C.

[Footnote 1: A reference to the Spectator's voyage to Grand Cairo

mentioned in No. 1.]

[Footnote 2: "these Fruits, in their present State, as well as our"]

[Footnote 3: that]

* * * * *

No. 70. Monday, May 21, 1711. Addison.

'Interdum vulgus rectum videt.'

Hor.

When I travelled, I took a particular Delight in hearing the Songs and

Fables that are come from Father to Son, and are most in Vogue among the

common People of the Countries through which I passed; for it is

impossible that any thing should be universally tasted and approved by a

Multitude, tho' they are only the Rabble of a Nation, which hath not in

it some peculiar Aptness to please and gratify the Mind of Man. Human

Nature is the same in all reasonable Creatures; and whatever falls in

with it, will meet with Admirers amongst Readers of all Qualities and

Conditions. _Molière_, as we are told by Monsieur _Boileau_, used to

read all his Comedies to [an [1]] old Woman [who [2]] was his

Housekeeper, as she sat with him at her Work by the Chimney-Corner; and

could foretel the Success of his Play in the Theatre, from the Reception

it met at his Fire-side: For he tells us the Audience always followed

the old Woman, and never failed to laugh in the same Place. [3]

I know nothing which more shews the essential and inherent Perfection of

Simplicity of Thought, above that which I call the Gothick Manner in

Writing, than this, that the first pleases all Kinds of Palates, and the

latter only such as have formed to themselves a wrong artificial Taste

upon little fanciful Authors and Writers of Epigram. _Homer_, _Virgil_,

or _Milton_, so far as the Language of their Poems is understood, will

please a Reader of plain common Sense, who would neither relish nor

comprehend an Epigram of _Martial_, or a Poem of _Cowley_: So, on the

contrary, an ordinary Song or Ballad that is the Delight of the common

People, cannot fail to please all such Readers as are not unqualified

for the Entertainment by their Affectation or Ignorance; and the Reason

is plain, because the same Paintings of Nature which recommend it to the

most ordinary Reader, will appear Beautiful to the most refined.

The old Song of _Chevey Chase_ is the favourite Ballad of the common

People of _England_; and _Ben Johnson_ used to say he had rather have

been the Author of it than of all his Works. Sir _Philip Sidney_ in his

'Discourse of Poetry' [4] speaks of it in the following Words;

_I never heard the old Song of_ Piercy _and_ Douglas, _that I found

not my Heart more moved than with a Trumpet; and yet it is sung by

some blind Crowder with no rougher Voice than rude Stile; which being

so evil apparelled in the Dust and Cobweb of that uncivil Age, what

would it work trimmed in the gorgeous Eloquence of_ Pindar?

For my own part I am so professed an Admirer of this antiquated Song,

that I shall give my Reader a Critick upon it, without any further

Apology for so doing.

The greatest Modern Criticks have laid it down as a Rule, that an

Heroick Poem should be founded upon some important Precept of Morality,

adapted to the Constitution of the Country in which the Poet writes.

_Homer_ and _Virgil_ have formed their Plans in this View. As _Greece_

was a Collection of many Governments, who suffered very much among

themselves, and gave the _Persian_ Emperor, who was their common Enemy,

many Advantages over them by their mutual Jealousies and Animosities,

_Homer_, in order to establish among them an Union, which was so

necessary for their Safety, grounds his Poem upon the Discords of the

several _Grecian_ Princes who were engaged in a Confederacy against an

_Asiatick_ Prince, and the several Advantages which the Enemy gained by

such their Discords. At the Time the Poem we are now treating of was

written, the Dissentions of the Barons, who were then so many petty

Princes, ran very high, whether they quarrelled among themselves, or

with their Neighbours, and produced unspeakable Calamities to the

Country: [5] The Poet, to deter Men from such unnatural Contentions,

describes a bloody Battle and dreadful Scene of Death, occasioned by the

mutual Feuds which reigned in the Families of an _English_ and _Scotch_

Nobleman: That he designed this for the Instruction of his Poem, we may

learn from his four last Lines, in which, after the Example of the

modern Tragedians, he draws from it a Precept for the Benefit of his

Readers.

_God save the King, and bless the Land

In Plenty, Joy, and Peace;

And grant henceforth that foul Debate

'Twixt Noblemen may cease._

The next Point observed by the greatest Heroic Poets, hath been to

celebrate Persons and Actions which do Honour to their Country: Thus

_Virgil's_ Hero was the Founder of _Rome_, _Homer's_ a Prince of

_Greece_; and for this Reason _Valerius Flaccus_ and _Statius_, who were

both _Romans_, might be justly derided for having chosen the Expedition

of the _Golden Fleece_, and the _Wars of Thebes_ for the Subjects of

their Epic Writings.

