former intimacy with the famous Jeremy Taylor, the bishop of Down and
Connor, who had some time before done her much honour by writing, and
publishing a Discourse on the Nature, Offices, and Measures of
Friendship, with Rules for conducting it, in a letter addressed to
her. It is probable that this prelate's acquaintance with so
accomplished a lady as Mrs. Philips, might be one reason of his
entertaining so high an opinion of the fair sex in general; it is
certain he was a great admirer of them, by which the good sense, as
well as piety, of that great man is demonstrated; for whoever has
studied life, examined the various motives of human actions, compared
characters, and, in a word, scrutinized the heart, will find that more
real virtue, more genuine and unaffected goodness exist amongst the
female sex, than the other, and were their minds cultivated with equal
care, and did they move in the bustle of life, they would not fall
short of the men in the acute excellences; but the softness of their
natures exempts them from action, and the blushes of beauty are not to
be effaced by the rough storms of adversity: that man is happy who
enjoys in the conjugal state, the endearments of love and innocence,
and if his wife is less acquainted with the world than he, she makes a
large amends, by the artless blandishments of a delicate affection.
We are persuaded our fair readers will not be displeased if we insert
a paragraph from the discourse already mentioned by this worthy
churchman; it appearing to be so sincere a tribute to their merit.
'But by the way, madam, you may see how I differ from the majority of
those cynics, who would not admit your sex into the community of a
noble friendship. I believe some wives have been the best friends in
the world; and few stories can outdo the nobleness and piety of that
lady, that sucked the poisonous purulent matter from the wounds of the
brave Prince in the holy land, when an assassin had pierced him with a
venomed arrow: and if it be told that women cannot retain council, and
therefore can be no brave friends, I can best confute them by the
story of Porcia, who being fearful of the weakness of her sex, stabbed
herself in the thigh to try how she could bear pain; and finding
herself constant enough to that sufferance, gently chid her Brutus for
not trusting her, since now she perceived, that no torment could wrest
that secret from her, which she hoped might be entrusted to her. If
there were no more things to be said for your satisfaction, I could
have made it disputable, which have been more illustrious in their
friendship, men or women. I cannot say that women are capable of all
those excellencies by which men can oblige the world, and therefore a
female friend, in some cases, is not so good a counsellor as a wise
man, and cannot so well defend my honour, nor dispose of relief and
assistances, if she be under the power of another; but a woman can
love as passionately, and converse as pleasantly, and retain a secret
as faithfully, and be useful in her proper ministries, and she can die
for her friend, as well as the bravest Roman knight; a man is the best
friend in trouble, but a woman may be equal to him in the days of joy:
a woman can as well increase our comforts, but cannot so well lessen
our sorrows, and therefore we do not carry women with us when we go to
fight; but in peaceful cities and times, women are the beauties of
society, and the prettinesses of friendship, and when we consider that
few persons in the world have all those excellences by which
friendship can be useful, and illustrious, we may as well allow women
as men to be friends; since they have all that can be necessary and
essential to friendships, and those cannot have all by which
friendships can be accidentally improved.'
Thus far this learned prelate, whose testimony in favour of women is
the more considerable, as he cannot be supposed to have been
influenced by any particular passion, at least for Mrs. Philips, who
was ordinary in her person and was besides a married lady. In the year
1663 Mrs. Philips quitted Ireland, and went to Cardigan, where she
spent the remaining part of that, and the beginning of the next year,
in a sort of melancholy retirement; as appears by her letters,
occasioned, perhaps, by the bad success of her husband's affairs.
Going to London, in order to relieve her oppressed spirits with the
conversation of her friends there, she was seized by the smallpox, and
died of it (in Fleet street,) to the great grief of her acquaintance,
in the 32d year of her age, and was buried June 22, 1664, in the
church of St. Bennet Sherehog[1], under a large monumental stone,
where several of her ancestors were before buried. Mr. Aubrey in his
manuscript abovementioned, observes, that her person was of a middle
stature, pretty fat, and ruddy complexioned.
Soon after her death, her Poems and Translations were collected and
published in a volume in folio, to which was added Monsieur
Corneille's Pompey and Horace, Tragedies; with several other
Translations out of French, London 1667, with her picture, a good
busto, before them, standing on a pedestal, on which is inscribed
Orinda; it was printed again at London 1678. In a collection of
Letters published by Mr. Thomas Brown, in 1697, are printed four
Letters from Mrs. Philips to the Honourable Berenice. Many years after
her death, were published a volume of excellent Letters from Mrs.
