I had not gone far, but I 'spied two brawney champions at a rubbers of cuffs, which by the dexterity of their head's, hands, and heels, I judged could be no other than Englishmen: nor were my sentiments groundless, for presently I heard the mob cry out, O! rare Jo! O! rare Jo! and attentively Surveying the combatants, I found it to be the merry Jo Haynes, fallen out with Plowden the famous Lawyer, about a game at Nine-holes; and that shout had proclaimed Joe victorious. I was something scrupulous of renewing my acquaintance, not knowing how the conqueror, in the midst of his success, might use me for making bold with his character in my letters from the read; though I felt a secret desire to discover myself, yet prudence withstood my inclination, 'till a more convenient season might so that I brushed off to a place where I saw a concourse of the better sort of people; there I found Millington the famous Auctioneer, among a crowd of Lawyers, Physicians, Scholars, Poets, Critics, Booksellers, &c. exercising his old faculty; for which, gentlemen, he is as particularly famed in these parts, as Herostratus for firing the famous Temple, or Barthol Swarts, for the invention of Gunpowder. He is head journey-man to Ptolemy, who keeps a Bookseller's shop here, and rivals even Jacob Tonson in reputation among the great wits.
But most of all I was obliged to admire my friend Millington, who, by his powerful knack of eloquence, to the wonder of the whole company, sold Cave's Lives of the Fathers to Solomon the Magnificent, and the Scotch Directory to the Priests of the Sun; nay, he sold-Archbishop Laud's Life to Hugh Peters, Hob's Leviathan to Pope Boniface, and pop'd Bunyan's Works upon Bellarmine for a piece of unrevealed Divinity; After the sale was over, I took an opportunity of making myself known to him, who caressed me with all the freedom imaginable, asking me, how long I had been in these parts? and what news from the other world? and a thousand particular questions about his old friends; to all which I responded as well as I could: and having given me a caution to avoid some people, by whom I was threatened, for exposing them in my letters, we went to take a bottle together.
Now I presume, gentlemen, you will conclude it high time for me to take my leave; nor shall I tire your patience much longer, only permit me to give ye the trouble of some particular services to those honest gentlemen whose generosity gave me the reputation of a funeral above what I e'er expected, especially to Dr. S——t for bestowing the ground I never frequented, to Dr. Garth and the rest for the charge of a hearse and mourning coaches, which I could not have desired, and to Dr. D——ke for designing me a monument I know the world will reflect I never deserved; but for that, let my works testify for me. And though ye are satisfied my genius was never over-fruitful in the product of verse, yet knowing these favours require something a little uncommon to make a suitable return, I shall take my leave in metre, and, if contrary to my opinion, it meets with a kind acceptance from the town, honest Sam. may clap it in the next edition of the State Poems, with Buckingham's name to it.
When a scurvy disease had lain hold of my carcase,
And death to my chamber was mounting the stair-case.
I call'd to remembrance the sins I'd committed,
Repented, and thought I'd for Heaven been fitted;
But alas! there is still an old proverb to cross us,
I found there no room for the sons of Parnassus;
And therefore contented like others to fare,
To the shades of Elizium I strait did repair;
Where Dryden and other great wits o' the town,
To reward all their labours, are damn'd to write on.
Here Johnson may boast of his judgment and plot,
And Otway of all the applause that he got;
Loose Eth'ridge presume on his stile and his wit,
And Shadwell of all the dull plays he e'r writ;
Nat. Lee here may boast of his bombast and rapture,
And Buckingham rail to the end of the chapter;
Lewd Rochester lampoon the King and the court,
And Sidley and others may cry him up for't;
Soft Waller and Suckling, chaste Cowley and others,
With Beaumont and Fletcher, poetical brothers,
May here scribble on with pretence to the bays,
E'en Shakespear himself may produce all his plays,
And not get for whole pages one mouth full of praise.
To avoid this disaster, while Congreve reforms,
His muse and his morals fly to Bracegirdle's arms;
Let Vanbrugh no more plotless plays e'er impose,
Stuft with satire and smut to ruin the house;
Let Rowe, if he means to maintain his applause,
Write no more such lewd plays as his Penitent was.
O Satire! from errors instruct the wild bard,
Bestow thy advice to reclaim each lewd bard;
Bid the Laureat sincerely reflect on the matter;
Bid Dennis drink less, but bid him write better;
Bid Durfey cease scribbling, that libelling song-ster;
Bid Gildon and C——n be Deists no longer;
Bid B——t and C——r, those wits of the age,
Ne'er expose a dull coxcomb, but just on the stage;
Bid Farquhar (tho' bit) to his consort be just,
And Motteux in his office be true to his trust;
Bid Duffet and Cowper no longer be mad,
But Parsons and Lawyers mind each their own trade.
To Grubster and others, bold satire advance;
Bid Ayliffe talk little, and P——s talk sense;
Bid K——n leave stealing as well as the rest;
When this can be done, they may hope to be blest.
* * * * *
The Revd. Mr. JOHN POMFRET.
This Gentleman's works are held in very great esteem by the common readers of poetry; it is thought as unfashionable amongst people of inferior life, not to be possessed of the poems of Pomfret, as amongst persons of taste not to have the works of Pope in their libraries. The subjects upon which Pomfret wrote were popular, his versification is far from being unmusical, and as there is little force of thinking in his writings, they are level to the capacities of those who admire them.
Our author was son of the rev. Mr. Pomfret, rector of Luton in Bedfordshire, and he himself was preferred to the living of Malden in the same county. He was liberally educated at an eminent grammar school in the country, from whence he was sent to the university of Cambridge, but to what college is not certain. There he wrote most of his poetical pieces, took the degree of master of arts, and very early accomplished himself in most kinds of polite literature. A gentleman who writes under the name of Philalethes, and who was an intimate friend of Pomfret's, has cleared his reputation from the charge of fanaticism, which some of his malicious enemies brought against him. It was shortly after his leaving the university, that he was preferred to the living of Malden abovementioned, and was, says that gentleman, so far from being tinctured with fanaticism, that I have often heard him express his abhorrence of the destructive tenets maintained by that people, both against our religious and civil rights. This imputation it seems was cast on him by there having been one of his sur-name, though not any way related to him, a dissenting teacher, and who published some rhimes upon spiritual subjects, as he called them, and which sufficiently proved him an enthusiast.
About the year 1703 Mr. Pomfret came up to London, for institution and induction, into a very considerable living, but was retarded for some time by a disgust taken by dr. Henry Compton, then bishop of London, at these four lines, in the close of his poem entitled The Choice.