The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle addressed to Margaret Lucas and her Letters in reply: Edited by Douglas Grant |
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 | The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle |  |
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The Mariage Songe
Wee'le Singe and all rejoyce,
Made happy by your Choyce;
Nature, wee finde,
Rob'd all your kinde,
Wee know tis true,
To make Up you.
So Women since doe paint and Curle,
Forst to art's dresse, with finer Purle:
What Nature wants they now supplie with arte,
So for to Cosen a poore lover's harte.
Made happy by your Choyce;
Nature, wee finde,
Rob'd all your kinde,
Wee know tis true,
To make Up you.
So Women since doe paint and Curle,
Forst to art's dresse, with finer Purle:
What Nature wants they now supplie with arte,
So for to Cosen a poore lover's harte.
But now, in spite of fate,
When lost was all my state,
What did you then?
Restor't againe.
Thus by your Love
I onely move,
And have my beinge and my life;
Thus by your bounty now my wife:
You first and great Example, we may call,
Of Love, to ruine thus your selfe of all.
When lost was all my state,
What did you then?
Restor't againe.
Thus by your Love
I onely move,
And have my beinge and my life;
Thus by your bounty now my wife:
You first and great Example, we may call,
Of Love, to ruine thus your selfe of all.
Venus, you may begon,
Of your love wee'le have non;
Nor such a toye
As is your Boye.
Then you must knowe
Wee scorne his Bowe
And Arrow; though his swiftest flight,
His love is blinde, ours sharpe of Sight:
His love is built of Nothinge but of folly;
Ours Virtue, Goodnesse, and all what is Holy.
Of your love wee'le have non;
Nor such a toye
As is your Boye.
Then you must knowe
Wee scorne his Bowe
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His love is blinde, ours sharpe of Sight:
His love is built of Nothinge but of folly;
Ours Virtue, Goodnesse, and all what is Holy.
Now you'r in bedd
With tremblinge Maidenhed,
T'is Civell to begone.
As the Preest made you one,
Make your selves so anone;
So all this plesant Night
Bee Love's Hermofredite,
And wee will out of sight:
Blest be the knott of holy Hymen
That thus in lovinge Nuptialls tie men.
With tremblinge Maidenhed,
T'is Civell to begone.
As the Preest made you one,
Make your selves so anone;
So all this plesant Night
Bee Love's Hermofredite,
And wee will out of sight:
Blest be the knott of holy Hymen
That thus in lovinge Nuptialls tie men.
| The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle | |