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THE LIVES OF THE POETS OF GREAT BRITAIN and IRELAND.

Compiled from ample Materials ſcattered in a Variety of Books, and eſpecially from the MS. Notes of the late ingenious Mr. COXETER and others, collected for this Deſign, By Mr. CIBBER, and other Hands.

VOL. III.

LONDON: Printed for R. GRIFFITHS, at the Dunciad in St. Paul's Church-Yard. MDCCLIII.

VOLUME III. Contains the LIVES OF

[]

Juſt publiſhed,

In TWO VOLUMES, 12mo. (Price 6s.)

LIVES OF EMINENT FRENCH WRITERS.

VOL. I. Contains the Lives of

VOL. II. Thoſe of

Printed for R. GRIFFITHS.

[] THE LIVES OF THE POETS.

Sir JOHN DENHAM.

AN eminent poet of the 17th century, was the only ſon of Sir John Denham, knight, of Little Horſley in Eſſex, and ſome time baron of the Exchequer in Ireland, and one of the lords juſtices of that kingdom. He was born in Dublin, in the year 1615*; but was brought over from thence very young, on his father's being made one of the barons of the Exchequer in England 1617.

[2] He received his education, in grammar learning, in London; and in Michaelmas term 1631 he was entered a gentleman commoner in Trinity College, Oxford, being then 16 years of age; where, as Wood expreſſes it, ‘'being looked upon as a ſlow dreaming young man, and more addicted to gaming than ſtudy, they could never imagine he could ever enrich the world with the iſſue of his brain, as he afterwards did.'’

He remained three years at the univerſity, and having been examined at the public ſchools, for the degree of bachelor of arts, he entered himſelf in Lincoln's-Inn, where he was generally thought to apply himſelf pretty cloſely to the ſtudy of the common law. But notwithſtanding his application to ſtudy, and all the efforts he was capable of making, ſuch was his propenſity to gaming, that he was often ſtript of all his money; and his father ſeverely chiding him, and threatning to abandon him if he did not reform, he wrote a little eſſay againſt that vice, and preſented it to his father, to convince him of his reſolution againſt it*. But no ſooner did his father die, than being unreſtrained by paternal authority, he reaſſumed the practice, and ſoon ſquandered away ſeveral thouſand pounds.

In the latter end of the year 1641 he publiſhed a tragedy called the Sophy, which was greatly admired, and gave Mr. Waller occaſion to ſay of our author, ‘'That he broke out like the Iriſh rebellion, threeſcore thouſand ſtrong, when no body was aware, nor in the leaſt expected it.'’ Soon after this he was pricked for high ſheriff for the county of Surry, and made governor of Farnham-Caſtle for the King; but not being well ſkilled in military affairs, he ſoon quitted that poſt and retired to his Majeſty at Oxford, [3] where he publiſhed an excellent poem called Cooper's-hill, often reprinted before and ſince the reſtoration, with conſiderable alterations: it has been univerſally admired by all good judges, and was tranſlated into Latin verſe, by Mr. Moſes Pengry of Oxford.

Mr. Dryden ſpeaking of this piece, in his dedication of his Rival Ladies, ſays, that it is a poem, which, for the Majeſty of the ſtile, will ever be the exact ſtandard of good writing, and the noble author of an eſſay on human life, beſtows upon it the moſt laviſh encomium*. But of all the evidences in its favour, none is of greater authority, or more beautiful, than the following of Mr. Pope, in his Windſor Foreſt.

Ye ſacred nine, that all my ſoul poſſeſs,
Whoſe raptures fire me, and whoſe viſions bleſs;
Bear me, O bear me, to ſequeſter'd ſcenes,
The bow'ry mazes, and ſurrounding greens;
To Thames's bank which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where the muſes ſport on Cooper's-hill.
(On Cooper's hill eternal wreaths ſhall grow,
While laſts the mountain, or while Thames ſhall flow.)
I ſeem thro' conſecrated walks to rove,
I hear ſoft muſic die along the grove,
Led by the ſound, I roam from ſhade to ſhade,
By god-like poets venerable made:
Here his laſt lays majeſtic Denham ſung,
There the laſt numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue.

In the year 1647 he was entruſted by the Queen with a meſſage to the King, then in the hands of [4] the army, and employed in other affairs relating to his Majeſty. In his dedication of his poems to Charles II. he obſerves, that after the delivery of the perſon of his royal father into the hands of the army, he undertook for the Queen-mother, to get acceſs to his Majeſty, which he did by means of Hugh Peters; and upon this occaſion, the King diſcourſed with him without reſerve upon the ſtate of his affairs. At his departure from Hampton-court, ſays he, ‘'The King commanded me to ſtay privately in London, to ſend to him and receive from him all his letters, from and to all his correſpondents, at home and abroad, and I was furniſhed with nine ſeveral cyphers in order to it. Which I truſt I performed with great ſafety to the perſons with whom we correſponded; but about nine months after being diſcovered by their knowledge of Mr. Cowley's hand, I happily eſcaped both for myſelf and thoſe who held correſpondence with me.'’

In April 1648 he conveyed away James duke of York, then under the tuition of Algernon earl of Northumberland, from St. James's, and carried him into France, to the prince of Wales and Queenmother. This circumſtance is related by Wood, but Clarendon, who is a higher authority, ſays, that the duke went off with colonel Bamfield only, who contrived the means of his eſcape. Not long after, he was ſent embaſſador to the King of Poland, in conjunction with lord Crofts, to whom he addreſſes a poem written on their journey; from whence he brought ten thouſand pounds for his Majeſty, by the decimation of his Scottiſh ſubjects there.

About the year 1652, he returned into England, and was well received by the earl of Pembroke at Wilton, and continued with that nobleman about a year; for his own fortune by the expence he was at during the civil war, and his unconquerable [5] itch of gaming was quite exhauſted. From that year to the reſtoration, there are no accounts of our author; but as ſoon as his Majeſty returned, he entered upon the office of ſurveyor of his Majeſty's buildings, in the room of Inigo Jones, deceaſed; and at the coronation of King Charles II. was created a knight of the Bath. Upon ſome diſcontent ariſing from his ſecond marriage he loſt his ſenſes, but ſoon recovering from that diſorder, he continued in great eſteem at court for his poetical writings. In the dedication of his poems to King Charles II. he tells us that he had been diſcouraged by King Charles I. from writing verſes.

‘'One morning (ſays he) when I was waiting upon the King at Cauſham, ſmiling upon me, he ſaid he could tell me ſome news of myſelf, which was that he had ſeen ſome verſes of mine the evening before (being thoſe to Sir Robert Fanſhaw) and aſking me when I made them, I told him two or three years ſince; he was pleaſed to ſay, that having never ſeen them before, he was afraid I had written them ſince my return into England; and though he liked them well he would adviſe me to write no more: alledging, that when men are young, and having little elſe to do, they might vent the over-flowings of their fancy that way, but when they were thought fit for more ſerious employments, if they ſtill perſiſted in that courſe, it would look as if they minded not the way to any better; whereupon I ſtood corrected as long as I had the honour to wait upon him.'’ This is a ſtrong inſtance of his duty to the King; but no great compliment to his Majeſty's taſte: nor was the public much obliged to the Monarch for this admonition to our author.

[6] But King Charles II. being of an humour more ſprightly than his father, was a profeſſed encourager of poetry, and in his time a race of wits ſprung up, unequalled by thoſe of any other reign.

This monarch was particularly delighted with the poetry of our author, eſpecially when he had the happineſs to wait upon him, in Holland and Flanders; and he was pleaſed ſometimes to give him arguments to write upon, and divert the evil hours of their baniſhment, which now and then, Sir John tells us, he acquitted himſelf not much ſhort of his Majeſty's expectation.

In the year 1688 Sir John Denham died, at his office in Whitehall, and was interred in Weſtminſter-Abbey, near the tombs of Chaucer, Spenſer, and Cowley.

Our author's works are,

[8] Beſides theſe, Wood mentions a Pa [...]egyric on his excellency general Monk 1659, in one ſheet quarto. Though Denham's name is not to it, it is generally aſcribed to him. A Prologue to his majeſty, at the firſt play repreſented at the Cock-pit in White-hall, being part of that noble entertainment, which their majeſties received, November 19, 1660, from his grace the duke of Albemarle. A new Verſion of the Pſalms of David. The True Preſbyterian, without Diſguiſe; or, a Character of a Preſbyterian's Ways and Actions, London 1680, in half a ſheet in folio. In the year 1666 there were printed by ſtealth, in octavo, certain Poems, intitled Directions to a Painter, in four copies or parts, each dedicated to king Charles the IId. They were very ſatyrically written againſt ſeveral perſons engaged in the Dutch war, in 1661. At the end of them was a piece entitled Clarendon's Houſewarming; and after that his Epitaph, both containing bitter reflexions againſt that earl. Sir John Denham's name is to theſe pieces, but they were generally thought to be written by Andrew Marvel, Eſq a Merry Droll in Charles the IId's Parliaments, but ſo very honeſt, that when a miniſter once called at his lodgings, to tamper with him about his vote, he found him in mean apartments up two pair of ſtairs, and though he was obliged to ſend out that very morning to borrow a guinea, yet he was not to be corrupted by the miniſter, but denied him his vote. The printer of theſe poems being diſcovered, he was ſentenced to ſtand in the pillory for the ſame.

We have met with no authors who have given any account of the moral character of Sir John Denham, and as none have mentioned his virtues, ſo we find no vice imputed to him but that of gaming; to which it appears he was immoderately addicted. If we may judge from his works, he was a good natur'd man, an eaſy companion, and in the day of danger and tumult, of unſhaken loyalty to the ſuffering intereſt [9] of his ſovereign. His character as a poet is well known, he has the faireſt teſtimonies in his favour, the voice of the world, and the ſanction of the critics; Dryden and Pope praiſe him, and when theſe are mentioned, other authorities are ſuperfluous.

We ſhall ſelect as a ſpecimen of Sir John Denham's Poetry, his Elegy on his much loved and admired friend Mr. Abraham Cowley.

Old mother Wit and nature gave
Shakeſpear, and Fletcher all they have;
In Spencer and in Johnſon art,
O ſlower nature, got the ſtart.
But both in him ſo equal are,
None knows which bears the happieſt ſhare.
To him no author was unknown,
Yet what he wrote was all his own:
He melted not the antient gold,
Nor, with Ben Johnſon, did make bold,
To plunder all the Roman ſtores.
Of poets and of orators.
Horace's wit, and Virgil's ſtate,
He did not ſteal, but emulate;
And he would like to them appear,
Their garb, but not their cloaths did wear.
He not from Rome alone but Greece,
Like Johnſon, brought the golden fleece.
And a ſtiff gale, (as Flaccus ſings)
The Theban ſwan extends his wings,
When thro' th' aethereal clouds he flies,
To the ſame pitch our ſwan doth riſe;
Old Pindar's flights by him new-reach'd,
When on that gale, his wings are ſtretch'd.

THOMAS KILLEGREW,

[10]

A Gentleman, who was page of honour to king Charles I. and groom of the bed-chamber to king Charles II. with whom he endured twentyyears exile. During his abode beyond ſea, he took a view of France, Italy and Spain, and was honoured by his majeſty, with the employment of reſident at the ſtate of Venice, whither he was ſent in Auguſt 1651. During his exile abroad, he applied his leiſure hours to the ſtudy of poetry, and the compoſition of ſeveral plays, of which Sir John Denham in a jocular way takes notice, in his copy of verſes on our author's return from his embaſſy from Venice.

I.
Our reſident Tom,
From Venice is come,
And hath left the ſtateſman behind him.
Talks at the ſame pitch,
Is as wiſe, is as rich,
And juſt where you left him, you find him.
II.
But who ſays he was not,
A man of much plot,
May repent that falſe accuſation;
Having plotted, and penn'd
Six plays to attend,
The farce of his negotiation.

[11] Killegrew was a man of very great humour, and frequently diverted king Charles II. by his lively ſpirit of mirth and drollery. He was frequently at court, and had often acceſs to king Charles when admiſſion was denied to the firſt peers in the realm. Amongſt many other merry ſtories, the following is related of Killegrew. Charles II. who hated buſineſs as much as he loved pleaſure, would often diſappoint the council in vouchſafing his royal preſence when they were met, by which their buſineſs was neceſſarily delay'd and many of the council much offended by the diſreſpect thrown on them: It happened one day while the council were met, and had ſat ſome time in expectation of his majeſty, that the duke of Lauderdale, who was a furious ungovernable man, quitted the room in a paſſion, and accidentally met with Killegrew, to whom he expreſſed himſelf irreverently of the king: Killegrew bid his grace be calm, for he would lay a wager of a hundred pounds, that he would make his majeſty come to council in leſs than half an hour. Lauderdale being a little heated, and under the influence of ſurprize, took him at his word;—Killegrew went to the king, and without ceremony told him what had happened, and added, ‘"I know that your majeſty hates Lauderdale, tho' the neceſſity of your affairs obliges you to behave civilly to him; now if you would get rid of a man you hate, come to the council, for Lauderdale is a man ſo boundleſly avaritious, that rather than pay the hundred pounds loſt in this wager, he will hang himſelf, and never plague you more."’ The king was pleaſed with the archneſs of this obſervation, and anſwered, ‘'then Killegrew I'll poſitively go,'’ which he did.—It is likewiſe related, that upon the king's ſuffering his miſtreſſes to gain ſo great an aſcendant over him as to ſacrifice for them the intereſt of the ſtate, and neglect the moſt important affairs, while, like another Sardanapalus, he waſted his hours in the apartments of [12] thoſe enchantreſſes: Killegrew went one day into his apartment dreſs'd like a pilgrim, bent upon a long journey. The king being ſurprized at this extraordinary frolic, aſked him the meaning of it, and to what diſtant country he was going, to which Killegrew bluntly anſwered, the country I ſeek, may it pleaſe your majeſty, is hell; and what to do there? replies the king? to bring up Oliver Cromwel from thence, returned the wag, to take care of the Engliſh affairs, for his ſucceſſor takes none.—We cannot particularly aſcertain the truth of theſe relations, but we may venture to aſſert that they are not improbable, when it is conſidered how much delighted king Charles the IId. was with a joke, however ſevere, and that there was not at court a more likely p [...]rſon to paſs them than Killegrew, who from his long exile with the king, and being about his perſon, had contracted a kind of familiarity, which the luſtre that was thrown round the prince upon his reſtoration was not ſufficient to check.

Tho' Sir John Denham mentions but ſix, our author wrote nine Plays in his travels, and two at London, amongſt which his Don Thomaſo, in two parts, and his Parſon's Wedding, will always be valued by good judges, and are the beſt of his performances. The following is a liſt of his plays.

EDWARD HOWARD, Eſq

WAS deſcended from the noble family of the earl of Berkſhire, and was more illuſtrious by his birth than his genius; he addicted himſelf to the ſtudy of dramatic poetry, and produced four plays, but gained no reputation by any of them.

Beſides theſe plays, Mr. Howard has publiſhed an Epic Poem in octavo, called the Britiſh Princes, which the earl of Rocheſter likewiſe handled pretty ſeverely. There is likewiſe aſcribed to him another Book of Poems and Eſſays, with a Paraphraſe on Cicero's Laelius, or Tract of Friendſhip, printed in 8vo. The Earl of Dorſet, who was called by cotemporary writers, the beſt good man, with the worſt natured Muſe, has dedicated a few lines to the damnation of this extraordinary epic production of Mr. Howard's.

The Spectator obſerves, that this epic piece is full of incongruity, or in other words, abounds with nonſenſe. He quotes the two following lines,

A coat of mail Prince Vortiger had on,
Which from a naked pict his grandſire won.

Who does not ſee the abſurdity of winning a coat from a naked man?

The earl of Dorſet thus addreſſes him;

To Mr. EDWARD HOWARD, on his incomparable, incomprehenſible POEM called the BRITISH PRINCES.
Come on, ye critics, find one fault who dare,
For, read it backward like a witch's prayer,
'Twill do as well; throw not away your jeſts
On ſolid nonſenſe that abides all teſts.
Wit, like tierce-claret, when't begins to pall,
Neglected lies, and's of no uſe at all,
[16] But, in its full perfection of decay,
Turns vinegar, and comes again in play.
Thou haſt a brain, fuch as it is indeed;
On what elſe ſhould thy worm of fancy feed?
Yet in a Filbert I have often known
Maggots ſurvive when all the kernel's gone.
This ſimile ſhall ſtand, in thy defence,
'Gainſt ſuch dull rogues as now and then write ſenſe.
Thy ſtyle's the ſame, whatever be thy theme,
As ſome digeſtion turns all meat to phlegm.
He lyes, dear Ned, who ſays, thy brain is barren,
Where deep conceits, like vermin breed in carrion.
Thy ſtumbling founder'd jade can trot as high
As any other Pegaſus can fly.
So the dull Eel moves nimbler in the mud,
Than all the ſwift-finn'd racers of the flood.
As ſkilful divers to the bottom fall,
Sooner than thoſe that cannot ſwim at all,
So in the way of writing, without thinking,
Thou haſt a ſtrange alacrity in ſinking.
Thou writ'ſt below ev'n thy o [...]n nat'ral parts,
And with acquir'd dulneſs, and new arts
Of ſtud'ed nonſenſe, tak'ſt kind readers hearts.
Therefore dear Ned, at my advice forbear,
Such loud complaints 'gainſt critics to prefer,
Since thou art turn'd an arrant libeller:
Thou ſett'ſt thy name to what thyſelf do'ſt write;
Did ever libel yet ſo ſharply bite?

Mrs. APHRA BEHN,

[17]

A Celebrated poeteſs of the laſt age, was a gentlewoman by birth, being deſcended, as her life-writer ſays, from a good family in the city of Canterbury. She was born in Charles Iſt's reign*, but in what year is not known. Her father's name was Johnſon, whoſe relation to the lord Willoughby engaged him for the advantageous poſt of lieutenant general. of Surinam, and ſix and thirty iſlands, to undertake a voyage, with his whole family, to the Weſt-Indies, at which time our poeteſs was very young. Mr. Johnſon died at ſea, in his paſſage thither; but his family arrived at Surinam, a place ſo delightfully ſituated, and abounding with ſuch a vaſt profuſion of beauties, that, according to Mrs. Behn's deſcription, nature ſeems to have joined with art to render it perfectly elegant: her habitation in that country, called St. John's Hill, ſhe has challenged all the gardens in Italy, nay, all the globe of the world, to ſhew ſo delightful a receſs. It was there our poeteſs became acquainted with the ſtory and perſon of the American Prince Oroonoko, whoſe adventures ſhe has ſo feelingly and elegantly deſcribed in the celebrated Novel of that name, upon which Mr. Southern has built his Tragedy of Oroonoko, part of which is ſo entertaining and moving, that it is almoſt too much for nature. Mrs. Behn tells us, that ſhe herſelf had often ſeen and converſed with that great man, and been a witneſs to many of [18] his mighty actions, and that at one time, he, and Imoinda his wife, were ſcarce an hour in a day from her lodgings; that they eat with her, and that ſhe obliged them in all things ſhe was capable of, entertaining them with the lives of the Romans and great men, which charmed him with her company; while ſhe engaged his wife with teaching her all the pretty works ſhe was miſtreſs of, relating ſtories of Nuns, and endeavouring to bring her to the knowledge of the true God. This intimacy between Oroonoko and Mrs. Behn occaſioned ſome reflexions on her conduct, from which the authoreſs of her life, already quoted, juſtified her in the following manner; ‘'Here, ſays ſhe, I can add nothing to what ſhe has given the world already, but a vindication of her from ſome unjuſt aſperſions I find are inſinuated about this town, in relation to that prince. I knew her intimately well, and I believe ſhe would not have concealed any love affair from me, being one of her own ſex, whoſe friendſhip and ſecrecy ſhe had experienced, which makes me aſſure the world that there was no intr [...]gue between that Prince and Aſtraea. She had a general value for his uncommon virtues, and when he related the ſtory of his woes, ſhe might with the Deſdemona of Shakeſpear, cry out, That it was pitiful, wondrous pitiful, which never can be conſtrued into an amour; beſides, his heart was too violently ſet on the everlaſting charms of his Imoinda, to be ſhook with thoſe more faint (in his eye) of a white beauty; and Aſtrea's relations there preſent kept too watchful an eye over her, to permit the frailty of her youth, if that had been powerful enough.'’

After this lady's return to London, ſhe was married to Mr. Behn, a Merchant there, but of Dutch extraction. This marriage ſtrengthening her intereſt, and, perhape, reſtoring her character, gave her an opportunity [19] of appearing with advantage at court. She gave King Charles II. ſo accurate and agreeable an account of the colony of Surinam, that he conceived a great opinion of her abilities, and thought her a proper perſon to be entruſted with the management of ſome important affairs, during the Dutch war; which occaſioned her going into Flanders, and reſiding at Antwerp. Here, by her political intrigues, ſhe diſcovered the deſign formed by the Dutch, of ſailing up the river Thames, and burning the Engliſh ſhips in their harbours, which ſhe communicated to the court of England; but her intelligence, though well grounded, as appeared by the event, being only laughed at and ſlighted, ſhe laid aſide all other thoughts of ſtate affairs, and amuſed herſelf during her ſtay at Antwerp with the gallantries in that city. But as we have mentioned that ſhe diſcovered the deſign of the Dutch to burn our ſhips, it would be injuſtice to the lady, as well as to the reader, not to give ſome detail of her manner of doing it. She made this diſcovery by the intervention of a Dutchman, whom her life-writer calls by the name of Vander Albert. As an ambaſſador, or negociator of her ſex could not take the uſual means of intelligence; of mixing with the multitude, and buſtling in the cabals of ſtateſmen, ſhe fell upon another way, perhaps more efficacious, of working by her eyes. This Vander Albert had been in love with her before her marriage with Mr. Behn, and no ſooner heard of her arrival at Antwerp, than he paid her a viſit; and after a repetition of his former vows, and ardent profeſſions for her ſervice, preſſed her to receive from him ſome undeniable proofs of the vehemence and ſincerity of his paſſſion, for which he would ask no reward, 'till he had by long and faithful ſervices convinced her that he deſerved it. This propoſal was ſo ſuitable to her preſent aim in the ſervice of her country, [20] that ſhe accepted it, and employed Albert in ſuch a manner, as made her very ſerviceable to the King. The latter end of the year 1666, he ſent her word, by a ſpecial meſſenger, that he would be with her at a day appoinced, at which time, he revealed to her, that Cornelius de Wit, who, with the reſt of that family, had an implacable hatred to the Engliſh nation and the houſe of Orange, had, with de Ruyter, propoſed to the States the expedition abovementioned. This propoſal, concurring with the advice which the Dutch ſpies in England had given them, of the total neglect of all naval preparations, was well received, and was reſolved to be put in execution, as a thing neither dangerous nor difficult. Albert having communicated a ſecret of this importance, and with ſuch marks of truth, that ſhe had no room to doubt of it: as ſoon as the interview was at an end, ſhe diſpatched an account of what ſhe had diſcovered, to England*.

But we cannot conclude Mrs. Behn's gallantries at Antwerp, without being a little more particular, as we find her attacked by other lovers, and thought ſhe found means to preſerve her innocence, yet the account that ſhe herſelf gives of her affairs there, is both humorous and entertaining.

In a letter to a friend ſhe proceeds thus, ‘'My other lover is about twice Albert's age, nay and bulk too, tho' Albert be not the moſt Barbary ſhape you have ſeen, you muſt know him by the name of Van Bruin, and he was introduced to me by Albert his kinſman, and was obliged by him to furniſh me in his abſence, with what money and other things I ſhould pleaſe to command, or have occaſion for. This old fellow had not viſited me often, before I began to be ſenſible of the influence of my eyes upon this old piece of touchwood; but [21] he had not the confidence to tell me he loved me, and modeſty you know is no common fault of his countrymen. He often inſinuated that he knew a man of wealth an [...] ſubſtance, though ſtriken indeed in years, and on that account not ſo agreeable as a younger man, was paſſionately in love with me, and deſired to know whether my heart was ſo far engaged, that his friend ſhould not entertain any hopes. I replied that I was ſurprized to hear a friend of Albert's making an intereſt in me for another, and that if love were a paſſion, I was any way ſenſible of, it could never be for an old man, and much to that purpoſe. But all this would not do, in a day or two I received this eloquent epiſtle from him.'’ Here Mrs. Behn inſerts a tranſlation of Van Bruin's letter, which was wrote in French; and in a moſt ridiculous ſtile, telling her, he had often ſtrove to reveal to her the tempeſts of his heart, and with his own mouth ſcale the walls of her affections; but terrified with the ſtrength of her fortifications, he concluded to make more regular approaches, to attack her a [...] a farther diſtance, and try firſt what a bombardment of letters would do; whether theſe carcaſſes of love thrown into the ſconces of her eyes, would break into the midſt of her breaſt, beat down the out-guard of her averſion, and blow up the magazine of her cruelty, that ſhe might be brought to a capitulation, and yield upon reaſonable terms. He then conſiders her as a goodly ſhip under ſail for the Indies; her hair is the pennants, her fore-head the prow, her eyes the guns, her noſe the rudder. He wiſhes he could once ſee her keel bove water, and deſires to be her pilot, to ſteer thro' the Cape of Good-Hope, to the Indies of love.

Our ingenious poeteſs ſent him a ſuitable anſwer to this truly ridiculous and Dutchman like epiſtle. She rallies him for ſetting out in ſo unprofitable a voyage as love, and humorouſly reckons up the expences [22] of the voyage; as ribbons, and hoods for her pennants, diamond rings, lockets, and pearl-neck-laces for her guns of offence and defence, ſilks, holland, lawn, cambric, &c. for her rigging.

Mrs. Behn tells us ſhe diverted herſelf with Van Br [...]in in Albert's abſence, till he began to aſſume and grow troubleſome to her by his addreſſes, ſo that to rid himſelf of him, ſhe was forced to diſcloſe the whole affair to Albert, who was ſo enraged that he threatened the death of his rival, but he was pacified by his miſtreſs, and content to upbraid the other for his treachery, and forbid him the houſe, but this ſays Mrs. Behn, ‘'produced a very ridiculous ſcene, for my Neſtorian lover would not give ground to Albert, but was as high as he, challenged him to ſniker ſnee for me, and a thouſand things as comical; in ſhort nothing but my poſitive command could ſatisfy him, and on that he promiſed no more to trouble me. Sure as he thought himſelf of me, he was thunder-ſtruck, when he heard me not only forbid him the houſe, but ridicule all his addreſſes to his rival Albert; with a countenance full of deſpair, he went away not only from my lodgings, but the next day from Antwerp, unable to ſtay in a place where he had met ſo dreadful a defeat.'’

The authoreſs of her life has given us a farther account of her affairs with Vander Albert, in which ſhe contrived to preſerve her honour, without injuring her gratitude. There was a woman at Antwerp, who had often given Aſtraea warning of Albert's fickleneſs and inconſtancy, aſſuring her he never loved after enjoyment, and ſometimes changed even before he had that pretence; of which ſhe herſelf was an inſtance; Albert having married her, and deſerted her on the wedding-night. Our poeteſs took the opportunity of her acquaintance with this lady to put an honeſt trick upon her lover, and at the ſame time do juſtice to an injured woman. Accordingly ſhe [23] made an appointment with Albert, and contrived that the lady whoſe name was Catalina, ſhould meet him in her ſtead. The plot ſucceeded and Catalina infinitely pleaſed with the advanture, appointed the next night, and the following, till at laſt he diſcovered the cheat, and reſolved to gratify both his love and reſentment, by enjoying Aſtraea even againſt her will. To this purpoſe he bribed an elderly gentlewoman, whom Mrs. Behn kept out of charity, to put him to bed dreſt in her night-cloaths in her place, when Aſtraea was paſſing the evening in a merchant's houſe in the town. The merchants ſon and his two daughters waited on Aſtraea home; and to conclude the evening's mirth with a frolick, the young gentleman propoſed going to bed to the old woman, and that they ſhould all come in with candles and ſurprize them together. As it was agreed ſo they did, but no ſooner was the young ſpark put to bed, but he found himſelf accoſted with ardour, and a man's voice, ſaying, ‘'have I now caught thee, thou malicious charmer! now I'll not let thee go till thou haſt done me juſtice for all the wrongs thou haſt offered my doating love.'’ The reſt of the company were extremely ſurprized to find Albert in Aſtraea's bed inſtead of the old woman, and Albert no leſs ſurprized to find the young ſpark inſtead of Aſtraea. In the concluſion, the old woman was diſcarded, and Albert's fury at his diſappointment appeaſed by a promiſe from Mrs. Bhen, of marrying him at his arrival in England; but Albert returning to Holland to make preparations for his voyage to England, died of a Fever at Amſterdam*. From this adventure it plainly appears, that the obſervation of a Dutchman's not being capable to love is falſe; for both Albert, and the Neſtorian wooer, ſeem to have been warm enough in their addreſſes.

[24] After paſſing ſome time in this manner at Antwerp, ſhe embarked at Dunkirk for England; and in her paſſage, was near being loſt, for the ſhip being driven on the coaſt, foundered within ſight of land, but by the aſſiſtance of boats from the ſhore, they were all ſaved; and Mrs. Behn arriving in London, dedicated the reſt of her life to pleaſure and poetry. Beſides publiſhing three volumes of miſcellany poems, ſhe wrote ſeventeen plays, and ſome hiſtories and novels. She tranſlated Fontenelle's Hiſtory of Oracles, and plurality of worlds, to which laſt ſhe annexed an Eſſay on Tranſlation, and tranſlated Proſe. The Paraphraſe of Oenone's, Epiſtle to Paris, in the Engliſh Tranſlation of Ovid's Epiſtles is Mrs. Behn's; as are the celebrated Love Letters between a Nobleman and his Siſter. Her wit gained her the eſteem of Mr. Dryden, Mr. Southern, &c. and at the ſame time the love and addreſſes of ſeveral gentlemen, in particular one, with whom ſhe correſponded under the name of Lycida, who it ſeems did not return her paſſion with equal warmth, and with the earneſtneſs and rapture, ſhe imagined her beauty had a right to command.

Mrs. Behn died after a long indiſpoſition, April 16, 1689, and was buried in the cloiſter of Weſtminſter-Abbey. We ſhall beg leave to exhibit her character, as we find it drawn by ſome of her cotemporaries, and add a remark of our own. ‘'Mr. Langbain thinks her Memory will be long freſh among all lovers of dramatic poetry, as having been ſufficiciently eminent, not only for her theatrical performances; but ſeveral other pieces both in proſe and verſe, which gained her an eſteem among the wits almoſt equal to that of the incomparable Orinda, Mrs. Katherine Phillips.'’

There are ſeveral encomiums on Mrs. Behn prefixed to her lover's watch; among the reſt, Mr. [25] Charles Cotton, author of Virgil Traveſty, throws in his mite in her praiſe; though the lines are but poorly writ. But of all her admirers, Mr. Charles Gildon, who was intimately acquainted with our poeteſs, ſpeaks of her with the higheſt encomiums.

In his epiſtle dedicatory to her hiſtories and novels, he thus expreſſes himſelf. ‘'Poetry, the ſupreme pleaſure of the mind, is begot, and born in pleaſure, but oppreſſed and killed with pain. This reflexion ought to raiſe our admiration of Mrs. Behn, whoſe genius was of that force, to maintain its gaiety in the midſt of diſappointments, which a woman of her ſenſe and merit ought never to have met with. But ſhe had a great ſtrength of mind, and command of thought, being able to write in the midſt of company, and yet have the ſhare of the converſation: which I ſaw her do in writing Oroonoko, and other parts of her works, in every part of which you'll find an eaſy ſtile and a peculiar happineſs of thinking. The paſſions, that of love eſpecially, ſhe was miſtreſs of, and gave us ſuch nice and tender touches of them, that without her name we might diſcover the author.'’ To this character of Mrs. Behn may be very properly added, that given of her by the authoreſs of her life and memoirs, in theſe words.

'She was of a generous humane diſpoſition, ſomething paſſionate, very ſerviceable to her friends in all that was in her power, and could ſooner forgive an injury than do one. She had wit, humour, good-nature and judgment. She was miſtreſs of all the pleaſing arts of converſation: She was a woman of ſenſe, and conſequently a lover of pleaſure. For my part I knew her intimately, and never ſaw ought unbecoming the juſt modeſty of our ſex; though more gay and free, than the folly of the preciſe will allow.'

[26] The authors of the Biographia Brittanica ſay, that her poetry is none of the beſt; and that her comedies, tho' not without humour, are full of the moſt indecent ſcenes and expreſſions. As to the firſt, with ſubmiſſion to the authority of theſe writers, the charge is ill-founded, which will appear from the ſpecimen upon which Dryden himſelf makes her a compliment; as to the latter, I'm afraid it cannot be ſo well defended; but let thoſe who are ready to blame her, conſider, that her's was the ſad alternative to write or ſtarve; the taſte of the times was corrupt; and it is a true obſervation, that they who live to pleaſe, muſt pleaſe to live.

Mrs. Behn perhaps, as much as any one, condemned looſe ſcenes, and too warm deſcriptions; but ſomething muſt be allowed to human frailty. She herſelf was of an amorous complexion, ſhe felt the paſſions intimately which ſhe deſcribes, and this circumſtance added to neceſſity, might be the occaſion of her plays being of that caſt.

The ſtage how looſely does Aſtrea tread,
Who fairly puts all characters to bed.

Are lines of Mr. Pope:

And another modern ſpeaking of the viciſſitudes to which the ſtage is ſubjected, has the following,

Perhaps if ſkill could diſtant times explore,
New Behn's, new Durfey's, yet remain in ſtore,
Perhaps, for who can gueſs th' effects of chance,
Here Hunt§ may box, and Mahomet may dance.

[27] This author cannot be well acquainted with Mrs. Behn's works, who makes a compariſon between them and the productions of Durfey. There are marks of a fine underſtanding in the moſt unfiniſhed piece of Mrs. Behn, and the very worſt of this lady's compoſitions are preferable to Durfey's beſt. It is unpleaſing to have the merit of any of the Fair Sex leſſened. Mrs. Behn ſuffered enough at the hands of ſupercilious prudes, who had the barbarity to conſtrue her ſprightlineſs into lewdneſs; and becauſe ſhe had wit and beauty, ſhe muſt likewiſe be charged with proſtitution and irreligion.

Her dramatic works are,

Mrs. Behn's plays, all but the laſt, were publiſhed together in two volumes 8vo. But the edition of 1724 is in four volumes 12mo. including the Younger Brother.

The following is an account of her novels, and hiſtories,

We have obſerved, that in the Engliſh tranſlation of Ovid's Epiſtles, the paraphraſe of Oenone's Epiſtle to Paris is her's. In the preface to that work Mr. Dryden pays her this handſome compliment.

"I was deſired to ſay, that the author, who is of the fair ſex, underſtood not Latin; but if ſhe does not, I'm afraid ſhe has given us occaſion to be aſhamed who do."

Part of this epiſtle tranſcribed will afford a ſpecimen of her verſification.

Say lovely youth, why wouldſt thou, thus betray,
My eaſy faith, and lead my heart away.
I might ſome humble ſhepherd's choice have been,
Had I not heard that tongue, thoſe eyes not ſeen;
And in ſome homely cot, in low repoſe,
Liv'd undiſturb'd, with broken vows and oaths;
All day by ſhaded ſprings my flocks have kept,
And in ſome honeſt arms, at night have ſlept.
[32] Then, un-upbraided with my wrongs thou'dſt been,
Saſe in the joys of the fair Grecian queen.
What ſtars do rule the great? no ſooner you
Became a prince, but you were perju [...]ed too.
Are crowns and falſhoods then conſiſtent things?
And muſt they all be faithleſs who are Kings?
The gods be prais'd that I was humble born,
Ev'n tho' it renders me my Paris' ſcorn.
And I had rather this way wretched prove,
Than be a queen, diſhoneſt in my love.

Sir GEORGE ETHEREGF,

[33]

A Celebrated wit in the reign of Charles and James II. He is ſaid to have been deſcended of an ancient family of Oxfordſhire, and born about the year 1636; it is thought he had ſome part of his education at the univerſity of Cambridge, but in his younger years he travelled into France, and conſequently made no long ſtay at the univerſity. Upon his return, he, for ſome time, ſtudied the Municipal Law at one of the Inns of Court, in which, it ſeems, he made but little progreſs, and like other men of ſprightly genius, abandoned it for pleaſure, and the gayer accompliſhments.

In the year 1664 the town was obliged with his firſt performance for the ſtage, entitled the Comical Revenge, or Love in a Tub, the writing whereof brought him acquainted, as he himſelf informed us, with the earl of Dorſet, to whom it is by the author dedicated. The fame of this play, together with his eaſy, unreſerved converſation, and happy addreſs, rendered him a favourite with the leading wits, ſuch as the duke of Buckingham, Sir Charles Sedley, the earl of Rocheſter, Sir Car Scroop. Being animated by this encouragement, in 1668, he brought another comedy upon the ſtage, entitled She Would if She Could; which gained him no leſs applauſe, and it was expected, that by the continuance of his ſtudies, he would poliſh [34] and enliven the theatrical taſte, and be no leſs conſtant in ſuch entertainments, than the moſt aſſiduous of his cotemporaries, but he was too much addicted to pleaſure, and being impelled by no neceſſity, he neglected the ſtage, and never writ, 'till he was forced to it, by the importunity of his friends. In 1676, his laſt comedy called the Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter, came on the ſtage, with the moſt extravagant ſucceſs; he was then a ſervant to the beautiful ducheſs of York, of whom Dryden has this very ſingular-expreſſion, ‘'that he does not think, that at the general reſurrection, ſhe can be made to look more charming than now.'’ Sir George dedicates this play to his Royal Miſtreſs, with the moſt courtly turns of compliment. In this play he is ſaid to have drawn, or to uſe the modern cant, taken off, ſome of the contemporary coxcombs; and Mr. Dryden, in an Epilogue to it, has endeavoured to remove the ſuſpicion of perſonal ſatire, and ſays, that the character of Flutter is meant to ridicule none in particular, but the whole fraternity of finiſhed fops, the idolaters of new faſhions.

His words are,

True fops help nature's work, and go to ſchool,
To file and finiſh God Almighty's fool:
Yet none Sir Fopling, him, or him, can call,
He's Knight o'th' Shire, and repreſents you all.

But this induſtry, to avoid the imputation of perſonal ſatire, but ſerved to heighten it; and the town ſoon found out originals to his characters. Sir Fopling was ſaid to be drawn for one Hewit, a beau of thoſe times, who, it ſeems, was ſuch a creature as the poet ridiculed, but who, perhaps, like many other coxcombs, would never have been [35] remembered, but for this circumſtance, which tranſmits his memory to poſterity.

The character of Dorimant was ſuppoſed to repreſent the earl of Rocheſter, who was inconſtant, faithleſs, and undetermined in his amours; and it is likewiſe ſaid, in the character of Medley, that the poet has drawn out ſome ſketch of himſelf, and from the authority of Mr. Bowman, who played Sir Fopling, or ſome other part in this comedy, it is ſaid, that the very Shoemaker in Act I. was alſo meant for a real perſon, who, by his improvident courſes before, having been unable to make any profit by his trade, grew afterwards, upon the public exhibition of him, ſo induſtrious and notable, that he drew a crowd of the beſt cuſtomers to him, and became a very thriving tradeſman. Whether the poet meant to diſplay theſe characters, we cannot now determine, but it is certain, the town's aſcribing them to ſome particular perſons, was paying him a very high compliment, and if it proved no more, it at leaſt demonſtrated, a cloſe imitation of nature, a beauty which conſtitutes the greateſt perfection of a comic poet.

Our author, it ſeems, was addicted to ſome gay extravagances, ſuch as gaming, and an unlicenſed indulgence in women and wine, which brought ſome ſatirical reflexions upon him. Gildon in his Lives of the Dramatic Poets, ſays, that upon marrying a fortune, he was knighted; the circumſtances of it are theſe: He had, by his gaming and extravagance, ſo embarraſſed his affairs, that he courted a rich widow in order to retrieve them; but ſhe being an ambitious woman, would not condeſcend to marry him, unleſs he could make her a lady, which he was obliged to do by the purchaſe of a knighthood; and this appears in a Conſolatary Epiſtle to captain Julian, from the duke of Buckingham, in which this match is reflected on. We have no account [36] of any iſſue he had by this lady, but from the information of Mr. Bowman we can ſay, that he cohabited. for ſome time, with the celebrated Mrs. Barry the actreſs, and had one daughter by her; that he ſettled 5 or 6000 l. on her, but that ſhe died young.

From the ſame intelligence, it alſo appears, that Sir George was, in his perſon, a fair*, ſlender, genteel man, but ſpoiled his countenance with d [...]inking, and other habits of intemperance. In his deportment he was very affable and courteous, of a generous diſpoſition, which, with his free, lively, and natural vein of writing, acquired him the general character of gentle George, and eaſy Etherege, in reſpect of which qualities, we often find him compared to Sir Charles Sedley. His courtly and eaſy behaviour ſo recommended him to the Ducheſs of York, that when on the acceſſion of King James II. ſhe became Queen, ſhe ſent him ambaſſador abroad, Gildon ſays, to Hamburgh; but it is pretty evident, that he was in that reign a miniſter at Ratisbon, at leaſt, from the year 1686, to the time his majeſty left this kingdom, if not later, but it appears that he was there, by his own letters wrote from thence to the earl of Middleton

After this laſt comedy, we meet with no more he ever wrote for the ſtage; however, there are preſerved ſome letters of his in proſe, publ [...]ſhed among a collection of Familiar Letters, by John earl of Rocheſter; two of which, ſent to the duke of Buckingham, have particular merit, both for the archneſs of the turns, and the acuteneſs of the obſervation. He gives his lordſhip a humorous deſcription of ſome of the Germans, their exceſſive drunkenneſs; their plodding ſtupidity and offenſive indelicacy; he complains that he has no companion [37] in that part of the world, no Sir Charles Sedleys, nor Buckinghams, and what is ſtill worſe, even deprived of the happineſs of a miſtreſs, for, the women there, he ſays, are ſo coy, and ſo narrowly watched by their relations, that there is no poſſibility of accompliſhing an intrigue. He mentions, however, one Monſieur Hoffman, who married a French lady, with whom he was very great, and after the calamitous accident of Mr. Hoffman's being drowned, he pleaſantly deſcribes the grief of the widow, and the methods he took of removing her ſorrow, by an attempt in which he ſucceeded. Theſe two letters diſcover the true character of Etherege, as well as of the noble perſon to whom they were ſent, and mark them as great libertines, in ſpeculation as in practice.

As for the other compoſitions of our author, they conſiſt chiefly of little airy ſonnets, ſmart lampoons, and ſmooth panegyrics. All that we have met with more than is here mentioned, of his writing in proſe, is a ſhort piece, entitled An Account of the Rejoicing at the Diet of Ratiſbon, performed by Sir George Etherege, Knight, reſiding there from his Majeſty of Great Britain, upon Occaſion of the Birth of the Prince of Wales; in a Letter from himſelf, printed in the Savoy 1688. When our author died, the writers of his life have been very deficient; Gildon ſays, that after the Revolution, he followed his maſter into France, and died there, or very ſoon after his arrival in England from thence. But there was a report (ſay the authors of the Biograph. Brit. which they received from an ingenious gentleman) ‘'that Sir George came to an untimely death, by an unlucky accident at Ratiſbon, for, after having treated ſome company with a liberal entertainment at his houſe there, when he had taken [38] his glaſs too freely, and, being through his great complaiſance too forward, in waiting on his gueſts at their departure, fluſhed as he was, he tumbled down ſtairs, and broke his neck, and ſo fell a martyr to jollity and civility.'’

One of the earlieſt of our author's leſſer poems, is that addreſſed to her Grace the Marchioneſs of Newcaſtle, after reading her poems, and as it is eſteemed a very elegant panegyric, we ſhall give the concluſion of it as a ſpecimen.

While we, your praiſe, endeavouring to rehearſe,

Pay that great duty in our humble verſe;
Such as may juſtly move your anger, now,
Like Heaven forgive them, and accept them too.
But what we cannot, your brave hero pays,
He builds thoſe monuments we ſtrive to raiſe;
Such as to after ages ſhall make known,
While he records your deathleſs fame his own:
So when an artiſt ſome rare beauty draws,
Both in our wonder there, and our applauſe.
His ſkill, from time ſecures the glorious dame,
And makes himſelf immortal in her fame.

Beſides his Songs, little panegyrical Poems and Sonnets, he wrote two Satires againſt Nell Gwyn, one of the King's miſtreſſes, though there is no account how a quarrel happened between them; the one is called Madam Nelly's Complaint, beginning,

If Sylla's ghoſt made bloody Cat'line ſtart.

The other is called the Lady of Pleaſure, with its Argument at the Head of it, whereof the firſt line is,

[39]
The life of Nelly truly ſhewn.

Sir George ſpent a life of eaſe, pleaſure, and affluence, at leaſt never was long, nor much, expoſed to want. He ſeems to have poſſeſſed a ſprightly genius, to have had an excellent turn for comedy, and very happy in a courtly dialogue. We have no proof of his being a ſcholar, and was rather born, than made a poet. He has not eſcaped the cenſure of the critics; for his works are ſo extremely looſe and licentious, as to render them dangerous to young, unguarded minds: and on this account our witty author is, indeed, juſtly liable to the ſevereſt cenſure of the virtuous, and ſober part of mankind.

WILLIAM MOUNTFORD.

[40]

THIS gentleman, who was very much diſtinguiſhed as a player, was born in the year 1659, but of what family we have no account, farther than that they were of Staffordſhire; the extraordinary circumſtances of Mr. Mountford's death, have drawn more attention upon him, than he might otherwiſe have had; and though he was not very conſiderable as a poet, yet he was of great eminence as an actor. Mr. Cibber, in his Apology for his own Life, has mentioned him with the greateſt reſpect, and drawn his character with ſtrong touches of admiration. After having delineated the theatrical excellences of Kynaſton, Sandford, &c. he thus ſpeaks of Mountford.

'Of perſon he was tall, well made, fair, and of an agreeable aſpect, his voice clear, full, and melodious; in tragedy he was the moſt affecting lover within my memory; his addreſſes had a reſiſtleſs recommendation from the very tone of his voice, which gave his words ſuch ſoftneſs, that as Dryden ſays,'
— ' Like flakes of feather'd ſnow,
' They melted as they fell.
'All this he particularly verified in that ſcene of Alexander, where the hero throws himſelf at the feet of Statira for pardon of his paſt infidelities. There we ſaw the great, the tender, the penitent, [41] the deſpairing, the tranſported, and the amiable, in the higheſt perfection. In comedy he gave the trueſt life to what we call the fine gentleman; his ſpirit ſhone the brighter for being poliſhed by decency. In ſcenes of gaiety he never broke into the regard that was due to the preſence of equal, or ſuperior characters, tho' inferior actors played them; he filled the ſtage, not by elbowing and croſſing it before others, or diſconcerting their action, but by ſurpaſſing them in true and maſterly touches of nature; he never laughed at his own jeſt, unleſs the point of his raillery upon another required it; he had a particular talent in giving life to bons mots and repartees; the wit of the poet ſeemed always to come from him extempore, and ſharpened into more wit from his brilliant manner of delivering it; he had himſelf a good ſhare of it, or what is equal to it, ſo lively a pleaſantneſs of humour, that when either of theſe fell into his hands upon the ſtage, he wantoned with them to the higheſt delight of his auditors. The agreeable was ſo natural to him, that even in that diſſolute character of the Rover, he ſeemed to waſh off the guilt from vice, and gave it charms and merit; for though it may be a reproach to the poet to draw ſuch characters, not only unpuniſhed, but rewarded, the actor may ſtill be allowed his d [...]e praiſe in his excellent performance; and this was a diſtinction which, when this comedy was acted at Whitehall, King William's Queen Mary was pleaſed to make in favour of Mountford, notwithſtanding her diſapprobation of the play; which was heightened by the conſideration of its having been written by a lady, viz. Mrs. Behn, from whom more modeſty might have been expected.'

'He had, beſides all this, a variety in his genius, which few capital actors have ſhewn, or perhaps have thought it any addition of their merit [42] to arrive at; he could entirely change himſelf, could at once throw off the man of ſenſe, for the briſk, vain, rude, lively coxcomb, the falſe, flaſhy pretender to wit, and the dupe of his own ſufficiency; of this he gave a delightful inſtance, in the character of Sparkiſh, in Wycherley's Country Wife: in that of Sir Courtly Nice, by Crown, his excellence was ſtill greater; there his whole man, voice, mien, and geſture, was no longer Mountford, but another perſon; there, the inſipid, ſoft civility, the elega [...]t and formal mien, the drawling delicacy of voice, the ſtately flatneſs of his addreſs, and the empty eminence of his attitudes, were ſo nicely obſerved, that had he not been an entire maſter of nature, had he not kept his judgment, as it were a centinel upon himſelf, not to admit the leaſt likeneſs of what he uſed to be, to enter into any part of his performance, he could not poſſibly have ſo compleatly finiſhed it.'

Mr. Cibber further obſerves, that if, ſome years after the death of Mountford, he himſelf had any ſucceſs in thoſe parts, he acknowledges the advantages he had received from the juſt idea, and ſtrong impreſſions from Mountford's acting them. ‘'Had he been remembered (ſays he) when I firſt attempted them, my defects would have been more eaſily diſcovered, and conſequently my favourable reception in them muſt have been very much, and juſtly abated. If it could be remembered, how much he had the advantage of me in voice and perſon, I could not here be ſuſpected of an affected modeſty, or overvaluing his excellence: for he ſung a clear, counter-tenor, and had a melodious, warbling throat, which could not but ſet off the [...]aſt ſcene of Sir Courtly with uncommon happineſs, which I, alas! could only ſtruggle through, with the faint excuſes, and real confidence of a fine ſinger, under the imperfection of a feigned, and ſc [...]eaming treble, [43] which, at leaſt, could only ſhew you what I would have done, had nature been more favourable to me.'’

This is the amiable repreſentation which Mr. Cibber makes of his old favourite, and whoſe judgment in theatrical excellences has been ever indiſputed. But this finiſhed performer did not live to reap the advantages which would have ariſen from the great figure he made upon the ſtage.

He fell in the 33d year of his age, by the hand of an aſiaſſin, who cowardly murdered him, and fled from juſtice. As we imagine it will not be unpleaſing to the reader to be made acquainted with the moſt material circumſtances relating to that affair, we ſhall here inſert them, as they appear on the trial of lord Mohun, who was arraigned for that murder, and acquitted by his peers. Lord Mohun, it is well known, was a man of looſe morals, a rancorous ſpirit, and, in ſhort, reflected no honour on his titles. It is a true obſervation, that the temper and diſpoſition of a man may be more accurately known by the company he keeps, than by any other means of reading the human heart: Lord Mohun had contracted a great intimacy with one captain Hill, a man of ſcandalous morals, and deſpicable life; and was ſo fond of this fellow, whom, it ſeems, nature had wonderfully formed to be a cut-throat, that he entered into his ſchemes, and became a party in promoting his moſt criminal pleaſures.

This murderer had long entertained a paſſion ſor Mrs. Bracegirdle, ſo well known, as an excellent actreſs, and who died not many years ago, that it would be ſuperfluous to give a particular account of her; his paſſion was rejected with diſdain by Mrs. Bracegirdle, who did not think ſuch a heart as his worth poſſeſſing. The contempt with which ſhe uſed captain [44] Hill fired his reſentment; he valued himſelf for being a gentleman, and an officer in the army, and thought he had a right, at the firſt onſet, to triumph over the heart of an actreſs; but in this he found himſelf miſerably miſtaken: Hill, who could not bear the contempt ſhewn him by Mrs. Bracegirdle, conceived that her averſion muſt proceed from having previouſly engaged her heart to ſome more favoured lover; and though Mr. Mountford was a married man, he became j [...]alous of him, probably, from no other reaſon, than the reſpect with which he obſerved Mr. Mountford treat her, and their frequently playing together in the ſame ſcene. Confirmed in this ſuſpicion, he reſolved to be revenged on Mountford, and as he could not poſſeſs Mrs. Bracegirdle by gentle means, he determined to have recourſe to violence, and hired ſome ruffians to aſſiſt him in carrying her off. His chief accomplice in this ſcheme was lord Mohun, to whom he communicated his intention, and who concurred with him in it. They appointed an evening for that purpoſe, hired a number of ſoldiers, and a coach, and went to the playhouſe in order to find Mrs. Bracegirdle, but ſhe having no part in the play of that night, did not come to the houſe. They then got intelligence that ſhe was gone with her mother to ſup at one Mrs. Page's in Drury-Lane; thither they went, and fixed their poſt, in expectation of Mrs. Bracegirdle's coming out, when they intended to have executed their ſcheme againſt her. She at laſt came out, accompanied with her mother and Mr. Page: the two adventurers made a ſign to their hired bravo's, who laid their hands on Mrs. Bracegirdle: but her mother, who threw her arms round her waiſt, preventing them from thruſting her immediately into the coach, and Mr. Page gaining time to call aſſiſtance, their attempt was [45] fruſtrated, and Mrs. Bracegirdle, her mother, and Mr. Page, were ſafely conveyed to her own houſe in Howard-ſtreet in the Strand. Lord Mohun and Hill, enraged at this diſappointment, reſolved, ſince they were unſucceſsful in one part of their deſign, they would yet attempt another; and that night vowed revenge againſt Mr. Mountford.

They went to the ſtreet where Mr. Mountford lived, and there lay in wait for him: Old Mrs. Bracegirdle and another gentlewoman who had heard them vow revenge againſt Mr. Mountford, ſent to his houſe, to deſire his wife to let him know his danger, and to warn him not to come home that night, but unluckily no meſſenger Mrs. Mountford ſent was able to find him: Captain Hill and lord Mohun paraded in the ſtreets with their ſwords drawn; and when the watch made enquiry into the cauſe of this, lord Mohun anſwered, that he was a peer of the realm, and dared them to touch him at their peril; the night-officers being intimidated at this threat, left them unmoleſted, and went their rounds. Towards midnight Mr. Mountford going home to his own houſe was ſaluted in a very friendly manner, by lord Mohun; and as his lordſhip ſeemed to cary no marks of reſentment in his behaviour, he uſed the freedom to aſk him, how he came there at that time of night? to which his lordſhip replied, by aſking if he had not heard the affair of the woman? Mountford aſked what woman? to which he anſwered Mrs. Bracegirdle; I hope, ſays he, my lord, you do not encourage Mr. Hill in his attempt upon Mrs. Bracegirdle; which however is no concern of mine; when he uttered theſe words, Hill, behind his back, gave him ſome deſperate blows on his head, and before Mr. Mountford had time to draw, and ſtand on his defence, he baſely run him thro' the body, and made his eſcape; the alarm of murder being given, the conſtable ſeized lord Mohun, who upon hearing that Hill had eſcaped [46] expreſſed great ſatisfaction, and ſaid he did not care if he were hanged for him: When the evidences were examined at Hick's-Hall, one Mr. Bencroft, who attended Mr. Mountford, ſwore that Mr. Mountford declared to him as a dying man, that while he was talking to lord Mohun, Hill ſtruck him, with his left hand, and with his right hand run him thro' the body, before he had time to draw his ſword.

Thus fell the unfortunate Mountford by the hand of an aſſaſſin, without having given him any provocation; ſave that which his own jealouſy had raiſed, and which could not reaſonably be imputed to Mountford as a crime.

Lord Mohun, as we have already obſerved, was tried, and acquitted by his peers; as it did not appear, that he immediately aſſiſted Hill, in perpetrating the murder, or that they had concerted it before; for tho' they were heard to vow revenge againſt Mountford, the word murther was never mentioned. It ſeems abundantly clear, that lord Mohun, however, if not active, was yet acceſſary to the murther; and had his crime been high treaſon, half the evidence which appeared againſt him, might have been ſufficient to coſt him his head. This nobleman himſelf was killed at laſt in a duel with the duke of Hamilton*.

[47] Mr. Mountford, beſides his extraordinary talents as an actor, is author of the following dramatic pieces.

Beſides theſe, he turned the Life and Death of Dr. Fauſtus into a Farce, with the Humours of Harlequin and Scaramouch; acted at the queen's theatre in Dorſet-Garden, and revived at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1697.

Mr. Mountford has written many Prologues and Epilogues, ſcattered in Dryden's Miſcellanies; and likewiſe ſeveral Songs. He ſeems to have had a ſprightly genius, and poſſeſſed a pleaſing gaiety of humour.—He was killed in the year 1692; and was buried in St. Clement Danes.

