Author: liza.blake

Motions do work according as they find[note] “Of the Working of Several Motions of Nature” was first included in Cavendish’s 1653 Philosophical Fancies, the first iteration of her natural philosophical treatise, which would later undergo three major revisions in 1655, 1663, and 1668, respectively. The first revision of her 1653 treatise, the 1655 Philosophical and Physical Opinions (PPO), includes nearly all of the 1653 text as its “Part I” and adds a large amount of additional material. In the 1663 and 1668 revisions of her natural philosophical system, she removes her poetic chapters, including this poem, which is a poetic exploration of the role of motion (one of her key natural philosophical concepts, alongside matter and figure) in the creation of the universe.

We selected this poem to edit because it offers a useful and evocative summary of the role of motion in Cavendish’s natural philosophy, and because of its swerve to the contemplation of the eventual destruction of the cosmos at the end. The Philosophical Fancies was published just weeks after the first edition of her Poems and Fancies, and yet it contains no mention of the atoms described in several poems in Part I of her Poems and Fancies. However, despite the fact that she drops all mention of atoms in her Philosophical Fancies (and seems to explicitly reject atomism in her 1655 PPO), there is more continuity across the two poetic descriptions of matter than has often been recognized. Readers of Poems and Fancies Part I will recognize in this poem the importance of motion present in several atom poems (see, e.g., “Motion is According to the Figure,” or “Motion is the Life of All Things”), and its role in both destroying and subsequently creating new figures (see the especially memorable description of this in the Part I poem “Motion Makes Atoms a Bawd for Figure”). The idea that matter closely packed together or closely united (found in line 9 of this poem) creates harder or more durable objects can be found as well in Part I poem “All Things Last or Dissolve According to the Composure of Atoms”. The personification of Nature and the comparison of her creations to objects made by humans resonates with the personifications of Nature that especially occupy Part III of her Poems and Fancies (especially what Blake calls elsewhere the “Nature’s X” poems). The seeming collapse, via metaphor, of Nature’s “art” or creations and objects manufactured by humans goes against the hard distinctions drawn by many other seventeenth century thinkers. Bakaj also appreciated in this poem the way that it urges her reader to look inwards and question the makeup of objects, materiality, creation, and science.

This poem falls into two uneven parts. The beginning offers an overview of her theories on matter, motion, and figure. She describes to her reader the role of “sensitive spirits”—subtle, vital, and active parts of her vitalist vision of matter, whose motions give matter the figures or forms that give it its properties. The poem details the “work” of these sensitive spirits, emphasizing the variety of properties that they can produce in matter through their different motions. Using mundane images of spider webs, vegetables, animal pelts, and even household fabrics, she allows her reader to understand the composition and motions of different kinds of matter beyond the realm accessible by human senses.

The ending of the poem then zooms outwards from the view of small, mundane objects to a large, planetary view of matter, destruction, and creation. In this view, she reminds the reader that all objects, even the planets themselves, are impermanent forms of matter. This is an argument resonant with many poems by Hester Pulter, including Pulter’s “Universal Dissolution”; “hurled” and “world,” used by Cavendish in the final couplet, is also favorite rhyme of Pulter, and Pulter likewise fantasizes about how the dissolution of matter as we know it might lead to the creation of other worlds. Cavendish hints in this poem not only at the impermanence of forms but also at the conservation of matter as she insists that the inevitable fall or destruction of all things—including the “earthly ball” or globe on which we dwell—does not diminish the “property” that all matter retains, even as it loses the forms or figures that we recognize. She ends with the suggestion that due to this conservation of matter amidst destruction, the new figures that motion can create include not only small natural bodies, but also new worlds. It conjures the destruction of the universe, in other words, in order to describe the full creative potentiality of matter, and the motion that makes it. We invite our readers to speculate on why the poem ends in such a different place than it began, or why Cavendish has chosen to join the two different parts of the poem into one larger composition.

“Of the Working of Several Motions of Nature” was edited by Liza Blake and UTM undergraduate Angela Bakaj (a double major in English and Biology) in a modernized edition. We collated two copies of the 1655 PPO (both copies held at the British Library, under the shelfmarks 31.e.8 and C.39.h.27(2), respectively) against the version of the 1653 Philosophical Fancies available on Early English Books Online, finding no substantive variants beyond a hand correction in the 1655 PPO (which we adopted and noted accordingly). We transcribed and modernized the text, and added explanatory glosses. Some of these glosses rely on definitions from the Oxford English Dictionary Online (OED), and are noted accordingly. We are grateful to the University of Toronto Excellence Award for funding Bakaj’s work on this edition. [/note]
Matter that’s fit and proper for each kind.
Sensitive spirits[note]“Sensitive spirits” are what Cavendish dubs the subtle, vital, parts of matter whose motion creates figures, or give matter its shape and properties.[/note] work not all one way,
But as the matter is, they cut, carve, lay,
Joining together matter, solid light,[note]Depending on punctuation, this line could mean that it joins together matter, which can be both solid and light, or that it joins together matter, which can be appositively redefined as light made solid. We are not entirely sure which was intended, but because we were modernizing punctuation we were required to make a choice; we thought the idea of matter as solid light was interesting, but ask readers to keep the other possibility in mind as well! [/note]                             5
And build and form some figures straight upright,
Or make them bending, and so jutting out,
And some are large, and strong, and big about,
And some are thick, and hard, and close unite;[note]i.e., some unite closely together (and are for that reason hard)[/note]
Others are flat, and low, and loose, and light.             10
But when they meet with matter fine and thin,
Then they do weave, as spiders when they spin.
All that is woven is soft, smooth, thin things,
As flow’ry vegetables and animal skins.[note]Cavendish compares the softness of fine, thin matter with vegetables and animals skins, suggesting (in the lines that follow) that because they are soft, vegetables and animal skins themselves might have a woven texture on the micro scale.[/note]
Observe the grain of every thing, you’ll see                 15
Like interwoven threads lie evenly,[note]Cavendish claims that if one were to regard soft and fine objects closely, their composition of matter would resemble an interwoven network of threads.[/note]
And like to diaper and damask wrought,[note]Diaper and damask were two luxurious and decorative types of textiles used commonly for tablecloths (OED). Here and below Cavendish compares the things of nature to things manufactured by humans.[/note]
In several works that for our table’s bought,
Or like to carpets which the Persian made,[note]Cavendish references the Persian practice of rug making.[/note]
Or satin smooth, which is the Florence trade.[note]Cavendish names Florence, Italy as a major center for the production of satin. In lines 19 and 20, she appeals not only to luxury manufactured goods, but to foreign luxury goods. [/note]            20
Some matter they engrave, like ring and seal,
Which is the stamp of Nature’s commonweal.[note]Cavendish often personifies Nature in her poetry (see esp. Part III of her Poems and Fancies, where she depicts Nature as a busy housewife). Here as she references the process of ratifying a document with the impression of an engraved signet ring unto a bead of wet wax to create a seal.[/note]
’Tis Nature’s arms,[note]i.e., coat of arms or symbol like would be pressed into a seal[/note] where she doth print
On all her works, as coin that’s in the mint.[note]Cavendish reiterates the metaphor of Nature as leaving a stamp or impression on the world, here comparing her impression to the minting of coins with a nation’s coat of arms. [/note]
Some several sorts they join together glued,                25
As matter solid with some that’s fluid.
Like to the earthly ball[note]i.e., the globe of the Earth.[/note], where some are mixed
Of several sorts, although not fixed,
For though the figure of the Earth may last
Longer than others, yet at last may waste.                   30
And so the sun, and moon, and planets all,
Like other figures, at the last may fall.
The matter’s still the same, but motion may
Alter it into figures every way,
Yet keep the property, to make such kind                     35
Of figures fit, which motion out can find.
Thus may the figures change, if motion hurls
That matter other[note]The word “other” was printed as “of her” in both the 1653 Philosophical Fancies and the 1655 Philosophical and Physical Opinions (PPO). In 5 copies of the 1655 PPO (those held at the Bibliothèque Mazarine, the British Library (two of three copies), and the Hendrick Conscience Heritage Library (both copies)), it has been corrected by hand to “other.” As this correction makes sense to us, and is also listed in the Errata, we have carried it forward in our edition. That the typo from the first edition was carried forward into the second edition before being caught and listed in the Errata is indicative of just how closely the 1655 PPO follows the parts of the 1653 Philosophical Fancies that it reprints. [/note] ways, for other worlds.

