For which the clearer was not known, Such an everlasting grace, Such a beatific face Incloisters here this narrow floor That possess'd all hearts before. Bless'd and bewail'd in death and birth! The smiles and tears of heav'n and earth! Virgins at each step are afeard, Filmer is shot by which they steer'd, Thus, although this marble must, When all but very virtue's dead. Zo Lucasta. FROM PRISON. AN EPODE. LONG in thy shackles, liberty, I ask not from these walls, but thee; To fancy all the world beside. Yet e'er I do begin to love, First I would be in love with peace, And her rich swelling breasts increase; But how, alas! how may that be, Despising earth, she will love me? Fain would I be in love with war, Thee and thy wounds I would bemoan Fair thorough-shot religion; But he lives only that kills thee, And whoso binds thy hands is free. I would love a parliament As a main prop from heav'n sent; But, ah! who's he that would be wedded To th' fairest body that's beheaded? Next would I court my liberty, A reformation I would have, As for our griefs a sov'reign salve; But not a reformation so, As to reform were to o'erthrow; The public faith I would adore, Since then none of these can be He, who being the whole ball And now an universal mist Of error is spread o'er each breast, Not found in th' inwards of th' abyss. Oh, from thy glorious starry wain Lucasta’s Fan, WITH A LOOKING-GLASS IN IT. OSTRICH! Thou feather'd fool, and easy prey, Oh what a glorious transmigration From this, to so divine an edifice Hast thou straight made! near from a winged stone Transform'd into a bird of Paradise! Now do thy plumes for hue and lustre vie With th' arch of heav'n that triumphs o'er past wet, And in a rich enamel'd pinion lie With sapphires, amethysts, and opals set. Sometime they wing her side, then strive to drown The day's eyes piercing beams, whose am'rous heat Solicits still, till with this shield of down From her brave face, his glowing fires are beat. But whilst a plumy curtain she doth draw, Dear engine that o'th' sun got'st me the day My lively shade thou ever shalt retain So said, her sad swain overheard, and cried, |