They all [quoth he] me gracèd goodly well, That all I praise: but in the highest place, Urania, sister unto Astrophell, In whose brave mind, as in a golden coffer, All heavenly gifts and riches lockèd are; More rich than pearls of Ind, or gold of Ophir, And in her sex more wonderful and rare.
Her age was no less honoured than her youth. It has been said of her that "when an old woman she could entrance the world by her sweet beauty of her face, the gentleness of her womanly heart, the strength and keenness of her wit, and the depth and breadth of her learning." Her husband died in the month of January, 1602. She survived him twenty years. By the marriage there were three children--William, Philip, and a daughter named Anne, who died young. William, who on the death of his father became Earl of Pembroke, was, according to Clarendon, the most universally beloved and esteemed of any man of that age. He is believed by some to have been the "W. H." of Shakespeare's Sonnets, of whom that poet says:--
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
From the second son, Philip, who succeeded his elder brother to the title, the present Earl of Pembroke is descended.
After having most truly lived her long life--a life faithful, devoted, and true--the Countess of Pembroke died at her town house in Aldersgate Street, on the 25th September, 1621. She was interred in the vault of her husband's family in Salisbury Cathedral.
A noble life is its own monument. To have influenced such a life as that of Philip Sidney; to have lived her own life--with its lasting impress on the literature of England, and its beneficial lessons to England's daughters--is to the subject of this sketch a more worthy and lasting memorial than stateliest pile of finest marble. We are, nevertheless, thankful for the familiar words of Ben Jonson:--
Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast killed another, Fair and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joy Sent little leaps and laughs thro' all my frame.
Wilhelmina, the beloved and devoted Sister of Frederick the Great, will be remembered chiefly as such, although her high character in other respects, and her chequered and saddened life, render it one of no common interest.