To whisper at the Grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The Gods that wanton in the Air,
Know no such Liberty.
When flowing Cups run swiftly round
With no allayingThames,
Our careless heads with Roses bound,
Our hearts with Loyal Flames;
When thirsty grief in Wine we steep,
When Healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the Deep
Know no such Liberty.
When (like committed linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, Mercy, Majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how Great should be,
Enlargèd Winds, that curl the Flood,
Know no such Liberty.
Stone Walls do not a Prison make,
Nor Iron bars a Cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage.
If I have freedom in my Love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above,
Enjoy such Liberty
‘Wrong but romantic,’ thinks Ruth. It occurs to her that Lovelace is the ideal name for a Cavalier. She is sure that Richard loved his lace, not to mention his plumes and velvet. She’s not sure what to make of the poem. ‘Tangled in her hair’ is quite an image. She imagines Althea with miles of golden hair, like Rapunzel. But being trapped in hair is another imprisonment of sorts. ‘Fettered to her eye’ is unpleasant too, when you come to think of it. There’s lots of flying imagery, lots of wings. Even fish get a mention. Are they flying fish? Maybe Lovelace, too, found comfort in nature while incarcerated. Maybe he too had a pet crow called Corbyn. ‘If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free. . .’ Ruth thinks of Nelson. Are they free because they are under lockdown?
