J
 
 i THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 THE LIBRARY
 
 JOHNS OK 
 
 BnjiT*'*'! fi« Jo hnfon 's 
 
 LiTTS of the Poets; PiibliJkjMl b^ 
 U. Burhannrv Manttofp
 
 THE 
 
 9^^^^^-.^2^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 LIVES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 MOST EMINENT 
 
 ENGLISH POETS; 
 
 WITH 
 
 CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS 
 
 ON THEIR WORKS ; 
 
 By SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 EMBELLISHED WITH ELEGANT ENGRAVIN'GS. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 /J^ 
 
 MONTROSE: 
 
 Printedby D.Buchanan, Sold by him, ^by W.Creech, 
 P. HiLi,, W. MuDiE, ^ A. CoNSTABLX, Edinburgh, 
 
 MjDCCC.
 
 S»l' 
 
 ft: 
 
 w
 
 UR 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 THE Bookfellers having determined to publiih ft 
 Body of Englifh Poetry, I M^as perfuaded to pro- 
 Ynlfe them a Preface to the Works of each Author ; an 
 undertaking, as it was then prefented to my mind, not 
 very extenfive or difficult. 
 
 My purpofe was only to have allotted to every Poet 
 an Advertifement, like thofe which we find in the 
 French Mifcellanies, containing a few dates and a gene- 
 ral charadler ; but I have been led beyond my inten- 
 tion, I hop^, by the honeft defire of giving ufeful 
 pleafure. 
 
 In this minute kind of Hiftory, the fucceffion of fad^ 
 is not eafily difcovered ; and I am not without fome 
 fufpicion that fome of Dryden's works are placed in 
 wrong years. I have followed Langbaine, as the beft 
 authority for his plays : and if I fhall hereafter obtain a 
 more correcfl chronology, will publifh it ; but I do not 
 yet know that my account is erroneous. 
 
 Dryden's Remarks on Rymer have been fomewherc 
 printed before. The former edition I have not feen. 
 This was tranfcribed for the prefs from his own ma- 
 nufcript. 
 
 As this undertaking was occafional and unforefeen> 
 I muft be fuppofed to have engaged in it with lefs pra- 
 vifion of materials than might have been accumulated 
 by longer premeditation. Of the later writers at leaft 
 
 I might.
 
 [ iv ] 
 
 I might, by attention and enquin'', have gleaned many 
 particulars, which would have diverfified and enlivened 
 my Biography. Thefe omiflions, which it is now 
 ufelefs to lament, have been often fupplled by the 
 kindnefs of Mr. Steevens and other friends; and 
 great affiftance has been given me by Mr. Spence's 
 Colle<flions, of which I confider the communication ai 
 a favour worthy of publick acknowledgement. 
 
 CONTENTS.
 
 C » 3 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIRST VOLUME* 
 
 Cowley, * « - P. ^ 
 
 Denham, - - - 71 
 
 Milton, - - • 83 
 
 Butler, • . • 180 
 
 Rochester, - - • 198 
 
 Roscommon, - - 208 
 
 Otway, - - - 220 
 
 Waller, - - 226 
 
 Pomfret, - - - 284 
 
 Dorset, - • 286 
 
 Stepney, - • * - 290 
 
 Philips, - - 293 
 
 Walsh, - - - 311 
 
 COWLEY.
 
 COWLEY. 
 
 THE Life of Cowley, notwithftanding tlie pe- 
 nury of Englifti biography, has been written 
 by Dr. Sprat, an author whofe pregnancy of ima- 
 gination and elegance of language have defervedly 
 fet him high in the ranks of literature ; but his 
 zeal of friendfhip, or ambition of eloquence has 
 produced a funeral oration rather than a hiftory : 
 he has given the chara£ter, not the life of Cowley ; 
 for he writes with fo little detail, that fcarcely any 
 thing is diilinftly known, but all is fhewn confufed 
 and enlarged through the mill of panegyrick. 
 
 Abraham Cowley was born in the year i6i8. 
 His father was a grocer, whofe condition Dr. 
 Sprat conceals under the general appellation of a 
 citizen ; and, what would probably not have been 
 lefs carefully fuppreffed, the omiflion of his name 
 in the regifter of St. Dunftan's paiifh gives reafon 
 to fufpe6l that his father was a feftary. Whoever 
 he was, he died before the birth of his fon, and con- 
 fequently left him to the care of his mother ; 
 whom Wood reprefents as ftruggling earneftly to 
 procure him a literary education, and who^ as fhe 
 lived to the age of eighty, had her fohcitude re- 
 warded by feeing her fon eminent, and I hope, by 
 feeing him fortunate, and partaking his profperity. 
 We know at leaft, from Sprat's account, that he 
 always acknowledged her cai-e, and juftly paid the 
 4ues of filial gratitude. 
 
 Vql. I. A Ift
 
 2 COWLEY. 
 
 In the window of his mother's apartfneiit lay 
 Spenfer's Fairy Queen ; in which he very early 
 took dehght to read, till, by feehng the charnis of 
 verfe, he became, as he relates, irrecoverably a poet. 
 Such are the accidents, which, fometimes remem- 
 bered, and perhaps fometimes forgotten, produce 
 that particular defignation of mind, and propenfity 
 for fome certain fcience or employment, which is 
 commonly called Genius. The true Genius is a 
 mind of large general powers, accidentally deter- 
 mined to fome particular direction. Sir Jofhua 
 Reynolds, the great Painter of the prefent age, 
 had the firil fondnefs for his art excited by the 
 perufal of Richardfon's treatife. 
 
 By his mother's folicitation he was admitted 
 into Weftminller-fchool, where he was foon dif- 
 tinguirtied. He was wont, fays Sprat, to relate, 
 ** That he had this defedl in his memory at that 
 ** time,_ that his teachers never could bring it to 
 ** retain the ordinary rules of grammar." 
 
 This is an inftance of the natural defire of man 
 to propagate a wonder. It is furely very difficult 
 to tell any thing as it was heard, when Sprat could 
 not refrain from ampHfying a commodious incident, 
 though the book to which he prefixed his narrative 
 contained its confutation. A memory' admitting 
 fome things, and rejecling others, an intelledual 
 digeftion, that concocted the pulp of learning, but 
 refufed the huflcs, had the appearance of an in- 
 ftinclive elegance, of a particular provifion made 
 by Nature for literary politenefs. But in the au- 
 thor's own honell relation, the mai-vel vanifhes ; he 
 \vas, he fays, fuch *' an enemy to all conftrainty 
 
 « that
 
 COWLEY. 5 
 
 t 
 
 ** that his mailer never could prevail on him to 
 ** learn the rules, without book." He does not 
 tell that he could not learn the rules, but that, 
 being able to perform his exercifes without them, 
 and being an " enemy to conllraint,'* he fpared 
 himfelf the labour. 
 
 Among the EngHfh poets, Cowley, Milton, and 
 Pope, might be faid " to hfp in numbers ;" and 
 have given fuch early proofs, not only of powers 
 of language, but of comprehenfion of things, as to 
 more tardy minds feems fcarcely credible. But 
 of the learned puerilities of Cowley there is no 
 doubt, fmce a volume of his poems was not only 
 written but printed in his thirteenth year ; con- 
 taining, with other poetical compofitions, " The 
 "tragical Hiftory of Pyramus and Thifbe,'* writ- 
 ten when he was ten years old ; and " Conftantia 
 ** and Philetus,*' written two years after. 
 
 While he was yet at fchool he produced a co- 
 medy called " Love's Riddle," though it was not 
 publifhed till he had been fome time at Cambridge. 
 This comedy is of the paftoral kind, which requires 
 no acquaintance with the living world, and there- 
 fore the time at which it was compofed adds little 
 to the wonders of Cowley's minority. 
 
 In 1636, he was removed to Cambridge, where 
 he continued his ftudies with great intenfenefs ; for 
 he is faid to have written, while he was yet a 
 young ftudent, the greater part of his Davideis ; 
 a work of which the materials could not have been 
 collefted without the lludy of many years, but by 
 a mind of the greateft vigour and aftivity. 
 
 Two years after his fettlement at Cambridge 
 A 2 ?c
 
 4 COWLEY. 
 
 "he piibllfhed " Love's Riddle," with a poetical 
 dedication to Sir Kenelm Digby ; of whofe ac- 
 quaintance all his contemporaries feem to have 
 been ambitious ; and " Naufragium Joculare,'* a 
 comedy written in Latin, but without due atten-' 
 .tion to the ancient models : for it is not loofe 
 verfe, but mere profe. It was printed, with a de- 
 dication in verfe to Dr. Comber, mafter of the 
 college ; but having neither the facility of a popu- 
 lar nor the accuracy of a learned work, it feems to 
 be now univerfally negleAed. 
 
 At the beginning of the civil war, as the Prince 
 pafTed through Cambridge in his way to York, he 
 was entertained with the reprefentation of the 
 ** Guardian," a comedy, which Cowley fays was 
 neither written nor afted, but rough-drawn by 
 him, and repeated by the fcholars. That this 
 comedy was piinted during his abfence from his 
 countr)', he appears to have confidered as injurious 
 to his reputation ; though, during the fuppreflion 
 of the theatres, it was fometimes privately adled 
 with fufficient approbation. 
 
 In 1643, being now mafter of arts, he was, by 
 the prevalence of the parliament, ejefted from 
 Cambridge, and (heltered himfelf at St. John's 
 College in Oxford : where, as is faid by Wood, 
 he pubhfhed a fatire called " The Puritan and 
 *' Papift," which was only inferted in the laft col- 
 leAion of his works ; and fo diftinguifhed himfelf 
 by the warmth of his loyalty, and the elegance of 
 his converfation, that he gained the kindnefs and 
 confidence of thofe who attended the King, and 
 amongft others of Lord Falkland, whofe no- 
 tice
 
 COWLEY, 5 
 
 ticc cafl a luilre on all to whom it was extend* 
 ed. 
 
 About the time when Oxford was furrendered 
 to the parliament, he followed the Queen to Paris, 
 where he became fecretary to the Lord Jermin, af- 
 terwards Earl of St. Albans, and was employed in 
 -fuch correfpondence as the royal caufe required, 
 and particularly in cyphering and decyphering the 
 letters that pafled between the King and Queen ; 
 an employment of the higheft confidence and ho- 
 nour. So wide was his province of intelligence, 
 that, for feveral years, it filled all his days and two 
 or three nights in the week. 
 
 In the year 1647, his " Miftrefs,'* was pub- 
 lifhed ; for he imagined, as he declared in his pre- 
 face to a fubfequent edition, that " poets are fcarce 
 ** thought freemen of their company without pay- 
 " ing fome duties, or obhging themfelves to be 
 ** true to Love." 
 
 This obligation to amorous ditties owes, I be- 
 lieve, its original to the fame of Petrarch, who, in 
 an age rude and uncultivated, by his tuneful ho- 
 mage to his Laura, refined the manners of the let- 
 tered world, and filled Europe with love and poet- 
 ry. But the bafis of all excellence is truth : he 
 that profefles love ought to feel its power. Pe- 
 trarch was a real lover, and Laura doubtlefs de- 
 ferved his tendernefs. Of Cowley, we are told by 
 Barnes*, who had means enough of information, 
 that, whatever he may talk of his own inflamma- 
 bility, and the variety of charadlers by which hi* 
 
 * V. Barnefii Anacreontem. 
 
 A 3 hc9it
 
 • COWLEY. 
 
 heart was divided, he in reality was in love but 
 once, and then never had refolution to tell his 
 paflion. 
 
 This confideration cannot but abate, in fome 
 meafure, the reader's efteem for the work and the 
 author. To love excellence, is natural ; it is na- 
 tural likewile for the lover to folicit reciprocal 
 regard by an elaborate difplay of his own qualifi- 
 cations. The defire of plealing has in different 
 men produced aftions of heroifm, and effufions of 
 wit ; but it feems as reafonable to appear the 
 champion as the poet of an " aiiy nothing," and 
 to quarrel as to write for what Cowley might 
 have learned from his mailer Pindar to call the 
 ** dream of a fhadow," 
 
 It is furely not difficult, in the foHtude of a col- 
 lege, or in the buftle of the world, to find ufeful 
 •ftudies and ferious employment. No mian needs 
 to be fo burthened with life as to fquander it in 
 voluntaiy dreams of fictitious occurrences. The 
 man that fits down to fuppofe himfelf charged 
 with treafon or peculation, and heats his mind to 
 an elaborate purgation of his charafter from crimes 
 which he was never within the poflibility of com- 
 mitting, differs only by the infrequency of his folly 
 from him who praifes beauty %\iiich he never faw, 
 complains of jealoufy which he never felt ; fup- 
 pofes himfelf fometimes invited, and fometimes for- 
 faken ; fatigues his fancy, and ranfacks his me- 
 mory, for images which may exhibit the gaiety of 
 hope, or the gloominefs of defpair, and di*effes hrs 
 imaginar)'- Clilons or Phyllis fometimes in flowers 
 
 fading
 
 GOWLET. 7 
 
 fading as her beauty, and fometimes in gems lad- 
 ing as her virtues. 
 
 At Paris, as fecretary to Lord Jermin, he was 
 •engaged in tranfafting things of real importance 
 with real men and real women, and at that time 
 <lid not much employ his thoughts upon phantoms 
 of gallantry. Some of his letters to Mr. Bennet, 
 ^afterwards Earl of Arlington, from April to De- 
 cember in 1650, are preferved in " Mifcellanea 
 *' Aulica,** a coUeftion of papers publifhed by 
 Brown. Thefe letters, being written hke thofe of 
 other men whofe mind is more on tilings than 
 words, contribute no otherwife to his reputation 
 than as they fhew him to have been above the af- 
 fectation of unfeafonable elegance, and to have 
 known that the bufmefs of a ftatefman can be httic 
 forwarded by flowers of rhetorick. 
 
 One paffage, however, feems not unworthy of 
 fome notice. Speaking of the Scotch treaty then 
 in agitation : 
 
 " The Scotch treaty,*' fays he, " is the only 
 ** thing now in which we are vitally concerned ; I 
 ** am one of the laft hopers, and yet cannot no\y 
 ** abftain from believing, that an agreement will be 
 ** made ; all people upon the place incline to that 
 ** of union. The Scotch will moderate fomething 
 ** of the rigour of their demands ; the mutual 
 ** neceffity of an accord is vifible, the King is 
 " perfuaded of it. And to tell you the truth 
 ** (which I take to be an argument above all 
 " the reft), Virgil has told the fame thing to that 
 ** purpofe." 
 
 This exprefiion from a feeretary of the prefent 
 s time
 
 rS ROWLEY. 
 
 time would he confidered as merely ludicrous, or 
 at moll as an oftentatious difplay of fcholarfhip ; 
 but the manners of that time were fo tinged with 
 fuperftition, that I cannot but fufpecl Cowley of 
 having confulted on this great occahon the Virgihan 
 lots, and to have given fome credit to the anfwer 
 of his oracle. 
 
 Some years afterwards, ** bufinefs, ** fays Spraf, 
 ** paffed of courfe into other hands ;" and Cow- 
 ley, being no longer ufeful at Paris, was in 1656 
 fent back into England, that, " under pretence of 
 *' privacy and retirement, he might take occafion of 
 ** gi'^'ing notice of the pollure of things in tills 
 " nation." 
 
 Soon after his return to London, he was feized 
 by fome meflengers of the ufurping powers, who 
 were fent out in quell of another man ; and, being 
 examined, was put into confinement, from which 
 he was not difrnilTed without the fecurity of a thouf- 
 and pounds given by Dr. Scarborow. 
 
 This year he pubhlhed his poems, with a pre- 
 face, in which he feems to have inferted fomething, 
 fupprelTed in fubfequent editions, which was inter- 
 preted to denote fome relaxation of his loyalty. In 
 this preface he declares, that " his defire had been 
 " for fome days pall, and did Hill very vehemently 
 *< continue, to retire himfelf to fome of the Ame- 
 *' rican plantations, and to forfake this world for 
 u ever." 
 
 From the obloquy which the appearance of fub- 
 miflion to the ufurpers brought upon him, his bio- 
 grapher has been very dihgent to clear him, and 
 indeed it docs not fecm to have lelTened his repu- 
 tation*
 
 COWLEY. 9 
 
 tation. His wlfli for retirement we can eafily be- 
 lieve to be undiffembled ; a man harraffed in one 
 kingdom, and perfecuted in another, who, after a 
 courfe of bulinefs that employed all his days and 
 half his nights in cyphering and decyphering, 
 comes to his own country and fteps into a prifon, 
 will be wilhng enough to retire to fome place of 
 quiet, and offafety. Yet let neither our reverence 
 for a genius, nor our pity for a fufferer, difpofe us 
 to forget that, if his a6livity was virtue, his retreat 
 was cowardice. 
 
 He then took upon himfelf the charafter of 
 Phyfician, ftill, according to Sprat, with inten- 
 'lion " to diffemble the main defign of his com- 
 ** ing over," and as Mr. Wood relates, " com- 
 '** plying with the men then in power (which 
 ** was much taken notice of by the royal party), 
 ** he obtained an order to be created Doctor of 
 ** Phyfick, which being done to his mind (where- 
 *^ by he gained the ill-will of fome of his friends), 
 ■** he went into France again, having made a copy 
 ** of verfes on Oliver's death." 
 
 This is no favourable reprefentation, yet even 
 in this not much wrong can be difcovered. How 
 far he complied with the men in power, is to be 
 enquired before he can be blamed. It is not faid 
 that he told them any fecrets, or affifted them by 
 intelligence, or any other a£l. If he only promif- 
 ed to be quiet, that they in whofe hands he was 
 might free him from confinement, he did what no 
 law of fociety prohibits. 
 
 The man whofe mifcarriage in a juft caufe has 
 put him in the power of his enemy may, without 
 
 anr
 
 XO COWLEY, 
 
 any violation of his integrity, regain his hherty, or 
 preferve his hfe, by a promife of neutrality : for 
 the ftipulation gives the enemy nothing which he 
 had not before ; the neutrality of a captive may be 
 always fecured by his imprifonment or death. He 
 that is at the difpofal of another may not promife to 
 aid him in any injurious act, becaufe no power can 
 compel adlive obedience. He may engage to do 
 nothing, but not to do ill. 
 
 There is reafon to think that Cowley promifed 
 little. It does not appear that his compliance gain- 
 ed him confidence enough to be tnifted without 
 fecurity, for the bond of his bail was never can- 
 celled ; nor that it made him think himfelf fecure, 
 for at that diffolution of government, which follow- 
 ed the death of Ohver, he returned into France, 
 where he refumed his former ftation, and llaid till 
 the Reftoration. 
 
 " He continued," fays his biographer, " un- 
 ** der thefe bonds till the general deliverance ;" it 
 is therefore to be fuppofed, that he did not go to 
 France, and adl again for the King, without thje 
 confent of his bondfman ; that he did not fhew his 
 loyalty at the hazard of his friend, but by his 
 friend's permiflion. 
 
 Of the verfes on Ohver's death, in which Wood's 
 nan-ative feems to imply fomething encomiaftick, 
 there has been no appearance. There is a dif- 
 courfe concerning his government, indeed, with 
 verfes intemnixed, but fuch as certainly gained 
 its author no friends among the abettors of ufurpa- 
 tion. 
 
 A do6lor of phyfick however he was made at 
 
 Ox-
 
 cow LET. It 
 
 Oxford, in December 1657 ; and in the com- 
 mencement of the Royal Society, of which an ac- 
 count has been pubHfhed by Dr. Birch, he appears 
 bufy among the experimental philofophers with the 
 title of Dodlor Cowley. 
 
 There is no reafon for fuppofmg that he ever 
 Attempted practice ; but his preparatoiy lludies 
 have contributed fomething to the honour of his 
 counti-y. Confidering Botany as neceffary to a 
 phyfician, he retired into Kent to gather plants ; 
 and as the predominance of a favourite iludy af- 
 fects all fubordinate operations of the intellect, Bo- 
 tany in the mind of Cowley turned into poetiy. 
 He compofed in Latin feveral books on Plants, of 
 which the firil and fecond difplay the qualities of 
 Herbs, in elegiac verfe ; the third and fourth the 
 beauties of Flowers in various meafures ; and in 
 the fifth and fixth, the ufes of Trees in heroick 
 numbers. 
 
 At the fame time were produced from the fame 
 univerfity, the tv^'o great Poets, Cowley and Mil- 
 ton, of diflimilar genius, of oppofite principles ; 
 but concurring in the cultivation of Latin poetry, 
 in which the Enghfli, till their works and May's 
 poem appeared, feemed unable to conteft the palm 
 with any other of the lettered nations. 
 
 If the Latin performances of Cowley and Milton 
 be compared, for May I hold to be fuperior to 
 both, the advantage feems to lie on the fide of 
 Cowley. Milton is generally content to exprefs 
 the thoughts of the ancients in their language ; 
 Cowley, v/ithout mu<;h lof;> of purity or elegance, 
 
 accom-
 
 12 eOWLEY. 
 
 accommodates the diftion of Rome to Ills owa 
 conceptions. 
 
 At the Reiloration, after all the dihgence of his 
 long fervice, and with confcioufnefs not only of the 
 merit of fidelity, but of the dignity of great abili- 
 ties, he naturally expected ample preferments ; and, 
 that he might not be forgotten by his own fault, 
 wrote a Song of Triumph. But this was a time 
 of fuch general hope, that great numbers were in- 
 c\'itably difappointed ; and Cowley found his re- 
 ward very tedioufly delayed. He had been promil- 
 cd by both Charles the firft and fecond the Maller- 
 fhip of the Savoy ; but " he loll it,'' fays Wood, 
 ** by certain perfons, enemies to the Mufes." 
 
 The neglect of the court was not his only mor- 
 tification ; having, by fuch alteration as he 
 thought proper, fitted his old Comedy of the Guar- 
 dian for the flage, he produced it to the public un- 
 der the title of <' The Cutter of Coleman-ftreet." 
 It was treated on the flage with great feverity, 
 and was afterwards cenfured as a fatire on the 
 king's party. 
 
 Mr. Dr)^den, who went with Mr. Sprat to the 
 firft exhibition, related to Mr. Dennis, " that when 
 *' they told Cowley how little favour had been 
 " fhewn him, he received the news of his ill fuc- 
 ** cefs, not with fo much iirmnefs as might have 
 " been expefted fromfo great a man." 
 
 What firmnefs they expefted, or what weaknefs 
 Cowley difcovered, cannot be known. He that 
 miffes his end will never be as much pleafed as he 
 that attains it, even when he can impute no part 
 of his failure to himfelf ; and when the end is to 
 
 pleafe
 
 COWLEY. 1$ 
 
 plcafe the multitude, no man perhaps has a right, 
 in things admitting of gradation and comparifon, 
 to throw the whole blame upon his judges, and 
 totally to exclude diffidence and fliame by a haugh- 
 ty confcioufnefs of his own excellence. 
 
 For the rejedlion of this play, it is difficult now 
 to find the reafon ; it certainly has, in a very great 
 degree, the power of fixing attention and exciting 
 jnemment. From the charge of difafFe6lion he 
 exculpates himfelf in his preface, by obferving how 
 unlikely it is that, having followed the royal family 
 through all their diftrefies, *' he fiiould chufe the 
 ** time of their relloration to begin a quarrel with 
 ** them." It appears, however, from the Theatri- 
 cal Regifter of Downes the prompter, to have been 
 popularly confidered as a fatire on the Royalifts. 
 
 That he might fliorten this tedious fufpenfe, he 
 publifhed his pretenfions and his difcontent, in an 
 ode called " The Complaint ;" in which he ftyles 
 himfelf the melancholy Cowley. This met with 
 the ufual fortune of complaints, and feems to have 
 excited more contempt than pity. 
 
 Thefe unlucky incidents are brought, malicioufly 
 enough, together in fome fi:anzas, written about 
 that time, on the choice of a laureat ; a mode of 
 fatire, by which, fince it was firfl introduced by 
 Suckhng, perhaps every generation of poets has 
 been teazed : 
 
 Savoy-mifTing Cowley came into the court, 
 
 Making apologies for his bad play ; 
 Every one gave him fo good a report, 
 
 That Apollo gave heed to all he could fay ; 
 Vol. I. J5 Nor
 
 iJ^ COWLEY. 
 
 Nor would he have had, 'tis thought, a rebukr,. 
 
 Unlefs he had done fome notable folly ; 
 Writ verfes unjuftly in praife of SamTukc, 
 
 Or printed his pitiful Melancholy. 
 
 His vehement defire of retirement now came 
 again upon him. " Not finding," fays the mo- 
 rofe Wood, " that preferment conferred upon him 
 ** which he expected, while others for their money 
 *' carried away moil places, he retired difcontented 
 ** into Suirey." 
 
 " He was now," fays the courtly Sprat, ** weary 
 ** of the vexations and formahties of an adtive con- 
 ** dition. He had been perplexed with a long 
 " compliance to foreign manners. He was fatiated 
 *< with the arts of a court ; which fort of hfe, 
 *' though his virtue made it innocent to him, yet 
 ** nothing could make it quiet. Thofe were the 
 ** reafons that moved him to follow the violent in- 
 ** chnation of his own mind, which, in the greateft 
 ** throng of his former bufinefs, had llill called 
 ** upon him, and reprcfented to him the true de- 
 ** hghts of folitary lludies, of temperate pleafures, 
 *' and a moderate revenue below the mahce and 
 *' flatteries of fortune." 
 
 So differently are things feen, and fo differently 
 are they fliown ; but actions are vifible, though 
 ftiotives are fecret. Cowley certainly retired ; 
 firit to Barn-elms, and afterwards to Chertfey, in 
 Surrey. He feems, however, to have loft part of 
 iiis dread of the */>«w of men. He thought him- 
 felf now fafe enough from intrufion, witliout the 
 
 *L'AlIc?gro of Milton. 
 
 defence
 
 COWLEY. 15 
 
 cfefence of mountains and oceans ; and, infcead of 
 feeking fhelter in America, wifely went only fo far 
 'from the buftle of life as that he might eafily find 
 his way back, when folitude fliould grow tedious. 
 His retreat was at firfl but flenderly accommodat- 
 ed ; yet he foon obtained, by the intereft of the 
 Earl of St. Albans and the duke of Buckingham, 
 fuch a leafe of the Queen's lands as afforded him an 
 ample income. 
 
 13y the lover of virtue and of wit it will be fo- 
 licitoufly afived, if he now was happy. Let them 
 perufe one of his letters accidentally prefei*ved by 
 Peck, which I recommend to the confideration of 
 ;JI that may hereafter pant for folitude, 
 
 *' To Dr. Thomas Sprat. 
 
 " Chertfey, 21 May, 1665. 
 
 *' The firll night that I came hither I caught 
 *^ fo great a cold, with a defluxion of rheum, as 
 *' made me keep my chamber ten days. And, 
 ** two after, had fuch a bruife on my ribs with a 
 ■** fall, that I am yet unable to move or turn my- 
 ** felf in my bed. This is my perfonal fortune 
 " here to begin with. And, befides, I can get 
 ** no money from my tenants, and have my mea- 
 '*' dows eaten up every night by cattle put in by 
 " my neighbours. What this fignifies, or may 
 " come to in time, God knows ; if it be ominous, 
 *' it can end in nothing lefs than hanging. Ano- 
 ** ther misfortune has been, and ftranger than all 
 '* tlie reft, that you have broke your word with 
 B 3 " me.
 
 1 6 COWLEY. 
 
 *' me, and failed to come, even thougli yon tol<i 
 ** Mr. Bois that you would. This is what thcv 
 ** call Monjlri fim'ile. I do hope to recover my 
 *' late hurt fo farre \^dthin five or fix days (though 
 *' it be uncertain yet whether I fhall ever recover 
 ^* it) as to walk about again. And then, me- 
 ** thinks, you and I and the Dean might be veiy 
 ** merry upon S. Anne's Hill. You might very 
 ** conveniently come hither the way of Hamptoa 
 ** Town, lying there one night. I write this ia 
 *' pain, and can fay no more : Verhum fapienti.^* 
 
 He did not long enjoy the pleafure or fuffer the 
 uneafinefs of folitude ; for he died at the Porch- 
 houfe * in Chertfey in 1667, in the 49th year of 
 his age. 
 
 He was buried with great pomp near Chaucer 
 and Spenfer ; and king Charles pronounced, 
 ** That Mr. Cowley had not left a better man be- 
 " hind him in England." He is reprefented by 
 Dr. Sprat as the moft amiable of mankind ; "and 
 this pollhumous praife may be fafely credited, as it 
 has never been contradifted by envy or by fa6lion. 
 
 Such are the remarks and memorials which I 
 have been able to add to the narrative of Dr. Sprat ; 
 Vv'ho, writing when the feuds of the civil war were 
 yet recent, and the minds of either party eafily ir- 
 ritated, was obhgcd to pafs over many tranfaftions 
 in general expreflions, and to leave curiofity often 
 unfatisfied. What he did not tell, cannot however 
 now be known. I muft therefore recommend the 
 
 * Now In the poffeffion of Mr. Clarke, Alderman of 
 London. 
 
 penilal
 
 COWLEY. 17 
 
 pcmfai of his work, to which my narration can be 
 tonfidered only as a (lender fupplement. 
 
 Cowley, like other poets who have written 
 '\ith narrow views, and, inltead of tracing intellec- 
 tual pleafure to its natural fources in the mind of 
 man, paid their court to temporary prejudices, has 
 been at one time too much praifed, and too much 
 neglefted at another. 
 
 Wit, like all other things fubjeft by their nature 
 to the choice of man, has its changes and fafhions, 
 and at different times takes different forms. About 
 the beginning of the feventeenth century appeared 
 -a race of writers that may be termed the metaphys- 
 eal poets ; of whom, in a criticifm on the works 
 of Cowley, it is not improper to give fome account. 
 The metaphyfical poets were men of learning, 
 and to fhew their learning was their whole endea- 
 ■vour ; but, unluckily refolving to fhew it in rhyme, 
 inftead of writing poetry, they only wrote verfes, 
 and very often fuch verfes as flood the trial of the 
 finger better than of the ear ; for the modulation 
 was fo imperfecl, that they were only found to be 
 verfes by counting the fyllables. 
 
 If the father of criticifm has rightly denominat- 
 ed poetry rixvyi fitLty,rixhf an imitative art, thefe 
 .writers will, without great wrong, lofe their right 
 -to the name of poets ; for they cannot be faid to 
 have imitated any thing ; they neither copied na- 
 ture nor life ; neither painted the forms of matter, 
 nor reprefented the operations of intellect. 
 
 Thofe however who deny them to be poets, al- 
 
 \o\\' them to be wits. Drj^den confeffes of himfelf 
 
 .B.3 and
 
 iS COWLEY. 
 
 and his contemporaries, that they fall belo\t' Donn^: 
 in wit, but maintains that they furpafs him in poetry. 
 
 If Wit be well defcribed by Pope, as being, 
 ** that which has been often thought, but was 
 ** nevci- before fo well expreffed," they certainly 
 never attained, nor ever fought it ; for they en- 
 tieavoured to be fmgular in their tlK)ughts, and 
 were carelefs of their diclion. But Pope's account 
 of wit is undoubtedly erroneous : he depreffes it 
 below its natural dignity, and reduces it from 
 ilrength of thought to happinefs of language. 
 
 If by a more noble and more adequate concep- 
 tion that be confidered as Wit, which is at once 
 natural and new, that which, though not obvious, 
 is, upon its firft produ6lion, acknowledged to be 
 juft ; if it be that, which he that never found it, 
 wonders how he mifled ; to wit of this kind the 
 metaphyfical poets have feldom rifen. Their 
 thoughts are often new, but feldom natural ; 
 they are not obvious, but neither are they juft ; and 
 the reader, far from wondering that he miffed them, 
 wonders more frequently by what perv^erfenefs of 
 induftiy they were found. 
 
 But Wit, abftrafted from its effefts upon the 
 hearer, may be more rigoroufly and philofophically 
 confidered as a kind of difcordia concors ; a com- 
 bination of diffimilar images, or difcovery of occult 
 refemblances in things apparently unlike. Of wit, 
 thus defined, they have more than enough. The 
 moft heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence 
 together ; nature and art are ranfacked for illuf- 
 trations, comparifons, and allufions ; their learning 
 •i»ftru6ls, and their iiibtility furprifes j but the 
 
 reader
 
 tOWLEY* . tg 
 
 reader commonly thinks his improvement dearly 
 bought, and, though he fometimes admires, is fel- 
 dom pleafed. 
 
 From this account of their compofitions it will 
 be readily inferred, that they w^ere not fuccefsful in 
 reprefenting or moving the affeftions. As they 
 were wholly employed on fomething unexpected 
 and furprifmg, they had no regard to that unifor- 
 mity of fentiment which enables us to conceive and 
 to excite the pains and the pleafure of other minds : 
 they never enquired what, on any occafion, they 
 fhould have faid or done ; but wrote rather as be- 
 holders than partakers of human nature ; as Be- 
 ings looking upon good and evil, impaflive and at 
 leifure ; as Epicurean deities making remarks on 
 the aftions of men, and the viciffitudes of life, 
 "without intereft and without emotion. Their 
 courtfhip was void of fondnefs, and their lamenta- 
 tion of fon-ow. Their wiih was only to fay what 
 they hoped had been never faid before. 
 
 Nor was the fublime more within their reach 
 than the pathetick ; for they never attempted 
 that comprehenfion and expanfe of thought which 
 at once fills the whole mind, and of which the firll 
 cffeft is fudden aftonifhment, and the fecond ra- 
 tional admiration. Subhmity is produced by ag- 
 gregation, and littlenefs by difperfion. Great 
 thoughts are always general, and confiil in pofitions 
 not limited by exceptions, and in defcriptions not 
 defcending to minutenefs. It is with great pro- 
 priety that Subtlety, which in its original import 
 means exility of particles, is taken in its metaphori- 
 ■^al meaning iox. nicety of fliftiadtiop. Thofc 
 • • writer*
 
 "^Q COWLET. 
 
 "WTiters who lay on the watch for novelty could 
 have little hope of greatnefs ; for great things can- 
 not have efcaped former obfervation. Their at- 
 tempts were always analytick ; they broke eveiy 
 image into fragments : and could no more repre- 
 fent, by their flender conceits and laboured par- 
 ticularities, the profpedts of nature, or the fcenes of 
 life, than he, who diffefts a fun-beam with a 
 prifm, can exhibit the wide effulgence of a fiun- 
 jner noon. 
 
 What they wanted however of the fublime, they 
 endeavoured to fupply by hyperbole ; their ampli- 
 fication had no Hmits ; they left not only reafon 
 but fancy behind them ; and produced combina- 
 tions of confufed magnilicence, that not only could 
 not be credited, but could not be imagined. 
 
 Yet great labour, direded by great abilities, is 
 never wholly loft : if they frequently threw away 
 their wit upon falfe conceits, they likevvife fome- 
 times ftruck out unexpefted truth : if their con- 
 ceits were far-fetched, they were often worth the 
 carnage. To write on their plan, it was at leail 
 neceflary to read and think. No man could be 
 born a metaphyfical poet, nor aiuime the dignity 
 of a writer, by defcriptions copied from defcrip- 
 tions, by imitations bon-owed from imitations, by 
 traditional imageiy, and hereditary fimihes, by 
 readinefs of rhyme, and volubility of fyllables. 
 
 In perufmg the works of this race of authors, 
 the mind is exercifed either by recolletlion or inr 
 quiiy ; either fomething already learned is to be 
 letrieved, or fomething new is to be examined. Xf 
 4heir greatnefs feldonj elevates, their acutenefs 
 
 often
 
 COWLEY. 21 
 
 hftea fiirprires ; if the imagination is not always 
 gi atified, at leaft the powers of refle6lion and com- 
 panion are employed ; and in the mafs of materials 
 which ingenious abfurdity has thrown together, 
 genuine wit and ufeful knowledge miay be fome- 
 times found, buried perhaps in groiTnefs of expref- 
 fion, but ufeful to thofe who know their value ; and 
 fuch as, when they are expanded to perfpicuity, 
 and polifhed to elegance, may give luftre to works 
 which have more propriety though lefs copioufnefs 
 ef fentiment. 
 
 This kind of writing, which was, I believe, bor- 
 rowed from Marina and his followers, had been re- 
 commended by the example of Donne, a man of 
 very extenfive and various knowledge ; and by 
 Jonfon, whofe manner refembled that of Donne, 
 more in the ruggednefs of his hnes than in the calt 
 of his fentiments. 
 
 When their reputation was high, they had un- 
 jdoubtedly more imitators, than time has left be- 
 liind. Their immediate fucceflbrs of whom any 
 remembrance can be faid to remain, were Suck- 
 ling, Waller, Denham, Cowley, Cleivland, and 
 Milton. Denham and Waller fought another way 
 to fame, by improving the harmony of our num- 
 bers. Milton tried the metaphyfick ftile only in 
 his hnes upon Hobfon the Carrier. Cowley 
 adopted it, and excelled his predeceflbrs, having as 
 much fentiment and more mufick. Suckhng nei- 
 ther improved verfification nor abounded in con- 
 ceits. The fafhionable ftyle remained chiefly with 
 Cowley ; Suckhng could not reach it, and Milton 
 difdained it. 
 
 Critical
 
 22 COWLEr^ 
 
 Critical Remarks are not eafily underllood 
 vlthout examples ; and I have therefore collecled 
 inftances of the modes of writing by which this 
 fpecies of poets, for poets they were called bv 
 themfelves and their admirers, was eminently dii- 
 tinguifhed. 
 
 As the authors of this race were perhaps more 
 defirous of being admired than underftood, they 
 fometimes drew their conceits from receffcs of leani- 
 ing not very much frequented by common readers 
 o£ poetry. Thus Cowley on Knoivkdge : -> 
 
 The facred tree midft the fair orchard grew ; 
 
 The phoenix Truth did on it reft. 
 
 And built his perfum'd neft, 
 That right Porphyrian tree which did true logick Ihew, 
 
 Each leaf did learned notions give. 
 
 And th' apples were demonftrative ; 
 
 So clear their colour and divine, 
 The very fhade they caft did other lights outlhlne. 
 
 On Anacreon continuing a lover in his old agci 
 
 I.ove was with thy life entwin'd, 
 
 Clofe as heat with fire is join'd, 
 
 A powerful brand prefcrib'd the date 
 
 Of thine, like Meleager's fate. 
 
 Th' antiperiftafis of age 
 
 More enflam'd thy amorous rage. 
 
 In the following verfes we have an allufion to a 
 Rabbinical opinion concerning Manna : 
 
 Variety I afk not : give me one 
 To live perpetually upon. 
 The perfon Love does to us fit, 
 Like manna, has the tafte of all in It. 
 
 Thus
 
 COWLEr. 2^ 
 
 Thus Donne fhews his medicinal knowledge ia 
 fome enconiiailic verfes ; 
 
 In every thing there naturally grows 
 A Balfamum to keep it frefh and new, 
 
 If 'twere not injur 'd by extrinfique blows ; 
 Your youth and beauty are this balm in you. 
 
 But you J of learning and religion. 
 And virtue and fuch ingredients, have made 
 
 A mithridate, whofe operation 
 Keeps off, or cures what can be done or faid. 
 
 Though the following lines of Donne, on the 
 lafl night of the year, have fomething in them too 
 icholailick, they are not inelegant : 
 
 This twilight of two years, not pad nor next. 
 Some emblem is of me, or I of this. 
 
 Who, meteor-like, of ftulF and form perplext, 
 Whofe what and where, in difputation is. 
 If I fhould call me any thing, Ihould mifs. 
 
 I fum the years and me, and find me not 
 
 Debtor to th' old, nor creditor to th' new. 
 That cannot fay, my thanks I have forgot. 
 
 Nor truft I this with hopes ; and yet fcarce true 
 Tliis bravery is, fince thefe times Ihew'd me you. 
 
 Donne. 
 Yet more abftrufe and profound is Donne's re- 
 flection upon Man as a Microcofm ; 
 
 If men be worlds, there is in every one 
 Something to anfwer in fome proportion 
 All the world's riches : and in good men, this 
 Virtue, our form's form, and our foul's foul is. 
 
 Of thoughts fo far-fetched, as to be not only 
 nnexpeded but unnatural, all their books are full. 
 
 To
 
 24 COWLEV. 
 
 To a lady, wlio wrote poefies for rings. 
 
 They, who above do various circles find, 
 Say, hke a ring th' ^equator heaven does bind. 
 When heaven fhall be adorn'd by thee, 
 (Which then more heaven than 'tis will be) 
 'Tis thou mull write the poefy there. 
 For it wanteth one as yet, 
 Though the fun pafs through't twice a year. 
 The fun, which is eflcem'd the god of wit. 
 
 CowLry. 
 
 The difficulties which have been raifed about 
 identity in philofophy, are by Cowley with iliU 
 more perplexity applied to Love : 
 
 Five years ago (fays ftor}') I lov'd you, 
 
 For which you call me moft inconftant no"W ; 
 
 Pardon me, madam, you miftake the man. 
 
 For I am not the fame that I was then ; 
 
 No fiefli is now the fame 'twas then in me. 
 
 And that my mind is chang'd yourfelf may fee 
 
 The fame thoughts to retain flill, and intents. 
 
 Were more inconftant far ; for accidents 
 
 Muft of all things moft ftrangely inconftant prove. 
 
 If from one fubjetfl they t'ajiother move : 
 
 My members then, the father members were 
 
 From whence thefe take their birth, which now arc 
 
 here. 
 If then this body love what th' other did, 
 'Twere inceft, which by nature is forbid. 
 
 The love of different women is, in geographical 
 poetry, compared to travels through different 
 countries : 
 
 Haft thou not found, each woman's breall 
 (The land wber<; thou huft travelledj 
 
 Either
 
 COWLEY- 2^ 
 
 Either by favages pofTeft, 
 
 Or wild, and uninhabited ? 
 
 What joy could'ft take, or what repofc. 
 In countries fo uncivilis'd as thofe ? 
 Luft, the fcorching dog-ftar, here 
 
 Rages with immoderate heat ; 
 Whilft Pride, the rugged Northern Bear, 
 
 In others makes the cold too great. 
 And where thcfe are temperate known, 
 The foil's all barren fand, or rocky (lone. 
 
 COWLET. 
 
 A lover, burnt up by his afFe6lIon, is compared 
 to Bgypt : 
 
 The fate of Egypt I fuflain, 
 And never feel the dew of rain, 
 From clouds which in the head appear ; 
 But all my too much moiflure owe 
 To overflowings of the heart below. 
 
 Cowley, 
 
 The lover fuppofes his lady acquainted with th^ 
 ancient laws of augury and rites of facrilice ; 
 
 And yet this death of mine, I fear, 
 Will ominous to her appear : 
 
 When found in every other part, 
 Her facrifice is found without an heart, 
 
 For the laft tempeft of my death 
 Shall figh out that too, with my breath. 
 
 , That the chaos was harmonifed, has been recited 
 of old ; but whence the different founds arofe, re- 
 juained for a modern to difcover ; 
 
 Th' ungovern'd parts no correfpondence knew. 
 
 An artlefs war from thwarting motions grew ; 
 
 ' Vol. L C Till
 
 261 COWLEY. 
 
 Till they to number and fixt rules were brought 
 Water and air he for the Tenor chofe, 
 Earth made the Bafe, the Treble flame arofe. 
 
 COWLET. 
 
 The tears of lovers are always of great poetical 
 account ; but Donne has extended them into worlds. 
 If the lines are not eafily underftood, they may be 
 read again. 
 
 On a round ball, 
 A workman that hath copies by, can lay 
 An Europe, Africa, and Afia, 
 And quickly make that, which was nothing, all. 
 
 So doth each tear, 
 
 Which thee doth wear, 
 A globe, yea world, by that Impreflion grow, 
 Till thy tears mixt with mine do overflow 
 This world, by waters fent from thee my heaven 
 
 diflblved fo. 
 
 On reading the following lines, the reader may 
 perhaps cry out — Confujion worje confounded. 
 
 Here lies a (he fun, and a he moon here. 
 She gives the beft light to his fphere. 
 Or each is both, and all, and fo 
 
 They unto one another nothing owe. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 Who but Donne would have thought that a good 
 man is a telefcope ? 
 
 Though God be our true glafs, through which we fe« 
 All, fmce the being of all things is he, 
 Yet are the trunks, which do to us derive 
 Things in proportion fit, by perfpe<5tive 
 Deeds of good men ; for by their living here. 
 Virtue*, indeed remote, feem to be near.
 
 COWLEY. 57 
 
 Who would imagine it poflible that in a very- 
 few lines fo many remote ideas could be brought 
 together ? 
 
 Since 'tis my doom, Love's underflirieve, 
 
 Why this reprieve ? 
 Why doth my She Advowfon fly * 
 
 Incumbency ? 
 To fell thyfelf doft thou intend 
 
 By candle's end, 
 And hold the contrail thus in doubt, 
 
 Life's taper out ? 
 Think but how foon the market fails. 
 Your fex lives fafter than the males ; 
 As if to meafure ages fpan, 
 The fober Julian were th' account of man, 
 Whilll you live by the fleet Gregorian. 
 
 Cleiveland, 
 
 Of enormous and difgufling hyberboles, thefc 
 |xiay be examples ; 
 
 By every wind that comes this way, 
 
 Send me at leaft a figh or two. 
 
 Such and fo many I'll repay 
 
 As Ihall themfelves make winds to get to you. 
 
 CoWLETi 
 
 In tears I'll wafte thefe eyes, 
 
 By Love fo vainly fed ; 
 
 So lull of old the Deluge punilhed. 
 
 Cowley, 
 All arm'd in brafs the richefl drefs of war, 
 (A difmal glorious fight) he flione afar. 
 The fun himfelf llarted with fudden fright. 
 To fee his beams return fo difmal bright. 
 
 Cowley. 
 An univerfal confternation : 
 
 Jiis bloody eyes he hurls round, his fliarp paws 
 
 Ca Teaj
 
 j;8 COWLEY. 
 
 Tear up the ground ; then runs he wild about, 
 Laflimg his angry tail and roaring out. 
 Beafts creep into their dens, and tremble there ; 
 Trees, though no wind isllirring Ihake with ftar; 
 Silence and horror fill the place around : 
 Echo itiielf dares fcarce repeat the found. 
 
 CowLEr» 
 
 Their fictions were often violent and unnatural. 
 
 Of his Miftrefs bathing : 
 
 The fiih around her crouded, as they do 
 
 To the falfe light that treacherous filhers fliew, 
 
 And all with as much cafe might taken be, 
 
 As {he at firft took me : 
 
 For ne'er did light fo clear 
 
 Among the waves appear, . 
 Though ever)' night the fun himfelf fet there. 
 
 COWLET. 
 
 The poetical effcdl of a Lover's name upo3 
 glafs : 
 
 My name engrav'd herein 
 Doth contribute my firmnefs to this glafs ; 
 Which ever fmce that charm, hath been 
 As hard as that which grav'd it was. 
 
 Donne, 
 
 Their conceits were fometimes flight and trifling. 
 
 On an inconftant woman : 
 
 He enjoys thy calmy funfhine now, 
 And no breath ftirring hears. 
 
 In the clear heaven of thy brow, 
 No fmalleft cloud appears. 
 
 Ha
 
 COWLEY. ^|> 
 
 He fees thee gentle, fair and gay, 
 And trufts the faithlefs April of thy May. 
 
 Cowley, 
 
 Upon a paper written with the juice of lemon^ 
 •^nd read by the fire ; 
 
 Nothing yet in thee is fecn ; 
 
 Bv.t when a genial heat warms thee within, 
 A new born wood of various lines there grows; 
 
 Here buds an L, and there a B, 
 
 Here fprouts a V, and there a T, 
 And all th^ flourifliing letters ftand in rows. 
 
 Cowley, 
 
 As they fought only for novelty, they did not 
 much enquire whether their allufions were to things 
 high or low, elegant or grofs ; whether they 
 compared the little to the great, or the great to 
 the Httle. 
 
 Phyfick and Chirurgery for a Lover, 
 
 Gently, ah gently, madam, touch 
 
 The wound, which you yourfelf have made ; 
 
 That pain mufl needs be very much. 
 Which makes me of your hand afraid. 
 
 Cordials of pity give me now, 
 
 jf'or I too weak for purgings grow, 
 
 CowLE,^ 
 
 The World and a Clock. 
 
 Mahol, th' inferior world's fantaftic face, 
 Through all the tui-ns of matter's maze did trace ; 
 Great Nature's well-fet clock in pieces took ; 
 Pn all the fprings and fmalleft wheels did Igok 
 
 C3 01
 
 5'0 COWLEY* 
 
 Of life and motion ; and with equal art 
 Made up again the whole of every part. 
 
 CowLEr, 
 
 ^. A coal-pit has not often found its poet ; but 
 tKat it may not want its due honour, Cleiveland 
 has paralleled it wnth the Sun : 
 
 The moderate value of our guiltlefs ore 
 Makes no man atheift, and no woman whore ; 
 Yet why fhould hallow'd veftal's facred fhrine 
 Deferve more honour than a flaming mine ? 
 Thefe pregnant womhs of heat would fitter be 
 Than a few embers, for a deity. 
 
 Had he our pits, the Perfian would admire 
 No fun, but warm's devotion at our fire : 
 He'd leave the trotting whipfter, and prefer 
 Our profound Vulcan 'bove that waggoner. 
 For wants he heat, or light ? or would have flore 
 Of both ? 'tis here : and what can funs give more? 
 Nay, what's the fun but, in a different name, 
 A coal-pit rampant, or a mine on flame ! 
 Then let this truth reciprocally run, 
 The fun's heaven's coalery, and coals our fun. 
 
 Death, a Voyage : 
 
 No family 
 Ere rigg'd a foul for heaven's difcover)', 
 With whom more venturers might boldly dare " 
 Venture their flakes, with him in joy to Ihare. 
 
 DONXE. 
 
 Their thoughts and expreflions were fometimes 
 grofsly abfurd, and fuch as no figures or licence 
 can reconcile to the underilanding. 
 
 > A
 
 COWLEY* J I 
 
 A Lover neither dead nor alive : 
 
 Then down I laid my head, 
 
 Down on cold earth ; and for a while was dead, 
 
 And my freed foul to a ftrange fomewhere fled i 
 
 Ah, fottifti foul, faid I, 
 
 When back to its Cage again I faw it fly ; 
 
 Fooi to refume her broken chain ! 
 
 And row her galley here again ! 
 
 Fool to that body to return 
 Where it condemn'd and deftin'd Is to burn ! 
 
 Once dead, how can it be. 
 Death fliould a thing fo pleafant feem to thee, 
 That thou fliould'fl come to live it o'er again in me. 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 A Lover's heart, a hand grenado. 
 
 Wo to her fl:ubborn heart, if once mine come 
 
 Into the felf-fame room, 
 
 'Twill tear and blow up all within, 
 Like a grenado Ihot into a magazin. 
 Then fliall Love keep the afhes, and torn parts, 
 
 Of both our broken hearts • 
 
 Shall out of both one new one make J 
 From her's th' allay ; from mine, the metal take. 
 
 CoWLEf* 
 
 The poetical Propagation of Light : 
 
 The Prince's favour is diffused o'er all, 
 From which all fortunes, names, arid natures fall; 
 Then from thofe Wombs of ftars, the Bride's bright 
 eyes, 
 
 At every glance a confiellatlon flies. 
 And fowes the court with ftars, and doth prei^ent 
 
 In light and power, the all-ey'd firmament ; 
 Firft her eye kindles other ladies' eyes, 
 
 'i'hen from their beams their jewels luftres rife; 
 
 Aod
 
 ^^ COWLEY, 
 
 And from their jewels torches do take fire, 
 And all is warmth, and light, and good defire. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 They were in veiy little care to clothe their 
 notions with elegance of drefs, and therefore mifs 
 the notice and the praife which are often gained by 
 thofe, who think lefs, but are more diligent to 
 adorn their thoughts. 
 
 That a millrefs beloved is fairer in idea than in 
 reality, is by Cowley thus exprefled : 
 
 Thou in my fancy doft much higher fland, 
 Than women can be plac'd by Nature's hand ; 
 And I mufl needs, I'm fure, a lofer be, 
 To change thee, as diou'rt there, for very thee. 
 
 That prayer and labour fliould co-opei*atc, arc 
 thus taught by Donne : 
 
 In none but us, are fuch mixt engines found, 
 As hands of double office ; for the ground 
 We till with them ; and them to heaven we raifc j 
 Who prayerlefs labours, or without this, prays, 
 i)oth but one half, that's none. 
 
 By the fame author, a common topick, the dant 
 ger of procraftination, is thus illuftrated ; 
 
 — ^That which I fhould have begun 
 
 In my youth's morning, now late mufl be done ; 
 
 And I, as giddy travellers mull do, 
 
 Which ftray or fleep all day, and having lofl 
 
 Light and flrength, dark and tir'd mufl then ride poll. 
 
 All that Man has to do is to live and die ; the 
 
 fum
 
 COWLEY* 3^ 
 
 tum of humanity is comprehended by Donne in 
 the following lines : 
 
 Think In how poor a prifon thou didft lie ; 
 
 After, enabled but to fuck and cry. 
 
 Think, when 'twas grown to moft, 'twas a poor inn, 
 
 A province pack'd up in two yards of flcin, 
 
 And that ufurp'd, or threaten'd with a rage 
 
 Of fickneffes, or their true mother, age. 
 
 But think that death hath now enfranchis'd thee ; 
 
 Thou haft thy expanfion now, and hberty ; 
 
 Think, that a rufty piece difcharg'd is flown i 
 
 In pieces, and the bullet is his own, 
 
 And freely flies : this to thy foul allow, 
 
 Think thy fliell broke, think thy foul hatch'd but now. 
 
 They were fometimes indelicate and difgufting. 
 Cowley thus apoftrophifes beauty : 
 
 -»-Thou tyrant, which leav'ft no man free ! 
 Thou fubtle thief, from whom nought fafe can be ! 
 Thou murtherer, which haft kill'd, and devil, 
 which would'ft damn me. 
 
 Thus he addreffes his Miflrefs ; 
 
 Thou who, In many a propriety, 
 
 So truly art the fun to me, 
 
 Add one more likenefs, which I'm fure you can, 
 
 And let me and my fun beget a man. 
 
 Thus he reprefents the meditations of a Lover : 
 
 Though in thy thoughts fcarce any trails have been 
 
 So much as of original fin. 
 Such charms thy beauty wears as might 
 . Defires in dying confeft faints excite. 
 
 Thou wjth ftrange adultery 
 Doft in each breaft a brothel keep ; 
 
 Awak^
 
 34 COWLEY. 
 
 Awake, all men do lull for thee. 
 And fome enjoy thee when they fleep* 
 
 The true taile of Tears ; 
 
 "Hither with cryftal vials, lovers, come, 
 
 And take my tears, which are Love's wine, 
 
 And try your miftrefs' tears at home. 
 
 For all are falfe, that talle not juft like mine, 
 
 This is yet more indelicate : 
 
 As the fweet fweat of rofes in a ftill, 
 
 As that which from chaf d mulk-cat's pores doth 
 
 trill, 
 As the almighty balm of th* early Eaft, 
 Such are the fweet drops of my miftrefs' breafL 
 And on her neck her fkin fuch luftre fets, 
 They feem no fweat-drops, but pearl coronets : 
 Hank fweaty froth thy miftrefs' brow defiles. 
 
 Donne, 
 
 Their expreflions fometimes raife horror, wheU 
 tliey intend perhaps to be pathetic : 
 
 As men in hell are from difeafes free, 
 
 So from all other ills am I, 
 
 Free from their Icnown formality : 
 But all pains eminently lie in thee. 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 They were not always ftriftly curious, whether 
 the opinions from which they drew their illuflra- 
 tions were true ; it was enough that they were 
 popular. Bacon remarks, that fome falfehoods 
 are continued by tradition, becaufe they fupply 
 commodious allufions.
 
 COWLEV. 35 
 
 It gave a piteous groan, and fo it broke ; 
 In vain it fomething would have fpoke ; 
 The love within too ftrong for 't was, 
 JLike poifon put into a Venice-glafs. 
 
 COWLET* 
 
 In forming defcriptlons, they looked out not for 
 images, but for conceits. Night has been a com- 
 mon fubjedl, which poets have contended to adorn. 
 Dryden's night is well known ; Donne's is a» 
 follows : 
 
 Thou feefl me here at midnight, now all reft ; 
 Time's dead low-water ; when all minds divell: 
 To-morrow's bufinefs, when the labourers have 
 Such reft in bed, that their laft church-yard gravff^ 
 Subje6l to change, will fcarce be a type of this. 
 Now when the client, whofe laft hearing is 
 To-morrow, fleeps ; when the condemned man. 
 Who when he opes his eyes, muft ftiut them thea 
 Again by death, although fad watch he keep, 
 Doth praftice dying by a little fleep. 
 Thou at this midnight feeft me. 
 
 It muft be however confeffed of thefe writers^ 
 that if they are upon common fubje6ls often unne- 
 ceflarily and unpoetically fubtle ; yet where fcho- 
 laftick fpeculation can be properly admitted, their 
 cdpioufnefs and acutenefs may juftly be admired. 
 AVhat Cowley has written upon Hope, fhews an 
 wnequalled fertiHty of invention : 
 
 Hope, whofe weak being ruinM is^ 
 
 Alike if it fucceed, and if it mifs ; 
 Whom good or ill does equally confound, 
 And both the horns of Fate's dilemma "wound. 
 
 Vain ihadow, which doll vanifti quite.
 
 5^ COWLEY. 
 
 Both at full noon and perfed night f 
 
 The ftars have not a poflibility 
 
 Of bleffing thee ; 
 |f things then from their end we happy call, 
 'Tis Hope is the moft hopelefs thing of all. 
 
 Hope, tliou bold tafter of delight, 
 
 Who, whilft thou fhould'ft but talle, devour'ft ft 
 quite ! 
 Thou bring'ft us an eftate, yet leav'ft us poor, 
 By clogging it with legacies before ! 
 
 The joys which we entire fhould wed, 
 
 Come deflower'd virgins to our bed ; 
 Good fortunes without gain imported be. 
 
 Such mighty cuflom's paid to thee : 
 for joy, like wine, kept clofe does better tafle ; 
 If it take air before, its fpirlts waile. 
 
 To the following comparifon of a man that tra- 
 vels, and his wife that ftays at home, with a pair 
 of compaiTes, it may be doubted v/hether abfurdity 
 or ingenuity has the better claim : 
 
 Our tvvo fouls therefore, which are one, 
 
 Though I muft go, endure not yet 
 A breach, but an expanfion, 
 
 Like gold to airy thinnefs beat. 
 
 If they be two, they are two fo 
 
 As ftiff twin-compaffes arc two, 
 Thy foul the fixt foot, makes no (how 
 
 To move, but doth, if th' other do. 
 
 And though it in the centre fit, 
 
 Yet when the other far doth roam, 
 }t leans, and hearkens after it, 
 
 And grows ered as that comes homc^ 
 
 Such
 
 coWLEr* 37 
 
 Such wilt tliou be to me, who muft 
 Like th' other foot obliquely run. 
 
 Thy firmnefs makes my circle juft, 
 And makes me end where I begun. 
 
 BoNNBk 
 
 In all thefe examples it is apparent, that, what- 
 ever is improper or vicious, is produced by a vo- 
 luntary deviation from nature in purfuit of fome- 
 thing new and ftrange ; and that the writers fail 
 to give dehght, by their defire of exciting admi- 
 ration. 
 
 Having thus endeavoured to exhibit a general 
 reprefentation of the ftyle and fentiments of the 
 metaphyfical poets, it is now proper to examine 
 particularly the works of Cowley, who was almoft 
 the lafl: of that race, and undoubtedly the beft. 
 
 His Mifcellanies contain a coUeftion of fhort 
 compofitions, written fome as they were dictated 
 by a mind at leifure, and fome as they were called 
 forth by different occafions ; with great variety 
 of llyle and fentiment, from burlefque levity to 
 awful grandeur. Such an affemblage of diverfified 
 excellence no other poet has hitherto afforded. To 
 choofe the befl among many good, is one of the 
 mofl hazardous attempts of criticifm. I know not 
 whether Scaliger himfelf has perfuaded many rea- 
 ders to join with him in his preference of the two 
 favourite odes, which he eftimates in his raptures 
 at the value of a kingdom. I will hovv^ever venture 
 to recommend Cowley's firfl: piece, w^hich ought to 
 be infcribed To my mufe, for want of which the 
 fecond couplet is v%nthout reference. When the 
 
 Vol. I. B title
 
 3^ co'alsy, 
 
 title is added, there will ftill remain a defect f for 
 even' piece ought to contain in itfelf whatever is 
 neceffary to make it inteUigible. Pope has fome 
 epitaphs without names ; which are therefore epi- 
 taphs to be let, occupied indeed for the prefent, but 
 hardly appropriated. 
 
 The ode on Wit is almoft without a rival. It 
 was about the time of Cowley that /F/V, which had 
 been till then ufed for InteUedlorii in contradiftinc- 
 tion to Wilty took the meaning, whatever it be, 
 \vhich it now bears. 
 
 Of all the paflages in which poets have exemp- 
 lified their ov/n precepts, none vrill eafily be found 
 of greater excellence than that in which Cowley 
 condemns exuberance of Wit : 
 
 Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part, 
 
 That fhews more coft than art. 
 Jewels at Txcfe and lips but ill appear ; 
 
 Rather than all things wit, let none be there. 
 
 Several lights vvill not be feen, 
 
 If there be nothing clfe between. 
 Men doubt, becaufe they ftand fo thick i' th' Iky, 
 If thofe be ftars which paint the galaxy. 
 
 In his verfes to lord Falkland, whom eveiy man 
 of his time was proud to praife, there are, as there 
 mull be in all Cowley's compofitions, fome fcriking 
 thoughts ; but they are not well wrought. His 
 elegy on Sir Heniy Wotton is vigorous and happy, 
 the feries of thoughts is eafy and natural, and the 
 conclufion, though a little weakened by the intiu- 
 fion of Alexander, is elegant and forcible. 
 
