Natures Picture Drawn by Fancies Pencil To the Life Being several Feigned Stories, Comical, Tragical, Tragi-comical, Poetical, Romancical, Philosophical, Historical, and Moral: Some in Verse, some in Prose; some Mixt, and some by Dialogues. Written by the Thrice Noble, Illustrious, and most Excellent Princess, The Duchess of Newcastle [i.e. Margaret Cavendish]. The Second Edition |
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A Description of the Passion of Love misplaced.
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 | Natures Picture Drawn by Fancies Pencil To the Life |  |
A Description of the Passion of Love misplaced.
A Lady on the Ground a mourning lay,
Complaining to the Gods, and thus did say:
Complaining to the Gods, and thus did say:
You Gods, said she, why do you me torment?
Why give you Life, without the Mind's content?
Why do you Passions in a Mind create,
Then leave it all to Destiny and Fate?
With knot and snarls they spin the Thread of Life,
Then weave it cross, and make a Web of strife.
Come Death, though Fates are cross, yet thou'rt a Friend,
And in the Grave dost peace & quiet send.
Why give you Life, without the Mind's content?
Why do you Passions in a Mind create,
Then leave it all to Destiny and Fate?
With knot and snarls they spin the Thread of Life,
Then weave it cross, and make a Web of strife.
Come Death, though Fates are cross, yet thou'rt a Friend,
And in the Grave dost peace & quiet send.
It chanc'd a Gentleman that way came by,
And seeing there a weeping Beauty lye;
And seeing there a weeping Beauty lye;
Alas, dear Lady, why do you so weep,
Unless your Tears you mean the Gods shall keep?
Jove will present those Tears to Juno fair,
For Pendants, and for Neck-laces to wear:
And so present that Breath to Juno fair,
That she may always move in perfum'd air.
Forbear, forbear, make not the World so poor;
Send not such Riches, for the Gods have store.
Unless your Tears you mean the Gods shall keep?
Jove will present those Tears to Juno fair,
For Pendants, and for Neck-laces to wear:
And so present that Breath to Juno fair,
That she may always move in perfum'd air.
Forbear, forbear, make not the World so poor;
Send not such Riches, for the Gods have store.
I'm one, said she, to whom Fortune's a Foe,
Crossing my Love, working my overthrow:
A Man which to Narcissus might compare:
For Youth and Beauty, and the Graces fair,
Do him adorn; on him my love is plac'd:
But his neglect doth make my life to wast.
My Soul doth mourn, my Thoughts no rest can take;
He, by his scorn, doth me unhappy make.
With that she cry'd, O Death, said she, come quick,
And in my heart thy Leaden Arrow stick.
Crossing my Love, working my overthrow:
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For Youth and Beauty, and the Graces fair,
Do him adorn; on him my love is plac'd:
But his neglect doth make my life to wast.
My Soul doth mourn, my Thoughts no rest can take;
He, by his scorn, doth me unhappy make.
With that she cry'd, O Death, said she, come quick,
And in my heart thy Leaden Arrow stick.
Take comfort, Lady, grieve and weep no more,
For Nature handsome Men hath more in store:
Besides, dear Lady, Beauty will decay,
And with that Beauty love will flee away.
If you take time, this heat of Love will wast,
Because 'tis only on a Beauty plac'd.
But if your Love did from his Virtue spring,
You might have lov'd, though not so fond have been.
The love of Virtue is, for to admire
The Soul, and not the Body to desire:
That's a gross Love, which only dull Beasts use;
But Noble Man to love the Soul will chuse:
Because the Soul is like a Deity,
Therein pure Love will live eternally.
For Nature handsome Men hath more in store:
Besides, dear Lady, Beauty will decay,
And with that Beauty love will flee away.
If you take time, this heat of Love will wast,
Because 'tis only on a Beauty plac'd.
But if your Love did from his Virtue spring,
You might have lov'd, though not so fond have been.
The love of Virtue is, for to admire
The Soul, and not the Body to desire:
That's a gross Love, which only dull Beasts use;
But Noble Man to love the Soul will chuse:
Because the Soul is like a Deity,
Therein pure Love will live eternally.
O Sir, but Nature hath the Soul so fix'd
Unto the Body, and such Passions mix'd,
That nothing can divide or dis-unite,
Unless that Death will separate them quite:
For when the Senses in Delights agree,
They bind the Soul, make it a Slave to be.
Unto the Body, and such Passions mix'd,
That nothing can divide or dis-unite,
Unless that Death will separate them quite:
For when the Senses in Delights agree,
They bind the Soul, make it a Slave to be.
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He Answered,
If that the Soul in Man should give consentIn every thing the Senses to content,
No Peace, but War amongst Mankind would be,
And Desolation would have Victory:
No Man could tell or challenge what's his own;
He would be Master that is strongest grown.
Lady, love Virtue, and let Beauty dye,
And in the Grave of Ruins let it lye.
With that she rose, and with great joy, said she,
Farewell, fond Love, and foolish Vanity.
Farewell, fond Love, and foolish Vanity.
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