William Duncomb, esq; has obliged the world with an entire edition of
this author's poetical and prose works, to which he has prefixed
some account of his life, written with candour and spirit. Upon his
authority we chiefly build the following narration; in which we shall
endeavour to do as much justice as possible to the memory of this
excellent poet.
Our author was the son of a worthy citizen of London, and born at
Marlborough in the county of Wilts, on the 29th of January 1677; but
received the rudiments of his learning at private schools in London.
In the earliest years of his youth, he applied himself with ardour to
the pursuit of the sister arts, poetry, drawing and music, in each of
which by turns, he made a considerable progress; but for the most part
pursued these and other polite studies, only as agreeable amusements,
under frequent confinement from indisposition, and a valetudinary
state of health. He had some time an employment in the office of
ordinance; and was secretary to two or three commissioners under the
great-seal, for purchasing lands for the better securing the docks and
harbours at Portsmouth, Chatham, and Harwich.
In the year 1717 the lord chancellor Cowper, (to whom Mr. Hughes
was then but lately known) was pleased, without any previous
sollicitation, to make him his secretary for the commissions of the
peace, and to distinguish him with singular marks of his favour and
affection: And upon his lordship's laying down the great-seal, he was
at his particular recommendation, and with the ready concurrence of
his successor, continued in the same employment under the earl of
Macclesfield.
He held this place to the time of his decease, which happened on the
17th of February 1719, the very night in which his tragedy, entitled
the Siege of Damascus, was first acted at the Theatre-Royal in
Drury-Lane.
He was cut off by a consumption, after a painful life, at the age of
42, when he had just arrived at an agreeable competence, and advancing
in fame and fortune. So just is the beautiful reflexion of Milton in
his Lycidas;
Fame is the spur, that the clear spirit doth raise,
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon, when we hops to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind fury with th' abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life.—
He was privately buried in the vault under the chancel of St. Andrew's
Church in Holborn. Mr. Hughes, as a testimony of gratitude to his
noble friend, and generous patron, earl Cowper, gave his lordship a
few weeks before he died, his picture drawn by Sir Godfrey Kneller,
which he himself had received from that masterly painter. The value
lord Cowper set upon it will be best shewn, by the letter he wrote
upon this occasion to Mr. Hughes. As such a testimony from so eminent
a person, was considered by himself as one of the highest honours he
was capable of receiving, we shall therefore insert it.
24th Jan. 1719-20.
'Sir,
'I thank you for the most acceptable present of your picture, and
assure you that none of this age can set a higher value on it than I
do, and shall while I live, tho' I am sensible posterity will out-do
me in that particular.'
I am with the greatest esteem, and sincerity
Your most affectionate, and oblig'd humble servant
COWPER.
Mr. Hughes was happy in the acquaintance and friendship of several of
the greatest men, and most distinguished genius's of the age in which
he lived; particularly of the nobleman just now mentioned, the present
lord bishop of Winchester, lord chief baron Gilbert, Sir Godfrey
Kneller, Mr. Congreve, Mr. Addison, Sir Richard Steele, Mr. Southern,
Mr. Rowe, &c. and might have justly boasted in the words of Horace
——me
Cum magnis vixisse, invita fatebitu usque
Invidia.——
Having given this short account of his life, which perhaps is all
that is preserved any where concerning him; we shall now consider him,
first, as a poet, and then as a prose writer.
The Triumph of Peace was the earliest poem he wrote of any length,
that appeared in public. It was written on occasion of the peace
of Ryswick, and printed in the year 1677. A learned gentleman at
Cambridge, in a letter to a friend of Mr. Hughes's, dated the 28th
of February 1697-8, gives the following account of the favourable
reception this poem met with there, upon its first publication.
'I think I never heard a poem read with so much admiration, as the
Triumph of Peace was by our best critics here, nor a greater character
given to a young poet, at his first appearing; no, not even to Mr.
Congreve himself. So nobly elevated are his thoughts, his numbers so
harmonious, and his turns so fine and delicate, that we cry out with
Tully, on a like occasion,
'Nostræ spes altera Romæ!'
The Court of Neptune, was written on king William's return from
Holland, two years after the peace, in 1699. This Poem was admired
for the verification, however, the musical flow of the numbers is its
least praise; it rather deserves to be valued for the propriety, and
boldness of the figures and metaphors, and the machinery.
The following lines have been justly quoted as an instance of the
author's happy choice of metaphors.
As when the golden god, who rules the day,
Drives down his flaming chariot to the sea,
And leaves the nations here, involved in night,
To distant regions he transports his light;
So William's rays by turns, two rations cheer,
And when he sets to them, he rises here.
A friend of Mr. Hughes's soon after the publication of this poem,
complimented him upon the choice of his subject, and for the moral
sentiments contained in it. 'I am sure (says he) virtue is most for
the interest of mankind; and those poets have ever obtained the most
honour in the world, who have made that the end and design of their
works. A wanton Sappho, or Anacreon, among the ancients, never had the
same applause, as a Pindar, or Alexis; nor in the judgment of Horace
did they deserve it. In the opinion of all posterity, a lewd and
debauch'd Ovid, did justly submit to the worth of a Virgil; and, in
future ages, a Dryden will never be compared to Milton. In all times,
and in all places of the world, the moral poets have been ever the
greatest; and as much superior to others in wit, as in virtue. Nor
does this seem difficult to be accounted for, since the dignity of
their subjects naturally raised their ideas, and gave a grandeur to
their sentiments.'
The House of Nassau, a Pindaric Ode (printed in 1702) was occasioned
by the death of king William. 'In Pindaric and Lyric Poetry (says
Mr. Duncomb) our author's genius shines in its full lustre. Tho' he
enjoyed all that fire of imagination, and divine enthusiasm, for which
some of the ancient poets are so deservedly admired, yet did his fancy
never run away with his reason, but was always guided by superior
judgment; and the music of his verse is exquisite.'
The Translation of the third Ode of the third Book of Horace, and
the Paraphrase of the twenty-second Ode, of the first book, were both
written when he was very young; and the latter of them was his first
poetical Essay, which appeared in print. Mr. Hughes, in a private
letter sent to one of his friends, gives it as his opinion, that the
Odes of Horace, are fitter to be paraphrased, than translated.
The Tenth Book of Lucan, was translated by Mr. Hughes, long before Mr.
Rowe undertook that author. The occasion of it was this: Mr. Tonson
the bookseller, sollicited a translation of Lucan, by several hands.
Mr. Hughes performed his part, but others failing in their promises,
the design was dropp'd; and Mr. Rowe was afterwards prevailed upon to
undertake the whole, which he performed with great success.
In the year 1709 Mr. Hughes obliged the publick, with an elegant
translation of Moliere's celebrated Comedy, the Misantrope. This has
been since reprinted, with the other plays of that admirable author,
translated by Mr. Ozell; but care is taken to distinguish this
particular play.
In the year 1712 his Opera of Calypso and Telemachus, was performed at
the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-Market. Perhaps it may be worth while
to mention here, one circumstance concerning this Opera, as it relates
to the History of Music in England, and discovers the great partiality
shewn at that time to Opera's performed in Italian. After many such
had been encouraged by large subscriptions, this, originally written,
and set in English, after the Italian manner, was prepared with the
usual expence of scenes and decorations; and being much crowded and
applauded at the rehearsals, a subscription was obtained for it as
usual.
This alarmed the whole Italian band, who, apprehending that their
profession would suffer thereby, procured an order from the duke of
Shrewsbury, then lord chamberlain, the day before the performing of
this Opera, to take off the subscription for it, and to open the house
at the lowest prices, or not at all. This was designed to sink it, but
failed of its end. It was performed, formed, though under such
great discouragement; and was revived afterwards at the theatre
in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Mr. Addison, in the Spectator, Numb. 405,
speaking of the just applause given this opera, by Signior Nicolini
(who he says was the greatest performer in dramatic music, that
perhaps ever appeared upon a stage) has these words,
'The town is highly obliged to that excellent artist, for having shewn
us the Italian music in its perfection, as well as for that generous
approbation he gave to an Opera of our own country, in which Mr.
Galliard the composer endeavoured to do justice to the beauty of the
words, by following that noble example which has been set him by the
greatest foreign masters of that art.'
The Ode to the Creator of the World, occasioned by the fragments of
Orpheus, was printed in the year 1713, at the particular instance of
Mr. Addison; and is mentioned with applause in the Spectator. This,
and the Extasy, (published since the death of the author) are justly
esteemed two of the noblest Odes in our language. The seventh Stanza
of the last mentioned piece, is so sublimely excellent, that it would
be denying ourselves, and our poetical readers, a pleasure not to
transcribe it. The whole of this Ode is beautifully heightened, and
poetically conceived. It furnished a hint to a living Poet to write
what he entitles the Excursion, which tho' it has very great merit,
yet falls infinitely short of this animated Ode of Mr. Hughes.
After having represented the natural and artificial calamities to
which man is doomed, he proceeds,
But why do I delay my flight?
Or on such gloomy objects gaze?
I go to realms serene, with ever-living light.
Haste, clouds and whirlwinds, haste a raptured bard to raise;
Mount me sublime along the shining way,
Where planets, in pure streams of Aether driven,
Swim thro' the blue expanse of heav'n.
And lo! th' obsequious clouds and winds obey!
And lo! again the nations downward fly;
And wide-stretch'd kingdoms perish from my eye.
Heav'n! what bright visions now arise!
What op'ning worlds my ravish'd sense surprize!
I pass Cerulian gulphs, and now behold
New solid globes; their weight self-ballanc'd, bear
Unprop'd amidst the fluid air,
And all, around the central Sun, incircling eddies roll'd.
Unequal in their course, see they advance
And form the planetary dance!
Here the pale Moon, whom the same laws ordain
T' obey the earth, and rule the main;
Here spots no more in shadowy streaks appear;
But lakes instead, and groves of trees,
The wand'ring muse, transported sees,
And their tall heads discover'd mountains rear.
And now once more, I downward cast my sight,
When lo! the earth, a larger moon displays,
Far off, amidst the heav'ns, her silver face,
And to her sister moons by turns gives light!
Her seas are shadowy spots, her land a milky white.
The author of an Essay on Criticism, printed in the year 1728, informs
us, that the Tragedy of Cato being brought upon the stage in 1713 was
owing to Mr. Hughes. The circumstances recorded by this author are so
remarkable, that they deserve to be related; and as they serve to shew
the high opinion Mr. Addison entertained of our author's abilities as
a Poet, I shall therefore transcribe his own words.—
'It has been often said by good judges, that Cato was no proper
subject for a dramatic poem: That the character of a stoic
philosopher, is inconsistent with the hurry and tumult of action,
and passions which are the soul of tragedy. That the ingenious author
miscarried in the plan of his work, but supported it by the dignity,
the purity, the beauty, and justness of the sentiments. This was so
much the opinion of Mr. Maynwaring, who was generally allowed to be
the best critic of our time; that he was against bringing the play
upon the stage, and it lay by unfinished many years. That it was
play'd at last was owing to Mr. Hughes. He had read the four acts
which were finished, and really thought it would be of service to
the public, to have it represented at the latter end of queen
Anne's reign, when the spirit of liberty was likely to be lost. He
endeavoured to bring Mr. Addison into his opinion, which he did, and
consented it should be acted if Mr. Hughes would write the last act;
and he offered him the scenery for his assistance, excusing his
not finishing it himself, upon account of some other avocations. He
press'd Mr. Hughes to do it so earnestly, that he was prevailed upon,
and set about it. But, a week after, seeing Mr. Addison again, with
an intention to communicate to him what he thought of it, he was
agreeably surprized at his producing some papers, where near half of
the act was written by the author himself, who took fire at the hint,
that it would be serviceable; and, upon a second reflexion, went
through with the fifth act, not that he was diffident of Mr. Hughes's
abilities; but knowing that no man could have so perfect a notion of
his design as himself, who had been so long, and so carefully thinking
of it. I was told this by Mr. Hughes, and I tell it to shew, that it
was not for the love-scenes, that Mr. Addison consented to have his
Tragedy acted, but to support public spirit; which in the opinion of
the author was then declining.'
In the year 1720 the Siege of Damascus was acted at the Theatre-Royal
in Drury-Lane, with universal applause. His present majesty honoured
it with his presence, and the late queen distinguished it with marks
of favour.
Mr. Hughes drew up the dedication of this Tragedy to the late Earl
Cowper, about ten days before he died. It is indeed surprising, that
he should be able to form a piece so finely turned, and at such
an hour; when death was just before him, and he was too weak to
transcribe it himself.
Mr. Pope, in a letter to Mr. Hughes's brother, written soon after his
death, in answer to one received from him, with the printed copy of
the play, has the following pathetic passage.
'I read over again your brother's play, with more concern and sorrow,
than I ever felt in the reading any Tragedy. The real loss of a good
man may be called a distress to the world, and ought to affect us
more, than any feigned distress, how well drawn soever. I am glad
of an occasion of giving you under my hand this testimony, both how
excellent I think this work to be, and how excellent I thought the
author.'
It is generally allowed that the characters in this play are finely
varied and distinguished; that the sentiments are just, and
well adapted to the characters; that it abounds with beautiful
descriptions, apt allusions to the manners, and opinions of the times
where the scene is laid, and with noble morals; that the diction is
pure, unaffected, and sublime; and that the plot is conducted in a
simple and clear manner.
Some critics have objected, that there is not a sufficient ground
and foundation, for the distress in the fourth and fifth acts. That
Phocyas only assists the enemy to take Damascus a few days sooner,
than it must unavoidably have fallen into the hands of the Saracens
by a capitulation, which was far from dishonourable. If Phocyas is
guilty, his guilt must consist in this only, that he performed the
same action from a sense of his own wrong, and to preserve the idol
of his soul from violation, and death, which he might have performed
laudably, upon better principles. But this (say they) seems not
sufficient ground for those strong and stinging reproaches he casts
upon himself, nor for Eudocia's rejecting him with so much severity.
It would have been a better ground of distress, considering the
frailty of human nature, and the violent temptations he lay under; if
he had been at last prevailed upon to profess himself a Mahometan: For
then his remorse, and self-condemnation, would have been natural, his
punishment just, and the character of Eudocia placed in a more amiable
light. In answer to these objections, and in order to do justice to
the judgment of Mr. Hughes, we must observe, that he formed his play
according to the plan here recommended: but, over-persuaded by some
friends, he altered it as it now stands.
When our author was but in the nineteenth year of his age, he wrote
a Tragedy, entitled, Amalasont Queen of the Goths, which displays
a fertile genius, and a masterly invention. Besides these poetical
productions Mr. Hughes is author of several works in prose,
particularly, The Advices from Parnassus, and the Poetical Touchstone
of Trajano Boccalini, translated by several hands, were printed
in folio 1706. This translation was revised and corrected, and the
preface to it was written by Mr. Hughes.
Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead, translated by our author; with two
original Dialogues, published in the year 1708. The greatest part of
this had lain by him for six years.
Fontenelle's Discourse concerning the ancients, and moderns, are
printed with his conversations with a Lady, on the Plurality of
Worlds, translated by Glanville.
The History of the Revolutions in Portugal, written in French, by
Monsieur L'Abbé de Vertot, was translated by Mr. Hughes.
The Translation of the Letters of Abelard and Heloise, was done by Mr.
Hughes; upon which Mr. Pope has built his beautiful Epistle of Heloise
to Abelard.
As Mr. Hughes was an occasional contributor to the Tatler, Spectator,
and Guardian, the reader perhaps may be curious to know more
particularly what share he had in those papers, which are so justly
admired in all places in the world, where taste and genius have
visited. As it is the highest honour to have had any concern in
works like these, so it would be most injurious to the memory of this
excellent genius, not to particularize his share in them.
In the Tatler he writ,
Vol. II. Numb. 64. A Letter signed Josiah Couplet.
Numb. 73. A Letter against Gamesters,
signed William Trusty.
Mr. Tickell alludes to this Letter, in a Copy of Verses addressed to
the Spectator, Vol. VII. No. 532.
From Felon Gamesters, the raw squire is free,
And Briton owes her rescued oaks to thee.
Numb. 113. The Inventory of a Beau.
In the Spectator.
Vol. I. Numb. 33. A Letter on the Art of improving
beauty.
Numb. 53. A Second Letter on the same
subject.
Numb. 66. Two Letters concerning fine
breeding.
Vol. II. Numb. 91. The History of Honoria, or
the Rival Mother.
Numb. 104. A Letter on Riding-Habits for
Ladies.
Numb. 141. Remarks on a Comedy, intitled
the Lancashire-Witches.
Vol. III. Numb. 210. On the immortality of the
Soul.
Numb. 220. A Letter concerning expedients
for Wit.
Numb. 230. All, except the last Letter.
Numb. 231. A Letter on the awe of appearing
before public assemblies.
Numb. 237. On Divine Providence.
Vol. IV. Numb. 252. A Letter on the Eloquence of
Tears, and fainting fits.
Numb. 302. The Character of Emilia.
Numb. 311. A Letter from the Father of
a great Fortune.
Vol. V. Numb. 57. A Picture of Virtue in Distress.
Vol. VII. Numb. 525. On Conjugal Love.
Numb. 537. On the Dignity of Human
Nature.
Numb. 541. Rules for Pronunciation and
Action, chiefly collected from Cicero.
Vol. VII. Numb. 554. On the Improvement of the Genius, illustrated
in the characters of Lord Bacon, Mr. Boyle, Sir Isaac Newton, and
Leonardo da Vinci.—We have not been able to learn, what papers in
the Guardian were written by him, besides Number 37, Vol. I. which
contains Remarks on the Tragedy of Othello.
In the year 1715 Mr. Hughes published a very accurate edition of the
works of our famous poet Edmund Spenser, in six volumes, 12mo. to
this edition are prefixed the Life of Spenser; an Essay on Allegorical
poetry; Remarks on the Fairy Queen; on the Shepherd's Calendar, and
other writings of Spenser; and a Glossary explaining the Old and
obsolete Words.
In 1718 he published a piece called Charon, or The Ferry-Boat, a
Vision. This, and Mr. Walsh's Æsculapius, or Hospital of Fools, are
perhaps two of the finest dialogues we have in English, as well as the
most lively imitations of Lucian.
Sir Richard Steele, in a paper called The Theatre, No. 15. has paid a
tribute to the memory of Mr. Hughes, with which as it illustrates his
amiable character, we shall conclude his life.
'I last night (says he) saw the Siege of Damascus, and had the
mortification to hear this evening that Mr. Hughes, the author of it,
departed this life within some few hours after his play was acted,
with universal applause. This melancholy circumstance recalled into
my thought a speech in the tragedy, which very much affected the
whole audience, and was attended to with the greatest, and most solemn
instance of approbation, and awful silence.' The incidents of the
play plunge a heroic character into the last extremity; and he is
admonished by a tyrant commander to expect no mercy, unless he changes
the Christian religion for the Mahometan. The words with which the
Turkish general makes his exit from his prisoner are,
Farewel, and think of death.
Upon which the captive breaks into the following soliloquy,
Farewel! and think of death!—was it not so?
Do murtherers then, preach morality?
But how to think of what the living know not,
And the dead cannot, or else may not tell!
What art thou? O thou great mysterious terror!
The way to thee, we know; diseases, famine,
Sword, fire, and all thy ever open gates,
That day and night stand ready to receive us.
But what, beyond them? who will draw that veil?
Yet death's not there.——No, 'tis a point of time;
The verge 'twixt mortal, and immortal Being.
It mocks our thought——On this side all is life;
And when we've reach'd it, in that very instant,
'Tis past the thinking of——O if it be
The pangs, the throes, the agonizing struggle,
When soul and body part, sure I have felt it!
And there's no more to fear.
'The gentleman (continues Sir Richard) to whose memory I devote this
paper, may be the emulation of more persons of different talents,
than any one I have ever known. His head, hand, or heart, was always
employed in something worthy imitation; his pencil, his bow (string)
or his pen, each of which he used in a masterly manner, were always
directed to raise, and entertain his own mind, or that of others, to a
more chearful prosecution of what is noble and virtuous. Peace be with
thy remains, thou amiable spirit! but I talk in the language of our
weakness, that is flown to the regions of immortality, and relieved
from the aking engine and painful instrument of anguish and sorrow,
in which for many tedious years he panted with a lively hope for his
present condition.' We shall consign the trunk, in which he was so
long imprisoned, to common earth, with all that is due to the merit of
its inhabitant[A].
[Footnote A: There are several copies of verses written to the memory
of Mr. Hughes, prefixed to Mr. Duncomb's edition of his poems, of
which one by a lady who has withheld her name, deserves particular
distinction.]
* * * * *
MATTHEW PRIOR, Esq;
This celebrated poet was the son of Mr. George Prior, citizen of
London, who was by profession a Joiner. Our author was born in 1664.
His father dying when he was very young, left him to the care of an
uncle, a Vintner near Charing-Cross, who discharged the trust that was
reposed in him, with a tenderness truly paternal, as Mr. Prior always
acknowledged with the highest professions of gratitude. He received
part of his education at Westminster school, where he distinguished
himself to great advantage, but was afterwards taken home by his
uncle in order to be bred up to his trade. Notwithstanding this mean
employment, to which Mr. Prior seemed now doomed, yet at his leisure
hours he prosecuted his study of the classics, and especially his
favourite Horace, by which means he was soon taken notice of, by the
polite company, who resorted to his uncle's house. It happened one
day, that the earl of Dorset being at his Tavern, which he often
frequented with several gentlemen of rank, the discourse turned upon
the Odes of Horace; and the company being divided in their sentiments
about a passage in that poet, one of the gentlemen said, I find we are
not like to agree in our criticisms, but, if I am not mistaken, there
is a young fellow in the house, who is able to set us all right: upon
which he named Prior, who was immediately sent for, and desired to
give his opinion of Horace's meaning in the Ode under consideration;
this he did with great modesty, and so much to the satisfaction of
the company, that the earl of Dorset, from that moment, determined to
remove him from the station in which he was, to one more suited to his
genius; and accordingly procured him to be sent to St. John's College
in Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1686, and afterwards became
fellow of the College.
