takes occasion to charge the king with borrowing a prayer from Sir
Philip Sidney's Arcadia, and placing it in his Meditations without
acknowledging the favour. Soon after the sentence of the Regicides had
been put in execution these Meditations were published, and as Anthony
by shewing the body of murdered Cæsar, excited the compassion of
multitudes, and raised their indignation against the enemies of that
illustrious Roman; so these Meditations had much the same effect in
England. The Presbyterians loudly exclaimed against the murder of the
King; they asserted, that his person was sacred, and spilling his
blood upon a scaffold was a stain upon the English annals, which the
latest time could not obliterate. These tragical complaints gaining
ground, and the fury which was lately exercised against his Majesty,
subsiding into a tenderness for his memory, heightened by the
consideration of his piety, which these Meditations served to revive,
it was thought proper, in order to appease the minds of the people,
that an answer should be wrote to them.
In this task Milton engaged, and prosecuted it with vigour; but the
most enthusiastic admirer of that poet, upon reading it will not fail
to discover a spirit of bitterness, an air of peevishness and
resentment to run through the whole. Milton has been charged with
interpolating the prayer of Pamela into the King's Meditations, by the
assistance of Bradshaw, who laid his commands upon the printer so to
do, to blast the reputation of the King's book. Dr. Newton is of
opinion that this fact is not well supported, for it is related
chiefly upon the authority of Henry Hills the printer, who had
frequently affirmed it to Dr. Gill, and Dr. Bernard, his physicians,
as they themselves have testified; but tho' Hills was Cromwell's
printer, yet afterwards he turned Papist in the reign of King James
II. in order to be that King's Printer; and it was at that time he
used to relate this story; so that little credit is due to his
testimony. It is almost impossible to believe Milton capable of such
disingenuous meanness, to serve so bad a purpose, and there is as
little reason for fixing it upon him, as he had to traduce the King
for profaning the duty of prayer, with the polluted trash of romances;
for in the best books of devotion, there are not many finer prayers,
and the King might as lawfully borrow and apply it to his own purpose,
as the apostle might make quotations from Heathen poems and plays; and
it became Milton, the least of all men, to bring such an accusation
against the King, as he was himself particularly fond of reading
romances, and has made use of them in some of the best and latest of
his writings.
There have been various conjectures concerning the cause that produced
in Milton so great an aversion to Charles I. One is, that when Milton
stood candidate for a professorship at Cambridge with his much
esteemed friend Mr. King, their interest and qualifications were
equal, upon which his Majesty was required by his nomination to fix
the professor; his answer was, let the best-natured man have it; to
which they who heard him, immediately replied; 'then we are certain it
cannot be Milton's, who was ever remarkable for a stern ungovernable
man.'--Whether this conjecture is absolutely true, we cannot
determine; but as it is not without probability, it has a right to be
believed, till a more satisfactory one can be given.
In whatever light Milton may be placed as a statesman, yet as a poet
he stands in one point of view without a rival; the sublimity of his
conceptions, the elevation of his stile, the fertility of his
imagination, and the conduct of his design in Paradise Lost is
inimitable, and cannot be enough admired.
Milton's character as a poet was never better pourtray'd than in the
epigram under his picture written by Mr. Dryden.
Three poets in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn.
The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd;
The next in majesty; in both the last:
The force of nature could no further go,
To make a third, she join'd the former two.--
This great man died at his house at Bunhill, Nov. 15, 1674, and was
interred near the body of his father, in the chancel of the church of
St. Giles, Cripplegate. By his first wife he had four children, a son
and three daughters. The daughters survived their father. Anne married
a master-builder, and died in child-bed of her first child, which died
with her; Mary lived single; Deborah left her father when she was
young, and went over to Ireland with a lady, and came to England again
during the troubles of Ireland under King James II. She married Mr.
Abraham Clark, a weaver in Spittal-fields, and died Aug. 24, 1727, in
the 76th year of age. She had ten children, viz. seven sons, and three
daughters, but none of them had any children except one of her sons
named Caleb, and the youngest daughter, whose name is Elizabeth. Caleb
went over to Fort St. George in the East-Indies, where he married and
had two sons, Abraham and Isaac; of these Abraham the elder came to
England with governor Harrison, but returned again upon advice of his
father's death, and whether he or his brother be now living is
uncertain. Elizabeth, the youngest child of Deborah, married Mr.
