LXXV. DORINDA'S sparkling wit and eyes Love is a calmer, gentler joy: Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace; Her Cupid is a blackguard boy, That runs his link full in your face. Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset. LXXVI. WRITTEN AT SEA, THE FIRST DUTCH WAR THE NIGHT BEFORE AN ENGAGEMENT. To all you ladies now on land, But first would have you understand The muses now, and Neptune too, For tho' the muses should prove kind, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we Then, if we write not by each post, The king with wonder and surprise, Will swear the seas grow bold; Because the tides will higher rise But let him know it is our tears Should foggy Opdam chance to know The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, For what resistance can they find From men who've left their hearts behind? Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind; Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, 'Tis then no matter how things go, Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. To pass our tedious hours away, But now our fears tempestuous grow Perhaps permit some happier man When any mournful tune you hear, As if it sigh'd with each man's care Think then how often love we've made To you, when all those tunes were play'd, In justice, you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honour lose All these designs are but to prove And now we've told you all our loves, In hopes this declaration moves Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset. LXXVII. TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON. WHEN Love with unconfinèd wings When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses crown'd, When healths and draughts go free Fishes that tipple in the deep When, linnet-like confinèd, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty When I shall voice aloud how good Stone walls do not a prison make, Minds innocent and quiet take ! If I have freedom in my love, Richard Lovelace. LXXVIII. LOYALTY CONFINED. (Written when a prisoner in the Tower, during Cromwell's usurpation.) BEAT on, proud billows; Boreas, blow; Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof; Your incivility doth plainly show That innocence is tempest-proof; Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm; Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm. That which the world miscalls a jail, Locks, bars, and solitude, together met, Here sin, for want of food, must starve To keep rogues out, not keep me in. Into this private room I'm turn'd; The salamander should be burn'd. Or, like those sophists who would drown a fish, The cynic hugs his poverty, The pelican her wilderness; And 'tis the Indian's pride to be Naked on frozen Caucasus. Contentment feels no smart; stoics, we see, Make torments easy by their apathy. I'm in the cabinet lock'd up, Like some high-prizèd margarite; Or like the great Mogul or Pope, I'm cloister'd up from public sight. Retiredness is a part of majesty, And thus, proud Sultan! I am great as thee. These manacles upon my arm I, as my mistress' favours, wear; And for to keep my ankles warm, I have some iron shackles there. These walls are but my garrison; this cell, Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel. So he that struck at Jason's life, Thinking to make his purpose sure, By a malicious friendly knife Did only wound him to his cure : Malice, we see, wants wit; for what is meant Mischief, oft times proves favour by th' event. Altho' I cannot see my king Neither in person-nor in coin !— Yet contemplation is a thing That renders that I have not, mine. Have you not heard the nightingale, Even then her melody doth plainly prove My soul is free as ambient air, Which doth my outward parts include; Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair T'accompany my solitude. What tho' they do with chains my body bind, My king alone can captivate my mind. I am that bird whom they combine |