The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoems (1686)

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoems (1686)This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Poems (1686)Author: Anne KilligrewContributor: Richard Everett MortonRelease date: October 16, 2012 [eBook #41076]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by David Starner, Paul Marshall and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS (1686) ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Poems (1686)Author: Anne KilligrewContributor: Richard Everett MortonRelease date: October 16, 2012 [eBook #41076]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by David Starner, Paul Marshall and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Title: Poems (1686)

Author: Anne KilligrewContributor: Richard Everett Morton

Author: Anne Killigrew

Contributor: Richard Everett Morton

Release date: October 16, 2012 [eBook #41076]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David Starner, Paul Marshall and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS (1686) ***

Portrait of Anne Killegrew

byMrs. Anne Killigrew

byRichard Morton

Gainesville, FloridaScholars' Facsimiles & Reprints1967

Scholars' Facsimiles & Reprints1605 N. W. 14th AvenueGainesville, Florida 32601, U.S.A.Harry R. Warfel, General Editor

Reproduced from a Copy inand with the permission ofThe Alexander Turnbull LibraryWellington, New Zealand

L. C. Catalog Card Number: 67-10177Manufactured in the U.S.A.

Condemnation by a great poet has lasting impact, while the effects of praise seldom endure; Shadwell remains MacFlecknoe in our minds, Shaftesbury Achitophel, but Anne Killigrew, "AGracefor Beauty, and aMusefor Wit," is virtually forgotten. Her book of verses is known essentially because of John Dryden's commendatory Ode. Yet we may justify a study of her own poems. Dryden's piece is not a generalised encomium; obviously he had read her verses, and his analysis of her art is firmly based. Our understanding of this famous poem, then, depends to some degree on our knowledge of Anne Killigrew's output.[1]Her verses deserve attention on their own merits—Dryden may well be thought more gallant than scrupulous, but undeniably the poems have an appealing wit, a picturesque imagination and a touching personal candour.

The facts of Anne Killigrew's short life are succinctly and elegantly related by Anthony Wood.[2]She was born about 1660, the daughter of Dr. Henry Killigrew, Royalist, theologian and sometime dramatist, and related through his family to the other theatrical Killigrews—Thomas, the author ofThe Parson's Wedding, and Sir William, her uncles; and Thomas, the author ofChit-Chat, and Charles, Master of the Revels, her cousins. Dr. Killigrew became Chaplain to the Duke of York and in 1663 Master of the Savoy. Anne Killigrew grew up to join the household of the doleful Mary of Modena, Duchess of York, as Maid of Honour. A companion in this office was Anne Finch, Countess of Winchelsea. Mistress Killigrew's poems reflect some of the sparkle of Restoration court life, but more of the sorrow produced by Mary of Modena's consistent unpopularity. After a short battle with the smallpox, Anne Killigrew died on 16 June, 1685, to the "unspeakable Reluctancy" of her many loving relations and friends.

After her untimely death, Dr. Killigrew worked to produce a memorial edition of her papers, and invited Dryden to write the prefatory poem. The publication was swift: less than three months after her death the volume was licensed to be printed (30 September, 1685) and listed in the Stationers' Register (2 October). It was listed in the Term Catalogue for November, and advertised inThe Observatoron 2 November, 1685.[3]The date of 1686 on the title page must have been anticipated by actual publication.

The poetry in the volume can be described in Dryden's terms:

Art she had none, yet wanted none:For Nature did that Want supply.

Anne Killigrew lacked the artistry which comes from discipline and practice (which Anne Finch had time todevelop), but she felt that the prompting of passion outweighed the niceties of form:

Here take no Care, take here no Care, myMuse,Nor ought of Art or Labour use....The ruggeder my Measures run when read,They'l livelier paint th' unequal Paths fond Mortals tread,(p. 51)

Her verses belong to the generalising conventions of strong-minded Denham and limpid Waller:

Such Noble Vigour did her Verse adorn,That it seem'd borrow'd.

