The public interest has been of late years so strongly manifested in
favour of the poets of the seventeenth century, that little apology
appears necessary for the republication of the following Poems. It
would, however, be equally vain and foolish in the editor to claim for
the author a place among the higher class of poets, or to exalt his due
praise by depreciating the merits of his contemporaries.—Claiming only
for Cæsar what to Cæsar is due, it may without arrogance be presumed
that these pages will not be found inferior to the poems of others which
have been fortunately republished, or familiarised to the generality of
readers through the popular medium of selections.
The author of the following poems (an account of whose life may be
considered as a necessary appendage to these pages) is said to have
descended from the antient family of the Corbets in Shropshire. It
were too laborious and pedantic in a work of this nature to trace his
pedigree, but I should be pleased to find any proofs of their attachment
to him: yet as the bishop did not usually “conceal his love,” I suspect
he received no mark of their regard, at least till his elevation
conferred rather than received obligation by acknowledgment.
Richard Corbet, successively bishop of Oxford and Norwich, was born at
the village of Ewell in Surrey, in the year 1582: he was the only son
of Bennet, or Benedicta, and Vincent Corbet, who, from causes which I
have not discovered, assumed the name of Poynter. His father, a man of
some eminence for his skill in gardening, and who is celebrated by Ben
Jonson in an elegy[1] alike honourable to the subject, the poet, and
the friend, for his many amiable virtues, resided at Whitton, a hamlet
in the parish of Twickenham, where the poet passed his declining days.
Under the will of his father[2] he inherited sundry freehold lands and
tenements lying in St. Augustine’s parish, Watling-street, London, and
five hundred pounds in money, which was directed to be paid him by
Bennet, the father’s wife and sole executrix, upon his attaining the
age of twenty-five years. After receiving the rudiments of education at
Westminster School, he entered in Lent term 1597-8 at Broadgate Hall,
and the year following was admitted a student of Christ-Church College,
Oxford. In 1605 he proceeded Master of Arts, and became celebrated as a
wit and a poet.
The following early specimen of his humour is preserved in a collection
of “Mery Passages and Jeastes,” Harl. MS. No. 6395: “Ben Jonson was at a
tavern, and in comes bishop Corbet (but not so then) into the next room.
Ben Jonson calls for a quart of _raw_ wine, and gives it to the tapster.
‘Sirrah!’ says he, ‘carry this to the gentleman in the next chamber, and
tell him I sacrifice my service to him.’ The fellow did, and in those
terms. ‘Friend!’ says bishop Corbet, ‘I thank him for his love; but
pr’ythee tell him from me that he is mistaken, for sacrifices are always
burnt.’”
In 1612, upon the death of the amiable and accomplished Henry Prince of
Wales,
“The expectancy and rose of the fair state,”
and the theme of many a verse; the University, overwhelmed with grief,
more especially as he had been a student of Magdalen College under the
tutorage of Mr. John Wilkinson, (“afterwards the unworthy president of
that house,”) and desirous of testifying their respect for his memory,
deputed Corbet, then one of the proctors, to pronounce a funeral oration;
“who,” to use the words of Antony Wood, “very oratorically speeched it in
St. Maries church, before a numerous auditory[3].” On the 13th of March
in the following year he performed a similar ceremony in the Divinity
School on the interment of sir Thomas Bodley, the munificent founder of
the library known by his name.
Amid the religious dissensions at this period, encouraged and increased
by James’s suspected inclination to popery, it was scarcely possible to
avoid giving offence to the supporters of the various doctrinal opinions
which in this confusion of faiths divided the people. At the head of the
Church was Dr. George Abbott, a bigoted and captious Puritan: opposed
to this disciple of Calvin was Laud, then growing into fame, who boldly
supported the opinions of Arminius. With the latter Corbet coincided: but
the undisguised publication of his faith had nearly proved fatal to his
future prospects; for, “preaching the Passion sermon at Christ-Church,
(1613,) he insisted on the article of Christ’s descending into hell,
and therein grated upon Calvin’s manifest perverting of the true sense
and meaning of it: for which, says Heylyn, he was so rattled up by the
Repetitioner, (Dr. Robert Abbott, brother of the archbishop,) that if
he had not been a man of a very great courage, it might have made him
afraid of staying in the University. This, it was generally conceived,
was not done without the archbishop’s setting on; but the best was, adds
Heylyn, that none sunk under the burthen of these oppressions, if (like
the camomile) they did not rise the higher by it[4].”
