E.
SONG.
THE CHARMS OF SYLVIA.
BY THE PRINCE OF WALES ON THE PRINCESS.
’Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes,
That swim with pleasure and delight,
Nor those heavenly arches which arise
O’er each of them to shade their light:
’Tis not that hair which plays with every wind,
And loves to wanton round thy face;
Now straying round the forehead, now behind
Retiring with insidious grace:
’Tis not that lovely range of teeth so white,
As new-shorn sheep equal and fair;
Nor e’en that gentle smile, the heart’s delight,
With which no smile could e’er compare:
’Tis not that chin so round, that neck so fine,
Those breasts that swell to meet my love,
That easy sloping waist, that form divine,
Nor ought below, nor ought above:
’Tis not the living colours over each
By nature’s finest pencil wrought,
To shame the full-blown rose, and blooming peach,
And mock the happy painter’s thought:
No[254]—’tis that gentleness of mind, that love
So kindly answering my desire;
That grace with which you look, and speak, and move,
That thus has set my soul on fire.
The elegy alluded to was probably the effusion of some Jacobite royalist. That faction could not forgive the Duke of Cumberland his excesses, or successes, in Scotland; and not content with branding the Parliamentary Government of the House of Brunswick as usurpation, indulged in frequent, unfeeling, and scurrilous personalities on every branch of the reigning family.
Here lies Fred,
Who was alive, and is dead;
Had it been his father,
I had much rather:
Had it been his brother,
Still better than another;
Had it been his sister,
No one would have missed her;
Had it been the whole generation,
Still better for the nation;
But since ’tis only Fred,
Who was alive, and is dead,—
There’s no more to be said.
Note.—[The following, which is styled “Brief account of George Bubb Doddington, Lord Melcombe,” is written in Horace Walpole’s printed copy of the Diary; and as it contains some traits of character, and other anecdotes of a person who is often mentioned in the Memoirs, and who has himself related many of the same transactions, it is here subjoined to the work, though no injunctions to that purport were left by the author.]
George Bubb Doddington was son of an apothecary at Carlisle, by a sister or near relation of Mr. Doddington of Eastberry, in Dorsetshire, who bequeathed him his estate and name, with obligation to finish the vast seat at Eastberry, designed by Vanbrugh; and which was pulled down by Richard Grenville, first Earl Temple, on whom it was entailed, in case of Bubb’s having no issue, as happened. Doddington had a great deal of wit, great knowledge of business, and was an able speaker in Parliament, though an affected one, and though most of his speeches were premeditated. He was, as his diary shows, vain, fickle, ambitious, servile, and corrupt. Early in his life, he had been devoted to Sir Robert Walpole, and in an epistle to him, which Pope quotes, had professed himself,
In power a servant, out of power a friend.
At a much later period of life he published an epistle to Lord Bute, whom he styled Pollio. Mr. Wyndham, editor of his Diary, wrote to Dr. Joseph Warton, in 1784, that he had found, among Doddington’s papers, an old copy of that poem, but inscribed to Sir Robert Walpole. He fell more than once under the lash of Pope, who coupled him with Sir William Yonge in this line—
The flowers of Bubbington and flow of Yonge.
Soon after the arrival of Frederick Prince of Wales in England, Doddington became a favourite, and submitted to the Prince’s childish horse-play, being once rolled up in a blanket, and trundled down stairs; nor was he negligent in paying more solid court, by lending his Royal Highness[255] money. He was, however, supplanted, I think, by George, afterwards Lord Lyttelton, and again became a courtier and placeman at St. James’s; but once more reverted to the Prince at the period where his Diary commences. Pope was not the only poet who diverted the town at Doddington’s expense. Sir Charles Hanbury ridiculed him in a well-known dialogue with Gyles Earle, and in a ballad entitled “A Grub upon Bubb.” Dr. Young, on the contrary, who was patronized by him, has dedicated to him one of his satires on the love of fame, as Lyttelton had inscribed one of his cantos on the progress of love. Glover, and that prostitute fellow Ralph, were also countenanced by him, as the Diary shows.