 It may be remarked, that in this Elegy, and in 
 
 mo ft of his encomiaftic poems, he has forgotten or 
 
 neglected to name his heroes, t 
 
 «* In
 
 COWLEY. 39 
 
 - In Ills poem on the death of Hervey, there is 
 much praii'e, but httle paffion, avery juft and ample 
 deHneation of fuch virtues as a ftudious privacy ad- 
 mits, and fuch intelledlual excellence as a mind not 
 yet called forth to action can difplay. He knew 
 how to diftinguiih, and how to commend the qua- 
 lities of his companion ; but when he wifhes to 
 make us weep he forgets to weep himfelf, and di- 
 verts his forrow by imagining hov/ his crown of 
 bays, if he had it, would crackle in tYitJire. It is 
 the odd fate of this thought to be worfe for being 
 trut. The bay-leaf crackles remarkably as it 
 burns ; as therefore this property was not affigned 
 it by chance, the mind mull be thought fufficiently 
 at eafe that could attend to fuch minutenefs of phy- 
 iiology. But the power of Cowley is not fo much 
 to move the affections, as to exercife the under- 
 Handing. 
 
 The Chronicle is a compofition unrivalled and 
 alone ; fuch gaiety of fancy, fuch facility of ex- 
 prefiion, fuch varied fimilitude, fuch a fucceflion 
 of images, and fuch a dance of words, it is vain to 
 expeft except from Cowley. His ftrength always 
 appears in his agility ; his volatihty is not the flut- 
 ter of a hght, but the bound of an elaftick mind. 
 His levity never leaves his learning behind it ; the 
 moraliit, the politician, and the critick, mingle their 
 influence even in this airy frolick of genius. To 
 fuch a performance Suckling could have brought 
 the gaiety but not the knowledge ; Dry den could 
 have fupphed the knowledge, but not the gaiety. 
 
 The verfes to Davenant, which are vigoroufly 
 
 t>egun, and happily concluded, contain fome hints 
 
 D z of
 
 40 COWLEY. 
 
 of criticifm veiy juftly conceived and happily cx« 
 preffed, Cowley's critical abilities have not been 
 fufficiently obferved : the few decifions and remarks 
 which his prefaces and his notes on the Davideis 
 fupply, were at that time acceflions to Englifh h- 
 terature, and (hew fuch flcill as raifes our wifh for 
 more examples. 
 
 The lines from Jerfey are a very curious and 
 pleafmg fpecimen of the famihar defcending to the 
 burlefque. 
 
 His two metrical difquifitions for and againjl 
 . Reafon, are no mean fpecimens of metaphyseal 
 poetry. The ftanzas againft knowledge produce 
 little conviction. In thofe which are intended to 
 exalt the human faculties, Reafon has its proper 
 tail<: afligned it ; that of judging, not of things re» 
 vealed, but of the reality of revelation. In the 
 verfes for Reafon is a paffage which Bentley, in 
 the only Englifli verfes which he is known to have 
 written, feems to have cgpied, though with th© 
 inferiority of an imitator. 
 
 The holy Book Hke the eighth fphcrc does fhiac 
 
 With thoufand lights of truth divine. 
 So numberlefs the ftars that to our eye 
 
 It makes all but one galaxy : 
 Yet Reafon muft aluft too ; for in fca* 
 
 So vaft and dangerous as thefe, 
 Our courle by flars above we cannot know 
 
 Without the compafs too below. 
 
 After this fays Bentley : 
 
 Who travels in religious jars, 
 Truth mix'd with error clouds with rays, 
 
 With
 
 COWLEY. 4i 
 
 \Vith Whlflon wanting pyx and flars. 
 In the wide ocean finks or ftrays. 
 
 Cowley feems to have had, what Milton is be- 
 lieved to have wanted, the flvill to rate his own per- 
 formances by their jull value, and has therefore 
 clofed his Mifcellanies with the verfes upon Craf- 
 haw, which apparently excel all that have gone 
 Before them, and in which there are beauties 
 which common authors may juftly think not 
 only above their attainment, but above their am- 
 bition. 
 
 To the Mifcellanies fucceed the Anacreontiquesy 
 Or paraphraftical tranflations of feme little poems, 
 which pafs, however juftly, under the name of 
 Anacreon. Of thofe fongs dedicated to feftivity 
 and gaiety, in which even the morality is voluptu- 
 ous, and which teach nothing but the enjoyment 
 of the prefent day, he has given rather a pleafmg 
 than a faithful reprefentation, having retained their 
 fpritehnefs, but loll their fimplicity. The Ana- 
 creon of Cowley, hke the Homer of Pope, has 
 admitted the decoration of fome modern graces, by 
 which he is undoubtedly made more amiable to 
 common readers, and perhaps, if they would ho- 
 neftly declare their own perceptions, to far the 
 greater part of thofe whom courtefy and ignorance 
 are content to ftyle the Learned. 
 
 Thefe little pieces will be found more finiflied 
 in their kind than any other of Cov^'ley's works. 
 The di6lion (hews nothing of the mould of time, 
 and the fentiments are at no great diftance from 
 ©ur prefent habitudes of thought. Real mirth. 
 -TN mult'
 
 42 -COWLEY. 
 
 muft be always natural, and nature is uniform. 
 Men have been wife in very different modes ; but 
 they have always laughed the fame way. 
 
 Levity of thought naturally produced familiarity 
 of language, and the familiar part of language 
 continues long the fame : the dialogue of comedy, 
 when it is tranfcribed from popular manners and 
 real life, is read from age to age with equal plea- 
 fure. The artifice of inverfion, by which the efla- 
 bhfhed order of words is changed, or of innovation, 
 by which new words or new meanings of words are 
 introduced, is praclifed, not by thofe who talk 
 to be underflood, but by thofe who write to be 
 admired. 
 
 The Anacreontiques therefore of Cowley give 
 now all the pleafure which they ever gave. If he 
 was foiTned by nature for one kind of writing more 
 than for another, his power feems to have been 
 greateil in the famiHar and the feflive. 
 
 The next clafs of his poems is called The Mif- 
 trejs^ of which it is not neceffar)^ to fele6l any par- 
 ticular pieces for praife or cenfure. They have all 
 the fame beauties and faults, and nearly in the 
 fame proportion. They are written wnth exube- 
 rance of wit, and with copioufnefs of learning ; 
 ^nd it is truly aflerted by Sprat, that the pleni- 
 tude of the vmter's knowledge flows in upon his 
 page, fo that the reader is commonly furprifed in- 
 to fome improvement. But, confidered as the 
 verfes of a lover, no man that has ever loved will 
 much commend them. They are neither courtly 
 nor pathetick, have neither gallantry nor fondnefs,' 
 His praifes are too far-fought, and too hyperboli- 
 
 caJj
 
 COWLEY. 41* 
 
 CJil, cither to exprefs love, or to excite it : eveiy 
 flan z a is crouded with darts and flames, with 
 wounds and death, with mingled fouls, and with 
 broken hearts. 
 
 The principal artifice by which The Mijlrefs is 
 filled with conceits is very copioufly difplayed b'jt 
 Addiibn. Love is by Cowley, as by other poets, 
 expreffed metaphorically by flame and fire ; and 
 that which is true of real fire is faid of love, or 
 figurative fire, the fame word in the fame fentencc 
 retaining both fignifications. Thus, '* obferving 
 ** the cold regard of his miftrefs's eyes, and at the 
 ** fame time their power of producing love in him, 
 ** he confiders them as burning-glafTes made of 
 ** ice. Finding himfelf able to live in the greateft 
 '* extremities of love, he concludes the torrid zone 
 ** to be habitable. Upon the dying of a tree, oa 
 ** which he had cut his loves, he obferves, that 
 ** his flames had burnt up and withered the tree.'* 
 
 Thefe conceits Addifon calls mixed wit ; that 
 is, wit which confiils of thoughts true in one fenfe 
 of the exprefiion, and falfe in the other. Ad- 
 difon 's reprefentation is fufliciently indulgent. 
 That confufion of images may entertain for a mo- 
 ment ; but being unnatural it foon grows weari- 
 fome. Cowley dehghtcd in it, as much as if h(5 
 had invented it ; but not to mention the ancients, 
 he might have found it full-blown in modern 
 Jtaly. 
 
 Afpice quam varils diftringar Lefbia curis, 
 Uror, & heu ! noftro manat ab igne liquor ; 
 
 Sum
 
 44 COWLEV. 
 
 Sum NiluSjfumqueiEtnafimul ; reftringite flammas 
 O lacrimse, aut lacrinias ebibe fiamma meas. 
 
 One of the fevere theologians of that time cen- 
 fured him as having pubHlhed a book of profane and 
 lafcivlous Verfes. From the charge of profane- 
 nefs, the conllant tenom- of his hfe, which feems to 
 have been eminently viiluous, and the general ten- 
 dency of his opinions, which difcover no irreve- 
 rence of rehgioii, muil defend him ; but that the 
 accufation of lafcivioufnefs is unjuft, the perufal 
 of his works will fufficiently e\'ince. 
 
 Cowley's M'ljlrefs has no power of fedu6lion ; 
 '* ihe plays round the head, but comes not at the 
 ** heart." Her beauty and abfence, her kindnefs 
 and cruelty, her difdain and inconftancy, produce 
 no correfpondence of emotion. His poetical ac- 
 count of the virtues of plants, and colours of 
 flowers, is not perufed with more fluggifh frigidity. 
 
 The compofitions are fuch as might have been 
 written for penanpe by a hermit, or for hire by a 
 philofophical rhymer who had only heard of ano- 
 ther fex ; for they turn the mind only on the 
 writer, whom, without thinking on a woman but 
 as the fubjecl for his taf]<, we fometimes elleem as 
 learned, and fometimes dcfpife as trifling, always 
 admire as ingenious, and always condemn as un- 
 natural. 
 
 The Pindarique Odes are now to be confidered ; 
 a fpecies of compofition, which Cowley thinks 
 Pancirolus might have counted in his I'ljl of the lofl 
 inventions of antiquity, and which he has made a 
 bold and vigorous attempt to recover. 
 
 The
 
 COWLEY. 45 
 
 The purpofe with which he has paraphrafed an 
 Olympick and Nemesean Ode, is by himfelf fuf- 
 iiciently explained. . His endeavour was, not to 
 /liew precifely nvhat Pindar /poke, but his manner of 
 fpeak'tng. He was therefore not at all reftrained 
 to his expreflions, nor much to his fentiments ; no- 
 thing was required of him, but not to write as 
 Pindar would not have written. 
 
 Of the Olympick Ode the beginning is, I think, 
 above the original in elegance, and the conclulion 
 below it in llrength. The connection is fupplied 
 with great perfpicuity, and the thoughts, which 
 to a reader of lefs ildll feem thrown together by- 
 chance, are concatenated without any abruption. 
 Though the Englifh ode cannot be called a tran- 
 (lation, it may be very properly confulted as a 
 commentary. 
 
 The fpirit of Pindar is indeed not every where 
 equally preferved. The following pretty lines arc 
 not fuch as his deep mouth was ufed to pour ; 
 
 Great Rhea's fon, 
 If In Olympus' top where thou 
 Sitt'ft to behold thy facred fhow. 
 If in Alpheus' filver flight, 
 If in my verfe thou take delight. 
 My verfe, great Rhea's fon, which is 
 Lofty as that, and fmooth as thia. 
 
 In the Nemeaean ode the reader muft, in mere 
 juftice to Pindar, obferve that whatever is faid of 
 the original neiv moon^ her tender forehead and her 
 horns, is fuperadded by his paraphraft, who has 
 many other plays of words and fancy unfuitable tQ 
 the original, as, 
 
 The
 
 4^ COWLEY, 
 
 The table, free for every gueft, 
 No doubt will thee admit, 
 And feaft more upon thee, than thou on it. 
 
 He fometimes extends his author's thoughts 
 trithoat improving them. In the Olympionick 
 ■an oath is mentioned in a fingle word, and Cowley 
 fpends three lines in fweanng by the Cajialian 
 Streatn. We are told of Theron's bounty, with a 
 hint that he had enemies, which Cowley thus en- 
 larges in rhyming profe : 
 
 But in this thanklefs world the giver 
 Is envied even by the receiver ; 
 'Tis now the cheap and frugal fafliion 
 Rather to hide than own the obligation : 
 Nay, 'tis much worfe than fo ; 
 It now an artifice does grow 
 Wrongs and injuries to do. 
 Left men fliould think we owe. 
 
 It is hard to conceive that a man of the firft 
 rank in learning and wit, when he was dealing out 
 fuch minute morality in fuch feeble diction, could 
 imagine, either waking or dreaming, that he imitat- 
 ed Pindar. 
 
 In the following odes, where Cowley choofes 
 his own fubjedls, he fometimes rifes to dignity 
 truly Pindarick, and, if fome deficiencies of lan- 
 guage be forgiven, his drains are fuch as thofe of 
 the Theban bard were to his contemporaries : 
 
 Begin the fong, and ftrike the living lyre : 
 Lo how the years to come, a numerous and well-fitted 
 quire 
 All hand in hand do decently advance, 
 And to my fong with fmooth and equal meafure dance; 
 
 W bile
 
 COWLEY. 47^. 
 
 While the dance lafls, how long foe 'er it be. 
 My mufick's voice Ihall bear it company j 
 Till all gentle notes be drown'd 
 In the laft trumpet's dreadful found. 
 
 After fuch enthufiafm, who will not lament ta 
 find the poet conclude with lines like thefe ! 
 
 But ftop my Mufe — 
 Hold thy Pindarick Pegafus clofely in^ 
 
 Which does to rage begin — 
 — 'Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horfe — 
 'Twill no unfkilful touch endure, 
 But flings writer and reader too that fits not fare. 
 
 The fault of Cowley, and perhaps of all tlic , 
 writers of the metaphyiical race, is that of purfu- 
 jng his thoughts to their laft ramifications, by 
 which he lofes the grandeur of generahty ; fco* of 
 the greateft things the parts are little ; what is 
 little can be but pretty, and by claiming dignity 
 becomes ridiculous. Thus all the power of def- 
 cription is deftroyed by a fcrupulous enumeration ; 
 and the force of metaphors is loft, when the mind 
 by the mention of particulars is turned more upon 
 the original than the fecondary fenfe, more upon 
 that from which the illuftration is drawn than that, 
 to which it is applied. 
 
 Of this we have a very eminent example in the 
 ode intituled Tke Mufe, who goes to taie the air 
 in an intelle6lual chariot, to which he harnefTea 
 Fancy and Judgement, Wit and Eloquence, Men 
 jnory and Invention : how he diftinguifhed Wit 
 from Fancy, or how Memory could properly con-" 
 tribute to Motion, he has not explained > we are 
 
 howeve^.
 
 4^ COWLEY, 
 
 however content to fuppofe that he could have 
 juftified his own fidion, and vvifh to fee the Mufe 
 begin her career ; but there is yet more to be 
 done. 
 
 Let the Poftilion Nature mount, and let 
 
 The Coachman Art be fet ; 
 
 And let the airy Footmen, running all bcfidc, 
 
 Make a long row of goodly pride ; 
 
 Figures, conceits, raptures, and fentenccs, 
 
 In a well-worded drefs, 
 
 And innocent loves, and pleafant truths, and ufeful lies, 
 
 In all their gaudy Liveries. 
 
 Every mind is now difgufted with this cumber 
 of magnificence ; yet I cannot refufe myfelf the 
 four next Hues : 
 
 Mount, glorious queen, thy travelling throne, 
 And bid it to put on ; 
 For long though cheerful is the way. 
 And life alas allows but one ill winter's day. 
 
 In the fame ode, celebrating the power of the 
 Mufe, he gives her prefcience, or, in poetical 
 language, the forefight of events hatching in fu- 
 turity ; but having once an egg in his mind, he 
 cannot forbear to fhew us that he knows what an 
 egg contains : 
 
 Thou into the clofe nefts of Time doft peep, 
 
 And there with piercing eye 
 Through the firm fhell and the thick wlute doft fpy 
 
 Years to come a-forming lie, 
 Clofe in their facred fecundine afleep. 
 
 The fame thought is more generally, and there- 
 fore
 
 COWLEY. 49 
 
 fore more poetically exprefled by Cafimir, a writer 
 who has many of the beauties and faults of 
 Cowley : 
 
 Omnibus mundi Dominator horia 
 Aptat urgendas per inane pennas. 
 Pars adhuc nido latet, & futures 
 /Crefcit in annos. 
 
 Cowley, whatever was his fubjeft, feems to have 
 been carried, by a kind of deftiny, to the hght and 
 the familiar, or to conceits which require ftill more 
 ignoble epithets. A flaughter in the Red Sea, 
 neiv dies the <waters name ; and England, during the 
 Civil War, was Albion no more, nor to he named from 
 ivhtte* It is furely by fome fafcination not eafily 
 furmounted, that a writer profefling to revive ths 
 noblest and highest nvriting in vcrfey makes this ad- 
 ^efs to the new year : 
 
 Nay, if thou lov'fl riie, gentle year, 
 
 Let not fo much as love be there. 
 
 Vain fruitlefs love I mean ; for, gentle year. 
 
 Although I fear, 
 There's of this caution little need, 
 
 Yet, gentle year, take heed < 
 
 How thou doft make 
 
 Such a miftake ; 
 Such love I mean alone 
 As by thy cruel predeceffors has been fhewn ; 
 For, though I have too much caufe to doubt it, 
 I fain would try, for once, if life can live without it. 
 
 The reader of this will be inclined to cr}-- o«t 
 with Prior-.-- , 
 VoL,L E — n
 
 53 COWLEY". 
 
 I T'e Crit7cks, siv, 
 
 HoiJi poor to this tuas FinJur^s style I 
 
 Even tliofe who cannot perhaps find in the Ifth- 
 mian or Nemeaean fongs what Antiquity has dif- 
 pofed them to expecl, will at leall fee that they 
 are ill reprefented by fuch puny poetry ; and all 
 will determine that if this be the old Theban 
 ilrain, it is not worthy of revival. 
 
 To the difproportion and incongiaiity of Cow- 
 ley's fentiments mull be added the uncertainty and 
 loofenefs of his meafures. He takes the hberty of 
 ufmg in any place a verfe of any length, from two 
 fyllables to twelve. The verfes of Pindar have, 
 as he obferves, veiy little hai-mony to a modern 
 ear ; yet by examining the fyllables Vv'e perceive 
 them to be regular, and have reafon enough for 
 fuppofing that the ancient audiences were delightr 
 ed with the found. The imitator ought therefore 
 to have adopted what he found, and to have added 
 what was wanting ; to have prefei-ved a conilant 
 return of the fame numbers, and to have fuppli- 
 ed fmoothnefs of tranfition and continuity of 
 thought. 
 
 It is urged by Dr. Sprat, that the irregularity 
 vjnumhers is the very thing which makes that kind 
 of poefy Jit for all manmr of fuhjecls. But he 
 (hould have remembered, that what is fit for every- 
 thing can fit nothing well. The great pleafure of 
 verfe arifes from the known meafure of the lines, 
 &nd uniform ftrudure of the ilanzas, by which 
 the voice is regulated, and the memoiy reheved. 
 
 Jf tl>5 Piodarick ftyle be^ what Cowley thir^ks 
 
 it,
 
 COWLEY. 51 
 
 it, the highest and noblest kind ofiuritlng in verfe^ it 
 can be adapted only to high and noble fubjefts 5 
 and it will not be eafy to reconcile the poet with 
 tlie critick, or to conceive how that can be the 
 higheft kind of writing in verfe, which, according 
 to Sprat, is chiejly to be preferred for its near affinity 
 to prof e. 
 
 This lax and lawlefs verfification fo much con- 
 cealed the deficiencies of the barren, and flattered 
 the lazinefs of the idle, that it immediately over- 
 fpread our books of poetry ; all the boys and girls 
 caught the pleafmg faihion, and they that could 
 do nothing elfe could write like Pindar. The 
 rights of antiquity were invaded, and diforder tried 
 to break into the Latin : a poem on the Shel- 
 donian Theatre, in which all kinds of verfe are 
 lliaken together, is unhappily inferted in the 
 Mufa Anglicana. Pindarifm prevailed above half 
 a century ; but at latt died gradually away, and 
 other imitations fupply its place. 
 
 The Pindarique Odes have fo long enjoyed the 
 higheft degree of poetical reputation, that I am 
 not wiUing to difmifs them with unabated cenfure ; 
 and furely though the mode of their compofition 
 be erroneous, yet many parts deferve at leaft that 
 admiration which is due to great compreheniion of 
 knowledge, and great fertility of fancy. The 
 thoughts are often new, and often ftriking ; but 
 the greatnefs of one part is difgraced by the iittle- 
 neis of another ; and total negligence of language 
 gives the nobleft conceptions the appearance of a 
 fabric auguft in the plan, but mean in the mate- 
 rials. Yet furely thofe verfes are not without a 
 
 juft
 
 52 COWLEY. 
 
 jull claim to praife ; of which it may be faid \ntk 
 truth, that no man but Cowley could have Avrit- 
 ten them. 
 
 The Davideis now remains to be confidered ; a 
 poem which the author defigned to have extended 
 to twelve books, merely, as he makes no fcruple 
 of declaring, becaufe the -^neid had that number ; 
 but he had leifuire or perfeverance only to write 
 the third part. Epick poems have been left un- 
 iiniOied by Virgil, Statins, Spenfer, and Cowley. 
 That we have not the whole Davideis is, however, 
 not much to be regretted ; for in this undertaking 
 Cowley is, tacitly at leaft, confefTed to have mif- 
 carried. There are not many examples of fo great 
 a work, produced by an author generally read, and 
 generally praifed, that has crept through a century 
 with fo little regard. WTiatever is faid of Cowley, 
 is meant of his other works. Of the Davideis no 
 mention is made ; it never appears in books, nor 
 emerges in converfation. By the SpeQator it ha» 
 once been quoted, by Rymer it has once been 
 praifed, and by Dryden^ in Mac Flecknoe, it has 
 once been imitated ; nor do I recolleft much other 
 notice from its publication till now, in the whole 
 fucceflion of Enghfh literature. 
 
 Of this iilence and negleft, if the reafpn be in* 
 quired, it will be found partly in the choice of 
 the fubjeft, and partly in the perfonnance of the 
 "ivork. 
 
 Sacred Hiftor^' has been always read with fub- 
 mifiive reverence, and an imagination over-awed 
 and controlled. We have been accuftomed to 
 acquiefce in the nakednefs and fimplicity of the 
 
 authcii-
 
 autkerttick narrative, and to repofe on its veracity 
 with fuch humble confidence, as fupprefles curiofi- 
 ty. We go with the hiflorian as he goes, and 
 ilop with him when he Hops. All amphfication 
 is frivolous and vain ; all addition to that which is 
 already fufficient for the purpofes of religion, 
 feems not only ufelefs, but in fome degree profane. 
 
 Such events as were produced by the vifible in- 
 terpofition of Divine Power are above the power 
 of human genius to dignify. The miracle of 
 Creation, however it may teem with images, is 
 bell defcribed with little diffufion of language : 
 He /pake the ivord and they tuere rfiade. 
 
 We are told that Saul nvas troubled iv'ith an evil 
 fp'irit ; from this Cowley takes an opportunity of 
 defcribing hell, and telling the hiftory of Lucifer, 
 who was, he fays, 
 
 Once general of a gilded hoft of fprites, 
 
 JLike Hefper leading forth the fpangled nights ; 
 
 But down like lightning, which him ftruck, he cam«. 
 
 And roar'd at his firft plunge into the flame. 
 
 . Lucifer makes a fpeech to the inferior agents 
 ©f mifchief, in which there is fomething of 
 heathenifm, and therefore of impropriety ; and, 
 to give efficacy to his words, concludes by lafliing 
 his breast <with his long taiL Envy, after a paufe, 
 fteps out, and among other declarations of her zeal 
 Mtters thefe lines : 
 
 Do thou but threat, loud ftorms {hall make reply, 
 And thunder echo to the trembling ficy. 
 Whilft raging feas fwell to fo bold'an height, 
 As Ihail the fire's proud element affright. 
 
 ** TV
 
 ^4 COWLEY. 
 
 Th' old drudging Sun, from his long-beaten %vay. 
 Shall at thy voice ftart, and mifguide the day. 
 The jocund orbs fhall break their meafur'd pace. 
 And ftubborn Poles change their allotted place. 
 Heaven's gilded troops Ihall flutter here and there, 
 JLeaving their boalling fongs tun'd to a fpherc 
 
 Eveiy reader feels himfelf weary with this ufc- 
 lefs talk of an allegorical Being. 
 
 It is not only when the events are confefiedly 
 miraculous, that fancy and fiftion lofe their ef- 
 fecl : the whole fyftem of hfe, while the Theo- 
 cracy was yet vifible, has an appearance fo differ- 
 ent from all other fcenes of human adtion, that 
 the reader of the Sacred Volume habitually con- 
 fiders it as the peculiar mode of exillence of a dif- 
 tin6l fpecies of mankind, that lived and afted with 
 manners uncommunicable ; fo that it is difficult 
 even for imagination to place us in the Hate of 
 them whofe ftoiy is related, and by confequencc 
 their joys and griefs are not eafily adopted, nor can 
 the attention be often interelled in any thing that 
 befals them. 
 
 To the fubjedl, thus originally indifpofed to the 
 reception of poetical embelhfhments, the •wTiter 
 brought httle that could reconcile impatience, or 
 attraft curiofity. Nothing can be more difguft- 
 ing than a narrative fpangled with conceits, and 
 conceits are all that Davideis fupphes. 
 
 One of the great fources of poetical delight 13 
 defcription, or the pov»^er of prefenting pictures 
 to the mind. Cowley gives inferences inilead of 
 images, and {hews not what may be fuppofed to 
 h«^ve bee,n feen, but what thoughts the fi^ht might 
 
 have
 
 COWLET. ^ 
 
 ive fuggefled. When Virgil defcriues the ftonc 
 hich Turnus hfted againll -(Eneas, he fixes the 
 ittention on its bulk and weight : 
 
 Saxum circumfpicit ingcns, 
 Saxum antiquum, ingens, campo quod forte jacebat 
 Limes agro pofitus, litem ut difcerneret arvis. 
 
 Cowley fays of the flone with which- Cain ilew 
 his brother, 
 
 I faw him fling the flcne, as if he meant 
 At once his murther and his monument* 
 
 or the fword taken from Goliah, he fays, 
 
 A fword fo great, that it was only fit 
 
 To cut off his great head that came with it. 
 
 Other poets defcribe death by fomc of its com-. 
 mon appearances ; Cowley fays, with a learned 
 allullon to fepulchral lamps real or fabulous, 
 
 *Tvvixt his right ribs deep pierc'd the furious blade. 
 And open'd wide thofe fecret veffels where 
 Life's light goes out, when fii'll they let in air. 
 
 But he has allufions vulgar as well as learned. 
 In a vifionary fucceffion of kings ; 
 
 Joas at firft does bright and glorious fhow. 
 In life's frefh morn his fame does early cro-w. 
 
 Defcribing an undifciplined army, after having 
 feid with elegance. 
 
 His
 
 ^6 COWLEt. 
 
 His forces fccm'd no army, but a cro\v?( 
 Heartlefs, unarm'd, diforderly, and loud ; 
 
 he gives them a fit of the ague. 
 
 The allufions however are not always to vulgar 
 things : he offends by exaggeration as much as by 
 diminution : 
 
 The king was plac'd alone, and o'er his head 
 
 A well- wrought heaven of fiik and gold was fprcad. 
 
 Whatever he writes is always polluted with fomc 
 conceit ; 
 
 Where the fun's fruitful beams give metals birth. 
 Where he the growth of fatal gold does fee, 
 Gold, which alone more influence has than he. 
 
 In one paflage he ftarts a fudden queflion, to 
 the confufion of philofophy : 
 
 Ye learned heads, whom ivy garlands graar, 
 Why docs that twining plant the oak embrace ? . 
 The oak, for courtfhip moft of all unfit. 
 And rough as are the winds that fight with it. 
 
 His expreffions have fometimes a degree of 
 meannefs that furpaffe^ expedlation : 
 
 Nay, gentle guefls, he cries, fmce now you're in. 
 The ftory of your gallant friend begin. 
 
 In a fimile defcriptive of the Morning ; 
 
 As glimmerir.g flars juft atth' approach of day, 
 C-alhier'd by troops, at lail drop all away. 
 
 The
 
 The drefs of Gabriel deferves attention : 
 
 He took for flcin a cloud moft foft and bright. 
 
 That e'er tlie midday I'un pierc'd tlirough with lights 
 
 Upon his cheeks a lively blulli he fpread, 
 
 Wafh'd from the morning beauties deepeft red ; 
 
 An harmlefs flattering meteof Ihone for hair. 
 
 And fell adown'his ihoulders with loofe care ; ^ 
 
 He cuts out a filk mantle from the Ikies, 
 
 Where the moft fprightly azure pleas'd the eyes ; 
 
 This he with ftarry vapours Iprinkles ail, 
 
 Took in their prime ere they grow ripe and fall, 
 
 Of a new rainbow, ere it fret or fade, 
 
 The choicefl piece cut out, a fcarfe is made. 
 
 This is a jult fpecimen of Cowley's imagery : 
 what might in general expreifions be great and 
 forcible, he weakens and makes ridiculous by 
 branching it into fmall parts. That Gabriel was 
 invefted with the foftell or brightell colours of the 
 flcy, we might have been told, and been difmified 
 to improve the idea in our different proportions 
 €)f conception ; but Cowley could not let us, go 
 till he had related where Gabriel got firft his Hun, 
 and then his mantle, then his lace, and then his 
 fcarfe, and related it in the terms of the mercer and 
 taylor. 
 
 Sometimes he indulges himfelf in a digreffion, 
 always conceived with his natural exuberance, and 
 commonly, even where it is not long, continued 
 till it is tedious : 
 
 r th* library a few choice authors flood, 
 ^ Yet *twas well ftor'd ; for that fmall ftore was good ; 
 Writing, man's fpiritual phyfic, was not then 
 itfclf^ as now, grov/n a difeaie of men. 
 
 Learning
 
 ^S COWLET. 
 
 Learning (young virgin) but few fuitorskncvr ; 
 
 The common proftitute flie lately grew, 
 And with the fpurious brood loads now the prefi ; 
 , Laborious effeits of idlenefs. 
 
 As tlie Davidels affords only four book?, 
 though intended to confifl of twelve, there is no 
 opportunity for fuch criticifms as Epick poems 
 conunonly fupply. The plan of the whole work 
 is very imperfectly fhewn by the third part. The 
 duration of an unlinifhed adlion cannot be known. 
 Of characters either not yet introduced, or fliewn 
 but upon few occafions, the full extent and the 
 nice difcriminations cannot be afceitained. The 
 fable is plainly implex, formed rather from the 
 OdyfTey than the IHad ; and many artifices of 
 diverfilication are employed, with the fiviU of a 
 man acquainted with the befl models. The palt 
 is recalled by narration, and the future anticipated 
 by vifion : but he has been fo lavilli of his poeti* 
 cal art, that it is difficult to imagine how he could 
 fill eight books more without prattifmg again the 
 fame modes of difpofing his matter ; and perhaps 
 the perception of this growing incumbrance in- 
 clined him to ilop. By this abnaption, pofterity 
 loft more inftruftion than dchght. If the con- 
 tinuation of the Davideis can be miffed, it is for 
 the learning that had been diffufed over it, and the 
 notes in which it had been explained. 
 
 Had not his characters been depraved like every 
 other part by improper decorations, they would 
 have deferved uncommon praife. He gives Saul 
 both the body and mind of a hero : 
 
 HIa
 
 COWLE-iC, 59' 
 
 His way once chofc, he forward thruft outright, 
 Nor turn'd afide for danger or delight. 
 
 And the different beauties of the lofty Merah and 
 the gentle Michel are very juilly conceived and 
 5:rongly painted. 
 
 Rymer has declared the Davideis fuperior to 
 the Jernfalem of Tajo, " which," fays he, " the 
 " poet, with all his care, has not totally purged 
 " from pedantiy." If by pedantry is meant that 
 minute knowledge which is derived from particu- 
 lar fciences and ftudies, in oppofiticn to the ge- 
 neral notions fupphed by a wide furvey of life and 
 nature, Cowley certainly eiTS, by introducing pe- 
 dantiy far more frequently than Taffo, I know 
 not, indeed, why they fliould be compared ; for 
 the refemblance of Cowley's work to TaiTo's is 
 only that they both exhibit the agency of celeftial 
 and infernal fpirits, in which however they differ 
 widely ; for Cowley fuppofes them commonly to 
 operate upon the mind by fuggeHion ; Taflo re- 
 prefents them a^ promoting or obfcruding events 
 l)y external agency. 
 
 Of particular pafTages that can be properly com- 
 pared, I remember only the defcription of Heaven, 
 in which the different manner of the tv/o wnters is 
 fufiiciently difcernible. Cowley's is fcarcely def- 
 cription, unlefs it be poflible to defcribe by nega- 
 tives ; for he tells us only what there is not in 
 heaven. Taffo endeavoui-s to reprefent the fplen- 
 dours and pleafures of the regions of happinefs. 
 Taflb affords images, and Cowley fentiments. It 
 j^appens, however, that Taffo's defcription affords 
 
 feme
 
 60 COWLEY. 
 
 fome reafon for Rymer's cenfure. He fays of tlic 
 Supreme Being, 
 
 Ha fotto i pledi e fato e la natura 
 Minlftri humili, e'l moto, e ch'il mifiira. 
 
 The fecond line has in it more of pedantry that! 
 perhaps can be found in any other ftanza of the 
 poem. 
 
 In the perufal of the Davideis, as of all Cow- 
 ley's works, we find wit and learning unprofitably 
 fquandered. Attention has no relief ; the affec- 
 tions are never moved ; we are fometimes furprifed, 
 but never dehghted, and find much to admire, 
 but little to approve. Still however it is the work 
 of Cowley, of a mind capacious by nature, and rc- 
 pleniflied by ftudy. 
 
 In the general review of Cowley's poetry it 
 will be found, that he wrote with abundant fer- 
 tility, but negligent or un{]<ilful feleftion ; with 
 much thought ; but with little imagery ; that he is 
 never pathetick, and rarely fublime, but always ei-^ 
 tlier ingenious or learned, either acute or profound- 
 It is faid by Denham in his eleg)'. 
 
 To him no author was tinknown ; 
 Yet what he writ was all his own. 
 
 This wide pofition requires lefs limitation, when it 
 is affirmed of Cowley, than perhaps of any other 
 poet. — He read much, and yet borrowed little. 
 
 His character of writing was indeed not his own: 
 he unhappily adopted that which was predominant. 
 He h\y a certain way to prefect praife, and not 
 
 iCuf-
 
 COWLEft 6 J 
 
 fufficicntly enquiring by what means the ancients 
 have continued to delight through all the changes 
 of human manners, he contented himfelf with a 
 deciduous laurel, of which the verdure in its fpring^ 
 was bright and gay, but which time has been con- 
 tinually ftealing from his brows. 
 
 He was in his own time confidered as of un- 
 rivalled excellence. Clarendon reprefents him as 
 having taken a flight beyond all that went before 
 him ; and Milton is faid to have declared, that 
 the three greateft Enghfh poets were Spenfer^ 
 Shakefpeare, and Cowley. 
 
 His manner he had in common with others : 
 but his fentiments were his own* Upon eveiy 
 fubje^l he thought for himfelf ; and fuch was his 
 copioufnefs of knoviledge, that fomething at once 
 remote and applicable rufhed into his mind ; yet 
 it is not likely that he always rejected a commodi- 
 ous idea merely becaufe another had ufed it : his 
 known wealth was fo great, that he might have 
 bonowed without lofs of credit. 
 
 In his elegy on Sir Henry Wotton, the lall lines 
 have fuch refemblance to the noble epigram of 
 Grotius upon the death of Scaliger, that I cannot 
 but think them copied from it, though they are. 
 copied by no fervile hand. 
 
 One paffage in his Mlstrefs is fo apparently 
 borrowed from Donne, that he probably would- 
 not have written it, had it not mingled with his 
 own thoughts, fo as that he did not perceive him* 
 felf taking it from another. 
 
 Although I think thou never found wilt be,. 
 Yet I'm rcfolv'd to fearch for thee j 
 Vat. & f '%hff
 
 6i cow LET. 
 
 The fearch itfelf revvards the pains. 
 So, though the chymic his great fecret mifj, 
 (For neither it in Art nor Nature is) 
 
 Yet things well worth his toil he gains ; 
 
 And does his charge and labour pay 
 With good unfought experiments by the way. 
 
 COWLET. 
 
 Some that have deeper digg'd Love's mine than I, 
 Say, where his centric happinefs doth lie : 
 
 I have lov'd, and got, and told ; 
 Butfhould I love, get, tell, till 1 were old, 
 I fhould not find that hidden myftery ; 
 
 Oh, 'tis impoilure all : 
 And as no chymic yet th' elixir got, 
 
 But glorifies his pregnant pot, 
 
 If by the way to him befal 
 Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal. 
 
 So lovers dream a rich and long delight, 
 
 But get a winter-feeming fummer's night. 
 
 Jonfon and Donne, as Dr. Hurd remarks, were 
 then in the higheft efteem. 
 
 It is related by Clarendon, that Cov.ley always 
 acknowledged his obhgation to the learning and 
 induiby of Jonfon ; but I have found no traces of 
 Jonfon in his works ; to emulate Donne, appears 
 to have been his purpofe ; and from Donne he 
 may have learned that familiarity with rehgioua 
 im^ages, and that hght allufion to facred things, by 
 which readers far Ihort of fanclity are frequently 
 offended ; and which would not be bora in the 
 prefent age, when devotion, perhaps net more fer- 
 vent, is more delicate. 
 
 Having produced one paflage taken by Cov/ley 
 from Donne, I will recompeafe him by another
 
 cow LEV. 65- 
 
 \vhich Milton feems to have borrowed from him. 
 He fays of Gohah, 
 
 His fpear, the trunk was of a lofty tree, 
 
 Which nature meant feme tallfhip'smaft fhould be. 
 
 Milton of Satan, 
 
 His .{pear, to equal which the talleft pine 
 Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the maft 
 Of fome great admiral, were but a wand, 
 He walk'd with. 
 
 His di6lion was in his own time cenfured as 
 negligent. He feems not to have known, or not 
 to have confidered, that vrords being arbitrary muft 
 owe their power to afibciation, and have the in- 
 fluence, and that only, which cuftom has given 
 them. Language is the drcfs of thought ; and 
 as the nobleft mien, or moft graceful adlion, would 
 be degraded and obfcured by a garb appropr ated 
 to the grofs employments of ruiticks or micchan- 
 icks, fo the moft heroick fentiments will lofe their 
 efficacy, and the moft fplendid ideas drop their 
 magnificence, if they are conveyed by words ufed 
 commonly upon low and trivial occafions, debafed 
 by vulgar mouths, and contaminated by inelegant 
 appHcations. 
 
 Ti-uth indeed is always truth, and reafon is al- 
 ways reafon ; they have an intrinfick and unalter- 
 able value, and conftitute that intelle6tual gold 
 which defies deftru6lion : but gold may be fo con- 
 cealed in bafer m.atter, that only a chymiit ciin re- 
 cover it ; fenfe may be fo hidden in unrefined and 
 plebeian words, that none but philofophers can 
 
 dif.
 
 ^4 COWLRV, 
 
 diHinguirti it ; and both may be fo buried in Im* 
 purities, as not to pay the coil of their extra£lion. 
 
 The diclion, being the vehicle of the thoughts, 
 firft prefents itfelf to the intelledual eye : and if 
 the firil appearance offends, a further knowledge 
 is not often fought. Whatever profeffes to bene- 
 fit by pleafing, mull pleafe at once. The pleafures 
 of the mind imply fomething fudden and unexpec- 
 ted ; that which elevates muft always furprife. 
 What is perceived by flow degrees may gratify us 
 with the confcioufnefs of improvement, but will 
 never llrike with the fenfe of pleafure. 
 
 Of all this, Cowley appears to have been with- 
 out knowledge, or without care. He makes no 
 feledlion of words, nor feeks any neatnefs of 
 phrafe : he has no elegances either lucky or ela- 
 borate ; as his endeavours were rather to imprefs 
 fentences upon the underftanding than images on 
 the fancy, he has few epithets, and thofe fcattered 
 ■without pecuHar propriety or nice adaptation. It 
 feems to follow from the necelTity of the fubjedl, 
 rather than the care of the v/riter, that the didlion 
 of his heroick poem is lefs famihar than that of 
 his flighteft writings. He has given not the fame 
 numbers, but the fame diftion, to the gentle Ana- 
 creon and the tcmpeftuous Pindar. 
 
 His verfification feems to have had very little 
 ©f his care ; and if what he thinks be true, that 
 his numbers are rnmufical only when they are ill 
 read, the art of reading them is at prefent loft ; 
 for they are commonly harfh to m.odern ears. He 
 has indeed many noble hues, fuch as the feeble 
 care of Waller never could produce. The bulk of 
 
 his
 
 1& tKouglits fometlmes fwelled Kis vbrfe to iinex- 
 pefted and inevitable grandeur ; but his excellence 
 of this kind is merely fortuitous : he finks wiliing- 
 ly down to his general careleflhefs, and avoids with 
 veiy iittle care either meannefs or afperity. 
 
 His contraftions are often rugged and harfli : 
 
 One flings a mountain, and its rivers too 
 Torn up with't. 
 
 His rhymes are very ofter> made by pronoun^or 
 particles, or the like unimportant words, which 
 difappoint the ear, and deftroy the energy of the 
 line. 
 
 His combination of different meafures is fomc- 
 times diffonant and unpleafing ; he joins verfes to* 
 gether, of which the former does not Aide eafily in- 
 to the latter. 
 
 The words do and did, which fo much degtadc 
 in prefent eftimation this line that admits them, were 
 in the time of Cowley little cenfured or avoided ; 
 how often he ufed them, and with how bad aa 
 effed, at leaft to our ears, will appear by a paiTage, 
 in which eveiy reader will lament to fee juft and 
 noble thoughts defrauded of their praife by inele-- 
 ganee of language ; 
 
 Where honour or where confcience does not bind, 
 
 No other lavt^ flxall fliackle me ; 
 
 Slave to myfelf I ne'er will be ; 
 Nor fhall my future adions be confin'd 
 
 By my own prefent mind. 
 Who by refolves and vows engag'd does Hand 
 
 For days, that yet belong to fate, 
 Does like an unthrift: mortgage his eflate. 
 
 Before it falls into his hand.
 
 6$ C OWL BY- 
 
 The TDondman of the cloifter fo, 
 All that he does receive dees always owe. 
 And ftill as Time comes in, it goes away. 
 
 Not to enjoy, but debts to pay ! 
 Unhappy flave, and pupil to a bell ! 
 Which his hours' work as well as hours detj tell t 
 Unhappy till the laft, the kind releafing knell. 
 
 His heroick lines are often formed of monofylla- 
 bles ; but yet they are fometimes fweet and fonor- 
 ous. 
 
 He fays of the Meffiah, 
 
 Round the whole earth his dreaded name ftiall found, 
 " And reach to worlds that mull not yet be found. 
 
 In another place, of David, 
 
 Yet bid him go fecurely, when he fend« ; 
 •* 'Tis Saul that is his foe, and we his friends. 
 *' The man who has his God, no aid can lack ; 
 " And we who bid him go, will bring him back. 
 
 Yet amidft his negligence he fometimes attempt- 
 ed an improved and fcientifick verfilication ; of 
 which it will be bed to give his own account fub- 
 joined to this hne, 
 
 Nor can the glory contain Itfelf in th' endlefs fpacc. 
 
 **, I am forry that it is neceffary to admonifh the 
 ** moft part of readers, that it is not by negligence 
 ** that this verfe is fo loofe, long, and, as it were, 
 *' vaft ; it is to paint in the number the nature of 
 ** the thing which it defcribes, which I would have 
 •* obferved in divers ©thers places of this poem, 
 
 that
 
 cowLir. 6t 
 
 ^ tliat elfe will pafs for very carelefs verfes : as 
 ^' before, 
 
 " And over-runs the neighb'ring fields with violent 
 " courfe. 
 
 <* In the fecond book ; 
 
 " Down a precipice deep, down he calls them all-*» 
 
 «* —And, 
 
 " And fell a-down his flioulders with loofe care 
 
 <* In the third, 
 
 « Brafs was his helmet, his boots brafs, and o'er 
 ** His breaft a thick plate of ftrong brafs he wore 
 
 ** In the fourth, 
 
 *' Like fome fair pine o'er-looking all th' ignobler 
 " v»'ood. 
 
 <« And, 
 
 *' Some from therocks call themfelves down headlong. 
 
 "** And many more : but it is enough to inftance ia 
 <* a few. The thing is, that the difpofition of 
 ^* words and numbers ihould be fueh, as that, out 
 ** of the order and found of them, the things them- 
 *' felves may be reprefented. This the Greeks 
 ** were not fo accurate as to bind themfelves to ; 
 ** neither have our Enghfli poets obferved it, for 
 ** aught I can find. The Latins (qui mufas colunt 
 •* ffoeriorci) fometimes did it, and their prince, 
 ** Virgil, always : in whom the examples are in- 
 *' numerable, and taken notice of by all judicioua 
 ** men, fo that it is fuperfluous to colled them/' 
 
 I know
 
 6S COWLRY. 
 
 I know not wKct^^er he has, in many sf tWtf* 
 inftances, attained the reprefentatlon or refemblancei 
 that he purpofes. Verfe can imitate only found 
 and motion. A boundkfs verfc, a headlong vei-fc, 
 and a verfe of brafs or oi Jlrong hrafs, feem to 
 comprife very incongruous and unfociable ideas* 
 What there is peculiar in the found of the Hne ex- 
 prefdng loofe care, I cannot difcover ; nor why 
 the pine is taller in an Alexandrine than in ten 
 fyllables. 
 
 Biit, not to defraud him of his due praife, he 
 has given one example of reprefentative verfifica- 
 tion, which perhaps no other Englifn hne caa 
 equal :. 
 
 Begin, be bold, and venture to be wife. 
 
 He who defers this work from day to day; 
 
 Does on a river's bank expecting ftay- 
 
 Till the whole ftream that ftopp'd him fliall be gonr, 
 
 " V\ hich runs, and as it runs, for ever IhuU run on.'* ■ 
 
 Cowley was, I believe, the firft poet that ming- 
 led Alexandrines at pleafure with the common: 
 heroick of ten fyllables, and from him Diydc^n* 
 bon'owed the practice, v.'h ether ornamental or li- 
 centious. He confidered the verfe of twelve fyl- 
 lables as elevated and majeflick, and has therefore 
 deviated into that meafure when he fuppofes the 
 ■voice heard of the Supreme Being. 
 
 The Author of the Davideis is commended by 
 Dryden for having written it in couplets, becaufc 
 he difcovered that any ftaff was too lyrical for air 
 heroick poem ; but tliis fcems to have been knowir 
 
 . before
 
 COWLEY- 6^ 
 
 he£ore by May and Sandys, the tranflators of the 
 Pharfalia and the Metamorphofes. 
 
 In the Davideis are fome hemiftichs, or verfes 
 left imperfe6l by the author, in imitation of Virgil, 
 whom he fuppofes not to have intended to com- 
 plete them ^ that this opinion is erroneous, may be 
 probably concluded, becaufe this truncation is imi- 
 tated by no fubfequent Roman poet ; becaufe Vir- 
 gil himfelf filled up one broken Hne in the heat of 
 recitation ; becaufe in one the fenfe is now un- 
 £nifhed ; and becaufe all that can be done by a 
 broken verfe, a Hne interfered by a cajura and a 
 full flop will equally effe6i. 
 
 Of triplets in his Davideis he makes no ufe, and 
 perhaps did not at firfl: think them allowable ; but 
 he appears afterwards to have changed his mind, 
 for in the verfes on the government of Cromwell 
 he inferts them liberally with great happinefs. 
 
 After fo much criticifm on his Poems, the Ef- 
 fays which accompany them muH not be forgotten. 
 What is faid by Sprat of his converfation, that no 
 jnan could draw from it any fufpicion of his excel- 
 lence in poetry, may be applied to thefe compofi- 
 tions. No author ever kept his verfe and his profe 
 at a greater dillance from each other. His thoughts 
 are natural, and his ftyle has a fmooth and placid 
 cquabihty, which has never yet obtained its due 
 commendation- Nothing is far-fought, or hard- 
 laboured ; but all is eafy without feeblenefs, and 
 familiar without groffnefs. 
 
 It has been obierved by Felton, in his Effay on 
 the CJalficks, that Cowley was beloved by every 
 
 Mufe
 
 7© CO-iVLIY. 
 
 Mufe that he courted ; and that he ha? n\^lkd 
 the Ancients in every kind of poetry but tragedy. 
 It may be affirmed, without any encomiaftick 
 fervoLU", that he brought to his poetick labours a 
 mind replete with learnings and that his pages arc 
 cmbeUiflied with aU the ornaments which books 
 could fupply ; that he was the firft who imparted 
 to Engliih numbers the enthufiafm of the greater 
 ode, and the gaiety of the lefs ; that he was equal- 
 ly qualified for fpritely falhes, and for lofty flights ; 
 that he was among thofe who freed tranilation 
 from fervihty, and, inftead of following his author 
 at a diftance, walked by his fide ; and that if he 
 left vcrfification yet improveable, he left likewife 
 from time to time fuch fpecimens of excellence a*, 
 enabled fucceeding poets to improve it. 
 
 DENHAM
 
 ( 7- ) 
 
 D E N H A M. 
 
 OF Sir John Den ham very little is liinowii 
 but what is related of him by Wood, or 
 by himfelf. 
 
 He was born at Dublin in 1615 ; the only foil 
 x)f Sir John Denham, of Little Horfely in Effex, 
 then chief baron of the Exchequer in Ireland, and 
 of Eleanor, daughter of Sir Garret Moore baron 
 of Mellefont. 
 
 Tv/o years afterwards, his father, being made 
 one of the barons of the Exchequer in England, 
 brought him away from his native country, and 
 educated him in London. 
 
 In 163 1 he was fent to Oxford, where he was 
 confidered *' as a dreaming young man, given 
 ** more to dice and cards than iludy ;" and there- 
 fore gave no prognofticks of his future eminence ; 
 nor was fufpecled to conceal, under (luggifhnefs 
 and laxity, a genius born to improve the literature 
 of his country. 
 
 When he was, three years afterwards removed 
 td^ Lincoln's Inn, he profecuted the common lav^ 
 with fufficient appearance of application ; yet did 
 not lofe his propenfity to cards and dice ; but was 
 very often plundered by gamefters. 
 
 Being feverely reproved for this folly, he pro- 
 fefTpd, and perhaps beheved himfelf reclaimed ; 
 
 an4^
 
 7^ DENHABT. 
 
 and, to teftify the fincerity of his repentance, wrote 
 and publifhed " An Eflay upon Gaming.'* 
 
 He feems to have divided his ftudies between 
 law and poetry; for, in 1636, he tranflated the 
 fecond book of the -/Eneid. 
 
 Two years after, his father died ; and then, not- 
 withftanding his refokitions and profeflions, he re- 
 turned again to the vice of gaming, and loll feveral 
 thoufand pounds that had been left him. 
 
 In 1 641, he publifhed " The Sophy.'' Thi» 
 feems to have given him his fu-ft hold of the pub- 
 lick attention ; for Waller remarked " that he 
 <* broke out hkethe Irifli rebellion threefcore thou- 
 ** fand ftrong, when nobody was aware, or in the 
 ** leaft fufpefted it :" an obfervation which could 
 have had no propriety, had his poetical abilities 
 been known before. 
 
 He was after that pricked for fheriff of Surrey,, 
 and made governor of Famham Caltle for the 
 king ; but he foon refigned that charge, and re- 
 treated to Oxford, where, in 1643, ^^ pubUfhed 
 « Cooper's Hill." 
 
 This poem had fuch reputation as to excite the 
 common artifice by which tnvj degrades excellence. 
 A report was fpread, that the performance was not 
 his own, but that he had bought it of a ^^car for 
 forty pounds. The fame attempt was made to 
 rob Addifon of fiis Cato, and Pope of his EfTay*" 
 on Criticifm. 
 
 In 1647, the diflreffes of the royal family re- 
 quired him to engage in more dangerous employ- 
 ments. He was entrufted by the queen with a 
 mcfiagc to the king ; and, by whatever means, fa
 
 CENHAM. 7J 
 
 iar foftened tlie ferocity of Hugh Peters, that, hj 
 his interceflion, admiffion was procured. Of the 
 king's condefcenfion he has given an account in the 
 dedication of his works. 
 
 He was afterwards employed in carrying on the 
 king's correfpondence ; and, as he fays, difcharged 
 this office with great fafety to the royahfts : 
 and being accidentally difcovered by the adverfe 
 party's knowledge of Mr. Cowley's hand, he ef- 
 caped happily both for himfelf and his friends. 
 
 He was yet engaged in a greater undertaking. 
 In April 1648, he conveyed James the duke of 
 York from London into France, and delivered him 
 there to the Queen and prince of Wales. This 
 year he publifhed his tranflation of " Cato Major." 
 
 He now refided in France, as one of the followers 
 of the exiled King ; and, to divert the melancholy 
 of their condition, was fometimes enjoined by his 
 mailer to write occafional verfes ; one of which 
 amufements was probably his ode or fong upon the 
 Embafiy to Poland, by which he and lord Crofts 
 procured a contribution of ten thoufand pounds 
 from the Scotch, that wandered over that king- 
 dom. Poland was at that time very much fre- 
 quented by itinerant traders, who, in a country of 
 very little commerce and of great extent, where 
 every man refided on his own eftate, contributed 
 veiy much to the accommodation of life, by bring- 
 ing to every man's houfe 'thofe little neceffaries 
 which it was veiy inconvenient to want, and very 
 troublefome to fetch. I have formerly read, with- 
 out much refleftion, of the multitude of Scotch- 
 men that travelled with their wares in Poland; and 
 
 Vol. I. Q that
 
 74- DENH.IM. 
 
 that their numbers were not fmall, the fucccfs of 
 this negotiation gives fufficient evidence. 
 ; About this time, what eftate the war and the 
 gameilers had left him was fold, by order of the, 
 parhament ; and when, in 1652, he returned to 
 England, he was entertained by the earl of Pem- 
 broke, 
 
 Of the next years of his life there is no account. 
 At the Reiloration lie obtained, that which many 
 miffed, the reward of his loyalty ; being made 
 furveyor of the king's buildings, and dignified with 
 the order of the Bath. He feems now to have 
 learned feme attention to money ; for Wood fays, 
 that he got by his place feven thoufand pou,;ds. 
 
 After the Reiloration he wrote the poem on 
 Prudence and Juftice, and perhaps fome of his 
 other pieces ; and as he appears, whenever any 
 ferious queilion comes before him, to have been a 
 man of piety, he confecrated his poetical powers 
 to rehgion, and made a m.etrical verfion of the 
 pfalms of David. In this atteippt he has failed ; 
 but, in facred poetiy who has fucceeded ? 
 . It m.ight be hoped that the favour of his n^afler 
 •and elleem of the publick would now make him 
 happy. But human felicity is Ihort and uncertain ; 
 a fecond marriage brought upon him lo much dif- 
 quiet, as for a time difordered his uuderllanding ; 
 and Butler lampobned him for his lunacy. I know 
 not whether the malignant lines were then made 
 publick, nor what provocation incited Butler to dQ 
 that which- no provocation can excufe. 
 
 His frenzy laftcd not long ; and he feems to 
 
 have
 
 •denmam. '^jj" 
 
 iiave regained his full force of mind ; for he wrote 
 afterwards his excellent poem upon the death of 
 Cowley, whom he was not long to furvive ; for on 
 the igth of March, 1668, he was buried by his 
 fide. 
 
 Den HAM is defervedly confidered as one of the 
 fathers of Englifli poetry. " Denham and Wal- 
 ** ler," fays Prior, " improved our verlification, 
 ** and Dry den, perfe6led it." He has given fpe- 
 cimens of various compofition, defcriptive, ludi- 
 crous, dida6lick, and fublime. 
 
 He appears to have had, in common with almoll 
 all mankind, the ambition of being upon proper 
 occafions a vierry fdloiv,, and in common v/ith moft 
 of them to have been by nature, or by early habits 
 debarred from it. Nothing is lefs exhilarating 
 than the ludicroufnefs of Denham. He ^oes not 
 fail for want of efforts ; he is famihar, he is grofs ; 
 but he is never merr)^, unlefs the 5* Speech againft 
 ** peace in the clofe Committee" be excepted. 
 For grave burlefque, however, his imitation of Da- 
 venant fiiews him to have been well qualified. 
 
 Of his more elevated occafional poems there ia 
 perhaps none that does not deferve commendation. 
 In the verfes to Fletcher, we have an image that 
 Jhas fmce been often adopted : 
 
 " But whither am I ftray'd ? I need not raife 
 
 *' Trophies to thee from other mens difpraife ; 
 
 *' Nor is thy fame on leffer ruins huilt, 
 
 " Nor need thy jufter title the foul guilt 
 
 " Of eaftern kings, who, to fecure their reign, 
 
 *• Mull have their brothers, fons, and kindred flain.'* 
 
 G2 After
 
 ^6 CENHAM. 
 
 After Denham, Orreiy, in one of his prologuci, 
 
 " Poets are fultans, if they had their will ; 
 *' For every author Avould his brother kill." 
 
 And Pope, 
 
 " Should fuch a man too fond to rule alone, 
 
 " Bear like the Turk no brother near the throne.'* 
 
 But this is not the beft of his little pieces : it is" 
 excelled by his poem to Fanfhaw, and his elegy 
 on Cowley. 
 
 His praife of Fanfhaw's verfion of Guarini, con- 
 tains a very fpritely and judicious chara6ler of a 
 good tranflator : 
 
 " That fervile path thou nobly dofl decline, 
 
 ** Of tracing word by word, and line by line. 
 
 " Thofe are the labour'd births of flavifh brains, 
 
 " Not the efFed of poetry, but pains ; 
 
 •' Cheap, vulgar arts, whofe narrownefs affords 
 
 " No flight for thoughts, but poorly flick at words. 
 
 " A new and nobler way thou dofl purfue, 
 
 " To make tranflations and tranflators too. 
 
 *' They but prcferve the alhes, thou the flame, 
 
 " True to his fenfe, but truer to his fame." 
 
 The excellence of thefe hnes is greater, as the 
 truth which they contain was not at that time ge- 
 nerally known. 
 
 His poem on the death of Cowley was his laft, 
 and, among his (horter works his beft perform- 
 ance ; the numbers are mulical, and the thoughts 
 are juft. 
 
 Cooper's Hill is the work that confers upon 
 
 him
 
 DENHAM* 77 
 
 film the rank and dignity of an original author. 
 He feems to have been, at leaft among us, the au- 
 thor of a fpecies of compofition that may be deno- 
 minated local poetry^ of which the fundamental fub- 
 jeft is fome particular landfcape, to be poetically 
 defcribed, with the addition of fuch embellilhmentiJ 
 as may be fupplied by hiilorical retrofpeftion, or 
 incidental meditation. 
 
 To trace a new fcheme of poetry has in itfelf a 
 very high claim to praife, and its praife is yet m.ore 
 when it is apparently copied by Garth and Pope ; 
 after whofe names little will be gained by an enu- 
 meration of fmaller poets, that have left fcarce a 
 corner of the ifland not dignified either by rhyme,, 
 or blank verfe. 
 
 *' Cooper's Hill," if it be mallcioufly infpefted, 
 will not be found without its faults. The digref- 
 lions are too long, the morahty too frequent, and 
 the fentiments fometimes fuch as will not bear a 
 rigorous enquiry. 
 
 The four verfes, which, fmce Dryden has com- 
 mended them, almoll every writer for a century 
 pail has imitated, are generally known : 
 
 " O could I flow like thee, and make thy ftream 
 
 *' My great example, as it is my theme ! 
 
 " Though deep, yet clear ; though gentle, yet not 
 
 dull ; 
 ** Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full." 
 
 The lines are in themfelves not perfe£l ; for mofl 
 of the words, thus artfully oppofed, are to be un- 
 derftood fimply on one fide of the comparifon, and* 
 metaphorically on the other ; and if there be any 
 G 3 language
 
 78 fcENHAMi 
 
 language which does not exprefs intelleftual ope- 
 rations by material images, into that language they 
 cannot be tranflated. But fo much meaning is 
 comprized in fo few words ; the particulars of re- 
 femblance are fo perfpicacioufly collefted, and 
 ever)' mode of excellence feparated from its adja- 
 cent fault by fo nice a hne of hmitation ; the dif- 
 ferent parts of the fentence are fo accurately ad- 
 jufted ; and the flow of the laft couplet is fo fmooth 
 and fweet ; that the pafTage, however celebrated, 
 has not been praifed above its merit. It has beauty 
 peculiar to itfelf, and muft be numbered among 
 thofe fehcities which cannot be produced at will by 
 wit and labour, but muft arife unexpetledly in fome 
 hour propitious to poetr}'. 
 
 He appears to have been one of the fii"ft that 
 underftood the neceffity of emancipating tranfla- 
 tion from the drudgeiy of counting hnes and inter- 
 preting fmgle words. How much this fertile 
 pratlice obfcured the cleareft and deformed the 
 moft beautiful parts of the ancient authors, may be 
 difcovered by a perufal of our earher verfions ; fome 
 of them the works of men v/ell qualified, not only 
 by critical knowledge, but by poetical genius, who 
 yet, by a miftaken ambition of exadnefs, degraded 
 at once their originals and themfclves. 
 
 Denham faw the better way, but has not pur- 
 fued it v.-ith great fuccefs. His vei^fions of Virgil 
 are not pleafmg ; but they taught Diyden to pleafe 
 better. His poetical imatation of Tully on " Old 
 " Age" has neither the clearnefs of profe, nor the 
 fpritehnefs of poetry. 
 
