moderns, to be a master of it. Mr. Philips hath given us manifest proofs of his knowledge of books; it must be confessed his competitor has imitated some single thoughts of the antients well enough, if we consider he had not the happiness of an university education: but he hath dispersed them here and there without that order and method Mr. Philips observes, whose whole third pastoral, is an instance how well he studied the fifth of Virgil, and how judiciously he reduced Virgil’s thoughts to the standard of pastoral; and his contention of Colin Clout, and the Nightingale, shews with what exactness he hath imitated Strada. When I remarked it as a principal fault to introduce fruits, and flowers of a foreign growth in descriptions, where the scene lies in our country, I did not design that observation should extend also to animals, or the sensitive life; for Philips hath with great judgment described wolves in England in his first pastoral. Nor would I have a poet slavishly confine himself, (as Mr. Pope hath done) to one particular season of the year, one certain time of the day, and one unbroken scene in each Eclogue. It is plain, Spencer neglected this pedantry, who in his Pastoral of November, mentions the mournful song of the Nightingale.
Sad Philomel, her song in tears doth sleep.
And Mr. Philips by a poetical creation, hath raised up finer beds of flowers, than the most industrious gardener; his roses, lilies, and daffadils, blow in the same season.
But the better to discover the merit of our two cotemporary pastoral writers. I shall endeavour to draw a parallel of them, by placing several of their particular thoughts in the same light; whereby it will be obvious, how much Philips hath the advantage: With what simplicity he introduces two shepherds singing alternately.
HOBB.
Come Rosalind, O come, for without thee What pleasure can the country have for me? Come Rosalind, O come; my brinded kine, My snowy sheep, my farm and all is thine.
LANG.
Come Rosalind, O come; here shady bowers. Here are cool fountains, and here springing flowers. Come Rosalind; here ever let us stay,
And sweetly waste our live-long time away.
Our other pastoral writer in expressing the same thought, deviates into downright poetry.
STREPHON.
In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove, But Delia always; forc’d from Delia’s sight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.
DAPHNE.
Sylvia’s like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; Ev’n spring displeases when she shines not here: But blest with her, ’tis spring throughout the year.
In the first of these authors, two shepherds thus innocently describe the behaviour of their mistresses.
HOBB.
As Marian bath’d, by chance I passed by; She blush’d, and at me cast a side-long eye: Then swift beneath, the crystal waves she tried, Her beauteous form, but all in vain, to hide.
LANG.
As I to cool me bath’d one sultry day, Fond Lydia lurking in the sedges lay,
The woman laugh’d, and seem’d in haste to fly; Yet often stopp’d, and often turn’d her eye.
The other modern (who it must be confess’d has a knack at versifying) has it as follows,
STREPHON.
Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain, Thus, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain; But feigns a laugh, to see me search around, And by that laugh the willing fair is found.
DAPHNE.
The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green; She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen; While a kind glance, at her pursuer flies, How much at variance are her feet and eyes.
There is nothing the writers of this kind of poetry are fonder of, than descriptions of pastoral presents.
Philips says thus of a Sheep-hook.
Of season’d elm, where studs of brass appear, To speak the giver’s name, the month, and year; The hook of polished steel, the handle turn’d, And richly by the graver’s skill adorn’d.
The other of a bowl embossed with figures,
–Where wanton ivy twines,
And swelling clusters bend the curling vines, Four figures rising from the work appear, The various seasons of the rolling year; And what is that which binds the radiant sky, Where twelve bright signs, in beauteous order lye.
The simplicity of the swain in this place who forgets the name of the Zodiac, is no ill imitation of Virgil; but how much more plainly, and unaffectedly would Philips have dressed this thought in his Doric.
And what that height, which girds the welkin-sheen Where twelve gay signs in meet array are seen.
If the reader would indulge his curiosity any farther in the comparison of particulars, he may read the first Pastoral of Philips, with the second of his contemporary, and the fourth and fifth of the former, with the fourth and first of the latter; where several parallel places will occur to every one.
Having now shewn some parts, in which these two writers may be compared, it is a justice I owe to Mr. Philips, to discover those in which no man can compare with him. First, the beautiful rusticity, of which I shall now produce two instances, out of a hundred not yet quoted.
O woeful day! O day of woe, quoth he, And woeful I, who live the day to see!
That simplicity of diction, the melancholy flowing of the numbers, the solemnity of the sound, and the easy turn of the words, are extremely elegant.
In another Pastoral, a shepherd utters a Dirge, not much inferior to the former in the following lines.
Ah me the while! ah me, the luckless day! Ah luckless lad, the rather might I say; Ah silly I! more silly than my sheep,
Which on the flow’ry plains I once did keep.
How he still charms the ear, with his artful repetition of the epithets; and how significant is the last verse! I defy the most common reader to repeat them, without feeling some motions of compassion. In the next place, I shall rank his Proverbs in which I formerly observed he excels: For example,
A rolling stone is ever bare of moss; And, to their cost, green years old proverbs cross, –He that late lies down, as late will rise, And sluggard like, till noon-day snoring lies. Against ill-luck, all cunning foresight fails; Whether we sleep or wake, it nought avails. –Nor fear, from upright sentence wrong,
Lastly, His excellent dialect, which alone might prove him the eldest born of Spencer, and the only true Arcadian, &c.
Thus far the comparison between the merit of Mr. Pope and Mr. Philips, as writers of Pastoral, made by the author of this paper in the Guardian, after the publication of which, the enemies of Pope exulted, as in one particular species of poetry, upon which he valued himself, he was shewn to be inferior to his contemporary. For some time they enjoyed their triumph; but it turned out at last to their unspeakable mortification.
The paper in which the comparison is inserted, was written by Mr. Pope himself. Nothing could have so effectually defeated the design of diminishing his reputation, as this method, which had a very contrary effect. He laid down some false principles, upon these he reasoned, and by comparing his own and Philips’s Pastorals, upon such principles it was no great compliment to the latter, that he wrote more agreeable to notions which are in themselves false.
The subjects of pastoral are as various as the passions of human nature; nay, it may in some measure partake of every kind of poetry, but with this limitation, that the scene of it ought always to be laid in the country, and the thoughts never contrary to the ideas of those who are bred there. The images are to be drawn from rural life; and provided the language is perspicuous, gentle, and flowing, the sentiments may be as elegant as the country scenes can furnish.–In the particular comparison of passages between Pope and Philips, the former is so much superior, that one cannot help wondering, that Steele could be thus imposed upon, who was in other respects a very quick discerner. Though ’tis not impossible, but that Guardian might go to the press without Sir Richard’s seeing it; he not being the only person concern’d in that paper.
The two following lines so much celebrated in this paper, are sufficiently convincing, that the whole criticism is ironical.
Ah! silly I, more silly than my sheep, Which on the flowr’y plains I once did keep.
Nothing can be much more silly than these lines; and yet the author says, “How he still charms the ear with the artful repetitions of epithets.”
SILLY I, MORE SILLY THAN MY SHEEP.
The next work Mr. Philips published after his Pastorals, and which it is said he wrote at the university, was his life of John Williams lord keeper of the great-seal, bishop of Lincoln and archbishop of York, in the reigns of king James and Charles the First, in which are related some remarkable occurrences in those times, both in church and state, with an appendix, giving an account of his benefactions to St. John’s college.
Mr. Philips, seems to have made use of archbishop William’s life, the better to make known his own state principles, which in the course of that work he had a fair occasion of doing. Bishop Williams was the great opposer of High-Church measures, he was a perpetual antagonist to Laud; and lord Clarendon mentions him in his history with very great decency and respect, when it is considered that they adhered to opposite parties.
Mr. Philips, who early distinguished himself in revolution principles, was concerned with Dr. Boulter, afterwards archbishop of Armagh, the right honourable Richard West, Esq; lord chancellor of Ireland; the revd. Mr. Gilbert Burnet, and the revd. Mr. Henry Stevens, in writing a paper called the Free-Thinker; but they were all published by Mr. Philips, and since re-printed in three volumes in 12mo. In the latter part of the reign of queen Anne, he was secretary to the Hanover Club, a set of noblemen and gentlemen, who associated in honour of that succession. They drank regular toasts to the health of those ladies, who were most zealously attached to the Hanoverian family; upon whom Mr. Philips wrote the following lines,
While these, the chosen beauties of our isle, Propitious on the cause of freedom smile, The rash Pretender’s hopes we may despise, And trust Britannia’s safety to their eyes.
After the accession of his late majesty, Mr. Philips was made a justice of peace, and appointed a commissioner of the lottery. But though his circumstances were easy, the state of his mind was not so; he fell under the severe displeasure of Mr. Pope, who has satirized him with his usual keenness.
‘Twas said, he used to mention Mr. Pope as an enemy to the government; and that he was the avowed author of a report, very industriously spread, that he had a hand in a paper called The Examiner. The revenge which Mr. Pope took in consequence of this abuse, greatly ruffled the temper of Mr. Philips, who as he was not equal to him in wit, had recourse to another weapon; in the exercise of which no great parts are requisite. He hung up a rod at Button’s, with which he resolved to chastise his antagonist, whenever he should come there. But Mr. Pope, who got notice of this design, very prudently declined coming to a place, where in all probability he must have felt the resentment of an enraged author, as much superior to him in bodily strength, as inferior in wit and genius.
When Mr. Philips’s friend, Dr. Boulter, rose to be archbishop of Dublin, he went with him into Ireland, where he had considerable preferments; and was a member of the House of Commons there, as representative of the county of Armagh.
Notwithstanding the ridicule which Mr. Philips has drawn upon himself, by his opposition to Pope, and the disadvantageous light his Pastorals appear in, when compared with his; yet, there is good reason to believe, that Mr. Philips was no mean Arcadian: By endeavouring to imitate too servilely the manners and sentiments of vulgar rustics, he has sometimes raised a laugh against him; yet there are in some of his Pastorals a natural simplicity, a true Doric dialect, and very graphical descriptions.
Mr. Gildon, in his compleat Art of Poetry, mentions him with Theocritus and Virgil; but then he defeats the purpose of his compliment, for by carrying the similitude too far, he renders his panegyric hyperbolical.
