Epodes, Odes, Sonnets,Songs, &c.
Aramantha,aPASTORALL.
BYRICHARD LOVELACE,Esq.
LONDON,Printed by Tho. Harper, and are to be soldby Tho. Evvster, at the Gun, inIvie Lane. 1649.
TO THE RIGHT HON. MY LADY ANNE LOVELACE.<3.1>
To the richest TreasuryThat e'er fill'd ambitious eye;To the faire bright MagazinHath impoverisht Love's Queen;To th' Exchequer of all honour(All take pensions but from her);To the taper of the thoreWhich the god himselfe but bore;To the Sea of Chaste Delight;Let me cast the Drop I write.And as at Loretto's shrineCaesar shovels in his mine,Th' Empres spreads her carkanets,The lords submit their coronets,Knights their chased armes hang by,Maids diamond-ruby fancies tye;Whilst from the pilgrim she wearsOne poore false pearl, but ten true tears:So among the Orient prize,(Saphyr-onyx eulogies)Offer'd up unto your fame,Take my GARNET-DUBLET name,And vouchsafe 'midst those rich joyes(With devotion) these TOYES.Richard Lovelace.
<3.1> This lady was the wife of the unfortunate John, second Lord Lovelace, who suffered so severely for his attachment to the King's cause, and daughter to the equally unfortunate Thomas, Earl of Cleveland, who was equally devoted to his sovereign, and whose estates were ordered by the Parliament to be sold, July 26, 1650. See PARLIAMENTS AND COUNCILS OF ENGLAND, 1839, p. 507.
Now y' have oblieg'd the age, thy wel known worthIs to our joy auspiciously brought forth.Good morrow to thy son, thy first borne flameWhich, as thou gav'st it birth, stamps it a name,That Fate and a discerning age shall setThe chiefest jewell in her coronet.
Why then needs all this paines, those season'd pens,That standing lifeguard to a booke (kinde friends),That with officious care thus guard thy gate,As if thy Child were illigitimate?Forgive their freedome, since unto their praiseThey write to give, not to dispute thy bayes.
As when some glorious queen, whose pregnant wombeBrings forth a kingdome with her first-borne Sonne,Marke but the subjects joyfull hearts and eyes:Some offer gold, and others sacrifice;This slayes a lambe, that, not so rich as hee,Brings but a dove, this but a bended knee;And though their giftes be various, yet their senceSpeaks only this one thought, Long live the prince.
So, my best brother, if unto your nameI offer up a thin blew-burning flame,Pardon my love, since none can make thee shine,Vnlesse they kindle first their torch at thine.Then as inspir'd, they boldly write, nay that,Which their amazed lights but twinkl'd at,And their illustrate thoughts doe voice this right,Lucasta held their torch; thou gav'st it light.Francis Lovelace, Col.
En puer Idalius tremulis circumvolat alis,Quem prope sedentem<4.1> castior<4.2> uret amor.Lampada sic videas circumvolitare Pyrausta,<4.3>Cui contingenti est flamma futura rogus.Ergo procul fugias, Lector, cui nulla placebuntCarmina, ni fuerint turpia, spurca, nigra.Sacrificus Romae lustralem venditat undam:Castior est illa Castalis unda mihi:Limpida, et <
<4.1> Old ed. SIDENTEM.
<4.2> Old ed. CARTIOR.
<4.3> See Scheller's LEX. TOT. LAT. voce PYRAUSTA and PYRALIS
How humble is thy muse (Deare) that can daignSuch servants as my pen to entertaine!When all the sonnes of wit glory to beClad in thy muses gallant livery.I shall disgrace my master, prove a staine,And no addition to his honour'd traine;Though all that read me will presume to swearI neer read thee: yet if it may appear,I love the writer and admire the writ,I my owne want betray, not wrong thy wit.Did thy worke want a prayse, my barren brainCould not afford it: my attempt were vaine.It needs no foyle: All that ere writ before,Are foyles to thy faire Poems, and no more.Then to be lodg'd in the same sheets with thine,May prove disgrace to yours, but grace to mine.Norris Jephson, Col.
TO MY MUCH LOVED FRIEND, RICHARD LOVELACE Esq.
Deare Lovelace, I am now about to proveI cannot write a verse, but can write love.On such a subject as thy booke I coo'dWrite books much greater, but not half so good.But as the humble tenant, that does bringA chicke or egges for's offering,Is tane into the buttry, and does fox<5.1>Equall with him that gave a stalled oxe:So (since the heart of ev'ry cheerfull giverMakes pounds no more accepted than a stiver),<5.2>Though som thy prayse in rich stiles sing, I mayIn 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 mineFrom those, and Ile engage my selfe for thine.They'l do't themselves;
<5.1> TO FOX usually means to intoxicate. To fox oneself is TO GET DRUNK, and to fox a person is TO MAKE HIM DRUNK. The word in this sense belongs to the cant vocabulary. But in the present case, fox merely signifies TO FARE or TO FEAST.
<5.2> A Dutch penny. It is very likely that this individual had served with the poet in Holland.
<5.3> Three members of this family, or at least three persons of this name, probably related, figure in the history of the present period, viz., Colonel John Jephson, apparently a military associate of Lovelace; Norris Jephson, who contributed a copy of verses to LUCASTA, and to the first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's plays, 1647; and William Jephson, whose name occurs among the subscribers to the SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT, 1643.
