Princesse Loysa Drawing Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAAAAACCCCAAAAAADDA AEEFFGGDDGGBBHHAAAAI IAIJKLLAAAAII| I saw a little Diety | A |
| MINERVA in epitomy | B |
| Whom VENUS at first blush surpris'd | A |
| Tooke for her winged wagge disguis'd | A |
| But viewing then whereas she made | A |
| Not a distrest but lively shade | A |
| Of ECCHO whom he had betrayd | A |
| Now wanton and ith' coole oth' Sunne | C |
| With her delight a hunting gone | C |
| And thousands more whom he had slaine | C |
| To live and love belov'd againe | C |
| Ah this is true divinity | A |
| I will un God that toye cri'd she | A |
| Then markt she SYRINX running fast | A |
| To Pan's imbraces with the haste | A |
| Shee fled him once whose reede pipe rent | A |
| He finds now a new Instrument | A |
| THESEUS return'd invokes the Ayre | D |
| And windes then wafts his faire | D |
| Whilst ARIADNE ravish't stood | A |
| Half in his armes halfe in the flood | A |
| Proud ANAXERETE doth fall | E |
| At IPHIS feete who smiles at all | E |
| And he whilst she his curles doth deck | F |
| Hangs no where now but on her neck | F |
| Here PHOEBUS with a beame untombes | G |
| Long hid LEUCOTHOE and doomes | G |
| Her father there DAPHNE the faire | D |
| Knowes now no bayes but round her haire | D |
| And to APOLLO and his Sons | G |
| Who pay him their due Orisons | G |
| Bequeaths her lawrell robe that flame | B |
| Contemnes Thunder and evill Fame | B |
| There kneel'd ADONIS fresh as spring | H |
| Gay as his youth now offering | H |
| Herself those joyes with voice and hand | A |
| Which first he could not understand | A |
| Transfixed VENUS stood amas'd | A |
| Full of the Boy and Love she gaz'd | A |
| And in imbraces seemed more | I |
| Senceless and colde then he before | I |
| Uselesse Childe In vaine said she | A |
| You beare that fond artillerie | I |
| See heere a pow'r above the slow | J |
| Weake execution of thy bow | K |
| So said she riv'd the wood in two | L |
| Unedged all his arrowes too | L |
| And with the string their feathers bound | A |
| To that part whence we have our wound | A |
| See see the darts by which we burn'd | A |
| Are bright Loysa's pencills turn'd | A |
| With which she now enliveth more | I |
| Beauties than they destroy'd before | I |
Richard Lovelace
(1)
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