We shall now consider Mr. Philips as a dramatic writer. The first piece he brought upon the stage, was his Distress’d Mother, translated from the French of Monsieur Racine, but not without such deviations as Mr. Philips thought necessary to heighten the distress; for writing to the heart is a secret which the best of the French poets have not found out. This play was acted first in the year 1711, with every advantage a play could have. Pyrrhus was performed by Mr. Booth, a part in which he acquired great reputation. Orestes was given to Mr. Powel, and Andromache was excellently personated by the inimitable Mrs. Oldfield. Nor was Mrs. Porter beheld in Hermione without admiration. The Distress’d Mother is so often acted, and so frequently read, we shall not trouble the reader with giving any farther account of it.
A modern critic speaking of this play, observes that the distress of Andromache moves an audience more than that of Belvidera, who is as amiable a wife, as Andromache is an affectionate mother; their circumstances though not similar, are equally interesting, and yet says he, ‘the female part of the audience is more disposed to weep for the suffering mother, than the suffering wife.[1]’ The reason ’tis imagin’d is this, there are more affectionate mothers in the world than wives.
Mr. Philips’s next dramatic performance was The Briton, a Tragedy; acted 1721. This is built on a very interesting and affecting story, whether founded on real events I cannot determine, but they are admirably fitted to raise the passion peculiar to tragedy. Vanoc Prince of the Cornavians married for his second wife Cartismand, Queen of the Brigantians, a woman of an imperious spirit, who proved a severe step-mother to the King’s daughter Gwendolen, betrothed to Yvor, the Prince of the Silurians. The mutual disagreement between Vanoc and his Queen, at last produced her revolt from him. She intrigues with Vellocad, who had been formerly the King’s servant, and enters into a league with the Roman tribune, in order to be revenged on her husband. Vanoc fights some successful battles, but his affairs are thrown into the greatest confusion, upon receiving the news that a party of the enemy has carried off the Princess his daughter. She is conducted to the tent of Valens the Roman tribune, who was himself in love with her, but who offered her no violation. He went to Vanoc in the name of Didius the Roman general, to offer terms of peace, but he was rejected with indignation. The scene between Vanoc and Valens is one of the most masterly to be met with in tragedy. Valens returns to his fair charge, while her father prepares for battle, and to rescue his daughter by the force of arms. But Cartismand, who knew that no mercy would be shewn her at the hands of her stern husband, flies to the Princess’s tent, and in the violence of her rage stabs her. The King and Yvor enter that instant, but too late to save the beauteous Gwendolen from the blow, who expires in the arms of her betrothed husband, a scene wrought up with the greatest tenderness. When the King reproaches Cartismand for this deed of horror, she answers,
Hadst thou been more forgiving, I had been less cruel.
VANOC
Wickedness! barbarian! monster–
What had she done, alas!–Sweet innocence! She would have interceded for thy crimes.
CARTISMAND
Too well I knew the purpose of thy soul.– Didst thou believe I would submit?–resign my crown?– Or that thou only hadst the power to punish?
VANOC
Yet I will punish;–meditate strange torments!– Then give thee to the justice of the Gods.
CARTISMAND
Thus Vanoc, do I mock thy treasur’d rage.– My heart springs forward to the dagger’s point.
Vanoc
Quick, wrest it from her!–drag her hence to chains.
CARTISMAND
There needs no second stroke–
Adieu, rash man!–my woes are at an end:– Thine’s but begun;–and lasting as thy life.
Mr. Philips in this play has shewn how well he was acquainted with the stage; he keeps the scene perpetually busy; great designs are carrying on, the incidents rise naturally from one another, and the catastrophe is moving. He has not observed the rules which some critics have established, of distributing poetical justice; for Gwendolen, the most amiable character in the play is the chief sufferer, arising from the indulgence of no irregular passion, nor any guilt of hers.
The next year Mr. Philips introduced another tragedy on the stage called Humfrey Duke of Gloucester, acted 1721. The plot of this play is founded on history. During the minority of Henry VI. his uncle, the duke of Gloucester, was raised to the dignity of Regent of the Realm. This high station could not but procure him many enemies, amongst whom was the duke of Suffolk, who, in order to restrain his power, and to inspire the mind of young Henry with a love of independence, effected a marriage between that Prince, and Margaret of Anjou, a Lady of the most consummate beauty, and what is very rare amongst her sex, of the most approved courage. This lady entertained an aversion for the duke of Gloucester, because he opposed her marriage with the King, and accordingly resolves upon his ruin.
She draws over to her party cardinal Beaufort, the Regent’s uncle, a supercilious proud churchman. They fell upon a very odd scheme to shake the power of Gloucester, and as it is very singular, and absolutely fact, we shall here insert it.
The duke of Gloucester had kept Eleanor Cobham, daughter to the lord Cobham, as his concubine, and after the dissolution of his marriage with the countess of Hainault, he made her his wife; but this did not restore her reputation: she was, however, too young to pass in common repute for a witch, yet was arrested for high treason, founded on a pretended piece of witchcraft, and after doing public penance several days, by sentence of convocation, was condemned to perpetual imprisonment in the Isle of Man, but afterwards removed to Killingworth-castle. The fact charged upon her, was the making an image of wax resembling the King, and treated in such a manner by incantations, and sorceries, as to make him waste away, as the image gradually consumed. John Hume, her chaplain, Thomas Southwell, a canon of St. Stephen’s Westminster, Roger Bolingbroke, a clergyman highly esteemed, and eminent for his uncommon learning, and merit, and perhaps on that account, reputed to have great skill in necromancy, and Margery Jourdemain, commonly called The Witch of Eye, were tried as her accomplices, and condemned, the woman to be burnt, the others to be drawn, hanged, and quartered at Tyburn[2]. This hellish contrivance against the wife of the duke of Gloucester, was meant to shake the influence of her husband, which in reality it did, as ignorance and credulity cooperated with his enemies to destroy him. He was arrested for high treason, a charge which could not be supported, and that his enemies might have no further trouble with him, cardinal Beaufort hired assassins to murder him. The poet acknowledges the hints he has taken from the Second Part of Shakespear’s Henry VI, and in some scenes has copied several lines from him. In the last scene, that pathetic speech of Eleanor’s to Cardinal Beaufort when he was dying in the agonies of remorse and despair, is literally borrowed.
WARWICK
See how the pangs of death work in his features.
YORK
Disturb him not–let him pass peaceably.
ELEANOR
Lord Cardinal;–if thou think’st of Heaven’s bliss Hold up thy hand;–make signal of that hope. He dies;–and makes no sign!–
In praise of this tragedy, Mr. Welsted has prefixed a very elegant copy of verses.
Mr. Philips by a way of writing very peculiar, procured to himself the name of Namby Pamby. This was first bestowed on him by Harry Cary, who burlesqued some little pieces of his, in so humorous a manner, that for a long while, Harry’s burlesque, passed for Swift’s with many; and by others were given to Pope: ‘Tis certain, each at first, took it for the other’s composition.
In ridicule of this manner, the ingenious Hawkins Brown, Esq; now a Member of Parliament, in his excellent burlesque piece called The Pipe of Tobacco, has written an imitation, in which the resemblance is so great, as not to be distinguished from the original. This gentleman has burlesqued the following eminent authors, by such a close imitation of their turn of verse, that it has not the appearance of a copy, but an original.
SWIFT,
POPE,
THOMSON,
YOUNG,
PHILIPS,
CIBBER.
As a specimen of the delicacy of our author’s turn of verification, we shall present the reader with his translation of the following beautiful Ode of Sappho.
Hymn to Venus
1.
O Venus, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gayly false, in gentle smiles,
Full of love, perplexing wiles;
O Goddess! from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.
2.
If ever thou hast kindly heard
A song in soft distress preferr’d, Propitious to my tuneful vow,
O gentle goddess! hear me now.
Descend, thou bright immortal guest! In all thy radiant charms confess’d.
3.
Thou once did leave almighty Jove,
And all the golden roofs above;
The carr thy wanton sparrows drew, Hov’ring in air, they lightly flew;
As to my bower they wing’d their way, I saw their quiv’ring pinions play.
4.
The birds dismiss’d (while you remain) Bore back their empty car again;
Then you, with looks divinely mild, In ev’ry heav’nly feature smil’d,
And ask’d what new complaints I made, And why I call’d you to my aid?
5.
What frenzy in my bosom rag’d,
And by what cure to be asswag’d?
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure?
Who does thy tender heart subdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who!
6.
Tho’ now he shuns my longing arms,
He soon shall court thy slighted charms; Tho’ now thy off’rings he despise,
He soon to thee shall sacrifice;
Tho’ now he freeze, he soon shall burn, And be thy victim in his turn.
7.
Celestial visitant once more,
Thy needful presence I implore.
In pity come, and ease my grief,
Bring my distemper’d soul relief,
Favour thy suppliant’s hidden fires, And give me all my heart’s desires.
There is another beautiful ode by the same Grecian poetess, rendered into English by Mr. Philips with inexpressible delicacy, quoted in the Spectator, vol. iii,. No. 229.
1.
Blest, as th’immortal Gods is he
The youth who fondly fits by thee, And hears, and sees thee all the while
Softly speak, and sweetly smile.
2.
‘Twas this depriv’d my soul of rest, And raised such tumults in my breast;
For while I gaz’d, in transport tost, My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
3.
My bosom glow’d; the subtle flame
Ran quick thro’ all my vital frame, O’er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
4.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill’d; My blood with gentle horrors thrill’d;
My feeble pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sunk, and died away.
Mr. Philips having purchased an annuity of 400 l. per annum, for his life, came over to England sometime in the year 1748: But had not his health; and died soon after at his lodgings near Vauxhall.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Vide the ACTOR.
[2] See Cart’s History of England, Reign of Henry VI.
* * * * *
RICHARD MAITLAND, EARL OF LAUDERDALE
This learned nobleman was nephew to John, the great duke of Lauderdale, who was secretary of state to King Charles II for Scotch affairs, and for many years had the government of that kingdom entirely entrusted to him. Whoever is acquainted with history will be at no loss to know, with how little moderation he exercised his power; he ruled his native country with a rod of iron, and was the author of all those disturbances and persecutions which have stained the Annals of Scotland, during that inglorious period.
