Lord

XIV.

Oh, from thy glorious starry waine
Dispense on me one sacred beame,
To light me where I soone may see
How to serve you, and you trust me!

LUCASTA'S FANNE, WITH A LOOKING

GLASSE IN IT.1

I.

ASTRICH!2 thou featherd foole, and easie

prey,

That larger sailes to thy broad vessell
needst;

Snakes through thy guttur-neck hisse all the day,
Then on thy iron messe at supper feedst.3

II.

O what a glorious transmigration

From this to so divine an edifice

Hast thou straight made! heere1 from a winged stone
Transform'd into a bird of paradice!

1 This adaptation of the fan to the purposes of a mirror, now so common, was, as we here are told, familiar to the ladies of Lovelace's time. Mr. Fairholt, in his Costume in England, 1846, p. 496, describes many various forms which were given at different periods to this article of use and ornament; but the present passage in Lucasta appears to have escaped his notice.

2 Ostrich. Lyly, in his Euphues, 1579, sig. c 4, has Estridge. The fan here described was composed of ostrich-feathers set with precious stones.

3 In allusion to the digestive powers of this bird.

* Original reads neere.

III.

Now doe thy plumes for hiew and luster vie

With th' arch of heav'n that triumphs or'e past wet, And in a rich enamel'd pinion lye

With saphyres, amethists and opalls set.

IV.

Sometime they wing her side,1 the strive to drown

The day's eyes piercing beames, whose am'rous heat Sollicites still, 'till with this shield of downe

From her brave face his glowing fires are beat.

V.

But whilst a plumy curtaine she doth draw,
A chrystall mirror sparkles in thy breast,
In which her fresh aspect when as she saw,
And then her foe2 retired to the west.

VI.

Deare engine, that oth' sun got'st me the day,
'Spite of his hot assaults mad'st him retreat!
No wind (said she) dare with thee henceforth play
But mine own breath to coole the tyrants heat.

VII.

My lively shade thou ever shalt retaine
In thy inclosed feather-framed glasse,
And but unto our selves to all remaine
Invisible, thou feature of this face!

The poet means that Lucasta, when she did not require her fan for immediate use, wore it suspended at her side or from her girdle.

2 The sun.

VIII.

So said, her sad swaine over-heard and cried:
Yee Gods for faith unstaind this a reward!
Feathers and glasse t'outweigh my vertue tryed!
Ah! show their empty strength! the gods accord.

IX.

Now fall'n the brittle favourite lyes and burst!
Amas'd Lucasta weepes, repents and flies
To her Alexis, vowes her selfe acurst,

If hence she dresse her selfe but in his eyes.

LUCASTA, TAKING THE WATERS AT

TUNBRIDGE.1

I.

EE happy floods! that now must passe
The sacred conduicts of her wombe,
Smooth and transparent as your face,

When you are deafe, and windes are
dumbe.

II.

Be proud! and if your waters be

Foul'd with a counterfeyted teare,
Or some false sigh hath stained yee,
Haste, and be purified there.

From this it might be conjectured, though the ground for doing so would be very slight, that Lucasta was a native of Kent or of one of the adjoining shires; but against this supposition we have to set the circumstance that elsewhere this lady is called a "northern star."

III.

And when her rosie gates y'have trac❜d,
Continue yet some Orient wet,

"Till, turn'd into a gemme, y'are plac'd
Like diamonds with rubies set.

IV.

Yee drops, that dew th' Arabian bowers,
Tell me, did you e're smell or view
On any leafe of all your flowers

Soe sweet a sent, so rich a hiew?

V.

But as through th' Organs of her breath
You trickle wantonly, beware:
Ambitious Seas in their just death

As well as Lovers, must have share.

And see

VI.

! you boyle as well as I ;

You, that to coole her did aspire,

Now troubled and neglected lye,

Nor can your selves quench your owne fire.

VII.

Yet still be happy in the thought,

That in so small a time as this,

Through all the Heavens you were brought Of Vertue, Honour, Love and Blisse.

E

TO LUCASTA.

ODE LYRICK.

I.

H Lucasta, why so bright?
Spread with early streaked light!
If still vailed from our sight,
What is't but eternall night?

II.

Ah Lucasta, why so chaste ?
With that vigour, ripenes grac't,
Not to be by Man imbrac❜t

Makes that Royall coyne imbace't,

And this golden Orchard waste!

III.

Ah Lucasta, why so great,

That thy crammed coffers sweat?

Yet not owner of a seat

May shelter you from Natures heat,

And your earthly joyes compleat.

IV.

Ah Lucasta, why so good?

Blest with an unstained flood

Flowing both through soule and blood ;

If it be not understood,

'Tis a Diamond in mud.