When James, in 1605[5], visited Oxford in his summer progress, the wits
of the sister University vented their raillery at the entertainment
given to the royal visitor[6]. Cambridge, which had long solicited the
same honour, was in the year 1614-5 indulged with his presence. Many
students from Oxford witnessed the ceremonial of his reception; and the
local histories of the two Universities at that period, are replete
with pasquinades and ballads sufficiently descriptive of their mutual
animosities. An eye-witness declares, “Though I endured a great deal of
penance by the way for this little pleasure, yet I would not have missed
it, for that I see thereby the partiality of both sides—the Cambridge men
pleasing and applauding themselves in all, and the Oxford men as fast
condemning and detracting all that was done; wherein yet I commended
Corbet’s modesty, whilst he was there; who being seriously dealt withal
by some friends to say what he thought, answered, that he had left
his malice and judgment at home, and came there only to commend[7].”
Notwithstanding this conciliatory declaration, the opportunity of
retorting upon the first assailants was too tempting to Corbet’s wit to
be slighted; and immediately upon his return he composed the ballad, page
13, “To the tune of Bonny Nell.”—This humorous narrative excited several
replies; the most curious of which was the one, in Latin and English,
(at page 24,) written, perhaps, by sir Thomas Lake, afterwards secretary
of state, who performed the part of Trico in the Cambridge play of
Ignoramus, and who had a ring bequeathed him by the author, Ruggles[8].
Corbet appears, says Headley[9], to have been of that poetical party
who, by inviting Ben Jonson to come to Oxford, rescued him from the arms
of a sister University, who has long treated the Muses with indignity,
and turned a hostile and disheartening eye on those who have added most
celebrity to her name[10].
We do not find that Ben expressed any regret at the change of his
situation: companions whose minds and pursuits were similar to his own,
are not always to be found in the gross atmosphere of the muddy Cam,
though easily met with on the more genial banks of the Isis:
Largior hic campos æther.
In 1616 he was recommended by the Convocation as a proper person to be
elected to the college which Dr. Matthew Surtclyve, dean of Exeter,
had lately erected at Chelsea, for maintaining polemical Divines to be
employed in opposing the doctrines of Papists and Sectaries. Whether he
obtained his election I have not learned: nor is it of much moment; for
the establishment, as might be naturally foreseen from the circumstances
of the times, soon declined from its original purpose[11].
Being now in a situation to indulge his inclinations, he in 1618 made
a trip to France, from whence he wrote an “epistle to sir Thomas
Aylesbury,” in which he gently laughs at his friend’s astronomical
fondness; and composed a metrical description of his journey, from which
we may conclude that he returned less disgusted with his native country,
and less enamoured of the manners and habits of his new acquaintance,
than is usual with the modern visitors of our transmarine neighbours.
He was now in holy orders; and, in the language of Antony Wood, “became
a quaint preacher, and therefore much followed by ingenious men.” None
of Corbet’s sermons are, I believe, in existence: the modesty that
withheld his poems from the press, during his life, prevented his adding
to the multitude of devotional discourses with which the country was
at this period infested[12]. Those who are at all acquainted with
the ecclesiastical oratory of James’s reign, will be at no loss to
comprehend “honest Antony’s” description; but to those who are not, it
may be sufficient to observe, that, of its peculiar excellencies and
demerits, the sermons of bishop King, his contemporary, (which have been
republished) are a complete “picture in little.”
