Next1 the great and powerful hand
Beckens my thoughts unto a stand
Of Titian, Raphael, Georgone

Whose art even Nature hath out-done;
For if weake Nature only can

Intend, not perfect, what is man,

These certainely we must prefer,

Who mended what she wrought, and her;
And sure the shadowes of those rare

And kind incomparable fayre
Are livelier, nobler company,
Then if they could or speake, or see:
For these I aske without a tush,
Can kisse or touch without a blush,
And we are taught that substance is,
If uninjoy'd, but th'3 shade of blisse.
Now every saint cleerly divine,
Is clos'd so in her severall shrine;
The gems so rarely, richly set,
For them wee love the cabinet;
So intricately plac't withall,
As if th' imbrordered the wall,
So that the pictures seem'd to be
But one continued tapistrie.*

After this travell of mine eyes
We sate, and pitied Dieties;

This and the next eleven lines are not in MS.

2 The MS. reads she.

3 The MS. reads for but th' "the."

4 In the houses of such as could afford the expense, the walls

of rooms were formerly lined with tapestry instead of paper.

Wee bound our loose hayre with the vine,
The poppy, and the eglantine;

One swell'd an oriental bowle
Full, as a grateful, loyal soule

To Chloris! Chloris! Heare, oh, heare!
"Tis pledg'd above in ev'ry sphere.

Now streight the Indians richest prize
Is kindled in1 glad sacrifice;

Cloudes are sent up on wings of thyme,
Amber, pomgranates, jessemine,
And through our earthen conduicts sore
Higher then altars fum'd before.

So drencht we our oppressing cares,
And choakt the wide jawes of our feares.
Whilst ravisht thus we did devise,

If this were not a Paradice

In all, except these harmlesse sins:

Behold! flew in two cherubins,

Cleare as the skye from whence they came,

And brighter than the sacred flame;

The boy adorn'd with modesty,

Yet armed so with majesty,
That if the Thunderer againe
His eagle sends, she stoops in vaine.2
Besides his innocence he tooke

A sword and casket, and did looke

Like Love in armes ; he wrote but five,

Yet spake eighteene: each grace did strive,

So MS.; original has a.

2 An allusion to the fable of Jupiter and Ganymede.

And twenty Cupids thronged forth,
Who first should shew his prettier worth.
But oh, the Nymph! Did you ere know
Carnation mingled with snow ?1

Or have you seene the lightning shrowd,
And straight breake through th' opposing cloud?
So ran her blood; such was its hue;

So through her vayle her bright haire flew,
And yet its glory did appeare

But thinne, because her eyes were neere.
Blooming boy, and blossoming mayd,
May your faire sprigges be neere betrayd

2

To eating worme or fouler storme;

No serpent lurke to do them harme;

No sharpe frost cut, no North-winde teare,
The verdure of that fragrant hayre;

3

But may the sun and gentle weather,

When you are both growne ripe together,
Load you with fruit, such as your Father
From you with all the joyes doth gather:
And may you, when one branch is dead,
Graft such another in its stead,
Lasting thus ever in your prime,

"Till th' sithe is snatcht away from Time.

1 Mix'd with droppinge snow-MS.

2 This and the succeeding line are not in MS.

3 This and the six following lines are not in MS.

4 Here we have a figure, which reminds us of Jonson's famous lines on the Countess of Pembroke; but certainly in this instance the palm of superiority is due to Lovelace, whose conception of Time having his scythe snatched from him is bolder and finer than that of the earlier and greater poet.

THE SCRUTINIE.

SONG.

SET BY MR. THOMAS CHARLES.1

W

I.

HY shouldst thou sweare I am forsworn,

Since thine I vow'd to be?

Lady, it is already Morn,

And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.

II.

Have I not lov'd thee much and long,
A tedious twelve moneths 3 space?
I should all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new imbrace;
Should I still dote upon thy face.

III.

Not but all joy in thy browne haire
In 6 others may be found;

But I must search the black and faire,

Like skilfulle minerallists that sound

For treasure in un-plow'd-up ground.

'This poem appears in Wits Interpreter, by John Cotgrave, ed. 1662, p. 214, under the title of " On his Mistresse, who unjustly taxed him of leaving her off."

2 So Cotgrave. Lucasta reads should you.

IV.

Then if, when I have lov'd my1 round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant she;
With spoyles of meaner beauties crown'd,
I laden will returne to thee,
Ev'n sated with varietie.

PRINCESSE LOYSA3 DRAWING.

SAW a little Diety,
Minerva in epitomy,

Whom Venus, at first blush, surpris'd,
Tooke for her winged wagge disguis'd.
But viewing then, whereas she made
Not a distrest, but lively shade
Of Eccho whom he had betrayd,

Now wanton, and ith' coole oth' Sunne
With her delight a hunting gone,

And thousands more, whom he had slaine;
To live and love, belov'd againe :
Ah! this is true divinity!

I will un-God that toye! cri'd she;

Then markt she Syrinx running fast

To Pan's imbraces, with the haste

Shee fled him once, whose reede-pipe rent

He finds now a new Instrument.

1 thee-Cotgrave.

2 In spoil-Cotgrave.

3

Probably the second daughter of Frederic and Elizabeth of Bohemia, b. 1622. See ToWNEND's Descendants of the Stuarts, 1858, p. 7.