1. The Lover, or The Jealous Husband; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1696.
This play did not succeed in the representation.
2. The Royal Mischief, a Tragedy; acted by his Majesty's Servants
in the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1696. This was exhibited with
general applause.
3. Lucius, the First Christian King of Britain, a Tragedy; acted
at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane by his Majesty's Servants, and
dedicated to Sir Richard Steele. She has written several poems, and
we shall select, as a specimen, an Epistle to the Countess of Bristol,
which will shew how much she possessed the power of delicate numbers;
she has also in print a volume of Letters, the second edition of which
was published in 1713. She died July 11, 1724.
To the Right Honourable the
Countess of BRISTOL.
Long had my mind, unknowing how to soar,
In humble prose been train'd, nor aim'd at more:
Near the fam'd sisters never durst aspire
To sound a verse, or touch the tuneful lyre.
'Till Bristol's charms dissolv'd the native cold;
Bad me survey her eyes, and thence be bold.
Thee, lovely Bristol! thee! with pride I chuse,
The first, and only subject of my muse;
That durst transport me like the bird of Jove,
To face th' immortal source of light above!
Such are thy kindred beams--
So blessings, with a bounteous hand they give,
So they create, and make creation live.
When charming Felton, of a beauteous race,
Adorn'd in blooming youth, with ev'ry grace;
First saw the lovely Suffolk Swain her prize,
The noblest conquest of the brightest eyes!
How many wretched nymphs that union made,
What cold despair the warmest hearts invade!
What crouds of lovers, hopeless and undone,
Deplore those charms which brought their ruin on!
Rich in themselves--all excellence they find,
Wit! beauty! wisdom! and a constant mind!
No vain desires of change disturb their joy;
Such sweets, like bliss divine, can never cloy:
Fill'd with that spirit which great souls inflame,
Their wondrous offspring start to early fame.
In their young minds, immortal sparkles rise!
And all their mother flashes from their eyes!
From thence such scenes of beauty charm the sight,
We know not where o fix the strong delight!
Hervey's soft features--next, Eliza bright!
Anna just dawning, like Aurora's light!
With all the smiling train of Cupids round,
Fond little loves, with flowing graces crown'd.
As some fair flowers, who all their bloom disclose,
The Spanish Jas'min, or the British Rose?
Arriv'd at full perfection, charm the sense,
Whilst the young blossoms gradual sweets dispense.
The eldest born, with almost equal pride;
The next appears in fainter colours dy'd:
New op'ning buds, as less in debt to time,
Wait to perform the promise of their prime!
All blest descendants of the beauteous tree,
What now their parent is, themselves shall be.
Oh! could I paint the younger Hervey's mind,
Where wit and judgment, fire and taste refin'd
To match his face, with equal art are join'd:
Oh best belov'd of Jove! to thee alone,
What would enrich the whole, he gives to one!
[A]In Titian's colours whilst Adonis glows,
See fairest Bristol more than Venus shows;
View well the valu'd piece, how nice each part;
Yet nature's hand surpasses Titian's art!
Such had his Venus and Adonis been,
The standard beauty had from thence been seen!
Whose arbitrary laws had fix'd the doom
To Hervey's form, and Bristol's ever bloom!
[B]As once Kazeia, now Eliza warms
The kindred-fair bequeath'd her all her charms;
Such were her darts, so piercing and so strong,
Endow'd by Phoebus both, with tuneful song;
But far from thee Eliza be her doom;
Snatch'd hence by death, in all her beauty's bloom.
Long may'st thou live, adorning Bristol's name,
With future heroes to augment his fame.
When haughty Niobe, with joy and pride,
Saw all her shining offspring grace her side;
She view'd their charms, exulting at each line,
And then oppos'd 'em to the race divine!
Enrag'd Latona urg'd the silver bow:
Immortal vengeance laid their beauties low.
No more a mother now--too much she mourn'd,
By grief incessant into marble turn'd.
But lovely Bristol, with a pious mind,
Owns all her blessings are from Heav'n assign'd.
Her matchless Lord--her beauteous numerous race!
Her virtue, modesty, and ev'ry grace!
For these, devoutly, to the gods she bows,
And offers daily praise, and daily vows:
Phoebus, well-pleas'd, the sacrifice regards;
And thus the grateful mother's zeal rewards:
'Beauty and wit, to all of Bristol's line!
But each in some peculiar grace shall shine!
Or to excel in courts, and please the fair!
Or Conquest gain thro' all the wat'ry war!
With harmony divine the ear to charm!
Or souls with more melodious numbers warm!
By wond'rous memory shall some excel
In awful senates, and in speaking well!
To hold Astræa's scales with equal hand,
And call back justice to that happy land!
To teach mankind how best the gods to praise!
To fix their minds in truth's unerring ways!
'Thus all her honours, Bristol's sons shall wear,
Whilst each his country's good shall make his chiefest care!'
[Footnote A: This is not designed as a parallel of the story, but the
painting from a piece of Titian's, at my lord Bristol's.]
[Footnote B: A sister of lord Bristol's, who was a lady of most
extraordinary beauty.]
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