The next,[note]This poem is taken from Margaret Cavendish’s Natures Pictures, drawn by fancies pencil to the life (London, 1656), reprinted with textual changes as Natures Picture (London, 1671). The first part of Nature’s Pictures (a section entitled “Her Excellencies Tales in Verse” in 1656 and “Several Feigned Stories in Verse” in 1671) is made up of several verse stories, told by different storytellers, similar in structure to Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. This story follows one about a soldier who marries a woman from the opposing camp, and it is followed by “A Mock-Tale of the Lord Marquis of Newcastles” (the title breaking the frame narrative) gives a fairly unsympathetic depiction of very old woman hit by Cupid’s arrow, who marries a young man and then dies during the consummation of her marriage.

We chose this poem for the website as, being a narrative poem, it shows Cavendish writing in a different mode than she does in Poems and Fancies. It is also interesting as one of the poems marked (in some copies) as being collaboratively written between Margaret Cavendish and her husband William—in one copy, this assertion is written in her own hand (see the note by line 49).

The plot of the poem is fairly simple: a beautiful woman is out gathering flowers when she is killed suddenly by a personified Death; she dies among the flowers, which try to save her and then mourn her, and then her body is repurposed, turned both into natural fertilizer and precious objects. We were particularly fascinated by the ending (possibly William’s), in which her body is made to serve both the letter and the spirit of poetry: her memory inspires “poetic flames,” and her dissolved body becomes a “purer dust” which poets use to “gild their every line”—likely a reference to the blotting sand, pin dust, or pounce which was used to dry ink and could sometimes leave a sparkly residue on a page (see the note on line 69 for more detail). It was a common trope that beautiful women inspired beautiful poetry in the seventeenth century, but seldom do we see a woman’s body literally figured as the dust that makes a poetic line literally sparkle.

We invite our readers to ask, as they read: why would Cavendish write a poem focused not on the life of the woman, but on the afterlife of her body and its re-integration into nature? How do the posthuman aspects of and the sentient flowers in this poem connect to those in Cavendish’s “Of Sense and Reason Exercised in their Different Shapes” (on this website)? Does it change our reading of “Surprisal of Death” to know that the latter 23 lines might have been written by William rather than by Margaret? Can we detect changes of style or of purpose as the authorship changes? We also invite our readers to pay attention to changes of verb tense, and the moments where the poem switches from past tense to present, as if the moment of her death freezes time, or brings us to the reader’s present.

This poem was edited by Liza Blake and Sean Morgado in a modernized best text edition. We compared the EEBO versions of the 1656 and 1671 versions of the text, as well as several copies of the first edition that Cavendish corrected in her own hand, and made a best-text version of the poem. Textual notes show substantive variants across editions, and note any hand corrections; explanatory notes explain vocabulary and other references, and analyze variants. In most cases definitions come from the Oxford English Dictionary Online.[/note] a virgin’s turn a[note]a] her 1671[/note] tale to tell,
For youth and modesty did fit it well.