 The " ftrength of Denham," which Pope fo 
 
 emphatically
 
 feENHAM. 79 
 
 emphatically mentions, is to be found in many 
 lines and couplets, which convey much meaning 
 in few words, and exhibit the fentiment with more 
 weight than bulk. 
 
 On the Thames. 
 
 ** Though with thofe ftreams he no refemblance holdj.- 
 ** Whofe foam is amber, and their gravel gold ; 
 " His genuine and lefs guilty wealth t'explore, 
 ** Search not his bottom, but furvey his ihore." 
 
 On Strafford. 
 
 f His wifdom fuch, at once it did appear 
 
 " Three kingdoms wonder, and three kingdoms fear j 
 
 " While fmgle he flood forth, and feem'd, although 
 
 " Each had an army, as an equal foe. 
 
 *' Such was his force of eloquence, to make 
 
 " The hearers more concern'd than he thatfpake j 
 
 " Each feem'd to ad: that part he came to fee, 
 
 " And none was more a looker on than he ; 
 
 •' So did he move our paflions, fome were known 
 
 *' To wifti, for the defence, the crime their own. 
 
 " Now private pity ftrove with public hate, 
 
 " Reafon with rage, and eloquence with fate,'* 
 
 On Cowley, 
 
 ^' To him no author was unknown, 
 
 " Yet what he wrote was all his own ; 
 
 " Horace's wit, and Virgil's {late, 
 
 " He did not ileal, but emulate ! 
 
 " And when he would like them appear, 
 
 " Their garb, but not their cloaths, did wear." 
 
 As one of Denham's principal claims to the re^ 
 gard of pofterity arifes from his improvement of our 
 
 cumbers^
 
 80 DEN K AM.' 
 
 numbers, his verfification ought to be coniidered'. 
 It will afford that pleafure which arifes from the 
 obfervation of a man of judgement naturally right 
 lorfaking bad copies by degrees, and advancing to- 
 wards a better praAice, as he gains more confidence 
 in himfelf. 
 
 In his tranflation of Virgil, \\Titten when he was 
 about twenty-one years old, may be Hill found the 
 old manner of continuing the fenfe ungracefully 
 from verfe to verfe. 
 
 " Then all thofe, 
 *' Who in the dark our fury did efcape, 
 *' Returning, know our borrow'd arms, and fhape, 
 *' And differing dialed; : then their numbers fwell 
 " And grow upon us ; firft Chorcebus fell 
 *' Before Minerva's altar ; next did bleed 
 *' Juft Ripheus, whom no Trojan did exceed 
 " In virtue, yet the gods his fate decreed. 
 ** Then Hypanis and Dymas, wounded by 
 " Their friends ; nor thee, Pantheus, thy piety, 
 " Nor confecrated mitre, from the fame 
 " 111 fate could fave ; my country's funeral flame 
 " And Troy's cold aflies I attcft, and call 
 *' To witnefs for myfclf, that in their fall 
 " No foes, no death, nor danger I declin'd, 
 " Did, and deferv'd no lefs, my fate to find." 
 
 From this kind of concatenated metre he after- 
 wards refrained, and taught his followers the art of 
 concluding their fenfe in couplets ; which has per- 
 haps been with rather too much conftancy purfued. 
 
 This paifage exhibits one of thofe triplets which 
 are not infrequent in this firft effay, but which it 
 is to be fuppofed his maturer judgment difapprov- 
 cd, fince in his latter works he has totally for- 
 born them. 
 
 Hi*
 
 DENHAM* 8< 
 
 His rhymes are fuch as feem found without dif* 
 ficulty, by folloAving the fenfe ; and are for the 
 moft part as exa6l at leaft as thofe of other poets, 
 though now and then the reader is fhifted off with 
 what he can get. 
 
 " O how transformed ! 
 ■ " How much unlike that He<Slor, who returned 
 « Clad in Achilles' fpoils! 
 
 And again, 
 
 " From thence a thoufand lefler poets sprung^ 
 " Like petty princes from the fall of Rome.^* 
 
 Sometimes the weight of rhyme is laid upon 
 |i word to feeble to fuftain it : 
 
 " Troy confounded falls 
 ** From all her glories : if it might have flood 
 ^* By any power, by this right hand it Jhoud. 
 
 *' — And though my outward ftate misfortune hath 
 " Depreft thus low, it cannot reach my faith." 
 
 *' — Thus by his fraud and our own faith o'ercome, 
 
 " A feigned tear deftroys us, againft ivLom 
 
 " Tydides nor Achilles could prevail, 
 
 " Nor ten years conflid, nor a thoufand fail." 
 
 He is not very careful to vary the ends of his 
 verfes : in one pafTage the word die rhimes three 
 couplets in fix. 
 
 Moft of thefe petty faults are in his firft produc- 
 tions, when he was lefs flcilful, or at leaft lefs dexter- 
 ous in the ufe of words ; and though they had been 
 iriore frequent, they could only have lefTened the 
 
 grace.
 
 ^i DEN HAM'. 
 
 grace, not the flrength of his compofition. He i^ 
 one of the writers that improved our talle, and ad- 
 vanced our language, and whom we ought therefore 
 to read with gratitude, though, liaving done much, 
 he left much to do. 
 
 MILTON.
 
 MIlLTOIf 
 
 Kngcavpd for lohaton's Lives of the Poets. Puhliflied hy 
 D. Bmianan Mbntrofe
 
 (83 ) 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 THE Life of Milton has been already written 
 in fo many forms, and with fuch m.inute en- 
 quiry that I might perhaps more properly have con- 
 tented myfelf with the addition of a few notes ta- 
 Mr. Fenton's elegant Abridgement, but that a new 
 narrative was thought neceffary to the uniformity 
 of this edition. 
 
 John Milton was by birth a gentleman, de- 
 fcended from the proprietors of Milton near Thame 
 in Oxfordfhire, one of whom forfeited his eftate in 
 the tim.es of York and Lancaller. Which fide he 
 took I know not ; his defcendant inherited no 
 veneration for the V/hite Rofe. 
 
 His grandfather John was keeper of the foreft 
 of Shotover, a zealous papiil, who difinherited his 
 fon, becaufe he had foriaken the religion of his an- 
 ceftors. 
 
 His father, John, who was the fon difmherited, 
 had recourfe for his fupport to the profefllon of a 
 fcrivener. He was a man eminent for his flvill in 
 mufjck, many of his compofitions being ftill to be 
 found ; and his reputation in his profeffion was 
 fuch, that he grew rich, and retired to an eftate. 
 He had probably more than common hterature, as 
 liis fon addreffes him in one of , his moft elaborate 
 JLatin poems. He married a gentle-woman of th£ 
 
 nam^
 
 54 MiLTOir. 
 
 name of Cafton, a Welfh family, by whom he had 
 two fons, John the poet, and Chriftopher who 
 ftudied the law, and adhered, as the law taught 
 him, to the King's party, for which he was awhile 
 peifecuted ; but haN^ng, by his brother's intereft, 
 obtained permilTion to live in quiet, he fupported 
 himfelf fo honourably by chamber-praclice, that 
 foon after the acceffion of King James, he was 
 knighted and made a Judge ; but, his conftitution 
 being too weak for buiinefs, he retired before any 
 difreputable compliances became neceflar)^ 
 
 He had hkewife a daughter Anne, whom he 
 married with a confiderable fortune to Edward 
 PhiHps, who came from Shrewfbur)', and rofe in 
 the Crown-office to be fecondary : by him (he had 
 two fons, John and Edward, who were educated 
 by the poet, and from whom is derived the only 
 authentick account of his domellick manners. 
 
 John, the poet, was born in his father's houfe, 
 at the cpread-Eagle in Bread-ftreet, Dec. 9, 1608, 
 between fix and feven in the morning. His father 
 appears to have been very felicitous about his edu- 
 cation ; for he was inftructed at firll by private 
 tuition under the care of Thomas Young, who was 
 afterwards chaplain to the Enghfh merchants at 
 Hamburgh ; and of whom we have reafon to think 
 well, fince his fcholar confidered him as worthy of 
 an epiilolary 'Elegy. 
 
 He was then fent to St. Paul's School, under 
 the care of Mr. Gill ; and removed, in the begin- 
 ning of his fixteenth year, to Chrift's College in 
 Cambridge, where he entered a fizar, Feb. 12, 
 1624. 
 
 He
 
 He was at tKis • time eminently /I^illed in the 
 X.atin tongue ; and he himfelf, by annexing the 
 dates to his flrft compofitions, a boaft of which 
 the learned Politlan had given him an example, 
 feems to commend the earlinefs of his own profi- 
 ciency to the notice of pollerity. But the pro- 
 du6ls of his vernal fertility have been furpalTed 
 by many, and particularly by his contemporary 
 Cowley. Of the powers of the mind it is difficult 
 to form an eftimate : many have excelled Milton 
 in their fii-ft effays, who never rofe to works Hke 
 Paradise Lost. 
 
 At fifteen, a date which he ufes till he is fix- 
 teen, he tranflated or verfified two Pfalms, 114 and 
 136, which he thought worthy of the pubhck eye ; 
 but they raife no great expediations : ..they would 
 in any numerous fchool have obtained praife, but 
 not excited wonder. 
 
 Many of his elegies appear to have been written 
 in his eighteenth year, by which it appears that he 
 had then read the Roman authors with very nice 
 difcernment. I once heard Mr. Hampton, the 
 tranflator of Polybius, remark what' I think is 
 true, that Milton was the firll Englifhman who, 
 after the revival of letters, wrote Latin verfes with, 
 claflick elegance. If any exceptions can be made, 
 they are very few : Kaddon and Afcham, the 
 pride of Ehzabeth's reign, however they may have 
 iiicceeded in profe, no fooner attempt verfes than 
 they provoke derifion. If we produced any thing 
 \^ ortliy of notice before the elegies of Milton, it 
 was perhaps Alalajler^s Raxana, 
 
 Of thefe exercifes which the rules of the Uni** 
 
 Vol. L H verfity
 
 S6 
 
 JMILTOS. 
 
 veiTity required, fome were piibliflied by him in his 
 maturer years. They had been undoubtedly ap- 
 plauded ; for they were fuch as few can perform : 
 yet there is reafon to lufpecl that he was regarded 
 in his colleo;e with no ereat fondnefs. That he 
 obtained no fellowfhip is certain ; but the unkind- 
 nefs with which he was treated was not merely 
 negative. I am aiharaed to relate v/hat I fear is 
 true, that Milton was one of the lall Undents in 
 either univerfity that fufFered the publick indignity 
 of coi-poral punilhment. 
 
 It was in the violence of controverfial hollihty, 
 objeftcd to him that he was expelled : this he Itea- 
 dily denies, and it was apparently not true ; but it 
 feems plain from his own verfes to Diodatiy that 
 he had incurred Riijl'ication ; a temporary difmif- 
 fion into the country, with perhaps the lofs of «i 
 term : 
 
 Me tenet urbs reflua quam Thamefis ailiiit unda, 
 
 Meque nee invitum patria dulcis habet. 
 Jam nee arundiferum milil cura revifere Camum, 
 
 Nee dudum i-ctiti nie Lir^ angit amor. — 
 Nee duri libet ufque niinas pcrferre magiilri, 
 
 C.Teteraque ingcuio non fubeunda meo. 
 Si fit hoc exiiium patrias adiiffe penates, 
 
 Et vacuum curis otia grata fequi, 
 Non ego vel profugi nonien fortemve recufo, 
 
 Lastus et exilii conditione fruor. 
 
 I cannot find any meaning but this, whicli even 
 kindnefs and reverence can give to the term, 'vet'ih 
 lansj " a habitation from which he is excluded ;" 
 or how exile can be otherwife interpreted. He 
 declares yet more, that he i* weaiy of endurint;
 
 MlLTOI^. ^7 
 
 the threats of a rigorous majler, and fomething elfe, 
 ivh'ich a temper like his cannot undergo. What was 
 more than tlireat was probably piinifliment. This 
 poem, wliich m.entions his exUe, proves hkewife that 
 it was not perpetual ; for it concludes with a re- 
 folution of returning fome time to Cambridge. 
 And it may be conjetlured from the wiUingnefs 
 with which he has perpetuated the miemory of his 
 exile, that its caufe was fuch as gave him na 
 ihame. 
 
 He took both the ufual degrees ; that of Bat- 
 chelor in 1628, and that of Mafter in 1632 ; but 
 he left the univerfity with no kindnefs for its infti-i 
 tution, alienated either by the injudicious feverity 
 of his governors, or his own captious perverfenefs. 
 The caufe cannot now be known, but the eflFe6l 
 appears in his writings. His fcheme of education, 
 iiifcribed to HartUb, fuperfedes all academical in- 
 ftruftion, being intended to comprife the whole 
 time which men ufually fpend in literature, from 
 their entrance upon grammar, till they proceed, as H 
 is called majlers of arts. And in his Difcourfe on 
 ihe I'lkelieji IVay to remove Hirelings out of the Church, 
 he ingenioufly propofes, that the profits of the lands 
 forfeited by the act for fupcrflitions ufes, Jhould be 
 applied to fuch academies all over the land, ivhere 
 languages and arts may be taught together ; fo that 
 youth may be at once brought up to a competency of 
 learning and an honefl trade, by ivhich means fuch of 
 them as had the gift, being enabled to fupport thent" 
 felvcs (without tithes) by the latter, may, by the help 
 »f the former, become worthy preachers. 
 
 One of his objections to academical educatioOj 
 H 2 as
 
 35 MILTON. 
 
 as it was then conducled, is, that men defigned for 
 orders in the Church were permitted to a6l plays, 
 nurithhig and unboning their clergy limbs to all the 
 antick and di/ljonejl gejiures of Trincalosj buffoons and 
 bawds y projUtuting thejloame of that minijlry nvhich 
 they had., or were near having, to the eyes of cour- 
 tiers and court ladies, their grooms and mademoifeliesm. 
 
 This is fufficiently peeviih in a man, who, when 
 he mentions his exile from the college, relates, with 
 great luxuriance, the compenfation which the plea- 
 fures of the theatre afford him. Plays were there- 
 fore only criminal when they were a6led by aca- 
 demicks. 
 
 He w^ent to the univerfity with a defign of en- 
 tering into the church, but in tim.e altered his mind ; 
 for he declared, that whoever became a clergyman 
 muft " fubfcribe Have, and take an oath withal, which 
 •' unlefs he took with a confcience that could retch, 
 ** he muft flraight perjure himfelf. He thought 
 ** it better to prefer a blamelefs filence before the 
 ** office of fpeaking, bought and begun with fervi- 
 ** tude and forfwearing." 
 
 Thefe exprefTions are, I find, applied to the fub- 
 fcription of the Articles ; but it feems more pro- 
 bable that they relate to canonical obedience. I 
 know not any of the Articles which feem to thwart 
 his opinions ; but the thoughts of obedience, whet 
 ther canonical or civil, raifcd his indignation. 
 
 His unwillingnefs to engage in the miniflry, 
 perhaps not yet advanced to a fettled refolution of 
 declining it, appears in a letter to one of his friends, 
 who had reproved his fufpended and dilatory hfe, 
 yv'hich he feems to have imputed to an infatiable 
 
 curiolitjr,
 
 MILTON* S^. 
 
 eurlolity, and fantaftick luxury of various know- 
 ledge. To this he writes a cool and plaulible an* 
 Iwer, in which he endeavours to perfuade him that 
 the delay proceeds not from the dehghts of deful- 
 tory lludy, but from the defire of obtaining more 
 fitnefs for his taflc ; and that he goes on, noi tah 
 ing thought of being late, fo it give advantage to be 
 more Jit. 
 
 When he left the univerfity, he returned to his 
 father, then reliding at Horton in Buckingham- 
 fliire, with whom he hved five years ; in which 
 time he is faid to have read all the Greek and Latin 
 writers. With what limitations this univerfaHty is 
 to be underllood, who fhall inform us ? 
 
 It might be fuppofed that he who read fo much 
 fliould have done nothing elfe ; but Milton found 
 time to write the Mafque of Comus, which was 
 prefented at Ludlow, then the refidence of the 
 Lord Prefident of Wales, in 1634 j and had the 
 honour of being atled by the earl of Bridgewater's 
 fons and daughter. The fiction is derived from 
 Homer's Circe ; but v/e never can refufe to any 
 modern the liberty of borrowing from Homer : 
 
 — a quo ceu fonte percnni 
 Vatum Pieriis ora rigantur aquls. 
 
 His next produftion was Lycidas, an elegy, 
 written in 1637, on the death of Mr. King, the 
 fon of Sir John King, fecretary for Ireland in the 
 tim.e of Elizabeth, James, and Charles. King 
 was much a fa\'ourite at Cambridge, and many of 
 the wits joined to do honour to his memory. Mil- 
 ton's acquaintance with the Ita^an v^'^itej-s-may be 
 " " H 3 difcovered
 
 ^a WILTON. 
 
 difcovered by a mixture of longer and Hiorter verfeir, 
 according to the rules of Tufcan poetr}', and hi» 
 malignity to the Church by fome lines which arc 
 interpreted as threatening its extermination. 
 
 He is fuppofed about this time to have written 
 his Arcades ; for while he Hved at Horton he ufed 
 fometimes to ileal from his lludies a few days, which 
 he fpent at Hare -field, the houfe of the countefs 
 dowager of Derby, where the Arcades made part of 
 a dramatick entertainment. 
 
 He began now to grow weary of the country; and 
 had fome pui-pofe of taking chambers in the Inns 
 of Court, when the death of his mother fet him at 
 liberty to travel, for which he obtained his father's 
 confent, and Sir Henry Wotton's direftions, with 
 the celebrated precept of prudence, / penfierijlrett'ty 
 ed il vifofcioho ; " thoughts clofe, and looks loofe." 
 
 In 1638 he left England, and went fird to 
 Paris ; where, by the favour of Lord Scudamore^ 
 he had the opportunity of vifiting Grotius, 
 then refiding at the French court, as ambaflador 
 from Chriilina of Sweden. From Paris he hafted 
 into Italy, of which he had with particulai- dili- 
 gence ftudied the language and Hteratm-e : and, 
 though he feems to have intended a very quick 
 perambulation of the countr)-, ftaid two months at 
 Florence ; where he found his way into the acade- 
 mies, and produced his compofitions with fuch ap- 
 plaufe as appears to have exalted him in his own 
 opinion, and confirmed him in the hope, that, " by 
 ** labour and intenfe iludy, which," fays he, " I 
 ** take to be my portion in this hfe, joined with a 
 ** ilrongj propenfity of nature," ^le might " leave 
 
 <* fome*
 
 MILTOM. ft 
 
 ** fometKIng fo written to after-times, as they /hould 
 *' not willingly let it die." 
 
 It appears, in all his writings, that he had the 
 ufual concomitant of great abilities, a lofty and 
 fteady confidence in himfelf, perhaps not without 
 fome contempt of others ; for fcarcely any man 
 ever wrote fo much, and praifed fo few. Of his 
 praife he was very frugal ; as he fet its value high, 
 and conlidered his mention of a name as a fecurity 
 againll the wafte of time, and a certain prefervative 
 from oblivion. 
 
 At Florence he coidd not indeed complain that 
 his merit wanted diftinftion. Carlo Dati prefented 
 him with an encomiaftick infcription, in the tumid 
 lapidary ftyle ; and Francini wrote him an ode, of 
 which the firfl ftanza is only empty noife ; the reft 
 are perhaps too diffufe on common topicks : but the 
 laft is natural and beautiful. 
 
 From Florence he went to Sienna, and front 
 Sienna to Rome, where he was again received 
 with kindnefs by the Learned and the Great. 
 Holftenius, the keeper of the Vatican Library, 
 who had refided three years at Oxford, introduced 
 him to Cardinal Barberini ; and he, at a mufical 
 entertainment, waited for him at the door, and led 
 him by the hand into the aflembly. Here Selvaggi 
 praifed him in a diftich, and SalfiUi in a tetraftick : 
 neither of them of much value. The Italians were 
 gainers by this literary commerce ; for the enco- 
 miums with which Milton repaid Salfilli, though 
 not fecure againft a ft em grammarian, turn the 
 balance indifputably in Milton's favour. 
 
 Of thefe Italian teftimonies, poor as they are, 
 
 be
 
 92 MlLTO?f. 
 
 he was proud enough to pubhfh them before his 
 poems ; though he fays, he cannot be fufpefted 
 but to have known that they were faid non tarn de 
 fe, quam fiipra fe. 
 
 At Rome, as at Florence, he ftaid only two 
 months ; a time indeed fufficient, if he defired on- 
 ly to ramble with an explainer of its antiquities, or 
 to view palaces and count piftures ; but certainly 
 too fhort for the contemplation of learning, pohcy, 
 or manners. 
 
 From Rome he paffed on to Naples, in company 
 of a hermit ; a companion from whom little could 
 be expeded, yet to him Milton owed his introduc- 
 tion to Manfo marquis of Villa, who had been be- 
 fore the patron of TaiTo. Manfo was enough de- 
 hghted v\-ith his accompli (hments to honour him 
 with a forry dillich, in which he commends him 
 for every thing but his religion ; and Milton, in 
 return, addrelTed him in a Latin poem, which rnuft 
 have raifed an high opinion of Englifh elegance and 
 literature. 
 
 His purpofe was now to have vifited Sicily and 
 Greece ; but, hearing of the differences between 
 the king and parliament, he thought it proper to 
 haften home, rather than pafs his life in foreign 
 amufem.ents while his countrymen were contending 
 for their rights. He therefore came back to 
 Rome, though the merchants informed him of 
 plots laid againft him by the Jefuits, for the liberty 
 of his converfations on religion. He had fenfe 
 enough to judge that there was no danger, and 
 therefore kept on his way, and acled as before^ 
 aeither obtruding nor (hunning controverfv. :He 
 
 had
 
 MILTON. 95 
 
 had perhaps given fome offence by vifiting Galileo, 
 then a prifoner in the Inquifition for philofophical 
 herefy ; and at Naples he was told by Manfo, that, 
 by his declarations on religious queftions, he had 
 excluded himfelf from fome diftinftions which he 
 fhould otherwife have paid him. But fuch con- 
 du6t, though it did not pleafe, was yet fufficiently 
 fafe ; and Milton ftaid two months more at Rome> 
 and went on to Florence without moleftation. 
 
 From Florence he vifited Lucca. He after- 
 wards went to Venice ; and having fent away a 
 colleftion of mufick and other books, travelled to 
 Geneva, which he probably confidered as the me- 
 tropohs of orthodoxy. Here he repofed, as in a 
 congenial element, and became acquainted with 
 John Diodati and Frederick Spanheim, two learned 
 profeflbrs of Divinity. From Geneva he paffed 
 through France ; and came home, after an abfence 
 ,of a year and three months. 
 
 At his return he heard of the death of his friend 
 Charles Diodati ; a man whom it is reafonable to 
 fuppofe of great merit, fmce he was thought by 
 Milton worthy of a poem, intituled Epitaphiunt 
 Damonisy written with the common but childifh 
 imitation of paftoral life. 
 
 He now hired a lodging at the houfe of one 
 RufTel a taylor in St. Bride's Church-yard, and 
 undertook the education of John and Edward 
 Philips, his filler's fons. Finding his rooms too 
 little, he took a houfe and garden in Alderfgate- 
 ilreet, which was not then fo much out of the 
 world as it is now ; and chofe his dwelling at the 
 upper end of a paffage, that he might avoid the 
 
 noife
 
 ^4- MltTON. 
 
 noife of the ftreet. Here he received more boy8| 
 to be boarded and inftru6ted. 
 
 Let not our veneration for Mihon forbid us to 
 look with fome degree of merriment on great pro- 
 mifes and fmall perfonnance, on the man who haf- 
 tens home, becaufe his countrymxen are contending 
 for their hberty, and, when he reaches the fcene 
 of action, vapours away his patriotifm in a private 
 boarding-fchool. This is the period of his hfe 
 from which all his biographers feem inclined to 
 (brink. They are unwilhng that Milton fliould 
 be degraded to a fchool-mafter ; but, fmce it can- 
 not be denied that he taught boys, one finds out 
 that he taught for nothing, and another that liis 
 motive was only zeal for the propagation of learn- 
 ing and virtue ; and all tell what they do not know 
 to be tiaie, only to excufe an aft which no xrife man 
 will confider as in itfelf difgraceful. His father 
 was alive ; his allowance was not ample ; and he 
 fupplied its deficiences by an honell and ufeful 
 employment. 
 
 It is told that in the art of education he perform- 
 ed wonders ; and, a formidable lift is given of the 
 authors, Greek and Latin, that were read in Al- 
 derfgate-ftreet, by youth between ten and fifteen 
 or fixteen years of age. Thofe who tell or receive 
 thefe ftories fhould confider that nobody can be 
 taught fafter than he can learn. The fpeed of 
 the horfeman muft be limited by the power of his 
 horfe. Ever)'- man, that has ever undertaken to 
 inftrucl others, can tell v/hat flow advances he has 
 been able to make, and how much patience it re- 
 quires to recall vagrant inattention, to ftimulate 
 
 fluggifb
 
 ^uggrfh indifference, and to rectify abfurd mifap- 
 prehenfion. 
 
 The purpofe of Milton, as it feems, was to teach' 
 fomething more foHd than the common Hterature of 
 Schools, by reading thofe authors that treat of 
 phyiical fubjefts ; fuch as the Georgick, and af- 
 tronomical treatifes of the ancients. This was a 
 ibheme of improvement which feems to have bu- 
 lled many literary proje6lors of that age. Cowley, 
 who had more means than Milton of knowing 
 what was wanting to the embellifliments of life, 
 formed the fame plan of education in his imaginary 
 College. 
 
 . But the truth is, that the knowledge of external 
 nature, and the fciences which that knowledge 
 requires or includes, are not the great or the fre- 
 quent bufmefs of the human mind. Whether we 
 provide for atlion or converfation, whether we 
 wifh to be ufeful or pleafmg, the llrfl rcquifite is 
 the religious and moral knowledge of right and 
 wrong; the next is an acquaintance with the hif- 
 tory of mankind, and vnth thofe examples which 
 may be faid to embody truth, and prove by events 
 the reafonablenefs of opinions. Prudence and 
 Juilice are virtues, and excellences, of all times 
 and of all places ; we are perpetually moralifts, 
 but we are geometricians only by chance. Our. 
 iritercourfe with intellectual nature is necelfary ; 
 our fpeculations upon matter are voluntary, and at 
 leifure. Phyfiological learning is of fuch rare 
 emergence, that one man may know another half 
 }^is life, without being able to eilimate his ilcill 
 
 m
 
 9^ MILTOlf. 
 
 in hydroflaticks or aftronomy ; but his moral and 
 prudential character immediately appears. 
 
 Thofe authors, therefore, are to be read at 
 fchools that fupply moil axioms of prudence, moft 
 principles of moral truth, and moft materials for 
 converfation ; and thefe purpofes are bell ferved 
 by poets, orators, and hiftorians. 
 
 Let me not be cenfured for this digrefllon at 
 pedantick or paradoxical ; for if I have Milton 
 againft me, I have Socrates on my fide. It was 
 his labour to turn philofophy from the lludy of 
 nature to fpecidations upon hfe ; but the inno* 
 vators whom I oppofe are turning off attention 
 from life to nature. They feem to think, that we 
 are placed here to watch the growth of plants, or 
 the motions of the liars. Socrates was rather of 
 opinion, that what we had to learn was, how to do 
 good, and avoid eviL 
 
 "Orji Toi iv fiiyupoKrt xixevr' aya6oi\t Tirvxlai, 
 
 Of inftitutions we may judge by their effe6ls. 
 From this wonder-working academy, I do not 
 know that there ever proceeded any man very 
 eminent for knowledge : its only genuine produft, 
 I beheve, is a fmall Hillor)' of Poetiy, written in 
 Latin by his nephew Phihps, of which perhapsr 
 none of my readers has ever heard. 
 
 That in his fchool, as in every thing elfe which 
 he undertook, he laboured with great dihgence^ 
 there is no reafon for doubting. One part of hi» 
 method deferves general imitation. He was care- 
 ful to inftrud liis fcholars in religion. Every 
 
 Sunday
 
 «ILTON. 97 
 
 Sunday was fpent upon theology, of which he die* 
 tated a fhort fyflem, gathered from the writers that 
 were then fafhionable in the Dutch univerfities. 
 
 He fet his pupils an example of hard ftudy and 
 fpare diet ; only now and then he allowed himfelf 
 to pafs a day of fellivity and indulgence with 
 fome gay gentlemen of Gray's Inn. 
 
 He now began to engage in the controveriies 
 of the times, and lent his breath to blow the 
 flames of contention. In i6^i he pubhfhed a 
 treatife of Reformation, in two books, againfl the 
 eftablifhed Church ; being willing to help the Pu- 
 ritans, who were, he fays, inferior to the Prelates in 
 learning. 
 
 Hall bifliop of Norwich had pubhfhed an Hum* 
 hie Remonflrancey in defence of Epifcopacy ; to 
 which, in 1641, fix minillers, of whofe names the 
 firft letters made the celebrated word SmeBymnuus^ 
 gave their Anfwer. Of this anfwer a Confutation 
 was attempted by the learned UJher ; and to the 
 Confutation Milton pubhfhed a Reply, intituled, 
 Of Prelatical Epifcopacy, and whether it way he de- 
 duced from the Apofiolical Times by virtue of thofe 
 testimonies ivhich are alledged to that purpofe in fome 
 late treatifes, one ivhereof goes under the name of 
 jfames Lord Bijhop of Armagh. 
 
 I have tranfcribed this title, to fhew, by his 
 contemptuous mention of Ufher, that he had now 
 adopted the puritanical favagenefs of manners. 
 His next work was, The Reafon of Church Govern^ 
 inent urged against Prelacy by Mr. John Milton, 
 1642. In this book he difcovers, not with often- 
 tatious exultation, but v^^th calm confidence, hit 
 
 Vol. I, I, high
 
 9S MfiLTONir 
 
 high opinion of his own powers ; and promifes tp 
 undertake fomething, he yet knows riot what, that 
 may be of ufe and honour to his countiy, 
 " This,'* fays he, " is not to be obtained but by 
 ** devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit that can 
 ** enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and 
 ** fends out his Seraphim with the hallowed tire, 
 ** of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of 
 '* whom he pleafes. To this muft be added, in- 
 ** duftrious and felect reading. Heady obfervation, 
 ** and infight into all feemly and generous arts and 
 " affairs ; till which in fome m.eafure be eompaft, 
 *' I refufe not to fuilain this expectation." 
 From a promife hke this, at once fen-id, pious, 
 and rational, might be expeftcd the Paradife Lost, 
 He publifhed the fame year two more pamph- 
 lets, upon the fame queftion. To one of his an- 
 tagonills, who afiirms that he was i)omlteflout of the 
 uraverfity, he anfwers, in general terms ; " The 
 *' Fellows of the College wherein I fpent fome 
 ** years, at my pailing, after I had taken two 
 *' degrees, as the manner is, fignified many times 
 *' how much better it would content them that I 
 *' fhould Hay. — As for the common approbation 
 *' or diflike of that place, as now it is, that I 
 " Ihould efteem or difeftcem myfelf the m.ore for 
 " that, too fmipk is the anfwerer, if he think to 
 ** obtain with me. Of fmall pradlice were the 
 ** phyfician who could not judge, by what fhf 
 •* and her filler have of long time vomited, that 
 " the worfer fluff fhe flrongly keeps in her 
 " ftomach, but the better fhe is ever kecking at, 
 ** and is qucafy : fhe vomits now out of ficknefs ; 
 ♦* but before it be well wj^th her, fhe mufl vQmit by
 
 MiLtdft. g§ 
 
 f* ftfong phyfick. — The univerTity, in tlie time of 
 *' her better health, and my younger judgement, 
 *' I never greatly admired, but now muchlefs.'* 
 
 This is furely the language of a man who thinks 
 that he has been injured. He proceeds to defcribe 
 the courfe of his conduft, and the train of his 
 thoughts ; and, becaufe he has been fufpefted of 
 incontinence, gives an account of his own purity r 
 " Thatif I be juftly charged,'' fays he, "with this 
 ** crime, it may come upon me with tenfold Ihame/* 
 
 The ftyle of his piece is rough, and fuch perhaps 
 was that of his antagonift. This roughnefs he 
 juftifies, by great examples, in a long digreffion.' 
 Sometimes he tries to be humorous : " Left I 
 ** (hould take him for fome chaplain in hand, fomc 
 ** fquire of the body to his prelate, one who ferves 
 " not at the altar only but at the Court-cupboard, 
 ** he will beftow on us a pretty model of himfelf ; 
 *' and fets me out half a dozen ptifical mottos, wher- 
 ** ever he had them, hopping fhort in the meafure 
 ^' of convulfion fits ; in which labour the agony 
 ** of his wit having efcaped narrowly, inftead of 
 *' v/ell-fized periods, he greets us with a quantity 
 *' of thumbring pofies. — And thus ends this fec- 
 ^* tion, or rather difre<5lion of himfelf." Such is 
 the controverlial merriment of Milton ; his gloomy 
 ferioufnefs is yet more ofFenfive. Such is his ma- 
 lignity, that hill grows darker at his frown. 
 
 His father, after Reading was taken by Ejfexy 
 came to refide in his houfe ; and his fchool increaf- 
 cd. At Whitfuntide, in his thirty-fifth year, he 
 married Maiy the daughter of Mr. Powel, a juf- 
 tice of the Peace in Oxfordfhire^ He brought her 
 
 I 2 to
 
 loo ftlLTO*. 
 
 to town vath him, and expefted all the advantages 
 of a conjugal life. The lady, however, feems not 
 much to have dehghted in the pleafures of fpare 
 diet and hard ftudy ; for, as Phihps relates, " hav 
 ** ing for a month led a philofophical hfe, after 
 •* having been ufed at home to a great houfc, and 
 '* much company and joviah'ty, her friends, pof- 
 ♦* fibly by her o\vn defire, made earneft fuit to 
 ** have her company the remaining part of the 
 ** fummer ; which was granted, upon a promife 
 <* of her return at Michaelmas.'* 
 
 Milton was too bufy to much mifs his wife ; he 
 purfued his iludies ; and now and then vifited the 
 Lady Margaret Leigh, whom he has mentioned 
 in one of his fonnets. At laft Michaelmas arrived ; 
 but the Lady had no inclination to return to the 
 fullen gloom of her hufband's habitation, and 
 therefore very willingly forgot her promife. He 
 fent her letter, but had no anfwer ; he fent more 
 with the fame fuccefs. It could be alleged that 
 letters mifcarry ; he therefore difpatched a mef- 
 fenger, being by this time too angry to go himfelf. 
 His meffenger was fent back with fome contempt. 
 The family of the Lady were Cavaliers. 
 
 In a man whofe opinion of his own merit was 
 like Milton's, lefs provocation than this might have 
 raifed violent refentment. Milton foon determined 
 to repudiate her for difobedience ; and, being one 
 of thofe who could eafily find arguments to juftify 
 incHnation, pubhfhed (in 1644) The Dodrine and 
 Dlfcipline of Divorce ; which was followed by 
 The Judgement of Martin Bucer^ concerning Di' 
 vorce ; and the next year, his Tetrachordon, Ex^ 
 
 pofitlons
 
 MILTON. lOl 
 
 fofiiions vpoti the four chief Places ofScr'tpture ivhlck 
 tr£at of Marriage, 
 
 This innovation was oppofed, as might be ex- 
 pelled, by the clergy ; who, then holding their 
 famous alTembly at Weftminfter, procured that the 
 author ihould be called before the Lords ; " but 
 ** thatHoufe," fays Wood, " whether approving 
 " the do6lrIne, or not favciiring his accufers, did 
 ** foon difmifs him." 
 
 , There feems not to have been much written 
 againft him, nor any thing by any writer of emi^ 
 nence. The antagoniil that appeared is ftyled by 
 him, a Serving man turned Solicitor, Hoivel in his 
 letters mentions the new doctrine with contempt ; 
 and it was, I fuppofe, thought more worthy of 
 derifion than of confutation. He complains of 
 this negle6t in two fonnets, of which the firfl is 
 contemptible, and the fecond not excellent.. 
 
 From this time it is obfei'ved that he became an 
 enemy to the Prefbyterians,. whom he had favour- 
 ed before. He that changes his party by his hu- 
 mour, is not more virtuous than he that changes it 
 by his interefl ; he loves himfelf rather than truth. 
 
 His wife and her relations now found that Mil- 
 ton was not an unrefifting fufFerer of injuries ; and 
 perceiving that he had begun to put his doctrine 
 in praftice, by courting a young woman of great 
 accomplifliments, the daughter of one Doftor 
 Davis, who was however not ready to comply, 
 they refolved to endeavour a re -union. He went 
 fometimes to the houfe of one Blackborough, his 
 relation, in the lane of St. Martin's-le-Grand, 
 and at one of his ufual vifits was furprifed to isQ 
 , V I ^ his
 
 iOt MILTON. 
 
 his wife come from another room, and implore 
 forgivenefs on her knees. He refilled, her intreaties 
 for a while ; " bat partly," fays Philips, " his 
 " own generous nature, more inclinable to recon- 
 ** cihation than to perfeverance in anger or re- 
 ** venge, and partly the ftrong interceffion of 
 *< friends on both fides, foon brought him to an 
 ** act of obhvion and a firm league of peace." It 
 were injurious to omit, that Milton afterwards re- 
 ceived her father and her brothers in his own houfe, 
 when they were diilreffed, with other Royahfts. 
 
 Hepubliflied about the fame time \iiij4reopagiticaf 
 a Speech of Mr. John Milton ybr the liberty of un- 
 licenfed Printing. The danger of fuch unbounded 
 liberty, and the danger of bounding it, have pro- 
 duced a problem in the fcience of Government, 
 which human underilanding feems hitherto unable 
 to folve. If nothing may be pubhflied but what 
 civil authority ihall have previoully approved, 
 power muft always be the ftandard of truth ; if 
 every dreamer of innovations may propagate his 
 projects, there can be no fettiement ; if every mur- 
 murer at government may diffufe difcontent, there 
 can be no peace ; and if every fceptick in theology 
 may teach his follies, there can be no religion. 
 The remedy againft thefe evils is to punifh the 
 authors ; for it is yet allowed that every fociety 
 may punifh, though not prevent, the pubhcation 
 of opinions, which that fociety fhall think pernici- 
 ous ; but this puniiliment, though it may crufh the 
 author, promotes the book ; and it feems not 
 more reafonable to leave the right of printing un- 
 reilrained, becaufe wTiters may be afterwards cen- 
 
 fured,
 
 MILTON» 103 
 
 fured, than it would be to fleep with doors unbolted 
 becaufe by our laws we can hang a thief. 
 
 But whatever were his engagements, civil or 
 domeftick, poetry was never long out of his 
 thoughts. About this time ( 1 645 ) a colle£lion 
 of his Latin and Enghfh poems appeared, in which 
 the 'y^I/egro and Penferofo, with fome others, were 
 firft pubhihed. 
 
 He had taken a larger houfe in Barbican for the 
 reception of fcholars ; but the numerous relations 
 of his wife, to whom he generoufly granted refuge 
 for a while, occupied his rooms. In time, how- 
 ever, they went away ; " and the houfe again,'' 
 fays Philips, " now looked like a houfe of the 
 ** Mufes only, though the acceflion of fcholars was 
 ** not great. Pofiibly his having proceeded fo 
 '* far in the education of youth, may have been 
 '* the occalion of his adveriaries calling him peda- 
 ** gogue and fchool-mafter ; whereas it is well 
 ** known he never fet up for a publick fchool, to 
 ** teach all the young fiy of a parifh ; but only 
 ** was willing to impart his learning and know- 
 ** ledge to relations, and the fons of gentlemen 
 ** who were his intimate, friends ; and that 
 ** neither his writings nor his way of teaching ever 
 ** favoured intheleail of pedantry." 
 
 Thus laborioufly does his nephew extenuate 
 what cannot be denied, and what might be con- 
 feffed without difgrace. Milton was not a man 
 who could becom.e mean by a mean employment. 
 This, however, his warmeft friends feem not to have 
 found ; they therefore fhift and palhate. He did 
 Bot fell literature to all comers at an open fhop ; he 
 
 was
 
 104 B5tLT9«. 
 
 was a chamber-miHiner, and meafured his comm<^ 
 dities only to his friends. 
 
 Philips, evidently impatient of viewing him in 
 this ftate of degradation, tells us that it was not 
 long continued ; and, to raife his character again, 
 has a mind to inveii him with military fplendour ; 
 " He is much miftaken>" he fays, " if there was 
 *' not about this time a deiign of making him a«j 
 *' adjutant-general in Sir William Waller^s army. 
 " But the new modelling of the army proved an 
 ** obftraction to the defign." An event cannot 
 be fet at a much greater diftance than by having 
 been only dejtgned, about fame time, if a man be not 
 much vujlahen. Milton Ihall be a pedagogue no 
 longer ; for, if Phihps be not much miilaken, 
 fomebody at fome time defigned him for a foldier. 
 
 About the time that the army was new-model- 
 led (16^5) he removed to a fmaller houfe in Hol- 
 bourn, which opened backward into Lincoln's-Inn- 
 Fields. He is not known to have publifhed an/ 
 thing afterwards till the King's death, when, find- 
 ing his miu-derers condemned by the Prefbyterians, 
 he wrote a treatife to juilify it^ and to compofe the 
 minds of the people. 
 
 He made fome Remarks on the Articles of Peace 
 betiveen Ormond and the Ir'i/h Rebels. While he 
 contented himfelf to write, he perhaps did only 
 what his confcience dictated ; and if he did not 
 very vigilantly watch the influence of his own paf- 
 fions, and the gradual prevalence of opinions, Hrft 
 willingly admitted and then habitually indulged, 
 if objections, by being overlooked, were forgotten, 
 and defirc fuperinduced conviction j. he yet fhar'i4 
 
 only
 
 MILTON. 10^ 
 
 •"i only the common weaknefs of mankind, and might 
 
 (I be no lefs fmcere than his opponents. But as fac- 
 
 '! tion feldom leaves a man honeft, however it might 
 
 i| find him, Milton is fufpecled of having interpolat- 
 
 I ed the book called Icon BofiUke, which the Coun- 
 
 I cil of State, to whom he was now made Latin fe- 
 
 cretary, employed him to cenfure, by inferting a 
 
 prayer taken from Sidney's Arcadia, and imputing 
 
 it to the King ; whom he charges, in his Icon' 
 
 ccIasteSi with the ufe of this prayer as with a heavy 
 
 crime, in the indecent language with which pro- 
 
 fperity had emboldened the advocates for rebeUion 
 
 to infult all that is venerable or great : " Who 
 
 ** would have imagined fo little fear in him of the 
 
 ** true all-feeing Deity — as, immediately before 
 
 <* his death, to pop into the hands of the grave 
 
 ** bifliop that attended him, as a fpecial relique of 
 
 ** his faintly exercifes, a prayer llolen word for 
 
 ** word from the mouth of a heathen woman pray- 
 
 •* ing to a heathen god ?" 
 
 The papers which the King gave to Dr. Juxon 
 on the" fcaffold the regicides took away, fo that 
 they were at leall the publifhers of this prayer ; 
 and Dr. Birch, who had examined the queition 
 with great care, was inclined to think them the for- 
 gers. The ufe of it by adaptation was innocent 5 
 and they who could fo noilily cenfure it, with a 
 little extenfion of their malice could contrive what 
 they wanted to accufe. 
 
 King Charles the Second, being now fheltered 
 in Holland, employed Salmafms, profeiTor of Polite 
 Learning at Leyden, to write a defence of his fa- 
 ther and of monarchy ; and, to excite his induftry, 
 
 gave
 
 I06 .MILTGH. 
 
 gave him, as was reported, a hundred Jacobufe^ 
 Sahnafuis was a man of ildll in languag.es, know- 
 ledge of antiquity, and fagacity of emendatory 
 criticifmj almoll exceeding all hope of human at- 
 tainment ; and having, by exceOive praifes, been 
 confirmed in great confidence of himfelf, though 
 he probably had not vAuch confidered the princi- 
 ples of fociety or the rights of government, under- 
 took the employment without diilruil of his own 
 qualifications ; and, as his expedition in writing 
 was wonderful, in 1649 pubHlhed Defenfxo Regis. 
 
 To this Milton was required to write a fuf- 
 ficient anfwer ; which he performed ( 1 65 i ) in 
 fuch a manner, that Hobbes declared himfelf un- 
 able to decide whofe language was beft, or whofe 
 arguments were worft. In my opinion, Milton's 
 periods are fmoother, neater, and more pointed ; 
 but he delights himfelf with teizing his adverfary 
 as much as with confuting him. He makes a 
 foohfh allufion of Salmafius, whofe doftrine he 
 confiders as fervile and unmanly, to the dream of 
 Salmach^ which whoever entered left half his vir^ 
 ility behind him. Salmafius was a Frenchman^ 
 and was unhappily married to a fcold. Tu es Gal- 
 luSf fays Milton, /?/, ut aiunt, nimium galiinaceus. 
 But his fupreme pleafure is to tax his adverfary, fo 
 renowned for criticifm, with vitious Latin. He 
 opens his book with telling that he has ufed 
 Perfonay which, according to Milton, fignifies only 
 a Majhy in a fenfe not known to the Romans, by 
 applying it as we apply Person. But as Nemefis 
 is always on the watch, it is memorable that he has 
 enforced the charge of a folecifm by aji expreffioa 
 
 in
 
 MILTON. 107 
 
 tn itfelf grofsly foleciftieal, when, for one of thofe* 
 fuppofed blunders, he fays, as Ker, and I think 
 feme one before him, has remarked, propino te gram- 
 matntis tuis vapulandum. From vapido, which has a 
 paflive fenfe, vapulandus can never be derived. No 
 man forgets his original trade : the rights of na- 
 tions, and of kings, link into queftions of grammar, 
 if grammarians diCcufs them. 
 
 Milton when he undertook this anfvv^r was weak 
 ©f body, and dim of fight ; but his will was for- 
 ward, and what was wanting of health was fup- 
 plied by zeal. He was rewarded with a thoufand 
 pounds, and his book was much read ; for paradox, 
 recommended by fpirit and elegance, eafily gains 
 attention ; and he vv^ho told every man that he 
 was equal to his King, could hardly want an au- 
 dience. 
 
 ■ ■ "That the performance of Salmafms was not dif- 
 perfed Vv'ith equal rapidity, or read v/ith equal 
 eagernefs, is very credible. He taught only the 
 ftale doftrine of authority, and the unpleafmg duty 
 of fubmifiion ; and he had been^ fo long not only 
 tlie monarch but the tyrant of hterature, that al- 
 Eioft dl mankind were delighted to find him defied 
 and infulted by a new name, not yet confidered as 
 any one's rival. If Chriftina, as is faid, commended 
 the Defence of the People, her purpofe mull be to 
 torment Salmafius, who was then at her Court ; 
 for neither her civil ftation nor her natural charac- 
 ter could difpofe her to favour the doctrine, who 
 was by birth a queen, and by temper defpotick. 
 
 That Salmafius was, from the appearance of Mil- 
 ton's book, treated with negle(^, there is not much 
 
 proofj
 
 ro8 MILTON. 
 
 proof; but to a man fo long accuflomed to ad^ 
 miration, a little praife of his antagonift would be 
 fufficiently offenfive, and might incline him to 
 leave Sweden, from which, however, he was dif- 
 mified, not with any mark of contempt, but with 
 a train of attendance fcarce lefs than regal. 
 
 He prepared a reply, which, left as it was imper- 
 fect, was pubhftied by his fon in the year of the 
 Reftauration. In the beginning, being probably 
 moil in pain for his Latinity, he endeavours to 
 defend his ufe of the word perfona ; but, if I re- 
 member right, he mifles a better authority than any 
 that he has found, that of Juvenal in his fourth- 
 fatire : 
 
 — Quid a^is cum dira & foedior o'mni 
 Criniine Persona eft ? 
 
 As Salmafius reproached Milton with loling his 
 eyes in the quaiTel, Milton delighted himfelf with 
 the behef that he had fhortened Salmafius's life, 
 and both perhaps with more mahgnity than reafon. 
 Salmafms died at the Spa, Sept. 3, 1653 ; and 
 as controvertifts are commonly faid to be killed by 
 their laft difpute, Milton was flattered with the 
 credit of deftroying him. 
 
 Cromwell had now difmifled the parliament by 
 the authority of which he had deftroyed monar* 
 chy, and commenced monarch himfelf, under the 
 title of protedor, but with kingly and more than- 
 kingly power. That his authority was lawful, 
 never was pretended ; hehimfclf founded his right 
 only in neceflity ; but Milton, having now tailed 
 the honey of publick eniployment, would not re- 
 turn
 
 MiLTOff. 109 
 
 turn to hunger and philofophy, but, continuing to 
 €xercifehis office under a manifeft ufurpation, be- 
 trayed to his power that Hberty which he had de- 
 fended. Nothing can be more juft than that re- 
 bellion fliould end in ilavery ; that he, who had 
 juilifled the murder of his king, for fome atls 
 which to him feemed unlawful, fhould now fell 
 his fervices, and his flatteries, to a tyrant, of whom 
 it was evident that he could do nothing lawful. 
 
 He had now been blind for forne years ; but 
 his vigour of intellect was fuch, that he was not 
 difabled to difcharge his office of Latin fecretary, 
 or continue his controverfies. His mind was too 
 eager to be diverted, and too ftrong to be fubdued. 
 
 About this time his firft wife died in childbed, 
 having l-v^ft him three daughters. As he probably 
 did not much love, he did not long continue the 
 appearance of lamenting her ; but after a fliort 
 time married Catherine, the daughter of one cap- 
 tain Woodcock of Hackney ; a woman doubtlefs 
 educated in opinions like his ovvn. She died with- 
 in a year, of childbirth, or fome dillemper that 
 followed it ; and her hu{band has honoured her 
 memory, \vith a poor fonnet* 
 
 The firft Reply to Milton's Defevfio PopuJi was 
 publiihed in 1651, called Apologia pro Rege ^ 
 Populo Anglicano, contra yohanms Polypragmatici 
 (alias M'dtoni) defeufionem destruclzvam Regis ^ 
 PopulL Of this the autiior was not known ; but 
 Milton and his nephew Phihps, under wliofe name 
 he publiffied an anfwer fo much correfted by him 
 that it might be called his own, imputed it to 
 Bramhal ; and, knowing him no friend to re- 
 
 VoL. I. " K gicides.
 
 no MILTON. 
 
 gicides, thought themfelves at liberty to treat him 
 as if they had known what they only fufpefted. 
 
 Next year appeared Regii Sanguinis clamor ad 
 Calum. Of this the author was Peter du Mou- 
 lin, who w^as aftenvards prebendar)' of Canter- 
 bur)' ; but Morus, or More, a French minifler, 
 having the care of its publication, was treated as 
 the winter by Milton in his Defenfio Secu/ida, and 
 overwhelmed by fuch violence of inveftive, that 
 he began to ihrink under the tcmpell, and gave 
 his perfecutors the means of knowing the true 
 author. Du Mouhn was now in great danger; 
 but Milton's pride operated againft his malignity ; 
 and both he and his friends were more willing that 
 Du Moulin fhould efcape than that he fhould be 
 convifted of millake. 
 
 In this fecond Defence he fhews that his elo- 
 quence is not merely fatirical ; the rudeuefs of his 
 invetlive is equalled by the groffnefs of his flat- 
 ter\^ " Deferimur, Cromuelle, tu folus fuperes, 
 ** ad te fumma noftrarum rerum rediit, in te folo 
 " confillit, infuperabih tux virtuti cedimus cunfti, 
 ** nemine vel obloquente, nifi qui aequales inasquahs 
 ** ipfe honores fibi qucerit, aut digniori concefTog 
 *' invidet, aut non intelligit nihil efTe in focietate 
 ** hominum magis vel Deo gratum, vel rationi 
 ** confentaneum, efTe in civitate nihil sequius, nihil 
 ** utihus, Guam potiri rerum digniOimum. Eum te 
 ** agnofcunt omnes, Cromuelle, ca tu civis maxi- 
 " mus et * gloriofiffimus, dux publici confilii, ex- 
 
 *' ercituunx 
 
 *It maybe doubted whether gioriot'Jimut be here tife4 
 
 wit;I\
 
 MILTON. HI 
 
 *^ ercituum fortiiTimorum imperator, pater patriGe 
 " geffiili. Sic tu fpontanea bonorum omnium et 
 " animitus mifTa vocefalutaris.'* 
 
 Caefar, when he affumed the perpetual ditlator- 
 Ihip, had not more fer.nle or more elegant flattery, 
 A tranflation may Ihew its fervihty ; but its ele- 
 gance is lefs attainable. Having expofed the un- 
 ikilfulnefs or felfifnnefs of the fonner government, 
 ** We were left/' fays Milton, " to ourfelves : 
 ** the whole national intereft fell into your hands, 
 ** and fubiills only in your abilities. To your 
 '* virtue, overpowering and refilflefs, every man 
 ** gives way, except fome who, without equal 
 ** qualifications, afpire to equal honours, who en- 
 " vy the diftinclions of merit greater than their 
 ** own, or vvho have yet to learn, that in the coa- 
 ** lition of human fociety nothing is more pleafmg 
 " to God, or more agreeable to reafon, than that 
 ** the highell mind fhould have the fovereign 
 ** power. Such, Sir, are you by general con- 
 " feffion ; fuch are the things atchieved by you, 
 ** the greateft and moll glorious of our country- 
 ** men, the direftor of our publick councils, the 
 ** leader of unconquered armies, the father of your 
 " conntr)^ ; for by that title does eveiy good man 
 *' hail you, with lincere and voluntar)^ praife.*' 
 
 Next year, having defended all that wanted de- 
 fence, he found leifure to defend himfelf. He un- 
 dertook his own vindication againft More, whom 
 
 he 
 
 with Milton's boafted purity. Ees glcriofah an iUviiriout 
 thing; h\xt 'vir gloriofush commonly a braggart, 2,% in miles 
 glcriofiist
 
 I 12 MILTO-V. 
 
 he declares in his title to be juftly called the author 
 oi the Regit Sanguinis clamor. In this there is no 
 want of vehemence nor eloquence, nor does he foi - 
 get his wonted wit. " Moms es ? an Mcmus ? 
 ** an uterque idem eft ?" He then remembers that 
 Morus is Latin for a Mulberry-tree, and hints at 
 the knov/n transformation : 
 
 — Poma alba ferebat 
 Qua poft nigra tuiit Morus. 
 
 With this piece ended his controverTies ; and he 
 from this time gave him.felf up to his private ftudies 
 and his civil employmxent. 
 
 As fecretary to the Protector he is fuppofed to 
 have written the Declaration of the reafons for a 
 war Vvith Spain. His agency was confidered as of 
 great importance ; for when a treaty with Sweden 
 was artfully fufpended, the delay was pubHckly im- 
 puted to Mr. Milton's indifpofition ; and the 
 Swedifh agent was provoked to expreis his wonder, 
 that only one m.an in England could write Latin, 
 and that man bhnd. 
 
 Being now forty-feven years old, and feeing him- 
 felf difencumbered from external interruptions, he 
 feems to have recoUefted his former purpcies, and 
 to have refumed three great works which he had 
 planned for his future employment : an epick 
 poem, the hiftory of his country, and a dictionary 
 of the Latin tongue. 
 
 To collefl; a diftionar}', feems a work of all 
 others leaft prafticable in a ftate of blindntfs, be- 
 caufe it depends upon perpetual and minute infpec- 
 tion and collation. Nor would Milton probably 
 
 have
 
 iWILTOK. 113 
 
 kave begun It, after he had loll his eyes ; but, hav- 
 ing had it always before him, he continued it, fays 
 Philips, almost to bis dying-day ; but the papers tuere 
 fo difrompofed and dejicienty that they could not bs 
 jitted for the tirefs. The compilers of the Latin 
 dictionary, printed at Cambridge, had the ufe of 
 thofe colle6lions in three folios ; but what was 
 tlieir fate afterwards is not known. 
 
 To compile a hiftory from various authors, 
 w^hen they can only be confulted by other eyes, is 
 not eafy, nor poffible, but with more flcilful and at- 
 tentive help than can be commonly obtained ; and 
 it was probably the difficulty of confulting and 
 comparing that flopped Milton's narrative at the 
 Conqueil ; a period at which affairs were not yet 
 very intricate, nor authors very numerous. 
 
 For the fubjedl of his epick poem, after much 
 deliberation, long chujing, and beginning late, he 
 fixed upon Paradife Lost ; a defign fo comprehen- 
 iive, that it could be juilified only by fuccefs* He 
 had once defigned to celebrate King Arthur, as he 
 hints in his verfes to Manfus ; but Arthur ivas re- 
 fervedy fays Fenton, to another destiny. 
 
 It appears, by fome flcetches of poetical projecls 
 left in manufcript, and to be feen in a library at 
 Cambridge, that he had digeiled his thoughts on 
 this fubjeet into one of thofe wild dramas which 
 were anciently called Myfteries ; and Philips had 
 feen what he terms part of a tragedy, beginning 
 with the lirll ten lines of Satan's addrefs to the 
 Sun. Thefe Myfleries confiil of allegorical per- 
 iom : fuch as Justiccy Mej'cy., Faith. Of the tra- 
 gedy
 
 114 
 
 MILTO;^. 
 
 gedy or myfter)' of Paradife Lost there are tvo 
 plans : 
 
 The Perfons. 
 
 The Perfons. 
 
 MichaeL 
 
 Mofes. 
 
 
 Chorus of Angels. 
 
 Divine Juftice, 
 
 Wifdom, 
 
 Heavenly Love. 
 Lucifer. 
 
 Heavenly Love. 
 The Eveninjr Star, Hef, 
 
 Adam, 1 with the Ser- penis. 
 
 Eve, J" pent. Chorus of An;]jcls. 
 
 Confcience. 
 Death. 
 
 Lucifer, 
 Adam. 
 
 
 Labour. 
 
 Eve. 
 
 
 Sicknefs, 
 
 Confcience. 
 
 
 Difcontent, \ Mutes. 
 
 Labour, 
 
 
 Ignorance, 
 with others ; J 
 Faith, 
 Hope. 
 
 Sicknefs, 
 Difcontent, 
 Ignorance, 
 Fear, 
 Death ; 
 
 ' Mutes^ 
 
 Charity, 
 
 
 Faith. 
 Hope. 
 Charltr 
 
 TARJDl^Z LOST. 
 
 Tlie Perfons, 
 
 Mofes, -roc.XcyiX'J recounting how he affumed 
 his true body ; that it corrupts not, becaufe it is 
 with God in the mount ; declares the like of 
 Enoch and Elijah ; befides the purity of the* 
 place, that certain pure winds, dews, and clouds, 
 
 prefer\'C
 
 MILTOhf. 115 
 
 preferve it from corruption ; whence exhorts to 
 the fight of God ; tells, they cannot fee Adam ia 
 the ftate of innocence, by reafon of their fin. 
 
 if * f debating: what fliould become of 
 Mercv, S- r i, r n 
 
 Wifdom, j man,,fhefaU. 
 
 Chonis of Angels fmging a hymn of the Creatioq. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Heavenly Love. 
 Evening Star. 
 
 Chorus fing the marriage-fong, and defcribe Pai"a- 
 dife. 
 
 ACT III, 
 
 Lucifer, contriving Adam's ruin. 
 Chorus fears for Adam, and relates Lucifer's re? 
 bellion and fall. 
 
 ACT iv^ 
 
 Adam, 1 rn 
 
 Eve, j ^^^'"- 
 
 Confcience cites them to God\s examination. 
 
 Chorus bewails, and tells the good Adam has Igftj 
 
 ACT T. 
 
 Adam and Eve driven out of Paradifc, 
 
 r prefented by an angel with 
 
 LabouTi
 
 tlS MILTON. 
 
 Labour, Grief, Hatred, Envy, War,! 
 
 Famine, Peftilence, Sicknefs, Difcon- > Mutes, 
 tent, Ignorance, Fear, Death, J 
 
 To whom he gives their names. Likewife Win- 
 ter, Heat, Tempell, &:c. 
 
 Faith, 1 
 
 Hope, > comfort him, and inftrudl him. 
 
 Charity, J 
 
 Chorus briefly concludes. 
 
 Such was his firft defign, which could have pro- 
 duced only an allegory, or myllery. The follow- 
 ing flcetch feems to have attained more maturity. 
 
 Adam unparadifed : 
 
 The angel Gabriel, either defcending or enter- 
 ing ; fhewing, fince this globe was created, his 
 frequency as much on earth as in heaven j def- 
 cribes Paradile. Next, the Chorus, (hewing the 
 reafon of his coming to keep his watch in Paradife, 
 after Lucifer's rebellion, by command from God ; 
 and withal exprefiing his defire to fee and know 
 more concerning this excellent new creature, man. 
 The angel Gabriel, as by his name fignifying a 
 prince of power, tracing Paradife with a more free 
 office, pafTes by the ilation of the Chorus, and de- 
 fired by them, relates what he knew of man ; as 
 the creation of Eve, with their love and mairiage. 
 After this, Lucifer appears ; after his overthrow, 
 bemoans himfelf, feeks revenge on man. The 
 Chorus, prepare refiiiance at his firft approach. 
 At laft, after difcourfe of enmity on either fide, he 
 
 departs ;
 
 KILTON-. 117 
 
 departs : whereat the Chorus fmgs of the battle 
 and viftory in heaven, againft him and his accom- 
 phces : as before, after the hrft aCt, was fiing a 
 hymn of the creation. Here again may appear 
 Lucifer relating and infulting in what he had done 
 to the deftmftion of man. Man next, and Eve 
 having by this time been feduced by the Serpent, 
 appears confufedly covered with leaves. Confci- 
 ence, in a fhape, accufes him ; Juftice cites him 
 to the place whither Jehovah called for him. In 
 the mean while, the Chorus entertains the ftage, 
 and is informed by fome angel the manner of the 
 Fall. Here the Chorus bewails Adam's fall ; 
 Adam then and Eve return ; accufe one another ; 
 but efpecially Adam lays the blame to his wife ; is 
 ftubborn in his offence. Juftice appears, reafons 
 with him, convinces him. The Chorus ad- 
 monilheth Adam, and bids him beware Lucifer's 
 example of impenitence. The angel is fent to 
 banifh them out of Paradife ; but before caufes ta 
 pafs before his eyes, in ihapes, a mafic of all the 
 evils of this life and world. He is humbled, re- 
 lents, dcfpairs : at laft appears Mercy, comforts 
 him, promifes the MefTiah ; then calls in Faith, 
 Hope, and charity ; inllruAs him ; he repents, 
 gives God the glory, fubmits to his penalty. The 
 Chorus briefly concludes. Compare this with the 
 former draught." 
 