During his residence in the university, he contracted an intimate
friendship with Charles Montague, esq; afterwards earl of Hallifax,
in conjunction with whom he wrote a very humorous piece, entitled The
Hind and Panther transversed to the story of the Country Mouse, and
the City Mouse, printed 1687 in 4to. in answer to Mr. Dryden's Hind
and the Panther, published the year before.
Upon the revolution Mr. Prior was brought to court by his great patron
the earl of Dorset, by whose interest he was introduced to public
employment, and in the year 1690 was made secretary to the earl
of Berkley, plenipotentiary to King William and Queen Mary at the
Congress at the Hague.
In this station he acquitted himself so well, that he was afterwards
appointed secretary to the earls of Pembroke, and Jersey, and Sir
Joseph Williamson, ambassadors, and plenipotentiaries, at the treaty
of Ryswick 1697, as he was likewise in 1698 to the earl of Portland,
ambassador to the court of France. While he was in that kingdom, one
of the officers of the French King's houshold, shewing him the royal
apartments, and curiosities at Versailles, especially the paintings of
Le Brun, wherein the victories of Lewis XIV. are described, asked him,
whether King William's actions are to be seen in his palace? 'No Sir,
replied Mr. Prior, the monuments of my master's actions are to be seen
every where, but in his own house.'
In the year 1697 Mr. Prior was made secretary of state for Ireland,
and in 1700 was created master of arts by Mandamus, and appointed
one of the lords commissioners of trade and plantations, upon the
resignation of Mr. Locke. He was also Member of Parliament for
East-Grimstead in Sussex. In 1710 he was supposed to have had a share
in writing the Examiner, and particularly a Criticism in it upon a
Poem of Dr. Garth to the earl of Godolphin, taken notice of in the
life of Garth.
About this time, when Godolphin was defeated by Oxford, and the Tories
who had long been eclipsed by the lustre of Marlborough, began again
to hold up their heads, Mr. Prior and Dr. Garth espoused opposite
interests; Mr. Prior wrote for, and Garth against the court. The Dr.
was so far honest, that he did not desert his patron in distress; and
notwithstanding the cloud which then hung upon the party, he addressed
verses to him, which, however they may fail in the poetry, bear strong
the marks of gratitude, and honour.
While Mr. Prior was thus very early initiated in public business, and
continued in the hurry of affairs for many years, it must appear not
a little surprizing, that he should find sufficient opportunities to
cultivate his poetical talents, to the amazing heights he raised them.
In his preface to his poems, he says, that poetry was only the product
of his leisure hours; that he had commonly business enough upon his
hands, and, as he modestly adds, was only a poet by accident; but we
must take the liberty of differing from him in the last particular,
for Mr. Prior seems to have received from the muses, at his nativity,
all the graces they could well bestow on their greatest favourite.
We must not omit one instance in Mr. Prior's conduct, which will
appear very remarkable: he was chosen a member of that Parliament
which impeached the Partition Treaty, to which he himself had been
secretary; and though his share in that transaction was consequently
very considerable, yet he joined in the impeachment upon an honest
principle of conviction, that exceptionable measures attended it.
The lord Bolingbroke, who, notwithstanding many exceptions made both
to his conduct, and sentiments in other instances, yet must be allowed
to be an accomplished judge of fine talents, entertained the highest
esteem for Mr. Prior, on account of his shining abilities. This noble
lord, in a letter dated September 10, 1712, addressed to Mr. Prior,
while he was the Queen's minister, and plenipotentiary at the court of
France, pays him the following compliment; 'For God's sake, Matt. hide
the nakedness of thy country, and give the best turn thy fertile brain
will furnish thee with, to the blunders of thy countrymen, who are not
much better politicians, than the French are poets.' His lordship thus
concludes his epistle; 'It is near three o'clock in the morning, I
have been hard at work all day, and am not yet enough recovered to
bear much fatigue; excuse therefore the confusedness of this scroll,
which is only from Harry to Matt, and not from the secretary to the
minister. Adieu, my pen is ready to drop out of my hand, it being now
three o'clock in the morning; believe that no man loves you better, or
is more faithfully yours, &c.
'BOLINGBROKE.'
There are several other letters from Bolingbroke to Prior, which, were
it necessary, we might insert as evidences of his esteem for him; but
Mr. Prior was in every respect so great a man, that the esteem even of
lord Bolingbroke cannot add much to the lustre of his reputation,
both as a statesman, and a poet. Mr. Prior is represented by those who
knew, and have wrote concerning him, as a gentleman, who united the
elegance and politeness of a court, with the scholar, and the man of
genius. This representation, in general, may be just, yet it holds
almost invariably true, that they who have risen from low life, still
retain some traces of their original. No cultivation, no genius, it
seems, is able entirely to surmount this: There was one particular in
which Mr. Prior verified the old proverb.
The same woman who could charm the waiter in a tavern, still
maintained her dominion over the embassador at France. The Chloe of
Prior, it seems, was a woman in this station of life; but he never
forsook her in the heighth of his reputation. Hence we may observe,
that associations with women are the most lasting of all, and
that when an eminent station raises a man above many other acts of
condescension, a mistress will maintain her influence, charm away the
pride of greatness, and make the hero who fights, and the patriot
who speaks, for the liberty of his country, a slave to her. One would
imagine however, that this woman, who was a Butcher's wife, must
either have been very handsome, or have had something about her
superior to people of her rank: but it seems the case was otherwise,
and no better reason can be given for Mr. Prior's attachment to her,
but that she was his taste. Her husband suffered their intrigue to go
on unmolested; for he was proud even of such a connexion as this, with
so great a man as Prior; a singular instance of good nature.
In the year 1715 Mr. Prior was recalled from France, and upon his
arrival was taken up by a warrant from the House of Commons; shortly
after which, he underwent a very strict examination by a Committee of
the Privy Council. His political friend, lord Bolingbroke, foreseeing
a storm, took shelter in France, and secured Harry, but left poor
Matt. in the lurch.
On the 10th of June Robert Walpole, esq; moved the House against
him, and on the 17th Mr. Prior was ordered into close custody, and no
person was admitted to see him without leave from the Speaker. For
the particulars of this procedure of the Parliament, both against Mr.
Prior, and many others concerned in the public transactions of the
preceding reign, we refer to the histories of that time. In the year
1717 an Act of Grace was passed in favour of those who had opposed
the Hanoverian succession, as well as those who had been in open
rebellion, but Mr. Prior was excepted out of it. At the close of this
year, however, he was discharged from his confinement, and retired to
spend the residue of his days at Downhall in Essex.
The severe usage which Mr. Prior met with, perhaps was the occasion of
the following beautiful lines, addressed to his Chloe;
From public noise, and factious strife,
From all the busy ills of life,
Take me, my Chloe, to thy breast;
And lull my wearied soul to rest:
For ever, in this humble cell,
Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell;
None enter else, but Love——and he
Shall bar the door, and keep the key.
To painted roofs, and shining spires
(Uneasy feats of high desires)
Let the unthinking many croud,
That dare be covetous, and proud;
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happiness for state:
But oh! my Chloe when thy swain
Desires to see a court again;
May Heav'n around his destin'd head
The choicest of his curses shed,
To sum up all the rage of fate.
In the two things I dread, and hate,
May'st thou be false, and I be great.
In July 1721, within two months of his death, Mr. Prior published the
following beautiful little tale on the falshood of mankind, entitled
The Conversation, and applied it to the truth, honour, and justice of
his grace the duke of Dorset.
The CONVERSATION. A Tale.
It always has been thought discreet
To know the company you meet;
And sure, there may be secret danger
In talking much before a stranger.
Agreed: what then? then drink your ale;
I'll pledge you, and repeat my tale.
No matter where the scene is fix'd,
The persons were but odly mix'd,
When sober Damon thus began:
(And Damon is a clever man)
I now grow old; but still from youth,
Have held for modesty and truth,
The men, who by these sea-marks steer,
In life's great voyage, never err;
Upon this point I dare defy
The world; I pause for a reply.
Sir, either is a good assistant,
Said one, who sat a little distant:
Truth decks our speeches, and our books,
And modesty adorns our looks:
But farther progress we must take;
Not only born to look and speak,
The man must act. The Stagyrite
Says thus, and says extremely right;
Strict justice is the sovereign guide,
That o'er our actions should preside;
This queen of virtue is confess'd
To regulate and bind the rest.
Thrice happy, if you can but find
Her equal balance poise your mind:
All diff'rent graces soon will enter,
Like lines concurrent to their center.
'Twas thus, in short, these two went on,
With yea and nay, and pro and con,
Thro' many points divinely dark,
And Waterland assaulting Clarke;
'Till, in theology half lost,
Damon took up the Evening-Post;
Confounded Spain, compos'd the North,
And deep in politics held forth.
Methinks, we're in the like condition,
As at the treaty of partition;
That stroke, for all King William's care,
Begat another tedious war.
Matthew, who knew the whole intrigue,
Ne'er much approv'd that mystic league;
In the vile Utrecht treaty too,
Poor man! he found enough to do.
Sometimes to me he did apply;
But downright Dunstable was I,
And told him where they were mistaken,
And counsell'd him to save his bacon:
But (pass his politics and prose)
I never herded with his foes;
Nay, in his verses, as a friend,
I still found something to commend.
Sir, I excus'd his Nut-brown maid;
Whate'er severer critics said:
Too far, I own, the girl was try'd:
The women all were on my side.
For Alma I return'd him thanks,
I lik'd her with her little pranks;
Indeed, poor Solomon, in rhime,
Was much too grave to be sublime.
Pindar and Damon scorn transition,
So on he ran a new division;
'Till, out of breath, he turn'd to spit:
(Chance often helps us more than wit)
T'other that lucky moment took,
Just nick'd the time, broke in, and spoke.
Of all the gifts the gods afford
(If we may take old Tully's word)
The greatest is a friend, whose love
Knows how to praise, and when reprove;
From such a treasure never part,
But hang the jewel on your heart:
And pray, sir (it delights me) tell;
You know this author mighty well—
Know him! d'ye question it? ods fish!
Sir, does a beggar know his dish?
I lov'd him, as I told you, I
Advis'd him—here a stander-by
Twitch'd Damon gently by the cloke,
And thus unwilling silence broke:
Damon, 'tis time we should retire,
The man you talk with is Matt. Prior.
Patron, thro' life, and from thy birth my friend,
Dorset, to thee this fable let me send:
With Damon's lightness weigh thy solid worth;
The foil is known to set the diamond forth:
Let the feign'd tale this real moral give,
How many Damons, how few Dorsets live!
Mr. Prior, after the fatigue of a length of years past in various
services of action, was desirous of spending the remainder of his days
in rural tranquility, which the greatest men of all ages have been
fond of enjoying: he was so happy as to succeed in his wish, living a
very retired, and contemplative life, at Downhall in Essex, and found,
as he expressed himself, a more solid, and innocent satisfaction among
woods, and meadows, than he had enjoyed in the hurry, and tumults
of the world, the courts of Princes, or the conducting foreign
negotiations; and where as he melodiously sings,
The remnant of his days he safely past,
Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast;
He made his wish with his estate comply,
Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.
This great man died on the 18th of September, 1721, at Wimple in
Cambridgshire, the seat of the earl of Oxford, with whose friendship
he had been honoured for some years. The death of so distinguished a
person was justly esteemed an irreparable loss to the polite world,
and his memory will be ever dear to those, who have any relish for the
muses in their softer charms. Some of the latter part of his life was
employed in collecting materials for an History of the Transactions of
his own Times, but his death unfortunately deprived the world of what
the touches of so masterly a hand, would have made exceeding valuable.
Mr. Prior, by the suffrage of all men of taste, holds the first rank
in poetry, for the delicacy of his numbers, the wittiness of his
turns, the acuteness of his remarks, and, in one performance, for the
amazing force of his sentiments. The stile of our author is likewise
so pure, that our language knows no higher authority, and there is an
air of original in his minutest performances.
It would be superfluous to give any detail of his poems, they are in
the hands of all who love poetry, and have been as often admired, as
read. The performance however, for which he is most distinguished, is
his Solomon; a Poem in three Books, the first on Knowledge, the second
on Pleasure, and the third on Power. We know few poems to which this
is second, and it justly established his reputation as one of the best
writers of his age.
This sublime work begins thus,
Ye sons of men, with just regard attend,
Observe the preacher, and believe the friend,
Whose serious muse inspires him to explain,
That all we act, and all we think is vain:
That in this pilgrimage of seventy years,
O'er rocks of perils, and thro' vales of tears
Destin'd to march, our doubtful steps we tend,
Tir'd of the toil, yet fearful of its end:
That from the womb, we take our fatal shares,
Of follies, fashions, labours, tumults, cares;
And at approach of death shall only know,
The truths which from these pensive numbers flow,
That we pursue false joy, and suffer real woe.
After an enquiry into, and an excellent description of the various
operations, and effects of nature, the system of the heavens, &c. and
not being fully informed of them, the first Book concludes,
How narrow limits were to wisdom given?
Earth she surveys; she thence would measure Heav'n:
Thro' mists obscure, now wings her tedious way;
Now wanders dazl'd, with too bright a day;
And from the summit of a pathless coast
Sees infinite, and in that sight is lost.
In the second Book the uncertainty, disappointment, and vexation
attending pleasure in general, are admirably described; and in the
character of Solomon is sufficiently shewn, that nothing debases
majesty, or indeed any man, more than ungovernable passion.
When thus the gath'ring storms of wretched love
In my swoln bosom, with long war had strove;
At length they broke their bounds; at length their force
Bore down whatever met its stronger course:
Laid all the civil bounds of manhood waste.
And scatter'd ruin, as the torrent past.
The third Book treats particularly of the trouble and instability
of greatness and power, considers man through the several stages and
conditions of life, and has excellent reasoning upon life and death.
On the last are these lines;
Cure of the miser's wish, and cowards fear,
Death only shews us, what we knew was near.
With courage therefore view the 'pointed hour;
Dread not death's anger, but expect its power;
Nor nature's laws, with fruitless sorrow mourn;
But die, O mortal man! for thou wast born.
The poet has likewise these similies on life;
As smoke that rises from the kindling fires
Is seen this moment, and the next expires:
As empty clouds by rising winds are tost,
Their fleeting forms no sooner found than lost:
So vanishes our state; so pass our days;
So life but opens now, and now decays;
The cradle, and the tomb, alas! so nigh;
To live is scarce distinguished from to die.
We shall conclude this account of Mr. Prior's life with the following
copy of verses, written on his Death by Robert Ingram, esq; which is a
very successful imitation of Mr. Prior's manner.
1.
Mat. Prior!—(and we must submit)
Is at his journey's end;
In whom the world has lost a wit,
And I, what's more, a friend.
2.
Who vainly hopes long here to stay,
May see with weeping eyes;
Not only nature posts away,
But e'en good nature dies!
3.
Should grave ones count these praises light,
To such it may be said:
A man, in this lamented wight,
Of business too is dead.
4.
From ancestors, as might a fool!
He trac'd no high-fetch'd stem;
But gloriously revers'd the rule,
By dignifying them.
5.
O! gentle Cambridge! sadly say,
Why fates are so unkind
To snatch thy giant sons away,
Whilst pigmies stay behind?
6.
Horace and he were call'd, in haste,
From this vile earth to heav'n;
The cruel year not fully past,
Ætatis, fifty seven.
7.
So, on the tops of Lebanon,
Tall cedars felt the sword,
To grace, by care of Solomon,
The temple of the Lord.
8.
A tomb amidst the learned may
The western abbey give!
Like theirs, his ashes must decay,
Like theirs, his fame shall live.
9.
Close, carver, by some well cut books,
Let a thin busto tell,
In spite of plump and pamper'd looks,
How scantly sense can dwell!
10.
No epitaph of tedious length
Should overcharge the stone;
Since loftiest verse would lose its strength,
In mentioning his own.
11.
At once! and not verbosely tame,
Some brave Laconic pen
Should smartly touch his ample name,
In form of—O rare Ben!
* * * * *
Mrs. SUSANNA CENTLIVRE,
This lady was daughter of one Mr. Freeman, of Holbeack in
Lincolnshire. There was formerly an estate in the family of her
father, but being a Dissenter, and a zealous parliamentarian, he was
so very much persecuted at the restoration, that he was laid under a
necessity to fly into Ireland, and his estate was confiscated; nor was
the family of our authoress's mother free from the severity of those
times, they being likewise parliamentarians. Her education was in the
country, and her father dying when she was but three years of age,
and her mother not living 'till she was twelve, the improvements our
poetess made were merely by her own industry and application. She was
married before the age of fifteen, to a nephew of Sir Stephen Fox.
This gentleman living with her but a year, she afterwards married Mr.
Carrol, an officer in the army, and survived him likewise in the space
of a year and a half. She afterwards married Mr. Joseph Centlivre,
yeoman of the mouth to his late Majesty. She gave early discoveries of
a genius for poetry, and Mr. Jacob in his Lives of the Poets tells us,
that she composed a song before she was seven years old. She is
the author of fifteen plays; her talent is comedy, particularly the
contrivance of the plots, and incidents. Sir Richard Steele, in one of
his Tatlers, speaking of the Busy Body, thus recommends it. 'The plot,
and incidents of the play, are laid with that subtilty, and spirit,
which is peculiar to females of wit, and is very seldom well performed
by those of the other sex, in whom craft in love is an act of
invention, and not as with women, the effect of nature, and instinct'.
She died December 1, 1723; the author of the Political State thus
characterizes her. 'Mrs. Centlivre, from a mean parentage and
education, after several gay adventures (over which we shall draw
a veil) she had, at last, so well improved her natural genius by
reading, and good conversation, as to attempt to write for the stage,
in which sh had as good success as any of her sex before her. Her
first dramatic performance was a Tragi-Comedy, called The Perjured
Husband, but the plays which gained her most reputation were, two
Comedies, the Gamester, and the Busy Body. She wrote also several
copies of verses on divers subjects, and occasions, and many ingenious
letters, entitled Letters of Wit, Politics, and Morality, which I
collected, and published about 21 years ago[A].'
Her dramatic works are,
1. The Perjured Husband, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1702,
dedicated to the late Duke of Bedford. Scene Venice.
2. The Beau's Duel, or a Soldier for the Ladies, a Comedy; acted at
the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1703; a Criticism was written
upon this play in the Post-Angel for August. 3. The Stolen Heiress, or
The Salamancha Doctor Out-plotted; a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in
Lincolns-Inn-Fields 1704. The scene Palermo.
4. The Gamester, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields
1704, dedicated to George Earl of Huntingdon. This play is an improved
translation of one of the same title in French. The prologue was
written by Mr. Rowe.
5. The Basset Table, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal in
Drury-Lane, dedicated to Arthur Lord Altham, 4to. 1706.
6. Love's Contrivance, or Le Medicin Malgre lui; a Comedy; acted
at Drury-Lane 1705, dedicated to the Earl of Dorset. This is a
translation from Moliere.
7. Love at a Venture, a Comedy; acted at Bath, 4to. 1706, dedicated to
the Duke of Beaufort.
8. The Busy Body, acted at the Theatre-Royal 1708, dedicated to Lord
Somers. This play was acted with very great applause.
9. Marplot, or the Second Part of the Busy Body; acted at the
Theatre-Royal 1709, dedicated to the Earl of Portland.
10. The Perplex'd Lovers, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1710,
dedicated to Sir Henry Furnace.
11. The Platonic Lady, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1711. 12.
The Man's Bewitch'd, or The Devil to do about Her; a Comedy; acted
at the Theatre in the Haymarket 1712, dedicated to the Duke of
Devonshire.
13. The Wonder, a Woman keeps a Secret, a Comedy; acted at the
Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. This play was acted with success.
14. The Cruel Gift, or The Royal Resentment; a Tragedy; acted at the
Theatre-Royal 1716, for the story of this play consult Sigismonda and
Guiscarda, a Novel of Boccace.
15. A Bold Stroke for a Wife, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in
Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1717, dedicated to the Duke of Wharton. Besides
these plays Mrs. Centlivre has written three Farces; Bickerstaff's
Burying, or Work for the Upholders. The Gotham Election. A Wife well
Managed.
[Footnote A: See Bayer's Political State, vol. xxvi. p.670.]
* * * * *
Dr. NICHOLAS BRADY,
This revd. gentleman was son of Nicholas Brady, an officer in the
King's army, in the rebellion 1641, being lineally descended from Hugh
Brady, the first Protestant bishop of Mieath[A]. He was born at Bandon
in the county of Cork, on the 28th of October 1659, and educated
in that county till he was 12 years of age, when he was removed
to Westminster school, and from thence elected student of Christ's
Church, Oxford. After continuing there about four years, he went to
Dublin, where his father resided, at which university he immediately
commenced bachelor of arts. When he was of due standing, his Diploma
for the degree of doctor of divinity was, on account of his uncommon
merit, presented to him from that university, while he was in
England, and brought over by Dr. Pratt, then senior travelling-fellow,
afterwards provost of that college. His first ecclesiastical
preferment was to a prebend, in the Cathedral of St. Barry's in the
city of Cork, to which he was collared by bishop Wettenhal, to whom
he was domestic chaplain. He was a zealous promoter of the revolution,
and suffered for it in consequence of his zeal. In 1690, when the
troubles broke out in Ireland, by his interest with King James's
general, Mac Carty, he thrice prevented the burning of Bandon town,
after three several orders given by that Prince to destroy it. The
same year, having been deputed by the people of Bandon, he went
over to England to petition the Parliament, for a redress of some
grievances they had suffered, while King James was in Ireland. During
his stay here, and to the time of his death, he was in the highest
esteem among all ranks of persons in this kingdom, for his eminent
attachment to the true interest of his country. Having quitted
his preferments in Ireland, he settled in London, where he, being
celebrated for his abilities in the pulpit, was elected minister of
St. Catherine-Cree Church, and lecturer of St. Michael's Woodstreet.
