Thou gav’st so deep a tincture of thine own,
That ever since I vainly try
To wash away the inherent dye:
Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite,
But never will reduce the native white;
To all the ports of honour and of gain,
I often steer my course in vain,
Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again.
Thou slack’nest all my nerves of industry,
By making them so oft to be
The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsie.
Whoever this world’s happiness would see,
Must as entirely cast off thee,
As they who only heaven desire,
Do from the world retire.
This was my error, this my gross mistake,
Myself a demy-votary to make.
Thus with SAPPHIRA, and her husband’s fate,
(A fault which I like them am taught too late)
For all that I gave up, I nothing gain,
And perish for the part which I retain.
VIII.
Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse,
The court, and better king, t’ accuse;
The heaven under which I live is fair;
The fertile soil will a full harvest bear;
Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thou
Mak’st me sit still and sing, when I should plough;
When I but think, how many a tedious year
Our patient sov’reign did attend
His long misfortunes fatal end;
How chearfully, and how exempt from fear,
On the Great Sovereign’s will he did depend,
I ought to be accurst, if I refuse
To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse!
Kings have long hands (they say) and though I be
So distant, they may reach at length to me.
However, of all princes, thou
Should’st not reproach rewards for being small or slow;
Thou, who rewardest but with popular breath,
And that too after death.
DIALOGUE III.
ON THE
GOLDEN AGE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
BETWEEN
THE HON. ROBERT DIGBY,
DR. ARBUTHNOT,
AND
MR. ADDISON.
DIALOGUE III.
ON THE AGE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
MR. DIGBY, DR. ARBUTHNOT, MR. ADDISON.
It happened, in the summer of the year 1716, that Dr. ARBUTHNOT and Mr.
ADDISON had occasion to take a journey together into _Warwickshire_.
Mr. DIGBY, who had received intelligence of their motions, and was then
at _Coleshill_, contrived to give them the meeting at _Warwick_; where
they intended to pass a day or two, in visiting the curiosities of
that fine town, and the more remarkable of these remains of antiquity
that are to be seen in its neighbourhood. These were matter of high
entertainment to all of them; to Dr. ARBUTHNOT, for the pleasure of
recollecting the ancient times; to Mr. ADDISON, on account of some
political reflexions, he was fond of indulging on such occasions; and
to Mr. DIGBY, from an ingenuous curiosity, and the love of seeing and
observing whatever was most remarkable, whether in the past ages, or
the present.
Amongst other things that amused them, they were much taken with the
great church at _Warwick_. They entertained themselves with the several
histories, which it’s many old monuments recalled to their memory[60].
The famous inscription of Sir FULK GREVIL occasioned some reflexions;
especially to Mr. DIGBY, who had used to be much affected with the
fame and fortunes of the accomplished Sir PHILIP SIDNEY. The glory
of the house of WARWICK was, also, an ample field of meditation. But
what chanced to take their attention most, was the monument of the
great earl of LEICESTER. It recorded his titles at full length, and
was, besides, richly decorated with sculpture, displaying the various
ensigns and trophies of his greatness. The pride of this minister had
never appeared to them so conspicuous, as in the legends and ornaments
of his tomb-stone; which had not only outlived his family, but seemed
to assure itself of immortality, by taking refuge, as it were, at the
foot of the altar.
These funeral honours engaged them in some common reflexions on the
folly of such expedients to perpetuate human grandeur; but at the same
time, as is the usual effect of these things, struck their imaginations
very strongly. They readily apprehended what must have been the state
of this mighty favourite in his lifetime, from what they saw of it in
this proud memorial, which continued in a manner to insult posterity
so many years after his death. But understanding that the fragments at
least of his supreme glory, when it was flourishing at its height, were
still to be seen at KENELWORTH, which they knew could be at no great
distance, they resolved to visit them the next day, and indulge to the
utmost the several reflexions which such scenes are apt to inspire.
On enquiry, they found it was not more than five or six miles to the
castle; so that, by starting early in the morning, they might easily
return to dinner at _Warwick_. They kept to their appointment so well,
that they got to _Kenelworth_ in good time, and had even two or three
hours on their hands to spend, in taking an exact view of the place.