A company of virgins young did meet;
Their pastime was to gather flowers sweet.
They[note]They] And 1656[/note] white straw hats upon their heads did wear,
And falling feathers, which waved with the air,
Fanning their faces like a Zephyrus[note]i.e., a westerly wind, or more generally a mild or gentle breeze[/note] wind,                      5
Shadowing the sun, that strove their eyes to blind.
And in their hands they each a basket held,
Which baskets they with fruits or flowers filled.
But one amongst the rest such beauty had,
That Venus for to change might well be glad[note]for to change] i.e., Venus would be willing to change bodies with the “one amongst the rest,” implying that this particular woman is more beautiful even than the notoriously beautiful goddess Venus.[/note]:                10
Her shape exact; her skin was smooth and fair;
Her teeth white, even set; a long curled hair;
Her nature modest; her behavior so,
As when she moved the Graces seemed to go.
Her wit was quick, and pleasing to the ear,                     15
That all who heard her speak straight[note]straight] i.e., immediately[/note] lovers were—
But yet her words such chaste love did create
That all impurity they did abate.
In[note]In] And 1671[/note] every heart or head, where wild thoughts live,
She did convert, and wise instructions give,                    20
For her discourse such heavenly seeds did sow
That where ’twas[note]’twas] she 1671[/note] strewed, there virtues up did grow.
These virgins all were in a garden set,
And each did strive the finest flowers to get.
But this fair lady on a bank did lie                                     25
Of most choice flowers, which did court her eye,
And every one did bend their heads full low,
Bowing their stalks, which from the roots did[note]which from the roots did] from off the Roots they 1656[/note] grow.
And when her hands did touch their tender leaves,
Each[note]Each] They 1656[/note] seemed to kiss, and to her fingers cleaves.[note]The change to present tense here is likely a result of her desire to have the couplet be a perfect rhyme. Cavendish alters verb tense or conjugation in other poems for the purpose of making more perfect rhymes.[/note]      30
But she, as if in nature ’twere a crime,
Was loath to crop their stalks in their full prime,
But with her face close to those flowers lay,
That through her nostrils those sweets might find way—[note]those sweets might find way—] might their sweets convey. 1656. Note that the “sweets” are the aromas of the flowers, not the flowers themselves.[/note]
Not for to rob them, for her head was full                       35
Of flow’ry fancies, which her wit did pull
And posies made, the world for to present:
More lasting were, and of[note]More lasting were, and of] VVith a more lasting and 1671. The 1671 variant offers a different interpretation of the line: whereas in the 1656 edition both the imaginary “posies” and their scent endure, in the 1671 edition it is only the scent that is long-lasting. Because in early modern English “posies” signified both an arrangement of flowers and poetry, the editors decided to preserve the 1656 variant, as Cavendish refers to the ability of poetry to endure in other poems (see, e.g., “To the Reader” where she thinks about how her poetry may build her a “pyramid of praise”).[/note] a sweeter scent.
But as she lay upon this pleasant[note] pleasant] pleased 1656. Note that if one argues that the 1656 edition was not a typographical error but an authentic variant, then the text could indicate that the bank itself is the subject of “pleased,” possibly giving a posthuman alternative to the line’s meaning.[/note] bank,
For which those flowers did great Nature thank,           40
Death envious grew they[note]they] she 1671. Note that the 1656 variant “they” indicates that Death is envious of the flowers’ delight in the presence of the beautiful virgin. The 1671 variant suggests it is the beautiful virgin’s delight which engenders Death’s envy. The editors decided the 1656 variant corresponded better with the previous line, which discusses the flowers’ gratitude.[/note] such delight did take,
And with his dart a deadly wound did make.
A sudden cold did seize her every limb,
With which her pulse beat slow and eyes grew dim.
Some that sat by observed her pale to be,                        45
But thought it some false light, yet[note]yet] but 1656[/note] went to see.
And when they came, she turned her eyes aside,
Spread forth her arms, then stretched, and sighed, and died.
The frighted virgins ran with panting breath[note]A marginal handwritten note next to lines 49–52 in the British Library’s copy of the 1656 Nature’s Pictures (shelfmark G.11599; also the copy uploaded to EEBO) reads: “Thes verses to [th]e end are my [L]ord marquisses.” Notes like these appear throughout the 1656 Nature’s Pictures in certain copies, though not always in the same places or in the same hand, and attribute sections of the text to her husband William Cavendish, then Marquess of Newcastle. The second edition of 1671 does not mark these lines as a product of her husband’s collaboration. These lines also have a marginal note in the following copies that Blake has consulted: British Library, shelfmark 841.m.25 (“from this plac to the end of this chapter my lord writt”—in Margaret Cavendish’s hand); Hendrik Conscience Heritage Library, shelfmark C 1039:4:ex.1 (“[Fr]om this place [to] [th]e end Written [by] my Lord – Marquisse”); and Hendrik Conscience Heritage Library, shelfmark C 1039:4:ex.2 (“[F]rom this place [to] [th]e end of [th]e [c]hapter is my [L]ord Marquis”). On collaborative authorship between Margaret and William in Cavendish’s second volume of plays, see Jeffrey Masten, “Margaret Cavendish: Paper, Performance, ‘Sociable Virginity,’” Modern Language Quarterly 65 (2004), 49–68.[/note]
To tell the sadder story of her death,                                 50
The whilst the flowers to her rescue bend,[note]As the flowers bend to the rescue of the virgin, the poem shifts from describing them as merely seeming to have human attributes (see l. 30), to full-blown anthropomorphism.[/note]
And all their med’cinable virtues send.
But all in vain: their power’s too weak; each head
Then drooped, seeing[note]seeing] when found 1656[/note] they could not help the dead.
Their fresher colors did[note]did] will 1656. Note that as with the changing verb tenses in the previous lines, this difference has significant ramifications on the poem’s interpretation: the 1671 “did” keeps you in the past tense of the story (and implies that the flowers suddenly wilt), while the future “will” projects to the future of the flowers’ colors. The editors chose “did” to correspond to the lines around it, which consistently use past tense.[/note] no longer stay,                         55
But faded straight and withered all away.
For tears they dropped their leaves, and thought it meet
To strew her with them as her[note]her] a 1671[/note] winding sheet.
The airy[note]airy] Aëry 1656. The 1671 edition’s spelling of “airy” gives this line a regular (with respect to the rest of the poem) ten syllables; the 1656 edition’s umlaut makes “Aëry” into a three-syllable word. The difference is between a line made up of two iambs and two anapests (the 1671 version: “the A/ry CHOR/is-ters HOV/ered a-BOVE”), and a line made up of an iamb followed by three anapests (the 1656 version: “the A/e-ry CHOR/is-ters HOV/ered a-BOVE”).[/note] choristers hovered above,
And sang[note]sang] sung 1656, 1671. The editors modernized this to the standard past tense form.[/note] her last sad funeral song of love.[note]It is not entirely clear whether the airy choristers imagined here are angels or birds; given the vaguely secular nature of the rest of the poem, the editors guess birds, though the poem leaves it ambiguous.[/note]                60
The Earth grew proud, now having so much honor,
That odoriferous[note]The word “odoriferous” in early modern English means sweet-smelling or fragrant. In hagiography or saint’s lives, a saint’s body would often be described as miraculously preserved or good-smelling, so the fact that her body smells pleasant after her death, in tandem with her quasi-saintly life (see the description of how her words could abate “impurity,” and “convert” wild hearts and heads, and “sow” virtues in others, in lines 17–22), perhaps suggests the virgin is meant to be understood as a kind of (secular?) saint.[/note] corpse lying[note]lying] to lye 1656[/note] upon her.
When that pure virgin’s stuff dissolved in dew,[note]Next to lines 63–65 is a curly bracket emphasizing the triplet (three lines rhyming together); early modern printers often marked triplets in this way.[/note]
Was the first cause new births of flowers grew,
And added sweets to those it did renew.                           65
The grosser parts the curious soon did take;
Of it transparent porcelain[note]In both editions of the poem the word used is “Purslain,” but the editors have modernized this as “porcelain” because “purslane” (a kind of succulent) made less sense in the context.[/note] they did make.
Her purer dust they keep for to refine
Best poets verse and gild their[note]gild their] gild 1671[/note] every line.[note]As was mentioned in the introductory note (see the note on line 1), these lines suggest that part of her body is processed into a “dust” that is used to “gild” or decorate poetic lines. This is likely a reference to the early modern practice of using blotting sand, also called pounce or pin dust, to dry ink, which would sometimes leave behind sparkly residue. For an article on pounce in Cavendish’s books, see Liza Blake, “Pounced Corrections in Oxford Copies of Cavendish’s Philosophical and Physical Opinions; or, Margaret Cavendish’s Glitter Pen,” New College Notes 10 (2018), no. 6: 1–11 (you can access the article here: https://www.new.ox.ac.uk/node/1804).[/note]
And all poetic flames she did inspire,                                70
So her name lives in that eternal fire.

