Part 1

POEMS (1686)

by Mrs. Anne Killigrew

A Facsimile Reproduction with an Introduction by Richard Morton

Gainesville, Florida Scholars' Facsimiles & Reprints 1967

Scholars' Facsimiles & Reprints 1605 N. W. 14th Avenue Gainesville, Florida 32601, U.S.A. Harry R. Warfel, General Editor

Reproduced from a Copy in and with the permission of The Alexander Turnbull Library

_Wellington, New Zealand_

L. C. Catalog Card Number: 67-10177

Manufactured in the U.S.A.

INTRODUCTION

Condemnation by a great poet has lasting impact, while the effects of praise seldom endure; Shadwell remains MacFlecknoe in our minds, Shaftesbury Achitophel, but Anne Killigrew, "A _Grace_ for Beauty, and a _Muse_ for Wit," is virtually forgotten. Her book of verses is known essentially because of John Dryden's commendatory Ode. Yet we may justify a study of her own poems. Dryden's piece is not a generalised encomium; obviously he had read her verses, and his analysis of her art is firmly based. Our understanding of this famous poem, then, depends to some degree on our knowledge of Anne Killigrew's output.[1] Her verses deserve attention on their own merits--Dryden may well be thought more gallant than scrupulous, but undeniably the poems have an appealing wit, a picturesque imagination and a touching personal candour.

The facts of Anne Killigrew's short life are succinctly and elegantly related by Anthony Wood.[2] She was born about 1660, the daughter of Dr. Henry Killigrew, Royalist, theologian and sometime dramatist, and related through his family to the other theatrical Killigrews--Thomas, the author of _The Parson's Wedding_, and Sir William, her uncles; and Thomas, the author of _Chit-Chat_, and Charles, Master of the Revels, her cousins. Dr. Killigrew became Chaplain to the Duke of York and in 1663 Master of the Savoy. Anne Killigrew grew up to join the household of the doleful Mary of Modena, Duchess of York, as Maid of Honour. A companion in this office was Anne Finch, Countess of Winchelsea. Mistress Killigrew's poems reflect some of the sparkle of Restoration court life, but more of the sorrow produced by Mary of Modena's consistent unpopularity. After a short battle with the smallpox, Anne Killigrew died on 16 June, 1685, to the "unspeakable Reluctancy" of her many loving relations and friends.

[1] The most recent study of Dryden's poem is David M. Vieth's "Irony in Dryden's Ode to Anne Killigrew," _Studies in Philology_, LXII (January, 1965), pp. 91-100, which lists earlier criticism. Professor Vieth refers to Anne Killigrew's poems several times to illustrate his theory of Dryden's intentions.

[2] Anthony Wood, _Athenae Oxonienses_ (1721), c. 1036. Biographical and critical comment is also to be found in George Ballard, _Memoirs of Several Ladies_ (1752), pp. 337-45; T. Cibber, _Lives of the Poets_ (1753), II, 224-6; Ellen Creathorne Clayton, _English Female Artists_ (1876), I, 59-70 and _The Poems of Anne Countess of Winchelsea_, edited by Myra Reynolds (1903), pp. xxiii-xxiv.

After her untimely death, Dr. Killigrew worked to produce a memorial edition of her papers, and invited Dryden to write the prefatory poem. The publication was swift: less than three months after her death the volume was licensed to be printed (30 September, 1685) and listed in the Stationers' Register (2 October). It was listed in the Term Catalogue for November, and advertised in _The Observator_ on 2 November, 1685.[3] The date of 1686 on the title page must have been anticipated by actual publication.

[3] A bibliographical analysis of the volume is given by Hugh Macdonald, _John Dryden a Bibliography_ (1939), pp. 42-43.

The poetry in the volume can be described in Dryden's terms:

Art she had none, yet wanted none: For Nature did that Want supply.

Anne Killigrew lacked the artistry which comes from discipline and practice (which Anne Finch had time to develop), but she felt that the prompting of passion outweighed the niceties of form:

Here take no Care, take here no Care, my _Muse_, Nor ought of Art or Labour use.... The ruggeder my Measures run when read, They'l livelier paint th' unequal Paths fond Mortals tread, (p. 51)

Her verses belong to the generalising conventions of strong-minded Denham and limpid Waller:

Such Noble Vigour did her Verse adorn, That it seem'd borrow'd.

