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Poem by William Davenant


Ladies in Arms


LET us live, live! for, being dead,
The pretty spots,
Ribbons and knots,
And the fine French dress for the head,
No lady wears upon her
In the cold, cold bed of honour.
Beat down our grottos, and hew down our bowers,
Dig up our arbours, and root up our flowers;
Our gardens are bulwarks and bastions become;
Then hang up our lute, we must sing to the drum.

Our patches and our curls,
So exact in each station,
Our powders and our purls,
Are now out of fashion.
Hence with our needles, and give us your spades;
We, that were ladies, grow coarse as our maids.
Our coaches have driven us to balls at the court,
We now must drive barrows to earth up the fort. 



William Davenant


William Davenant's other poems:
  1. For the Lady Olivia Porter; a Present upon a New-years Day
  2. The Christians Reply to the Phylosopher
  3. Life and Death
  4. Weep No More for What Is Past
  5. The Coquet


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