O, said a man,[note] This poem is taken from Margaret Cavendish’s Natures Pictures, drawn by fancies pencil to the life (London, 1656), reprinted with textual changes as Natures Picture (London, 1671). The first part of Nature’s Pictures (a section entitled “Her Excellencies Tales in Verse” in 1656 and “Several Feigned Stories in Verse” in 1671) is made up of several verse stories, told by different storytellers, similar in structure to Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. It follows a story that ends with two happy lovers getting married, and before the start of the poem itself a man announces he is going to depict a very different kind of ending to love, to counterbalance the happy tale just told.

We chose this poem for the website as, being a narrative poem, it shows Cavendish writing in a different mode than she does in Poems and Fancies. It also ends with a long discussion of fame, a common topic for Cavendish and one which she thinks about both in the prefatory materials and Part IV of Poems and Fancies. That the lovers are parted because of a civil war (“Then in the kingdom did rebellion spring; / Most of the commons fought against their king …”) makes this love story surprisingly topical, written as it was as she was Cavendish and her husband were in exile in Antwerp. The very end verges on the metaphysical, with its discussion of the way that substance can be unified and multiple, one and many, at the same time (compare John Donne’s “The Ecstasy”).

This poem was edited by Liza Blake and Farheen Khan in a modernized best text edition. We compared the EEBO versions of the 1656 and 1671 versions of the text, as well as several copies of the first edition that Cavendish corrected in her own hand, and made a best-text version of the poem. Textual notes show substantive variants across editions, and note any hand corrections; explanatory notes explain vocabulary and other references. Where the original printings indent lines to show changes in voice or topic, we add line breaks to create new stanzas. [/note] such love (as this was) sure
Doth never in a married pair endure.
But lovers crossed use not to end so well,
Which for to show, a tale I mean to tell.

There was a lady virtuous, young, and fair,
Unto her father only child and heir,
In her behaviour modest, sweet, and civil,
So innocent, knew only good from evil,
Yet in her carriage[note] carriage] Garb 1671 [/note] had a majestic grace,                               5
And affable and pleasant was her face.
Another gentleman (whose house did stand[note] (whose house did stand] as neighbouring dwelt 1656 [/note]
Hard by her father’s, and was rich in land),[note] father’s, and was rich in land),] Father’s House which there was built, 1656 [/note]
He[note] He] Who 1656 [/note] had a son such[note] such] whom 1671 [/note] beauty did adorn
As some might think of Venus[note] Venus is the Roman goddess of beauty and love, especially sensual love. [/note] he was born,                         10
His spirit noble, generous, and great,
By nature valiant, disposition[note] disposition] dispositions 1656, 1671 (we emended this word for sense) [/note] sweet,
His wit ingenious, and his breeding such:
Arts, sciences, of pedantry no touch.[note] Arts, sciences, of pedantry no touch.] That his Sci’nces did not Pedantry t’uch. 1671 [/note]
This noble gentleman in love did fall                                      15
With this fair lady, who was pleased withal;
He courted her, his service did address:[note] i.e., he wooed her and professed his love and devotion to her. [/note]
His love by words and letters did express.
Though she seemed coy, his love she did not slight,
But civil answers did in letters write.                                      20
At last so well acquainted they did grow,
As[note] As] That 1671 [/note] but one heart each other’s thoughts did know.
Meantime their parents did their loves descry,[note] i.e., discovered their love [/note]
And sought all ways to break that unity,
Forbad[note] Forbad] Forbid 1656 [/note] each others company frequent,                               25
Did all they could love’s meetings to prevent.
But love regards not parents, nor their threats,
For love, the more ’tis barred, more strength begets.
Thus being crossed, by stealth they both did meet,
With[note] With] And 1671 [/note] privacy did make their love more sweet;                  30
Although their fears did oft affright their mind
Lest that their parents should their walks out find.[note] i.e., both were frequently worried that their parents would discover their methods for seeing one another [/note]
Then[note] Then] But 1656 [/note] in the kingdom did rebellion spring;
Most of the commons fought against their king,[note] The lovers are separated by a Civil War consisting of an uprising of the commons against the King—a clear reference to the English Civil Wars that had exiled both Margaret Cavendish and her husband to the continent, from where she was writing when she initially composed this poem. [/note]
And all the gentry that then loyal were                                   35
Did to the standard of the king repair.
Amongst the rest this noble youth was one;
Love bade[note] bade] bid 1656 [/note] him stay, but honor spurred him on.
When he declared his mind, her heart it rent;[note] i.e., hearing his intention to go to war tears her heart into pieces [/note]
Rivers of tears out of her eyes grief sent.                                40
And[note] And] When 1656 [/note] every tear like bullets pierced his breast,
Scattered his thoughts, and did his mind molest.
Silent long time they stood; at last spake he:
Why doth my love with tears so torture me?

Why do you blame my eyes, said she, to weep,                     45
Since they perceive you faith nor promise keep?
For did you love but half so true as I,
Rather than part, you’d[note] you’d] would 1656 [/note] choose to stay and die,
But you excuses make, and take delight,
Like cruel thieves, to rob and spoil by night.                         50
Now you have stole my heart, away you run,
And leave a silly[note] “silly” here means innocent, rather than frivolous [/note] virgin quite undone.

If I stay from the wars, what will men say?
They’ll say I make excuse to be away.
By this reproach, a coward I am thought,                               55
And my disgrace will make you seem in fault
To set your love upon a man so base,
Bring infamy to us and to our race.
To sacrifice my life for your content,
I would not spare; but (dear) in this consent,                        60
’Tis for your sake honor I strive to win,
That I some merit to your worth may bring.

She
If you will go, let me not stay behind,
But take such fortune with you as I find.
I’ll be your page, attend you in the field;[note] She offers to accompany him and wait on him as a servant in the battlefield. [/note]                             65
When you are weary I will hold your shield.

He
Dear love, that must not be, for women are
Of tender bodies, and minds full of fear.
Besides, my mind so full of care will be,
For fear a bullet should once light on thee,                            70
That I shall never fight, but strengthless grow,
Through feeble limbs be subject to my foe.
When thou art safe, my spirits high shall raise,
Striving to get a victory of praise.

