Richard Lovelace

But as a Moor, who to her Cheeks prefers White spots, t'allure her black Idolaters, Me thought she look'd all ore bepatch'd with Stars;Like the dark front of some Ethiopian Queen, Vailèd all ore with Gems of Red, Blew, Green; Whose ugly …

Th' industrious bee Mistook her glorious face for paradise.

Love then unstinted, Love did sip, And Cherries pluck’d fresh from the Lip, On Cheeks and Roses free he fed; Lasses like Autumne Plums did drop, And Lads, indifferently did crop A Flower, and a Maiden-head.

Cease, large example of wise thrift a while.

Lucasta, that bright northerne star.

Am not I shot With the selfe same artillery?

Then Love, I beg, when next thou takest thy bow, Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go, Pass rascal deer, strike me the largest doe.

Stone Walls do not a Prison make

When thirsty griefe in Wine we steepe, When Healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the Deepe, Know no such Libertie.

When flowing Cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames.

When Love with unconfinèd wings Hovers within my Gates; And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the Grates; When I lye tangled in her haire And fettered to her eye;

Poore verdant foole! and now green Ice, thy Joys Large and as lasting, as thy Peirch of Grasse, Bid us lay in 'gainst Winter, Raine, and poize Their flouds, with an o'erflowing glasse.

Oh could you view the Melodie Of ev'ry grace, And Musick of her face, You'd drop a teare, Seeing more Harmonie In her bright eye,

Then, if when I have lov'd my round, Thou prov'st the pleasant she; With spoyles of meaner Beauties crown'd, I laden will returne to thee, Ev'n sated with Varietie.

So did she move; so did she sing Like the Harmonious spheres that bring Unto their Rounds their musick's ayd; Which she performed such a way, As all th' inamour'd world will say The Graces daunced, and Apollo play'd.

As when she ceas'd, we sighing saw The floore lay pav'd with broken hearts.

Heere wee'l strippe and coole our fire In Creame below, in milke-baths higher: And when all Well's are drawne dry, I'le drink a tear out of thine eye.

Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind, That from the Nunnerie Of thy chaste breast, and quiet minde, To Warre and Armes I flie.True; a new Mistresse now I chase, The first Foe in the Field; And with a stronger Faith imbrace

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.

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 blustring winde, or swallowing wave.