Within invention's reach; but he's not yet
Arrived to his period, his unmoved stars sit
Thus in their orbs secured. It was the use
Of th' Turkish pride, which triumphs in th' abuse
Of suffering Christians, once, before they take
The ornaments of nature off, to make
Their prisoners public to the view, that all
Might mock their miseries: this sight did call
Janusa to her palace-window, where,
Whilst she beholds them, love resolved to bear
Her ruin on her treacherous eye-beams, till
Her heart infected grew; their orbs did fill,
As the most pleasing object, with the sight
Of him whose sword open'd a way for the flight
Of her loved brother's soul. At the first view
Passion had struck her dumb, but when it grew
Into desire, she speedily did send

To have his name-which known, hate did defend
Her heart; besieged with love,she sighs,and straight
Commands him to a dungeon; but love's bait
Cannot be so cast up, though to efface

Her image from her soul she strives. The place
For execution she commands to be
'Gainst the next day prepared; but rest and she
Grow enemies about it: if she steal

A slumber from her thoughts, that doth reveal
Her passions in a dream, sometimes she thought
She saw her brother's pale grim ghost, that brought
His grisly wounds to show her, smear'd in blood,
Standing before her sight; and by that flood
Those red streams wept, imploring vengeance, then,
Enraged, she cries, "O, let him die!" But when
Her sleep-imprison'd fancy, wandering in
The shades of darken'd reason, did begin
To draw Argalia's image on her soul,
Love's sovereign power did suddenly control
The strength of those abortive embryos, sprung
From smother'd anger. The glad birds had sung
A lullaby to night, the lark was fled,
On dropping wings, up from his dewy bed,
To fan them in the rising sunbeams, ere
Whose early reign Janusa, that could bear
No longer lock'd within her breast so great
An army of rebellious passions, beat
From reason's conquer'd fortress, did unfold
Her thoughts to Manto, a stout wench; whose bold
Wit, join'd with zeal to serve her, had endear'd
Her to her best affections. Having clear'd
All doubts with hopeful promises, her maid,
By whose close wiles this plot must be convey'd,
To secret action of her council makes
Two eunuch pandars, by whose help she takes
Argalia from his keeper's charge, as to
Suffer more torments than the rest should do,
And lodged him in that castle to affright
And soften his great soul with fear. The light,
Which lent its beams into the dismal place
In which he lay, without presents the face
Of horror smear'd in blood; a scaffold built
To be the stage of murder, blush'd with guilt
Of Christian blood, by several torments let
From th' imprisoning veins. This object set
To startle his resolves if good, and make
His future joys more welcome, could not shake
The heaven-built pillars of his soul, that stood

Steady, though in the slippery paths of blood.
The gloomy night now sat enthroned in dead
And silent shadows, midnight curtains spread
The earth in black for what the falling day
Had blush'd in fire, whilst the brave pris'ner lay,
Circled in darkness, yet in those shades spends
The hours with angels, whose assistance lends
Strength to the wings of faith. . . . .

He beholds

A glimmering light, whose near approach unfolds
The leaves of darkness. While his wonder grows
Big with amazement, the dim taper shows
False Manto enter'd, who, prepared to be
A bawd unto her lustful mistress, came,
Not with persuasive rhetoric to inflame
A heart congeal'd with death's approach. . . . .
Most blest of men!

Compose thy wonder, and let only joy
Dwell in thy soul. My coming's to destroy,
Not nurse thy trembling fears: be but so wise
To follow thy swift fate, and thou mayst rise
Above the reach of danger. In thy arms
Circle that power whose radiant brightness charms
Fierce Ammurat's anger, when his crescents shine
In a full orb of forces; what was thine
Ere made a prisoner, though the doubtful state
Of her best Christian monarch, will abate
Its splendour, when that daughter of the night,
Thy feeble star, shines in a heaven of light.
If life or liberty, then, bear a shape
Worthy thy courting, swear not to escape
By the attempts of strength, and I will free
The iron bonds of thy captivity.

