Chapter I: 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.