Apollo remembring he had hit once in thrice:
By the rubies in's face, he could not deny,
But he had as much wit as wine could supply;
Confess'd that indeed he had a musical note,
But sometimes strain'd so hard that it rattled in the throat;
Yet own'd he had sense, and t' encourage him for't
He made him his Ovid in Augustus's court.
The testimony of Rochester indeed is of no great value, for he was
governed by no principles of honour, and as his ruling passion was
malice, he was ready on all occasions to indulge it, at the expence of
truth and sincerity. We cannot ascertain whether our author wrote any
of his plays in Bedlam, tho' it is not improbable he might have
attempted something that way in his intervals.
Mad people have often been observed to do very ingenious things. I
have seen a ship of straw, finely fabricated by a mad ship-builder;
and the most lovely attitudes have been represented by a mad statuary
in his cell.
Lee, for aught we know, might have some noble flights of fancy, even
in Bedlam; and it is reported of him, that while he was writing one of
his scenes by moon-light, a cloud intervening, he cried out in
ecstasy, "Jove snuff the Moon;" but as this is only related upon
common report, we desire no more credit may be given to it, than its
own nature demands. We do not pretend notwithstanding our high opinion
of Lee, to defend all his rants and extravagancies; some of them are
ridiculous, some bombast, and others unintelligible; but this
observation by no means holds true in general; for tho' some passages
are too extravagant, yet others are nobly sublime, we had almost said,
unequalled by any other poet.
As there are not many particulars preserved of Lee's life, we think
ourselves warranted to enlarge a little upon his works; and therefore
we beg leave to introduce to our reader's acquaintance a tragedy which
perhaps he has not for some time heard of, written by this great man,
viz. Lucius Junius Brutus, the Father of his country.
We mention this tragedy because it is certainly the finest of Lee's,
and perhaps one of the most moving plays in our language. Junius
Brutus engages in the just defence of the injured rights of his
country, against Tarquin the Proud; he succeeds in driving him out of
Rome. His son Titus falls in love, and interchanges vows with the
tyrant's daughter; his father commands him not to touch her, nor to
correspond with her; he faithfully promises; but his resolutions are
baffled by the insinuating and irresistible charms of Teraminta; he is
won by her beauties; he joins in the attempt to restore Tarquin; the
enterprize miscarries, and his own father sits in judgment upon him,
and condemns him to suffer.
The interview between the father and son is inexpressibly moving, and
is only exceeded by that between the son and his Teraminta. Titus is a
young hero, struggling between love and duty. Teraminta an amiable
Roman lady, fond of her husband, and dutiful to her father.
There are throughout this play, we dare be bold to affirm, as
affecting scenes as ever melted the hearts of an audience. Why it is
not revived, may be difficult to account for. Shall we charge it to
want of taste in the town, or want of discernment in the managers? or
are our present actors conscious that they may be unequal to some of
the parts in it? yet were Mr. Quin engaged, at either theatre, to do
the author justice in the character of Brutus, we are not wanting in a
Garrick or a Barry, to perform the part of Titus; nor is either stage
destitute of a Teraminta. This is one of those plays that Mr. Booth
proposed to revive (with some few alterations) had he lived to return
to the stage: And the part of Brutus was what he purposed to have
appeared in.
As to Lee's works, they are in every body's hands, so that we need not
trouble the reader with a list of them.
In his tragedy of the Rival Queens, our author has shewn what he could
do on the subject of Love; he has there almost exhausted the passion,
painted it in its various forms, and delineated the workings of the
human soul, when influenced by it.
He makes Statira thus speak of Alexander.
Not the spring's mouth, nor breath of Jessamin,
Nor Vi'lets infant sweets, nor op'ning buds
Are half so sweet as Alexander's breast!
From every pore of him a perfume falls,
He kisses softer than a Southern wind
Curls like a Vine, and touches like a God!
Then he will talk! good Gods! how he will talk!
Even when the joy he sigh'd for is possess'd,
He speaks the kindest words, and looks such things,
Vows with such passion, swears with so much grace
That 'tis a kind of Heaven to be deluded by him.