Philips to Sir Charles Cotterel with the ensuing title, Letters from
Orinda to Polliarchus, 8vo. London 1705. Major Pack, in his Essay on
Study, inserted in his Miscellanies, gives the following character of
these Letters; 'The best Letters I have met with in our English
tongue, are those of the celebrated Mrs. Philips to Sir Charles
Cotterel; as they are directed all to the same person, so they run all
in the same strain, and seem to have been employed in the service of a
refined and generous friendship. In a word, they are such as a woman
of spirit and virtue, should write to a courtier of honour, and true
gallantry.' The memory of this ingenious lady has been honoured with
many encomiums. Mr. Thomas Rowe in his epistle to Daphne, pays the
following tribute to her fame.
At last ('twas long indeed!) Orinda came,
To ages yet to come an ever glorious name;
To virtuous themes, her well tun'd lyre she strung;
Of virtuous themes in easy numbers sung.
Horace and Pompey in her line appear, }
With all the worth that Rome did once revere: }
Much to Corneille they owe, and much to her. }
Her thoughts, her numbers, and her fire the same,
She soar'd as high, and equal'd all his fame.
Tho' France adores the bard, nor envies Greece
The costly buskins of her Sophocles.
More we expected, but untimely death,
Soon stopt her rising glories with her breath.
More testimonies might be produced in favour of Mrs. Philips, but as
her works are generally known, and are an indelible testimony of her
merit, we reckon it superfluous. Besides the poetical abilities of the
amiable Orinda, she is said to have been of a generous, charitable
disposition, and a friend to all in distress.
As few ladies ever lived more happy in her friends than our poetess,
so those friends have done justice to her memory, and celebrated her,
when dead, for those virtues they admired, when living. Mr. Dryden
more than once mentions her with honour, and Mr Cowley has written an
excellent Ode upon her death. As this Ode will better shew the high
opinion once entertained of Mrs. Philips, than any thing we can say,
after giving a specimen of her poetry, we shall conclude with this
performance of Cowley's, which breathes friendship in every line, and
speaks an honest mind: so true is the observation of Pope, upon the
supposition that Cowley's works are falling into oblivion,
Lost is his epic, nay, pindaric art,
But still I love the language of his heart.
Mrs. Philips's poetry has not harmony of versification, or amorous
tenderness to recommend it, but it has a force of thinking, which few
poets of the other sex can exceed, and if it is without graces, it has
yet a great deal of strength. As she has been celebrated for her
friendship, we shall present the reader with an Ode upon that subject,
addressed to her dearest Lucasia.
I.
Come my Lucasia, since we see
That miracles men's faith do move
By wonder, and by prodigy;
To the dull angry world lets prove
There's a religion in our love.
II.
For tho' we were designed t'agree,
That fate no liberty destroys,
But our election is as free
As angels, who with greedy choice
Are yet determined to their joys.
III.
Our hearts are doubled by the loss,
Here mixture is addition grown;
We both diffuse, and both engross:
And we whose minds are so much one,
Never, yet ever are alone.
IV.
We court our own captivity,
Than thrones more great and innocent:
'Twere banishment to be set free,
Since we wear fetters whose intent
Not bondage is, but ornament.
V.
Divided joys are tedious found,
And griefs united easier grow:
We are ourselves, but by rebound,
And all our titles shuffled so,
Both princes, and both subjects too.
VI.
Our hearts are mutual victims laid,
While they (such power in friendship lies)
Are altars, priests, and offerings made:
And each heart which thus kindly dies,
Grows deathless by the sacrifice.
On the DEATH of Mrs. PHILIPS.
I.
Cruel disease! ah, could it not suffice,
Thy old and constant spite to exercise
Against the gentlest and the fairest sex,
Which still thy depredations most do vex?
Where still thy malice, most of all
(Thy malice or thy lust) does on the fairest fall,
And in them most assault the fairest place,
The throne of empress beauty, ev'n the face.
