The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle ::

The Princes Mary Marrys Kinge of Poland,
And you, my Deer, do marry Prince of Noland.
Shee hath a Portion, I hope you have non;
Shee hath a Dower, but your Dower's gone.
Theirs are but rich Externall shews, that move
Like love, not it; ours pure Internall love.
She doth imbrase all this world's full delight,
And you take mee to bidd the world good Night.
Shee will possesse what height of Courts can be,
But you take Up your Crosse to follow mee;
Leaves Court, your Parents, Brothers, Sisters, freinds,
Onely for mee, and hath no other Ends.
Could all the Love that Ever was on Earth
Be reckon'd Up, or all from Cupid's Birth,
Or from his Lady Mother's, nine years old,
And all the Gods' love, more then can be told
Is yours, and onely yours; these never knew
This way and height of Love, that fitts but you.
Who could do this but you? and onely you.
Is't not a dreame, a fiction? no, tis true,
Beyond Example, or what fayn'd; therefore,
Since none E'er did soe, none shall E'er doo't more.
All femall loves to this, how short they've been,
Male freindships to the height of Masculin.
So farre above them your Eternall fame,
I wishe for my sake I could giv't a Name;
Beyond Expression, that doth make mee morne;

T'is beyond Words, or deeds, to make returne;
Thus I'm inslav'd. All other love still tends
Onely for bargains, and such petty Ends.
Some might give bounties, and then sickly lie;
Or in their love's pil'de fun'ralle flames ther die,
Surpris'd with Sorrow, or a sudden Passion,
Or a Vaine Glory, like a Woman's fashion;
Or Madd for love is nothing lesse to die.
But for to dare to live in Misery,
That's love and Corage; all things Else refus'd
That is not mee, and mee thus onely Chus'd
That's wholly ruin'd; that you know's my State;
And yett will love mee thus, in spight of fate.
Thus Miseries opresse me, makes me bowe;
I ne'er knew greefe nor Misery till now.
Oh, you are Cruell, such love you might give
As might oblige mee not in slavery live.
To manacle mee thus makes mee condole,
Thus to imprison and chaine Up my Sole;
My Immortallity thus is not free,
But made your Vassell by this Crueltye.
Honour, Virtue Noble, too litle; say,
Nay, sweare, you've putt mee downe in my owne way.
Oh, fie, you love too much, pray you love lesse;
Some fine and litle love I might Expresse:
Your snow white Skinne, and then my Muse to seeke
Lillys and Roses for your Eyther cheeke,
So Simulise you all; but I do know it,
Ther's nothing like you, so you spoyle a Poett.
Pray you love lesse; how shall we doe with Us?
Yett love no other; Ignorance might thus

Make him Emperious; pray, doe not trie;
He may perchance think't your Simplicity.
Or if you tooke some fine rich Ayre with land,
Whose obligation could not Understand.
Ther's No Unhappy, happy fate but myne,
So fitt a Subject for your love to shine.
Tis too much love; for now my thankefull harte
Is loath to ruine you, yett will not parte.
You over love; know, pray you, what you doe;
You've ruin'd mee with love, and your self too,
Mee for your sake. Else Height of love's Content;
Since tis our Soles' Choyse, we shall ne'er repent.

University of Virginia Library

53 The unparalel'd Love

53
The unparalel'd Love