Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden
Abraham Cowley (16181667)Extracts from The Miscellanies: The Chronicle. A Ballad
M
If I remember well, my breast,
Margarita first of all;
But when awhile the wanton maid
With my restless heart had played,
Martha took the flying ball.
To the beauteous Catharine.
Beauteous Catharine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Elisa’s conquering face.
Had she not evil counsels ta’en.
Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favourites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.
Both to reign at once began.
Alternately they sway’d,
And sometimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Ann the crown did wear,
And sometimes both I obey’d.
And did rigorous laws impose.
A mighty tyrant she!
Long, alas, should I have been,
Under that iron-sceptered Queen,
Had not Rebecca set me free.
’Twas then a golden time with me.
But soon those pleasures fled,
For the gracious Princess died
In her youth and beauty’s pride,
And Judith reigned in her stead.
Judith held the sovereign power.
Wondrous beautiful her face,
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,
And so Susanna took her place.
Arm’d with a resistless flame
And th’ artillery of her eye;
Whilst she proudly marched about
Greater conquests to find out,
She beat out Susan by the by.
Black-ey’d Bess, her viceroy-maid,
To whom ensu’d a vacancy,
Thousand worse passions then possest
The interregnum of my breast.
Bless me from such an anarchy!
And a third Mary next began,
Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria.
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Katharine,
And then a long et cætera.
The strength and riches of their state,
The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things
That make up all their magazines;
To take and keep men’s hearts,
The letters, embassies, and spies,
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
Numberless, nameless mysteries!
By Matchavil the waiting-maid;
I more voluminous should grow
(Chiefly if I like them should tell
All change of weathers that befell)
Than Holinshed or Stow.
Since few of them were long with me.
An higher and a nobler strain
My present Emperess dost claim,
Heleonora, first o’ the name;
Whom God grant long to reign!