If I but mention him the tears will fall,
Sure there is not a letter in his name,
But is a charm to melt a woman's eyes.
His Tragedy of Theodosius, or the Force of Love, is the only play of
Lee's that at present keeps possession of the stage, an argument, in
my opinion, not much in favour of our taste, that a Genius should be
so neglected.
It is said, that Lee died in the night, in the streets, upon a frolic,
and that his father never assisted him in his frequent and pressing
necessity, which he was able to do. It appears that tho' Lee was a
player, yet, for want of execution, he did not much succeed, though
Mr. Cibber says, that he read excellently, and that the players used
to tell him, unless they could act the part as he read it, they could
not hope success, which, it seems, was not the case with Dryden, who
could hardly read to be understood. Lee was certainly a man of great
genius; when it is considered how young he died, he performed
miracles, and had he lived 'till his fervour cooled, and his judgment
strengthened, which might have been the consequence of years, he would
have made a greater figure in poetry than some of his contemporaries,
who are now placed in superior rank.
Footnote:
1. Spectator. No. 39, vol. 1st.
* * * * *
SAMUEL BUTLER,
The celebrated author of Hudibras, was born at Strensham in
Worcestershire, 1612; His father, a reputable country farmer,
perceiving in his son an early inclination to learning, sent him for
education to the free-school of Worcester, under the care of Mr. Henry
Bright, where having laid the foundation of grammar learning, he was
sent for some time to Cambridge, but was never matriculated in that
university[1]. After he had resided there six or seven years, he
returned to his native county, and became clerk to Mr. Jefferys of
Earl's-Croom, an eminent justice of the peace for that county, with
whom he lived for some years, in an easy, though, for such a genius,
no very reputable service; during which time, through the indulgence
of a kind master, he had sufficient leisure to apply himself to his
favourite studies, history and poetry, to which, for his diversion, he
added music and painting.
The anonymous author of Butler's Life tells us, that he had seen some
pictures of his drawing, which were preserved in Mr. Jefferys's
family, which I mention not (says he) 'for the excellency of them, but
to satisfy the reader of his early inclination to that noble art; for
which also he was afterwards entirely loved by Mr. Samuel Cooper, one
of the most eminent Painters of his time.' Wood places our poet's
improvement in music and painting, to the time of his service under
the countess of Kent, by whose patronage he had not only the
opportunity of consulting all kinds of books, but conversing also with
the great Mr. Selden, who has justly gained the epithet of a living
library of learning, and was then conversant in that lady's family,
and who often employed our poet to write letters beyond sea, and
translate for him. He lived some time also with Sir Samuel Luke, a
gentleman of a good family in Bedfordshire, and a famous commander
under Oliver Cromwel.
Much about this time he wrote (says the author of his Life) 'the
renowned Hudibras; as he then had opportunities of conversing with the
leaders of that party, whose religion he calls hypocrisy, whose
politics rebellion, and whose speeches nonsense;' he was of an
unshaken loyalty, though he was placed in the house of a rebel, and it
is generally thought, that under the character of Hudibras, he
intended to ridicule Sir Samuel Luke. After the restoration of Charles
II. he was made secretary to the earl of Carbury, lord president of
the principality of Wales, who appointed him steward of Ludlow Castle,
when the court was revived there; and about this time he married one
Mrs. Herbert, a gentlewoman of very good family. Anthony Wood says,
she was a widow, and that Butler supported himself by her jointure;
for though in his early years he had studied the common law, yet he
had made no advantage by the practice of it; but others assert, that
she was not a widow, and that though she had a competent fortune, it
proved of little or no advantage to Butler, as most of it was
unfortunately lost by being put out on bad security. Mr. Wood likewise
says, that he was secretary to the duke of Buckingham, when that lord
was chancellor of the university of Cambridge, and the life writer
assures us he had a great kindness for him: but the late ingenious
major Richardson Pack tells a story, which, if true, overthrows both
their assertions, and as it is somewhat particular, we shall give it a
place here. Mr. Wycherley had taken every opportunity to represent to
his grace the duke of Buckingham, how well Mr. Butler had deserved of
the Royal Family, by writing his inimitable Hudibras, and that it was
a reproach to the court, that a person of his loyalty and wit should
languish in obscurity, under so many wants. The duke seemed always to
hearken to him with attention, and, after some time, undertook to
recommend his pretentions to his Majesty. Mr. Wycherly, in hopes to
keep him steady to his word, obtained of his Grace to name a day, when
he might introduce that modest, unfortunate poet to his new patron; at
last an appointment was made, Mr. Butler and his friend attended
accordingly, the duke joined them. But, as the devil would have it
(says the major) 'the door of the room, where he sat, was open, and
his Grace, who had seated himself near it, observing a pimp of his
acquaintance (the creature too was a knight) trip by with a brace of
ladies, immediately quitted his engagement to follow another kind of
business, at which he was more ready, than at doing good offices to
men of desert, though no one was better qualified than he, both in
regard to his fortune, and understanding to protect them, and from
that hour to the day of his death, poor Butler never found the least
effect of his promise, and descended to the grave oppressed with want
and poverty.'
