The Memoirs Of Lætitia Pilkington Vol II Published by the Ex-classics Project, 2013 http://www.exclassics.com Public Domain LÆTITIA PILKINGTON CONTENTS TITLE PAGE.......................................................................................................................................3 DEDICATION.....................................................................................................................................4 PREFACE............................................................................................................................................6 The Memoirs of Laetitia Pilkington Volume 2...................................................................................9 -2- MEMOIRS, VOL II. TITLE PAGE MEMOIRS OF Mrs. Lætitia Pilkington, WIFE TO THE Rev. Mr. Matthew Pilkington. Written by HERSELF. Wherein are occasionally interspersed, Her POEMS, With a VARIETY of SECRET TRANSACTIONS of some EMINENT PERSONS. ——————————————————————————— VOL II. ——————————————————————————— Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe; Gives vice a sanction, innocence a fear, Or from the pale eyed virgin draws a tear. POPE. — Longa est injuria, longa Ambages: sed summa sequar fastigia rerum. VIRG ÆN.I. — Pudet haec opprobria nobis, Et dici poruisse, & non potuisse refelli. OVID. ==================================== DUBLIN Printed: London reprinted: and sold by R. Griffiths, at the Dunciad in Ludgate Street. 1749. -3- LÆTITIA PILKINGTON DEDICATION To the right honourable the Lord Baron Kingsborough. My Lord, Though your Lordship has been pleased positively to prohibit my dedicating this volume to you, yet as I had the following poem written, I could not resist the temptation of prefixing it to my work, which I must rely on your goodness to pardon as I really am, With all possible gratitude, and respect. Your Lordship's Most obliged, Humble servant, L. Pilkington. Oh! KING, Live for ever! TO thee within whose heaven-illumined breast Resides each virtue, which adorns the blest 'Tis bold presumption to attune my lays; Seraphic notes should hymn sublimer praise; Angels enthroned, in bliss with rapture view Their own divine perfections live in you Say, while you wander, thro' the rural shade By sapphire fount, or flower-enamelled mead, By wisdom nursed, by contemplation fed, By both, to every art and science led; While sacred honour, that immortal guest Lives in each action of thy life confessed, Wilt thou, propitious, while I wake the string, Attentive listen to the strains I sing; No venal lay I offer to impart, Accept the rapture of a grateful heart. Come, inspiration, from thy hermit-seat, O, give me flowing numbers sweetly great! Free as his bounties, beauteous as his frame, And pure and bright, as his unspotted fame; For nature, prodigal to KING, has given All gifts, admired on earth, and dear to Heaven; Then to Hibernia, lent this sacred store, Too blest Hibernia, can'st thou wish for more : Philosophers can, from the noon-tide sun, Extra& one solar ray, tho' finely spun; Then, in that ray, the various colours show, With which god paints the rain-foretelling bow; May I, like them, presume, with happy art, To trace, distinct, the virtues of thy heart, Or turn, astonished, from the dazzling light, -4- MEMOIRS, VOL II. And own it too intolerably bright, When every beam does with full force unite. Here did I pause, when, lo! the heaven-born muse, Who, if aright invoked, will ne'er refuse Her aid, appeared, and said, thy noble choice May better than the muse inspire thy voice : To me eternal wisdom gave the care Of KING, no meaner power could interfere Pleased with the talk, I took the lovely child, Blooming as spring, with looks serenely mild; Hence flows beneficent his boundless mind, The joy, the love, the friend of human-kind; Modesty, learning, genius, wit, and taste, By female sweetness, manly virtue graced; Hence take their source, oh favourite of the Skies To which, tho' late, triumphant shalt thou rise; There mix with souls, like thine, divinely pure, And taste the rapture fitted to endure: She ceased; thanks heavenly visitant, I said, To thee my gratitude be ever paid; For what, sufficient, may I render thee, Who raised a PATRON that protected me; Who viewed my anguish with a pitying eye, When even a son, and brother pass it by. All-righteous heaven, attend my ardent Prayer, Make him thy constant, thy peculiar care, Whose mercy, like the dews that bless the ground, Silently falls, refreshing all around; While, with such winning grace, his bounties flow, They double all the blessings they bestow Touched with a painful joy, the labouring heart Struggles its mighty transport to impart, Meanings crowd thick, the tongue its aid denies, And