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 |
 |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
| V. |
 | Poems, and phancies |  |
Poets have most Pleasure in this Life.
Nature most Pleasure doth to Poets give,
If Pleasure in Variety doth Live;
Each Sense of theirs by Fancy new is Fed,
VVhich Fancy in a Torrent Brain is bred;
Contrary 'tis to all that's Born on Earth;
For Fancy is Delighted most at's Birth:
What else is Born, with Pain's accompanied,
Has neither Beauty, Strength, nor Growth beside;
But Fancies need no time to make them Grow,
The Brain's like Gods from whence all things do flow.
If Pleasure in Variety doth Live;
Each Sense of theirs by Fancy new is Fed,
VVhich Fancy in a Torrent Brain is bred;
Contrary 'tis to all that's Born on Earth;
For Fancy is Delighted most at's Birth:
What else is Born, with Pain's accompanied,
Has neither Beauty, Strength, nor Growth beside;
But Fancies need no time to make them Grow,
The Brain's like Gods from whence all things do flow.
A Garden they've, which Paradise we call,
Forbidden Fruits, which tempt young Lovers all,
Grow on a Tree, which in the midst doth stand,
Beauty on one, Desire on th'other hand;
The Devil's Self-conceit, who Craftily
Doth take the Serpents shape of Flattery,
For to deceive the Female Sex thereby,
Which made is only of Inconstancy;
The Male, high Credence, to the Female Sex
Yields fondly any thing which they do ask:
Two Rivers round this Garden run about,
The one is Confidence, the other Doubt;
And every Bank is set with Fancy's Flowers,
Wit Rains upon them fine refreshing Showers;
Truth is the Lord and Owner of this place,
But Ignorance this Garden out will raze.
Forbidden Fruits, which tempt young Lovers all,
Grow on a Tree, which in the midst doth stand,
Beauty on one, Desire on th'other hand;
The Devil's Self-conceit, who Craftily
Doth take the Serpents shape of Flattery,
For to deceive the Female Sex thereby,
Which made is only of Inconstancy;
The Male, high Credence, to the Female Sex
Yields fondly any thing which they do ask:
Two Rivers round this Garden run about,
The one is Confidence, the other Doubt;
And every Bank is set with Fancy's Flowers,
Wit Rains upon them fine refreshing Showers;
187
But Ignorance this Garden out will raze.
Then from this place they to a Forest go,
Where many Cedars of high Knowledge grow;
Oaks of strong Judgment, Hasle-Wit, which Tree
Bears Nuts full of Conceits when Crackt they be;
And smooth-tongu'd Beech, kind-hearted Willow bows
And yields to all that Honesty allows;
There Birds of Eloquence do Sit and Sing,
Build Nests of Logick, Reasons forth to bring;
Some Birds of Sophistry, till Hatch'd there lye,
Wing'd with false Principles away they Fly;
And here the Poet Hawks, Hunts, runs a Race,
Untill he weary grows, then leaves this place,
And goes a Fishing to a River's side,
Whose Water clear doth Flow with Fancy's Tide;
Angles with Wit to catch the Fish of Fame,
To feed his Mem'ry, and preserve his Name;
Ships of Ambition he Builds, swift and strong,
Sails of Imaginations drive 'em along;
With Winds of several Praises they fill'd full,
Swim on the Salt Brain's Sea round the World's Scull;
The Thoughts are Mariners, which, that they may
'Scape Ship-wracks of Dislike, work Night and Day;
Some Ships are cast upon the Sands of Spight,
And Rocks of Malice sometimes Split them quite:
But Merchant-Poets, whose Ship-Master's Mind,
Do Compass take some unknown Land to find.
Where many Cedars of high Knowledge grow;
Oaks of strong Judgment, Hasle-Wit, which Tree
Bears Nuts full of Conceits when Crackt they be;
And smooth-tongu'd Beech, kind-hearted Willow bows
And yields to all that Honesty allows;
There Birds of Eloquence do Sit and Sing,
Build Nests of Logick, Reasons forth to bring;
Some Birds of Sophistry, till Hatch'd there lye,
Wing'd with false Principles away they Fly;
And here the Poet Hawks, Hunts, runs a Race,
Untill he weary grows, then leaves this place,
And goes a Fishing to a River's side,
Whose Water clear doth Flow with Fancy's Tide;
Angles with Wit to catch the Fish of Fame,
To feed his Mem'ry, and preserve his Name;
Ships of Ambition he Builds, swift and strong,
Sails of Imaginations drive 'em along;
With Winds of several Praises they fill'd full,
Swim on the Salt Brain's Sea round the World's Scull;
The Thoughts are Mariners, which, that they may
'Scape Ship-wracks of Dislike, work Night and Day;
Some Ships are cast upon the Sands of Spight,
And Rocks of Malice sometimes Split them quite:
But Merchant-Poets, whose Ship-Master's Mind,
Do Compass take some unknown Land to find.
| Poems, and phancies | |