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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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Of an Oak in a Grove.
  
  
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Of an Oak in a Grove.

A shady Grove, where Trees in equal space
Did Grow, seem'd like a Consecrated place;
Through spreading Boughs the Quivering Light broke in,
Much like to Glass or Crystal shiver'd thin,
VVhich, when it is on a Green Carpet strew'd,
So in this VVood the Light all broken shew'd;
Yet this disturbed Light the Grove did Grace,
As Sadness doth a Fair and Beauteous Face;
And in the midst an antient Oak stood there,
VVhich heretofore did many Offerings bear;
VVhose Branches all were Hung with Reliques round,
To shew, how many Men the Gods made Sound;
And for Reward, long Life the Gods did give
Unto this Oak, that he should Aged Live;
His Younger Years, when Acorns he did bear,
No Dandriff, Moss, but all Green Leaves grew there,
Wch Curl'd hung down his Shoulders, broad they spred,
His Crown was Thick, and Bushy was his Head;

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His Stature Tall, Full-breasted, Broad and Big,
His Body Round, and Strait was every Twig:
But Youth and Beauty, which are Shadows thin,
Do Fade away as if they ne're had been;
For all his Leaves and Smooth moist Rine was gone,
And he himself with Time all Bald was Grown;
VVhereas before his Arms fought with the Wind,
And his Bark did, like Skin, his Body bind,
VVhere he could Firm in all the Seasons stand,
And 'gainst all Blust'ring Storms his Face did bend;
He now by Age so Feebl' and Weak doth Grow,
That every Blast is apt him down to Throw;
His Branches all are Sear'd, his Bark grown Gray,
Most of his Rine with Time is Peel'd away;
The Liquid Sap, which from the Root did Spring,
And to each Thirsty Bough its Food did bring,
Is all Drunk up, there is no Moisture left;
The Root is Rotten, and the Body Cleft.
Thus Time doth Ruine, 'nd brings all to Decay,
Though to the Gods we still Devoutly Pray;
For this Old Oak was Sacred to Great Jove,
VVhich was the King of all the Gods above:
But Gods, when they Created things, they must,
Said they, all Dye at last, and turn to Dust.
 

It was a Custom in Antient Times to Hang their Offerings on Trees.