Elizabeth Sican was an Irish literary critic. She was part of Jonathan Swift's "triumfeminate," along with Mary Barber and Constantia Grierson.
Elizabeth Sican | |
---|---|
Pen name | Psyche |
Occupation | literary critic |
Language | English |
Nationality | Irish |
Spouse | John Sican |
Relatives | John Sican (son) |
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Most of what is known about Sican comes via her connection to Swift. She was "a prosperous grocer's wife from Essex St."[1] Sican was her married name, and she had at least one child, named John after his father, who was in turn a sometime author. In a letter to Alexander Pope in 1729, Swift describes her as "the wife of a Surly rich husband who checks her [poetic] vein."[2][3]
Swift was part of the Scriblerus Club, a famous literary circle in London along with other celebrated writers, notably Pope, John Gay, John Arbuthnot, Henry St. John and Thomas Parnell. But he also became part of a smaller circle in Dublin, composed of local literary women. Mary Barber, Constantia Grierson, Laetitia Pilkington and Elizabeth Sican were all members, and this group of "self-made women"[4] was well-established before Swift met the Barbers in 1728.[5] Of Sican, he wrote to Pope: "She has a very good tast of Poetry, hath read much, and as I hear hath writ one or two things with applause, which I never saw, except about six lines she sent me unknown, with a piece of Sturgeon, some Years ago on my birth day."[3] In another letter in 1735, again to Pope, Swift writes that Sican "hath more sense, wit & Knowledge than the whole sex here could make up among them."[6]
Swift wrote "On Psyche" about her:
AT two afternoon for our Psyche inquire,
Her teakettle's on, and her smock at the fire:
So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle;
Which has she most need of, a spur or a bridle?
Thus a greyhound outruns the whole pack in a race,
Yet would rather be hang'd than he'd leave a warm place.
She gives you such plenty, it puts you in pain;
But ever with prudence takes care of the main.
To please you, she knows how to choose a nice bit;
For her taste is almost as refin'd as her wit.
To oblige a good friend, she will trace every market,
It would do your heart good, to see how she will cark it.
Yet beware of her arts; for, it plainly appears,
She saves half her victuals, by feeding your ears.[7]
Sican's response, if it was recorded, has not survived. None of her writings are extant.