arch-deacon of Salop, and born at Brampton in Oxfordshire, December 30,
1676. After he had received a grammatical education at home, he was sent
to Winchester school, where he made himself master of the Latin and
Greek languages, and was soon distinguished for an happy imitation of
the excellences which he discovered in the best classical authors. With
this foundation he was removed to Christ's Church in Oxford, where he
performed all his university exercises with applause, and besides other
valuable authors in the poetical way, he became particularly acquainted
with, and studied the works of Milton. The ingenious Mr. George Sewel,
in his life and character of our author, observes, 'that there was not
an allusion in Paradise Lost, drawn from the thoughts and expressions of
Homer or Virgil, which Mr. Philips could not immediately refer to, and
by that he perceived what a peculiar life and grace their sentiments
added to English poetry; how much their images raised its spirit,
and what weight and beauty their words, when translated, gave to its
language: nor was he less curious in observing the force and elegance of
his mother tongue; but by the example of his darling Milton, searched
backwards into the works of our old English poets, to furnish him with
proper sounding, and significant expressions, and prove the due extent,
and compass of the language. For this purpose he carefully read over
Chaucer and Spencer, and afterwards, in his writings, did not scruple
to revive any words or phrases which he thought deserved it, with that
modesty, and liberty which Horace allows of, either in the coining of
new, or the restoring of ancient expressions.' Our author, however,
was not so much enamoured of poetry, as to neglect other parts of
literature, but was very well acquainted with the whole compass of
natural philosophy. He seems in his studies, as well as his writings, to
have made Virgil his pattern, and often to have broken out with him in
the following rapturous wish, in the Second Book of the Georgies which,
for the sake of the English reader, we shall give in Mr. Dryden's
translation.
'Give me the ways of wand'ring stars to know,
The depths of heav'n above, or earth below;
Teach me the various labours of the moon,
And whence proceed the eclipses of the sun.
Why slowing tides prevail upon the main,
And in what dark recess they shrink again.
What shakes the solid earth, what cause delays
The summer-nights, and the short winter days.'
Mr. Philips was a passionate admirer of nature, and it is not improbable
but he drew his own character in that description which he gives of a
philosophical and retired life, at the latter end of the first Book of
his Cyder.
--He to his labour hies,
Gladsome intent on somewhat that may ease
Unearthly mortals and with curious search
Examine all the properties of herbs,
Fossils, and minerals, that th' embowell'd earth
Displays, if by his industry he can
Benefit human race.
Though the reader will easily discover the unpoetical flatness of the
above lines, yet they shew a great thirst after natural knowledge, and
we have reason to believe, that much might have been attained, and many
new discoveries made, by so diligent an enquirer, and so faithful a
recorder of physical operations. However, though death prevented the
hopes of the world in that respect, yet the passages of that kind, which
we find in his Poem on Cyder, may convince us of the niceness of his
observations in natural causes. Besides this, he was particularly
skilled in antiquities, especially those of his own country; and part
of this study too, he has with much art and beauty intermixed with his
poetry.
While Mr. Philips continued at the university, he was honoured with the
acquaintance of the best and politest men in it, and had a particular
intimacy with Mr. Edmund Smith, author of Phædra and Hippolitus. The
first poem which got him reputation, was his Splendid Shilling, which
the author of the Tatler has stiled the best burlesque poem in the
English Language; nor was it only, says Mr. Sewel, 'the finest of that
kind in our tongue, but handled in a manner quite different from what
had been made use of by any author of our own, or other nation, the
sentiments, and stile being in this both new; whereas in those, the jest
lies more in allusions to the thoughts and fables of the ancients, than
in the pomp of expression. The same humour is continued thro' the whole,
and not unnaturally diversified, as most poems of that nature had been
before.
Out of that variety of circumstances, which his fruitful invention must
suggest to him, on such a subject, he has not chosen any but what are
diverting to every reader, and some, that none but his inimitable dress
could have made diverting to any: when we read it, we are betrayed
into a pleasure which we could not expect, tho' at the same time the
sublimity of the stile, and the gravity of the phrase, seem to chastise
that laughter which they provoke.' Mr. Edmund Smith in his beautiful
verses on our Author's Death, speaks thus concerning this poem;
'In her best light the comic muse appears,
When she with borrowed pride the buskin
wears.'