The excellent lord Buckhurst, the late earl of Dorset and Middlesex,
was a friend to our poet, who, as he was a man of wit and parts
himself, knew how to set a just value on those who excelled. He had
also promises of places and employment from lord chancellor Clarendon,
but, as if poor Butler had been doomed to misfortunes, these proved[2]
meer court promises. Mr. Butler in short, affords a remarkable
instance of that coldness and neglect, which great genius's often
experience from the court and age in which they live; we are told
indeed by a gentleman, whose father was intimate with Butler, Charles
Longueville, Esq; that Charles II. once gave him a gratuity of three
hundred pounds, which had this compliment attending it, that it passed
all the offices without any fee, lord Danby being at that time high
treasurer, which seems to be the only court favour he ever received; a
strange instance of neglect! when we consider King Charles was so
excessive fond of this poem of Hudibras; that he carried it always in
his pocket, he quoted it almost on every occasion, and never mentioned
it, but with raptures.
This is movingly represented in a poem of our author's, published in
his remains called Hudibras at Court. He takes occasion to justify his
poem, by hinting its excellences in general, and paying a few modest
compliments to himself, of which we shall transcribe the following
lines.
Now you must know, sir Hudibras,
With such perfections gifted was,
And so peculiar in his manner,
That all that saw him did him honour;
Amongst the rest, this prince was one,
Admired his conversation:
This prince, whose ready wit, and parts
Conquer'd both men and women's hearts;
Was so o'ercome with knight and Ralph,
That he could never claw it off.
He never eat, nor drank, nor slept,
But Hudibras still near him kept;
Nor would he go to church or so,
But Hudibras must with him go;
Nor yet to visit concubine,
Or at a city feast to dine,
But Hudibras must still be there,
Or all the fat was in the fire.
Now after all was it not hard,
That he should meet with no reward,
That fitted out the knight and squire,
This monarch did so much admire?
That he should never reimburse
The man for th' equipage and horse,
Is sure a strange ungrateful thing
In any body, but a King.
But, this good King, it seems was told
By some, that were with him too bold,
If e'er you hope to gain your ends,
Caress your foes, and trust your friends.
Such were the doctrines that were taught,
'Till this unthinking King was brought
To leave his friends to starve and die;
A poor reward for loyalty.
After having lived to a good old age, admired by all, though
personally known but to few, he died September 25, 1680, and was
buried at the expence of his good friend Mr. Longueville of the
Temple, in the church-yard of St. Paul's Covent-Garden. Mr.
Longueville had a strong inclination to have him buried in Westminster
Abbey, and spoke with that view to several persons who had been his
admirers, offering to pay his part, but none of them would contribute;
upon which he was interred privately, Mr. Longueville, and seven or
eight more, following him to the grave. Mr. Alderman Barber erected a
monument to Butler in Westminster-Abbey.