He afterwards became minister of Richmond in Surry, and Stratford upon
Avon in Warwickshire, and at length, rector of Clapham in the county
above-mentioned; which last, together with Richmond, he held to the
time of his death. He was also chaplain to the duke of Ormond's troop
of Horse-guards, as he was to their Majesties King William, and Queen
Anne. He died on the 20th of May 1726, in the 67th year of his age,
leaving behind him the reputation of a good man; he was of a most
obliging, sweet, affable temper, a polite gentleman, an excellent
preacher, and no inconsiderable poet.
His compositions in poetry are chiefly these,
1. A New Version of the Psalms of David, performed by him, in
conjunction with Mr. Tate, soon after he settled in London; now sung
in most churches of England, and Ireland, instead of that obsolete
and ridiculous Version made by Sternhold, and Hopkins, in the reign of
King Edward VI. As the 104th Psalm is esteemed one of the most sublime
in the whole book, we shall present the reader with the two first
Parts of his Version of that Psalm as a specimen. There have not been
less than forty different Versions, and Paraphrases of this Psalm, by
poets of very considerable eminence, who seem to have vied with one
another for the superiority. Of all these attempts, if we may trust
our own judgment, none have succeeded so happily as Mr. Blackclock, a
young gentleman now resident at Dumfries in Scotland. This Paraphrase
is the more extraordinary, as the author of it has been blind from
his cradle, and now labours under that calamity; it carries in it such
elevated strains of poetry, such picturesque descriptions, and such a
mellifluent flow of numbers, that we are persuaded, the reader cannot
be displeased at finding it inserted here.
Dr. Brady also translated the Æneid of Virgil, which were published
by subscription in four volumes octavo, the last of which came out in
1726, a little before the author's death.
He also published in his life-time three Volumes of Sermons in 8vo.
each consisting of 14, all printed in London; the first in 1704, the
second in 1706, and the third in 1713. After the Dr's. death, his
eldest son, who is now a clergyman, published three other Volumes of
his father's Sermons, each also consisting of 14, printed in London
1730, 8vo. Amongst his sermons there is one preached on St. Cecilia's
day, in vindication of Church-music, first printed in 1697, in 4to.
PSALM CIV.
1. Bless God my soul; thou, Lord alone,
Possessest empire without bounds:
With honour thou art crown'd, thy throne
Eternal Majesty surrounds.
2. With light thou dost thy self enrobe,
And glory for a garment take;
Heav'n's curtain stretch'd beyond the globe,
The canopy of state to make.
3. God builds on liquid air, and forms
His palace-chambers in the skies:
The clouds his chariots are, and storms
The swift-wing'd steeds with which he flies.
4. As bright as flame, as swift as wind
His ministers Heav'ns palace fill;
To have their sundry tasks assign'd,
All proud to serve their Sovereign's will.
5., 6. Earth on her center fix'd he set,
Her face with waters over spread;
Not proudest mountains dar'd as yet
To lift above the waves their head!
7. But when thy awful face appear'd,
Th' insulting waves dispers'd; they fled
When once thy thunder's voice they heard,
And by their haste confess'd their dread.
8. Thence up by secret tracts they creep,
And gushing from the mountain's side,
Thro' vallies travel to the deep;
Appointed to receive their tide.
9. There hast thou fix'd the ocean's mounds,
The threat'ning surges to repel:
That they no more o'erpass their bounds,
Nor to a second deluge swell.
PART II.
10. Yet, thence in smaller parties drawn,
The sea recovers her lost hills:
And starting springs from every lawn,
Surprize the vales with plenteous rills.
11. The fields tame beasts are thither led
Weary with labour, faint with drought,
And asses on wild mountains bred,
Have sense to find these currents out.
12. There shady trees from scorching beams,
Yield shelter to the feather'd throng:
They drink, and to the bounteous streams
Return the tribute of their song.
13. His rains from heav'n parch'd hills recruit,
That soon transmit the liquid store:
'Till earth is burthen'd with her fruit,
And nature's lap can hold no more.
14. Grass for our cattle to devour,
He makes the growth of every field:
Herbs, for man's use, of various pow'r,
That either food or physic yield.
15. With cluster'd grapes he crowns the vine
To cheer man's heart oppress'd with cares:
Gives oil that makes his face to shine.
And corn that wasted strength repairs.
PSALM CIV. imitated by THOMAS BLACKCLOCK.
Arise my soul! on wings seraphic rise!
And praise th' Almighty sov'reign of the skies!
In whom alone essential glory shines,
Which not the Heav'n of Heav'ns, nor boundless space confines!
When darkness rul'd with universal sway,
He spoke, and kindled up the blaze of day;
First fairest offspring of th' omnific word!
Which like a garment cloath'd it's sovereign lord.
He stretch'd the blue expanse, from pole to pole,
And spread circumfluent æther round the whole.
Of liquid air he bad the columns rise,
Which prop the starry concave of the skies.
Soon as he bids, impetuous whirlwinds fly,
To bear his sounding chariot thro' the sky:
Impetuous whirlwinds the command obey,
Sustain his flight, and sweep th' aerial way.
Fraught with his mandates from the realms on high,
Unnumber'd hosts of radiant heralds fly;
From orb to orb, with progress unconfin'd,
As lightn'ing swift, resistless as the wind.
His word in air this pondr'ous ball sustain'd.
"Be fixt, he said."—And fix'd the ball remain'd.
Heav'n, air, and sea, tho' all their stores combine.
Shake not its base, nor break the law divine.
At thy almighty voice, old ocean raves,
Wakes all his force, and gathers all his waves;
Nature lies mantled in a watry robe,
And shoreless ocean roils around the globe;
O'er highest hills, the higher surges rise,
Mix with the clouds, and leave the vaulted skies.
But when in thunder, the rebuke was giv'n,
That shook th' eternal firmament of heav'n,
The dread rebuke, the frighted waves obey,
They fled, confus'd, along th' appointed way,
Impetuous rushing to the place decreed,
Climb the steep hill, and sweep the humble mead:
And now reluctant in their bounds subside;
Th' eternal bounds restrain the raging tide:
Yet still tumultuous with incessant roar,
It shakes the caverns, and assaults the shore.
By him, from mountains, cloth'd in livid snow,
Thro' verdant vales, the mazy fountains flow.
Here the wild horse, unconscious of the rein,
That revels boundless, o'er the wide champaign,
Imbibes the silver stream, with heat opprest
To cool the fervour of his glowing breast.
Here verdant boughs adorn'd with summer's pride,
Spread their broad shadows o'er the silver tide:
While, gently perching on the leafy spray,
Each feather'd songster tunes his various lay:
And while thy praise, they symphonize around,
Creation ecchoes to the grateful sound.
Wide o'er the heav'ns the various bow he bends.
Its tincture brightens, and its arch extends:
At the glad sign, aërial conduits flow,
The hills relent, the meads rejoice below:
By genial fervour, and prolific rain,
Gay vegetation cloaths the fertile plain;
Nature profusely good, with bliss o'er-flows,
And still she's pregnant, tho' she still bestows:
Here verdant pastures, far extended lie,
And yield the grazing herd a rich supply!
Luxuriant waving in the wanton air,
Here golden grain rewards the peasant's care!
Here vines mature, in purple clusters glow,
And heav'n above, diffuses heav'n below!
Erect and tall, here mountain cedars rise,
High o'er the clouds, and emulate the skies!
Here the winged crowds, that skim the air,
with artful toil, their little dams prepare,
Here, hatch their young, and nurse their rising care!
Up the steep-hill ascends the nimble doe,
While timid conies scour the plains below;
Or in the pendent rocks elude the scenting foe.
He bade the silver majesty of night,
Revolve her circle, and increase her light.
But if one moment thou thy face should'st hide,
Thy glory clouded, or thy smiles denied,
Then widow'd nature veils her mournful eyes,
And vents her grief, in universal cries!
Then gloomy death, with all his meagre train;
Wide o'er the nations spreads his iron reign!
Sea, earth, and air, the bounteous ravage mourn,
And all their hosts to native dust return!
Again thy glorious quickning influence shed,
The glad creation rears its drooping head:
New rising forms, thy potent smiles obey,
And life re-kindles at the genial ray;
United thanks replenish'd nature pays,
And heaven and earth resound their Maker's praise.
When time shall in eternity be lost,
And hoary nature languish into dust,
Forever young, thy glories shall remain,
Vast as thy being, endless as thy reign!
Thou from the realms of everlasting day,
See'st all thy works, at one immense survey!
Pleas'd at one view, the whole to comprehend,
Part join'd to part, concurring to one end.
If thou to earth, but turn'st thy wrathful eyes,
Her basis trembles, and her offspring dies.
Thou smit'st the hills, and at th' almighty blow,
Their summits kindle, and their entrails glow.
While this immortal spark of heav'nly flame,
Distends my breast, and animates my frame,
To thee my ardent praises shall be born,
On the first breeze, that wakes the blushing morn:
The latest star shall hear the pleasing sound,
And nature, in full choir shall join around!
When full of thee, my soul excursive flies,
Thro' earth, air, ocean or thy regal skies,
From world, to world, new wonders still I find!
And all the Godhead bursts upon my mind!
When, wing'd with whirlwinds, vice shall take her flight,
To the wide bosom of eternal night,
To thee my soul shall endless praises pay;
Join! men and angels! join th' exalted day!
Assign'd a province to each rolling sphere,
And taught the sun to regulate the year.
At his command wide hov'ring o'er the plain,
Primæval night resumes her gloomy reign.
Then from their dens impatient of delay,
The savage monsters bend their speedy way,
Howl thro' the spacious waste and chase the frighted prey.
Here walks the shaggy monarch of the wood,
Taught from thy providence to ask his food:
To thee O Father! to thy bounteous skies,
He rears his main, and rolls his glaring eyes.
He roars, the desarts tremble wide around!
And repercusive hills repeat the sound.
Now purple gems, the eastern skies adorn,
And joyful nature hails th' opening morn;
The rovers conscious of approaching day,
Fly to their shelters, and forget their prey.
Laborious man, with moderate slumber blest,
Springs chearful to his toil, from downy rest;
Till grateful ev'ning with her silver train,
Bid labour cease, and ease the weary swain!
Hail, sovereign Goodness! All productive mind!
On all thy works, thyself inscribed we find!
How various all! how variously endow'd!
How great their number! and each part how good!
How perfect then must the great parent shine!
Who with one act of energy divine,
Laid the vast plan, and finish'd the design.
Where e'er the pleasing search my thoughts pursue,
Unbounded goodness opens to my view.
Nor does our world alone, its influence share;
Exhaustless bounty, and unwearied care,
Extend thro' all th' infinitude of space,
And circle nature with a kind embrace.
The wavy kingdoms of the deep below,
Thy power, thy wisdom, and thy goodness shew,
Here various beings without number stray,
Croud the profound, or on the surface play.
Leviathan here, the mightiest of the train,
Enormous! sails incumbent o'er the main.
All these thy watchful providence supplies;
To thee alone, they turn their waiting eyes.
For them thou open'st thy exhaustless store,
Till the capacious wish can grasp no more.
[Footnote A: Biograph. Brit. Art, Brady.]
* * * * *
GEORGE STEPNEY, Esq;
This poet was descended of the family of the Stepneys of Pindigrast in
Pembrokeshire, but born in Westminster in the year 1693. He received
the rudiments of his education in Westminster school, and after making
some progress in literature there, he was removed to Trinity College
in Cambridge, where he was cotemporary with Charles Montague, esq;
afterwards earl of Halifax; and being of the same college with him,
a very strict friendship was contracted between them. To this lucky
accident of being early known to Mr. Montague, was owing all the
preferment Mr. Stepney afterwards enjoyed; for he seems not to have
had parts sufficient to have risen to any distinction, without the
immediate patronage of so great a man, as the lord Hallifax. When
Stepney first set out in life, he was perhaps attached to the Tory
interest, for one of the first poems he wrote, was an Address to
king James the Second, on his Accession to the Throne. In this little
piece, in which there is as little poetry, he compares that monarch to
Hercules, but with what propriety let the reader judge. Soon after
the accession of James II. when Monmouth's rebellion broke out, the
university of Cambridge, to demonstrate their zeal for the King,
thought proper to burn the picture of that rash Prince, who had
formerly been their chancellor. Upon this occasion Stepney wrote some
good verses, in answer to this question;
——Sed quid
Turba Remi? sequitur fortunam, ut semper
et odit damnatos.
Upon the revolution he embraced another interest, and procured himself
to be nominated for several foreign embassies. In the year 1692 he
went to the elector of Brandenburgh's court in quality of envoy, and,
in the year following, to the Imperial court in the same character. In
1694 he was sent to the elector of Saxony, and two years after to the
electors of Mentz, Cologn, &c. and the congress at Francfort. He was
employed in several other embassies, and in the year 1706 Queen Anne
sent him envoy to the States General. He was very successful in his
negotiations, which occasioned his constant employment in the most
weighty affairs. At his leisure hours he composed several other pieces
of poetry besides those already mentioned; which are chiefly these,
An Epistle to the Earl of Hallifax, on his Majesty's
Voyage to Holland.
A Translation of the Eighth Satire of Juvenal.
To the Earl of Carlisle upon the Death of his
Son.
Some Imitations of Horace's Odes.
The Austrian Eagle.
The Nature of Dreams.
A Poem to the Memory of Queen Mary.
These performances are not very long, nor are the subjects upon
which they are written very considerable. It seems probable that the
eminence to which Stepney rose, must have been more owing to some
personal kindness lord Hallifax had for him, than to his merit as a
writer. In raising Stepney, his lordship might act as the friend
of the man, but not as a patron of the poet. Friendship, in many
respects, participates of the nature of love; it begins, we know
not how, it strengthens by imperceptible degrees, and grows into an
established firmness. Such might be the regard lord Hallifax had for
Stepney, but we may venture to assert, from his lordship's exquisite
taste in poetry, that he never could highly admire the pretty trifles
which compose the works of this author; and which are printed amongst
the works of the Minor Poets, published some years ago by Mr. Tonson
in two volumes 12mo.[A]
Our author died at Chelsea in the year 1707, and was buried in
Westminster-Abbey, where a fine monument is erected over him, with the
following inscription upon the pedestal;
H.S.E.
GEORGIUS STEPNEIUS, Armiger,
viz.
Ob Ingenii acumen,
Literarum Scientiam,
Morum Suavitatem,
Rerum Usum,
Virorum Amplissimorum Consuetudinem,
Linguæ, Styli ac Vitæ Elegantiam,
Praeclara Officia cum Britanniæ; tum Europæ Praestita,
Suâ ætate multum celebratus,
Apud Posteros semper celebrandus;
Plurimas Legationes obiit
Ea Fide, Diligentiâ, & Felicitate,
Ut Augustissimorum Principum
GULIELMI & ANNÆ
Spem in illo repositam
Nunquam sesellerit,
Haud raro superavit.
Post longum honorum Cursum
Brevi Temporis spatio confectum,
Cum Naturæ parvæ Fama satis vixerat,
Animam ad altiora aspirantem placide efflavit.
On the left hand.
G.S.
Ex Equestri Familia STEPNEIORUM,
De PENDEGRAST, in Comitatu
PEMBROCHIENSI ORIENDUS,
WESTMONASTERII natus est, A.D. 1663.
Electus in Collegium
Sancti PETRI WESTMONAST. A, 1676.
Sanctæ TRINITATIS CANTAB. 1682.
Consiliariorum quibus Commercii
Cura commissa est 1697.
CHELSEIÆ mortuus, & Comitante
Magna Procerum
Frequentiâ huc elatus, 1707.
On the right hand is a particular account of all his employments
abroad.
As a specimen of Mr. Stepney's poetry, we shall quote the following
lines on the Nature of Dreams,
At dead of night imperial reason sleeps,
And fancy with her train loose revels keeps:
Then airy phantoms a mixt scene display,
Of what we heard, or saw, or wish'd by day;
For memory those images retains
Which passion form'd, and still the strongest reigns,
Huntsmen renew the chase they lately run;
And generals fight again their battles won.
Spectres and furies haunt the murth'rers dreams;
Grants, or disgraces, are the courtiers themes.
The miser spies a thief, or some new hoard,
The cit's a knight, the sycophant a lord.
Thus fancy's in the wild distraction lost
With what we most abhor, or covet most.
But of all passions that our dreams controul,
Love prints the deepest image in the soul;
For vigorous fancy, and warm blood dispense
Pleasures so lively, that they rival sense.
Such are the transports of a willing maid,
Not yet by time and place to act betray'd.
Whom spies, or some faint virtue force to fly
That scene of joy, which yet she dies to try.
'Till fancy bawds, and by mysterious charms
Brings the dear object to her longing arms;
Unguarded then she melts, acts fierce delight,
And curses the returns of envious light.
In such bless'd dreams Biblis enjoys a flame;
Which waking she detests, and dares not name.
Ixion gives a loose to his wild love,
And in his airy visions cuckolds Jove.
Honours and state before this phantom fall;
For sleep, like death its image, equals all.
Our author likewise wrote some political pieces in prose, particularly
an Essay on the present Interest of England, 1701. To which are added,
The Proceedings of the House of Commons in 1677, upon the French
King's Progress in Flanders. This piece is reprinted in Cogan's
Collection of Tracts, called Lord Somers's Collection.
[Footnote A: And likewise of another work of the same kind, in two
volumes also, published by one Cogan.]
* * * * *
Major RICHARDSON PACK,
This gentleman was the son of John Pack, of Stocke-Ash in Suffolk,
esq; who in the year 1697 was high sheriff of that county. He had
his early education at a private country school, and was removed from
thence to Merchant Taylor's, where he received his first taste of
letters; for he always reckoned that time which he spent at the former
school as lost, since he had only contracted bad habits, and was
obliged to unlearn what had been taught him there.
At the age of sixteen he was removed to St. John's College in Oxford.
About eighteen his father entered him of the Middle Temple, designing
him for the profession of the Law; and by the peculiar indulgence
of the treasurer, and benchers of that honourable society, he was at
eight Terms standing admitted barrister, when he had not much exceeded
the age of 20. But a sedentary studious life agreeing as ill with his
health, as a formal one with his inclinations, he did not long
pursue those studies. After some wavering in his thoughts, he at last
determined his views to the army, as being better suited to the gaiety
of his temper, and the sprightliness of his genius, and where he hoped
to meet with more freedom, as well as more action. His first command
was that of a company of foot in March 1705. In November 1710 the
regiment in which he served was one of those two of English foot, that
were with the marshal Staremberg at the battle of Villa Viciosa, the
day after general Stanhope, and the troops under his command were
taken at Brighuega[A], where the major being killed, and our author's
behaviour being equal to the occasion on which he acted, his grace the
duke of Argyle confirmed his pretensions to that vacancy, by giving
him the commission of the deceased major, immediately on his arrival
in Spain. It was this accident which first introduced our gallant
soldier to the acquaintance of that truly noble and excellent person,
with whose protection and patronage he was honoured during the
remaining part of his life.
The ambition he had to celebrate his grace's heroic virtues (at a
time when there subsisted a jealousy between him and the duke of
Marlborough, and it was fashionable by a certain party to traduce him)
gave birth to some of the best of his performances.
What other pieces the major has written in verse, are, for the most
part, the unlaboured result of friendship, or love; and the amusement
of those few solitary intervals in a life that seldom wanted either
serious business, or social pleasures, of one kind or other, entirely
to fill up the circle. They are all published in one volume, together
with a translation of the Life of Miltiades and Cymon, from Cornelius
Nepos; the first edition was in 1725.
The most considerable of them are the following,
1. The Muse's Choice, or the Progress of Wit.
2. On Friendship. To Colonel Stanhope.
3. To Mr. Addison, occasioned by the news of
the victory obtained over the Rebels in Scotland,
by his Grace the Duke of Argyle.
4. To Lady Catherine Manners.
5. The Lovers Parting.
6. The Retreat.
7. An Epistle from a Half-pay Officer in the
Country, to his Friend in Town.
8. Upon Religious Solitude; occasioned by
reading the Inscription on the Tomb of Casimir
King of Poland, who abdicated his Crown, and
spent the remainder of his life in the Abbey of
St. Germains, near Paris, where he lies interred.
9. A Pastoral in Imitation of Virgil's Second
Eclogue.
10. The 2d, 3d, and 4th Elegies of the Fourth
Book of Tibullus.
11. Elegy. Sylvia to Amintor, in Imitation of
Ovid. After Sylvia is enjoyed, she gives this Advice
to her sex.
Trust not the slight defence of female pride.
Nor in your boasted honour much confide;
So still the motion, and so smooth the dart,
It steals unfelt into the heedless heart.
A Prologue to the Tragedy of Sir Walter Raleigh, and an Epilogue
to Mr. Southern's Spartan Dame. In the former he has the following
beautiful lines on Ambition;
Ambition is a mistress few enjoy!
False to our hopes, and to our wishes coy;
The bold she bafflles, and defeats the strong;
And all are ruined who pursue her long;
Yet so bewitching are her fatal charms,
We think it heav'n to die within her arms.
Major Pack obliged the world with some Memoirs of the Life of Mr.
Wycherley, which are prefixed to Theobald's edition of that author.
Mr. Jacob mentions a piece of his which he saw in MS. entitled
Religion and Philosophy, which, says he, with his other works,
demonstrate the author to be a polite writer, and a man of wit and
gallantry.
This amiable gentleman died at Aberdeen in Scotland, in the month of
September 1728, colonel Montague's regiment, in which he was then a
major, being quartered there.
