OF the birth or early part of the life of Ambrose Philips I have not been
able to find any account. His academical education he received at St.
John’s College in Cambridge, where he first solicited the notice of the
world by some English verses, in the collection published by the
University on the death of Queen Mary. From this time how he was
employed, or in what station he passed his life, is not yet discovered.
He must have published his “Pastorals” before the year 1708, because they
are evidently prior to those of Pope. He afterwards (1709) addressed to
the universal patron, the Duke of Dorset, a “Poetical Letter from
Copenhagen,” which was published in the _Tatler_, and is by Pope, in one
of his first Letters, mentioned with high praise as the production of a
man “who could write very nobly.”
Philips was a zealous Whig, and therefore easily found access to Addison
and Steele; but his ardour seems not to have procured him anything more
than kind words, since he was reduced to translate the “Persian Tales”
for Tonson, for which he was afterwards reproached, with this addition of
contempt, that he worked for half-a-crown. The book is divided into many
sections, for each of which, if he received half-a-crown, his reward, as
writers then were paid, was very liberal; but half-a-crown had a mean
sound. He was employed in promoting the principles of his party, by
epitomising Hacket’s “Life of Archbishop Williams.” The original book is
written with such depravity of genius, such mixture of the fop and
pedant, as has not often appeared. The epitome is free enough from
affectation, but has little spirit or vigour.
In 1712 he brought upon the stage _The Distressed Mother_, almost a
translation of Racine’s _Andromaque_. Such a work requires no uncommon
powers, but the friends of Philips exerted every art to promote his
interest. Before the appearance of the play a whole _Spectator_, none
indeed of the best, was devoted to its praise; while it yet continued to
be acted, another _Spectator_ was written to tell what impression it made
upon Sir Roger, and on the first night a select audience, says Pope, was
called together to applaud it. It was concluded with the most successful
Epilogue that was ever yet spoken on the English theatre. The three
first nights it was recited twice, and not only continued to be demanded
through the run, as it is termed, of the play, but whenever it is
recalled to the stage, where by peculiar fortune, though a copy from the
French, it yet keeps its place, the Epilogue is still expected, and is
still spoken.
The propriety of Epilogues in general, and consequently of this, was
questioned by a correspondent of the _Spectator_, whose letter was
undoubtedly admitted for the sake of the answer, which soon followed,
written with much zeal and acrimony. The attack and the defence equally
contributed to stimulate curiosity and continue attention. It may be
discovered in the defence that Prior’s Epilogue to _Phædra_ had a little
excited jealousy, and something of Prior’s plan may be discovered in the
performance of his rival. Of this distinguished Epilogue the reputed
author was the wretched Budgell, whom Addison used to denominate “the man
who calls me cousin;” and when he was asked how such a silly fellow could
write so well, replied, “The Epilogue was quite another thing when I saw
it first.” It was known in Tonson’s family, and told to Garrick, that
Addison was himself the author of it, and that, when it had been at first
printed with his name, he came early in the morning, before the copies
were distributed, and ordered it to be given to Budgell, that it might
add weight to the solicitation which he was then making for a place.
Philips was now high in the ranks of literature. His play was applauded;
his translations from Sappho had been published in the _Spectator_; he
was an important and distinguished associate of clubs, witty and
poetical; and nothing was wanting to his happiness but that he should be
sure of its continuance. The work which had procured him the first
notice from the public was his “Six Pastorals,” which, flattering the
imagination with Arcadian scenes, probably found many readers, and might
have long passed as a pleasing amusement had they not been unhappily too
much commended.
The rustic poems of Theocritus were so highly valued by the Greeks and
Romans that they attracted the imitation of Virgil, whose Eclogues seem
to have been considered as precluding all attempts of the same kind; for
no shepherds were taught to sing by any succeeding poet, till Nemesian
and Calphurnius ventured their feeble efforts in the lower age of Latin
literature.
At the revival of learning in Italy it was soon discovered that a
dialogue of imaginary swains might be composed with little difficulty,
because the conversation of shepherds excludes profound or refined
sentiment; and for images and descriptions, satyrs and fauns, and naiads
and dryads, were always within call; and woods and meadows, and hills and
rivers, supplied variety of matter, which, having a natural power to
soothe the mind, did not quickly cloy it.