So from the pregnant braine of Jove did risePallas, the queene of wit and beautious eyes,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.
Now, 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 fledTo 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 Caelia<6.1> crowne,And that more polish't Tyterus<6.2> renowneHis Sacarissa, when in groves and bowresThey could repose their limbs on beds of flowrs:When wit had prayse, and merit had reward,And every noble spirit did accordTo 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<6.3> 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 inspireOur breast with pleasure from thy charming lyre;Then to divert our sorrowes by thy straines,Making us quite forget our seven yeers painesIn the past wars, unlesse that Orpheus beA sharer in thy glory: for when heDescended downe for his Euridice,He stroke his lute with like admired art,And made the damned to forget their smart.John Pinchbacke, Col<
<6.1> Many poets have celebrated the charms of a CAELIA; but I apprehend that the writer here intends Carew.
<6.2> Waller.
<6.3> Original has IS.
<
< Pseudetai hostis ephe-dolichos chronos oiden ameibenOunoma, kai panton mnemosynen olesai.Oden gar poiein agathen ponos aphthonos esti,Hon medeis aion oiden odousi phagein.Oden soi, phile, doke men aphthiton, ogathe, mousa,Hos eis aionas ounoma ee teon.>>Villiers Harington, L.C. He 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 thatSpeaks sharp affection, when my words fall flat;I reade you like my mistresse, and discryIn every line the quicknesse of her eye:Her smoothnesse in each syllable, her graceTo 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 closeSwath <7.1> Only son of Sir Benjamin Rudyerd, Kt., known as a poet
and a friend of poets, and as a warm advocate of Episcopacy.
See MEMOIRS OF SIR B. R., edited by Manning, 1841, 8vo, p. 257. The world shall now no longer mourne nor vexFor th' obliquity of a cross-grain'd sex;Nor beauty swell above her bankes, (and madeFor ornament) the universe invadeSo fiercely, that 'tis question'd in our bookes,Whether kils most the Amazon's sword or lookes.Lucasta in loves game discreetly makesWomen and men joyntly to share the stakes,And lets us know, when women scorne, it isMens hot love makes the antiparisthesis;And a lay lover here such comfort findsAs Holy Writ gives to affected minds.The wilder nymphs, lov's power could not comand,Are by thy almighty numbers brought to hand,And flying Daphnes, caught, amazed vowThey never heard Apollo court till now.'Tis not by force of armes this feat is done,For that would puzzle even the Knight o' th' Sun;<8.1>But 'tis by pow'r of art, and such a wayAs Orpheus us'd, when he made fiends obay.J. Needler, Hosp. Grayensis. <8.1> A celebrated romance, very frequently referred to by our
old writers. Sir Thomas Overbury, in his CHARACTERS, represents
a chambermaid as carried away by the perusal of it into the realms
of romance, insomuch that she can barely refrain from forsaking
her occupation, and turning lady-errant. The book is better known
under the title of THE MIRROR OF PRINCELY DEEDES AND KNIGHTHOOD,
wherein is shewed the worthinesse of the Knight of the Sunne, &c.
It consists of nine parts, which appear to have been published
at intervals between 1585 and 1601. SIR,Ovr times are much degenerate from those,Which your sweet Muse, which your fair fortune chose;And as complexions alter with the climes,Our wits have drawne th' infection of our times.That candid age no other way could tellTo be ingenious, but by speaking well.Who best could prayse, had then the greatest prayse;'Twas more esteemd to give then wear the bayes.Modest ambition studi'd only thenTo honour not her selfe, but worthy men.These vertues now are banisht out of towne,Our Civill Wars have lost the civicke crowne.He highest builds, who with most art destroys,And against others fame his owne employs.I see the envious caterpillar sitOn the faire blossome of each growing wit.The ayre's already tainted with the swarmsOf insects, which against you rise in arms.Word-peckers, paper-rats, book-scorpions,Of wit corrupted the unfashion'd sons.The barbed censurers begin to lookeLike the grim Consistory on thy booke;And on each line cast a reforming eyeSeverer then the yong presbytery.Till, when in vaine they have thee all perus'd,You shall for being faultlesse be accus'd.Some reading your LUCASTA will alledgeYou wrong'd in her the Houses priviledge;Some that you under sequestration are,Because you write when going to the Warre;And one the book prohibits, because KentTheir first Petition by the Authour sent.But when the beauteous ladies came to know,That their deare Lovelace was endanger'd so:Lovelace, that thaw'd the most congealed brest,He who lov'd best, and them defended best,Whose hand so rudely grasps the steely brand,Whose hand so gently melts the ladies hand,They all in mutiny, though yet undrest,Sally'd, and would in his defence contest.And one, the loveliest that was yet e're seen,Thinking that I too of the rout had been,Mine eyes invaded with a female spight(She knew what pain 't would be to lose that sight).O no, mistake not, I reply'd: for IIn your defence, or in his cause, would dy.But he, secure of glory and of time,Above their envy or mine aid doth clime.Him valianst men and fairest nymphs approve,His booke in them finds judgement, with you, love.Andr. Marvell If the desire of glory speak a mindMore nobly operative and more refin'd,What vast soule moves thee, or what hero's spirit(Kept in'ts traduction pure) dost thou inherit,That, not contented with one single fame,Dost to a double glory spread thy name,And on thy happy temples safely setBoth th' Delphick wreath and civic coronet?Was't not enough for us to know how farThou couldst in season suffer, act and dareBut we must also witnesse, with what heightAnd what Ionick sweetnesse thou canst write,And melt those eager passions, that areStubborn enough t' enrage the god of warInto a noble love, which may expire<9.1>In an illustrious pyramid of fire;Which, having gained his due station, mayFix there, and everlasting flames display.This is the braver path: time soone can smotherThe dear-bought spoils and tropheis of the other.How many fiery heroes have there been,Whose triumphs were as soone forgot as seen?Because they wanted some diviner oneTo rescue <9.1> Original has ASPIRE. <9.2> The precocious author of HORAE VACIVAE, 1646, and
of a volume of poems which was printed in the same year.
