AN ENGLISH GARNER CRITICAL ESSAYSANDLITERARY FRAGMENTS WITH AN INTRODUCTION BYJ. CHURTON COLLINS 1903 PUBLISHERS' NOTE The texts contained in the present volume are reprinted with very slightalterations from the _English Garner_ issued in eight volumes (1877-1890, London, 8vo. ) by Professor Arber, whose name is sufficient guarantee forthe accurate collation of the texts with the rare originals, the oldspelling being in most cases carefully modernised. The contents of theoriginal _Garner_ have been rearranged and now for the first timeclassified, under the general editorial supervision of Mr. ThomasSeccombe. Certain lacunae have been filled by the interpolation of freshmatter. The Introductions are wholly new and have been written speciallyfor this issue. The references to volumes of the _Garner_ (other than thepresent volume) are for the most part to the editio princeps, 8 vols. 1877-90. CONTENTS I. Extract from Thomas Wilson's _Art of Rhetoric_, 1554 II. Sir Philip Sidney's _Letter to his brother Robert_, 1580 III. Extract from Francis Meres's _Palladis Tamia_, 1598 IV. Dryden's _Dedicatory Epistle to the Rival Ladies_, 1664 V. Sir Robert Howard's _Preface to four new Plays_, 1665 VI. Dryden's _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_, 1668 VII. Extract from Thomas Ellwood's _History of Himself_, describing his relations with Milton, 1713VIII. Bishop Copleston's Advice to a Young Reviewer, 1807 IX. The Bickerstaff and Partridge Tracts, 1708 X. Gay's _Present State of Wit_, 1711 XI. Tickell's Life of Addison, 1721 XII. Steele's Dedicatory Epistle to Congreve, 1722XIII. Extract from Chamberlayne's Angliae Notitia, 1669 XIV. Eachard's Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy and of Religion, 1670 XV. Bickerstaff's Miseries of the Domestic Chaplain, 1710 XVI. Franklin's Poor Richard Improved, 1757 INTRODUCTION The miscellaneous pieces comprised in this volume are of interest andvalue, as illustrating the history of English literature and of animportant side of English social life, namely, the character and statusof the clergy in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Theyhave been arranged chronologically under the subjects with which they arerespectively concerned. The first three--the excerpt from Wilson's _Art ofRhetoric_, Sir Philip Sidney's _Letter_ to his brother Robert, and thedissertation from Meres's _Palladis Tamia_--are, if minor, certainlycharacteristic examples of pre-Elizabethan and Elizabethan literarycriticism. The next three--the _Dedicatory Epistle to the Rival Ladies_, Howard's _Preface to Four New Plays_, and the _Essay of DramaticPoesy_--not only introduce us to one of the most interesting criticalcontroversies of the seventeenth century, but present us, in the lastwork, with an epoch-marking masterpiece, both in English criticism and inEnglish prose composition. Bishop Copleston's brochure brings us to theearly days of the _Edinburgh Review_, and to the dawn of the criticismwith which we are, unhappily, only too familiar in our own time. Fromcriticism we pass, in the extract from Ellwood's life of himself, tobiography and social history, to the most vivid account we have of Miltonas a personality and in private life. Next comes a series of pamphletsillustrating social and literary history in the reigns of Anne and GeorgeI. , opening with the pamphlets bearing on Swift's inimitable Partridgehoax, now for the first time collected and reprinted, and preceding Gay's_Present State of Wit_, which gives a lively account of the periodicliterature current in 1711. Next comes Tickell's valuable memoir of hisfriend Addison, prefixed, as preface, to his edition of Addison's works, published in 1721, with Steele's singularly interesting strictures on thememoir, being the dedication of the second edition of the _Drummer_ toCongreve. The reprint of Eachard's _Grounds and Occasions of the Contemptof the Clergy and Religion Enquired into_, with the preceding extract fromChamberlayne's _Angliae Notitia_ and the succeeding papers of Steele's inthe _Tatler_ and _Guardian_, throws light on a question which is not onlyof great interest in itself, but which has been brought into prominencethrough the controversies excited by Macaulay's famous picture of theclergy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Last comes what is bygeneral consent acknowledged to be one of the most valuable contributionsever made to the literature of proverbs, Franklin's summary of the maximsin _Poor Richard's Almanack_. Our first excerpt is the preface to a work which is entitled to thedistinction of being the first systematic contribution to literarycriticism written in the English language. It appeared in 1553, and wasentitled _The Art of Rhetorique, for the use of all suche as are studiousof eloquence, sette foorthe in Englishe by Thomas Wilson_, and it wasdedicated to John Dudley, Earl of Warwick. Thomas Wilson--erroneouslydesignated Sir Thomas Wilson, presumably because he has been confoundedwith a knight of that name--was born about 1525, educated at Eton andsubsequently at King's College, Cambridge, whence he graduated B. A. In1549. In