It was luckily one of those fine days, which our travellers would most
have wished for, and which indeed are most agreeable in this season. It
was clear enough to afford a distinct prospect of the country, and to
set the objects, they wanted to take a view of, in a good light; and
yet was so conveniently clouded as to check the heat of the sun, and
make the exercise of walking, of which they were likely to have a good
deal, perfectly easy to them.
When they alighted from the coach, the first object that presented
itself was the principal GATE-WAY of the Castle. It had been converted
into a farm-house, and was indeed the only part of these vast ruins
that was inhabited. On their entrance into the _inner-court_, they were
struck with the sight of many mouldering towers, which preserved a
sort of magnificence even in their ruins. They amused themselves with
observing the vast compass of the whole, with marking the uses, and
tracing the dimensions, of the several parts. All which it was easy
for them to do, by the very distinct traces that remained of them, and
especially by means of DUGDALE’S plans and descriptions, which they
had taken care to consult.
After rambling about for some time, they clambered up a heap of ruins,
which lay on the west side the court: and thence came to a broken
tower, which, when they had mounted some steps, led them out into a
path-way on the tops of the walls. From this eminence they had a very
distinct view of the several parts they had before contemplated; of the
_gardens_ on the north-side; of the _winding meadow_ that encompassed
the walls of the castle, on the west and south; and had, besides, the
command of the country round about them for many miles. The prospect of
so many antique towers falling into rubbish, contrasted to the various
beauties of the landscape, struck them with admiration, and kept them
silent for some time.
At length recovering himself, I perceive, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, we are
all of us not a little affected with the sight of these ruins. They
even create a melancholy in me; and yet a melancholy of so delightful
a kind, that I would not exchange it, methinks, for any brisker
sensation. The experience of this effect hath often led me to enquire,
how it is that the mind, even while it laments, finds so great a
pleasure in visiting these scenes of desolation. Is it, continued he,
from the pure love of antiquity, and the amusing train of reflexions
into which such remains of ancient magnificence naturally lead us?
I know not, returned Mr. ADDISON, what pain it may give you to
contemplate these triumphs of time and fortune. For my part, I am
not sensible of the mixt sensation you speak of. I feel a pleasure
indeed; but it is sincere, and, as I conceive, may be easily accounted
for. ’Tis nothing more, I believe, than a fiction of the imagination,
which makes me think I am taking a revenge on the once prosperous and
overshadowing height, PRÆUMBRANS FASTIGIUM, as somebody expresses it,
of inordinate Greatness. It is certain, continued he, this theatre of a
great statesman’s pride, the delight of many of our princes, and which
boasts of having given entertainment to one of them in a manner so
splendid, as to claim a remembrance, even in the annals of our country,
would now, in its present state, administer ample matter for much
insulting reflexion.
“Where, one might ask, are the tilts and tournaments, the princely
shows and sports, which were once so proudly celebrated within these
walls? Where are the pageants, the studied devices and emblems of
curious invention, that set the court at a gaze, and even transported
the high soul of our ELIZABETH? Where now, pursued he, (pointing to
that which was formerly a canal, but at present is only a meadow with
a small rivulet running through it) where is the floating island, the
blaze of torches that eclipsed the day, the lady of the lake, the
silken nymphs her attendants, with all the other fantastic exhibitions
surpassing even the whimsies of the wildest romance? What now is become
of the revelry of feasting? of the minstrelsy, that took the ear so
delightfully as it babbled along the valley, or floated on the surface
of this lake? See there the smokeless kitchens, stretching to a length
that might give room for the sacrifice of a hecatomb; the vaulted
hall, which mirth and jollity have set so often in an uproar; the
rooms of state, and the presence-chamber: what are they now but void
and tenantless ruins, clasped with ivy, open to wind and weather, and
representing to the eye nothing but the ribs and carcase, as it were,
of their former state? And see, said he, that proud gate-way, once the
mansion of a surly porter[61], who, partaking of the pride of his
lord, made the crowds wait, and refused admittance, perhaps, to nobles
whom fear or interest drew to these walls, to pay their homage to their
master: see it now the residence of a poor tenant, who turns the key
but to let himself out to his daily labour, to admit him to a short
meal, and secure his nightly slumbers. Yet, in this humble state, it
hath had the fortune to outlive the glory of the rest, and hath even
drawn to itself the whole of that little note and credit which time
hath continued to this once pompous building. For, while the castle
itself is crumbled into shapeless ruins, and is prophaned, as we there
see, by the vilest uses, this outwork of greatness is left entire,
sheltered and closed in from bird and beast, and even affords some
decent room in which the _human face divine_ is not ashamed to shew
itself.”
