Lucasta posthume poems of Richard Lovelace, Esq.

Love made in the first Age: To Chloris.

1.

IN the Nativity of time, Chloris! it was not thought a Crime In direct Hebrew for to woe. Now wee make Love, as all on fire, Ring Retrograde our lowd Desire, And Court in English Backward too.

2.

Thrice happy was that golden Age, When Complement was constru'd Rage, And fine words in the Center hid; When cursed No stain'd no M••id•• ••lisse, And all discourse was summ'd in Yes, And Nought forbad, but to forbid▪

1.

Love then unsti••ted, Love did 〈◊〉〈◊〉, And Cherties pluck'd fresh from the Lip, On Cheeks and Roses free he ••ed; Lasses like Autumne Pl••m•• did drop, And Lads, indifferently did crop A Flower, and •• Maiden-head.

4.

Then unconfined each did Tipple Wine from the Bunch, Milk from the Nipple, Paps tractable as Udders were▪ Then equally the wholsome Jellies, Were squeez'd from Olive-Trees, and Bellies, Nor Suits of Trespasse did they fear.

5.

A fragrant Bank of Straw-berries, Diaper'd with Violets Eyes, Was Table, Table-cloth, and Fare; No Pallace to the Clouds did swell, Each humble Princesse then did dwell In the Piazza of her Hair.

6.

Both broken Faith, and th' cause of it, All damning Gold was damm'd to th' Pit; Their Troth seal'd with a Clap and Kisse, Lasted untill that extreem day, In which they smil'd their Souls away, And in each other breath'd new blisse.

7.

Because no fault, there was no tear; No grone did grate the granting Ear; No false foul breath their Del'cat smell: No Serpent kiss poyson'd the Tast, Each touch was naturally Chast, And their mere Sense a Miracle.

8.

Naked as their own innocence, And unimbroyder'd from Offence They went, above, poor Riches, gay; On softer than the Cigners Down, In beds they tumbled off their own; For each within the other lay.

9.

Thus did they live: Thus did they love, Repeating only joyes Above; And Angels were, but with Cloaths on, Which they would put off cheerfully, To bathe them in the Galaxie, Then gird them with the Heavenly Zone.

10.

Now, CHLORIS! miserably crave, The offer'd blisse you would not have; Which evermore I must deny, Whilst ravish'd with these Noble Dreams, And crowned with ••i••e own soft Beams, Injoying of my sel•• I lye.