Lucasta

To the Right Hon. My Lady Anne Lovelace.

      To the richest Treasury

That e'er fill'd ambitious eye;

To the faire bright Magazin

Hath impoverisht Love's Queen;

To th' Exchequer of all honour

(All take pensions but from her);

To the taper of the thore

Which the god himselfe but bore;

To the Sea of Chaste Delight;

Let me cast the Drop I write.

      And as at Loretto's shrine

Caesar shovels in his mine,

Th' Empres spreads her carkanets,

The lords submit their coronets,

Knights their chased armes hang by,

Maids diamond-ruby fancies tye;

Whilst from the pilgrim she wears

One poore false pearl, but ten true tears:

      So among the Orient prize,

(Saphyr-onyx eulogies)

Offer'd up unto your fame,

Take my garnet-dublet name,

And vouchsafe 'midst those rich joyes

(With devotion) these toyes.

         Richard Lovelace.

To Lucasta. Going Beyond the Seas

I.

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 blustring winde or swallowing wave.

II.

But I'le not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my saile,

Or pay a teare to swage

The foaming blew-gods rage;

For whether he will let me passe

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

III.

Though seas and land betwixt us both,

Our faith and troth,

Like separated soules,

All time and space controules:

Above the highest sphere wee meet,

Unseene, unknowne, and greet as angels greet

IV.

So then we doe anticipate

Our after-fate,

And are alive i'th' skies,

If thus our lips and eyes

Can speake like spirits unconfin'd

In Heav'n, their earthy bodies left behind.

To Lucasta. Going Beyond the Warres

I.

Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,

That from the nunnerie

Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde

To warre and armes I flie.

II.

True: a new Mistresse now I chase,

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith imbrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.

III.

Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Lov'd I not Honour more.

To Aramantha; That She Would Dishevel Her Hair

I.

Amarantha sweet and faire,

Ah brade no more that shining haire!

As my curious hand or eye,

Hovering round thee, let it flye.

II.

Let it flye as unconfin'd

As it's calme ravisher, the winde,

Who hath left his darling, th' East,

To wanton o're that spicie neast.

III.

Ev'ry tresse must be confest:

But neatly tangled at the best;

Like a clue of golden thread,

Most excellently ravelled.

IV.

Doe not then winde 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.

V.

See, 'tis broke! within this grove,

The bower and the walkes of love,

Weary lye we downe and rest,

And fanne each other's panting breast.

VI.

Heere wee'll strippe and coole our fire,

In creame below, in milk-baths higher:

And when all wells are drawne dry,

I'll drink a teare out of thine eye.

VII.

Which our very joys shall leave,

That sorrowes thus we can deceive;

Or our very sorrowes weepe,

That joyes so ripe so little keepe.

Sonnet: Depose your finger of that ring

I.

Depose your finger of that ring,

And crowne mine with't awhile;

Now I restor't. Pray, dos it bring

Back with it more of soile?

Or shines it not as innocent,

As honest, as before 'twas lent?

II.

So then inrich me with that treasure,

'Twill but increase your store,

And please me (faire one) with that pleasure

Must please you still the more.

Not to save others is a curse

The blackest, when y'are ne're the worse.

To Lucasta. The Rose

I.

Sweet serene skye-like flower,

Haste to adorn her bower;

From thy long clowdy bed

Shoot forth thy damaske head.

II.

New-startled blush of Flora!

The griefe of pale Aurora,

Who will contest no more,

Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.

III.

Vermilion ball, that's given

From lip to lip in Heaven;

Loves couches cover-led,

Haste, haste, to make her bed.

IV.

Dear offspring of pleas'd Venus,

And jollie plumpe Silenus;

Haste, haste, to decke the haire,

Of th' only sweetly faire.

V.

See! rosie is her bower,

Her floore is all this flower;

Her bed a rosie nest

By a bed of roses prest.

VI.

But early as she dresses,

Why fly you her bright tresses?

Ah! I have found, I feare;

Because her cheekes are neere.

