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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| II. |
A Complaint of VVater, Earth and Air against
the Sun, by way of Dialogue.
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 | Poems, and phancies |  |
A Complaint of VVater, Earth and Air against the Sun, by way of Dialogue.
Moisture to the Earth.
There's none hath such an Enemy, as I,
The Sun doth drink me up, when he is dry,
He Sucks me out of every hole I lye;
The Sun doth drink me up, when he is dry,
He Sucks me out of every hole I lye;
Draws me up high, from whence I down do fall,
In showers of rain I'm broke in pieces small,
Where I am forc'd to you for help to call.
In showers of rain I'm broke in pieces small,
Where I am forc'd to you for help to call.
You strait your precious Doors set open wide,
And take me in with hast on every side,
Then Joyn my Limbs fast in a Flowing tide.
And take me in with hast on every side,
Then Joyn my Limbs fast in a Flowing tide.
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Alas, dear Friend, the Sun's my greatest Foe,
Doth blast my tender Buds as they do grow;
He burns my Face, and makes it parch't and dry,
He sucks my Breast, and starves my Young thereby:
Thus I and all my Young for Thirst were slain,
But that with Wet you fill my Breast again.
Air to Earth and Moisture.
The Sun doth use me ill, as all the rest;
For his Hot sultry Beams do me molest;
Melts me into a thin and flowing Flame,
To make him Light, when Men it Day do name;
Corrupts me, makes me full of Plaguy sores,
And Putrefaction on Men's Bodies pours;
Or else with subtile Flame Men's Spirits fills,
Which them almost with Rage or Madness kills;
Draws me into a Length and Breadth, till I
Become so thin, with windy Wings do fly;
He never leaves, till all my Spirits spent,
And then I Dye, and leave no Monument.
The Sun to Earth.
O most unkind, and most ungratefull Earth,
I am thy Midwife, bring thy Young to Birth;
I with my Heat do cause thy Young to grow,
And with my Light I teach them how to go:
My shining Beams are Strings, whereon to hold,
For fear they fall and break their Limbs on Cold;
All to Maturity I bring, and give
Youth, Beauty, Strength, and make Old Age to Live.
The Sun to Water.
Dull Moisture I do Light and Active make,
And from it all Corrupt gross Humours take;
All Superfluities I dry up clean,
That nothing but pure Crystal Water's seen;
The hard-bound Cold I loosen and untye,
When you in Icy Chains a Prisoner lye:
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Your smooth and glassie Face grows wrinkled, old,
Then I do make you nimble, soft, and fair,
Liquid, and Nourishing, and Debonair.
The Sun to Air.
Air I do purge, and make it clear and bright,
Black clouds dissolve, wch make the day seem night;
The Crude raw Vapours I digest, and strain
The thicker part all into Showers of Rain;
The thinnest part I turn all into Wind,
Which like a Broom sweep out all Dirt, they find;
The clearest part I turn to Azure Sky,
Hang'd all with Stars; Thus next the Gods you lye.
| Poems, and phancies | |