In the LUCASTA are some complimentary lines by Lovelace
on Hall's translation of the commentary of Hierocles on
the Golden Verses of Pythagoras, 1657. Poets and painters have some near relation,Compar'd with fancy and imagination;The one paints shadowed persons (in pure kind),The other paints the pictures of the mindIn purer verse. And as rare Zeuxes fameShin'd, till Apelles art eclips'd the sameBy a more exquisite and curious lineIn Zeuxeses (with pensill far more fine),So have our modern poets late done well,Till thine appear'd (which scarce have paralel).They like to Zeuxes grapes beguile the sense,But thine do ravish the intelligence,Like the rare banquet of Apelles, drawn,And covered over with most curious lawn.Thus if thy careles draughts are cal'd the best,What would thy lines have beene, had'st thou profestThat faculty (infus'd) of poetry,Which adds such honour unto thy chivalry?Doubtles thy verse had all as far transcendedAs Sydneyes Prose, who Poets once defended.For when I read thy much renowned pen,My fancy there finds out another BenIn thy brave language, judgement, wit, and art,Of every piece of thine, in every part:Where thy seraphique Sydneyan fire is raised highIn valour, vertue, love, and loyalty.Virgil was styl'd the loftiest of all,Ovid the smoothest and most naturall;Martiall concise and witty, quaint and pure,Iuvenall grave and learned, though obscure.But all these rare ones which I heere reherse,Do live againe in Thee, and in thy Verse:Although not in the language of their time,Yet in a speech as copious and sublime.The rare Apelles in thy picture weePerceive, and in thy soule Apollo see.Wel may each Grace and Muse then crown thy praiseWith Mars his banner and Minerva's bayes.Fra. Lenton.<10.1> <10.1> The author of the YOUNG GALLANT'S WHIRLIGIGG, 1629,
and other poetical works. Singer does not give these lines.
In the WHIRLIGIG there is a curious picture of a young gallant
of the time of Charles I., to which Lovelace might have sat,
had he been old enough at the time. But Lenton had no want
of sitters for his portrait. Chast as Creation meant us, and more brightThen the first day in 's uneclipsed light,Is thy LUCASTA; and thou offerest heereLines to her name as undefil'd and cleere;Such as the first indeed more happy dayes(When vertue, wit, and learning wore the bayesNow vice assumes) would to her memory give:A Vestall flame that should for ever live,Plac't in a christal temple, rear'd to beThe Embleme of her thoughts integrity;And on the porch thy name insculpt, my friend,Whose love, like to the flame, can know no end.The marble step that to the alter bringsThe hallowed priests with their clean offerings,Shall hold their names that humbly crave to beVotaries to th' shrine, and grateful friends to thee.So shal we live (although our offrings proveMeane to the world) for ever by thy love.Tho. Rawlins.<11.1> <11.1> A well known dramatist and poet. These lines are not
in Singer's reprint. Ile doe my nothing too, and tryTo dabble to thy memory.Not that I offer to thy nameEncomiums of thy lasting fame.Those by the landed have been writ:Mine's but a yonger-brother wit;A wit that's hudled up in scarres,Borne like my rough selfe in the warres;And as a Squire in the fightServes only to attend the Knight,So 'tis my glory in this field,Where others act, to beare thy shield.Dudley Lovelace, Capt.<12.1> <12.1> The youngest brother of the poet. Besides the present
lines, and some to be found in the posthumous volume, of which
he was the editor, this gentleman contributed the following
commendatory poem to AYRES AND DIALOGUES [by Thomas Stanley Esq.]