With sad laments, these lovers they did part;[note] they did part;] did depart; 1671 [/note]                    75
Absence as arrows sharp doth wound each heart.
She spends her time, to Heaven high[note] Heaven high] Heaven-high 1671 [/note] doth pray
That gods would bless and safe conduct his way.

The whil’st he fights and Fortune’s favor had,
Fame brings his[note] his] this 1671 [/note] honor to his mistress sad.[note] i.e., His beloved hears the news that he is doing well on the field and that luck is on his side. [/note]                      80
All Cavaliers[note] Cavaliers were those who fought on the side of King Charles I in the English Civil Wars; Margaret Cavendish’s husband was a Cavalier. [/note] that in the army were,
There was not one could with this youth compare.
By love his spirits all were set on fire;
Love gave him courage, made his foes retire.

But O ambitious lovers, how they run                                     85
Without all[note] all] a 1656 [/note] guidance, like Apollo’s son,[note] Phaeton [Margaret Cavendish’s note]. Phaeton was the son of Apollo, god of the sun, who drives a chariot pulled by fiery horses across the sky every day. One day Phaeton asks his father to drive the chariot, but is not able to control them and is struck down by Zeus to prevent the combustion of the earth. (see the Encyclopedia Britannica: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Phaethon-Greek-mythology)[/note]
Run[note] Run] Runs 1656 [/note] out of moderations line—so he
Into[note] Into] Did through 1671 [/note] the thickest of the army flee
Singly alone, amongst the squadrons deep
Fighting, sent many one with Death to sleep.                          90
But numbers, with united strength, at last
This noble gallant man from horse did cast.
His body all so thick of wounds was[note] was] were 1656 [/note] set,
Safety, it seems, in fight he[note] Safety, it seems, in fight he] It seem’d in Fight his safety 1656 [/note] did forget—
But not his love,[note] love,] Mistris, 1656 [/note] who in his mind still lies;                           95
He[note] He] And 1656 [/note] wished her there[note] there] now 1656 [/note] to close his dying eyes.[note] dying eyes.] dying-Eyes. 1671 [/note]
Soul, said he, if thou wand’rest in the air,
Thy service to my mistress be thy care:
Attend her close, with her soul friendship make,
Then she perchance no other love may take.                         100
But if thou sink down to the shades below,
And (being a lover)[note] And (being a lover)] As being a Lover, 1656 [/note] to Elysium go,[note] “The concept of Elysium as the place where true love finds its reward is generally associated with Tibellus; however, the idea that Elysium is the eternal abode of devoted lovers, especially married couples, is found throughout ancient Greek and Roman literature” (Antoinette Brazouski, “Lovers in Elysium,” The Classical Bulletin 66.1 [1990]: 35). [/note]
Perchance my mistress’s soul you there may meet,
So walk and talk in love’s discourses sweet.
But if thou art like to a light put out,                                        105
Thy motion’s ceased, then all’s forgot no doubt.
With that, a sigh which from his heart did rise
Did mount his soul up to the airy skies.

The whilst his mistress, being sad with care,
Knees worn, spirits spent,[note] Knees worn, spirits spent,] Her Knees were worn, 1671 [/note] imploring gods with prayer,   110
A drowsy sleep did all her senses close,
But in her dreams Hermes[note] Hermes] Hermen 1565; Fancy 1671. We have read 1656’s “Hermen” as a typo for Hermes, the messenger god. The second edition’s change to “Fancy” (her imagination shows her lover to her) changes the emphasis: it is less about the interference of the gods, and more about her own psychology. [/note] her lover shows
With all his wounds, which made her loud to cry:
Help, help, you gods, said she, that dwell on high!
These fearful dreams her senses all did wake;                      115
In a cold sweat with fear each limb did shake.
Then came a messenger as pale as death,
With panting sides, swoll’n eyes, and shortened breath,
And by his looks his sadder tale did tell,
Which when she saw, straight in a swoon she fell.               120
At last her stifled spirits had recourse
Unto their usual place,[note] As she recovers from her swoon or faint, her bodily spirits (a thin fluid) that circulates throughout the body) return to their proper places. [/note] but of less force.
Then lifting up her eyes, her tongue gave way,
And thus unto the gods did mourning say:

Why do we pray[note] do we pray] pray we, 1656 [/note] and offer to high heaven,                         125
Since what we ask is seldom to us given?[note] is seldom to us given?] we seldome have us given? 1656 [/note]
If their decrees are fixed, what need we pray?
Nothing can alter fates, nor cross their way.
If they leave all to chance, who can apply?
For every chance is then a deity.                                              130
But if a power they keep to work at will,
It shows them cruel to torment us still.
When we are made, in pain we always live,
Sick bodies, or grieved[note] or grieved] Grieved 1671 [/note] minds to us they give;
With motions which run cross, composed we are,               135
Which makes our reason and our sense to jar;
When they are weary to torment us, must
We then return, and so dissolve to dust.
But if I have my fate in my own power,
I will not breathe, nor live another hour;                               140
Then with the gods I shall not be at strife,
If my decree can take away my life.
Then on her feeble[note] feeble] feebler 1656 [/note] legs she straight did stand,
And took a pistol charged[note] i.e., loaded and ready to fire [/note] in either hand.
Here, dear, said she, I give my heart to thee,                         145
And by my death divulged[note] i.e., revealed [/note] our loves shall be.
Then constant lovers mourners be; when dead
They’ll strew our graves—which is our marriage bed—[note] marriage bed—] Marriage-Bed: 1671 [/note]
Upon our hearse a weeping poplar[note] weeping poplar] weeping-Poplar 1671 [/note] set,
Whose moist’ning drops[note] moist’ning drops] Moysture-drops 1656 [/note] our death’s-dried[note] death’s-dried] Death’s dry’d 1656 [/note] cheeks may wet; 150
Two cypress garlands at our head shall stand,[note] Two cypress garlands at our head shall stand,] And at our Heads two Cypress Garlands stand, 1656 [/note]
That were made up by some fair virgin’s hand,
And on our cold pale corpse such flowers strew,[note] strew,] strow, 1671 [/note]
As[note] As] Which 1656 [/note] hang their heads for grief, and[note] and] so 1656 [/note] downward grow;
Then shall they lay us deep in[note] shall they lay us deep in] layes us in a deep and 1656 [/note] quiet grave,                         155
Wherein our bones long rest and peace may have.
Let not our friends a marble tomb erect[note] not our friends a marble tomb erect] no Friends Marble-Tombs erect upon 1671 [/note]
Upon our graves, but myrtle trees there set;[note] Upon our graves, but myrtle trees there set;] Our Graves, but set young Mirtle-trees thereon: 1671 [/note]
Those may in time a shady grove become,
Fit for sad lovers’ walks, whose thoughts are dumb,           160
For melancholy love seeks place obscure,
No noise nor company can it endure,[note] can it endure,] it can endure: 1671 [/note]
And when to ground they cast a dull, sad eye,[note] a dull, sad eye,] their dull, sad eyes, 1656 [/note]
Perhaps they’ll think on us who therein lie.[note] Perhaps they’ll think on us who therein lie.] Perchance may think on us that therein lyes. 1656 [/note]
Thus though we’re dead, our memory remains,[note] memory remains,] Memories remain, 1656 [/note]                165
And, like a ghost,[note] a ghost,] to Ghosts, 1656 [/note] may walk in moving brains,[note] moving brains,] moving-Brains; 1671 [/note]
And in each head Love’s[note] In one of the copies of this text given to the Antwerp Public Library (Hendrick Conscience Heritage Library, classmark C 1039:ex.1) the “s” in “Loves” is blotted, making “Love altars for us build[s]” and changing the line to say not that their memory constructs alters to Love, but that Love builds altars to their memory. [/note] altars for us build
To sacrifice some sighs or tears distilled.
Then to her heart the pistol set, and[note] and] she 1671 [/note] shot
A bullet in, and so[note] and so] by which 1656 [/note] her grief forgot.                                       170
Fame with her trumpet blew in every ear;
The sound of this great act spread everywhere.
Lovers from all parts came by the report
Unto her urn, as pilgrims did resort,
There offered praises of her constancy,                                  175
And vowed[note] vowed] vows 1656 [/note] the like unto Love’s deity.

