Richard Lovelace (poet)

thumb|The gods that wanton in the airKnow no such liberty. Richard Lovelace (9 December 1618 – 1657) was an English poet and nobleman, born in Woolwich, Kent, today part of southeast London. He was one of the Cavalier poets, and a noted royalist. Quotes Lucasta (1649, '59) thumb|I could not love thee, dear, so much,Loved I not honour more. thumb|Then, if when I have lov'd my round,Thou prov'st the pleasant she;With spoils of meaner beauties crown'd,I laden will return to thee,Ev'n sated with variety. thumb|Poore verdant fool! and now green ice, thy joysLarge and as lasting, as thy perch of grass,Bid us lay in 'gainst winter, raine, and poiseTheir floods, with an o'erflowing glass. thumb|When Love with unconfinèd wingsHovers within my gates;And my divine Althea bringsTo whisper at the grates. thumb|Stone walls do not a prison make. thumb|Then Love, I beg, when next thou takest thy bow, . . .Pass rascal deer, strike me the largest doe. If to be absent were to be     Away from thee;   Or that when I am gone,   You or I were alone;Then my Lucasta might I cravePity from blustring winde, or swallowing wave. To Lucasta, Going Beyond the Seas, st. 1 Though Seas and Land betwixt us both,     Our Faith and Troth,   Like separated soules,   All time and space controules:Above the highest sphere wee meetUnseene, unknowne, and greet as Angels greet. To Lucasta, Going Beyond the Seas, st. 3 Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,   That from the NunnerieOf thy chaste breast, and quiet minde,   To Warre and Armes I flie.True; a new Mistresse now I chase,   The first Foe in the Field;And with a stronger Faith imbrace   A Sword, a Horse, a Shield.Yet this Inconstancy is such,   As you too shall adore;I could not love thee (Deare) so much,   Lov'd I not Honour more. To Lucasta, Going to the Wars Amarantha sweet and faire,Ah brade no more that shining haire!As my curious hand or eye,Hovering round thee let it flye.Let it flye as unconfin'dAs its calme Ravisher, the winde;Who hath left his darling th' East,To wanton o're that spicie Nest.Ev'ry Tresse must be confest;But neatly tangled at the best;Like a Clue of golden thread,Most excellently ravellèd.Doe not then winde up that lightIn Ribands, and o're-cloud in Night;Like the Sun in's early ray,But shake your head and scatter day. To Amarantha, That She Would Dishevel Her Hair, sts. 1–4 Heere wee'l strippe and coole our fireIn Creame below, in milke-baths higher:And when all Well's are drawne dry,I'le drink a tear out of thine eye. To Amarantha, That She Would Dishevel Her Hair, st. 6 She beat the happy PavementBy such a Starre made Firmament,   Which now no more the Roofe envies;But swells up high with Atlas ev'nBearing the brighter, nobler Heav'n,   And in her, all the Dieties.Each step trod out a Lovers thoughtAnd the Ambitious hopes he brought,   Chain'd to her brave feet with such arts;Such sweet command, and gentle awe,As when she ceas'd, we sighing saw   The floore lay pav'd with broken hearts. Gratiana Dancing and Singing, sts. 2–3 [variant: 'And' for 'As'] So did she move; so did she singLike the Harmonious spheres that bring   Unto their Rounds their musick's ayd;Which she performed such a way,As all th' inamour'd world will say   The Graces daunced, and Apollo play'd. Gratiana Dancing and Singing, st. 4 Then, if when I have lov'd my round,Thou prov'st the pleasant she; With spoyles of meaner Beauties crown'd,I laden will returne to thee,Ev'n sated with Varietie. The Scrutiny, st. 4 Oh could you view the MelodieOf ev'ry grace,And Musick of her face,You'd drop a teare,Seeing more HarmonieIn her bright eye,Then now you heare. Orpheus to Beasts, st. 2. Compare: "There is music in the beauty, and the silent note which Cupid strikes, far sweeter than the sound of an instrument; for there is music wherever there is harmony, order, or proportion; and thus far we may maintain the music of the spheres", Browne, Religio Medici, pt. ii, sec. ix; "The mind, the music breathing from her face", Lord Byron, Bride of Abydos (1813), canto i, st. 6 Oh thou that swing’st upon the waving haire   Of some well-fillèd Oaten Beard,Drunke ev’ry night with a Delicious teare   Dropt thee from Heav’n, where now th’art reard.The Joyes of Earth and Ayre are thine intire,   That with thy feet and wings dost hop and flye;And when