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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A Dialogue betwixt Birds.
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 | Poems, and phancies |  |
A Dialogue betwixt Birds.
As I abroad in Fields and VVoods did walk,
I heard the Birds of several things did talk;
And on the Boughs would Gossip, Prate, and Chat,
And every one Discourse of this and that.
I heard the Birds of several things did talk;
And on the Boughs would Gossip, Prate, and Chat,
And every one Discourse of this and that.
I, said the Lark, before the Sun do rise,
And take my Flight up to the highest Skies,
There sing some Notes to raise Apollo's Head,
For fear that he might lye too long in Bed;
And as I mount, or as I come down low,
Still do I Sing which way soe're I go;
My Body, as 't winds up, just like a Screw,
So doth my Voice wind up a Trillo too.
What Bird, besides my Self, both Flies and Sings?
My Trilloes keep Tune to my Flutt'ring wings.
And take my Flight up to the highest Skies,
There sing some Notes to raise Apollo's Head,
For fear that he might lye too long in Bed;
And as I mount, or as I come down low,
Still do I Sing which way soe're I go;
My Body, as 't winds up, just like a Screw,
So doth my Voice wind up a Trillo too.
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My Trilloes keep Tune to my Flutt'ring wings.
I, said the Nightingale, all Night do watch,
For fear a Serpent should my Young ones catch;
To keep back Sleep, I several Tunes do Sing,
VVhich are so Pleasant, that they Lovers bring
Into the Woods, who Listning sit and mark,
When I begin to Sing, they Cry, Hark, hark;
Stretching my Throat to raise my Trilloes high,
To gain their Praises, makes me almost Dye.
For fear a Serpent should my Young ones catch;
To keep back Sleep, I several Tunes do Sing,
VVhich are so Pleasant, that they Lovers bring
Into the Woods, who Listning sit and mark,
When I begin to Sing, they Cry, Hark, hark;
Stretching my Throat to raise my Trilloes high,
To gain their Praises, makes me almost Dye.
Then comes the Owl, which says, Here's such a do
With your sweet Voice, through spite crys Wit-a-woo.
With your sweet Voice, through spite crys Wit-a-woo.
In VVinter, said the Robin, I should Dye,
But that I in a good warm House do fly,
And there do pick up Crums which make me fat,
But oft I'm scar'd away with the Puss-cat;
If they molest me not, then I grow bold,
And stay so long, whilst Winter Tales are told:
Man Superstitiously dares not hurt me;
For if I'm kill'd or hurt, ill Luck shall be.
But that I in a good warm House do fly,
And there do pick up Crums which make me fat,
But oft I'm scar'd away with the Puss-cat;
If they molest me not, then I grow bold,
And stay so long, whilst Winter Tales are told:
Man Superstitiously dares not hurt me;
For if I'm kill'd or hurt, ill Luck shall be.
The Sparrow said, Would our case were no worse,
But men do with their Nets us take by force;
With Guns and Bows they shoot us from the Trees,
And by small Shot we oft our Lives do leese,
Because we pick a Cherry here and there,
VVhen God knows we do eat them in great fear;
But Men will eat untill their Bellies burst,
And Surfets take; if we eat, we are Curst;
Yet we by Nature are Revenged still,
For Eating over-much themselves they Kill.
And if a Child do chance to Cry and Brawl,
They do us Catch, to please that Child withall;
With threads they tye our Legs almost to crack,
And when we Hop away, they pull us back;
And when they Cry, Fip, Fip, strait we must come,
And for our pains they'l give us one small Crum.
But men do with their Nets us take by force;
With Guns and Bows they shoot us from the Trees,
And by small Shot we oft our Lives do leese,
Because we pick a Cherry here and there,
VVhen God knows we do eat them in great fear;
But Men will eat untill their Bellies burst,
And Surfets take; if we eat, we are Curst;
Yet we by Nature are Revenged still,
For Eating over-much themselves they Kill.
And if a Child do chance to Cry and Brawl,
They do us Catch, to please that Child withall;
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And when we Hop away, they pull us back;
And when they Cry, Fip, Fip, strait we must come,
And for our pains they'l give us one small Crum.
I wonder, said Mag-pye, you Grumble so,
Dame Sparrow, we are us'd much worse, I trow;
For they our Tongues do Slit, their words to Learn,
And with this Pain our Food we dearly Earn.
Dame Sparrow, we are us'd much worse, I trow;
For they our Tongues do Slit, their words to Learn,
And with this Pain our Food we dearly Earn.
Why, said the Finches, and the Linnets all,
Do you so Prate, Mag-pye, and so much Bawl?