[Footnote A: Vide Jacob's Lives.]
* * * * *
Sir WILLIAM DAWES, Baronet (Archbishop of YORK,)
This revd. prelate was descended from an ancient, and honourable
family in the county of Essex; he was educated at Merchant-Taylor's
school, London, and from thence elected to St. John's College in
Oxford, of which he was afterwards fellow.
He was the youngest of four brothers, three of whom dying young, the
title, and estate of the family fell to him. As soon as he had taken
his first degree in arts, and upon the family estate devolving to him,
he resigned his fellowship, and left Oxford. For some time he gave his
attention to the affairs of his estate, but finding his inclination
lead him more to study, than rural affairs, he entered into holy
orders. Sir William did not long remain in the church without
preferment; his fortune, and family assisted him to rise; for it often
happens that these advantages will do much more for a man, as well in
the ecclesiastical, as in other classes of life, than the brightest
parts without them. Before he was promoted to the mitre, he was made
master of Catherine Hall in Cambridge, chaplain to Queen Anne, and
dean of Bocking.
In the year 1708 he was consecrated bishop of Chester, and in 1713
was translated to the archbishopric of York. While he was at the
university, before he went into orders, he wrote the Anatomy of
Atheism, a Poem, dedicated to Sir George Darcy Bart. printed in the
year 1701, 8vo.
The design of this piece, as his lordship declares in the preface,
'is to expose the folly of those men, who are arrived at that pitch of
impudence and prophaneness, that they think it a piece of wit to
deny the Being of a God, and to laugh at that which they cannot argue
against.' Such characters are well described in the following lines,
See then our Atheist all the world oppose,
And like Drawcansir make all men his foes.
See with what fancy pride he does pretend,
His miser father's notions to amend,
Huffs Plutarch, Plato, Pliny, Seneca,
And bids even Cicero himself give way.
Tells all the world, they follow a false light,
And he alone, of all mankind is right.
Thus, like a madman, who when all alone,
Thinks himself King, and every chair a throne,
Drunk with conceit, and foolish impudence,
He prides himself in his abounding sense.
This prelate is said to have united the gentleman, and the divine,
which both shone out with equal lustre in him. He was esteemed in his
time a very popular preacher; his piety was great, and conspicuous;
his charity and benevolence equalled by few, and his good nature, and
humanity the most extensive.
Our author died in the 53d year of his age, April 30, 1724. We have
no account of any other of his grace's poetical works, probably the
business of his high station diverted his mind from the amusements of
poetry.
The archbishop has written several sermons upon the Eternity of Hell
Torments, a doctrine which he has laboured to vindicate; also sermons
upon various other subjects.
* * * * *
WILLIAM CONGREVE, Esq;
This gentleman was descended from the ancient house of Congreve in
Staffordshire, but authors differ as to the place of his birth; some
contend that he was born in Ireland[A], others that he drew his first
breath at the village of Bardsa, near Leeds in Yorkshire, which was
the estate of a near relation of his by his mother's side. Mr. Jacob,
in his preface to the Lives of the Poets, has informed us, that he
had the advice and assistance of Mr. Congreve in that work, who
communicated to him many particulars of the lives of cotemporary
writers, as well as of himself, and as Mr. Congreve can hardly be
thought ignorant of the place of his own birth, and Mr. Jacob has
asserted it to be in England, no room is left to doubt of it. The
learned antiquary of Ireland, Sir James Ware, has reckoned our author
amongst his own country worthies, from the relation of Southern; but
Mr. Congreve's own account, if Jacob may be relied on, is more than
equal to that of Southern, who possibly might be mistaken.
About the year 1671, or 1672, our author was born, and his father
carried him, when a child, into Ireland, where he then had a command
in the army, but afterwards was entrusted with the management of a
considerable estate, belonging to the noble family of Burlington,
which fixed his residence there[B]. Mr. Congreve received the first
tincture of letters in the great school of Kilkenny, and, according
to common report, gave early proofs of a poetical genius; his first
attempt in poetry was a copy of verses on the death of his master's
Magpye.
He went from the school of Kilkenny to the university of Dublin, where
under the direction of Dr. George Ash, he acquired a general knowledge
of the classics. His father, who was desirous that his studies should
be directed to a profitable employment, sent him over to England
a little after the revolution, and placed him as a student in the
Middle-Temple. But the severe study of the Law was so ill adapted to
the sprightly genius of Congreve, that he never attempted to reconcile
himself to a way of life, for which he had the greatest aversion. But
however he disappointed his friends with respect to the proficiency
they expected him to make in the Law; yet it is certain he was not
negligent in those studies to which his genius led him.
Mr. Congreve's first performance, written when but a youth of
seventeen, was a Novel, dedicated to Mrs. Katherine Leveson, which
gave proof, not only of a great vivacity of wit, but also a fluency of
stile, and a solid judgment. He was conscious that young men in their
early productions generally aimed at a florid stile, and enthusiastic
descriptions, without any regard to the plot, fable, or subserviency
of the parts; for this reason he formed a new model, and gave an
example how works of that kind should be written. He pursued a regular
plan, observed a general moral, and carried on a connexion, as well as
distinction, between his characters.
This performance is entitled Incognita, or Love and Duty Reconciled;
it has been asserted that this is a real history, and though the scene
is laid in Italy, the adventures happened in England; it is not our
business to enter into the secret history of this entertaining piece,
or to attempt giving the reader a key to what the writer took so much
pains to conceal. It appears from this piece, that Mr. Congreve aimed
at perfection from the very beginning, and his design in writing this
novel, was to shew, how novels ought to be written. Let us hear what
he says himself, and from thence we shall entertain a higher opinion
of his abilities, than could possibly be raised by the warmest
commendations. After very judiciously observing, that there is the
same relation between romances and novels as between tragedy and
comedy, he proceeds thus: 'Since all traditions must indisputably give
glace to the drama, and since there is no possibility of giving that
life to the writing, or repetition of a story, which it has in the
action; I resolved in another beauty to imitate dramatic writing,
namely, in the design, contexture, and result in the plot. I have
not observed it before in a novel. Some I have seen begin with an
unexpected accident which has been the only surprizing part of
the story, cause enough to make the sequel look flat, tedious, and
insipid; for 'tis but reasonable the reader should expect, if not to
rise, at least to keep upon a level in the entertainment, for so he
may be kept on, in hopes, that some time, or other, it may mend; but
the other is such a baulk to a man, 'tis carrying him up stairs to
shew him the dining room, and afterwards force him to make a meal in
the kitchen. This I have not only endeavoured to avoid, but also have
used a method for the contrary purpose. The design of this novel
is obvious, after the first meeting of Aurelian and Hippolito, with
Incognita, and Leonora; the difficulty is in bringing it to pass,
maugre all apparent obstacles within the compass of two days. How many
probable casualties intervene, in opposition to the main design, viz.
of marrying two couple so oddly engaged in an intricate amour, I leave
the reader at his leisure to consider; as also whether every obstacle
does not, in the progress of the story, act as subservient to that
purpose, which at first it seems to oppose. In a comedy this would
be called the unity of action, here it may pretend to no more than
an unity of contrivance. The scene is continued in Florence from the
commencement of the amour, and the time from first to last, is but
three days.'
Soon after Mr. Congreve's return to England, he amused himself, during
a slow recovery from a fit of sickness, with writing a comedy. Captain
Southern, in conjunction with Mr. Dryden, and Arthur Manwayring, esq;
revised this performance, which was the Old Batchelor; of which Mr.
Dryden said, he never saw such a first play in his life, adding, that
the author not being acquainted with the stage, or the town, it would
be pity to have it miscarry for want of a little assistance. Mr.
Thomas Davenant, who had then the direction of the Theatre-Royal in
Drury-Lane, had so high a sense of the merit of the piece, and was
so charmed with the author's conversation, that he granted him the
freedom of the house before his play came on, which, according to
the maxims of theatrical government, was not only an unusual, but an
unprecedented favour. In 1693 the Old Batchelor was acted before a
numerous, and polite audience. The play was received with such general
applause, that Mr. Congreve was then considered as a prop to the
declining stage, and a rising genius in dramatic poetry. It was this
play, and the singular success which attended it upon the stage, that
introduced our author to the acquaintance of the earl of Hallifax, who
was then the professed patron of men of wit; and who, being desirous
to raise a man of so promising a genius, above the necessity of too
hasty productions, made him one of the commissioners for licensing
Hackney coaches. The earl bestowed upon him soon after a place in the
Pipe-Office, and gave him likewise a post in the Custom-House, to the
value of 600 l. per annum.
In the following year Mr. Congreve brought upon the stage the Double
Dealer, which met not with so good a reception as the former.
Mr. Congreve has informed us in the dedication of this play, to
Charles Montague, esq; that he was very assiduous to learn from the
critics what objections could be found to it; but, says he, 'I have
heard nothing to provoke an answer. That which looks most like an
objection, does not relate in particular to this play, but to all; or
most that ever have been written, and that is soliloquy; therefore
I will answer it, not only for my own sake, but to save others the
trouble to whom it may be hereafter objected. I grant, that for a man
to talk to himself, appears absurd, and unnatural, and indeed it is
so in most cases, but the circumstances which may attend the occasion,
makes great alteration. It often happens to a man to have designs,
which require him to himself, and in their nature cannot admit of
a confident. Such for certain is all villainy, and other less
mischievous intentions may be very improper to be communicated to a
second person. In such a case, therefore the audience must observe,
whether the person upon the stage takes any notice of them at all, or
no: for if he supposes any one to be by,[C] when he talks to himself,
it is monstrous and ridiculous to the last degree; nay not only
in this case, but in any part of a play, if there is expressed any
knowledge of an audience it is insufferable. But otherwise, when a man
in a soliloquy reasons with himself, and pro's and con's, and weighs
all his designs, we ought not to imagine that this man either talks to
us, or to himself; he is only thinking, and thinking such matter,
as it were inexcusable folly in him to speak. But, because we are
concealed spectators of the plot in agitation, and the poet finds it
necessary to let us know the whole mystery of his contrivance, he is
willing to inform us of this person's thoughts, and to that end is
forced to make use of the expedient of speech, no other, or better way
being yet invented for the communication of thought.'
Towards the close of the same year Queen Mary died. Upon that occasion
Mr. Congreve produced an elegiac Pastoral, a composition which the
admirers of this poet have extolled in the most lavish terms of
admiration, but which seems not to merit the incense it obtained.
When Mr. Betterton opened the new house at Lincoln's-Inn, Congreve
took part with him, and gave him his celebrated comedy of Love for
Love, then introduced upon the stage, with the most extraordinary
success. This comedy, with some more of our author's, was smartly
criticised by the ingenious Mr. Collier, as containing lessons of
immorality, and a representation of loose characters, which can never,
in his opinion, appear on a stage without corrupting the audience.
Messrs. Congreve, Dennis, and Dryden, engaged in a vigorous defence
of the English stage, and endeavoured to shew the necessity of such
characters being introduced in order to be exposed, and laughed at. To
all their defences Mr. Collier replied, and managed the point with so
much learning, wit, and keenness, that in the opinion of many, he had
the better of his antagonists, especially Mr. Congrove, whose
comedies it must be owned, though they are admirably written, and the
characters strongly marked, are so loose, that they have given great
offence: and surely we pay too dear for pleasure, when we have it at
the expence of morality.
The same year he distinguished himself in another kind of poetry, viz.
an irregular Ode on the taking Namure, which the critics have allowed
to contain fine sentiments, gracefully expressed. His reputation as
a comic poet being sufficiently established, he was desirous of
extending his fame, by producing a tragedy. It has been alledged, that
some, who were jealous of his growing reputation, put him upon this
task, in order, as they imagined, to diminish it, for he seemed to be
of too gay and lively a disposition for tragedy, and in all likelihood
would miscarry in the attempt. However,
In 1697, after the expectation of the town had been much raised, the
Mourning Bride appeared on the New Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields:
few plays ever excited so great an ardour of expectation as this,
and very few ever succeeded to such an extravagant degree. There is
something new in the management of the plot; after moving the passions
of the audience to the greatest commiseration, he brings off his
principal characters, punishes the guilty, and makes the play conclude
happily.
The controversy we have just now mentioned, was thought to have
occasioned a dislike in Mr. Congreve towards the stage; yet he
afterwards produced another comedy called The Way of the World, which
was so just a picture of the world, that, as an author prettily says,
The world could not bear it.
The reception this play met with, compleated our author's disgust to
the theatre; upon which Mr. Dennis, who was a warm friend to Congreve,
made this fine observation, 'that Mr. Congreve quitted the stage
early, and that comedy left it with him.'
It is said that when Congreve found his play met with but indifferent
success, he came in a passion on the stage, and desired the audience
to save themselves the trouble of shewing their dislike; for he never
intended to write again for the Theatre, nor submit his works to the
censure of impotent critics. In this particular he kept his word with
them, and as if he had foreseen the fate of his play, he took an ample
revenge, in his Epilogue, of the race of Little Snarlers, who excited
by envy, and supported by false ideas of their own importance, dared
to constitute themselves judges of wit, without any just pretensions
to it. This play has long ago triumphed over its enemies, and is now
in great esteem amongst the best judges of Theatrical Entertainments.
Though Mr. Congreve quitted the stage, yet did not he give up the
cause of poetry; for on the death of the marquis of Blandford, the
only son of the duke of Marlborough, which happened in 1705, we find
him composing a pastoral to soften the grief of that illustrious
family, which he addressed to the lord treasurer Godolphin.
About the same time, the extraordinary success of the duke of
Marlborough's arms, furnished him with materials for an Ode to Queen
Anne. In another Pindaric Ode he celebrates the lord Godolphin; taking
occasion from that nobleman's delight in horse-racing to imitate
the Greek Poet in his favourite manner of writing, by an elegant
digression; to which he added a criticism on that species of poetry.
As in the early part of his life, Mr. Congreve had received favours
from people of a less exalted station, so of these he was highly
sensible, and never let slip any opportunity of shewing his gratitude.
He wrote an Epilogue to his old friend Southern's Tragedy of Oroonoko;
and Mr. Dryden has acknowledged his assistance in the translation
of Virgil: He contributed by his Version of the eleventh Satire
of Juvenal, to the translation of that poet, published also by Mr.
Dryden, to whom Mr. Congreve wrote a copy of Verses on his Translation
of Persius. He wrote likewise a Prologue for a Play of Mr. Charles
Dryden's, full of kindness for that young gentleman, and of respect
for his father.
But the noblest testimony he gave of his filial regard to the memory
of his poetical father, Mr. John Dryden, was the Panegyric he wrote
upon his works, contained in the dedication of Dryden's plays to the
duke of Newcastle.
Mr. Congreve translated the third Book of Ovid's Art of Love; some
favourite passages from the Iliad, and writ some Epigrams, in all
which he was not unsuccessful, though at the same time he has been
exceeded by his cotemporaries in the same attempts.
The author of the elegant Letters, not long ago published under the
name of Fitz Osborne, has taken some pains to set before his readers;
the version of those parts of Homer, translated by our author, and
the same passages by Pope and Tickell, in which comparison the palm is
very deservedly yielded to Pope.
Our author wrote a Satire called Doris, celebrated by Sir Richard
Steele, who was a warm friend to Mr. Congreve. He also wrote the
Judgment of Paris, a Masque; and the Opera of Semele; of these, the
former was acted with great applause, and the latter is finely set
to music by Mr. Eccles. The last of his Poetical Works, is his Art of
Pleasing, addressed to Sir Richard Temple, the late viscount Cobham.
He has written many Prose Epistles, dispersed in the works of other
writers, and his Essay on Humour in Comedy, published in a Collection
of Dennis's Letters, is an entertaining, and correct piece of
criticism: All his other Letters are written with a great deal of wit
and spirit, a fine flow of language; and are so happily intermixt with
a lively and inoffensive raillery, that it is impossible not to be
pleased with them at the first reading: we may be satisfied from the
perusal of them, that his conversation must have been very engaging,
and therefore we need not wonder that he was caressed by the greatest
men of his time, or that they courted his friendship by every act of
kindness in their power.
It is said of Mr. Congreve, that he was a particular favourite with
the ladies, some of whom were of the first distinction. He indulged
none of those reveries, and affected absences so peculiar to men of
wit: He was sprightly as well as elegant in his manner, and so much
the favourite of Henrietta duchess of Marlborough, that even after
his death, she caused an image of him to be every day placed at her
toilet-table, to which she would talk as to the living Mr. Congreve,
with all the freedom of the most polite and unreserved conversation.
Mrs. Bracegirdle likewise had the highest veneration for our author,
and joined with her Grace in a boundless profusion of sorrow upon his
death. Some think, he had made a better figure in his Last Will, had
he remembered his friendship he professed for Mrs. Bracegirdle, whose
admirable performance added spirit to his dramatic pieces; but he
forgot her, and gratified his vanity by chusing to make a rich duchess
his sole legatee, and executrix.
Mr. Congreve was the son of fortune, as well as of the muses. He was
early preferred to an affluent situation, and no change of ministry
ever affected him, nor was he ever removed from any post he enjoyed,
except to a better.
His place in the custom-house, and his office of secretary in Jamaica,
are said to have brought him in upwards of 1200 l. a year; and he was
so far an oeconomist, as to raise from thence a competent estate. No
man of his learning ever pass'd thro' life with more ease, or less
envy; and as in the dawn of his reputation he was very dear to the
greatest wits of his time, so during his whole life he preserved the
utmost respect of, and received continual marks of esteem from, men
of genius and letters, without ever being involved, in any of their
quarrels, or drawing upon himself the least mark of distaste, or, even
dissatisfaction. The greatest part of the last twenty years of his
life were spent in ease and retirement, and he gave himself no trouble
about reputation. When the celebrated Voltaire was in England, he
waited upon Congreve, and pass'd some compliments upon him, as to the
reputation and merit of his works; Congreve thanked him, but at
the same time told that ingenious foreigner, he did not chuse to be
considered as an author, but only as a private gentleman, and in that
light expected to be visited. Voltaire answered, 'That if he had never
been any thing but a private gentleman, in all probability, he had
never been troubled with that visit.'
Mr. Voltaire upon this occasion observes, that he was not a little
disgusted with so unseasonable a piece of vanity:—This was indeed the
highest instance of it, that perhaps can be produced. A man who owed
to his wit and writings the reputation, as well as the fortune, he
acquired, pretending to divest himself of human nature to such a
degree, as to have no consciousness of his own merit, was the most
absurd piece of vanity that ever entered into the heart of man; and
of all vanity, that is the greatest which masks itself under the
appearance of the opposite quality.
Towards the close of his life, he was much troubled with the gout;
and for this reason, in the summer of the year 1728, he made a tour to
Bath, for the benefit of the waters, where he had the misfortune to be
overturned in his chariot, from which time he complained of a pain in
his side, which was supposed to arise from some inward bruise. Upon
his return to London, he perceived his health gradually decline, which
he bore with fortitude and resignation.
On January the 19th, 1728-9, he yielded his last breath, about five
o'clock in the morning, at his house in Surrey-street in the Strand,
in the fifty-seventh year of his age. On the sunday following, January
26, his corpse lay in state in the Jerusalem-Chamber, from whence the
same evening, between the hours of nine and ten, it was carried with
great decency and solemnity to Henry the VIIth's Chapel; and after the
funeral service was performed, it was interred in the Abbey. The pall
was supported by the duke of Bridgewater, earl of Godolphin, lord
Cobham, lord Wilmington, the honourable George Berkley, Esq; and
Brigadier-general Churchill; and colonel Congreve followed his corpse
as chief mourner; some time after, a neat and elegant monument was
erected to his memory, by Henrietta duchess of Marlborough.
Mr. Congreve's reputation is so extensive, and his works so generally
read, that any specimen of his poetry may be deemed superfluous. But
finding an epistle of our author's in the Biographia Brittannica, not
inserted in his works, it may not be improper to give it a place here.
It is addressed to the lord viscount Cobham, and the ingenious authors
inform us, that they copied it from a MS. very correct.
As in this poem there is a visible allusion to the measures, which the
writer thought were too complaisant to the French, it is evident it
must have been penned but a very small time before his death.
Of improving the present time.
Sincerest critic of my prose, or rhyme.
Tell how thy pleasing Stowe employs thy time.
Say, Cobham, what amuses thy retreat?
Or stratagems of war, or schemes of state?
Dost thou recall to mind, with joy or grief,
Great Marlbro's actions? that immortal chief,
Whose highest trophy, rais'd in each campaign,
More than suffic'd to signalize a reign.
Does thy remembrance rising, warm thy heart
With glory past, where thou thyself had'st part;
Or do'st thou grieve indignant, now to see
The fruitless end of all thy victory!
To see th' audacious foe, so late subdu'd,
Dispute those terms for which so long they su'd,
As if Britannia now were sunk so low,
To beg that peace she wanted to bestow.
Be far, that guilt! be never known that shame!
That England should retract her rightful claim!
Or ceasing to be dreaded and ador'd,
Stain with her pen the lustre of her sword.
Or dost thou give the winds, a-far to blow,
Each vexing thought, and heart-devouring woe,
And fix thy mind alone on rural scenes,
To turn the levell'd lawns to liquid plains;
To raise the creeping rills from humble beds,
And force the latent springs to lift their heads;
On watry columns capitals to rear,
That mix their flowing curls with upper air?
Or dost thou, weary grown, late works neglect,
No temples, statues, obelisks erect;
But catch the morning breeze from fragrant meads.
Or shun the noon-tide ray in wholesome shades;
Or lowly walk along the mazy wood,
To meditate on all that's wise and good:
For nature, bountiful, in thee has join'd,
A person pleasing, with a worthy mind,
Not giv'n the form alone, but means and art,
To draw the eye, or to allure the heart.
Poor were the praise, in fortune to excel,
Yet want the way to use that fortune well.
