The Mad Lover :: :: University of Virginia Library

How have I been Religious? what strange Good
Ha's scap't me that I never understood?
Have I Hell-guarded Hæresie o'rethrowne?
Heald wounded States? made Kings and Kingdomes one?
That Fate should be so mercifull to me,
To let me live t'have said I have read thee.

Faire Star ascend! the Ioy! the Life! the Light
Of this tempestuous Age, this darke worlds sight!
Oh from thy Crowne of Glory dart one flame
May strike a sacred Reverence, whilest thy Name
(Like holy Flamens to their God of Day)
We bowing, sing; and whilst we praise, we pray.

Bright Spirit! whose Æternall motion
Of Wit, like Time, still in it selfe did runne;
Binding all others in it, and did give
Commission, how far this, or that shall live:
Like Destinie of Poems, who, as she
Signes death to all, her selfe can never dye.

And now thy purple-robed Tragoedie,
In her imbroider'd Buskins, calls mine eye,

Valentinian

Where brave Aëtius we see betray'd,
T'obey his Death, whom thousand lives obey'd;
Whilst that the Mighty Foole his Scepter breakes,
And through his Gen'rals wounds his owne doome speaks,
Weaving thus richly Valentinian
The costliest Monarch with the cheapest man.

Souldiers may here to their old glories adde,

The Mad Lover.

The Lover love, and be with reason mad:
Not as of old, Alcides furious,
VVho wilder then his Bull did teare the house,
(Hurling his Language with the Canvas stone)
'Twas thought the Monster roar'd the sob'rer Tone.

Tragi-comedies.

But ah, when thou thy sorrow didst inspire
VVith Passions, blacke as is her darke attire,

Virgins as Sufferers have wept to see

Arcas. Bellario.

So white a Soule, so red a Crueltie;
That thou hast griev'd, and with unthought redresse,
Dri'd their wet eyes who now thy mercy blesse;
Yet loth to lose thy watry jewell, when
Ioy wip't it off, Laughter straight sprung't agen.

Now ruddy cheeked Mirth with Rosie wings,

Comedies. The Spanish Curate. The Humorous Lieutenant. The Tamer Tam'd. The little French Lawyer.

Fanns ev'ry brow with gladnesse, whilest she sings
Delight to all, and the whole Theatre
A Festivall in Heaven doth appeare:
Nothing but Pleasure, Love, and (like the Morne)
Each face a generall smiling doth adorne.

Heare ye foule Speakers, that pronounce the Aire
Of Stewes and Shores, I will informe you where
And how to cloathe aright your wanton wit,
Without her nasty Bawd attending it.
View here a loose thought said with such a grace,

The custom of the Countrey.

Minerva might have spoke in Venus face;
So well disguis'd, that t'was conceiv'd by none
But Cupid had Diana's linnen on;
And all his naked parts so vail'd, th'expresse
The Shape with clowding the uncomlinesse;
That if this Reformation which we
Receiv'd, had not been buried with thee,
The Stage (as this work) might have liv'd and lov'd;
Her Lines; the austere Skarlet had approv'd,
And th'Actors wisely been from that offence
As cleare, as they are now from Audience.

Thus with thy Genius did the Scæne expire,
Wanting thy Active and inliv'ning fire,
That now (to spread a darknesse over all,)
Nothing remaines but Poesie to fall.
And though from these thy Embers we receive
Some warmth, so much as may be said, we live,
That we dare praise thee, blushlesse, in the head
Of the best piece Hermes to Love e're read,
That We rejoyce and glory in thy Wit,
And feast each other with remembring it,
That we dare speak thy thought, thy Acts recite:
Yet all men henceforth be afraid to write.

Rich. Lovelace.