Him follow the recanting, vexing Nine Who, wise, now sing thy lasting fame in wine; Whilst Phoebus, not from th' east, your feast t' adorn, But from th' inspir'd Canaries, rose this morn.

Now you are come, winds in their caverns sit, And nothing breaths, but new-inlarged wit. Hark! One proclaims it piacle to be sad, And th' people call 't religion to be mad.

But now, as at a coronation, When noyse, the guard, and trumpets are oreblown, The silent commons mark their princes way, And with still reverence both look and pray; So they amaz'd expecting do adore, And count the rest but pageantry before.

Behold! an hoast of virgins, pure as th' air In her first face, ere mists durst vayl her hair: Their snowy vests, white as their whiter skin, Or their far chaster whiter thoughts within: Roses they breath'd and strew'd, as if the fine Heaven did to earth his wreath of swets resign; They sang aloud: "THRICE, OH THRICE HAPPY, THEY THAT CAN, LIKE THESE, IN LOVE BOTH YIELD AND SWAY."

Next herald Fame (a purple clowd her bears), In an imbroider'd coat of eyes and ears, Proclaims the triumph, and these lovers glory, Then in a book of steel records the story.

And now a youth of more than god-like form Did th' inward minds of the dumb throng alarm; All nak'd, each part betray'd unto the eye, Chastly: for neither sex ow'd he or she. And this was heav'nly love. By his bright hand, A boy of worse than earthly stuff did stand; His bow broke, his fires out, and his wings clipt, And the black slave from all his false flames stript; Whose eyes were new-restor'd but to confesse This day's bright blisse, and his own wretchednesse; Who, swell'd with envy, bursting with disdain, Did cry to cry, and weep them out again.

And now what heav'n must I invade, what sphere Rifle of all her stars, t' inthrone her there? No! Phoebus, by thy boys fate we beware Th' unruly flames o'th' firebrand, thy carr; Although, she there once plac'd, thou, Sun, shouldst see Thy day both nobler governed and thee. Drive on, Bootes, thy cold heavy wayn, Then grease thy wheels with amber in the main, And Neptune, thou to thy false Thetis gallop, Appollo's set within thy bed of scallop: Whilst Amoret, on the reconciled winds Mounted, and drawn by six caelestial minds, She armed was with innocence and fire, That did not burn; for it was chast desire; Whilst a new light doth gild the standers by. Behold! it was a day shot from her eye; Chafing perfumes oth' East did throng and sweat, But by her breath they melting back were beat. A crown of yet-nere-lighted stars she wore, In her soft hand a bleeding heart she bore, And round her lay of broken millions more; Then a wing'd crier thrice aloud did call: LET FAME PROCLAIM THIS ONE GREAT PRISE FOR ALL.

By her a lady that might be call'd fair, And justly, but that Amoret was there, Was pris'ner led; th' unvalewed robe she wore Made infinite lay lovers to adore, Who vainly tempt her rescue (madly bold) Chained in sixteen thousand links of gold; Chrysetta thus (loaden with treasures) slave Did strow the pass with pearls, and her way pave.

But loe! the glorious cause of all this high True heav'nly state, brave Philamore, draws nigh, Who, not himself, more seems himself to be, And with a sacred extasie doth see! Fix'd and unmov'd on 's pillars he doth stay, And joy transforms him his own statua; Nor hath he pow'r to breath [n]or strength to greet The gentle offers of his Amoret, Who now amaz'd at 's noble breast doth knock, And with a kiss his gen'rous heart unlock; Whilst she and the whole pomp doth enter there, Whence her nor Time nor Fate shall ever tear. But whether am I hurl'd? ho! back! awake From thy glad trance: to thine old sorrow take! Thus, after view of all the Indies store, The slave returns unto his chain and oar; Thus poets, who all night in blest heav'ns dwell, Are call'd next morn to their true living hell; So I unthrifty, to myself untrue, Rise cloath'd with real wants, 'cause wanting you, And what substantial riches I possesse, I must to these unvalued dreams confesse.

But all our clowds shall be oreblown, when thee In our horizon bright once more we see; When thy dear presence shall our souls new-dress, And spring an universal cheerfulnesse; When we shall be orewhelm'd in joy, like they That change their night for a vast half-year's day.

Then shall the wretched few, that do repine, See and recant their blasphemies in wine; Then shall they grieve, that thought I've sung too free, High and aloud of thy true worth and thee, And their fowl heresies and lips submit To th' all-forgiving breath of Amoret; And me alone their angers object call, That from my height so miserably did fall; And crie out my invention thin and poor, Who have said nought, since I could say no more.

Charles Cotton the younger, Walton's friend. He was born on the 28th of April, 1630. He married, in 1656, Isabella, daughter of Sir Thomas Hutchinson, of Owthorp, co. Notts, Knight. See Walton's ANGLER, ed. 1760, where a life of Cotton, compiled from the notes of the laborious Oldys, will be found. The poet died in 1687, and, two years later, his miscellaneous verses were printed in an octavo volume.

i.e. the shadow of myself.

A crime, from the Latin PIACULUM which, from meaning properly AN ATONEMENT, was afterwards used to express WHAT REQUIRED an atonement, i.e. an offence or sin.

The sky in the early part of the morning, before it is clouded by mists.

Phaeton.

0riginal reads, OF MILLIONS BROKEN MORE. The above is certainly preferable; but the reader may judge for himself. It should be borne in mind that the second part of LUCASTA was not even printed during the poet's life. If he had survived to republish the first portion, and to revise the second perhaps we should have had a better text.



ADVICE TO MY BEST BROTHER, COLL: FRANCIS LOVELACE.

Frank, wil't live unhandsomely? trust not too far Thy self to waving seas: for what thy star, Calculated by sure event, must be, Look in the glassy-epithete, and see.

Yet settle here your rest, and take your state, And in calm halcyon's nest ev'n build your fate; Prethee lye down securely, Frank, and keep With as much no noyse the inconstant deep As its inhabitants; nay, stedfast stand, As if discover'd were a New-found-land, Fit for plantation here. Dream, dream still, Lull'd in Dione's cradle; dream, untill Horrour awake your sense, and you now find Your self a bubbled pastime for the wind; And in loose Thetis blankets torn and tost. Frank, to undo thy self why art at cost?

Nor be too confident, fix'd on the shore: For even that too borrows from the store Of her rich neighbour, since now wisest know (And this to Galileo's judgement ow), The palsie earth it self is every jot As frail, inconstant, waveing, as that blot We lay upon the deep, that sometimes lies Chang'd, you would think, with 's botoms properties; But this eternal, strange Ixion's wheel Of giddy earth ne'er whirling leaves to reel, Till all things are inverted, till they are Turn'd to that antick confus'd state they were.

Who loves the golden mean, doth safely want A cobwebb'd cot and wrongs entail'd upon't; He richly needs a pallace for to breed Vipers and moths, that on their feeder feed; The toy that we (too true) a mistress call, Whose looking-glass and feather weighs up all; And cloaths which larks would play with in the sun, That mock him in the night, when 's course is run.

To rear an edifice by art so high, That envy should not reach it with her eye, Nay, with a thought come neer it. Wouldst thou know, How such a structure should be raisd, build low. The blust'ring winds invisible rough stroak More often shakes the stubborn'st, prop'rest oak; And in proud turrets we behold withal, 'Tis the imperial top declines to fall: Nor does Heav'n's lightning strike the humble vales, But high-aspiring mounts batters and scales.

A breast of proof defies all shocks of Fate, Fears in the best, hopes in worser state; Heaven forbid that, as of old, time ever Flourish'd in spring so contrary, now never. That mighty breath, which blew foul Winter hither, Can eas'ly puffe it to a fairer weather. Why dost despair then, Frank? Aeolus has A Zephyrus as well as Boreas.

'Tis a false sequel, soloecisme 'gainst those Precepts by fortune giv'n us, to suppose That, 'cause it is now ill, 't will ere be so; Apollo doth not always bend his bow; But oft, uncrowned of his beams divine, With his soft harp awakes the sleeping Nine.

In strictest things magnanimous appear, Greater in hope, howere thy fate, then fear: Draw all your sails in quickly, though no storm Threaten your ruine with a sad alarm; For tell me how they differ, tell me, pray, A cloudy tempest and a too fair day?

One of the younger brothers of the poet. In the year of the Restoration he filled the office of Recorder of Canterbury, and in that capacity delivered the address of the city to Charles II. on his passage through the place. This speech was printed in 1660, 4to, three leaves. The following extracts from the CALENDARS OF STATE PAPERS (Domestic Series, 1660-1, page 139), throw a little additional light on the history of this person:—

"1660, July 1.—Petition of Fras. Lovelace, Recorder of Canterbury, to the King, for the stewardship of the liberties of St. Augustine, near Canterbury, for himself and his son Goldwell. Has suffered sequestration, imprisonment, and loss of office, for his loyalty. WITH A NOTE OF THE REQUESTED GRANT FOR FRAS. LOVELACE.

"Grant to Fras. Lovelace, of the office of chief steward of the Liberties of the late monastery of St. Augustine, near Canterbury."

Unless the poet is advising his brother, before the latter ventures on a long sea voyage, to look in the crystal, or beryl, so popular at that time, in order to read his fortune, I must confess my ignorance of the meaning of "glassy-epithete." See, for an account of the beryl, Aubrey's MISCELLANIES, edit. 1857, p. 154.

Than.



PARIS'S SECOND JUDGEMENT,

UPON THE THREE DAUGHTERS OF MY DEAR BROTHER MR. R. CAESAR.

Behold! three sister-wonders, in whom met, Distinct and chast, the splendrous counterfeit Of Juno, Venus and the warlike Maid, Each in their three divinities array'd; The majesty and state of Heav'ns great Queen, And when she treats the gods, her noble meen; The sweet victorious beauties and desires O' th' sea-born princess, empresse too of fires; The sacred arts and glorious lawrels torn From the fair brow o' th' goddesse father-born; All these were quarter'd in each snowy coat, With canton'd honours of their own, to boot. Paris, by fate new-wak'd from his dead cell, Is charg'd to give his doom impossible. He views in each the brav'ry of all Ide; Whilst one, as once three, doth his soul divide. Then sighs so equally they're glorious all: WHAT PITY THE WHOLE WORLD IS BUT ONE BALL!

Second son of Sir John Caesar, Knt., who was the second surviving son of Sir Julius Caesar, Knt., Master of the Rolls. Mr. Robert Caesar married the poet's sister Johanna, by whom he had three daughters, co-heirs—Anne, Juliana, and Johanna. These are the ladies commemorated in the text. See Lodge's LIFE OF SIR JULIUS CAESAR, 1827, p. 54.

Original reads SPLENDORS.

This word is here used to signify simply RESEMBLANCE or COPY.

i.e. quartered. CANTON, in heraldry, is a square space at one of the corners of a shield of arms.

Bravery here means, as it often does in writers of and before the time of Lovelace, A BEAUTIFUL OR FINE SPECTACLE, or simply BEAUTY. BRAVE in the sense of FINE (gaudy or gallant) is still in use.



PEINTURE.

A PANEGYRICK TO THE BEST PICTURE OF FRIENDSHIP, MR. PET. LILLY.