As the duke of Lauderdale was without issue-male of his own body, he took our author into his protection as his immediate heir, and ordered him to be educated in such a manner as to qualify him for the possession of those great employments his ancestors enjoyed in the state. The improvement of this young nobleman so far exceeded his years, that he was very early admitted into the privy council, and made lord justice clerk, anno 1681. He married the daughter of the earl of Argyle, who was tried for sedition in the state, and confined in the castle of Edinburgh. When Argyle found his fate approaching, he meditated, and effected his escape; and some letters of his being intercepted and decyphered, which had been written to the earl of Lauderdale, his lordship fell under a cloud, and was stript of his preferments. These letters were only of a familiar nature, and contained nothing but domestic business; but a correspondence with a person condemned, was esteemed a sin in politics not to be forgiven, especially by a man of the Duke of York’s furious disposition.
Though the duke of Lauderdale had ordered our author to be educated as his heir, yet he left all his personal estate, which was very great, to another, the young nobleman having, by some means, disobliged him; and as he was of an ungovernable implacable temper, could never again recover his favour[1]. Though the earl of Lauderdale was thus removed from his places by the court, yet he persisted in his loyalty to the Royal Family, and, upon the revolution, followed the fortune of King James II, and some years after died in France, leaving no surviving issue, so that the titles devolved on his younger brother.
While the earl was in exile with his Royal master, he applied his mind to the delights of poetry, and, in his leisure hours, compleated a translation of Virgil’s works. Mr. Dryden, in his dedication of the Aeneis, thus mentions it; ‘The late earl of Lauderdale, says he, sent me over his new translation of the Aeneis, which he had ended before I engaged in the same design. Neither did I then intend it, but some proposals being afterwards made me by my Bookseller, I desired his lordship’s leave that I might accept them, which he freely granted, and I have his letter to shew for that permission. He resolved to have printed his work, which he might have done two years before I could have published mine; and had performed it, if death had not prevented him. But having his manuscript in my hands, I consulted it as often as I doubted of my author’s sense; for no man understood Virgil better than that learned nobleman. His friends have yet another, and more correct copy of that translation by them, which if they had pleased to have given the public, the judges might have been convinced that I have not flattered him.’
Lord Lauderdale’s friends, some years after the publication of Dryden’s Translation, permitted his lordship’s to be printed, and, in the late editions of that performance, those lines are marked with inverted commas, which Dryden thought proper to adopt into his version, which are not many; and however closely his lordship may have rendered Virgil, no man can conceive a high opinion of that poet, contemplated through the medium of his Translation.
Dr. Trapp, in his preface to the Aeneis, observes, ‘that his lordship’s Translation is pretty near to the original, though not so close as its brevity would make one imagine; and it sufficiently appears, that he had a right taste in poetry in general, and the Aeneid in particular. He shews a true spirit, and, in many places, is very beautiful. But we should certainly have seen Virgil far better translated, by a noble hand, had the earl of Lauderdale been the earl of Roscommon, and had the Scottish peer followed all the precepts, and been animated with the genius of the Irish.’
We know of no other poetical compositions of this learned nobleman, and the idea we have received from history of his character, is, that he was in every respect the reverse of his uncle, from whence we may reasonably conclude, that he possessed many virtues, since few statesmen of any age ever were tainted with more vices than the duke of Lauderdale.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Crawford’s Peerage of Scotland.
* * * * *
DR. JOSEPH TRAPP
This poet was second son to the rev. Mr. Joseph Trapp, rector of Cherington in Gloucestershire, at which place he was born, anno 1679. He received the first rudiments of learning from his father, who instructed him in the languages, and superintended his domestic education. When he was ready for the university he was sent to Oxford, and was many years scholar and fellow of Wadham College, where he took the degree of master of arts. In the year 1708 he was unanimously chosen professor of poetry, being the first of that kind. This institution was founded by Dr. Henry Birkhead, formerly fellow of All-Souls, and the place of lecturer can be held only for ten years.
Dr. Trapp was, in the early part of his life, chaplain to lord Bolingbroke, the father of the famous Bolingbroke, lately deceased. The highest preferment Dr. Trapp ever had in the church, though he was a man of extensive learning, was, the rectory of Harlington, Middlesex, and of the united parishes of Christ-Church, Newgate Street, and St. Leonard’s Foster-Lane, with the lectureship of St. Lawrence Jewry, and St. Martin’s in the Fields. The Dr’s principles were not of that cast, by which promotion could be expected. He was attached to the High-Church interest, and as his temper was not sufficiently pliant to yield to the prevalence of party, perhaps for that very reason, his rising in the church was retarded. A gentleman of learning and genius, when paying a visit to the Dr. took occasion to lament, as there had been lately some considerable alterations made, and men less qualified than he, raised to the mitre, that distinctions should be conferred with so little regard to merit, and wondered that he (the Dr.) had never been promoted to a see. To this the Dr. replied, ‘I am thought to have some learning, and some honesty, and these are but indifferent qualifications to enable a man to rise in the church.’
Dr. Trapp’s action in the pulpit has been censured by many, as participating too much of the theatrical manner, and having more the air of an itinerant enthusiast, than a grave ecclesiastic. Perhaps it may be true, that his pulpit gesticulations were too violent, yet they bore strong expressions of sincerity, and the side on which he erred, was the most favourable to the audience; as the extreme of over-acting any part, is not half so intolerable as a languid indifference, whether what the preacher is then uttering, is true or false, is worth attention or no. The Dr. being once in company with a person, whose profession was that of a player, took occasion to ask him, ‘what was the reason that an actor seemed to feel his part with so much sincerity, and utter it with so much emphasis and spirit, while a preacher, whose profession is of a higher nature, and whose doctrines are of the last importance, remained unaffected, even upon the most solemn occasion, while he stood in the pulpit as the ambassador of God, to teach righteousness to the people?’ the player replied, ‘I believe no other reason can be given, sir, but that we are sincere in our parts, and the preachers are insincere in theirs.’ The Dr. could not but acknowledge the truth of this observation in general, and was often heard to complain of the coldness and unaffected indifference of his brethren in those very points, in which it is their business to be sincere and vehement. Would you move your audience, says an ancient sage, you must yourself be moved; and it is a proposition which holds universally true. Dr. Trapp was of opinion, that the highest doctrines of religion were to be considered as infallibly true, and that it was of more importance to impress them strongly on the minds of the audience, to speak to their hearts, and affect their passions, than to bewilder them in disputation, and lead them through labyrinths of controversy, which can yield, perhaps, but little instruction, can never tend to refine the passions, or elevate the mind. Being of this opinion, and from a strong desire of doing good, Dr. Trapp exerted himself in the pulpit, and strove not only to convince the judgment, but to warm the heart, for if passions are the elements of life, they ought to be devoted to the service of religion, as well as the other faculties, and powers of the soul.
But preaching was not the only method by which, this worthy man promoted the interest of religion; he drew the muses into her service, and that he might work upon the hopes and fears of his readers, he has presented them with four poems, on these important subjects; _Death, Judgment, Heaven_, and _Hell._ The reason of his making choice of those themes on which to write, he very fully explains in his preface. He observes, that however dull, and trite it may be to declaim against the corruption of the age one lives in, yet he presumes it will be allowed by every body, that all manner of wickedness, both in principles and practice, abounds amongst men. ‘I have lived (says he) in six reigns, but for about these twenty years last past, the English nation has been, and is so prodigiously debauched, its very nature and genius so changed, that I scarce know it to be the English nation, and am almost a foreigner in my own country. Not only barefaced, impudent, immorality of all kinds, but often professed infidelity and atheism. To slop these overflowings of ungodliness, much has been done in prose, yet not so as to supersede all other endeavours: and therefore the author of these poems was willing to try, whether any good might be done in verse. This manner of conveyance may, perhaps, have some advantage, which the other has not; at least it makes variety, which is something considerable. The four last things are manifestly subjects of the utmost importance. If due reflexions upon Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, will not reclaim men from their vices, nothing will. This little work was intended for the use of all, from the greatest to the least. But as it would have been intolerably flat, and insipid to the former, had it been wholly written in a stile level to the capacities of the latter; to obviate inconveniences on both sides, an attempt has been made to entertain the upper class of readers, and, by notes, to explain such passages in divinity, philosophy, history, &c. as might be difficult to the lower. The work (if it may be so called) being partly argumentative, and partly descriptive, it would have been ridiculous, had it been possible to make the first mentioned as poetical as the other. In long pieces of music there is the plain recitativo, as well as the higher, and more musical modulation, and they mutually recommend, and set off each other. But about these matters the writer is little sollicitous, and otherwise, than as they are subservient to the design of doing good.’
A good man would naturally wish, that such generous attempts, in the cause of virtue, were always successful. With the lower class of readers, it is more than probably that these poems may have inspired religious thoughts, have awaked a solemn dread of punishment, kindled a sacred hope of happiness, and fitted the mind for the four last important period[1]; But with readers of a higher taste, they can have but little effect. There is no doctrine placed in a new light, no descriptions are sufficiently emphatical to work upon a sensible mind, and the perpetual flatness of the poetry is very disgustful to a critical reader, especially, as there were so many occasions of rising to an elevated sublimity.
The Dr. has likewise written a Paraphrase on the 104th Psalm, which, though much superior in poetry to his Four Last Things, yet falls greatly short of that excellent version by Mr. Blacklocke, quoted in the Life of Dr. Brady.
Our author has likewise published four volumes of sermons, and a volume of lectures on poetry, written in Latin.
Before we mention his other poetical compositions, we shall consider him as the translator of Virgil, which is the most arduous province he ever undertook. Dr. Trapp, in his preface, after stating the controversy, which has been long held, concerning the genius of Homer and Virgil, to whom the superiority belongs, has informed us, that this work was very far advanced before it was undertaken, having been, for many years, the diversion of his leisure hours at the university, and grew upon him, by insensible degrees, so that a great part of the Aeneis was actually translated, before he had any design of attempting the whole.
He further informs us, ‘that one of the greatest geniuses, and best judges, and critics, our age has produced, Mr. Smith of Christ Church, having seen the first two or three hundred lines of this translation, advised him by all means to go through with it. I said, he laughed at me, replied the Dr. and that I should be the most impudent of mortals to have such a thought. He told me, he was very much in earnest; and asked me why the whole might not be done, in so many years, as well as such a number of lines in so many days? which had no influence upon me, nor did I dream of such an undertaking, ’till being honoured by the university of Oxford with the public office of professor of poetry, which I shall ever gratefully acknowledge, I thought it might not be improper for me to review, and finish this work, which otherwise had certainly been as much neglected by me, as, perhaps, it will now be by every body else.’