While thus adorn'd, while thus with virtue crown'd,
At home in peace; abroad, in arms renown'd;
Graceful in form, and winning in address,
While well you think, what aptly you express;
With health, with honour, with a fair estate,
A table free, and elegantly neat.
What can be added more to mortal bliss?
What can he want that stands possest of this?
What can the fondest wishing mother more,
Of heav'n attentive, for her son implore?
And yet, a happiness remains unknown,
Or to philosophy reveal'd alone;
A precept which, unpractis'd, renders vain
Thy flowing hopes, and pleasure turns to pain.
Shou'd hope and fear thy heart alternate tear,
Or love, or hate, or rage, or anxious care,
Whatever passions may thy mind infest,
(Where is that mind which passions ne'er molest?)
Amidst the pangs of such intestine strife,
Still think the present day the last of life;
Defer not 'till to-morrow to be wise,
To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise;
Or shou'd to-morrow chance to chear thy sight,
With her enliv'ning, and unlook'd-for light.
How grateful will appear her dawning rays!
Its favours unexpected doubly please.
Who thus can think, and who such thoughts pursues,
Content may keep his life, or calmly lose.
All proofs of this, thou may'st thyself receive,
When leisure from affairs will give thee leave.
Come, see thy friend retir'd, without regret,
Forgetting care, or striving to forget,
In easy contemplation, soothing time
With morals much, and now and then with rhyme;
Not so robust in body as in mind,
And always undejected, tho' declin'd;
Not wond'ring at the world's new wicked ways,
Compar'd with those of our fore-father's days:
For virtue now is neither more or less,
And vice is only vary'd in the dress:
Believe it, men have ever been the same,
And OVID'S GOLDEN AGE is but a dream.
We shall conclude the life of this eminent wit, with the testimony
of Mr. Pope in his favour, from the close of his postscript to the
translation of Homer: It is in every respect so honourable, that
it would be injurious to Mr. Congreve to omit it.—His words
are—'Instead of endeavouring to raise a vain monument to myself, let
me leave behind me a memorial of my friendship with one of the most
valuable men, as well as the finest writers of my age and country.
One who has tried, and knows by his own experience, how hard an
undertaking it is to do justice to Homer, and one who I'm sure
sincerely rejoices with me at the period of my labours. To him
therefore, having brought this long work to a conclusion, I desire to
dedicate it, and have the honour and satisfaction of placing together
in this manner, the names of Mr. Congreve and of
A. POPE.
[Footnote A: General Dictionary.]
[Footnote B: Wilson's Memoirs of Congreve.]
[Footnote C: Yet Maskwell purposely talks to himself, designing to be
overheard by Lord Touchwood; undoubtedly an error in the conduit, and
want of art in the author. This he seems here to forget, or would not
remember it.]
* * * * *
Sir JOHN VANBRUGH,
This Gentleman was descended from an antient family in Cheshire, which
came originally from France; though by the name it would appear to be
of Dutch extraction. He received a very liberal education, and became
eminent for his poetry, and skill in architecture, to both which
he discovered an early propension. It is somewhat remarkable in
the History of Poetry, that when the spirit of Tragedy, in a great
measure, declined, when Otway and Lee were dead, and Dryden was
approaching to old age, that Comedy should then begin to flourish; at
an Æra, which one would not have expected to prove auspicious to the
cause of mirth.
Much about the same time rose Mr. Congreve, and Sir John Vanbrugh;
who, without any invidious reflection on the genius of others, gave
a new life to the stage, and restored it to reputation, which before
their appearance had been for some time sinking. Happy would it have
been for the world, and some advantage to the memory of those comic
writers, if they had discovered their wit, without any mixture of
that licentiousness, which while it pleased, tended to corrupt
the audience. The first step our author made into life, was in the
character of an ensign in the army. He was possessed of a very ready
wit, and an agreeable elocution. He happened somewhere in his winter
quarters, to contract an acquaintance with Sir Thomas Skipwith,
and received a particular obligation from him. He had very early
discovered a taste for dramatic writing, to improve which he made
some attempts in that way, and had the draft or out-lines of two plays
lying by him, at the time his acquaintance commenced with Sir Thomas.
This gentleman possessed a large share in a Theatrical Patent, though
he very little concerned himself in the conduct of it; but that
he might not appear altogether remiss, he thought to procure some
advantage to the stage, by having our author's play, called the
Relapse, to be acted upon it. In this he was not disappointed, for
the Relapse succeeded beyond the warmest expectation, and raised
Vanbrugh's name very high amongst the writers for the stage.
Tho' this play met with greater applause, than the author expected,
yet it was not without its enemies. These were people of the graver
sort, who blamed the looseness of the scenes, and the unguarded
freedom of the dialect. These complaints induced Vanbrugh to make some
observations upon them in his preface, which he thus begins, 'To go
about to excuse half the defects this abortive brat is come into the
world with, would be to provoke the town with a long useless preface,
when 'tis, I doubt, sufficiently sour'd already, by a tedious play.
'I do therefore, with all the humility of a repenting sinner, confess
it wants every thing—but length, and in that I hope the severest
critics will be pleased to acknowledge, I have not been wanting. But
my modesty will sure attone for every thing, when the world shall know
it is so great, I am even to this day insensible of those two shining
graces, in the play (which some part of the town is pleased to
compliment me with) blasphemy and bawdy. For my part I cannot find
them out; if there were any obscene expressions upon the stage,
here they are in print; for I have dealt fairly, I have not sunk a
syllable, that could be ranged under that head, and yet I believe with
a steady faith, there is not one woman of real reputation in town, but
when she has read it impartially over in her closet, will find it so
innocent, she'll think it no affront to her prayer book, to lay it
upon the same shelf.'
Being encouraged by the success of the Relapse, he yielded to the
sollicitation of lord Hallifax, who had read some of the loose sheets
of his Provok'd Wife, to finish that piece; and after throwing
them into a proper form, gave the play to the Theatre in
Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Though Sir John had a greater inclination to
serve the other company, yet the request of lord Hallifax, so eminent
a patron of the poets, could not be resisted. Sir Thomas Skipwith was
not offended at so reasonable a compliance, and the Provok'd Wife was
acted 1698, with success. Some critics likewise objected against this,
as a loose performance; and that it taught the married women how to
revenge themselves on their husbands, who should offend them.
The play has indeed this moral, that such husbands as resemble Sir
John Brute, may expect that neglected beauty, and abused virtue, may
be provoked to yield to the motives of revenge, and that the forcible
sollicitations of an agreeable person, who not only demonstrates
a value, but a passion for what the possessor slights, may be
sufficiently prevalent with an injured wife to forfeit her honour.
Though this event may often fall out, that the brutality of a husband
produces the infidelity of a wife, yet it need not be shewn upon the
stage; women are not generally so tame in their natures, as to bear
neglect with patience, and the natural resentments of the human
heart will without any other monitor point out the method of revenge.
Besides, every husband ought not to be deemed a brute, because a too
delicate, or ceremonious wife, shall, in the abundance of her caprice,
bestow upon him that appellation. Many women who have beheld this
representation, may have been stimulated to imitate lady Brute in her
method of revenge, without having suffered her provocation. This play
verifies the observation of Mr. Pope,
That Van wants grace, who never wanted wit.
The next play which Sir John Vanbrugh introduced upon the stage
was Aesop, a Comedy; in two Parts, acted at the Theatre-Royal in
Drury-Lane 1698. This was originally written in French, by Mr.
Boursart, about six years before; but the scenes of Sir Polidorus
Hogstye, the Players, the Senator, and the Beau, were added by our
author. This performance contains a great deal of general satire,
and useful morality; notwithstanding which, it met with but a cold
reception from the audience, and its run terminated in about 8 or 9
days. This seemed the more surprising to men of taste, as the French
comedy from which it was taken, was played to crowded audiences for
a month together. Sir John has rather improved upon the original by
adding new scenes, than suffered it to be diminished in a translation,
but the French and the English. taste was in that particular very
different. We cannot better account for the ill success of this
excellent piece, than in the words of Mr. Cibber's Apology for his own
Life, when speaking of this play, he has the following observation;
'The character that delivers precepts of wisdom, is, in some sort,
severe upon the auditor, for shewing him one wiser than himself; but
when folly is his object, he applauds himself for being wiser than the
coxcomb he laughs at, and who is not more pleased with an occasion to
commend, than to accuse himself?'
Sir John Vanbrugh, it is said, had great facility in writing, and is
not a little to be admired for the spirit, ease, and readiness,
with which he produced his plays. Notwithstanding his extraordinary
expedition, there is a clear and lively simplicity in his wit, that
is equally distant from the pedantry of learning, and the lowness of
scurrility. As the face of a fine lady, with her hair undressed, may
appear in the morning in its brightest glow of beauty; such were the
productions of Vanbrugh, adorned with only the negligent graces of
nature.
Mr. Cibber observes, that there is something so catching to the ear,
so easy to the memory in all he wrote, that it was observed by the
actors of his time, that the stile of no author whatsoever gave the
memory less trouble than that of Sir John Vanbrugh, which he himself
has confirmed by a pleasing experience. His wit and humour was so
little laboured, that his most entertaining scenes seemed to be
no more than his common conversation committed to paper. As his
conceptions were so full of life and humour, it is not much to be
wondered at, if his muse should be sometimes too warm to wait the slow
pace of judgment, or to endure the drudgery of forming a regular Fable
to them.
That Sir John was capable of a great force of thinking, appears
abundantly clear from that scene between Aesop and a country
gentleman, who comes to complain of the bad conduct of those in power.
The dialogue is at once sensible and animated. Aesop shews him what
he reckoned the oppressions of the administration, flowed from the
prejudices of ignorance, contemplated through the medium of popular
discontent. In the interview between the Beau and the Philosopher,
there is the following pretty fable. The Beau observes to Aesop, 'It
is very well; it is very well, old spark; I say it is very well;
because I han't a pair of plod shoes, and a dirty shirt, you think
a woman won't venture upon me for husband.—Why now to shew you, old
father, how little you philosophers know the ladies.—I'll tell you an
adventure of a friend of mine.'
A Band, a Bob-wig and a Feather
Attack'd a lady's heart together,
The band in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,
Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take instead
Of vigorous youth,
Old solemn truth,
With books, and morals into bed,
How happy she would be.
The Bob, he talk'd of management,
What wond'rous blessings Heav'n sent
On care, and pains, and industry;
And truly he must be so free,
To own he thought your airy beaux,
With powdered wigs, and dancing shoes,
Were good for nothing (mend his soul)
But prate and talk, and play the fool.
He said, 'twas wealth gave joy, and mirth,
And that to be the dearest wife,
Of one who laboured all his life,
To make a mine of gold his own,
And not spend sixpence when he'd done
Was Heaven upon earth.
When these two blades had done, d'ye see.
The Feather (as it might be me)
Steps out sir from behind the skreen.
With such an air and such a mien,
Look you, old gentleman, in short,
He quickly spoil'd the statesman's sport.
It prov'd such sunshine weather,
That you must know at the first beck
The lady leapt about his neck,
And off they went together.
The reputation which Sir John gained by his comedies was rewarded
with, greater advantages, than what arise from the usual profits of
writing for the stage. He was appointed Clarencieux King at Arms, a
place which he some time held, and at last disposed of. In August 1716
he was appointed surveyor of the works at Greenwich Hospital; he was
likewise made comptroller-general of his Majesty's works, and surveyor
of the gardens and waters, the profits of which places, collectively
considered, must amount to a very considerable sum. In some part
of our author's life (for we cannot justly ascertain the time) he
gratified an inclination of visiting France. As curiosity no doubt
induced him to pass over to that country, he lost no time in making
such observations as could enable him to discern the spirit, and
genius of that polite people. His taste for architecture excited him
to take a survey of the fortifications in that kingdom; but the ardour
of his curiosity drew him into a snare, out of which he found
great difficulty to escape. When he was one day surveying some
fortifications with the strictest attention, he was taken notice of
by an Engineer, secured by authority, and then carried prisoner to
the Bastile in Paris. The French were confirmed in suspicions of his
design, by several plans being found in his possession at the time
he was seized upon; but as the French, except in cases of Heresy,
use their prisoners with gentleness and humanity, Sir John found
his confinement so endurable, that he amus'd himself in drawing rude
draughts of some comedies. This circumstance raising curiosity in
Paris, several of the noblesse visited him in the Bastile, when Sir
John, who spoke their language with fluency and elegance, insinuated
himself into their favour by the vivacity of his wit, and the
peculiarity of his humour. He gained so much upon their affections,
that they represented him to the French King in an innocent light, and
by that means procured his liberty some days before the sollicitation
came from: England.
Sir John Vanbrugh formed a project of building a stately theatre
in the Hay-market, for which: he had interest enough, to raise
a subscription of thirty persons of quality at 100 l. each, in
consideration whereof, every subscriber for his own life, should be
admitted to whatever entertainments should be publickly performed
there, without farther payment for entrance.
On the first stone that was laid in this theatre, were inscribed the
words LITTLE WHIG, as a compliment to a lady of extraordinary beauty,
then the celebrated toast, and pride of that party. In the year 1706
when this house was finished, Mr. Betterton and his copartners put
themselves under the direction of Sir John Vanbrugh and Mr. Congreve;
imagining that the conduct of two such eminent authors would restore
their ruined affairs; but they found their expectations were too
sanguine, for though Sir John was an expeditious writer, yet Mr.
Congreve was too judicious to let any thing come unfinished out of his
hands; besides, every proper convenience of a good theatre had
been sacrificed to shew the audience a vast triumphal piece of
architecture, in which plays, by means of the spaciousness of the
dome, could not be successfully represented, because the actors could
not be distinctly heard.
Not long before this time the Italian Opera began to steal into
England, but in as rude a disguise, and as unlike itself as possible;
notwithstanding which the new monster pleaded, though it had neither
grace, melody, nor action to recommend it. To strike in therefore with
the prevailing fashion, Vanbrugh and Congreve opened their New Theatre
in the Hay-market, with a translated Opera, set to Italian music,
called The Triumph of Love, but it met with a cold reception, being
performed only three days, to thin houses.
Immediately upon the failure of the Opera, Vanbrugh produced his
comedy called The Confederacy, greatly improved from the Bourgois a la
mode of Dancour. The success of this play was not equal to its merit;
for it is written in, an uncommon vein of humour, and abounds with
the most lively strokes of raillery. The prospects of gain from this
theatre were so very unpromising, that Congreve, in a few months,
gave up his share and interest in the government wholly to Sir John
Vanbrugh; who being now sole proprietor of the house, was under a
necessity to exert himself in its support. As he had a happier talent
for throwing the English spirit into his translations of French plays,
than any former author who had borrowed from them, he, in the same
season, gave the public three more of that kind, viz.
1. The Cuckold in Conceit, from the Cocu imaginaire of Moliere.
2. Squire Treelooby, from his Monsieur de Pourceaugnac.
3. The Mistake, from the Depit Amoureux of the same Author[A].
However well executed these pieces were, yet they came to the ear in
the same undistinguished utterance, by which almost all their plays
had equally suffered; for as few could plainly hear, it was not likely
a great many would applaud.
In this situation it appears, that nothing but the union of the two
companies could restore the stage to its former reputation.
Sir John Vanbrugh therefore, tired of theatrical management, thought
of disposing of his whole farm to some industrious tenant, that might
put it into better condition. It was to Mr. Owen Swiny, that in the
exigence of his affairs, he made an offer of his actors under such
agreements of salary as might be made with them; and of his house,
cloaths, and scenes, with the Queen's license to employ them, upon
payment of the casual rent of five pounds every acting day, and not
to exceed 700 l. per annum. With this proposal Mr. Swiny complied, and
governed that stage till another great theatrical revolution.
There are two plays of our author not yet mentioned, viz. The False
Friend, a Comedy; acted in 1698, and A Journey to London, a Comedy;
which he left unfinished. This last piece was finished by Mr. Cibber
to a very great advantage, and now is one of the best comedies in our
language. Mr. Cibber, in his prologue, takes particular notice of our
author's virtuous intention in composing this piece, which, he says,
was to make some amends for those loose scenes, which in the fire of
his youth he had with more regard to applause, than virtue, exhibited
to the public: but this design will be best understood by inserting
the prologue.
PROLOGUE.
This play took birth from principles of truth,
To make amends for errors past, of youth.
A bard that's now no more, in riper days,
Conscious review'd the licence of his plays:
And tho' applause his wanton muse had fir'd,
Himself condemn'd what sensual minds admir'd.
At length he own'd that plays should let you see
Not only what you are, but ought to be:
Though vice was natural, 'twas never meant,
The stage should shew it, but for punishment!
Warm with that thought his muse once more took flame,
Resolv'd to bring licentious life to shame.
Such was the piece, his latest pen design'd',
But left no traces of his plan behind.
Luxurious scenes, unprun'd, or half contriv'd;
Yet, through the mass, his native fire surviv'd:
Rough as rich oar, in mines the treasure lay,
Yet still 'twas rich, and forms at length a play.
In which the bold compiler boasts no merit,
But that his pains have sav'd you scenes of spirit.
Not scenes that would a noisy joy impart,
But such as hush the mind, and warm the heart.
From praise of hands, no sure account he draws,
But fix'd attention is, sincere applause.
If then (for hard you'll own the task) his art
Can to those Embrion scenes new life impart;
The living proudly would exclude his lays,
And to the buried bard resign the praise.
Sir John indeed appears to have been often sensible of the immorality
of his scenes; for in the year 1725 when the company of comedians was
called upon, in a manner that could not be resisted, to revive the
Provok'd Wife, the author, who was conscious how justly it was exposed
to censure, thought proper to substitute a new scene in the fourth
act, in place of another, in which, in the wantonness of his wit
and humour, he had made a Rake talk like a Rake, in the habit of a
Clergyman. To avoid which offence, he put the same Debauchee into the
Undress of a Woman of Quality; for the character of a fine lady, it
seems, is not reckoned so indelibly sacred, as that of a Churchman.
Whatever follies he exposed in the petticoat kept him at least clear
of his former imputed prophaneness, and appeared now to the audience
innocently ridiculous.
This ingenious dramatist died of a quinsey at his house in Whitehall,
on the 26th of March 1726. He was a man of a lively imagination, of
a facetious, and engaging humour, and as he lived esteemed by all his
acquaintance, so he died without leaving ons enemy to reproach his
memory; a felicity which few men of public employments, or possessed
of so distinguished a genius, ever enjoyed. He has left behind
him monuments of fame, which can never perish but with taste and
politeness.
[Footnote A: The two first were never printed from Sir John's
manuscript.]
* * * * *
Sir RICHARD STEELE, Knt.
This celebrated genius was born in Ireland. His father being a
counsellor at law, and private secretary to James duke of Ormond, he
went over with his grace to that kingdom, when he was raised to the
dignity of lord lieutenant[A]. Our author when but very young, came
over into England; and was educated at the Charter-House school
in London, where Mr. Addison was his school-fellow, and where they
contracted a friendship which continued firm till the death of that
great man.
His inclination leading him to the army, he rode for some time
privately in the guards; in which station, as he himself tells us, in
his Apology for his Writings, he first became an author, a way of
life in which the irregularities of youth are considered as a kind of
recommendation.
Mr. Steele was born with the most violent propension to pleasure, and
at the same time was master of so much good sense, as to be able
to discern the extreme folly of licentious courses, their moral
unfitness, and the many calamities they naturally produce. He
maintained a perpetual struggle between reason and appetite. He
frequently fell into indulgencies, which cost him many a pang of
remorse, and under the conviction of the danger of a vicious life,
he wrote his Christian Hero, with a design to fix upon his own mind a
strong impression of virtue and religion. But this secret admonition
to his conscience he judged too weak, and therefore in the year 1701
printed the book with his name prefixed, in hopes that a standing
evidence against himself in the eyes of the world, might the more
forcibly induce him to lay a restraint upon his desires, and make him
ashamed of vice, so contrary to his own sense and conviction.
This piece was the first of any note, and is esteem'd by some as one
of the best of Mr. Steele's works; he gained great reputation by it,
and recommended himself to the regard of all pious and good men. But
while he grew in the esteem of the religious and worthy, he sunk in
the opinion of his old companions in gaiety: He was reckoned by them
to have degenerated from the gay, sprightly companion, to the dull
disagreeable pedant, and they measured the least levity of his words
and actions with the character of a Christian Hero. Thus he found
himself slighted, instead of being encouraged for his declarations
as to religion; but happily those who held him in contempt for his
defence of piety and goodness were characters, with whom to be at
variance is virtue. But Mr. Steele, who could not be content with the
suffrage of the Good only, without the concurrence of the Gay, set
about recovering the favour of the latter by innocent means: He
introduced a Comedy on the stage, called Grief A-la-Mode, in which,
tho' full of incidents that move laughter, and inspire chearfulness,
virtue and vice appear just as they ought to do. This play was acted
at the Theatre in Drury Lane 1702, and as nothing can make the town
so fond of a man, as a successful play; so this, with some other
particulars enlarged on to his advantage, recommended him to king
William, and his name to be provided for was in the last table-book
worn by his majesty. He had before this time procured a captain's
commission in the lord Lucas's regiment, by the interest of lord
Cutts, to whom he dedicated his Christian Hero, and who likewise
appointed him his secretary: His next appearance as a writer, was in
the office of Gazetteer, in which he observes in the same apology for
himself, he worked faithfully, according to order, without ever erring
against the rule observed by all ministers, to keep that paper very
innocent, and insipid. The reproaches he heard every Gazette-day
against the writer of it, inspired him with a fortitude of being
remarkably negligent of what people said, which he did not deserve. In
endeavouring to acquire this negligence, he certainly acted a prudent
part, and gained the most important and leading advantage, with which,
every author should set out.
