JOHN GAY, descended from an old family that had been long in possession
of the manor of Goldworthy, in Devonshire, was born in 1688, at or near
Barnstaple, where he was educated by Mr. Luck, who taught the school of
that town with good reputation, and, a little before he retired from it,
published a volume of Latin and English verses. Under such a master he
was likely to form a taste for poetry. Being born without prospect of
hereditary riches, he was sent to London in his youth, and placed
apprentice with a silk mercer. How long he continued behind the counter,
or with what degree of softness and dexterity he received and
accommodated the ladies, as he probably took no delight in telling it, is
not known. The report is that he was soon weary of either the restraint
or servility of his occupation, and easily persuaded his master to
discharge him.
The Duchess of Monmouth, remarkable for inflexible perseverance in her
demand to be treated as a princess, in 1712 took Gay into her service as
secretary: by quitting a shop for such service he might gain leisure, but
he certainly advanced little in the boast of independence. Of his
leisure he made so good use that he published next year a poem on “Rural
Sports,” and inscribed it to Mr. Pope, who was then rising fast into
reputation. Pope was pleased with the honour, and when he became
acquainted with Gay, found such attractions in his manners and
conversation that he seems to have received him into his inmost
confidence; and a friendship was formed between them which lasted to
their separation by death, without any known abatement on either part.
Gay was the general favourite of the whole association of wits; but they
regarded him as a playfellow rather than a partner, and treated him with
more fondness than respect.
Next year he published “The Shepherd’s Week,” six English pastorals, in
which the images are drawn from real life, such as it appears among the
rustics in parts of England remote from London. Steele, in some papers
of the _Guardian_, had praised Ambrose Philips as the pastoral writer
that yielded only to Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Pope, who had also
published pastorals, not pleased to be overlooked, drew up a comparison
of his own compositions with those of Philips, in which he covertly gave
himself the preference, while he seemed to disown it. Not content with
this, he is supposed to have incited Gay to write “The Shepherd’s Week,”
to show that, if it be necessary to copy nature with minuteness, rural
life must be exhibited such as grossness and ignorance have made it. So
far the plan was reasonable; but the pastorals are introduced by a
_Proeme_, written with such imitation as they could attain of obsolete
language, and, by consequence, in a style that was never spoken nor
written in any language or in any place. But the effect of reality and
truth became conspicuous, even when the intention was to show them
grovelling and degraded. These pastorals became popular, and were read
with delight as just representations of rural manners and occupations by
those who had no interest in the rivalry of the poets, nor knowledge of
the critical dispute.
In 1713 he brought a comedy called _The Wife of Bath_ upon the stage, but
it received no applause; he printed it, however, and seventeen years
after, having altered it and, as he thought, adapted it more to the
public taste, he offered it again to the town; but, though he was flushed
with the success of the _Beggar’s Opera_, had the mortification to see it
again rejected.
In the last year of Queen Anne’s life Gay was made secretary to the Earl
of Clarendon, Ambassador to the Court of Hanover. This was a station
that naturally gave him hopes of kindness from every party; but the
Queen’s death put an end to her favours, and he had dedicated his
“Shepherd’s Week” to Bolingbroke, which Swift considered as the crime
that obstructed all kindness from the House of Hanover. He did not,
however, omit to improve the right which his office had given him to the
notice of the Royal Family. On the arrival of the Princess of Wales he
wrote a poem, and obtained so much favour that both the Prince and the
Princess went to see his _What D’ye Call It_, a kind of mock tragedy, in
which the images were comic and the action grave; so that, as Pope
relates, Mr. Cromwell, who could not hear what was said, was at a loss
how to reconcile the laughter of the audience with the solemnity of the
scene.
Of this performance the value certainly is but little; but it was one of
the lucky trifles that give pleasure by novelty, and was so much favoured
by the audience that envy appeared against it in the form of criticism;
and Griffin, a player, in conjunction with Mr. Theobald, a man afterwards
more remarkable, produced a pamphlet called “The Key to the What D’ye
Call It,” “which,” says Gay, “calls me a blockhead, and Mr. Pope a
knave.”
But fortune has always been inconstant. Not long afterwards (1717) he
endeavoured to entertain the town with _Three Hours after Marriage_, a
comedy written, as there is sufficient reason for believing, by the joint
assistance of Pope and Arbuthnot. One purpose of it was to bring into
contempt Dr. Woodward, the fossilist, a man not really or justly
contemptible. It had the fate which such outrages deserve. The scene in
which Woodward was directly and apparently ridiculed, by the introduction
of a mummy and a crocodile, disgusted the audience, and the performance
was driven off the stage with general condemnation.
