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A Dialogue Of Self And Soul byWilliam Butler Yeats

IMy Soul , I summon to the winding ancient stair;

Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,Upon the breathless starlit air,"Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;Fix every wandering thought upon

That quarter where all thought is done:Who can distinguish darkness from the soul

My Self . The consecretes blade upon my kneesIs Sato's ancient blade, still as it was,Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glassUnspotted by the centuries;

That flowering, silken, old embroidery, tornFrom some court-lady's dress and round

The wodden scabbard bound and woundCan, tattered, still protect, faded adorn

My Soul . Why should the imagination of a manLong past his prime remember things that areEmblematical of love and war?

Think of ancestral night that can,If but imagination scorn the earthAnd intellect is wandering

To this and that and t'other thing,Deliver from the crime of death and birth.

My self . Montashigi, third of his family, fashioned itFive hundred years ago, about it lieFlowers from I know not what embroidery —Heart's purple — and all these I setFor emblems of the day against the towerEmblematical of the night,And claim as by a soldier's rightA charter to commit the crime once more.

My Soul. Such fullness in that quarter overflows



And falls into the basin of the mind That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind,For intellect no longer knowsI, Is from the I, Ought, or I knower from the I Known —

That is to say, ascends to Heaven;Only the dead can be forgiven;But when I think of that my tongue's a stone.

IIMy Self . A living man is blind and drinks his drop.What matter if the ditches are impure?What matter if I live it all once more?Endure that toil of growing up;

The ignominy of boyhood; the distress

Of boyhood changing into man; The unfinished man and his painBrought face to face with his own clumsiness;

The finished man among his enemies? —How in the name of Heaven can he escape

That defiling and disfigured shape The mirror of malicious eyesCasts upon his eyes until at last

He thinks that shape must be his shape?And what's the good of an escapeIf honour find him in the wintry blast?I am content to live it all againAnd yet again, if it be life to pitchInto the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch,A blind man battering blind men;Or into that most fecund ditch of all,

The folly that man doesOr must suffer, if he woosA proud woman not kindred of his soul.I am content to follow to its sourceEvery event in action or in thought;Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!When such as I cast out remorseSo great a sweetness flows into the breast

We must laugh and we must sing,We are blest by everything,Everything we look upon is blest.



The Dialog Between the Soul and Body

Marvell

Soul

O who shall, from this Dungeon, raise

A Soul inslav'd so many ways?

With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands

In Feet; and manacled in Hands.Here blinded with an Eye; and there,

Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.

A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains

Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins.

Tortur'd, besides each other part,

In a vain Head, and double Heart.

Body

O who shall me deliver whole,

From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul?

Which, stretcht upright, impales me so,

That mine own Precipice I go;

And warms and moves this needless Frame:

(A Fever could but do the same.)

And, wanting where its spite to try,

Has made me live to let me die.

A Body that could never rest,

Since this ill Spirit it possest.

Soul

What Magic could me thus confineWithin another's Grief to pine?

Where whatsoever it complain,

I feel, that cannot feel, the pain.

And all my care its self employs,

That to preserve, which me destroys:

Constrain'd not only to endure

Diseases, but what's worse, the Cure:

And ready oft the port to gain,

And Shipwrackt into Health again.

BodyBut Physic yet could never reach

The maladies thou me dost teach;

Whom the first Cramp of Hope dost tear:

And then the Palsy shakes of Fear.

The Pestilence of Love does heat:

Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.

Joy's cheerful Madness does perplex:

Or Sorrow's other Madness vex.

Which Knowledge forces me to know,

And Memory will not forgo.

What but a Soul could have the witTo build me up for Sin so fit?

So Architects do square and hew,

Green Trees that in the Forest grew.



The Coronetby Andrew Marvell

When for the thorns with which I long, too long,With many a piercing wound,

My Saviour's head have crowned,I seek with garlands to redress that wrong,— Through every garden, every mead,I gather flowers (my fruits are only flowers),Dismantling all the fragrant towers That once adorned my shepherdess's head:And now, when I have summed up all my store,

Thinking (so I my self deceive)So rich a chaplet thence to weaveAs never yet the King of Glory wore,Alas ! I find the Serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast,About the flowers disguised, does foldWith wreaths of fame and interest.

Ah, foolish man, that wouldst debase with them,And mortal glory, Heaven's diadem!But thou who only couldst the Serpent tame,Either his slippery knots at once untie,And disentangle all his winding snare,Or shatter too with him my curious frame,And let these wither—so that he may die—

Though set with skill, and chosen out with care; That they, while thou on both their spoils dosttread,May crown Thy feet, that could not crown Thyhead.