As if no Birds besides were wrong'd but you,
When we by Cruel men are Injur'd too;
For we to Learn their Tunes are kept awake,
That with their VVhistling we no rest can take;
In Darkness we are kept, no Light must see,
Till we have Learn'd their Tunes most perfectly:
But Jack-daws, they may dwell their Houses nigh,
And Build their Nests in Elms, that do grow high,
And there may Prate and Fly from place to place;
For why? they think they give their House a grace.
Do you so Prate, Mag-pye, and so much Bawl?
As if no Birds besides were wrong'd but you,
When we by Cruel men are Injur'd too;
For we to Learn their Tunes are kept awake,
That with their VVhistling we no rest can take;
In Darkness we are kept, no Light must see,
Till we have Learn'd their Tunes most perfectly:
But Jack-daws, they may dwell their Houses nigh,
And Build their Nests in Elms, that do grow high,
And there may Prate and Fly from place to place;
For why? they think they give their House a grace.
Lord! said the Patridge, Cock, Puet, Snite & Quail,
Pigeons and Larks, My Masters why d'ye Rail?
You're kept from Winters cold, and Summers heat,
Are taught new Tunes, and have good store of Meat;
You have your Servants, yet give them no wages,
Which do make Clean your foul and dirty Cages,
When we poor Birds are by the Dozens kill'd,
Luxurious Men us Eat, till they be fill'd,
And of our Flesh do make such Cruel waste,
That but some of our Limbs will please their Taste;
In Wood-cocks Thighs they only take delight,
And Patridge wings, wch swift were in their Flight;
The smaller Lark they eat all at one bite,
But every part is good of Quail and Snite;
The murth'rous Hawk they keep, us for to catch,
And teach their Dogs to Crouch, and Creep, and Watch,
Untill they spring us into Nets & Toils,
And thus, poor Creatures, we are made man's Spoils.
O! Cruel Nature made us Tame and Mild,
They happy are, which are more Fierce and VVild;
O would our Flesh had been like Carrion Coarse,
VVhich to eat only Famine might inforce;
But now, when th'eat us, may they Surfeits take,
May they be Poor, when they Feasts of us make;
The more they eat, the Leaner may they grow,
Or else so Fat, as not to stirr nor go.
Pigeons and Larks, My Masters why d'ye Rail?
You're kept from Winters cold, and Summers heat,
Are taught new Tunes, and have good store of Meat;
You have your Servants, yet give them no wages,
Which do make Clean your foul and dirty Cages,
When we poor Birds are by the Dozens kill'd,
Luxurious Men us Eat, till they be fill'd,
And of our Flesh do make such Cruel waste,
That but some of our Limbs will please their Taste;
In Wood-cocks Thighs they only take delight,
And Patridge wings, wch swift were in their Flight;
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But every part is good of Quail and Snite;
The murth'rous Hawk they keep, us for to catch,
And teach their Dogs to Crouch, and Creep, and Watch,
Untill they spring us into Nets & Toils,
And thus, poor Creatures, we are made man's Spoils.
O! Cruel Nature made us Tame and Mild,
They happy are, which are more Fierce and VVild;
O would our Flesh had been like Carrion Coarse,
VVhich to eat only Famine might inforce;
But now, when th'eat us, may they Surfeits take,
May they be Poor, when they Feasts of us make;
The more they eat, the Leaner may they grow,
Or else so Fat, as not to stirr nor go.
O, Said the Swallow, let me mourn in Black,
For of Man's Cruelty I do not lack;
I am the Messenger of Summer VVarm,
Neither pick Fruit nor Corn, nor do I harm,
Yet Men will take us, when alive we be,
I Shake to tell, O horrid Cruelty!
Beat us alive till we an Oyl become;
Can there to Birds be a worse Martyrdome?
O Man, O Man! if we should serve you so,
You would against us your great Curses throw.
But Nature she is good, do not her blame,
VVe ought to give her Thanks, and not Exclame;
For Love is Nature's chiefest Law in Mind,
Hate but an Accident to Love we find.
'Tis true Self-preservation is the chief,
But Luxury to Nature is a Thief;
Corrupted manners always do breed Vice,
VVhich by Persuasion doth the Mind intice;
No Creature doth usurp so much as Man,
VVho thinks himself like God, because he can
Rule other Creatures, and make them Obey;
Our Souls did never Nature make, say they,
VVhat ever Comes from Nature's stock and Treasure,
Created is only to serve their Pleasure;
Although the life of Bodies comes from Nature,
Yet still the Souls come from the Great Creator,
And they shall Live, when we to Dust do turn,
Either in Bliss, or in hot Flames to burn.