set by John Gamble, 1656. The verses themselves have little merit;
and the only object which I had in introducing them, was to add
to the completeness of the present edition:— I.Enough, enough of orbs and spheres,Reach me a trumpet or a drum,To sound sharp synnets in your ears,And beat a deep encomium. II.I know not th' Eight Intelligence:Those that do understand it, prayLet them step hither, and from thenceSpeak what they all do sing or say: III.Nor what your diapasons are,Your sympathies and symphonies;To me they seem as distant farreAs whence they take their infant rise. IV.But I've a grateful heart can ringA peale of ordnance to your praise,And volleys of small plaudits bringTo clowd a crown about your baies. V.Though laurel is thought thunder free,That storms and lightning disallows,Yet Caesar thorough fire and seaSnatches her to twist his conquering brows. VI.And now me thinks like him you standI' th' head of all the Poets' hoast,Whilest with your words you do command,They silent do their duty boast. VII.Which done, the army ecchoes o're,Like Gamble Ios one and all,And in their various notes implore,Long live our noble Generall.Dudley Posthumus Lovelace. DE DOMINO RICHARDO LOVELACIO,ARMIGERO ET CHILIARCHA,<13.1> VIRO INCOMPARABILI. Ecce tibi, heroi claris natalibus orto;<13.2>Cujus honoratos Cantia vidit avos.Cujus adhuc memorat rediviva Batavia patrem,Inter et Herculeos enumerare solet.Qui tua Grollaferox, laceratus vulnere multo,Fulmineis vidit moenia Pacta globis.Et cum saeva tuas fudisset Iberia turmas,Afflatu pyrii pulveris ictus obit.Haec sint magna: tamen major majoribus hic est,Nititur et pennis altius ire novis.Sermonem patrium callentem et murmura Celtae,Non piguit linguas edidicisse duas.Quicquid Roma vetus, vel quicquid Graecia jactat,Musarum nutrix alma Calena dedit.Gnaviter Hesperios compressit Marte cachinnos,Devictasque dedit Cantaber ipse manus.Non evitavit validos Dunkerka lacertos,Non intercludens alta Lacuna vias,Et scribenda gerens vivaci marmore digna,Scribere Caesareo more vel ipse potest.Cui gladium Bellona dedit, calamumque Minerva,Et geminae Laurus circuit umbra comam.Cujus si faciem spectes vultusque decorem,Vix puer Idalius gratior ore fuit. <13.1> Strictly speaking, the officer in command of a thousand men,
from the Greek < <13.2> I have amended the text of these lines, which in the
original is very corrupt. I suppose that the compositor was
left to himself, as usual. Herrico succede meo: dedit ille prioraCarmina, carminibus non meliora tuis.<14.1> <14.1> Herrick's HESPERIDES had appeared in 1648. < Aoulakios pollaplasios philos estin emeio.Tounoma esti philos, kai to noema philos.Kai phylon antiphylo megaloisin agaklyton ergois:Tes aretes cheiros kai phrenos anchinoos.Hos neos en tytthais pinytos selidessin ethekePoieton ekaston chromat epagromenos.Phrouron Mousaon, pokinon essena Melisson,En Charitessi charin, kai Meleessi meli.>>Scripsit Jo. Harmarus,Oxoniensis, C. W. M.<15.1> <15.1> A celebrated scholar and philologist. An account of him
will be found in Bliss's edition of Wood's ATHENAE. He published
an Elegy on St. Alban the Protomartyr and an Apology for Archbishop
Williams, and edited Scapula. These lines are omitted by Singer. SONG.SET BY MR. HENRY LAWES.<16.1>TO LUCASTA. GOING BEYOND THE SEAS. I.If to be absent were to beAway from thee;Or that when I am gone,You or I were alone;Then my LUCASTA might I cravePity from blustring winde or swallowing wave. II.But I'le not sigh one blast or galeTo swell my saile,Or pay a teare to swageThe foaming blew-gods rage;For whether he will let me passeOr no, I'm still as happy as I was. III.Though seas and land betwixt us both,Our faith and troth,Like separated soules,All time and space controules:Above the highest sphere wee meet,Unseene, unknowne, and greet as angels greet IV.So then we doe anticipateOur after-fate,And are alive i'th' skies,If thus our lips and eyesCan speake like spirits unconfin'dIn Heav'n, their earthy bodies left behind. <16.1> Of Henry and William Lawes an account may be found in Burney
and Hawkins. Although the former (H. Lawes) set many of Lovelace's
pieces to music, only two occur in the AYRES AND DIALOGUES FOR ONE,