If Pliny, Lord High Treasurer of all Natures exchequer shuffled in this our ball, Peinture her richer rival did admire, And cry'd she wrought with more almighty fire, That judg'd the unnumber'd issue of her scrowl, Infinite and various as her mother soul, That contemplation into matter brought, Body'd Ideas, and could form a thought. Why do I pause to couch the cataract, And the grosse pearls from our dull eyes abstract, That, pow'rful Lilly, now awaken'd we This new creation may behold by thee?

To thy victorious pencil all, that eyes And minds call reach, do bow. The deities Bold Poets first but feign'd, you do and make, And from your awe they our devotion take. Your beauteous pallet first defin'd Love's Queen, And made her in her heav'nly colours seen; You strung the bow of the Bandite her son, And tipp'd his arrowes with religion. Neptune as unknown as his fish might dwell, But that you seat him in his throne of shell. The thunderers artillery and brand, You fancied Rome in his fantastick hand; And the pale frights, the pains, and fears of hell First from your sullen melancholy fell. Who cleft th' infernal dog's loath'd head in three, And spun out Hydra's fifty necks? by thee As prepossess'd w' enjoy th' Elizian plain, Which but before was flatter'd in our brain. Who ere yet view'd airs child invisible, A hollow voice, but in thy subtile skill? Faint stamm'ring Eccho you so draw, that we The very repercussion do see. Cheat-HOCUS-POCUS-Nature an assay O' th' spring affords us: praesto, and away! You all the year do chain her and her fruits, Roots to their beds, and flowers to their roots. Have not mine eyes feasted i' th' frozen Zone Upon a fresh new-grown collation Of apples, unknown sweets, that seem'd to me Hanging to tempt as on the fatal tree, So delicately limn'd I vow'd to try My appetite impos'd upon my eye? You, sir, alone, fame, and all-conqu'ring rime, File the set teeth of all-devouring time. When beauty once thy vertuous paint hath on, Age needs not call her to vermilion; Her beams nere shed or change like th' hair of day, She scatters fresh her everlasting ray. Nay, from her ashes her fair virgin fire Ascends, that doth new massacres conspire, Whilst we wipe off the num'rous score of years, And do behold our grandsire[s] as our peers; With the first father of our house compare We do the features of our new-born heir: For though each coppied a son, they all Meet in thy first and true original. Sacred! luxurious! what princesse not But comes to you to have her self begot? As, when first man was kneaded, from his side Is born to's hand a ready-made-up bride. He husband to his issue then doth play, And for more wives remove the obstructed way: So by your art you spring up in two noons What could not else be form'd by fifteen suns; Thy skill doth an'mate the prolifick flood, And thy red oyl assimilates to blood. Where then, when all the world pays its respect, Lies our transalpine barbarous neglect? When the chast hands of pow'rful Titian Had drawn the scourges of our God and man, And now the top of th' altar did ascend To crown the heav'nly piece with a bright end; Whilst he, who in seven languages gave law, And always, like the Sun, his subjects saw, Did, in his robes imperial and gold, The basis of the doubtful ladder hold. O Charls! a nobler monument than that, Which thou thine own executor wert at! When to our huffling Henry there complain'd A grieved earl, that thought his honor stain'd: Away (frown'd he), for your own safeties, hast! In one cheap hour ten coronets I'l cast; But Holbeen's noble and prodigious worth Onely the pangs of an whole age brings forth. Henry! a word so princely saving said, It might new raise the ruines thou hast made. O sacred Peincture! that dost fairly draw, What but in mists deep inward Poets saw; 'Twixt thee and an Intelligence no odds, That art of privy council to the gods! By thee unto our eyes they do prefer A stamp of their abstracted character; Thou, that in frames eternity dost bind, And art a written and a body'd mind; To thee is ope the Juncto o' th' abysse, And its conspiracy detected is; Whilest their cabal thou to our sense dost show, And in thy square paint'st what they threat below. Now, my best Lilly, let's walk hand in hand, And smile at this un-understanding land; Let them their own dull counterfeits adore, Their rainbow-cloaths admire, and no more. Within one shade of thine more substance is, Than all their varnish'd idol-mistresses: Whilst great Vasari and Vermander shall Interpret the deep mystery of all, And I unto our modern Picts shall show, What due renown to thy fair art they owe In the delineated lives of those, By whom this everlasting lawrel grows. Then, if they will not gently apprehend, Let one great blot give to their fame an end; Whilst no poetick flower their herse doth dresse, But perish they and their effigies.

An allusion is, of course, intended to Pliny's NATURAL HISTORY which, through Holland's translation, became popular in England after 1601.

i.e. in our globe.

A term borrowed from the medical, or rather surgical, vocabulary. "To couch a cataract" (i.e. in the eye) is to remove it by surgical process.

An allusion to Lely's pictures of Venus and Cupid.

Falsely portrayed.

A glimpse.

Some picture by Lely, in which the painter introduced a spring landscape, is meant. The poet feigns the copy of Nature to be so close that one might suppose the Spring had set in before the usual time. The canvass is removed, and the illusion is dispelled. "Praesto, 'tis away," would be a preferable reading.

i.e. if my appetite, &c. Lovelace's style is elliptical to an almost unexampled degree.

The same story, with variations, has been told over and over again since the time of Zeuxis.

Original edition has FILES.

HAIR is here used in what has become quite an obsolete sense. The meaning is outward form, nature, or character. The word used to be by no means uncommon; but it is now, as was before remarked, out of fashion; and, indeed, I do not think that it is found even in any old writer used exactly in the way in which Lovelace has employed it.

Original reads TO.

Charles V.

Henry VIII.

A story too well known to require repetition. The Earl is not mentioned.—See Walpole's ANECDOTES OF PAINTING, ed. 1862, p.71.

i.e. no difference. A compliment to Lely's spirituality.



AN ANNIVERSARY ON THE HYMENEALS OF MY NOBLE KINSMAN, THO. STANLEY, ESQUIRE.

I. The day is curl'd about agen To view the splendor she was in; When first with hallow'd hands The holy man knit the mysterious bands When you two your contracted souls did move Like cherubims above, And did make love, As your un-understanding issue now, In a glad sigh, a smile, a tear, a vow.

II. Tell me, O self-reviving Sun, In thy perigrination Hast thou beheld a pair Twist their soft beams like these in their chast air? As from bright numberlesse imbracing rayes Are sprung th' industrious dayes, So when they gaze, And change their fertile eyes with the new morn, A beauteous offspring is shot forth, not born.

III. Be witness then, all-seeing Sun, Old spy, thou that thy race hast run In full five thousand rings; To thee were ever purer offerings Sent on the wings of Faith? and thou, O Night, Curtain of their delight, By these made bright, Have you not mark'd their coelestial play, And no more peek'd the gayeties of day?

IV. Come then, pale virgins, roses strow, Mingled with Ios as you go. The snowy ox is kill'd, The fane with pros'lyte lads and lasses fill'd, You too may hope the same seraphic joy, Old time cannot destroy, Nor fulnesse cloy; When, like these, you shall stamp by sympathies Thousands of new-born-loves with your chaste eyes.

Lovelace was connected with the Stanleys through the Auchers. The Kentish families, about this time, intermarried with each other to a very large extent, partly to indemnify themselves from the consequences of gravelkind tenure (though many had procured parliamentary relief); and the Lovelaces, the Stanleys, the Hammonds, the Sandyses, were all more or less bound together by the ties of kindred. See the tree prefixed by Sir Egerton Brydges to his edition of HAMMOND'S POEMS, 1816, and the Introduction to STANLEY'S POEMS, 1814. Sir William Lovelace, the poet's grandfather, married Elizabeth, daughter of Edward Aucher, Esq., of Bishopsbourne, near Canterbury, while Sir William Hammond, of St. Alban's Court, married, as his second wife, Elizabeth, daughter of Anthony Aucher, Esq., of Bishopsbourne, by whom he had, among other children, Mary, who became the wife of Sir Thomas Stanley, of Cumberlow, father of Thomas Stanley, the poet, historian, and translator of Bion, &c.

See THE POEMS OF WILLIAM HAMMOND, 1655, edited by Sir E. Brydges, 1816, p. 54, where there is a similar poem on Stanley and his bride from the pen of Hammond, who also claimed relationship with the then newly-married poet. The best account of Stanley is in the reprint of his Poems and Translations, 1814, 8vo.

Meaning that the earth had made 5000 revolutions round the sun; or, in other words, that the sun was 5000 years old.

Original reads AND THOU OF NIGHT.



ON SANAZAR'S BEING HONOURED WITH SIX HUNDRED DUCKETS BY THE CLARISSIMI OF VENICE, FOR COMPOSING AN ELIGIACK HEXASTICK OF THE CITY.

A SATYRE.

