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A schole of guile, a net of deepe deceit,

A guilded hooke that holds a poisoned baite. 3. A fortresse foyld which reason dyd defend,

A syren song, a feauer of the minde,
A maze wherein affection findes no ende,

A raging cloud that runnes before the winde;
A substance like the shadow of the sunne,

A goale of griefe, for which the wisest runne. 4. A quenchlesse fire, a nursse of trembling feare,

A path that leades to perill and mishap,
A true retreat of sorrow and dispaire,

An idle boy that sleepes in pleasure's lap:
A deepe mistrust of that which certain seemes,
A hope of that which reason doubtful deemes."


1. “ The match that's made for iust & true respects, With euennes both of


and parentage, Of force must bring foorth many good effects.

Pari iugo dulcis tractus. 2. For where chast loue and liking sets the plant,

And concord waters with a firme good will,
Of no good thing ther can be any want.

Pari iugo dulcis tractus.
3. Sound is the knot that chastitie hath tyde,

Sweet is the musicke vnitie doth make,
Sure is the store that plenty doth prouide.

Pari iugo dulcis tractus. 4. Where chastnesse fayles, ther concord will decay,

Wher concord fleets, ther plentie will decrease,
Wher plentie wants, ther loue will weare away.

Pari iugo dulcis tractus.
5. 1, chastitie, restraine all strange desires,

I, concord, keep the course of sound consent,
I, plentie, spare, and spend as cause requires.
Pari iugo dulcis tractus. i

6. Make


6. Make much of vs, all yec

that married bee,

Speake well of vs, all yee that minde to bee,
The time may come, to want and wish all three.
Pari iugo dulcis tractus."

Of the songs of sadness and piety, a specimen may be found in the present volume, p. 187-9. The whole number is thirty-five, of which the last two are "the funerall songs" of Sir Philip Sidney.

J. H.

ART. V. Lucasta. Posthumous Poems of Richard Lovelace, Esq.

These honours come too late
That on our ashes waite.

MART. LIB. I. EFIG. 26. London: Printed by Wm. Godbid for Clement Darby. 1659. Sm. 8vo. pp. 107.

Although some account of this now (comparatively) scarce volume of one of the most pleasing of our early poets has been given in a former Number, I cannot but think that some additional extracts from it will not

be unacceptable, "The dedication to the Right Honorable John Lovelace, Esq." by Dudly Posthumus Lovelace (a brother of the author) is not unworthy of the name; and spite of the diffidence of its writer discovers a vein, which even in this polished era would not be censured as deficient in smoothness and talent; indeed it appears to me to possess an arrangement and phraseology characteristic of a much later period.

CENS. LIT. Vol. IX. p. 338.

« Lucasta

Lucasta (fair, but hapless maid!)
Once flourisht underneath the shade
Of your illustrious mother; now,
An orphan grown, she bows to you!
To you, her vertue's noble heir,
Oh may she find protection there;
Nor let her welcome be the less
'Cause a rough hand makes her address,
One (to whom foes the muses are)
Born and bred up in rugged war;
For, conscious how unfit I am,

I only have pronounc'd her name,
To waken pity in your brest,
And leave her tears to plead the rest."

The following song by Richard Lovelace recommends itself as much by its neatness, as by its didactic


❝ Song.


"Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;

Thy silk's the silk-worme's, and not thinė;
You lessen to a fly your mistris thought,
To think it may be in a cobweb caught.
What though her thin transparent laun

Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn?
Not all the arms the god of fire ere made,
Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd loue invade.


Be truly fine then, and your self dress
In her fair soul's immac'late glass:
Then by reflection you may haue the bliss
Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;

When all your gawdenes will fit
Those only that are poor in wit:

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She that a clinquant outside doth adore,

Dotes on a gilded statue, and no more.” The following address to the “ Ant,is accompanied with a playfulness of muse, which I think would hardly suffer in a comparison with some of the lighter pieces of our late lamented Cowper, who might not have disdained a competition with the elegant Lovelace.

The Ant.

“Forbear thou great good husband, little ant,

A little respite from thy flood of sweat;
Thou, thine own horse and cart under this plant,

Thy spacious tent, fan thy prodigious heat;
Doun with thy double load of that one grain;
It is a granarie for all thy train.

Cease, large example of wise thrift, a while,

(For thy example is become our law)
And teach thy frouns a seasonable smile;

So Cato sometimes the nak'd florals saw.
And thou, almighty foe, lay by thy sting,
Whilst thy unpay'd musicians, crickets, sing.



Lucasta, she that holy makes the day,

And 'stills new life in fields of Fucillemort;
Hath back restor'd their verdure with one ray,

And with her eye bid all to play and sport;
Ant, to work still, age will thee truant call;
And to saue now, th' art worse than prodigal.

Austere and cynick! not one hour t' allow,

To lose with pleasure what thou get'st with pain:
But drive, on sacred festivals, thy plow;
Tearing high-ways with thy orecharged wain?


Not all thy life time one poor minute liue,
And thy o're labour'd bulk with mirth relieue?

Look up then, miserable ant, and spie

Thy fatal foes, for breaking of her law:
Hov'ring aboue thee, Madam, Margaret Pie,

And her fierce servant, meagre, Sir John Daw:
Thy self and store house now they do store up,
And thy whole haruest too within their crop.


Thus we unthrifty thriue within earth's tomb,
For some more rav'nous and ambitious jaw:
The grain in th' ants, the ants in the pie's womb,

The pie in th' hawks, the hawks i'th' eagle's maw:
So scattering to hord 'gainst a long day,
Thinking to saue all, we cast all away.”

To this volume was prefixed a portrait by Hollar, from a drawing by Francis Lovelace, also a brother of the author, but which is rarely found with it. Mr. Richardson however has copied it with great accuracy.* This portrait differs materially from the painting in Dulwich College, (engraved lately by Clamp for the Biographical Mirror) which discovers much more of "the most amiable and beautiful person that eye euer beheld," (Wood's Athena) than the former. Dulwich College also is a portrait of Althea, but without any clue to lead to the discovery of the lady who has been so fortunately immortalized. Mr. Lysons, in his Environs of London, speaks of her as the same with Lucasta. I am not aware of any authority for


Granger speaks of another portrait of Lovelace by Faithorne; but which I have never seen or heard of but from Granger,

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