This account given by Mr. Sewel of the Splendid Shilling, is perhaps
heightened by personal friendship, and that admiration which we
naturally pay to the productions of one we love. The stile seems to
be unnatural for a poem which is intended to raise laughter; for that
laboured gravity has rather a contrary influence; disposing the mind to
be serious: and the disappointment is not small, when a man finds he
has been betrayed into solemn thinking, in reading the description of a
trifle; if the gravity of the phrase chastises the laughter, the purpose
of the poem is defeated, and it is a rule in writing to suit the
language to the subject. Philips's Splendid Shilling may have pleased,
because, its manner was new, and we often find people of the best sense
throw away their admiration on monsters, which are seldom to be seen,
and neglect more regular beauty, and juster proportion.
It is with reserve we offer this criticism against the authority of Dr.
Sewel, and the Tatler; but we have resolved to be impartial, and the
reader who is convinced of the propriety and beauty of the Splendid
Shilling, has, no doubt, as good a right to reject our criticism, as we
had to make it.
Our author's coming to London, we are informed, was owing to the
persuasion of some great persons, who engaged him to write on the Battle
of Blenheim; his poem upon which introduced him to the earl of Oxford,
and Henry St. John, esq; afterwards lord viscount Bolingbroke, and other
noble patrons. His swelling stile, it must be owned, was better suited
to a subject of this gravity and importance, than to that of a light and
ludicrous nature: the exordium of this piece is poetical, and has an
allusion to that of Spencer's Fairy Queen:
From low and abject themes the grov'ling muse
Now mounts aërial to sing of arms
Triumphant, and emblaze the martial acts
Of Britain's hero.
The next poem of our author was his Cyder, the plan of which he laid at
Oxford, and afterwards compleated it in London. He was determined to
make choice of this subject, from the violent passion he had for the
productions of nature, and to do honour to his native country. The poem
was founded upon the model of Virgil's Georgics, and approaches pretty
near it, which, in the opinion of critics in general, and Mr. Dryden in
particular, even excels the Divine Æneid: He imitates Virgil rather like
a pursuer, than a follower, not servilely tracing, but emulating his
beauties; his conduct and management are superior to all other copiers
of that original; and even the admired Rapin (says Dr. Sewel) is much
below him, both in design and success, 'for the Frenchman either fills
his garden with the idle fables of antiquity, or new transformations
of his own; and, in contradiction of the rules of criticism, has
injudiciously blended the serious, and sublime stile of Virgil, with the
elegant turns of Ovid in his Metamorphosis; nor has the great genius of
Cowley succeeded better in his Books of Plants, who, besides the same
faults with the former, is continually varying his numbers from one sort
of verse to another, and alluding to remote hints of medicinal writers,
which, though allowed to be useful, are yet so numerous, that they
flatten the dignity of verse, and sink it from a poem, to a treatise of
physic,' Dr. Sewel has informed us, that Mr. Philips intended to have
written a poem on the Resurrection, and the Day of Judgment, and we may
reasonably presume, that in such a work, he would have exceeded his
other performances. This awful subject is proper to be treated in a
solemn stile, and dignified with the noblest images; and we need not
doubt from his just notions of religion, and the genuine spirit of
poetry, which were conspicuous in him, he would have carried his readers
through these tremendous scenes, with an exalted reverence, which,
however, might not participate of enthusiasm. The meanest soul, and the
lowest imagination cannot contemplate these alarming events described
in Holy Writ, without the deepest impressions: what then might we not
expect from the heart of a good man, and the regulated flights and
raptures of a christian poet? Our author's friend Mr. Smith, who had
probably seen the first rudiments of his design, speaks thus of it, in a
poem upon his death.
O! had relenting Heaven prolong'd his days,
The tow'ring bard had sung in nobler lays:
How the last trumpet wakes the lazy dead;
How saints aloft the cross triumphant spread;
How opening Heav'ns their happier regions, shew,
And yawning gulphs with flaming vengeance glow,
And saints rejoice above, and sinners howl below.