Twas a blith prince exchang'd five hundred crowns For a fair turnip. Dig, dig on, O clowns But how this comes about, Fates, can you tell, This more then Maid of Meurs, this miracle? Let me not live, if I think not St. Mark Has all the oar, as well as beasts, in's ark! No wonder 'tis he marries the rich sea, But to betroth him to nak'd Poesie, And with a bankrupt muse to merchandise; His treasures beams, sure, have put out his eyes. His conquest at Lepanto I'l let pass, When the sick sea with turbants night-cap'd was; And now at Candie his full courage shown, That wan'd to a wan line the half-half moon. This is a wreath, this is a victorie, Caesar himself would have look'd pale to see, And in the height of all his triumphs feel Himself but chain'd to such a mighty wheel. And now me thinks we ape Augustus state, So ugly we his high worth imitate, Monkey his godlike glories; so that we Keep light and form with such deformitie, As I have seen an arrogant baboon With a small piece of glasse zany the sun. Rome to her bard, who did her battails sing, Indifferent gave to poet and to king; With the same lawrells were his temples fraught, Who best had written, and who best had fought; The self same fame they equally did feel, One's style ador'd as much as t' other's steel. A chain or fasces she could then afford The sons of Phoebus, we, an axe or cord; Sometimes a coronet was her renown, And ours, the dear prerogative of a crown. In marble statu'd walks great Lucan lay, And now we walk, our own pale statua. They the whole year with roses crownd would dine, And we in all December know no wine; Disciplin'd, dieted, sure there hath bin Ods 'twixt a poet and a Capuchin. Of princes, women, wine, to sing I see Is no apocrypha: for to rise high Commend this olio of this lord 'tis fit: Nay, ten to one, but you have part of it; There is that justice left, since you maintain His table, he should counter-feed your brain. Then write how well he in his sack hath droll'd, Straight there's a bottle to your chamber roll'd, Or with embroider'd words praise his French suit, Month hence 'tis yours with his mans, to boot; Or but applaud his boss'd legs: two to none, But he most nobly doth give you one. Or spin an elegie on his false hair: 'Tis well, he cries, but living hair is dear. Yet say that out of order ther's one curl, And all the hopes of your reward you furl. Write a deep epick poem, and you may As soon delight them as the opera, Where they Diogenes thought in his tub, Never so sowre did look so sweet a club. You that do suck for thirst your black quil's blood, And chaw your labour'd papers for your food, I will inform you how and what to praise, Then skin y' in satin as young Lovelace plaies. Beware, as you would your fierce guests, your lice, To strip the cloath of gold from cherish'd vice; Rather stand off with awe and reverend fear, Hang a poetick pendant in her ear, Court her as her adorers do their glasse, Though that as much of a true substance has, Whilst all the gall from your wild ink you drain, The beauteous sweets of vertues cheeks to stain; And in your livery let her be known, As poor and tatter'd as in her own. Nor write, nor speak you more of sacred writ, But what shall force up your arrested wit. Be chast; religion and her priests your scorn, Whilst the vain fanes of idiots you adorn. It is a mortal errour, you must know, Of any to speak good, if he be so. Rayl, till your edged breath flea your raw throat, And burn remarks on all of gen'rous note; Each verse be an indictment, be not free Sanctity 't self from thy scurrility. Libel your father, and your dam buffoon, The noblest matrons of the isle lampoon, Whilst Aretine and 's bodies you dispute, And in your sheets your sister prostitute. Yet there belongs a sweetnesse, softnesse too, Which you must pay, but first, pray, know to who. There is a creature, (if I may so call That unto which they do all prostrate fall) Term'd mistress, when they'r angry; but, pleas'd high, It is a princesse, saint, divinity. To this they sacrifice the whole days light, Then lye with their devotion all night; For this you are to dive to the abysse, And rob for pearl the closet of some fish. Arabia and Sabaea you must strip Of all their sweets, for to supply her lip; And steal new fire from heav'n, for to repair Her unfledg'd scalp with Berenice's hair; Then seat her in Cassiopeia's chair. As now you're in your coach: save you, bright sir, (O, spare your thanks) is not this finer far Then walk un-hided, when that every stone Has knock'd acquaintance with your ankle-bone? When your wing'd papers, like the last dove, nere Return'd to quit you of your hope or fear, But left you to the mercy of your host And your days fare, a fortified toast. How many battels, sung in epick strain, Would have procur'd your head thatch from the rain Not all the arms of Thebes and Troy would get One knife but to anatomize your meat, A funeral elegie, with a sad boon, Might make you (hei!) sip wine like maccaroon; But if perchance there did a riband come, Not the train-band so fierce with all its drum: Yet with your torch you homeward would retire, And heart'ly wish your bed your fun'ral pyre. With what a fury have I known you feed Upon a contract and the hopes 't might speed! Not the fair bride, impatient of delay, Doth wish like you the beauties of that day; Hotter than all the roasted cooks you sat To dresse the fricace of your alphabet, Which sometimes would be drawn dough anagrame, Sometimes acrostick parched in the flame; Then posies stew'd with sippets, mottos by: Of minced verse a miserable pye. How many knots slip'd, ere you twist their name With th' old device, as both their heart's the same! Whilst like to drills the feast in your false jaw You would transmit at leisure to your maw; Then after all your fooling, fat, and wine, Glutton'd at last, return at home to pine. Tell me, O Sun, since first your beams did play To night, and did awake the sleeping day; Since first your steeds of light their race did start, Did you ere blush as now? Oh thou, that art The common father to the base pissmire, As well as great Alcides, did the fire From thine owne altar which the gods adore, Kindle the souls of gnats and wasps before? Who would delight in his chast eyes to see Dormise to strike at lights of poesie? Faction and envy now are downright rage. Once a five-knotted whip there was, the stage: The beadle and the executioner, To whip small errors, and the great ones tear; Now, as er'e Nimrod the first king, he writes: That's strongest, th' ablest deepest bites. The muses weeping fly their hill, to see Their noblest sons of peace in mutinie. Could there nought else this civil war compleat, But poets raging with poetic heat, Tearing themselves and th' endlesse wreath, as though Immortal they, their wrath should be so, too? And doubly fir'd Apollo burns to see In silent Helicon a naumachie. Parnassus hears these at his first alarms; Never till now Minerva was in arms. O more then conqu'ror of the world, great Rome! Thy heros did with gentleness or'e come Thy foes themselves, but one another first, Whilst envy stript alone was left, and burst. The learn'd Decemviri, 'tis true, did strive, But to add flames to keep their fame alive; Whilst the eternal lawrel hung ith' air: Nor of these ten sons was there found one heir. Like to the golden tripod, it did pass From this to this, till 't came to him, whose 'twas. Caesar to Gallus trundled it, and he To Maro: Maro, Naso, unto thee? Naso to his Tibullus flung the wreath, He to Catullus thus did bequeath. This glorious circle, to another round, At last the temples of their god it bound. I might believe at least, that each might have A quiet fame contented in his grave, Envy the living, not the dead, doth bite: For after death all men receave their right. If it be sacriledge for to profane Their holy ashes, what is't then their flame? He does that wrong unweeting or in ire, As if one should put out the vestal fire. Let earths four quarters speak, and thou, Sun, bear Now witnesse for thy fellow-traveller. I was ally'd, dear Uncle, unto thee In blood, but thou, alas, not unto me; Your vertues, pow'rs, and mine differ'd at best, As they whose springs you saw, the east and west. Let me awhile be twisted in thy shine, And pay my due devotions at thy shrine. Might learned Waynman rise, who went with thee In thy heav'ns work beside divinity, I should sit still; or mighty Falkland stand To justifie with breath his pow'rful hand; The glory, that doth circle your pale urn, Might hallow'd still and undefiled burn: But I forbear. Flames, that are wildly thrown At sacred heads, curle back upon their own; Sleep, heavenly Sands, whilst what they do or write, Is to give God himself and you your right. There is not in my mind one sullen fate Of old, but is concentred in our state: Vandall ore-runners, Goths in literature: Ploughmen that would Parnassus new-manure; Ringers of verse that all-in-chime, And toll the changes upon every rime. A mercer now by th' yard does measure ore An ode, which was but by the foot before; Deals you an ell of epigram, and swears It is the strongest and the finest wears. No wonder, if a drawer verses rack, If 'tis not his, 't may be the spir't of sack; Whilst the fair bar-maid stroaks the muses teat, For milk to make the posset up compleat. Arise, thou rev'rend shade, great Johnson, rise! Break through thy marble natural disguise! Behold a mist of insects, whose meer breath Will melt thy hallow'd leaden house of death. What was Crispinus, that you should defie The age for him? He durst not look so high As your immortal rod, he still did stand Honour'd, and held his forehead to thy brand. These scorpions, with which we have to do, Are fiends, not only small but deadly too. Well mightst thou rive thy quill up to the back, And scrue thy lyre's grave chords, untill they crack. For though once hell resented musick, these Divels will not, but are in worse disease. How would thy masc'line spirit, father Ben, Sweat to behold basely deposed men, Justled from the prerog'tive of their bed, Whilst wives are per'wig'd with their husbands head? Each snatches the male quill from his faint hand, And must both nobler write and understand, He to her fury the soft plume doth bow: O pen, nere truely justly slit till now! Now as her self a poem she doth dresse. And curls a line, as she would do a tresse; Powders a sonnet as she does her hair, Then prostitutes them both to publick aire. Nor is 't enough, that they their faces blind With a false dye; but they must paint their mind, In meeter scold, and in scann'd order brawl, Yet there's one Sapho left may save them all. But now let me recal my passion. Oh! (from a noble father, nobler son) You, that alone are the Clarissimi, And the whole gen'rous state of Venice be, It shall not be recorded Sanazar Shall boast inthron'd alone this new made star; You, whose correcting sweetnesse hath forbad Shame to the good, and glory to the bad; Whose honour hath ev'n into vertue tam'd These swarms, that now so angerly I nam'd. Forgive what thus distemper'd I indite: For it is hard a SATYRE not to write. Yet, as a virgin that heats all her blood At the first motion of bad understood, Then, at meer thought of fair chastity, Straight cools again the tempests of her sea: So when to you I my devotions raise, All wrath and storms do end in calm and praise.

Louis XI. of France was the prince here intended. See MERY TALES AND QUICKE ANSWERS, No. 23 (ed. Hazlitt). I fear that if Lovelace had derived his knowledge of this incident rom the little work mentioned, he would have been still more sarcastic; for Louis, in the TALES AND QUICKE ANSWERS, is made to give, not 500 crowns for a turnip, but 1000 crowns for a radish.

Perhaps Lovelace is rather too severe on Sannazaro. That writer is said to have occupied twenty years in the composition of his poem on the Birth of the Saviour, for which he probably did not receive a sixth part of the sum paid to him for his hexastic on Venice; and so he deserved this little windfal, which came out of the pocket of a Government rich enough to pay it ten times over. See Corniano's VITA DI JACOPO SANNAZARO, prefixed to the edition of his ARCADIA, published at Milan in 1806. Amongst the translations printed at the end of LUCASTA, and which it seems very likely were among the earliest poetical essays of Lovelace, is this very epigram of Sannazaro. As in the case of THE ANT, I have little doubt that the satire was suggested by the translation.

The battle of Lepanto, in which Don John of Austria and the Venetians defeated the Turks, 1571.

The Turkish crescent.

Close, or shut up.

i.e. write as a means of subsistence.

Unrefined.

Flay, excoriate.

Original reads ALL MARKS.

A hard toasted crust.

A fee or gratuity given to a poet on a mournful occasion, and made more liberal by the circumstances of affliction in which the donors are placed.

Generally, a mere coxcomb or dandy; but here the poet implies a man about town who is rich enough to indulge in fashionable luxuries.

The ribbon by which the star of an order of knighthood was attached to the breast of the fortunate recipient. It sometimes also stood for the armlet worn by gentlemen in our poet's day, as a mark of some lady's esteem. See Shirley's POEMS (Works, vi. 440).

A crude anagram.

An imperfect acrostic. Few readers require to be told that anagrams and acrostics were formerly one of the most fashionable species of composition. Lovelace here pictures a poetaster "stewing" his brains with a poem of this description, which of course demanded a certain amount of tedious and minute attention to the arrangement of the name of the individual to whom the anagram or acrostic was to be addressed, and this was especially the case, where the writer contemplated a DOUBLE acrostic.

Original reads IS.

Ovid. EL. 15.

Unwitting.

The Lovelaces were connected, not only with the Hammonds Auchers, &c., but on the mother's side with the family of Sandys. See Berry's KENT GENEALOGIES, which, however, are not by any means invariably reliable. The subjoined is partly from Berry:—

Edwin Sandys, === Cecilia, da. of Thomas Archbishop of ! Wilford, of Cranbrook, York, ob. 1588. ! Co. Kent, Esq. ob. 1610. ! —————————————————————— ! ! ! [Sir]===(4thly)Catherine, George, trans- Anne==Sir William Edwin ! da. of Sir R. lator of the Barnes, of Sandys ! Bulkeley, of Psalms, &c., Woolwich, ! Anglesey. ob. 1643-4, the poet's ! Lovelace's maternal ! GREAT-uncle. grandfather. ! Richard Sandys Esq.==Hester, da. of Edwin Aucher, second son of Anthony Aucher, Esq., of Bishopsbourne.

[George] Sandys published, in 1615, his "Relation of a Journey Begun A.D. 1610," &c., which became very popular, and was frequently reprinted.

"There was Selden, and he sat close by the chair; Wainman not far off, which was very fair." Suckling's SESSION OF THE POETS.