THOMAS SHADWELL.

[48]

THIS celebrated poet-laureat was deſcended of a very antient family in Staffordſhire; the eldeſt branch of which has enjoyed an eſtate there of five-hundred pounds per ann. He was born about the year 1640, at Stanton-Hall in Norfolk, a ſeat of his father's, and educated at Caius College in Cambridge*, where his father had been likewiſe bred; and then placed in the middle Temple, to ſtudy the law; where having ſpent ſome time, he travelled abroad. Upon his return home he became acquainted with the moſt celebrated perſons of wit, and diſtinguiſhed quality, in that age; which was ſo much addicted to poetry and polite literature, that it was not eaſy for him, who had no doubt a native reliſh for the ſame accompliſhments, to abſtain from theſe the faſhionable ſtudies and amuſements of thoſe times. He applied himſelf chiefly to the dramatic kind of writing, in which he had conſiderable ſucceſs. At the revolution, Mr. Dryden, who had ſo warmly eſpouſed the oppoſite intereſt, was diſpoſſeſſed of his place of Poet Laureat, and Mr. Shadwell ſucceeded him in it, which employment he poſſeſſed till his death. Mr. Shadwell has been illuſtrious, for nothing ſo much as the quarrel which ſubſiſted between him and Dryden, who held him in the greateſt contempt. We cannot diſcover what was the cauſe of Mr. Dryden's averſion to Shadwell, or how this quarrel began, unleſs it was [49] occaſioned by the vacant Laurel being beſtowed on Mr. Shadwell: But it is certain, the former proſecuted his reſentment ſeverely, and, in his Mac Flecknoe, has tranſmitted his antagoniſt to poſterity in no advantageous light. It is the nature of ſatire to be biting, but it is not always its nature to be true: We cannot help thinking that Mr. Dryden has treated Shadwell a little too unmercifully; and has violated truth to make the ſatire more pungent. He ſays, in the piece abovementioned,

Others to ſome faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into ſenſe.

Which is not ſtrictly true. There are high authorities in favour of many of his Comedies, and the beſt wits of the age gave their teſtimony for them: They have in them fine ſtrokes of humour, the characters are often original, ſtrongly mark'd, and well ſuſtained; add to this, that he had the greateſt expedition in writing imaginable, and ſometimes produced a play in leſs than a month. Shadwell, as it appears from Rocheſter's Seſſion of the Poets, was a great favourite with Otway, and as they lived in intimacy together, it might perhaps be the occaſion of Dryden's expreſſing ſo much contempt for Otway; which his cooler judgment could never have directed him to do.

Mr. Shadwell died the 19th of December 1692, in the fifty-ſecond year of his age, as we are informed by the inſcription upon his monument in Weſtminſter Abbey; tho' there may be ſome miſtake in that date; for it is ſaid in the title page of his funeral ſermon preached by Dr. Nicholas Brady, that he was interred at Chelſea, on the 24th of November, that year. This ſermon was publiſhed 1693, in quarto, and in it Dr. Brady tells us, ‘'That our author was a man of great honeſty and integrity, an inviolable [50] fidelity and ſtrictneſs in his word, an unalterable friendſhip wherever he profeſſed it, and however the world may be miſtaken in him, he had a much deeper ſenſe of religion than many who pretended more to it. His natural and acquired abilities, continues the Dr. made him very amiable to all who knew and converſed with him, a very few being equal in the becoming qualities, which adorn, and ſet off a complete gentleman; his very enemies, if he have now any left, will give him this character, at leaſt if they knew him ſo thoroughly as I did.—His death ſeized him ſuddenly, but he could not be unprepared, ſince to my certain knowledge he never took a doſe of opium, but he ſolemnly recommended himſelf to God by prayer.'’

When ſome perſons urged to the then lord chamberlain, that there were authors who had better pretenſions to the Laurel; his lordſhip replied, ‘'He did not pretend to ſay how great a poet Shadwell might be, but was ſure he was an honeſt man.'’

Beſides his dramatic works, he wrote ſeveral other pieces of poetry; the chief of which are his congratulatory poem on the Prince of Orange's coming to England; another on queen Mary; his tranſlation of the 10th Satire of Juvenal, &c. Shadwell in his Comedies imitated Ben Johnſon, and propoſed him as his model of excellence, with what degree of ſucceſs we ſhall not take upon us to determine, but proceed to give an account of his plays.

Sir WILLIAM KILLEGREW.

[55]

THE eldeſt ſon of Sir Robert Killegrew, Knt chamberlain to the Queen, was born at the Manor of Hanworth, near Hampton-Court, in the month of May, 1605. He became a gentleman commoner in St. John's College in Midſummer term 1622; where continuing about three years he travelled beyond ſeas, and after his return, was made governor of Pendennis caſtle, and of Falmouth haven in Cornwall, with command of the militia in the weſt part of that county. After this he was called to attend King Charles I. as one of the gentlemen uſhers of his privy chamber; in which employment he continued till the breaking out of the great rebellion; and had the command given him of one of the two great troops of horſe that guarded the King's perſon, during the whole courſe of the was between his Majeſty and his Parliament. Our author was in attendance upon the King when the court reſided at Oxford, and was created doctor of the civil laws 1642; * and upon the run [...] of the King's affairs, he ſuffered for his attachment to him, and compounded with the republicans for his eſtate.

Upon the reſtoration of King Charles II. he was the firſt of his father's ſervants that he took any notice of, and made him gentleman-uſher of his privy chamber: the ſame place he enjoyed under the deceaſed King. Upon Charles IId's marriage with Donna Catherina of Portugal, he was created his Majeſty's firſt vice chamberlain, in which honourable ſtation he continued twenty-two years.

[56] His dramatic works are,

All theſe plays were printed together in folio, Oxon 1666. There is another play aſcribed to our author, called the Imperial Tragedy, printed in 1699; the chief part was taken out of a Latin play, and much altered by him for his own diverſion; tho' upon the importunity of his friends, he was prevailed upon to publiſh it, but without his name. The plot is founded upon the hiſtory of Zeno, the 12th emperor of Conſtantinople after Conſtantine. Sir William Killegrew's plays have been applauded by men very eminent in poetry, particucularly Mr. Waller, who addreſſes a copy of verſes to him upon his altering Pandora from a tragedy into a comedy, becauſe not approved on the ſtage.

Sir William has alſo a little poem extant, which was ſet to muſic by Mr. Henry Lawes, a man in the higheſt reputation of any of his profeſſion in his time. Mr. Wood ſays, that after our author had retired from court in his declining age, he wrote

The Artleſs Midnight Thoughts of a Gentleman at Court; who for many years built on ſand, which every blaſt of croſs fortune has defaced; but now he has laid new foundations, on the rock of his ſalvation, &c. London 1684. It is dedicated to King Charles II. and beſides 233 thoughts in it, there are ſome ſmall pieces of poetry.

Midnight and Daily thoughts in verſe and proſe, Lond. 1694, with commendatory verſes before it, by H. Briket. He died 1693, and was buried in Weſtminſter Abbey.

Sir ROBERT HOWARD.

[57]

THIS gentleman was a younger ſon of Thomas earl of Berkſhire, by Elizabeth his wife, one of the daughters and coheirs of William lord Burghley, and received his education at Magdalencollege, Oxford, under the tuition of Dr. E. Drope. During the civil wars, he ſuffered with the reſt of his family, who maintained their loyalty to the unfortunate King Charles I. Upon the reſtoration, our author was made a knight, and was choſen one of the burgeſſes for Stockbridge in Hampſhire, to ſerve in the Parliament which began at Weſtminſter 8th of May 1661; he was quickly preferred to the place of auditor of the Exchequer, then worth ſome thouſand pounds per annum, and was reckoned one of King Charles's creatures, whom he advanced, on account of his faithful ſervices in cajoling the Parliament for Money.

In the year 1679 he was choſen burgeſs for Caſtle-riſing in Norfolk, to ſerve in that Parliament which began at Weſtminſter on the 17th of October 1680. When the revolution was effected, and King William aſcended the throne, he was elected burgeſs again for Caſtle-riſing, to ſit in the Parliament which began the 22d of January 1688, was made one of the privy council, about the 16th of February took the uſual oaths, and commenced from that moment a violent perſecutor of the Nonjurors, [58] and diſclaimed all manner of converſation and inter courſe with any of that character. He is ſaid to have been a man extremely poſitive, and a pretender to a more general underſtanding than he really poſſeſſed. His obſtinacy and pride procured him many enemies, amongſt whom the [...]ke of Buckingham was the firſt; who intended to have expoſed Sir Robert under the name of Bilboa in the Rehearſal; but the plague which then prevailed occaſioned the theatres to be ſhut up, and the people of faſhion to quit the town. In this int [...]eval he altered his reſolution, and levelled his [...]d [...]cale at a much greater name, under that of Bayes.

Thomas Shadwell the poet, tho' a man of the ſame principles with Sir Robert, concerning the revolution and ſtate matters, was yet ſo angry with the knight for his ſupercilious domineering manner of behaving, that he points him out under the name of Sir Poſitive At All, one of his cha [...]cters in the comedy called the Sullen Lovers, or the Impertinents; and amongſt the ſame per [...]ons is the lady Vain, a Courtezan, which the wits then underſtood to be the miſtreſs of Sir Robert Howard, whom he afterwards thought proper to marry.

In February 1692, being then in the decline of life, he married one Mrs Dives, maid of honour to the Queen. The merit of this author ſeems to have been of a low rate, for very little is preſerved concerning him, and none of his works are now read; nor is he ever mentioned, but when that circumſtance of the duke of Buckingham's intending to ridicule him, is talked of.

Had Sir Robert been a man of any parts, he had ſufficient advantages from his birth and fortune to have made a figure, but the higheſt notice which he can claim in the republic of letters, is, that he was brother in law to Dryden.

[59] His works are,

His plays are ſix in number, viz.

He has written likewiſe,

RICHARD FLECKNOE.

[61]

THIS poet lived in the reign of King Charles II. and is more remarkable for having given name to a ſatire of Mr. Dryden's, than for all his own works. He is ſaid to have been originally a jeſuit, and to have had connexions in conſequence thereof, with ſuch perſons of diſtinction in London as were of the Roman Catholic perſuaſion, Langbaine ſays, his acquaintance with the nobility was more than with the muſes, and he had a greater propenſity to rhiming, than genius to poetry.

Tho' he wrote ſeveral plays, yet he never could obtain the favour to have more than one of them acted.

His dramatic works are:

Our author's other works conſiſt of Epigrams and Enigmas. There is a book of his writing, called the Diarium, or the Journal; divided into twelve jornadas, in burleſque verſe.

Dryden, in two lines in his Mac Flecknoe, gives the character of our author's works.

In proſe and verſe was own'd without diſpute,
Thro' all the realms of nonſenſe abſolute.

We cannot be certain in what year Mr. Flecknoe died: Dryden's ſatire had perhaps rendered him ſo contemptible, that none gave themſelves the tro [...] ble to record any particulars of his life, or to take any notice of his death.

JOHN DRYDEN, Eſq

[64]

THIS illuſtrious Poet was ſon of Eraſmus Dryden, of [...]ickermiſh in Northamptonſhire, and born at Aldwincle, near Oundle 1631*, he had his education in grammar learning, at Weſtminſterſchool, under the famous Dr. Buſby, and was from thence elected in 1650, a ſcholar of Trinity-College in Cambridge.

We have no account of any extraordinary indications of genius given by this great poet, while in his earlier days; and he is one inſtance how little regard is to be paid to the figure a boy makes at ſchool: Mr. Dryden was turned of thirty before he introduced any play upon the ſtage, and his firſt, called the Wild Gallants, met with a very indifferent reception; ſo that if he had not been impelled by the force of genius and propenſion, he had never again attempted the ſtage: a circumſtance which the lovers of dramatic poetry muſt ever have regretted, as they would in this caſe have been deprived of one of the grea [...]eſt ornaments that ever adorned the [...]rofeſſion.

The year before he left the univerſity, he wrote a poem on the death of lo [...]d Haſtings, a performance, ſay ſome of his critics, very unworthy of himſelf, and of the aſtoniſhing genius he afterwards diſcovered.

[65] That Mr. Dryden had at this time no fixed principles, either in religion or politics, is abundantly evident, from his heroic ſtanza's on Oliver Cromwel, written after his funeral 1658; and immediately upon the reſtoration he publiſhed Aſtraea Redux, a poem, on the happy reſtoration of Charles the IId; and the ſame year, his Panegyric to the king on his coronation: In the former of theſe pieces, a remarkable diſtich has expos'd our poet to the ridicule of the wits.

An horrid ſtillneſs firſt invades the ear,
And in that ſilence we the tempeſt hear.

Which it muſt be owned is downright nonſenſe, and a contradiction in terms: Amongſt others captain Radcliff has ridiculed this blunder in the following lines of his News from Hell.

Laureat who was both learn'd and florid,
Was damn'd long ſince for ſilence horrid:
Nor had there been ſuch clutter made,
But that his ſilence did invade.
Invade, and ſo it might, that's clear;
But what did it invade? An ear!

In 1662 he addreſſed a poem to the lord chancellor Hyde, preſented on new-year's-day; and the ſame year publiſhed a ſatire on the Dutch. His next piece, was his Annus Mirabilis, or the Year of Wonders, 1668, an hiſtorical poem, which celebrated the duke of York's victory over the Dutch. In the ſame year Mr. Dryden ſucceeded Sir William Davenant as Poet Laureat, and was alſo made hiſtoriographer to his majeſty; and that year publiſhed his Eſſay on Dramatic Poetry, addreſſed to Charles earl of Dorſet and Middleſex. Mr. Dryden tells his patron, that the writing [66] this Eſſay, ſerved as an amuſement to him in the country, when he was driven from town by the violence of the plague, which then raged in London; and he diverted himſelf with thinking on the theatres, as lovers do by ruminating on their abſent, miſtreſſes: He there juſtifies the method of writing plays in verſe, but confeſſes that he has quitted the practice, becauſe he found it troubleſome and flow*. In the preface we are informed that the drift of this diſcourſe was to vindicate the honour of the Engliſh writers from the cenſure of thoſe who unjuſtly prefer the French to them Langbaine has injuriouſly treated Mr. Dryden, on account of his dramatic performances, and charges him as a licentious plagiary. The truth is, our author as a dramatiſt is leſs eminent than in any other ſphere of poetry; but, with all his faults, he is even in that reſpect the moſt eminent of his time.

The critics have remarked, that as to tragedy, he ſeldom touches the paſſions, but deals rather in pompous language, poetical flights, and deſcriptions; and too frequently makes his characters ſpeak better than they have occaſion, or ought to do, when their ſphere in the drama is conſidered: And it is peculiar to Dryden (ſays Mr. Addiſon) to make his perſonages, as wiſe, witty, elegant and polite as himſelf. That he could not ſo intimately affect the tender paſſions, is certain, for we find no play of his, in which we are much diſpoſed to weep; and we are ſo often inchanted with beautiful deſcriptions, and noble flights of fancy, that we forget the buſineſs of the play, and are only attentive to the poet, while the characters ſleep. Mr. Gildon obſerves in his laws of poetry, that when it was recommended to Mr. Dryden to turn his thoughts to [67] a tranſlation of Euripides, rather than of Homer, he confeſſed that he had no reliſh for that poet, who was a great maſter of tragic ſimplicity. Mr. Gildon, further obſerves, as a confirmation that Dryden's taſte for tragedy was not of the genuine ſort, that he conſtantly expreſſed great contempt for Otway, who is univerſally allowed to have ſucceeded very happily in affecting the tender paſſions: Yet Mr. Dryden, in his preface to the tranſlation of M. Du Freſnoy, ſpeaks more favourably of Otway; and after mentioning theſe inſtances, Gildon aſcribes this taſte in Dryden, to his having read many French Romances.—The truth is, if a poet would affect the heart, he muſt not exceed nature too much, nor colour too high; diſtreſsful circumſtances, ſhort ſpeeches, and pathetic obſervations never fail to move infinitely beyond the higheſt rant, or long declamations in tragedy: The ſimplicity of the drama was Otway's peculiar excellence; a living poet obſerves, that from Otway to our own times,

From bard to bard, the frigid caution crept,
And declamation roar'd while paſſion ſlept.

Mr. Dryden ſeems to be ſenſible, that he was not born to write comedy; for, ſays he, ‘'I want that gaiety of humour which is required in it; my converſation is ſlow and dull, my humour ſaturnine and reſerved. In ſhort, I am none of thoſe who endeavour to break jeſts in company, and make repartees; ſo that thoſe who decry my comedies, do me no injury, except it be in point of profit: Reputation in them is the laſt thing to which I ſhall pretend*.'’

This ingenuous confeſſion of inability, one would imagine were ſufficient to ſilence the clamour of the [68] critics againſt Mr. Dryden in that particular; but, however true it may be, that Dryden did not ſucceed to any degree in com [...]dy, I ſhall endeavour to ſupport my a [...]ertion, that in tragedy, with all his faults, be is ſtill the moſt excellent of his time. The end of tragedy is to inſtruct the mind, as well as move the paſſi [...]s; and where there are no ſhining ſentiments, the mind may be affected, but not improved; and however prevalent the paſſion of grief may be over the heart of man, it is certain that he may feel diſtreſs in the acuteſt manner, and not be much the wiſer for it. The tragedies of Otway, Lee and Southern, are irreſiſtibly moving, but they convey not ſuch grand ſentiments, and their language is far from being ſo poetical as Dryden's; now, if one dramatic poet writes to move, and another to enchant and inſtruct, as inſtruction is of greater conſequence than being agitated, it follows naturally, that the latter is the moſt excellent writer, and poſſeſſes the greateſt genius.

But perhaps our poet would have wrote better in both kinds of the drama, had not the neceſſity of his circumſtances obliged him to comply with the popular taſte. He himſelf, in his dedication to the Spaniſh Fryar, inſinuates as much. ‘'I remember, ſays he, ſome verſes of my own Maximin and Almanzor, which cry vengeance upon me for their extravagance. All that I can ſay for thoſe paſſages, which are I hope not many, is, that I knew they were bad when I wrote them. But I repent of them amongſt my ſins, and if any of their fellows intrude by chance, into my preſent writings, I draw a veil over all theſe Dalilahs of the theatre, and am reſolved, I will ſettle myſelf no reputation upon the applauſe of fools. 'Tis not that I am mortified to all ambition, but I ſcorn as much to take it from half witted judges, as I ſhould to raiſe an eſtate by cheating of bubbles. Neither do I diſcommend the lofty ſtile in tragedy, which is naturally [69] pompous and magnificent; but nothing is truely ſublime that is not juſt and proper.'’ He ſays in another place, ‘'that his Spaniſh Fryar was given to the people, and that he never wrote any thing in the dramatic way, to pleaſe himſelf, but his All for Love.'’

In 1671 Mr. Dryden was publicly ridiculed on the ſtage, in the duke of Buckingham's comedy, called the Rehearſal, under the character of Bays: This character, we are informed, in the Key to the Rehearſal, was originally intended for Sir Robert Howard, under the name of Bilboa; but the repreſentation being put a ſtop to, by the breaking out of the plague, in 1665, it was laid by for ſeveral years, and not exhibited on the ſtage till 1671, in which interval, Mr. Dryden being advanced to the Laurel, the noble author changed the name of his poet, from Bilboa to Bays, and made great alterations in his play, in order to ridicule ſeveral dramatic performances, that appeared ſince the firſt writing it. Thoſe of Mr. Dryden, which fell under his grace's laſh, were the Wild Gallant, Tyrannic Love, the Conqueſt of Granada, Marriage A-la-Mode, and Love in a Nunnery: Whatever was extravagant, or too warmly expreſſed, or any way unnatural, the author has ridiculed by parody.

Mr. Dryden affected to deſpiſe the ſatire levelled at him in the Rehearſal, as appears from his dedication of the tranſlation of Juvenal and Perſius, where ſpeaking of the many lampoons, and libels that had been written againſt him, he ſays, ‘'I anſwered not to the Rehearſal, becauſe I knew the author ſat to himſelf when he drew the picture, and was the very Bays of his own farce; becauſe alſo I knew my betters were more concerned than I was in that ſatire; and laſtly, becauſe [70] Mr. Smith and Mr. Johnſon, the main pillars of it, were two ſuch languiſhing gentlemen in their converſation, that I could liken them to nothing but their own relations, thoſe noble characters of men of wit and pleaſure about town.'’

In 1679 came out an Eſſay on Satire, ſaid to be written jointly by Mr. Dryden and the earl of Mulgrave; this piece, which was handed about in manuſcript, containing Reflexions on the Ducheſs of Portſmouth, and the Earl of Rocheſter; who ſuſpecting, as Wood ſays, Mr. Dryden to be the author, hired three ruffians to cudgel him in Wills's coffee-houſe at eight o'clock at night. This ſhort anecdote, I think, cannot be told without indignation. It proved Rocheſter was a malicious coward, and, like other cowards, cruel and inſolent; his ſoul was incapable of any thing that approached towards generoſity, and when his reſentment was heated, he purſued revenge, and retained the moſt laſting hatred; he had always entertained a prejudice againſt Dryden, from no other motive than envy: Dryden's plays met with ſucceſs, and this was enough to fire the reſentment of Rocheſter, who was naturally envious. In order to hurt the character, and ſhake the intereſt of this noble poet, he recommended Crown, an obſcure man, to write a Maſque for the court, which was Dryden's province, as poet-laureat, to perform. Crown in this ſucceeded, but ſoon after, when his play called the Conqueſt of Jeruſalem met with ſuch extravagant applauſe, Rocheſter, jealous of his new favourite, not only abandoned him, but commenced from that moment his enemy.

The other perſon againſt whom this ſatire was levelled, was not ſuperior in virtue to the former, and all the nation over, two better ſubjects for ſatire [71] could not have been found, than lord Rocheſter, and the ducheſs of Portſmouth. As for Rocheſter, he had not genius enough to enter the liſts with Dryden, ſo he fell upon another method of revenge; and meanly hired bravoes to aſſault him.

In 1680 came out a tranſlation of Ovid's Epiſtles in Engliſh verſe, by ſeveral hands, two of which were tranſlated by Mr. Dryden, who alſo wrote the preface. In the year following our author publiſhed Abſalom and Achitophel. It was firſt printed without his name, and is a ſevere ſatire againſt the contrivers and abettors of the oppoſition againſt King Charles II. In the ſame year that Abſalom and Achitophel was publiſhed, the Medal, a Satire, was likewiſe given to the public. This piece is aimed againſt ſedition, and was occaſioned by the ſtriking of a medal, on account of the indictment againſt the earl of Shaftſbury for high treaſon being found ignoramus by the grand jury, at the Old Bailey, November 1681: For which the Whig party made great rejoicings by ringing of bells, bonfires, &c. in all parts of London. The poem is introduced with a very ſatirical epiſtle to the Whigs, in which the author ſays, ‘'I have one favour to deſire you at parting, that when you think of anſwering this poem, you would employ the ſame pens againſt it, who have combated with ſo much ſucceſs againſt Abſalom and Achitophel, for then you may aſſure yourſelves of a clear victory without the leaſt reply. Rail at me abundantly, and not break a cuſtom to do it with wit. By this method you will gain a conſiderable point, which is wholly to wave the anſwer of my arguments. If God has not bleſſed you with the talent of rhiming, make uſe of my poor ſtock and welcome; let your verſes run upon my feet, and for the utmoſt refuge of notorious blockheads, reduced to the laſt extremity of ſenſe, turn my [72] own lines againſt me, and in utter deſpair of my own ſatire, make me ſatirize myſelf.'’ The whole poem is a ſevere invective againſt the earl of Shaftſbury, who was uncle to that earl who wrote the Characteriſtics. Mr. Elkanah Settle wrote an anſwer to this poem, entitled the Medal Reverſed. However contemptible Settle was as a poet, yet ſuch was the prevalence of parties at that time, that, for ſome years, he was Dryden's rival on the ſtage. In 1682 came out his Religio Laici, or a Layman's Faith; this piece is intended as a defence of revealed religion, and the excellency and authority of the ſcriptures, as the only rule of faith and manners, againſt Deiſts, Papiſts, and Preſ [...]yterians. He acquaints us in the preface, that it was written for an ingenious young gentleman, his friend; upon his tranſlation of Father Simons's Critical Hiſtory of the Old Teſtament, and that the ſtile of it was epiſtolary.

In 1684 he publiſhed a tranſlation of M. Maimbourg's Hiſtory of the League, in which he was employed by the command of King Charles II. on account of the pla [...]n parallel between the troubles of France, and thoſe of Great Britain. Upon the death of Charles II. he wrote his Threnodia Auguſtalis, a Poem, ſacred to the happy memory of that Prince. Soon after the acceſſion of James II. our author turned Roman Catholic, and by this extraordinary ſtep drew upon himſelf abundance of ridicule from wits of the oppoſite faction; and in 1689 he wrote a Defence of the Papers, written by the late King of bleſſed memory, found in his ſtrong box. Mr. Dryden, in the abovementioned piece, tal [...]es occaſion to vindicate the authority of the Catholic Church, in decreeing matters of faith, upon this principle, that the church is more viſible than the ſcriptures, becauſe the ſcriptures are ſeen by the church, and to abuſe [] the reformation in England, which he affirms was erected on the foundation of luſt, ſacrilege, and uſurpation. Dr. Stillingfleet hereupon anſwered Mr. Dryden, and treated him with ſome ſeverity. Another author affirms, that Mr. Dryden's tract is very light, in ſome places ridiculous; and obſerves, that his talent lay towards controverſy no more in proſe, than, by the Hind and Panther, it appeared to do in verſe. This poem of the Hind and Panther is a direct defence of the Romiſh Church, in a dialogue between a Hind, which repreſents the Church of Rome, and a Panther, which ſupports the character of the Church of England. The firſt part of this poem conſiſts moſt in general characters and narration, which, ſays he, ‘'I have endeavoured to raiſe, and give it the majeſtic turn of heroic poetry. The ſecond being matter of diſpute, and chiefly concerning church authority, I was obliged to make as plain and perſpicuous as poſſibly I could, yet not wholly neglecting the numbers, though I had not frequent occaſion for the magnificence of verſe. The third, which has more of the nature of domeſtic converſation, is, or ought to be, more free and familiar than the two former. There are in it two epiſodes or fables, which are interwoven with the main deſign, ſo that they are properly parts of it, though they are alſo diſtinct ſtories of themſelves. In both of theſe I have made uſe of the common places of ſatire, whether true or falſe, which are urged by the members of the one church againſt the other.'’

Mr. Dryden ſpeaks of his own converſion in the following terms;

But, gracious God, how well doſt thou provide,
For erring judgments, an unerring guide.
Thy throne is darkneſs, in th' abyſs of light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the ſight.
[74] O teach me to believe thee, thus concealed,
And ſearch no further than thyſelf revealed;
But her alone for my director take,
Whom thou haſt promis'd never to forſake!
My thoughtleſs youth was wing'd with vain deſires;
My manhood, long miſled by wand'ring fires,
Follow'd falſe lights; and when their glimpſe was gone,
My pride ſtruck out new ſparkles of her own.
Such was I, ſuch by nature ſtill I am,
Be thine the glory, and be mine the ſhame,
Good life be now my taſk, my doubts are done*.

This poem was attacked by Mr. Charles Montague, afterwards Earl of Hallifax, and Mr. Matthew Prior, who joined in writing the Hind and Panther, tranſverſed to the Country Mouſe, and City Mouſe, Lond. 1678, 4to. In the preface to which, the author obſerves, ‘'that Mr. Dryden's poem naturally falls into ridicule, and that in this burleſque, nothing is repreſented monſtrous and unnatural, that is not equally ſo in the original.'’ They afterwards remark, that they have this comfort under the ſeverity of Mr. Dryden's ſatire, to ſee his abilities equally leſſened with his opinion of them, and that he could not be a fit champion againſt the Panther till he had laid aſide his judgment.

Mr. Dryden is ſuppoſed to have been engaged in tranſlating M. Varillas's Hiſtory of Hereſies, but to have dropped that deſign. This we learn from a paſſage in Burnet's reflexions on the ninth book of the firſt volume of M. Varillas's Hiſtory, being a reply to his anſwer.

I ſhall here give the picture the Dr. has drawn of this noble poet, which is, like a great many of the doctor's other characters, rather exhibited to [75] pleaſe himſelf than according to the true reſemblance.

The doctor ſays, ‘'I have been informed from England, that a gentleman who is famous both for poetry, and ſeveral other things, has ſpent three months in tranſlating Mr. Varillas's hiſtory; but as ſoon as my reflexions appeared, he diſcontinued his labours, finding the credit of his author being gone. Now if he thinks it is recovered by his anſwer, he will, perhaps, go on with his tranſlation; but this may be, for ought I know, as good an entertainment for him, as the converſation he has ſet on foot between the Hinds and Panthers, and all the reſt of the animals; for whom M. Varillas may ſerve well enough as an author; and this hiſtory and that poem are ſuch extraordinary things of their kind, that it will be but ſuitable to ſee the author of the worſt poem become the tranſlator of the worſt hiſtory, that the age has produced. If his grace and his wit improve ſo proportionably, we ſhall hardly find, that he has gained much by the change he has made, from having no religion, to chuſe one of the worſt. It is true he had ſomewhat to ſink from in matter of wit, but as for his morals, it is ſcarce poſſible for him to grow a worſe man than he was. He has lately wreaked his malice on me for ſpoiling his three months labour; but in it he has done me all the honour a man can receive from him, which is to be railed at by him. If I had ill-nature enough to prompt me to wiſh a very bad wiſh for him, it ſhould be that he would go and finiſh his tranſlation. By that it will appear whether the Engliſh nation, which is the moſt competent judge of this matter, has upon ſeeing this debate, pronounced in M. Varillas's favour or me. It is true, Mr. Dryden will ſuffer a little by it; but at leaſt it will ſerve to keep him in from [76] other extravagancies; and if he gains little honour by this work, yet he cannot loſe ſo much by it, as he has done by his laſt employment.'’

When the revolution was compleated, Mr. Dryden having turned Papiſt, became diſqualified for holding his place, and was accordingly diſpoſſeſſed of it; and it was conferred on a man to whom he had a confirmed averſion; in conſequence whereof he wrote a ſatire againſt him, called Mac Flecknoe, which is one of the ſevereſt and beſt written ſatires in our language.

Mr. Richard Flecknoe, the new laureat, with whoſe name it is inſcribed, was a very indifferent poet of thoſe times; or rather as Mr. Dryden expreſſes it, and as we have already quoted in Flecknoe's life.

In proſe and verſe was own'd without diſpute,
Thro' all the realms of nonſenſe abſolute.

This poem furniſhed the hint to Mr. Pope to write his Dunciad; and it muſt be owned the latter has been more happy in the execution of his deſign, as having more leiſure for the performance; but in Dryden's Mac Flecknoe there are ſome lines ſo extremely pungent, that I am not quite certain if Pope has any where exceeded them.

In the year wherein he was deprived of the laurel, he publiſhed the life of St. Francis Xavier, tranſlated from the French of father Dominic Bouchours. In 1693 came out a tranſlation of Juvenal and Perſius; in which the firſt, third, ſixth, tenth, and ſixteenth ſatires of Juvenal, and Perſius entire, were done by Mr. Dryden, who prefixed a long and ingenious diſcourſe, by way of dedication, to the earl of Dorſet. In this addreſs our author takes occaſion a while to drop his reflexions on [77] Juvenal; and to lay before his lordſhip a plan for an epic poem: he obſerves, that his genius never much inclined him to the ſtage; and that he wrote for it rather from neceſſity than inclination. He complains, that his circumſtances are ſuch as not to ſuffer him to purſue the bent of his own genius, and then lays down a plan upon which an epic poem might be written: to which, ſays he, I am more inclined. Whether the plan propoſed is faulty or no, we are not at preſent to conſider; one thing is certain, a man of Mr. Dryden's genius would have covered by the rapidity of the action, the art of the deſign, and the beauty of the poetry, whatever might have been defective in the plan, and produced a work which have been the boaſt of the nation.

We cannot help regretting on this occaſion, that Dryden's fortune was not eaſy enough to enable him, with convenience and leiſure, to purſue a work that might have proved an honour to himſelf, and reflected a portion thereof on all who ſhould have appeared his encouragers on this occaſion.

In 1695 Mr. Dryden publiſhed a tranſlation in proſe of Du Freſnoy's Art of Painting, with a preface containing a parallel between painting and poetry. Mr. Pope has addreſſed a copy of verſes to Mr. Jervas in praiſe of Dryden's tranſlation. In 1697 his tranſlation of Virgil's works came out. This tranſlation has paſſed thro' many editions, and of all the attempts which have been made to render Virgil into Engliſh, The critics, I think, have allowed that Dryden * beſt ſucceeded: notwithſtanding as he himſelf ſays, when he began it, he was paſt the grand climacteric! ſo little influence it ſeems, age had over him, that he retained his judgment and fire in [78] full force to the laſt. Mr. Pope in his preface to Homer ſays, if Dryden had lived to finiſh what he began of Homer, he (Mr. Pope) would not have attempted it after him, ‘'No more, ſays he, than I would his Virgil, his verſion of whom (notwithſtanding ſome human errors) is the moſt noble and ſpirited tranſlation I know in any language.'’

Dr. Trap charges Mr. Dryden with groſsly miſtaking his author's ſenſe in many places; with adding or retrenching as his turn is beſt ſerved with either; and with being leaſt a tranſlator where he ſhines moſt as a poet; whereas it is a juſt rule laid down by lord Roſcommon, that a tranſlator in regard to his author ſhould ‘" Fall as he falls, and as he riſes riſe"’ Mr. Dryden, he tells us, frequently acts the very reverſe of this precept, of which he produces ſome inſtances; and remarks in general, that the firſt ſix books of the Aeneis, which are the beſt and moſt perfect in the original, are the leaſt ſo in the tranſlation. Dr. Trap's remarks may poſſibly be true; but in this he is an inſtance how eaſy it is to diſcover faults in other men's works, and how difficult to avoid them in our own.

Dr. Trap's tranſlation is cloſe, and conveys the author's meaning literally, ſo conſequently may be fitter for a ſchool-boy, but men of riper judgment, and ſuperior taſte, will hardly approve it; if Dryden's is the moſt ſpirited of any tranſlation, Trap's is the dulleſt that ever was written; which proves that none but a good poet is fit to tranſlate the works of a good poet.

Beſides the original pieces and tranſlations hitherto mentioned, Mr. Dryden wrote many others, publiſhed in ſix volumes of Miſcellanies, and in other collections. They conſiſt of tranſlations from the Greek [79] and Latin poets, Epiſtles to ſeveral perſons, prologues, and epilogues to ſeveral plays, elegies, epitaphs, and ſongs. His laſt work was his Fables, ancient and modern, tranſlated into verſe from Homer, Ovid, Boccace, and Chaucer. To this work, which is perhaps, one of his moſt imperfect, is prefixed by way of preface, a critical account of the authors, from whom the fables are tranſlated. Among the original pieces, the Ode to St. Cecilia's day is juſtly eſteemed one of the moſt elevated in any language. It is impoſſible for a poet to read this without being filled with that ſort of enthuſiaſm which is peculiar to the inſpired tribe, and which Dryden largely felt when he compoſed it. The turn of the verſe is noble, the tranſitions ſurprizing, the language and ſentiments juſt, natural, and heightened. We cannot be too laviſh in praiſe of this Ode: had Dryden never wrote any thing beſides, his name had been immortal. Mr. Pope has the following beautiful lines in its praiſe*.

Hear how Timotheus varied lays ſurprize,
And bid alternate paſſions fall and riſe!
While, at each change, the ſon of Lybian Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love:
Now his fierce eyes with ſparkling fury glow;
Now ſighs ſteal out, and tears begin to flow;
Perſians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor ſtood ſubdued by ſound:
The power of muſic all our hearts allow;
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.

As to our author's performances in proſe, beſides his Dedications and Prefaces, and controverſial Writings, they conſiſt of the Lives of Plutarch and Lucian, prefixed to the Tranſlation of thoſe Authors, by ſeveral Hands; the Life of Polybius, before the Tranſlation of that Hiſtorian by Sir [80] Henry Sheers, and the Preface to the Dialogue concerning Women, by William Walſh, Eſquire.

Before we give an account of the dramatic works of Dryden, it will be proper here to inſert a ſtory concerning him, from the life of Congreve by Charles Wilſon eſquire, which that gentleman received from the lady whom Mr. Dryden celebrates by the name of Corinna, of whom it appears he was very fond; and who had the relation from lady Chudleigh. Dryden with all his underſtanding was weak enough to be fond of Judicial Aſtrology, and uſed to calculate the nativity of his children. When his lady was in labour with his ſon Charles, he being told it was decent to withdraw, laid his watch on the table, begging one of the ladies then preſent, in a moſt ſolemn manner, to take exact notice of the very minute the child was born, which ſhe did, and acquainted him with it. About a week after, when his lady was pretty well recovered, Mr. Dryden took occaſion to tell her that he had been calculating the child's nativity, and obſerved, with grief, that he was born in an evil hour, for Jupiter, Venus, and the ſun, were all under the earth, and the lord of his aſcendant afflicted with a hateful ſquare of Mars and Saturn. If he lives to arrive at his 8th year (ſays he) ‘'he will go near to die a violent death on his very birth-day, but if he ſhould eſcape, as I ſee but ſmall hopes, he will in the 23d year be under the very ſame evil direction, and if he ſhould eſcape that alſo, the 33d or 34th year is, I fear'’—here he was interrupted by the immoderate grief of his lady, who could no longer hear calamity prophecy'd to befall her ſon. The time at laſt came, and Auguſt was the inauſpicious month in which young Dryden was to enter into the eighth year of his age. The court being in progreſs, and Mr. Dryden at leiſure, he was invited to the country ſeat of the earl of Berkſhire, [81] his brother-in-law, to keep the long vacation with him in Charlton in Wilts; his lady was invited to her uncle Mordaunt's, to paſs the remainder of the ſummer. When they came to divide the children, lady Elizabeth would have him take John, and ſuffer her to take Charles; but Mr. Dryden was too abſolute, and they parted in anger; he took Charles with him, and ſhe was obliged to be content with John. When the fatal day came, the anxiety of the lady's ſpirits occaſioned ſuch an efferveſcence of blood, as threw her into ſo violent a fever, that her life was deſpaired of, till a letter came from Mr. Dryden, reproving her for her womaniſh credulity, and aſſuring her, that her child was well, which recovered he [...] ſpirits, and in ſix weeks after ſhe received an ecclairciſſement of the whole affair. Mr. Dryden, either thro' fear of being reckoned ſuperſtitious, or thinking it a ſcience beneath his ſtudy, was extremely cautious of letting any one know that he was a dealer in Aſtrology; therefore could not excuſe his abſence, on his ſon's anniverſary, from a general hunting match lord Berkſhire had made, to which all the adjacent gentlemen were invited. When he went out, he took care to ſet the boy a double exerciſe in the Latin tongue, which he taught his children himſelf, with a ſtrict charge not to ſtir out of the room till his return; well knowing the taſk he had ſet him would take up longer time. Charles was performing his duty, in obedience to his father, but as ill fate would have it, the ſtag made towards the houſe; and the noiſe alarming the ſervants, they haſted out to ſee the ſport. One of them took young Dryden by the hand, and led him out to ſee it alſo, when juſt as they came to the gate, the ſtag being at bay with the dogs, made a bold puſh and leaped over the court wall, which was very low, and very old; and the dogs following, threw down a part of the wall ten yards in length, under which Charles [82] Dryden lay buried. He was immediately dug out, and after ſix weeks languiſhing in a dangerous way he recovered; ſo far Dryden's prediction was fulfilled: In the twenty-third year of his age, Charles fell from the top of an old tower belonging to the Vatican at Rome, occaſioned by a ſwimming in his head, with which he was ſeized, the heat of the day being exceſſive. He again recovered, but was ever after in a languiſhing ſickly ſtate. In the thirty-third year of his age, being returned to England, he was unhappily drowned at Windſor. He had with another gentleman ſwam twice over the Thames; but returning a third time, it was ſuppoſed he was taken with the cramp, becauſe he called out for help, tho' too late. Thus the father's calculation proved but too prophetical.

Mr. Dryden died the firſt of May 1701, and was interred in Weſtminſter-Abby. On the 19th of April he had been very bad with the gout, and eriſipelas in one leg; but he was then ſomewhat recovered, and deſigned to go abroad; on the Friday following he eat a partridge for his ſupper, and going to take a turn in the little garden behind his houſe in Gerard-ſtreet, he was ſeized with a violent pain under the ball of the great toe of his right foot; that, unable to ſtand, he cried out for help, and was carried in by his ſervants, when upon ſending for ſurgeons, they found a ſmall black ſpot in the place affected; he ſubmitted to their preſent applications, and when gone called his ſon Charles to him, uſing theſe words. ‘'I know this black ſpot is a mortification: I know alſo, that it will ſeize my head, and that they will attempt to cut off my leg; but I command you my ſon. by your filial duty, that you do not ſuffer me to be diſmembered:'’ As he foretold, the event proved, and his ſon was too dutiful to diſobey his father's commands.

[83] On the Wedneſday morning following, he breathed his laſt, under the moſt excruciating pains, in the 69th year of his age; and left behind him the lady Elizabeth, his wife, and three ſons. Lady Elizabeth ſurvived him eight years, four of which ſhe was a lunatic; being deprived of her ſenſes by a nervous fever in 1704.

John, another of his ſons, died of a fever at Rome; and Charles as has been obſerved, was drowned in the Thames; there is no account when, or at what place Harry his third ſon died.

Charles Dryden, who was ſome time uſher to pope Clement II. was a young gentleman of a very promiſing genius; and in the affair of his father's funeral, which I am about to relate, ſhewed himſelf a man of ſpirit and reſolution*.

The day after Mr. Dryden's death, the dean of Weſtminſter ſent word to Mr. Dryden's widow, that he would make a preſent of the ground, and all other Abbey-fees for the funeral: The lord Halifax likewiſe ſent to the lady Elizabeth, and to Mr. Charles Dryden, offering to defray the expences of our poet's funeral, and afterwards to beſtow 500 l. on a monument in the Abbey: which generous offer was accepted. Accordingly, on ſunday following, the company being aſſembled, the corpſe was put into a velvet hearſe, attended by eighteen mourning coaches. When they were juſt ready to move, lord Jefferys, ſon of lord chancellor Jeffreys, a name dedicated to infamy, with ſome of his rakiſh companions riding by, aſked whoſe funeral it was; and being told it was Mr. Dryden's, he proteſted he ſhould not be buried in that private manner, that he would himſelf, with the lady Elizabeth's leave, have the honour of the interment, and would beſtow a thouſand pounds on a monument in [84] the Abbey for him. This put a ſtop to their proceſſion; and the lord Jefferys, with ſeveral of the gentlemen, who had alighted from their coaches, went up ſtairs to the lady, who was ſick in bed. His lordſhip repeated the purport of what he had ſaid below; but the lady Elizabeth refuſing her conſent, he fell on his knees, vowing never to riſe till his requeſt was granted. The lady under a ſudden ſurpriſe fainted away, and lord Jeffery's pretending to have obtained her conſent, ordered the body to be carried to Mr. Ruſſel's an undertaker in Cheapſide, and to be left there till further orders. In the mean time the Abbey was lighted up, the ground opened, the choir attending, and the biſhop waiting ſome hours to no purpoſe for the corpſe. The next day Mr. Charles Dryden waited on my lord Halifax, and the biſhop; and endeavoured to excuſe his mother, by relating the truth. Three days after the undertaker having received no orders, waited on the lord Jefferys; who pretended it was a drunken frolic, that he remembered nothing of the matter, and he might do what he pleaſed with the body. Upon this, the undertaker waited on the lady Elizabeth, who deſired a day's reſpite, which was granted. Mr. Charles Dryden immediately wrote to the lord Jefferys, who returned for anſwer, that he knew nothing of the matter, and would be troubled no more about it. Mr. Dryden hereupon applied again to the lord Halifax, and the biſhop of Rocheſter, who abſolutely refuſed to do any thing in the affair.

In this diſtreſs, Dr. Garth, who had been Mr. Dryden's intimate friend, ſent for the corpſe to the college of phyſicians, and propoſed a ſubſcription; which ſucceeding, about three weeks after Mr. Dryden's deceaſe, Dr. Garth pronounced a fine l [...]tin oration over the body, which was conveyed from the college, attended by a numerous train of [85] coaches to Weſtminſter-Abbey, but in very great diſorder. At laſt the corpſe arrived at the Abbey, which was all unlighted. No organ played, no anthem ſung; only two of the ſinging boys preceded the corpſe, who ſung an ode of Horace, with each a ſmall candle in their hand. When the funeral was over, Mr. Charles Dryden ſent a challenge to lord Jefferys, who refuſing to anſwer it, he ſent ſeveral others, and went often himſelf; but could neither get a letter delivered, nor admittance to ſpeak to him; which ſo incenſed him, that finding his lordſhip refuſed to anſwer him like a gentleman, he reſolved to watch an opportunity, and brave him to fight, though with all the rules of honour; which his lordſhip hearing, quitted the town, and Mr. Charles never had an opportunity to meet him, though he ſought it to his death, with the utmoſt application.

Mr. Dryden had no monument erected to him for ſeveral years; to which Mr. Pope alludes in his epitaph intended for Mr. Rowe, in this line.

Beneath a rude and nameleſs ſtone he lies.

In a note upon which we are informed, that the tomb of Mr. Dryden was erected upon this hint, by Sheffield duke of Buckingham, to which was originally intended this epitaph.

This Sheffield raiſed.—The ſacred duſt below,
Was Dryden once; the reſt who does not know.

Which was ſince changed into the plain inſcription now upon it, viz.‘J. DRYDEN,
Natus Aug. 9. 1631.
Mortus Maii 1. 1701.
Johannes Sheffield, Dux Buckinghamienſis ſecit.’

[86] The character of Mr. Dryden has been drawn by various hands; ſome have done it in a favourable, others in an oppoſite manner. The biſhop of Sarum in the hiſtory of his own times, ſays, that the ſtage was defiled beyond all example. ‘'Dryden, the great maſter of dramatic poetry, being a monſter of immodeſty and impurities of all ſorts.'’ *The late lord Lanſdown took upon himſelf to vindicate Mr. Dryden's character from this ſevere imputation; which was again anſwered, and apologies for it, by Mr. Burnet, the biſhop's ſon. But not to dwell on theſe controverſies about his character, let us hear what Mr. Congreve ſays in the dedication of Dryden's works to the duke of Newcaſtle: Congreve knew him intimately, and as he could have no motive to deceive the world in that particular; and being a man of untainted morals, none can ſuſpect his authority; and by his account we ſhall ſee, that Dryden was indeed as amiable in private life, as a Man, as he was illuſtrious in the eye of the public, as a Poet.

Mr. Dryden (ſays Congreve) ‘'had perſonal qualities, to challenge love and eſteem from all who were truly acquainted with him. He was of a nature exceeding humane and compaſſionate, eaſily forgiving injuries, and capable of a prompt and ſincere reconciliation with thoſe who had offended him.—His friendſhip, where he profeſſed it, went much beyond his profeſſions.—As his reading had been very extenſive, ſo was he very happy in a memory, tenacious of every thing he [87] had read. He was not more poſſeſſed of knowledge, than he was communicative of it; but then, his communication of it was by no means pedantic, or impoſed upon the converſation, but juſt ſuch, and went ſo far, as by the natural turns of the diſcourſe in which he was engaged, it was neceſſarily prompted, or required. He was extremely ready and gentle in the correction of the errors of any writer, who thought fit to conſult him, and full as ready and patient to admit of the reprehenſion of others in reſpect of his own overſight or miſtakes. He was of a very eaſy, I may ſay, of very pleaſing acceſs; but ſomething ſlow, and as it were diffident in his advances to others. He had ſomething in his nature that abhorred intruſion in any ſociety whatſoever; and indeed, it is to be regretted. that he was rather blameable on the other extreme. He was of all men I ever knew, the moſt modeſt, and the moſt eaſy to be diſcountenanced in his approaches, either to his ſuperiors or his equals.—As to his writings—I may venture to ſay in general terms, that no man hath written in our language ſo much, and ſo various matter; and in ſo various manners ſo well. Another thing I may ſay, was very peculiar to him, which is, that his parts did not decline with his years, but that he was an improving writer to the laſt, even to near 70 years of age, improving even in fire and imagination as well as in judgment, witneſs his Ode on St. Cecilia's Day, and his fables, his lateſt performances. He was equally excellent in verſe and proſe: His proſe had all the clearneſs imaginable, without deviating to the language or diction of poetry, and I have heard him frequently own with pleaſure, that if he had any talent for writing proſe; it was owing to his frequentl having read the writings of the great archbiſhop Tillotſon. In his poems, his diction is, wherever his [88] ſubject requires it, ſo ſublime and ſo truly poetical, that it's eſſence, like that of pure gold cannot be deſtroyed. Take his verſes, and diveſt them of their rhimes, disjoint them of their numbers, tranſpoſe their expreſſions, make what arrangement or diſpoſition you pleaſe in his words; yet ſhall there eternally be poetry, and ſomething which will be found in capable of being reduced to abſolute proſe; what he has done in any one ſpecies, or diſtinct kind of writing, would have been ſufficient to have acquired him a very great name. If he had written nothing but his Prefaces, or nothing but his Songs, or his Prologues, each of them would have entitled him to the preference and diſtinction of excelling in its kind.'’

Beſides Mr. Dryden's numerous other performances, we find him the author of twenty-ſeven dramatic pieces, of which the following is an account.

In Obitum JOHAN. DRYDENI, poetarum Anglorum facilé principis.
Pindarus Anglorum magnus, cujuſque ſenilem
Ornavit nuper frontem Parniſſia laurus,
Sive cothurnatum molitur muſa laborem,
Sive levem ludit ſoccum, ſeu grande Maronis
Immortalis epos tentat, ſeu carmine pingit
Mordaci mores hominum, nunc occidit, eheu!
Occidit, atque tulit ſecum Permeſſidos-undas;
Et fontem exhauſit totum Drydenius Heros.
Heu! miſerande ſenex! jam frigida tempora circum
Marceſſit laurus, muſae, maeſtiſſima turba!
Circumſtant, largoque humectant imbre cadaver;
Sheffeildum video, in lacrymis multoque dolore
Formoſum, aetatis Flaccum, vatiſque patronum;
Te Montacute, te, cujus muſa triumphos
Carmine Boynaeos cecinit, magnumque Wilhelmum
Aeternavit, et olim Boynam, ignobile flumen;
Teque, O! et legum et muſarum gloria! et alter
Maecenas; cui lingua olim facunda labantem
Defendit mitrae cauſam; nec teruit aula
Prava jubens—vos, O jam tangunt funera vatis!
Jamque dies aderat, magnâ ſtipante catervâ,
Quo Phoebea cohors ſacras comitatur ad urnam
Reliquias, et ſupremum pia ſolvit honorem;
Jamque graves planctus, jamque illaetabile murmur
[94] Audio Melpomenis latè, dum noſter Apollo
Flebilis ante omnes, Sacvillus, triſtia ducit
Agmina Pieridum, Cytharamque accommodat odae;
Ipſe ego, dum totidem comitentur funera muſae,
Ipſe ſequor maeſtus; buſtum venerabile ſletu
Carminibuſque ſtruam multis, animumque poetae
His ſaltem donis cumulabo, et fungar inani
Munere.—
At te muſa mori vetat, O poſt fata, vel ipſa
Marmora, cum annorum fuerint rubigine ſ [...]abra;
Major eris vivo; tibi ſcripta perennius aere
Aut ſaxo, condent monumentum illuſtre per orbem,
Secula cuncta legant, et te mirentur in illis.
JOHAN. PHILIPS, Interioris templi alumnus.

The above were thrown in Dryden's grave. We are aſſured they were never in print before.

Sir CHARLES SEDLEY, Bart.

THIS gentleman, who obtained a great name in the world of gallantry, was ſon of Sir John Sedley, of Aylesford in Kent. When our author was about the age of 17, he became a fellow of Wadham college 1656, but he took no degree. When he quitted the univerſity, he retired into his own country, and neither went to travel nor to the inns of cou [...]t. As ſoon as the reſtoration was effected, Sir Charles came to London, [95] in order to join in the general jubilee, and then commenced wit, courtier, poet, and gallant.

He was ſo much applauded in all converſations that he began to be the oracle of the poets; and it was by his judgment every performance was approved or condemned; which made the King jeſt with him, and tell him, that nature had given him a patent to be Apollo's viceroy. Lord Rocheſter bears teſtimony to this, when he puts him ſoremoſt among the judges of poetry.

I loath the rabble, tis enough for me,
If Sedley, Shadwell, Shepherd, Wycherly,
Godolphin, Butler, Buckhurſt, Buckingham,
And ſome few more, whom I omit to name,
Approve my ſenſe, I count their cenſure fame.

It happened by Sir Charles, in reſpect of the king, as is ſaid of the famous cardinal Richlieu, viz. That they who recommended him to the Royal favour, thereby ſupplanted themſelves, and afterwards envied him; but with this difference between the Cardinal and Sir Charles, that the latter was never ungrateful. When he had a taſte of the court, as the King never would part with him, ſo he never would part from the King; and yet two things proved particularly detrimental to him in it, firſt his eſtate, ſo far from being improved was diminiſhed; and ſecondly his morals were debauched. The King delighted in his converſation, and he was the dearer to his Majeſty on this account, that he never aſked a favour; whereas ſome other courtiers by their bold importunity exhauſted that prince's treaſures, who could not deny a man who craved, tho' he hated his forwardneſs; nor could remember the ſilent indigence of his friend, tho' he applauded the modeſty of it. He was deeply immerſed in the public diſtractions of the times, and is ſaid to have [96] committed many debaucheries, of which the following inſtance has been recorded.

In the month of June 1663 our author, Charles lord Buckhurſt, and Sir Thomas Ogle, were convened at a public houſe in Bow-ſtreet, Covent-Garden, and being enflamed with ſtrong liquors, they went up to the balcony belonging to that houſe, and there ſhewed very indecent poſtures, and gave great offence to the paſſengers in the ſtreet by very unmannerly diſcharges upon them; which done, Sedley ſtripped himſelf naked, and preached to the people in a groſs and ſcandalous manner; whereupon a riot being raiſed, the mob became very clamorous, and would have forced the door next to the ſtreet; but being oppoſed, the preacher and his company were driven off the balcony, and the windows of a room into which they retired were broken by the mob. The frolic being ſoon ſpread abroad, and as perſons of faſhion were concerned in it, it was ſo much the more aggravated. The company were ſummoned to appear before a court of juſtice in Weſtminſter-Hall, where being indicted for a riot before Sir Robert Hyde, lord chief juſtice of the Common Pleas, they were all fined, and Sir Charles being ſentenced to pay 500 l. he uſed ſome very impertinent expreſſions to the judge; who thereupon aſked him if he had ever read a book called the Compleat Gentleman; to which Sir Charles made anſwer, that he had read more books than his lordſhip.

The day for payment being appointed, Sir Charles deſired Mr. Henry Killegrew, and another gentleman to apply to his Majeſty to have the fine remitted, which they undertook to do; but in place of ſupplicating for it, they repreſented Sir Charles's [97] frolic rather in an aggravating light, and not a farthing was abated.

After this affair, Sir Charles's mind took a more ſerious turn, and he began to apply himſelf to the ſtudy of politics, by which he might be of ſome ſervice to his country. He was choſen, ſays Wood, a recruiter of that long parliament, which began at Weſtminſter the 8th of May 1661, to ſerve for New Romney in Kent, and ſat in three ſucceeding Parliments ſince the diſſolution of that.

Sir Charles, conſidered as an author, has great delicacy in his turns, and Eachard obſerves in his dedication of Plautus's three comedies to Sir Charles, that the eaſineſs of his ſtile, the politeneſs of his expreſſions in his Bellamira, and even thoſe parts of it which are purely tranſlation, are very delightful, and engaging to the reader.

Lord Rocheſter, in his imitation of the 10th ſatire of the firſt book of Horace, has the following verſes in his commendation.

Sedley has that prevailing gentle art,
That can with a reſiſtleſs charm impart
The looſeſt wiſhes to the chaſteſt heart:
Raiſe ſuch a conflict, kindle ſuch a fire,
Betwixt declining virtue and deſire;
That the poor vanquiſh'd maid diſſolves away
In dreams all night, in ſighs and tears all day.