About this time he appears, from the following characteristic letter[13],
to have solicited promotion at the hands of Villiers duke of Buckingham:
“May it please your Grace
“To consider my two great losses this weeke: one in respect of
his Majesty to whom I was to preach; the other in respect of my
patron whom I was to visit. Yf this bee not the way to repare
the later of my losses, I feare I am in danger to bee utterly
undon. To press too neere a greate man is a meanness; to be put
by, and to stand too far off, is the way to be forgotten: so
Ecclesiasticus. In which mediocrity, could I hitt it, would I
live and dy, my lord. I would neather press neere, nor stand
far off; choosing rather the name of an ill courtier than a
sawsy scholer.
“I am your Grace’s most humble servant,
“RICHARD CORBET.”
Christ’s Church, this 26 Feb.
“Heer are newes, my noble lord, about us, that, in the point of
alledgeance now in hand, all the Papists are exceeding orthodox; the only
recusants are the Puritans.”
Of the nature of the object thus supplicated, my inquiries have not
informed me: he was now dean of Christ-Church, vicar of Cassington near
Woodstock in Oxfordshire, and prebendary of Bedminster secunda in the
church of Sarum: it was, perhaps, the appointment of chaplain to the
King, which he received about this time; and if to this period may be
assigned the gratulatory poem at page 83, it should seem that Buckingham
was not solicited in vain.
In 1619 he sustained a great loss in the decease of his amiable father,
at a very advanced age; whose praise he has celebrated in the most
honourable terms, and whose death he has lamented in the language of
rational and tender regret.
When James paid a second visit to Oxford in 1621, Corbet, in his office
of chaplain, preached before the monarch[14], who had presented him
(as it seems) with a token of his favour, such as flattered in no
small degree the vanity of the dean. The progress of the court and its
followers is thus ludicrously described in an anonymous poem transcribed
from Antony Wood’s papers[15] in Ashmole’s Museum:
The king and the court,
Desirous of sport,
Six days at Woodstock did lie;
Thither went the doctors,
And sattin-sleev’d proctors,
With the rest of the learned fry;
Whose faces did shine
With beere and with wine,
So fat, that it may be thought
University cheere,
With college strong beere,
Made them far better fed than taught.
A number beside,
With their wenches did ride,
(For scholars are always kind)
And still evermore,
While they rode before,
They were kissing their wenches behind.
A number on foot,
Without cloak or boot,
And yet with the court go they would;
Desirous to show
How far they could go
To do his high mightiness good.
The reverend Dean,
With his band starch’d clean,
Did preach before the King;
A ring was his pride
To his bandstrings tied,
Was not this a pretty thing?
The ring, without doubt,
Was the thing put him out,
And made him forget what was next;
For every one there
Will say, I dare swear,
He handled it more than his text.
With poetical badinage of this complexion the wits of the University of
Oxford, with Corbet at their head, “who loved this boy’s play to the
last,” abounded. While many of the pasquinades are lost, many, however,
are still preserved among Ashmole’s papers: on most occasions Corbet
was at least a match for his opponents, but this misfortune of the ring
became a standing jest against him: it is alluded to at page 233; and it
is demanded in another poem[16], if
He would provoke court wits to sing
The _second_ part of bandstrings and the ring.
Upon the evening of the same Sunday, the students of Christ-Church,
willing to show their respect for the royal visitor, obtained leave to
present a play before the King; and they chose, with no great display of
taste, Barten Holyday’s ΤΕΧΝΟΓΑΜΙΑ, or “The Marriage of the Arts,” which
had been acted in Christ-Church hall the 13th of February, 1617. The play
was so little relished, that the king was with difficulty persuaded to
sit till its conclusion: the “enactors” became subjects of ridicule to
the University; and, though Corbet and King rhymed in their favour, the
laugh went against them.
Indeed the Oxonians were not more unfortunate in their theatrical
representations on this than on former occasions. Upon the visit of
James, in 1605, two out of three dramatic exhibitions, prepared at great
expense and performed by the students, were, according to the testimony
of an eye-witness, received with tædium, and rewarded with unconcealed
disgust[17].
