The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume IV.

by Theophilus Cibber

JOHN HUGHES,

William Duncomb, esq; has obliged the world with an entire edition of this author's poetical and prose works, to which he has prefixed some account of his life, written with candour and spirit. Upon his authority we chiefly build the following narration; in which we shall endeavour to do as much justice as possible to the memory of this excellent poet.

Our author was the son of a worthy citizen of London, and born at Marlborough in the county of Wilts, on the 29th of January 1677; but received the rudiments of his learning at private schools in London.

In the earliest years of his youth, he applied himself with ardour to the pursuit of the sister arts, poetry, drawing and music, in each of which by turns, he made a considerable progress; but for the most part pursued these and other polite studies, only as agreeable amusements, under frequent confinement from indisposition, and a valetudinary state of health. He had some time an employment in the office of ordinance; and was secretary to two or three commissioners under the great-seal, for purchasing lands for the better securing the docks and harbours at Portsmouth, Chatham, and Harwich.

In the year 1717 the lord chancellor Cowper, (to whom Mr. Hughes was then but lately known) was pleased, without any previous sollicitation, to make him his secretary for the commissions of the peace, and to distinguish him with singular marks of his favour and affection: And upon his lordship's laying down the great-seal, he was at his particular recommendation, and with the ready concurrence of his successor, continued in the same employment under the earl of Macclesfield.

He held this place to the time of his decease, which happened on the 17th of February 1719, the very night in which his tragedy, entitled the Siege of Damascus, was first acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane.

He was cut off by a consumption, after a painful life, at the age of 42, when he had just arrived at an agreeable competence, and advancing in fame and fortune. So just is the beautiful reflexion of Milton in his Lycidas;

Fame is the spur, that the clear spirit doth raise,
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon, when we hops to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind fury with th' abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life.—

He was privately buried in the vault under the chancel of St. Andrew's Church in Holborn. Mr. Hughes, as a testimony of gratitude to his noble friend, and generous patron, earl Cowper, gave his lordship a few weeks before he died, his picture drawn by Sir Godfrey Kneller, which he himself had received from that masterly painter. The value lord Cowper set upon it will be best shewn, by the letter he wrote upon this occasion to Mr. Hughes. As such a testimony from so eminent a person, was considered by himself as one of the highest honours he was capable of receiving, we shall therefore insert it.

24th Jan. 1719-20.

'Sir,

'I thank you for the most acceptable present of your picture, and assure you that none of this age can set a higher value on it than I do, and shall while I live, tho' I am sensible posterity will out-do me in that particular.'

I am with the greatest esteem, and sincerity

Your most affectionate, and oblig'd humble servant

COWPER.

Mr. Hughes was happy in the acquaintance and friendship of several of the greatest men, and most distinguished genius's of the age in which he lived; particularly of the nobleman just now mentioned, the present lord bishop of Winchester, lord chief baron Gilbert, Sir Godfrey Kneller, Mr. Congreve, Mr. Addison, Sir Richard Steele, Mr. Southern, Mr. Rowe, &c. and might have justly boasted in the words of Horace

——me
Cum magnis vixisse, invita fatebitu usque
Invidia.——

Having given this short account of his life, which perhaps is all that is preserved any where concerning him; we shall now consider him, first, as a poet, and then as a prose writer.

The Triumph of Peace was the earliest poem he wrote of any length, that appeared in public. It was written on occasion of the peace of Ryswick, and printed in the year 1677. A learned gentleman at Cambridge, in a letter to a friend of Mr. Hughes's, dated the 28th of February 1697-8, gives the following account of the favourable reception this poem met with there, upon its first publication.

'I think I never heard a poem read with so much admiration, as the Triumph of Peace was by our best critics here, nor a greater character given to a young poet, at his first appearing; no, not even to Mr. Congreve himself. So nobly elevated are his thoughts, his numbers so harmonious, and his turns so fine and delicate, that we cry out with Tully, on a like occasion,

'Nostræ spes altera Romæ!'

The Court of Neptune, was written on king William's return from Holland, two years after the peace, in 1699. This Poem was admired for the verification, however, the musical flow of the numbers is its least praise; it rather deserves to be valued for the propriety, and boldness of the figures and metaphors, and the machinery.

The following lines have been justly quoted as an instance of the author's happy choice of metaphors.

As when the golden god, who rules the day,
Drives down his flaming chariot to the sea,
And leaves the nations here, involved in night,
To distant regions he transports his light;
So William's rays by turns, two rations cheer,
And when he sets to them, he rises here.

A friend of Mr. Hughes's soon after the publication of this poem, complimented him upon the choice of his subject, and for the moral sentiments contained in it. 'I am sure (says he) virtue is most for the interest of mankind; and those poets have ever obtained the most honour in the world, who have made that the end and design of their works. A wanton Sappho, or Anacreon, among the ancients, never had the same applause, as a Pindar, or Alexis; nor in the judgment of Horace did they deserve it. In the opinion of all posterity, a lewd and debauch'd Ovid, did justly submit to the worth of a Virgil; and, in future ages, a Dryden will never be compared to Milton. In all times, and in all places of the world, the moral poets have been ever the greatest; and as much superior to others in wit, as in virtue. Nor does this seem difficult to be accounted for, since the dignity of their subjects naturally raised their ideas, and gave a grandeur to their sentiments.'

The House of Nassau, a Pindaric Ode (printed in 1702) was occasioned by the death of king William. 'In Pindaric and Lyric Poetry (says Mr. Duncomb) our author's genius shines in its full lustre. Tho' he enjoyed all that fire of imagination, and divine enthusiasm, for which some of the ancient poets are so deservedly admired, yet did his fancy never run away with his reason, but was always guided by superior judgment; and the music of his verse is exquisite.'

The Translation of the third Ode of the third Book of Horace, and the Paraphrase of the twenty-second Ode, of the first book, were both written when he was very young; and the latter of them was his first poetical Essay, which appeared in print. Mr. Hughes, in a private letter sent to one of his friends, gives it as his opinion, that the Odes of Horace, are fitter to be paraphrased, than translated.

The Tenth Book of Lucan, was translated by Mr. Hughes, long before Mr. Rowe undertook that author. The occasion of it was this: Mr. Tonson the bookseller, sollicited a translation of Lucan, by several hands. Mr. Hughes performed his part, but others failing in their promises, the design was dropp'd; and Mr. Rowe was afterwards prevailed upon to undertake the whole, which he performed with great success.

In the year 1709 Mr. Hughes obliged the publick, with an elegant translation of Moliere's celebrated Comedy, the Misantrope. This has been since reprinted, with the other plays of that admirable author, translated by Mr. Ozell; but care is taken to distinguish this particular play.

In the year 1712 his Opera of Calypso and Telemachus, was performed at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-Market. Perhaps it may be worth while to mention here, one circumstance concerning this Opera, as it relates to the History of Music in England, and discovers the great partiality shewn at that time to Opera's performed in Italian. After many such had been encouraged by large subscriptions, this, originally written, and set in English, after the Italian manner, was prepared with the usual expence of scenes and decorations; and being much crowded and applauded at the rehearsals, a subscription was obtained for it as usual.

This alarmed the whole Italian band, who, apprehending that their profession would suffer thereby, procured an order from the duke of Shrewsbury, then lord chamberlain, the day before the performing of this Opera, to take off the subscription for it, and to open the house at the lowest prices, or not at all. This was designed to sink it, but failed of its end. It was performed, formed, though under such great discouragement; and was revived afterwards at the theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Mr. Addison, in the Spectator, Numb. 405, speaking of the just applause given this opera, by Signior Nicolini (who he says was the greatest performer in dramatic music, that perhaps ever appeared upon a stage) has these words,

'The town is highly obliged to that excellent artist, for having shewn us the Italian music in its perfection, as well as for that generous approbation he gave to an Opera of our own country, in which Mr. Galliard the composer endeavoured to do justice to the beauty of the words, by following that noble example which has been set him by the greatest foreign masters of that art.'

The Ode to the Creator of the World, occasioned by the fragments of Orpheus, was printed in the year 1713, at the particular instance of Mr. Addison; and is mentioned with applause in the Spectator. This, and the Extasy, (published since the death of the author) are justly esteemed two of the noblest Odes in our language. The seventh Stanza of the last mentioned piece, is so sublimely excellent, that it would be denying ourselves, and our poetical readers, a pleasure not to transcribe it. The whole of this Ode is beautifully heightened, and poetically conceived. It furnished a hint to a living Poet to write what he entitles the Excursion, which tho' it has very great merit, yet falls infinitely short of this animated Ode of Mr. Hughes.

After having represented the natural and artificial calamities to which man is doomed, he proceeds,

But why do I delay my flight?
Or on such gloomy objects gaze?
I go to realms serene, with ever-living light.
Haste, clouds and whirlwinds, haste a raptured bard to raise;
Mount me sublime along the shining way,
Where planets, in pure streams of Aether driven,
Swim thro' the blue expanse of heav'n.
And lo! th' obsequious clouds and winds obey!
And lo! again the nations downward fly;
And wide-stretch'd kingdoms perish from my eye.
Heav'n! what bright visions now arise!
What op'ning worlds my ravish'd sense surprize!
I pass Cerulian gulphs, and now behold
New solid globes; their weight self-ballanc'd, bear
Unprop'd amidst the fluid air,
And all, around the central Sun, incircling eddies roll'd.
Unequal in their course, see they advance
And form the planetary dance!
Here the pale Moon, whom the same laws ordain
T' obey the earth, and rule the main;
Here spots no more in shadowy streaks appear;
But lakes instead, and groves of trees,
The wand'ring muse, transported sees,
And their tall heads discover'd mountains rear.
And now once more, I downward cast my sight,
When lo! the earth, a larger moon displays,
Far off, amidst the heav'ns, her silver face,
And to her sister moons by turns gives light!
Her seas are shadowy spots, her land a milky white.

The author of an Essay on Criticism, printed in the year 1728, informs us, that the Tragedy of Cato being brought upon the stage in 1713 was owing to Mr. Hughes. The circumstances recorded by this author are so remarkable, that they deserve to be related; and as they serve to shew the high opinion Mr. Addison entertained of our author's abilities as a Poet, I shall therefore transcribe his own words.—

'It has been often said by good judges, that Cato was no proper subject for a dramatic poem: That the character of a stoic philosopher, is inconsistent with the hurry and tumult of action, and passions which are the soul of tragedy. That the ingenious author miscarried in the plan of his work, but supported it by the dignity, the purity, the beauty, and justness of the sentiments. This was so much the opinion of Mr. Maynwaring, who was generally allowed to be the best critic of our time; that he was against bringing the play upon the stage, and it lay by unfinished many years. That it was play'd at last was owing to Mr. Hughes. He had read the four acts which were finished, and really thought it would be of service to the public, to have it represented at the latter end of queen Anne's reign, when the spirit of liberty was likely to be lost. He endeavoured to bring Mr. Addison into his opinion, which he did, and consented it should be acted if Mr. Hughes would write the last act; and he offered him the scenery for his assistance, excusing his not finishing it himself, upon account of some other avocations. He press'd Mr. Hughes to do it so earnestly, that he was prevailed upon, and set about it. But, a week after, seeing Mr. Addison again, with an intention to communicate to him what he thought of it, he was agreeably surprized at his producing some papers, where near half of the act was written by the author himself, who took fire at the hint, that it would be serviceable; and, upon a second reflexion, went through with the fifth act, not that he was diffident of Mr. Hughes's abilities; but knowing that no man could have so perfect a notion of his design as himself, who had been so long, and so carefully thinking of it. I was told this by Mr. Hughes, and I tell it to shew, that it was not for the love-scenes, that Mr. Addison consented to have his Tragedy acted, but to support public spirit; which in the opinion of the author was then declining.'

In the year 1720 the Siege of Damascus was acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, with universal applause. His present majesty honoured it with his presence, and the late queen distinguished it with marks of favour.

Mr. Hughes drew up the dedication of this Tragedy to the late Earl Cowper, about ten days before he died. It is indeed surprising, that he should be able to form a piece so finely turned, and at such an hour; when death was just before him, and he was too weak to transcribe it himself.

Mr. Pope, in a letter to Mr. Hughes's brother, written soon after his death, in answer to one received from him, with the printed copy of the play, has the following pathetic passage.

'I read over again your brother's play, with more concern and sorrow, than I ever felt in the reading any Tragedy. The real loss of a good man may be called a distress to the world, and ought to affect us more, than any feigned distress, how well drawn soever. I am glad of an occasion of giving you under my hand this testimony, both how excellent I think this work to be, and how excellent I thought the author.'

It is generally allowed that the characters in this play are finely varied and distinguished; that the sentiments are just, and well adapted to the characters; that it abounds with beautiful descriptions, apt allusions to the manners, and opinions of the times where the scene is laid, and with noble morals; that the diction is pure, unaffected, and sublime; and that the plot is conducted in a simple and clear manner.

Some critics have objected, that there is not a sufficient ground and foundation, for the distress in the fourth and fifth acts. That Phocyas only assists the enemy to take Damascus a few days sooner, than it must unavoidably have fallen into the hands of the Saracens by a capitulation, which was far from dishonourable. If Phocyas is guilty, his guilt must consist in this only, that he performed the same action from a sense of his own wrong, and to preserve the idol of his soul from violation, and death, which he might have performed laudably, upon better principles. But this (say they) seems not sufficient ground for those strong and stinging reproaches he casts upon himself, nor for Eudocia's rejecting him with so much severity. It would have been a better ground of distress, considering the frailty of human nature, and the violent temptations he lay under; if he had been at last prevailed upon to profess himself a Mahometan: For then his remorse, and self-condemnation, would have been natural, his punishment just, and the character of Eudocia placed in a more amiable light. In answer to these objections, and in order to do justice to the judgment of Mr. Hughes, we must observe, that he formed his play according to the plan here recommended: but, over-persuaded by some friends, he altered it as it now stands.

When our author was but in the nineteenth year of his age, he wrote a Tragedy, entitled, Amalasont Queen of the Goths, which displays a fertile genius, and a masterly invention. Besides these poetical productions Mr. Hughes is author of several works in prose, particularly, The Advices from Parnassus, and the Poetical Touchstone of Trajano Boccalini, translated by several hands, were printed in folio 1706. This translation was revised and corrected, and the preface to it was written by Mr. Hughes.

Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead, translated by our author; with two original Dialogues, published in the year 1708. The greatest part of this had lain by him for six years.

Fontenelle's Discourse concerning the ancients, and moderns, are printed with his conversations with a Lady, on the Plurality of Worlds, translated by Glanville.

The History of the Revolutions in Portugal, written in French, by
Monsieur L'Abbé de Vertot, was translated by Mr. Hughes.

The Translation of the Letters of Abelard and Heloise, was done by Mr. Hughes; upon which Mr. Pope has built his beautiful Epistle of Heloise to Abelard.

As Mr. Hughes was an occasional contributor to the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian, the reader perhaps may be curious to know more particularly what share he had in those papers, which are so justly admired in all places in the world, where taste and genius have visited. As it is the highest honour to have had any concern in works like these, so it would be most injurious to the memory of this excellent genius, not to particularize his share in them.

In the Tatler he writ,

Vol. II. Numb. 64. A Letter signed Josiah Couplet.
Numb. 73. A Letter against Gamesters,
signed William Trusty.

Mr. Tickell alludes to this Letter, in a Copy of Verses addressed to the Spectator, Vol. VII. No. 532.

From Felon Gamesters, the raw squire is free,
And Briton owes her rescued oaks to thee.

Numb. 113. The Inventory of a Beau.

In the Spectator.

Vol. I. Numb. 33. A Letter on the Art of improving
beauty.
Numb. 53. A Second Letter on the same
subject.
Numb. 66. Two Letters concerning fine
breeding.

Vol. II. Numb. 91. The History of Honoria, or
the Rival Mother.
Numb. 104. A Letter on Riding-Habits for
Ladies.
Numb. 141. Remarks on a Comedy, intitled
the Lancashire-Witches.

Vol. III. Numb. 210. On the immortality of the
Soul.
Numb. 220. A Letter concerning expedients
for Wit.
Numb. 230. All, except the last Letter.
Numb. 231. A Letter on the awe of appearing
before public assemblies.
Numb. 237. On Divine Providence.

Vol. IV. Numb. 252. A Letter on the Eloquence of
Tears, and fainting fits.
Numb. 302. The Character of Emilia.
Numb. 311. A Letter from the Father of
a great Fortune.

Vol. V. Numb. 57. A Picture of Virtue in Distress.
Vol. VII. Numb. 525. On Conjugal Love.
Numb. 537. On the Dignity of Human
Nature.
Numb. 541. Rules for Pronunciation and
Action, chiefly collected from Cicero.

Vol. VII. Numb. 554. On the Improvement of the Genius, illustrated in the characters of Lord Bacon, Mr. Boyle, Sir Isaac Newton, and Leonardo da Vinci.—We have not been able to learn, what papers in the Guardian were written by him, besides Number 37, Vol. I. which contains Remarks on the Tragedy of Othello.

In the year 1715 Mr. Hughes published a very accurate edition of the works of our famous poet Edmund Spenser, in six volumes, 12mo. to this edition are prefixed the Life of Spenser; an Essay on Allegorical poetry; Remarks on the Fairy Queen; on the Shepherd's Calendar, and other writings of Spenser; and a Glossary explaining the Old and obsolete Words.

In 1718 he published a piece called Charon, or The Ferry-Boat, a Vision. This, and Mr. Walsh's Æsculapius, or Hospital of Fools, are perhaps two of the finest dialogues we have in English, as well as the most lively imitations of Lucian.

Sir Richard Steele, in a paper called The Theatre, No. 15. has paid a tribute to the memory of Mr. Hughes, with which as it illustrates his amiable character, we shall conclude his life.

'I last night (says he) saw the Siege of Damascus, and had the mortification to hear this evening that Mr. Hughes, the author of it, departed this life within some few hours after his play was acted, with universal applause. This melancholy circumstance recalled into my thought a speech in the tragedy, which very much affected the whole audience, and was attended to with the greatest, and most solemn instance of approbation, and awful silence.' The incidents of the play plunge a heroic character into the last extremity; and he is admonished by a tyrant commander to expect no mercy, unless he changes the Christian religion for the Mahometan. The words with which the Turkish general makes his exit from his prisoner are,

Farewel, and think of death.

Upon which the captive breaks into the following soliloquy,

Farewel! and think of death!—was it not so?
Do murtherers then, preach morality?
But how to think of what the living know not,
And the dead cannot, or else may not tell!
What art thou? O thou great mysterious terror!
The way to thee, we know; diseases, famine,
Sword, fire, and all thy ever open gates,
That day and night stand ready to receive us.
But what, beyond them? who will draw that veil?
Yet death's not there.——No, 'tis a point of time;
The verge 'twixt mortal, and immortal Being.
It mocks our thought——On this side all is life;
And when we've reach'd it, in that very instant,
'Tis past the thinking of——O if it be
The pangs, the throes, the agonizing struggle,
When soul and body part, sure I have felt it!
And there's no more to fear.

'The gentleman (continues Sir Richard) to whose memory I devote this paper, may be the emulation of more persons of different talents, than any one I have ever known. His head, hand, or heart, was always employed in something worthy imitation; his pencil, his bow (string) or his pen, each of which he used in a masterly manner, were always directed to raise, and entertain his own mind, or that of others, to a more chearful prosecution of what is noble and virtuous. Peace be with thy remains, thou amiable spirit! but I talk in the language of our weakness, that is flown to the regions of immortality, and relieved from the aking engine and painful instrument of anguish and sorrow, in which for many tedious years he panted with a lively hope for his present condition.' We shall consign the trunk, in which he was so long imprisoned, to common earth, with all that is due to the merit of its inhabitant[A].

[Footnote A: There are several copies of verses written to the memory of Mr. Hughes, prefixed to Mr. Duncomb's edition of his poems, of which one by a lady who has withheld her name, deserves particular distinction.]

* * * * *

MATTHEW PRIOR, Esq;

This celebrated poet was the son of Mr. George Prior, citizen of London, who was by profession a Joiner. Our author was born in 1664. His father dying when he was very young, left him to the care of an uncle, a Vintner near Charing-Cross, who discharged the trust that was reposed in him, with a tenderness truly paternal, as Mr. Prior always acknowledged with the highest professions of gratitude. He received part of his education at Westminster school, where he distinguished himself to great advantage, but was afterwards taken home by his uncle in order to be bred up to his trade. Notwithstanding this mean employment, to which Mr. Prior seemed now doomed, yet at his leisure hours he prosecuted his study of the classics, and especially his favourite Horace, by which means he was soon taken notice of, by the polite company, who resorted to his uncle's house. It happened one day, that the earl of Dorset being at his Tavern, which he often frequented with several gentlemen of rank, the discourse turned upon the Odes of Horace; and the company being divided in their sentiments about a passage in that poet, one of the gentlemen said, I find we are not like to agree in our criticisms, but, if I am not mistaken, there is a young fellow in the house, who is able to set us all right: upon which he named Prior, who was immediately sent for, and desired to give his opinion of Horace's meaning in the Ode under consideration; this he did with great modesty, and so much to the satisfaction of the company, that the earl of Dorset, from that moment, determined to remove him from the station in which he was, to one more suited to his genius; and accordingly procured him to be sent to St. John's College in Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1686, and afterwards became fellow of the College.

