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

by Theophilus Cibber · English · Gutenberg #12014 · 576,002 chars · public domain (US)

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

Author: Theophilus Cibber


        
Release date: April 1, 2004 [eBook #12014]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIVES OF THE POETS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND (1753) VOLUME IV. ***

THE

LIVES

OF

THE

POETS

OF

GREAT BRITAIN and IRELAND.


By Mr. CIBBER, and other Hands. VOL. IV.

MDCCLIII. VOLUME IV.


Contains the LIVES OF

  Motteux
  Manley Mrs.
  Needler
  Hughes
  Prior
  Centlivre Mrs.
  Brady
  Stepney
  Pack
  Dawes Arch. York
  Congreve
  Vanbrugh
  Steele
  Marvel
  Thomas Mrs.
  Fenton
  Booth
  Sewel
  Hammond
  Eusden
  Eachard
  Oldmixon
  Welsted
  Smyth More
  Dennis
  Granville L. Lansdowne
  Gay
  Philip D. Wharton
  Codrington
  Ward
  L'Estrange
  Smith Edmund
  De Foe
  Rowe Mrs.
  Yalden
  Mitchel
  Ozell

       *       *       *       *       *

_Just Published,_

Dedicated to the Right Honourable PHILIP Earl of CHESTERFIELD.

Correctly printed in a neat Pocket Volume (Price Bound Three
Shillings,)

The Second Edition of

LES MOEURS; or, MANNERS. Accurately Translated from the French.
Wherein the Principles of Morality, or Social Duties, viz. Piety,
Wisdom, Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Temperance, Love, Friendship,
Humanity, &c. &c. are described in all their Branches; the Obligations
of them shewn to consist in our Nature, and the Enlargement of them
strongly enforc'd. Here Parents are taught, that, giving Birth to
a Child, scarcety entitles them to that honourable Name, without a
strict Discharge of Parental Duties; the Friend will find, there are a
thousand other Decorums, besides the doing of a Favour, to entitle him
to the tender Name of Friend; and the Good natur'd Man will find,
he ought to extend that Quality beyond the Bounds of his own
Neighbourhood or Party.

The Whole wrote in a manner entirely New and Entertaining, and
enliven'd with real Characters, drawn from life, and fited to instill
the Principles of all Social Virtues into tender Minds.

Printed for W. Johnston at the Golden-Ball in St. Paul's Church-Yard.
THE LIVES OF THE POETS.

       *       *       *       *       *




PETER MOTTEAUX,


A French gentleman, born and educated at Rohan, in Normandy. He came
over into England, was a considerable trader, and resided here many
years. He is said to have possessed no inconsiderable share of wit,
and humour; and, besides a translation of Don Quixote, several Songs,
Prologues and Epilogues, together with a Poem on Tea, dedicated to
the Spectator, (see Vol. VII. Numb. 552) he is author of the following
dramatic pieces.

1. Love's a Jest, a Comedy; acted at the new Theatre, in little
Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1696. In the two scenes, where love is made a
jest, some passages are taken from Italian writers.

2. The Loves of Mars and Venus; a Masque set to Music, performed
at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1696; dedicated to colonel
Codrington. The story from Ovid.

3. The Novelty, or every Act a Play; consisting of Pastoral, Comedy,
Masque, Tragedy, and Farce, after the Italian manner; acted at the
Theatre in little Lincoln's-Inn Fields 1697.

The model of this play is formed upon Sir William Davenant's
Play-House to be let: But neither of them met with much success.

4. Europe's Revels for the Peace, and his Majesty's Happy Return, a
Musical Interlude, performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields,
1697.

5. Beauty in Distress, a Tragedy; acted at the Theatre in
Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1698. There is some poetry in this play; and in
the multiplicity of its incidents, he has followed the example of the
British Poets. Before this piece, there is prefixed a discourse on the
lawfulness or unlawfulness of plays; written originally in French,
by the learned father Cassaro, divinity professor at Paris; sent by a
friend to Mr. Motteaux.

6. The Island Princess, or the Generous Portugueze; made into an
Opera, and performed at the Theatre-Royal 1701. The music by Mr.
Daniel Purcell, Mr. Clark, and Mr. Leveridge. The greatest part of the
play is taken from Fletcher's Island Princess. Scene the Spice Island.

7. The Four Seasons, or Love in every Age; a musical Interlude, set to
Music by Mr. Jeremiah Clark; printed with the musical Entertainments
of the above Opera. 8. Britain's Happiness, a musical Interlude;
performed at both the Theatres, being part of the entertainment,
subscribed for by the nobility. Scene a prospect of Dover castle
and the sea. This Interlude was long before designed, only as an
introduction to an Opera; which if ever finished was to have been
called the Loves of Europe, every act shewing the manner of the
different nations in their addresses to the fair-sex; of which he has
informed us in his prefatory epistle.

