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THE LADY ANNE LOVELACE, MY ASYLUM IN A GREAT EXTREMITY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: With that delight the royal captive's brought
Last Line: Possession of those things are none of mine.


WITH that delight the royal captive's brought
Before the throne, to breathe his farewell thought,
To tell his last tale, and so end with it,
Which gladly he esteems a benefit;
When the brave victor, at his great soul dumb,
Finds something there fate cannot overcome,
Calls the chain'd prince, and by his glory led,
First reaches him his crown, and then his head;
Who ne'er till now thinks himself slave and poor;
For though naught else, he had himself before;
He weeps at this fair chance, nor will allow
But that the diadem doth brand his brow,
And underrates himself below mankind,
Who first had lost his body, now his mind;---

With such a joy came I to hear my doom,
And haste the preparation of my tomb,
When, like good angels who have heav'nly charge
To steer and guide man's sudden-giddy barge,
She snatch'd me from the rock I was upon,
And landed me at life's pavilion:
Where I, thus wound out of th' immense abyss,
Was straight set on a pinnacle of bliss.

Let me leap in again! and by that fall
Bring me to my first woe, so cancel all.
Ah, 's this a quitting of the debt you owe,
To crush her and her goodness at one blow?
Defend me from so foul impiety,
Would make fiends grieve and furies weep to see.

Now ye sage spirits which infuse in men
That are oblig'd, twice to oblige agen,
Inform my tongue in labour, what to say,
And in what coin or language to repay.
But you are silent as the ev'ning's air,
When winds unto their hollow grots repair:
Oh then accept the all that left me is,
Devout oblations of a sacred wish!

When she walks forth, ye perfum'd wings o' th' East,
Fan her, till with the sun she hastes to th' West,
And when her heav'nly course calls up the day,
And breaks as bright, descend some glistering ray
To circle her and her as glistering hair,
That all may say a living saint shines there.
Slow Time, with woollen feet make thy soft pace,
And leave no tracks i' th' snow of her pure face.
But when this virtue must needs fall, to rise
The brightest constellation in the skies,
When we in characters of fire shall read
How clear she was alive, how spotless dead,
All you that are akin to piety
(For only you can her close mourners be),
Draw near, and make of hallow'd tears a dearth,
Goodness and Justice both are fled the earth.

If this be to be thankful, I've a heart
Broken with vows, eaten with grateful smart,
And beside this, the vile world nothing hath
Worth anything but her provoked wrath:
So then, who thinks to satisfy in time,
Must give a satisfaction for that crime;
Since she alone knows the gift's value, she
Can only to herself requital be,
And worthily to th' life paint her own story
In its true colours and full native glory;
Which when perhaps she shall be heard to tell,
Buffoons and thieves, ceasing to do ill,
Shall blush into a virgin-innocence,
And then woo others from the same offence:
The robber and the murderer, in spite
Of his red spots, shall startle into white;
All good (rewards laid by) shall still increase
For love of her, and villainy decease;
Naught be ignote, not so much out of fear
Of being punish'd, as offending her.

So that, whenas my future daring bays
Shall bow itself in laurels to her praise,
To crown her conqu'ring goodness, and proclaim
The due renown and glories of her name;
My wit shall be so wretched and so poor,
That, 'stead of praising, I shall scandal her,
And leave, when with my purest art I've done,
Scarce the design of what she is begun;
Yet men shall send me home admir'd, exact,
Proud that I could from her so well detract.

Where then, thou bold instinct, shall I begin
My endless task? To thank her were a sin
Great as not speak, and not to speak a blame
Beyond what's worst, such as doth want a name;
So thou my all, poor gratitude, ev'n thou
In this wilt an unthankful office do.
Or will I fling all at her feet I have,
My life, my love, my very soul a slave?
Tie my free spirit only unto her,
And yield up my affection prisoner?
Fond thought, in this thou teachest me to give
What first was hers, since by her breath I live;
And hast but show'd me how I may resign
Possession of those things are none of mine.





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