# The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland/Volume 4/Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas

Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas.
This lady, who is known in the world by the poetial name of Corinna, ſeems to have been born for misfortunes; her very bittereſt enemies could never brand her with any real crime, and yet her whole life has been one continued ſcene of miſery. The family from which ſhe ſprung was of a rank in life beneath envy, and above contempt. She was the child of an ancient, and infirm parent, who gave her life when he was dying himſelf, and to whoſe unhappy conſtitution ſhe was ſole heireſs. From her very birth, which happened 1675, ſhe was afflicted with fevers and defluxions, and being over-nurſed, her conſtitution was ſo delicate and tender, that had ſhe not been of a gay diſpoſition, and poſſeſſed a vigorous mind, ſhe muſt have been more unhappy than ſhe actually was. Her father dying when ſhe was ſcarce two years old, and her mother not knowing his real circumſtances, as he was ſuppoſed from the ſplendour of his manner of life to be very rich, ſome inconveniencies were incurred, in beſtowing upon him a pompous funeral, which in thoſe times was ​faſhionable. The mother of our poeteſs, in the bloom of eighteen, was condemned to the arms of this man, upwards of 60, upon the ſuppoſition of his being wealthy, but in which ſhe was ſoon miſerably deceived. When the grief, which ſo young a wife may be ſuppoſed to feel for an aged huſband, had ſubſided, ſhe began to enquire into the ſtate of his affairs, and found to her unſpeakable mortification, that he died not worth one thouſand pounds in the world. As Mrs. Thomas was a woman of good ſenſe, and a high ſpirit, ſhe diſpoſed of two houſes her huſband kept, one in town, the other in the county of Eſſex, and retired into a private, but decent country lodging. The chambers in the Temple her huſband poſſeſſed, ſhe fold to her brother for 450 l. which, with her huſband’s books of accounts, ſhe lodged in her truſtee’s hands, who being ſoon after burnt out by the fire in the paper buildings in the Temple (which broke out with ſuch violence in the dead of night, that he ſaved nothing but his life) ſhe loſt conſiderabiy. Not being able to make out any bill, ſhe could form no regular demand, and was obliged to be determined by the honour of her huſband’s clients, who, though perſons of the firſt faſhion, behaved with very little honour to her. The deceaſed had the reputation of a judicious lawyer, and an accompliſhed gentleman, but who was too honeſt to thrive in his profeſſion, and had too much humanity ever to become rich. Of all his clients, but one lady behaved with any appearance of honeſty. The counteſs dowager of Wentworth having then loſt her only daughter the lady Harriot (who was reputed the miſtreſs of the duke of Monmouth) told Mrs. Thomas, ‘that ſhe knew ſhe had a large reckoning with the deceaſed, but, ſays ſhe, as you know not what to demand, ſo I know not what to pay; come, madam, I will do better for you than a ​random reckoning, I have now no child, and have taken a fancy to your daughter; give me the girl, I will breed her as my own, and provide for her as ſuch when I die.’ The widow thank’d her ladyſhip, but with a little too much warmth replied, ‘ſhe would not part with her child on any terms;’ which the counteſs reſented to ſuch a degree, that ſhe would never ſee her more, and dying in a few years, left 1500 l. per annum inheritance, at Stepney, to her chambermaid.