While Mr. ADDISON went on in this vein, his two friends stood looking
on each other; as not conceiving what might be the cause of his
expressing himself with a vehemence, so uncommon, and not suited to his
natural temper. When the fit was over, I confess, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT,
this is no bad topic for a moralist to declaim upon. And, though it
be a trite one, we know how capable it is of being adorned by him
who, on a late occasion, could meditate so finely on the TOMBS AT
WESTMINSTER[62]. But surely, proceeded he, you warm yourself in this
contemplation, beyond what the subject requires of you. The vanity
of human greatness is seen in so many instances, that I wonder to
hear you harangue on this with so peculiar an exultation. There is
no travelling ten miles together in any part of the kingdom without
stumbling on some ruin, which, though perhaps not so considerable
as this before us, would furnish occasion, however, for the same
reflexions. There would be no end of moralizing over every broken
tower, or shattered fabric, which calls to mind the short-lived glories
of our ancestors.
True, said Mr. ADDISON; and, if the short continuance of these
glories were the only circumstance, I might well have spared the
exultation, you speak of, in this triumph over the shattered remnants
of _Kenelworth_. But there is something else that fires me on the
occasion. It brings to mind the fraud, the rapine, the insolence, of
the potent minister, who vainly thought to immortalize his ill-gotten
glory by this proud monument. Nay, further, it awakens an indignation
against the prosperous tyranny of those wretched times, and creates
a generous pleasure in reflecting on the happiness we enjoy under a
juster and more equal government. Believe me, I never see the remains
of that greatness which arose in the past ages on the ruins of public
freedom and private property, but I congratulate with myself on living
at a time, when the meanest subject is as free and independent as
those royal minions; and when his property, whatever it be, is as
secure from oppression, as that of the first minister. And I own
this congratulation is not the less sincere for considering that the
instance before us is taken from the reign of the virgin queen, which
it hath been the fashion to cry up above that of any other of our
princes[63]. I desire no other confutation of so strange unthankful
a preference, than the sight of this vast castle, together with the
recollection of those means by which its master arrived at his enormous
greatness.
Your indignation then, replied Dr. ARBUTHNOT, is not so much of the
moral, as _political_ kind[64]. But is not the conclusion a little too
hasty, when, from the instance of one overgrown favourite, you infer
the general infelicity of the time, in which he flourished? I am not,
I assure you, one of those unthankful men who forget the blessings
they enjoy under a prince of more justice and moderation than queen
ELIZABETH, and under a better constitution of government than prevailed
in the days of our forefathers. Yet, setting aside some particular
dishonours of that reign (of which, let the tyranny of _Leicester_,
if you will, be one), I see not but the acknowledged virtues of that
princess, and the wisdom of her government, may be a proper foundation
for all the honours that posterity have ever paid to her.
Were I even disposed to agree with you, returned Mr. ADDISON, I should
not have the less reason for triumphing, as I do, on the present state
of our government. For, if such abuses could creep in, and be suffered
for so many years under so great a princess, what was there not to fear
(as what, indeed, did not the subject actually feel) under some of her
successors? But, to speak my mind frankly, I see no sufficient grounds
for the excessive prejudice, that hath somehow taken place, in favour
of the GOLDEN REIGN, as it is called, OF ELIZABETH. I find neither the
wisdom, nor the virtue in it, that can entitle it to a preference
before all other ages.