As our author has made choice of blank verse, rather than rhime, in order to bear a nearer resemblance to Virgil, he has endeavoured to defend blank verse, against the advocates for rhime, and shew its superiority for any work of length, as it gives the expression a greater compass, or, at least, does not clog and fetter the verse, by which the substance and meaning of a line must often be mutilated, twisted, and sometimes sacrificed for the sake of the rhime.
‘Blank verse (says he) is not only more majestic and sublime, but more musical and harmonious. It has more rhime in it, according to the ancient, and true sense of the word, than rhime itself, as it is now used: for, in its original signification, it consists not in the tinkling of vowels and consonants, but in the metrical disposition of words and syllables, and the proper cadence of numbers, which is more agreeable to the ear, without the jingling of like endings, than with it. And, indeed, let a man consult his own ears.
Him th’Almighty pow’r
Hurl’d headlong, flaming from the aetherial sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition; there to dwell In adamantine chains, and penal fire;
Who durst defy th’Omnipotent to arms. Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquish’d, rowling in the fiery gulph, Confounded, tho’ immortal
Who that hears this, can think it wants rhime to recommend it? or rather does not think it sounds far better without it? We purposely produced a citation, beginning and ending in the middle of a verse, because the privilege of resting on this, or that foot, sometimes one, and sometimes another, and so diversifying the pauses and cadences, is the greatest beauty of blank verse, and perfectly agreeable to the practice of our masters, the Greeks and Romans. This can be done but rarely in rhime; for if it were frequent, the rhime would be in a manner lost by it; the end of almost every verse must be something of a pause; and it is but seldom that a sentence begins in the middle. Though this seems to be the advantage of blank verse over rhime, yet we cannot entirely condemn the use of it, even in a heroic poem; nor absolutely reject that in speculation, which. Mr. Dryden and Mr. Pope have enobled by their practice. We acknowledge too, that in some particular views, what way of writing has the advantage over this. You may pick out mere lines, which, singly considered, look mean and low, from a poem in blank verse, than from one in rhime, supposing them to be in other respects equal. For instance, the following verses out of Milton’s Paradise Lost, b. ii.
Of Heav’n were falling, and these elements– Instinct with fire, and nitre hurried him–
taken singly, look low and mean: but read them in conjunction with others, and then see what a different face will be set upon them.
–Or less than of this frame
Of Heav’n were falling, and these elements In mutiny had from her axle torn
The stedfast earth. As last his sail-broad vans He spreads for flight; and in the surging smoke Uplifted spurns the ground–
–Had not by ill chance
The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him As many miles aloft. That fury stay’d;
Quench’d in a boggy syrtis, neither sea, Nor good dry land: night founder’d on he fares, Treading the crude consistence.
Our author has endeavoured to justify his choice of blank verse, by shewing it less subject to restraints, and capable of greater sublimity than rhime. But tho’ this observation may hold true, with respect to elevated and grand subjects, blank verse is by no means capable of so great universality. In satire, in elegy, or in pastoral writing, our language is, it seems, so feebly constituted, as to stand in need of the aid of rhime; and as a proof of this, the reader need only look upon the pastorals of Virgil, as translated by Trapp in blank verse, and compare them with Dryden’s in rhime. He will then discern how insipid and fiat the pastorals of the same poet are in one kind of verification, and how excellent and beautiful in another. Let us give one short example to illustrate the truth of this, from the first pastoral of Virgil.
MELIBAEUS.
Beneath the covert of the spreading beech Thou, Tityrus, repos’d, art warbling o’er, Upon a slender reed, thy sylvan lays:
We leave our country, and sweet native fields; We fly our country: careless in the shade, Thou teachest, Tityrus, the sounding groves To eccho beauteous Amaryllis’ name.
TITYRUS.
O Melibaeus, ’twas a god to us
Indulged this freedom: for to me a god He shall be ever: from my folds full oft A tender lamb his altar shall embrue:
He gave my heifers, as thou seest, to roam; And me permitted on my rural cane
To sport at pleasure, and enjoy my muse,
TRAPP.
MELIBAEUS.
Beneath the shade which beechen-boughs diffuse, You, Tityrus, entertain your Silvan muse: Round the wide world in banishment we roam, Forc’d from our pleasing fields, and native home: While stretch’d at ease you sing your happy loves: And Amaryllis fills the shady groves.
TITYRUS.
These blessings, friend, a deity bestow’d: For never can I deem him less than God. The tender firstlings of my woolly breed Shall on his holy altar often bleed.
He gave my kine to graze the flowry plain: And to my pipe renew’d the rural strain.
DRYDEN.
Dr. Trapp towards the conclusion of his Preface to the Aeneid, has treated Dryden with less reverence, than might have been expected from a man of his understanding, when speaking of so great a genius. The cause of Trapp’s disgust to Dryden, seems to have been this: Dryden had a strong contempt for the priesthood, which we have from his own words,
“Priests of all professions are the same.”
and takes every opportunity to mortify the usurping superiority of spiritual tyrants. Trapp, with all his virtues (for I think it appears he possessed many) had yet much of the priest in him, and for that very reason, perhaps, has shewn some resentment to Dryden; but if he has with little candour of criticism treated Mr. Dryden, he has with great servility flattered Mr. Pope; and has insinuated, as if the Palm of Genius were to be yielded to the latter. He observes in general, that where Mr. Dryden shines most, we often see the least of Virgil. To omit many other instances, the description of the Cyclops forging Thunder for Jupiter, and Armour for Aeneas, is elegant and noble to the last degree in the Latin; and it is so to a great degree in the English. But then is the English a translation of the Latin?
Hither the father of the fire by night, Thro’ the brown air precipitates his flight: On their eternal anvil, here he found
The brethren beating, and the blows go round.
The lines are good, and truely poetical; but the two first are set to render
Hoc tunc ignipotens caelo descendit ab alto.
There is nothing of _caelo ab alto_ in the version; nor by _night, brown air_, or _precipitates his sight_, in the original. The two last are put in the room of
Ferrum exercebant vasto Cylopes in antro, Brontesque, Steropesque, & nudus membra Pyraemon.
Vasto in antro, in the first of these lines, and the last line is entirely left out in the translation. Nor is there any thing of eternal anvils, or _hers he found_, in the original, and the brethren beating, and the blows go round, is but a loose version of _Ferrum exercebant._ Dr. Trapp has allowed, however, that though Mr. Dryden is often distant from the original, yet he sometimes rises to a more excellent height, by throwing out implied graces, which none but so great a poet was capable of. Thus in the 12th book, after the last speech of Saturn,
Tantum effata, caput glauco contexit amictu, Multa gemens, & se fluvio Dea condidit also.
She drew a length of sighs, no more she said, But with an azure mantle wrapp’d her head; Then plunged into her stream with deep despair, _And her last sobs came bubbling up in air_.
Though the last line is not expressed in the original, it is yet in some measure implied, and it is in itself so exceedingly beautiful, that the whole passage can never be too much admired. These are excellencies indeed; this is truly Mr. Dryden. The power of truth, no doubt, extorted this confession from the Dr. and notwithstanding many objections may be brought against this performance of Dryden, yet we believe most of our poetical readers upon perusing it, will be of the opinion of Pope, ‘that, excepting a few human errors, it is the noblest and most spirited translation in any language.’ To whom it may reasonable be asked, has Virgil been most obliged? to Dr. Trapp who has followed his footsteps in every line; has shewn you indeed the design, the characters, contexture, and moral of the poem, that is, has given you Virgil’s account of the actions of AEneas, or to Mr. Dryden, who has not only conveyed the general ideas of his author, but has conveyed them with the same majesty and fire, has led you through every battle with trepidation, has soothed you in the tender scenes, and inchanted you with the flowers of poetry? Virgil contemplated thro’ the medium of Trapp, appears an accurate writer, and the Aeneid as well conducted fable, but discerned in Dryden’s page, he glows as with fire from heaven, and the Aeneid is a continued series of whatever is great, elegant, pathetic, and sublime.
We have already observed, in the Life of Dryden, that it is easier to discern wherein the beauties of poetical composition consist, than to throw out those beauties. Dr. Trapp, in his Praelectiones Poeticae, has shewn how much he was master of every species of poetry; that is, how excellently he understood the structure of a poem; what noble rules he was capable of laying down, and what excellent materials he could afford, for building upon such a foundation, a beautiful fabric. There are few better criticisms in any language, Dryden’s dedications and prefaces excepted, than are contained in these lectures. The mind is enlarged by them, takes in a wide range of poetical ideas, and is taught to discover how many amazing requisites are necessary to form a poet. In his introduction to the first lecture, he takes occasion to state a comparison between poetry and painting, and shew how small pretensions the professors of the latter have, to compare themselves with the former. ‘The painter indeed (says he) has to do with the passions, but then they are such passions only, as discover themselves in the countenance; but the poet is to do more, he is to trace the rise of those passions, to watch their gradations, to pain their progress, and mark them in the heart in their genuine conflicts; and, continues he, the disproportion between the soul and the body, is not greater than the disproportion between the painter and the poet.
Dr. Trapp is author of a tragedy called Abramule, or Love and Empire, acted at the New Theatre at Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields, 1704, dedicated to the Right Honourable the Lady Harriot Godolphin. Scene Constantinople. The story is built upon the dethronement of Mahomet IV.
Our author has likewise written a piece called The Church of England Defended against the False Reasoning of the Church of Rome. Several occasional poems were written by him in English; and there is one Latin poem of his in the Musae Anglicanae. He has translated the Paradise Lost into Latin Verse, with little success, and, as he published it at his own risk, he was a considerable loser. The capital blemish of that work, is, the unharmonious versification, which gives perpetual offence to the ear, neither is the language universally pure.
He died in the month of November 1747, and left behind him the character of a pathetic and instructive preacher, a profound scholar, a discerning critic, a benevolent gentleman, and a pious Christian.
We shall conclude the life of Dr. Trapp with the following verses of Mr. Layng, which are expressive of the Dr’s. character as a critic and a poet. The author, after applauding Dryden’s version, proceeds thus in favour of Trapp.
Behind we see a younger bard arise,
No vulgar rival in the grand emprize. Hail! learned Trapp! upon whose brow we find The poet’s bays, and critic’s ivy join’d. Blest saint! to all that’s virtuous ever dear, Thy recent fate demands a friendly tear. None was more vers’d in all the Roman store, Or the wide circle of the Grecian lore, Less happy, from the world recluse too long, In all the sweeter ornaments of song;
Intent to teach, too careless how to please, He boasts in strength, whate’er he wants in ease.