During his residence in the university, he contracted an intimate friendship with Charles Montague, esq; afterwards earl of Hallifax, in conjunction with whom he wrote a very humorous piece, entitled The Hind and Panther transversed to the story of the Country Mouse, and the City Mouse, printed 1687 in 4to. in answer to Mr. Dryden's Hind and the Panther, published the year before.

Upon the revolution Mr. Prior was brought to court by his great patron the earl of Dorset, by whose interest he was introduced to public employment, and in the year 1690 was made secretary to the earl of Berkley, plenipotentiary to King William and Queen Mary at the Congress at the Hague.

In this station he acquitted himself so well, that he was afterwards appointed secretary to the earls of Pembroke, and Jersey, and Sir Joseph Williamson, ambassadors, and plenipotentiaries, at the treaty of Ryswick 1697, as he was likewise in 1698 to the earl of Portland, ambassador to the court of France. While he was in that kingdom, one of the officers of the French King's houshold, shewing him the royal apartments, and curiosities at Versailles, especially the paintings of Le Brun, wherein the victories of Lewis XIV. are described, asked him, whether King William's actions are to be seen in his palace? 'No Sir, replied Mr. Prior, the monuments of my master's actions are to be seen every where, but in his own house.'

In the year 1697 Mr. Prior was made secretary of state for Ireland, and in 1700 was created master of arts by Mandamus, and appointed one of the lords commissioners of trade and plantations, upon the resignation of Mr. Locke. He was also Member of Parliament for East-Grimstead in Sussex. In 1710 he was supposed to have had a share in writing the Examiner, and particularly a Criticism in it upon a Poem of Dr. Garth to the earl of Godolphin, taken notice of in the life of Garth.

About this time, when Godolphin was defeated by Oxford, and the Tories who had long been eclipsed by the lustre of Marlborough, began again to hold up their heads, Mr. Prior and Dr. Garth espoused opposite interests; Mr. Prior wrote for, and Garth against the court. The Dr. was so far honest, that he did not desert his patron in distress; and notwithstanding the cloud which then hung upon the party, he addressed verses to him, which, however they may fail in the poetry, bear strong the marks of gratitude, and honour.

While Mr. Prior was thus very early initiated in public business, and continued in the hurry of affairs for many years, it must appear not a little surprizing, that he should find sufficient opportunities to cultivate his poetical talents, to the amazing heights he raised them. In his preface to his poems, he says, that poetry was only the product of his leisure hours; that he had commonly business enough upon his hands, and, as he modestly adds, was only a poet by accident; but we must take the liberty of differing from him in the last particular, for Mr. Prior seems to have received from the muses, at his nativity, all the graces they could well bestow on their greatest favourite.

We must not omit one instance in Mr. Prior's conduct, which will appear very remarkable: he was chosen a member of that Parliament which impeached the Partition Treaty, to which he himself had been secretary; and though his share in that transaction was consequently very considerable, yet he joined in the impeachment upon an honest principle of conviction, that exceptionable measures attended it.

The lord Bolingbroke, who, notwithstanding many exceptions made both to his conduct, and sentiments in other instances, yet must be allowed to be an accomplished judge of fine talents, entertained the highest esteem for Mr. Prior, on account of his shining abilities. This noble lord, in a letter dated September 10, 1712, addressed to Mr. Prior, while he was the Queen's minister, and plenipotentiary at the court of France, pays him the following compliment; 'For God's sake, Matt. hide the nakedness of thy country, and give the best turn thy fertile brain will furnish thee with, to the blunders of thy countrymen, who are not much better politicians, than the French are poets.' His lordship thus concludes his epistle; 'It is near three o'clock in the morning, I have been hard at work all day, and am not yet enough recovered to bear much fatigue; excuse therefore the confusedness of this scroll, which is only from Harry to Matt, and not from the secretary to the minister. Adieu, my pen is ready to drop out of my hand, it being now three o'clock in the morning; believe that no man loves you better, or is more faithfully yours, &c.

'BOLINGBROKE.'

There are several other letters from Bolingbroke to Prior, which, were it necessary, we might insert as evidences of his esteem for him; but Mr. Prior was in every respect so great a man, that the esteem even of lord Bolingbroke cannot add much to the lustre of his reputation, both as a statesman, and a poet. Mr. Prior is represented by those who knew, and have wrote concerning him, as a gentleman, who united the elegance and politeness of a court, with the scholar, and the man of genius. This representation, in general, may be just, yet it holds almost invariably true, that they who have risen from low life, still retain some traces of their original. No cultivation, no genius, it seems, is able entirely to surmount this: There was one particular in which Mr. Prior verified the old proverb.

The same woman who could charm the waiter in a tavern, still maintained her dominion over the embassador at France. The Chloe of Prior, it seems, was a woman in this station of life; but he never forsook her in the heighth of his reputation. Hence we may observe, that associations with women are the most lasting of all, and that when an eminent station raises a man above many other acts of condescension, a mistress will maintain her influence, charm away the pride of greatness, and make the hero who fights, and the patriot who speaks, for the liberty of his country, a slave to her. One would imagine however, that this woman, who was a Butcher's wife, must either have been very handsome, or have had something about her superior to people of her rank: but it seems the case was otherwise, and no better reason can be given for Mr. Prior's attachment to her, but that she was his taste. Her husband suffered their intrigue to go on unmolested; for he was proud even of such a connexion as this, with so great a man as Prior; a singular instance of good nature.

In the year 1715 Mr. Prior was recalled from France, and upon his arrival was taken up by a warrant from the House of Commons; shortly after which, he underwent a very strict examination by a Committee of the Privy Council. His political friend, lord Bolingbroke, foreseeing a storm, took shelter in France, and secured Harry, but left poor Matt. in the lurch.

On the 10th of June Robert Walpole, esq; moved the House against him, and on the 17th Mr. Prior was ordered into close custody, and no person was admitted to see him without leave from the Speaker. For the particulars of this procedure of the Parliament, both against Mr. Prior, and many others concerned in the public transactions of the preceding reign, we refer to the histories of that time. In the year 1717 an Act of Grace was passed in favour of those who had opposed the Hanoverian succession, as well as those who had been in open rebellion, but Mr. Prior was excepted out of it. At the close of this year, however, he was discharged from his confinement, and retired to spend the residue of his days at Downhall in Essex.

The severe usage which Mr. Prior met with, perhaps was the occasion of the following beautiful lines, addressed to his Chloe;

From public noise, and factious strife,
From all the busy ills of life,
Take me, my Chloe, to thy breast;
And lull my wearied soul to rest:
For ever, in this humble cell,
Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell;
None enter else, but Love——and he
Shall bar the door, and keep the key.

To painted roofs, and shining spires
(Uneasy feats of high desires)
Let the unthinking many croud,
That dare be covetous, and proud;
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happiness for state:
But oh! my Chloe when thy swain
Desires to see a court again;
May Heav'n around his destin'd head
The choicest of his curses shed,
To sum up all the rage of fate.
In the two things I dread, and hate,
May'st thou be false, and I be great.

In July 1721, within two months of his death, Mr. Prior published the following beautiful little tale on the falshood of mankind, entitled The Conversation, and applied it to the truth, honour, and justice of his grace the duke of Dorset.

The CONVERSATION. A Tale.

It always has been thought discreet
To know the company you meet;
And sure, there may be secret danger
In talking much before a stranger.
Agreed: what then? then drink your ale;
I'll pledge you, and repeat my tale.

No matter where the scene is fix'd,
The persons were but odly mix'd,
When sober Damon thus began:
(And Damon is a clever man)

I now grow old; but still from youth,
Have held for modesty and truth,
The men, who by these sea-marks steer,
In life's great voyage, never err;
Upon this point I dare defy
The world; I pause for a reply.

Sir, either is a good assistant,
Said one, who sat a little distant:
Truth decks our speeches, and our books,
And modesty adorns our looks:
But farther progress we must take;
Not only born to look and speak,
The man must act. The Stagyrite
Says thus, and says extremely right;
Strict justice is the sovereign guide,
That o'er our actions should preside;
This queen of virtue is confess'd
To regulate and bind the rest.
Thrice happy, if you can but find
Her equal balance poise your mind:
All diff'rent graces soon will enter,
Like lines concurrent to their center.

'Twas thus, in short, these two went on,
With yea and nay, and pro and con,
Thro' many points divinely dark,
And Waterland assaulting Clarke;
'Till, in theology half lost,
Damon took up the Evening-Post;
Confounded Spain, compos'd the North,
And deep in politics held forth.

Methinks, we're in the like condition,
As at the treaty of partition;
That stroke, for all King William's care,
Begat another tedious war.
Matthew, who knew the whole intrigue,
Ne'er much approv'd that mystic league;
In the vile Utrecht treaty too,
Poor man! he found enough to do.
Sometimes to me he did apply;
But downright Dunstable was I,
And told him where they were mistaken,
And counsell'd him to save his bacon:
But (pass his politics and prose)
I never herded with his foes;
Nay, in his verses, as a friend,
I still found something to commend.
Sir, I excus'd his Nut-brown maid;
Whate'er severer critics said:
Too far, I own, the girl was try'd:
The women all were on my side.
For Alma I return'd him thanks,
I lik'd her with her little pranks;
Indeed, poor Solomon, in rhime,
Was much too grave to be sublime.
Pindar and Damon scorn transition,
So on he ran a new division;
'Till, out of breath, he turn'd to spit:
(Chance often helps us more than wit)
T'other that lucky moment took,
Just nick'd the time, broke in, and spoke.

Of all the gifts the gods afford
(If we may take old Tully's word)
The greatest is a friend, whose love
Knows how to praise, and when reprove;
From such a treasure never part,
But hang the jewel on your heart:
And pray, sir (it delights me) tell;
You know this author mighty well—
Know him! d'ye question it? ods fish!
Sir, does a beggar know his dish?
I lov'd him, as I told you, I
Advis'd him—here a stander-by
Twitch'd Damon gently by the cloke,
And thus unwilling silence broke:
Damon, 'tis time we should retire,
The man you talk with is Matt. Prior.

Patron, thro' life, and from thy birth my friend,
Dorset, to thee this fable let me send:
With Damon's lightness weigh thy solid worth;
The foil is known to set the diamond forth:
Let the feign'd tale this real moral give,
How many Damons, how few Dorsets live!

Mr. Prior, after the fatigue of a length of years past in various services of action, was desirous of spending the remainder of his days in rural tranquility, which the greatest men of all ages have been fond of enjoying: he was so happy as to succeed in his wish, living a very retired, and contemplative life, at Downhall in Essex, and found, as he expressed himself, a more solid, and innocent satisfaction among woods, and meadows, than he had enjoyed in the hurry, and tumults of the world, the courts of Princes, or the conducting foreign negotiations; and where as he melodiously sings,

The remnant of his days he safely past,
Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast;
He made his wish with his estate comply,
Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.

This great man died on the 18th of September, 1721, at Wimple in Cambridgshire, the seat of the earl of Oxford, with whose friendship he had been honoured for some years. The death of so distinguished a person was justly esteemed an irreparable loss to the polite world, and his memory will be ever dear to those, who have any relish for the muses in their softer charms. Some of the latter part of his life was employed in collecting materials for an History of the Transactions of his own Times, but his death unfortunately deprived the world of what the touches of so masterly a hand, would have made exceeding valuable.

Mr. Prior, by the suffrage of all men of taste, holds the first rank in poetry, for the delicacy of his numbers, the wittiness of his turns, the acuteness of his remarks, and, in one performance, for the amazing force of his sentiments. The stile of our author is likewise so pure, that our language knows no higher authority, and there is an air of original in his minutest performances.

It would be superfluous to give any detail of his poems, they are in the hands of all who love poetry, and have been as often admired, as read. The performance however, for which he is most distinguished, is his Solomon; a Poem in three Books, the first on Knowledge, the second on Pleasure, and the third on Power. We know few poems to which this is second, and it justly established his reputation as one of the best writers of his age.

This sublime work begins thus,

Ye sons of men, with just regard attend,
Observe the preacher, and believe the friend,
Whose serious muse inspires him to explain,
That all we act, and all we think is vain:
That in this pilgrimage of seventy years,
O'er rocks of perils, and thro' vales of tears
Destin'd to march, our doubtful steps we tend,
Tir'd of the toil, yet fearful of its end:
That from the womb, we take our fatal shares,
Of follies, fashions, labours, tumults, cares;
And at approach of death shall only know,
The truths which from these pensive numbers flow,
That we pursue false joy, and suffer real woe.

After an enquiry into, and an excellent description of the various operations, and effects of nature, the system of the heavens, &c. and not being fully informed of them, the first Book concludes,

How narrow limits were to wisdom given?
Earth she surveys; she thence would measure Heav'n:
Thro' mists obscure, now wings her tedious way;
Now wanders dazl'd, with too bright a day;
And from the summit of a pathless coast
Sees infinite, and in that sight is lost.

In the second Book the uncertainty, disappointment, and vexation attending pleasure in general, are admirably described; and in the character of Solomon is sufficiently shewn, that nothing debases majesty, or indeed any man, more than ungovernable passion.

When thus the gath'ring storms of wretched love
In my swoln bosom, with long war had strove;
At length they broke their bounds; at length their force
Bore down whatever met its stronger course:
Laid all the civil bounds of manhood waste.
And scatter'd ruin, as the torrent past.

The third Book treats particularly of the trouble and instability of greatness and power, considers man through the several stages and conditions of life, and has excellent reasoning upon life and death. On the last are these lines;

Cure of the miser's wish, and cowards fear,
Death only shews us, what we knew was near.
With courage therefore view the 'pointed hour;
Dread not death's anger, but expect its power;
Nor nature's laws, with fruitless sorrow mourn;
But die, O mortal man! for thou wast born.

The poet has likewise these similies on life;

As smoke that rises from the kindling fires
Is seen this moment, and the next expires:
As empty clouds by rising winds are tost,
Their fleeting forms no sooner found than lost:
So vanishes our state; so pass our days;
So life but opens now, and now decays;
The cradle, and the tomb, alas! so nigh;
To live is scarce distinguished from to die.

We shall conclude this account of Mr. Prior's life with the following copy of verses, written on his Death by Robert Ingram, esq; which is a very successful imitation of Mr. Prior's manner.

1.

Mat. Prior!—(and we must submit)
Is at his journey's end;
In whom the world has lost a wit,
And I, what's more, a friend.

2.

Who vainly hopes long here to stay,
May see with weeping eyes;
Not only nature posts away,
But e'en good nature dies!
3.

Should grave ones count these praises light,
To such it may be said:
A man, in this lamented wight,
Of business too is dead.

4.

From ancestors, as might a fool!
He trac'd no high-fetch'd stem;
But gloriously revers'd the rule,
By dignifying them.

5.

O! gentle Cambridge! sadly say,
Why fates are so unkind
To snatch thy giant sons away,
Whilst pigmies stay behind?

6.

Horace and he were call'd, in haste,
From this vile earth to heav'n;
The cruel year not fully past,
Ætatis, fifty seven.

7.

So, on the tops of Lebanon,
Tall cedars felt the sword,
To grace, by care of Solomon,
The temple of the Lord.

8.

A tomb amidst the learned may
The western abbey give!
Like theirs, his ashes must decay,
Like theirs, his fame shall live.
9.

Close, carver, by some well cut books,
Let a thin busto tell,
In spite of plump and pamper'd looks,
How scantly sense can dwell!

10.

No epitaph of tedious length
Should overcharge the stone;
Since loftiest verse would lose its strength,
In mentioning his own.

11.

At once! and not verbosely tame,
Some brave Laconic pen
Should smartly touch his ample name,
In form of—O rare Ben!

* * * * *

Mrs. SUSANNA CENTLIVRE,

This lady was daughter of one Mr. Freeman, of Holbeack in Lincolnshire. There was formerly an estate in the family of her father, but being a Dissenter, and a zealous parliamentarian, he was so very much persecuted at the restoration, that he was laid under a necessity to fly into Ireland, and his estate was confiscated; nor was the family of our authoress's mother free from the severity of those times, they being likewise parliamentarians. Her education was in the country, and her father dying when she was but three years of age, and her mother not living 'till she was twelve, the improvements our poetess made were merely by her own industry and application. She was married before the age of fifteen, to a nephew of Sir Stephen Fox. This gentleman living with her but a year, she afterwards married Mr. Carrol, an officer in the army, and survived him likewise in the space of a year and a half. She afterwards married Mr. Joseph Centlivre, yeoman of the mouth to his late Majesty. She gave early discoveries of a genius for poetry, and Mr. Jacob in his Lives of the Poets tells us, that she composed a song before she was seven years old. She is the author of fifteen plays; her talent is comedy, particularly the contrivance of the plots, and incidents. Sir Richard Steele, in one of his Tatlers, speaking of the Busy Body, thus recommends it. 'The plot, and incidents of the play, are laid with that subtilty, and spirit, which is peculiar to females of wit, and is very seldom well performed by those of the other sex, in whom craft in love is an act of invention, and not as with women, the effect of nature, and instinct'.

She died December 1, 1723; the author of the Political State thus characterizes her. 'Mrs. Centlivre, from a mean parentage and education, after several gay adventures (over which we shall draw a veil) she had, at last, so well improved her natural genius by reading, and good conversation, as to attempt to write for the stage, in which sh had as good success as any of her sex before her. Her first dramatic performance was a Tragi-Comedy, called The Perjured Husband, but the plays which gained her most reputation were, two Comedies, the Gamester, and the Busy Body. She wrote also several copies of verses on divers subjects, and occasions, and many ingenious letters, entitled Letters of Wit, Politics, and Morality, which I collected, and published about 21 years ago[A].'

Her dramatic works are,

1. The Perjured Husband, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1702, dedicated to the late Duke of Bedford. Scene Venice.

2. The Beau's Duel, or a Soldier for the Ladies, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1703; a Criticism was written upon this play in the Post-Angel for August. 3. The Stolen Heiress, or The Salamancha Doctor Out-plotted; a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields 1704. The scene Palermo.

4. The Gamester, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields 1704, dedicated to George Earl of Huntingdon. This play is an improved translation of one of the same title in French. The prologue was written by Mr. Rowe.

5. The Basset Table, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, dedicated to Arthur Lord Altham, 4to. 1706.

6. Love's Contrivance, or Le Medicin Malgre lui; a Comedy; acted at Drury-Lane 1705, dedicated to the Earl of Dorset. This is a translation from Moliere.

7. Love at a Venture, a Comedy; acted at Bath, 4to. 1706, dedicated to the Duke of Beaufort.

8. The Busy Body, acted at the Theatre-Royal 1708, dedicated to Lord Somers. This play was acted with very great applause.

9. Marplot, or the Second Part of the Busy Body; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1709, dedicated to the Earl of Portland.

10. The Perplex'd Lovers, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1710, dedicated to Sir Henry Furnace.

11. The Platonic Lady, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1711. 12. The Man's Bewitch'd, or The Devil to do about Her; a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in the Haymarket 1712, dedicated to the Duke of Devonshire.

13. The Wonder, a Woman keeps a Secret, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. This play was acted with success.

14. The Cruel Gift, or The Royal Resentment; a Tragedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1716, for the story of this play consult Sigismonda and Guiscarda, a Novel of Boccace.

15. A Bold Stroke for a Wife, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1717, dedicated to the Duke of Wharton. Besides these plays Mrs. Centlivre has written three Farces; Bickerstaff's Burying, or Work for the Upholders. The Gotham Election. A Wife well Managed.

[Footnote A: See Bayer's Political State, vol. xxvi. p.670.]

