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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 | Natures Picture Drawn by Fancies Pencil To the Life |  |
There was a Man and Woman married were,
They liv'd just so as should a Married Pair;
Though their Bodies divided were in twain,
Their Souls agreed, as one they did remain:
They did so mutually agree in all,
This Man and Wife we only One may call.
They were not rich, nor were they very poor;
Not pinch'd with want, nor troubled with great store.
They did not labour for the Bread they eat,
Nor had they various or delicious Meat;
Nor many Servants had to vex their Mind,
Only one Maid that faithful was, and kind;
Whose VVork was just so much as to employ
Her so, as Idleness might not her annoy.
Thus decently and cleanly did they live,
And something had for Charity to give.
Her Pastime was to spin in Winter cold,
The whilst he read, and to her Stories told:
And in the pleasant Spring, fresh air to take,
To Neighbouring-Villages short Journeys make.
In Summer-Evenings they the Fields did round,
Or sit on Flow'ry-banks upon the ground:
And so, in Autumn they their walks did keep,
To see Men gather Grapes, or sheer their Sheep.
Nor did they miss Jove's Temple, once a day,
Both kneeling down unto the Gods to pray
For gracious Mercy, their poor Souls to save,
A healthful Life, an easie Death to have.
Thus did they live full forty years, and more;
At last Death comes, and knocketh at the dore,
And with his Dart he struck the Man full sick,
For which the Wife was almost Lunatick:
But she with care did watch, great pains did take;
Broths, Julips, Jellies, she with skill did make.
She most industrious was his pains to ease,
Studying always his Humour for to please:
For oft the sick are peevish, froward, cross,
And with their pains do tumble, groan, and toss,
On their sad Couches; quietly he lay,
And softly to himself to Heaven did pray.
Yet was he melancholy at the heart,
For nothing else, but from his VVife to part.
But when she did perceive his Life decay,
Close by his side, upon a Bed she lay,
Embrac'd and kist him oft, until his Breath
And Soul did part, drawn forth by powerful Death:
Art gone, said she? then I will follow straight;
For why my Soul upon thy Soul shall wait.
Then turn'd her self upon the other side,
In breathing-sighs and show'ring-tears she dy'd.
They liv'd just so as should a Married Pair;
Though their Bodies divided were in twain,
Their Souls agreed, as one they did remain:
They did so mutually agree in all,
This Man and Wife we only One may call.
They were not rich, nor were they very poor;
Not pinch'd with want, nor troubled with great store.
They did not labour for the Bread they eat,
Nor had they various or delicious Meat;
Nor many Servants had to vex their Mind,
Only one Maid that faithful was, and kind;
Whose VVork was just so much as to employ
Her so, as Idleness might not her annoy.
Thus decently and cleanly did they live,
And something had for Charity to give.
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The whilst he read, and to her Stories told:
And in the pleasant Spring, fresh air to take,
To Neighbouring-Villages short Journeys make.
In Summer-Evenings they the Fields did round,
Or sit on Flow'ry-banks upon the ground:
And so, in Autumn they their walks did keep,
To see Men gather Grapes, or sheer their Sheep.
Nor did they miss Jove's Temple, once a day,
Both kneeling down unto the Gods to pray
For gracious Mercy, their poor Souls to save,
A healthful Life, an easie Death to have.
Thus did they live full forty years, and more;
At last Death comes, and knocketh at the dore,
And with his Dart he struck the Man full sick,
For which the Wife was almost Lunatick:
But she with care did watch, great pains did take;
Broths, Julips, Jellies, she with skill did make.
She most industrious was his pains to ease,
Studying always his Humour for to please:
For oft the sick are peevish, froward, cross,
And with their pains do tumble, groan, and toss,
On their sad Couches; quietly he lay,
And softly to himself to Heaven did pray.
Yet was he melancholy at the heart,
For nothing else, but from his VVife to part.
But when she did perceive his Life decay,
Close by his side, upon a Bed she lay,
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And Soul did part, drawn forth by powerful Death:
Art gone, said she? then I will follow straight;
For why my Soul upon thy Soul shall wait.
Then turn'd her self upon the other side,
In breathing-sighs and show'ring-tears she dy'd.
| Natures Picture Drawn by Fancies Pencil To the Life | |