life he played many parts, as tutor to distinguished pupils, notably Henry and Charles Brandon, afterwards Dukes of Suffolk, asdiplomatist and ambassador to various countries, as a Secretary of Stateand a Privy Councillor, as one of the Masters of Requests, and as Masterof St. Catherine's Hospital at the Tower, at which place and in whichcapacity he terminated a very full and busy life on June 16th, 1581. Thepupil of Sir John Cheke and of Sir Thomas Smith, and the intimate friendof Roger Ascham, Wilson was one of the most accomplished scholars inEngland, being especially distinguished by his knowledge of Greek. He isthe author of a translation, of a singularly vigorous translation, of the_Olynthiacs_ and _Philippics_ of Demosthenes, published in 1570. His mostpopular work, judging at least from the quickly succeeding editions, appears to have been his first, _The Rule of Reason, conteinynge the Artof Logique set forth in Englishe_, published by Grafton in 1551, anddedicated to Edward VI. _The Art of Rhetorique_ is said to have beenpublished at the same time, but the earliest known copy is dated January1553. The interest of this Art of Rhetoric is threefold. It is the workof a writer intelligently familiar with the Greek and Roman classics, andit thus stands beside Elyot's _Governour_, which appeared two yearsbefore, as one of the earliest illustrations of the influence of theRenaissance on our vernacular literature. It is one of the earliestexamples, not only of the employment of the English language in thetreatment of scholastic subjects, but of the vindication of the use ofEnglish in the treatment of such subjects; and, lastly, it is remarkablefor its sound and weighty good sense. His friend, Ascham, had alreadysaid: 'He that wyll wryte well in any tongue muste folowe thys councel ofAristotle, to speake as the common people do, to think as wise men do, andso shoulde every man understande hym. Many English writers have not doneso, but usinge straunge words, as Latin, French, and Italian, do make allthinges darke and harde. ' And it is indeed by no means improbable thatthis work, which is written to inculcate all that Ascham upheld, may havebeen suggested by Ascham. It is in three books, and draws largely onQuintilian, the first two books being substantially little more than acompilation, but a very judicious one, from the _Institutes of Oratory_. But Wilson is no pedant, and has many excellent remarks on the nature ofthe influence which the classics should exercise on English composition. One passage is worth transcribing-- 'Among all other lessons, this should first be learned, that we neveraffect any straunge ynkhorne termes, but to speake as is commonlyreceived, neither seeking to be over fine, nor yet being over carelesse, using our speeche as most men doe, and ordering our wittes as the fewesthave done. Some seke so far outlandishe English, that thei forgetaltogether their mothers language. And I dare sweare this, if some oftheir mothers were alive, thei were not able to tell what thei saie; andyet these fine English clerkes will saie thei speake in their mothertongue--if a man should charge them for counterfeityng the kingesEnglishe. .. . The unlearned or foolish phantasicalle that smelles but oflearnyng (suche fellowes as have seen learned men in their daies) will soLatin their tongues that the simple can not but wonder at their talke, andthinke surely thei speake by some revelation. I know them that thinkeRhetorique to stand wholie upon darke woordes; and he that can catche anynke horne terme by the taile him thei coumpt to bee a fine Englishemanand a good Rhetorician. ' In turning to Wilson's own style, we are reminded of Butler's sarcasm-- 'All a rhetorician's rules Teach nothing but to name his tools. ' He is not, indeed, deficient, as the excerpt given shows, in dignity andweightiness, but neither there nor elsewhere has he any of the finerqualities of style, his rhythm being harsh and unmusical, his dictioncumbrous and diffuse. The excerpt which comes next in this miscellany is by the author of thattreatise which is, with the exceptions, perhaps, of George Puttenham's_Art of English Poesie_ and Ben Jonson's _Discoveries_, the most preciouscontribution to criticism made in the Elizabethan age; but, indeed, the_Defence of Poesie_ stands alone: alone in originality, alone ininspiring eloquence. The letter we print is taken from Arthur Collins's_Sydney Papers_, vol. I. Pp. 283-5, and was written by Sir Philip Sidneyto his brother Robert, afterwards (August 1618) second Earl of Leicester, then at Prague. From letters of Sir Henry Sidney in the same collection(see letters dated March 25th and October 1578) we learn that Robert, then in his eighteenth year, had been sent abroad to see the world and toacquire foreign languages, that he was flighty and extravagant, and had inconsequence greatly annoyed his father, who had threatened to recall himhome. 