TWO, AND THREE VOYCES, 1653-55-8, folio. I.Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,That from the nunnerieOf thy chaste breast and quiet mindeTo warre and armes I flie. II.True: a new Mistresse now I chase,The first foe in the field;And with a stronger faith imbraceA sword, a horse, a shield. III.Yet this inconstancy is such,As you too shall adore;I could not love thee, dear, so much,Lov'd I not Honour more. I.Tis true the beauteous Starre<17.1>To which I first did bowBurnt quicker, brighter far,Than that which leads me now;Which shines with more delight,For gazing on that lightSo long, neere lost my sight. II.Through foul we follow faire,For had the world one face,And earth been bright as ayre,We had knowne neither place.Indians smell not their neast;A Swisse or Finne tastes bestThe spices of the East.<17.2> III.So from the glorious SunneWho to his height hath got,With what delight we runneTo some black cave or grot!And, heav'nly Sydney youTwice read, had rather viewSome odde romance so new. IV.The god, that constant keepesUnto his deities,Is poore in joyes, and sleepesImprison'd in the skies.This knew the wisest, whoFrom Juno stole, belowTo love a bear or cow. <17.1> i.e. LUCASTA. <17.2> The East was celebrated by all our early poets as the land
of spices and rich gums:— "For now the fragrant East,The spicery o' th' world,Hath hurl'dA rosie tincture o'er the Phoenix nest."OTIA SACRA, by Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland, 1648, p. 37. SONG.SET BY MR. HENRY LAWES.TO AMARANTHA;<18.1> THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL HER HAIRE. I.Amarantha sweet and faire,Ah brade<18.2> no more that shining haire!As my curious hand or eye,Hovering round thee, let it flye. II.Let it flye as unconfin'dAs it's calme ravisher, the winde,Who hath left his darling, th' East,To wanton o're that<18.3> spicie neast. III.Ev'ry tresse must be confest:But neatly tangled at the best;Like a clue of golden thread,Most excellently ravelled. IV.Doe not then winde up that lightIn ribands, and o'er-cloud in night,Like the sun in's early ray;But shake your head, and scatter day. V.See, 'tis broke! within this grove,The bower and the walkes of love,Weary lye we downe and rest,And fanne each other's panting breast. VI.Heere wee'll strippe and coole our fire,In creame below, in milk-baths<18.4> higher:And when all wells are drawne dry,I'll drink a teare out of thine eye. VII.Which our very joys shall leave,That sorrowes thus we can deceive;Or our very sorrowes weepe,That joyes so ripe so little keepe. <18.1> A portion of this song is printed, with a few orthographical
variations, in the AYRES AND DIALOGUES, part i. 1653; and it is
also found in Cotgrave's WITS INTERPRETER, 1655, where it is called
"Amarantha counselled." Cotgrave used the text of Lawes, and only
gives that part of the production which he found in AYRES AND
DIALOGUES. <18.2> Forbear to brade—Lawes' AYRES AND DIALOGUES, and Cotgrave. <18.3> This—Lawes' AYRES AND DIALOGUES. Cotgrave reads HIS. <18.4> Milk-baths have been a favourite luxury in all ages.
Peele had probably in his mind the custom of his own time and
country when he wrote the following passage:— "Bright Bethsabe shall wash in David's bower,In water mix'd with purest almond flower,And bathe her beauty in the milk of kids."KING DAVID AND FAIR BETHSABE, 1599. I.Depose your finger of that ring,And crowne mine with't awhile;Now I restor't. Pray, dos it bringBack with it more of soile?Or shines it not as innocent,As honest, as before 'twas lent? II.So then inrich me with that treasure,'Twill but increase your store,And please me (faire one) with that pleasureMust please you still the more.Not to save others is a curseThe blackest, when y'are ne're the worse. ODE.SET BY DR. JOHN WILSON.<19.1>TO LUCASTA. THE ROSE. I.Sweet serene skye-like flower,Haste to adorn her bower;From thy long clowdy bedShoot forth thy damaske<19.2> head. II.New-startled blush of FLORA!The griefe of pale AURORA,Who will contest no more,Haste, haste, to strowe her floore. III.Vermilion ball, that's givenFrom lip to lip in Heaven;Loves couches cover-led,Haste, haste, to make her bed. IV.Dear offspring of pleas'd VENUS,And jollie plumpe SILENUS;Haste, haste, to decke the haire,Of th' only sweetly faire. V.See! rosie is her bower,Her floore is all this flower;Her bed a rosie nestBy a bed of roses prest. VI.But early as she dresses,Why fly you her bright tresses?Ah! I have found, I feare;Because her cheekes are neere. <19.1> Dr. John Wilson was a native of Feversham in Kent,
a gentleman of Charles the First's chapel, and chamber-musician
to his majesty. For an account of his works,
see Burney's HISTORY OF MUSIC, vol. iii. pp. 399-400,
or Hawkins' HISTORY OF MUSIC, iii. 57, where a portrait
of Wilson, taken from the original painting, will be found.
