"GEORGE, Generall of Guenefrieds,
He is a joviall lad,
Though his heart and fortunes disagree
Oft times to make him sad."
Consult Davenant's Works, 1673, p. 247, and FRAGMENTA AULICA,
1662, pp. 47, 54. Lord Goring died Jan. 6, 1663 (Smyth's
OBITUARY, p. 57; Camden Soc.).
A LA CHABOT was a French dance tune, christened after
the admiral of that name, in the same manner as A LA BOURBON,
mentioned elsewhere in LUCASTA, derived its title from another
celebrated person. Those who have any acquaintance with the
history of early English music need not to be informed that
it was formerly the practice of our own composers to seek the
patronage of the gentlemen and ladies about the Court for their
works, and to identify their names with them. Thus we have
"My Lady Carey's Dumpe," &c. &c.
SIR THOMAS WORTLEY'S SONNET ANSWERED.
Thou little winged archer, now no more
Thou maist pretend within my breast to bide,
Since cruell Death of dearest LYNDAMORE
Hath me depriv'd,
I bid adieu to love, and all the world beside.
Lay by thy quiver and unbend thy bow
Poore sillie foe,
Thou spend'st thy shafts but at my breast in vain,
My heart hath with a fatall icie deart
Thou canst not ever hope to warme her wound,
Or wound it o're againe.]
Thou witty cruell wanton, now againe,
Through ev'ry veine,
Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev'ry dart,
Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine.
I have no heart,
Nor can I live but sweetly murder'd with
So deare, so deare a smart.
And kindle all your torches at her eye,
To make me dye
Her martyr, and put on my roabe of flame:
Advanced on my blazing wings on high,
In death became
Inthroan'd a starre, and ornament unto
Her glorious, glorious name.
A GUILTLESSE LADY IMPRISONED: AFTER PENANCED.
SET BY MR. WILLIAM LAWES.
Heark, faire one, how what e're here is
Doth laugh and sing at thy distresse;
Not out of hate to thy reliefe,
But joy t' enjoy thee, though in griefe.
See! that which chaynes you, you chaine here;
The prison is thy prisoner;
How much thy jaylor's keeper art!
He bindes your hands, but you his heart.
The gyves to rase so smooth a skin,
Are so unto themselves within;
But, blest to kisse so fayre an arme,
Haste to be happy with that harme;
And play about thy wanton wrist,
As if in them thou so wert drest;
But if too rough, too hard they presse,
Oh, they but closely, closely kisse.
And as thy bare feet blesse the way,
The people doe not mock, but pray,
And call thee, as amas'd they run
Instead of prostitute, a nun.
The merry torch burnes with desire
To kindle the eternall fire,
And lightly daunces in thine eyes
To tunes of epithalamies.
The sheet's ty'd ever to thy wast,
How thankfull to be so imbrac't!
And see! thy very very bonds
Are bound to thee, to binde such hands.
TO HIS DEARE BROTHER COLONEL F. L.
IMMODERATELY MOURNING MY BROTHERS UNTIMELY DEATH
If teares could wash the ill away,
A pearle for each wet bead I'd pay;
But as dew'd corne the fuller growes,
So water'd eyes but swell our woes.
One drop another cals, which still
(Griefe adding fuell) doth distill;
Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish,
We need no cherishing to languish.
Coward fate degen'rate man
Like little children uses, when
He whips us first, untill we weepe,
Then, 'cause we still a weeping keepe.
Then from thy firme selfe never swerve;
Teares fat the griefe that they should sterve;
Iron decrees of destinie
Are ner'e wipe't out with a wet eye.
But this way you may gaine the field,
Oppose but sorrow, and 'twill yield;
One gallant thorough-made resolve
Doth starry influence dissolve.
Thomas Lovelace. See MEMOIR.
TO A LADY THAT DESIRED ME I WOULD BEARE MY PART WITH HER IN A SONG.
MADAM A. L.
This is the prittiest motion:
Madam, th' alarums of a drumme
That cals your lord, set to your cries,
To mine are sacred symphonies.
What, though 'tis said I have a voice;
I know 'tis but that hollow noise
Which (as it through my pipe doth speed)
Bitterns do carol through a reed;
In the same key with monkeys jiggs,
Or dirges of proscribed piggs,
Or the soft Serenades above
In calme of night, when cats make love.
Was ever such a consort seen!
Fourscore and fourteen with forteen?