Thus were misfortunes early entailed upon this lady. A propoſal which would have made her opulent for life, was defeated by the unreaſonable fondneſs of her mother, who lived to ſuffer its diſmal conſequences, by taſting the bittereſt diſtreſſes. We have already obſerved, that Mrs. Thomas thought proper to retire to the country with her daughter. The houſe where ſhe boarded was an eminent Cloth-worker’s in the county of Surry, but the people of the houſe proved very diſagreeable. The lady had no converſation to divert her; the landlord was an illiterate man, and the reſt of the family brutiſh, and unmannerly. At laſt Mrs. Thomas attracted the notice of Dr. Glyſſon, who obſerving her at church very ſplendidly dreſſed, ſollicited her acquaintance. He was a valuable piece of antiquity, being then, 1684, in the hundredth year of his age. His perſon was tall, his bones very large, his hair like ſnow, a venerable aſpect, and a complexion, which might ſhame the bloom of fifteen. He enjoyed a ſound judgment, and a memory ſo tenacious, and clear, that his company was very engaging. His viſits greatly alleviated the ſolitude of this lady. The laſt viſit he made to Mrs. Thomas, he drew on, with much attention, a pair of rich Spaniſh leather gloves, emboſt on the backs, and tops with gold embroidery, and fringed round with gold plate. The lady could not help expreſſing her ​curioſity, to know the hiſtory of thoſe gloves, which he ſeemed to touch with ſo much reſpect. He anſwered, ‘I do reſpect them, for the laſt time I had the honour of approaching my miſtreſs, Queen Elizabeth, ſhe pulled them from her own Royal hands, ſaying, here Glyſſon, wear them for my ſake. I have done ſo with veneration, and never drew them on, but when I had a mind to honour thoſe whom I viſit, as I now do you; and ſince you love the memory of my Royal miſtreſs, take them, and preſerve them carefully when I am gone.’ The Dr. then went home, and died in a few days.
This gentleman’s death left her again without a companion, and an uneaſineſs hung upon her, viſible to the people of the houſe; who gueſſing the cauſe to proceed from ſolitude, recommended to her acquaintance another Phyſician, of a different caſt from the former. He was denominated by them a conjurer, and was ſaid to be capable of raiſing the devil. This circumſtance diverted Mrs. Thomas, who imagined, that the man whom they called a conjurer, muſt have more ſenſe than they underſtood. The Dr. was invited to viſit her, and appeared in a greaſy black Grogram, which he called his Scholar’s Coat, a long beard, and other marks of a philoſophical negligence. He brought all his little mathematical trinkets, and played over his tricks for the diverſion of the lady, whom, by a private whiſper, he let into the ſecrets as he performed them, that ſhe might ſee there was nothing of magic in the caſe. The two moſt remarkable articles of his performance were, firſt lighting a candle at a glaſs of cold water (performed by touching the brim before with phoſphorus, a chymical fire which is preſerved in water and burns there) and next reading the ſmalleſt print by a candle of ſix in the pound, at a hundred yards diſtance in the open air, and darkeſt night. This ​was performed by a large concave-glaſs, with a deep pointed focus, quick ſilvered on the backſide, and ſet in tin, with a ſocket for a candle, ſconce faſhion, and hung up againſt a wall. While the flame of the candle was diametrically oppoſite to the centre, the rays equally diverging, gave ſo powerful a light as is ſcarce credible; but on the leaſt variation from the focus, the charm ceaſed. The lady diſcerning in this man a genius which might be improved to better purpoſes than deceiving the country people, deſired him not to hide his talents, but to puſh himſelf in the world by the abilities of which he ſeemed poſeſſed. ‘Madam, ſaid he, I am now a fiddle to aſſes, but I am finiſhing a great work which will make thoſe aſſes fiddle to me.’ She then aſked what that work might be? He replied, ‘his life was at ſtake if it took air, but he found her a lady of ſuch uncommon candour, and good ſenſe, that he ſhould make no difficulty in committing his life and hope to her keeping.’ All women are naturally fond of being truſted with ſecrets; this was Mrs. Thomas’s failing: the Dr. found it out, and made her pay dear for her curioſity. ‘I have been, continued he, many years in ſearch of the Philoſopher’s Stone, and long maſter of the ſmaragdine-table of Hermes Triſmegiſtus; the green and red dragons of Raymond Lully have alſo been obedient to me, and the illuſtrious ſages themſelves deign to viſit me; yet is it but ſince I had the honour to be known to your ladyſhip, that I have been ſo fortunate as to obtain the grand ſecret of projection. I tranſmuted ſome lead I pulled off my window laſt night into this bit of gold.’ Pleaſed with the ſight of this, and having a natural propenſion to the ſtudy, the lady ſnatched it out of the philoſopher’s hand, and aſked him why he had not made more? He replied, ‘it was all the lead I could ​find.’ She then commanded her daughter to bring a parcel of lead which lay in the cloſet, and giving it to the Chymiſt, deſired him to tranſmute it into gold on the morrow. He undertook it, and the next day brought her an ingot which weighed two ounces, which with the utmoſt ſolemnity he avowed was the very individual lead ſhe gave him, tranſmuted to gold.