FOOTNOTE
[1] By his last Will he ordered a copy of that book to be given to each of his parishioners, that when he could no longer speak to them from the pulpit, he might endeavour to instruct them in his writings.
* * * * *
MR. SAMUEL BOYSE.
This Poet was the son of the Revd. Mr. Joseph Boyse, a Dissenting minister of great eminence in Dublin. Our author’s father was a person so much respected by those immediately under his ministerial care, and whoever else had the happiness of his acquaintance, that people of all denominations united in esteeming him, not only for his learning and abilities, but his extensive humanity and undisembled piety.
The Revd. Gentleman had so much dignity in his manner, that he obtained from the common people the name of bishop Boyse, meant as a compliment to the gracefulness of his person and mien. But though Mr. Boyse was thus reverenced by the multitude, and courted by people of fashion, he never contracted the least air of superciliousness: He was humane and affable in his temper, equally removed from the stiffness of pedantry, and offensive levity. During his ministerial charge at Dublin, he published many sermons, which compose several folio volumes, a few Poems and other Tracts; but what chiefly distinguished him as a writer, was the controversy he carried on with Dr. King, archbishop of Dublin, and author of the Origin of Evil, concerning the office of a scriptural bishop. This controverted point was managed on both sides with great force of argument, and calmness of temper. The bishop asserted that the episcopal right of jurisdiction had its foundation in the New-Testament: Mr. Boyse, consistent with his principles, denied that any ecclesiastical superiority appeared there; and in the opinion of many, Mr. Boyse was more than equal to his antagonist, whom he treated in the course of the controversy, with the greatest candour and good-manners.
It has been reported that Mr. Boyse had two brothers, one a clergyman of the church of England, and the other a cardinal at Rome; but of this circumstance we have no absolute certainty: Be it as it may, he had, however, no brother so much distinguished in the world as himself.
We shall now enter upon the life of our poet, who will appear while we trace it, to have been in every respect the reverse of his father, genius excepted.–
He was born in the year 1708, and received the rudiments of his education in a private school in Dublin. When he was but eighteen years old, his father, who probably intended him for the ministry, sent him to the university of Glasgow, that he might finish his education there. He had not been a year at the university, till he fell in love with one Miss Atchenson, the daughter of a tradesman in that city, and was imprudent enough to interrupt his education, by marrying her, before he had entered into his 20th year.
The natural extravagance of his temper soon exposed him to want, and as he had now the additional charge of a wife, his reduced circumstances obliged him to quit the university, and go over with his wife (who also carried a sister with her) to Dublin; where they relied upon the old gentleman for support. His behaviour in this dependent state, was the very reverse of what it should have been. In place of directing his studies to some useful acquisition, so as to support himself and family, he spent his time in the most abject trifling, and drew many heavy expences upon his father, who had no other means of supporting himself than what his congregation afforded, and a small estate of fourscore pounds a year in Yorkshire.
Considerations of prudence never entered into the heart of this unhappy young roan, who ran from one excess to another, till an indulgent parent was reduced by his means to very great embarrassments. Young Boyse was of all men the farthest removed from a gentleman; he had no graces of person, and fewer still of conversation. To this cause it was perhaps owing, that his wife, naturally of a very volatile sprightly temper, either grew tired of him, or became enamour’d of variety. It was however abundantly certain, that she pursued intrigues with other men; and what is still more surprising, not without the knowledge of her husband, who had either too abject a spirit to resent it; or was bribed by some lucrative advantage, to which, he had a mind mean enough to stoop. Though never were three people of more libertine characters than young Boyse, his wife, and sister-in-law; yet the two ladies wore such a mask of decency before the old gentleman, that his fondness was never abated. He hoped that time and experience would recover his son from his courses of extravagance; and as he was of an unsuspecting temper, he had not the least jealousy of the real conduct of his daughter-in-law, who grew every day in his favour, and continued to blind him, by the seeming decency of her behaviour, and a performance of those acts of piety, he naturally expected from her. But the old gentleman was deceived in his hopes, for time made no alteration in his son. The estate his father possessed in Yorkshire was sold to discharge his debts; and when the old man lay in his last sickness, he was entirely supported by presents from his congregation, and buried at their expence.
We have no farther account of Mr. Boyse, till we find him soon after his father’s death at Edinburgh; but from what motives he went there we cannot now discover. At this place his poetical genius raised him many friends, and some patrons of very great eminence. He published a volume of poems in 1731, to which is subjoined The Tablature of Cebes, and a Letter upon Liberty, inserted in the Dublin Journal 1726; and by these he obtained a very great reputation. They are addressed to the countess of Eglington, a lady of distinguished excellencies, and so much celebrated for her beauty, that it would be difficult for the best panegyrist to be too lavish in her praise. This amiable lady was patroness of all men of wit, and very much distinguished Mr. Boyse, while he resided in that country. She was not however exempt from the lot of humanity, and her conspicuous accomplishments were yet chequered with failings: The chief of which was too high a consciousness of her own charms, which inspired a vanity that sometimes betrayed her into errors.
The following short anecdote was frequently related by Mr. Boyse. The countess one day came into the bed chamber of her youngest daughter, then about 13 years old, while she was dressing at her toilet. The countess observing the assiduity with which the young lady wanted to set off her person to the best advantage, asked her, what she would give to be ‘as handsome as her mamma?’ To which Miss replied; ‘As much as your ladyship would give to be as young as me.’ This smart repartee which was at once pungent and witty, very sensibly affected the countess; who for the future was less lavish in praise of her own charms.–
Upon the death of the viscountess Stormont, Mr. Boyse wrote an Elegy, which was very much applauded by her ladyship’s relations. This Elegy he intitled, The Tears of the Muses, as the deceased lady was a woman of the most refined taste in the sciences, and a great admirer of poetry. The lord Stormont was so much pleased with this mark of esteem paid to the memory of his lady, that he ordered a very handsome present to be given to Mr. Boyse, by his attorney at Edinburgh.
Though Mr. Boyse’s name was very well known in that city, yet his person was obscure; for as he was altogether unsocial in his temper, he had but few acquaintances, and those of a cast much inferior to himself, and with whom he ought to have been ashamed to associate. It was some time before he could be found out; and lord Stormont’s kind intentions had been defeated, if an advertisement had not been published in one of their weekly papers, desiring the author of the Tears of the Muses to call at the house of the attorney[1].
The personal obscurity of Mr. Boyse might perhaps not be altogether owing to his habits of gloominess and retirement. Nothing is more difficult in that city, than to make acquaintances; There are no places where people meet and converse promiscuously: There is a reservedness and gravity in the manner of the inhabitants, which makes a stranger averse to approach them. They naturally love solitude; and are very slow in contracting friendships. They are generous; but it is with a bad grace. They are strangers to affability, and they maintain a haughtiness and an apparent indifference, which deters a man from courting them. They may be said to be hospitable, but not complaisant to strangers: Insincerity and cruelty have no existence amongst them; but if they ought not to be hated, they can never be much loved, for they are incapable of insinuation, and their ignorance of the world makes them unfit for entertaining sensible strangers. They are public-spirited, but torn to pieces by factions. A gloominess in religion renders one part of them very barbarous, and an enthusiasm in politics so transports the genteeler part, that they sacrifice to party almost every consideration of tenderness. Among such a people, a man may long live, little known, and less instructed; for their reservedness renders them uncommunicative, and their excessive haughtiness prevents them from being solicitous of knowledge.
The Scots are far from being a dull nation; they are lovers of pomp and shew; but then there is an eternal stiffness, a kind of affected dignity, which spoils their pleasures. Hence we have the less reason to wonder that Boyse lived obscurely at Edinburgh. His extreme carelesness about his dress was a circumstance very inauspicious to a man who lives in that city. They are such lovers of this kind of decorum, that they will admit of no infringement upon it; and were a man with more wit than Pope, and more philosophy than Newton, to appear at their market place negligent in his apparel, he would be avoided by his acquaintances who would rather risk his displeasure, than the censure of the public, which would not fail to stigmatize them, for assocciating with a man seemingly poor; for they measure poverty, and riches, understanding, or its opposite, by exterior appearance. They have many virtues, but their not being polished prevents them from shining.
The notice which Lady Eglington and the lord Stormont took of our poet, recommended him likewise to the patronage of the dutchess of Gordon, who was a lady not only distinguished for her taste; but cultivated a correspondence with some of the most eminent poets then living. The dutchess was so zealous in Mr. Boyse’s affairs, and so felicitous to raise him above necessity, that she employed her interest in procuring the promise of a place for him. She gave him a letter, which he was next day to deliver to one of the commissioners of the customs at Edinburgh. It happened that he was then some miles distant from the city, and the morning on which he was to have rode to town with her grace’s letter of recommendation proved to be rainy. This slender circumstance was enough to discourage Boyse, who never looked beyond the present moment: He declined going to town on account of the rainy weather, and while he let slip the opportunity, the place was bestowed upon another, which the commissioner declared he kept for some time vacant, in expectation of seeing a person recommended by the dutchess of Gordon.
Of a man of this indolence of temper, this sluggish meanness of spirit, the reader cannot be surprised to find the future conduct consist of a continued serious of blunders, for he who had not spirit to prosecute an advantage put in his hands, will neither bear distress with fortitude, nor struggle to surmount it with resolution.
Boyse at last, having defeated all the kind intentions of his patrons towards him, fell into a contempt and poverty, which obliged him to quit Edinburgh, as his creditors began to sollicit the payment of their debts, with an earnestness not to be trifled with. He communicated his design of going to London to the dutchess of Gordon; who having still a very high opinion of his poetical abilities, gave him a letter of recommendation to Mr. Pope, and obtained another for him to Sir Peter King, the lord chancellor of England. Lord Stormont recommended him to the sollicitor-general his brother, and many other persons of the first fashion.
Upon receiving these letters, he, with great caution, quitted Edinburgh, regretted by none but his creditors, who were so exaggerated as to threaten to prosecute him wherever he should be found. But these menaces were never carried into execution, perhaps from the consideration of his indigence, which afforded no probable prospect of their being paid.