Gay is represented as a man easily incited to hope, and deeply depressed
when his hopes were disappointed. This is not the character of a hero,
but it may naturally imply something more generally welcome, a soft and
civil companion. Whoever is apt to hope good from others is diligent to
please them; but he that believes his powers strong enough to force their
own way, commonly tries only to please himself. He had been simple
enough to imagine that those who laughed at the _What D’ye Call It_ would
raise the fortune of its author, and, finding nothing done, sunk into
dejection. His friends endeavoured to divert him. The Earl of
Burlington sent him (1716) into Devonshire, the year after Mr. Pulteney
took him to Aix, and in the following year Lord Harcourt invited him to
his seat, where, during his visit, two rural lovers were killed with
lightning, as is particularly told in Pope’s “Letters.”
Being now generally known, he published (1720) his poems by subscription,
with such success that he raised a thousand pounds, and called his
friends to a consultation what use might be best made of it. Lewis, the
steward of Lord Oxford, advised him to intrust it to the Funds, and live
upon the interest; Arbuthnot bade him to intrust it to Providence, and
live upon the principal; Pope directed him, and was seconded by Swift, to
purchase an annuity.
Gay in that disastrous year had a present from young Craggs of some South
Sea Stock, and once supposed himself to be master of twenty thousand
pounds. His friends persuaded him to sell his share; but he dreamed of
dignity and splendour, and could not bear to obstruct his own fortune.
He was then importuned to sell as much as would purchase a hundred a year
for life, “which,” says Penton, “will make you sure of a clean shirt and
a shoulder of mutton every day.” This counsel was rejected; the profit
and principal were lost, and Gay sunk under the calamity so low that his
life became in danger. By the care of his friends, among whom Pope
appears to have shown particular tenderness, his health was restored;
and, returning to his studies, he wrote a tragedy called _The Captives_,
which he was invited to read before the Princess of Wales. When the hour
came, he saw the Princess and her ladies all in expectation, and,
advancing with reverence too great for any other attention, stumbled at a
stool, and, falling forwards, threw down a weighty Japan screen. The
Princess started, the ladies screamed, and poor Gay, after all the
disturbance, was still to read his play.
The fate of _The Captives_, which was acted at Drury Lane in 1723–4, I
know not; but he now thought himself in favour, and undertook (1726) to
write a volume of “Fables” for the improvement of the young Duke of
Cumberland. For this he is said to have been promised a reward, which he
had doubtless magnified with all the wild expectations of indigence and
vanity.
Next year the Prince and Princess became King and Queen, and Gay was to
be great and happy; but on the settlement of the household, he found
himself appointed gentleman usher to the Princess Louisa. By this offer
he thought himself insulted, and sent a message to the Queen that he was
too old for the place. There seem to have been many machinations
employed afterwards in his favour, and diligent court was paid to Mrs.
Howard, afterwards Countess of Suffolk, who was much beloved by the King
and Queen, to engage her interest for his promotion; but solicitation,
verses, and flatteries were thrown away; the lady heard them, and did
nothing. All the pain which he suffered from neglect, or, as he perhaps
termed it, the ingratitude of the Court, may be supposed to have been
driven away by the unexampled success of the _Beggar’s Opera_. This
play, written in ridicule of the musical Italian drama, was first offered
to Cibber and his brethren at Drury Lane and rejected: it being then
carried to Rich, had the effect, as was ludicrously said, of making Gay
_rich_ and Rich _gay_. Of this lucky piece, as the reader cannot but
wish to know the original and progress, I have inserted the relation
which Spence has given in Pope’s words:—
“Dr. Swift had been observing once to Mr. Gay what an odd pretty sort
of a thing a Newgate Pastoral might make. Gay was inclined to try at
such a thing for some time; but afterwards thought it would be better
to write a comedy on the same plan. This was what gave rise to the
_Beggar’s Opera_. He began on it, and when first he mentioned it to
Swift, the doctor did not much like the project. As he carried it
on, he showed what he wrote to both of us, and we now and then gave a
correction, or a word or two of advice; but it was wholly of his own
writing. When it was done, neither of us thought it would succeed.
We showed it to Congreve, who, after reading it over, said it would
either take greatly or be damned confoundedly. We were all, at the
first night of it, in great uncertainty of the event, till we were
very much encouraged by overhearing the Duke of Argyll, who sat in
the next box to us, say, ‘It will do—it must do! I see it in the
eyes of them.’ This was a good while before the first act was over,
and so gave us ease soon; for that Duke (besides his own good taste)
has a particular knack, as any one now living, in discovering the
taste of the public. He was quite right in this, as usual; the
good-nature of the audience appeared stronger and stronger every act,
and ended in a clamour of applause.”