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 Anger and Patience.
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 | Poems, and phancies |  |
A Dialogue betwixt Anger and Patience.
Patience.Anger , why are you Hot and Fiery red?
Or else so Pale, as if you were quite Dead?
Your Spirits are disturb'd, you Senses lack,
Your Joynts unset, Flesh shakes, your Nerves grow slack;
Your Tongue doth move, but Speaks no word that's plain,
Or else they flow like Torrents caus'd by Rain.
Anger.
Lord, what a Bead-roul of Dislikes you tell!
If you were stung with Wrong, your Mind would swell:
Your Spirits would be set on Flame with Fire;
Or else grow Chil with Cold, and back retire.
Patience.
Alas, 'tis but your own Suspicion,
Sometimes you have no Ground to Build upon;
Suspicion is Deceitfull, runs about,
And often for a Truth takes VVrong, no doubt.
If you take Falshood up, ne're search things through,
You do great Wrong to Truth, and your Self too;
Besides, you Blind and Undiscerning fly,
On every Thing, though Innocence be by.
Anger.
O Patience, you are strict and seem precise,
And Counsels give, as if you were so Wise;
But you are Cruel, and fit times will take
For your Revenge, though you no shew do make;
Your Brows unknit, your Heart seems not to burn,
Yet on Suspicion will do a shrewd turn:
But I am Sudden, and do all in haste,
Yet in short time my Fury all is past.
107
The greatest Mischief lies but in the Tongue;
But you do Mischief, and your time will find
To work Revenge, though Quiet in your Mind.
Patience.
If I take time, I clearly then can see,
To view the Cause, and seek for Remedy;
If I have wrong, my Self I well may right,
But I do wrong, if Innocence I Smite;
The Knot of Anger by degrees unties,
Then falls that Muffler from Discretion's Eyes:
My Thoughts run clear and smooth, as Crystal brooks,
That every Face may see which therein Looks;
Though I run Low, yet wisely do I wind,
And many times through Mountains passage find;
When you Swell high, like to a flowing Sea,
For windy Passions ne're in Rest can be,
Where you are Roul'd in Waves, and Tost about,
Tormented, and can find no passage out.
Anger.
Patience, your Mouth with good Words you do fill,
And preach Morality, but you Act ill;
Besides, you seem a Coward full of Fear,
Or like an Ass, which doth great Burthens bear;
Let every Poultron strike and give you blows,
And every Fool in Scorn to wring your Nose:
Most of the World do think you have no Sense,
Because not Angry, nor do take Offence;
When I am thought right Wise, & of great Merit,
Heroick, Valorous, and of great Spirit:
For every one doth fear me to Offend,
And for to Please me, all their Forces bend;
I Flatter'd am, make Fear to run away:
Thus am I Master wheresoe're I stay.
108
That I in VVarrs may all the VVorld ingage.
Patience.
O Anger, you are Mad, there's none will Care
For your great Brags, but such as Cowards are;
Fear doth in VVomen and small Children dwell;
That you more Talk than Fight, VVisdome knows well;
Besides, great Courage takes me by the hand,
That whilst he Fights, I close by him must stand:
I want no Sense, Misfortunes to espy,
Although I Silent am, and do not Cry;
Ill Accidents and Grief I strive to Cure,
VVith Courage, what I cannot help, indure;
VVhilst you do Vex your Self with grievous Pains,
And nothing but Disturbance have for gains:
Let me advise you, Anger, take't not Ill,
That I do Offer you my Patience still;
For you in Danger live still all your Life,
And Mischief do, when you are hot in Strife.
| Poems, and phancies | |