For of Man's Cruelty I do not lack;
I am the Messenger of Summer VVarm,
Neither pick Fruit nor Corn, nor do I harm,
Yet Men will take us, when alive we be,
I Shake to tell, O horrid Cruelty!
Beat us alive till we an Oyl become;
Can there to Birds be a worse Martyrdome?
O Man, O Man! if we should serve you so,
You would against us your great Curses throw.
But Nature she is good, do not her blame,
VVe ought to give her Thanks, and not Exclame;
For Love is Nature's chiefest Law in Mind,
Hate but an Accident to Love we find.
'Tis true Self-preservation is the chief,
But Luxury to Nature is a Thief;
Corrupted manners always do breed Vice,
VVhich by Persuasion doth the Mind intice;
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VVho thinks himself like God, because he can
Rule other Creatures, and make them Obey;
Our Souls did never Nature make, say they,
VVhat ever Comes from Nature's stock and Treasure,
Created is only to serve their Pleasure;
Although the life of Bodies comes from Nature,
Yet still the Souls come from the Great Creator,
And they shall Live, when we to Dust do turn,
Either in Bliss, or in hot Flames to burn.
Then came the Parrot with her painted Wing,
Spake like an Oratour in every thing.
Sister Jay, Neighbour Daw, and Gossip Pye,
We taken are not like the rest to Dye,
Only to Talk and Prate, the best we can,
To imitate to th'life the Speech of Man;
And Just like Men, we pass our time away,
For many, but not one Wise word we say,
And speak as gravely Non-sense as the best,
As full of Empty words as all the rest;
Then Nature we will praise, because we have,
Tongues given us like to Men, our Lives to save.
Mourn not, my Friends, but Sing in Sun-shine gay,
And while you've time, Joy in your selves you may:
What, though your lives be Short, yet Merry be,
Do not Complain, but in Delights agree.
Spake like an Oratour in every thing.
Sister Jay, Neighbour Daw, and Gossip Pye,
We taken are not like the rest to Dye,
Only to Talk and Prate, the best we can,
To imitate to th'life the Speech of Man;
And Just like Men, we pass our time away,
For many, but not one Wise word we say,
And speak as gravely Non-sense as the best,
As full of Empty words as all the rest;
Then Nature we will praise, because we have,
Tongues given us like to Men, our Lives to save.
Mourn not, my Friends, but Sing in Sun-shine gay,
And while you've time, Joy in your selves you may:
What, though your lives be Short, yet Merry be,
Do not Complain, but in Delights agree.
Strait came the Tit-mouse with a frowning face,
And hopt about as in an angry pace,
My Masters all, what's matter? are you mad?
Is no regard unto the Publick had?
Are Private home affairs cast all aside?
Your Young ones Cry for meat, 'tis time to chide;
For shame disperse your selves, some pains do take
Both for the Publick and your Young ones sake,
And sit not murmuring against great Man,
Unless some way revenge our selves we can;
Alas, alas! we want their Shape, for they
By it have power to make us all Obey;
They can lift, bear, strike, pull, thrust, turn and wind
What ways they will, which makes, new arts they find;
'Tis not their Wit, that doth Inventions make,
But 'tis their Shape, wch height, breadth, depth can take;
Thus they can measure this great Worldly Ball,
And Numbers set, to prove the Truth of all.
What Creature else has Arms, or goes Upright,
Or has all sorts of Motion so unite?
Man by his Shape can Nature imitate,
Can govern, rule, and can new Arts create:
Then come away, since Talk no good can do,
And what we cannot Help, Submit unto.
Then some their Wives, some did their Husbands call,
To gather Sticks to Build their Nests withall;
Some Shrews did scold; Winds had destroy'd their Nest,
They had no place where to abide, or rest;
For all they'd gather'd with great Pains and Care,
Those sticks & straws were blown they knew not where.
But none did Labour like the little Wren,
To Build for her Young ones her Nest agen;
For she doth lay more Eggs than all the rest,
And with much Art and Skil doth Build her Nest.
The Young made Love, and Kiss'd each others Bill,
The Cock catch'd Flies to give his Mistress still;
The Yellow-Hammer cried, 'tis Wet, 'tis Wet,
For it will Rain before the Sun doth set;
Taking their Flight as each Mind thought it best,
Some flew Abroad, and some Home to their Nest;
Some gather'd Corn which out of Sheaves was strew'd,
And some did pick up Seed that new was Sow'd;
Some courage had a Cherry Ripe to take,
Others catch'd Flies when they a Feast would make;
And some did pick up Ants, and Eggs, though small,
And brought them Home to feed their Young withall;
When every Crop was fill'd, and Night drew nigh,
Then did they stretch their VVings, fast home to fly:
For like as Men, when they from Markets come,
Set out Alone, but every Mile adds some,
Untill a Troop of Neighbours get together,
So do a Flight of Birds in Sun-shine weather.