Yet to judge from her lively objections(pp. 44-47), the attempt to class her as a plagiarist was unjustified. Court poetry in the age was so uniform that apparent echoes are a matter of course. We may compare her

The bloody Wolf, the Wolf does not pursue;The Boar, though fierce, his Tusk will not embrueIn his own Kind, Bares, not on Bares do prey:Then art thou, Man, more savage far than they,(p. 37)

with Rochester'sSatyr against Mankind:

Birds, feed onBirds,Beasts, on each other prey,But SavageManalone, doesManbetray,

or Waller on the death of Lady Rich, "But savage beasts, or men as wild as they!" Anne Killigrew's use of stock epithets and polite locutions mark a conventionality which inevitably borders on the derivative. But at her best, as for example "On the Birth-Day of QueenKatherine,"(p. 47), she is able to move effectively beyond the conventional. The conflict between the formal occasion and the dismal weather becomes a surprising symbol of paradox, and the dream and scriptural consolation come to have an intensity more metaphysical than courtly. Similarly, in the unfinished"Ode,"(p. 82), or in parts of the "Pastoral Dialogue,"(p. 63), she produces some forceful and startling images.

The individuality of her works lies in their firm, evangelical moral tone, which is clearly distinguishable from the genteel piety of her contemporaries. Dryden's comment:

So cold herself, whilst she such Warmth exprest,'TwasCupidbathing inDiana'sStream,

is an apt description of, say, her "Pastoral Dialogue,"(pp. 63-75.)Anne Killigrew's interest in poetic theory is notable; her early "Alexandreis" prays for the "frozen style" to be warmed with a "Poetique fire," and her "Love, the Soul of Poetry," contrasts the flatness of commonplace verse with the rapture and heat produced by a subject which "Enlarg'd his Fancy, and set free his Muse." The poem "To My Lord Colrane" meditates on her slothful muse and its awakening of life. Throughout her writings she keeps the poet's didactic end in view and has a high regard for the nature of her art. Something of the severity of the York household is reflected in the writings of the Maid of Honour.

The present text is reproduced, by kind permission, from the beautiful copy in the Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington. This volume, originally in Dr. Philip Bliss's collection, is listed in theHuth Catalogue(1913), p. 1207, and described by W. C. Hazlitt,Second Series of Bibliographical Collections and Notes(1882), p. 328. It contains on the flyleaf a MS poem by E. E., transcribed below. The Rev. Joseph Hunter, British Museum Add. MSS. 24492, Vol. VI, p. 100, suggests that E. E. was Edmund Elys,[4]the learned and contentious author of occasional poems(Verses on Several Occasions, 1699) and theological pamphlets (for example,Epistola ad Sam. Parkerum S.T.P., 1680). The generally vivacious style of the verse and the reference to the debate with Dr. Parker suggest that the identification is just, but the relationship between Mrs. Elys and the Killigrews is not known. Pages 72 and 73 are skipped, and pages 68 and 69 are misnumbered 60 and 61.

The self-portrait of Anne Killigrew prefixed to thePoemsand printed herein as the frontispiece shows that she was a competent if conventional artist. Her descriptions of her paintings,pp. 27-29, suggest that here too moral and scriptural topics predominated over courtly affairs. E. E., Dryden and the writer of the Epitaph agree on Anne Killigrew's sanctity and gravity of mind. The modern reader may gain from her book of verse a moving insight into the thoughts and preoccupations of a young lady at court in the declining years of the Stuarts.

Richard Morton

McMaster UniversityHamilton, OntarioNovember 28, 1965

Several of Anne Killigrew's friends and relatives appear in the volume:

I cannot Mourn thy Fate, Sweet Mayd, but JoyThat Thou art gone from all this Worlds Annoy,From th' hurry of this cursed Age, that drawsHeav'ns Vengeance down by th' breach of all the Laws.Of GOD, & Man: ther's nothing here but NoiseAnd Interruption of True Peacefull Joyes.That which they Pleasure call isSportforApesWhich turns thePhansieto a thousandShapesAnd Wrests theMindfrom thatCelestial SphearTo which ItsNatureever would adhereThat by aConstant RevolutionIts Rest & Motion ever might be ONEThat which my Mind hath ever Sought, thy MindTho Compast with these walls of Clay did Find:PureQuintessential Love, Aethereal Flame,Which Always shines, & Alwayes is the Same:Here's no faint trembling Flame: all Bright appears'Tis ne're blown out with Sighs, nor quencht with tears.Thy Soul Enflames my Love: the UnitieI had with Her, who was Allie'd to TheeIs Now made Perfect: Our Souls Mutual FlameTho Higher inDegreeinNature'sstill the same.Her, Thee, & All the Glorious Souls AboveI Now Enioy, whilst in You All I LoveThe Boundless Spring of Joy to Ev'ry MindThat knowes what'sTruly Fair& Knowes what'sTruly Kind.How have I Labour'd to Depress the PrideOf one [Dr. Parker] that strives Illustrious Truth to HideIn the Thick Bushes of Learn'd Sophistrie,Which he that Enters hardly sees the Skie?Truth that thy Splendid Soul did clearly seeAnd of it made a plain Discoverie.And having Conquer'd Fate, Thou leavst those Arms [Her Poems]By which Mankind may Conquer All their HarmsAnd make them Serve their Noble Purposes.All Good to Gain, All Evil to Repress.How Bravely did thyMelibaeusshewThe Madness of that Love most men pursueAnd how Youth may their strongest Lusts subdue!O Happy Mayd, who didst so soon EspieIn ThisDark Life, that All is Vanitie!May thy Bright Love, All Youthfull Minds Inspire,And like the SUN, put out allother Fire;May all the Virtuous Celebrate thy Name;All Poets Hearts Partake of thy Great FlameThat all their Ardors & their Flights may beThe Flames that Fly up to theDeitie;That DAVID's Muse they all may Imitate,Sing Virtues Triumphs ore the Power of Fate:That all their Works Resembling Hea'vn may proveThe Blest Effects of Glory, Power, & Love.