Sonnet: When I by thy faire shape did sweare

I.

When I by thy faire shape did sweare,

And mingled with each vowe a teare,

I lov'd, I lov'd thee best,

I swore as I profest.

For all the while you lasted warme and pure,

My oathes too did endure.

But once turn'd faithlesse to thy selfe and old,

They then with thee incessantly grew cold.

II.

I swore my selfe thy sacrifice

By th' ebon bowes that guard thine eyes,

Which now are alter'd white,

And by the glorious light

Of both those stars, which of their spheres bereft,

Only the gellie's left.

Then changed thus, no more I'm bound to you,

Then swearing to a saint that proves untrue.

Lucasta Weeping

I.

Lucasta wept, and still the bright

Inamour'd god of day,

With his soft handkercher of light,

Kist the wet pearles away.

II.

But when her teares his heate or'ecame,

In cloudes he quensht his beames,

And griev'd, wept out his eye of flame,

So drowned her sad streames.

III.

At this she smiled, when straight the sun

Cleer'd by her kinde desires;

And by her eyes reflexion

Fast kindl'd there his fires.

To Lucasta, from Prison

I.

Long in thy shackels, liberty

I ask not from these walls, but thee;

Left for awhile anothers bride,

To fancy all the world beside.

II.

Yet e're I doe begin to love,

See, how I all my objects prove;

Then my free soule to that confine,

'Twere possible I might call mine.

III.

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?

IV.

Faine would I be in love with war,

As my deare just avenging star;

But War is lov'd so ev'rywhere,

Ev'n he disdaines a lodging here.

V.

Thee and thy wounds I would bemoane,

Faire thorough-shot religion;

But he lives only that kills thee,

And who so bindes thy hands, is free.

VI.

I would love a parliment

As a maine prop from Heav'n sent;

But ah! who's he, that would be wedded

To th' fairest body that's beheaded?

VII.

Next would I court my liberty,

And then my birth-right, property;

But can that be, when it is knowne,

There's nothing you can call your owne?

VIII.

A reformation I would have,

As for our griefes a sov'raigne salve;

That is, a cleansing of each wheele

Of state, that yet some rust doth feele.

IX.

But not a reformation so,

As to reforme were to ore'throw,

Like watches by unskilfull men

Disjoynted, and set ill againe.

X.

The publick faith I would adore,

But she is banke-rupt of her store:

Nor how to trust her can I see,

For she that couzens all, must me.

XI.

Since then none of these can be

Fit objects for my love and me;

What then remaines, but th' only spring

Of all our loves and joyes, the King?

XII.

He who, being the whole ball

Of day on earth, lends it to all;

When seeking to ecclipse his right,

Blinded we stand in our owne light.

XIII.

And now an universall mist

Of error is spread or'e each breast,

With such a fury edg'd as is

Not found in th' inwards of th' abysse.

XIV.

Oh, from thy glorious starry waine

Dispense on me one sacred beame,

To light me where I soone may see

How to serve you, and you trust me!

To Lucasta

I.

Ah Lucasta, why so bright?

Spread with early streaked light!

If still vailed from our sight,

What is't but eternall night?

II.

Ah Lucasta, why so chaste?

With that vigour, ripenes grac't,

Not to be by Man imbrac't

Makes that Royall coyne imbace't,

And this golden Orchard waste!

III.

Ah Lucasta, why so great,

That thy crammed coffers sweat?

Yet not owner of a seat

May shelter you from Natures heat,

And your earthly joyes compleat.

IV.

Ah Lucasta, why so good?

Blest with an unstained flood

Flowing both through soule and blood;

If it be not understood,

'Tis a Diamond in mud.

V.

Lucasta! stay! why dost thou flye?

Thou art not bright but to the eye,

Nor chaste but in the mariage-tye,

Nor great but in this treasurie,

Nor good but in that sanctitie.

VI.

Harder then the Orient stone,

Like an apparition,

Or as a pale shadow gone,

Dumbe and deafe she hence is flowne.

VII.

