Richard Lovelace

Richard Lovelace

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Richard Lovelace (9 December 1617 – 1657) was an English poet in the seventeenth century. He was a cavalier poet who fought on behalf of the king during the Civil War. His best known works are "To Althea, from Prison", and "To Lucasta, Going to the Warres".
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I
Long in thy shackels, liberty
I ask not from these walls, but thee;
Left for awhile anothers bride,
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Behold
three sister-wonders, in whom met,
Distinct and chast, the splendrous
Of Juno,
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LL me not,
Sweet,
I am unkind,    That from the
Of thy chaste breasts, and quiet mind,    To war and arms I fly
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Amarantha sweet and
Ah braid no more that shining hair
As my curious hand or
Hovering round thee let it fly
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Cleft as the top of the inspired hill,
Struggles the soul of my divided quill,
Whilst this foot doth the watry mount aspire,
That Sinai's living and enlivening fire,
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How have I bin religious
what strange
Has scap't me, that I never understood
Have I hel-guarded Haeresie o'rthrowne
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I
Sweet serene skye-like Flower,
Haste to adorn her Bower :    From thy long clowdy bed,    Shoot forth thy damaske head
II
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Why should you swear I am forsworn,
Since thine I vowed to be
Lady, it is already morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to
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I
Here, here, oh here
CE,    Here was she slaine;
Her soule 'still'd through a veine:    The gods knew
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Sir, how unravell'd is the golden fleece:
Men, that could only fool at
OX
ND
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Amarantha, sweet and fair,
Ah, braid no more that shining hair
As my curious hand or
Hovering round thee, let it fly
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O thou that swing'st upon the waving
Of some well-filled oaten beard,
Drunk ev'ry night with a delicious
Dropped thee from heav'n, where now th' art reared,
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I
In the nativity of time,
Chloris
it was not thought a crime  In direct Hebrew for to woe
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"Come, pretty birds, present your lays, And learn to chaunt a goddess praise; Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be Employ'd to serve her deity: And warble forth, ye virgins nine, Some music to my Valentine
"Her bosom is love's paradis...
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I
When I by thy faire shape did sweare,
And mingled with each vowe a teare,    I lov'd,
I lov'd thee best,    I swore as I profest
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Wise emblem of our politic world,
Sage snail, within thine own self curl'd;
Instruct me softly to make haste,
Whilst these my feet go slowly fast
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