Yet sooner they'l agree, one paire,
Then we in our spring-winter aire;
They may imbrace, sigh, kiss, the rest:
Our breath knows nought but east and west.
Thus have I heard to childrens cries
The faire nurse still such lullabies,
That, well all sayd (for what there lay),
The pleasure did the sorrow pay.
Sure ther's another way to save
Your phansie, madam; that's to have
('Tis but a petitioning kinde fate)
The organs sent to Bilingsgate,
Where they to that soft murm'ring quire
Shall teach you all you can admire!
Or do but heare, how love-bang Kate
In pantry darke for freage of mate,
With edge of steele the square wood shapes,
And DIDO to it chaunts or scrapes.
The merry Phaeton oth' carre
You'l vow makes a melodious jarre;
Sweeter and sweeter whisleth He
To un-anointed axel-tree;
Such swift notes he and 's wheels do run;
For me, I yeeld him Phaebus son.
Say, faire Comandres, can it be
You should ordaine a mutinie?
For where I howle, all accents fall,
As kings harangues, to one and all.
Ulisses art is now withstood:
You ravish both with sweet and good;
Saint Syren, sing, for I dare heare,
But when I ope', oh, stop your eare.
Far lesse be't aemulation
To passe me, or in trill or tone,
Like the thin throat of Philomel,
And the smart lute who should excell,
As if her soft cords should begin,
And strive for sweetnes with the pin.
Yet can I musick too; but such
As is beyond all voice or touch;
My minde can in faire order chime,
Whilst my true heart still beats the time;
My soule['s] so full of harmonie,
That it with all parts can agree;
If you winde up to the highest fret,
It shall descend an eight from it,
And when you shall vouchsafe to fall,
Sixteene above you it shall call,
And yet, so dis-assenting one,
They both shall meet in unison.
Come then, bright cherubin, begin!
My loudest musick is within.
Take all notes with your skillfull eyes;
Hearke, if mine do not sympathise!
Sound all my thoughts, and see exprest
The tablature of my large brest;
Then you'l admit, that I too can
Musick above dead sounds of man;
Such as alone doth blesse the spheres,
Not to be reacht with humane eares.
"Madam A. L." is not in MS. copy. "The Lady A. L." and
"Madam A. L." may very probably be two different persons: for
Carew in his Poems (edit. 1651, 8vo. p. 2) has a piece "To A. L.;
Persuasions to Love," and it is possible that the A. L. of Carew,
and the A. L. mentioned above, are identical. The following poem
is printed in Durfey's PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, v. 120, but
whether it was written by Lovelace, and addressed to the same lady,
whom he represents above as requesting him to join her in a song,
or whether it was the production of another pen, I cannot at all
decide. It is not particularly unlike the style of the author of
LUCASTA. At all events, I am not aware that it has been
appropriated by anybody else, and as I am reluctant to omit any
piece which Lovelace is at all likely to have composed, I give
these lines just as I find them in Durfey, where they are set to
"TO HIS FAIREST VALENTINE MRS. A. L.
"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,
And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;
Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
Employ'd to serve her deity:
And warble forth, ye virgins nine,
Some music to my Valentine.
"Her bosom is love's paradise,
There is no heav'n but in her eyes;
She's chaster than the turtle-dove,
And fairer than the queen of love:
Yet all perfections do combine
To beautifie my Valentine.
"She's Nature's choicest cabinet,
Where honour, beauty, worth and wit
Are all united in her breast.
The graces claim an interest:
All virtues that are most divine
Shine clearest in my Valentine."
Nights - Editor's MS.
Where - Ibid.
Do - Ibid.
There is here either an interpolation in the printed copy,
or an HIATUS in the MS. The latter reads: -
"Yet may I 'mbrace, sigh, kisse, the rest," &c.,
thus leaving out a line and a half or upward of the poem,
as it is printed in LUCASTA.
MS. reads: - "Youre phansie, madam," omitting "that's to
Original and MS. have REACH.
This must refer, I suppose, to the ballad of Queen Dido,
which the woman sings as she works. The signification of LOVE-BANG
is not easily determined. BANG, in Suffolk, is a term applied
to a particular kind of cheese; but I suspect that "love-bang Kate"
merely signifies "noisy Kate" here. As to the old ballad of Dido,
see Stafford Smith's MUSICA ANTIQUA, i. 10, ii. 158; and Collier's
EXTRACTS FROM THE REGISTERS OF THE STATIONERS' COMPANY, i. 98.