Wood, author of the FASTI and ATHENAE, says that he was
in his time, "the best at the lute in all England." Herrick,
in his HESPERIDES, 1648, has these lines in reference to
Henry Lawes:— "Then if thy voice commingle with the string,I hear in thee the rare Laniere to sing,OR CURIOUS WILSON." <19.2> In a MS. copy of the poem contemporary with the author,
now before me, this word is omitted. I.The childish god of love did sweareThus: By my awfull bow and quiver,Yon' weeping, kissing, smiling pair,I'le scatter all their vowes i' th' ayr,And their knit imbraces shiver. II.Up then to th' head with his best artFull of spite and envy blowne,At her constant marble heart,He drawes his swiftest surest dart,Which bounded back, and hit his owne. III.Now the prince of fires burnes;Flames in the luster of her eyes;Triumphant she, refuses, scornes;He submits, adores and mournes,And is his votresse sacrifice. IV.Foolish boy! resolve me nowWhat 'tis to sigh and not be heard?He weeping kneel'd, and made a vow:The world shall love as yon' fast two;So on his sing'd wings up he steer'd. I.Ah me! the little tyrant theefe!As once my heart was playing,He snatcht it up and flew away,Laughing at all my praying. II.Proud of his purchase,<20.1> he surveysAnd curiously sounds it,And though he sees it full of wounds,Cruel one, still<20.2> he wounds it. III.And now this heart is all his sport,Which as a ball he boundethFrom hand to breast, from breast to lip,And all its<20.3> rest confoundeth. IV.Then as a top he sets it up,And pitifully whips it;Sometimes he cloathes it gay and fine,Then straight againe he strips it. V.He cover'd it with false reliefe,<20.4>Which gloriously show'd it;And for a morning-cushionetOn's mother he bestow'd it. VI.Each day, with her small brazen stings,A thousand times she rac'd it;But then at night, bright with her gemmes,Once neere her breast she plac'd it. VII.There warme it gan to throb and bleed;She knew that smart, and grieved;At length this poore condemned heartWith these rich drugges repreeved. VIII.She washt the wound with a fresh teare,Which my LUCASTA dropped,And in the sleave<20.5>-silke of her haire'Twas hard bound up and wrapped. IX.She proab'd it with her constancie,And found no rancor nigh it;Only the anger of her eyeHad wrought some proud flesh by it. X.Then prest she narde in ev'ry veine,Which from her kisses trilled;And with the balme heald all its paine,That from her hand distilled. XI.But yet this heart avoyds me still,Will not by me be owned;But's fled to its physitian's breast;There proudly sits inthroned. <20.1> Prize. It is not uncommonly used by the early dramatists
in this sense; but the verb TO PURCHASE is more usually found than
the noun. "Yet having opportunity, he tries,Gets her goodwill, and with his purchase flies."Wither's ABUSES STRIPT AND WHIPT, 1613. <20.2> Here I have hazarded an emendation of the text. In original
we read, CRUELL STILL ON. Lovelace's poems were evidently printed
without the slightest care. <20.3> Original reads IT'S. <20.4> Original has BELIEFE. <<20.5>> Soft, like floss. Heark! Oh heark! you guilty trees,In whose gloomy galleriesWas the cruell'st murder done,That e're yet eclipst the sunne.Be then henceforth in your twiggesBlasted, e're you sprout to sprigges;Feele no season of the yeere,But what shaves off all your haire,Nor carve any from your wombesOught but coffins and their tombes. ORPHEUS<21.1> TO BEASTS.SONG.SET BY MR. CURTES.<21.2> I.Here, here, oh here! EURIDICE,Here was she slaine;Her soule 'still'd through a veine:The gods knew lesseThat time divinitie,Then ev'n, ev'n theseOf brutishnesse. II.Oh! could you view the melodieOf ev'ry grace,And musick of her face,<21.3>You'd drop a teare,Seeing more harmonieIn her bright eye,Then now you heare. <21.1> By Orpheus we may perhaps understand Lovelace himself,
and by Euridice, the lady whom he celebrates under the name
of Lucasta. Grainger mentions (BIOG. HIST. ii. 74) a portrait
of Lovelace by Gaywood, in which he is represented as Orpheus.
I have not seen it. The old poets were rather fond of likening
themselves to this legendary personage, or of designating
themselves his poetical children:— "We that are ORPHEUS' sons, and can inheritBy that great title"—Davenant's WORKS, 1673, p. 215. Many other examples might be given. Massinger, in his CITY MADAM,
1658, makes Sir John Frugal introduce a representation of the story
of the Thracian bard at an entertainment given to Luke Frugal. <21.2> A lutenist. Wood says that after the Restoration he became
gentleman or singing-man of Christ Church, Oxford. He was one of
those musicians who, after the abolition of organs, &c. during the
civil war, met at a private house at Oxford for the purpose of
taking his part in musical entertainments. <21.3> "Such was Zuleika; such around her shoneThe nameless charms unmark'd by her alone;The light of love, the purity of grace,The mind, the music breathing from her face."Byron's BRIDE OF ABYDOS, canto 1.(WORKS, ed. 1825, ii. 299.) DIALOGUE.LUCASTA, ALEXIS.<22.1>SET BY MR. JOHN GAMBLE.<22.2> I.Lucasta.TELL me, ALEXIS, what this parting is,That so like dying is, but is not it? Alexis.It is a swounding for a while from blisse,'Till kind HOW DOE YOU call's us from the fit. Chorus.If then the spirits only stray, let mineFly to thy bosome, and my soule to thine:Thus in our native seate we gladly giveOur right for one, where we can better live. II.Lu. But ah, this ling'ring, murdring farewel!Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures the ill.Alex. It is the glory of a valiant lover,Still to be dying, still for to recover. Cho. Soldiers suspected of their courage goe,That ensignes and their breasts untorne show:Love nee're his standard, when his hoste he sets,Creates alone fresh-bleeding bannerets. III.Alex. But part we, when thy figure I retaineStill in my heart, still strongly in mine eye?Lu. Shadowes no longer than the sun remaine,But IV.Alex. No, whilst light raigns, LUCASTA still rules here,And all the night shines wholy in this sphere.Lu. I know no morne but my ALEXIS ray,To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day. Chorus.Alex. So in each other if the pitying sunThus keep us fixt, nere may his course be run!Lu. And oh! if night us undivided make;Let us sleepe still, and sleeping never wake! The close.Cruel ADIEUS may well adjourne awhileThe sessions of a looke, a kisse, or smile,And leave behinde an angry grieving blush;But time nor fate can part us joyned thus. <22.1> i.e. the poet himself. <22.2> "John Gamble, apprentice to Ambrose Beyland, a noted
musician, was afterwards musician at one of the playhouses;
from thence removed to be a cornet in the King's Chapel.
