Letters and poems in honour of the incomparable princess, Margaret, Dutchess of Newcastle.
Page 155
To her Excellency the Lady Marchioness of New∣Castle, on Her Incomparable Works:
MADAM,
WHen with stol'n Metaphors we would display
Those Glorious Lights which rule our Night and Day,
We call them Lamps and Spangles, and suborn
Our Wits t'obscure, what we cannot adorn:
But when some fading Beauty haunts our Eyes
Tempting to Praise, what Greatest Souls Despise,
We can advance the Phrase all smoothly runs,
Her Cheeks are Roses, and her Eyes are Suns.
Great Virtues only by themselves are prais'd;
What's highest higher by no Art is rais'd:
'Tis proper only to our Imperfections
To need, or to admit, our Wit's Protections.
Were your Pen's Noble Issue such small things,
As the fine Poet to his Mistris sings:
Or else such pretty Babies as are sent
Out from the lab'ring Press, to Complement
Our Childish Age; which nothing so wel pleases
As Lispings, Weakness, and Wit's Diseases:
Then I, perhaps amongst the rest might wast
Some Paper, to be your Encomiast;
And, in the present mode; pick Crums and Scraps
From Sirs that wear their Phancyes in their Caps,
And Cook a Mess of Bumbast to delude
And glut at once the gaping multitude.
But 'tis your Wit's prerogative to be
As far above all Praise as Flattery:
Page 156And since you have said All, we boldly may
Excuse our selves, you've left us nought to say.
In ev'ry Line you give us we descry
Your Panaegyrick, our Apology:
Where all's so well like you, that to conceive
Ought but our wonder may admittance have,
Is to suppose, you either cannot see
Our meanness, or will veil your Majesty.
Then he betrays your Name whoe're essayes
To load it with vain Epithets of Praise:
Who seems to understand all you have writ,
T'advance his own, doth much abase your Wit.
Madam we're in a maze: such Glorys can
Not be beheld by what is only Man.
When you are pleas'd to work new Miracles
We'll see and read what's yours and nothing else:
When you give Eyes as well as Light, when you
With Language will on us new Tongues bestow,
When you can make us write just as you do;
We'll learn to praise your Works: But sure it is
Impossible; you can do all but this.
'Tis equally absurd for us to guess
We e're should do so much or you ought less.
Thanks for our Freedom from the learned Thrall
Of thrice-three Mistresses; you're One and All:
Those antique wits which erest would not be seen,
But in a mist of obscure Tongues which Screen
More Follies far than Phansies, are become
Like their own Pump'd-out Oracles all dumb;
Great Aristotle and his greater *Master
VVith their long rabble have the same disaster.
These Paper-Armies Bodly's Goal contains
Your Captives are, fretting in Iron Chains.
Page 157One Lady's pregnant Brain has slain whole hosts
Of Rabbys, and quite laid their Paper ghosts,
VVhich haunted all our Studies, and perplex'd
Our wearied thoughts with a Moth-eaten Text.
VVho would not give a life that he might live
In the next Age, to see the Learned strive
VVhose Margin should strut biggest with your Name
VVho raise up highest Pyramids of Fame
Over your peaceful Ashes; may it be
Such Phoenixes can know mortality.
VVas it her modesty (for she's a VVoman)
Made Nature Coy, and shew her self to no man?
She walk'd in Vizors till she met with you.
VVhat wonder if she did retir'dness vow
And to our Ruffian Sex shewd Nun that late
Unveil'd to your Sex; and but one of that?
You need not fear to die, she needs must live
Her self, whose Noble Office 'tis to give
Life to our late Posterity: each line
Of yours must be their Oracle, your Shrine.
Your Images the work of your own Pen
Shall frustrate all the curteous Cheats of men,
Pronouncing all your true adorers blest
Without the help of Conjuror or Priest.
Be merciful to Captives (Madam) and
Kill not all those that bend at your Command.
Your softest Sex your Noble Order shall
Vote all such cruelty Apocryphal.
You have subdu'd the VVorld of Learning, spare
At least so much alive as may declare
Who was the Conqueror, that all may know
VVhate're survives is owing all to you.
Page 158You have out-done what's mortal; Imitate
Those Pow'rs above which to maintain their state
Let some poor vassals live, and worship'd are
Not by whom they destroy, but whom they spare.
Then sheathe your Conqu'ring Pen since nothing now
Remains unvanquish'd but your Works and you.