Thomas Foster, a weaver, and lives now in Hog-lane, Shoreditch, for
whom Comus, as we have already observed, was performed at Drury-Lane,
and produced her a great benefit. She has had seven children, three
sons and four daughters, who are all now dead. This Mrs. Foster is a
plain decent looking Woman. Mr. John Ward, fellow of the Royal
Society, and professor of rhetoric in Gresham-College, London, saw the
above Mrs. Clark, Milton's daughter at the house of one of her
relations not long before her death, when she informed me, says that
gentleman, 'That she and her sisters used to read to their father in
eight languages, which by practice they were capable of doing with
great readiness, and accuracy, tho' they understood no language but
English, and their father used often to say in their hearing, one
tongue was enough for a woman. None of them were ever sent to school,
but all taught at home by a mistress kept for that purpose. Isaiah,
Homer, and Ovid's Metamorphoses were books which they were often
called to read to their father; and at my desire she repeated a great
number of verses from the beginning of both these poets with great
readiness. I knew who she was upon the first sight of her, by the
similitude of her countenance with her father's picture. And upon my
telling her so, she informed me, that Mr. Addison told her the same
thing, on her going to wait on him; for he, upon hearing she was
living sent for her, and desired if she had any papers of her
father's, she would bring them with her, as an evidence of her being
Milton's daughter; but immediately on her being introduced to him, he
said, Madam, you need no other voucher; your face is a sufficient
testimonial whose daughter you are; and he then made her a handsome
present of a purse of guineas, with a promise of procuring for her an
annual provision for life; but he dying soon after, she lost the
benefit of his generous design. She appeared to be a woman of good
sense, and genteel behaviour, and to bear the inconveniencies of a low
fortune with decency and prudence.'
Her late Majesty Queen Caroline sent her fifty pounds, and she
received presents of money from several gentlemen not long before her
death. Milton had a brother, Mr. Christopher Milton who was knighted
and made one of the barons of the Exchequer in King James II's reign,
but he does not appear to have been a man of any abilities, at least
if he had any, they are lost to posterity in the lustre of his
brother's.
There is now alive a grand-daughter of this Christopher Milton, who is
married to one Mr. John Lookup, advocate at Edinburgh, remarkable for
his knowledge of the Hebrew tongue. The lady, whom I have often seen,
is extremely corpulent, has in her youth been very handsome, and is
not destitute of a poetical genius. She has writ several copies of
verses, published in the Edinburgh Magazines; and her face bears some
resemblance to the picture of Milton.
Mr. Wood, and after him Mr. Fenton, has given us the following
description of Milton's person.
"He was of a moderate size, well-proportioned, and of a ruddy
complexion, light brown hair, and had handsome features, yet his eyes
were none of the quickest. When he was a student in Cambridge, he was
so fair and clear, that many called him the Lady of Christ's-College.
His deportment was affable, and his gait erect and manly, bespeaking
courage and undauntedness; while he had his sight he wore a sword, and
was well skilled in using it. He had a delicate tuneable voice, an
excellent ear, could p[l]ay on the organ, and bear a part in vocal and
instrumental music."[6]
The great learning and genius of Milton, have scarcely raised him more
admirers, than the part he acted upon the political stage, has
procured him enemies. He was in his inclination a thorough Republican,
and in this he thought like a Greek or Roman, as he was very
conversant with their writings. And one day Sir Robert Howard, who was
a friend of Milton's, and a well wisher to the liberty of his country,
asked him, how he came to side with the Republicans? Milton answered,
among other things, 'Because theirs was the most frugal government;
for the trappings of a Monarchy might set up an ordinary
Commonwealth.' But then his attachment to Cromwell must be condemned,
as being neither consistent with his republican principles, nor with
his love of liberty. It may be reasonably presumed, that he was far
from entirely approving of Cromwell's proceeding; but considered him
as the only person who could rescue the nation from the tyranny of the
Presbyterians, who he saw, were about to erect a worse dominion of
their own upon the ruins of prelatical episcopacy; for if experience
may be allowed to teach us, the Presbyterian government carries in it
more of ecclesiastical authority, and approaches more to the thunder
of the Vatican, than any other government under the sun. Milton was an
enemy to spiritual slavery, he thought the chains thrown upon the mind
were the least tolerable; and in order to shake the pillars of mental
usurpation, he closed with Cromwell and the independants, as he
expected under them greater liberty of conscience. In matters of
religion too, Milton has likewise given great offence, but infidels
have no reason to glory. No such man was ever amongst them. He was
persuaded of the truth of the christian religion; he studied and
admired the holy scriptures, and in all his writings he plainly
discovers a religious turn of mind.