 Thefe are very imperfeft rudiments of Paradise 
 Lost ; but it is pleafant to fee great works in their 
 feminal ftate, pregnant with latent pcfiibihties of 
 excellence ; nor could there be any more delight- 
 ful entertainment than to trace their gradual^rowtH 
 
 an4
 
 Il8 BHLTON. 
 
 and expanfion, and to obferve how they are fome- 
 times fuddenly advanced by accidental hints, and 
 fometimes flowly improved by fleady meditation. 
 
 Invention is almoft the only Hterary labour which 
 bhndnefs cannot obllrutl, and therefore he natural- 
 ly folaced his folitude by the indulgence of his 
 fancy, and the melody of his numbers. He had 
 done what he knew to be neceflarily previous to 
 poeti jal excellence ; he had made himfelf acquaint- 
 ed with y^-ifw/v arts and affairs ; his comprehenlion 
 \ya3 extended by various knowledge, and his me- 
 mory ilored with intelleftual treafures. He was 
 fldlful in many languages, and had by reading and 
 compofition attained the full maftery of his own. 
 He would have vi'anted little help from books, had 
 he retained the power of perufmg them. 
 
 But while his greater defigns were advancing, 
 having now, like many other authors, caught the 
 love of publication, he amufed himfelf, as he could, 
 with little produftions. He fent to the prefs 
 (1658) a manufcript of Raleigh, called the C^- 
 binet Council ; and next year gratified his malevo- 
 lence to the clergy, by a Treat'tfe of Civil Potter in 
 Ecclefiaitical Cafes^ and the Means of removing Hire* 
 lings out of the Church. 
 
 Oliver was now dead ; Richard was conilmined 
 to refign : the fyftcm of extemporary government, 
 Avhich had been held together only by force, na- 
 turally fell into fragments when that force was 
 taken away ; and Milton faw himfelf and his caufc 
 in equal danger. But he had Hill hope of doing 
 fomething. He wrote letters, which Toland has 
 pubhfhed, to fuch men as he thought friends to 
 
 the
 
 MILTON. Hg 
 
 \e new commonwealth ; and even in the year of 
 ; Reiloration he bated no joi of heart or hope, but 
 was fantaftical enough to think that the nation, 
 agitated as it was, might be fettled by a pamphlet, 
 called A ready and eajy nvay to ejiahluh a Free Com- 
 moniuealth ; which was, however, enough confider- 
 ed to be both ferioufly and ludicroufly anfwered. 
 
 The obftinate enthufiafm of the commonwealth- 
 men was very remarkable. When the King was 
 apparently returning, Harrington, with a few af- 
 fociates as fanatical as himfelf, ufed to meet, v^ath 
 all the gravity of political importance, to fettle an 
 equal government by rotation ; and Milton, kicking 
 when he could llrike no longer, was foolifli enough 
 to pubhfh, a few weeks before the Reiloration, 
 Notes upon a fermon preached by one Griffiths^, 
 intituled, The Fear of God and the King, To 
 thefe notes an anfwer was written by L'Ellrange, 
 in a pamphlet petulantly called No blind Guides, 
 
 But whatever Milton could write, or men of 
 greater aftivity could do, the King was now about 
 to be reftcred with the irrefiftible approbation of 
 the people. He was therefore no longer fecretaiy, 
 and was confequently obliged to quit the houfe 
 which he held by his office ; and proportioning his 
 fenfe of danger to his opinion of the importance of 
 his writings, thought it convenient to feek fome 
 flielter, and hid himfelf for a time in Bartholom.ew-. 
 Clofe by Weft Smith-field. 
 
 I cannot but remark a kind of refpeft, per- 
 haps unconfcicufly, paid to this great man by hig 
 biographers ; every houfe in which he refided is 
 hiflorically mentioned, as if it were an injury tq 
 
 pegledt
 
 120 MILTON*. 
 
 negletl naming any place that he honoured by his 
 prefence. 
 
 The King, with lenity of which the world has 
 had perhaps no other example, declined to be the 
 judge or avenger of his own or his father's wrongs ; 
 and promifed to admit into the Act of ObHvion all, 
 except thofe whom the parliament fhould except ; 
 and the parliament doomed none to capital punifli- 
 ment but the wretches who had immediately co- 
 operated in the murder of the King. Milton was 
 certainly not one of them ; he had only juilified 
 what they had done. 
 
 This juftiiication was indeed fufRciently ofTen" 
 five ; and (June i6) an order was iffued to feize 
 Milton's Defence, and Goodwin's Obstructors of 
 Justice, another book of the fame tendency, and 
 bum them by the common hangman. The at- 
 torney-general was ordered to profecute the 
 authors ; but Milton was not feized, nor perhaps 
 very diligently purfued. 
 
 Not long after (Auguft 19) the flutter of in- 
 numerable bofoms was Hilled by an acl, which the 
 King, that his mercy might want no recommenda- 
 tion of elegance, rather called an act of oblivion 
 than of grace. Goodwin was named, with nine- 
 teen more, as incapacitated for any pubhck ti-uil ; 
 but of Milton there was no exception. 
 
 Of this tendernefs (hewn to Milton, the curiofi- 
 ty of mankind has not forbom to enquire the rea- 
 fon. Burnet thinks he was forgotten ; but this 
 is another inftance which may confirm Dalrymple's 
 obfervation, who fays, " that whenever Bur- 
 
 « net',5
 
 MILTON. 12 r 
 
 ** net's narrations are examined, he appears to b'ff 
 " miilaken." 
 
 Forgotten he was not ; for his profecution was 
 ordered ; it muil be therefore by defign that h^- 
 xsras inchided in the general obhvion. He is faid 
 to have had friends in the Houfe, fuch as Marvel, 
 Morrice, and Sir Thomas Ciarges j and undoubt- 
 edly a man like him muft have had influence. A 
 very particular ftory of his efcape is told by Rich- 
 ardfon in his Memoirs, which he received from 
 Pope, as delivered by Betterton, who might have 
 heard it from Davenant. In the war between the 
 King and Parliament, Davenant was made prifon- 
 er, and condemned to die ; but was fpared at the 
 requeil of Milton. When the turn of fuccefs 
 brought Milton into the like danger, Davenant re- 
 paid the benefit by appearing in his favour. Here 
 is a reciprocation of generofity and gratitude fo 
 pleafmg, that the tale makes its ov^ii way to credit^ 
 But if help were wanted, I know not where to find 
 it. The danger of Davenant is certain from his 
 own relation ; but of his efcape there is no ac- 
 count. Betterton's narration can be traced no 
 higher ; it is not known that he had it from Da 
 Tenant. We are told that the benefit exchanged 
 v>^s life for life j but it feems not certain that Mil- 
 ton's life ever was in danger. Goodwin, who had 
 committed the fam.e kind of crime, efcaped with 
 incapacitation ; and as exclufion from publick 
 tfuft is a punifhment which the power of govern- 
 ment can commonly infli6l without the help of a 
 particular law, it required no great interell to ex- 
 empt Milton from a cenfure little more than ver- 
 VoL. I. JL bale
 
 112 MILTON. 
 
 bal. Something may be reafonably afcribed to 
 veneration and compaflion ; to veneration for hii 
 abilities, and compaffion for his diilrefTes, which 
 made it fit to forcrive his malice for his learning'. 
 He was now poor and blind ; and who vrould 
 purfue with violence an illuilrious enemy, depref- 
 fed by fortune, and disarmed by nature ? 
 
 The publication of the aft of obhvion put h'm 
 in the fame condition with his fellow-fubjects. Pic 
 was, however, upon fome pretence not novr 
 known, in the cuftody of the ferjeant in December ; 
 and, when he was releafed, upon his refufal of the 
 fees demanded, he and the ferjeant were called be- 
 fore the Houfe. He was now fafe within the fhade 
 of oblivion, and knew himfelf to be as much out 
 of the power of a griping officer as any other man. 
 How the queftion was determined is not known. 
 Milton would hardly have contended, but that he 
 knew himfelf to have right on his fide. 
 
 He then removed to Jewin-fti'eet, near Alderf- 
 gate-ftreet ; and being blind, and by no means 
 V'ealthy, wanted a domeftick companion and at- 
 tendant ; and therefore, by the recommendation 
 of Dr. Paget, mamed Ehzabeth Minlhul, of a 
 gentleman's family in ChePaire, probably without a 
 fortune. All his wives were virgins ; for he has 
 declared that he thought it grofs and indelicate to 
 be a fecond hufband : upon what other principles 
 his choice was made, cannot now be known but 
 marriage afforded not much of his happinefs. The 
 firfl wife left him in difguft, and was brought back 
 only by terror ; the fecond, indeed, feems to have 
 been mort a favourite, but her life was fhoit. 
 
 Thfi
 
 MItTON. 12J 
 
 The third, as Philips relates, oppreHecl his chil- 
 dren in his hfe-time and cheated them at his death. 
 
 Soon after his marriage, according to an obfcure 
 ttory, he was offered the continuance of his em- 
 ployment ; and, being prelTed by his wife to ac- 
 cept it, anfwered, " You, like other women, want 
 *' to ride in your coach ; my wifli is to live and 
 *• die an honeft man." If he confidered the La- 
 tin fecretary as exercifnig any of the powers of 
 government, he that had fiiared authority either 
 V. ith the parliament or Cromwell, might have for- 
 born to talk veiy loudly of his honelly ; and if he 
 thought the office purely minifterial, he certainly 
 might have honeftly retained it under the king. 
 But this tale has too little evidence to deferve a 
 difquifition ; large offers and fturdy reje(?tions are 
 among the moll comm.on topicks of falsehood. 
 
 He had fo much either of prudence or grati- 
 tude, that he forbore to difturb the new fettlement 
 with any of his political or eccleiiaflical opinions, 
 and from this time devoted himfelf to poetry and 
 literature. Of his zeal for learning in all its parts, 
 he gave a proof by publifliing, the next year 
 (1661,) Accidence commenced Grammar -^ a little 
 book which has nothing remarkable, but that its 
 author, who had been lately defending the fupreme 
 powers of his country, and was then writing Para^ 
 dife Lofl, could defcend from his elevation to 
 icfcue children from the perplexity of grammatical 
 confufion, and the trouble of leflons unneceflarily 
 repeated. 
 
 About this time EKvood the quaker, being re- 
 commended to him as one who would read Latin 
 L 2 tQ
 
 124 MILTON, 
 
 to him, for the advantage of his convcrfation ; 
 attended him every afternoon, except on Sunday?. 
 Milton, who, in his letter to Harthb, had declared, 
 that to read Latin ivith an EngUJlj mouth is as ill a 
 hearing as Laiv French^ required that El\vo(^d 
 flioald learn and pra6life the Itahan pronunciation 
 which, he faid, was necefTary, if he would talk with, 
 foreigners. This feems to have been a talk trou- 
 blefome without ufe. There is no reafon for pre- 
 ferring the Italian pronunciation to our own, except 
 that it is more general ; and to teach it to an Eng- 
 lifliman is only to make him a foreigner at home. He 
 who travels, if he fpeaks Latin, may fo foon learn 
 the founds which every native gives it, that he need 
 make no pro vifion before his journey ; andif ftrangers 
 vifit us, it is their bufmefs to pra6life fuch conformity 
 to our modes as they expect from us in their own 
 countries. Elwood complied with the directions, 
 and improved himfelf by his attendance ; for he re- 
 lates, that Milton, having a curious ear, knew by his 
 voice when he read what he did not underftand, and 
 would Hop him, and open the most difficuh pajfages. 
 
 In a fliort time he took a houfe in the Artillery 
 Walk, leading to Bunh'ill Fields ; the mention of 
 wliich concludes the regiller of Milton's removals 
 and habitations. He hved longer in this place 
 than in any other. 
 
 He was now buhed by Paradife Lojl. ^Vhence 
 he drew by original defign has been varioufly con- 
 je6lured, by men who cannot bear to think them- 
 felves ignorant of that which, at laft, neither dili- 
 g'ence nor fagacity can difcover. Some find the 
 hint in an Italian tragedy. Voltaire tells a wild 
 
 and
 
 MILTON. 125 
 
 ^nd unautliorlfcd floiy of a farce feen by Milton in 
 Italy, which opened thus: Let the Rainhonv he the 
 Fiddlestick of the Fiddle of Heaven. It has been 
 already fhewn, that the firit conception was a tra- 
 gedy or myilery, not of a narrative, but a dramatick 
 work, which he is fuppoled to have begun to reduce 
 to its prefent form about the time ( 1655 ) when he 
 linilhed his difpute with the defenders of the king. 
 
 He long before had promifed to adorn his native 
 country by fome great performance, while he had 
 yet perhaps no fettled defign, and was flimulated 
 only by fuch expeftations as naturally arofe from the 
 furvey of his attainments and the confcioufnefs of his 
 powers. What he fliould undertake, it was difficult 
 to determine. He was long chufing and began late* 
 
 While he v^-as obliged to divide his time be- 
 tween his private ftudies and affairs of ilate, his 
 poetical labour mull have been often interrupt- 
 ed ; and perhaps he did little more in that bufy 
 time than conitru6l the narrative, adjuft the epi- 
 fodes, proportion the parts, accumulate images 
 and fentiments, and treafure in his memory, or 
 preferve in vmting, fuch hints as books or medi- 
 tation would fupply. Nothing particular is 
 known of his intellettual operations while he was 
 a ftatefman ; for, having every help and accom- 
 modation at hand, he had no need of uncommon 
 txpedierits. 
 
 Being driven from all publick ftations, he is yet 
 too great not to be traced by curiohty to his re- 
 tirement ; where he has been found by Mr. Rich- 
 ardfon, the fondelt of his admirers, htting before 
 iiii door in a grey coat of coarfe cloth j in warmjultry 
 L 3 weather i
 
 125 MILTON. 
 
 *weather, to enjoy the freJJ: air ; and Jo y as ivell as In 
 his oivn room receiving the 'v'tfits of people of diflin- 
 guijhed parts as well as quality. His vilitors of liigK 
 quality mull now be imagined to be few ; but 
 men of parts might reafonably court the converfa- 
 tion of a man (o generally illuftrious, that foreign- 
 ers are reported, by Wood, to have vifited the 
 houie in Bread-fti'eet where he was bom. 
 
 According to another account, he was feen m 
 a fmall houfe, neatly enough drejfed in black cloaths. 
 Jilting in a room hung ivith rujiy green ; pale but not 
 cadaverous, ivith chalkstones in his hands. He faid, 
 that if it 'Were not for the gout, his hJindnefs would 
 be tolerable. 
 
 In the inteiTals of his pain, being made unable 
 to ufe the common exercifes, he ufed to fwing in 
 a chair, and fometimes played upon an organ. 
 
 He was now confeffedly and vifibly employed 
 upon his poem, of which the progrefs might be 
 noted by thofe with whom he was familiar ; for 
 he was obliged, when he had compofed as many 
 lines as his, memory would conveniently retain, to 
 employ fome friend in writing them, having, at 
 leall for part of the time, no regular attendant. 
 This gave opportunity to obfervations and reports. 
 
 Mr. Philips oblerves, that there was a very re- 
 markable circumllance in the compofure of Pa- 
 radife Lost, " which I have a particular reafon,'* 
 fay J he, " to remember ; for whereas I had the 
 •' perufal of it from the veiy beginning, for fome 
 ♦* years, as I went from time to time to vilit him, 
 f* in parcels of ten, twenty, or thirty veiies at a 
 ♦* ;iir>e (which, being written by whatever hand 
 
 *^ came
 
 MiLTor-r. 127 
 
 >'■ came next, might poflibly want correction as to 
 "' the orthography and pointing), having as the 
 *' fummer came on, not been fhewed any for a 
 "• conliderable while, and defiring the reafon there- 
 *' of, was anfwered, that his vein never happily 
 *' flowed but from the Autumnal Equinox to the 
 ** Vernal ; and that whatever he attempted at 
 *' other times was never to his fatisfaftion, though 
 ** he courted his fancy never fo much ; fo that, 
 ** in all the years he was about this poem, he may 
 •* be faid to have fpent half his time therein.'' 
 
 Upon this relation Toland remarks, that in his 
 opinion Philips has miflaken the time of the year f 
 for Milton, in his Elegies, declares that with the 
 advance of the Spring he feels the increafe of his 
 poetical force, redeunt in carmina vires. To this 
 it is anfwered, that Philips could hardly miftake 
 time fo well marked ; and it may be added, that 
 Milton might find different times in the year fa- 
 vourable to different parts of life. Mr. Richard- 
 fon conceives it impoflible that fuch a <work should 
 be fufpended for Jix months , or for one. It may go 
 on faster or Jloiver, but it must go on. By what 
 neccflity it muft continually go on, or why it might 
 not be laid afide and refumed, it is noi: eafy to 
 difcover. 
 
 This dependance of the foul upon the feafons, 
 thofe temporary and periodical ebbs and flows of 
 intelleft, may, I fuppofe, juftly be derided as the 
 fumes of vain imagination. Sapiens dominabitur 
 astris. The author that thinks himfelf weather- 
 bound will find, with a little help from hellebore, 
 that he is only idle or exhaufted, jBut while this 
 
 notioa
 
 I2S MILTON. 
 
 notion has poflelTion of the head, it producss the 
 inabihty which it fuppofes. Our powers owe 
 much of their energy to our hopes ; pojfunt quia 
 pojfe 'videnttir. When fuccefs feems attainable, di- 
 ligence is enforced ; but when it is admitted that 
 the faculties are fuppreffed by a crofs wind, or a 
 cloudy flcy, the day is given up without refift- 
 ance ; for who can contend with the coiurfe of 
 Nature ? 
 
 From fuch prepofTeffions Milton feems not to 
 have been free. There prevailed in his tim.e an 
 opinion that the world was in its decay, and that 
 we have had the misfortune to be produced in the 
 decrepitude of Nature. It was fuipected that the 
 whole creation languifhed, that neither trees nor 
 animals had the height or bulk of their predecef- 
 fors, and that ever)^ thing was daily fmking by 
 gradual diminution. Milton appears to fufpe<3: 
 that fouls partake of the general degeneracy, and 
 is not without fome fear that his book is to be 
 written in an age too late for heroick poefy. 
 
 Another opinion wanders about the world, and 
 fometimes finds reception among wife men ; an 
 opinion that reftrains the operations of the mind to 
 particular regions, and fuppofes that a lucklefs 
 mortal may be born in a degree of latitude too high 
 or too low for v/ifdom or for wit. From this 
 fancy, wild as it is, he had not wholly cleared his 
 head, when he feared left the climate of his country 
 jnight be too cold for flights of imagination. 
 
 Into a mind aheady occupied by fuch fancies, 
 another not more reafonable might eafily find its 
 way. He that could fear left hi? genius had fal- 
 
 lea
 
 MILTON. 129 
 
 Icn Upon too old a world, or too chill a climate, 
 might conliftently magnify to himfelf the influence 
 of the fcafons, and believe his faculties to be vi- 
 gorous only half the year. 
 
 His fubmiflion to the feafons, was at leafl more 
 reafonable than his dread of decaying Nature, or a 
 frigid zone ; for general caufes muft operate uni- 
 formly in a general abatement of mental power ; if 
 lefs could be performed by the writer, lefs likewife 
 would content the judges of his work. Among 
 this lagging race of froity grovellers he might ftill 
 have rifen into eminence by producing fomething 
 which they Jhould not will'wgly let die. However in- 
 ferior to the heroes who were born in better ages, 
 he might ftill be great among his contemporaries, 
 with the hope of grov/ing every day greater in 
 the dwindle of pofterity. He might ftill be the 
 giant of the pygmies, the one-eyed monarch of 
 the Mind. 
 
 Of his artifices of ftudy, or particular hours of 
 compofition, we have httle account, and there was 
 perhaps little to be told. Richardfon, who feems 
 to have been very diligent in his enquiries, but dif- 
 covers always a wifti to find Milton difcriminated 
 from other men, relates, that " he would fome- 
 *' times lie awake whole nights, but not a verfe 
 ** could he make ; and on a fudden his poetical 
 *■'■ faculty would rufh upon him with an impetus or 
 ** astrumy and his daughter was immediately called 
 ** to fecure what came. At other times he w^ould 
 ** diclate perhaps forty lines in a breath, and then 
 ^' reduce them to half the number." 
 
 Thefe burfts of light, and involutions of dark- 
 
 nefs :
 
 l^o b:ilton. 
 
 nefs ; t'hefe tranfient and involuntary fxcurlions an-i 
 retroceilions of invention, having fome appearance 
 of deviation from the common train of Nature, 
 are eagerly caught by the lovers of a wonder. Yet 
 fomething of this inequality happens to every man 
 in every mode of exertion, manual or mental. The 
 mechanick cannot handle his hammer and his file 
 at all times with equal dexterity ; there are hours, 
 he knows not why, when his hand is out. By Mr. 
 Richardfon's relation cafually conveyed, much re- 
 gard cannot be claimed. That, in his intellectual 
 hour, Milton called for his daughter to fecure 
 <what came, may be queftioned ; for unluckily it 
 happens to be known that his daughters were never 
 taught to vTite ; nor would he have been obliged, 
 as is univerfally confeffed, to have employed any 
 cafual vifiter in difburthening his memory, if hit 
 daughter could have performed the of&ce. 
 
 The ftory of reducing his exuberance has been 
 told of other authors, and, though doubtlefs true 
 of every fertile and copious mind, feems to have 
 been gratuitoufly transfen-ed to Milton. 
 
 What he has told us, and we cannot now know 
 more, is, that he compofed much of his poem in 
 the night and morning, I fuppofe before his mind 
 was diflurbed with common bufmefs ; and that he 
 poured out wvCn great fluency his unpremeditated 
 'verfe. Verfification, free, hke his, from the dif- 
 trefTes of rhyme, mull, by a work fo long, be made 
 prompt and habitual ; and, when his thoughts 
 were once adjulted, the words would come at his 
 command. 
 
 At what particular times of his life the parts of 
 
 his
 
 MILTON. 13^ 
 
 his work were written, cannot often be known. 
 The beginning of the third book (hews that he 
 had loil his fight ; and the IntroduAion to the 
 feventh, that the return of the King had clouded 
 him with difcountenance ; and that he was offended 
 by the hcentious feftivity of the Reftoration. 
 There are no other internal notes of time. 
 Milton, being now cleared from all effefts of his 
 difloyalty, had nothing required from him but the 
 common duty of living in quiet, to be rewarded 
 with the common right of prote£lion : but this, 
 which, when he fculked from the approach of the 
 King, was perhaps more than he hoped, feems not 
 to have fatisfied him ; for no fooner is he fafe, than 
 he finds himfelf in danger, fallen on einl days and 
 evil tongues y and tuith darknefs and ivlth danger 
 compafs^ d round. This darknefs, had his eyes been 
 better employed, had undoubtedly deferved com- 
 paflion : but to add the mention of danger was 
 ungrateful and unjuft. He was fallen indeed on 
 ev'd days ; the time was come in which regicides 
 could no longer boaft their wickednefs. But of 
 evil tongues for Milton to complain, required im- 
 pudence at leafl equal to his other powers ; Milton, 
 \vhofe warmeft advocates mull allow, that he never 
 fpared any afperity of reproach or brutality of 
 infolence. 
 
 But the charge itfelf feems to be falfe ; for it 
 would be hard to recolleft any reproach call upon 
 him, either ferious or ludicrous, through the whole 
 remaining part of his hfe. He purfued his fludies, 
 or his amufements, without perfecution, molellation, 
 or infult. Such i§ the reverence paid to great 
 
 ^bilities;^
 
 i^l MILTON. 
 
 abilities, however mifufed : they who contemplated 
 in Milton the fcholar and the wit, were contented 
 to forget the re^^ler of his King. 
 
 When the plague (1665) raged in London, 
 Milton took refuge at Chalfont in Bucks ; where 
 Elwood, who had taken the houfe for him, firll 
 faw a complete copy of Paradife Lojiy and, having 
 perufed it, faid to him, " Thou haft faid a great 
 " deal upon Paradife Lojl ; what haft thou to fay 
 ^* upon Paradife Found?'* 
 
 Next year, when the danger of infeftion had 
 -ceafed, he returned to Bunhill- fields, and deiigned 
 the publication of his poem. A hcenfe was ne- 
 ceffaiy, and he could expecl no great kindnefs 
 from a chaplain of the arcbbifliop of Canterbur)\ 
 He feems, however, to have been treated with 
 tendernefs ; for though objections were made to 
 particular paffages, and among them to the fimile 
 of the fun eclipfed in the tii-ft book, yet the hcenfe 
 was granted; and he fold his copy, April 27, 
 1667, to Samuel Simmons, for an immediate pay- 
 ment of five pounds, with a ftipulation to receive 
 five pounds more when thirteen hundred fhould 
 be fold of the firft edition : and again, five pounds 
 after the fale of the fame number of the fecond 
 edition ; and another five pounds after the fame 
 fale of the third. None of the three editions were 
 to be extended beyond fifteen hundred copies. 
 
 The firft edition was ten books, in a fmall quarto. 
 
 The titles were varied from year to year ; and an' 
 
 advertilement and the arguments of the books were 
 
 omitted in fome copies, and inferted in others. 
 
 Th€ fale gave hina in two years a right to his 
 
 fecondr
 
 MlLTONr t^jf 
 
 fecond payment, for which the receipt was figned 
 April 26, 1669. The fecond edition was not 
 given till 1674 ; ^^ "^^^ printed in fmall o6lavo ^ 
 and the number of books was increafed to twelve, 
 by a divilion of the feventh and twelfth ; and fome 
 other fmall improvements were made. The third 
 edition was publifhed in 1678 ; and the widow, 
 to whom the copy was then to devolve, fold all 
 her claims to Simmons for eight pounds^ accord- 
 ing to her receipt given Dec. 21, 1680, Sim- 
 mons had already agreed ta transfer the whole right 
 to Brabazon Aylmer for twenty-five pounds ; and 
 Aylmer fold to Jacob Tonfon half, Auguft 17, 
 1683, and half, March 24, 1690, at a price con- 
 fiderably enlarged. In the hiftory of Paradife 
 Loft a deduftion thus minute will rather gratify 
 than fatigue. 
 
 The (low fale and tardy reputation of this poem 
 have been always mentioned as evidences of neg- 
 teAed merit, and of the uncertainty of literary 
 fame ; and enquiries have been made, and conjec- 
 tures offered, about the caufes of its long obfcurity 
 and late reception. But has the cafe been truly 
 Sated ? Have not lamentation and wonder been 
 laviftied on an evil that was never felt ? 
 
 That in the reigns of Charles and James the. 
 Paradife Loft received no publick acclamations, ia 
 readily confeffed. Wit and literature were on the"- 
 fide of the Court : and who that folicited favour 
 or fafhion would venture to praife the defender of 
 the regicides ? All that he himfelf could think hia 
 due, from evil tongues in evil days, was that reve- 
 rential filence which was gencraufly prefen^ed. 
 Vol, I, M • But.
 
 i34 MILTOV. 
 
 But it cannot be inferred that his poem was not 
 read, or not, however unwillingly, admired. 
 
 The fale, if it be coniidered, will juftify the 
 pubhck. Thofe who have no power to judge of 
 pall times but by their own, fhould always doubt 
 their conclufions. The call for books was not in 
 Milton's age what it is in the prefent. To read 
 was not then a general amufement ; neither traders, 
 nor often gentlemen, thought themfelves difgraced 
 by ignorance. The women had not then afpired 
 to literature, nor was every houfe fupplied with a 
 clofet of knowledge. Tliofe, indeed, who pro- 
 feffed learning, were not lefs learned than at any 
 other time ; but of that middle race of ftudents 
 who read for pleafure or accomphlhment, and who 
 buy the numerous produ6ls of modern typography, 
 the number was then comparatively fmall. To 
 prove the paucity of readers, it may be fufiicient to 
 remark, that the nation had been fatisiied, from 
 1623 to 1664, that is, forty-one years, with only 
 two editions of the works of Shakfpeare, which 
 probably did not together make one thoufand 
 copies. 
 
 The fale of thirteen hundred copies in two 
 years, in oppofition to fo much recent enmity, 
 and to a ftyle of verfification new to all and dif- 
 gufting to many, was an uncommon example 
 of the prevalence of genius. The demand did net 
 immediately increafe ; for many more readers than 
 were fupplied at fii-ft the nation did not afford. 
 Only three thoufand were fold in eleven years ; for 
 it forced its way without afiiilance : its admirers 
 did not dare to pubhlh their opinion j and the 
 
 oppor-
 
 Oppoitunities now given of attra^ling notice by 
 advertifements were then very few ; the means of 
 proclaiming the pubhcation of new books have 
 been produced by that general literature which now 
 pervades the nation through all its ranks. 
 
 But the reputation and price of the copy ftill 
 advanced, till the Revolution put an end to the 
 fecrecy of love, and Paradife Loji broke into open 
 view with fufficient fecurity of kind reception. 
 
 Fancy can hardly forbear to conjefture with 
 what temper Milton furveyed the filent progrefs of 
 his work, and marked his reputation dealing its 
 way in a kind of fubterraneous cuiTent through fear 
 and filence. I cannot but conceive him calm and 
 confident, little difappointed, not at all dejefted, 
 relying on his own merit with fteady confciouf- 
 nefs, and waiting, without impatience, the vicif- 
 fitudes of opinion, and the impartiality of a future 
 generation. 
 
 In the mean time he continued his fludies, and 
 fupplied the want of fight by a very odd expedi- 
 ent, of which Philips gives the following account : 
 
 Mr. Philips tells us, " that though our author 
 ** had daily about him one or other to read, fome 
 ** perfons of man's eftate, who, of their own ac- 
 ** cord, greedily catched at the opportunity of 
 " being his readers, that they might as well reap 
 ** the benefit of what they read to him, as oblige 
 ** him by the benefit of their reading ; and others 
 *' of younger years were fent by their parents to 
 " the fame end : yet excufing only the eldeit 
 ** daughter, by reafon of her bodily infirmity, and 
 *' difficult utterance of fpeech, (which, to fay 
 M 2 " truth.
 
 136 MILTOK. 
 
 ** trutK, I doubt was the principal caufe of excuf- 
 *' ing her), the other two were condemned to the 
 *' performance of reading, and exactly pronouncing 
 ** of all the languages of whatever book he fnould, 
 *' at one time or other, think fit to perufe, viz. 
 " the Hebrew (and I think the Syriac), the 
 *< Greek, the Latin, the Italian, Spanifh, and 
 ** French. All which forts of books to be con- 
 ** fined to read, without underftanding one word, 
 *' muft needs, be a trial of patience almoft beyond 
 *' endurance. Yet it was endured by both for a 
 ** long time, though the irkfomenefs of this em- 
 *' ployment could not be always concealed, but 
 *' broke out more and more into exprefiions of 
 ** uneafinefs ; fo that at length they were all, even 
 *' the eldeft alfo, fent out to learn fome curious and 
 ** ingenious forts of manufaflure, that are proper 
 •* for women to learn; particularly embroideries in 
 *« gold or filver,'' 
 
 In the fcene of mifery which this mode of in- 
 telledual labour fets before our eyes, it is bard to 
 determine whether the daughters or the father are 
 moil to be lamented. A language not underftood 
 can never be fo read as to give pleafure, and very 
 feldom fo as to convey meaning. If few men 
 xvould have had refolution to write books with fuch 
 cmbarraifments, few hkewife would have wanted 
 ability to find fome better expedient. 
 
 Three years after his Parad'ife Lo/I, ( 1667,) he 
 pubHlhed his Hylory of England^ comprinng the 
 whole fable of Geoffry of Monmouth, and con- 
 tinued to the Norman invafion. Why he fliould 
 have given the firil part, which he feems not to 
 
 believe,
 
 Milton. 137 
 
 believe, and which is univerfally rejefted, it is dif- 
 ficult to conjetlure. The llyle is harfh ; but it has 
 fomething of rough vigour, which perhaps may 
 often ftrike, though it cannot pleafe. 
 
 On this hiilory the Hcenfer again fixed his claws, 
 and before he would tranfmit it to the prefs tore out 
 feveral parts. Some cenfures of the Saxon monks 
 were taken away, left they ihould be applied to 
 the modern clergy ; and a character of the Long 
 Parliament, and Alfembly pf Divines, was exclud- 
 ed ; of which the author gave a copy to the earl 
 of Anglefea, and which, being afterwards pubhih- 
 ed, has been fince inferted in its proper place. 
 
 The fame year were printed Paradije Regained^ 
 and Sampfon Agonijlesy a tragedy written in imita- 
 tion of the Ancients, and never defigned by the 
 author for the ftage. As thefe poems were pub- 
 lifhed by another bookfeller, it has been aiiced, 
 whether Simmons was difcouraged from receiving 
 them by the flow fale of the former. Why a 
 wTiter changed his bookfeller a hundred years 
 ago, I am far from hoping to difcover. Certainly, 
 he who in two years fells thirteen hundred copies 
 of a volume in quarto, bought for two payments 
 of five pounds each, has no reafon to repent his 
 purchafe. 
 
 When Milton {hewed Paradife Regained to El- 
 wood, " This,*' faid he, " is owing to you ; for 
 '* you put it in my head by the queftion you put 
 *' to me at Chalfont, which otherwife I had not 
 " thought of." 
 
 Plis laft poetical offspring was his favourite. He 
 
 could not, as Elwood relates, endure to hear Para- 
 
 M3 d'J-^
 
 238 MILTON'. 
 
 Sse Loji preferred to Paradife Regained, Many 
 caufes may vitiate a writer's judgment of his own 
 works. On that which has coil him much labour 
 he fets a high vahie, becaufe he is unwilhng to 
 think that he has been dihgent in vain ; what has 
 been produced without toillome efforts is confidered 
 with dehght, as a proof of vigorous faculties and 
 fertile invention ; and the laft work, whatever it 
 be, has neceffarily moft of the grace of novelty. 
 Milton, however it happened, had this prejudice, 
 and had it to himfelf. 
 
 To that multiplicity of attainments, and extent of 
 comprehenfion, that entitle this great author to our 
 veneration, maybe added a kind of humble dignity, 
 which did not difdain the meaneft fervices to litera- 
 ture. The epic poet, the controveitiit, the poli- 
 tician, having already defcended to accommodate 
 children with a book of rudiments, now, in the 
 laft years of his hfe, compofed a book of -Logick, 
 for the initiation of ftudents in philofophy : and 
 publifhed (1672) Ait'u Logics phnlor InJ}'itutio ad 
 Petri Rami methodum concinnata ; that is, " A new 
 *' Scheme of Logick, according to the Method 
 ** of Ramus.'' I know not whether, even in this 
 book, he did not intend an ad of hoitility againft 
 the Univerfities ; for Ramus was one of the hi ft 
 oppugners of the old philofophy, who diilurbed 
 with innovations the quiet of the fchools. 
 
 His polemical difpofition again revived. He 
 had now been fafe fo long, that he forgot his 
 fears, and^ publifhed a Treatife of true Religion, 
 Herefy'y Schiftn, Toleration, and the bejl Means io 
 ^rcvmt the Growth of Popery, 
 
 But
 
 But tliis little tra£l is modeftly written, with 
 Tefpeftful mention of the Church of England, and 
 an appeal to the thirty-nine articles. His princi- 
 ple of toleration is, agreement in the fufficiency of 
 the Scriptures : and he extends it to all who, 
 whatever their opinions are, profefs to derive them 
 from the facred books. The papiils appeal to 
 other teftimonies and are therefore in his opinion 
 not to be permitted the liberty of either pubhck 
 or private worfhip ; for though they plead con- 
 fcicnce, ave have no auarranii he fays, to regard 
 tonfcience avhich is not grounded in Scripture. 
 
 Thofe who are not convinced by his reafons, 
 may be perhaps delighted with his wit. The 
 term Roman catholick is, he fays, mie of the Pope^s 
 buds ; ;*/ is particular univerjalf or catholic fchijma- 
 tick. 
 
 He has, however, fomething better. As the 
 beft prefervative againll Popery, he recommends 
 the diligent perufal of the Scriptures ; a duty, 
 from which he warns the bufy part of mankind not 
 to think themfelves excufed. 
 
 He now reprinted his juvenile poems, with fome 
 additions. 
 
 In the lall year of his life he fent to the prefs, 
 feeming to take dehght in pubhcation, a coile6tion 
 of Familiar Epiilles in Latin ; to which, being 
 too fev/ to make a volume, he added fome acade- 
 mical exercifes, which perhaps he perufed with 
 pleafure, as they recalled to his memory the days 
 of youth ; but for which nothing but veneration 
 •for his name could now procure a reader. 
 
 Wlien he had attained his iixty-fixth y<ear, the 
 
 gout.
 
 'l^O MILTOX. 
 
 gout, with which he had been long tormented^ 
 prevailed over the enfeebled powers of nature. 
 He died by a quiet and filent expiration, about 
 the tenth of November 1674, at his houfe in Bun- 
 hill-flelds ; and was buried next his father in the 
 chancel of St. Giles at Cripplegate. His funeral 
 was ver)^ fplendidly and numeroufly attended.. 
 
 Upon his grave there is fuppofed to have been 
 no memorial ; but in oirr time a monument has 
 been erected in Weilminiler-Abbey To the Author 
 of Paradije Lojl, by Mr. Benfon, who has in the 
 infcription bellowed more words upon himfelf than 
 upon Milton. 
 
 When the infcription for the monument of 
 Philips, in which he was faid to be foU Miltono 
 fecundus, was exhibited to Dr. Sprat, then dean of 
 Weftminfter, he refufed to admit it ; the name of 
 Milton was, in his opinion, too detellable to be 
 read on the wall of a building dedicated to devo- 
 tion.. Atterbury, who fucceeded him, being au- 
 thor of the infcription, permitted its reception. 
 " And fuch has been the change of pubhck opi- 
 ** nion," faid Dr. Gregor)-, from whom I heard 
 this account, " that I have feen erecled in the 
 ** church a ftatue of that man, whofe name I once 
 ** knew confidered as a pollution of its v^'alls." 
 
 Milton has the reputation of having been in his 
 youth eminently beautiful, fo as to have been called 
 the lady of his college. His hair, which was of a 
 light brown, parted at the foretop and hung down 
 upon his fhoulders, according to the picture which 
 he has given of Adam. He was, however, not 
 of the heroick flature, but rather below the middle 
 
 fize,
 
 ''iiz€, according to Mr. Richardfon, wlio mentions 
 him as having narrowly efcaped from being fiort 
 and thick. He was vigorous and adtive, and de- 
 hghted in the exercife of the fword, in which he 
 is related to have been eminently flcilful. His 
 weapon was, I believe, not the rapier, but the 
 backfword, of which he recommends the ufe in 
 "his book on Education. 
 
 His eyes are faid never to have been bright ; 
 but, if he was a dexti"ous fencer, they muil have 
 been once quick. 
 
 His domeifcick habits, fo far as they are known, 
 were thofe of a fevere Itudent. He drank little 
 itrong drink of any kind, and fed without excefs in 
 quantity, and in his earlier years without delicacy 
 of choice. In his youth he ftudied late at night ; 
 but afterwards changed his hours, and relied in bed 
 from nine to four in the fummer, and five in winter. 
 The courfe of his day was bell known after he was 
 l)lind. When he firft rofe, he heard a chapter in 
 -the Hebrew Bible, and then ftudied till twelve ; 
 then took fome exercife for an hour ^ then dined ; 
 then played on the organ^ and fung, or heard ano- 
 ther fing ; then ftudied to fix ; then entertained 
 his vifiters till eight ; then fupped, and, after a 
 pipe of tobacco and a glafs of water, went to bed. 
 
 So is his life -defcnbed ; but this even tenour 
 appears attainable only in Colleges. He that lives 
 in the world will fometimes have the fucceflion of 
 his practice broken and confufed. Vifiters, of 
 whom Milton is reprefented to have had great 
 jiurabers, will ^me and ftay unfeafonably ; bufi- 
 
 nef?^
 
 142 MTLTO!^. 
 
 nefs, of which every man has fome, muil be done 
 when others will do it. 
 
 When he did not care to rife early, he had 
 fomething read to him by his bedfide ; perhaps at 
 this time his daughters were employed. He com.- 
 pofed much in the morning,, and dictated in the 
 day, fitting obliquely in an elbow-chair, with his 
 leg thrown over the arm. 
 
 Fortune appeaT3 not to have had much of his 
 care. In the civil wars he lent his perfonal eftatc 
 to the parhament ; but when, after the conteft 
 was decided, he foHcited repayment, he met not 
 only with neglecSt, but JJoarp rebuke ; and, having 
 tired both himfelf and his fiends, was given up to 
 poverty and hopelefs indignation, till he fhewed 
 how able he was to do greater fervice. He was 
 then made Latin fecretary, with two hundred 
 pounds a-year ; and had a thoufand pounds for his 
 Defence of the People. His widow, who, after 
 his death, retired to Namptwich in Chefhire, and 
 died about 1729, is faid to have reported that he 
 loft two thoufand pounds by entrufting* it to a 
 fcrivener ;. and that, in the general depredation 
 upon the Church, he had grafped an eftate of 
 about fixty pounds a-year belonging to Weftmin- 
 fter- Abbey, which, like other fharers of the plun- 
 der of rebellion, he was afterwards obliged to re- 
 turn. Two thoufand pounds, which he had 
 placed in the Excife-office, were alfo loft. There 
 is yet no reafon to believe that he was ever reduced 
 to indigence^ His wants, bein^g few, were compe- 
 tently fupplied. He fold his library 'before his 
 death, and left his family fifteen hundred pounds, 
 
 on
 
 MILTON. 143 
 
 on which his widow laid hold, and only gave one 
 hundred to each of his daughters. 
 
 His literature was unquellionably great. He 
 read all the languages which are confidered either 
 as learned or polite ; Hebrew, with its two dia- 
 lers, Greek, Latin, Italian, French, and Spanifh. 
 In Latin his fldll was fuch as places him in the firft 
 rank of writers and criticks ; and he appears to 
 have cultivated Italian with uncommon diligence. 
 The books in which his daughter, who uicd to 
 read to him, reprefented him as moft delighting, 
 after Homer, which he could almoil repeat, were 
 Ovid's Metamorphofes and Euripides. His Euri- 
 pides is, by Mr. Cradock's kindnefs, now in my 
 hands : the margin is fometimes noted ; but I have 
 found nothing remarkable. 
 
 Of the Englifh poets he fet moft value upon 
 Spenfer, Shakfpeare, and Cowley. Spenfer was 
 apparently his favourite : Shakfpeare he may eafily 
 be fuppofed to like, with every other flvilful reader ; 
 but I fhould not have expected that Cowley, whofe 
 ideas of excellence were different from his own, 
 would have had much of his approbation. His 
 character of Dryden, who fometimes vifited him, 
 was, that he was a good rhymiit, but no poet. 
 
 His theological opinions are faid to have been 
 firft Calviniftical ; and afterwards, perhaps when 
 he began to hate the Preft)yterians, to have tended 
 towards Arminianifm. In the mixed queftions of 
 theology and government, he never thinks that he 
 can recede far enough from popery or prelacy j 
 but what Baudius fays of Erafmus feems appHca- 
 ble to him, magis hahuU quod fugeret, quam quod
 
 144 MILTOK. 
 
 fequeretur. He had determineJ rather what ta- 
 condemn, than what to approve. He has not af- 
 fociated himfelf with any denomination of Prctef- 
 tants : we know rather what he was not, than- 
 what he was. He was not of the church of 
 Rome ; he was not of the church of England. 
 
 To be of no church, is dangerous. Rehgion, 
 of which the rewards are diftant, and which is ani- 
 mated only by Faith and Hope, will ghde by dc-- 
 grees out of the mind, unlefs it be invigorated and 
 reimprefTed by external ordinances, by ftated calls 
 to worlhip, and the falutary influence of example, 
 Milton, v^'ho appears to have had full conviction 
 of the truth of Chriflianity, and to have regarded 
 the Holy Scriptures with the profoundeft venera- 
 tion, to have been untainted by an heretical pecu- 
 liarity of opinion, and to have hved in a confirmed 
 belief of the immediate and occafional ageacy of 
 Providence, yet grew old without any viiible wor- 
 fhip. In the dillribution of his hours, there was 
 no hour of prayer, either fohtaiy, or with his 
 houfehold ; omitting pubhck pravers, he omitted 
 aU. 
 
 Of this omifiion the reafon has been fought, 
 upon a fuppofition which ought never to be made, 
 that men hve with their own approbation, and 
 juftify their conduct to themfelves. Prayer cer- 
 tainly was not thought fuperfiuous by him, wha 
 reprefents our firft parents as praying acceptably irj- 
 the ftate of innocence, and efficacioufly after their 
 fall. That he lived without prayer can hardly be 
 affirmed ; his Itudies and meditations were an ha- 
 bitual prayer. The neglecl of it in his family 
 
 war
 
 MILTON. 145 
 
 was probably a fault for which he condemned him- 
 felf, and which he intended to correft, but that 
 death, as too often happens, intercepted his refor- 
 mation. 
 
 His pohtical notions were thofe of an acrimo- 
 nious and furly repubhcan, for which it is not 
 known that he gave any better reafon than that 
 a popular government was the mojl frugal ; for the 
 trappings of a monarchy would fet up an ordinary 
 commonivealth. It is furely very fliallow policy, 
 that fuppofes money to be the chief good ; and 
 even this, without confidering that the fupport 
 and expence of a Court is, for the moil part, only 
 a particular kind of traffick, by which money is 
 circulated, without any national impoverifliment. 
 
 Milton's republicanifm was, I am afraid, found- 
 ed in an envious hatred of greatnefs, and a fullen 
 defire of independence ; in petulance impatient of 
 controul, and pride difdainful of fuperioiity. He 
 hated monarchs in the ftate, and prelates in the 
 church ; for he hated all whom he was required 
 to obey. It is to be fufpefted, that his predomi- 
 nant defire was to deilroy rather than eilablilh, and 
 that he felt not fo much the love of Hberty as re- 
 pugnance to authority. 
 
 It has been obferved, that they who moll loud- 
 ly clamour for liberty do not moil liberally grant 
 it. What we know of Milton's charafter, in 
 domeilick relations, is, that he was fevere and ar- 
 bitrar)% His family confiiled of women ; and 
 there appears in his books fomething like a Turk- 
 ifh contempt of females, as fubordinate and inferior 
 beings. That his own daughters might not 
 
 Voi. I. N break
 
 1^6 MILTOK. 
 
 break the ranks, lie fufFered them to be deprefTed' 
 by a mean and peniinous education. He thought 
 woman made only for obedience, and man only for 
 rebellion. 
 
 Of his family fome account may be expefted. 
 His filler, firft man-ied to Mr. Phihps, afterwards 
 married Mr. Agar, a friend of her firft hufband, 
 who fucceeded him. in the Crown-office. She had 
 by her firft huft^and Edward and John, the two 
 nephews whom Milton educated ; and by her 
 fecond, two d?4Ughters. 
 
 His brother, Sir Chrlftopher, had two daugh- 
 ters, MaiT and Catherine, and a fon Thomas, \\hQ 
 fucceeded Agar in the Crown-ofiice, and left a 
 daugliter living in 1 749 in Grofvenor-ftreet. 
 
 Milton had childi^cn only by his firft wife ; 
 Anne, Maiy, and Deborah. Anne, though de- 
 formed, miamed a mafter builder, and died of her 
 firft child. Mary died fingle. Deborah married 
 Abraham Clark, a weaver in Spital-fields, and lived 
 feventy-fix years, to Auguft 1727. This is the 
 daughter of whom pubhck mention has been made. 
 She could repeat the firft fines of Homer, the 
 Metamorphofes, and fome of Euripides, by having 
 often read them. Yet here increduhty is ready to 
 make a ftand. Many repetitions are necefTaiy to 
 fix in the memory lines not undeiilood ; and why 
 fiioiild Milton wifti or want to hear them fo often ! 
 Th-fe lines were at the beginning of the poems. 
 Of : book wiitten in a language not underftood, 
 the beginning raifes no more attention than the 
 end ; and as thofe that underftand it know com- 
 monly the beginning beftj its rehciirfal will feldonj 
 
 - be
 
 MILTON^ ^47 
 
 ht ricceffaiy. It is not likely that Milton required 
 itny paflage to be fo much repeated as that his 
 daughter could learn it ; nor likely that he defired 
 the initial lines to be i-ead at all : nor that the 
 daughter weary of the drudgery of pronouncing 
 iinideal founds, would voluntarily commit them to 
 memory. 
 
 To this gentlewoman Addifon made a prefent, 
 and promifed fome ellablifliment ; but died foon 
 after. Queen Caroline fent her fifty guineas. She 
 had feven fons and three daughters ; but none of 
 them had any children, except her fon Caleb and 
 her daughter Elizabeth. Caleb went to Fort St. 
 George in the Eall Indies, and had two fons of 
 whom nothing is now known. Elizabeth married 
 Thomas Poller, a weaver in Spitalfieids, and had 
 feven children, w^ho all died. She kept a petty 
 grocer's or chandler's fliop, firft at K olio way, and 
 afterwards in Cocklane near Shoreditch Church. 
 She knew little of her grandfather, and that little 
 was not good. She told of his harflmefs to his 
 daughters, and his refufal to have them taught to 
 write ; and, in oppofition to other accounts, re- 
 prefented him as delicate, though temperate, in 
 his diet. 
 
 In 1750, April 5, Comus was played for her be- 
 heiit. She had fo little acquaintance with diver- 
 lion or gaiety, that Ihe did not know what was in- 
 tended when a benefit was offered her. The pro- 
 jits of the night were only one hundred and thirty 
 pounds, though Dr. Newton brought a large con- 
 tribution ; and twenty pounds were given by Ton- 
 fon, a man who is. to be praifed as often as he i« 
 *- N 3 named.
 
 148 MILTON. 
 
 named. Of tliis fum one hundred pounds \ras 
 placed in the ftocks, after fome debate between her 
 and her hufband in whofe name it fhoidd be en- 
 t red ; and the reft augmented their httle ftock, 
 vc'.^h which they removed to Iflington. This was 
 the greateft benefaclion that Paradife Loft ever 
 procured the author's defcendents ; and to this 
 he who has nov/ attempted to relate his Life, had 
 the honour of contributing a Prologue. 
 
 In the examination of Milton's poetical works, 
 I fhall pay fo much regard to time as to begin with 
 his juvenile productions. For ^is early pieces he 
 feemiS to have had a degree of fondnefs not very 
 laudable : what he has once written he refolves to 
 prefene, and gives to the pubhck an unfinifhed 
 poem, which he broke off becaufe he was nothing 
 fafisfied lu'nh what he had done, fuppofmg his 
 readcs le^s nice than himfelf. Thefe preludes to 
 his future h.bours are in Italian, Latin, and Enghfh. 
 Of the Itahan I cannot pretend to fpeak as a cri- 
 tick ; but I have heard them commended by a 
 man well qualified to decide their merit. The 
 Litin pieces are lufcioufiy elegant ; but the dehght 
 which they afford is rather by the exquifite imita- 
 tion of the ancient \NTiters, by the purity of the 
 diction, and the harmony of the numbers, than 
 by any power of invention, or vigour of fentiment. 
 They are not all of equal value ; the elegies ex- 
 cell the odes ; and fome of the exercifes on Gun- 
 powder Treafon might have been fpared. 
 
 The Enghfh poems, though they make no pro- 
 mifes of Paradife Lost, have this evidence of genius, 
 that they have a cafl original and unbon-owed. 
 
 But
 
 MILTOX. 14^ 
 
 But tlieir peculiarity is not excellence : if they 
 difFer from verfes of others, they differ for the 
 worfe ; for they are too often diitinguiflied by re- 
 piihive hardmefs ; the combinations of words are 
 ■ new, but they are not pleanng ; the rhymes and 
 epithets feeni to be laborioufly fought, and vio' 
 Icntly appHed. 
 
 That in the early parts of his life he wrote 
 with much care appears from his maniifcripts hap- 
 pily preferred at Cambridge, in M'hich many of 
 his fmaller works are found as they were firft writ- 
 ten, with the fubfequent con-e6tions. Such re- 
 liques (hew how excellence is required ; what we 
 -hope ever to do with eafe, we may learn liril to do 
 with diligence. 
 
 Thofe who admire the beauties of this great 
 poet, fomiCtimes force their own judgement into 
 falfe approbation of his little pieces, and prevail 
 upon themfelves to think that admirable which is 
 only fmgular. All that (hort compofitions cart 
 ■commonly attain is neatnefs and elegance. Milton 
 never learned the art of doing little things with 
 grace ; he overlooked the milder excellence of 
 fuavity and foftnefs ; he was a Lion that had no 
 {]<;ill in dan 7/ng the Kid. 
 
 One of the poems on which much praife has been 
 bellowed is Lyctdas ; of which the didion is 
 harfh, the rliymes uncertain, and the num.bers un- 
 pleafnig. What beauty there is, we mull there- 
 fore feek in the fentiments and images. It is not 
 to be confidered as the cffufion of real pafiion ; for 
 partion runs not after remote allufions and obfcurc 
 opinions. Paffion plucks no berries from th<j 
 N 3 myrtle
 
 150 MILTON. 
 
 InyTtle and ivy, nor calls upon Arethufe and 
 Mincius, nor tells of rough fatyrs 3.nd fauns lu'itb 
 cloven heel. Where there is leifure for fiction there 
 is little grief. 
 
 In this poem there is no nature, for there is no 
 truth ; there is no art, for there is nothing new. 
 Its form is that of a paftoral, eafy, vulgar, and 
 therefore difgulling : whatever images it can fup- 
 ply, are long ago exhauiled ; and its inherent im- 
 probability always forces dilTatisfadtion on the 
 mind. When Cowley tells of Hervey that they 
 ftudied together, it is eafy to fuppofe how much he 
 muft mifs the companion of his labours, and the 
 partner of his difcoveries ; but what image of ten-* 
 dernefs can be excited by thefe lines ! 
 
 We drove a field, and both together heard 
 What time the grey fly winds her fultry horn, 
 Battening our flocks with the frefli dews of night. 
 
 We know that they never drove a field, and that 
 they had no flocks to batten ; and though it be al-^ 
 lowed that the reprefentation may be allegorical, 
 the true m.eaning is fo uncertain and remote, that 
 it is never fought becaufe it cannot be known when 
 it is found. 
 
 Among the flocks, and copfes, and flowers, 
 appear the heathen deities ; Jove and Phoebus, 
 Neptune and ^olus, with. 3. long train of mytho- 
 logical imager)', fuch as a College eafily fuppHes. 
 Nothing can lefs difplay knowledge, or lefs exer- 
 cife invention, than to tell how a ihepherd has loft 
 his companion, and muft now feed his flocks alone, 
 without any judge of his fl^ill in piping 5 and how 
 
 one
 
 MILTON. 151 
 
 one god afl<s another god what is become of Ly- 
 cidas, and how neither god can tell. He who 
 thus grieves will excite no iympathy ; he who thus 
 praifes will confer no honour. 
 
 This poem has yet a groffer fault. With thefe 
 trifling fiftions are mingled the moft awful and 
 facred truths, fuch as ought never to be polluted 
 with fuch irreverend combinations. The fhepherd 
 likewife is now a feeder of flieep, and afterwards an 
 ecckfiallical paftor, a fuperintendent of a Chrillian 
 flock. Such equivocations are always unflcilful ; 
 but here they are indecent, and at leaft approach 
 to impiety, of which, however, I beheve the writer 
 not to have been confcious. 
 
 Such is the power of reputation juftly acquired, 
 that it's blaze drives away the eye from nice ex- 
 amination. Surely no man could have fancied that 
 he read Lycidas with pleafure had he not known 
 its author. 
 
 Of the two pieces, L^Mlegro and // Petiferofo, 
 I believe opinion is uniform ; every man that reads 
 them, reads them with pleafure. The author's 
 defign is not, what Theobald has remarked, mere- 
 ly to (hew how objedls derive their colours from the 
 mind, by reprefenting the operation of the fame 
 things upon the gay and the melancholy temper, 
 or upon the fame man as he is differently difpofed j 
 but rather how, among the fucceffive variety of 
 appearances, every difpofition of mind takes hold 
 on thofe by which it may be gratified. 
 
 The chsarful man hears the lark in the morning ; 
 \Sxt penfiiie man hears the nightingale in the even- 
 ing. The chearful man fees the CQck ftrut, and 
 
 hears
 
 15* MILTOK. 
 
 hears the horn and hounds echo in the wood ; 
 then walks not unfeen to obferve the glory of the 
 rifing fun, or hften to the Tinging milk-maid, and 
 view the labours of the plowman and the mower ; 
 then call his eyes about him over fcenes of fmiling 
 plenty, and looks up to the diftant tower, the re- 
 fidence of fome fair inhabitant ; thus he purfues 
 rural gaiety through a day of labour or of play, 
 and delights himfelf at night with the fanciful nar- 
 ratives of fuperftitious ignorance. 
 
 The pei-iffoe man, at one time, walks unfeen to 
 mufe at midrnght ; and at another hears the fuL 
 len curfew. If the weather drives him home, he 
 fits in a room lighted only by glonv'ing embers ; or 
 by a lonely lamp outwatches the North Star, to 
 difcover the habitation of feparate fouls, and varies 
 the ftiades of meditation, by contemplating the 
 magnihcentorpathetickfcenes of tragick and epick 
 poetry. When the morning comes, a morning 
 gloomy with rain and wind, he walks into the 
 dark tracklefs woods, falls afleep by fome murmur- 
 ing water, and with melancholy enthufiafm ex- 
 petls fome dream of prognottication, or fome mu- 
 iick played by aenal performers. 
 
 Both Mirth and Melancholy are folitary, filent 
 inhabitants of the breall that neither receive nor 
 tranfmit communication ; no mention is therefore 
 made of a philofophical friend, or a pleafant com- 
 panion. The ferioufnefs does not arife from any 
 participation of calamity, nor the gaiety from th*^ 
 pleafures of the bottle. 
 
 The man of cbearfulnefs, having exhaufted the 
 country, tries ^\hat fozvcred citks will afford, and 
 
 mingle*
 
 MILTON. 153 
 
 -iigles u'ith fcenes of fplendor, gay afTemblies, 
 and nuptial feftivities ; but he mingles a mere fpec- 
 tator, as, when the learned comedies of Jonfon, or 
 the wild dramas of Shakfpeare, are exliibited, he 
 attends the theatre. 
 
 The penjii)e man never Icfes him.felf in crowds, 
 but walks the cloifter, or frequents the cathed- 
 ral. Milton probably had not yet forfaken the 
 Church. 
 
 Both his chara6lers delight in mufick ; but he 
 feems to think that chearful notes would have ob- 
 tained from Pluto a compleat difmiffion of Eury- 
 dice, of whom folemn founds only procured a con- 
 ditional releafe. 
 
 For the old age of Chearfulnefs he makes no 
 provifion ; but Melancholy he conducts with 
 great dignity to the clofe of life. His Chearful- 
 nefs is without levity, and his Penfivenefs without 
 afperity. 
 
 Through thefe two poems the images are pro- 
 perly feledled, and nicely diftinguifhed ; but the 
 colours of the diftion feemi not lufficiently difcri- 
 minated. I know not whether the characters are 
 kept fufficiently apart. No mirth can, indeed, be 
 found in his melancholy ; but I am afraid that I 
 always meet fome melancholy in his mirth. They 
 are two noble efforts of im.agination. 
 
 The greatell of his juvenile performances is the 
 Mq/k of Cowiis ; in which may very plainly be dif- 
 covered the dawn or tv/ihght of Parad'ije Loji, 
 Milton appears to have formed very early that 
 fyfteni of di6lion, and mode of verfe, which his ma- 
 
 turcr
 
 ^54 MILTON-. 
 
 turer judgement approved, and from which h? 
 never endeavoured nor delired to deviate. 
 
 Nor does Camus afford only a fpecimen of his 
 language ; it exhibits hkewife his power of dcf- 
 cription and his vigour of fentiment, employed in 
 the praife and defence of virtue. A work more 
 truly poetical is rarely found ; allufions, images, 
 and defcriptive epithets, embelhlh ahnoil every 
 period withlavilh decoration. Asa fcries of lines, 
 •therefore, it may be conhdered as worthy of all 
 tlie admiration with which the votaries have 
 •received it. 
 
 • As a drama it is deficient. The action is not 
 probable. A Mafque, in thofe parts where fur 
 pernatural intervention is admitted, mull indeed be 
 given up to all the freaks of imagination ; but, fo 
 hr as the aftion is merely human, it ought to be 
 reafonable, which can hardly be faid of the con- 
 duct of the two brothers ; w^ho, when their fifter 
 -fmks with fatigue in a pathlefs wildernefs, wander 
 both away together in fearch of berries too far to 
 find their way back, and leave a helplefs Lady to 
 all the fadnefs and danger of folitude. This 
 however is a defeil:!: overbalanced by its con- 
 venience. 
 
 What deferves more reprehenfion is, that the 
 prologue fpoken in the \\\\A wood by the atten- 
 dant Spirit is addrefied to the audience ; a mode 
 of communication fo contrary to the nature ot 
 dramatick reprefentation, that no precedents can 
 fupport it. 
 
 The difcourfe of the Spirit is too long ; an ob- 
 jection that may bt made to almoil all the follow-
 
 MILTON*. 15^ 
 
 frtg fpceches : they have not the fpritelinefs of « 
 dialogue animated by reciprocal contention, but 
 feem rather declamations deliberately compofed, 
 and formally repeated, on a moral queilion. The 
 auditor therefore liilens as to a le6lure, without 
 paffion, without anxiety. 
 
