though far advanced in years, so great a mistress of nature, that even
Mrs. Barry, who acted Lady Macbeth after her, could not in that part,
with all her superior strength, and melody of voice, throw out those
quick and careless strokes of terror, from the disorder of a guilty
mind, which the other gave us, with a facility in her manner that
rendered them at once tremendous and delightful. Time could not impair
her skill, though it brought her person to decay: she was to the last
the admiration of all true judges of nature, and lovers of Shakespear,
in whose plays she chiefly excelled, and without a rival. When she
quitted the stage, several good actresses were the better for her
instruction. She was a woman of an unblemished and sober life, and had
the honour to teach Queen Anne, when Princess, the part of Semandra in
Mithridates, which she acted at court in King Charles's time. After the
death of Mr. Betterton, that Princess, when Queen, ordered her a pension
for life, but she lived not to receive more than the first half year of
it.' Thus we have seen, that it is not at all impossible for persons
of real worth, to transfer a reputation acquired on the stage, to the
characters they possess in real life, and it often happens, as in the
words of the poet,
That scenic virtue forms the rising age,
And truth displays her radiance from the stage.
The following are Mr. Betterton's dramatic works;
1. The Woman made a Justice; a Comedy.
2. The Unjust Judge, or Appius and Virginia; a Tragedy, written
originally by Mr. John Webster, an old poet, who lived in the reign of
James I. It was altered only by Mr. Betterton, who was so cautious, and
reserved upon this head, that it was by accident the fact was known, at
least with certainty.
3. The Amorous Widow, or the Wanton Wife, a Play, written on the plan of
Moliere's George Dandin. The Amorous Widow has an under-plot interwoven,
to accommodate the piece to the prevailing English taste. Is was acted
with great applause, but Mr. Betterton, during his life, could never be
induced to publish it; so that it came into the world as a posthumous
performance.
The chief merit of this, and his other pieces, lies in the exact
disposition of the scenes; their just length, great propriety, and
natural connexions; and of how great consequence this is to the fate of
either tragedy or comedy, may be learned from all Banks's plays, which,
though they have nothing else to recommend them, yet never fail to move
an audience, much more than some justly esteemed superior. Who ever saw
Banks's earl of Essex represented without tears; how few bestow them
upon the Cato of Addison.
Besides these pieces, Betterton wrote several occasional Poems,
translations of Chaucer's Fables, and other little exercises. In a word,
to sum up all that we have been saying, with regard to the character of
this extraordinary person, as he was the most perfect model of dramatic
action, so was he the most unblemished pattern of private and social
qualities: Happy is it for that player who imitates him in the one, and
still more happy that man who copies him in the other.[8]
[Footnote 1: Mr. Theophilus Cibber being about to publish, in a work
entirely undertaken by himself the Lives and Characters of all our
Eminent Actors and Actresses, from Shakespear to the present time;
leaves to the other Gentlemen concerned in this collection, the accounts
of some players who could not be omitted herein, as Poets.]
[Footnote 2: Cibber's apology.]
[Footnote 3: Biograph. Brittan. from the information of Southern.]
[Footnote 4: Cibber's Life.]
[Footnote 5: Cibber's Life.]
[Footnote 6: Memoirs of Vanbrugh's Life.]
[Footnote 7: History of the stage.]
[Footnote 8: We acknowledge a mistake, which we committed in the life
of Mavloe, concerning Betterton. It was there observed that he formed
himself upon Alleyn, the famous founder of Dulwich-Hospital, and copied
his theatrical excellencies: which, upon a review of Betterton's life,
we find could not possibly happen as Alleyn was dead several years
before Betterton was born: The observation should have been made of
Hart.]
* * * * *
JOHN BANKS.
This gentleman was bred a lawyer, and was a member of the society at New
Inn. His genius led him to make several attempts in dramatic poetry, in
which he had various success; but even when he met with the greatest
encouragement, he was very sensible of his error, in quitting the
profitable practice of the law, to pursue the entertainments of the
stage, but he was fired with a thirst of fame which reconciled to his
mind the many uneasy sensations, to which the precarious success of his
plays, and the indigence of his profession naturally exposed him: Mr.
