The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle ::

Alas, poore Cupid, you are quite Undun,
Though Heaire to Venus, and her onely son.
Poore Queene of Love, your mother, never knewe
The height of Love, in that as blinde as you.
Goe still to Courts, there flatter, Cogg, and Lye;
Drop a false teare, a windy Sith, and die
As lovers Use to doe; then pale and tremble;
With folded Armes, in love doe thus dissemble.
Or shoote your Arrows in the Citty, than
The Mistresse may provoake the Jorney man;
Or his head Prentise, in some lovesick houer,
Steale marrige with his daughter att the Tower,
Lawfull Unlawfully there to committ
The Sinne of Matrimony with no witt.
Or Else a Codlinge Heaire Inflaminge made
To throw himselfe away on Chambermayde.
Or Else fall lower with your love that's stale;
Practise your love tricks att a Whitson Ale,
And strike Up Love in Hornepipe, Couplinge all
On Circl'd Greene boute painted Maypole tall;
There drown'd in love and wassill, that's love's streame;
Her Joynture, Apples; Portion, Curdds and Creame.
Or Joyne with Robin goodfellow, thy Doome
To fright the Mayds by stealinge of the Broome;

If the Harthe not swept cleane, or potts like newe
By rubbinge cleane, lett Faries pinshe them blewe.
Thus Joyne your forces; with these still alonge
Enamore Shepards with the Milkemayd's Songe;
Or from a frumpe of Darymade, you finde,
Th'inraged Carter whip till's horse breake winde.
These petty Artes, God Cupid, you must Use,
And sporte your selfe by others to abuse.
Poore Child, but did your boyship ever knowe
The height of love, and how far it can goe?
Then I will teach you manners; you shall finde
You'l wishe your selfe as deafe as you are blinde
Before I've done with you. What say you, Sir,
Unto a Woman? but t'is onely her:
A spotlesse Virgin, full of Love and truthe,
Freshe as is Morning's day, or her owne youthe;
Modest beyond the newcom'd budds that's faire,
That dares not looke Upon the gentle Ayre
For feare of Scandall, so shrinkes still within
Gainst Nature's lawes, doubtinge that law's a Sinne.
So Innosent, or if she grow att all,
Like Oringe trees, in her owne Pott and wall.
In her love's Climate and more bewty hides
Then all the world of Bewty hath besides;
And all her all, love's quintesence, t'is such
T'would serve all women kinde, nay, be too much,
And doth but Justly fitt her; with the least,
For shee is shee, is not to be Expres't.

Something beyond our Nature that doth move,
Or bove the Angells, t'is a purer love;
Tis more then love; from Heaven sure it came;
We all confesse it, yett it wants a name;
Too bigge for Language, like God it is so;
A thinge wee worship still but do not know.
Worship's Religeon, lett me live and die
With all my prayrs Unto your Diaty.
Settle our Church and State, that now hath none,
For to agree in one Opinion;
Converte the Independents, you will drawe
Them to Dependents all by your Love's lawe.
Since so many Opinions we have gott
Amongst our selves, from Irishe and the Scott,
We'le sett Up for our selves love's Church, no lesse;
I worship: that's the Church, You my Goddesse.
Wee'le be no more; lett all the rest condole;
Thus by our faythe and workes save our Each Sole,
For more would damme Us: I begg then of thee,
As thee I onely love, love onely me.

University of Virginia Library

5 The unexpressable Love dispising both Venus and Cupid

5
The unexpressable Love dispising both Venus and Cupid