Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A53061
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Poems, and fancies written by the Right Honourable, the Lady Margaret Newcastle.
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Newcastle, Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of, 1624?-1674.
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1653
(1653)
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Wing N869; ESTC R17512
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154,101
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257
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Senses all do take delight Yet you upon my Entrals alwaies bite My flesh cate up that all my bones are bare With the sharpe Teeth of Sorrow Griefe and Care Drawes out my Blood from Veines with envious spight Decaies my Strength with shame or extreame fright With Love extreamly sicke I lye With cruell hate you make me dye Mind Care keeps you from all hurt or falling low Sorrow and Griefe are Debts to Friends we owe. Feare makes man just to give each one his owne Shame makes Civility without there 's none Hate makes good Lawes that all may live in Peace Love brings Society and gets Increase Besides with Joy I make the Eyes looke gay With pleasing Smiles they dart forth every way With Mirth the Cheeks are fat smooth Rosie-red Your Speech flowes Wit when Fancies fill the Head If I were gone you 'ld misse my Company Wish we were joyn'd againe or you might dye A Complaint of VVater Earth and Aire against the Sun by way of Dialogue Moisture to Earth THere 's none hath such an Enemy as I The Sun doth drinke me up when he 's a dry He sucks me out of every hole I lye Drawes me up high from whence I downe do fall In Showers of Raine am broke in peeces small Where I am forc'd to Earth for helpe to call Strait Earth her Porous doors sets open wide And takes me in with hast on every side Then joynes my Limbs fast in a slowing Tide Earth to Moisture Alas Deare Friend the Sun my greatest Fee My tender Buds he blast as they do grow He burnes my Face and makes it 〈◊〉 and dry He sucks my Breast which starves my Young thereby Thus I and all my Young for thirst were slaine But that with Wet you fill my 〈◊〉 againe Aire to Earth and Moisture The Sun doth use me ill as all the rest For his hot Soultry heats do me molest Melts me into a thin and slowing Flame To make him light when men it Day do name Corrupts me makes me full of 〈◊〉 soares Which Putresaction on mens Bodies poures Or else the subtle Flame into mens Spirits run Which makes them raging or starke mad become Drawes me into a length and breadth till I Become so thin with windy wings do flye Never can leave till all my Spirits spent And then I dye and leave no Monument The Sun to 〈◊〉 O most unkind and most ungratefull Earth I am thy Mid-wife brings your Young to Birth I with my heat do cause your Young to grow And with my light I teach them how to go My Sun-Bcames are Strings whereon to hold For feare they fall and breake their Limbs on Cold. All to Maturity I do bring and give Youth Beauty Strength and make Old Age to live The Sun to 〈◊〉 ' ater Sluggish Moisture I active and light make All grosse and corrupt I Humours away take All Superfluity I dry up cleane That nothing but pure Christall water 's seen The hard-bound Cold I loosen and unty When you in Icy Chaines a Prisoner lye With 〈◊〉 your Limbs are nipt and bit with Cold Your smooth and glassie Face makes wrinkled Old I make you nimble soft and faire And Liquid Nourishing and Debonaire The Sun to Aire Aire I purge and make it cleere and bright Black Clouds dissolve which make the Day seem Night The crude raw Vapours I digest and straine The thicker part all into Showers of Raine The thinnest part I turne all into Winds Which like a Broome sweeps out all Dirt it findes The cleerest part turne into Azure Skie Hang'd all with Stars and next the Gods you lye A Dialogue between Earth and Cold. Earth O Cruell Cold to life an Enemy A Misery to Man and Posterity Most envious Cold to Stupifie Mens Braine Destroies that Monarchy where Wit should reigne Tyrant thou art to bind the Waters clear In Chaines of Ice lye fetter'd halfe the yeare Imprisons every thing that dwels in me Shutting my Porous doors no Light can see And smothered am almost up to death Each hole is stopt so close can take no breath Congeales the Aire to massie Clouds of Snow Like Mountaines great they on my Body throw And all my Plants and strong great fruit 〈◊〉 Trees You nip to death or cloath them in course Freeze My fresh green Robes which 〈◊〉 me fine and gay You strip me of or change to black or gray For feare of Cold my Moisture shrinks so low My Head weares bald no 〈◊〉 thereon will grow And breakes the Suns bright 〈◊〉 their heat destroy Which takes away my comfort and my joy And makes my Body stiff so deadly numb'd That in my Veines nothing will fluent run Cold. Why do you thus complaine poore Earth and grieve I give you strength and make you long to live I do refresh you from the Scorching Sun I give you breath which makes you strong become I cloath you from the Cold with Milke-white Snow Send downe your Sap to nourish you below For if that heat should dwell and long time stay His Thirst would drinke your Moisture all away I take nought from you nor do make you poore But like a Husband good do keepe your Store My Ice are Locks and Barrs all safe to keepe From Busie Motion gives you quiet sleepe For heat is active and doth you molest Doth make you worke and never let you rest Heat spends your Spirits makes you crackt and dry Drinkes all him selfe with Thirst you almost dye With Sweating Labour you grow weake and faint I wonder why you make such great complaint Earth Both Heat and Cold in each extreame Degree Two Hells they are though contrary they be Two Devils are torment me with great paines One shoots hot Arrowes th' other ties in Chaines A Dialogue betwixt Earth and Darknesse Earth OHorrid Darknesse and you powers of Night Melancholy Shades made by obstructed Lights Why so Cruell what Evil have I done To part me from my Husband the bright Sun Darknesse I do not part you he me hither sends Whilst Hee rides about to visit all his Friends Besides 〈◊〉 hath more Wives to love then you He never constant is to one nor true Earth You do him wrong for though he Journies make For Exercise he care for me doth take He leaves his Stars and 's Sister in his place To comfort me whilst 〈◊〉 doth run his Race But you do come most wicked 〈◊〉 Night And rob me of that faire and Silver Light Darknesse The Moon and Stars they are but shadowes thin Small Cob-web Lawne they from his Light do spin Which they in scorned do make you to disgrace As a thin Vaile to cover your Ill Face For Moon or Stars have no strong Lights to shew A Colour true nor how you bud or grow Onely some Ghosts do rise and take delight To walke about when that the Moon shines bright Earth Your are deceiv'd they cast no such Disguise Strive me to please by twinkling in the Skies And