9. Thomyris Queen of Scythia, an Opera; translated from the Italian;
performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

10. The Temple of Love, a Pastoral Opera, from the Italian; performed
at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-market, by her majesty's servants,
1706. Scene Arcadia. Time of action, the same with that of the
representation.

11. Love Dragoon'd, a Farce.

This gentleman, who seems to have led a very comfortable life, his
circumstances being easy, was unfortunate in his death; for he lost
his life in a disorderly house, in the parish of St. Clement Danes,
not without suspicion of having been murthered; which accident
happened to him, on his birth day in the 58th year of his age, 1718.
His body was interred in his own parish church, being that of St. Mary
Ax, in the city of London.

       *       *       *       *       *




Mrs. MANLEY,


The celebrated authoress of the Atalantis, was born in Hampshire, in
one of those islands which formerly belonged to France, of which her
father Sir Roger Manley was governor; who afterwards enjoyed the same
post in other places in England. He was the second son of an ancient
family; the better part of his estate was ruined in the civil war by
his firm adherence to Charles I. He had not the satisfaction of
ever being taken notice of, nor was his loyalty acknowledged at the
restoration. The governor was a brave gallant man, of great honour and
integrity.

He became a scholar in the midst of the camp, having left the
university at the age of sixteen, to follow the fortunes of Charles
I. His temper had too much of the Stoic in it to attend much to the
interest of his family. After a life spent in the civil and foreign
wars, he began to love ease and retirement, devoting himself to his
study, and the charge of his little post, without following the court;
his great virtue and modesty, debaring him from solliciting favours
from such persons as were then at the helm of affairs, his deserts
were buried, and forgotten. In this solitude he wrote several tracts
for his own amusement, particularly his Latin Commentaries of the
Civil Wars of England. He was likewise author of the first volume
of that admired work, the Turkish Spy. One Dr. Midgley, an ingenious
physician, related to the family by marriage, had the charge of
looking over his papers. Amongst them he found that manuscript, which
he reserved to his proper use, and by his own pen, and the assistance
of some others, continued the work till the eighth volume was
finished, without having the honesty to acknowledge the author of the
first.

The governor likewise wrote the History of the Rebellion in England,
Scotland and Ireland; wherein the most material passages, battles,
sieges, policies, and stratagems of war, are impartially related
on both sides, from the year 1640, to the beheading of the duke of
Monmouth 1688, in three parts, printed in octavo, in the year 1691.

His daughter, our authoress, received an education suitable to her
birth, and gave very early discoveries of a genius, not only above her
years, but much superior to what is usually to be found amongst her
own sex. She had the misfortune to lose her mother, while she was
yet an infant, a circumstance, which laid the foundation of many
calamities, which afterwards befell her.

The brother of Sir Roger Manley, who was of principles very opposite
to his, joined with the Parliamentarian party; and after Charles I.
had suffered, he engaged with great zeal in the cause of those who
were for settling a new form of government, in which, however, they
were disappointed by the address of Cromwell, who found means
to transfer the government into his own hands, and in place of
instituting a republic, restored monarchy under another name, and
erected a tyranny as dangerous, perhaps, in its consequences, as
that which he had contributed to overthrow. During these heats and
divisions, Mr. Manley, who adhered to the most powerful party, was
fortunate enough to amass an estate, and purchased a title; but these,
upon the restoration, reverted back to the former possessor; so that
he was left with several small children unprovided for. The eldest of
these orphans, Sir Roger Manley took under his protection, bestowed
a very liberal education on him, and endeavoured to inspire his mind
with other principles, than those he had received from his father.
This young gentleman had very promising parts, but under the
appearance of an open simplicity, he concealed the most treacherous
hypocrisy. Sir Roger, who had a high opinion of his nephew's honour,
as well as of his great abilities, on his death-bed bequeathed to him
the care of our authoress, and her youngest sister.

This man had from nature a very happy address, formed to win much upon
the hearts of unexperienced girls; and his two cousins respected him
greatly. He placed them at the house of an old, out-of-fashion aunt,
who had been a keen partizan of the royal cause during the civil wars;
she was full of the heroic stiffness of her own times, and would read
books of Chivalry, and Romances with her spectacles.

This sort of conversation, much infected the mind of our poetess,
and fill'd her imagination with lovers, heroes, and princes; made
her think herself in an inchanted region, and that all the men who
approached her were knights errant. In a few years the old aunt died,
and left the two young ladies without any controul; which as soon as
their cousin Mr. Manley heard, he hasted into the country, to visit
them; appeared in deep mourning, as he said for the death of his wife;
upon which the young ladies congratulated him, as they knew his wife
was a woman of a most turbulent temper, and ill fitted to render the
conjugal life tolerable.