The writers of the poet’s life are silent as to the period of his
marriage; and if I am unable to communicate any information on this
point, it will not, I trust, be attributed to any parsimony of research,
or indifference as to fact when conjecture can be substituted. Those who
have made literary biography their study, know that it is frequently much
easier to write many pages than to ascertain a date, and hence but too
frequently ingenuity supplies the place of labour and inquiry: in the
present instance, every record that suggested a probability of containing
any memorial relative to the family of the subject of this biography has
been inspected personally; but before the passing of the Marriage Act,
nothing is more uncertain than the probable place of the celebration of
that ceremony[18].
In this dearth of fact as to dates, I shall presume to suppose he married
about 1625 Alice the only daughter of his fellow-collegian Dr. Leonard
Hutton, a man of some eminence in his day as a divine and an antiquary,
and whose character is thus drawn by Antony Wood with a felicity that
rarely accompanies his pencil: “His younger years were beautified with
all kind of polite learning, his middle with ingenuity and judgment, and
his reverend years with great wisdom in government, having been often
subdean of his college.”
This union of wit and beauty was not looked upon with indifference, nor
was their epithalamium unsung, or the string touched by the hand of an
unskilful master:
Come, all ye Muses, and rejoyce
At this your nursling’s happy choyce;
Come, Flora, strew the bridemaid’s bed,
And with a garland crown her head;
Or, if thy flowers be to seek,
Come gather roses at her cheek.
Come, Hymen, light thy torches, let
Thy bed with tapers be beset,
And if there be no fire by,
Come light thy taper at her eye:
In that bright eye there dwells a starre,
And wise-men by it guided are[19].
The offspring of this marriage were a daughter named Alice, and a son
born the 10th of November, 1627, towards whom the beautiful poem at page
150 is an undecaying monument of paternal affection.
Of these descendants of the bishop I lament that I have discovered so
little: if this volume should be fortunate enough to excite attention to
its author, the loss may at some future period be supplied: they were
both living when their grandmother, Anne Hutton, made her will in 1642,
and the son administered to the testament in 1648.
In 1628 Corbet suffered a severe privation in the loss of his patron
Villiers duke of Buckingham, assassinated by Felton on the 23d of
August, who, whatever were his political crimes, was, like his amiable
and indulgent master, a liberal promoter of literature and science, and
to his death an encourager of Corbet’s studies. If, however, this event
checked his hopes of promotion for a season, it did not leave him without
a patron; for, upon the translation of Hewson to the see of Durham,
(to make way for Dr. Duppa to be dean of that church,) he was elected
bishop of Oxford the 30th of July, was consecrated at Lambeth the 19th of
October, and installed the 3d of November, 1629; “though,” in the opinion
of Wood, “in some respects unworthy of such an office[20].”
Warned by the many petulant remarks on the poetical character scattered
throughout the account of Oxford writers, one is little surprised at
this churlish remark on the part of honest Antony, who seems to have
considered all poetry as
... inopes rerum, nugæque canoræ,
and its indulgence inconsistent with the clerical profession. Corbet was
certainly no “precisian,” and perhaps his only fault was possessing a
species of talent to which Antony had no pretension.
The bishopric of Oxford he held but a short time, being translated to
a more active see, that of Norwich, in the month of April 1632; when a
dispute arose as to his right of claim to the glebe sown previous to his
vacating the vicarage: the opinion of the attorney-general, (Noy,) which
is preserved in the Harleian collection of manuscripts[21], was in his
favour, _in as much as the translation was not his own act merely_.
On the 9th of March, 1633, he preached before the king at Newmarket[22].
Scarcely was he seated in the episcopal chair of Norwich when Abbott
died, and Laud, who had long exercised the authority of metropolitan,
was two days afterwards (August 6th, 1633) preferred to the see of
Canterbury. Having now “no rival near his throne,” in the warmth of
his zeal he immediately applied himself to reform abuses and exact
a conformity to the established church, the discipline of which had
exceedingly relaxed during the ascendancy of his calvinistic predecessor.
