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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 raging cloud that runnes before the winde;
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,
An idle boy that sleepes in pleasure's lap:
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,
Pari iugo dulcis tractus.
Sweet is the musicke vnitie doth make,
Pari iugo dulcis tractus. 4. Where chastnesse fayles, ther concord will decay,
Wher concord fleets, ther plentie will decrease,
Pari iugo dulcis tractus.
I, concord, keep the course of sound consent,
6. Make much of vs, all yec
that married bee,
Speake well of vs, all yee that minde to bee,
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.
ART. V. Lucasta. Posthumous Poems of Richard Lovelace, Esq.
These honours come too late
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 (fair, but hapless maid!)
I only have pronounc'd her name,
The following song by Richard Lovelace recommends itself as much by its neatness, as by its didactic
"Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;
Thy silk's the silk-worme's, and not thinė;
Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn?
Be truly fine then, and your self dress
When all your gawdenes will fit
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.
A little respite from thy flood of sweat;
Thy spacious tent, fan thy prodigious heat;
(For thy example is become our law)
So Cato sometimes the nak'd florals saw.
Lucasta, she that holy makes the day,
And 'stills new life in fields of Fucillemort;
And with her eye bid all to play and sport;
To lose with pleasure what thou get'st with pain:
Not all thy life time one poor minute liue,
Thy fatal foes, for breaking of her law:
And her fierce servant, meagre, Sir John Daw:
Thus we unthrifty thriue within earth's tomb,
The pie in th' hawks, the hawks i'th' eagle's maw:
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,