The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle addressed to Margaret Lucas and her Letters in reply: Edited by Douglas Grant |
 |
 | The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle |  |
40
30
Our Love dispiseing both Venus and Cupid
Who thinkes there is a Cupid,
His brayne is Very Stupid;
No paynted Winges or Bowe,
Ther's no such thinge I knowe;
Nor Lawne before his Eyes,
They are but Poett's Lyes;
Nor no such thinge as Ever
A glorious Silver Quiver,
Or Arrow's goldne Head
Makes Us Enamored:
Ther's no such thinge about him,
Then we will love without him.
His brayne is Very Stupid;
No paynted Winges or Bowe,
Ther's no such thinge I knowe;
Nor Lawne before his Eyes,
They are but Poett's Lyes;
Nor no such thinge as Ever
A glorious Silver Quiver,
Or Arrow's goldne Head
Makes Us Enamored:
Ther's no such thinge about him,
Then we will love without him.
Neyther his mother Venus,
The Poetts there did meane Us;
Nor yett her milke white doves,
All that is but our loves;
Nor is it a Reproach
To say shee hath no Coach,
Or Chariot, which some name it,
All gilte, for so they fame it,
Drawne in the purer skie;
In it the Poetts Lie:
Our love for that, instead
Of it, wee'le lye in bedd.
The Poetts there did meane Us;
Nor yett her milke white doves,
All that is but our loves;
Nor is it a Reproach
To say shee hath no Coach,
Or Chariot, which some name it,
All gilte, for so they fame it,
Drawne in the purer skie;
In it the Poetts Lie:
Our love for that, instead
Of it, wee'le lye in bedd.
Birds wooe and Kisse and Bill
Without a Cupid still;
And Beasts heapes Up love's treasure
And asks not Venus' pleasure;
Fishe, plants, too, never die,
Lives in their Proginie.
As theirs your love and myne;
They make no lofty Line,
Or in their love rehearse
A sad or witty Verse:
This is their love, t'is such;
Could we love halfe as much!
Without a Cupid still;
41
And asks not Venus' pleasure;
Fishe, plants, too, never die,
Lives in their Proginie.
As theirs your love and myne;
They make no lofty Line,
Or in their love rehearse
A sad or witty Verse:
This is their love, t'is such;
Could we love halfe as much!
| The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle | |