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1. Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1661–1720) 1994

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   Hopkins, David

   The Routledge Anthology Of Poets On Poets, p. 190.

   Perhaps I may allow the Dean Had too much satire in his vein. And seemed determined not to starve it, Because no age could more deserve it. Yet malice never was his aim; He lashed the vice, but spa... Read more

   Perhaps I may allow the Dean Had too much satire in his vein. And seemed determined not to starve it, Because no age could more deserve it. Yet malice never was his aim; He lashed the vice, but spared the name. No individual could resent, Where thousands equally were meant. His satire points at no defect, But what all mortals may correct; For he abhorred that senseless tribe Who call it humour when they jibe; He spared a hump or crooked nose, Whose owners set not up for beaux. True, genuine dullness2 moved his pity, Unless it offered to be witty. Those who their ignorance confessed, He ne’er offended with a jest; But laughed to hear an idiot quote A verse from Horace, learnt by rote. Read less

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2. Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1661–1720) 2008

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   Bauer, Mark S.

   A Mind Apart.

   The Spleen: A Pindaric Poem What art thou, spleen, which ev’ry thing dost ape Thou Proteus to abus’d Mankind, Who never yet thy real Cause cou’d find, Or fix thee to remain in one continued Shape. ... Read more

   The Spleen: A Pindaric Poem What art thou, spleen, which ev’ry thing dost ape Thou Proteus to abus’d Mankind, Who never yet thy real Cause cou’d find, Or fix thee to remain in one continued Shape. Still varying thy perplexing Form, Now a Dead Sea thou’lt represent, A Calm of stupid Discontent, Then, dashing on the Rocks wilt rage into a Storm. Trembling sometimes thou dost appear, Dissolv’d into a Panick Fear; On Sleep intruding dost thy Shadows spread, Thy gloomy Terrours round the silent Bed, And croud with boading Dreams the Melancholy Head: Or, when the Midnight Hour is told, And drooping Lids thou still dost waking hold, Thy fond Delusions cheat the Eyes, Before them antick Spectres dance, Unusual Fires their pointed Heads advance, And airy Phantoms rise. Such was the monstrous Vision seen, When Brutus (now beneath his Cares opprest, And all Rome’s Fortunes rolling in his Breast, Before Philippi’s latest Field, Before his Fate did to Octavius lead) Was vanquish’d by the Spleen. Falsly, the Mortal Part we blame Of our deprest, and pond’rous Frame, Which, till the First degrading Sin Let Thee, its dull Attendant, in, Still with the Other did comply, Nor clogg’d the Active Soul, dispos’d to fly, Read less

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3. Finch, Anne, Countess of Winchilsea (1660–1720) 2003

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   Hartley, Cathy

   A Historical Dictionary Of British Women, pp. 359 - 366.

   Poet, daughter of Sir William Kingsmill and wife of Heneage Finch, Earl of Winchilsea. She numbered Pope and Rowe among her literary friends. Her long poem The Spleen was published in 1701 and was ... Read more

   Poet, daughter of Sir William Kingsmill and wife of Heneage Finch, Earl of Winchilsea. She numbered Pope and Rowe among her literary friends. Her long poem The Spleen was published in 1701 and was highly regarded by contemporaries. A collected edition of her poems appeared in 1713. She was neglected for some time, and was rediscovered by Wordsworth, who pointed out her use of new images of ‘external nature’. Wordsworth considered that apart from her Nocturnal Reverie and a few lines of Pope, no poetry between Milton and Thomson’s Seasons contained any true representations of the real world. Read less

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