This gentleman, who had seen a great deal of the world, and was
acquainted with all the artifices of seducing, lost no time in making
love to his cousin, who was no otherwise pleased with it, than as
it answered something to the character she had found in those books,
which had poisoned and deluded her dawning reason. Soon after these
protestations of love were made, the young lady fell into a fever,
which was like to prove fatal to her life.

The lover and her sister never quitted the chamber for sixteen nights,
nor took any other repose than throwing themselves alternately upon a
little pallet in the same room. Having in her nature a great deal of
gratitude, and a very tender sense of benefits; she promised upon
her recovery to marry her guardian, which as soon as her health
was sufficiently restored, she performed in the presence of a maid
servant, her sister, and a gentleman who had married a relation. In a
word, she was married, possessed, and ruin'd.

The husband of our poetess brought her to London, fixed her in a
remote quarter of it, forbad her to stir out of doors, or to receive
the visits of her sister, or any other relations, friends, or
acquaintance. This usage, she thought exceeding barbarous, and it
grieved her the more excessively, since she married him only because
she imagined he loved and doated on her to distraction; for as
his person was but ordinary, and his age disproportioned, being
twenty-years older than she, it could not be imagined that she was in
love with him.--She was very uneasy at being kept a prisoner; but
her husband's fondness and jealousy was made the pretence. She always
loved reading, to which she was now more than ever obliged, as so
much time lay upon her hands: Soon after she proved with child, and
so perpetually ill, that she implored her husband to let her enjoy the
company of her sister and friends. When he could have no relief from
her importunity (being assured that in seeing her relations, she must
discover his barbarous deceit) he thought it was best to be himself
the relator of his villany; he fell upon his knees before her, with so
much seeming confusion, distress and anguish, that she was at a loss
to know what could mould his stubborn heart to such contrition. At
last, with a thousand well counterfeited tears, and sighs, he stabb'd
her with the wounding relation of his wife's being still alive; and
with a hypocrite's pangs conjured her to have some mercy on a lost
man as he was, in an obstinate, inveterate passion, that had no
alternative but death, or possession.

He urged, that could he have supported the pain of living without
her, he never would have made himself so great a villain; but when the
absolute question was, whether he should destroy himself, or betray
her, self-love had turned the ballance, though not without that
anguish to his soul, which had poisoned all his delights, and planted
daggers to stab his peace. That he had a thousand times started in
his sleep with guilty apprehensions; the form of her honoured father
perpetually haunting his troubled dreams, reproaching him as a traitor
to that trust which in his departing moments he had reposed in him;
representing to his tortured imagination the care he took of his
education, more like a father than an uncle, with which he had
rewarded him by effecting the perdition of his favourite daughter, who
was the lovely image of his benefactor.

With this artful contrition he endeavoured to sooth his injured wife:
But what soothing could heal the wounds she had received? Horror!
amazement! sense of honour lost! the world's opinion! ten thousand
distresses crowded her distracted imagination, and she cast looks upon
the conscious traitor with horrible dismay! Her fortune was in his
hands, the greatest part of which was already lavished away in the
excesses of drinking and gaming. She was young, unacquainted with the
world; had never experienced necessity, and knew no arts of redressing
it; so that thus forlorn and distressed, to whom could she run for
refuge, even from want, and misery, but to the very traitor that had
undone her. She was acquainted with none that could or would espouse
her cause, a helpless, useless load of grief and melancholy! with
child! disgraced! her own relations either unable, or unwilling to
relieve her.

Thus was she detained by unhappy circumstances, and his prevailing
arts to wear away three wretched years with him, in the same house,
though she most solemnly protests, and she has a right to be believed,
that no persuasion could ever again reconcile her to his impious arms.
Whenever she cast her eyes upon her son, it gave a mortal wound to her
peace: The circumstances of his birth glared full on her imagination;
she saw him, in future, upbraided with his father's treachery, and
his mother's misfortunes. Thus forsaken of all the world, in the
very morning of her life, when all things should have been gay, and
promising, she wore away three wretched years. Mean time her betrayer
had procured for himself a considerable employment; the duties of
which obliged him to go into the country where his first wife lived.
He took leave of his injured innocent, with much seeming tenderness;
and made the most sacred protestations, that he would not suffer her,
nor her child ever to want.

He endeavoured to persuade her to accompany him into the country, and
to seduce, and quiet her conscience, shewed her a celebrated piece
written in defence of Polygamy, and Concubinage: When he was gone,
he soon relapsed into his former extravagances, forgot his promise
of providing for his child, and its mother; and inhumanly left them
a prey to indigence and oppression. The lady was only happy in being
released from the killing anguish, of every day having before her eyes
the object of her undoing.