There was enough of that here to assuage,
(One would have thought) either thy lust or rage;
Was't not enough, when thou, profane disease,
Didst on this glorious temple seize:
Was't not enough, like a wild zealot, there,
All the rich outward ornaments to tear,
Deface the innocent pride of beauteous images?
Was't not enough thus rudely to defile,
But thou must quite destroy the goodly pile?
And thy unbounded sacrilege commit
On th'inward holiest holy of her wit?
Cruel disease! there thou mistook'st thy power;
No mine of death can that devour,
On her embalmed name it will abide
An everlasting pyramide,
As high as heav'n the top, as earth, the basis wide.
II.
All ages past record, all countries now,
In various kinds such equal beauties show,
That ev'n judge Paris would not know
On whom the golden apple to bestow,
Though goddesses to his sentence did submit,
Women and lovers would appeal from it:
Nor durst he say, of all the female race,
This is the sovereign face.
And some (tho' these be of a kind that's rare,
That's much, oh! much less frequent than the fair)
So equally renown'd for virtue are,
That is the mother of the gods might pose,
When the best woman for her guide she chose.
But if Apollo should design
A woman Laureat to make,
Without dispute he would Orinda take,
Though Sappho and the famous nine
Stood by, and did repine.
To be a Princess or a Queen
Is great; but 'tis a greatness always seen;
The world did never but two women know,
Who, one by fraud, th'other by wit did rise
To the two tops of spiritual dignities,
One female pope of old, one female poet now.
III.
Of female poets, who had names of old,
Nothing is shown, but only told,
And all we hear of them perhaps may be
Male-flatt'ry only, and male-poetry.
Few minutes did their beauties light'ning waste,
The thunder of their voice did longer last,
But that too soon was past.
The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit,
In her own lasting characters are writ,
And they will long my praise of them survive,
Though long perhaps too that may live,
The trade of glory manag'd by the pen
Though great it be, and every where is found.
Does bring in but small profit to us men;
'Tis by the number of the sharers drown'd.
Orinda on the female coasts of fame,
Ingrosses all the goods of a poetic name.
She does no partner with her see,
Does all the business there alone, which we
Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.
IV.
But wit's like a luxuriant vine;
Unless to virtue's prop it join,
Firm and erect towards Heav'n bound;
Tho' it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd,
It lyes deform'd, and rotting on the ground.
Now shame and blushes on us all,
Who our own sex superior call!
Orinda does our boasting sex out do,
Not in wit only, but in virtue too.
She does above our best examples rise,
In hate of vice, and scorn of vanities.
Never did spirit of the manly make,
And dipp'd all o'er in learning's sacred lake,
A temper more invulnerable take.
No violent passion could an entrance find,
Into the tender goodness of her mind;
Through walls of stone those furious bullets may
Force their impetuous way,
When her soft breast they hit, damped and dead they lay.
V.
The fame of friendship which so long had told
Of three or four illustrious names of old,
'Till hoarse and weary with the tale she grew,
Rejoices now t'have got a new,
A new, and more surprizing story,
Of fair Leucasia's and Orinda's glory.
As when a prudent man does once perceive
That in some foreign country he must live,
The language and the manners he does strive
To understand and practise here,
That he may come no stranger there;
So well Orinda did her self prepare,
In this much different clime for her remove,
To the glad world of poetry and love.
Footnote:
1. Ballard's Memoirs.
* * * * *
MARGARET, Duchess of NEWCASTLE,
The second wife of William Cavendish, duke of Newcastle, was born at
St. John's near Colchester in Essex, about the latter end of the reign
of King James I. and was the youngest daughter of Sir Charles Lucas, a
gentleman of great spirit and fortune, who died when she was very
young. The duchess herself in a book intitled Nature's Pictures, drawn
by Fancy's pencil to the life, has celebrated both the exquisite
beauty of her person, and the rare endowments of her mind. This lady's
mother was remarkably assiduous in the education of her children, and
bestowed upon this, all the instructions necessary for forming the
minds of young ladies, and introducing them into life with advantage.
She found her trouble in cultivating this daughter's mind not in vain,
for she discovered early an inclination to learning, and spent so much
of her time in study and writing, that some of her Biographers have
lamented her not being acquainted with the learned languages, which
would have extended her knowledge, corrected the exuberances of
genius, and have been of infinite service to her, in her numerous
compositions.