She began now to engage him in ſerious diſcourſe; and finding by his replies, that he wanted money to make more powder, ſhe enquired how much would make a ſtock that would maintain itſelf? He replied, one fifty pounds after nine months would produce a million. She then begged the ingot of him, which he proteſted had been tranſmuted from lead, and fluſhed with the hopes of ſucceſs, hurried to town to examine whether the ingot was true gold, which proved fine beyond the ſtandard. The lady now fully convinced of the truth of the empyric’s declaration, took fifty pounds out of the hands of a Banker, and entruſted him with it.
The only difficulty which remained, was, how to carry on the work without ſuſpicion, it being ſtrictly prohibited at that time. He was therefore reſolved to take a little houſe in another county, at a few miles diſtance from London, where he was to build a public laboratory, as a profeſſed Chymiſt, and deal in ſuch medicines as were moſt vendible, by the ſale of which to the apothecaries, the expence of the houſe was to be defrayed during the operation. The widow was accounted the houſekeeper, and the Dr. and his man boarded with her; to which ſhe added this precaution, that the laboratory, with the two lodging rooms over it, in which the Dr. and his man lay, was a different wing of the building from that where ſhe and her little daughter, and maid-ſervant reſided; and as ſhe knew ſome time ​muſt elapſe before any profit could be expected, ſhe managed with the utmoſt frugality. The Dr. mean time acted the part of a tutor to miſs, in Arithmetic, Latin, and Mathematics, to which ſhe diſcovered the ſtrongeſt propenſity. All things being properly diſpoſed for the grand operation, the vitriol furnace was ſet to work, which requiring the moſt intenſe heat for ſeveral days, unhappily ſet fire to the houſe; the ſtairs were conſumed in an inſtant, and as it ſurprized them all in their firſt ſleep, it was a happy circumſtance that no life periſhed. This unlucky accident was 300 l. loſs to Mrs. Thomas: yet ſtill the grand project was in a fair way of ſucceeding in the other wing of the building. But one misfortune is often followed by another. The next Sunday evening, while ſhe was reading to, and inſtructing her little family, a ſudden, and a violent report, like a diſcharge of cannon was heard; the houſe being timber, rocked like a cradle, and the family were all thrown from their chairs on the ground. They looked with the greateſt amazement on each other, not gueſſing the cauſe, when the operator pretending to revive, fell to ſtamping, tearing his hair, and raving like a madman, crying out undone, undone, loſt and undone for ever. He ran directly to the Athanor, when unlocking the door, he found the machine ſplit quite in two, the eggs broke, and that precious amalgamum which they contained was ſcattered like ſand among the aſhes. Mrs. Thomas’s eyes were now ſufficiently opened to diſcern the impoſture, and, with a very ſerene countenance, told the empyric, that accidents will happen, but means might be fallen upon to repair this fatal diſappointment. The Dr. obſerving her ſo ſerene, imagined ſhe would grant him more money to compleat his ſcheme, but ſhe ſoon diſappointed his expectation, by ordering him to be gone, and made him a preſent of five guineas, ​leſt his deſperate circumſtances ſhould induce him to take ſome violent means of providing for himſelf.