Before we give an account of our author's works, it will not be amiſs to obſerve, that he was extremely active in effecting the revolution, which was thought the more extraordinary, as he had received favours from King James II. That Prince, it ſeems, had fallen in love with a daughter of Sir Charles's, who was not very handſome; for James was remarkable for dedicating his affections [98] to women who were not great beauties; in conſequence of his intrigue with her, and in order to give her greater luſtre in life, he created Miſs Sedley counteſs of Dorcheſter. This honour, ſo far from pleaſing, greatly ſhocked Sir Charles. However libertine himſelf had been, yet he could not bear the thoughts of his daughter's diſhonour; and with regard to this her exaltation, he only conſidered it as rendering her more conſpicuouſly infamous. He therefore conceived a hatred to James, and rea [...]ily joined to diſpoſſeſs him of his throne and dominions.

Being aſked one day, why he appeared ſo warm againſt the King, who had created his daughter a Counteſs? It is from a principle of gratitude I am ſo warm, returns Sir Charles; for ſince his Majeſty has made my daughter a Counteſs, it is fit I ſhould do all I can to make his daughter a Queen.

Our author's works are,

Beſides theſe plays, Mr. Coxeter ſays, he is author of the two following, which were never printed till with his works in 2 vols. 8vo. 1719. dedicated by Briſcoe the bookſeller to the duke of Chandois.

Sedley's poems, however amorouſly tender and delicate, yet have not much ſtrength; nor do they afford great marks of genius. The ſoftneſs of his verſes is denominated by the Duke of Buckingham, Sedley's Witchcraft. It was an art too ſucceſsful in thoſe days to propagate the immoralities of the times, but it muſt be owned that in point of chaſtity he excels Dorſet, and Rocheſter; who as they conceived lewdly, wrote in plain Engliſh, and did not give themſelves any trouble to wrap up their ribbaldry in a dreſs tollerably decent. But if Sedley was the more chaſte, I know not if he was the leſs pernicious writer: for that pill which is gilded will be ſwallowed more readily, and with leſs reluctance, than if tendered in its own diſguſtful colours. Sedley inſinuates gently into the heart, without giving any alarm, but is no leſs fraught with poiſon, than are thoſe whoſe deformity beſpeaks their miſchief.

It would be tedious to enumerate here all the poems of Sir Charles Sedley; let it ſuffice to ſay, that they are printed in two ſmall volumes along with his plays, and conſiſt of tranſlations of Virgil's Paſtorals, original Paſtorals, Prologues, [100] Songs, Epilogues, and little occaſional pieces.

We ſhall preſent the reader with an original paſtoral of Sir Charles's, as a ſpecimen of his works.

He lived to the beginning of Queen Annes reign, and died at an age near 90; his wit and humour continuing to the laſt.

A Paſtoral Dialogue between THIRSIS and STREPHON.
THIRSIS.
Strephon, O Strephon, once the jollieſt lad,
That with ſhrill pipe did ever mountain glad;
Whilome the foremoſt at our rural plays,
The pride and envy of our holidays:
Why doſt thou ſit now muſing all alone,
Teaching the turtles, yet a ſadder moan?
Swell'd with thy tears, why does the neighbouring brook
Bear to the ocean, what ſhe never took?
Thy flocks are fair and fruitful, and no ſwain,
Than thee, more welcome to the hill or plain.
STREPHON.
I could invite the wolf, my cruel gueſt,
And play unmov'd, while he on all ſhould feaſt
I cou'd endure that very ſwain out-run,
Out-threw, out-wreſtled, and each nymph ſhould ſhun
The hapleſs Strephon.—
THIRSIS.
[101]
Tell me then thy grief,
And give it, in complaints, ſome ſhort relief.
STREPHON.
Had killing mildews nipt my riſing corn.
My lambs been all found dead, as ſoon as born;
Or raging plagues run ſwift through every hive,
And left not one induſtrious bee alive;
Had early winds, with an hoarſe winter's ſound
Scatter'd my rip'ning fruit upon the ground:
Unmov'd, untoucht, I cou'd the loſs ſuſtain,
And a few days expir'd, no more complain.
THIRSIS.
E'er the ſun drank of the cold morning dew,
I've known thee early the tuſkt boar purſue:
Then in the evening drive the bear away,
And reſcue from his jaws the trembling prey.
But now thy flocks creep feebly through the fields,
No purple grapes, thy half-dreſt vineyards yields:
No primroſe nor no violets grace thy beds.
But thorns and thiſtles lift their prickly heads.
What means this change?
STREPHON
Enquire no more;
When none can heal, 'tis pain to ſearch the ſore;
Bright G [...]latea, in whoſe matchleſs face
Sat rural innocence, with heavenly grace;
In whoſe no leſs inimitable mind,
With equal light, even diſtant virtues ſhin'd;
Chaſte without pride, and charming without art,
Honour the tyrant of her tender heart:
Fair goddeſs of theſe fields, who for our ſports.
Though ſhe might well become, neglected courts:
[102] Belov'd of all, and loving me alone,
Is from my ſight, I fear, for ever gone.
THIRSIS.
Thy caſe indeed is pitiful, but yet
Thou on thy loſs too great a price doſt ſet.
Women like days are, Strephon, ſome be far
More bright and glorious than others are:
Yet none ſo gay, ſo temperate, ſo clear,
But that the like adorn the rowling year.
Pleaſures imparted to a friend, increaſe,
Perhaps divided ſorrow may grow leſs.
STREPHON.
Others as fair, to others eyes may ſeem,
But ſhe has all my love and my eſteem:
Her bright idea wanders in my thought,
At once my poiſon, and my antidote.
THIRSIS.
Our hearts are paper, beauty is the pen,
Which writes our loves, and blots 'em out agen.
Phillis is whiter than the riſing ſwan,
Her ſlender waiſt confin'd within a ſpan:
Charming as nature's face in the new ſpring,
When early birds on the green branches ſing.
When riſing herbs and buds begin to hide,
Their naked mother, with their ſhort-liv'd pride,
Chloe is ripe, and as the autumn fair,
When on the elm the purple grapes appear,
When trees, hedge-rows, and every bending buſh,
With rip'ning fruit, or taſteful berries bluſh,
Lydia is in the ſummer of her days,
What wood can ſhade us from her piercing rays?
Her even teeth, whiter than new yean'd lambs,
When they with tender cries purſue their dams.
[103] Her eyes as charming as the evening ſun,
To the ſcorch'd labourer when his work is done,
Whom the glad pipe, to rural ſports invites,
And pays his toil with innocent delights.
On ſome of theſe fond ſwain fix thy deſire,
And burn not with imaginary fire.
STREPHON.
The ſtag ſhall ſooner with the eagle ſoar,
Seas leave their fiſhes naked on the ſhore;
The wolf ſhall ſooner by the lamkin die,
And from the kid the hungry lion fly,
Than I abandon Galatea's love,
Or her dear image from my thoughts remove.
THIRSIS.
Damon this evening carries home his bride,
In all the harmleſs pomp of rural pride:
Where, for two ſpotted lambkins, newly yean'd.
With nimble feet and voice, the nymphs contend:
And for a coat, thy Galatea ſpun,
The Shepherds wreſtle, throw the bar, and run.
STREPHON.
At that dear name I feel my heart rebound,
Like the old ſteed, at the fierce trumpet's ſound:
I grow impatient of the leaſt delay,
No baſtard ſwain ſhall bear the prize away.
THIRSIS.
Let us make haſte, already they are met;
The echoing hills their joyful ſhouts repeat.

JOHN CROWNE

[104]

WAS the ſon of an independent miniſter, in that part of North America, which is called Nova Scotia. The vivacity of his genius made him ſoon grow impatient of the gloomy education he received in that country; which he therefore quitted in order to ſeek his fortune in England; but it was his fate, upon his firſt arrival here, to engage in an employment more formal, if poſſible, than his American education. Mr. Dennis, in his Letters, vol. i. p. 48, has given us the beſt account of this poet, and upon his authority the above, and the ſucceeding circumſtances are related. His neceſſity, when he firſt arrived in England, was extremely urgent, and he was obliged to become a gentleman uſher to an old independent lady; but he ſoon grew as weary of that preciſe office, as he had done before of the diſcipline of Nova Scotia. One would imagine that an education, ſuch as this, would be but an indifferent preparative for a man to become a polite author, but ſuch is the irreſiſtable force of genius, that neither this, nor his poverty, which was very deplorable, could ſuppreſs his ambition: aſpiring to reputation, and diſtinction, rather than to fortune and power. His writings ſoon made him known to the court and town, yet it was neither to the favour of the court, nor to that of the earl of Rocheſter, [105] that he was indebted to the nomination the king made of him, for the writing the Maſque of Calypſo, but to the malice of that noble lord, who deſigned by that preference to mortify Mr. Dryden.

Upon the breaking out of the two parties, after the pretended diſcovery of the Popiſh plot, the favour he was in at court, and the gaiety of his temper, which inclined him to join with the faſhion, engaged him to embrace the Tory party. About that time he wrote the City Politicks, in order to ſatirize and expoſe the Whigs: a comedy not without wit and ſpirit, and which has obtained the approbation of thoſe of contrary principles, which is the higheſt evidence of merit; but after it was ready for the ſtage, he met with great embarraſſments in getting it acted. Bennet lord Arlington (who was then lord chamberlain, was ſecretly in the cauſe of the Whigs, who were at that [...]e potent in Parliament, in order to ſupport himſelf againſt the power of lord treaſurer Danby, who was his declared enemy) uſed all his authority to ſuppreſs it. One while it was prohibited on account of its being dangerous; another while it was laid aſide upon pretence of its being flat and inſipid; till Mr. Crowne, at laſt, was forced to have recourſe to the King himſelf, and engage him to lay his abſolute commands on the lord chamberlain to have it no longer delayed. This command he was pleaſed to give in his own perſon, for Charles II. loved comedy above all other amuſements, except one which was both more expenſive, and leſs innocent, and beſides, had a very high opinion of Mr. Crowne's abilities. While he was thus in favour with the King and court, Mr. Dennis declares, he has more than once heard him ſay, that though he had a ſincere affection for the King, he had yet a mortal hatred to the court. The promiſe of a [106] ſum of money made him ſometimes appear there, to ſollicit the payment of it, but as ſoon as he received the ſum, he vaniſhed, and for a long time never approached it.

It was at the latter end of King Charles's reign, that Mr. Crowne, tired wi [...]h the fatigue of writing, ſhocked with the uncertainty of theatrical ſucceſs, and deſirous to ſhelter himſelf from the reſentment of thoſe numerous enemies he had made by his City Politics, immediately addreſſed the King himſelf, and deſired his Majeſty to eſtabliſh him in ſome office, that might be a ſecurity to him for life: the King anſwered, he ſhould be provided for; but added, that he would firſt ſee another comedy. Mr. Crowne endeavouring to excuſe himſelf, by telling the King he plotted ſlowly and awkwardly, his Majeſty replied, that he would help him to a plot, an [...] ſo put in his hand the Spaniſh Comedy called Non Poder Eſſer. Mr. Crowne was obliged immediately to go to work upon it, but after he had written three acts of it, found, to his ſurprize, that the Spaniſh play had ſome time before been tranſlated, and acted and damned, under the title of Tarugo's Wiles, or the Coffee-Houſe: yet, ſupported by the King's command, he went briſkly on, and finiſhed it.

Mr. Crowne, who had once before obliged the commonwealth of taſte, with a very agreeable comedy in his City Politics, yet, in Sir Courtly Nice went far beyond it, and very much ſurpaſſed himſelf; for though there is ſomething in the part of Crack, which borders upon farce, the Spaniſh author alone muſt anſwer for that: for Mr. Crowne could not omit the part of Crack, that is, of Tarugo, and the Spaniſh farce depending upon it, without a downright affront to the King, who had given him the play for his ground-work. All [107] that is of Engliſh growth in Sir Courtly Nice is admirable; for though it has neither the fine deſigning of Ben Johnſon, nor the maſculine ſatire of Wycherley, nor the grace, delicacy, and courtly air of Etherege, yet is the dialogue lively and ſpirited, attractively diverſified, and adapted to the ſeveral characters. Four of theſe characters are entirely new, yet general and important, drawn truly, and graphically and artfully oppoſed to each other, Surly to Sir Courtly, and Hot-head to Teſtimony: thoſe extremes of behaviour, the one of which is the grievance, and the other the plague of ſociety and converſation; exceſſive ceremony on the one ſide, and on the other rudeneſs, and brutality are finely expoſed in Surly and Sir Courtly: thoſe diviſions and animoſities in the two great parties of England, which have ſo long diſturbed the public quiet, and undermined the general intereſt, are happily repreſented and ridiculed in Teſtimony and Hot-head. Mr. Dennis, ſpeaking of this comedy, ſays, ‘'that though he has more than twenty times read it, yet it ſtill grows upon him, and he delivers it as his opinion, that the greateſt comic poet, who ever lived in any age, might have been proud to have been the author of it.'’

The play was now juſt ready to appear to the world. Every one that had ſeen it rehearſed, was highly pleaſed with it. All who had heard of it conceived great expectations, and Mr. Crowne was delighted with the flattering hope of being made happy for the remaining part of his life, by the performance of the King's promiſe: But upon the very laſt day of the rehearſal, he met Underhill coming from the playhouſe, as he himſelf was going towards it, upon which the poet reprimanding the player for neglecting ſo conſiderable a part as he had in the comedy, and on a day of ſo much conſequence, as the very [108] laſt of the rehearſal. Oh Lord, ſays Underhill, we are all undone! how! ſays Crowne, is the Playhouſe on fire? the whole nation, replies the player, will quickly be ſo, for the King is dead; at the hearing of which diſmal words, the author was thrown almoſt into diſtraction; for he who the moment before was raviſhed with the thought of the pleaſure he was about to give the King, and the favours which he was afterwards to receive from him, this moment found, to his unſpeakable ſorrow, that his Royal patron was gone for ever, and with him all his hopes. The King indeed revived from this apoplectic fit, but three days after died, and Mr. Crowne by his death was replunged into the deepeſt melancholly.

Thus far Mr. Dennis has traced the life of Crowne; in the ſame letter he promiſes a further account of him upon another occaſion, which, it ſeems, never occurred, for we have not been able to find that he has any where elſe mentioned our author.

The King's death having put a period to Mr. Crowne's expectations of court-favour (for the reign of his ſucceſſor was too much hurried with party deſigns, to admit of any leiſure to reward poetical merit, though the Prince himſelf, with all his errors about him, was a man of taſte, and had a very quick diſcernment of the power of genius) he, no doubt, had recourſe to writing plays again for bread, and ſupporting himſelf the beſt way he could by his wits, the moſt unpleaſing, and precarious manner of life, to which any man can be expoſed. We cannot be abſolutely certain when Mr. Crowne died; Mr. Coxeter in his notes ſays, he was alive in the year 1703, and as he muſt then have been much advanced in years, in all probability he did not long ſurvive it.

[109] He is the author of 17 Plays.

Our author's other works are,

We ſhall ſhew Mr. Crown's verſification, by quoting a ſpeech which he puts into the mouth of an Angel, in the Deſtruction of Jeruſalem. The Angel is repreſented as deſcending over the altar propheſying the fall of that auguſt city.

Stay, ſtay, your flight, fond men, Heaven does deſpiſe
All your vain incenſe, prayers, and ſacrifice.
Now is arriv'd Jeruſalem's fatal hour,
When ſhe and ſacrifice muſt be no more:
Long againſt Heav'n had'ſt thou, rebellious town,
Thy public trumpets of defiance blown;
Didſt open wars againſt thy Lord maintain,
And all his meſſengers of peace have ſlain:
And now the hour of his revenge is come,
Thy weeks are finiſh'd, and thy ſlumb'ring doom,
Which long has laid in the divine decree,
Is now arous'd from his dull lethargy;
His army's rais'd, and his commiſſion ſeal'd,
His order's given, and cannot be repeal'd:
And now thy people, temple, altars all
Muſt in one total diſſolution fall.
Heav'n will in ſad proceſſion walk the round,
And level all thy buildings with the ground.
And from the ſoil enrich'd with human blood,
Shall graſs ſpring up, where palaces have ſtood,
[112] Where beaſts ſhall feed; and a revenge obtain
For all the thouſands at thy altars ſlain.
And this once bleſſed houſe, where Angels came
To bathe their airy wings in holy flame,
Like a ſwift viſion or a flaſh of light,
All wrapt in [...]ire ſhall vaniſh in thy ſight;
And thrown aſide amongſt the common ſtore,
Sink down in time's abyſs, and riſe no more.

CHARLES SACKVILLE, Earl of DORSET,

ELDEST ſon of Richard earl of Dorſet, born the 24th of January 1637, was one of the moſt accompliſhed gentlemen of the age in which he lived, which was eſteemed one of the moſt courtly ever known in our nation; when, as Pope expreſſes it,

The ſoldiers ap'd the gallantries of France,
And ev'ry flow'ry court [...]er writ romance.

Immediately after the reſtoration, he was choſen member of parliament for Eaſt-Grimſtead, and diſtinguiſhed himſelf while he was in the Houſe of Commons. The ſprightlineſs of his wit, and a moſt exceeding good-nature, recommended him very early to the favour of Charles the IId, and thoſe of the greateſt diſtinction in the court; but his mi [...]d being more turned to books, and polite converſation, than public buſineſs, he totally declined the latter, tho' as biſhop Burnet * ſays, the king courted him as a favorite. [113] Prior in his dedication of his poems, obſerve [...], that when the honour and ſafety of his country demanded his aſſiſtance, he readily entered into the moſt active parts of life; and underwent the dangers with a conſtancy of mind, which ſhewed he had not only read the rules of philoſophy, but underſtood the practice of them. He went a volunteer under his royal highneſs the duke of York in the firſt Dutch war, 1665, when the Dutch admiral Opdam was blown up, and about thirty capital ſhips taken and deſtroyed; and his compoſing a ſong before the engagement, carried with it in the opinion of many people ſo ſedate a preſence of mind, and ſuch unuſual gallantry, that it has been much celebrated.

This Song, upon ſo memorable an occaſion, is compriſed in the following ſtanzas.

I.
TO all you ladies, now at land,
We men at ſea indite,
But firſt would have you underſtand,
How hard it is to write;
The Muſes now, and Neptune too,
We muſt implore to write to you,
With a fa, la, la, la, la.
II.
For tho' the Muſes ſhould prove kind,
And fill our empty brain;
Yet if rough Neptune rouze the wind,
To wave the azure main,
Our paper, pen and ink, and we,
Roll up and down our ſhips at ſea.
With a fa, &c.
[114]III.
Then if we write not, by each poſt,
Think not, we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ſhips are loſt,
By Dutchmen or by wind:
Our tears, we'll ſend a ſpeedier way,
The tide ſhall waft them twice a day.
With a fa, &c.
IV.
The king with wonder, and ſurprize,
Will ſwear the ſeas grow bold;
Becauſe the tides will higher riſe,
Then e'er they did of old:
But let him know it is our tears,
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-Stairs.
With a fa, &c.
V.
Should foggy Opdam chance to know,
Our ſad and diſmal ſtory;
The Dutch would ſcorn ſo weak a foe,
And quit their fort at Goree:
For what reſiſtance can they find,
From men who 've left their hearts behind.
With a fa, &c.
VI.
Let wind, and weather do its worſt,
Be you to us but kind;
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curſe,
No ſorrow we ſhall find;
'Tis then no matter, how things go,
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.
With a fa, &c.
[115]VII.
To paſs our tedious hours away,
We throw a merry main;
Or elſe at ſerious Ombre play;
But why ſhould we in vain
Each other's ruin thus purſue?
We were undone, when we left you.
With a fa, &c.
VIII.
But now our fears tempeſtuous grow,
And caſt our hopes away;
Whilſt you, regardleſs of our woe,
Sit careleſly at play;
Perhaps permit ſome happier man,
To kiſs your hand, or flirt your fan.
With a fa, &c.
IX.
When any mournful tune, you hear,
That dies in every note;
And if it ſigh'd with each man's care,
For being ſo remote;
Think then, how often love we've made
To you, when all thoſe tunes were play'd.
With a fa, &c.
X.
In juſtice, you cannot refuſe,
To think of our diſtreſs;
When we for hopes of honour loſe,
Our certain happineſs;
All thoſe deſigns are but to prove,
Ourſelves more worthy of your love.
With a fa, &c.
[116]XI.
And, now we've told you all our loves,
And likewiſe all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves,
Some pity for our tears:
Let's hear of no inconſtancy,
We have too much of that at ſea.
With a fa, &c.

To maintain an evenneſs of temper in the time of danger, is certainly the higheſt mark of heroiſm; but ſome of the graver caſt have been apt to ſay, this ſedate compoſure ſomewhat differs from that levity of diſpoſition, or frolic humour, that inclines a man to write a ſong. But, let us conſider my lord's fervour of youth, his gaiety of mind, ſupported by ſtrong ſpirits, flowing from an honeſt heart, and, I believe, we ſhall rather be diſpoſed to admire, than cenſure him on this occaſion. Remember too, he was only a volunteer. The conduct of the battle depended not on him. He had only to ſhew his intrepidity and diligence, in executing the orders of his commander, when called on; as he had no plans of operation to take up his thoughts why not write a ſong? there was neither indecency, nor immorality in it: I doubt not, but with that chearfulneſs of mind he compoſed himſelf to reſt, with as right feelings, and as proper an addreſs to his maker, as any one of a more melancholly diſpoſition, or gloomy aſpect.

Moſt commanders, in the day of battle, aſſume at leaſt a brilliancy of countenance, that may encourage their ſoldiers; and they are admired for it: to ſmile at terror has, before this, been allowed the mark of a hero. The dying Socrates diſcourſed his friends with great compoſure; he was a philoſopher [117] of a grave caſt: Sir Thomas Moore (old enough to be my lord's father) jok'd, even on the ſcaffold; a ſtrong inſtance of his heroiſm, and no contradiction to the rectitude of his mind. The verſes the Emperor Adrian wrought on his deathbed (call them a ſong if you will) have been admired, and approved, by ſeveral great men: Mr. Pope has not only given his opinion in their favour, but elegantly tranſlated them, nay, thought them worthy an imitation, perhaps exceeding the original. If this behaviour of my lord's is liable to different conſtructions, let good nature, and good manners, incline us to beſtow the moſt favourable thereon.

After his fatigues at ſea, during the remainder of the reign of Charles the IId, he continued to live in honourable leiſure. He was of the bed-chamber to the king, and poſſeſſed not only his maſter's favour, but in a great degree his familiarity, never leaving the court but when he was ſent to that of France, upon ſome ſhort commiſſion, and embaſſies of compliment; as if the king deſigned to rival the French in the article of politeneſs, who had long claimed a ſuperiority in that accompliſhment, by ſhewing them that one of the moſt finiſhed gentlemen in Europe was his ſubject; and that he underſtood his worth ſo well, as not to ſuffer him to be long out of his preſence. Among other commiſſions he was ſent in the year 1669, to compliment the French king on his arrival at Dunkirk, in return of the compliment of that monarch, by the ducheſs of Orleans, then in England.

Being poſſeſſed of the eſtate of his uncle the earl of Middleſex, who died in the year 1674, he was created earl of that county, and baron of Cranfield, by letters patent, dated the fourth of April, 1675. 27 C. H; and in Auguſt 1677 ſucceeded his father as earl of Dorſet; as alſo, in the poſt of lord lieutenant of the county of Suſſex, having been joined [118] in the commiſſion with him in 1670*. Alſo the 20th of February 1684 he was made cuſtos rotulorum for that county.

Having buried his firſt lady, Elizabeth, daughter of Harvey Bagot, of Whitehall in the county of Warwick, Eſq widow of Charles Berkley, earl of Falmouth, without any iſſue by her, he married, in the year 1684, the lady Mary, daughter of James Compton, earl of Northampton, famed for her beauty, and admirable endowments of mind, who was one of the ladies of the bed-chamber to Queen Mary, and left his lordſhip again a widower, Auguſt 6, 1691, leaving iſſue by him one ſon, his grace Lionel now duke of Dorſet, and a daughter, the lady Mary, married in the year 1702 to Henry Somerſet duke of Beaufort, and dying in child-bed, left no iſſue.

The earl of Dorſet appeared in court at the trail of the ſeven biſhops, accompanied with other noblemen, which had a good effect on the jury, and brought the judges to a better temper than they had uſually ſhewn. He alſo engaged with thoſe who were in the prince of Orange's intereſt; and carried on his part of that enterprize in London, under the eye of the court, with the ſame courage and reſolution as his friend the duke of Devonſhire did in open arms, at Nottingham. When prince George of Denmark deſerted King James, and joined the prince of Orange, the princeſs Anne was in violent apprehenſions of the King's diſpleaſure, and being deſirous of withdrawing herſelf, lord Dorſet was thought the propereſt guide for her neceſſary flight. She was ſecretly brought to him by his lady's uncle, the biſhop of London: who furniſhed the princeſs [119] with every thing neceſſary for her flight to the Prince of Orange, and attended her northward, as far as Northampton, where he quickly brought a body of horſe to ſerve for her guard, and went from thence to Nottingham, to confer with the duke of Devonſhire.

After the miſguided monarch had withdrawn himſelf, lord Dorſet continued at London, and was one of thoſe peers who ſat every day in the Council-chamber, and took upon them the government of the realm, in this extremity, till ſome other power ſhould be introduced. In the debates in Parliament immediately after this confuſion, his lordſhip voted for the vacancy of the throne, and that the prince and princeſs of Orange ſhould be declared King and Queen of England, &c. When their Majeſties had accepted the crown of theſe realms, his lordſhip was the next day ſworn of the privy-council, and declared lord chamberlain of the houſhold, ‘'A place, ſays Prior, which he eminently adorned by the grace of his perſon, the fineneſs of his breeding, and the knowledge and practice of what was decent and magnificent.'’ It appears by the hiſtory of England, that he had the honour to ſtand godfather, with King William to a ſon of the prince and princeſs of Denmark, born at Hampton-court, the 24th of July 1689, and chriſtened the 27th by the name of William, whom his Majeſty declared duke of Glouceſter. When the King had been earneſtly entreated by the States of Holland, and the confederate princes in Germany, to meet at a general congreſs to be held at the Hague, in order to concert matters for the better ſupport of the confederacy, and thereupon took ſhipping the 16th of January 1692, his lordſhip was among the peers, who to honour their King and Country, waited on their ſovereign in that cold ſeaſon. [120] When they were two or three leagues off Goree, his Majeſty having by bad weather been four days at ſea, was ſo impatient to go on ſhore, that taking boat, and a thick fog riſing ſoon after, they were ſurrounded ſo cloſely with ice, as not to be able either to make the ſhore, or get back to the ſhip; ſo that lying twenty-two hours, enduring the moſt bitter cold, and almoſt deſpairing of life, they could hardly ſtand or ſpeak at their landing; and his lordſhip was ſo lame, that for ſome time he did not recover; yet on his return to England, he neither complained of the accident nor the expence.

On the 2d of February 1691, at a chapter of the moſt noble order of the garter, held at Kenſington, his lordſhip was elected one of the knights companions of this order, with his highneſs John-George, the fourth elector of Saxony, and was inſtalled at Windſor on the February following. He was conſtituted four times one of the regents of the kingdom in his Majeſty's abſence. About the year 1698, his health ſenſibly declining, he left public buſineſs to thoſe who more delighted in it, and appeared only ſometimes at council, to ſhew his reſpect to the commiſſion which he bore, for he had already taſted all the comfort which court favour could beſtow; he had been high in office, reſpected by his ſovereign and the idol of the people; but now when the evening of life approached, he began to look upon ſuch enjoyments with leſs veneration, and thought proper to dedicate ſome of his laſt hours to quiet and meditation. Being adviſed to go to Bath for the recovery of his health, he there ended his life on the 29th of January 1705-6, and was buried at Witham on the 17th of February following.

Lord Dorſet was a great patron of men of letters and merit. Dr. Sprat, biſhop of Rocheſter, [121] celebrated for his polite writings, appealed to him when under a cloud, for the part he acted in the reign of King James II. and by his lordſhip's intereſt preſerved himſelf. To him Mr. Dryden dedicated his tranſlation of Juvenal, in which he is very laviſh in his lordſhip's praiſe, and expreſſes his gratitude for the bounty he had experienced from him.

Mr. Prior (among others who owed their riſe and fortune to my lord Dorſet) makes this public acknowledgment, ‘'That he ſcarce knew what life was, ſooner than he found himſelf obliged to his favour; or had reaſon to feel any ſorrow ſo ſenſibly as that of his death.'’ Mr. Prior then proceeds to enumerate the valuable qualities of his patron; in which the warmth of his gratitude appears in the moſt elegant panegyric. I cannot imagine that Mr. Prior, with reſpect to his lordſhip's morals, has in the leaſt violated truth; for he has ſhewn the picture in various lights, and has hinted at his patron's errors, as well as his graces and virtues. Among his errors was that of indulging paſſion, which carried him into tranſports, of which he was often aſhamed; and during theſe little exceſſes (ſays he) ‘'I have known his ſervants get into his way, that they might make a merit of it immediately after; for he who had the good fortune to be chid, was ſure of being rewarded for it.'’

From the ſpecimens lord Dorſet has given us of his poetical talents, we are inclined to wiſh, that affairs of higher conſequence had permitted him to have dedicated more of his time to the Muſes. Though ſome critics may alledge, that what he has given the public is rather pretty than great; and that a few pieces of a light nature do not ſufficiently entitle him to the character of a firſt rate poet; yet, when we conſider, that notwithſtanding they were merely the amuſement of his leiſure hours, and moſtly the productions of his youth, they contain marks of a genius, and as ſuch, he is celebrated by Dryden, Prior, Congreve, Pope, &c.

We ſhall conclude his life with the encomium Pope beſtows on him, in the following beautiful lines.

[123]
Dorſet, the grace of courts, the muſes pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of nature, dy'd:
The ſcourge of pride, the ſanctify'd or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in ſtate.
Yet ſoft his nature, tho ſevere his lay,
His anger moral, and his wiſdom gay.
Bleſt ſatyriſt, who touch'd the mean ſo true,
As ſhew'd vice had his hate and pity too.
Bleſt courtier! who could King and Country pleaſe,
Yet ſacred keep his friendſhip, and his eaſe.
Bleſt peer! his great forefathers ev'ry grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;
Where other Buckhurſts, other Dorſets ſhine,
And patriots ſtill, or poets deck the line.

Mr. GEORGE FARQUHAR

[124]

WAS deſcended of a family of no mean rank in the North of Ireland; we have been informed that his father was dean of Armagh, but we have not met with a proper confirmation of this circumſtance; but it is on all hands agreed, that he was the ſon of a clergyman; and born at London Derry in that kingdom, in the year 1678, as appears from Sir James Ware's account of him. There he received the rudiments of education, and diſcovered a genius early devoted to the Muſes: Before he was ten years of age he gave ſpecimens of his poetry, in which, force of thinking, and elegance of turn and expreſſion are manifeſt; and if the auther who has wrote Memoirs of his life, may be credited, the following ſtanza's were written by him at that age,

The pliant ſoul of erring youth,
Is like ſoft wax, or moiſten'd clay;
Apt to receive all heavenly truth
Or yield to tyrant ill the ſway.
Slight folly in your early years,
At manhood may to virtue riſe;
But he who in his youth appears
A fool, in age will ne'er be wiſe.

His parents, it is ſaid, had a numerous family, ſo could beſtow no fortune upon him, further than [125] a genteel education. When he was qualified for the univerſity, he was, in 1694, ſent to Trinity College in Dublin: here, by the progreſs he made in his ſtudies, he acquired a conſiderable reputation*, but it does not appear, that he there took his degree of bachelor of arts; for his diſpoſition being volatile and giddy, he ſoon grew weary of a dull collegiate life; and his own opinion of it, in that ſenſe, he afterwards freely enough diſplayed in ſeveral parts of his comedies, and other writings: Beſides, the expence of it, without any immediate proſpect of returns, might be inconſiſtent with his circumſtances. The polite entertainments of the town more forcibly attracted his attention, eſpecially the diverſions of the Theatre, for which he diſcovered a violent propenſion. When Mr. Aſhbury, who then was manager of Dublin Theatre, had recruited his company with the celebrated Mr. Wilks (who had for ſome feaſons engaged with Mr. Chriſtopher Rich at Drury-Lane, from whom his encouragement was not equal to his merit) Farquhar having acquaintance with him, Mr. Wilks, was ſoon introduced upon the ſtage by his means, where he did not long continue, nor make any conſiderable figure. His perſon was ſufficiently advantageous, he had a ready memory, proper geſture, and juſt elocution, but then he was unhappy in his voice, which had not power enough to rouſe the galleries, or to rant with any ſucceſs; beſides, he was defective in point of aſſurance, nor could ever enough overcome his natural timidity. His more excellent talents however might, perhaps, have continued the player at Dublin, and loſt the poet at London; but for an accident, which was likely to turn a feigned tragedy into a real one: The ſtory is this.

[126] Mr. Farquhar was extremely beloved in Ireland; having the advantage of a good perſon, though his voice was weak; he never met with the leaſt repulſe from the audience in any of his performances: He therefore reſolved to continue on the ſtage till ſomething better ſhould offer, but his reſolution was ſoon broke by an accident. Being to play the part of Guyomar in Dryden's Indian Emperor, who kills Vaſquez, one of the Spaniſh generals; and forgetting to exchange his ſword for a foil, in the engagement he wounded his brother tragedian, who acted Vaſquez, very dangerouſly; and though it proved not mortal, yet it ſo ſhocked the natural tenderneſs of Mr. Farquhar's temper, that it put a period to his acting ever after.

Soon after this, Mr. Wilks received from Mr. Rich a propoſal of four pounds a week, if he would return to London (ſuch was the extent of the ſalaries of the beſt players in that time, which, in our days, is not equal to that of a ſecond rate performer) which he thought proper to accept of; and Mr. Farquhar, who now had no inducement to remain at Dublin, accompanied Mr. Wilks to London, in the year 1696. Mr. Wilks, who was well acquainted with the humour and abilities of our author, ceaſed not his ſollicit [...]tion 'till he prevailed upon him to write a play, aſſuring him, that he was conſidered by all who knew him in a much brighter light than he had a [...] yet ſhewn himſelf, and that he was fitter to exhibit entertaining compoſitions for the ſtage, than to eccho thoſe of other poets upon it.

But he received ſtill higher encouragement by the patronage of the earl of Orrery, who was a diſcorner of merit, and ſaw, that as yet, Mr. Farquhar's went unrewarded. His lordſhip conferred a lieutenant's commiſſion upon him in his own regiment [127] then in Ireland, which he held ſeveral years, and, as an officer, he behaved himſelf without reproach, and gave ſeveral inſtances both of courage and conduct: Whether he received his commiſſion before or after he obliged the town with his firſt comedy, we cannot be certain.

In the year 1698, his firſt Comedy called Love and a Bottle appeared on the ſtage, and for its ſprightly dialogue, and buſy ſcenes was well received by the audience, though Wilks had no part in it. In 1699 the celebrated Mrs. Anne Oldfied was, partly upon his judgment, and recommendation, admitted on the Theatre.

Now we have mentioned Mrs. Oldfield, we ſhall preſent the reader with the following anecdote concerning that celebrated actreſs, which diſcovers the true manner of her coming on the ſtage; the account we have from a perſon who belonged to Mr. Rich, in a letter he wrote to the editor of Mrs. Oldfield's Life, in which it is printed in theſe words;

SIR,

‘'In your Memoirs of Mrs. Oldfield, it may not be amiſs to inſert the following facts, on the truth of which you may depend. Her father, captain Oldfield, not only run out all the military, but the paternal bounds of his fortune, having a pretty eſtate in houſes in Pall-mall. It was wholly owing to captain Farquhar, that Mrs. Oldfield became an actreſs, from the following incident; dining one day at her aunt's, who kept the Mitre Tavern in St. James's Market, he heard miſs Nanny reading a play behind the bar, [128] with ſo proper an emphaſis, and ſo agreeable turns ſuitable to each character, that he ſwore the girl was cut out for the ſtage, for which ſhe had before always expreſſed an inclination, being very deſirous to try her fortune that way. Her mother, the next time ſhe ſaw captain Vanburgh, who had a great reſpect for the family, told him what was captain Farquhar's opinion; upon which he deſired to know whether in the plays ſhe read, her fancy was moſt pleaſed with tragedy or comedy; miſs being called in, ſaid comedy, ſhe having at that time gone through all Beaumont and Fletcher's comedies, and the play ſhe was reading when captain Farquhar dined there, was the Scornful Lady. Captain Vanburgh, ſhortly after, recommended her to Mr. Chriſtopher Rich, who took her into the houſe at the allowance of fifteen ſhillings a week. However, her agreeable figure, and ſweetneſs of voice, ſoon gave her the preference, in the opinion of the whole town, to all our young actreſſes, and his grace the late duke of Bedford, being pleaſed to ſpeak to Mr. Rich in her favour, he inſtantly raiſed her allowance to twenty ſhillings a week; her fame and ſalary at laſt roſe to her juſt merit.'’

'Your humble ſervant, CHARLES TAYLOUR.'
*
For the moral character of Mrs. Oldfield, ſee the Life of Savage.

[129] In the beginning of the year 1700, Farquhar brought his Conſtant Couple, or Trip to the Jubilee, upon the ſtage, it being then the jubilee year at Rome; but our author drew ſo gay, and airy a figure in Sir Harry Wildair, ſo ſuited to Mr. Wilk [...]'s talents, and ſo animated by his geſture, and vivacity of ſpirit, that it is not determined whether the poet or the player received moſt reputation by it. Towards the latter end of this year we meet with Mr. Farquhar in Holland, probably upon his military duty, from whence he has given a deſcription in two of his letters dated that year from Brill, and from Leyden, no leſs true than humorpus, as well of thoſe places as the people; and in a third, dated from the Hague he very facetiouſly relates how merry he was there, at a treat made by the earl of Weſtmoreland, while, not only himſelf, but king William, and other of his ſubjects were detained there by a violent ſtorm, which he has no leſs humorouſly deſcribed, and has, among his poems, written alſo an ingenious copy of verſes to his miſtreſs on the ſame ſubject. Whether this miſtreſs was the ſame perſon he calls his charming Penelope, in ſeveral of his love-letters addreſſed to her, we know not, but we have been informed by an old officer in the army, who well knew Mr. Farquhar, that by that name we are to underſtand Mrs. Oldfield, and that the perſon meant by Mrs. V— in one of them, ſaid to be her bedfellow, was Mrs. Verbruggen the actreſs, the ſame who was ſome years before Mrs. Mountfort, whom Mrs. Oldfield ſucceeded, (when Mrs. V— died ſome years after in child-bed) with ſingular commendation, in her principal parts; and from ſo bright a flame it was no wonder that Farquhar was more than ordinarily heated. The author of Mrs. Oldfield's life ſays, that ſhe has often heard her mention ſome agreeable hours ſhe ſpent with captain [130] Farquhar: As ſhe was a lady of true delicacy, nor meanly proſtituted herſelf to every adorer, it would be highly ungenerous to ſuppoſe, that their hours ever paſſed in criminal freedoms. And 'tis well known, whatever were her failings, ſhe wronged no man's wiſe; nor had an huſband to injure.

Mr. Farquhar, encouraged by the ſucceſs of his laſt piece, made a continuation of it in 1701, and brought on his Sir Harry Wildair; in which Mrs. Oldfield received as much reputation, and was as greatly admired in her part, as Wilks was in his.

In the next year he publiſhed his Miſcellanies, or Collection of Poems, Letters, and Eſſays, already mentioned, and which contain a variety of humorous, and pleaſant ſallies of fancy: There is amongſt them a copy of verſes addreſſed to his dear Penelope, upon her wearing her Maſque the evening before, which was a female faſhion in thoſe days, as well at public walks, as among the ſpectators at the Playhouſe. Theſe verſes naturally diſplay his temper and talents, and will afford a very clear idea of them; and therefore we ſhall here inſert them.

‘'The arguments you made uſe of laſt night for keeping on your maſque, I endeavoured to defeat with reaſon, but that proving ineffectual, I'll try the force of rhyme, and ſend you the heads of our chat, in a poetical dialogue between You and I.'’
YOU.
Thus images are veil'd which you adore;
Your ignorance does raiſe your zeal the more.
I.
All image worſhip for falſe zeal is held;
Falſe idols ought indeed to be conceal'd.
YOU.
[131]
Thus oracles of old were ſtill receiv'd;
The more ambiguous, ſtill the more believ'd.
I.
But oracles of old were ſeldom true,
The devil was in them, ſure he's not in you.
YOU.
Thus maſk'd in myſteries does the godhead ſtand:
The more obſcure, the greater his command.
I.
The Godhead's hidden power would ſoon be paſt,
Did we not hope to ſee his face at laſt.
YOU.
You are my ſlave already ſir, you know,
To ſhew more charms, would but increaſe your woe,
I ſcorn an inſult to a conquer'd foe.
I.
I am your ſlave, 'tis true, but ſtill you ſee,
All ſlaves by nature ſtruggle to be free;
But if you would ſecure the ſtubborn prize,
Add to your wit, the fetters of your eyes;
Then pleas'd with thraldom, would I kiſs my chain
And ne'er think more of liberty again*.

It is ſaid, ſome of the letters of which we have been ſpeaking, were publiſhed from the copies returned him at his requeſt, by Mrs. Oldfield, and [132] that ſhe delighted to read them many years after they were printed, as ſhe alſo did the judicious eſſay at the end of them, which is called a Diſcourſe upon Comedy, in Reference to the Engliſh Stage; but what gives a yet more natural and lively repreſentation of our author ſtill, is one among thoſe letters, which he calls the Picture, containing a deſcription and character of himſelf, which we ſhould not now omit tranſcribing, if his works were not in every body's hands.

In 1703 came out another Comedy, entitled the Inconſtant, or the Way to Win Him, which had ſufficient merit to have procured equal ſucceſs to the reſt; but for the inundation of Italian, French, and other farcial interruptions, which, through the intereſt of ſome, and the depraved taſte of others, broke in upon the ſtage like a torrent, and ſwept down before them all taſte for compoſitions of a more intrinſic excellence. Theſe foreign monſters obtained partizans amongſt our own countrymen, in oppoſition to Engliſh humour, genuine wit, and the ſublime efforts of genius, and ſubſtituted in their room the airy entertainments of dancing and ſinging, which conveyed no inſtruction, awakened no generous paſſion, nor filled the breaſt with any thing great or manly. Such was the prevalence of theſe airy nothings, that our author's comedy was neglected for them, and the tragedy of Phaedra and Hippolitus, which for poetry is equal to any in our tongue, (and though Mr. Addiſon wrote the prologue, and Prior the epilogue) was ſuffered to languiſh, while multitudes flocked to hear the warblings of foreign eunuchs, whoſe higheſt excellence, as Young expreſſes it, was,

' Nonſenſe well tun'd with ſweet ſtupidity.'

Very early in the year 1704, a farce called the Stage Coach, in the compoſition whereof he was [133] jointly concerned with another, made its firſt appearance in print, and it has always given ſatisfaction.

Mr. Farquhar had now been about a twelvemonth married, and it was at firſt reported, to a great fortune; which indeed he expected, but was miſerably diſappointed. The lady had fallen in love with him, and ſo violent was her paſſion, that ſhe reſolved to have him at any rate; and as ſhe knew Farquhar was too much diſſipated in life to fall in love, or to think of matrimony unleſs advantage was annexed to it, ſhe fell upon the ſtratagem of giving herſelf out for a great fortune, and then took an opportunity of letting our poet know that ſhe was in love with him. Vanity and intereſt both uniting to perſuade Farquhar to marry, he did not long delay it, and, to his immortal honour let it be ſpoken, though he found himſelf deceived, his circumſtances embarraſſed, and his family growing upon him, he never once upbraided her for the cheat, but behaved to her with all the delicacy, and tenderneſs of an indulgent huſband.

His next comedy named the Twin-Rivals, was played in 1705.

Our poet was poſſeſſed of his commiſſion in the army when the Spaniſh expedition was made under the conduct of the earl of Peterborough, tho' it ſeems he did not keep it long after, and tho' he was not embarked in that ſervice, or preſent at the defeat of the French forces, and the conqueſt of Barcelona; yet from ſome military friends in that engagement, he received ſuch diſtinct relations of it in their epiſtolary correſpondence, that he wrote a poem upon the ſubject, in which he has made the earl his hero. Two or three years after it was written, the impreſſion of it was dedicated by the author's widow to the ſame nobleman, in which [134] are ſome fulſome ſtrains of panegyric, which perhaps her neceſſity excited her to uſe, from a view of enhancing her intereſt by flattery, which if excuſable at all, is certainly ſo in a woman left deſtitute with a family, as ſhe was.

In 1706 a comedy called the Recruiting Officer was acted at the theatre-royal. He dedicates to all friends round the Wrekin, a noted hill near Shrewſbury, where he had been to recruit for his company; and where, from his obſervations on country-life, the manner that ſerjeants inveigle clowns to enliſt, and the behaviour of the officers towards the milk-maids and country - wenches, whom they ſeldom fail of debauching, he collected matter ſufficient to build a comedy upon, and in which he was ſucceſsful: Even now that comedy fails not to bring full houſes, eſpecially when the parts of Captain Plume, Captain Brazen, Sylvia, and Serjeant Kite are properly diſpoſed of.

His laſt play was the Beaux - Stratagem, of which he did not live to enjoy the full ſucceſs.

Of this pleaſing author's untimely end, we can give but a melancholy account.

He was oppreſſed with ſome debts which obliged him to make application to a certain noble courtier, who had given him formerly many profeſſions of friendſhip. He could not bear the thought that his wife and family ſhould want, and in this perplexity was ready to embrace any expedient for their relief. His pretended patron perſuaded him to convert his commiſſion into the money he wanted, and pledged his honour, that in a very ſhort time he would provide him another. This circumſtance appeared favourable, and [135] the eaſy bard accordingly ſold his commiſſion; but when he renewed his application to the nobleman, and repreſented his needy ſituation, the latter had forgot his promiſe, or rather, perhaps, had never reſolved to fulfil it.

This diſtracting diſappointment ſo preyed upon the mind of Mr. Farquhar, who ſaw nothing but beggary and want before him, that by a ſure, tho' not ſudden declenſion of nature, it carried him off this worldly theatre, while his laſt play was acting in the height of ſucceſs at that of Drurylane; and tho' the audience beſtowed the loudeſt applauſes upon the performance, yet they could ſcarce forbear mingling tears with their mirth for the approaching loſs of its author, which happened in the latter end of April 1707, before he was thirty years of age.

Thus having attended our entertaining dramatiſt o'er the contracted ſtage of his ſhort life, thro' the various characters he performed in it, of the player, the lover, and the huſband, the ſoldier, the critic, and the poet, to his final cataſtrophe, it is here time to cloſe the ſcene. However, we ſhall take the liberty to ſubjoin a ſhort character of his works, and ſome farther obſervations on his genius.

It would be injurious to the memory of Wilks not to take notice here, of his generous behaviour towards the two daughters of his deceaſed friend. He propoſed to his brother managers, (who readily came into it) to give each of them a benefit, to apprentice them to mantua-makers; which is an inſtance amongſt many others that might be produced, of the great worth of that excellent comedian.

The general character which has been given of Mr. Farquhar's comedies is, ‘'That the ſucceſs of the moſt of them far exceeded the author's expectations; that he was particularly happy in the choice of his ſubjects, which he took care to [136] adorn with a variety of characters and incident: his ſtyle is pure and unaffected, his wit natural and flowing, and his plots generally well contrived. He laſhed the vices of the age, tho' with a merciful hand; for his muſe was good-natured, not abounding over-much with gall, tho' he has been blamed for it by the critics: It has been objected to him, that he was too haſty in his productions; but by ſuch only who are admirers of ſtiff and elaborate performances, ſince with a perſon of a ſprightly fancy, thoſe things are often beſt, that are ſtruck off in a heat*. It is thought that in all his heroes, he generally ſketched out his own character, of a young, gay, rakiſh ſpark, bleſſed with parts and abilities. His works are looſe, tho' not ſo groſsly libertine, as ſome other wits of his time, and leave not ſo pernicious impreſſions on the imagination as other figures of the like kind more ſtrongly ſtampt by indelicate and heavier hands.'’

He ſeems to have been a man of a [...]gerius rather ſprightly than great, rather flow'ry than ſolid; his comedies are diverting, becauſe his characters are natural, and ſuch as we frequently meet with; but he has uſed no art in drawing them, nor does there appear any force of thinking in his performances, or any deep penetration into nature; but rather a ſuperficial view, pleaſant enough to the eye, though capable of leaving no great impreſſion on the mind. He drew his obſervations chiefly from thoſe he converſed with, and has ſeldom given any additional heightening, or indelible marks to his characters; which was the peculiar excellence of Shakeſpear, Johnſon and Congreve.

Had he lived to have gained a more general knowledge of life, or had his circumſtances not [137] been ſt [...]aitened, and ſo prevented his mingling with perſons of rank, we might have ſeen his plays embelliſhed with more finiſhed characters, and with a more poliſh'd dialogue.

He had certainly a lively imagination, but then it was capable of no great compaſs; he had wit, but it was of ſo peculiar a ſort, as not to gain ground upon conſideration; and it is certainly true, that his comedies in general owe their ſucceſs full as much to the player, as to any thing intrinſically excellent in themſelves.

If he was not a man of the higheſt genius, he ſeems to have had excellent moral qualities, of which his behaviour to his wife and tenderneſs to his children are proofs, and deſerved a better fate than to die oppreſſed with want, and under the calamitous apprehenſions of leaving his family deſtitute: While Farquhar will ever be remembered with pleaſure by people of taſte, the name of the courtier who thus inhumanly ruined him, will be for ever dedicated to infamy.

EDWARD RAVENSCROFT.

[138]

THIS gentleman is author of eleven plays, which gives him a kind of right to be named in this collection. Some have been of opinion, he was a poet of a low rate, others that he was only a wit collector; be this as it may, he acquired ſome diſtinction by the vigorous oppoſition he made to Dryden: And having choſen ſo powerful an antagoniſt, he has acquired more honour by it, than by all his other works put together; he accuſes Dryden of plagiary, and treats him ſeverely.

Mr. Dryden, indeed, had firſt attacked his Mamamouchi; which provoked Ravenſcroft to retort ſo harſhly upon him; but in the opinion of Mr. Langbain, the charge of plagiariſm as properly belonged to Ravenſcroft himſelf as to Dryden; tho' there was this eſſential difference between the plagiary of one and that of the other; that Dryden turned whatever he borrowed into gold, and Ravenſcroft made uſe of other people's materials, without placing them in a new light, or giving them any graces, they had not before.

Ravenſcroft thus proceeds againſt Mr. Dryden: ‘'That I may maintain the character of impartial, to which I pretend, I muſt pull off his diſguiſe, and diſcover the politic plagiary that lurks under [139] it. I know he has endeavoured to ſhew himſelf maſter of the art of ſwift writing, and would perſuade the world that what he writes is extempore wit, currente calamo. But I doubt not to ſhew that tho' he would be thought to imitate the ſilk worm that ſpins its webb from its own bowels. yet I ſhall make him appear like the leech that lives upon the blood of men, drawn from the gums, and when he is rubbed with ſa [...]t, ſpues it up again. To prove this, I ſhall only give an account of his plays, and by that little of my own knowledge, that I ſhall diſcover, it will be manifeſt, that this rickety poet, (tho' of ſo many years) cannot go without others aſſiſtance; for take this prophecy from your humble ſervant, or Mr. Ravenſcroft's Mamamouchi, which you pleaſe,'' When once our poet's tranſlating vein is paſt, ' From him, you can't expect new plays in haſte.

Thus far Mr. Ravenſcroft has cenſured Dryden; and Langbain, in order to prove him guilty of the ſame poetical depredation, has been induſtrious to trace the plots of his plays, and the ſimilarity of his characters with thoſe of other dramatic poets; but as we ſhould reck on it tedious to follow him in this manner, we ſhall only in general take notice of thoſe novels from which he has drawn his plots.

We cannot aſcertain the year in which this man died; he had been bred a templer, which he forſook as a dry unentertaining ſtudy, and much beneath the genius of a poet.

[140] His dramatic works are,

JOHN PHILIPS,

[143]

A POET of very conſiderable eminence, was ſon of Dr. Stephen Philips, arch-deacon of Salop, and born at Brampton in Oxfordſhire, December 30, 1676. After he had received a grammatical education at home, he was ſent to Wincheſter ſchool, where he made himſelf maſter of the Latin and Greek languages, and was ſoon diſtinguiſhed for an happy imitation of the excellences which he diſcovered in the beſt claſſical authors. With this foundation he was removed to Chriſt's Church in Oxford, where he performed all his univerſity exerciſes with applauſe, and beſides other valuable authors in the poetical way, he became particularly acquainted with, and ſtudied the works of Milton. The ingenious Mr. George Sewel, in his life and character of our author, obſerves, ‘'that there was not an alluſion in Paradiſe Loſt, drawn from the thoughts and expreſſions of Homer or Virgil, which Mr. Philips could not immediately refer to, and by that he perceived what a peculiar life and grace their ſentiments added to Engliſh poetry; how much their images raiſed its ſpirit, and what weight and beauty their words, when tranſlated, gave to its language: nor was he leſs curious in obſerving the force and elegance of his mother tongue; but by the example of his darling Milton, ſearched backwards into the [144] works of our old Engliſh poets, to furniſh him with proper ſounding, and ſignificant expreſſions, and prove the due extent, and compaſs of the language. For this purpoſe he carefully read over Chancer and Spenſer, and afterwards, in his writings, did not ſcruple to revive any words or phraſes which he thought deſerved it, with that modeſty, and liberty which Horace allows of, either in the coining of new, or the reſtoring of ancient expreſſions.'’ Our author, however, was not ſo much enamoured of poetry, as to neglect other parts of literature, but was very well acquainted with the whole compaſs of natural philoſophy. He ſeems in his ſtudies, as well as his writings, to have made Virgil his pattern, and often to have broken out with him in the following rapturous wiſh, in the Second Book of the Georgics, which, for the ſake of the Engliſh reader, we ſhall give in Mr. Dryden's tranſlation.

' Give me the ways of wand'ring ſtars to know,
' The depths of heav'n above, or earth below;
' Teach me the various labours of the moon,
' And whence proceed th' eclipſes of the ſun.
' Why flowing tides prevail upon the main,
' And in what dark receſs, they ſhrink again.
' What ſhakes the ſolid earth, what cauſe delays
' The ſummer-nights, and the ſhort winter days.'

Mr. Philips was a paſſionate admirer of nature, and it is not improbable but he drew his own character in that deſcription which he gives of a philoſophical and retired life, at the latter end of the firſt Book of his Cyder.

—He to his labour hies,
Gladſome, intent on ſomewhat that may eaſe
Unhealthy mortals and with curious ſearch
[145] Examine all the properties of herbs,
Foſſils, and minerals, that th' embowell'd earth
Diſplays, if by his induſtry he can
Benefit human race.

Though the reader will eaſily diſcover the unpoetical flatneſs of the above lines, yet they ſhew a great thirſt after natural knowledge, and we have reaſon to believe, that much might have been attained, and many new diſcoveries made, by ſo diligent an enquirer, and ſo faithful a recorder of phyſical operations. However, though death prevented the hopes of the world in that reſpect, yet the paſſages of that kind, which we find in [...]his Poem on Cyder, may convince us of the niceneſs of his obſervations in natural cauſes. Beſides this, he was particularly ſkilled in antiquities, eſpecially thoſe of his own country; and part of this ſtudy too, he has with much art and beauty intermixed with his poetry.

While Mr. Philips continued at the univerſity, he was honoured with the acquaintance of the beſt and politeſt men in it, and had a particular intimacy with Mr. Edmund Smith, author of Phaedra and Hippolitus. The firſt poem which got him reputation, was his Splendid Shilling, which the author of the Tatler has ſtiled the beſt burleſque poem in the Engliſh Language; nor was it only, ſays Mr. Sewel, ‘'the fineſt of that kind in our tongue, but handled in a manner quite different from what had been made uſe of by any author of our own, or other nation, the ſentiments, and ſtile being in this both new; whereas in thoſe, the jeſt lies more in alluſions to the thoughts and ſables of the ancients, than in the pomp of expreſſion. The ſame humour is continued thro' the whole, and not unnaturally diverſified, as moſt poems of that nature had been before. [146] Out of that variety of circumſtances, which his fruitful invention muſt ſuggeſt to him, on ſuch a ſubject, he has not choſen any but what are diverting to every reader, and ſome, that none but his inimitable dreſs could have made diverting to any: when we read it, we are betrayed into a pleaſure which we could not expect, tho' at the ſame time the ſublimity of the ſtile, and the gravity of the phraſe, ſeem to chaſtiſe that laughter which they provoke.'’ Mr. Edmund Smith in his beautiful verſes on our Author's Death, ſpeaks thus concerning this poem;

' In her beſt light the comic muſe appears,
' When ſhe with borrow'd pride the buſkin wears.'