The Poet before us has not only found out an Hero in his own Country,

but raises the Reputation of it by several beautiful Incidents. The

_English_ are the first [who [6]] take the Field, and the last [who [7]]

quit it. The _English_ bring only Fifteen hundred to the Battle, the

_Scotch_ Two thousand. The _English_ keep the Field with Fifty three:

The _Scotch_ retire with Fifty five: All the rest on each side being

slain in Battle. But the most remarkable Circumstance of this kind, is

the different Manner in which the _Scotch_ and _English_ Kings [receive

[8]] the News of this Fight, and of the great Men's Deaths who commanded

in it.

_This News was brought to_ Edinburgh,

_Where_ Scotland's _King did reign,

That brave Earl_ Douglas _suddenly

Was with an Arrow slain.

O heavy News, King James did say,_

Scotland _can Witness be,

I have not any Captain more

Of such Account as he.

Like Tydings to King_ Henry _came

Within as short a Space,

That_ Piercy _of_ Northumberland

_Was slain in_ Chevy-Chase.

_Now God be with him, said our King,

Sith 'twill no better be,

I trust I have within my Realm

Five hundred as good as he.

Yet shall not_ Scot _nor_ Scotland _say

But I will Vengeance take,

And be revenged on them all

For brave Lord_ Piercy's _Sake.

This Vow full well the King performed

After on_ Humble-down,

_In one Day fifty Knights were slain,

With Lords of great Renown.

And of the rest of small Account

Did many Thousands dye,_ &c.

At the same time that our Poet shews a laudable Partiality to his

Countrymen, he represents the _Scots_ after a Manner not unbecoming so

bold and brave a People.

_Earl Douglas on a milk-white Steed,

Most like a Baron bold,

Rode foremost of the Company

Whose Armour shone like Gold_.

His Sentiments and Actions are every Way suitable to an Hero. One of us

two, says he, must dye: I am an Earl as well as your self, so that you

can have no Pretence for refusing the Combat: However, says he, 'tis

Pity, and indeed would be a Sin, that so many innocent Men should perish

for our sakes, rather let you and I end our Quarrel [in single Fight.

[9]]

_Ere thus I will out-braved be,

One of us two shall dye;

I know thee well, an Earl thou art,

Lord Piercy, so am I.

But trust me_, Piercy, _Pity it were,

And great Offence, to kill

Any of these our harmless Men,

For they have done no Ill.

Let thou and I the Battle try,

And set our Men aside;

Accurst be he, Lord_ Piercy _said,

By whom this is deny'd_.

When these brave Men had distinguished themselves in the Battle and a

single Combat with each other, in the Midst of a generous Parly, full of

heroic Sentiments, the _Scotch_ Earl falls; and with his dying Words

encourages his Men to revenge his Death, representing to them, as the

most bitter Circumstance of it, that his Rival saw him fall.

_With that there came an Arrow keen

Out of an_ English _Bow,

Which struck Earl_ Douglas _to the Heart

A deep and deadly Blow.

Who never spoke more Words than these,

Fight on, my merry Men all,

For why, my Life is at an End,

Lord_ Piercy sees _my Fall.

_Merry Men_, in the Language of those Times, is no more than a cheerful

Word for Companions and Fellow-Soldiers. A Passage in the Eleventh Book

of _Virgil's Æneid_ is very much to be admired, where _Camilla_ in her

last Agonies instead of weeping over the Wound she had received, as one

might have expected from a Warrior of her Sex, considers only (like the

Hero of whom we are now speaking) how the Battle should be continued

after her Death.

_Tum sic exspirans_, &c.

_A gathering Mist overclouds her chearful Eyes;

And from her Cheeks the rosie Colour flies.

Then turns to her, whom, of her Female Train,

She trusted most, and thus she speaks with Pain.

Acca, 'tis past! He swims before my Sight,

Inexorable Death; and claims his Right.

Bear my last Words to Turnus, fly with Speed,

And bid him timely to my Charge succeed;

Repel the Trojans, and the Town relieve:

Farewel_ ...

_Turnus_ did not die in so heroic a Manner; tho' our Poet seems to

have had his Eye upon _Turnus's_ Speech in the last Verse,

_Lord Piercy sees my Fall.

... Vicisti, et victum tendere palmas

Ausonii videre_ ...

Earl _Piercy's_ Lamentation over his Enemy is generous, beautiful, and

passionate; I must only caution the Reader not to let the Simplicity of

the Stile, which one may well pardon in so old a Poet, prejudice him

against the Greatness of the Thought.