When he wrote the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, he appears to
have been a Calvinist; but afterwards he entertained a more favourable
opinion of Arminius. Some have thought that he was an Arian, but there
are more express passages in his works to overthrow this opinion, than
any there are to confirm it. For in the conclusion of his Treatise on
Reformation, he thus solemnly invokes the Trinity:
'Thou therefore that sittest in light and glory unapproachable, parent
of angels and of men! next thee I implore omnipotent king, redeemer of
that lost remnant, whose nature thou didst assume, ineffable and
everlasting love! and thee the third subsistence of the divine
infinitude, illuminating spirit, the joy and solace of created things!
one tri-personal god-head.'
In the latter part of his life he was not a professed member of any
particular sect of christians; he frequented no public worship, nor
used any religious rite in his family; he was an enemy to all kinds of
forms, and thought that all christians had in some things corrupted
the simplicity and purity of the gospel. He believed that inward
religion was the best, and that public communion had more of shew in
it, than any tendency to promote genuine piety and unaffected
goodness.
The circumstances of our author were never very mean, nor very
affluent; he lived above want, and was content with competency. His
father supported him during his travels. When he was appointed Latin
secretary, his sallary amounted to 200 l. per ann. and tho' he was of
the victorious party, yet he was far from sharing the spoils of his
country. On the contrary, as we learn from his Second Defence, he
sustained great losses during the civil war, and was not at all
favoured in the imposition of taxes, but sometimes paid beyond his due
proportion; and upon a turn of affairs, he was not only deprived of
his place, but also lost 2000 l. which he had for security, put into
the Excise office.
In the fire of London, his house in Bread-street was burnt, before
which accident foreigners have gone out of devotion, says Wood, to see
the house and chamber where he was born. Some time before he died, he
sold the greatest part of his library, as his heirs were not qualified
to make a proper use of it, and as he thought he could dispose of it
to greater advantage, than they could after his death. He died (says
Dr. Newton) by one means or other worth 1500 l. besides his houshold
goods, which was no incompetent subsistence for him, who was as great
a philosopher as a poet.
Milton seems not to have been very happy in his marriages. His first
wife offended him by her elopement; the second, whose love, sweetness,
and delicacy he celebrates, lived not a twelvemonth with him; and his
third was said to be a woman of a most violent spirit, and a severe
step-mother to his children.
'She died, says Dr. Newton, very old, about twenty years ago, at
Nantwich in Cheshire, and from the accounts of those who had seen her,
I have learned that she confirmed several things related before; and
particularly that her husband used to compose his poetry chiefly in
the winter, and on his waking on a morning would make her write down
sometimes twenty or thirty verses: Being asked whether he did not
often read Homer and Virgil, she understood it as an imputation upon
him for stealing from these authors, and answered with eagerness, that
he stole from no body but the muse that inspired him; and being asked
by a lady present who the muse was, she answered, it was God's grace
and holy spirit, that visited him nightly. She was likewise asked,
whom he approved most of our English poets, and answered, Spenser,
Shakespear, and Cowley; and being asked what he thought of Dryden, she
said Dryden used sometimes to visit him, but he thought him no poet,
but a good rhimist.'
The reader will be pleased to observe, that this censure of Milton's
was before Dryden had made any great appearance in poetry, or composed
those immortal works of genius, which have raised eternal monuments to
him, and carried his name to every country where poetry and taste are
known. Some have thought that Dryden's genius was even superior to
Milton's: That the latter chiefly shines in but one kind of poetry;
his thoughts are sublime, and his language noble; but in what kind of
writing has not Dryden been distinguished? He is in every thing
excellent, says Congreve, and he has attempted nothing in which he has
not so succeeded as to be entitled to the first reputation from it.