A solemn oath, by that great power he served,
Took, and believed: his hopes no longer starved
In expectation. From that swarthy seat
Of sad despair, his narrow jail, replete
With lazy damps, she leads him to a room
In whose delights joy's summer seem'd to bloom,
There left him to the brisk society

Of costly baths and Corsic wines, whose high
And sprightly tempers from cool sherbets found
A calm ally; here his harsh thoughts unwound
Themselves in pleasure, as not fearing fate
So much, but that he dares to recreate
His spirit, by unwieldy action tired,
With all that lust into no crime had fired.
By mutes, those silent ministers of sin,
His sullied garments were removed, and in
Their place such various habits laid, as pride
Would clothe her favourites with.....
Unruffled here by the rash wearer, rests
Fair Persian mantles, rich Sclavonian vests....
Though on this swift variety of fate
He looks with wonder, yet his brave soul sate
Too safe within her guards of reason, to
Be shook with passion; that there's something

His guilty conduct now had brought him near
Janusa's room, the glaring lights appear
Thorough the window's crystal walls, the strong
Perfumes of balmy incense mix'd among
The wandering atoms of the air did fly.
... The open doors allow

A free access into the room, where come,
Such real forms he saw as would strike dumb
The Alcoran's tales of Paradise, the fair
And sparkling gems i' the gilded roof impair
Their taper's fire, yet both themselves confess
Weak to those flames Janusa's eyes possess
With such a joy as bodies that do long
For souls, shall meet them in the doomsday throng,
She that ruled princes, though not passions, sate
Waiting her lover, on a throne whose state
Epitomized the empire's wealth; her robe,
With costly pride, had robb'd the chequer'd globe
Of its most fair and orient jewels, to
Enhance its value; captive princes who
Had lost their crowns, might there those gems
have seen.....

Placed in a seat near her bright throne, to stir
His settled thoughts she thus begins: "From her
Your sword hath so much injured as to shed
Blood so near kin to mine, that it was fed
By the same milky fountains, and within
One womb warm'd into life, is such a sin
I could not pardon, did not love commit
A rape upon my mercy: all the wit
Of man in vain inventions had been lost,
Ere thou redeem'd; which now, although it cost
The price of all my honours, I will do:
Be but so full of gratitude as to
Repay my care with love.

...

Why dost thou thus
Sit dumb to my discourse? it lies in us
To raise or ruin thee, and make my way
Thorough their bloods that our embraces stay.".
To charm those sullen spirits that within
The dark cells of his conscience might have been
Yet by religion hid-that gift divine,
The soul's composure, music, did refine
The lazy air, whose polish'd harmony,
Whilst dancing in redoubled echoes, by

A wanton song was answer'd, whose each part
Invites the hearing to betray the heart.
Having with all these choice flowers strew'd the way
That leads to lust, to shun the slow decay
Of his approach, her sickly passions haste
To die in action. 66 Come," she cries, "we waste
The precious minutes. Now thou know'st for what
Thou'rt sent for hither."

Her soul's pale agony..... And now she steeps Her down in tears-a flood of sorrow weeps,

Of power (if penitent) to expiate

Youth's vigorous sins; but all her mourning sate Beneath a darker veil than that which shades Repentant grief. . . . .

So far the fair Janusa in this sad

Region of grief had gone, till sorrow had
That fever turn'd, upon whose flaming wings
At first love only sate, to one which brings
Death's symptoms near the heart.

The rose had lost
His ensigns in her cheeks, and though it cost
Pains near to death, the lily had alone
Set his pale banners up; no brightness shone
Within her eye's dim orbs, whose fading light
Being quench'd in death, had set in endless night,
Had not the wise endeavours of her maid,
The careful Manto, grief's pale scouts betray'd,
By sly deceit.

