"Without formal petition
Thus stands my condition,
I am closely blocked up in a garret,
Where I scribble and smoke,
And sadly invoke
The powerful assistance of claret.
Four children and a wife
'Tis hard on my life,
Besides myself and a Muse
To be all clothed and fed,
Now the times are so dead,
By my scribbling of doggrel and news;
And what I shall do,
I'm a wretch if I know
So hard is the fate of a poet,
I must either turn rogue,
Or what's as bad—pedagogue,
And so drudge like a thing that has no wit."
How much are we indebted to the pecuniary embarrassments of poets for the interest we take in them. Who could read sentiment written by a man faring sumptuously every day? Towards the end of his life, Brown became acquainted with Lord Dorset, and we read of his once dining with that nobleman and finding a note for fifty pounds under his plate. Tom Brown seems to have regarded with great contempt his contemporary Tom D'Urfey—best known as a composer of sonnets—words and music. He addresses to him "upon his incomparable ballads, called by him Pindaric Odes," the following acrimonious lines—
"Thou cur, half French half English breed,
Thou mongrel of Parnassus,
To think tall lines, run up to seed,
Should ever tamely pass us.
"Thou write Pindaricks and be damned
Write epigrams for cutlers,
None with thy lyricks can be shammed
But chambermaids and butlers.
"In t'other world expect dry blows;
No tears can wash thy stains out,
Horace will pluck thee by the nose
And Pindar beat thy brains out."
Such unworthy attacks are not unfrequently made by ill-natured literary men. Brown was no doubt jealous of his rival, but Addison's generous heart formed a very different estimate of D'Urfey's talent. He says that after having "made the world merry he hopes they will make him easy" in his pecuniary affairs, for that although "Tom" had written more Odes than Horace, and four times as many Comedies as Terence, he was reduced to great difficulties by a set of men who had furnished him with the accommodations of life, and would not, as we say, "be paid with a song." "As my friend," he continues, "after the manner of all the old lyrics, accompanies his works with his own voice, he has been the delight of the most polite companies and conversations from the beginning of King Charles II.'s reign to our present times. Many an honest gentleman has got a reputation in his country by pretending to have been in company with Tom D'Urfey." "I myself remember King Charles II. leaning on Tom D'Urfey's shoulder more than once, and humming over a song with him. It is certain that monarch was not a little supported by 'Joy to great Cæsar,' which gave the Whigs such a blow as they were not able to recover that whole reign. My friend afterwards attacked Popery with the same success—he has made use of Italian tunes and Sonatas for promoting the Protestant interest, and turned a considerable part of the Pope's music against himself."
Little need be added to this eloquent commendation, except that it was written to obtain patronage for a benefit in behalf of an aged poet and friend. D'Urfey wrote through the reigns of Charles II., James II., William and Anne, into that of George I. His plays, which were thought attractive at the time, contained much that was gross, and were deficient in humour and power. Thus, they were soon forgotten, and neither he nor his rival Brown were able to reach a point, which would give them a permanent position in literature.
The following description would have led us to expect something better of him, at least in farcical talent[62]—
"Mr. D'Urfey generally writes state-plays, and is wonderfully useful to the world in such representations. This method is the same that was used by the old Athenians, to laugh out of countenance or promote opinions among the people. My friend has therefore against this play is acted for his own benefit, made two dances which may be also of an universal benefit. In the first he has represented absolute power in the person of a tall man with a hat and feathers, who gives his first minister who stands just before him a huge kick; the minister gives the kick to the next before; and so to the end of the stage. In this moral and practical jest you are made to understand that there is in an absolute government no gratification, but giving the kick you receive from one above you to one below you. This is performed to a grave and melancholy air; but on a sudden the tune moves quicker, and the whole company fall into a circle and take hands; and then, at a certain sharp note, they move round and kick as kick can. This latter performance he makes to be the representation of a free state; where, if you all mind your steps, you may go round and round very jollily, with a motion pleasant to yourselves and them you dance with: nay, if you put yourselves out, at the worst you only kick and are kicked by friends and equals."
But D'Urfey's short songs and poems were his most successful productions—sometimes he breathed martial strains in honour of Marlborough's victories, sometimes formed adulatory addresses to members of the Royal Family. His "Pills to purge Melancholy," at times approached humour. The following is taken from the "Banquet of the Gods," and refers to Hermes visiting the Infernal regions—
"Fierce Cerberus, who the gate did keep,
First with a sop he lays asleep,
Then forward goes to th' room of State,
Where on a lofty throne of jet,
The grizly King of Terrors sate,
Discoursing with his Proserpine
On things infernally divine.
To him the winged Ambassador
His message tells, then adds to her
How much her mother Ceres mourns
In Sicily, till she returns;
That now she hoped (the long half-year
Being ended) she would see her there,
And that instead of shrieks and howls,
The harmony of par-boiled souls,
She'd now divert with tunes more gay,
And go with her to see a play."
D'Urfey often introduces fresh and pleasing glimpses of country life. He is more happy in this direction than in his humour, which generally drifted away into maudlin and indelicate love-making between pseudo-Roman Corydons and Phyllises. The following effusion is very characteristic of the times,—