Analysis of Amarantha. A Pastorall



Up with the jolly bird of light
Who sounds his third retreat to night;
Faire Amarantha from her bed
Ashamed starts, and rises red
As the carnation-mantled morne,
Who now the blushing robe doth spurne,
And puts on angry gray, whilst she,
The envy of a deity,
Arayes her limbes, too rich indeed
To be inshrin'd in such a weed;
Yet lovely 'twas and strait, but fit;
Not made for her, but she to it:
By nature it sate close and free,
As the just bark unto the tree:
Unlike Love's martyrs of the towne,
All day imprison'd in a gown,
Who, rackt in silke 'stead of a dresse,
Are cloathed in a frame or presse,
And with that liberty and room,
The dead expatiate in a tombe.
  No cabinets with curious washes,
Bladders and perfumed plashes;
No venome-temper'd water's here,
Mercury is banished this sphere:
Her payle's all this, in which wet glasse
She both doth cleanse and view her face.
  Far hence, all Iberian smells,
Hot amulets, Pomander spells,
Fragrant gales, cool ay'r, the fresh
And naturall odour of her flesh,
Proclaim her sweet from th' wombe as morne.
Those colour'd things were made, not borne.
Which, fixt within their narrow straits,
Do looke like their own counterfeyts.
So like the Provance rose she walkt,
Flowerd with blush, with verdure stalkt;
Th' officious wind her loose hayre curles,
The dewe her happy linnen purles,
But wets a tresse, which instantly
Sol with a crisping beame doth dry.
  Into the garden is she come,
Love and delight's Elisium;
If ever earth show'd all her store,
View her discolourd budding floore;
Here her glad eye she largely feedes,
And stands 'mongst them, as they 'mong weeds;
The flowers in their best aray
As to their queen their tribute pay,
And freely to her lap proscribe
A daughter out of ev'ry tribe.
Thus as she moves, they all bequeath
At once the incense of their breath.
  The noble Heliotropian
Now turnes to her, and knowes no sun.
  And as her glorious face doth vary,
So opens loyall golden Mary
Who, if but glanced from her sight,
Straight shuts again, as it were night.
The violet (else lost ith' heap)
Doth spread fresh purple for each step,
With whose humility possest,
Sh' inthrones the Poore Girle in her breast:
The July-flow'r that hereto thriv'd,
Knowing her self no longer-liv'd,
But for one look of her upheaves,
Then 'stead of teares straight sheds her leaves.
  Now the rich robed Tulip who,
Clad all in tissue close, doth woe
Her (sweet to th' eye but smelling sower),
She gathers to adorn her bower.
  But the proud Hony-suckle spreads
Like a pavilion her heads,
Contemnes the wanting commonalty,
That but to two ends usefull be,
And to her lips thus aptly plac't,
With smell and hue presents her tast.
  So all their due obedience pay,
Each thronging to be in her way:
Faire Amarantha with her eye
Thanks those that live, which else would dye:
The rest, in silken fetters bound,
By crowning her are crown and crown'd.
  And now the sun doth higher rise,
Our Flora to the meadow hies:
The poore distressed heifers low,
And as sh' approacheth gently bow,
Begging her charitable leasure
To strip them of their milkie treasure.
  Out of the yeomanry oth' heard,
With grave aspect, and feet prepar'd,
A rev'rend lady-cow drawes neare,
Bids Amarantha welcome here;
And from her privy purse lets fall
A pearle or two, which seeme[s] to call
This adorn'd adored fayry
To the banquet of her dayry.
  Soft Amarantha weeps to see
'Mongst men such inhumanitie,
That those, who do receive in hay,
And pay in silver twice a day,
Should by their cruell barb'rous theft
Be both of that and life bereft.
  But 'tis decreed, when ere this dies,
That she shall fall a sacrifice
Unto the gods, since those, that trace
Her stemme, show 'tis a god-like race,
Descending in an even line
From heifers and from steeres divine,
Making the honour'd extract full
In Io and Europa's bull.
She was the largest goodliest beast,
That ever mead or altar blest;
Round [w]as her udder, and more white
Then is the Milkie Way in night;
Her full broad eye did sparkle fire;
Her breath was sweet as kind desire,
And in her beauteous crescent shone,
Bright as the argent-horned moone.
  But see! this whiteness is obscure,
Cynthia spotted, she impure;
Her body writheld, and her eyes
Departing lights at obsequies:
Her lowing hot to the fresh gale,
Her breath perfumes the field withall;
To those two suns that ever shine,
To those plump p


Scheme AABBCCDDEEFFDDCCGGHHGGIJGGGGKKCCGGAAGGDLMHNIGGIOPPQRCCDDAASTAUVVGGWXYYGGADAAOOLLZZGGX1 YY2 3 II4 4 IIDAOO5 5 GGGGCC6 6 7 UAAYYCC8 8 GG9 4 CD
Poetic Form
Metre 11010111 11110111 11101 0110101 1001011 11010111 01110111 01010100 1011101 1110101 11010111 11101111 11011101 10111001 01110101 11010001 11011101 1100111 01110001 011001 1100110010 100011 1110101 10011011 01110111 11110101 11101001 110011 10111101 011101 0101111111 11010111 11011101 111111 11010111 111111 11110111 0101011 11011100 1101111 01010111 1011 11011101 101101 10111101 01111111 0100111 11111101 01010101 0101111 11111101 11001111 0101 11100111 0101001110 110101010 1111101 11011101 01001111 11110111 1101001 11011001 0111111 10011101 1111101 11111101 1011101 1101111 01111111010 110101010 1011101 1001001 10101 1111111 01011101 11011001 111101001 1111001 11101 11111111 01010101 11001101 01011101 10101011 0101101 0111101 100100010 11111110 110111 1110101 0110111 11101 01010111 01111111 101011 1010101 11111 1111 11110101 01010101 111111 11110101 11011111 1111010 10011111 01110111 01001101 11001101 100111 010011 1101011 11011101 1101011 1101101 011111010 011111010 0001101 1101011 11110101 10010101 0101001 010111 01011011 0101011 11111101 1111
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 4,250
Words 773
Sentences 21
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 126
Lines Amount 126
Letters per line (avg) 27
Words per line (avg) 6
Letters per stanza (avg) 3,397
Words per stanza (avg) 773
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 25, 2023

3:58 min read
105

Richard Lovelace

Richard Lovelace was an English poet more…

All Richard Lovelace poems | Richard Lovelace Books

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