A woman said that tale expressed love well,
And showed[note] showed] shew’d, 1671 [/note] that constancy in death did dwell;
Friendship, they say, a thing is so sublime[note] a thing is so sublime,] is so divine, 1656 [/note],
That Jove himself doth with himself so join,[note] That Jove himself doth with himself so join,] That with the Gods there’s nothing more Divine. 1671. “Jove” typically refers to Zeus or Jupiter, the king of the gods, though referring to Jove as being three in one (as the next lines do) also suggests that she may be thinking of the Trinity, and of Jove as the Christian God. Interestingly, the following couplet which refers to Jove being three in one are cut from the 1671 version. [/note]                       180
Dividing himself into equal parts three,
Yet one pure mind, and perfect power agree:[note] This line and the one before it do not appear in the second edition.[/note]
So loving friendships, having but one will,[note] So loving friendships, having but one will,] With wonder Lovers, having but one will, 1671 [/note]
Their bodies two,[note] Their bodies two,] Their two Bodies 1671 [/note] one soul doth govern still,
And though they be always disjoinèd much,[note] And though they be always disjoinèd much,] Nor do their Bodyes sever much, 1656 [/note]                      185
Yet all their[note] Yet all their ] Their 1656 [/note] senses equally do touch,
For what doth strike the eye, or other part,[note] part,] parts, 1665 [/note]
Begets in all like pleasure, or like smart.[note] Begets in all like pleasure, or like smart.] With Pain or Pleasure, like to each converts: 1656. The word “smart” here means “pain.” [/note]
So though in substance form divided be,
Yet soul and senses joined in one agree.[note] joined in one agree.] joyn, as one agree. 1656 [/note]                              190

A man that to the lady placed was nigh
Said he would tell another tragedy.

Great God, from Thee all infinites do flow,[note]This untitled poem first appears at the end of Margaret Cavendish’s hybrid prose and poetic natural philosophical treatise Philosophical Fancies (London, 1653) and was reprinted, with edits, in her later revisions of that treatise, Philosophical and Physical Opinions (PPO) (London, 1655 and 1663). This edition is by Liza Blake (Assistant Professor at the University of Toronto) and Tess Rahaman (undergraduate in the Department of English and Drama at University of Toronto Mississauga, and Editorial Assistant in the University of Toronto’s Work Study program). We collated the poem across the three editions, then edited, modernized, and annotated it. When reviewing the history of substantive textual changes, we found that we preferred the 1663 edition in every case, so we used the 1663 version of the poem as our base, though our textual notes record variants from earlier editions; we have also annotated the poem.

The poem begins as a second-person address to God, the source of all “infinites,” and then shifts to thinking about both God and man in the third person. Infinity is a key concept in Cavendish’s natural philosophy, particularly around questions of epistemology, or how we know what we know. It is no surprise, then, that the question of knowledge is central to this poem: it begins by thinking about God’s infinite knowledge, and then contrasts that with man’s limited or finite knowledge of that infinite knowledge.

Her conclusion, that finite humans cannot possibly understand an infinite God, is a common refrain for her, particularly in her prefaces to her natural philosophical works. Since we can’t truly know God, best instead to ask questions of Nature, which we can know. Interestingly, this poem does not appear in the fourth and final iteration of her natural philosophy, her Grounds of Natural Philosophy (London, 1668), perhaps because the Appendix to Grounds does discuss theological matters.