* * * * *

Dr. NICHOLAS BRADY,

This revd. gentleman was son of Nicholas Brady, an officer in the King's army, in the rebellion 1641, being lineally descended from Hugh Brady, the first Protestant bishop of Mieath[A]. He was born at Bandon in the county of Cork, on the 28th of October 1659, and educated in that county till he was 12 years of age, when he was removed to Westminster school, and from thence elected student of Christ's Church, Oxford. After continuing there about four years, he went to Dublin, where his father resided, at which university he immediately commenced bachelor of arts. When he was of due standing, his Diploma for the degree of doctor of divinity was, on account of his uncommon merit, presented to him from that university, while he was in England, and brought over by Dr. Pratt, then senior travelling-fellow, afterwards provost of that college. His first ecclesiastical preferment was to a prebend, in the Cathedral of St. Barry's in the city of Cork, to which he was collared by bishop Wettenhal, to whom he was domestic chaplain. He was a zealous promoter of the revolution, and suffered for it in consequence of his zeal. In 1690, when the troubles broke out in Ireland, by his interest with King James's general, Mac Carty, he thrice prevented the burning of Bandon town, after three several orders given by that Prince to destroy it. The same year, having been deputed by the people of Bandon, he went over to England to petition the Parliament, for a redress of some grievances they had suffered, while King James was in Ireland. During his stay here, and to the time of his death, he was in the highest esteem among all ranks of persons in this kingdom, for his eminent attachment to the true interest of his country. Having quitted his preferments in Ireland, he settled in London, where he, being celebrated for his abilities in the pulpit, was elected minister of St. Catherine-Cree Church, and lecturer of St. Michael's Woodstreet. He afterwards became minister of Richmond in Surry, and Stratford upon Avon in Warwickshire, and at length, rector of Clapham in the county above-mentioned; which last, together with Richmond, he held to the time of his death. He was also chaplain to the duke of Ormond's troop of Horse-guards, as he was to their Majesties King William, and Queen Anne. He died on the 20th of May 1726, in the 67th year of his age, leaving behind him the reputation of a good man; he was of a most obliging, sweet, affable temper, a polite gentleman, an excellent preacher, and no inconsiderable poet.

His compositions in poetry are chiefly these,

1. A New Version of the Psalms of David, performed by him, in conjunction with Mr. Tate, soon after he settled in London; now sung in most churches of England, and Ireland, instead of that obsolete and ridiculous Version made by Sternhold, and Hopkins, in the reign of King Edward VI. As the 104th Psalm is esteemed one of the most sublime in the whole book, we shall present the reader with the two first Parts of his Version of that Psalm as a specimen. There have not been less than forty different Versions, and Paraphrases of this Psalm, by poets of very considerable eminence, who seem to have vied with one another for the superiority. Of all these attempts, if we may trust our own judgment, none have succeeded so happily as Mr. Blackclock, a young gentleman now resident at Dumfries in Scotland. This Paraphrase is the more extraordinary, as the author of it has been blind from his cradle, and now labours under that calamity; it carries in it such elevated strains of poetry, such picturesque descriptions, and such a mellifluent flow of numbers, that we are persuaded, the reader cannot be displeased at finding it inserted here.

Dr. Brady also translated the Æneid of Virgil, which were published by subscription in four volumes octavo, the last of which came out in 1726, a little before the author's death.

He also published in his life-time three Volumes of Sermons in 8vo. each consisting of 14, all printed in London; the first in 1704, the second in 1706, and the third in 1713. After the Dr's. death, his eldest son, who is now a clergyman, published three other Volumes of his father's Sermons, each also consisting of 14, printed in London 1730, 8vo. Amongst his sermons there is one preached on St. Cecilia's day, in vindication of Church-music, first printed in 1697, in 4to.

PSALM CIV.

1. Bless God my soul; thou, Lord alone,
Possessest empire without bounds:
With honour thou art crown'd, thy throne
Eternal Majesty surrounds.
2. With light thou dost thy self enrobe,
And glory for a garment take;
Heav'n's curtain stretch'd beyond the globe,
The canopy of state to make.

3. God builds on liquid air, and forms
His palace-chambers in the skies:
The clouds his chariots are, and storms
The swift-wing'd steeds with which he flies.
4. As bright as flame, as swift as wind
His ministers Heav'ns palace fill;
To have their sundry tasks assign'd,
All proud to serve their Sovereign's will.

5., 6. Earth on her center fix'd he set,
Her face with waters over spread;
Not proudest mountains dar'd as yet
To lift above the waves their head!
7. But when thy awful face appear'd,
Th' insulting waves dispers'd; they fled
When once thy thunder's voice they heard,
And by their haste confess'd their dread.

8. Thence up by secret tracts they creep,
And gushing from the mountain's side,
Thro' vallies travel to the deep;
Appointed to receive their tide.
9. There hast thou fix'd the ocean's mounds,
The threat'ning surges to repel:
That they no more o'erpass their bounds,
Nor to a second deluge swell.
PART II.

10. Yet, thence in smaller parties drawn,
The sea recovers her lost hills:
And starting springs from every lawn,
Surprize the vales with plenteous rills.
11. The fields tame beasts are thither led
Weary with labour, faint with drought,
And asses on wild mountains bred,
Have sense to find these currents out.

12. There shady trees from scorching beams,
Yield shelter to the feather'd throng:
They drink, and to the bounteous streams
Return the tribute of their song.
13. His rains from heav'n parch'd hills recruit,
That soon transmit the liquid store:
'Till earth is burthen'd with her fruit,
And nature's lap can hold no more.

14. Grass for our cattle to devour,
He makes the growth of every field:
Herbs, for man's use, of various pow'r,
That either food or physic yield.
15. With cluster'd grapes he crowns the vine
To cheer man's heart oppress'd with cares:
Gives oil that makes his face to shine.
And corn that wasted strength repairs.

PSALM CIV. imitated by THOMAS BLACKCLOCK.

Arise my soul! on wings seraphic rise!
And praise th' Almighty sov'reign of the skies!
In whom alone essential glory shines,
Which not the Heav'n of Heav'ns, nor boundless space confines!
When darkness rul'd with universal sway,
He spoke, and kindled up the blaze of day;
First fairest offspring of th' omnific word!
Which like a garment cloath'd it's sovereign lord.
He stretch'd the blue expanse, from pole to pole,
And spread circumfluent æther round the whole.
Of liquid air he bad the columns rise,
Which prop the starry concave of the skies.
Soon as he bids, impetuous whirlwinds fly,
To bear his sounding chariot thro' the sky:
Impetuous whirlwinds the command obey,
Sustain his flight, and sweep th' aerial way.
Fraught with his mandates from the realms on high,
Unnumber'd hosts of radiant heralds fly;
From orb to orb, with progress unconfin'd,
As lightn'ing swift, resistless as the wind.
His word in air this pondr'ous ball sustain'd.
"Be fixt, he said."—And fix'd the ball remain'd.
Heav'n, air, and sea, tho' all their stores combine.
Shake not its base, nor break the law divine.
At thy almighty voice, old ocean raves,
Wakes all his force, and gathers all his waves;
Nature lies mantled in a watry robe,
And shoreless ocean roils around the globe;
O'er highest hills, the higher surges rise,
Mix with the clouds, and leave the vaulted skies.
But when in thunder, the rebuke was giv'n,
That shook th' eternal firmament of heav'n,
The dread rebuke, the frighted waves obey,
They fled, confus'd, along th' appointed way,
Impetuous rushing to the place decreed,
Climb the steep hill, and sweep the humble mead:
And now reluctant in their bounds subside;
Th' eternal bounds restrain the raging tide:
Yet still tumultuous with incessant roar,
It shakes the caverns, and assaults the shore.
By him, from mountains, cloth'd in livid snow,
Thro' verdant vales, the mazy fountains flow.
Here the wild horse, unconscious of the rein,
That revels boundless, o'er the wide champaign,
Imbibes the silver stream, with heat opprest
To cool the fervour of his glowing breast.
Here verdant boughs adorn'd with summer's pride,
Spread their broad shadows o'er the silver tide:
While, gently perching on the leafy spray,
Each feather'd songster tunes his various lay:
And while thy praise, they symphonize around,
Creation ecchoes to the grateful sound.
Wide o'er the heav'ns the various bow he bends.
Its tincture brightens, and its arch extends:
At the glad sign, aërial conduits flow,
The hills relent, the meads rejoice below:
By genial fervour, and prolific rain,
Gay vegetation cloaths the fertile plain;
Nature profusely good, with bliss o'er-flows,
And still she's pregnant, tho' she still bestows:
Here verdant pastures, far extended lie,
And yield the grazing herd a rich supply!
Luxuriant waving in the wanton air,
Here golden grain rewards the peasant's care!
Here vines mature, in purple clusters glow,
And heav'n above, diffuses heav'n below!
Erect and tall, here mountain cedars rise,
High o'er the clouds, and emulate the skies!
Here the winged crowds, that skim the air,
with artful toil, their little dams prepare,
Here, hatch their young, and nurse their rising care!
Up the steep-hill ascends the nimble doe,
While timid conies scour the plains below;
Or in the pendent rocks elude the scenting foe.
He bade the silver majesty of night,
Revolve her circle, and increase her light.
But if one moment thou thy face should'st hide,
Thy glory clouded, or thy smiles denied,
Then widow'd nature veils her mournful eyes,
And vents her grief, in universal cries!
Then gloomy death, with all his meagre train;
Wide o'er the nations spreads his iron reign!
Sea, earth, and air, the bounteous ravage mourn,
And all their hosts to native dust return!
Again thy glorious quickning influence shed,
The glad creation rears its drooping head:
New rising forms, thy potent smiles obey,
And life re-kindles at the genial ray;
United thanks replenish'd nature pays,
And heaven and earth resound their Maker's praise.

When time shall in eternity be lost,
And hoary nature languish into dust,
Forever young, thy glories shall remain,
Vast as thy being, endless as thy reign!
Thou from the realms of everlasting day,
See'st all thy works, at one immense survey!
Pleas'd at one view, the whole to comprehend,
Part join'd to part, concurring to one end.
If thou to earth, but turn'st thy wrathful eyes,
Her basis trembles, and her offspring dies.
Thou smit'st the hills, and at th' almighty blow,
Their summits kindle, and their entrails glow.
While this immortal spark of heav'nly flame,
Distends my breast, and animates my frame,
To thee my ardent praises shall be born,
On the first breeze, that wakes the blushing morn:
The latest star shall hear the pleasing sound,
And nature, in full choir shall join around!
When full of thee, my soul excursive flies,
Thro' earth, air, ocean or thy regal skies,
From world, to world, new wonders still I find!
And all the Godhead bursts upon my mind!
When, wing'd with whirlwinds, vice shall take her flight,
To the wide bosom of eternal night,
To thee my soul shall endless praises pay;
Join! men and angels! join th' exalted day!
Assign'd a province to each rolling sphere,
And taught the sun to regulate the year.
At his command wide hov'ring o'er the plain,
Primæval night resumes her gloomy reign.
Then from their dens impatient of delay,
The savage monsters bend their speedy way,
Howl thro' the spacious waste and chase the frighted prey.
Here walks the shaggy monarch of the wood,
Taught from thy providence to ask his food:
To thee O Father! to thy bounteous skies,
He rears his main, and rolls his glaring eyes.
He roars, the desarts tremble wide around!
And repercusive hills repeat the sound.
Now purple gems, the eastern skies adorn,
And joyful nature hails th' opening morn;
The rovers conscious of approaching day,
Fly to their shelters, and forget their prey.
Laborious man, with moderate slumber blest,
Springs chearful to his toil, from downy rest;
Till grateful ev'ning with her silver train,
Bid labour cease, and ease the weary swain!
Hail, sovereign Goodness! All productive mind!
On all thy works, thyself inscribed we find!
How various all! how variously endow'd!
How great their number! and each part how good!
How perfect then must the great parent shine!
Who with one act of energy divine,
Laid the vast plan, and finish'd the design.
Where e'er the pleasing search my thoughts pursue,
Unbounded goodness opens to my view.
Nor does our world alone, its influence share;
Exhaustless bounty, and unwearied care,
Extend thro' all th' infinitude of space,
And circle nature with a kind embrace.
The wavy kingdoms of the deep below,
Thy power, thy wisdom, and thy goodness shew,
Here various beings without number stray,
Croud the profound, or on the surface play.
Leviathan here, the mightiest of the train,
Enormous! sails incumbent o'er the main.
All these thy watchful providence supplies;
To thee alone, they turn their waiting eyes.
For them thou open'st thy exhaustless store,
Till the capacious wish can grasp no more.

[Footnote A: Biograph. Brit. Art, Brady.]

* * * * *

GEORGE STEPNEY, Esq;

This poet was descended of the family of the Stepneys of Pindigrast in Pembrokeshire, but born in Westminster in the year 1693. He received the rudiments of his education in Westminster school, and after making some progress in literature there, he was removed to Trinity College in Cambridge, where he was cotemporary with Charles Montague, esq; afterwards earl of Halifax; and being of the same college with him, a very strict friendship was contracted between them. To this lucky accident of being early known to Mr. Montague, was owing all the preferment Mr. Stepney afterwards enjoyed; for he seems not to have had parts sufficient to have risen to any distinction, without the immediate patronage of so great a man, as the lord Hallifax. When Stepney first set out in life, he was perhaps attached to the Tory interest, for one of the first poems he wrote, was an Address to king James the Second, on his Accession to the Throne. In this little piece, in which there is as little poetry, he compares that monarch to Hercules, but with what propriety let the reader judge. Soon after the accession of James II. when Monmouth's rebellion broke out, the university of Cambridge, to demonstrate their zeal for the King, thought proper to burn the picture of that rash Prince, who had formerly been their chancellor. Upon this occasion Stepney wrote some good verses, in answer to this question;

——Sed quid Turba Remi? sequitur fortunam, ut semper et odit damnatos.

Upon the revolution he embraced another interest, and procured himself to be nominated for several foreign embassies. In the year 1692 he went to the elector of Brandenburgh's court in quality of envoy, and, in the year following, to the Imperial court in the same character. In 1694 he was sent to the elector of Saxony, and two years after to the electors of Mentz, Cologn, &c. and the congress at Francfort. He was employed in several other embassies, and in the year 1706 Queen Anne sent him envoy to the States General. He was very successful in his negotiations, which occasioned his constant employment in the most weighty affairs. At his leisure hours he composed several other pieces of poetry besides those already mentioned; which are chiefly these,

An Epistle to the Earl of Hallifax, on his Majesty's
Voyage to Holland.

A Translation of the Eighth Satire of Juvenal.

To the Earl of Carlisle upon the Death of his
Son.

Some Imitations of Horace's Odes.

The Austrian Eagle.

The Nature of Dreams.

A Poem to the Memory of Queen Mary.

These performances are not very long, nor are the subjects upon which they are written very considerable. It seems probable that the eminence to which Stepney rose, must have been more owing to some personal kindness lord Hallifax had for him, than to his merit as a writer. In raising Stepney, his lordship might act as the friend of the man, but not as a patron of the poet. Friendship, in many respects, participates of the nature of love; it begins, we know not how, it strengthens by imperceptible degrees, and grows into an established firmness. Such might be the regard lord Hallifax had for Stepney, but we may venture to assert, from his lordship's exquisite taste in poetry, that he never could highly admire the pretty trifles which compose the works of this author; and which are printed amongst the works of the Minor Poets, published some years ago by Mr. Tonson in two volumes 12mo.[A]

Our author died at Chelsea in the year 1707, and was buried in Westminster-Abbey, where a fine monument is erected over him, with the following inscription upon the pedestal;

H.S.E.

GEORGIUS STEPNEIUS, Armiger,

viz.

Ob Ingenii acumen,
Literarum Scientiam,
Morum Suavitatem,
Rerum Usum,
Virorum Amplissimorum Consuetudinem,
Linguæ, Styli ac Vitæ Elegantiam,
Praeclara Officia cum Britanniæ; tum Europæ Praestita,
Suâ ætate multum celebratus,
Apud Posteros semper celebrandus;
Plurimas Legationes obiit
Ea Fide, Diligentiâ, & Felicitate,
Ut Augustissimorum Principum
GULIELMI & ANNÆ
Spem in illo repositam
Nunquam sesellerit,
Haud raro superavit.
Post longum honorum Cursum
Brevi Temporis spatio confectum,
Cum Naturæ parvæ Fama satis vixerat,
Animam ad altiora aspirantem placide efflavit.

On the left hand.

G.S.

Ex Equestri Familia STEPNEIORUM,
De PENDEGRAST, in Comitatu
PEMBROCHIENSI ORIENDUS,
WESTMONASTERII natus est, A.D. 1663.
Electus in Collegium
Sancti PETRI WESTMONAST. A, 1676.
Sanctæ TRINITATIS CANTAB. 1682.
Consiliariorum quibus Commercii
Cura commissa est 1697.
CHELSEIÆ mortuus, & Comitante
Magna Procerum
Frequentiâ huc elatus, 1707.

On the right hand is a particular account of all his employments abroad.

As a specimen of Mr. Stepney's poetry, we shall quote the following lines on the Nature of Dreams,

At dead of night imperial reason sleeps,
And fancy with her train loose revels keeps:
Then airy phantoms a mixt scene display,
Of what we heard, or saw, or wish'd by day;
For memory those images retains
Which passion form'd, and still the strongest reigns,
Huntsmen renew the chase they lately run;
And generals fight again their battles won.
Spectres and furies haunt the murth'rers dreams;
Grants, or disgraces, are the courtiers themes.
The miser spies a thief, or some new hoard,
The cit's a knight, the sycophant a lord.
Thus fancy's in the wild distraction lost
With what we most abhor, or covet most.
But of all passions that our dreams controul,
Love prints the deepest image in the soul;
For vigorous fancy, and warm blood dispense
Pleasures so lively, that they rival sense.
Such are the transports of a willing maid,
Not yet by time and place to act betray'd.
Whom spies, or some faint virtue force to fly
That scene of joy, which yet she dies to try.
'Till fancy bawds, and by mysterious charms
Brings the dear object to her longing arms;
Unguarded then she melts, acts fierce delight,
And curses the returns of envious light.
In such bless'd dreams Biblis enjoys a flame;
Which waking she detests, and dares not name.
Ixion gives a loose to his wild love,
And in his airy visions cuckolds Jove.
Honours and state before this phantom fall;
For sleep, like death its image, equals all.

Our author likewise wrote some political pieces in prose, particularly
an Essay on the present Interest of England, 1701. To which are added,
The Proceedings of the House of Commons in 1677, upon the French
King's Progress in Flanders. This piece is reprinted in Cogan's
Collection of Tracts, called Lord Somers's Collection.

[Footnote A: And likewise of another work of the same kind, in two volumes also, published by one Cogan.]

* * * * *

Major RICHARDSON PACK,

This gentleman was the son of John Pack, of Stocke-Ash in Suffolk, esq; who in the year 1697 was high sheriff of that county. He had his early education at a private country school, and was removed from thence to Merchant Taylor's, where he received his first taste of letters; for he always reckoned that time which he spent at the former school as lost, since he had only contracted bad habits, and was obliged to unlearn what had been taught him there.

At the age of sixteen he was removed to St. John's College in Oxford. About eighteen his father entered him of the Middle Temple, designing him for the profession of the Law; and by the peculiar indulgence of the treasurer, and benchers of that honourable society, he was at eight Terms standing admitted barrister, when he had not much exceeded the age of 20. But a sedentary studious life agreeing as ill with his health, as a formal one with his inclinations, he did not long pursue those studies. After some wavering in his thoughts, he at last determined his views to the army, as being better suited to the gaiety of his temper, and the sprightliness of his genius, and where he hoped to meet with more freedom, as well as more action. His first command was that of a company of foot in March 1705. In November 1710 the regiment in which he served was one of those two of English foot, that were with the marshal Staremberg at the battle of Villa Viciosa, the day after general Stanhope, and the troops under his command were taken at Brighuega[A], where the major being killed, and our author's behaviour being equal to the occasion on which he acted, his grace the duke of Argyle confirmed his pretensions to that vacancy, by giving him the commission of the deceased major, immediately on his arrival in Spain. It was this accident which first introduced our gallant soldier to the acquaintance of that truly noble and excellent person, with whose protection and patronage he was honoured during the remaining part of his life.

The ambition he had to celebrate his grace's heroic virtues (at a time when there subsisted a jealousy between him and the duke of Marlborough, and it was fashionable by a certain party to traduce him) gave birth to some of the best of his performances.

What other pieces the major has written in verse, are, for the most part, the unlaboured result of friendship, or love; and the amusement of those few solitary intervals in a life that seldom wanted either serious business, or social pleasures, of one kind or other, entirely to fill up the circle. They are all published in one volume, together with a translation of the Life of Miltiades and Cymon, from Cornelius Nepos; the first edition was in 1725.

The most considerable of them are the following,

1. The Muse's Choice, or the Progress of Wit.

2. On Friendship. To Colonel Stanhope.

3. To Mr. Addison, occasioned by the news of the victory obtained over the Rebels in Scotland, by his Grace the Duke of Argyle.

4. To Lady Catherine Manners.

5. The Lovers Parting.

6. The Retreat.

7. An Epistle from a Half-pay Officer in the Country, to his Friend in Town.

8. Upon Religious Solitude; occasioned by reading the Inscription on the Tomb of Casimir King of Poland, who abdicated his Crown, and spent the remainder of his life in the Abbey of St. Germains, near Paris, where he lies interred.

9. A Pastoral in Imitation of Virgil's Second
Eclogue.

10. The 2d, 3d, and 4th Elegies of the Fourth
Book of Tibullus.

11. Elegy. Sylvia to Amintor, in Imitation of
Ovid. After Sylvia is enjoyed, she gives this Advice
to her sex.

Trust not the slight defence of female pride.
Nor in your boasted honour much confide;
So still the motion, and so smooth the dart,
It steals unfelt into the heedless heart.

