THE LIVES OF THE POETS OF GREAT BRITAIN and IRELAND. Compiled from ample Materials ſcattered in a Va⯑riety 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. II.
LONDON: Printed for R. GRIFFITHS, at the Dunciad in St. Paul's Church-Yard. MDCCLIII.
Juſt Publiſhed,
In one ſmall Octavo Volume, Price bound in Calf 3s.
A TRANSLATION of the Ingenious Abbé DE MADLY's Obſervations on the ROMANS. A learned and curious Performance; wherein the Policy of that People is ſet in ſo clear a Light, and the Characters of their great Men drawn with ſuch a maſterly Pen, as cannot but recommend it to all Lovers of Claſſical Learning.
☞ In this Work many new Lights are caſt upon the Characters and Conduct of the following celebrated Perſonages:
Printed for R. GRIFFITHS, in Paul's Church-Yard.
A POET who flouriſhed in the reign of Charles I. but of whoſe birth and life we can recover no particu⯑lars. He was highly eſteemed by ſome wits in that reign, as appears from a Poem called Steps to Par⯑naſſus, which pays him the following well turned compliment.
Mr. Winſtanley, and after him Chetwood, has attributed a play to our author called Lingua, or the Contention of the Tongue and the Five Senſes for Superiority, a Comedy, acted at Cambridge, 1606; but Mr. Langbaine is of opinion, that nei⯑ther that, Love's Loadſtone, Landagartha, or Love's Dominion, as Winſtanley and Philips affirm, are his; Landagartha being written by Henry Burnel, eſquire, and Love's Dominion by Flecknoe. In the Comedy called Lingua, there is a circum⯑ſtance which Chetwood mentions, too curious to be omitted here. When this play was acted at Cambridge, Oliver Cromwel performed the part of Tactus, which he felt ſo warmly, that it firſt fired his ambition, and, from the poſſeſſion of an imaginary crown, he ſtretched his views to a real one; to accompliſh which, he was content to wade through a ſea of blood, and, as Mr. Gray beauti⯑fully expreſſes it, ſhut the Gates of Mercy on Man⯑kind; the ſpeech with which he is ſaid to have been ſo affected, is the following,
[3] Mr. Langbaine aſcribes to Brewer the two fol⯑lowing plays,
This laſt play of Anthony Brewer's, is one of the beſt irregular plays, next to thoſe of Shake⯑ſpear, which are in our language. The ſtory, which is extremely intereſting, is conducted, not ſo much with art, as ſpirit; the characters are ani⯑mated, and the ſcene buſy. Canutus King of Denmark, after having gained the city of Win⯑cheſter, by the villainy of a native, orders all to be put to the ſword, and at laſt enters the Cloiſter, raging with the thirſt of blood, and panting for deſtruction; he meets Carteſmunda, whoſe beauty ſtops his ruffian violence, and melts him, as it were, into a human creature. The language of this play is as modern, and the verſes as muſical as thoſe of Rowe; fire and elevation run through it, and there are many ſtrokes of the moſt melting ten⯑derneſs. Carteſmunda, the Fair Nun of Win⯑cheſter, inſpires the King with a paſſion for her, and after a long ſtruggle between honour and love, ſhe at laſt yields to the tyrant, and for the ſake of Canutus breaks her veſtal vows. Upon hearing that the enemy was about to enter the [4] Cloiſter, Carteſmunda breaks out into the following beautiful exclamation:
When Canutus advances, and firſt ſees Carteſ⯑munda, his ſpeech is poetical, and conceived in the true ſpirit of Tragedy.
In the ſame ſcene the following is extremely beautiful.
A POET and hiſtorian of the 17th century, was deſcended of an ancient, but decayed family in the county of Suſſex, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth*, and was educated a fellow commoner in Sidney Suſſex College in Cambridge. He afterwards removed to London, and lived about the court, where he contracted friendſhips with ſeveral gentlemen of faſhion and diſtinction, eſpe⯑cially with Endymion Portér eſquire, one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber to King Charles I. while he reſided at court he wrote five plays, which are extant under his name. In 1622, he pub⯑liſhed at London, in 8vo. a tranſlation of Virgil's Georgics with annotations; and in 1635, a Poem on King Edward III. It was printed under the title of the Victorious Reign of Edward III. written in ſeven books, by his Majeſty's command. In the dedication to Charles I. our author writes thus; ‘"I ſhould humbly have craved your Majeſty's pardon for my omiſſion of the latter part of King Edward's reign, but that the ſenſe of mine own defects hath put me in mind of a moſt neceſſary ſuit, ſo beg forgiveneſs for that part which is here written. Thoſe great actions of Edward III. are the arguments of this poem, which is here [6] ended, where his fortune began to decline, where the French by revolts, and private prac⯑tices regained that which had been won from them by eminent and famous victories; which times may afford fitter obſervations for an acute hiſtorian in proſe, than ſtrains of heighth for an heroic poem."’ The poem thus begins,
From the lines quoted, the reader will be able to judge what ſort of verſiſier our author was, and from this beginning he has no great reaſon to expect an entertaining poem, eſpecially as it is of the hiſtorical kind; and he who begins a poem thus inſipidly, can never expect his readers to ac⯑company him to the third page. May likewiſe tranſlated Lucan's Pharſalia, which poem he conti⯑nued down to the death of Julius Caeſar, both in Latin and Engliſh verſe.
Dr. Fuller ſays, that ſome diſguſt was given to him at court, which alienated his affections from it, and determined him, in the civil wars to adhere to the Parliament.
Mr. Philips in his Theatrum Poetarum, obſerves, that he ſtood candidate with Sir William Davenant for the Laurel, and his ambition being fruſtrated, he conceived the moſt violent averſion to the King and Queen. Sir William Davenant, beſides the acknowledged ſuperiority of his abilities, had ever diſtinguiſhed himſelf for loyalty, and was patro⯑nized and favoured by men of power, eſpecially the Marquis of Newcaſtle: a circumſtance which [7] we find not to have happened to May: it is true, they were both the friends of the amiable Endy⯑mion Porter, eſq but we are not informed whe⯑ther that gentleman intereſted himſelf on either ſide.
In the year 1647, was publiſhed in London in folio, The Hiſtory of the Parliament of Eng⯑land, which began November 3, 1640, with a Short and Neceſſary View of ſome precedent Years, written by Thomas May, Eſq Secretary to the Parliament, and publiſhed by their authority. In 1650 he publiſhed in 8vo. A Breviary of the Hiſtory of the Parliament of England. Beſides theſe works, Mr. Philips tells us, he wrote a Hiſ⯑tory of Henry IV. in Engliſh verſe, the Comedy of the Old Wives Tale, and the Hiſtory of Orlando Furioſo; but the latter, Mr. Langbaine, who is a higher authority than Philips, aſſures us was written before May was able to hold a pen, much leſs to write a play, being printed in 410. London, 1594. Mr. Winſtanley ſays, that in his hiſtory, he ſhews all the ſpleen of a mal-content, and had he been preferred to the Bays, as he happened to be diſ⯑appointed, he would have embraced the Royal in⯑tereſt with as much zeal, as he did the republi⯑can: for a man who eſpouſes a cauſe from ſpite only, can be depended upon by no party, becauſe he acts n [...]t upon any principles of honour or conviction.
Our author died ſuddenly in the year 1652, and was interred near the tomb of Camden, on the Weſt ſide of the North iſle of Weſtminſter Abbey, but his body, with ſeveral others, was dug up after the reſtoration, and buried in a pit in St. Margaret's church yard‖. Mr. May's plays are,
[9] If this comedy, is no better than theſe wretched commendatory lines, it is miſerable indeed.
WAS born in Glouceſterſhire, where he went to ſchool with one Green, and hav⯑ing got into his accidence, was bound apprentice to a Waterman in London, which, though a labo⯑rious employment, did not ſo much depreſs his mind, but that he ſometimes indulged himſelf in poetry. Taylour retates a whimſical ſtory of his ſchoolmaſter Mr. Green, which we ſhall here inſert upon the authority of Winſtanley. ‘"Green loved new milk ſo well, that in order to have it new, he went to the market to buy a cow, but his eyes being dim, he cheapened a bull, and ask⯑ing the price of the beaſt, the owner and he a⯑greed, and driving it home, would have his maid to milk it, which ſhe attempting to do, could find no teats; and whilſt the maid and her maſter were arguing the matter, the bull very fairly piſſed into the pail;"’ whereupon his ſcho⯑lar John Taylour wrote theſe verſes.
[10] Our Water-poet found leiſure to write fourſcore books, ſome of which occaſioned diverſion enough in their time, and were thought worthy to be collec⯑ted in a folio volume. Mr. Wood obſerves, that had he had learning equal to his natural genius, which was excellent, he might have equalled, if not ex⯑celled, many who claim a great ſhare in the temple of the muſes. Upon breaking out of the rebellion, 1642, he left London, and retired to Oxford, where he was much eſteemed for his facetious com⯑pany; he kept a common victualling houſe there, and thought he did great ſervice to the Royal cauſe, by writing Paſquils againſt the round-heads. After the garriſon of Oxford ſurrendered, he retired to Weſtminſter, kept a public houſe in Phaenix Alley near Long Acre, and continued conſtant in his loyalty to the King: after whoſe death, he ſet⯑up a ſign over his door, of a mourning crown, but that proving offenſive, he pulled it down, and hung up his own picture*, under which were theſe words,
On the other ſide,
He died in the year 1654, aged 74, and was buried in the church yard of St. Paul's Covent-Garden; his nephew, a Painter at Oxford, who lived in Wood's time, informed him of this circumſtance, who gave his picture to the ſchool gallery there, where it now hangs, ſhewing [11] him to have had a quick and ſmart countenance. The following epitaph was written upon him,
SON of Thomas Habington, Eſq was born at Hendlip in Worceſterſhire, on the 4th of November 1605, and received his education at St. Omers and Paris, where he was earneſtly preſ⯑ſed to take upon him the habit of a Jeſuit; but that ſort of life not ſuiting with his genius, he excuſed himſelf and left them*. After his return from Paris, he was inſtructed by his father in hiſtory, and other uſeful branches of literature, and became, ſays Wood, a very accompliſhed gentleman. This au⯑thor has written.
We ſhall preſent the readers with the prologue to the Queen of Arragon, acted at Black-Fryars, as a ſpecimen of this author's poetry.
WAS the ſon of Francis Goldſmith, of St. Giles in the Fields in Middleſex, Eſq was educa⯑ted under Dr. Nicholas Grey, in Merchant-Tay⯑lor's School, became a gentleman commoner in Pembroke-College in the beginning of 1629, was ſoon after tranſlated to St. John's College, and after he had taken a degree in arts, to Grey's-Inn, where he ſtudied the common law ſeveral years, but other learning more*. Mr. Langbaine ſays, that he could recover no other memoirs of this gentleman, but that he lived in the reign of King Charles the Firſt, and obliged the World with a tranſlation of a play out of Latin called.
Sophompaneas, or the Hiſtory of Joſeph, with Annotations, a Tragedy, printed 4to. Lond. 1640, and dedicated to the Right Hon. Henry Lord Marquis of Dorcheſter. This Drama was writ⯑ten by the admirable Hugo Grotius, publiſhed by him at Amſterdam 1635, and dedicated to Voſſius, Profeſſor of Hiſtory and Civil Arts in [14] Amſterdam. He ſtiles it a Tragedy, notwithſtand⯑ing it ends ſucceſsfully, and quotes for his autho⯑rity in ſo doing, Aeſch [...]lus, Euripides, and even Voſ⯑ſius, in his own Art of Poetry. Some make it a Queſti⯑on, whether it be lawful to found a dramatic Poem on any ſacred ſubject, and ſome people of tender conſciences have murmured againſt this Play, and another of the ſame caſt called Chriſt's Paſſion; but let us hear the opinion of Voſſius himſelf, prefixed to this Play. ‘"I am of opinion, (ſays he) it is better to chuſe another argument than ſacred. For it agrees not with the majeſty of ſacred things, to be made a play and a fable. It is alſo a work of very dangerous conſequence, to min⯑gle human inventions with things ſacred; becauſe the poet adds uncertainties of his own, ſometimes falſities; which is not only to play with holy things, but alſo to graft in men's minds opini⯑ons, now and then falſe. Theſe things have place, eſpecially when we bring in God, or Chriſt ſpeaking, or treating of the myſteries of religion. I will allow more where the hiſtory is taken out of the ſacred ſcriptures; but yet in the nature of the argument is civil, as the ac⯑tion of David flying from his ſon Abſolom; or of Joſeph ſold by his brethren, advanced by Pharaoh to the government of Egypt, and that dignity adored by, and made known unto his brethren. Of which argument is Sophompaneas, written by Hugo Grotius, embaſſador from the Queen of Sweden to the King of France; which tragedy, I ſuppoſe, may be ſet for a pattern to him, that would handle an argument from the holy ſcriptures."’ This is the opinion of Voſſius, and with him all muſt agree who admire the truly admirable Samſon Agoniſtes of Milton.
As we have frequently mentioned Grotius, the ſhort account of ſo great a man, which is inſerted in Langbaine, will not be unpleaſing to the reader. ‘[15]"Hugo Grotius, ſays he, was an honour to his country: he was born in the year 1583, and will be famous to poſterity, in regard of thoſe many excellent pieces he has publiſhed. In ſome of his writings he deſended Armini⯑aniſm, for which he ſuffered impriſonment in the caſtle of Louverſtein, in the year 1618; at which time his aſſociate Barnevelt loſt his head on the ſame account. Afterwards Grotius eſcap⯑ed out of priſon, by means of Maria Reigerſberg his wife, and fled into Flanders; and thence in⯑to France, where he was kindly received by Lewis XIII. He died at Roſtock in Mecclebourg, Sept. 1, 1645. His life is written at large by Melchoir Adamus, in Latin."’
As to our outhor's tranſlation, which is in heroic verſe, it is much commended by verſes from four of his friends.
He alſo tranſlated Grotius's conſolatory oration to his father, with epitaphs; and alſo his Cate⯑chiſm into Engliſh verſe.
Mr. Goldſmith died at Aſhton in Northampton⯑ſhire, in September 1655, and was buried there, leaving behind him an only daughter named Ka⯑therine, afterwards the wife of Sir Henry Da⯑cres.
WAS the ſon of a vicar of Hinkley, in Leiceſter⯑ſhire, where he was born, and received his grammatical education, under one Mr. Richard Vines, a zealous Puritan. After he had compleated his ſchool education, he was ſent to Chriſt's-College in Cam⯑bridge, and in a ſhort time diſtinguiſhing himſelf for his knowledge of the Latin tongue, and for Oratory, he was preferred to a fellowſhip in St. John's-College, in the ſaid univerſity. He continued there about nine years, and made during that time ſome ſucceſsful attempts in poetry. At length, upon the eruption of the civil war, he was the firſt who eſ⯑pouſed the Royal cauſe in verſe, againſt the Preſ⯑byterians, who perſecuted him in their turn with more ſolid ſeverity; for he was ejected, ar ſoon as the reins of power were in their hands. Dr. Fuller beſtows upon our author the moſt laviſh panegyric: He was (ſays he) a general artiſt, pure latiniſt, an exquiſite orator, and what was his maſ⯑ter-piece, an eminent poet. Dr. Fuller thus cha⯑racterizes him, but as Cleveland has not left remains behind him ſufficient to convey to poſterity ſo high an idea of his merit, it may be ſuppoſed that the Doctor ſpoke thus in his favour, meerly on account of their agreement in political principles. He ad⯑dreſſed an oration, ſays Winſtanley, to Charles I. who was ſo well pleaſed with it, that he ſent for him, and gave him his hand to kiſs, with great ex⯑preſſions of kindneſs. When Oliver Cromwell * [17] was in election to be member for the town of Cambridge, as he engaged all his friends and in⯑tereſts to oppoſe it; ſo when it was carried but by one vote, he cried out with much paſſion, that, that ſingle vote had ruined church and king⯑dom*, ſuch fatal events did he preſage from the ſucceſs of Oliver. Mr. Cleveland was no ſooner forced from the College, by the prevalence of the Parliament's intereſt, but he betook himſelf to the camp, and particularly to Oxford the head quar⯑ters of it, as the moſt proper ſphere for his wit, learning and loyalty. Here he began a paper war with the oppoſite party, and wrote ſome ſmart ſatires againſt the Rebels, eſpecially the Scots. His poem called the Mixt Aſſembly; his charac⯑ter of a London Diurnal, and a Committee-man, are thought to contain the true ſpirit of ſatire, and a juſt repreſentation of the general confuſion of the times. From Oxford he went to the gar⯑riſon of Newark, where he acted as judge advo⯑cate till that garriſon was ſurrendered, and by an excellent temperature, of both, ſays Winſtanley, he was a juſt and prudent judge for the King, and a faithful advocate for the Country.
Here he drew up a bantering anſwer and rejoin⯑der to a Parliament officer, who had written to him on account of one Hill, that had deſerted their ſide, and carried off with him to Newark, the ſum of 133 l. and 8d. We ſhall give part of Mr. Cleveland's anſwer to the officer's firſt letter, by which an eſtimate may be formed of the reſt.
‘"It is ſo, that our brother and fellow-la⯑bourer in the goſpel, is ſtart aſide; then this may ſerve for an uſe of inſtruction, not to truſt in man, or in the ſon of man. Did [18] not Demas leave Paul? Did not Oneſimus run from his maſter Philemon? Alſo this ſhould teach us to employ our talents, and not to lay them up in a napkin; had it been done among the cavaliers, it had been juſt, then the Iſraelite had ſpoiled the Egyptian; but for Simeon to plunder Levi, that—that, &c."’
The garriſon of Newark defended themſelves with much courage and reſolution againſt the beſiegers, and did not ſurrender but by the King's ſpecial com⯑mand, after he had thrown himſelf into the hands of the Scots; which action of his Majeſty's Cleveland paſ⯑ſionately reſented, in his poem called, the King's Diſguiſe: Upon ſome private intelligence, three days before the King reached them, he foreſaw, that the army would be bribed to ſurrender him, in which he was not miſtaken. As ſoon as this event took place, Cleveland, who warmly adhered to the regal party, was obliged to atone for his loyalty by languiſhing in a jail, at Yar⯑mouth, where he remained for ſome time under all the diſadvantages of poverty, and wretchedneſs: At laſt being quite ſpent with the ſeverity of his confinement, he addreſſed Oliver Cromwell in a petition for liberty, in ſuch pathetic and moving terms, that his heart was melted with the priſoner's expoſtulation, and he ordered him to be ſet at liberty. In this addreſs, our author did not in the leaſt violate his loyalty, for he made no conceſſions to Oliver, but only a repreſen [...]a⯑tion of the hardſhips he ſuffered, without acknow⯑ledging his ſovereignty, tho' not without flattering his power. Having thus obtained his liberty, he ſet⯑tled himſelf in Gray's-Inn, and as he owed his re⯑leaſement to the Protector, he thought it his duty to be paſſive, and not at leaſt to act againſt him: But Cleveland did not long enjoy his ſtate of unenvied eaſe, for he was ſeized with an inter⯑mitting f [...]ver, and died the 29th of April, 1685. [19] ‖ On the firſt of May he was buried, and his dear friend Dr. John Pearſon, afterwards lord biſhop of Cheſter, preached his funeral ſermon, and gave this reaſon, why he declined commend⯑ing the deceaſed, ‘"becauſe ſuch praiſing of him would not be adequate to the expectation of the audience, ſeeing ſome who knew him muſt think it far below him."’—There were many who attempted to write elegies upon him, and ſeveral performances of this kind, in Latin and Engliſh, are prefixed to the edition of Cleveland's works, in verſe and proſe, printed in 8vo, in 1677, with his effigies prefixed.
From the verſes of his called Smectymnuus, we ſhall give the following ſpecimen, in which the reader will ſee he did not much excel in numbers.
The following lines from the author's celebrated ſatire, entitled, the Rebel-Scot, will yet more am⯑ply ſhew his turn for this ſpecies of poetry.
It is probable that this bitterneſs againſt our brethren of North-Britain, chiefly ſprang from Mr. Cleveland's reſentment of the Scots Army deli⯑vering up the King to the Parliament.
SON of Thomas Holyday, a taylor, was born at All Saints pariſh, within the city of Oxford, about the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign; he was entered early into Chriſt Church, in the time of Dr. [...]avis, his relation and patron, by [21] whom he was choſen ſtudent, and having taken his degrees of batchelor and maſter of arts, he be⯑came archdeacon of Oxfordſhire. In 1615, he entered into holy orders*, and was in a ſhort time taken notice of as an eloquent or rather popular preacher, by which he had two benefices confered on him both in the dioceſe of Oxford.
In the year 1618 he went as chaplain to Sir Francis Stewart, when he accompanied to Spain the Count Gundamore, after he had continued ſeveral Years at our court as embaſſador, in which journey Holyday behaved in a facetious and plea⯑ſant manner, which ingratiated him in the fa⯑vour of Gundamore‖
Afterwards our author became chaplain to King Charles I. and ſucceeded Dr. Bridges in the archdeaconry of Oxon, before the year 1626. In 1642 he was by virtue of the letters of the ſaid King, created, with ſeveral others, Dr. of divinity. When the rebellion broke out, he ſheltered himſelf near Oxford; but when he ſaw the roy⯑al party decline ſo much that their cauſe was deſ⯑perate, he began to tamper with the prevailing power; and upon Oliver Cromwell's being raiſed to the Protectorſhip, he ſo far coincided with the Uſurper's intereſts, as to undergo the examination of the Friers, in order to be inducted into the rectory of Shilton in Berks, in the place of one Thomas Lawrence, ejected on account of his be⯑ing non compos mentis. For which act he was much blamed and cenſured by his ancient friends the clergy, who adhered to the King, and who rather choſe to live in poverty during the uſur⯑pation, than by a mean compliance with the times, betray the intereſt of the church, and the cauſe of their exiled ſovereign.
[22] After the King's reſtoration he quitted the liv⯑ing he held under Cromwell, and returned to Eiſley near Oxon, to live on his archdeaconry; and had he not acted a temporizing part it was ſaid he might have been raiſed to a ſee, or ſome rich deanery. His poetry however, got him a name in thoſe days, and he ſtood very fair for preferment; and his philo⯑ſophy diſcovered in his book de Anima, and well languaged ſermons, (ſays Wood) ſpeaks him eminent in his generation, and ſhew him to have traced the rough parts, as well as the pleaſant paths of poetry.
His works are,
Dr. Holyday, who according to the ſame au⯑thor was highly conceited of his own worth, eſ⯑pecially in his younger Days, but who ſeems not to have much reaſon for being ſo, died at a Village called Eiſley on the 2d day of October 1661, and was three days after buried at the foot of Biſhop King's monument, under the ſouth wall of the iſle joining on the ſouth ſide to the choir of Chriſt Church Cathedral, near the remains of William Cartwright, and Jo. Gregory.
A Writer in the reign of Charles I, whom we may reckon, ſays Langbaine, among poets of the third rate, but who in ſtrict juſtice cannot riſe above a fifth. He was patronized by Sir John Suckling, He has ſeven plays and maſks extant, beſides other poems, which Mr. Langbaine ſays, are entirely his own, and that he has had recourſe to no preceding author for aſſiſtance, and in this reſpect deſerves pardon if not applauſe from the critic. This he avers in his prologue to Covent-Garden.
The reader from the above ſpecimen may ſee what a poet he was; but as he was in ſome degree of eſteem in his time, we thought it im⯑proper to omit him.
[25] The following are his plays;
Mr. Philips and Mr. Winſtanley, according to their old cuſtom, have aſcribed two other anony⯑mous plays to our author: The Woman Hater Ar⯑raigned, a Comedy, and Charles the Firſt, a Tra⯑gedy, which Langbaine has ſhewn not to be his.
A VERY voluminous dramatic author, was born in the city of London, and was de⯑ſcended from the Shirleys in Suſſex or Warwick⯑ſhire; he was educated in grammar learning in Merchant Taylors ſchool, and tranſplanted thence to St. John's College, but in what ſtation he lived there, we don't find.
Dr. William Laud, afterwards archbiſhop of Canterbury, preſiding over that houſe, conceived a great affection for our author, and was willing to cheriſh and improve thoſe promiſing abilities ear⯑ly diſcoverable in him. Mr. Shirley had always an inclination to enter into holy orders, but, for a very particular reaſon, was diſcouraged from at⯑tempting it by Dr. Laud; this reaſon to ſome may appear whimſical and ridiculous, but has certainly much weight and force in it.
Shirley had unfortunately a large mole upon his left cheek, which much disfigured him, and gave him a very forbidding appearance. Laud obſerved very juſtly, that an audience can ſcarce help con⯑ceiving a prejudice againſt a man whoſe appear⯑ance [...]hocks them, and were he to preach with the tongue of an angel, that prejudice could ne⯑ver be ſurmounted; beſides the danger of women with child fixing their eyes on him in the pulpit, a [...]d as the imagination of pregnant women has ſtrange influence on the unborn infants, it is ſomewhat cruel to expoſe them to that danger, and by theſe means do them great injury, as [27] ones fortune in ſome meaſure depends upon ex⯑terior comelineſs†. But Shirley, who was reſo⯑lute to be in orders, left that univerſity ſoon af⯑ter, went to Cambridge, there took the degrees in arts, and became a miniſter near St. Alban's in Hertfordſhire; but never having examined the au⯑thority, and purity of the Proteſtant Church, and being deluded by the ſophiſtry of ſome Romiſh prieſts, he changed his religion for theirs‖, quit⯑ted his living, and taught a grammar ſchool in the town of St. Alban's; which employment he [...]ding an intolerable drudgery, and being of a fickle unſteady temper, he relinquiſhed it, came up to London, and took lodgings in Gray's Inn, where he commenced a writer for the ſtage with tolerable ſucceſs. He had the good fortune to gain ſeveral wealthy and beneficent patrons, eſpe⯑cially Henrietta Maria the Queen Conſort, who made him her ſervant.
When the civil war broke out, he was driven from London, and attended upon his Royal Miſtreſs, while his wife and family were left in a deplorable condition behind him. Some time after that, when the Queen of England was forced, by the fury of oppoſition, to ſollicit ſuccours from France, in order to reinſtate her huſband; our author could no longer wait upon her, and was received into the ſervice of William Cavendiſh, marquis of Newcaſtle, to take his for⯑tune with him in the wars. That noble ſpirited patron had given him ſuch diſtinguiſhing marks of his liberality, as Shirley thought himſelf happy in his ſervice, eſpecially as by theſe means he could at the ſame time ſerve the King.
Having mentioned Henrietta Maria, Shirley's Royal Miſtreſs, the reader will pardon a digreſſion, which flows from tenderneſs, and is no more than an expreſſion of humanity. Her life-time in Eng⯑land [28] was embittered with a continued perſecution; ſhe lived to ſee the unhappy death of her Lord; ſhe witneſſed her exiled ſons, not only oppreſſed with want, but obliged to quit France, at the remon⯑ſtrance of Cromwel's ambaſſador; ſhe herſelf was loaded with poverty, and as Voltaire obſerves, ‘"was driven to the moſt calamitous ſituation that ever poor lady was expoſed to; ſhe was obliged to ſollicit Cromwel to pay her an allowance, as Queen Dowager of England, which, no doubt, ſhe had a right to demand; but to de⯑mand it, nay worſe, to be obliged to beg it [...] a man who ſhed her Huſband's blood upon a ſcaffold, is an affliction, ſo exceſſively height⯑ened, that few of the human race ever bore one ſo ſevere."’
After an active ſervice under the marquis of Newcaſtle, and the King's cauſe declining beyond hope of recovery, Shirley came again to London, and in order to ſupport himſelf and family, re⯑ſumed his former occupation of teaching a ſchool, in White Fryars, in which he was pretty ſucceſs⯑ful, and, as Wood ſays, ‘'educated many ingeni⯑ous youths, who, afterwards in various faculties, became eminent.'’ After the Reſtoration, ſome of the plays our author had written in his leiſure moments, were repreſented with ſucceſs, but there is no account whether that giddy Monarch ever rewarded him for his loyalty, and indeed it is more probable he did not, as he purſued the duke of Lauderdale's maxim too cloſely, of making friends of his enemies, and ſuffering his friends to ſhift for themſelves, which infamous maxim drew down diſhonour on the adminiſtration and govern⯑ment of Charles II. Wood further remarks, that Shirley much aſſiſted his patron, the duke of New⯑caſtle, in the compoſition of his plays, which the duke afterwards publiſhed, and was a drudge to John Ogilby in his tranſlation of Homer's Iliad [29] and Odyſſeys, by writing annotations on them. At length, after Mr. Shirley had lived to the age of 72, in various conditions, having been much agitated in the world, he, with his ſecond wife, was driven by the diſmal conflagration that hap⯑pened in London, Anno 1666, from his habita⯑tion in Fleet-ſtreet, to another in St. Giles's in the Fields. Where, being overcome with miſeries occa⯑ſioned by the fire, and bending beneath the weight of years, they both died in one day, and their bodies were buried in one grave, in the church⯑yard of St. Giles's, on October 29, 1666.
The works of this author
We ſhall preſent the reader with a quotation taken from a comedy of his, publiſhed in Dodſley's col⯑lection of old plays, called A Bird in a Cage, p. 234. Jupiter is introduced thus ſpeaking,
WAS born at Abernant in Carmarthenſhire, the place where his father was miniſter, in the year 1594*. Howel himſelf, in one of his familiar epiſtles, ſays, that his aſcendant was that hot conſtellation of Cancer about the middle of the Dog Days. After he was educated in grammar learning in the free ſchool of Hereford, he was ſent to Jeſus College in the beginning of 1610, took a degree in arts, and then quitted the uni⯑verſity. By the help of friends and a ſmall ſum of money his father aſſiſted him with, he tra⯑velled for three years into ſeveral countries, where he improved himſelf in the various languages; ſome years after his return, the reputation of his [33] parts was ſo great, that he was made choice of to be ſent into Spain, to recover of the Spaniſh monarch a rich Engliſh ſhip, ſeized by the Vice⯑roy of Sardinia for his maſter's uſe, upon ſome pretence of prohibited goods being found in it.
During his abſence, he was elected Fellow of Je⯑ſus College, 1623, and upon his return, was pa⯑tronized by Emanuel, lord Scroop, Lord Preſi⯑dent of the North, and by him was made his ſe⯑cretary§. As he reſided in York, he was, by the Mayor and Aldermen of Richmond, choſe a Burgeſs for their Corporation to ſit in that Parlia⯑ment, that began at Weſtminſter in the year 1627. Four years after, he went ſecretary to Robert, earl of Leiceſter, ambaſſador extraordinary from Eng⯑land to the King of Denmark, before whom he made ſeveral Latin ſpeeches, ſhewing the occaſion of their embaſſy, viz. to condole the death of Sophia, Queen Dowager of Denmark, Grandmother to Charles I. King of England.
Our author enjoyed many beneficial employments, and at length, about the beginning of the civil war, was made one of the clerks of the council, but being extravagant in his temper, all the money he got was not ſufficient to preſerve him from a Jail. When the King was forced from the Parliament, and the Royal intereſt declined, Howel was arreſted, by order of a certain committee, who owed him no good will, and carried priſoner to the Fleet; and having now nothing to depend upon but his wits, he was obliged to write and tranſlate books for a livelihood, which brought him in, ſays Wood, a comfortable ſubſiſtance, during his ſtay there; he is the firſt perſon we have met with, in the courſe of this work, who may be ſaid to have made a trade of authorſhip, having written no leſs than 49 books on different ſubjects.
[34] In the time of the rebellion, we find Howel tampering with the prevailing power, and ready to have embraced their meaſures; for which rea⯑ſon, at the reſtoration, he was not contined in his place of clerk to the council, but was only made king's hiſtoriographer, being the firſt in England, ſays Wood, who bore that title; and hav⯑ing no very beneficial employment, he wrote books to the laſt.
He had a great knowledge in modern hiſtories, eſpecially in thoſe of the countries in which he had travelled, and he ſeems, by his letters, to have been no contemptible politician: As to his poetry, it is ſmoother, and more harmonious, than was ve⯑ry common with the bards of his time.
As he introduced the trade of writing for bread, ſo he alſo is charged with venal flattery, than which nothing can be more ignoble and baſe. To praiſe a blockhead's wit becauſe he is great, is too frequently practiſed by authors, and deſervedly draws down contempt upon them. He who is favoured and patronized by a great man, at the expence of his integrity and honour, has paid a dear price for the purchaſe, a miſerable exchange, patronage for virtue, dependance for freedom.
Our author died the beginning of November, 1666, and was buried on the North ſide of the Temple church.
We ſhall not trouble the reader with an enume⯑ration of all the tranſlations and proſe works of this author; the occaſion of his being introduced here, is, his having written
Nuptials of Peleus and Thetis, conſiſting of a Maſque and a Comedy, or the Great Royal Ball, acted in Paris ſix times by the King in perſon, the Duke of Anjou, the Duke of York, with other Noblemen; alſo by the Princeſs Royal, Henrietta [35] Maria, Princeſs of Conti, &c. printed in 4to. 1654, and addreſſed to the Marchioneſs of Dorcheſter. Beſides this piece, his Dodona's Grove, or Vocal Foreſt, is in the higheſt reputation.
His entertaining letters, many of whom were written to the greateſt perſonages in England, and ſome in particular to Ben Johnſon, were firſt pub⯑liſhed in four volumes; but in 1737, the tenth edition of them was publiſhed in one volume, which is alſo now become ſcarce. They are in⯑terſperſed with occaſional verſes; from one of theſe little pieces we ſhall ſelect the following ſpe⯑cimen of this author's poetical talent.
WAS the youngeſt, and tenth ſon of Sir Hen⯑ry Fanſhaw of Ware-park in Hertford⯑ſhire; he was born in the year 1607, and was in⯑itiated in learning by the famous Thomas Farna⯑by. He afterwards compleated his ſtudies in the univerſity of Cambridge, and from thence went to travel into foreign countries, by which means he became a very accompliſhed gentleman. In 1635 he was patronized by King Charles I. on ac⯑count of his early and promiſing abilities; he took him into his ſervice, and appointed him reſi⯑dent at the court of Spain§. During his embaſſy there, his chief buſineſs was, to demand reparati⯑on [37] and puniſhment of ſome free-booters, who had taken ſhips from the Engliſh, and to endea⯑vour the reſtoration of amity, trade and commerce.
When the civil war broke out, he returned to England, having accompliſhed the purpoſes of his embaſſy abroad, and attached himſelf with the ut⯑moſt zeal to the Royal Standard; and during thoſe calamitous times was intruſted with many import⯑ant matters of ſtate.
In 1644, attending the court at Oxford, the de⯑gree of Doctor of Civil Laws was conferred upon him‖, and the reputation of his parts every day increaſing, he was thought a proper perſon to be ſecretary to Charles, Prince of Wales, whom he attended into the Weſtern parts of England, and from thence into the Iſles of Scilly and Jerſey.
In 1648 he was appointed treaſurer of the navy, under the command of Prince Rupert, in which office he continued till the year 1650, when he was created a baronet by King Charles II. and ſent envoy extraordinary to the court of Spain. Being recalled thence into Scotland, where the King then was, he ſerved there in quality of ſe⯑cretary of ſtate, to the ſatisfaction of all parties, notwithſtanding he refuſed to take the covenant engagements, which Charles II. forced by the im⯑portunity of the Preſbyterians, entered into, with a reſolution to break them. In 1651 he was made priſoner at the battle of Worceſter and commit⯑ted to cloſe cuſtody in London, where he conti⯑nued, 'till his confinement introduced a very dan⯑gerous ſickneſs; he then had liberty granted him, upon giving bail, to go for the recovery of his health, into any place he ſhould chuſe, provided he ſtirred not five miles from thence, without leave from the Parliament.
In February, 1659, he repaired to the King at [38] Breda, who knighted him the April following. Upon his Majeſty's reſtoration, it was expected, from his great ſervices, and the regard the King had for him, that he would have been made ſecretary of ſtate, but at that period there were ſo many people's merits to repay, and ſo great a clamour for preferment, that Sir Richard was diſappointed, but had the place of maſter of requeſts conferred on him, a ſtation, in thoſe times, of conſiderable profit and dignity.
On account of his being a good Latin ſcholar, he was alſo made a ſecretary for that tongue*. In 1661, being one of the burgeſſes for the univer⯑ſity of Cambridge, he was ſworn a privy coun⯑ſellor for Ireland, and having by his reſidence in fo⯑reign parts, qualified himſelf for public employment, he was ſent envoy extraordinary to Portugal, with a dormant commiſſion to the ambaſſador, which he was to make uſe of as occaſion ſhould require. Shortly after, he was appointed ambaſſador to that court, where he negotiated the marriage be⯑tween his maſter King Charles II. and the In⯑fanta Donna Catharina, daughter to King John VI. and towards the end of the ſame year he re⯑turned to England. We are aſſured by Wood, that in the year 1662, he was ſent again ambaſ⯑fador to that court, and when he had finiſhed his commiſſion, to the mutual ſatisfaction of Charles II. and Alphonſo King of Portugal, being recalled in 1663, he was ſworn one of his Majeſty's Privy Council. In the beginning of the year 1644 he was ſent ambaſſador to Philip IV. King of Spain, and arrived February 29 at Cadiz, where he met with a very extraordinary and unexpected ſaluta⯑tion, and was received with ſome circumſtances of particular eſteem. It appears from one of Sir Richard's letters, that this diſtinguiſhing reſpect was paid him, not only on his own, but on his [39] maſter's account; and in another of his letters he diſcovers the ſecret why the Spaniard yielded him, contrary to his imperious proud nature, ſo much honour, and that is, that he expected Tangier and Jamaica to be reſtored to him by England, which occaſioned his arrival to be ſo impatiently long⯑ed for, and magnificently celebrated. During his reſidence at this court King Philip died, September 17, 1665, leaving his ſon Charles an infant, and his dominions under the regency of his queen, Mary Anne, daughter of the emperor Fer⯑dinand III. Sir Richard taking the advantage of his minority, put the finiſhing hand to a peace with Spain, which was ſufficiently tired and weak⯑ened with a 25 years war, for the recovery of Por⯑tugal, which had been diſmembered from the Spa⯑niſh crown in 1640; the treaty of peace was ſigned at Madrid December 6, 1665. About the 14th of January following, his excellency took a journey into Portugal, where he ſtaid till towards the end of March; the deſign of his journey cer⯑tainly was to effect an accommodation between that crown and Spain, which however was not produced till 1667, by the interpoſition of his Bri⯑tannic Majeſty. Our author having finiſhed his commiſſion was preparing for his return to Eng⯑land, when June 4, 1666, he was ſeized at Madrid with a violent fever, which put an end to his valuable life, the 16th of the ſame month, the ve⯑ry day he intended to ſet out for England: his bo⯑dy being embalmed, it was conveyed by his lady, and all his children, then living, by land to Ca⯑lais, and ſo to London, whence being carried to All Saints church in Hertford, it was depoſited in the vault of his father-in-law, Sir John Harriſon. The Author of the Short Account of his Life, prefixed to his letters, ſays, ‘'that he was remark⯑able for his meekneſs, ſincerity, humanity and piety, and alſo was an able ſtateſman and a great [40] ſcholar, being in particular a compleat maſter of ſeveral modern languages, eſpecially the Spa⯑niſh, which he ſpoke and wrote with as much ad⯑vantage, as if he had been a native.'’ By his la⯑dy, eldeſt daughter of Sir John Harriſon, he had ſix ſons, and eight daughters, whereof only one ſon and four daughters ſurvived him.
The following is an account of his works,
After his deceaſe, namely, in 1671, were pub⯑liſhed theſe two poſthumous pieces of his in 4to, Querer per ſolo Querer, To Love only for Love's ſake, a Dramatic Romance, repreſented before the King and Queen of Spain, and Fieſtas de Aran⯑juez, [41] Feſtivals at Aranjuez: both written originally in Spaniſh, by Antonio de Mendoza, upon occa⯑ſion of celebrating the Birth-day of King Philip IV. in 1623, at Aranjuez; they were tranſlated by our author in 1654, during his confinement at Taukerley-park in Yorkſhire, which uneaſy ſitua⯑tion induced him to write the following ſtanzas on this work, which are here inſerted, as a ſpeci⯑men of his verſification.
We are told that he compoſed ſeveral other things remaining ſtill in manuſcript, which he had not lei⯑ſure to compleat; even ſome of the printed pieces have not all the finiſhing ſo ingenious an author could have beſtowed upon them; for as the writer of his Life obſerves, ‘'being, for his loyalty and zeal to his Majeſty's ſervice, toſſed from place to place, and from country to country, during the unſettled times of our anarchy, ſome of his [42] Manuſcripts falling into unſkilful hands, were printed and publiſhed without his knowledge, and before he could give them the laſt finiſhing ſtrokes.'’ But that was not the caſe with his Tranſlation of the Paſtor Fido, which was publiſhed by himſelf, and applauded by ſome of the beſt judges, particularly Sir John Denham, who after cenſuring ſervile tranſlators, thus goes on,
WAS the ſon of a Grocer, and born in Lon⯑don, in Fleet-ſtreet, near the end of Chan⯑cery Lane, in the year 1618. His mother, by the intereſt of her friends, procured him to be admitted a King's ſcholar in Weſtminſter ſchool*; his early in⯑clination to poetry was occaſioned by reading acciden⯑tally Spencer's Fairy Queen, which, as he himſelf gives an account, ‘'uſed to lye in his mother's par⯑lour, he knew not by what accident, for ſhe read no books but thoſe of devotion; the knights, giants, and monſters filled his imagination; he read the whole over before he was 12 years old, and was made a poet, as immediately as a child is made an eunuch.'’
In the 16th year of his age, being ſtill at Weſt⯑minſter ſchool, he publiſhed a collection of poems, [43] under the title of Poetical Bloſſoms, in which there are many things that beſpeak a ripened genius, and a wit, rather manly than puerile. Mr. Cow⯑ley himſelf has given us a ſpecimen in the latter end of an ode written when he was but 13 years of age. ‘'The beginning of it, ſays he, is boyiſh, but of this part which I here ſet down, if a ve⯑ry little were corrected, I ſhould not be much aſhamed of it.'’ It is indeed ſo much ſuperior to what might be expected from one of his years, that we ſhall ſatisfy the reader's curioſity by inſert⯑ing it here.
It is remarkable of Mr. Cowley, as he himſelf tells us, that he had this defect in his memory, that his teachers could never bring him to retain the ordinary rules of grammar, the want of which, however, he abundantly ſupplied by an inti⯑mate acquaintance with the books themſelves, from whence thoſe rules had been drawn. In 1636 he was removed to Trinity College in Cambridge, being elected a ſcholar of that houſe*. His exer⯑ciſes of all kinds were highly applauded, with this peculiar praiſe, that they were fit, not only for the obſcurity of an academical life, but to have made their appearance on the true theatre of the world; and there he laid the deſigns, and formed the plans of moſt of the maſculine, and excellent attempts he afterwards happily finiſhed. In 1638 he publiſhed his Love's Riddle, written at the time of his being a ſcholar in Weſtminſter ſchool, and dedicated by a copy of verſes to Sir Kenelm Dig⯑by. He alſo wrote a Latin Comedy entitled Nau⯑fragium Joculare, or the Merry Shipwreck. The firſt occaſion of his entering into buſineſs, was, an elegy he wrote on the death of Mr. William Harvey, which introduced him to the acquaintance of Mr. John Harvey, the brother of his deceaſed friend, from whom he received many offices of kindneſs through the whole courſe of his life‖. In 1643, being then maſter of arts, he was, a⯑mong many others, ejected his college, and the uni⯑verſity; whereupon, retiring to Oxford, he ſettled [45] in St. John's College, and that ſame year, under the name of a ſcholar of Oxford, publiſhed a ſa⯑tire entitled the Puritan and the Papiſt. His zeal in the Royal cauſe, engaged him in the ſervice of the King, and he was preſent in many of his Majeſty's journies and expeditions; by this means he gained an acquaintance and familiarity with the perſonages of the court and of the gown, and particularly had the entire friendſhip of my lord Falkland, one of the principal ſecretaries of ſtate.
During the heat of the civil war, he was ſet⯑tled in the family of the earl of St. Alban's, and accompanied the Queen Mother, when ſhe was obliged to retire into France. He was abſent from his native country, ſays Wood, about ten years, during which time, he laboured in the affai [...]s of the Royal Family, and bore part of the diſtreſſes inflicted upon the illuſtrious Exiles: for this pur⯑poſe he took ſeveral dangerous journies into Jer⯑ſey, Scotland, Flanders, Holland, and elſewhere, and was the principal inſtrument in maintaining a correſpondence between the King and his Royal Conſort, whoſe letters he cyphered and decyphered with his own hand.
His poem called the Miſtreſs was publiſhed at London 1647, of which he himſelf ſays, ‘"That it was compoſed when he was very young. Poets (ſays he) are ſcarce thought free men of their company, without paying ſome duties and ob⯑liging themſelves to be true to love. Sooner or later they muſt all paſs through that trial, like ſome Mahometan monks, who are bound by their order once at leaſt in their life, to make a pilgrimage to Mecca. But we muſt not always make a judgment of their manners from their writings of this kind, as the Romaniſts uncharitably do of Beza for a few laſcivious [46] ſonnets compoſed by him in his youth. It is not in this ſenſe that poetry is ſaid to be a kind of painting: It is not the picture of the poet but of things, and perſons imagined by him. He may be in his practice and diſpoſi⯑tion a philoſopher, and yet ſometimes ſpeak with the ſoftneſs of an amorous Sappho. I would not be miſunderſtood, as if I affected ſo much gravity as to be aſhamed to be thought really in love. On the contrary, I cannot have a good opinion of any man who is not at leaſt capable of being ſo."’
What opinion Dr. Sprat had of Mr. Cowley's Miſtreſs, appears by the following paſſage extrac⯑ted from his Life of Cowley. ‘"If there need⯑ed any excuſe to be made that his love-ver⯑ſes took up ſo great a ſhare in his works, it may be alledged that they were compoſed when he was very young; but it is a vain thing to make any kind of apology for that ſort of writing. If devout or virtuous men will ſu⯑perciliouſly forbid the minds of the young to adorn thoſe ſubjects about which they are moſt converſant, they would put them out of all ca⯑pacity of performing graver matters, when they come to them: for the exerciſe of all men's wit muſt be always proper for their age, and never too much above it, and by practice and uſe in lighter arguments, they grow up at laſt to excell in the moſt weighty. I am not there⯑fore aſhamed to commend Mr. Cowley's Miſ⯑treſs. I only except one or two expreſſions, which I wiſh I could have prevailed-with thoſe that had the right of the other edition to have left out; but of all the reſt, I dare boldly pronounce, that never yet was written ſo much on a ſubject ſo delicate, that can leſs offend the ſevereſt rules of morality. The whole paſ⯑ſion of love is intimately deſcribed by all its [47] mighty train of hopes, joys and diſquiets. Be⯑ſides this amorous tenderneſs, I know not how in every copy there is ſomething of more uſeful knowledge gracefully inſinuated; and every where there is ſomething ſeigned to in⯑form the minds of wiſe men, as well as to move the hearts of young men or women."’
Our author's comedy, named the Guardian, he afterwards altered, and publiſhed under the title of the Cutter of Coleman-Street. Langbaine ſays, notwithſtanding Mr. [...]owley's modeſt opinion of this play, it was acted not only at Cambridge, but ſeveral times afterwards privately, during the prohibition of the ſtage, and after the King's return publickly at Dublin; and always with ap⯑plauſe. It was this probably that put the au⯑thor upon reviſing it; after which he permitted it to appear publickly on the ſtage under a new title, at his royal highneſs the Duke of York's theatre. It met with oppoſition at firſt from ſome who envied the author's unſhaken loyalty; but afterwards it was acted with general applauſe, and was eſteemed by the critics an excellent comedy.
In the year 1656 it was judged proper by thoſe on whom Mr. Cowley depended, that he ſhould come over into England, and under pre⯑tence of privacy and retirement, give notice of the ſituation of affairs in this nation. Upon his return he publiſhed a new edition of all his poems, conſiſting of four parts, viz.
[48] ‘"Which, ſays Dr. Sprat, was written in ſo young an age, that if we ſhall reflect on the vaſtneſs of the argument, and his manner of hardling it, he may ſeem like one of the miracles that he there adorns; like a boy at⯑tempting Goliah. This perhaps, may be the reaſon, that in ſome places, there may be more youthfulneſs and redundance of fancy, than his riper judgement would have allowed. But for the main of it I will affirm, that it is a bet⯑ter inſtance and beginning of a divine poem, than ever I yet ſaw in any language. The contrivance is perfectly ancient, which is cer⯑tainly the true form of an heroic poem, and ſuch as was never yet done by any new de⯑vices of modern wits. The ſubject was tru⯑ly divine, even according to God's own heart. The matters of his invention, all the treaſures of knowledge and hiſtories of the bible. The model of it comprehended all the learning of the Eaſt. The characters lofty and various; the numbers firm and powerful; the digreſ⯑ſions beautiful and proportionable. The de⯑ſign, to ſubmit mortal wit to heavenly truths. In all, there is an admirable mixture of hu⯑man virtues and paſſions with religious raptures. The truth is, continues Dr. Sprat, methinks in other matters his wit exceeded all other men's, but in his moral and divine works it out-did itſelf; and no doubt it proceeded from this cauſe, that in the lighter kinds of poetry he chiefly repreſented the humours and affecti⯑ons of others; but in theſe he ſat to himſelf, and drew the figure of his own mind. We have the firſt book of the Davideis tranſlated out of Engliſh into very elegant Latin by Mr. Cowley himſelf."’ Dr. Sprat ſays of his Latin poetry, ‘"that he has expreſſed to admiration all the numbers of verſe and figures of poetry, [49] that are ſcattered up and down amongſt the ancients; and that there is hardly to be found in them any good faſhion of ſpeech, or colour of meaſure; but he has comprehended it, and given inſtances of it, according as his ſeveral arguments required either a majeſtic ſpirit, or paſſionate, or pleaſant. This he obſerves, is the more extraordinary, in that it was never yet performed by any ſingle poet of the an⯑cient Romans themſelves."’
The ſame author has told us, that the occa⯑ſion of Mr. Cowley's falling on the pindarique way of writing, was his accidentally meeting with Pindar's works in a place where he had no other books to direct him. Having thus conſidered at leiſure the heighth of his invention, and the majeſty of his ſtile, he tried immediately to imi⯑tate it in Engliſh, and he performed it, ſays the Dr. without the danger that Horace preſaged to the man that ſhould attempt it. Two of our greateſt poets, after allowing Mr. Cowley to have been a ſucceſsful imitator of Pindar, yet find fault with his numbers. Mr. Dryden having told us, that our author brought Pindaric verſe as near perfection as poſſible in ſo ſhort a time, adds, ‘"But if I may be allowed to ſpeak my mind modeſtly, and without injury to his ſacred aſhes, ſomewhat of the purity of Engliſh, ſome⯑what of more ſweetneſs in the numbers, in a word, ſomewhat of a finer turn and more ly⯑rical verſe is yet wanting;"’ and Mr. Congreve having excepted againſt the irregularity of the meaſure of the Engliſh Pindaric odes, yet obſerves, ‘"that the beauty of Mr. Cowley's verſes are an attonement for the irregularity of his ſtanzas; and tho' he did not imitate Pindar in the ſtrict⯑neſs of his numbers, he has very often happily copied him in the force of his figures, and ſublimity of his ſtile and ſentiments."’
[50] Soon after his return to England, he was ſeiz⯑ed upon thro' miſtake; the ſearch being intend⯑ed after another gentleman of conſiderable note in the King's party. The Rep [...]blicans, who were ſen⯑ſible how much they needed the aſſiſtance and coalition of good men, endeavoured ſometimes by promiſes, and ſometimes by threatning, to bring our author over to their intereſt; but all their at⯑tempts proving fruitleſs, he was committed to a ſevere confinement, and with ſome difficulty at laſt obtained his liberty, after giving a thouſand pounds bail, which Dr. Scarborough in a friend⯑ly manner took upon himſelf. Under theſe bonds he continued till Cromwell's death, when he ventured back into France, and there remained, as Dr. Sprat ſays, in the ſame ſituation as before, till near the time of the King's return. This account is a ſuffici⯑ent vindication of Mr. Cowley's unſhaken loyalty, which ſome called in queſtion; and as this is a material circumſtance in the life of Cowley, we ſhall give an account of it in the words of the elegant writer of his life juſt now mentioned, as it is impoſſible to ſet it in a fairer, or more ſtriking light than is already done by that ex⯑cellent prelate.