Although she cures not, yet gives present ease,
By laying opiates to the harsh disease.
A letter, which did for uncivil blame
His first denial, in the stranger's name
Disguised, she gives her; which, with eyes that did
O'erflow with joy read o'er, had soon forbid
Grief's sullen progress, whose next stage had been
O'er life's short road, the grave-death's quiet inn,
From whose dark terror, by this gleam of light,
Like trembling children by a lamp's weak light,
Freed from night's dreadful shadows, she embraced
Sleep, nature's darkness-... and upon the wings
Of airy hope, that wanton bird which sings
As soon as fledged, advanced her to survey
The dawning beauties of a long'd-for day.....
But ere this pyramid of pleasure to
Its height arrives-with's presence to undo
The golden structure-dreadful Ammurat,
From his floating mansion lately landed at
The city's port, impatient love had brought
In an untimely visit..

Hastens to help, her fortune did declare
Her sorrow's dark enigma; from her bed
The letter dropt-which, when life's army fled,
Their frontier garrisons neglected, had
Been left within't-this seen, declares a sad
Truth to th' amazed Bassa, though 'twere mix'd
With subtle falsehood. While he stands, betwixt
High rage and grief distracted, doubtful yet
In what new dress to wear revenge, the fit
Forsakes Janusa; who, not knowing she
Detected stood of lust's conspiracy
'Gainst honour's royal charter, from a low
Voice strains a welcome, which did seem to flow
From fickle discontent, such as the weak
Lungs breathe their thoughts in whilst their fibres
break.

To counterfeited slumbers leaving her,
He's gone with silent anger to confer;
With such a farewell as kind husbands leave
Their pregnant wives, preparing to receive
A mother's first of blessings, he forsakes
The room, and into strict inquiry takes
The wretched Manto, who, ere she could call
Excuse to aid, surprised, discovers all.

The captive Argalia is again brought before Janusa, who is unconscious that the Bassa had read the letter. Ammurat, in the mean time, is concealed, to watch the interview.

PLACED, by false Manto, in a closet, which,
Silent and sad, had only to enrich

Its roof with light, some few neglected beams
Sent from Janusa's room, which serve as streams
To watch intelligence; here he beheld,
Whilst she who with his absence had expell'd
All thoughtful cares, was with her joy swell'd high,
As captives are when call'd to liberty.
Perfumed and costly, her fair bed was more
Adorn'd than shrines which costly kings adore;
Incense, in smoky curls, climbs to the fair
Roof, whilst choice music rarifies the air;
Each element in more perfection here,
Than in the first creation did appear,
Yet lived in harmony: the wing'd fire lent
Perfumes to the air, that to moist cordials pent
In crystal vials, strength; and those impart
Their vigour to that ball of earth, the heart.
The nice eye here epitomized might see
Rich Persia's wealth, and old Rome's luxury.

But now, like Nature's new-made favourite, Who, until all created for delight

Was framed, did ne'er see Paradise, comes in
Deceived Argalia, thinking he had been
Call'd thither to behold a penitent. . .
With such a high
Heroic scorn as aged saints that die, [slights
Heaven's fav'rites, leave the trivial world-he

That gilded pomp; no splendent beam invites
His serious eye to meet their objects in
An amorous glance, reserved as he had been
Before his grave confessor: he beholds
Beauty's bright magic, while its art unfolds
Great love's mysterious riddles, and commands
Captive Janusa to infringe the bands

Of matrimonial modesty. When all
Temptation fails, she leaves her throne to fall,
The scorn of greatness, at his feet: but prayer,
Like flattery, expires in useless air,

Too weak to batter that firm confidence
Their torment's thunder could not shake. From
hence

Despair, love's tyrant, had enforced her to
More wild attempts, had not her Ammurat, who,
Unseen, beheld all this, prevented, by
His sight, the death of bleeding modesty.

