VIII.

She washt the wound with a fresh teare, Which my Lucasta dropped,

And in the sleave1-silke of her haire "Twas hard bound up and wrapped.

IX.

She proab'd it with her constancie,
And found no rancor nigh it;
Only the anger of her eye

Had wrought some proud flesh by it.

X.

Then prest she narde in ev'ry veine,
Which from her kisses trilled;
And with the balme heald all its paine,
That from her hand distilled.

XI.

But yet this heart avoyds me still,
Will not by me be owned;
But's fled to its physitian's breast;

There proudly sits inthroned.

Soft, like floss.

ORPHEUS TO WOODS.

SONG.

SET BY MR. CURTES.

EARK! Oh heark! you guilty trees,
In whose gloomy galleries
Was the cruell'st murder done,
That e're yet eclipst the sunne.
Be then henceforth in your twigges
Blasted, e're you sprout to sprigges;
Feele no season of the yeere,
But what shaves off all your haire,
Nor carve any from your wombes
Ought but coffins and their tombes.

ORPHEUS1 TO BEASTS.

SONG.

SET BY MR. CURTES.

2

I.

ERE, here, oh here! Euridice,

Here was she slaine;

Her soule 'still'd through a veine:

The gods knew lesse

1 By Orpheus we may perhaps understand Lovelace himself, and by Euridice, the lady whom he celebrates under the name of Lucasta. Grainger mentions (Biog. Hist. ii. 74) a portrait of

Lovelace by Gaywood, in which he is represented as Orpheus. I have not seen it. The old poets were rather fond of likening themselves to this legendary personage, or of designating themselves his poetical children :

"We that are Orpheus' sons, and can inherit

By that great title”—

DAVENANT'S Works, 1673, p. 215. Many other examples might be given. Massinger, in his City Madam, 1658, makes Sir John Frugal introduce a representation of the story of the Thracian bard at an entertainment given to Luke Frugal.

2 A lutenist. Wood says that after the Restoration he became gentleman or singing-man of Christ Church, Oxford. He was one of those musicians who, after the abolition of organs, &c. during the civil war, met at a private house at Oxford for the purpose of taking his part in musical entertainments.

"Such was Zuleika; such around her shone
The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone;
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face."
BYRON'S Bride of Abydos, canto 1.

(Works, ed. 1825, ii. 299.)

DIALOGUE.

LUCASTA, ALEXIS.1

SET BY MR. JOHN GAMBLE.2

I.

Lucasta.

ELL me, Alexis, what this parting is,
That so like dying is, but is not it?

Alexis.

It is a swounding for a while from blisse,
'Till kind how doe you call's us from the fit.

Chorus.

If then the spirits only stray, let mine
Fly to thy bosome, and my soule to thine:
Thus in our native seate we gladly give
Our right for one, where we can better live.

II.

Lu. But ah, this ling'ring, murdring farewel!
Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures the ill.

Alex. It is the glory of a valiant lover,

Still to be dying, still for to recover.

1 i. e. the poet himself.

> "John Gamble, apprentice to Ambrose Beyland, a noted musician, was afterwards musician at one of the play-houses; from thence removed to be a cornet in the King's Chapel. After that he became one in Charles the Second's band of violins, and composed for the theatres. He published Ayres and Dialogues to the Theorbo and Bass Viol, fol. Lond., 1659."-HAWKINS.

Cho. Soldiers suspected of their courage goe,

That ensignes and their breasts untorne show:
Love nee're his standard, when his hoste he sets,
Creates alone fresh-bleeding bannerets.

III.

Alex. But part we, when thy figure I retaine

Lu.

Still in my heart, still strongly in mine eye? Shadowes no longer than the sun remaine,

But whe his beams, that made 'em, fly, they fly. Cho. Vaine dreames of love! that only so much blisse Allow us, as to know our wretchednesse;

And deale a larger measure in our paine
By showing joy, then hiding it againe.

IV.

Alex. No, whilst light raigns, Lucasta still rules here, And all the night shines wholy in this sphere.

Lu.

I know no morne but my Alexis ray,

To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day.

Chorus.

Alex. So in each other if the pitying sun

Thus keep us fixt, nere may his course be run!
And oh! if night us undivided make;
Let us sleepe still, and sleeping never wake!

The close.

Cruel adieus may well adjourne awhile
The sessions of a looke, a kisse, or smile,
And leave behinde an angry grieving blush;
But time nor fate can part us joyned thus.