Whoever writes for the public, is sure to draw down envy on himself
from some quarter or other, and they who are resolved never to be
pleased, consider him as too assuming, and discover their resentment
by contempt. How miserable is the state of an author! It is his
misfortune in common with the fair sex,
To please too little, or to please too much.
If he happens to be a successful writer, his friends who become then
proud of his acquaintance, flatter him, and by soothing his vanity
teach him to overrate his importance, and while he grasps at universal
fame, he loses by too vigorous an effort, what he had acquired by
diligence and application: If he pleases too little, that is, if his
works are not read, he is in a fair way of being a great loser by his
attempt to please. Mr. Steele still continued to write plays. In the
year 1703 his Comedy, entitled the Tender Husband, or the Accomplished
Fools, was acted at the Theatre in Drury-Lane; as his Comedy of
the Lying-Lovers, or the Ladies Friendship, was likewise the year
following, both with success; so that his reputation was now fully
established.
In the year 1709 he began the Taller, the first of which was published
on Tuesday April the 12th, and the last on Tuesday January the 2d,
1710-11. This paper greatly increasing his fame, he was preferred to
be one of the commissioners of the stamp office. Upon laying down the
Tatler, he set up, in concert with Mr. Addison, the Spectator, which
was continued from March the 1st, 1710-11, to December the 6th 1712;
and resumed June 18th 1714. and continued till December the 20th, the
same year.
The Guardian was likewise published by them, in 1713, and in the
October of the same year, Mr. Steele began a political paper, entitled
the Englishman.
In the Spectator, Mr. Steele's papers are marked with the letter T.
and in them are contained the most picturesque descriptions of low
life, of which he was perfect matter. Humour was his talent, though
not so much confined to that cast of writing to be incapable of
painting very tender scenes; witness his Conscious Lovers, which never
fails to draw tears; and in some of his Spectators he has written in
so feeling a manner, that none can read them without emotion.
He had a strong inclination to find out the humours of low life, and
to make himself master of them. When he was at Edinburgh, as one of
the commissioners on the forfeited estates, he one day made a very
splendid feast, and while his servants were surprized at the great
preparations, and were expecting every moment to carry out his
invitations to the company for whom they imagined it was prepared, he
commanded them to go out to the street, and pick up whatever beggars,
and poor people they saw, and invite them to his house: The servants
obeyed, and Sir Richard soon saw himself at the head of 40 or 50
beggars, together with some poor decay'd tradesmen. After dinner he
plied them with punch and wine, and when the frolic was ended, he
declared, that besides the pleasure of feeding so many hungry persons,
he had learned from them humour enough for a good comedy.
Our author was a man of the highest benevolence; he celebrates a
generous action with a warmth that is only peculiar to a good heart;
and however he may be blamed for want of oeconomy, &c. yet was he
the most agreeable, and if we may be allowed the expression, the most
innocent rake, that ever trod the rounds of indulgence.
He wrote several poetical pieces, particularly the Englishman's thanks
to the duke of Marlborough, printed in 1711; a letter to Sir Miles
Wharton, concerning Occasional Peers, dated March 5th, 1713. The
Guardian of August the 7th, 1713; and the importance of Dunkirk
considered, in defence of that Guardian, in a letter to the bailiff
of Stockbridge: The French Faith represented in the present state of
Dunkirk: The Crisis, a Letter to a Member of Parliament, concerning
the bill to prevent the present Growth of Schism, dated May 28, 1714;
and his Apology for himself and his Writings.
These pieces shew how much he was displeased with the last measures
of Queen Anne, and were written to combat the Tory ministry; to oppose
which he set about procuring a seat in Parliament; for which purpose
he resigned his place of commissioner of the stamp-office, in June
1713, in a letter to the earl of Oxford, lord high treasurer, and was
chosen member of the House of Commons, for the Borough of Stockbridge.
But he did not long enjoy his seat in that house before he was
expelled, on the 18th of March 1713, for writing the Englishman, being
the close of the paper so called; and the Crisis[B].
In 1714 he published the Romish Ecclesiastical History of late years,
and a paper intitled The Lover; the first of which appeared Thursday
February 25, 1714, and another intitled the Reader, which began on
Thursday April 22, the same year. In the sixth Number of this last
paper, he gave an account of his design of writing the History of
the Duke of Marlborough, from proper materials in his custody: the
relation to commence from the date of his grace's commission, as
captain-general, and plenipotentiary; and to end with the expiration
of these commissions. But this noble design he lived not to execute,
and the materials were afterwards returned to the duchess of
Marlborough, who left them to Mr. Mallet, with a handsome gratuity for
the execution of Sir Richard's design.
Soon after the accession of king George the 1st to the throne, Mr.
Steele was appointed surveyor of the royal stables at Hampton-Court,
and governor of the royal company of Comedians, by a patent, dated
January 19, 1714-15. He was likewise put into the commission of the
peace for the county of Middlesex; and in April 1715 received the
honour of knighthood from his majesty. In the first parliament of that
king, he was chosen for Borough-brigg in Yorkshire; and after the
suppressing the Rebellion in the North, was appointed one of the
commissioners of the forfeited estates in Scotland, where he received
from several of the nobility and gentry of that part of the united
kingdom the most distinguishing marks of respect. He contracted a
friendship while in Scotland, with one Hart, a Presbyterian minister
in Edinburgh, whom he afterwards honoured with his correspondence:
This Hart he used merrily to stile the Hangman of the Gospel, for
though he was a facetious good-natur'd man, yet he had fallen into a
peculiar way of preaching what he called the Terrors of the Law, and
denounced anathemas from the pulpit without reserve.
Sir Richard held frequent conversations with Hart, and other
ministers, concerning the restoration of episcopacy, the antient
church-government of that nation, and often observed that it was pity,
when the two kingdoms were united in language, in dress, in politics,
and in all essential points, even in religion, should yet be divided
in the ecclesiastical administration, which still serves to maintain a
kind of alienation between the people. He found many of the Scots
well disposed towards prelacy; but the generality, who were taught
to contemplate the church of England, with as much horror as that of
Rome, could not soon be prevailed upon to return to it.
Sir Richard wished well to the interests of religion, and as he
imagined that Union would promote it, he had some thoughts of
proposing it at court, but the times were unfavourable. The
Presbyterians had lately appeared active against the rebels, and were
not to be disobliged; but such is now the good understanding between
the episcopal and presbyterian parties, that a few concessions on the
one side, and not many advances on the other, possibly might produce
an amicable coalition, as it is chiefly in form, rather than in
articles of religion, in which they differ.
In the year 1715 he published an account of the state of the Roman
Catholic Religion throughout the World, translated from an Italian
manuscript, with a dedication to the Pope, giving him a very
particular account of the state of religion amongst the Protestants,
and several other matters of importance, relating to Great-Britain;
but this dedication is supposed to be written by another very eminent
hand, more conversant in subjects of that nature than Sir Richard.
The same year our author published a Letter from the earl of Marr to
the king, before his majesty's arrival in England; with some remarks
on my lord's subsequent conduct; and the year following a second
volume of the Englishman, and in 1718 an account of a Fish-Pool, which
was a project of his for bringing fish to market alive, for which he
obtained a patent.
In 1719 he published a pamphlet called the Spinster, and a Letter
to the Earl of Oxford, concerning the Bill of Peerage, which bill he
opposed in the House of Commons. Some time after, he wrote against the
South-Sea-Scheme; his Crisis of posterity; and another piece intitled,
A Nation a Family; and on Saturday January the 2d, 1719-20, he began
a paper called the Theatre, during the course of which his patent of
governor of the Royal Company of Comedians, being suspended by his
majesty, he published, The State of the Case.
In the year 1722, he brought his Conscious Lovers on the stage, with
prodigious success. This is the last and most finished of all Sir
Richard's Comedies, and 'tis doubtful if there is upon the stage, any
more instructing; that tends to convey a finer moral, or is better
conducted in its design. We have already observed, that it is
impossible to witness the tender scenes of this Comedy without
emotion; that is, no man of feeling and humanity, who has experienced
the délicate solicitudes of love and affection, can do it. Sir Richard
has told us, that when one of the players told Mr. Wilks, that there
was a General weeping for Indiana; he politely observed, that he
would not fight the worse for that; and indeed what a noble school
of morality would the stage be, if all those who write for it would
observe such delicate chastity; they would then inforce an honourable
and virtuous deportment, by the most insinuating and easy means;
they would so allure the audience by the amiable form of goodness
represented in her native loveliness, that he who could resist her
charms, must be something more than wicked.
When Sir Richard finished this Comedy, the parts of Tom and Phillis
were not then in it: He read it to Mr. Cibber, who candidly told him,
that though he liked his play upon the whole, both in the cast of the
characters and execution of them; yet, that it was rather too grave
for an English audience, who want generally to laugh at a Comedy, and
without which in their opinion, the end is not answered. Mr. Cibber
then proposed the addition of some comic characters, with which Sir
Richard agreed, and saw the propriety and force of the observation.
This comedy (at Sir Richard's request) received many additions from,
and were greatly improved by Mr. Cibber.—Our author dedicated this
work to the king, who made him a present of 500 l.
Some years before his death, he grew paralytic, and retired to his
seat at Langunner, near Caermarthen in Wales, where he died September
the 1st, 1729; and was privately interred according to his own desire,
in the church of Caermarthen.
Besides his writings above-mentionened, he began on Saturday the 17th
of December, a weekly paper in quarto, called the Town-Talk, in a
letter to a lady in the country; and another, intitled the Tea-Table:
He had likewise planned a comedy which he intended to call The School
of Action.—As Sir Richard was beloved when living, so his loss was
sincerely regretted at his death. He was a man of undissembled, and
extensive benevolence; a friend to the friendless, and as far as his
circumstances would permit, the father of every orphan: His works
are chaste, and manly, he himself admired virtue, and he drew her as
lovely as she is: of his works it may be said, as Sir George Lyttleton
in his prologue to Coriolanus observes of Thomson, that there are not
in them
One corrupted, one immoral thought,
A line which dying he could wish to blot.
He was a stranger to the most distant appearance of envy or
malevolence, never jealous of any man's growing reputation, and so far
from arrogating any praise to himself, from his conjunction with Mr.
Addison, that he was the first who desired him to distinguish his
papers in the Spectator, and after the death of that great man was a
faithful executor of his fame, notwithstanding an aspersion which Mr.
Tickell was so unjust to throw upon him. Sir Richard's greatest error
was want of oeconomy, as appears from the two following instances
related by the elegant writer of Mr. Savage's Life, to whom that
gentleman communicated them.
'Savage was once desired by Sir Richard, with an air of the utmost
importance, to come very early to his house the next morning. Mr.
Savage came as he had promised, found the chariot at the door, and
Sir Richard waiting for him ready to go out. What was intended, and
whither they were to go, Savage could not conjecture, and was not
willing to inquire, but immediately seated himself with Sir Richard:
The coachman was ordered to drive, and they hurried with the utmost
expedition to Hyde-Park Corner, where they stopped at a petty tavern,
and retired to a private room. Sir Richard then informed him, that
he intended to publish a pamphlet, and that he desired him to come
thither, that he might write for him. They soon sat down to the work,
Sir Richard dictated, and Savage wrote, till the dinner which had been
ordered, was put upon the table. Savage was surprised at the meanness
of the entertainment, and after some hesitation, ventured to ask for
wine, which Sir Richard, not without reluctance ordered to be brought.
They then finished their dinner, and proceeded in their pamphlet,
which they concluded in the afternoon. Mr. Savage then imagined his
task over, and expected that Sir Richard would call for the reckoning
and return home; but his expectations deceived him, for Sir Richard
told him he was without money and that the pamphlet must be sold
before the dinner could be paid for; and Savage was therefore obliged
to go and offer their new production to sale for two guineas, which
with some difficulty he obtained. Sir Richard then returned home,
having retired that day only to avoid his creditors, and composed the
pamphlet only to discharge his reckoning.' As Savage has said nothing
to the contrary, it is reasonable to conjecture that he had Sir
Richard's permission to use his name to the Bookseller, to whom he
made an offer of it for two guineas, otherwise it is very improbable
that the pamphlet should be sold at all in so short a time.
The other instance is equally uncommon with the former: Sir Richard
having incited to his house a great number of persons of the
first quality, they were surprized at the number of liveries which
surrounded the table; and after dinner, when wine and mirth had
set them free from the observation of rigid ceremony, one of them
enquired of Sir Richard, how such an expensive train of domestics
could be consistent with his fortune? Sir Richard frankly confessed,
that they were fellows of whom he would very willingly be rid. And
being then asked why he did not discharge them; he declared that they
were Bailiffs who had introduced themselves with an execution, and
whom, since he could not send them away, he had thought it convenient
to imbellish with liveries, that they might do him credit whilst they
staid.
His friends were diverted with the expedient, and by paying the debt,
discharged the attendance, having obliged Sir Richard to promise that
they should never find him again graced with a retinue of the same
kind.
He married to his first wife a gentlewoman of Barbadoes, with whom he
had a valuable Plantation there on the death of her brother, who was
taken by the French at Sea as he was coming to England, and died in
France. This wife dying without issue, he married Mary, the daughter
of Jonathan Scurlock of Langunnoc in Carmarthanshire, esq; by whom he
had one son, Eugene, who died young: of his two daughters, one only is
living; which lady became sole heiress to a handsome estate in Wales.
She was married, when young, to the hon. John Trevor, esq; one of the
judges of the principality of Wales; who since, by the death of his
brother, has taken his seat in the House of Lords, as Baron Trevor,
&c.
[Footnote A: General Dictionary, vol. ix, p. 395.]
[Footnote B: His expulsion was owing to the spleen of the then
prevailing party; what they design'd as a disgrace, prov'd an honour
to him.]
* * * * *
ANDREW MARVEL, Esq;[A]
This ingenious gentleman was the son of Mr. Andrew Marvel, Minister
and Schoolmaster of Kingston upon Hull in Yorkshire, and was born in
that town in the year 1620[B]. He was admitted into Trinity College
in Cambridge December 14, 1633, where he had not been long before his
studies were interrupted by the following accident:
Some Jesuits with whom he familiarly conversed, observing in him a
genius beyond his years, used their utmost efforts to proselyte him
to their faith, which they imagined they could more easily accomplish
while he was yet young. They so far succeeded as to seduce him
from the college, and carry him to London, where, after some months
absence, his father found him in a Bookseller's shop, and prevailed
upon him to return to the college.
He afterwards pursued his studies with the most indefatigable
application, and in the year 1638, took the degree of bachelor of
arts, and the same year was admitted scholar of the house, that is,
of the foundation at Trinity College[C]. We have no farther account of
him for several years after this, only that he travelled through
the most polite parts of the world, but in what quality we are not
certain, unless in that of secretary to the embassy at Constantinople.
While our author was in France, he wrote his poem entitled Cuidam, qui
legendo Scripturam, descripsit Formam, Sapientiam, Sortemque Authoris.
Illustrissimo Viro Domino Lanceloto Josepho de Maniban Grammatomanti.
The person to whom he addresses these verses was an Abbot, famous
for entering into the qualities of those whom he had never seen, and
prognosticating their good, or bad fortune from an inspection of their
hand-writing.
During the troubles of the Republic we find him tutor to one Mr.
Dutton, a young gentleman; as appears from an original letter of his
to Oliver Cromwel. This letter sent to so extraordinary a person by
a man of Mr. Marvel's consequence, may excite the reader's curiosity,
with which, he shall be gratified. It carries in it much of that
stiffness and pedantry peculiar to the times, and is very different
from the usual stile of our author.
'May it please your LORDSHIP,
'It might perhaps seem fit for me to seek out words to give your
excellence thanks for myself. But indeed the only civility, which it
is fit for me to practise with so eminent a person, is to obey
you, and to perform honestly this work which you have set me about.
Therefore I shall use the time that your lordship is pleased to allow
me for writing, only to that purpose for which you have given me it,
that is to render you some account of Mr. Dutton. I have taken care
to examine him several times in the presence of Mr. Oxenbridge[D], as
those who weigh and tell over money, before some witnesses e'er they
take charge of it; for I thought that there might be possibly some
lightness in the coin, or error in the telling, which hereafter I
might be bound to make good. Therefore Mr. Oxenbridge is the best to
make your excellence an impartial relation thereof; I shall only say,
that I shall strive according to my best understanding to increase
whatsoever talent he may have already. Truly he is of a gentle, and
waxen disposition; and, God be praised, I cannot say that he hath
brought with him any evil impression; and I hope to set nothing upon
his spirit, but what shall be of a good sculpture. He hath in him two
things, which make youth most easily to be managed, modesty, which is
the bridle to vice, and emulation, which is the spur to virtue. And
the care which your excellency is pleased to take of him, is no small
encouragement, and shall be represented to him; but above all, I shall
labour to make him sensible of his duty to God, for then we begin to
serve faithfully, when we consider that he is our master; and in this
both he and I owe infinitely to your lordship, for having placed in so
godly a family as that of Mr. Oxenbridge, whose doctrine and
example are like a book and a map, not only instructing the ear, but
demonstrating to the eye which way we ought to travel. I shall upon
occasion henceforward inform your excellency of any particularities
in our little affairs. I have no more at present but to give thanks to
God for your lordship, and to beg grace of him, to approve myself.
* * * * *
Mr. Marvel's first appearance in public business at home, was, in
being assistant to Milton as Latin secretary to the Protector. He
himself tells us, in a piece called The Rehearsal Transposed, that
he never had any, not the remotest relation to public matters, nor
correspondence with the persons then predominant, until the year 1657,
when indeed, says he, 'I entered into an employment, for which I
was not altogether improper, and which I considered to be the most
innocent, and inoffensive towards his Majesty's affairs of any in that
usurped, and irregular government, to which all men were then exposed;
and this I accordingly discharged, without disobliging any one person,
there having been opportunities, and endeavours since his Majesty's
happy return, to have discovered, had it been otherwise.'
A little before the Restoration, he was chosen by his native
town, Kingston upon Hull, to sit in that Parliament which began at
Westminster April 25, 1660, and again after the Restoration for that
which began at the same place May 8, 1661. In this station our author
discharged his trust with the utmost fidelity, and always shewed a
peculiar regard for those he represented; for he constantly sent the
particulars of every proceeding in the House, to the heads of the town
for which he was elected; and to those accounts he always joined
his own opinion. This respectful behaviour gained so much on their
affections, that they allowed him an honourable pension to his death,
all which time he continued in Parliament. Mr. Marvel was not endowed
with the gift of eloquence, for he seldom spoke in the house; but was
however capable of forming an excellent judgment of things, and was so
acute a discerner of characters, that his opinion was greatly valued,
and he had a powerful influence over many of the Members without
doors. Prince Rupert particularly esteemed him, and whenever he voted
agreeable to the sentiments of Mr. Marvel, it was a saying of the
opposite party, he has been with his tutor. The intimacy between this
illustrious foreigner, and our author was so great, that when it was
unsafe for the latter to have it known where he lived, on account of
some mischief which was threatened him, the prince would frequently
visit him in a disguised habit. Mr. Marvel was often in such danger of
assassination, that he was obliged to have his letters directed to him
in another name, to prevent any discovery that way. He made himself
obnoxious to the government, both by his actions, and writings; and
notwithstanding his proceedings were all contrary to his private
interest, nothing could ever make his resolution, of which the
following is a notable instance, and transmits our author's name with
lustre to posterity.
One night he was entertained by the King, who had often been delighted
with his company: his Majesty next day sent the lord treasurer Danby
to find out his lodging; Mr. Marvel, then rented a room up two pair of
stairs, in a little court in the Strand, and was writing when the lord
treasurer opened the door abruptly upon him. Surprized at the sight
of so unexpected a visitor, Mr. Marvel told his lordship, that he
believed he had mistaken his way; the lord Danby replied, not now I
have found Mr. Marvel: telling him that he came with a message from
his Majesty, which was to know what he could do to serve him? his
answer was, in his usual facetious manner, that it was not in his
Majesty's power to serve him: but coming to a serious explanation of
his meaning, he told the lord treasurer, that he well knew the nature
of courts, and that whoever is distinguished by a Prince's favour, is
certainly expected to vote in his interest. The lord Danby told him,
that his Majesty had only a just sense of his merits, in regard to
which alone, he desired to know whether there was any place at
court he could be pleased with. These offers, though, urged with
the greatest earnestness, had no effect upon him; he told the lord
treasurer, that he could not accept it with honour, for he must either
be ungrateful to the King by voting against him, or betray his country
by giving his voice against its interest, at least what he reckoned
so. The only favour therefore which he begged of his Majesty, was,
that he would esteem him as dutiful a subject as any he had, and
more in his proper interest in rejecting his offers, than if he had
embraced them. The lord Danby finding no arguments would prevail, told
him, the King had ordered a thousand pounds for him, which he hoped he
would accept, 'till he could think what farther to ask of his Majesty.
This last temptation was refused with the same stedfastness of mind as
the first.
The reader must have already taken notice that Mr. Marvel's chief
support was the pension allowed him by his constituents, that his
lodgings, were mean, and consequently his circumstances at this time
could not be affluent. His resisting these temptations therefore in
such a situation, was perhaps one of the most heroic instances of
patriotism the Annals of England can furnish. But his conduct will be
still heightened into a more amiable light, when it is related, that
as soon as the lord treasurer had taken his leave, he was obliged to
send to a friend to borrow a guinea. As the most powerful allurements
of riches, and honour, could never seduce him to relinquish the
interest of his country, so not even the most immense dangers could
deter him from pursuing it. In a private letter to a friend from
Highgate, in which he mentions the insuperable hatred of his foes to
him, and their design of murthering him, he has these words; Praeterea
magis eccidere metuo quam occidi, non quod vitam tanti aestimem, sed
ne imparatus moriar, i.e., 'Besides, I am more apprehensive of killing,
than being killed, not that I value life so much, but that I may not
die unprepared.' Mr. Marvel did not remain an unconcerned member of
the state, when he saw encroachments made upon it both by the civil,
and ecclesiastical powers. He saw that some of the bishops had formed
an idea of protestantism very different from the true one, and
were making such advances towards popery, as would soon issue in a
reconciliation. Amongst these ecclesiastics, none was so forward
as Dr. Samuel Parker, who published at London 1672 in 8vo. bishop
Bramhal's Vindication of himself, and the Episcopal Clergy, from the
Presbyterian charge of Popery, as it is managed by Mr. Baxter in his
Treatise on the Grotian Religion. Dr. Parker likewise preached up
the doctrine of Non-resistance, which slavish principle is admirably
calculated to prepare the people for receiving any yoke. Marvel, whose
talent consisted in drollery, more than in serious reasoning, took
his own method of exposing those opinions. He wrote a piece called
The Rehearsal Transposed, in which he very successfully ridiculed Dr.