Whether deluded by a real hope of finding out the Philoſopher’s Stone, or from an innate principle of villainy, cannot be determined, but he did not yet ceaſe his purſuit, and ſtill indulged the golden deluſion. He now found means to work upon the credulity of an old miſer, who, upon, the ſtrength of his pretenſions, gave him his daughter in marriage, and embarked all his hoarded treaſure, which was very conſiderable, in the ſame chimerical adventure. In a word, the miſer’s ſtock was alſo loſt, the empyric himſelf, and the daughter reduced to beggary. This unhappy affair broke the miſer’s heart, who did not many weeks ſurvive the loſs of his caſh. The Dr. alſo put a miſerable end to his life by drinking poiſon, and left his wife with two young children in a ſtate of beggary. But to return to Mrs. Thomas.
The poor lady ſuffered on this occaſion a great deal of inward anguiſh; ſhe was aſhamed of having reduced her fortune, and impoveriſhed her child by liſtening to the inſinuations of a madman. Time and patience at laſt overcame it; and when her health, which by this accident had been impaired, was reſtored to her, ſhe began to ſtir amongſt her huſband’s great clients. She took. a houſe in Bloomſbury, and by means of good œconomy, and an elegant appearance, was ſuppoſed to be better in the world than ſhe really was. Her huſband’s clients received her like one riſen from the dead: They came to viſit her, and promiſed to ſerve her. At laſt the duke of Montague adviſed her to let lodgings, which way of life ſhe declined, as her talents were not ſuited for dealing with ordinary lodgers; but added ſhe, ‘if I knew any family who deſired ſuch a conveniency, I would readily accommodate them.’ I take you at your word, replied the duke, ‘I will become ​your ſole tenant: Nay don’t ſmile, for I am in earneſt, I love a little freedom more than I can enjoy at home, and I may come ſometimes and eat a bit of mutton, with four or five honeſt fellows, whoſe company I delight in.’ The bargain was bound, and proved matter of fact, though on a deeper ſcheme than drinking a bottle: And his lordſhip was to paſs in the houſe for Mr. Freeman of Hertfordſhire.
In a few days he ordered a dinner for his beloved friends. Jack and Tom, Will and Ned, good honeſt country-fellows, as his grace called them. They came at the time appointed; but how ſurprized was the widow, when ſhe ſaw the duke of Devonſhire, the lords Buckingham, and Dorſet, and a certain viſcount, with Sir William Dutton Colt, under theſe feign’d names. After ſeveral times meeting at this lady’s houſe, the noble perſons, who had a high opinion of her integrity, entruſted her with the grand ſecret, which was nothing leſs than the project for the Revolution.
Tho’ theſe meetings were held as private as poſſible, yet ſuſpicions aroſe, and Mrs. Thomas’s houſe was narrowly watched; but the meſſengers, who were no enemies to the cauſe, betrayed their truſt, and ſuffered the noblemen to meet unmoleſted, or at leaſt without any dread of apprehenſion.
The Revolution being effected, and the ſtate came more ſettled, that place of rendezvous was quitted: The noblemen took leave of the lady, with promiſes of obtaining a penſion, or ſome place in the houſhold for her, as her zeal in that cauſe highly merited; beſides ſhe had a very good claim to ſome appointment, having been ruined by ſhutting up the Exchequer. But alas! court promiſes proved an aerial foundation, and theſe noble peers never thought of her more. The duke ​of Montague indeed made offers of ſervice, and being captain of the band of penſioners, ſhe aſked him to admit Mr. Gwynnet, a gentleman who had made love to her daughter, into ſuch a poſt. This he promiſed, but upon theſe terms, that her daughter ſhould aſk him for it. The widow thanked him, and not ſuſpecting that any deſign was covered under this offer, concluded herſelf ſure of ſucceſs: But how amazed was ſhe to find her daughter (whom ſhe had bred in the moſt paſſive ſubjection) and who had never diſcovered the leaſt inſtance of diſobedience, abſolutely refuſe to aſk any ſuch favour of his grace. She could be prevailed upon, neither by flattery, nor threatning, and continuing ſtill obſtinate in her reſolution; her mother obliged her to explain herſelf, upon the point of her refuſal. She told her then, that the duke of Montague had already made an attack upon her, that his deſigns were diſhonourable; and that if ſhe ſubmitted to aſk his grace one favour, he would reckon himſelf ſecure of another in return, which he would endeavour to accompliſh by the baſeſt means. This explanation was too ſatisfactory: Who does not ſee the meanneſs of ſuch an ungenerous conduct? He had made uſe of the mother as a tool, for carrying on political deſigns; he found her in diſtreſs, and as a recompence for her ſervices, and under the pretence of mending her fortune, attempted the virtue of her daughter, and would provide for her, on no other terms, but at the price of her child’s innocence.