This account given by Mr. Sewel of the Splendid Shilling, is perhaps heightened by perſonal friendſhip, and that admiration which we naturally pay to the productions of one we love. The ſtile ſeems to be unnatural for a poem which is intended to raiſe laughter; for that laboured gravity has rather a contrary influence; diſpoſing the mind to be ſerious: and the diſappointment is not ſmall, when a man finds he has been betrayed into ſolemn thinking, in reading the deſcription of a trifle; if the gravity of the phraſe chaſtiſes the laughter, the purpoſe of the poem is defeated, and it is a rule in writing to ſuit the language to the ſubject. Philips's Splendid Shilling may have pleaſed, becauſe, its manner was new, and we often find people of the beſt ſenſe throw away their admiration on monſters, which are ſeldom to be ſeen, and neglect more regular beauty, and juſter proportion.

It is with reſerve we offer this criticiſm againſt the authority of Dr. Sewel, and the Tatler; [147] but we have reſolved to be impartial, and the reader who is convinced of the propriety and beauty of the Splendid Shilling, has, no doubt, as good a right to reject our criticiſm, as we had to make it.

Our author's coming to London, we are informed, was owing to the perſuaſion of ſome great perſons, who engaged him to write on the Battle of Blenheim; his poem upon which introduced him to the earl of Oxford, and Henry St. John, eſq afterwards lord viſcount Bolingbroke, and other noble patrons. His ſwelling ſtile, it muſt be owned, was better ſuited to a ſubject of this gravity and importance, than to that of a light and ludicrous nature: the exordium of this piece is poetical, and has an alluſion to that of Spenſer's Fairy Queen:

From low and abject themes the grov'ling muſe
Now mounts aerial to ſing of arms
Triumphant, and emblaze the martial acts
Of Britain's hero.

The next poem of our author was his Cyder, the plan of which he laid at Oxford, and afterwards compleated it in London. He was determined to make choice of this ſubject, from the violent paſſion he had for the productions of nature, and to do honour to his native country. The poem was founded upon the model of Virgil's Georgics, and approaches pretty near it, which, in the opinion of critics in general, and Mr. Dryden in particular, even excels the Divine Aeneid: He imitates Virgil rather like a purſuer, than a follower, not ſervilely tracing, but emulating his beauties; his conduct and management are ſuperior to all other copiers of that original, and even the admired Rapin (ſays Dr. Sewel) is much below [148] him, both in deſign and ſucceſs, ‘'for the Frenchman either fills his garden with the idle fables of antiquity, or new transformations of his own; and, in contradiction of the rules of criticiſm, has injudiciouſly blended the ſerious, and ſublime ſtile of Virgil, with the elegant turns of Ovid in his Metamorphoſis; nor has the great genius of Cowley ſucceeded better in his Books of Plants, who, beſides the ſame faults with the former, is continually varying his numbers from one ſort of verſe to another, and alluding to remote hints of medicinal writers, which, though allowed to be uſeful, are yet ſo numerous, that they [...]atten the dignity of verſe, and [...]ink it from a poem, to a trea iſe of phyſic.'’ Dr. Sewel has informed us, that Mr. Philips intended to have written a poem on the Reſurrection, and the Day of Judgment, and we may reaſonably preſume, that in ſuch a work, he would have exceeded his other performances. This awful ſubj [...]t is proper to be treated in a ſolemn ſtile, and cignified with the nobleſt images; and we need not doubt from his juſt notions of religion, and the gen [...]ine ſpirit of poetry, which were conſpicuous in him, he would have carried his readers through theſe tremendous ſcenes, with an exalted reverence, which, however, might not participate of enthuſiaſm. The meaneſt ſoul, and the loweſt imagination cannot contemplate theſe alarming events deſcribed in Holy Writ, without the deepeſt impreſſions: what then might we not expect from the heart of a good man, and the regulated flights and raptures of a chriſtian poet? Our author's friend Mr. Smith, who had probably ſeen the firſt rudiments of his deſign, ſpeaks thus of it, in a poem upon his death.

[149]
O! had relenting Heaven prolong'd his days,
The tow'ring bard had ſung in nobler lays:
How the laſt trumpet wakes the lazy dead;
How ſaints aloft the croſs triumphant ſpread;
How opening Heav'ns their happier regions ſhew,
And yawning gulphs with ſlaming vengeance glow,
And ſaints rejoice above, and ſinners howl below.
Well might he ſing the day he could not fear,
And paint the glories he was ſure to wear.

All that we have left more of this poet, is a Latin Ode to Henry St. John, Eſq which is eſteemed a maſter-piece; the ſtile being pure and elegant, the ſubject of a mixt nature, reſembling the ſublime ſpirit. and gay facetious humour of Horace. He was beloved, ſays Dr. Sewel, ‘'by all who knew him; ſomewhat reſerved and ſilent amongſt ſtrangers, but free, familiar, and caſy with his friends; he was averſe to diſputes, and thought no time ſo ill ſpent, and no wit ſo ill uſed, as that which was employed in ſuch debates; his whole life was diſtinguiſhed by a natural goodneſs, and well-grounded and unaſſected piety, an univerſal charity, and a ſteady adherence to his principles; no one obſerved the natural and civil duties of life with a ſtricter regard, whether a ſon, a friend, or a member of ſociety, and he had the happineſs to fill every one of theſe parts, without even the ſuſpicion either of undutifulneſs, inſincerity, or diſreſpect. Thus he continued to the laſt, not owing his virtues to the happineſs of his conſtitution, but the frame of his mind, inſomuch, that during a long ſickneſs, which is apt to ruffle the ſmootheſt [150] temper; he never betrayed any diſcontent or uneaſineſs, the integrity of his life ſtill preſerving the chearfulneſs of his ſpirits; and if his friends had meaſured their hopes of his life, only by his unconcern in his ſickneſs, they could not but conclude, that either his date would be much longer, or that he was at all times pr [...]pared for death.'’ He had long been troubled with a lingering conſumption, attended with an aſthma; and the ſummer beſore he died, by the advice of his phyſicians, he removed to Batly, where he got only ſome preſent eaſe, but went from thence with but ſmall hopes of recovery; and upon the return of the diſtemper, he died at Hereford the 15th of February, 1708. He was interred in the Cathedral church of that city, with an inſcription upon his grave-ſtone, and had a monument erected to his memory in Weſtminſter-abbey by Sir Simon Harcourt, afterwards lord chancellor; the epitaph of which was written by Dr. Friend.

WILLIAM WALSH, Eſq

[151]

THIS poet was the ſon of Joſeph Walſh, of Aberley in Worceſterſhire. He became a gentleman-commoner of Wadham-College Oxford, in Eaſter-Term, 1678, when he was only fifteen years of age; he leſt it without a degree, retired to his native county, and ſome time after went to London. He wrote a Dialogue concerning Women, being a Defence of the Fair-Sex, addreſſed to Eugenia, and printed in the year 1691. This is the moſt conſiderable of our author's productions, and it will be ſomewhat neceſſary to take further notice of it, which we cannot more effectually do, than by tranſcribing the words of Dryden in its commendation.—That great critic thus characteriſes it. ‘'The peruſal of this dialogue, in defence of the Fair-Sex, written by a gentleman of my acquaintance, much ſurpriſed me: For it was not eaſy for me to imagine, that one ſo young could have treated ſo nice a ſubject with ſo much judgment. It is true, I was not ignorant that he was naturally ingenious, and that he had improved himſelf by travelling; and from thence I might reaſonably have expected, that air of gallantry which is ſo viſibly diffuſed through the body of the work, and is, indeed, the ſoul that animates all things of this nature; but ſo much variety of reading, both in antient and modern authors, ſuch digeſtion of that reading, ſo much juſtneſs of thought, that it leaves no room for affectation or pedantry; I may venture to ſay, are not over common amongſt practiſed writers, and very rarely to [152] be found amongſt beginners. It puts me in mind of what was ſaid of Mr. Waller, the father of our Engliſh numbers, upon the ſight of his firſt verſes, by the wits of the laſt age; that he came out into the world forty-thouſand ſtrong, before they had heard of him. Here in imitation of my friend's apoſtrophes, I hope the reader need not be told, that Mr. Waller is only mentioned for honour's ſake, that I am deſirous of laying hold on his memory on all occaſions, and thereby acknowledging to the world, that unleſs he had written, none of us all could write. My friend, had not it ſeems confidence enough to fend this piece out into the world, without my opinion of it. that it might paſs ſecurely, at leaſt among the fair readers. for whoſe ſervice it was principally deſigned. I am not ſo preſuming, as to think my opinion can either be his touch-ſtone, or his paſsport; but, I thought I might ſend him back to Arioſto, who has made it the buſineſs of almoſt thirty ſtanza's, in the beginning of the thirty-ſeventh book of his Orlando Furioſo; not only to praiſe that beautiful part of the creation, but alſo to make a ſharp ſatire on their enemies; to give mankind their own, and to tell them plainly, that from their envy it proceeds, that the virtue and great actions of women are purpoſely concealed. and the failings of ſome few amongſt them expoſed, with all the aggravating circumſtances of malice. For my own part, who have always been their ſervant, and have never drawn my pen againſt them, I had rather ſee ſome of them praiſed extraordinarily, than any of them ſuffer by detraction, and that at this age, and at this time particularly, wherein I find more heroines, than heroes; let me therefore give them joy of their new champion: If any will think me more partial to him, than I really am, they can only ſay, I have returned his bribe; and [153] the worſt I wiſh him is, that he may receive juſtice from the men, and favour only from the ladies.'’

This is the opinion of Mr. Dryden in favour of this piece, which is ſufficient to eſtabliſh its reputation. Mr. Wood, the antiquarian, obſerves, that this Eugenia was the miſtreſs of Walſh, but for this he produces no proof, neither is it in the leaſt material whether the circumſtance is true or no. Mr. Walſh is likewiſe author of ſeveral occaſional poems, printed 1749, amongſt the works of the Minor Poets, and which he firſt publiſhed in the year 1692, with ſome letters amorous and gallant, to which is prefixed the following addreſs to the public.

Go, little book, and to the world impart
The faithful image of an amorous heart;
Thoſe who love's dear deluding pains have known,
May in my fatal ſorrows read their own:
Thoſe who have lived from all its torments free,
May find the things they never felt by me.
Perhaps advis'd avoid the gilded bait,
And warn'd by my example ſhun my fate.
Whilſt with calm joy, ſafe landed on the coaſt
I view the waves, on which I once was toſt.
Love is a medley of endearments, jars,
Suſpicions, quarrels, reconcilements, wars;
Then peace again. O would it not be beſt,
To chaſe the fatal poiſon from our breaſt?
But ſince, ſo few can live from paſſion free,
Happy the man, and only happy he,
Who with ſuch lucky ſtars begins his love,
That his cool judgment does his choice approve
Ill grounded paſſions quickly wear away;
What's built upon eſteem can ne'er decay.

[154] Mr. Walſh was of an amorous complexion, and in one of his letters mentions three of his amours, in pretty ſingular terms. I valued (ſays he) ‘'one miſtreſs, after I left loving her; I loved another after I left valuing her; I love and value the third, after having loſt all hopes of her; and according to the courſe of my paſſions, I ſhould love the next after having obtained her. However, from this time forward, upon what follies ſoever you fall, be pleaſed, for my ſake, to ſpare thoſe of love; being very well ſatisfied there is not one folly of that kind (excepting marriage) which I have not already committed. I have been, without raillery, in love with the beauty of a woman whom I have never ſeen; with the wit of one whom I never heard ſpeak, nor ſeen any thing ſhe has written, and with the heroic vi [...]tues of a woman, without knowing any one action of her, that could make me think ſhe had any; Cupid will have it ſo, and what can weak mortals do againſt ſo potent a god?'’ Such were the ſentiments of our author when he was about 30 years of age.

Queen Anne conſtituted Mr. Walſh her maſter of the horſe. On what account this place, in particular, was allotted him, we know not; but, with regard to his literary abilities, Mr. Dryden in his poſtſcript to his tranſlation of Virgil, has aſſerted, that Mr. Walſh was the beſ [...] cr [...]tic then living; and Mr. Pope, ſpeaking of our author, thus concludes his Eſſay on Criticiſm, viz.

To him, the wit of Greece, and Rome was known,
And ev'ry author's merit, but his own.
Such late was Walſh: the muſes judge and friend,
Who juſtly knew to blame, or to commend;
To failings mild, but zealous for deſert,
The cleareſt head, and the ſincereſt heart.

[155] In the year 1714 the public were obliged with a ſmall poſthumous piece of Mr. Walſh's, entitled Aeſculapius, or the Hoſpital of Fools, in imitation of Lucian. There is printed amongſt Mr. Walſh's other performances, in a volume of the Minor Poets, an Eſſay on Paſtoral Poetry, with a Short Defence of Virgil, againſt ſome of the reflexions of M. Fontenellé. That critic had cenſured Virgil for writing his paſtorals in a too courtly ſtile, which, he ſays, is not proper for the Doric Muſe; but Mr. Walſh has very judiciouſly ſhewn, that the Shepherds in Virgil's time, were held in greater eſtimation, and were perſons of a much ſuperior figure to what they are now. We are too apt to figure the ancient countrymen like our own, leading a painful life in poverty, and contempt, without wit, or courage, or education; but men had quite different notions of theſe things for the firſt four thouſand years of the world. Health and ſtrength were then more in eſteem, than the refinements of pleaſure, and it was accounted more honourable to till the ground, and keep a flock of ſheep, than to diſſolve in wantonneſs, and effeminating ſloth.

Mr. Walſh's other pieces conſiſt chiefly of Elegies, Epitaphs, Odes, and Songs; they are elegant, tho' not great, and he ſeems to have had a well cultivated, tho' not a very extenſive, underſtanding. Dryden and Pope have given their ſanction in his favour, to whom he was perſonally known, a circumſtance greatly to his advantage, for had there been no perſonal friendſhip, we have reaſon to believe, their encomiums would have been leſs laviſh; at leaſt his works do not carry ſo high an idea of him, as they have done. Mr. Walſh died about the year 1710.

THOMAS BETTERTON.

[156]

(Written by R. S.*)

ALMOST every circumſtance relating to the life of this celebrated actor, is expoſed to diſpute, and his manner of firſt coming on the ſtage, as well as the action of his younger years have been controverted. He was ſon of Mr. Betterton, undercook to king Charles the Iſt, and was born in Tothillſtreet Weſtminſter, ſome time in the year 1635. Having received the rudiments of a genteel education, and diſcovering a great propenſity to books, it was once propoſed he ſhould have been educated to ſome learned profeſſion; but the violence and confuſion of the times putting this out of the power of his family, he was at his own requeſt bound apprentice to a bookſeller, one Mr. Holden, a man of ſome eminence, and then happy in the friendſhip of Sir William Davenant. In the year 1656 it is probable Mr. Betterton made his firſt appearance on the ſtage, under the direction of Sir William, at the Opera-houſe in Charter-houſe-yard. It is ſaid, that going frequently to the ſtage about his maſter's buſineſs, gave Betterton the firſt notion of it, who ſhewed ſuch indications of a theatrical genius, that Sir William readily accepted him as a performer. Immediately after the reſtoration two diſtinct companies [157] were formed by royal authority; the firſt in virtue of a patent granted to Henry Killegrew Eſq called the king's company, the other in virtue of a patent granted to Sir William Davenant, which was ſtiled the duke's company*. The former acted at the theatre royal in Drury-lane, the other at that in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. In order that the theatres might be decorated to the utmoſt advantage, and want none of the embelliſhments uſed abroad, Mr. Betterton, by command of Charles II. went to Paris, to take a view of the French ſtage, that he might the better judge what would contribute to the improvement of our own. Upon his return, Mr. Betterton introduced moving ſcenes into our theatre, which before had the ſtage only hung with tapeſtry. The ſcenes no doubt help the repreſentation, by giving the ſpectator a view of the place, and increaſe the diſtreſs, by making the deception more powerful, and afflicting the mind with greater ſenſibility. The theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields being very inconvenient, another was built for them in Dorſet-Garden, called the duke's theatre, to which they removed and followed their profeſſion with great ſucceſs, during all that reign of pleaſure.

The ſtage at this time was ſo much the care of the ſtate, that when any diſputes aroſe, they were generally decided by his majeſty himſelf or the duke of York, and ſrequently canvaſſed in the circle. Mr. Cibber aſſigns very good reaſons, why at this time, theatrical amuſements were ſo much in vogue; the firſt is, that after a long eclipſe of gallantry during the rage of the civil war, people returned to it with double ardour; the next is, that women were then introduced on the ſtage, their parts formerly being ſupplied by boys, or effeminate young men, of which the famous Kynaſton poſſeſſed the capital parts. When any art is carried to perfection, it ſeldom happens, that at that particular period, the [158] profits ariſing from it are high; and at this time the advantages of playing were very inconſiderable: Mr. Hart the greateſt performer at the king's theatre, had but three pounds a week, and Mr. Betterton, then but young, very probably had not ſo much, and beſides, benefits then were things unheard of.

In 1670 Mr. Betterton married a gentlewoman on the ſame ſtage, one Mrs. Saunderſon, who excelled as an actreſs, every thing but her own conduct in life. In her, he was compleatly happy, and by their joint endeavours even in thoſe days, they were able not only to acquire a genteel ſubſiſtance, but alſo to ſave what might ſupport them in an advanced age*.

After Sir William Davenant's death, the patent came into the hands of his ſon, Dr. Charles Davenant, ſo well known to the world by his political writings; but, whether his genius was leſs fit than his father's for ſuch an adminiſtration, or the king's company were really ſuperior to his in acting, we cannot determine; but they gained upon the town, and Dr. Davenant was obliged to have recourſe to the dramatic opera, rich ſcenes, and fine muſic, to ſupport the ſtage on which Betterton played. The Dr. himſelf wrote the Opera of Circe, which came firſt on the ſtage in 1675, and was received with ſuch applauſe, as gave hopes of ſucceeding in this new way. The ſame year a Paſtoral, called Caliſta, or the Chaſte Nymph, written by Mr. Crowne, at the deſire of queen Katherine, was repreſented at court; and the ladies, Mary and Anne, daughters to the duke of York, played parts in it. On this occaſion Mr. Betterton inſtructed the actors, and Mrs. Betterton gave leſſons to the princeſſes; in grateful remembrance of which queen Anne ſettled a penſion of 100 l. per annum upon her. During this time an emulation ſubſiſted between the two companies, and [159] a theatrical war was proclaimed aloud, in which the town reaped the advantage, by ſeeing the parts performed with the greater life. The duke's company however maintained it's ſuperiority, by means of the new invented artillery, of muſic, machines, and ſcenery, and other underhand dealings, and bribing of actors in the oppoſite faction from performing their duty. By theſe meaſures, a coalition was effected, and the two companies joined together, and being united formed one of the perfecteſt that ever filled a ſtage, in 1682. It was in this united company that the merit of Betterton ſhone with unrivalled luſtre, and having ſurvived the great actors on whoſe model he had formed himſelf, he was at liberty to diſcover his genius in its full extent, by replacing many of them with advantage in theſe very characters, in which, during their life-times, they had been thought inimitable; and all who have a taſte for ſcenical entertainments cannot but thank the preſent laureat, for preſerving for them ſo lively a portrait of Betterton, and painting him in ſo true a light, that without the imputation of blind adulation, he may be juſtly ſtiled the Britiſh Roſcius.

This account is too important and pictureſque to be here omitted; and it would be an injury to Betterton not to ſhew him in that commanding light, in which the beſt judge of that ſpecies of excellence has placed him.

"Betterton was an actor, as Shakeſpear was an author, both without competitors! form'd for the mutual aſſiſtance, and illuſtration of each others genius! how Shakeſpear wrote, all men who have a taſte for nature may read, and know—but with what higher rapture would he ſtill be read, could they conceive how Betterton play'd him! then might they know, the one was born alone to ſpeak what the other only knew to write! Pity it is, that the momentary [160] beauties flowing from an harmonious elocution cannot, like thoſe of poetry, be their own record! that the animated graces of the player can live no longer than the inſtant breath and motion that preſents them; or at beſt can but ſaintly glimmer through the memory, or imperfect atteſtation of a few ſurviving ſpectators. Could how Betterton ſpoke, be as eaſily known as what he ſpoke; then might you ſee the muſe of Shakeſpear in her triumph, with all their beauties in their beſt array, riſing into real life, and charming her beholders. But alas! ſince all this is ſo far out of the reach of deſcription, how ſhall I ſhew you Betterton? Should I therefore tell you, that all the Othellos, Hamlets, Hotſpurs, Mackbeths, and Brutus's, whom you may have ſeen ſince his time have fallen far ſhort of him: This ſtill would give you no idea of his particular excelience. Let us ſee then what a particular compariſon may do! whether that may yet draw him nearer to you?

You have ſeen a Hamlet perhaps, who, on the firſt appearance of his father's ſpirit, has thrown himſelf into all the ſtraining vociferation requiſite to expreſs rage and fury, and the houſe has thundered with applauſe; tho' the miſguided actor was all the while (as Shakeſpear terms it) tearing a paſſion into rags—I am the more bold to offer you this particular inſtance, becauſe the late Mr. Addiſon, while I ſate by him, to ſee this ſcene acted, made the ſame obſervation, aſking me with ſome ſurprize, if I thought Hamlet ſhould be in ſo violent a paſſion with the Ghoſt, which though it might have aſtoniſhed, it had not provok'd him? for you may obſerve that in this beautiful ſpeech, the paſſion never riſes beyond an almoſt breathleſs aſtoniſhment, or an impatience, limited by filial reverence, to enquire into the ſuſpected wrongs that may have rais'd him from his peaceful tomb! and a deſire to know what a ſpirit ſo ſeemingly diſtreſt, might wiſn or enjoin a ſorrowful [161] ſon to execute towards his future quiet in the grave? this was the light into which Betterton threw this ſcene; which he open'd with a pauſe of mute amazement! then riſing ſlowly, to a ſolemn, trembling voice, he made the Ghoſt equally terrible to the ſpectator, as to himſelf! and in the deſcriptive part of the natural emotions which the ghaſtly viſion gave him, the boldneſs of his expoſtu [...]ation was ſtill governed by decency, manly, but not braving; his voice never riſing into that ſeeming outrage, or wild defiance of what he naturally rever'd. But alas! to preſerve this medium, between mouthing, and meaning too little, to keep the attention more pleaſingly awake, by a tempered ſpirit, than by meer vehemence of voice, is of all the maſter-ſtrokes of an actor the moſt difficult to reach. In this none yet have equall'd Betterton. But I am unwilling to ſhew his ſuperiority only by recounting the errors of thoſe, who now cannot anſwer to them; let their farther failings therefore be forgotten! or rather ſhall I in ſome meaſure excuſe them? for I am not yet ſure, that they might not be as much owing to the falſe judgment of the ſpectator, as the actor. While the million are ſo apt to be tranſported, when the drum of their ear is ſo roundly rattled; while they take the life of elocution to lie in the ſtrength of the lungs, it is no wonder the actor, whoſe end is applauſe, ſhould be ſo often tempted, at this eaſy rate, to excite it. Shall I go a little farther? and allow that this extreme is more pardonable than its oppoſite error. I mean that dangerous affectation of the monotone, or ſolemn ſameneſs of pronunciation, which to my ear is inſupportable; for of all faults that ſo frequently paſs upon the vulgar, that of flatneſs will have the feweſt admirers. That this is an error of ancient ſtanding ſeems evident by what Hamlet ſays, in his inſtructions to the players, viz.[162] Be not too tame, neither, &c.’

The Actor, doubtleſs, is as ſtrongly ty'd down to the rule of Horace, as the writer.

Si vis me flere, dolendum eſt
Primum ipſi tibi—

He that feels not himſelf the paſſion he would raiſe, will talk to a ſleeping audience: But this never was the fault of Betterton; and it has often amaz'd me, to ſee thoſe who ſoon came after him, throw out in ſome parts of a character, a juſt and graceful ſpirit, which Betterton himſelf could not but have applauded. And yet in the equally ſhining paſſages of the ſame character, have heavily dragg'd the ſentiment along, like a dead weight; with a long ton'd voice, and abſent eye, as if they had fairly forgot what they were about: If you have never made this obſervation, I am contented you ſhould not know where to apply it.

A farther excellence in Betterton, was that he could vary his ſpirit to the different characters he acted. Thoſe wild impatient ſtarts, that fierce and flaſhing fire, which he threw into Hotſpur, never came from the unruffled temper of his Brutus (for I have more than once ſeen a Brutus as warm as Hotſpur) when the Betterton Brutus was provoked, in his diſpute with Caſſius, his ſpirit flew only to his eye; his ſteady look alone ſupply'd that terror, which he diſdain'd, an intemperance in his voice ſhould riſe to. Thus, with a ſettled dignity of contempt, like an unheeding rock, he repell'd upon himſelf the foam of Caſſius. Perhaps the very words of Shakeſpear will better let you into my meaning:

[163]
Muſt I give way, and room, to your raſh choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman ſtares?

And a little after,

There is no terror, Caſſius, in your looks! &c.

Not but, in ſome part of this ſcene, where he reproaches Caſſius, his temper is not under this ſuppreſſion, but opens into that warmth which becomes a man of virtue; yet this is that haſty ſpark of anger, which Brutus himſelf endeavours to excuſe.

But with whatever ſtrength of nature we ſee the poet ſhew, at once, the philoſopher and the heroe, yet the image of the actor's excellence will be ſtill imperfect to you, unleſs language cou'd put colours in our words to paint the voice with.

Et ſi vis ſimilem pingere, pinge ſonum, is enjoining an impoſſibility. The moſt that a Vandyke can arrive at, is to make his portraits of great perſons ſeem to think; a Shakeſpear goes farther yet, and tells you what his pictures thought; a Betterton ſteps beyond 'em both, and calls them from the grave, to breathe, and be themſelves again, in feature, ſpeech, and motion. When the ſkilful actor ſhews you all theſe powers united, he gratifies at once your eye, your ear, and your underſtanding. To conceive the pleaſure riſing from ſuch harmony, you muſt have been preſent at it! 'tis not to be told you!"

Thus was Betterton happy in his fortune, in the notice of his ſovereign, in his fame and character, and in a general reſpect of all ranks of life; thus happy might he have continued, had he not, been perſuaded to attempt becoming rich, and unluckily engaged in a ſcheme that ſwept away all his capital, and left him in real diſtreſs. This accident fell out in 1692; and is of too particular a kind to paſs unnoticed. [164] Mr. Betterton had a great many friends amongſt the wealthy traders in the city, and ſo amiable was his private life, that all who knew him were concerned, and intereſted in his ſucceſs: Amongſt theſe, there was a gentleman, whoſe name the author of his life thinks proper to conceal, who entered into the ſtricteſt amity with this actor. This gentleman in the year 1692 was concerned in an adventure to the Eaſt-Indies, upon the footing then allowed by the company's charter, which veſſels ſo employed were ſtiled interlopers. The project of ſucceſs was great, the gain unuſually high; and this induced Mr. Betterton, to whom his friend offered any ſhare in the buſineſs he pleaſed, to think of ſo large a ſum as eight-thouſand pounds; but it was not for himſelf, as he had no ſuch ſum in his power: and whoever conſiders the ſituation of the ſtage at that time will need no other argument to convince him of it. Yet he had another friend whom he was willing to oblige, which was the famous Dr. Radcliffe; ſo Mr. Betterton advanced ſomewhat more than two-thouſand pounds, which was his all, and the Dr. made it up eight-thouſand. The veſſel ſailed to the Eaſt-Indies, and made as proſperous a voyage as thoſe concerned in her could wiſh, and the war with France being then very warm, the captain very prudently came home north about, and arrived ſafe in Ireland; but in his paſſage from thence he was taken by the French. His cargo was upwards of 120, 000 l. which ruined Mr. Betterton, and broke the fortune and heart of his friend in the city: As for doctor Radcliffe, he expreſſed great concern for Mr. Betterton, but none for himſelf; the Dr. merrily conſoled himſelf with obſerving, ‘'that it was only trotting up 200 pair of ſtairs more, and things are as they were.'’

This accident, however fatal to Mr. Betterton's fortune, yet proved not ſo to his peace, for he bore it without murmur, and even without mention; ſo [165] far from entertaining reſentment againſt his friend in the city, who doubtleſs meant him well, he continued his intimacy till his death, and after his deceaſe took his only daughter under his protection, and watched over her education till ſhe thought proper to diſpoſe of herſelf in marriage to Mr. Bowman the player, whoſe behaviour was ſuch, as to gain the eſteem of all that knew him; he has not been many years dead, and reflected credit on the reports of the excellency of the old ſtage.

Such the virtue, ſuch the honour of Mr. Betterton! who in his private character was as amiable as any he borrowed from the poets, and therefore was always deſervedly conſidered as the head of the theatre, though veſted there with very little power. The managers, as the companies were now united, exerciſed the moſt deſpotic ſtage-tyranny; and obliged our author to remonſtrate to them the hardſhips they inflicted on their actors, and repreſent that bad policy of the few, forgetting their obligations to the many. This language in the ears of the theatrical miniſtry, ſounded like treaſon; and therefore, inſtead of conſidering how to remedy the miſchiefs complained of, they bent their thoughts to get rid of their monitor: as if the not hearing of faults was equivalent to mending them. It was with this view they began to give away ſome of Betterton's firſt parts to young actors*, ſuppoſing this would abate his influence. This policy ruined them, and aſſiſted him: The public refented their having plays ill acted when they knew they might have better.

The beſt players attached themſelves wholly to Betterton, and deſired him to turn his thoughts on ſome method of procuring himſelf and them juſtice. Thus theatrical deſpotiſm produced its own deſtruction, and the very ſteps taken to render Betterton [166] deſperate, pointed out the way for his deliverance. Mr. Betterton, who had a general acquaintance with people of faſhion, repreſented his caſe to them, and at laſt by the interpoſition of the earl of Dorſet, a patent was granted him for building a new play-houſe in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, which he effected by a ſubſcription. The patentees, in order to make head againſt them, got over to their party Mr. Williams, and Mrs. Mountford, both eminent players; they had alſo recruits from the country, but with all the art of which they were capable, they continued ſtill unequal to Mr. Betterton's company. The new theatre was opened in 1695, with very great advantages: Mr. Congreve accepted of a ſhare with this company, as Mr. Dryden had formerly with the king's; and the firſt play they acted was Congreve's Comedy of Love for Love. The king honoured it with his preſence, there was a large and ſplendid audience, Mr. Betterton ſpoke a Prologue, and Mrs. Bracegirdle an Epilogue ſuited to the occaſion, and it appeared by the reception they met with, that the town knew how to reward the merit of thoſe the patentees uſed ſo ill. But with all theſe vaſt advantages, Betterton's company were not able to maintain this flow of proſperity, beyond two or three ſeaſons: Mr. Congreve was a ſlow writer, Vanbrugh, and Mr. Cibber, who wrote for the other houſe, were more expeditious; and if they did not finiſh, they at leaſt writ pleaſing Comedies.

The frequency of new-pieces, however, gave ſuch a turn in their favour, that Betterton's company with all their merit, had been undone, had not the Mourning Bride, and the Way of the World, come like reprieves, and ſaved them from the laſt gaſp*. In a few years however, it appearing plainly, that without a new ſupport from their friends, it was impoſſible for them to maintain their ſuperiority, or [167] independance; the patrons of Mr. Betterton ſet about a new ſubſcription, for building a theatre in the Hay-market, under the direction of Sir John Vanbrugh, which was finiſhed in 1706*; and was to be conducted upon a new plan; muſic and ſcenery to be intermixed with the drama, which with the novelty of a new houſe, was likely to retrieve Mr. Betterton's affairs. This favour was kindly received by Mr. Betterton; but he was now grown old, his health and ſtrength much impaired by conſtant application, and his fortune ſtill worſe than his health; he choſe therefore (as a mutinous ſpirit, occaſioned by diſappointments, grew up amongſt the actors) to decline the offer, and ſo put the whole deſign under the conduct of Sir John Vanbrugh, and Mr. Congreve, the latter of whom ſoon abandoned it entirely; and Mr. Betterton's ſtrength failing, many of the old players dying, and other accidents intervening, a reunion of the companies became abſolutely neceſſary, and ſoon after took place.

Hitherto, Betterton is conſidered as at the head of his company, and the affairs of the ſtage are naturally connected with his, as the tranſactions of a nation are interwoven with the life of a prince. After our author reached ſeventy, his infirmities grew upon him greatly, his fits of the gout were more laſting, and more ſevere: His circumſtances alſo, which had not been mended ſince he took upon him the conduct of the theatre, grew more neceſſitous, and all this joined to his wife's ill ſtate of health, made his condition melancholy, at a time when the higheſt affluence could not have made them chearful. Yet under all theſe preſſures, he kept up his ſpirit, and though leſs active, was as ſerene as ever. The public in thoſe days, had a grateful remembrance of the pleaſure Betterton had given [168] them, and would not ſuffer ſo diſtinguiſhed, and ſo deſerving a man, after fifty-years ſervice, to withdraw, till he had received from them ſome marks of their favour.

In the ſpring of 1709 a benefit was granted to Mr. Betterton, and the play of Love for Love was acted for that purpoſe. Two of the beſt actreſſes that ever graced the ſtage appeared on it upon that occaſion, tho' they had long quitted it, to render the benefit more advantageous: The part of Valentine was performed by Mr. Betterton, Angelica by Mrs. Bracegirdle, and Mrs. Barry performed that of Frail. The epilogue was written by Mr. Rowe. Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Barry, and Mr. Betterton, appeared on the ſtage together, and the ladies taking hold of him, repreſented his infirmities of age, and pleaded his ancient merit, in a very natural and moving manner: This epilogue is exquiſite in its kind. The profits ariſing from that benefit, we are told, amounted to 500 l. He had alſo a promiſe that the favour ſhould be annually continued.

Theſe extraordinary acts of public gratitude had a proper effect upon Mr. Betterton; who inſtead of indulging himſelf on their bounty, exerted the ſpirit given by this generoſity, in their ſervice, and appeared and acted as often as his health would permit*. On the 20th of September following, in particular, he performed the part of Hamlet, with ſuch vivacity, as well as juſtice, that it gave ample ſatisfaction to the beſt judges. This activity in the winter kept off the gout longer than uſual, but the fit returning in the ſpring, was the more unlucky, as it happened at the time of his benefit, when the ſucceſs of his play was ſure to depend in a great meaſure upon his own performance. The play he made choice of was the Maid's Tragedy, in [169] which he acted the part of Melantius; and notice was accordingly given by his good friend the Tatler; but the fit intervened; and that he might not diſappoint the town, Mr. Betterton was forced to ſubmit to outward applications, to reduce the ſwelling of his feet: Which had ſuch an effect, that he was able to appear on the ſtage, though he was obliged to uſe a ſlipper. He acted that day, ſays the Laureat, with unuſual ſpirit, and briſkneſs, by which he obtained univerſal applauſe; but this could not prevent his paying a very dear price for theſe marks of approbation, ſince the gouty humour, repelled by fomentations, ſoon ſeized upon the nobler parts; which being perhaps weakened by his extraordinary fatigue on that occaſion, he was not able to make a long reſiſtance: But on the 28th of April, 1710, he paid the debt to nature; and by his death occaſioned the moſt undiſſembled mourning amongſt people of rank and faſhion.

His behaviour as a man, and his abilities as a player, raiſed his character, and procured him the eſteem of all worthy and good men; and ſuch honours were paid his memory, as only his memory could deſerve.

On the ſecond of May, his corpſe was with much ceremony interred in Weſtminſter-Abbey, and the excellent author of the Tatler, has given ſuch an account of the ſolemnity of it, as will outlaſt the Abbey itſelf. And it is no ſmall mortification to us, that it is inconſiſtent with our propoſed bounds, to tranſcribe the whole: It is writ with a noble ſpirit; there is in it an air of ſolemnity and grandeur; the thoughts riſe naturally from one another; they fill the mind with an awful dread, and conſecrate Mr. Betterton to immortality, with the warmth of friendſhip, heightened by admiration.

As to the character of this great man in his profeſſion, the reader need but reflect on Mr. Colley Cibber's account here inſerted, who was well qualified [170] to judge, and who, in his Hiſtory of the Stage, has drawn the moſt ſtriking pictures that ever were exhibited; even the famous lord Clarendon, whoſe great excellence is characteriſing, is not more happy in that particular, than the Laureat; no one can read his portraits of the players, without imagining he ſees the very actors before his eyes, their air, their attitudes, their geſticulations.

Mr. Betterton was a man of great ſtudy and application; and, with reſpect to the ſubjects that employed his attention, he was as much a maſter of them as any man. He was an excellent critic, more eſpecially on Shakeſpear, and Fletcher. Mr. Rowe, who was a good judge, and alſo ſtudied the ſame authors with deep attention, gives this teſtimony in his favour, and celebrates, in the warmeſt manner, Betterton's critical abilities. His knowledge of Shakeſpear's merit, gave him ſo ſtrong, and ſo perfect an eſteem for him, that he made a pilgrimage into Staffordſhire to viſit his tomb, and to collect whatever particulars tradition might have preſerved in relation to his hiſtory; and theſe he freely communicated to the ſame friend, who candidly acknowledges, that the Memoirs of Shakeſpear's Life he publiſhed, were the produce of that journey, and freely beſtowed upon him by the collector. Mr. Booth, who knew him only in his decline, frequently made mention of him, and ſaid, he never ſaw him either off, or on the ſtage, without learning ſomething from him; he frequently obſerved, that Mr. Betterton was no actor, but he put on his part with his clothes, and was the very man he undertook to be, 'till the play was over, and nothing more. So exact was he in following nature, that the look of ſurprize he aſſumed in the character of Hamlet ſo aſtoniſhed Booth (when he firſt perſonated the Ghoſt) as to diſable him for ſome moments from going on. He was ſo communicative, that in the moſt capital parts, he would [171] enter into the grounds of his action, and explain, the principles of his art. He was an admirable maſter of the action of the ſtage, conſidered as independent of ſentiment; and knew perfectly the connection, and buſineſs of the ſcenes, ſo as to attract, preſerve, and ſatisfy the attention of an audience: An art extremely neceſſary to an actor, and very difficult to be attained.

What demonſtrated his thorough ſkill in dramatic entertainments, was, his own performance, which was ſufficient to eſtabliſh a high reputation, independent of his other merit. As he had the happineſs to paſs through life without reproach, a felicity few attain, ſo he was equally happy in the choice of a wife, with whom he ſpent his days in domeſtic quiet, though they were of very different tempers; he was naturally gay and chearful, ſhe of a melancholy reſerved diſpoſition. She was ſo ſtrongly affected by his death, which was, in ſome meaſure, ſudden, that ſhe ran diſtracted, tho' ſhe appeared rather a prudent and conſtant, than a fond and paſſionate wife: She was a great ornament to the ſtage, and her death, which happened ſoon after, was a public loſs.

The Laureat, in his Apology, thus characteriſes her: ‘'She was, ſays he, though far advanced in years, ſo great a miſtreſs of nature, that even Mrs. Barry, who acted Lady Macbeth after her, could not in that part, with all her ſuperior ſtrength, and melody of voice, throw out thoſe quick and careleſs ſtrokes of terror, from the diſorder of a guilty mind, which the other gave us, with a facility in her manner that rendered them at once tremendous and delightſul. Time could not impair her ſkill, though it brought her perſon to decay: ſhe was to the laſt the admiration of all true judges of nature, and lovers of Shakeſpear, in whoſe plays ſhe chiefly excelled, and without a rival. When [172] ſhe quitted the ſtage, ſeveral good actreſſes were the better for her inſtruction. She was a woman of an unblemiſhed and ſober life, and had the honour to teach Queen Anne, when Princeſs, the part of Semandra in Mithridates, which ſhe acted at court in King Charles's time. After the death of Mr. Betterton, that Princeſs, when Queen, ordered her a penſion for life, but ſhe lived not to receive more than the firſt half year of it.'’ Thus we have ſeen, that it is not at all impoſſible for perſons of real worth, to transfer a reputation acquired on the ſtage, to the characters they poſſeſs in real life, and it often happens, as in the words of the poet,

That ſcenic virtue forms the riſing age,
And truth diſplays her radiance from the ſtage.

The following are Mr. Betterton's dramatic works;

Beſides theſe pieces, Betterton wrote ſeveral occaſional Poems, tranſlations of Chaucer's Fables, and other little exerciſes. In a word, to ſum up all that we have been ſaying, with regard to the character of this extraordinary perſon, as he was the moſt perfect model of dramatic action, ſo was he the moſt unblemiſhed pattern of private and ſocial qualities: Happy is it for that player who imitates him in the one, and ſtill more happy that man who copies him in the other*.

JOHN BANKS.

[174]

THIS gentleman was bred a lawyer, and was a member of the ſociety at New Inn. His genius led him to make ſeveral attempts in dramatic poetry, in which he had various ſucceſs; but even when he met with the greateſt encouragement, he was very ſenſible of his error, in quitting the profitable practice of the law, to purſue the entertainments of the ſtage; but he was fired with a thirſt of fame, which reconciled to his mind the many uneaſy ſenſations, to which the precarious ſucceſs of his plays, and the indigence of his profeſſion naturally expoſed him: Mr. Banks no doubt has gained one part of his deſign by commencing poet, namely, that of being remembered after death, which Pope ſomewhere calls the poor eſtate of wits: For this gentleman has here a place amongſt the poets, while nine tenths of the lawyers of his time, now ſleep with their fathers ſecure in oblivion, and of whom we can only ſay, they lived, and died.

Mr. Banks's genius was wholly turned for tragedy; his language is certainly unpoetical, and his numbers unharmonious; but he ſeems not to have been ignorant of the dramatic art: For in all his plays he has very forcibly rouzed the paſſions, kept the ſcene buſy, and never ſuffered his characters to languiſh.

In the year 1684 Mr. Banks offered a tragedy to the ſtage called the Iſland Queens, or the Death [175] of Mary Queen of Scots, which, it ſeems, was rejected, whether from its want of merit, or motives of a political kind, we cannot now determine, but Mr. Banks thought proper then to publiſh it. In the year 1706, he obtained the favour of Queen Anne to command it to be acted at the Theatre-Royal, which was done with ſucceſs, for it is really a very moving tragedy. It has been often revived, and performed at the Theatres, with no inconſiderable applauſe.

His dramatic works are,

We cannot aſcertain the year in which Banks died. He ſeems to have been a man of parts; his characteriſtic fault as a writer, was aiming at the ſublime, which ſeldom failed to degenerate into [177] the bombaſt; fire he had, but no judgment to manage it; he was negligent of his poetry, neither has he ſufficiently marked, and diſtinguiſhed his characters; he was generally happy in the choice of his fables, and he has found a way of drawing tears, which many a ſuperior poet has tried in vain.

LADY CHUDLEIGH

WAS born in the year 1656, and was daughter of Richard Lee of Winſlade, in the county of Devon, Eſq She had an education in which literature ſeemed but little regarded, being taught no other language than her native tongue; but her love of books, inceſſant induſtry in the reading of them, and her great capacity to improve by them, enabled her to make a very conſiderable figure in literature.

She was married to Sir George Chudleigh of Aſhton in the county of Devon, Bart, by whom ſhe had iſſue Eliza Maria, who died in the bloom of life, (much lamented by her mother, who poured out her griefs on that occaſion, in a Poem entitled a Dialogue between Lucinda and Mariſſa) and George, who ſucceeded to the title and eſtate, Thomas, and others.

She was a lady of great virtue, as well as underſtanding, and ſhe made the latter of theſe subſervient to the promotion of the former, which was much improved by ſtudy; but though ſhe was enamoured of the charms of poetry, yet ſhe dedicated [178] ſome part of her time to the ſeverer ſtudy of philoſophy, as appears from her excellent eſſays, which diſcover an uncommon degree of piety, and knowledge, and a noble contempt of thoſe vanitie which the unthinking part of her ſex ſo much regard, and ſo eagerly purſue.

The works which this lady produced, are,

The Ladies Defence, or the Bride-Woman's Counſellor anſwered, a Poem; in a Dialogue between Sir John Brute, Sir William Loveall, Meliſſa, and a Parſon. This piece has been ſeveral times printed; the writing it was occaſioned by an angry ſermon preached againſt the fair ſex, of which her ladyſhip gives the following account; ‘'Mr. Lintot, ſays ſhe, ſome time ſince, intending to reprint my poems, deſired me to permit him to add to them a Dialogue I had written in the year 1700, on a Sermon preached by Mr. Sprint, a Nonconformiſt, at Sherbourne in Dorſetſhire; I refuſing, for ſeveral reaſons, to grant his requeſt, he, without my knowledge, bought the copy of the Bookſeller who formerly printed it, and, without my conſent, or once acquainting me with his reſolution, added to it the ſecond edition of my poems; and that which makes the injury the greater, is, his having omitted the Epiſtle Dedicatory, and the Preface, by which means he has left the reader wholly in the dark, and expoſed me to cenſure. When it was firſt printed I had reaſon to complain, but not ſo much as now: Then the Dedication was left entire as I had written it, but the Preface ſo mangled, altered, and conſiderably ſhortened, that I hardly knew it to be my own; but being then publiſhed without a name, I was the leſs concerned, but ſince, notwithſtanding the great care I took to conceal it, it is known to be mine; I [179] think myſelf obliged, in my own defence, to take ſome notice of it*.'’ The omiſſion of this Preface, which contained an anſwer to part of the ſermon, and gave her reaſons for writing the poem, had occaſioned ſome people to make ill-natured reflexions on it: this put her ladyſhip on juſtifying herſelf, and aſſuring her readers, that there are no reflexions in it levelled at any particular perſons, beſides the author of the Sermon; ‘'him (ſays ſhe) I only blame for being too angry, for his not telling us our duty in a ſofter more engaging way: addreſs, and good manners render reproofs a kindneſs; but where they are wanting, admonitions are always taken ill: as truths of this ſort ought never to be concealed from us, ſo they ought never to be told us with an indecent warmth; a reſpectful tenderneſs would be more becoming a meſſenger of peace, the diſciple of an humble, patient, meek, commiſerating Saviour.'’

Beſides this lady's poems, of which we ſhall give ſome account when we quote a ſpecimen; ſhe wrote Eſſays upon ſeveral ſubjects, in proſe and verſe, printed in 8vo. 1710. Theſe Eſſays are upon Knowledge, Pride, Humility, Life, Death, Fear, Grief, Riches, Self-love, Juſtice, Anger, Calumny, Friendſhip, Love, Avarice, Solitude, and are much admired for the delicacy of the ſtile, there being not the leaſt appearance of falſe wit, or affected expreſſion, the too common blemiſhes of this fort of writing: they are not ſo much the excurſions of a lively imagination, which can often expatiate on the paſſions, and actions of men, with ſmall experience of either, as the deliberate reſult of obſervations on the world, improved with reading, regulated with judgment, ſoftened by good manners, and heightened with ſublime thoughts, and elevated [180] piety. This treatiſe is dedicated to her Royal Highneſs the Princeſs Sophia, Electreſs, and Ducheſs Dowager of Brunſwick, on which occaſion that Princeſs, then in her 80th year, honoured her with the following epiſtle, written by the Electreſs in French, but which we ſhall here preſent to the reader in Engliſh.

LADY CHUDLEIGH,

You have done me a very great pleaſure in letting me know by your agreeable book, that there is ſuch a one as you in England, and who has ſo well improved herſelf, that ſhe can, in a fine manner, communicate her ſentiments to all the world. As for me I do not pretend to deſerve the commendations you give me, but by the eſteem which I have of your merit, and of your good ſenſe, I will be always entirely

Your affectionate friend to ſerve you, SOPHIA ELECTRICE.

At the end of the ſecond volume of the duke of Wharton's poems, are five letters from lady Chudleigh, to the revd. Mr. Norris of Bemmerton, and Mrs. Eliz. Thomas, the celebrated Corinna of Dryden.

She wrote ſeveral other things, which, though not printed, are carefully preſerved in the family, viz. two Tragedies, two Operas, a Maſque, ſome of Lucian's Dialogues, tranſlated into Verſe, Satirical Reflex [...]ons on Saqualio, in imitation of one of Lucian's Dialogues, with ſeveral ſmall Poems on various Occaſions.

[181] She had long laboured under the pains of a rheumatiſm, which had confined her to her chamber a conſiderable time before her death, which happened at Aſhton in Devonſhire, December 15, 1710, in the 55th year of her age, and lies buried there without either monument or inſcription.

The poetical Works of this Lady conſiſt chiefly in the Song of the Three Children Paraphraſed, ſome Pindaric Odes, Familiar Epiſtles, and Songs. We ſhall ſelect as a ſpecimen, a Dialogue between Lucinda and Mariſſa, occaſioned by the death of her Ladyſhip's Daughter, in the early bloom of her youth. It is of a very melancholy caſt, and expreſſive of the grief ſhe muſt have felt upon that tender occaſion. Her ladyſhip has informed us in her preface to her poems, that ſhe generally choſe ſubjects ſuited to her preſent temper of mind ‘'Theſe pieces (ſays ſhe) were the employments of my leiſure hours, the innocent amuſements of a ſolitary life; in them the reader will find a picture of my mind, my ſentiments all laid open to their view; they will ſometimes ſee me chearful, pleaſed, ſedate, and quiet; at other times, grieving, complaining, and ſtruggling with my paſſions, blaming myſelf, endeavouring to pay homage to my reaſon, and reſolving for the future with a decent calmneſs, an unſhaken conſtancy, and a reſigning temper, to ſupport all the troubles, all the uneaſineſs of life, and then, by unexpected emergencies, unforeſeen diſappointments, ſudden, and ſurpriſing turns of fortune, diſcompoſed, and ſhocked, 'till I have rallied my ſcattered fears, got new ſtrength, and by making unwearied re [...]ſtance, gained the better of my afflictions, and reſtored my mind to its former tranquiliity. Would we (continues her ladyſhip) contract our deſires, and learn to think [182] that only neceſſary, which nature has made ſo; we ſhould be no longer fond of riches, honours, applauſes, and ſeveral other things, which are the unhappy occaſions of much miſchief to the world; and doubtleſs, were we ſo happy as to have a true notion of the dignity of our nature, of thoſe great things for which we were deſigned, and of the duration and felicity of that ſtate to which we are haſtening, we ſhould ſcorn to ſtoop to mean actions, and bluſh at the thoughts of doing any thing below our character'’ In this manner does our authoreſs diſcover her ſentiments of piety. We now ſhall ſubjoin the ſpecimen;

DIALOGUE.
MARISSA.
O my Lucinda! O my deareſt friend!
Muſt my afflictions never, never end!
Has Heav'n for me, no pity left in ſtore,
Muſt I! O muſt I ne'er be happy more!
Philanda's loſs had almoſt broke my heart,
From her alas! I did but lately part:
And muſt there ſtill be new occaſions found
To try my patience, and my ſoul to wound?
Muſt my lov'd daughter too be ſnatch'd away,
Muſt ſhe ſo ſoon the call of fate obey?
In her firſt dawn, replete with youthful charms,
She's fled, ſhe's fled, from my deſerted arms.
Long did ſhe ſtruggle, long the war maintain,
But all th' efforts of life, alas! were vain.
Could art have ſaved her, ſhe had ſtill been mine,
Both art and care together did combine:
But what is proof againſt the will divine?
[183] Methinks I ſtill her dying conflict view,
And the ſad ſight does all my grief renew;
Rack'd by convulſive pains, ſhe meekly lies,
And gazes on me with imploring eyes;
With eyes which beg relief, but all in vain,
I ſee but cannot, cannot eaſe her pain.
She muſt the burden unaſſiſted bear,
I cannot with her in her tortures ſhare:
Would they were mine, and ſhe ſtood eaſy by;
For what one loves, ſure 'twere not hard to die.
See how ſhe labours, how ſhe pants for breath,
She's lovely ſtill, ſhe's ſweet, ſhe's ſweet in death!
Pale as ſhe is, ſhe beauteous does remain,
Her cloſing eyes their luſtre ſtill retain:
Like ſetting ſuns with undiminiſh'd light,
They hide themſelves within the verge of night.
She's gone, ſhe's gone, ſhe ſigh'd her ſoul away!
And can I, can I any longer ſtay?
My life alas has ever tireſome been,
And I few happy eaſy days have ſeen;
But now it does a greater burden grow,
I'll throw it off, and no more ſorrow know,
But with her to calm peaceful regions go.
Stay, thou dear innocence, retard thy flight,
O ſtop thy journey to the realms of light;
Stay 'till I come: to thee I'll ſwiftly move,
Attracted by the ſtrongeſt paſſion, love.
LUCINDA.
No more, no more let me ſuch language hear,
I can't, I can't the piercing accents bear:
Each word you utter ſtabs me to the heart,
I could from life, not from Mariſſa part:
And were your tenderneſs as great as mine,
While I were left, you would not thus repine.
My friends are riches, health, and all to me;
And while they're mine I cannot wretched be.
MARISSA.
[184]
If I on you could happineſs beſtow,
I ſtill the toils of life would undergo,
Would ſtill contentedly my lot ſuſtain,
And never more of my hard fate complain:
But ſince my life to you will uſeleſs prove,
O let me haſten to the joys above:
Farewel, farewel, take, take my laſt adieu,
May Heaven be more propitious ſtill to you,
May you live happy when I'm in my grave,
And no misfortunes, no afflictions have:
If to ſad objects you'll ſome pity lend
And give a ſigh to an unhappy friend,
Think of Mariſſa, and her wretched ſtate,
How's ſhe's been us'd by her malicious fate;
Recount thoſe ſtorms which ſhe has long ſuſtain'd,
And then rejoice that ſhe the part has gain'd;
The welcome haven of eternal reſt,
Where ſhe ſhall be for ever, ever bleſs'd;
And in her mother's, and her daughter's arms
Shall meet with new, with unexperienc'd charms.
O how I long thoſe dear delights to taſte;
Farewel, farewel, my ſoul is much in haſte.
Come death; and give the kind releaſing blow,
I'm tir'd of life, and overcharg'd with woe:
In thy cool ſilent, unmoleſted ſhade
O let me be by their dear relics laid;
And there with them from all my troubles free,
Enjoy the bleſſing of a long tranquillity.
LUCINDA.
O thou dear ſufferer, on my breaſt recline
Thy drooping head, and mix thy tears with mine:
Here reſt awhile, and make a truce with grief:
Conſider; ſorrow brings you no relief.
[185] In the great play of life, we muſt not chuſe,
Nor yet the meaneſt character refuſe.
Like ſoldiers we our general muſt obey,
Muſt ſtand our ground, and not to fear give way,
But go undaunted on 'till we have won the day.
Honour is ever the reward of pain,
A lazy virtue no applauſe will gain.
All ſuch as to uncommon heighths would riſe,
And on the wings of fame aſcend the ſkies,
Muſt learn the gifts of fortune to deſpiſe;
They to themſelves their bliſs muſt ſtill confine,
Muſt be unmoved, and never once repine:
But few to this perfection can attain,
Our paſſions often will th' aſcendant gain,
And reaſon but alternately does reign;
Diſguiſed by pride we ſometimes ſeem to bear
A haughty port, and ſcorn to ſhed a tear;
While grief within ſtill acts a tragic part,
And plays the tyrant in the bleeding heart.
Your ſorrow is of the ſevereſt kind,
And can't be wholly to your ſoul confin'd,
Loſſes like yours may be allowed to move
A gen'rous mind, that knows what 'tis to love.
Theſe afflictions—
Will teach you patience, and the careful ſkill
To rule your paſſions, and command your will;
To bear afflictions with a ſteady mind,
Still to be eaſy, pleas'd, and ſtill reſign'd,
And look as if you did no inward ſorrow find.
MARISSA.
I know Lucinda this I ought to do,
But oh! 'tis hard my frailties to ſubdue;
My headſtrong paſſions will reſiſtance make,
And all my firmeſt reſolutions ſhake.
I for my daughter's death did long prepare,
And hop'd I ſhould the ſtroke with temper bear,
But when it came grief quickly did prevail,
And I ſoon found my boaſted courage fail:
[186] Yet ſtill I ſtrove, but 'twas alas! in vain,
My ſorrow did at length th' aſcendant gain:
But I'm reſolv'd I will no longer yield;
By reaſon led, I'll once more take the field,
And there from my inſulting paſſions try,
To gain a full, a glorious victory:
Which 'till I've done, I never will give o'er
But ſtill fight on, and think of peace no more;
With an unwearied courage ſtill contend,
'Till death, or conqueſt, doth my labour end.