It is not to be supposed, that Milton was governed by so mean a
principle as envy, in his thus censuring Dryden. It is more natural to
imagine, that as he was himself no friend to rhime, and finding Dryden
in his early age peculiarly happy in the faculty of rhiming, without
having thrown out any thoughts, which were in themselves
distinguishedly great, Milton might, without the imputation of ill
nature, characterise Dryden, as we have already seen.
These are the most material incidents in the life of this great man,
who if he had less honour during the latter part of his life than he
deserved, it was owing to the unfavourable circumstances under which
he laboured. It is always unpleasing to a good man to find that they
who have been distinguished for their parts, have not been equally so
for their moral qualities; and in this case we may venture to assert,
that Milton was good as well as great; and that if he was mistaken in
his political principles, he was honestly mistaken, for he never
deviated from his first resolution; no temptations could excite him to
temporise, or to barter his honour for advantage; nor did he ever once
presume to partake of the spoils of his ruined country. Such qualities
as these are great in themselves, and whoever possesses them, has an
unexceptionable claim to rank with the good.
We might have entered more minutely into the merit of Milton's poems,
particularly the great work of Paradise Lost; but we should reckon it
arrogant as well as superfluous in us, to criticise on a work whose
beauties have been displayed by the hand of Mr. Addison. That critic
has illustrated the most remarkable passages in Paradise Lost; such as
are distinguished by their sublimity; and elevation; such whose
excellence is propriety; others raised by the nobleness of the
language; and those that are remarkable for energy and strong
reasoning.
A later critic, the ingenious author of the Rambler, has animadverted
upon Milton's versification with great judgment; and has discovered in
some measure that happy art, by which Milton has conducted so great a
design, with such astonishing success.
From these two writers may be drawn all the necessary assistances for
reading the Paradise Lost with taste and discernment; and as their
works are in almost in every body's hands, it would be needless to
give any abstract of them here.
Footnotes:
1. Philips's Life of Milton, p. 4. Preface prefixed to the English
Translation of his Letters of State.
2. Birch's Critical Account of Milton's Life and Writings.
3. Life of Milton, p. 40.
4. Gentleman's Magazine.
5. Fasti Oxon. col. 275.
6. Fasti Oxon. p. 266. Ed. 1721.
* * * * *
Mrs. KATHERINE PHILIPS,
The celebrated Orinda, was daughter of John Fowles of Bucklersbury, a
merchant in London. She was born in the parish of St. Mary Wool
Church, 1631. Mr. Aubrey tells us, (in a MS. of his in Mr. Ashmole's
study, No. 18. Vol. 23.) that she had the early part of her education
from her cousin Mrs. Blacker. At eight years old she was removed to a
school at Hackney, and soon made great improvements under the care of
Mrs. Salmon; so great that whoever reads the account that Mr. Aubrey
gives of her at that time of her life, will consider her succeeding
progress to be no more than what might be naturally expected from such
indications of genius. He tells us, 'that she was very apt to learn,
and made verses when she was at school; that she devoted herself to
religious duties when she was very young; that she would then pray by
herself an hour together; that she had read the bible through before
she was full five years old; that she could say, by heart, many
chapters and passages of scripture; was a frequent hearer of sermons,
which she would bring away entire in her memory.'
The above is extracted from Mr. Ballard's account of the Ladies of
Great Britain, who have been celebrated for their writings; and serves
to shew the early piety of this amiable lady, who lived to be
distinguished for her ripened understanding.--She became afterwards a
perfect mistress of the French tongue, and learned the Italian under
the tuition of her ingenious and worthy friend Sir Charles Cotterel.
She was instructed in the Presbyterian principles, which it appears by
her writings, she deserted, as soon as her reason was strong enough to
exert itself in the examination of religious points. She warmly
embraced the royal interest, and upon many occasions was a strenuous
advocate for the authority of the established church.