Doddington’s own wit was very ready. I will mention two instances. Lord Sundon was Commissioner of the Treasury with him and Winnington, and was very dull. One Thursday, as they left the board, Lord Sundon laughed heartily at something Doddington said; and when gone, Winnington said, “Doddington, you are very ungrateful; you call Sundon stupid and slow, and yet you see how quick he took what you said.” “Oh, no,” replied Doddington, “he was only laughing now at what I said last Treasury day.”—Mr. Trenchard, a neighbour, telling him, that though his pinery was expensive, he contrived, by applying the fire and the dung to other purposes, to make it so advantageous, that he believed he got a shilling by every pine-apple he ate. “Sir,” said Doddington, “I would eat them for half the money.”—Doddington was married to a Mrs. Behan, whom he was supposed to keep. Though secretly married, he could not own her, as he then did, till the death of Mrs. Strawbridge, to whom he had given a promise of marriage, under the penalty of ten thousand pounds. He had long made love to the latter, and, at last, obtaining an assignation, found her lying on a couch. However, he only fell on his knees, and after kissing her hand for some time, cried out, “Oh, that I had you but in a wood!” “In a wood!” exclaimed the disappointed dame; “what would you do then? Would you rob me?” It was on this Mrs. Strawbridge that was made the ballad,
My Strawberry—my Strawberry
Shall bear away the bell;
to the burthen and tune of which Lord Bath, many years afterwards, wrote his song on “Strawberry Hill.”
Doddington had no children. His estate descended to Lord Temple, whom he hated, as he did Lord Chatham, against whom he wrote a pamphlet to expose the expedition to Rochfort.
Nothing was more glaring in Doddington than his want of taste, and the tawdry ostentation in his dress and furniture of his houses. At Eastberry, in the great bedchamber, hung with the richest red velvet, was pasted, on every panel of the velvet, his crest (a hunting-horn supported by an eagle) cut out of gilt leather. The foot-cloth round the bed was a mosaic of the pocket-flaps and cuffs of all his embroidered clothes. At Hammersmith[256] his crest, in pebbles, was stuck into the centre of the turf before his door. The chimney-piece was hung with spars representing icicles round the fire, and a bed of purple, lined with orange, was crowned by a dome of peacock’s feathers. The great gallery, to which was a beautiful door of white marble, supported by two columns of lapis lazuli, was not only filled with busts and statues, but had, I think, an inlaid floor of marble; and all this weight was above stairs.
One day showing it to Edward, Duke of York, Doddington said, “Sir, some persons tell me that this room ought to be on the ground.” “Be easy, Mr. Doddington,” replied the Prince, “it will soon be there.”
In the approach to his villa at Hammersmith, Mr. Doddington erected a noble obelisk, surmounted by an urn of bronze, to the memory of his wife, who died before him. Mr. Wyndham, his heir, took down the obelisk, and sold it. The Diary was certainly not published entire. A gentleman, who saw it five years before it was published, missed some particular passages.—H. W., June 7th, 1784.
Another instance of Doddington’s wit. Doddington was very lethargic: falling asleep one day, after dinner, with Sir Richard Temple, Lord Cobham, the General, the latter reproached Doddington with his drowsiness; Doddington denied having been asleep, and to prove he had not, offered to repeat all Lord Cobham had been saying. Cobham challenged him to do so. Doddington repeated a story, and Lord Cobham owned he had been telling it. “Well,” said Doddington, “and yet I did not hear a word of it; but I went to sleep because I knew that about this time of day you would tell that story.” * * * *
In the Sackville family a son of talents had frequently succeeded a father below mediocrity. The following epigram, founded on that circumstance, was ascribed to Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, but never acknowledged by him, or included in the manuscript copies of his poems. The last stanza was unjust, as well as severe; but there is so much arch humour in the first, that it is worth preserving:—
Folly and sense in Dorset’s race
Alternately do run,
As Carey one day told his Grace,
Praising his eldest son.
But Carey must allow for once
Exception to this rule;
For Middlesex is but a dunce,
Though Dorset be a fool.
* * * *
The following inscription, though professedly written on a Swedish nobleman, the English reader will at once apply to a certain great statesman of British manufacture:—
“Hic situs est
Senatus Princeps, et Regni Præfectus;
Vir nobilis, splendidus, affabilis, blandus,
At animo non magno, nec magnâ corporis dignitate.
Cujus nomen et laudes tota jamdiu celebrat Academia;
Quem sacerdotes aulici omnes imprimis observant;
Quem reverendissimi Præsules, ut Deum colunt.
Qui cibi conquisitissimi perquàm intelligens,
Et convivia sumptuosè apparandi unicus instructor,
Doctissimos Trimalchionis coquos,
Mercede amplissimâ conductos,
In patriam, inque patriæ, scilicet, honorem,
Primus curavit arcessendos.