THOMAS CREECH.

THIS gentleman was born near Sherborne in Dorſetſhire, and bred up at the free ſchool in that town, under Mr. Carganven, a man of eminent character, to whom in gratitude he inſcribes one of the Idylliums of Theocritus, tranſlated by him. His parents circumſtances not being ſufficient to beſtow a liberal education upon him, colonel Strangeways, who was himſelf a man of taſte and literature, took notice of the early capacity of Creech, and being willing to indulge his violent propenſity to learning, placed him at Wadham College in Oxford, in the 16th year of his age, anno 1675, being then put under the tuition of two of the fellows. In the year 1683 he was admitted maſter of arts, and ſoon elected fellow of All-ſoul's College; at which time he gave diſtinguiſhed proofs of his claſſical learning, and philoſophy, before thoſe who [187] were appointed his examiners. The firſt work which brought our author into reputation, was his tranſlation of Lucretius, which ſucceeded ſo well, that Mr. Creech had a party formed for him, who ventured to prefer him to Mr. Dryden, in point of genius. Mr. Dryden himſelf highly commended his Lucretius, and in his preface to the ſecond volume of Poetical Miſcellanies thus characteriſes it. ‘'I now call to mind what I owe to the ingenious, and learned tranſlator of Lucretius. I have not here deſigned to rob him of any part of that commendation, which he has ſo juſtly acquired by the whole author, whoſe fragments only fall to my portion. The ways ofour tranſlation are very different; he follows him more cloſely than I have done, which became an interpreter to the whole poem. I take more liberty, becauſe it beſt ſuited with my deſign, which was to make him as pleaſing as I could. He had been too voluminous, had he uſed my method, in ſo long a work; and I had certainly taken his, had I made it my buſineſs to tranſlate the whole. The preference then is juſtly his; and I join with Mr. Evelyn in the confeſſion of it, with this additional advantage to him, that his reputation is already eſtabliſhed in this poet; mine is to make its fortune in the world. If I have been any where obſcure in following our common author; or if Lucretius himſelf is to be condemned, I refer myſelf to his excellent annotations, which I have often read, and always with ſome pleaſure.'’

Many poets of the firſt claſs, of thoſe times, addreſſed Mr. Creech in commendatory verſes, which are prefixed to the tranſlation of Lucretius: but this ſudden blaze of reputation was ſoon obſcured, by his failing in an arduous taſk, which the ſucceſs of his Lucretius prompted him to attempt. This was a tranſlation of the works of Horace, [188] an author more diverſified, and conſequently more difficult than Lucretius. Some have inſinuated, that Mr. Dryden, jealous of his riſing fame, and willing to take advantage of his vanity, in order to ſink his reputation, ſtrenuouſly urged him to this undertaking, in which he was morally certain Creech could not ſucceed. Horace is ſo various, ſo exquiſite, and perfectly delightful, that he who culls flowers in a garden ſo repleniſhed with nature's productions, muſt be well acquainted with her form, and able to delineate her beauties. In this attempt Creech failed, and a ſhade was thrown over his reputation, which continued to obſcure it to the end of his life. It is from this circumſtance alledged, that Mr. Creech contracted a melancholy, and moroſeneſs of temper, which occaſioned the diſinclination of many towards him, and threw him into habits of recluſeneſs, and diſcontent. To this ſome writers likewiſe impute the raſh attempt on his own life, which he perpetrated at Oxford, in 1701. This act of ſuicide could not be occaſioned by want, for Mr. Jacob tells us, that juſt before that accident, he had been preſented by the college to the living of Welling in Hertfordſhire. Mr. Barnard in his Nouvelles de la Republiques de Lettres, aſſigns another cauſe beſides the diminution of his fame, which might occaſion this diſaſtrous fate. Mr. Creech, though a melancholy man, was yet ſubject to the paſſion of love. It happened that he fixed his affections on a lady who had either previouſly engaged hers, or who could not beſtow them upon him; this diſappointment, which was a wound to his pride, ſo affected his mind, that, unable any longer to ſupport a load of miſery, he hanged himſelf in his own chamber. Which ever of theſe cauſes induced him, the event was melancholy, and not a little heightened by his being a clergyman, in whoſe heart religion ſhould have taken deeper root, and maintained a more ſalutary [189] influence, than to ſuffer him thus to ſtain his laurels with his own blood.

Mr. Creech's works, beſides his Lucretius already mentioned, are chiefly theſe,

Theſe are the works of Mr. Creech: A man of ſuch parts and learning, according to the accounts of all who have written of him, that, had he not by the laſt act of his life effaced the merit of his labours, he would have been an ornament [190] as weil to the clerical profeſſion, as his country in general. He well underſtood the ancients, had an unuſual penetration in diſcovering their beauties, and it appears by his own tranſlation of Lucretius, how elegantly he could cloath them in an Engliſh attire. His judgment was ſolid; he was perfectly acquainted with the rules of criticiſm, and he had from nature an extraordinary genius. However, he certainly overrated his importance, or at leaſt his friends deceived him, when they ſet him up as a rival to Dryden; but if he was inferior to that great man in judgment, and genius, there were few of the ſame age to whom he needed yield the palm. Had he been content to be reckoned only the ſecond, inſtead of the firſt genius of the times, he might have lived happy, and died regreted and reverenced, but like Caeſar of old, who would rather be the lord of a little village, than the ſecond man in Rome, his own ambition overwhelmed him.

We ſhall preſent the reader with a few lines from the ſecond Book of Lucretius, as a ſpecimen of our author's verſification, by which it will be found how much he fell ſhort of Dryden in point of harmony, though he ſeems to have been equal to any other poet, who preceded Dryden, in that particular.

'Tis pleaſant, when the ſeas are rough, to ſtand,
And view another's danger, ſafe at land:
Not 'cauſe he's troubled, but 'tis ſweet to ſee
Thoſe cares and fears, from which our ſelves are free.
'Tis alſo pleaſant to behold from far
How troops engage, ſecure ourſelves from war.
[191] But above all, 'tis pleaſanteſt to get
The top of high philoſophy, and ſit
On the calm, peaceful, flouriſhing head of it:
Whence we may view, deep, wondrous deep below,
How poor miſtaken mortals wand'ring go,
Seeking the path to happineſs: ſome aim
At learning, wit, nobility, or fame:
Others with cares and dangers vex each hour
To reach the top of wealth, and ſov'reign pow'r:
Blind wretched man! in what dark paths of ſtrife
We walk this little journey of our life!
While frugal nature ſeeks for only eaſe;
A body free from pains, free from diſeaſe;
A mind from cares and jealouſies at peace.
And little too is needful to maintain
The body ſound in health, and free from pain:
Not delicates, but ſuch as may ſupply
Contented nature's thrifty luxury:
She asks no more. What tho' no boys of gold
Adorn the walls, and ſprightly tapers hold,
Whoſe beauteous rays, ſcatt'ring the gawdy light,
Might grace the feaſt, and revels of the night:
What tho' no gold adorns; no muſic's ſound
With double ſweetneſs from the roofs rebound;
Yet underneath a loving myrtle's ſhade,
Hard by a purling ſtream ſupinely laid,
When ſpring with fragrant flow'rs the earth has ſpread,
And ſweeteſt roſes grow around our head;
Envy'd by wealth and pow'r, with ſmall expence
We may enjoy the ſweet delights of ſenſe.
Who ever heard a fever tamer grown
In cloaths embroider'd o'er, and beds of down,
Than in coarſe rags?
Since then ſuch toys as theſe
Contribute nothing to the body's eaſe,
[192] As honour, wealth, and nobleneſs of blood,
'Tis plain they likewiſe do the mind no good:
If when thy fierce embattell'd troops at land
Mock-fights maintain; or when thy navies ſtand
In graceful ranks, or ſweep the yielding ſeas,
If then before ſuch martial ſights as theſe,
Diſperſe not all black jealouſies and cares,
Vain dread of death, and ſuperſtitious fears
Not leave thy mind; but if all this be vain,
If the ſame cares, and dread, and fears remain,
If Traytor-like they ſeize thee on the throne,
And dance within the circle of a crown;
If noiſe of arms, nor darts can make them fly,
Nor the gay ſparklings of the purple dye.
If they on emperors will rudely ſeize,
What makes us value all ſuch things as theſe,
But folly, and dark ignorance of happineſs?
For we, as boys at night, by day do fear
Shadows as vain, and ſenſeleſs as thoſe are.
Wherefore that darkneſs, which o'erſpreads our ſouls,
Day can't diſperſe; but thoſe eternal rules,
Which from firm premiſes true reaſon draws,
And a deep inſight into nature's laws.

ARTHUR MAYNWARING, Eſq

[193]

A Gentleman diſtinguiſhed both for poetry and politics, as well as the gay accompliſhments of life. He was born at lghtfield, in the year 1668, and educated at the grammar-ſchool at Shrewſbury, where he remained four or five years; and at about ſeventeen years of age, was removed to Chriſt's Church in Oxford, under the tuition of Mr. George Smalridge, afterwards biſhop of Briſtol. After he removed from Oxford, he went into Cheſhire, where he lived ſeveral years with his uncle, Mr. Francis Cholmondley, a gentleman of great integrity and honour; but by a political prejudice, very averſe to the government of William the IIId, to whom he refuſed to take the oaths, and inſtilled anti-revolution principles into his nephew*, who embraced them warmly; and on his firſt entry into life, reduced to practice what he held in ſpeculation. He wrote ſeveral pieces in favour of James the IId's party: amongſt which was a Panegyric on that King. He wrote another intitled the King of Hearts, to ridicule lord Delamere's entry into London, at his firſt coming to town after the revolution. This poem was ſaid to be Dryden's, who was charged with it by Mr. Tonſon; but [194] he diſowned it, and told him it was written by an ingenious young gentleman, named Maynwaring, then about twenty-two years of age.

When our author was introduced to the acquaintance of the duke of Somerſet, and the earls of Dorſet, and Burlington, he began to entertain (ſays Oldmixon) very different notions of politics: Whether from the force of the arguments made uſe of by thoſe noblemen; or, from a deſire of preferment, which he plainly ſaw lay now upon the revolution intereſt, cannot be determined; but he eſpouſed the Whig miniſtry, as zealouſly as he had formerly ſtruggled for the exiled monarch.

Our author ſtudied the law till he was five or ſix and twenty years old, about which time his father died, and left him an eſtate of near eight-hundred pounds a year, but ſo incumbred, that the intereſt money amounted to almoſt as much as the revenue. Upon the concluſion of the peace of Ryſwick, he went to Paris, where he became acquainted with Monſieur Boileau, who invited him to his country houſe, entertained him very elegantly, and ſpoke much to him of the Engliſh poetry, but all by way of enquiry; for he affected to be as ignorant of the Engliſh Muſe, as if our nation had been as barbarous as the Laplanders.

A gentleman, a friend of Mr. Maynwaring, viſiting him ſome time after, upon the death of Mr. Dryden, ‘'Boileau, ſaid that he was wonderfully pleaſed to ſee by the public papers, that the Engliſh nation had paid ſo extraordinary honours to one of their poets, burying him at the public charge;'’ and then aſked the gentleman who that poet was, with as much indifference as if he had never heard Dryden's name; which he could no more be unacquainted with, than our country was with his; for he often frequented lord Montague's houſe, when he was embaſſador in France, [195] and being alſo an intimate friend of Monſieur De la Fontaine, who had ſpent ſome time in England, it was therefore impoſſible he could be ignorant of the ſame of Dryden; but it is peculiar to that nation to hold all others in contempt. The French would as fain monopolize wit, as the wealth and power of Europe; but thanks to the arms and genius of Britain, they have attempted both the one and the other without ſucceſs.

Boileau's pretending not to know Dryden, to uſe the words of Milton, ‘'argued himſelf unknown.'’ But perhaps a reaſon may be aſſigned, why the wits of France affected a contempt for Mr. Dryden, which is this. That poet, in many of his Prefaces and Dedications, has unanſwerably ſhewn, that the French writers are really deficient in point of genius; that the correctneſs for which they are remarkable, and that even pace which they maintain in all their dramatic compoſitions, is a proof that they are not capable of ſublime conceptions; that they never riſe to any degree of elevation, and are in truth uninſpired by the muſes:—Judgment they may have to plan and conduct their deſigns; but few French poets have ever found the way of writing to the heart. Have they attained the ſublime height of Shakeſpear, the tenderneſs of Otway, or the pomp of Rowe? and yet theſe are names which a French verſifier will pretend, with an air of contempt, never to have heard of.

The truth is, our poets have lately done the French too much honour, by tranſlating their pieces, and bringing them on the ſtage; as if our own ſtock was exhauſted, and the Britiſh genius had failed: But it is ſome ſatisfaction, that theſe attempts ſeem now to be diſcouraged; we have ſeen a late play of theirs (we call it a play, for it was neither a tragedy, nor a comedy) tranſlated by a languid poet of our own, received with the coolneſs it deſerved.

[196] But to return to Mr. Maynwaring. Upon his arrival in England, from France, he was made one of the commiſſioners of the cuſtoms, in which poſt he diſtinguiſhed himſelf by his ſkill and fidelity. Of the latter of theſe qualities we have an inſtance, in his treatment of a man, who ſollicited to be a tide-waiter: Somebody had told him that his beſt way to ſucceed would be to make a preſent. The advice had been perhaps good enough if he had not miſtaken his man. For underſtanding that Mr. Maynwaring had the beſt intereſt at the board of any of the commiſſioners, with the lords of the treaſury; he ſent him a letter, with a purſe of fifty-guineas, deſiring his favour towards obtaining the place he ſollicited: Afterwards he delivered a petition to the board, which was read, and ſeveral of the commiſſioners having ſpoke to it, Mr. Maynwaring took out the purſe of fifty guineas, and the letter, telling them that as long as he could prevent it, that man ſhould never have this, or any other place in the revenue*.

Mr. Maynwaring was admitted a member of the Kit-Kat Club, and was conſidered as one of the chief ornaments of it, by his pleaſantry and wit.

In the beginning of queen Anne's reign, lord treaſurer Godolphin, engaged Mr. Donne, to quit the office of auditor of the impreſts, his lordſhip paying him ſeveral thouſand pounds for his doing it, and he never let Mr. Maynwaring know what he was doing for him, till he made him a preſent of a patent for that office, worth about two-thouſand pounds a year in time of buſineſs. In the Parliament which met in 1705, our author was choſen a burgeſs for Preſton in Lancaſhire.

He had a conſiderable ſhare in the Medley, and was author of ſeveral other pieces, of which we ſhall preſently give ſome account.

[197] He died at St. Albans, November the 13th, 1712, having ſome time before made his will; in which he left Mrs. Oldfield, the celebrated actreſs, his executrix, by whom he had a ſon, named Arthur Maynwaring. He divided his eſtate pretty equally between that child, Mrs. Oldfield, and his ſiſter. Mr. Oldmixon tells us, that Mr. Maynwaring loved this actreſs, for nine or ten years before his death, with the ſtrongeſt paſſion: It was in ſome meaſure owing to his inſtructions that ſhe became ſo finiſhed a player; for he underſtood the action of the ſtage as well as any man, and took great pleaſure to ſee her excell in it. He wrote ſeveral Prologues and Epilogues for her, and would always hear her rehearſe them in private, before ſhe ſpoke them on the ſtage. His friends of both ſexes quarrelled with him for his attachment to her, and ſo much reſented it, that Mrs. Oldfield frequently remonſtrated to him, that it was for his honour and intereſt to break off the intrigue: which frankneſs and friendſhip of hers, did, as he often confeſſed, but engage him the more firmly; and all his friends at laſt gave over importuning him to leave her, as ſhe gained more and more upon him.

In honour of our author, Mr. Oldmixon obſerves, that he had an abhorrence of thoſe that ſwore, or talked profanely in converſation. He looked upon it as a poor pretence to wit, and never excuſed it in himſelf or others.—I have already obſerved, that our author had a ſhare in the Medley, a paper then ſet up in favour of the Hanoverian ſucceſſion, in which he combats the Examiner, who wrote on the oppoſite, or, at leaſt, the High-Church Intereſt.

He alſo wrote the following pieces.

Theſe are chiefly the works of Maynwaring, who was a gentleman of genius, and appears to have been a good-natur'd honeſt man. His moral life has only been blamed for his intrigue with Mrs. Oldfield; but I am perſuaded when the accompliſhments of that lady are remembered, [200] and the delicacy of an amour between people of their faſhion is conſidered, that the moſt rigid in chaſtity, will be diſpoſed rather to pity than indignation. The force of love is hardly to be conquered by reaſon, and he muſt have a ſtoical conſtitution indeed, who has read the deſcriptions given of Mrs. Oldfield's perſon, as well as the endowments of her mind, and the ſweetneſs of her diſpoſition, who ſeverely condemn a man for loving her: none but thoſe who have been in love, can ſay, how forcibly the paſſion moves, and to what extravagance it will often carry the wiſeſt men; and with Mr. Maynwaring's opportunities, who could have refiſted the charms of Mrs. Oldfield?

The HON. Mrs. MONK.

[201]

THIS Lady was the daughter of the Right Hon. the Lord Moleſworth, a nobleman of Ireland, and wife of George Monk, Eſq By the force of her natural genius, ſhe learnt the Latin, Italian, and Spaniſh tongues, and by a conſtant reading of the beſt authors in thoſe languages, became ſo great a proficient, eſpecially in poetry, that ſhe wrote many pieces that were deemed worthy of publication, and ſoon after her death, were printed and publiſhed with the following title, Marinda. Poems, and Tranſlations upon ſeveral occaſions, printed in London, 1716. The book is addreſſed to her Royal Highneſs Carolina Princeſs of Wales, in a long dedication, dated March 26, 1716, written by her father, who thus affectionately ſpeaks of the poems and their author.

'Moſt of them (ſays he) are the product of the leiſure hours of a young gentlewoman lately deceaſed; who in a remote country retirement, without omitting the daily care due to a large family, not only perfectly acquired the ſeveral languages here made uſe of; but tho good morals and principles contained in thoſe books, ſo as to put them in practice, as well during her life and languiſhing ſickneſs, as the hour of her death; in ſhort ſhe died not only like a Chriſtian, but a Roman lady, and ſo became at once the object of [202] the grief, and comfort of her relations. As much as I am obliged to be ſparing in commending what belongs to me, I cannot forbear thinking ſom of theſe circumſtances uncommon enough to be taken notice of: I loved her more, becauſe ſhe deſerved it, than becauſe ſhe was mine, and I cannot do greater honour to her memory, than by conſecrating her labours, or rather diverſion to your Royal Highneſs, as we found moſt of them in her eſ rutore, after her death, written with her own hand, little expecting, and as little deſiring the public ſhould have any opportunity, either of applauding or condemning them.'

Mr. Jacob tells us, that theſe Poems and Tranſlations, ſhew the true ſpirit, and numbers of poetry, a delicacy of turn, and juſtneſs of thought and expreſſion. They conſiſt of Ecclogues; the Maſque of the Virtues againſt Love, from Gu [...]rini; ſome tranſlations from the French and Italians; Familiar Epiſtles, Odes and Madrigals.

Her poetry has great warmth, and tenderneſs of ſentiment. The following Epitaph on a lady of pleaſure, was written by her,

O'er this marble drop a tear,
Here lies fair Roſalinde,
All mankind was pleas'd with her,
And ſhe with all mankind.

And likewiſe this Epigram upon another lady of the ſame character.

Chloe, her goſſips entertains,
With ſtories of her child-bed pains,
And fiercly againſt Hymen rails:
But Hymen's not ſo much to blame;
She knows, unleſs her memory fails,
E'er ſhe was wed, 'twas much the ſame.

[203] The following verſes, which breathe a true ſpirit of tenderneſs, were written by her, on her deathbed at Bath, when her huſband was in London,

Thou, who doſt all my worldly thoughts employ,
Thou pleaſing ſource of all my earthly joy:
Thou tendereſt huſband, and thou beſt of friends,
To thee, this firſt, this laſt adieu I ſend.
At length the conqueror death aſſerts his right,
And will forever veil me from thy ſight.
He wooes me to him, with a chearful grace;
And not one terror clouds his meagre face.
He promiſes a laſting reſt from pain;
And ſhews that all life's fleeting joys are vain.
Th' eternal ſcenes of Heaven he ſets in view,
And tells me, that no other joys are true.
But love, fond love, would yet reſiſt his power;
Would fain a-while defer the parting hour:
He brings the mourning image to my eyes,
And would obſtruct my journey to the ſkies.
But ſay thou deareſt, thou unwearied friend;
Say ſhould'ſt thou grieve to ſee my ſorrows end?
Thou know'ſt a painful pilgrimage I have paſt,
And ſhould'ſt thou grieve, that reſt is come at laſt;
Rather rejoice to ſee me ſhake off life,
And die as I have liv'd, thy faithful wife.

Mr. THOMAS BROWN.

[204]

THIS humorous poet was the ſon of a conſiderable Farmer of Shiffnall, in Shropſhire, and educated at Newport-ſchool in that county, under the reverend and learned Dr. Edwards, a gentleman who had the honour to qualify many perſons of diſtinction for the univerſity. Under the tuition of this maſter, he attained a knowledge of the Latin, Greek, French, Italian, and Spaniſh languages, and his exerciſes were generally ſo well performed, that the Dr. was filled with admiration of his parts. From Newport ſchool he removed to Chriſt's-Church College in Oxford, and diſtinguiſhed himſelf there for his eaſy attainments in literature; but ſome little irregularities of his life would not ſuffer him to continue long at the univerſity. It is probable he became ſick of that diſcipline, which they who ſpend their life in the recluſeneſs of a college, are in ſome meaſure obliged to ſubmit to. The father of Mr. Brown, who intended to have him educated to ſome profeſſion, was not made acquainted with his deſign of quitting the univerſity, and having remitted him a ſum of money, to be appropriated for the promotion of his ſtudies, his ſon thought proper to defeat his kind intentions.

With this money, our author plann'd a ſcheme of going to London, which he ſoon after executed, not very advantageouſly.—‘'My firſt buſineſs, ſays he, was to apply myſelf to thoſe few friends I had there, who conjecturing I had left the univerſity, excluſive of my father's knowledge, gave but ſlender encouragement to a young [205] beginner. However, no whit daunted (my firſt reſolution ſtill ſtanding by me) I launched forth into the world, committing myſelf to the mercy of fortune, and the uncertain temper of the town. I ſoon acquired a new ſett of acquaintance; and began to have a reliſh of what I had only taſted before by hearſay; and indeed, every thing ſerved to convince me, I had changed for the better, except that my ſlender ſubſiſtance began to waſte extremely; and ruminating upon the difficulty of obtaining a ſupply, I was then laid under the neceſſity of thinking what courſe to ſteer. I knew how juſtly I had incurred the diſpleaſure of an indulgent father, and how far I had put myſelf from retrieving his favour. Amidſt this ſerous contemplation! I reſolved to go through ſtitch with my enterprize, let what will come on't: However, that I might uſe diſcretion, to palliate an unforeſeen event, I determined 'twere better to truſt to the flexibility of a father's temper, than to lay too great a ſtreſs upon the humanity of fortune, who would let a man of morals ſtarve if he depended on her favours. Therefore, without more ado (having taken my ſorrowful leave of my laſt guinea, and reduced Carolus Secundus, from a whole number, to decimal fractions) I diſpatched a letter into the country, full of excuſe, and penitence, baited with all the ſubmiſſive eloquence imaginable. In the mean time, I was no leſs ſedulous to find out ſome employment, that might ſuit with my genius, and with my dependancies at home, render my life eaſy.'’

Whether his father was touched by the epiſtle which our author in conſequence of this reſolution wrote to him, we cannot aſcertain, as there is no mention made of it. Soon after this, we find him ſchool maſter of Kingſton upon Thames, and happy for him, had he continued in that more certain employment, [206] and not have ſo ſoon exchanged it for beggary and reputation. Mr. Brown, impatient of a recluſe life, quitted the ſchool, and came again to London; and as he found his old companions more delighted with his wit, than ready to relieve his neceſſities, he had recourſe to ſcribbling for bread, which he performed with various ſucceſs. Dr. Drake, who has written a defence of our author's character, prefixed to his works, informs us, that the firſt piece which brought him into reputation, was an account of the converſion of Mr. Bays, in a [...]ialogue, which met with a reception ſuitable to the wit, ſpirit, and learning of it. [...]ut though this raiſed his fame, yet it added very little to his profit: For, though it made his company exceedingly covet [...]d, and might have recommended him to the great, as well as to the ingenious, yet he was of a temper not to chuſe his acquaintance by intereſt, and ſlighted ſuch an opportunity of recommending himſelf to the powerful and opulent, as, if wiſely improved, might have procured him dignities and preferments. The ſtile of this dialogue, was like that of his ordinary converſation, lively and facetious. It diſcovered no ſmall erudition, but managed with a great deal of humour, in a burleſque way; which make both the reaſoning and the extenſive reading, which are abundantly ſhewn in it, extremely ſurprizing and agreeable. The ſame manner and humour runs through all his writings, whether Dialogues, Letters, or Poems.

The only conſiderable objection, which the critics have made to his works is, that they want delicacy. But in anſwer to this, it may be affirmed, that there is as much refinement in his works, as the nature of humorous ſatire, which is the chief beauty of his compoſitions, will admit; for, as ſatire requires ſtrong ideas, the language will ſometimes be leſs poliſhed. But the delicacy ſo [207] much demanded, by ſoftening the colours weakens the drawing. Mr. Brown has been charged with inequality in his writings: which is inſeparable from human [...]ty.

Our author's letters, though written careleſly to private friends, bear the true ſtamp and image of a genius. The variety of his learning may be ſeen in the Lacedaemonian Mercury, where abundance of critical queſtions of great nicety, are anſwered with much ſolidity and judgment, as well as wit, and humour. But that deſign expoſing him too much to the ſcruples of the grave and reſerved, as well as to the cenſure, and curioſity of the impertinent, he ſoon diſcontinued it. Beſides, as this was a periodical work, he who was totally without ſteadineſs, was very ill qualified for ſuch an undertaking. When the preſs called upon him for immediate ſupply, he was often found debauching himſelf at a tavern, and by exceſſive drinking unable to perform his engagements with the public, by which no doubt the work conſiderably ſuffered.

But there is yet another reaſon why Mr. Brown has been charged with inequality in his writings, viz. that moſt of the anonymous pieces which happened to pleaſe the town, were fathered upon him. This, though in reality an injury to him, is yet a proof of the univerſality of his reputation, when whatever pleaſed from an unknown hand was aſcribed to him; but by theſe means he was reputed the writer of many things unworthy of him. In poetry he was not the author of any long piece, for he was quite unambitious of reputation of that kind. They are generally Odes, Satires, and Epigrams, and are certainly not the beſt part of his works. His Tranſlations in Proſe are many, and of various kinds. His ſtile is ſtrong and maſculine; and if he was not ſo nice in the choice of his authors, as might be expected from a man of his taſte, he [208] muſt be excuſed; for he performed his tranſlations as a taſk, preſcribed him by the Bookſellers, from whom he derived his chief ſupport. It was the misfortune of our author to appear on the ſtage of the world, when fears, and jealouſies had ſoured the tempers of men, and politics, and polemics, had almoſt driven mirth and good nature out of the nation: ſo that the careleſs gay humour, and negligent chearful wit, which in former days of tranquility, would have recommended him to the converſation of princes, was, in a gloomy period, loſt upon a people incapable of reliſhing genuine humour.

An anonymous author who has given the world ſome account of Mr. Brown, obſerves, ‘'that it was not his immorality that hindered him from climbing to the top of poetry, and preferment; but that he had a particular way of ſinning to himſelf. To ſpeak in plain Engliſh (ſays he) Tom Brown had leſs the ſpirit of a gentleman than the reſt of the Wits, and more of a Scholar, Tom thoughts himſelf as happy with a retailer of damnation in an obſcure hole; as another to have gone to the devil with all the ſplendour of a fine equipage. 'Twas not the brightneſs of Caelia's eyes, nor her gaudy trappings that attracted his heart. Cupid might keep his darts to himſelf; Tom always carried his fire about him. If ſhe had but a mouth, two eyes, and a noſe, he never enquired after the regularity of her dreſs, or features. He always brought a good ſtomach with him, and uſed but little ceremony in the preface. As of his miſtreſſes, ſo he was very negligent in the choice of his companions, who were ſometimes mean and deſpicable, a circumſtance which never fails to ruin a man's reputation. He was of a lazy temper, and the Bookſellers who gave him credit enough as to his capacity, had no confidence to put in his [209] diligence.'’ The ſame gentleman informs us, that though Tom Brown was a good-natured man, yet he had one pernicious quality, which eternally procured him enemies, and that was, rather to loſe his friend, than his joke.

One of his lampoons had almoſt coſt him a proceſſion at the cart's tail; nor did he either ſpare friend or foe, if the megrim of abuſe once ſeized him. He had a particular genius for ſcandal, and dealt it out liberally when he could find occaſion. He is famed for being the author of a Libel, fixed one Sunday morning on the doors of Weſtminſter-abbey, and many others, againſt the clergy and quality. As for religion, Brown never profeſſed any, and uſed to ſay, that he underſtood the world better than to have the imputation of righteouſneſs laid to his charge: and the world, to be even with him, really thought him an Atheiſt. But though Brown never made any profeſſions of religion, yet it proceeded more from affectation than conviction. When he came upon his death-bed, he expreſſed remorſe for his paſt life, and diſcovered at that period, ſentiments which he had never before ſuffered to enter his mind. This penitential behaviour, in the opinion of ſome, was the occaſion why all his brethren neglected him, and did not beſtow on his memory one elegiac ſong, nor any of the rites of verſe. We find no encomiums upon him, but what appeared in a Grubſtreet Journal, which, however, are much ſuperior to what was uſually to be found there.

—A mournful muſe from Albion ſwains produce,
Sad as the ſong a gloomy genius chuſe,
In artful numbers let his wit be ſhewn,
And as he ſings of Doron's ſpeak his own;
Such be the bard, for only ſuch is ſit,
To trace pale Doron thro' the fields of wit.

[210] Towards the latter end of our author's life, we are informed by Mr. Jacob, that he was in favour with the earl of Dorſet, who invited him to dinner on a Chriſtmas-day, with Mr. Dryden, and ſome other gentlemen, celebrated for ingenuity, (according to his lordſhip's uſual cuſtom) when Mr. Brown, to his agreeable ſurprize, found a Bank Note of 50 l. under his plate, and Mr. Dryden at the ſame time was preſented with another of 100 l. Acts of munificence of this kind were very common with that generous ſpirited nobleman.

Mr. Brown died in the year 1704, and was interred in the Cloyſter of Weſtminſter-abbey, near the remains of Mrs. Behn, with whom he was intimate in his life-time. His whole works conſiſting of Dia [...]ogues, Eſſays, Declamations, Satires, Letters from the Dead to the Living, Tranſlations, Amuſements, &c. were printed in 4 vol. 12mo, 1707. In order that the reader may conceive a true idea of the ſpirit and humour, as well as of the character of Tom Brown, we ſhall here inſert an Imaginary Epiſtle, written from the Shades to his Friends among the Living; with a copy of Verſes repreſenting the Employment of his poetical Brethren in that fancied Region.

[211]

TOM. BROWN to his Friends among the Living.

GENTLEMEN,

I Bear it with no little concern to find myſelf ſo ſoon forgot among ye; I have paid as conſtant attendance to poſt-hours, in expectation to hear from ye, as a hungry Iriſh Man (at twelve) to a three-penny ordinary, or a decayed beau for nice eating to a roaſting-cook's. No amorous-keeping fool, baniſhed from his Chloris in town, to his country ſolitude, has waited with greater impatience for a kind epiſtle from her, than I for one from you. I have ſearched all private packets, and examined every ſtragling ghoſt that came from your parts, without being able to get the leaſt intelligence of your affairs. This is the third ſince my arrival in theſe gloomy regions, and I can give myſelf no reaſon why I have received none in anſwer, unleſs the packet-boat has been taken by the French, or that ſo little time has quite excluded me from your memories. In my firſt I gave you an account of my journey hither, and my reception among the ingenious in theſe gloomy regions.

I arrived on the Banks of Acheron, and found Charon ſcooping his wherry, who ſeeing me approach him, bid me ſit down a little, for he had been hard worked lately, and could not go with a ſingle paſſenger: I was willing enough to embrace the propoſal, being much fatigued and weary. Having finiſhed what he was about, he caſt his rueful aſpect up to the clouds, and demonſtrating from thence (as I ſuppoſe) it was near dinner-time, he took from out a locker or cupboard in the ſtern of his pinnace, ſome provender pinned [212] up in a clean linnen clout, and a jack of liquor, and fell too without the leaſt ſhew of ceremony, unleſs indeed it were to off [...]r me the civility of partaking with him. He m [...]ttered ſomething to himſelf, which might be g [...]ce as far as I know; but if it were, 'twas as ſhort as that at an Auction-dinner, nor did he devour what was before him with leſs application than I have ſeen ſome there. For my part, I could not but contemplate on his ſhaggy locks, his wither'd ſun-burnt countenance, together with the mightineſs and ſanctity of his beard; but above all, his brawny chopt knuckles employed my attention: In ſhort, having ſati [...]fied the cormorant in his guts, he had time to ask me what country-man I was? to which I ſubmiſſively anſwered, an Engliſh-man: O, ſays he, thoſe Engliſh-men are merry rogues, and love miſchief; I have ſometimes a diverting ſtory from thence: What news have you brought with you? truly I told his highneſs I came away a little diſſatisfied, and had not made any remarks on the world for ſome time before my death; and for news I had not leiſure to bring any thing of moment. But ere we had talked much more, we ſaw two other paſſengers approach us, who, by their often turning to one another, and their laying down arguments with their hands, ſeemed to be in warm debate together; which was as we conjectured; for when they drew nearer to us, they proved to be a termagant High-Flyer, and a puritanical Scripturian, a fiery Scotchman: Occaſional Conformity was their ſubject; for I heard the Scot tell him 'twas all popery, downright popery, and that the inquiſition in Spain was chriſtianity to it, by retarding the ſons of grace from partaking of the gifts of the Lord; he ſaid it was the bui [...]ding of Babel, and they were confo [...]nded in the works of their hands by the confuſion [213] of tongues; ſuch crys, ſays he, went forth before the deſolation of the great city.

Thou the ſon of grace, ſays the other, thou art a ſon of Satan, and haſt preached up iniquity; ye are the evil tares, and the land can never proſper 'till ye are rooted out from among the good corn.

Thou art an inventer of lies, ſaid the diſciple of John Calvin, and the truth is not in thee; ye are bloody minded wretches, and your ſury is the only ſign of your religion, as the ſteeple is to the church; your organs are the prophane tinkling of the cimbals of Satan, that tickle the ears with vanity.

Thus the diſpute laſted till they came to us, and getting into the boat, they joſtled for pre-eminence, which might have proved a ſharp conflict, had not the old fellow took up a ſtretcher and parted them. After which we paſſed peaceably over to the other ſide: being landed, the Scot and I took our way together, and left the furious churchman to vent his ſpleen by himſelf. We had not travelled long before we came to a populous village, where, from the various multitude, our eyes encountered at a diſtance, we might eaſily conjecture that ſomething more than ordinary had gathered them together in that manner; it reſembled (as near as I can deſcribe it) that famous place called Sherrick-fair, or a Staffordſhire-Wake. While we were applying our admiration that way, we arrived at a ſmall hut erected for that purpoſe, where Nero the tyrant, like a blind fidler, was ſurrounded by a confuſed tribe of all ſorts and ſexes, like another Orpheus among the beaſts.

The various remarks I made (ſome dancing, ſome prancing; ſome clapping, ſome knapping; ſome drinking, ſome winking; ſome kiſſing, ſome piſſing; ſome reeling, ſome ſtealing) urged my curioſity to enquire for what it was poſſible thoſe [214] noble ſports might be ordained, and was ſoon ſatisfied it was the Anniverſary Feaſt of their Great Lady Proſerpine's birth-day. But theſe things that I took to be diverting, ſo elevated the ſpleen of my Puritan companion, that he began loudly to exclaim agninſt thoſe prophane exerciſes: he ſaid, they were impure, and lifted up the mind to lewdneſs; that thoſe that followed them, were the ſons of Belial. and wore the mark of the beaſt in their foreheads. I endeavoured to pacify the ſanctified brother, by putting h [...]m in mind where we were, and that his raſhneſs might draw us into danger, being in a ſtrange place; but all was in vain, I but ſtirred up his fury more; for, turning his rebukes upon me, he told me, I was myſelf one of the w [...]cked, and did rejoice in my heart at the de [...]ds of darkneſs: no, ſays he, I will not be pacified, I will roar aloud to drown their incantations; yea, I will ſet out a throat even as the beaſt that belloweth! ſo that perceiving the mob gather about him, I thought it prudence to ſteal off, and leave him to the fury of thoſe, whoſe diſpleaſure he was about to incur.

I had not gone far, but I'ſpied two brawney champions at a rubbers of cuffs, which by the dexterity of their heads, hands, and heels, I judged could be no other than Engliſhmen: nor were my ſentiments groundleſs, for preſently I heard the mob cry out, O! rare Jo! O! rare Jo! and att [...]ntively ſurveying the combatants, I found it to be the merry Jo Haynes, fallen out with Plowden the famous Lawyer, about a game at Nine-holes; and that ſhout had proclaimed Joe victorious. I was ſomething ſcrupulous of renewing my acquaintance, not knowing how the conqueror, in the midſt of his ſucceſs, might uſe me for making bold with his character in my letters from the dead; though I felt a ſecret deſire to diſcover myſelf, yet prudence withſtood my inclination, [215] 'till a more convenient ſeaſon might offer: ſo that I bruſhed off to a place where I ſaw a conc [...]urſe of the better ſort of people; there I found Millington the famous Auctioneer, among a crowd of Lawyers, Phyſicians, Scholars, Poets, Critics, Bookſellers, &c. exerciſing his old faculty; for which, gentlemen, he is as particularly famed in theſe parts, as Heroſtratus for firing the famous Temple, or Barthol. Swarts, for the invention of Gunpowder. He is head journey-man to Ptolomy, who keeps a Bookſeller's ſhop here, and rivals even Jacob Tonſon in reputation among the great wits.

But moſt of all I was obliged to admire my friend Millington, who, by his powerful knack of eloquence, to the wonder of the whole company, ſold Cave's Lives of the Fathers to Solomon the Magnificent, and the Scotch Directory to the Prieſts of the Sun; nay, he ſold Archbiſhop Laud's Life to Hugh Peters, Hob's Leviathan to Pope Boniface, and pop'd Bunyan's Works upon Bellarmine for a piece of unrevealed Divinity. After the ſale was over, I took an opportunity of making myſelf known to him, who careſſed me with all the freedom imaginable, aſking me, how long I had been in theſe parts? and what news from the other world? and a thouſand particular queſtions about his old friends; to all which I reſponded as well as I could: and having given me a caution to avoid ſome people, by whom I was threatened, for expoſing them in my letters, we went to take a bottle together.—

Now I preſume, gentlemen, you will conclude it high time for me to take my leave; nor ſhall I tire your patience much longer, only permit me to give ye the trouble of ſome particular ſervices to thoſe honeſt gentlemen whoſe generoſity gave me the reputation of a funeral above what I e'er expected, [216] eſpecially to Dr. S—t for beſtowing the ground I never frequented, to Dr. Garth and the reſt for the charge of a hearſe and mourning coaches, which I could not have deſired, and to Dr. D—ke for deſigning me a monument I know the world will reflect I never deſerved; but for that, let my works teſtify for me. And though ye are ſatisfied my genius was never over-fruitful in the product of verſe, yet knowing theſe favours require ſomething a little uncommon to make a ſuitable return, I ſhall take my leave in metre, and, if contrary to my opinion, it meets with a kind acceptance from the town, honeſt Sam. may clap it in the next edition of the State Poems, with Buckingham's name to it.

When a ſcurvy diſeaſe had lain hold of my carcaſe,
And death to my chamber was mounting the ſtair-caſe.
I call'd to remembrance the ſins I'd committed,
Repented, and thought I'd for Heaven been fitted;
But alas! there is ſtill an old proverb to croſs us,
I found there no room for the ſons of Parnaſſus;
And therefore contented like others to fare,
To the ſhades of Elizium I ſtrait did repair;
Where Dryden and other great wits o' the town,
To reward all their labours, are damn'd to write on.
Here Johnſon may boaſt of his judgment and plot,
And Otway of all the applauſe that he got;
Looſe Eth'ridge preſume on his ſtile and his wit,
And Shadwell of all the dull plays he e'r writ;
Nat. Lee here may boaſt of his bombaſt and rapture,
And Buckingham rail to the end of the chapter;
[217] Lewd Rocheſter lampoon the King and the court,
And Sidley and others may cry him up for't;
Soſt Waller and Suckling, chaſte Cowley and others,
With Beaumont and Fletcher, poetical brothers,
May here ſcribble on with pretence to the bays,
E'en Shakeſpear himſelf may produce all his plays,
And not get for whole pages one mouth full of praiſe.
To avoid this diſaſter, while Congreve reforms,
His muſe and his morals fly to Bracegirdle's arms;
Let Vanbrugh no more plotleſs plays e'er impoſe,
Stuft with ſatire and ſmut to ruin the houſe;
Let Rowe, if he means to maintain his applauſe,
Write no more ſuch lewd plays as his Penitent was.
O Satire! from errors inſtruct the wild herd,
Beſtow thy advice to reclaim each lewd bard;
Bid the Laureat ſincerely reflect on the matter;
Bid Dennis drink leſs, but bid him write better;
Bid Durfey ceaſe ſcribbling, that libelling ſongſter;
Bid Gildon and C—n be Deiſts no longer;
Bid B—r and C—r, thoſe wits of the age,
Ne'er expoſe a dull coxcomb, but juſt on the ſtage;
Bid Farquhar (tho'bit) to his conſort be juſt,
And Motteux in his office be true to his truſt;
Bid Duffet and Cowper no longer be mad,
But Parſons and Lawyers mind each their own trade.
To Grubſter and others, bold ſatire advance;
Bid Ayliffe talk little, and P—s talk ſenſe;
Bid K—n leave ſtealing as well as the reſt;
When this can be done, they may hope to be bleſt.

The Revd. Mr. JOHN POMFRET.

[218]

THIS Gentleman's works are held in very great eſteem by the common readers of poetry; it is thought as unfaſhionable amongſt people of inferior life, not to be poſſeſſed of the poems of Pomfret, as amongſt perſons of taſte not to have the works of Pope in their libraries. The ſubjects upon which Pomfret wrote were popular, his verſification is far from being unmuſical, and as there is little force of thinking in his writings, they are level to the capacities of thoſe who admire them.

Our author was ſon of the rev. Mr. Pomfret, rector of Luton in Bedfordſhire, and he himſelf was preferred to the living of Malden in the ſame county. He was liberally educated at an eminent grammar ſchool in the country, from whence he was ſent to the univerſity of Cambridge, but to what college is not certain. There he wrote moſt of his poetical pieces, took the degree of maſter of arts, and very early accompliſhed himſelf in moſt kinds of polite literature. A gentleman who writes under the name of Philalethes, and who was an intimate friend of Pomfret's, has cleared his reputation from the charge of fanaticiſm, which ſome of his malicious enemies brought againſt him. It was ſhortly after his leaving the univerſity, that he was preferred to the living of Malden abovementioned, and was, ſays that gentleman, [219] ſo far from being tinctured with fanaticiſm, that I have often heard him expreſs his abhorrence of the deſtructive tenets maintained by that people, both againſt our religious and civil rights. This imputation it ſeems was caſt on him by there having been one of his ſur-name, though not any way related to him, a diſſenting teacher, and who publiſhed ſome rhimes upon ſpiritual ſubjects, as he called them, and which ſufficiently proved him an enthuſiaſt.

About the year 1703 Mr. Pomfret came up to London, for inſtitution and induction, into a very conſiderable living, but was retarded for ſome time by a diſguſt taken by dr. Henry Compton, then biſhop of London, at theſe four lines, in the cloſe of his poem entitled The Choice.

And as I near approach'd the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
While I did for a better ſtate prepare.

The parentheſis in theſe verſes was ſo maliciouſly repreſented to the biſhop, that his lordſhip was given to underſtand, it could bear no other conſtruction than that Mr. Pomfret preferred a miſtreſs before a wife; though the words may as well admit of another meaning, and import no more, than the preference of a ſingle life to marriage; unleſs the gentlemen in orders will aſſert, that an unmarried Clergyman cannot live without a miſtreſs. But the biſhop was ſoon convinced that this aſperſion againſt him, was no more than an effort of malice, as Mr. Pomfret at that time was really married. The oppoſition which his enemies made to him, had, in ſome meaſure, its effect; for by the obſtructions he met with, he was obliged to ſtay longer in London than he intended, and as the Small-pox then raged in the metropolis, he ſickened of [220] them, and died in London in the 36th year of his age.

The above-mentioned friend of Mr. Pomfret, has likewiſe ſhewn the ungenerous treatment he met with in regard to his poetical compoſitions, in a book entitled Poems by the Earl of Roſcommon, and Mr. Duke, printed 1717, in the preface to which, the publiſher has peremptorily inſerted the following paragraph. ‘'In this collection, ſays he, of my lord Roſcommon's poems, care has been taken to inſert all I poſſibly could procure, that are truly genuine, there having been ſeveral things publiſhed under his name, which were written by others, the authors of which I could ſet down if it were material. 'Now, ſays the gentleman, this arrogant editor would have been more juſt, both to the publ [...]c, and to the earl of Roſcommon's memory, in telling us what things had been publiſhed under his lordſhip's name by others, than by concealing the authors of any ſuch groſs impoſitions. Inſtead of which, he is ſo much a ſtranger to impartiality, that he has been guilty of the very crime he exclaims againſt; for he has not only attributed the proſpect of death to the earl of Roſcommon, which was wrote by Mr. Pomſret, after the deceaſe of that lord; but likewiſe another piece entitled the Prayer of Jeremy Paraphraſed, prophetically repreſenting the paſſionate grief of the Jewiſh people, for the loſs of their town, and ſanctuary, written by Mr. Southcot, a gentleman who publiſhed it in the year 1717, ſo that it is to be hoped, in a future edition of the earl of Roſcommon's, and Mr. Duke's poems, the ſame care will be taken to do theſe gentlemen juſtice, as to prevent any other perſon from hereafter injuring the memory of his lordſhip.'’

Mr. Pomiret publiſhed his poems in the year 1699, to which he has prefixed a very modeſt and [221] ſenſible preface, ‘'I am not ſo fond of fame, ſays he, as to deſire it from the injudicious many; nor as ſo mortiſied a temper as not to wiſh it from the diſcerning few. 'Tis not the multitude of applauders, but the good fame of the applauders, which eſtabliſhes a valuable reputation.'’

His poetical compoſitions conſiſt chiefly of

This is all the account we are favoured with of the life and writings of Mr. Pomfret: A man not deſtitute either of erudition or genius, of unexceptionable morals, though expoſed to the malice of antagoniſts. As he was a prudent man, and educated to a profeſſion, he was not ſubject to [223] the uſual neceſſities of the poets, but his ſphere being ſomewhat obſcure, and his life unactive, there are few incidents recorded concerning him. If he had not fortune ſufficient to render him conſpicuous, he had enough to keep his life innocent, which he ſeems to have ſpent in eaſe and tranquillity, a ſituation much more to be envied than the higheſt blaze of fame, attended with racking cares, and innumerable ſollicitudes.

The CHOICE.
IF Heav'n the grateful liberty would give,
That I might chuſe my method how to live,
And all thoſe hours propitious fate ſhould lend,
In bliſsful eaſe and ſatisfaction ſpend,
Near ſome fair town I'd have a private ſeat,
Built uniform; not little, nor too great:
Better if on a riſing ground it ſtood
On this ſide fields, on that a neighb'ring wood.
It ſhould within no other things contain,
But what were uſeful, neceſſary, plain:
Methinks 'tis nauſeous, and I'd ne'r endure
The needleſs pomp of gawdy furniture.
A little garden, grateful to the eye,
And a cool rivulet run murm'ring by:
On whoſe delicious banks a ſtately row
Of ſhady Lymes or Sycamores ſhould grow.
At th' end of which a ſilent ſtudy plac'd,
Should be with all the nobleſt authors grac'd.
Horace and Virgil, in whoſe mighty lines
Immortal wit and ſolid learning ſhines.
Sharp Juvenal, and am'rous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's ſoft paſſion knew:
He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
In which ſtrong art with ſtronger nature joins,
Muſt grant his fancy, does the beſt excel;
His thoughts ſo tender, and expreſs'd ſo well.
[224] With all thoſe moderns, men of ſteady ſenſe,
Eſteem'd for learning, and for eloquence.
In ſome of theſe, as fancy ſhould adviſe.
I'd always take my morning exerciſe:
For ſure no minutes bring us more content,
Than thoſe in pleaſing, uſeful ſtudies ſpent.
I'd have a clear, and competent eſtate,
That I might live genteely, but not great:
As much as I could moderately ſpend,
A little more, ſometimes t' oblige a friend.
Nor ſhould the ſons of poverty repine
Too much at fortune, they ſhould taſte of mine;
And all that objects of true pity were
Should be reliev'd with what my wants could ſpare:
For that, our Maker has too largely giv'n,
Should be return'd, in gratitude to Heav'n.
A frugal plenty ſhould my table ſpread;
With healthy, not luxurious, diſhes fed:
Enough to ſatisfy, and ſomething more
To feed the ſtranger, and the neighb'ring poor:
Strong meat indulges vice, and pamp'ring food
Creates diſeaſes, and inflames the blood.
But what's ſufficient to make nature ſtrong,
And the bright lamp of life continue long,
I'd freely take, and, as I did poſſeſs,
The bounteous author of my plenty bleſs.
I'd have a little vault, but always ſtor'd
With the beſt wines each vintage could afford.
Wine whets the wit, improves its native force,
And gives a pleaſant flavour to diſcourſe:
By making all our ſpirits debonair,
Throws off the lees, the ſediment of care,
But as the greateſt bleſſing Heav'n lends,
May be debauch'd and ſerve ignoble ends:
So, but too oft, the Grape's refreſhing juice
Does many miſchievous effects produce.
[225] My houſe ſhould no ſuch rude diſorders know,
As from high drinking conſequently flow:
Nor would I uſe what was ſo kindly giv'n
To the diſhonour of indulgent Heav'n.
If any neighbour came, he ſhould be free,
Us'd with reſpect, and not uneaſy be,
In my retreat, or to himſelf or me.
What freedom, prudence, and right reaſon give,
All men may with impunity receive:
But the leaſt ſwerving from their rule's too much:
For what's forbidden us, 'tis death to touch.
That life might be more comfortable yet,
And all my joys refin'd, ſincere, and great;
I'd chuſe two friends, whoſe company would be
A great advance to my felicity.
Well born, of humour ſuited to my own;
Diſcreet, and men, as well as books, have known.
Brave, gen'rous, witty, and exactly free
From looſe behaviour, or formality.
Airy, and prudent, mer [...]y, but not light;
Quick in diſcerning, and in judging right.
Secret they ſhould be, faithful to their truſt;
In reas'ning cool, ſtrong, temperate, and juſt.
Obliging, open, without huffing, brave,
Briſk in gay talking, and in ſober, grave.
Cloſe in diſpute, but not tenacious; try'd
By ſolid reaſon, and let that decide.
Not prone to luſt, revenge, or envious hate;
Nor buſy medlers with intrigues of ſtate.
Strangers to ſlander, and ſworn foes to fpight:
Not quarrelſome, but ſtout enough to fight.
Loyal, and pious, friends to Caeſar, true
As dying martyrs, to their Maker too.
In their ſociety I could not miſs
A permanent, ſincere, ſubſtantial bliſs.
Would bounteous Heav'n once more indulge, I'd chuſe
[...]or who would ſo much ſatisfaction loſe,
[226] As witty nymphs in converſation, give)
Near ſome obliging, modeſt fair to live;
For there's that ſweetneſs in a female mind,
Which in a man's we cannot hope to find:
That by a ſecret, but a pow'rful art,
Winds up the ſprings of life, and does impart
Freſh vital heat, to the tranſported heart.
I'd have her reaſon all her paſſions ſway;
Eaſy in company, in private gay:
Coy to a fop, to the deſerving free,
Still conſtant to herſelf, and juſt to me.
A ſoul ſhe ſhould have, for great actions fit;
Prudence and wiſdom to direct her wit:
Courage to look bold danger in the face,
No fear, but only to be proud, or baſe:
Quick to adviſe, by an emergence preſt,
To give good counſel, or to take the beſt.
I'd have th' expreſſion of her thoughts be ſuch
She might not ſeem reſerv'd, nor talk too much;
That ſhews a want of judgment and of ſenſe:
More than enough is but impertinence.
Her conduct regular, her mirth refin'd,
Civil to ſtrangers, to her neighbours kind.
A [...]rſe to vanity, revenge, and pride,
In all the meth [...]ds of deceit untry'd.
So faithful to her fr [...]end, and good to all,
No cenſure might upon her actions fall:
Then would e'en [...]nvy be compell'd to ſay,
She goes the leaſt of woman kind aſtray.
To this fair creature I'd ſometimes retire,
Her converſation would new joys inſpire;
G [...]ve life an edge ſo keen, no ſurly care
Would venture to aſſault my ſoul, or dare
Near my retreat to hide one ſecret ſnare.
But ſo divine, ſo noble a repaſt
I'd ſeldom, and with moderation taſte,
[227] For higheſt cordials all their virtue loſe
By a too frequent, and too bold an uſe:
And what would cheer the ſpirit in diſtreſs;
Ruins our health, when taken to exceſs.
I'd be concern'd in no litigious jar,
Belov'd by all, not vainly popular.
Whate'er aſſiſtance I had pow'r to bring
T' oblige my country, or to ſerve my King,
Whene'er they call'd, I'd readily afford
My tongue, my pen, my counſel, or my ſword.
Law ſuits I'd ſhun, with as much ſtudious care,
As I would dens where hungry lions are:
And rather put up injuries, than be
A plague to him, who'd be a plague to me.
I value quiet at a price too great,
To give for my revenge ſo dear a rate:
For what do we by all our buſtle gain,
But counterfeit delight, for real pain;
If Heav'n a date of many years would give,
Thus I'd in pleaſure, eaſe, and plenty live.
And as I near approach'd the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
While I did for a better ſtate prepare.
Then I'd not be with any trouble vex'd;
Nor have the evening of my days perplex'd.
But by a ſilent, and a peaceful death,
Without a ſigh, reſign my aged breath:
And when committed to the duſt, I'd have
Few tears, but friendly, dropt into my grave.
Then would my exit ſo propitious be,
All men would wiſh to live and die, like me.

Dr. WILLIAM KING.

[228]

THIS ingenious gentleman, was ſon of Ezekiel King, of London. He received the rudiments of his education in Weſtminſter-ſchool, under Dr. Buſhy, and was removed from thence to Chriſt's-Church in Oxford, in Michaelmas term, 1681, when at the age of eighteen. He ſtudied the civil law, and practiſed it at Doctor's-Commons, with very great reputation; but the natural gaiety of his temper, and the love of company, betrayed him into thoſe pleaſures, which were incompatible with his profeſſion.

Our author, by the reputation of his abilities obtained a patron in the earl of Pembroke, who upon his being appointed lord Lieutenant of Ireland, preſs'd him to go over to that kingdom.