 The fong of Comus has airinefs and jollity ; but, 
 what may recommend Milton's morals as well as 
 his poetry, the invitations to pleafure are fo gene- 
 ral, that they excite no diftinft images of cor- 
 rupt enjoyment, and take no dangerous hold on 
 the fancy. 
 
 The following foliloquies of Comus and the 
 I^ady are elegant, but tedious. The fong mull 
 owe much to the voice, if it ever can dehght. At 
 lad the Brothers enter, with too much tranquiUi- 
 ty ; and when they have feared left their filler 
 fliould be in danger, and hoped that fhe is not in 
 danger, the Elder makes a fpeech in praife of 
 chaftity, and the Younger finds how fine it is to be 
 a philofopher. 
 
 Then defcends the Spirit in form of a fhepherd 
 and the Brother, inilead of being in hafte to aflc 
 his help, praifes his finging, and enquires his bufi- 
 nefs in that place. It is remarkable, that at this 
 interview the Brother is taken with a fhort fit^ of 
 rhyming. The Spirit relates that the Lady is iu 
 the power of Comus ; the Brother morahfes again 5 
 and the Spirit makes a long narration, of no ufe 
 becaufe it is falfe, and therefore unfuitable to z^ 
 eood Being. 
 
 In all thefe parts the language is poetical, and
 
 t^6 MILTON. 
 
 the fentlments ai'e generous ; but there is fome- 
 thing wanting to allure attention. 
 
 The difpute between the Lady and Comus is 
 the moft animated and affedling fcene of the dra- 
 ma, and wants nothing but a brifl<er reciprocation 
 of objeclions and replies, to invite attention, and 
 detain it. 
 
 The fongs are vigorous, and full of imagery ; 
 but they are harfh in their diftion, and not very 
 mufical in their num.bers. 
 
 Throughout the whole, the figures are too bold, 
 and the language too luxuriant for dialogue. It is 
 a drama in the epic ftyle, inelegantly fplendid, 
 and tedioufly inftruclive. 
 
 The Sonnets were written in different parts of 
 Milton's life, upon different occafions. They 
 deferve not any particular criticifm ; for of the bell 
 it can only be faid, that they are not bad ; and 
 perhaps only the eighth and the twenty-firft are 
 truly entitled to this ilender commendation. The 
 fabrick of a fonnet, however adapted to the Ita- 
 lian language, has never fucceeded in ours, which, 
 having greater variety of termination, requires the 
 rhymes to be often changed. 
 
 Thofe Httle pieces may be difpatched without 
 much anxiety ; a greater work calls for greater 
 care. I am now to examine Parad'tfe Loji ; a 
 poem, which, confidered with refpedl to defign, 
 may claim the firft place, and with refpeft to per- 
 formance the fecond, among the produftions of the 
 human mind. 
 
 By the general confent of criticks, the firft 
 praife of genius is due to the writer of an epick 
 
 poem,
 
 MILTON"* 157 
 
 j?ocm, as it requires an aficmblage of all the powers 
 which are fingly fufficient for other compohtions. 
 Poetry is. the art of uniting pleafure with truth, 
 by calling imagination to the help of reafon. 
 Epick poetry undertakes to teach the moft impor- 
 tant truths by the moft pleafing precepts, and 
 therefore relates fome great event in the moft af- 
 fefting manner. Hiftory muft fupply the writer 
 with the rudiments of narration, which he muft 
 improve and exalt by a nobler art, muft animate by 
 dramatick energy, and diverfify by retrofpeftion 
 and anticipation ; morality muil teach him the ex- 
 afh bounds, and different fhades, of vice and virtue ; 
 from policy, and the pra6lice of life, he has to 
 leani the difcriminations of charafter, and the ten- 
 dency of the paflions, either fingle or com.bined ; 
 and phyfiology muft fupply him with illuftrations 
 and images. To put thefe materials to poetical 
 ufe, is required an imagination capable of painting 
 nature, and realizing lidtion. Nor is he yet a poet 
 till he has attained' the whole extenfion of his 
 language, diftinguifhed all the dehcacies of phrafe, 
 and all the colours of words, and learned to adjuft 
 their different founds to all the varieties of metrical 
 moderation. 
 
 Boffu is of opinion that the poet's firft work is to 
 find a moral, which his fable is afterwards to illuf- 
 trate and eftablifti. This feems to have been the 
 procefs only of Milton ; the moral of other poems 
 is incidental and confequent ; in Milton's only it 
 is efiential and intrinfick. His purpofe was the 
 moft ufeful and the moft arduous ; to inndicate the 
 nvays of God to man j to (Iiew the reafonablenefs of 
 
 Vol, I. O religion
 
 1581 MILTON. 
 
 religion, and tlie necefllty of obedience to tlie*' 
 Divine Law. 
 
 To convey this moral, there miift be 2ifahley a 
 narration artfully conftnicled, fo as to excite curi- 
 ofity, and furprife expectation. In this part of 
 his work, Milton mull be confefTed to have equal- 
 led every other poet. He has involved in his ac- 
 count of the Fall of Man the events which preced- 
 ed, and thofe that were to follow it : he has inter- 
 woven the whole fyftem of theology with fuch 
 propriety, that every part appears to be neceifary ; 
 and fcarcely any recital is wifhed fhorter for the 
 fake of quickening the progrefs of the main action. 
 The fubjeft of an epick poem is naturally an event 
 of great importance. That of Milton is not the 
 dellruftion of a city, the conduct of a colony, or 
 the foundation of an empire. His fubjeA is the 
 fate of worlds, the revolutions of heaven and of 
 earth ; rebellion againif the Supreme King, raifed 
 by the higheft order of created beings ; the over- 
 tlirow of their hoft, and the punilhment of their . 
 crime ; the creation of a new race of reafonable 
 creatures ; their original happinefs and innocence, 
 their forfeiture of immortality, and their reiloratioa 
 to hope and peace. 
 
 Great events can be hallened or retarded only by 
 perfons of elevated dignity. Before the greatnefs 
 difplayed in Milton's poem, all other gi-eatnefs 
 Ihrinks away. The weakeil of his agents are the 
 higheft and nobleft of human beings, the original 
 parents of mankind ; with whofe actions the ele- 
 j*ients confented j on whofe reditude, ©r devia- 
 tion
 
 MILtOJJ. 15^ 
 
 tlon of will, depended the Hate of tcrreftrial nature, 
 id the condition of all the future inhabitants of 
 le globe. 
 Of the other agents in the poem, the chief are 
 
 . Lich as it is irreverence to name on (light occafions. 
 
 The rell were lower powers ; 
 
 — of which the lead could wield 
 Thofe elements, and arm him with the force 
 Of all their regions ; 
 
 powers, which only the controul of Omnipotence 
 rcftrains from laying creation wafte, and filling the 
 vail expanfe of fpace with ruin and confufion. To 
 difplay the motives and aftions of beings thus fupe- 
 Hour, fo far as human reafon can examine them, or 
 human imagination reprefent them, is the tails 
 which this mighty poet has undertaken and per- 
 formed. 
 
 In the examination of epick poems much fpecu- 
 lation is commonly employed upon the charaBers* 
 The chara6lers in the Paradise Lojl^ which admit 
 of examination, are thofe of angels and of man ; 
 of angels good and evil ; of man in his innocent 
 and fmful ilate. 
 
 Among the angels, the virtue of Raphael ir 
 mild and placid, of eafy condefceniion and free 
 communication ; that of Michael is regal and lofty, 
 and, as may feem, attentive to the dignity of his 
 own nature. Abdiel and Gabriel appear occafion- 
 ally, and a6l as every incident requires ; the foli- 
 tary fidehty of Abdiel is very amiably painted. 
 
 Of the evil angels the charafters are more diver- 
 
 fified. To Satany as Addifon obferves, fuch fen- 
 
 O 2 timents
 
 l60 MILTON. 
 
 timcnts are given as fuit the mojl exalted and wofi 
 depraved being. Milton has been cenfured, by 
 Clarke*, for ihe impiety which fometimes breaks 
 from Satan's mouth. For there are thoughts, as 
 he julliy remarks, which no obfervation of charac- 
 ter can juilify, becaufe no good man would wil- 
 lingly permit them to pafs, however tranfiently, 
 through his own mind. To make Satan fpeak as 
 a rebel, without any fuch expreffions as might 
 taint the reader's imagination, was indeed one of 
 the great difficulties in Milton's undertaking, and 
 I cannot but think that he has extricated himfelf 
 with great happinefs. There is in Satan's fpeeches 
 little that can give pain to a pious ear. The lan- 
 guage of rebellion cannot be the fame with that 
 of obedience. The malignity of Satan foams in 
 haughtinefs and obltinacy ; but his expreffions arc 
 commonly general, and no otherwife offeniive than 
 as they are wicked. 
 
 The other chiefs of the celellial rebellion are very 
 judiciouily difcriminated in the firft and fecond 
 books ; and the ferocious chara^ler of Moloch 
 appears, both in the battle and the council, with 
 exact confillency. 
 
 To Adam and to Eve are given, during their 
 innocence, fuch fentiments as innocence can gene- 
 rate and utter. Their love is pure benevolence 
 and mutual veneration ; their repafts are without 
 luxury', and their diligence without toil. Their 
 addreffes to their Maker have Httle more than the 
 voice of admiration and gratitude. Fruition left 
 
 * Eflay on Study.
 
 HILTON". I^( 
 
 Them nothing to aflc, and Innocence left them no- 
 thing to fear. 
 
 But with guilt enter diilruft and difcord, mutual 
 accufation, and llubborn felf-dcfence ; they regard 
 each other with alienated minds, and dread their 
 ■Creator as the avenger of their tranfgreflion. At 
 laft they feek fhelter in his mercy, foften to repent- 
 ance, and melt in fupplication. Both before and 
 after the Fall, the fuperiority of Adam is diligent- 
 ly fuftained. 
 
 Of the probable and the marvellous^ two parts of 
 a vulgar epick poem, which immerge the critick in 
 deep confideration, the Parad'tfe Lojl requires httle 
 to be faid. It contains the hillory of a miracle, 
 of Creation and Redemption ; it difplays the 
 power and the mercy of the Supreme Being ; the 
 probable therefore is marvellous, and the marvel- 
 lous is probable. The fubftance of the narrative 
 is truth; and as truth allows no choice, it is like 
 necefTity, fuperior to rule. To the accidental of 
 adventitious parts, as to every thing human, forac 
 flight exceptions may be made, , ;Bu^.; thtj.- main 
 fabrick is immovably fupported.;- "'<■■_, ;;.»;{ Tiu; i.'i.. 
 
 It is jullly remarked by. Addifon, that this 
 poem has, by the nature of its fubjetl, the advan- 
 tage above all others, that it is univerfally and per- 
 5)etually interefting. All mankind will, throught 
 all ages, bear the fame relation to Adam and to 
 Eve, and muft partake of that, good and' evil 
 which extend to themfelves. 
 
 Of the machinery i fo called from Qioi aro u-r.^avr-s 
 
 by which is meant the occafional interpofition of 
 
 fupernatural power, another fertik topitk of criticaj 
 
 O 3 remarks.
 
 iCl MILTON. 
 
 remarks, here is no room to fpeak, becaufe every 
 thing is done under the immediate and viiiblc di- 
 rection of Heaven ; but the rule is fo far obferved» 
 that no part of the aclion could have been accom- 
 phlhed by any other means. 
 
 Of epifodes, I think there are only two, contained 
 in Raphael's relation of the war in heaven, and 
 Michael's prophetick account of the changes to 
 happen in this world. Both are clofely connedled 
 with the great aclion ; one was necefiaiy to Adam 
 as a warning, the other as a confolation. 
 
 To the completenefs or integrity of the defiga 
 nothing can be objecled ; it has diilinctly and 
 clearly what Arillotle requires, a beginning, a 
 middle, and an end. There is perhaps no poem, 
 of the fame length, from which fo httle can be 
 taken without apparent mutilation. Here are no 
 funeral games, nor is there any long delcription of 
 a fhield. The (hort digreluons at the beginning 
 of the third, feventh, and ninth books, might 
 4oubtlefs be fpared ; but fuperfiuities fo beautiful, 
 who would take away ? or who does not wi(h that 
 the author of the Iliad had gratified fucceeding 
 ages with a little knowledge of himfelf ? Perhaps 
 no pafTages are more frequently or more attentively 
 read than thofe extrinfick paragraphs ; and, hncc 
 the end of poetr}" is pleafure, that cannot be uu- 
 poetical with which all are pleafed. 
 
 The queftions, whether the aclion of the poem 
 be ftriftly one, whether the poem can be properly 
 termed heroick, and who is the hero, are raifed by 
 fuch readers as di-aw their principles of judgment 
 rfttbejr fropn |?ovk§ thai; from re^on. Milton, 
 
 ihou^h
 
 MILTON. 16^ 
 
 ■ragh he intituled Paradije Loji only a poem., yet 
 CcJls it \Cvc(vit\i heroich Jong. Dryden, petulantly 
 and indecently, denies the heroifm of Adam, be- 
 caiife he was overcome ; but there is no reafon 
 vAvf the hero fhould not be unfortunate, except 
 eilabhfhed practice, fmce fuccefs and virtue do not 
 £o neceffarily together. Cato is the hero of Lu- 
 c:\\\ ; but Lucan's authority will not be fufFered 
 by C^intilian to decide. However, if fuccefs be 
 Tiecefiary, Adam's deceiver was at laft cnifhed ; 
 Adam was reftored to his Maker's favour, and 
 therefore may fecurely refume his human rank. 
 
 After the fcheme and fabrick of the poem, muft 
 be confidered its component parts, the fentiments 
 and the diction. 
 
 The fentiments^ as expreffive of manners, or ap- 
 propriated to chara6lers, are, for the greater part, 
 unexceptionably juft. 
 
 Splendid palTages, containing lefTons of morality, 
 or precepts of prudence, occur feldom. Such is 
 the original formation of this poem, that as it ad- 
 mits no human manners till the Fall, it can give 
 little afliftance to human conduct. Its end is to 
 raife the thoughts above fublunary cares or plea- 
 fures. Yet the praife of that fortitude, with which 
 Abdiel maintained his fmgularity of virtue againlt 
 the fcorn of multitudes, may be accommodated 
 to all times ; and Raphael's reproof of Adam's 
 curiofity after the planetary motions, with the an- 
 fwer returned by Adam, may be confidently op- 
 pofed to any rule of life which any poet has de- 
 livered. 
 
 The thought? which ^e occafionally called forth 
 
 ia
 
 «64 WILTOW* 
 
 in the progrefs, are fucli as could only be produccvi 
 by an imagination in the liigheft degree fervid and 
 aftive, to which materials were fupplied by inceffant 
 ftiidy and unlimited curioiity. The heat of MiU 
 ton's mind might be faid to fubhmate his learning, 
 to throw off into his work the fpirit of fcience, 
 unmingled with its grofler parts. 
 
 He had conlidered creation in its whole extent, 
 and his defcriptions are therefore learned. He had 
 accuftomed his imagination to unreftrained indul- 
 j::jence, and his conceptions therefore were extenfive. 
 The charadteriftick quality of his poem is fublimity. 
 He fometimes defcends to the elegant, but his ele- 
 jiient is the great. He can occafionally invcll him- 
 felf with grace ; but his natural port is gigantick 
 loftinefs *. He can pleafe when pleafure is re- 
 quired ; but it is his peculiar power to aftonilh. 
 
 He feems to have been weU acquainted with his 
 .own genius, and to know what it was that Nature 
 had bellowed upon him more bountifully than 
 upon others ; the power of difplaying the vaft, 
 illuminating the fplendid, enforcing the awful, 
 darkening the gloomy, and aggravating the dread- 
 ful : he therefore chofe a fubjeit on which too 
 niuch could not be laid, on wliich he might tire 
 his fancy without the cenfure of extravagance. 
 
 The appearances of nature, and the occunences 
 •of Hfe, did not fatiate his appetite of greatneis. 
 To paint things as they are, requires a minute at- 
 tention, and employs the memory rather than the 
 funcy. Milton's dehght was to fport in the wide 
 
 * Algar«ttl terms it " gi^antcfw fubiimita Miltonlana." 
 
 regions
 
 IfflLTON. 165 
 
 ;^-ionf of poflibility ; reality Was a fcene too nar- 
 ■,v for his mind. He fent his faculties out upon 
 Icovery, into worlds where only imagination can 
 travel, and delighted to form new modes of exift- 
 €iice, and furnifh fentiment and a6lion to fuperior 
 beings, to trace the counfels of hell, or accompany 
 the choirs of heaven. 
 
 But he could not be ahvays in other worlds: 
 he mult fometimes revifit earth, and tell of things 
 viable and known. When he cannot raife wonder 
 by the fubhmity of his mind, he gives dehght by 
 its fertihty. 
 
 Whatever be his fubjeft, he never fails to fill 
 the imagination. But his images and defcriptions 
 of the fcenes or operations of Nature do not feem 
 to be always copied from original form, nor to 
 have the frefhnefs, racinefs, and energy of imme- 
 diate obfervation. He faw Nature, as Dryden 
 expreffes it, through the fpeclacles of hooks ; and on 
 moft occafions calls learning to his affiilance. The 
 garden of Eden brings to his mind the vale of £nna, 
 where Proferpine was gathering flowers. Satan 
 makes his way through fighting elements, like 
 ^rgo between the Cyanean rocks, or Ulyjfes be- 
 tween the two Sicilian whirlpools, when he Ihunned 
 Charybdis on the larboard. The mythological 
 allufions have been juftly cenfured, as not being 
 always ufed with notice of their vanity ; but they 
 contribute variety to the narration, and produce 
 an alternate exercife of the memory and the fancy. 
 His fimilies are lefs numerous, and more various, 
 than thofe of his predecefTors. But he does not 
 confine himfelf within the haiits of rigorous com- 
 
 parifon ;
 
 l66 MILTOH. 
 
 parifon : his great excellence is amplitude, and li«^ 
 expands the adventitious image beyond the dimen- 
 fions which the occafion required. Thus, comparing 
 the fhieldof Satan to the orb of the Moon, he crouds 
 the imagination with the difcover)' of the telefcope, 
 and all the wonders which the telefcope difcovers. 
 
 Of his moral fentiments it is hardly praife to 
 affirm that they excel thofe of all other poets ; 
 for this fuperiority he was indebted to his acquaint- 
 ance with the facred writings. The ancient epick 
 poets, Avanting the light of Revelation, were very 
 unfl<;ilful teachers of virtue : their principal charac- 
 ters may be great, but they are not amiable. The 
 reader may rife from their works with a greater 
 degree of adlive or pafiive fortitude, and fometimes 
 of prudence ; but he v/ill be able to can-y away 
 few precepts of jullice, and none of mercy. 
 
 From the Italian writers it appears, that the 
 advantages of even Chriftian knowledge may be 
 fuppofed in vain. Ariofto's pravity is generally 
 known ; and though the Deliverance of Jerufalem 
 may be confidered as a facred fubjedl, the poet has 
 been veiy fparing of moral inftruclion. 
 
 In Milton every hne breathes fanftity of thought, 
 and purity of manners, except when the train of the 
 nan-ation requires the introduftion of the rebelhous 
 fpirits ; and even they are compelled to acknow- 
 ledge their fubjedlion to God, in fuch a manner 
 as excites reverence, and confirms piety. 
 
 Of human beings there are but two ; but thofc 
 two are the parents of mankind, venerable before 
 their fall for dignity and innocence, and amiable 
 after it for repentance and fubmiffion. In their 
 
 Ml
 
 WlLTO??. 167 
 
 JM ftate their afFeftion is tender without weak- 
 nefs, and their piety fuMime without prefumption. 
 When they have finned, they fhew how difcord 
 begins in mutual frailty, and how it ought to ceafe 
 in mutual forbearance ; how confidence of the di- 
 vine favour is forfeited by fm, and how hope of 
 pardon may be obtained by penitence and prayer. 
 A flate of innocence we can only conceive, if in- 
 deed, in our prefent mifery, it be pofiible to con- 
 ceive it ; but the fentiments and worlhip proper to 
 a fallen and offending being, we have all to learn, 
 as we have all to praclife. 
 
 The poet, whatever be done, is always great. 
 Our progenitors, in their lirft flate, converfed with 
 angels ; even when folly and fm had degraded 
 tliem, they had not in their humiliation the port of 
 mean futtors ; and they rife again to reverential re- 
 gard, when we find that their prayers were heard. 
 
 As human pafiions did not enter the v/orld before, 
 the Fall, there is in the Paradife Lnjl little oppor- 
 tunity for the pathetick ; but what little tliere is 
 has not been loft. That pailion which is pecidiar 
 to rational nature, the anguidi arifmg from the 
 confcioufnefs of traufgreflion, and the hoiTours 
 attending the fenfe of the Divine Difpleafure, are 
 ■very juflly defcribed and forcibly impreffed. But 
 the pafiions are moved only on one occafion ; fubli- 
 mity is the general and prevaihng quality in this 
 poem ; fublimity varioufly modified, fometimes 
 defcriptive, fometimes argumentative. 
 
 The defecls and faults of Paradifs Lojiy for 
 faults and defeats every work of man mull have, it 
 is the bufinefs of im.partial criticifm to difcover. 
 
 As^
 
 r68 MiLToi?, 
 
 As, in dlfplaying the excellence of Milton, I have 
 not made long quotations, becaufe of felefting 
 beauties there had been no end, I fhaU in the fame 
 general manner mention that which feems to de- 
 ferve cenfure ; for what Enghfhman can take de- 
 light in tranfcribing paflages, which, if they leflen 
 the reputation of Milton, diminifh in fome degree 
 the honour of our country ? 
 
 The generality of my fcheme does not admit the 
 frequent notice of verbal inaccuracies ; which Bent- 
 ley, perhaps better ilcilled in grammar than in 
 poetiy, has often found, though he fometimes 
 made them, and which he imputed to the obtru- 
 fions of a revifer whom the author's bhndnefs ob- 
 liged him to employ. A fuppofition rafti and ground- 
 lefs, if he thought it true ; and vile and pernicious, ■ 
 if, as is faid, he in private allowed it to be falfe. 
 
 The plan of Paradife Loji has this inconveni- 
 ence, that it comprifes neither human a6lions nor 
 human manners. The man and woman who atl 
 and fuffer, are in a Hate which no other man or 
 woman can ever know. The reader finds no tranf- 
 adion in which he can be engaged ; beholds no 
 condition in which he can by any effort of imagi- 
 nation place himfelf ; he has, therefore, little na- 
 tural curiofity or fympathy. 
 
 We all, indeed, feel the effe6ls of Adam's difo- 
 bedience : we all fin like Adam, and like him muft 
 all bewail our offences ; we have reftlefs and infi- 
 dious enemies in the fallen angels, and in the blef- 
 fed fpirits we have guardians and friends ; in the 
 Redemption of mankind we hope to be included ; 
 iu the defcription of heaven and hell we are furely 
 
 ioter-
 
 WILTON. j6g 
 
 fitn-eflcd, as we are all to refide hereafter either in 
 the regions of horrour or blifs. 
 
 But thefe truths are too important to be new ; 
 they have been taught to our infancy ; they have 
 mingled with our fohtary thoughts and famihar 
 converfation, and" are habitually interwoven with 
 the whole texture of life. Being therefore not 
 new, they raife no unaccuftomed emotion in the 
 mind ; what we knew before, we cannot learn j 
 what is not unexpefted, cannot furprife. 
 
 Of the ideas fuggelled by thefe awful fcenes, 
 from fome we recede with reverence, except when 
 ftated hours require their affociation ; and from 
 others we ftirink with hoiTour, or admit them only 
 as falutary infiiclions, as counterpoifes to our inte- 
 refts and paffions. Such images rather obftruft 
 the career of fancy than incite it. 
 
 Pleafure and terrour are indeed the genuine four- 
 ces of poetry ; but poetical pleafure mull be fuch 
 as human imagination can at leaft conceive, and 
 poetical terror fuch as human ftrength and fortitude 
 may combat. The good and evil of Eternity are 
 too ponderous for the wings of wit ; the mind 
 finks under them in paflive helpleffnefs, content 
 with calm behef and humble adoration. 
 
 Known truths, however, may take a different 
 appearance, and be conveyed to the mind by a 
 new train of intermediate images. This Milton 
 has undertaken, and performed with pregnancy 
 and vigour of mind peculiar to himfelf. Whoever 
 confiders the fev/ radical pofitions which the Scrip- 
 tures afforded him, will wonder by what energetick 
 operation he expanded them to fuch extent, and ra- 
 
 Vqu I, P mified
 
 17^ MiLTOX. 
 
 mified them to To much variety, reftralned as lie was 
 by religious reverence from licentioufnefs of fiction. 
 
 Here is a full difplay of the united force of 
 lludy and genius ; of a great accumulation of ma- 
 terials, with judgment to digell, and fancy to 
 combine them : Milton was able to felecl from 
 nature, or from ftory, from ancient fable, or from 
 modern fcience, whatever could illuftrate or adorn 
 liis thoughts. An accumulation of knowledge 
 impregnated his mind, fermented by iludy, and 
 exalted by imagination. 
 
 It has been therefore faid, without an indecent 
 hyperbole, by one of his encomiafts, that in read- 
 ing Parad'ife Lojl we read a book of univerfal 
 knowledge. 
 
 But original dehcience cannot be fupplied. The 
 want of human interell is always felt. Parad'ife 
 Loji is one of the books which the reader admires 
 and lays down, and forgets to take up again. 
 None ever wifhed it longer than it is. Its perufal 
 is a duty rather than a pleafure. We read Milton 
 for inftniftion, retire harafled and overburdened, 
 and look elfewhere for recreation ; we delert our 
 mailer, and feek for companions. 
 
 Another inconvenience of Milton's defign is, 
 that it requires the defcription of what cannot be 
 defcribed, the agency of fpirits. He law that 
 immateriahty fupplied no images, and that he could 
 i-iot fliow angels afting but by inllruments of ac» 
 tion ; he therefore invelled them with foim and 
 matter. This, being neceffary, was therefore de- 
 fenfible ; and he fhould have fecured the confill- 
 cucy of his fyftem, by keeping immateriality out 
 
 of
 
 MILTON". IJt 
 
 of fight, and enticing his reader to drop it from 
 
 '.is thoughts. But he has unhappily perplexed 
 
 '"is poetry with his philofophy. His infernal and 
 
 t^lellial powers are fometimes pure fpirit, and fome- 
 
 'tnes animated body. When Satan walks with 
 
 IS lance upon the burning marie, he has a body ; 
 
 "hen, in his paflage between hell and the new 
 
 >vorld, he is in danger of finking in the vacuity, 
 
 and is fupported by a guft. of rifing vapours, he 
 
 has a body ; when he animates the toad, he feems 
 
 to be mere fpirit, that can penetrate matter at plea- 
 
 ftire ; when he. Ji arts up in his oivn Jloape, he has 
 
 :at leall a determined form ; and when he is brought 
 
 before Gabriel, he has a fpear and aJJoield, which 
 
 he had the power of hiding in the toad, though 
 
 the arms of the contending angels are evidently 
 
 -material. 
 
 The vulgar inhabitants of Pandaemonium, being 
 incorporeal fpirits, are at large, though ivithout num* 
 ber, in a hmited fpace ; yet in the battle, when 
 they were overwhelmed by mountains, their ar- 
 mour hurt them, crujhed in upon their fubjlance, noio 
 gronvn grofs by fuming. This likewife happened 
 •to the uncorrupted angels, who were overthrown 
 the fooner for their arms, for unarmed they mighi 
 eafily as fpiriis have evaded by contra£lion or remove. 
 Even as fpirits they are hardly fpirltual ; for con- 
 fradion and remove are images of matter ; but if 
 they could have efcaped without their armour, 
 they might have efcaped from it, and left only the 
 empty cover to be battered. Uriel, when he rides 
 on a fun-beam, is material ; Satan is material when 
 he is afraid of the prowefs of Adam. ^ 
 
 Vz The
 
 172 milton; 
 
 The confufion of fpirit and mattci" which per- 
 vades the whole narration of the war of heaven 
 fills it with incongruity ; and the book, in which 
 it is related, is, I beheve, the favourite of children, 
 and gradually neglefted as knowledge is increafed. 
 
 After the operation of immaterial agents, which 
 cannot be explained, may be confidered that of 
 allegorical perfons, which have no real exillence. 
 To exalt caufes into agents, to inveft abftradl ideas 
 with form, and animate them with a6livity, has 
 always been the right of poetry. But fuch airy 
 beings are, for the moft part, fuffered only to do 
 their natural office, and retire. Thus Fame tells 
 a tale, and Vidlory hovers over a general, or perches 
 on a ftandard ; but Fame and Victory can do no 
 more. To give them any real employment, or 
 afcribe to them any material agency, is to make 
 them allegorical no longer, but to fhock the mind 
 "by afcribing effefts to non-entity. In the Prome* 
 theus of iEfchylus, we fee Violence and Strength^ 
 and in the Alcejlis of Euripides, we fee Deaths 
 brought upon the ftage, all as adlive perfons of the 
 drama ; but no precedents can juftify abfurdity. 
 
 Milton's allegory of Sin and Death is undoubt- 
 edly faulty. Sin is indeed the mother of Death, 
 and may be allowed to be the portrefs of hell ; 
 but when they Hop the journey of Satan, a jour- 
 ney defcribed as real, and when Death offers him 
 battle, the allegory is broken. That Sin and 
 Death fhould have fhewn the way to hell, might 
 have been allowed ; but they cannot facihtate the 
 paffage by building a bridge, becaufe the difficulty 
 oi Satan's paffage is defcribed as real and fenfible, 
 
 and
 
 MILTOK.- J 73 
 
 M'ld tlie bridge ought to be only figurative. The 
 iicll afiigned to the rebelhous fpirits is defcribedaa 
 not lefs local than the refidence of man. It is 
 placed in fome dillant part of fpace, feparated 
 irom the regions of harmony and order by a 
 chaotick waile and an unoccupied vacuity ; but 
 Sin and Death worked up a mole oi aggravated foi/j 
 cemented with afphaltus ; a work too bulky for 
 ideal architefts. 
 
 This unflcilful allegory appears to me one of the 
 greateil faults of the poem ; and to this there 
 was no temptation, but the author's opinion of its 
 beauty. 
 
 To the conducl of the narrative fome objections 
 may be made. Satan is with great expectation 
 .brought before Gabriel in Paradife, and is fuffered 
 to go away unmoleiled. The creation of man is 
 -reprefented as the confequence of the vacuity left 
 in heaven by the expullion of the rebels ; yet 
 Satan mentions it as a report rife in heaven before 
 his departure. 
 
 To tind fentiments for the ftate of innocence, wa« 
 -very difficult ; and fomething of anticipation per- 
 haps is now and then difcovered. Adam's dif- 
 •courfe of dreams feems not to be the fpeculation of 
 a new-created being. I know not whether his 
 anfwerto the angel's reproof for curiofity does not 
 want fomething of propriety ; it is the fpeech of a 
 ■man acquainted with many other men. Some plii- 
 lofophical notions, efpecially when the philofopliy 
 is falfe, might have been better omitted^ The an- 
 gel, in a comparifon, fpeaks oitimorous dcsr, before 
 
 P ^ d^^JT
 
 174- MILTON'. 
 
 deer were yet timorous, and before Adam could un- 
 derftand the comparifon. 
 
 Diyden remarks, that Milton has fome flats 
 among his elevations. This is only to fay, that all 
 the parts are not equal. In every work, one part 
 mull be for the fake of others ; a palace muft have 
 paffages ; a poem mull have tranfitions. It is no 
 more to be required that wit fhould always be blaz- 
 ing, than that the fun fhould always Hand at noon. 
 In a great work there is a viciffitude of luminous 
 and opaque parts, as there is in the world a fuccef- 
 fion of day and night. Milton, when he has ex- 
 patiated in the flcy, may be allowed fometimes to 
 revifit earth ; for what other author ever foared fo 
 high, or fuftained his flight fo long ? 
 
 Mdton, being well verfed in the Italian poets, 
 appears to have borrowed often from them ; and, 
 as every man catches fomething from his compa- 
 nions, his deflre of imitating Arioflio's levity has 
 difgraced his work with the Paradife of Fools ; a 
 fiction not in itfelf ill-imagined, but too ludicrous 
 for its place. 
 
 His play on words, in which he delights too 
 often ; his equivocations, which Bentley endea- 
 vours to defendby the example of the ancients ; his 
 unneceffar}'- and ungraceful ufe of terms of art ; it 
 is not neceffar)^ to mention, becaufe they are eafily 
 remarked, and generally cenfured, and at lafl: bear 
 fo little proportion to the whole, that they fcarcely 
 delerve the attention of a critick. 
 
 Such are the faults of that wonderful perform- 
 ance Paradife Lojl ; which he who can put in 
 balance with its beauties mull be confidered not as 
 
 nice
 
 MILTON. 175 
 
 i!ce but as dull, as lefs to be cenfured for want of 
 cundour, than pitied for want of fenfibility. 
 
 Of Paradife Regained i the general judgement 
 feems now to be right, that it is in many parts ele- 
 gant, and every-where inftruftive. It was not to 
 be fuppofed that the writer of Paradife Lost could 
 ever \M-ite without great effufions of fancy, and ex- 
 alted precepts of wifdom. The bafis of Paradife 
 Regained is narrow j a dialogue without a6lion can 
 never pleafe like an union of the narrative and dra- 
 matick powers. Had this poem been written not 
 by Milton, but by fome imitator, it would have 
 claimed and received univerfal praife. 
 
 If Paradife Regained has been too much depre- 
 ciated, Sampfon Agomstes has in requital been too 
 much admired. It could only be by long pre- 
 judice, and the bigotry of learning, that Milton 
 could prefer the ancient tragedies, with their en- 
 cumbrance of a chorus, to the exhibitions of the 
 French and Enghlh llages ; and it is only by a 
 Hind confidence in the reputation of Milton, that 
 a drama can be praifed in which the intermediate 
 parts have neither caufe nor confequence, neither 
 liaften nor retard the cataftrophe. 
 
 In this tragedy are however many particular 
 beauties, many jull fentiments and ftriking lines ; 
 but it wants that power of attracting the attention 
 which a well-connecled plan produces. 
 
 Milton would not have excelled in dramatick 
 writing ; he knew human nature only in the grofs, 
 and had never ftudied the fhades of character, nor 
 the combinations of concurring, or the perplexity 
 «f cgutending paffions. He had read much, and 
 
 knew
 
 17^ MILTON.. 
 
 kncAV- what books could teach ; but had mingied 
 little in the world, and was delicient in the knowr 
 ledge which experience mufl confer. 
 
 Through all liis greater works there prevails an 
 uniform pecuharity of DiBion, a mode and call of 
 expreflion which bears little refemblance to that of 
 any former writer, and which is fo far removed 
 from common ufe, that an unlearned reader, whea 
 he firft opens his book, finds himfclf furprifed by a 
 new language. 
 
 This novelty has been, by thofe who can find 
 nothing wrong in Milton, imputed to his laborious 
 endeavours after v^^ords fuitable to the grandeur of 
 his ideas. Our language, fays Addifon,-y}//?/^ under 
 h'lm. But the truth is, that, both in profe and 
 verfe, he had fonned his ftyle by a perverfe and 
 pedantick principle. He was defirous to ufe En- 
 glifh words with a foreign idiom. This in all his 
 profe is difcovered and condemned ; for there 
 iudgment operates freely, neither foftened by the 
 beauty, nor awed by the dignity of his thoughts ; 
 but fuch is the power of his poetry, that his call 
 is obeyed without refiflance, the reader feels him- 
 felf in captivity to a higher and a nobler mind, and 
 criticifm links in admiration. 
 
 Milton's ftyle was not modified by his fubjeft ; 
 what is fhown with greater extent in Paradife Lostj 
 may be found in Comus, One fource of his pe- 
 cuharity was his familiarity with the Tufcan 
 poets : the difpofition of his words is, I think, 
 frequently Italian ; perhaps fometimes combined 
 with other tongues. Of him, at laft, may be faid 
 what Jonfon fays of Spenfer, that he ivrote np 
 
 language^
 
 MILTON, 177 
 
 ianguage, but has formed what Butler calls a Baby 
 lonish DiakS, in itfelf harfh and barbarous, but 
 made by exalted genius, and exteniive learning, the 
 vehicle of fo much inftru6tion and fo much 
 pleafure, that, like other lovers, we find grace in 
 its deformity. 
 
 Whatever be the faults of his diftion, he can- 
 not want the praife of copioufnefs and variety ; he 
 was mailer of his language in its full extent ; and 
 has feledled the melodious words with fuch dili- 
 gence, that from his book alone the Art of En- 
 ghfli Poetry might be learned. 
 
 After his diction, fomething muft be faid of his 
 i>erfification. The meajurcy he fays, is the Engl'i/Jj 
 heroick verfe luithout rhyme. Of this mode he 
 had many examples among the Italians, and fomc 
 in his own countiy. The Earl of Sun-ey is faid 
 to have tranflated one of Virgil's books without 
 rhyme ; and, befides our tragedies, a few fhort 
 poems had appeared in blank verfe ; particularly 
 one tending to reconcile the nation to Raleigh's 
 wild attempt upon Guiana, and probably written 
 by Raleigh himfelf. Thefe petty performances 
 cannot be fuppofed to have much influenced Mil- 
 ton, who more probably took his hints from 
 Trifmo's Italia Liherata ; and, finding blank 
 verfe eafier than rhyme, was defirous of perfuading 
 himfelf that it is better. 
 
 Rhyme, he fays, and fays tnily, is no necejfary ad* 
 jvn& of true poetry. But perhaps, of poetry as a 
 mental operation, metre or mufick is no neceffaiy 
 adjundl : it is however by the mufick of metr« 
 that poetry has been difcriminated in ail lan- 
 guages ;
 
 .17^ MILTOK. 
 
 guages ; and iii languages mclodioiifly condrucV.- 
 ed with a due proportion of long and fhoft fyl- 
 lables, metre is Sufficient. But one language can-, 
 not communicate its rules to another : AA'here metre 
 is fcanty and imperfect, fome help is neceffary. 
 The mufick of tht Englifh heroick Hne ftrikes the 
 ear fo faintly that it is eafily loft, unlefs all the 
 fyllables of ever)^ line co-operate together : this 
 co-operation can be only obtained by the preferva- 
 tion of every verfe unmingled with another, as a 
 diftinft fyftem of founds ; and this diftinctnefsis ob- 
 tained and prefen-ed by the artifice of rh}Tne. The 
 variety of paufes, fo much boafted by the lovers of 
 olank verfe, changes the meafures of an Enghfh 
 poet to the periods of a declaimer ; and there arc 
 only a few flvilful and happy readers of Milton, who 
 enable their audience to perceive where the lines 
 end or begin. Blank verfe, faid an ingenious 
 critick, feems to be verfe only to the eye. 
 
 Poetr}" may fubfift without rhyme, but Englifh 
 poetry will not often pleafe ; nor can rhyme ever 
 be fafely fpared but where the fubjecl is able to 
 fupport itfelf. Blank verfe makes fome approach 
 to that which is called the lapidary style ; has 
 neither the eafinefs of profe, nor the melody of 
 numbers, and therefore tires by long continuance. 
 Of the Italian writers without rhyme, whom Mil- 
 ton alledges as precedents, not one is popular ; 
 what reafon could urge in its defence, has been 
 confuted by th£ ear. 
 
 But, whatever be the advantage of rhyme, I 
 cannot prevail on myfelf to wifh that Milton had 
 been a rhymer ; for I cannot wifh his work to ht 
 
 other
 
 I 
 i 
 
 MILTON. 179 
 
 Other than it is ; yet, hke other heroes, he is to be 
 admired rather than imitated. He that thinks 
 himfelf capable of aftoniihing, may write blank 
 verfe ; but thofe that hope only to pleafe, muft 
 condefcend to rhyme. 
 
 The higlieft praife of genius is original inven- 
 tion. Milton cannot be faid to have contrived 
 the ftrufture of an epick poem, and therefore owes 
 reverence to that vigour and amphtude of mind to 
 which all generations mull be indebted for the art 
 ©f poetical narration, for the texture of the fable, 
 tiie variation of incidents, the interpoiition of dia- 
 logue, and all the ftratagems that furprife and en- 
 chain attention. But, of all the borrowers from 
 Homer, Milton is perhaps the leall indebted. He 
 was naturally a thinker for himfelf, confident of his 
 own abilities, and difdainful of help or hindrance : 
 he did not refufe admillion to the thoughts or 
 images of his predecefTors, but he did not feek 
 them. From his contemporaries he neither court- 
 ed nor received fupport ; there is in his writings 
 nothing by which the pride of other authors 
 might be gratified, or favour gained ; no exchange 
 of praife, nor foficitation of fupport. His great 
 works were performed under difcountenance, and 
 in bhndnefs, but ditficulties vanifhed at his touch ; 
 he was born for whatever is arduous ; and his 
 work is not tlie greatell of hcroick poems, only 
 l»ecaufe it is not the firlt. 
 
 BUTLER»
 
 ( '5o ) 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 OF the great author of Hiidibras there is i 
 life prefixed to the later editions of his poem, 
 by an unknown writer, and therefore of difpitt* 
 able authority ; and fome account is incidentally 
 given by Wood, who confelTes the uncertainty of 
 his own narrative ; more however th^an they knew 
 cannot now be learned, and nothing remains but 
 to compare and copy them. 
 
 Samuel Butler was bom in the parifh of 
 Strenfham in Worceflerfhire, according to his 
 biographer, in 1612. This account Dr. Nalh 
 finds confirmed by the regifter. He was chriilened 
 Feb. 14. 
 
 His father's condition is varioufly reprefented. 
 Wood mentions him as competently wealthy ; but 
 Mr. Longueville, the fon of Butler's principal 
 friend, fays he was an honed farmer with fome fmali 
 eflate, who made a fhift to educate his fon at the 
 grammar fchool of Worcefter under Mr. Henry 
 Bnght, from whofe care he removed for a (hort 
 time to Cambridge ; but, for a want of money, 
 was never made a member of any college. Wood 
 leaves us rather doubtful whether he went to Cam- 
 bridge or Oxford ; but at lail makes him pafs fix 
 
 0£
 
 '^-^TLEJa 
 
 U- Bnrhanaii llontL-ofe
 
 BUTLER. ;8l 
 
 or feven years at Cambridge, without knowing in 
 what hall or college ; yet it can hardly be imagin- 
 ed that he lived fo long in either univerfity, but as 
 belonging to one houle or another ; and it is ftill 
 lefs likely that he could have fo long inhabited a 
 place of learning with fo little diftindion as to 
 leave his refidence uncertain. Dr. Nafh has dif- 
 covered that his father was owner of a houfe and 
 a little land, worth about eight pounds a year, ftill 
 called Butler^ s tenement* 
 
 Wood has his information from his brother, 
 whofe narrative placed him at Cambridge, in op- 
 pofition to that of his neighbours which fent him 
 to Oxford. The brother's feems the beft authori- 
 ty, till, by confefling his inability to tell his hall 
 or college, he gives reafon to fufpeft that he was 
 refolved to beftow on him an academical educa- 
 tion ; but durft not name a college, for fear of 
 deteftion. 
 
 He was for fome time, according to the author 
 of his Life, clerk to Mr. Jefferys of Earl's-Croomb 
 in Worcefterfnire, an eminent juftice of the peace. 
 In his fervice he had not only leifure for ftudy, but 
 for recreation : his amufements were mufick and 
 painting ; and the reward of his pencil was the 
 friendfhip of the celebrated Cooper. Some pic- 
 tures, faid to be his, were fliewn to Dr. Nalh, at 
 Earl's-Croomb ; but when he enquired for them 
 fome years afterwards, he found them dellroyed, to 
 ftop windows, and owns that they hardly deferved 
 a better fate. 
 
 He was afterwards admitted into the family of 
 
 the Countefs of Kent, where he had the ufe of a 
 
 Vol. L Q_ library j
 
 l82 BUTLER. 
 
 library ; and io iriucli recommelidcd himfelfto Sei- 
 dell, that he was often employed by him in literary 
 biilincfs. Selden, as is well known, was ilewaid 
 to the Countefs, and is fuppofed to have gained 
 much of his wealth by managing her eflate. 
 
 In what characler Butler was admitted into that 
 Lady's fervice, how long he continued in it, and 
 why he left it, is, hke the other incidents of his 
 life, utterly unknown. 
 
 The viciflitudes of his condition placed him 
 afterwards in the family of Sir Samuel Luke, one 
 of Cromwell's olUcers. Here he obfer\'ed fo much 
 of the character of the feclaries, that he is faid to 
 have wTitten or begun his poem at this time ; and 
 it is likely that fuch a defign would be formed in a 
 place where lie faw the principles and practices of 
 the rebels, audacious and undifguifed in the conli- 
 dence of fuccefs. 
 
 At length the King returned, and the time came 
 m which loyalty hoped for its reward. Butler, 
 however, was only made fecretaiy to the Earl of 
 Carbury-, prefident of the prlncipahty of Wales ; 
 who confejTed on him the il:c\\ardniip of Ludlow 
 Caftle, when tlie Court of the Marches was re- 
 vived. 
 
 In this part of his life, he manned Mrs. Her- 
 bert, a gentlewoman of a good family ; and lived, 
 fays Wood, upon her fortune, having ftudied the 
 common law, but never praftifed it. A fortune 
 flie had, fays his biographer, but it was loft by bad 
 fecuritics. 
 
 In 1663 was publifiicd the firll: part, containing 
 three cantos, of the poem of Hudibras, which, as 
 
 Prior
 
 BUTLER. 183 
 
 Prior relates, was made known at Court by the 
 tafte and influence of the Earl of Durfet. When 
 it was known, it was necefl'arily admired : the king 
 quoted, the courtiers iludied, and the whole party 
 of the royalills applauded it. Every eye watched 
 for the golden fliower which v/as to fall upon the 
 author, who certainly was not without his part in 
 the general expectation. 
 
 In 1664 the fecond part appeared ; thecuriofi- 
 ty of the nation was rekiudled, and the writer was 
 again praifed and elated. But praiie was his whole 
 reward. Clarendon, fays Wood, gave him reafon 
 to hope for " places and employments of value 
 ** and credit ;'* but no fuch advantages did he 
 ever obtain. It is reported, that the King once 
 gave him three hundred guineas ; but of this tem- 
 porary bounty I find no proof. 
 
 Wood relates that he was fecretary to Villiers 
 Duke of Buckingham, when he was Chancellor of 
 Cambridge : this is doubted by the other writer, 
 who yet allows the Duke to have been his frequent 
 benefa6tor. That both thefe accounts arc falfe 
 there is reafon to fufpeft, from a llory told by 
 Packe, in his account of the Life of Wycherley, 
 and from fome verfes which Mr, Thyer has pub 
 lifhed in the author's remains. 
 
 " Mr. Wycherley," fays Packe, " had al\^^ays 
 ** laid hold of an opportunity which offered of re^ 
 ** prefenting to the Duke of Buckingham how 
 *' well Mr. Butler had deferved of the royal family, 
 *' by writing his inimitable Hudibras ; and that 
 ** it was a reproach to the Court, that a perfon of 
 ** his loyalty ^nd wit fhould futfer in obfcurity, 
 0^2 " and
 
 184 BUTLER. 
 
 " and under the v/ants lie did. The Duke a!- 
 ** ways feemed to hearken to him with attention 
 " enough ; and, after fome time, undertook to re- 
 " commend his pretenfions to his Majefty. Mr. 
 *' Wycherlev, in hopes to keep him fleady to his 
 " word, obtained of his Grace to name a day, 
 " when he might introduce that modeft and un- 
 " fortunate poet to his new patron. At laft an 
 " appointment was made, and the place of meet- 
 " ing was agreed to be the Roebuck. Mr. But- 
 " ler and his friend attended accordingly : the 
 " Duke joined them ; but, as the d — ^1 would have 
 ** it, the door of the room where they fat was 
 " open, and his Grace, who had feated himfelf 
 " near it, obferving a pimp of his acquaintance 
 " (the creature too was a knight) trip by with a 
 " brace of Ladies, immediately quitted his en- 
 " gagement, to follow another kind of bufmefs, at 
 ** which he was more ready than in doing good 
 " offices to men of defert ; though no one was 
 *' better quahfied than he,- both in regard to h"S 
 ** fortune and underftanding, to protect them ; 
 " and, from that time to the day of his death, 
 ** poor Butler never found the leaft effeA of his 
 " prom.ife !" 
 
 Such is the fton,-. The verfes are written with 
 a degree of acrimony, fuch as negle£l and difap- 
 pointment might naturally excite ; and fuch as it 
 would be hard to imagine Butler capable of ex- 
 prelTmg againft a man who had any claim to his 
 gratitude. 
 
 Notwithftanding this difcouragement and*neg- 
 Iccl, he Hill profecuted his defign ; and in 167S 
 
 publifhed
 
 BUTLER* 285 
 
 publifhed the third part, which flill leaves the poem 
 imperfect and abrupt. How much more he ori- 
 ginally intended, or with what events the aclion 
 was to be concluded, it is vain to conje6lure. 
 Nor can it be thought ftrange that he ihould 
 Hop here, however unexpectedly. To write with- 
 out reward is fufficiently unpleafmg. He had 
 now arrived at an age when he might think it pro- 
 per to be in jeil no longer, and perhaps his health 
 might now begin to fail. 
 
 He died in 1680 ; and Mr. L,ongue\ille, hav- 
 ing unfuccefsfuUy folicited a fublcription for his 
 interment in Wellminfter Abbey, buried him at 
 his own coft in the church-yard of Covent Gar- 
 den. Dr. Simon Patrick read the fervice. 
 
 Granger was informed by Dr. Pearce, who nam- 
 ed for his authority Mr. Lowndes of the treafur^^, 
 that Butler had an yearly penfion of an hundred 
 pounds. This is contradicled by aU tradition, 
 by the complaints of Oldham, and by the re- 
 proaches of Dry den j and I am afraid will never 
 be confirmed. 
 
 About fixty years afterwards, Mr. Barber, a 
 printer, Mayor of London, and a friend to But- 
 ler's principles, beftowed on him a monument in 
 Weftminfter Abbey, thus infcribed : 
 M. S. 
 Samuelis Butleri, 
 Qui Strenjhamia in agro Vigorn. nat. 161 2, 
 obiit Lond, 1680. 
 Vir doftus imprimis, acer, integer ; 
 Operibus Ingenii, non item prsemiis, foehx : 
 Satyrki apud nos Carminis Artifex egregius ; 
 
 0.3 Q2»
 
 1^6 SUTLER. 
 
 Quo fimulatae Reiigionis Latvam detraxit, 
 
 Erperduellium fcelera liberrime exagitavit : 
 
 Scriptorum in fiio genere, Primus et Poftremus- 
 
 Ne, cui vivo deerant fere omnia, 
 
 DeefTet etiam mortuo Tumulus, 
 
 Hog tandem pofito marmore, curavit 
 
 Johannes Barber, Civis lokbinensis, I'jii, 
 
 After his death vrere publiflied three fmalt 
 volumes of his poilhumous works I know not by 
 whom collected, or by what authority afcertained ; 
 and, lately, two volumes more have been printed by 
 Mr. Thyer of Manchefter, indubitably genuine. 
 From none of thefe pieces can his hfe be traced, or 
 his character difcovered. Some verfes, in the laft 
 coUeftion, {hew him to have been among thofe 
 who ridiculed the inftitution of the Royal Society, 
 of which the enemies were for fome time very nu- 
 merous and very acrimonious, for what reafon it is 
 hard to conceive, fmce the pliilofophers profefTed 
 not to advance dodrines, but to produce fads ; 
 and the moil zealous enemy of innovation muft ad- 
 mit the gradual progrefs of experience, however he 
 may oppofe hypothetical temerity. 
 
 In this mill of obfcurity pafTed the hfe of Butler, 
 a man whofe name can only perirti with his 
 language. The mode and pla'ie oT his education 
 are unknown ; the e^•ents of his life are varroufly 
 related ; and all that can be told vd\.\i certainty is, 
 that he was poor. 
 
 The poem of Hudibras is one of thofe compofi- 
 tions of which a nation may juflly boaft ; as the 
 images which it exhibits are domcllick, the fenti- 
 
 merits
 
 BUTLER. 187 
 
 mcnts unborrowed and unexpeded, and the ftrain 
 of dlftion original and peculiar. We muil not, 
 however, fuffer the pride, which we afllime as the 
 eountr^-men of Butler, to make any encroachment 
 upon juftice, nor appropriate thofe honours which 
 others have a right to fhare. The poem of Hudi- 
 bras is not wholly Englifh ; the original idea is to 
 be found in the Hiftory of Don Quixote ; a book 
 to which a mind of the greateft powers may be in- 
 debted without difgrace. 
 
 Cervantes fliews a man, who having, by the in- 
 ceiTant perufal of incredible tales, fubjefted his un- 
 derftanding to his imagination, and famnliarifed his 
 mind by pertinacious meditation to trains of in- 
 credible events and fcenes of impolTible exiftence, 
 goes out in the pride of knighthood, to redrefs 
 wrongs, and defend virgins, to refcue captive prin- 
 cefTes, and tumble ufurpers from their thrones ; at- 
 tended by a fquire, whofe cunning, too low for the 
 fufpicion of a generous mind, enables him often tO' 
 cheat his mailer. 
 
 The hero of Butler is a Prefbyterian Juftice, 
 who, in the confidence of legal authority, and the 
 rage of zealous ignorance, ranges the country to 
 reprefs fuperlHtion and corre6t abufes, accompani- 
 ed by an Independent Clerk, difputatious and ob- 
 ftinate, with whom he often debates, but never 
 conquers him. 
 
 Cervantes had fo much kindnefs for Don Quix- 
 ote, that, howevei* he embarraffes him with abfurd 
 diftreffes, he gives him fo much fenfe and virtue as 
 may prefen'e our eileera ; wherever he is, or wliat- 
 
 ev?r
 
 t8B BUTLEJl. 
 
 ever he does, he is made by matchlefs dexterity 
 commonly ridiculous, but never contemptible. 
 
 But for poor Hudibras, his poet had no tender- 
 nefs : he chufes not that any pity fhould be fhcwu 
 or refped paid him : he gives him up at once to 
 laughter and contempt, without any quality that 
 can dignify or protedl him. 
 
 In forming the charadler of Hudibras, and def- 
 eribing his perfon and habiliments, the author 
 feems to labour with a tumultuous confufion of 
 dillimilar ideas. He had read the hiftory of the 
 mock knights-errant ; he knew the notions and 
 manners of a prefbyterian magiftrate, and tried to 
 unite the abfurdities of both, however diilant, in 
 one perfonage. Thus he gives him that pedan- 
 tick oftentation of knowledge which has no rela- 
 tion to chivali-y, and loads him with martial en- 
 cumbrances that can add nothing to his civil digni- 
 ty. He fends him out a colonelllngy and yet never 
 brings him within fight of war. 
 
 If Hudibras be confidered as the reprefentative 
 of the prefbyterians, it is not eafy to fay why his 
 weapons fhould be reprefented as ridiculous or ufe- 
 lefs ; for, whatever judgement might be paffed 
 upon their knowledge or their arguments, experi- 
 ence had fufficiently fhown that their fwords were 
 iiot to be defpifed. 
 
 The hero, thus compounded of fwaggerer and 
 pedant, of knight and juftice, is led forth to 
 adlion, with his fquire Ralpho, an Independant 
 cnthufiaft. 
 
 Of the contexture of events planned by the 
 »^thor, vvliich is called the adtien of the poem, 
 
 fmcc
 
 MILTON. I^g 
 
 'And it is left impeifeft, no judgment can be made. 
 It is probable that the hero was to be led through - 
 many lucklefs adventures, which would give occa- 
 fion, like his attack upon the bear end Jiddle, l?o 
 expofe the ridiculous rigour of the feftaries ; like 
 his encounter with Sidrophel and Whacum, to 
 make fuperftition and credulity contemptible ; or, 
 like his recourfe to the low retailer of the law, 
 difcover the fraudulent praClices of different pro- 
 fefiions. 
 
 What feries of events he would have formed, or 
 in what manner he would have rewarded or pu- 
 niflied his hero, it is now vain to conjefture. Kis 
 work mull have had, as it feems, the defeft which 
 Dryden im^putes to Spenfer ; the aftion could not 
 have been one ; there could only have been a fuc- 
 ceflion of incidents, each of which might have 
 happened without the reft, and which could not 
 ^ all co-operate to any fmgle conclulion. 
 
 The difcontinuity of the aftion might however 
 have been eafily forgiven, if there had been aftioix 
 enough; but I believe every reader regrets the 
 paucity of events, and complains that in the poem 
 of Hudibras, as in the hiftory of Thucydides, there 
 is miore faid than done. The fcenes are too fel- 
 dom changed, and the attention is tired with long 
 converfation. 
 
 It is indeed much more eafy to form dialogues 
 than to contrive adventures. Every pcfiticn makes 
 way for an argum.ent, and every objection di6lates 
 an anfwer. When two difputants are engaged 
 upon a complicated and extenfive queftion, the 
 difficulty is not to continue, but to end the con- 
 
 troverfv.
 
 190 BUTLER. 
 
 troverfy. But whether it be that we comprehend 
 but few of the pofTibihties of hfe, or that hfe itfelf 
 affords little variety, every man who has tried 
 knows how much labour it will coft to form fuch 
 a com^bi nation of circumftances, as fhall have at 
 once the grace of novelty and credibihty, and de- 
 light fancy without violence to reafon. 
 
 Perhaps the Dialogue of this poem is not per- 
 fe6l. Some power of engaging the attention might 
 have been added to it, by quicker reciprocation, 
 by feafonable interruptions, by fudden qucftions, 
 and by a nearer approach to dramatick fpritehnefs ; 
 vnthout which, fictitious fpeeches will always tire, 
 how^ever fparkhng A\nth fentences, and however 
 variegated with allufions. 
 
 The great fource of pleafure is variety. Uni- 
 formity muft tire at laft, though it be uniform- 
 ity of excellence. We love to expeft ; and, 
 when expeftation is difappointed or gratified, we 
 want to be again expecting. For this impatience 
 of the prefent, whoever would pleafe, mull make 
 provifion. The flvilful writer irritate inulcet, makes 
 a due diilribution of the ftill and animated parts. 
 It is for want of this artful intertexture, and thofe 
 neceflary changes, that the whole of a book may 
 be tedious, though all the parts are praifed. 
 
 If unexhauftible wit could give perpetual plea- 
 fure, no eye would ever leave half-read the work 
 of Butler ; for what poet has ever brought fo 
 many remote images fo happily together ? It is 
 fcarcely poflible to perufe a page without finding 
 feme aflbciation of images that was never found 
 before. By the firft paragraph the reader is amu-
 
 BUTLER. 191 
 
 :d, by the next he is delighted, and by a few more 
 drained to aftonifhment ; but aftonifhment is a toil- 
 fome pleafure ; he is foon weary of wondering, 
 and longs to be diverted. 
 
 Omnia vult belle Matho dicere, die allquando 
 Et bene, die neutrum, die aliquando male. 
 
 Imagination is ufelefs without knowledge : na- 
 ture gives in vain the power of combination, un- 
 lefs lludy and obfervation fupply materials to be 
 combined. Butler's treafures of knowledge ap- 
 pear proportioned to his expence : whatever to- 
 pick employs his mind, he fhews himfelf quahlied 
 to expand and illuftrate it with all the acceffories 
 that books can furniih : he is found not only to 
 have travelled the beaten road, but the bye-path» 
 of literature; not only to have taken general fur- 
 veys, but to have examined particulars with minute 
 infpe6lion. 
 
 If the French boaft the learning of Rabe- 
 lais, we need not be afraid of confronting them 
 with Butler. 
 
 But the moft valuable parts of his perfonnance 
 are thofe which retired ftudy and native wit can- 
 not fupply. He that merv-dy makes a book from 
 books may be ufeful, but can fcarcely be great. 
 Butler had not fufFered life to ghde befide him 
 unfeen or unobferved. He had watched with 
 great dihgence the operations of human nature, 
 and traced the effecl:s of opinion, humour, inte- 
 reft, and paffion. From fuch remarks proceeded 
 that great number of fententious diflichs which 
 have paifed into jconverfation, and are added a^ pro-< 
 
 verbial
 
 192 BUTLER. 
 
 verbial axioms to the general flock of praAical 
 knowledge. 
 
 When any work has been viewed and admired, 
 the liril queftion of intelligent curiofity is, how 
 was it performed ? Hudibras was not a hally effu- 
 fion ; it was not produced by a fudden tumult of 
 imagination, or a fhort paroxyfm of violent labour. 
 To accumulate fuch a mafs of fentiments at the 
 call CI accidental defire, or of fudden neceflity, 
 is beyond the reach and power of the moll aftive 
 and comprehenfive mind. I am infonned by Mr. 
 Thyer of Manchefter, the excellent editor of this 
 author's reliques, that he could fnew fomething 
 like Hudibras in profe. He has in his polTeiTion 
 the common-place book, in which Butler repofited, 
 not fuch events or precepts as are gathered by 
 reading ; but fuch remarks, hmilitudes, allufions, 
 affemblages, or inferences, as occafion prompted, 
 or meditation produced ; thofe thoughts that were 
 generated in his own mind, and might be ufefully 
 apphed to fome future purpofe. Such is the la- 
 bour of thofe who write for immortality. 
 
 But human works are not eafily found without 
 a perifhable part. Of the ancient poets every 
 reader feels the mythology tedious and oppreflive. 
 Of Hudibras, the manners, being founded on opi- 
 nions, are temporary and local, and therefore be- 
 come every day lefs inteihgible, and lefs linking. 
 "What Cicero fays of philofophy is true likcv.ife of 
 wit and humour, that " time effaces the fidtions 
 *' of opinion, and confirms the determinations of 
 *' Nature.'* Such manners as depend upon fland- 
 iug relations and general palfions are co-extended 
 ^ with
 
 BUTLER. 193 
 
 trith the race of man ; but tliofc modifications of 
 life, and peculiarities of praftice, which are the 
 progeny of error and perverfenefs, or at bell of 
 fome accidental influence or tranfient perfuafion, 
 mull perifh with their parents. 
 