Well might he sing the day he could not fear,
And paint the glories he was sure to wear.
All that we have left more of this poet, is a Latin Ode to Henry St.
John, esq; which is esteemed a master-piece; the stile being pure and
elegant, the subject of a mixt nature, resembling the Jublime spirit,
and gay facetious humour of Horace. He was beloved, says Dr. Sewel, 'by
all who knew him; somewhat reserved and silent amongst strangers, but
free, familiar, and easy with his friends; he was averse to disputes,
and thought no time so ill spent, and no wit so ill used, as that which
was employed in such debates; his whole life was distinguished by a
natural goodness, and well-grounded and unaffected piety, an universal
charity, and a steady adherence to his principles; no one observed the
natural and civil duties of life with a stricter regard, whether a son,
a friend, or a member of society, and he had the happiness to fill every
one of these parts, without even the suspicion either of undutifulness,
insincerity, or disrespect. Thus he continued to the last, not owing his
virtues to the happiness of his constitution, but the frame of his
mind, insomuch, that during a long sickness, which is apt to ruffle the
smoothest temper; he never betrayed any discontent or uneasiness, the
integrity of his life still preserving the chearfulness of his spirits;
and if his friends had measured their hopes of his life, only by his
unconcern in his sickness, they could not but conclude, that either his
date would be much longer, or that he was at all times prepared for
death.' He had long been troubled with a lingering consumption, attended
with an asthma; and the summer before he died, by the advice of his
physicians, he removed to Batly, where he got only some present ease,
but went from thence with but small hopes of recovery; and upon the
return of the distemper, he died at Hereford the 15th of February,
1708. He was interred in the Cathedral church of that city, with an
inscription upon his grave-stone, and had a monument erected to his
memory in Westminster-abbey by Sir Simon Harcourt, afterwards lord
chancellor; the epitaph of which was written by Dr. Friend.
* * * * *
WILLIAM WALSH, Esq;
This poet was the son of Joseph Walsh, of Aberley in Worcestershire. He
became a gentleman-commoner of Wadham-College Oxford, in Easter-Term,
1678, when he was only fifteen years of age; he left it without a
degree, retired to his native county, and some time after went to
London. He wrote a Dialogue concerning Women, being a Defence of the
Fair-Sex, addressed to Eugenia, and printed in the year 1691. This
is the most considerable of our author's productions, and it will be
somewhat necessary to take further notice of it, which we cannot
more effectually do, than by transcribing the words of Dryden in its
commendation.--That great critic thus characterises it. 'The perusal of
this dialogue, in defence of the Fair-Sex, written by a gentleman of my
acquaintance, much surprised me: For it was not easy for me to imagine,
that one so young could have treated so nice a subject with so much
judgment. It is true, I was not ignorant that he was naturally
ingenious, and that he had improved himself by travelling; and from
thence I might reasonably have expected, that air of gallantry which is
so visibly diffused through the body of the work, and is, indeed, the
soul that animates all things of this nature; but so much variety of
reading, both in ancient and modern authors, such digestion of that
reading, so much justness of thought, that it leaves no room for
affectation or pedantry; I may venture to say, are not over common
amongst practised writers, and very rarely to be found amongst
beginners. It puts me in mind of what was said of Mr. Waller, the father
of our English numbers, upon the sight of his first verses, by the wits
of the last age; that he came out into the world forty-thousand
strong, before they had heard of him. Here in imitation of my friend's
apostrophes, I hope the reader need not be told, that Mr. Waller is only
mentioned for honour's sake, that I am desirous of laying hold on his
memory on all occasions, and thereby acknowledging to the world, that
unless he had written, none of us all could write. My friend, had not it
seems confidence enough to send this piece out into the world, without
my opinion of it, that it might pass securely, at least among the fair
readers, for whose service it was principally designed. I am not so
presuming, as to think my opinion can either be his touch-stone, or his
passport; but, I thought I might send him back to Ariosto, who has made
it the business of almost thirty stanza's, in the beginning of the
thirty-seventh book of his Orlando Furioso; not only to praise that
beautiful part of the creation, but also to make a sharp satire on their
enemies; to give mankind their own, and to tell them plainly, that from
their envy it proceeds, that the virtue and great actions of women are
purposely concealed, and the failings of some few amongst them exposed,
with all the aggravating circumstances of malice. For my own part, who
have always been their servant, and have never drawn my pen against
them, I had rather see some of them praised extraordinarily, than any
of them suffer by detraction, and that at this age, and at this time
particularly, wherein I find more heroines, than heroes; let me
therefore give them joy of their new champion: If any will think me more
partial to him, than I really am, they can only say, I have returned his
bribe; and he word I wish him is, that he may receive justice from the
men, and favour only from the ladies.'