Upon Dr. King's arrival in Ireland, his excellency appointed him judge advocate, ſole commiſſioner of the prizes, and record keeper. There, he was well received, and countenanced by perſons of the moſt diſtinguiſhed rank, and could he have changed his diſpoſition with the climate, had then an opportunity of making his fortune; but ſo far was he from improving this occaſion to the purpoſes of his intereſt, that he returned back to England, with no other treaſure, than a few merry Poems, and humorous Eſſays. He was naturally of a courteous behaviour, and very obliging: His converſation was chearful, and his wit pleaſant and entertaining. But at length he chiefly ſubſiſted on his fellowſhip in Chriſt's Church College: Before this [229] time, he had publiſhed his moſt ingenious Poem, called the Art of Cookery, in imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry, with ſome Letters to Dr. Liſter and others; occaſioned principally by the title of a book, publiſhed by the Dr. being the works of Apicius Coelius, concerning the ſoups and ſauces of the ancients, with an extract of the greateſt curioſities contained in that book. Amongſt his Letters, is one upon the Denti Scalps, or Tooth-picks of the Antients: Another contains an imitation of Horace: Epiſt. 5. Book I. being his invitation of Torquatus to ſupper. And a third, contains remarks on lord Grimſton's play, called the Lawyer's Fortune; or Love in a Hollow-Tree.

At his leiſure hours he wrote likewiſe, The Art of Love, an imitation of Ovid, De Arte Amandi. To which he prefixed an account of Ovid. In the latter part of his life, about the year 1711, he publiſhed an Hiſtorical Account of the Heathen Gods and Heroes, for the uſe of Weſtminſter, and other ſchools; for the better and more eaſy underſtanding of the Claſſics. Beſides theſe performances, we likewiſe find three numbers of a project, entitled, the Tranſactioner, or, Uſeful Tranſactions: Containing a great number of ſmall pieces, which it would be tedious here to enumerate*.

We have already obſerved, that our author while in Ireland, neglected the beſt opportunity of encreaſing his fortune; and the circumſtance which occaſioned it we find to be this: He had contracted an intimacy which ſoon grew into friendſhip, with judge Upton, a man of the ſame temper with himſelf, who delighted in retirement and poetical amuſement. He had a country villa [230] called Mountown, near Dublin, where he and Dr. King uſed to retire, and ſpend moſt of their time without any regard to their public offices; and by theſe means neglecting to pay court to the lord lieutenant, they fell under his diſpleaſure. Theſe two poetical companions, indulged no other thoughts but thoſe of living and dying in their rural retreat. Upon this occaſion, Dr. King wrote a Paſtoral Poem, called Mully of Mountown: Mully was the name of a Red-Cow which gave him milk, whom he made the chief ſubject of his Poem; which at that time the critics would have impoſed upon the wor [...]d as a political allegory, tho' this was a manner of writing, with which the Dr. was totally unacquainted.

When Dr. King, after his return from Ireland, had retired to live upon his fellowſhip at Oxford, he was ſollicited by the earl of Angleſey to come to town, and undertake a cauſe of his, then before the Houſe of Lords, (in relation to ſome cruelties he was accuſed of uſing to his lady) back'd by the violent proſecution of his mother-in-law, the counteſs of Dorcheſter. Upon this occaſion the Doctor ſhook off the indolence of his nature, and ſo ſtrenuouſly engaged in the cauſe of his patron, that he gained the reputation of an able lawyer as well as a poet. He naturally hated buſineſs, eſpecially that of an advocate; but when appointed as a delegate, made a very diſcerning and able judge, yet never could bear the fatigue of wrangling. His chief pleaſure conſiſted in trifles, and he was never happier, than when hid from the world. Few people pleaſed him in converſation, and it was a proof of his liking them, if his behaviour was tolerably agreeable. He was a great diſſembler of his natural temper, which was ſullen, moroſe, and peeviſh, where he durſt ſhew it; but he was of a timorous diſpoſition, and the leaſt ſlight or neglect offered to him, would throw him into a melancholy deſpondency. He [231] was apt to ſay a great many ill-natur'd things, but was never known to do one: He was made up of tenderneſs, pity, and compaſſion; and of ſo feminine a diſpoſition, that tears would fall from his eyes upon the ſmalleſt occaſion.

As his education had been ſtrict, ſo he was always of a religious diſpoſition, and would not enter upon the buſineſs of the day, till he had performed his devotion, and read ſeveral portions of ſcripture out of the Pſalms, the Prophets, and the New-Teſtament.

It appears from his looſe papers, which he calls Adverſaria, that he had been ſuch an aſſiduous ſtudent, that before he was eight-years in the univerſity, he had read over and made reflections on twentytwo thouſand books and manuſcripts; a few of which we ſhall give as ſpecimen, in order to let the reader into the humour and taſte of our author.

'Diogenes Laertius, Book I.—Thales, being aſked how a man might moſt eaſily brook misfortunes? anſwered, if he ſaw his enemies in a worſe condition. It is not agreed, concerning the wiſemen; or whether indeed they were ſeven.'

'There is a very good letter of Piſiſtratus to Solon, and of the ſame ſtile and character with thoſe of Phalaris.'

'Solon ordained, that the guardians of orphans ſhould not cohabit with their mothers: And that no perſon ſhould be a guardian to thoſe, whoſe eſtate deſcended to them at the orphan's deceaſe. That no ſeal-graver ſhould keep the ſeal of a ring that was ſold: That, if any man put out the eye of him who had but one, he ſhould loſe both his own: That, where a man never planted, it ſhould be death to take away: That, it ſhould be death for a magiſtrate to be taken in drink.'

[232] 'Solon's letters at the end of his life, in Laertius, give us a truer Idea of the man, than all he has written before, and are indeed very fine: Solon's to Craeſus are very genteel; and Pitaccus's on the other ſide, are rude and philoſophical: However, both ſhew Craeſus to have been a very good man. Theſe epiſtles give a further reaſon to believe, that the others were written by Phalaris. There is a letter from Cleobulus to Solon, to invite him to Lindus.'

'Bion uſed to ſay, it was more eaſy to determine differences, between enemies than friends; for that of two friends, one would become an enemy; but of two enemies, one would become a friend.'

'Anacharſis has an epiſtle to Craeſus, to thank him for his invitation; and Periander one to all the wifemen, to invite them to Corinth to him, after their return from Lydia. Epimenides has an epiſtle to Solon, to invite him to Crete, under the tyranny of Piſiſtratus.'

'Epimenides often pretended that he roſe from death to life.'

The above notes are ſufficient to ſhew that he read the ancients with attention, and knew how to ſelect the moſt curious paſſages, and moſt deſerving the reader's obſervation.

About the year 1711 the Dr. publiſhed a piece called the Britiſh Palladium, or a welcome of lord Bolingbroke from France. Soon after this, Dr. Swift, Dr. Friend, Mr. Prior, with ſome others of lord Bolingbroke's adherents, paid a viſit to Dr. King, and brought along with them, the key of the Gazetteer's office, together with another key for the uſe of the paper office. The day following [233] this friendly viſit, the Dr. entered upon his new poſt; and two or three days after waited on his benefactor lord Bolingbrooke, then ſecretary of ſtate.

The author of the Doctor's life, publiſhed by Curl, has related an inſtance of inhumanity in alderman Barber, towards Dr. King. This magiſtrate was then printer of the Gazette, and was ſo cruel as to oblige the Dr. to ſit up till three or four o'clock in the morning, upon thoſe days the Gazette was publiſhed, to correct the errors of the preſs; which was not the buſineſs of the author, but a corrector, who is kept for that purpoſe in every printing-office of any conſequence. This ſlavery the Dr. was not able to bear, and therefore quitted the office. The alderman's ſeverity was the more unwarrantable, as the Dr. had been very kind in obliging him, by writing Examiners, and ſome other papers, gratis, which were of advantage to him as a printer. Thoſe writings at that juncture made him known to the miniſtry, who afterwards employed him in a ſtate paper called the Gazettee.

About Midſummer 1712 the Dr. quitted his employ, and retired to a gentleman's houſe on Lambeth ſide the water; where he had diverted himſelf a ſummer or two before: Here he enjoyed his lov'd tranquility, with a friend, a bottle, and his books; he frequently viſited lord Clarendon, at Somerſet-houſe, as long as he was able. It was the autumn ſeaſon, and the Dr. began inſenſibly to droop: He ſhut himſelf up entirely from his neareſt friends, and would not ſo much as ſee lord Clarendon; who hearing of his weak condition, ordered his ſiſter to go to Lambeth, and fetch him from thence to a lodging he had provided for him, in the Strand, over againſt Somerſet-houſe where next day about noon he expired, with all the patience, and reſignation of a philoſopher, and the true devotion of a chriſtian; but would not be perſuaded [234] to go to reſt the night before, till he made ſuch a will, as he thought would be agreeable to lord Clarendon's inclinations; who after his death took care of his funeral. He was decently interred in the cloiſters of Weſtminſter-Abbey, next to his maſter Dr. Knipe, to whom a little before, he dedicated his Heathen Gods.—The gentleman already mentioned, who has tranſmitted ſome account of our author to poſterity, delineates his character in the following manner. ‘'He was a civilian, exquiſitely well read; a ſkillful judge, and among the learned, an univerſal ſcholar, a critic, and an adept; in all ſciences and languages expert; and ourEngliſh Ovid, among the poets: In converſation, he was grave and entertaining, without levity or ſpleen: As an author, his character may be alſo ſumm'd up in the following lines.'Read here, in ſofteſt ſounds the ſweeteſt ſatire, A pen dipt deep in gall, a heart good-nature; An Engliſh Ovid, from his birth he ſeems, Inſpired alike with ſtrong poetic dreams; The Roman, rants of heroes, gods, and Jove, The Briton, purely paints the art of love.

As a ſpecimen of our author's verſification, we ſhall ſelect a Poem of his called, the Art of making Puddings; publiſhed in his Miſcellanies.

I ſing of food, by Britiſh nurſe deſign'd,
To make the ſtripling brave, and maiden kind.
Delay not muſe in numbers to rehearſe
The pleaſures of our life, and ſinews of our verſe.
Let pudding's diſh, moſt wholſome, be thy theme,
And dip thy ſwelling plumes in fragrant cream.
Sing then that diſh ſo fitting to improve
A tender modeſty, and trembling love;
Swimming in butter of a golden hue,
Garniſh'd with drops of Roſe's ſpicy dew.
[235]
Sometimes the frugal matron ſeems in haſte,
Nor cares to beat her pudding into paſte:
Yet milk in proper ſkillet ſhe will place,
And gently ſpice it with a blade of mace;
Then ſet ſome careful damſel to look to't;
And ſtill to ſtir away the biſhop's-foot;
For if burnt milk ſhou'd to the bottom ſtick,
Like over-heated-zeal, 'twould make folks ſick.
Into the Milk her flow'r ſhe gently throws,
As valets now wou'd powder tender beaus:
The liquid forms in haſty maſs unite,
Both equally delicious as they're white.
In ſhining diſh the haſty maſs is thrown,
And ſeems to want no graces but its own.
Yet ſtill the houſewife brings in freſh ſupplies,
To gratify the taſte, and pleaſe the eyes.
She on the ſurface lumps of butter lays,
Which, melting with the heat, its beams diſplays;
From whence it cauſes wonder to behold
A ſilver ſoil bedeck'd with ſtreams of gold!

THOMAS SPRAT (Biſhop of ROCHESTER)

[236]

WAS deſcended from a very worthy, though obſcure family, being the ſon of a private country miniſter; but his great merit raiſed him to that eminent ſtation in the church, wherein he long preſided, and was deſervedly accounted one of the moſt conſiderable of his time. The Oxford antiquary informs us, that on the 16th of January 1654, he was entered in Wadham-College, where he purſued his ſtudies with the cloſeſt application, and diſtinguiſhed himſelf by his prudent and courteous behaviour.

On the 3d of July 1669, Mr. Sprat took his maſter of arts degree, and the ſame day, commenced doctor in divinity. He had not long been in holy orders, till he was introduced at court, and by a happy power in converſation, ſo attracted the regard of Charles the IId. that he was conſidered as a man ſtanding fair for preferment. In 1683, broke out the Rye-houſe Plot, a relation of the particulars of which, Charles the IId. commanded Dr. Sprat to draw up. This the Dr. in a letter to lord Dorſet, informs us, he did with great unwillingneſs, and would have been impelled by no other conſideration, that that of a royal command. The reaſon he executed theſe orders with ſo much reluctance, was, becauſe many of the moſt popular men in the nation were either concerned themſelves, or had ſome relations engaged, ſo that an account of a plot thus [237] ſupported, muſt expoſe he writer to partial or popular reſentments.

He requeſted the king, that he might be permitted to ſpare ſome names, and to repreſent the behaviour of others in as candid a light as poſſible, in which requeſt his majeſty indulged him; but notwithſtanding all the candour he obſerved, and the moſt diſpaſſionate repreſentation of facts, yet his compoſing this relation, was brought againſt him as a crime, for which an oppoſite party endeavoured, and had almoſt effected his ruin. This work, tho' finiſhed in the year 1683 was not publiſhed till 1685, when it came into the world, under the immediate direction of king James the IId. It was no doubt in conſequence of this court ſervice, that he was made dean of Weſtminſter, Anno 1683; and biſhop of Rocheſter the year following. Another ſtep he took in the ſhort reign of king James, likewiſe expoſed him to the reſentment of that power which took place at the revolution, which was his ſitting in the eccleſiaſtical commiſſion. By this he drew upon himſelf almoſt an univerſal cenſure, which he acknowledges to be juſt; as appears by a letter he wrote upon that occaſion to the earl of Dorſet, in the year 1689; which thus begins.

'My Lord,

‘'I think I ſhould be wanting to myſelf at this time, in my own neceſſary vindication, ſhould I forbear any longer to give my friends a true account of my behaviour in the late eccleſiaſtical commiſſion. Though I profeſs what I now ſay, I only intend as a reaſonable mitigation of the offence I have given, not entirely to juſtify my ſitting in that court; for which I acknowledge I have deſervedly incurred the cenſure of many good men; and I wiſh I may ever be able to make a ſufficient amends to my country for it.'’

[238] His crime in this particular was ſomewhat alleviated, by his renouncing the commiſſion, when he perceived the illegal practices they were going to put in execution. His offences were ſtreunouſly urged againſt him, and had not the earl of Dorſet warmly eſpouſed his intereſt, he had probably been ſtript of his eccleſiaſtical preferments. His lordſhip charged the ill-conduct of both theſe affairs upon king James and his miniſtry; and thereby brought the biſhop's opponents to a perfect reconciliation with him.

Notwithſtanding this accommodation, ſuch was the inquietude of the times, that his lordſhip had not long enjoyed this tranquility, before there was hatched a moſt villainous contrivance; not only to take away his life, but, the lives of archbiſhop Sancroft, lord Marlborough, and ſeveral other perſons of honour and diſtinction; by forging an inſtrument under their hands, ſetting forth, that they had an intent to reſtore king James, and to ſeize upon the perſon of the princeſs of Orange, dead or alive; to ſurprize the tower, to raiſe a mighty army; and to bring the city of London into ſubjection. This black conſpiracy to murther ſo many innocent perſons, was by the providence of God ſoon detected; and his lordſhip drew up, and publiſhed an account of it, under this title, A Relation of the Wicked Contrivance of Stephen Blackhead, and Robert Young, againſt the Lives of ſeveral Perſons, by forging an Aſſociation under their Hands. In two parts. The firſt being a Relation of what paſſed at the three Examinations of his Lordſhip, by a Committee of Lords of the Privy-Council. The ſecond, being an Account of the two Authors of the Forgery; printed in quarto, in the year 1692.

His lordſhip was honourably acquitted; and he ever after looked upon this eſcape, as one of the moſt remarkable bleſſings of his life. ‘'In ſuch [239] critical times (ſays he) how little evidence would have ſufficed to ruin any man, that had been accuſed with the leaſt probability of truth? I do therefore, moſt ſolemnly oblige myſelf, and all mine, to keep the grateful remembrance of my deliverance, perpetual and ſacred.'’

Hitherto, we have conſidered Dr. Sprat in his epiſcopal, and public character; in which if he fell into ſome errors, he has a right to our candour, as they ſeem rather to have proceeded from miſinformation, and exceſs of good-nature, than any malevolent, or ſelfiſh principle: We ſhall now take a view of him as an author.

His firſt appearance in that ſphere, was in the year 1659, when in concert with Mr. Waller, and Mr. Dryden, he printed a Pindarique Ode, to the Memory of the moſt renowned Prince, Oliver, Lord Protector, &c. printed in quarto, which he dedicated to the reverend Mr. Wilkin's, then warden of Wadham-College; by whoſe approbation and requeſt, it was made public, as the author deſigned it only for a private amuſement. This was an unfavourable circumſtance for our author, as it more particularly ſhews the fickleneſs of his diſpoſition in ſtate-matters, and gave him leſs credit with thoſe parties he afterwards eſpouſed.

His next production in poetry, was an Ode on the Plague of Athens; which happened in the ſecond year of the Pelopponeſian war, firſt deſcribed by Thucydides, afterwards by Lucretius: This Mr. Sprat dedicated to his worthy and learned friend, Dr. Walter Pope. The performance ſtood the teſt of the ſevereſt critics; and in the opinion of the beſt judges, the manner of his great original was judiciouſly imitated. Soon after this, he proceeded to give the public a ſpecimen of his abilities in another kind, and ſucceeded with the greateſt applauſe; which was his Obſervations on Monſieur de Serbiere's [240] Voyage into England, written to Dr. Wren, profeſſor of aſtronomy in Oxford; printed in octavo, in the year 1665.

Mr. Sprat in the beginning of his letter acquaints the Dr. with the motives of his engaging with Monſieur Serbiere, ‘'Having now (ſays he) under my hands, the hiſtory of the Royal-Society, it will be in vain for me to try to repreſent its deſign to be advantageous to the glory of England, if my countrymen ſhall know, that one who calls himſelf a member of that ſociety, has eſcaped unanſwered in the public diſgraces, which he has caſt on our whole nation.'’—In this performance Mr. Sprat has given an undeniable proof, that the ſtrength and ſolidity of an Engliſh pen, is infinitely ſuperior to the gallant air of a French author, who is ſprightly without propriety, and poſitive without truth.

About two years after, 1667, our author publiſhed his incomparable Hiſtory of the Royal Society of London, for the improvement of natural knowledge; a work which has acquired him very great reputation, and has ranked him with the moſt elegant and polite writers of that age. Soon after this, Mr. Sprat loſt his amiable and much eſteemed friend Mr. Abraham Cowley, who by his will recommended to the care of his reverend friend, the reviſing of all his works that were printed, and the collecting of thoſe papers which he had deſigned for the preſs. This truſt Mr. Sprat faithfully diſcharged, and to the new edition of Mr. Cowley's Works, he prefixed an account of his life and writings, addreſſed to Mr. Martin Clifford. Happy is it for a good man, when he has ſuch a friend to cloſe his eyes: This is a deſire peculiar to all, and the portion of few to enjoy.

[241]
For who to dumb forgetfulneſs a prey,
This pleaſing anxious being e'er reſign'd;
Left the warm precincts of the chearful day,
Nor caſt one longing lingring look behind.
On ſome warm breaſt the parting ſoul relies,
Some pious drops the cloſing eye requires;
E'en from the tomb, the voice of nature cries,
Awake! (and faithful to her wonted fires*.

This life of Cowley, by Dr. Sprat has been eſteemed one of the moſt elegant compoſitions in our language; there are ſeveral extracts from it in our account of the life of that amiable Poet.

Theſe are the moſt material performances of Dr. Sprat: a man, who was early introduced into an elevated ſtation in life, which he held not without enemies to his dying moments. Villiers duke of Buckingham was his firſt patron, who notwithſtanding his fickleneſs, and inconſiſtent levity, never forſook him; a circumſtance which has induced many to believe, that that nobleman owed much to the refinement of our author; and that his Rehearſal had never been ſo excellent, nor ſo pungent a ſatire, had it not firſt paſſed under Dr. Sprat's peruſal.

This learned prelate died of an apoplexy, May the 20th, 1713, at his epiſcopal ſeat in Bromly in Kent, in the 79th year of his age; and was interred in the Abbey-Church of Weſtminſter.

As he lived eſteemed by all his acquaintance, as well as the clergy of his dioceſe, ſo he died regretted by [242] them, and indeed by all men of taſte; for it is the opinion of many, that he raiſed the Engliſh tongue to that purity and beauty, which former writers were wholly ſtrangers to, and which thoſe who have ſucceeded him, can but imitate*.

The benevolence of our author is very conſpicuous in his laſt will, in favour of his widow and ſon; in which he commands them to extend that beneficence to his poor relations, which they always found from him; and not to ſuffer any of thoſe to want, whoſe neceſſitous merit, had ſhared in all the external advantages he poſſeſſed. As he may be propoſed (conſidered meerly as a writer) for an example worthy of imitation; ſo in the character of a dignified clergyman, he has likewiſe a claim to be copied in thoſe retired and private virtues, in thoſe acts of beneficence and humility, and that unaffected and primitive piety, for which he was juſtly diſtinguiſhed.

CHARLES MONTAGUE (Earl of HALLIFAX)

[243]

WAS born the 16th of April 1661, and received the rudiments of his education at Weſtminſter-ſchool: From thence he was removed to Trinity-College in Cambridge, where by the brightneſs of his parts he was early diſtinguiſhed; and coming to town ſoon after the death of king Charles the IId. he contracted an intimacy with the earl of Dorſet, Sir Charles Sedley, and other wits of the age. After the acceſſion of king William and queen Mary, having attached himſelf to the revolution intereſt, he was ſworn one of the council: He ſerved in parliament for the cities of Durham, and Weſtminſter, at different times, and diſtinguiſhed himſelf by his ſpeeches in the Houſe of Commons, on ſeveral important affairs. He was conſtituted one of the lords commiſſioners of the treaſury, on the 21ſt of March 1691, and ſoon after ſworn of the privy-council. In 1694 he was made chancellor and under treaſurer of the exchequer*. In the year 1695, when the nation was diſtreſs'd, by the ill-ſtate of the current coin of this kingdom, he projected the new coining of the ſilver money; and by his great prudence, and indefatigable induſtry brought it to bear. He likewiſe propoſed the iſſuing exchequer bills, to ſupply the great ſcarcity of money, which has ſince been made uſe of to the great benefit of the nation. On the 16th of February, 1697-8, the Houſe of Commons, came to a reſolution, [244] 'That it is the opinion of this houſe, that the honourable Charles Montague, Eſq chancellor of the exchequer, for his good ſervices to this government, does deſerve his majeſty's favour.'’ His next concern, was the trade to the Eaſt-Indies; the ſettlement of which had been long depending, and was looked on as ſo nice, and difficult, that it had been referred to the king and council, and from them to the parliament; who on May the 26th, 1698, ordered a bill for ſettling the trade to that place: Mr. Montague tranſacted this whole affair; and by his induſtry and ſkill, in touching the affections of the people, raiſed two millions, by only doubling the duties on pap [...]r, parchment, and ſalt; which to have done b [...] any other means, was at that time matter of the utmoſt difficulty. Theſe proofs of affection and zeal to his majeſty's perſon and government, induced the king to declare him firſt lord commiſſioner of the treaſury; and on the 10th of July, 1698, appointed him one of the perſons to whoſe fidelity, and honour, he repoſed the truſt of lords juſtices of England, for the adminiſtration of government during his abſence. In the year 1700 his lordſhip reſigned the place of firſt lord commiſſioner of the treaſury, having obtained a grant of the office of auditor of the receipts of the exchequer, vacant by the death of Sir Robert Howard; and on the 4th of December, the ſame year, was advanced to the dignity of baron Hallifax, in the county of York.

On the acceſſion of queen Anne, he was concerned in vindicating the memory of king William, and on all occaſions ſhewed a diſintereſted zeal in the ſervice of his country. He firſt projected the equivalent, which was given to the Scots, in order to promote the Union between the nations; and without which it had never been effected. And as his lordſhip firſt moved for appointing [245] commiſſioners to treat of an Union between the two kingdoms; ſo he had not only a great ſhare in that treaty, as one of the commiſſioners, but cauſing it to be ratified in parliament, and anſwered, with all the force of which he was maſter, the various objections made againſt it. And further, to ſtrengthen the intereſt of the Whigs, which he thought was eſſentially connected with the proteſtant religion, his lordſhip propoſed the bill for the naturalization of the illuſtrious houſe of Hanover, and for the better ſecurity of the ſucceſſion of the crown in the proteſtant line; which being paſs'd into an act, her majeſty made choice of him to carry the news to our late ſovereign; and to inveſt his ſon with the enſigns of the moſt noble order of the Garter. On his arrival at Hanover, he was received with extraordinary marks of diſtinction, and honour. During his reſidence there, the prince-royal of Pruſſia was married to his preſent majeſty's ſiſter; and ſoon after that prince ſet out with his lordſhip for the confederate army. Hallifax then went to the Hague, where he laid the foundation of a ſtricter alliance between Great-Britain, and the United Provinces: On his return to England he was graciouſly received by the queen, and continued in her favour till the change of the miniſtry, in the year 1710.

On her majeſty's death, our author was one of the regency nominated by king George the 1ſt. till his arrival; who was no ſooner poſſeſſed of the crown, but he ſhewed him diſtinguiſing marks of his favour, having ſo ſtrenuouſly promoted his ſucceſſion to the Britiſh throne. He had his majeſty's leave to reſign his poſt of auditor of the exchequer, to his nephew the honourable George Montague; and after being made firſt lord commiſſioner of the treaſury, and ſworn of the privy-council, he was advanced to the dignity of earl of Hallifax, and [246] viſcount Sunbury, by letters patent, bearing date the 26th of October, 1714; and before the end of that year, was inſtalled one of the knights companions of the moſt noble order of the garter, and made lord lieutenant of the county of Surry.

Lord Hallifax died in the 54th year of his age, on the 19th of May 1715, and on the 26th of the ſame month, was interred in general Monk's vault in Weſtminſter-Abbey: leaving no iſſue, his titles devolved on his nephew, George late earl of Hallifax.—Conſidered as a poet, his lordſhip makes a leſs conſiderable figure than the earl of Dorſet; there is a languor in his verſes, which ſeems to indicate that he was not born with a poetical genius. That he was a lover of the muſes, there is not the leaſt doubt, as we find him patroniſing the poets ſo warmly; but there is ſome difference between a propenſity to poetry, and a power of excelling in it. His lordſhip has writ but few things, and thoſe not of the utmoſt conſequence.

Among others are the following, printed in Tonſon's Minor Poets.

WILLIAM WYCHERLEY, Eſq

[248]

THIS Gentleman was ſon of Daniel Wycherley, of Cleve in Shropſhire, Eſq and was born (ſays Wood) in the year 1640.

When he was about fifteen years of age, he was ſent to France, in the weſtern parts of which he reſided upon the banks of the Charante; where he was often admitted to the converſation of the moſt accompliſhed ladies of the court of France, particularly madam de Montauſieur, celebrated by monſ. Voiture in his letters*.

A little before the reſtoration of Charles the IId, he became a gentleman commoner of queen's college in Oxford, and lived in the provoſt's lodgings; and was entered in the public library, under the title of philoſophiae ſtudioſus, in July 1660. He quitted the univerſity without being matriculated, having, according to the Oxford antiquary, been reconciled to the proteſtant religion, which he had renounced during his travels, probably by the perſwaſ [...]on of thoſe gay ladies, with whom he converſed in France. This circumſtance ſhews how dangerous it is to engage in a debate with a female antagoniſt, eſpecially, if that antagoniſt joins beauty with underſtanding.

Mr. Wycherley afterwards entered himſelf in the Middle-Temple; but making his firſt appearance [...]n town, in a reign when wit and gaiety were the favourite [249] diſtinctions, he relinguiſhed the ſtudy of the law, and engaged in purſuits more agreeable to his own genius, and the gallant ſpirit of the times.

Upon writing his firſt Play, entitled Love in a Wood, or St. James's Park; and acted at the Theatre-royal, in 1672, he became acquainted with ſeveral of the moſt celebrated wits, both of the court and town; and likewiſe with the ducheſs of Cleveland. Mr. Dennis, in his Letters quoted above, has given a particular relation of the beginning of his acquaintance with this celebrated beauty of the times, which is ſingular enough.—One day Mr. Wycherley riding in his chariot through St. James's Park, he was met by the ducheſs, whoſe chariot joſtled with his, upon which ſhe looked out of her chariot, and ſpoke very audibly, ‘"You Wycherley, you are a ſon of a whore,"’ and then burſt into a fit of laughter. Mr. Wycherley at firſt was very much ſurprized at this, but he ſoon recovered himſelf enough to recollect, that it was ſpoke in alluſion to the latter end of a Song in his Love in a Wood;

When parents are ſlaves,
Their brats cannot be any other;
Great wits, and great braves,
Have always a punk for their mother.

During Mr. Wycherley's ſurprize, the chariots drove different ways, they were ſoon at a conſiderable diſtance from each other; when Mr. Wycherley recollecting, ordered his coachman to drive back, and overtake the lady. As ſoon as he got over againſt her, he ſaid to her, ‘"Madam, you was pleaſed to beſtow a title upon me, which generally belongs to the fortunate. Will your ladyſhip be at the play to night? Well, ſhe replied, what if I ſhould be there? Why then, anſwered he, I will be there to wait on your ladyſhip, though I diſappoint [250] a fine woman, who has made me an aſſignation. So, ſaid ſhe, you are ſure to diſappoint a woman who has favoured you, for one who has not. Yes, he replied, if ſhe who has not favoured me is the finer woman of the two: Put he who will be conſtant to your ladyſhip, till he can find a finer woman, is ſure to die your captive."’

The ducheſs of Cleveland, in conſequence of Mr. Wycher [...]ey's compliment, was that night, in the firſt row of the king's box in Drury-Lane, and Mr. Wycherley in the pit under her, where he entertained her during the whole play; and this was the beginning of a correſpondence between theſe two perſons, which afterwards made a great noiſe in the town.

This accident, was the occaſion of bringing Mr. Wycherley into favour with George duke of Buckingham, who was paſſionately in love with that lady, but was ill-treated by her, and who believed that Mr. Wycherley was his happy rival. The duke had long ſollicited her, without obtaining any favour: Whether the relation between them ſhocked her, for ſhe was his couſin-german; or, whether ſhe apprehended that an intrigue with a perſon of his rank and character, muſt neceſſarily in a ſhort time come to the king's ears; whatever was the cauſe, ſhe refuſed ſo long to admit his viſits, that at laſt indignation, rage, and diſdain took place of love; and he reſolved to ruin her. When he took this reſolution, he had her ſo narrowly watched by his ſpies, that he ſoon diſcovered thoſe whom he had reaſon to believe were his rivals; and after he knew them, he never failed to name them aloud, in order to expoſe the lady to all thoſe who viſited her; and among others, he never failed to mention Mr. Wycherley. As ſoon as it came to the knowledge of the latter, who had all his expectations from court, he apprehended the conſequences of [251] ſuch a report, if it ſhould reach the King; and applied himſelf therefore to Wilmot earl of Rocheſter, and Sir Charles Sedley, entreating them to remonſtrate to the duke of Buckingham, the miſchief he was about to do to one who had not the honour to know him, and who had not offended him. Upon opening the matter to the duke, he cried out immediately, that he did not blame Wycherley, he only accuſed his couſin. ‘'Ay, but they replied, by rendering him ſuſpected of ſuch an intrigue, you are about to ruin him; that is, your grace is about to ruin a man, whoſe converſation you would be pleaſed with above all things.'’

Upon this occaſion, they ſaid ſo much of the ſhining qualities of Mr. Wycherley, and the charms of his converſation, that the duke, who was as much in love with wit, as he was with his couſin, was impatient, till he was brought to ſup with him, which was in two or three nights. After ſupper, Mr. Wycherley, who was then in the height of his vigour, both in body and mind, thought himſelf obliged to exert his talents, and the duke was charmed to that degree, that he cried out with tranſport, and with an oath, ‘'My couſin's in the right of it,'’ and from that very moment made a friend of a man he before thought his rival.

In the year 1673 a comedy of his called the Gentleman Dancing-Maſter, was acted at the duke's Theatre, and in 1678 his Plain Dealer was acted with general applauſe. In 1683 his Country Wife was performed at the ſame Theatre. Theſe Plays raiſed him ſo high in the eſteem of the world, and ſo recommended him to the favour of the duke of Buckingham, that as he was maſter of the horſe, and colonel of a regiment, he beſtowed two places on Wycherley: As maſter of the horſe, he made him one of his equeries; and as colonel of a regiment, [252] a captain lieutenant of his own company. King Charles likewiſe gave our author the moſt diſtinguiſhing marks of favour, perhaps beyond what any ſovereign prince had ſhewn before to an author, who was only a private gentleman: Mr. Wycherley happened to be ill of a fever, at his lodgings in Bow-Street, Covent-Garden; during his ſickneſs, the king did him the honour of a viſit; when finding his fever indeed abated, but his body extremely weakened, and his ſpirits miſerably ſhattered, he commanded him to take a journey to the ſouth of France, believing that nothing could contribute more to the reſtoring his former ſtate of health, than the gentle air of Montpelier, during the winter ſeaſon: at the ſame time, the king aſſured him, that as ſoon as he was able to undertake that journey, he would order five-hundred pounds to be paid him, to defray the expences of it.

Mr. Wycherley accordingly went to France, and returned to England the latter end of the ſpring following, with his h [...]alth entirely reſtored. The king received him with the utmoſt marks of eſteem, and ſhortly after told him, he had a ſon, whom he reſolved ſhould be educated like the ſon of a king, and that he could make choice of no man ſo proper to be his g [...]vernor as Mr. Wycherley; and, that for this ſervice, he ſhould have fi [...]teen-hundred pounds a year allotted him; the King alſo added, that when the time came, that his office ſhould ceaſe, he would take care to make ſuch a proviſion for him, as ſhould ſet him above the malice of the world and fortune. Theſe were golden proſpects for Mr. Wycherley, but they were ſoon by a croſs accident daſhed to pieces.

Soon after this promiſe of his majeſty's, Mr. Dennis tells us that Mr. Wycherley went down to Tunbridge, to take either the benefit of the waters, or the diverſions of the place; when walking one day upon the wells-walk, with his friend Mr. Fairbeard [253] of Grey's-Inn, juſt as he came up to the bookſeller's, the counteſs of Drogheda, a young widow, rich, noble and beautiful, came to the bookſeller, and enquired for the Plain Dealer. ‘'Madam, ſays Mr. Fairbeard, ſince you are for the Plain Dealer, there he is for you,'’ puſhing Mr. Wycherley towards her. ‘'Yes, ſays Mr. Wycherley, this lady can bear plain dealing, for ſhe appears to be ſo accompliſhed, that what would be a compliment to others, when ſaid to her, would be plain dealing.—No truly Sir, ſaid the lady, I am not without my faults more than the reſt of my ſex; and yet, notwithſtanding all my faults, I love plain dealing, and never am more fond of it, then when it tells me of a fault:'’ Then madam, ſays Mr. Fairbeard, you and the plain dealer ſeem deſigned by heaven for each other. In ſhort, Mr. Wycherley acompanied her upon the walks, waited upon her home, viſited her daily at her lodgings whilſt ſhe ſtayed at Tunbridge; and after ſhe went to London, at her lodgings in Hatton-Garden: where in a little time he obtained her conſent to marry her. This he did by his father's command, without acquainting the king; for it was reaſonably ſuppoſed that the lady having a great independent eſtate, and noble and powerful relations, the acquainting the king with the intended match, would be the likelieſt way to prevent it. As ſoon as the news was known at court, it was looked upon as an affront to the king, and a contempt of his majeſty's orders: and Mr. Wycherley's conduct after marriage, made the reſentment fall heavier upon him: For being conſcious he had given offence, and ſeldom going near the court, his abſence was conſtrued into ingratitude.

The counteſs, though a ſplendid wife, was not formed to make a huſba [...]d happy; ſhe was in her nature extremely jealous, and indulged it to [254] ſuch a degree, that ſhe could not endure her huſband ſhould be one moment out of her ſight. Their lodgings were in Bow-ſtreet, Covent-Garden, over againſt the Cock Tavern; whither if Mr. Wycherley at any time went, he was obliged to leave the windows open, that his lady might ſee there was no woman in the company.

This was the cauſe of Mr. Wycherley's diſgrace with the King, whoſe favour and affection he had befo [...]e poſſeſſed in ſo diſtinguiſhed a degree The counteſs ſettled all her eſtate upon him, but his title being diſputed after her death, the expence of the law, and other incumbrances, ſo far reduced him, that he was not able to ſatisfy the impatience of his creditors, who threw him at laſt into priſon; ſo that he, who but a few years before was flouriſhing in all the gaiety of life, fluſhed with proſpects of court preferment, and happy in the moſt extenſive reputation for wit and parts, was condemned to ſuffer all the rigours of want: for his father did not think proper to ſupport him. In this ſevere extremity, he fell upon an expedient, which, no doubt, was dictated by his diſtreſs, of applying to his Bookſeller, who had got conſiderably by his Plain Dealer, in order to borrow 20 l. but he applied in vain; the Bookſeller refuſed to lend him a ſhilling; and in that diſtreſs he languiſhed for ſeven years: nor was he releaſed 'till one day King James going to ſee his Pla [...]n-Dealer performed, was ſo charmed w [...]th it, that he gave immediate orders for the payment of the author's debts, adding to that bounty a penſion of 200 l. per annum, while he continued in England. But the generous intention of that Prince to him, had not the deſigned effect, purely through his modeſty; he being aſhamed to tell the earl of Mulgrave, whom the King had ſent to demand it, a full ſtate of his debts. He laboured under the weight of theſe difficulties 'till his father [255] died, and then the eſtate that deſcended to him, was left under very uneaſy limitations, he being only a tenant for life, and not being allowed to raiſe money for the payment of his debts: yet, as he had a power to make a jointure, he married, almoſt at the eve of his days, a young gentlewoman of 1500 l. fortune, part of which being applied to the uſes he wanted it for, he died eleven days after the celebration of his nuptials in December 1715, and was interred in the vault of Covent-Garden church.

Beſides the plays already mentioned, he publiſhed a volume of poems 1704, which met with no great ſucceſs; for, like Congreve, his ſtrength lay only in the drama, and, unleſs on the ſtage, he was but a ſecond rate poet. In 1728 his poſthumous works in proſe and verſe were publiſhed by Mr. Lewis Theobald at London in 8vo.

Mr. Dennis, in a few words, has ſummed up this gentleman's character; ‘'he was admired by the men for his parts, in wit and learning; and he was admired by the women for thoſe parts of which they were more competent judges.'’ Mr. Wycherley was a man of great ſprightlineſs, and vivacity of genius, he was ſaid to have been handſome, formed for gallantry, and was certainly an idol with the ladies, a felicity which even his wit might not have procured, without exterior advantages.

As a poet and a dramatiſt, I cannot better exhibit his character than in the words of George lord Lanſdowne; he obſerves, ‘'that the earl of Rocheſter, in imitation of one of Horace's epiſtles, thus mentions our author;'' Of all our modern wits none ſeem to me, ' Once to have touch'd upon true comedy ' But haſty Shadwel, and ſlow Wycherley. ' Shadwel's unfiniſh'd works do yet impart ' Great proofs of nature's force; tho' none of art. [256] ' But Wycherley earns hard whate'er he gains, ' He wants no judgment, and he ſpares no pains. 'Lord Lanſdowne is perſwaded, that the earl fell into this part of the character (of a laborious writer) merely for the ſake of the verſe; if haſty, ſays he, would have ſtood as an epithet for Wycherley, and ſlow, for Shadwel, they would in all probability have been ſo applied, but the verſe would have been ſpoiled, and to that it was neceſſary to ſubmit. Thoſe, who would form their judgments only upon Mr. Wycherley's writings, without any perſonal acquaintance with him, might indeed be apt to conclude, that ſuch a diverſity of images and characters, ſuch ſtrict enquiries into nature, ſuch cloſe obſervations on the ſeveral humours, manners, and affections of all ranks and degrees of men, and, as it were, ſo true and perfect a diſſection of humankind, delivered with ſo much pointed wit, and force of expreſſion, could be no other than the work of extraordinary diligence, labour, and application; but in truth, we owe the pleaſure and advantage of having been ſo well entertained, and inſtructed by him, to his facility of doing it; if it had been a trouble to him to write, I am much miſtaken if he would not have ſpared that trouble. What he has performed, would have been difficult for another; but a club, which a man of an ordinary ſize could not lift, was a walking ſtaff for Hercules. To judge by the ſharpneſs, and ſpirit of his ſatires, you might be led into another miſtake, and imagine him an ill-natur'd man, but what my lord Rocheſter ſaid of lord Dorſet, is applicable to him, the beſt good man with the worſt natured muſe. As pointed, and ſevere as he is in his writings, in his temper he had all the ſoftneſs of the tendereſt diſpoſition; gentle and inoffenſive to every man in his particular [257] character; he only attacks vice as a public enemy, compaſſionating the wound he is under a neceſſity to probe, or grieving, like a good natured conqueror, at the occaſions which provoke him to make ſuch havock. King Charles II. a nice diſcerner of men, and himſelf a man of wit, often choſe him for a companion at his leiſure hours, as Auguſtus did Horace, and had very advantageous views for him, but unluckily an amorous inclination interfered; the lover got the better of the courtier, and ambition fell a ſacrifice to ove, the predominant paſſion of the nobleſt mind. Many object to his verſification; it is certain he is no maſter of numbers, but a Diamond is not leſs a Diamond for not being poliſhed'’

Mr. Pope, when very young, made his court to Mr. Wycherley, when very old; and the latter was ſo well pleaſed with the former, and had ſuch an opinion of his riſing genius, that he entered into an intimate correſpondence with him, and ſubmitted his works to Mr. Pope's correction. See the letters between Pope and Wycherley, printed in Pope's works.

NAHUM TATE

[258]

WAS born about the middle of the reign of Charles II. in the kingdom of Ireland, and there received his education. He was a man of learning, courteous, and candid, but was thought to poſſeſs no great genius, as being deficient in what is its firſt characteriſtic, namely, invention. He was made poet laureat to King William, upon the death of Shadwell, and held that place 'till the acceſſion of King George I. on whom he lived to write the firſt Birth-Day Ode, which is executed with unuſual ſpirit. Mr. Tate being a man of extreme modeſty, was never able to make his fortune, or to raiſe himſelf above neceſſity; he was obliged to have recourſe to the patronage of the earl of Dorſet, to ſcreen him from the perſecution of his creditors. Beſides ſeveral other poetical performances, which will be afterwards enumerated, and a Verſion of the Pſalms, in conjunction with Dr. Brady, Mr. Tate has been the author of nine plays, of which the following is the liſt;

His other works are chiefly theſe,

His ſong on his Majeſty's birth-day has the following ſtanza,

When Kings that make the public good their care
Advance in dignity and ſtate,
Their riſe no envy can create;
Their ſubjects in the princely grandeur ſhare:
For, like the ſun, the higher they aſcend,
The farther their indulgent beams extend.
Yet long before our royal ſun
His deſtin'd courſe has run,
We're bleſs'd to ſee a glorious heir,
That ſhall the mighty loſs repair;
When he that blazes now ſhall this low ſphere reſign
In a ſublimer orb eternally to ſhine.
A Cynthia too, adorn'd with every grace
Of perſon and of mind;
And happy in a ſtarry race,
Of that auſpicious kind,
As joyfully preſage,
No want of royal heirs in any future age.
CHORUS.
Honour'd with the beſt of Kings,
And a ſet of lovely ſprings,
From the royal fountain flowing,
Lovely ſtreams, and ever growing,
Happy Britain paſt expreſſing,
Only learn to prize thy bleſſing.

[263] We ſhall give ſome further account of the tranſlation of the Pſalms in the life of Dr. Brady. This author died in the Mint 1716, was interred in St. George's church, Southwark, and was ſucceeded in the laurel by Mr. Euſden.

Sir SAMUEL GARTH.

THIS gentleman was deſcended from a good family in Yorkſhire; after he had paſſed through his ſchool education, he was removed to Peter-houſe in Cambridge, where he is ſaid to have continued till he was created Dr. of Phyſic July 7, 1691.

In 1696 Dr. Garth zealouſly promoted the erecting the Diſpenſary, being an apartment in the college for the relief of the ſick poor, by giving them advice gratis, and diſpenſing medicines to them at low rates. This work of charity having expoſed him, and many other of the moſt eminent Phyſicians to the envy and reſentment of ſeveral perſons of the ſame faculty, as well as Apothecaries, he ridiculed them with peculiar ſpirit, and vivacity, in his poem called the Diſpenſary in 6 Cantos; which, though it firſt ſtole into the world a little haſtily, and incorrect, in the year 1669, yet bore in a few months three impreſſions, and was afterwards printed ſeveral times, with a dedication [264] to Anthony Henley, eſquire. This poem, gained our author great reputation; it is of the burleſque ſpecies, and executed with a degree of humour, hardly equal'd, unleſs in the Rape of the Lock.

Our author's poetical character, joined with his ſkill in his profeſſion, his agreeable converſation, and unaffected good nature, procured him vaſt practice, introduced him to the acquaintance, and eſtabliſhed him in the eſteem of moſt of the nobility and gentry. Much about the ſame time he gave a diſtinguiſhing inſtance of his profound knowledge in his profeſſion, his perfect acquaintance with antiquity, and correct taſte in Roman eloquence by a Latin oration, pronounced before the Faculty in Warwick-La [...]e, September 17, 1697, to the great ſatisfaction of the audience, and the raiſing his own reputation, as the college regiſter teſtifies. Pieces of this kind are often compoſed with peculiar attention to the phraſe, the ſound of the periods in ſpeaking, and their effect upon the ear; theſe advantages were by no means neglected in Dr. Garth's performance, but the ſentiments, the ſpirit, and ſtile appeared to ſtill greater advantage in the reading; and the applauſe with which it was received by its hearers, was ecchoed by thoſe who peruſed it; this inſtance is the more ſingular, as few have been diſtinguiſhed both as orators and poets.

Clcero, who was not heard by his cotemporaries with greater applauſe, than his works are now read with admiration, attempted poetry without ſucceſs; reputation in that kind of writing the Roman orator much deſired, but never could compoſe a line to pleaſe himſelf, or any of his friends.

[265] Upon the death of Dryden in May 1701, by a very ſtrange accident his burial * came to depend on the piety of Dr. Garth, who cauſed the body to be brought to the College of Phyſicians, propoſed and encouraged by his generous example a ſubſcription for defraying the expence of the funeral, and after pronouncing over the corpſe a ſuitable oration, he attended the ſolemnity to Weſtminſter-Abbey, where at laſt the remains of that great man were interred in Chaucer's grave. For this memorable act of tenderneſs and generoſity, thoſe who loved the perſon, or who honoured the parts of that excellent poet, expreſſed much gratitude to Dr. Garth. He was one of the moſt eminent members of a famous ſociety called the Kit-Kat Club, which conſiſted of above thirty noblemen and gentlemen, diſtinguiſhed by their zealous affection to the Proteſtant ſucceſſion in the Houſe of Hanover. October 3, 1702 he was elected one of the Cenſors of the College of Phyſicians. In reſpect to his political principles, he was open and warm, and which was ſtill more to be valued, he was ſteady and ſincere. In the time of lord Godolphin's adminiſtration, nobody was better received of his rank than Dr. Garth; and nobody ſeemed to have a higher opinion of that miniſter's integrity, and abilities in which he had, however, the ſatisfaction of thinking with the public.

In 1710, when the Whig miniſtry was diſcarded, and his lordſhip had an opportunity of diſtinguiſhing his own friends, from thoſe which were only the friends of his power, it could not fail of giving him ſenſible pleaſure to find Dr. Garth early declaring for him, and amongſt the firſt who beſtowed upon him the tribute of his muſe, at a time when that nobleman's intereſt ſunk: A ſituation [266] which would have ſtruck a flatterer dumb. There were ſome to whom this teſtimony of gratitude was by no means pleaſing, and therefore the Dr's. lines were ſeverely criticiſed by the examiner, a paper engaged in the defence of the new miniſtry; but inſtead of ſinking the credit either of the author, or the verſes, they added to the honour of both, by exciting Mr. Addiſon to draw his pen in their defence. In order to form a judgment both of the Criticiſm, and the Defence, it will be neceſſary firſt of all to read the poem to which they refer, more eſpecially as it is very ſhort, and may be ſuppoſed to have been written ſuddenly, and, at leaſt, as much from the author's gratitude to his noble patron, as a deſire of adding to his reputation.

To the EARL of GODOLPHIN.
While weeping Europe bends beneath her ills,
And where the ſword deſtroys not, famine kills;
Our iſle enjoys by your ſucceſsful care,
The pomp of peace amidſt the woes of war.
So much the public to your prudence owes,
You think no labours long, for our repoſe.
Such conduct, ſuch integrity are ſhewn,
There are no coffers empty, but your own.
From mean dependence, merit you retrieve;
Unaſk'd you offer, and unſeen you give.
Your favour, like the Nile, increaſe beſtows;
And yet conceals the ſource from whence it flows.
So poiz'd your paſſions are, we find no frown,
If funds oppreſs not, and if commerce run,
Taxes diminiſh'd, liberty entire,
Theſe are the grants your ſervices require.
Thus far the State Machine wants no repair,
But moves in matchleſs order by your care.
Free from confuſion, ſettled, and ſerene;
And like the univerſe by ſprings unſeen.
[267] But now ſome ſtar, ſiniſter to our pray'rs;
Contrives new ſchemes, and calls you from affairs.
No anguiſh in your looks, nor cares appear,
But how to teach th' unpractic'd crew to ſteer.
Thus like ſome victim no conſtraint, you need,
To expiate their offence, by whom you bleed.
Ingratitude's a weed in every clime;
It thrives too faſt at firſt, but fades in time.
The god of day, and your own lot's the ſame;
The vapours you have rais'd obſcure your flame.
But tho' you ſuffer, and awhile retreat,
Your globe of light looks larger as you ſet.

Theſe verſes, however they may expreſs the gratitude, and candour of the author, and may contain no more than truth of the perſonage to whom they are addreſſed, yet, every reader of taſte will perceive, that the verſes are by no means equal to the reſt of Dr. Garth's poetical writings. Remarks upon theſe verſes were publiſhed in a Letter to the Examiner, September 7, 1710. The author obſerves, ‘'That there does not appear either poetry, grammar, or deſign in the compoſition of this poem; the whole (ſays he) ſeems to be, as the ſixth edition of the Diſpenſary, happily expreſſes it, a ſtrong, unlaboured, impotence of thought. I freely examine it by the new teſt of good poetry, which the Dr. himſelf has eſtabliſhed. Pleaſing at firſt ſight: Has this piece the leaſt title even to that? or if we compare it to the only pattern, as he thinks, of juſt writing in this kind, Ovid; is there any thing in De Triſtibus ſo wild, ſo childiſh, ſo flat? what can the ingenious Dr. mean, or at what time could he write theſe verſes? half of the poem is a panegyric on a Lord Treaſurer in being, and the reſt a compliment of condolance to an Earl that has loſt the Staff. In thirty lines his patron is a river, [268] the primum mobile, a pilot, a victim, the ſun, any thing and nothing. He beſtows increaſe, conceals his ſource, makes the machine move, teaches to ſteer, expiates our offences, raiſes vapours, and looks larger as he ſets; nor is the choice of his expreſſion leſs exquiſite, than that of his ſimilies. For commerce to run*, paſſions to be poized, merit to be received from dependance, and a machine to be ſerene, is perfectly new. The Dr. has a happy talent at invention, and has had the glory of enriching our language by his phraſes, as much as he has improved medicine by his bills.'’ The critic then proceeds to conſider the poem more minutely, and to expoſe it by enumerating particulars. Mr Addiſon in a Whig Examiner publiſhed September 14, 1710, takes occaſion to rally the fierce overbearing ſpirit of the Tory Examiner, which, he ſays, has a better title to the name of the executioner. He then enters into the defence of the Dr's. poem, and obſerves, ‘'that the phraſe of paſſions being poized, and retrieving merit from dependence, cavi'led at by the critics, are beautiful and poetical; it is the ſame cavilling ſpirit, ſays he, that finds fault with that expreſſion of the Pomp of Peace, among Woes of War, as well as of Offering unaſked.'’ This general piece of raillery which he paſſes on the Dr's. conſidering the treaſurer in ſeveral different views, is that which might fall upon any poem in Waller, or any other writer who has diverſity of thoughts and alluſions, and though it may appear a pleaſant ridicule to an ignorant reader, is wholly groundleſs and unjuſt.

Mr. Addiſon's Anſwer is, however, upon the whole, rather a palliation, than a defence. All the ſkill of that writer could never make that [269] poetical, or a fine panegyric, which is in its own nature removed from the very appearance of poetry; but friendſhip, good nature, or a coincidence of party, will ſometimes engage the greateſt men to combat in defence of trifles, and even againſt their own judgment, as Dryden finely expreſſes it in his Addreſs to Congreve,‘" Vindicate a friend."’

In 1711 Dr. Garth wrote a dedication for an intended edition of Lucretius, addreſſed to his late Majeſty, then Elector of Brunſwick, which has been admired as one of the pureſt compoſitions in the Latin tongue that our times have produced.

On the acceſſion of that King to the throne, he had the honour of knighthood conferred upon him by his Majeſty, with the duke of Marlborough's ſword*. He was likewiſe made Phyſician in ordinary to the King, and Phyſician General to the army. As his known ſervices procured him a great intereſt with thoſe in power, ſo his humanity and good nature inclined him to make uſe of that intereſt, rather for the ſupport, and encouragement of men of letters who had merit, than for the advancement of his private fortune; his views in that reſpect having been always very moderate. He lived with the great in that degree of eſteem and independency, and with all that freedom which became a man poſſeſſed of ſuperior genius, and the moſt ſhining and valuable talents. His poem entitled Claremont, addreſſed to the duke of Newcaſtle, printed in the 6th volume of Dryden's Miſcellanies, met with great approbation. A warm admirer of the Doctor's, ſpeaking of Claremont, thus expreſſes himſelf; ‘'It will ſurvive, ſays he, the noble ſtructure it celebrates, [270] and will remain a perpetual monument of its author's learning, taſte, and great capacity as a poet; ſince, in that ſhort work, there are innumerable beauties, and a vaſt variety of ſentiments eaſily and happily interwoven; the moſt lively ſtrokes of ſatire being intermixed with the moſt courtly panegyric, at the ſame time that there appears the true ſpirit of enthuſiaſm, which diſtinguiſhes the works of one born a poet, from thoſe of a witty, or learned man, that has arrived at no higher art, than that of making verſe*.'’ His knowledge in philoſophy, his correct taſte in criticiſm, and his thorough acquaintance in claſſical literature, with all the advantages that can be derived from an exact, but concealed method, an accurate, though flowing ſt [...]le, and a language pure, natural, and full of vivacity, appear, ſays the ſame panegyriſt in the preface he prefixed to a tranſlation of Ovid's Metamorphoſes, which would have been ſufficient to have raiſed him an immortal reputation, if it had been the only product of his pen.

Dr. Garth is ſaid to have been a man of the moſt extenſive benevolence; that his hand and heart went always together: A circumſtance more valuable than all the luſtre which genius can confer. We cannot however, ſpeak of his works with ſo much warmth, as the author juſt quoted ſeems to indulge. His works will ſcarce make a moderate volume, and though they contain many things excellent, judicious, and humorous, yet they will not juſtify the writer, who dwells upon them in the ſame rapturous ſtrain of admiration, with which we ſpeak of a Horace, a Milton, or a Pope. He had the happineſs of an early acquaintance with ſome of the moſt powerful, wiſeſt, and wittieſt men of the age in which he lived; he attached himſelf to a party, [271] which at laſt obtained the aſcendant, and he was equally ſucceſsful in his fortune as his friends: Perſons in theſe circumſtances are ſeldom praiſed, or cenſured with moderation.

We have already ſeen how warmly Addiſon eſpouſed the Dr's. writings, when they were attacked upon a principle of party, and there are many of the greateſt wits of his time who pay him compliments; amongſt the reſt is lord Lanſdowne, who wrote ſome verſes upon his illneſs; but as the lines do no great honour either to his lordſhip, or the Dr. we forbear to inſert them.

The following paſſage is taken from one of Pope's Letters, written upon the death of Dr. Garth, which, we dare ſay, will be more acceptable. ‘'The beſt natured of men (ſays he) Sir Samuel Garth has left me in the trueſt concern for his loſs. His death was very heroical, and yet unaffected enough to have made a ſaint, or a philoſopher famous. But ill tongues, and worſe hearts have branded his laſt moments, as wrongfully as they did his life, with irreligion: you muſt have heard many tales upon this ſubject; but if ever there was a good chriſtian, without knowing himſelf to be ſo, it was Dr. Garth.'’