In the year 1643 she obtained leave of her mother to go to Oxford,
where the court then resided, and was made one of the Maids of Honour
to Henrietta Maria, the Royal Consort of King Charles I. and when the
Queen was forced to leave the arms of her Husband, and fly into
France, by the violence of the prevailing power, this lady attended
her there. At Paris she met with the marquis of Newcastle, whose
loyalty had likewise produced his exile; who, admiring her person and
genius, married her in the year 1645. The marquis had before heard of
this lady, for he was a patron and friend of her gallant brother, lord
Lucas, who commanded under him in the civil wars. He took occasion one
day to ask his lordship what he could do for him, as he had his
interest much at heart? to which he answered, that he was not
sollicitous about his own affairs, for he knew the worst could be but
suffering either death, or exile in the Royal cause, but his chief
sollicitude was for his sister, on whom he could bestow no fortune,
and whose beauty exposed her to danger: he represented her amiable
qualities, and raised the marquis's curiosity to see her, and from
that circumstance arose the marquis's affection to this lady. From
Paris they went to Rotterdam, where they resided six months: from
thence they returned to Antwerp, where they settled, and continued
during the time of their exile, as it was the most quiet place, and
where they could in the greatest peace enjoy their ruined fortune. She
proved a most agreeable companion to the marquis, during the gloomy
period of exile, and enlivened their recess, both by her writing and
conversation, as appears by the many compliments and addresses he made
her on that occasion.
The lady undertook a voyage into England, in order to obtain some of
the marquis's rents, to supply their pressing necessities, and pay the
debts they had been there obliged to contract; and accordingly went
with her brother to Goldsmith's Hall, where, it seems, the committee
of sequestration sat, but could not obtain the smallest sum out of the
marquis's vast inheritance, which, amounted to 20,000 l. per annum;
and had it not been for the generosity and tenderness of Sir Charles
Cavendish (who greatly reduced his own fortune, to support his brother
in distress) they must have been exposed to extreme poverty.
Having raised a considerable sum, by the generosity of her own, and
the marquis's, relations, she returned to Antwerp, where she continued
with her lord, till the restoration of Charles II, upon which, the
marquis, after six years banishment, made immediate preparation for
his return to his native country, leaving his lady behind him to
dispatch his affairs there, who, having conducted them to his
lordship's satisfaction, she soon followed her consort into England.
Being now restored to the sunshine of prosperity, she dedicated her
time to writing poems, philosophical discourses, orations and plays.
She was of a generous turn of mind, and kept a great many young ladies
about her person, who occasionally wrote what she dictated. Some of
them slept in a room, contiguous to that in which her Grace lay, and
were ready, at the call of her bell, to rise any hour of the night, to
write down her conceptions, lest they should escape her memory.
The young ladies, no doubt, often dreaded her Grace's conceptions,
which were frequent, but all of the poetical or philosophical kind,
for though she was very beautiful, she died without issue: she is said
to have been very reserved and peevish, perhaps owing to the
circumstance just mentioned, of having never been honoured with the
name of mother.
Mr. Jacob says, that she was the most voluminous writer of all the
female poets; that she had a great deal of wit, and a more than
ordinary propensity to dramatic poetry; and Mr. Langbaine tells us,
that all the language and plots of her plays were her own, which, says
he, is a commendation preferable to fame built on other people's
foundation, and will very well atone for some faults in her numerous
productions. As the Duchess is said to be negligent, in regard to
chronology in her historical writings, so others have been equally
remiss, in this respect, with regard to her Grace, for, among the many
authors who have taken notice of her, not one has mentioned the year
in which she died, and even her monumental inscription, where one
might reasonably expect it, is silent, both in respect to her age, and
the time of her death. But Mr. Fulman, in the 15th volume of his MS.
collections in the Corpus Christi College Archives, observes, that she
died in London Anno 1673, and was buried at Westminster, January 7,
1673-4, where an elegant monument is erected to her memory, of which,
take the following account given by Dr. Crul in the Antiquities of
that Church. 'Against the skreen of the chapel of St. Michael, is a
most noble spacious tomb of white marble, adorned with two pillars of
black marble, with entablatures of the Corinthian order, embellished
with arms, and most curious trophy works; on the pedestal lye two
images, in full proportion, of white marble in a cumbent posture, in
their robes, representing William Cavendish, duke of Newcastle, and
Margaret his duchess, his second and last wife, being the daughter of
Sir Charles, and the sister of lord Lucas of Colchester; who as she
had deservedly acquired the reputation of a lady of uncommon wit,
learning, and liberality; so the duke her husband had rendered himself
famous for his loyalty, and constant fidelity to the royal family,
during the civil wars in this kingdom and in Scotland. The duke having
caused this stately monument to be erected here to the memory of his
lady, died soon after in the year 1676, aged 84, and was interred
here.'