 Much therefore of that humour which tranfport- 
 cd the laft century with memment is loft to us, who 
 do not know the four folemnity, the fullen fuper- 
 ftition, the gloomy morofenefs, and the flubborn 
 fcnfples of the ancient Puritans ; or, if we knew 
 them, derive our information only from books, or 
 from tradition, have never had them before our 
 eyes, and cannot but by recolle6lion and ftudy 
 underftand the lines in which they are fatirifed. 
 Our grandfathers knew the piclure from the life ; 
 we judge of the life by contemplating the pifture. 
 
 It is fcarcely polTiblej in the regularity and com- 
 pofure of the prefent time, to image the tumult 
 of abfurdity, and clamour of contradiction, which 
 perplexed doftrine, difordered practice, and dif- 
 turbed both publick and private quiet, in that age, 
 when fubordination was broken, and awe was hiffed 
 away ; when any unfettled innovator who could 
 hatch a half-formed notion produced it to the pub- 
 lick ; when every man might become a preacher, 
 and almoft every preacher could colledl a congre- 
 gation. 
 
 The wifdom of the nation is very reafonably 
 fuppofed to refide in the parliament. What can 
 be concluded of the lower claffes of the people, 
 when in one of the parHaments fummoned by 
 Cromwell it was ferioully propofed, that all the 
 |-ecords in the Tower fhould be burnt; that all me^ 
 
 Vol. I, H mory
 
 194- BUTLER, 
 
 mory of things pall ihould be effaced, and that 
 the whole fyllem of hfe fhould commence anew ? 
 
 We have never been witneffes of animofities ex- 
 cited by the ufe of minced pies and phnnb por-» 
 iidge ; nor feen with what abhorrence thofe who 
 could eat them at all other times of the year would 
 ftirink from them in December. An old Puritan, 
 who was ahve in my childhood, being at one of 
 the fealls of the church invited by a neighbour to 
 partake his cheer, told him, that, if he would treat 
 him at an alehoufe with beer, brewed for all times 
 and feafons, he fhould accept his kindnefs, but 
 would have none of his fuperilitious meats or 
 drinks. 
 
 One of the puritanical tenets, was the illegality 
 of all games of chance ; and he that reads Gata- 
 ker upon Lots, may fee how much learning and 
 reafon one of the lirft fcholars of his age thought 
 necefTary, to prove that it was no crime to throw 
 a die, or play at cards, or to hide a (hilling for the 
 reckoning. 
 
 Aftrology, hov/ever, againil which fo much of 
 the fiitire is direfted, was not more the folly of 
 the Puritans than of others. It had in that time 
 a veiy extenfive dominion. Its prediftions raifed 
 hopes and fears in minds which ought to have re- 
 je^ied it with contempt. In hazardous undertak- 
 ings, care was taken to begin under the influence 
 of a propitious planet ; and when the king was 
 prifoner in Carifbrook CalUe, an aftrologer was 
 confulted what hour would be found moft favour- 
 able to an efcape. 
 
 Wjiat effect this poem had upon the publick, 
 
 whetheP'
 
 BUTLKK. 195 
 
 'n'hethcr it fnamed impoftiire or reclaimed credu- 
 lity, is not eafily determined. Cheats can feldom 
 ftand long againit laughter. It is certain that the 
 credit of planetary intelligence wore fail away ; 
 though fome men of knowledge, and Di-j'deii 
 among them, continued to believe that conjunc- 
 tions and oppofitions had a great part in the dif- 
 tribution of good or evil, and in the government of 
 fublunaiy things. 
 
 Poetical A6lion ought to be probable upon 
 certain fuppofitions, and fuch probabihty as bur- 
 lefque requires is here violated only by one incident. 
 Nothing can fhew more plainly the neceffity of 
 doing fomething, and the difficulty of finding 
 fomething to do, than that Butler was reduced to 
 transfer to his hero the flagellation of Sancho, not 
 the moll agreeable fiftion of Cervantes ; very fuit- 
 able indeed to the manners of that age and nation, 
 which afcribed wonderful efficacy to voluntary 
 penances ; but fo remote from the pratlice and 
 opinions of the Hudibraftick time, that judgment 
 find imagination are alike offended. 
 
 The diclion of this poem is grofsly familiar, 
 and the numbers purpofely neglefhed, except in 
 a few places where the thoughts by their native 
 excellence fecure themfelves from violation, being 
 fuch as mean language cannot exprefs. The mode 
 of verfification has been blamed by Dryden, who 
 regrets that the heroick meafure was not ra- 
 ther chofen. To the critical fentence of Dr^-^den 
 the higheil reverence would be due, were not his 
 decifions often precipitate, and his opinions imma- 
 R 2 ture.
 
 IgG BUTLER. 
 
 tiire. When he wiflied to change the meafurc, h^ 
 probably would have been willing to change more. 
 If he intended that, when the numbers were he- 
 roick, the didion fhould ftill remain vulgar, he 
 planned a veiy heterogeneous and unnatural com- 
 pofition. If he preferred a general ftatelinefs both 
 of found and words, he can be only underftood 
 to wifn that Butler had undertaken a different 
 work. 
 
 The meafure is quick, fpritely, and colloquial, 
 fuitable to the vulgarity of the words and the le- 
 vity of the fentiments. But fuch numbers and fuch 
 diftion can gain regard only when they are ufed 
 by a writer whofe vigour of fancy and copioufnefs 
 of knowledge entitle him to contempt of orna- 
 ments, and who, in confidence of the novelty and 
 juftnefs of his conceptions, can afford to throw 
 metaphors and epithets away. To another that 
 conveys common thoughts in carelefs verfification, 
 it will only be faid, " Pauper videri Cinna vult, 
 ** & eft pauper." The meaning and di6:ion will 
 be worthy of each other, and criticifm may juftly 
 doom them to perifh together. 
 
 Nor even though another Butler fhould arife, 
 would another Hudibras obtain the fame regard. 
 Burlefque confifts in a difproportion between the 
 ft^'le and the fentiments, or between the adventi- 
 tious fentiments and the fundamental fubject. It 
 therefore, hke all bodies compounded of heteroge- 
 neous parts, contains in it a principle of corrup- 
 tion. All difproportion is unnatural ; and from 
 v>hat is unnatiu^al we can derive only the pleafure 
 
 which
 
 ■ EITTLIR. 197 
 
 vvbicli novelty produces. We admire it awhile as 
 a ftrange thing ; but, when it is no longer ftrange, 
 we perceive its deformity. It is a kind of artifice, 
 which by frequent repetition detefts itfelf ; and 
 the reader, learning in time what he is to expert, 
 lays down his book, as the fpedlator turns away 
 from a fecond exhibition of thofe tricks, of which 
 the only ufe is to fhew that they can be played. 
 
 ROCHESTER, 
 
 ^3
 
 { J9S ) 
 
 ROCHESTER. 
 
 JOHN WILMOT, aftenvards Earl of Ro- 
 chefter, the fon of Henry Earl of Rochefter, 
 better known by the title of Lord Wilmot, fo of- 
 ten mentioned in Clarendon's Hiftory, was born 
 April lo, 1647, at Ditchley in Oxfordfhire. . 
 After a grammatical education at the fchool of 
 Burford, he entered a nobleman into Wadham 
 College in 1659, only twelve years old; and in 
 1 66 1, at fomteen, was, with fome other perfons 
 of high rank made mailer of arts by Lord Claren- 
 don in perfon. 
 
 He travelled aftenvards into France and Italy ; 
 and, at his return devoted himfelf to the Court. 
 In 1665 he went to fea with Sandwich, and diftin- 
 guifhed liimfelf at Bergen by uncommon intrepidi- 
 ty ; and the next fummer ferved again on board Sir 
 Edward Spragge, who, in the heat of the engage- 
 ment, having a meflage of reproof to fend to one 
 of his captains, could find no man ready to carry 
 it but Wihnot, who, in an open boat, went and 
 returned amidft the ftorm of fhot. 
 
 But his reputation for bravery was not laillng : 
 he was reproached with flinking away in ftrcet 
 quan-els, and leaving liis companions to fhift as 
 tliey could without him j and Sheflield Duke of 
 
 fucking-
 
 '■<Sg^fy-Er/tw>i<l>it 
 
 IROC'HESTEIFI 
 
 Knpravpd for John&n's Livps of tW Poets: 'PubliflLed Bj^ 
 D. Buclanan Maiitroii>
 
 ROCHESTER. ig^ 
 
 Buckingham has left a ftoiy of his refufal to 
 fight him. 
 
 He had ver}'- early an inclination to intempe- 
 rance, which he totally fubdued in his travels ; 
 but, when he became a courtier, he unhappily ad- 
 didled himfelf to diffolute and vitious company, by 
 which his principles were corrupted, and his man- 
 ners depraved. He loll all fenfe of rehgious re- 
 ftraint ; and, finding it not convenient to admit 
 the authority of laws which he was refolved not 
 to obey, fheltered his wickednefs behind infidehty. 
 
 As he excelled in that noify and Hcentious mer- 
 riment which wine incites, his companions eagerly 
 encouraged him in excefs, and he wilhngly indul- 
 ged it ; till, as he confefled to Dr. Burnet, he 
 was for five years together continually drunk, or 
 fo much inflamed by frequent ebriety, as in no 
 interval to be mafter of himfelf. 
 
 In this ftate he played many frolicks, which it 
 is not for his honour that we fliould remember, and 
 which are not now diflinftly known. He often 
 purfued low amours in mean difguifes, and always 
 afted with great exaftnefs and dexterity the cha- 
 racters which he aflumed. 
 
 He once eredled a llage on Tower-hill, and ha- 
 rangued the populace as a mountebank ; and, hav- 
 ing made phyfick part of his ftudy, is faid to 
 have pra6lifed it fuccefsfully. 
 
 He was fo much in favour with King Charles, 
 that he was made one of the gentlemen of the 
 bedchamber, and comptroller of Woodftock Park, 
 
 Having an a6tive and inquifitive mind, he never, ' 
 except in his paroxyfms of intemperance, was 
 
 wholly
 
 aOO ROCHESTER. 
 
 ■wholly negligent of lludy : he read what is coiiL- 
 dered as polite learning fo much, that he is men- 
 tioned by Wood as the greateil fcholar of all the 
 nobility. Sometimes he retired into the countiy, 
 and amufed himfelf with writing libels, in which he 
 did not pretend to coniine himfelf to truth. 
 
 His favourite author in French was Boileau, 
 and in Engliih Cowley. 
 
 Thus in a courfe of drunken gaiety, and grofs 
 fenfuality, with intervals of iludy perhaps yet more 
 criminal, with an avowed contempt of all decency 
 and order, a total difregaid to every moral, and a 
 refolute denial of ever)' religious obhgation, he 
 lived worthlefs and ufelefs, and blazed out his 
 youth and his health in lavilh vohiptuoufnefs ; 
 tiU, at the age of one and thirty, he had exhauf- 
 ted the fund of life, and reduced himfelf to a ilate 
 of weaknefs and decay. 
 
 At this time he was led to an acquaintance with 
 Dr. Burnet, to whom he laid open \Wth great free- 
 dom the tenour of his opinions, and the courfe of 
 his hfe, and from whom he received fuch convic- 
 tion of the reafonablenefs of moral duty, and the 
 truth of Chrillianity, as produced a total change 
 both of his manners and opinions. The account 
 of thofe falutar)' conferences is given by Burnet, 
 in a book intituled. Some Pajfages of the Life and 
 Death of John Earl of Rocheller ; which the 
 critick ought to read for its elegance, the philofo- 
 pher for its arguments, and the faint for its piety. 
 It were an injury to the reader to offer him aa 
 abridgement. 
 
 He died July 25, i68o, before he had com- 
 pleted
 
 ROCHESTER. 201 
 
 pleted his thirty-fourth year ; and was fo worn 
 away by a long illnefs, that hfe went out without 
 a ft Higgle. 
 
 Lord Rochefter was eminent for the vigour of 
 his colloquial wit, and remarkable for many wild 
 pranks and fallies of extravagance. The glare of 
 his general charader diffufed itfelf upon his writ- 
 ings ; the compofitions of a man whofe name was 
 heard fo often, were certain of attention and from 
 many readers certain of applaufe. This blaze of 
 reputation is not yet quite extinguifhed ; and his 
 poetry ft ill retains fome fplendour beyond that 
 which genius has beftowed. 
 
 Wood and Burnet give us reafon to believe, that 
 much was imputed to him which he did not write. 
 I know not by whom the original colleftion was 
 made, or by what authority its genuinenefs was 
 afcertained. The firft edition was publiftied in the 
 year of his death, with an air of concealment, pro- 
 feffing in the title page to be printed at Antiuerp, 
 
 Of fome of the pieces, however, there is no 
 doubt. The Imitation of Horace's Satire, the 
 Verfes to Lord Mulgrave, the Satire againft Man, 
 the Verfes upon Nothing, and perhaps fome others, 
 are I believe genuine, and perhaps moft of thofe 
 which the late colleftion exhibits. 
 
 As he cannot be fuppofed to have found lei- 
 fure for any courfe of continued ftudy, his pieces 
 are commonly fliort, fuch as one lit of refolution 
 would produce. 
 
 His fongs have no particular character : they 
 tell, like other fongs, in fmooth and eafy language, 
 of fcorn and kindnefs, difmiffion and defertion, 
 
 abfencc
 
 202 ROCHESTER. 
 
 abfence and Inconftancy, with the common places 
 of artificial coiirtHiip. They are commonly fmooth 
 and eafy ; but have little nature, and httle len- 
 timent. 
 
 His imitation of Horace on Lucilius is not 
 inelegant or unhappy. In the reign of Charles 
 the Second began that adaptation, which has fince 
 been very frequent, of ancient poetiy to prefent 
 times ; and perhaps few will be found where the 
 parallelifm is better preferved than in this. The 
 verfiiication is indeed fometimes carelefs, but it is 
 fometimes vigorous and weighty. 
 
 The ftrongelu effort of his Mufe is his poem 
 upon Nothing. He is not the firft who has chofen 
 this barren topick for the boaft of his fertihty. 
 There is a poem called Nihil in Latin by Pajferaty 
 a poet and critick of the fixteenth century in 
 France ; who, in his own epitaph, expreffes his 
 zeal for good poetr)'^ thus : 
 
 — Molliter ofTa qulefcent 
 Sint modo carminibus non cnerata mails. 
 
 His Avorks are not common, and therefore I 
 fhall fubjoin his verfes. 
 
 In examining tliis performance, Nothing mull be 
 confidered as having not only a negative but a kind 
 of politive fignification ; as, I need not fear thieves, 
 I have nothing ; and nothing is a very powerful 
 proteftor. In the firft part of the fentence it is taken 
 negatively ; in the fecond it is taken pofitively, 
 jis an agent. In one of Boileau's Hues it was a 
 queftion, whether he fhould ufe a r'len falre, or 
 a ne rien falre ; and the firft was preferred, be- 
 
 caufe
 
 'ROCHESTER. 20^ 
 
 caufe it gave rten a fenfe in fome fort pofitive. 
 Nothing can be a fubjeft only in its politive fenfe, 
 and fuch a fenfe is given it in the firft line ; 
 Nofblngj thou elder brother ev*n to fliade. 
 
 In this line, I know not whether he does not al- 
 lude to a curious book de Umbra, by Wowerus, 
 which, having told the qualities of Shade, con- 
 cludes with a poem in which are thefe lines : 
 
 Jam primum terram validis circumfpice clauflris 
 Sufpenfam totam, decus admirabile mundi, 
 Terrafque tracftufque maris, campofque hquentes 
 Aeris & vafti iaqueata palatia coeli — 
 Omnibus umbka prior. 
 
 The pofitive fenfe is generally preferved, with 
 great flcill through the whole poem ; though 
 fometimes in a fubordinate fenfe, the negative 
 nothing is injudicioufly mingled. Pafferat con- 
 founds the two fenfes. 
 
 Another of his moil vigorous pieces is his Lam- 
 poon on Sir Car Scroop, who, in a poem called 
 The Pra'ife of Satire, had fome Hues like thefe * : 
 
 He who can pufh into a midnight fray 
 His brave companion, and then run away, 
 Leaving him to be murder 'd in the ftreet. 
 Then put it off with fome buffoon conceit ; 
 Him, thus difhonour'd for a wit you own, 
 And court him as top fidler ot the town. 
 
 This was meant of Rochefter, whofe buffoon 
 conceit was, I fuppofe, a faying often mentioned, 
 
 * I quote from memory. 
 
 that
 
 204 ROCHESTER. 
 
 that every Man nvould be a Coivard if he durji ; 
 and drew from him thofe furious verfes ; to which 
 Scroop made in reply an epigram, ending with 
 thefe Hnes : 
 
 Thou can'ft hurt no man's fame with thy ill word ; 
 Thy pen is full as harmlefs as thy fword. 
 
 Of the fatire againft Marii Rochefler can only 
 claim what remains when all Boileau's part is 
 taken away. 
 
 In all his works there is fpritelinefs and vigour, 
 and every where may be found tokens of a mind 
 which ftudy might have carried to excellence. 
 What more can be expefted from a life fpent in 
 oftentatious contempt of regularity, and ended 
 before the abilities of many other men began to 
 be difplayed ? 
 
 Poema
 
 ROCHESTER. 20^ 
 
 Poema CI. V. Joannis Passeratii, 
 
 Regii in Academia Parifienfi Profefforis. 
 
 Ad ornatilTimum viriim Erricum Memmium. 
 
 Janus adeft, feftse pofcimt fua dona Kalendae, 
 Munus abeft feftis quod poffim ofFerre Kalendis. 
 Siccine Caitalius nobis exaruit humor ? 
 Ufque adeo ingenii noftri ell exhaulla facultas, 
 Jmmunem ut videat redeuntis janitor anni ? 
 Quod nufquam eft, potius nova per veftigia qux« 
 ram. 
 
 Ecce autem partes dum fefe verfat in omnes 
 Invenit mea Mufa nihil, ne defpice munus. 
 Nam NIHIL eft gemmis, nihil ell pretiolius auro^ 
 Hue animum, hue igitur vultus adverte benignos j 
 Res nova narratur quae nulH audita priorum^ 
 Aufonii & Graii dixerunt csetera vates, 
 Aufonias indicium nihil eft Graecaeque Camoenae, 
 
 E ccclo quacunque Cergs fua profpicit arva, 
 Aut genitor liquidis orbem compleftitur ulnis 
 Oceanus, nihil interitus & originis expers. 
 Immortale nihil, nihil omni parte beatum. 
 Quod fi hinc majeftas & vis divina probatur, 
 ^Jum quid honore dcum, num quid dignabimuy 
 
 aris ? 
 (!onfpeftu lucis nihil eft jucundius almje, 
 
 Vol. h S Ver«
 
 t06 ROCHESTER. 
 
 Vere nihil, nihil irriguo formofius horto, 
 Floridius pratis, Zephyri clementius aura ; 
 In bello fantlum nihil eft, Martifquc tumultu : 
 Juftum in pace nihil, nihil eft in foedere tutum. 
 Felix ciii NIHIL eft, (fuerant haec vota Tibullo) 
 Non timit infidias : fures, incendia temnit : 
 Sollicitas feqiiitur nullo fiib judice lites. 
 Ilk ipfe inviclis qui fubjicit omnia fatis 
 Zenonis fapiens, nihil admiratur & optat, 
 Socraticique gregis fait ifta fcientia quondam. 
 Scire nihil, ftudio cui nunc incumbitur uni. 
 Nee quicquam in ludo mavult didicifte juventus. 
 Ad magnas quia ducit opes, & culmen honorum. 
 Nofce nihil, nofces feitur quod Pythagorese 
 Grano hcerere fabse, cui vox adjuncta ncgantis. 
 Multi Mercurio freti duce \-ifcera terroe 
 Pura liquefaciunt limul, & patrimonia mifcent, 
 Arcane inftantes operi, 5c carbonibus atris. 
 Qui tandem exhaufti damnis, fractique labore, 
 Inveniunt atque inventum nihil ufque requirunt. 
 Hoc dimetiri non uUa decempeda poflit : 
 Nee numeret Libycae numerum qui callet arenje : 
 Et Phoebo ignotum nihil eft, nihil altius aftris. 
 Tuque, tibi licet eximium lit mentis acumen, 
 Omnem in naturam penetrans, & in abdita rerum, 
 Pace tua, Memmi, nihil ignorare videris. 
 Sole tamen nihil eft, & puro clarius igne. 
 Tange nihil, dicefque nihil line corpore tangi. 
 Cerne nihil, cerni dices nihil abfque colore. 
 Surdum audit loquituique nihil fine voce, volat- 
 
 que 
 Abfque ope pennarum, & graditur fine cruribus 
 
 ullis. 
 
 Abfque
 
 ROCHESTFR. 207 
 
 Abfque loco motuque nihil per inane vagatur. 
 Humano gencri utilius nihil arte medendi. 
 Ne rhombos igitiir, neu Theffala murmura tentet 
 Idalia vacuum trajeftus arundine pe6lus, 
 Neu legat Idaeo JDictaeum in vertice gramen. 
 Vulneribus faevi nihil auxiliatur amoris. 
 Vexerit & quemvis trans moeilas portitor undas, 
 Ad fuperos imo nihil hunc rcvocabit ab orco. 
 Inferni nihil infle6lit prsecordia regis, 
 Parcarunique colos, & inexorabile penfum. 
 Obruta Phlegrtcis campis Titania pubes 
 Fulmineo feiiiit nihil efle potentius iftu : 
 Porriofitur mao^ni nihil extra moenia mundi : 
 
 tot) 
 
 Dii'que NIHIL metuunt. Quid longo carmine 
 
 plura 
 Commemorem ? virtute nihil praeflantius ipfa, 
 Splendidius nihil eft ; nihil eft Jove deniquc 
 
 majus. 
 Sed tempus finem argutis imponcre nugis : 
 Ne tibi i\ multa laudem mea carmina charta 
 De nihilo nihili pariant faftidia vcrfus. 
 
 S 2 ROSCOMMON.
 
 L 208 3 
 
 ROSCOMMON. 
 
 WENTWORTH DILLON, Earl of Rof- 
 common, was the fon of James Dillon and 
 Elizabeth Wentworth, filler to the earl of Straf- 
 ford. He was born in Ireland, during the lieuten- 
 ancy of Strafford, who, being both his uncle and 
 his godfather, gave him his own furname. His fa- 
 ther, the third earl of Rofcommon, had been con- 
 verted by U/her to the proteilant religion ; and 
 when the popiih rebelHon broke out, Strafford 
 thinking the family in great danger from the fury 
 of the Irifh, fent for his godfon, and placed him 
 at his own feat in Yorkdiire, where he was inllrud- 
 ed in Latin ; which he learned fo as to write it 
 with purity and elegance, though he was never 
 able to retain the rules of grammar. 
 
 Such is the account given by Mr. Fenton, from 
 whofe notes on Waller mod of this account mult 
 be borrowed, though I know not wliether all that 
 he relates is certain. The inftruAer whom he 
 afligns to Rofcommon is one Dr. Hallf by whom 
 he cannot mean the famous Hall, then an old man 
 and a birtiop. 
 
 When the ftorm broke out upon Strafford, his 
 houfe was a fhelter no longer ; and Dillon, by 
 
 the
 
 ROSCOMMON. 205 
 
 the advice of Ufher, was fent to Caen, where the 
 Protellants had then an univerfity, and continued 
 his ftudies under Bochart. 
 
 Young Dillon, who was fent to ftudy under 
 Eochart, and who is reprefented as having already- 
 made great proficiency in literature, could not be 
 more than nine years old. Strafford went to go- 
 vern Ireland in 1633, and was put to death eight 
 years aftei^vards. That he was fent to Caen, i» 
 certain ; that he was a great fcholar, may he 
 doubted. 
 
 At Caen he is faid to have had fome preterna- 
 tural intelligence of his father's death. 
 
 " The lord Rofcommon, being a boy of ten 
 ** years of age, at Caen in Normandy, one day 
 " as it were, madly extravagant in playing, ieap- 
 ** ing, getting over the tables, boards, &c. He 
 '* was wont to be fober enough ; they faid, God 
 " grant this bodes no ill-luck to him 1 In the heat 
 ** of this extravagant fit, he cries out. My father 
 ** IS dead. A fortnight after, news came frcm 
 ** Ireland that his father was dead. This account 
 *' I had from Mr. Knolles, who was his gover- 
 ** nor, and then with him, — fince fecretaiy to the 
 ** earl of Strafford ; and I have heard his lord- 
 ** (hip's relations confij-m the fam-e." Auhreft 
 <* Mifcellany. 
 
 The prefent age is very little inclined to favour 
 any accounts of this kind, nor will the name of 
 Aubrey much recommend it to credit : it ought 
 not, however, to be omitted, becaufe better evi- 
 dence of a fact cannot eafily be found than is here 
 ©ffered; and it muft be by preferving fuch relations 
 S 3 that
 
 210 ROSCOMMON, 
 
 that we may at laft judge how much they are to 
 be regarded. If we ilay to examine this account, 
 we fhall fee difficulties on both fides ; here is a re- 
 lation of a faft given by a man who had no intereil 
 to deceive, and who could not be deceived himfelf ; 
 and here is, on the other hand, a miracle which 
 produces no effed: ; the order of nature is inter- 
 rupted, to difcover not a future but only a diftant 
 event, the knowledge of Vv^hich is of no ufe to him 
 to whom it is revealed. Between thefe difficulties, 
 what way fliall be found ? Is reafon or teitimony 
 to be rejected ? I believe what O/borne fays of an 
 appearance of fanftity may be applied to fuch im- 
 pulfes or anticipations as this : Do not wholly Jl'ight 
 them, becaitfe they may be true : but do not eajily trust 
 them^ becaufe they may be falfe. 
 
 The ftate both of England and Ireland was at 
 this time fuch, that he who was abfent from either 
 country had very little temptation to return : and 
 therefore Rofcommon, when he left Caen, travel- 
 led into Italy, and amufed himfelf with its anti- 
 quities, and particularly with medals, in which he 
 acquired uncommon flvill. 
 
 At the Refloration, with the other friends of 
 monarchy, he came to England, was made captain 
 of the band of penfioners, and learned fo much of 
 the diffolutenefs of the court, that he addided 
 himfelf immoderately to gaming, by which he was 
 engaged in frequent quan'els, and which undoubt- 
 edly brought upon him its ufual concomitants, ex- 
 travagance and dillrefs. 
 
 After fome time a difpute about part of his 
 tllate forced him into Ireland, where he was made 
 
 by
 
 ROSCOMMON. 211 
 
 Uytlie duke of Ormond captain of the guards, and 
 met with an adventure thus related by Fenlon. 
 
 " He was at Dubhn as much as ever diftemper- 
 *' ed with the fame fatal afFeftion for play, which 
 ** engaged him in one adventure that Avell deferves 
 ** to be related. As he returned to his lodgings 
 ** from a gaming-table, he was attacked in the 
 ** dark by three ruffians, who were employed to 
 ** affaflinate him. The Earl defended himfelf 
 *' with fo much refolution, that he difpatched one 
 *' of the aggreffors ; whilll a gentleman, acciden- 
 '* tally palling that way, interpofed, and difarm- 
 '* ed another : the third fecured himfelf by flight. 
 ** This generous affiilant was a difbanded officer, 
 ** of a good family and fair reputation ; who, by 
 ** what we call the partiality of fortune, to avoid 
 ** cenfuring the iniquities of the times, wanted 
 •* even a plain fuit of cloaths to make a decent ap- 
 ** pearance at the caftle. But his lord''h'p, on 
 ** this occafion, prefenting him to the Djke of 
 *' Ormond, with great importunity prevailed with 
 ** his grace, that he might refign his poll of cap- 
 ** tain of the guards to his friend ; which for 
 ** about three years the gentleman enjoyed, and, 
 ** upon his death, the duke returned the commif- 
 ** fion to his generous benefaftor.*' 
 
 When he had finifhed his bufinefs, he returned 
 to London ; was mtade Mailer of the Horfe to 
 the Dutchefs of York ; and married the Lady 
 Frances, daughter of the Earl of Burhngton, and 
 widow of Colonel Courteney. 
 
 He now bulled his mind with literary projects, 
 and -formed the plan of a fociety for refining oui 
 
 languag/,
 
 .JI2 ROSCOMMON. 
 
 language, and fixing its ftandard ; on vnliatkrir 
 fays Fenton, of thofe learned and polite focieties nu'ith 
 luhich he had been acquainted abroad. In tliis dc- 
 fign his friend Dryden is faidto have afiifted liim. 
 
 The fame defign, it is well kno\vn, wa5 revived 
 by Dr. Swift in the miniltr)^ of Oxford ; but it has 
 never fince been pubhckly mentioned, though at 
 that time great expectations were formed by fomr 
 of its eftablifhment and its effecls. Such a fociety 
 might, perhaps, without much difficulty, be col- 
 lected ; but that it would produce what is expe6led 
 from it, may be doubted. 
 
 The Italian academy feems to have obtained its 
 end. The language was refined, and fo fixed that 
 it has changed but little. The French academy 
 thought that they refined their language, and 
 doubtlefs thought rightly ; but the event has not 
 fhewn that they fiixed it ; for the French of the 
 prefent time is very different from that of the lafl 
 century. 
 
 In this countr}- an academy could be expected 
 to do but little. If an academician*s place were 
 profitable, it would be given by intereft ; if atten- 
 dance were gratuitous, it would be rarely paid, 
 and no man would endure the leall difguft. Un- 
 animity is impoffible, and debate would feparate 
 the affembly. 
 
 But fuppofe the philological decree made and 
 promulgated, what would be its authority ? In ab- 
 folute governm.ents, tliere is fometimes a general 
 reverence paid to all that has the fandion of 
 pov/er, and the countenance of grcatnefs. Flow 
 ■ittle this is the flate of our countr\' needs not to 
 
 be
 
 ROSCOMMOif. 213 
 
 be told. We lire in an age in which it is a kind 
 of publick fport to reiiife all refped that cannot 
 be enforced. The edifts of an Enghfh academy 
 would probably be read by many, only that they 
 might be fare to difobey them. 
 
 That our language is in perpetual danger of 
 corruption cannot be denied ; but what prevention 
 can be found ? The prefent manners of the nation 
 would deride authority, and therefore nothing is 
 left but that every writer fhould criticife himfelf. 
 
 All hopes of new literary^ inilitutions were quick- 
 ly fuppreffed by the contentious turbulence of King 
 James's reign ; and Rofcommon, forefeeing that 
 fome violent concuflion of the State was at hand, 
 purpofed to retire to Rome, alleging, it was hejl to 
 Jit near the chimney nvhen the chamber fmoaked ; a 
 fentence of which the appUcation feems not very 
 clear. 
 
 His departure was delayed by the gout ; and 
 he was fo impatient either of hinderance or of pain, 
 that he fubmitted himfelf to a French empirick, 
 who is faid to have repelled the difeafe into his 
 bowels. 
 
 At the moment in which he expired, he uttered, 
 with an energy of voice that expreffed the mod fer- 
 vent devotion, tv/o Hnes of his own verfion of 
 Dies Ira : 
 
 My God, my Father, and my Friend, 
 Do not forfake me in my end. 
 
 —He died in 1684 ; and was buried with great 
 pomp in Weftminilsr-Abbey. 
 
 His poetical charadler is given by Mr. Fenton : /
 
 214 ROSCOMMON. 
 
 " In his writings," fays Fenton, *' we view 
 '* the image of a mind which was naturally fcrioii?; 
 ** and folid ; richly furniflied and adorned with all 
 ** the ornaments of learning, unaffectedly difpof- 
 *' ed in the mofl regular and elegant order. His 
 ** imagination might have probably been more 
 ** fruitful and fprightly, if his judgem.ent had been 
 ** lefs fevere. But that feverity (delivered in a 
 ** mafcuhne, clear, fuccindl ftyle) contributed to 
 ** make him fo eminent in the didactical manner, 
 ** that no man, with juftice, can affirm he was 
 ** ever equalled by any of our nation, without 
 ** confeffing at the fame time that he is inferior to 
 " none. In fome other kinds of writing his 
 ** genius feems to have wanted fire to attain the 
 ** point of perfection ; but who can attain it ?** 
 
 From this account of the riches of his mind, 
 who would not imagine that they had been dif- 
 played in large volumes and numerous perform- 
 ances ? Who would not, after the perufal of this 
 character, be furprifed to find that all the proofs of 
 this genius, and knowledge and judgement, are not 
 fufficient to form a fingle book, or to appear 
 otherwife than in conjunction with the works of 
 fome other writer of the fame petty fize ? But 
 thus it is that characters are written : we know 
 fomewhat, and we imagine the rcfl. The obfer- 
 vation, tliat his imagination would probably have 
 been more fruitful and fpritely if his judgement 
 had been lefs fevere, may be anfwered, by a rc- 
 marker fomewhat inclined to cavil, by a contrary 
 fuppofition, that his judgement would probably 
 have been lefs fevere, if his imagination had been 
 
 more
 
 ROSCOMMON. ^ 215 
 
 .re fruitful. It is ridiculous to oppofe judge- 
 ment to imagination ; for it does not appear that 
 men have neceflarily lefs of one as they have more 
 of the other. 
 
 We mull allow of Rofcommon, what Fenton 
 has not mentioned fo diilinftly as he ought, and 
 what is yet very much to his honour, that he is 
 perhaps the only correct writer in verfe before 
 Addilon ; and that, if there are not fo many or 
 To great beauties in his compofitions as in thofe of 
 fome contemporaries, there are at leafl: fewer 
 faults. Nor is this his highell praife ; for Mr. 
 Pope has celebrated him as the only moral writer 
 of King Charles's reign : 
 
 Unhappy Dryden ! in all Charles's days , 
 Rofcommon only boafts unfpotted lays. 
 
 His great work is his Effay on Tranflated Verfe ; 
 of which Dryden writes thus in the preface to his 
 Mifcellanies : 
 
 " It was m.y Lord Rofcomm.on's Effay on 
 *' Tranflated Verfe," fays Dryden, " which made 
 ** me uneafy, till I tried whether or no I was 
 *' capable of following his rules, and of reducing 
 *' the fpeculation into pradlice. For many a fair 
 ** precept in poetry is like a feeming demonllration 
 " in mathematicks, very fpecious in the diagram, 
 " but faihng in the mechanick operation. I think 
 *' I have generally obferved his inftruftions : I am 
 ** fure my reafon is fufficiently convinced both of 
 ** their truth and ufefulnefs ; which, in other 
 ** words, is to confefs no lefs a vai:uty than to pre- 
 
 «' tend
 
 2l6 ROSCOMMON'. 
 
 ** tend th?.t I have, at leaft in feme places, made 
 ** examples to his niles." 
 
 This declaration of Dryden will, I am afraid, tc 
 found Httle more than one of thofe curfory civi- 
 lities which one author pays to another ; for when 
 the fum of lord Rofcommon's precepts is collec- 
 ted, it will not be eafy to difcover how they can 
 qualify their reader for a better perfomiance of 
 tranflation than might have been attained by his 
 own reflections. 
 
 He that can abftraft his mind from the elegance 
 of the poetiT, and confme it to the fcnfe of the pre- 
 cepts, will find no other diredion than that the 
 author ihouldbe fuitable to the tranflator's genius ; 
 that he fhouldbe fuch as may deferv^e a tranflation; 
 that he who intends to tranflate him fhould endea- 
 vour to underlland him ; that perfpicuity ihould 
 be ftudied, and imufual and uncouth names fpar- 
 ingly inferted j and that the llyle of the original 
 fhould be copied in its elevation and deprefiion. 
 Thefe are the rules that are celebrated as fo de- 
 finite and important ; and for the delivery cf 
 w^hich to mankind fo much honour has been paid. 
 Rofcommon has indeed defer/cd his praifes had 
 they been given with difcernment, and bellowed 
 not on the rules themfelves, but the ait with which 
 they are introduced, and the decorations with 
 which they are adorned. 
 
 The Efiay, though generally excellent, is not 
 without its faults. The ftory of the Quack, bor- 
 rowed from Boileau, was not worth the importa- 
 tion : he has confounded the Biitifli and Saxon 
 mythology j 
 
 I grant
 
 ROSCOMMON. 217 
 
 I grant that from fome mofTy idol oak. 
 
 In double rhymes, our Thor and Woden fpokc. 
 
 The oak, as I think Gildon has obferved, belonged 
 to the Britifh druids, and Thor and Woden were 
 Saxon deities. Of the double rhymesy which he fo 
 liberally fuppofes, he certainly had no knowledge. 
 
 His interpofition of a long paragraph of blank 
 verfes is unwarrantably licentious. Latin poets 
 might as well have introduced a feries of iambicks 
 among their heroicks. 
 
 His next work is the tranflation of the Art of 
 poetry ; which has received, in my opinion, not 
 lefs praife than it deferves. Blank verfe, left 
 merely to its numbers, has little operation either 
 on the ear or mind : it can hardly fupport itfelf 
 without bold figures and ftriking images. A 
 poem frigidly didaftick, without rhyme, is fo near 
 to profe, that the reader only fcorns it for pretend- 
 ing to be verfe. 
 
 Having difentangled himfelf from the difficul- 
 ties of rhyme, he may juilly be expected to give 
 the fenfe of Horace with great exadnefs, and to 
 fupprefs no fubtility of fentiment for the difficulty 
 of expreffing it. This demand, however, his tranf- 
 lation will not fatisfy ; what he found obfcure, I 
 •do not know that he has ever cleared. 
 
 Among his fmaller works, the Eclogue of Vir- 
 gil and the Dies Ira are well tranflated ; though 
 the befl line in the Dies Ine is borrowed from 
 Dry den. In return, fucceeding poets have bor- 
 rowed from Rofcommon. 
 
 In the verfes on the Lap-dog, the pronouns 
 
 V«L. L T thf
 
 2l8 ROSCOMMON. 
 
 thou and ycu are ofFenfivcly confounded ; and tlic 
 turn at the end is from Waller. 
 
 His veriions of the two odes of Horace are 
 made with great liberty, which is not recompenfed 
 by much elegance or vigour. 
 
 His poetical verfes are fpritely, and when they 
 were written muft have been very popular. 
 
 Of the fcene of Guarini, and the prologue to 
 Pompey^ Mrs. Phillips, in her letters to Sir Charles 
 Cotterel, has given the hiflon^. 
 
 " Lord Rofcommon," fays flie, " is certainly 
 *' one of the moll promifmg young noblemen in 
 " Ireland. He has paraphrafed a Pfalm admir- 
 ** ably, and a fcene of Pajlor F'ldo verj' finely, in 
 " fome places much better than Sir Richard Fan- 
 " fhaw. This was undertaken merely in compli- 
 ** ment to me, who happened to fay that it was 
 " the beft fcene in ItaHan, and the worft in Eng- 
 " lifh. He was only two hours about it. It 
 ** begins thus : 
 
 *• Dear happy groves, and you the dark retreat 
 " Of fiknt horrcur, Reft's eternal feat." 
 
 From thefe lines, which are ijnce fomewhat 
 mended, it appears that he did not think a work 
 of two hours lit to endure the eye of criticifm 
 without revifal. 
 
 When Mrs. Phillips v.-as in Ireland, fome ladies 
 that had feen her tranflation of Pompey, refolved 
 to bring it on the llage at DubHn ; and, to pro- 
 mote their defign, Lord Rofcommon gave them a 
 prologue, and Sir Edward Dering an Epilogue , 
 
 <' wliich,"
 
 ROSCOMMON. 219 
 
 *' which," fays fhe, " are the befl performances 
 " of thofe kinds I ever faw." If this is not cri- 
 ticifm, it is at leail gratitude. The thought of 
 bringing Caefar and Pompey into Ireland, the only 
 Country over which Casfar never had any power, 
 is lucky. 
 
 Of RofcoiTimon^s works, the judgement of the 
 pubhck feems to be right. He is elegant, but not 
 great ; he never labours after exquilite beauties, 
 and he feldom falls into grofs faults. His verfifi- 
 cation is fmooth, but rarely vigorous, and his 
 rhymes are remarkably exaft. He improved tafte, 
 if he did not enlarge knowledge, and may be num- 
 bered among the benefadors to Englifli Hterature. 
 
 OTWAY. 
 T 2
 
 ( 220 ) 
 
 OT W A ¥• 
 
 OF THOMAS OTWAY, one of the firfl 
 names in the Enghih drama, httle is known ; 
 nor is there any part of that httle which his bio- 
 grapher can take pleafure in relating. 
 
 He was born at Trottin in SulTex, March 3, 
 1 65 1, the fon of Mr. Humphry Otway, reclor of 
 IVooIbedding. From Winchefter-fchool, where he 
 was educated, he was entered in 1669 a commoner 
 of Chrill-church ; but left the univeifity without a 
 degree, whether for want of money, or from im- 
 patience of academical reftraint, or mere eagemefs 
 to mingle with the world, is not known. 
 
 It feems likely that he was in hope of being bufy 
 and confpicuous : for he went to London, and 
 commenced player ; but found liimfelf unable to 
 gain any reputation on the ftage. 
 
 This kind of inability he (bared with Shak- 
 fpeare and Jonfon, as he fhared Hkewife fome of 
 their excellences. It feems reafonable to expeft 
 that a great dramatick poet fhould without dif- 
 ficulty become a great aclor ; that he who can feel, 
 could exprefs ; that he who can excite paflion, 
 fhould exhibit with great rcadinefs its external 
 modes : but fmce experience has fully proved that 
 
 " of
 
 •■•^f,*>-^*^p./te-"f,.. 
 
 OTWAX 
 
 EngxavT^d &r JohnWs lives otAe Ports: PnMifltfa W 
 D. Buciflnan Montroie
 
 QTWAY.. 221 
 
 ot thole powers, whatever be their affinity, one may 
 be poffeifed in a great degree by him who has very 
 little of the other ; it muft be allowed that they 
 depend upon different faculties, or on different ufe 
 of the fame faculty ; that the atlor muft have a 
 phancy of mien, a flexibility of countenance, and a 
 variety of tones, which the poet may be eafily fup- 
 pofed to want ; or that the attention of tlie poet 
 and the player have been differently employed ; 
 the one has been confidering thought, and the 
 other a6lion ; one has watched the heart, and the 
 other contemplated the face. 
 
 Though he could not gain much notice as a 
 player, he felt in himfelf fuch powers as might 
 quahfy for a dramatick author ; and in 167J, his 
 twenty-fifth year, produced Alcihiades<f a tragedy ; 
 whether from the Alcih'iade of Palaprat^ I have not 
 means to enquire. Langbain, the great dete6lor 
 of plagiarifm, is filent. 
 
 In 1677 ^^ pubhihed Tilus and Berenice, tranf- 
 lated from Rapin, with the Cheats of Scapln from 
 Moliere ; and in 1678 FriendJJolp in FaJJoim, a 
 comedy, which, whatever might be its firfh recep- 
 tion, was, upon its revival at Drury-lane in 1749, 
 hiffed off the llage for immorality and obfcenity. 
 
 Want of morals, or of decency, did not in thofe 
 days exclude any man from the company of the 
 wealthy and the gay, if he brought with him any 
 powers of entertainment ; and Otway is faid to 
 have been at this time a favourite companion of 
 the diffolute wits. But, as he who defires no vir- 
 tue in his companion has no virtue in himfelf, thofe 
 wJiom Otway frequented had no purpofe of doing 
 T 3 more
 
 2 22 OTWAY, 
 
 more for him than to pay his reckoning. They 
 defired only to drink and laugh ; their fondnefs 
 was witliout benevolence, and their familiarity 
 without friendftiip. Men of Wit, fays one of 
 Otway's biographers, received at that time no fa- 
 vour from the Great but to (hare their riots ; from 
 nvhich they ivere (iifmiffed again to their own tiarroto 
 circuwjiances. Thus they Janguijhed in poverty with- 
 out thejupport of imminence. 
 
 Some exception, however, mud be made. The 
 Earl of Plymouth, one of King Charles's natural 
 fons, procured for him a cornet's commiflion in 
 fome troops then fent into Flanders. But Otway 
 did not profper in his mihtary character ; for he 
 foon left his commiflion behind him, whatever was 
 the reafon, and came back to London in extreme 
 indigence ; which Rochefter mentions with merci- 
 lefs infolence in the Sejfion of the Poets : 
 
 Tom Otway came next, Tom Shadv/ell's dear zany. 
 
 And fwears for heroicks he writes beft of any ; 
 
 Don Carlos his pockets fo amply had fill'd, 
 
 That his mange was quite cured, and his lice were all 
 
 kiird. 
 But Apollo had feen his face on the ftage, 
 And prudently did not think fit to engage 
 The icum of a play-houfe, for the prop of an age. 
 
 Don Carlos, from which he is reprefented as 
 having received fo much benefit, was played in 
 1675. It appears, by the Lampoon, to have had 
 great fuccefs, and is faid to have been played thirty 
 nights together. This however it is reafonable 
 to doubt, as fo long a continuance of one play 
 upon the ftage is a very wide deviation from the 
 
 practice
 
 «TWAY» 223 
 
 pra6lice of that time ; when the ardour for thea 
 trical entertainments was not yet difFufed through 
 the whole people, and the audience, confilling 
 nearly of the fame perfons, could be drawn tot 
 gether only by variety. 
 
 The Orphan was exhibited in 1680. This is one 
 of the few plays that keep pofTeffion of the ftage, 
 and has pleafed for almoft a century, through all 
 the viciflitudes of dramatick fafhion. Of this play 
 nothing new can eafdy be faid. It is a domef- 
 tick tragedy drawn from middle life. Its whole 
 power is upon the affedions ; for it is not writ 
 ten with much comprehenfion of thought, or ele- 
 gance of exprefTion. But if the heart is interefted, 
 many other beauties may be wanting, yet not be 
 miffed. 
 
 The fame year produced T/je HiJIory and Fall 
 of Ca'ius Marius ; much of which is borrowed 
 from the P^omeo and Juliet of Shakfpeare. 
 
 In 1683 ^'^s pubhfhed the firft, and next year 
 the fecond, parts of The SoIdier^s Fortune^ two 
 comedies now forgotten ; and in 1685 his laft and 
 greateft dramatick work, V^ice Preferved, a 
 tragedy, which Hill continues to be one of the 
 favourites of the pubhck, notwithftanding the want 
 of morality in the original defign, and the defpic- 
 able fcenes of vile comedy with which he has 
 diverfified his tragick atlion. By comparing this 
 with his Orphan, it will appear that his images 
 were by time become ftronger, and his language 
 more energetick. The ftriking palfages are in 
 every mouth ; and the pubhck feems to judge 
 rightly of the faults and excellences of this play, 
 
 that
 
 224 GTWAi:-. 
 
 that it is the work of a man not attentive to de- 
 cency, nor zealous for virtue ; but of one who'con- 
 ceived forcibly, and drew originally, by confulting 
 nature in his own breaft. 
 
 Together with thofe plays he wrote the poems 
 which are in the late collection, and tranflated 
 from the French the H'ljlory of the Triumvirate. 
 
 All this was performed before he was thirty- 
 four years old ; for he died April 14, 1685, in a 
 manner whicli I am unwilling to mention. Hav- 
 ing been compelled by his necefiities to contrail: 
 debts, and hunted, as is fuppofed, by the terriers of 
 the law, he retired to a pubiick houfe on Tower- 
 hill, where he is faid to have died of want ; or, as 
 it is related by one of his biographers, by fwallow- 
 ing, after a long fail, a piece of bread which chari- 
 ty had fupplied. He went out, as is reported, 
 almoft naked, in the rage of hunger, and finding a 
 gentleman in a neighbouring coffee-houfe, aflced. 
 him for a fhilling. The gentleman gave him a 
 guinea ; and Otway going away brought a roll, 
 and was choaked with the hril mouthful. All 
 this, I hope, is not true ; and there is this ground 
 of better hope, that Pope who hved near enough 
 to be well informed, relates in Spence's memorials, 
 that he died of a fever caught by violent purfuit 
 of a thief that had robbed one of his friends. But 
 that indigence, and its concomitants, forrow and 
 defpondency, prefTed hard upon him, has never 
 been denied, whatever immediate caufe might 
 bring him to the grave. 
 
 Of the poems which the late coUedlion admit?, 
 the longcil: i^ the Poet's Ccmplatnt of his Mufe, 
 
 part
 
 ©TWAY. 2^5 
 
 part of which I do not underfland ; and in that 
 which is lefs obfcure I jfind httle to commend. 
 The language is often grofs, and the numbers are 
 harfli. Otway had not much cultivated verfifica- 
 tion, nor much replenifhed his mind with general 
 knowledge. His principal power was in moving 
 the paflions, to which Dryden * in his latter years 
 left an illuftrious teftimony. He appears, by fome 
 of his verfes, to have been a zealous royalift ; and 
 had what was in thofe times the common reward 
 of loyalty ; he hved and died negleded. 
 
 * In bis preface to Frefnoy's Art of Painting. 
 
 WALLER. 
 
 <
 
 [ 226 ] 
 
 WALLER. 
 
 EDMUND WALLER was born on tlie 
 third of Marcli, 1605, ''^^ Colihill in Hert- 
 fordrtiire. His father was Robert Waller, 
 Efquire, of Agmondefham in Buckinghamfhire, 
 whofe family was originally a branch of the Kentilh 
 Wallers ; and his mother was the daughter of 
 John Hampden, of Hampden in the fame county, 
 and filler to Hampden, the zealot of rebelHon. 
 
 His father died while he was yet an infant, but 
 left him an yearly income of three thoufand five 
 hundred pounds ; which, rating together the value 
 of money and the culloms of life, we may reckon 
 more than equivalent to ten thoufand at the pre- 
 fent time. 
 
 He was educated, by the care of his mother, at 
 Eaton ; and removed afterwards to King's College 
 in Cambndge. He was fent to parliament in hii 
 eighteenth, if not in his fixteenth year, and fre- 
 quented the court of James the Firft, where he 
 heard a very remarkable Ci)nvei-fation, which the 
 writer of the Life prefixed to his Works, who 
 feems to have been well informed of fatts, though 
 he may fometimes err in chronology, has delivered 
 as indubitably certain. 
 
 " He found Dr. x\ndrews, biOiop of Winchef- 
 
 « tcr
 
 "■■^••:f:^^«*»»'""'"-^.. 
 
 WAIL L EM 
 
 Eng^r/rvpd tor Johnioas livf s of tlie Poets. Vr n. Buchanan Mnnttoie.
 
 WALLER. 227 
 
 *' ter, and Dr. Neale, bifliop of Durliam, {landing 
 " behind his Majefty's chair ; and there happen- 
 *' ed fomething extraordinary,'^ continues this 
 writer, " in the converfation thofe prelates had 
 *' with the king, on which Mr. Waller did often 
 «' refle6l. His Majefty aflced the biihops, " My 
 "'Lords, cannot I take my fubje6ls money, when 
 ** I want it, without all this formality of parlia- 
 *' ment ?" ** The bifhop of Durham readily an- 
 ** fwered, " God forbid, Sir, but you fhould : 
 ** you are the breath of our noftrils." V/here- 
 *' upon the King turned and faid to the bifhop of 
 ** Wincheftcr, " Well, my Lord, what fay you ?" 
 " " Sir," replied the billiop, " I have no fl<ill to 
 *' judge of parliamentary cafes." The King an- 
 " fwered, *' No put-offs, my Lord ; anfwer mc 
 " prefently.^' " Then, Sir," faid he, « I think 
 " it is lawful for you to take my brother Neale'a 
 ** money ; for he offers it." Mr. Waller faid, the 
 *< company was pleafed with this anfwer, and the 
 ** wit of it feemed to affeft the King ; for, a 
 ** certain lord coming in foon after, his Majefty 
 ** cried out, " Oh, my lord, they fay you hg 
 ** with my Lady." " No, Sir," fays his Lordfhip 
 " in confufion ; " but I Hke her company, be- 
 " caufe fhe has fo much wit." " Why then," 
 ** fays the King, " do you not hg with my Lord 
 *' of Winchefter there ?" 
 
 Waller's political and poetical life began nearly 
 together. In his eighteenth year he wrote 
 the poem that appears firft in his works, on 
 ** the Prince's Efcape at St. Andero ;" a piece 
 which juftifies the obfervation made by one of his 
 
 editors^
 
 iiS WALLER. 
 
 editors, that he attained, by a felicity like inilinc^j 
 a ftyle which perhaps will never be obfolete ; and 
 that, " were we to judge only by the wording, we 
 *' could not know what was WTOte at twenty, and 
 ** what at fourfcore." His verfihcation was, in 
 his firil effay, fuch as it appears in his laft per- 
 formance. By the perufal of Fairfax's tranflation 
 of TafTo, to which, as * Diyden relates, he con- 
 feffed himfelf indebted for the fmoothnefs of his 
 numbers, and by his own nicety of obfervation, he 
 had already formed fuch a fyftem of metrical har- 
 mony as he never afterwards much needed, or much 
 endeavoured to improve. Denham coiTedled his 
 numbers by experience, and gained ground gra- 
 dually upon the ruggednefs of his age ; but what 
 was acquired by Denham, was inherited by Waller. 
 The next poem, of which the fubjetl feems to 
 fix the time, is fuppofed by Mr. Fenton to be the 
 Addrefs to the Qu.een, which he conhders as con- 
 
 fratulating her arrival, in Waller's twentieth year, 
 le is apparently miilaken ; for the mention of the 
 nation's obligations to her frequent pregnancy, 
 proves that it was written when fhe had brought 
 many children. We have therefore no date of any. 
 other poetical production before that which the 
 murder of the Duke of Buckingham occafioned : 
 the fteadinefs with which the King received the 
 news in the chapel, deferved indeed to be refcued 
 frpm oblivion. 
 
 Neither of thefe pieces that feem to carry their 
 •wn dates, could have been the fudden effuiion of 
 
 "" Preface t« hi* Fablts. 
 
 fancy.
 
 WALLER. 229 
 
 fancy. In tlie verfes on the Prince's efcape, the 
 prediction of his marriage with the princefs of 
 France, muft have been written after the event ; 
 in the other, the promifes of the King's kindnefs 
 to the defcendants of Buckingham, which could 
 not be properly praifed till it had appeared by its 
 cffefts, (hew that time was taken for revifion and 
 improvement. It is not known that they were 
 pubhfhed till they appeared long afterwards with 
 other poems. 
 
 Waller was not one of thofe idolaters of praife 
 who cultivate their minds at the expence of their 
 fortunes. Rich as he was by inheritance, he took 
 care early to grow richer by marrying Mrs. Banks, 
 a great heirefs in the city, whom the intereft of the 
 court was employed to obtain for Mr. Crofts. 
 Having brought him a fon, who died young, and 
 a daughter, who was afterwards married to Mr, 
 Dormer of Oxfordshire, fhe died in child-bed, and 
 left him a widower of about five and twenty, 
 gay and wealthy, to pleafe himfelf with another 
 marriage. 
 
 Being too young to refifl beauty, and probably 
 too vain to think himfelf refiftible, he fixed his 
 heart, perhaps half fondly and half ambitiouily, 
 upon the Lady Dorothea Sidney, eldeil daughter 
 of the Earl of Leicefter, whom he courted by all 
 the poetiy in which Sacharifla is celebrated ; the 
 name is derived from the Latin appellation of 
 Jugar, and implies, if it means any thing, a fpiritlefs 
 mildnefs, and dull good-nature, fuch as excites ra- 
 tlier tendemefs than elleeni, and fuch as, though 
 
 Vol, I. U always
 
 230 -WALLER. 
 
 always treaced with kindnefs, is never honoured 
 gr admired. 
 
 Yet he defcribes Sachariffa as a fublime predo- 
 minating beauty, of lofty charms, and imperious 
 influence, on whom he looks with amazement ra- 
 ther than fondnefs, whofe chains he waflies, though 
 in vain, to break, and whofe prefence is ivine that 
 hiflames to madnefs.* 
 
 His acquaintance with this high-born dame 
 gave wit no opportunity of boafting its influence ; 
 fhe was not to be fubdued by the powers of verfe, 
 but reje6led his addreffes, it is faid, v/ith difdain, 
 and drove him away to folace his difappointment 
 with Amoret or Phillis. She married in 1639 the 
 Earl of Sunderland, who died at Newbeny in the 
 king's caufe ; and, in her old age, meeting fome- 
 where with Waller, aflced him, when he would 
 again write fuch verfes upon her ; " When you 
 *' are as young, Madam," faid he, " and as hand- 
 *' fome, as you were then." 
 
 - In this part of his hfe it was that he was known 
 to Clarendon, among the reft of the men who 
 were eminent in that age for genius and literature ; 
 but known fo little to his advantage, that they who 
 read his character will not much condemn Sacha- 
 rifla, that flie did not defcend from her rank to 
 bis embraces, nor think eveiy excellence com- 
 prifed in wit. 
 
 The Lady was, indeed, inexorable ; but his 
 uncommon qualifications, though they had no 
 power upon her, recommended him to the fcho- 
 iars and ftatefmen ; and undoubtedly many beau- 
 ti/?s of that time, however they might receive his 
 
 love,
 
 WALLER. 331 
 
 i nc, were proud of his praifcs. Who they were, 
 horn he dignifies with poetical names, cannot 
 ..uw be known. Amoret, according to Mr. Fen- 
 ton, was the Lady Sophia Murray. Perhaps by 
 traditions preferved in famihes more may be dif- 
 covered. 
 
 From the verfes written at Penihurft, it has 
 been collefted that he diverted his difappointm.ent 
 by a voyage ; and his biographers, from his poem 
 on the Whales, think it not im.probable that he 
 vifited the Bermudas ; but it feems much more 
 likely that he fnould amufe himfelf with forming 
 an imaginary fccne, than that fo important an in- 
 cident, as a vifit to America, iliould have been 
 left floating in conjectural probability. 
 
 From his twenty-eighth to his thirty-fifth year, 
 he wrote his pieces on the Redudlion of Sallee ; 
 on the Reparation of St. Paul's ; to the King on 
 his Navy ; the panegyrick on the Queen Mother ; 
 the two poems to the Earl of Northumberland ; 
 and perhaps others, of which the time cannot be 
 difcovered. 
 
 When he had lofl all hopes of SacharifTa, he 
 looked round him for an eafier conqueft, and 
 gained a lady of the family of Breffe, or Breaux. 
 The time of his marriage is not exatcly known. 
 It has not been difcovered that this wife v/as won 
 by his poetry ; nor is any thing told of her, but 
 that flie brought him many children. He doubt- 
 lefs praifed fome whom he would have been afraid 
 to marry ; and perhaps married one whom he 
 would have been aihamcd to praife. Many quali- 
 ties contribute to domeftick happinefs, upon which. 
 U 3 poetry
 
 232 "WALLER. 
 
 poetry has no coloui"s to beftow ; and many airs 
 and Tallies may delight imagination, which he 
 who flatters them never can approve. There are 
 charms made only for diftant admiration. No 
 fpectacle is nobler than a blaze. 
 
 Of this wife, his biographers have recorded that 
 fhe gave him five fons and eight daughters. 
 
 Dm-ing the long interval of parliament, he is re- 
 prefented as living among thofe with whom it was 
 moft honourable to converfe, and enjoying an exu- 
 berant fortune with that independence and hberty 
 of fpeech and conduct which wealth ought always 
 to produce. He was however confidered as the 
 kinfman of Hampden, and was therefore fuppofed 
 by the courtiers not to favour them. 
 
 When the parliament was called in 164c, it 
 appeared that Waller^s pohtical character had not 
 been millaken. The King's demand of a fupply 
 produced one of thofe noify fpeeches which difaf- 
 feftion and difcontent regularly diftate ; a fpeech 
 filled with hyperbolical complaints of imaginaiy 
 gnevances. " They," fays he, ** who think 
 *' themfelves already undone can never apprehend 
 ** themfelves in danger, and they who have noth- 
 ** ing left can never give freely.-'' Pohtical truth 
 is equally in danger from the praifes of courtiers, 
 and the exclamations of patnots. 
 
 He then proceeds to rail at the clerg}', being 
 fure at that time of a favourable audience. His 
 topick is fuch as will always ferve its pm-pofe ; an 
 accufation of afting and preaching only for pre- 
 feiTT.ent : and he exhorts the Commons carefully 
 to provide for their protedion againji Pulpit Law. 
 
 It
 
 WALLER. 233 
 
 It always gratifies curiofity to trace a fentiment. 
 Waller has in this fpeech quoted Hooker in one 
 paffage ; and in another has copied him, without 
 quoting. " Religion," fays Waller, " ought to 
 *• be the firft thing in our purpofe and delires ; 
 ** but that which is firlt in dignity is not always 
 " to precede in order of time ; for well-being fup- 
 ** pofes a being ; and the firlt impediment which 
 *' men naturally endeavour to remove, is the want 
 ** of thofe things without which they cannot fub- 
 ** fift. God firll afiigned unto Adam maintenance 
 *' of life, and gave him a title to the reft of the 
 ** creatures before he appointed a law to obferve." 
 
 " God firft afligned Adam," fays Hooker, 
 ** maintenance of life, and then appointed him a 
 ** law to obferve. — True it is, that the kingdom 
 ** of God muft be the firft thing in our purpofe 
 *' and defires ; but inafmuch as a righteous life 
 " prefuppofeth life, inafrauch as to live viituoufly 
 *' it is impofiible, except we live ; therefore the 
 *' firft impediment which naturally we endeavour 
 *' to remove is penuiy, and want of things with- 
 " out which we cannot live." 
 
