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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.

On the POEMS.

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.

Gratiana dauncing and singing.

The Scrutinie.

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.

Dialogue. Lucasta, Alexis.

II.

III.

IV.

To Ellinda,

Sonnet.

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 Lucasta.

To my Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly:

Elinda's Glove

To Fletcher reviv'd.

The Lady A. L.

A Prologue to the Scholars.

The Epilogue.

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.

Sir Thomas Wortley's, Sonnet Answered.

The Sonnet.

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.

Valiant Love.

The Apostacy of one, and but one Lady.

La Bella Bona Roba.

[I cannot tell who loves the Skeleton]

A La Bourbon.

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.

Aramantha.

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To Lucasta. From Prison.

An Epode.

I

Long in thy Shackels, liberty,
I ask not from these walls, but thee;
Left for a while anothers Bride
To fancy all the world beside.

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'ry where,
Ev'n He disdaines a Lodging here.

V

Thee and thy wounds I would be moane
Faire thorough-shot Religion;
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:

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,
For she that couzens all, must me.

XI

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;
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 thy 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.