In the mean time, the young Corinna, a poetical name given her by Mr. Dryden, continued to improve her mind by reading the politeſt authors: Such extraordinary advances had ſhe made, that upon her ſending ſome poems to Mr. Dryden, entreating his peruſal, and impartial ſentiments thereon, he was pleaſed to write her the following letter.
​Fair Corinna,
‘I have ſent your two poems back again, after having kept them ſo long from you: They were I thought too good to be a woman’s; ſome of my friends to whom I read them, were of the ſame opinion. It is not very gallant I muſt confeſs to ſay this of the fair ſex; but, moſt certain it is, they generally write with more ſoftneſs than ſtrength. On the contrary, you want neither vigour in your thoughts, nor force in your expreſſion, nor harmony in your numbers; and methinks, I find much of Orinda in your manner, (to whom I had the honour to be related, and alſo to be known) but I am ſo taken up with my own ſtudies, that I have not leiſure to deſcend to particulars, being in the mean time, the fair Corinna’s
Moſt humble, and Moſt faithful ſervant JOHN DRYDEN.
Our amiable poeteſs, in a letter to Dr. Talbot, Biſhop of Durham, has given ſome farther particulars of her life. We have already ſeen that ſhe was addreſſed upon honourable terms, by Mr. Gwynnet, of the Middle Temple, ſon of a gentleman in Glouceſterſhire. Upon his firſt diſcovering his paſſion to Corinna, ſhe had honour enough to remonſtrate to him the inequality of their fortune, as her affairs were then in a very perplexed ſituation. This objection was ſoon ſurmounted by a lover, eſpecially as his father had given him poſſeſſion of the greateſt part of his eſtate, and leave to pleaſe himſelf. Mr. Gwynnet no ſooner obtained this, than he came to London, and claimed Corinna’s promiſe of marriage: But her mother being then in a very weak ​condition, ſhe could not abandon her in that diſtreſs, to die among ſtrangers. She therefore told Mr. Gwynnet, that as ſhe had not thought ſixteen years long in waiting for him, he could not think ſix months long in expectation of her. He replied, with a deep ſigh, ‘Six months at this time, my Corinna, is more than ſixteen years have been; you put it off now, and God will put it off for ever.’——It proved as he had foretold; he next day went into the country, made his will, ſickened, and died April the 16th, 1711, leaving his Corinna the bequeſt of ſix-hundred pounds; and adds ſhe, ‘Sorrow has been my food ever ſince.’
Had ſhe providentially married him, ſhe had been ſecure from the inſults of poverty; but her duty to her parent was more prevalent than conſiderations of convenience. After the death of her lover, ſhe was barbarouſly uſed: His brother, ſlifled the will, which compelled her to have recourſe to law; he ſmothered the old gentleman’s conveyance deed, by which he was enabled to make a bequeſt, and offered a large ſum of money to any perſon, who would undertake to blacken Corinna’s character; but wicked as the world is, he found none ſo compleatly abandoned, as to perjure themſelves for the ſake of his bribe. At laſt to ſhew her reſpect to the memory of her deceaſed lover, ſhe conſented to an accommodation with his brother, to receive 200 l. down, and 200 l. at the year’s end. The firſt payment was made, and diſtributed inſtantly amongſt her mother’s creditors; but when the other became due, he bid her defiance, ſtood ſuit on his own bond, and held out four terms. He carried it from one court to another, till at laſt it was brought to the bar of the Houſe of Lords; and as that is a tribunal, where the chicanery of lawyers can have no weight, he thought proper to pay the money without a hearing: The gentlemen of the ​robe had made her ſign an inſtrument, that they ſhould receive the money and pay themſelves: After they had laid their cruel hands upon it, of the 200 l. the poor diſtreſſed lady received but 13 l. 16 s. which reduced her to the neceſſity of abſconding from her creditors, and ſtarving in an obſcure corner, till ſhe was betrayed by a falſe friend, and hurried to jail.
