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. |
A Battel between Life and Death.
|
|
|
 | Poems, and phancies |  |
259
A Battel between Life and Death.
There is a Cruel Battel 'twixt two Foes,
When Nature will Decide it, none yet knows;
These two are Life and Death, which th'World divide,
And while it Lasts, the Cause will none decide.
First, Life is Active, seeking to Injoy,
And Death is Envious, striving to Destroy;
When Life a Curious piece of VVork doth make,
And thinks, she will therein some Pleasure take,
Then in comes Death with Rancor and with Spleen,
Destroys it so, that nothing can be seen;
For fear, the Ruins Beauty might present,
Leaves not so much to make Live's Monument:
This makes Life Mourn, to see her Pains and Cost
Destroy'd, for what she doth, in Death is lost;
VVeeping Complains at Natures Cruelty,
VVhich did Her make only Death's Slave to be;
I am his Food, his sharp Teeth do me Tear,
VVhen I Cry, he no Pity hath, nor Care;
The Pain, he puts me in, doth make me Roar,
And his Pale Face, that's Grim, affrights me Sore;
VVhen I do think away from him to Run,
I fall into his Jaws, no ways can shun.
But why do I thus Sigh, Mourn, and Lament,
And use no means his Inj'ry to prevent?
I will call all my Friends, their Strength to try,
I'l either Perish quite, or Death shall Dye;
Then brings she Motion, nimble at each turn,
And Courage, which like unto Fire doth Burn,
Preventing, and Inventing Wits, to make
Sconces and Forts, too Strong for Death to take;
A Regiment of Arts, which with their Skil,
Assault her Foes, and them sometimes do Kill;
A Brigade of clear Strengths stands firm and sure,
And can all feirce Assaults of Death endure;
A Party of good Healths, Armed so well,
As Death, how to Destroy them, cannot tell;
A Troup of Growths, at first small, weak, and low,
Increasing every Minute, Numbers grow;
And many more such Companies were there,
As all the Passions, chiefly Hope and Fear;
Love Lead this Army, his Motto a Heart,
Their Arms were their free VVills, each bore a part:
Death's Armies were all to Destruction bent,
As Warrs, and Famine, both these Pestilent;
Fury, Despair, and Rage did Run about,
Seeking which way that they might Life put out;
Troops, Regiments, Brigades in Numbers were,
As Sickness, Dulness, Grief, and Pensive Care;
Of Feeble Age were Few, they scarce could stand,
Yet in Death's Battel would Fight hand to hand;
Hate Lead the Army in a Dull slow pace,
And for his Motto had a Lean, Pale Face;
VVith several Weapons Death poor Life did take,
And did a Prisoner, and his Slave Her make,
And on her Ashes did in Triumph Ride,
And by his Conquest he swell'd Big with Pride.
When Nature will Decide it, none yet knows;
These two are Life and Death, which th'World divide,
And while it Lasts, the Cause will none decide.
First, Life is Active, seeking to Injoy,
And Death is Envious, striving to Destroy;
When Life a Curious piece of VVork doth make,
And thinks, she will therein some Pleasure take,
Then in comes Death with Rancor and with Spleen,
Destroys it so, that nothing can be seen;
For fear, the Ruins Beauty might present,
Leaves not so much to make Live's Monument:
This makes Life Mourn, to see her Pains and Cost
Destroy'd, for what she doth, in Death is lost;
VVeeping Complains at Natures Cruelty,
VVhich did Her make only Death's Slave to be;
I am his Food, his sharp Teeth do me Tear,
VVhen I Cry, he no Pity hath, nor Care;
The Pain, he puts me in, doth make me Roar,
And his Pale Face, that's Grim, affrights me Sore;
VVhen I do think away from him to Run,
I fall into his Jaws, no ways can shun.
But why do I thus Sigh, Mourn, and Lament,
And use no means his Inj'ry to prevent?
I will call all my Friends, their Strength to try,
I'l either Perish quite, or Death shall Dye;
Then brings she Motion, nimble at each turn,
And Courage, which like unto Fire doth Burn,
Preventing, and Inventing Wits, to make
Sconces and Forts, too Strong for Death to take;
260
Assault her Foes, and them sometimes do Kill;
A Brigade of clear Strengths stands firm and sure,
And can all feirce Assaults of Death endure;
A Party of good Healths, Armed so well,
As Death, how to Destroy them, cannot tell;
A Troup of Growths, at first small, weak, and low,
Increasing every Minute, Numbers grow;
And many more such Companies were there,
As all the Passions, chiefly Hope and Fear;
Love Lead this Army, his Motto a Heart,
Their Arms were their free VVills, each bore a part:
Death's Armies were all to Destruction bent,
As Warrs, and Famine, both these Pestilent;
Fury, Despair, and Rage did Run about,
Seeking which way that they might Life put out;
Troops, Regiments, Brigades in Numbers were,
As Sickness, Dulness, Grief, and Pensive Care;
Of Feeble Age were Few, they scarce could stand,
Yet in Death's Battel would Fight hand to hand;
Hate Lead the Army in a Dull slow pace,
And for his Motto had a Lean, Pale Face;
VVith several Weapons Death poor Life did take,
And did a Prisoner, and his Slave Her make,
And on her Ashes did in Triumph Ride,
And by his Conquest he swell'd Big with Pride.
Life's Force was strong enough to keep her State,
If Death had not Befriended been with Fate;
For she 'gainst Death could make her Party good,
Had not the Fates her Happiness withstood,
Which Spin the Thread of Life so small and weak,
That of Necessity it needs must break,
If not, they Cut it into Pieces small,
And give it Death, to make him Nets withall,
To catch Life in, when closely she would hide
Her Self from Death, she in this Net is ty'd,
Or in the Chains of Destiny is hung;
The World from Side to Side about is flung,
Having no Rest nor Settlement, she flies
About from Death, and yet she never Dyes;
Runs into several Forms, Death to avoid,
And yet those Forms are all by Death Destroy'd;
Death like a Snake in Nature's Bosom lies,
Like one that Flatters, but i'th' Heart Envies;
And Nature seems to Life an Enemie,
Because she still lets Death a Conqu'rour be.
If Death had not Befriended been with Fate;
For she 'gainst Death could make her Party good,
Had not the Fates her Happiness withstood,
261
That of Necessity it needs must break,
If not, they Cut it into Pieces small,
And give it Death, to make him Nets withall,
To catch Life in, when closely she would hide
Her Self from Death, she in this Net is ty'd,
Or in the Chains of Destiny is hung;
The World from Side to Side about is flung,
Having no Rest nor Settlement, she flies
About from Death, and yet she never Dyes;
Runs into several Forms, Death to avoid,
And yet those Forms are all by Death Destroy'd;
Death like a Snake in Nature's Bosom lies,
Like one that Flatters, but i'th' Heart Envies;
And Nature seems to Life an Enemie,
Because she still lets Death a Conqu'rour be.
| Poems, and phancies | |