VVhen to their Nest they got, Lord! how they Bawl'd,
And every one to his next Neighbour call'd,
Asking each other if they Weary wear,
Rejoycing at past Dangers and great Fear.
When they their Wings had prun'd, and Young ones fed,
Sate Gossiping before they went to Bed;
The Blak-bird said, Let us a Carol sing,
Before we Sleep in this fine Evening;
The Thrushes, Linnets, Finches taking parts,
A Consort made by Nature, not by Arts:
But all their Songs were Hymns to God on high,
Praising his Name, blessing his Majesty;
And when they ask'd for Gifts, to God did pray,
He would be pleas'd to give them a fair Day.
At last they Drowsie grew, ready to Sleep,
And then instead of Singing, cried Peep, peep;
As th'Eye, when Sense is Locking up to rest,
Is neither open wide, nor yet shut fast;
So by degrees a Voice is falling found;
For as a Shadow, so doth waste a Sound:
Thus went to rest each Head under each Wing;
For Sleep brings Peace to every Living thing.
And hopt about as in an angry pace,
My Masters all, what's matter? are you mad?
Is no regard unto the Publick had?
Are Private home affairs cast all aside?
Your Young ones Cry for meat, 'tis time to chide;
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Both for the Publick and your Young ones sake,
And sit not murmuring against great Man,
Unless some way revenge our selves we can;
Alas, alas! we want their Shape, for they
By it have power to make us all Obey;
They can lift, bear, strike, pull, thrust, turn and wind
What ways they will, which makes, new arts they find;
'Tis not their Wit, that doth Inventions make,
But 'tis their Shape, wch height, breadth, depth can take;
Thus they can measure this great Worldly Ball,
And Numbers set, to prove the Truth of all.
What Creature else has Arms, or goes Upright,
Or has all sorts of Motion so unite?
Man by his Shape can Nature imitate,
Can govern, rule, and can new Arts create:
Then come away, since Talk no good can do,
And what we cannot Help, Submit unto.
Then some their Wives, some did their Husbands call,
To gather Sticks to Build their Nests withall;
Some Shrews did scold; Winds had destroy'd their Nest,
They had no place where to abide, or rest;
For all they'd gather'd with great Pains and Care,
Those sticks & straws were blown they knew not where.
But none did Labour like the little Wren,
To Build for her Young ones her Nest agen;
For she doth lay more Eggs than all the rest,
And with much Art and Skil doth Build her Nest.
The Young made Love, and Kiss'd each others Bill,
The Cock catch'd Flies to give his Mistress still;
The Yellow-Hammer cried, 'tis Wet, 'tis Wet,
For it will Rain before the Sun doth set;
92
Some flew Abroad, and some Home to their Nest;
Some gather'd Corn which out of Sheaves was strew'd,
And some did pick up Seed that new was Sow'd;
Some courage had a Cherry Ripe to take,
Others catch'd Flies when they a Feast would make;
And some did pick up Ants, and Eggs, though small,
And brought them Home to feed their Young withall;
When every Crop was fill'd, and Night drew nigh,
Then did they stretch their VVings, fast home to fly:
For like as Men, when they from Markets come,
Set out Alone, but every Mile adds some,
Untill a Troop of Neighbours get together,
So do a Flight of Birds in Sun-shine weather.
VVhen to their Nest they got, Lord! how they Bawl'd,
And every one to his next Neighbour call'd,
Asking each other if they Weary wear,
Rejoycing at past Dangers and great Fear.
When they their Wings had prun'd, and Young ones fed,
Sate Gossiping before they went to Bed;
The Blak-bird said, Let us a Carol sing,
Before we Sleep in this fine Evening;
The Thrushes, Linnets, Finches taking parts,
A Consort made by Nature, not by Arts:
But all their Songs were Hymns to God on high,
Praising his Name, blessing his Majesty;
And when they ask'd for Gifts, to God did pray,
He would be pleas'd to give them a fair Day.
At last they Drowsie grew, ready to Sleep,
And then instead of Singing, cried Peep, peep;
As th'Eye, when Sense is Locking up to rest,
Is neither open wide, nor yet shut fast;
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For as a Shadow, so doth waste a Sound:
Thus went to rest each Head under each Wing;
For Sleep brings Peace to every Living thing.
| Poems, and phancies | |