When she again came abroad into the world, she was looked upon with
cold indifference; that which had been her greatest misfortune, was
imputed to her as the most enormous guilt; and she was every
where sneered at, avoided, and despised. What pity is it, that an
unfortunate, as well as a false step, should damn a woman's fame!
In what respect was Mrs. Manley to blame? In what particular was she
guilty? to marry her cousin, who passionately professed love to her,
and who solemnly vowed himself a widower, could not be guilt; on
the other hand, it had prudence and gratitude for its basis. Her
continuing in the house with him after he had made the discovery,
cannot be guilt, for by doing so, she was prevented from being exposed
to such necessities as perhaps would have produced greater ruin. When
want and beggary stare a woman in the face, especially one accustomed
to the delicacies of life, then indeed is virtue in danger; and they
who escape must have more than human assistance.

Our poetess now perceived, that together with her reputation, she had
lost all the esteem, that her conversation and abilities might have
else procured her; and she was reduced to the deplorable necessity of
associating with those whose fame was blasted by their indiscretion,
because the more sober and virtuous part of the sex did not care
to risk their own characters, by being in company with one so much
suspected, and against whom the appearance of guilt was too strong.

Under this dilemma, it is difficult to point out any method of
behaviour, by which she would not be exposed to censure: If she had
still persisted in solitude, the ill-natured world would have imputed
to it a cause, which is not founded on virtue; besides, as the means
of support were now removed, by the perfidy of Mr. Manley, she must
have perished by this resolution.

In this case, the reader will not be much surprized to find our
authoress, under the patronage of the duchess of Cleveland, a mistress
of king Charles the IId's, who was justly reckoned one of the most
celebrated beauties of that age. Mrs. Manley was paying a visit to
a lady of her grace's acquaintance, when she was introduced into the
favour of this royal courtezan; and as the duchess of Cleveland was
a woman of parts and genius, she could not but be charmed with the
sprightliness of her conversation. She was fond of new faces, and
immediately contracted the greatest intimacy with our poetess, and
gave her a general invitation to her table. The lady at whose house
the duchess became acquainted with Mrs. Manley, soon perceived her
indiscretion in bringing them together; for the love of novelty so far
prevailed on the duchess, that herself was immediately discarded, and
the affection formerly bestowed upon her, was lavished on Mrs. Manley.

This procured our poetess an inveterate enemy; and the greatest blow
that was ever struck at her reputation, was by that woman, who had
been before her friend. She was not content to inform persons who
began to know and esteem Mrs. Manley, that her marriage was a
cheat; but even endeavoured to make the duchess jealous of her new
favourite's charms, in respect of Mr. Goodman the player, who at
that time had the honour of approaching her grace's person, with the
freedom of a gallant.

As the duchess of Cleveland was a woman of a very fickle temper,
in six months time she began to be tired of Mrs. Manley. She was
quarrelsome, loquacious, fierce, excessively fond, or downright rude;
when she was disgusted with any person, she never failed to reproach
them, with all the bitterness of wit she was mistress of, with such
malice, and ill-nature, that she was hated, not only by all the world,
but by her own children and servants: The extremes of prodigality,
and covetousness, of love, and hatred, of dotage, and fondness, met
in her. A woman of this temper will be at no loss for the means of
effecting any one's ruin, and having now conceived an aversion to our
poetess, she was resolved to drive her from her house, with as much
reproach as possible; and accordingly gave out, that she had detected
Mrs. Manley in an intrigue with her own son, and as she did not care
to give encouragement to such amours, she thought proper to discharge
her. Whether or not there was any truth in this charge, it is
impossible for us to determine: But if Mrs. Manley's own word may be
taken, in such a case, she was perfectly innocent thereof.

When our authoress was dismissed by the duchess, she was sollicited by
lieutenant-general Tidcomb, to pass some time with him at his country
seat; but she excused herself by telling him, she must be in love with
a man, before she could think of residing with him, which she could
not, without a violation of truth, profess for him. She told him her
love of solitude was improved, by her disgust of the world, and
since it was impossible for her to be public with reputation, she was
resolved to remain in it concealed.

It was in this solitude she composed her first tragedy, which was much
more famous for the language, fire, and tenderness, than the conduct.
Mrs. Barry distinguished herself in it, and the author was often heard
to express great surprize, that a man of Mr. Betterton's grave sense,
and judgment, should think well enough of the productions of a young
woman, to bring it upon the stage, since she herself in a more mature
age could hardly bear to read it. But as the play succeeded, she
received such unbounded incense from admirers, that her apartment
was crowded with men of wit, and gaiety. There is a copy of verses
prefixed to her play, said to be written by a very great hand which
deserve notice.