Then receive this equall dombe:

Virgins, strow no teare or bloome,

No one dig the Parian wombe;

Raise her marble heart i'th' roome,

And 'tis both her coarse and tombe.

Upon the Curtain of Lucasta's Picture, It was Thus Wrought

Oh, stay that covetous hand; first turn all eye,

All depth and minde; then mystically spye

Her soul's faire picture, her faire soul's, in all

So truely copied from th' originall,

That you will sweare her body by this law

Is but its shadow, as this, its;--now draw.

Lucasta's World

I.

Cold as the breath of winds that blow

To silver shot descending snow,

Lucasta sigh't; when she did close

    The world in frosty chaines!

And then a frowne to rubies frose

    The blood boyl'd in our veines:

Yet cooled not the heat her sphere

Of beauties first had kindled there.

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

Disdaine had first congeal'd to ice.

III.

And now her teares nor griev'd desire

Can quench this raging, pleasing fire;

Fate but one way allowes; behold

    Her smiles' divinity!

They fann'd this heat, and thaw'd that cold,

    So fram'd up a new sky.

Thus earth, from flames and ice repreev'd,

E're since hath in her sun-shine liv'd.

To Ellinda, That Lately I Have Not Written

I.

If in me anger, or disdaine

In you, or both, made me refraine

From th' noble intercourse of verse,

That only vertuous thoughts rehearse;

Then, chaste Ellinda, might you feare

The sacred vowes that I did sweare.

II.

But if alone some pious thought

Me to an inward sadnesse brought,

Thinking to breath your soule too welle,

My tongue was charmed with that spell;

And left it (since there was no roome

To voyce your worth enough) strooke dumbe.

III.

So then this silence doth reveal

No thought of negligence, but zeal:

For, as in adoration,

This is love's true devotion;

Children and fools the words repeat,

But anch'rites pray in tears and sweat.

To Chloe, Courting Her for His Friend

I.

Chloe, behold! againe I bowe:

Againe possest, againe I woe;

From my heat hath taken fire

Damas, noble youth, and fries,

Gazing with one of mine eyes,

Damas, halfe of me expires:

Chloe, behold! Our fate's the same.

Or make me cinders too, or quench his flame

II.

I'd not be King, unlesse there sate

Lesse lords that shar'd with me in state

Who, by their cheaper coronets, know,

What glories from my diadem flow:

Its use and rate values the gem:

Pearles in their shells have no esteem;

And, I being sun within thy sphere,

'Tis my chiefe beauty thinner lights shine there.

III.

The Us'rer heaps unto his store

By seeing others praise it more;

Who not for gaine or want doth covet,

But, 'cause another loves, doth love it:

Thus gluttons cloy'd afresh invite

Their gusts from some new appetite;

And after cloth remov'd, and meate,

Fall too againe by seeing others eate.

Gratiana Dancing and Singing

I.

See! with what constant motion

Even and glorious, as the sunne,

Gratiana steeres that noble frame,

Soft as her breast, sweet as her voyce,

That gave each winding law and poyze,

And swifter then the wings of Fame.

II.

She beat the happy pavement

By such a starre-made firmament,

Which now no more the roofe envies;

But swells up high with Atlas ev'n,

Bearing the brighter, nobler Heav'n,

And in her, all the Dieties.

III.

Each step trod out a lovers thought

And the ambitious hopes he brought,

Chain'd to her brave feet with such arts,

Such sweet command and gentle awe,

As when she ceas'd, we sighing saw

The floore lay pav'd with broken hearts.

IV.

So did she move: so did she sing:

Like the harmonious spheres that bring

Unto their rounds their musick's ayd;

Which she performed such a way,

As all th' inamour'd world will say:

The Graces daunced, and Apollo play'd.

The Scrutinie

I.

Why 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 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 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.

IV.

Then if, when I have lov'd my 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.

The Vintage to the Dungeon

I.

Sing out, pent soules, sing cheerefully!

Care shackles you in liberty:

Mirth frees you in captivity.

Would you double fetters adde?

Else why so sadde?