After that he became one in Charles the Second's band of violins,
and composed for the theatres. He published AYRES AND DIALOGUES
TO THE THEORBO AND BASS VIOL, fol. Lond., 1659."—Hawkins. I.When I by thy faire shape did sweare,And mingled with each vowe a teare,I lov'd, I lov'd thee best,I swore as I profest.For all the while you lasted warme and pure,My oathes too did endure.But once turn'd faithlesse to thy selfe and old,They then with thee incessantly<23.1> grew cold. II.I swore my selfe thy sacrificeBy th' ebon bowes<23.2> that guard thine eyes,Which now are alter'd white,And by the glorious lightOf both those stars, which of<23.3> their spheres bereft,Only the gellie's left.Then changed thus, no more I'm bound to you,Then swearing to a saint that proves untrue. <23.1> i.e. at once, immediately. <23.2> Her eyebrows. <23.3> Original reads OF WHICH. I.Lucasta wept, and still the brightInamour'd god of day,With his soft handkercher of light,Kist the wet pearles away. II.But when her teares his heate or'ecame,In cloudes he quensht his beames,And griev'd, wept out his eye of flame,So drowned her sad streames. III.<24.1>At this she smiled, when straight the sunCleer'd by her kinde desires;And by her eyes reflexionFast kindl'd there his fires. <24.1> This stanza is not found in the printed copy of LUCASTA,
1649, but it occurs in a MS. of this poem written, with many
compositions by Lovelace and other poets, in a copy of Crashaw's
POEMS, 1648, 12mo, a portion of which having been formed of the
printer's proof-sheets, some of the pages are printed only on one
side, the reverse being covered with MSS. poems, among the rest
with epigrams by MR. THOMAS FULLER (about fifty in number). There
can be little doubt, from the character of the majority of these
little poems, that by "Mr. Thomas Fuller" we may understand the
church-historian. TO LUCASTA. FROM PRISONAN EPODE.<25.1> I.Long in thy shackels, libertyI ask not from these walls, but thee;Left for awhile 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'rywhere,Ev'n he disdaines a lodging here. V.Thee and thy wounds I would bemoane,Faire thorough-shot RELIGION;But he lives only that kills thee,And who so bindes thy hands, is free. VI.I would love a PARLIAMENTAs a maine prop from Heav'n sent;But ah! who's he, that would be weddedTo 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 wheeleOf state, that yet some rust doth feele. IX.But not a reformation so,As to reforme were to ore'throw,Like watches by unskilfull menDisjoynted, and set ill againe. X.The PUBLICK FAITH<25.2> 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 beFit objects for my love and me;What then remaines, but th' only springOf all our loves and joyes, the King? XII.He who, being the whole ballOf 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 mistOf error is spread or'e each breast,With such a fury edg'd as isNot found in th' inwards of th' abysse. XIV.Oh, from thy glorious starry waineDispense on me one sacred beame,To light me where I soone may seeHow to serve you, and you trust me! <25.1> This was written, perhaps, during the poet's confinement
in Peterhouse, to which he was committed a prisoner on his return
from abroad in 1648. At the date of its composition, there can be
little doubt, from expressions in stanzas vi. and xii. that the
fortunes of Charles I. were at their lowest ebb, and it may be
assigned without much risk of error to the end of 1648. <25.2> "The publick faith? why 'tis a word of kin,A nephew that dares COZEN any sin;A term of art, great BEHOMOTH'S younger brother,Old MACHAVIEL and half a thousand other;Which, when subscrib'd, writes LEGION, names on truss,ABADDON, BELZEBUB, and INCUBUS."Cleaveland's POEMS, ed. 1669, p. 91. LUCASTA'S FANNE, WITH A LOOKING-GLASSE IN IT.<26.1> I.Eastrich!<26.2> thou featherd foole, and easie prey,That larger sailes to thy broad vessell needst;Snakes through thy guttur-neck hisse all the day,Then on thy iron messe at supper feedst.<26.3> II.O what a glorious transmigrationFrom this to so divine an edificeHast thou straight made! heere<26.4> from a winged stoneTransform'd into a bird of paradice! III.Now doe thy plumes for hiew and luster vieWith th' arch of heav'n that triumphs or'e past wet,And in a rich enamel'd pinion lyeWith saphyres, amethists and opalls set. IV.Sometime they wing her side,<26.5> V.But whilst a plumy curtaine she doth draw,A chrystall mirror sparkles in thy breast,In which her fresh aspect when as she saw,And then her foe<26.6> retired to the west. VI.Deare engine, that oth' sun got'st me the day,'Spite of his hot assaults mad'st him retreat!No wind (said she) dare with thee henceforth playBut mine own breath to coole the tyrants heat. VII.My lively shade thou ever shalt retaineIn thy inclosed feather-framed glasse,And but unto our selves to all remaineInvisible, thou feature of this face! VIII.So said, her sad swaine over-heard and cried:Yee Gods! for faith unstaind this a reward!Feathers and glasse t'outweigh my vertue tryed!Ah! show their empty strength! the gods accord. IX.Now fall'n the brittle favourite lyes and burst!Amas'd LUCASTA weepes, repents and fliesTo her ALEXIS, vowes her selfe acurst,If hence she dresse her selfe but in his eyes. <26.1> This adaptation of the fan to the purposes of a mirror,