Banks no doubt has gained one part of his design by commencing poet,
namely, that of being remembered after death, which Pope somewhere calls
the poor estate of wits: For this gentleman has here a place amongst
the poets, while nine tenths of the lawyers of his time, now sleep with
their fathers secure in oblivion, and of whom we can only say, they
lived, and died.
Mr. Banks's genius was wholly turned for tragedy; his language is
certainly unpoetical, and his numbers unharmonious; but he seems not to
have been ignorant of the dramatic art: For in all his plays he has very
forcibly rouzed the passions, kept the scene busy, and never suffered
his characters to languish.
In the year 1684 Mr. Banks offered a tragedy to the stage called the
Island Queens, or the Death of Mary Queen of Scots, which, it seems,
was rejected, whether from its want of merit, or motives of a political
kind, we cannot now determine, but Mr. Banks thought proper then to
publish it. In the year 1706, he obtained the favour of Queen Anne
to command it to be acted at the Theatre-Royal, which was done with
success, for it is really a very moving tragedy. It has been often
revived, and performed at the Theatres, with no inconsiderable applause.
His dramatic works are,
1. The Rival Kings, or the Loves of Oroondates and Statira, a Tragedy,
acted at the Theatre-Royal 1677. This play is dedicated to the Lady
Catherine Herbert, and is chiefly formed on the Romance of Cassandra.
2. The Destruction of Troy, a Tragedy, acted 1679. This play met with
but indifferent success.
3. Virtue Betrayed, or Anna Bullen, a Tragedy, acted 1682. This play has
been often acted with applause.
4. The Earl of Essex, or the Unhappy Favourite, acted 1682, with the
most general applause. Mr. Dryden wrote the Prologue, and Epilogue. It
will be naturally expected, that, having mentioned the earl of Essex by
Banks, we should say something of a Tragedy which has appeared this
year on the Theatre at Covent-Garden, of the same name. We cannot but
acknowledge, that Mr. Jones has improved the story, and heightened the
incident in the last act, which renders the whole more moving; after
the scene of parting between Essex, and Southampton, which is very
affecting, Rutland's distress upon the melancholy occasion of parting
from her husband, is melting to the last degree. It is in this scene Mr.
Barry excells all his cotemporaries in tragedy; he there shews his power
over our passions, and bids the heart bleed, in every accent of anguish.
After Essex is carried out to execution, Mr. Jones introduces the queen
at the tower, which has a very happy effect, and her manner of behaving
on that occasion, makes her appear more amiable than ever she did in any
play on the same subject. Mr. Jones in his language (in this piece)
does not affect being very poetical;--nor is his verification always
mellifluent, as in his other writings;--but it is well adapted for
speaking: The design is well conducted, the story rises regularly, the
business is not suspended, and the characters are well sustained.
5. The Island Queens, a Tragedy, of which we have already given some
account; the name of it was afterwards changed to the Albion Queens.
6. The Innocent Usurper, or the Death of Lady Jane Gray, a Tragedy,
printed 1694. It was prohibited the stage, on account of some groundless
insinuations, that it reflected upon the government. This play, in
Banks's own opinion, is inferior to none of his former. Mr. Rowe has
written likewise a Tragedy on this subject, which is a stock play at
both houses; it is as much superior to that of our author, as the genius
of the former was greater than that of the latter.
7. Cyrus the Great, a Tragedy. This play was at first rejected, but it
afterwards got upon the stage, and was acted with great success; the
plot is taken from Scudery's Romance of the Grand Cyrus.
We cannot ascertain the year in which Banks died. He seems to have been
a man of parts; his characteristic fault as a writer, was aiming at the
sublime, which seldom failed to degenerate into the bombast; fire he
had, but no judgment to manage it; he was negligent of his poetry,
neither has he sufficiently marked, and distinguished his characters; he
was generally happy in the choice of his fables, and he has found a way
of drawing tears, which many a superior poet has tried in vain.
* * * * *
LADY CHUDLEIGH
Was born in the year 1656, and was daughter of Richard Lee of Winslade,
in the county of Devon, esq; She had an education in which literature
seemed but little regarded, being taught no other language than her
native tongue; but her love of books, incessant industry in the reading
of them, and her great capacity to improve by them, enabled her to make
a very considerable figure in literature.
