But solid stuffe, where her eye flings
Quick fire upon the catching strings:
Yet, as at triumphs in the night,
You see the Prince's Arms in light,
So, when I once was set on flame,
I burnt all ore the letters of her name.
ODE.
I.
You are deceiv'd; I sooner may, dull fair,
Seat a dark Moor in Cassiopea's<73.1> chair,
Or on the glow-worm's uselesse light
Bestow the watching flames of night,
Or give the rose's breath
To executed death,
Ere the bright hiew
Of verse to you;
It is just Heaven on beauty stamps a fame,
And we, alas! its triumphs but proclaim.
II.
What chains but are too light for me, should I
Say that Lucasta in strange arms could lie?
Or that Castara<73.2> were impure;
Or Saccarisa's<73.3> faith unsure?
That Chloris' love, as hair,
Embrac'd each en'mies air;
That all their good
Ran in their blood?
'Tis the same wrong th'
unworthy to inthrone,
As from her proper
sphere t' have vertue thrown.
III.
That strange force on the
ignoble hath renown;
As AURUM FULMINANS, it blows vice down.
'Twere better (heavy one) to crawl
Forgot, then raised, trod on [to] fall.
All your defections now
Are not writ on your brow;
Odes to faults give
A shame must live.
When a fat mist we view, we coughing run;
But, that once
meteor drawn, all cry: undone.
IV.
How bright the fair Paulina<73.4> did appear,
When hid in jewels she did seem a star!
But who could
soberly behold
A
wicked owl in cloath of gold,
Or the
ridiculous Ape
In
sacred Vesta's shape?
So doth agree
Just praise with thee:
For since thy birth gave thee no beauty, know,
No poets pencil must or can do so.
<73.1> The
constellation so called. In old drawings Cassiopeia
is represented as a woman sitting in a chair with a branch in her
hand, and hence the
allusion here. Dixon, in his CANIDIA, 1683,
part i. p. 35, makes his witches say:--
"We put on Berenice's hair,
And sit in Cassiopeia's chair."
Randolph couples it with "Ariadne's Crowne" in the following
passage:--
"Shine forth a
constellation, full and bright,
Bless the poor heavens with more majestick light,
Who in requitall shall present you there
ARIADNE'S CROWNE and CASSIOPEIA'S CHAYR."
POEMS, ed. 1640, p. 14.
<73.2> William Habington published his poems under the name of
CASTARA, a fictitious appellation signifying the daughter of
Lord Powis. This lady was
eventually his wife. The first
edition of CASTARA appeared in 1634, the second in 1635, and
the third in 1640.
<73.3> Waller's SACHARISSA, i.e. Lady Dorothy Sydney.
<73.4> Lollia Paulina, who first married Memmius Regulus, and
subsequently the Emperor Caligula, from both of whom she was
divorced. She inherited from her father
enormous wealth.
THE DUELL.
I.
Love drunk, the other day, knockt at my brest,
But I, alas! was not within.
My man, my ear, told me he came t' attest,
That without cause h'd boxed him,
And battered the windows of mine eyes,
And took my heart for one of's nunneries.
II.
I wondred at the
outrage safe return'd,
And stormed at the base affront;
And by a friend of mine, bold faith, that burn'd,
I called him to a
strict accompt.
He said that, by the law, the challeng'd might
Take the
advantage both of arms and fight.
III.
Two darts of equal length and points he sent,
And nobly gave the choyce to me,
Which I not weigh'd, young and indifferent,
Now full of
nought but victorie.
So we both met in one of's mother's groves,
The time, at the first murm'ring of her doves.
IV.
I stript myself naked all o're, as he:
For so I was best arm'd, when bare.
His first pass did my liver rase: yet I
Made home a falsify<74.1> too neer:
For when my arm to its true distance came,
I nothing touch'd but a fantastick flame.
V.
This, this is love we daily quarrel so,
An idle Don-Quichoterie:
We whip our selves with our own twisted wo,
And wound the ayre for a fly.
The only way t' undo this enemy
Is to laugh at the boy, and he will cry.
<74.1> "To falsify a thrust," says Phillips (WORLD OF WORDS,
ed. 1706, art. FALSIFY), "is to make a feigned pass." Lovelace
here employs the word as a substantive rather
awkwardly; but
the meaning is, no doubt, the same.
CUPID FAR GONE.
I.
What, so beyond all madnesse is the elf,
Now he hath got out of himself!
His fatal enemy the Bee,
Nor his deceiv'd artillerie,
His shackles, nor the roses bough
Ne'r half so netled him, as he is now.
II.<75.1>
See! at's own mother he is offering;
His finger now fits any ring;
Old Cybele he would enjoy,
And now the girl, and now the boy.
He proffers Jove a back caresse,
And all his love in the antipodes.
III.
Jealous of his chast Psyche, raging he
Quarrels with<75.2> student Mercurie,
And with a proud submissive breath
Offers to change his darts with Death.
He strikes at the bright eye of day,
And Juno tumbles in her milky way.
IV.
The dear sweet secrets of the gods he tells,
And with loath'd hate lov'd heaven he swells;
Now, like a fury, he belies
Myriads of pure virginities,
And swears, with this false
frenzy hurl'd,
There's not a vertuous she in all the world.
V.
Olympus he renownces, then descends,
And makes a friendship with the fiends;
Bids Charon be no more a slave,
He Argos rigg'd with stars shall have,
And
triple Cerberus from below
Must leash'd t' himself with him a
hunting go.
<75.1> This
stanza was suppressed by Mr. Singer.
<75.2> Original reads THE.
A MOCK SONG.
I.
Now Whitehall's in the grave,
And our head is our slave,
The bright pearl in his close shell of oyster;
Now the miter is lost,
The proud Praelates, too, crost,
And all Rome's confin'd to a cloister.
He, that Tarquin was styl'd,
Our white land's exil'd,
Yea, undefil'd;
Not a court ape's left to confute us;
Then let your voyces rise high,
As your colours did flye,
And flour'shing cry:
Long live the brave Oliver-Brutus.<76.1>
II.
Now the sun is unarm'd,
And the moon by us charm'd,
All the stars dissolv'd to a jelly;
Now the thighs of the Crown
And the arms are lopp'd down,
And the body is all but a belly.
Let the Commons go on,
The town is our own,
We'l rule alone:
For the Knights have yielded their spent-gorge;
And an order is tane
With HONY SOIT profane,
Shout forth amain:
For our Dragon hath vanquish'd the St. George.
<76.1> Cromwell.
A FLY CAUGHT IN A COBWEB.
Small type of great ones, that do hum
Within this whole world's narrow room,
That with a busie hollow noise
Catch at the people's vainer voice,
And with spread sails play with their breath,
Whose very hails new
christen death.
Poor Fly, caught in an airy net,
Thy wings have fetter'd now thy feet;
Where, like a Lyon in a toyl,
Howere thou keep'st a noble coyl,
And beat'st thy gen'rous breast, that o're
The plains thy fatal buzzes rore,
Till thy all-bellyd foe (round elf<77.1>)
Hath quarter'd thee within himself.
Was it not better once to play
I' th' light of a majestick ray,
Where, though too neer and bold, the fire