RICHARD LOVELACE

TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As thou too shalt adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more.

IF to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone You or I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave. But I’ll not sigh one blast or gale To swell my sail, Or pay a tear to ’suage The foaming blue god’s rage; For whether he will let me pass Or no, I’m still as happy as I was. Though seas and land betwixt us both, Our faith and troth, Like separated souls, All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown; and greet as Angels greet. So then we do anticipate Our after-fate, And are alive i’ the skies, If thus our lips and eyes Can speak like spirits unconfined In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.

SHE beat the happy pavèment— By such a star made firmament, Which now no more the roof envìes! But swells up high, with Atlas even, Bearing the brighter nobler heaven, And, in her, all the deities. Each step trod out a Lover’s thought, And the ambitious hopes he brought Chain’d to her brave feet with such arts, Such sweet command and gentle awe, As, when she ceased, we sighing saw The floor lay paved with broken hearts.

AMARANTHA sweet and fair, Ah, braid no more that shining hair! As my curious hand or eye Hovering round thee, let it fly! Let it fly as unconfined As its calm ravisher the wind, Who hath left his darling, th’ East, To wanton o’er that spicy nest. Every tress must be confest, But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clew of golden thread Most excellently ravellèd. Do not then wind up that light In ribbands, and o’ercloud in night, Like the Sun in’s early ray; But shake your head, and scatter day!

O THOU that swing’st upon the waving hair Of some well-fillèd oaten beard, Drunk every night with a delicious tear Dropt thee from heaven, where thou wert rear’d! The joys of earth and air are thine entire, That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly; And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. Up with the day, the Sun thou welcom’st then, Sport’st in the gilt plaits of his beams, And all these merry days mak’st merry men, Thyself, and melancholy streams.

WHEN Love with unconfinèd wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter’d to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free— Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlargèd winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.