Parker. This ludicrous essay met with several answers, some serious,
and others humorous; we shall not here enumerate all the Rejoinders,
Replies, and Animad-versions upon it. Wood himself confesses, who was
an avowed enemy to Marvel, 'that Dr. Parker judged it more prudent
rather to lay down the cudgels, than to enter the lists again, with an
untowardly combatant, so hugely well versed, and experienced, in
the then newly refined art of sporting, and jeering buffoonery.'
And bishop Burnet tells us in the History of his own Time, 'That
Dr. Parker, after he had for some years entertained the nation with
several virulent books, was attacked by the liveliest droll of
the age, who wrote in a burlesque stile, but with so peculiar, and
entertaining a conduct, that from the King down to the tradesman, his
book was read with great pleasure. This not only humbled Parker, but
the whole party, for the author of The Rehearsal Transposed, had all
the men of wit on his side.' Dr. Swift likewise in his Apology for
the Tale of a Tub, speaking of the usual fate of common answerers to
books, and how short-lived their labours are, observes, 'That there is
indeed an exception, when any great genius thinks it worth his while
to expose a foolish piece; so we still read Marvel's answer to Parker
with pleasure, though the book it answers be sunk long ago.'
The next controversy in which we find Mr. Marvel engaged, was with
an antagonist of the pious Dr. Croft, bishop of Hereford, who wrote a
discourse entitled The Naked Truth, or A True State of the Primitive
Church: By an humble Moderator. Dr. Turner, fellow of St. John's
College, wrote Animadversions upon this book; Mr. Marvel's answer to
these Animadversions, was entitled Mr. Smirk, or The Divine in Mode;
being certain Annotations upon the Animadversions on The Naked Truth,
together with a Short Historical Essay concerning General Councils,
Creeds, and Impositions in Matters of Religion, printed 1676.
Our author's next work was An Account of the Growth of Popery, and
Arbitrary Government in England; more particularly from the long
prorogation of November 1675, ending February 15, 1676, 'till the
meeting of Parliament July 15, 1677, printed in folio 1678. Our author
in a letter dated June 10, 1678, wrote thus; 'There came out about
Christmas last here, a large book concerning the Growth of Popery,
and Arbitrary Government. There have been great rewards offered in
private, and considerable, in the Gazette, to any, who would inform of
the author, and Printer, but not yet discovered. Three or four printed
books since have described (as near as was proper to go, the man being
a member of Parliament) Mr. Marvel to be the author, but if he had, he
surely could not have escaped being questioned in Parliament, or 'Some
other place.' This book was so offensive to the court at that time,
that an order was published in these words,
'Whereas there have been lately printed, and published several
seditious, and scandalous libels against the proceedings of both
Houses of Parliament, and other his Majesty's Courts of Justice,
to the dishonour of his Majesty's government, and the hazard of the
public peace, these are to give notice, that what person soever shall
discover unto one of the secretaries of state, the printer, publisher,
author, or hander to the press of any of the said libels, so that
full evidence may be made thereof to a Jury, without mentioning the
informer, especially one libel, entitled An Account of the Growth
of Popery; and another called A Reasonable Argument to all the Grand
Juries, &c. the discoverer shall be rewarded as follows; he shall
have fifty pounds for such discovery as aforesaid, of the printer or
publisher of it from the press, and for the hander of it to the press,
one hundred pounds.'
Mr. Marvel begins this book with a panegyric on the constitution of
the English government, shewing how happy the people are under such
wholesome laws, which if faithfully observed, must make a people
happy, and a monarch great. He observes, that the king and the subject
are equally under the laws; and that the former is no longer king than
he continues to obey them. 'So that, says he, the kings of England,
are in nothing inferior to other princes, save in being more abridg'd
from injuring their own subjects, but have as large a field as any of
external felicity, wherein to exercise their own virtue, and to reward
and encourage it in others. In short there is nothing that comes
nearer the divine perfection, than when the monarch, as with us,
enjoys a capacity of doing all the good imaginable to mankind, under a
disability of all that is evil.'
After slightly tracing popery from earlier times, he begins with the
Dutch war in 1665; but dwells most upon the proceedings at Rome, from
November 1675, to July 1677. He relates the occasion of the Dutch war,
shews that the papists, and the French in particular, were the true
springs of all our councils; and draws the following picture of
popery.
'It is such a thing, as cannot but for want of a word to express it,
be called a religion; nor is it to be mentioned with that civility,
which is otherwise decent to be used in speaking of the differences of
human opinions about divine matters; were it either open Juadism,
or plain Turkery, or, there is yet a certain Bona Fides in the most
extravagant belief, and the sincerity of an erroneous profession may
render it more pardonable: But this is a compound of all the three,
an extract of whatever is most ridiculous or impious in them,
incorporated with more peculiar absurdities of its own, in which those
were deficient; and all this deliberately contrived, and knowingly
carried on, by the solid imposture of priests, under the name of
Christianity.'
This great man died, not without strong suspicions of being poisoned,
August 16, 1678, in the 58th year of his age, and was interred in the
church of St. Giles's in the Fields; and in the year 1688 the town of
Kingston upon Hull contributed a sum of money to erect a monument over
him, in St. Giles's church, for which an epitaph was composed by an
able hand; but the minister of that church, piously forbad both the
inscription and monument to be placed there.
Mr. Wood tells us, that in his conversation, he was very modest, and
of few words; and Mr. Cooke observes, 'that he was very reserved among
people he did not very well know; but a most delightful, and improving
companion amongst his friends.'
In the year 1680, his miscellaneous poems were published, to which
is prefixed this advertisement. 'These are to certify every ingenious
reader, that all these poems, as also the other things in this book
contained, are printed according to the exact copies of my late dear
husband, under his own hand writing, both found since his death, among
his other papers.
Witness my hand,
MARY MARVEL.
But Mr. Cooke informs us, 'that these were published with a mercenary
view; and indeed not at all to the honour of the deceased, by a woman
with whom he lodged, who hoped by this stratagem to share in what he
left behind him.'
He was never married, and the same gentleman observes in another
place, that in the editions of 1681, there are such gross errors,
especially in the Latin Poems, as make several lines unintelligible;
and that in the volume of Poems on Affairs of State, the same mistakes
are as frequent; and in those, some pieces are attributed to our
author, which he never wrote. Most of his Poems printed in Dryden's
Miscellanies are so imperfect, that whole stanzas are omitted in many
places.
These Mr. Cooke has restored in his edition of the works of Andrew
Marvel, Esq; printed at London 1725, in two volumes, and corrected
such faults as in either of the two former editions obscure the sense:
in this edition are also added, some poems from original manuscripts.
Great care has likewise been taken by Mr. Cooke, to retrench such
pieces as he was sure were not genuine.
Mr. Marvel, considered as a statesman, makes a more conspicuous
figure than any of the age in which he lived, the proceeding, or the
subsequent: He possessed the first quality of a statesman, that is,
inviolable integrity, and a heart so confirmed against corruption,
that neither indigence, a love of pomp or even dangers the most
formidable, could move his settled purpose, to pursue in every
respect, the interest of his country.
That Marvel understood the true interest of his country, is abundantly
clear, from the great reverence paid to his opinion, by such persons
as were most able to discern, and most disposed to promote its
welfare. He has succeeded to a miracle in the droll way of writing;
and when he assumes a severity, and writes seriously his arguments and
notions are far removed from imbecility.
As a poet, I cannot better delineate his character than in the words
of Mr. Cooke, 'There are few of his poems (says he) that have not
something very pleasing in them, and some he must be allowed to have
excelled in; most of them seem to be the effect of a lively genius,
and manly sense, but at the same time seem to want that correctness
he was capable of making. His most finished pieces are upon Milton's
Paradise Lost, and upon Blood's stealing the crown; the latter of
which is very satirical.'
On BLOOD's stealing the Crown.
When daring Blood, his rent to have regain'd,
Upon the English diadem distrain'd;
He chose the cassoc, circingle, and gown,
The fittest mask for one that robs the crown:
But his lay-pity underneath prevail'd,
And, while he sav'd the keeper's life, he fail'd.
With the priest's vestment had he but put on
The prelate's cruelty, the crown had gone.
'In his state Poems, is contained much of the secret history of
king Charles the IId, in which time they were all written. They
were composed on various occasions, and chiefly to expose a corrupt
ministry, and the violence of those who were for persecuting all who
differed from them in opinion. He has several Poems in Latin, some
of which he translated into English, and one in Greek. They have each
their proper merit; he discovers a great facility in writing the Latin
tongue. There are some small pieces of his in prose, which ought not
to escape observation. From his letter to Sir John Trott, there seems
to have been a friendly correspondence between him and that gentleman.
By his Familiar Letters, we may easily judge what part of his works
are laboured, and what not. But of all his pieces in Prose, the King's
Mock-Speech to both Houses of Parliament, has most of spirit, and
humour. As it will furnish the best specimen of Mr. Marvel's genius
for drollery, as well as the character of that prince and ministry, we
shall here insert it, as a performance of the most exquisite humour we
have ever seen.
His Majesty's most gracious Speech to both
Houses of Parliament.
My Lords and Gentlemen,
'I told you, at our last meeting, the winter was
the fittest time for business, and truly I thought
so, till my lord treasurer assured me the spring was
the best season for sallads and subsidies. I hope
therefore, that April will not prove so unnatural a
month, as not to afford some kind showers on my
parched exchequer, which gapes for want of them.
Some of you, perhaps, will think it dangerous to
make me too rich; but I do not fear it; for I promise
you faithfully, whatever you give me I will
always want; and although in other things my
word may be thought a slender authority, yet in
that, you may rely on me, I will never break it.
My Lords and Gentlemen,
I can bear my straits with patience; but my lord
treasurer does protest to me, that the revenue, as it
now stands, will not serve him and me too. One
of us must suffer for it, if you do not help me. I
must speak freely to you, I am under bad circumstances,
for besides my harlots in service, my Reformado
Concubines lie heavy upon me. I have a
passable good estate, I confess, but, God's-fish, I
have a great charge upon't. Here's my lord treasurer
can tell, that all the money designed for next
summer's guards must, of necessity, be applyed to
the next year's cradles and swadling-cloths. What
shall we do for ships then? I hint this only to you,
it being your business, not mine. I know, by experience,
I can live without ships. I lived ten years
abroad without, and never had my health better in
my life; but how you will be without, I leave to
yourselves to judge, and therefore hint this only by
the by: I do not insist upon it. There's another
thing I must press more earnestly, and that is this:
It seems, a good part of my revenue will expire in
two or three years, except you will be pleased to
continue it. I have to say for't; pray why did you
give me so much as you have done, unless you resolve
to give as fast as I call for it? The nation
hates you already for giving so much, and I'll hate
you too, if you do not give me more. So that if
you stick not to me, you must not have a friend in
England. On the other hand, if you will give me
the revenue I desire, I shall be able to do those
things for your religion and liberty, that I have had
long in my thoughts, but cannot effect them without
a little more money to carry me through.
Therefore look to't, and take notice, that if you
do not make me rich enough to undo you, it shall
lie at your doors. For my part, I wash my hands
on't. But that I may gain your good opinion, the
best way is to acquaint you what I have done to deserve
it, out of my royal care for your religion and
your property. For the first, my proclamation is a
true picture of my mind. He that cannot, as in a
glass, see my zeal for the church of England, does
not deserve any farther satisfaction, for I declare
him willful, abominable, and not good. Some
may, perhaps, be startled, and cry, how comes
this sudden change? To which I answer, I am a
changling, and that's sufficient, I think. But to
convince men farther, that I mean what I say, there
are these arguments.
First, I tell you so, and you know I never break
my word.
Secondly, my lord treasurer says so, and he never
told a lye in his life.
Thirdly, my lord Lauderdale will undertake it
for me; and I should be loath, by any art of mine,
he should forfeit the credit he has with you.
If you desire more instances of my zeal, I have
them for you. For example, I have converted my
natural sons from Popery; and I may say, without
vanity, it was my own work, so much the more
peculiarly mine than the begetting them. 'Twould
do one's heart good to hear how prettily George can
read already in the Psalter. They are all fine children,
God bless 'em, and so like me in their understandings!
But, as I was saying, I have, to please
you, given a pension to your favourite, my lord
Lauderdale; not so much that I thought he wanted
it, as that you would take it kindly. I have made
Carwel duchess of Portsmouth, and marry'd her
sister to the earl of Pembroke. I have, at my brother's
request, lent my lord Inchequin into Barbary,
to settle the Protestant religion among the Moors,
and an English interest at Tangier. I have made
Crew bishop of Durham, and, at the first word of
my lady Portsmouth, Prideaux bishop of Chichester.
I know not, for my part, what factious men would
have; but this I am sure of, my predecessors never
did any thing like this, to gain the good-will of their
subjects. So much for your religion, and now for
your property. My behaviour to the bankers is
a public instance; and the proceedings between
Mrs. Hyde and Mrs. Sutton, for private ones, are
such convincing evidences, that it will be needless
to say any more to't.
I must now acquaint you, that, by my lord treasurer's
advice, I made a considerable retrenchment
upon my expences in candies and charcoal, and do
not intend to stop there, but will, with your help,
look into the late embezzlements of my dripping-pans
and kitchenstuff; of which, by the way, upon
my conscience, neither my lord treasurer, nor my
lord Lauderdale, are guilty. I tell you my opinion;
but if you should find them dabling in that business,
I tell you plainly, I leave 'em to you; for, I would
have the world to know, I am not a man to be
cheated.
My Lords and Gentlemen,
I desire you to believe me as you have found me;
and I do solemnly promise you, that whatsoever
you give me shall be specially managed with the
same conduct, trust, sincerity, and prudence, that
I have ever practiced, since my happy restoration.'
In order to shew the versification of Mr. Marvel, we shall add a
beautiful dialogue between the resolved soul, and created pleasure. It
is written with a true spirit of poetry, the numbers are various,
and harmonious, and is one of the best pieces, in the serious way, of
which he is author.
A DIALOGUE between the Resolved SOUL
and Created PLEASURE.
Courage, my Soul, now learn to weild
The weight of thine immortal shield.
Close on thy head thy helmet bright;
Ballance thy sword against the fight.
See where an army, strong as fair,
With silken banners spreads the air.
Now, if thou be'st that thing divine,
In this day's combat let it shine;
And shew that nature wants an art
To conquer one resolved heart.
PLEASURE.
Welcome the creation's guest,
Lord of earth, and heaven's heir;
Lay aside that warlike crest,
And of nature's banquet share:
Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs,
Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.
SOUL.
I sup above, and cannot stay,
To bait so long upon the way.
PLEASURE.
On these downy pillows lye,
Whose soft plumes will thither fly:
On these roses, strew'd so plain
Lest one leaf thy side should strain.
SOUL.
My gentler rest is on a thought,
Conscious of doing what I ought.
PLEASURE.
If thou be'st with perfumes pleas'd,
Such as oft the gods appeas'd,
Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show
Like another god below.
SOUL.
A Soul that knows not to presume,
Is heaven's, and its own, perfume.
PLEASURE.
Every thing does seem to vye
Which should first attract thine eye;
But since none deserves that grace,
In this crystal view thy face.
SOUL.
When the creator's skill is priz'd,
The rest is all but earth disguis'd.
PLEASURE.
Hark how music then prepares,
For thy stay, these charming airs;
Which the posting winds recall,
And suspend the river's fall.
SOUL.
Had I but any time to lose,
On this I would it all dispose.
Cease Tempter. None can chain a mind,
Whom this sweet cordage cannot bind.
CHORUS.
Earth cannot shew so brave a sight,
As when a single Soul does fence
The batt'ry of alluring sense,
And Heaven views it with delight.
Then persevere; for still new charges sound;
And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd.
PLEASURE.
All that's costly, fair, and sweet,
Which scatteringly doth shine,
Shall within one beauty meet,
And she be only thine.
SOUL.
If things of sight such heavens be,
What heavens are those we cannot see?
PLEASURE.
Wheresoe'er thy foot shall go
The minted gold shall lye;
Till thou purchase all below,
And want new worlds to buy.
SOUL.
Wer't not for price who'd value gold?
And that's worth nought that can be sold.
PLEASURE.
Wilt thou all the glory have
That war or peace commend?
Half the world shall be thy slave,
The other half thy friend.
SOUL.
What friends, if to my self untrue?
What slaves, unless I captive you?
PLEASURE.
Thou shalt know each hidden cause;
And see the future time:
Try what depth the centre draws;
And then to heaven climb.
SOUL.
None thither mounts by the degree
Of knowledge, but humility.
CHORUS.
Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul;
The world has not one pleasure more;
The rest does lye beyond the pole,
And is thine everlasting store.
We shall conclude the life of Mr. Marvel, by presenting the reader
with that epitaph, which was intended to be inscribed upon his tomb,
in which his character is drawn in a very masterly manner.
Near this place
Lieth the body of ANDREW MARVEL, Esq;
A man so endowed by nature,
So improved by education, study, and travel,
So consummated, by experience and learning;
That joining the most peculiar graces of wit
With a singular penetration and strength of judgment,
And exercising all these in the whole course of his life,
With unalterable steadiness in the ways of virtue,
He became the ornament and example of his age,
Beloved by good men, fear'd by bad, admired by all,
Tho' imitated, alas! by few;
And scarce paralleled by any.
But a tombstone can neither contain his character,
Nor is marble necessary to transmit it to posterity.
It is engraved in the minds of this generation,
And will be always legible in his inimitable writings.
Nevertheless
He having served near twenty-years successively in
parliament,
And that, with such wisdom, integrity, dexterity,
and courage,
As became a true patriot,
The town of Kingiton upon Hull,
From whence he was constantly deputed to that
Assembly,
Lamenting in his death the public loss,
Have erected this monument of their grief and
gratitude,
1688.
He died in the 58th year of his age
On the 16th day of August 1678.
Heu fragile humanum genus! heu terrestria vana!
Heu quem spectatum continet urna virum!
[Footnote A: A disappointment occasioned our throwing this life out
of the chronlogical order. But we hope the candid reader will pardon
a fault of this kind: we only wish he may find nothing of more
consequence to accuse us of.]
[Footnote B: Cook's Life of Andrew Marvel, Esq; prefixed to the first
volume of Mr. Marvel's Works, London 1726.]
[Footnote C: Life ubi supri.]
[Footnote D: Mr. John Oxenbridge, who was made fellow of Eton College
curing the civil war, but ejected at the Restoration; he died in New
England, and was a very enthusiastic person.]
* * * * *
Mrs. ELIZABETH THOMAS,
This lady, who is known in the world by the poetial name of Corinna,
seems to have been born for misfortunes; her very bitterest enemies
could never brand her with any real crime, and yet her whole life
has been one continued scene of misery[A]. The family from which she
sprung was of a rank in life beneath envy, and above contempt. She was
the child of an ancient, and infirm parent, who gave her life when
he was dying himself, and to whose unhappy constitution she was sole
heiress. From her very birth, which happened 1675, she was afflicted
with fevers and defluxions, and being over-nursed, her constitution
was so delicate and tender, that had she not been of a gay
disposition, and possessed a vigorous mind, she must have been more
unhappy than she actually was. Her father dying when she was scarce
two years old, and her mother not knowing his real circumstances, as
he was supposed from the splendour of his manner of life to be very
rich, some inconveniencies were incurred, in bestowing upon him a
pompous funeral, which in those times was fashionable. The mother of
our poetess, in the bloom of eighteen, was condemned to the arms of
this man, upwards of 60, upon the supposition of his being wealthy,
but in which she was soon miserably deceived. When the grief, which
so young a wife may be supposed to feel for an aged husband, had
subsided, she began to enquire into the state of his affairs, and
found to her unspeakable mortification, that he died not worth one
thousand pounds in the world. As Mrs. Thomas was a woman of good
sense, and a high spirit, she disposed of two houses her husband kept,
one in town, the other in the county of Essex, and retired into a
private, but decent country lodging. The chambers in the Temple her
husband possessed, she sold to her brother for 450 l. which, with her
husband's books of accounts, she lodged in her trustee's hands, who
being soon after burnt out by the fire in the paper buildings in the
temple (which broke out with such violence in the dead of night, that
he saved nothing but his life) she lost considerably. Not being
able to make out any bill, she could form no regular demand, and was
obliged to be determined by the honour of her husband's clients, who
though persons of the first fashion, behaved with very little honour
to her. The deceased had the reputation of a judicious lawyer, and
an accomplished gentleman, but who was too honest to thrive in his
profession, and had too much humanity ever to become rich. Of all
his clients, but one lady behaved with any appearance of honesty. The
countess dowager of Wentworth having then lost her only daughter the
lady Harriot (who was reputed the mistress of the duke of Monmouth)
told Mrs. Thomas, 'that she knew she had a large reckoning with the
deceased, but, says she, as you know not what to demand, so I know
not what to pay; come, madam, I will do better for you than a random
reckoning, I have now no child, and have taken a fancy to your
daughter; give me the girl, I will breed her as my own, and provide
for her as such when I die.' The widow thank'd her ladyship, but with
a little too much warmth replied, 'she would not part with her child
on any terms;' which the countess resented to such a degree, that she
would never see her more, and dying in a few years, left 1500 l. per
annum inheritance, at Stepney, to her chambermaid.
