University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
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

collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionI. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionII. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A Dialogue betwixt Riches and Poverty.
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionIII. 
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
collapse sectionIV. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionV. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  

A Dialogue betwixt Riches and Poverty.

Riches.
I wealth, can make all Men of each Degree,
To Crouch, and Flatter, and to Follow me;
I many Cities Build, High, Thick, and Large,
And Armies raise, against each other Charge;
I make them lose their Lives for my dear Sake,
Though when they're Dead, they no Rewards can take;
I trample Truth under my Golden feet,
And tread down Innocence, that Flower sweet;
I gather Beauty, when 'tis newly blown,
Reap Chastity before 'tis Over-grown:
I Root out Virtue with a Golden Spade,
I Cut off Justice with a Golden Blade.
Pride and Ambition are my Vassals low,
And on their Heads I tread as I do go;
And by Mankind much more Ador'd am I,
Although but Earth, than the bright Sun that's high.

Poverty.
Riches, thou art a Slave, and Run'st about
On every Errant, thou Comest in, Goest out,
And Men of Honour set on thee no price,
Their Honesty or Virtue to Intice.
Some foolish Gamesters, which do love to play
At Cards and Dice, Corrupt perchance you may;
A Silly Virgin gather here and there,
That does Gay Cloaths and Jewels love to wear:
The Poor, which hate their Neighbour brave to see,
Perchance may seek and love your Company;
And those, that strive to please their Senses all,
If they want Wealth, and you pass by, may Call.

105

On Age, 'tis true, you have a great strong power;
For they Imbrace you, though they Dye next hour.

Riches.
You speak, poor Poverty, meer out of spight,
Because there's none with you doth take delight;
If you into Man's Company will thrust,
They call that Fortune ill, and most accurst;
Men are asham'd of you, you are so mean,
You are so Ragged, Torn, and so Unclean:
When I come in, much welcome do I find,
Great Joy there is, and Mirth in every Mind;
And every Door is Open set and wide,
And all within is busily Imploy'd;
There Neighbours all Invited are to see,
So proud they are in my dear Company.

Poverty.
'Tis Prodigality, you Brag so on,
Which never lets you Rest till you are gone;
Calls in for help to beat you out of Doors
His dear Companions, Drunkards, Gamesters, Whores.
What, though you're Brave, and Gay in outward show?
Within you're Foul and Beastly, as you know;
Besides, Debauchery is like a Sink,
And you are Father to that filthy Stink.
True, I am Thread-bare, and am very Lean,
Yet I am Decent, Sweet, and very Clean;
I Healthfull am, my Diet being spare,
You're full of Gouts, and Pains, and Surfeits fear:
I am Industrious, new Arts to find,
To ease the Body, and to please the Mind:
The World like to a Wilderness would be,
If it were not for the Poors Industry;
For Poverty doth set awork the Brains,
And all the Thoughts to labour and take pains;

106

The Mind ne're idle Sits, but is imploy'd,
Riches breed Sloth, and fill it full of Pride:
Riches, like Swine, in its own Mire doth lye,
Light Poverty, like Birds, on high doth Fly.