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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 between a Bountifull Knight and a Castle Ruin'd in Warr.
  
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A Dialogue between a Bountifull Knight and a Castle Ruin'd in Warr.

Knight.
Alas, poor Castle, how great is thy Change
From thy first Form! to me thou doest seem strange;
I left thee Comely, and in perfect Health,
Now thou art Wither'd and Decay'd in Wealth.

Castle.
O Noble Sir, I from your Stock was Rais'd,
Flourish'd in Plenty, and by all Men prais'd;
For your most Valiant Father did me Build,
Your Brother furnish'd me, my Neck did Gild;

109

Towers upon my Head like Crowns were plac'd,
VValls, like a Girdle, went about my VVaste;
And on this pleasant Hill he set me high,
To view the Vales below, as they do lye,
VVhere like a Garden is each Field and Close,
VVhere fresh green Grass, and yellow Cowslip grows;
There did I see fat Sheep in Pastures go,
And hear the Cows, whose Bags were full, to Low.
By Warrs I'm now Destroy'd, all Right's o're-powr'd,
Beauty and Innocency are Devour'd;
Before these VVarrs I was in my full Prime,
And held the greatest Beauty in my Time:
But, noble Sir, since I did see you last,
VVithin me has a Garrison been plac'd;
Their Guns and Pistols all about me hung,
And in despight their Bullets at me flung,
VVhich through my Sides those passages you see,
Made, and Destroy'd the Walls that Circled me,
And left my Rubbish on huge Heaps to lye;
VVith Dust I'm Choak'd, for want of Water dry:
For those small Leaden Pipes, which winding lay
Under the Ground, the Water to convey,
VVere all Cut off, the Water murmuring,
Run back with Grief to tell it to the Spring.
My Windows broke, the Winds blow in, and make,
That I with Cold like Shivering Agues shake:
O pitty me, dear Sir, release my Band,
Or let me Dye by your most Noble hand.

Knight.
Alas, poor Castle, I small help can bring,
Yet shall my Heart supply the former Spring,
From whence the Water of fresh Tears shall rise,
To quench thy Drought, I'l spout them from mine Eyes.

110

That VVealth I have, for to release thy Woe,
I'l offer for a Ransome to thy Foe;
But to restore thy Health, and build thy VVall,
I have not Means enough to do't withall;
Had I the Art, no Pains then I would spare,
But all what's Broken down I would Repair.

Castle.
Most noble Sir, you that me Freedome give,
May your great Name in After-ages Live;
This your great Bounty may the Gods requite,
And keep you from such Enemies and Spight;
And may great Fame your Praises sound aloud;
Gods give me Life to shew my Gratitude!

 

Bolsover Castle.