Princess Löysa drawing
I SAW a little Diety,
Minerva in Epitomy,
Whom Venus at first blush, surpris’d,
Tooke for her winged wagge disguis’d ;
But viewing then whereas she made
Not a distrest, but lively shade
Of Eccho whom he had betrayd,
Now wanton, and ith’ coole oth’ Sunne
With her delight a hunting gone ;
And thousands more, whom he had slaine,
To live, and love, belov’d againe:
Ah this is true Divinity!
I will un—God that Toye cri’d she?
Then markt she Syrinx running fast
To Pans imbraces, with the haste
Shee fled him once, whose reede—pipe rent
He finds now a new Instrument.
Theseus return’d, invokes the Ayre
And windes, then wafts his faire ;
Whilst Ariadne ravish’t stood
Halfe in his armes, halfe in the flood.
Proud Anaxarete doth fall
At Iphis feete, who smiles of all:
And he (whilst she his curles doth deck)
Hangs no where now, but on her neck.
Here Phoebus with a beame untombes
Long—hid Leucothoë, and dombes
Her father there ; Daphne the faire
Knowes now no bayes but round her haire ;
And to Apollo and his Sons
Who pay him their due Orisons,
Bequeaths her Lawrell—robe, that flame
Contemnes, Thunder and evill Fame.
There kneel’d Adonis fresh as spring,
Gaye as his youth, now offering
Her selfe those joyes with voice and hand,
Which first he could not understand.
Transfixed Venus stood amas’d,
Full of the Boye and Love, she gaz’d
And in imbraces seemed more
Sencelesse and colde, then he before.
Uselesse Childe! In vaine (said she)
You beare that fond Artillerie:
See heere a Pow’r above the slow
Weake execution of thy bow.
So said, she riv’d the Wood in two,
Unedged all his Arrowes too,
And with the string their feathers bound
To that part whence we have our wound.
See, see! the darts by which we burn’d
Are bright Löysa’s pencills turn’d ;
With which she now enliveth more
Beauties, than they destroy’d before.
Autres oeuvres par Richard Lovelace...
To my Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly : on that excellent Picture of his Majesty, and the Duke of Yorke, drawne by him at Hampton-Court
SEE! what a clouded Majesty! a… Whose glory through their mist dot… See! what an humble bravery doth… And griefe triumphant breaking thr… How it commands the face! so swee…
