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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The Earl of Orrery to Mrs. Philips.
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The Earl of Orrery to Mrs. Philips.
Madam,
When
I but knew you by report,
I fear'd the praises of th' admiring Court
Were but their Complements, but now I must
Confess, what I thought civil is scarce just:
For they imperfect Trophies to you raise,
You deserve wonder, and they pay but praise;
A praise, which is as short of your great due,
As all which yet have writ come short of you.
You, to whom wonder's paid by double right,
Both for your Verses smoothness and their height.
I fear'd the praises of th' admiring Court
Were but their Complements, but now I must
Confess, what I thought civil is scarce just:
For they imperfect Trophies to you raise,
You deserve wonder, and they pay but praise;
A praise, which is as short of your great due,
As all which yet have writ come short of you.
You, to whom wonder's paid by double right,
Both for your Verses smoothness and their height.
In me it does not the least trouble breed,
That your fair Sex does Ours in Verse exceed,
Since every Poet this great Truth does prove,
Nothing so much inspires a Muse as Love;
Thence has your Sex the best poetick fires,
For what's inspir'd must yield to what inspires.
And as Our Sex resigns to Yours the due,
So all of your bright Sex must yield to You.
Experience shows, that never Fountain fed
A stream which could ascend above its Head;
For those whose wit fam'd Helicon does give,
To rise above its height durst never strive,
Their double Hill too, though 'tis often clear,
Yet often on it clouds and storms appear.
Let none admire then that the ancient wit
Shar'd in those Elements infused it;
Nor that your Muse than theirs ascends much higher;
She sharing in no Element but fire.
Past ages could not think those things you do,
For their Hill was their Basis and height too:
So that 'tis Truth, not Complement, to tell,
Your lowest height their highest did excel;
Your nobler thoughts warm'd by a heav'nly fire,
To their bright Centre constantly aspire;
And by the place to which they take their flight,
Leave us no doubt from whence they have their light.
That your fair Sex does Ours in Verse exceed,
Since every Poet this great Truth does prove,
Nothing so much inspires a Muse as Love;
Thence has your Sex the best poetick fires,
For what's inspir'd must yield to what inspires.
And as Our Sex resigns to Yours the due,
So all of your bright Sex must yield to You.
Experience shows, that never Fountain fed
A stream which could ascend above its Head;
For those whose wit fam'd Helicon does give,
To rise above its height durst never strive,
Their double Hill too, though 'tis often clear,
Yet often on it clouds and storms appear.
Let none admire then that the ancient wit
Shar'd in those Elements infused it;
Nor that your Muse than theirs ascends much higher;
She sharing in no Element but fire.
Past ages could not think those things you do,
For their Hill was their Basis and height too:
So that 'tis Truth, not Complement, to tell,
Your lowest height their highest did excel;
Your nobler thoughts warm'd by a heav'nly fire,
To their bright Centre constantly aspire;
Leave us no doubt from whence they have their light.
Your merit has attain'd this high degree,
'Tis above praise as much as flattery,
And when in that we have drain'd all our store,
All grant from this nought can be distant more.
'Tis above praise as much as flattery,
And when in that we have drain'd all our store,
All grant from this nought can be distant more.
Though you have sung of friendships power so well,
That you in that, as you in wit excel,
Yet my own interest obliges me
To praise your practise more than Theory;
For by that kindness you your friend did show
The honour I obtain'd of knowing you.
That you in that, as you in wit excel,
Yet my own interest obliges me
To praise your practise more than Theory;
For by that kindness you your friend did show
The honour I obtain'd of knowing you.
In Pictures none hereafter will delight,
You draw more to the life in black and white;
The Pencil to your Pen must yield the place,
This draws the Soul, where that draws but the Face.
You draw more to the life in black and white;
The Pencil to your Pen must yield the place,
This draws the Soul, where that draws but the Face.
Of blest retirement such great Truths you write,
That 'tis my wish as much as your delight;
Our gratitude to praise it does think fit,
Since all you writ are but effects of it.
That 'tis my wish as much as your delight;
Our gratitude to praise it does think fit,
Since all you writ are but effects of it.
You English Corneil's Pompey with such flame,
That you both raise our wonder and his fame;
If he could read it, he like us would call
The copy greater than th' Original;
You cannot mend what is already done,
Unless you'l finish what you have begun:
Who your Translation sees, cannot but say,
That 'tis Orinda's Work, and but his Play.
The French to learn our Language now will seek,
To hear their greatest Wit more nobly speak;
Rome too would grant, were our Tongue to her known,
Cæsar speaks better in't than in his own.
And all those Wreaths once circl'd Pompey's brow,
Exalt his Fame, less than your Verses now.
That you both raise our wonder and his fame;
If he could read it, he like us would call
The copy greater than th' Original;
You cannot mend what is already done,
Unless you'l finish what you have begun:
Who your Translation sees, cannot but say,
That 'tis Orinda's Work, and but his Play.
The French to learn our Language now will seek,
To hear their greatest Wit more nobly speak;
Rome too would grant, were our Tongue to her known,
Cæsar speaks better in't than in his own.
And all those Wreaths once circl'd Pompey's brow,
Exalt his Fame, less than your Verses now.
From these clear Truths all must acknowledge this,
If there be Helicon, in Wales it is.
Oh happy Country which to our Prince gives
His Title, and in which Orinda lives!
If there be Helicon, in Wales it is.
Oh happy Country which to our Prince gives
His Title, and in which Orinda lives!
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