Made swift with rage, the ruffled curtain flies
His angry touch-he enters-fix'd his eyes,
From whence some drops of rage distil, on her
Whose heart had lent her face its character.
Whilst he stood red with flaming anger, she
Looks pale with fear-passion's disparity
Dwelt in their troubled breasts; his wild eyes stood
Like comets, when attracting storms of blood
Shook with portents sad, the whilst hers sate
Like the dull earth, when trembling at the fate
Of those ensuing evils-heavy fix'd
Within their orbs. Passions thus strangely mix'd,
No various fever e'er created in
[been
The phrenzied brain, when sleep's sweet calm had
From her soft throne deposed....

So having paused, his dreadful voice thus broke
The dismal silence.

Thou curse of my nativity, that more
Affects me than eternal wrath can do-
Spirits condemn'd, some fiends, instruct me to
Heighten revenge to thy desert; but so

I should do more than mortals may, and throw
Thy spotted soul to flames. Yet I will give
Its passport hence; for think not to outlive
This hour, this fatal hour, ordain'd to see
More than an age before of tragedy. . . . .

Fearing tears should win

The victory of anger, Ammurat draws
His scimitar, which had in blood writ laws
For conquer'd provinces, and with a swift
And cruel rage, ere penitence could lift
Her burden'd soul in a repentant thought
Tow'rds heaven, sheathes the cold steel in her soft
And snowy breast: with a loud groan she falls
Upon the bloody floor, half breathless, calls
For his untimely pity: but perceiving
The fleeting spirits, with her blood, were leaving
Her heart unguarded, she implores that breath
Which yet remain'd, not to bewail her death,
But beg his life that caused it-on her knees,
Struggling to rise. But now calm'd Ammurat frees
Her from disturbing death, in his last great work
And thus declares some virtue in a Turk.

I have, brave Christian, by perusing thee
In this great art of honour learnt to be,
Too late, thy follower: this ring (with that
Gives him his signet) shall, when question'd at

The castle guards, thy safety be.

And now I see her blood's low water doth allow Me only time to launch my soul's black bark Into death's rubric sea-for to the dark And silent region, though we here were by Passion divorced, fortune shall not deny Our souls to sail together. From thy eyes Remove death's load, and see what sacrifice My love is offering. With that word, a stroke Pierces his breast, whose speedy pains invoke Death's opiates to appease them: he sinks down By 's dying wife, who, ere the cold flood drown Life in the deluge of her wounds, once more Betrays her eyes to the light; and though they wore The weight of death upon their lids, did keep Them so long open, till the icy sleep Began to seize on him, and then she criesO see, just heaven! see, see my Ammurat dies, To wander with me in the unknown shade Of immortality-But I have made

The wounds that murther'd both; his hand that gave
Mine, did but gently let me blood to save
An everlasting fever. Pardon me,
My dear, my dying lord. Eternity

Shall see my soul white-wash'd in tears; but oh!
I now feel time's dear want-they will not flow
Fast as my stream of blood. Christian, farewell!
Whene'er thou dost our tragic story tell,

Do not extenuate my crimes, but let
Them in their own black characters be set,
Near Ammurat's bright virtues, that, read by
Th' unpractised lover, which posterity,
Whilst wanton winds play with our dust, shall raise
On beauties; that the good may justice praise
By his example, and the bad by mine
From vice's throne be scared to virtue's shrine.
... This,

She cries, is our last interview-a kiss
Then joins their bloodless lips-each close the eyes
Of the other, whilst the parting spirit flies.

Tuis gallant, unfortunate man, who was much distinguished for the beauty of his person, was the son of Sir William Lovelace, of Woolwich, in Kent. After taking a master's degree at Cambridge, he was for some time an officer in the army; but returned to his native country after the pacification of Berwick, and took possession of his paternal estate, worth about 5007. per annum. About the same time he was deputed by the county of Kent to deliver their petition to the House of Commons, for restoring the king to his rights, and settling the government. This petition gave such offence that he was committed to the Gate-house prison, and only released on finding bail to an enormous amount not to pass beyond the lines of communication. During his

A LOOSE SARABAND. AH me, the little tyrant thief

As once my heart was playing,
He snatch'd it up, and flew away,
Laughing at all my praying.
Proud of his purchase, he surveys,
And curiously sounds it;

And though he sees it full of wounds,
Cruel still on he wounds it.
And now this heart is all his sport,
Which as a ball he boundeth,
From hand to hand, from breast to lip,
And all its rest confoundeth.

