To Althea, from Prison
When Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye,
The gods, that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads 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.
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.
To Lucasta, Going to the Wars
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind
That from nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.
True, a mew 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 honor more.
To Amarantha,
That She Would Dishevel Her Hair
Amarantha sweet and fair,
Ah, braid no more that shining hair!
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it fly.
Let it fly as unconfined
As its calm ravisher, the wind,
Who hath left his darling, th'East,
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.
Ev'ry tress must be confessed
But neatly tangled at the best,
Like a clue of golden thread,
Most excellently raveled.
Do not then wind up that light
In ribbons, and o'ercloud in night;
Like the sun in's early ray,
But shake your head and scatter day.
See, 'tis broke! Within this grove,
The bower and the walks of love,
Weary down we lie and rest,
And fan each other's panting breast.
Here we'll strip and cool our fire
In cream below, in milk-baths higher;
And when all wells are drawn dry,
I'll drink a tear out of thine eye.
Which our very joys shall leave,
Sage and Rosemary
That sorrows thus we can deceive;
Or our very sorrows weep,
That joys so ripe, so little keep.