Lucasta [59]
aromatick pills do sweat, And gums calcin'd themselves to powder beat, Which a fresh gale of air Conveys into her hair; Then chaft, he's set on fire, And in these holy flames doth glad expire; And that black marble tablet there So neer her either sphere Was plac'd; nor foyl, nor ornament, But the sweet little bee's large monument.
<65.1> The following is a poet's lecture to the ladies of his time on the long prevailing practice of wearing patches, in which it seems that Lucasta acquiesced:--
BLACK PATCHES. VANITAS VANITATUM. LADIES turn conjurers, and can impart The hidden mystery of the black art, Black artificial patches do betray; They more affect the works of night than day. The creature strives the Creator to disgrace, By patching that which is a perfect face: A little stain upon the purest dye Is both offensive to the heart and eye. Defile not then with spots that face of snow, Where the wise God His workmanship doth show, The light of nature and the light of grace Is the complexion for a lady's face. FLAMMA SINE FUMO, by R. Watkyns, 1662, p. 81.
In a poem entitled THE BURSSE OF REFORMATION, in praise of the New Exchange, printed in WIT RESTORED, 1658, patches are enumerated among the wares of all sorts to be procured there:--
"Heer patches are of every cut, For pimples and for scars."
They were also used for rheum, as appears from a passage in WESTWARD HOE, 1607:--
"JUDITH. I am so troubled with the rheum too. Mouse, what's good for it? HONEY. How often I have told you you must get a patch." Webster's WORKS, ed. Hazlitt, i. 87. See Durfey's PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, v. 197.
"Mrs. Pepys wore patches, and so did my Lady Sandwich and her daughter."--DIARY, 30 Aug. and 20 Oct. 1660.
ANOTHER.
I. As I beheld a winter's evening air, Curl'd in her court-false-locks of living hair, Butter'd with jessamine the sun left there.
II. Galliard and clinquant she appear'd to give, A serenade or ball to us that grieve, And teach us A LA MODE more gently live.
III. But as a Moor, who to her cheeks prefers White spots, t' allure her black idolaters, Me thought she look'd all ore-bepatch'd with stars.
IV. Like the dark front of some Ethiopian queen, Vailed all ore with gems of red, blew, green, Whose ugly night seem'd masked with days skreen.
V. Whilst the fond people offer'd sacrifice To saphyrs, 'stead of veins and arteries, And bow'd unto the diamonds, not her eyes.
VI. Behold LUCASTA'S face, how't glows like noon! A sun intire is her complexion, And form'd of one whole constellation.
VII. So gently shining, so serene, so cleer, Her look doth universal Nature cheer; Only a cloud or two hangs here and there.
TO LUCASTA.
I. I laugh and sing, but cannot tell Whether the folly on't sounds well; But then I groan, Methinks, in tune; Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air Of my despised prayer.
II. A pretty antick love does this, Then strikes a galliard with a kiss; As in the end The chords they rend; So you but with a touch from your fair hand Turn all to saraband.
TO LUCASTA.
I. Like to the sent'nel stars, I watch all night; For still the grand round of your light And glorious breast Awake<66.1> in me an east: Nor will my rolling eyes ere know a west.
II. Now on my down I'm toss'd as on a wave, And my repose is made my grave; Fluttering I lye, Do beat my self and dye, But for a resurrection from your eye.
<65.1> The following is a poet's lecture to the ladies of his time on the long prevailing practice of wearing patches, in which it seems that Lucasta acquiesced:--
BLACK PATCHES. VANITAS VANITATUM. LADIES turn conjurers, and can impart The hidden mystery of the black art, Black artificial patches do betray; They more affect the works of night than day. The creature strives the Creator to disgrace, By patching that which is a perfect face: A little stain upon the purest dye Is both offensive to the heart and eye. Defile not then with spots that face of snow, Where the wise God His workmanship doth show, The light of nature and the light of grace Is the complexion for a lady's face. FLAMMA SINE FUMO, by R. Watkyns, 1662, p. 81.
In a poem entitled THE BURSSE OF REFORMATION, in praise of the New Exchange, printed in WIT RESTORED, 1658, patches are enumerated among the wares of all sorts to be procured there:--
"Heer patches are of every cut, For pimples and for scars."
They were also used for rheum, as appears from a passage in WESTWARD HOE, 1607:--
"JUDITH. I am so troubled with the rheum too. Mouse, what's good for it? HONEY. How often I have told you you must get a patch." Webster's WORKS, ed. Hazlitt, i. 87. See Durfey's PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, v. 197.
"Mrs. Pepys wore patches, and so did my Lady Sandwich and her daughter."--DIARY, 30 Aug. and 20 Oct. 1660.
ANOTHER.
I. As I beheld a winter's evening air, Curl'd in her court-false-locks of living hair, Butter'd with jessamine the sun left there.
II. Galliard and clinquant she appear'd to give, A serenade or ball to us that grieve, And teach us A LA MODE more gently live.
III. But as a Moor, who to her cheeks prefers White spots, t' allure her black idolaters, Me thought she look'd all ore-bepatch'd with stars.
IV. Like the dark front of some Ethiopian queen, Vailed all ore with gems of red, blew, green, Whose ugly night seem'd masked with days skreen.
V. Whilst the fond people offer'd sacrifice To saphyrs, 'stead of veins and arteries, And bow'd unto the diamonds, not her eyes.
VI. Behold LUCASTA'S face, how't glows like noon! A sun intire is her complexion, And form'd of one whole constellation.
VII. So gently shining, so serene, so cleer, Her look doth universal Nature cheer; Only a cloud or two hangs here and there.
TO LUCASTA.
I. I laugh and sing, but cannot tell Whether the folly on't sounds well; But then I groan, Methinks, in tune; Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air Of my despised prayer.
II. A pretty antick love does this, Then strikes a galliard with a kiss; As in the end The chords they rend; So you but with a touch from your fair hand Turn all to saraband.
TO LUCASTA.
I. Like to the sent'nel stars, I watch all night; For still the grand round of your light And glorious breast Awake<66.1> in me an east: Nor will my rolling eyes ere know a west.
II. Now on my down I'm toss'd as on a wave, And my repose is made my grave; Fluttering I lye, Do beat my self and dye, But for a resurrection from your eye.