A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE RESOLVED

SOUL AND CREATED PLEASURE. by Andrew Marvell

COURAGE, my soul ! now learn to wield

The weight of thine immortal shield ;Close on thy head thy helmet bright ;

Balance thy sword against the fight ;

See where an army, strong as fair,

With silken banners spreads the air !

Now, if thou be'st that thing divine,

In this day's combat let it shine,

And show that Nature wants an art

To conquer one resolvèd heart.

Pleasure.

Welcome the creation's guest,

Lord of earth, and Heaven's heir !Lay aside that warlike crest,

And of Nature's banquet share ;

Where the souls of fruits and flowers

Stand prepared to heighten yours.

Soul.

I sup above, and cannot stay,

To bait so long upon the way.

Pleasure.

On these downy pillows lie,

Whose soft plumes will thither fly :

On these roses, strowed so plain

Lest one leaf thy side should strain.

Soul.

My gentler rest is on a thought,

Conscious of doing what I ought.

Pleasure.

If thou be'st with perfumes pleased,

Such as oft the gods appeased,

Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show,

Like another god below.

Soul. A soul that knows not to presume,Is Heaven's, and its own, perfume.

Pleasure.

Everything does seem to vie

Which should first attract thine eye :

But since none deserves that grace,

In this crystal view thy face.

Soul.

When the Creator's skill is prized,

The rest is all but earth disguised.

Pleasure.

Hark how music then preparesFor thy stay these charming airs,

Which the posting winds recall,

And suspend the river's fall.

Soul. Had I but any time to lose,



On this I would it all dispose.

Cease, tempter ! None can chain a mind,

Whom this sweet cordage cannot bind.

Chorus.

Earth cannot show so brave a sight,

As when a single soul does fence

The batteries of alluring sense,

And Heaven views it with delight.

Then persevere ; for still new charges sound,

And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crowned.

Pleasure.

All that's costly, fair, and sweet,

Which scatteringly doth shine,

Shall within one beauty meet,

And she be only thine.

Soul.

If things of sight such heavens be,

What heavens are those we cannot see ?

Pleasure.

Wheresoe'er thy foot shall go

The minted gold shall lie,Till thou purchase all below,

And want new worlds to buy.

Soul.

We'rt not for price who'd value gold ?

And that's worth naught that can be sold.

Pleasure.

Wilt thou all the glory have

That war or peace commend?

Half the world shall be thy slave,

The other half thy friend.

Soul.

What friend, if to my self untrue ?

What slaves, unless I captive you ?

Pleasure.

Thou shalt know each hidden cause,

And see the future time ;

Try what depth the centre draws,

And then to Heaven climb.

Soul.

None thither mounts by the degree

Of knowledge, but humility.

Chorus.

Triumph, triumph, victorious soul !

The world has not one pleasure more :

The rest does lie beyond the pole,

And is thine everlasting store.



Death Be Not Proud John Donne

Death be not proud, though some have calledtheeMighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dostoverthrow,Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,Much pleasure, then from thee, much more mustflow,And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, anddesperate men,And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknessedwell,And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe aswell,

And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thouthen?One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,And death shall be no more; death, thou shaltdie.



Holy Sonnets: Batter my heart, three-person'd God

By John Donne

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for youAs yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek tomend; That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, andbend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make menew.

I, like an usurp'd town to another due,Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,But am betroth'd unto your enemy;Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I,Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.



THE ECSTACY.

by John Donne

WHERE, like a pillow on a bed,

A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest

The violet's reclining head,

Sat we two, one another's best.

Our hands were firmly cemented

By a fast balm, which thence did spring ;

Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread

Our eyes upon one double string.

So to engraft our hands, as yet

Was all the means to make us one ;And pictures in our eyes to get

Was all our propagation.

As, 'twixt two equal armies, Fate

Suspends uncertain victory,

Our souls—which to advance their state,

Were gone out—hung 'twixt her and me.

And whilst our souls negotiate there,

We like sepulchral statues lay ;

All day, the same our postures were,And we said nothing, all the day.

If any, so by love refined,

That he soul's language understood,

And by good love were grown all mind,

Within convenient distance stood,

He—though he knew not which soul spake,

Because both meant, both spake the same—

Might thence a new concoction take,

And part far purer than he came.

