University of Virginia Library

[B. M. Add. MS. 25707:]

Verses of ye Countess of Huntington

Since wee perceave not onely wealth but witt
Is spent in [r]yme: why will wee lavishe it
In verse: therin stud'inge to make awaye
What would in prôse maintaine vs manie a daye.
Those sadd examples wch our (yet greene) youth
haes seene, & mark't (I hope) prove this a truth,
When all their Mercurie, & subtille flame
Fixt, & put out they lyve to loose theire name,
And to mend this the State hath yet noe plott,
Noe Nor the Lawe, the Church releives vs not;
Lawyers in this Case are against vs sett
For Ignoramus is remembre'd yett
Our Church in tyme of Warr, a Litanie
hae's wth Collects for peace, & when tis drye
for raine, but looke yf you Can finde in it
A prayer to help againste the drought of witt
for fires, & wracks wee geather; witt once gon:
there is nor Collect, nor Collection.
the tymely thought of this, & my poore stôre
of braines, made mee resolve, to ryme noe more:
But whether the fresh season of the yeare
Or (wch I

Duningtonparke

here Can lye a bedd & heare)
Melodious Philomele (like whome yf wee
Cou'd make a hundred thousand wœmen bee
Wth Cuttinge out their tongues; wou'd it were donn)
Or Change of aire, or wine, or beinge one
Yt parted wth [th]at Poett late, and tooke
th'infection soe or whether I did looke
too fervently vpon thy morris daunce,
And soe the same vnruly Muse (perchance)
That inspirde them, (as sure some Muse it was)
hae's enterd mee, to make mee playe the asse;
I knowe not but at my retorne I finde
My penn to verses fatally enclinde.
Wth rapture though it gyve my thoughts free wing
Of Angells, or the holyest Saints to syng
Yet dare not venture her high prayse to blowe
whome wee by naminge The good woeman knowe,
as wee knowe Homer; when men saye; the Poett
t'is true there bee a thousand wayes to doe it.
And for as manie Causes am I tyed
T'attempt it: yet wth feare soe stupefied
My powers are; that what I now begunn
to make is spilt, & throughe my witt is runn:
t'is thus wth mee when I, or preach, or praye,
Or reade before her, or wou'd some thinge saye
What to another might prove eloquence
To her wth verie much adoe is sence
Surely my Genius (as Marc Antonies
did from Octauius) her good Angell flies
And feares wch beinge prompt, & quick alone
Is in her presence dull, as leade, or stone
Where is the fault? or whenne aryv'd this evill
I doe not feare her as men feare the divill:
But as Thanngells' God; I reverence
As they him) this Created excellence
And my lesse ghoste her greater spirit admires
and faintes: The Sun putts out all lesser fires;
And I doe thinck (tho this maye bee gaynsayd)
That next to God, & his bright Mother Mayde;
I shall doe reverence to her in Heaven;
And yet preserve my parte of glorie even
Besides this feare in vaine tis' soe to doe
prayse her to thee? why thou Canst praise her too
And soe must all yt knowe her; but how short
Of her perfection falles our lame reporte?
Shee that haes such a soule, & such a face,
whose Conversation is in stead of grace
Whose good workes are soe full; yf anie shee
bee sav'd for merritt; shee is sure to bee;
whoe had shee ben a man, & Homer been
Alyve; hee wou'd have writt his workes agen
Of two less-glorious halfes; framinge one peice
Mixinge his Iliads in his Odysses.
And wthout fixtion storyinge her alone
Achilles and Vlisses ioyn'd in one.
In whome soe much Divinitie is prest
As nether heaven, nor shee is perfect blest
Tyll shee bee there againe, from whence she Came
Can our poore accentes hope t'expresse her fame?
Or nam[e] her sev'rall vertues? let a man
Stile her brave, worthy, Noble (all hee can)
And ryme a balladmaker out of breath
Wth treblinge, faire, & sweete Elizabeth.
Stanley & Huntingdon; her twoe greate names
Ripp vp, and rake in, to finde Anagrams
Lett those at Court are famous (where to bee
(But the Kinges will) noethinge will bringe mee)
Make flatteringe Poems of her (soe entend
because yt is a fault they must not mend)
All their Hiperbolies, and all their skill
Prove a faint offer of a weake good will.
Let woemen whoe are better at this game
Then Poetts, Courtiers, all yt wee Can name
That Can out faine the Devill, and belye
their soules as well as eyes, or faces, trie
Let their Whole Regiment, exceptinge none,
Save her lov'd second selfe, whoe is all one)
Conspire, and each her borrow'd graces lend
T'adorne some Choyce thinge, whom they all Commend
And rigg out, as the Hope of all their name
Opposd to her, shee must, or sink for shame,
Or duringe grapple; bee soe stemmd, & torne
that what went out the hope retornes forlorne.
How they can yt high worth bee reach'd by mee
Whoe is what others Cannot faine to bee?
Soe yt I'm like some youthe shepheard swaine
Whoe veiwinge late his flocks vpon the plaine
And lookeinge vp spies a new starr appeare
Hee knowes not why, nor how; knowes it is there
Hee gazes, wonders, does his frends invite
They keike, and gape at the vnvsuall light
Nor hee, nor they Can from the sight Conclude
The height, the Splendor, nor the magnitude.
There is an Astrolabe of virtue, sure
But waywarde men will not the paine endure
to knowe the vse of it, & learne by this
That height wherein our heavenly-goodnes is
This is too much will some saye: but they lye
Let such first knowe her well; then lett 'hem trie
Read o're all bookes, and everie braine distill,
And Crush the quintessence into their quill
And they shall finde it is (when all is donn)
as yf, before his rise men Call'd the Sunn
Yellow, or redd, whoe Comes wth natiue light
and burn's vp everie painted Epithite
None shall describe her, well, & perfectly
Till hee bee perfect good: That am not I.