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Richard Lovelace - To Lucasta From Prison An Epode
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                    I.
Long in thy shackels, liberty
I ask not from these walls, but thee;
Left for awhile anothers bride,
To fancy all the world beside.

                    II.
Yet e`re I doe begin to love,
See, how I all my objects prove;
Then my free soule to that confine,
`Twere possible I might call mine.

                    III.
First I would be in love with PEACE,
And her rich swelling breasts increase;
But how, alas! how may that be,
Despising earth, she will love me?

                    IV.
Faine would I be in love with WAR,
As my deare just avenging star;
But War is lov`d so ev`rywhere,
Ev`n he disdaines a lodging here.

                    V.
Thee and thy wounds I would bemoane,
Faire thorough-shot RELIGION;
But he lives only that kills thee,
And who so bindes thy hands, is free.

                    VI.
I would love a PARLIAMENT
As a maine prop from Heav`n sent;
But ah! who`s he, that would be wedded
To th` fairest body that`s beheaded?

                    VII.
Next would I court my LIBERTY,
And then my birth-right, PROPERTY;
But can that be, when it is knowne,
There`s nothing you can call your owne?

                    VIII.
A REFORMATION I would have,
As for our griefes a SOV`RAIGNE salve;
That is, a cleansing of each wheele
Of state, that yet some rust doth feele.

                    IX.
But not a reformation so,
As to reforme were to ore`throw,
Like watches by unskilfull men
Disjoynted, and set ill againe.

                    X.
The PUBLICK FAITH I would adore,
But she is banke-rupt of her store:
Nor how to trust her can I see,
For she that couzens all, must me.

                    XI.
Since then none of these can be
Fit objects for my love and me;
What then remaines, but th` only spring
Of all our loves and joyes, the King?

                    XII.
He who, being the whole ball
Of day on earth, lends it to all;
When seeking to ecclipse his right,
Blinded we stand in our owne light.

                    XIII.
And now an universall mist
Of error is spread or`e each breast,
With such a fury edg`d as is
Not found in th` inwards of th` abysse.

                    XIV.
Oh, from thy glorious starry waine
Dispense on me one sacred beame,
To light me where I soone may see
How to serve you, and you trust me!
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