The poem entitled Hudibras, by which he acquired so high a reputation,
was published at three different times; the first part came out in
1668 in 8vo. afterwards came out the second part, and both were
printed together, with several additions, and annotations; at last,
the third and last part was published, but without any annotations, as
appears by the printed copy 1678. The great success and peculiarity of
manner of this poem has produced many unsuccessful imitations of it,
and some vain attempts have been made to translate some parts of it
into Latin. Monsieur Voltaire gives it a very good character, and
justly observes, that though there are as many thoughts as words in
it, yet it cannot be successfully translated, on account of every
line's having some allusion to English affairs, which no foreigner can
be supposed to understand, or enter into. The Oxford antiquary
ascribes to our author two pamphlets, supposed falsely, he says, to be
William Prynne's; the one entitled Mola Asinaria, or the Unreasonable
and Insupportable Burthen pressed upon the Shoulders of this Groaning
Nation, London 1659, in one sheet 4to. the other, Two Letters: One
from John Audland, a Quaker, to William Prynne; the other, Prynne's
Answer, in three sheets fol. 1672. The life writer mentions a small
poem in one sheet in 4to. on Du Val, a notorious highwayman, said to
be written by Butler. These pieces, with a great many others, are
published together, under the title of his Posthumous Works. The life
writer abovementioned has preserved a fragment of Mr. Butler's, given
by one whom he calls the ingenious Mr. Aubrey, who assured him he had
it from the poet himself; it is indeed admirable, and the satire
sufficiently pungent against the priests.
No jesuit e'er took in hand
To plant a church in barren land;
Nor ever thought it worth the while
A Swede or Russ to reconcile.
For where there is no store of wealth,
Souls are not worth the charge of health.
Spain in America had two designs:
To sell their gospel for their mines:
For had the Mexicans been poor,
No Spaniard twice had landed on their shore.
'Twas gold the Catholic religion planted,
Which, had they wanted gold, they still had wanted.
Mr. Dryden[3] and Mr. Addison[4] have joined in giving testimony
against our author, as to the choice of his verse, which they condemn
as boyish and being apt to degenerate into the doggrel; but while they
censure his verse, they applaud his matter, and Dryden observes, that
had he chose any other verse, he would even then have excelled; as we
say of a court favourite, that whatever his office be, he still makes
it uppermost, and most beneficial to him.
We cannot close the life of this great man, without a reflection on
the degeneracy of those times, which suffered him to languish in
obscurity; and though he had done more against the Puritan interest,
by exposing it to ridicule, than thousands who were rioting at court
with no pretensions to favour, yet he was never taken notice of, nor
had any calamity redressed, which leaves a stain on those who then
ruled, that never can be obliterated. A minister of state seldom fails
to reward a court tool, and a man of pleasure pays his instruments for
their infamy, and what character must that ministration bear, who
allow wit, loyalty and virtue to pass neglected, and, as Cowley
pathetically expresses it,
'In that year when manna rained on all, why
should the muses fleece be only dry.'
The following epigram is not unworthy [of] a place here.
Whilst Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive,
No gen'rous patron would a dinner give;
But lo behold! when dead, the mould'ring dust,
Rewarded with a monumental bust!
A poet's fate, in emblem here is shewn,
He ask'd for bread, and he received--a stone.
Footnotes:
1. Life of Butler, p 6.
2. Posthumous Works of Wycherly, published by Mr. Theobald.
3. Juv. Ded.
4. Spect. No. 6. Vol. i.
* * * * *
EDMUND WALLER Esq;
Was descended of a family of his name in Buckinghamshire, a younger
branch of the Wallers of Kent. He was born March 3, 1605 at Coleshill,
which gives Warwickshire the honour of his birth. His father dying
when he was very young, the care of his education fell to his mother,
who sent him to Eton School, according to the author of his life, but
Mr. Wood says, 'that he was mostly educated in grammaticals under one
Dobson, minister of Great Wycombe in Bucks, who had been educated in
Eton school,' without mentioning that Mr. Waller had been at all at
Eton school: after he had acquired grammar learning, he was removed to
King's college in Cambridge, and it is manifest that he must have been
extremely assiduous in his studies, since he acquired so fine a taste
of the ancients, in so short a time, for at sixteen or seventeen years
of age, he was chosen into the last Parliament of King James I. and
served as Burgess for Agmondesham.