thy Poppy workes thou dost retire   To thy Carv’d Acorn-bed to lye.Up with the day, the Sun thou welcomst then,   Sportst in the guilt-plats of his Beames,And all these merry dayes mak’st merry men,   Thy selfe, and Melancholy streames. The Grasshopper. To My Noble Friend, Mr. Charles Cotton, sts. 1–3 Poore verdant foole! and now green Ice, thy Joys   Large and as lasting, as thy Peirch of Grasse,Bid us lay in 'gainst Winter, Raine, and poize   Their flouds, with an o'erflowing glasse. The Grasshopper. To My Noble Friend, Mr. Charles Cotton, st. 5 When Love with unconfinèd wings   Hovers within my Gates;And my divine Althea brings   To whisper at the Grates;When I lye tangled in her haire   And fettered to her eye;The Gods that wanton in the Aire,   Know no such Liberty. To Althea. From Prison, st. 1 [variant: 'birds' for 'gods'] When flowing Cups run swiftly round  With no allaying Thames. To Althea. From Prison, st. 2. Compare: "A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't", Shakespeare, Coriolanus, act ii, sc. 1 When thirsty griefe in Wine we steepe,   When Healths and draughts go free,Fishes that tipple in the Deepe,   Know no such Libertie. To Althea. From Prison, st. 2 When (like committed linnets) I   With shriller throat shall singThe sweetnes, Mercy, Majesty,   And glories of my King;When I shall voyce aloud, how Good   He is, how Great should be;Enlarged Winds that curle the Flood,   Know no such Liberty.Stone Walls do not a Prison make,   Nor Iron bars a Cage;Mindes innocent and quiet take   That for an Hermitage;If I have freedome in my Love,   And in my soule am free;Angels alone that sore above,   Injoy such Liberty. To Althea. From Prison, st. 3 Then Love, I beg, when next thou takest thy bow,Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go,Pass rascal deer, strike me the largest doe. La Bella Bona Roba, st. 5 [variant: 'dear' for 'deer']    Am not I shotWith the selfe same artillery? Amyntor from Beyond the Sea to Alexis, st. 7 Lucasta, that bright northerne star. Amyntor from Beyond the Sea to Alexis, st. 9 Forbear, thou great good Husband, little Ant. The Ant, st. 1 Cease, large example of wise thrift a while. The Ant, st. 2 Lucasta: Postume Poems (1660) thumb|On cheeks and roses free he fed;Lasses like Autumn plums did drop,And lads indifferently did cropA flower and a maiden-head. Love then unstinted, Love did sip,And Cherries pluck’d fresh from the Lip,   On Cheeks and Roses free he fed; Lasses like Autumne Plums did drop,And Lads, indifferently did crop   A Flower, and a Maiden-head. Love Made in the First Age. To Chloris, st. 3    Th' industrious beeMistook her glorious face for paradise. A Black Patch on Lucasta's Face [I], st. 1 But as a Moor, who to her Cheeks prefersWhite spots, t'allure her black Idolaters,Me thought she look'd all ore bepatch'd with Stars;Like the dark front of some Ethiopian Queen,Vailèd all ore with Gems of Red, Blew, Green;Whose ugly Night seem'd maskèd with days Skreen;Whilst the fond people offer'd SacrificeTo Saphyrs, 'stead of Veins and Arteries,And bow'd unto the Diamonds, not her Eyes. A Black Patch on Lucasta's Face [II], sts. 3–5 [variant: "o'er" for "ore"] Quotes about Lovelace The world will have forgotten all the great masterpieces of literature when it forgets Lovelace's three verses to Lucasta on his going to the wars. More durable than marble or bronze are the words, "I could not love thee, deare, so much, loved I not honor more." Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Ponkapog Papers (Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1903), p. 45 "La Bella Bona Roba" literally means a pleasantly plump young woman, but was a common expression for a whore. Lovelace, with outrageous charm, declares his preference for women not too slender. Harold Bloom, The Best Poems of the English Language (New York: HarperCollins, 2004), pp. 164–5 External links C. H. Wilkinson, ed., The Poems of Richard Lovelace (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1930) Bernard D. N. Grebanier, English Literature and Its Backgrounds (New York: The Dryden Press, 1948 [1939]) Category:1618 births Category:1657 deaths Category:People from England Category:Poets from England Category:English male poets Category:Poets from the United Kingdom Category:17th-century English poets Category:People from Kent