This ecstasy doth unperplex

(We said) and tell us what we love ;

We see by this, it was not sex ;

We see, we saw not, what did move :



But as all several souls contain

Mixture of things they know not what,

Love these mix'd souls doth mix again,

And makes both one, each this, and that.

A single violet transplant,

The strength, the colour, and the size—

All which before was poor and scant—

Redoubles still, and multiplies.

When love with one another so

Interanimates two souls,

That abler soul, which thence doth flow,

Defects of loneliness controls.

We then, who are this new soul, know,

Of what we are composed, and made,

For th' atomies of which we grow

Are souls, whom no change can invade.

But, O alas ! so long, so far,

Our bodies why do we forbear?

They are ours, though not we ; we are

Th' intelligences, they the spheres.

We owe them thanks, because they thus

Did us, to us, at first convey,

Yielded their senses' force to us,

Nor are dross to us, but allay.

On man heaven's influence works not so,

But that it first imprints the air ;

For soul into the soul may flow,

Though it to body first repair.

As our blood labours to beget

Spirits, as like souls as it can ;

Because such fingers need to knit

That subtle knot, which makes us man ;

So must pure lovers' souls descendTo affections, and to faculties,

Which sense may reach and apprehend,

Else a great prince in prison lies.

To our bodies turn we then, that so

Weak men on love reveal'd may look ;

Love's mysteries in souls do grow,

But yet the body is his book.

And if some lover, such as we,

Have heard this dialogue of one,Let him still mark us, he shall see

Small change when we're to bodies gone.



MAN.by Henry Vaughan

WEIGHING the stedfastnessand state

Of some mean things which herebelow reside,

Where birds, like watchful clocks,the noiseless dateAnd intercourse of times

divide,Where bees at night get home

and hive, and flow'rsEarly, as well as late,

Rise with the sun and set in thesame bow'rs ;

2.I would—said I—my God

would give The staidness of these things toman ! for these

To His divine appointments evercleave,

And no new business breakstheir peace ;

The birds nor sow nor reap, yetsup and dine ;

The flow'rs withoutclothes live,

Yet Solomon was never dress'dso fine.

3.



Man hath still either toys, orcare ;He hath no root, nor to one placeis tied,But ever restless and irregular

About this Earth doth runand ride.

He knows he hath a home, butscarce knows where ;He says it is so far,

That he hath quite forgot how togo there.

4.He knocks at all doors,

strays and roams,Nay, hath not so much wit as

some stones have,Which in the darkest nights pointto their homes,

By some hid sense theirMaker gave ;Man is the shuttle, to whosewinding quest

And passage throughthese looms

God order'd motion, but ordain'dno rest.

THE WORLD. by Henry Vaughan

I SAW Eternity the other night,

Like a great ring of pure and endless light,

All calm, as it was bright ;

And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years

Driv'n by the spheres 5

Like a vast shadow mov'd ; in which the world

And all her train were hurl'd.The doting lover in his quaintest strain

Did there complain ;

Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, 10

Wit's sour delights ;

With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure,



Yet his dear treasure,

All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour

Upon a flow'r. 15

2.

The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe,

Like a thick midnight-fog, mov'd there so slow,

He did nor stay, nor go ;

Condemning thoughts—like sad eclipses—scowlUpon his soul, 20

And clouds of crying witnesses without

Pursued him with one shout.

Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found,

Work'd under ground,

Where he did clutch his prey ; but one did see 25

That policy :

Churches and altars fed him ; perjuries

Were gnats and flies ;

It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he

Drank them as free. 30

3.

The fearful miser on a heap of rust

Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust

His own hands with the dust,

Yet would not place one piece above, but lives

In fear of thieves. 30

Thousands there were as frantic as himself,

And hugg'd each one his pelf ;*The downright epicure plac'd heav'n in sense,

And scorn'd pretence ;

While others, slipp'd into a wide excess 35

Said little less ;

The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave,

Who think them brave ;

And poor, despisèd Truth sate counting by

Their victory. 40

4.

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,

And sing, and weep, soar'd up into the ring ;

But most would use no wing.

O fools—said I—thus to prefer dark night

Before true light ! 45

To live in grots and caves, and hate the day

Because it shows the way ;

The way, which from this dead and dark abode

Leads up to God ;

A way where you might tread the sun, and be 50

More bright than he !But as I did their madness so discuss,

One whisper'd thus,

“This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide,

But for His bride.” 55



JOHN, CAP. 2. VER. 16, 17.