now so common, was, as we here are told, familiar to the ladies
of Lovelace's time. Mr. Fairholt, in his COSTUME IN ENGLAND,
1846, p. 496, describes many various forms which were given at
different periods to this article of use and ornament; but the
present passage in LUCASTA appears to have escaped his notice. <26.2> Ostrich. Lyly, in his EUPHUES, 1579, sig. c 4,
has ESTRIDGE. The fan here described was composed of
ostrich-feathers set with precious stones. <26.3> In allusion to the digestive powers of this bird. <26.4> Original reads NEERE. <26.5> The poet means that Lucasta, when she did not require
her fan for immediate use, wore it suspended at her side or
from her girdle. <26.6> The sun. LUCASTA, TAKING THE WATERS AT TUNBRIDGE.<27.1> I.Yee happy floods! that now must passeThe sacred conduicts of her wombe,Smooth and transparent as your face,When you are deafe, and windes are dumbe. II.Be proud! and if your waters beFoul'd with a counterfeyted teare,Or some false sigh hath stained yee,Haste, and be purified there. III.And when her rosie gates y'have trac'd,Continue yet some Orient wet,'Till, turn'd into a gemme, y'are plac'dLike diamonds with rubies set. IV.Yee drops, that dew th' Arabian bowers,Tell me, did you e're smell or viewOn any leafe of all your flowersSoe sweet a sent, so rich a hiew? V.But as through th' Organs of her breathYou trickle wantonly, beware:Ambitious Seas in their just deathAs well as Lovers, must have share. VI.And see! you boyle as well as I;You, that to coole her did aspire,Now troubled and neglected lye,Nor can your selves quench your owne fire. VII.Yet still be happy in the thought,That in so small a time as this,Through all the Heavens you were broughtOf Vertue, Honour, Love and Blisse. <27.1> From this it might be conjectured, though the ground for
doing so would be very slight, that LUCASTA was a native of Kent
or of one of the adjoining shires; but against this supposition
we have to set the circumstance that elsewhere this lady is called
a "northern star." I.Ah LUCASTA, why so bright?Spread with early streaked light!If still vailed from our sight,What is't but eternall night? II.Ah LUCASTA, why so chaste?With that vigour, ripenes grac't,Not to be by Man imbrac'tMakes that Royall coyne imbace't,And this golden Orchard waste! III.Ah LUCASTA, why so great,That thy crammed coffers sweat?Yet not owner of a seatMay shelter you from Natures heat,And your earthly joyes compleat. IV.Ah Lucasta, why so good?Blest with an unstained floodFlowing both through soule and blood;If it be not understood,'Tis a Diamond in mud. V.LUCASTA! stay! why dost thou flye?Thou art not bright but to the eye,Nor chaste but in the mariage-tye,Nor great but in this treasurie,Nor good but in that sanctitie. VI.Harder then the Orient stone,Like an apparition,Or as a pale shadow gone,Dumbe and deafe she hence is flowne. VII.Then receive this equall dombe:Virgins, strow no teare or bloome,No one dig the Parian wombe;Raise her marble heart i'th' roome,And 'tis both her coarse and tombe. LUCASTA PAYING HER OBSEQUIES TO THE CHAST MEMORYOF MY DEAREST COSIN MRS. BOWES BARNE[S].<28.1> I.See! what an undisturbed teareShe weepes for her last sleepe;But, viewing her, straight wak'd a Star,She weepes that she did weepe. II.Griefe ne're before did tyranizeOn th' honour of that brow,And at the wheeles of her brave eyesWas captive led til now. III.Thus, for a saints apostacyThe unimagin'd woesAnd sorrowes of the HierarchyNone but an angel knowes. IV.Thus, for lost soules recoveryThe clapping of all wingsAnd triumphs of this victoryNone but an angel sings. V.So none but she knows to bemoneThis equal virgins fate,None but LUCASTA can her crowneOf glory celebrate. VI.Then dart on me (CHAST LIGHT)<28.2> one ray,By which I may discryThy joy cleare through this cloudy dayTo dresse my sorrow by. <28.1> This lady was probably the wife of a descendant ofSir William Barnes, of Woolwich, whose only daughter and heir,Anne, married the poet's father, and brought him the seat in Kent.See GENTS. MAGAZINE for 1791, part ii. 1095. <28.2> A translation of LUCASTA, or LUX CASTA, for the sake
of the metre. UPON THE CURTAINE OF LUCASTA'S PICTURE,IT WAS THUS WROUGHT.<29.1> Oh, stay that covetous hand; first turn all eye,All depth and minde; then mystically spyeHer soul's faire picture, her faire soul's, in allSo truely copied from th' originall,That you will sweare her body by this lawIs but its shadow, as this, its;—now draw. <29.1> Pictures used formerly to have curtains before them.
It is still done in some old houses. In WESTWARD HOE, 1607,
act ii. scene 3, there is an allusion to this practice:— "SIR GOSLING. So draw those curtains, and let's see thepictures under 'em."—Webster's WORKS, ed. Hazlitt, i. 133.
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