Beſides all the other calamities of Corinna, ſhe had ever a bad ſtate of health, occaſioned by an accident too curious to be omitted.
In the year 1730 her caſe was given into the college of phyſicians, and was reckoned a very ſurprizing one. It is as follows.
‘In April 1711 the patient ſwallowed the middle bone of the wing of a large fowl, being above three inches long; ſhe had the end in her mouth, and ſpeaking haſtily it went forcibly down in the act of inſpiration. After the firſt ſurprize, feeling no pain ſhe thought no more of it; in a few days after, ſhe complained what ſhe eat or drank lay like a ſtone in her ſtomach, and little or nothing paſs’d through her. After three weeks’ obſtruction, ſhe fell into a moſt violent bloody flux, attended with a continual pain at the pit of her ſtomach, convulſions, and ſwooning fits; nor had ſhe any eaſe but while her ſtomach was diſtended with liquids, ſuch as ſmall beer, or gruel: She continued in this miſery, with ſome little intervals, till the Chriſtmaſs following, when ſhe was ſeized with a malignant fever, and the convulſions encreaſed to ſo high a degree, that ſhe crowed like a cock, and barked like a dog, to the affrightment of all who ſaw her, as well as herſelf. Dr. Colebatch being called to her relief, and ſeeing the almoſt incredible quantity of blood ſhe voided, ſaid it was impoſſible ſhe could live, having voided ​all her bowels. He was however prevailed with to uſe means, which he ſaid could only be by fetching off the inner coat of her ſtomach, by a very ſtrong vomit; he did ſo, and ſhe brought the hair-veel in rolls, freſh and bleeding; this diſlodged the bone, which ſplit length ways, one half paſs’d off by ſiege, black as jet, the cartilaginous part at each end conſumed, and ſharp on each ſide as a razor; the other part is ſtill lodged within her. In this raw and extream weak condition, he put her into a ſalivation, unknown to her mother or herſelf, to carry off the other part, which ſhocked them to ſuch a degree, that they ſent for Dr. Garth, who with much difficulty, and againſt his judgment, was prevailed on to take it off, and uſing a healing galenical method, ſhe began to recover ſo much ſtrength as to be turned in her bed, and receive nouriſhment: But ſhe ſoon after was ſeized with the Iliac Paſſion, and for eleven days, her excrements came upwards, and no paſſage could be forced through her, till one day by Dr. Garth, with quick-ſilver. After a few weeks it returned again, and the ſame medicine repeated, upon which ſhe recovered, and for ſome months was brought to be in a tolerable ſtate of health, only the region of the ſpleen much ſwelled; and at ſome times, when the the bone moved outwards, as it viſibly did to ſight and touch, was very painful.——In July 1713, on taking too ſtrong a purge, a large impoſthume bag came away by ſtool, on which it was ſuppoſed, the cyſtus, which the bone had worked for itſelf, being come away, the bone was voided alſo; but her pains continued ſo extraordinary, ſhe willingly ſubmitted to the decree of four ſurgeons, who agreed to make an inciſion in the left ſide of the abdomen, and extract the bone; but one of the ſurgeons utterly rejecting the operation, as impracticable, the bone being lodged in ​the colon, ſent her to Bath, where ſhe found ſome relief by pumping, and continued tolerably well for ſome years, even to bear the fatigue of an eight years ſuit at law, with an unjuſt executor; ſave that in over-walking, and ſudden paſſion, ſhe uſed to be pained, but not violent; and once or twice in a year a diſcharge of clean gall, with ſome portions of a ſkin, like thin kid leather, tinged with gall, which ſhe felt break from the place, and leave her ſore within; but the bone never made any attempt out-wards