Yet to judge from her lively objections (pp. 44-47), the attempt to class her as a plagiarist was unjustified. Court poetry in the age was so uniform that apparent echoes are a matter of course. We may compare her

The bloody Wolf, the Wolf does not pursue; The Boar, though fierce, his Tusk will not embrue In his own Kind, Bares, not on Bares do prey: Then art thou, Man, more savage far than they, (p. 37)

with Rochester's _Satyr against Mankind_:

_Birds_, feed on _Birds_, _Beasts_, on each other prey, But Savage _Man_ alone, does _Man_ betray,

or Waller on the death of Lady Rich, "But savage beasts, or men as wild as they!" Anne Killigrew's use of stock epithets and polite locutions mark a conventionality which inevitably borders on the derivative. But at her best, as for example "On the Birth-Day of Queen _Katherine_," p. 47, she is able to move effectively beyond the conventional. The conflict between the formal occasion and the dismal weather becomes a surprising symbol of paradox, and the dream and scriptural consolation come to have an intensity more metaphysical than courtly. Similarly, in the unfinished "Ode," p. 82, or in parts of the "Pastoral Dialogue," p. 63, she produces some forceful and startling images.

The individuality of her works lies in their firm, evangelical moral tone, which is clearly distinguishable from the genteel piety of her contemporaries. Dryden's comment:

So cold herself, whilst she such Warmth exprest, 'Twas _Cupid_ bathing in _Diana's_ Stream,

is an apt description of, say, her "Pastoral Dialogue," pp. 63-75. Anne Killigrew's interest in poetic theory is notable; her early "Alexandreis" prays for the "frozen style" to be warmed with a "Poetique fire," and her "Love, the Soul of Poetry," contrasts the flatness of commonplace verse with the rapture and heat produced by a subject which "Enlarg'd his Fancy, and set free his Muse." The poem "To My Lord Colrane" meditates on her slothful muse and its awakening of life. Throughout her writings she keeps the poet's didactic end in view and has a high regard for the nature of her art. Something of the severity of the York household is reflected in the writings of the Maid of Honour.

The present text is reproduced, by kind permission, from the beautiful copy in the Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington. This volume, originally in Dr. Philip Bliss's collection, is listed in the _Huth Catalogue_ (1913), p. 1207, and described by W. C. Hazlitt, _Second Series of Bibliographical Collections and Notes_ (1882), p. 328. It contains on the flyleaf a MS poem by E. E., transcribed below. The Rev. Joseph Hunter, British Museum Add. MSS. 24492, Vol. VI, p. 100, suggests that E. E. was Edmund Elys,[4] the learned and contentious author of occasional poems (_Verses on Several Occasions_, 1699) and theological pamphlets (for example, _Epistola ad Sam. Parkerum S.T.P._, 1680). The generally vivacious style of the verse and the reference to the debate with Dr. Parker suggest that the identification is just, but the relationship between Mrs. Elys and the Killigrews is not known. Pages 72 and 73 are skipped, and pages 68 and 69 are misnumbered 60 and 61.

[4] On Elys's life see Anthony Wood, _Athenae Oxonienses_ (1721), c. 943-44.

The self-portrait of Anne Killigrew prefixed to the _Poems_ and printed herein as the frontispiece shows that she was a competent if conventional artist. Her descriptions of her paintings, pp. 27-29, suggest that here too moral and scriptural topics predominated over courtly affairs. E. E., Dryden and the writer of the Epitaph agree on Anne Killigrew's sanctity and gravity of mind. The modern reader may gain from her book of verse a moving insight into the thoughts and preoccupations of a young lady at court in the declining years of the Stuarts.

RICHARD MORTON

_McMaster University Hamilton, Ontario November 28, 1965_

Notes on the Poems

Several of Anne Killigrew's friends and relatives appear in the volume:

sig. b 2 "her Warlike Brother" is Henry Killigrew (d. 1712), commodore in the 1680's and eventually Admiral, who was on duty in the Mediterranean when Dryden wrote.

p. 24 Lady Berkeley and her son are the wife and son, John, of John, first Baron Berkeley of Stratton (d. 1687). John the younger was lieutenant in 1685 and attained the rank of Admiral in 1688.

p. 49 Lord Colrane is Henry Hare, second Baron Coleraine (1636-1708), the distinguished antiquary. A copy of the _Poems_ bearing his bookplate, dated 1702, is in the University of Michigan Library.

p. 76 Mrs. A. K., the victim of this extraordinary accident shortly before the civil broils, was probably Anne, daughter of Sir Robert Killigrew, the poetess's grandfather.

p. 79 The Duchess of Grafton is the daughter of Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington and wife of Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Grafton and son to Charles II and Barbara Villiers.

