Poem by Richard Lovelace

Courante Monsieur

That frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd
Thy bright front's pow'r, and crown'd
Me that was bound.
No, no, deceived cruel, no!
Love's fiery darts,
Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts.

Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see!
Thy angry flames meant me,
Retort on thee:
For know, it is decreed, proud fair,
I ne'r must dye
By any scorching, but a melting, eye. 

1. The Scrutinie
2. Lucasta Weeping
3. The Vintage to the Dungeon
4. Upon the Curtain of Lucasta's Picture, It was Thus Wrought
5. To Lucasta, I Laugh And Sing

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