Upon his arrival in London, he went to Twickenham, in order to deliver the dutchess of Gordon’s letter to Mr. Pope; but that gentleman not being at home, Mr. Boyse never gave himself the trouble to repeat his visit, nor in all probability would Pope have been over-fond of him; as there was nothing in his conversation which any wife indicated the abilities he possessed. He frequently related, that he was graciously received by Sir Peter King, dined at his table, and partook of his pleasures. But this relation, they who knew Mr. Boyse well, never could believe; for he was so abject in his disposition, that he never could look any man in the face whose appearance was better than his own; nor likely had courage to sit at Sir Peter King’s table, where every one was probably his superior. He had no power of maintaining the dignity of wit, and though his understanding was very extensive, yet but a few could discover that he had any genius above the common rank. This want of spirit produced the greatest part of his calamities, because he; knew not how to avoid them by any vigorous effort of his mind. He wrote poems, but those, though excellent in their kind, were lost to the world, by being introduced with no advantage. He had so strong a propension to groveling, that his acquaintance were generally of such a cast, as could be of no service to him; and those in higher life he addressed by letters, not having sufficient confidence or politeness to converse familiarly with them; a freedom to which he was intitled by the power of his genius. Thus unfit to support himself in the world, he was exposed to variety of distress, from which he could invent no means of extricating himself, but by writing mendicant letters. It will appear amazing, but impartiality obliges us to relate it, that this man, of so abject a spirit, was voluptuous and luxurious: He had no taste for any thing elegant, and yet was to the last degree expensive. Can it be believed, that often when he had received half a guinea, in consequence of a supplicating letter, he would go into a tavern, order a supper to be prepared, drink of the richest wines, and spend all the money that had just been given him in charity, without having any one to participate the regale with him, and while his wife and child were starving home? This is an instance of base selfishness, for which no name is as yet invented, and except by another poet[2], with some variation of circumstances, was perhaps never practiced by the most sensual epicure.
He had yet some friends, many of the most eminent dissenters, who from a regard to the memory of his father, afforded him supplies from time to time. Mr. Boyse by perpetual applications, at last exhausted their patience; and they were obliged to abandon a man on whom their liberality was ill bestowed, as it produced no other advantage to him, than a few days support, when he returned again with the same necessities.
The epithet of cold has often been given to charity, perhaps with a great deal of truth; but if any thing can warrant us to withhold our charity, it is the consideration that its purposes are prostituted by those on whom it is bestowed.
We have already taken notice of the infidelity of his wife; and now her circumstances were reduced, her virtue did not improve. She fell into a way of life disgraceful to the sex; nor was his behaviour in any degree more moral. They were frequently covered with ignominy, reproaching one another for the acquisition of a disease, which both deserved, because mutually guilty.
It was about the year 1740, that Mr. Boyse reduced to the last extremity of human wretchedness, had not a shirt, a coat, or any kind of apparel to put on; the sheets in which he lay were carried to the pawnbroker’s, and he was obliged to be confined to bed, with no other covering than a blanket. He had little support but what he got by writing letters to his friends in the most abject stile. He was perhaps ashamed to let this instance of distress be known to his friends, which might be the occasion of his remaining six weeks in that situation. During this time he had some employment in writing verses for the Magazines; and whoever had seen him in his study, must have thought the object singular enough. He sat up in bed with the blanket wrapt about him, through which he had cut a hole large enough to admit his arm, and placing the paper upon his knee, scribbled in the best manner he could the verses he was obliged to make: Whatever he got by those, or any of his begging letters, was but just sufficient for the preservation of life. And perhaps he would have remained much longer in this distressful state, had not a compassionate gentleman, upon hearing this circumstance related, ordered his cloaths to be taken out of pawn, and enabled him to appear again abroad.
This six weeks penance one would imagine sufficient to deter him for the future, from suffering himself to be exposed to such distresses; but by a long habit of want it grew familiar to him, and as he had less delicacy than other men, he was perhaps less afflicted with his exterior meanness. For the future, whenever his distresses so press’d, as to induce him to dispose of his shirt, he fell upon an artificial method of supplying one. He cut some white paper in slips, which he tyed round his wrists, and in the same manner supplied his neck. In this plight he frequently appeared abroad, with the additional inconvenience of want of breeches.
He was once sent for in a hurry, to the house of a printer who had employed him to write a poem for his Magazine: Boyse then was without breeches, or waistcoat, but was yet possessed of a coat, which he threw upon him, and in this ridiculous manner went to the printer’s house; where he found several women, whom his extraordinary appearance obliged immediately to retire.
He fell upon many strange schemes of raising trifling sums: He sometimes ordered his wife to inform people that he was just expiring, and by this artifice work upon their compassion; and many of his friends were frequently surprised to meet the man in the street to day, to whom they had yesterday sent relief, as to a person on the verge of death. At other times he would propose subscriptions for poems, of which only the beginning and conclusion were written; and by this expedient would relieve some present necessity. But as he seldom was able to put any of his poems to the press, his veracity in this particular suffered a diminution; and indeed in almost every other particular he might justly be suspected; for if he could but gratify an immediate appetite, he cared not at what expence, whether of the reputation, or purse of another.
About the year 1745 Mr. Boyse’s wife died. He was then at Reading, and pretended much concern when he heard of her death.
It was an affectation in Mr. Boyse to appear very fond of a little lap dog which he always carried about with him in his arms, imagining it gave him the air of a man of taste. Boyse, whose circumstances were then too mean to put himself in mourning, was yet resolved that some part of his family should. He step’d into a little shop, purchased half a yard of black ribbon, which he fixed round his dog’s neck by way of mourning for the loss of its mistress. But this was not the only ridiculous instance of his behaviour on the death of his wife. Such was the sottishness of this man, that when he was in liquor, he always indulged a dream of his wife’s being still alive, and would talk very spightfully of those by whom he suspected she was entertained. This he never mentioned however, except in his cups, which was only as often as he had money to spend. The manner of his becoming intoxicated was very particular. As he had no spirit to keep good company, so he retired to some obscure ale-house, and regaled himself with hot two-penny, which though he drank in very great quantities, yet he had never more than a pennyworth at a time.–Such a practice rendered him so compleatly sottish, that even his abilities, as an author, became sensibly impaired.
We have already mentioned his being at Reading. His business there was to compile a Review of the most material transactions at home and abroad, during the last war; in which he has included a short account of the late rebellion. For this work by which he got some reputation, he was paid by the sheet, a price sufficient to keep him from starving, and that was all. To such distress must that man be driven, who is destitute of prudence to direct the efforts of his genius. In this work Mr. Boyse discovers how capable he was of the most irksome and laborious employment, when he maintained a power over his appetites, and kept himself free from intemperance.
While he remained at Reading, he addressed, by supplicating letters, two Irish noblemen, lord Kenyston, and lord Kingsland, who resided in Berkshire, and received some money from them; he also met with another gentleman there of a benevolent disposition, who, from the knowledge he had of the father, pitied the distresses of the son, and by his interest with some eminent Dissenters in those parts, railed a sufficient sum to cloath him, for the abjectness of his appearance secluded our poet even from the table of his Printer[3].
Upon his return from Reading, his behaviour was more decent than it had ever been before, and there were some hopes that a reformation, tho’ late, would be wrought upon him. He was employed by a Bookseller to translate Fenelon on the Existence of God, during which time he married a second wife, a woman in low circumstances, but well enough adapted to his taste. He began now to live with more regard to his character, and support a better appearance than usual; but while his circumstances were mending, and his irregular appetites losing ground, his health visibly declined: he had the satisfaction, while in this lingering illness, to observe a poem of his, entitled The Deity, recommended by two eminent writers, the ingenious Mr. Fielding, and the rev. Mr. James Harvey, author of The Meditations. The former, in the beginning of his humorous History of Tom Jones, calls it an excellent poem. Mr. Harvey stiles it a pious and instructive piece; and that worthy gentleman, upon hearing that the author was in necessitous circumstances, deposited two guineas in the hands of a trusty person to be given him, whenever his occasions should press. This poem was written some years before Mr. Harvey or Mr. Fielding took any notice of it, but it was lost to the public, as the reputation of the Bookseller consisted in sending into the world abundance of trifles, amongst which, it was considered as one. Mr. Boyse said, that upon its first publication, a gentleman acquainted with Mr. Pope, took occasion to ask that poet, if he was not the author of it, to which Mr. Pope replied, ‘that he was not the author, but that there were many lines in it, of which he should not be ashamed.’ This Mr. Boyse considered as a very great compliment. The poem indeed abounds with shining lines and elevated sentiments on the several Attributes of the Supreme Being; but then it is without a plan, or any connexion of parts, for it may be read either backwards or forwards, as the reader pleases.
While Mr. Boyse was in this lingering illness, he seemed to have no notion of his approaching end, nor did he expect it, ’till it was almost past the thinking of. His mind, indeed, was often religiously disposed; he frequently talked upon that subject, and, probably suffered a great deal from the remorse of his conscience. The early impressions of his good education were never entirely obliterated, and his whole life was a continued struggle between his will and reason, as he was always violating his duty to the one, while he fell under the subjection of the other. It was in consequence of this war in his mind, that he wrote a beautiful poem called The Recantation.
In the month of May, 1749, he died in obscure lodgings near Shoe-Lane. An old acquaintance of his endeavoured to collect money to defray the expences of his funeral, so that the scandal of being buried by the parish might be avoided. But his endeavours were in vain, for the persons he sollicited, had been so troubled with applications during the life of this unhappy man, that they refused to contribute any thing towards his funeral. The remains of this son of the muses were, with very little ceremony, hurried away by the parish officers, and thrown amongst common beggars; though with this distinction, that the service of the church was performed over his corpse. Never was an exit more shocking, nor a life spent with less grace, than those of Mr. Boyse, and never were such distinguished abilities given to less purpose. His genius was not confined to poetry only, he had a taste for painting, music and heraldry, with the latter of which he was very well acquainted. His poetical pieces, if collected, would make six moderate volumes. Many of them are featured in the Gentleman’s Magazine, marked with the letter Y. and Alceus. Two volumes were published in London, but as they never had any great sale, it will be difficult to find them.