On the Death of The Truly Virtuous

Mrs. Anne Killigrew

who was Related to my (Deceased) Wife.

I cannot Mourn thy Fate, Sweet Mayd, but Joy That Thou art gone from all this Worlds Annoy, From th' hurry of this cursed Age, that draws Heav'ns Vengeance down by th' breach of all the Laws. Of GOD, & Man: ther's nothing here but Noise And Interruption of True Peacefull Joyes. That which they Pleasure call is _Sport_ for _Apes_ Which turns the _Phansie_ to a thousand _Shapes_ And Wrests the _Mind_ from that _Celestial Sphear_ To which Its _Nature_ ever would adhere That by a _Constant Revolution_ Its Rest & Motion ever might be ONE That which my Mind hath ever Sought, thy Mind Tho Compast with these walls of Clay did Find: Pure _Quintessential Love, Aethereal Flame_, Which Always shines, & Alwayes is the Same: Here's no faint trembling Flame: all Bright appears 'Tis ne're blown out with Sighs, nor quencht with tears. Thy Soul Enflames my Love: the Unitie I had with Her, who was Allie'd to Thee Is Now made Perfect: Our Souls Mutual Flame Tho Higher in _Degree_ in _Nature's_ still the same.

Her, Thee, & All the Glorious Souls Above I Now Enioy, whilst in You All I Love The Boundless Spring of Joy to Ev'ry Mind That knowes what's _Truly Fair_ & Knowes what's _Truly Kind_. How have I Labour'd to Depress the Pride Of one [Dr. Parker] that strives Illustrious Truth to Hide In the Thick Bushes of Learn'd Sophistrie, Which he that Enters hardly sees the Skie? Truth that thy Splendid Soul did clearly see And of it made a plain Discoverie. And having Conquer'd Fate, Thou leavst those Arms [Her Poems] By which Mankind may Conquer All their Harms And make them Serve their Noble Purposes. All Good to Gain, All Evil to Repress. How Bravely did thy _Melibaeus_ shew The Madness of that Love most men pursue And how Youth may their strongest Lusts subdue! O Happy Mayd, who didst so soon Espie In This _Dark Life, that All is Vanitie_! May thy Bright Love, All Youthfull Minds Inspire, And like the SUN, put out all _other Fire_; May all the Virtuous Celebrate thy Name; All Poets Hearts Partake of thy Great Flame That all their Ardors & their Flights may be The Flames that Fly up to the _Deitie_; That DAVID's Muse they all may Imitate, Sing Virtues Triumphs ore the Power of Fate: That all their Works Resembling Hea'vn may prove The Blest Effects of Glory, Power, & Love.

E. E. 1685.

POEMS

BY Mrs Anne Killigrew.

Immodicis brevis est ætas, & rara Senectus. _Mart. l. 6. Ep. 29._

These POEMS are Licensed to be Published, _Sept. 30. 1685._

_Ro. L'Estrange._

_LONDON_:

Printed for _Samuel Lowndes_, over against _Exeter Exchange_ in the _Strand_. 1686.

THE PUBLISHER

TO THE READER.

Reader, dost ask, What Work we here display? What fair and Novel Piece salutes the Day? Know, that a Virgin bright this POEM writ, A _Grace_ for Beauty, and a _Muse_ for Wit! Who, when none higher in _Loves_ Courts might sway, Despis'd the Mertile, for the nobler Bay! Nor could _Apollo_ or _Minerva_ tell, Whither her Pen or Pencil did excel! But while these Pow'rs laid both to her their Claime, Behold, a Matron of a Heavenly Frame, Antique, but Great and Comely in her Meen, Upon whose gorgeous Robe inscrib'd was seen _Divine Vertue_, took her from both away, } And thus with Anger and Disdain did say, } _Of Me she Learn'd, with You she did but Play_. }

To the Pious Memory Of the Accomplisht Young LADY Mrs Anne Killigrew, Excellent in the two Sister-Arts of Poësie, and Painting.