after the firſt three years. Being deprived of a competent fortune, by croſs accidents, ſhe has ſuffered all the extremities of a cloſe impriſonment, if want of all the neceſſaries of life, and lying on the boards for two years may be termed ſuch, during which time ſhe never felt the bone. But on her recovering liberty, and beginning to uſe exerciſe, her ſtomach, and belly, and head ſwelled to a monſtrous degree, and ſhe was judged in a galloping dropſy; but no proper medicines taking place, ſhe was given over as incurable, when nature unexpectedly helped itſelf, and in twelve hours’ time by ſtool, and vomit, ſhe voided about five gallons of dirty looking water, which greatly relieved her for ſome days, but gathered again as the ſwelling returned, and always abounded with a hectic, or ſuffocating aſthma in her ſtomach, and either a canine appetite or loathing. She has lately voided ſeveral extraneous membranes different from the former, and ſo frequent, that it keeps her very low, ſome of which ſhe has preserved in ſpirits, and humbly implores your honours’ judgment thereon.’
Under all theſe calamities, of which the above is a juſt repreſentation, did poor Corinna labour; and it is difficult to produce a life crouded with greater evils. The ſmall fortune which her father left ​her, by the imprudence of her mother, was ſoon ſquandered: She no ſooner began to taſte of life, than an attempt was made upon her innocence. When ſhe was about being happy in the arms of her amiable lover Mr. Gwynnet, he was ſnatched from her by an immature fate. Amongſt her other misfortunes, ſhe laboured under the diſpleaſure of Mr. Pope, whoſe poetical majeſty ſhe had innocently offended, and who has taken care to place her in his Dunciad. Mr. Pope had once vouchſafed to viſit her, in company with Henry Cromwel, Eſq; whoſe letters by ſome accident fell into her hands, with ſome of Pope’s anſwers. As ſoon as that gentleman died, Mr. Curl found means to wheedle them from her, and immediately committed them to the preſs. This ſo enraged Pope, that tho’ the lady was very little to blame, yet he never forgave her.
Not many months after our poeteſs had been releaſed from her gloomy habitation, ſhe took a ſmall lodging in Fleet ſtreet, where ſhe died on the 3d of February 1730, in the 56th year of her age, and was two days after decently interred in the church of St. Bride’s.
An ODE, &c.
I.
Great, good, and fair, permit an humble muſe, To lay her duteous homage at your feet: Such homage heav’n itſelf does not refuſe, But praiſe, and pray’rs admits, as odours ſweet.
II.
Bleſt be forever this auſpicious day, Which gave to ſuch tranſcendent virtue birth: May each revolving year new joys diſplay, Joys great as can ſupported be on earth.
III.
True heireſs of the Finch and Hatton line, Formed by your matchleſs parents equal care (The greateſt ſtateſman he, yet beſt divine, She bright example of all goodneſs here).
IV.
And now incircled in the deareſt tye, To godlike Seymour, of connubial love: Seymour illuſtrious prince, whoſe family Did heretofore the kingly race improve.
V.
Adorns the nation ſtill, and guards the throne, In noble Somerſet, whoſe generous breaſt, Concenters all his anceſtors in one, That were in church, and ſtate, and arms profeſt.
VI.
Yet ’midſt the plaudits of a grateful land, His heaven-born ſoul reviews his priſtine ſtate; And in obedience to divine command, Numberleſs poor are feaſted at his gate.
VII.
Thrice happy greatneſs, true philoſophy, That does ſo well the uſe of riches know, And can by charity tranſpire the ſky, Encompaſs’d round with ſplendour here below.
VIII.
O may poſterity from ſuch a pair, Enjoy a progeny almoſt divine, Great as their ſire, and as their mother fair, And good as both, till laſt extent of time.