I subjoin the first stanza of "Dido" as printed in the MUSICA
"Dido was the Carthage Queene,
And lov'd the Troian knight,
That wandring many coasts had seene,
And many a dreadfull fight.
As they a-hunting road, a show'r
Drove them in a loving bower,
Down to a darksome cave:
Where Aenaeas with his charmes
Lock't Queene Dido in his armes
And had what he would have."
A somewhat different version is given in Durfey's PILLS TO PURGE
MELANCHOLY, vi. 192-3.
AN UNANOYNTED - MS.
This and the three preceding lines are not in MS.
Alluding of course to the very familiar legend of
Ulysses and the Syrens.
A quaver (a well-known musical expression).
A - MS.
A musical peg.
AND - MS.
A piece of wire attached to the finger-board of a guitar.
Original and MS. read AN.
The tablature of Lovelace's time was the application
of letters, of the alphabet or otherwise, to the purpose of
expressing the sounds or notes of a composition.
Now fie upon that everlasting life! I dye!
She hates! Ah me! It makes me mad;
As if love fir'd his torch at a moist eye,
Or with his joyes e're crown'd the sad.
Oh, let me live and shout, when I fall on;
Let me ev'n triumph in the first attempt!
Loves duellist from conquest 's not exempt,
When his fair murdresse shall not gain one groan,
And he expire ev'n in ovation.
Let me make my approach, when I lye downe
With counter-wrought and travers eyes;
With peals of confidence batter the towne;
Had ever beggar yet the keyes?
No, I will vary stormes with sun and winde;
Be rough, and offer calme condition;
March in and pread, or starve the garrison.
Let her make sallies hourely: yet I'le find
(Though all beat of) shee's to be undermin'd.
Then may it please your little excellence
Of hearts t' ordaine, by sound of lips,
That henceforth none in tears dare love comence
(Her thoughts ith' full, his, in th' eclipse);
On paine of having 's launce broke on her bed,
That he be branded all free beauties' slave,
And his own hollow eyes be domb'd his grave:
Since in your hoast that coward nere was fed,
Who to his prostrate ere was prostrated.
This seems to be it phrase borrowed by the poet from
his military vocabulary. He wishes to express that he had
fortified his eyes to resist the glances of his fair opponent.
Original reads most unintelligibly and absurdly MARCH
IN (AND PRAY'D) OR, &c. TO PREAD is TO PILLAGE.
LA BELLA BONA ROBA.
TO MY LADY H.
Tell me, ye subtill judges in loves treasury,
Inform me, which hath most inricht mine eye,
This diamonds greatnes, or its clarity?
Ye cloudy spark lights, whose vast multitude
Of fires are harder to be found then view'd,
Waite on this star in her first magnitude.
Calmely or roughly! Ah, she shines too much;
That now I lye (her influence is such),
Chrusht with too strong a hand, or soft a touch.
Lovers, beware! a certaine, double harme
Waits your proud hopes, her looks al-killing charm
Guarded by her as true victorious arme.
Thus with her eyes brave Tamyris spake dread,
Which when the kings dull breast not entered,
Finding she could not looke, she strook him dead.
This word, though generally used in a bad sense by early
writers, does not seem to bear in the present case any offensive
meaning. The late editors of Nares quote a passage from one of
Cowley's ESSAYS, in which that writer seems to imply by the term
merely a fine woman.
Since the note at p. 133 was written,
the following description by Aubrey (LIVES, &c., ii. 332),
of a picture of the Lady Venetia Digby has fallen under my notice.
"Also, at Mr. Rose's, a jeweller in Henrietta Street, in Covent
Garden, is an excellent piece of hers, drawne after she was newly
dead. She had a most lovely sweet-turned face, delicate darke
browne haire. She had a perfect healthy constitution; strong;
good skin; well-proportioned; inclining to a BONA-ROBA."
I cannot tell, who loves the skeleton
Of a poor marmoset; nought but boan, boan;
Give me a nakednesse, with her cloath's on.
Such, whose white-sattin upper coat of skin,
Cut upon velvet rich incarnadin,
Has yet a body (and of flesh) within.
Sure, it is meant good husbandry in men,
Who do incorporate with aery leane,
T' repair their sides, and get their ribb agen.
