The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle ::

I'le Muster Up my senses with delight;
My taste, my touch, my smell, Hearing, and sight,
All att one tyme; height's pleasure shall obtayne,
With gentle stroakes Upon my Ravisht Brayne.

Best Various Pictures wee will have; nay, more,
The Roofe with story fill'd, and all gilt o'er.
All Rareties heightninge Us when wee meete;
The richest Pertian Carpetts for our feete;

With Antick Romayne Plate, that shall be bought
Fill'd with Puer wines, more Various then is thought;
Numberlesse meates so drest, and Banquetts flowinge,
To please our Gustaes, shouringe Just like snowinge.

To Cossen tyme, and passe away the houers,
Robb Nature of her Choysest, sweetest flowers,
Strow'd on the Ground with Spainishe sents that's rare;
Fanninge our selves with this perfumed Ayre.

With such amasinge Musick wee'l obtayne,
Our Soles still ravisht in Each pleased Brayne;
For all the Passions musick can Expresse
Rules our Immortalls, att this none can gesse.

Spight of your Envious Kinde, though they thinke much,
Silke, downe, and Beavor not like you for touch;
You are so smooth, so soft, so Very fine,
Beyond Expression, something that's divine.

Now all the Senses att one tyme wee'll measure,
And fill them till they all runn o'er with pleasur;
And danse the hay with Various sweet delight:
Touch moves to hearing, hearinge moves to sight,

Sight turnes to smellinge, smelling then doth haste
To be converted to her Neyghbor Taste;
And thus they chainge, and danse so quick a Strayne,
And foot it all Upon the moving brayne,

Or Else t'wer nothinge. Nerves, they are the strings
That to the senses all the Pleasure brings.
When touch is satisfi'd, thus t'is related,
Then all the rest of senses are abated:
So all the rest wayts of her pleasure still;
Likes or dislikes all following her will.

University of Virginia Library

42 Love's Muster

42
Love's Muster