For this purpose Laud issued certain orders and instructions to the
several bishops, insisting upon a strict examination into the state of
religion and its ceremonies in their several dioceses; the result of
which was transmitted to that prelate, and by him laid before the King.
These representations, many of which are curious, are printed in the
nineteenth volume of Rymer’s Fœdera. On his part, Corbet certified that
he had suppressed the lectures of some factious men, and particularly
that he had suspended one Bridges, curate of St. George’s parish,
Norwich; but, upon submission, he had taken off his suspension. Among
others, he had heard complaint of Mr. Ward[23], of Ipswich, for words in
some sermons of his, for which he was called before the High Commission.
From the following conciliating epistle I conclude that Ward submitted,
and was restored to his cure:
“Salutem in Christo.
“My worthie friend,
“I thank God for your conformitie, and you for your
acknowledgment: stand upright to the church wherein you
live; be true of heart to her governours; think well of
her significant ceremonyes; and be you assured I shall
never displace you of that room which I have given you in
my affection; proove you a good tenant in my hart, and noe
minister in my diocese hath a better landlord. Farewell! God
Almightie blesse you with your whole congregation.
“From your faithful friend to serve you in Christ Jesus,
“RICH. NORWICH[24].”
Ludham Hall, the 6 of Oct. 1633.
The zeal of Laud did not rest here: he set sedulously about suppressing
the Dutch and Walloon congregations, of which there were several in
London, Norwich, and other places.
It will be perhaps necessary to observe, that the Dutch, the Walloons,
and the French, who had continued to refuge in England from the reign
of Edward the Sixth, had obtained many privileges from former kings,
and among others, the liberty of celebrating divine service after
their own, that is, the presbyterian, manner. Their congregations were
scattered over the kingdom; and at this period there was at Norwich one
of the Dutch, and one of the Walloons, the latter of which carried on
an extensive manufacture of woollen cloths, for the vending of which,
they in 1564 obtained a lease of the chapel of St. Mary the Less, which
they fitted up as a hall or market-place for that purpose. Where they
performed divine service before the year 1619 I know not, but in that
year Samuel Harsnet licensed the Walloon congregation to use during his
pleasure the Bishop’s chapel, or chapel of the Virgin Mary[25]. This
indulgence was continued during the government of his successor, Francis
White. But the intolerance of Laud would be content with nothing short
of conformity; Corbet consequently prepared to dislodge them by the
following characteristic letter:
“To the minister and elders of the French church,
in Norwich, these:
“Salutem in Christo.
“You have promised me from time to time to restore my stolen
bell, and to glaze my lettice windows. After three yeeres
consultation (bysides other pollution) I see nothing mended.
Your discipline, I know, care not much for a consecrated place,
and anye other roome in Norwiche that hath but bredth and
length may serve your turne as well as the chappel: wherefore I
say unto you, without a miracle, _Lazare, prodi foras!_ Depart,
and hire some other place for your irregular meetings: you
shall have time to provide for yourselves betwixte this and
Whitsontide. And that you may not think I mean to deale with
you as Felix dyd with St. Paul, that is, make you afraid, to
get money, I shall keepe my word with you, which you did not
with me, and as neer as I can be like you in nothinge.
“Written by me, Richard Norwich, with myne own hand, Dec. 26,
anno 1634.”
The congregation remonstrated to Laud, in the February following,
against the commands of their poetical pastor; but the archbishop
insisted that his instructions should stand, and obedience be yielded to
his injunctions[26].