"Hales set by himself, most gravely did smile To see them about nothing keep such a wil; APOLLO had spied him, but knowing his mind Past by, and call'd FALKLAND, that sat just behind. He was of late so gone with divinity, That he had almost forgot his poetry, Though to say the truth (and APOLLO did know it) He might have been both his priest and poet." Suckling's SESSION OF THE POETS.

Lord Falkland was a contributor to JONSONUS VIRBIUS, 1638, and was well known in his day as an occasional writer.

SULLEN is here used in the sense of MISCHIEVOUS. In Worcester's Dictionary an example is given of its employment by Dryden in a similar signification.

Thomas Decker, the dramatist and poet, whom Jonson attacked in his POETASTER, 1602, under the name of CRISPINUS. Decker retorted in SATIROMASTIX, printed in the same year, in which Jonson appears as YOUNG HORACE.

An allusion to the lines:

"Come, leave the loathed stage, And the more loathsome age,"

prefixed to the NEW INNE, 1631, 8vo. Jonson's adopted son Randolph expostulated with him on this occasion in the ode beginning:—

"Ben, doe not leave the stage, 'Cause 'tis a loathsome age." Randolph's POEMS, 1640, p. 64.

Carew and others did the same.

Katherine Philips, the MATCHLESS ORINDA, b. 1631, d. 1664. Jeremy Taylor addressed to her his "Measures and Offices of Friendship," 1657, and Cowley wrote an ode upon her death.

By MOTION OF BAD I presume the poet means WICKED IMPULSE.



COMMENDATORY VERSES, PREFIXED TO VARIOUS PUBLICATIONS BETWEEN 1652 AND 1657.



TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR. E[LDRED] R[EVETT]. ON HIS POEMS MORAL AND DIVINE.

Cleft as the top of the inspired hill, Struggles the soul of my divided quill, Whilst this foot doth the watry mount aspire, That Sinai's living and enlivening fire, Behold my powers storm'd by a twisted light O' th' Sun and his, first kindled his sight, And my lost thoughts invoke the prince of day, My right to th' spring of it and him do pray.

Say, happy youth, crown'd with a heav'nly ray Of the first flame, and interwreathed bay, Inform my soul in labour to begin, Ios or Anthems, Poeans or a Hymne. Shall I a hecatombe on thy tripod slay, Or my devotions at thy altar pay? While which t' adore th' amaz'd world cannot tell, The sublime Urim or deep oracle.

Heark! how the moving chords temper our brain, As when Apollo serenades the main, Old Ocean smooths his sullen furrow'd front, And Nereids do glide soft measures on't; Whilst th' air puts on its sleekest, smoothest face, And each doth turn the others looking-glasse; So by the sinewy lyre now strook we see Into soft calms all storm of poesie, And former thundering and lightning lines, And verse now in its native lustre shines.

How wert thou hid within thyself! how shut! Thy pretious Iliads lock'd up in a nut! Not hearing of thee thou dost break out strong, Invading forty thousand men in song; And we, secure in our thin empty heat, Now find ourselves at once surprised and beat, Whilst the most valiant of our wits now sue, Fling down their arms, ask quarter too of you.

So cabin'd up in its disguis'd coarse rust, And scurf'd all ore with its unseemly crust, The diamond, from 'midst the humbler stones, Sparkling shoots forth the price of nations. Ye safe unriddlers of the stars, pray tell, By what name shall I stamp my miracle? Thou strange inverted Aeson, that leap'st ore From thy first infancy into fourscore, That to thine own self hast the midwife play'd, And from thy brain spring'st forth the heav'nly maid! Thou staffe of him bore him, that bore our sins, Which, but set down, to bloom and bear begins! Thou rod of Aaron, with one motion hurl'd, Bud'st a perfume of flowers through the world! You strange calcined seeds within a glass, Each species Idaea spring'st as 'twas! Bright vestal flame that, kindled but ev'n now, For ever dost thy sacred fires throw!

Thus the repeated acts of Nestor's age, That now had three times ore out-liv'd the stage, And all those beams contracted into one, Alcides in his cradle hath outdone.

But all these flour'shing hiews, with which I die Thy virgin paper, now are vain as I: For 'bove the poets Heav'n th' art taught to shine And move, as in thy proper crystalline; Whence that mole-hill Parnassus thou dost view, And us small ants there dabbling in its dew; Whence thy seraphic soul such hymns doth play, As those to which first danced the first day, Where with a thorn from the world-ransoming wreath Thou stung, dost antiphons and anthems breathe; Where with an Angels quil dip'd i' th' Lambs blood, Thou sing'st our Pelicans all-saving flood, And bath'st thy thoughts in ever-living streams, Rench'd from earth's tainted, fat and heavy steams. There move translated youth inroll'd i' th' quire, That only doth with wholy lays inspire; To whom his burning coach Eliah sent, And th' royal prophet-priest his harp hath lent; Which thou dost tune in consort unto those Clap wings for ever at each hallow'd close: Whilst we, now weak and fainting in our praise, Sick echo ore thy Halleluiahs.

Revett has some verses to the memory of Lovelace, which will be found among the Elegies at the end of the volume. The present lines were apparently written for a projected edition of Revett's poems, which, for some unknown reason, was never published. Revett has also verses prefixed to THE ROYAL GAME OF CHESSE PLAY, 1656; to AYRES AND DIALOGUES, by John Gamble, 1656; and to Hall's translation of the COMMENT OF HIEROCLES UPON THE GOLDEN VERSES OF PYTHAGORAS, 1657.

Original has COURSE.

This is only one instance among many which might be cited from LUCASTA of the employment of an intransitive verb in a transitive signification.

i.e. THAT BORE HIM.

i.e. THAT BUD'ST.

Orig. has THOU.

This word, now employed only in a special sense, was formerly a very common and favourite metaphor. Thus Lord Westmoreland, in his OTIA SACRA, 1648, p. 19, says:—

"When all the vertue we can here put on Is but refined imperfection, Corruption calcined—"

See also p. 137 of the same volume.

Rinsed.



ON THE BEST, LAST, AND ONLY REMAINING COMEDY OF MR. FLETCHER.

THE WILD GOOSE CHASE.

I'm un-ore-clowded, too! free from the mist! The blind and late Heaven's-eyes great Occulist, Obscured with the false fires of his sceme, Not half those souls are lightned by this theme.

Unhappy murmurers, that still repine (After th' Eclipse our Sun doth brighter shine), Recant your false grief, and your true joys know; Your blisse is endlesse, as you fear'd your woe! What fort'nate flood is this! what storm of wit! Oh, who would live, and not ore-whelm'd in it? No more a fatal Deluge shall be hurl'd: This inundation hath sav'd the world. Once more the mighty Fletcher doth arise, Roab'd in a vest studded with stars and eyes Of all his former glories; his last worth Imbroiderd with what yet light ere brought forth. See! in this glad farewel he doth appear Stuck with the Constellations of his Sphere, Fearing we numb'd fear'd no flagration, Hath curl'd all his fires in this one ONE: Which (as they guard his hallowed chast urn) The dull aproaching hereticks do burn.

Fletcher at his adieu carouses thus To the luxurious ingenious, As Cleopatra did of old out-vie, Th' un-numb'red dishes of her Anthony, When (he at th' empty board a wonderer) Smiling she calls for pearl and vinegar, First pledges him in's BREATH, then at one draught Swallows THREE KINGDOMS of To HIS BEST THOUGHT.

Hear, oh ye valiant writers, and subscribe; (His force set by) y'are conquer'd by this bribe. Though you hold out your selves, he doth commit In this a sacred treason in your wit; Although in poems desperately stout, Give up: this overture must buy you out.

Thus with some prodigal us'rer 't doth fare, That keeps his gold still vayl'd, his steel-breast bare; That doth exceed his coffers all but's eye, And his eyes' idol the wing'd Deity: That cannot lock his mines with half the art As some rich beauty doth his wretched heart; Wild at his real poverty, and so wise To win her, turns himself into a prise. First startles her with th' emerald Mad-Lover The ruby Arcas, least she should recover Her dazled thought, a Diamond he throws, Splendid in all the bright Aspatia's woes; Then to sum up the abstract of his store, He flings a rope of Pearl of forty more. Ah, see! the stagg'ring virtue faints! which he Beholding, darts his Wealths Epitome; And now, to consummate her wished fall, Shows this one Carbuncle, that darkens all.

"THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. A Comedie: As it hath been acted with singular applause at the BLACKFRIERS. Being the Noble, Last, and Onely REMAINES of those Incomparable DRAMATISTS, Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gent. London: Printed for Humphrey Moseley, 1652," folio.

Singer reads HE, but original SHE, as above. Of course Cleopatra is meant.

Fletcher's MAD LOVER.

Fletcher's FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.

THE MAID'S TRAGEDY, by Beaumont and Fletcher, 1619.

Should we not read FIFTY, and understand the collected edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's Works in 1647?

The WILD-GOOSE CHASE, which is also apparently the CARBUNCLE mentioned two lines lower down.



TO MY NOBLE KINSMAN THOMAS STANLEY, ESQ. ON HIS LYRICK POEMS COMPOSED BY MR. JOHN GAMBLE.

I. What means this stately tablature, The ballance of thy streins, Which seems, in stead of sifting pure, T' extend and rack thy veins? Thy Odes first their own harmony did break: For singing, troth, is but in tune to speak.

II. Nor trus thy golden feet and wings. It may be thought false melody T' ascend to heav'n by silver strings; This is Urania's heraldry. Thy royal poem now we may extol, As truly Luna blazon'd upon Sol.

III. As when Amphion first did call Each listning stone from's den; And with his lute did form the wall, But with his words the men; So in your twisted numbers now you thus Not only stocks perswade, but ravish us.

IV. Thus do your ayrs eccho ore The notes and anthems of the sphaeres, And their whole consort back restore, As if earth too would blesse Heav'ns ears; But yet the spoaks, by which they scal'd so high, Gamble hath wisely laid of UT RE MI.>

Thomas Stanley, Esq., author of the HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY, and an elegant poet and translator, v. SUPRA.

Lovelace wrote these lines for AYRES AND DIALOGUES. TO BE SUNG TO THE THEORBO, LUTE, OR BASE-VIOLL: By John Gamble, London, Printed by William Godbid for the Author, 1656. folio. [The words are by Stanley.]

"Wood, in his account of this person, vol. i. col. 285, conjectures that many of the songs in the above collection (Gamble's AYRES, &c. 1659), were written by the learned Thomas Stanley, Esq., author of the HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY, and seemingly with good reason, for they resemble, in the conciseness and elegant turn of them, those poems of his printed in 1651, containing translations from Anacreon, Bion, Moschus and others."—Hawkins.

LUCASTA and AYRES AND DIALOGUES read THUS, which leaves no meaning in this passage.

Old editions have MAY IT.

Harmonie—AYRES AND DIALOGUES, &c.

Original reads AND, and so also the AYRES AND DIALOGUES.

Old editions have THE.

So the AYRES AND DIALOGUES. LUCASTA has HIS.

> P. 249. UT RE MI.

See LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST, 1598, iv. 3:— "Hol. Old Mantuan! Old Mantuan! who understandeth thee not, loves thee not—UT, RE, SOL, la, mi, FA"——

And Singer's SHAKESPEARE, ed. 1856, ii. 257, NOTE 15.



