This excellent sonnet, which possessed a high degree of fame among the old Cavaliers, was written by Colone, Richard Lovelace during his confinement in the gatehouse, Westminster: to which he was committed by the House of Commons, in April 1642, for presenting a petition from the county of Kent, requesting them to restore the king to his rights, and to settle the government. See Wood's Athenæ, vol. ii. p. 228, and Lysons' Environs of London, vol. i. p. 109; where may be seen at large the affecting story of this elegant writer, who after having been distinguished for every gallant and polite accomplishment, the pattern of his own sex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 1658.
This song is printed from a scarce volume of his poems intitled, Lucasta, 1649, 12mo. collated with a copy in the Editor's folio MS.
[As Percy mentions, the folio MS. collations have been added from it (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 17), but it will at once be seen that they are of little value. The music to this most exquisite of prison songs was composed by the celebrated Dr. John Wilson, and first printed (according to Dr. Rimbault) in his Cheerful Ayres or Ballads set for three Voices, Oxford, 1660.
Lucasta (= Lux casta, Lucy Sacheverell), misled by a report that Lovelace had died of his wounds received at Dunkirk while commanding a regiment of his own forming in the service of the French king, married another lover.
Although doubtless Lovelace died in great trouble, we may hope that Wood's account of his extreme poverty is exaggerated, for his daughter and sole heir married the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke, and brought to her husband the estates of her father at Kingsdown in Kent.]
When love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates;
When I lye tangled in her haire, 5
And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the aire,
Know no such libertye.[827]
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,[828] 10
Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,[829]
When healths and draughts goe free,[830]
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, 15
Know no such libertìe.[827]