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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The Windy Gyants.
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 | Poems, and phancies |  |
The Windy Gyants.
The four chief Winds are Gyants high in Length,
And as Broad set, and wondrous Great in Strength;
Their Heads are more (as it doth clear appear)
Than all the Moneths or Seasons of the Year;
Nay, some say more than all the Days and Nights,
And some, th'are Numberless and Infinites.
And as Broad set, and wondrous Great in Strength;
Their Heads are more (as it doth clear appear)
Than all the Moneths or Seasons of the Year;
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And some, th'are Numberless and Infinites.
The first four Heads are Largest of them all,
The Twelve are next, the Thirty two but small;
The rest so Little, and their Breath so weak,
Their Mouths so Narrow, that they hardly Speak:
These Gyants are so Lustfull and so Wild,
As they by Force do get the Earth with Child;
Whereof her Belly Swells, and Big doth Grow,
Untill her Time to which she hath to go;
Which being near, she doth so Groan and Shake,
Till she be brought to Bed of an Earth-quake:
This Child of Wind doth Ruine all its meets,
Rents Rocks and Mountains like to Paper-sheets;
It Swallows Cities, and the Heav'ns doth Tear,
It Threatens Jove, and makes the Gods to fear.
The Twelve are next, the Thirty two but small;
The rest so Little, and their Breath so weak,
Their Mouths so Narrow, that they hardly Speak:
These Gyants are so Lustfull and so Wild,
As they by Force do get the Earth with Child;
Whereof her Belly Swells, and Big doth Grow,
Untill her Time to which she hath to go;
Which being near, she doth so Groan and Shake,
Till she be brought to Bed of an Earth-quake:
This Child of Wind doth Ruine all its meets,
Rents Rocks and Mountains like to Paper-sheets;
It Swallows Cities, and the Heav'ns doth Tear,
It Threatens Jove, and makes the Gods to fear.
The North-wind's Cold, his Nerves are Dry and Strong,
He pulls up Oaks, and lays them all along;
In Icy Fetters he binds Rivers fast,
And doth Imprison Fish in th'Ocean Vast;
Plows up the Seas, and Hail for Seed in flings,
Whence Crops of Over-flows the Tide in brings;
He drives the Clouds in Troops, and makes them Run,
And Blows, as if he would put out the Sun.
He pulls up Oaks, and lays them all along;
In Icy Fetters he binds Rivers fast,
And doth Imprison Fish in th'Ocean Vast;
Plows up the Seas, and Hail for Seed in flings,
Whence Crops of Over-flows the Tide in brings;
He drives the Clouds in Troops, and makes them Run,
And Blows, as if he would put out the Sun.
The Southern-wind, who is as Fierce as he,
And to the Sun as Great an Enemy,
Doth raise an Army of thick Clouds and Mists,
With which he thinks to do just as he Lists;
Flinging up Waters to quench out his Light,
And in his Face black Clouds to hide his Sight:
But the Bright Sun cannot endure this Scorn,
But doth them all in Showres of Rain return.
And to the Sun as Great an Enemy,
Doth raise an Army of thick Clouds and Mists,
With which he thinks to do just as he Lists;
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And in his Face black Clouds to hide his Sight:
But the Bright Sun cannot endure this Scorn,
But doth them all in Showres of Rain return.
The Western-wind without Ambitious ends,
Doth what he can to Joyn and make them Friends;
For he is of a Nature Sweet and Mild,
And not so Head-strong, Cruel, Rough and Wild;
He's Soft to Touch, and Pleasant to the Ear,
His Voice Sounds Sweet, and Small, and very Clear,
And makes Hot Love to young fresh Buds that Spring,
They give him Sweets, wch he through th'Air doth fling,
Not through Dislike, but for to make them known,
As Pictures are for Beauteous Faces shown.
Doth what he can to Joyn and make them Friends;
For he is of a Nature Sweet and Mild,
And not so Head-strong, Cruel, Rough and Wild;
He's Soft to Touch, and Pleasant to the Ear,
His Voice Sounds Sweet, and Small, and very Clear,
And makes Hot Love to young fresh Buds that Spring,
They give him Sweets, wch he through th'Air doth fling,
Not through Dislike, but for to make them known,
As Pictures are for Beauteous Faces shown.
But O! the Eastern-wind, he's full of Spight,
Diseases brings, which Cruelly do Bite;
Kills Buds, and Corn, as in the Blade it stands,
To Sheep the Rot, to Men the Plague he sends;
Nay, he's of such Ill Nature, that he would
Destroy the World with Poyson, if he could.
Diseases brings, which Cruelly do Bite;
Kills Buds, and Corn, as in the Blade it stands,
To Sheep the Rot, to Men the Plague he sends;
Nay, he's of such Ill Nature, that he would
Destroy the World with Poyson, if he could.
| Poems, and phancies | |