Dialogue Lucasta, Alexis

Richard Lovelace

                              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.
Lu.        But ah, this ling'ring, murdring farewel!
           Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures the ill.
Alex.      It is the glory of a valiant lover,
           Still to be dying, still for to recover.

Cho.       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.
Alex.      But part we, when thy figure I retaine
           Still in my heart, still strongly in mine eye?
Lu.        Shadowes no longer than the sun remaine,
           But  his beams, that made 'em, fly, they fly.
Cho.       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.
Alex.      No, whilst light raigns, LUCASTA still rules here,
           And all the night shines wholy in this sphere.
Lu.        I know no morne but my ALEXIS ray,
           To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day.

                           Chorus.
Alex.      So in each other if the pitying sun
           Thus keep us fixt, nere may his course be run!
Lu.        And oh! if night us undivided make;
           Let us sleepe still, and sleeping never wake!

                          The close.
           Cruel ADIEUS 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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