All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the

lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the

Father, but is of the world.

And the world passeth away, and the lusts thereof ;

but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. 60

[* Money (AJ Note)]

Virtue

By George Herbert

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky;

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/george-herbert

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/george-herbert



Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye; Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,A box where sweets compacted lie;

My music shows ye have your closes,And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,Like season'd timber, never gives;But though the whole world turn to coal,

Then chiefly lives.

from The Temple (1633), by George Herbert:

The Altar.

A broken A L T A R, Lord, thy servantreares,

Made of a heart, and cemented with

teares:Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;No workmans tool hath touch’d the same.

A H E A R T aloneIs such a stone,



As nothing but Thy pow’r doth cut.Wherefore each partOf my hard heartMeets in this frame, To praise thy Name;

That, if I chance to hold mypeace,

These stones to praise thee may notcease.

O let thy blessed S A C R I F I C E bemine,

And sanctifie this A L T A R to bethine.

from The Temple (1633), by George Herbert:

¶ Jordan. (I)



WHo sayes that fictions onely and false

hairBecome a verse? Is there in truth no beauty?Is all good structure in a winding stair?May no lines passe, except they do theirdutie

Not to a true, but painted chair?

Is it no verse, except enchanted grovesAnd sudden arbours shadow course-spunnelines?Must purling streams refresh a lovers loves?Must all be vail’d, while he that reades,divines,

Catching the sense at two removes?

Shepherds are honest people; let them sing:

Riddle who list, for me, and pull for Prime:1

I envie no mans nightingale or spring;Nor let them punish me with losse of rime,

Who plainly say, My God, My King.1 pull for Prime. To continue to prime the pump until you get water, oil or what you are

looking for; to get the pump started.

Andrew Marvell

BERMUDAS

http://www.ccel.org/h/herbert/temple/Jordan1.html#1

http://www.ccel.org/h/herbert/temple/Jordan1.html#1



WHERE the remote Bermudas ride,In the ocean's bosom unespied,From a small boat, that rowed along,

The listening winds received this song :

"What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze,Unto an isle so long unknown,And yet far kinder than our own ?Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks,

That lift the deep upon their backs ; 10He lands us on a grassy stage,Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage.He gave us this eternal spring,Which here enamels every thing,And sends the fowls to us in care,

On daily visits through the air ;He hangs in shades the orange bright,Like golden lamps in a green night,And does in the pomegranates close

Jewels more rich than Ormus shows ; 20He makes the figs our mouths to meet,And throws the melons at our feet ;But apples plants of such a price,No tree could ever bear them twice ;

With cedars chosen by His hand,From Lebanon, He stores the land,And makes the hollow seas, that roar,Proclaim the ambergris on shore ;He cast (of which we rather boast)

The Gospel's pearl upon our coast, 30And in these rocks for us did frameA temple where to sound His name.Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt,

Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,Which, thence (perhaps) rebounding, mayEcho beyond the Mexique Bay."

Thus sung they, in the English boat,An holy and a cheerful note ;And all the way, to guide their chime,With falling oars they kept the time. 40



The Flesh and the Spirit

In secret place where once I stood

Close by the Banks of Lacrim flood,

I heard two sisters reason on

Things that are past and things to come.

One Flesh was call'd, who had her eye

On worldly wealth and vanity;

The other Spirit, who did rear

Her thoughts unto a higher sphere.

"Sister," quoth Flesh, "what liv'st thou on

Nothing but Meditation?

Doth Contemplation feed thee so

Regardlessly to let earth go?Can Speculation satisfy

Notion without Reality?

Dost dream of things beyond the Moon

And dost thou hope to dwell there soon?

Hast treasures there laid up in store

That all in th' world thou count'st but poor?

Art fancy-sick or turn'd a Sot

To catch at shadows which are not?

Come, come. I'll show unto thy sense,

Industry hath its recompence.

What canst desire, but thou maist seeTrue substance in variety?

Dost honour like? Acquire the same,

As some to their immortal fame;

And trophies to thy name erect

Which wearing time shall ne'er deject.

For riches dost thou long full sore?

Behold enough of precious store.

Earth hath more silver, pearls, and gold

Than eyes can see or hands can hold.

Affects thou pleasure? Take thy fill.

Earth hath enough of what you will.Then let not go what thou maist find

For things unknown only in mind."

Spirit.

"Be still, thou unregenerate part,

Disturb no more my settled heart,

For I have vow'd (and so will do)

Thee as a foe still to pursue,

And combat with thee will and must

Until I see thee laid in th' dust.

