In the worst inn’s worst room, with mat half-hung,
The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repair’d with straw,
With tape-ty’d curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great _Villiers_ lies--alas! how chang’d from him,
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden’s proud alcove.
The bow’r of wanton Shrewsbury and Love:
Or just as gay at council, in a ring
Of mimick’d Statesmen, and their merry King.
No wit to flatter, ’reft of all his store!
No fool to laugh at, which he valued more!
There victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame; this lord of useless thousands ends.
_Pope._
In an amusing and informing topographical tract, written and published
by Mr. John Cole of Scarborough, there is the preceding representation
of the deathbed-house of the witty and dissipated nobleman, whose name
is recorded beneath the engraving. From this, and a brief notice of the
duke in a work possessed by most of the readers of the _Table
Book_,[138] with some extracts from documents, accompanying Mr. Cole’s
print, an interesting idea may be formed of this nobleman’s last
thoughts, and the scene wherein he closed his eyes.
The room wherein he died is marked above by a star * near the window.
Kirkby-Moorside is a market town, about twenty-six miles distant from
Scarborough, seated on the river Rye. It was formerly part of the
extensive possessions of Villiers, the first duke of Buckingham, who was
killed by Felton, from whom it descended with his title to his son, who,
after a profligate career, wherein he had wasted his brilliant talents
and immense property, repaired to Kirkby-Moorside, and died there in
disease and distress.
In a letter to bishop Spratt, dated “Kerby-moor Syde, April 17, 1687,”
the earl of Arran relates that, being accidentally at York on a journey
towards Scotland, and hearing of the duke of Buckingham’s illness, he
visited him. “He had been long ill of an ague, which had made him weak;
but his understanding was as good as ever, and his noble parts were so
entire, that though I saw death in his looks at first sight, he would by
no means think of it.--I confess it made my heart bleed to see the duke
of Buckingham in so pitiful a place, and in so bad a condition.--The
doctors told me his case was desperate, and though he enjoyed the free
exercise of his senses, that in a day or two at most it would kill him,
but they durst not tell him of it; so they put a hard part on me to
pronounce death to him, which I saw approaching so fast, that I thought
it was high time for him to think of another world.--After having
plainly told him his condition, I asked him whom I should send for to be
assistant to him during the small time he had to live: he would make me
no answer, which made me conjecture, and having formerly heard that he
had been inclining to be a Roman Catholic, I asked him if I should send
for a priest; for I thought any act that could be like a Christian, was
what his condition now wanted most; but he positively told me that he
was not of that persuasion, and so would not hear any more of that
subject, for he was of the church of England.--After some time,
beginning to feel his distemper mount, he desired me to send for the
parson of this parish, who said prayers for him, which he joined in very
freely, but still did not think he should die; though this was
yesterday, at seven in the morning, and he died about eleven at night.
“I have ordered the corpse to be embalmed and carried to Helmsley
castle, and there to remain till my lady duchess her pleasure shall be
known. There must be speedy care taken: for there is nothing here but
confusion, not to be expressed. Though his stewards have received vast
sums, there is not so much as one farthing, as they tell me, for
defraying the least expense. But I have ordered his intestines to be
buried at Helmsley, where his body is to remain till farther orders.
Being the nearest kinsman upon the place, I have taken the liberty to
give his majesty an account of his death, and sent his George and blue
ribbon to be disposed as his majesty shall think fit. I have addressed
it under cover to my lord president, to whom I beg you would carry the
bearer the minute he arrives.”
A letter, in Mr. Cole’s publication, written by the dying duke,
confesses his ill-spent life, and expresses sincere remorse for the
prostitution of his brilliant talents.
“FROM THE YOUNGER VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, ON HIS DEATHBED TO DR.
W----
“Dear doctor,
“I always looked upon you to be a person of true virtue, and know you to
have a sound understanding; for, however I have acted in opposition to
the principles of religion, or the dictates of reason, I can honestly
assure you I have always had the highest veneration for both. The world
and I shake hands; for I dare affirm, we are heartily weary of each
other. O, what a prodigal have I been of that most valuable of all
possessions, _Time_! I have squandered it away with a profusion
unparalleled; and now, when the enjoyment of a few days would be worth
the world, I cannot flatter myself with the prospect of half a dozen
hours. How despicable, my dear friend, is that man who never prays to
his God, but in the time of distress. In what manner can he supplicate
that Omnipotent Being, in his afflictions, whom, in the time of his
prosperity, he never remembered with reverence.
“Do not brand me with infidelity, when I tell you, that I am almost
ashamed to offer up my petitions at the throne of Grace, or to implore
that divine mercy in the next world which I have so scandalously abused
in this.
“Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon as the blackest of crimes, and
not ingratitude to God? Shall an insult offered to a king be looked upon
in the most offensive light, and yet no notice (be) taken when the King
of kings is treated with indignity and disrespect?
“The companions of my former libertinism would scarcely believe their
eyes, were you to show this epistle. They would laugh at me as a
dreaming enthusiast, or pity me as a timorous wretch, who was shocked at
the appearance of futurity; but whoever laughs at me for being right, or
pities me for being sensible of my errors, is more entitled to my
compassion than resentment. A future state may well enough strike terror
into any man who has not acted well in this life; and he must have an
uncommon share of courage indeed who does not shrink at the presence of
God. The apprehensions of death will soon bring the most profligate to a
proper use of his understanding. To what a situation am I now reduced!
Is this odious _little hut_ a suitable lodging for a prince? Is this
anxiety of mind becoming the character of a Christian? From my rank I
might have expected affluence to wait upon my life; from religion and
understanding, peace to smile upon my end: instead of which I am
afflicted with poverty, and haunted with remorse, despised by my
country, and, I fear, forsaken by my God.
“There is nothing so dangerous as extraordinary abilities. I cannot be
accused of vanity now, by being sensible that I was once possessed of
uncommon qualifications, especially as I sincerely regret that I ever
had them. My rank in life made these accomplishments still more
conspicuous, and fascinated by the general applause which they procured,
I never considered the proper means by which they should be displayed.
Hence, to procure a smile from a blockhead whom I despised, I have
frequently treated the virtues with disrespect; and sported with the
holy name of Heaven, to obtain a laugh from a parcel of fools, who were
entitled to nothing but contempt.
“Your men of wit generally look upon themselves as discharged from the
duties of religion, and confine the doctrines of the gospel to meaner
understandings. It is a sort of derogation, in their opinion, to comply
with the rules of Christianity; and they reckon that man possessed of a
narrow genius, who studies to be good.
“What a pity that the holy writings are not made the criterion of true
judgment; or that any person should pass for a fine gentleman in this
world, but he that appears solicitous about his happiness in the next.
“I am forsaken by all my acquaintance, utterly neglected by the friend
of my bosom, and the dependants on my bounty; but no matter! I am not
fit to converse with the former, and have no ability to serve the
latter. Let me not, however, be wholly cast off by the good. Favour me
with a visit as soon as possible. Writing to you gives me some ease,
especially on a subject I could talk of for ever.
“I am of opinion this is the last visit I shall ever solicit from you;
my distemper is powerful; come and pray for the departing spirit of the
poor unhappy
“BUCKINGHAM.”
The following is from the parish register of Kirkby Moorside.