Her, Thee, & All the Glorious Souls AboveI Now Enioy, whilst in You All I LoveThe Boundless Spring of Joy to Ev'ry MindThat knowes what'sTruly Fair& Knowes what'sTruly Kind.How have I Labour'd to Depress the PrideOf one [Dr. Parker] that strives Illustrious Truth to HideIn the Thick Bushes of Learn'd Sophistrie,Which he that Enters hardly sees the Skie?Truth that thy Splendid Soul did clearly seeAnd of it made a plain Discoverie.And having Conquer'd Fate, Thou leavst those Arms [Her Poems]By which Mankind may Conquer All their HarmsAnd make them Serve their Noble Purposes.All Good to Gain, All Evil to Repress.How Bravely did thyMelibaeusshewThe Madness of that Love most men pursueAnd how Youth may their strongest Lusts subdue!O Happy Mayd, who didst so soon EspieIn ThisDark Life, that All is Vanitie!May thy Bright Love, All Youthfull Minds Inspire,And like the SUN, put out allother Fire;May all the Virtuous Celebrate thy Name;All Poets Hearts Partake of thy Great FlameThat all their Ardors & their Flights may beThe Flames that Fly up to theDeitie;That DAVID's Muse they all may Imitate,Sing Virtues Triumphs ore the Power of Fate:That all their Works Resembling Hea'vn may proveThe Blest Effects of Glory, Power, & Love.

E. E. 1685.

Immodicis brevis est ætas, & rara Senectus.Mart. l. 6. Ep. 29.

ThesePOEMSare Licensed to be Published,

Sept. 30. 1685.Ro. L'Estrange.

LONDON:Printed forSamuel Lowndes, over againstExeter Exchangein theStrand.1686.

THEPUBLISHERTO THEREADER.

Reader, dost ask, What Work we here display?What fair and Novel Piece salutes the Day?Know, that a Virgin bright thisPOEMwrit,AGracefor Beauty, and aMusefor Wit!Who, when none higher inLovesCourts might sway,Despis'd the Mertile, for the nobler Bay!Nor couldApolloorMinervatell,Whither her Pen or Pencil did excel!But while these Pow'rs laid both to her their Claime,Behold, a Matron of a Heavenly Frame,Antique, but Great and Comely in her Meen,Upon whose gorgeous Robe inscrib'd was seen}Divine Vertue, took her from both away,}And thus with Anger and Disdain did say,}Of Me she Learn'd, with You she did but Play.

Thou Youngest Virgin-Daughter of the Skies,Made in the last Promotion of the Blest;Whose Palmes, new pluckt from Paradise,In spreading Branches more sublimely rise,Rich with Immortal Green above the rest:Whether, adopted to some Neighbouring Star,Thou rol'st above us, in thy wand'ring Race,Or, in Procession fixt and regular,Mov'd with the Heavens Majestick Pace;Or, call'd to more Superiour Bliss,Thou tread'st, with Seraphims, the vast Abyss.What ever happy Region be thy place,Cease thy Celestial Song a little space;(Thou wilt have Time enough for Hymns Divine,Since Heav'ns Eternal Year is thine.)Hear then a Mortal Muse thy Praise rehearse,In no ignoble Verse;But such as thy own voice did practise here,When thy first Fruits of Poesie were giv'n;To make thy self a welcome Inmate there:While yet a young Probationer,And Candidate of Heav'n.