This is the opinion of Mr. Dryden in favour of this piece, which is
sufficient to establish its reputation. Mr. Wood, the antiquarian,
observes, that this Eugenia was the mistress of Walsh; but for this
he produces no proof, neither is it in the lead material whether the
circumstance is true or no. Mr. Walslh is likewise author of several
occasional poems, printed 1749, amongst the works of the Minor Poets,
and which he first published in the year 1692, with some letters
amorous, and gallant, to which is prefixed the following address to the
public.
Go, little book, and to the world impart
The faithful image of an amorous heart;
Those who love's dear deluding pains have known,
May in my fatal sorrows read their own:
Those who have lived from all its torments free,
May find the things they never, felt by me.
Perhaps advis'd avoid the gilded bait,
And warn'd by my example shun my fate.
Whilst with calm joy, safe landed on the coast
I view the waves, on which I once was tost.
Love is a medley of endearments, jars,
Suspicions, quarrels, reconcilements, wars;
Then peace again. O would it not be best,
To chase the fatal poison from our breast?
But since, so few can live from passion free,
Happy the man, and only happy he,
Who with such lucky stars begins his love,
That his cool judgment does his choice approve.
Ill grounded passions quickly wear away;
What's built upon esteem can ne'er decay.
Mr. Walsh was of an amorous complexion, and in one of his letters
mentions three of his amours, in pretty singular terms. 'I valued (says
he) one mistress, after I left loving her; I loved another after I left
valuing her; I love and value the third, after having lost all hopes of
her; and according to the course of my passions, I should love the next
after having obtained her. However, from this time forward, upon what
follies soever you fall, be pleased, for my sake, to spare those of
love; being very well satisfied there is not one folly of that kind
(excepting marriage) which I have not already committed. I have been,
without raillery, in love with the beauty of a woman whom I have never
seen; with the wit of one whom I never heard speak, nor seen any thing
she has written, and with the heroic virtues of a woman, without knowing
any one action of her, that could make me think; she had any; Cupid will
have it so, and what can weak mortals do against so potent a god?' Such
were the sentiments of our author when he was about 30 years of age.
Queen Anne constituted Mr. Walsh her master of the horse. On what
account this place, in particular, was allotted him, we know not; but,
with regard to his literary abilities, Mr. Dryden in his postscript to
his translation of Virgil, has asserted, that Mr. Walsh was the best
critic then living; and Mr. Pope, speaking of our author, thus concludes
his Essay on Criticism, viz.
To him, the wit of Greece, and Rome was known,
And ev'ry author's merit, but his own.
Such late was Walsh: the muses judge and friend,
Who justly knew to blame, or to commend;
To failings mild, but zealous for desert,
The clearest head, and the sincerest heart.
In the year 1714 the public were obliged with a small posthumous piece
of Mr. Walsh's, entitled Æsculapius, or the Hospital of Fools, in
imitation of Lucian. There is printed amongst. Mr. Walsh's other
performances, in a volume of the Minor Poets, an Essay on Pastoral
Poetry, with a Short Defence of Virgil, against some of the reflexions
of M. Fontenellé. That critic had censured Virgil for writing his
pastorals in a too courtly stile, which, he says, is not proper for the
Doric Muse; but Mr. Walsh has very judiciously shewn, that the Shepherds
in Virgil's time, were held in greater estimation, and were persons of a
much superior figure to what they are now. We are too apt to figure the
ancient countrymen like our own, leading a painful life in poverty,
and contempt, without wit, or courage, or education; but men had quite
different notions of these things for the first four thousand years
of the world. Health and strength were then more in esteem, than the
refinements of pleasure, and it was accounted, more honourable to till
the ground, and keep a flock of sheep, than to dissolve in wantonness,
and effeminating sloth.