Sister we are, yea twins we be,

Yet deadly feud 'twixt thee and me,

For from one father are we not.

Thou by old Adam wast begot,



But my arise is from above,

Whence my dear father I do love.

Thou speak'st me fair but hat'st me sore.

Thy flatt'ring shews I'll trust no more.

How oft thy slave hast thou me made

When I believ'd what thou hast said

And never had more cause of woe

Than when I did what thou bad'st do.

I'll stop mine ears at these thy charmsAnd count them for my deadly harms.

Thy sinful pleasures I do hate,

Thy riches are to me no bait.

Thine honours do, nor will I love,

For my ambition lies above.

My greatest honour it shall be

When I am victor over thee,

And Triumph shall, with laurel head,

When thou my Captive shalt be led.

How I do live, thou need'st not scoff,

For I have meat thou know'st not of.

The hidden MAnnea I do eat;

The word of life, it is my meat.

My thoughts do yield me more content

Than can thy hours in pleasure spent.

Nor are they shadows which I catch,

Nor fancies vain at which I snatch

But reach at things that are so high,

Beyond thy dull Capacity.

Eternal substance I do see

With which inriched I would be.Mine eye doth pierce the heav'ns and see

What is Invisible to thee.

My garments are not silk nor gold,

Nor such like trash which Earth doth hold,

But Royal Robes I shall have on,

More glorious than the glist'ring Sun.

My Crown not Diamonds, Pearls, and gold,

But such as Angels' heads infold.

The City where I hope to dwell,

There's none on Earth can parallel.

The stately Walls both high and trongAre made of precious Jasper stone,

The Gates of Pearl, both rich and clear,

And Angels are for Porters there.

The Streets thereof transparent gold

Such as no Eye did e're behold.

A Crystal River there doth run

Which doth proceed from the Lamb's Throne.

Of Life, there are the waters sure

Which shall remain forever pure.

Nor Sun nor Moon they have no need

For glory doth from God proceed. No Candle there, nor yet Torch light,

For there shall be no darksome night.

From sickness and infirmity

Forevermore they shall be free.

Nor withering age shall e're come there,



But beauty shall be bright and clear.

This City pure is not for thee,

For things unclean there shall not be.

If I of Heav'n may have my fill,

Take thou the world, and all that will."

The Author To Her

Book

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wisethan true,

Who thee abroad exposed to public view,Made thee in rags, halting to th' press totrudge,Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).At thy return my blushing was not small,My rambling brat (in print) should mother

call.I cast thee by as one unfit for light, The visage was so irksome in my sight, Yet being mine own, at length affectionwould Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than ismeet.In better dress to trim thee was my mind,But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th'house I find.In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thouroam.In critic's hands, beware thou dost notcome,



And take thy way where yet thou art notknown.If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none;And for thy mother, she alas is poor,Which caused her thus to send thee out of

door.

A dialogue betwixt Wit, and Beauty. Margaret Cavendish

Mixt Rose, and Lilly, why are you so proud, Wit.

Since Faire is not in all Minds best allow'd?

Some like the Black , the Browne, as well as White,

In all Compexions some Eyes take delight:

Nor doth one Beauty in the World still reigne.

For Beauty is created in the Braine.

But say there were a Body perfect made,

Complexion pure, by Natures pensill laid:

A Countenance where all sweet Spirits meet,

A Haire that's thick , or long curl'd to the Feet : 10

Yet were it like a Statue made of stone,

The Eye would weary grow to look thereon.

Had it not Wit , the Mind still to delight,

It soon would weary be, as well as Sight .

For Wit is fresh, and new, doth sport, and play,

And runs about the Humour every way.

With all the Passions Wit can well agree;

Wit tempers them, and makes them pleas'd to bee.

Wit's ingenious, doth new Inventions find,

To ease the Body, recreate the Mind . 20

When I appeare, I strike the Optick Nerve, Beauty.

I wound the Heart , I make the Passions serve.Soules are my Prisoners, yet love me so well,

My Company is Heaven, my absence Hell .

Each Knee doth bow to me, as to a Shrine,

And all the World accounts me as Divine.

Beauty, you cannot long Devotion keep: Wit.

"Mixt Rose, and Lilly, why

are you so proud"



The Mind growes weary, Senses fall a sleep.

As those which in the House of God do go,

Are very zealous in a Prayer , or two: 30

But if they kneele an houre-long to pray,

Their Zeale growes cold, nor know they what they say.

