The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume II Part 14

Thus far this learned prelate, whose testimony in favour of women is the more considerable, as he cannot be supposed to have been influenced by any particular pa.s.sion, at least for Mrs. Philips, who was ordinary in her person and was besides a married lady. In the year 1663 Mrs. Philips quitted Ireland, and went to Cardigan, where she spent the remaining part of that, and the beginning of the next year, in a sort of melancholy retirement; as appears by her letters, occasioned, perhaps, by the bad success of her husband's affairs.

Going to London, in order to relieve her oppressed spirits with the conversation of her friends there, she was seized by the smallpox, and died of it (in Fleet street,) to the great grief of her acquaintance, in the 32d year of her age, and was buried June 22, 1664, in the church of St. Bennet Sherehog[1], under a large monumental stone, where several of her ancestors were before buried. Mr. Aubrey in his ma.n.u.script abovementioned, observes, that her person was of a middle stature, pretty fat, and ruddy complexioned.

Soon after her death, her Poems and Translations were collected and published in a volume in folio, to which was added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey and Horace, Tragedies; with several other Translations out of French, London 1667, with her picture, a good busto, before them, standing on a pedestal, on which is inscribed Orinda; it was printed again at London 1678. In a collection of Letters published by Mr. Thomas Brown, in 1697, are printed four Letters from Mrs. Philips to the Honourable Berenice. Many years after her death, were published a volume of excellent Letters from Mrs.

Philips to Sir Charles Cotterel with the ensuing t.i.tle, Letters from Orinda to Polliarchus, 8vo. London 1705. Major Pack, in his Essay on Study, inserted in his Miscellanies, gives the following character of these Letters; 'The best Letters I have met with in our English tongue, are those of the celebrated Mrs. Philips to Sir Charles Cotterel; as they are directed all to the same person, so they run all in the same strain, and seem to have been employed in the service of a refined and generous friendship. In a word, they are such as a woman of spirit and virtue, should write to a courtier of honour, and true gallantry.' The memory of this ingenious lady has been honoured with many encomiums. Mr. Thomas Rowe in his epistle to Daphne, pays the following tribute to her fame.

At last ('twas long indeed!) Orinda came, To ages yet to come an ever glorious name; To virtuous themes, her well tun'd lyre she strung; Of virtuous themes in easy numbers sung.

Horace and Pompey in her line appear, } With all the worth that Rome did once revere: } Much to Corneille they owe, and much to her. } Her thoughts, her numbers, and her fire the same, She soar'd as high, and equal'd all his fame.

Tho' France adores the bard, nor envies Greece The costly buskins of her Sophocles.

More we expected, but untimely death, Soon stopt her rising glories with her breath.

More testimonies might be produced in favour of Mrs. Philips, but as her works are generally known, and are an indelible testimony of her merit, we reckon it superfluous. Besides the poetical abilities of the amiable Orinda, she is said to have been of a generous, charitable disposition, and a friend to all in distress.

As few ladies ever lived more happy in her friends than our poetess, so those friends have done justice to her memory, and celebrated her, when dead, for those virtues they admired, when living. Mr. Dryden more than once mentions her with honour, and Mr Cowley has written an excellent Ode upon her death. As this Ode will better shew the high opinion once entertained of Mrs. Philips, than any thing we can say, after giving a specimen of her poetry, we shall conclude with this performance of Cowley's, which breathes friendship in every line, and speaks an honest mind: so true is the observation of Pope, upon the supposition that Cowley's works are falling into oblivion,

Lost is his epic, nay, pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart.

Mrs. Philips's poetry has not harmony of versification, or amorous tenderness to recommend it, but it has a force of thinking, which few poets of the other s.e.x can exceed, and if it is without graces, it has yet a great deal of strength. As she has been celebrated for her friendship, we shall present the reader with an Ode upon that subject, addressed to her dearest Lucasia.

I.

Come my Lucasia, since we see That miracles men's faith do move By wonder, and by prodigy; To the dull angry world lets prove There's a religion in our love.

II.

For tho' we were designed t'agree, That fate no liberty destroys, But our election is as free As angels, who with greedy choice Are yet determined to their joys.

III.

Our hearts are doubled by the loss, Here mixture is addition grown; We both diffuse, and both engross: And we whose minds are so much one, Never, yet ever are alone.

IV.

We court our own captivity, Than thrones more great and innocent: 'Twere banishment to be set free, Since we wear fetters whose intent Not bondage is, but ornament.

V.

Divided joys are tedious found, And griefs united easier grow: We are ourselves, but by rebound, And all our t.i.tles shuffled so, Both princes, and both subjects too.

VI.

Our hearts are mutual victims laid, While they (such power in friendship lies) Are altars, priests, and offerings made: And each heart which thus kindly dies, Grows deathless by the sacrifice.

On the DEATH of Mrs. PHILIPS.

I.

Cruel disease! ah, could it not suffice, Thy old and constant spite to exercise Against the gentlest and the fairest s.e.x, Which still thy depredations most do vex?

Where still thy malice, most of all (Thy malice or thy l.u.s.t) does on the fairest fall, And in them most a.s.sault the fairest place, The throne of empress beauty, ev'n the face.

There was enough of that here to a.s.suage, (One would have thought) either thy l.u.s.t or rage; Was't not enough, when thou, profane disease, Didst on this glorious temple seize: Was't not enough, like a wild zealot, there, All the rich outward ornaments to tear, Deface the innocent pride of beauteous images?

