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I.
I' th'
autumn of a summer's day,
When all the winds got
leave to play,
LUCASTA, that fair ship, is lanch'd,
And from its crust this almond blanch'd.
II.
Blow then, unruly northwind, blow,
'Till in their
holds your eyes you stow;
And swell your cheeks,
bequeath chill death;
See! she hath smil'd thee out
of breath.
III.
Court, gentle zephyr, court
and fan
Her softer breast's carnation wan;
Your
charming rhethorick of down
Flyes scatter'd from
before her frown.
IV.
Say, my white water-lilly,
say,
How is't those warm streams break away,
Cut
by thy chast cold breast, which dwells
Amidst them
arm'd in isicles?
V.
And the hot floods, more
raging grown,
In flames of thee then in their own,
In their distempers wildly glow,
And kisse thy pillar
of fix'd snow.
VI.
No sulphur, through whose
each blew vein
The thick and lazy currents strein,
Can cure the smarting nor the fell
Blisters of love,
wherewith they swell.
VII.
These great
physicians of the blind,
The lame, and fatal blains
of Inde
In every drop themselves now see
Speckled
with a new leprosie.
VIII.
As sick drinks are
with old wine dash'd,
Foul waters too with spirits
wash'd,
Thou greiv'd, perchance, one tear let'st
fall,
Which straight did purifie them all.
IX.
And now is cleans'd enough the flood,
Which since
runs cleare as doth thy blood;
Of the wet pearls
uncrown thy hair,
And mantle thee with ermin air.
X.
Lucasta, hail! fair conqueresse
Of fire,
air, earth and seas!
Thou whom all kneel to, yet even
thou
Wilt unto love, thy captive, bow.
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