springing tears the loss of speech supplies. The P——rs of Ireland long have been a jest, Their own, and every other climate's pest; But KING shall grace the coronet he wears, And make it vie with Britain's noblest stars And when, in time, to grace his nuptial bed, Some chaste, illustrious charmer he shall wed: May love, and joy, and truth, the pomp attend, And deathless honour to his race descend. -5- LÆTITIA PILKINGTON PREFACE. I can't but let my readers see my vanity, in inserting the following poems, written to me since I came to Dublin, and do assure them, I have as many packets of a day, as a Minister of State; some praising, and some abusing me; the best of which in my praise, I have chosen out for their perusal. To Mrs. Pilkington. Monday, April 4, 1748. MADAM, IF you can find a Place for the following verses in your second volume, I shall think myself highly honoured, who am with all Sincerity, &c. I. WHEN Time's grown hoary, with a thousand Years, How must Hibernia laud thy name? Tho' now she seems to triumph in thy tears, And almost glories in her Shame. II. Could Gaul, or Albion, boast a Right in thee, Who now must envy what we hate; Theyed prize that noble Worth, we seem to flee, And glory in so blessed a Fate. III Ye Sons, that put her Honour to the Test, Assert the glories of her name, And let her stand to distant times redressed, In Virtue spotless as in Fame. To Mrs. Lætitia Pilkington. Clangill, July 16. 1748. MADAM, WHEN I read the First Volume of your Works, I was touched with a feeling Sense of your uncommon Misfortunes, and am convinced, the Villainy of a Pr—st, and envy [of] some of your -6- MEMOIRS, VOL II. own sex, gave birth to all your afflictions; and I'll venture to say that the Doctor can't but secretly acknowledge, That Pallas sowed, within your mind, Seeds long unknown to woman-kind, For manly bosoms chiefly sit, The Seeds of Knowledge, Judgment, Wit. Now, Madam, in return for the satisfaction your book gave me, I send you the following Essay, and if you like it, I disregard the critic's frown, And all the Quack-Bards of the Town, I am your Friend, BERNARD CLARKE. HAIL, charming Fair, with low but friendly lays, I'll tune my Pipe, and vie to sing thy Praise. Ambitious always to defend thy Fame, And sing thy spotless, but much injured Name. Thy Story oft with pitying Soul I read, And judge thy hapless fate was hard indeed; Ungrateful man! could neither wit nor art Raise thy compassion, or secure thy heart, When all the joys, that please in human life, Shone bright in her, and formed a perfect wife; Respected and revered, where'er she went, Discreetly gay, yet strictly innocent; To Mrs. PILKINGTON on Reading her MEMOIRS. WHEN beauty suffers, in fair virtue's cause, And men refuse, to innocence, applause! 'Tis then the muse, in all her charms should rise, And bear that merit, to its native skies. Such 'twas of old, inspired the Grecian song, And bore her heroes, and her nymphs along; From her proud Rome possessed the sacred flame, And from the urn, preserved Lucretia's name. BRITONS, whene'er the dismal tale, you hear, Oh! pay to Pilkington, the pious Tear : A second Lucrece, now in her behold! -7- LÆTITIA PILKINGTON By Friends forsook, and by her Husband sold Sold, curst, ensnared to Infamy and Shame, O base betrayer of a woman's fame! Touched with Remorse, let thy own Bosom say, What worms, what snakes, within that bosom prey : What pang thou feel'st for Guilt unheard, unknown; And may that pang, forever be thy own! Oh! can'st thou yet forbid thy eyes to flow? And render tear for tear, and woe for woe; Say, can'st thou see thy once-loved partner roam, Exiled by thee, from children, and from home : Exposed to want, to grief, to lust, to Care: And thou, the Author, smile at her despair? Alas! Ye Gods, to him was never giv'n The meanest spark of gratitude from Heav'n; Else would his breast with kind compassion bleed; Else would his soul detest the impious deed. Else would his heart the long lost passion prove, And rouse his Honour, to redeem his Love. Ah! injured Fair, no more his honour mourn! His Honour's fled, ah! never to return, Let him, secure, of every joy possessed, Be lulled to peace and visionary rest; Thus when his soul from every care is free; No sense of heav'n, nor yet a thought of thee. Then all-inflam'd shall vengeance wing its way, Steal on his sight, and snatch him from the day. Amazed! each one, shall own the sentence just, And send his bones with curses to the dust. But thou, superior to the worst of days, Shalt rise in health, in virtue, and in praise. Envy shall cease, and malice be no more, Each woman love thee, and each man adore. With Themes Celestial, shall thy spirit glow, And, in full rapture, live another Rowe, H. K.