So Admiration last not very long,

After nine daies the greatest wonder's gone.

The Mind , as Senses all, delights in Change;

They nothing love, but what is new, and strange.

But subtle Wit can both please long, and well;

For, to the Eare a new Tale Wit can tell.

And, for the Tast , meat dresses severall waies,

To please the Eye, new Formes, and Fashions raise. 40

And for the Touch, Wit spins both Silk , and Wooll ,

Invents new waies to keep Touch warm, and coole.

For Sent , Wit mixtures, and Compounds doth make,

That still the Nose a fresh new smell may take.

I by discourse can represent the Mind ,

With severall Objects, though the Eyes be blind.

I can create Ideas in the Braine.

Which to the Mind seem reall, though but fain'd.The Mind like to a Shop of Toies I fill,

With fine Conceits, all sorts of Humours sell. 50

I can the work of Nature imitate;

And change my selfe into each severall Shape.

I conquer all, am Master of the Feild ,

I make faire Beauty in Loves Wars to yeild.Line 17. With all: "withall" (1653).

Line 35. nine daies: the proverbial "nine days' wonder" attracts interest only for a short time. Line40. dresses: to prepare food by making it ready to cook. Also, to season food.

Line 41. Formes: style of dress.

Of Poets, and their Theft. . Margaret Cavendish

As Birds, to hatch their Young do sit in Spring,

Some Ages severall Broods of Poets bring;

Which to the World in Verse do sweetly sing.

Their Notes, great Nature set, not Art so taught;

So Fancies in the Braine that Nature wrought,

Are best; what Imitation makes, are naught.

For though they sing as well, as well may bee,

And make their Notes of what they learne, agree;

Yet he that teaches still hath Mastery:

And ought to have the Crowne of Praise, and Fame, 10

In the long Role of Time to write his Name:

And those that steale it out to blame.

There's None should Places have in Fames high court,But those that first do win Inventions Fort:

Not Messengers, that onely make Report.

To Messengers Rewards of Thanks are due,

For their great Paines, telling their Message true.

But not the Honour to Invention new.

Many there are that Sutes will make to weare,

Of severall Patches stole, both here, and there; 20

That to the World they Gallants may appeare.

And the Poore Vulgar, which but little know,

Do Reverence all, that makes a Glistring Shew;

Examines not, the same how they came to.

Then do they call their Friends and all their Kin,They Factions make, the Ignorant to bring:

And with their help, into Fame's Court get in.

Some take a Line or two of Horace Wit,

And here, and there they will a Fancy pick.

And so of Homer, Virgill, Ovid sweet: 30

_______________

Line 5. Fancies: an

attribute manifested in

poetical or literary

composition - aptitude for

the invention of illustrative

or decorative imagery,

inventive design--often

personified.

Line 28-30. Horace,

Homer, Virgill and Ovid:

well known classical poets.

Line 37. Glasses: glaze or

superficial lustre. Adeceptive appearance.

Line 45. gay: bright or

lively-looking, especially in

colour; brilliant or showy.

Line 49. straight-lac'd: to

compress the waist of a

woman by drawing the

laces (of the corset) tight.

Line 51. swart: dark or

dusky. To darken,

especially the skin or

complexion.Line 56. Eye: particular

visual ability or maybe

mind's eye.

Line 60. Number: poetic

meter.



Makes all those Poets in their Book to meet:

Yet makes them not appeare in their right shapes,

But like to Ghosts do wander in dark Shades.

But those that do so, are but Poet-Juglers,

And like to Conjurers are Spirit-troublers.

By Sorcery the Ignorant delude,

Shewing false Glasses to the Multitude.

And with a small, and undiscerning Haire,

They pull Truth out the place wherein she were.

But by the Poets Lawes they should be hang'd, 40

And in the Hell of Condemnation damn'd.Most of our Moderne Writers now a daies,

Consider not the Fancy, but the Phrase.

As if fine words were Wit; or, One should say,

A Woman's handsome if her Cloaths be gay.

Regarding not what Beauty's in the Face,

Nor what Proportion doth the Body grace.

As when her Shooes be high, to say shee's tall,

And when shee is straight-lac'd, to say shee's small.

When Painted, or her Haire is curl'd with Art, 50

Though of itself tis Plaine, and Skin is swart.

We cannot say, from her a Thanks is due

To Nature, nor those Arts in her we view.

