THE Dutchess of Mazarines Farewel to ENGLAND.
ANd must I then sweet
England leave at last,
With the remembrance of all pleasure past?
Does Fate decree I must renew my dance,
And wheel about from
England now to
France?
'Tis vain, I see, for to be great or proud;
We taste the Fate oft of the meaner Crowd.
Though puff'd with greatness, we oft make a bustle;
Dame Fortune rudely does our greatness justle.
Happy the Countrey-Swain, who courts the shades,
Whose Privacies no sullen Fate invades.
Happy that Rural Maid who sees alone
Her self a Queen, and plac'd in Beauties Throne,
Whilst her admiring Shepherd bows his knee,
And none like her in all the world can see;
'Tis happier than all our Pageantrie.
Honour, the bug-bear that affrights the Great,
Makes us but slaves, and does of freedom cheat;
Debars us much of pleasures, and of sport;
Robs us of Substance, whilst we Shadows court.
We stand on high, of all men to be seen:
In this alone I do not love the mean;
I'de be a Shepherdess, or else a Queen.
The last exalted is above report,
And th'other innocently cares not for't;
Whilst nothing in the world can prove so strong,
To keep us from the shot of an ill Tongue.
Beauty's a shadow, vain and empty thing;
I thought that mine might have subdu'd a King.
Though fair I seem'd in mine and others eyes,
My own Duke me and Beauty did despise
Whilst I was forc'd to wander in disguise.
What various Chance my Fortunes did attend?
Alas! when will my rouling Troubles end?
As if with Fortune drunk, I reeling go,
Or like a Ball that's bandied to and fro.
Wave after Wave of Trouble follows still.
And like a Slave I grind in Fortunes Mill.
Forc'd by my Fate, to
France I must return;
And for sweet
England's loss I truly mourn.
Farewel, sweet Land, where Peace and Plenty flow,
Where all things to ease wretched Souls do grow;
Where all things fit to make Life sweet abound,
And where I Pleasure, Ease, and Comfort found.
Farewel, the best of Princes, and the chief,
Whose Court has given me shelter and Relief:
Whose Power has me defended like a shield,
Whose bounteous hand has me, ev'n me upheld.
Farewel delightful
Windsor, who on high
Lifts up thy awful head, unto the skie:
Beauty and Strength, Nature and Art agree,
A Princes Royal Seat to frame in thee.
Farewel, thou underlying Silver
Thames;
Oft have I sported with thy gliding streams,
And oft my self committed to thy Charge,
Triumphing sate in my delightful Barge;
And oft to
Whitehal with like pleasure came,
As
Egypts Queen, when she on
Cydnus swam.
Farewel the Theater, where I have seen
The Tragick fall of many a lofty Queen:
Where many a sad Intrigue acted I've known,
Yet scarce could find one equal to my own;
And where, if evil Fortune still pursue,
I may hereafter be well Acted too.
London farewel, thou City Fair and Great,
The Head of
England, CHARLES his Royal Seat:
May Heav'n still bless you, for your Soveraigns sake,
And may you long with him sweet Peace partake.
Where e're I go, your goodness I shall tell,
Your Bounty and your Love:
England, farewel.
Printed for Langley Curtiss. 1680.