"In this caſe it were enough to alledge for him to men of moderate minds, that what he there ſaid was publiſhed before a book of poetry; and ſo ought rather to be eſteemed as a problem of his fancy and invention, than as a cal image of his judgement; but his de⯑ [...]ce in this matter may be laid on a ſurer [51] foundation. This is the true reaſon to be given of his delivering that opinion: Upon his coming over he found the ſtate of the royal party very deſperate. He perceived the ſtrength of their enemies ſo united, that till it ſhould begin to break within itſelf, all endea⯑vours againſt it were like to prove unſucceſs⯑ful. On the other ſide he beheld their zeal for his Majeſty's cauſe to be ſtill ſo active, that often hurried them into inevitable ruin. He ſaw this with much grief; and tho' he approved their conſtancy as much as any man living, yet he found their unreaſonable ſhew⯑ing it, did only diſable themſelves, and give their adverſaries great advantages of riches and ſtrength by their defeats. He therefore believed it would be a meritorious ſervice to the King, if any man who was known to have follow⯑ed his intereſt, could inſinuate into the Uſur⯑per's minds, that men of his principles were now willing to be quiet, and could perſuade the poor oppreſſed Royaliſts to conceal their af⯑fections for better occaſions. And as for his own particular, he was a cloſe priſoner when he writ that againſt which the exception is made; ſo that he ſaw it was impoſſible for him to purſue the ends for which he came hither, if he did not make ſome kind of de⯑claration of his peaceable intentions. This was then his opinion; and the ſucceſs of the thing ſeems to prove that it was not ill-grounded. For certainly it was one of the greateſt helps to the King's affairs about the latter end of that tyranny, that many of his beſt friends diſſembled their counſels, and acted the ſame deſigns under the diſguiſes and names of other parties. The prelate concludes this account with obſerving, that, that life muſt needs be very [52] unblameable, which had been tried [...]n buſineſs of the higheſt conſequence, and practiſed in the hazardous ſecrets of courts and cabinet, and yet there can nothing diſgraceful be produced againſt it, but only the error of one paragraph, and ſingle metaphor."
About the year 1662, his two Books of Plants were publiſhed, to which he added afterwards fourmore, and all theſe together, with his Latin poems, were printed in London. 16- [...]; his Books on Plants was written dur⯑ing his reſidence in England, in the time of the uſurpation, the better to diſtinguiſh his real inten⯑tion, by the ſtudy of phyſic, to which he applied.
It appears by Wood's Faſti Oxon. that our poet was created Dr. of Phyſic at Oxford, De⯑cember 2, 1637, by virtue of a mandamus from the then government. After the King's reſtorati⯑on, Mr. Cowley, being then paſt the 40th year of his age. the greateſt part of which had been ſpent in a various and tempeſtuous condition, reſolved to paſs the remainder of his life in a ſtudious re⯑tirement: In a letter to one of his friends, he talks of making a voyage to America, not from a view of accumulating wealth, but there to chuſe a habitation, and ſhut himſelf up from the buſy world for ever. This ſcheme was wildly roman⯑tic, and diſcovered ſome degree of vanity in the author; for Mr. Cowley needed but retire a few miles out of town, and ceaſe from appearing abro [...]d, and he might have been ſufficiently ſecured againſt the int [...]iſion of company, nor was he of ſo much conſequence as to be forced from his re⯑tirement; but this viſionary ſcheme could not be c [...]rr [...]ed into execution, by means of Mr. Cowley's want of money, for he had never been much on the road of gain. Upon the ſettlement of the peace of the nation. he obtained a competent eſtate, by the favour of his principal patrons, the duke of Buck⯑ingham, and the earl of St. Albans. Thus fur⯑niſhed [53] for a retreat, he ſpent the laſt ſeven or eight years of his life in his beloved obſcurity, and poſ⯑ſeſſed (ſays Sprat) that ſolitude, which from his very childhood he ſo paſſionately deſired. This great poet, and worthy man, died at a houſe call⯑ed the Porch-houſe, towards the Weſt end of the town of Chertſey in Surry, July 28, 1667, in the 49th year of his age. His ſolitude, from the very beginning, had never agreed ſo well with the con⯑ſtitution of his body, as his mind: out of haſte, to abandon the tumult of the city, he had not pre⯑pared a healthful ſituation in the country, as he might have done, had he been more deliberate in his choice; of this, he ſoon began to find the in⯑convenience at Barn-elms, where he was afflicted with a dangerous and lingring fever. Shortly after his removal to Chertſey, he fell into another con⯑ſuming diſeaſe: having languiſhed under this for ſome months, he ſeemed to be pretty well cured of its ill ſymptoms, but in the heat of the ſummer, by ſtaying too long amongſt his labourers in the meadows, he was taken with a violent defluxion, and ſtoppage in his breaſt and throat; this he ne⯑glected, as an ordinary cold, and refuſed to ſend for his uſual phyſicians, 'till it was paſt all remedy, and ſo in the end, after a ſortnight's ſickneſs, it proved mortal to him.
He was buried in Weſtminſter Abbey, the 3d of Auguſt following, near the aſhes of Chaucer and Spenſer. King Charles II. was pleaſed to beſtow upon him the beſt character, when, upon the news of his death, his Majeſty declared, that Mr. Cow⯑ley had not left a better man behind him in Eng⯑land. A monument was erected to his memory in May 1675, by George, duke of Buckingham, with a Latin inſcription, written by Dr. Sprat, after⯑wards lord biſhop of Rocheſter.
Beſides Mr. Cowley's works already mentioned, we have, by the ſame hand, A Propoſition for the ad⯑vancement [54] of Experimental Philoſophy. A Diſcourſe, by way of Viſion, concerning the Government of Oli⯑ver Cromwel. and ſeveral Diſcourſes, by way of Eſ⯑ſays, in Proſe and Verſe. Mr. Cowley had deſigned a Diſcourſe on Stile, and a Review of the Prin⯑ciples of the Primitive Chriſtian Church, but was prevented by death. In Mr. Dryden's Miſcellany Poems, we find a poem on the Civil War, ſaid to be written by our author, but not extant in any edition of his works: Dr. Sprat mentions, as very excellent in their kind, Mr. Cowley's Letters to his private friends, none of which were publiſhed. As a poet, Mr. Cowley has had tribute paid him from the greateſt names in all knowledge, Dryden, Addiſon, Sir John Denham, and Pope. He is blamed for a redundance of wit, and roughneſs of verſification, but is allowed to have poſſeſſed a fine underſtanding, great reading, and a variety of genius. Let us ſee how Mr. Addiſon characterizes him in his Account of the great Engliſh Poets.
In his public capacity, he preſerved an inviola⯑ble honour and loyalty, and exerted great activity, [55] with diſcernment: in private life, he was eaſy of acceſs, gentle, polite, and modeſt; none but his intimate friends ever diſcovered, by his diſcourſe, that he was a great poet; he was generous in his diſpoſition, temperate in his life, devout and pi⯑ous in his religion, a warm friend, and a ſocial companion. Such is the character of the great Mr. Cowley, who deſerves the higheſt gratitude from poſterity, as well for his public as private con⯑duct. He never proſtituted his muſe to the purpoſes of lewdneſs and folly, and it is with pleaſure we can except him from the general, and too juſt, charge brought againſt the poets, That they have a⯑bilities to do the greateſt ſervice, and by miſdi⯑recting them, too frequently fawn the harlot face of looſe indulgence, and by dreſſing up pleaſure in an elegant attire, procure votaries to her altar, who pay too dear for gazing at the ſhewy phantom by loſs of their virtue. It is no compliment to the taſte of the preſent age, that the works of Mr. Cowley are falling into diſeſteem; they certainly contain more wit, and good ſenſe, than the works of many other poets, whom it is now faſhionable to read; that kind of poetry, which is known by the name of Light, he ſucceeds beyond any of his cotem⯑poraries, or ſucceſſors; no love verſes, in our lan⯑guage, have ſo much true wit, and expreſſive ten⯑derneſs, as Cowley's Miſtreſs, which is indeed per⯑fect in its kind. What Mr. Addiſon obſerves, is certainly true, ‘'He more had pleaſed us, had he pleaſed us leſs.'’ He had a ſoul too full, an imagi⯑nation too fertile to be reſtrained, and becauſe he has more wit than any other poet, an ordinary reader is ſomehow diſpoſed to think he had leſs. In the particular of wit, none but Shakeſpear e⯑ver exceeded Cowley, and he was certainly as cul⯑tivated a ſcholar, as a great natural genius. In that kind of poetry which is grave, and demands ex⯑tenſive thinking, no poet has a right to be compared [56] with Cowley: Pope and Dryden, who are as remark⯑able for a force of thinking, as elegance of poe⯑try, are yet inferior to him; there are more ideas in one of Cowley's pindaric odes, than in any piece of equal length by thoſe two great genius's (St. Caecilia's ode excepted) and his pindaric odes being now neglected, can proceed from no other cauſe, than that they demand too much attention for a common reader, and contain ſentiments ſo ſublimely noble, as not to be comprehended by a vulgar mind; but to thoſe who think, and are ac⯑cuſtomed to contemplation, they appear great and raviſhing. In order to illuſtrate this, we ſhall quote ſpecimens in both kinds of poetry; the firſt taken from his Miſtreſs called Beauty, the other is a Hymn to Light, both of which, are ſo excel⯑lent in their kind, that whoever reads them with⯑out rapture, may be well aſſured, that he has no poetry in his ſoul, and is inſenſible to the flow of numbers, and the charms of ſenſe.
FEW poets have been ſubjected to more vari⯑ous turns of fortune, than the gentleman whoſe memoirs we are now about to relate. He was a⯑mongſt the firſt who refined our poetry, and did more for the intereſt of the drama, than any who ever wrote for the ſtage. He lived in times of ge⯑neral confuſion, and was no unactive member of the ſtate, when its neceſſities demanded his aſſiſ⯑tance; and when, with the reſtoration, politeneſs and genius began to revive, he applied himſelf to the promotion of theſe rational pleaſures, which are fit to entertain a cultivated people. This great man was ſon of one Mr. John Davenant, a citizen of Oxford, and was born in the month of Febru⯑ary, 1605; all the biographers of our poet have obſerved, that his father was a man of a grave diſpoſition, and a gloomy turn of mind, which his ſon did not inherit from him, for he was as re⯑markably volatile, as his father was ſaturnine. The ſame biographers have celebrated our author's mo⯑ther as very handſome, whoſe charms had the power of attracting the admiration of Shakeſpear, the higheſt compliment which ever was paid to beauty. As Mr. Davenant, our poet's father, kept a tavern, Shakeſpear, in his journies to Warwick⯑ſhire, ſpent ſome time there, influenced, as many believe, by the engaging qualities of the handſome landlady. This circumſtance has given riſe to a conjecture, that Davenant was really the ſon of Shakeſpear, as well naturally as poetically, by an [64] unlawful intrigue, between his mother and that great man; that this allegation is founded upon probability, no reader can believe, for we have ſuch accounts of the amiable temper, and moral qualities of Shakeſpear, that we cannot ſuppoſe him to have been guilty of ſuch an act of trea⯑chery, as violating the marriage honours; and how⯑ever he might have been delighted with the con⯑verſation, or charmed with the perſon of Mrs. Da⯑venant, yet as adultery was not then the faſhion⯑able vice, it would be injurious to his memory, ſo much as to ſuppoſe him guilty.
Our author received the firſt rudiments of polite learn⯑ing from Mr. Edward Sylveſter, who kept a grammar ſchool in the pariſh of All Saints in Oxford. In the year 1624, the ſame in which his father was Mayor of the city, he was entered a member of the univerſity of Oxford, in Lincoln's-Inn College, under the tuition of Mr. Daniel Hough, but the Oxford an⯑tiquary is of opinion, he did not long remain there, as his mind was too much addicted to gaiety, to bear the auſterities of an academical life, and be⯑ing encouraged by ſome gentlemen, who admired the vivacity of his genius, he repaired to court, in hopes of making his fortune in that pleaſing, but dangerous element. He became firſt page to Frances, ducheſs of Richmond, a lady much cele⯑brated in thoſe days, as well for her beauty, as the influence ſhe had at court, and her extraordinary taſte for grand [...]ur, which excited her to keep a kind of private court of her own, which, in our more faſhionable aera, is known by the name of Drums, Routs, and Hurricanes. Sir William afterwards removed into the family of Sir Fulk Greville, lord Brooke, who being himſelf a man of taſte and erudition, gave the moſt encouraging marks of eſteem to our riſing bard. This worthy noble⯑man being brought to an immature fate, by the cruel hands of an aſſaſſin, 1628, Davenant was [65] left without a patron, though not in very indigent circumſtances, his reputation having increaſed, during the time he was in his lordſhip's ſervice: the year enſuing the death of his patron, he pro⯑duced his firſt play to the world, called Albovino, King of the Lombards, which met with a very general, and warm reception, and to which ſome very honourable recommendations were prefixed, when it was printed, in ſeveral copies of verſes, by men of eminence, amongſt whom, were, Sir Hen⯑ry Blount, Edward Hyde, afterwards earl of Cla⯑rendon, and the honourable Henry Howard. Our author ſpent the next eight years of his life in a conſtant attendance upon court, where he was high⯑ly careſſed by the moſt ſhining characters of the times, particularly by the earl of Dorſet, Edward Hyde, and Lord Treaſurer Weſton: during theſe gay moments, ſpent in the court amuſements, an unlucky accident happened to our author, which not a little deformed his face, which, from na⯑ture, was very handſome. Wood has affirmed, that this accident aroſe from libidinous dalliance with a handſome black girl in Axe-yard, Weſtminſter. The plain fact is this, Davenant was of an amo⯑rous complexion, and was ſo unlucky as to carry the marks of his regular gallantries in the depreſ⯑ſion of his noſe; this expoſed him to the pleaſant raillery of cotemporary wits, which very little af⯑fected him, and to ſhew that he was undiſturbed by their merriment, he wrote a burleſque copy of verſes upon himſelf. This accident happened pret⯑ty early in his life, ſince it gave occaſion to the following ſtanzas in Sir John Suckling's Seſſions of the Poets, which we have tranſcribed from a correct copy of Suckling's works.
Suckling here differs from the Oxford hiſtorian, in ſaying that Sir William's diſorder was contract⯑ed in France, but as Wood is the higheſt authori⯑ty, it is more reaſonable to embrace his obſerva⯑tion, and probably, Suckling only mentioned France, in order that it might rhime with miſ⯑chance.
Some time after this, Davenant was rallied by another hand, on account of this accident, as if it had been a jeſt that could never die; but what is more extraordinary, is, that Sir William himſelf could not forget the authoreſs of this misfortune, but has introduced her in his Gondibert, and, in the opinion of ſome critics, very improperly. He brings two friends, Ulfinore the elder, and Goltho the younger, on a journey to the court of Gondi⯑bert, but in this paſſage to ſhew, as he would in⯑ſinuate the extream frailty of youth, they were arreſted by a very unexpected accident, notwith⯑ſtanding the wiſe councils which Ulfinore had juſt received from his father*. The lines which have an immediate reference to this fair enchantreſs, are too curious to be here omitted.
During our author's attendance at court, he wrote ſeveral plays, and employed his time in framing maſques, which were acted by the princi⯑pal nobility of both ſexes; the Queen herſelf con⯑deſcended to take a ſhare in one of them, which gave very great offence to the ſcrupulous moraliſts, which ſprung up in thoſe days; the particular ac⯑count of this dramatic piece we ſhall give in the concluſion of his life, and now proceed in enume⯑rating the incidents of it.
Upon the death of Ben Johnſon, which happen⯑ed in the year 1637, our poet ſucceeded to his laurel, notwithſtanding the violent oppoſition of his competitor Thomas May, who was ſo extremely affected with his diſappointment, though he had been a zealous courtier, yet from reſentment to the Queen, by whoſe intereſt Davenant was pre⯑ferred, he commenced an enemy to the King's par⯑ty, and became both an advocate and hiſtorian for the Parliament.
As ſoon as the civil war broke out, Mr. Da⯑venant had an early ſhare in them and demon⯑ſtrated his loyalty by ſpeaking and acting for the King. He was accuſed by the Parliament for be⯑ing embarked in a deſign in May 1641, of ſe⯑ducing the army from their adherence to the par⯑liamentary authority, and bringing it again under the ſubjection of the King, and defence of his perſon. In this ſcheme many of Sir William's friends were engaged, viz. Mr. Henry Piercy, af⯑terwards lord Piercy, Mr. Goring, Mr. Jermyn, [69] Mr. Aſhburnham, Sir John Suckling, and others: moſt of theſe perſons, upon their deſign being diſco⯑vered, placed their ſecurity in flight, and Mr. Da⯑venant amongſt the reſt; but a proclamation being publiſhed for apprehending him, he was ſtopped at Feverſham, ſent up to town, and put into the cu⯑ſtody of a ſergeant at arms*. In the month of July following, our author was bailed, and not long after finding it neceſſary, on account of the violence of the times, to withdraw to France, he had the misfortune to be ſeized again in Kent by the Mayor of Canterbury; how he eſcaped the preſent danger, none of his biographers have re⯑lated, but it appears that he did not, upon this oc⯑caſion, ſuffer long confinement; he at laſt retired beyond ſea, where he continued for ſome time, but the Queen ſending over a conſiderable quantity of military ſtores, for the uſe of the earl of New⯑caſtle's army, Mr. Davenant returned again to England, offered his ſervice to that noble peer, who was his old friend and patron, and by him made lieutenant-general of his ordnance: this pro⯑motion gave offence to many, who were his rivals in his lordſhip's eſteem: they remonſtrated, that Sir William Davenant, being a poet, was, for that ve⯑ry reaſon, unqualified for a place of ſo much truſt, and which demanded one of a ſolid, and leſs vo⯑latile turn of mind, than the ſons of Parnaſſus ge⯑nerally are. In this complaint they paid but an indifferent compliment to the General himſelf, who was a poet, and had written, and publiſhed ſeveral plays. That Davenant behaved well in his mili⯑tary capacity is very probable, ſince, in the month of September, 1643, he received the honour of knighthood from the King, at the ſiege of Glou⯑ceſter, an acknowledgment of his bravery, and ſignal ſervices, which beſtowed at a time when [70] a ſtrict ſcrutiny was made concerning the merit of officers, puts it beyond doubt, that Davenant, in his martial character, was as deſerving as in his po⯑etical. During theſe ſevere contentions, and not⯑withſtanding his public character, our author's muſe ſometimes raiſed her voice, in the compoſition of ſeveral plays, of which we ſhall give ſome account when we enumerate his dramatic performances. Hiſtory is ſilent as to the means which induced Davenant to quit the Northern army, but as ſoon as the King's affairs ſo far declined, as to afford no hopes of a revival, he judged it neceſſary to retire into France, where he was extremely well received by the Queen, into whoſe confidence he had the honour to be taken, and was intruſted with the negotiation of matters of the higheſt importance, in the ſummer of the year 1646. Before this time Sir William had embraced the popiſh reli⯑gion, which circumſtance might ſo far ingratiate him with the queen, as to truſt him with the moſt important concerns. Lord Clarendon, who had a particular eſteem for him, has given a full account of this affair, though not much to his advantage, but yet with all the tenderneſs due to Sir William's good intentions, and of that long and intimate ac⯑quaintance that had ſubſiſted between them; which is the more worthy the reader's notice, as it has entirely eſcaped the obſervation of all thoſe, who have undertaken to write this gentleman's Me⯑moirs, though the moſt remarkable paſſage in his whole life.
The King, in retiring to the Scots, had follow⯑ed the advice of the French ambaſſador, who had promiſed on their behalf, if not more than he had authority to do, at leaſt, more than they were in⯑clined to perform; to juſtify, however, his conduct at home, he was inclined to throw the weight, in ſome meaſure, upon the King, and with this view, he, by an expreſs, informed cardinal Mazarine, [71] that his Majeſty was too reſerved in giving the Par⯑liament ſatisfaction, and therefore deſired that ſome perſon might be ſent over, who had a ſufficient degree of credit with the Engliſh Monarch, to perſuade him to ſuch compliances, as were ne⯑ceſſary for his intereſt. ‘'The Queen, ſays the noble hiſtorian, who was never adviſed by thoſe, who either underſtood, or valued her Huſband's intereſt, conſulted thoſe about her, and ſent Sir William Davenant, an honeſt man, and a witty, but in all reſpects unequal to ſuch a truſt, with a letter of credit to the King, who knew the perſon well enough under another character than was likely to give him much credit upon the argument, with which he was entruſted, al⯑though the Queen had likewiſe otherwiſe declared her opinion to his Majeſty, that he ſhould part with the church for his peace and ſecurity.'’ Sir William had, by the countenance of the French ambaſſador, eaſy admiſſion to the King, who heard patiently all he had to ſay, and anſwered him in in a manner, which demonſtrated that he was not pleaſed with the advice. When he found his Ma⯑jeſty unſatisfied, and not diſpoſed to conſent to what was earneſtly deſired by thoſe by whom he had been ſent, who undervalued all thoſe ſcruples of conſcience, with which his Majeſty was ſo ſtrongly poſſeſſed, he took upon himſelf the liber⯑ty of offering ſome reaſons to the king, to induce him to yield to what was propoſed, and among other things ſaid, it was the opinion and advice of all his friends; his Majeſty asked, what friends? to which Davenant replied, lord Jermyn, and lord Cole⯑pepper; the King upon this obſerved, that lord Jermyn did not underſtand any thing of the church, and that Colepepper was of no religion; but, ſays his Majeſty, what is the opinion of the Chancellor of the Exchequer? to which Davenant anſwered, he did not know, that he was not there, and had [72] deſerted the Prince, and thereupon mentioned the Queen's diſpleaſure againſt the Chancellor; to which the King ſaid, ‘'The Chancellor was an honeſt man, and would never deſert him nor the Prince, nor the Church; and that he was ſorry he was not with his ſon, but that his wife was miſtaken.'’
Davenant then offering ſome reaſons of his own, in which he treated the church with in⯑dignity, his Majeſty was ſo tranſported with an⯑ger, that he gave him a ſharper rebuke than he uſually gave to any other man, and forbad him again, ever to preſume to come into his preſence; upon which poor Davenant was deeply affected, and returned into France to give an account of his ill ſucceſs to thoſe who ſent him.
Upon Davenant's return to Paris, he aſſociated with a ſet of people, who endeavoured to alle⯑viate the diſtreſſes of exile by ſome kind of a⯑muſement. The diverſion, which Sir William choſe was of the literary ſort, and having long indulg⯑ed an inclination of writing an heroic poem, and having there much leiſure, and ſome encourage⯑ment, he was induced to undertake one of a new kind; the two firſt books of which he finiſhed at the Louvre, where he lived with his old friend Lord Jermyn; and theſe with a preface, addreſſed to Mr. Hobbs, his anſwer, and ſome commenda⯑tory poems, were publiſhed in England; of which we ſhall give ſome further account in our ani⯑madverſions upon Gondibert.
While he employed himſelf in the ſervice of the muſes, Henrietta Maria, the queen dowager of England whoſe particular favour [...]te he was found out buſineſs for him of another na⯑ture. She had heard that vaſt improvements might be made in the loyal colony of Virginia, in caſe proper artificers were ſent there; and there being many of theſe in France who were deſtitute of [73] employment, ſhe encouraged Sir William to col⯑lect theſe artificers together, who accordingly em⯑barked with his little colony at one of the ports in Normandy; but in this expedition he was like⯑wiſe unfortunate; for before the veſſel was clear of the French coaſt, ſhe was met by one of the Parliament ſhips of war, and carried into the iſle of Wight, where our diſappointed projector was ſent cloſe priſoner to Cowes Caſtle, and there had leiſure enough, and what is more extraordinary, wanted not inclination to reſume his heroic poem, and having written about half the third book, in a very gloomy priſon, he thought proper to ſtop ſhort again, finding himſelf, as he imagined under the very ſhadow of death. Upon this occaſion it is reported of Davenant, that he wrote a let⯑ter to Hobbes, in which he gives ſome account of the progreſs he made in the third book of Gondibert, and offers ſome criticiſms upon the nature of that kind of poetry; but why, ſays he, ſhould I trouble you or myſelf, with theſe thoughts, when I am pretty certain I ſhall be hanged next week. This gaiety of temper in Davenant, while he was in the moſt deplorable circumſtances of diſtreſs, carries ſomething in it very ſingular, and perhaps could proceed from no other cauſe but conſcious innocence; for he appears to have been an inof⯑fenſive good natured man. He was conveyed from the Iſle of Wight to the Tower of London, and for ſome time his life was in the utmoſt ha⯑zard; nor is it quite certain by what means he was preſerved from falling a ſacrifice to the pre⯑vailing fury. Some conjecture that two aldermen of York, to whom he had been kind when they were priſoners, interpoſed their influence for him; others more reaſonably conjecture that Milton was his friend, and prevented the utmoſt effects of party rage from deſcending on the head of this ſon of the muſes. But by whatever means [74] his life was ſaved, we find him two years after a priſoner of the Tower, where he obtained ſome indulgence by the favour of the Lord Keeper Whitlocke; upon receiving which he wrote him a letter of thanks, which as it ſerves to illuſtrate how eaſily and politely he wrote in proſe, we ſhall here inſert. It is far removed either from meanneſs or bombaſt, and has as much elegance in it as any letters in our language.
‘"I am in ſuſpenſe whether I ſhould preſent my thankfulneſs to your lordſhip for my liber⯑ty of the Tower, becauſe when I conſider how much of your time belongs to the public, I conceive that to make a requeſt to you, and to thank you afterwards for the ſucceſs of it, is to give you no more than a ſucceſſion of trouble; unleſs you are reſolved to be conti⯑nually patient, and courteous to afflicted men, and agree in your judgment with the late wiſe Cardinal, who was wont to ſay, If he had not ſpent as much time in civilities, as in buſineſs, he had undone his maſter. But whilſt I en⯑deavour to excuſe this preſent thankfulneſs, I ſhould rather aſk your pardon, for going about to make a preſent to you of myſelf; for it may argue me to be incorrigible, that, after ſo many afflictions, I have yet ſo much am⯑bition, as to deſire to be at liberty, that I may have more opportunity to obey your lord⯑ſhip's commands, and ſhew the world how much I am,"’
[75] Our author was ſo far happy as to obtain by this letter the favour of Whitlocke, who was, per⯑haps, a man of more humanity and gentleneſs of diſpoſition, than ſome other of the covenanters. He at laſt obtained his liberty entirely, and was delivered from every thing but the narrowneſs of his circumſtances, and to redreſs theſe, encouraged by the intereſt of his friends, he likewiſe made a bold effort. He was conſcious that a play-houſe was entirely inconſiſtent with the gloomineſs, and ſeverity of theſe times; and yet he was certain that there were people of taſte enough in town, to fill one, if ſuch a ſcheme could be managed; which he conducted with great addreſs, and at laſt brought to bear, as he had the countenance of lord Whitlocke, Sir John Maynard, and other perſons of rank, who really were aſhamed of the cant and hypocriſy which then prevailed. In conſequence of this, our poet opened a kind of theatre at Rutland Houſe, where ſeveral pieces were acted, and if they did not gain him reputa⯑tion, they procured him what is more ſolid, and what he then more wanted, money. Some of the people in power, it ſeems, were lovers of muſic, and tho' they did not care to own it, they were wiſe enough to know that there was nothing ſcandalous or immoral in the diverſions of the theatre. Sir William therefore, when he applied for a permiſſion called what he intended to repreſent an opera; but when he brought it on the ſtage, it appeared quite another thing, which when printed had the following title:
Firſt day's entertainment at Rutland-Houſe by declamation and muſic, after the manner of the ancients.
[76] This being an introductory piece, it demanded all the author's wit to make it anſwer different intentions; for firſt it was to be ſo pleaſing as to gain applauſe; and next it was to be be ſo remote from the very appearance of a play, as not to give any offence to that pretended ſanc⯑tity that was then in faſhion. It began with mu⯑ſic, then followed a prologue, in which the au⯑thor rallies the oddity of his own performance. The curtain being drawn up to the ſound of ſlow and ſolemn muſic, there followed a grave declamation by one in a guilded roſtrum, who perſonated Diogenes, and ſhewed the uſe and ex⯑cellency of dramatic entertainments. The ſecond part of the entertainment conſiſted of two lighter declamations; the firſt by a citizen of Paris, who wittily rallies the follies of Lon⯑don; the other by a citizen of London, who takes the ſame liberty with Paris and its inha⯑bitants. To this was tacked a ſong, and after that came a ſhort epilogue. The muſic was com⯑poſed by Dr. Coleman, Capt. Cook, Mr. Henry Laws, and Mr. George Hudſon.
There were ſeveral other pieces which Sir Wil⯑liam introduced upon this ſtage of the ſame kind, which met with as much ſucceſs, as could be expected from the nature of the performances themſelves, and the temper and diſpoſition of the audience. Being thus introduced, he at laſt grew a little bolder, and not only ventured to write, but to act ſeveral new plays, which were alſo ſomewhat in a new taſte; that is, they were more regular in their ſtructure, and the language gene⯑rally ſpeaking, ſmoother, and more correct than the old tragedies. Theſe improvements were in a great meaſure owing to Sir William's long reſi⯑dence in France, which gave him an opportunity of reading their beſt writers, and hearing the ſentiments [77] of their ableſt critics upon dramatic entertainments, where they were as much admired and encouraged, as at that time deſpiſed in England. That the [...]e were really improvements, and that the public ſtood greatly indebted to Sir William Davenant as a poet, and maſter of a theatre, we can pro⯑duce no leſs an authority than that of Dryden, who, beyond any of his predeceſſors, contempo⯑raries, or thoſe who have ſucceeded him, under⯑ſtood poetry as an art. In his eſſay on heroic plays, he thus ſpeaks, ‘"The firſt light we had of them, on the Engliſh theatre (ſays he) was from Sir William Davenant. It being forbid⯑den him in the religious times to act trage⯑dies or comedies, becauſe they contained ſome matter of ſcandal to thoſe good people, who could more eaſily diſpoſſeſs their lawful ſove⯑reign, than endure a wanton jeſt, he was for⯑ced to turn his thoughts another way, and to introduce the examples of moral virtue written in verſe, and performed in recitative muſic. The original of this muſic, and of the ſcenes which adorned his works, he had from the Italian opera's; but he heightened his charac⯑ters, as I may probably imagine, from the ex⯑amples of Corneille, and ſome French poets. In this condition did this part of poetry remain at his Majeſty's return, when grown bolder as now owned by public authority, Davenant re⯑vived the Siege of Rhodes, and cauſed it to be acted as a juſt drama. But as few men have the happineſs to begin and finiſh any new project, ſo neither did he live to make his deſign perfect. There wanted the ſulneſs of a plot, and the variety of characters to form it as it ought; and perhaps ſomewhat might have been added to the beauty of the ſtile: all which he would have performed with more [78] exactneſs, had he pleaſed to have given us another work of the ſame nature. For myſelf and others who came after him, we are bound with all veneration to his m [...]mory, to acknow⯑ledge what advantage we received from that excellent ground work, which is laid, and ſince it is an eaſy thing to add to what is already invented, we ought all of us, without envy to him, or partiality to ourſelves, to yield him the precedence in it."’
Immediately after the reſtoration there were two companies of players formed, one under the title of the King's Servants, the other, under that of the Duke's Company, both by patents from the crown; the firſt granted to Henry Killigrew, Eſq and the latter to Sir William Davenant. The King's company acted firſt at the Red Bull in the upper end of St. John's Street, and after a year or two removing from place to place, they eſtabliſhed themſelves in Drury-Lane. It was ſome time before Sir William Davenant com⯑pleated his company, into which he took all who had formerly played under Mr. Rhodes in the Cock-Pit in Drury-Lane, and amongſt theſe the famous Mr. Betterton, who appeared firſt to advantage under the patronage of Sir William Davenant. He opened the Duke's theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields with his own dramatic per⯑formance of the Siege of Rhodes, the houſe be⯑ing finely decorated, and the ſtage ſupplied with painted ſcenes, which were by him introduced at leaſt, if not invented, which afforded certainly an additional beauty to the theatre, tho' ſome have inſinuated, that fine ſcenes proved the ruin of acting; but as we are perſuaded it will be an entertaining circumſtance to our Readers, to have that matter more fully explained, we ſhall take this opportunity of doing it.
[79] In the reign of Charles I. dramatic entertain⯑ments were accompanied with rich ſcenery, curious machines, and other elegant embelliſhments, chiefly conducted by the wonderful dexterity of that ce⯑lebrated Engliſh architect Inigo Jones. But theſe were employed only in maſques at court, and were too expenſive for the little theatres in which plays were then acted. In them there was no⯑thing more than a curtain of very coarſe ſtuff, upon the drawing up of which, the ſtage appeared either with bare walls on the ſides, coarſly mat⯑ted, or covered with tapeſtry; ſo that for the place originally repreſented, and all the ſucceſ⯑ſive changes in which the poets of thoſe times freely indulged themſelves, there was nothing to help the ſpectator's underſtanding, or to aſſiſt the actor's performance, but bare imagination. In Shakeſpear's time ſo undecorated were the thea⯑tres, that a blanket ſupplied the place of a cur⯑tain; and it was a good obſervation of the in⯑genious Mr. Chitty, a gentleman of acknowledged taſte in dramatic excellence, that the circum⯑ſtance of the blanket, ſuggeſted to Shakeſpear that noble image in Macbeth, where the mur⯑derer invokes
It is true, that while things continued in this ſituation, there were a great many play-houſes, ſometimes ſix or ſeven open at once. Of theſe ſome were large, and in part open, where they acted by-day light; others ſmaller, but better fitted up, where they made uſe of candles. The plainneſs of the theatre made the prices ſmall, [80] and drew abundance of c [...]pany; yet upon the whole it is doubtful, whether the ſp [...]ctators in all theſe houſes were really ſuperior in number, to thoſe who have frequented the theatres in later times. If the ſpirit and judgment of the actors ſupplied all deficiencies, and made as ſome would inſinuate, plays more intelligible without ſcenes, than they afterwards were with them, it muſt be very aſtoniſhing; neither is it difficult to aſſign a⯑nother cauſe, why thoſe who were concerned in play-houſes, were angry at the introduction of ſeenes and decorations, which was, that notwith⯑ſtanding the advanced prices, their profits from that time were continually ſinking; and an au⯑ther. of high authority in this caſe, aſ⯑ſures us, in an hiſtorical account of the ſtage, that the whole ſhare [...]s in Mr. Hart's company divided a thouſand pounds a year a-piece, before the expenſive decorations became faſhionable. Sir. William Davenant conſider [...]d things in ano⯑ther light: he was well acquainted with the alte⯑rations which the French theatre had received, under the auſpice of cardinal Richlieu, who had an excellent taſte; and he remembered the noble contrivances of Inigo Jones, which were not at all inferior to the deſigns of the beſt French maſters. Sir William was likewiſe ſenſible that the monarch he ſerved was an excellent judge of every thing of this kind; and theſe conſiderations excited in him a paſſion for the advancement of the theatre, to which the great figure it has ſince made is chiefly owing. Mr. Dryden has ac⯑knowledged his admirable talents in this way, and gratefully remembers the pains taken by our poet, to ſet a work of his in the faireſt light poſ⯑ſible, and to which, he ingenuouſly aſcribes the ſucceſs with which it was received. This is the hiſtory of the riſe and progreſs of ſcenery on [81] our ſtage; which, without doubt, gives greater life to the entertainment of a play; but as the beſt purpoſes may be proſtituted, ſo there is ſome reaſon to believe that the exceſſive fondneſs for decorations, which now prevails, has hurt the true dramatic taſte. Scenes are to be conſidered as ſecondary in a play, the means of ſetting it off with luſtre, and ought to engroſs but little at⯑tention; as it is more important to hear what a character ſpeaks, than to obſerve the place where he ſtands; but now the caſe is altered. The ſcenes in a Harlequin Sorcerer, and other unmean⯑ing pantomimes, unknown to our more elegant and judging fore-fathers, procure crowded houſes, while the nobleſt ſtrokes of Dryden, the delicate touches of Otway and Rowe, the wild majeſty of Shakeſpear, and the heart-felt language of Lee, paſs neglected, when put in competition with thoſe gewgaws of the ſtage, theſe feaſts of the eye; which as they can communicate no ideas, ſo they can neither warm nor reform the heart, nor anſwer one moral purpoſe in nature.
We ought not to omit a circumſtance much in favour of Sir William Davenant, which proves him to have been as good a man as a poet. When at the Reſtoration, thoſe who had been ac⯑tive in diſturbing the late reign, and ſecluding their ſovereign from the throne, became obnoxious to the royal party, Milton was likely to feel the vengeance of the court, Davenant actuated by a noble principle of gratitude, interpoſed all his influence, and ſaved the greateſt ornament of the world from the ſtroke of an executioner. Ten years before that, Davenant had been reſcued by Milton, and he remembered the favour; an in⯑ſtance, this, that generoſity, gratitude, and noble⯑neſs of nature is confined to no particular party; but the heart of a good man will ſtill diſcover itſelf in acts of munificence and kindneſs, how⯑ever [82] miſtaken he may be in his opinion, howe⯑ver warm in ſtate factions. The particulars of this extraordinary affair are related in the life of Milton.
Sir William Davenant continued at the head of his company of actors, and at laſt transferred them to a new and magnificent theatre built in Dorſet-Gardens, where ſome of his old plays were revived with very ſingular circumſtances of royal kindneſs, and a new one when brought upon the ſtage met with great applauſe.
The laſt labour of his pen was in altering a play of Shakeſpear's, called the Tempeſt, ſo as to render it agreeable to that age, or rather ſuſ⯑ceptible of thoſe theatrical improvements he had brought into faſhion. The great ſucceſſor to his laurel, in a preface to this play, in which he was concerned with Davenant, ‘'ſays, that he was a man of quick and piercing imagination, and ſoon found that ſomewhat might be added to the deſign of Shakeſpear, of which neither Fletcher nor Suckling had ever thought; and therefore to put the laſt hand to it, he deſign⯑ed the counterpart to Shakeſpear's plot, namely, that of a man who had never ſeen a woman, that by this means, theſe two characters of innocence and love might the more illuſtrate and commend each other. This excellent con⯑trivance he was pleaſed to communicate to me, and to deſire my aſſiſtance in it. I con⯑feſs that from the firſt moment it ſo pleaſed me, that I never wrote any thing with ſo much delight. I might likewiſe do him that juſtice, to acknowledge that my writing received daily amendments, and that is the reaſon why it is not ſo ſaulty, as the reſt that I have done, without the help or correction of ſo judicious a friend. The comical parts of the ſailors were [83] alſo of his invention and writing, as may ea⯑ſily be diſcovered from the ſtile.'’
This great man died at his houſe in little Lin⯑coln's-Inn-Fields, April 17, 1668, aged 63, and two days afterwards was interred in Weſtminſter-Abbey. On his graveſtone is inſcribed, in imita⯑tion of Ben Johnſon's ſhort epitaph,‘O RARE SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT!’
It may not be amiſs to obſerve, that his remains reſt very near the place out of which thoſe of Mr. Thomas May, who had been formerly his rival for the bays, and the Parliament's hiſtorian, were removed, by order of the miniſtry. As to the family our author left behind him, ſome ac⯑count of it will be given in the life of his ſon Dr. Charles Davenant, who ſucceeded him as manager of the theatre. Sir William's works en⯑tire were publiſhed by his widow 1673, and de⯑dicated to James Duke of York.
After many ſtorms of adverſity, our author ſpent the evening of his days in eaſe and ſere⯑nity. He had the happineſs of being loved by people of all denominations, and died lamented by every worthy good man. As a poet, unnum⯑bered evidences may be produced in his favour. Amongſt theſe Mr. Dryden is the foremoſt, for when his teſtimony can be given in ſupport of poetical merit, we reckon all other evidence ſuperfluous, and without his, all other evidences deficient. In his words then we ſhall ſum up Davenant's character as a poet, and a man of genius.
'I found him, (ſays he) in his preface to the Tempeſt, of ſo quick a fancy, that nothing was propoſed to him on which he could not quick⯑ly produce a thought extreamly pleaſant and ſurprizing, and theſe firſt thoughts of his, con⯑trary [84] to the old Latin proverb, were not always the leaſt happy, and as his fancy was quick, ſo likewiſe were the products of it remote and new. He borrowed not of any other, and his imaginations were ſuch as could not eaſily en⯑ter into any other man. His corrections were ſober and judicious, and he corrected his own writings much more ſeverely than thoſe of ano⯑ther man, beſtowing twice the labour and pain in poliſhing which he uſed in invention.'
Before we enumerate the dramatic works of Sir William Davenant, it will be but juſtice to his merit, to inſert ſome animadverſions on his Gondibert; a poem which has been the ſubject of controverſy almoſt a hundred years; that is, from its firſt appearance to the preſent time. Perhaps the diſpute had been long ago decided, if the author's leiſure had permitted him to finiſh it. At preſent we ſee it to great diſadvantage; and if notwithſtanding this it has any beauties, we may fairly conclude it would have come much nearer perfection, if the ſtory, begun with ſo much ſpi⯑rit, had been brought to an end upon the au⯑thor's plan.
Mr. Hobbes, the famous philoſopher of Malmſ⯑bury, in a letter printed in his works, affirms, ‘'that he never yet ſaw a poem that had ſo much ſhape of art, health of morality and vigour, and beauty of expreſſion, as this of our au⯑thor; and in an epiſtle to the honourable Ed⯑ward Howard, author of the Britiſh Princes, he thus ſpeaks. My judgment in poetry has been once already cenſured by very good wits for commending Gondibert; but yet have they not diſabled my teſtimony. For what authority is there in wit? a jeſter may have it; a man in drink may have it, and be fluent over night, and wiſe and dry in the morning: What is it? and who can tell whether it be better to have [85] it or no? I will take the liberty to praiſe what I like as well as they, and reprehend what they like.'’—Mr. Rymer in his preface to his tranſlation of Rapin's Reflexions on Ariſto⯑totle's Treatiſe of Poetry, obſerves, that our au⯑thor's wit is well known, and in the preface to that poem, there appears ſome ſtrokes of an extraordinary judgment; that he is for unbeat⯑en tracts, and new ways of thinking, but cer⯑tainly in the untried ſeas he is no great diſco⯑verer. One deſign of the Epic poets before him was to adorn their own country, there finding their heroes and patterns of virtue, where exam⯑ple, as they thought, would have the greater in⯑fluence and power over poſterity; ‘"but this poet, ſays Rymer, ſteers a different courſe; his he⯑roes are all foreigners; he cultivates a country that is nothing a-kin to him, and Lombardy reaps the honour of all. Other poets choſe ſome action or hero ſo illuſtrious, that the name of the poem prepared the reader, and made way for its reception; but in this poem none can divine what great action he intended to celebrate, nor is the reader obliged to know whether the hero be Turk or Chriſtian; nor do the firſt lines give any light or proſpect in⯑to the deſign. Altho' a poet ſhould know all arts and ſciences, yet ought he diſcreetly to manage his knowledge. He muſt have a judg⯑ment to ſelect what is noble and beautiful, and proper for the occaſion. He muſt by a parti⯑cular chemiſtry, extract the eſſence of things; without ſoiling his wit with droſs or trumpery. The ſort of verſe Davenant makes choice of in his Gondibert might contribute much to the vitiating his ſtile; for thereby he obliges him⯑ſelf to ſtretch every period to the end of four lines: Thus the ſenſe is broken perpetually with parentheſes, the words jumbled in confuſion, [86] and darkneſs ſpread over all; but it muſt be acknowledged, that Davenant had a particular talent for the manners; his thoughts are great, and there appears ſomething roughly noble thro' the whole."’ This is the ſubſtance of Rymer's obſervations on Gondibert. Rymer was certainly a ſcholar, and a man of diſcernment; and tho in ſome parts of the criticiſms he is undoubtedly right, yet in other parts he is demonſtrably wrong. He complains that Davenant has la [...]d the ſcene of action in Lombardy, which Rymer calls ne⯑glecting his own country; but the critic ſhould have conſidered, that however well it might have pleaſed the poet's countrymen, yet as an epic poem is ſuppoſed to be read in every nation en⯑lightened by ſcience, there can no objections a⯑riſe from that quarter by any but thoſe who were of the ſame country with the author. His not making choice of a pompous name, and intro⯑ducing his poem with an exordium, is rather a beauty than a fault; for by theſe means he leaves room for ſurprize, which is the firſt excellency in any poem, and to ſtrike out beauties where they are not expected, has a happy influence upon the reader. Who would think from Milton's in⯑troduction, that ſo ſtupendous a work would en⯑ſue, and ſimple dignity is certainly more noble, than all the efforts and colourings which art and labour can beſtow.
The ingenious and learned Mr. Blackwall, Pro⯑feſſor of Greek in the univerſity of Aberdeen, in his enquiry into the life and writings of Homer, cenſures the ſtructure of the poem; but at the ſame time pays a compliment to the abilities of the author. ‘"It was indeed (ſays he) a very ex⯑traordinary project of our ingenious country⯑man, to write an epie poem without mixing alle⯑gory, or allowing the ſmalleſt fiction throughout the compoſure. It was like lopping off a man's [87] limb, and then putting him upon running races; tho' it muſt be owned that the performance ſhews, with what ability he could have acquitted him⯑ſelf, had he been found and entire."’
Such the animadverſions which critics of great name have made on Gondibert, and the reſult is, that if Davenant had not power to begin and conſummate an epic poem, yet by what he has done, he has a right to rank in the firſt claſs of poets, eſpecially when it is conſidered that we owe to him the great perfection of the theatre, and putting it upon a level with that of France and Italy; and as the theatrical are the moſt rational of all amuſements, the lateſt poſterity ſhould hold his name in veneration, who did ſo much for the advancement of innocent plea⯑ſures, and blending inſtruction and gaiety toge⯑ther.
The dramatic works of our author are,
Theſe pieces have in general been received with applauſe on the ſtage, and have been read with pleaſure by people of the beſt taſte: The greateſt part of them were publiſhed in the author's life⯑time in 4to. and all ſince his death, collected into one volume with his other works, printed in folio, Lond. 1673; and dedicated by his widow to the late King James, as has been before obſerved.
THE eldeſt ſon of Dr. John King lord bi⯑ſhop of London, whom Winſtanley calls a perſon well fraught with epiſcopal qualities, was born at Wornal in Bucks, in the month of Ja⯑nuary 1591. He was educated partly in gram⯑mar learning in the free ſchool at Thame in Oxfordſhire, and partly in the College ſchool at Weſtminſter, from which laſt he was elected a ſtudent in Chriſt Church 1608, * being then un⯑der the tuition of a noted tutor. Afterwards he took the degrees in arts, and entered into holy orders, and ſoon became a florid preacher, and ſuc⯑ceſſively chaplain to King James I. archdeacon of Colcheſter, reſidentiary of St. Paul's cathedral, canon and dean of Rocheſter, in which dignity he was inſtalled the 6th of February 1638. In 1641, ſays Mr. Wood, he was made biſhop of Chicheſter, being one of thoſe perſons of unble⯑miſhed reputation, that his Majeſty, tho' late, promoted to that honourable office; which he poſſeſſed without any removal, ſave that by the members of the Long Parliament, to the time of his death.
When he was young he delighted much in the ſtudy of muſic and poetry, which with his wit and fancy made his converſation very agreeable, and when he was more advanced in years he ap⯑plied himſelf to oratory, philoſophy, and divinity, in which he became eminent.
[91] It happened that this biſhop attending divine ſervice in a church at Langley in Bucks, and hearing there a pſalm ſung, whoſe wretched ex⯑preſſion, far from conveying the meaning of the Royal Pſalmiſt, not only marred devotion, but turned what was excellent in the original into downright burleſque; he tried that evening if he could not eaſily, and with plainneſs ſuitable to the loweſt underſtanding, deliver it from that garb which rendered it ridiculous. He finiſhed one pſalm, and then another, and found the work ſo agreeable and pleaſing, that all the pſalms were in a ſhort time compleated; and having ſhewn the verſion to ſome friends of whoſe judg⯑ment he had a high opinion, he could not reſiſt their importunity (ſays Wood) of putting it to the preſs, or rather he was glad their ſollicitati⯑ons coincided with his deſire to be thought a poet.
He was the more diſcouraged, ſays the anti⯑quary, as Mr. George Sandys's verſion and ano⯑ther by a reformer had failed in two different extremes; the firſt too elegant for the vulgar uſe, changing both metre and tunes, wherewith they had been long acquainted; the other as flat and poor, and as lamely executed as the old one, He therefore ventured in a middle way, as he himſelf in one of his letters expreſſes it, without affectation of words, and endeavouring to leave them not disfigured in the ſenſe. This verſion ſoon after was publiſhed with this title;
The Pſalms of David from the New Tranſlation of the Bible, turned into Metre, to be ſung after the old tunes uſed in churches, Lond. 1651, in 12mo.
There is nothing more ridiculous than this notion of the vulgar of not parting with their [92] old verſions of the pſalms, as if there were a merit in ſinging hymns of nonſenſe. Tate and Brady's verſion is by far the moſt elegant, and beſt calculated to inſpire devotion, becauſe the language and poetry are ſometimes elevated and ſublime; and yet for one church which uſes this verſion, twenty are content with that of Sternhold and Hopkins, the language and poetry of which, as Pope ſays of Ogilvy's Virgil, are beneath criticiſm.—
After epiſcopacy was ſilenced by the Long Par⯑liament, he reſided in the houſe of Sir Richard Hobbart (who had married his ſiſter) at Langley in Bucks. He was reinſtated in his See by King Charles II. and was much eſteemed by the vir⯑tuous part of his neighbours, and had the bleſ⯑ſings of the poor and diſtreſſed, a character which reflects the higheſt honour upon him.
Whether from a deſire of extending his bene⯑ficence, or inſtigated by the reſtleſs ambition pe⯑culiar to the prieſthood, he ſollicited, but in vain, a higher preferment, and ſuffered his reſentment to betray him into meaſures not conſiſtent with his epiſcopal character. He died on the firſt day of October 1669*, and was buried on the ſouth ſide of the choir, near the communion table, be⯑longing to the cathedral church in Chicheſter. Soon after there was a monument put over his grave, with an inſcription, in which it is ſaid he was,‘Antiquâ, eáque regia Saxonium apud Danmonios in agro Devonienſi, proſapia oriundus,’ That he was,‘Natalium Splendore illuſtris, pietate, Doctrina, et virtutibus illuſtrior, &c.’
[93] This monument was erected at the charge of his widow, Anne daughter of Sir William Ruſ⯑ſel of Strenſham in Worceſterſhire, knight and baronet.
Our author's works, beſides the verſion of the Pfalms already mentioned, are as follows;
He has compoſed ſeveral Anthems, one of which is for the time of Lent. Several Latin and Greek Poems, ſcattered in ſeveral Books.
He has likewiſe publiſhed ſeveral Sermons,
To theſe Sermons he has added an Expoſition of the Lord's Prayer, delivered in certain Ser⯑mons, on Matth. vi. 9. &c. Lond. 1628. 4to.
We ſhall take a quotation from his verſion of the 104th pſalm.
A POET of no ſmall eminence, was ſon of Mr. Philip Maſſinger, a gentleman belonging to the earl of Montgomery, in whoſe ſervice he lived*.
He was born at Salisbury, about the year 1585, and was entered a commoner in St. Alban's Hail in Oxford, 1601, where, though he was en⯑couraged in his ſtudies (ſays Mr. Wood) by the earl of Pembroke, yet he applied his mind more to poetry and romances, than to logic and philo⯑ſophy. He afterwards quitted the univerſity with⯑out a degree, and being impatient to move in a public ſphere, he came to London, in order to im⯑prove his poetic fancy, and polite ſtudies by con⯑verſation, and reading the world. He ſoon appli⯑ed himſelf to the ſtage, and wrote ſeveral tragedies and comedies with applauſe, which were admired for the purity of their f [...]ile, and the oeconomy of their plots: he was held in the higheſt eſteem by the poets of that age, and there were few who did not rockon it an honour to write in conjunction with him, as Fletcher, Middleton, Rowley, Field and Decker did†. He is ſaid to have been a man of great modeſty. He died ſuddenly at his houſe on the ba [...]k ſide in So [...]thwark, near to the then playhouſe, for he went to bed well, and was dead before morning. His body was interred in St. Sa⯑viour's [99] church-yard, and was attended to the grave by all the comedians then in town, on the 18th of March, 1669. Sir Aſton Cokain has an epitaph on Mr. John Fletcher, and Mr. Philip Maſſinger, who, as he ſays, both lie buried in one grave. He prepared ſeveral works for the public, and wrote a little book againſt Scaliger, which many have aſcribed to Scioppius, the ſuppoſed au⯑thor of which Scaliger, uſe, with great contempt. Our author has publiſhed 14 plays of his own writing, beſides thoſe in which he joined with other poets, of which the following is the liſt,
THIS gentleman was the third ſon of Richard Stapleton, Eſq of Carleton, in Mereland in Yorkſh [...]re, and was educated a Roman Catholic, in the college of the Engliſh Benedictines, at Doway in Handers, but being born with a poeti⯑cal turn, and conſequently too volatile to be con⯑fined within the walls of a cloiſter, he threw off the reſtraint of his education, quitted a recluſe life, came over to England, and commenced Pro⯑teſtant*. Sir Robert having good intereſt, found the change of religion p [...]epared the way to pre⯑ferment; he was made gentleman uſher of the pri⯑vy chamber to King Charles II. then Prince of Wales; we find him afterwards adhering to the in⯑tereſt of his Royal Maſter, for when his Majeſty was driven out of London, by the threatnings and tumults of the diſcontented rabble, he followed him, and on the 13th of September, 1642, he re⯑ceived the honour of knighthood. After the bat⯑tle of Edgehill, when his Majeſty was obliged to re [...]ire to Oxford, our author then attended him, and was created Dr. of the civil laws. When the Royal cauſe declined, Stapleton thought proper to addict himſelf to ſtudy, and to live quietly under a government, no effort of his could over⯑turn, and as he was not amongſt the moſt conſpi⯑c [...]ous of the Royaliſts, he was ſuffered to enjoy his [103] ſolitude unmoleſted. At the reſtoration he was a⯑gain promoted in the ſervice of King Charles II. and held a place in that monarch's eſteem 'till his death. Langbaine, ſpeaking of this gentleman, gives him a very great character; his writings, ſays he, have made him not only known, but admired throughout all England, and while Muſaeus and Ju⯑venal are in eſteem with the learned, Sir Robert's fame will ſtill ſurvive, the tranſlation of theſe two authors having placed his name in the tem⯑ple of Immortality. As to Muſaeus, he had ſo great a value for him, that after he had tranſlated him, he reduced the ſtory into a dramatic poem, called Hero and Leander, a Tragedy, printed in 4to. 1669, and addreſſed to the Ducheſs of Mon⯑mouth. Whether this play was ever acted is un⯑certain, though the Prologue and Epilogue ſeem to imply that it appeared on the ſtage.