TO DR. F. B[EALE]; ON HIS BOOK OF CHESSE.

Sir, how unravell'd is the golden fleece: Men, that could only fool at FOX AND GEESE, Are new-made polititians by thy book, And both can judge and conquer with a look. The hidden fate of princes you unfold; Court, clergy, commons, by your law control'd. Strange, serious wantoning all that they Bluster'd and clutter'd for, you PLAY.

These lines, among the last which Lovelace ever wrote, were originally prefixed to "The Royal Game of Chesse-Play. Sometimes the Recreation of the late King, with many of the Nobility. Illustrated with almost an hundred gambetts. Being the Study of Biochino, the famous Italian [Published by Francis Beale.]" Lond. 1656, 12mo.

The text of 1656 has, erroneously no doubt, POLITIANS.

Text of 1656 has FATES.



TO THE GENIUS OF MR. JOHN HALL. ON HIS EXACT TRANSLATION OF HIEROCLES HIS COMMENT UPON THE GOLDEN VERSES OF PYTHAGORAS.

Tis not from cheap thanks thinly to repay Th' immortal grove of thy fair-order'd bay Thou planted'st round my humble fane, that I Stick on thy hearse this sprig of Elegie: Nor that your soul so fast was link'd in me, That now I've both, since't has forsaken thee: That thus I stand a Swisse before thy gate, And dare, for such another, time and fate. Alas! our faiths made different essays, Our Minds and Merits brake two several ways; Justice commands I wake thy learned dust, And truth, in whom all causes center must.

Behold! when but a youth, thou fierce didst whip Upright the crooked age, and gilt vice strip; A senator praetext, that knew'st to sway The fasces, yet under the ferula; Rank'd with the sage, ere blossome did thy chin, Sleeked without, and hair all ore within, Who in the school could'st argue as in schools: Thy lessons were ev'n academie rules. So that fair Cam saw thee matriculate, At once a tyro and a graduate.

At nineteen, what ESSAYES have we beheld! That well might have the book of Dogmas swell'd; Tough Paradoxes, such as Tully's, thou Didst heat thee with, when snowy was thy brow, When thy undown'd face mov'd the Nine to shake, And of the Muses did a decad make. What shall I say? by what allusion bold? NONE BUT THE SUN WAS ERE SO YOUNG AND OLD.

Young reverend shade, ascend awhile! whilst we Now celebrate this posthume victorie, This victory, that doth contract in death Ev'n all the pow'rs and labours of thy breath. Like the Judean Hero, in thy fall Thou pull'st the house of learning on us all. And as that soldier conquest doubted not, Who but one splinter had of Castriot, But would assault ev'n death so strongly charmd, And naked oppose rocks, with his bone arm'd; So we, secure in this fair relique, stand The slings and darts shot by each profane hand. These soveraign leaves thou left'st us are become Sear clothes against all Times infection.

Sacred Hierocles, whose heav'nly thought First acted ore this comment, ere it wrote, Thou hast so spirited, elixir'd, we Conceive there is a noble alchymie, That's turning of this gold to something more Pretious than gold, we never knew before. Who now shall doubt the metempsychosis Of the great Author, that shall peruse this? Let others dream thy shadow wandering strays In th' Elizian mazes hid with bays; Or that, snatcht up in th' upper region, 'Tis kindled there a constellation; I have inform'd me, and declare with ease THY SOUL IS FLED INTO HIEROCLES.

These lines were originally prefixed to "Hierocles upon the Golden Verses of Pythagoras. Teaching a Virtuous and Worthy Life. Translated by John Hall, of Durham, Esquire. OPUS POSTHUMUM." Lond. 1657, 12mo. (The copy among the King's pamphlets in the British Museum appears to have been purchased on the 8th Sept. 1656.) The variations between the texts of 1656 and 1659 are chiefly literal, but a careful collation has enabled me to rectify one or two errors of the press in LUCASTA.

Lovelace refers to the lines which Hall wrote in commendation of LUCASTA, 1649.

The HORAE VACIVAE of Hall, 1646, 16mo., are here meant.

See Beloe's translation of Aulus Gellius, ii. 86.

HORAE VACIVAE, or Essays and some Occasional Considerations. Lond. 1646, 16mo., with a portrait of Hall by William Marshall, au. aet. 19.

Sampson.

Scanderbeg, whose real name was George Castriot. CASTRIOT is also one of the DRAMATIS PERSONAE in Fletcher' KNIGHT OF MALTA.

So the text of 165 , .e. of the lines as originally written by the poet. Lucasta, 659, erroneously has THIS.

"And he found a new jawbone of an ass, and put forth his hand and took it, and slew a thousand men therewith."—JUDGES, xv. 15.

i.e. withstand.

So the text of 1656. LUCASTA has WROUGHT.



TRANSLATIONES / TRANSLATIONS.



<——————————>

SANAZARI HEXASTICON.

Viderat Adriacis quondam Neptunus in undis Stare urbem et toto ponere Jura mari: Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis, Jupiter, Arces Objice et illa mihi moenia Martis, ait, Seu pelago Tibrim praefers, urbem aspice utramque, Illam homines dices, hanc posuisse deos.

SANAZAR'S HEXASTICK.

In Adriatick waves when Neptune saw, The city stand, and give the seas a law: Now i' th' Tarpeian tow'rs Jove rival me, And Mars his walls impregnable, said he; Let seas to Tyber yield; view both their ods! You'l grant that built by men, but this by gods.

Rome.

Points of difference or contrast. For LET SEAS, &c., we ought to read SHALL SEAS, &c.

<——————————>

IN VIRGILIUM. PENTADII.

Pastor, arator, eques; pavi, colui, superavi; Capras, rus, hostes; fronde, ligone, manu.

IN ENGLISH.

A swain, hind, knight: I fed, till'd, did command: Goats, fields, my foes: with leaves, a spade, my hand.

<——————————>

DE SCAEVOLA.

Lictorem pro rege necans nunc mutius ultro Sacrifico propriam concremat igne manum: Miratur Porsenna virum, paenamque relaxans Maxima cum obscessis faedera a victor init, Plus flammis patriae confert quam fortibus armis, Una domans bellum funere dextra sua.

ENGLISHED.

The hand, by which no king but serjeant dies, Mutius in fire doth freely sacrifice; The prince admires the Hero, quits his pains, And Victor from the seige peace entertains; Rome's more oblig'd to flames than arms or pow'r, When one burnt hand shall the whole war devour.

A somewhat imperfect rendering of LICTOR.

The reader will easily judge for himself of the valueless character of these translations; but it is only just to Lovelace to suggest that they were probably academic exercises only, and at the same time to submit that they are not much worse than Marlowe's translation of Ovid, and many other versions of the Classics then current.

<——————————>

DE CATONE.

Invictus victis in partibus omnia Caesar Vincere qui potuit, te, Cato, non potuit.

OF CATO.

The world orecome, victorious Caesar, he That conquer'd all, great Cato, could not thee.

<——————————>

ITEM.

Ictu non potuit primo Cato solvere vitam; Defecit tanto vulnere victa manus: Altius inseruit digitos, qua spiritus ingens Exiret, magnum dextera fecit iter. Opposuit fortuna moram, involvitque, Catonis Scires ut ferro plus valuisse manum.

ANOTHER.

One stabbe could not fierce Cato's life unty; Onely his hand of all that wound did dy. Deeper his fingers tear to make a way Open, through which his mighty soul might stray. Fortune made this delay to let us know, That Cato's hand more then his sword could do.

Cato of Utica.

<——————————>

ITEM.

Jussa manus sacri pectus violare Catonis Haesit, et inceptum victa reliquit opus. Ille ait, infesto contra sua vulnera vultu: Estne aliquid, magnus quod Cato non potuit?

ANOTHER.

The hand of sacred Cato, bad to tear His breast, did start, and the made wound forbear; Then to the gash he said with angry brow: And is there ought great Cato cannot do?

<——————————>

ITEM.

Dextera, quid dubitas? durum est jugulare Catonem; Sed modo liber erit: jam puto non dubitas! Fas non est vivo quenquam servire Catone, Nedum ipsum vincit nunc Cato si moritur.

ANOTHER.

What doubt'st thou, hand? sad Cato 'tis to kill; But he'l be free: sure, hand, thou doubt'st not still! Cato alive, 'tis just all men be free: Nor conquers he himself, now if he die.

<——————————>

PENTADII.

Non est, fulleris, haec beata non est Quod vos creditis esse, vita non est: Fulgentes manibus videre gemmas Et testudineo jacere lecto, Aut pluma latus abdidisse molli, Aut auro bibere, aut cubare cocco; Regales dapibus gravare mensas, Et quicquid Lybico secatur arvo; Non una positum tenere cella: Sed nullos trepidum timere casus, Nec vano populi favore tangi, Et stricto nihil aestuare ferro: Hoc quisquis poterit, licebit illi Fortunam moveat loco superbus.

ENGLISHED.

It is not, y' are deceav'd, it is not blisse What you conceave a happy living is: To have your hands with rubies bright to glow, Then on your tortoise-bed your body throw, And sink your self in down, to drink in gold, And have your looser self in purple roll'd; With royal fare to make the tables groan, Or else with what from Lybick fields is mown, Nor in one vault hoard all your magazine, But at no cowards fate t' have frighted bin; Nor with the peoples breath to be swol'n great, Nor at a drawn stiletto basely swear. He that dares this, nothing to him's unfit, But proud o' th' top of fortunes wheel may sit.

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AD M. T. CICERONEM. CATUL EP. 50.

Disertissime Romuli nepotum, Quot sunt, quotque fuere, Marce Tulli, Quotque post alios erunt in annos, Gratias tibi maximas Catullus Agit, pessimus omnium poeta: Tanto pessimus omnium poeta, Quanto tu optimus omnium patronus.

TO MARCUS T. CICERO. IN AN ENGLISH PENTASTICK.

Tully to thee, Rome's eloquent sole heir, The best of all that are, shall be, and were, I the worst poet send my best thanks and pray'r: Ev'n by how much the worst of poets I, By so much you the best of patrones be.

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AD JUVENCIUM. CAT. EP. 49.

Mellitos oculos tuos, Juvenci, Si quis me sinat usque basiare, Usque ad millia basiem trecenta; Nec unquam videat satur futurus: Non si densior aridis aristis, Sit nostrae seges osculationis.

TO JUVENCIUS.

Juvencius, thy fair sweet eyes If to my fill that I may kisse, Three hundred thousand times I'de kisse, Nor future age should cloy this blisse; No, not if thicker than ripe ears The harvest of our kisses bears.

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DE PUERO ET PRAECONE. CATUL.

Cum puero bello praeconem qui videt esse, Quid credat, nisi se vendere discupere?

CATUL.

With a fair boy a cryer we behold, What should we think, but he would not be sold?

Lovelace has made nonsense of this passage. We ought to read rather, "but that he would be sold!"

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PORTII LICINII.

Si Phoebi soror es, mando tibi, Delia, causam, Scilicet, ut fratri quae peto verba feras: Marmore Sicanio struxi tibi, Delphice, templum, Et levibus calamis candida verba dedi. Nunc, si nos audis, atque es divinus Apollo, Dic mihi, qui nummos non habet unde petat.

