Richard Lovelace

Dialogue: Lucasta, Alexis

                             I

                        Lucasta
TELL me Alexis what this parting is,
   That so like dying is, but is not it?
 
                        Alexis
It is a swounding for a while from blisse,
   'Till kind how doe you call’s us from the fit.
 
                        Chorus
If then the spirits only stray, let mine
   Fly to thy bosome, and my Soule to thine ;
Thus in our native seate we gladly give
   Our right, for one where we can better live.
 

                             II

                        Lucasta
But Ah this ling’ring murdring Farewel!
Death quickly wounds, & wounding cures the ill.
 
                        Alexis
It is the glory of a valiant Lover,
Still to be dying, still for to recover.
 
                        Chorus
Soldiers suspected of their courage goe,
That Ensignes, and their Breasts untorne show:
Love nee’re his Standard when his Hoste he sets,
Creates alone fresh—bleeding Bannerets.
 

                             III

                        Alexis
But part we, when thy Figure I retaine
   Still in my Heart, still strongly in mine Eye?
 
                        Lucasta
Shadowes no longer than the Sun remaine,
   But when his beams that made 'em fly, they fly.
 
                        Chorus
Vaine dreames of Love!  that only so much blisse
Allow us, as to know our wretchednesse ;
And deale a larger measure in our Paine
By showing Joy, then hiding it againe.
 

                             IV

                        Alexis
No, whilst light raigns, Lucasta still rules here,
And all the night shines wholy in this sphere:
 
                        Lucasta
I know no Morne but my Alexis Ray,
To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day.
 
                        Chorus
                        Alexis
So in each other if the pitying Sun
Thus keep us fixt ; nere may his Course be run!
 
                        Lucasta
And Oh!  if Night us undivided make ;
Let us sleepe still, and sleeping never wake!
 
                        The Close
Cruel Adieu’s may well adjourne awhile
The Sessions of a Looke, a Kisse, or Smile,
And leave behinde an angry grieving Blush ;
But time nor Fate can part us joyned thus.
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