On the contrary, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, I never contemplate the monuments
of that time, without a silent admiration of the virtues that adorned
it. Heroes and sages crowd in upon my memory. Nay, the very people were
of a character above what we are acquainted with in our days. I could
almost fancy, the soil itself were another face, and, as you poets
imagine on some occasions, that our ancestors lived under a brighter
sun and happier climate than we can boast of.
To be sure! said Mr. ADDISON, smiling: or, why not affirm, in the
proper language of romance, that the women of those days were all
chaste, and the men valiant? But cannot you suspect at least that
there is some enchantment in the case, and that your love of antiquity
may possibly operate in more instances than those of your favourite
_Greeks_ and _Romans_? Tell me honestly, pursued he, hath not this
distance of a century and a half a little imposed upon you? Do not
these broken towers, which moved you just now to so compassionate a
lamentation over them, dispose you to a greater fondness for the times
in which they arose, than can be fairly justified?
I will not deny, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, but we are often very generous
to the past times, and unjust enough to the present. But I think there
is little of this illusion in the case before us. And, since you call
my attention to these noble ruins, let me own to you, that they do
indeed excite in me a veneration for the times of which they present
so striking a memorial. But surely not without reason. For there is
scarce an object in view, that doth not revive the memory of some
distinguishing character of that age, which may justify such veneration.
Alas! interrupted Mr. ADDISON, and what can these objects call to mind
but the memory of barbarous manners and a despotic government?
For the _government_, replied Dr. ARBUTHNOT, I do not well conceive how
any conclusion about that can be drawn from this fabric. The MANNERS I
was thinking of; and I see them strongly expressed in many parts of it.
But whether barbarous or not, I could almost take upon me to dispute
with you. And why, indeed, since you allowed yourself to declaim on
the vices, so apparent, as you suppose, in this monument of antiquity,
may not I have leave to consider it in another point of view, and
present to you the virtues which, to my eye at least, are full as
discernible?
You cannot, continued he, turn your eyes on any part of these ruins,
without encountering some memorial of the virtue, industry, or
ingenuity, of our ancestors.
Look there, said he, on that fine room (pointing to the HALL, that
lay just beneath them); and tell me if you can help respecting the
HOSPITALITY which so much distinguished the palaces of the great in
those simpler ages. You gave an invidious turn to this circumstance
when you chose to consider it only in the light of wasteful expence
and prodigality. But no virtue is privileged from an ill name. And, on
second thoughts, I persuade myself, it will appear you have injured
this, by so uncandid an appellation. Can it deserve this censure,
that the lord of this princely castle threw open his doors and spread
his table for the reception of his friends, his followers, and even
for the royal entertainment of his sovereign? Is any expence more
proper than that which tends to conciliate[65] friendships, spread
the interests of society, and knit mankind together by a generous
communication in these advantages of wealth and fortune? The arts of
a refined sequestered luxury were then unknown. The same bell, that
called the great man to his table, invited the neighbourhood all
around, and proclaimed a holiday to the whole country[66]. Who does not
feel the decorum, and understand the benefits of this magnificence? The
pre-eminence of rank and fortune was nobly sustained: the subordination
of society preserved: and yet the envy, that is so apt to attend the
great, happily avoided. Hence this weight and influence of the old
nobility, who engaged the love, as well as commanded the veneration, of
the people. In the mean time, rural industry flourished: private luxury
was discouraged: and in both ways that frugal simplicity of life, our
country’s grace and ornament in those days, was preserved and promoted.
It would spoil your panegyric, I doubt, said Mr. ADDISON, to observe
the factious use, that was made of this magnificence, and the tendency
it had to support the pride and insolence of the old nobility. The
interest of the great, I am afraid, was but another name for the
slavery of the people[67].
I see it, Dr. ARBUTHNOT said, in a different light; and so did our
princes themselves, who could not but be well acquainted with the
proper effects of that interest. They considered the weight of the
nobility, as a counterpoise to their own sovereignty. It was on this
account they had used all means to lessen their influence. But the
consequence was beside their expectation. The authority of the crown
fell with it: and, which was still less expected by political men, the
liberty of the people, after it had wantoned for a time, sunk under the
general oppression. It was then discovered, but a little of the latest,
that public freedom throve best, when it wound itself about the stock
of the ancient nobility. In truth, it was the defect, not the excess,
of patrician influence, that made way for the miseries of the next
century.