Chorus.

Besides your pinion'd armes youl finde

Griefe too can manakell the minde.

II.

Live then, pris'ners, uncontrol'd;

Drink oth' strong, the rich, the old,

Till wine too hath your wits in hold;

Then if still your jollitie

And throats are free-- 

Chorus.

Tryumph in your bonds and paines,

And daunce to the music of your chaines.

To Althea. From Prison

I.

When love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates;

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;

When I lye tangled in her haire,

And fetterd to her eye,

The birds, that wanton in the aire,

Know no such liberty.

II.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our carelesse heads with roses bound,

Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,

When healths and draughts go free,

Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,

Know no such libertie.

III.

When (like committed linnets) I

With shriller throat shall sing

The sweetnes, mercy, majesty,

And glories of my King.

When I shall voyce aloud, how good

He is, how great should be,

Inlarged winds, that curle the flood,

Know no such liberty.

IV.

Stone walls doe not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;

Mindes innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage;

If I have freedome in my love,

And in my soule am free,

Angels alone that sore above

Enjoy such liberty.

To His Fairest Valentine, Mrs. A.L.

"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,

And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;

Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be

Employ'd to serve her deity:

And warble forth, ye virgins nine,

Some music to my Valentine.

"Her bosom is love's paradise,

There is no heav'n but in her eyes;

She's chaster than the turtle-dove,

And fairer than the queen of love:

Yet all perfections do combine

To beautifie my Valentine.

"She's Nature's choicest cabinet,

Where honour, beauty, worth and wit

Are all united in her breast.

The graces claim an interest:

All virtues that are most divine

Shine clearest in my Valentine."

The Faire Begger

I.

Comanding asker, if it be

Pity that you faine would have,

Then I turne begger unto thee,

And aske the thing that thou dost crave.

I will suffice thy hungry need,

So thou wilt but my fancy feed.

II.

In all ill yeares, was ever knowne

On so much beauty such a dearth?

Which, in that thrice-bequeathed gowne,

Lookes like the Sun eclipst with Earth,

Like gold in canvas, or with dirt

Unsoyled Ermins close begirt.

III.

Yet happy he, that can but tast

This whiter skin, who thirsty is!

Fooles dote on sattin motions lac'd:

The gods go naked in their blisse.

At th' barrell's head there shines the vine,

There only relishes the wine.

IV.

There quench my heat, and thou shalt sup

Worthy the lips that it must touch,

Nectar from out the starry cup:

I beg thy breath not halfe so much.

So both our wants supplied shall be,

You'l give for love, I, charity.

V.

Cheape then are pearle-imbroderies,

That not adorne, but cloud thy wast;

Thou shalt be cloath'd above all prise,

If thou wilt promise me imbrac't.

Wee'l ransack neither chest nor shelfe:

Ill cover thee with mine owne selfe.

VI.

But, cruel, if thou dost deny

This necessary almes to me,

What soft-soul'd man but with his eye

And hand will hence be shut to thee?

Since all must judge you more unkinde:

I starve your body, you, my minde.

To Lucasta. Her Reserved Looks

Lucasta, frown, and let me die,

But smile, and see, I live;

The sad indifference of your eye

Both kills and doth reprieve.

You hide our fate within its screen;

We feel our judgment, ere we hear.

So in one picture I have seen

An angel here, the devil there.

Lucasta Laughing

Heark, how she laughs aloud,

Although the world put on its shrowd:

Wept at by the fantastic crowd,

Who cry: one drop, let fall

From her, might save the universal ball.

            She laughs again

   At our ridiculous pain;

And at our merry misery

   She laughs, until she cry.

            Sages, forbear

   That ill-contrived tear,

            Although your fear

Doth barricado hope from your soft ear.

That which still makes her mirth to flow,

Is our sinister-handed woe,

Which downwards on its head doth go,

And, ere that it is sown, doth grow.

   This makes her spleen contract,

      And her just pleasure feast:

   For the unjustest act

      Is still the pleasant'st jest.

