Lucasta At The Bath


I' th' autumn of a summer's day,

When all the winds got leave to play,

TA, that fair ship, is lanch'd,

And from its crust this almond blanch'd.                II.

Blow then, unruly northwind, blow,'Till in their holds your eyes you stow;

And swell your cheeks, bequeath chill death;

See! she hath smil'd thee out of breath.


Court, gentle zephyr, court and

Her softer breast's carnation wan;

Your charming rhethorick of

Flyes scatter'd from before her frown.                IV.

Say, my white water-lilly, say,

How is't those warm streams break away,

Cut by thy chast cold breast, which

Amidst them arm'd in isicles?                V.

And the hot floods, more raging grown,

In flames of thee then in their own,

In their distempers wildly glow,

And kisse thy pillar of fix'd snow.                VI.

No sulphur, through whose each blew

The thick and lazy currents strein,

Can cure the smarting nor the

Blisters of love, wherewith they swell.


These great physicians of the blind,

The lame, and fatal blains of

In every drop themselves now

Speckled with a new leprosie.


As sick drinks are with old wine dash'd,

Foul waters too with spirits wash'd,

Thou greiv'd, perchance, one tear let'st fall,

Which straight did purifie them all.                IX.

And now is cleans'd enough the flood,

Which since runs cleare as doth thy blood;

Of the wet pearls uncrown thy hair,

And mantle thee with ermin air.                X.

Lucasta, hail! fair

Of fire, air, earth and seas!

Thou whom all kneel to, yet even

Wilt unto love, thy captive, bow.

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