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.

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