Richard Lovelace: Всі вірші поета

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To Lucasta From Prison An Epode

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;

by Richard Lovelace

Oreheus To Beasts

Here, here, oh here! EURIDICE,

Here was she slaine;

Her soule 'still'd through a veine:

The gods knew lesse

That time divinitie,

Then ev'n, ev'n these

Of brutishnesse.

by Richard Lovelace

A Prologue To The Scholars A Comaedy Presented At The White Fryers

A gentleman, to give us somewhat new,

Hath brought up OXFORD with him to show you;

Pray be not frighted—Tho the scaene and gown's

The Universities, the wit's the town's;

The lines each honest Englishman may speake:

Yet not mistake his mother-tongue for Greeke,

For stil 'twas part of his vow'd liturgie:—

From learned comedies deliver me!

by Richard Lovelace

To My Dear Friend Mr E[ldred] R[evett] On His Poems Moral

Cleft as the top of the inspired hill,

Struggles the soul of my divided quill,

Whilst this foot doth the watry mount aspire,

That Sinai's living and enlivening fire,

Behold my powers storm'd by a twisted light

O' th' Sun and his, first kindled his sight,

And my lost thoughts invoke the prince of day,

My right to th' spring of it and him do pray.

by Richard Lovelace

To Dr F B[eale]; On His Book Of Chesse

Sir, how unravell'd is the golden fleece:

Men, that could only fool at FOX AND GEESE,

Are new-made polititians by thy book,

And both can judge and conquer with a look.

The hidden fate of princes you unfold;

Court, clergy, commons, by your law control'd.

Strange, serious wantoning all that they

Bluster'd and clutter'd for, you PLAY.

by Richard Lovelace

A La Bourbon Done Moy Plus De Pitie Ou Plus De Creaulte, Car Sans Ci Ie Ne Puis Pas Viure, Ne Morir

Divine Destroyer, pitty me no more,

Or else more pitty me;

Give me more love, ah, quickly give me more,

Or else more cruelty!

For left thus as I am,

My heart is ice and flame;

And languishing thus, I

by Richard Lovelace

Ausonius Lib I Epig

AUSONIUS LIB. I. EPIG.

Thesauro invento qui limina mortis inibat,

Liquit ovans laqueum, quo periturus erat;

At qui, quod terrae abdiderat, non repperit aurum,

Quem laqueum invenit nexuit, et periit.

ENGLISHED.

A treasure found one, entring at death's gate,

Triumphing leaves that cord, was meant his fate;

by Richard Lovelace

To Fletcher Reviv'd

How have I bin religious? what strange good

Has scap't me, that I never understood?

Have I hel-guarded Haeresie o'rthrowne?

Heald wounded states? made kings and kingdoms one?

That FATE should be so merciful to me,

To let me live t' have said I have read thee.

Faire star, ascend! the joy! the life! the light

Of this tempestuous age, this darke worlds sight!

by Richard Lovelace

Sonnet

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,

by Richard Lovelace

An Elegie Princesse Katherine Borne, Christened, Buried, I

You, that can haply mixe your joyes with cries,

And weave white Ios with black Elegies,

Can caroll out a dirge, and in one breath

Sing to the tune either of life, or death;

You, that can weepe the gladnesse of the spheres,

And pen a hymne, in stead of inke, with teares;

Here, here your unproportion'd wit let fall,

To celebrate this new-borne funerall,

by Richard Lovelace

Ad Sylonem Ep 104

AD SYLONEM. EP. 104.

Aut sodes mihi redde decem sestertia, Sylo,

Deindo esto quam vis saevus et indomitus;

Aut si te nummi delectant, desine, quaeso,

Leno esse, atque idem saevus et indomitus.

ENGLISHED.

Sylo, pray pay me my ten sesterces,

Then rant and roar as much as you shall please;

by Richard Lovelace

An Anniversary On The Hymeneals Of My Noble kinsman, Tho S

The day is curl'd about agen

To view the splendor she was in;

When first with hallow'd hands

The holy man knit the mysterious bands

When you two your contracted souls did move

Like cherubims above,

And did make love,

by Richard Lovelace