Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Lov'd I not honour more.
English Lyrics, Third Set
by Charles Hubert Hastings Parry, Sir (1848 - 1918)
1. To Lucasta, on going to the wars
Text Authorship:
- by Richard Lovelace (1618 - 1658)
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Adolf von Marées) , "Abschied des Cavaliers"
2. If thou would'st ease thine heart
If thou would'st ease thine heart Of love and all its smart, Then sleep, dear, sleep; And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes; Lie still and deep, Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o' th' sun tomorrow, In eastern sky. But would'st thou cure thine heart Of love and all its smart, Then die, dear, die; 'Tis deeper, sweeter, Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming With tranced eye And then alone, amid the beaming Of love's stars, thou'lt meet her In eastern sky.
Text Authorship:
- by Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803 - 1849), no title, appears in Death's Jest Book or The Fool's Tragedy, first published 1850
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2024, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
3. To Althea, from prison
When Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my Gates;
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the Grates:
When I lye tangled in her haire,
Or fetterd to her eye;
The Gods, that wanton in the Aire,
Know no such Liberty.
When flowing Cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our carelesse heads with Roses crowned,
Our hearts with Loyall Flames;
When thirsty griefe in Wine we steepe,
When Healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the Deepe,
Know no such Libertie.
...
Stone Walls doe not a Prison make,
Nor I'ron bars a Cage;
Mindes innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage;
If I have freedome in my Love,
And in my soule am free;
Angels alone that sore above,
Injoy such Liberty.
Text Authorship:
- by Richard Lovelace (1618 - 1658), "To Althea, from prison"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Adolf von Marées) , "Der Cavalier im Gefängnis"
4. Why so pale and wan?
Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit for shame, this will not move, This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her; The devil take her!
Text Authorship:
- by John Suckling, Sir (1609 - 1642), no title, written 1637, Printed by John Haviland for Thomas Walkley, at the sign of the Flying Horse near York House, London, first published 1638
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Adolf von Marées) , "Warum so blaß?"
5. Through the ivory gate
I had a dream last night Dream of a friend that is dead He came with dawn's first light And stood beside my bed: And as he there did stand, With gesture fine and fair, He passed a wan white hand Over my tumbled hair, Saying: "No friendship dieth With death of any day, No true friendship lieth Cold with lifeless clay. "Though our boyhood's playtime, Be gone with summer's breath, No friendship fades with Maytime No friendship dies with death." Then answer had I made But that the rapture deep Did hold me, half afraid To mar that rose of sleep So with closed eyes I lay, Lord of the vision fair; And when 'twas perfect day Only the day was there.
Text Authorship:
- by Julian Sturgis (1848 - 1904)
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Researcher for this page: Ted Perry6. Of all the torments
Of all the torments, all the cares, With which our lives are curst; Of all the plagues a lover bears, Sure rivals are the worst ! By partners of each other kind afflictions easier grow; In love we hate to find Companions of our woe. Silvia, for all the pangs you see, Are laboring in my breast; I beg not you would favor me Would you but slight the rest. How great so e'er your rigors are With them alone I'll cope: I can endure my own despair, But not another's hope !
Text Authorship:
- by William Walsh (1663 - 1708)
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Researcher for this page: John Fowler