To Lucasta, From Prison
Richard Lovelace
Long in thy Shackels, liberty,
I ask not from these walls, but thee;
Left for a while another’s Bride
To fancy all the world beside.
Yet e’re I do begin to love,
See! How I all my objects prove;
Then my free Soul to that confine,
’Twere possible I might call mine.
First I would be in love with Peace,
And her rich swelling breasts increase;
But how alas! how may that be,
Despising Earth, will she love me?
Fain would I be in love with War,
As my dear just avenging star
But War is lov’d so ev’ry where,
Ev’n he disdains a lodging here.
Thee and thy wounds I would bemoan
Fair thorough-shot Religion;
But he lives only that kills thee,
ANd who so binds thy hands, is free.
I would love a Parliament
As a main Prop from Heav’n sent;
But ah! who’s he that would be wedded
To th’ fairest body that’s beheaded?
Next would I court my Liberty,
And then my birth-right Property;
But can that be, when in is known
There’s nothing you can call your own?
A Reformation I would have,
As for our griefs a Sov’reign salve;
That is, a cleansing of each wheel
Of State, that yet some rust doth feel:
But not a Reformation so,
As to reform were to ore’throw;
Like watches by unskilfull men
Disjointed, and set ill again.
The Public Faith I would adore,
But she is bankrupt of her store;
Nor how to trust her can I see,
For she that couzens all, must me.
Since then none of these can be
Fit objects for my Love and me;
What then remains, but th’ only spring
Of all our loves and joyes? The King.
He who being the whole ball
Of day on Earth, lends it to all;
When seeking to eclipse his right,
Blinded, we stand in our own light.
And now in universal mist
Of Error is spread or’e each breast,
With such a fury edg’d, as is
Not found in th’ inwards of th’ Abyss.
Oh from thy glorious starry waine
Dispense on me one sacred beam
To light me where I soon may see
How to serve you, and you trust me.