Hard hap unto that huntsman, that decrees
Fat joys for all his swet, when as he sees,
After his 'say, nought but his keepers fees.
Then, Love, I beg, when next thou tak'st thy bow,
Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go,
Passe RASCALL DEARE, strike me the largest doe.
i.e. Carnation hue, a species of red. As an adjective,
the word is peculiarly rare.
Management or economy.
A RASCAL DEER was formerly a well-known term among
sportsmen, signifying a lean beast, not worth pursuit. Thus
in A C. MERY TALYS (1525), No. 29, we find: - "[they] apoynted
thys Welchman to stand still, and forbade him in any wyse
to shote at no rascal dere, but to make sure of the greate male,
and spare not." In the new edition of Nares, other and more recent
examples of the employment of the term are given. But in the
BOOK OF SAINT ALBANS, 1486, RASCAL is used in the signification
merely of a beast other than one of "enchace."
"And where that ye come in playne or in place,
I shall you tell whyche ben bestys of enchace.
One of them is the bucke: a nother is the doo:
The foxe and the marteron: and the wylde roo.
And ye shall, my dere chylde, other bestys all,
Where so ye theym finde, Rascall ye shall them call."
A LA BOURBON.
DONE MOY PLUS DE PITIE OU PLUS DE CREAULTE,
CAR SANS CI IE NE PUIS PAS VIURE, NE MORIR.
Divine Destroyer, pitty me no more,
Or else more pitty me;
Give me more love, ah, quickly give me more,
Or else more cruelty!
For left thus as I am,
My heart is ice and flame;
And languishing thus, I
Can neither live nor dye!
Your glories are eclipst, and hidden in the grave
Of this indifferency;
And, Caelia, you can neither altars have,
Nor I, a Diety:
They are aspects divine,
That still or smile, or shine,
Or, like th' offended sky,
Frowne death immediately.
Original reads AU.
In his poem entitled "Mediocrity in Love rejected,"
Carew has a similar sentiment: -
"Give me more Love, or more Disdain,
The Torrid, or the Frozen Zone,
Bring equall ease unto my paine;
The Temperate affords me none:
Either extreme, of Love, or Hate,
Is sweeter than a calme estate."
Carew's POEMS, ed. 1651, p. 14.
And so also Stanley (AYRES AND DIALOGUES, set by J. Gamble,
1656, p. 20): -
"So much of absence and delay,
That thus afflicts my memorie.
Why dost thou kill me every day,
Yet will not give me leave to die?"
THE FAIRE BEGGER.
Comanding asker, if it be
Pity that you faine would have,
Then I turne begger unto thee,
And aske the thing that thou dost crave.
I will suffice thy hungry need,
So thou wilt but my fancy feed.
In all ill yeares, was ever knowne
On so much beauty such a dearth?
Which, in that thrice-bequeathed gowne,
Lookes like the Sun eclipst with Earth,
Like gold in canvas, or with dirt
Unsoyled Ermins close begirt.
Yet happy he, that can but tast
This whiter skin, who thirsty is!
Fooles dote on sattin motions lac'd:
The gods go naked in their blisse.
At th' barrell's head there shines the vine,
There only relishes the wine.
There quench my heat, and thou shalt sup
Worthy the lips that it must touch,
Nectar from out the starry cup:
I beg thy breath not halfe so much.
So both our wants supplied shall be,
You'l give for love, I, charity.
Cheape then are pearle-imbroderies,
That not adorne, but cloud thy wast;
Thou shalt be cloath'd above all prise,
If thou wilt promise me imbrac't.
Wee'l ransack neither chest nor shelfe:
Ill cover thee with mine owne selfe.
But, cruel, if thou dost deny
This necessary almes to me,
What soft-soul'd man but with his eye
And hand will hence be shut to thee?
Since all must judge you more unkinde:
I starve your body, you, my minde.
Original reads WA'ST.
Satin seems to have been much in vogue about this time
as a material for female dress.
"Their glory springs from sattin,
Their vanity from feather."
A DESCRIPTION OF WOMAN in WITS INTERPRETER, 1662, p. 115.
Original has AND.
Original reads CLOUDS.
i.e. TO BE embraced.
[A DIALOGUE BETWIXT CORDANUS AND AMORET, ON A LOST HEART.
Cord. Distressed pilgrim, whose dark clouded eyes
Speak thee a martyr to love's cruelties,
Amor. What pitying voice I hear,
Calls back my flying steps?