If by Traduction came thy Mind,Our Wonder is the less to findA Soul so charming from a Stock so good;Thy Father was transfus'd into thy Blood:So wert thou born into the tuneful strain,(An early, rich, and inexhausted Vain.)But if thy Præexisting SoulWas form'd, at first, with Myriads more,It did through all the Mighty Poets roul,WhoGreekorLatineLaurels wore.And was thatSappholast, which once it was before.If so, then cease thy flight,O Heav'n-born Mind!Thou hast no Dross to purge from thy Rich Ore.}Nor can thy Soul a fairer Mansion find,}Than was the Beauteous Frame she left behind:}Return, to fill or mend the Quire, of thy Celestial kind.

May we presume to say, that at thy Birth,New joy was sprung in Heav'n, as well as here on Earth.}For sure the Milder Planets did combine}On thy Auspicious Horoscope to shine,}And ev'n the most Malicious were in Trine.Thy Brother-Angels at thy BirthStrung each his Lyre, and tun'd it high,That all the People of the SkieMight know a Poetess was born on Earth.And then if ever, Mortal EarsHad heard the Musick of the Spheres!And if no clust'ring Swarm of BeesOn thy sweet Mouth distill'd their golden Dew,'Twas that, such vulgar Miracles,Heav'n had not Leasure to renew:For all the Blest Fraternity of LoveSolemniz'd there thy Birth, and kept thy Holyday above.

O Gracious God! How far have weProphan'd thy Heav'nly Gift of Poesy?Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,Whose Harmony was first ordain'd AboveFor Tongues of Angels, and for Hymns of Love?O wretched We! why were we hurry'd downThis lubrique and adult'rate age,(Nay added fat Pollutions of our own)T'increase the steaming Ordures of the Stage?What can we say t'excuse ourSecond Fall?Let this thyVestal, Heav'n, attone for all!HerArethusianStream remains unsoil'd,Unmixt with Forreign Filth, and undefil'd,Her Wit was more than Man, her Innocence a Child!

Art she had none, yet wanted: anonFor Nature did that Want supply,So rich in Treasures of her Own,She might our boasted Stores defy:Such Noble Vigour did her Verse adorn,That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.Her Morals too were in her Bosome bredBy great Examples daily fed,What in the best of Books, her Fathers Life, she read.And to be read her self she need not fear,Each Test, and ev'ry Light, her Muse will bear,ThoughEpictetuswith his Lamp were there.Ev'n Love (for Love sometimes her Muse exprest)Was but aLambent-flamewhich play'd about her Brest:Light as the Vapours of a Morning Dream,So cold herself, whilst she such Warmth exprest,'TwasCupidbathing inDiana'sStream.

Born to the Spacious Empire of theNine,One would have thought, she should have been contentTo manage well that Mighty Government:But what can young ambitious Souls confine?}To the next Realm she stretcht her Sway,}ForPaintureneer adjoyning lay,}A plenteous Province, and alluring Prey.AChamber of Dependenceswas fram'd,(As Conquerors will never want Pretence,When arm'd, to justifie the Offence)And the whole Fief, in right of Poetry she claim'd.The Country open lay without Defence:For Poets frequent In-rodes there had made,And perfectly could representThe Shape, the Face, with ev'ry Lineament;And all the large Demains which theDumb-sistersway'dAll bow'd beneath her Government,Receiv'd in Triumph wheresoe're she went.Her Pencil drew, what e're her Soul design'd,And oft the happy Draught surpass'd the Image in her Mind.TheSylvanScenes of Herds and Flocks,And fruitful Plains and barren Rocks,Of shallow Brooks that flow'd so clear,The Bottom did the Top appear;Of deeper too and ampler Flouds,Which as in Mirrors, shew'd the Woods;Of lofty Trees with Sacred Shades,And Perspectives of pleasant Glades,}Where Nymphs of brightest Form appear,}And shaggy Satyrs standing neer,}Which them at once admire and fear.The Ruines too of some Majestick Piece,Boasting the Pow'r of ancientRomeorGreece,Whose Statues, Freezes, Columns broken lie,And though deface't, the Wonder of the Eie,What Nature, Art, bold Fiction e're durst frame,Her forming Hand gave Shape unto the Name.So strange a Concourse ne're was seen before,But when the peopl'd Ark the whole Creation bore.