The Epitaph for the Duchess.
"Here lies the loyal Duke of Newcastle and his Duchess, his second
wife, by whom he had no issue. Her name was Margaret Lucas, youngest
sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester, a noble family, for all the
brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous. This Duchess was
a wise, witty, and learned Lady, which her many books do well testify:
She was a most virtuous, and loving, and careful wife, and was with
her Lord all the time of his banishment and miseries; and when they
came home never parted with him in his solitary retirements."
The following is a catalogue of her works, in which we have taken
pains to be as accurate as possible, in order to do justice to the
poetical character of this lady.
1. The World's Olio.
2. Nature's Picture drawn by Fancy's Pencil to the Life.
In this volume there are several feigned stories of natural
descriptions, as comical, tragical, and tragi-comical, poetical,
romancical, philosophical, and historical, both in prose and verse,
some all verse, some all prose, some mixt; partly prose, and partly
verse; also some morals, and some dialogues, Lond. 1656. folio.
3. Orations of different sorts, on different occasions, Lond. 1662.
4. Philosophical and Physical Opinions, 1633, folio.
5. Observations on Experimental Philosophy; to which is added, the
Description of a New World. Mr. James Bristow began to translate some
of these Philosophical Discourses into Latin.
6. Philosophical Letters; or modest Reflections on some Opinions in
Natural Philosophy, maintained by several famous and learned authors
of this age, expressed by way of letters, Lond. 1664, fol.
7. Poems and Fancies, Lond. 1664, folio.
8. Sociable Letters, 1664, folio.
9. The Life of the Duke of Newcastle her husband, which was translated
into Latin, and is thought to be the best performance of this lady.
10. Observations of the Duke's, with Remarks of her own,
In the Library of the late Mr. Thomas Richardson was the Duchess of
Newcastle's poems, 2 Vol. fol. MS. and in the library of the late
bishop Willis was another MS. of her poems in folio.
Her Dramatic Works are,
1. Apocryphal Ladies, a Comedy; it is not divided into acts.
2. Bell in Campo, a Tragedy, in two parts.
3. Blazing World, a Comedy.
4. Bridals, a Comedy.
5. Comical Hash, a Comedy.
6. Convent of Pleasure, a Comedy.
7. Female Academy, a Comedy.
8. Lady Contemplation, a Comedy, in two parts.
9. Love's Adventure, in two parts, a Comedy.
10. Matrimonial Troubles, in two parts; the second being a Tragedy, or
as the authoress stiles it, a Tragi-comedy.
11. Nature's three Daughters, Beauty, Love, and Wit, a Comedy, in two
parts.
12. Presence, a Comedy.
13. Public Wooing, a Comedy, in which the Duke wrote several of the
suitors speeches.
14. Religious, a Tragi-Comedy.
15. Several Wits, a Comedy.
16. Sociable Companions, or the Female Wits, a Comedy.
17. Unnatural Tragedy. Act II. Scene III. the Duchess inveighs against
Mr. Camden's Britannia.
18. Wit's Cabal, a Comedy, in two parts.
19. Youth's Glory, and Death's Banquet, a Tragedy in two parts.
Mr. Langbaine has preserved part of the general prologue to her plays,
which we shall insert as a specimen of her versification:
But noble readers, do not think my plays
Are such as have been writ in former days;
As Johnson, Shakespear, Beaumont, Fletcher writ,
Mine want their learning, reading, language, wit.
The Latin phrases, I could never tell,
But Johnson could, which made him write so well.
Greek, Latin poets, I could never read,
Nor their historians, but our English Speed:
I could not steal their wit, nor plots out-take;
All my plays plots, my own poor brain did make.
From Plutarch's story, I ne'er took a plot,
Nor from romances, nor from Don Quixote.
* * * * *
WILLIAM CAVENDISH,