We have added this poem to the website not only because it is interesting in itself (as one of the few poems addressed to God in Cavendish’s otherwise secular poetry), but also for the several connections it has to other poems in Part I of her Poems and Fancies. For another poem on this website that seems to reach a similar conclusion (though in a very different form), see also “The Motion of Thoughts,” ll. 65–68: “And we can circle all the world about, / And can find all th’effects of nature out: / Yet all the wise and learnèd cannot tell / What’s done in Heaven, or how we there shall dwell.” Compare also “Of Stars.” We include cross-references and links to other poems in notes below. [/note]
And by Thy power from thence effects do grow.
Thou order’st[note]order’st] order’dst 1653; orderest 1655 [/note] all degrees of matter; just
As ’tis Thy will and pleasure, move it must.[note]These lines might be punctuated differently, with a semicolon after “just” instead of before it, in which case “just” would mean “justly” and would modify “order’st.” In 1653 there is a comma on either side of “just”; in 1655 and 1663, there is a comma before “just” and no punctuation at the end of the line. [/note]
And by Thy knowledge order’st[note]order’st] orderd’st 1653, 1655 [/note]all for th’best,[note]for th’best,] the Best; 1653; the best, 1655 [/note]             5
And[note]And] For 1653, 1665 [/note] in Thy knowledge doth Thy wisdom rest,
And wisdom cannot order things amiss,
For where disorder, there[note]there] is, 1653, 1655 [/note] no wisdom is.
Besides, great God, Thy will is just—for why?[note]why?] why, 1653 [/note]
Thy will still on Thy wisdom doth rely.[note]Lines 5–10 argue that God’s infinite knowledge allows Him to order the world justly, and in the best way possible. His infinite knowledge produces a well-ordered wisdom, which in turn produces a just will. [/note]                          10
O pardon Lord for what I now here speak[note]now here speak] here now speak, 1653; now hear speak 1655 ; As this textual note shows, the 1655 PPO reads “hear speak” instead of “‘here speak.” Reading the first word as “hear” potentially changes the meaning: rather than “what I here speak about God,” it may be understood as, “what I hear spoken about God.” In a copy of the 1655 PPO held at the British Library (Shelfmark 31.e.8), an early hand has underlined this line’s “hear” and corrected it to “here.” [/note]
Upon a guess; my knowledge is but weak.[note]Lines 11–12 mark a shift in the poem, from addressing God’s infinite greatness to asking the question of how and whether she, the speaker of the poem, can say anything definite about God at all. [/note]
But Thou hast made such creatures as mankind,
And gav’st[note]gav’st] giv’st 1653 [/note] them something which we call a mind;
Always in motion, it ne’er[note]it ne’er] never 1653, 1655 [/note] quiet lies                              15
Until the figure of his body dies.[note]That man’s mind is always in motion seemingly sets him closer to Nature than to God in Cavendish’s philosophical system: while God is eternally ordered and just, Nature seeks continual change, and is described as restlessly and constantly changing shape or “figure” in Cavendish’s natural philosophical treatises, as well as in the poems of Part I of Poems and Fancies (see, for example, “The Difference of Atoms and Motion in Youth and Age,” lines 7–8: “Motion’s ease is change, weary soon doth grow, / If in one figure she doth often go.” [/note]
His sev’ral[note]sev’ral] severall 1653; several 1655 [/note] thoughts, which sev’ral[note]sev’ral] severall 1653; several 1655 [/note] motions are,
Do raise up love, hope, joys, and doubts[note]hope, joys, and doubts] hopes, joyes, doubts, 1653; hope, joyes, doubts 1655 ; Cavendish’s change of 1653’s plural “hopes” to a singular “hope” sets hope, as an abstract emotional state, apart from the plural “joys” and “doubts,” which, as plurals, seem to be finite entities that can exist in multiples. The addition of “and” before “doubts” both regularizes the meter of the line, and partitions the list of emotional states between positive attributes (love, hope, and joy) and negative attributes (doubts and fears). [/note] and fear.
As love doth raise up hope, so fear doth doubt,
Which makes him seek to find the great God out.         20
Self-love doth make him seek to find if he
Came from, or shall last to, eternity.
But motion, being slow, makes knowledge weak,
And then his thoughts ’gainst ignorance do[note]do] doth 1653, 1655 [/note] beat,
As fluid waters ’gainst hard rocks do flow,                     25
Break their soft streams, and so they backward go:
Just so do thoughts, and then they backward slide
Unto the place where first they did abide,
And there in gentle murmurs do complain
That all their care and labor is in vain.[note]In lines 25–30, Cavendish uses an epic simile to compare the motion of rivers to the motion of knowledge in the brain: just as the flow of a stream is rebuffed by a hard rock, so the flow of man’s thoughts is rebuffed by his own ignorance. While the use of an epic simile conjures the heroic world of epic, the invocation of epic genre ends here: the poem will next argue not that man should heroically conquer his ignorance of God, but that he should accept it.

Cavendish also punctures the typical epic simile by making, perhaps, an epic metaphor: in several poems in Part I of her Poems and Fancies she thinks explicitly about the motion of thoughts as a physical phenomenon within the brain. This series of poems ends with the assertion that mental processes such as imagination cannot exist without a physical substrate: “Yet fancy cannot be without some brains.” Other parts of Poems and Fancies (forthcoming on this site) imagine the motions of the brains as potentially affected by tiny fairies. [/note]                        30
But since none knows the great Creator, must
Man seek no more, but in his greatness[note]greatness] goodnesse 1653 [/note] trust.

FINIS.[note]This “FINIS.” may belong to the poem, or to the entirety of the natural philosophical treatise. In a copy of the 1655 PPO held at the British Library (Shelfmark 722.l.1), someone has vigorously crossed out the “FINIS.” that ends the poem—an interesting edit for a poem on infinity that also ends her treatise(s) as a whole! The “FINIS.” is not present in 1663, perhaps because it is followed by additional epistles in some copies. [/note]

