LOVELACE'S LUCASTA.

SONG.

SET BY MR. HENRY LAW ES.

co Zucasta,

GOING BEYOND THE SEAS.

IF to be absent were to be
Away from thee;

Or that when I am gone,
You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave

Pity from blust'ring wind, or swallowing wave.

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my sail,

Or pay a tear to 'suage

The foaming blue-god's rage;

For whether he will let me pass

Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.

B

Though seas and land betwixt us both,

Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.

So then we do anticipate
Our after fate,

And are alive i'th' skies,

If thus our lips and eyes

Can speak like spirits unconfin'd
In heav'n, their earthy bodies left behind.

SONG.

SET BY MR. JOHN LANIERE.

To Lucasta,

GOING TO THE WARS.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True; a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.

A PARADOX.

'Tis true the beauteous star To which I first did bow

Burnt quicker, brighter far

Than that which leads me now;
Which shines with more delight,
For gazing on that light

So long, near lost my sight.

Through foul, we follow fair,

For had the world one face
And earth been bright as air,
We had known neither place;
Indians smell not their nest;
A Swiss or Finn tastes best
The spices of the east.

So from the glorious sun,
Who to his height hath got,
With what delight we run

To some black cave, or grot!
And, heav'nly Sydney, you

Twice read, had rather view
Some odd romance, so new.

The god that constant keeps
Unto his deities,

Is poor in joys, and sleeps
Imprison'd in the skies:
This knew the wisest, who
From Juno stole, below.
To love a bear, or cow.

SONG.

SET BY MR. HENRY LAW ES.

To Amarantha,

THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVEL HER HAIR.

AMARANTHA, sweet and fair,

Ah, braid no more that shining hair!

As my curious hand or eye,

Hovering round thee let it fly.

Let it fly as unconfin'd

As its calm ravisher, the wind;

Who hath left his darling th' east, To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

Ev'ry tress must be confest; But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clue of golden thread, Most excellently ravelled.

Do not then wind up that light In ribands, and o'er-cloud in night, Like the sun in's early ray; But shake your head and scatter day.

See 'tis broke! within this grove,
The bower, and the walks of love,
Weary lie we down and rest,
And fan each others panting breast.

Here we'll strip and cool our fire In cream below, in milk-baths higher: And when all wells are drawn dry, I'll drink a tear out of thine eye.

Which our very joys shall leave,
That sorrows thus we can deceive;
Or our very sorrows weep,
That joys so ripe, so little keep.