An ode of his in the manner of Spenser, entitled The Olive, was addressed to Sir Robert Walpole, which procured him a present of ten guineas. He translated a poem from the High Dutch of Van Haren, in praise of peace, upon the conclusion of that made at Aix la Chapelle; but the poem which procured him the greatest reputation, was, that upon the Attributes of the Deity, of which we have already taken notice. He was employed by Mr. Ogle to translate some of Chaucer’s Tales into modern English, which he performed with great spirit, and received at the rate of three pence a line for his trouble. Mr. Ogle published a complete edition of that old poet’s Canterbury Tales Modernized; and Mr. Boyse’s name is put to such Tales as were done by him. It had often been urged to Mr. Boyse to turn his thoughts towards the drama, as that was the most profitable kind of poetical writing, and as many a poet of inferior genius to him has raised large contributions on the public by the success of their plays. But Boyse never seemed to relish this proposal, perhaps from a consciousness that he had not spirit to prosecute the arduous task of introducing it on the stage; or that he thought himself unequal to the task.
In the year 1743 Mr. Boyse published without his name, an Ode on the battle of Dettingen, entitled Albion’s Triumph; some Stanza’s of which we shall give as a specimen of Mr. Boyse’s poetry.
STANZA’s from ALBION’s Triumph.
XIII.
But how, blest sovereign! shall th’unpractis’d muse These recent honours of thy reign rehearse! How to thy virtues turn her dazzled views, Or consecrate thy deeds in equal verse! Amidst the field of horrors wide display’d, How paint the calm[4] that smil’d upon, thy brow! Or speak that thought which every part surveyed, ‘Directing where the rage of war should glow:'[5] While watchful angels hover’d round thy head, And victory on high the palm of glory spread.
XIV.
Nor royal youth reject the artless praise, Which due to worth like thine the Muse bestows, Who with prophetic extasy surveys
These early wreaths of fame adorn thy brows. Aspire like Nassau in the glorious strife, Keep thy great fires’ examples full in eye; But oh! for Britain’s sake, consult a life The noblest triumphs are too mean to buy; And while you purchase glory–bear in mind, A prince’s truest fame is to protect mankind.
XV.
Alike in arts and arms acknowledg’d great, Let Stair accept the lays he once could own! Nor Carteret, thou the column of the state! The friend of science! on the labour frown! Nor shall, unjust to foreign worth, the Muse In silence Austria’s valiant chiefs conceal; While Aremberg’s heroic line she views, And Neiperg’s conduct strikes even envy pale: Names Gallia yet shall further learn to fear, And Britain, grateful still, shall treasure up as dear!
XIX.
But oh! acknowledg’d victor in the field, What thanks, dread sovereign, shall thy toils reward! Such honours as delivered nations yield, Such for thy virtues justly stand prepar’d: When erst on Oudenarde’s decisive plain, Before thy youth, the Gaul defeated fled, The eye of fate[6] foresaw on distant Maine, The laurels now that shine around thy head: Oh should entwin’d with these fresh Olives bloom! Thy Triumphs then would shame the pride of antient Rome.
XX.
Mean time, while from this fair event we shew That British valour happily survives,
And cherish’d by the king’s propitious view, The rising plant of glory sweetly thrives! Let all domestic faction learn to cease, Till humbled Gaul no more the world alarms: Till GEORGE procures to Europe solid peace, A peace secur’d by his victorious arms: And binds in iron fetters ear to ear,
Ambition, Rapine, Havock, and Despair, With all the ghastly fiends of desolating war.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A Profession, which in that City is denominated a Writer.
[2] Savage.
[3] During his abode at Reading an accident had like to have put an end to his follies and his life together; for he had the ill-luck to fall from his garret down the whole flight of stairs; but being destined to lengthen out a useless life for some time longer, he escaped with only a severe bruising.
[4] The King gave his orders with the utmost calmness, tho’ no body was more expos’d.
[5]
Inspir’d repuls’d battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. Mr. Addison’s Campaign.
[6] His Majesty early distinguished himself as a volunteer at the battle of Oudenarde, in 1708.
* * * * *
Sir RICHARD BLACKMORE.
This eminent poet and physician was son of Mr. Robert Blackmore, an Attorney at Law. He received his early education at a private country school, from whence, in the 13th year of his age, he was removed to Westminster, and in a short time after to the university of Oxford, where he continued thirteen years.
In the early period of our author’s life he was a Schoolmaster, as appears by a satirical copy of verses Dr. Drake wrote against him, consisting of upwards of forty lines, of which the following are very pungent.
By nature form’d, by want a pedant made, Blackmore at first set up the whipping trade: Next quack commenc’d; then fierce with pride he swore, That tooth-ach, gout, and corns should be no more. In vain his drugs, as well as birch he tried; His boys grew blockheads, and his patients died.
Some circumstances concurring, it may be presumed in Sir Richard’s favour, he travelled into Italy, and at Padua took his degrees in physic[1].
He gratified his curiosity in visiting France, Germany, and the Low Countries, and after spending a year and a half in this delightful exercise, he returned to England. As Mr. Blackmore had made physic his chief study, so he repaired to London to enter upon the practice of it, and no long after he was chosen fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, by the charter of King James II. Sir Richard had seen too much of foreign slavery to be fond of domestic chains, and therefore early declared himself in favour of the revolution, and espoused those principles upon which it was effected. This zeal, recommended him to King William, and in the year 1697 he was sworn one of his physicians in ordinary. He was honoured by that Prince with a gold medal and chain, was likewise knighted by him, and upon his majesty’s death was one of those who gave their opinion in the opening of the king’s body. Upon Queen Anne’s accession to the throne, he was appointed one of her physicians, and continued so for some time.
This gentleman is author of more original poems, of a considerable length, besides a variety of other works, than can well be conceived could have been composed by one man, during the longest period of human life. He was a chaste writer; he struggled in the cause of virtue, even in those times, when vice had the countenance of the great, and when an almost universal degeneracy prevailed. He was not afraid to appear the advocate of virtue, in opposition to the highest authority, and no lustre of abilities in his opponents could deter him from stripping vice of those gaudy colours, with which poets of the first eminence had cloathed her.
An elegant writer having occasion to mention the state of wit in the reign of King Charles II, characterizes the poets in the following manner;
The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame: Nor sought for Johnson’s art, nor Shakespear’s flame: Themselves they studied; as they lived, they writ, Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit.
Their cause was gen’ral, their supports were strong, Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long.
Mr. Pope somewhere says,
Unhappy Dryden–in all Charles’s days, Roscommon only boasts unspotted lays.
He might likewise have excepted Blackmore, who was not only chaste in his own writings, but endeavoured to correct those who prostituted the gifts of heaven, to the inglorious purposes of vice and folly, and he was, at least, as good a poet as Roscommon.
Sir Richard had, by the freedom of his censures on the libertine writers of his age, incurred the heavy displeasure of Dryden, who takes all opportunities to ridicule him, and somewhere says, that he wrote to the rumbling of his chariot wheels. And as if to be at enmity with Blackmore had been hereditary to our greatest poets, we find Mr. Pope taking up the quarrel where Dryden left it, and persecuting this worthy man with yet a severer degree of satire. Blackmore had been informed by Curl, that Mr. Pope was the author of a Travestie on the first Psalm, which he takes occasion to reprehend in his Essay on Polite Learning, vol. ii. p. 270. He ever considered it as the disgrace of genius, that it should be employed to burlesque any of the sacred compositions, which as they speak the language of inspiration, tend to awaken the soul to virtue, and inspire it with a sublime devotion. Warmed in this honourable cause, he might, perhaps, suffer his zeal to transport him to a height, which his enemies called enthusiasm; but of the two extremes, no doubt can be made, that Blackmore’s was the safest, and even dullness in favour of virtue (which, by the way, was not the case with Sir Richard) is more tolerable than the brightest parts employed in the cause of lewdness and debauchery.
The poem for which Sir Richard had been most celebrated, was, undoubtedly, his Creation, now deservedly become a classic. We cannot convey a more amiable idea of this great production, than in the words of Mr. Addison, in his Spectator, Number 339, who, after having criticised on that book of Milton, which gives an account of the Works of Creation, thus proceeds, ‘I cannot conclude this book upon the Creation, without mentioning a poem which has lately appeared under that title. The work was undertaken with so good an intention, and executed with so great a mastery, that it deserves to be, looked upon as one of the most useful and noble productions in our English verse. The reader cannot but be pleased to find the depths of philosophy, enlivened with all the charms of poetry, and to see so great a strength of reason amidst so beautiful a redundancy of the imagination. The author has shewn us that design in all the works of nature, which necessarily leads us to the knowledge of its first cause. In short, he has illustrated, by numberless and incontestable instances, that divine wisdom, which the son of Sirach has so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in his formation of the world, when he tells us, that he _created her, and saw her, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his works_.’
The design of this excellent poem is to demonstrate the self-existence of an eternal mind, from the created and dependent existence of the universe, and to confute the hypothesis of the Epicureans and the Fatalists, under whom all the patrons of impiety, ancient and modern, of whatsoever denomination may be ranged. The first of whom affirm, the world was in time caused by chance, and the other, that it existed from eternity without a cause. ‘Tis true, both these acknowledge the existence of Gods, but by their absurd and ridiculous description of them, it is plain, they had nothing else in view, but to avoid the obnoxious character of atheistical philosophers. To adorn this poem, no embellishments are borrowed from the exploded and obsolete theology of the ancient idolaters of Greece and Rome; no rapturous invocations are addressed to their idle deities, nor any allusions to their fabulous actions. ‘I have more than once (says Sir Richard) publicly declared my opinion, that a Christian poet cannot but appear monstrous and ridiculous in a Pagan dress. That though it should be granted, that the Heathen religion might be allowed a place in light and loose songs, mock heroic, and the lower lyric compositions, yet in Christian poems, of the sublime and greater kind, a mixture of the Pagan theology must, by all who are masters of reflexion and good sense, be condemned, if not as impious, at least, as impertinent and absurd. And this is a truth so clear and evident, that I make no doubt it will, by degrees, force its way, and prevail over the contrary practice. Should Britons recover their virtue, and reform their taste, they could no more bear the Heathen religion in verse, than in prose. Christian poets, as well as Christian preachers, the business of both being to instruct the people, though the last only are wholly appropriated to it, should endeavour to confirm, and spread their own religion. If a divine should begin his sermon with a solemn prayer to Bacchus or Apollo, to Mars or Venus, what would the people think of their preacher? and is it not as really, though not equally absurd, for a poet in a great and serious poem, wherein he celebrates some wonderful and happy event of divine providence, or magnifies the illustrious instrument that was honoured to bring the event about, to address his prayer to false deities, and cry for help to the abominations of the heathen?’
