Lucasta [48]
the practice of our own composers to seek the patronage of the gentlemen and ladies about the Court for their works, and to identify their names with them. Thus we have "My Lady Carey's Dumpe," &c. &c.
<<51.3>> Expense.
SIR THOMAS WORTLEY'S SONNET ANSWERED.
[THE SONNET.
I. No more Thou little winged archer, now no more As heretofore, Thou maist pretend within my breast to bide, No more, Since cruell Death of dearest LYNDAMORE Hath me depriv'd, I bid adieu to love, and all the world beside.
II. Go, go; Lay by thy quiver and unbend thy bow Poore sillie foe, Thou spend'st thy shafts but at my breast in vain, Since Death My heart hath with a fatall icie deart Already slain, Thou canst not ever hope to warme her wound, Or wound it o're againe.]
THE ANSWER.
I. Againe, Thou witty cruell wanton, now againe, Through ev'ry veine, Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev'ry dart, Againe, Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine. I have no heart, Nor can I live but sweetly murder'd with So deare, so deare a smart.
II. Then flye, And kindle all your torches at her eye, To make me dye Her martyr, and put on my roabe of flame: So I, Advanced on my blazing wings on high, In death became Inthroan'd a starre, and ornament unto Her glorious, glorious name.
A GUILTLESSE LADY IMPRISONED: AFTER PENANCED. SONG. SET BY MR. WILLIAM LAWES.
I. Heark, faire one, how what e're here is Doth laugh and sing at thy distresse; Not out of hate to thy reliefe, But joy t' enjoy thee, though in griefe.
II. See! that which chaynes you, you chaine here; The prison is thy prisoner; How much thy jaylor's keeper art! He bindes your hands, but you his heart.
III. The gyves to rase so smooth a skin, Are so unto themselves within; But, blest to kisse so fayre an arme, Haste to be happy with that harme;
IV. And play about thy wanton wrist, As if in them thou so wert drest; But if too rough, too hard they presse, Oh, they but closely, closely kisse.
V. And as thy bare feet blesse the way, The people doe not mock, but pray, And call thee, as amas'd they run Instead of prostitute, a nun.
VI. The merry torch burnes with desire To kindle the eternall fire, And lightly daunces in thine eyes To tunes of epithalamies.
VII. The sheet's ty'd ever to thy wast, How thankfull to be so imbrac't! And see! thy very very bonds Are bound to thee, to binde such hands.
TO HIS DEARE BROTHER COLONEL F. L. IMMODERATELY MOURNING MY BROTHERS<52.1> UNTIMELY DEATH AT CARMARTHEN.
I. If teares could wash the ill away, A pearle for each wet bead I'd pay; But as dew'd corne the fuller growes, So water'd eyes but swell our woes.
II. One drop another cals, which still (Griefe adding fuell) doth distill; Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish, We need no cherishing to languish.
III. Coward fate degen'rate man Like little children uses, when He whips us first, untill we weepe, Then, 'cause we still a weeping keepe.
IV. Then from thy firme selfe never swerve; Teares fat the griefe that they should sterve; Iron decrees of destinie Are ner'e wipe't out with a wet eye.
V. But this way you may gaine the field, Oppose but sorrow, and 'twill yield; One gallant thorough-made resolve Doth starry influence dissolve.
<52.1> Thomas Lovelace.
<<51.3>> Expense.
SIR THOMAS WORTLEY'S SONNET ANSWERED.
[THE SONNET.
I. No more Thou little winged archer, now no more As heretofore, Thou maist pretend within my breast to bide, No more, Since cruell Death of dearest LYNDAMORE Hath me depriv'd, I bid adieu to love, and all the world beside.
II. Go, go; Lay by thy quiver and unbend thy bow Poore sillie foe, Thou spend'st thy shafts but at my breast in vain, Since Death My heart hath with a fatall icie deart Already slain, Thou canst not ever hope to warme her wound, Or wound it o're againe.]
THE ANSWER.
I. Againe, Thou witty cruell wanton, now againe, Through ev'ry veine, Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev'ry dart, Againe, Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine. I have no heart, Nor can I live but sweetly murder'd with So deare, so deare a smart.
II. Then flye, And kindle all your torches at her eye, To make me dye Her martyr, and put on my roabe of flame: So I, Advanced on my blazing wings on high, In death became Inthroan'd a starre, and ornament unto Her glorious, glorious name.
A GUILTLESSE LADY IMPRISONED: AFTER PENANCED. SONG. SET BY MR. WILLIAM LAWES.
I. Heark, faire one, how what e're here is Doth laugh and sing at thy distresse; Not out of hate to thy reliefe, But joy t' enjoy thee, though in griefe.
II. See! that which chaynes you, you chaine here; The prison is thy prisoner; How much thy jaylor's keeper art! He bindes your hands, but you his heart.
III. The gyves to rase so smooth a skin, Are so unto themselves within; But, blest to kisse so fayre an arme, Haste to be happy with that harme;
IV. And play about thy wanton wrist, As if in them thou so wert drest; But if too rough, too hard they presse, Oh, they but closely, closely kisse.
V. And as thy bare feet blesse the way, The people doe not mock, but pray, And call thee, as amas'd they run Instead of prostitute, a nun.
VI. The merry torch burnes with desire To kindle the eternall fire, And lightly daunces in thine eyes To tunes of epithalamies.
VII. The sheet's ty'd ever to thy wast, How thankfull to be so imbrac't! And see! thy very very bonds Are bound to thee, to binde such hands.
TO HIS DEARE BROTHER COLONEL F. L. IMMODERATELY MOURNING MY BROTHERS<52.1> UNTIMELY DEATH AT CARMARTHEN.
I. If teares could wash the ill away, A pearle for each wet bead I'd pay; But as dew'd corne the fuller growes, So water'd eyes but swell our woes.
II. One drop another cals, which still (Griefe adding fuell) doth distill; Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish, We need no cherishing to languish.
III. Coward fate degen'rate man Like little children uses, when He whips us first, untill we weepe, Then, 'cause we still a weeping keepe.
IV. Then from thy firme selfe never swerve; Teares fat the griefe that they should sterve; Iron decrees of destinie Are ner'e wipe't out with a wet eye.
V. But this way you may gaine the field, Oppose but sorrow, and 'twill yield; One gallant thorough-made resolve Doth starry influence dissolve.
<52.1> Thomas Lovelace.