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Best Famous Anne Killigrew Poems

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by Anne Killigrew | |


 WAnton Bellinda loudly does complain, 
I've chang'd my Love of late into disdain: 

Calls me unconstant, cause I now adore
The chast Marcella, that lov'd her before.
Sin or Dishonour, me as well may blame, That I repent, or do avoid a shame.

by Anne Killigrew | |

The Third Epigram. (On an ATHEIST)

 POsthumus boasts he does not Thunder fear, 
And for this cause would Innocent appear; 
That in his Soul no Terrour he does feel, 
At threatn'd Vultures, or Ixion's Wheel, 
Which fright the Guilty: But when Fabius told
What Acts 'gainst Murder lately were enrol'd, 
'Gainst Incest, Rapine, ---- straight upon the Tale
His Colour chang'd, and Posthumus grew pale.
His Impious Courage had no other Root, But that the Villaine, Atheist was to boot.

by Anne Killigrew | |

First EPIGRAM. (Upon being Contented with a Little)

 WE deem them moderate, but Enough implore, 
What barely will suffice, and ask no more: 
Who say, (O Jove) a competency give, 
Neither in Luxury, or Want we'd live.
But what is that, which these Enough do call? If both the Indies unto some should fall, Such Wealth would yet Enough but onely be, And what they'd term not Want, or Luxury.
Among the Suits, O Jove, my humbler take; A little give, I that Enough will make.

by Anne Killigrew | |

The Fourth EPIGRAM. (On GALLA)

 NOw liquid Streams by the fierce Gold do grow
As solid as the Rocks from whence they flow; 
Now Tibers Banks with Ice united meet, 
And it's firm Stream may well be term'd its Street; 
Now Vot'ries 'fore the Shrines like Statues show, 
And scarce the Men from Images we know; 
Now Winters Palsey seizes ev'ry Age, 
And none's so warm, but feels the Seasons Rage; 
Even the bright Lillies and triumphant Red
Which o're Corinna's youthful cheeks are spred, 
Look pale and bleak, and shew a purple hew, 
And Violets staine, where Roses lately grew.
Galla alone, with wonder we behold, Maintain her Spring, and still out-brave the Cold; Her constant white does not to Frost give place, Nor fresh Vermillion fade upon her face: Sure Divine beauty in this Dame does shine? Not Humane, one reply'd, yet not Divine.

by Anne Killigrew | |

A Farewel (To Worldly Joys.)

 FArewel ye Unsubstantial Joyes, 
Ye Gilded Nothings, Gaudy Toyes, 
Too long ye have my Soul misled, 
Too long with Aiery Diet fed: 
But now my Heart ye shall no more
Deceive, as you have heretofore: 
For when I hear such Sirens sing, 
Like Ithaca's fore-warned King, 
With prudent Resolution I
Will so my Will and Fancy tye, 
That stronger to the Mast not he,
Than I to Reason bound will be: 
And though your Witchcrafts strike my Ear, 
Unhurt, like him, your Charms I'll hear.

by Anne Killigrew | |

Love the Soul of Poetry

 WHen first Alexis did in Verse delight, 
 His Muse in Low, but Graceful Numbers walk't, 
And now and then a little Proudly stalk't; 
 But never aim'd at any noble Flight: 
The Herds, the Groves, the gentle purling Streams, 
Adorn'd his Song, and were his highest Theams.
But Love these Thoughts, like Mists, did soon disperse, Enlarg'd his Fancy, and set free his Muse, Biding him more Illustrious Subjects choose; The Acts of Gods, and God-like Men reherse.
From thence new Raptures did his Breast inspire, His scarce Warm-Heart converted was to Fire.
Th' exalted Poet rais'd by this new Flame, With Vigor flys, where late he crept along, And Acts Divine, in a Diviner Song, Commits to the eternal Trompe of Fame.
And thus Alexis does prove Love to be, As the Worlds Soul, the Soul of Poetry.

by Anne Killigrew | |

On a Picture Painted by her self representing two Nimphs of DIANAs one in a posture to Hunt the other Batheing

 WE are Diana's Virgin-Train, 
Descended of no Mortal Strain; 
Our Bows and Arrows are our Goods, 
Our Pallaces, the lofty Woods, 
The Hills and Dales, at early Morn, 
Resound and Eccho with our Horn; 
We chase the Hinde and Fallow-Deer, 
The Wolf and Boar both dread our Spear; 

In Swiftness we out-strip the Wind, 
An Eye and Thought we leave behind; 
We Fawns and Shaggy Satyrs awe; 
To Sylvan Pow'rs we give the Law:
Whatever does provoke our Hate, 
Our Javelins strike, as sure as Fate; 
We bathe in Springs, to cleanse the Soil, 
Contracted by our eager Toil; 
In which we shine like glittering Beams, 
Or Christal in the Christal Streams; 
Though Venus we transcend in Form,
No wanton Flames our Bosomes warm! 
If you ask where such Wights do dwell, 
In what Bless't Clime, that so excel? 
The Poets onely that can tell.

by Anne Killigrew | |

St. John Baptist Painted by her self in the Wilderness with Angels appearing to him and with a Lamb by him

