EARE Lovelace, I am now about to prove
I cannot write a verse, but can write love.
On such a subject as thy booke I coo'd
Write books much greater, but not half so good.
But as the humble tenant, that does bring
A chicke or egges for's offering,
Is tane into the buttry, and does fox
Equall with him that gave a stalled oxe:
So (since the heart of ev'ry cheerfull giver
Makes pounds no more accepted than a stiver),
Though som thy prayse in rich stiles sing, I may
In stiver-stile write love as well as they.
I write so well that I no criticks feare;
For who'le read mine, when as thy booke's so neer,
Vnlesse thy selfe? then you shall secure mine
From those, and Ile engage my selfe for thine.
They'l do't themselves; the this allay you'l take,
I love thy book, and yet not for thy sake.
TO MY NOBLE AND MOST INGENIOUS FRIEND
COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE
UPON HIS "LUCASTA”
O from the pregnant braine of Jove did rise
the eyes,
Pallas, queene of wit and beautious
As faire Lucasta from thy temples flowes,
Temples no lesse ingenious then Joves.
Alike in birth, so shall she be in fame,
And be immortall to preserve thy Name.
W, when the wars augment our woes and fears,
And the shrill noise of drums oppresse our ears;
Now peace and safety from our shores are fled
To holes and cavernes to secure their head;
Now all the graces from the land are sent,
And the nine Muses suffer banishment;
Whence spring these raptures? whence this heavenly rime,
So calme and even in so harsh a time?
Well might that charmer his faire Calia crowne,
And that more polish't Tyterus renowne
His Sacarissa, when in groves and bowres
They could repose their limbs on beds of flowrs:
When wit had prayse, and merit had reward,
And every noble spirit did accord
To love the Muses, and their priests to raise,
And interpale their browes with flourishing bayes;
But in a time distracted so to sing,
When peace is hurried hence on rages wing,
When the fresh bayes are from the Temple torne,
And every art and science made a scorne;
Then to raise up, by musicke of thy art,
Our drooping spirits and our grieved hearts;
Then to delight our souls, and to inspire
Our breast with pleasure from thy charming lyre;
Then to divert our sorrowes by thy straines,
Making us quite forget our seven yeers paines
In the past wars, unlesse that Orpheus be
A sharer in thy glory: for when he
Descended downe for his Euridice,
He stroke his lute with like admired art,
And made the damned to forget their smart.
Ψεύδεται ὅστις ἔφη· δολιχος χρόνος οἶδεν ἀμείβεν
Οὔνομα, καὶ πάντων μνημοσύνην ὀλέσαι.
Ὠδὴν γὰρ ποιεῖν ἀγαθὴν πόνος ἄφθονός ἐστι,
Ον μηδεὶς αἰὼν οἶδεν ὁδοῦσι φαγεῖν.
Ὠδὴν σοί, φίλε, δῶκε μὲν ἄφθιτον, ὤγαθε, μοῦσα,
Ὡς εἰς αἰῶνας οὔνομα Με τέον.
VILLIERS HARINGTON, L. C.
TO HIS MUCH HONOURED FRIEND
E that doth paint the beauties of your verse, Must use your pensil, be polite, soft, terse; Forgive that man whose best of art is love, If he no equall master to you prove. My heart is all my eloquence, and that Speaks sharp affection, when my words fall flat; I reade you like my mistresse, and discry In every line the quicknesse of her eye: Her smoothnesse in each syllable, her grace To marshall ev'ry word in the right place. It is the excellence and soule of wit,
When ev'ry thing is free as well as fit:
For metaphors packt up and crowded close
Swath ye minds sweetnes, and display the throws,
And, like those chickens hatcht in furnaces,
Produce or one limbe more, or one limbe lesse
Then nature bids. Survey such when they write,
No clause but's justl'd with an epithite.
So powerfully you draw when you perswade,
Passions in you in us are vertues made;
Such is the magick of that law full shell
That where it doth but talke, it doth compell:
For no Apelles 'till this time e're drew
A Venus to the waste so well as you.
HE world shall now no longer mourne nor vex
TH
For the obliquity of a cross-grain'd sex;
Nor beauty swell above her bankes, (and made
For ornament) the universe invade
So fiercely, that 'tis question'd in our bookes,
Whether kils most the Amazon's sword or lookes.
Lucasta in loves game discreetly makes
Women and men joyntly to share the stakes,
And lets us know, when women scorne, it is
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