And see! you boyle as well as I,

You that to coole her did aspire,

Now troubled, and neglected lye,

Nor can your selves quench your owne fire.

Yet still be happy in the thought,

That in so small a time as this;

Through all the Heavens you were brought

Of Vertue, Honour, Love and Blisse.

Elinda’s Glove

Thou snowy Farm with thy five Tenements!

Tell thy white Mistress here was one

That called to pay his daily Rents:

But she agathering Flowers and Hearts is gone,

And thou left void to rude Possession.

But grieve not pretty Ermine Cabinet,

Thy Alabaster Lady will come home;

If not, what Tenant can there fit

The slender turnings of thy narrow Room,

But must ejected be by his own doom?

Then give me leave to leave my Rent with thee;

Five kisses, one unto a place:

For though the Lute’s too high for me;

Yet Servants knowing Minikin nor Base,

Are still allowed to fiddle with the Case.

La Bella Bona Roba

Tell me, ye subtill judges in loves treasury,

Inform me, which hath most inricht mine eye,

This diamonds greatnes, or its clarity?

Ye cloudy spark lights, whose vast multitude

Of fires are harder to be found then view’d,

Waite on this star in her first magnitude.

Calmely or roughly! Ah, she shines too much;

That now I lye (her influence is such),

Chrusht with too strong a hand, or soft a touch.

Lovers, beware! a certaine, double harme

Waits your proud hopes, her looks al-killing charm

Guarded by her as true victorious arme.

Thus with her eyes brave Tamyris spake dread,

Which when the kings dull breast not entered,

Finding she could not looke, she strook him dead.

A Mock Song

Now Whitehall’s in the grave,

And our head is our slave,

The bright pearl in his close shell of oyster;

Now the miter is lost,

The proud Praelates, too, crost,

And all Rome’s confin’d to a cloister.

He, that Tarquin was styl’d,

Our white land’s exil’d,

Yea, undefil’d;

Not a court ape’s left to confute us;

Then let your voyces rise high,

As your colours did flye,

And flour’shing cry:

Long live the brave Oliver-Brutus.

Now the sun is unarm’d,

And the moon by us charm’d,

All the stars dissolv’d to a jelly;

Now the thighs of the Crown

And the arms are lopp’d down,

And the body is all but a belly.

Let the Commons go on,

The town is our own,

We’l rule alone:

For the Knights have yielded their spent-gorge;

And an order is tane

With HONY SOIT profane,

Shout forth amain:

For our Dragon hath vanquish’d the St. George.

Ричард Лавлейс (1618–1659)

Лукасте, отправляясь на войну

Не говори, что стал я злей,

Меняя на войну

Любви и нежности твоей

Святую тишину.

Но правда: сердцу моему

Суровый долг велит

За верстать — и я приму

Коня, и меч, и щит.

И разве бы, покой любя,

Милей тебе я был,

Когда бы больше, чем тебя,

Я чести не любил?

Перевод В. Перелешина

Алтее из тюрьмы

Когда Любовь, сойдя с высот

И надо мною рея,

В мои объятья принесет

Любимую Алтею

И буду в них, как в кандалах,

Я скован ей в угоду, —

Богам, живущим в небесах,

Не знать такой свободы.

Когда за дружеским столом

Мы вновь поднимем чаши

С душистым, пенистым вином

За честь и верность нашу,

Когда утопим мы в вине

Все прошлые невзгоды, —

То рыбам в темной глубине

Не знать такой свободы.

Когда, забыв былую боль,