ENGLISHED.

If you are Phoebus sister, Delia, pray, This my request unto the Sun convay: O Delphick god, I built thy marble fane, And sung thy praises with a gentle cane, Now, if thou art divine Apollo, tell, Where he, whose purse is empty, may go fill.

Reed or pipe.

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SENECAE EX CLEANTHE.

Duc me, Parens celsique Dominator poli, Quocunque placuit, nulla parendi mora est; Adsum impiger; fac nolle, comitabor gemens, Malusque patiar facere, quod licuit bono. Ducunt volentem Fata, nolentem trahunt.

ENGLISHED.

Parent and Prince of Heav'n, O lead, I pray, Where ere you please, I follow and obey. Active I go, sighing, if you gainsay, And suffer bad what to the good was law. Fates lead the willing, but unwilling draw.

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QUINTI CATULI.

Constiteram exorientem Auroram forte salutans, Cum subito a laeva Roscius exoritur. Pace mihi liceat, coelestes, dicere vestra. Mortalis visu pulchrior esse deo. Blanditur puero satyrus vultuque manuque; Nolenti similis retrahit ora puer: Quem non commoveat, quamvis de marmore? fundit Pene preces satyrus, pene puer lachrymas.

ENGLISHED.

As once I bad good morning to the day, O' th' sudden Roscius breaks in a bright ray: Gods with your favour, I've presum'd to see A mortal fairer then a deitie. With looks and hands a satyre courts the boy, Who draws back his unwilling cheek as coy. Although of marble hewn, whom move not they? The boy ev'n seems to weep, the satyre, pray.

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FLORIDI. DE EBRIOSO.

Phoebus me in somnis vetuit potare Lyaeum, Pareo praeceptis: tunc bibo cum vigilo.

OF A DRUNKARD.

Phoebus asleep forbad me wine to take: I yield; and now am only drunk awake.

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DE ASINO QUI DENTIBUS AENEIDEM CONSUMPSIT.

Carminis iliaci libros consumpsit asellus; Hoc fatum Troiae est: aut equus, aut asinus.

THE ASSE EATING THE AENEIDS.

A wretched asse the Aeneids did destroy: A horse or asse is still the fate of Troy.

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AUSONIUS LIB. EPIG.

Trinarii quodam currentem in littoris ora Ante canes leporem caeruleus rapuit; At lepus: in me omnis terrae pelagique rapina est, Forsitan et coeli, si canis astra tenet.

ENGLISHED.

On the Sicilian strand a hare well wrought Before the hounds was by a dog-fish caught; Quoth she: all rape of sea and earth's on me, Perhaps of heav'n, if there a dog-star be.

Qu. a contraction of AIT.

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AUSONIUS LIB. EPIG.

Polla, potenta, tribon, baculus, scyphus: arcta supellex Haec fuerant Cinici, sed putat hanc nimiam: Namque cavis manibus cernens potare bubulcum, Cur, scyphe, te, dixit, gusto supervacuum?

ENGLISHED.

The Cynicks narrow houshould stuffe of crutch, A stool and dish, was lumber thought too much: For whilst a hind drinks out on's palms o' th' strand He flings his dish: cries: I've one in my hand!

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AUSONIUS LIB. I. EPIG.

Thesauro invento qui limina mortis inibat, Liquit ovans laqueum, quo periturus erat; At qui, quod terrae abdiderat, non repperit aurum, Quem laqueum invenit nexuit, et periit.

ENGLISHED.

A treasure found one, entring at death's gate, Triumphing leaves that cord, was meant his fate; But he the gold missing, which he did hide, The halter which he found he knit: so dy'd.

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A LA CHABOT.

Object adorable et charmant! Mes souspirs et mes pleurs tesmoignent mon torment; Mais mon respect m'empeche de parler. Ah! que peine dissimuler! Et que je souffre de martyre, D'aimer et de n'oser le dire!

TO THE SAME AYRE IN ENGLISH, THUS,

Object adorable of charms! My sighs and tears may testifie my harms; But my respect forbids me to reveal. Ah, what a pain 'tis to conceal! And how I suffer worse then hell, To love, and not to dare to tell!

Original has MES RESPECTS.

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THEOPHILE BEING DENY'D HIS ADDRESSES TO KING JAMES, TURNED THE AFFRONT TO HIS OWN GLORY IN THIS EPIGRAM.

Si Jaques, le Roy du scavior, Ne trouue bon de me voir, Voila la cause infallible! Car, ravy de mon escrit, Il creut, que j'estois tout esprit Et par consequent invisible.

LINEALLY TRANSLATED OUT OF THE FRENCH.

If James, the king of wit, To see me thought not fit, Sure this the cause hath been, That, ravish'd with my merit, He thought I was all spirit, And so not to be seen.

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AUSONIUS.

Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi ponere, pictor, Ignotamque oculis solicitare manu? Aeris et venti sum filia, mater inanis Indicii, vocemque sine mente gero. Auribus in vestris habito penetrabilis echo; Si mihi vis similem pingere, pinge sonos.

IN ENGLISH.

Vain painter, why dost strive my face to draw With busy hands? a goddesse eyes nere saw. Daughter of air and wind, I do rejoyce In empty shouts; (without a mind) a voice. Within your ears shrill echo I rebound, And, if you'l paint me like, then paint a sound.

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AUSON[IUS].

Toxica zelotypo dedit uxor maecha marito, Nec satis ad mortem credidit esse datum; Miscuit argenti lethalia pondera vivi, Ut celeret certam vis geminata necem. Ergo, inter sese dum noxia pocula certant, Cessit lethalis noxa saltuiferi. Protinus in vacuos alvi petiere recessus, Lubrica dejectis quae via nota cibis. Quam pia cura Deum! prodest crudelior uxor. Sic, cum fata volunt, bina venena juvant.

IN ENGLISH.

Her jealous husband an adultresse gave Cold poysons, to[o] weak she thought for's grave; A fatal dose of quicksilver then she Mingles to hast his double destinie; Now whilst within themselves they are at strife, The deadly potion yields to that of life, And straight from th' hollow stomack both retreat To th' slippery pipes known to digested meat. Strange care o' th' gods the murth'resse doth avail! So, when fates please, ev'n double poysons heal.

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AUSONIUS EPIG.

Emptis quod libris tibi bibliotheca referta est, Doctum et grammaticum te, philomuse, putas. Quinetiam cytharas, chordas et barbita conde: Mercator hodie, cras citharoedus, eris.

IN ENGLISH.

Because with bought books, sir, your study's fraught, A learned grammarian you would fain be thought; Nay then, buy lutes and strings; so you may play The merchant now, the fidler, the next day.

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AVIENI V. C. AD AMICOS.

Rure morans, quid agam, respondi, pauca rogatus: Mane, deum exoro famulos, post arvaque viso, Partitusque meis justos indico labores; Inde lego, Phoebumque cio, Musamque lacesso; Tunc oleo corpus fingo, mollique palaestra Stringo libens animo, gaudensque ac foenore liber Prandeo, poto, cano, ludo, lavo, caeno, quiesco.

ENGLISHED.

Ask'd in the country what I did, I said: I view my men and meads, first having pray'd; Then each of mine hath his just task outlay'd; I read, Apollo court, I rouse my Muse; Then I anoynt me, and stript willing loose My self on a soft plat, from us'ry blest; I dine, drink, sing, play, bath, I sup, I rest.

Rufus Festus Avienus, the Latin poet.

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AD FABULLUM. CATUL. LIB. I. EP. 13.

Caenabis bene, mi Fabulle, apud me Paucis, si dii tibi favent, diebus; Si tecum attuleris bonam atque magnam Caenam, non sine candida puella, Et vino, et sale, et omnibus cachinnis. Haec si, inquam, attuleris, Fabulle noster, Caenabis bene: nam tui Catulli Plenus sacculus est aranearum. Sed, contra, accipies meros amores, Seu quod suavius elegantiusve est: Nam unguentum dabo, quod meae puellae Donarunt Veneres Cupidinesque; Quod tu cum olfacies, deos rogabis, Totum te faciant, Fabulle, nasum.

ENGLISHED.

Fabullus, I will treat you handsomely Shortly, if the kind gods will favour thee. If thou dost bring with thee a del'cate messe, An olio or so, a pretty lass, Brisk wine, sharp tales, all sorts of drollery, These if thou bringst (I say) along with thee, You shall feed highly, friend: for, know, the ebbs Of my lank purse are full of spiders webs; But then again you shall receive clear love, Or what more grateful or more sweet may prove: For with an ointment I will favour thee My Venus's and Cupids gave to me, Of which once smelt, the gods thou wilt implore, Fabullus, that they'd make thee nose all ore.

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MART. LIB. I. EPI. 14.

Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Paeto, Quem de visceribus traxerat ipsa suis; Si qua fides, vulnus quod feci non dolet, inquit: Sed quod tu facies, hoc mihi, Paete, dolet.

ENGLISHED.

When brave chast Arria to her Poetus gave The sword from her own breast did bleeding wave: If there be faith, this wound smarts not, said she; But what you'l make, ah, that will murder me.

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MART. EPI. XLIII. LIB. I.

Conjugis audisset fatum cum Portia Bruti, Et substracta sibi quaereret arma dolor, Nondum scitis, ait, mortem non posse negari, Credideram satis hoc vos docuisse patrem. Dixit, et ardentes avido bibit ore favillas. I nunc, et ferrum turba molesta nega.

IN ENGLISH.

When Portia her dear lord's sad fate did hear, And noble grief sought arms were hid from her: Know you not yet no hinderance of death is, Cato, I thought, enough had taught you this, So said, her thirsty lips drink flaming coales: Go now, deny me steel, officious fools!

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MART. EP. XV. LIB. 6.

Dum Phaetontea formica vagatur in umbra, Implicuit tenuem succina gutta feram, Dignum tantorum pretium tulit illa laborum: Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mori.

ENGLISHED.

Whilst in an amber-shade the ant doth feast, A gummy drop ensnares the small wild-beast, A full reward of all her toyls hath she; 'Tis to be thought she would her self so die.

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MAR. LIB. IV. EP. 33.

Et latet et lucet, Phaetontide condita gutta Ut videatur apis nectare clausa suo. Sic modo, quae fuerat vita contempta manente, Funeribus facta est jam preciosa suis.

IN ENGLISH.

Both lurks and shines, hid in an amber tear, The bee, in her own nectar prisoner; So she, who in her life time was contemn'd, Ev'n in her very funerals is gemm'd.

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MART. LIB. VIII. EP. 19.

Pauper videri Cinna vult, et est pauper.

IN ENGLISH.

Cinna seems poor in show, And he is so.

A very inadequate translation of VIDERI VULT.

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OUT OF THE ANTHOLOGIE.

<<Esbese ton lychnon moros phyllon apo pollon Daknomenos, lexas ouk eti me blepete.>>

IN AN ENGLISH DISTICK.

A fool, much bit by fleas, put out the light; You shall not see me now (quoth he); good night.

This is from Lucian.

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IN RUFUM. CATUL. EP. 64.

