Richard Lovelace. 1618-1658

Oh, could you view the melody

Of every grace
And music of her face,[259:1]

You 'd drop a tear;

Seeing more harmony
In her bright eye

Than now you hear.

Orpheus to Beasts.

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Lov'd I not honour more.

To Lucasta, on going to the Wars.

When flowing cups pass swiftly round

With no allaying Thames.[259:2]

To Althea from Prison, ii.

Fishes that tipple in the deep,

Know no such liberty.

To Althea from Prison, ii.

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.

To Althea from Prison, iv.