She was married to James Philips of the Priory of Cardigan, Esq; about
the year 1647. By this gentleman she had one son, who died in his
infancy, and one daughter, married to a gentleman of Pembrokeshire.
She proved an excellent wife, not only in the conjugal duties, and
tender offices of love, but was highly serviceable to her husband in
affairs, in which few wives are thought capable of being useful; for
his fortune being much encumbered, she exerted her interest with Sir
Charles Cotterel, and other persons of distinction, who admired her
understanding (for she had few graces of person) in her husband's
favour, who soon extricated him from the difficulties under which he
laboured. It no where appears that the husband of Mrs. Philips was a
man of any abilities, and if he met with respect in the world, it was
probably reflected from his wife. This lady had too much piety and
good sense to suffer her superior understanding to make her insolent;
on the other hand, she always speaks of her husband with the utmost
respect, under the name of Antenor. In a letter to Sir Charles
Cotterel, after having mentioned her husband in the most respectful
terms, and of his willingness to forward her journey to London, in
order to settle his perplexed affairs, she adds
"And I hope God will enable me to answer his expectations, by making
me an instrument of doing some handsome service, which is the only
ambition I have in the world, and which I would purchase with the
hazard of my life. I am extreamly obliged to my lady Cork for
remembering me with so much indulgence; for her great desire to be
troubled with my company; but above all for her readiness to assist my
endeavours for Antenor, which is the most generous kindness can be
done me."
As this lady was born with a genius for poetry, so she began early in
life to improve it, and composed many poems on various occasions for
her amusement, in her recess at Cardigan, and retirement elsewhere.
These being dispersed among her friends and acquaintance, were by an
unknown hand collected together, and published in 8vo. 1663, without
her knowledge or consent. This accident is said to have proved so
oppressive to our poetess, as to throw her into a fit of illness, and
she pours out her complaints in a letter to Sir Charles Cotterel, in
which she laments, in the most affecting manner, the misfortune and
the injuries which had been done to her by this surreptitious edition
of her Poems.
That Mrs. Philips might be displeased that her Poems were published
without her consent, is extremely probable, as by these means they
might appear without many graces, and ornaments which they otherwise
would have possessed; but that it threw her into a fit of illness, no
body who reads the human heart can believe. Surreptitious editions are
a sort of compliment to the merit of an author; and we are not to
suppose Mrs. Philips so much a saint, as to be stript of all vanity,
or that natural delight, which arises from the good opinion of others,
however aukwardly it may be discovered; and we may venture to affirm,
that Mrs. Philips's illness proceeded from some other cause, than what
is here assigned.
The reputation of her abilities procured her the esteem of many
persons of distinction and fashion, and upon her going into Ireland
with the viscountess of Duncannon, to transact her husband's affairs
there, her great merit soon made her known to those illustrious peers,
Ormond, Orrery, and Roscommon, and many other persons of the first
fashion, who shewed her singular marks of their esteem. While Mrs.
Philips remained in that kingdom, at the pressing importunity of the
abovementioned noblemen, but particularly lord Roscommon, she
translated, from the French of Corneille, the tragedy of Pompey, which
was brought upon the Irish stage somewhat against her inclination;
however it was several times acted in the new theatre there, with very
great applause in the years 1663 and 1664, in which last year it was
made public. It was afterwards acted with equal applause at the Duke
of York's theatre, 1678. This play is dedicated to the Countess of
Cork. Lord Roscommon wrote the Prologue, wherein he thus compliments
the ladies and the translator.
But you bright nymphs, give Cæsar leave to woo,
The greatest wonder of the world, but you;
And hear a muse, who has that hero taught
To speak as gen'rously, as e'er he fought;
Whose eloquence from such a theme deters
All tongues but English, and all pens but hers.
By the just fates your sex is doubly blest,
You conquer'd Cæsar, and you praise him best.
She also translated from the French of Corneille, a Tragedy called
Horace; Sir John Denham added a fifth Act to this Play, which was
acted at Court by Persons of Quality. The Duke of Monmouth spoke the
Prologue, in which are these lines.
So soft that to our shame we understand
They could not fall but from a lady's hand.
Thus while a woman Horace did translate,
Horace did rise above the name of fate.