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 Countess of Roscomon, with a Copy of Pompey.
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To the Countess of Roscomon, with a Copy of Pompey.
Great
Pompey's Fame from Egypt made escape,
And flies to you for succour in this shape:
A shape, which, I assur'd him, would appear,
Nor fit for you to see, nor him to wear.
Yet he says, Madam, he's resolv'd to come,
And run a hazard of a second doom:
But still he hopes to bribe you, by that trust
You may be kind, but cannot be uniust;
Each of whose savours will delight him more,
Than all the Lawrels that his temples wore:
Yet if his Name and his misfortunes fail,
he thinks my intercession will prevail;
And whilst my Numbers would relate his end,
Not like a Judge you'l listen, but a friend;
For how can either of us fear your frown,
Since he and I are both so much your own.
And flies to you for succour in this shape:
A shape, which, I assur'd him, would appear,
Nor fit for you to see, nor him to wear.
Yet he says, Madam, he's resolv'd to come,
And run a hazard of a second doom:
But still he hopes to bribe you, by that trust
You may be kind, but cannot be uniust;
Each of whose savours will delight him more,
Than all the Lawrels that his temples wore:
Yet if his Name and his misfortunes fail,
he thinks my intercession will prevail;
And whilst my Numbers would relate his end,
Not like a Judge you'l listen, but a friend;
For how can either of us fear your frown,
Since he and I are both so much your own.
But when you wonder at my bold design,
Remember who did that high task enjoin;
Th'illustrious Orrery, whose least command,
You would more wonder if I could withstand:
Of him I cannot which is hardest tell,
Or not to praise him, or to praise him well;
Who on that height from whence true glory came,
Does there possess and thence distribute fame;
Where all their Lyres the willing Muses bring,
To learn of him whatever they shall sing;
Since all must yield, whilst there are Books or Men,
The Universal Empire to his Pen;
Oh! had that powerful genius but inspir'd
The feeble hand, whose service he requir'd,
It had your justice then, not mercy pray'd,
Had pleas'd you more, and better him obey'd.
Remember who did that high task enjoin;
Th'illustrious Orrery, whose least command,
You would more wonder if I could withstand:
Of him I cannot which is hardest tell,
Or not to praise him, or to praise him well;
Who on that height from whence true glory came,
Does there possess and thence distribute fame;
Where all their Lyres the willing Muses bring,
To learn of him whatever they shall sing;
Since all must yield, whilst there are Books or Men,
152
Oh! had that powerful genius but inspir'd
The feeble hand, whose service he requir'd,
It had your justice then, not mercy pray'd,
Had pleas'd you more, and better him obey'd.
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