Unlesse she them invented, and so taught

The World to set forth that which is stark naught.

But Fancy is the Eye, gives Life to all;

Words, the Complexion, as a whited Wall.

Fancy is the Form, Flesh, Blood, Bone, Skin;

Words are but Shadowes, have no Substance in.

But Number is the Motion, gives the Grace, 60

And is the Countenance to a well-form'd Face.

Line 61. Countenance:

facial expression.

"A Woman's handsome

if her Cloaths be gay."

[A Poet I am neither borne, nor

bred] . Margaret Cavendish

A Poet I am neither borne, nor bred,But to a witty Poet married:

Whose Braine is Fresh, and Pleasant,as the Spring,

Where Fancies grow, and where the

Muses sing. There oft I leane my Head, and list'ning

harke, To heare his words and all his Fancies

mark;And from that Garden Flowers of

Fancies take,

Whereof a Posie up in Verse I make. Thus I, that have no Garden of mine

owne, There gather Flowers that are newly

William Cavendish,

Duke of Newcastle



blowne. _______________

Line 8. Posie: a bunch of flowers; a nosegay, a bouquet.

An excuse for so much writ upon myVerses. . Margaret Cavendish

Condemne me not for making such a coyle About my Book, alas it is my Childe. Just like a Bird, when her Young are in Nest, Goes in, and out, and hops and takes no Rest;



But when their Young are fledg'd, their heads out peep, Lord what a chirping does the Old one keep. So I, for feare my Strengthlesse Childe should fall

Against a doore, or stoole, aloud I call,

Bid have a care of such a dangerous place: Thus write I much, to hinder all disgrace.

_______________ Line 1. coyle: fuss.

[I Language want, to dresse my Fancies in,] . Margaret Cavendish



I Language want, to dresse my Fancies in,

The Haire's uncurl'd, the Garments loose, and thin;

Had they but Silver Lace to make them gay,

Would be more courted then in poore array.

Or had they Art , might make a better show;

But they are plaine, yet cleanly doe they goe.

The world in Bravery doth take delight,

And glistering Shews doe more attract the sight ;

And every one doth honour a rich Hood,As if the outside made the inside good.

And every one doth bow, and give the place,

Not for the Mans sake, but the Silver Lace.

Let me intreat in my poore Booke's behalfe,

That all may not adore the Golden Calf.

Consider, pray, Gold hath no life therein,

And Life in Nature is the richest thing.

So Fancy is the Soul in Poetrie,

And if not good, a Poem ill must be.

Be just, let Fancy have the upper place,

And then my Verses may perchance finde grace.

If flattering Language all the Passions rule,

Then Sense, I feare, will be a meere dull Foole.

_______________ Line 9. Hood: worn sometimes with the intention of concealment. A fashionable piece of clothing (French

Hood) for women in the 16th and 17th centuries. Line 11. place: the space which one person occupies by usage, allotment or right - a place of prestige. Line 14. Golden Calf: an idol-god, built when Moses was on mount Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments;symbolizes false worship. Worship of the Golden Calf came to signify not merely dolatry but also the idolatry of

wealth.



Of the Sunne, and the Earth. . Margaret Cavendish

Through Earth's porous holes her sweat doth passe,Which is the Dew that lyes upon the Grasse:Where (like a Lover kinde) the Sun wipes clean,

That her faire face may to the Light be seen;

And for her sake that water he esteemes, Threading those drops upon his silver beames,Like ropes of Pearle; he draws them to his sphere,

Turning those drops to Chrystall when they're there. Yet, what he gathers, cannot he keep all,But downe againe some of those drops doe fall:10When turning back upon her head they run,He clouds his browes, as if he had ill done.

But Lovers thinke they alwayes doe amisse,Although those showres her refreshment is.When she by sweat exhausted growes, and dry,

The Sun the moystest Clouds doth squeeze in sky;Or else he takes some of his sharpest beames,

To breake the Clouds, from whence pour Chrystall streams. Then Earth doth drinke too much, yet doth not reele;She cannot dizzy be, though sicknesse feele. 20

_______________ Line 13. doe amisse: do wrong, act inappropriately.

Line 19. reele: to be physically or mentally shaken.

The weight of Atomes. . Margaret Cavendish

If Atomes are as small, as small can bee, They must in quantity of Matter all agree:And if consisting Matter of the same (be right,)

Then every Atome must weigh just alike.

Thus Quantity, Quality and Weight, all Together meets in every Atome small.

