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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 Wit and Beauty.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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A Dialogue betwixt Wit and Beauty.

Wit.
Mixt Rose and Lilly why are you so proud,
Since Fair is not in all Minds like allow'd?
Some do like Black, some Brown, and some like White,
Some Eys in all Complexions take delight;
Nor doth one Beauty in the VVorld still Reign;
For Beauty is Created in the Brain.
But say there were a Body perfect made,
Complexion pure, by Nature's Pencil laid,
A Countenance where all sweet Spirits meet,
A Hair that's Thick, and Long, Curl'd to the Feet;
Yet were it like a Statue made of Stone,
The Eye would weary grow to Look upon;
Had it no VVit, the Mind still to delight,
It soon would weary be as well as Sight;
For VVit is fresh and new, doth sport and play,
And runs about the Humour every way;

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VVith all the Passions Wit can well agree,
Wit tempers them, and makes them pleas'd to be;
Ingenious 'tis, doth new Inventions find,
To ease the Body and divert the Mind.

Beauty.
When I appear, I strike the Optick Nerve,
I wound the Heart, and make the Passions serve;
Souls are my Pris'ners, yet do Love me well;
My company is Heav'n, my absence Hell;
Each Knee doth Bow to me, as to a Shrine,
And all the World accounts me as Divine.

Wit.
Beauty, you cannot long Devotion keep,
The Mind grows weary, Senses fall asleep;
As those which in the House of God do go,
Are very Zealous in a Pray'r or two;
But if they must an Hour-long kneel to Pray,
Their Zeal grows Cold, nor know they what they say;
So Admirations are, they do not last,
After Nine days the greatest Wonder's past;
The Mind, as th'Senses all, delights in Change,
They nothing Love, but what is new and strange:
But subtile Wit can please both long and well;
For to the Ear Wit a new Tale can tell,
And for the Taste doth dress Meat several ways,
To th'Eye it can new Forms and Fashions raise;
And for the Touch, Wit spins both Silk and Wool,
Invents new ways to keep Touch warm and cool:
For Sent, Wit mixtures and compounds doth make,
That still the Nose a fresh new Smell may take.
I by Discourse can represent the Mind
VVith several Objects, though the Eyes be Blind;
I'th' Brain I can Create Ideas, and
Those make to th'Mind seem Real, though but Feign'd;

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The Mind's a Shop, where sorts of Toys I Sell,
VVith fine Conceits I fit all Humours well:
I can the VVork of Nature imitate,
And in the Brain each several Shape Create.
I Conquer all, am Master of the Field,
And make fair Beauty in Love's VVarrs to yield.