While, under the direction of the Archbishop, he was thus severe with
the heterodox, he was equally zealous in supporting the establishment
of which he was a dignitary: exertions were now making by the King, the
Clergy, and indeed all orders of people, for the restoring Saint Paul’s
cathedral, which had remained in ruins since its second destruction by
fire, early in Elizabeth’s reign. In 1631 a special commission was
issued by the King, for the purpose of collecting money, to be applied
to this purpose. The subscription went on tardily till Laud contributed
a hundred pounds, to be renewed annually, and “Corbet bishop of Norwich
(then almoner to the king) giving four hundred pounds, multitudes of
others, says Stowe, for eleven years together brought in their monies
very plentifully[27].” Nor did his liberality stop here: Wood says[28]
that in addition to this contribution, which at the time we speak of was
an enormous bounty, he gave money to many needy ministers, thereby to
excite the donations of their wealthier brethren; and he pronounced the
following admonitory, persuasive and satirical address[29] to the clergy
of his diocese:
“Saint Paul’s church! One word in the behalf of Saint Paul; he hath
spoken many in ours: he hath raised our inward temples. Let us help to
requite him in his outward. We admire commonly those things which are
oldest and greatest: old monuments, and high buildings, do affect us
above measure: and what is the reason? Because what is oldest cometh
nearest God for antiquity: and what is greatest, comes nearest his works
for spaciousness and magnitude: so that in honouring these we honour
God, whom old and great do seem to imitate. Should I commend Paul’s to
you for the age, it were worth your thought and admiration. A thousand
years, though it should fall now, were a pretty climacterical. See the
bigness, and your eye never yet beheld such a goodly object. It’s worth
the reparation, though it were but for a land mark; but, beloved, it is a
church, and consecrated to God. From Charles to Ethelbert she hath been
the joy of princes. It was once dedicated to Diana (at least some part of
it); but the idolatry lasted not long. And see a mystery in the change:
Saint Paul confuting twice the idol, there in person, where the cry was,
‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians!’ and here: by proxy. Paul installed,
where Diana is thrust out. It did magnify the creation, it was taken
out of the darkness: light is not the clearer for it, but stronger and
more wonderful: and it doth beautify this church, because it was taken
from pollution. The stones are not the more durable, but the happier
for it. It is worthy the standing for the age, the time since it was
built, and for the structure, so stately an edifice is it: it is worthy
to stand for a memorial of it from which it is redeemed, but chiefly for
his house that dwells therein. We are bound to do it, for the service
sake that is done in it. Are we not beholden to it, every man, either to
the body, or the choir: for a walk or a warbling note: for a prayer or
a thorough-path? Some way or other, there is a topick may make room for
your benevolence.
“It hath twice suffered Martyrdom: and both by fire, in the time of Henry
the Sixth and the third of Elizabeth.
“Saint Paul complained of Stoning twice; his church of firing: stoning
she wants, indeed, and a good stoning would repair her.
“Saint Faith holds her up, I confess. Oh that works were sainted to
keep her upright! The first way of building churches was by ways of
benevolence; but then there needed no petition: men came on so fast that
they were commanded to be kept back, but repairing now, needs petition.
Benevolence was a fire once had need to be quenched: it is a spark, now
and needs blowing on it: blow it hard, _and put it out_. Some petitions
there are, for pulling down of such an isle, or changing lead for thack:
so far from reparation, that our suit is to demolish. If to deny this
be persecution, if to repair churches be innovation, I’ll be of that
religion too.
“I remember a tale in Henry Steevens, in his Apology for Herodotus, or
in some of the Colloquies of Erasmus, which would have us believe that
times were so depraved in popery, that all œconomical discipline was lost
by observing the œcumenical; that if an ingenious person would ask his
father’s blessing, he must get a dispensation and have a licence from the
bishop.
“Believe me when I match this tale with another. Since Christmas I was
sued to (and I have it under the hands of the minister and the whole
parish) that I would give way to the adorning of the church within and
without, to build a stone wall about the church-yard which till now
had but a hedge. I took it for a flout at first, but it proved a suit
indeed; they durst not mend a fault of forty years, without a licence.
Churchwardens, though they say it not, yet I doubt me most of them think
it, that foul spirits in the Gospel said, ‘O thou Bishop or Chancellor,
what! art thou come to torment us before the time, that all is come down
to the ground?’ The truth went out once in this phrase: ‘Zelus domûs tuæ
exedit ossa mea,’ but now vice versa, it is, ‘Zelus meus exedit domum
tuam.’ I hope I gall none here.
“Should Christ say that to us now which he said once to the Jews,
‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will build it up again:’ we
would quickly know his meaning not to be the material temple. Three years
can scarce promoove three foot.
“I am verily persuaded, were it not for the pulpit and the pews, (I do
not now mean the altar and the font for the two sacraments, but for the
pulpit and the stools as you call them;) many churches had been down
that stand. Stately pews are now become tabernacles, with rings and
curtains to them. There wants nothing but beds to hear the word of God
on; we have casements, locks and keys, and cushions; I had almost said,
bolsters and pillows: and for those we love the church. I will not guess
what is done within them, who sits, stands, or lies asleep, at prayers,
communion, &c., but this I dare say, they are either to hide some vice or
to proclaim one; to hide disorder, or proclaim pride.
“In all other contributions justice precedes charity. For the King,
or for poor, as you are rated you must give and pay. It is not so in
benevolence. Here Charity rates herself; her gift is arbitrary, and her
law is the conscience. He that stays till I persuade him, gives not all
his own money: I give half that have procured it. He that comes persuaded
gives his own; but takes off more than he brought, God paying use for
nothing. But now comes your turn to speak, or God in you by your hands:
for so he useth to speak many times by the hands of Moses and Aaron,
and by the hands of Esay and Ezekiel, and by the hands of you his minor
prophets. Now prosper, O Lord! the works of these hands! O prosper Thou
our handy work! Amen.”
He was not fated, however, to witness the elevation of the temple in
favour of which he was thus active and benevolent; indeed he was then
consuming with lingering disorders. “Corbet, bishop of Norwich,” says the
garrulous correspondent of lord Strafford, “is dying; the best poet of
all the bishops in England. He hath incurable diseases upon him, and hath
been said to be dead[30].” This was written on the 30th of July, 1635,
and he had rested from his labours two days preceding. He was buried in
the cathedral church of his diocese, where a large stone was laid over
his remains, to which a brass plate was affixed, bearing his arms and the
following inscription:
Ricardus Corbet, Theologiæ Doctor,
Ecclesiæ Cathedralis Christi Oxoniensis
Primum Alumnus, deinde Decanus, exinde
Episcopus, illinc huc translatus, et
Hinc in cœlum Jul. 28. An. 1635.
By his will “he commits and commends the nurture and maintenance of his
son and daughter to the faythful and loving care of his mother-in-law
Anne Hutton;” from which, and the total silence as to his wife, I
conclude he outlived her—and with a legacy of one thousand pounds to his
daughter Alice, to be paid at her attaining the age of seventeen, or
upon her marriage, he enjoins her not to marry without the consent of her
grandmother. By the further provisions of his testament, his son was to
be joined with Anne Hutton in the administration upon his attaining the
age of seventeen; and in case of the decease of both, the whole was to
devolve upon his daughter Alice.
Such was the end of this learned and ingenious prelate and poet, of whose
works I have undertaken the revision, and in collecting the scattered
memorials for whose biography,
et etiam disjecta membra poetæ,
I have, I hope not unprofitably to myself or others, employed some
leisure hours.
His person, if we may rely upon a fine portrait of him in the hall of
Christ-Church, Oxford, was dignified, and his frame above the common
size: one of his companions[31] says he had
A face that might heaven to affection draw:
and Aubrey says, he had heard that “he had an admirable grave and
venerable aspect.”
In no record of his life is there the slightest trace of malevolence or
tyranny: “he was,” says Fullers[32], “of a courteous carriage, and no
destructive nature to any who offended him, counting himself plentifully
repaired with a jest upon him.” Benevolent, generous and spirited in his
public character; sincere, amiable, and affectionate in private life;
correct, eloquent, and ingenious as a poet; he appears to have deserved
and enjoyed through life the patronage and friendship of the great, and
the applause and estimation of the good.
Apology is not necessary for his writings, or it might be urged that
they were not intended for publication by their author. “His merits are
disclosed,” and, at the distance of near a century and a half, are now
again submitted to the censure of the public.
