So none but she knows to bemoan

This equal virgin's fate,

None but Lucasta can her crown
Of glory celebrate.

Then dart on me (chaste light) one ray By which I may descry

Thy joy clear through this cloudy day To dress my sorrow by.

To Althea, from Prison.

SONG.

SET BY DR. JOHN WILSON.

WHEN love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates;

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates:
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye;
The gods that wanton in the air,

Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep,

Know no such liberty.

When (like committed linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my KING;
When I shall voice aloud, how good
He is, how great should be;
Enlarged winds that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage;

If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free;
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.

Being treated.

TO ELINDA.

FOR cherries plenty, and for currans,
Enough for fifty were there more on's;
For ells of beer, flutes of canary
That well did wash down pasties-mary;
For peason, chickens, sauces high,
Pig and the widow-ven'son-pie
With certain promise, to your brother,
Of the virginity of another,

Where it is thought I too may peep in
With knuckles far as any deep in;
For glasses, heads, hands, bellies full
Of wine, and loin right-worshipfull;
Whether all of, or more behind-a
Thanks free'st, freshest, fair Elinda:
Thanks for my visit not disdaining,
Or at the least thanks for your feigning;
For if your mercy door were lock'd-well
I should be justly soundly knock'd-well;
Cause that in doggrel I did mutter
Not one rhyme to you from dam-Rotter.
Next beg I to present my duty

To pregnant sister in prime beauty,

Whom well I deem (ere few months elder,
Will take out Hans from pretty Kelder,)
And to the sweetly fair Mabella,

A match that vies with Arabella;
In each respect but the misfortune,
Fortune, fate I thee importune.

Nor must I pass the pretty Alice, Whose health I'd quaff in golden chalice; But since that fate hath made me neuter, I only can in beaker pewter:

But who'd forget, or yet left unsung

The doughty acts of George the young son, Who yesterday to save his sister

Had slain the snake, had he not miss'd her:
But I shall leave him till a nag on

He gets to prosecute the dragon;
And then with help of sun and taper,
Fill with his deeds twelve reams of paper,
That Amadis, Sir Guy, and Topaz
With his fleet neigher shall keep no-pace.
But now to close all I must switch-hard,
Servant ever;

Lovelace Richard.

SONNET

TO GENERAL GORING, AFTER THE PACIFICATION AT BERWICK.

A LA CHABOT.

Now the peace is made at the foe's rate, Whilst men of arms to kettles their old helms translate, And drink in caskes of honourable plate;

In every hand a cup be found,

That from all hearts a health may sound
To Goring! to Goring! see't go round.

He whose glories shine so brave and high, That captive they in triumph lead each ear and eye, Claiming uncombated the victory;

And from the earth to heav'n rebound,

Fix'd there eternal as this round,

To Goring! to Goring! see him crown'd.

To his lovely bride in love with scars, Whose eyes wound deep in peace, as doth his sword

in wars,

They shortly must depose the queen of stars:
Her cheeks the morning blushes give,

And the benighted world reprieve;

To Lettice! to Lettice! let her live.