She was married to Sir George Chudleigh of Ashton in the county of
Devon, Bart, by whom she had issue Eliza Maria, who died in the bloom of
life, (much lamented by her mother, who poured out her griefs on that
occasion, in a Poem entitled a Dialogue between Lucinda and Marissa) and
George, who succeeded to the title and estate, Thomas, and others.
She was a lady of great virtue, as well as understanding, and she made
the latter of these subservient to the promotion of the former, which
was much improved by study; but though she was enamoured of the charms
of poetry, yet she dedicated some part of her time to the severer study
of philosophy, as appears from her excellent essays, which discover an
uncommon degree of piety, and knowledge, and a noble contempt of those
vanities which the unthinking part of her sex so much regard, and so
eagerly pursue.
The works which this lady produced, are,
The Ladies Defence, or the Bride-Woman's Counsellor answered, a Poem; in
a Dialogue between Sir John Brute, Sir William Loveall, Melissa, and a
Parson. This piece has been several times printed; the writing it was
occasioned by an angry sermon preached against the fair sex, of which
her ladyship gives the following account; 'Mr. Lintot, says she, some
time since, intending to reprint my poems, desired me to permit him
to add to them a Dialogue I had written in the year 1700, on a Sermon
preached by Mr. Sprint, a Nonconformist, at Sherbourne in Dorsetshire;
I refusing, for several reasons, to grant his request, he, without my
knowledge, bought the copy of the Bookseller who formerly printed it,
and, without my consent, or once acquainting me with his resolution,
added to it the second edition of my poems; and that which makes the
injury the greater, is, his having omitted the Epistle Dedicatory, and
the Preface, by which means he has left the reader wholly in the dark,
and exposed me to censure. When it was first printed I had reason to
complain, but not so much as now: Then the Dedication was left entire as
I had written it, but the Preface so mangled, altered, and considerably
shortened, that I hardly knew it to be my own; but being then published
without a name, I was the less concerned, but since, notwithstanding the
great care I took to conceal it, it is known to be mine; I think myself
obliged, in my own defence, to take some notice of it[1].' The omission
of this Preface, which contained an answer to part of the sermon, and
gave her reasons for writing the poem, had occasioned some people to
make ill-natured reflexions on it: this put her ladyship on justifying
herself, and assuring her readers, that there are no reflexions in it
levelled at any particular persons, besides the author of the Sermon;
him (says she) I only blame for being too angry, for his not telling us
our duty in a softer more engaging way: address, and good manners render
reproofs a kindness; but where they are wanting, admonitions are always
taken ill: as truths of this sort ought never to be concealed from us,
so they ought never to be told us with an indecent warmth; a respectful
tenderness would be more becoming a messenger of peace, the disciple of
an humble, patient, meek, commiserating Saviour.'
Besides this lady's poems, of which we shall give some account when we
quote a specimen; she wrote Essays upon several subjects, in prose and
verse, printed in 8vo. 1710. These Essays are upon Knowledge, Pride,
Humility, Life, Death, Fear, Grief, Riches, Self-love, Justice, Anger,
Calumny, Friendship, Love, Avarice, Solitude, and are much admired for
the delicacy of the stile, there being not the least appearance of false
wit, or affected expression, the too common blemishes of this sort of
writing: they are not so much the excursions of a lively imagination,
which can often expatiate on the passions, and actions of men, with
small experience of either, as the deliberate result of observations on
the world, improved with reading, regulated with judgment, softened by
good manners, and heightened with sublime thoughts, and elevated piety.
This treatise is dedicated to her Royal Highness the Princess Sophia,
Electress, and Duchess Dowager of Brunswick, on which occasion that
Princess, then in her 80th year, honoured her with the following
epistle, written by the Electress in French, but which we shall here
present to the reader in English.
Hanover June 25, 1710.
LADY CHUDLEIGH,
You have done me a very great pleasure in letting
me know by your agreeable book, that there
is such a one as you in England, and who has so
well improved herself, that she can, in a fine manner,
communicate her sentiments to all the world.