  What! all our sex in one sad hour undone?
  Lost are our arts, our learning, our renown
  Since nature's tide of wit came rolling down.
  Keen were your eyes we knew, and sure their darts;
  Fire to our soul they send, and passion to our heart!
  Needless was an addition to such arms,
  When all mankind were vassals to your charms:
  That hand but seen, gives wonder and desire,
  Snow to the fight, but with its touches fire!
  Who sees thy yielding Queen, and would not be
  On any terms, the best, the happy he;
  Entranc'd we fancy all is extasy.
  Quote Ovid, now no more ye am'rous swains,
  Delia, than Ovid has more moving strains.
  Nature in her alone exceeds all art,
  And nature sure does nearest touch the heart.
  Oh! might I call the bright discoverer mine,
  The whole fair sex unenvied I'd resign;
  Give all my happy hours to Delia's charms,
  She who by writing thus our wishes warms,
  What worlds of love must circle in her arms?

They who had a regard for Mrs. Manley could not but observe with
concern, that her conduct was such, as would soon issue in her ruin.
No language but flattery approached her ear; the Beaux told her, that
a woman of her wit, was not to be confined to the dull formalities of
her own sex, but had a right to assume the unreserved freedom of the
male, since all things were pardonable to a lady, who knew to give
laws to others, yet was not obliged to keep them herself. General
Tidcomb, who seems to have been her sincerest friend, took the
privilege of an old acquaintance to correct her ill taste, and the
wrong turn she gave her judgment, in admitting adulation from such
wretches, whose praise could reflect but little honour, and who would
be ready to boast of favours they never received, nor indeed ever
endeavoured to obtain.

This salutary council was rejected; she told him, that she did not
think fit to reform a conduct, which she reckoned very innocent;
and still continued to receive the whispers of flatterers, 'till
experience taught her the folly of her behaviour, and she lived to
repent her indiscretion.

Her virtue was now nodding, and she was ready to fall into the arms of
any gallant, like mellow fruit, without much trouble in the gathering.
Sir Thomas Skipwith, a character of gaiety of those times, and, who
it seems had theatrical connections, was recommended to her, as being
very able to promote her design in writing for the stage. This knight
was in the 50th year of his age, and in the 60th of his constitution,
when he was first introduced to her, and as he had been a long
practised gallant, he soon made addresses to her, and whether or no
this knight, who was more dangerous to a woman's reputation, than her
virtue, was favoured by her, the world was so much convinced of it,
that her character was now absolutely lost. Sir Thomas was a weak,
vain, conceited coxcomb, who delighted in boasting of his conquests
over women, and what was often owing to his fortune, and station in
life, he imputed to his address, and the elegance of his manner, of
both which he was totally destitute. He even published Mrs. Manley's
dishonour, and from that time our sprightly poetess was considered, by
the sober part of the sex, quite abandoned to all shame.

When her affair with this superannuated knight was over, she soon
engaged in another intrigue, still more prejudicial to her character;
for it was with a married man, one Mr. Tilly, a gentleman of the Law;
with whom she lived a considerable time: while he underwent at
home many of those severe lectures, which the just provocation, and
jealousy of his wife taught her to read him. Mrs. Tilly at last died,
and our gallant was left at his freedom to marry the object of his
passion; but unluckily his finances were in such a situation, that he
was obliged to repair them by marrying a woman of fortune. This was a
cruel circumstance; for he really loved, and doated upon Mrs. Manley,
and had the felicity of a reciprocal passion. She agreed however, in
order to repair his fortune, that he should marry a rich young widow,
whom he soon won by the elegance of his address, while our authoress
retired into the country to spend her days in solitude and sorrow, and
bid an everlasting farewel to the pleasures of love and gallantry.
Mr. Tilly did not many years survive this reparation: his life was
rendered miserable at home by the jealousy of his young wife, who had
heard of his affair with Mrs. Manley; he lost his senses, and died in
a deplorable situation.

During her retirement, our authoress, who had a most confirmed
aversion to the Whig ministry, wrote her Atalantis, which was meant as
a representation of the characters of some of those, who had effected
the Revolution. A warrant was granted from the secretary of state's
office, to seize the Printer and Publisher of these volumes. This
circumstance reduced the writer to a very troublesome dilemma; she
could not bear the thoughts that innocent people should suffer on her
account, and she judged it cruel to remain concealed, while they who
were only inferior instruments, were suffering for her. She consulted,
on this occasion, her best friend, general Tidcomb, who, after
rallying her for exposing people, who had never in particular injured
her, he advised her to go into France, and made her an offer of
his purse for that purpose. This advice she rejected, and came to
a determined resolution, that no person should ever suffer on her
account. The general asked her, how she should like to be confined in
Newgate? to which she answered, that she would rather lye in a prison,
after having discharged her conference, than riot in a palace under
its reproaches. The general upon this replied, that these things
sounded very heroic, but there was a great difference between real and
imaginary sufferings, 'that she had chosen to declare herself for the
Tories, a party, who never could keep their own, nor other people's
secrets, and were ever forgetful of such as served them; that the most
severe critics upon the Tory writings, were the Tories themselves, who
never considering the design, or honest intention of the author, would
examine the performance only, and that too with as much severity,
as they would an enemy's, and at the same time value themselves
upon being impartial against their friends. Then as to gratitude,
or generosity, the Tories did not approach to the Whigs, who never
suffered any man to go unrewarded, however dull, or insignificant,
provided he declared himself to be for them; whereas the Tories had no
general interest, and consequently no particular, each person refusing
to contribute towards the benefit of the whole; and if it should
happen, that she should perish, through want, in a Jail, they would
sooner condemn her folly, than pity her sufferings.'