Beſides theſe tranſlations and this tragedy, our author has written
Our author paid the laſt debt to nature on the eleventh day of July, 1669, and was buried in the Abbey of St. Peter at Weſtmin⯑ſter. He was uncle to Dr. Miles Stapleton of Yorkſhire, younger brother to Dr. Stapleton, a Be⯑nedictine Monk, who was preſident of the En⯑gliſh Benedictines at Delaware in Lorraine, where he died, 1680.
THIS poet was born at Hatherleigh, in the reign of King James I. He was a man of reputation, as well for his natural parts, as his acquired accompliſhments. He received his education at Weſtminſter ſchool, where he conti⯑nued 'till he was removed to Chriſt Church, Oxon, and in the year 1624 admitted ſtudent. He made ſome figure at the univerſity, in the ſtudy of arts and ſciences, and was ſollicited by men of emi⯑nence, who eſteemed him for his abilities, to en⯑ter into holy orders; this he was not long in com⯑plying with, and was preferred to two livings, both in the gift of the College, one of which was hap⯑pily ſituated near Oxford.
Much about this time King Charles I. was ob⯑liged to keep his court at Oxford, to avoid being expoſed to the reſentment of the populace in Lon⯑don, where tumults then prevailed, and Mr. Main was made choice of, amongſt others, to preach be⯑fore [105] his Majeſty. Soon after he was created doctor of divinity, and reſided at Oxford, till the time of the mock viſitation, ſent to the univerſity, when, amongſt a great many others, equally diſtinguiſhed for their loyalty and zeal for that unfortunate Mo⯑narch, he was ejected from the college, and ſtript of both his livings. During the rage of the civil war, he was patronized by the earl of Devonſhire, at whoſe houſe he reſided till the reſtoration of Charles II. when he was not only put in poſſeſſi⯑on of his former places, but made canon of Chriſt's Church, and arch-deacon of Chicheſter, which preferments he enjoyed till his death. He was an orthodox preacher, a man of ſevere virtue, a rea⯑dy and facetious wit. In his younger years he ad⯑dicted himſelf to poetry, and produced two plays, which were held in ſome eſteem in his own time; but as they have never been revived, nor taken notice of by any of our critics, in all probability they are but ſecond rate performances.
Theſe two plays have been printed in folio, 4to, and 8vo. and are bound together.
Beſides theſe dramatic pieces, our author wrote a Poem upon the Naval Victory over the Dutch by the Duke of York, a ſubject which Dryden has likewiſe celebrated in his Annus Mirabilis. He publiſhed a tranſlation of part of Lucian, ſaid to be done by Mr. Francis Hicks, to which he added ſome dialogues of his own, though Winſtanley is of opinion, that the whole tranſlation is alſo his. [104] [...] [105] [...] [106] In the year 1646, —47, —52, —62, he publiſhed ſeveral ſermons, and entered into a controverſy with the famous Preſbyterian leader, Mr. Francis Cheynel, and his Sermon againſt Falſe Prophets was particularly levelled at him. Cheynel's Life is written by a gentleman of great eminence in lite⯑ra [...]ure, and publiſhed in ſome of the latter numbers of of the Student, in which the character of that ce⯑lebrated teacher is fully diſplayed. Dr. Main likewiſe publiſhed in the year 1647 a book called The People's War examined according to the Principles of Scriptere and Reaſon, which he wrote at the deſire of a perſon of quality. He alſo tran⯑ſlated Dr. Donne's Latin Epigrams into Engliſh, and publiſhed them under the title of, A Sheaf of Epigrams.
On the 6th of December, 1642, he died, and his remains were depoſited on the North ſide of the choir in Chriſt's Church. In his will he left ſeveral legacies for pious uſes: fifty pounds for the rebuilding of St. Paul's; a hundred pounds to be diſtribu [...]ed by the two vicars of Caſſington and Berton, fo [...] the uſe of the poor in thoſe pariſhes, with many [...]ther legacies.
He was a man of a very ſingular turn of humour, and t [...]ough, without the abilities, bore ſome re⯑ſemblance to the famous dean of St. Patrick's, and perh [...]ps was not ſo ſubject to thoſe capricious whi [...] which produced ſo much uneaſineſs to all who attended upon dean Swift. It is ſaid of Dr. Main. that his propenſion to innocent raillery was ſo great, that it kept him company even after death. Among other legacies, he bequeathed to an old ſervant an old trank, and ſomewhat in it, as he ſaid, that would make him drink: no ſooner did the Dr. expire, than the ſervant, full of ex⯑pectation, viſited the trunk, in hopes of finding ſome money, or other treaſure leſt him by his [107] maſter, and to his great diſappointment, the lega⯑cy, with which he had filled his imagination, proved no other than a Red Herring.
The eccleſiaſtical works of our author are as follow,
As a ſpecimen of his poetry, we preſent a copy of verſes addreſſed to Ben Johnſon.
THE Britiſh nation, which has produced the greateſt men in every profeſſion, before the appearance of Milton could not enter into any com⯑petition with antiquity, with regard to the ſublime ex⯑cellencies of poetry. Greece could boaſt an Euripides, Eſchylus, Sophocles and Sappho; England was proud of her Shakeſpear, Spenſer, Johnſon and Fletcher; but then the ancients had ſtill a poet in re⯑ſerve ſuperior to the reſt, who ſtood unrivalled by all ſucceeding times, and in epic poetry, which is juſtly eſteemed the higheſt effort of genius, Ho⯑mer had no rival. When Milton appeared, the pride of Greece was humbled, the competition became more equal, and ſince Paradiſe Loſt is ours; it would, perhaps, be an injury to our national fame to yield the palm to any ſtate, whether an⯑cient or modern.
The author of this aſtoniſhing work had ſome⯑thing very ſingular in his life, as if he had been marked out by Heaven to be the wonder of every age, in all points of view in which he can be con⯑ſidered. He lived in the times of general confuſi⯑on; he was engaged in the factions of ſtate, and the cauſe he thought proper to eſpouſe, he main⯑tained [109] with unſhaken firmneſs; he ſtruggled to the laſt for what he was perſuaded were the rights of humanity; he had a paſſion for civil liberty, and he embarked in the ſupport of it, heedleſs of every conſideration of danger; he expoſed his fortune to the viciſſitudes of party contention, and he exerted his genius in writing for the cauſe he favoured.
There is no life, to which it is more difficult to do juſtice, and at the ſame time avoid giving of⯑fence, than Milton's, there are ſome who have conſidered him as a regicide, others have extolled him as a patriot, and a friend to mankind: Party⯑rage ſeldom knows any bounds, and differing fac⯑tions have praiſed or blamed him, according to their principles of religion, and political opini⯑ons.
In the courſe of this life, a diſpaſſionate regard to truth, and an inviolable candour ſhall be ob⯑ſerved. Milton was not without a ſhare of thoſe failings which are inſeparable from human nature; thoſe errors ſometimes expoſed him to cenſure, and they ought not to paſs unnoticed; on the other hand, the apparent ſincerity of his intentions, and the amazing force of his genius, naturally produce an extream tenderneſs for the faults with which his life is chequered: and as in any man's conduct fewer errors are ſeldom found, ſo no man's parts ever gave him a greater right to indulgence.
The author of Paradiſe Loſt was deſcended of an ancient family of that name at Milton, near Abingdon in Oxfordſhire. He was the ſon of John Milton a money-ſcrivener, and born the 9th of De⯑cember, 1608. The family from which he deſcend⯑ed had been long ſeated there, as appears by the monuments ſtill to be ſeen in the church of Milton, 'till one of them, having taken the unfortunate ſide in the conteſts between the houſes of York and Lancaſter, was deprived of all his eſtate, except [110] what he held by his wife‖. Our author's grand⯑father, whoſe name was John Milton, was under⯑ranger, or reaper of the foreſt of Shotover, near Halton in Oxfordſhire: but a man of Milton's ge⯑nius needs not have the circumſtance of birth call⯑ed in to render him illuſtrious; he reflects the high⯑eſt honour upon his family, which receives from him more glory, than the longeſt deſcent of years can give. Milton was both ed [...]cated under a domeſtic tutor, and likewiſe at St. Paul's ſchool under Mr. Alex⯑ander Gill, where he made, by his indefatigable application, an extraordinary progreſs in learning. From his 12th year he generally ſat up all night at his ſtudies, which, accompanied with frequent head-aches, proved very prejudicial to his eyes. In the year 1625 he was entered into Chriſt's College in Cambridge, under the tuition of Mr. William Chappel, afterwards biſhop of Roſs in Ireland, and even before that time, had diſtinguiſhed him⯑ſelf by ſeveral Latin and Engliſh poems*. Af⯑ter he had taken the degree of maſter of arts, in 1632 he left the univerſity, and for the ſpace of five years lived with his parents at their houſe at Horton, near Colebrook in Buckinghamſhire, where his father having acquired a competent fortune, thought proper to retire, and ſpend the remainder of his days. In the year 1634 he wrote his Maſque of Comus, performed at Ludlow Caſtle, before John, earl of Bridgwater, then preſident of Wales: It appears from the edition of this Maſque, publiſhed by Mr. Henry Lawes, that the principal performers were, the Lord Barclay, Mr. Thomas Egerton, the Lady Alice Egerton, and Mr. Lawes himſelf, who repreſented an at⯑tendant ſpirit.
The Prologue, which we found in the General Dictionary, begins with the following lines.
In 1637 our author publiſhed his Lycidas; in this poem he laments the death of his friend Mr. Edward King, who was drowned in his paſſage from Cheſter on the Iriſh ſeas in 1637; it was printed the year following at Cambridge in 4to. in a collection of Latin and Engliſh poems upon Mr. King's death, with whom he had contracted the ſtrongeſt friendſhip. The Latin epitaph in⯑forms us, that Mr. King was ſon of Sir John King, ſecretary for Ireland to Queen Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I. and that he was fellow in Chriſt's-College Cambridge, and was drowned in the twenty-fifth year of his age. But this poem of Lycidas does not altogether conſiſt in elegiac ſtrains of tenderneſs; there is in it a mixture of ſatire and ſevere indignation; for in part of it he takes occaſion to rally the corruptions of the eſtabliſhed clergy, of whom he was no favourer; and firſt diſcovers his acrimony againſt archbiſhop Laud; he threatens him with the loſs of his head, a fate which he afterwards met, thro' the fury of his enemies; at leaſt, ſays Dr. Newton, I can think of no ſenſe ſo proper to be given to the following verſes in Lycidas;
Upon the death of his mother, Milton obtained leave of his father to travel, and having waited upon Sir Henry Wotton, formerly ambaſſador at Venice, and then provoſt of Eaton-College, to whom he communicated his deſign, that gentleman wrote a letter to him, dated from the College, April 18, 1638, and printed among the Reliquiae Wottonianae, and in Dr. Newton's life of Milton. Immediat [...]ly after the receipt of this letter our author ſet out for France, accompanied only with one man, who attended him thro' all his travels. At Paris Milton was introduced to the famous Hugo Grotius, and thence went to Florence, Siena, Rome and Naples, in all which places he was entertained with the utmoſt civility by per⯑ſons of the firſt diſtinction.
When our author was at Naples he was in⯑troduced to the acquaintance of Giovanni Bap⯑tiſta Manſo, Marquis of Villa, a Neapolitan no⯑bleman, celebrated for his taſte in the liberal arts, to whom Taſſo addreſſes his dialogue on friendſhip, and whom he likewiſe mentions in his Gieruſalemme liberata, with great honour. This nobleman ſhewed extraordinary civilities to Mil⯑ton, frequently viſited him at his lodgings, and accompanied him when he went to ſee the ſeve⯑ral curioſities of the city. He was not content with giving our author theſe exterior marks of reſpect only, but he honoured him by a Latin diſtich in his praiſe, which is printed before Milton's Latin poems. Milton no doubt was highly pleaſed with ſuch extreme condeſcenſion and eſteem from a perſon of the Marquis of [113] Villa's quality; and as an evidence of his gra⯑titude, he preſented the Marquis at his depart⯑ure from Naples, his eclogue, entitled Manſus; which, ſays Dr. Newton, is well worth reading among his Latin poems; ſo that it may be rec⯑koned a peculiar felicity in the Marquis of Villa's life to have been celebrated both by Taſſo and Milton, the greateſt poets of their nation. Hav⯑ing ſeen the fineſt parts of Italy, and converſed with men of the firſt diſtinction, he was preparing to paſs over into Sicily and Greece, when the news from England, that a civil war was like to lay his country in blood, diverted his purpoſe; for as by his education and principles he was attached to the parliamentary intereſt, he though it a mark of abject cowardice, for a lover of his country to take his pleaſure abroad, while the friends of liberty were contending at home for the rights of human nature. He reſolved there⯑fore to return by way of Rome, tho' he was diſ⯑ſuaded from purſuing that reſolution by the mer⯑chants, who were informed by their correſpond⯑ents, that the Engliſh jeſuits there were forming plots againſt his life, in caſe he ſhould return thither, on account of the great freedom with which he had treated their religion, and the bold⯑neſs he diſcovered in demonſtrating the abſurdity of the Popiſh tenets; for he by no means ob⯑ſerved the rule recommended to him by Sir Henry Wotton, of keeping his thoughts cloſe, and his countenance open. Milton was removed above diſſimulation, he hated whatever had the appear⯑ance of diſguiſe, and being naturally a man of undaunted courage, he was never afraid to aſſert his opinions, nor to vindicate truth tho' violated by the ſuffrage of the majority.
Stedfaſt in his reſolutions, he went to Rome a ſecond time, and ſtayed there two months more, neither concealing his name, nor declining any [114] diſputations to which his antagoniſts in religious opinions invited him; he eſcaped the ſecret ma⯑chinations of the jeſuits, and came ſafe to Flo⯑rence, where he was received by his friends with as much tenderneſs as if he had returned to his own country. Here he remained two months, as he had done in his former viſit. excepting only an excurſion of a few days to Lucca, and then croſſing the Appenine, and paſſing thro' Bologna, and Ferrara, he arrived at Venice, in which city he ſpent a month; and having ſhipped off the books he had collected in his travels, he took his courſe thro' Verona, Milan, and along the Lake Leman to Geneva. In this city he conti⯑nued ſome time, meeting there with people of his own principles, and contracted an intimate friend⯑ſhip with Giovanni Deodati, the moſt learned profeſſor of Divinity, whoſe annotations on the bible are publiſhed in Engliſh; and from thence returning to France the ſame way that he had gone before, he arrived ſafe in England after an abſence of fifteen months, in which Milton had ſeen much of the world, read the characters of famous men, examined the policy of different countries, and made more extenſive improvements than travellers of an inferior genius, and leſs pe⯑netration, can be ſuppoſed to do in double the time. Soon after his return he took a handſome houſe in Alderſgate-ſtreet, and undertook the edu⯑cation of his ſiſter's two ſons, upon a plan of his own. In this kind of ſcholaſtic ſolitude he continued ſome time, but he was not ſo much immerſed in academical ſtudies, as to ſtand an indifferent ſpectator of what was acted upon the public theatre of his country. The nation was in great ferment in 1641, and the clamour a⯑gainſt epiſcopacy running very high, Milton who diſcovered how much inferior in eloquence and learning the puritan teachers were to the biſhops, [115] engaged warmly with the former in ſupport of the common cauſe, and exerciſed all the power of which he was capable, in endeavouring to over⯑throw the prelatical eſtabliſhment, and accord⯑ingly publiſhed five tracts relating to church go⯑vernment; they were all printed at London in 4to. The firſt was intitled, Reformation touching Church Diſcipline in England, and the Cauſes that have hitherto hindered it: two books written to a friend. The ſecond was of Pre⯑latical Epiſcopacy, and whether it may be dedu⯑ced from Apoſtolical Times, by virtue of thoſe Teſtimonies which are alledged to that purpoſe in ſome late treatiſes; one whereof goes under the name of James Uſher archbiſhop of Armagh. The third was the Reaſon of Church Govern⯑ment urged againſt the Prelacy, by Mr. John Milton, in two books. The fourth was Animad⯑verſions upon the Remonſtrants Defence againſt Smectymnuus; and the fifth an Apology for a Pamphlet called, a Modeſt Confutation of the Animadverſions upon the Remonſtrants againſt Smectymnuus; or as the title page is in ſome copies, an Apology for Smectymnuus, with the Reaſon of Church Government, by John Milton.
In the year 1643 Milton married the daugh⯑ter of Richard Powel, Eſq of Forreſt-hill in Oxfordſhire; who not long after obtaining leave of her huſband to pay a viſit to her father in the country, but, upon repeated meſſages to her, refuſing to return, Milton ſeemed diſpoſed to marry another, and in 1644 publiſhed the Doc⯑trine and Diſcipline of Divorce; the Judgment of Martin Bucer concerning Divorce, and the year following his Tetrachordon and Colaſterion. Mr. Philips obſerves, and would have his readers believe, that the reaſon of his wife's averſion to return to him was the contrariety of their ſtate principles. The lady being educated in loyal no⯑tions, [116] poſſibly imagined, that if ever the regal power ſhould flouriſh again, her being connected with a perſon ſo obnoxious to the King, would hurt her father's intereſt; this Mr. Philips alledges, but, with ſubmiſſion to his authority, I diſſent from his opinion. Had ſhe been afraid of mar⯑rying a man of Milton's principles, the reaſon was equally ſtrong before as after marriage, and her father muſt have ſeen it in that light; but the true reaſon, or at leaſt a more rational one, ſeems to be, that ſhe had no great affection for Milton's perſon.
Milton was a ſtern man, and as he was ſo much devoted to ſtudy, he was perhaps too ne⯑gligent in thoſe endearments and tender intercour⯑ſes of love which a wife has a right to expect. No lady ever yet was fond of a ſcholar, who could not join the lover with it; and he who expects to ſecure the affections of his wife by the force of his underſtanding only, will find him⯑ſelf miſerably miſtaken: indeed it is no wonder that women who are formed for tenderneſs, and whoſe higheſt excellence is delicacy, ſhould pay no great reverence to a proud ſcholar, who conſiders the endearments of his wife, and the careſſes of his children as pleaſures unworthy of him. It is agreed by all the biographers of Milton, that he was not very tender in his diſpoſition; he was rather boldly honourable, than delicately kind; and Mr. Dryden ſeems to inſinuate, that he was not much ſubject to love. ‘"His rhimes, ſays he, flow ſtiff from him, and that too at an age when love makes every man a rhymſter, tho' not a poet. There are, methinks, in Milton's love⯑ſonnets more of art than nature; he ſeems to have conſidered the paſſion philoſophically, rather than felt it intimately."’
In reading Milton's gallantry the breaſt will glow, but feel no palpitations; we admire the po⯑etry, [117] but do not melt with tenderneſs; and want of feeling in an author ſeldom fails to leave the reader cold; but from whatever cauſe his averſi⯑on proceeded, ſhe was at laſt prevailed upon by her relations, who could foreſee the dangers of a matrimonial quarrel, to make a ſubmiſſion, and ſhe was again received with tenderneſs.
Mr. Philips has thus related the ſtory.—‘'It was then generally thought, ſays he, that Milton had a deſign of marrying one of Dr. Davy's daughters, a very handſome and witty gentlewo⯑man, but averſe, as it is ſaid, to this motion; however the intelligence of this cauſed juſtice Powel's family to ſet all engines at work to reſtore the married woman to the ſtation in which they a little before had planted her. At laſt this de⯑vice was pitched upon. There dwelt in the lane of St. Martin's Le Grand, which was hard by, a relation of our author's, one Blackborough, whom it was known he often viſited, and upon this occaſion the viſits were more narrowly ob⯑ſerved, and poſſibly there might be a combi⯑nation between both parties, the friends on both ſides conſenting in the ſame action, tho' in different behalfs. One time above the reſt, mak⯑ing his uſual viſits, his wife was ready in ano⯑ther room; on a ſudden he was ſurprized to ſee one, whom he thought never to have ſeen more, making ſubmiſſion, and begging pardon on her knees before him. He might proba⯑bly at firſt make ſome ſhew of averſion, and rejection, but partly his own generous nature, more inclinable to reconciliation than to per⯑ſeverance in anger and revenge, and partly the ſtrong interceſſion of friends on both ſides, ſoon brought him to an act of oblivion and a firm league of peace for the future; and it was at length concluded that ſhe ſhould remain at a [118] friend's houſe, till he was ſettled in his new houſe in Barbican, and all things prepared for her reception. The firſt fruits of her return to her huſband was a brave girl, born within a year after, tho', whether by ill conſtitution, or want of care, ſhe grew more and more de⯑crepit.'’
Mr. Fenton obſerves, that it is not to be doubted but the abovementioned interview be⯑tween Milton and his wife muſt wonderfully af⯑fect him; and that perhaps the impreſſions it made on his imagination contributed much to the painting of that pathetic ſcene in Paradiſe Loſt, b. 10. in which Eve addreſſes herſelf to Adam for pardon and peace, now at his feet ſubmiſſive in diſtreſs.
About the year 1644 our author wrote a ſmall piece in one ſheet 4to, under this title, Education, to Mr. Samuel Hartly, reprinted at the end of his Poems on ſeveral occaſions; and in the ſame year he publiſhed at London in 4to, his Areo⯑pagitica, or a ſpeech of Mr. J. Milton for the liberty of unlicenſed printing, to the Parliament of England.
In 1645 his Juvenile Poems were printed at London, and about this time his zeal for the republican party had ſo far recommended him, that a deſign was formed of making him adju⯑tant-general in Sir William Waller's army; but the new modelling the army proved an obſtruc⯑tion to that advancement. Soon after the march of Fairfax and Cromwell with the whole army through the city, in order to ſuppreſs the inſur⯑rection which Brown and Maſſey were endea⯑vouring to raiſe there, againſt the army's pro⯑ceedings, he left his great houſe in Barbican, for a ſmaller in High Holborn, where he pro⯑ſecuted his ſtudies till after the King's trial and death, when he publiſhed his Tenure of Kings [119] and Magiſtrates: His Obſervations on the Articles of peace between James Earl of Ormond for King Charles I. on the one hand, and the Iriſh Rebels and Papiſts on the other hand; and a letter ſent by Ormond to colonel Jones governor of Dublin; and a repreſentation of the Scotch Preſbytery at Belfaſt in Ireland.
He was now admitted into the ſervice of the Commonwealth, and was made Latin Secretary to the Council of State, who reſolved neither to write nor receive letters but in the Latin tongue, which was common to all ſtates.
And it were to be wiſhed, ‘'ſays Dr. Newton, that ſucceeding Princes would follow their ex⯑ample, for in the opinion of very wiſe men, the univerſality of the French language will make way for the univerſality of the French Monarchy. Milton was perhaps the firſt in⯑ſtance of a blind man's poſſeſſing the place of a ſecretary; which no doubt was a great in⯑convenience to him in his buſineſs, tho' ſome⯑times a political uſe might be made of it, as men's natural infirmities are often pleaded in excuſe for their not doing what they have no great inclination to do. Dr. Newton relates an inſtance of this. When Cromwell, as we may collect from Whitlocke, for ſome reaſons delayed artfully to ſign the treaty concluded with Sweden, and the Swediſh ambaſſador made frequent complaints of it, it was excuſed to him, becauſe Milton on account of his blind⯑neſs, proceeded ſlower in buſineſs, and had not yet put the articles of treaty into Latin. Upon which the ambaſſador was greatly ſurprized that things of ſuch conſequence ſhould be en⯑truſted to a blind man; for he muſt neceſſa⯑rily employ an amanuenſis, and that amanuenſis might divulge the articles; and ſaid, it was ve⯑ry wonderful there ſhould be only one man in [120] England who could write Latin, and he a blind one.'’
Thus we have ſeen Milton raiſed to the dig⯑nity of Latin Secretary. It is ſomewhat ſtrange, that in times of general confuſion, when a man of parts has the faireſt opportunity to play off his abilities to advantage, that Milton did not riſe ſooner, nor to a greater elevation; he was employed by thoſe in authority only as a wri⯑ter, which conferred no power upon him, and kept him in a kind of obſcurity, who had from nature all that was proper for the field as well as the cabinet; for we are aſſured that Milton was a man of confirmed courage.
In 1651 our author publiſhed his Pro Populo Anglicano Defenſio, for which he was rewarded by the Commonwealth with a preſent of a thou⯑ſand pounds, and had a conſiderable hand in correcting and poliſhing a piece written by his nephew Mr. John Philips, and printed at Lon⯑don 1652, under this title, Joannis Philippi An⯑gli Reſponfio ad Apologiam Anonymi cujuſdam Tenebrionis pro Rege & Populo Anglicano infantiſ⯑ſimam. During the writing and publiſhing this book, he lodged at one Thomſon's, next door to the Bull-head tavern Charing-Croſs; but he ſoon removed to a Garden-houſe in Petty-France, next door to lord Scudamore's, where he remained from the year 1652 till within a few weeks of the Reſtoration. In this houſe, his firſt wife dying in child-bed, 1652, he married a ſecond, Catherine, the daughter of Captain Woodcock of Hackney, who died of a conſumption in three months af⯑ter ſhe had been brought to bed of a daughter. This ſecond marriage was about two or three years after he had been wholly deprived of his ſight; for by reaſon of his continual ſtudies, and the head-ach, to which he was ſubject from his youth, and his perpetual tampering with phyſic, [121] his eyes had been decaying for twelve years be⯑fore.
In 1654 he publiſhed his Defenſio Secunda; and the year following his Defenſio pro Se. Be⯑ing now at eaſe from his ſtate adverſaries, and political controverſies, he had leiſure again to proſecute his own ſtudies, and private deſigns, particularly his Hiſtory of Britain, and his new Theſaurus Linguae Latinae, according to the me⯑thod of Robert Stevens, the manuſcript of which contained three large volumes in folio, and has been made uſe of by the editors of the Cam⯑bridge Dictionary, printed 4to, 1693.
In 1658 he publiſhed Sir Walter Raleigh's Ca⯑binet-Council; and in 1659 a Treatiſe of the Civil Power in Eccleſiaſtical Cauſes, Lond. 12mo. and Conſiderations touching the likelieſt Means to remove Hirelings out of the Church; where⯑in are alſo Diſcourſes of Tithes, Church-fees, Church-Revenues, and whether any Maintenance of Mini⯑ſters can be ſettled in Law, Lond. 1659, 12mo.
Upon the diſſolution of the Parliament by the army, after Richard Cromwell had been obliged to reſign the Protectorſhip, Milton wrote a letter, in which he lays down the model of a common⯑wealth; not ſuch as he judged the beſt, but what might be the readieſt ſettled at that time, to prevent the reſtoration of kingly government and domeſtic diſorders till a more favourable ſeaſon, and better diſpoſitions for erecting a per⯑fect democracy. He drew up likewiſe another piece to the ſame purpoſe, which ſeems to have been addreſſed to general Monk; and he pub⯑liſhed in February 1659, his ready and eaſy way to eſtabliſh a free Commonwealth. Soon after this he publiſhed his brief notes upon a late ſermon, entitled, the Fear of God and the King, printed in 4to, Lond. 1660. Juſt before the reſtoration he was removed from his office [122] of Latin ſecretary, and concealed himſelf till the act of oblivion was publiſhed; by the advice of his friends he abſconded till the event of pub⯑lic affairs ſhould direct him what courſe to take, for this purpoſe he retired to a friend's houſe in Bartholomew-Cloſe, near Weſt-Smithfield, till the general amneſty was delared.
The act of oblivion, ſays Mr. Phillips, prov⯑ing as favourable to him, as could be hoped or expected, through the interceſſion of ſome that ſtood his friends both in Council and Parliament; particularly in the Houſe of Commons, Mr. Andrew Marvel member for Hull, and who has prefixed a copy of verſes before his Paradiſe Loſt, acted vigorouſly in his behalf, and made a conſiderable party for him, ſo that together with John Goodwin of Coleman-Street, he was only ſo far excepted as not to bear any office in the Commonwealth; but as this is one of the moſt important circumſtances in the life of our author, we ſhall give an account of it at large, from Mr. Richardſon, in his life of Milton, prefixed to his Explanatory Notes, and Remarks on Paradiſe Loſt.
His words are
'That Milton eſcaped is well known, but not how. By the accounts we have, he was by the Act of Indemnity only incapacitated for any public employment. This is a notorious miſtake, though Toland, the biſhop of Sarum, Fenton, &c. have gone into it, confounding him with Goodwin; their caſes were very different, as I found upon enquiry. Not to take a matter of this importance upon truſt, I had firſt recourſe to the Act itſelf. Milton is not among the ex⯑cepted. If he was ſo conditionally pardoned, it muſt then be, by a particular inſtrument. That [123] could not be after he had been purified entirely by the general indemnity, nor was it likely the King, who had declared from Breda, he would pardon all but whom the Parliament ſhould judge unworthy of it, and had thus lodged the matter with them, ſhould, before they came to a determination, beſtow a private act of indulgence to one ſo notorious as Milton. It is true, Rapin ſays, ſeveral principal republicans applied for mercy, while the Act was yet depending, but quotes no authority; and upon ſearch, no ſuch pardon appears on record, though many are two or three years after, but then they are without reſtrictions; ſome people were willing to have a particular, as well as a general pardon; but what⯑ever was the caſe of others, there was a reaſon beſides what has been already noted, that no ſuch favour would be ſhewn to Milton. The Houſe of Commons, June 16, 1660, vote the King to be moved to call in his two books, and that of John Goodwin, written in juſtification of the murder of the King, in order to be burnt, and that the Attorney General do proceed againſt them by indictment. June 27, an Order of Coun⯑cil reciting that Vote of the 16th, and that the perſons were not to be found, directs a Procla⯑mation for calling in Milton's two books, which are here explained, to be that againſt Salmaſius, and the Eikon Baſilike, as alſo Goodwin's book; and a Proclamation was iſſued accordingly, and another to the ſame purpoſe the 13th of Auguſt: as for Goodwin he narrowly eſcaped for his life, but he was voted to be excepted out of the Act of Indemnity, amongſt the twenty deſigned to have penalties inflicted ſhort of death, and Au⯑guſt 27, theſe books of Milton and Goodwin were burnt by the hangman. The Act of Obli⯑vion, according to Kennet's Regiſter, was paſſed the 29th. It is ſeen by this account, that Mil⯑ton's [124] perſon and Goodwin's are ſeparated, tho' their books are blended together. As the King's intention appeared to be a pardon to all but ac⯑tual regicides, as Burnet ſays, it is odd, he ſhould aſſert in the ſame breath, almoſt all peo⯑ple were ſurprized that Goodwin and Milton eſcaped cenſure. Why ſhould it be ſo ſtrange, they being not concerned in the King's blood? that he was forgot, as Toland ſays, ſome peo⯑ple imagined, is very unlikely. However, it is certain, from what has been ſhewn from biſhop Kennet, he was not. That he ſhould be diſtin⯑guiſhed from Goodwin, with advantage, will juſtly appear ſtrange; for his vaſt merit, as an ho⯑neſt man, a great ſcholar, and a moſt excellent writer, and his ſame, on that account, will hard⯑ly be thought the cauſes, eſpecially when it is remembered Paradiſe Loſt was not produced, and the writings, on which his vaſt reputation ſtood, are now become criminal, and thoſe moſt, which were the main pillars of his fame. Goodwin was an inconſiderable offender, compared with him; ſome ſecret cauſe muſt be recurred to in accounting for this indulgence. I have heard that ſecretary Morrice, and Sir Thomas Clarges were his friends, and managed matters artfully in his favour: doubtleſs they, or ſome body elſe did, and they very probably, as being powerful friends at that time. But ſtill how came they to put their intereſt at ſuch a ſtretch, in favour of a man ſo notoriouſly obnoxious? perplexed, and inquiſitive as I was, I at length found the ſecret. It was Sir William Davenant obtained his re⯑miſſion, in return of his own life, procured by Milton's intereſt, when himſelf was under con⯑demnation, Anno 1630. A life was owing to Milton (Davenant's) and it was paid nobly; Mil⯑ton's for Davenant, at Davenant's interceſſion. The management of the affair in the houſe, whe⯑ther [125] by ſignifying the King's deſire, or otherwiſe, was, perhaps by thoſe gentlemen named.'
This account Mr. Richardſon had from Mr. Pope, who was informed of it by Betterton, the celebrated actor, who was firſt brought upon the ſtage by Sir William Davenant, and honoured with an intimacy with him, ſo that no better authority need be produced to ſupport any fact.
Milton being ſecured by his pardon, appeared a⯑gain in public, and removed to Jewin-ſtreet, where he married his third wife, Elizabeth, the daughter of Mr. Minſhul of Cheſhire, recommended to him by his friend Dr. Paget, to whom he was relat [...]d, but he had no children by her: ſoon after the reſtoration he was offered the place of Latin ſe⯑cretary to the King, which, notwithſtanding the importunities of his wife, he refuſed: we are in⯑formed, that when his wife preſſed him to comply with the times, and accept the King's offer, he made anſwer, ‘'You are in the right, my dear, you, as other women, would ride in your coach; for me, my aim is to live and die an honeſt man.'’ Soon after his marriage with his third wife, he removed to a houſe in the Artillery Walk, leading to Bun⯑hill-fields, where he continued till his death, exc [...]pt during the plague, in 1665, when he retired with his family to St. Giles's Chalfont Buckinghamſhire, at which time his Paradiſe Loſt was finiſhed, tho' not publiſhed till 1667. Mr. Philips obſerves, that the ſubject of that poem was firſt deſigned for a tragedy, and in the fourth book of the poem, ſays he, there are ten verſes, which, ſeveral years be⯑fore the poem was begun, were ſhewn to me, and ſome others, as deſigned for the very beginning of the tragedy. The verſes are,
Mr. Philips further obſerves, that there was a very remarkable circumſtance in the compoſure of Paradiſe Loſt, which, ſays he, ‘'I have particular reaſon to remember, for whereas I had the pe⯑ruſal of it from the very beginning, for ſome years, as I went from time to time to viſit him, in a parcel of ten, twenty, or thirty verſes at a time, which being written by whatever hand came next, might poſſibly want correction, as to the orthography and pointing; having, as the ſum⯑mer came on, not been ſhewn any for a conſider⯑able while, and deſiring the reaſon thereof, was anſwered, that his vein never happily ſlowed but from the autumnal equinox to the vernal, and that whatever he attempted at other times, was never to his ſatisfaction, though he courted his fancy never ſo much; ſo that in all the years he was about his poem, he may be ſaid to have ſpent but half his time therein*'’ Mr. Toland imagines that Mr. Philips muſt be miſtaken in re⯑gard to the time, ſince Milton, in his Latin Elegy upon the Approach of the Spring, declares the contrary, and that his poetic talent returned with the ſpring. This is a point, as it is not worth con⯑tending, ſo it never can be ſettled; no poet ever yet could tell when the poetic vein would flow; and as no man can make verſes, unleſs the inclination be preſent, ſo no man, can [127] be certain how long it will continue, for if there is any inſpiration now amongſt men, it is that which the poet feels, at leaſt the ſudden ſtarts, and flaſhes of fancy bear a ſtrong reſemblance to the idea we form of inſpiration.
Mr. Richardſon has informed us, ‘'that when Mil⯑ton dictated, he uſed to ſit leaning backwards ob⯑liquely in an eaſy chair, with his legs flung over the elbows of it; that he frequently compoſed ly⯑ing a-bed in a morning, and that when he could not ſleep, but lay awake whole nights, he tried, but not one verſe could he make; at other times ſlow⯑ed eaſy his unpremeditated verſe, with a certain Impetus as himſelf uſed to believe; then at what hour ſoever, he rung for his daughter to ſecure what came. I have been alſo told he would dictate many, perhaps 40 lines in a breath, and then reduce them to half the number.'’ I would not omit, ſays Mr. Richardſon, the leaſt circumſtance; theſe indeed are trifles, but even ſuch contract a ſort of greatneſs, when related to what is great.
After the work was ready for the preſs, it was near being ſuppreſſed by the ignorance, or malice of the licenſer, who, among other trivial objections, ima⯑gined there was treaſon in that noble ſimile, b. i. v. 594.
The ignorance of this licenſer, in objecting to this noble ſimile, has indeed perpetuated his name, but it is with no advantage; he, no doubt, ima⯑gined, that Perplexes Monarchs was levelled a⯑gainſt the reigning Prince, which is, perhaps, the [128] higheſt ſimile in our language; how ridiculouſly will people talk who are blinded by prejudice, or heat⯑ed by party. But to return: After Milton had fi⯑niſhed this noble work of genius, which does ho⯑nour to human nature, he diſpoſed of it to a Book⯑ſeller for the ſmall price of fifteen pounds; under ſuch prejudice did he then labour, and the payment of the fifteen pounds was to depend upon the ſale of two numerous impreſſions. This engagement with his Bookſeller proves him extremely igno⯑rant of that ſort of buſineſs, for he might be well aſſured, that if two impreſſions ſold, a great deal of money muſt be returned, and how he could diſ⯑poſe of it thus conditionally for fifteen pounds, ap⯑pears ſtrange; but while it proves Milton's ig⯑norance, or inattention about his intereſt in this affair, it, at the ſame time, demonſtrates the Bookſeller's honeſty; for he could not be ignorant what money would be got by two nu⯑merous editions. After this great work was pub⯑liſhed, however, it lay ſome time in obſcurity, and had the Bookſeller advanced the ſum ſtipulated, he would have had reaſon to repent of his bar⯑gain. It was generally reported, that the late lord Somers firſt gave Paradiſe Loſt a reputation; but Mr. Richardſon obſerves, that it was known and eſteemed long before there was ſuch a man as lord Somers, as appears by a pompous edition of it printed by ſubſcription in 1688, where, a⯑mongſt the liſt of Subſcribers, are the names of lord Dorſet, Waller, Dryden, Sir Robert How⯑ard, Duke, Creech, Flatman, Dr. Aldrich, Mr. Atterbury, Sir Roger L'Eſtrange, lord Somers, then only John Somers, Eſq Mr. Richardſon fur⯑ther informs us, that he was told by Sir George Hungerford, an ancient Member of Parliament, that Sir John Denham came into the Houſe one morning with a ſheet of Paradiſe Loſt, wet from the preſs, in his hand, and being asked what he [129] was reading? he anſwered, part of the nobleſt poem that ever was written in any language, or in any age; however, it is certain that the book was unknown till about two years after, when the earl of Dorſet recommended it, as appears from the following ſtory related to Mr. Richardſon, by Dr. Tancred Robinſon, an eminent phyſician in Lon⯑don, who was informed, by Sir Fleetwood Sheppard, ‘'that the earl, in company with that gentleman, looking over ſome books in Little Britain, met with Paradiſe Loſt; and being ſurprized with ſome paſſages in turning it over, bought it. The Book⯑ſeller deſired his lordſhip to ſpeak in its favour, ſince he liked it, as the impreſſion lay on his hands as waſte paper. The earl having read the poem, ſent it to Mr. Dryden, who, in a ſhort time, returned it with this anſwer: This man cuts us all, and the ancients too.'’
Critics have differed as to the ſource from which our drew the firſt hint of writing Paradiſe Loſt; Peek conjectures that it was from a celebrated Spaniſh Romance called Guzman, and Dr. Zachary Pearce, now biſhop of Bangor, has alledged, that he took the firſt hint of it from an Italian Tragedy, called I [...] Paradiſo Perſo, ſtill extant, and printed many years before he entered on his deſign. Mr. Lauder in his Eſſay on Milton's Uſe and Imitation of the Moderns, has inſinuated that Milton's firſt hint of Paradiſe Loſt, was taken from a Tragedy of the celebrated Grotius, called Adamus Exul, and that Milton has not thought it beneath him to tranſplant ſome of that author's beauties into his noble work, as well as ſome other flowers called from the gardens of inferior genius's; but by an elegance of art, and force of nature, peculiar to him, he has drawn the admiration of the world upon paſſages, which in their original authors, ſtood neglected and undiſtinguiſhed. If at any time he has adopted a ſentiment of a cotemporary poet, [130] it deſerves another name than plagiary; for, as Garth expreſſes it, in the caſe of Dryden, who was charged with plagiary, that, like ladies of quality who borrow beggars children, it is only to cloath them the better, and we know no higher compli⯑ment could have been paid to theſe moderns, than that of Milton's doing them the honour to peruſe them, for, like a Prince's accepting a preſent from a ſubject, the glory is reflected on him who offers the gift, not on the Monarch who accepts it. But as Mr. Lauder's book has lately made ſo great a noiſe in the world, we muſt beg leave to be a little more particular.
Had Mr. Lauder purſued his plan of diſcloſing Milton's reſources, and tracing his ſteps through the vaſt tracts of erudition that our author travelled, with candour and diſpaſſionateneſs, the deſign would have been noble and uſeful; he then would have produced authors into light who were before unknown; have recommended ſacred poetry, and it would have been extreamly pleaſing to have followed Milton over all his claſſic ground, and ſeen where the nobleſt genius of the world thought proper to pluck a flower, and by what art he was able to rear upon the foundation of nature ſo magnificent, ſo aſtoniſhing a fabric: but in place of that, Mr. Lauder ſuffers himſelf to be overcome by his paſſion, and inſtead of tracing him as a man of taſte, and extenſive read⯑ing, he hunts him like a malefactor, and ſeems to be determined on his execution.
Mr. Lauder could never ſeparate the idea of the author of Paradiſe Loſt, and the enemy of King Charles. Lauder has great reading, but greater ill nature; and Mr. Douglas has ſhewn how much his evidence is invalidated by ſome interpolations which Lauder has ſince owned. It is pity ſo much claſ⯑ſical knowledge ſhould have been thus proſtituted by [131] Lauder, which might have been of ſervice to his country; but party-zeal ſeldom knows any bounds. The ingenious Moſes Brown, ſpeaking of this man's furious attack upon Milton, has the following pretty ſtanza.
But if Lauder is hot and furious, his paſſion ſoon ſubſides. Upon hearing that the grand-daughter of Milton was living, in an obſcure ſituation in Shoreditch, he readily embraced the opportunity, in his poſtſcript, of recommending her to the public favour; upon which, ſome gentlemen affected with the ſingularity of the circumſtance, and a⯑ſhamed that our country ſhould ſuffer the grand⯑daughter of one from whom it derives its moſt laſting and brighteſt honour, to languiſh neglected, procured Milton's Comus to be performed for her benefit at Drury Lane, on the 5th of April, 1750: upon which, Mr. Garrick ſpoke a Prologue writ⯑ten by a gentleman, who zealouſly promoted the benefit, and who, at this time, holds the higheſt rank in literature.
This prologue will not, we are perſuaded, be unacceptable to our readers.
In the year 1670 our author publiſhed at Lon⯑don in 4to. his Hiſtory of Britain, that part, eſpe⯑cially, now called England, from the firſt traditional Beginning, continued to the Norman Conqueſt, collected out of the ancienteſt and beſt authors thereof. It is reprinted in the firſt volume of Dr. Kennet's compleat Hiſtory of England. Mr. To⯑land in his Life of Milton, page 43, obſerves, that we have not this hiſtory as it came out of his hands, for the licenſers, thoſe ſworn officers to deſtroy learning, liberty, and good ſenſe, expunged ſeve⯑ral paſſages of it, wherein he expoſed the ſuper⯑ſtition, pride, and cunning of the Popiſh monks in the Saxon times, but applied by the ſagacious licenſers to Charles IId's biſhops. In 1681 a con⯑ſiderable paſſage which had been ſuppreſſed in the publication of this hiſtory, was printed at London in 4to under this title: Mr. John Milton's cha⯑racter of the Long Parliament and Aſſembly of Divines in 1651, omitted in his other works, and never before printed. It is reported, and from the foregoing character it appears probable, that Mr. Milton had lent moſt of his perſonal eſtate upon the public faith, which when he ſomewhat ear⯑neſtly preſſed to have reſtored, after a long, and chargeable attendance, met with very ſharp re⯑bukes; [134] upon which, at laſt deſpairing of any ſuc⯑ceſs in this affair, he was forced to return from them poor and friendleſs, having ſpent all his mo⯑ney, and wearied all thoſe who eſpouſed his cauſe, and he had not, probably, mended his circum⯑ſtances in thoſe days, but by performing ſuch ſer⯑vice for them, as afterwards he did, for which ſcarce any thing would appear too great. In 1671 he publiſhed at London in 8vo. Paradiſe Regained, a Poem in four Books, to which is added Samp⯑ſon Agoniſtes: there is not a ſtronger proof of hu⯑man weakneſs, than Milton's preferring this Poem of Paradiſe Regained, to Paradiſe Loſt, and it is a natural and juſt obſervation, that the Meſſiah in Paradiſe Regained, with all his meekneſs, unaf⯑fected dignity, and clear reaſoning, makes not ſo great a figure, as when in the Paradiſe Loſt he ap⯑pears cloathed in the Terrors of Almighty ven⯑geance, wielding the thunder of Heaven, and riding along the ſky in the chariot of power, drawn, as Milton greatly expreſſes it, ‘'with Four Cherubic Shapes; when he comes dreſt in awful Majeſty, and hurls the apoſtate ſpirits headlong in⯑to the fiery gulph of bottomleſs perdition, there to dwell in adamantine chains and penal fire, who durſt defy the Omnipotent to arms.'’
Dr. Newton has diſſented from the general opi⯑nion of mankind, concerning Paradiſe Regained: ‘'Certainly, ſays he, it is very worthy of the author, and contrary to what Mr. Toland relates, Milton may be ſeen in Paradiſe Regained as well as Pa⯑radiſe Loſt; if it is inferior in poetry, I know not whether it is inferior in ſentiment; if it is leſs deſcriptive, it is more argumentative; if it does not ſometimes riſe ſo high, neither doth it ever ſink below; and it has not met with the approbation it deſerves, only becauſe it has not been more read and conſidered. His ſubject in⯑deed is confined, and he has a narrow foundation [135] to build upon, but he has raiſed as noble a ſu⯑perſtructure, as ſuch little room, and ſuch ſcanty materials would allow. The great beauty of it is the contraſt between the two characters of the tempter and Our Saviour, the artful ſophiſtry, and ſpecious inſinuations of the one, refuted by the ſtrong ſenſe, and manly eloquence of the o⯑ther.'’ The firſt thought of Paradiſe Regained was owing to Elwood the Quaker, as he him⯑ſelf relates the occaſion, in the Hiſtory of his own Life. When Milton had lent him the manuſcript of Paradiſe Loſt at St. Giles's Chalfont, and he returned it, Milton asked him how he liked it, and what he thought of it? ‘'which I modeſtly and freely told him (ſays Elwood) and after ſome fur⯑ther diſcourſe about it, I pleaſantly ſaid to him,'’ ‘'thou haſt ſaid much of Paradiſe Loſt, but what haſt thou to ſay of a Paradiſe Found? He made me no anſwer, but ſat ſome time in a muſe, then broke off that diſcourſe, and fell upon another ſubject.'’ When Elwood afterwards waited upon him in London, Milton ſhewed him his Paradiſe Regained, and in a pleaſant tone ſaid to him, ‘'this is owing to you, for you put it into my head by the queſtion you put me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of.'’
In the year 1672 he publiſhed his Artis Logicae plenior Inſtitutio ad Rami methodum concinnata, London, in 8vo. and in 1673, a Diſcourſe intitled, Of True Religion, Hereſy, Schiſm, Toleration, and what beſt Means may be uſed againſt the Growth of Popery, London, in 4to. He publiſh⯑ed likewiſe the ſame year, Poems, &c. on ſeveral Occaſions, both Engliſh and Latin, compoſed at ſeveral times, with a ſmall Tractate of Education to Mr. Hartlib, London, 8vo. In 1674 he pub⯑liſhed his Epiſtolarum familiarium, lib. i. & Pro⯑luſiones quaedam Oratoriae in Collegio Chriſti ha⯑bitae, London, in 8vo. and in the ſame year in [136] 4to. a Declaration of the Letters Patent of the King of Poland, John III. elected on the 22d of May, Anno Dom. 1674, now faithfully tranſlated from the Latin copy. Mr. Wood tells us‖, that Milton was thought to be the author of a piece called the Grand Caſe of Conſcience, concerning the Engagement Stated and Reſolved; or a Strict Survey of the Solemn League and Covenant in reference to the preſent Engagement; but others are of opinion that the ſtile and manner of writ⯑ing do not in the leaſt favour that ſuppoſition. His State Letters were printed at London 1676 in 12mo. and tranſlated into Engliſh, and printed 1694, as his Brief Hiſtory of Muſcovy, and of their leſs known Countries, lying Eaſtward of Ruſſia, as far as Cathay, was in 1682 in 8vo. His Hiſtorical, Poetical, and Miſcellaneous Works were printed in three volumes in folio 1698 at London, though Amſterdam is mentioned in the title page with the life of the author, by Mr. Toland; but the moſt compleat and elegant edition of his proſe works was printed in two volumes in folio at London 1738, by the rev. Mr. Birch, now ſecretary to the Royal Society, with an Appendix concerning two Diſſertations, the firſt concerning the Author of the ΕΙΚΩΝ ΒΑΣΙΛΙΚΗ, the Portraiture of his ſacred Majeſty in his ſolitude and ſufferings; and the prayer of Pamela ſubjoined to ſeveral editions of that book; the ſecond concerning the Commiſſion ſaid to be given by King Charles I. in 1641, to the Iriſh Papiſts, for taking up arms againſt the Pro⯑teſtants in Ireland. In this edition the ſeveral pieces are diſpoſed according to the order in which they were printed, with the edition of a Latin Tract, omitted by Mr. Toland, concerning the Reaſons of the War with Spain in 1655, and ſe⯑veral pages in the Hiſtory of Great Britain, ex⯑punged [137] by the licenſers of the preſs, and not to be met with in any former impreſſions. It perhaps is not my province to make any remarks upon the two grand diſputations, that have ſubſiſted between the friends and enemies of Charles I. about the author of the Baſilike, and the Commiſſion grant⯑ed to the Iriſh Papiſts; as to the laſt, the reader, if he pleaſes, may conſult at the Life of Lord Brog⯑hill, in which he will find the myſtery of iniquity diſcloſed, and Charles entirely freed from the leaſt appearance of being concerned in granting ſo execrable a commiſſion; the forgery is there fully related, and there is all the evidence the na⯑ture of the thing will admit of, that the King's me⯑mory has been injured by ſo baſe an imputation. As to the firſt, it is ſomewhat difficult to deter⯑mine, whether his Majeſty was or was not the author of theſe pious Meditations; Mr. Birch has ſummed up the evidence on both ſides; we ſhall not take upon us to determine on which it pre⯑ponderates; it will be proper here to obſerve, the chief evidence againſt the King in this contention, is, Dr. Gauden, biſhop of Exeter, who claimed that book as his, and who, in his letters to the earl of Clarendon, values himſelf upon it, and becomes troubleſomely ſollicitous for preferment on that account; he likewiſe told the two princes that the Baſilike was not written by their father, but by him; now one thing is clear, that Gauden was altogether without parts; his Life of Hooker, which is the only genuine and indiſputed work of his, ſhews him a man of no extent of thinking; his ſtile is looſe, and negligently florid, which is diametrically oppoſite to that of theſe Meditati⯑ons. Another circumſtance much invalidates his evidence, and diminiſhes his reputation for ho⯑neſty. After he had, for a conſiderable time, pro⯑feſſed himſelf a Proteſtant, and been in poſſeſſion of an Engliſh biſhopric, and diſcovered an ar⯑dent [138] deſire of riſing in the church, notwithſtand⯑ing this, he declared himſelf at his death a Pa⯑piſt; and upon the evidence of ſuch a man, none can determine a point in diſputation; for he who durſt thus violate his conſcience, by the baſeſt hypocriſy, will ſurely make no great ſcruple to traduce the memory of his ſovereign.