Our author was cenſured for his love of pleaſure, in which perhaps it would be eaſier to excuſe than defend him; but upon the whole, his character appears to have been very amiable, particularly, that of his bearing a tide of proſperity with ſo much evenneſs of temper; and his univerſal benevolence, which ſeems not to have been cramped with party principles; as appears from his piety towards the remains of Dryden.

He died after a ſhort illneſs, January 18, 1718-19, and was buried the 22d of the ſame month in the church of Harrow on the Hill, in the county of Middleſex, in a vault he cauſed to be built for himſelf and [272] his family*, leaving behind him an only daughter married to the honourable colonel William Boyle, a younger ſon of colonel Henry Boyle, who was brother to the late, and uncle to the preſent, earl of Burlington§. His eſtates in Warwickſhire, Oxfordſhire, and Buckinghamſhire, are now poſſeſſed by his grandſon, Henry Boyle, Eſq whoſe amiable qualities endear him to all who have the happineſs of his acquaintance. His works are collected, and printed in one volume, publiſhed by Tonſon.

NICHOLAS ROWE, Eſq

THIS excellent poet was deſcended from an ancient family in Devonſhire, which had for many ages made a very good figure in that county, and was known by the name of the Rowes of Lambertowne. Mr. Rowe could trace his anceſtors in a direct line up to the times of the holy war, in which one of them ſo diſtinguiſhed himſelf, that at his return he had the arms given him, which the family has born ever ſince, that being in thoſe days all the reward of military virtue, or of blood ſpilt in thoſe expeditions.

From that time downward to Mr. Rowe's father, the family betook themſelves to the frugal management of a private fortune, and the innocent pleaſures of a country life. Having a handſome eſtate, they lived beyond the fear of want, or reach of envy. In all the changes of government, they [273] are ſaid to have ever leaned towards the ſide of public liberty, and in that retired ſituation of life, have beheld with grief and concern the many encroachments that have been made in it from time to time.

Our author was born at Little Berkford in Bedfordſhire, at the houſe of Jaſper Edwards, Eſq his mother's father, in the year 1673*. He began his education at a private grammar-ſchool in Highgate; but the taſte he there acquired of the claſſic authors, was improved, and finiſhed under the care of the famous Dr. Buſby of Weſtminſter ſchool; where, about the age of 12 years, he was choſen one of the King's ſcholars. Beſides his ſkill in the Latin and Greek languages, he had made a tolerable proficiency in the Hebrew; but poetry was his early bent, and darling ſtudy. He compoſed, at different times, ſeveral copies of verſes upon various ſubjects both in Greek and Latin, and ſome in Engliſh, which were much admired, and the more ſo, becauſe they were produced with ſo much facility, and ſeemed to flow from his imagination, as faſt as from his pen.

His father, who was a Serjeant at Law, deſigning him for his own profeſſion, took him from that ſchool when he was about ſixteen years of age, and entered him a ſtudent in the Middle Temple, whereof himſelf was a member, that he might have him under his immediate care and inſtruction. Being capable of any part of knowledge, to which he thought proper to apply, he made very remarkable advances in the ſtudy of the Law, and was not content to know it, as a collection of ſtatutes, or cuſtoms only, but as a ſyſtem founded upon right reaſon, and calculated for the good of mankind. Being afterwards called to the bar, he promiſed as fair to make a figure in that profeſſion, [274] as any of his cotemporaries, if the love of the Belles Lettres, and that of poetry in particular, had not ſtopped him in his career. To him there appeared more charms in Euripides, Sophocles, and Aeſchilus, than in all the records of antiquity, and when he came to diſcern the beauties of Shakeſpear and Milton, his ſoul was captivated beyond recovery, and he began to think with contempt of all other excellences, when put in the ballance with the enchantments of poetry and genius. Mr. Rowe had the beſt opportunities of riſing to eminence in the Law, by means of the patronage of Sir George Treby, Lord Chief Juſtice of the Common Pleas, who was fond of him to a very great degree, and had it in his power to promote him; but being overcome by his propenſion to poetry, and his firſt tragedy, called the Ambitious Step-mother, meeting with univerſal applauſe, he laid aſide all thoughts of the Law. The Ambitious Step mother was our author's firſt attempt in the drama, written by him in the 25th year of his age, and dedicated to the earl of Jerſey. ‘'The purity of the language (ſays Mr. Welwood) the juſtneſs of his characters, the noble elevation of the ſentiments, were all of them admirably adapted to the plan of the play.'’

The Ambitious Step-mother, being the firſt, is conducted with leſs judgment than any other of Rowe's tragedies; it has an infinite deal of fire in it, the buſineſs is precipitate, and the characters active, and what is ſomewhat remarkable, the author never after wrote a play with ſo much elevation. Critics have complained of the ſameneſs of his poetry; that he makes all his characters ſpeak equally elegant, and has not attended ſufficiently to the manners. This uniformity of verſification, in the opinion of ſome, has ſpoiled our modern tragedies, as poetry is made to ſupply nature, and declamation characters. [275] Whether this obſervation is well founded, we ſhall not at preſent examine, only remark, that if any poet has a right to be forgiven for this error, Mr. Rowe certainly has, as his cadence is the ſweeteſt in the world, his ſentiments chaſte, and his language elegant. Our author wrote ſeveral other Tragedies, but that which he valued himſelf moſt upon, ſays Welwood, was his Tamerlane; acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, and dedicated to the marquis of Hartington.

In this play, continues Welwood, ‘'He aimed at a parallel between the late king William and Tamerlane, and alſo Bajazet, and a monarch who is ſince dead. That glorious ambition in Tamerlane, to break the chains of enſlaved nations, and ſet mankind free from the encroachments of lawleſs power, are painted in the moſt lively, as well as the moſt amiable colours. On the other ſide, his manner of introducing on the ſtage a prince, whoſe chief aim is to perpetuate his name to poſterity, by that havock and ruin he ſcatters through the world, are all drawn with that pomp of horror, and deteſtation, which ſuch monſtrous actions deſerve. And, ſince nothing could be more calculated for raiſing in the minds of the audience a true paſſion for liberty, and a juſt abhorrence of ſlavery, how this play came to be diſcouraged, next to a prohibition, in the latter end of queen Anne's reign, I leave it to others to give a reaſon.'’

Thus far Dr. Welwood, who has endeavoured to point out the ſimiliarity of the character of Tamerlane, to that of king William. Though it is certainly true, that the Tamerlane of Rowe contains grander ſentiments than any of his other plays; yet, it may be a matter of diſpute whether Tamerlane ought to give name to the play; for Tamerlane is victorious, and Bajazet the ſufferer. Beſides the [276] fate of theſe two monarchs, there is likewiſe contained in it, the Epiſode of Moneſes, and Arpaſia, which is of itſelf ſufficiently diſtreſsful to make the ſubject of a tragedy. The attention is diverted from the fall of Bajazet, which ought to have been the main deſign, and bewildered in the fortunes of Moneſes, and Arpaſia, Axalla and Selima: There are in ſhort, in this play, events enough for four; and in the variety and importance of them, Tamerlane and Bajazet muſt be too much neglected. All the characters of a play ſhould be ſubordinate to the leading one, and their buſineſs in the drama ſubſervient to promote his fate; but this performance is not the tragedy of Bajazet, or Tamerlane only; but likewiſe the tragedies of Moneſes and Arpaſia, Axala and Selima. It is now performed annually, on the 4th and 5th of November, in commemoration of the Gun-powder Treaſon, and the landing of king William in this rea [...]m, when an occaſional prologue is ſpoken.

Another tragedy of Mr. Rowe's is the Fair Penitent, acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields; and dedicated to the ducheſs of Ormond; This is one of the moſt finiſhed performances of our author. The character of Sciolto the father is ſtrongly marked; Horatio's the moſt amiable of all characters, and is ſo ſuſtained as to ſtrike an audience very forcibly. In this, as in the former play, Mr. Rowe is guilty of a miſ-nomer; for his Caliſta has not the leaſt claim to be called the Fair Penitent, which would be better changed to the Fair Wanton; for ſhe diſcovers not one pang of remorſe till the laſt act, and that ſeems to ariſe more from the external diſtreſs to which ſhe is then expoſed, than to any compunctions of conſcience. She ſtill loves and doats on her baſe betrayer, though a moſt inſignificant creature. In this character, Rowe has been true to the ſex, in drawing a woman, as ſhe generally is, fond of her ſeducer; but he has not [277] drawn a Penitent. The character of Altamont is one of thoſe which the preſent players obſerve, is the hardeſt to repreſent of any in the drama; there is a kind of meanneſs in him, joined with an unſuſpecting honeſt heart, and a doating fondneſs for the falſe fair one, that is very difficult to illuſtrate: This part has of late been generally given to performers of but very moderate abilities; by which the play ſuffers prodigiouſly, and Altamont, who is really one of the moſt important perſons in the drama, is beheld with neglect, or perhaps with contempt; but ſeldom with pity. Altamont, in the hands of a good actor, would draw the eyes of the audience, notwithſtanding the bluſtering Lothario, and the ſuperior dignity of Horatio; for there is ſomething in Altamont, to create our pity, and work upon our compaſſion.

So many players failing of late, in the this character, leaves it a matter of doubt, whether the actor is moſt miſtaken in his performance; or the manager in the diſtribution of parts.

The next tragedy Mr. Rowe wrote was his Ulyſſes, acted at the queen's Theatre, in the Hay-Market, and dedicated to the earl of Godolphin. This play is not at preſent in poſſeſſion of the ſtage, though it deſerves highly to be ſo, as the character of Penelope, is an excellent example of conjugal fidelity: Who, though her lord had been ten years abſent from her, and various accounts had been given of his death, yet, notwithſtanding this, and the addreſſes of many royal ſuitors, ſhe preſerved her heart for her Ulyſſes, who at laſt triumphed over his enemies, and reſcued his faithful queen from the perſecution of her wooers.—This play has buſineſs, paſſion, and tragic propriety to recommend it.—

The next play Mr. Rowe brought upon the ſtage, was his Royal Convert, acted at the queen's Theatre, in the Haymarket, and dedicated to the earl of Hallifax.

[278] His next was the Tragedy of Jane Shore, writter in imitation of Shakeſpear's ſtile; acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, and dedicated to the duke of Queenſberry and Dover. How Mr. Rowe could imagine that this play is written at all in imitation of Shakeſpear's ſtile, we cannot conceive; for ſo far as we are able to judge, it bears not the leaſt reſemblance to that of Shakeſpear. The conduct of the deſign is regular, and in that ſenſe it partakes not of Shakeſpear's wildneſs; the poetry is uniform, which marks it to be Rowe's, but in that it is very different from Shakeſpear, whoſe excellency does not conſiſt merely in the beauty of ſoft language, or nightingale deſcriptions; but in the general power of his drama, the boldneſs of the images, and the force of his characters.

Our author afterwards brought upon the ſtage his Lady Jane Grey, dedicated to the earl of Warwick; this play is juſtly in poſſeſſion of the ſtage likewiſe. Mr. Edmund Smith, of Ch [...]iſt's-Church, author of Phaedra and Hyppolitus, deſigned writing a Tragedy on this ſubject; and at his death left ſome looſe hints of ſentiments, and ſhort ſketches of ſcenes. From the laſt of theſe, Mr. Rowe acknowledges he borrowed part of one, and inſerted it in his third act, viz. that between lord Guilford, and lady Jane. It is not much to be regretted, that Mr. Smith did not live to finiſh this, ſince it fell into the hands of one ſo much above him, as a dramatiſt; for if we may judge of Mr. Smith's abilities of writing for the ſtage, by his Phaedra and Hyppolitus, it would not have been ſo well executed as by Rowe. Phaedra and Hyppolitus, is a play without paſſion, though of inimitable verſification; and in the words of a living poet, [279] we may ſay of it, that not the character, but poet ſpeaks.

It may be juſtly ſaid of all Rowe's Tragedies, that never poet painted virtue, religion, and all the relative and ſocial duties of life, in a more alluring dreſs, on the ſtage; nor were ever vice or impiety, better expoſed to contempt and abhorrence.

The ſame principles of liberty he had early imbibed himſelf, ſeemed a part of his conſtitution, and appeared in every thing he wrote; and he took all occaſions that fell in his way, to make his talents ſubſervient to them: His Muſe was ſo religiouſly chaſte, that I do not remember, ſays Dr. Welwood, one wo [...]d in any of his plays or writings, that might admit of a double meaning in any point of decency, or morals. There is nothing to be found in them, to flatter a depraved populace, or humour a faſhionable folly.

Mr. Rowe's Plays were written from the heart, He practiſed the virtue he admired, and he never, in his gayeſt moments, ſuffered himſelf to talk looſely or lightly upon religious or moral ſubjects; or to turn any thing ſacred, or which good men reverenced as ſuch, into ridicule.

Our author wrote a comedy of three acts, called the Biter. It was performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields; but without ſucceſs, for Rowe's genius did not lie towards Comedy.—In a converſation he had with Mr. Pope, that great poet adviſed him to reſcue the queen of Scots, from the hands of Banks; and to make that lady to ſhine on the ſtage, with a luſtre equal to her character. Mr. Rowe obſerved in anſwer to this, that he was a great admirer of queen Elizabeth; and as he could not well plan a play upon the queen of Scots's ſtory, without introducing his favourite princeſs, who in that particular makes but an indifferent figure, he choſe to decline it: Beſides, he knew that if he favoured the northern lady, there was a ſtrong party [280] concerned to cruſh it; and if he ſhould make her appear leſs great than ſhe was, and throw a ſhade over her real endowments, he ſhould violate truth, and incur the diſpleaſure of a faction, which though by far the minority, he knew would be yet too powerful for a poet to combat with.

The late duke of Queenſberry, when ſecretary of ſtate, made Mr. Rowe ſecretary for public affairs; and when that nobleman came to know him well, he was never more delighted than when in his company: After the duke's death, all avenues were ſtopt to his preferment; and during the reſt of queen Anne's reign, he paſſed his time with the Muſes and his books, and ſometimes with the converſation of his friends.

While Mr. Rowe was thus without a patron, he went one day to pay his court to the earl of Oxford, lord high treaſurer of England, then at the head of the Tory faction, who aſked him if he underſtood Spaniſh well? He anſwered no: but imagining that his lordſhip might intend to ſend him into Spain on ſome honourable commiſſion, he preſently added, that in a ſhort time he did not doubt but he ſhould preſently be able, both to underſtand it, and ſpeak it. The earl approving of what he ſaid, Mr. Rowe took his leave, and immediately retired out of town to a private country farm; where, within a few months, he learned the Spaniſh tongue, and then waited again on the earl to give him an account of his diligence. His lordſhip aſking him, if he was ſure he underſtood it thoroughly, and Mr. Rowe anſwering in the affirmative, the earl burſt into an exclamation; ‘'How happy are you Mr. Rowe, that you can enjoy the pleaſure of reading, and underſtanding Don Quixote in the original!'’

This wanton cruelty inflicted by his lordſhip, of raiſing expectations in the mind, that he never intended to gratify, needs only be told to excite indignation.

[281] Upon the acceſſion of king George the Iſt. to the throne, Mr. Rowe was made Poet-Laureat, and one of the ſurveyors of the cuſtoms, in the port of London. The prince of Wales conferred on him, the place of clerk of his council, and the lord chancellor Parker, made him his ſecretary for the preſentations, the very day he received the ſeals, and without his aſking it.

He was twice married, firſt to a daughter of Mr. auditor Parſons; and afterwards to a daughter of Mr. Deveniſh of a good family in Dorſetſhire. By his firſt wife, he had a ſon, and by his ſecond a daughter.

Mr. Rowe died the 6th of December 1718, in the 45th year of his age, like a chriſtian and a philoſopher, and with an unfeigned reſignation to the will of God: He preſerved an evenneſs of temper to the laſt, and took leave of his wife, and friends, immediately before his laſt agony, with the ſame tranquility of mind, as if he had been taking but a ſhort journey.

He was interred in Weſtminſter-Abbey, over againſt Chaucer; his body being attended with a vaſt number of friends, and the dean and chapter officiating at the funeral. A tomb was afterwards erected to his memory, by his wife, for which Mr. Pope wrote an epitaph, which we ſhall here inſert; not one word of which is hyperbolical, or more than he deſerves.

[282]Epitaph on ROWE, by Mr. POPE.
Thy reliques, Rowe! to this ſad ſhrine we truſt,
And near thy Shakeſpear place thy honour'd buſt,
Oh next him ſkill'd, to draw the tender tear,
For never heart ſelt paſſion more ſincere:
To nobler ſentiment to fire the brave.
For never Briton more diſdain'd a ſlave!
Peace to thy gentle ſhade, and endleſs reſt,
Bleſt in thy genius, in thy love too bleſt!
And bleſt, that timely from our ſcene remov'd
Thy ſoul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.
To theſe, ſo mourn'd in death, ſo lov'd in life!
The childleſs parent and the widow'd wife
With tears inſcribes this monumental ſtone,
That holds their aſhes and expects her own.

‘'Mr. Rowe, as to his perſon, was graceful and well made, his face regular and of a manly beauty; he had a quick, and fruitful invention, a deep penetration, and a large compaſs of thought, with a ſingular dexterity, and eaſineſs in communicating his opinions. He was maſter of moſt parts of polite learning, eſpecially the Claſſic Authors, both Greek and Latin; he underſtood the French, Italian and Spaniſh languages. He had likewiſe read moſt of the Greek and Roman hiſtories in their original languages; and moſt that are written in Engliſh, French, Italian and Spaniſh: He had a good taſte in philoſophy, and having a firm impreſſion of religion upon his mind, he took delight in divinity, and eccleſiaſtical hiſtory, in both which he made great advances in the times he retired to the country, which were frequent. He expreſſed upon all occaſions, his full perſwaſion of the truth of revealed religion; and being a ſincere [283] member of the eſtabliſhed church himſelf, he pitied, but condemned not, thoſe who departed from him; he abhorred the principle of perſecuting men on account of religious opinions, and being ſtrict in his own, he took it not upon him to cenſure thoſe of another perſuaſion. His converſation was pleaſant, witty, and learned, without the leaſt tincture of affectation or pedantry; and his inimitable manner of diverting, or enlivening the company, made it impoſſible for any one to be out of humour when he was in it: Envy and detraction, ſeemed to be entirely foreign to his conſtitution; and whatever provocation he met with at any time, he paſſed them over, without the leaſt thought of reſentment or revenge. There were not wanting ſome malevolent people, and ſome pretenders to poetry too, that would ſometimes bark at his beſt performances; but he was too much conſcious of his own genius, and had ſo much good-nature as to forgive them, nor could however be tempted to return them an anſwer.'’

This is the amiable character of Mr. Rowe, drawn by Mr. Welwood, to which we ſhall add the words of Mr. Pope, in a letter to Edward Blount, Eſq dated February the 10th, 1715. ‘'There was a vivacity and gaiety of diſpoſition almoſt peculiar to Mr. Rowe, which made it impoſſible to part with him, without that uneaſineſs, which generally ſucceeds all our pleaſures.'’

It would perhaps be injurious to the memory of Rowe, to diſmiſs his life, without taking notice of his tranſlations of Lucan, and Quillet's Callipaedia; the verſification in both is muſical, and well adapted to the ſubject; nor is there any reaſon to doubt but that the true meaning of the original, is faithfully preſerved throughout the whole. Theſe tranſlations, however, with Mr. Rowe's Occaſional [284] Poems, and Birth-Day Odes, are but little read, and he is only diſtinguiſhed as a dramatiſt; for which we ſhall not pretend to aſſign a reaſon; but we may obſerve, that a Muſe capable of produceing ſo many excellent dramatic pieces, cannot be ſuppoſed to have executed any plan indifferently; however, it may charm a reader leſs than that kind of compoſition, which is ſet off on the Theatre, with ſo many advantages.

He publiſhed likewiſe an edition of the works of Shakeſpear, and prefixed the life of that great man, from materials which he had been induſtrious to collect, in the county where Shakeſpear was born, and to which, after he had filled the world with admiration of his genius, he retired.

We deem it unneceſſary to give any ſpecimen of Mr. Rowe's poetry; the moſt celebrated ſpeeches in his plays, which are beautifully harmonious; are repeated by every body who reads poetry, or attends plays; and to ſuppoſe the reader ignorant of them, would be to degrade him from that rank of intelligence, without which he can be little illuminated by peruſing the Lives of the Poets.

JOHN SHEFFIELD, Duke of BUCKINGHAM.

[285]

THIS nobleman, who made a very great figure in the laſt age, as an author, a ſtateſman, and a ſoldier: was born about the year 1650. He loſt his father when he was about nine years of age, and his mother ſoon after marrying lord Oſſulton; the care of his education was left entirely to a governor, who though a man of letters, did not much improve him in his ſtudies*. Having parted with his governor, with whom he travelled into France; he ſoon found by converſing with men of genius, that he was much deficient in many parts of literature, and that while he acquired the graces of a gentleman, he was yet wanting in thoſe higher excellencies; without which politeneſs makes but an indifferent figure, and can never raiſe a man to eminence.

He poſſeſſed an ample fortune, but for a while laid a reſtraint upon his appetites, and paſſions, and dedicated for ſome time a certain number of hours every day to his ſtudies, by which means he acquired a degree of learning, that entitled him to the character of a fine ſcholar. But not content with that acquiſition, our noble author extended his views yet farther, and reſtleſs in the purſuit of diſtinction, we find him at a very early age entering [286] himſelf a volunteer in the ſecond Dutch war; and accordingly was in that famous naval engagement, where the duke of York commanded as admiral, on which occaſion his lordſhip behaved himſelf ſo gallantly, that he was appointed commander of the royal Katherine, a ſecond rate man of war.

His lordſhip in his own Memoirs, tells us, that when he entered himſelf a volunteer under his royal highneſs the duke of York, he was then deeply engaged, and under the ſoft influence of love: He ſays, he never ſhall forget the tenderneſs of parting from his miſtreſs. On this account double honour is due to him:—To enter the buſtle of war, without any other call, but that of honour, at an age when moſt young noblemen are under the tuition of a dancing maſter, argued a generous intrepid nature; but to leave the arms of his miſtreſs, to tear himſelf from her he doated on, in order to ſerve his country, carries in it yet a higher degree of merit, and ought to put all young men of fortune to the bluſh, who would rather meanly riot in luxurious eaſe at home, than do honour to themſelves and their country, by endeavouring to ſerve it.

His lordſhip acknowledges in the above-mentioned Memoirs, that the duke of York did wonders in the engagement; and that he was as intrepid in his nature, as ſome of his enemies ſuppoſed him to be of an oppoſite character; though, ſays he, alluding to what afterwards happened, misfortunes, age, and other accidents, will make a great man differ from himſelf. We find our young nobleman while he was aboard a ſhip, amidſt the noiſe of the crew, could yet indulge his genius for poetry. One would imagine that the ocean is too boiſterous an element for the Muſes, whoſe darling wiſh is for eaſe and retirement; yet, we find him amidſt the roaring of winds and waves, open his Poem with theſe ſoothing lines.

[287]
Within the ſilent ſhades of ſoft repoſe,
Where fancy's boundleſs ſtream for ever flows;
Where the enfranchis'd ſoul, at eaſe can play,
Tir'd with the toilſome bus'neſs of the day,
Where princes gladly reſt their weary heads,
And change uneaſy thrones for downy beds:
Where ſeeming joys delude deſpairing minds,
And where even jealouſy ſome quiet finds;
There I, and ſorrow, for a while could part,
Sleep clos'd my eyes, and eas'd a ſighing heart.

Our author afterwards made a campaign in the French ſervice.

As Tangier was in danger of being taken by the Moors, he offered to head the forces which were to defend it; and accordingly he was appointed commander of them. He was then earl of Mulgrave, and one of the lords of the bed-chamber to king Charles the IId. In May 28, 1674, he was inſtalled knight of the Garter.

As he now began to be eminent at court, it was impoſſible but he muſt have enemies, and theſe enemies being mean enough to hint ſtories to his prejudice, in regard to ſome ladies, with whom the king was not unconcerned; his lordſhip's command was not made ſo agreeable as it otherwiſe would have been. The particulars of this affair have been diſputed by hiſtorians, ſome have imagined it to refer to ſome celebrated courtezan, whoſe affections his lordſhip weaned from the king, and drew them to himſelf; but Mrs. Manly, in her new Atalantis, and Boyer, in his Hiſtory of queen Anne, aſſign a very different cauſe. They ſay, that before the lady Anne was married to prince George of Denmark, ſhe encouraged the addreſſes which the earl of Mulgrave was bold enough to make her; and that he was ſent to Tangier to break off the correſpondence.

Mrs. Manly in her Atalantis, ſays many unhandſome things of his lordſhip, under the title of count [288] Orgueil. Boyer ſays, ſome years before the queen was married to prince George of Denmark, the earl of Mulgrave, a nobleman of ſingular accompliſhments, both of mind and perſon, aſpired ſo high as to attempt to marry the lady Anne; but though his addreſſes to her were checked, as ſoon as diſcovered, yet the princeſs had ever an eſteem for him.

This account is more probably true, than the former; when it is conſidered, that by ſending the earl to Tangier*, a ſcheme was laid for deſtroying him, and all the crew aboard the ſame veſſel. For the ſhip which was appointed to carry the general of the forces, was in ſuch a condition, that the captain of her declared, he was afraid to make the voyage. Upon this repreſentation, lord Mulgrave applied both to the lord admiral, and the king himſelf: The firſt ſaid, the ſhip was ſafe enough, and no other could be then procured. The king anſwered him coldly, that he hoped it would do, and that he ſhould give himſelf no trouble about it. His lordſhip was reduced to the extremity either of going in a leaky ſhip, or abſolutely refuſing; which he knew his enemies would impute to cowardice, and as he abhorred the imputation, he reſolved, in oppoſition to the advice of his friends, to hazard all; but at the ſame time adviſed ſeveral volunteers of quality, not to accompany him in the expedition, as their honour was not ſo much engaged as his; ſome of whom wiſely took his advice, but the earl of Plymouth, natural ſon of the king, piqued himſelf in running the ſame danger with a man who went to ſerve his father, and yet was uſed ſo ſtrangely by the ill-offices of his miniſters.

Providence, however defeated the miniſterial ſcheme of aſſaſſination, by giving them the fineſt weather during the voyage, which held three weeks, [289] and by pumping all the time, they landed ſafe at laſt at Tangier, where they met with admiral Herbert, afterwards earl of Torrington, who could not but expreſs his admiration, at their having performed ſuch a voyage in a ſhip he had ſent home as unfit for ſervice; but ſuch was the undiſturbed tranquility and native firmneſs of the earl of Mulgrave's mind, that in this hazardous voyage, he compoſed the Poem, part of which we have quoted.

Had the earl of Mulgrave been guilty of any offence, capital, or otherwiſe, the miniſtry might have called him to account for it; but their contriving, and the king's conſenting to ſo bloody a purpoſe, is methinks ſuch a ſtain upon them, as can never be wiped off; and had that nobleman and the ſhip's crew periſhed, they would have added actual murther, to concerted baſeneſs.

Upon the approach of his lordſhip's forces, the Moors retired, and the reſult of this expedition was, the blowing up of Tangier. Some time after the king was appeaſed, the earl forgot the ill offices, that had been done him; and enjoyed his majeſty's favour to the laſt. He continued in ſeveral great poſts during the ſhort reign of king James the IId, till that prince abdicated the throne. As the earl conſtantly and zealouſly adviſed him againſt ſeveral imprudent meaſures, which were taken by the court, the king, ſome months before the revolution, began to grow cooler towards him; but yet was ſo equitable as not to remove him from his preferments: And after the king loſt his crown, he had the inward ſatisfaction, to be conſcious, that his councils had not contributed to that prince's misfortunes; and that himſelf, in any manner, had not forfeited his honour and integrity.

That his lordſhip was no violent friend to, or promoter of, the revolution, ſeems to appear from his conduct during that remarkable aera; [290] and particularly from the unfiniſhed relation he left concerning it, which was ſuppreſſed ſome years ago, by order of the government.

In a paſſage in his lordſhip's writings, it appears he was unwilling that king James ſhould leave England*. Juſt as the king was ſtepping into bed the night before his going away, the earl of Mulgrave came into the bed-chamber, which, being at ſo late an hour, might poſſibly give the king ſome apprehenſions of that lord's ſu [...]pecting his deſign, with which he was reſolved not to truſt him, nor any proteſtant: He therefore ſtopped ſhort, and turned about to whiſper him in the ear, that his commiſſioners had newly ſent him a very hopeful account of ſome accommodation with the Prince of Orange; to which that lord only replied with a queſtion, aſking him if the Prince's army halted, or approached nearer to London? the King owned they ſtill marched on; at which the earl ſhook his head, and ſaid no more, only made him a low bow, with a dejected countenance, humbly to make him underſtand that he gave no credit to what the King's hard circumſtances at that time obliged him to diſſemble. It alſo appears that the earl of Mulgrave was one of thoſe lords, who, immediately after the King's departure, ſent letters to the fleet, to the abandoned army of King James, and to all the conſiderable garriſons in England, which kept them in order and ſubjection, not only to the preſent authority, but that which ſhould be ſettled afterwards.

To his lordſhip's humanity was owing the protection King James obtained from the Lords in London, upon his being ſeized, and inſulted by the populace at Feverſham in Kent; before which time, ſays he,

'the Peers ſat daily in the council [291] chamber in Whitehall, where the lord Mulgrave one morning happened to be advertiſed privately that the King had been ſeized by the angry rabble at Feverſham, and had ſent a poor countryman with the news, in order to procure his reſcue, which was like to come too late, ſince the meſſenger had waited long at the council door, without any body's being willing to take notice of him. This ſad account moved him with great compaſſion at ſo extraordinary an inſtance of worldly uncertainty; and no cautions of offending the prevailing party were able to reſtrain him from ſhewing a little indignation at ſo mean a proceeding in the council; upon which, their new preſident, the marquis of Hallifax, would have adjourned it haſtily, in order to prevent him. But the lord Mulgrave earneſtly conjured them all to ſit down again, that he might acquaint them with a matter that admitted no delay, and was of the higheſt importance imaginable. Accordingly the Lords, who knew nothing of the buſineſs, could not but hearken to it; and thoſe few that gueſſed it, and ſaw the conſequence, yet wanted time enough for concerting together about ſo nice, and very important a matter, as ſaving, or loſing a King's life. The Lords then ſat down again, and he repreſented to them what barbarity it would be, for ſuch an aſſembly's conniving at the rabble's tearing to pieces, even any private gentleman, much more a great Prince, who, with all his popery, was ſtill their Sovereign; ſo that mere ſhame obliged them to ſuſpend their politics awhile, and call in the meſſenger, who told them with tears, how the King had engaged him to deliver a letter from him to any perſons he could find willing to ſave him from ſo imminent a danger. The letter had no ſuperſcription, and was to this effect;'

[292] 'To acquaint the reader of it, that he had been diſcovered in his retreat by ſome fiſhermen of Kent, and ſecured at firſt there by the gentry, who were afterwards forced to reſign him into the hands of an inſolent rabble.'

'Upon ſo preſſing an occaſion, and now ſo very publickly made known, the council was ſurprized, and under ſome difficulty, for as there was danger of diſpleaſing by doing their duty, ſo there was no leſs by omitting it, ſince the Law makes it highly criminal in ſuch an extremity; beſides that moſt of them as yet unacquainted with the Prince of Orange, imagined him prudent, and conſequently capable of puniſhing ſo baſe a deſertion, either out of generoſity, or policy. Theſe found afterwards their caution needleſs, but at preſent it influenced the council to ſend 200 of the life guards under their captain the earl of Feverſham; firſt to reſcue the King from all danger of the common people, and afterwards to attend him toward the ſea ſide; if he continued his reſolution of retiring, which they thought it more decent to connive at. than to detain him here by force.'

Whoever has the leaſt ſpark of generoſity in his nature, cannot but highly applaud this tender conduct of his lordſhip's, towards his Sovereign in diſtreſs; and look with contempt upon the ſlowneſs of the council in diſpatching a force to his relief, eſpecially when we find it was only out of dread, leſt they ſhould diſpleaſe the Prince of Orange, that they ſent any: this ſhewed a meanneſs of ſpirit, a want of true honour, to ſuch a degree, that the Prince of Orange himſelf could not, conſiſtently with good policy, truſt thoſe worſhippers of power, who could hear, unconcerned, that their late Sovereign was in the hands of a vile rabble, and intreating them in vain for reſcue.

[293] The earl of Mulgrave made no mean compliances to King William, immediately after the revolution, but when he went to pay his addreſſes to him, he was well received; yet did he not accept of a poſt in the government till ſome years after.

May 10, in the 6th year of William and Mary, he was created marquis of Normanby, in the county of Lincoln. When it was debated in Parliament, whether the Prince of Orange ſhould be proclaimed King, or the Princeſs his wife reign ſolely in her own right, he voted and ſpoke for the former, and gave theſe reaſons for it. That he thought the title of either perſon was equal; and ſince the Parliament was to decide the matter, he judged it would much better pleaſe that Prince, who was now become their Protector, and was alſo in itſelf a thing more becoming ſo good a Princeſs, as Queen Mary, to partake with her huſband a crown ſo obtained, than to poſſeſs it entirely as her own. After long debates in Parliament, the crown at laſt was ſettled upon William and Mary. Burnet lord biſhop of Saliſbury, whoſe affection for the revolution none I believe can doubt, freely acknowledges that the King was reſolved not to hold the government by right of his wife; he would not think of holding any thing by apron ſtrings:' he was jealous of the friends of his wife, and never forgave them; and, laſt of all, he threatened to leave them in the lurch, that is, to retire to Holland, with his Dutch army; ſo reſtleſs, ſays Mulgrave in another place, is ambition, in its higheſt ſcenes of ſucceſs.

During the reign of King William however, he enjoyed ſome conſiderable poſts, and was generally pretty well in his favour, and confidence. April 21, 1702, he was ſworn Lord Privy Seal, and the ſame year appointed one of the commiſſioners to treat of an union between England and Scotland, and was made Lord Lieutenant, and Cuſtos Rotulorum for the North Riding [294] of Yorkſhire, and one of the governors of the Charterhouſe.

March 9, 1703, he was created duke of Normanby, having been made marquis of Normanby by King William, and on the 19th of the ſame m [...]nth duke of [...]uckingham. In 1711 he was made S [...]eward of her Majeſty's Houſhold, and Preſident of the Council; and on her deceaſe, was one of the Lords Juſtices in Great Britain, 'till King George arrived from Hanover.

In 1710 the W [...]hig miniſtry began to loſe ground, and Mr. Harley, ſince earl of Oxford, and the Lord Treaſurer made the proper uſe of thoſe circumſtances, yet wanting ſome aſſiſtance, applied to the duke of Buckingham. The duke, who was not then on good terms with Mr. Harley, at firſt ſlighted his propoſal, but afterwards joined with him and others, which produced a revolution in the miniſtry, and ſhook the power of the duke and ducheſs of Marlborough, while Mr. Harley, the earl of Shrewſbury, lord Bolingbroke, &c. came into the adminiſtration. The duke was attached to Tory principles. Her Majeſty offered to make him chancellor, which he thought proper to refuſe. He was out of employment for ſome time, during which, he did not ſo much as pay his compliments at court, 'till he married his third wife, and then went to kiſs her Majeſty's hand.

The duke of Buckingham, though reckoned haughty, and ill natured, was yet of a tender, compaſſionate diſpoſition; but as the beſt characters have generally ſome allay, he is allowed to have been very paſſionate; but after his warmth ſubſided, he endeavoured to a [...]one for it by acts of kindneſs and beneficence to thoſe upon whom his paſſion had vented itſelf. Several years before his grace died, he was well known to have expreſſed ſome con [...]ern for the libertiniſm of his youth, eſpecially regarding the fair ſex, in which he had indulged [295] himſelf very freely. He was ſurvived only by one legitimate ſon, but left ſeveral natural children;

Our noble author has been charged by ſome of his enemies, with the ſordid vice of covetouſneſs, but without foundation; for, as a ſtrong indication that he was not avaritious, he loſt a conſiderab [...]e part of his fortune, merely by not taking the pains to viſit, during the ſpace of 40 years, his eſtates at ſome diſtance from London; and whoever is acquainted with human nature knows, that indolence and covetouſneſs are incompatible.

His grace died the 24th of February 1720, in the 75th year of his age, and after lying in ſtate for ſome days at Buckingham-Houſe, was carried from thence with great funeral ſolemnity, and interred in Weſtminſter-Abbey, where a monument is erected to his memory, upon which the following epitaph is engraved, by his own direction, as appears from a paſſage in his will.

'Since ſomething is uſually written on monuments, I direct that the following lines ſhall be put on mine, viz.

'In one place.‘' Pro Rege ſaepe, pro Republica ſemper.’

'In another.

' Dubius, ſed non improbus vixi.
' Incertus morior, ſed inturbatus.
' Humanum eſt neſcire & errare.
' Chriſtum adveneror, Deo confido
' Omnipotenti, benevolentiſſimo.
' Ens Entium miſerere mihi.'

The words Chriſtum adveneror are omitted at the deſire of the late biſhop Atterbury, who thought them not ſtrong enough in regard to Chriſt; under the whole are the following words,

Catharina Buckinghamicae Duciſſa
Maerens extrui curavit Anno MDCCXXI.

[296] Edmund, the duke's eldeſt ſon, already mentioned, was ſnatched away in his bloom; a youth from whom the greateſt things might have been expected, as he was untainted with the vices of the age: he was very remarkable for his modeſty, which vulgar minds imputed to want of powers, but thoſe who knew him beſt, have given a different teſtimony concerning him, and have repreſented him as poſſeſſed of all the genius of his father, with more ſtrict and inviolable morals. With this young nobleman the titles of the Sheffield family expired.

The duke, his father, informs us of a duel he was to have fought with the witty earl of Rocheſter, which he thus relates; after telling us that the cauſe of the quarrel happened between the firſt and ſecond Dutch war. ‘'I was inform'd (ſays his grace) that the earl of Rocheſter had ſaid ſomething very malicious of me; I therefore ſent colonel Aſton, a very mettled friend of mine, to call him to account for it; he denied the words, and indeed I was ſoon convinced he had never ſaid them. But a mere report, though I found it to be falſe, obliged me (as I then fooliſhly thought) to go on with the quarrel; and the next day was appointed for us to fight on horſeback: a way in England a little unuſual, but it was his part to chuſe. Accordingly I and my ſecond lay the night before at Knightſbridge privately, to avoid being ſecured at London on any ſuſpicion, which we found ourſelves more in danger of there, becauſe we had all the appearance of highwaymen, that had a mind to lye ſkulking in an odd inn for one night. In the morning we met the lord Rocheſter at the place appointed, who, inſtead of James Porter, whom he aſſured Aſton he would make his ſecond, brought an errant lifeguard-man, whom nobody knew. To this Mr. [297] Aſton took exception, as being no ſuitable adverſary, eſpecially conſidering how extremely well he was mounted, whereas we had only a couple of pads; upon which we all agreed to fight on foot. But as my lord Rocheſter and I were riding into the next field in order to it, he told me that he had at firſt choſen to fight on horſeback, becauſe he was ſo weak with a certain diſtemper, that he found himſelf unfit to fight at all any way, much leſs a foot. I was extremely ſurprized, becauſe no man at that time had a better reputation for courage; and my anger againſt him being quite ſubſided, I took the liberty to repreſent to him what a ridiculous ſtory it would make, ſhould we return without fighting; and told him, that I muſt in my own defence be obliged to lay the fault on him, by telling the truth of the matter. His anſwer was, that he ſubmitted to it, and hoped I would not take the advantage in having to do with any man in ſo weak a condition: I replied, that by ſuch an argument he had ſufficiently tied my hands, upon condition, I might call our ſeconds to be witneſſes of the whole buſineſs, which he conſented to, and ſo we parted. Upon our return to London, we found it full of this quarrel, upon our being abſent ſo long; and therefore Mr. Aſton thought fit to write down every word and circumſtance of this whole matter, in order to ſpread every where the true reaſon of our returning without having fought; which being not in the leaſt contradicted, or reſented by the lord Rocheſter, entirely ruined his reputation for courage, though nobody had ſtill a greater as to wit, which ſupported him pretty well in the world, notwithſtanding ſome more accidents of the ſame kind, that never fail to ſucceed one another, when once people know a man's weakneſs.'’

[298] The duke of Buckingham's works ſpeak him a beautiful proſe writer, and a very conſiderable poet, which is proved by the teſtimony of ſom [...] of the beſt writers, his cotemporaries.

His proſe works conſiſt chiefly of

Hiſtorical Memoirs, Speeches in Parliament, Characters. Dialogues, Critical Obſervations, Speeches and Eſſays, which, with his poetical compoſitions, were printed by Alderman Barber in 1723. in two ſplendid 4to volumes. The firſt volume containing pi [...]ces in moſt ſpecies of poetry, the epic excepted, and alſo imitations from o [...]her authors. His Grace wrote ſome Epigrams, a great number of lyric pieces, ſome in the elegiac ſt [...]ain, and others in the dramatic. Amongſt his poems, an Eſſay on Poetry, which contains excellent inſtructions to form the poet, is by far the moſt diſtinguiſhed. He wrote a play called Julius Caeſar and another called Brutus: or rather altered them from Shakeſpear.

His grace was a great lover of the polite arts in general, as appears from the fondneſs he expreſſes for them in ſeveral parts of his works; particularly Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture; of the two former he made ſeveral cu [...]ious collections, and his houſe, built under his direction in St. James's Park, ſpeaks him not unacquainted with the latter. It would be ſuperfluous to enumerate all the writers who have given teſtimony in his grace's favour as an author. Dryden in ſeveral of his Dedications, while he expreſſes the warmth of his gratitude, fails not to convey the moſt amiable idea of his lordſhip, and repreſents him as a noble writer. He lived in friendſhip with that great poet, who has raiſed indelible monuments to his memory.

[299] I ſhall add but one other teſtimony of his merit, which if ſome ſhould think unneceſſary, yet it is pleaſing; the lines are delightfully ſweet and flowing. In his Miſcellanies thus ſpeaks Mr. Pope;

' Muſe 'tis enough, at length thy labour ends,
' And thou ſhalt live; for Buckingham commends.
' Let crowds of critics now my verſe aſſail,
' Let Dennis write, and nameleſs numbers rail.
' This more than pays whole years of thankleſs pain,
' Time, health, and fortune, are not loſt in vain.
' Sheffield approves: conſenting Phoebus bends;
' And I, and malice, from this hour are friends.'

The two plays of Julius Caeſar, which he altered from Shakeſpear, are both with Choruſſes, after the manner of the Ancients: Theſe plays were to have been performed in the year 1729, and all the Choruſſes were ſet to muſic by that great maſter in compoſition, Signor Bononcini; but Engliſh voices being few, the Italians were applied to, who demanded more for their nightly performance, than the receipts of the houſe could amount to at the uſual raiſed prices, and on that account the deſign was dropt.

It appears that our noble author had conceived a great regard for Mr. Pope, on his earlieſt appearance in the literary world; and was among the firſt to acknowledge the young bard's merit, in commendatory verſes upon his excellence in poetry. The following compliment from the duke is prefixed to the firſt volume of Mr. Pope's works.

[300]On Mr. POPE, and his POEMS, by his Grace JOHN SHEFFIELD, Duke of BUCKINGHAM.
With age decay'd, with courts and bus'neſs tir'd,
Caring for nothing, but what eaſe requir'd;
Too dully ſerious for the muſes ſport,
And from the critics ſafe arriv'd in port;
I little thought of launching forth agen,
Amidſt advent'rous rovers of the pen;
And after ſo much undeſerv'd ſucceſs,
Thus hazarding at laſt to make it leſs.
Encomiums ſuit not this cenſorious time,
Itſelf a ſubject for ſatyric rhime;
Ignorance honour'd, wit and mirth defam'd,
Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blam'd!
But to this genius, join'd with ſo much art,
Such various learning mix'd in ev'ry part,
Poets are bound a loud applauſe to pay;
Apollo bids it, and they muſt obey.
And yet ſo wonderful, ſublime a thing,
As the great ILIAD, ſcarce cou'd make me ſing;
Except I juſtly cou'd at once commend
A good companion, and as firm a friend.
One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed
Can all deſert in ſciences exceed.
'Tis great delight to laugh at ſome men's ways,
But a much greater to give merit praiſe.

CHARLES COTTON, Eſq

[301]

THIS ingenious gentleman lived in the reigns of Charles and James II. He reſided for a great part of his life at Beresford in the county of Stafford. He had ſome reputation for lyric poetry, but was particularly famous for burleſque verſe. He tranſlated from the French Monſieur Corneille's Horace, printed in 4to. London 1671, and dedicated to his dear ſiſter Mrs. Stanhope Hutchinſon. This play was firſt finiſhed in 1665, but in his prefatory epiſtle he tells us, ‘'that neither at that time, nor for ſeveral years after, was it intended for the public view, it being written for the private divertiſement of a fair young lady, and, ever ſince it had the honour firſt to kiſs her hands, was ſo entirely hers, that the author did not reſerve ſo much as the Brouillon to himſelf; however, ſhe being prevailed upon, though with ſome difficulty, it was printed in 8vo. 1670.'’ As to the merit of this play in the original, it is ſufficient to obſerve, that the critics have allowed it to be the beſt tragedy of Corneille, and the author himſelf is of the ſame opinion, provided the three laſt acts had been equal to the two firſt. As to the tranſlation by Mr. Cotton, we have very conſiderable authority to pronounce it better than that of Mrs. Katherine Philips, who could not number verſification among her qualities. The plot of this play, ſo far as hiſtory is concerned, may be [302] read in Livy, Florus, Dionyſius Halicarnaſſeus, &c. Our ſtage has lately had a play founded upon this ſtory, added to the many it has received, called the Roman Father, by Mr. W. Whitehead.

Beſides this tranſlation, Mr. Cotton is author of many other works, ſuch as his poem called the Wonders of the Peak, printed in 8vo. London 1681*. His burleſque Poem, called Scarronides, or Virgil Traveſtie, a mock Poem, on the firſt and fourth Books of Virgil's Aeneid, printed in 8vo. London 1678. Though the title ſeems to imply as if his poem was in imitation of Scarron, who has tranſlated eight books of Virgil in the ſame manner, yet they who will compare both theſe pieces, will poſſibly find, that he has not only exceeded the French, but all thoſe who have made any attempts on that kind of poetry, the incomparable author of Hudibras excepted. Mr. Cotton likewiſe tranſlated ſeveral of Lucian's Dialogues into burleſque verſe, printed in 8vo. London 1675, under the title of the Scoffer Scoff'd. In 1689 a volume of poems, with Mr. Cotton's name prefixed, was publiſhed in London: on theſe poems colonel Lovelace, Sir Aſton Cockaine, Robert Harrick, Eſq and Mr. Alexander Brome, complimented the author by copies of verſes prefixed; but Mr. Langbain obſerves, that the trueſt picture of Mr. Cotton's mind is to be ſeen in a little piece publiſhed at the end of theſe poems called Retirement; but the chief of Mr. Cotton's production, ſeems to be his tranſlation of Montaigne's Eſſays, dedicated to George Lord Saville, Marquis of Hallifax; his lordſhip in a letter to him, thus expreſſes his eſteem for the tranſlator, and admiration of his performance. This letter is printed amongſt the other pieces of the marquis's in a thin 12mo.

[303]
'SIR,

'I have too long delayed my thanks to you for giving me ſuch an obliging evidence of your remembrance: that alone would have been a welcome preſent, but when joined with the book in the world I am the beſt entertained with, it raiſeth a ſtrong deſire in me to be better known, where I am ſure to be much pleaſed. I have, 'till now, thought wit could not be tranſlated, and do ſtill retain ſo much of that opinion, that I believe it impoſſible, except by one, whoſe genius cometh up to the author. You have ſo kept the original ſtrength of his thought, that it almoſt tempts a man to believe the tranſmigration of ſouls. He hath by your means mended his firſt edition. To tranſplant and make him ours, is not only a valuable acquiſition to us, but a juſt cenſure of the critical impertinence of thoſe French ſcriblers, who have taken pains to make little cavils and exceptions, to leſſen the reputation of this great man, whom nature hath made too big to confine himſelf to the exactneſs of a ſtudied ſtile. He let his mind have its full flight, and ſhewed by a generous kind of negligence, that he did not write for praiſe, but to give to the world a true picture of himſelf, and of mankind. He ſcorned affected periods to pleaſe the miſtaken reader with an empty chime of words; he hath no affectation to ſet himſelf out, and dependeth wholly upon the natural force of what is his own, and the excellent application of what he borroweth.'

'You ſee, ſir, I have kindneſs enough for Monſieur de Montaigne to be your rival, but nobody can pretend to be in equal competition with you. I do willingly yield, which is no ſmall matter for a man to do to a more proſperous lover, and [304] if you will repay this piece of juſtice with another, pray believe, that he who can tranſlate ſuch an author without doing him wrong, muſt not only make me glad, but proud of being his'

'moſt humble ſervant, * * *.'

Thus far the teſtimony of the marquis of Hallifax in favour of our author's performance, and we have good reaſon to conclude, that the tranſlation is not without great merit, when ſo accompliſhed a judge has praiſed it.

We cannot be certain in what year our author died, but it was probably ſome time about the revolution. He appears to have been a man of very conſiderable genius, to have had an extraordinary natural vein of humour, and an uncommon flow of pleaſantry: he was certainly born a poet, and wrote his verſes eaſily, but rather too looſely; his numbers being frequently harſh, and his ſtile negligent, and unpoliſhed. The cauſe of his Life being inſerted out of chronological order, was an accident, the particulars of which are not of importance enough to be mentioned.

The Right Honourable JOSEPH ADDISON, Eſq

[305]

THIS elegant writer, to whom the world owes ſo many obligations, was born at Milton near Ambroſbury in the county of Wilts (of which place his father, Mr. Lancelot Addiſon, was then rector) on the 6th of May 1672; and being not thought likely to live, was baptized on the ſame day, as appears from the church regiſter. When he grew up to an age fit for going to ſchool, he was put under the care of the rev. Mr. Naiſh at Ambroſbury. He afterwards removed to a ſchool at Salisbury, taught by the rev. Mr. Taylor, thence to the Charter-houſe, where he was under the tuition of the learned Dr. Ellis, and where he contracted an intimacy with Mr. Steel, afterwards Sir Richard, which continued as long as Mr. Addiſon lived. He was not above fifteen years old when he was entered of Queen's College, Oxford, in which his father had been placed: where he applied himſelf ſo cloſely to the ſtudy of claſſical learning, that in a very ſhort time he became maſter of a very elegant Latin ſtile, even before he arrived at that age when ordinary ſcholars begin to write good Engliſh.

In the year 1687 a copy of his verſes in that tongue fell into the hands of Dr. Lancaſter dean of Magdalen College, who was ſo pleaſed with them, that he immediately procured their author's election into that houſe*; where he took the degrees [306] of bachelor, and maſter of arts. In the courſe of a few years his Latin poetry was juſtly admired at both the univerſities, and procured him great reputation there, before his name was ſo much as known in London. When he was in the 22d year of his age, he publiſhed a copy of verſes addreſſed to Mr. Dryden, which ſoon procured him the notice of ſome of the poetical judges in that age. The verſes are not without their elegance, but if they are much removed above common rhimes, they fall infinitely ſhort of the character Mr. Addiſon's friends beſtowed upon them. Some little ſpace intervening, he ſent into the world a tranſlation of the 4th Georgic of Virgil, of which we need not ſay any more, than that it was commended by Mr. Dryden. He wrote alſo that diſcourſe on the Georgics, prefixed to them by way of preface in Mr. Dryden's tranſlation, and choſe to withhold his name from that judicious compoſition, becauſe it contained an untried ſtrain of criticiſm, which bore hard upon the old profeſſors of that art, and therefore was not ſo fit for a young man to take upon himſelf; and Mr. Dryden, who was above the meanneſs of fathering any one's work, owns the Eſſay on the Georgics to have come from a friend, whoſe name is not mentioned, becauſe he deſired to have it concealed.

The next year Mr. Addiſon wrote ſeveral poems of different kinds; amongſt the reſt, one addreſſed to Henry Sacheverel, who became afterwards ſo exceedingly famous. The following year he wrote a poem to King William on one of his Campaigns, addreſſed to the Lord Keeper (Sir John Somers.) That excellent ſtateſman received this mark of a young author's attachment with great humanity, admitted Mr. Addiſon into the number of his friends, and gave him on all occaſions diſtinguiſhing proofs of a ſincere eſteem*.

[307] While he was at the univerſity, he had been preſſingly ſollicited to enter into holy orders, which he ſeemed once reſolved on, probably in obedience to his father's authority; but being conſcious of the importance of the undertaking, and deterred by his extreme modeſty, he relinquiſhed, ſays Mr. Tickell, all views that way; but Sir Richard Steel in his letter to Mr. Congreve prefixed to the Drummer, who had a quarrel with Tickell, on account of an injurious treatment of him, ſays, that thoſe were not the reaſons which made Mr. Addiſon turn his thoughts to the civil world, ‘'and as you were the inducement (ſays he) of his becoming acquainted with my lord Hallifax, I doubt not but you remember the warm inſtances that noble lord made to the head of the college, not to inſiſt on Mr. Addiſon's going into orders; his arguments were ſounded on the general pravity and corruption of men of buſineſs, who wanted liberal education; and I remember, as if I had read the letter yeſterday, that my lord ended with a compliment, that however he might be repreſented as no friend to the church, he would never do it any other injury than by keeping Mr. Addiſon out of it.'’

Mr. Addiſon having diſcovered an inclination to travel, the abovementioned patron, out of zeal, as well to his country, as our author, procured him from the crown an annual penſion of 300 l. which enabled him to make a tour to Italy the latter end of 1699. His Latin poems dedicated to Mr. Montague, then Chancellor of the Exchequer, were printed before his departure, in the Muſae Anglicanae, and were as much eſteemed in foreign countries, as at home, particularly by that noble wit of France, Boileau. It is from Mr. Tickell we learn this circumſtance in relation to Boileau, and we ſhall preſent it to the reader in his own words; ‘'his country owes it to Mr. Addiſon, that [308] the famous Monſieur Boileau firſt conceived an opinion of the Engliſh genius for poetry, by peruſing the preſent he made him of the Muſae Anglicanae. It has been currently reported, that this famous French poet, among the civilities he ſhewed Mr. Addiſon on that occaſion, affirmed, that he would not have written againſt Perrault, had he before ſeen ſuch excellent pieces by a modern hand. The compliment he meant, wa [...], that theſe books had given him a very new idea of the Engliſh politeneſs, and that he did not queſtion, but there were excellent comp ſitions in the native language of a country, which poſſeſſed the Roman genius in ſo eminent a degree.'’ In 1701 Mr. Addiſon wrote an epiſtolary poem from Italy to lord Hallifax, which is much admired as a finiſhed piece in its kind, and indeed ſome have pronounced it the beſt of Mr. Addiſon's performances. It was tranſlated by the Abbot Antonio Mario Salvini, Greek Profeſſor at Florence into Italian verſe, which tranſlation is printed with the original in Mr. Tickell's 4to. edition of Mr. Addiſon's works. This poem is in the higheſt eſteem in Italy, becauſe there are in it the beſt turned compliments on that country, that, perhaps, are to be found any where: and the Italians, on account of their familiarity with the objects it deſcribes, muſt have a higher reliſh of it. This poem likewiſe ſhews his gratitude to lord Hallifax, who had been that year impeached by the Commons in Parliament, for procuring exorbitant grants from the crown to his own uſe; and further charged with cutting down, and waſting the timber in his Majeſty's foreſts, and with holding ſeveral offices in his Majeſty's Exchequer, that were inconſiſtent, and deſigned as checks upon each other: The Commons had likewiſe addreſſed the King to remove him from his councils, and preſence for ever. Theſe were the cauſes of his retiring, and Mr. Addiſon's [309] addreſs at this time, was a noble inſtance of his fidelity, and ſtedfaſtneſs to his friends.

On his return to England, he publiſhed an account of his travels, dedicated to lord Somers; he would have returned earlier than he did, had not he been thought of as a proper perſon to attend prince Eugene, who then commanded for the emperor in Italy, which employment would much have pleaſed him; but the death of king William intervening cauſed a ceſſation of his penſion and his hopes.