A Prologue to the Tragedy of Sir Walter Raleigh, and an Epilogue to Mr. Southern's Spartan Dame. In the former he has the following beautiful lines on Ambition;

Ambition is a mistress few enjoy!
False to our hopes, and to our wishes coy;
The bold she bafflles, and defeats the strong;
And all are ruined who pursue her long;
Yet so bewitching are her fatal charms,
We think it heav'n to die within her arms.

Major Pack obliged the world with some Memoirs of the Life of Mr. Wycherley, which are prefixed to Theobald's edition of that author. Mr. Jacob mentions a piece of his which he saw in MS. entitled Religion and Philosophy, which, says he, with his other works, demonstrate the author to be a polite writer, and a man of wit and gallantry.

This amiable gentleman died at Aberdeen in Scotland, in the month of September 1728, colonel Montague's regiment, in which he was then a major, being quartered there.

[Footnote A: Vide Jacob's Lives.]

* * * * *

Sir WILLIAM DAWES, Baronet (Archbishop of YORK,)

This revd. prelate was descended from an ancient, and honourable family in the county of Essex; he was educated at Merchant-Taylor's school, London, and from thence elected to St. John's College in Oxford, of which he was afterwards fellow.

He was the youngest of four brothers, three of whom dying young, the title, and estate of the family fell to him. As soon as he had taken his first degree in arts, and upon the family estate devolving to him, he resigned his fellowship, and left Oxford. For some time he gave his attention to the affairs of his estate, but finding his inclination lead him more to study, than rural affairs, he entered into holy orders. Sir William did not long remain in the church without preferment; his fortune, and family assisted him to rise; for it often happens that these advantages will do much more for a man, as well in the ecclesiastical, as in other classes of life, than the brightest parts without them. Before he was promoted to the mitre, he was made master of Catherine Hall in Cambridge, chaplain to Queen Anne, and dean of Bocking.

In the year 1708 he was consecrated bishop of Chester, and in 1713 was translated to the archbishopric of York. While he was at the university, before he went into orders, he wrote the Anatomy of Atheism, a Poem, dedicated to Sir George Darcy Bart. printed in the year 1701, 8vo.

The design of this piece, as his lordship declares in the preface, 'is to expose the folly of those men, who are arrived at that pitch of impudence and prophaneness, that they think it a piece of wit to deny the Being of a God, and to laugh at that which they cannot argue against.' Such characters are well described in the following lines,

See then our Atheist all the world oppose,
And like Drawcansir make all men his foes.
See with what fancy pride he does pretend,
His miser father's notions to amend,
Huffs Plutarch, Plato, Pliny, Seneca,
And bids even Cicero himself give way.
Tells all the world, they follow a false light,
And he alone, of all mankind is right.
Thus, like a madman, who when all alone,
Thinks himself King, and every chair a throne,
Drunk with conceit, and foolish impudence,
He prides himself in his abounding sense.

This prelate is said to have united the gentleman, and the divine, which both shone out with equal lustre in him. He was esteemed in his time a very popular preacher; his piety was great, and conspicuous; his charity and benevolence equalled by few, and his good nature, and humanity the most extensive.

Our author died in the 53d year of his age, April 30, 1724. We have no account of any other of his grace's poetical works, probably the business of his high station diverted his mind from the amusements of poetry.

The archbishop has written several sermons upon the Eternity of Hell Torments, a doctrine which he has laboured to vindicate; also sermons upon various other subjects.

* * * * *

WILLIAM CONGREVE, Esq;

This gentleman was descended from the ancient house of Congreve in Staffordshire, but authors differ as to the place of his birth; some contend that he was born in Ireland[A], others that he drew his first breath at the village of Bardsa, near Leeds in Yorkshire, which was the estate of a near relation of his by his mother's side. Mr. Jacob, in his preface to the Lives of the Poets, has informed us, that he had the advice and assistance of Mr. Congreve in that work, who communicated to him many particulars of the lives of cotemporary writers, as well as of himself, and as Mr. Congreve can hardly be thought ignorant of the place of his own birth, and Mr. Jacob has asserted it to be in England, no room is left to doubt of it. The learned antiquary of Ireland, Sir James Ware, has reckoned our author amongst his own country worthies, from the relation of Southern; but Mr. Congreve's own account, if Jacob may be relied on, is more than equal to that of Southern, who possibly might be mistaken.

About the year 1671, or 1672, our author was born, and his father carried him, when a child, into Ireland, where he then had a command in the army, but afterwards was entrusted with the management of a considerable estate, belonging to the noble family of Burlington, which fixed his residence there[B]. Mr. Congreve received the first tincture of letters in the great school of Kilkenny, and, according to common report, gave early proofs of a poetical genius; his first attempt in poetry was a copy of verses on the death of his master's Magpye.

He went from the school of Kilkenny to the university of Dublin, where under the direction of Dr. George Ash, he acquired a general knowledge of the classics. His father, who was desirous that his studies should be directed to a profitable employment, sent him over to England a little after the revolution, and placed him as a student in the Middle-Temple. But the severe study of the Law was so ill adapted to the sprightly genius of Congreve, that he never attempted to reconcile himself to a way of life, for which he had the greatest aversion. But however he disappointed his friends with respect to the proficiency they expected him to make in the Law; yet it is certain he was not negligent in those studies to which his genius led him.

Mr. Congreve's first performance, written when but a youth of seventeen, was a Novel, dedicated to Mrs. Katherine Leveson, which gave proof, not only of a great vivacity of wit, but also a fluency of stile, and a solid judgment. He was conscious that young men in their early productions generally aimed at a florid stile, and enthusiastic descriptions, without any regard to the plot, fable, or subserviency of the parts; for this reason he formed a new model, and gave an example how works of that kind should be written. He pursued a regular plan, observed a general moral, and carried on a connexion, as well as distinction, between his characters.

This performance is entitled Incognita, or Love and Duty Reconciled; it has been asserted that this is a real history, and though the scene is laid in Italy, the adventures happened in England; it is not our business to enter into the secret history of this entertaining piece, or to attempt giving the reader a key to what the writer took so much pains to conceal. It appears from this piece, that Mr. Congreve aimed at perfection from the very beginning, and his design in writing this novel, was to shew, how novels ought to be written. Let us hear what he says himself, and from thence we shall entertain a higher opinion of his abilities, than could possibly be raised by the warmest commendations. After very judiciously observing, that there is the same relation between romances and novels as between tragedy and comedy, he proceeds thus: 'Since all traditions must indisputably give glace to the drama, and since there is no possibility of giving that life to the writing, or repetition of a story, which it has in the action; I resolved in another beauty to imitate dramatic writing, namely, in the design, contexture, and result in the plot. I have not observed it before in a novel. Some I have seen begin with an unexpected accident which has been the only surprizing part of the story, cause enough to make the sequel look flat, tedious, and insipid; for 'tis but reasonable the reader should expect, if not to rise, at least to keep upon a level in the entertainment, for so he may be kept on, in hopes, that some time, or other, it may mend; but the other is such a baulk to a man, 'tis carrying him up stairs to shew him the dining room, and afterwards force him to make a meal in the kitchen. This I have not only endeavoured to avoid, but also have used a method for the contrary purpose. The design of this novel is obvious, after the first meeting of Aurelian and Hippolito, with Incognita, and Leonora; the difficulty is in bringing it to pass, maugre all apparent obstacles within the compass of two days. How many probable casualties intervene, in opposition to the main design, viz. of marrying two couple so oddly engaged in an intricate amour, I leave the reader at his leisure to consider; as also whether every obstacle does not, in the progress of the story, act as subservient to that purpose, which at first it seems to oppose. In a comedy this would be called the unity of action, here it may pretend to no more than an unity of contrivance. The scene is continued in Florence from the commencement of the amour, and the time from first to last, is but three days.'

Soon after Mr. Congreve's return to England, he amused himself, during a slow recovery from a fit of sickness, with writing a comedy. Captain Southern, in conjunction with Mr. Dryden, and Arthur Manwayring, esq; revised this performance, which was the Old Batchelor; of which Mr. Dryden said, he never saw such a first play in his life, adding, that the author not being acquainted with the stage, or the town, it would be pity to have it miscarry for want of a little assistance. Mr. Thomas Davenant, who had then the direction of the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, had so high a sense of the merit of the piece, and was so charmed with the author's conversation, that he granted him the freedom of the house before his play came on, which, according to the maxims of theatrical government, was not only an unusual, but an unprecedented favour. In 1693 the Old Batchelor was acted before a numerous, and polite audience. The play was received with such general applause, that Mr. Congreve was then considered as a prop to the declining stage, and a rising genius in dramatic poetry. It was this play, and the singular success which attended it upon the stage, that introduced our author to the acquaintance of the earl of Hallifax, who was then the professed patron of men of wit; and who, being desirous to raise a man of so promising a genius, above the necessity of too hasty productions, made him one of the commissioners for licensing Hackney coaches. The earl bestowed upon him soon after a place in the Pipe-Office, and gave him likewise a post in the Custom-House, to the value of 600 l. per annum.

In the following year Mr. Congreve brought upon the stage the Double
Dealer, which met not with so good a reception as the former.

Mr. Congreve has informed us in the dedication of this play, to Charles Montague, esq; that he was very assiduous to learn from the critics what objections could be found to it; but, says he, 'I have heard nothing to provoke an answer. That which looks most like an objection, does not relate in particular to this play, but to all; or most that ever have been written, and that is soliloquy; therefore I will answer it, not only for my own sake, but to save others the trouble to whom it may be hereafter objected. I grant, that for a man to talk to himself, appears absurd, and unnatural, and indeed it is so in most cases, but the circumstances which may attend the occasion, makes great alteration. It often happens to a man to have designs, which require him to himself, and in their nature cannot admit of a confident. Such for certain is all villainy, and other less mischievous intentions may be very improper to be communicated to a second person. In such a case, therefore the audience must observe, whether the person upon the stage takes any notice of them at all, or no: for if he supposes any one to be by,[C] when he talks to himself, it is monstrous and ridiculous to the last degree; nay not only in this case, but in any part of a play, if there is expressed any knowledge of an audience it is insufferable. But otherwise, when a man in a soliloquy reasons with himself, and pro's and con's, and weighs all his designs, we ought not to imagine that this man either talks to us, or to himself; he is only thinking, and thinking such matter, as it were inexcusable folly in him to speak. But, because we are concealed spectators of the plot in agitation, and the poet finds it necessary to let us know the whole mystery of his contrivance, he is willing to inform us of this person's thoughts, and to that end is forced to make use of the expedient of speech, no other, or better way being yet invented for the communication of thought.'

Towards the close of the same year Queen Mary died. Upon that occasion Mr. Congreve produced an elegiac Pastoral, a composition which the admirers of this poet have extolled in the most lavish terms of admiration, but which seems not to merit the incense it obtained.

When Mr. Betterton opened the new house at Lincoln's-Inn, Congreve took part with him, and gave him his celebrated comedy of Love for Love, then introduced upon the stage, with the most extraordinary success. This comedy, with some more of our author's, was smartly criticised by the ingenious Mr. Collier, as containing lessons of immorality, and a representation of loose characters, which can never, in his opinion, appear on a stage without corrupting the audience.

Messrs. Congreve, Dennis, and Dryden, engaged in a vigorous defence of the English stage, and endeavoured to shew the necessity of such characters being introduced in order to be exposed, and laughed at. To all their defences Mr. Collier replied, and managed the point with so much learning, wit, and keenness, that in the opinion of many, he had the better of his antagonists, especially Mr. Congrove, whose comedies it must be owned, though they are admirably written, and the characters strongly marked, are so loose, that they have given great offence: and surely we pay too dear for pleasure, when we have it at the expence of morality.

The same year he distinguished himself in another kind of poetry, viz. an irregular Ode on the taking Namure, which the critics have allowed to contain fine sentiments, gracefully expressed. His reputation as a comic poet being sufficiently established, he was desirous of extending his fame, by producing a tragedy. It has been alledged, that some, who were jealous of his growing reputation, put him upon this task, in order, as they imagined, to diminish it, for he seemed to be of too gay and lively a disposition for tragedy, and in all likelihood would miscarry in the attempt. However,

In 1697, after the expectation of the town had been much raised, the Mourning Bride appeared on the New Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields: few plays ever excited so great an ardour of expectation as this, and very few ever succeeded to such an extravagant degree. There is something new in the management of the plot; after moving the passions of the audience to the greatest commiseration, he brings off his principal characters, punishes the guilty, and makes the play conclude happily.

The controversy we have just now mentioned, was thought to have occasioned a dislike in Mr. Congreve towards the stage; yet he afterwards produced another comedy called The Way of the World, which was so just a picture of the world, that, as an author prettily says,

The world could not bear it.

The reception this play met with, compleated our author's disgust to the theatre; upon which Mr. Dennis, who was a warm friend to Congreve, made this fine observation, 'that Mr. Congreve quitted the stage early, and that comedy left it with him.'

It is said that when Congreve found his play met with but indifferent success, he came in a passion on the stage, and desired the audience to save themselves the trouble of shewing their dislike; for he never intended to write again for the Theatre, nor submit his works to the censure of impotent critics. In this particular he kept his word with them, and as if he had foreseen the fate of his play, he took an ample revenge, in his Epilogue, of the race of Little Snarlers, who excited by envy, and supported by false ideas of their own importance, dared to constitute themselves judges of wit, without any just pretensions to it. This play has long ago triumphed over its enemies, and is now in great esteem amongst the best judges of Theatrical Entertainments.

Though Mr. Congreve quitted the stage, yet did not he give up the cause of poetry; for on the death of the marquis of Blandford, the only son of the duke of Marlborough, which happened in 1705, we find him composing a pastoral to soften the grief of that illustrious family, which he addressed to the lord treasurer Godolphin.

About the same time, the extraordinary success of the duke of Marlborough's arms, furnished him with materials for an Ode to Queen Anne. In another Pindaric Ode he celebrates the lord Godolphin; taking occasion from that nobleman's delight in horse-racing to imitate the Greek Poet in his favourite manner of writing, by an elegant digression; to which he added a criticism on that species of poetry.

As in the early part of his life, Mr. Congreve had received favours from people of a less exalted station, so of these he was highly sensible, and never let slip any opportunity of shewing his gratitude. He wrote an Epilogue to his old friend Southern's Tragedy of Oroonoko; and Mr. Dryden has acknowledged his assistance in the translation of Virgil: He contributed by his Version of the eleventh Satire of Juvenal, to the translation of that poet, published also by Mr. Dryden, to whom Mr. Congreve wrote a copy of Verses on his Translation of Persius. He wrote likewise a Prologue for a Play of Mr. Charles Dryden's, full of kindness for that young gentleman, and of respect for his father.

But the noblest testimony he gave of his filial regard to the memory of his poetical father, Mr. John Dryden, was the Panegyric he wrote upon his works, contained in the dedication of Dryden's plays to the duke of Newcastle.

Mr. Congreve translated the third Book of Ovid's Art of Love; some favourite passages from the Iliad, and writ some Epigrams, in all which he was not unsuccessful, though at the same time he has been exceeded by his cotemporaries in the same attempts.

The author of the elegant Letters, not long ago published under the name of Fitz Osborne, has taken some pains to set before his readers; the version of those parts of Homer, translated by our author, and the same passages by Pope and Tickell, in which comparison the palm is very deservedly yielded to Pope.

Our author wrote a Satire called Doris, celebrated by Sir Richard Steele, who was a warm friend to Mr. Congreve. He also wrote the Judgment of Paris, a Masque; and the Opera of Semele; of these, the former was acted with great applause, and the latter is finely set to music by Mr. Eccles. The last of his Poetical Works, is his Art of Pleasing, addressed to Sir Richard Temple, the late viscount Cobham. He has written many Prose Epistles, dispersed in the works of other writers, and his Essay on Humour in Comedy, published in a Collection of Dennis's Letters, is an entertaining, and correct piece of criticism: All his other Letters are written with a great deal of wit and spirit, a fine flow of language; and are so happily intermixt with a lively and inoffensive raillery, that it is impossible not to be pleased with them at the first reading: we may be satisfied from the perusal of them, that his conversation must have been very engaging, and therefore we need not wonder that he was caressed by the greatest men of his time, or that they courted his friendship by every act of kindness in their power.

It is said of Mr. Congreve, that he was a particular favourite with the ladies, some of whom were of the first distinction. He indulged none of those reveries, and affected absences so peculiar to men of wit: He was sprightly as well as elegant in his manner, and so much the favourite of Henrietta duchess of Marlborough, that even after his death, she caused an image of him to be every day placed at her toilet-table, to which she would talk as to the living Mr. Congreve, with all the freedom of the most polite and unreserved conversation. Mrs. Bracegirdle likewise had the highest veneration for our author, and joined with her Grace in a boundless profusion of sorrow upon his death. Some think, he had made a better figure in his Last Will, had he remembered his friendship he professed for Mrs. Bracegirdle, whose admirable performance added spirit to his dramatic pieces; but he forgot her, and gratified his vanity by chusing to make a rich duchess his sole legatee, and executrix.

Mr. Congreve was the son of fortune, as well as of the muses. He was early preferred to an affluent situation, and no change of ministry ever affected him, nor was he ever removed from any post he enjoyed, except to a better.

His place in the custom-house, and his office of secretary in Jamaica, are said to have brought him in upwards of 1200 l. a year; and he was so far an oeconomist, as to raise from thence a competent estate. No man of his learning ever pass'd thro' life with more ease, or less envy; and as in the dawn of his reputation he was very dear to the greatest wits of his time, so during his whole life he preserved the utmost respect of, and received continual marks of esteem from, men of genius and letters, without ever being involved, in any of their quarrels, or drawing upon himself the least mark of distaste, or, even dissatisfaction. The greatest part of the last twenty years of his life were spent in ease and retirement, and he gave himself no trouble about reputation. When the celebrated Voltaire was in England, he waited upon Congreve, and pass'd some compliments upon him, as to the reputation and merit of his works; Congreve thanked him, but at the same time told that ingenious foreigner, he did not chuse to be considered as an author, but only as a private gentleman, and in that light expected to be visited. Voltaire answered, 'That if he had never been any thing but a private gentleman, in all probability, he had never been troubled with that visit.'

Mr. Voltaire upon this occasion observes, that he was not a little disgusted with so unseasonable a piece of vanity:—This was indeed the highest instance of it, that perhaps can be produced. A man who owed to his wit and writings the reputation, as well as the fortune, he acquired, pretending to divest himself of human nature to such a degree, as to have no consciousness of his own merit, was the most absurd piece of vanity that ever entered into the heart of man; and of all vanity, that is the greatest which masks itself under the appearance of the opposite quality.

Towards the close of his life, he was much troubled with the gout; and for this reason, in the summer of the year 1728, he made a tour to Bath, for the benefit of the waters, where he had the misfortune to be overturned in his chariot, from which time he complained of a pain in his side, which was supposed to arise from some inward bruise. Upon his return to London, he perceived his health gradually decline, which he bore with fortitude and resignation.

On January the 19th, 1728-9, he yielded his last breath, about five o'clock in the morning, at his house in Surrey-street in the Strand, in the fifty-seventh year of his age. On the sunday following, January 26, his corpse lay in state in the Jerusalem-Chamber, from whence the same evening, between the hours of nine and ten, it was carried with great decency and solemnity to Henry the VIIth's Chapel; and after the funeral service was performed, it was interred in the Abbey. The pall was supported by the duke of Bridgewater, earl of Godolphin, lord Cobham, lord Wilmington, the honourable George Berkley, Esq; and Brigadier-general Churchill; and colonel Congreve followed his corpse as chief mourner; some time after, a neat and elegant monument was erected to his memory, by Henrietta duchess of Marlborough.

Mr. Congreve's reputation is so extensive, and his works so generally read, that any specimen of his poetry may be deemed superfluous. But finding an epistle of our author's in the Biographia Brittannica, not inserted in his works, it may not be improper to give it a place here. It is addressed to the lord viscount Cobham, and the ingenious authors inform us, that they copied it from a MS. very correct.

As in this poem there is a visible allusion to the measures, which the writer thought were too complaisant to the French, it is evident it must have been penned but a very small time before his death.

Of improving the present time.