In a work of Milton's called Icon Oclaſtes, or the Image broken, he takes occaſion to charge the king with borrowing a prayer from Sir Phi⯑lip Sidney's Arcadia, and placing it in his Medi⯑tations without acknowledging the favour. Soon after the ſentence of the Regicides had been put in execution theſe Meditations were publiſhed, and as Anthony by ſhewing the body of murdered Caeſar, excited the compaſſion of multitudes, and raiſed their indignation againſt the enemies of that illuſtrious Roman; ſo theſe Meditations had much the ſame effect in England. The Preſby⯑terians loudly exclaimed againſt the murder of the King; they aſſerted, that his perſon was ſa⯑cred, and ſpilling his blood upon a ſcaffold was a ſtain upon the Engliſh annals, which the lateſt time could not obliterate. Theſe tragical com⯑plaints gaining ground, and the fury which was lately exerciſed againſt his Majeſty, ſubſiding into a tenderneſs for his memory, heightened by the conſideration of his piety, which theſe Meditati⯑ons ſerved to revive, it was thought proper, in order to appeaſe the minds of the people, that an anſwer ſhould be wrote to them.
In this task Milton engaged, and proſecuted it with vigour; but the moſt enthuſiaſtic admirer of that poet, upon reading it will not fail to diſcover a ſpirit of bitterneſs, an air of peeviſh⯑neſs and reſentment to run through the whole. Mil⯑ton has been charged with interpolating the prayer of Pamela into the King's Meditations, by the aſſiſt⯑ance of Bradſhaw, who laid his commands upon [139] the printer ſo to do, to blaſt the reputation of the King's book. Dr. Newton is of opinion that this fact is not well ſupported, for it is related chiefly upon the authority of Henry Hills the printer, who had frequently affirmed it to Dr. Gill, and Dr. Bernard, his phyſicians, as they themſelves have teſtified; but tho' Hills was Cromwell's printer, yet afterwards he turned Papiſt in the reign of King James II. in order to be that King's Printer; and it was at that time he uſed to relate this ſtory; ſo that little credit is due to his teſtimony. It is almoſt im⯑poſſible to believe Milton capable of ſuch diſin⯑genuous meanneſs, to ſerve ſo bad a purpoſe, and there is as little reaſon for fixing it upon him, as he had to traduce the King for profan⯑ing the duty of prayer, with the polluted traſh of romances; for in the beſt books of devotion, there are not many finer prayers, and the King might as lawfully borrow and apply it to his own purpoſe, as the apoſtle might make quota⯑tions from Heathen poems and plays; and it be⯑came Milton, the leaſt of all men, to bring ſuch an accuſation againſt the King, as he was him⯑ſelf particularly fond of reading romances, and has made uſe of them in ſome of the beſt and lateſt of his writings.
There have been various conjectures concerning the cauſe that produced in Milton ſo great an averſion to Charles I. One is, that when Milton ſtood candidate for a profeſſorſhip at Cambridge with his much eſteemed friend Mr. King, their intereſt and qualifications were equal, upon which his Majeſty was required by his nomination to [...]ix the profeſſor; his anſwer was, let the beſt-na⯑tured man have it; to which they who heard him, immediately replied; ‘'then we are certain it cannot be Milton's, who was ever remarkable for a ſtern ungovernable man.'’—Whether [140] this conjecture is abſolutely true, we cannot deter⯑mine; but as it is not without probability, it has a right to be believed, till a more ſatisfactory one can be given.
In whatever light Milton may be placed as a ſtateſman, yet as a poet he ſtands in one point of view without a rival; the ſublimity of his conceptions, the elevation of his ſtile, the fertility of his imagination, and the conduct of his deſign in Paradiſe Loſt is inimitable, and cannot be enough admired.
Milton's character as a poet was never better pourtray'd than in the epigram under his picture written by Mr. Dryden.
This great man died at his houſe at Bunhill, Nov. 15, 1674, and was interred near the body of his father, in the chancel of the church of St. Giles, Cripplegate. By his firſt wife he had four children, a ſon and three daughters. The daughters ſurvived their father. Anne married a maſter-builder, and died in child-bed of her firſt child, which died with her; Mary lived ſingle; Deborah left her father when ſhe was young, and went over to Ireland with a lady, and came to England again during the troubles of Ireland un⯑der King James II. She married Mr. Abraham Clark, a weaver in Spittal-fields, and died Aug. 24, 1727, in the 76th year of age. She had ten children, viz. ſeven ſons, and three daughters, but none of them had any children except one of her ſons named Caleb, and the youngeſt daugh⯑ter, [141] whoſe name is Elizabeth. Caleb went over to Fort St. George in the Eaſt-Indies, where he married and had two ſons, Abraham and Iſaac; of theſe Abraham the elder came to England with governor Harriſon, but returned again upon advice of his father's death, and whether he or his bro⯑ther be now living is uncertain. Elizabeth, the youngeſt child of Deborah, married Mr. Thomas Foſter, a weaver, and lives now in Hog-lane, Shoreditch, for whom Comus, as we have already obſerved, was performed at Drury-Lane, and produced her a great benefit. She has had ſeven children, three ſons and four daughters, who are all now dead. This Mrs. Foſter is a plain de⯑cent looking Woman. Mr. John Ward, fellow of the Royal Society, and profeſſor of rhetoric in Greſham-College, London, ſaw the above Mrs. Clark, Milton's daughter at the houſe of one of her relations not long before her death, when ſhe informed me, ſays that gentleman, ‘'That ſhe and her ſiſters uſed to read to their father in eight languages, which by practice they were capable of doing with great readineſs, and ac⯑curacy, tho' they underſtood no language but Eng⯑liſh, and their father uſed often to ſay in their hearing, one tongue was enough for a woman. None of them were ever ſent to ſchool, but all taught at home by a miſtreſs kept for that pur⯑poſe. Iſaiah, Homer, and Ovid's Metamorphoſes were books which they were often called to read to their father; and at my deſire ſhe repeated a great number of verſes from the beginning of both theſe poets with great readineſs. I knew who ſhe was upon the firſt ſight of her, by the ſimilitude of her countenance with her father's picture. And upon my telling her ſo, ſhe in⯑formed me, that Mr. Addiſon told her the ſame thing, on her going to wait on him; for he, upon hearing ſhe was living ſent for her, and [142] deſired if ſhe had any papers of her father's, ſhe would bring them with her, as an evidence of her being Milton's daughter; but immediate⯑ly on her being introduced to him, he ſaid, Ma⯑dam, you need no other voucher; your face is a ſufficient teſtimonial whoſe daughter you are; and he then made her a handſome preſent of a purſe of guineas, with a promiſe of procuring for her an annual proviſion for life; but he dying ſoon after, ſhe loſt the benefit of his ge⯑nerous deſign. She appeared to be a woman of good ſenſe, and genteel behaviour, and to bear the inconveniencies of a low fortune with decency and prudence.'’
Her late Majeſty Queen Caroline ſent her fifty pounds, and ſhe received preſents of money from ſeveral gentlemen not long before her death. Milton had a brother, Mr. Chriſtopher Milton who was knighted and made one of the barons of the Exchequer in King James II's reign, but he does not appear to have been a man of any abilities, at leaſt if he had any, they are loſt to poſterity in the luſtre of his brother's.
There is now alive a grand-daughter of this Chriſtopher Milton, who is married to one Mr. John Lookup, advocate at Edinburgh, remarkable for his knowledge of the Hebrew tongue. The lady, whom I have often ſeen, is extremely cor⯑pulent, has in her youth been very handſome, and is not deſtitute of a poetical genius. She has writ ſeveral copies of verſes, publiſhed in the Edinburgh Magazines; and her face bears ſome reſemblance to the picture of Milton.
Mr. Wood, and after him Mr. Fenton, has gi⯑ven us the following deſcription of Milton's perſon.
[143] ‘"He was of a moderate ſize, well-proportioned, and of a ruddy complexion, light brown hair, and had handſome features, yet his eyes were none of the quickeſt. When he was a ſtudent in Cambridge, he was ſo fair and clear, that many called him the Lady of Chriſt's-College. His deportment was affable, and his gait erect and manly, beſpeaking courage and undaunt⯑edneſs; while he had his ſight he wore a ſword, and was well ſkilled in uſing it. He had a de⯑licate tuneable voice, an excellent ear, could pay on the organ, and bear a part in vocal and inſtrumental muſic*."’
The great learning and genius of Milton, have ſcarcely raiſed him more admirers, than the part he acted upon the political ſtage, has procured him enemies. He was in his inclination a thorough Republican, and in this he thought like a Greek or Roman, as he was very converſant with their writings. And one day Sir Robert Howard, who was a friend of Milton's, and a well wiſher to the liber⯑ty of his country, aſked him, how he came to ſide with the Republicans? Milton anſwered, among other things, ‘'Becauſe theirs was the moſt frugal government; for the trappings of a Monarchy might ſet up an ordinary Commonwealth.'’ But then his attachment to Cromwell muſt be con⯑demned, as being neither conſiſtent with his re⯑publican principles, nor with his love of liberty. It may be reaſonably preſumed, that he was far from entirely approving of Cromwell's proceed⯑ing; but conſidered him as the only perſon who could reſcue the nation from the tyranny of the Preſbyterians, who he ſaw, were about to erect a worſe dominion of their own upon the ruins of prelatical epiſcopacy; for if experience may be [144] allowed to teach us, the Preſbyterian government carries in it more of eccleſiaſtical authority, and approaches more to the thunder of the Vatican, than any other government under the ſun. Milton was an enemy to ſpiritual ſlavery, he thought the chains thrown upon the mind were the leaſt tolerable; and in order to ſhake the pillars of mental uſurpation, he cloſed with Cromwell and the independants, as he expected under them greater liberty of conſcience. In matters of re⯑ligion too, Milton has likewiſe given great offence, but inſidels have no reaſon to glory. No ſuch man was ever amongſt them. He was perſuaded of the truth of the chriſtian religion; he ſtudied and admired the holy ſcriptures, and in all his writings he plainly diſcovers a religious turn of mind.
When he wrote the Doctrine and Diſcipline of Divorce, he appears to have been a Calviniſt; but afterwards he entertained a more favourable opinion of Arminius. Some have thought that he was an Arian, but there are more expreſs paſſages in his works to overthrow this opinion, than any there are to confirm it. For in the concluſion of his Treatiſe on Reformation, he thus ſclemnly invokes the Trinity:
'Thou therefore that ſitteſt in light and glo⯑ry unapproachable, parent of angels and of men! next thee I implore omnipotent king, redeemer of that loſt remnant, whoſe nature thou didſt aſſume, ineffable and everlaſting love! and thee the third ſubſiſtence of the divine infinitude, illuminating ſpirit, the joy and ſolace of creat⯑ed things! one tri-perſonal god-head.'
In the latter part of his life he was not a profeſſed member of any particular ſect of chriſtians; he fre⯑quented no public worſhip, nor uſed any religious [145] rite in his family; he was an enemy to all kinds of forms, and thought that all chriſtians had in ſome things corrupted the ſimplicity and purity of the goſpel. He believed that inward religion was the beſt, and that public communion had more of ſhew in it, than any tendency to promote genu⯑ine piety and unaffected goodneſs.
The circumſtances of our author were never very mean, nor very affluent; he lived above want, and was content with competency. His father ſupported him during his travels. When he was appointed Latin ſecretary, his ſallary amounted to 200 l. per ann. and tho' he was of the victorious party, yet he was far from ſharing the ſpoils of his country. On the contrary, as we learn from his Second Defence, he ſuſtained great loſſes dur⯑ing the civil war, and was not at all favoured in the impoſition of taxes, but ſometimes paid beyond his due proportion; and upon a turn of affairs, he was not only deprived of his place, but alſo loſt 2000 l. which he had for ſecurity, put into the Exciſe office.
In the fire of London, his houſe in Bread⯑ſtreet was burnt, before which accident foreigners have gone out of devotion, ſays Wood, to ſee the houſe and chamber where he was born. Some time before he died, he ſold the greateſt part of his library, as his heirs were not qualified to make a proper uſe of it, and as he thought he could diſpoſe of it to greater advantage, than they could after his death. He died (ſays Dr. Newton) by one means or other worth 1500l. beſides his houſhold goods, which was no incompetent ſub⯑ſiſtence for him, who was as great a philoſopher as a poet.
Milton ſeems not to have been very happy in his marriages. His firſt wife offended him by her elopement; the ſecond, whoſe love, ſweetneſs, and delicacy he celebrates, lived not a [146] twelvemonth with him; and his third was ſaid to be a woman of a moſt violent ſpirit, and a ſevere ſtep-mother to his children.
‘'She died, ſays Dr. Newton, very old, about twenty years ago, at Nantwich in Cheſhire, and from the accounts of thoſe who had ſeen her, I have learned that ſhe confirmed ſeveral things related before; and particularly that her huſ⯑band uſed to compoſe his poetry chiefly in the winter, and on his waking on a morning would make her write down ſometimes twenty or thir⯑ty verſes: Being aſked whether he did not of⯑ten read Homer and Virgil, ſhe underſtood it as an imputation upon him for ſtealing from theſe authors, and anſwered with eagerneſs, that he ſtole from no body but the muſe that in⯑ſpired him; and being aſked by a lady preſent who the muſe was, ſhe anſwered, it was God's grace and holy ſpirit, that viſited him nightly. She was likewiſe aſked, whom he approved moſt of our Engliſh poets, and anſwered, Spenſer, Shakeſpear, and Cowley; and being aſked what he thought of Dryden, ſhe ſaid Dryden uſed ſometimes to viſit him, but he thought him no poet, but a good rhimiſt.'’
The reader will be pleaſed to obſerve, that this cenſure of Milton's was before Dryden had made any great appearance in poetry, or compoſed thoſe immortal works of genius, which have raiſed eternal monuments to him, and carried his name to every country where poetry and taſte are known. Some have thought that Dryden's genius was even ſuperior to Milton's: That the latter chiefly ſhines in but one kind of poetry; his thoughts are ſublime, and his language noble; but in what kind of writing has not Dryden been diſtinguiſhed? He is in eve⯑ry thing excellent, ſays Congreve, and he has [147] attempted nothing in which he has not ſo ſuc⯑ceeded as to be entitled to the firſt reputation from it.
It is not to be ſuppoſed, that Milton was go⯑verned by ſo mean a principle as envy, in his thus cenſuring Dryden. It is more natural to imagine, that as he was himſelf no friend to rhime, and finding Dryden in his early age peculiarly happy in the faculty of rhiming, without having thrown out any thoughts, which were in themſelves diſtinguiſhedly great, Milton might, without the imputation of ill nature, characteriſe Dryden, as we have already ſeen.
Theſe are the moſt material incidents in the life of this great man, who if he had leſs honour during the latter part of his life than he deſerv⯑ed, it was owing to the unfavourable circum⯑ſtances under which he laboured. It is always unpleaſing to a good man to find that they who have been diſtinguiſhed for their parts, have not been equally ſo for their moral qualities; and in this caſe we may venture to aſſert, that Milton was good as well as great; and that if he was miſtaken in his political principles, he was ho⯑neſtly miſtaken, for he never deviated from his firſt reſolution; no temptations could excite him to temporiſe, or to barter his honour for advan⯑tage; nor did he ever once preſume to partake of the ſpoils of his ruined country. Such quali⯑ties as theſe are great in themſelves, and who⯑ever poſſeſſes them, has an unexceptionable claim to rank with the good.
We might have entered more minutely into the merit of Milton's poems, particularly the great work of Paradiſe Loſt; but we ſhould reckon it ar⯑rogant as well as ſuperfluous in us, to criticiſe on a work whoſe beauties have been diſplayed by the hand of Mr. Addiſon. That critic has [148] illuſtrated the moſt remarkable paſſages in Paradiſe Loſt; ſuch as are diſtinguiſhed by their ſublimity; and elevation; ſuch whoſe excellence is propriety; others raiſed by the nobleneſs of the language; and thoſe that are remarkable for energy and ſtrong reaſoning.
A later critic, the ingenious author of the Rambler, has animadverted upon Milton's verſifi⯑cation with great judgment; and has diſcovered in ſome meaſure that happy art, by which Mil⯑ton has conducted ſo great a deſign, with ſuch aſtoniſhing ſucceſs.
From theſe two writers may be drawn all the neceſſary aſſiſtances for reading the Paradiſe Loſt with taſte and diſcernment; and as their works are in almoſt in every body's hands, it would be needleſs to give any abſtract of them here.
THE celebrated Orinda, was daughter of John Fowles of Bucklerſbury, a mer⯑chant in London. She was born in the pariſh of St. Mary Wool-Church, 1631. Mr. Aubrey tells us, (in a MS. of his in Mr. Aſhmole's ſtudy, No. 18. Vol. 23.) that ſhe had the early part of her education from her couſin Mrs. Blacket. At eight years old ſhe was removed to a ſchool at Hackney, and ſoon made great improvements under the care of Mrs. Salmon; ſo great that whoever reads the account that Mr. Aubrey gives of her at that time of her life, will conſider her ſucceeding progreſs to be no more than what might be naturally expected from ſuch indica⯑tions [149] of genius. He tells us, ‘'that ſhe was ve⯑ry apt to learn, and made verſes when ſhe was at ſchool; that ſhe devoted herſelf to religious duties when ſhe was very young; that ſhe would then pray by herſelf an hour together; that ſhe had read the bible through before ſhe was full five years old; that ſhe could ſay, by heart, many chapters and paſſages of ſcripture; was a frequent hearer of ſermons, which ſhe would bring away entire in her memory.'’
The above is extracted from Mr. Ballard's ac⯑count of the Ladies of Great Britain, who have been celebrated for their writings; and ſerves to ſhew the early piety of this amiable lady, who lived to be diſtinguiſhed for her ripened un⯑derſtanding.—She became afterwards a perfect miſtreſs of the French tongue, and learned the Italian under the tuition of her ingenious and worthy friend Sir Charles Cotterel. She was in⯑ſtructed in the Preſbyterian principles, which it appears by her writings, ſhe deſerted, as ſoon as her reaſon was ſtrong enough to exert itſelf in the examination of religious points. She warmly embraced the royal intereſt, and upon many oc⯑caſions was a ſtrenuous advocate for the autho⯑rity of the eſtabliſhed church.
She was married to James Philips of the Pri⯑ory of Cardigan, Eſq about the year 1647. By this gentleman ſhe had one ſon, who died in his infancy, and one daughter, married to a gentle⯑man of Pembrokeſhire. She proved an excel⯑lent wife, not only in the conjugal duties, and tender offices of love, but was highly ſer⯑viceable to her huſband in affairs, in which few wives are thought capable of being uſeful; for his fortune being much encumbered, ſhe exerted her intereſt with Sir Charles Cotterel, and other perſons of diſtinction, who admired her under⯑ſtanding (for ſhe had few graces of perſon) in her [150] huſband's favour, who ſoon extricated him from the difficulties under which he laboured. It no where appears that the huſband of Mrs. Philips was a man of any abilities, and if he met with reſpect in the world, it was probably reflected from his wife. This lady had too much piety and good ſenſe to ſuffer her ſuperior underſtanding to make her inſolent; on the other hand, ſhe always ſpeaks of her huſband with the utmoſt reſpect, under the name of Antenor. In a letter to Sir Charles Cotterel, after having mentioned her huſ⯑band in the moſt reſpectful terms, and of his wil⯑lingneſs to forward her journey to London, in order to ſettle his perplexed affairs, ſhe adds
"And I hope God will enable me to anſwer his expectations, by making me an inſtrument of doing ſome handſome ſervice, which is the only ambition I have in the world, and which I would purchaſe with the hazard of my life. I am extreamly obliged to my lady Cork for remembering me with ſo much indulgence; for her great deſire to be troubled with my company; but above all for her readineſs to aſſiſt my endeavours for Antenor, which is the moſt generous kindneſs can be done me."
As this lady was born with a genius for poetry, ſo ſhe began early in life to improve it, and compoſed many poems on various occaſions for her amuſement, in her receſs at Cardigan, and retirement elſewhere. Theſe being diſperſed a⯑mong her friends and acquaintance, were by an unknown hand collected together, and publiſhed in 8vo. 1663, without her knowledge or con⯑ſent. This accident is ſaid to have proved ſo oppreſſive to our poeteſs, as to throw her into a [...]it of illneſs, and ſhe pours out her complaints in a letter to Sir Charles Cotterel, in which ſhe laments, in the moſt affecting manner, the misfor⯑tune [151] and the injuries which had been done to her by this ſurreptitious edition of her Poems.
That Mrs. Philips might be diſpleaſed that her Poems were pabliſhed without her conſent, is extremely probable, as by theſe means they might appear without many graces, and orna⯑ments which they otherwiſe would have poſſeſſed; but that it threw her into a ſit of illneſs, no body who reads the human heart can believe. Surreptitious editions are a ſort of compliment to the merit of an author; and we are not to ſuppoſe Mrs. Philips ſo much a ſaint, as to be ſtlipt of all vanity, or that natural delight, which ariſes from the good opinion of others, however aukwardly it may be diſcovered; and we may venture to affirm, that Mrs. Philips's illneſs pro⯑ceeded from ſome other cauſe, than what is here aſſigned.
The reputation of her abilities procured her the eſteem of many perſons of diſtinction and faſhion, and upon her going into Ireland with the viſcounteſs of Duncannon, to tranſact her huſband's affairs there, her great merit ſoon made her known to thoſe illuſtrious peers, Ormond, Orrery, and Roſcommon, and many other per⯑ſons of the firſt faſhion, who ſhewed her ſingular marks of their eſteem. While Mrs. Philips re⯑mained in that kingdom, at the preſſing impor⯑tunity of the abovementioned noblemen, but par⯑ticularly lord Roſcommon, ſhe tranſlated, from the French of Corneille, the tragedy of Pom⯑pey, which was brought upon the Iriſh ſtage ſomewhat againſt her inclination; however it was ſeveral times acted in the new theatre there, with very great applauſe in the years 1663, and 1664, in which laſt year it was made pub⯑lic. It was afterwards acted with equal ap⯑plauſe at the Duke of York's theatre, 1678. This [152] play is dedicated to the Counteſs of Cork. Lord Roſcommon wrote the Prologue, wherein he thus compliments the ladies and the tranſlator.
She alſo tranſlated from the French of Corneille, a Tragedy called Horace; Sir John Denham added a fifth Act to this Play, which was acted at Court by Perſons of Quality. The Duke of Mon⯑mouth ſpoke the Prologue, in which are theſe lines.
While Mrs. Philips was in Ireland, ſhe was hap⯑py in carrying on her former intimacy with the fa⯑mous Jeremy Taylor, the biſhop of Down and Connor, who had ſome time before done her much honour by writing, and publiſhing a Diſcourſe on the Nature, Offices, and Meaſures of Friendſhip, with Rules for conducting it, in a letter addreſſed to her. It is probable that this prelate's acquaint⯑ance with ſo accompliſhed a lady as Mrs. Philips, might be one reaſon of his entertaining ſo high an opinion of the fair ſex in general; it is certain he was a great admirer of them, by which the good ſenſe, as well as piety, of that great man is demon⯑ſtrated; for whoever has ſtudied life, examined the [153] various motives of human actions, compared cha⯑racters, and, in a word, ſcrutinized the heart, will find that more real virtue, more genuine and un⯑affected goodneſs exiſt amongſt the female ſex, than the other, and were their minds cultivated with equal care, and did they move in the buſtle of life, they would not fall ſhort of the men in the acute excellences; but the ſoftneſs of their natures exempts them from action, and the bluſhes of beauty are not to be effaced by the rough ſtorms of adverſity: that man is happy who enjoys in the con⯑jugal ſtate, the endearments of love and innocence, and if his wife is leſs acquainted with the world than he, ſhe makes a large amends, by the artleſs blandiſhments of a delicate affection.
We are perſuaded our fair readers will not be diſpleaſed if we inſert a paragraph from the diſcourſe already mentioned by this worthy church⯑man; it appearing to be ſo ſincere a tribute to their merit. ‘'But by the way, madam, you may ſee how I differ from the majority of thoſe cynics, who would not admit your ſex into the commu⯑nity of a noble friendſhip. I believe ſome wives have been the beſt friends in the world; and few ſtories can outdo the nobleneſs and piety of that lady, that ſucked the poiſonous purulent matter from the wounds of the brave Prince in the holy land, when an aſſaſſin had pierced him with a venomed arrow: and if it be told that women cannot retain council, and therefore can be no brave friends, I can beſt confute them by the ſto⯑ry of Porcia, who being fearful of the weakneſs of her ſex, ſtabbed herſelf in the thigh to try how ſhe could bear pain; and finding herſelf conſtant enough to that ſufferance, gently chid her Bru⯑tus for not truſting her, ſince now ſhe perceived, that no torment could wreſt that ſecret from her, which ſhe hoped might be entruſted to her. If [154] there were no more things to be ſaid for your ſatisfaction, I could have made it diſputable, which have been more illuſtrious in their friend⯑ſhip, men or women. I cannot ſay that women are capable of all thoſe excellencies by which men can oblige the world, and therefore a female friend, in ſome caſes, is not ſo good a counſellor as a wiſe man, and cannot ſo well defend my ho⯑nour, nor diſpoſe of relief and aſſiſtances, if ſhe be under the power of another; but a woman can love as paſſionately, and converſe as plea⯑ſantly, and retain a ſecret as faithfully, and be uſeful in her proper miniſtries, and ſhe can die for her friend, as well as the braveſt Roman knight; a man is the beſt friend in trouble, but a woman may be equal to him in the days of joy: a woman can as well increaſe our comforts, but cannot ſo well leſſen our ſorrows, and there⯑fore we do not carry women with us when we go to fight; but in peaceful cities and times, women are the beauties of ſociety, and the pret⯑tineſſes of friendſhip, and when we conſider that few perſons in the world have all thoſe ex⯑cellences by which friendſhip can be uſeful, and illuſtrious, we may as well allow women as men to be friends; ſince they have all that can be neceſſary and eſſential to friendſhips, and thoſe cannot have all by which friendſhips can be accidentally improved.'’
Thus far this learned prelate, whoſe teſtimony in favour of women is the more conſiderable, as he can⯑not be ſuppoſed to have been influenced by any par⯑ticular paſſion, at leaſt for Mrs. Philips, who was or⯑dinary in her perſon, and was beſides a married lady. In the year 1663 Mrs. Philips quitted Ireland, and went to Cardigan, where ſhe ſpent the remaining part of that, and the beginning of the next year, in a ſort of melancholy retirement; as appears by her [155] letters, occaſioned, perhaps, by the bad ſucceſs of her husband's affairs. Going to London, in or⯑der to relieve her oppreſſed ſpirits with the con⯑verſation of her friends there, ſhe was ſeized by the ſmall pox, and died of it (in Fleet ſtreet,) to the great grief of her acquaintance, in the 32d year of her age, and was buried June 22, 1664, in the church of St. Bennet Sherehog,* under a large mo⯑numental ſtone, where ſeveral of her anceſtors were before buried. Mr. Aubrey in his manuſcript a⯑bovementioned, obſerves, that her perſon was of a middle ſtature, pretty fat, and ruddy complex⯑ioned.
Soon after her death, her Poems and Tranſlations were collected and publiſhed in a volume in folio, to which was added Monſieur Corneille's Pompey and Horace, Tragedies; with ſeveral other Tran⯑ſlations out of French, London 1667, with her picture, a good buſto, before them, ſtanding on a pedeſtal, on which is inſcribed Orinda; it was printed again at London 1678. In a collection of Letters publiſhed by Mr. Thomas Brown, in 1697, are printed four Letters from Mrs. Philips to the Honourable Berenice. Many years after her death, were publiſhed a volume of excellent Letters from Mrs. Philips to Sir Charles Cotterel with the en⯑ſuing title, Letters from Orinda to Polliarchus, 8vo. London 1705. Major Pack, in his Eſſay on Study, inſerted in his Miſcellanies, gives the following character of theſe Letters; ‘'The beſt Letters I have met with in our Engliſh tongue, are thoſe of the celebrated Mrs. Philips to Sir Charles Cotterel; as they are directed all to the ſame perſon, ſo they run all in the ſame ſtrain, and ſeem to have been employed in the ſervice of a refined and generous friendſhip. In a word, they are ſuch as a woman of ſpirit and virtue, ſhould [156] write to a courtier of honour, and true gallantry.'’ The memory of this ingenious lady has been ho⯑noured with many encomiums. Mr. Thomas Rowe in his epiſtle to Daphne, pays the following tri⯑bute to her fame.
More teſtimonies might be produced in favour of Mrs. Philips, but as her works are generally known, and are an indelible teſtimony of her merit, we reckon it ſuperfluous. Beſides the poetical abili⯑ties of the amiable Orinda, ſhe is ſaid to have been of a generous, charitable diſpoſition, and a friend to all in diſtreſs.
As few ladies ever lived more happy in her friends than our poeteſs, ſo thoſe friends have done juſtice to her memory, and celebrated her, when dead, for thoſe virtues they admired, when living. Mr. Dryden more than once mentions her with ho⯑nour, and Mr. Cowley has written an excellent Ode upon her death. As this Ode will better ſhew the high opinion once entertained of Mrs. Philips, than any thing we can ſay, after giving a ſpecimen of her [157] poetry, we ſhall conclude with this performance of Cowley's, which breathes friendſhip in every line, and ſpeaks an honeſt mind: ſo true is the obſervation of Pope, upon the ſuppoſition that Cowley's works are falling into oblivion,
Mrs. Philips's poetry has not harmony of ver⯑ſification, or amorous tenderneſs to recommend it, but it has a force of thinking, which few poets of the other ſex can exceed, and if it is without graces, it has yet a great deal of ſtrength. As ſhe has been celebrated for her friendſhip, we ſhall pre⯑ſent the reader with an Ode upon that ſubject, addreſſed to her deareſt Lucaſia.
THE ſecond wife of William Cavendiſh, duke of Newcaſtle, was born at St. John's near Colcheſter in Eſſex, about the latter end of the reign of King James I. and was the youngeſt daughter of Sir Charles Lucas, a gentleman of great ſpirit and fortune, who died when ſhe was very young. The ducheſs herſelf in a book in⯑titled Nature's Pictures, drawn by Fancy's pencil to the life, has celebrated both the exquiſite beauty of her perſon, and the rare endowments of her mind. This lady's mother was remarkably aſſiduous in the education of her children, and beſtowed upon this, all the inſtructions neceſſary for forming the minds of young ladies, and introduc⯑ing them into life with advantage. She found her trouble in cultivating this daughter's mind not in vain, for ſhe diſcovered early an inclination to learning, and ſpent ſo much of her time in ſtudy and writing, that ſome of her Biographers have lamented her not being acquainted with the learn⯑ed languages, which would have extended her [163] knowledge, corrected the exuberances of genius, and have been of infinite ſervice to her, in her numerous compoſitions.
In the year 1643 ſhe obtained leave of her mo⯑ther to go to Oxford, where the court then re⯑ſided, and was made one of the Maids of Honour to Henrietta Maria, the Royal Conſort of King Charles I. and when the Queen was forced to leave the arms of her Huſband, and fly into France, by the violence of the prevailing power, this lady attended her there. At Paris ſhe met with the marquis of Newcaſtle, whoſe loyalty had like⯑wiſe produced his exile; who, admiring her perſon and genius, married her in the year 1645. The marquis had before heard of this lady, for he was a patron and friend of her gallant brother, lord Lucas, who commanded under him in the civil wars. He took occaſion one day to ask his lordſhip what he could do for him, as he had his intereſt much at heart? to which he an⯑ſwered, that he was not ſollicitous about his own affairs, for he knew the worſt could be but ſuffering either death, or exile in the Royal cauſe, but his chief ſollicitude was for his ſiſter, on whom he could beſtow no fortune, and whoſe beauty ex⯑poſed her to danger: he repreſented her amiable qualities, and raiſed the marquis's curioſity to ſee her, and from that circumſtance aroſe the marquis's affection to this lady. From Paris they went to Rotterdam, where they reſided ſix months: from thence they returned to Antwerp, where they ſet⯑tled, and continued during the time of their exile, as it was the moſt quiet place, and where they could in the greateſt peace enjoy their ruined for⯑tune. She proved a moſt agreeable companion to the marquis, during the gloomy period of exile, and enlivened their receſs, both by her writing and converſation, as appears by the many compliments and addreſſes he made her on that occaſion.
[164] The lady undertook a voyage into England, in order to obtain ſome of the marquis's rents, to ſupply their preſſing neceſſities, and pay the debts they had been there obliged to contract; and ac⯑cordingly went with her brother to Goldſmith's Hall, where, it ſeems, the committee of ſequeſtra⯑tion ſat, but could not obtain the ſmalleſt ſum out of the marquis's vaſt inheritance, which, amounted to 20,000 l. per annum; and had it not been for the gene⯑roſity and tenderneſs of Sir Charles Cavendiſh (who greatly reduced his own fortune, to ſupport his brother in diſtreſs) they muſt have been expoſed to extreme poverty.
Having raiſed a conſiderable ſum, by the ge⯑neroſity of her own, and the marquis's, relations, ſhe returned to Antwerp, where ſhe continued with her lord, till the reſtoration of Charles II, upon which, the marquis, after ſix years baniſhment, made immediate preparation for his return to his native country, leaving his lady behind him to diſpatch his affairs there, who, having conducted them to his lordſhip's ſatisfaction, ſhe ſoon follow⯑ed her conſort into England. Being now reſtored to the ſunſhine of proſperity, ſhe dedicated her time to writing poems, philoſophical diſcourſes, orations and plays. She was of a generous turn of mind, and kept a great many young ladies a⯑bout her perſon, who occaſionally wrote what ſhe dictated. Some of them ſlept in a room, conti⯑guous to that in which her Grace lay, and were rea⯑dy, at the call of her bell, to riſe any hour of the night, to write down her conceptions, leſt they ſhould eſcape her memory.
The young ladies, no doubt, often dreaded her Grace's conceptions, which were frequent, but all of the poetical or philoſophical kind, for though ſhe was very beautiful, ſhe died without iſſue: ſhe is ſaid to have been very reſerved and peeviſh, perhaps owing to the circumſtance juſt mentioned, [165] of having never been honoured with the name of mother.
Mr. Jacob ſays, that ſhe was the moſt volumi⯑nous writ [...]r of all the female poets; that ſhe had a great deal of wit, and a more than ordinary propenſity to dramatic poetry; and Mr. Lang⯑ba [...]ne tells us, that all the language and plots of her plays were her own, which, ſays he, is a commendation preſerable to fame built on other people's foundation, and will very well atone for ſome faults in her numerous productions. As the Ducheſs is ſaid to be negligent, in regard to chro⯑nology in her hiſtorical writings, ſo others have been equally remiſs, in this reſpect, with regard to her Grace, for, among the many authors who have taken notice of her, not one has mentioned the year in which ſhe died, and even her monu⯑mental inſcription, where one might reaſonably ex⯑pect it, is ſilent, both in reſpect to her age, and the time of her death. But Mr. Fulman, in the 15th volume of his MS. collections in the Corpus Chriſti College Archives, obſerves, that ſhe died in London Anno 1673, and was buried at Weſt⯑minſter, January 7, 1673-4, where an elegant mo⯑nument is erected to her memory, of which, take the following account given by Dr. Crul in the Antiquities of that Church. ‘'Againſt the ſkreen of the chapel of St. Michael, is a moſt noble ſpacious tomb of white marble, adorned with two pillars of black marble, with entablatures of the Corinthian order, embelliſhed with arms, and moſt curious trophy works; on the pedeſtal lye two images, in full proportion, of white marble in a cumbent poſture, in their robes, re⯑preſenting William Cavendiſh, duke of New⯑caſtle, and Margaret his ducheſs, his ſecond and laſt wife, being the daughter of Sir Charles, and the ſiſter of lord Lucas of Colcheſter; who as ſhe had deſervedly acquired the reputation of a lady [166] of uncommon wit, learning, and liberality; ſo the duke her huſband had rendered himſelf famous for his loyalty, and conſtant fidelity to the royal family, during the civil wars in this kingdom and in Scotland. The duke having cauſed this ſtately monument to be erected here to the me⯑mory of his lady, died ſoon after in the year 1676, aged 84, and was interred here.'’
The Epitaph for the Ducheſs.
"Here lies the loyal Duke of Newcaſtle and his Ducheſs, his ſecond wife, by whom he had no iſſue. Her name was' Margaret Lucas, youngeſt ſiſter to the Lord Lucas of Colcheſ⯑ter, a noble family, for all the brothers were valiant, and all the ſiſters virtuous. This Ducheſs was a wiſe, witty, and learned Lady, which her many books do well teſtify: She was a moſt virtuous, and loving, and careful wife, and was with her Lord all the time of his baniſhment and miſeries; and when they came home never parted with him in his ſo⯑litary retirements."
The following is a catalogue of her works, in which we have taken pains to be as accurate as poſſible, in order to do juſtice to the poetical character of this lady.
In this volume there are ſeveral feigned ſtories of natural deſcriptions, as comical, tragical, and tragi-comical, poetical, romancical, philoſophical, and hiſtorical, both in proſe and verſe, ſome all [167] verſe, ſome all proſe, ſome mixt, partly proſe, and partly verſe; alſo ſome morals, and ſome dialogues, Lond. 1656. folio.
Her Dramatic Works are,
Mr. Langbaine has preſerved part of the ge⯑neral prologue to her plays, which we ſhall in⯑ſert as a ſpecimen of her verſification:
BAron Ogle, viſcount Mansfield, earl, marquis, and duke of Newcaſtle, juſtly reckoned one of the moſt finiſhed gentlemen, as well as the moſt diſtinguiſhed patriot, general, and ſtateſman of his age. He was ſon of Sir Charles Caven⯑diſh, youngeſt ſon of Sir William Cavendiſh, and younger brother of the firſt earl of Devonſhire, by Katherine daughter of Cuthbert lord Ogle.*
He was born in the year 1592, and diſcover⯑ed in his infancy a promptneſs of genius, and a love of literature. His father took care to have him inſtructed by the beſt maſters in every ſcience. He no ſooner appeared at the court of King James I. than the reputation of his abili⯑ties drew the attention of that monarch upon him, who made him a knight of the Bath 1610. at the creation of Henry Prince of Wales‡.
In 1617 his father died, who left him a great eſtate; and having intereſt at court, he was by letters patent, dated Nov. 3, 1620, raiſed to the dignity of a peer of the realm, by the ſtile and title of baron Ogle, and viſcount Mansfield; and having no leſs credit with King Charles I. than he had with his father, in the third year of the [170] reign of that prince, he was advanced to the higher title of earl of Newcaſtle upon Tyne, and at the ſame time he was created baron Caven⯑diſh of Balſover. Our author's attendance upon court, tho' it procured him honour, yet introdu⯑ced him very early into difficulties; and it ap⯑pears by Strafford's letters, that he did not ſtand well with the favourite duke of Buckingham, who was jealous of his growing intereſt, and was too penetrating not to diſcover, that the quick⯑neſs of his lordſhip's parts would ſoon ſuggeſt ſome methods of riſing, independent of the fa⯑vourite, and perhaps ſhaking his influence. ‘"But theſe difficulties, ſays Clarendon, (for he was deeply plunged in debt) tho' they put him on the thoughts of retirement, never in the leaſt prevented him from demonſtrating his loyalty when the King's cauſe demanded it."’
Notwithſtanding the earl's intereſt was not high with the miniſters, yet he found means ſo to gain and to preſerve the affection of his Majeſty, that in the year 1638, when it was thought neceſſary to take the Prince of Wales out of the hands of a woman, his Majeſty appointed the earl his go⯑vernor, and by entruſting to his tuition the heir apparent of his kingdoms, demonſtrated the high⯑eſt confidence in his abilities and honour‡.
In the ſpring of the year 1639, the troubles of Scotland breaking out, induced the King to aſſemble an army in the North, ſoon after which he went to put himſelf at the head of it, and in his way was ſplendidly entertained by the earl at his ſeat at Welbeck, as he had been ſome years before when he went into Scotland to be crowned, which in itſelf, tho' a trivial circum⯑ſtance, yet ſuch was the magnificence of this no⯑ble [171] peer, that both theſe entertainments found a place in general hiſtories, and are computed by the ducheſs of Newcaſtle, who wrote the life of her lord, to have amounted to upwards of ten thouſand pounds. He invited all the neighbour⯑ing gentry to pay their compliments to his Ma⯑jeſty, and partake of the feaſt, and Ben Johnſon was employed in fitting ſuch ſcenes and ſpeeches as he could beſt deviſe; and Clarendon after men⯑tioning the ſumptuouſneſs of thoſe entertainments, obſerves, that they had a tendency to corrupt the people, and inſpire a wantonneſs, which ne⯑ver fails to prove detrimental to morals.
As ſuch an expedition as the King's againſt the Scots required immenſe ſums, and the King's treaſury being very empty, his lordſhip contribu⯑ted ten thouſand pounds, and raiſed a troop of horſe, conſiſting of about 200 knights and gen⯑tlemen, who ſerved at their own charge, and was honoured with the title of the Prince's troop.*
Tho' theſe inſtances of loyalty advanced him in the eſteem of the King, yet they rather height⯑ened than diminiſhed the reſentment of the mi⯑niſters, of which the earl of Holland having given a ſtronger inſtance, than his lordſhip's patience could bear, he took notice of it in ſuch a way, as contributed equally to ſink his rival's reputa⯑tion, and raiſe his own; and as there is ſome⯑thing curious in the particular manner in which the earl of Holland's character ſuffered in this quarrel, we ſhall upon the authority of the du⯑cheſs of Newcaſtle preſent it to the reader.
The troop which the earl of Newcaſtle raiſed was ſtiled the Prince's, but his lordſhip command⯑ed it as captain. When the army drew near Berwick, he ſent Sir William Carnaby to the earl [172] of Holland, then general of the horſe, to know where his troop ſhould march; his anſwer was, next after the troops of the general officers. The earl of Newcaſtle ſent again to repreſent, that having the honour to march with the Prince's colours, he thought it not fit to march under any of the officers of the field; upon which the general of the horſe repeated his orders, and the earl of Newcaſtle ordered the Prince's colours to be taken off the ſtaff, and marched without any. When the ſervice was over, his lordſhip ſent Mr. Francis Palmer, with a challenge to the earl of Holland, who conſented to a place, and hour of meeting; but when the earl of Newcaſtle came thither, he found not his antagoniſt, but his ſe⯑cond. The buſineſs had been diſcloſed to the King, by whoſe authority (ſays Clarendon) the matter was compoſed; but before that time, the earl of Holland was never ſuſpected to want cou⯑rage; and indeed he was rather a cunning, pene⯑trating, than a brave honeſt man, and was re⯑markably ſelfiſh in his temper.
The earl of Newcaſtle however found himſelf hard preſſed by the miniſterial faction, and being un⯑willing to give his Majeſty any trouble about himſelf, he was generous enough to reſign his place as governor to the Prince, and the marquis of Hert⯑ford was appointed in his room.
His lordſhip having no more buſineſs at court, and being unwilling to expoſe himſelf further to the machinations of his enemies, thought proper to retire to the country, where he remained quiet till he received his Majeſty's orders to reviſit Hull: Tho' this order came at twelve o'clock at night, yet ſuch was his unſhaken loyalty and af [...]ection, that he went directly, and tho' forty miles diſtant, he entered the place with only three or four ſervants early the next morning. He offered to his Majeſty, ſays Clarendon, to have [173] ſecured for him that important fortreſs, and all the magazines that were in it; but inſtead of re⯑ceiving ſuch a command, he had inſtructions ſent him to obey the orders of the Parliament, who ſuſpecting his principles not to be favourable to the ſchemes of oppoſition then engaged in, cal⯑led him to attend the ſervice of the houſe; and ſome diſaffected members formed a deſign to have attacked him, but his character being unex⯑ceptionable, their ſcheme proved abortive, and he had leave to retire again into the country. This he willingly did, as he ſaw the affairs of ſtate haſtening to confuſion and his country rea⯑dy to be ſteeped in blood, and ſacrificed to the fu⯑ry of party. But when the oppoſition roſe high, and it would have been cowardice to have re⯑mained unactive, he embraced the royal cauſe, accepted a commiſſion for raiſing men, to take care of the town of Newcaſtle, and the four ad⯑joining counties, in which he was to expeditious and ſucceſsful, that his Majeſty conſtituted him general of all the forces raiſed North of Trent; and likewiſe general and commander in chief of ſuch as might be raiſed in the counties of Lin⯑coln, Nottingham, Cheſter, Leiceſter, Rutland, Cambridge, Huntingdon, Norfolk, Suffolk, and Eſſex, with power to confer the honour of knight⯑hood, coin money, print, and ſet forth ſuch de⯑clarations as ſhould ſeem to him expedient: of all which extenſive powers, tho freely conferred, and without reſerve, his lordſhip made a very ſparing uſe; but with reſpect to the more ma⯑terial point of raiſing men, his lordſhip proſecu⯑ted it with ſuch diligence, that in three months he had an army of eight thouſand horſe, foot, and dragoons, with which he marched directly into Yorkſhire; and his forces having defeated the enemy at Pierce Bridge, his lordſhip advanced to York, where Sir Thomas Glenham, the gover⯑nor, [174] preſented him with the keys, and the earl of Cumberland and many of the nobility reſorted thither to compliment, and aſſiſt his lordſhip.*
In the courſe of this civil war, we find the earl of Newcaſtle very ſucceſsful in his maſter's ſervice; he more than once defeated Sir Tho⯑mas Fairfax the general of the Parliament, and won ſeveral important forts and battles; for which his Majeſty in gratitude for his ſervices, by let⯑ters patent, dated the 27th of Oct. 1643, ad⯑vanced him to the dignity of marquiſs of New⯑caſtle; and in the preamble of his patent, all his ſervices (ſays Dugdale) are mentioned with ſuitable encomiums.
In the year 1644, after Prince Rupert had been ſucceſsful in raiſing the ſiege of York, and fluſhed with the proſperity of his arms, againſt the conſent of the marquis, he risked the battle of Marſoon-Moor, in which the marquis's infantry were cut to pieces. Seeing the King's affairs in theſe counties totally undone, he made the beſt of his way to Scarborough, and from thence with a few of the principal officers of his army took ſhipping for Hamburgh, and left his eſtates, which were valued at upwards of twenty thouſand pounds per ann. to be plundered by the Parliament's forces. After ſtaying ſix months at Hamburgh, he went by ſea to Amſterdam, and from thence made a journey to Paris, where he continued for ſome time, and where, notwithſtanding the vaſt eſtate he had when the civil war broke out, his circumſtances were now ſo bad, that himſelf and his young wife, were reduced to pawn their cloaths for ſuſtenance.† He removed afterwards to Antwerp, that he might be nearer his own country; and there, tho' under very great diffi⯑culties, he reſided for ſeveral years, while the [175] Parliament in the mean time levied vaſt ſums upon his eſtate, inſomuch that the computation of what he loſt by the diſorders of theſe times, tho' none of the particulars can be diſproved, a⯑mount to an incredible ſum; but notwithſtand⯑ing all theſe ſeverities of fortune, he never loſt his ſpirit, and was often heard to ſay, that if he was not much miſtaken, the clouds of adver⯑ſity which then hung over his country, would be diſperſed at laſt by the King's reſtoration; that rebellion would entangle itſelf in its own toils, and after an interval of havock and con⯑fuſion, order would return once more by the reſtoration of an exiled Prince. Notwithſtanding the hardſhips of an eighteen years baniſhment, in which he experienced variety of wretchedneſs, he retained his vigour to the laſt. He was ho⯑noured by perſons of the higheſt diſtinction abroad, and Don John of Auſtria and ſeveral princes of Germany viſited him‖. But what comforted him moſt, was the company frequently of his young King, who in the midſt of his ſufferings beſtow⯑ed upon him the moſt noble Order of the Gar⯑ter. The gloomy period at laſt came to an end, and the marquis returned to his country with his ſovereign; and by letters patent dated the 16th of March 1664, he was advanced to the dignity of earl of Ogle, and duke of Newcaſtle. He ſpent the evening of his days in a country re⯑tirement, and indulged himſelf in thoſe ſtudies, with which he was moſt affected.
This noble perſon f [...]om his earlieſt youth was celebrated for his love of the muſes, and was the great patron of the poets, in the reign of King Charles I. This propenſion has drawn on him, tho' very unjuſtly, the cenſure of ſome grave [176] men. Lord Clarendon mentions it, with decency; but Sir Philip Warwick, in his hiſtory of the re⯑bellion, loſes all patience, and thinks it ſufficient to ruin this great general's character, that he ap⯑pointed Sir William Davenant, a poet, his lieute⯑nant-general of the ordnance, inſinuating that it was impoſſible a man could have a turn for po⯑etry, and a capacity for any thing elſe at the ſame time; in which obſervation, Sir Philip has given a convincing proof of his ignorance of poe⯑try, and want of taſte. The example of the glorious Sidney is ſufficient to confute this hiſto⯑rian; and did not Mr. Chillingworth combat with great ſucceſs, though in other branches of litera⯑ture, againſt the Papal church, by the dint of reaſon and argument, and at the ſame time ſerved as engineer in the royal army with great ability*? The truth is, this worthy nobleman having himſelf a taſte for the liberal arts, was always pleaſed to have men of genius about him, and had the pleaſure to reſcue neceſſitous merit from obſcurity. Ben Johnſon was one of his favourites, and he addreſſed to him ſome of his verſes, which may be ſeen in his works.
In the buſy ſcenes of life it does not appear that this nobleman ſuffered his thoughts to ſtray ſo far from his employment, as to turn author; but in his exile, reſuming his old taſte of break⯑ing and managing horſes, (than which there can⯑not be a more manly exerciſe) he thought fit to publiſh his ſentiments upon a ſubject of which he was perfectly maſter. The title is, The New Method for managing Horſes, with cuts, Ant⯑werp 1658. This book was firſt written in En⯑gliſh, and afterwards tranſlated into French, by his lordſhip's directions.
[177] This great man died in the poſſeſſion of the higheſt honours and faireſt reputation the 25th of December 1676, in the 84th year of his age. His grace was twice married, but had iſſue only by his firſt lady. His titles deſcended to his ſon, Henry earl of Ogle, who was the laſt heir male of his family, and died 1691, with whom the title of Newcaſtle in the line of Cavendiſh became extinct.
In his exile he wrote two comedies, viz.
He likewiſe has written
Shadwell ſays of his grace, that he was the greateſt maſter of wit, the moſt exact obſerver of mankind, and the moſt accurate judge of hu⯑mour, that ever he knew.
WINSTANLEY, in his ſhort account of this gentleman, ſays, that they who are ignorant of his works, muſt plead ignorance of all wit and learning; but the truth is, though he made ſome figure in his time, yet it was not ſo confider⯑able as to tranſmit his name with any luſtre to po⯑ſterity, and Winſtanley has been too peremptory, in ſecluding thoſe from wit, who ſhould be igno⯑rant of the fame of Birkenhead. This obſervati⯑on, however, excited us to a ſearch after ſome par⯑ticulars concerning him; for Winſtanley himſelf has given very few, and cloſes his life in his uſual way, with only informing the readers that he lived in ſuch a reign. The beſt account we could find of him, is in the Athenae Oxon. of Wood. Our au⯑thor was ſon of Randal Birkenhead of Northwich in Cheſhire, Sadler, and was born there; he be⯑came a ſervitor of Oriel College, under the tuition of Humphrey Lloyd, afterwards lord biſhop of Bangor. He continued in the college till he was made bachelor of arts, and then becoming Ama⯑nuenſis to Dr. Laud, afterwards archbiſhop of Can⯑terbury, who, taking a liking to him for his inge⯑nuity, did, by his diploma make him maſter of arts, An. 1639, and by his letters commendatory thereupon, he was elected probationer fellow of All-Souls College, in the year following. After the rebe [...]lion broke out, and the King ſet up his court at Oxford, our author was appointed to write the Mercurii Aulici, which being very pleaſ⯑ing to the loyal party, his Majeſty recommended [179] him to the electors, that they would chuſe him moral philoſophy reader; which being according⯑ly done, he continued in that office, with little profit from it, till 1648, at which time he was not only turned out thence, but from his fellow⯑ſhip, by the Preſbyterian viſitors. Afterwards, in this deſtitute ſituation, Wood obſerves, that he re⯑tired to London, and made ſhift to live upon his wits; having ſome reputation in poetry, he was often applied to by young people in love, to write epiſtles for them, and ſongs, and ſonnets on their miſtreſſes: he was alſo employed in tran⯑ſlating and writing other little things, ſo as to pro⯑cure a tolerable livelihood.