His panegyric is liberal without grossness, and complimentary without
servility: his satires on the Puritans, a pestilent race which Corbet
fortunately did not live to see ascendant, and which soon after his
decease sunk literature and the arts in “the Serbonian bog” of ignorance
and fanaticism, evince his skill in severe and ludicrous reproof; and
the addresses to his son and his parents, while they are proofs of his
filial and parental regard, bear testimony to his command over the finer
feelings. But the predominant faculty of his mind was wit, which he
employed with most success when directed ironically: of this the address
“to the Ghost of Wisdome,” and “the Distracted Puritane,” are memorable
examples. Indeed he was unable to overcome his talent for humour, even
when circumstance and character concurred to repress its indulgence. Of
this propensity the following anecdotes, copied _verbatim_ from Aubrey’s
MSS. in Mus. Ashmole[33], are curious proofs, and may not improperly
close this account of a character which they tend forcibly to illustrate.
“After he was doctor of divinity, he sang ballads at the Crosse at
Abingdon; on a market-day he and some of his comrades were at the taverne
by the Crosse, (which, by the way, was then the finest of England; I
remember it when I was a freshman; it was admirable curious Gothicque
architecture, and fine figures in the nitches; ’twas one of those built
by king ... for his queen.) The ballad-singer complayned he had no
custome—he could not put off his ballads. The jolly Doctor puts off his
gowne, and puts on the ballad-singer’s leathern jacket, and being a
handsome man, and a rare full voice, he presently vended a great many,
and had a great audience.
“After the death of Dr. Goodwin, he was made deane of Christ-Church. He
had a good interest with great men, as you may finde in his poems; and
that with the then great favourite the duke of Bucks, his excellent wit
ever ’twas of recommendation to him. I have forgot the story; but at the
same time Dr. Fell thought to have carried it, Dr. Corbet put a pretty
trick on him to let him take a journey to London for it, when he had
alreadie the graunt of it.
“His conversation was extreme pleasant. Dr. Stubbins was one of his
cronies; he was a jolly fat doctor, and a very good housekeeper. As
Dr. Corbet and he were riding in Lob-lane in wet weather, (’tis an
extraordinary deepe dirty lane,) the coach fell, and Corbet said, that
Dr. S. was up to the elbows in mud, and he was up to the elbows in
Stubbins.
“A. D. 1628, he was made bishop of Oxford; and I have heard that he had
an admirable grave and venerable aspect.
“One time as he was confirming, the country people pressing in to see
the ceremonie, said he, ‘Beare off there! or I’ll confirm ye with my
staffe.’—Another time, being to lay his hand on the head of a man very
bald, he turns to his chaplaine, and said, ‘Some dust, Lushington,’ to
keepe his hand from slipping.—There was a man with a great venerable
beard; said the bishop, ‘You, behind the beard!’
“His chaplaine, Dr. Lushington, was a very learned and ingenious man, and
they loved one another. The Bishop would sometimes take the key of the
wine-cellar, and he and his chaplaine would go and lock themselves in
and be merry; then first he layes down his episcopal hood, ‘There layes
the doctor;’ then he putts off his gowne, ‘There layes the bishop;’ then
’twas, ‘Here’s to thee, Corbet;’—‘Here’s to thee, Lushington.’”
One word on the subject of the former editions; which bear dates 1647,
1648, and 1672. The first and last impressions correspond in their
contents, and the publisher of the latter has also copied, for the most
part, the errors of his predecessor, which are so numerous as to render
the poems not unfrequently unintelligible. I must observe, however,
from the information of Mr. Park, that many copies of the first edition
conclude at page 53. The additions extend the volume to 85 pages. The
only impression with any pretension to accuracy is that of 1648, which,
from its internal evidence, I suspect was published under the eye of the
Bishop’s family; I have therefore retained the Preface. It contains only
twenty-four poems.
An edition bearing the date of 1663 is cited in Willis’s Cathedrals; but,
it is believed, through mistake.