Noli admirari, quare tibi foemina nulla, Rufe, velit tenerum supposuisse femur; Non ullam rarae labefactes munere vestis, Aut pellucidulis deliciis lapidis. Laedit te quaedam mala fabula, qua tibi fertur Valle sub alarum trux habitare caper. Hunc metuunt omnes, neque mirum: nam mala valde est Bestia, nec quicum bela puella cubet. Quare aut crudelem nasorum interfice pestem, Aut admirari desine, cur fugiant.

TO RUFUS.

That no fair woman will, wonder not why, Clap (Rufus) under thine her tender thigh; Not a silk gown shall once melt one of them, Nor the delights of a transparent gemme. A scurvy story kills thee, which doth tell, That in thine armpits a fierce goat doth dwell. Him they all fear full of an ugly stench: Nor 's 't fit he should lye with a handsome wench; Wherefore this noses cursed plague first crush, Or cease to wonder, why they fly you thus.

An archaic form of QUOCUM.

Original has STINCH.

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CATUL. EP. 71.

DE INCONSTANTIA FOEMINEI AMORIS.

Nulli se dicit mulier mea nubere velle, Quam mihi: non, si Jupiter ipse petat; Dicit; sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, In vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.

FEMALE INCONSTANCY.

My mistresse sayes she'll marry none but me; No, not if Jove himself a suitor be. She sayes so; but what women say to kind Lovers, we write in rapid streams and wind.

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AD LESBIAM, CAT. EP. 73.

Dicebas quondam, solum to nosse Catullum, Lesbia, nec prae me velle tenere Jovem; Dilexi tum te, non tantum ut vulgus amicam, Sed pater ut gnatos diligit et generos. Nunc te cognovi, quare et impensius uror, Multo mi tamen es vilior et levior. Qui potis est inquis, quod amantem injuria talis Cogat amare magis, sed bene velle minus? Odi et amo; quare id faciam, fortasse requiris; Nescio; sed fieri sentio, et excrucior.

ENGLISHED.

That me alone you lov'd, you once did say, Nor should I to the king of gods give way. Then I lov'd thee not as a common dear, But as a father doth his children chear. Now thee I know, more bitterly I smart; Yet thou to me more light and cheaper art. What pow'r is this? that such a wrong should press Me to love more, yet wish thee well much lesse. I hate and love; would'st thou the reason know? I know not; but I burn, and feel it so.

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IN LESBIAM CAT. EP. 76.

Huc est mens deducta tua, mea Lesbia, culpa, Atque ita se officio perdidit ipsa suo. Ut jam nec bene velle queam tibi, si optima sias: Nec desistere amare, omnia si facias.

ENGLISHED.

By thy fault is my mind brought to that pass, That it its office quite forgotten has: For be'est thou best, I cannot wish thee well, And be'est thou worst, then I must love thee still.

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AD QUINTIUM. CAT. EP. 83.

Quinti, si tibi vis oculos debere Catullum, Aut aliud si quid carius est oculis, Eripere ei noli, multo quod carius illi Est oculis, seu quid carius est oculis.

TO QUINTIUS.

Quintius, if you'l endear Catullus eyes, Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize, Ravish not what is dearer then his eyes, Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize.

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DE QUINTIA ET LESBIA. EP. 87.

Quintia formosa est multis, mihi candida, longa, Recta est; haec ego sic singula confiteor: Tota illud formosa nego: nam multa venustas; Nulla in tam magno est corpore mica salis. Lesbia formosa est quae, cum pulcherrima tota est, Tum omnibus una omneis surripuit veneres.

ENGLISHED.

Quintia is handsome, fair, tall, straight: all these Very particulars I grant with ease: But she all ore 's not handsome; here's her fault: In all that bulk there's not one corne of salt, Whilst Lesbia, fair and handsome too all ore, All graces and all wit from all hath bore.

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DE SUO IN LESBIAM AMORE. EP. 88.

Nulla potest mulier tantum se dicere amatam Vere, quantum a me Lesbia amata mea est; Nulla fides ullo fuit unquam faedere tanta, Quanta in amore suo ex parte reperta mea est.

ENGLISHED.

No one can boast her self so much belov'd, Truely as Lesbia my affections prov'd; No faith was ere with such a firm knot bound, As in my love on my part I have found.

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AD SYLONEM. EP. 104.

Aut sodes mihi redde decem sestertia, Sylo, Deindo esto quam vis saevus et indomitus; Aut si te nummi delectant, desine, quaeso, Leno esse, atque idem saevus et indomitus.

ENGLISHED.

Sylo, pray pay me my ten sesterces, Then rant and roar as much as you shall please; Or if that mony takes [you,] pray, give ore To be a pimp, or else to rant and roar.

Original has TAKES, but a word is wanting to complete the metre, and perhaps the poet wrote TAKES YOU, i.e. captivates you.

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ELEGIES

SACRED To the Memory of the AUTHOR:

By several of his Friends.

Collected and Published BY D. P. L.

NUNQUAM EGO TE VITA FRATER AMBILIOR ADSPICIAM POSTHAC; AT CERTE SEMPER AMABO. Catullus.

LONDON, Printed 1660.



ELEGIES.



TO THE MEMORY OF MY WORTHY FRIEND COLL. RICHARD LOVELACE.

To pay my love to thee, and pay it so, As honest men should what they justly owe, Were to write better of thy life, then can The assured'st pen of the most worthy man. Such was thy composition, such thy mind, Improv'd from vertue, and from vice refin'd; Thy youth an abstract of the world's best parts, Invr'd to arms and exercis'd to arts, Which, with the vigour of a man, became Thine and thy countries piramids of fame. Two glorious lights to guide our hopeful youth Into the paths of honour and of truth. These parts (so rarely met) made up in thee, What man should in his full perfection be: So sweet a temper into every sence And each affection breath'd an influence, As smooth'd them to a calme, which still withstood The ruffling passions of untamed blood, Without a wrinckle in thy face, to show Thy stable breast could a disturbance know. In fortune humble, constant in mischance; Expert in both, and both serv'd to advance Thy name by various trialls of thy spirit, And give the testimony of thy merit. Valiant to envy of the bravest men, And learned to an undisputed pen; Good as the best in both and great, but yet No dangerous courage nor offensive wit. These ever serv'd the one for to defend, The other, nobly to advance thy friend, Under which title I have found my name Fix'd in the living chronicle of fame To times succeeding: yet I hence must go, Displeas'd I cannot celebrate thee so. But what respect, acknowledgement and love, What these together, when improv'd, improve: Call it by any name (so it express Ought like a tribute to thy worthyness, And may my bounden gratitude become) LOVELACE, I offer at thy honour'd tomb. And though thy vertues many friends have bred To love thee liveing, and lament thee dead, In characters far better couch'd then these, Mine will not blott thy fame, nor theirs encrease. 'Twas by thine own great merits rais'd so high, That, maugre time and fate, it shall not dye. Sic flevit. Charles Cotton.

These lines may be found, with some verbal variations, in the poems of Charles Cotton, 1689, p. 481-2-3.

This reading is adopted from Cotton's Poems, 1689, p. 482. In LUCASTA we read NO DISTURBANCE.



UPON THE POSTHUME AND PRECIOUS POEMS OF THE NOBLY EXTRACTED GENTLEMAN MR. R. L.

The rose and other fragrant flowers smell best, When they are pluck'd and worn in hand or brest, So this fair flow'r of vertue, this rare bud Of wit, smells now as fresh as when he stood; And in these Posthume-Poems lets us know, He on the banks of Helicon did grow. The beauty of his soul did correspond With his sweet out-side: nay, it went beyond. Lovelace, the minion of the Thespian dames, Apollo's darling, born with Enthean flames, Which in his numbers wave and shine so clear, As sparks refracted from rich gemmes appear; Such flames that may inspire, and atoms cast, To make new poets not like him in hast. Jam. Howell.

These lines, originally printed as above, were included by Payne Fisher in his collection of Howell's Poems, 1663, 8vo., where they may be found at p. 126. Fisher altered the superscription in his ill-edited book to "Upon the Posthume-POEMS of Mr. Lovelace."

WITH—Howell's Poems.

THAT HE UPON—ibid.

IF NOT GO BEYOND—ibid.

Fr. MIGNON, darling.

So in Howell's Poems. LUCASTA has IN.

"Such sparks that with their atoms may inspire The reader with a pure POETICK fire." Howell's POEMS.



AN ELEGIE,

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MY LATE HONOURED FRIEND, COLLONELL RICHARD LOVELACE.

Pardon (blest shade), that I thus crowd to be 'Mong those that sin unto thy memory, And that I think unvalu'd reliques spread, And am the first that pillages the dead; Since who would be thy mourner as befits, But an officious sacriledge commits. How my tears strive to do thee fairer right, And from the characters divide my sight. Untill it (dimmer) a new torrent swells, And what obscur'd it, falls my spectacles Let the luxurious floods impulsive rise, As they would not be wept, but weep the eyes, The while earth melts, and we above it lye But the weak bubbles of mortalitie; Until our griefs are drawn up by the Sun, And that (too) drop the exhalation. How in thy dust we humble now our pride, And bring thee a whole people mortifi'd! For who expects not death, now thou art gone, Shows his low folly, not religion. Can the poetick heaven still hold on The golden dance, when the first mover's gon? And the snatch'd fires (which circularly hurl'd) In their strong rapture glimmer to the world, And not stupendiously rather rise The tapers unto these solemnities? Can the chords move in tune, when thou dost dye, At once their universal harmony? But where Apollo's harp (with murmur) laid, Had to the stones a melody convey'd, They by some pebble summon'd would reply In loud results to every battery; Thus do we come unto thy marble room, To eccho from the musick of thy tombe. May we dare speak thee dead, that wouldest be In thy remove only not such as we? No wonder, the advance is from us hid; Earth could not lift thee higher then it did! And thou, that didst grow up so ever nigh, Art but now gone to immortality! So near to where thou art, thou here didst dwell, The change to thee is less perceptible. Thy but unably-comprehending clay, To what could not be circumscrib'd, gave way, And the more spacious tennant to return, Crack'd (in the two restrain'd estate) its urn. That is but left to a successive trust; The soul's first buried in his bodies dust. Thou more thy self, now thou art less confin'd, Art not concern'd in what is left behind; While we sustain the losse that thou art gone, Un-essenc'd in the separation; And he that weeps thy funerall, in one Is pious to the widdow'd nation. And under what (now) covert must I sing, Secure as if beneath a cherub's wing; When thou hast tane thy flight hence, and art nigh In place to some related hierarchie, Where a bright wreath of glories doth but set Upon thy head an equal coronet; And thou, above our humble converse gon, Canst but be reach'd by contemplation. Our lutes (as thine was touch'd) were vocall by, And thence receiv'd the soul by sympathy, That did above the threds inspiring creep, And with soft whispers broke the am'rous sleep; Which now no more (mov'd with the sweet surprise) Awake into delicious rapsodies; But with their silent mistress do comply, And fast in undisturbed slumbers lye. How from thy first ascent thou didst disperse A blushing warmth throughout the universe, While near the morns Lucasta's fires did glow, And to the earth a purer dawn did throw. We ever saw thee in the roll of fame Advancing thy already deathless name; And though it could but be above its fate, Thou would'st, however, super-errogate. Now as in Venice, when the wanton State Before a Spaniard spread their crowded plate, He made it the sage business of his eye To find the root of the wild treasury; So learn't from that exchequer but the more To rate his masters vegetable ore. Thus when the Greek and Latin muse we read, As but the cold inscriptions of the dead, We to advantage then admired thee, Who did'st live on still with thy poesie; And in our proud enjoyments never knew The end of the unruly wealth that grew. But now we have the last dear ingots gain'd, And the free vein (however rich) is drein'd; Though what thou hast bequeathed us, no space Of this worlds span of time shall ere embrace. But as who sometimes knew not to conclude Upon the waters strange vicissitude, Did to the ocean himself commit, That it might comprehend what could not it, So we in our endeavours must out-done Be swallowed up within thy Helicon. Thou, who art layd up in thy precious cave, And from the hollow spaces of thy grave, We still may mourn in tune, but must alone Hereafter hope to quaver out a grone; No more the chirping sonnets with shrill notes Must henceforth volley from our treble throtes; But each sad accent must be humour'd well To the deep solemn organ of thy cell. Why should some rude hand carve thy sacred stone, And there incise a cheap inscription? When we can shed the tribute of our tears So long, till the relenting marble wears; Which shall such order in their cadence keep, That they a native epitaph shall weep; Untill each letter spelt distinctly lyes, Cut by the mystick droppings of our eyes. El. Revett.