As for me I do not pretend to deserve the commendations
you give me, but by the esteem which I
have of your merit, and of your good sense, I will
be always entirely
Your affectionate friend
to serve you,
SOPHIA ELECTRICE.
At the end of the second volume of the duke of Wharton's poems, are five
letters from lady Chudleigh, to the revd. Mr. Norris of Bemmerton, and
Mrs. Eliz. Thomas, the celebrated Corinna of Dryden.
She wrote several other things, which, though not printed, are carefully
preserved in the family, viz. two Tragedies, two Operas, a Masque, some
of Lucian's Dialogues, translated into Verse, Satirical Reflexions on
Saqualio, in imitation of one of Lucian's Dialogues, with several small
Poems on various Occasions.
She had long laboured under the pains of a rheumatism, which had
confined her to her chamber a considerable time before her death, which
happened at Ashton in Devonshire, December 15, 1710, in the 55th year of
her age, and lies buried there without either monument or inscription.
The poetical Works of this Lady consist chiefly in the Song of the Three
Children Paraphrased, some Pindaric Odes, Familiar Epistles, and Songs.
We shall select as a specimen, a Dialogue between Lucinda and Marissa,
occasioned by the death of her Ladyship's Daughter, in the early bloom
of her youth. It is of a very melancholy cast, and expressive of the
grief me must have felt upon that tender occasion. Her ladyship has
informed us in her preface to her poems, that she generally chose
subjects suited to her present temper of mind. 'These pieces (says she)
were the employments of my leisure hours, the innocent amusements of a
solitary life; in them the reader will find a picture of my mind, my
sentiments all laid open to their view; they will sometimes see me
chearful, pleased, sedate, and quiet; at other times, grieving,
complaining, and struggling with my passions, blaming myself,
endeavouring to pay homage to my reason, and resolving for the future
with a decent calmness, an unshaken constancy, and a resigning temper,
to support all the troubles, all the uneasiness of life, and then,
by unexpected emergencies, unforeseen disappointments, sudden, and
surprising turns of fortune, discomposed, and shock'd, 'till I have
rallied my scattered fears, got new strength, and by making unwearied
resistance, gained the better of my afflictions, and restored my mind to
its former tranquility. Would we (continues her ladyship) contract our
desires, and learn to think that only necessary, which nature has made
so; we should be no longer fond of riches, honours, applauses, and
several other things, which are the unhappy occasions of much mischief
to the world; and doubtless, were we so happy as to have a true notion
of the dignity of our nature, of those great things for which we were
designed, and of the duration and felicity of that state to which we are
hastening, we should scorn to stoop to mean actions, and blush at the
thoughts of doing any thing below our character.' In this manner does
our authoress discover her sentiments of piety. We now shall subjoin the
specimen;
DIALOGUE.
MARISSA.
O my Lucinda! O my dearest friend!
Must my afflictions never, never end!
Has Heav'n for me, no pity left in store,
Must I! O must I ne'er be happy more!
Philanda's loss had almost broke my heart,
From her alas! I did but lately part:
And must there still be new occasions found
To try my patience, and my soul to wound?
Must my lov'd daughter too be snatch'd away,
Must she so soon the call of fate obey?
In her first dawn, replete with youthful charms,
She's fled, she's fled, from my deserted arms.
Long did she struggle, long the war maintain,
But all th' efforts of life, alas! were vain.
Could art have saved her, she had still been
mine,
Both art and care together did combine:
But what is proof against the will divine?
Methinks I still her dying conflict view,
And the sad sight does all my grief renew;
Rack'd by convulsive pains, she meekly lies,
And gazes on me with imploring eyes;
With eyes which beg relief, but all in vain,
I see but cannot, cannot ease her pain.
She must the burden unassisted bear,
I cannot with her in her tortures share:
Would they were mine, and me flood easy by;
For what one loves, sure 'twere not hard to die.
See how me labours, how me pants for breath,
She's lovely still, she's sweet, she's sweet in
death!
Pale as she is, me beauteous does remain,
Her closing eyes their lustre still retain:
Like setting suns with undiminish'd light,
They hide themselves within the verge of night.