The Scene then chang'd, with bold Erected LookOur Martial King the Eye with Reverence strook:For not content t'express his Outward Part,Her hand call'd out the Image of his Heart,}His Warlike Mind, his Soul devoid of Fear,}His High-designing Thoughts, were figur'd there,}As when, by Magick, Ghosts are made appear.Our Phenix Queen was portrai'd too so bright,Beauty alone could Beauty take so right:Her Dress, her Shape, her matchless Grace,Were all observ'd, as well as heav'nly Face.With such a Peerless Majesty she stands,As in that Day she took from Sacred handsThe Crown; 'mong num'rous Heroins was seen,More yet in Beauty, than in Rank, the Queen!Thus nothing to herGeniuswas deny'd,But like a Ball of Fire the further thrown,Still with a greater Blaze she shone,And her bright Soul broke out on ev'ry side.What next she had design'd, Heaven only knows,To such Immod'rate Growth her Conquest rose,That Fate alone their Progress could oppose.

Now all those Charmes, that blooming Grace,The well-proportion'd Shape, and beauteous Face,Shall never more be seen by Mortal Eyes;In Earth the much lamented Virgin lies!Not Wit, nor Piety could Fate prevent;Nor was the cruelDestinycontentTo finish all the Murder at a Blow,To sweep at once her Life, and Beauty too;But, like a hardn'd Fellon, took a prideTo work more Mischievously slow.And plunder'd first, and then destroy'O double Sacriledge on things Divine,To rob the Relique, and deface the Shrine!But thusOrindady'd:Heav'n, by the same Disease, did both translate,As equal were their Souls, so equal was their Fate.

Mean time her Warlike Brother on the SeasHis waving Streamers to the Winds displays,And vows for his Return, with vain Devotion, pays.Ah, Generous Youth, that Wish forbear,The Winds too soon will waft thee here!Slack all thy Sailes, and fear to come,Alas, thou know'st not, Thou art wreck'd at home!No more shalt thou behold thy Sisters Face,Thou hast already had her last Embrace.But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far,Among thePleiad's a New-kindl'd Star,If any sparkles, than the rest, more bright,'Tis she that shines in that propitious Light.

When in mid-Aire, the Golden Trump shall sound,To raise the Nations under ground;When in the Valley ofJehosaphat,The Judging God shall close the Book of Fate;And there the last Assizes keep,For those who Wake, and those who sleep;When ratling Bones together flyFrom the four Corners of the Skie,When Sinews o're the Skeletons are spread,Those cloath'd with Flesh, and Life inspires the Dead;}The Sacred Poets first shall hear the Sound,}And formost from the Tomb shall bound:}For they are cover'd with the lightest GroundAnd streight, with in-born Vigour, on the Wing,Like mounting Larkes, to the New Morning sing.ThereThou, Sweet Saint, before the Quire shalt go,As Harbinger of Heav'n, the Way to show,The Way which thou so well hast learn'd below.J. Dryden.

Quæ in ipso Ætatis flore Obiit.

Heu jacet, fato victa,Quæ stabat ubique victrixForma, ingenio, religione;Plura collegerat in se Unâ,Quàm vel sparsa mireris in omnibus!Talem quis pingat, nisi penicillo quod tractavit?Aut quis canat, nisi Poëta sui similis?Cum tanta sciret, hoc Unum ignoravit,Quanta, nempe, esset;Aut si norit.Mirare Modestiam,Tantis incorruptam dotibus.Laudes meruisse satis illi fuit,Has ne vel audiret, laudatores omnes fugerat,Contenta paterno Lare,Dum & sibi Aula patebat adulatrix.Mundum sapere an potuit,Quæ ab infantia Christum sapuerat?Non modo semper Virgo,Sed & virginum Exemplar.Gentis suæ Decus,Ævi Splendor,Sexus Miraculum.Nullâ Vertute inferior cuiquam,Cuilibet superior multâ.Optimi Deliciæ patris,Etiam numerosâ optimâque prole fortunatissimi:Priorem tamen invidit nemo,(Seu frater, seu soror)Quin potius coluere omnes, omnibus suavem & officiosam,Amorisque commune Vinculum & Centrum.Vix ista credes. Hanc si nescieris;Credet majora qui scierit.Abi Viator, & Plange:Si eam plangi oporteat,Cui, tam piè morienti,Vel Cœlites plauserint.

Abi Viator, & Plange:Si eam plangi oporteat,Cui, tam piè morienti,Vel Cœlites plauserint.

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