This did not deter our poetess from voluntarily preferring herself
before the Court of King's Bench, as the author of the Atalantis.

When she was examined before the secretary (then lord Sunderland)
he was assiduous to know from whom she had got information of some
particulars, which they imagined were above her own intelligence. Her
defence was with much humility and sorrow, at the same time denying
that any persons were concerned with her, or that she had a farther
design than writing for her own amusement, and diversion in the
country, without intending particular reflexions, or characters; when
this was not believed, and the contrary urged against her by several
circumstances, she said, 'then it must be by inspiration, because
knowing her own innocence, she could account for it no other way.' The
secretary replied, 'that inspiration used to be upon a good account,
and her writings were stark naught.' She, with an air of penitence,
'acknowledged, that his lordship's observation might be true, but that
there were evil angels, as well as good, so that nevertheless what she
had wrote, might still be by inspiration.'

In consequence of this examination, our authoress was close shut up
in a messenger's house, without being allowed pen, ink, and paper.
However her council sued out her Habeas Corpus at the King's-Bench
Bar, and she was admitted to bail.

Whether those in power were ashamed to bring a woman to her trial,
for writing a few amorous trifles, or our laws were defective, as
was generally conjectured, because she had disguised her satire under
romantic names, and a feigned scene of action, she was discharged,
after several times exposing her in person, to cross the court before
the Bench of Judges, with her three attendants, the Printer, and two
Publishers.

Not long after this a total change of the ministry ensued,
the statesmen to whom she had been obnoxious were removed, and
consequently all her fears upon that score dissipated; her native
gaiety, and good humour returned, and she again employed herself in
writing a tragedy for the stage, and resolved never more to deal in
politics, as being much out of the natural sphere of a woman, she was
persuaded it was folly in one in her station, to disoblige any party
by a pen, equally qualified to divert all. Being advanced to the
autumn of her charms, she conversed with the opposite sex, in a manner
very delicate, sensible, and agreeable, and when she felt that time
had left his impression upon her brow, she did not court praise and
flattery. The greatest genius's of the times conversed freely with
her, and gave her daily proofs of esteem, and friendship, except Sir
Richard Steele, with whom it seems she was at variance; and indeed Sir
Richard sufficiently exposed himself by his manner of taking revenge;
for he published to the world that it was his own fault he was not
happy with Mrs. Manley, for which omission he publickly, and gravely
asked her pardon.

Those are the most material incidents in the life of our poetess; a
lady, who was born with high powers from nature, which were afterwards
cultivated by enjoying the brightest conversation; the early part of
her life was unfortunate, she fell a sacrifice to a seducer, who laid
the foundation for those errors she afterwards committed, and of those
sufferings she underwent; she had a high relish for the pleasures
of life; she was extremely susceptible of the passion of love, and
treated it with a peculiar vivacity.

Her dramatic works are

1. The Lover, or The Jealous Husband; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1696.
This play did not succeed in the representation.

2. The Royal Mischief, a Tragedy; acted by his Majesty's Servants
in the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1696. This was exhibited with
general applause.

3. Lucius, the First Christian King of Britain, a Tragedy; acted
at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane by his Majesty's Servants, and
dedicated to Sir Richard Steele. She has written several poems, and
we shall select, as a specimen, an Epistle to the Countess of Bristol,
which will shew how much she possessed the power of delicate numbers;
she has also in print a volume of Letters, the second edition of which
was published in 1713. She died July 11, 1724.

  To the Right Honourable the
  Countess of BRISTOL.


    Long had my mind, unknowing how to soar,
  In humble prose been train'd, nor aim'd at more:
  Near the fam'd sisters never durst aspire
  To sound a verse, or touch the tuneful lyre.
  'Till Bristol's charms dissolv'd the native cold;
  Bad me survey her eyes, and thence be bold.
  Thee, lovely Bristol! thee! with pride I chuse,
  The first, and only subject of my muse;
  That durst transport me like the bird of Jove,
  To face th' immortal source of light above!
  Such are thy kindred beams--
  So blessings, with a bounteous hand they give,
  So they create, and make creation live.