Having, in this manner, ſupported the gloo⯑my period of confuſion, he was, at his Maje⯑ſty's reſtoration, by virtue of his letters, ſent to the univerſity, created doctor of the civil law, and in 1661 he was elected a Burgeſs for Wilton, to ſerve in that Parliament which began at Weſtminſter the 8th of May, the ſame year. In 1662, November 14, he received the honour of knighthood, and January 1663 he was conſtituted one of the maſters of requeſts, in the room of Sir Richard Fanſhaw, when he went am⯑baſſador into Spain, he being then alſo maſter of the faculties, and a member of the Royal Soci⯑ety. An anonymous writer tells us, that Sir John Berkenhead was a poor alehouſe-keeper's ſon, and that he roſe by lying, or buffooning at court, to be one of the maſters of requeſts, and faculty of⯑fice, and alſo got by gifts at court 3000 l. This is a poor reflexion upon him, and indeed rather raiſes, than detracts from his reputation, for a man certainly muſt have merit, who can riſe without the advantage of fortune or birth, whereas theſe often procure a fool preferment, and make him emi⯑nent, who might otherwiſe have lived and died in ob⯑ſcurity. [180] It is ſaid of Birkenhead, that when an unmannerly Member of Parliament, in oppoſing him, took occaſion to ſay, that he was ſurprized to hear an alehouſe-keeper's ſon talk ſo confidently in the Houſe, he coolly replied, I am an alehouſe-keeper's ſon, I own it, and am not aſhamed of it, but had the gentleman, who upbraided me with my birth, been thus deſcended, in all probability he would have been of the ſame profeſſion him⯑ſelf; a reply at once, ſenſible and witty. Mr. Wood, however, ſeems to be of opinion, that he was too much given to bantering, and that if he had thrown leſs of the buffoon or mimic into his converſation, his wit would have been very agree⯑able. He is charged by Wood with a higher fail⯑ing, which ought indeed rather to be conſtrued one of the blackeſt crimes, that is, ingratitude to thoſe who aſſiſted him in diſtreſs, whom, ſays he, he afterwards ſlighted. This is a heavy charge, and, if true, not a little diminiſhes his reputation, but methinks ſome apology may even be made for his ſlighting thoſe who aſſiſted him in diſtreſs; we find they were ſuch perſons as could never challenge eſteem, young men in love, for whom he wrote ſonnets, and for whom he might have no friendſhip; it often happens, that men of parts are ſo unhappy as to be obliged to ſuch people, with whom, were their ſituation otherwiſe, it would be beneath them to aſſociate; and it is no wonder when proſperity returns, that they, in ſome meaſure, forget obligations they owed to thoſe of a rank ſo much inferior: and ſomething muſt be allowed to that pride, which a ſupe⯑rior underſtanding naturally inſpires.
Our author's works are
He has alſo wrote a Poem on his ſtaying in London, after the Act of Baniſhment for Cavaliers, and another called the Jolt, made upon Cromwel's being thrown off the Coach-box of his own Coach, which he would drive through Hyde Park, drawn by ſix German Horſes, ſent him as a preſent by the Count of Oldenburgh, while his Secretary John Thurloe ſat in the Coach, July 1654. Our author died within the Precincts of Whitehall, in the year 1679, and was buried in the Church-yard of St. Martin's in the Fields, leaving behind him a collection of Pamphlets, which came into the hands of his executors, Sir Richard Maſon, and Sir Muddeford Bramſton.
WAS younger brother of Richard earl of Burlington and Cork, and fifth ſon of Richard, ſtiled the great earl of Cork. He was born April 25, 1621, and independent of the advan⯑tage of his birth and titles, was certainly one of the ableſt politicians, as well as moſt accompliſh⯑ed noblemen of his age. By the influence of his father with lord deputy Faulkland, he was raiſed to the dignity of baron Broghill, in the kingdom of Ireland in 1628, when only ſeven years old‡. He received his education at the college of Dub⯑lin, [183] where he ſtudied with ſo much diligence as gave great hopes of his future atchievements, and the rapid progreſs he made in erudition, induced his father to ſend him about 1636 to make the tour of France and Italy, under the care of one Mr. Marcomes, and in the company of lord Ky⯑nalmeaky, his elder brother; and this method the earl took to perfect all his ſons, after they had gone through the courſe of a domeſtic education; and it is remarkable, that all his children tra⯑velled under the ſame gentleman's protection, who has no ſmall honour reflected on him from his illuſtrious pupils. Upon his return from his tra⯑vels, he found a war ready to break out againſt the Scots, and was preſſed by the earl of Nor⯑thumberland, the commander in chief of the ex⯑pedition, to ſhare in reducing them; but this commotion ſubſiding, his lordſhip employed him⯑ſelf another way. By his father's deſire, who loved to ſettle his children early in the world, he married lady Margaret Howard, daughter to the earl of Suffolk, and ſetting out for Ireland, landed there the very day the rebellion broke out, viz. Oct. 23, 1641. The poſt aſſigned him in this time of danger, was the defence of his fa⯑ther's caſtle of Liſmore; in which he gave proofs of the moſt gallant ſpirit, as well as political conduct: The firſt of which he ſhewed in the vigorous ſally he made to the relief of Sir Richard Osborn, who was beſieged in his own houſe by the rebels, till relieved by lord Broghill, who raiſed the ſiege, and ſaved him and all his family*; and a ſtrong proof of the latter, by adviſing Sir William St. Leger, then preſident of Munſter, to act vigorouſly againſt the Iriſh, [184] notwithſtanding they produced the King's com⯑miſſion, which he was penetrating enough to diſcern to be a forgery.
After the ceſſation in Ireland, lord Broghill came to Oxford, then the reſidence of King Charles I. and paid his duty to that monarch, and was honoured with many private audiences, when he repreſented to his Majeſty, the tem⯑per and diſpoſition of the Iriſh Papiſts, and the falſhood of the pretended Committee they had ſent over to miſlead his Majeſty, that the King was convinced the Iriſh never meant to keep the ceſſation, and that therefore it was not the in⯑tereſt of the Engliſh ſubjects to depend upon it.
Now that we have mentioned the Iriſh Papiſts, one thing muſt not be omitted, as it is both curious in itſelf, and reflects honour on lord Brog⯑hill. Many years after the reduction of theſe re⯑bels, his lordſhip, who was then earl of Orrery, happened to pay a viſit to the duke of Ormond at Kilkenny, where he met with lord Muskerry, who headed the inſurrection, and produced a falſe commiſſion for what he did. Finding Muskerry in an open good humour, he took occaſion to retire with him, and to ask him in a pleaſant manner, how he came by that commiſſion which had ſo much the appearance of being genuine: ‘'Lord Muskerry anſwered, I'll be free, and un⯑reſerved with you, my lord; it was a forged commiſſion drawn up by one Walſh, a lawyer, and others; who having a writing to which the Great Seal was affixed, one of the company very dextrouſly took off the ſealed wax from the label of that writing, and fixed it to the label of the forged commiſſion. Whilſt this was doing another accident happened, which ſtartled all preſent; and almoſt diſconcerted the ſcheme. The forged commiſſion being fi⯑niſhed, [185] while the parchment was handling and turning, in order to put on the ſeal, a tame wolf which lay aſleep by the fire, awakened at the crackling of the parchment, and running to it, ſeized it, and tore it to pieces, notwithſtanding their haſte and ſtruggle to prevent him; ſo that after all their pains, they were obliged to be⯑gin a new, and write it all over again§.'’ Lord Orrery ſtruck with the daring wickedneſs of this action, could not help expreſſing himſelf to that effect, while Muskerry replied merrily, it would have been impoſſible to have kept the people together without this device.
'Till the death of King Charles I. we find lord Broghill warm in the royal intereſt, and that he abhorred thoſe meaſures which he foreſaw would diſtract his country; and as ſoon as that melancholy event happened, he quitted his eſtate ‖ as ruined paſt all hopes, and hid himſelf in the privacy of a cloſe retirement. How he came afterwards to alter his conduct, and join with a party he be⯑fore ſo much abhorred, we ſhall endeavour to ſhew.
Upon his lordſhip's coming from Ireland, he withdrew to Marſton in Somerſetſhire, where he had leiſure to reflect on the ruined ſtate of the Kingdom†; and when he revolved in his mind its altered and deſperate ſituation, he was aſhamed to think that he ſhould remain an idle ſpectator of his country's miſeries, being of a different opinion from Mr. Addiſon: ‘'That when vice pre⯑vails, and wicked men bear ſway, the poſt of honour is a private ſtation.'’ Theſe reflexions rou⯑ſed him to action, and produced a ſcheme wor⯑thy of himſelf. He reſolved to attempt ſome⯑thing [186] in favour of the King; and accordingly under the pretence of going to the Spa for his health, he determined to croſs the ſeas, and ap⯑ply to Charles II. for a commiſſion to raiſe for⯑ces in Ireland, in order to reſtore his Majeſty, and recover his own eſtate. Having formed this reſolution, he deſired the earl of Warwick, who had an intereſt with the prevailing party, to procure a licence for him to go to the Spa. He communicated his ſcheme to ſome confirmed roy⯑aliſts, in whom he thought he could confide, and having rais'd a conſiderable ſum of money, he came up to London to proſecute his voyage. Lord Broghil, however, was betrayed, and the committee, who then took upon them the govern⯑ment of the realm, threatened him with deſtruction. Cromwell interceeded, and being ſenſible of his lordſhip's great abilities, obtained a permiſſion to talk privately with him before they proceeded to extremities. Cromwell waited upon Broghill, and reproached him gently for his intention, which his lordſhip denied; but Cromwell producing let⯑ters of his writing to ſeveral Royaliſts, in whom he confided, he found it was in vain to diſ⯑ſemble any longer. The General then told him, that he was no ſtranger to his merit, tho' he had never before ſeen him; and that as the reduc⯑tion of Ireland was intruſted to him, he had au⯑thority from the Committee to offer his lordſhip a command in that war, and inſiſted upon his anſwer immediately, as the Committee were then ſitting, and waiting his return. Lord Broghill was infinitely ſurprized at ſo generous and un⯑expected an offer from Cromwell: He thought himſelf at liberty, by all the rules of honour to ſerve againſt the Iriſh, whoſe cruelty and rebel⯑lion were equally deteſted by the royal party, as by the Parliament; and his life and freedom [187] being in danger if he refuſed, he accepted the commiſſion, and immediately repaired to Briſtol to wait there till forces ſhould be ſent him. This ſtory we have from Mr. Morrice, who heard it from lord Orrery himſelf; and he adds, that it is very probable his lordſhip's deſign was betray⯑ed out of pure love and affection by his ſiſter Ranelagh, but how this love and affection enabled her to foreſee that Cromwell would interpoſe to remove the danger which ſhe expoſed him to, is left by the reverend author unaccounted for. Ever after this interpoſition and friendly offer of Crom⯑well, we find gratitude binding lord Broghill to a faithfull ſervice in his intereſt; and in the courſe of his miniſtry to Cromwell, he prevented many ſhameful acts of cruelty, which would have been otherwiſe perpetrated.
No ſooner had Broghill arrived in Ireland, but his old friends flocked round him, and demon⯑ſtrated the great heigth of popularity to which he had riſen in that kingdom; nor did his ac⯑cepting this new commiſſion make him negligent of their intereſt, for he did all he could for the ſafety of their perſons and eſtates. An opportu⯑nity ſoon preſented in which he very re⯑markably diſtinguiſhed himſelf. He engaged at Macroom (with two thouſand horſe and dragoons) a party of Iriſh, conſiſting of upwards of five thouſand, whom he totally defeated, and took their general the titular biſhop of Roſs priſoner*. This battle was fought May 10, 1650. Lord Broghill offered the biſhop his life, if he would order thoſe who were in the caſtle of Carigdrog⯑hid to ſurrender, which he promiſed; but when he was conducted to the place, he perſuaded the garriſon to defend it to the laſt extremity. Upon [188] this lord Broghill cauſed him to be hanged; (tho' Mr. Morrice ſays, the ſoldiers hanged him without orders) and then commanded his heavy artillery to be brought up, which aſtoniſhed his own army exceedingly, they knowing he had not ſo much as a ſingle piece of battering cannon. He cauſed, however, ſeveral large trees to be cut, and drawn at a diſtance by his baggage horſes; the beſieged judging by the ſlowneſs of their motion, they were a vaſt ſize, capitulated be⯑fore they came up, as his lordſhip adviſed, threatening otherwiſe to give them no quar⯑ter. He relieved Cromwell at Clonmell, and aſ⯑ſiſted both him and his father-in-law Ireton in their expedition; but becauſe he could not mode⯑rate the fury of one, and mitigate the cruelty of the other, he incurred the diſpleaſure of both; and Ireton was heard to ſay, that neither he nor Cromwell could be ſafe while Broghill had any command. Notwithſtanding the averſion of Ireton to his lordſhip, yet he took care not to remit any of his diligence in proſecuting the war, he marched to that general's aſſiſtance at the ſiege of Lime⯑rick, and by his conduct and courage was the means of that town's falling into the hands of the Commonwealth; and till Ireland was entirely reduced, he continued active in his commiſſion.
When Oliver roſe to the dignity of Lord Pro⯑tector, he ſent for lord Broghill, merely to have his advice; and we are told by Oldmixon in his hiſtory of the Stewarts, that he then propoſed to Cromwell to marry his daughter to King Charles II. and that as the Prince was then in diſtreſs abroad, he doubted not but his neceſſity would make him comply with the offer; he repreſented to the Protector the great danger to which he was expoſed by the fickle humour of the Engliſh, [189] who never doat long upon a favourite, but pull that man from eminence to day, whom they had but yeſterday raiſed out of the duſt; that this match would rivet his intereſt, by having the lawful prince ſo nearly allied to him; and per⯑haps his grandchild the indiſputed heir of the crown. That he might then rule with more ſafe⯑ty, nor dread either the violence of the Royaliſts, or the inſidious enemies of his own government. Upon hearing this, Cromwell made a pauſe, and looking ſtedfaſtly in my lord's face, he asked him if he was of opinion, that the exiled prince could ever forgive his father's murderer; he anſwered as before, that his neceſſity was great, and in or⯑der to be reſtored to his crown, would even ſa⯑crifice his natural reſentment to his own eaſe and grandeur; but Cromwell could not be induced to believe that ever Charles could pardon him.
Whether lord Broghill was ſerious in this pro⯑poſal cannot be determined; but if he was, it is certain, he had a mean opinion of Charles; to have capitulated upon any terms with Cromwell, would have been betraying the dignity of his birth, and his right to reign; but to have ſtooped ſo low, as to take to his arms a child of his, who had murdered his father, and driven him to his exile, would have been an inſtance of the moſt infamous meanneſs that ever was recorded in hiſtory; and all the blemiſhes of that lux⯑urious Prince's character, and the errors of his reign collected, do not amount to any thing ſo baſe, as would have been thoſe nuptials.
In the year 1656 it was propoſed to his lord⯑ſhip by the Protector to go down to Scotland, with an abſolute authority, either becauſe he ſuſ⯑pected Monk, or was willing to give the people of that country ſome ſatisfaction, who complained [190] of his ſeverity; but he was very unwilling to receive the charge, and took it at laſt upon theſe conditions*: The firſt was: that he ſhould be left to himſelf, and receive no orders; and the ſecond, that no complaints ſhould find cre⯑dit, or procure directions in his abſence; and the third, that he ſhould be recalled in a year. He was very acceptable to the Scotch, and gained a great influence over them by ſpeaking and acting with moderation. After his return, he was with Whitlock and Thurloe admitted into all the confidence that could be expected from a perſon in the Protector's circumſtances; who if he had any chearful moments, ſpent them in their company, where he appeared quite another per⯑ſon than in the ordinary courſe of his conduct, which was built on a policy ſuited to his con⯑dition, the people he had to deal with, and the critical juncture of the times. Our author ſtood high in Cromwell's favour to the laſt; and it was, no doubt, in ſome meaſure owing to his gratitude, that he attached himſelf ſo firmly to his ſon and ſucceſſor Richard. It perhaps will appear ſtrange, but it is ſupported by evidence, that Cromwell did not love his own family ſo well as lord Broghill did. Being aſked upon his death-bed whom he appointed his ſucceſſor, he anſwered, ‘"That in ſuch a cloſet his will would be found,"’ in which he named Fleetwood, but one of the Protector's daughters getting firſt to the drawer, ſhe took the will and deſtroyed it†.
Thus Richard againſt his father's intention ob⯑tained the government, which, however, it is very plain he was not fit to hold; for all the art [191] and induſtry of Broghill could never ſo govern his proceedings, but that ſome ſteps either too violent or too remiſs were taken, by which his adminiſtration fell into contempt; and doubtleſs the reaſon why Cromwell excluded his ſon, was, that he diſcovered his weakneſs, and found him without a capacity of reigning. When the oppreſſion of committees, the general diſtraction amongſt the people, and the anarchy into which the Engliſh affairs had fallen, began to point towards a reſtoration, we find lord Broghill declaring early for the King, going over into Ireland, there founding the minds of the officers, and preparing that kingdom for the reception of his Majeſty with open arms.
Thus we have ſeen him diſcharge with honour the debt of gratitude he owed to Cromwell; but notwithſtanding the figure he made in the ſervice, it is by no means clear that ever he was warmly attached to the repub⯑lic; he was detected in having drank the King's health in company with the Protector's children, which Oliver very prudently thought proper to paſs over. After the reſtoration, Broghill wanted not enemies, who inſinuated things againſt him to King Charles, and blamed his tardineſs in procuring his Majeſty's return; but his lordſhip made it clear, that he was the firſt who declar⯑ed for him in Ireland, and the moſt zealous, as well as the moſt powerful promoter of his intereſt. His Majeſty was ſo well ſatisfied with his lordſhip's proceedings, that he wrote to him with his own hand, and thanked him for his loyalty‖. On September 5, 1660, as an incon⯑teſted proof of his Majeſty's affection for his lordſhip, he by letters patent advanced him to the honour of earl of Orrery in the county of [192] Cork†; and Sir Maurice Euſtace, a friend of the duke of Ormond's, being appointed chancel⯑lor, Roger earl of Orrery, and Charles Coote, earl of Montrath, were with him made lords juſ⯑tices, about the cloſe of that memorable year.
From that time till his death we find lord Orrery in the higheſt eſteem in the three nati⯑ons: He was employed by his Majeſty to confer with the earl of Clarendon, whoſe imperious ſteps, it ſeems, had highly diſobliged his maſter, and when that great man fell, the King made an of⯑fer of the ſeals to the earl of Orrery, who on account of his want of bodily vigour, declined it. At the ſame time he accepted a moſt ardu⯑ous and unpleaſing office from the King, and that was, to expoſtulate with the duke of York, and bring him to ask pardon for the haughty and inſolent meaſures he took in ſupporting the chancellor.
His Majeſty warmly preſſed him to become a favourer of the French alliance, and for the re⯑duction of the Dutch; neither of which were at all agreeable to his notions, and therefore that he might more conciſely expreſs the miſchievous conſequences he apprehended from theſe meaſures, he reduced his thoughts into a poem; and this was very well received by the King, who thought to have made ſome impreſſion on him, in his turn, in a long audience he gave him for that purpoſe; but the earl's duty would not permit him to coincide in his opinion with the King, when he was ſenſible that the King's ſcheme was contrary to the intereſt of the nation; and this led him in plain terms to declare, that he never would concur in counſels to aggrandize France, which was already too great; or to break the power of the Dutch, which was barely ſufficient for their own defence*.
[193] There is a particular circumſtance in relation to this affair, which muſt not be omitted. When lord Orrery came from the audience of his Ma⯑jeſty, he was met by the earl of Danby, who asked him, whether he had cloſed with the King's propoſals; to which lord Orrery anſwered, no. Then replied the other ſtateſman, ‘"Your lord⯑ſhip may be the honeſter man, but you will never be worth a groat."’ This paſſage is the more remarkable, becauſe Danby was of the ſame opinion with Orrery, and temporized purely for the ſake of power, which coſt him afterwards a long impriſonment, and had very near loſt him his life: So dear do ſuch men often pay for ſacrificing honour to intereſt. In the year 1679, Oct. 16, this great ſtateſman died in the full poſſeſſion of honours and fame: he had lived in the moſt tumultuous times; he had embarked in a dangerous ocean, and he had the addreſs to ſteer at laſt to a ſafe haven. As a man, his character was very amiable; he was patient, compaſſionate, and generous; as a ſoldier, he was of undaunted courage; as a ſtateſman, of deep penetration, and invincible induſtry; and as a poet, of no mean rank.
Before we give an account of his works, it will not be amiſs, in order to illuſtrate the ami⯑able character of lord Orrery, to ſhew, that tho' he eſpouſed the Protector's intereſt, yet he was of ſingular ſervice to the nation, in reſtraining the violence of his cruelty, and checking the do⯑mineering ſpirit of thoſe ſlaves in authority, who then called themſelves the legiſlature.
The authors of the Biographia Britannica, ſay, ‘'that our author oppoſed in Parliament, and defeated, the blackeſt meaſure Cromwell ever entered into, which was the paſſing a law for decimating the royal party, and his lordſhip's conduct in this, was by far the greateſt [194] action of his whole life. He made a long and an elaborate ſpeech, in which he ſhewed the in⯑juſtice, cruelty, and folly, of that truly infamous and Nero-like propoſition. Finding that he was likely to loſe the queſtion upon the diviſion, which probably would have iſſued in loſing his life al⯑ſo; he ſtood up and boldly obſerved, ‘"That he did not think ſo many Engliſhmen could be fond of ſlavery."’ Upon which ſo many mem⯑bers roſe and followed him, that the Speaker without telling, declared from the chair the Noes have it, and the bill was accordingly thrown out. Upon this, he went immediately up to Cromwell, and ſaid,‘"I have done you this day as great a ſervice as ever I did in my life. How? returned Cromwell; by hindring your govern⯑ment, replied my lord, from becoming hateful, which already begins to be diſliked; for if this bill had paſſed, three kingdoms would have riſen up againſt you; and they were your enemies, and not your friends who brought it in."’ 'This Cromwell ſo firmly believed, that he never for⯑gave nor truſted them afterwards.'’
King Charles II. put my lord upon writing plays, which he did, upon the occaſion of a diſ⯑pute that aroſe in the Royal preſence, about writing plays in rhime. Some affirmed, that it wa [...] to be done, others that it would ſpoil the fancy to be ſo confined; but lord Orrery was of another opinion, and his Majeſty being willing, that a trial ſhould be made, laid his commands on his lordſhip, to employ ſome of his leiſure time that way, which his lordſhip readily com⯑pl [...]ed with, and ſoon after compoſed the Black Prince
It is difficult to give a full and accurate ac⯑c [...]nt of this nobleman's compoſitions; for it muſt be owned, he was a Letter ſtateſman than a poet, [195] and fitter to act upon the wide theatre of life, than to write repreſentations for the circumſcribed theatre of the ſtage. In the light of an author he is leſs eminent, and lived a life of too much hurry to become a proficient in poetry, a grace which not only demands the moſt extenſive abi⯑lities, but much leiſure and contemplation. But if he was not extremely eminent as a poet, he was far removed above contempt, and deſerves to have full mention made of all his writings; and we can eaſily forgive want of elegance and correctneſs in one who was of ſo much ſervice to his country, and who was born rather to live than to write a great part.
According to the leaſt exceptionable account, his works are as follow:
His poſthumous works are theſe;
We may add to them his ſtate letters, which have been lately publiſhed in one volume fol. The reſt of his lordſhip's political papers periſhed in the flames, when his houſe at Charleville was burnt in the year 1690, by a party of King James's ſoldiers, with the duke of Berwick at their head.
We ſhall give a ſpecimen of his lordſhip's poetry from a ſpeech in Altemira, in a ſcene between Altemira and her lover.
WAS the ſon of a miniſter in Ireland, who being killed in the rebellion there in 1641, amongſt the many thouſands who ſuffered in that deplorable maſſacre, our author's mother came with her ſon into England, and he having, ſays Winſtanley, been trained up in learning, was by the help of ſome friends educated at Oxford, in the ſame college where his father formerly had been a ſtudent; but as his circumſtances were mean, he was taken away from thence, and bound apprentice to a bookſeller in London, but his genius being addicted to poetry, before his time was expired, he wrote a piece called Venus Cabinet unlocked; and afterwards he mar⯑ried and ſet up for himſelf, in which condition he did not long continue, for being addicted to gaming, he ruined his affairs. In this diſtreſs he went over to Ireland, and compoſed his Hic & Ubique, a noted comedy; and which gained him ſome reputation. He then returned to England, reprinted his comedy, and dedicated it to the duke of Monmouth, from whom he received no great encouragement. This circumſtance induced him to reflect, that the life of an author was at once the moſt diſſipated and unpleaſing in the world; that it is in every man's power to injure him, and that few are diſpoſed to promote him. Ani⯑mated by theſe reflexions, he again took a houſe, and from author reſumed his old trade of a bookſeller, in which, no doubt he judged right; for while an author (be his genius and parts ever [200] ſo bright) is employed in the compoſition of one book, a bookſeller may publiſh twenty; ſo that in the very nature of things, a bookſeller with⯑out oppreſſion, a crime which by unſucceſsful writers is generally imputed to them, may grow rich, while the moſt induſtrious and able au⯑thor can arrive at no more than a decent com⯑petence: and even to that, many a great genius has never attained,
No ſooner had Mr. Head a little recovered himſelf, than we find him cheated again by the ſyren alurements of pleaſure and poetry, in the latter of which, however, it does not appear he made any proficiency. He failed a ſecond time, in the world, and having recourſe to his pen, wrote the firſt part of the Engliſh Rogue, which being too libertine, could not be licenſed till he had expunged ſome of the moſt luſcious deſcrip⯑tions out of it.
Mr. Winſtanley, p. 208, has informed us, that at the coming out of this firſt part, he was with [...] at the Three Cup tavern in Holborn drink⯑ing a glaſs of Rheniſh, and made theſe verſes upon him,
We cannot help obſerving, that Winſtanley has a little ridiculouſly ſhewn his vanity, by infor⯑ming the world, that he could afford to drink a glaſs of Rheniſh; and has added nothing to his reputation by the verſes, which have nei⯑ther poetry nor wit in them.
[201] This Engliſh Rogue, deſcribed in the life of Meriton Latroon, a witty extravagant, was pub⯑liſhed anno 1666, in a very large 8vo. There were three more parts added to it by Francis Kirkman and Mr. Head in conjunction.
He alſo wrote
He wrote a Pamphlet againſt Dr. Wild, in anſwer to Wild's letter directed to his friend, upon occaſion of his Majeſty's declaration for liberty of conſcience: This he concludes in the following manner, by which it will be ſeen that he was but a poor verſifier.
Mr. Winſtanley ſays, that our author met with a great many afflictions and croſſes in his time, and was caſt away at ſea, as he was going to the Iſle of Wight 1678.
THIS celebrated philoſopher was ſon of Tho⯑mas Hobbs, vicar of Weſtport, within the Liberty of Malmeſbury, and of Charlton in Wilts, and was born at Weſtport on the 5th of April 1588*. It is related by Bayle, that his mother being frighted at the rumours of the report of the Spaniſh Armada, was brought to bed of him before her time, which makes it ſomewhat ſur⯑prizing that he ſhould live to ſo great an age. He had made an extraordinary progreſs in the languages before he arrived at his 14th year, when he was ſent to Oxford, where he ſtudied for five years Ariſtotle's philoſophy. In the year 1607 he took the degree of batchelor of arts, and upon the recommendation of the principal of the college, he entered into the ſervice of William Cavendiſh, baron Hardwicke, ſoon afterwards earl of Devonſhire†, by whom being much eſteemed for his pleaſantry and humour, he was appointed tutor to his ſon lord William Cavendiſh, ſeveral years younger than Hobbs. Soon after our au⯑thor travelled with this young nobleman thro' France and Italy, where he made himſelf maſter [203] of the different languages of the countries thro' which he travelled; but finding that he had in a great meaſure forgot his Greek and Latin, he dedicated his leiſure hours to the revival of them, and in order to fix the Greek language more firm⯑ly in his mind, upon his return to England, he ſet about and accompliſhed a tranſlation of Thu⯑cydides, who appeared to him preferable to all other Greek hiſtorians, and by rendering him into Engliſh he meant to ſhew his countrymen from the Athenian hiſtory, the diſorders and con⯑fuſions of a democratical government.
In the year 1628, the earl of Devonſhire dy⯑ing, after our author had ſerved him 20 years, he travelled again into France with a ſon of Sir Gervas Clifton; at which time, and during which preregrination (ſays Wood) ‘'he began to make an inſpection into the elements of Euclid, and be delighted with his method, not only for the theorems contained in it, but for his art of rea⯑ſoning:'’ In theſe ſtudies he continued till 1631, when his late pupil the earl of Devonſhire cal⯑led him home in order to undertake the education of his ſon, then only thirteen years of age, in all the parts of juvenile literature; and as ſoon as it was proper for him to ſee the world, Hobbs again ſet out for France and Italy, and directed his young pupil to the neceſſary ſteps for accompliſhing his education.
When our author was at Paris, he began to ſearch into the fundamentals of natural ſcience, and con⯑tracted an intimacy with Marius Marſennus a Minim, converſant in that kind of philoſophy, and a man of excellent moral qualities.
In 1637 he was recalled to England, but find⯑ing the civil war ready to break out, and the Scots in arms againſt the King, inſtigated by a mean cowardice, he deſerted his country in diſtreſs, and returned to Paris, that he might without interruption purſue his ſtudies there, and converſe with men of [204] eminence in the ſciences. The Parliament prevail⯑ing. ſeveral of the Royaliſts were driven from their own country and were obliged to take ſhelter in France. The Prince of Wales was reduced likewiſe to quit the kingdom and live at Paris: Hobbs was employed to teach the young Prince mathematics, in which he made great proficiency; and our author [...]ſed to obſerve. that if the Prince's application was equal [...]o the quickneſs of his parts, he would be the foremoſt man in his time in every ſpecies of ſcience. All the leiſure hours that Hobbs en⯑joyed in Paris, he dedicated to the compoſition of a Look called, The Leviathan, a work by which he acquired a great name in Europe; and which was printed at London while he remained at Paris. Under this ſtrange name he means the body politic. The divines of the church of England who attended King Charles II. in France, exclaimed ve⯑hemently againſt this performance, and ſaid that it contained a great many impious aſſertions, and that the author was not of the royal party. Their complaints were regarded, and Hobbs was diſ⯑charged the court; and as he had extremely pro⯑voked the Papiſts, he thought it not ſafe for him to continue longer in France, eſpecially as he was de⯑prived of the protection of the King of England. He tranſlated his Leviathan into Latin, and printed it with an appendix in 1668.
About ten years afterwards, the Leviathan was printed in Low Dutch. The character of this work is drawn as under, by biſhop Burnet.
'His [Hobbs's] main principles were, that all men acted under an abſolute neceſſity, in which he ſeemed protected by the then received doctrine of abſolute decrees. He ſeemed to think that the univerſe was god, and that ſouls were material, Thought being only ſubtle and imperceptible moti⯑on He thought intereſt and fear were the chief principles of ſociety; and he put all morality in the following that which was our own private will [205] or advantage. He thought religion had no other foundation than the laws of the land; and he put all the law in the will of the Prince, or of the peo⯑ple: For he writ his book at firſt in favour of ab⯑ſolute monarchy, but turned it afterwards to gra⯑tify the Republican party.'
Upon his return to England, he lived retired at the ſeat of the earl of Devonſhire, and applied him⯑ſelf to the ſtudy of philoſophy; and as almoſt all men who have written any thing ſucceſsfully would be thought poets, ſo Hobbs laid claim to that character, tho' his poetry is too contemptible for critciſm. Dr. White Kennet in his memoirs of the family of Cavendiſh informs us, ‘'That while Mr. Hobbs lived in the earl of Devonſhire's fami⯑ly, his profeſſed rule was to dedicate the morn⯑ing to his health, and the afternoon to his ſtu⯑dies; and therefore at his firſt riſing he walked out, and climbed any hill within his reach; or if the weather was not dry, he fatigued himſelf within doors, by ſome exerciſe or other till he was in a ſweat, recommending that practice up⯑on his opinion, that an old man had more moi⯑ſture than heat; and therefore by ſuch motion heat was to be acquired, and moiſture expelled; after this he took a breakfaſt, and then went round the lodgings to wait upon the earl, the counteſs, and the children, and any conſiderable ſtrangers, paying ſome ſhort addreſſes to them all. He kept theſe rounds till about 12 o'clock, when he had a little dinner provided for him, which he eat always by himſelf without ceremony. Soon after dinner he retired into his ſtudy, and had his candle, with ten or twelve pipes of to⯑bacco laid by him, then ſhutting the door he fell to ſmoaking and thinking, and writing for ſeve⯑ral hours.'’
He retained a friend or two at court to protect him if occaſion ſhould require; and uſed to ſay, it was lawful to make uſe of evil inſtruments to do ourſelves good. ‘'If I were caſt (ſaid he) in⯑to [206] a deep pit, and the Devil ſhould put down his cloven foot, I ſhould take hold of it to be drawn out by it.'’
Towards the end of his life he read very few books, and the earl of Clarendon ſays, that he had never read much but thought a great deal; and Hobbs himſelf uſed to obſerve, that if he had read as much as other philoſophers, he ſhould have been as ignorant as they. If any company came to viſit him, he would be free of his diſcourſe, and behave with pleaſantry, till he was preſſed, or contradicted, and then he had the infirmities of being ſhort and peeviſh, and referring them to his writings, for bet⯑ter ſatisfaction. His friends who had the liberty of introducing ſtrangers to him, made theſe terms with them before admiſſion, that they ſhould not diſpute with the old man, or contradict him.
In October 1666, when proceedings againſt him were depending, with a bill againſt atheiſm and pro⯑faneneſs, he was at Chatſworth, and appeared ex⯑tremely diſturbed at the news of it, fearing the meſſengers would come for him, and the earl of De⯑vonſhire would deliver him up, the two houſes of Parliament commit him to the biſhops, and they de⯑cree him a heretic. This terror upon his ſpirits greatly diſturbed him. He often confeſſed to thoſe about him, that he meant no harm, was no obſtinate man, and was ready to make any ſatisfaction; for his prevailing principle and reſolution was, to ſuffer for no cauſe whatever.
Under theſe apprehenſions of danger, he drew up, in 1680, an hiſtorical naration of hereſy, and the puniſhments thereof, endeavouring to prove that there was no authority to determine hereſy, or to puniſh it, when he wrote the Leviathan.
Under the ſame fears he framed an apology for himſelf and his writings; obſerving, that the exceptionable things in his Leviathan were not his opinions, ſo much as his ſuppoſitions, humbly ſub⯑mited [207] to thoſe who had the eccleſiaſtical power, and never ſince dogmatically maintained by him either in writing or diſcourſe; and it is much to be ſuſpected, as Dr. Kennet obſerves, that upon this occaſion, he began to make a more open ſhew of religion and church communion. He now fre⯑quented the chapel, joined in the ſervice, and was generally a partaker of the ſacrament; and when any ſtrangers uſed to call in queſtion his belief, he always appealed to his conformity in divine ſervice, and referred them to the chaplain for a teſtimony of it. Others thought it a meer compliance with the orders of the family; and obſerved, he never went to any pariſh church, and even in the chapel upon ſundays he went out after prayers, and would not condeſcend to hear the ſermon, and when any friend aſked the reaſon of it, he gave no other an⯑ſwer but this, that preachers could tell him nothing but what he knew. He did not conceal his hatred to the clergy; but it was viſible his averſion pro⯑ceeded from the dread of their civil power and in⯑tereſt. He had often a jealouſy that the biſhops would burn him; and of all the bench he was moſt afraid of Dr. Seth Ward, biſhop of Sarum, becauſe he had moſt offended him. Dr. Kennet further obſerves, that his whole life was governed by his fears.
In the firſt Parliament of 1640, while it ſeemed to favour the meaſures of the court, he wrote a little tract in Engliſh wherein he demonſtrated as himſelf tells us, that all the power and rights neceſſary for the peace of the kingdom, were in⯑ſeparably annexed to the ſovereignty of the King's perſon. But in the ſecond parliament of that year, when they proceeded fiercely againſt thoſe who had written or preached in defence of the regal power; he was the firſt that fled, went over into France, and there continued eleven years. Whether from [208] the dread of aſſaſſination, or as ſome have thought [...] from the notion of ghoſts and ſpirits, is uncertain, but he could not endure to be left in an empty houſe; whenever the earl of Devonſhire removed, he would accompany him; even in his laſt ſtage from Chatſworth to Hardwick, when in a weak condition, he dared not be left behind, but made his way upon a feather bed in a coach, tho' he ſur⯑vived the journey but a few days. He could not bear any diſcourſe of death, and ſeemed to caſt off all thoughts of it; he delighted to reckon upon longer life. The winter before he died he had a warm coat made him, which he ſaid muſt laſt him three years, and then he would have ſuch another. A few days after his removal to Hardwick, Wood ſays that he was ſtruck with a dead palſy, which ſtupified his right ſide from head to foot, depriving him of his ſpeech and reaſon at the ſame time; but this cir⯑cumſtance is not ſo probable, ſince Dr. Kennet has told us, that in his laſt ſickneſs he frequently enquired, whether his diſeaſe was curable; and when it was told him that he might have eaſe but no remedy, he uſed theſe expreſſions. ‘'I ſhall be glad then to find a hole to creep out of the world at;'’ which are reported to be his laſt ſenſible words, and his lying ſome days follow⯑in a ſtate of ſtupefaction, ſeemed to be owing to his mind, more than to his body. The only thought of death which he appeared to entertain in time of health, was to take care of ſome inſcription on his grave; he would ſuffer ſome friends to dictate an epitaph, amongſt which he was beſt pleaſed with theſe words:‘" This is the true Philoſopher's Stone."’
He died at Hardwick, as above-mentioned, on the 4th of Dec. 1679. Notwithſtanding his great age, [209] for he exceeded 90 at his death, he retained his judgment in great vigour till his laſt ſickneſs.
Some writers of his life maintain, that he had very orthodox notions concerning the nature of God and of all the moral virtues; notwithſtanding the general notion of his being a downright atheiſt; that he was affable, kind, communicative of what he knew, a good friend, a good rela⯑tion, charitable to the poor, a lover of juſtice, and a deſpiſer of money. This laſt quality is a fa⯑vourable circumſtance in his life, for there is no vice at once more deſpicable and the ſource of more baſe deſigns than avarice. His warmeſt votaries allow, that when he was young he was addicted to the fa⯑ſhionable libertiniſm of wine and women, and that he kept himſelf unmarried leſt wedlock ſhould in⯑terrupt him in the ſtudy of philoſophy.
In the catalogue of his faults, meanneſs of ſpi⯑rit and cowardice may be juſtly imputed to him. Whether he was convinced of the truth of his phi⯑loſophy, no man can determine; but it is certain, that he had no reſolution to ſupport and maintain his notions: had his doctrines been of ever ſo much conſequence to the world, Hobbs would have abjured them all, rather than have ſuffered a moment's pain on their account. Such a man may be admired for his invention, and the planning of new ſyſtems, but the world would never have been much illuminated, if all the diſcoverers of truth, like the philoſopher of Malmsbury, had had no ſpirit to aſſert it againſt oppoſition. In a piece called the Creed of Mr. Hobbs examined, in a feigned Conference between him and a Student of Divinity, London 1670, written by Dr. Teniſon, afterwards archbiſhop of Canterbury, the Dr. charges Mr. Hobbs with affirming, ‘'that God is a bodily ſubſtance, though moſt refined, and forceth evil upon the very wills of men; fram⯑ed a model of government pernicious in its con⯑ſequences [210] to all nations; ſubjected the canon of ſcripture to the civil powers, and taught them the way of turning the Alcoran into the Goſpel; declared it lawful, not only to diſſemble, but firmly to renounce faith in Chriſt, in order to avoid perſecution, and even managed a quarrel againſt the very elements of Euclid.'’ Hobbs's Leviathan met with many anſwers, immediately after the reſtoration, eſpecially one by the earl of Clarendon, in a piece called a Brief View and Survey of the dangerous and pernicious Er⯑rors to Church and State, in Mr. Hobbs's Book entitled Leviathan, Oxon. 1676. The univerſity of Oxford condemned his Leviathan, and his Book de Cive, by a decree paſſed on the 21ſt of July 1638, and ordered them to be publickly burnt, with ſeveral other treatiſes excepted againſt.
The following is a catalogue of his works, with as full an account of them as conſiſts with our plan.
He left be⯑hind likewiſe ſeveral MSS. Mr. Francis Peck has publiſhed two original Letters of our author; the firſt is dated at Paris October 21, 1634, in which he reſolves the following queſtion. Why a man re⯑members leſs his own face, which he ſees often in a glaſs, than the face of a friend he has not ſeen a great time? The other Letter is dated at Flo⯑rence, addreſſed to his friend Mr. Glen 1636, and relates to Dr. Heylin's Hiſtory of the Sabbath.
Thus have we given ſome account of the life and writings of the famous Philoſopher of Malmsbury, who made ſo great a figure in the age in which he lived, but who, in the opinion of ſome of the beſt writers of that time, was more diſtinguiſhed for his knowledge than his morals, and there have not been wanting thoſe who have declared, that the leſſons of voluptuouſneſs and libertiniſm, with which he poiſoned the mind of the young King Charles II. had ſo great an effect upon the morals of that Prince, that our nation dearly ſuffered by this tutorage, in having its wealth and treaſure ſquandered by that luxurious Monarch. Hobbs ſeems not to have been very amiable in his life; he was certainly incapable of true friendſhip, for the ſame cowardice, or falſe principle, which could inſti⯑gate him to abandon truth, would likewiſe teach him to ſacrifice his friend to his own ſafety. When young, he was voluptuous, when old, peeviſh, de⯑ſtitute alike of reſolution and honour. However high his powers, his character is mean, he flatter⯑ed the prevailing follies, he gave up virtue to [216] faſhion, and if he can be produced as a miracle of learning, he can never be ranked with thoſe vene⯑rable names, who have added virtue to erudition, and honour to genius; who have illuminated the world by their knowledge, and reformed it by example.
A Gentleman who lived in the reign of Charles I. He was ſon of Thomas Cokaine, Eſq and deſcended from a very ancient family at Aſhbourne in the Peak of Derbyſhire; born in the year 1608, and educated at both the univer⯑ſities*. Mr. Langbaine obſerves, that Sir Aſton's predeceſſors had ſome evidence to prove them⯑ſelves allied to William the Conqueror, and in thoſe days lived at Hemmingham Caſtle in Eſſex. He was a fellow-commoner at Trinity College in Cambridge, as he himſelf confeſſeth in one of his books. After he had left the univerſity, he went to the Inns of Court, where continuing awhile ſor faſhion's ſake, he travelled afterwards with Sir Kenelm Digby into France, Italy, Germany, &c. and was abſent the ſpace of twelve years, an ac⯑count of which he has written to his ſon‖, but it does not appear to have been printed. He lived the greateſt part of his time in a lordſhip belong⯑ing to him called Pooley, in the pariſh of Poles⯑worth in Warwickſhire, and addicted himſelf much to [217] books and the ſtudy of poetry. During the civil wars he ſuffered much for his religion, which was that of Rome, and the King's cauſe; he pretended then to be a baronet, created by King Charles I. after by violence he had been drawn from the Parliament, about June 10, 1641; yet he was not deemed ſo by the officers of the army, becauſe no patent was enrolled to juſtify it, nor any mention of it made in the docquct books belonging to the clerk of the crown in Chancery, where all Pa⯑tents are taken notice of which paſs the Great Seal. Sir Aſton was eſteemed by ſome a good poet, and was acknowledged by all a great lover of the polite arts; he was addicted to extrava⯑gance; for he waſted all he had, which, though he ſuffered in the civil wars, he was under no neceſ⯑ſity of doing from any other motive but profuſion.
Amongſt our author's other poetical productions, he has written three plays and a maſque, which are in print, which we ſhall give in the ſame order with Mr. Langbaine.
He has written beſides his plays,
What he calls a Chain of Golden Poems, em⯑belliſhed with Mirth, Wit, and Eloquence. Ano⯑ther title put to theſe runs thus: Choice Poems of ſeveral ſorts; Epigrams in three Books. He tran⯑ſlated into Engliſh an Italian Romance, called Dianea, printed at London 1654.
Sir Aſton died at Derby, upon the breaking of the great Froſt in February 1683, and his body being conveyed to Poleſworth in Warwickſhire be⯑ſorementioned, was privately buried there in the chan⯑cel of the church. His lordſhip of Pooley, which had belonged to the name of Cokaine from the time of King Richard II. was ſold ſeveral years before he died, to one Humphrey Jennings, eſq at which time our author reſerved an annuity from it during life. The lordſhip of Aſhbourne alſo was ſold to Sir William Boothby, baronet. There is an epi⯑gram of his, directed to his honoured friend Ma⯑jor William Warner, which we ſhall here tran⯑ſcribe as a ſpecimen of his poetry, whichthe reader will perceive is not very admirable.
WAS deſcended of an ancient family in Weſtmoreland, and born at Kirby-Kendal in that county, the 4th of April 1617, ſpent ſome time at Oxford, and had ſo ſtrong a propenſity to the ſtudy of aſtronomy and mathematics, that little or no knowledge of logic and phi⯑loſophy was acquired by him*. After this, be⯑ing poſſeſſed of ſome patrimony, he retired from the univerſity, and indulged his genius, till the breaking out of the civil wars, when he grew impatient of ſollitude, and being of very loyal principles turned all his inheritance into mo⯑ney, and raiſed for his Majeſty a gallant troop of horſe, of which he himſelf was captain.
[220] After ſeveral generous hazards of his perſon, he was routed, about the 21ſt of March 1645, near Stow on the Would in Glouceſteſhire, where Sir Jacob Aſtley was taken priſoner, and Sir George himſelf received ſeveral ſcars of honour, which he carried to his grave§. After this he retired to Oxford the then reſidence of the King, and had in recompence of his loſſes an employment conferred upon him, under Sir John Heydon, then lieutenant-general of the ordnance, which was to receive and pay off money, for the ſervice of the magazine, and artillery; at which time Sir Edward Sherborne was commiſſary-ge⯑neral of it. It was then, that at leiſure hours he followed his ſtudies, was deemed a member of Queen's-College, being entered among the ſtu⯑dents there, and might with other officers have had the degree of maſter of arts conferred on him by the members of the venerable convocation, but neglected it. After the ſurrender of the ga⯑ [...]ſon of Oxford, from which time the royal cauſe daily declined, our author was reduced to live upon expedients; he came to London, and in or⯑der to gain a livelihood, he wrote ſeveral little things, which giving offence to thoſe in power, he was ſeized on, and impriſoned, firſt in the Gatehouſe, then in Newgate, and at length in Windſor Caſtle, at which time, when he expected the ſevereſt ſtroke of an incen⯑ſed party to fall upon him, he found William Lilly, who had formerly been his antagoniſt, now his friend, whoſe humanity and tenderneſs, he amply repaid after the reſtoration. when he was made treaſurer and paymaſter of his Majeſty's ordnance, and Lilly ſtood preſcribed as a rebel. Sir George who had formerly experienced the calamity of want, and having now an opportunity of retriev⯑ing [221] his fortune, did not let it ſlip, but ſo impro⯑ved it, that he was able to purchaſe an eſtate, and in recompence of his ſ [...]edfaſt ſuffering and firm adherence to the cauſe of Charles I. and the ſervices he rendered Charles II. he was created a baronet by patent, dated 31ſt of December 1677.
Sir George was eſteemed, what in thoſe days was called, a good aſtrologer, and Wood calls him, in his uſual quaint manner, a thorough paced loyaliſt, a boon companion, and a waggiſh poet. He died in the year 1681, at his houſe at En⯑field in Middleſex, and left behind him the name of a loyal ſubject, and an honeſt man, a generous friend, and a lively wit.
We ſhall now enumerate his works, and are ſor⯑ry we have not been able to recover any of his poems in order to preſent the reader with a ſpeci⯑men. Such is commonly the fate of temporary wit, le⯑velled at ſome prevailing enormity, which is not of a general nature, but only ſubſiſts for a while. The curioſity of poſterity is not excit⯑ed, and there is little pains taken in the pre⯑ſervation of what could only pleaſe at the time it was written.
His works are
This Mercury which began the 29th of Octo⯑ber came out ſheet by ſheet every week in 4to. and continuing interruptedly till the 4th of April 1649, it came out again with No. I, and conti⯑need till towards the end of that year. Mr. Wood ſays, he has ſeen ſeveral things that were publiſhed under the name of Mercurius Elenictus; particu⯑larly the Anatomy of Weſtminſter Juncto; or a ſummary of their Deſigns againſt the King and Ci⯑ty, printed 1648 in one ſheet and a half, 4to. and alſo the firſt and ſecond part of the Laſt Will and Teſtament of Philip Earl of Pembroke, &c. printed 1649; but Mr. Wood is not quite poſi⯑tive whether Wharton is the author of them or no.
This is ſometimes called Wharton's Chiro⯑mancy.
Moſt of theſe foregoing treatiſes were collected and publiſhed together, anno 1683, in 8vo, by John Gadbury; together with ſelect poems, written and publiſhed during the civil wars.
THIS amiable young lady, who has been happy in the praiſes of Dryden, was daugh⯑ter of Dr. Henry Killegrew, maſter of the Savoy, and one of the prebendaries of Weſtminſter. She was born in St. Martin's-Lane in London, a little before the reſtoration of King Charles II. and was chriſtened in a private chamber, the offices of the Common prayer not being then publickly al⯑lowed. She gave the earlieſt diſcoveries of a great genius, which being improved by the advantage of a polite education, ſhe became eminent in the [...] of poetry and painting, and had her life been prolonged, ſhe might probably have excelled moſt of the proſeſſion in both*. Mr. Dryden is quite laviſh in her praiſe; and we are aſſured by other cotemporary writers of good probity, that he has done no violence to truth in the moſt heightened ſtrains of his panegyric: let him be voucher for her ſkill in poetry.
That great poet is pleaſed to attribute to her every poetical excellence. Speaking of the purity and chaſtity of her compoſitions, he beſtows on them this commendation,
She was a great proficient in the art of painting, and drew King James II, and his Queen; which pieces are alſo highly applauded by Mr. Dryden. She drew ſeveral hiſtory pieces, alſo ſome po [...] ⯑traits for her diverſion, exceeding well, and like⯑wiſe ſome pieces of ſtill life.
Thoſe engaging and polite accompliſhments were the leaſt of her perfections; for ſhe crowned all with an exemplary piety, and unblemiſhed virtue. She was one of the maids of honour to the Ducheſs of York, and died of the ſmall-pox in the very flower of her age, to the unſpeakable grief of her relations and acquaintance, on the 16th day of June 1685, in her 25th year.
On this occaſion, Mr. Dryden's muſe put on a mournful habit, and in one of the moſt melt⯑ing elegiac odes that ever was written, has con⯑ſigned her to immortality.
In the eighth ſtanza he does honour to ano⯑ther female character, whom he joins with this ſweet poeteſs.
But thus Orinda died;
Miſs Killegrew was buried in the chancel of St. Baptiſt's chapel in the Savoy hoſpital, on the North ſide of which is a very neat monument of marble and free-ſtone fixed in the wall, with a Latin inſcripti⯑on. a tranſlation of which into Engliſh is printed before her poems.
The following verſes of Miſs Killegrew's were addreſſed to Mrs. Philips.
Soon after her death, her Poems were publiſhed in a large thin quarto, to which Dryden's ode in praiſe of the author is prefixed.
THIS eminent dramatic poet was the ſon of a clergyman of the church of England, and was educated at Weſtminſter ſchool under Dr. Buſby. After he left this ſchool, he was ſome time at Trinity College, Cambridge; whence returning to London, he went upon the ſtage as an actor.
Very few particulars are preſerved concerning Mr. Lee. He died before he was 34 years of age, and wrote eleven tragedies, all of which contain the divine enthuſiaſm of a poet, a noble fire and elevation, and the tender breath⯑ings of love, beyond many of his cotemporaries. He ſeems to have been born to write for the Ladies; none ever felt the paſſion of love more intimately, none ever knew to deſcribe it more gracefully, and no poet ever moved the breaſts of his audience with ſtronger palpitations, than Lee. The excellent Mr. Addiſon, whoſe opini⯑on in a matter of this ſort, is of the greateſt weight, ſpeaking of the genius of Lee, thus proceeds*. ‘"Among our modern Engliſh poets, there is none who was better turned for tragedy than our author; if inſtead of favouring the impetuoſity of his genius, he had reſtrained it, and kep [...] it within proper bounds. His thoughts are wonderfully ſuited for tragedy; but frequently loſt in ſuch a cloud of words, that it is hard to ſee the beauty of them. There is an infi⯑nite fire in his works, but ſo involved in ſmoke, that it does not appear in half its luſtre. He [228] frequently ſucceeds in the paſſionate part of the tragedy; but more particularly where he ſlackens his efforts, and eaſes the ſtile of thoſe epithets and metaphors in which he ſo much abounds."’
It is certain that our author for ſome time was deprived of his ſenſes, and was confined in Bed⯑lam; and as Langbaine obſerves, it is to be re⯑gretted, that his madneſs exceeded that divine fury which Ovid mentions, and which uſually ac⯑company the beſt poets.‘Eſt Deus in nobus agitante caleſcimus illo.’
His condition in Bedlam was far worſe; in a Satire on the Poets it is thus deſcribed.
