<58.4> Original reads CLOUDS. <58.5> i.e. TO BE embraced. [A DIALOGUE BETWIXT CORDANUS AND AMORET, ON A LOST HEART. Cord. Distressed pilgrim, whose dark clouded eyes Speak thee a martyr to love's cruelties, Whither away? Amor. What pitying voice I hear, Calls back my flying steps? Cord. Pr'ythee, draw near. Amor. I shall but say, kind swain, what doth become Of a lost heart, ere to Elysium It wounded walks? Cord. First, it does freely flye Into the pleasures of a lover's eye; But, once condemn'd to scorn, it fetter'd lies, An ever-bowing slave to tyrannies. Amor. I pity its sad fate, since its offence Was but for love. Can<59.1> tears recall it thence? Cord. O no, such tears, as do for pity call, She proudly scorns, and glories at their fall. Amor. Since neither sighs nor tears, kind shepherd, tell, Will not a kiss prevail? Cord. Thou may'st as well Court Eccho with a kiss. Amor. Can no art move A sacred violence to make her love? Cord. O no! 'tis only Destiny or<59.2> Fate Fashions our wills either to love or hate. Amor. Then, captive heart, since that no humane spell Hath power to graspe thee his, farewell. Cord.<59.3> Farewell. Cho. Lost hearts, like lambs drove from their folds by fears, May back return by chance, but not<59.4> by tears.]<59.5> <59.1> So Cotgrave. Lawes, and after him Singer, read CAN'T. <59.2> So Cotgrave. Lawes and Singer read AND. <59.3> Omitted by Lawes and Singer: I follow Cotgrave. <59.4> So Cotgrave. Lawes printed NE'ER. <59.5> This is taken from AYRES AND DIALOGUES FOR ONE, TWO, AND THREE VOYCES, By Henry Lawes, 1653-5-8, where it is set to music for two trebles by H. L. It was not included in the posthumous collection of Lovelace's poems. This dialogue is also found in WITS INTERPRETER, by J. Cotgrave, 1662, 8vo, page 203 (first printed in 1655), and a few improved readings have been adopted from that text. COMMENDATORY AND OTHER VERSES, PREFIXED TO VARIOUS PUBLICATIONS BETWEEN 1638 AND 1647 AN ELEGIE. PRINCESSE KATHERINE<60.1><<AN.3>> BORNE, CHRISTENED, BURIED, IN ONE DAY. You, that can haply<60.2> mixe your joyes with cries, And weave white Ios with black Elegies, Can caroll out a dirge, and in one breath Sing to the tune either of life, or death; You, that can weepe the gladnesse of the spheres, And pen a hymne, in stead of inke, with teares; Here, here your unproportion'd wit let fall, To celebrate this new-borne funerall, And greete that little greatnesse, which from th' wombe Dropt both a load to th' cradle and the tombe.