Love Inthron'd

I.

Introth, I do my self perswade,

That the wilde boy is grown a man,

And all his childishnesse off laid,

E're since Lucasta did his fires fan;

    H' has left his apish jigs,

    And whipping hearts like gigs:

For t' other day I heard him swear,

That beauty should be crown'd in honours chair.

II.

With what a true and heavenly state

He doth his glorious darts dispence,

Now cleans'd from falsehood, blood and hate,

And newly tipt with innocence!

    Love Justice is become,

    And doth the cruel doome;

Reversed is the old decree;

Behold! he sits inthron'd with majestie.

III.

Inthroned in Lucasta's eye,

He doth our faith and hearts survey;

Then measures them by sympathy,

And each to th' others breast convey;

    Whilst to his altars now

    The frozen vestals bow,

And strickt Diana too doth go

A-hunting with his fear'd, exchanged bow.

IV.

Th' imbracing seas and ambient air

Now in his holy fires burn;

Fish couple, birds and beasts in pair

Do their own sacrifices turn.

    This is a miracle,

    That might religion swell;

But she, that these and their god awes,

Her crowned self submits to her own laws.

To Lucasta. I laugh and sing

I.

I laugh and sing, but cannot tell

Whether the folly on't sounds well;

                  But then I groan,

                  Methinks, in tune;

Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air

            Of my despised prayer.

II.

A pretty antick love does this,

Then strikes a galliard with a kiss;

                  As in the end

                  The chords they rend;

So you but with a touch from your fair hand

            Turn all to saraband.

To Lucasta. Like to the Sentinel Stars

I.

Like to the sent'nel stars, I watch all night;

For still the grand round of your light

      And glorious breast

            Awake in me an east:

Nor will my rolling eyes ere know a west.

II.

Now on my down I'm toss'd as on a wave,

And my repose is made my grave;

            Fluttering I lye,

      Do beat my self and dye,

But for a resurrection from your eye.

III.

Ah, my fair murdresse! dost thou cruelly heal

With various pains to make me well?

            Then let me be

      Thy cut anatomie,

And in each mangled part my heart you'l see.

The Ant

I.

Forbear, thou great good husband, little ant;

A little respite from thy flood of sweat!

Thou, thine own horse and cart under this plant,

Thy spacious tent, fan thy prodigious heat;

Down with thy double load of that one grain!

It is a granarie for all thy train.

II.

Cease, large example of wise thrift, awhile

(For thy example is become our law),

And teach thy frowns a seasonable smile:

So Cato sometimes the nak'd Florals saw.

And thou, almighty foe, lay by thy sting,

Whilst thy unpay'd musicians, crickets, sing.

III.

Lucasta, she that holy makes the day,

And 'stills new life in fields of fueillemort,

Hath back restor'd their verdure with one ray,

And with her eye bid all to play and sport,

Ant, to work still! age will thee truant call;

And to save now, th'art worse than prodigal.

IV.

Austere and cynick! not one hour t' allow,

To lose with pleasure, what thou gotst with pain;

But drive on sacred festivals thy plow,

Tearing high-ways with thy ore-charged wain.

Not all thy life-time one poor minute live,

And thy ore-labour'd bulk with mirth relieve?

V.

Look up then, miserable ant, and spie

Thy fatal foes, for breaking of their law,

Hov'ring above thee: Madam Margaret Pie:

And her fierce servant, meagre Sir John Daw:

Thy self and storehouse now they do store up,

And thy whole harvest too within their crop.

VI.

Thus we unthrifty thrive within earth's tomb

For some more rav'nous and ambitious jaw:

The grain in th' ant's, the ant in the pie's womb,

The pie in th' hawk's, the hawk ith' eagle's maw.

So scattering to hord 'gainst a long day,

Thinking to save all, we cast all away.

Song: Strive not, vain lover

I.

Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;

Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine:

You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought,

To think it may be in a cobweb caught.

What, though her thin transparent lawn

Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn:

Not all the arms the god of fire ere made

Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade.

II.

Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress

In her fair soul's immac'late glass.

Then by reflection you may have the bliss

Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;

When all your gawderies will fit

Those only that are poor in wit.

She that a clinquant outside doth adore,

Dotes on a gilded statue and no more.

Courante Monsieur

That frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd

Thy bright front's pow'r, and crown'd

Me that was bound.

No, no, deceived cruel, no!

Love's fiery darts,

Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts.

Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see!

Thy angry flames meant me,

Retort on thee:

For know, it is decreed, proud fair,

I ne'r must dye

By any scorching, but a melting, eye.

Song: In mine one monument I lye

I.

In mine one monument I lye,

And in my self am buried;

Sure, the quick lightning of her eye

Melted my soul ith' scabberd dead;

And now like some pale ghost I walk,

And with another's spirit talk.

II.

Nor can her beams a heat convey,

That may my frozen bosome warm,

Unless her smiles have pow'r, as they,

That a cross charm can countercharm.

But this is such a pleasing pain,

I'm loth to be alive again.

Another

I did believe I was in heav'n,

When first the heav'n her self was giv'n,

That in my heart her beams did passe

As some the sun keep in a glasse,

So that her beauties thorow me

Did hurt my rival-enemy.

But fate, alas! decreed it so,

That I was engine to my woe:

For, as a corner'd christal spot,

My heart diaphanous was not;

But solid stuffe, where her eye flings

Quick fire upon the catching strings:

Yet, as at triumphs in the night,

You see the Prince's Arms in light,

So, when I once was set on flame,

I burnt all ore the letters of her name.

The Snayl

Wise emblem of our politick world,

Sage Snayl, within thine own self curl'd,

Instruct me softly to make hast,

Whilst these my feet go slowly fast.

Compendious Snayl! thou seem'st to me

Large Euclid's strict epitome;

And in each diagram dost fling

Thee from the point unto the ring.

A figure now trianglare,

An oval now, and now a square,

And then a serpentine, dost crawl,

Now a straight line, now crook'd, now all.

Preventing rival of the day,

Th' art up and openest thy ray;

And ere the morn cradles the moon,

Th' art broke into a beauteous noon.

Then, when the Sun sups in the deep,

Thy silver horns e're Cinthia's peep;

And thou, from thine own liquid bed,

New Phoebus, heav'st thy pleasant head.

Who shall a name for thee create,

Deep riddle of mysterious state?

Bold Nature, that gives common birth

To all products of seas and earth,

Of thee, as earth-quakes, is afraid,

Nor will thy dire deliv'ry aid.

Thou, thine own daughter, then, and sire,

That son and mother art intire,

That big still with thy self dost go,

And liv'st an aged embrio;

That like the cubbs of India,

Thou from thy self a while dost play;

But frighted with a dog or gun,

In thine own belly thou dost run,

And as thy house was thine own womb,

So thine own womb concludes thy tomb.

But now I must (analys'd king)

Thy oeconomick virtues sing;

Thou great stay'd husband still within,

Thou thee that's thine dost discipline;

And when thou art to progress bent,

Thou mov'st thy self and tenement,

As warlike Scythians travayl'd, you

Remove your men and city too;

Then, after a sad dearth and rain,

Thou scatterest thy silver train;

And when the trees grow nak'd and old,

Thou cloathest them with cloth of gold,

Which from thy bowels thou dost spin,

And draw from the rich mines within.

Now hast thou chang'd thee, saint, and made

Thy self a fane that's cupula'd;

And in thy wreathed cloister thou

Walkest thine own gray fryer too;

Strickt and lock'd up, th'art hood all ore,

And ne'r eliminat'st thy dore.

On sallads thou dost feed severe,

And 'stead of beads thou drop'st a tear,

And when to rest each calls the bell,

Thou sleep'st within thy marble cell,

Where, in dark contemplation plac'd,

The sweets of Nature thou dost tast,

Who now with time thy days resolve,

And in a jelly thee dissolve,

Like a shot star, which doth repair

Upward, and rarifie the air.