Thus were misfortunes early entailed upon this lady. A proposal which
would have made her opulent for life, was defeated by the unreasonable
fondness of her mother, who lived to suffer its dismal consequences,
by tasting the bitterest distresses. We have already observed, that
Mrs. Thomas thought proper to retire to the country with her daughter.
The house where she boarded was an eminent Cloth-worker's in the
county of Surry, but the people of the house proved very disagreeable.
The lady had no conversation to divert her; the landlord was an
illiterate man, and the rest of the family brutish, and unmannerly.
At last Mrs. Thomas attracted the notice of Dr. Glysson, who observing
her at church very splendidly dressed, sollicited her acquaintance. He
was a valuable piece of antiquity, being then, 1684, in the hundredth
year of his age. His person was tall, his bones very large, his hair
like snow, a venerable aspect, and a complexion, which might shame
the bloom of fifteen. He enjoyed a sound judgment, and a memory so
tenacious, and clear, that his company was very engaging. His visits
greatly alleviated the solitude of this lady. The last visit he
made to Mrs. Thomas, he drew on, with much attention, a pair of
rich Spanish leather gloves, embost on the backs, and tops with gold
embroidery, and fringed round with gold plate. The lady could not help
expressing her curiosity, to know the history of those gloves, which
he seemed to touch with so much respect. He answered, 'I do respect
them, for the last time I had the honour of approaching my mistress,
Queen Elizabeth, she pulled them from her own Royal hands, saying,
here Glysson, wear them for my sake. I have done so with veneration,
and never drew them on, but when I had a mind to honour those whom
I visit, as I now do you; and since you love the memory of my Royal
mistress, take them, and preserve them carefully when I am gone.' The
Dr. then went home, and died in a few days.
This gentleman's death left her again without a companion, and an
uneasiness hung upon her, visible to the people of the house; who
guessing the cause to proceed from solitude, recommended to her
acquaintance another Physician, of a different cast from the former.
He was denominated by them a conjurer, and was said to be capable
of raising the devil. This circumstance diverted Mrs. Thomas, who
imagined, that the man whom they called a conjurer, must have more
sense than they understood. The Dr. was invited to visit her, and
appeared in a greasy black Grogram, which he called his Scholar's
Coat, a long beard, and other marks of a philosophical negligence.
He brought all his little mathematical trinkets, and played over his
tricks for the diversion of the lady, whom, by a private whisper, he
let into the secrets as he performed them, that she might see there
was nothing of magic in the case. The two most remarkable articles of
his performance were, first lighting a candle at a glass of cold water
(performed by touching the brim before with phosphorus, a chymical
fire which is preserved in water and burns there) and next reading
the smallest print by a candle of six in the pound, at a hundred yards
distance in the open air, and darkest night. This was performed by a
large concave-glass, with a deep pointed focus, quick-silvered on the
backside and set in tin, with a socket for a candle, sconce fashion,
and hung up against a wall. While the flame of the candle was
diametrically opposite to the centre, the rays equally diverging, gave
so powerful a light as is scarce credible; but on the least variation
from the focus, the charm ceased. The lady discerning in this man a
genius which might be improved to better purposes than deceiving
the country people, desired him not to hide his talents, but to push
himself in the world by the abilities of which he seemed possessed.
'Madam, said he, I am now a fiddle to asses, but I am finishing a
great work which will make those asses fiddle to me.' She then asked
what that work might be? He replied, 'his life was at stake if it took
air, but he found her a lady of such uncommon candour, and good sense,
that he should make no difficulty in committing his life and hope
to her keeping.' All women are naturally fond of being trusted with
secrets; this was Mrs. Thomas's failing: the Dr. found it out, and
made her pay dear for her curiosity. 'I have been, continued he, many
years in search of the Philosopher's Stone, and long master of the
smaragdine-table of Hermes Trismegistus; the green and red dragons of
Raymond Lully have also been obedient to me, and the illustrious sages
themselves deign to visit me; yet is it but since I had the honour to
be known to your ladyship, that I have been so fortunate as to obtain
the grand secret of projection. I transmuted some lead I pulled off
my window last night into this bit of gold.' Pleased with the sight of
this, and having a natural propension to the study, the lady snatched
it out of the philosopher's hand, and asked him why he had not
made more? He replied, 'it was all the lead I could find.' She then
commanded her daughter to bring a parcel of lead which lay in the
closet, and giving it to the Chymist, desired him to transmute it into
gold on the morrow. He undertook it, and the next day brought her an
ingot which weighed two ounces, which with the utmost solemnity he
avowed was the very individual lead she gave him, transmuted to gold.
She began now to engage him in serious discourse; and finding by his
replies, that he wanted money to make more powder, she enquired how
much would make a stock that would maintain itself? He replied, one
fifty pounds after nine months would produce a million. She then
begged the ingot of him, which he protested had been transmuted
from lead, and flushed with the hopes of success, hurried to town to
examine whether the ingot was true gold, which proved fine beyond the
standard. The lady now fully convinced of the truth of the empyric's
declaration, took fifty pounds out of the hands of a Banker, and
entrusted him with it.
The only difficulty which remained, was, how to carry on the work
without suspicion, it being strictly prohibited at that time. He was
therefore resolved to take a little house in another county, at a few
miles distance from London, where he was to build a public laboratory,
as a professed Chymist, and deal in such medicines as were most
vendible, by the sale of which to the apothecaries, the expence of the
house was to be defrayed during the operation. The widow was accounted
the housekeeper, and the Dr. and his man boarded with her; to which
she added this precaution, that the laboratory, with the two lodging
rooms over it, in which the Dr. and his man lay, was a different
wing of the building from that where she and her little daughter, and
maid-servant resided; and as she knew some time must elapse before any
profit could be expected, she managed with the utmost frugality. The
Dr. mean time acted the part of a tutor to miss, in Arithmetic, Latin,
and Mathematics, to which she discovered the strongest propensity. All
things being properly disposed for the grand operation, the vitriol
furnace was set to work, which requiring the most intense heat
for several days, unhappily set fire to the house; the stairs were
consumed in an instant, and as it surprized them all in their first
sleep, it was a happy circumstance that no life perished. This unlucky
accident was 300 l. loss to Mrs. Thomas: yet still the grand project
was in a fair way of succeeding in the other wing of the building. But
one misfortune is often followed by another. The next Sunday evening,
while she was reading to, and instructing her little family, a sudden,
and a violent report, like a discharge of cannon was heard; the house
being timber, rocked like a cradle, and the family were all thrown
from their chairs on the ground. They looked with the greatest
amazement on each other, not guessing the cause, when the operator
pretending to revive, fell to stamping, tearing his hair, and raving
like a madman, crying out undone, undone, lost and undone for ever.
He ran directly to the Athanor, when unlocking the door, he found
the machine split quite in two, the eggs broke, and that precious
amalgamum which they contained was scattered like sand among the
ashes. Mrs. Thomas's eyes were now sufficiently opened to discern the
imposture, and, with a very serene countenance, told the empyric, that
accidents will happen, but means might be fallen upon to repair this
fatal disappointment. The Dr. observing her so serene, imagined
she would grant him more money to compleat his scheme, but she soon
disappointed his expectation, by ordering him to be gone, and made
him a present of five guineas, left his desperate circumstances should
induce him to take some violent means of providing for himself.
Whether deluded by a real hope of finding out the Philosopher's Stone,
or from an innate principle of villainy, cannot be determined, but he
did not yet cease his pursuit, and still indulged the golden delusion.
He now found means to work upon the credulity of an old miser,
who, upon the strength of his pretensions, gave him his daughter
in marriage, and embarked all his hoarded treasure, which was very
considerable, in the same chimerical adventure. In a word, the miser's
stock was also lost, the empyric himself, and the daughter reduced to
beggary. This unhappy affair broke the miser's heart, who did not many
weeks survive the loss of his cash. The Dr. also put a miserable
end to his life by drinking poison, and left his wife with two young
children in a state of beggary. But to return to Mrs. Thomas.
The poor lady suffered on this occasion a great deal of inward
anguish; she was ashamed of having reduced her fortune, and
impoverished her child by listening to the insinuations of a madman.
Time and patience at last overcame it; and when her health, which by
this accident had been impaired, was restored to her, she began
to stir amongst her husband's great clients. She took a house in
Bloomsbury, and by means of good economy, and an elegant appearance,
was supposed to be better in the world than she really was. Her
husband's clients received her like one risen from the dead: They came
to visit her, and promised to serve her. At last the duke of Montague
advised her to let lodgings, which way of life she declined, as her
talents were not suited for dealing with ordinary lodgers; but added
she, 'if I knew any family who desired such a conveniency, I would
readily accommodate them.' I take you at your word, replied the duke,
'I will become your sole tenant: Nay don't smile, for I am in earnest,
I love a little freedom more than I can enjoy at home, and I may come
sometimes and eat a bit of mutton, with four or five honest fellows,
whose company I delight in.' The bargain was bound, and proved matter
of fact, though on a deeper scheme than drinking a bottle: And his
lordship was to pass in the house for Mr. Freeman of Hertfordshire.
In a few days he ordered a dinner for his beloved friends, Jack and
Tom, Will and Ned, good honest country-fellows, as his grace called
them. They came at the time appointed; but how surprized was the
widow, when she saw the duke of Devonshire, the lords Buckingham, and
Dorset, and a certain viscount, with Sir William Dutton Colt, under
these feign'd names. After several times meeting at this lady's house,
the noble persons, who had a high opinion of her integrity, entrusted
her with the grand secret, which was nothing less than the project for
the Revolution.
Tho' these meetings were held as private as possible, yet suspicions
arose, and Mrs. Thomas's house was narrowly watched; but the
messengers, who were no enemies to the cause, betrayed their trust,
and suffered the noblemen to meet unmolested, or at least without any
dread of apprehension.
The Revolution being effected, and the state came more settled, that
place of rendezvous was quitted: The noblemen took leave of the lady,
with promises of obtaining a pension, or some place in the houshold
for her, as her zeal in that cause highly merited; besides she had a
very good claim to some appointment, having been ruined by shutting up
the Excheqner. But alas! court promises proved an aerial foundation,
and these noble peers never thought of her more. The duke of Montague
indeed made offers of service, and being captain of the band of
pensioners, she asked him to admit Mr. Gwynnet, a gentleman who had
made love to her daughter, into such a post. This he promised, but
upon these terms, that her daughter should ask him for it. The widow
thanked him, and not suspecting that any design was covered under this
offer, concluded herself sure of success: But how amazed was she to
find her daughter (whom she had bred in the most passive subjection)
and who had never discovered the least instance of disobedience,
absolutely refuse to ask any such favour of his grace. She could be
prevailed upon neither by flattery, nor threatning, and continuing
still obstinate in her resolution; her mother obliged her to explain
herself, upon the point of her refusal. She told her then, that the
duke of Montague had already made an attack upon her, that his designs
were dishonourable; and that if she submitted to ask his grace one
favour, he would reckon himself secure of another in return, which he
would endeavour to accomplish by the basest means. This explanation
was too satisfactory; Who does not see the meanness of such an
ungenerous conduct? He had made use of the mother as a tool, for
carrying on political designs; he found her in distress, and as a
recompence for her service, and under the pretence of mending her
fortune, attempted the virtue of her daughter, and would provide for
her, on no other terms, but at the price of her child's innocence.
In the mean time, the young Corinna, a poetical name given her by Mr.
Dryden, continued to improve her mind by reading the politest authors:
Such extraordinary advances had she made, that upon her sending some
poems to Mr. Dryden, entreating his perusal, and impartial sentiments
thereon, he was pleased to write her the following letter.
Fair CORINNA,
'I have sent your two poems back again, after
having kept them so long from you: They were
I thought too good to be a woman's; some of my
friends to whom I read them, were of the same
opinion. It is not very gallant I must confess to
say this of the fair sex; but, most certain it is,
they generally write with more softness than
strength. On the contrary, you want neither
vigour in your thoughts, nor force in your expression,
nor harmony in your numbers; and me-thinks,
I find much of Orinda in your manner,
(to whom I had the honour to be related, and
also to be known) but I am so taken up with my
own studies, that I have not leisure to descend to
particulars, being in the mean time, the fair
Corinna's
Most humble, and
Most faithful servant
Nov. 12, 1699. JOHN DRYDEN.
Our amiable poetess, in a letter to Dr. Talbot, Bishop of Durham, has
given some farther particulars of her life. We have already seen that
she was addressed upon honourable terms, by Mr. Gwynnet, of the
Middle Temple, son of a gentleman in Gloucestershire. Upon his
first discovering his passion to Corinna, she had honour enough to
remonstrate to him the inequality of their fortune, as her affairs
were then in a very perplexed situation. This objection was soon
surmounted by a lover, especially as his father had given him
possession of the greatest part of his estate, and leave to please
himself. Mr. Gwynnet no sooner obtained this, than he came to London,
and claimed Corinna's promise of marriage: But her mother being then
in a very weak condition, she could not abandon her in that distress,
to die among strangers. She therefore told Mr. Gwynnet, that as she
had not thought sixteen years long in waiting for him, he could not
think six months long in expectation of her. He replied, with a deep
sigh, 'Six months at this time, my Corinna, is more than sixteen years
have been; you put it off now, and God will put it off for ever.'—It
proved as he had foretold; he next day went into the country, made his
will, sickened, and died April the 16th, 1711, leaving his Corinna the
bequest of six-hundred pounds; and adds she, 'Sorrow has been my food
ever since.'
Had she providentially married him, she had been secure from the
insults of poverty; but her duty to her parent was more prevalent than
considerations of convenience. After the death of her lover, she was
barbarously used: His brother, stifled the will, which compelled her
to have recourse to law; he smothered the old gentleman's conveyance
deed, by which he was enabled to make a bequest, and offered a large
sum of money to any person, who would undertake to blacken Corinna's
character; but wicked as the world is, he found none so compleatly
abandoned, as to perjure themselves for the sake of his bribe. At last
to shew her respect to the memory of her deceased lover, she consented
to an accommodation with his brother, to receive 200 l. down, and
200 l. at the year's end. The first payment was made, and distributed
instantly amongst her mother's creditors; but when the other became
due, he bid her defiance, stood suit on his own bond, and held out
four terms. He carried it from one court to another, till at last
it was brought to the bar of the House of Lords; and as that is
a tribunal, where the chicanery of lawyers can have no weight, he
thought proper to pay the money without a hearing: The gentlemen
of the long-robe had made her sign an instrument, that they should
receive the money and pay themselves: After they had laid their cruel
hands upon it, of the 200 l. the poor distressed lady received but
13 l. 16 s. which reduced her to the necessity of absconding from her
creditors, and starving in an obscure corner, till she was betrayed by
a false friend, and hurried to jail.
Besides all the other calamities of Corinna, she had ever a bad state
of health, occasioned by an accident too curious to be omitted.
In the year 1730 her case was given into the college of physicians,
and was reckoned a very surprizing one. It is as follows.
'In April 1711 the patient swallowed the middle bone of the wing of
a large fowl, being above three inches long; she had the end in
her mouth, and speaking hastily it went forcibly down in the act of
inspiration. After the first surprize, feeling no pain she thought no
more of it; in a few days after, she complained what she eat or drank
lay like a stone in her stomach, and little or nothing pass'd through
her. After three weeks obstruction, she fell into a most violent
bloody flux, attended with a continual pain at the pit of her stomach,
convulsions, and swooning fits; nor had she any ease but while her
stomach was distended with liquids, such as small beer, or gruel:
She continued in this misery, with some little intervals, till the
Christmass following, when she was seized with a malignant fever, and
the convulsions encreased to so high a degree, that she crowed like a
cock, and barked like a dog, to the affrightment of all who saw her,
as well as herself. Dr. Colebatch being called to her relief, and
seeing the almost incredible quantity of blood she voided, said it
was impossible she could live, having voided all her bowels. He was
however prevailed with to use means, which he said could only be by
fetching off the inner coat of her stomach, by a very strong vomit;
he did so, and she brought the hair-veel in rolls, fresh and bleeding;
this dislodged the bone, which split length ways, one half pass'd off
by siege, black as jet, the cartilaginous part at each end consumed,
and sharp on each side as a razor; the other part is still lodged
within her. In this raw and extream weak condition, he put her into a
salivation, unknown to her mother or herself, to carry off the other
part, which shocked them to such a degree, that they sent for Dr.
Garth, who with much difficulty, and against his judgment, was
prevailed on to take it off, and using a healing galenical method,
she began to recover so much strength as to be turned in her bed,
and receive nourishment: But she soon after was seized with the Iliac
Passion, and for eleven days, her excrements came upwards, and no
passage could be forced through her, till one day by Dr. Garth,
with quick-silver. After a few weeks it returned again, and the same
medicine repeated, upon which she recovered, and for some months was
brought to be in a tolerable state of health, only the region of
the spleen much swelled; and at some times, when the bone moved
outwards, as it visibly did to sight and touch, was very painful.—In
July 1713, on taking too strong a purge, a large imposthume bag came
away by stool, on which it was supposed, the cystus, which the bone
had worked for itself, being come away, the bone was voided also; but
her pains continued so extraordinary, she willingly submitted to the
decree of four surgeons, who agreed to make an incision in the left
side of the abdomen, and extract the bone; but one of the surgeons
utterly rejecting the operation, as impracticable, the bone being
lodged in the colon, sent her to Bath, where she found some relief by
pumping, and continued tolerably well for some years, even to bear the
fatigue of an eight years suit at law, with an unjust executor; save
that in over-walking, and sudden passion, she used to be pained, but
not violent; and once or twice in a year a discharge of clean gall,
with some portions of a skin, like thin kid leather, tinged with gall,
which she felt break from the place, and leave her sore within; but
the bone never made any attempt out-wards after the first three years.
Being deprived of a competent fortune, by cross accidents, she has
suffered all the extremities of a close imprisonment, if want of all
the necessaries of life, and lying on the boards for two-years may
be termed such, during which time she never felt the bone. But on her
recovering liberty, and beginning to use exercise, her stomach, and
belly, and head swelled to a monstrous degree, and she was judged in a
galloping dropsy; but no proper medicines taking place, she was given
over as incurable, when nature unexpectedly helped itself, and in
twelve hours time by stool, and vomit, she voided about five gallons
of dirty looking water, which greatly relieved her for some days, but
gathered again as the swelling returned, and always abounded with
a hectic, or suffocating asthma in her stomach, and either a canine
appetite or loathing. She has lately voided several extraneous
membranes different from the former, and so frequent, that it keeps
her very low, some of which she has preserved in spirits, and humbly
implores your honours judgment thereon.'
Under all these calamities, of which the above is a just
representation, did poor Corinna labour; and it is difficult to
produce a life crouded with greater evils. The small fortune which her
father left her, by the imprudence of her mother, was soon squandered:
She no sooner began to taste of life, than an attempt was made upon
her innocence. When she was about being happy in the arms of her
amiable lover Mr. Gwynnet, he was snatched from her by an immature
fate. Amongst her other misfortunes, she laboured under the
displeasure of Mr. Pope, whose poetical majesty she had innocently
offended, and who has taken care to place her in his Dunciad. Mr. Pope
had once vouchsafed to visit her, in company with Henry Cromwel,
Esq; whose letters by some accident fell into her hands, with some of
Pope's answers. As soon as that gentleman died, Mr. Curl found means
to wheedle them from her, and immediately committed them to the press.
This so enraged Pope, that tho' the lady was very little to blame, yet
he never forgave her.
Not many months after our poetess had been released from her gloomy
habitation, she took a small lodging in Fleet street, where she died
on the 3d of February 1730, in the 56th year of her age, and was two
days after decently interred in the church of St. Bride's.
Corinna, considered as an authoress, is of the second rate, she had
not so much wit as Mrs. Behn, or Mrs. Manley, nor had so happy a power
of intellectual painting; but her poetry is soft and delicate, her
letters sprightly and entertaining. Her Poems were published after her
death, by Curl; and two volumes of Letters which pass'd between her
and Mr. Gwynnet. We shall select as a specimen of her poetry, an Ode
addressed to the duchess of Somerset, on her birth-day.
An ODE, &c.
Great, good, and fair, permit an humble muse,
To lay her duteous homage at your feet:
Such homage heav'n itself does not refuse,
But praise, and pray'rs admits, as odours sweet.
II.
Blest be forever this auspicious day,
Which gave to such transcendent virtue birth:
May each revolving year new joys display,
Joys great as can supported be on earth.
III.
True heiress of the Finch and Hatton line,
Formed by your matchless parents equal care
(The greatest statesman he, yet best divine,
She bright example of all goodness here).
IV.
And now incircled in the dearest tye,
To godlike Seymour, of connubial love;
Seymour illustrious prince, whose family
Did heretofore the kingly race improve.
V.
Adorns the nation still, and guards the throne,
In noble Somerset, whose generous breast,
Concenters all his ancestors in one,
That were in church, and state, and arms profest.
VI.
Yet 'midst the plaudits of a grateful land,
His heaven-born soul reviews his pristine state;
And in obedience to divine command,
Numberless poor are feasted at his gate.
VII.
Thrice happy greatness, true philosophy,
That does so well the use of riches know,
And can by charity transpire the sky,
Encompass'd round with splendour here below.
VIII.
O may posterity from such a pair,
Enjoy a progeny almost divine,
Great as their fire, and as their mother fair,
And good as both, till last extent of time.
[Footnote A: See the Memoirs of Mrs. Thomas's Life, prefixed to a
volume of Letters between her and Mr. Gwynnet; the only account that
is preserved concerning her.]
* * * * *