RICHARD LOVELACE,

ELDEST Son of Sir Wm. Lovelace, of Woolwich, in Kent, knt., was born in 1618, educated at the Charter-house, and Glocester-hall, Oxford, where he entered as a gentleman-commoner when sixteen years of age; and while the king and queen were in the University, at the request of a great lady made to the chancellor, was created A.M., though then but of two years' standing. Wood says of him, that he was "accounted the most amiable and beautiful person that eye ever beheld: a person also of innate modesty, virtue, and courtly deportment," and that he was “much admired and adored by the female sex." He died in extreme want at a mean lodging near Shoe-lane, in 1658, after having frequently risked his life, and consumed his whole patrimony in useless efforts to serve his sovereign. He wrote two plays, never printed, called "The Scholar," and " The Soldier," and a volume of poems, 1649, 12mo, called "Lucasta," in honour of Lucy Sacheverel, a lady of great beauty and fortune, whom he usually styled Lux Casta, and who, supposing him dead of his wounds received at Dunkirk, where he commanded a regiment, married another.

After his death, his "Posthume Poems" were published, in the year 1659, 12mo, by his brother, Dudley Posthumus-Lovelace.

SONG.

The Scrutiny.

WHY should you swear 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.

Have I not lov'd thee much, and long;
A tedious twelve-hour's space?

I must all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new embrace,

Could I still doat upon thy face.

SONG.

To Amarantha, that she would dishevel her hair.

AMARANTHA, sweet and fair,

Ah! braid no more that shining hair!

As my curious hand or eye,

Hovering round thee, let it fly.

Let it fly as unconfin'd

As its calm ravisher the Wind;
Who hath left his darling th' east
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

Every tress must be confest
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clew of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.

Do not then wind up that light

In ribbons, and o'ercloud in night,
Like the Sun in's early ray,

But shake your head and scatter day!

SONG.

To Lucasta. Going to the wars.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chace,
The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Lov'd I not honour more.

SONNET.

WHEN I by thy fair shape did swear

(And mingled with each vow a tear)

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

I swore as I profest;

For all the while you

lasted warm and pure

My oaths too did endure;

But once turn'd faithless to thyself, and old,
They then with thee incessantly grew cold.

SONG.

To Althea, from prison.

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 birds', 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;

1 In the original it is "gods." The correction, which is very happy, is Dr. Percy's.

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.

1 Dr. Percy has changed this line into "When, linnet-like, confined I," which is more intelligible.

VOL. III.

S