 THe Sun's my Fire, when it does shine, 
The hollow Spring's my Cave of Wine, 
The Rocks and Woods afford me Meat; 
This Lamb and I on one Dish eat: 
The neighbouring Herds my Garments send, 
My Pallet the kind Earth doth lend: 
Excess and Grandure I decline, 
M'Associates onely are Divine.

by Anne Killigrew | |

HERODIAS Daughter presenting to her Mother St. JOHNs Head in a Charger also Painted by her self

 BEhold, dear Mother, who was late our Fear, 
Disarm'd and Harmless, I present you here; 
The Tongue ty'd up, that made all Jury quake, 
And which so often did our Greatness shake; 

No Terror sits upon his Awful Brow, 
Where Fierceness reign'd, there Calmness triumphs now; 
As Lovers use, he gazes on my Face, 
With Eyes that languish, as they sued for Grace; 
Wholly subdu'd by my Victorious Charms, 
See how his Head reposes in my Arms.
Come, joyn then with me in my just Transport, Who thus have brought the Hermite to the Court.

by Anne Killigrew | |

ON THE Dutchess of Grafton Under the Name of Alinda.

TH'ambitious Eye that seeks alone, Where Beauties Wonders most are shown; Of all that bounteous Heaven displays, Let him on bright Alinda gaze; And in her high Example see, All can admir'd, or wisht-for, be ! II.
An unmatch't Form, Mind like endow'd, Estate, and Title great and proud; A Charge Heaven dares to few commit, So few, like her, can manage it; Without all Blame or Envy bear.
The being Witty, Great, and Fair ! III.
So well these Murd'ring Weapons weild, As first Herself with them to shield, Then slaughter none in proud Disport, Destroy those she invites to Gourt: Great are her Charmes, but Vertue more, She wounds no Hearts, though All adore.
'Tis Am'rous Beauty Love invites, A Passion, like it self, excites: The Paragon, though all admire, Kindles in none a fond desire: No more than those the Kings Renown And State applaud, affect his Crown.

by Anne Killigrew | |

An Epitaph on her Self.

 WHen I am Dead, few Friends attend my Hearse, 
And for a Monument, I leave my VERSE.

by Anne Killigrew | |

On my Aunt Mrs A. K. Drownd under London-Bridge in the QUEENS Bardge Anno 1641.

 THe Darling of a Father Good and Wise, 
The Vertue, which a Vertuous Age did prize; 
The Beauty Excellent even to those were Faire, 
Subscrib'd unto, by such as might compare; 
The Star that 'bove her Orb did always move, 
And yet the Noblest did not Hate, but Love; 
And those who most upon their Title stood, 
Vail'd also to, because she did more Good.
To whom the Wrong'd, and Worthy did resort, And held their Sutes obtain'd, if only brought; The highest Saint in all the Heav'n of Court.
So Noble was her Aire, so Great her Meen, She seem'd a Friend, not Servant to the Queen.
To Sin, if known, she never did give way, Vice could not Storm her, could it not betray.
When angry Heav'n extinguisht her fair Light, It seem'd to say, Nought's Precious in my sight; As I in Waves this Paragon have drown'd, The Nation next, and King I will confound.

by Anne Killigrew | |


 ARise my Dove, from mid'st of Pots arise, 
 Thy sully'd Habitation leave, 
 To Dust no longer cleave, 
Unworthy they of Heaven that will not view the Skies.
[Page 83] Thy native Beauty re-assume, Prune each neglected Plume, Till more than Silver white, Then burnisht Gold more bright, Thus ever ready stand to take thy Eternal Flight.
The Bird to whom the spacious Aire was given, As in a smooth and trackless Path to go, A Walk which does no Limits know Pervious alone to Her and Heaven: Should she her Airy Race forget, On Earth affect to walk and sit; Should she so high a Priviledge neglect, As still on Earth, to walk and sit, affect, What could she of Wrong complain, Who thus her Birdly Kind doth stain, If all her Feathers moulted were, And naked she were left and bare, The Jest and Scorn of Earth and Aire ? III.
The Bird of Paradice the Soul,

by Anne Killigrew | |

Extemporary Counsel given to a Young Gallant in a Frolick.

 AS you are Young, if you'l be also Wise, 
Danger with Honour court, Quarrels despise; 
Believe you then are truly Brave and Bold, 
To Beauty when no Slave, and less to Gold; 
When Vertue you dare own, not think it odd, 
Or ungenteel to say, I fear a God.

by Anne Killigrew | |

On the Soft and Gentle Motions of Eudora.

 DIvine Thalia strike th'Harmonious Lute, 
But with a Stroke so Gentle as may sute
 The silent gliding of the Howers,
 Or yet the calmer growth of Flowers;
 Th'ascending or the falling Dew,
 Which none can see, though all find true.
For thus alone, Can be shewn, How downie, how smooth, Eudora doth Move, How Silken her Actions appear, The Aire of her Face, Of a gentler Grace Then those that do stroke the Eare.
Her Address so sweet, So Modestly Meet, That 'tis not the Lowd though Tuneable String, Can shewforth so soft, so Noyseless a Thing! O This to express from thy Hand must fall, Then Musicks self, something more Musical.