Sincerest critic of my prose, or rhyme.
Tell how thy pleasing Stowe employs thy time.
Say, Cobham, what amuses thy retreat?
Or stratagems of war, or schemes of state?
Dost thou recall to mind, with joy or grief,
Great Marlbro's actions? that immortal chief,
Whose highest trophy, rais'd in each campaign,
More than suffic'd to signalize a reign.
Does thy remembrance rising, warm thy heart
With glory past, where thou thyself had'st part;
Or do'st thou grieve indignant, now to see
The fruitless end of all thy victory!
To see th' audacious foe, so late subdu'd,
Dispute those terms for which so long they su'd,
As if Britannia now were sunk so low,
To beg that peace she wanted to bestow.
Be far, that guilt! be never known that shame!
That England should retract her rightful claim!
Or ceasing to be dreaded and ador'd,
Stain with her pen the lustre of her sword.
Or dost thou give the winds, a-far to blow,
Each vexing thought, and heart-devouring woe,
And fix thy mind alone on rural scenes,
To turn the levell'd lawns to liquid plains;
To raise the creeping rills from humble beds,
And force the latent springs to lift their heads;
On watry columns capitals to rear,
That mix their flowing curls with upper air?
Or dost thou, weary grown, late works neglect,
No temples, statues, obelisks erect;
But catch the morning breeze from fragrant meads.
Or shun the noon-tide ray in wholesome shades;
Or lowly walk along the mazy wood,
To meditate on all that's wise and good:
For nature, bountiful, in thee has join'd,
A person pleasing, with a worthy mind,
Not giv'n the form alone, but means and art,
To draw the eye, or to allure the heart.
Poor were the praise, in fortune to excel,
Yet want the way to use that fortune well.
While thus adorn'd, while thus with virtue crown'd,
At home in peace; abroad, in arms renown'd;
Graceful in form, and winning in address,
While well you think, what aptly you express;
With health, with honour, with a fair estate,
A table free, and elegantly neat.
What can be added more to mortal bliss?
What can he want that stands possest of this?
What can the fondest wishing mother more,
Of heav'n attentive, for her son implore?
And yet, a happiness remains unknown,
Or to philosophy reveal'd alone;
A precept which, unpractis'd, renders vain
Thy flowing hopes, and pleasure turns to pain.
Shou'd hope and fear thy heart alternate tear,
Or love, or hate, or rage, or anxious care,
Whatever passions may thy mind infest,
(Where is that mind which passions ne'er molest?)
Amidst the pangs of such intestine strife,
Still think the present day the last of life;
Defer not 'till to-morrow to be wise,
To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise;
Or shou'd to-morrow chance to chear thy sight,
With her enliv'ning, and unlook'd-for light.
How grateful will appear her dawning rays!
Its favours unexpected doubly please.
Who thus can think, and who such thoughts pursues,
Content may keep his life, or calmly lose.
All proofs of this, thou may'st thyself receive,
When leisure from affairs will give thee leave.
Come, see thy friend retir'd, without regret,
Forgetting care, or striving to forget,
In easy contemplation, soothing time
With morals much, and now and then with rhyme;
Not so robust in body as in mind,
And always undejected, tho' declin'd;
Not wond'ring at the world's new wicked ways,
Compar'd with those of our fore-father's days:
For virtue now is neither more or less,
And vice is only vary'd in the dress:
Believe it, men have ever been the same,
And OVID'S GOLDEN AGE is but a dream.

We shall conclude the life of this eminent wit, with the testimony of Mr. Pope in his favour, from the close of his postscript to the translation of Homer: It is in every respect so honourable, that it would be injurious to Mr. Congreve to omit it.—His words are—'Instead of endeavouring to raise a vain monument to myself, let me leave behind me a memorial of my friendship with one of the most valuable men, as well as the finest writers of my age and country. One who has tried, and knows by his own experience, how hard an undertaking it is to do justice to Homer, and one who I'm sure sincerely rejoices with me at the period of my labours. To him therefore, having brought this long work to a conclusion, I desire to dedicate it, and have the honour and satisfaction of placing together in this manner, the names of Mr. Congreve and of

A. POPE.

[Footnote A: General Dictionary.]

[Footnote B: Wilson's Memoirs of Congreve.]

[Footnote C: Yet Maskwell purposely talks to himself, designing to be overheard by Lord Touchwood; undoubtedly an error in the conduit, and want of art in the author. This he seems here to forget, or would not remember it.]

* * * * *

Sir JOHN VANBRUGH,

This Gentleman was descended from an antient family in Cheshire, which came originally from France; though by the name it would appear to be of Dutch extraction. He received a very liberal education, and became eminent for his poetry, and skill in architecture, to both which he discovered an early propension. It is somewhat remarkable in the History of Poetry, that when the spirit of Tragedy, in a great measure, declined, when Otway and Lee were dead, and Dryden was approaching to old age, that Comedy should then begin to flourish; at an Æra, which one would not have expected to prove auspicious to the cause of mirth.

Much about the same time rose Mr. Congreve, and Sir John Vanbrugh; who, without any invidious reflection on the genius of others, gave a new life to the stage, and restored it to reputation, which before their appearance had been for some time sinking. Happy would it have been for the world, and some advantage to the memory of those comic writers, if they had discovered their wit, without any mixture of that licentiousness, which while it pleased, tended to corrupt the audience. The first step our author made into life, was in the character of an ensign in the army. He was possessed of a very ready wit, and an agreeable elocution. He happened somewhere in his winter quarters, to contract an acquaintance with Sir Thomas Skipwith, and received a particular obligation from him. He had very early discovered a taste for dramatic writing, to improve which he made some attempts in that way, and had the draft or out-lines of two plays lying by him, at the time his acquaintance commenced with Sir Thomas. This gentleman possessed a large share in a Theatrical Patent, though he very little concerned himself in the conduct of it; but that he might not appear altogether remiss, he thought to procure some advantage to the stage, by having our author's play, called the Relapse, to be acted upon it. In this he was not disappointed, for the Relapse succeeded beyond the warmest expectation, and raised Vanbrugh's name very high amongst the writers for the stage.

Tho' this play met with greater applause, than the author expected, yet it was not without its enemies. These were people of the graver sort, who blamed the looseness of the scenes, and the unguarded freedom of the dialect. These complaints induced Vanbrugh to make some observations upon them in his preface, which he thus begins, 'To go about to excuse half the defects this abortive brat is come into the world with, would be to provoke the town with a long useless preface, when 'tis, I doubt, sufficiently sour'd already, by a tedious play.

'I do therefore, with all the humility of a repenting sinner, confess it wants every thing—but length, and in that I hope the severest critics will be pleased to acknowledge, I have not been wanting. But my modesty will sure attone for every thing, when the world shall know it is so great, I am even to this day insensible of those two shining graces, in the play (which some part of the town is pleased to compliment me with) blasphemy and bawdy. For my part I cannot find them out; if there were any obscene expressions upon the stage, here they are in print; for I have dealt fairly, I have not sunk a syllable, that could be ranged under that head, and yet I believe with a steady faith, there is not one woman of real reputation in town, but when she has read it impartially over in her closet, will find it so innocent, she'll think it no affront to her prayer book, to lay it upon the same shelf.'

Being encouraged by the success of the Relapse, he yielded to the sollicitation of lord Hallifax, who had read some of the loose sheets of his Provok'd Wife, to finish that piece; and after throwing them into a proper form, gave the play to the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Though Sir John had a greater inclination to serve the other company, yet the request of lord Hallifax, so eminent a patron of the poets, could not be resisted. Sir Thomas Skipwith was not offended at so reasonable a compliance, and the Provok'd Wife was acted 1698, with success. Some critics likewise objected against this, as a loose performance; and that it taught the married women how to revenge themselves on their husbands, who should offend them.

The play has indeed this moral, that such husbands as resemble Sir John Brute, may expect that neglected beauty, and abused virtue, may be provoked to yield to the motives of revenge, and that the forcible sollicitations of an agreeable person, who not only demonstrates a value, but a passion for what the possessor slights, may be sufficiently prevalent with an injured wife to forfeit her honour.

Though this event may often fall out, that the brutality of a husband produces the infidelity of a wife, yet it need not be shewn upon the stage; women are not generally so tame in their natures, as to bear neglect with patience, and the natural resentments of the human heart will without any other monitor point out the method of revenge. Besides, every husband ought not to be deemed a brute, because a too delicate, or ceremonious wife, shall, in the abundance of her caprice, bestow upon him that appellation. Many women who have beheld this representation, may have been stimulated to imitate lady Brute in her method of revenge, without having suffered her provocation. This play verifies the observation of Mr. Pope,

That Van wants grace, who never wanted wit.

The next play which Sir John Vanbrugh introduced upon the stage was Aesop, a Comedy; in two Parts, acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane 1698. This was originally written in French, by Mr. Boursart, about six years before; but the scenes of Sir Polidorus Hogstye, the Players, the Senator, and the Beau, were added by our author. This performance contains a great deal of general satire, and useful morality; notwithstanding which, it met with but a cold reception from the audience, and its run terminated in about 8 or 9 days. This seemed the more surprising to men of taste, as the French comedy from which it was taken, was played to crowded audiences for a month together. Sir John has rather improved upon the original by adding new scenes, than suffered it to be diminished in a translation, but the French and the English. taste was in that particular very different. We cannot better account for the ill success of this excellent piece, than in the words of Mr. Cibber's Apology for his own Life, when speaking of this play, he has the following observation; 'The character that delivers precepts of wisdom, is, in some sort, severe upon the auditor, for shewing him one wiser than himself; but when folly is his object, he applauds himself for being wiser than the coxcomb he laughs at, and who is not more pleased with an occasion to commend, than to accuse himself?'

Sir John Vanbrugh, it is said, had great facility in writing, and is not a little to be admired for the spirit, ease, and readiness, with which he produced his plays. Notwithstanding his extraordinary expedition, there is a clear and lively simplicity in his wit, that is equally distant from the pedantry of learning, and the lowness of scurrility. As the face of a fine lady, with her hair undressed, may appear in the morning in its brightest glow of beauty; such were the productions of Vanbrugh, adorned with only the negligent graces of nature.

Mr. Cibber observes, that there is something so catching to the ear, so easy to the memory in all he wrote, that it was observed by the actors of his time, that the stile of no author whatsoever gave the memory less trouble than that of Sir John Vanbrugh, which he himself has confirmed by a pleasing experience. His wit and humour was so little laboured, that his most entertaining scenes seemed to be no more than his common conversation committed to paper. As his conceptions were so full of life and humour, it is not much to be wondered at, if his muse should be sometimes too warm to wait the slow pace of judgment, or to endure the drudgery of forming a regular Fable to them.

That Sir John was capable of a great force of thinking, appears abundantly clear from that scene between Aesop and a country gentleman, who comes to complain of the bad conduct of those in power. The dialogue is at once sensible and animated. Aesop shews him what he reckoned the oppressions of the administration, flowed from the prejudices of ignorance, contemplated through the medium of popular discontent. In the interview between the Beau and the Philosopher, there is the following pretty fable. The Beau observes to Aesop, 'It is very well; it is very well, old spark; I say it is very well; because I han't a pair of plod shoes, and a dirty shirt, you think a woman won't venture upon me for husband.—Why now to shew you, old father, how little you philosophers know the ladies.—I'll tell you an adventure of a friend of mine.'

A Band, a Bob-wig and a Feather
Attack'd a lady's heart together,
The band in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,
Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take instead
Of vigorous youth,
Old solemn truth,
With books, and morals into bed,
How happy she would be.

The Bob, he talk'd of management,
What wond'rous blessings Heav'n sent
On care, and pains, and industry;
And truly he must be so free,
To own he thought your airy beaux,
With powdered wigs, and dancing shoes,
Were good for nothing (mend his soul)
But prate and talk, and play the fool.

He said, 'twas wealth gave joy, and mirth,
And that to be the dearest wife,
Of one who laboured all his life,
To make a mine of gold his own,
And not spend sixpence when he'd done
Was Heaven upon earth.

When these two blades had done, d'ye see.
The Feather (as it might be me)
Steps out sir from behind the skreen.
With such an air and such a mien,
Look you, old gentleman, in short,
He quickly spoil'd the statesman's sport.

It prov'd such sunshine weather,
That you must know at the first beck
The lady leapt about his neck,
And off they went together.

The reputation which Sir John gained by his comedies was rewarded with, greater advantages, than what arise from the usual profits of writing for the stage. He was appointed Clarencieux King at Arms, a place which he some time held, and at last disposed of. In August 1716 he was appointed surveyor of the works at Greenwich Hospital; he was likewise made comptroller-general of his Majesty's works, and surveyor of the gardens and waters, the profits of which places, collectively considered, must amount to a very considerable sum. In some part of our author's life (for we cannot justly ascertain the time) he gratified an inclination of visiting France. As curiosity no doubt induced him to pass over to that country, he lost no time in making such observations as could enable him to discern the spirit, and genius of that polite people. His taste for architecture excited him to take a survey of the fortifications in that kingdom; but the ardour of his curiosity drew him into a snare, out of which he found great difficulty to escape. When he was one day surveying some fortifications with the strictest attention, he was taken notice of by an Engineer, secured by authority, and then carried prisoner to the Bastile in Paris. The French were confirmed in suspicions of his design, by several plans being found in his possession at the time he was seized upon; but as the French, except in cases of Heresy, use their prisoners with gentleness and humanity, Sir John found his confinement so endurable, that he amus'd himself in drawing rude draughts of some comedies. This circumstance raising curiosity in Paris, several of the noblesse visited him in the Bastile, when Sir John, who spoke their language with fluency and elegance, insinuated himself into their favour by the vivacity of his wit, and the peculiarity of his humour. He gained so much upon their affections, that they represented him to the French King in an innocent light, and by that means procured his liberty some days before the sollicitation came from: England.

Sir John Vanbrugh formed a project of building a stately theatre in the Hay-market, for which: he had interest enough, to raise a subscription of thirty persons of quality at 100 l. each, in consideration whereof, every subscriber for his own life, should be admitted to whatever entertainments should be publickly performed there, without farther payment for entrance.

On the first stone that was laid in this theatre, were inscribed the words LITTLE WHIG, as a compliment to a lady of extraordinary beauty, then the celebrated toast, and pride of that party. In the year 1706 when this house was finished, Mr. Betterton and his copartners put themselves under the direction of Sir John Vanbrugh and Mr. Congreve; imagining that the conduct of two such eminent authors would restore their ruined affairs; but they found their expectations were too sanguine, for though Sir John was an expeditious writer, yet Mr. Congreve was too judicious to let any thing come unfinished out of his hands; besides, every proper convenience of a good theatre had been sacrificed to shew the audience a vast triumphal piece of architecture, in which plays, by means of the spaciousness of the dome, could not be successfully represented, because the actors could not be distinctly heard.

Not long before this time the Italian Opera began to steal into England, but in as rude a disguise, and as unlike itself as possible; notwithstanding which the new monster pleaded, though it had neither grace, melody, nor action to recommend it. To strike in therefore with the prevailing fashion, Vanbrugh and Congreve opened their New Theatre in the Hay-market, with a translated Opera, set to Italian music, called The Triumph of Love, but it met with a cold reception, being performed only three days, to thin houses.

Immediately upon the failure of the Opera, Vanbrugh produced his comedy called The Confederacy, greatly improved from the Bourgois a la mode of Dancour. The success of this play was not equal to its merit; for it is written in, an uncommon vein of humour, and abounds with the most lively strokes of raillery. The prospects of gain from this theatre were so very unpromising, that Congreve, in a few months, gave up his share and interest in the government wholly to Sir John Vanbrugh; who being now sole proprietor of the house, was under a necessity to exert himself in its support. As he had a happier talent for throwing the English spirit into his translations of French plays, than any former author who had borrowed from them, he, in the same season, gave the public three more of that kind, viz.

1. The Cuckold in Conceit, from the Cocu imaginaire of Moliere.

2. Squire Treelooby, from his Monsieur de Pourceaugnac.

3. The Mistake, from the Depit Amoureux of the same Author[A].

However well executed these pieces were, yet they came to the ear in the same undistinguished utterance, by which almost all their plays had equally suffered; for as few could plainly hear, it was not likely a great many would applaud.

In this situation it appears, that nothing but the union of the two companies could restore the stage to its former reputation.

Sir John Vanbrugh therefore, tired of theatrical management, thought of disposing of his whole farm to some industrious tenant, that might put it into better condition. It was to Mr. Owen Swiny, that in the exigence of his affairs, he made an offer of his actors under such agreements of salary as might be made with them; and of his house, cloaths, and scenes, with the Queen's license to employ them, upon payment of the casual rent of five pounds every acting day, and not to exceed 700 l. per annum. With this proposal Mr. Swiny complied, and governed that stage till another great theatrical revolution.

There are two plays of our author not yet mentioned, viz. The False Friend, a Comedy; acted in 1698, and A Journey to London, a Comedy; which he left unfinished. This last piece was finished by Mr. Cibber to a very great advantage, and now is one of the best comedies in our language. Mr. Cibber, in his prologue, takes particular notice of our author's virtuous intention in composing this piece, which, he says, was to make some amends for those loose scenes, which in the fire of his youth he had with more regard to applause, than virtue, exhibited to the public: but this design will be best understood by inserting the prologue.

PROLOGUE.

This play took birth from principles of truth,
To make amends for errors past, of youth.
A bard that's now no more, in riper days,
Conscious review'd the licence of his plays:
And tho' applause his wanton muse had fir'd,
Himself condemn'd what sensual minds admir'd.
At length he own'd that plays should let you see
Not only what you are, but ought to be:
Though vice was natural, 'twas never meant,
The stage should shew it, but for punishment!
Warm with that thought his muse once more took flame,
Resolv'd to bring licentious life to shame.
Such was the piece, his latest pen design'd',
But left no traces of his plan behind.
Luxurious scenes, unprun'd, or half contriv'd;
Yet, through the mass, his native fire surviv'd:
Rough as rich oar, in mines the treasure lay,
Yet still 'twas rich, and forms at length a play.
In which the bold compiler boasts no merit,
But that his pains have sav'd you scenes of spirit.
Not scenes that would a noisy joy impart,
But such as hush the mind, and warm the heart.
From praise of hands, no sure account he draws,
But fix'd attention is, sincere applause.
If then (for hard you'll own the task) his art
Can to those Embrion scenes new life impart;
The living proudly would exclude his lays,
And to the buried bard resign the praise.

Sir John indeed appears to have been often sensible of the immorality of his scenes; for in the year 1725 when the company of comedians was called upon, in a manner that could not be resisted, to revive the Provok'd Wife, the author, who was conscious how justly it was exposed to censure, thought proper to substitute a new scene in the fourth act, in place of another, in which, in the wantonness of his wit and humour, he had made a Rake talk like a Rake, in the habit of a Clergyman. To avoid which offence, he put the same Debauchee into the Undress of a Woman of Quality; for the character of a fine lady, it seems, is not reckoned so indelibly sacred, as that of a Churchman. Whatever follies he exposed in the petticoat kept him at least clear of his former imputed prophaneness, and appeared now to the audience innocently ridiculous.

This ingenious dramatist died of a quinsey at his house in Whitehall, on the 26th of March 1726. He was a man of a lively imagination, of a facetious, and engaging humour, and as he lived esteemed by all his acquaintance, so he died without leaving ons enemy to reproach his memory; a felicity which few men of public employments, or possessed of so distinguished a genius, ever enjoyed. He has left behind him monuments of fame, which can never perish but with taste and politeness.

[Footnote A: The two first were never printed from Sir John's manuscript.]

* * * * *

Sir RICHARD STEELE, Knt.

This celebrated genius was born in Ireland. His father being a counsellor at law, and private secretary to James duke of Ormond, he went over with his grace to that kingdom, when he was raised to the dignity of lord lieutenant[A]. Our author when but very young, came over into England; and was educated at the Charter-House school in London, where Mr. Addison was his school-fellow, and where they contracted a friendship which continued firm till the death of that great man.

His inclination leading him to the army, he rode for some time privately in the guards; in which station, as he himself tells us, in his Apology for his Writings, he first became an author, a way of life in which the irregularities of youth are considered as a kind of recommendation.

Mr. Steele was born with the most violent propension to pleasure, and at the same time was master of so much good sense, as to be able to discern the extreme folly of licentious courses, their moral unfitness, and the many calamities they naturally produce. He maintained a perpetual struggle between reason and appetite. He frequently fell into indulgencies, which cost him many a pang of remorse, and under the conviction of the danger of a vicious life, he wrote his Christian Hero, with a design to fix upon his own mind a strong impression of virtue and religion. But this secret admonition to his conscience he judged too weak, and therefore in the year 1701 printed the book with his name prefixed, in hopes that a standing evidence against himself in the eyes of the world, might the more forcibly induce him to lay a restraint upon his desires, and make him ashamed of vice, so contrary to his own sense and conviction.

