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.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Oreheus To Beasts

I.
Here, here, oh here! EURIDICE,
Here was she slaine;
Her soule 'still'd through a veine:
The gods knew lesse
That time divinitie,
Then ev'n, ev'n these
Of brutishnesse.

II.
Oh! could you view the melodie
Of ev'ry grace,
And musick of her face,
You'd drop a teare,
Seeing more harmonie
In her bright eye,
Then now you heare.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta, Going To The Wars

Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee (Dear) so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Courante Monsieur

That frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd
Thy bright front's pow'r, and crown'd
Me that was bound.
No, no, deceived cruel, no!
Love's fiery darts,
Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts.

Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see!
Thy angry flames meant me,
Retort on thee:
For know, it is decreed, proud fair,
I ne'r must dye
By any scorching, but a melting, eye.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta

I.
I laugh and sing, but cannot tell
Whether the folly on't sounds well;
But then I groan,
Methinks, in tune;
Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air
Of my despised prayer.

II.
A pretty antick love does this,
Then strikes a galliard with a kiss;
As in the end
The chords they rend;
So you but with a touch from your fair hand
Turn all to saraband.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta, I Laugh and Sing

I.

I laugh and sing, but cannot tell
Whether the folly on't sounds well;
But then I groan,
Methinks, in tune;
Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air
Of my despised prayer.

II.

A pretty antick love does this,
Then strikes a galliard with a kiss;
As in the end
The chords they rend;
So you but with a touch from your fair hand
Turn all to saraband.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Mar. Lib. Iv. Ep. 33.

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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Ad Quintium. Cat. Ep. 83

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.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Mart. Ep. XV. Lib. 6.

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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Ad Sylonem. Ep. 104.

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.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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