If everything hath sense and reason, then
There might be beasts, and birds, and fish, and men
As vegetables and minerals, had they
The animal shape to express that way;
And vegetables and minerals may know                                     5
As man, though like to trees and stones they grow.[note] This poem is taken from Cavendish’s Philosophical Fancies ([London, 1653], pp. 56-63), the natural-philosophical hybrid treatise and poetic collection that Cavendish imagined as the companion volume to Poems and Fancies. This poem has been transcribed, modernized, glossed, and annotated by Liza Blake and Farheen Khan.
The opening gambit of the poem is ambitious: if, Cavendish says, everything in nature is alive (has some kind of sense and reason), then vegetables and minerals might know, might have some form of knowledge, just as humans do. Much of Philosophical Fancies espouses a vitalist vision of nature, in which everything in nature does have some degree of sense and reason. In the middle of this twisty opening to the poem is the thought experiment that will make up the majority of the lines: what would it mean to imagine animate forms (beasts, birds, men) with different substances or matter (vegetable or mineral)? [/note]
Then coral trouts may through the water glide,
And pearled minnows swim on either side,
And mermaids, which in the sea delight,
Might all be made of watery lilies white,                                   10
Set on salt wat’ry billows as they flow,
Which like green banks appear thereon to grow.
And mariners i’th’midst their ship might stand
Instead of mast, hold sails in either hand.
On mountain tops the Golden Fleece[note] An allusion to the myth of Jason and the golden fleece, although here the golden fleece is imagined as making up actual sheep themselves, which can birth ewes also made of golden fleece.[/note] might feed,                  15
Some hundred years their ewes bring forth their breed.
Large deer of oak might through the forest run,
Leaves on their heads might keep them from the sun;
Instead of shedding horns, their leaves might fall,
And acorns to increase a wood of fawns withal.                     20
Then might a squirrel for a nut be cracked,
If nature had that matter so compact,
And the small sprouts which on the husk do grow
Might be the tail, and make a brushing show.
Then might the diamonds which on rocks oft lie                    25
Be all like to some little sparkling fly.
Then might a leaden hare, if swiftly run,
Melt from that shape, and so a pig become.[note]Cavendish adds a marginal note: “a pig of lead.”[/note]
And dogs of copper-mouths sound like a bell,
So when they kill a hare, ring out his knell.[note]A “knell” is the “sound made by a bell when struck or rung, esp. the sound of a bell rung slowly and solemnly, as immediately after a death or at a funeral” (Oxford English Dictionary [hereafter OED]).[/note]                             30
Hard iron men shall have no cause to fear
To catch a fall, when they a-hunting were,
Nor in the wars should have no use of arms,
Nor feared[note]i.e., be afraid[/note] to fight; they could receive no harms.
For if a bullet on their breasts should hit,                                 35
Fall on their back, but straightways up may get,
Or if a bullet on their head do light,
May make them totter, but not kill them quite.
And stars be like the birds with twinkling wing,
When in the air they fly, like larks might sing,                        40
And as they fly, like wandering planets show,
Their tails may like to blazing comets grow.
When they on trees do rest themselves from flight,
Appear like fixed stars in clouds of night.
Thus may the sun be like a woman fair,[note]This line begins a long section of the poem where Cavendish works with some of the standard tropes and metaphors of love poetry and the blazon (in which a poet compares a beloved woman’s eyes to celestial bodies, skin to alabaster, cheeks to roses and lilies, etc.).[/note]                                   45
And the bright beams be as her flowing hair,
And from her eyes may cast a silver light,
And when she sleeps, the world be as dark night.
Or women may of alabaster be,
And so as smooth as polished ivory,                                           50
Or as clear crystal, where hearts may be shown,
And all their falsehoods to the world be known,
Or else be made of rose, and lilies white,
Both fair and sweet, to give the soul delight,
Or else be made like tulips fresh in May,                                   55
By nature dressed, clothed several colours gay.
Thus every year there may young virgins spring,
But wither and decay as soon again.
While they are fresh, upon their breast might set
Great swarms of bees, from thence sweet honey get.             60
Or on their lips, for gillyflowers, flies
Drawing delicious sweet that therein lies.
Thus every maid like several flowers show,
Not in their shape, but like in substance grow.
Then tears which from oppressèd hearts do rise,                    65
May gather into clouds within the eyes,
From whence those tears, like showers of rain may flow
Upon the banks of cheeks, where roses grow;
After those showers of rain, so sweet may smell,
Perfuming all the air that near them dwell.                               70
But when the sun of joy and mirth doth rise,
Darting forth pleasing beams from loving eyes,
Then may the buds of modesty unfold,
With full blown confidence the sun behold.
But grief as frost them nips, and withering die,                        75
In their own pods[note]Cavendish adds a marginal note: “the husk.”[/note] entombèd lie.
Thus virgin cherry trees, where blossoms blow,
So red ripe cherries on their lips may grow.
Or women plum trees at each fingers end,
May ripe plums hang, and make their joints to bend.              80
Men sycamores, which on their breast may write
Their amorous verses, which their thoughts indite.[note]To indite is “[t]o put into words, compose (a poem, tale, speech, etc.); to give a literary or rhetorical form to (words, an address); to express or describe in a literary composition” (OED).[/note]
Men’s stretchèd arms may be like spreading vines,
Where grapes may grow, so drink of their own wine.
To plant large orchards need no pains nor care,                      85
For everyone their sweet fresh fruit may bear.
Then silver grass may in the meadows grow,
Which nothing but a scythe of fire can mow.
The wind, which from the north a journey takes,
May strike those silver strings, and music make.                    90
Thus may another world, though matter still the same,
By changing shapes, change humours,[note]Humours are, “[i]n ancient and medieval physiology and medicine: any of four fluids of the body (blood, phlegm, choler, and so-called melancholy or black bile) believed to determine, by their relative proportions and conditions, the state of health and the temperament of a person or animal” (OED).[/note] properties, and name.[note]This couplet expresses the philosophical thought experiment of the whole poem in miniature: what would it mean to imagine the matter or material of the world, but with unusual shapes or forms?[/note]
Thus Colossus, a statue wondrous great,[note]Colossus was “the huge bronze statue of the sun god Helios at Rhodes, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world” (OED). The statue supposedly stood over a harbor, and ships sailed through its legs; here, the statue is imagined as coming to life and interacting with ships that sail by and under it. This line initiates the final turn of the poem, where Cavendish shifts from imagining animals and people made of unusual matter, to imagining inanimate shaped matter as animate.[/note]
When it did fall, might straight get on his feet.
Where ships, which through his legs did swim, he might       95
Have blown[note]The word “blown” has been emended from Cavendish’s “blow’d”.[/note] their sails, or else have drowned them quite.
The Golden Calf that Israel joyed to see[note]The “Golden Calf” in the Bible is “the idol set up by Aaron, and the similar images set up by Jeroboam; sometimes proverbially with reference to the ‘worship’ of wealth” (OED). The worship of the calf usually represents “idolatrous” worship, distracting worshippers from the true admiration of God with the worship of the physical world or wealth. Cavendish here imagines the calf as potentially running away from the idolatrous admiration of its worshippers.[/note]
Might run away from their idolatry.
The Basan bull of brass might be, when roar,
His metalled throat might make his voice sound more.[note]The “Basan bull” was “a notoriously strong bull from the region of the Bashan (Psalm 22:12)” (in Women Poets of the English Civil War, ed. Sarah Ross and Elizabeth Scott-Baumann [Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2018], p. 204n). Cavendish here imagines the Basan bull as simultaneously a brazen or brass bull, roaring from a metal throat.[/note]    100
The hill which Muhammad did call might come
At the first word, or else away might run.[note]See Francis Bacon’s essay “Of Boldness” (in Essays, ed. John Pitcher [New York, Penguin Books, 1985], p. 95; italics original): “Mahomet made the people believe that he would call an hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law. The people assembled; Mahomet called the hill to come to him, again and again; and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed, but said, If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.” In Cavendish’s poem the hill has been given the power to come (or not) in response to Muhammad’s call.[/note]
Thus Pompey’s statue might rejoice to see
When killed was Caesar, his great enemy.[note]Julius Caesar defeated Pompey in a battle for control over Rome; here, Pompey’s statue is given sentience to rejoice in the death of his former enemy.[/note]
The wooden horse that did great Troy betray                         105
Have told what’s in him, and then run away.[note]A reference to the famous Trojan Horse, a large wooden horse given to the Trojans by the Greeks to commemorate their supposed victory over the Greeks in the Trojan War. The Trojans brought the horse inside the city walls, and the Greek soldiers hidden inside came out at night and sacked Troy.[/note]
Achilles’s arms against Ulysses plead,
And not let wit against true valor speed.[note]In the Trojan War, Achilles was a great fighter, while Ulysses represented martial cunning and wisdom; here, Achilles’s arms (his armor) plead on behalf of his bravery. [/note]