V. Lucasta! stay! why dost thou flye? VI. Harder then the Orient stone, Or as a pale shadow gone, Dumbe and deafe she hence is flowne. VII. Then receive this equall dombe: And 'tis both her coarse and tombe. LUCASTA PAYING HER OBSEQUIES TO THE CHAST MEMORY OF MY DEAREST COSIN MRS. BOWES BARNE[S].' I. EE! what an undisturbed teare She weepes for her last sleepe; But, viewing her, straight wak'd a Star, This lady was probably the wife of a descendant of Sir William Barnes, of Woolwich, whose only daughter and heir, Anne, married the poet's father, and brought him the seat in Kent. See Gents. Magazine for 1791, part ii. 1095. II. Griefe ne're before did tyranize III. Thus, for a saints apostacy The unimagin'd woes And sorrowes of the Hierarchy IV. Thus, for lost soules recovery V. So none but she knows to bemone This equal virgins fate, None but Lucasta can her crowne Of glory celebrate. VI. Then dart on me (Chast Light1) one ray, By which I may discry Thy joy cleare through this cloudy day A translation of Lucasta, or Lux Casta, for the sake of the metre. UPON THE CURTAINE OF LUCASTA'S PICTURE, IT WAS THUS WROUGHT.1 H, stay that covetous hand; first turn all eye, That you will sweare her body by this law Is but its shadow, as this, its;-now draw. LUCASTA’S WORLD. EPODE. I. OLD as the breath of winds that blow The blood boyl❜d in our veines : Yet cooled not the heat her sphere Of beauties first had kindled there. ' Pictures used formerly to have curtains before them. It is still done in some old houses. In Westward Hoe, 1607, act ii. scene 3, there is an allusion to this practice : "Sir Gosling. So draw those curtains, and let's see the pictures under 'em."-WEBSTER's Works, ed. Hazlitt, i. 133. 2 Original reads sight. II. Then mov'd, and with a suddaine flame Impatient to melt all againe, Straight from her eyes she lightning hurl'd, And earth in ashes mournes; The sun his blaze denies the world, And in her luster burnes : Yet warmed not the hearts, her nice III. And now her teares nor griev'd desire They fann'd this heat, and thaw'd that cold, Thus earth, from flames and ice repreev'd, THE APOSTACY OF ONE, AND BUT ONE LADY. I. HAT frantick errour I adore, And am confirm'd the earth turns round; Now satisfied o're and o're, As rowling waves, so flowes the ground, And as her neighbour reels the shore: Finde such a woman says she loves; She's that fixt heav'n, which never moves. II. In marble, steele, or porphyrie, Who carves or stampes his armes or face, Lookes it by rust or storme must dye : This womans love no time can raze, Hardned like ice in the sun's eye, Or your reflection in a glasse, Which keepes possession, though you passe. III. We not behold a watches hand To stir, nor plants or flowers to grow; Must we infer that this doth stand, And therefore, that those do not blow? This she acts calmer, like Heav'ns brand, The stedfast lightning, slow loves dart, She kils, but ere we feele the smart. IV. Oh, she is constant as the winde, That revels in an ev'nings aire! Certaine as wayes unto the blinde, More reall then her flatt'ries are; Gentle as chaines that honour binde, More faithfull then an Hebrew Jew, But as the divel not halfe so true. |