An ODE.

I.

Thou Youngest Virgin-Daughter of the Skies, Made in the last Promotion of the Blest; Whose Palmes, new pluckt from Paradise, In spreading Branches more sublimely rise, Rich with Immortal Green above the rest: Whether, adopted to some Neighbouring Star, Thou rol'st above us, in thy wand'ring Race, Or, in Procession fixt and regular, Mov'd with the Heavens Majestick Pace; Or, call'd to more Superiour Bliss, Thou tread'st, with Seraphims, the vast Abyss. What ever happy Region be thy place, Cease thy Celestial Song a little space; (Thou wilt have Time enough for Hymns Divine, Since Heav'ns Eternal Year is thine.) Hear then a Mortal Muse thy Praise rehearse, In no ignoble Verse; But such as thy own voice did practise here, When thy first Fruits of Poesie were giv'n; To make thy self a welcome Inmate there: While yet a young Probationer, And Candidate of Heav'n.

II.

If by Traduction came thy Mind, Our Wonder is the less to find A Soul so charming from a Stock so good; Thy Father was transfus'd into thy Blood: So wert thou born into the tuneful strain, (An early, rich, and inexhausted Vain.) But if thy Præexisting Soul Was form'd, at first, with Myriads more, It did through all the Mighty Poets roul, Who _Greek_ or _Latine_ Laurels wore. And was that _Sappho_ last, which once it was before. If so, then cease thy flight, _O Heav'n-born Mind_! Thou hast no Dross to purge from thy Rich Ore. Nor can thy Soul a fairer Mansion find, } Than was the Beauteous Frame she left behind: } Return, to fill or mend the Quire, of thy Celestial kind. }

III.

May we presume to say, that at thy Birth, New joy was sprung in Heav'n, as well as here on Earth. For sure the Milder Planets did combine } On thy Auspicious Horoscope to shine, } And ev'n the most Malicious were in Trine. } Thy Brother-Angels at thy Birth Strung each his Lyre, and tun'd it high, That all the People of the Skie Might know a Poetess was born on Earth. And then if ever, Mortal Ears Had heard the Musick of the Spheres! And if no clust'ring Swarm of Bees On thy sweet Mouth distill'd their golden Dew, 'Twas that, such vulgar Miracles, Heav'n had not Leasure to renew: For all the Blest Fraternity of Love Solemniz'd there thy Birth, and kept thy Holyday above.

IV.

O Gracious God! How far have we Prophan'd thy Heav'nly Gift of Poesy? Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, Debas'd to each obscene and impious use, Whose Harmony was first ordain'd Above For Tongues of Angels, and for Hymns of Love? O wretched We! why were we hurry'd down This lubrique and adult'rate age, (Nay added fat Pollutions of our own) T'increase the steaming Ordures of the Stage? What can we say t'excuse our _Second Fall_? Let this thy _Vestal_, Heav'n, attone for all! Her _Arethusian_ Stream remains unsoil'd, Unmixt with Forreign Filth, and undefil'd, Her Wit was more than Man, her Innocence a Child!

V.

Art she had none, yet wanted: anon For Nature did that Want supply, So rich in Treasures of her Own, She might our boasted Stores defy: Such Noble Vigour did her Verse adorn, That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born. Her Morals too were in her Bosome bred By great Examples daily fed, What in the best of Books, her Fathers Life, she read. And to be read her self she need not fear, Each Test, and ev'ry Light, her Muse will bear, Though _Epictetus_ with his Lamp were there. Ev'n Love (for Love sometimes her Muse exprest) Was but a _Lambent-flame_ which play'd about her Brest: Light as the Vapours of a Morning Dream, So cold herself, whilst she such Warmth exprest, 'Twas _Cupid_ bathing in _Diana's_ Stream.

VI.

