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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 | Poems, and phancies |  |
On a Melting Beauty.
Going into a Church my Pray'rs to say,Close by a Tomb a Mourning Beauty lay,
Her Knees on Marble Cold were Bow'd down low,
And fixt so Firm, as if She there did Grow;
Her Elbow on the Tomb did Steady stand,
Her Head hung Back, the Hind-part in her Hand;
Turning her Eyes up to the Heavens high,
Left nothing but the White of each her Eye;
Upon the Lower Shut did Hang a Tear,
Like to a Diamond Pendant in an Ear;
Her Breast was Panting Sore, as if Life meant
To seek after her Heart, which way it went;
I Standing there, observed what She did,
At last she from her Hand did raise her Head,
And Casting down her Eyes, ne're Look'd about,
Tears pull'd her Eye-lids down as they Gush'd out;
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Her Words were Soft, her Voice sound Low and Weak:
O Heavens! (said she) O! What do you mean?
I dare not think, you Gods can have a Spleen,
And yet I find great Torments you do give,
And Creatures make in Misery to Live;
You shew us Joys, but we possess not One,
You give us Life, for Death to Feed upon:
O Cruel Death! thy Dart hath made me poor,
Thou struck'st that Heart my Life did most adore;
You Gods, delight not thus me to Torment,
But strike me Dead by this dear Monument,
And let our Ashes mix both in this Urn,
That both into one Phœnix we may turn.
Hearing her Mourn, I went to give Relief,
But Oh, alas! her Ears were stopt with Grief;
VVhen I came near, her Blood Congeal'd to Ice,
And all her Body Changed in a Trice,
That Ice strait Melted, into Tears did turn,
And through the Earths Pores got into the Urn.
| Poems, and phancies | |