Was't not enough thus rudely to defile, But thou must quite destroy the goodly pile?

And thy unbounded sacrilege commit On th'inward holiest holy of her wit?

Cruel disease! there thou mistook'st thy power; No mine of death can that devour, On her embalmed name it will abide An everlasting pyramide, As high as heav'n the top, as earth, the basis wide.

II.

All ages past record, all countries now, In various kinds such equal beauties show, That ev'n judge Paris would not know On whom the golden apple to bestow, Though G.o.ddesses to his sentence did submit, Women and lovers would appeal from it: Nor durst he say, of all the female race, This is the sovereign face.

And some (tho' these be of a kind that's rare, That's much, oh! much less frequent than the fair) So equally renown'd for virtue are, That is the mother of the G.o.ds might pose, When the best woman for her guide she chose.

But if Apollo should design A woman Laureat to make, Without dispute he would Orinda take, Though Sappho and the famous nine Stood by, and did repine.

To be a Princess or a Queen Is great; but 'tis a greatness always seen; The world did never but two women know, Who, one by fraud, th'other by wit did rise To the two tops of spiritual dignities, One female pope of old, one female poet now.

III.

Of female poets, who had names of old, Nothing is shown, but only told, And all we hear of them perhaps may be Male-flatt'ry only, and male-poetry.

Few minutes did their beauties light'ning waste, The thunder of their voice did longer last, But that too soon was past.

The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit, In her own lasting characters are writ, And they will long my praise of them survive, Though long perhaps too that may live, The trade of glory manag'd by the pen Though great it be, and every where is found.

Does bring in but small profit to us men; 'Tis by the number of the sharers drown'd.

Orinda on the female coasts of fame, Ingrosses all the goods of a poetic name.

She does no partner with her see, Does all the business there alone, which we Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.

IV.

But wit's like a luxuriant vine; Unless to virtue's prop it join, Firm and erect towards Heav'n bound; Tho' it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd, It lyes deform'd, and rotting on the ground.

Now shame and blushes on us all, Who our own s.e.x superior call!

Orinda does our boasting s.e.x out do, Not in wit only, but in virtue too.

She does above our best examples rise, In hate of vice, and scorn of vanities.

Never did spirit of the manly make, And dipp'd all o'er in learning's sacred lake, A temper more invulnerable take.

No violent pa.s.sion could an entrance find, Into the tender goodness of her mind; Through walls of stone those furious bullets may Force their impetuous way, When her soft breast they hit, damped and dead they lay.

V.

The fame of friendship which so long had told Of three or four ill.u.s.trious names of old, 'Till hoa.r.s.e and weary with the tale she grew, Rejoices now t'have got a new, A new, and more surprizing story, Of fair Leucasia's and Orinda's glory.

As when a prudent man does once perceive That in some foreign country he must live, The language and the manners he does strive To understand and practise here, That he may come no stranger there; So well Orinda did her self prepare, In this much different clime for her remove, To the glad world of poetry and love.

Footnote: 1. Ballard's Memoirs.

MARGARET, d.u.c.h.ess of NEWCASTLE,

The second wife of William Cavendish, duke of Newcastle, was born at St. John's near Colchester in Ess.e.x, about the latter end of the reign of King James I. and was the youngest daughter of Sir Charles Lucas, a gentleman of great spirit and fortune, who died when she was very young. The d.u.c.h.ess herself in a book int.i.tled Nature's Pictures, drawn by Fancy's pencil to the life, has celebrated both the exquisite beauty of her person, and the rare endowments of her mind. This lady's mother was remarkably a.s.siduous in the education of her children, and bestowed upon this, all the instructions necessary for forming the minds of young ladies, and introducing them into life with advantage.

She found her trouble in cultivating this daughter's mind not in vain, for she discovered early an inclination to learning, and spent so much of her time in study and writing, that some of her Biographers have lamented her not being acquainted with the learned languages, which would have extended her knowledge, corrected the exuberances of genius, and have been of infinite service to her, in her numerous compositions.

In the year 1643 she obtained leave of her mother to go to Oxford, where the court then resided, and was made one of the Maids of Honour to Henrietta Maria, the Royal Consort of King Charles I. and when the Queen was forced to leave the arms of her Husband, and fly into France, by the violence of the prevailing power, this lady attended her there. At Paris she met with the marquis of Newcastle, whose loyalty had likewise produced his exile; who, admiring her person and genius, married her in the year 1645. The marquis had before heard of this lady, for he was a patron and friend of her gallant brother, lord Lucas, who commanded under him in the civil wars. He took occasion one day to ask his lordship what he could do for him, as he had his interest much at heart? to which he answered, that he was not sollicitous about his own affairs, for he knew the worst could be but suffering either death, or exile in the Royal cause, but his chief sollicitude was for his sister, on whom he could bestow no fortune, and whose beauty exposed her to danger: he represented her amiable qualities, and raised the marquis's curiosity to see her, and from that circ.u.mstance arose the marquis's affection to this lady. From Paris they went to Rotterdam, where they resided six months: from thence they returned to Antwerp, where they settled, and continued during the time of their exile, as it was the most quiet place, and where they could in the greatest peace enjoy their ruined fortune. She proved a most agreeable companion to the marquis, during the gloomy period of exile, and enlivened their recess, both by her writing and conversation, as appears by the many compliments and addresses he made her on that occasion.