Petrarch entertained the learned men of his age with the novelty of
modern pastorals in Latin. Being not ignorant of Greek, and finding
nothing in the word _eclogue_ of rural meaning, he supposed it to be
corrupted by the copiers, and therefore called his own productions
_Æglogues_, by which he meant to express the talk of goat-herds, though
it will mean only the talk of goats. This new name was adopted by
subsequent writers, and among others by our Spenser.
More than a century afterwards (1498) Mantuan published his Bucolics with
such success that they were soon dignified by Badius with a comment, and,
as Scaliger complained, received into schools, and taught as classical;
his complaint was vain, and the practice, however injudicious, spread far
and continued long. Mantuan was read, at least in some of the inferior
schools of this kingdom, to the beginning of the present century. The
speakers of Mantuan carried their disquisitions beyond the country to
censure the corruptions of the Church, and from him Spenser learned to
employ his swains on topics of controversy. The Italians soon
transferred pastoral poetry into their own language. Sannazaro wrote
“Arcadia” in prose and verse; Tasso and Guarini wrote “Favole
Boschareccie,” or Sylvan Dramas; and all nations of Europe filled volumes
with Thyrsis and Damon, and Thestylis and Phyllis.
Philips thinks it “somewhat strange to conceive how, in an age so
addicted to the Muses, pastoral poetry never comes to be so much as
thought upon.” His wonder seems very unseasonable; there had never, from
the time of Spenser, wanted writers to talk occasionally of Arcadia and
Strephon, and half the book, in which he first tried his powers, consists
of dialogues on Queen Mary’s death, between Tityrus and Corydon, or
Mopsus and Menalcas. A series or book of pastorals, however, I know not
that anyone had then lately published.
Not long afterwards Pope made the first display of his powers in four
pastorals, written in a very different form. Philips had taken Spenser,
and Pope took Virgil for his pattern. Philips endeavoured to be natural,
Pope laboured to be elegant.
Philips was now favoured by Addison and by Addison’s companions, who were
very willing to push him into reputation. The _Guardian_ gave an account
of Pastoral, partly critical and partly historical; in which, when the
merit of the modern is compared, Tasso and Guarini are censured for
remote thoughts and unnatural refinements, and, upon the whole, the
Italians and French are all excluded from rural poetry, and the pipe of
the pastoral muse is transmitted by lawful inheritance from Theocritus to
Virgil, from Virgil to Spenser, and from Spenser to Philips. With this
inauguration of Philips his rival Pope was not much delighted; he
therefore drew a comparison of Philips’s performance with his own, in
which, with an unexampled and unequalled artifice of irony, though he has
himself always the advantage, he gives the preference to Philips. The
design of aggrandising himself he disguised with such dexterity that,
though Addison discovered it, Steele was deceived, and was afraid of
displeasing Pope by publishing his paper. Published however it was
(_Guardian_, No. 40), and from that time Pope and Philips lived in a
perpetual reciprocation of malevolence. In poetical powers, of either
praise or satire, there was no proportion between the combatants; but
Philips, though he could not prevail by wit, hoped to hurt Pope with
another weapon, and charged him, as Pope thought with Addison’s
approbation, as disaffected to the Government. Even with this he was not
satisfied, for, indeed, there is no appearance that any regard was paid
to his clamours. He proceeded to grosser insults, and hung up a rod at
Button’s, with which he threatened to chastise Pope, who appears to have
been extremely exasperated, for in the first edition of his Letters he
calls Philips “rascal,” and in the last still charges him with detaining
in his hands the subscriptions for “Homer” delivered to him by the
Hanover Club. I suppose it was never suspected that he meant to
appropriate the money; he only delayed, and with sufficient meanness, the
gratification of him by whose prosperity he was pained.
Men sometimes suffer by injudicious kindness; Philips became ridiculous,
without his own fault, by the absurd admiration of his friends, who
decorated him with honorary garlands, which the first breath of
contradiction blasted.
When upon the succession of the House of Hanover every Whig expected to
be happy, Philips seems to have obtained too little notice; he caught few
drops of the golden shower, though he did not omit what flattery could
perform. He was only made a commissioner of the lottery (1717), and,
what did not much elevate his character, a justice of the peace.