This piece was the first of any note, and is esteem'd by some as one of the best of Mr. Steele's works; he gained great reputation by it, and recommended himself to the regard of all pious and good men. But while he grew in the esteem of the religious and worthy, he sunk in the opinion of his old companions in gaiety: He was reckoned by them to have degenerated from the gay, sprightly companion, to the dull disagreeable pedant, and they measured the least levity of his words and actions with the character of a Christian Hero. Thus he found himself slighted, instead of being encouraged for his declarations as to religion; but happily those who held him in contempt for his defence of piety and goodness were characters, with whom to be at variance is virtue. But Mr. Steele, who could not be content with the suffrage of the Good only, without the concurrence of the Gay, set about recovering the favour of the latter by innocent means: He introduced a Comedy on the stage, called Grief A-la-Mode, in which, tho' full of incidents that move laughter, and inspire chearfulness, virtue and vice appear just as they ought to do. This play was acted at the Theatre in Drury Lane 1702, and as nothing can make the town so fond of a man, as a successful play; so this, with some other particulars enlarged on to his advantage, recommended him to king William, and his name to be provided for was in the last table-book worn by his majesty. He had before this time procured a captain's commission in the lord Lucas's regiment, by the interest of lord Cutts, to whom he dedicated his Christian Hero, and who likewise appointed him his secretary: His next appearance as a writer, was in the office of Gazetteer, in which he observes in the same apology for himself, he worked faithfully, according to order, without ever erring against the rule observed by all ministers, to keep that paper very innocent, and insipid. The reproaches he heard every Gazette-day against the writer of it, inspired him with a fortitude of being remarkably negligent of what people said, which he did not deserve. In endeavouring to acquire this negligence, he certainly acted a prudent part, and gained the most important and leading advantage, with which, every author should set out.

Whoever writes for the public, is sure to draw down envy on himself from some quarter or other, and they who are resolved never to be pleased, consider him as too assuming, and discover their resentment by contempt. How miserable is the state of an author! It is his misfortune in common with the fair sex,

To please too little, or to please too much.

If he happens to be a successful writer, his friends who become then proud of his acquaintance, flatter him, and by soothing his vanity teach him to overrate his importance, and while he grasps at universal fame, he loses by too vigorous an effort, what he had acquired by diligence and application: If he pleases too little, that is, if his works are not read, he is in a fair way of being a great loser by his attempt to please. Mr. Steele still continued to write plays. In the year 1703 his Comedy, entitled the Tender Husband, or the Accomplished Fools, was acted at the Theatre in Drury-Lane; as his Comedy of the Lying-Lovers, or the Ladies Friendship, was likewise the year following, both with success; so that his reputation was now fully established.

In the year 1709 he began the Taller, the first of which was published on Tuesday April the 12th, and the last on Tuesday January the 2d, 1710-11. This paper greatly increasing his fame, he was preferred to be one of the commissioners of the stamp office. Upon laying down the Tatler, he set up, in concert with Mr. Addison, the Spectator, which was continued from March the 1st, 1710-11, to December the 6th 1712; and resumed June 18th 1714. and continued till December the 20th, the same year.

The Guardian was likewise published by them, in 1713, and in the October of the same year, Mr. Steele began a political paper, entitled the Englishman.

In the Spectator, Mr. Steele's papers are marked with the letter T. and in them are contained the most picturesque descriptions of low life, of which he was perfect matter. Humour was his talent, though not so much confined to that cast of writing to be incapable of painting very tender scenes; witness his Conscious Lovers, which never fails to draw tears; and in some of his Spectators he has written in so feeling a manner, that none can read them without emotion.

He had a strong inclination to find out the humours of low life, and to make himself master of them. When he was at Edinburgh, as one of the commissioners on the forfeited estates, he one day made a very splendid feast, and while his servants were surprized at the great preparations, and were expecting every moment to carry out his invitations to the company for whom they imagined it was prepared, he commanded them to go out to the street, and pick up whatever beggars, and poor people they saw, and invite them to his house: The servants obeyed, and Sir Richard soon saw himself at the head of 40 or 50 beggars, together with some poor decay'd tradesmen. After dinner he plied them with punch and wine, and when the frolic was ended, he declared, that besides the pleasure of feeding so many hungry persons, he had learned from them humour enough for a good comedy.

Our author was a man of the highest benevolence; he celebrates a generous action with a warmth that is only peculiar to a good heart; and however he may be blamed for want of oeconomy, &c. yet was he the most agreeable, and if we may be allowed the expression, the most innocent rake, that ever trod the rounds of indulgence.

He wrote several poetical pieces, particularly the Englishman's thanks to the duke of Marlborough, printed in 1711; a letter to Sir Miles Wharton, concerning Occasional Peers, dated March 5th, 1713. The Guardian of August the 7th, 1713; and the importance of Dunkirk considered, in defence of that Guardian, in a letter to the bailiff of Stockbridge: The French Faith represented in the present state of Dunkirk: The Crisis, a Letter to a Member of Parliament, concerning the bill to prevent the present Growth of Schism, dated May 28, 1714; and his Apology for himself and his Writings.

These pieces shew how much he was displeased with the last measures of Queen Anne, and were written to combat the Tory ministry; to oppose which he set about procuring a seat in Parliament; for which purpose he resigned his place of commissioner of the stamp-office, in June 1713, in a letter to the earl of Oxford, lord high treasurer, and was chosen member of the House of Commons, for the Borough of Stockbridge. But he did not long enjoy his seat in that house before he was expelled, on the 18th of March 1713, for writing the Englishman, being the close of the paper so called; and the Crisis[B].

In 1714 he published the Romish Ecclesiastical History of late years, and a paper intitled The Lover; the first of which appeared Thursday February 25, 1714, and another intitled the Reader, which began on Thursday April 22, the same year. In the sixth Number of this last paper, he gave an account of his design of writing the History of the Duke of Marlborough, from proper materials in his custody: the relation to commence from the date of his grace's commission, as captain-general, and plenipotentiary; and to end with the expiration of these commissions. But this noble design he lived not to execute, and the materials were afterwards returned to the duchess of Marlborough, who left them to Mr. Mallet, with a handsome gratuity for the execution of Sir Richard's design.

Soon after the accession of king George the 1st to the throne, Mr. Steele was appointed surveyor of the royal stables at Hampton-Court, and governor of the royal company of Comedians, by a patent, dated January 19, 1714-15. He was likewise put into the commission of the peace for the county of Middlesex; and in April 1715 received the honour of knighthood from his majesty. In the first parliament of that king, he was chosen for Borough-brigg in Yorkshire; and after the suppressing the Rebellion in the North, was appointed one of the commissioners of the forfeited estates in Scotland, where he received from several of the nobility and gentry of that part of the united kingdom the most distinguishing marks of respect. He contracted a friendship while in Scotland, with one Hart, a Presbyterian minister in Edinburgh, whom he afterwards honoured with his correspondence: This Hart he used merrily to stile the Hangman of the Gospel, for though he was a facetious good-natur'd man, yet he had fallen into a peculiar way of preaching what he called the Terrors of the Law, and denounced anathemas from the pulpit without reserve.

Sir Richard held frequent conversations with Hart, and other ministers, concerning the restoration of episcopacy, the antient church-government of that nation, and often observed that it was pity, when the two kingdoms were united in language, in dress, in politics, and in all essential points, even in religion, should yet be divided in the ecclesiastical administration, which still serves to maintain a kind of alienation between the people. He found many of the Scots well disposed towards prelacy; but the generality, who were taught to contemplate the church of England, with as much horror as that of Rome, could not soon be prevailed upon to return to it.

Sir Richard wished well to the interests of religion, and as he imagined that Union would promote it, he had some thoughts of proposing it at court, but the times were unfavourable. The Presbyterians had lately appeared active against the rebels, and were not to be disobliged; but such is now the good understanding between the episcopal and presbyterian parties, that a few concessions on the one side, and not many advances on the other, possibly might produce an amicable coalition, as it is chiefly in form, rather than in articles of religion, in which they differ.

In the year 1715 he published an account of the state of the Roman Catholic Religion throughout the World, translated from an Italian manuscript, with a dedication to the Pope, giving him a very particular account of the state of religion amongst the Protestants, and several other matters of importance, relating to Great-Britain; but this dedication is supposed to be written by another very eminent hand, more conversant in subjects of that nature than Sir Richard.

The same year our author published a Letter from the earl of Marr to the king, before his majesty's arrival in England; with some remarks on my lord's subsequent conduct; and the year following a second volume of the Englishman, and in 1718 an account of a Fish-Pool, which was a project of his for bringing fish to market alive, for which he obtained a patent.

In 1719 he published a pamphlet called the Spinster, and a Letter to the Earl of Oxford, concerning the Bill of Peerage, which bill he opposed in the House of Commons. Some time after, he wrote against the South-Sea-Scheme; his Crisis of posterity; and another piece intitled, A Nation a Family; and on Saturday January the 2d, 1719-20, he began a paper called the Theatre, during the course of which his patent of governor of the Royal Company of Comedians, being suspended by his majesty, he published, The State of the Case.

In the year 1722, he brought his Conscious Lovers on the stage, with prodigious success. This is the last and most finished of all Sir Richard's Comedies, and 'tis doubtful if there is upon the stage, any more instructing; that tends to convey a finer moral, or is better conducted in its design. We have already observed, that it is impossible to witness the tender scenes of this Comedy without emotion; that is, no man of feeling and humanity, who has experienced the délicate solicitudes of love and affection, can do it. Sir Richard has told us, that when one of the players told Mr. Wilks, that there was a General weeping for Indiana; he politely observed, that he would not fight the worse for that; and indeed what a noble school of morality would the stage be, if all those who write for it would observe such delicate chastity; they would then inforce an honourable and virtuous deportment, by the most insinuating and easy means; they would so allure the audience by the amiable form of goodness represented in her native loveliness, that he who could resist her charms, must be something more than wicked.

When Sir Richard finished this Comedy, the parts of Tom and Phillis were not then in it: He read it to Mr. Cibber, who candidly told him, that though he liked his play upon the whole, both in the cast of the characters and execution of them; yet, that it was rather too grave for an English audience, who want generally to laugh at a Comedy, and without which in their opinion, the end is not answered. Mr. Cibber then proposed the addition of some comic characters, with which Sir Richard agreed, and saw the propriety and force of the observation. This comedy (at Sir Richard's request) received many additions from, and were greatly improved by Mr. Cibber.—Our author dedicated this work to the king, who made him a present of 500 l.

Some years before his death, he grew paralytic, and retired to his seat at Langunner, near Caermarthen in Wales, where he died September the 1st, 1729; and was privately interred according to his own desire, in the church of Caermarthen.

Besides his writings above-mentionened, he began on Saturday the 17th of December, a weekly paper in quarto, called the Town-Talk, in a letter to a lady in the country; and another, intitled the Tea-Table: He had likewise planned a comedy which he intended to call The School of Action.—As Sir Richard was beloved when living, so his loss was sincerely regretted at his death. He was a man of undissembled, and extensive benevolence; a friend to the friendless, and as far as his circumstances would permit, the father of every orphan: His works are chaste, and manly, he himself admired virtue, and he drew her as lovely as she is: of his works it may be said, as Sir George Lyttleton in his prologue to Coriolanus observes of Thomson, that there are not in them

One corrupted, one immoral thought,
A line which dying he could wish to blot.

He was a stranger to the most distant appearance of envy or malevolence, never jealous of any man's growing reputation, and so far from arrogating any praise to himself, from his conjunction with Mr. Addison, that he was the first who desired him to distinguish his papers in the Spectator, and after the death of that great man was a faithful executor of his fame, notwithstanding an aspersion which Mr. Tickell was so unjust to throw upon him. Sir Richard's greatest error was want of oeconomy, as appears from the two following instances related by the elegant writer of Mr. Savage's Life, to whom that gentleman communicated them.

'Savage was once desired by Sir Richard, with an air of the utmost importance, to come very early to his house the next morning. Mr. Savage came as he had promised, found the chariot at the door, and Sir Richard waiting for him ready to go out. What was intended, and whither they were to go, Savage could not conjecture, and was not willing to inquire, but immediately seated himself with Sir Richard: The coachman was ordered to drive, and they hurried with the utmost expedition to Hyde-Park Corner, where they stopped at a petty tavern, and retired to a private room. Sir Richard then informed him, that he intended to publish a pamphlet, and that he desired him to come thither, that he might write for him. They soon sat down to the work, Sir Richard dictated, and Savage wrote, till the dinner which had been ordered, was put upon the table. Savage was surprised at the meanness of the entertainment, and after some hesitation, ventured to ask for wine, which Sir Richard, not without reluctance ordered to be brought. They then finished their dinner, and proceeded in their pamphlet, which they concluded in the afternoon. Mr. Savage then imagined his task over, and expected that Sir Richard would call for the reckoning and return home; but his expectations deceived him, for Sir Richard told him he was without money and that the pamphlet must be sold before the dinner could be paid for; and Savage was therefore obliged to go and offer their new production to sale for two guineas, which with some difficulty he obtained. Sir Richard then returned home, having retired that day only to avoid his creditors, and composed the pamphlet only to discharge his reckoning.' As Savage has said nothing to the contrary, it is reasonable to conjecture that he had Sir Richard's permission to use his name to the Bookseller, to whom he made an offer of it for two guineas, otherwise it is very improbable that the pamphlet should be sold at all in so short a time.

The other instance is equally uncommon with the former: Sir Richard having incited to his house a great number of persons of the first quality, they were surprized at the number of liveries which surrounded the table; and after dinner, when wine and mirth had set them free from the observation of rigid ceremony, one of them enquired of Sir Richard, how such an expensive train of domestics could be consistent with his fortune? Sir Richard frankly confessed, that they were fellows of whom he would very willingly be rid. And being then asked why he did not discharge them; he declared that they were Bailiffs who had introduced themselves with an execution, and whom, since he could not send them away, he had thought it convenient to imbellish with liveries, that they might do him credit whilst they staid.

His friends were diverted with the expedient, and by paying the debt, discharged the attendance, having obliged Sir Richard to promise that they should never find him again graced with a retinue of the same kind.

He married to his first wife a gentlewoman of Barbadoes, with whom he had a valuable Plantation there on the death of her brother, who was taken by the French at Sea as he was coming to England, and died in France. This wife dying without issue, he married Mary, the daughter of Jonathan Scurlock of Langunnoc in Carmarthanshire, esq; by whom he had one son, Eugene, who died young: of his two daughters, one only is living; which lady became sole heiress to a handsome estate in Wales. She was married, when young, to the hon. John Trevor, esq; one of the judges of the principality of Wales; who since, by the death of his brother, has taken his seat in the House of Lords, as Baron Trevor, &c.

[Footnote A: General Dictionary, vol. ix, p. 395.]

[Footnote B: His expulsion was owing to the spleen of the then prevailing party; what they design'd as a disgrace, prov'd an honour to him.]

* * * * *

ANDREW MARVEL, Esq;[A]

This ingenious gentleman was the son of Mr. Andrew Marvel, Minister and Schoolmaster of Kingston upon Hull in Yorkshire, and was born in that town in the year 1620[B]. He was admitted into Trinity College in Cambridge December 14, 1633, where he had not been long before his studies were interrupted by the following accident:

Some Jesuits with whom he familiarly conversed, observing in him a genius beyond his years, used their utmost efforts to proselyte him to their faith, which they imagined they could more easily accomplish while he was yet young. They so far succeeded as to seduce him from the college, and carry him to London, where, after some months absence, his father found him in a Bookseller's shop, and prevailed upon him to return to the college.

He afterwards pursued his studies with the most indefatigable application, and in the year 1638, took the degree of bachelor of arts, and the same year was admitted scholar of the house, that is, of the foundation at Trinity College[C]. We have no farther account of him for several years after this, only that he travelled through the most polite parts of the world, but in what quality we are not certain, unless in that of secretary to the embassy at Constantinople.

While our author was in France, he wrote his poem entitled Cuidam, qui legendo Scripturam, descripsit Formam, Sapientiam, Sortemque Authoris. Illustrissimo Viro Domino Lanceloto Josepho de Maniban Grammatomanti.

The person to whom he addresses these verses was an Abbot, famous for entering into the qualities of those whom he had never seen, and prognosticating their good, or bad fortune from an inspection of their hand-writing.

During the troubles of the Republic we find him tutor to one Mr. Dutton, a young gentleman; as appears from an original letter of his to Oliver Cromwel. This letter sent to so extraordinary a person by a man of Mr. Marvel's consequence, may excite the reader's curiosity, with which, he shall be gratified. It carries in it much of that stiffness and pedantry peculiar to the times, and is very different from the usual stile of our author.

'May it please your LORDSHIP,

'It might perhaps seem fit for me to seek out words to give your excellence thanks for myself. But indeed the only civility, which it is fit for me to practise with so eminent a person, is to obey you, and to perform honestly this work which you have set me about. Therefore I shall use the time that your lordship is pleased to allow me for writing, only to that purpose for which you have given me it, that is to render you some account of Mr. Dutton. I have taken care to examine him several times in the presence of Mr. Oxenbridge[D], as those who weigh and tell over money, before some witnesses e'er they take charge of it; for I thought that there might be possibly some lightness in the coin, or error in the telling, which hereafter I might be bound to make good. Therefore Mr. Oxenbridge is the best to make your excellence an impartial relation thereof; I shall only say, that I shall strive according to my best understanding to increase whatsoever talent he may have already. Truly he is of a gentle, and waxen disposition; and, God be praised, I cannot say that he hath brought with him any evil impression; and I hope to set nothing upon his spirit, but what shall be of a good sculpture. He hath in him two things, which make youth most easily to be managed, modesty, which is the bridle to vice, and emulation, which is the spur to virtue. And the care which your excellency is pleased to take of him, is no small encouragement, and shall be represented to him; but above all, I shall labour to make him sensible of his duty to God, for then we begin to serve faithfully, when we consider that he is our master; and in this both he and I owe infinitely to your lordship, for having placed in so godly a family as that of Mr. Oxenbridge, whose doctrine and example are like a book and a map, not only instructing the ear, but demonstrating to the eye which way we ought to travel. I shall upon occasion henceforward inform your excellency of any particularities in our little affairs. I have no more at present but to give thanks to God for your lordship, and to beg grace of him, to approve myself.

* * * * *

Mr. Marvel's first appearance in public business at home, was, in being assistant to Milton as Latin secretary to the Protector. He himself tells us, in a piece called The Rehearsal Transposed, that he never had any, not the remotest relation to public matters, nor correspondence with the persons then predominant, until the year 1657, when indeed, says he, 'I entered into an employment, for which I was not altogether improper, and which I considered to be the most innocent, and inoffensive towards his Majesty's affairs of any in that usurped, and irregular government, to which all men were then exposed; and this I accordingly discharged, without disobliging any one person, there having been opportunities, and endeavours since his Majesty's happy return, to have discovered, had it been otherwise.'

A little before the Restoration, he was chosen by his native town, Kingston upon Hull, to sit in that Parliament which began at Westminster April 25, 1660, and again after the Restoration for that which began at the same place May 8, 1661. In this station our author discharged his trust with the utmost fidelity, and always shewed a peculiar regard for those he represented; for he constantly sent the particulars of every proceeding in the House, to the heads of the town for which he was elected; and to those accounts he always joined his own opinion. This respectful behaviour gained so much on their affections, that they allowed him an honourable pension to his death, all which time he continued in Parliament. Mr. Marvel was not endowed with the gift of eloquence, for he seldom spoke in the house; but was however capable of forming an excellent judgment of things, and was so acute a discerner of characters, that his opinion was greatly valued, and he had a powerful influence over many of the Members without doors. Prince Rupert particularly esteemed him, and whenever he voted agreeable to the sentiments of Mr. Marvel, it was a saying of the opposite party, he has been with his tutor. The intimacy between this illustrious foreigner, and our author was so great, that when it was unsafe for the latter to have it known where he lived, on account of some mischief which was threatened him, the prince would frequently visit him in a disguised habit. Mr. Marvel was often in such danger of assassination, that he was obliged to have his letters directed to him in another name, to prevent any discovery that way. He made himself obnoxious to the government, both by his actions, and writings; and notwithstanding his proceedings were all contrary to his private interest, nothing could ever make his resolution, of which the following is a notable instance, and transmits our author's name with lustre to posterity.

One night he was entertained by the King, who had often been delighted with his company: his Majesty next day sent the lord treasurer Danby to find out his lodging; Mr. Marvel, then rented a room up two pair of stairs, in a little court in the Strand, and was writing when the lord treasurer opened the door abruptly upon him. Surprized at the sight of so unexpected a visitor, Mr. Marvel told his lordship, that he believed he had mistaken his way; the lord Danby replied, not now I have found Mr. Marvel: telling him that he came with a message from his Majesty, which was to know what he could do to serve him? his answer was, in his usual facetious manner, that it was not in his Majesty's power to serve him: but coming to a serious explanation of his meaning, he told the lord treasurer, that he well knew the nature of courts, and that whoever is distinguished by a Prince's favour, is certainly expected to vote in his interest. The lord Danby told him, that his Majesty had only a just sense of his merits, in regard to which alone, he desired to know whether there was any place at court he could be pleased with. These offers, though, urged with the greatest earnestness, had no effect upon him; he told the lord treasurer, that he could not accept it with honour, for he must either be ungrateful to the King by voting against him, or betray his country by giving his voice against its interest, at least what he reckoned so. The only favour therefore which he begged of his Majesty, was, that he would esteem him as dutiful a subject as any he had, and more in his proper interest in rejecting his offers, than if he had embraced them. The lord Danby finding no arguments would prevail, told him, the King had ordered a thousand pounds for him, which he hoped he would accept, 'till he could think what farther to ask of his Majesty. This last temptation was refused with the same stedfastness of mind as the first.

The reader must have already taken notice that Mr. Marvel's chief support was the pension allowed him by his constituents, that his lodgings, were mean, and consequently his circumstances at this time could not be affluent. His resisting these temptations therefore in such a situation, was perhaps one of the most heroic instances of patriotism the Annals of England can furnish. But his conduct will be still heightened into a more amiable light, when it is related, that as soon as the lord treasurer had taken his leave, he was obliged to send to a friend to borrow a guinea. As the most powerful allurements of riches, and honour, could never seduce him to relinquish the interest of his country, so not even the most immense dangers could deter him from pursuing it. In a private letter to a friend from Highgate, in which he mentions the insuperable hatred of his foes to him, and their design of murthering him, he has these words; Praeterea magis eccidere metuo quam occidi, non quod vitam tanti aestimem, sed ne imparatus moriar, i.e., 'Besides, I am more apprehensive of killing, than being killed, not that I value life so much, but that I may not die unprepared.' Mr. Marvel did not remain an unconcerned member of the state, when he saw encroachments made upon it both by the civil, and ecclesiastical powers. He saw that some of the bishops had formed an idea of protestantism very different from the true one, and were making such advances towards popery, as would soon issue in a reconciliation. Amongst these ecclesiastics, none was so forward as Dr. Samuel Parker, who published at London 1672 in 8vo. bishop Bramhal's Vindication of himself, and the Episcopal Clergy, from the Presbyterian charge of Popery, as it is managed by Mr. Baxter in his Treatise on the Grotian Religion. Dr. Parker likewise preached up the doctrine of Non-resistance, which slavish principle is admirably calculated to prepare the people for receiving any yoke. Marvel, whose talent consisted in drollery, more than in serious reasoning, took his own method of exposing those opinions. He wrote a piece called The Rehearsal Transposed, in which he very successfully ridiculed Dr. Parker. This ludicrous essay met with several answers, some serious, and others humorous; we shall not here enumerate all the Rejoinders, Replies, and Animad-versions upon it. Wood himself confesses, who was an avowed enemy to Marvel, 'that Dr. Parker judged it more prudent rather to lay down the cudgels, than to enter the lists again, with an untowardly combatant, so hugely well versed, and experienced, in the then newly refined art of sporting, and jeering buffoonery.' And bishop Burnet tells us in the History of his own Time, 'That Dr. Parker, after he had for some years entertained the nation with several virulent books, was attacked by the liveliest droll of the age, who wrote in a burlesque stile, but with so peculiar, and entertaining a conduct, that from the King down to the tradesman, his book was read with great pleasure. This not only humbled Parker, but the whole party, for the author of The Rehearsal Transposed, had all the men of wit on his side.' Dr. Swift likewise in his Apology for the Tale of a Tub, speaking of the usual fate of common answerers to books, and how short-lived their labours are, observes, 'That there is indeed an exception, when any great genius thinks it worth his while to expose a foolish piece; so we still read Marvel's answer to Parker with pleasure, though the book it answers be sunk long ago.'

The next controversy in which we find Mr. Marvel engaged, was with an antagonist of the pious Dr. Croft, bishop of Hereford, who wrote a discourse entitled The Naked Truth, or A True State of the Primitive Church: By an humble Moderator. Dr. Turner, fellow of St. John's College, wrote Animadversions upon this book; Mr. Marvel's answer to these Animadversions, was entitled Mr. Smirk, or The Divine in Mode; being certain Annotations upon the Animadversions on The Naked Truth, together with a Short Historical Essay concerning General Councils, Creeds, and Impositions in Matters of Religion, printed 1676.

Our author's next work was An Account of the Growth of Popery, and Arbitrary Government in England; more particularly from the long prorogation of November 1675, ending February 15, 1676, 'till the meeting of Parliament July 15, 1677, printed in folio 1678. Our author in a letter dated June 10, 1678, wrote thus; 'There came out about Christmas last here, a large book concerning the Growth of Popery, and Arbitrary Government. There have been great rewards offered in private, and considerable, in the Gazette, to any, who would inform of the author, and Printer, but not yet discovered. Three or four printed books since have described (as near as was proper to go, the man being a member of Parliament) Mr. Marvel to be the author, but if he had, he surely could not have escaped being questioned in Parliament, or 'Some other place.' This book was so offensive to the court at that time, that an order was published in these words,

'Whereas there have been lately printed, and published several seditious, and scandalous libels against the proceedings of both Houses of Parliament, and other his Majesty's Courts of Justice, to the dishonour of his Majesty's government, and the hazard of the public peace, these are to give notice, that what person soever shall discover unto one of the secretaries of state, the printer, publisher, author, or hander to the press of any of the said libels, so that full evidence may be made thereof to a Jury, without mentioning the informer, especially one libel, entitled An Account of the Growth of Popery; and another called A Reasonable Argument to all the Grand Juries, &c. the discoverer shall be rewarded as follows; he shall have fifty pounds for such discovery as aforesaid, of the printer or publisher of it from the press, and for the hander of it to the press, one hundred pounds.'

Mr. Marvel begins this book with a panegyric on the constitution of the English government, shewing how happy the people are under such wholesome laws, which if faithfully observed, must make a people happy, and a monarch great. He observes, that the king and the subject are equally under the laws; and that the former is no longer king than he continues to obey them. 'So that, says he, the kings of England, are in nothing inferior to other princes, save in being more abridg'd from injuring their own subjects, but have as large a field as any of external felicity, wherein to exercise their own virtue, and to reward and encourage it in others. In short there is nothing that comes nearer the divine perfection, than when the monarch, as with us, enjoys a capacity of doing all the good imaginable to mankind, under a disability of all that is evil.'

After slightly tracing popery from earlier times, he begins with the Dutch war in 1665; but dwells most upon the proceedings at Rome, from November 1675, to July 1677. He relates the occasion of the Dutch war, shews that the papists, and the French in particular, were the true springs of all our councils; and draws the following picture of popery.

'It is such a thing, as cannot but for want of a word to express it, be called a religion; nor is it to be mentioned with that civility, which is otherwise decent to be used in speaking of the differences of human opinions about divine matters; were it either open Juadism, or plain Turkery, or, there is yet a certain Bona Fides in the most extravagant belief, and the sincerity of an erroneous profession may render it more pardonable: But this is a compound of all the three, an extract of whatever is most ridiculous or impious in them, incorporated with more peculiar absurdities of its own, in which those were deficient; and all this deliberately contrived, and knowingly carried on, by the solid imposture of priests, under the name of Christianity.'

This great man died, not without strong suspicions of being poisoned, August 16, 1678, in the 58th year of his age, and was interred in the church of St. Giles's in the Fields; and in the year 1688 the town of Kingston upon Hull contributed a sum of money to erect a monument over him, in St. Giles's church, for which an epitaph was composed by an able hand; but the minister of that church, piously forbad both the inscription and monument to be placed there.

Mr. Wood tells us, that in his conversation, he was very modest, and of few words; and Mr. Cooke observes, 'that he was very reserved among people he did not very well know; but a most delightful, and improving companion amongst his friends.'

In the year 1680, his miscellaneous poems were published, to which is prefixed this advertisement. 'These are to certify every ingenious reader, that all these poems, as also the other things in this book contained, are printed according to the exact copies of my late dear husband, under his own hand writing, both found since his death, among his other papers.

Witness my hand,

MARY MARVEL.

But Mr. Cooke informs us, 'that these were published with a mercenary view; and indeed not at all to the honour of the deceased, by a woman with whom he lodged, who hoped by this stratagem to share in what he left behind him.'

He was never married, and the same gentleman observes in another place, that in the editions of 1681, there are such gross errors, especially in the Latin Poems, as make several lines unintelligible; and that in the volume of Poems on Affairs of State, the same mistakes are as frequent; and in those, some pieces are attributed to our author, which he never wrote. Most of his Poems printed in Dryden's Miscellanies are so imperfect, that whole stanzas are omitted in many places.

These Mr. Cooke has restored in his edition of the works of Andrew Marvel, Esq; printed at London 1725, in two volumes, and corrected such faults as in either of the two former editions obscure the sense: in this edition are also added, some poems from original manuscripts. Great care has likewise been taken by Mr. Cooke, to retrench such pieces as he was sure were not genuine.

Mr. Marvel, considered as a statesman, makes a more conspicuous figure than any of the age in which he lived, the proceeding, or the subsequent: He possessed the first quality of a statesman, that is, inviolable integrity, and a heart so confirmed against corruption, that neither indigence, a love of pomp or even dangers the most formidable, could move his settled purpose, to pursue in every respect, the interest of his country.

That Marvel understood the true interest of his country, is abundantly clear, from the great reverence paid to his opinion, by such persons as were most able to discern, and most disposed to promote its welfare. He has succeeded to a miracle in the droll way of writing; and when he assumes a severity, and writes seriously his arguments and notions are far removed from imbecility.

As a poet, I cannot better delineate his character than in the words of Mr. Cooke, 'There are few of his poems (says he) that have not something very pleasing in them, and some he must be allowed to have excelled in; most of them seem to be the effect of a lively genius, and manly sense, but at the same time seem to want that correctness he was capable of making. His most finished pieces are upon Milton's Paradise Lost, and upon Blood's stealing the crown; the latter of which is very satirical.'

On BLOOD's stealing the Crown.

When daring Blood, his rent to have regain'd,
Upon the English diadem distrain'd;
He chose the cassoc, circingle, and gown,
The fittest mask for one that robs the crown:
But his lay-pity underneath prevail'd,
And, while he sav'd the keeper's life, he fail'd.
With the priest's vestment had he but put on
The prelate's cruelty, the crown had gone.

'In his state Poems, is contained much of the secret history of king Charles the IId, in which time they were all written. They were composed on various occasions, and chiefly to expose a corrupt ministry, and the violence of those who were for persecuting all who differed from them in opinion. He has several Poems in Latin, some of which he translated into English, and one in Greek. They have each their proper merit; he discovers a great facility in writing the Latin tongue. There are some small pieces of his in prose, which ought not to escape observation. From his letter to Sir John Trott, there seems to have been a friendly correspondence between him and that gentleman. By his Familiar Letters, we may easily judge what part of his works are laboured, and what not. But of all his pieces in Prose, the King's Mock-Speech to both Houses of Parliament, has most of spirit, and humour. As it will furnish the best specimen of Mr. Marvel's genius for drollery, as well as the character of that prince and ministry, we shall here insert it, as a performance of the most exquisite humour we have ever seen.

His Majesty's most gracious Speech to both
Houses of Parliament.

My Lords and Gentlemen,

'I told you, at our last meeting, the winter was the fittest time for business, and truly I thought so, till my lord treasurer assured me the spring was the best season for sallads and subsidies. I hope therefore, that April will not prove so unnatural a month, as not to afford some kind showers on my parched exchequer, which gapes for want of them. Some of you, perhaps, will think it dangerous to make me too rich; but I do not fear it; for I promise you faithfully, whatever you give me I will always want; and although in other things my word may be thought a slender authority, yet in that, you may rely on me, I will never break it.

My Lords and Gentlemen,

I can bear my straits with patience; but my lord treasurer does protest to me, that the revenue, as it now stands, will not serve him and me too. One of us must suffer for it, if you do not help me. I must speak freely to you, I am under bad circumstances, for besides my harlots in service, my Reformado Concubines lie heavy upon me. I have a passable good estate, I confess, but, God's-fish, I have a great charge upon't. Here's my lord treasurer can tell, that all the money designed for next summer's guards must, of necessity, be applyed to the next year's cradles and swadling-cloths. What shall we do for ships then? I hint this only to you, it being your business, not mine. I know, by experience, I can live without ships. I lived ten years abroad without, and never had my health better in my life; but how you will be without, I leave to yourselves to judge, and therefore hint this only by the by: I do not insist upon it. There's another thing I must press more earnestly, and that is this: It seems, a good part of my revenue will expire in two or three years, except you will be pleased to continue it. I have to say for't; pray why did you give me so much as you have done, unless you resolve to give as fast as I call for it? The nation hates you already for giving so much, and I'll hate you too, if you do not give me more. So that if you stick not to me, you must not have a friend in England. On the other hand, if you will give me the revenue I desire, I shall be able to do those things for your religion and liberty, that I have had long in my thoughts, but cannot effect them without a little more money to carry me through. Therefore look to't, and take notice, that if you do not make me rich enough to undo you, it shall lie at your doors. For my part, I wash my hands on't. But that I may gain your good opinion, the best way is to acquaint you what I have done to deserve it, out of my royal care for your religion and your property. For the first, my proclamation is a true picture of my mind. He that cannot, as in a glass, see my zeal for the church of England, does not deserve any farther satisfaction, for I declare him willful, abominable, and not good. Some may, perhaps, be startled, and cry, how comes this sudden change? To which I answer, I am a changling, and that's sufficient, I think. But to convince men farther, that I mean what I say, there are these arguments.

First, I tell you so, and you know I never break
my word.

Secondly, my lord treasurer says so, and he never
told a lye in his life.

Thirdly, my lord Lauderdale will undertake it for me; and I should be loath, by any art of mine, he should forfeit the credit he has with you.

If you desire more instances of my zeal, I have them for you. For example, I have converted my natural sons from Popery; and I may say, without vanity, it was my own work, so much the more peculiarly mine than the begetting them. 'Twould do one's heart good to hear how prettily George can read already in the Psalter. They are all fine children, God bless 'em, and so like me in their understandings! But, as I was saying, I have, to please you, given a pension to your favourite, my lord Lauderdale; not so much that I thought he wanted it, as that you would take it kindly. I have made Carwel duchess of Portsmouth, and marry'd her sister to the earl of Pembroke. I have, at my brother's request, lent my lord Inchequin into Barbary, to settle the Protestant religion among the Moors, and an English interest at Tangier. I have made Crew bishop of Durham, and, at the first word of my lady Portsmouth, Prideaux bishop of Chichester. I know not, for my part, what factious men would have; but this I am sure of, my predecessors never did any thing like this, to gain the good-will of their subjects. So much for your religion, and now for your property. My behaviour to the bankers is a public instance; and the proceedings between Mrs. Hyde and Mrs. Sutton, for private ones, are such convincing evidences, that it will be needless to say any more to't.

I must now acquaint you, that, by my lord treasurer's advice, I made a considerable retrenchment upon my expences in candies and charcoal, and do not intend to stop there, but will, with your help, look into the late embezzlements of my dripping-pans and kitchenstuff; of which, by the way, upon my conscience, neither my lord treasurer, nor my lord Lauderdale, are guilty. I tell you my opinion; but if you should find them dabling in that business, I tell you plainly, I leave 'em to you; for, I would have the world to know, I am not a man to be cheated.

My Lords and Gentlemen,

I desire you to believe me as you have found me; and I do solemnly promise you, that whatsoever you give me shall be specially managed with the same conduct, trust, sincerity, and prudence, that I have ever practiced, since my happy restoration.'

In order to shew the versification of Mr. Marvel, we shall add a beautiful dialogue between the resolved soul, and created pleasure. It is written with a true spirit of poetry, the numbers are various, and harmonious, and is one of the best pieces, in the serious way, of which he is author.

A DIALOGUE between the Resolved SOUL
and Created PLEASURE.

Courage, my Soul, now learn to weild
The weight of thine immortal shield.
Close on thy head thy helmet bright;
Ballance thy sword against the fight.
See where an army, strong as fair,
With silken banners spreads the air.
Now, if thou be'st that thing divine,
In this day's combat let it shine;
And shew that nature wants an art
To conquer one resolved heart.

PLEASURE.

Welcome the creation's guest,
Lord of earth, and heaven's heir;
Lay aside that warlike crest,
And of nature's banquet share:
Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs,
Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.

SOUL.

I sup above, and cannot stay,
To bait so long upon the way.

PLEASURE.

On these downy pillows lye,
Whose soft plumes will thither fly:
On these roses, strew'd so plain
Lest one leaf thy side should strain.
SOUL.

My gentler rest is on a thought,
Conscious of doing what I ought.

PLEASURE.

If thou be'st with perfumes pleas'd,
Such as oft the gods appeas'd,
Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show
Like another god below.

SOUL.

A Soul that knows not to presume,
Is heaven's, and its own, perfume.

PLEASURE.

Every thing does seem to vye
Which should first attract thine eye;
But since none deserves that grace,
In this crystal view thy face.

SOUL.

When the creator's skill is priz'd,
The rest is all but earth disguis'd.

PLEASURE.

Hark how music then prepares,
For thy stay, these charming airs;
Which the posting winds recall,
And suspend the river's fall.
SOUL.

Had I but any time to lose,
On this I would it all dispose.
Cease Tempter. None can chain a mind,
Whom this sweet cordage cannot bind.

CHORUS.

Earth cannot shew so brave a sight,
As when a single Soul does fence
The batt'ry of alluring sense,
And Heaven views it with delight.
Then persevere; for still new charges sound;
And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd.

PLEASURE.

All that's costly, fair, and sweet,
Which scatteringly doth shine,
Shall within one beauty meet,
And she be only thine.

SOUL.

If things of sight such heavens be,
What heavens are those we cannot see?

PLEASURE.

Wheresoe'er thy foot shall go
The minted gold shall lye;
Till thou purchase all below,
And want new worlds to buy.

SOUL.

Wer't not for price who'd value gold?
And that's worth nought that can be sold.

PLEASURE.

Wilt thou all the glory have
That war or peace commend?
Half the world shall be thy slave,
The other half thy friend.

SOUL.

What friends, if to my self untrue?
What slaves, unless I captive you?

PLEASURE.

Thou shalt know each hidden cause;
And see the future time:
Try what depth the centre draws;
And then to heaven climb.

SOUL.

None thither mounts by the degree
Of knowledge, but humility.

CHORUS.

Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul;
The world has not one pleasure more;
The rest does lye beyond the pole,
And is thine everlasting store.

We shall conclude the life of Mr. Marvel, by presenting the reader with that epitaph, which was intended to be inscribed upon his tomb, in which his character is drawn in a very masterly manner.

Near this place
Lieth the body of ANDREW MARVEL, Esq;
A man so endowed by nature,
So improved by education, study, and travel,
So consummated, by experience and learning;
That joining the most peculiar graces of wit
With a singular penetration and strength of judgment,
And exercising all these in the whole course of his life,
With unalterable steadiness in the ways of virtue,
He became the ornament and example of his age,
Beloved by good men, fear'd by bad, admired by all,
Tho' imitated, alas! by few;
And scarce paralleled by any.
But a tombstone can neither contain his character,
Nor is marble necessary to transmit it to posterity.
It is engraved in the minds of this generation,
And will be always legible in his inimitable writings.
Nevertheless
He having served near twenty-years successively in
parliament,
And that, with such wisdom, integrity, dexterity,
and courage,
As became a true patriot,
The town of Kingiton upon Hull,
From whence he was constantly deputed to that
Assembly,
Lamenting in his death the public loss,
Have erected this monument of their grief and
gratitude,
1688.

He died in the 58th year of his age
On the 16th day of August 1678.

Heu fragile humanum genus! heu terrestria vana!
Heu quem spectatum continet urna virum!

[Footnote A: A disappointment occasioned our throwing this life out of the chronlogical order. But we hope the candid reader will pardon a fault of this kind: we only wish he may find nothing of more consequence to accuse us of.]

[Footnote B: Cook's Life of Andrew Marvel, Esq; prefixed to the first volume of Mr. Marvel's Works, London 1726.]

[Footnote C: Life ubi supri.]

[Footnote D: Mr. John Oxenbridge, who was made fellow of Eton College curing the civil war, but ejected at the Restoration; he died in New England, and was a very enthusiastic person.]

