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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| 17. | 17 Love's Conjuration |
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 | The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle |  |
25
17
Love's Conjuration
Love's Magick strainge, for now I see you are,
Venus, a Witch, your Sonne a Sorserer;
So conjur'd in love's Circle can not sturre,
Or thinke a thought but onely, onely her.
When Reverent Witches goes with staves for propps,
Yett oynted flies out of the Chimney topps,
Danses on Ayre, not fetter'd are their Mindes,
And foots it to Stormes of Boystrous windes,
And posts on blacker clouds, on them they stride,
Those winged Vapors to Every place they ride.
Though Jove a God, their Post boy to our wonder;
No light but lightning's flashe, their horne, his Thunder;
Darkens the world, as darke as is their Hell;
Workes still their will, thus with a fatall Spell.
Venus, a Witch, your Sonne a Sorserer;
So conjur'd in love's Circle can not sturre,
Or thinke a thought but onely, onely her.
When Reverent Witches goes with staves for propps,
Yett oynted flies out of the Chimney topps,
Danses on Ayre, not fetter'd are their Mindes,
And foots it to Stormes of Boystrous windes,
And posts on blacker clouds, on them they stride,
Those winged Vapors to Every place they ride.
Though Jove a God, their Post boy to our wonder;
No light but lightning's flashe, their horne, his Thunder;
Darkens the world, as darke as is their Hell;
Workes still their will, thus with a fatall Spell.
But lovers seperated never meete
But by the dull Soles of their duller feete.
Banisht by fate, what helpes then can ther bee?
Onely Love's thoughts, weake Comforts Unto mee.
Phansy doth flatter mee to thinke I'm there,
Onely where you are, but, alas, I'm heere;
Then I imagine you are heere with me;
Findinge it false, falles in love's Extasie,
Of all love's Passions read in love's recordes,
Pale Siths, sad teares, Greefs, Groanes, with sadder words.
With you, not with you, att one tyme, I Vow
Love conjures well when none can tell me how;
And yett t'is so, nor find that I am mee,
But I, and all things Else, are onely thee.
You knowe it, Cupid, though you can not see't;
Unconjure Us, or prethee, lett Us meete.
But by the dull Soles of their duller feete.
Banisht by fate, what helpes then can ther bee?
Onely Love's thoughts, weake Comforts Unto mee.
Phansy doth flatter mee to thinke I'm there,
Onely where you are, but, alas, I'm heere;
Then I imagine you are heere with me;
Findinge it false, falles in love's Extasie,
Of all love's Passions read in love's recordes,
Pale Siths, sad teares, Greefs, Groanes, with sadder words.
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Love conjures well when none can tell me how;
And yett t'is so, nor find that I am mee,
But I, and all things Else, are onely thee.
You knowe it, Cupid, though you can not see't;
Unconjure Us, or prethee, lett Us meete.
| The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle | |