The fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lie,
And nothing but the Muses' fleece was dry."
[36] Anthony, fourth Lord Viscount Falkland, succeeded to that title by the death of his father in 1664. He was a person of wit and honour, as the phrase then was; a character which he maintained by writing prologues, and occasional verses, as well as by keeping company with men of more genius than his own. He died in 1694.
[37] This objection and answer are stated by Steele to have taken place in an extempore conversation betwixt Dryden and a young beau just come from the representation of "Cleomenes."—See the Guardian, No. 45. The retort may doubtless have been first made by the poet in this manner; but it is more probable that Steele either had an inaccurate recollection of the passage, or thought it had a more lively effect when thrown into dialogue.
[38] The enemies of Dryden, imputing to him the pitiful jealousy of which they were probably themselves conscious, pretended, that, envious of the reputation which Creech acquired by his translation of Lucretius, Dryden insidiously pushed him on to attempt a version of Horace, a task for which he was totally unfit, and by which he forfeited all the credit he had gained. The accusation is thus stated by Tom Brown, and may serve for a specimen of the under-bred petulance in which he indulges.
Bays. "I have a certain profound stratagem still behind, my Sacra Anchora I call it, which is only to be made use of upon extraordinary occasions, and which I was never forced to employ but once in my time, and is as follows: When any young author has been so fortunate in his first undertaking, as to win himself the applause of all the world, so that 'tis impossible for one to ruin his reputation, without running the hazard of having his throat cut by all sort of company, I am as forward as the best of them all to commend his ingenuity, to extol his parts, and promise him a copy of verses before his book, if he honours the world with a second edition.
Crites. "Very good.
Bays. "At the same time I privately feel his pulse, and examine the nature, and inclination of the beast. If he chances to be a little saturnine like myself, I set him upon a gay undertaking, where 'tis the devil and all of ill luck if he does not ship-wreck all his former credit. But, if he proves a man of a brisk and jolly temper, I persuade him of all loves to make an experiment of his abilities upon some serious solemn subject; tell him, if ever he expects to be saved, he must out of hand do justice to the Psalms and Canticles, which work he's as incapable to manage, egad, as little David was to fight in Saul's armour. Thus, gentlemen, by engaging the author in a province, where he has not stock enough to carry on the plantation, I never fail one way or other to compass my designs, and, at long-run, to defeat my competitor.
Crites. "Why, Mr Bays, this is like enjoining a painter, that has a good fancy at drawing of Saracens' heads, and grotesque figures only, to draw you a Venus or an Adonis, where he must certainly miscarry. Now, I am apt to fancy you trepanned the honest translator of Lucretius with this profound piece of policy: Come, confess the truth, man; did you not?
Bays. "You could not have guessed better, Mr Crites, if you had dived into my diaphragma for the secret. It was not in my power, you must know, either to suppress the work, or to discommend it; because, to give the gentleman his due, it was performed beyond all expectation, and, what was a mighty matter, it suited as pat as might be with the philosophy of the town that was then in fashion. Now, to undermine and ruin him to all intents and purposes, I took these measures. I flatter, hug, and caress him, like an Achitophel as I was; after the strangest manner imaginable, profess all the respect and friendship in the world for him; tell him that providence had certainly reserved him for working miracles in poetry; and that I had some ancient prophecies by me at home, which declared him to be the very person that was to deliver the immortal writers of former ages out of that Algerine captivity they had so long laboured under—