Then as a top he sets it up,

And pitifully whips it; Sometimes he clothes it gay and fine, Then straight again he strips it. He cover'd it with false belief, Which gloriously show'd it; And for a morning cushionet

On's mother he bestow'd it.

confinement to London his fortune was wasted in support of the royal cause. In 1646 he formed a regiment for the service of the French king, was colonel of it, and was wounded at Dunkirk. On this occasion his mistress, Lucasta, a Miss Lucy Sacheverel, married another, hearing that he had died of his wounds. At the end of two years he returned to England, and was again imprisoned till after the death of Charles I. He was then at liberty; but, according to Wood, was left in the most destitute circumstances, his estate being gone. He, who had been the favourite of courts, is represented as having lodged in the most obscure recesses of poverty, and died in great misery in a lodging near Shoe-lane.

Each day with her small brazen stings
A thousand times she raced it;
But then at night, bright with her gems,
Once near her breast she placed it.
Then warm it 'gan to throb and bleed,
She knew that smart and grieved;
At length this poor condemned heart,
With these rich drugs reprieved.
She wash'd the wound with a fresh tear,
Which my Lucasta dropped;
And in the sleeve silk of her hair
"Twas hard bound up and wrapped.
She probed it with her constancy,
And found no rancour nigh it;
Only the anger of her eye

Had wrought some proud flesh nigh it.

The compiler of the Biographia Dramatica remarks that Wood must have exaggerated Lovelace's poverty, for his daughter and sole heir married the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke, and brought to her husband the estates of her father at King's-down in Kent.

Then press'd she hard in every vein, Which from her kisses thrill'd, And with the balm heal'd all its pain That from her hand distill'd.

But yet this heart avoids me still,

Will not by me be owned; But, fled to its physician's breast, There proudly sits enthroned.

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.

SONG.

AMARANTHA, sweet and fair,
Forbear to braid that shining hair:
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it fly:

Let it fly as unconfined
As its ravisher the wind,
Who has left his darling east
To wanton o'er this spicy nest.
Every tress must be confess'd
But neatly tangled at the best,
Like a clew of golden thread
Most excellently ravelled:

Do not then wind up that light
In ribands, and o'ercloud the night;
Like the sun in his early ray,
But shake your head and scatter day.

SONG.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

WHEN Love, with unconfined wings,
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fetter'd to her eye,-
The birds, that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless head with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,-
Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;*
When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,-
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

[Charles I., in whose cause Lovelace was then in prison.-C.]

THE SCRUTINY.

WHY should you swear I am forsworn? Since thine I vow'd to be;

Lady, it is already morn,

And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.

Have I not loved thee much and long,
A tedious twelve hours' space?

I must all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new embrace,
Could I still dote upon thy face.
Not but all joy in thy brown hair,
By others may be found;
But I must search the black and fair,
Like skilful mineralists that sound
For treasure in unplough'd-up ground.
Then, if when I have loved my round,
Thou provest the pleasant she;
With spoils of meaner beauties crown'd
I laden will return to thee,
Ev'n sated with variety.

TO LUCASTA.-GOING TO THE WARS. TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True; a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.

TO SIR PETER LELY, ON HIS PICTURE OF
CHARLES I.

SEE! what an humble bravery doth shine
And grief triumphant breaking through each line.
How it commands the face! so sweet a scorn
Never did happy misery adorn!

So sacred a contempt! that others show
To this (o' th' height of all the wheel) below;
That mightiest monarchs by this shaded book
May copy out their proudest, richest look. . . . .
Thou sorrow canst design without a tear.
And, with the man, his very hope or fear. . . . .