University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
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

collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
To the Queen's Majesty, on her late Sickness and Recovery
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 


121

To the Queen's Majesty, on her late Sickness and Recovery

The publick Gladness that's to us restor'd,
For your escape from what we so deplor'd,
Will want as well resemblance as belief,
Unless our Joy be measur'd by our Grief.
When in your Fever we with terrour saw
At once our Hopes and Happiness withdraw;
And every crisis did with jealous fear
Enquire the News we scarce durst stay to hear.
Some dying Princes have their Servants slain,
That after death they might not want a Train.
Such cruelty were here a needless sin;
For had our fatal Fears prophetick been,
Sorrow alone that service would have done,
And you by Nations had been waited on.
Your danger was in ev'ry Visage seen,
And onely yours was quiet and serene.
But all our zealous Grief had been in vain,
Had not Great Charles's call'd you back again:
Who did your suff'rings with such pain discern,
He lost three Kingdoms once with less concern.
Lab'ring your safety he neglected his,
Nor fear'd he Death in any shape but this.
His Genius did the bold Distemper tame,
And his rich Tears quench'd the rebellious Flame.
At once the Thracian Hero lov'd and griev'd,
Till he his lost Felicity retriev'd;
And with the moving accents of his wo
His Spouse recover'd from the shades below.
So the King's grief your threatned loss withstood,
Who mourn'd with the same fortune that he woo'd:
And to his happy Passion we have been
Now twice oblig'd for so ador'd a Queen.
But how severe a Choice had you to make,

122

When you must Heav'n delay, or Him forsake?
Yet since those joys you made such haste to find
Had scarce been full if he were left behind,
How well did Fate decide your inward strife,
By making him a Present of your Life?
Which rescu'd Blessing he must long enjoy,
Since our Offences could it not destroy.
For none but Death durst rival him in you;
And Death himself was baffled in it too.