The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle addressed to Margaret Lucas and her Letters in reply: Edited by Douglas Grant |
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| 8. | 8 The Easterne Ayre:
Love's Shepperdesse:
The Divine Nature:
Love's Ballsum, or the
Spotlesse Lover |
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 | The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle |  |
14
8
The Easterne Ayre:
Love's Shepperdesse:
The Divine Nature:
Love's Ballsum, or the
Spotlesse Lover
Ther's none so hayted as yourselfe, no thinge,
No, not the Parliment against the Kinge,
So much as all Mankind is against you;
Thinke what you please now of your selfe, t'is true.
It is confest fayre as Unshadow'd Light,
Your lilly Skinne, not fallinge Snow so white;
Softer then softest silke, Bevor, or Downe,
Your thinner Skinne, for your plumpe fleshe your Gowne;
So porous as still issuinge a Dewe,
Sweeter then is the Balsum of Perue.
Your Breath more fragrant then the Easterne Ayre,
More odoriferous then flowers are.
Attired like the Graces, or your dresse
Like to a modest, simple shepperdesse,
So farre above all women of Each Nation
As women hate you out of Emulation.
No, not the Parliment against the Kinge,
So much as all Mankind is against you;
Thinke what you please now of your selfe, t'is true.
It is confest fayre as Unshadow'd Light,
Your lilly Skinne, not fallinge Snow so white;
Softer then softest silke, Bevor, or Downe,
Your thinner Skinne, for your plumpe fleshe your Gowne;
So porous as still issuinge a Dewe,
Sweeter then is the Balsum of Perue.
Your Breath more fragrant then the Easterne Ayre,
More odoriferous then flowers are.
Attired like the Graces, or your dresse
Like to a modest, simple shepperdesse,
So farre above all women of Each Nation
As women hate you out of Emulation.
No spott of Sinne Upon your Soule att all,
Some thinkes you have not what's Origenall;
Above the Angells is your heavenly Nature,
So sweete that t'would doe good to Every Creature.
Nothinge offends you, whatsoere they say:
So Innosent, lookes just like Equall day
Upon Mankinde, and is a runninge flood,
A Cristall streame, to what may be cal'd good;
Freshe as the Springe, or Summer's greene, a Calme
Perpetually in your Brest, sweet as Balme.
So faire, well favour'd, and of shape so fine,
Made Up of morrall Virtue and Divine,
You have not Virtue but is it, tis true;
Then that's the Cause makes Mankinde so hate you:
Not all; 'Cause handsomest, and best, I doe
Love you, and onely love you for those two.
Some thinkes you have not what's Origenall;
Above the Angells is your heavenly Nature,
So sweete that t'would doe good to Every Creature.
15
So Innosent, lookes just like Equall day
Upon Mankinde, and is a runninge flood,
A Cristall streame, to what may be cal'd good;
Freshe as the Springe, or Summer's greene, a Calme
Perpetually in your Brest, sweet as Balme.
So faire, well favour'd, and of shape so fine,
Made Up of morrall Virtue and Divine,
You have not Virtue but is it, tis true;
Then that's the Cause makes Mankinde so hate you:
Not all; 'Cause handsomest, and best, I doe
Love you, and onely love you for those two.
| The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle | |