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,<85.4> 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<85.5> 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;<85.6>
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
substantialriches 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.
<85.1> 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.
<85.2> i.e. the shadow of myself.
<85.3> 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.
<85.4> The sky in the early part of the morning, before it is
clouded by mists.
<85.5> Phaeton.
<85.6> 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.<86.1>
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,<86.2> 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
mightybreath, 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<86.3> 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?
<86.1> 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."
<86.2> Unless the poet is advising his brother, before the latter