'Epimenides often pretended that he rose from death to life.'
The above notes are sufficient to shew that he read the ancients with attention, and knew how to select the most curious passages, and most deserving the reader's observation.
About the year 1711 the Dr. published a piece called the British Palladium, or a welcome of lord, Bolingbroke from France. Soon after this, Dr. Swift, Dr. Friend, Mr. Prior, with some others of lord Bolingbroke's adherents, paid a visit to Dr. King, and brought along with them, the key of the Gazetteer's office, together with another key for the use of the paper office. The day following this friendly visit, the Dr. entered upon his new post; and two or three days after waited on his benefactor lord Bolingbroke, then secretary of state.
The author of the Doctor's life, published by Curl, has related an instance of inhumanity in alderman Barber, towards Dr. King. This magistrate was then printer of the Gazette, and was so cruel as to oblige the Dr. to sit up till three or four o'clock in the morning, upon those days the Gazette was published, to correct the errors of the press; which was not the business of the author, but a corrector, who is kept for that purpose in every printing-office of any consequence. This slavery the Dr. was not able to bear, and therefore quitted the office. The alderman's severity was the more unwarrantable, as the Dr. had been very kind in obliging him, by writing Examiners, and some other papers, gratis, which were of advantage to him as a printer. Those writings at that juncture made him known to the ministry, who afterwards employed him in a state paper called the Gazettee.
About Midsummer 1712 the Dr. quitted his employ, and retired to a gentleman's house on Lambeth side the water; where he had diverted himself a summer or two before: Here he enjoyed his lov'd tranquility, with a friend, a bottle, and his books; he frequently visited lord Clarendon, at Somerset-house, as long as he was able. It was the autumn season, and the Dr. began insensibly to droop: He shut himself up entirely from his nearest friends, and would not so much as see lord Clarendon; who hearing of his weak condition, ordered his sister to go to Lambeth, and fetch him from thence to a lodging he had provided for him, in the Strand, over against Somerset-house where next day about noon he expired, with all the patience, and resignation of a philosopher, and the true devotion of a christian; but would not be persuaded to go to rest the night before, till he made such a will, as he thought would be agreeable to lord Clarendon's inclinations; who after his death took care of his funeral. He was decently interred in the cloisters of Westminster-Abbey, next to his master Dr. Knipe, to whom a little before, he dedicated his Heathen Gods.——The gentleman already mentioned, who has transmitted some account of our author to posterity, delineates his character in the following manner. 'He was a civilian, exquisitely well read; a skillful judge, and among the learned, an universal scholar, a critic, and an adept; in all sciences and languages expert; and our English. Ovid, among the poets: In conversation, he was grave and entertaining, without levity or spleen: As an author, his character may be also summ'd up in the following lines.'
Read here, in softest sounds the sweetest satire,
A pen dipt deep in gall, a heart good-nature;
An English Ovid, from his birth he seems,
Inspired alike with strong poetic dreams;
The Roman, rants of heroes, gods, and Jove,
The Briton, purely paints the art of love.
As a specimen of our author's versification, we shall select a Poem of his called, the Art of making Puddings; published in his Miscellanies.
I sing of food, by British nurse design'd,
To make the stripling brave, and maiden kind.
Delay not muse in numbers to rehearse
The pleasures of our life, and sinews of our verse.
Let pudding's dish, most wholsome, be thy theme,
And dip thy swelling plumes in fragrant cream.
Sing then that dim so fitting to improve
A tender modesty, and trembling love;
Swimming in butter of a golden hue,
Garnish'd with drops of Rose's spicy dew.
Sometimes the frugal matron seems in haste,
Nor cares to beat her pudding into paste:
Yet milk in proper skillet she will place,
And gently spice it with a blade of mace;
Then set some careful damsel to look to't;
And still to stir away the bishop's-foot;
For if burnt milk shou'd to the bottom stick,
Like over-heated-zeal, 'twould make folks sick.
Into the Milk her flow'r she gently throws,
As valets now wou'd powder tender beaus:
The liquid forms in hasty mass unite,
Both equally delicious as they're white.
In mining dish the hasty mass is thrown,
And seems to want no graces but its own.
Yet still the housewife brings in fresh supplies,
To gratify the taste, and please the eyes.
She on the surface lumps of butter lays,
Which, melting with the heat, its beams displays;
From whence it causes wonder to behold
A silver soil bedeck'd with streams of gold!
[Footnote 1: The design of this work, was to ridicule Sir Hans Sloan's writings, in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal-Society; of which Dr. Sloan was secretary. This work, of Dr. King's, which is now become very scarce, is one of the severest and merriest Satires that ever was written in Prose.]
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