 The fpeech is vehement ; but the great pofition, 
 that grievances ought to be redreffed before fup- 
 plies are granted, is agreeable enough to law and 
 reafon : nor was Waller, if his biographer may be 
 credited, fuch an enemy to the King, as not to 
 wilh his diftrefTes hghtened ; for he relates, " that 
 *' the King fent particularly to Waller, to fecond 
 " his demand of fome fubfidies to pay off the 
 ** army ; and Sir Henry Vane obje6ling againft 
 " firft voting a fupply, becaufe the King would 
 U 3 not
 
 234 WALLER. 
 
 ** not accept unlefs it came up to his prcportioii, 
 *' Mr. Waller fpoke earnelHy to Sir Thomas Jer- 
 ** myn, comptroller of the houfehold, to fave hi:> 
 ** mailer from the effeds of fo bold a falfity ; 
 *< for, he faid, I am but a country gentleman, and 
 ** cannot pretend to know the King's mind:'* 
 ** but Sir Thomas duril not contradict the fecre- 
 ** tary ; and his fon, the Earl of St. Alban*s, af- 
 «* ter\v-ards told Mr. Waller, that his father's 
 " cowardice ruined the King." 
 
 In the Long Parhament, which unhappily for 
 the nation, met Nov. 3, 1640, Waller reprefented 
 Agmondefham the third time ; and was confidered 
 by the difcontented party as a man fufficiently 
 trully and acrimonious to be employed in manag- 
 ing the profecution of Judge Crawley, for his 
 ppinion in favour of fhip-money ; and his fpeech 
 fhews that he did not difappoint their expe6lations. 
 He was probably the more ardent, as liis uncle 
 Hampden had been particularly engaged in the 
 difpute, and by a fentence which feems generally 
 to be thought unconititutional, particularly injured. 
 
 He was not however a bigot to his party, nor 
 adopted all their opinions. When the great quef- 
 tion, whether Epifcopacy ought to be abohflied, 
 was debated, he fpoke againft the innovation fo 
 coolly, fo reafonably, and fo firmly, that it is not 
 without great injury to his name that his fpeech, 
 which was as follows, has been hitherto omitted in 
 liis works : 
 
 * *' There is no doubt but the fcnfe of what 
 
 * This fpeech has been retrieved, from a paper printed 
 at that time, by the writers of the Parliameotary Hiftory. 
 
 " this
 
 U'ALLER. 23J 
 
 his nation hath fuffered from the prefent Bi- 
 " ihops, hath produced thefe complaints ; and the 
 *' apprehenfions men have of fuffering the hke, in 
 " time to come, make fo many defire the taking 
 *' away of Epifcopacy ; but I conceive it is pof- 
 '* fible that we may not, now, take a right mea- 
 *• fure of the minds of the people by their peti- 
 *' tions ; for, when they fubfcribed them, the 
 ** Bilhops were armed with a dangerous commif- 
 *' fion of making new canons, impofmg new oaths, 
 " and the like ; but now we have difarmed them 
 ** of that power. Thefe petitioners, lately, did look 
 ** upon Epifcopacy as a beait .armed with horns and 
 ** claws ; but now that we have cut and pared them, 
 ** (and may, if we fee caufe, yet reduce it into nar- 
 *' rower bounds) it may, perhaps, be more agreeable. 
 *' Howfoever, if they be ftill in paflion, it becomes 
 ** us foberly to confider the right ufe and antiquity 
 ** thereof; and not to comply further with a gene- 
 ** ral dehre, than may ftand with a general good. 
 
 " We have already (hewed, that Epifcopacy, 
 " and the evils thereof, are mingled like water, 
 " and oil ; we have alfo, in part, fevered them ; 
 ** but I believe you will find, that our laws and 
 ** the prefent government of the church are ming- 
 ** led like wine and water ; fo infeparable, that 
 ** the abrogation of, at leaft, a hundred of our 
 •' laws is defired in thefe petitions. I have often 
 " heard a noble anfwer of the Lords, commended 
 ** in this houfe, to a propofition of like nature, 
 ** but of lefs confequence ; they gave no other 
 ** reafon of their refufal but this, Nolumus mutar^ 
 *\l>e^es Jti^lU ; it was the bifhops who fo an- 
 
 ** fwered
 
 236 WALLER. 
 
 ** fwered then ; and it would become the dignitr 
 ** and wifdom of this hoiife to anfwer the people, 
 ** now, with a Nolumus mutare. 
 
 " I fee fome are moved with a number of hands 
 " againil the Bifliops ; which, I confefs, rather 
 ** inclines me to their defence : for I look upon 
 ** epifcopacy as a counterfcarp, or out-work ; 
 ** which, if it be taken by this affault of the peo- 
 ** pie, and, withall, this myftery once revealed, 
 ** That nve muji deny them nothing ivhen they aJJ: 
 ** it thus in' troops, we may, in the next place, 
 ** have as hard a tailc to defend our property, as 
 '* we have lately had to recover it from the Pre- 
 '* rogative. If, by multiplying hands and peti- 
 ** tions, they prevail for an equaHty in things ec- 
 '* clehaftical, the next demand perhaps may be Le:c 
 ** j^graria, the like equality in things temporal. 
 
 " The Roman llory tells us. That when tlic 
 " people began to flock about the fenate, and 
 it ^vere more curious to direct and know what was 
 " done, than to obey, that Common-wealth focn 
 ** came to ruin ; their Legein rogare grew quickly 
 "to be a Legem ferre ; and after, when their 
 ** legions had found that they could make a Dic- 
 *' tat or, they never fuifered the fenate to have a 
 ** voice any more in fuch eledlion. 
 
 *'^ If thefe great innovations proceed, I fnail 
 ** cxpe6l a flat and level in learning too, as well a!i 
 ** in church-preferments ; Houos alit Artes. And 
 ** though it be true, that grave and pious men do 
 *' ftudy for learning-fake, and embrace virtue for 
 *' itfelf ; yet it is true that youth, which is the 
 " fcufon when learniug is gotten, is not without 
 
 ** ambition >
 
 WALLER. 237 
 
 *' ambition ; nor will ever take pains to cxcell in 
 *' any thing, when there is not fome hope of ex- 
 *' celling othei"s in reward and dignity. 
 
 *' There are two reafons chiefly alleged againft 
 *• our church-government. 
 
 " Firft, Scripture, which, as fome men think, 
 ** points out another form. 
 
 ** Second, The abufes of the prefent fuperiors. 
 
 ** For Scripture, I will not difpute it in this 
 ** place ; but I am confident that, whenever an 
 ** equal divifion of lands and goods fhall be defired, 
 •* there will be as many places in Scripture found 
 ** out, which feem to favour that, as there are now 
 •* alleged againll the prelacy or preferment in 
 ** the church. And, as for abufes, where you arc 
 ** now in the Remonftrance told, what this and 
 •* that poor man hath fuftered by the bifhops, 
 ** you may be prefented with a thoufand inllances 
 ** of poor men that have received hard meafure 
 ** from their landlords ; and of worldly goods 
 ** abufed, to the injuiy of others, and difadvan- 
 *' tage of the owners. 
 
 ** And therefore, Mr. Speaker, my humble 
 ** motion is, That we may fettle men's minds 
 ** herein ; and, by a queftion, declare our refolu- 
 ** tion, to reform^ that is, not to aholijh^ Ep'tfcopacy.^^ 
 
 It cannot but be wifhed that he, who could 
 fpeak in this manner, had been able to acl with 
 fpirit and unifonnity. 
 
 When the Commons began to fet the royal au- 
 thority at open defiance, Waller is faid to have 
 withdrawn from the houfe, and to have returned 
 with tlie king's permilTion ; and when the king fet 
 
 up
 
 238 WALLER. 
 
 up his flandard, he fent him a thoufand broad- 
 pieces. He continued, however, to lit in the it - 
 bellious conventicle ; but " fpcke," fays Clarc::- 
 don, " with great fliarpnefs and freedom, which, 
 *' now there was no danger of being outvoted, was 
 *' not reftrained ; and therefore ufed as an argu- 
 *' ment againft thofe who were gone upon pre- 
 " tence that they were not fuffered to dehver their 
 ** opinion freely in the houfe, which could not be 
 *' believed, when all men knew what liberty Mr. 
 " V/aller took, and fpoke every day with impu- 
 ** nity againft the fenfc and proceedings of the 
 « houfe.'' 
 
 Waller, as he continued to fit, was one of the 
 commifiioners nominated by the parHament to treat 
 with the king at Oxford ; and when they were 
 prefented, the King faid to him, " Though you 
 ** are the lait, you are not the loweft nor die leaft 
 ** in my favour." Whitlock, who, being another 
 of the commifiioners, was witnefs of this kindnefs^ 
 imputes it to the king's knowledge of the plot, 
 in v\ hich Waller appeared afterwards to have been 
 engaged againit the parHament. Feiiton, with 
 equal probability, believes that his attempt to 
 promote the royal caufe arofe from his fenfibility 
 of the king's tendernefs. Whitlock fays nothing 
 of his behaviour at Oxford : he was fent with fe- 
 veral others to add pomp to the commiffion, but 
 was not one of thofe to whom the trufl of treat- 
 ing was imparted. 
 
 The engagement known by the name of Wal- 
 ler's plot, was foon afterwards difcovered. W^al- 
 ler had a brother-in-lav.-, Tomkyns, v/ho was clerk 
 
 of
 
 WALLER. 259 
 
 ihe Queen's council, and at the fame time had 
 :ry numerous acquaintance, and great influence, 
 the city. Waller and he, converling with great 
 confidence, told both their own fecrets and thofe 
 of their friends ; and, furveying the wide extent of 
 their converfation, imagined that they found in the 
 majority of all ranks great difapprobation of the 
 violence of the Commons, and unwilhngnefs to 
 continue the war. They knew that many favoured 
 the king, whofe fear concealed their loyalty ; and 
 many defired peace, though they durft not oppofe 
 the clamour for war ; and they imagined that if 
 thofe who had thefe good intentions could be in- 
 formed of their own ftrength, and enabled by in- 
 telligence to a6l together, they might overpower 
 the fury of fedition, by refufmg to comply with 
 the ordinance for the twentieth part, and the other 
 taxes levied for the fupport of the rebel arm.y, and 
 by uniting great numbers in a petition for peace. 
 They proceeded with great caution. Three only 
 met in one place, and no man was allowed to im- 
 part the plot to more than two others, fo that if 
 any fhould be fufpected or feized, more than three 
 could not be endangered. 
 
 Lord Conway joined in the defign, and. Claren- 
 don imagines, incidentally mingled, as he was a 
 foldier, fome martial hopes or proje6ls, which 
 however were only mentioned, the main defign 
 being to bring the loyal inhabitants to the know- 
 ledge of each other ; for which purpofe there was 
 to be appointed one in every diftrift, to diilinguifh 
 the friends of the king, the adherents to the par- 
 liament, and the neutrals. How far they pro- 
 
 cee<ied
 
 240 WALLER. 
 
 ceeded docs not appear; the refult of tlieir ci. 
 quiry, as Pym declared*, was, that within the 
 walls for one that was for the Royalifts, there were 
 three againft them ; but that without the wall* 
 for one that v/as againft them, there were five for 
 them. Wliether this was faid from knowledge or 
 guefs, was perhaps never enquired. 
 
 It is the opinion of Clarendon, that in Waller's 
 plan no violence or fanguinary refiftance was com- 
 prifed ; that he intended only to abate the confi- 
 dence of the rebels by public declarations, and to 
 weaken their powers by an oppofition to new fup- 
 phes. This, in calmer times, and more than this, 
 is done without fear ; but fuch was the acrimony 
 of the commons, that no method of obfti-udling 
 them was fafe. 
 
 About this time another defign \vzs formed by 
 Sir Nicholas Crifpe, a man of loyalty that deferves 
 perpetual remembrance ; when he was a merchant 
 in the city, he gave and procured the king, in his 
 exigences, an hundred thoufand pounds ; and(, 
 when he was driven from the Exchange, raifed a 
 regiment and commanded it. 
 
 Sir Nicholas flattered himfelf witli an opinion, 
 that fome provocation v/ould fo much exafperate, 
 or fome opportunity fo much encourage, the 
 King's friends in the city, that they would break 
 out in open refiftance, and then would want only 
 a lawful ftandard and an authorifed commander ; 
 and extorted from the King, whofe judgment too 
 fr»;quently yielded to importunity, a commilTion of 
 
 * Parli^mentarj' Hiilorv, Vol. XII. 
 
 array,
 
 WALLER, 241 
 
 ray, directed to fuch as he tKought proper to 
 ominate, which was fent to London by the Lady 
 aibigney. She knev/ not what fhe carried, but 
 :is to deHver it on the communication of a certain 
 ken which Sir Nicholas imparted. 
 This commiffion could be only intended to lie 
 ady till the time fhould require it. To have 
 tempted to raife any forces, would have been cer^- 
 tain deftruftion ; it could be of ufe only when the 
 forces (hould appear. This was, however, an a6l 
 preparatory to martial hoftility. Crifpe would 
 undoubtedly have put an end to the feffion of par- 
 liament, ha<i his ftrength been equal to his zeal ; 
 and out of the defign of Crifpe, which involved 
 very Httle danger, and that of Waller which was 
 an aft purely civil, they compounded a horrid 
 and dreadful plot. 
 
 The difcoveiy of Waller's defign is varioufly 
 related. In Clarendon's Hillory it is told, that a 
 fervant of Tomkyns, lurking behind the hangings 
 when his matter was in conference with Waller, 
 heard enough to qualify him for an informer, and 
 carried his intelligence to Pym. A manufcripty 
 quoted in the Life of Waller, relates, that " he- 
 " was betrayed by his fifter Price, and her Prefby- 
 ** terian chaplain Mr. Goode, who Itole fome of 
 *' his papers ; and if he had not ftrangely dreamed 
 ** the night before^ that his fifter had betrayed 
 ** him, and thereupon burnt the reft of his papers 
 ** by the fire that was in his chimney, he had cer- 
 *' tainly loft his hfe by it." The queftion cannot 
 be decided. It is not unreafonable to beheve that 
 the men in power, receiving intelligence from the 
 Vol. L X fifter,
 
 2^2 WALLER. 
 
 fifter, would employ the fervant of Tomkyns • to 
 iiften at the conference, that they might avoid an 
 a6l fo ofFenfive as that of deftroying the brother by 
 the filler's teftimony. 
 
 The plot was piiblifhed in the mod terrific man- 
 ner. On the 31ft of May (1643), at a folemn 
 faft, when they were hilening to the fermon, a 
 meflenger entered the church, and communicated 
 his errand to Pym, who whifperedit to others that 
 were placed near him, and then went with them 
 out of the church, leaving the reft in folicitude and 
 amazement. They immediately fent guards to 
 proper places, and that night apprehended Tom- 
 kyns and Waller ; having yet traced nothing but 
 that letters had been intercepted, from which it 
 appeared that the parliament and the city were 
 foon to be dehvered into the hands of the 
 cavaliers. 
 
 They perhaps yet knew little themfelves, be- 
 yond fome general and indiftinct notices. " But 
 " Waller," fays Clarendon, " was fo confounded 
 ** with fear that he confeffcd whatever he had 
 ** heard, faid, thought, or feen ; all that he knew 
 " of himfelf, and all that he fufpefted of others, 
 *' without concealing any perfon, of what degree or 
 ** quality foever, or any difcourfe which he had 
 *' ever upon any occafion entertained with them ; 
 *' what fuch and fuch ladies of great honour, to 
 *' whom, upon the credit of his wit and great re- 
 *' putation, he had been admitted, had fpoke to him 
 *' in their chambers upon the proceedings in the 
 *' Houfes, and how they had encouraged him to 
 ■" oppofe tliem ; what correfpondence and inter. 
 
 fOurf(?
 
 MILTON. 245 
 
 *'' courfe they had with fome Miniflers of State at 
 " Oxford, and how they had conveyed all intelli- 
 " gence thith'er." He accufed the Earl of Port- 
 land and Lord Conway as co-operating in the 
 tranfatlion ; and tellified that the Earl of North- 
 umberland had declared himfelf difpofed in favour 
 of any attempt that might check the violence of 
 the Parliament, and reconcile them to the King. 
 
 He undoubtedly confefled much, which they 
 could never have difcovered, and perhaps fomewhat 
 which they would wifh to have been fupprefled ; 
 for it is inconvenient, in the conflift of fadlions, to 
 have that difaffcAion known which cannot fafeiy be 
 puniihed. 
 
 Tomkyns was feized on the fame night with 
 Waller, and appears hkewife to have partaken of 
 his cowardice ; for he gave notice of Crifpe's com- 
 miflion of array, of which Clarendon never kne\Y 
 how it was difcovered. Tomkyns had been fent 
 with the token appointed, to demand it from Lady 
 Aubigney, and had buried it in his garden, where, 
 by his direction, it was dug up ; and thus the re- 
 bels obtained, what Clarendon confefles them to 
 have had, the original copy. 
 
 It can raife no wonder that they formed one plot 
 out of thefe two defigns, however remote from each 
 other, when they faw the fame agent employed in 
 both, and found the commiflion of array in the 
 hands of him who was employed in colledting the 
 opinions and affeftions of the people. 
 
 Of the plot, thus combined, they took care to 
 make the moft. They fent Pym among the citiz- 
 ens, to tell them of their imminent danger, and 
 X 2 happy
 
 244 WALLER. 
 
 happy efcape ; ^and inform them, that the defigii 
 ■vvas to feize the " Lord Mayor and all tlie Com- 
 " mittee of Militia, and would not fpare one of 
 ** them." They drew up a vow and covenant, to 
 be taken by every member of either houfe, by 
 which he declared his deteltation of all confpiracies 
 againft the parliament, and his refolution to detedl 
 and oppofe them. They then appointed a day of 
 thankfgiving for this wonderful deliver)-- ; which 
 /hut out, fays Clarendon, all doubts whether there 
 had been fuch a deliverance, and whether the plot 
 was real or fidlitious. 
 
 On June li, the Earl of Portland and Lord 
 Conway were committed, one to the cuftody of the 
 mayor, and the other of the fheriff ; but their 
 lands and goods were not feized. 
 
 Waller was ftillto immerfe himfelf deeper in ig- 
 nominy. The Earl of Portland and Lord Conway 
 denied the charge, and there was no evidence a- 
 gainft them but the confefTion of Waller, of which 
 undoubtedly many would be inchned to queftion 
 the veracity. With thefe doubts he was fo much 
 terrified, that he endeavoured to perfuade Portland 
 to a declaration like his own, by a letter extant in 
 Fenton*s edition. " But for me,'* fays he, '* you 
 ** had never known any thing of this bulinefs, which 
 *' was prepared for another ; and therefore I cannot 
 " imagine why you fhould hide it fo far as to con- 
 ** traft your own ruin by concealing it, and perfift- 
 ** ing unreafonably to hide that truth, which, v/ith- 
 " out you, already is, and will ever)' day be made 
 *' more, manifell. Can you imagine yourfelf bound 
 ** in honour to keep that fecret, whidi is already re- 
 vealed/
 
 (C 
 
 WALLER. 245 
 
 •* ve5led by another ; or pofllble it fliould ftill be a 
 ** fecret, which is known to one of the other 
 ** fex ? — If you perfill to be cruel to yourfelf for 
 " their fakes who deferve it not, it will neverthe- 
 " lefs be made appear, ere long, I fear, to your 
 
 ruin. Surely, if I had the happinefs to wait on 
 
 you, I could move you to compaffionate both 
 " yourfelf and -me, who, defperate as my cafe is, am 
 ** defirous to die with the honour of being known 
 '* to have declared the truth. You have no reafon 
 ** to contend to hide what is already revealed — in- 
 ** confiderately to throw away yourfelf, for the in- 
 ** tereft of others, to whom you are lefs obliged 
 *' than you are aware of." 
 
 This perfuafion feems to have had little effect. 
 Portland fent (June 29) a letter to the Lords, to 
 tell them, that he " is in cuftody, as he conceives, 
 " without any charge ; and that, by what Mr. 
 " Waller hath threatened him with, fmce he was 
 ** imprifoned, he doth apprehend a very cruel, 
 ** long, and ruinous reltraint : — He therefore 
 ** prays, that he may not find the effects of Mr. 
 ** Waller's threats, by a long and clofe imprifon- 
 ** ment ; but may be fpeedily brought to a legal 
 " trial, and then he is confident the vanity and 
 " falfehood of thofe infonnations which have been 
 ** given againft him will appear.'* 
 
 In confequence of this letter, the Lords order- 
 ed Portland and Waller to be confronted ; when 
 the one repeated his charge, and the other his 
 denial. The examination of the plot being con- 
 tinued (July i), Thinn, uflier of the houfc of 
 Lords, depofed, thai Mr. Waller having liad . % 
 X 3 con-
 
 246 WALLER. 
 
 conference with the Lord Portland in an upper 
 room, Lord Portland faid, when he came down, 
 <* Do me the favour to tell my Lord Northum- 
 ** berland, that Mr. Waller has extremely preiTed 
 " me to fave my own hfe and his, by thro\^^ng the 
 *' blame upon the Lord Conway and the Earl of 
 «' Northumberland." 
 
 Waller, in his letter to Portland, tells him of 
 the reafons which he could urge with refiftlefs 
 efficacy in a pcrfonal conference ; but he over-rat- 
 ed his own oratory ; his vehemence, whether of 
 perfuafion or intreaty, was returned with contempt. 
 
 One of his arguments with Portland is, that the 
 plot is already known to a woman. This woman 
 was doubtlefs Lady Aubigney, who, upon this 
 occafion, was committed to cuitody ; but who, in 
 reahty, when Ihe delivered the conamiirion, knew 
 not what it was. 
 
 The parhament then proceeded agalnft the con- 
 fpirators, and committed their trial to a council of 
 war. Tomkyns and Chaloner were hanged near 
 their own doors. Tomkyns, when he came to die, 
 faid it was a fool'ijh bujinefs ; and indeed there 
 feems to have been no hope that it ihould efcape 
 difcovery ; for though never more than three met 
 at a time, yet a defign fo extenlive mufl, by nccef- 
 fity, be communicated to many, who could not 
 be expefted to be all faithful, and all prudent. 
 Chaloner was attended at his execution by Hugh 
 Peters. His crime was that he had commiffion to 
 raife money for the King ; but, it appears not 
 that the money was to be expended upon the ad- 
 vane eraent ©f tither Crifpeor Waller's plot. 
 
 The
 
 WALLER. 247 
 
 The Earl of Northumberland, being too great 
 for profecution, was only once examined before 
 the Lords. The Earl of Portland and lord Con- 
 way perfifting to deny the charge, and no tefti- 
 mony but Waller's yet appearing againft them, 
 were, after a long imprifonment, admitted to bail. 
 HaiTel, the King's mcffenger, who carried the letters 
 to Oxford, di^d the night before his trial. Hamp- 
 den efcaped death, perhaps by the intereft of his 
 family ; but was kept in prifon to the end of his 
 life. They whofe names were inferted in the 
 commilTion of airay were not capitally puniflied, as 
 it could not be proved that they had confented to 
 their own nomination ; but they were confidered 
 as mahgnants, and their eftates were feized. 
 
 " Waller, though confefTedly," fays Clarendon, 
 ** the moll guilty, with incredible difhmulation 
 ** affeded fuch a remorfe of confcience, that his 
 *' trial was put off, out of Chriftian compalfion, 
 ** till he might recover his underftanding." 
 What ufe he made of this interval, with what H- 
 berality and fuccefs he diftributed flattery and 
 money, and how, when he was brought (July 4) 
 before the Houfe, he confeffed and lamented, and 
 fubmitted and implored, may be read in the Hif- 
 tory of the Rebellion, (B. vii.) The fpeech, to 
 which Clarendon afcribes the prefervation of his 
 dear-bought life, is inferted in his works. The 
 great hiitorian, however, feems to have been mif- 
 taken in relating that he prevailed in the principal 
 part of his fupplication, not to be tried by a Council 
 of War ; for, according to Whitlock, he was by 
 cxpulfion from the Houfe aba;idoned to the tri- 
 bunal
 
 24^ WALLER.. 
 
 bunal which he fo much dreaded, and, being t/icd 
 and condemned, was reprieved by Effex ; but after 
 a year's imprifonment, in which time refentment 
 grew lefs acrimonious, paying a fine of ten thou- 
 fand pounds, he was permitted to recoiled him/elf in 
 another country. 
 
 Of his behaviour in this part of his hfe, it is not 
 neceflaq' to direct the reader's opinion. " Let 
 " us not^" fays his laft ingenious biographer, 
 " condemn him vnth untempered feverity, becaufc 
 ** he was not a prodigy which the world hath feU 
 ** dom feen, becaufe his character included not the 
 " poet, the orator, and the hero." 
 
 For the place of his exile he chofe France, and 
 ftaid fome time at Roan, where his daughter Mar- 
 garet was born, who was afterwards his favourite, 
 and his amanuenfis. He then removed to Paris-, 
 where he hved with great fplendor and hofpitality ; 
 and from time to time amuft;d himfelf with poetry, 
 in which he fometimes fpeaks ef the rebels, and 
 their ufurpation, in the natural language of an 
 honeft man. 
 
 At laft it becam.e necefiary, for his fupport, to 
 fell his wife's jewels ; and being reduced, as he 
 faid, at laft to the rump jtively he folicited from 
 Cromwell permiflion to return, and obtained it by 
 the intereft of colonel Scroop, to whom his fifter 
 was married. Upon the remains of a fortune, 
 which the danger of his life had very much diminifn- 
 ed, he hved at Hall-barn, a houfe built by himfeif, 
 very near to Beaconsfield, where his mother rehded. 
 His mother, though related to Cromwell and 
 Hampden, was zealous for the royal caufe, and, 
 
 when
 
 WALLER. 249 
 
 hen Cromwell vifited her, ufed to reproach him ; 
 he, in return, would throw a napkin at her, and fay- 
 he would not difpute with his aunt j but finding in 
 time that (he afted for the king, as well as talked, 
 he made her a prifoncr to her own daughter, in 
 her own houfe. If he would do any thing, he 
 could not do lefs. 
 
 Cromwell, now proteftor, received Waller, as 
 his kinfraan, to famihar converfation. Waller, as., 
 he ufed to relate, found him fufficiently verfed in 
 ancient hillory ; and when any of his enthuiiaf- 
 tick friends came to advife or confult him, could 
 fometimes overhear him difcourfmg in the cant of 
 the times : but, when he returned, he would 
 ** fay, Coufm Waller, I muft talk to thefe men in 
 ** their own way :" and refumed the common 
 ftyle of convafation. 
 
 He repaid the Proteftor for his favours ( 1 654) 
 by the famous panegyrick, which has been always 
 confidered as the firil of his poetical produdlions. 
 His choice of encomiallick topicks is veiy judici- 
 ous ; for he confiders Cromwell in his exaltation, 
 without enquiring how he attained it ; there is 
 confequently no mention of the rebel or the re- 
 •gicide. All the former part of his hero's hfe is 
 veiled with fliades ; and nothing is brought to view 
 but the chief, the governor, the defender of Eng- 
 land's honour, and the enlarger of her dominion. 
 The a£l of violence by which he obtained the fu- 
 preme power is hghtly treated, and decently juf- 
 tified. It was certainly to be defired that the de- 
 teftable band Ihould be difTolved, which had def- 
 troyed the church, murdered the King, and filled 
 
 the
 
 250 WALLER. 
 
 the nation with tumult and oppreflion ; yet Crom- 
 well had not the right of diflbhing them, for all 
 that he had before done could be juftified only by 
 fuppofmg them inverted with lawful authority. 
 But combinations of wickcdnefs would overwhelm 
 the world by the advantage which licentious prin- 
 ciples afford, did not thofe who have long prac- 
 tifed perfidy, grow faithlefsto each other. 
 
 In the poem on the war with Spain are fomc 
 pafTages at leall equal to the bell parts of the pa- 
 negyrick ; and in the conclufion, the poet ven- 
 tures yet a higher flight of flatter}-, by recommend- 
 ing royalty to Cromwell and the nation. Crom- 
 well was \'cry defirous, as appears from his con- 
 verfation, related by Whitlock, of adding the title 
 to the power of monarchy, and is fuppofed to have 
 been with-held from it partly by fear of the army, 
 and partly by fear of the laws, which, when he 
 ihould govern by the name of King, would have 
 reftrained his authority. When therefore a depu- 
 tation was folemnly fent to invite him to the 
 Crown, he, after a long conference, refufed it ; 
 but is faid to have fainted in his coach, when he 
 parted from them. 
 
 The poem on the death of the Protestor feems 
 to have been dictated by real veneration for his 
 memor)\ Dryden and Sprat v^TOte on the fam.e 
 occafion ; but they were young men, flruggling 
 into notice, and hoping for fome favour from the 
 ruhng party. Waller had little to expert : he 
 had received nothing but his pardon from Crom- 
 well, and was not likely to aflv any thing from 
 thofe wh^ (hould fucceed bjm. 
 
 Soon
 
 WALLER. 251 
 
 Soon afterwards the Reftauration fupplied him 
 with another fubjeft ; and he exerted his imagina- 
 tion, his elegance, and his melody, with equal ala- 
 crity, for Charles the Second. It is not poffible to 
 read, without fome contempt and indignation, 
 poems of the fame author, afcribing the higheil 
 degree o^poioer and piety to Charles the Firft, then 
 transferring the fame power and piety to OHver 
 Cromwell ; now inviting Oliver to take the 
 Crown, and then congratulating Charles the 
 Second on his recovered right. Neither Crom- 
 well nor Charles could value his tellimony as the 
 effe6l of conviction, or receive his praifes as effufi- 
 ons of reverence ; they could confider them but 
 as the labour of invention, and the tribute of de- 
 pendence. 
 
 Poets, indeed, profefs fiction ; but the legiti- 
 mate end of fidion is the conveyance of truth ; 
 and he that has flatteiy ready for all whom the vi- 
 ciflitudes of the world happen to exalt, muft be 
 fcorned as a proftituted mind, that they may re- 
 tain the glitter of wit, but has loll the dignity of 
 virtue^ 
 
 The Congratulation was confidered as inferior 
 in poetical merit to the Panegyrick ; and it is 
 reported, that when the king told Waller of the 
 disparity, he anfwercd, " Poets, Sir, fucceed bet- 
 *' ter in fiftion than in truth." 
 
 The Congratulation is indeed not inferior to the 
 Panegyrick, either by decay of genius, or for want 
 of dihgence ; but becaufe Cromwell had done 
 much, and Charles had done little. Cromwell 
 ^'anting nothing to raife him to heroick excel- 
 lence
 
 2^2 DIALLER. 
 
 Icnce but virtue ; and virtue his poet thought hirrr- 
 felf at hberty to fupply. Charles had yet only 
 the merit of ftrugghng without fuccefs, and fuf* 
 fering without defpair. A hfe of efcapes and in- 
 digence could fupply poetry with no fplendid 
 images. 
 
 In the firfl parliament fummoned by Charles 
 the Second (March 8, 1661), WaUer fat for 
 Halvings in Suffex, and ferved for different places 
 m all the parliaments of that reign. In a time 
 when fancy and gaiety were the mofl powerful 
 recommendations to regard, it is not hkely that 
 Waller was forgotten. He puiTed his time in the 
 company that was higheft, both in rank and wit, 
 from which even his obftinate fobriety did not ex* 
 elude him. Though he drank water, he was en- 
 abled by his fertihty of mind to heighten the mirtlt 
 of Bacchanahan afiemblies ; and Mr. Saville faid, 
 that ** no man in England fhould keep him com^ 
 ** pany without drinking but Ned Waller," 
 
 The praife given him by St. EvTcmond is a 
 proof of his reputation ; for it was only by his- 
 reputation that he could be known, as a writer, to 
 a man who, though he lived a great part of a 
 long hfe upon an Engliih penfion, never conde- 
 fcended to underftand the language of the nation 
 ^at maintained him. 
 
 In parliament, " he was," fays Burnet, " the 
 ** dehght of the houfe, and though old» faid the 
 ** livelieft things of any among them." This^ 
 however, is faid in his account of the year fe- 
 venty-fivc, when Waller was only feventy. His 
 Xigme as a fpeaker occurs often in Grey's Collec- 
 tions ;
 
 V^'ALLER* 253 
 
 lions ; but I have found no extradls that can be 
 more quoted as exhibiting faUies of gaiety than 
 cogency of argument. 
 
 He was of fuch confideration, that his remarks 
 were circulated and recorded. When the duke of 
 York's influence was high, both in Scotland and 
 England, it drew, fays Burnet, a lively reflection 
 from Waller the celebrated wit. " He faid, the 
 *' houfe of commons had refolved that the duke 
 *' fliould not reign after the king's death ; but the 
 ** king, in_ oppofition to them, had refolved that 
 ** he (hould reign even in his life." If there ap- 
 pear no extraordinary Uvelinefs in this remarky yet 
 its reception proves the fpeaker to have been a 
 celebrated tuitf to have had a name which the men 
 of wit were proud of mentioning* 
 
 He did not fuffer his reputation to die gradual- 
 ly away, which may eafily happen in a long Hfe, 
 but renewed his claim to poetical diflinilion from 
 time to time, as occafions were offered, either by 
 publick events or private incidents ; and, content- 
 ing himfelf with the influence of his mufe, or lov- 
 ing quit; better than influence, he never accepted 
 any oflice of magiftracy. 
 
 He was not, however, without fome attention 
 to his fortune ; for he afl<ed from the King (in 
 1665) the provoflifliip of Eaton College, and ob- 
 tained it ; but Clarendon refufed to put the feal to 
 the grant, alleging that it could be held only by a 
 clergyman. It is known that Sir Henry Wotton 
 qualified himfelf for it by Deacon's orders. 
 
 To this oppofition, the Biogniph'ia imputes the 
 violence and acrimony with which "Waller joined 
 
 Vol. I, Y Bucking*
 
 254 WALLER. 
 
 Buckingham's fatlion in the profecution of Clar- 
 endon. The motive was illiberal and fliewed that 
 more than fixty years had not been able to teach 
 him morality. His accufation is fuch as con- 
 fcience can hardly be fuppofed to didlate without 
 the help of malice. ** We were to be governed 
 ** by janizaries inftead of parhaments, and are in 
 *' danger from a worfe plot than that of the fifth 
 ** of November ; then, if the Lords and commons 
 *' had been deftroyed, there had been a fuccefiion ; 
 ** but here both had been deftroyed for ever." 
 This is the language of a man who is glad of an 
 opportunity to rail, and ready to facrince tnith to 
 intereft at one time, and to anger at another. 
 
 A year after the Chancellor's baniihment, ano- 
 ther vacancy gave him encouragement for another 
 petition, which the King referred to the council^ 
 who, after hearing the quellipn argued by lawyers 
 for three days, determined that the office (hould 
 be held only by a clergyman, according to the 
 acl of unifonnity, fmce the provofts had always 
 received inllitution, as for a parfonage, from the 
 bifliops of Lincoln. The King then faid, he 
 could not break the law which he had made ; and 
 Dr. Zachar)' Cradock, famous for a fingle fermon, 
 at moil for two fennons, was chofen by the 
 Fellows. 
 
 That he aflced any thing elfe is not known ; it 
 is certain that he obtained nothing, though he 
 continued obfequious to the court through the reft 
 of Charles's reign. 
 
 At the acceflion of King James (in 1685) he 
 vas chofen for parliament, being then fourfcore,
 
 WALLER. 255 
 
 at Saltaili in Gornwal ; and wrote a Prefage of the 
 Downfall of the Turh'i/Jj Empire^ which he prefent- 
 ed to the King on his birth-day. It is remarked, 
 by his commentator Fenton, that in reading Taflb 
 he had early imbibed a veneration for the heroes 
 of the Holy War, and a zealous enmity to the 
 Turks, which never left him. James, however, 
 having foon after begun what he thought a holy 
 war at home, made hafte to put all molellation of 
 the Turks out of his power. 
 
 James treated him with kindnefs and familiarity, 
 of which inllances are given by the writer of his 
 Life. One day, taking him into the clofet, the 
 King allced him how he liked one of the pi6lures : 
 " My eyes," faid Waller, " are dim, and I do 
 ** not know it." The king faid, it was the prin- 
 cefs of Orange. " She is," faid Waller, " like 
 ** the greatell woman in the world." The King 
 aflved who was that, and was anfwered. Queen 
 EHzabeth. " I w^onder," faid the King, ** you 
 *' iliould think fo ; but I muft confefs Ihe had a 
 " wife council." " And, Sir," faid Waller, " did 
 " you ever know a fool chufe a wife one ?" Such 
 is the llory, which I once heard of fome oiher 
 man. Pointed axioms and acute replies, fly loofe 
 about the world, and are afligned fucceffively to 
 thofe w^hom it may be the fafhion to celebrate. 
 
 When the King knew that he was about to 
 marry his daughter to Dr. Birch, a clergyman, 
 he ordered a French gentleman to tell him that 
 *' the King wondered he could think of marrying 
 " his daughter to a falhng church." " The 
 ** King," fays Waller, " does me great honour, 
 y 2 " in
 
 1^6 l^'ALLER. 
 
 " in taking notice of my domeftick affairG ; but 
 ** I have lived long enough to obferve that this 
 ** falling church has got a trick of rifing again." 
 
 Ke took notice to his friends of the King's 
 condud ; and faid, that *' he would be left like a 
 " whale upon the llrand." Whether he was privy 
 to any of the tranfatlions which ended in the 
 Revolution, is not known. His heir joined the 
 prince of Orange. 
 
 Having now attained an age beyond which the 
 laws of nature feldom fuffer hfe to be extended, 
 otherwife than by a future ftate, he feems to have 
 turned his mind upon preparation for the decifive 
 hour, and therefore confecrated his poetrj' to de- 
 votion. It is pleafing to difcover that his piety 
 was without weaknefs ; that his inteUeftual powers 
 continued rigorous ; and that the lines which he 
 com.poied when he, for age, could neither read nor 
 <write, are not inferior to the effufions of his youth. 
 
 Towards the decline of life, he bought a fmall 
 houfe, with a httle land, at Colfliill ; and faid, 
 " he fliould be glad to die, like the ftag, where he 
 ** was roufed." This however, did not happen. 
 V/hen he was at Beaconsfield, he found his legs 
 grow tumid : he Avent to Windfor, ^here Sir 
 Charles Scarborough then attended the King, and 
 requefted him as both a friend and phyfician, to 
 tell him luhat that f'weU'ing meant. . " Sir," an- 
 fwered Scarborough, ♦' your blood wiU nin no 
 ** longer." Waller repeated fome hues of Virgil, 
 and went home to die. 
 
 As the difeafe increafed upon him., he com.pofed 
 himfelf for his departure : and calling upon Dr. Birch 
 
 to
 
 WALLER. 257 
 
 to give him the holy facrament, he defired his 
 children to take it with him, and made an earned 
 declaration of his faith in Chriftianity. It now 
 appeared, what part of his converfation with the 
 great could be remembered with delight. He 
 related, that being prefent when the duke of Buck- 
 ingham talked profanely before King Charles, he 
 faid to him, " My Lord, I am a great deal older 
 " than your grace, and have, I believe, heard 
 " more arguments for atheifm than ever your grace 
 " did ; but I have lived long enough to fee there 
 *' is nothing in them ; and fo I hope, your grace 
 " will." 
 
 He died Odober 21, 1687, and was buried at 
 Beaconsfield, with a monument ere6led by his 
 fon's executors, for which Rymer wrote the in- 
 fcription, and which I hope is now refcued from 
 dilapidation. 
 
 He left feveral children by his fecond wife ; of 
 whom his daughter was married to Dr. Birch. 
 Benjamin, the eldelt fon, was difmherited, and 
 fent to New Jerfey, as v/anting common under- 
 Handing. Edmund, the fecond fon, tnherited the 
 eftate, and reprefented Agmondefham in parlia- 
 ment, but at laft turned Quaker. William, the 
 third fon, was a merchant in London. Stephen, 
 the fourth, was an eminent Doftor of Laws, and 
 one of the Commiflioners for the Union. There 
 is faid to have been a fifth, of whom no account 
 has defcended. 
 
 The charatter of Waller, both moral and intil- 
 
 leftual, has been drawn by Clarendon, to whom 
 
 he was familiarly known, with nicety, which c,r- 
 
 Y 3 tainly
 
 25B WALLER. 
 
 tainly none to whom he was not known can pic- 
 fume to emulate. It is therefore inferted here, 
 with fuch remarks as others have fupphed ; after 
 which, nothing remains but a critical examination 
 of h's poetiy. 
 
 " Edmund Waller," fays Clarendon, " was 
 born to a y^rj fair eflate, by the parfimony, or 
 frugality of a wife father and mother : and he 
 thought it fo com.mendable an advantage, that he 
 refolved to improve it with his utmoft care, upon 
 which in his nature he was too much intent ; 
 and in order to that, he was fo much rcferved 
 and retired, that he was fcarce ever heard of, till 
 by his addrefs and dexterity he had gotten a 
 very rich wife in the city, againft all the recom- 
 mendation and countenance and authority of 
 the Court, uhich was thoroughly engaged on 
 the behalf of Mr. Crofts ; and which ufed to 
 be fuccefsful in that age, againft any oppofition. 
 ' He had the good fortune to have an alliance and 
 
 * friendfhip with Dr. Morley, who had afliiled and 
 
 * inftrucled him in the reading many good book?, 
 ' to which his natural parts and promptitude in- 
 
 * clined him, efpecially the poets ; and at the 
 
 * age when other m.en ufed to give over writing 
 
 * verfes (for he was near thirty years when he firll 
 
 * engaged himfelf in that exercife ; at leall, that 
 ' he v/as known to do fo), he furprifed the town 
 
 * with two or three pieces of that kind ; as if a 
 
 * tenth Mufe had been newly born, to cheriHi 
 
 * drooping poetry. The Doftor at that time 
 *■ brought him into that company, which was 
 ' moll celebrated for good converfatipn : where 
 
 he
 
 WALLER. 259 
 
 ** he was received and efteemed, with great ap- 
 " plaufe and refpeft. He v.^as a very pleafant 
 ** difcourfer, in earned and in jeft, and therefore 
 « ver)'- grateful to all kind of company, where 
 ** he was not the lefs efteemed for being veiy rich. 
 " He had been even nurfed in parliamentSj, 
 *' where he fat when he was very young ; and fo, 
 *' when they were refumed again (after a long 
 " intermiffion), he appeared in thofe aflemblies 
 ** with great advantage ; having a graceful way 
 ** of fpeaking, and by thinking much on feveral ar- 
 ** guments (which his temper and complexion, that 
 " had too much of m,elancholic, inclined him to), 
 *' he feemed often to fpeak upon the fudden, when 
 " the occafion had only adminiftred the opportu- 
 *' nity of faying what he had thoroughly confi- 
 ** dered, which gave a great luftre to all he faid ; 
 *' which yet was rather of delight than weight. 
 ** There needs no more be faid to extol the ex- 
 ** cellence and power of his wit, and pleafantnefs 
 " of his converfation, than that it was of magni- 
 ** tude enough to cover a world of very great 
 " faults ; that is, fo to cover them, that they were 
 ** not taken notice of to his reproach ; viz. ^ 
 ** narrownefs in his nature to the loweft degree ; 
 ** an abje6lnefs and want of courage to fupport 
 *' him in any virtuous undertaking ; an infmua- 
 *' tion and fervile flatteiy to the height, the vainell: 
 *' and moft imperious nature could be contented 
 ** with ; that it preferved and won his life from 
 ^' thofe who were moft refolved to take it, and in 
 ** an occafion in which he ought to have been 
 ^* ambitious to have loft it ; and then preferved 
 
 *< hini
 
 26o WALLER. 
 
 " him again, from the reproach and contempt 
 ** that was due to him, for fo preferving it, and 
 ** for vindicating it at fuch a price ; that it had 
 " power to reconcile him to thofe, whom he had 
 " moft offended and provoked ; and continued to 
 ** his age, with that rare fehcity, that his com- 
 " pany was acceptable, where his fpirit was odi- 
 ** ous ; and he was at leail pitied, where he was 
 " moft detefted.'* 
 
 Such is the account of Clarendon ; on which 
 it may not be improper to make fome remarks. 
 
 " He was very little known till he had obtained 
 '* a rich wife in the city.'* 
 
 He obtained a rich wife about the age of three- 
 and-twenty ; an age before which few men are con- 
 fpicuous much to their advantage. He was known, 
 however, in parliament and at court : and, if he 
 fpent part of his time in privacy, it is not unrea- 
 fonable to fuppofe that he endeavoured the im- 
 provement of his mind as well as of his fortune. 
 
 That Clarendon might misjudge the motive of 
 his retirement is the more probable, becaufe he has 
 evidently miftaken the commencement of his 
 poetry, which he fuppofes him not to have at- 
 tempted before thirty. As his firft pieces were 
 perhaps not printed, the fuccelTion of his compoii- 
 tions was not known ; and Clarendon, who can- 
 not be imagined to have been very ftudious of 
 poetrfy did not reftify his firft opinion by confult- 
 ing Waller's book. 
 
 Clarendon obfcrves, that he was introduced to 
 the wits of the age by Dr. Morley ; but the 
 writer of his Life relates that he was already 
 
 amoncr
 
 WALLER. 261 
 
 among tliem, when, hearing a noife In the fhreet, 
 and enquiring the caufe, they found a fon of Ben 
 Jonfon under an arreft. This was Morley, whom 
 Waller fet free at the expence of one hundred 
 pounds, took him into the country as direftor of 
 his ftudies, and then procured him admifFion into 
 the company of the friends of literature. Of this 
 fa6l, Clarendon had a nearer knowledge than the 
 biographer and is therefore more to be credited. 
 
 The account of Waller's parliamentary elc- 
 quence is feconded by Burnet, who, though he 
 calls him " the delight of the houfe," adds, " that 
 ** he was only concerned to fay that, v.'hich fliould 
 ** make him be applauded, he never laid the bufi- 
 " nefs of the Houfe to heart, being a vain and 
 ** empty though a witty man." 
 
 Of his infmuation and flattery it is not unrea- 
 fonable to beheve that the truth is told. Afcham, 
 in his elegant defcription of thofe whom in miodern 
 language we term. "Wits, fays that they are open 
 JIatterers, and privy mockers. Waller fliewed a 
 little of both, when, upon fight of the Duchefs of 
 Newcaftle's verfes on the death of a Stag, he de- 
 clared that he would give all his own compofi- 
 tions to have vcritten them ; and, being charged 
 with the exorbitance of his adulation, anfwered, 
 that " nothing was too much to be given, that a 
 " Lady might be faved from the difgrace of fuch 
 ** a vile performance." This, however, was no 
 very mifchievous or very unufual deviation from 
 truth : had his hypocrify been confined to fuch 
 tranfa6lions, he might have been forgiven, though 
 
 not
 
 2^2 WALLER. 
 
 not praifed ; for who forbears to flatter an autlior 
 or a lady ? 
 
 Of the laxity of liis political principles, and the 
 weaknefs of his refolution, he experienced the na- 
 tural eflfecl, by lofing the efteem of every party. 
 From Cromwell he had only his recall ; and from 
 Charles the Second, who delighted in his company, 
 he obtained only the pardon of his relation Hamp- 
 den, and the fafety of Hampden's fon. 
 
 As far as conjeclure can be made from the whole 
 of his writing, and his conduct, he was habitually 
 and deliberately a friend to monarchy. His devia- 
 tion towards democracy proceeded from his con- 
 nexion with Hampden, for whofe fake he pro- 
 fecuted Crawley with great bitternefs : and the 
 invetlive which he pronounced on that occafion 
 was fo popular, that twenty thoufand copies are 
 faid by his biographer to have been fold in 
 one day. 
 
 It is confefTed that his faults Hill left him many 
 friends, at leafl many companions. His convivial 
 power of pleafmg is univerfally acknowleged ; but 
 thofe who converfed with him intimately, found 
 him not only paflionate, efpecially in his old age, 
 but refentful ; fo that the interpofition of friends 
 was fometimes neceffary. 
 
 His wit and his poetry naturally connefted him 
 with the polite writers of his time ; he was joined 
 with Lord Buckhurft in the tranflation of Cor- 
 neille's Pompey ; and is faid to have added his 
 help to that of Cowley in the original draught of 
 the Rehearfal. 
 
 The care of his foitune, which Clarendon im- 
 putes
 
 WALLER. 265 
 
 putes to him in a degree little lefs than criminal, 
 was either not conftant or not fuccefsful ; for, 
 having inherited a patrimony of three thoufand five 
 hundred a year in the time of James the Firft, and 
 augmented it at leaft by one wealthy marriage, he 
 left, about the time of the Revolution, an income 
 of not more than twelve or thirteen hundred ; 
 which, when the different value of money is 
 reckoned, will be found perhaps not more than a 
 fourth part of what he once pofTeffed. 
 
 Of this diminution, part was the confequence 
 of the gifts which he was forced to fcatter, and the 
 fine which he was condemned to pay at the de-. 
 te6lion of his plot ; and if his eftate, as is related 
 in his Life, was fequellered, he had probably con- 
 tracted debts when he lived in exile ; for we are 
 told that at Paris he lived in fplendor, and was the 
 only Englifhman, except the Lord St. Albans, 
 that kept a table. 
 
 His unlucky plot compelled him to fell a thou- 
 fand a year ; of the wafte of the reft there is no ac-, 
 count, except that he is confeffed by his biogra- 
 pher to have been a bad oeconomift. He feems to 
 have deviated from the common practice ; to have 
 been a hoarder in his firft years, and a fquanderer 
 in his laft. 
 
 Of his courfe of ftudies, or choice of books, no- 
 thing is known more than that he profeffed him- 
 felf unable to read Chapman's tranflation of Ho- 
 mer without rapture. His opinion concerning the 
 duty of a poet is contained in his declaration, that 
 ** he would blot from his works any line that did 
 ** not contain feme motive to virtue.'* 
 
 Th§
 
 264 WALLER. 
 
 The characters, by v/hich Waller intended l • 
 diflinguifh his writings, are fpritehnefs and dignity ; 
 in his fmaller pieces, he endeavours to be gay ; in 
 the larger, to be great. Of his airy and light 
 productions, the chief fource is gallantr)"-, that 
 attentive reverence of female excellence, which has 
 defcended to us from the Gothic ages. As his 
 poems are commonly occafional, and his addrefles 
 perfonal, he was not fo liberally fupphed with 
 grand as with foft images ; for beauty is more 
 eafily found than magnanimity. 
 
 The delicacy, which he cultivated, reftrains him 
 to a certain nicety and caution, even when he 
 writes upon the ilighteft matter. He has there- 
 fore in his whole volume nothing burlefque, and 
 feldom any thing ludicrous or famihar. He feems 
 always to do his bell ; though his fubjecls arc 
 often unworthy of his care. It is not eafy to 
 think without fome contempt on an author, who 
 is growing illuftrious in his own opinion by 
 verfes, at one time, " To a Lady, who can do 
 *' any thing, but fleep, when Ihe pleafes." At 
 another, " To a Lady, who can fleep, when Ihe 
 *' pleafes." Now, " To a Lady, on her pafling 
 ** through a crowd of people." Then, " On a 
 ** braid of divers colours woven by four fair 
 ** Ladies :" " On a tree cut in paper :" or, 
 ** To a Lady, from whom he received the copy of 
 «< verfes on the paper-tree, which for many years 
 ** had been miffing." 
 
 Genius now and then produces a lucky trifle. 
 We ftill read the Dove of Anacreon, and SparroixJ 
 of Catullus ; and a writer naturally pleafes him- 
 
 fclf
 
 WALLER. 265" 
 
 felf with a perfonnance, which owes nothing to 
 the fiibjeft. But compofitions merely pretty have 
 the fate of other pretty things, and are quitted in 
 time for fom.ething ufeful : they are flowers frag- 
 rant and fair, but of (hort duration ; or they are 
 bloflbms to be valued only as they foretell fruits. 
 
 Among Waller's little poems are fome, which 
 their excellency ought to fecure from oblivion ; as. 
 To Amoret, comparing the different modes of re- 
 gard with which he looks on her and Sachar'ijfa ; 
 and the verfes On Zow, that begin, Anger in hajiy 
 *words or blows. 
 
 In others he is not equally fuccefsful ; fome- 
 times his thoughts are deficient, and fometimes 
 his expreflion. 
 
 The numbers are not always mufical ; as. 
 
 Fair Venus, in thy foft arms 
 
 The god of rage confine ; 
 For thy whifpers are the charms 
 
 Which only can divert his fierce defign. 
 What though he frown, and to tumult do incline ; 
 
 Thou the flame 
 
 Kindled in his breaft canft tame, 
 With that fnow which unmeltcd lies on thine. 
 
 He feldom indeed fetches an amorous fentiment 
 from the depths of fcience ; his thoughts are for 
 the moll part eafily underftood, and his images 
 fuch as the fuperficies of nature readily fupplies ; 
 he has ajufl claim to popularity, becaufe he writes 
 to common degrees of knowledge, and is free at 
 leafl from philofophical pedantrv, unlefs perhaps 
 
 VoL.L Z ' the
 
 266 WALLEt. 
 
 the end of a fong to the Sun may be excepted, In 
 which he is too much a Copernican. To which 
 may be added, the limile of the Palm in the verfes 
 on her pajjing through a crotud ; and a hne in a 
 more ferious poem on the Rejiorat'ton, about vipers 
 and treacle, which can only be underftood by thofe 
 who happen to know the compofition of the 
 *T her lac a. 
 
 His thoughts are fometinies hyperbolical, and 
 his images unnatural : 
 
 -The plants admire, 
 
 No lefs than thofe of old did Orpheus' lyre ; 
 If Ihe fit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd ; 
 They round about her mto arbours crowd : 
 Or if ihe walks, in even ranks they ftand, 
 Like fome well-marfhal'd and obfequious band. 
 
 In another place : 
 
 While in the park I fing, the liftenlng deer 
 Attend my paffion, and forget to fear : 
 When to the beeches I report my flame, 
 They bow their heads, as if they felt the fame ■. 
 To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers. 
 With loud complaints they anfwer me in fliowers. 
 To thee a wild and cruel foul is given, 
 More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven I 
 
 Pn the head of a Stag : 
 
 O fertile head ! which every year 
 Could fuch a crop of wonder bear ! 
 The teeming earth did never bring 
 So foon, fo hard, fo huge a thing : 
 Which might it never have been caft, 
 Each year's growth add^d to the laft» 
 
 Thefc
 
 WALLER* 267 
 
 Thefe lofty tranches had fupply'd 
 The Earth's bold fon's prodigious pride : 
 Heaven with thefe engines had been fcal'd, 
 When mountains heap'd on mountains fail'd. 
 
 Sometimes, having fucceeded in the firft part, he 
 makes a feeble conclufion. In the fong of 
 " Sacharifla's and Amoret's Friendfliip," the two 
 lafl ftanzas ought to have been omitted. 
 
 His images of gallantry are not always in the 
 highelt degree delicate. 
 
 Then fhall my love this doubt difplacc, 
 And gain fuch truft, that I may come 
 
 And banquet fometimcs on thy face, 
 But make my conftant meals at home. 
 
 Some applications may be thought too remote 
 and unconfcquential : as in the verfes on the Lady 
 dancing : 
 
 The fun in figures fuch as thefe, 
 Joys with the moon to play : 
 
 To the fweet ftrains they advance, 
 Which do refult from their own fphcre ; 
 
 As this nymph's dance 
 Moves with the numbers which Ihc hears. 
 
 Sometimes a thought, which might perhaps fill 
 a diftich, is expanded and attenuated till it grows 
 weak and almoft evanefcent* 
 
 Chloris ! fince firft our calm of peace 
 Was frighted hence, this good we find, 
 
 Your favours with your fears increafe, 
 And growing mifchiefs make you kind. 
 So the fair tree, which ftill prefcrvcs 
 
 Z a Her
 
 268 WALLER. 
 
 Her fruit, and flate, while no wind blows, 
 In ftorms from that ilprightnefs fwerves ; 
 And the glad earth about her ftrows 
 With treafure from her yielding boughs. 
 
 Plis images are not always dillinft ; as, in the 
 following palTage, he confounds Love as a ptrfou 
 with love as a pafiion : 
 
 Some other nymphs, with colours faint. 
 And pencil flow, may Cupid paint, 
 And a weak heart in time deftroy ; 
 She has a (lamp, and prints the Boy : 
 Can, with a fmgle look, inflame 
 The coldeft breaft, the rudeft tame. 
 
 His fallies of cafual flattery are fometimes ele- 
 gant and happy, as that in return for the Silver 
 Pen ; and fometimes empty and trifling, as that 
 upon the Cari torn by the ^een. "There are a few 
 lines luritten in the Dutchefs's Tajfo, which he is faid 
 by Fenton to have kept a fummer under correc- 
 tion. It happened to Waller, as to others, that 
 his fuccefs was riot always in proportion to his 
 labour. 
 
 Of thefe petty compofitions, neither the beauties 
 nor the faults deferve much attention. The amo- 
 rous verfes have this to recommend them, that they 
 are lefs hyperbohcal than thofe of fome other 
 poets. Waller is not always at the lail gafp ; he 
 does not die of a frown, nor hve upon a fmile. 
 There is however too m.uch love, and too many 
 trifles. Little things are made too important ; and 
 the Empire of Beauty is reprefented as exerting 
 its influence further than can be allowed by the 
 
 jiiulti-
 
 WALLER, .269 
 
 rnultiplicity of human paflions, and the variety of 
 human wants. Such books therefore may be con- 
 fidered as (hewing the world under a falfe appear- 
 ance, and, fo far as they obtain credit from the 
 young and unexperienced, as mifleading expecta- 
 tion, and mifguiding pra6lice. 
 
 Of his nobler and more weighty performances, 
 the greater "part is panegyrical j for of praife he 
 was very lavifh, as is obferved by his imitator, 
 Lord Lanfdown ; 
 
 No fatyr ftalks within the hallow'd ground, ") 
 
 But queens and heroines, kings and gods abound > 
 Glory and arms and love are all the found. j 
 
 In the firfl poem, on the danger of the Prince 
 on the coafl: of Spain,- there is a puerile and ridi- 
 culous mention of Arion at the beginning ; and 
 the laft paragraph, on the Cab/e^ is in part ridicul- 
 oufly mean, and in part ridiculoufly tumid. The 
 poem, however, is fuch as may be juftly praifed> 
 without much allowance for the ftate of our poetry 
 and language at that time. 
 
 The two next poems are upon the King's ie- 
 haviour at the death of Buckingham, and upon 
 his Navy. 
 
 He has, in the firft, ufed the pagan deities with 
 great propriety : 
 
 'Twas want of fuch a precedent as this 
 Made the old heathen frame their gods amifs. 
 
 In the poem on the Navy, thofe hues are very 
 
 noble, which fuppofe the King's power fecure 
 
 againft a fecond Deluge ; fo noble, that it were 
 
 Z 3 almofl
 
 270 WALLER. 
 
 almoft criminal to remark the miflake of centre for 
 furface, or to fay that the empire of the fea would 
 be worth little if it were not that the waters 
 terminate in hnd. 
 
 The poem upon Sallee has forcible fentiments ; 
 but the conclufion is feeble. That on the Re- 
 pairs of St. Paul's has fomething \-ulgar and ob- 
 Aious ; fuch as the mention of Am.phion ; and 
 fomething \-iolent and harfti, as 
 
 So all our minds with his confpire to grace 
 The Gentiles' great apoftle, and deface 
 Thofe ftate-obfcuring fheds, that like a chain 
 Seem'd to conline, and fetter him again : 
 Which the glad faint Ihakes off at his command, 
 As once the viper from hi&facred hand. 
 So joys the aged oak. when we divide 
 The creeping ivy from his injur'd fide. 
 
 Of the two laft couplets, the firft is extravagant, 
 and the fecond mean. 
 
 His praife of the Queen is too much exaggerat- 
 ed ; and the thought, that flie *' faves lovers, by 
 ** cutting off hope, as gangi-enes are cured by lop- 
 ** p^ng the limb,'' prefents nothing to the mind 
 but difguil and hoiTor. 
 
 Of the Battle of the Swrnmer IJJandsj it feems 
 not eafy to fay whether it is intended to raife ter- 
 ror or merriment. The beginning is too fplendid 
 for jell, and the conclufion too hght for feriouf- 
 nefs. The verlification is lludied, the fccnes are 
 diligently difplayed, and the images artfully am- 
 phfisd ; but as it ends neither in joy nor forrow, it 
 will fcarccly be read a fecond time. 
 
 The
 
 AVALLER. 271 
 
 The Panegyr'ick upon Cromwell has obtahied 
 from the publick a veiy liberal dividend of praife, 
 which however cannot be faid to have been un- 
 juilly lavifhed ; for fuch a feries of verfes had 
 rarely appeared before in the Englifh language. 
 Of the lines fome are grand, fome are graceful, and 
 all are mufical. There is now and then a feeble 
 verfe, or a trifling thought ; but its great fault is 
 the choice of its hero. 
 
 The poem of The War iviih Spain begins with 
 lines more vigorous and ftriking than Waller is 
 accullomed to produce. The iucceeding parts 
 are variegated with better paffages and worfe. 
 There is fomething too far-fetched in the compa- 
 rlfon of the Spaniards drawing the Englifh on, by 
 fainting St. Lucar with cannon, to Iambs anvakew 
 ing the lion by bleating. The fate of the Marquis 
 and his Lady, who were burnt in their fliip, would 
 have moved more, had the poet not made him die 
 like the Phoenix, becaufe he had fpices about him, 
 nor expreffed their affection and their end by a 
 conceit at once falfe and vulgar : 
 
 Alive, in equal flames of love they burn'd, 
 And now together are to allies turn'd. 
 f 
 
 The verfes to Charles, on his Return, were 
 doubtlefs intended to counterbalance the panegyric 
 on Cromwell. If it has been thought inferior to 
 that with which it is naturally compared, the caufe 
 of its deficience has been already remarked. 
 
 The remaining pieces it is not neceflary to ex- 
 amine fingly. They mull be fuppofed to have 
 
 faults
 
 27* walle:^. 
 
 faults and beauties of the fame kind with the red. 
 The Sacred Poems, however, deferve particulser 
 regard j they were the work of Waller's declining 
 life, of thofe hours in which he looked upon the 
 fame and the folly of the time paft with the fenti- 
 ments which his great predeceflbr Petrarch be- 
 queathed to pofterity, upon his review of that love 
 and poetry which have given him immortahty. 
 
