Poems By the most deservedly Admired Mrs Katherine Philips: The matchless Orinda. To which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace Tragedies. With several other Translations out of French |
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To the truly competent Judge of Honour, Lucasia,
upon a scandalous Libel made by J. J.
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To the truly competent Judge of Honour, Lucasia, upon a scandalous Libel made by J. J.
Honour, which differs Man from Man much moreThen Reason differ'd him from Beasts before,
Suffers this common Fate of all things good,
By the blind World to be misunderstood.
For as some Heathens did their Gods confine,
While in a Bird or Beast they made their shrine;
Depos'd their Deities to Earth, and then
Offer'd them Rites that were too low for Men:
So those who most to Honour sacrifice,
Prescribe to her a mean and weak disguise;
Imprison her to others false Applause,
And from Opinion do receive their Laws.
While that inconstant Idol they implore,
Which in one breath can murther and adore.
From hence it is that those who Honour court,
(And place her in a popular report)
Do prostitute themselves to sordid Fate,
And from their Being oft degenerate.
And thus their Tenents too are low and bad,
As if 'twere honourable to be mad:
Or that their Honour had concerned been
But to conceal, not to forbear, a sin.
But Honour is more great and more sublime,
Above the battery of Fate or Time.
We see in Beauty certain airs are found,
Which not one Grace can make, but all compound.
Honour's to th'Mind as Beauty to the Sense,
The fair result of mixed Excellence.
As many Diamonds together lie,
And dart one lustre to amaze the Eye:
So Honour is that bright Ætherial Ray
Which many Stars doth in one light display.
But as that Beauty were as truly sweet,
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And 'tis the Privilege of a native Spark,
To shed a constant Splendour in the dark:
So Honour is its own Reward and End,
And satisfied within, cannot descend
To beg the suffrage of a vulgar Tongue,
Which by commending Vertue doth it wrong.
It is the Charter of a noble Action,
That the performance giveth satisfaction.
Other things are below't; for from a Clown
Would any Conqueror receive his Crown?
'Tis restless Cowardice to be a drudge
To an uncertain and unworthy Judge.
So the Cameleon, who lives on air,
Is of all Creatures most inclin'd to fear.
But peaceable reflections on the Mind
Will in a silent shade Contentment find.
Honour keeps Court at home, and doth not fear
To be condemn'd abroad, if quitted there.
While I have this retreat, 'tis not the noise
Of Slander, though believ'd, can wrong my Joyes.
There is advantage in't: for Gold uncoin'd
Had been unuseful, nor with glory shin'd:
This stamp'd my Innocency in the Ore,
Which was as much, but not so bright, before.
Till an Alembick wakes and outward draws,
The strength of Sweets lies sleeping in their Cause:
So this gave me an opportunity
To feed upon my own Integrity.
And though their Judgment I must still disclaim,
Who can nor give nor take away a fame:
Yet I'le appeal unto the knowing few,
Who dare be just, and rip my heart to you.
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