You see then it is not without cause that I lay a stress, even in a
political view, on this popular hospitality of the great in the former
ages[68].
But, lest you think I sit too long at the table, let us go on to the
TILTYARD, which lies just before us; that school of fortitude and
honour to our generous forefathers. A younger fancy, than mine, would
be apt to kindle at the sight. And our sprightlier friend here, I
dare say, has already taken fire at the remembrance of the gallant
exercises, which were celebrated in that quarter.
Mr. DIGBY owned, he had a secret veneration for the manly games of that
time, which he had seen so triumphantly set forth in the old poets and
romancers.
Right, said Mr. ADDISON; it is precisely in that circumstance that the
enchantment consists. Some of our best wits have taken a deal of idle
pains to ennoble a very barbarous entertainment, and recommend it to
us under the specious name of gallantry and honour. But Mr. DIGBY sees
through the cheat. Not that I doubt, continued he, but the Doctor,
now he is in the vein of panegyric, will lay a mighty stress on these
barbarities; and perhaps compare them with the exercises in the _Roman_
Circus, or the _Olympic_ Barriers.
And why not? interrupted Dr. ARBUTHNOT. The tendency of all three was
the same; to invigorate the faculties both of mind and body; to give
strength, grace, and dexterity, to the limbs; and fire the mind with a
generous emulation of the manly and martial virtues.
Why truly, said Mr. ADDISON, I shall not deny that all _three_, as you
observe, were much of the same merit. And, now your hand is in for this
sort of encomium, do not forget to celebrate the sublime taste of our
forefathers for _bear-baiting_[69], as well as _tilting_; and tell us
too, how gloriously the mob of those days, as well as their betters,
used to belabour one another.
I confess, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, the softness of our manners makes it
difficult to speak on this subject without incurring the ridicule,
you appear so willing to employ against me. But you must not think
to discredit these gymnastics by a little raillery, which has its
foundation only in modern prejudices. For it is no secret that the
gravest and politest men of antiquity were of my mind. You will hardly
suspect PLATO of incivility, either in his notions or manners. And
need I remind you how much he insists on the gymnastic discipline;
without which he could not have formed, or at least have supported, his
Republic?
It was upon this principle, I suppose then, said Mr. DIGBY, or perhaps
in imitation of his _Græcian_ master, that our MILTON laid so great a
stress on this discipline in his TRACTATE OF EDUCATION. And before him,
in the very time you speak of, ASCHAM, I observe, took no small pains
to much the same purpose in his TOXOPHILUS.
It is very clear, resumed Dr. ARBUTHNOT, from these instances, and many
more that might be given, that the ancients were not singular in their
notions on this subject. But, since you have drawn me into a grave
defence of these exercises, let me further own to you that I think the
_Gothic_ Tilts and Tournaments exceeded, both in use and elegance, even
the _Græcian_ gymnastics[70]. They were a more direct image of war,
than any of the games at _Olympia_. And if _Xenophon_ could be so
lavish in his praises on the _Persian_ practice of hunting, because it
had some resemblance to the exercise of arms, what would he not have
said of an institution, which has all the forms of a real combat?
But there was an elegance, too, in the conduct of the tournament, that
might reconcile it even to modern delicacy. For, besides the splendor
of the shew; the dexterity, with which these exercises were performed;
and the fancy, that appeared in their accoutrement, dresses, and
devices; the whole contest was ennobled with an air of gallantry, that
must have had a great effect in refining the manners of the combatants.
And yet this gallantry had no ill influence on morals; for, as you
insulted me just now, it was the odd humour of those days for the women
to pride themselves in their chastity[71], as well as the men in their
valour.
In short, I consider the _Tournay_, as the best school of civility
as well as heroism. “High-erected thoughts, seated in a heart of
courtesy,” as an old writer[72] well expresses it, was the proper
character of such as had been trained in this discipline.