Mr. Gildon, in his Compleat Art of Poetry, after speaking of our author in the most respectful terms, says, ‘that notwithstanding his merit, this admirable author did not think himself upon the same footing with Homer.’ But how different is the judgment of Mr. Dennis, who, in this particular, opposes his friend Mr. Gildon.
‘Blackmore’s action (says he) has neither unity, integrity, morality, nor universality, and consequently he can have no fable, and no heroic poem. His narration is neither probable, delightful, nor wonderful. His characters have none of these necessary qualifications.–The things contained in his narrations, are neither in their own nature delightful nor numerous enough, nor rightly disposed, nor surprizing, nor pathetic;’ nay he proceeds so far as to say Sir Richard has no genius; first establishing it as a principle, ‘That genius is known by a furious joy, and pride of soul, on the conception of an extraordinary hint. Many men (says he) have their hints without these motions of fury and pride of soul; because they want fire enough to agitate their spirits; and these we call cold writers. Others who have a great deal of fire, but have not excellent organs, feel the fore-mentioned motions, without the extraordinary hints; and these we call fustian writers.’
And he declares, that Sir Richard hath neither the hints nor the motions[2]. But Dennis has not contented himself, with charging Blackmore with want of genius; but has likewise the following remarks to prove him a bad Church of England man: These are his words. ‘All Mr. Blackmore’s coelestial machines, as they cannot be defended so much as by common received opinion, so are they directly contrary to the doctrine of the church of England, that miracles had ceased a long time before prince Arthur come into the world. Now if the doctrine of the church of England be true, as we are obliged to believe, then are all the coelestial machines of prince Arthur unsufferable, as wanting not only human but divine probability. But if the machines are sufferable, that is, if they have so much as divine probability, then it follows of necessity, that the doctrine of the church is false; so that I leave it to every impartial clergyman to consider.’
If no greater objection could be brought against Blackmore’s Prince Arthur, than those raised by Mr. Dennis, the Poem would be faultless; for what has the doctrine of the church of England to do with an epic poem? It is not the doctrine of the church of England, to suppose that the apostate spirits put the power of the Almighty to proof, by openly resisting his will, and maintaining an obstinate struggle with the angels commissioned by him, to drive them from the mansions of the bless’d; or that they attempted after their perdition, to recover heaven by violence. These are not the doctrines of the church of England; but they are conceived in a true spirit of poetry, and furnish those tremendous descriptions with which Milton has enriched his Paradise Lost.
Whoever has read Mr. Dryden’s dedication of his Juvenal, will there perceive, that in that great man’s opinion, coelestial machines might with the utmost propriety be introduced in an Epic Poem, built upon a christian model; but at the same time he adds, ‘The guardian angels of states and kingdoms are not to be managed by a vulgar hand.’
Perhaps it may be true, that the guardian angels of states and kingdoms may have been too powerful for the conduct of Sir Richard Blackmore; but he has had at least the merit of paving the way, and has set an example how Epic Poems may be written, upon the principles of christianity; and has enjoyed a comfort of which no bitterness, or raillery can deprive him, namely the virtuous intention of doing good, and as he himself expresses it, ‘of rescuing the Muses from the hands of ravishers, and restoring them again to their chaste and pure mansions.’
Sir Richard Blackmore died on the 9th of October 1729, in an advanced age; and left behind him the character of a worthy man, a great poet, and a friend to religion. Towards the close of his life, his business as a physician declined, but as he was a man of prudent conduct, it is not to be supposed that he was subjected to any want by that accident, for in his earlier years he was considered amongst the first in his profession, and his practice was consequently very extensive.
The decay of his employment might partly be owing to old age and infirmities, which rendered him less active than before, and partly to the diminution his character might suffer by the eternal war, which the wits waged against him, who spared neither bitterness nor calumny; and, perhaps, Sir Richard may be deemed the only poet, who ever suffered for having too much religion and morality.
The following is the most accurate account we could obtain of his writings, which for the sake of distinction we have divided into classes, by which the reader may discern how various and numerous his compositions are–To have written so much upon so great a variety of subjects, and to have written nothing contemptibly, must indicate a genius much superior to the common standard.–His versification is almost every where beautiful; and tho’ he has been ridiculed in the Treatise of the Bathos, published in Pope’s works, for being too minute in his descriptions of the objects of nature; yet it rather proceeded from a philosophical exactness, than a penury of genius.
It is really astonishing to find Dean Swift, joining issue with less religious wits, in laughing at Blackmore’s works, of which he makes a ludicrous detail, since they were all written in the cause of virtue, which it was the Dean’s business more immediately to support, as on this account he enjoy’d his preferment: But the Dean perhaps, was one of those characters, who chose to sacrifice his cause to his joke. This was a treatment Sir Richard could never have expected at the hands of a clergyman.
A List of Sir Richard Blackmore’s
Works.
THEOLOGICAL.
I. Just Prejudices against the Arian Hypothesis, Octavo. 1725
II. Modern Arians Unmask’d, Octavo, 1721
III. Natural Theology; or Moral Duties considered apart from positive; with some Observations on the Desirableness and Necessity of a super-natural Revelation, Octavo, 1728
IV. The accomplished Preacher; or an Essay upon Divine Eloquence, Octavo, 1731
This Tract was published after the author’s death, in pursuance of his express order, by the Reverend Mr. John White of Nayland in Essex; who attended on Sir Richard during his last illness, in which he manifested an elevated piety towards God, and faith in Christ, the Saviour of the World. Mr. White also applauds him as a person in whose character great candour and the finest humanity were the prevailing qualities. He observes also that he had the greatest veneration for the clergy of the Church of England, whereof he was a member. No one, says he, did more highly magnify our office, or had a truer esteem and honour for our persons, discharging our office as we ought, and supporting the holy character we bear, with an unblameable conversation,
POETICAL.
I. Creation, a Philosophical Poem, demonstrating the Existence and Providence of God, in seven Books, Octavo, 1712
II. The Redeemer, a Poem in six Books, Octavo, 1721
III. Eliza, a Poem in ten Books, Folio, 1705
IV. King Arthur, in ten Books, 1697
V. Prince Arthur, in ten Books, 1695
VI. King Alfred, in twelve books, Octavo, 1723
VII. A Paraphrase on the Book of Job; the Songs of Moses, Deborah and David; the ii. viii. ciii. cxiv, cxlviii. Psalms. Four chapters of Isaiah, and the third of Habbakkuk, Folio and Duodecimo, 1716
VIII. A New Version of the Book of Psalms, Duodecimo, 1720
IX. The Nature of Man, a Poem in three Books, Octavo, 1720
X. A Collection of Poems, Octavo, 1716
XI. Essays on several Subjects, 2 vols. Octavo. Vol. I. On Epic Poetry, Wit, False Virtue, Immortality of the Soul, Laws of Nature, Origin of Civil Power. Vol. II. On Athesim, Spleen, Writing, Future Felicity, Divine Love. 1716
XII. History of the Conspiracy against King William the IIId, 1696, Octavo, 1723
MEDICINAL.
I. A Discourse on the Plague, with a preparatory Account of Malignant Fevers, in two Parts; containing an Explication of the Nature of those Diseases, and the Method of Cure, Octavo, 1720
II. A Treatise on the Small-Pox, in two Parts; containing an Account of the Nature, and several Kinds of that Disease; with the proper Methods of Cure: And a Dissertation upon the modern Practice of Inoculation, Octavo, 1722
III. A Treatise on Consumptions, and other Distempers belonging to the Breast and Lungs, Octavo, 1724
VI. A Treatise on the Spleen and Vapours; or Hyppocondriacal and Hysterical Affections; with three Discourses on the Nature and Cure of the Cholic, Melancholly and Palsy, Octavo, 1725
V. A Critical Dissertation upon the Spleen, so far as concerns the following Question, viz. Whether the Spleen is necessary or useful to the animal possessed of it? 1725
VI. Discourses on the Gout, Rheumatism, and the King’s Evil; containing an Explanation of the Nature, Causes, and different Species of those Diseases, and the Method of curing them, Octavo, 1726
VII. Dissertations on a Dropsy, a Tympany, the Jaundice, the Stone, and the Diabetes, Octavo, 1727
Single POEMS by Sir _Richard Blackmore_.
I. His Satire against Wit, Folio, 1700
II. His Hymn to the Light of the World; with a short Description of the Cartoons at Hampton-Court, Folio, 1703
III. His Advice to the Poets, Folio, 1706
IV. His Kit-Kats, Folio, 1708
It might justly be esteemed an injury to Blackmore, to dismiss his life without a specimen from his beautiful and philosophical Poem on the Creation. In his second Book he demonstrates the existence of a God, from the wisdom and design which appears in the motions of the heavenly orbs; but more particularly in the solar system. First in the situation of the Sun, and its due distance from the earth. The fatal consequences of its having been placed, otherwise than it is. Secondly, he considers its diurnal motion, whence the change of the day and night proceeds; which we shall here insert as a specimen of the elegant versification, and sublime energy of this Poem.
Next see Lucretian Sages, see the Sun, His course diurnal, and his annual run. How in his glorious race he moves along, Gay as a bridegroom, as a giant strong. How his unweari’d labour he repeats,
Returns at morning, and at eve retreats; And by the distribution of his light,
Now gives to man the day, and now the night: Night, when the drowsy swain, and trav’ler cease Their daily toil, and sooth their limbs with ease; When all the weary sons of woe restrain Their yielding cares with slumber’s silken chain, Solace sad grief, and lull reluctant pain. And while the sun, ne’er covetous of rest, Flies with such rapid speed from east to west, In tracks oblique he thro’ the zodiac rolls, Between the northern and the southern poles; From which revolving progress thro’ the skies. The needful seasons of the year arise:
And as he now advances, now retreats, Whence winter colds proceed, and summer heats, He qualifies, and chears the air by turns, Which winter freezes, and which summer burns. Thus his kind rays the two extremes reduce, And keep a temper fit for nature’s use. The frost and drought by this alternate pow’r. The earth’s prolific energy restore.
The lives of man and beast demand the change; Hence fowls the air, and fish the ocean range. Of heat and cold, this just successive reign, Which does the balance of the year maintain, The gard’ner’s hopes, and farmer’s patience props,