Original has THE BUT.

Original has OW.

I have already pointed out, that the author of these truly wretched lines was probably the same person, on whose MORAL AND DIVINE POEMS Lovelace has some verses in the LUCASTA. The poems of E. R. appear to be lost, which, unless they were far superior to the present specimen, cannot be regarded as a great calamity.



AN ELEGIE.

Me thinks, when kings, prophets, and poets dye, We should not bid men weep, nor ask them why, But the great loss should by instinct impair The nations, like a pestilential ayr, And in a moment men should feel the cramp Of grief, like persons poyson'd with a damp. All things in nature should their death deplore, And the sun look less lovely than before; The fixed stars should change their constant spaces, And comets cast abroad their flagrant faces. Yet still we see princes and poets fall Without their proper pomp of funerall; Men look about, as if they nere had known The poets lawrell or the princes crown; Lovelace hath long been dead, and he can be Oblig'd to no man for an elegie. Are you all turn'd to silence, or did he Retain the only sap of poesie, That kept all branches living? must his fall Set an eternal period upon all? So when a spring-tide doth begin to fly From the green shoar, each neighbouring creek grows dry. But why do I so pettishly detract An age that is so perfect, so exact? In all things excellent, it is a fame Or glory to deceased Lovelace name: For he is weak in wit, who doth deprave Anothers worth to make his own seem brave; And this was not his aim: nor is it mine. I now conceive the scope of their designe, Which is with one consent to bring and burn Contributary incence on his urn, Where each mans love and fancy shall be try'd, As when great Johnson or brave Shakespear dyed. Wits must unite: for ignorance, we see, Hath got a great train of artillerie: Yet neither shall nor can it blast the fame And honour of deceased Lovelace name, Whose own LUCASTA can support his credit Amongst all such who knowingly have read it; But who that praise can by desert discusse Due to those poems that are posthumous? And if the last conceptions are the best, Those by degrees do much transcend the rest; So full, so fluent, that they richly sute With Orpheus lire, or with Anacreons lute, And he shall melt his wing, that shall aspire To reach a fancy or one accent higher. Holland and France have known his nobler parts, And found him excellent in arms and arts. To sum up all, few men of fame but know, He was TAM MARTI, QUAM MERCURIO.

Burning.

Original has WE.

A fine image!

The motto originally employed by George Gascoigne, who, like Lovelace, wielded both the sword and the pen.



TO HIS NOBLE FRIEND CAPT. DUDLEY LOVELACE UPON HIS EDITION OF HIS BROTHERS POEMS.

Thy pious hand, planting fraternal bayes, Deserving is of most egregious praise; Since 'tis the organ doth to us convey From a descended sun so bright a ray. Clear spirit! how much we are bound to thee For this so great a liberalitie, The truer worth of which by much exceeds The western wealth, which such contention breeds! Like the Infusing-God, from the well-head Of poesie you have besprinkled Our brows with holy drops, the very last, Which from your Brother's happy pen were cast: Yet as the last, the best; such matchlesse skill From his divine alembick did distill. Your honour'd Brother in the Elyzian shade Will joy to know himself a laureat made By your religious care, and that his urn Doth him on earth immortal life return. Your self you have a good physician shown To his much grieved friends and to your own, In giving this elixir'd medecine, For greatest grief a soveraign anodine. Sir, from your Brother y' have convey'd us bliss; Now, since your genius so concurs with his, Let your own quill our next enjoyments frame; All must be rich, that's grac'd with Lovelace name. Symon Ognell M.D. Coningbrens.

This person is not mentioned in Munk's Roll of the Royal College of Physicians, 1861.



ON THE TRULY HONOURABLE COLL. RICHARD LOVELACE, OCCASIONED BY THE PUBLICATION OF HIS POSTHUME-POEMS.

ELEGIE.

Great son of Mars, and of Minerva too! With what oblations must we come to woo Thy sacred soul to look down from above, And see how much thy memory we love, Whose happy pen so pleased amorous ears, And, lifting bright LUCASTA to the sphears, Her in the star-bespangled orb did set Above fair Ariadnes coronet, Leaving a pattern to succeeding wits, By which to sing forth their Pythonick fits. Shall we bring tears and sighs? no, no! then we Should but bemone our selves for loosing thee, Or else thy happiness seem to deny, Or to repine at thy felicity. Then, whilst we chant out thine immortal praise, Our offerings shall be onely sprigs of bays; And if our tears will needs their brinks out-fly, We'l weep them forth into an elegy, To tell the world, how deep fates wounded wit, When Atropos the lovely Lovelace hit! How th' active fire, which cloath'd thy gen'rous mind, Consum'd the water, and the earth calcin'd Untill a stronger heat by death was given, Which sublimated thy poor soul to heaven. Thou knew'st right well to guide the warlike steed, And yet could'st court the Muses with full speed And such success, that the inspiring Nine Have fill'd their Thespian fountain so with brine. Henceforth we can expect no lyrick lay, But biting satyres through the world must stray. Bellona joyns with fair Erato too, And with the Destinies do keep adoe, Whom thus she queries: could not you awhile Reprieve his life, until another file Of poems such as these had been drawn up? The fates reply'd that thou wert taken up, A sacrifice unto the deities; Since things most perfect please their holy eyes, And that no other victim could be found With so much learning and true virtue crown'd. Since it is so, in peace for ever rest; Tis very just that God should have the best. Sym. Ognell M.D. Coningbrens.



ON MY BROTHER.

Lovelace is dead! then let the world return To its first chaos, mufled in its urn; The stars and elements together lye, Drench'd in perpetual obscurity, And the whole machine in confusion be, As immethodick as an anarchie. May the great eye of day weep out his light, Pale Cynthia leave the regiment of night, The galaxia, all in sables dight, Send forth no corruscations to our sight, The Sister-Graces and the sacred Nine, Statu'd with grief, attend upon his shrine, Whose worth, whose loss, should we but truly rate, 'Twould puzzle our arithmetic to state Th' accompt of vertu's so transcendent high, Number and value reach infinity. Did I pronounce him dead! no, no! he lives, And from his aromatique cell he gives Spice-breathed fumes, whose odoriferous scent (In zephre-gales which never can be spent) Doth spread it self abroad, and much out-vies The eastern bird in her self-sacrifice; Or Father Phoebus, who to th' world derives Such various and such multiformed lives, Took notice that brave Lovelace did inspire The universe with his Promethean fire, And snatcht him hence, before his thread was spun, En'ving that here should be another Sun. T. L.

Thomas Lovelace, one of the poet's brothers.



ON THE DEATH OF MY DEAR BROTHER.

EPITAPH.

Tread (reader) gently, gently ore The happy dust beneath this floor: For in this narrow vault is set An alablaster cabinet, Wherein both arts and arms were put, Like Homers Iliads in a nut, Till Death with slow and easie pace Snatcht the bright jewell from the case; And now, transform'd, he doth arise A constellation in the skies, Teaching the blinded world the way, Through night, to startle into day: And shipwrackt shades, with steady hand, He steers unto th' Elizian land. Dudley Posthumus-Lovelace.



THE END.



Comments on the preparation of the E-Text:

ANGLE BRACKETS:

Any place where angle brackets are used, i.e. , it is a change made during the preparation of this E-Text. The original printed book did not use this character at all.

SQUARE BRACKETS:

The square brackets, i.e. [ ] are copied from the printed book, without change.

FOOTNOTES:

For this E-Text version of the book, the footnotes have been consolidated at the end of each section of the introduction, and at the end of each poem.

Numbering of the footnotes has been changed, and each footnote is given a unique identity in the form , where XX is a poem or a section of the introduction, and YY is the number of the note within that poem or section.

Some footnote markers are missing. I have inserted markers where I believe they should go. All such markers are identified by double brackets. e.g. >

There were 5 footnotes in an "Additional Notes" section of the book, and one footnote in the Table of Contents. These footnotes have been identified as > to > and >. They have been moved to the end of the appropriate sections of the E-Text, and footnote markers, identified by double angle brackets, i.e. > have been added. The original locations of these footnotes in the body text, however, are also indicated for information.

LATIN AND GREEK POEMS:

This E-Text contains some poems in Latin and in Greek.

The Latin poems are reproduced as they appear in the book, except that the accent marks have been deleted.

The Greek poems were originally typeset in Greek characters. For this E-Text, the Greek characters have been TRANSLITERATED into Roman characters, using a system developed for the US Library of Congress, Ref.

ALA-LC ROMANIZATION TABLES TRANSLITERATION SCHEMES FOR NON-ROMAN SCRIPTS Approved by the Library of Congress and the American Library Association Tables compiled and edited by Randall K. Barry Network Development and MARC Standards Office Library of Congress, Washington, 1991

Again, it was necessary to delete the accent marks, this time accents which were recommended to be placed over the roman characters. The Greek poems are set off by angle brackets.

Single Greek words embedded in roman text have also been transliterated, as described above, and are identified by double angle brackets, e.g. >

SPELLING:

I have made no spelling corrections whatsoever. In the poems, the spelling is very inconsistent, with several different versions of a word being used in different places

OTHER PROBLEMS WITH THE TEXT:

In a few places, the capital 'V' and 'I' characters were used where we would use a capital 'U' of 'J' instead. These have not been changed. For example, Vnlese, Iuvenal. Where the capitals in the original text were used to highlight the first word of a poem, 'V' was changed to 'v', for example, OVR became Ovr.

The copy of the book which I worked from had been re-bound on several occasions. It is possible that the 'Table of Contents' was originally placed after the introduction.

CHANGES TO THE TEXT:

Symbols for British currency are changed to , , and .

In several places the word 'the' appears with an accent mark over the 'e'. The accent is in the form of a horizontal line above the letter. This word has been rendered as ''. Similarly 'whe' with an accent over the 'e' is rendered as ''.

THE END