In the year 1623, when Prince Charles nearly escaped being cast away
in the road of St. Andre, coming from Spain, Mr. Waller wrote a Poem
on that occasion, at an age when, generally speaking, persons of the
acutest parts just begin to shew themselves, and at a time when the
English poetry had scarce any grace in it. In the year 1628 he
addressed a Poem to his Majesty, on his hearing the news of the duke
of Buckingham's death, which, with the former, procured him general
admiration: harmony of numbers being at that time so great a novelty,
and Mr. Waller having, at once, so polished and refined versification,
it is no wonder that he enjoyed the felicity of an universal applause.
These poems recommended him to court-favour, and rendered him dear to
persons of the best taste and distinction that then flourished. A
Writer of his life observes, as a proof of his being much caressed by
people of the first reputation, that he was one of the famous club, of
which the great lord Falkland, Sir Francis Wainman, Mr. Chillingworth,
Mr. Godolphin, and other eminent men were members. These were the
immortals of that age, and to be associated with them, is one of the
highest encomiums which can possibly be bestowed, and exceeds the most
laboured strain of a panegyrist.
A circumstance related of this club, is pretty remarkable: One
evening, when they were convened, a great noise was heard in the
street, which not a little alarmed them, and upon enquiring the cause,
they were told, that a son of Ben Johnson's was arrested. This club
was too generous to suffer the child of one, who was the genuine son
of Apollo, to be carried to a Jail, perhaps for a trifle: they sent
for him, but in place of being Ben Johnson's son, he proved to be Mr.
George Morley, afterwards bishop of Winchester. Mr. Waller liked him
so well, that he paid the debt, which was no less than one hundred
pounds, on condition that he would live with him at Beconsfield, which
he did eight or ten years together, and from him Mr. Waller used to
say, that he learned a taste of the ancient poets, and got what he had
of their manner. But it is evident from his poems, written before this
incident of Mr. Morley's arrest, that he had early acquired that
exquisite Spirit; however, he might have improved it afterwards, by
the conversation and assistance of Mr. Morley, to whom this adventure
proved very advantageous.
It is uncertain, at what time our author was married, but, it is
supposed, that his first wife Anne, daughter and heir of Edward Banks,
esq; was dead before he fell in love with lady Dorothy Sidney,
daughter to the earl of Leicester, whom he celebrates under the name
of Sacharissa. Mr. Waller's passion for this lady, has been the
subject of much conversation; his verses, addressed to her, have been
renowned for their delicacy, and Sacharissa has been proposed, as a
model to succeeding poets, in the celebration of their mistresses. One
cannot help wishing, that the poet had been as successful in his
Addresses to her, as he has been in his love-strains, which are
certainly the sweetest in the world. The difference of station, and
the pride of blood, perhaps, was the occasion, that Sacharissa never
became the wife of Waller; though in reality, as Mr. Waller was a
gentleman, a member of parliament, and a person of high reputation, we
cannot, at present, see so great a disproportion: and, as Mr. Waller
had fortune, as well as wit and poetry, lord Leicester's daughter
could not have been disgraced by such an alliance. At least we are
sure of one thing, that she lives for ever in Waller's strains, a
circumstance, which even her beauty could not have otherwise procured,
nor the lustre of the earl of Sunderland, whom she afterwards married:
the countess of Sunderland, like the radiant circles of that age, long
before this time would have slept in oblivion, but the Sacharissa of
Waller is consigned to immortality, and can never die but with poetry,
taste, and politeness.
Upon the marriage of that lady to lord Spenser, afterwards earl of
Sunderland, which was solemnized July 11, 1639, Mr. Waller wrote the
following letter to lady Lucy Sidney, her sister, which is so full of
gallantry, and so elegantly turned, that it will doubtedly give
pleasure to our readers to peruse it.
MADAM,