Song
Why, Damon, why, why, why so pressing?
The Heart you beg’s not worth possessing:
Each Look, each Word, each Smile’s affected,
And inward Charms are quite neglected:
Then scorn her, scorn her, foolish Swain,
And sigh no more, no more in vain.
Beauty’s worthless, fading, flying;
Who would for Trifles think of dying?
Who for a Face, a Shape wou’d languish,
And tell the Brooks, and Groves his Anguish,
Till she, till she thinks fit to prize him,
And all, and all beside despise him?
Fix, fix your Thoughts on what’s inviting,
On what will never bear the slighting:
Wit and Virtue claim your Duty,
They’re much more worth than Gold and Beauty:
To them, to them, your Heart resign,
And you’ll no more, no more repine.
The Devon-born poet and essayist Mary Chudleigh, 1656-1710, is rightly thought of as a proto-feminist; see, for example her short poem, To the Ladies, beginning “Wife and servant are the same, / But only differ in the name”. Her prose Essay on Knowledge explores incisively, but with fuller argument, related themes, including the importance of women’s education. In fact, Chudleigh had many things to say on a range of subjects, and it’s rewarding to discover her hard-won scientific knowledge.
Prof Kevin Killeen has written an excellent introduction to her 2,000-line poem The Song of the Three Children, Paraphras’d, which, not without some justification, he has headed Mary Chudleigh’s View of the Entire Universe. A devout Anglican, self-taught in the subjects which were probably her deepest interest, Chudleigh blends her scientific understanding with a rich, biblical narrative, culminating in a praise-song to the “Jewish heroes” Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, the children who, in the Book of Daniel, un-scientifically survived incineration.
In her more sociable and immediate forms of writing, Chudleigh was able to argue a case with admirable clarity. I chose Song this week partly because of its form: enlivened by the repetitions the genre traditionally allows, its rhythms sing freshly from the page. Its critique of artificial femininity is impartial, sympathetic to the generic male it addresses, Damon, and it demonstrates the rational but Christian basis of the writer’s gender politics. It’s not a lecture, though. It has a brisk and even sunny touch.
Chudleigh, it must be admitted, presents the owner of the “Heart” coveted by Damon with uncompromising disapproval. However delightful her “Face” and “Shape” the woman is judged superficial, somewhat confected. What are missing, in Chudleigh’s opinion, are “inward Charms”. These aren’t charms in the usual sense, but qualities of more lasting worth. The poem appeals not only to Damon’s values but to his vanity. If he continues to pursue this undeserving woman so desperately, he will look ridiculous, despised both by those who witness his humiliation, and the heartless woman herself.
As to the nature of the commended “Charms”, we learn two of them, at least, in verse three. It’s interesting that “Wit” as well as “Virtue” is recommended. Wit was a quality Chudleigh herself possessed abundantly – which is not to suggest the Song is a ploy to win Damon for herself. (Chudleigh would never stoop so low.) The word “wit” originally denoted knowledge and understanding and, since Chudleigh makes it the companion of “Virtue” and equally entitled to Damon’s “Duty”, she brings together the original meaning with the narrower one associated with spritely humour.
The poem is didactic in tone, of course, but it clearly has Damon’s happiness in mind as well as his moral instruction. The repetitions are playful – tonally varied and sometimes startling. It’s in the first line that the device is most insistent, and even impatient: “Why, Damon, why, why, why so pressing?” The repeated “no more” later has, perhaps, the cadence of a failed suitor’s sigh. The fifth line of the middle verse cleverly mimics the love object’s dallying and reluctance: “Till she, till she thinks fit to prize him.”
It would be interesting to know more about Chudleigh’s process of composition. Did she write the poem for an existent piece of music, or in anticipation of a new one? Did she write music herself? I’ve hunted unsuccessfully for a recording of the Song with music, but perhaps it’s hiding somewhere in plain sight. If anyone spots it, please provide a link!
• The text used here is from the Poetry Foundation site where other examples of Chudleigh’s work can be found.