The reader may pleaſe to obſerve, the two laſt lines are taken from Lee himſelf in his deſcrip⯑tion of madneſs in Caeſar Borgia, which is inimi⯑table. Dryden has obſerved, that there is a pleaſure in being mad, which madmen only know, and indeed Lee has deſcribed the condition in ſuch lively terms, that a man can almoſt imagine him⯑ſelf in the ſituation,
If we may credit the earl of Rocheſter, Mr. Lee was addicted to drinking; for in a ſatire of his, in imitation of Sir John Suckling's Seſſion of the Poets, which, like the original, is deſtitute of wit, poetry, and good manners, he charges him with it.
The lines, miſerable as they are, we ſhall in⯑ſert;
The teſtimony of Rocheſter indeed is of no great value, for he was governed by no principles of ho⯑nour, and as his ruling paſſion was malice, he was ready on all occaſions to indulge it, at the expence of truth and ſincerity. We cannot aſcer⯑tain whether our author wrote any of his plays in Bedlam, tho it is not improbable he might have attempted ſomething that way in his inter⯑vals.
Mad people have often been obſerved to do very ingenious things. I have ſeen a ſhip of [230] ſtraw, finely fabricated by a mad ſhip-builder; and the moſt lovely attitudes have been repreſented by a mad ſtatuary in his cell.
Lee, for aught we know, might have ſome no⯑ble flights of fancy, even in Bedlam; and it is reported of him, that while he was writing one of his ſcenes by moon-light, a cloud intervening, he cried out in extaſy, ‘"Jove ſnuff the Moon,"’ but as this is only related upon common report, we deſire no more credit may be given to it, than its own nature demands. We do not pretend not⯑withſtanding our high opinion of Lee, to deſend all his rants and extravagancies; ſome of them are ridiculous, ſome bombaſt, and others unintelligi⯑ble; but this obſervation by no means holds true in general; for tho' ſome paſſages are too extra⯑vagant, yet others are nobly ſublime, we had al⯑moſt ſaid, unequalled by any other poet.
As there are not many particulars preſerved of Lee's life, we think ourſelves warranted to enlarge a little upon his works; and therefore we beg leave to introduce to our reader's acquaintance a tragedy which perhaps he has not for ſome time heard of, written by this great man, viz. Lucius Junius Brutus, the Father of his country.
We mention this tragedy becauſe it is certainly the fineſt of Lee's, and perhaps one of the moſt moving plays in our language. Junius Brutus engages in the juſt defence of the injured rights of his country, againſt Tarquin the Proud; he ſuc⯑ceeds in driving him out of Rome. His ſon Titus falls in love, and interchanges vows with the tyrant's daughter; his father commands him not to touch her, nor to correſpond with her; he faithfully promiſes; but his reſolutions are baf⯑fled by the inſinuating and irreſiſtable charms of Teraminta; he is won by her beauties; he joins in the attempt to reſtore Tarquin; the enter⯑prize [231] miſcarries, and his own father ſits in judg⯑ment upon him, and condemns him to ſuffer.
The interview between the father and ſon is inexpreſſibly moving, and is only exceeded by that between the ſon and his Teraminta. Titus is a young hero, ſtruggling between love and duty. Teraminta an amiable Roman lady, fond of her huſband, and dutiful to her father.
There are throughout this play, we dare be bold to affirm, as affecting ſcenes as ever melted the hearts of an audience. Why it is not revived, may be difficult to account for. Shall we charge it to want of taſte in the town, or want of diſ⯑cernment in the managers? or are our preſent actors conſcious that they may be unequal to ſome of the parts in it? yet were Mr. Quin en⯑gaged, at either theatre, to do the author juſtice in the character of Brutus, we are not wanting in a Garrick or a Barry, to perform the part of Titus; nor is either ſtage deſtitute of a Teraminta. This is one of thoſe plays that Mr. Booth pro⯑poſed to revive (with ſome few alterations) had he lived to return to the ſtage: And the part of Bru⯑tus was what he purpoſed to have appeared in.
As to Lee's works, they are in every body's hands, ſo that we need not trouble the reader with a liſt of them.
In his tragedy of the Rival Queens, our au⯑thor has ſhewn what he could do on the ſub⯑ject of Love; he has there almoſt exhauſted the paſſion, painted it in its various forms, and deli⯑neated the workings of the human ſoul, when in⯑fluenced by it.
He makes Statira thus ſpeak of Alexander.
His Tragedy of Theodoſius, or the Force of Love, is the only play of Lee's that at preſent keeps poſſeſſion of the ſtage, an argument, in my opinion, not much in favour of our taſte, that a Genius ſhould be ſo neglected.
It is ſaid, that Lee died in the night, in the ſtreets, upon a frolic, and that his father never aſ⯑ſiſted him in his frequent and preſſing neceſſity, which he was able to do. It appears that tho' Lee was a player, yet, for want of execution, he did not much ſucceed, though Mr. Cibber ſays, that he read excellently, and that the players uſed to tell him, unleſs they could act the part as he read it, they could not hope ſucceſs, which, it ſeems, was not the caſe with Dryden, who could hardly read to be underſtood. Lee was certainly a man of great genius; when it is conſidered how young he died, he performed miracles, and had he lived 'till his fervour cooled, and his judgment ſtrengthened, which might have been the conſe⯑quence of years, he would have made a greater figure in poetry than ſome of his contemporaries, who are now placed in a ſuperior rank.
THE celebrated author of Hudibras, was born at Strenſham in Worceſterſhire, 1612; His father, a reputable country farmer, perceiving in his ſon an early inclination to learning, ſent him for education to the free-ſchool of Worceſter, under the care of Mr. Henry Bright, where hav⯑ing laid the foundation of grammar learning, he was ſent for ſome time to Cambridge, but was ne⯑ver matriculated in that univerſity*. After he had reſided there ſix or ſeven years, he returned to his native country, and became clerk to Mr. Jefferys of Earl's-Croom, an eminent juſtice of the peace for that county, with whom he lived for ſome years, in an eaſy, though, for ſuch a ge⯑nius, no very reputable ſervice; during which time, through the indulgence of a kind maſter, he had ſufficient leiſure to apply himſelf to his favourite ſtudies, hiſtory and poetry, to which, for his diverſion, he added muſic and painting.
The anonymous author of Butler's Life tells us, that he had ſeen ſome pictures of his drawing, which were preſerved in Mr. Jefferys's family, which I mention not (ſays he) ‘'for the excellency of them, but to ſatisfy the reader of his early inclination to that noble art; for which alſo he was afterwards entirely loved by Mr. Samuel [234] Cooper, one of the moſt eminent Painters of his time.'’ Wood places our poet's improvement in muſic and painting, to the time of his ſervice under the counteſs of Kent, by whoſe patronage he had not only the opportunity of conſulting all kinds of books, but converſing alſo with the great Mr. Selden, who has juſtly gained the epithet of a living library of learning, and was then converſant in that lady's family, and who often employed our poet to write letters beyond ſea, and tranſlate for him. He lived ſome time alſo with Sir Samuel Luke, a gentleman of a good family in Bedfordſhire, and a famous com⯑mander under Oliver Cromwel.
Much about this time he wrote (ſays the author of his Life) ‘'the renowned Hudibras; as he then had opportunities of converſing with the leaders of that party, whoſe religion he calls hypocriſy, whoſe politics rebellion, and whoſe ſpeeches nonſenſe;'’ he was of an unſhaken loyalty, though he was placed in the houſe of a rebel, and it is generally thought, that under the character of Hu⯑dibras, he intended to ridicule Sir Samuel Luke. After the reſtoration of Charles II. he was made ſecretary to the earl of Carbury, lord preſident of the principality of Wales, who appointed him ſteward of Ludlow Caſtle, when the court was revived there; and about this time he married one Mrs. Herbert, a gentlewoman of very good family. Anthony Wood ſays, ſhe was a widow, and that Butler ſupported himſelf by her jointure; for though in his early years he had ſtudied the common law, yet he had made no advantage by the practice of it; but others aſſert, that ſhe was not a widow, and that though ſhe had a competent fortune, it proved of little or no ad⯑vantage to Butler, as moſt of it was unfortunately loſt by being put out on bad ſecurity. Mr. Wood likewiſe ſays, that he was ſecretary to the [235] duke of Buckingham, when that lord was chancel⯑lor of the univerſity of Cambridge, and the life writer aſſures us he had a great kindneſs for him: but the late ingenious major Richardſon Pack tells a ſtory, which, if true, overthrows both their aſ⯑ſertions, and as it is ſomewhat particular, we ſhall give it a place here. Mr. Wycherley had taken every opportunity to repreſent to his grace the duke of Buckingham, how well Mr. Butler had deſerved of the Royal Family, by writing his inimitable Hudibras, and that it was a reproach to the court, that a perſon of his loyalty and wit ſhould languiſh in obſcurity, under ſo many wants. The duke ſeemed always to hearken to him with attention, and, after ſome time, undertook to re⯑commend his pretenſions to his Majeſty. Mr. Wycherly, in hopes to keep him ſteady to his word, obtained of his Grace to name a day, when he might introduce that modeſt, unfortunate poet to his new patron; at laſt an appointment was made, Mr. Butler and his friend attended accord⯑ingly, the duke joined them. But, as the devil would have it (ſays the major) ‘'the door of the room, where he ſat, was open, and his Grace, who had ſeated himſelf near it, obſerving a pimp of his acquaintance (the creature too was a knight) trip by with a brace of ladies, imme⯑diately quitted his engagement to follow ano⯑ther kind of buſineſs, at which he was more ready, than at doing good offices to men of de⯑ſert, though no one was better qualified than he, both in regard to his fortune, and under⯑ſtanding to protect them, and from that hour to the day of his death, poor Butler never found the leaſt effect of his promiſe, and deſcended to the grave oppreſſed with want and poverty.'’
The excellent lord Buckhurſt, the late earl of Dorſet and Middleſex, was a friend to our poet, who, as he was a man of wit and parts himſelf, [236] knew how to ſet a juſt value on thoſe who ex⯑celled. He had alſo promiſes of places and em⯑ployment from lord chancellor Clarendon, but, as if poor Butler had been doomed to misfortunes, theſe proved * meer court promiſes. Mr. Butler in ſhort, affords a remarkable inſtance of that coldneſs and neglect, which great genius's often experience from the court and age in which they live; we are told indeed by a gentleman, whoſe father was intimate with Butler, Charles Longue⯑ville, Eſq that Charles II. once gave him a gratuity of three hundred pounds, which had this compliment attending it, that it paſſed all the offices without any fee, lord Danby being at that time high treaſurer, which ſeems to be the only court favour he ever received; a ſtrange inſtance of neglect! when we conſider King Charles was ſo exceſſive fond of this poem of Hudibras; that he carried it always in his pocket, he quoted it almoſt on every occaſion, and never mentioned it, but with raptures.
This is movingly repreſented in a poem of our author's, publiſhed in his remains called Hudibras at Court. He takes occaſion to juſtify his poem, by hinting its excellences in general, and paying a few modeſt compliments to himſelf, of which we ſhall tranſcribe the following lines.
After having lived to a good old age, admired by all, though perſonally known but to few, he died September 25, 1680, and was buried at the expence of his good friend Mr. Longueville of the Temple, in the church-yard of St. Paul's Covent-Garden. Mr. Longueville had a ſtrong inclina⯑tion to have him buried in Weſtminſter-Abbey, and ſpoke with that view to ſeveral perſons who had been his admirers, offering to pay his part, but none of them would contribute; upon which he was interred privately, Mr. Longueville, and ſe⯑ven or eight more, following him to the grave. [238] Mr. Alderman Barber erected a monument to Butler in Weſtminſter-Abbey.
The poem entitled Hudibras, by which he ac⯑quired ſo high a reputation, was publiſhed at three different times; the firſt part came out in 1668 in 8vo. afterwards came out the ſecond part, and both were printed together, with ſeveral additions, and annotations; at laſt, the third and laſt part was publiſhed, but without any annotations, as ap⯑pears by the printed copy 1678. The great ſuc⯑ceſs and peculiarity of manner of this poem has produced many unſucceſsful imitations of it, and ſome vain attempts have been made to tranſlate ſome parts of it into Latin. Monſieur Voltaire gives it a very good character, and juſtly ob⯑ſerves, that though there are as many thoughts as words in it, yet it cannot be ſucceſsfully tranſlated, on account of every line's having ſome alluſion to Engliſh affairs, which no foreigner can be ſup⯑poſed to underſtand, or enter into. The Oxford antiquary aſcribes to our author two pamphlets, ſuppoſed falſely, he ſays, to be William Prynne's; the one entitled Mola Aſinaria, or the Unreaſon⯑able and Inſupportable Burthen preſſed upon the Shoulders of this Groaning Nation, London 1659, in one ſheet 4to. the other, Two Letters: One from John Audland, a Quaker, to William Prynne; the other, Prynne's Anſwer, in three ſheets fol. 1672. The life writer mentions a ſmall poem in one ſheet in 4to. on Du Val, a notorious highwayman, ſaid to be written by Butler. Theſe pieces, with a great many others, are publiſhed together, under the title of his Poſthumous Works. The life writer above⯑mentioned has preſerved a fragment of Mr. But⯑ler's, given by one whom he calls the ingenious Mr. Aubrey, who aſſured him he had it from the poet himſelf; it is indeed admirable, and the ſa⯑tire ſufficiently pungent againſt the prieſts.
Mr. Dryden* and Mr. Addiſon† have joined in giving teſtimony againſt our author, as to the choice of his verſe, which they condemn as boy⯑iſh, and being apt to degenerate into the doggrel; but while they cenſure his verſe, they applaud his matter, and Dryden obſerves, that had he choſe any other verſe, he would even then have excelled; as we ſay of a court favourite, that whatever his office be, he ſtill makes it upper⯑moſt, and moſt beneficial to him.
We cannot cloſe the life of this great man, without a reflection on the degeneracy of thoſe times, which ſuffered him to languiſh in obſcuri⯑ty; and though he had done more againſt the Puritan intereſt, by expoſing it to ridicule, than thouſands who were rioting at court with no pretenſions to favour, yet he was never taken no⯑tice of, nor had any calamity redrrſſed, which leaves a ſtain on thoſe who then ruled, that never can be obliterated. A miniſter of ſtate ſeldom fails to reward a court-tool, and a man of pleaſure pays his inſtruments for their infamy, and what [240] character muſt that miniſtration bear, who allow wit, loyalty and virtue to paſs neglected, and, as Cowley pathetically expreſſes it,‘' In that year when manna rained on all, why ſhould the muſes fleece be only dry.'’
The following epigram is not unworthy a place here.
WAS deſcended of a family of his name in Buckinghamſhire, a younger branch of the Wallers of Kent. He was born March 3, 1605 at Coleſhill, which gives Warwickſhire the ho⯑nour of his birth. His father dying when he was very young, the care of his education fell to his mother, who ſent him to Eton ſchool, according to the author of his life, but Mr. Wood ſays, ‘'that he was moſtly educated in grammaticals un⯑der one Dobſon, miniſter of Great Wycombe in Bucks, who had been educated in Eton ſchool,'’ without mentioning that Mr. Waller had been at all at Eton ſchool: after he had acquired gram⯑mar learning, he was removed to King's college in Cambridge, and it is manifeſt that he muſt have been extremely aſſiduous in his ſtudies, ſince he acquired ſo fine a taſte of the ancients, in ſo ſhort a time, for at ſixteen or ſeventeen years of age, he was choſen into the laſt Parliament of King James I. and ſerved as Burgeſs for Agmon⯑deſham.
[241] In the year 1623, when Prince Charles nearly eſcaped being caſt away in the road of St. Andre, coming from Spain, Mr. Waller wrote a Poem on that occaſion, at an age when, generally ſpeak⯑ing, perſons of the acuteſt parts juſt begin to ſhew themſelves, and at a time when the Engliſh poetry had ſcarce any grace in it. In the year 1628 he addreſſed a Poem to his Majeſty, on his hearing the news of the duke of Buckingham's death, which, with the former, procured him general ad⯑miration: harmony of numbers being at that time ſo great a novelty, and Mr. Waller having, at once, ſo poliſhed and refined verſification, it is no wonder that he enjoyed the felicity of an univer⯑ſal applauſe. Theſe poems recommended him to court-favour, and rendered him dear to per⯑ſons of the beſt taſte and diſtinction that then flouriſhed. A Writer of his life obſerves, as a proof of his being much careſſed by people of the firſt reputation, that he was one of the famous club, of which the great lord Falkland, Sir Francis Wain⯑man, Mr. Chillingworth, Mr. Godolphin, and o⯑ther eminent men were members. Theſe were the immortals of that age, and to be aſſociated with them, is one of the higheſt encomiums which can poſſibly be beſtowed, and exceeds the moſt laboured ſtrain of a panegyriſt.
A circumſtance related of this club, is pret⯑ty remarkable: One evening, when they were con⯑vened, a great noiſe was heard in the ſtreet, which not a little alarmed them, and upon enquiring the cauſe, they were told, that a ſon of Ben Johnſon's was arreſted. This club was too generous to ſuffer the child of one, who was the genuine ſon of Apollo, to be carried to a Jail, perhaps for a trifle: they ſent for him, but in place of being Ben John⯑ſon's ſon, he proved to be Mr. George Morley, afterwards biſhop of Wincheſter. Mr. Waller liked him ſo well, that he paid the debt, which [242] was no leſs than one hundred pounds, on condition that he would live with him at Beconsfield, which he did eight or ten years together, and from him Mr. Waller uſed to ſay, that he learned a taſte of the ancient poets, and got what he had of their manner. But it is evident from his poems, written before this incident of Mr. Morley's ar⯑reſt, that he had early acquired that exquiſite Spirit: however, he might have improved it afterwards, by the converſation and aſſiſtance of Mr. Morley, to whom this adventure proved very advantageous.
It is uncertain, at what time our author was mar⯑ried, but, it is ſuppoſed, that his firſt wife Anne, daughter and heir of Edward Banks, eſq was dead before he fell in love with lady Dorothy Sidney, daughter to the earl of Leiceſter, whom he celebrates under the name of Sachariſſa. Mr. Waller's paſ⯑ſion for this lady, has been the ſubject of much converſation; his verſes, addreſied to her, have been renowned for their delicacy, and Sachariſſa has been propoſed, as a model to ſucceeding poets, in the celebration of their miſtreſſes. One cannot help wiſhing, that the poet had been as ſucceſsful in his Addreſſes to her, as he has been in his love⯑ſtrains, which are certainly the ſweeteſt in the world. The difference of ſtation, and the pride of blood, perhaps, was the occaſion, that Sachariſſa never be⯑came the wife of Waller; though in reality, as Mr. Waller was a gentleman, a member of par⯑liament, and a perſon of high reputation, we cannot, at preſent, ſee ſo great a diſproportion: and, as Mr. Waller had fortune, as well as wit and poetry, lord Leiceſter's daughter could not have been diſ⯑graced by ſuch an alliance. At leaſt we are ſure of one thing, that ſhe lives for ever in Waller's ſt [...]ains, a circumſtance, which even her beauty could not have otherwiſe procured, nor the luſtre of the earl of Sunderland, whom ſhe afterwards married: the counteſs of Sunderland, like the ra⯑diant circles of that age, long before this time [243] would have ſlept in oblivion, but the Sachariſſa of Waller is conſigned to immortality, and can never die but with poetry, taſte, and politeneſs.
Upon the marriage of that lady to lord Spen⯑ſer, afterwards earl of Sunderland, which was ſo⯑lemnized July 11, 1639, Mr. Waller wrote the following letter to lady Lucy Sidney, her ſiſter, which is ſo full of gallantry, and ſo elegantly turn⯑ed, that it will doubtedly give pleaſure to our read⯑ers to peruſe it.
‘'In this common joy at Penſhurſt*, I know, none to whom complaints may come leſs unſea⯑ſonable than to your ladyſhip, the loſs of a bed⯑fellow, being almoſt equal to that of a miſtreſs, and therefore you ought, at leaſt, to pardon, if you conſent not to the imprecations of the de⯑ſerted, which juſt Heaven no doubt will hear. May my lady Dorothy, if we may yet call her ſo, ſuffer as much, and have the like paſſion for this young lord, whom ſhe has preferred to the reſt of mankind, as others have had for her; and may his love, before the year go about, make her taſte of the firſt curſe impoſed upon womankind, the pains of becoming a mother. May her firſt born be none of her own ſex, nor ſo like her, but that he may reſemble her lord, as much as herſelf. May ſhe, that always affect⯑ed ſilence and retirement, have the houſe filled with the noiſe, and number of her children, and hereafter of her grand-children; and then may [244] ſhe arrive at that great curſe, ſo much declined by fair ladies, old age; may ſhe live to be very old, and yet ſeem young; be told ſo by her glaſs, and have no aches to inform her of the truth; and when ſhe ſhall appear to be mortal, may her lord not mourn for her, but go hand in hand with her to that place, where we are told there is neither marrying, nor giving in marriage, that being there divorced, we may all have an equal intereſt in her again! my revenge being immor⯑tal, I wiſh all this may befal her poſterity to the world's end, and afterwards! To you, madam, I wiſh all good things, and that this loſs may, in good time, be happily ſupplied, with a more conſtant bedfellow of the other ſex. Madam, I humbly kiſs your hands, and beg pardon for this trouble, from’
He lived to converſe with lady Sunderland when ſhe was very old, but his imprecations relating to her glaſs did not ſucceed, for my lady knew ſhe had the diſeaſe which nothing but death could cure; and in a converſation with Mr. Waller, and ſome other company at lady Wharton's, ſhe asked him in raillery, ‘'When, Mr. Waller, will you write ſuch fine verſes upon me again?'’ Oh Ma⯑dam, ſaid he, ‘'when your ladyſhip is as young again.'’
In the year 1640, Mr. Waller was returned Burgeſs for Agmondeſham, in which Parliament he oppoſed the court meaſures. The writer of his [245] life obſerves*, ‘'that an intermiſſion of Parliaments for 12 years diſguſted the nation, and the Houſe met in no good humour to give money. It muſt be confeſſed, ſome late proceedings had raiſed ſuch jealouſies as would be ſure to diſ⯑cover themſelves, whenever the King ſhould come to ask for a ſupply; and Mr. Waller was one of the firſt to condemn thoſe meaſures. A ſpeech he made in the Houſe upon this occa⯑ſion, printed at the end of his poems, gives us ſome notion of his principles as to government.'’ Indeed we cannot but confeſs he was a little too inconſtant in them, and was not naturally ſo ſtea⯑dy, as he was judicious; which variable temper was the cauſe of his loſing his reputation, in a great meaſure, with both parties, when the nation became unhappily divided. His love to poetry, and his indolence, laid him open to the inſinuati⯑ons of others, and perhaps prevented his fixing ſo reſolutely to any one party, as to make him a favourite with either. As Mr. Waller did not come up to the heighths of thoſe who were for unli⯑mited monarchy, ſo he did not go the lengths of ſuch as would have ſunk the kingdom into a commonwealth, but had ſo much credit at court, that in this parliament the King particularly ſent to him, to ſecond his demands of ſome ſubſidies to pay the army; and Sir Henry Vane objecting againſt firſt voting a ſupply, becauſe the King would not accept it, unleſs it came up to his pro⯑portion; Mr. Waller ſpoke earneſtly to Sir Thomas Jermyn, comptroller of the houſhold, to ſave his maſter from the effects of ſo bold a falſity; for, ſays he, I am but a country gentleman, and cannot pretend to know the King's mind: but Sir Tho⯑mas durſt not contradict the ſecretary; and his ſon [246] the earl of St. Alban's, afterwards told Mr. Wal⯑ler, that his father's cowardice ruined the King.
In the latter end of the year 1642, he was one of the commiſſioners appointed by the Parliament, to preſent their propoſitions for peace to his Ma⯑jeſty at Oxford. Mr. Whitelocke, in his Memo⯑rials, tells us, that when Mr. Waller kiſſed the King's hand in the garden at Chriſt's Church, his Majeſty ſaid to him, ‘'though you are laſt, yet you are not the worſt, nor the leaſt in our fa⯑vour.'’ The diſcovery of a plot, continues Mr. Whitelocke, ‘'then in hand in London to betray the Parliament, wherein Mr. Waller was engaged, with Chaloner, Tomkins, and others, which was then in agitation, did manifeſt the King's courtſhip of Mr. Waller to be for that ſervice.'’
In the beginning of the year 1643, our poet was deeply engaged in the deſign for the reducing the city of London, and the Tower, for the ſervice of his Majeſty, which being diſcovered, he was impriſoned, and fined ten thouſand pounds. As this is one of the moſt memorable circumſtances in the life of Waller, we ſhall not paſs it ſlightly over, but give a ſhort detail of the riſe, progreſs, and diſcovery of this plot, which iſſued not much in favour of Mr. Waller's reputation.
Lord Clarendon obſerves*, ‘'that Mr. Waller was a gentleman of very good fortune and eſtate, and of admirable parts, and faculties of wit and eloquence, and of an intimate converſation and familiarity with thoſe who had that reputation. He had, from the beginning of the Parliament, been looked upon by all men, as a perſon of very entire affections to the King's ſervice, and to the eſtabliſhed government of church and ſtate; and by having no manner of relation to [247] the court, had the more credit and intereſt to promote the ſervice of it. When the ruptures grew ſo great between the King, and the two houſes, that many of the Members withdrew from thoſe councils, he, among the reſt, abſent⯑ed himſelf, but at the time the ſtandard was ſet up, having intimacy and friendſhip with ſome perſons now of nearneſs about the King, with his Majeſty's leave he returned again to London, where he ſpoke, upon all occaſions, with great ſharpneſs and freedom; which was not reſtrained, and therefore uſed as an argu⯑ment againſt thoſe who were gone upon pre⯑tence, that they were not ſuffered to declare their opinion freely in the Houſe; which could not be believed, when all men knew what li⯑berty Mr. Waller took, and ſpoke every day with impunity, againſt the proceedings of the Houſe; this won him a great reputation with all people who wiſhed well to the King; and he was looked upon as the boldeſt champion the crown had in either Houſe, ſo that ſuch Lords and Commons who were willing to pre⯑vent the ruin of the kingdom, complied in a great familiarity with him, as a-man reſolute in their ends, and beſt able to promote them; and it may be, they believed his reputation at court ſo good, that he would be no ill evidence there of other men's zeal and affection; ſo all men ſpoke their minds freely to him, both of the general diſtemper, and of the paſſions and ambition of particular perſons, all men know⯑ing him to be of too good a fortune, and too wary a nature, to engage himſelf in deſigns of hazard.'’
Mr. Tomkins already mentioned, had married Waller's ſiſter, and was clerk of the Queen' coun⯑cil, and of very good fame for honeſty and ability; great intereſt and reputation in the [248] city, and converſed much with thoſe who diſliked the proceedings of the Parliament, from whom he learned the diſpoſitions of the citizens on all accidents, which he freely communicated to his brother Waller, as the latter imparted to him whatever obſervations he made from thoſe with whom he converſed. Mr. Waller told him, that many lords and commons were for a peace. Mr. Tomkins made the ſame relation with re⯑ſpect to the moſt ſubſtantial men of London, which Mr. Waller reported to the well affected members of both houſes; and Mr. Tomkins to the well affected citizens; whence they came to a concluſion, that if they heartily united in the mutual aſſiſtance of one another, they ſhould be able to prevent thoſe tumults which ſeemed to countenance the diſtractions, and both parties would be excited to moderation. The lord Con⯑way at that time coming from Ireland incenſed againſt the Scotch, diſcontented with the Par⯑liament here, and finding Waller in good e⯑ſteem with the earl of Norhumberland, and in great friendſhip with the earl of Portland, entered into the ſame familiarity; and being a ſoldier, in the diſcourſes they had, he inſinuated, it was convenient to enquire into the numbers of the well affected in the city, that they might know whom they had to truſt to. Mr. Waller telling Mr. Tomkins this, the latter imparted it to his confidents there; and it was agreed, that ſome truſty perſons in every ward and pariſh about London ſhould make a liſt of all the inhabitants, and by gueſſing at their ſeveral affections, com⯑pute the ſtrength of that party which oppoſed an accommodation, and that which was for it.
Lord Clarendon declares, that he believes this deſign, was to beget ſuch a combination among the well affected parties, that they would refuſe to conform to thoſe ordinances of the twentieth [249] part, and other taxes for the ſupport of the war; and thereby or by joint petitioning for peace, and diſcountenancing the other who petitioned againſt it, to prevail with the Parliament to in⯑cline to a determination of the war, ‘'but that there ever was, ſays the earl, 'any formed de⯑ſign either of letting the King's army into Lon⯑don, which was impoſſible to be effected, or raiſing an army there, and ſurprizing the Par⯑liament, or any perſon of it, or of uſing any violence in, or upon the city, I could never yet ſee cauſe to believe.'’ But it unluckily happened, that while this combination was on foot, Sir Nicholas Criſp procured a commiſſion of array to be ſent from Oxford to London, which was carried by the lady Aubigny, and delivered to a gentleman employed by Sir Nicholas to take it of her; and this being diſcovered at the ſame time Mr. Wal⯑ler's plot was, the two conſpiracies were blended into one; tho' the earl of Clarendon is ſatisfied that they were two diſtinct deſigns. His lordſhip re⯑lates the diſcovery of Mr. Waller's plot in this manner:
[250] 'It was on Wedneſday the 31ſt of May, their ſolemn faſt day, when being all at their ſermon in St. Margaret's church, Weſtminſter, according to their cuſtom, a letter or meſſage was brought privately to Mr. Pym; who thereupon with ſome of the moſt active members roſe from their ſeats, and after a little whiſpering together, removed out of the church. This could not but exceedingly affect thoſe who ſtayed behind. Immediately they ſent guards to all the priſons, at Lambeth houſe, Ely-houſe, and ſuch places where malignants were in cuſtody, with directions to ſearch the priſoners, and ſome other places which they thought fit ſhould be ſuſpected. After the ſer⯑mon was ended, the houſes met, and were only then told, that letters were intercepted going to the King and the court at Oxford, which ex⯑preſſed ſome notable conſpiracy in hand, to de⯑liver up the Parliament and the city into the hands of the Cavaliers; and that the time for the execution of it drew near. Hereupon a committee was appointed to examine all per⯑ſons they thought fit, and to apprehend ſome nominated at that time; and the ſame night this committee apprehended Mr. Waller and Mr. Tomkins, and the next day ſuch as they ſuſpec⯑ted.'
The Houſes were, or ſeemed to be, ſo alarm⯑ed with the diſcovery of the plot, that ſix days af⯑ter they took a ſacred vow and covenant, which was alſo taken by the city and army, denouncing war againſt the King more directly than they had done before. The earl of Portland and lord Conway were impriſoned on Mr. Waller's accuſation, and often confronted with him before the committee, where they as peremptorily denying, as he charging them, and there being no other witneſs but him a⯑gainſt them, they were kept a while in reſtraint, and then bailed. Mr. Waller, after he had had ‘'ſays [251] the earl of Clarendon, with incredible diſſimula⯑tion, acted ſuch a remorſe of conſcience, that his trial was put off out of chriſtian compaſſion, till he ſhould recover his underſtanding (and that was not till the heat and fury of the proſecutors was a⯑bated by the ſacrifices they had made) and by drawing viſitants to himſelf of the moſt powerful miniſters of all factions, had by his liberality and penitence, his receiving vulgar and vile ſayings from them with humility and reverence, as clearer convictions, and informations than in his life he had ever had; and diſtributing great ſums to them for their prayers and ghoſtly council, ſo ſatisfied them, that they ſatisfied others; was brought at his ſuit to the bar of the Houſe of Commons on on the 4th of July 1643, where being a man in truth very powerful in language, and who, by what he ſpoke, and the manner of ſpeaking it, exceedingly captivated the good will, and bene⯑volence of his hearers, with ſuch flattery, as was moſt exactly calculated to that meridian, with ſuch a ſubmiſſion as their pride took delight in, and ſuch a dejection of mind and ſpirit, as was like to couzen the major part. He laid before them, their own danger [...]nd concernment if they ſhould ſuffer one of their body, how unworthy and monſtrous ſoever, to be tried by the ſoldiers, who might thereby grow to ſuch power hereafter, that they would both try thoſe they would not be willing ſhould be tried, and for things which they would account no crime, the inconvenience and inſup⯑portable miſchief whereof wiſe commonwealths had ſoreſeen and prevented, by exempting their own members from all judgments but their own. He prevailed, not to be tried by a Council of War, and thereby preſerved his dear-bought life; ſo that in truth he did as much owe the keeping his head to that oration, as Cataline did the loſs of his to thoſe of Tully; and having done ill, very [252] well, he by degrees drew that reſpect to his parts. which always carries ſome compaſſion to the per⯑ſon, that he got leave to compound for his tranſ⯑greſſion. and them to accept of ten thouſand pounds for his liberty; whereupon he had leave to recol⯑lect himſelf in another country (for his liberty was to be baniſhment) how miſerable he had made him⯑ſelf in obtaining that leave to live out of his own. And there cannot be a greater evidence of the ineſtimable value of his parts, than that he lived in the good affection and eſteem of many, the pity of moſt, and the reproach and ſcorn of few, or none.'’
After this ſtorm had ſubſided, Mr. Waller travel⯑led into France, where he continued ſeveral years. He took over his lady's jewels to ſupport him, and lived very hoſpitably at Paris, and except that of lord Jermyn, afterwards earl of St. Alban's, who was the Queen of England's prime miniſter when ſhe kept her court there, there was no Engliſh table but Mr. Waller's; which was ſo coſtly to him, that he uſed to ſay, he was at laſt come to the Rump 'Jewel.' Upon his return to England, ſuch was the unſteadineſs of his temper, he ſided with thoſe in power, particularly the Lord Protector, with whom he lived in great intimacy as a companion, tho' he ſeems not to have acted for him. He often declared that he ſound Cromwell very well acquain⯑ted with the Greek and Roman ſtory; and he fre⯑quently took notice, that in the midſt of their diſcou [...]ſe, a ſervant has come to tell him, that ſuch and ſuch attended; upon which Cromwell would riſe and ſtop them; talking at the door, where Mr. Waller could over-hear him ſay, ‘'The lord will reveal, the lord will help,'’ and ſeveral ſuch expreſſions; which when he returned to Mr. Wal⯑ler, he excuſed, ſaying, ‘'Couſin Waller, I muſt talk to theſe men after their own way.'’
[253] In 1654 he wrote a panegyric on Oliver Crom⯑well, as he did a poem on his death in 1658. At the reſtoration he was treated with great ci⯑vility by King Charles II, who always made him one of his party in his diverſions at the duke of Buckingham's, and other places, and gave him a grant of the provoſtſhip of Eaton-College; tho' that grant proved of no effect. He ſat in ſeve⯑ral Parliaments after the reſtoration, and wrote a panegyric upon his Majeſty's return, which how⯑ever, was thought to ſall much ſhort of that which he before had wrote on Cromwell. The King one day asked him in raillery, ‘'How is it Wal⯑ler, that you wrote a better encomium on Crom⯑well than on me.'’ May it pleaſe your Majeſty, anſwered the bard, with the moſt admirable fineneſs, ‘'Poets generally ſucceed beſt in fiction.’
Mr. Waller continued in the full vigour of his genius to the end of his life; his natural vi⯑vacity bore up againſt his years, and made his company agreeable to the laſt; which appears from the following little ſtory.
King James II. having ordered the earl of Sun⯑derland to deſire Mr. Waller to attend him one af⯑ternoon; when he came, the King carried him into his cloſet, and there aſked him how he liked ſuch a picture? ‘'Sir, ſays Mr. Waller, my eyes are dim, and I know not whoſe it is.'’ The King an⯑ſwered, ‘'It is the Princeſs of Orange;'’ and ſays Mr. Waller, ‘'ſhe is like the greateſt woman in the world.'’ ‘'Whom do you call ſo, ſaid the King,'’ ‘'Queen Elizabeth, ſaid he.'’ ‘'I wonder, Mr. Waller, replied the King, you ſhould think ſo; but I muſt confeſs, ſhe had a wiſe council;'’ and Sir, ſaid Mr. Waller, ‘'did you ever know a Fool chuſe a wiſe one.'’
Mr. Waller died of a dropſy October 21, 1687. Finding his diſtemper encreaſe, and having yield⯑ed [254] all hopes of recovery, he ordered his ſon-in⯑law Dr. Peter Birch, to deſire all his children to join with him, and give him the ſacrament. He at the ſame time profeſſed himſelf a believer in re⯑vealed religion with great earneſtneſs, telling them, that he remembered wh [...]n the duke of Bucking⯑ham, once talked profanely before King Charles, he told him, ‘'My lord, I am a great deal older than your grace, and I believe I have heard more arguments for atheiſm, than ever your grace did; but I have lived long enough to ſee, there was nothing in them, and ſo I hope will your grace.'’ It is ſaid, that had Mr. Waller lived longer, he would have inclined to the revolution, which by the violent meaſures of James II. he could foreſee would happen. He was interred in the church⯑yard of Beaconsfield. where a monument is erected to his memory, the inſcriptions on it were written by Mr. Thomas Rymer.
He l [...] ſeveral children behind him: He bequeath⯑ed his eſtate to his ſecond ſon Edmund, his eldeſt, Benjamin, being ſo far from inheriting his father's wit, that he had not a common portion. Edmund, the ſecond Son, uſed to be choſen member of Par⯑liament for Agmondeſham, and in the latter part of his life turned Quaker. William, the third ſon, was a merchant in London, and Stephen, the fourth, a civilian. Of the daughters, Mary was married to Dr. Peter Birch, prebendary of Weſtminſter; ano⯑ther to Mr. Harvey of Suffolk, another to Mr. Tipping of Oxfordſhire.
Theſe are the moſt material circumſtances in the life of Mr. Waller, a man whoſe wit and parts drew the admiration of the world upon him when he was living, and has ſecured him the applauſe of poſterity. As a ſtateſman, lord Clarendon is of opinion, he wanted ſteadineſs, and even inſi⯑nuates, that he was deficient in point of honour; the earl at leaſt conſtrues his timidity, and ap⯑parent [255] cowardice, in a way not very advanta⯑geous to him.
All men have honoured him as the great re⯑finer of Engliſh poetry, who reſtored numbers to the delicacy they had loſt; and joined to meli⯑fluent cadence the charms of ſenſe. But as Mr. Waller is unexceptionally the firſt who brought in a new turn of verſe, and gave to rhime all the graces of which it was capable, it would be injurious to his fame, not to preſent the reader with the opinions of ſome of the greateſt men concerning him, by which he will be be [...]ter able to underſtand his particular excellencies, and will ſee his beauties in full glow before him. To begin with Mr. Dryden, who, in his dedication to the Rival Ladies, addreſſed to the earl of Orrery, thus characterizes Waller.
'The excellency and dignity of rhime were never fully known till Mr. Waller ſought it: He firſt made writing eaſily an art; firſt ſhewed us to conclude the ſenſe moſt commonly in diſtichs, which in the verſes of thoſe before him, runs on for ſo many lines together, that the reader is out of breath to overtake it.'
Voltaire, in his letters concerning the Engliſh nation, ſpeaking of Britiſh poets, thus mentions Waller. ‘'Our author was much talked of in France. He had much the ſame reputation in London that Voiture had in Paris; and in my opinion deſerved it better. Voiture was born in an age that was juſt emerging from barba⯑rity; an age that was ſtill rude and ignorant; the people of which aimed at wit, tho' they had not the leaſt pretenſions to it, and ſought for points and conceits inſtead of ſentiments. Briſtol ſtones are more eaſily found than dia⯑monds. Voiture born with an eaſy and frivo⯑lous genius, was the firſt who ſhone in this Aurora of French literature. Had he come into [256] the world after thoſe great genius's, who ſpread ſuch glory over the age of Lewis XIV, he would either have been unknown, would have been deſpiſed, or would have corrected his ſtile. Wal⯑ler tho' better than Voiture, was not yet a fi⯑niſhed poet. The graces breathe in ſuch of Wal⯑ler's works as are wrote in a tender ſtrain; but then they are languid thro' negligence, and often disfigured with falſe thoughts. The Eng⯑liſh had not at this time attained the art of correct writing; but his ſerious compoſitions exhibit a ſtrength and vigour, which could not have been expected from the ſoftneſs and effe⯑minacy of his other pieces.'’
The anonymous author of the preface to the ſecond part of our author's poems, printed in the year 1 [...]90, has given his character at large, and tells us; ‘'That Waller is a name that carries every thing in it that is either great, or grace⯑ful in poetry. He was indeed the parent of Engliſh verſe, and the firſt who ſhewed us our tongue had beauty and numbers in it. The tongue came into his hands like a rough dia⯑mond; he poliſhed it firſt, and to that degree, that artiſts ſince have admired the workmanſhip without pretending to mend it. He undoubt⯑edly ſtands firſt in the liſt of refiners; and for ought I know the laſt too; for I queſtion whe⯑ther in Charles II's reign; the Engliſh did not come to its full perfection, and whether it had not had its Auguſtan age, as well as the La⯑tin.'’ Thus far this anonymous author. If I may be permitted to give my opinion in ſo delicate a point as the reputation of Waller, I ſhall take the liberty to obſerve, that had he, in place of preceding, ſucceeded thoſe great wits who flouriſhed in the reign of Charles II, he could never have roſe to ſuch great reputation, [257] nor would have deſerved it: No ſmall honour is due to him for the harmony which he introduced, but upon that chiefly does his reputation ſtand. He certainly is ſometimes languid; he was ra⯑ther a tender than a violent lover; he has not that force of thinking, that amazing reach of genius for which Dryden is renowned, and had it been his lot to have appeared in the reign of Queen Anne, I imagine, he would not have been ranked above the ſecond claſs of poets. But be this as it may, poetry owes him the higheſt ob⯑ligations for refining it, and every ſucceeding genius will be ready to acknowledge, that by co⯑pying Waller's ſtrains, they have improved their own, and the more they follow him, the more they pleaſe.
Mr. Waller altered the Maid's Tragedy from Fletcher, and tranſlated the firſt Act of the Tragedy of Pompey from the French of Corneille. Mrs. Katharine Philips, in a letter to Sir Charles Cotterell, aſcribes the tranſlation of the firſt act to our author; and obſerves, that Sir Edward Fil⯑mer did one, Sir Charles Sidley another, lord Buck⯑hurſt another; but who the fifth, ſays ſhe, I cannot learn.
Mrs. Philips then proceeds to give a criticiſm on this performance of Waller's, ſhews ſome faults, and points out ſome beauties, with a ſpirit and can⯑dour peculiar to her.
The beſt edition of our author's works is that publiſhed by Mr. Fenton, London 1730, con⯑taining poems, ſpeeches, letters, &c. In this edition is added the preface to the firſt edition of Mr. Wal⯑ler's poems after the reſtoration, printed in the year 1664.
[258] As a ſpecimen of Mr. Waller's poetry, we ſhall give a tranſcript of his Panegyric upon Oliver Cromwell.
In the YEAR 1654.
THIS poet, who was likewiſe an eminent Geographer and Coſmographer, was born near Edinburgh in the year 1600*. His father, who was of an ancient and genteel family, having ſpent his eſtate, and being priſoner in the King's Bench for debt, could give his ſon but little educati⯑on at ſchool; but our author, who, in his early years diſcovered the moſt invincible induſtry, obtained a little knowledge in the Latin grammar, and afterwards ſo much money, as not only to procure his father's diſcharge from priſon, but alſo to bind himſelf apprentice to Mr. Draper a dancing maſter in Hol⯑bourn, London. Soon after, by his dexterity in his profeſſion, and his complaiſant behaviour to his maſter's employers, he obtained the favour of them to lend him as much money as to buy out the remaining part of his time, and ſet up for him⯑ſelf; but being afterwards appointed to dance in the duke of Buckingham's great Maſque, by a falſe ſtep, he ſtrained a vein in the inſide of his leg, which ever after occaſioned him to halt. He afterwards taught dancing to the ſiſters of Sir Ralph Hopton, at Wytham in Somerſetſhire, where, at leiſure, he learned to handle the pike and muſket. When Thomas earl of Strafford became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, he was retained in his family to teach the art of dancing, and be⯑ing [266] an excellent penman, he was frequently em⯑ployed by the earl to tranſcribe papers for him.
In his lordſhip's family it was that he firſt gave proofs of his inclination to poetry, by tranſlating ſome of Aeſop's Fables into Engliſh verſe, which he com⯑municated to ſome learned men, who underſtood Latin better than he, by whoſe aſſiſtance and ad⯑vice he publiſhed them. He was one of the troop of guards belonging to the earl, and compoſed an humourous piece entitled the Character of a Trooper. About the time he was ſupported by his lordſhip, he was made maſter of the revels for the kingdom of Ireland, and built a little theatre for the repreſentation of dramatic entertainments, in St. Warburgh's ſtreet in Dublin: but upon the breaking out of the rebellion in that kingdom, he was ſe⯑veral times in great danger of his life, particular⯑ly when he narrowly eſcaped being blown up in the caſtle of Rath [...]a [...]am. About the time of the concluſion of the war in England, he left Ireland, and being ſnipwrecked, came to London in a very nece [...]tous condition. After he had made a ſhort ſtay in the metropolis, he travelled on foot to Cambridge, where his great induſtry, and love of learning, recommended him to the no⯑tice of ſeveral ſcholars, by whoſe aſſiſtance he became ſo compleat a maſter of the Latin tongue, that in 1646 he publiſhed an Engliſh tranſlation of Virgil, which was printed in large 8vo. and dedi⯑cated to William marquis of Hereford. He re⯑printed it at London 1654 in fol. with this title; The Works of Publius Virgilius Maro, tranſlated and adorned with Sculptures, and illuſtrated with Annotations; which, Mr. Wood tells us, was the faireſt edition, that till then, the Engliſh preſs ever produced. About the year 1654 our indefatiga⯑ble author learned the Greek language, and in four years time publiſhed in fol. a tranſlation of Homer's Iliad, adorned with excellent ſculptures, illuſtrated [267] with Annotations, and addreſſed to King Charles II. The ſame year he publiſhed the Bible in a large fol. at Cambridge, according to the tranſlation fet forth by the ſpecial command of King James I. with the Liturgy and Articles of the Church of England, with Chorographical Sculptures. About the year 1662 he went into Ireland, then having obtained a patent to be made maſter of the revels there, a place which Sir William Davenant ſollicited in vain. Upon this oc⯑caſion he built a theatre at Dublin, which coſt him 2000 l. the former being ruined during the troubles. In 1664 he publiſhed in London, in fol. a tranſlation of Homer's Odyſſey, with Sculptures, and Notes. He afterwards wrote two heroic poems, one entitled the Epheſian Matron, the other the Ro⯑man Slave, both dedicated to Thomas earl of Oſ⯑ſory. The next work he compoſed was an Epic Poem in 12 Books, in honour of King Charles I. but this was entirely loſt in the fire of London in September 1666, when Mr. Ogilby's houſe in White Fryars was burnt down, and his whole for⯑tune, except to the value of five pounds, deſtroy⯑ed. But misfortunes ſeldom had any irretrievable conſequences to Ogilby, for by his inſinuating ad⯑dreſs, and moſt aſtoniſhing induſtry, he was ſoon able to repair whatever loſs he ſuſtained by any croſs accident. It was not lo [...] till he fell on a method of raiſing a freſh ſum of money. Pro⯑curing his houſe to be rebuilt, he ſet up a print⯑ing-office, was appointed his Majeſty's Coſmogra⯑pher and Geographic Printer, and printed many great works tranſlated and collected by himſelf and his aſſiſtants, the enumeration of which would be unneceſſary and tedious.
This laborious man died September 4, 1676, and was interred in the vault under part of the church in St. Bride's in Fleet-ſtreet. Mr. Edward Philips in [268] his Theatrum Poetarum ſtiles him one of the prodi⯑gies, from producing, after ſo late an initiation into literature, ſo many large and learned volumes, as well in verſe as in proſe, and tells us, that his Paraphraſe upon Aeſop's Fables, is generally con⯑feſſed to have exceeded whatever hath been done before in that kind.
As to our author's poetry, we have the authority of Mr. Pope to pronounce it below criticiſm, at leaſt his tranſlations; and in all probability his ori⯑ginal epic poems which we have never ſeen, are not much ſuperior to his tranſlations of Homer and Vir⯑gil. If Ogilby had not a poetical genius, he was not⯑withſtanding a man of parts, and made an amazing proficiency in literature, by the force of an unwea⯑ried application. He cannot be ſufficiently com⯑mended for his virtuous induſtry, as well as his fi⯑lial piety, in procuring, in ſo early a time of life, his father's liberty, when he was confined in a pri⯑ſon.
Ogilby ſeems indeed to have been a good ſort of man, and to have recommended himſelf to the world by honeſt means, without having recourſe to the ſer⯑vile arts of flattery, and the blandiſhments of falſhood. He is an inſtance of the aſtoniſhing efficacy of ap⯑plication; had ſome more modern poets been bleſſed with a thouſandth part of his oeconomy and indu⯑ſtry, they needed not to have lived in poverty, and died or want. Although Ogilby cannot be deno⯑mi [...]ated a genius, yet he found means to make a genteel livelihood by literature, which many of the ſons of Parnaſſus, bleſſed with ſuperior powers, curſe as a very dry and unpleaſing ſoil, but which proceeds more from want of culture, than native barrenneſs.
IT is an obſervation founded on experience, that the poets have, of all other men, been moſt addicted to the gratifications of appetite, and have purſued pleaſure with more unwearied ap⯑plication than men of other characters. In this re⯑ſpect they are indeed unhappy, and have ever been more ſubject to pity than envy. A violent love of pleaſure, if it does not deſtroy, yet, in a great meaſure, enervates all other good qualities with which a man may be endowed; and as no men have ever enjoyed higher parts from nature, than the poets, ſo few, from this unhappy attachment to pleaſure, have effected ſo little good by thoſe amazing powers. Of the truth of this obſervati⯑on, the nobleman, whoſe memoirs we are now to preſent to the reader, is a ſtrong and indeli⯑ble inſtance, for few ever had more ability, and more frequent opportunities, for promoting the in⯑tereſts of ſociety, and none ever proſtituted the gifts of Heaven to a more inglorious purpoſe. Lord Rocheſter was not more remarkable for the ſuperiority of his parts, than the extraordinary debauchery of his life, and with his diſſipations of pleaſure, he ſuffered ſometimes malevolent prin⯑ciples to govern him, and was equally odious for malice and envy, as for the boundleſs gratifications of his appetites.
This is, no doubt, the character of his lord⯑ſhip, confirmed by all who have tranſmitted any [270] account of him: but if his life was ſupremely wicked, his death was exemplarily pious; before he approached to the concluſion of his days, he ſaw the follies of his former pleaſures, he liv [...]d to re⯑pent with the ſevereſt con [...]ition, and charity obliges all men to believe that he was as ſincere in his proteſtations of penitence, as he had been before in libertine indulgence. The apparent for⯑row he felt, ariſing from the ſtings and com⯑punctions of conſcience, entitle him to the [...]eader's compaſſion, and has determined us to repreſent his errors with all imagi [...]able tenderneſs; which, as it is agreeable to every benevolent man, ſo his lordſhip has a right to this indulgence, ſince he obliterated his faults by his penitence, and became ſo conſpicuous an evidence on the ſide of virtue, by his important declarations againſt the charms of vice.
Lord Rocheſter was ſon of the gallant Hen⯑ry lord Wilmot, who engaged with great zeal in the ſervice of King Charles I. during the civil wars, and was ſo much in favour with Charles II. that he entruſted his perſon to him, after the un⯑fortunate battle of Worceſter, which truſt he diſ⯑charged with ſo much fidelity and addreſs, that the young King was conveyed out of England into France, chiefly by his care, application and vigilance. The mother of our author was of the ancient family of the St. Johns in Wiltſhire, and has been celebrated both for her beauty and parts.