Born to the Spacious Empire of the _Nine_, One would have thought, she should have been content To manage well that Mighty Government: But what can young ambitious Souls confine? To the next Realm she stretcht her Sway, } For _Painture_ neer adjoyning lay, } A plenteous Province, and alluring Prey. } A _Chamber of Dependences_ was fram'd, (As Conquerors will never want Pretence, When arm'd, to justifie the Offence) And the whole Fief, in right of Poetry she claim'd. The Country open lay without Defence: For Poets frequent In-rodes there had made, And perfectly could represent The Shape, the Face, with ev'ry Lineament; And all the large Demains which the _Dumb-sister_ sway'd All bow'd beneath her Government, Receiv'd in Triumph wheresoe're she went. Her Pencil drew, what e're her Soul design'd, And oft the happy Draught surpass'd the Image in her Mind. The _Sylvan_ Scenes of Herds and Flocks, And fruitful Plains and barren Rocks, Of shallow Brooks that flow'd so clear, The Bottom did the Top appear; Of deeper too and ampler Flouds, Which as in Mirrors, shew'd the Woods; Of lofty Trees with Sacred Shades, And Perspectives of pleasant Glades, Where Nymphs of brightest Form appear, } And shaggy Satyrs standing neer, } Which them at once admire and fear. } The Ruines too of some Majestick Piece, Boasting the Pow'r of ancient _Rome_ or _Greece_, Whose Statues, Freezes, Columns broken lie, And though deface't, the Wonder of the Eie, What Nature, Art, bold Fiction e're durst frame, Her forming Hand gave Shape unto the Name. So strange a Concourse ne're was seen before, But when the peopl'd Ark the whole Creation bore.

VII.

The Scene then chang'd, with bold Erected Look Our Martial King the Eye with Reverence strook: For not content t'express his Outward Part, Her hand call'd out the Image of his Heart, His Warlike Mind, his Soul devoid of Fear, } His High-designing Thoughts, were figur'd there, } As when, by Magick, Ghosts are made appear. } Our Phenix Queen was portrai'd too so bright, Beauty alone could Beauty take so right: Her Dress, her Shape, her matchless Grace, Were all observ'd, as well as heav'nly Face. With such a Peerless Majesty she stands, As in that Day she took from Sacred hands The Crown; 'mong num'rous Heroins was seen, More yet in Beauty, than in Rank, the Queen! Thus nothing to her _Genius_ was deny'd, But like a Ball of Fire the further thrown, Still with a greater Blaze she shone, And her bright Soul broke out on ev'ry side. What next she had design'd, Heaven only knows, To such Immod'rate Growth her Conquest rose, That Fate alone their Progress could oppose.

VIII.

Now all those Charmes, that blooming Grace, The well-proportion'd Shape, and beauteous Face, Shall never more be seen by Mortal Eyes; In Earth the much lamented Virgin lies! Not Wit, nor Piety could Fate prevent; Nor was the cruel _Destiny_ content To finish all the Murder at a Blow, To sweep at once her Life, and Beauty too; But, like a hardn'd Fellon, took a pride To work more Mischievously slow. And plunder'd first, and then destroy' O double Sacriledge on things Divine, To rob the Relique, and deface the Shrine! But thus _Orinda_ dy'd: Heav'n, by the same Disease, did both translate, As equal were their Souls, so equal was their Fate.

IX.

Mean time her Warlike Brother on the Seas His waving Streamers to the Winds displays, And vows for his Return, with vain Devotion, pays. Ah, Generous Youth, that Wish forbear, The Winds too soon will waft thee here! Slack all thy Sailes, and fear to come, Alas, thou know'st not, Thou art wreck'd at home! No more shalt thou behold thy Sisters Face, Thou hast already had her last Embrace. But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far, Among the _Pleiad_'s a New-kindl'd Star, If any sparkles, than the rest, more bright, 'Tis she that shines in that propitious Light.

X.

When in mid-Aire, the Golden Trump shall sound, To raise the Nations under ground; When in the Valley of _Jehosaphat_, The Judging God shall close the Book of Fate; And there the last Assizes keep, For those who Wake, and those who sleep; When ratling Bones together fly From the four Corners of the Skie, When Sinews o're the Skeletons are spread, Those cloath'd with Flesh, and Life inspires the Dead; The Sacred Poets first shall hear the Sound, } And formost from the Tomb shall bound: } For they are cover'd with the lightest Ground } And streight, with in-born Vigour, on the Wing, Like mounting Larkes, to the New Morning sing. There _Thou_, Sweet Saint, before the Quire shalt go, As Harbinger of Heav'n, the Way to show, The Way which thou so well hast learn'd below.

=J. Dryden.=

The Epitaph Engraved on her TOMB.

P. M. S. Annæ Killigrew, Doctoris KILLIGREW Filiæ, _Quæ in ipso Ætatis flore Obiit._ JUNII 16. 1685.