She's gone, she's gone, she sigh'd her soul away!
And can I, can I any longer stay?
My life alas has ever tiresome been,
And I few happy easy days have seen;
But now it does a greater burden grow,
I'll throw it off, and no more sorrow know,
But with her to calm peaceful regions go.
Stay, thou dear innocence, retard thy flight,
O stop thy journey to the realms of light;
Stay 'till I come: to thee I'll swiftly move,
Attracted by the strongest passion, love.
LUCINDA.
No more, no more let me such language hear,
I can't, I can't the piercing accents bear:
Each word you utter stabs me to the heart,
I could from life, not from Marissa part:
And were your tenderness as great as mine,
While I were left, you would net thus repine.
My friends are riches, health, and all to me;
And while they're mine I cannot wretched be.
MARISSA.
If I on you could happiness bestow,
I still the toils of life would undergo,
Would still contentedly my lot sustain,
And never more of my hard fate complain:
But since my life to you will useless prove,
O let me hasten to the joys above:
Farewel, farewel, take, take my last adieu,
May Heaven be more propitious still to you,
May you live happy when I'm in my grave,
And no misfortunes, no afflictions have:
If to sad objects you'll some pity lend
And give a sigh to an unhappy friend,
Think of Marissa, and her wretched state,
How's she's been us'd by her malicious fate;
Recount those storms which she has long sustain'd,
And then rejoice that she the part has gain'd;
The welcome haven of eternal rest,
Where she shall be for ever, ever bless'd;
And in her mother's, and her daughter's arms
Shall meet with new, with unexperienc'd charms,
O how I long those dear delights to taste;
Farewel, farewel, my soul is much in haste.
Come death; and give the kind releasing blow,
I'm tir'd of life, and overcharg'd with woe:
In thy cool silent, unmolested shade
O let me be by their dear relics laid;
And there with them from all my troubles free,
Enjoy the blessing of a long tranquillity.
LUCINDA.
O thou dear sufferer, on my breast recline
Thy drooping head, and mix thy tears with
mine:
Here rest awhile, and make a truce with grief:
Consider; sorrow brings you no relief.
In the great play of life, we must not chuse,
Nor yet the meanest character refuse.
Like soldiers we our general must obey,
Must stand our ground, and not to fear give
way,
But go undaunted on'till we have won the day.
Honour is ever the reward of pain,
A lazy virtue no applause will gain.
All such as to uncommon heights would rise,
And on the wings of fame ascend the skies,
Must learn the gifts of fortune to despise;
They to themselves their bliss must still confine,
Must be unmoved, and never once repine:
But few to this perfection can attain,
Our passions often will th' ascendant gain,
And reason but alternately does reign;
Disguised by pride we sometimes seem to bear
A haughty port, and scorn to shed a tear;
While grief within still acts a tragic part,
And plays the tyrant in the bleeding heart.
Your sorrow is of the severest kind,
And can't be wholly to your soul confin'd,
Losses like yours may be allowed to move
A gen'rous mind, that knows what 'tis to love.
These afflictions;--
Will teach you patience, and the careful skill
To rule your passions, and command your will;
To bear afflictions with a steady mind,
Still to be easy, pleas'd, and still resign'd,
And look as if you did no inward sorrow find.
MARISSA.
I know Lucinda this I ought to do,
But oh! 'tis hard my frailties to subdue;
My headstrong passions will resistance make,
And all my firmed resolutions make.
I for my daughter's death did long prepare,
And hop'd I should the stroke with temper bear,
But when it came grief quickly did prevail,
And I soon found my boasted courage fail:
Yet still I strove, but 'twas alas! in vain,
My sorrow did at length th' ascendant gain:
But I'm resolv'd I will no longer yield;
By reason led, I'll once more take the field,
And there from my insulting passions try,
To gain a full, a glorious victory:
Which 'till I've done, I never will give o'er
But still fight on, and think of peace no more;
With an unwearied courage still contend,
'Till death, or conquest, doth my labour end.
[Footnote 1: Preface to her Essays.]
* * * * *
THOMAS CREECH.