In the year 1648, diſtinguiſhed to poſterity, by the fall of Charles I. who ſuffered on a ſcaffold erected before the window of his own palace, our author was born at Dichley, near Woodſtock, in the ſame county, the ſcene of many of his pleaſures, and of his death. His lordſhip's father had the misfortune to reap none of the rewards of ſuffering loyalty, for he died in 1660, immedi⯑ately before the reſtoration, leaving his ſon as the [271] principal part of his inheritance, his titles, ho⯑nours, and the merit of thoſe extraordinary ſervices he had done the crown; but though lord Wilmot left his ſon but a ſmall eſtate, yet he did not ſuf⯑fer in his education by theſe means, for the oeco⯑nomy, of his mother ſupplied that deſiciency, and he was educated ſuitable to his quality. When he was at ſchool (it is agreed by all his biographers) he gave early inſtances of a readineſs of wit; and thoſe ſhining parts which have ſince appeared with ſo much luſtre, began then to ſhew themſelves: he acquired the Latin to ſuch per⯑fection, that, to his dying day, he retained a great reliſh for the maſculine firmneſs, as well as more elegant beauties of that language, and was, ſays Dr. Burnet, ‘'exactly verſed in thoſe authors who were the ornaments of the court of Auguſtus, which he read often with the peculiar delight which the greateſt wits have often found in thoſe ſtudies.'’ When he went to the univerſity, the general joy which over-ran the nation upon his Majeſty's return, amounted to ſomething like di⯑ſtraction, and ſoon ſpread a very malignant influ⯑ence through all ranks of life. His lordſhip taſted the pleaſures of libertiniſm, which then broke out in a full tide, with too acute a reliſh, and was almoſt overwhelmed in the abyſs of wan⯑tonneſs. His tutor was Dr. Elandford, afterwards promoted to the ſees of Oxford and Worceſter, and under his inſpection he was committed to the more immediate care of Phinehas Berry, fellow of Wadham College, a man of learning and pro⯑bity, whom his lordſhip afterwards treated with much reſpect, and rewarded as became a great man; but notwithſtanding the care of his tutor, he had ſo deeply engaged in the diſſipations of the general jubilee, that he could not be prevailed up⯑on to renew his ſtudies, which were totally loſt in [272] the joys more agreeable to his inclination. He never thought of reſuming again the purſuit of knowledge, 'till the fine addreſs of his go vernor, Dr. Balfour, won him in his travels, by degrees, to thoſe charms of ſtudy, which he had through youthful levity forſaken, and being ſe⯑conded by reaſon, now more ſtrong, and a more mature taſte of the pleaſure of learning, which the Dr. took care to place in the moſt agreeable and advantageous light, he became enamoured of knowledge, in the purſuit of which he often ſpent thoſe hours he ſometimes ſtole from the witty, and the fair. He returned from his travels in the 18th year of his age, and appeared at court with as great advantage as any young nobleman ever did. He had a graceful and well proporti⯑o [...]e [...] perſon, was [...]aſter of the moſt refined breeding, and po [...]ed a very obliging and eaſy manner. He ha [...] a vaſt viva [...]ity of thought, and [...] ex [...]reſſion, and all who converſed with him entertained the hig [...]eſt opinion of his underſtanding; and 'tis inde [...]d no wonder he was ſo m [...]h [...]eſſed at a court which abounded with men of wit, countenanced by a merry prince, who reli [...]d nothing ſo much as brilliant converſation.
Soon after his lordſhip's return from his travels, he [...] the fir [...] occa [...]on that offered, to hazard his [...] in the ſervice of his country.
In the winter of the year 1665 he went to ſea, with the earl of Sandwich, when he was ſent out againſt the Dutch Eaſt India fleet, and was in the ſhip called the Revenge, commanded by Sir Tho⯑mas Tiddiman, when the attack was made on the port of Bergen in Norway, the Dutch Ships hav⯑ing got into that port. It was, ſays Burnet, ‘'as deſperate an attempt as ever was made, and during the whole action, the earl of Rocheſter ſhewed as brave and reſolute a courage as poſſi⯑ble. A perſon of honour told me he heard the [273] lord Clifford, who was in the ſame ſhip, often magnify his courage at that time very highly; nor did the rigour of the ſeaſon, the hardneſs of the voyage, and the extreme danger he had been in, deter him from running the like the very next occaſion; for the ſummer following he went to ſea again, without communicating his deſign to his neareſt relations. He went aboard the ſhip commanded by Sir Edward Spragge, the day before the great ſea-fight of that year; almoſt all the volunteers that went in that ſhip were killed. During the action, Sir Edward Spragge not being ſatisfied with the be⯑haviour of one of the captains, could not eaſily find a perſon that would undertake to venture through ſo much danger to carry his command to the captain; this lord offered himſelf to the ſervice, and went in a little boat, through all the ſhot, and delivered his meſſage, and return⯑ed back to Sir Edward, which was much com⯑mended by all that ſaw it.'’ Theſe are the early inſtances of courage, which can be produced in favour of lord Rocheſter, which was afterwards impeached, and very juſtly, for in many private broils, he diſcovered a timid puſillanimous ſpirit, very unſuitable to thoſe noble inſtances of the con⯑trary, which have juſt been mentioned.
The author of his life prefixed to his works, which goes under the name of M. St. Evremond, ad⯑dreſſed to the Ducheſs of Mazarine, but which M. Maizeau aſſerts not to be his, accounts for it, upon the general obſervation of that diſparity be⯑tween a man and himſelf, upon different occaſions. Let it ſuffice, ſays he, ‘'to obſerve, that we differ not from one another, more than we do from ourſelves at different times.'’ But we imagine another, and a ſtronger reaſon may be given, for the cowardice which Rocheſter afterwards [274] diſcovered in private broils, particularly in the affair between him and the earl of Mulgrave, in which he behaved very meanly*. The cou⯑ra [...]e which lord Rocheſter ſhewed in a naval en⯑gagement, was in the early part of his life, be⯑fore he had been immerſed in thoſe labyrinths of exceſs and luxury, into which he afterwards ſunk. It is certainly a true obſervation, that guilt makes cowards; a man who is continually ſubjected to the reproaches of conſcience, who is afraid to examine his heart, left it ſhould appear too hor⯑rible, cannot have much courage: for while he is conſcious of ſo many errors to be repented of, of ſo many vices he has committed, he naturally ſtarts at danger, and ſlies from it as his greateſt enemy. It is true, courage is ſometimes conſti⯑tutional, and there have been inſtances of men, guilty of every en [...]rmity, who have diſcovered a large ſhare of it, but theſe have been wrerches who have overcome all ſenſe of honour, been loſt to every conſideration of virtue, and whoſe courage is like that of the lion of the deſart, a kind of fe⯑rocious impulſe unconnected with reaſon. Lord Rocheſter had certainly never overcome the re⯑proaches of his conſcience, whoſe alarming voice at laſt ſtruck terror into his heart, and chilled the fire of the ſpirits.
Since his travels, and naval expeditions, he ſeemed to have contracted a habit of temperance, in which had he been ſo happy as to perſevere, he muſt have eſcaped that fatal r [...]ck, on which he afterwards ſplit, upon his return to court, where love and pleaſure kept their perpetual rounds, under the ſmiles of a prince, whom nature had fitted for all the enjoy⯑ments of the moſt luxurious deſires. In times ſo diſ⯑ſolute as theſe, it is no wonder if a man of ſo warm a conſtitution as Rocheſter, could not reſiſt the [275] too flattering temptations, which were heightened by the participation of the court in general. The uncommon charms of Rocheſter's converſa⯑tion, induced all men to court him as a compani⯑on, tho' they often paid too dear for their curioſi⯑ty, by being made the ſubject of his lampoons, if they happened to have any oddities in their tem⯑per, by the expoſing of which he could humour his propenſity to ſcandal. His pleaſant extrava⯑gancies ſoon became the ſubject of general conver⯑ſation, by which his vanity was at once flattered, and his turn of ſatire rendered more keen, by the ſucceſs it met with.
Rocheſter had certainly a true talent for ſatire, and he ſpared neither friends nor foes, but let it looſe on all without diſcrimination. Majeſty itſelf was not ſecure from it; he more than once lampooned the King, whoſe weakneſs and attachment to ſome of his miſtreſſes, he endeavoured to cure by ſeveral means, that is, either by winning them from him, in ſpite of the indulgence and liberality they felt from a royal gallant, or by ſeverely lampooning them and him on various occaſions; which the King, who was a man of wit and pleaſure, as well as his lordſhip, took for the natural ſallies of his genius, and meant rather as the amuſements of his fancy, than as the efforts of malice; yet, ei⯑ther by a too frequent repetition, or a too cloſe and poignant virulence, the King baniſhed him the court for a ſatire made directly on him; this ſatire conſiſts of 28 ſtanzas, and is entitled The Reſtora⯑tion, or the Hiſtory of the Inſipids; and as it con⯑tains the keeneſt reſlexions againſt the political conduct, and private character of that Prince, and having produced the ba [...]ſhment of this noble lord, we ſhall here give it a place, by which his lordſhip's genius for this kind of writing will ap⯑pear.
Much about this time the duke of Buckingham was under diſgrace, for things of another na⯑ture, and being diſengaged from any particular attachment in town, he and lord Rocheſter reſolved, like Don Quixote of old, to ſet out in queſt of ad⯑ventures; and they met with ſome that will appear entertaining to our readers, which we ſhall give up⯑on the authority of the author of Rocheſter's Life, prefixed to his works. Among many other adven⯑tures the following was one:
There happened to be an inn on New-market road to be lett, they diſguiſed themſelves in pro⯑per habits for the perſons they were to aſſume, and jointly took this inn, in which each in his turn officiated as maſter; but they ſoon made this ſubſervient to purpoſes of another nature.
Having carefully obſerved the pretty girls in the country with whom they were moſt captivated, (they conſidered not whether maids, wives, or widows) and to gain opportunities of ſeducing them, they invited the neighbours, who had either wives or daughters, to frequent feaſts, where the men were plied hard with good liquor, and the women ſufficiently warm⯑ed to make but as little reſiſtance as would be agree⯑able to their inclinations, dealing out their poiſon to both ſexes, inſpiring the men with wine, and o⯑ther [283] ſtrong liquors, and the women with love; thus they were able to deflower many a virgin, and alienate the affections of many a wife by this odd ſtratagem; and it is difficult to ſay, whether it is poſſible for two men to live to a worſe purpoſe.
It is natural to imagine that this kind of life could not be of long duration. Feaſts ſo fre⯑quently given, and that without any thing to pay, muſt give a ſtrong ſuſpicion that the inn-keepers muſt ſoon break, or that they were of ſuch for⯑tune and circumſtances, as did not well ſuit the poſt they were in.—This their lordſhips were ſenſi⯑ble of, but not much concerned about it, ſince they were ſeldom found long to continue in the ſame ſort of adventures, variety being the life of their enjoyments. It was beſides, near the time of his Majeſty's going to Newmarket, when they de⯑ſigned, that the diſcovery of their real plots, ſhould clear them of the imputation of being concerned in any more pernicious to the government. Theſe two conjectures meeting, they thought themſelves obliged to diſpatch two important adventures, which they had not yet been able to compaſs.—There was an old cove [...]ous miſer in the neighbourhood, who not⯑withſtanding his age, was in poſſeſſion of a very agreeable young wife. Her huſband watched her with the ſame aſſiduity he did his money, and never truſted her out of his ſight, but under the protection of an old maiden ſiſter, who never had herſelf experienced the joys of love, and bore no great benevolence to all who were young and handſome. Our noble inn-keepers had no man⯑ner of doubt of his accepting a treat, as many had done, for he loved good living with all his heart, when it coſt him nothing; and except upon theſe occaſions he was the moſt temperate and abſtemious man alive; but then they could never prevail with him to bring his wife, not⯑notwithſtandlng [284] they urged the preſence of ſo many good wives in the neighbourhood to keep her company. All their ſtudy was then how to deceive the old ſiſter at home, who was ſet as a guardian over that fruit which the miſer could neither eat himſelf, nor ſuffer any other to taſte; but ſuch a difficulty as this was ſoon to be overcome by ſuch inventions. It was therefore agreed that lord Rocheſter ſhould be dreſſed in woman's cloaths, and while the huſband was feaſting with my lord duke, he ſhould make trial of his ſkill with the old woman at home. He had learned that ſhe had no averſion to the bottle when ſhe could come ſecretly and conve⯑niently at it. Equipped like a country laſs, and furniſhed with a bottle of ſpiritous liquors, he marched to the old miſer's houſe. It was with difficulty he found means to ſpeak with the old woman, but at laſt obtained the favour; where perfect in all the cant of thoſe people, he began to tell the occaſion of his coming, in hopes ſhe would invite him to come in, but all in vain; he was admitted no further that the porch, with the houſe door a-jar: At laſt, my lord finding no other way, fell upon this expedient. He pretend⯑ed to be taken ſuddenly ill, and tumbled down upon the threſhold. This noiſe brings the young wife to them, who with much trouble perſuades her keeper to help her into the houſe, in regard to the decorum of her ſex, and the unhappy condi⯑tion ſhe was in. The door had not been long ſhut, till our impoſtor by degrees recovers, and being ſet on a chair, cants a very religious thankſgiving to the good gentlewoman for her kindneſs, and obſerved how deplorable it was to be ſubject to ſuch fits, which often took her in the ſtreet, and expoſed her to many accidents, but every now and then took a ſip of the bottle, and recom⯑mended it to the old benefactreſs, who was ſure [285] to drink a hearty dram. His lordſhip had ano⯑ther bottle in his pocket qualified with a O⯑pium, which would ſooner accompliſh his de⯑ſire, by giving the woman a ſomniferous doſe, which drinking with greedineſs, ſhe ſoon fell faſt aſleep.
His lordſhip having ſo far ſucceeded, and being fired with the preſence of the young wife, for whom he had formed this odd ſcheme, his deſires be⯑came impetuous, which produced a change of co⯑lour, and made the artleſs creature imagine the fit was returning. My lord then asked if ſhe would be ſo charitable as to let him lie down on the bed; the good-natured young woman ſhewed him the way, and being laid down, and ſtaying by him at his requeſt, he put her in mind of her condition, asking about her huſband, whom the young woman painted in his true colours, as a ſurly, jealous old tyrant. The rural innocent imagining ſhe had only a woman with her, was leſs reſerved in her behaviour and expreſſions on that account, and his lordſhip ſoon found that a tale of love would not be unpleaſing to her. Being now no longer able to curb his appetite, which was wound up beyond the power of reſtraint, he declared his ſex to her, and without much ſtruggling enjoyed her.
He now became as happy as indulgence could make him; and when the firſt tranſports were over, he contrived the eſcape of this young adul⯑treſs from the priſon of her keeper. She heark⯑ened to his propoſals with pleaſure, and before the old gentlewoman was awake, ſhe robbed her huſband of an hundred and fifty pieces, and marched off with lord Rocheſter to the inn, a⯑bout midnight.
They were to paſs over three or four fields be⯑fore they could reach it, and in going over the laſt, they very nearly eſcaped falling into the ene⯑my's [286] hands; but the voice of the huſband diſco⯑vering who he was, our adventurers ſtruck down the field out of the path, and ſor the greater ſecurity lay down in the graſs. The place, the occaſion, and the perſon that was ſo near, put his lordſhip in mind of renewing his pleaſure al⯑moſt in ſight of the cuckold. The fair was no longer coy, and eaſily yielded to his deſires. He in ſhort carried the girl home, and then proſtituted her to the duke's pleaſure, after he had been cloyed himſelf. The old man go⯑ing home, and finding his ſiſter aſleep, his wife fled, and his m [...]ney gone, was thrown into a ſtate of madneſs, and ſoon hanged himſelf. The news was ſoon ſpread about the neighbourhood, and reached the inn, where both lovers, now as weary of their purchaſe as deſirous of it before, adviſed her to go to London, with which ſhe complied, and in all probability followed there the trade of proſtitution for a ſubſiſtance.
The King, ſoon after this infamous ad⯑venture, coming that way, found them both in their poſts at the inn, took them again into fa⯑vour, and ſuffered them to go with him to New⯑market. This exploit of lord Rocheſter is not at all improbable, when his character is conſider⯑ed; His treachery in the affair of the miſer's wife is very like him; and ſurely it was one of the greateſt acts of baſeneſs of which he was ever guilty; he artfully ſeduced her, while her unſuſ⯑pecting huſband was entertained by the duke of Buckingham; he contrived a robbery, and pro⯑duced the death of the injured huſband; this com⯑plicated crime was one of thoſe heavy charges on his mind when he lay on his death-bed, under the dreadful alarms of his conſcience.
His lordſhip's amours at court made a great noiſe in the world of gallantry, eſpecially that which he had with the celebrated Mrs. Roberts, mi⯑ſtreſs [287] to the King, whom ſhe abondoned for the poſſeſſion of Rocheſter's heart, which ſhe found to her experience, it was not in her power long to hold. The earl, who was ſoon cloyed with the poſſeſſion of any one woman, tho' the faireſt in the world, forſook her. The lady after the firſt indignation of her paſſion ſubſided, grew as indifferent, and conſidered upon the proper means of retrieving the King's affections. The occaſion was luckily given her one morning while ſhe was dreſling: ſhe ſaw the King coming by, ſhe hurried down with her hair diſheveled, threw herſelf at his feet, implored his pardon, and vowed conſtancy for the future. The King, overcome with the well-diſſembled agonies of this beauty, raiſed her up, took her in his arms, and proteſted no man could ſee her, and not love her: he waited on her to her lodging, and there compleated the re⯑conciliation. This eaſy behaviour of the King, had, with many other inſtances of the ſame kind, determined my lord Hallifax to aſſert, ‘"That the love of King Charles II, lay as much as any man's in the lower regions; that he was indifferent as to their conſtancy, and only valued them for the ſenſual pleaſure they could yield."’
Lord Rocheſter's frolics in the character of a mountebank are well known, and the ſpeech which he made upon the occaſion of his firſt turning itinerant doctor, has been often printed; there is in it a true ſpirit of ſatire, and a keenneſs of lampoon, which is very much in the character of his lordſhip, who had certainly an original turn for invective and ſatirical compoſition.
We ſhall give the following ſhort extract from this celebrated ſpeech, in which his lordſhip's wit appears pretty conſpicuous.
"If I appear (ſays Alexander Bendo) to any one like a counterfeit, even for the ſake of that chiefly ought I to be conſtrued a true man, who is the counterfeit's example, his original, and that which he employs his induſtry and pains to imitate and copy. Is it therefore my fault if the cheat, by his wit and endeavours, makes himſelf ſo like me, that conſequently I cannot avoid reſembling him? Conſider, pray, the valiant and the coward, the wealthy mer⯑chant and the bankrupt; the politician and the fool; they are the ſame in many things, and differ but in one alone. The valiant man holds up his hand, looks confidently round a⯑bout him, wears a ſword, courts a lord's wife, and owns it; ſo does the coward. One only point of honour, and that's courage, which (like falſe metal, one only trial can diſcover) makes the diſtinction. The bankrupt walks the ex⯑change, buys bargains, draws bills, and ac⯑cepts them with the richeſt, whilſt paper and credit are current coin; that which makes the difference is real caſh, a great defect indeed, and yet but one, and that the laſt found out, and ſtill till then the leaſt perceived.—Now for the politician; he is a grave, diliberating, cloſe, prying man: Pray are there not grave, deliberating, cloſe, prying fools? If therefore the difference betwixt all theſe (tho' infinite in effect) be ſo nice in all appearance, will you yet expect it ſhould be otherwiſe between the falſe phyſician, aſtrologer, &c. and the true? The firſt calls himſelf learned doctor, ſends forth his bills, gives phyſic and council, tells, and foretells; the other is bound to do juſt as much. It is only your experience muſt diſtinguiſh betwixt them, to which I willingly ſubmit myſelf."
[289] When lord Rocheſter was reſtored again to the favour of King Charles II, he continued the ſame extravagant purſuits of pleaſure, and would even uſe freedoms with that Prince, whom he had before ſo much offended; for his ſatire knew no bounds, his invention was lively, and his ex⯑ecution ſharp.
He is ſuppoſed to have contrived with one of Charles's miſtreſ's the following ſtratagem to cure that monarch of the nocturnal rambles to which he addicted himſelf. He agreed to go out one night with him to viſit a celebrated houſe of in⯑trigue, where he told his Majeſty the fineſt wo⯑men in England were to be found. The King made no ſcruple to aſſume his uſual diſguiſe and accompany him, and while he was engaged with one of the ladies of pleaſure, being before inſtructed by Rocheſter how to behave, ſhe pick'd his pocket of all his money and watch, which the king did not immediately miſs. Neither the people of the houſe, nor the girl herſelf was made acquainted with the quality of their viſiter, nor had the leaſt ſuſpicion who he was. When the intrigue was ended, the King enquired for Ro⯑cheſter, but was told he had quitted the houſe, without taking leave: But into what embaraſſ⯑ment was he thrown when upon ſearching his pockets, in order to diſcharge the reckoning, he found his money gone; he was then reduced to ask the favour of the Jezebel to give him credit till to morrow, as the gentleman who came in with him had not returned, who was to have pay'd for both. The conſequence of this requeſt was, he was abuſed, and laughed at; and the old woman told him, that ſhe had often been ſerved ſuch dirty tricks, and would not permit him to ſtir till the reckoning was paid, and then called one of her bullies to take care of him. In this [290] ridiculous diſtreſs ſtood the Britiſh monarch; the priſoner of a bawd, and the life upon whom the nation's hopes were fixed, put in the power of a ruffian. After many altercations the King at laſt propoſed, that ſhe ſhould accept a ring which he then took off his finger, in pledge for her money, which ſhe likewiſe refuſed, and told him, that as ſhe was no judge of the value of the ring, ſhe did not chuſe to accept ſuch pledges. The King then deſired that a Jeweller might be called to give his opinion of the value of it, but he was anſwered, that the expedient was impracticable, as no jeweller could then be ſup⯑poſed to be out of bed. After much entreaty his Majeſty at laſt prevailed upon the ſellow, to knock up a jeweller and ſhew him the ring, which as ſoon as he had inſpected, he ſtood amazed, and enquired, with eyes fixed upon the fellow, who he had got in his houſe? to which he an⯑ſwered, a black-looking ugly ſon of a w—, who had no money in his pocket, and was ob⯑liged to pawn his ring. The ring, ſays the jew⯑cller, is ſo immenſely rich, that but one man in the nation could afford to wear it; and that one is the King. The jeweller being aſtoniſhed at this accident, went out with the bully, in or⯑der to be fully ſatisfied of ſo extraordinary an affair; and as ſoon as he entered the room, he ſell on his knees, and with the utmoſt reſpect preſented the ring to his Majeſty. The old Je⯑zebel and the bully ſinding the extraordinary quality of their gueſt, were now confounded, and aſked pardon moſt ſubmiſſively on their knees. The King in the beſt natured manner forgave than, and laughing, asked them, whether the ring would not bear another bottle.
Thus ended this adventure, in which the [...] learned how dangerous it was to risk [...] perſon in night-f [...]olics; and could not [291] but ſeverely reprove Rocheſter for acting ſuch a part towards him; however he ſincerely refolved never again to be guilty of the like indiſcretion.
Theſe are the moſt material of the adventures, and libertine courſes of the lord Rocheſter, which hiſtorians and biographers have tranſmitted to po⯑ſterity; we ſhall now conſider him as an author.
He ſeems to have been too ſtrongly tinctured with that vice which belongs more to literary people, than to any other profeſſion under the ſun, viz. envy. That lord Rocheſter was en⯑vious, and jealous of the reputation of other men of eminence, appears abundantly clear from his behaviour to Dryden, which could proceed from no other principle; as his ma⯑lice towards him had never diſcovered itſelf till the tragedies of that great poet met with ſuch general applauſe, and his poems were univer⯑ſally eſteemed. Such was the inveteracy he ſhewed to Mr. Dryden, that he ſet up John Crown, an obſcure man, in oppoſition to him, and recommended him to the King to compoſe a maſque for the court, which was really the buſi⯑neſs of the poet laureat; but when Crown's Con⯑queſt of Jeruſalem met with as extravagant ſuc⯑ceſs as Dryden's Almanzor's, his lordſhip then withdrew his favour from Crown, as if he would be ſtill in contradiction to the public. His ma⯑lice to Dryden is ſaid to have ſtill further diſ⯑covered itſelf, in hiring ruffians to cudgel him for a ſatire he was ſuppoſed to be the author of, which was at once malicious, cowardly, and cruel: But of this we ſhall give a fuller account in the life of Mr. Dryden.
Mr. Wolſely, in his preface to Valentinian, a tragedy, altered by lord Rocheſter from Fletcher, has given a character of his lordſhip and his writings, by no means conſiſtent with that idea, [292] which other writers, and common tradition, diſ⯑poſe us to form of him.
'He was a wonderful man, ſays he, whether we conſider the conſtant good ſenſe, and agree⯑able mirth of his ordinary converſation, or the vaſt reach and compaſs of his inventions, and the amazing depth of his retired thoughts; the un⯑common graces of his faſhion, or the inimitable turns of his wit, the becoming gentleneſs, the be⯑witching ſoftneſs of his civility, or the force and fitneſs of his ſatire; for as he was both the delight, the love, and the dotage of the women, ſo was he a continued curb to impertinence, and the public cenſure of folly; never did man ſtay in his com⯑pany unentertained, or leave it uninſtructed; ne⯑ver was his underſtanding biaſſed, or his pleaſant⯑neſs forced; never did he laugh in the wrong place, or proſtitute his ſenſe to ſerve his luxury; never did he ſtab into the wounds of fallen vir⯑tue, with a baſe and a cowardly inſult, or ſmooth the face of proſperous villany, with the paint and waſhes of a mercenary wit; never did he ſpare a fop for being rich, or flatter a knave for being great. He had a wit that was accompanied with an unaffected greatneſs of mind, and a na⯑tural love to juſtice and truth; a wit that was in perpetual war with knavery, and ever at⯑tacking thoſe kind of vices moſt, whoſe malig⯑nity was like to be the moſt diffuſive, ſuch as tended more immediately to the prejudice of public bodies, and were a common nuſance to the happineſs of human kind. Never was his pen drawn but on the ſide of good ſenſe, and uſually employed like the arms of the ancient heroes, to ſtop the progreſs of arbitrary op⯑preſſion, and beat down the brutiſhneſs of head-ſtrong [293] will: to do his King and country juſ⯑tice, upon ſuch public ſtate thieves as would beggar a kingdom to enrich themſelves: theſe were the vermin whom to his eternal honour his pen was continually pricking and goading; a pen, if not ſo happy in the ſucceſs, yet as generous in the aim, as either the ſword of Theſeus, or the club of Hercules; nor was it leſs ſharp than that, or leſs weighty than this. If he did not take ſo much care of himſelf as he ought, he had the humanity however, to wiſh well to others; and I think I may truly af⯑firm he did the world as much good by a right application of ſatire, as he hurt himſelf by a wrong purſuit of pleaſure.'
In this amiable light has Mr. Wolſely drawn our author, and nothing is more certain, than that it is a portraiture of the imagination, warmed with gratitude, or friendſhip, and bears but little or no reſemblance to that of Rocheſter,; can he whoſe ſatire is always levelled at parti⯑cular perſons, be ſaid to be the terror of knaves, and the public ſoe of vice, when he himſelf has acknowledged that he ſatirized only to gratify his reſentment; for it was his opinion, that writ⯑ing ſatires without being in a rage, was like kil⯑ling in cold blood. Was his converſation inſtruc⯑tive whoſe mouth was full of obſcenity; and was he a friend to his country, who diffuſed a dange⯑rous venom thro' his works to corrupt its members? in which, it is to be feared he has been but too ſucceſs⯑ful. Did he never ſmooth the face of proſperous vil⯑lainy, as Mr. Wolſely expreſſes it, the ſcope of whoſe life was to promote and encourage the moſt licentious debauchery, and to unhinge all the principles of honour?—Either Mr. Wolſely muſt be ſtrangely miſtaken? or all other writers who have given us [294] accounts of Rocheſter muſt be ſo; and as his ſin⯑gle aſſertions are not equal to the united authorities of ſo many, we may reaſonably reject his teſtimony as a deviation from truth.
We have now ſeen theſe ſcenes of my lord Roche⯑ſter's life, in which he appears to little advantage; it is with infinite pleaſure we can take a view of the brighter ſide of his character; to do which, we muſt attend him to his death-bed. Had he been the amia⯑ble man Mr. Wolſely repreſents him, he needed [...]ot have ſuffered ſo many pangs of remorſe, nor felt the horrors of conſcience, nor been driven almoſt to deſpair by his reflexions on a miſ⯑pent life.
Rocheſter lived a profligate, but he died a penitent. He lived in defiance of all principles; but when he felt the cold hand of death upon him, he reflected on his folly, and ſaw that the por⯑tion of iniquity is, at laſt, ſure to be only pain and anguiſh.
Dr. Burnet, the excellent biſhop of Sarum (however he may be reviled by a party) with many other obligations conferred upon the world, has added ſome account of lord Rocheſter in his dy⯑ing moments. No ſtate policy in this caſe, can well be ſuppoſed to have biaſſed him, and when there are no motives to falſehood, it is ſomewhat cruel to diſcredit aſſertions. The Dr. could not be influenced by views of intereſt to give this, or any other account of his lordſhip; and could cer⯑tainly have no other incentive, but that of ſerv⯑ing his country, by ſhewing the inſtability of vice, and, by drawing into light an illuſtrious penitent, adding one wreath more to the banners of virtue.
Burnet begins with telling us, that an accident fell out in the early part of the Earl's life, which in its conſequences confirmed him in the purſuit of vicious courſes.
"When he went to ſea in the year 1665, there happened to be in the ſame ſhip with him, Mr. Montague, and another gentleman of quality; theſe two, the former eſpecially, ſeemed perſuad⯑ed that they ſhould never return into England. Mr. Montague ſaid, he was ſure of it; the other was not ſo poſitive. The earl of Rocheſter and the laſt of theſe entered into a formal engage⯑ment, not without ceremonies of religion, that if either of them died, he ſhould appear and give the other notice of the future ſtate, if there was any. But Mr. Montague would not enter into the bond. When the Day came that they thought to have ta⯑ken the Dutch fleet in the port of Bergen, Mr. Montague, tho' he had ſuch a ſtrong preſage in his mind of his approaching death, yet he bravely ſtayed all the while in the place of the greateſt dan⯑ger. The other gentleman ſignalized his courage in the moſt undaunted manner, till near the end of the action; when he fell on a ſudden into ſuch a trembling, that he could ſcarce ſtand: and Mr. Montague going to him to hold him up, as they were in each others arms, a cannon ball carried away Mr. Montague's belly, ſo that he expired in an hour after."
The earl of Rocheſter told Dr. Burnet, that theſe preſages they had in their minds, made ſome impreſſion on him that there were ſeparate be⯑ings, and that the ſoul either by a natural ſagacity, or ſome ſecret notice communicated to it, had a ſort of divination. But this gentleman's never ap⯑pearing was a ſnare to him during the reſt of his life: Though when he mentioned this, he could not but acknowledge, it was an unreaſonable thing for him to think that beings in another ſtate were not under ſuch laws and limits that they could not command their motion, but as the ſupreme power ſhould order them; and that one who had ſo cor⯑rapted [296] the natural principles of truth as he had, had no reaſon to expect that miracles ſhould be wrought for his conviction.
He told Dr. Burnet another odd preſage of approaching death, in lady Ware, his mo⯑ther-in-law's family. The chaplain had dreamed that ſuch a day he ſhould die; but being by all the family laughed out of the belief of it, he had al⯑moſt forgot it, till the evening before at ſupper; there being thirteen at table, according to an old conceit that one of the family muſt ſoon die, one of the young ladies pointed to him, that he was the perſon. Upon this the chaplain recalling to mind his dream, fell into ſome diſorder, and the lady Ware reprowing him for his ſuperſtition, he ſaid, he was co [...]dent he was to die before morning; but he being on perfect health, it was not much minded. It was ſaturday night, and he was to preach next, day. He went to his chamber and ſet up late as it appeared by the burning of his candle; and he had been preparing his notes for his ſermon, but was found dead in his bed next morning.
Theſe things his lordſhip ſaid, made him incline to believe that the ſoul was of a ſubſtance diſtinct, from matter; but that which convinced him of it was, that in his laſt ſickneſs, which brought him ſo near his death, when his ſpirits were ſo ſpent he could not move or ſtir, and did not hope to live an hour, he ſaid his reaſon and judg⯑ment were ſo clear and ſtrong, that from thence he was fully perſuaded, that death was not the diſſolution of the ſoul, but only the ſepara⯑tion of it from matter. He had in that ſick⯑neſs great remorſe for his paſt life; but he af⯑terwards ſaid, they were rather general and dark horrors, than any conviction of tranſgreſſion againſt his maker; he was ſorry he had lived ſo as to waſte his ſtrength ſo ſoon, or that he had brought ſuch an ill name upon himſelf; and had an agony in his [297] mind about it, which he knew not well how to expreſs, but believed that theſe impunctions of conſcience rather proceeded from the horror of his condition, than any true contrition for the errors of his life."
During the time Dr. Burnet was at lord Ro⯑cheſter's houſe, they entered frequently into con⯑verſation upon the topics of natural and reveal'd religion, which the Dr. endeavoured to enlarge up⯑on, and explain in a manner ſuitable to the conditi⯑on of a dying penitent; his lordſhip expreſſed much contrition for his having ſo often violated the laws of the one, againſt his better knowledge, and hav⯑ing ſpurned the authority of the other in the pride of wanton ſophiſtry. He declared that he was ſa⯑tisfied of the truth of the chriſtian religion, that he thought it the inſtitution of heaven, and afforded the moſt natural idea of the ſupreme being, as well as the moſt forcible motives to virtue of any faith profeſſed amongſt men.
'He was not only ſatisfied (ſays Dr. Burnet) of the truth of our holy religion, merely as a matter of ſpeculation, but was perſuaded like⯑wiſe of the power of inward grace, of which he gave me this ſtrange account. He ſaid Mr, Parſons, in order to his conviction, read to him the 53d chapter of the propheſies of Iſaiah, and compared that with the hiſtory of our Saviour's paſſion, that he might there ſee a propheſy con⯑cerning it, written many ages before it was done; which the Jews that blaſphemed Jeſus Chriſt ſtill kept in their hands as a book divinely inſpired. He ſaid, as he heard it read, he felt an inward force upon him, which did ſo enlighten his mind and convince him, that he could reſiſt it no longer, for the words had an authority which did ſhoot like rays or beams in his mind, ſo that he was not only convinced by the reaſonings he had [298] about it, which ſatisfied his underſtanding, but by a power, which did ſo effectually conſtrain him that he ever after firmly believed in his Savi⯑our, as if he had ſeen him in the clouds.'
We are not quite certain whether there is not a tincture of enthuſiaſm in this account given by his lordſhip, as it is too natural to fly from one extreme to another, from the exceſſes of debau⯑chery to the gloom of methodiſm; but even if we ſuppoſe this to have been the caſe, he was cer⯑tainly in the ſafeſt extreme; and there is more comfort in hearing that a man whoſe life had been ſo remarkably proſſigate as his, ſhould die under ſuch impreſſions, than quit the world without one pang for paſt oſſences.
The biſhop gives an inſtance of the grea alteration of his lordſhip's temper and diſpoſi⯑tions (from what they were formerly) in his ſick⯑neſs. ‘'Whenever he happened to be out of order. either by pain or ſickneſs, his temper became quite ungovernable, and his paſſions ſo ſierce, that his ſervants were afraid to approach him. But in this laſt ſickneſs he was all humility, pa⯑tience, and reſignation. Once he was a little offended with the delay of a ſervant, who he thought made not baſte enough, with ſomewhat he called for, and ſaid in a little heat, that damn'd fellow.'’ Soon after, ſays the Dr. I told him that I was glad to find his ſtile ſo reformed, and that he had ſo entirely overcome that ill habit of ſwearing, only that word of calling any damned which had returned upon him was not decent; his anſwer was, ‘'O that language of fiends, which was ſo familiar to me, hangs yet about me, ſure none has deſerved more to be damned than I have done; and after he had hambly aſked God par⯑don for it, he deſired me to call the perſon to him [299] that he might ask him forgiveneſs; but I told him that was needleſs, for he had ſaid it of one who did not hear it, and ſo could not be oſſended by it. In this diſpoſition of mind, continues the biſhop, all the while I was with him four days together; he was then brought ſo low that all hope of recovery was gone. Much pu⯑rulent matter came from him with his urine, which he paſſed always with pain, but one day with in⯑expreſſible torment; yet he bore it decently, with⯑out breaking out into repinings, or impatient complaints. Nature being at laſt quite exhauſted, and all the floods of life gone, he died without a groan on the 26th of July 1680, in the 33d year of his age. A day or two before his death he lay much ſilent, and ſeemed extremely devont in his contemplations; he was frequently obſerved to raiſe his eyes to heaven, and ſend forth eja⯑culations to the ſearcher of hearts, who ſaw his penitence, and who, he hoped, would forgive him.'’
Thus died lord Rocheſter, an amazing inſtance of the goodneſs of God, who permitted him to enjoy time, and inclined his heart to penitence. As by his life he was ſuffered to ſet an exam⯑ple of the moſt abandoned diſſoluteneſs to the world: ſo by his death, he was a lively demonſtration of the fruitleſſneſs of vicious courſes, and may be pro⯑poſed as an example to all thoſe who are captivated with the charms of guilty pleaſure.
Let all his failings now ſleep with him in the grave, and let us only think of his cloſing mo⯑ments, his penitence, and reformation. Had he been permitted to have recovered his illneſs, it is reaſonable to preſume he would have been as lively an example of virtue as he had ever been of vice, and have born his teſtimony in ſa⯑vour of religion.
[300] He left behind him a ſon named Charles, who dying on the 12th of November, was buried by his father on the 7th of December following: he alſo left behind him three daughters. The male line ceaſing, Charles II. conferred the title of earl of Rocheſter on Lawrence viſcount Killingworth, a younger ſon of Edward earl of Clarendon.
We might now enumerate his lordſhip's writ⯑ings, of which we have already given ſome cha⯑racter; but unhappily for the world they are too generally diffuſed, and we think ourſelves under no obligations to particularize thoſe works which have been ſo fruitful of miſchief to ſociety, by promoting a general corruption of morals; and which he himſelf in his laſt moments wiſhed he could recal, or rather that he never had com⯑poſed.
SON and heir of George, duke, marquis, and earl of Buckingham, murdered by Felton in the year 1628. This nobleman was born at Walling⯑ford-Houſe in the pariſh of St. Martin's in the Fields on the 30th of January 1627, and bap⯑tized there on the 14th of February following, by Dr. Laud, then biſhop of Bath and Wells, after⯑wards archbiſhop of Canterbury.
Before we proceed to give any particulars of our noble author's life, we muſt entreat the reader's indulgence to take a ſhort view of the life of his grace's father, in which, ſome circumſtances ex⯑tremely curious will appear; and we are the more embold [...]ned to venture upon this freedom, as ſome who have written this life before us, have taken the ſame liberty, by which the reader is no loſer; for the firſt duke of Buckingham was a man whoſe proſperity was ſo inſtantaneous, his honours ſo great, his life ſo diſſipated, and his death ſo re⯑markable, that as no miniſter ever enjoyed ſo much power, ſo no man ever drew the attention of the world more upon him. No ſooner had he returned from his travels, and made his firſt appearance at court, than he became a favourite with King James, who, (ſays Clarendon) ‘'of all wiſe men he ever knew, was moſt delighted and taken with hand⯑ſome perſons and fine cloaths.'’
[302] He had begun to be weary of his favourite the earl of Somerſet, who was the only one who kept that poſt ſo long, without any public reproach from the people, till at laſt he was convicted of the horrid conſpiracy againſt the life of Sir Thomas Over⯑bary, and condemned as a murderer. While theſe things were in agitation, Villiers appeared at court; he was according to all accounts, the gayeſt and handſomeſt man in his time, of an open generous temper, of an unreſerved affability, and the moſt engaging politeneſs.
In a few days he was made cup-bearer to the King, by which he was of courſe to be much in his preſence, and ſo admitted to that converſation with which that prince always abounded at his meals. He had not acted five weeks on this ſtage, to uſe the noble hiſtorian's expreſſion, till he mounted higher, being knighted, and made gentle⯑man of the bed-chamber, and knight of the moſt noble order of the garter, and in a ſnort time a baron, a viſcount, an earl, a marquis, and lord high-admiral of England, lord warden of the ci [...]que ports, maſter of the horſe, and entirely diſpoſed all the favours of the King, acting as abſolutely in con⯑ferring honours and diſtinctions, as if he himſelf had wore the diadem.
We find him ſoon after making war or peace, according to humour, reſentment, or favour. He carried the prince of Wales into Spain to ſee the Infanta, who was propoſed to him as a wife; and it plainly enough appears, that he was privy to one intrigue of prince Charles, and which was per⯑haps the only one, which that prince, whom all hiſtorians, whether friends or enemies to his cauſe, have agreed to celebrate [...]or chaſ [...]ty, and the tem⯑perate virtues. There is an original letter of prince Charles to the duke, which was publiſhed by Mr. Thomas Hearne, and is ſaid once to have be⯑longed [303] to archbiſhop Sancroft. As it is a ſort of curioſity we ſhall here inſert it,
‘"I have nothing now to write to you, but to give you thankes both for the good councell ye gave me, and for the event of it. The King gave mee a good ſharpe potion, but you took away the working of it by the well reliſhed comfites ye ſent after it. I have met with the partie, that muſt not be named, once alreddie, and the culler of wryting this letter ſhall make mee meet with her on ſaturday, although it is written the day being thurſday. So aſſuring you that the bus'neſs goes ſafely onn, I reſt"’
‘"I hope you will not ſhew the King this let⯑ter, but put it in the ſafe cuſtody of miſter Vulcan."’
It was the good fortune of this nobleman to have an equal intereſt with the ſon as with the father; and when prince Charles aſcended the throne, his power was equally extenſive, and as before gave ſuch offence to the Houſe of Commons and the people, that he was vo⯑ted an enemy to the realm, and his Majeſty was frequently addreſſed to remove him from his councils. Tho' Charles I. had certainly more vir⯑tues, and was of a more military turn than his father, yet in the circumſtance of doating upon fa⯑vourites, he was equally weak. His misfortune was, that he never ſufficiently truſted his own judgment, which was often better than that of [304] his ſervants; and from this diffidence he was te⯑nacious of a miniſter of whoſe abilities he had a high opinion, and in whoſe fidelity he put con⯑fidence.
The duke at laſt became ſo obnoxious, that it entered into the head of an enthuſiaſt, tho' other⯑wiſe an honeſt man, one lieutenant Felton, that to aſſaſſinate this court favourite, this enemy of the realm, would be doing a grateful thing to his country by ridding it of one whoſe meaſures in his opinion, were likely ſoon to deſtroy it.—
The fate of the duke was now approaching, and it is by far the moſt intereſting circumſtance in his life.
We ſhall inſert, in the words of the noble hi⯑ſtorian, the particular account of it.
'John Felton, an obſcure man in his own per⯑ſon, who had been bred a ſoldier, and lately a lieutenant of foot, whoſe captain had been killed on the retreat at the Iſle of Ree, upon which he conceived that the company of right ought to have been conferred upon him; and it being refuſed him by the duke of Buckingham, ge⯑neral of the army, had given up his commiſſion and withdrawn himſelf from the army. He was of a melancholic nature, and had little conver⯑ſation with any body, yet of a gentleman's family in Suffolk, of a good fortune, and reputation. From the time that he had quitted the army he reſided at London; when the Houſe of Com⯑mons, tranſported with paſſion and prejudice a⯑gainſt the duke, had accuſed him to the Houſe of Peers for ſeveral miſdemeanors and miſcar⯑riages, and in ſome declarations had ſtiled him the cauſe of all the evils the kingdom ſuffered, and an enemy to the public.'
'Some tranſcripts of ſuch expreſſions, and ſome [305] general invectives he met with amongſt the peo⯑ple, to whom this great man was not grateful, wrought ſo far upon this melancholic gentleman, that he began to believe he ſhould do God good ſervice if he killed the duke. He choſe no other inſtrument to do it than an ordinary knife, which he bought of a common catler for a ſhilling, and thus provided, he repaired to Portſmouth, where he arrived the eve of St. Bartholomew. The duke was then there, in order to prepare and make ready the fleet and the army, with which he re⯑ſolved in a few days to tranſport himſelf to the relief of Rochelle, w [...]ich was then beſieged by cardinal Richelieu, and for the relief whereof the duke was the more obliged, by reaſon that at his being at the Iſle of Ree, he had received great ſupplies of victnals, and ſome companies of their garriſon from the town, the want of both which they were at this time very ſenſible of, and griev⯑ed at.'
'This morning of St. Bartholomew, the duke had received letters, in which he was advertiſed, that Rochelle had relieved itſelf; upon which he directed that his breakfaſt might be ſpeedily made ready, and he would make haſte to acquaint the King with the good news, the court being then at Southwick, about five miles from Portſ⯑mouth. The chamber in which he was dreſ⯑ſing himſelf was full of company, and of officers in the fleet and army. There was Monſieur de Soubize, brother to the duke de Rohan, and other French gentlemen, who were very ſollicitous for the embarkation of the army, and for the de⯑parture of the fleet for the relief of Rochelle; and they were at that time in much trouble and and perplexity, out of apprehenſion that the news the duke had received that morning might ſlacken the preparations of the voyage, which their impatience and intereſt, perſuaded [306] them was not advanced with expedition; and ſo they held much diſcourſe with the duke of the impoſſibility that his intelligence could be true, and that it was contrived by the artifice and dexterity of their enemies, in order to a⯑bate the warmth and zeal that was uſed for their relief, the arrival of which relief, thoſe enemies had much reaſon to apprehend; and a longer delay in ſending it, would eaſe them of that terrible apprehenſion; their forts and works towards the ſea, and in the harbour being al⯑moſt finiſhed.'
'This diſcourſe, according to the natural cuſ⯑tom of that nation, and by the uſual dialect of that language, was held with ſuch paſſion and vehemence, that the ſtanders by who under⯑ſtood not French, did believe they were angry, and that they uſed the duke rudely. He be⯑ing ready, and informed that his breakfaſt was ready, drew towards the door, where the hang⯑ings were held up; and in that very paſſage turning himſelf to ſpeak with Sir Thomas Fryer, a colonel of the army, who was then ſpeaking near his ear, he was on a ſudden ſtruck over his ſhoulder upon the breaſt with a knife; up⯑on which, without uſing any other words, than that the villain has killed me, and in the ſame moment pulling out the knife himſelf, he fell down dead, the knife having pierced his heart. No man had ever ſeen the blow, or the man who gave it; but in the confuſion they were in, every man made his own conjecture, and declared it as a thing known, moſt agre [...]ing, that it was done by the French, from the an⯑gry diſcourſe they thought they had heard from them, and it was a kind of miracle, that they were not all killed that inſtant: The ſober ſort that preſerved them from it, having the ſame opinion of their guilt, and only reſerving them [307] for a more judicial examination, and proceed⯑ing.'
'In the crowd near the door, there was found upon the ground a hat, in the inſide whereof, there was ſewed upon the crown a paper, in which were writ four or five lines of that de⯑claration made by the Houſe of Commons, in which they had ſtiled the duke an enemy to the kingdom; and under it a ſhort ejaculation towards a prayer. It was eaſily enough con⯑cluded, that the hat belonged to the perſon who had committed the murder, but the difficulty [...]emained ſtill as great, who that perſon ſhould be; for the writing diſcovered nothing of the name; and whoſoever it was, it was very na⯑tural to believe, that he was gone far enough not to be found without a hat. In this hurry, one running one way, another another way, a man was ſeen walking before the door very compoſedly without a hat; whereupon one cry⯑ing out, here's the fellow that killed the duke, upon which others run thither. every body ask⯑ing which was he; to which the man without the hat very compoſedly anſwered, I am he. Thereupon ſome of thoſe who were moſt fu⯑rious ſuddenly run upon the man with their drawn ſwords to kill him; but others, who were at leaſt equally concerned in the loſs, and in the ſenſe of it, defended him; himſelf with open arms very calmly and chearfully ex⯑poſing himſelf to the ſury and ſwords of the moſt enraged, as being very willing to fall a ſacrifice to their ſudden anger, rather than be kept for deliberate juſtice, which he knew muſt be executed upon him.'
'He was now enough known, and eaſily diſ⯑covered to be that Felton, whom we mentioned before, who had been a lieutenant in the army; he was quickly carried into a private room by [308] the perſons of the beſt condition, ſome whereof were in authority, who firſt thought fit, ſo far to diſſemble, as to mention the duke only g [...]ie⯑vouſly wounded, but not without hopes of re⯑covery. Upon which Felton ſmiled, and ſaid, he knew well enough he had given him a blow that had determined all their hopes. Being then asked at whoſe inſtigation he had performed that horrid, wretched act, he anſwered them with a wonderful aſſurance, That they ſhould not trou⯑ble themſelves in that enquiry; that no man liv⯑ing had cre [...]it or power enough with him to have engaged or diſpoſed him, to ſuch an action, that he had never entruſted his purpoſe or reſolution to any man; that it proceeded from himſelf, and the impulſe of his own conſcience, and that the motives thereunto will appear if his hat were found. He ſpoke very frankly of what he had done, and bore the reproaches of them that ſpoke to him, with the temper of a man who thought he had not done amiſs. But after he had been in priſon ſome time, where he was treat⯑ed without any rigour, and with humanity enough; and before and at his tryal, which was about four months after, at the King's Bench, he behaved himſelf with great modeſty, and won⯑derful repentance; being as he ſaid convinced in his conſcience that he had done wickedly, and asked pardon of the King and Ducheſs, and all the Duke's ſervants, whom he acknow⯑ledged he had offended, and very earneſtly be⯑ſought the judges that he might have his hand ſtruck off, with which he had performed that impious act, before he ſhould be put to death.'
This is the account lord Olarendon gives in the firſt volume of his hiſtory, of the fall of this great favourite, which ſerves to throw a melancholy veil over the ſplendor of his life, [309] and demonſtrates the extreme vanity of exterior pomp, and the danger thoſe are expoſed to who move on the precipice of power. It ſerves to ſhew that of all kind of cruelty, that which is the child of enthuſiaſm is the worſt, as it is found⯑ed upon ſomething that has the appearance of principles; and as it is more ſtedfaſt, ſo does it dif⯑fuſe more miſchief than that cruelty which flows from the agitations of paſſion: Felton blindly ima⯑gined he did God ſervice by aſſaſſination, and the ſame unnatural zeal would perhaps have promp⯑ted him to the murder of a thouſand more, who in his opinion were enemies to their country.
The above-mentioned hiſtorian remarks, that there were ſeveral prophecies and predictions ſcat⯑tered about, concerning the duke's death; and then proceeds to the relation of the moſt a⯑ſtoniſhing ſtory we have ever met with.
As this anecdote is countenanced by ſo great a name, I need make no apology for inſerting it, it has all the evidence the nature of the thing can admit of, and is curious in itſelf.
'There was an officer in the King's wardrobe in Windſor-Caſtle of a good reputation for ho⯑neſty and diſcretion, and then about the age of fifty years, or more. This man had been bred in his youth in a ſchool in the pariſh where Sir George Villiers the father of the Duke lived, and had been much cheriſhed and obliged in that ſeaſon of his age, by the ſaid Sir George, whom afterwards he never ſaw. About ſix months before the miſerable end of the duke of Buck⯑ingham, about midnight, this man, being in his bed, at Windſor, where his office was, and in very good health, there appeared to him, on the ſide of his bed, a man of very venerable aſpect, who fixing his eyes upon him, asked him, if he [310] knew him; the poor man half dead with fear, and apprehenſion, being asked the ſecond time, whether he remembered him, and having in that time called to his memory, the preſence of Sir George Villiers, and the very cloaths he uſed to wear, in which at that time he uſed to be ha⯑bited; he anſwered him, That he thought him to be that perſon; he replied, that he was in the right, that he was the ſame, and that he expected a ſervice from him; which was, that he ſhould go from him to his ſon the duke of Buckingham, and tell him, if he did not ſome-what to ingratiate himſelf to the people, or at leaſt, to abate the extreme malice they had a⯑gainſt him, he would be ſuffered to live but a ſhort time, and after this diſcourſe he diſappear⯑ed, and the poor man, if he had been at all waking, ſlept very well till the morning, when he believed all this to be a dream, and conſi⯑dered it no otherwiſe.'
'Next night, or ſhortly after, the ſame perſon appeared to him again in the ſame place, and about the ſame time of the night, with an aſ⯑pect a little more ſevere than before; and ask⯑ing him whether he had done as he required him? and perceiving he had not, he gave him very ſevere reprehenſions, and told him, he ex⯑pected more compliance from him; and that if he did not perform his commands, he ſhould enjoy no peace of mind, but ſhould be al⯑ways purſued by him: Upon which he pro⯑promiſed-to obey him.'
'But the next morning waking exceedingly per⯑plexed with the lively repreſentation of all that had paſſed, he conſidered that he was a perſon at ſuch a diſtance from the duke, that he knew not how to find any admittance into his preſence, much leſs any hope to be believed in what he ſhould ſay, ſo [311] with great trouble and unquietneſs he ſpent ſome time in thinking what he ſhould do. The poor man had by this time recovered the courage to tell him, That in truth he had deferred the exe⯑cution of his commands, upon conſidering how difficult a thing it would be for him to get acceſs to the duke, having acquaintance with no perſon about him; and if he could obtain admiſſion to him, he would never be able to perſuade him that he was ſent in ſuch a man⯑ner, but he ſhould at beſt be thought to be mad, or to be ſet on and employed by his own or the malice of other men to abuſe the duke, and ſo he ſhould be ſure to be undone. The perſon replied, as he had done before, that he ſhould never find reſt, till he ſhould perform what he required, and therefore he were better to diſpatch it; that the acceſs to his ſon was known to be very eaſy; and that few men waited long for him, and for the gaining him credit, he would tell him two or three parti⯑culars, which he charged him never to mention to any perſon living, but to the duke himſelf; and he ſhould no ſooner hear them, but he would believe all the reſt he ſhould ſay; and ſo repeating his threats he left him.'
