearest Cosin Mrs. Bowes Barne.

To Althea, From Prison.

Being treated To Ellinda.

Sonnet. To Generall Goring, after the pacification at Berwicke.

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Sir Thomas Wortley's, Sonnet Answered.

Sir Thomas Wortley's, Sonnet Answered.

A Guiltlesse Lady imprisoned; after penanced.

Upon the Curtaine of Lucasta's Picture, it was thus wrought.

To his Deare Brother Colonel F. L. immoderately mourning my Brothers untimely Death at Carmarthen.

On the Death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, only Sister to Mr C. Cotton.

Lucasta's World.

To a Lady that desired me I would beare my part with her in a Song.

The Apostacy of one, and but one Lady.

La Bella Bona Roba.

[I cannot tell who loves the Skeleton]

The faire Begger.

To Ellinda. Vpon his late recovery.

Amyntor from beyond the Sea to Alexis.

A Lady with a Falcon on her fist.

Calling Lucasta from her Retirement.

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The Grasse-hopper.

Ode.

To my Noble Friend, Mr. Charles Cottgn.

I

Oh thou that swing'st upon the waving haire
Of some well-filled Oaten Beard,
Drunke ev'ry night with a Delicious teare
Dropt thee from Heav'n, where now th'art reard.

II

The Joyes of Earth and Ayre are thine intire,
That with thy feet and wings dost hop and flye;
And when thy Poppy workes thou dost retire
To thy Carv'd Acron-bed to lye.

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III

Up with the Day, the Sun thou welcomst then,
Sportst in the guilt-plats of his Beames,
And all these merry dayes mak'st merry men,
Thy selfe, and Melancholy streames.

IV

But ah the Sickle! Golden Eares are Cropt;
Ceres and Bacchus bid good night;
Sharpe frosty fingers all your Flowr's have topt,
And what sithes spar'd, Winds shave off quite.

V

Poore verdant foole! and now green Ice, thy Joys
Large and as lasting, as thy Peirch of Grasse,
Bid us lay in 'gainst Winter, Raine, and poize
Their flouds, with an o'reflowing glasse.

VI

Thou best of Men and Friends! we will create
A Genuine Summer in each others breast;
And spite of this cold Time and frosen Fate
Thaw us a warme seate to our rest.

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VII

Our sacred harthes shall burne eternally
As Vestall Flames, the North-wind, he
Shall strike his frost-stretch'd Winges, dissolve and flye
This Ætna in Epitome.

VIII

Dropping December shall come weeping in,
Bewayle th'usurping of his Raigne;
But when in show'rs of old Greeke we beginne
Shall crie, he hath his Crowne againe!

IX

Night as cleare Hesper shall our Tapers whip
From the light Casements where we play,
And the darke Hagge from her black mantle strip,
And sticke there everlasting Day.

X

Thus richer then untempted Kings are we,
That asking nothing, nothing need:
Though Lord of all what Seas imbrace; yet he
That wants himselfe, is poore indeed.