_Then leaving Life, Earl Piercy took

The dead Man by the Hand,

And said, Earl Douglas, for thy Life

Would I had lost my Land.

O Christ! my very heart doth bleed

With Sorrow for thy Sake;

For sure a more renowned Knight

Mischance did never take_.

That beautiful Line, _Taking the dead Man by the Hand_, will put the

Reader in mind of _Æneas's_ Behaviour towards _Lausus_, whom he himself

had slain as he came to the Rescue of his aged Father.

_At vero ut vultum vidit morientis, et ora,

Ora modis Anchisiades, pallentia miris;

Ingemuit, miserans graviter, dextramque tetendit, &c.

The pious Prince beheld young Lausus dead;

He grieved, he wept; then grasped his Hand, and said,

Poor hapless Youth! What Praises can be paid

To worth so great ..._

I shall take another Opportunity to consider the other Part of this old

Song.

[Footnote 1: a little]

[Footnote 2: that]

[Footnote 3: Besides the old woman, Moliere is said to have relied on

the children of the Comedians, read his pieces to them, and corrected

passages at which they did not show themselves to be amused.]

[Footnote 4: 'Defence of Poesy'.]

[Footnote 5: The author of Chevy Chase was not contemporary with the

dissensions of the Barons, even if the ballad of the 'Hunting of the

Cheviot' was a celebration of the Battle of Otterbourne, fought in 1388,

some 30 miles from Newcastle. The battle of Chevy Chase, between the

Percy and the Douglas, was fought in Teviotdale, and the ballad which

moved Philip Sidney's heart was written in the fifteenth century. It may

have referred to a Battle of Pepperden, fought near the Cheviot Hills,

between the Earl of Northumberland and Earl William Douglas of Angus, in

1436. The ballad quoted by Addison is not that of which Sidney spoke,

but a version of it, written after Sidney's death, and after the best

plays of Shakespeare had been written.]

[Footnote 6: that]

[Footnote 7: that]

[Footnote 8: received]

[Footnote 9: by a single Combat.]

* * * * *

No. 71. Tuesday, May 22, 1711. Steele.

'... Scribere jussit Amor.'

Ovid.

The entire Conquest of our Passions is so difficult a Work, that they

who despair of it should think of a less difficult Task, and only

attempt to Regulate them. But there is a third thing which may

contribute not only to the Ease, but also to the Pleasure of our Life;

and that is refining our Passions to a greater Elegance, than we receive

them from Nature. When the Passion is Love, this Work is performed in

innocent, though rude and uncultivated Minds, by the mere Force and

Dignity of the Object. There are Forms which naturally create Respect in

the Beholders, and at once Inflame and Chastise the Imagination. Such an

Impression as this gives an immediate Ambition to deserve, in order to

please. This Cause and Effect are beautifully described by Mr.

_Dryden_ in the Fable of _Cymon_ and _Iphigenia_. After

he has represented _Cymon_ so stupid, that

_He Whistled as he went, for want of Thought_,

he makes him fall into the following Scene, and shews its Influence upon

him so excellently, that it appears as Natural as Wonderful.

_It happen'd on a Summer's Holiday,

That to the Greenwood-shade he took his Way;

His Quarter-staff, which he cou'd ne'er forsake,

Hung half before, and half behind his Back.

He trudg'd along unknowing what he sought,

And whistled as he went, for want of Thought.

By Chance conducted, or by Thirst constrain'd,

The deep recesses of the Grove he gain'd;

Where in a Plain, defended by the Wood,

Crept thro' the matted Grass a Crystal Flood,

By which an Alabaster Fountain stood:

And on the Margin of the Fount was laid,

(Attended by her Slaves) a sleeping Maid,

Like_ Dian, _and her Nymphs, when, tir'd with Sport,

To rest by cool_ Eurotas _they resort:

The Dame herself the Goddess well expressed,

Not more distinguished by her Purple Vest,

Than by the charming Features of her Face,

And even in Slumber a superior Grace:

Her comely Limbs composed with decent Care,

Her Body shaded with a slight Cymarr;

Her Bosom to the View was only bare_:[1]

...

_The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows,

To meet the fanning Wind the Bosom rose;

The fanning Wind and purling Streams continue her Repose.

The Fool of Nature stood with stupid Eyes

And gaping Mouth, that testify'd Surprize,

Fix'd on her Face, nor could remove his Sight,

New as he was to Love, and Novice in Delight:

Long mute he stood, and leaning on his Staff,

His Wonder witness'd with an Idiot Laugh;

Then would have spoke, but by his glimmering Sense

First found his want of Words, and fear'd Offence:

Doubted for what he was he should be known,

By his Clown-Accent, and his Country Tone_.