'In the morning the poor man more confirmed by the laſt appearance, made his journey to London, where the court then was. He was very well known to Sir Ralph Freeman, one of the maſters of the requeſts, who had married a lady that was nearly allied to the duke, and was himſelf well received by him. To him this man went; and tho' he did not acquaint him with all the particulars, he ſaid enough to him to let him ſee there was ſomewhat extra⯑ordinary in it, and the knowledge he had of the ſobriety and diſcretion of the man, made the more impreſſion on him. He deſired that by [312] his means he might be brought to the duke, to ſuch a place, and in ſuch a manner as ſhould be thought fit; affirming, that he had much to ſay to him; and of ſuch a nature as would re⯑quire much privacy, and ſome time and patience in the hearing. Sir Ralph promiſed he would ſpeak firſt to the duke of him, and then he ſhould underſtand his pleaſure, and accordingly on the firſt opportunity he did inform him of the reputation and honeſty of the man, and then what he deſired, and all he knew of the mat⯑ter. The duke according to his uſual openneſs and condeſcenſion told him, that he was the next day, early, to hunt with the King; that his horſes ſhould attend him to Lambeth Bridge, where he would land by five o'Clock in the morning, and if the man attended him there at that hour, he would walk and ſpeak with him as long as ſhould be neceſſary. Sir Ralph car⯑ried the man with him next morning, and p [...]e⯑ſented him to the duke at his landing, who re⯑ceived him courteouſly, and walked aſide in con⯑ference near an hour, none but his own ſervants being at that hour near the place, and they and Sir Ralph at ſuch a diſtance, that they could not hear a word, though the duke ſometimes ſp [...]ke, and with great commotion, which Sir Ralph the more eaſily perceived, becauſe he kept his eyes always fixed upon the duke; having pro⯑cured the conference, upon ſomewhat he knew, there was of extraordinary; and the man told him in his return over the water, that when he mentioned thoſe particulars, which were to gain him credit, the ſubſtance whereof he ſaid he durſt not impart to him, the duke's colour changed, and he ſwore he could come by that knowledge only by the devil, for that thoſe particulars were known only to himſelf, and to one perſon more, who, he was ſure, would never ſpeak of it.'
[313] 'The duke purſued his purpoſe of hunting, but was obſerved to ride all the morning with great penſiveneſs, and in deep thoughts, without any delight in the exerciſe he was upon, and before the morning was ſpent, left the field, and alight⯑ed at his mother's lodgings at Whitehall, with whom he was ſhut up for the ſpace of two or three hours, the noiſe of their diſcourſe fre⯑quently reaching the ears of thoſe who attend⯑ed in the next rooms and when the duke left her, his countenance appeared full of trouble, with a mixture of anger: a countenance that was never before obſerved in him in any con⯑verſation with her, towards whom he had a profound reverence, and the counteſs herſelf was, at the duke's leaving her, found overwhelmed in tears, and in the higheſt agony imaginable; whatever there was of all this, it is a notorious truth, that when the news of the duke's mur⯑der (which happened within a few months) was brought to his mother, ſhe ſeemed not in the leaſt degree ſurprized, but received it as if ſhe had foreſeen it, nor did afterwards expreſs ſuch a degree of ſorrow, as was expected from ſuch a mother, for the loſs of ſuch a ſon.'
This is the repreſentation which lord Claren⯑don gives of this extraordinary circumſtance, up⯑on which I ſhall not preſume to make any com⯑ment; but if ever departed ſpirits were permitted to intereſt themſelves with human affairs, and as Shakeſpear expreſſes it, reviſit the glimpſes of the moon, it ſeems to have been upon this occaſion: at leaſt there ſeems to be ſuch rational evidence of it, as no man, however fortified againſt ſuperſtition, can well reſiſt.
But let us now enter upon the life of the ſon of this great man; who, if he was inferior to his father as a ſtateſman, was ſuperior in wit, and wanted only application to have made a very [314] great figure, even in the ſenate, but his love of pleaſure was immoderate, which embarraſſed him in the purſuit of any thing ſolid or praiſe-worthy.
He was an infant when his father's murder was perpetrated, and received his early education from ſeveral domeſtic tutors, and was afterwards ſent to the univerſity of Cambridge: when he had finiſh⯑ed his courſe there, he travelled with his brother lord Francis, under the care of William Ayleſbury, eſquire. Upon his return, which was after the breaking out of the civil wars, he was conducted to Oxford, and preſented to his Majeſty, then there, and entered into Chriſt Church. Upon the decline of the King's cauſe, the young duke of Buckingham attended Prince Charles into Scot⯑land, and was preſent in the year 1651 at the battle of Worceſter, where he eſcaped beyond ſea, and was ſoon after made knight of the garter. He came afterwards privately into England, and, November 19, 1657, married Mary, the daugh⯑ter and heir of Thomas lord Fairfax, by whoſe intereſt he recovered all or moſt of his eſtate, which he had loſt before. After the reſtoration, at which time he is ſaid to have poſſeſſed an eſtate of 20,000 l. per annum, he was made one of the lords of the King's bed-chamber, and of the privy council, lord lieutenant of Yorkſhire, and, at laſt, maſter of the horſe.
In the year 1666, being diſcovered to have maintained ſecret correſpondence by letters, and other tranſactions, tending to raiſe mutinies among ſome of his Majeſty's forces, and ſtir up ſediti⯑on among his people, and to have carried on o⯑ther traiterous deſigns and practices, he abſcond⯑ed, upon which a proclam [...]ion was iſſued the ſame year for apprehending him. Mr. Thomas Carte, in his Life of the Duke of Ormond*, [315] tells us, ‘'that the duke's being denied the poſt of preſident of the North, was probably the reaſon of his diſaffection to the King; and, that juſt before the receſs of the Parliament, one Dr. John Heydon was taken up for treaſonable practices, in ſowing a ſedition in the navy, and engaging perſons in a conſpiracy to ſeize the Tower. The man was a pretender to great ſkill in aſtrology, but had loſt much of his reputa⯑tion, by prognoſticating the hanging of Oliver to his ſon Richard Cromwel and Thurloe, who came to him in diſguiſe, for the calculation of nativities, being dreſſed like diſtreſſed cavaliers. He was for that put into priſon, and continued in confinement ſixteen months, whilſt Cromwel outlived the prediction four years. This inſig⯑nificant fellow was mighty great with the duke of Buckingham, who, notwithſtanding the va⯑nity of the art, and the notorious ignorance of the profeſſor of it, made him caſt not only his own, but the King's nativity; a matter of dan⯑gerous curioſity, and condemned by a ſtatute which could only be ſaid to be antiquated, be⯑cauſe it had not for a long time been put in ex⯑ecution. This fellow he had likewiſe employed, among others, to excite the ſeamen to mutiny, as he had given money to other rogues to put on jackets to perſonate ſeamen, and to go about the country begging in that garb, and exclaim⯑ing for want of pay, while the people oppreſſed with taxes, were cheated of their money by the great officers of the crown. Heydon pretended to have been in all the duke's ſecrets, for near four years paſt, and that he had been all that time deſigning againſt the King and his govern⯑ment, that his grace thought the preſent ſeaſon favourable for the execution of his deſign, and had his agents at work in the navy and in the kingdom, to ripen the general diſcontents of the [316] people, and diſpoſe them to action, that he had been importuned by him to head the firſt party he could get together, and engage in an inſur⯑rection, the duke declaring his readineſs to ap⯑pear and join in the undertaking, as ſoon as the affair was begun. Some to whom Heydon un⯑boſomed himſelf, and had been employed by him to carry letters to the duke of Bucking⯑ham, diſcovered the deſign. Heydon was taken up, and a ſerjeant at arms ſent with a warrant by his Majeſty's expreſs order to take up the duke, who, having defended his houſe by force, for ſome time at leaſt, found means to eſcape. The King knew Buckingham to be capable of the blackeſt deſigns, and was highly incenſed at him for his conduct laſt ſeſſions, and inſinuating that ſpirit into the Commons, which had been ſo much to the detriment of the public ſer⯑vice. He could not forbear expreſſing himſelf with more bitterneſs againſt the duke, than was ever dropped from him upon any other occaſion. When he was ſollicited in his behalf, he frankly ſaid, that he had been the cauſe of continuing the war, for the Dutch would have made a ve⯑ry low-ſubmiſſion, had the Parliament continu⯑ed their firſt vigorous vote of ſupplying him, but the duke's cabals had leſſened his intereſt both abroad and at home, with regard to the ſupport of the war. In conſequence of this re⯑ſentment, the King put him out of the privy council, bedchamber, and lientenancy of York, ordering him likewiſe to be ſtruck out of all commiſſions. His grace abſconding, a procſa⯑mation was iſſued out, requiring his appear⯑ance, and ſurrender of himſelf by a certain day.'’
Notwithſtanding this appearance of reſentment againſt him, yet Charles, who was far from be⯑ing of an implacable temper, took Buckingham again into favour, after he had made an humble ſub⯑miſſion; [317] he was reſtored to his place in the coun⯑cil, and in the bedchamber in 1667, and ſeem⯑ed perfectly confirmed in the good graces of the King, who was, perhaps, too much charmed with his wit to conſider him as an enemy.
In the year 1670, the duke was ſuppoſed to be concerned in Blood's attempt on the life of the duke of Ormond. This ſcheme was to have con⯑veyed that nobleman to Tyburn, and there to have hanged him; for which purpoſe he was taken out of his coach in St. James's Street, and carried away by Blood and his ſon beyond Devonſhire Houſe, Piccadilly, but then reſcued. Blood after⯑wards endeavoured to ſteal the crown out of the Tower, but was ſeized; however, he was not on⯑ly pardoned, but had an eſtate of five hundred pounds a year given him in Ireland, and admitted into an intimacy with the King. The reaſon of Blood's malice againſt the duke of Ormond was, be⯑cauſe his eſtate at Sorney was forfeited for his treaſon in the courſe of government, and muſt have been done by any lord lieutenant whatever. This, to⯑gether with the inſtigation of ſome enemy of the duke of Ormond's at court, wrought upon him ſo, that he undertook the aſſaſſination. Mr. Carte ſuppoſes, that no man was more likely to encou⯑rage Blood in this attempt, than the duke of Buck⯑ingham, who, he ſays was the moſt profligate man of his time, and had ſo little honour in him, that he would engage in any ſcheme to gratify an irregular paſſion. The duke of Ormond had acted with ſome ſeverity againſt him, when he was detected in the attempt of unhinging the government, which had excited ſo much reſent⯑ment, as to vent itſelf in this manner. Mr. Carte likewiſe charges the ducheſs of Cleveland with conſpiring againſt Ormond, but has given no rea⯑ſons why he thinks ſhe inſtigated the attempt. [318] The ducheſs was couſin to the duke of Bucking⯑ham, but it appears in the Annals of Gallantry of thoſe times, that ſhe never loved him, nor is it probable ſhe engaged with him in ſo dangerous a ſcheme.
That Buckingham was a conſpirator againſt Or⯑mond, Mr. Carte ſays, there is not the leaſt doubt; and he mentions a circumſtance of his guilt too ſtrong to be reſiſted. That there were reaſons to think him the perſon who put Blood upon the attempt of the duke of Ormond, (ſays he) ‘'cannot well be queſtioned, after the following relation, which I had from a gentleman (Robert Leſly of Glaſlough, in the county of Monaghan, eſquire) whoſe veracity and memory, none that knew him, will ever doubt, who received it from the mouth of Dr. Turner, biſhop of Ely. The earl of Oſſory came in one day, not long after the affair, and ſeeing the duke of Bucking⯑ham ſtanding by the King, his colour roſe, and he ſpoke to this effect; My lord, I know well, that you are at the bottom of this late attempt of Blood's upon my father, and therefore I give you fair warning, if my father comes to a violent end by ſword or piſtol, or the more ſe⯑cret way of poiſon, I ſhall not be at a loſs to know the firſt author of it; I ſhall conſider you as the aſſaſſin; I ſhall treat you as ſuch, and wherever I meet you, I ſhall piſtol you, though you ſtood behind the King's chair, and I tell it you in his Majeſty's preſence, that you may be ſure I ſhall keep my word.'’ I know not whe⯑ther this will be deemed any breach of decorum to the King, in whoſe preſence it was ſaid, but, in my opinion, it was an act of ſpirit and reſent⯑ment worthy of a ſon, when his father's life was menaced, and the villain (Blood) who failed in the attempt, was ſo much courted, careſſed, and in high favour immediately afterwards.
[319] In June 1671, the duke was inſtalled chancel⯑lor of the univerſity of Cambridge, and the ſame year was ſent ambaſſador to the King of France; who being pleaſed with his perſon and errand, entertained him very nobly for ſeveral days together; and upon his taking leave, gave him a ſword and belt ſet with Pearls and Dia⯑monds, to the value of 40,000 piſtoles. He was afterwards ſent to that King at Utrecht in June 1672, together with Henry earl of Arlington, and George lord Hallifax. He was one of the cabal at Whitehall, and in the beginning of the ſeſſion of Parliament, February 1672, endeavoured to caſt the odium of the Dutch war from himſelf, upon lord Arlington, another of the cabal. In June 1674, he refigned the chancellorſhip of Cam⯑bridge. About this time he became a great fa⯑vourer of the Nonconformiſts. February 16, 1676, his grace, and James earl of Salisbury, Anthony earl of Shaftſbury, and Philip lord Wharton, were committed to the Tower by order of the Houſe of Lords, for a contempt, in refuſing to retract what they had ſaid the day before, when the duke, immediately after his Majeſty had ended his ſpeech to both Houſes, endeavoured to ſhew from law and reaſon, that the long prorogation was nulled, and the Parliament was conſequently diſſolved.
The chief of our author's works is,
The Rehearſal, a Comedy, firſt acted on De⯑cember 7, 1671. It is ſaid that the duke was aſ⯑ſiſted in writing this play, by his Chaplain Dr. Thomas Sprat, Martin Clifford, eſquire, maſter of the Charterhouſe, and Mr. Samuel Butler, author of Hudibras. Jacob, in his Lives of the Poets, obſerves, ‘'that he cannot exactly learn when his grace began this piece; but this much, ſays he, [320] we may certainly gather from the plays ridiculed in it, that it was before the end of 1663, and fi⯑niſhed before 1664, becauſe it had been ſeveral times rehearſed, the players were perfect in their parts, and all things in readineſs for its acting, before the great plague in 1665, and that then prevented it, for what was then intended, was very different from what now appears. In that he called his poet Bilboa, by which name Sir Robert Howard was the perſon pointed at. Dur⯑ing this interval, many plays were publiſhed, written in heroic rhime, and on the death of Sir William Davenant 1669, whom Mr. Dry⯑den ſucceeded in the laurel, it became ſtill in greater vogue; this moved the duke to change the name of his poet, from Bilboa to Bayes.'’
This character of Bayes is inimitably drawn; in it the various foibles of poets (whether good, bad, or indifferent) are ſo excellently blended, as to make the moſt finiſhed picture of a poeticâl cox⯑comb: 'Tis ſuch a maſter-piece of true humour as will ever laſt, while our Engliſh tongue is un⯑derſtood, or the ſtage affords a good comedian to play it. How ſhall I now avoid the imputation of vanity, when I relate, that this piece, on being revived when I * firſt appeared in the part of Bayes) at the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden in the year 1739, was, in that one ſeaſon (continued to 1740) played upwards of forty nights, to great audiences, with continued mirthful applauſe. As this is a truth, I give it to the candid; and let the relation take its chance, though it ſhould not be thought by ſome (who may not abound in good nature) that I only mean by this, to pay due re⯑gard to the merit of the piece, though it ſpeaks for itſelf; for, without extraordinary merit in the writing, it could never have gained ſuch an un⯑common run, at the diſtance of fourſcore years from its being firſt written, when moſt of thoſe [321] pieces were forgot which it particularly ſatiriſes; or, if remembered, they were laughed into fame by the ſtrong mock-parodies with which this hu⯑morous piece of admirable burleſque abounds.
Mr. Dryden, in revenge for the ridicule thrown on him in this piece, expoſed the duke under the name of Zimri in his Abſalom and Achitophel. This character, drawn by Dryden, is reckoned a maſterpiece; it has the firſt beauty, which is truth; it is a ſtriking picture, and admirably marked: We need make no apology for inſerting it here; it is too excellent to paſs unnoticed.
[322] It is allowed by the ſevereſt enemies of this no⯑bleman, that he had a great ſhare of vivacity, and quickneſs of parts, which were particularly turned to ridicule; but while he has been celebrated as a wit, all men are ſilent as to other virtues, for it is no where recorded, that he ever performed one gene⯑rous diſintereſted action in his whole life; he re⯑lieved no diſtreſſed merit; he never ſhared the bleſſing of the widow and fatherleſs, and as he lived a profligate, he died in miſery, a by-word and a jeſt, unpitied and unmourned.
He died April 16, 1687, Mr. Wood ſays, at his houſe in Yorkſhire, but Mr. Pope informs us, that he died at an inn in that county, in very mean circumſtances. In his Epiſtle to lord Bathurſt, he draws the following affecting picture of this man, who had poſſeſſed an eſtate of near 50,000 l. per annum, expiring.
Beſides the celebrated Comedy of the Rehearſal, the duke wrote the following pleces;
This Piece met with many Anſwers, to which the Duke wrote Replies.
(The following Account of this Gentleman came to our Hands too late to be inſerted in the Chronological Series.)
THIS gentleman was the ſon of John Smith, an eminent Merchant at Knareſborough in the country of York, and deſcended from an anci⯑ent family of that name, ſeated at Weſt-Herring⯑ton [324] and Moreton Houſe in the county pal. of Durham. Vide Philpot's Viſitation of Durham, in the Heralds Office, page 141.
He was a Barriſter at Law, of the Inner-Tem⯑ple, and appointed one of the council in the North, the fifteenth of King Charles I. he being a Loyaliſt, and in great eſteem for his eminence and learning in his profeſſion; as ſtill further ap⯑pears by his valuable Annotations on Littleton's Tenures he left behind him in manuſcript. He alſo wrote ſome pieces of poetry, and is the au⯑thor of two dramatical performances.
He was a perſon of the greateſt loyalty, and very early addicted to arms, which made him extreamly zealous and active during the civil wars, in joining with the Royaliſts, particularly at the battle of Marſton-Moor 1644, when he per⯑ſonally ſerved under Prince Rupert, for which he and his family were plundered and ſequeſtered. He alſo fined twice for Sheriff, to avoid the oaths impoſed in thoſe days.
THIS excellent poet was not more remarka⯑ble for moving the tender paſſions, than for the variety of fortune, to which he was ſub⯑jected. We have ſome where read an obſervation, [325] that the poets have ever been the leaſt philoſophers, and were always unhappy in a want of firmneſs of temper, and ſteadineſs of reſolution: of the truth of this remark, poor Mr. Otway is a lively in⯑ſtance; he never could ſufficiently combat his ap⯑petite of extravagance and profuſion, to live one year in a comfortable competence, but was either rioting in luxurious indulgence, or ſhivering with want, and expoſed to the inſolence and contempt of the world. He was the ſon of Mr. Humphry Otway, rector of Wolbeding in Suſſex, and was born at Trottin in that country, on March 3, 1651. He received his education at Wickeham ſchool, near, Wincheſter, and became a commoner of Chriſt Church in Oxford, in the beginning of the year 1669. He quitted the univerſity without a degree, and retired to London, though, in the opinion of ſome hiſtorians, he went afterwards to Cambridge, which ſeems very probable, from a copy of verſes of Mr. Duke's to him, between whom ſubſiſted a ſincere friendſhip till the death of Mr. Otway. When our poet came to London, the firſt account we hear of him, is, that he commenced player, but without ſucceſs, for he is ſaid to have failed in want of execution, which is ſo material to a good player, that a tolerable execution, with ad⯑vantage of a good perſon, will often ſupply the place of judgment, in which it is not to be ſup⯑poſed Otway was deficient.
Though his ſucceſs as an actor was but indif⯑ferent, yet he gained upon the world by the ſpright⯑lineſs of his converſation, and the acuteneſs of his wit, which, it ſeems, gained him the favour of Charles Fitz Charles, earl of Plymouth, one of the natural ſons of King Charles II. who procured him a cornet's Pommiſſion in the new raiſed Engliſh forces deſigned for Flanders. All who have written of Mr. Otway obſerve, that he re⯑turned from Flanders in very neceſſitous circum⯑ſtances, [326] but give no account how that reverſe of fortune happened: it is not natural to ſuppoſe that it proceeded from actual cowardice, or that Mr. Otway had drawn down any diſgrace upon himſelf by miſbehaviour in a military ſtation. If this had been the caſe, he wanted not enemies who would have improved the circumſtance, and recorded it againſt him, with a malicious ſatis⯑faction; but if it did not proceed from actual cow⯑ardice, yet we have ſome reaſon to conjecture that Mr. Otway felt a ſtrong diſinclination to a mili⯑tary life, perhaps from a conſciouſneſs that his heart failed him, and a dread of misbehaving, ſhould he ever be called to an engagement; and to avoid the ſhame of which he was apprehenſive in conſequence of ſuch behaviour, he, in all proba⯑bility, reſigned his commiſſion, which could not but diſoblige the earl of Plymouth, and expoſe him⯑ſelf to neceſſity. What pity is it, that he who could put ſuch maſculine ſtrong ſentiments into the mouth of ſuch a reſolute hero as his own Pierre, ſhould himſelf fail in perſonal courage, but this quality nature withheld from him, and he exchanged the chance of reaping laurels in the field of victory, for the equally uncertain, and more barren laurels of poetry. The earl of Rocheſter, in his Seſſion of the Poets, has thus maliciouſly recorded, and without the leaſt grain of wit, the deplorable circumſtances of Otway.
[327] Mr. Otway tranſlated out of French into Eng⯑liſh, the Hiſtory of the Triumvirate; the Firſt Part of Julius Caeſar, Pompey and Craſſus, the Second Part of Auguſtus, Anthony and Lepidus, being a faithful collection from the beſt hiſtorians, and other authors, concerning the revolution of the Roman government, which happened under their authority, London 1686 in 8vo. Our author find⯑ing his neceſſities preſs, had recourſe to writing for the ſtage, which he did with various ſucceſs: his comedy has been blamed for having too much libertiniſm mixed with it; but in tragedy he made it his buſineſs, for the moſt part, to obſerve the decorum of the ſtage. He has certainly followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and there⯑fore ſhines in the paſſionate parts more than any of our Engliſh poets. As there is ſomething fa⯑miliar and domeſtic in the fable of his tragedy, he has little pomp, but great energy in his ex⯑preſſions; for which reaſon, though he has ad⯑mirably ſucceeded in the tender and melting parts of his tragedies, he ſometimes falls into too great a familiarity of phraſe in thoſe, which, by Ari⯑ſtotle's rule, ought to have been raiſed and ſup⯑ported by the dignity of expreſſion. It has been obſerved by the critics, that the poet has found⯑ed his tragedy of Venice Preſerved, on ſo wrong a plot, that the greateſt characters in it are thoſe of rebels and traitors. Had the hero of this pla [...] diſcovered the ſame good qualities in defence of his country, that he ſhewed for his ruin and ſub⯑verſion, the audience could not enough pity and admire him; but as he is now repreſented, we can only ſay of him, what the Roman hiſtorian ſays of Catiline, that his fall would have been glori⯑ous (ſi pro Patria ſec concidiſſet) had he ſo fallen in the ſervice of his country.
Mr. Charles Gildon, in his Laws of Poetry, ſtiles Mr. Otway a Poet of the firſt Magnitude, [328] and tells us, and with great juſtice, that he was perfect maſter of the tragic paſſions, and draws them every where with a delicate and natural ſimplicity, and therefore never fails to raiſe ſtrong emotions in the ſoul. I don't know of a ſtronger inſtance of this force, than in the play of the Orphan; the tragedy is com⯑poſed of perſons whoſe fortunes do not ex⯑ceed the quality of ſuch as we ordinarily call people of condition, and without the advantage of having the ſcene heightened by the importance of the characters; his inimitable ſkill in repre⯑ſenting the workings of the heart, and its af⯑fection, is ſuch that the circumſtances are great from the art of the poet, rather than from the figure of the perſons repreſented. The whole drama is admirably wrought, and the mixture of paſſions raiſed from affinity, gratitude, love, and miſunderſtanding between brethren, ill uſage from perſons obliged ſlowly returned by the benefactors, keeps the mind in a continual anxiety and con⯑trition. The ſentiments of the unhappy Moni⯑mia are delicate and natural, ſhe is miſerable with⯑out guilt, but incapable of living with a con⯑ſciouſneſs of having committed an ill act, though her inclination had no part in it. Mrs. Barry, the celebrated actreſs, uſed to ſay, that in her part of Monimia in the Orphan, ſhe never ſpoke theſe words, Ah! poor Caſtalio, without tears; upon which occaſion Mr. Gildon obſerves, that all the pathetic force had been loſt, if any more words had been added, and the poet would have en⯑deavoured, in vain, to have heightened them, by the addition of figures of ſpeech, ſince the beauty of thoſe three plain ſimple words is ſo great by the force of nature, that they muſt have been weakened and obſcured by the fineſt flowers of rhetoric.
The tragedy of the Orphan is not without great blemiſhes, which the writer of a criſiciſm [329] on it, publiſhed in the Gentleman's Maga⯑zine, has very judiciouſly and candidly ſhewn. The impetuous paſſion of Polydore breaks out ſometimes in a language not ſufficiently delicate, particularly in that celebrated paſſage where he talks of ruſhing upon her in a ſtorm of love. The ſimile of the bull is very offenſive to chaſte ears, but poor Otway lived in diſſolute times, and his neceſſity obliged him to fan the harlot-face of looſe deſire, in compliance to the general cor⯑ruption. Monimia ſtaying to converſe with Po⯑lydor, after he vauntingly diſcovers his ſucceſs in deceiving her, is ſhocking; had ſhe left him abrupt⯑ly, with a wildneſs of horror, that might have thrown him under the neceſſity of ſeeking an ex⯑planation from Caſtalio, the ſcene would have ended better, would have kept the audience more in ſuſpence, and been an improvement of the con⯑ſequential ſcene between the brothers: but this re⯑mark is ſubmitted to ſuperior judges.
Venice Preſerved is ſtill a greater proof of his influence over our paſſions, and the faculty of mingling good and bad characters, and involving their fortunes, ſeems to be the diſtinguiſhed excel⯑lence of this writer. He very well knew that no⯑thing but diſtreſſed virtue can ſtrongly touch us with pity, and therefore, in this play, that we may have a greater regard for the conſpirators, he makes Pierre talk of redreſſing wrongs, and re⯑peat all the common place of male-contents.
Jaffier's wants and diſtreſſes, make him prone enough to any deſperate reſolution, yet ſays he in the language of genuine tenderneſs,
Jaffier's expoſtulation afterwards, is the picture of all who are partial to their own merit, and ge⯑nerally think a reliſh of the advantages of life is pretence enough to enjoy them.
How dreadful is Jaffier's ſoliloquy, after he is en⯑gaged in the conſpiracy.
The above is the moſt awful picture of a man plunged in deſpair, that ever was drawn by a po⯑et; we cannot read it without terror: and when it is uttered as we have heard it, from the late juſtly celebrated Booth, or thoſe heart-affecting actors Garrick, and Barry, the fleſh creeps, and the blood is chilled with horror.
In this play Otway catches our hearts, by intro⯑ducing the epiſode of Belvidera. Private and pub⯑lic calamities alternately claim our concern; ſome⯑times we could wiſh to ſee a whole State ſacrificed for the weeping Belvidera, whoſe character and diſtreſs are ſo drawn as to melt every heart; at other times we recover again, in behalf of a whole people in danger. There is not a virtuous character in the play, but that of Bel⯑videra, and yet ſo amazing is the force of the author's ſkill in blending private and public con⯑cerns, that the ruffian on the wheel, is as much the object of pity, as if he had been brought to that unhappy fate by ſome honourable action.
Though Mr. Otway poſſeſſed this aſtoniſhing talent of moving the paſſions, and writing to the heart, yet he was held in great contempt by ſome cotemporary poets, and was ſeveral times unſuc⯑ceſsful in his dramatic pieces. The merits of an author are ſeldom juſtly eſtimated, till the next age after his deceaſe; while a man lives in the world, he has paſſion, prejudice, private and public malevolence to combat; his enemies are in⯑duſtrious to obſcure his fame, by drawing into light his private follies; and perſonal malice is up in arms againſt every man of genius.
[332] Otway was expoſed to powerful enemies, who could not bear that he ſhould acquire fame, amongſt whom Dryden is the foremoſt. The en⯑mity between Dryden and Otway could not pro⯑ceed from jealouſy, for what were Otway's, when put in the ballance with the amazing powers of Dryden? like a drop to the ocean: and yet we find Dryden declared himſelf his open enemy; for which, the beſt reaſon that can be aſſigned is, that Otway was a retainer to Shadwell, who was Dryden's averſion. Dryden was often heard to ſay, that Otway was a barren illiterate man, but ‘'I confeſs, ſays he, he has a power which I have not;'’ and when it was asked him, what power that was? he anſwered, ‘'moving the paſſions.'’ This truth was, no doubt, extorted from Dryden, for he ſeems not to be very ready in acknowledging the merits of his cotemporaries. In his preface to Du Freſnoy's Art of Painting, which he tran⯑ſlated, he mentions Otway with reſpect, but not till after he was dead; and even then he ſpeaks but coldly of him. The paſſage is as follows, ‘'To expreſs the paſſions which are ſeated on the heart by outward ſigns, is one great precept of the painters, and very difficult to perform. In poetry the very ſame paſſions, and motions of the mind are to be expreſſed, and in this con⯑ſiſts the principal difficulty, as well as the excel⯑lency of that art. This (ſays my author) is the gift of Jupiter, and to ſpeak in the ſame Hea⯑then language, is the gift of our Apollo, not to be obtained by pains or ſtudy, if we are not born to it; for the motions which are ſtudied, are never ſo natural, as thoſe which break out in the heighth of a real paſſion. Mr. Otway poſſeſſed this part as thoroughly as any of either the ancients or moderns. I will not defend every thing in his Venice Preſerved, but I muſt bear this teſtimony to his memory, that the paſſions [333] are truly touched in it, though, perhaps, there is ſomewhat to be deſired, both in the grounds of them, and the heighth and elegance of ex⯑preſſion; but nature is there, which is the great⯑eſt beauty.'’ Notwithſtanding our admiration of Dryden, we cannot, without ſome indignation, obſerve, how ſparing he is in the praiſes of Otway, who, conſidered as a tragic writer, was ſurely ſuperior to himſelf. Dryden enchants us indeed with flow'ry deſcriptions, and charms us with (what is called) the magic of poetry; but he has ſeldom drawn a tear, and milli⯑ons of radiant eyes have been witneſſes for Ot⯑way, by thoſe drops of pity which they have ſhed. Otway might be no ſcholar, but that, me⯑thinks, does not detract from the merit of a dra⯑matiſt, nor much aſſiſt him in ſucceeding. For the truth of this we may appeal to experience. No poets in our language, who were what we call ſcholars, have ever written plays which delight or affect the audience. Shakeſpear, Otway and Southern were no ſcholars; Ben Johnſon, Dry⯑den and Addiſon were: and while few audiences admire the plays of the latter, thoſe of the for⯑mer are the ſupports of the ſtage.
After ſuffering many eclipſes of fortune, and being expoſed to the moſt cruel neceſſities, poor Otway died of want, in a public houſe on Tower-hill, in the 33d year of his age, 1685. He had, no doubt, been driven to that part of the town, to avoid the perſecution of his cre⯑ditors, and as he durſt not appear much abroad to ſollicit aſſiſtance, and having no means of get⯑ting money in his obſcure retreat, he periſhed. It has been reported, that Mr. Otway, whom deli⯑cacy had long deterred from borrowing ſmall ſums, driven at laſt to the moſt grievous neceſſi⯑ty ventured out of his lurking place, almoſt naked and ſhivering, and went into a coffee-houſe on Tow⯑er-hill, [334] where he ſaw a gentleman, of whom he had ſome knowledge, and of whom he ſollicited the loan of a ſhilling. The gentleman was quite ſhocked, to ſee the author of Venice Preſerved begging bread, and compaſſionately put into his hand a guinea.
Mr. Otway having thanked his benefactor, re⯑tired, and changed the guinea to purchaſe a roll; as his ſtomach was full of wind by exceſs of faſt⯑ing, the firſt mouthful choaked him, and inſtanta⯑neouſly put a period to his days.
Who can conſider the fate of this gentleman, without being moved to pity? we can forgive his acts of imprudence, ſince they brought him to ſo miſerable an end; and we cannot but regret, that he who was endowed by nature with ſuch diſtinguiſhed talents, as to make the boſom bleed with ſalutary ſorrow, ſhould himſelf be ſo extremely wretched, as to excite the ſame ſenſations for him, which by the power of his eloquence and poetry, he had raiſed for imaginary heroes. We know, indeed, of no guilty part of Otway's life, other than thoſe faſhionable faults, which uſually re⯑commend to the converſation of men in courts, but which ſerve for excuſes for their patrons, when they have not a mind to provide for them. From the example of Mr. Otway, ſucceeding poets ſhould learn not to place any confidence in the promiſes of patrons; it diſcovers a higher ſpi⯑rit, and reflects more honour on a man to ſtruggle nobly for independance, by the means of induſtry, than ſervilely to wait at a great man's gate, or to ſit at his table, meerly to afford him diverſion: Competence and independence have ſurely more ſubſtantial charms, than the ſmiles of a courtier, which are too frequently fallacious. But who can read Mr. Otway's ſtory, without indignation at thoſe idols of greatneſs, who demand worſhip from men of genius, and yet can ſuffer them to live miſera⯑bly, and die neglected?
[335] The dramatic works of Mr. Otway are,
Beſides his plays, he wrote ſeveral poems, viz.
He tranſlated likewiſe the Epiſtle of Phaedra to Hyppolitus, printed in the Tranſlation of Ovid's Epiſtles, by ſeveral hands. He wrote the Prologue to Mrs. Bhen's City Heireſs. Prefixed to Creech's Lucretius, there is a copy of verſes written by Mr. Otway, in praiſe of that tranſlation.
THIS eminent ſatyrical poet, was the ſon of the reverend Mr. John Oldham, a non⯑conformiſt miniſter, and grandſon to Mr. John Oldham, rector of Nun-Eaton, near Tedbury in Glouceſterſhire. He was born at Shipton (where his father had a congregation, near Tedbury, and in the ſame county) on the 9th of Auguſt 1653. He was educated in grammar learning, under the care of his father, till he was almoſt fitted for the univerſity; and to be compleatly qualified for that purpoſe, he was ſent to Tedbridge ſchool, where he ſpent about two years under the tuition of Mr. Henry Heaven, occaſioned by the earneſt requeſt of alderman Yeats of Briſtol, who having a ſon at the ſame ſchool, was deſirous that Mr. Oldham ſhould be his companion, which he imagined would much conduce to the ad⯑vancement of his learning. This for ſome time re⯑tarded Oldham in the proſecution of his own ſtudies, but for the time he loſt in forwarding Mr. Yeat's ſon, his father afterwards made him an ample amends. Mr. Oldham being ſent to Edmund Hall in Oxford, was committed to the care of Mr. Wil⯑liam Stephens: of which hall he became a bachelor in the beginning of June 1670. He was ſoon ob⯑ſerved to be a good latin ſcholar, and chiefly addicted himſelf to the ſtudy of poetry, and other polite ac⯑quirements*. In the year 1674, he took the de⯑gree of bachelor of arts, but left the univerſity be⯑fore [338] he compleated that degree by determination, being much againſt his inclination compelled to go home and live for ſome time with his father. The next year he was very much afflicted for the death of his dear friend, and conſtant companion, Mr. Charles Mervent, as appears by his ode upon that occaſion. In a ſhort time after he became uſher to the free⯑ſchool at Croyden in Surry. Here it was, he had the honour of receiving a viſit from the earl of Ro⯑cheſter, the earl of Dorſet, Sir Charles Sedley, and other perſons of diſtinction, meerly upon the reputa⯑tion of ſome verſes which they had ſeen in manu⯑ſcript. The maſter of the ſchool was not a little ſurprized, at ſuch a viſit, and would fain have taken the honour of it to himſelf, but was ſoon convinced that he had neither wit nor learning enough to make a party in ſuch company. This adventure was no doubt very happy for Mr. Oldham, as it encreaſed his reputation and gained him the countenance of the Great, for after about three years continuance at Croyden ſchool, he was recommended by his good friend Harman Atwood, Eſq to Sir Edward Thur⯑land, a judge, near Rygate in the ſame county, who appointed him tutor to his two grandſons. He con⯑tinued in this family till 1680. After this he was ſometime tutor to a ſon of Sir William Hicks, a gentleman living within three or four miles of Lon⯑don, who was intimately acquainted with a cele⯑brated Phyſician, Dr. Richard Lower, by whoſe peculiar friendſhip and encouragement, Mr. Oldham at his leiſure hours ſtudied phyſic for about a year, and made ſome progreſs in it, but the bent of his poetical genius was too ſtrong to become a pro⯑ficient in any ſchool but that of the muſes. He freely acknowledges this in a letter to a friend, written in July 1678.
Our author had not been long in London, before he was found out by the noblemen who viſited him at Croyden, and who now introduced him to the acquaintance of Mr. Dryden. But amongſt the Men of quality he was moſt affectionately careſſed by William Earl of Kingſton, who made him an offer of becoming his chaplain; but he declined an em⯑ployment, to which ſervility and dependence are ſo neceſſarily connected. The writer of his life ob⯑ſerves, that our author in his ſatire addreſſed to a friend, who was about to quit the univerſity, and came abroad into the world, lets his friend know, that he was frighted from the thought of ſuch an employ⯑ment, by the ſcandalous ſort of treatment which often accompanies it. This uſage deters men of generous minds from placing themſelves in ſuch a ſtation of life; and hence perſons of quality are frequently excluded from the improving, agree⯑able [340] converſation of a learned and obſequious friend. In this ſatire Mr. Oldham writes thus,
The above is a lively and animated deſcription of the miſeries of a ſlaviſh dependance on the great, particularly that kind of mortification which a chap⯑lain muſt undergo. It is to be lamented, that gentlemen of an academical education ſhould be ſub⯑jected to obſerve ſo great a diſtance from thoſe, over whom in all points of learning and genius they may have a ſuperiority. Tho' in the very nature of things this muſt neceſſarily happen, yet a high ſpirit can⯑not bear it, and it is with pleaſure we can produce Oldham, as one of thoſe poets who have ſpurned dependence, and acted conſiſtent with the dignity of his genius, and the luſtre of his profeſſion.
When the earl of Kingſton found that Mr. Old⯑ham's ſpirit was too high to accept his offer of chap⯑lainſhip, he then careſſed him as a companion, and gave him an invitation to his houſe at Holmes-Pier⯑pont, in Nottinghamſhire. This invitation Mr. Oldham accepted, and went into the country with him, not as a dependant but friend; he conſidered himſelf as a poet, and a clergyman, and in conſe⯑quence of that, he did not imagine the earl was in the leaſt degraded by making him his boſom com⯑panion. Virgil was the friend of Maecenas, and ſhone in the court of Auguſtus, and if it ſhould be obſerved that Virgil was a greater poet than Oldham, it may be anſwered, Maecenas was a greater man than [342] the Earl of Kingſton, and the court of Auguſtus much more brilliant than that of Charles II.
Our author had not been long at the ſeat of this Earl, before, being ſeized with the ſmall pox, he died December 9, 1683, in the 30th year of his age, and was interred with the utmoſt decency, his lordſhip attending as chief mourner, in the church there, where the earl ſoon after erected a monument to his memory.—Mr. Oldham's works were prin⯑ted at London 1722, in two volumes 12mo. They chiefly conſiſt of Satires, Odes, Tranſlations, Para⯑phraſes of Horace, and other authors; Elegiac Ver⯑ſes, Imitations, Parodies, Familiar Epiſtles, &c.—Mr. Oldham was tall of ſtature, the make of his body very thin, his face long, his noſe prominent, his aſpect unpromiſing, and ſatire was in his eye. His conſtitution was very tender, inclined to a con⯑ſumption, and it was not a little injured by his ſtudy and application to learned authors, with whom he was greatly converſant, as appears from his ſatires againſt the Jeſuits, in which there is diſcovered as much learn⯑ing as wit. In the ſecond volume of the great hiſtori⯑cal, geographical, and poetical Dictionary, he is ſtiled the Darling of the Muſes, a pithy, ſententious, elegant, and ſmooth writer: ‘"His tranſlations ex⯑ceed the original, and his invention ſeems match⯑leſs. His ſatire againſt the Jeſuits is of ſpecial note; he may be juſtly ſaid to have excelled all the ſatiriſts of the age."’ Tho' this compliment in favour of Oldham is certainly too hyperbolical, yet he was undoubtedly a very great genius; he had treaſured in his mind an infinite deal of knowledge, which, had his life been prolonged, he might have produced with advantage, for his natural endow⯑ments ſeem to have been very great: But he is not more to be reverenced as a Poet, than for that gallant ſpirit of Independence he diſcovered, and that magnaninity which ſcorned to ſtoop to any ſervile ſubmiſſions for patronage: He had [343] many admirers among his cotemporaries, of whom Mr. Dryden profeſſed himſelf one, and has done juſtice to his memory by ſome excellent verſes, with which we ſhall cloſe this account.
THIS nobleman was born in Ireland during the lieutenancy of the earl of Straf [...]ord, in the reign of King Charles I. Lord Strafford was his godfather, and named him by his own [...]irname. He paſſed ſome of his firſt years in his native coun⯑try, till the earl of Strafford imagining, when the rebellion firſt broke out, that his father who had been converted by archbiſhop Uſher to the Proteſtant re⯑ligion, would be expoſed to great danger, and be unable to protect his family, ſent for his godſon, and placed him at his own ſeat in Yorkſhire, under the tuition of Dr. Hall. afterwards biſhop of Norwich; by whom he was inſtructed in Latin, and without learning the common rules of grammar, which he could never retain in his memory, he attained to write in that language with claſſical elegance and propriety, and with ſo much eaſe, that he choſe it to correſpond with thoſe friends who had learning ſufficient to ſupport the commerce. When the earl of Strafford was proſecuted, lord Roſcommon went to Caen in Normandy, by the advice of biſhop Uſher, to continue his ſtudies under Bochart, where he is ſaid to have had an extraordinary impulſe of his father's death, which is related by Mr. Au⯑brey in his miſcellany, ‘'Our author then a boy of about ten years of age, one day was as it were madly extravagant, in playing, getting over the tables, boards, &c. He was wont to be ſober e⯑nough. They who obſerved him ſaid, God grant [345] this proves no ill luck to him. In the heat of this extravagant fit, he cries out my father is dead. A fortnight after news came from Ireland, that his father was dead. This account I had from Mr. Knowles who was his governor, and then with him, ſince ſecretary to the earl of Strafford; and I have heard his lordſhip's relations confirm the ſame.'’
The ingenious author of lord Roſcommon's life, publiſh'd in the Gentleman's Magazine for the month of May, 1748, has the following remarks on the above relation of Aubrey's.
'The preſent age is very little inclined to favour any accounts of this ſort, nor will the name of Aubrey much recommend it to credit; it ought not however to be omitted, becauſe better evi⯑dence of a fact is not eaſily to be found, than is here offered, and it muſt be, by preſerving ſuch relations, that we may at leaſt judge how much they are to be regarded. If we ſtay to examine this account we ſhall find difficulties on both ſides; here is a relation of a fact given by a man who had no intereſt to deceive himſelf; and here is on the other hand a miracle which produ⯑ces no effect; the order of nature is interrupted to diſcover not a future, but only a diſtant event, the knowledge of which is of no uſe to him to whom it is revealed. Between theſe difficulties what way ſhall be found? Is reaſon or teſtimony to be re⯑jected? I believe what Oſborne ſays of an appear⯑ance of ſanctity, may be applied to ſuch impulſes, or anticipations. ‘"Do not wholly ſlight them, becauſe they may be true; but do not eaſily truſt them, becauſe they may be falſe."’
Some years after he travelled to Rome, where he grew familiar with the moſt valuable remains of an⯑tiquity, applying himſelf particularly to the know⯑ledge [346] of medals, which he gained in great perfection, and ſpoke Italian with ſo much grace and fluency, that he was frequently miſtaken there for a native. He returned to England upon the reſtoration of King Charles the IId, and was made captain of the band of penſioners, an honour which tempted him to ſome ext [...]avagancies. In the gaieties of that age (ſays Fenton) he was tempted to indulge a violent paſſion for gaming, by which he ſrequently hazarded his life in duels, and exceeded the bounds of a moderate fortune. This was the fate of many other men whoſe genius was of no other advantage to them, than that it recommended them to employments, or to diſtinction, by which the temptations to vice were multiplied, and their parts became ſoon of no other uſe, than that of enabling them to ſucceed in debau⯑ehery.
A diſpute about part of his eſtate, obliging him to return to Ireland, he reſigned his poſt, and upon his arrival at Dublin, was made captain of the guards to the duke of Ormond.
When he was at Dublin he was as much as ever diſtempered with the ſame fatal affection for play, which engaged him in one adventure, which well deſerves to be related. ‘'As he returned to his lodgings from a gaming table, he was attacked in the dark by three ruffians, who were employed to aſſaſſinate him. The earl defended himſelf with ſo much reſolution, that he diſpatched one of the aggreſſors, while a gentleman accidentally paſſing that way interpoſed, and diſarmed another; the third ſecured himſelf by flight. This generous aſſiſtant was a diſbanded officer of a good fami⯑ly and fair reputation; who by what we call partiality of fortune, to avoid cenſuring the ini⯑quities of the times, wanted even a plain ſuit of clothes to make a decent appearance at the caſtle; but his lordſhip on this occaſion preſenting him to the duke of Ormond, with great importunity pre⯑vailed [347] with his grace that he might reſign his poſt of captain of the guards to his friend, which for about three years the gentleman enjoyed, and up⯑on his death, the duke returned the commiſſion to his generous benefactor.'*’
His lordſhip having finiſhed his affairs in Ire⯑land, he returned to London, was made maſter of the horſe to the dutcheſs of York, and married the lady Frances, eldeſt daughter of the earl of Bur⯑lington, and widow of colonel Courtnay.
About this time, in imitation of thoſe learned and polite aſſemblies, with which he had been acquainted abroad; particularly one at Caen, (in which his tutor Bochartus died ſuddenly while he was delivering an oration) he began to form a ſociety for refining and fixing the ſtandard of our language. In this deſign, his great friend Mr. Dryden was a particular aſſiſ⯑tant; a deſign, ſays Fenton, of which it is much more eaſy to conceive an agreeable idea, than any rational hope ever to ſee it brought to perfection. This excellent deſign was again ſet on foot, under the miniſtry of the earl of Oxford, and was again defeated by a conflict of parties, and the neceſſity of attending only to political diſquiſitions, for defending the conduct of the adminiſtration, and forming par⯑ties in the Parliament. Since that time it has never been mentioned, either becauſe it has been hitherto a ſufficient objection, that it was one of the deſigns of the earl of Oxford, by whom Godolphin was de⯑feated; or becauſe the ſtateſmen who ſucceeded him have not more leiſure, and perhaps leſs taſte for li⯑terary improvements. Lord Roſcommon's attempts were fruſtrated by the commotions which were pro⯑duced by King James's endeavours to introduce al⯑terations [348] in religion. He reſolved to retire to Rome, alledging, ‘'it was beſt to ſit next the chimney when the chamber ſmoaked.'’
It will, no doubt, ſurprize many of the pre⯑ſent age, and be a juſt cauſe of triumph to them, if they find that what Roſcommon and Oxford attempted in vain, ſhall be carried into execu⯑tion, in the moſt maſterly manner, by a private gentleman, unaſſiſted, and unpenſioned. The world has juſt reaſon to hope this from the publication of an Engliſh Dictionary, long expected, by Mr. Johnſon; and no doubt a deſign of this ſort, ex⯑ecuted by ſuch a genius, will be a laſting monu⯑ment of the nation's honour, and that writer's merit.
Lord Roſcommon's intended retreat into Italy, already mentioned, on account of the troubles in James the IId's reign, was prevented by the gout, of which he was ſo impatient, that he admitted a repellent application from a French empyric, by which his diſtemper was driven up into his bowels, and put an end to his life, in 1684.
Mr. Fenton has told us, that the moment in which he expired, he cried out with a voice, that ex⯑preſſed the moſt intenſe fervour of devotion,
Two lines of his own verſion of the hymn, Dies irae, Dies illa.
The ſame Mr. Fenton, in his notes upon Waller, has given Roſcommon a character too general to be criti⯑cally juſt. ‘'In his writings, ſays he, we view the image of a mind, which was naturally ſerious and ſolid, richly furniſhed, and adorned with all the orna⯑ments of art and ſcience; and thoſe ornaments [349] unaffectedly diſpoſed in the moſt regular and ele⯑gant order. His imagination might have proba⯑bly been fruitful and ſprightly, if his judgment had been leſs ſevere; but that ſeverity (delivered in a maſculine, clear, ſuccinct ſtile) contributed to make him ſo eminent in the didactical manner, that no man with juſtice can affirm he was ever e⯑qualled by any of our nation, without confeſſing at the ſame time, that he is inferior to none. In ſome other kinds of writing his genius ſeems to have wanted fire to attain the point of perfec⯑tion: but who can attain it?'’
From this account of the riches of his mind, who would not imagine that they had been diſ⯑played in large volumes, and numerous perſor⯑mandes? Who would not, after the peruſal of this character, be ſurprized to find, that all the proofs of this genius, and knowledge and judgment, are not ſufficient to form a ſmall volume? But thus it is, that characters are generally written: We know ſomewhat, and we imagine the reſt. The obſervation that his ima⯑gination would have probably been more fruitful and ſprightly, if his judgment had been leſs ſevere; might, if we were inclined to cavil, be anſwer'd by a contrary ſuppoſition, that his judgment would have been leſs ſevere, if his imagination had been more fruitful. It is ridiculous to oppoſe judgment and imagination to each other; for it does not appear, that men have neceſſarily leſs of the one, as they have more of the other.
We muſt allow, in favour of lord Roſcommon, what Fenton has not mentioned ſo diſtinctly as he ought, and what is yet very much to his honour, That he is perhaps the only correct writer in verſe before Addiſon; and that if there are not ſo ma⯑ny beauties in his compoſition, as in thoſe of ſome of his contemporaries, there are at leaſt fewer faults. Nor is this his higheſt praiſe; for [350] Mr. Pope has celebrated him as the only moral writer in Charles the IId's reign.
Mr. Dryden ſpeaking of Roſcommon's eſſay on tranſlated verſe, has the following obſervation: ‘'It was that, ſays he, that made me uneaſy, till I tried whether or no I was capable of following his rules, and of reducing the ſpecu⯑lation into practice. For many a fair precept in poetry, is like a ſeeming demonſtration in mathematics: very ſpecious in the diagram, but failing in mechanic operation. I think I have generally obſerved his inſtructions. I am ſure my reaſon is ſufficiently convinced both of their truth and uſefulneſs; which in other words is to confeſs no leſs a vanity, than to pretend that I have at leaſt in ſome places made ex⯑amples to his rules.'’
This declaration of Dryden will be found no more than one of thoſe curſory civilities, which one author pays to another; and that kind of compliment for which Dryden was remark⯑able. For when the ſum of lord Roſcom⯑mon's precepts is collected, it will not be eaſy to diſcover how they can qualify their reader for a better performance of tranſlation, than might might have been attained by his own re⯑flexions.
They are however here laid down:
Nothing could have induced us to have labour⯑ed thro' ſo great a number of cold unſpirited lines, but in order to ſhew, that the rules which my lord has laid down are meerly common place, and muſt unavoidably occur to the mind of the moſt ordinary reader. They contain no more than this; that the author ſhould be ſuitable to the tranſlator's genius; that he ſhould be ſuch as may deſerve a tranſlation; that he who intends to tranſlate him, ſhould endeavour to underſtand him; that perſpicuity ſhould be ſtudied, and unuſual or uncouth names, ſparingly inſerted; and that the ſtile of the original ſhould be copied in its elevation and depreſſion. Theſe are the common⯑place rules delivered without elegance, or energy, which have been ſo much celebrated, but how deſervedly, let our unprepoſſeſs'd readers judge.
Roſcommon was not without his merit; he was always chaſte, and ſometimes harmonious; but the grand requiſites of a poet, elevation, fire, and invention, were not given him, and for want [353] of theſe, however pure his thoughts, he is a lan⯑guid unentertaining writer.
Beſides this eſſay on tranſlated verſe, he is the author of a tranſlation of Horace's Art of poetry; with ſome other little poems, and tranſlations pub⯑liſhed in a volume of the minor poets.
Amongſt the MSS. of Mr. Coxeter, we found lord Roſcommon's tranſlation of Horace's Art of Poetry, with ſome ſketches of alterations he intended to make; but they are not great improvements; and this tranſlation, of all his lordſhip's pieces, is the moſt unpoetical.