tone,
Like the thin throat of Philomel,
And the<53.13> smart lute who should excell,
As if her soft cords should begin,
And strive for sweetnes with the pin.<53.14>

Yet can I musick too; but such
As is beyond all voice or<53.15> touch;
My minde can in faire order chime,
Whilst my true heart still beats the time;
My soule['s] so full of harmonie,
That it with all parts can agree;
If you winde up to the highest fret,<53.16>
It shall descend an eight from it,
And when you shall vouchsafe to fall,
Sixteene above you it shall call,
And yet, so dis-assenting one,
They both shall meet in<53.17> unison.

Come then, bright cherubin, begin!
My loudest musick is within.
Take all notes with your skillfull eyes;
Hearke, if mine do not sympathise!
Sound all my thoughts, and see exprest
The tablature<53.18> of my large brest;
Then you'l admit, that I too can
Musick above dead sounds of man;
Such as alone doth blesse the spheres,
Not to be reacht with humane eares.

<53.1> "Madam A. L." is not in MS. copy. "The Lady A. L." and
"Madam A. L." may very probably be two different persons: for
Carew in his Poems (edit. 1651, 8vo. p. 2) has a piece "To A. L.;
Persuasions to Love," and it is possible that the A. L. of Carew,
and the A. L. mentioned above, are identical. The following poem
is printed in Durfey's PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, v. 120, but
whether it was written by Lovelace, and addressed to the same lady,
whom he represents above as requesting him to join her in a song,
or whether it was the production of another pen, I cannot at all
decide. It is not particularly unlike the style of the author of
LUCASTA. At all events, I am not aware that it has been
appropriated by anybody else, and as I am reluctant to omit any
piece which Lovelace is at all likely to have composed, I give
these lines just as I find them in Durfey, where they are set to
music:--

"TO HIS FAIREST VALENTINE MRS. A. L.

"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,
And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;
Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
Employ'd to serve her deity:
And warble forth, ye virgins nine,
Some music to my Valentine.

"Her bosom is love's paradise,
There is no heav'n but in her eyes;
She's chaster than the turtle-dove,
And fairer than the queen of love:
Yet all perfections do combine
To beautifie my Valentine.

"She's Nature's choicest cabinet,
Where hono