* * * * *

Mrs. ELIZABETH THOMAS,

This lady, who is known in the world by the poetial name of Corinna, seems to have been born for misfortunes; her very bitterest enemies could never brand her with any real crime, and yet her whole life has been one continued scene of misery[A]. The family from which she sprung was of a rank in life beneath envy, and above contempt. She was the child of an ancient, and infirm parent, who gave her life when he was dying himself, and to whose unhappy constitution she was sole heiress. From her very birth, which happened 1675, she was afflicted with fevers and defluxions, and being over-nursed, her constitution was so delicate and tender, that had she not been of a gay disposition, and possessed a vigorous mind, she must have been more unhappy than she actually was. Her father dying when she was scarce two years old, and her mother not knowing his real circumstances, as he was supposed from the splendour of his manner of life to be very rich, some inconveniencies were incurred, in bestowing upon him a pompous funeral, which in those times was fashionable. The mother of our poetess, in the bloom of eighteen, was condemned to the arms of this man, upwards of 60, upon the supposition of his being wealthy, but in which she was soon miserably deceived. When the grief, which so young a wife may be supposed to feel for an aged husband, had subsided, she began to enquire into the state of his affairs, and found to her unspeakable mortification, that he died not worth one thousand pounds in the world. As Mrs. Thomas was a woman of good sense, and a high spirit, she disposed of two houses her husband kept, one in town, the other in the county of Essex, and retired into a private, but decent country lodging. The chambers in the Temple her husband possessed, she sold to her brother for 450 l. which, with her husband's books of accounts, she lodged in her trustee's hands, who being soon after burnt out by the fire in the paper buildings in the temple (which broke out with such violence in the dead of night, that he saved nothing but his life) she lost considerably. Not being able to make out any bill, she could form no regular demand, and was obliged to be determined by the honour of her husband's clients, who though persons of the first fashion, behaved with very little honour to her. The deceased had the reputation of a judicious lawyer, and an accomplished gentleman, but who was too honest to thrive in his profession, and had too much humanity ever to become rich. Of all his clients, but one lady behaved with any appearance of honesty. The countess dowager of Wentworth having then lost her only daughter the lady Harriot (who was reputed the mistress of the duke of Monmouth) told Mrs. Thomas, 'that she knew she had a large reckoning with the deceased, but, says she, as you know not what to demand, so I know not what to pay; come, madam, I will do better for you than a random reckoning, I have now no child, and have taken a fancy to your daughter; give me the girl, I will breed her as my own, and provide for her as such when I die.' The widow thank'd her ladyship, but with a little too much warmth replied, 'she would not part with her child on any terms;' which the countess resented to such a degree, that she would never see her more, and dying in a few years, left 1500 l. per annum inheritance, at Stepney, to her chambermaid.

Thus were misfortunes early entailed upon this lady. A proposal which would have made her opulent for life, was defeated by the unreasonable fondness of her mother, who lived to suffer its dismal consequences, by tasting the bitterest distresses. We have already observed, that Mrs. Thomas thought proper to retire to the country with her daughter. The house where she boarded was an eminent Cloth-worker's in the county of Surry, but the people of the house proved very disagreeable. The lady had no conversation to divert her; the landlord was an illiterate man, and the rest of the family brutish, and unmannerly. At last Mrs. Thomas attracted the notice of Dr. Glysson, who observing her at church very splendidly dressed, sollicited her acquaintance. He was a valuable piece of antiquity, being then, 1684, in the hundredth year of his age. His person was tall, his bones very large, his hair like snow, a venerable aspect, and a complexion, which might shame the bloom of fifteen. He enjoyed a sound judgment, and a memory so tenacious, and clear, that his company was very engaging. His visits greatly alleviated the solitude of this lady. The last visit he made to Mrs. Thomas, he drew on, with much attention, a pair of rich Spanish leather gloves, embost on the backs, and tops with gold embroidery, and fringed round with gold plate. The lady could not help expressing her curiosity, to know the history of those gloves, which he seemed to touch with so much respect. He answered, 'I do respect them, for the last time I had the honour of approaching my mistress, Queen Elizabeth, she pulled them from her own Royal hands, saying, here Glysson, wear them for my sake. I have done so with veneration, and never drew them on, but when I had a mind to honour those whom I visit, as I now do you; and since you love the memory of my Royal mistress, take them, and preserve them carefully when I am gone.' The Dr. then went home, and died in a few days.

This gentleman's death left her again without a companion, and an uneasiness hung upon her, visible to the people of the house; who guessing the cause to proceed from solitude, recommended to her acquaintance another Physician, of a different cast from the former. He was denominated by them a conjurer, and was said to be capable of raising the devil. This circumstance diverted Mrs. Thomas, who imagined, that the man whom they called a conjurer, must have more sense than they understood. The Dr. was invited to visit her, and appeared in a greasy black Grogram, which he called his Scholar's Coat, a long beard, and other marks of a philosophical negligence. He brought all his little mathematical trinkets, and played over his tricks for the diversion of the lady, whom, by a private whisper, he let into the secrets as he performed them, that she might see there was nothing of magic in the case. The two most remarkable articles of his performance were, first lighting a candle at a glass of cold water (performed by touching the brim before with phosphorus, a chymical fire which is preserved in water and burns there) and next reading the smallest print by a candle of six in the pound, at a hundred yards distance in the open air, and darkest night. This was performed by a large concave-glass, with a deep pointed focus, quick-silvered on the backside and set in tin, with a socket for a candle, sconce fashion, and hung up against a wall. While the flame of the candle was diametrically opposite to the centre, the rays equally diverging, gave so powerful a light as is scarce credible; but on the least variation from the focus, the charm ceased. The lady discerning in this man a genius which might be improved to better purposes than deceiving the country people, desired him not to hide his talents, but to push himself in the world by the abilities of which he seemed possessed. 'Madam, said he, I am now a fiddle to asses, but I am finishing a great work which will make those asses fiddle to me.' She then asked what that work might be? He replied, 'his life was at stake if it took air, but he found her a lady of such uncommon candour, and good sense, that he should make no difficulty in committing his life and hope to her keeping.' All women are naturally fond of being trusted with secrets; this was Mrs. Thomas's failing: the Dr. found it out, and made her pay dear for her curiosity. 'I have been, continued he, many years in search of the Philosopher's Stone, and long master of the smaragdine-table of Hermes Trismegistus; the green and red dragons of Raymond Lully have also been obedient to me, and the illustrious sages themselves deign to visit me; yet is it but since I had the honour to be known to your ladyship, that I have been so fortunate as to obtain the grand secret of projection. I transmuted some lead I pulled off my window last night into this bit of gold.' Pleased with the sight of this, and having a natural propension to the study, the lady snatched it out of the philosopher's hand, and asked him why he had not made more? He replied, 'it was all the lead I could find.' She then commanded her daughter to bring a parcel of lead which lay in the closet, and giving it to the Chymist, desired him to transmute it into gold on the morrow. He undertook it, and the next day brought her an ingot which weighed two ounces, which with the utmost solemnity he avowed was the very individual lead she gave him, transmuted to gold.

She began now to engage him in serious discourse; and finding by his replies, that he wanted money to make more powder, she enquired how much would make a stock that would maintain itself? He replied, one fifty pounds after nine months would produce a million. She then begged the ingot of him, which he protested had been transmuted from lead, and flushed with the hopes of success, hurried to town to examine whether the ingot was true gold, which proved fine beyond the standard. The lady now fully convinced of the truth of the empyric's declaration, took fifty pounds out of the hands of a Banker, and entrusted him with it.

The only difficulty which remained, was, how to carry on the work without suspicion, it being strictly prohibited at that time. He was therefore resolved to take a little house in another county, at a few miles distance from London, where he was to build a public laboratory, as a professed Chymist, and deal in such medicines as were most vendible, by the sale of which to the apothecaries, the expence of the house was to be defrayed during the operation. The widow was accounted the housekeeper, and the Dr. and his man boarded with her; to which she added this precaution, that the laboratory, with the two lodging rooms over it, in which the Dr. and his man lay, was a different wing of the building from that where she and her little daughter, and maid-servant resided; and as she knew some time must elapse before any profit could be expected, she managed with the utmost frugality. The Dr. mean time acted the part of a tutor to miss, in Arithmetic, Latin, and Mathematics, to which she discovered the strongest propensity. All things being properly disposed for the grand operation, the vitriol furnace was set to work, which requiring the most intense heat for several days, unhappily set fire to the house; the stairs were consumed in an instant, and as it surprized them all in their first sleep, it was a happy circumstance that no life perished. This unlucky accident was 300 l. loss to Mrs. Thomas: yet still the grand project was in a fair way of succeeding in the other wing of the building. But one misfortune is often followed by another. The next Sunday evening, while she was reading to, and instructing her little family, a sudden, and a violent report, like a discharge of cannon was heard; the house being timber, rocked like a cradle, and the family were all thrown from their chairs on the ground. They looked with the greatest amazement on each other, not guessing the cause, when the operator pretending to revive, fell to stamping, tearing his hair, and raving like a madman, crying out undone, undone, lost and undone for ever. He ran directly to the Athanor, when unlocking the door, he found the machine split quite in two, the eggs broke, and that precious amalgamum which they contained was scattered like sand among the ashes. Mrs. Thomas's eyes were now sufficiently opened to discern the imposture, and, with a very serene countenance, told the empyric, that accidents will happen, but means might be fallen upon to repair this fatal disappointment. The Dr. observing her so serene, imagined she would grant him more money to compleat his scheme, but she soon disappointed his expectation, by ordering him to be gone, and made him a present of five guineas, left his desperate circumstances should induce him to take some violent means of providing for himself.

Whether deluded by a real hope of finding out the Philosopher's Stone, or from an innate principle of villainy, cannot be determined, but he did not yet cease his pursuit, and still indulged the golden delusion. He now found means to work upon the credulity of an old miser, who, upon the strength of his pretensions, gave him his daughter in marriage, and embarked all his hoarded treasure, which was very considerable, in the same chimerical adventure. In a word, the miser's stock was also lost, the empyric himself, and the daughter reduced to beggary. This unhappy affair broke the miser's heart, who did not many weeks survive the loss of his cash. The Dr. also put a miserable end to his life by drinking poison, and left his wife with two young children in a state of beggary. But to return to Mrs. Thomas.

The poor lady suffered on this occasion a great deal of inward anguish; she was ashamed of having reduced her fortune, and impoverished her child by listening to the insinuations of a madman. Time and patience at last overcame it; and when her health, which by this accident had been impaired, was restored to her, she began to stir amongst her husband's great clients. She took a house in Bloomsbury, and by means of good economy, and an elegant appearance, was supposed to be better in the world than she really was. Her husband's clients received her like one risen from the dead: They came to visit her, and promised to serve her. At last the duke of Montague advised her to let lodgings, which way of life she declined, as her talents were not suited for dealing with ordinary lodgers; but added she, 'if I knew any family who desired such a conveniency, I would readily accommodate them.' I take you at your word, replied the duke, 'I will become your sole tenant: Nay don't smile, for I am in earnest, I love a little freedom more than I can enjoy at home, and I may come sometimes and eat a bit of mutton, with four or five honest fellows, whose company I delight in.' The bargain was bound, and proved matter of fact, though on a deeper scheme than drinking a bottle: And his lordship was to pass in the house for Mr. Freeman of Hertfordshire.

In a few days he ordered a dinner for his beloved friends, Jack and Tom, Will and Ned, good honest country-fellows, as his grace called them. They came at the time appointed; but how surprized was the widow, when she saw the duke of Devonshire, the lords Buckingham, and Dorset, and a certain viscount, with Sir William Dutton Colt, under these feign'd names. After several times meeting at this lady's house, the noble persons, who had a high opinion of her integrity, entrusted her with the grand secret, which was nothing less than the project for the Revolution.

Tho' these meetings were held as private as possible, yet suspicions arose, and Mrs. Thomas's house was narrowly watched; but the messengers, who were no enemies to the cause, betrayed their trust, and suffered the noblemen to meet unmolested, or at least without any dread of apprehension.

The Revolution being effected, and the state came more settled, that place of rendezvous was quitted: The noblemen took leave of the lady, with promises of obtaining a pension, or some place in the houshold for her, as her zeal in that cause highly merited; besides she had a very good claim to some appointment, having been ruined by shutting up the Excheqner. But alas! court promises proved an aerial foundation, and these noble peers never thought of her more. The duke of Montague indeed made offers of service, and being captain of the band of pensioners, she asked him to admit Mr. Gwynnet, a gentleman who had made love to her daughter, into such a post. This he promised, but upon these terms, that her daughter should ask him for it. The widow thanked him, and not suspecting that any design was covered under this offer, concluded herself sure of success: But how amazed was she to find her daughter (whom she had bred in the most passive subjection) and who had never discovered the least instance of disobedience, absolutely refuse to ask any such favour of his grace. She could be prevailed upon neither by flattery, nor threatning, and continuing still obstinate in her resolution; her mother obliged her to explain herself, upon the point of her refusal. She told her then, that the duke of Montague had already made an attack upon her, that his designs were dishonourable; and that if she submitted to ask his grace one favour, he would reckon himself secure of another in return, which he would endeavour to accomplish by the basest means. This explanation was too satisfactory; Who does not see the meanness of such an ungenerous conduct? He had made use of the mother as a tool, for carrying on political designs; he found her in distress, and as a recompence for her service, and under the pretence of mending her fortune, attempted the virtue of her daughter, and would provide for her, on no other terms, but at the price of her child's innocence.

In the mean time, the young Corinna, a poetical name given her by Mr. Dryden, continued to improve her mind by reading the politest authors: Such extraordinary advances had she made, that upon her sending some poems to Mr. Dryden, entreating his perusal, and impartial sentiments thereon, he was pleased to write her the following letter.

Fair CORINNA,

'I have sent your two poems back again, after having kept them so long from you: They were I thought too good to be a woman's; some of my friends to whom I read them, were of the same opinion. It is not very gallant I must confess to say this of the fair sex; but, most certain it is, they generally write with more softness than strength. On the contrary, you want neither vigour in your thoughts, nor force in your expression, nor harmony in your numbers; and me-thinks, I find much of Orinda in your manner, (to whom I had the honour to be related, and also to be known) but I am so taken up with my own studies, that I have not leisure to descend to particulars, being in the mean time, the fair Corinna's

Most humble, and

Most faithful servant
Nov. 12, 1699. JOHN DRYDEN.

Our amiable poetess, in a letter to Dr. Talbot, Bishop of Durham, has given some farther particulars of her life. We have already seen that she was addressed upon honourable terms, by Mr. Gwynnet, of the Middle Temple, son of a gentleman in Gloucestershire. Upon his first discovering his passion to Corinna, she had honour enough to remonstrate to him the inequality of their fortune, as her affairs were then in a very perplexed situation. This objection was soon surmounted by a lover, especially as his father had given him possession of the greatest part of his estate, and leave to please himself. Mr. Gwynnet no sooner obtained this, than he came to London, and claimed Corinna's promise of marriage: But her mother being then in a very weak condition, she could not abandon her in that distress, to die among strangers. She therefore told Mr. Gwynnet, that as she had not thought sixteen years long in waiting for him, he could not think six months long in expectation of her. He replied, with a deep sigh, 'Six months at this time, my Corinna, is more than sixteen years have been; you put it off now, and God will put it off for ever.'—It proved as he had foretold; he next day went into the country, made his will, sickened, and died April the 16th, 1711, leaving his Corinna the bequest of six-hundred pounds; and adds she, 'Sorrow has been my food ever since.'

Had she providentially married him, she had been secure from the insults of poverty; but her duty to her parent was more prevalent than considerations of convenience. After the death of her lover, she was barbarously used: His brother, stifled the will, which compelled her to have recourse to law; he smothered the old gentleman's conveyance deed, by which he was enabled to make a bequest, and offered a large sum of money to any person, who would undertake to blacken Corinna's character; but wicked as the world is, he found none so compleatly abandoned, as to perjure themselves for the sake of his bribe. At last to shew her respect to the memory of her deceased lover, she consented to an accommodation with his brother, to receive 200 l. down, and 200 l. at the year's end. The first payment was made, and distributed instantly amongst her mother's creditors; but when the other became due, he bid her defiance, stood suit on his own bond, and held out four terms. He carried it from one court to another, till at last it was brought to the bar of the House of Lords; and as that is a tribunal, where the chicanery of lawyers can have no weight, he thought proper to pay the money without a hearing: The gentlemen of the long-robe had made her sign an instrument, that they should receive the money and pay themselves: After they had laid their cruel hands upon it, of the 200 l. the poor distressed lady received but 13 l. 16 s. which reduced her to the necessity of absconding from her creditors, and starving in an obscure corner, till she was betrayed by a false friend, and hurried to jail.

Besides all the other calamities of Corinna, she had ever a bad state of health, occasioned by an accident too curious to be omitted.

In the year 1730 her case was given into the college of physicians, and was reckoned a very surprizing one. It is as follows.

'In April 1711 the patient swallowed the middle bone of the wing of a large fowl, being above three inches long; she had the end in her mouth, and speaking hastily it went forcibly down in the act of inspiration. After the first surprize, feeling no pain she thought no more of it; in a few days after, she complained what she eat or drank lay like a stone in her stomach, and little or nothing pass'd through her. After three weeks obstruction, she fell into a most violent bloody flux, attended with a continual pain at the pit of her stomach, convulsions, and swooning fits; nor had she any ease but while her stomach was distended with liquids, such as small beer, or gruel: She continued in this misery, with some little intervals, till the Christmass following, when she was seized with a malignant fever, and the convulsions encreased to so high a degree, that she crowed like a cock, and barked like a dog, to the affrightment of all who saw her, as well as herself. Dr. Colebatch being called to her relief, and seeing the almost incredible quantity of blood she voided, said it was impossible she could live, having voided all her bowels. He was however prevailed with to use means, which he said could only be by fetching off the inner coat of her stomach, by a very strong vomit; he did so, and she brought the hair-veel in rolls, fresh and bleeding; this dislodged the bone, which split length ways, one half pass'd off by siege, black as jet, the cartilaginous part at each end consumed, and sharp on each side as a razor; the other part is still lodged within her. In this raw and extream weak condition, he put her into a salivation, unknown to her mother or herself, to carry off the other part, which shocked them to such a degree, that they sent for Dr. Garth, who with much difficulty, and against his judgment, was prevailed on to take it off, and using a healing galenical method, she began to recover so much strength as to be turned in her bed, and receive nourishment: But she soon after was seized with the Iliac Passion, and for eleven days, her excrements came upwards, and no passage could be forced through her, till one day by Dr. Garth, with quick-silver. After a few weeks it returned again, and the same medicine repeated, upon which she recovered, and for some months was brought to be in a tolerable state of health, only the region of the spleen much swelled; and at some times, when the bone moved outwards, as it visibly did to sight and touch, was very painful.—In July 1713, on taking too strong a purge, a large imposthume bag came away by stool, on which it was supposed, the cystus, which the bone had worked for itself, being come away, the bone was voided also; but her pains continued so extraordinary, she willingly submitted to the decree of four surgeons, who agreed to make an incision in the left side of the abdomen, and extract the bone; but one of the surgeons utterly rejecting the operation, as impracticable, the bone being lodged in the colon, sent her to Bath, where she found some relief by pumping, and continued tolerably well for some years, even to bear the fatigue of an eight years suit at law, with an unjust executor; save that in over-walking, and sudden passion, she used to be pained, but not violent; and once or twice in a year a discharge of clean gall, with some portions of a skin, like thin kid leather, tinged with gall, which she felt break from the place, and leave her sore within; but the bone never made any attempt out-wards after the first three years. Being deprived of a competent fortune, by cross accidents, she has suffered all the extremities of a close imprisonment, if want of all the necessaries of life, and lying on the boards for two-years may be termed such, during which time she never felt the bone. But on her recovering liberty, and beginning to use exercise, her stomach, and belly, and head swelled to a monstrous degree, and she was judged in a galloping dropsy; but no proper medicines taking place, she was given over as incurable, when nature unexpectedly helped itself, and in twelve hours time by stool, and vomit, she voided about five gallons of dirty looking water, which greatly relieved her for some days, but gathered again as the swelling returned, and always abounded with a hectic, or suffocating asthma in her stomach, and either a canine appetite or loathing. She has lately voided several extraneous membranes different from the former, and so frequent, that it keeps her very low, some of which she has preserved in spirits, and humbly implores your honours judgment thereon.'

Under all these calamities, of which the above is a just representation, did poor Corinna labour; and it is difficult to produce a life crouded with greater evils. The small fortune which her father left her, by the imprudence of her mother, was soon squandered: She no sooner began to taste of life, than an attempt was made upon her innocence. When she was about being happy in the arms of her amiable lover Mr. Gwynnet, he was snatched from her by an immature fate. Amongst her other misfortunes, she laboured under the displeasure of Mr. Pope, whose poetical majesty she had innocently offended, and who has taken care to place her in his Dunciad. Mr. Pope had once vouchsafed to visit her, in company with Henry Cromwel, Esq; whose letters by some accident fell into her hands, with some of Pope's answers. As soon as that gentleman died, Mr. Curl found means to wheedle them from her, and immediately committed them to the press. This so enraged Pope, that tho' the lady was very little to blame, yet he never forgave her.

Not many months after our poetess had been released from her gloomy habitation, she took a small lodging in Fleet street, where she died on the 3d of February 1730, in the 56th year of her age, and was two days after decently interred in the church of St. Bride's.

Corinna, considered as an authoress, is of the second rate, she had not so much wit as Mrs. Behn, or Mrs. Manley, nor had so happy a power of intellectual painting; but her poetry is soft and delicate, her letters sprightly and entertaining. Her Poems were published after her death, by Curl; and two volumes of Letters which pass'd between her and Mr. Gwynnet. We shall select as a specimen of her poetry, an Ode addressed to the duchess of Somerset, on her birth-day.

An ODE, &c.