Cord. Pr'ythee, draw near.
Amor. I shall but say, kind swain, what doth become
Of a lost heart, ere to Elysium
It wounded walks?
Cord. First, it does freely flye
Into the pleasures of a lover's eye;
But, once condemn'd to scorn, it fetter'd lies,
An ever-bowing slave to tyrannies.
Amor. I pity its sad fate, since its offence
Was but for love. Can tears recall it thence?
Cord. O no, such tears, as do for pity call,
She proudly scorns, and glories at their fall.
Amor. Since neither sighs nor tears, kind shepherd, tell,
Will not a kiss prevail?
Cord. Thou may'st as well
Court Eccho with a kiss.
Amor. Can no art move
A sacred violence to make her love?
Cord. O no! 'tis only Destiny or Fate
Fashions our wills either to love or hate.
Amor. Then, captive heart, since that no humane spell
Hath power to graspe thee his, farewell.
Cho. Lost hearts, like lambs drove from their folds by fears,
May back return by chance, but not by tears.]
So Cotgrave. Lawes, and after him Singer, read CAN'T.
So Cotgrave. Lawes and Singer read AND.
Omitted by Lawes and Singer: I follow Cotgrave.
So Cotgrave. Lawes printed NE'ER.
This is taken from AYRES AND DIALOGUES FOR ONE, TWO,
AND THREE VOYCES, By Henry Lawes, 1653-5-8, where it is set
to music for two trebles by H. L. It was not included in the
posthumous collection of Lovelace's poems. This dialogue
is also found in WITS INTERPRETER, by J. Cotgrave, 1662, 8vo,
page 203 (first printed in 1655), and a few improved readings
have been adopted from that text.
COMMENDATORY AND OTHER VERSES,
PREFIXED TO VARIOUS PUBLICATIONS BETWEEN 1638 AND 1647
PRINCESSE KATHERINE BORNE, CHRISTENED, BURIED,
IN ONE DAY.
You, that can haply mixe your joyes with cries,
And weave white Ios with black Elegies,
Can caroll out a dirge, and in one breath
Sing to the tune either of life, or death;
You, that can weepe the gladnesse of the spheres,
And pen a hymne, in stead of inke, with teares;
Here, here your unproportion'd wit let fall,
To celebrate this new-borne funerall,
And greete that little greatnesse, which from th' wombe
Dropt both a load to th' cradle and the tombe.
Bright soule! teach us, to warble with what feet
Thy swathing linnen and thy winding sheet,
Weepe, or shout forth that fonts solemnitie,
Which at once christn'd and buried thee,
And change our shriller passions with that sound,
First told thee into th' ayre, then to the ground.
Ah, wert thou borne for this? only to call
The King and Queen guests to your buriall!
To bid good night, your day not yet begun,
And shew a setting, ere a rising sun!
Or wouldst thou have thy life a martyrdom?
Dye in the act of thy religion,
Fit, excellently, innocently good,
First sealing it with water, then thy blood?
As when on blazing wings a blest man sores,
And having past to God through fiery dores,
Straight 's roab'd with flames, when the same element,
Which was his shame, proves now his ornament;
Oh, how he hast'ned death, burn't to be fryed,
Kill'd twice with each delay, till deified.
So swift hath been thy race, so full of flight,
Like him condemn'd, ev'n aged with a night,
Cutting all lets with clouds, as if th' hadst been
Like angels plum'd, and borne a Cherubin.
Or, in your journey towards heav'n, say,
Tooke you the world a little in your way?
Saw'st and dislik'st its vaine pompe, then didst flye
Up for eternall glories to the skye?
Like a religious ambitious one,
Aspiredst for the everlasting crowne?
Ah! holy traytour to your brother prince,
Rob'd of his birth-right and preheminence!
Could you ascend yon' chaire of state e're him,
And snatch from th' heire the starry diadem?
Making your honours now as much uneven,
As gods on earth are lesse then saints in heav'n.
Triumph! sing triumphs, then! Oh, put on all
Your richest lookes, drest for this festivall!
Thoughts full of ravisht reverence, with eyes
So fixt, as when a saint we canonize;
Clap wings with Seraphins before the throne
At this eternall coronation,
And teach your soules new mirth, such as may be
Worthy this birth-day to divinity.
But ah! these blast your feasts, the jubilies
We send you up are sad, as were our cries,