Mr. Walsh's other pieces consist chiefly of Elegies, Epitaphs, Odes, and
Songs; they are elegant, tho' not great, and he seems to have had a well
cultivated, tho' not a very extensive, understanding. Dryden and Pope
have given their sanction in his favour, to whom he was personally
known, a circumstance greatly to his advantage, for had there been no
personal friendship, we have reason to believe, their encomiums would
have been less lavish; at least his works do not carry so high an idea
of him, as they have done. Mr. Walsh died about the year 1710.
* * * * *
THOMAS BETTERTON.
(Written by R.S.[1])
Almost every circumstance relating to the life of this celebrated actor,
is exposed to dispute, and his manner of first coming on the stage, as
well as the action of his younger years have been controverted. He was
son of Mr. Betterton, undercook to king Charles the Ist, and was born in
Tothill-street Westminster, some time in the year 1635. Having received
the rudiments of a genteel education, and discovering a great propensity
to books, it was once proposed he should have been educated to some
learned profession; but the violence and confusion of the times putting
this out of the power of his family, he was at his own request bound
apprentice to a bookseller, one Mr. Holden, a man of some eminence, and
then happy in the friendship of Sir William Davenant. In the year 1656
it is probable Mr. Betterton made his first appearance on the
stage, under the direction of Sir William, at the Opera-house in
Charter-house-yard. It is said, that going frequently to the stage about
his mailer's business, gave Betterton the first notion of it, who shewed
such indications of a theatrical genius, that Sir William readily
accepted him as a performer. Immediately after the restoration two
distinct companies were formed by royal authority; the first in virtue
of a patent granted to Henry Killegrew, Esq; called the king's company,
the other in virtue of a patent granted to Sir William Davenant, which
was stiled the duke's company.[2] The former acted at the theatre royal
in Drury-lane, the other at that in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. In order that
the theatres might be decorated to the utmost advantage, and want none
of the embellishments used abroad, Mr. Betterton, by command of Charles
II. went to Paris, to take a view of the French stage, that he might the
better judge what would contribute to the improvement of our own. Upon
his return, Mr. Betterton introduced moving scenes into our theatre,
which before had the stage only hung with tapestry. The scenes no doubt
help the representation, by giving the spectator a view of the place,
and increase the distress, by making the deception more powerful,
and afflicting the mind with greater sensibility. The theatre in
Lincoln's-Inn-Fields being very inconvenient, another was built for them
in Dorset-Garden, called the duke's theatre, to which they removed and
followed their profession with great success, during all that reign of
pleasure.
The stage at this time was so much the care of the state, that when any
disputes arose, they were generally decided by his majesty himself or
the duke of York, and frequently canvassed in the circle. Mr. Cibber
assigns very good reasons, why at this time, theatrical amusements were
so much in vogue; the first is, that after a long eclipse of gallantry
during the rage of the civil war, people returned to it with double
ardour; the next is, that women were then introduced on the stage, their
parts formerly being supplied by boys, or effeminate young men, of which
the famous Kynaston possessed the capital parts. When any art is carried
to perfection, it seldom happens, that at that particular period, the
profits arising from it are high; and at this time the advantages of
playing were very inconsiderable: Mr. Hart the greatest performer at the
king's theatre, had but three pounds a week, and Mr. Betterton, then but
young, very probably had not so much, and besides, benefits then were
things unheard of.
In 1670 Mr. Betterton married a gentlewoman on the same stage, one Mrs.
Saunderson, who excelled as an actress, every thing but her own conduct
in life. In her, he was compleatly happy, and by their joint endeavours
even in those days, they were able not only to acquire a genteel
subsistence, but also to save what might support them in an advanced
age[3].