    When charming Felton, of a beauteous race,
  Adorn'd in blooming youth, with ev'ry grace;
  First saw the lovely Suffolk Swain her prize,
  The noblest conquest of the brightest eyes!
  How many wretched nymphs that union made,
  What cold despair the warmest hearts invade!
  What crouds of lovers, hopeless and undone,
  Deplore those charms which brought their ruin on!
  Rich in themselves--all excellence they find,
  Wit! beauty! wisdom! and a constant mind!
  No vain desires of change disturb their joy;
  Such sweets, like bliss divine, can never cloy:
  Fill'd with that spirit which great souls inflame,
  Their wondrous offspring start to early fame.
  In their young minds, immortal sparkles rise!
  And all their mother flashes from their eyes!
  From thence such scenes of beauty charm the sight,
  We know not where o fix the strong delight!
  Hervey's soft features--next, Eliza bright!
  Anna just dawning, like Aurora's light!
  With all the smiling train of Cupids round,
  Fond little loves, with flowing graces crown'd.

    As some fair flowers, who all their bloom disclose,
  The Spanish Jas'min, or the British Rose?
  Arriv'd at full perfection, charm the sense,
  Whilst the young blossoms gradual sweets dispense.
  The eldest born, with almost equal pride;
  The next appears in fainter colours dy'd:
  New op'ning buds, as less in debt to time,
  Wait to perform the promise of their prime!
  All blest descendants of the beauteous tree,
  What now their parent is, themselves shall be.

    Oh! could I paint the younger Hervey's mind,
  Where wit and judgment, fire and taste refin'd
  To match his face, with equal art are join'd:
  Oh best belov'd of Jove! to thee alone,
  What would enrich the whole, he gives to one!

    [A]In Titian's colours whilst Adonis glows,
  See fairest Bristol more than Venus shows;
  View well the valu'd piece, how nice each part;
  Yet nature's hand surpasses Titian's art!
  Such had his Venus and Adonis been,
  The standard beauty had from thence been seen!
  Whose arbitrary laws had fix'd the doom
  To Hervey's form, and Bristol's ever bloom!

    [B]As once Kazeia, now Eliza warms
  The kindred-fair bequeath'd her all her charms;
  Such were her darts, so piercing and so strong,
  Endow'd by Phoebus both, with tuneful song;
  But far from thee Eliza be her doom;
  Snatch'd hence by death, in all her beauty's bloom.
  Long may'st thou live, adorning Bristol's name,
  With future heroes to augment his fame.

    When haughty Niobe, with joy and pride,
  Saw all her shining offspring grace her side;
  She view'd their charms, exulting at each line,
  And then oppos'd 'em to the race divine!
  Enrag'd Latona urg'd the silver bow:
  Immortal vengeance laid their beauties low.
  No more a mother now--too much she mourn'd,
  By grief incessant into marble turn'd.

    But lovely Bristol, with a pious mind,
  Owns all her blessings are from Heav'n assign'd.
  Her matchless Lord--her beauteous numerous race!
  Her virtue, modesty, and ev'ry grace!
  For these, devoutly, to the gods she bows,
  And offers daily praise, and daily vows:
  Phoebus, well-pleas'd, the sacrifice regards;
  And thus the grateful mother's zeal rewards:
  'Beauty and wit, to all of Bristol's line!
  But each in some peculiar grace shall shine!
  Or to excel in courts, and please the fair!
  Or Conquest gain thro' all the wat'ry war!
  With harmony divine the ear to charm!
  Or souls with more melodious numbers warm!
  By wond'rous memory shall some excel
  In awful senates, and in speaking well!
  To hold Astræa's scales with equal hand,
  And call back justice to that happy land!
  To teach mankind how best the gods to praise!
  To fix their minds in truth's unerring ways!

    'Thus all her honours, Bristol's sons shall wear,
  Whilst each his country's good shall make his chiefest care!'


[Footnote A: This is not designed as a parallel of the story, but the
painting from a piece of Titian's, at my lord Bristol's.]

[Footnote B: A sister of lord Bristol's, who was a lady of most
extraordinary beauty.]

       *       *       *       *       *




HENRY NEEDLER,


This Poet was born at Harley in Surry, in the year 1690, and educated
at a private school at Ryegate in the same county[A]. He was removed
from thence in 1705, and in 1708 accepted a small place in a public
office; where he continued the remainder of his days.

About this time contracting a friendship with a gentleman of a like
taste, who furnished him with proper books, he applied himself at
his intervals of leisure, to reading the dailies, and to the study
of logic, metaphysics, and the mathematics, with which last he was
peculiarly delighted. And in a few years by the force of his own happy
genius, and unwearied diligence, without the assistance of any master,
he acquired a considerable knowledge of the most difficult branches of
those useful and entertaining studies.

By so close an application, he contracted a violent pain in his head,
which notwithstanding the best advice, daily encreased. This, and
other unfortunate circumstances concurring, so deeply affected him,
who had besides in his constitution a strong tincture of melancholy,
that he was at last brought under almost a total extinction of reason.
In this condition he fell into a fever; and as there were before
scarce any hopes of him, it may be said to have happily put an end to
the deplorable bondage of so bright a mind, on the 21st of December,
1718, in the 29th year of his age. He was buried in the church of
Friendsbury, near Rochester.