But lest this fine Description should be excepted against, as the

Creation of that great Master, Mr. _Dryden_, and not an Account of what

has really ever happened in the World; I shall give you, _verbatim_, the

Epistle of an enamoured Footman in the Country to his Mistress. [2]

Their Sirnames shall not be inserted, because their Passion demands a

greater Respect than is due to their Quality. _James_ is Servant in a

great Family, and Elizabeth waits upon the Daughter of one as numerous,

some Miles off of her Lover. _James_, before he beheld _Betty_, was vain

of his Strength, a rough Wrestler, and quarrelsome Cudgel-Player;

_Betty_ a Publick Dancer at Maypoles, a Romp at Stool-Ball: He always

following idle Women, she playing among the Peasants: He a Country

Bully, she a Country Coquet. But Love has made her constantly in her

Mistress's Chamber, where the young Lady gratifies a secret Passion of

her own, by making _Betty_ talk of _James_; and _James_ is become a

constant Waiter near his Master's Apartment, in reading, as well as he

can, Romances. I cannot learn who _Molly_ is, who it seems walked Ten

Mile to carry the angry Message, which gave Occasion to what follows.

To _ELIZABETH_ ...

_My Dear Betty_, May 14, 1711.

Remember your bleeding Lover,

who lies bleeding at the ...

_Where two beginning Paps were scarcely spy'd,

For yet their Places were but signify'd_.

Wounds _Cupid_ made with the Arrows he borrowed at the Eyes of _Venus_,

which is your sweet Person.

Nay more, with the Token you sent me for my Love and Service offered

to your sweet Person; which was your base Respects to my ill

Conditions; when alas! there is no ill Conditions in me, but quite

contrary; all Love and Purity, especially to your sweet Person; but

all this I take as a Jest.

But the sad and dismal News which _Molly_ brought me, struck me to the

Heart, which was, it seems, and is your ill Conditions for my Love and

Respects to you.

For she told me, if I came Forty times to you, you would not speak

with me, which Words I am sure is a great Grief to me.

Now, my Dear, if I may not be permitted to your sweet Company, and to

have the Happiness of speaking with your sweet Person, I beg the

Favour of you to accept of this my secret Mind and Thoughts, which

hath so long lodged in my Breast; the which if you do not accept, I

believe will go nigh to break my Heart.

For indeed, my Dear, I Love you above all the Beauties I ever saw in

all my Life.

The young Gentleman, and my Masters Daughter, the _Londoner_ that is

come down to marry her, sat in the Arbour most part of last Night. Oh!

dear _Betty_, must the Nightingales sing to those who marry for Mony,

and not to us true Lovers! Oh my dear _Betty_, that we could meet this

Night where we used to do in the Wood!

Now, my Dear, if I may not have the Blessing of kissing your sweet

Lips, I beg I may have the Happiness of kissing your fair Hand, with a

few Lines from your dear self, presented by whom you please or think

fit. I believe, if Time would permit me, I could write all Day; but

the Time being short, and Paper little, no more from your

never-failing Lover till Death, James ...

Poor James! Since his Time and Paper were so short; I, that have more

than I can use well of both, will put the Sentiments of his kind Letter

(the Stile of which seems to be confused with Scraps he had got in

hearing and reading what he did not understand) into what he meant to

express.

Dear Creature, Can you then neglect him who has forgot all his

Recreations and Enjoyments, to pine away his Life in thinking of you?

When I do so, you appear more amiable to me than _Venus_ does in the

most beautiful Description that ever was made of her. All this

Kindness you return with an Accusation, that I do not love you: But

the contrary is so manifest, that I cannot think you in earnest. But

the Certainty given me in your Message by _Molly_, that you do not

love me, is what robs me of all Comfort. She says you will not see me:

If you can have so much Cruelty, at least write to me, that I may kiss

the Impression made by your fair Hand. I love you above all things,

and, in my Condition, what you look upon with Indifference is to me

the most exquisite Pleasure or Pain. Our young Lady, and a fine

Gentleman from _London_, who are to marry for mercenary Ends, walk

about our Gardens, and hear the Voice of Evening Nightingales, as if

for Fashion-sake they courted those Solitudes, because they have heard

Lovers do so. Oh _Betty!_ could I hear these Rivulets murmur, and

Birds sing while you stood near me, how little sensible should I be

that we are both Servants, that there is anything on Earth above us.

Oh! I could write to you as long as I love you, till Death it self.

_JAMES_.

_N. B._ By the Words _Ill-Conditions_, James means in a Woman

_Coquetry_, in a Man _Inconstancy_.