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Richard Lovelace - A Lady With A Falcon On Her Fist. To The Honourable My Cous
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                    I.
This Queen of Prey (now prey to you),
  Fast to that pirch of ivory
In silver chaines and silken clue,
  Hath now made full thy victory:

                    II.
The swelling admirall of the dread
  Cold deepe, burnt in thy flames, oh faire!
Wast not enough, but thou must lead
  Bound, too, the Princesse of the aire?

                    III.
Unarm`d of wings and scaly oare,
  Unhappy crawler on the land,
To what heav`n fly`st? div`st to what shoare,
  That her brave eyes do not command?

                    IV.
Ascend the chariot of the Sun
  From her bright pow`r to shelter thee:
Her captive (foole) outgases him;
  Ah, what lost wretches then are we!

                    V.
Now, proud usurpers on the right
  Of sacred beauty, heare your dombe;
Recant your sex, your mastry, might;
  Lower you cannot be or`ecome:

                    VI.
Repent, ye er`e nam`d he or head,
  For y` are in falcon`s monarchy,
And in that just dominion bred,
  In which the nobler is the shee.
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