Mr. Needler's life was influenced by the principles of sincere,
unaffected piety, and virtue.

On all occasions (says Mr. Duncomb) 'he was a strenuous advocate for
universal toleration and forbearance in matters of religion; rightly
supposing that no service can be acceptable to the supreme Being,
unless it proceeds from the heart; and that force serves only to make
hypocrites, but adds no new lights to the understanding. He was
modest to a fault, entertaining the most humble opinion of his own
performances; and was always ready to do justice to those of others.
His affection for his friends indeed sometimes biassed his judgment,
and led him to the commending their writings beyond their merit.'

In the volume of Mr. Needler's works, are printed some familiar
Letters, upon moral, and natural subjects. They are written with
elegance and taste; the heart of a good man may be traced in them
all, and equally abound with pious notions, as good sense, and
solid reasoning.--He seems to have been very much master of smooth
versification, his subjects are happily chosen, and there is a
philosophical air runs through all his writings; as an instance of
this, we shall present our readers with a copy of his verses addressed
to Sir Richard Blackmore, on his Poem, intitled The Creation.

    Dress'd in the charms of wit and fancy, long
  The muse has pleas'd us with her syren song;
  But weak of reason, and deprav'd of mind,
  Too oft on vile, ignoble themes we find
  The wanton muse her sacred art debase,
  Forgetful of her birth, and heavenly race;
  Too oft her flatt'ring songs to sin intice,
  And in false colours deck delusive vice;
  Too oft she condescends, in servile lays,
  The undeserving rich and great to praise.
  These beaten paths, thy loftier strains refuse
  With just disdain, and nobler subjects chuse:
  Fir'd with sublimer thoughts, thy daring soul
  Wings her aspiring flight from Pole to Pole,
  Observes the foot-steps of a pow'r divine,
  Which in each part of nature's system shine;
  Surveys the wonders of this beauteous frame,
  And sings the sacred source, whence all things came.

    But Oh! what numbers shall I find to tell,
  The mighty transports which my bosom swell,
  Whilst, guided by thy tuneful voice, I stray
  Thro' radiant worlds, and fields of native day,
  Wasted from orb, to orb, unwearied fly
  Thro' the blue regions of the yielding sky;
  See how the spheres in stated courses roll,
  And view the just composure of the whole!

    Such were the strains, by antient Orpheus sung.
  To such, Mufæus' heav'nly lyre was strung;
  Exalted truths, in learned verse they told,
  And nature's deepest secrets did unfold.
  How at th' eternal mind's omnisic call,
  Yon starry arch, and this terrestrial ball,
  The briny wave, the blazing source of light,
  And the wane empress of the silent night,
  Each in it's order rose and took its place,
  And filled with recent forms the vacant space;
  How rolling planets trace their destin'd way,
  Nor in the wastes of pathless Æther stray;
  How the pale moon, with silver beams adorn
  Her chearful orb, and gilds her sharpened horns;
  How the vast ocean's swelling tides obey
  Her distant reign, and own her watr'y sway;
  How erring floods, their circling course maintain,
  Supplied by constant succours from the main;
  Whilst to the sea, the refluent streams restore,
  The liquid treasures which she lent before;
  What dreadful veil obscures the solar light,
  And Phæbe's darken'd face conceals from mortal sight.
  Thy learned muse, I with like pleasure hear
  The wonders of the lesser world declare,
  Point out the various marks of skill divine,
  Which thro' its complicated structure mine,
  In tuneful verse, the vital current trace,
  Thro' all the windings of its mazy race,
  And tell hew the rich purple tide bestows,
  Vigour, and kindly warmth where e'er it flows;
  By what contrivance of mechanic art
  The muscles, motions to the limbs impart;
  How at th' imperial mind's impulsive nod,
  Th' obedient spirits thro' the nervous road
  Find thro' their fib'rous cells the ready way,
  And the high dictates of the will obey;
  From how exact and delicate a frame,
  The channeled bones their nimble action claim;
  With how much depth, and subtility of thought
  The curious organ of the eye is wrought;
  How from the brain their root the nerves derive,
  And sense to ev'ry distant member give.

    Th' extensive knowledge you of men enjoy,
  You to a double use of man employ;
  Nor to the body, is your skill confin'd,
  Of error's worse disease you heal the mind.
  No longer shall the hardy atheist praise
  Lucretius' piercing wit, and philosophic lays;
  But by your lines convinc'd, and charm'd at once,
  His impious tenets shall at length renounce,
  At length to truth and eloquence shall yield,
  Confess himself subdu'd, and wisely quit the field.


[Footnote A: See his Life prefixed to his works, by William Duncomb
Esq;]

       *       *       *       *       *




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, 

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