Return to List The joyning of severall Figur'd Atomes make other Figures.

Severall Figur'd Atomes well agreeing,When joyn'd, do give another Figure being.For as those Figures joyned, severall waies,

The Fabrick of each severall Creature raise.

_______________ Line 1. Severall Figur'd: distinctively shaped.Line 2. Figure: shape, formLine 4. Severall: distinct, individual.A World in an Eare-Ring.

A World in an Eare-Ring. . Margaret Cavendish



An Eare-ring round may well a Zodiacke bee,Where in a Sun goeth round, and we not see.And Planets seven about that Sun may move,And Hee stand still, as some wise men would prove.And fixed Stars, like twinkling Diamonds, plac'dAbout this Eare-ring, which a World is vast.

That same which doth the Eare-ring hold, the hole,Is that, which we do call the Pole.

There nipping Frosts may be, and Winter cold, Yet never on the Ladies Eare take hold. 10And Lightnings, Thunder, and great Winds may blowWithin this Eare-ring, yet the Eare not know.

There Seas may ebb, and flow, where Fishes swim,And Islands be, where Spices grow therein.

There Christall Rocks hang dangling at each Eare,And Golden Mines as Jewels may they weare.

There Earth-quakes be, which Mountains vast downe fling,And yet nere stir the Ladies Eare, nor Ring.

There Meadowes bee, and Pastures fresh, and greene,And Cattell feed, and yet be never seene:20And Gardens fresh, and Birds which sweetly sing,Although we heare them not in an Eare-ring.

There Night, and Day, and Heat, and Cold, and soMay Life, and Death, and Young, and Old, still grow.

Thus Youth may spring, and severall Ages dye,

Great Plagues may be, and no Infections nigh, There Cityes bee, and stately Houses built, Their inside gaye, and finely may be gilt. There Churches bee, and Priests to teach therein,And Steeple too, yet heare the Bells not ring.30From thence may pious Teares to Heaven run,And yet the Eare not know which way they're gone.

There Markets bee, and things both bought, and sold,

Know not the price, nor how the Markets hold. There Governours do rule, and Kings do Reigne,And Battels fought, where many may be slaine.And all within the Compasse of this Ring,And yet not tidings to the Wearer bring.Within the Ring wise Counsellors may sit,And yet the Eare not one wise word may get.40

There may be dancing all Night at a Ball,

And yet the Eare be not disturb'd at all. There Rivals Duels fight, where some are slaine; There Lovers mourne, yet heare them not complaine.And Death may dig a Lovers Grave, thus wereA Lover Dead, in a Faire Ladies Eare.



But when the Ring is broke, the World is done, Then Lovers they into Elysium run. _______________ Line 2. Planets seven about that Sun: Apparently a blend of Copernicanand Ptolemaic ideas. The Ptolemaic cosmos included seven "planets," thesun and moon, plus Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. Uranus wasnot observed until 1781, so Cavendish must be including the moon as wellas the earth to make seven.

Line 5. fixed Stars: A feature of Ptolemaic cosmology. The sphere of thefixed stars was held to be next beyond the planetary spheres.

Eve's Apology in Defense of Women

Excerpted from Salve Deus Rex Judæorumby Amelia Lanyer, 1611

But surely Adam can not be excused,Her fault though great, yet he was most to blame;What Weakness offered, Strength might have refused,Being Lord of all, the greater was his shame: 780Although the Serpent's craft had her abused,God's holy word ought all his actions frame,

For he was Lord and King of all the earth,Before poore Eve had either life or breath.

Who being framed by God's eternal hand, 785 The perfectest man that ever breathed on earth;And from God's mouth received that straight command,

The breach whereof he knew was present death: Yea having power to rule both Sea and Land, Yet with one Apple won to loose that breath 790

Which God had breathed in his beauteous face,Bringing us all in danger and disgrace.

And then to lay the fault on Patience' back, That we (poor women) must endure it all;We know right well he did discretion lack, 795Being not persuaded thereunto at all;If Eve did err, it was for knowledge' sake,

The fruit being fair persuaded him to fall:No subtle Serpent's falsehood did betray him,If he would eat it, who had power to stay him? 800

Not Eve, whose fault was only too much love,Which made her give this present to her Dear,

That what she tasted, he likewise might prove,



Whereby his knowledge might become more clear;He never sought her weakeness to reprove, 805With those sharp words, which he of God did hear:

Yet Men will boast of Knowledge, which he tookFrom Eve's fair hand, as from a learned Book.

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