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UPON MRS. PHILIPS HER POEMS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: We allow'd you beauty, and we did submit
Last Line: That rome's o'recome at last, by' a woman of her race.
Variant Title(s): On Orinda's Poems
Subject(s): Philips, Katherine ('orinda') (1631-64)


1. ODE.

WE allow'd You Beauty, and we did submit
To all the Tyrannies of it;
Ah! Cruel Sex, will you depose us too in Wit?
Orinda do's in that too raign,
Do's Man behind her in Proud Triumph draw,
And Cancel great Apollo's Salick Law.
We our old Title plead in vain,
Man may be Head, but Woman's now the Brain.
Verse was Love's fire-arms heretofore,
In Beautie's Camp it was not known,
Too many Armes besides that Conquerour bore:
'Twas the great Canon we brought down
T' assault a stubborn Town;
Orinda first did a bold sally make,
Our strongest Quarter take,
And so successful prov'd, that she
Turn'd upon Love himself his own Artillery.

2.

Women as if the Body were their Whole,
Did that, and not the Soul
Transmit to their Posterity;
If in it sometime they conceiv'd,
Th' abortive Issue never liv'd.
'Twere Shame and pitty, Orinda, if in thee
A Spirit so rich, so noble, and so high
Should unmanur'd, or barren lye.
But thou industriously hast sow'd and till'd
The fair, and fruitful field;
And 'tis a strange Increase, that it does yield.
As when the happy Gods above
Meet altogether at a feast,
A secret Joy unspeakably does move,
In their great Mother Cybele's contented breast:
With no less pleasure thou methinks shouldst see,
This thy no less Immortal Progenie.
And in their Birth thou no one touch dost find
Of th' ancient Curse to Woman-kind;
Thou bring'st not forth with pain;
It neither Travel is, nor Labour of the brain,
So easily they from thee come,
And there is so much room
In th' exhausted and unfathom'd Womb;
That like the Holland Countess thou may'st bear
A Child for ev'ry Day of all the fertil Year.

3.

Thou dost my wonder, would'st my envy raise,
If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to praise;
Where-e'er I see an excellence,
I must admire to see thy well-knit sense,
Thy numbers gentle, and thy Fancies high:
Those as thy fore-head smooth, these sparkling as thine eye.
'Tis solid, and 'tis manly all,
Or rather 'tis Angelical;
For as in Angels, we
Do in thy Verses see
Both improv'd Sexes eminently meet;
They are than Man more strong, and more than Woman sweet.

4.

They talk of Nine, I know not who,
Female Chimera's that o'er Poets reign,
I ne'r could find that fancy true,
But have invok'd them oft I'm sure in vain:
They talk of Sappho, but alass, the shame!
Ill manners soil the lustre of her Fame:
Orinda's inward virtue is so bright,
That like a Lanthorn's fair-inclosed Light,
It through the paper shines where she does write.
Honour and Friendship, and the Generous scorn
Of things, for which we were not born,
(Things that can only by a fond Disease,
Like that of Girles, our vicious Stomachs please)
Are the instructive Subjects of her pen,
And as the Roman Victory
Taught our rude Land, Arts and Civility,
At once she overcomes, enslaves, and betters Men.

5.

But Rome, with all her Arts, could ne're inspire,
A Female Breast with such a Fire.
The warlike Amazonian train,
Who in Elysium now do peacefull reign,
And wit's mild Empire before Arms prefer,
Hope 'twill be setled in their sex by her.
Merlin the Seer, (and sure he would not ly,
In such a sacred Company,)
Does Prophecies of Learn'd Orinda show,
Which he had darkly spoke so long ago.
Ev'n Boadicia's angry Ghost,
Forgets her own misfortune, and disgrace,
And to her injur'd Daughters now does boast,
That Rome's o'recome at last, by' a woman of her Race.





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