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

TO THE READER.

READER,

IF any do read this Book of mine, pray be not too severe in your Censures. For first, I have no Children to imploy my Care, and Attendance on; And my Lords Estate being taken a∣way, had nothing for Huswifery, or thristy Industry to im∣ploy my selfe in; having no Stock to work on. For Housewife∣ry is a discreet Management, and ordering all in Private, and Household Affaires, seeing nothing spoil'd, or Prosusely spent, that every thing has its proper Place, and every Servant his proper Work, and every Work to be done in its proper Time; to be Neat, and Cleanly, to have their House quiet from all disturbing Noise. But Thriftiness is something stricter; for good Housewifery may be used in great Expenses; but Thriftiness signifies a Saving, or a get∣ting; as to increase their Stock, or Estate. For Thrift weighs, and measures out all Expence. It is just as in Poetry: for good Hus∣bandry in Poetry, is, when there is great store of Fancy well order'd, not onely in fine Language, but proper Phrases, and significant Words. And Thrift in Poetry, is, when there is but little Fancy, which is not onely spun to the last Thread, but the Thread is drawne so 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as it is scarce perceived. But I have nothing to spin, or or∣der, so as I become Idle; I cannot say, in mine owne House, because I have none, but what my Mind is lodg'd in. Thirdly, you are to spare your severe Censures, I having not so many yeares of Experience, as will make me a Garland to Crowne my Head; onely I have had so much time, as to gather a little Posie to stick upon my Breast. Last∣ly, the time I have been writing them, hathnot been very long, but since I came into England, being eight Yeares out, and nine Months in; and of these nine Months, onely some Houres in the Day, or rather in the Night. For my Rest being broke with dis∣contented Thoughts, because I was from my Lord, and Husband, knowing him to be in great Wants, and my selfe in the same Con∣dition; to divert them, I strove to turne the Stream, yet shunning

the muddy, and foule waies of Vice, I went to the Well of Heli∣con, and by the Wells side, I have sat, and wrote this Worke. It is not Excellent, nor Rare, but plaine; yet it is harmlesse, modest, and honest. True, it may taxe my 〈◊〉〈◊〉, being so fond of my Book, as to make it as if it were my Child, and striving to shew her to the World, in hopes Some may like her, although no Beauty to Admire, yet may praise her Behaviour, as not being wanton, nor rude. Wherefore I hope you will not put her out of Countenance, which she is very apt to, being of bashfull Nature, and as ready to shed Repentant Teares, if she think she hath committed a Fault: wherefore pity her Youth, and tender Growth, and rather taxe the Parents Indiscretion, then the Childs Innocency. But my Book coming out in this Iron age, I feare I shall sind hard Hearts; yet I had rather she should find Cruelty, then Scorne, and that my book should be torn, rather then laught at; for there is no such regret in Nature as Contempt: but I am resolv'd to set it at all Hazards. If Fortune plaies Aums Ace, I am gon; if size Cinque, I shall win a Reputation of Fancy, and if I loose, I loose but the Opinion of Wit: and where the Gaine will be more then the Losse, who would not 〈◊〉〈◊〉: when there are many in the World, (which are ac∣counted Wise) that will venture Life, and Honour, for a petty Interest, or out of Envie, or for Revenge sake. And why should not I venture, when nothing lies at Stake, but Wit? let it go; I shall nor cannot be much Poorer. If Fortune be my Friend, then Fame will be my Gaine, which may build me a Pyramid, a Praise to my Me∣mory. I shall have no cause to seare it will be so high as Babels Tow∣er, to fall in the mid-way; yet I am sorry it doth not touch at Hea∣ven: but my Incapacity, Feare, Awe, and Reverence kept me from that Work. For it were too great a Presumption to venture to Discourse that in my Fancy, which is not describeable. For God, and his Heavenly Mansions, are to be admired, wondred, and astonished at, and not disputed on.

But at all other things let Fancy fiye, And, like a Towring Eagle, mount the Skie. Or lik the Sun swiftly the World to round, Or like pure Gold, which in the Earth is found. But if a drossie Wit, let't buried be, Under the Ruines of all Memory.