Poems, and phancies written By the Thrice Noble, Illustrious, And Excellent Princess The Lady Marchioness of Newcastle [i.e. Margaret Cavendish]. The Second Impression, much Altered and Corrected |
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Of the Death and Burial of Truth.
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 | Poems, and phancies |  |
Of the Death and Burial of Truth.
Truth in the Golden Age had Health and Strength,But in the Silver Age grew Lean at length;
I'th' Brazen Age sore Sick Abed did lye,
And in the last hard Iron Age did Dye.
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Were her Executors, to whom she Trust,
Which did Distribute all her Goods about
To her Dear Friends, and Legacies gave out:
First Usefull Arts, the Life of Man to Ease,
Then those of Pleasure, which the Mind do please;
Distinguishments from this to that to show,
What's best to take or leave, which way to go;
Experiments to shun, or to apply,
Either for Health, or Peace, or what to fly;
And Sympathies, which do the World unite,
Which else Antipathies would Ruine quite:
This Will and Testament she left behind,
And as her Deed of Gift unto Mankind.
Mourning she gave to all her Friends to wear,
And did appoint that four her Hearse should bear;
Love at the Head did hold the Winding Sheet,
On each Side Care and Fear, Sorrow the Feet:
This Sheet at every Corner fast was Ty'd,
Made of Oblivion, Strong and very VVide;
Nat'ral Affections, all in Mourning clad,
VVent next the Hearse, with Grief Distracted, Mad,
Their Hair, their Face, their Hands, tore, scratch'd, & wrung,
And from their Eyes Fountains of Tears out-sprung;
For Truth, said they, did always with us Live,
But now she's Dead, there is no Truth to give:
After came Kings which all Good Laws did make,
And Power us'd for Truth and Virtue's sake;
Next Honour came in Garments black and long,
VVith Blubber'd Face, and down her Head she hung,
VVho wish'd to Dye, for Life was now a Pain,
Since Truth was Dead, Honour no more could Gain:
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With shamefac't Eyes, quick Pulse, and shortned Breath,
And in each Hand a Bleeding Heart did bring,
VVhich they into the Grave of Truth did fling;
And ever since Lovers Inconstant prove,
They more Profession give than Real Love.
Next them came Counsellours of all Degrees,
From Courts, and Countries, and from Chief Cities
Their wise Heads were a Guard, and a strong Wall,
So long as Truth did Live amongst them all:
All Sorts of Tradesmen, using not to Swear,
So long as Truth, not Oaths, Sold off their Ware.
Physicians came, not those that Try for Skil
New ways, and for Experience many Kill,
But which use Simples good, by Nature sent,
To strengthen Man, and Sickness to prevent.
Judges, and Lawyers came, not Wrangling, Base,
But which for Truth did Plead, decide each Case;
Widows, which to their Husbands kind had Swore,
That, when they Dyed, they'ld never Marry more:
At last the Clergy came, which taught Truth's way,
And how Men in Devotion ought to Pray,
Who did Mens Lives by Moral Laws direct,
Perswade to Peace, and Governours Respect;
They wept for Grief, as Prophets did fore-tell,
That all the World with Falshood would Rebell;
Faction will come, said they, and bear great Sway,
And Bribes shall all the Innocent betray;
VVithin the Church shall Controversies rise,
And Heresies shall bear away the Prize;
Instead of Peace the Priests shall Discords Preach,
And high Rebellion in their Doctrines Teach:
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Which Learning only serves for Lawyers gain;
For they do make, and spread them like a Net,
To catch in Clients, and their Money get:
The Laws, which Wise Men made for to keep Peace,
Serve only now for Quarrels to Increase.
All those that Sit in Honour's Stately Throne,
Are Counterfeits, not any Perfect known;
They put on Vizzards of an honest Face,
But all their Acts unworthy are, and base;
Friendship in Words and Complements shall Live,
But in the Heart not one Nights Lodging give;
Lovers shall Dye for Lust, yet Love not One,
And Virtue unregarded Sit alone.
Now Truth is Dead, no Goodness here shall Dwell,
But with Disorder make each place a Hell;
With that they all did Shriek, Lament, and Cry
To Nature, for to End their Misery;
And now this Iron Age's so Rusty grown,
That all the Hearts are turn'd to hard Flint-stone.
| Poems, and phancies | |