Lucasta [28]
both her coarse and tombe.
LUCASTA PAYING HER OBSEQUIES TO THE CHAST MEMORY OF MY DEAREST COSIN MRS. BOWES BARNE[S].<28.1>
I. See! what an undisturbed teare She weepes for her last sleepe; But, viewing her, straight wak'd a Star, She weepes that she did weepe.
II. Griefe ne're before did tyranize On th' honour of that brow, And at the wheeles of her brave eyes Was captive led til now.
III. Thus, for a saints apostacy The unimagin'd woes And sorrowes of the Hierarchy None but an angel knowes.
IV. Thus, for lost soules recovery The clapping of all wings And triumphs of this victory None but an angel sings.
V. So none but she knows to bemone This equal virgins fate, None but LUCASTA can her crowne Of glory celebrate.
VI. Then dart on me (CHAST LIGHT)<28.2> one ray, By which I may discry Thy joy cleare through this cloudy day To dresse my sorrow by.
<28.1> This lady was probably the wife of a descendant of Sir William Barnes, of Woolwich, whose only daughter and heir, Anne, married the poet's father, and brought him the seat in Kent. See GENTS. MAGAZINE for 1791, part ii. 1095.
<28.2> A translation of LUCASTA, or LUX CASTA, for the sake of the metre.
UPON THE CURTAINE OF LUCASTA'S PICTURE, IT WAS THUS WROUGHT.<29.1>
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.
<29.1> Pictures used formerly to have curtains before them. It is still done in some old houses. In WESTWARD HOE, 1607, act ii. scene 3, there is an allusion to this practice:--
"SIR GOSLING. So draw those curtains, and let's see the pictures under 'em."--Webster's WORKS, ed. Hazlitt, i. 133.
LUCASTA'S WORLD. EPODE.
I. Cold as the breath of winds that blow To silver shot descending snow, Lucasta sigh't;<30.1> 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.
<30.1> Original reads SIGHT.
THE APOSTACY OF ONE, AND BUT ONE LADY.
I. That frantick errour I adore, And am confirm'd the earth turns round; Now satisfied o're and o're, As rowling waves, so flowes the ground, And as her neighbour reels the shore: Finde such a woman says she loves; She's that fixt heav'n, which never moves.
II. In marble, steele, or porphyrie, Who carves or stampes his armes or face, Lookes it by rust or storme must dye: This womans love no time can raze, Hardned like ice in the sun's eye, Or your reflection in a glasse, Which keepes possession, though you passe.
III. We not behold a watches hand To stir, nor plants or flowers to grow; Must we infer that this doth stand, And therefore, that those do not blow? This she acts calmer, like Heav'ns brand, The stedfast lightning, slow loves dart, She kils, but ere we feele the smart.
IV. Oh, she is constant as the winde, That revels in an ev'nings aire! Certaine as
LUCASTA PAYING HER OBSEQUIES TO THE CHAST MEMORY OF MY DEAREST COSIN MRS. BOWES BARNE[S].<28.1>
I. See! what an undisturbed teare She weepes for her last sleepe; But, viewing her, straight wak'd a Star, She weepes that she did weepe.
II. Griefe ne're before did tyranize On th' honour of that brow, And at the wheeles of her brave eyes Was captive led til now.
III. Thus, for a saints apostacy The unimagin'd woes And sorrowes of the Hierarchy None but an angel knowes.
IV. Thus, for lost soules recovery The clapping of all wings And triumphs of this victory None but an angel sings.
V. So none but she knows to bemone This equal virgins fate, None but LUCASTA can her crowne Of glory celebrate.
VI. Then dart on me (CHAST LIGHT)<28.2> one ray, By which I may discry Thy joy cleare through this cloudy day To dresse my sorrow by.
<28.1> This lady was probably the wife of a descendant of Sir William Barnes, of Woolwich, whose only daughter and heir, Anne, married the poet's father, and brought him the seat in Kent. See GENTS. MAGAZINE for 1791, part ii. 1095.
<28.2> A translation of LUCASTA, or LUX CASTA, for the sake of the metre.
UPON THE CURTAINE OF LUCASTA'S PICTURE, IT WAS THUS WROUGHT.<29.1>
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.
<29.1> Pictures used formerly to have curtains before them. It is still done in some old houses. In WESTWARD HOE, 1607, act ii. scene 3, there is an allusion to this practice:--
"SIR GOSLING. So draw those curtains, and let's see the pictures under 'em."--Webster's WORKS, ed. Hazlitt, i. 133.
LUCASTA'S WORLD. EPODE.
I. Cold as the breath of winds that blow To silver shot descending snow, Lucasta sigh't;<30.1> 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.
<30.1> Original reads SIGHT.
THE APOSTACY OF ONE, AND BUT ONE LADY.
I. That frantick errour I adore, And am confirm'd the earth turns round; Now satisfied o're and o're, As rowling waves, so flowes the ground, And as her neighbour reels the shore: Finde such a woman says she loves; She's that fixt heav'n, which never moves.
II. In marble, steele, or porphyrie, Who carves or stampes his armes or face, Lookes it by rust or storme must dye: This womans love no time can raze, Hardned like ice in the sun's eye, Or your reflection in a glasse, Which keepes possession, though you passe.
III. We not behold a watches hand To stir, nor plants or flowers to grow; Must we infer that this doth stand, And therefore, that those do not blow? This she acts calmer, like Heav'ns brand, The stedfast lightning, slow loves dart, She kils, but ere we feele the smart.
IV. Oh, she is constant as the winde, That revels in an ev'nings aire! Certaine as