Qui indisertus, loquax, obscurus,
Disertissimos oratores, et sapientissimos
Non modò vicit omnes,
Sed hos ipsos semper habuit
Sententiæ suæ astipulatores.
Quippe populi captandi, et corrumpendi mirus artifex,
Atque ad conservandam, quam consecutus est, potentiam,
Ut alius nemo, callidus,
Summam Imperii diu tenuit.
Rei tamen publicæ administrandæ,
Perinde atque suæ,
Minimè peritus.
Tria millia talentûm ex agris et fortunis suis,
Totidemque fortasse e regio, cui præest, ærario
Exhausit, et dissipavit.
Neque quemquam hominem probissimum,
Deque republicâ, aut re literariâ optimè meritum,
Liberalitate suâ decoravit, aut adjuvit.
Solus ex omnibus
Belli et pacis arbiter fuit constitutus:
At belli legitimè suscipiendi, et persequendi,
Aut pacis honestè retinendæ, aut firmandæ
Solus ex omnibus expers et ignarus.
Semper vehementissimè occupatus,
Ac res permagnas visus agere,
Omninò nihil agit.
Semper festinans, properansque,
Atque ad metam tendere prorsùm simulans,
Nunquam pervenit.
Hæc fortassis, Viator, rides:
Sta verò et tristem lege Epilogum;
Hujus unius hominis inscitia
Tantum impressit dedecus,
Tantum attulit detrimentum reipublicæ,
Ut omnibus appareat,
Nisi Sueciæ Genius, siquis est, sese interponat,
Sueciam futuram non esse.”
Henrietta, daughter of Sir Henry Hobart, was first married to Colonel Henry Howard, afterwards Earl of Suffolk, by whom she had an only son, Henry, who succeeded his father, but died a young man. Mr. Howard and she travelled in very mean circumstances to Hanover before the accession of that family to the Crown; and after it, she was made a Woman of the Bedchamber to the Princess; and being confidante of the Prince’s passion for a lady, who was in love with, and soon after privately married to, a Colonel, Mrs. Howard had the address to divert the channel of his inclination to herself. Her husband bore it very ill, and attempted to force her from St. James’s, but was at last quieted with a pension of 1200l. per annum. Yet Mrs. Howard had little interest with the King. The Queen persecuted whoever courted her; and Sir R. Walpole directing all his worship to the uncommonly-powerful wife, Mrs. Howard naturally became his enemy, and as naturally attached herself to Lord Bolingbroke; the more intimate connexion of which intercourse, carelessly concealed by a mistress that was tired, and eagerly hunted out by a wife still jealous, was unravelled by the Princess Emily at the Bath, and at last laid open by the cautious Queen; the King stormed; the mistress was glad he did, left him in his moods, and married George Berkeley, brother to the late Earl, by whom she was again left a widow in 1746.
King George the Second has often, when Mrs. Howard, his mistress, was dressing the Queen, come into the room, and snatched the handkerchief off, and cried, “Because you have an ugly neck yourself, you love to hide the Queen’s!” Her Majesty (all the while calling her “My good Howard,”) took great joy in employing her in the most servile offices about her person. The King was so communicative to his wife, that one day Mrs. Selwyn, another of the Bedchamber Women, told him he should be the last man with whom she would have an intrigue, because he always told the Queen. Their letters, whenever he was at Hanover, were so long, that he has complained when she has written to him but nineteen pages; and in his, at the beginning of his amour with Lady Yarmouth, he frequently said, “I know you will love the Walmoden, because she loves me.” Old Blackbourn, the Archbishop of York, told her one day, “That he had been talking to her Minister Walpole about the new mistress, and was glad to find that her Majesty was so sensible a woman as to like her husband should divert himself.” Yet with the affectation of content, it made her most miserable: she dreaded Lady Yarmouth’s arrival, and repented not having been able to resist the temptation of driving away Lady Suffolk the first instant she had an opportunity, though a rival so powerless, and so little formidable. The King was the most regular man in his hours: his time of going down to Lady Suffolk’s apartment was seven in the evening: he would frequently walk up and down the gallery, looking at his watch, for a quarter of an hour before seven, but would not go till the clock struck.
The King had another passager amour (between the disgrace of Lady Suffolk and the arrival of Lady Yarmouth) with the Governess to the two youngest Princesses; a pretty idiot, with most of the vices of her own sex, and the additional one of ours, drinking. Yet this thing of convenience, on the arrival of Lady Yarmouth, put on all that dignity of passion, which even revolts real inclination.