For a conſiderable ſpace of time he remained at home, and as his friends were out of the miniſtry, he had no opportunity to diſplay his abilities, or to meet a competent reward for the honour his works had already done his country. He owed both to an accident: In the year 1704 lord treaſurer Godolphin happened to complain to the lord Hallifax, that the duke of Marlborough's victory at Blenheim, had not been celebrated in verſe, in the manner it deſerved, and told him, that he would take it kind, if his lordſhip, who was the patron of the poets, would name a gentleman capable of writing upon ſo elevated a ſubject. Lord Hallifax replied with ſome quickneſs, that he was well acquainted with ſuch a perſon, but that he would not name him; and obſerved, that he had long ſeen with indignation, men of little or no merit, maintained in pomp and luxury, at the expence of the public, while perſons of too much modeſty, with great abilities, languiſhed in obſcurity. The treaſurer anſwered, very cooly, that he was ſorry his lordſhip had occaſion to make ſuch an obſervation; but that in the mean time, he would engage his honour, that whoever his lordſhip ſhould name, might venture upon this theme, without fear of loſing his time. Lord Hallifax thereupon named Mr. Addiſon, but inſiſted the treaſurer ſhould ſend to him himſelf, which he promiſed. Accordingly he prevailed upon Mr. Boyle, then chancellor of the [310] exchequer, to go in his name to Mr. Addiſon, and communicate to him the buſineſs, which he did in ſo obliging a manner, that he readily entered upon the taſk*. The lord treaſurer ſaw the Poem before it was finiſhed, when the author had written no farther than the celebrated ſimile of the Angel, and was ſo much pleaſed with it, that he immediately made him commiſſioner of appeals, in the room of Mr. Locke, who was promoted to be one of the lords commiſſioners for trade, &c.

His Poem, entitled the Campaign, was received with loud and general applauſe: It is addreſſed to the duke of Marlborough, and contains a ſhort view of the military tranſactions in the year 1704, and a very particular deſcription of the two great actions at Schellemberg and Blenheim.

In 1705 Mr. Addiſon attended the lord Hallifax to Hanover; and in the ſucceeding year he was made choice of for under-ſecretary to Sir Charles Hedges, then appointed ſecretary of ſtate. In the month of December, in the ſame year, the earl of Sunderland, who ſucceeded Sir Charles in that office, continued Mr. Addiſon in the poſt of under ſecretary.

Operas being now much in faſhion, many people of diſtinction and true taſte, importuned him to make a trial, whether ſenſe and ſound were really ſo incompatible, as ſome admirers of the Italian pieces would repreſent them. He was at laſt prevailed upon to comply with their requeſt, and compoſed his Roſamond: This piece was inſcribed to the ducheſs of Marlborough, and met with but indifferent ſucceſs on the ſtage. Many looked upon it as not properly an Opera; for conſidering what numbers of miſerable productions had born that title, they were ſcarce ſatisfied that ſo ſuperior a piece ſhould appear under the ſame denomination About [311] this time our author aſſiſted Sir Richard Steel, in a play called the Tender Huſband; to which he wrote a humorous Prologue. Sir Richard, whoſe gratitude was as warm and ready as his wit, ſurprized him with a dedication, which may be conſidered as one of the few monuments of praiſe, not unworthy the great perſon to whoſe honour it was raiſed.

In 1709 he went over to Ireland, as ſecretary to the marquis of Wharton, appointed lord lieutenant of that kingdom. Her majeſty alſo, was pleaſed, as a mark of her peculiar favour, to augment the ſalary annexed to the keeper of the records in that nation, and beſtow it upon him. While he was in Ireland, his friend Sir Richard Steel publiſhed the Tatler, which appeared for the firſt time, on the 12th of April 1709: Mr. Addiſon (ſays Tickell) diſcovered the author by an obſervation on Virgil he had communicated to him. This diſcovery led him to afford farther aſſiſtance, inſomuch, that as the author of the Tatler well expreſt it, he fared by this means, like a diſtreſt prince, who calls in a powerful neighbour to his aid: that is, he was undone by his auxiliary.

The ſuperiority of Mr. Addiſon's papers in that work is univerſally admitted; and being more at leiſure upon the change of the miniſtry, he continued aſſiſting in the Tatler till 1711, when it was dropt.

No ſooner was the Tatler laid down, but Sir Richard Steel, in concert with Mr. Addiſon, formed the plan of the Spectator. The firſt paper appeared on the firſt of March 1711, and in the courſe of that great work, Mr. Addiſon furniſhed all the papers marked with any Letters of the Muſe CLIO; and which were generally moſt admired. Tickell, who had no kindneſs for Sir Richard Steel, meanly ſuppoſes that he marked his paper out of precaution againſt Sir Richard; which was an ill-natur'd inſinuation; for in the concluſion of the Spectators, he acknowledges to Mr. Addiſon, all he had a right [312] to; and in his letter to Congreve, he declares that Addiſon's papers were marked by him, out of tenderneſs to his friend, and a warm zeal for his fame. Steel was a generous grateful friend; it therefore ill became Mr. Tickell in the defence of Mr. Addiſon's honour, which needed no ſuch ſtra tagem, to depreciate one of his deareſt friends; and at the expence of truth, and his reputation, raiſe the character of his Hero. Sir Richard had oppoſed Mr. Addiſon, in the choice of Mr. Tickell as his ſecretary; which it ſeems he could never forget nor forgive.

In the Spectators, Sir Roger de Coverly was Mr. Addiſon's favourite character; and ſo tender was he of it, that he went to Sir Richard, upon his publiſhing a Spectator, in which he made Sir Roger pick up a woman in the temple cloiſters, and would not part with his friend, until he promiſed to meddle with the old knight's character no more. However, Mr. Addiſon to make ſure, and to prevent any abſurdities the writers of the ſubſequent Spectators might fall into, reſolved to remove that character out of the way; or, as he pleaſantly expreſſed it to an intimate friend, killed Sir Roger, that no body elſe might murther him. When the old Spectator was finiſhed, a new one appeared; but, though written by men of wit and genius, it did not ſucceed, and they were wiſe enough not to puſh the attempt too far. Poſterity muſt have a high idea of the taſte and good ſenſe of the Britiſh nation, when they are informed, that twenty-thouſand of theſe papers were ſometimes ſold in a day*.

The Guardian, a paper of the ſame tendency, entertained the town in the years 1713 and 1714, in which Mr. Addiſon had likewiſe a very large ſhare; he alſo wrote two papers in the Lover.

[313] In the year 1713 appeared his famous Cato. He entered into a deſign of writing a Tragedy on that ſubject, when he was very young; and when he was on his travels he actually wrote four acts of it: However, he ret [...]uched it on his return, without any deſign of bringing it on the ſtage; but ſome friends of his imagining it might be of ſervice to the cauſe of liberty, he was prevailed upon to finiſh it for the theatre, which he accordingly did. When this play appeared, it was received with boundleſs admiration; and during the repreſentation on the firſt night, on which its fate depended, it is ſaid that Mr. Addiſon diſcovered uncommon timidity; he was agitated between hope and fear, and while he remained retired in the green-room, he kept a perſon continually going backwards and forwards, from the ſtage to the place where he was, to inform him how it ſucceeded, and till the whole was over, and the ſucceſs confirmed, he never ventured to move.

When it was publiſhed, it was recommended by many Copies of Verſes prefixed to it, amongſt which the ſincerity of Mr. Steele, and the genius of Euſden, deſerve to be diſtinguiſhed: But, as I would not omit any particulars relative to this renowned play, and its great author, I ſhall inſert a letter of Mr. Pope's to Sir William Turnbull, dated the 30th of April 1713, in which are ſome circumſtances that merit commemoration.

SIR,

‘'As to poetical affairs, I am content at preſent to be a bare looker on, and from a practitioner turn an admirer; which as the world goes, is not very uſual. Cato was not ſo much the wonder of [314] Rome in his Days, as he is of Britain in ours; and though all the fooliſh induſtry poſſible had been uſed to make it thought a party play, yet what the author once ſaid of another, may the moſt properly in the world be applied to him on this occaſion.Envy itſelf is dumb, in wonder loſt, And factions ſtrive who ſhall applaud him moſt. 'The numerous and violent claps of the Whig party, on the one ſide of the theatre, were ecchoed back by the Tories on the other; while the author ſweated behind the ſcenes, with concern to find their applauſe proceeding more from the hard than the head. This was the caſe too with the Prologue writer, who was clapp'd into a ſtaunch Whig at the end of every two lines. I believe you have heard, that after all the applauſes of the oppoſite faction, my lord Bolingbroke ſent for Booth, who played Cato, into the box, between one of the acts, and preſented him with fifty guineas, in acknowledgment as he expreſſed it, for defending the cauſe of liberty ſo well againſt a perpetual dictator. The Whigs are unwilling to be diſtanced this way, and therefore deſign a preſent to the ſame Cato very ſpeedily; in the mean time, they are getting ready as good a ſentence as the former on their ſide, ſo betwixt them it is probable, that Cato (as Dr. Garth expreſt it) may have ſomething to live upon after he dies.'’

Immediately after the publication of this Tragedy, there came abroad a pamphlet, entitled, Obſervations on Cato; written by the ingenious Dr. Sewel: The deſign of this piece was to ſhew that the applauſe this Tragedy met with was founded on merit. It is a very accurate and [315] entertaining criticiſm, and tends to ſecure the poet the hearts of his readers, as well as of his audience. Our author was not however without enemies, amongſt whom was Mr. Dennis, who attacked it, firſt in a pamphlet, and then in a ſubſequent work, in which he employed ſeven letters in pulling it to pieces: In ſome of his remarks he is candid, and judicious enough, in others he is trifling and ill natur'd, and I think it is pretty plain he was agitated by e [...]vy; for as the intent of that play was to promote the Whig intereſt, of which Mr. Dennis was a zealous abettor, he could not therefore diſeſleem it from party principles. Another gentleman, who called himſelf a ſcholar at Oxford, conſidered the play in a very different light; and endeavoured to ſerve his party by turning the cannon upon the enemy. The title of this pamphlet is, Mr. Addiſon turned Tory: It is written with great ſpirit and vivacity. Cato was ſpeedily tranſlated into French by Mr. Boyer, but with no ſpirit: It was tranſlated likewiſe into Italian.

Voltaire has commended, and condemned Mr. Addiſon by turns, and in reſpect to Cato, he admires, and cenſures it extravagantly. The principal character he allows ſuperior to any before brought upon the ſtage, but ſays, that all the loveſ [...]enes are abſolutely inſipid: He might have added unneceſſary, as to the plot; and the only reaſon that can be aſſigned for the poet's introducing them was, the prevalence of cuſtom; but it muſt be acknowledged, that his lovers are the moſt ſenſible, and addreſs each other in the beſt language, that is to be found in any love dialogues of the Britiſh ſtage: It will be difficult to find a more ſtriking line, or more pictureſque of a lover's paſſion, than this pathetic exclamation; [316]A lover does not live by vulgar time.’

Queen Anne was not the laſt in doing juſtice to our author and his performance; ſhe was pleaſed to ſignify an inclination of having it dedicated to her, but as he intended that compliment to another, it came into the world without any dedication. If in the ſubſequent part of his life, his leiſure had been greater, we are told, he would probably have written another tragedy on the death of Socrates; but the honours accruing from what he had already performed deprived poſterity of that production. This ſubject was ſtill drier, and leſs ſuſceptible of poetical ornament than the former, but in the hands of ſo great a writer, there is no doubt but genius would have ſupplied what was wanting in the real ſtory, and have covered by ſhining ſentiments, and noble language, the ſimplicity of the plot, and deficiency in buſineſs.

Upon the death of the Queen, the Lords Juſtices appointed Mr. Addiſon their ſecretary. This diverted him from the deſign he had formed of compoſing an Engliſh Dictionary upon the plan of a famous Italian one: that the world has much ſuffered by this promotion I am ready to believe, and cannot but regret that our language yet wants the aſſiſtance of ſo great a maſter, in fixing its ſtandard, ſettling its purity, and illuſtrating its copiouſneſs, or elegance.

In 1716 our author married the counteſs of Warwick; and about that time publiſhed the Freeholder, which is a kind of political Spectator. This work Mr. Addiſon conducted without any aſſiſtance, upon a plan of his own forming; he [317] did it in conſequence of his principles, out of a deſire to remove prejudices, and contribute all he could to make his country happy; however it produced his own promotion, in 1717, to be one of the principal ſecretaries of ſtate. His health, which had been before impaired by an aſthmatic diſorder, ſuffered exceedingly by an advancement ſo much to his honour, but attended with ſuch great fatigue: Finding, that he was not able to manage ſo much buſineſs as his ſtation led him to, he reſigned, and in his leiſure hours began a work of a religious nature, upon the Evidence of the Chriſtian religion; which he lived not to finiſh. He likewiſe intended a Paraphraſe on ſome of the Pſalms of David: but a long and painful relapſe broke all his deſigns, and deprived the world of one of its brighteſt ornaments, June 17, 1719, when he was entering the 54th year of his age. He died at Holland-houſe near Kenſington, and left behind him an only daughter by the counteſs of Warwick.

After his deceaſe, Mr. Tickell, by the authority and direction of the author, collected, and publiſhed his works, in four volumes 4to. In this edition there are ſeveral pieces, as yet unmentioned, which I ſhall here give account of in order; the firſt is a Diſſertation upon Medals, which, though not publiſhed 'till after his death, was begun in 1702, when he was at Vienna.

In 1707 there came abroad a pamphlet, under the title of The Preſent State of the War, and the Neceſſity of an Augmentation Conſidered. The Whig Examiner came out September 14 1710, for the firſt time: there were five papers in all attributed to Mr. Addiſon; theſe are by much the tarteſt things he ever wrote; Dr. Sacheverel, [318] Mr. Prior, and many other perſons are ſeverely treated. The Exam ner had done the ſame thing on the part of the Tories. and the avowed deſign of this paper was to make repriſals.

In the year 1713 was publiſhed a little pamphlet, called The Late Trial, and Conviction of Count Tariff; it was intended to expoſe the Tory miniſtry on the head of the French Commerce Bill: This is alſo a ſevere piece.

The following have likewiſe been aſcribed to cur author;

Diſſertatio de inſignioribus Romanorum Poctis, i. e. A Diſſertation upon the moſt Eminent Roman Poets: This is ſuppoſed to have been written about 1692.

A Diſcourſe on Ancient and Modern Learning; the time when it was written is uncertain, but probably as early as the former. It was preſerved amongſt the manuſcripts of lord Somers, which, after the death of Sir Joſeph Jekyl, being publickly ſold, this little piece came to be printed 1739, and was well received. To theſe we muſt add the Old Whig, No. 1 and 2. Pamphlets written in Defence of the Peerage Eill: The ſcope of the Bill was this, that in place of 16 Peers ſitting in Parliament, as Repreſentatives of the Peerage of Scotland, there were for the future to be twenty five hereditary Peers, by the junction of nine out of the body of the Scotch nobility, to the then 16 ſitting Peers; that ſix Engliſh Peers ſhould be added, and the peerage then remain fixed; the crown being reſtrained from making any new lords, but upon the extinction of families. This gave a great [319] alarm to the nation, and many papers were wrote with ſpirit againſt it; amongſt the reſt, one called the Plebeian, now known to have been Sir Richard Steele's. In anſwer to this came out the Old Whig No. 1. on the State of the Peerage, with ſome Remarks on the Plebeian. This controverſy was c [...]rried on between the two friends, Addiſon and Steele, at firſt without any knowledge of one another, but before it was ended, it appears, from ſeveral expreſſions, that the author of the Old Whig was acquainted with his antagoniſt.

Thus we have gone through the moſt remarkable paſſages of the life of this great man, in admiration of whom, it is but natural to be an Enthuſiaſt, and whoſe very enemies expreſſed their diſlike with diffidence; nor indeed were his enemies, Mr. Pope excepted, (if it be proper to reckon Mr. Pope Mr. Addiſon's enemy) in one particular caſe, of any conſequence. It is a true, and an old obſervation, that the greateſt men have ſometimes failings, that, of all other human weakneſſes, one would not ſuſpect them to be ſubject to. It is ſaid of Mr. Addiſon, that he was a ſlave to flattery, that he was jealous, and ſuſpicious in his temper, and, as Pope keenly expreſſes it,

Bore, like the Turk, no rival near the throne.

That he was jealous of the fame of Pope, many have believed, and perhaps not altogether without ground. He preferred Tickel's tranſlation of the firſt Book of Homer, to Pope's. His words are, ‘'the other has more of Homer,'’ when, at the ſame time, in a letter to Pope, he ſtrenuouſly adviſes him to undertake it, and tells him, there is none but he equal to it; which circumſtance has made ſome [320] people conjecture, that Addiſon was himſelf the author of the tranſlation, imputed to Mr. Tickell: Be this as it may, it is unpleaſing to dwell upon the failings, and quarrels of great men; let us rather draw a veil over all their errors, and only admire their virtues, and their genius; of both which the author, the incidents of whoſe life we have now been tracing, had a large poſſeſſion. He added much to the purity of the Engliſh ſtile in proſe; his rhime is not ſo flowing, nervous, or manly as ſome of his cotemporaries, but his proſe has an original excellence, a ſmoothneſs and dignity peculiar to it. His poetry, as well as ſentiments, in Cato, cannot be praiſed enough.

Mr. Addiſon was ſtedfaſt to his principles, faithful to his friends, a zealous patriot, honourable in public ſtations, amiable in private life, and as he lived, he died, a good man, and a pious Chriſtian.

ANNE, Counteſs of WINCHELSEA.

[321]

THIS lady, deſervedly celebrated for her poetic genius, was daughter of Sir William Kingſmill of Sidmonton, in the county of Southampton. She was Maid of Honour to the Ducheſs of York, ſecond wife to King James II. and was afterwards married to Heneage earl of Winchelſea, who was in his father's life-time Gentleman of the Bed-chamber to the Duke of York.

One of the moſt conſiderable of this lady's poems, is that upon the Spleen, publiſhed by Mr. Charles Gildon, 1701, in 8vo. That poem occaſioned another of Mr. Nicholas Rowe's, entitled an Epiſtle to Flavia, on the ſight of two Pindaric Odes on the Spleen and Vanity, written by a Lady to her Friend. This poem of the Spleen is written in ſtanzas, after the manner of Cowley, and contains many thoughts naturally expreſſed, and poetically conceived; there is ſeldom to be found any thing more excellently pictureſque than this poem, and it juſtly entitles the amiable counteſs to hold a very high ſtation amongſt the inſpired tribe. Nothing can be more happily imagined than the following deſcription of the pretended influence of Spleen upon ſurly Huſbands, and gay Coquetes.

[322]
Patron thou art of every groſs abuſe;
The ſullen huſband's feign'd excuſe,
When the ill humours with his wife he ſpends,
And bears recruited wit, and ſpirits to his friends.
The ſon of Bacchus pleads thy pow'r
As to the glaſs he ſtill repairs
Pretends but to remove thy cares,
Snatch from thy ſhades, one gay, and ſmiling hour,
And drown thy kingdom in a purple ſhow'r.
When the coquette (whom ev'ry fool admires)
Would in variety be fair;
And changing haſtily the ſcene,
From light, impertinent, and vain,
Aſſumes a ſoft, a melancholy air
And of her eyes rebates the wand'ring fires.
The careleſs poſture, and the head reclin'd
(Proclaiming the withdrawn, the abſent mind)
Allows the fop more liberty to gaze;
Who gently for the tender cauſe enquires;
The cauſe indeed is a defect of ſenſe,
Yet is the Spleen alledged, and ſtill the dull pretence.

The influence which Spleen has over religious minds, is admirably painted in the next ſtanza.

By ſpleen, religion, all we know
That ſhould enlighten here below,
Is veiled in darkneſs, and perplext
With anxious doubts, with endleſs ſcruples vext
And ſome reſtraint imply'd, from each perverted text;
Whilſt touch not, taſte not what is freely given,
Is but thy niggard voice diſgracing bounteous Heaven.
From ſpeech reſtrain'd, by the deceits abus'd,
To deſarts baniſh'd, or in cells reclus'd,
[323] Miſtaken vot'ries, to the powers divine,
Whilſt they a purer ſacrifice deſign,
Do but the ſpleen obey, and worſhip at thy ſhrine.

A collection of this lady's poems was publiſhed at London 1713 in 8vo. containing likewiſe a Tragedy never acted, entitled Ariſtomenes, or the Royal Shepherd. The general ſcenes are in Ariſtomenes's camp, near the walls of Phaerea, ſometimes the plains among the Shepherds. A great number of our authoreſs's poems ſtill continue unpubliſhed, in the hands of the rev. Mr. Creake, and ſome were in poſſeſſion of the right hon. the counteſs of Hertford.

The counteſs of Winchelſea died Auguſt 9. 1720, without iſſue. She was happy in the friendſhip of Mr. Pope, who addreſſes a copy of verſes to her, occaſioned by eight lines in the Rape of the Lock: they contain a very elegant compliment.

In vain you boaſt poetic names of yore,
And cite thoſe Saphoes we admire no more:
Fate doom'd the fall of ev'ry female wit,
But doom'd it then, when firſt Ardelia writ.
Of all examples by the world confeſt,
I knew Ardelia could not quote the beſt.
Who like her miſtreſs on Britannia's throne
Fights and ſubdues in quarrels not her own.
To write their praiſe, you but in vain eſſay;
E'en while you write, you take that praiſe away:
Light to the ſtars, the ſun does thus reſtore,
And ſhines himſelf 'till they are ſeen no more.

The anſwer which the counteſs makes to the above, is rather more exquiſite than the lines of Mr. Pope; he is foil'd at his own weapons, and outdone in the elegance of compliment.

[324]
Diſarm'd with ſo genteel an air,
The conteſt I give o'er;
Yet Alexander have a care,
And ſhock the ſex no more.
We rule the world our life's whole race,
Men but aſſume that right;
Firſt ſlaves to ev'ry tempting face,
Then martyrs to our ſpite.
You of one Orpheus ſure have read,
Who would like you have writ
Had he in London town been bred,
And poliſh'd too his wit;
But he poor ſoul. thought all was well
And great ſhould be his fame,
When he had left his wife in hell
And birds, and beaſts could tame.
Yet venturing then with ſcoffing rhimes
The women to incenſe,
Reſenting heroines of thoſe times
Soon puniſhed his offence.
And as the Hebrus roll'd his ſkull,
And Harp beſmeared with blood,
They claſhing as the waves grew full
Still harmoniz'd the flood.
But you our follies gently treat,
And ſpin ſo fine the thread,
You need not fear his awkward fate,
The lock won't coſt the head.
Our admiration you command
For all that's gone before;
What next we look for at your hand
Can only raiſe it more.
Yet ſooth the ladies, I adviſe
(As me too pride has wrought)
We're born to wit, but to be wife
By admonitions taught.

[325] The other pieces of this lady are,

If all her other poetical compoſitions are executed with as much ſpirit and elegance as theſe, the lovers of poetry have ſome reaſon to be ſorry that her ſtation was ſuch, as to exempt her from the neceſſity of more frequently exerciſing a genius ſo furniſhed by nature, to have made a great figure in that divine art.

CHARLES GILDON.

[326]

THIS gentleman was born at Gillingham near Shaftſhury, in the county of Dorſet. His parents, and family were all of the Romiſh perſuaſion, but they could not inſtil their principles into our author, who, as ſoon as he began to reaſon, was able to diſcover the errors, and foppery of that church. His father was a member of the ſociety of Grays-Inn, and ſuffered much for the Royal cauſe. The firſt rudiments of learning Mr. Gi [...]don had at the place of his nativity; thence his relations ſent him to the Engliſh college of ſecular prieſts at Doway in Hainault, with a deſign of making him a prieſt; but after five years ſtudy there, he found his inclination direct him to a quite different courſe of life. When he was nineteen years old he returned to England, and as ſoon as he was of age, and capable of enjoying the pleaſures of gaiety, he came to Londos, where he ſpent the greateſt part of his paternal eſtate. At about the age of twentythree, to crown his other imprudences, he married, without improving his reduced circumſtances thereby.

During the reign of King James II. he dedicated his time to the ſt [...]dy of the prevailing controverſies, and he ſ [...]mewhere declares, it coſt him above ſeven years cloſe application to books, before he could entirely overcome the prejudices of his education. He never believed the abſurd [327] tenets of the church of Rome; nor could he embrace the ridiculous doctrine of her infallibility: But as he had been taught an early reverence to the prieſthood, and a ſubmiſſive obedience to their authority, it was a long while before he aſſumed courage to think freely for himſelf, or declare what he thought.

His firſt attempt in the drama, was not till he had arrived at his 32d year; and he himſelf in his eſſays tells us, that neceſſity (the general inducement) was his firſt motive of venturing to be an author.

He is the author of three plays, viz.

[328] He introduced the Play called the Younger Brother, or the Amorous Jilt; written by Mrs. Behn, but not brought upon the ſtage 'till after her deceaſe. He made very little alteration in it. Our author's plays have not his name to them; and his fault lies generally in the ſtile, which is too near an imitation of Lee's.

He wrote a piece called the New Rehearſal, or Bays the Younger; containing an Examen of the Ambitious Step-mother, Tamerlane, The Biter, Fair Penitent, The Royal Convert, Ulyſſes, and Jane Shore, all written by Mr. Rowe; alſo a Word or Two on Mr. Pope's Rape of the Lock, to which is prefixed a Preface concerning Criticiſm in general, by the Earl of Shaftſbury, Author of the Characteriſtics, 8vo. 1714. Scene the Roſe Tavern. The freedom he uſed with Mr. Pope in remarking upon the Rape of the Lock, it ſeems was ſufficient to raiſe that gentleman's reſentment, who was never celebrated for forgiving. Many years after, Mr. Pope took his revenge, by ſtigmatizing him as a dunce, in his uſual keen ſpirit of ſatire: There had ariſen ſome quarrel between Gildon and Dennis, upon which, Mr. Pope in his Dunciad, B. iii. has the following lines,

Ah Dennis! Gildon ah! what ill-ſtarr'd rage
Divides a friendſhip long confirm'd by age?
Blockheads with reaſon wicked wits abhor,
But fool with fool is barb'rous civil war.
Embrace; embrace my ſons! be foes no more,
Nor glad vile poets with true critics gore.

This author's other works are chiefly theſe,

Mr. Gildon died on the 12th of January 1723, and in the words of Boyer's Political State, vol. xxvii. p. 102. we ſhall ſum up his character.

'On Sunday, January 12, died Mr. Charles Gildon, a perſon of great literature, but a mean genius; who having attempted ſeveral kinds of writing, never gained much reputation in any. Among other treatiſes, he wrote the Engliſh Art of Poetry, which he had practiſed himſelf very unſucceſsfully in his dramatic performances. He alſo wrote an Engliſh Grammar, but what he ſeemed to build his chief hopes of fame upon, was, his late Critical Commentary on the Duke of Buckingham's Eſſay on Poetry, which laſt piece was peruſed, and highly approved, by his grace.'

THOMAS D'URFEY,

[331]

WAS born in the county of Devon, and was firſt bred to the law; but we have not heard from what ſamily he was deſcended, nor in what year he was born. He has written upwards of thirty plays, with various ſucceſs, but had a genius better turned to a ballad, and little irregular odes, than for dramatic poetry. He ſoon forſook the proſeſſion of the law, and threw himſelf upon the public, by writing for the ſtage.—That D'Urfey was a man of ſome abilities, and enjoyed the eſteem and friendſhip of men of the greateſt parts in his time, appears from the favourable teſtimony of the author of the Guardian: And as the deſign of this work is to collect, and throw into one view, whatever may be found concerning any poet of eminence in various books, and literary records, we ſhall make no ſcruple of tranſcribing what that ingenious writer has humorouſly ſaid concerning our author.

In Numb. 29. Vol. 1. ſpeaking of the advantages of laughing, he thus mentions D'Urfey. ‘'A judicious author, ſome years ſince publiſhed a collection of Sonnets, which he very ſucceſsfully called Laugh and be Fat; or Pills to purge Melancholy: I cannot ſufficiently admire the facetious title of theſe volumes, and muſt cenſure the world of ingratitude, while they are ſo negligent [332] in rewarding the jocoſe labours of my friend Mr. D'Urfey, who was ſo large a contributor to this Treatiſe, and to whoſe humorous productions, ſo many rural ſquires in the remoteſt parts of this iſland are obliged, for the dignity and ſtate which corpulency gives them. It is my opinion, that the above pills would be extremely proper to be taken with Aſſes milk, and might contribute towards the renewing and reſtoring decayed lungs.'’

Numb. 67. He thus ſpeaks of his old friend.—

'It has been remarked, by curious obſervers, that poets are generally long lived, and run beyond the uſual age of man, if not cut off by ſome accident, or exceſs, as Anacreon, in the midſt of a very merry old age, was choaked with a grape ſtone. The ſame redundancy of ſpirits that produces the poetical flame, keeps up the vital warmth, and adminiſters uncommon fuel to life. I queſtion not but ſeveral inſtances will occur to my reader's memory, from Homer down to Mr. Dryden; I ſhall only take notice of two who have excelled in Lyrics, the one an antient, the other a modern. The firſt gained an immortal reputation by celebrating ſeveral jockeys in the Olympic Games; the laſt has ſignalized himſelf on the ſame occaſion, by the Ode that begins with—To horſe brave boys, to New-market, to horſe. The reader will by this time know, that the two poets I have mentioned are Pindar, and Mr. D'Urfey. The former of theſe is long ſince laid in his urn, after having many years together endeared himſelf to all Greece, by his tuneful compoſitions. Our countryman is ſtill living, and in a blooming old age, that ſtill promiſes many muſical productions; for if I am not miſtaken our Britiſh Swan will ſing to the laſt. The beſt judges, who have peruſed his laſt Song on the moderate Man, do not diſcover any decay in his parts; but [333] think it deſerves a place among the fineſt of thoſe works, with which he obliged the world in his more early years.

'I am led into this ſubject, by a viſit which I lately received from my good old friend and cotemporary. As we both flouriſhed together in king Charles the IId's reign, we diverted ourſelves with the remembrance of ſeveral particulars that paſs'd in the world, before the greateſt part of my readers were born; and could not but ſmile to think how inſenſibly we were grown into a couple of venerable old gentlemen. Tom obſerved to me, that after having written more Odes than Horace, and about four times as many Comedies as Terence; he was reduced to great difficulties, by the importunities of a ſet of men, who of late years had furniſhed him with the acccommodations of life, and would not, as we ſay, be paid with a ſong. In order to extricate my old friend, I immediately ſent for the three directors of the Play-houſe, and deſired they would in their turn, do a good office for a man, who in Shakeſpear's phraſe, often filled their mouths; I mean with pleaſantry and popular conceits. They very generouſly liſtened to my propoſal, and agreed to act the Plotting Siſters (a very taking play of my old friends compoſing) on the 15th of next month, for the benefit of the author.

'My kindneſs to the agreeable Mr. D'Urfey, will be imperfect, if, after having engaged the players in his favour, I do not get the town to come into it. I muſt therefore heartily recommend to all the young ladies my diſciples, the caſe of my old friend, who has often made their grand-mothers merry; and whoſe Sonnets have perhaps lulled aſleep many a preſent toaſt, when ſhe lay in her cradle. The gentleman I am ſpeaking of, has laid obligations on ſo many of his countrymen, that I [334] hope they will think this but a juſt return to the good ſervice of a vet [...]ran Poet.

'I myſelf, remember king Charles the IId. leaning on Tom D'Urfey's ſhoulder more than once, and humming over a ſong with him. It is certain, that monarch was not a little ſupported, by joy to great Caeſar; which gave the Whigs ſuch a blow, as they were not able to recover that whole reign. My friend afterwards attacked Popery, with the ſame ſacceſs, having expoſed Bel armine, and Portocarero, more than once, in ſhort ſatirical compoſitions, which have been in every body's mouth. He made uſe of Italian Tunes and Sonato's, for promoting the Proteſtant intereſt; and turned a conſiderable part of the Pope's muſic againſt himſelf. In ſhort, he has obliged the court with political S [...]nnets; the country with Dialogues, and Paſtorals; the city with Deſcriptions of a lo [...]d Mayor's [...]eaſt; not to mention his little Ode upon Stool-Ball; with many others of the like nature.

'Should the very individuals he has celebrated, make their appearance together, they would be ſufficient to fill the play-houſe. Pretty Peg of Windſor, Gilian of Croydon; with Dolly and Molly; and Tommy and Johny; with many others to be met with in the muſical Miſcellanies, would make a great benefit.

'As my friend, after the manner of the old Lyrics, accompanies his works with his own voice; he has been the delight of the moſt polite companies and converſations, from the beginning of king Charles the IId's reign, to our own times: Many an honeſt gentleman has got a reputation in his country, by pretending to have been in company with Tom D'Urfey.

'I might here mention ſeveral other merits in my friend, as his enriching our langauge with a multitade of rhimes, and bringing words together, that without his good offices, would never have been [335] acquainted with one another, ſo long as it had been a tongue; but I muſt not omit that my old friend angled for a trout, the beſt of any man in England.

'After what I have ſaid, and much more that I might ſay, on this ſubject, I queſtion not but the world will think that my old friend ought not to paſs the remainder of his life in a cage, like a ſinging bird; but enjoy all that Pindaric liberty, which is ſuitable to a man of his genius. He has made the world merry, and I hope they will make him eaſy, as long as he ſtays amongſt us. This I will take upon me to ſay, they cannot do a kindneſs, to a more diverting companion, or a more chearful, honeſt, good-natur'd man.'—

The ſame author, Numb. 82. puts his readers in mind when D Urfey's benefit came on, of ſome other circumſtances favourable to him. ‘'The Plotting Siſters, ſays he, is this day to be acted for the benefit of the author, my old friend Mr. D'Urfey. This comedy was honoured with the preſence of King Charles II. three of the firſt five nights. My friend has in this work ſhewn himſelf a maſter, and made not only the characters of the play, but alſo the furniture of the houſe contribute to the main deſign. He has made excellent uſe of a table with a carpet, and the key of a cloſet; with theſe two implements, which would perhaps have been overlooked by an ordinary writer, he contrives the moſt natural perplexities (allowing only the uſe of theſe houſhold goods in poetry) that ever were repreſented on a ſtage. He alſo made good advantage of the knowledge of the ſtage itſelf; for in the nick of being ſurprized, the lovers are let down, and eſcape at a trap door. In a word, any who have the curioſity to obſerve what pleaſed in the laſt generation, and does not go to a comedy with a r [...]ſolution to be grave, will find this evening ample [336] food for mirth. Johnſon, who underſtands what he does as well as any man, expoſes the impertinence of an old fellow who has loſt his ſ [...]nſes, ſtill purſuing pleaſures with great maſtery. The ingenious Mr. Pinkethman is a baſhful rake, and is ſheepiſh, without having modeſty with great ſucceſs. Mr. Bullock ſucceeds Nokes in the part of Bubble, and, in my opinion, is not much below him, for he does excellently that kind of folly we call abſurdity, which is the very contrary of wit; but next to that is, of all things, propereſt to excite mirth. What is fooliſh is the object of pity, but abſurdity often proceeds from an op [...]nion of ſufficiency, and conſequently is an honeſt occaſion for laughter. Theſe characters in this play, cannot but make it a very pleaſant entertainment, and the decorations of ſinging and dancing, will more than repay the good-nature of thoſe, who make an honeſt man a viſit of two merry hours, to make his following year unpainful.'’

Theſe are the teſtimonies of friendſhip and eſteem, which this great author has given in favour of D'Urfey, and however his genius may be turned for the Sing-ſong, or Ballad, which is certainly the loweſt ſpecies of poetry, yet that man cannot be termed contemptible, who was thus loved, and, though in jocular terms, praiſed by Mr. Addiſon.

There are few, or no particulars relating to the life of this poet preſerved. He was attached to the Tory intereſt, and in the latter part of Queen Anne's reign frequently had the honour of diverting her with witty catches, and ſongs of humour ſuited to the ſpirit of the times. He died, according to Mr. Coxeter, February 26, 1723, in a good old age, and was buried in the Church-yard of St. James's, Weſtminſter.

[337] His dramatic works are,

Theſe are the dramatic performances of D'Urfey, by which his inceſſant labours for the ſtage are to be ſeen; though not one of his numerous iſſue is now in poſſeſſion of it. He was author of many poems, and ſongs, which we need not here enumerate. Mr. Coxeter takes particular notice of a piece of his called Gloriana, a Funcral Pindarique Poem to the memory of Queen Mary, 4to. 1695.

The Trophies, or Auguſta's Glory; a triumphant Ode, made in honour of the City, and upon the Trophies taken from the French at the Battle of Ramillies, May 25, 1706, by the Duke of Marlborough, and fixed in Guildhall, London, dedicated to the Lord Mayor, and Court of Aldermen, [342] and Sheriffs, and alſo to the Preſident, and Court of Managers for the united Trade to the Eaſt Indies.

Honor & Opes, or The Britiſh Merchant's Glory; a Poem Congratulatory, on the happy Deciſion, and Concluſion of all Difficulties between the Old and New Company in the Trade to the Eaſt Incies. As a ſpecimen of his poetry take the following lines.

VERSES Congratulatory, to the Honourable WILLIAM BROMLEY, Eſq on his being choſen SPEAKER of this preſent Parliament.
As when Hyperion with victorious light
Expels invading Pow'rs of gloomy night,
And vernal nature youthful dreſs'd and gay,
Salutes the radiant power that forms the day;
The mounting Lark exalts her joyful note,
And ſtrains with harmony her warbling throat:
So now my muſe that hopes to ſee the day,
When cloudy faction, that do's Britain ſway,
Shall be o'ercome by reaſon's dazling ray;
Applauding ſenates for their prudent choice,
The will of Heaven by the Peoples voice,
Firſt greets you Sir, then gladly do's prepare,
In tuneful verſe, your welcome to the chair.
Awful th' aſſembly is, auguſt the Queen,
In whoſe each day of life are wonders ſeen:
The nation too, this greateſt of all years,
Who watch to ſee bleſt turns in their affairs,
Slighting the tempeſt on the Gallic ſhore,
Hope from the ſenate much, but from you more:
Whoſe happy temper judgment cultivates,
And forms ſo fit to aid our three eſtates.
The change of miniſtry late order'd here,
Was fated ſure for this auſpicious year;
[343] That you predeſtin'd at a glorious hour,
To be chief judge of legiſlative power,
Might by your ſkill that Royal right aſſerts,
Like Heaven, reconcile the jarring parts.
Nor ſhines your influence, Sir, here alone,
The Church muſt your unequall'd prudenceown,
Firm to ſupport the cauſe, but rough to none.
Euſebia's ſons, in laws divine poſſeſt,
Can learn from you how truth ſhould be expreſt;
Whether in modeſt terms, like balm, to heal;
Or raving notions, falſly counted zeal.
Our holy writ no rule like that allows,
No people an enrag'd apoſtle choſe,
Nor taught Our Saviour, or St. Paul, like thoſe.
Reaſon was mild, and calmly did proceed,
Which harſh might fail to make tranſgreſſors heed;
This ſaint your rhet'ric beſt knows how to prove,
Whoſe gracious method can inform, and move;
Direct the elders that ſuch errors make,
And ſhew both how to preach, and how to ſpeak.
Oh! ſacred gift! in public matters great,
But in religious tracts divinely ſweet;
Since to this grace they only have pretence
Whoſe happy learning join with a caeleſtial ſenſe.
That, Sir, you ſhare both theſe, the muſe forgive,
If I preſume to write what all believe,
Your candour too, and charming courteſy,
Rever'd by them is juſtly ſo by me,
Let me not then offend your modeſty,
If now my genius to a height I raiſe,
Such parts, and ſuch humanity to praiſe.
This ancient * Baginton can witneſs well,
And the rich library before it fell;
The precious hours amongſt wiſe authors paſt.
Your Soul with their unvalued wealth poſſeſt;
[344] And well may he to heights of knowledge come,
Who that Panthaeon always kept at home.
Thus once, Sir, you were bleſt, and ſure the fiend
That firſt entail'd a curſe on human-kind,
And afterwards contriv'd this fatal croſs,
Deſign'd the public, by your private loſs.
Oh! who had ſeen that love to learning bore,
The matchleſs authors of the days of yore;
The fathers, prelates, poets, books where arts
Renown'd explain'd the men of rareſt parts,
Shrink up their ſhrivell'd bindings, loſe their names,
And yield immortal worth to temporary flames,
That would not ſigh to ſee the ruins there,
Or wiſh to quench 'em with a flowing tear.
But as in ſtory, where we wonders view,
As there were flames, there was a Phoenix too;
An excellence from the burnt pile did riſe,
That ſtill aton'd for paſt calamities;
So my prophetic genius in its height,
Viewing your merit, Sir, foretels your fate.
Your valiant * anceſtors, that bravely fought,
And from the ſoe the Royal ſtandard got;
Which nobly now adorn your houſhold coat,
Denotes the former grandeur of your race;
Your preſent worth fits you for preſent grace.
The Sovereign muſt eſteem what all admire,
Bromley and Baginton ſhall both raiſe higher,
Fate oft contrives magnificence by fire.

ELKANAH SETTLE,

[345]

SON of Joſeph Settle of Dunſtable in Bedfordſhire, was born there; and in the 18th year of his age, 1666, was entered commoner of Trinity College, Oxon, and put under the tuition of Mr. Abraham Champion, fellow of that houſe; but he quitted the univerſity without taking any degree, and came to London*, where he addicted himſelf to the ſtudy of poetry, in which he lived to make no inconſiderable figure. Finding the nation divided between the opinions of Whig and Tory, and being ſenſible that a man of parts could not make any conſiderable figure, unleſs he attached himſelf to one of theſe parties; Settle thought proper, on his firſt ſetting out in life, to join the Whigs, who were then, though the minor, yet a powerful party, and to ſupport whoſe intereſt he employed his talents.

About the year 1680, when the debates ran high concerning the excluſion of the Duke of York from the ſucceſſion, on account of his religious principles, our author wrote a piece called the Character of a Popiſh Succeſſor, and what may be expected from ſuch an one, humbly offered to the conſideration of both the Houſes of Parliament appointed to meet at Oxon, on March 21, 1681. This eſſay it ſeems was thought of conſequence enough to merit an anſwer, as at that time the Excluſion Bill employed the general converſation. The anſwer [346] to it was entitled The Character of a Rebellion, and what England may expect from One; printed 1682. The author of this laſt piece, is very ſevere on the character of Settle; he repreſents him as an errant knave, a deſpicable coward, and a prophane Atheiſt, and ſeems amazed that any party ſhould make choice of a champion, whoſe morals were ſo tainted; but as this is only the language of party violence, no great credit is to be given to it.

The author of this pamphlet carries his zeal, and ill manners ſtill further, and informs the world of the meanneſs of our author's birth, and education, ‘'moſt of his relations (ſays he) are Barbers, and of the baſeneſs, falſeneſs, and mutability of his nature, too many evidences may be brought. He cloſed with the Whigs, contrary to the principles he formerly profeſſed, at a time when they took occaſion to puſh their cauſe, upon the breaking out of Oates's plot, and was ready to fall off from, and return to them, for his own advantage.'’

To the abovementioned pamphlet, written by Settle, various other anſwers were publiſhed, ſome by writers of diſtinction, of which Sir Roger L'Eſt [...]ange was one; and to this performance of Sir Roger's, which was entitled The Character of a Papiſt in Maſquerade, ſupported by Authority and Experience, Mr Settle made a Reply, entited The Character of a Popiſh Succeſſor Compleat; this, in the opinion of the critics, is the ſmarteſt piece ever written upon the ſubject of the Excluſion Bill, and yet Sir Roger, his antagoniſt, ‘'calls it a pompous, wordy thing, made up of ſhifts, and ſuppoſitions, without ſo much as an argument, either offered, or anſwered in ſtreſs of the queſtion, &c.'’ Mr. Settle's cauſe was ſo much better than that of his antagoniſt's, that if he had not poſſeſſed half the powers he really did, he muſt have come off the conqueror, for, [347] who does not ſee the immediate danger, the fatal chances, to which a Proteſtant people are expoſed, who have the misfortune to be governed by a Popiſh Prince. As the King is naturally powerful, he can eaſily diſpoſe of the places of importance, and truſt, ſo as to have them filled with creatures of his own, who will engage in any enterprize, or pervert any law, to ſerve the purpoſes of the reigning Monarch. Had not the nation an inſtance of this, during the ſhort reign of the very Popiſh Prince, againſt whom Settle contended? Did not judge Jeffries, a name juſtly devoted to everlaſting infamy, corrupt the ſtreams of juſtice, and by the moſt audacious cruelty, pervert the forms of law, that the blood of innocent perſons might be ſhed, to gratify the appetite of a ſuſpicious maſter? Beſides, there is always a danger that the religion which the King profeſſes, will imperceptibly diffuſe itſelf over a nation, though no violence is uſed to promote it. The King, as he is the fountain of honour, ſo is he the fountain of faſhion, and as many people, who ſurround a throne, are of no religion in conſequence of conviction; it is but natural to ſuppoſe, that faſhion would influence them to embrace the religion of the Prince, and in James II's reign, this obſervation was verified; for the people of faſhion embraced the Popiſh religion ſo very faſt, in order to pleaſe the King, that a witty knight, who then lived, and who was by his education, and principles, a Papiſt, being asked by a nobleman what news? he made anſwer, I hear no news my lord, only, God's Papiſts can get no preferment, becauſe the King's Papiſts ſwarm ſo thick. This was a ſententious, and witty obſervation, and it will always hold true, that the religion of the King will become the religion of people of faſhion, and the lower ſtations ape their ſuperiors.

Upon the coronation of King James II. the two Parts of the Character of a Popiſh Succeſſor, [348] were, with the Excluſion Bill, on the 23d of April, 1685, burnt by the ſub-wardens, and fellows of Merton College, Oxon, in a public bonfire, made in the middle of their great quadrangle. During theſe contentions, Mr. Settle alſo publiſhed a piece called The Medal Revers'd, publiſhed 1681; this was an anſwer to a poem of Dryden's called The Medal, occaſioned by the bill againſt the earl of Shaftſbury being found ignoramus at the Old Baily, upon which the Whig party made bonfires, and ordered a medal to be ſtruck in commemoration of that event. Shaftſbury, who was by his principles a Whig, and who could not but foreſee the miſeries which afterwards happened under a Popiſh Prince, oppoſed the ſucceſſion with all his power; he was a man of very great endowments, and being of a buſtling tumultuous diſpoſition, was admirably fitted to be the head of a party. He was the leading man againſt the ſucceſſion of the Duke of York, and argued in the Houſe of Lords with great force againſt him, and what was more remarkable, ſometimes in the Duke's preſence. It is related, that at the Council-table, when his Majeſty, and his Royal Brother were both preſent, ſomething concerning the ſucceſſion was canvaſſed, when Shaftſbury, not in the leaſt intimidated, ſpoke his opinion with great vehemence againſt the Duke, and was anſwered with equal heat, but with leſs force, by the then lord chamberlain. During this debate, the Duke took occaſion to whiſper the King, that his Majeſty had a villain of a chancellor, to which the King merrily replied, oddsfiſh, York, what a fool you have of a chamberlain: by which it appears, his Majeſty was convinced that Shaftſbury's arguments were the ſtrongeſt.

In conſequence of Shaftſbury's violent oppoſition to the Duke, and the court party, there was a Bill of Indictment of High Treaſon, read before his [349] Majeſty's Commiſſioners of Oyer and Terminer in the Seſſions-Houſe at the Old Bailey, but the Jury found it Ignoramus; upon which, all the party rejoiced at the deliverance of their head. Theſe diſturbances gave Mr. Settle an opportunity to diſplay his abilities, which he did not neglect to improve, by which means he procured ſo formidable an antagoniſt as Mr. Dryden, who was obliged by his place of laureat, to ſpeak, and write for the court. Dryden had formerly joined Mr. Settle, in order to reduce the growing reputation of Shadwell, but their intereſt being now ſo oppoſite, they became poetical enemies, in which Settle was, no doubt, over-matched. He wrote a poem, however, called Azaria and Huſhai, in five ſheets, 4to. deſigned as an anſwer to Mr. Dryden's poem called Abſalom and Achitophel.

Soon after this, if we may credit the Oxford Antiquary, Settle changed ſides, and turned Tory, with as much violence as he had formerly eſpouſed the intereſt of the Whigs. He publiſhed in 1683, in eight ſheets in folio, a Narrative; the firſt part of which is concerning himſelf, as being of the Tory ſide; the ſecond to ſhew the inconſiſtency, and contradiction of Titus Oates's Narrative of the Plot of the Popiſh Party, againſt the Life of King Charles II. at the time when that Monarch intended to alter his miniſtry, to have conſented to the excluſion of his brother, and taken meaſures to ſupport the Proteſtant intereſt. This Oates was in the reign of James II. tried, and convicted of perjury, upon the evidence chiefly of Papiſts, and had a ſevere ſentence pronounced, and inflicted upon him, viz. Impriſonment for life, twice every year to ſtand on the pillory, and twice to be ſeverely, whipt; but he received a pardon from King William, after ſuffering his whippings, and two years impriſonment, with amazing fortitude, but was never allowed again to be an evidence.

[350] While Settle was engaged in the Tory party, he is ſaid, by Wood, to have been author of Animadverſions on the Laſt Speech and Confeſſion of William Lord Ruſſel, who fell a ſacrifice to the Duke of York, and whoſe ſtory, as related by Burnet, never fails to move the reader to tears. Alſo Remarks on Algernon Sidney's Paper, delivered to the Sheriffs at his Execution, London, 1683, in one ſheet, publiſhed the la [...]er end of December the ſame year. Algernon Sidney was likewiſe murdered by the ſame kind of violence, which popiſh bigotry had lifted up againſt the lives of ſome other Britiſh worthies.

He alſo wrote a heroic poem on the Coronation of the High and Mighty Monarch James II. London 1685, and then commenced a Journaliſt for the Court, and publiſhed weekly an Eſſay in behalf of the Adminiſtration. If Settle was capable of theſe mean compliances of writing for, or againſt a party, as he was hired, he muſt have poſſeſſed a very fordid mind, and been totally devoid of all principles of honour; but as there is no other authority for it than Wood, who is enthuſiaſtic in his temper, and often writes of things, not as they were, but as he would wiſh them to be, the reader may give what credit he pleaſes to the report.

Our author's dramatic works are

Our poet poſſeſſed a penſion from the City Magiſtrates, for an annual Panegyric to celebrate the Feſtival of the Lord Mayor, and in conſequence wrote various poems, which he calls Triumphs for the Inauguration of the Lord Mayors, which are preſerved in his works, and which it would be needleſs to enumerate. Beſides his dramatic pieces, he publiſhed many occaſional poems, addreſſed to his patrons, and ſome funeral elegies on the deaths of his friends. It is certain Settle did not want learning, and, in the opinion of ſome critics, in the early part of his life, ſometimes excelled Dryden; but that was certainly owing more to a power he had of keeping his temper unruffled, than any effort of genius; for between Dryden and Settle, there is as great difference, as between our modern verſifiers, and Pope.

Whatever was the ſucceſs of his poetry, he was the [353] beſt contriver of machinery in England, and for many years of the latter part of his life received an annual ſalary from Mrs. Minns, and her daughter Mrs. Leigh, for writing Drolls for Bartholomew, and Southwark Fairs, with proper decorations. which were generally ſo well cont [...]ived, that they exceeded thoſe of their opponents in the ſame profeſſion.

Our author died in the Charterhouſe 1734; ſome months before his deceaſe, he offered a play to the managers of the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, but he lived not to introduce it on the ſtage; it was called The Expulſion of the Danes from Britain.

End of the Third Volume.

Appendix A

[]
Notes
*
Ath. Oxon. vol. ii.
*
Wood.
*
In the preface to 2d edition, 1736, 4to.
*
Memoirs prefixed to her Novels, by a lady.
*
Memoires ubi ſupra.
*
Memoirs ubi ſupra.
§
A noted boxer.
A Turk, famous for his performances on a wire, after the manner of rope-dancers.
*
Biogr. Brit. p. 1844.
*
The foundation of the quarrel between lord Mohun and the duke (however it might be improved by party ſuggeſtions) was a law ſuit between theſe noblemen, on account of part of the earl of Macclesfield's eſtate, which Mr. Savage would have been heir to, had not his mother, to facilitate her deſigned divorce from that earl (with the pleaſing view of having her large fortune reſtored to her, and the no leſs pleaſing proſpect of being freed from an uncomfortable huſband) declared unhappy Savage to be illegitimate, and natural ſon of the then earl Rivers. Of this farther notice will be taken in Savage's Life.
*
General Dictionary. See the article Shadwell.
*
Wood, Athen. Oxon. vol. 2.
*
Athen. Oxon.
*
He might have added, 'twas unnatural.
*
Defence, or the Eſſay on Dramatic Poetry.
*
Original Poems.
*
This was written before Mr. Dodſley's edition of Virgil in Engliſh appeared.
*
Eſſay on Criticiſm.
*
Life of Congreve.
*
In Millar's edition of the biſhop's work, we have the following note upon this paſſage. ‘'This (ſays the editor) muſt be underſtood of his performances for the ſtage; for as to his perſonal character, there was nothing remarkably vicious in it: but his plays are, ſome of them, the fulleſt of obſcenity of any now extant.'’
*
Hiſtory of his own times, p. 264.
*
Collins's Peerage, p. 575. vol. I.
Burnet's Hiſt. of his own times.
*
Memoirs of Wilks by Obrian, Svo. 1732.
Memoirs of Mr. Farquhar, before his Works.
*
Farquhar's Letters.
*
Memoirs, ubi. ſupra.
*
Mr. Theophilus Cibber being about to publiſh (in a work entirely uncertaken by himſelf the Lives and Characters of all our Eminent Actors and Actreſſes, from Shakeſpear to the preſent time; leaves to the other Gentlemen concerned in this collection, the accounts of ſome players who could not be omitted herein, as Poets.
*
Cibber's Apology.
*
Biograph. Brittan. from the information of Southern.
*
Cibber's Life.
*
Cibber's Life.
*
Memoirs of Vanbrugh's Life.
*
Hiſtory of the ſtage.
*
We acknowledge a miſtake, which we committed in the life of Marloe, concerning Betterton. It was there obſerved that he formed himſelf upon Alleyn, the famous founder of Dulwich-Hoſpital, and copied his theatrical excellencies: which, upon a review of Betterton's life, we find could not poſſibly happen as Alleyn was dead ſeveral years before Betterton was born: The obſervation ſhould have been made of Hart.
*
Preface to her Eſſays.
*
Oldmixon's Life of Maynwaring.
*
Life, p. xviii. xix.
Ibid. p. xxii.
*
The deſign of this work, was to ridicule Sir Hans Sloan's writings, in the Philoſophical Tranſactions of the Royal-Society; of which Dr. Sloan was ſecretary. This work, of Dr. King's, which is now become very ſcarce, is one of the ſevereſt and merrieſt Satires that ever was written in Proſe.
*
Elegy in a Country Church-Yard, by Mr. Grey.
*
Mr. Cooper, in his ingenious work entitled the Life of Secrates, ſpeaks in a very different ſtrain of the biſhop's Hiſtory of the Royal Society, which he calls a ‘'Fuſtian Hiſtory!'’ and adds, that ‘'it was eſteemed an excellent compoſition by the metaphor-hunting mob of ſilly writings in Charles Il's reign.'’
*
Collins's Peerage. See Article Hallifax.
*
Dennis's Letters, vol. i. p. 213.
Biog. Brit. p. 2129.
*
See Dryden's Life.
Hiſtory of the Stewarts, vol. ii. p. 479.
*
The line here referred to, was omitted in the later editions of theſe verſes.
*
Chronol. Diary for A. D. 1714-15.
*
Biog. Britan, p. 2135.
*
Chronol. Diary, A. D. 1719.
§
Collins's Peerage, vol. iv. p. 259.
*
Welwood's preface to Rowe's Lucan.
*
Character of the Duke of Buckingham, p. 2. London, 1729.
*
General Dictionary. See Article Sheffield.
*
Vol. ii. p. 106.
*
M. . Cotton's works are printed together in one volumo, 12mo. The thirteenth edition is dated 1751.
*
Tickell's Preface to Addiſon's works.
*
Tickell. Ubi ſupra.
*
Budgel's Memoirs of the Boyles.
*
Tickell's Preface.
*
The ancient ſeat of the Bromleys in Warwickſhire.
A famous Library burnt there.
*
Vide Hiſtory of Warwickſhire.
*
Wood's Athen. Oxon. vol. ii. p. 1076.
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