ANN COLLINS
c. 1650
11. Song
The Winter being over,
In order comes the Spring,
Which doth green herbs discover,
And cause the birds to sing.
The night also expirèd,
Then comes the morning bright,
Which is so much desirèd
By all that love the light.
This may learn
Them that mourn,
To put their grief to flight:
The Spring succeedeth Winter,
And day must follow night.
He therefore that sustaineth
Affliction or distress,
Which every member paineth,
And findeth no release:
Let such therefore despair not,
But on firm hope depend,
Whose griefs immortal are not,
And therefore must have end.
They that faint
With complaint
Therefore are to blame:
They add to their afflictions,
And amplify the same.
12. The Soul’s Home
Such is the force of each created thing
That it no solid happiness can bring,
Which to our minds can give contentment sound;
For, like as Noah’s dove no succour found,
Till she return’d to him that sent her out,
Just so, the soul in vain may seek about
For rest or satisfaction any where,
Save in his presence who hath sent her here;
Yea though all earthly glories should unite
Their pomp and splendour to give such delight,
Yet could they no more sound contentment bring
Than star-light can make grass or flowers spring.
KATHERINE PHILIPS (ORINDA)
1631-1664
13. To my Excellent Lucasia, on our Friendship
I did not live until this time
Crown’d my felicity,
When I could say without a crime,
I am not thine, but thee.
This carcass breath’d, and walkt, and slept,
So that the world believ’d
There was a soul the motions kept;
But they were all deceiv’d.
For as a watch by art is wound
To motion, such was mine:
But never had Orinda found
A soul till she found thine;
Which now inspires, cures and supplies,
And guides my darkned breast:
For thou art all that I can prize,
My joy, my life, my rest.
No bridegroom’s nor crown-conqueror’s mirth
To mine compar’d can be:
They have but pieces of the earth,
I’ve all the world in thee.
Then let our flames still light and shine,
And no false fear controul,
As innocent as our design,
Immortal as our soul.
14. A Revery
Death is a leveller; beauty and kings,
And conquerours, and all those glorious things,
Are tumbled to their graves in one rude heap,
Like common dust as quiet and as cheap.
At greater changes who would wonder then,
Since Kingdoms have their fates as well as men?
They must fall sick and die; nothing can be
In this world certain, but uncertainty.
Since power and greatness are such slippery things,
Who’d pity cottages or envy Kings?
Now least of all, when, weary of deceit,
The world no longer flatters with the great.
Though such confusions here below we find,
As Providence were wanton with mankind:
Yet in this chaos some things do send forth
(Like jewels in the dark) a native worth.
He that derives his high nobility
Not from the mention of a pedigree;
Who scorns to boast the glories of his blood,
And thinks he can’t be great that is not good;
Who knows the world, and what we pleasure call,
Yet cannot sell one conscience for them all;
Who hates to hoard that gold with an excuse,
For which he can find out a nobler use;
Who dares not keep that life that he can spend,
To serve his God, his country and his friend;
Who flattery and falsehood doth so hate,
He would not buy ten lives at such a rate;
Whose soul, then diamonds more rich and clear,
Naked and open as his face doth wear,
Who dares be good alone in such a time,
When vertue’s held and punish’d as a crime;
Who thinks dark crooked plots a mean defence,
And is both safe and wise in innocence;
Who dares both fight and die, but dares not fear;
Whose only doubt is, if his cause be clear;
Whose courage and his justice equal worn,
Can dangers grapple, overcome and scorn,
Yet not insult upon a conquer’d foe,
But can forgive him and oblige him too;
Whose friendship is congenial with his soul,
Who where he gives a heart bestows it whole;
Whose other ties and titles here do end,
Or buried or completed in the friend;
Who ne’er resumes the soul he once did give,
While his friend’s honesty or honour live;
And if his friend’s content would cost the price,
Would count himself a happy sacrifice;
Who from the top of his prosperities
Can take a fall, and yet without surprize;
Who with the same august and even state
Can entertain the best and worst of fate;
Whose suffering’s sweet, if honour once adorn it;
Who slights revenge, yet does not fear, but scorn it;
Whose happiness in ev’ry fortune lives,
For that no fortune either takes or gives;
Who no unhandsome ways can bribe his fate,
Nay, out of prison marches through the gate;
Who, losing all his titles and his pelf,
Nay, all the world, can never lose himself;
This person shines indeed, and he that can
Be vertuous is the great immortal man.
15. Orinda to Lucasia
Observe the weary birds ere night be done,
How they would fain call up the tardy sun,
With feathers hung with dew,
And trembling voices too.
They court their glorious planet to appear,
That they may find recruits of spirits there.
The drooping flowers hang their heads,
And languish down into their beds:
While brooks more bold and fierce than they
Wanting those beams, from whence
All things drink influence,
Openly murmur and demand the day.
Thou my Lucasia are far more to me,
Than he to all the under-world can be;
From thee I’ve heat and light,
Thy absence makes my night.
But ah! my friend, it now grows very long,
The sadness weighty, and the darkness strong:
My tears (its dew) dwell on my cheeks,
And still my heart thy dawning seeks,
And to thee mournfully it cries,
That if too long I wait,
Ev’n thou may’st come too late,
And not restore my life, but close my eyes.
16. An Answer to another persuading a Lady to Marriage
Forbear, bold youth, all’s Heaven here,
And what you do aver,
To others, courtship may appear,
’Tis sacriledge to her.
She is a publick deity,
And were’t not very odd
She should depose her self to be
A petty household god?
First make the sun in private shine,
And bid the world adieu,
That so he may his beams confine
In complement to you.
But if of that you do despair,
Think how you did amiss,
To strive to fix her beams which are
More bright and large than this.
17. Orinda upon Little Hector Philips
Twice forty months of wedlock I did stay,
Then had my vows crown’d with a lovely boy,
And yet in forty days he dropt away,
O swift vicissitude of human joy.
I did but see him and he disappear’d,
I did but pluck the rose-bud and it fell,
A sorrow unforeseen and scarcely fear’d,
For ill can mortals their afflictions spell.
And now (sweet babe) what can my trembling heart
Suggest to right my doleful fate or thee,
Tears are my Muse and sorrow all my art,
So piercing groans must be thy elegy.
Thus whilst no eye is witness of my moan,
I grieve thy loss (Ah boy too dear to live)
And let the unconcernèd world alone,
Who neither will, nor can refreshment give.
An off’ring too for thy sad tomb I have,
Too just a tribute to thy early hearse,
Receive these gasping numbers to thy grave,
The last of thy unhappy mother’s verse.