Yet this inconstancy is such As thou too shalt adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more. _344._ _To Lucasta, going beyond the Seas_ If to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone You or I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave. But I’ll not sigh one blast or gale To swell my sail, Or pay a tear to ’suage The foaming blue god’s rage; For whether he will let me pass Or no, I’m still as happy as I was. Though seas and land betwixt us both, Our faith and troth, Like separated souls, All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown; and greet as Angels greet. So then we do anticipate Our after-fate, And are alive i’ the skies, If thus our lips and eyes Can speak like spirits unconfined In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. _345._ _Gratiana Dancing_ She beat the happy pavèment-- By such a star made firmament, Which now no more the roof envìes! But swells up high, with Atlas even, Bearing the brighter nobler heaven, And, in her, all the deities. Each step trod out a Lover’s thought, And the ambitious hopes he brought Chain’d to her brave feet with such arts, Such sweet command and gentle awe, As, when she ceased, we sighing saw The floor lay paved with broken hearts. _346._ _To Amarantha, that she would dishevel her Hair_ Amarantha sweet and fair, Ah, braid no more that shining hair! As my curious hand or eye Hovering round thee, let it fly! Let it fly as unconfined As its calm ravisher the wind, Who hath left his darling, th’ East, To wanton o’er that spicy nest. Every tress must be confest, But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clew of golden thread Most excellently ravellèd. Do not then wind up that light In ribbands, and o’ercloud in night, Like the Sun in’s early ray; But shake your head, and scatter day! _347._ _The Grasshopper_ O thou that swing’st upon the waving hair Of some well-fillèd oaten beard, Drunk every night with a delicious tear Dropt thee from heaven, where thou wert rear’d! The joys of earth and air are thine entire, That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly; And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. Up with the day, the Sun thou welcom’st then, Sport’st in the gilt plaits of his beams, And all these merry days mak’st merry men, Thyself, and melancholy streams. _348._ _To Althea, from Prison_