 That natural jealoufy which makes every maa 
 unwilling to allow much excellence in another, al- 
 ways produces a difpofition to believe that the 
 mind grows old with the body ; and that he, whom 
 we are now forced to eonfefs fuperior, is hallening 
 daily to a level with ourfelves. By delighting to 
 think this of the Uving, we learn to think it of the 
 dead > and Fenton, with all his kindnefs for Wal- 
 ler, has the luck to mark the exa6l time when his 
 genius pafled the zenith, which he places at his 
 lifty-fifth year. This is to allot the mind but a 
 fmall portion. Intellectual decay is doubtlefs not 
 uncommon ; but it feems not to be univerfal. 
 Newton was in his eighty-fifth year improving his 
 Chronology, a few days before his death ; and 
 Waller appears not, in my opinion, to have feft at 
 eighty-two any part of his poetical power. 
 
 His Sacred Poems do not pleafe like fome of his 
 other works ; but before the fatal fifty-five, had he 
 written on the fame fubjecls, his fuccefs would 
 hardly have been better. 
 
 It has been the frequent lamentation of good 
 men, that verfc has been too Httle applied to the 
 purpofes of worfhip, and many attempts have been 
 made to animate devotion by pious poetry ; that 
 
 they
 
 WALLER. 273 
 
 they have very feldom attained their end is fufficient- 
 iy known, and it may not be improper to enquire 
 why they have mifcarried. 
 
 Let no pious ear be offended if I advance, in op- 
 pofition to many authorities, that poetical devotion 
 cannot often pleafe. The do6lrines of rehgion 
 may indeed be defended in a didaftick poem ; and 
 he who has the happy power of arguing in verfe, 
 will not lofe it becauie his fubjeft is facred. A poet 
 may defcribe the beauty and the grandeur of Na- 
 ture, the flowers of the fpring, and the harvefts 
 of Autumn, the viciffitudes of the Tide, and the 
 revolutions of the Sky, and praife the Maker for 
 his works in lines which no reader fhall lay afide. 
 The fubjeft of the difputation is not piety, but the 
 motives to piety ; that of the defcription is not 
 God, but the works of God. 
 
 Contemplative piety, or the intercourfe between 
 . God and the human foul, cannot be poetical. Man 
 admitted to implore the mercy of his Creator, and 
 plead the merits of his Redeemer, is already in a 
 higher flate than poetry can confer. 
 
 The effence of poetry is invention ; fuch inven- 
 tion as, hj producing fomething unexpected, fur- 
 prifes and dehghts. The topicks of devotion are 
 few, and being few are univerfally known ; but, 
 few as they are, they can be made no more ; they 
 can receive no grace from novelty of fentiment, and 
 very little from novelty of expreffion. 
 
 Poetry pie afes by exhibiting an idea more grate- 
 ful to the mind than things themfelves afford. This 
 effe6l proceeds from the difplay of thofe parts of 
 natui-e which attrad, and the concealment of thofe 
 
 which
 
 274 WALLER. 
 
 which repel the imagination : but religion muft bf 
 Ihevvn as it is ; fuppreflion and addition equally 
 coiTupt it ; and fuch as it is, it is known already. 
 
 From poetry the reader jullly expecls, and from 
 good poetry always obtains, the enlargement of his 
 comprehenfion and elevation of his fancy ; but 
 this is rarely to be hoped by Chriftians from me- 
 trical devotion. Whatever is great, defireable, or 
 tremendous, is comprifed in the name of the Su- 
 preme Being. Omnipotence cannot be exalted ; 
 Infinity cannot be amphfied ; Perfection cannot be 
 improved. 
 
 The employments of pious meditation are Faith, 
 Thankfgi^^ng, Repentance, and Supphcation. 
 Faith, invariably uniforai, cannot be invefted by 
 fancy with decorations. Thankfgiving, the moft joy- 
 ful of all holy effufions, yet addreffedto a Being with- 
 out paffions, is confined to a few modes, and is to 
 be felt rather than exprefTed. Repentance trem- 
 bling in the prefence of the judge, is not at leifure 
 for cadences and epithets. Supplication of man to 
 man may diffufe itfelf through many topicks of per- 
 fuafion ; but fupphcation to God can only cry for 
 mercy. 
 
 Of fcntiments purely religious, it will be found 
 that tlie moit fimple exprefllon is the moll fublime. 
 Poetry lofes its luilre and its power, becaufe it is 
 apphed to the decoration of fomething more excel- 
 lent than itfelf. All that pious verfe can do is to 
 help the memory, and delight the ear, and for thefe 
 purpofes it may be very ufeful ; but it fupplies 
 nothing to the mind. The ideas of Chriftian 
 Theology are too fimple for eloquence, too facred 
 
 for
 
 WALLER. 275 
 
 forfitlion, and too majeftick for ornament ; to re- 
 commend them by tropes and figures, is to mag- 
 nify by a concave mirror the fidereal hemifphere. 
 
 As much of Waller's reputation was owing to 
 the foftnefs and fmoothnefs of his Numbers ; it is 
 proper to confider thofe minute particulars to which 
 a verfifyer muft attend. 
 
 He certainly veiy much excelled in fmoothnefs 
 moll of the writers who were living when his 
 poetry commenced. The Poets of Ehzabeth had 
 attained an art of modulation, which was after- 
 wards neglected or forgotten. Fairfax was ac- 
 knowledged by him as his model ; and he might 
 have lludied with advantage the poem of Davis, 
 v/hich, though merely philofopliical, yet feldom 
 leaves the ear ungratified. 
 
 But he was rather fmooth than ftrong ; of the 
 full refounding line, which Pope attributes to Dry- 
 den, he has given very few examples. The critical 
 decifion has given the praife of ftrength to Denham, 
 and of fweetnefs to Waller. 
 
 His excellence of verfilication has fome abate- 
 ments. He ufes the expletive do very frequently ; 
 and though he ufed to fee it almoft univerfally ejec- 
 ted, was not more careful to avoid it in his lafl 
 compofitions than in his lirft. Praife had given 
 him confidence ; and finding the world fatisfied, he 
 fatisfied himfelf. 
 
 His rhymes are fometimes weak words : fo is 
 found to make the rhyme twice in ten lines, and 
 occurs often as a rhyme through his book. 
 
 His double rhymes, in heroick verfe, have been 
 cenfured by Mrs, Phillips, who was his rival in the 
 
 tranllatioB
 
 276 WALLER. 
 
 tranflation of Corneille's Pompey ; and more faultj 
 might be found, were not the enquiry below at- 
 tention. 
 
 He fometimes ufes the obfolete termination of 
 verbs, as luaxethy affeBtth ; and fometimes retains 
 the final fyllable of the preterite, as ama%ecl, /up- 
 pofed ; of which I know not whether it is not to the 
 detriment of our language that we have totally re- 
 je6led them. 
 
 Of triplets he is fparing ; but he did not wholly 
 forbear them : of an Alexandrine he has given no 
 example. 
 
 The general charadler of his poetry is elegance 
 and gaiety. He is never pathetick, and verj^ rarely 
 fubhme. He feems neither to have had a mind 
 much elevated by nature, nor amplified by learn- 
 ing. His thoughts are fuch as a liberal converfa- 
 tion and large acquaintance with life would eafily 
 fupply. They had however then, perhaps, that 
 grace of novelty, which they are now often fup- 
 pofed to want by thofe who, having already found 
 them in later books, do not know or enquire who 
 produced them firiL This treatment is unjuft. 
 Let not the original author lofe by his imitators. 
 
 Praife however fhould be due before it is given. 
 The author of Waller's Life afcribes to him the 
 firft pi-adice, of \^'hat Er^'thraeus and fome late 
 criticks call j^Hiternl'iony of ufing in the fame verfe 
 many words beginning with the fame letter. But 
 this knack, whatever be its value, was fo frequent 
 among early writers, that Gafcoign, a writer of 
 the fixteenth century, v/arns the young poet againll 
 affe<?ting it ; Shakfpeare in the M'ldjumrmr N'lghf s 
 
 Dream
 
 waller; 277' 
 
 Dream Is fuppofed to ridicule it ; and in another 
 play the fonnet of Holofernes fully difplays it. 
 
 He boiTows too many of his fentiments and il- 
 luftrations from the old Mythology, for which it is 
 vain to plead the example of ancient poets : the 
 deities which they introduced fo frequently, were 
 confidered as realities, fo far as to be received by 
 the imagination, whatever fober reafon might even 
 then determine. But of thefe images time has 
 tarnifhed the fplendor. A lidion, not only detec- 
 ted but defpifed, can never afford a folid bafis to 
 any pofition, though fometimes it may furnifh a 
 tranfient allufion, or (light illuftration. No modern 
 monarch can be much exalted by hearing that, as 
 Hercules has had his club, he has his navy. 
 
 But of the praife of Waller though much may 
 be taken away, much will remain ; for it cannot 
 be denied that he added fomething to our ele- 
 gance of diftion, and fomething to our propriety 
 of thought ; and to him may be apphed what 
 TafTo faid, with equal fpirit and jullice of himfelf 
 and Guarini, when, having perufed the Pajlor 
 Ftdoi he cried out, " If he had not read ylmintai 
 *' he had not excelled it." 
 
 As Waller profelTed himfelf to have learned the 
 art of verfification from Fairfax, it has been 
 thought proper to fubjoin a fpecimen of his work, 
 which, after Mr. Hoole's tranflation, will perhaps 
 not be foon reprinted. By knowing the Hate in 
 which Waller found our poetry, the reader may 
 judge how much he improved it. 
 
 Vol.1. Aar i. Erminiae*
 
 27^ VALLER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Erminiaes Heed (this while) his miftreffe bore 
 Through forrefts thicke among the Ihadie treene, 
 Her feeble hand the bridle raines forlore, 
 Halfe in a fwoune fhe was for feare I weene ; 
 But her flit courfer fpared nere the more, 
 To beare her through the defert woods unfeene 
 
 Of her llrong foes, that chas'd her through the 
 plaine. 
 
 And ilill purfu'd, but ilill purfu'd iu vaine. 
 
 2. 
 Like as the wearie hounds at laft retire, 
 Windlefle, difpleafed, from the fruitlefTe chace, 
 "When the ilie bealt Tapiflit in buih and brire, 
 No art nor paines can rowfe out of his place : 
 The Chrillian knights fo full of fhame and ire 
 Returned backe, with faint and wearie pace ! 
 Yet ilill the fearefull Dame fled, fwift as winde. 
 Nor euer ilaid, nor euer lookt behinde. 
 
 .3- 
 Through thicke and thinne, all night, all day, fhe 
 
 driued, 
 
 Withouten comfort, companie or guide, 
 
 Her plaints and teares with euery thought reuiued, 
 
 She heai'd and faw her greefes, but nought befide. 
 
 But when the funne his burning chariot diued 
 
 In Thetis wauc, and wearie teame vntide, 
 
 On lordans fandie banks her courfe flie fl:aid, 
 
 •At lafl:, there downe flie light, and downe Ihe 
 
 laid. 
 
 4- Hei-
 
 WALLER.- t*f1^ 
 
 4- 
 
 Her teares, her drinke ; her food, her forrowings. 
 This was her diet that vnhappie night : 
 But fleepe (that fweet repofe and quiet brings) 
 To eafe the greefes of difcontented wight, 
 Spred foorth his tender, foft, and nimble wings. 
 In his dull armes foulding the virgin bright ; 
 And loue, his mother, and the graces kept 
 iStrong watch and w^arde, while this faire Ladic 
 flept. 
 
 The birds awakte her with their morning fong. 
 Their warbling muficke pearft her tender eare. 
 The murmuring brookes and whiilling windes 
 
 among 
 The ratling boughes, and leaues, their parts did 
 
 beare ; 
 Her eies vnclos'd beheld the groues along 
 Of fwaines and ihepherd groomes, that dwellings 
 
 weare ; 
 And that fweet noife, birds, winds, and waters 
 
 fent, 
 Prouokte againe the virgin to lament. 
 
 6. 
 
 Her plaints were interrupted with a found, 
 That feem^d from thickeft bufhes to proceed. 
 Some iolly fhepherd fung a luftie round, 
 And to his voice had tun'd his oaten reed ; 
 Thither flie went, an old man there (he found, 
 (At whofe right hand his httle flock did feed) 
 Sat m.aking bafliets, his three fonnes among, 
 
 A a 2 That
 
 280 WALLER. 
 
 That leam*d their fathers art, and learned his 
 fong. 
 
 . . 7- 
 Beholding one in fhining armes appeare 
 
 The feehe man and his v/ere fore difmaid ; 
 
 But fweet Erminia comforted their feare, 
 
 Her ventall vp, her vifage open laid, 
 
 You happie folke, of heau'n beloued deare, 
 
 Work on (quoth (he) vpon your harmleffe traid, 
 
 Thefe dreadfull armes I beare no warfare bring 
 
 To your fweet toile, nor thofe fweet tunes you 
 
 {mg. 
 
 8. 
 But father, fmce this land, thefe townes and 
 
 towres, 
 Deftroied are with fword, with fire and fpoile, 
 How may it be unhurt, that you and yours 
 In fafetie thus, apphe your harmlefle toile ? 
 My fonne (quoth he) this pore eftate of ours 
 Is euer fafe from ftorme of warHke broile ; 
 This wildernelfe doth vs in fafetie keepe, 
 No thundring drum, no trumpet breakes our 
 fleepe. 
 
 Haply iuft heau'ns defence and (hield of right, 
 Doth loue the innocence of fimple fwains. 
 The thunderbolts on higheil mountains hght, 
 And feld or neuer ftrike the lower plaines ; 
 So kings haue caufe to fear Bellonaes might. 
 Not they whofe fweat and toile their dinner gaines. 
 
 Nor
 
 WALLER J ZSi 
 
 Nof e\'er greedie foldier was entlfed 
 By pouertie, neglefted and defpifed^ 
 
 10. 
 
 O pouertk, chefe, of the heau*nly brood, 
 Dearer to me than wealth or kingly crowne ! 
 No wifh for honour, thirft of others good, 
 Can moue my hart, contented with mine owne : 
 We quench or thirft with water of this flood, 
 Nor fear we poifon fhould therein be throwne : 
 Thefe little flocks of flieepe and tender goates 
 Giue milke for food, and wool! to- mak^ u» 
 coates. 
 
 II. 
 
 We little wifli, we need but little wealth, 
 From cold and hunger vs to cloath and feed ; 
 Thefe are my fonnesj their care perferues from 
 
 ftealth 
 Their fathers flocks, nor fervants moe I need : 
 Amid thefe groues I walke oft for my health. 
 And to the fifhes, birds and beaftes giue heed, 
 How they are fed, in forreft, fpring and lake, 
 And their contentment for enfample take. 
 
 12. 
 
 Time was (for each one hath his doting time, 
 Thefe filuer locks were golden treflcs than) 
 That countrie life I hated as a crime. 
 And from the fon-efts fweet contentment ran, 
 To Memphis ftately pallace would I clime. 
 And thci-e became the mightie Cahphes man,, 
 
 A a 3 Atwi
 
 2S2 WALLER. 
 
 And though I but a fimplc gardner weare, 
 Yet could I markc abufes, fee and heare. 
 
 13- 
 Entlfed on with hope of future gaine, 
 I fuffred long what did my foulc difpleafe ; 
 But when my youth was fpent, my hope was vaine, 
 I felt my native ftrength at laft decreafe ; 
 I gan my lolTe of lultie yecres complaine, 
 And wiiht I had enjoy'd the countries peace ; 
 I bod the court farewell, and with content 
 My later age here have I quiet fpent. 
 
 "WTiile thus he fpake, Enninia huflit and ftill 
 His wife difcourfes heard, with great attention, 
 His fpeeches graue thofe idle fancies kill, 
 Which in her troubled foule bred fuch diffention ; 
 After much thought reformed was her wiU, 
 Within thofe woods to dwell was her intention, 
 Till fortune fliould occafion new afford. 
 To turne her home to her defired Lord. 
 
 ^5- 
 
 She faid therefore, O fhepherd fortunate ! 
 
 That troubles fome didil whilom fecle and proue, 
 
 Yet liueft now in this contented Hate, 
 
 Let my mifhap thy thoughts to pitie moue, 
 
 To entertaine me as a wilhng mate 
 
 In Ihepherds life, which I admire and loue ; 
 
 Within thefe pleafant groues perchance my hart. 
 Of her difcomforts, may vnload fome part. 
 
 16. If
 
 WALLER* 283 
 
 16. 
 
 If gold or wealth of moft efteemed dearc. 
 If iewels rich, thou diddeft hold in prife, 
 Such ftore thereof, fuch plenty haue I feen. 
 As to a greedie minde might well fuffice ; 
 With that downe trickled many a filuer teare. 
 Two chriitall llreames fell from her watrie eies ; 
 Part of her fad misfortunes than fhe told, 
 And wept, and with her wept that fhepherd old. 
 
 With fpeeches kinde, he gan the virgin deare 
 Towards his cottage gently home to guide ; 
 His aged wife there made her homely cheare, 
 Yet welcomed her, and plail her by her fide. 
 The Princeffe dond a poore palloraes geare, 
 A kerchiefe courfe vpon her head ihe tide ; 
 
 But yet her geftures and her looks (I gefle) . 
 
 Were fuch, as ill befeem'd a fhepherdeife. 
 
 t8. 
 Not thofe rude gannents could obfcure, and hide, 
 The heau'nly beautie of her angels face. 
 Nor was her princely offspring damnifide. 
 Or ought difparag'de, by thofe labours bace ; 
 Her little flocks to pafture would (he guide, 
 And milke her goates, and in their folds them place, 
 Both cheefe and butter could fhe make and frame 
 Her felfe to pleafe the fhepherd and his dame. 
 
 POMFRET,
 
 ( 234 ) 
 
 P O M F R E 1\ 
 
 OF Mr. JOHN POMFRET nothiug is 
 known but from a flight and confufed ac- 
 count prefixed to his poems by a namelefs friend ; 
 who relates, that he was the fon of the Rev. Mr. 
 Pomfret, redor of Luton in Bedfordfliire ; that 
 he was bred at Cambridge, entered into orders, 
 and was retlor of Maiden in Bedfordfliire, and 
 might have rifen in the Church 5. but that, when 
 he applied to Dr. Compton, bifliop of London, 
 for inftitution to a living of confiderable value, to 
 which- he had been prefented, he found a trouble- 
 fome obftru(!:l:ion railed by a malicious interpreta- 
 tion of fome paflage in his Choice ; from which it 
 was inferred, that he confidered happinefs as more 
 Hkely to be found in the company of a miilrefs 
 than of a wife. 
 
 This reproach was eafily obhterated : for it had 
 happened to Pomfret as to almofl: all other men 
 who plan fchemes of life ; he had departed from 
 his purpofe, and was then married. 
 
 The mahce of his enemies had however a v^ry 
 fatal confequence : the delay conftrained his at- 
 tendance in London, where he caught the fmall- 
 pox, and died in 1703, in the thirty-fixth year of 
 his age. 
 
 He
 
 POMFRET. 2B5 
 
 He publiflied his poems in 1 699 ; and has been 
 always the favourite of that clafs of readers, who, 
 without vanity or criticifm, feek only their own 
 amufement. 
 
 His Choke exhibits a fyftem of life adapted to 
 common notions, and equal to common expedla- 
 tions ; fuch a Hate as affords plenty and tranquil- 
 lity, without exclufion of intelletilual pleafures. 
 Perhaps no compofition in our language has been 
 oftener perufed than Pomfret's Choice. 
 
 In his other poems there is an eafy volubiHty ; 
 the pleafure of fmooth metre is afforded to the 
 ear, and the mind is not oppreffed with ponder- 
 ous or entangled with intricate fentiment. He 
 pleafes many, and he who pleafes many muff have 
 ibme fpecies of merit. 
 
 DORSET.
 
 DORSET. 
 
 OF the Earl of Dorfet the charader has been 
 drawn fo largely and fo elegantly by Prior, to 
 whom he was familiarly known, that nothing can 
 be added by a cafual hand ; and, as its authour is 
 fo generally read, it would be ufelefs officioufnefs 
 to tranfcribe it. 
 
 Charles Sackville was born January 24, 
 1763. Having been educated under a private 
 tutor, he travelled into Italy, and returned a httle 
 before the Reftoration. He was chofen into the 
 firft parhament that w^as called, for Eait Grinftead 
 in Suffex, and foon became a favourite of Charles 
 the Second ; but undertook no pubhck employ- 
 ment, being too eager of the riotous and licentious 
 pleafures which young men of high rank, who 
 afpired to be thought wits, at that time imagined 
 themfelves intitled to indulge. 
 
 One of thefe Frohcks has, by the induftr)' of 
 Wood, come down to poilerity. Sackville, who 
 was then Lord Buckhurft, with Sir Charles Sedley 
 and Sir Thomas Ogle, got dnmk at the Cock in 
 Bow-ftreet by Covent-garden, and, going into the 
 balcony, expofed themfelves to the populace in 
 very indecent poflurcs. At laft, as they grew 
 
 •R-armer^
 
 DORSET. 2S7 
 
 Vv'armer, Sedley ftood forth naked, and harangued 
 the populace in fuch profane language, that the 
 publick indignation was awakened ; the crowd 
 attempted to force the door, and, being repulfed, 
 drove in the performers with ftones, and broke the 
 windows of the houfe. 
 
 For this mifdemeanour they were indided, and 
 Sedley was fined five hundred pounds : what was 
 the fentence of the others is not known. Sedley 
 employed Kiiligrew and another to procure a re- 
 milKon from the king ; but (mark the friendfhip 
 of the diiTolute i ) they begged the fine for them- 
 felves, and exacted it to the laft groat. 
 
 In 1665, Lord Buckhurft attended the Duke 
 of York as a volunteer in the Dutch war ; and was 
 in the battle of June 3, when eighteen great 
 Dutch fliips were taken, fourteen others were def- 
 troyed, and Opdam the admiral, who engaged 
 the Duke, was blown up befide him, with all 
 his crew. 
 
 On the day before the battle, he is faid to have 
 compofed the celebrated fong, To all you Ladles 
 no'w at land, with equal tranquiUity of mind and 
 promptitude of wit. Seldom any fplendid ftory is 
 wholly true. I have heard from the late Earl of 
 Orreiy, who was likely to have good hereditary 
 intelHgence, that Lord Buckhurll had been a week 
 employed upon it, and only retouched or finifhed it 
 en the memorable evening. But even this, what- 
 ever it may fubftracl from his facihty, leaves him 
 his courage. 
 
 He was foon after made a gentleman of the 
 bedchamber, and fent on fhort cmbaffies to France. 
 
 Xa
 
 288 DORSET. 
 
 In 1674, ^^^^ eftate of his uncle James Cran^ 
 field, Earl of Middlefex, came to him by its own- 
 er's death, and the title was conferred on him the 
 year after. In 1677, he became, by the death of 
 his father, Earl of Dorfet, and inherited the ellate 
 of his family. 
 
 In 1684, having buried his firll wife, of the fa- 
 mily of Bagot, who left him no child, he married 
 a daughter of the Earl of Northampton, celebrated 
 both for beauty and underitanding. 
 
 He received fome favourable notice from King 
 James j but foon found it necefiaiy to oppofe the 
 violence of his innovations, and witL fome other 
 Lords appeared in Weftminfler-hall, to counte- 
 nance the Bifliops at their trial. 
 
 As enormities grew every day lefs fupportable, 
 he found it neceffary to concur in the Revolution. 
 He was one of thofe Lords who fat eveiy day in 
 council to preferve the publick peace, after the 
 king's departure ; and, what is not the moll 
 illuftrious aclion of his life, was em.ployed to con- 
 duct the Princefs Anne to Nottingham with a 
 guard, fuch as might alarm the popidace, as they 
 pafltd, with falfe apprehenfions of her danger. 
 Whatever end may be deiigned, there is always 
 fomething defpicable in a trick. 
 
 He became, as may be eafily fuppofed, a fa- 
 vourite of King William, who, the day after his 
 acceffion, made him lord chamberlain of the houfe- 
 hold, and gave him afterwards the garter. He 
 happened to be among thofe that were toffed with 
 the King in an open boat fixteen hours, in very 
 
 rough
 
 DORSET. 289 
 
 rougli and cold weather, on the coaft of Holland. 
 His health afterwards declined ; and on Jan. 19, 
 1705-6, he died at Bath. 
 
 He was a man whofe elegance and judgement 
 were imiverfally confefTed, and whofe bounty to 
 the learned and witty was generally known. To 
 the indulgent aft'edion of the publick, Lord 
 Rochefter bore ample teftimony in this remark : 
 / knoiv not how it iS) but Lord Buckhurll may do 
 *what he ivHIf yet is never in the lurong. 
 
 If fuch a man attempted poetry, we cannot 
 wonder that his works were praifed. Dryden, 
 whom, if Prior tells truth, he diftinguifhed by his 
 beneficence, and who lavifhed his blandifhments 
 on thofe who are not known to have fo w^eU de- 
 fended them, undertaking to produce authors of 
 our own country fuperior to thofe of antiquity, 
 fays, / 'would injlance your LordJJjip in fatire, and 
 Shakfpeare in tragedy. Would it be imagined that, 
 of this rival to antiquity, all the fatires were httle 
 perfonal invedlives, and that his longeil compoG- 
 tion was a fong of eleven ilanzas ? 
 
 The blame, however, of this exaggerated 
 praife falls on the encomiaft, not upon the author ; 
 whofe performances are, what they pretend to be, 
 the effufions of a man of wit ; gay, vigorous, and 
 airy. His verfes to Howard fhew great fertility 
 of mind, and his Dorinda has been imitated by 
 Pope. 
 
 Vol. I. B b STEPNEY,
 
 C -90 J 
 
 STEPNEY. 
 
 GEORGE STEPNEY, defcended from the 
 Stepneys of Pendegrall in Pembrokefliire, 
 was born at Weftminiler in 1663. *0f his father*s 
 condition or fortune I have no account. Having- 
 received the firft part of his education at Weft- 
 minfter, where he paflTed fix years in the College, 
 he went at nineteen to Cambridge, where he con* 
 tinned a friendfliip begun at fchool with Mr. 
 Mcntagiie, afterwards Earl of Halifax. They 
 came to London together, and are faid to have 
 been invited into pubhc life by the Duke of Dorfet, 
 His qualifications recommended him to many 
 foreign employments, fo that his time feems to 
 have been fpent in negotiations. In 1692 he was 
 fent envoy to the Eleftcr of Brandenburgh ; in 
 1693 to the Imperial Court ; in 1694 to the 
 E-le6lor of Saxony ; in 1696 to the Ele<rtors of 
 Mentz and Cologne, and the Congrefs at Franc- 
 fort ; in 1698 a fccond time to Brandenburgh f 
 in 1699 to the King of Poland ; in 1701 again 
 to the Emperor ; and in 1706 to the States Ge- 
 neral. In 1697 he was made one of the commif- 
 
 fioners
 
 STEPNEY. 291 
 
 fioners of trade. His life was bufy, and not long. 
 He died in 1707 ; and is buried in Weftminller- 
 Abbey, with this epitaph, which Jacob tranfcribed, 
 
 H. S. E. 
 
 Georgius Stepneius> Armiger, 
 
 Vir 
 
 Ob Ingenii acumen, 
 
 Literarum Scientiam, 
 
 Morum Suavitatem, 
 
 Rerum Ufuni, 
 
 Virorum Ampliflimorum Confuetudinem, 
 
 Linguae, Styli, ac Vits Elegantiam, 
 
 PrsEclara Officia cum Britannia turn Europas 
 
 prseftita, 
 
 Sua aetate multum ceiebratus, 
 
 Apud pofteros femper celebrandus ; 
 
 Plurimas Legatlones obiit 
 
 Ea Fide, Diligentia, ac Felicitate, 
 
 Ut AugullilTmiorum Principum 
 
 Gulieimi & Annas 
 
 Spem in illo repofitam 
 
 Numquam fefellent, 
 
 Haud raro fuperaverit. 
 
 Poll longum honorum Curfura 
 
 Brevi Temporis Spatio confe6lum, 
 
 Cum Naturas parum, Famx fatis vixerat, 
 
 Animam ad altiora afpirantem placide efflavit. 
 
 On the Left Hand : 
 
 G. S. 
 
 Ex Equeftri Familia Stepneiorum, 
 
 De Pendegraft, in Comitatu 
 
 Pembrochienfi oriundus, 
 
 Weftmonafterii natus eft, A. D. 1663. 
 
 Ele6lus in Collegium 
 
 Sandi Petri Weftmonafl. A. 1676. 
 
 B b 3 San(5li
 
 2^2 STEPNEY. 
 
 San(fli Trinltatls Cantab. 16S2, 
 Confiliariorum quibus Commercii 
 
 Cura commifla eft 1697. 
 
 Chelfcis mortuus, &, comitantc 
 
 Magna Procerum 
 
 Frequedtia, hue elatus, 1707. 
 
 It is reported that the juvenile compofitions ot 
 Stepney made grey authors hlujh. I know not 
 whether his poems will appear fuch wonders to the 
 prefent age. One cannot always eafily find the 
 reafon for which the world has fometimes confpir* 
 ed to fquander praife. It is not very unhkely that 
 he wrote ver}-- early as well as he ever wrote ; and 
 the performances of youth have many favourers, 
 becaufe the authors yet lay no claim to publick 
 honours, and are therefore not confidered as rivals 
 by the diftributors of fame. 
 
 He apparently profeffed himfelf a poet, and ad- 
 ded his name to thofe of the other wits in the ver- 
 fion of Juvenal j but he is a very hcentious 
 tranflator, and does not recompenfe his negledl 
 of the author by beauties of his own. In his ori- 
 ginal poems, now and then, a happy line may per- 
 haps be found, and now and then a fhort compofi- 
 tion may give pleafure. But there is in the whole 
 little either of the grace of wit, or the vigour o£ 
 nature. 
 
 J. PHI.
 
 ( 293 ) 
 
 J. PHILIPS. 
 
 JOHN PHILIPS was born on the 30th of 
 December, 1676, at Bampton in Oxtbrdrnire ; 
 of which place his father Dr. Stephen PhiHps, 
 archdeacon of Salop, was minifter. The firft part 
 of his education was domellick, after which he was 
 fent to Winchefter, where, as we are told by Dr. 
 Sewel, his biogi-apher, he was foon diilinguilhed 
 by the fuperiority of his exercifes ; and, what is 
 lefs eafily to be credited, fo much endeared himielf 
 to his fchoolfellows, by his civility and good-nature, 
 that they, without murmur or ill-will, faw him in- 
 dulged by the mailer with particular immunities. 
 1 1 is related, that, when he was at Ichool, he ieldom 
 mingled in play with the other boys, but retired to 
 his chamber ; where his fovereign pleafure was 
 to fit, hour after hour, while his hair was combed 
 by fomebody, whofe fervice he found means to 
 procure. 
 
 At fchool he became acquainted with the poets 
 ancient and modern, and fixed his attention parti- 
 cularly on Milton. 
 
 In 1694 h^ entered himfelf at Chriftchurch ; a 
 
 college at that time in the higheil reputation, by 
 
 B b 3 the
 
 ^94 J* PHILIPS. 
 
 the tranfmifiion of Bufby's fcholars to the care iirfl 
 of Fell^ and afterwards of AJdr'ich^ Here he was 
 diftinguifhed as a genius eminent among the emin- 
 ent, and for friendfhip particularly intimate with 
 Mr. Smith, the author of PLadra and H'lppolytus. 
 The profeflion which he intended to follow was 
 that of Phyfick ; and he took much delight in na- 
 tural hiftory> of which botany was his favourite 
 part. 
 
 His reputation was confined to his friends and 
 to the univerfity ; till about 1 703 he extended it to 
 a wider circle by the Splendid Shilling, which llruck 
 the publick attention with a mode of writing new 
 and unexpeAed. 
 
 This performance raifed kim fo high, that when 
 Europe refounded w4th the victory of Blenheim, he 
 was, probably with an occult oppofition to Ad- 
 difon, employed to deliver the acclamation of the 
 Tories. It is faid that he would v.-iUingly have 
 dechned the tallc, but that his friends urged it upon 
 him. It appears that he wrote this poem at the 
 houfe of Mr. St. John. 
 
 Blenheim was publifhed in 1705. The next 
 year produced his greateft work, the poem upon 
 Cider, in two books j which was received with loud 
 praifes, and continued long to be read, as an imita- 
 tion of Virgil's Gecrgic, which needed not fhun the 
 prefence of the original. 
 
 He then grew probably more confident of hi? 
 own abilities, and began to meditate a poem on the 
 Loft day ; a fubjecl on which no mind can hope to 
 equal expeelation. 
 
 Tliis work he did not live to finifh 5 liis difeafes.
 
 J. PHILIPS* 295 
 
 a flow confumption and an afthma, put a Hop to hia 
 ftudies ; and on Feb. 15, 1708, at the beginning 
 of his thirty-third year, put an end to his hfe. He 
 was buried in the cathedral of Hereford ; and Sir 
 Simon Harcourty afterwards Lord Chancellor, gave 
 him a monument in Weftminfter Abbey. The in- 
 fcription at Weftminfter was written, as I have 
 heard, by Dr. j4tterbury, though commonly givea 
 to Dr. Friend, 
 
 His Epitaph at Hereford : 
 
 JOHANNES PHILIPS 
 
 Obilt 15 die Feb. Anno. (?,7; J^^^' 
 
 Cujas 
 
 Offa fi requiras, hanc Urnam Infpice ; 
 
 Si Ingenium nefcias, ipfius Opera confule ; 
 
 Si Tumulum. defideras, 
 
 Tcmplum adi Westmonasteriense r 
 
 Qualis qaantufque Vir fuerit, 
 
 Dicat elegans ilia & prseclara, 
 
 Quae cenotaphium ibi decorat 
 
 Inl'crlptio. 
 
 Quam interim erga Cognates pius & officiofu», 
 
 Teftctur hoc faxum 
 
 A Maria Philips Matre ipfius pientlfTima, 
 
 Diledi Filii Memoriae non fine Lacrymis dicatura, 
 
 His Epitaph at Weftminfter : 
 
 Herefordije conduntur Ofla, 
 
 Hoc in Delubro ftatuitur Imago, 
 
 Britanniam omnem pcrvagatur Fama 
 
 JOHANNIS PHILIPS^ 
 
 Qui Vii'is benisdodifijue juxta charus. 
 
 Immortals-
 
 29^ ]- PHILIPS. 
 
 Immortale fuum Ingenium, 
 
 Eruditione multiplici excultum, 
 
 Miro animi candore, 
 
 Eximia morum fimplicitate, 
 
 Honeftavit. 
 
 Litterarum Amoeniorum fitim, 
 
 Quam Wintonix Puer fentire cceperat, 
 
 Inter -^dis Chrifti Alumnos jugiter explevit, 
 
 In Illo Mufarum Domicilio 
 
 Pfceclaris ^mulorum fludiis excitatus, 
 
 Optimis fcribendi Magiftris femper intentus, 
 
 Carmina fermene Patrio compofuit 
 
 A GrjEcis Latinifque fontibus feliciter dedu(9:3, 
 
 Atticis Romanifque auribus omnino digna, 
 
 Verfuum quippe Harmoniam 
 
 Rythmo didicerat. 
 
 Antique illo, libero, multiformi 
 
 Ad res ipfas apto prorfus, & attemperato, 
 
 Non Numeris in eundem fere orbem redeuntibus, 
 
 Non Claufularum fimiliter cadentium Ibno 
 
 IVletiri : 
 Uni in hoc laudis genere Miitono fecundus, 
 
 Primoque poene Par. 
 
 Res feu Tenues, feu Grandes, feu Mediocres 
 
 Ornandas fumferat, 
 
 Nufquam, non quod decuit, 
 
 Et videt, & afTecutus ell, 
 
 Egregius, quocunque Stylum verteret, 
 
 Fandi author, & Modorum artifex. 
 
 Fas fit Huic, 
 
 Aufo licet a tua Metrorum Lege difcedere 
 
 O Poefis Anglicanae Pater, atque Conditor, Chaucere, 
 
 Alterum tibi latus claudere, 
 
 Vatum certe Cineres tuos undique ftipantium 
 
 Non dedecebit Chorum. 
 
 Simon Harcourt Miles, 
 
 Viri bene de fc, de Litteris meriti 
 
 Quoad viveret Fautor, 
 
 Polt Obitum pie niemor, 
 
 Hoc
 
 J, PHILIPS. 297 
 
 Hoc illi Saxum poni volult. 
 
 J. Philips, Stephani, S. T. P. Archidiaconi 
 
 Salop, Filius, natus eft Bamptonise 
 
 in agro Oxon. Dec. 30, 1676. 
 Obiit Herefordise, Feb. 15, 1708. 
 
 Philips has been always praifed, "without con- 
 tradidlion, as a man modeft, blamelefs, and pious ; 
 who bore narrownefs of fortune without difcontent, 
 and tedious and painful maladies without impa- 
 tience ; beloved by thofe that knew him, but not 
 ambitious to be known. He was probably not 
 formed for a wide circle. His converfation i» 
 commended for its innocent gaiety, which feems to 
 have flowed only among his intimates ; for I have 
 been told, that he was in company filent and barren, 
 and employed only upon the pleafures of his pipe. 
 His addiction to tobacco is mentioned by one of his 
 biographers, who, remarks that in all his writings, 
 except BlenJoeinty he has found an opportunity of 
 celebrating the fragrant fume. In common life he 
 was probably one of thofe who pleafe by not of- 
 fending, and whofe perfon was loved becaufe his 
 writings were admired. He died honoured and 
 lamented, before any part of his reputation had 
 withered, and before his patron St. John had dif- 
 graced him. 
 
 His works are few. The Splendid ShilUng has 
 the uncommon merit of an original defign, unlefs it 
 may be thought precluded by the ancient Centos* 
 To degrade the founding words and ftately con- 
 ftru£lion of Milton, by an application to the low- 
 eft and moll trivial things, gratifies the mind with a 
 
 momentary
 
 29^ J- PHILIPS. 
 
 momentary triumph over that grandeur which 
 hitherto held its captives in admiration ; the words 
 and things are prefented with a new appearance, 
 and novelty is always grateful where it gives no 
 pain. 
 
 But the merit of fuch performances begins and 
 ends with the firft author. He that fhould again 
 adapt Milton's phrafe to the grofs incidents of com- 
 mon life, and even adapt it with more art, which 
 would not be difficult, muft yet exped but a fmall 
 part of the praife which Philips has obtained ; he 
 can only hope to be confidered as the repeater 
 of a jeft. 
 
 " The parody on Milton," fays Gildon, " is the 
 ** only tolerable production of its author.'* This 
 is a cenfure too dogmatical and violent. The 
 poem oi Blenheim was never denied to be tolerable, 
 even by thofe who do not allow its fupreme excel- 
 lence. It is indeed the poem of a fcholar, all in- 
 expert of nvar ; of a man who writes books from 
 books, and ftudies the world in a college. He 
 feems to have foiTned his ideas of the field of Blen- 
 heim from the battles of the heroick ages, or the tales 
 of chivalr)', with very httle comprehenfion of the 
 quaUties neceffary to the compofition of a modern 
 hero, which Addifon has difplayed with fo much 
 propriety. He makes Marlborough behold at dif- 
 tance the flaughter made by Tallard, then hafte 
 to encounter and reftrain him, and mow his way 
 through ranks made headlefs by his fword. 
 
 He imitates Milton's numbers indeed, but imi- 
 tates them veiy injudicioufly. Deformity is eafily 
 copied ; and v;hatever there is in Milton which the 
 
 reader
 
 J. PHILIPS. 299 
 
 reader wifhes away, all that is obfolete, peculiar, or 
 licentious, is accumulated with great care by Phi- 
 lipj. Milton's verfe was harmonious, in proportion 
 to the general ilate of our metre in Milton's age ; 
 and, if he had written after the improvements made 
 by Dryden, it is reafonable to believe that he 
 would have admitted a more pleafmg modulation 
 of numbers into his work ; but Philips fits down 
 with a refolution to make no more mufick than 
 he found ; to want all that his mailer wanted, 
 though he is very far from having what his mailer 
 had. Thofe afperities, therefore, that are vene- 
 rable in the Paradtfe Lojiy are contemptible in the 
 Blenheim. 
 
 There is a Latin ode written to his patron St. 
 John, in return for a prefent of wine and tobacco, 
 which cannot be pafTed without notice. It is 
 gay and elegant, and exhibits feveral artful accom- 
 modations of claiTick expreflions to new purpofes. 
 It feems better turned than the odes of Hannes *. 
 
 To the poem on Cider, written in imitation of 
 the Georgicks, may be given this peculiar praife, 
 
 that 
 
 * This ode I am willing to mention, becaufe there feems 
 to be an error in all the printed copies, which is, I find, re* 
 tained in the laft. They all read ; 
 
 Quam Gratlarum cura decentium 
 O ! O ! labellis cui Venus infidet. 
 
 The author probably wrote, 
 
 Quam Gratiarum cura decentium 
 Oruat ; labellis cui Venus infidet.
 
 JOO J. PHILIPS. 
 
 that it is grounded in truth ; that the precepts,, 
 which it contains are exa6t and juft ; and that it 
 is therefore, at once, a book of entertainment and 
 of fcience. This I was told by Miller, the great 
 gardener and botanift, whofe expreflion was, that 
 there ivere many books written on the fame fubjeS in 
 profe, ivhich do not contain fo much truth as that poem . 
 
 In the difpofition of his matter, fo as to inter- 
 fperfe precepts relating to the ciJture of trees, 
 with fentiments more generally alluring, and in 
 eafy and graceful tranfitions from one fubjeft to 
 another, he has very dihgently imitated his mailer ; 
 but he unhappily pleafedhimfelf with blank verfe, 
 and fuppofed that the numbers of Milton , which 
 imprefs the mind with veneracion, combined as they 
 are with fubjecls of inconceivable grandeur, could 
 be fuftained by images which at mofi can rife only 
 to elegance. Contending angels may fhake the 
 regions of heaven in blank verfe ; but the flow of 
 equal meafures, and the embellifhment of rhyme, 
 mull recommend to our attention the art of en- 
 grafting, and decide the merit of the redjireak and 
 peannain. 
 
 What lludy could confer,, Phihps had obtained ; 
 but natural dcficience cannot be fupplied. He 
 feems not bom to greatnefs and elevation. He 
 is never lofty, nor does he often furprife with un- 
 expecled excellence ; but perhaps to his laft poem 
 may be applied what Tully faid of the work of 
 Lucretius, that it is written with much art, though 
 *witb few bla%gs of genius. 
 
 The
 
 J. PHILIPS. 301 
 
 The following fragment, v^Titten by Edmund 
 Smith, upon the works of Phihps, has been 
 tranfcribcd from the Bodleian manufcripts. 
 ** A prefatory Difcourfe to the Poem on Mr. 
 Philips, \nth a charafter of his writings. 
 *' It is altogether as equitable fome account 
 fiiould be given of thofe who have diftinguifhed 
 themfelves by their writings, as of thofe who are 
 renowned for great aClions. It is but reafonable 
 they, who contribute fo much to the immortality 
 of others, fhould have fome fhare in it themfelves ; 
 and fince their genius only is difcovered by their 
 works, it is juft that their virtues {hould be re- 
 corded by their friends. For no modeil men (as 
 the perfon I write of was in perfeftion) will MTite 
 their own panegyricks ; and it is very hard that 
 they fhould go without reputation, only becaufe 
 they the more deferve it. The end of writing 
 Lives is for the imitation of the readers. It will 
 be in the power of very few to imitate the duke of 
 Marlborough ; we muft be content wath admiring 
 his great qualities and aftions, without hopes of 
 following them. The private and focial virtues 
 are more eafily tranfcribed. The Life of 
 Cowley is more inftruftive, as well as more fine, 
 than any we have in our language. And it 
 is to be wifhed, fince Mr. Philips had fo many of 
 the good quahties of that poet, that I had fome of 
 the abilities of his hillorian. 
 
 Vol. L Cc The
 
 502 J. PHILIPS. 
 
 The Grecian philofophers have had their Lives 
 written, their morals commended, and their fayings 
 recorded. Mr. Phihps had all the virtues to 
 which moll of them only pretended, and all their 
 integrity without any of their affectation. 
 
 The French are very jull to eminent men in this 
 point ; not a learned man nor a poet can die, but 
 all Europe mull be acquainted with his accomplifh- 
 ments. They give praife and expecl it in their 
 turns : they commend their Patru's and Moliere's 
 as well as their Conde's and Turenne's ; their 
 Pelhfons and Racines have their elogies as well as 
 the prince whom they celebrate ; and their poems, 
 their mercuries, and orations, nay their very ga- 
 zettes, are hUed with the praifes of the learned. 
 
 I am fatished, had they a Phihps among them, 
 and known how to value him ; had they one of 
 his learning, his temper, but above all of that par- 
 ticular turn of humour, that altogether new genius, 
 he had been an example to their poets, and a fub- 
 jeft of their panegyricks, and perhaps fet in com- 
 petition with the ancients, to whom only he ought 
 to fubmit. 
 
 I Ihall therefore endeavour to do jullice to his 
 memory, fince nobody elfe undertakes it. And 
 indeed I can affign no caufe why fo many of hi^ 
 acquaintance (that are as willing and more able 
 than myfelf to give an account of him) fhould for- 
 bear to celebrate the memory of one fo dear to 
 them, but only that they look upon it as v\'ork in- 
 tirely belonging to me. 
 
 I fhall content myfelf with giving only a cha^ 
 radler of the perfon and bis writings, without mcd- 
 
 dlip-LC
 
 J. PHILIPS. 305 
 
 dling with tlie tranfaftions of his hfe, which was 
 altogether private : I (hall only make this known 
 obfervation of his family, that there was fcarce fo 
 many extraordinary men in any one. I have been 
 acquainted with five of his brothers (of which three 
 are ftill living), all men of fine parts, yet all of a 
 very unlike temper and genius. So that their fruit- 
 ful mother, like the mother of the gods, feems to 
 have produced a numerous offspring, all of different 
 though uncommon faculties. Of the living, 
 neither their modefly nor the humour of the pre- 
 fent age permits me to fpeak : of the dead, I may 
 fay fomething. 
 
 One of them had made the greatell progrefs in 
 the ftudy of the law of nature and nations of any 
 one I know. He had perfectly maflered, and 
 even improved, the notions of Grotius, and the 
 more refined ones of Puffendorf. He could refute 
 Hobbes with as much fohdity as fome of greater 
 name, and expofe him with as much wit as 
 Echard. That noble fludy, which requires the 
 greateft reach of reafon and nicety of diftin6lion, 
 was not at all difficult to him. 'Twas a national 
 lofs to be deprived of one who underftood a fcience 
 fo neceffary, and yet fo unknown in England. I 
 fhall add only, he had the fame honefty and finceri- 
 ty as the perfon I write of, but more heat : the 
 fonner was more inclined to argue, the latter to 
 divert ; one employed his reafon more ; the other 
 liis imagination : the former had been well qualifi- 
 ed for thofe pofts, which the modefty of the latter 
 made him refufe. His other dead brother would 
 have been an ornament to the college of which he 
 Cc 2 was
 
 304 J* PHILIPS. 
 
 was a member. He had a genius either for poetry 
 or oratory ; and, though very young, compofed 
 feveral veiy agreeable pieces. In all probability he 
 would have wrote as finely, as his brother did nob- 
 ly. He might have been the Waller, as the other 
 was the Milton of his time. The one might cele- 
 brate Marlborough, the other his beautiful offs- 
 pring. This had not been fo fit to defcribe the 
 actions of heroes as the virtues of private men. 
 In a word, he had been fitter for my place ; and 
 while his brother was writing upon the greateft 
 men that any age ever produced, in a ftyle equal to 
 them, he might have fer%'ed as a panegyrifl on him. 
 
 This is all I think neceffary to fay of his family. 
 I fhall proceed to himfelf and his \\Titings ; which 
 I fhall firlt treat of, becaufe I know they are 
 cenfured by fome out of envy, and more out of 
 ignorance. 
 
 The Splendid ShiUlngy which is far the leaft con- 
 fiderable, has the more general reputation, and 
 perhaps hinders the character of the reft. The 
 ftyle agreed fo well with the burlefque, that the 
 ignorant thought it could become nothing elfe. 
 Every body is pleafed with that work. But to 
 judge rightly of the other, requires a perfeft maf- 
 tery of poetry and criticifm, a juft contempt of the 
 little turns and \\Titticifms now in vogue, and, above 
 all, a perfeft underftanding of poetical diction and 
 defcription. 
 
 AU that have any tafte of poetry will agree, that 
 the great burlefque is much to be prefen-ed to the 
 low. It is much eaficr to make a great thing ap- 
 pear little, than a little one great ; Cotton and 
 
 others
 
 J. PHILIPS. 305 
 
 others of a very low genius have done the former 
 but Philips, Garth, and Boileau, only the latter, 
 
 A picture in miniature is every painter's talent ; 
 but a piece for a cupola, where all the figures are 
 enlarged, yet proportioned to the eye, requires a 
 mailer's hand. 
 
 It muft Hill be more acceptable than the low 
 burlefque, becaufe the images of the latter are 
 mean and filthy, and the language itfelf entirely 
 unknown to all men of good breeding. The ftyle 
 of Billingfgate would not make a very agreeable 
 figure at St. James's. A gentleman would take 
 but little pleafure in language, which he would 
 think it hard to be accolled in, or in reading 
 words which he could not pronounce without 
 blufliing. The lofty burlefque is the more to be 
 admired, becaufe, to write it, the author mull be 
 mailer of two of the moll different talents in na- 
 ture. A talent to find out and expofe what is 
 ridiculous, is very different from that which is to 
 raife and elevate. We muft read Virgil and 
 Milton for the one, Horace and Hudibras for 
 the other. We know that the authors of ex* 
 cellent comedies have often failed in the grave 
 ftyle, and the tragedian as often in comedy. Ad-, 
 miration and Laughter are of fuch oppofite na- 
 tures, that they are feldom created by the fame 
 perfon. The man of mirth is always obferving the 
 follies and weakneffes, the ferious writer the virtues 
 or crimes of mankind ; one is pleafed with con- 
 templating a beau, the other a hero : Even from 
 the fame fubjedl they would draw different ideas : 
 Achilles would appear in very different lights to 
 C c 3 Therfites
 
 306 J. tHlLlPS. 
 
 Therfites and Alexander. The one would admire 
 the courage and greatnefs of his foul ; the other 
 would ridicule the vanity and raflmefs of his tun- 
 per. As the fatyriil fays to Hannibal : 
 
 — I curre per Alpes, 
 Ut pueris placeas, & declamatio fiaa. 
 
 The contrariety of ftyle to the fubjeft pleales 
 the more ftrongly, becaufe it is more furprifing ; 
 the expe<?tation of the reader is pleafantly deceived, 
 who expe<5ts an humble ftyle from the fubjeft, 
 or a great fubjeft from the ftyle. It pleafes 
 the more univerfally, becaufe it is agreeable to 
 the tafte both of the grave and the merry ; 
 but more particularly fo to thofe who have a rehHi 
 of the beft writers, and the nobleft fort of poetry. 
 I fhall produce only one paflage out of this poet, 
 which is the misfortune of his GaUigaflvins : 
 
 My Galligaflcins, which have long withftood 
 
 The wmter's fury and encroaching frofts, 
 
 By time fubdued (what will not time fubdue!) 
 
 This is admirably pathetical, and fliews very Well 
 the viciflitudes of fublunaiy things. The reft 
 goes on to a prodigious height ; and a man iii 
 Greenland could hardly have made a more pathc- 
 tick and terrible complaint. Is it not furprifing 
 that the fubjed (hould be fo mean, and the verfe io 
 pompous ; that the leaft things in his poetry, as 
 in a micro fcope, (hould grow great and formidable 
 to the eye ? efpecially confidering that, not un- 
 derftanding French, he had no model for his ftyle f 
 ^hat he ihoul^ li^v« dq WTitar to imitate, and him- 
 
 fe]f
 
 J» PHILIPS. 307 
 
 felf be mimitable ? that he fhould do all this before 
 he was twenty ? at an age, which is iifually pleaf- 
 ed with a glare of falfe thoughts, little turns, and 
 unnatural fuftian ? at an age, at which Cowley, 
 Dryden, and I had almoft faid Virgil, were incon- 
 fiderable ? So foon was his imagination at its full 
 ftrength, his judgement ripe, and his humour 
 complete. 
 
 This poem was written for his own diverfion, 
 without any defign of publication. It was com- 
 municated but to me ; but foon fpread, and fell 
 into tlie hands of pirates. It was put out, vilely 
 mangled, by Ben Bragge ; and impudently /aid to 
 he correded by the author » This grievance is now 
 grown more epidemical ; and no man now has a 
 right to his own thoughts, or a title to his own 
 writings. Xenophon anfwered the Perfian, who 
 demanded his arms, ** We have nothing now left 
 '* but our arms and our valour ; if we furrender 
 ** the one, how fhall we make ufe of the other ?" 
 Poets have nothing but their wits and their writ- 
 ings ; and if they are plundered of the latter, I 
 don't fee what good the former can do them. To 
 pirate, and publickly own it, to prefix their names 
 to the works they Ileal, to own and avow the 
 theft, I believe, was never yet heard of but in 
 England. It will found oddly to pollerity, that, 
 in a polite nation, in an enlightened age, under 
 the direction of the mod wife, moll learned, and 
 moil generous encouragers of knowledge in the 
 world, the property of a mechanick ihould be 
 better fecured than that of a fcholar ; that the 
 poorell manual opei-ations ihould be more valued 
 
 thaa
 
 308 J. PHILIPS. 
 
 than the noblefl produ6lions of the brain ; that 
 it ihould be felony to rob a cobler of a pair of 
 fhoes, and no crime to deprive the bell author of 
 iiis whole fubfiilence ; that nothing fhould make a 
 man a fure title to his own writings but the ftu- 
 pidity of them ; that the works of Dr\'den fhould 
 meet with lefs encouragement than thofe of his 
 own Flecknoe, or Blackmore ; that Tillotfon 
 and St. George, Tom Thumb and Temple, lliould 
 be fet on an equal foot. This is the reafon why 
 this very paper has been fo long delayed ; and while 
 the moll impudent and fcandalous libels are pubhck- 
 ly vended by the pirates, this innocent work is- 
 forced to ileal abroad as if it were a libel. 
 
 Our prefent writers are by thefe wTetches re- 
 duced to the fame condition Virgil was, when the 
 centurion feized on his ellate. But I don't doubt 
 but I can fix upon the Moecenas of the prefent age, 
 that will retrieve them from it. But, whatever 
 effetl this piracy may have upon us, it contributed 
 veiy much to the advantage of Mr. Philips ; it 
 helped him to a reputation, which he neither de- 
 fired nor expected, and to the honour of being put 
 upon a work of which he did not think himfelf 
 capable ; but the event fhewed his modefly. And 
 it was reafonable to hope, that he, who could raife 
 mean fubjefts fo high, fliould Hill be more elevate 
 on greater themes ; that he, that could drawfuc 
 noble ideas from a ftiUing, could not fail upon fuc 
 a fubjecl as the duke of Marlborough, fwhlch t 
 fapable of heightening etjen the moji lonv and trifling 
 genius. And, indeed, mofl of the great works 
 ^vhich havQ been prcdyced ip the world have beea 
 * owin^
 
 J. PHILIPS. 3(^9 
 
 p-wing Icfs to the poet than the patron. Men of 
 the greateft genius are fometimes lazy, and want a 
 ipur ; often modeft, and dare not venture in pub- 
 lick ; they certainly know their faults in the worft 
 things ; and even their beft things they are not 
 fond of, becaufe the idea of what they ought ta 
 be is far above what they are. This induced me 
 to beheve that Virgil defired his work might be 
 burnt, had not the fame Auguftus that defired him 
 to write them, preferved them from deftruchion. 
 A fcribbhng beau may imagine a Poet may be in- 
 duced to write, by the very pleafure he finds in 
 writing ; but that is feldom, when people are ne- 
 ceffitated to it. I have known men row, and ufe 
 very hard labour, for diverfion, which, if they had 
 been tied to, they would have thought themfelves 
 veiy unhappy. 
 
 But to return to Blenheim^ that work fo much 
 admired by fome, and cenfured by others. I have 
 often wifhed he had wrote it in Latin, that he 
 might be out of the reach of the empty criticks, 
 who could have as little underftood his meaning 
 in that language as they do his beauties in his own. 
 
 Falfe ciiticks have been the plague of all ages ; 
 Milton himfelf, in a \trj pohte court, has been 
 compared to the rumbling of a wheel-barrow ; he 
 ^d been on the wrong fide, and therefore could 
 ;iot be a good poet, jiind thisy perhaps, may be 
 !^r. Philips' s cafe. 
 
 ^ But I take generally the ignorance of his readers 
 ^o be the occafion of their diflike. People that 
 have formed their tafte upon the French writers, 
 can have no rehfh for Philips : they admire points 
 
 and
 
 3IO J. PHILIPS. 
 
 and turns, and confequently have no judgement of 
 ivhat is great and majeftick ; he muft lookhttlc in 
 their eyes, when he foars fo high as to be almo[t 
 out of their view. I cannot therefore allow any 
 admirer of the French to be a judge of Blenheim, 
 nor any who takes Bouhours for a compleat cri- 
 tick. He generally judges of the ancients by the 
 moderns, and not the moderns by the ancients ; he 
 takes thofe pafTages of their own authors to be 
 really fublime which come the neareft to it ; he 
 often calls that a noble and a great thought which 
 is only a pretty and fine one, and has more in- 
 ilances of the fublime out of Ovid de Triftibus, 
 than he has out of all Virgil. 
 
 I fhall allow, therefore, only thofe to be judges 
 of Philips, who make the ancients, and particularly 
 Virgil, their ftandard. 
 
 But, before I -enter on this fubje£l, I (hall con- 
 fider what is particular in the ftyle of Phihps, and 
 examine what ought to be the ftyle of heroick 
 poetry, and next inquire how far he is come up to 
 that ftyle. 
 
 His ftyle is particular, becaufe he lays afide 
 rhyme, and writes in blank verfe, and ufes old 
 words, and frequently poftpones the adjeftive to 
 the fubftantive, and the fubftantive to the verb ; 
 and leaves out little particles, a, and the ; her, and 
 hh ; and ufes frequent appofitions. Now let us 
 examine, whether thefe alterations of ftyle be con- 
 formable to the true fubhmc. 
 
 ***** ^ 
 
 WALSH.
 
 t 311 ] 
 WALSH. 
 
 WILLIAM WALSH, the fon of Jofepli 
 Walfh, Efq ; of Abberley in Worcefter- 
 fhire, was born in 1663, as appears from the ac- 
 count of Wood ; who relates, that at the age of 
 fifteen he became, in 1678, a gentleman commonet 
 of Wadham College. 
 
 He left the imiverfity without a degree, and 
 purfued his ftudies in London and at home ; that 
 he lludied, in whatever place, is apparent from the 
 effeft ; for he became, in Mr. Dryden's opinion, 
 the bejl critich in the nation. 
 
 He was not, however, merely a critick or a 
 fcholar, but a man of fafliion, and, as Dennis re- 
 marks, oftentatioufly fplendid in his drefs. He 
 was likewife a member of parliament and a 
 courtier, knight of the fhire for his native county 
 in feveral parliaments ; in another the reprefen- 
 tative of Richmond in Yorkfhire ; and gentle- 
 man of the horfe to Queen Anne under the duke 
 of Somerfet. 
 
 Some of his verfes iliew him to have been a 
 ■.ealous friend to the Revolution ; but his pohtical 
 ardour did not nbate his reverence or kindnefs for 
 
 Dryden
 
 312 WALSH. 
 
 Dr}'den, to whom he gave a DiflcTtation on "\'ii- 
 gil's Paftorals, in which, however ftudied, he dil- 
 covers fome ignorance of the laws of French 
 verlilication. 
 
 In 1 705, he began to correfpond with Mr. Pope, 
 in whom he difcovered very early the power of 
 poetry. Their letters are written upon the paf- 
 toral comedy of the Itahans, and thofe paftorals 
 which Pope was then preparing to publifti. 
 
 The kindnefles which are firft experienced are 
 feldom forgotten. Pope always retained a grate- 
 ful memory of Wallh's notice, and mentioned him 
 in one of his latter pieces among thofe that had en- 
 couraged his juvenile ftudies : 
 
 Granville the polite, 
 
 And knowing Walfh, would tell me I could write. 
 
 In his EfTay on Criticifm he had given him more 
 fplendid praife, and, in the opinion of his learned 
 pommentator, facriiiced a httle of his judgment tg 
 his gratitude, 
 
 The time of his death I have not learned. It 
 muft have happened 1707, when he wTote to 
 Pope; and 1721, when Pope praifed him in his 
 Eflay. The epitaph makes him forty-fix years 
 (Ad : if Wood's account be right, he died in 1709. 
 
 He is known more by his familiarity with great- 
 er men, than by any thing done or written by 
 tlimfelf. 
 
 His works are not numerous. In profe he 
 
 wrote
 
 WALSH. 
 
 313 
 
 wrote Eugenia ) a defence of 'Vd omen ; which Dry den 
 honoured with a Preface. 
 
 EfculapiuSi or the Hofpital of Fools, publifhed after 
 his death. 
 
 yl colleBion of Letters and Poems, amorous and 
 gallant, was pubhfhed in the vohimes called Dry- 
 den's Mifcellany, and fome other occafiona) pieces. 
 
 To his Poems and Letters is prefixed a very 
 judicious preface upon Epillolary Compofition and 
 Amorous Poetry. 
 
 In his Golden Jge rejlored, there was fomething 
 of humour, while the fa6ls were recent ; but it 
 now ftrikes no longer. In his imitation of Ho- 
 race, the firft ftanzas are happily turned ; and in 
 all his writings there are pleafmg paffages. He 
 has however more elegance than vigour, and feldom 
 nfes higher than to be pretty. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 
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