Poems, and fancies written by the Right Honourable, the Lady Margaret Newcastle.

About this Item

Title
Poems, and fancies written by the Right Honourable, the Lady Margaret Newcastle.
Author
Newcastle, Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of, 1624?-1674.
Publication
London :: Printed by T.R. for J. Martin, and J. Allestrye,
1653.
Rights/Permissions

To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.

Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A53061.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Poems, and fancies written by the Right Honourable, the Lady Margaret Newcastle." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A53061.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed July 16, 2024.

Pages

The Fairy Queen.

THe Fairy Queens large Kingdome got by birth, Is in the circled center of the Earth, Where there are many springs, and running streams, Whose waves do glister by the Queens bright beams. Which makes them murmure as they passe away, Because by running round they cannot stay. For they do evermore, * 1.1 just like the Sun, As constantly in their long race they run: And as the Sun gives heat to make things spring, So water moyslure gives to every thing. Thus these two Elements give life to all, Creating every thing on Earths round ball. And all along this liquid source that flows, Stand Mirtle trees, and banks where flowers grows. 'Tis true, there are no Birds to sing sweet notes, But there are winds that whistle like birds throats; Whose sounds, and notes by variation oft, Make better Musicke then the Spheares aloft, Nor any beasts are there of cruell nature, But a slow, sost worm, a gentle creature, Who fears no hungry birds to pick them out, Safely they graspe the tender twigs about.

Page 149

There Mountains are of pure resined gold, And Rocks of Diamonds perfect to behold; Whose brightnesse is a Sun to all about, Which glory makes Apollo's beams keep out. Quarries of Rubles, Saphirs there are store, Christals, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 many more. There polisht pillars naturally appeare, VVhere twining vines are clustred all the yeare. The Axle-tree whereon the Earth turnes round, Is one great 〈◊〉〈◊〉, by opinion found. And the two ends, which called are the Poles, Are pointed Diamonds, the Antartick holds, And Artick; which about the world is rowl'd, Are rings of pure, refined, perfect gold. Which makes the Sun so seldome there appear, For fear those rings should melt, if he came near. And as a wheele the Elements are found In even Layes, and often turnings round. For first the sire in circle, as the spoake, And then the water, for aire is the smoak Begot of both; for fire doth water boyle, That causes clouds, or smoak which is the oyle. This smoaky childe sometimes is good, then bad, According to the nourishment it had. The outward 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as the Earth suppose, Which is the surface where all plenty flows. Yet the Earth is not the cause of turning, But the siery spoak; not fear of burning The Axle-tree, for that grows hard with heat, And by its quicknesse turns the wheel, though great, Unlesse by outward weight it selfe presse down, Raising the bottome, bowing down the Crown. Yet why this while am I so long of proving, But to shew how this Earth still is moving. And the heavens, as wheels, do turn likewise, As we do daily see before our eyes. To make the Proverb good in its due turn, That all the world on wheels doth yeerly run. And by the turn such blasts of wind doe blow,

Page 150

As we may think like Windmils they do go. But winds are made by Vulcans bellows sure, Which makes the Earth such Collicks to endure. For he, a Smith set at the sorge below, Ordained is the Center-fire to blow. But Venus laughs to thinke what horns he wears, Though on his shoulders halfe the Earth he bears, Nature her mettal makes him hammer out, All that she sends through Mines the world about. For he's th' old-man that doth i'th Center dwell, She Proserpine, that's thought the Queen of hell. Yet Venus is a Tinkers wife, we see, Not a goddesse, as she was thought to be; When all the world to her did offerings bring, And her high praise in prose, and verse did sing: And Priests in orders, on her Altars tend, And to her Image all the wise heads bend. But to vain wayes that men did go, To worship gods they do not know. Tis true, her sonne's a prettyLad, And is a Foot-boy to Queen Mab; Which makes fires, and sets up lights, And keeps the door for Carpet Knights. For when the Queen is gone to sleep, Then revel-rout the Court doth keep. Yet heretosore men striv'd to prove, That Cupid was the god of love. But if that men could to the Center go, They soon would see that it were nothing so.
Here Nature nurses, and sends them season, All things abroad, as she seeth reason. When she commands, all things do her obey, Unlesse her countermand some things do stay. For she stayes life, when drugs are well apply'd, And healing balmes to deadly wounds beside. There Mab is Queen of all, by Natures will, And by her favour she doth govern still. Happy 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that is in Natures grace; For young she's alwayes, being in this place.

Page 151

But leaving here, let's see the sport, That's acted in the Fairy Court.

Notes

Do you have questions about this content? Need to report a problem? Please contact us.