The success of his first play must naturally dispose him to turn his
hopes towards the stage; he did not, however, soon commit himself to the
mercy of an audience, but contented himself with the fame already
acquired, till after nine years he produced (1722) _The Briton_, a
tragedy which, whatever was its reception, is now neglected; though one
of the scenes, between Vanoc the British Prince and Valens the Roman
General, is confessed to be written with great dramatic skill, animated
by spirit truly poetical. He had not been idle though he had been
silent, for he exhibited another tragedy the same year on the story of
_Humphry_, _Duke of Gloucester_. This tragedy is only remembered by its
title.
His happiest undertaking was (1711) of a paper called _The Freethinker_,
in conjunction with associates, of whom one was Dr. Boulter, who, then
only minister of a parish in Southwark, was of so much consequence to the
Government that he was made first Bishop of Bristol, and afterwards
Primate of Ireland, where his piety and his charity will be long
honoured. It may easily be imagined that what was printed under the
direction of Boulter would have nothing in it indecent or licentious; its
title is to be understood as implying only freedom from unreasonable
prejudice. It has been reprinted in volumes, but is little read; nor can
impartial criticism recommend it as worthy of revival.
Boulter was not well qualified to write diurnal essays, but he knew how
to practise the liberality of greatness and the fidelity of friendship.
When he was advanced to the height of ecclesiastical dignity, he did not
forget the companion of his labours. Knowing Philips to be slenderly
supported, he took him to Ireland as partaker of his fortune, and, making
him his secretary, added such preferments as enabled him to represent the
county of Armagh in the Irish Parliament. In December, 1726, he was made
secretary to the Lord Chancellor, and in August, 1733, became Judge of
the Prerogative Court.
After the death of his patron he continued some years in Ireland, but at
last longing, as it seems, for his native country, he returned (1748) to
London, having doubtless survived most of his friends and enemies, and
among them his dreaded antagonist Pope. He found, however, the Duke of
Newcastle still living, and to him he dedicated his poems collected into
a volume.
Having purchased an annuity of £400, he now certainly hoped to pass some
years of life in plenty and tranquillity; but his hope deceived him: he
was struck with a palsy, and died June 18, 1749, in his seventy-eighth
year.
Of his personal character all that I have heard is, that he was eminent
for bravery and skill in the sword, and that in conversation he was
solemn and pompous. He had great sensibility of censure, if judgment may
be made by a single story which I heard long ago from Mr. Ing, a
gentleman of great eminence in Staffordshire. “Philips,” said he, “was
once at table, when I asked him, ‘How came thy king of Epirus to drive
oxen, and to say, “I’m goaded on by love”?’ After which question he
never spoke again.”
Of _The Distressed Mother_ not much is pretended to be his own, and
therefore it is no subject of criticism: his other two tragedies, I
believe, are not below mediocrity, nor above it. Among the poems
comprised in the late Collection, the “Letter from Denmark” may be justly
praised; the Pastorals, which by the writer of the _Guardian_ were ranked
as one of the four genuine productions of the rustic Muse, cannot surely
be despicable. That they exhibit a mode of life which did not exist, nor
ever existed, is not to be objected: the supposition of such a state is
allowed to be pastoral. In his other poems he cannot be denied the
praise of lines sometimes elegant; but he has seldom much force or much
comprehension. The pieces that please best are those which, from Pope
and Pope’s adherents, procured him the name of “Namby-Pamby,” the poems
of short lines, by which he paid his court to all ages and characters,
from Walpole the “steerer of the realm,” to Miss Pulteney in the nursery.
The numbers are smooth and sprightly, and the diction is seldom faulty.
They are not loaded with much thought, yet, if they had been written by
Addison, they would have had admirers: little things are not valued but
when they are done by those who can do greater.
In his translations from “Pindar” he found the art of reaching all the
obscurity of the Theban bard, however he may fall below his sublimity; he
will be allowed, if he has less fire, to have more smoke. He has added
nothing to English poetry, yet at least half his book deserves to be
read: perhaps he valued most himself that part which the critic would
reject.