'Follow, ' Sir Henry had written, 'the direction of your most lovingbrother. Imitate his virtues, exercyses, studyes and accyons, hee ys arare ornament of thys age. ' This letter was written at a critical time inSidney's life. With great courage and with the noblest intentions, thoughwith extraordinary want of tact, for he was only in his twenty-sixthyear, he had presumed to dissuade Queen Elizabeth from marrying the Dukeof Anjou. The Queen had been greatly offended, and he had had to retirefrom Court. The greater part of the year 1580 he spent at Wilton with hissister Mary, busy with the _Arcadia_. In August he had, through theinfluence of his uncle Leicester, become reconciled with the Queen, and alittle later took up his residence at Leicester House, from which thisletter is dated. It is a mere trifle, yet it illustrates very strikinglyand even touchingly Sidney's serious, sweet, and beautiful character. Theadmirable remarks on the true use of the study of history, such as 'Inever require great study in Ciceronianism, the chief abuse of Oxford, _qui dum verba sectantur, res ipsas negligunt_, ' remind us of the authorof the _Defence_; while the 'great part of my comfort is in you, ' 'becareful of yourself, and I shall never have cares, ' and the 'I write thisto you as one that for myself have given over the delight in the world, 'show that he had estimated royal reconciliations at their true value, andanticipate the beautiful and pathetic words with which he is said to havetaken leave of the world. Short and hurried as this letter is, we feel itis one of those trifles which, as Plutarch observes, throw far more lighton character than actions of importance often do. Between 1580 and the appearance of Meres's work in 1598 there was muchactivity in critical literature. Five years before the date of Sidney'sletter George Gascogne had published his _Certayne Notes of Instructionconcerning the makyng of Verse in Rhyme_. This was succeeded in 1584 byJames I. 's _Ane Short Treatise conteining some rewles and cautelis to beobservit_. Then came William Webbe's _Discourse of English Poesie_, 1586, which had been preceded by Sidney's charming _Defence of Poetry_, composedin or about 1579, but not published till 1593. This and Puttenham'selaborate treatise, _The Art of English Poesie contrived into threebooks_ (1589), had indeed marked an epoch in the history of criticism. Memorable, too, in this branch of literature is Harington's _Apologie forPoetry_ (1591), prefixed to his translation of the _Orlando Furioso_. Butit was not criticism only which had been advancing. The publication ofthe first part of Lyly's _Euphues_ and of Spenser's _Shepherd's Calendar_in 1579 may be said to have initiated the golden age of our literature. The next twenty years saw Marlowe, Greene, Peele, Kyd, Shakespeare, Chapman, Decker, and Ben Jonson at the head of our drama; Spenser, Warner, Daniel, and Drayton leading narrative poetry; the contributors to_England's Helicon_, published a year later, at the head of our sonneteersand lyric poets; and Sidney, Lyly, Greene, and Hooker in the van of ourprose literature. The history of Meres's work, a dissertation from whichis here extracted, is curious. In or about 1596, Nicholas Ling and JohnBodenham conceived the idea of publishing a series of volumes containingproverbs, maxims, and sententious reflections on religion, morals, andlife generally. Accordingly in 1597 appeared a small volume containingvarious apothegms, extracted principally from the Classics and theFathers, compiled by Nicholas Ling and dedicated to Bodenham. It wasentitled _Politeuphuia_: _Wits Commonwealth_. In the following yearappeared '_Palladis Tamia, Wits Treasury_: _Being the Second Part of WitsCommonwealth_. By Francis Meres, Maister of Arts in both Universities. ' Onthe title-page is the motto '_Vivitur ingenio, cetera mortis erunt_. ' Itwas printed by P. Short for Cuthbert Burbie. From the address to thereader, which does not appear in the first edition, though it wasapparently intended for that edition, we learn that it had beenundertaken because of the extraordinary popularity of _WitsCommonwealth_, which 'thrice within one year had runne thorough thePresse. ' Meres's work differs importantly from _Wits Commonwealth_. It isnot merely a compilation, but contains original matter, generally by wayof commentary. The extracts are much fuller, many being taken from modernwriters, notably Robert Greene, Lyly, Warner, and Sir Philip Sidney. In1634 the work was re-issued under another title, _Wits Commonwealth, TheSecond Part: A Treasurie of Divine, Moral, and Phylosophical Similes andSentences generally useful. But more particular published for the Use ofSchools_. In 1636 it was again reprinted. The only part of Meres's workwhich is of interest now is what is here reprinted. It belongs to thatportion of his compilation which treats of studies and reading, thepreceding sections discussing respectively of 'books, ' of 'reading ofbooks, ' of 'choice to be had in reading of books, ' of 'the use of readingmany books, ' of 'philosophers, ' of 'poetry, ' of 'poets, ' consisting forthe most part of remarks compiled from Plutarch, and in one or twoinstances from Sir Philip Sidney's _Defence of Poetry. A portion of thepassage which immediately precedes the _Discourse_ may be transcribedbecause of its plain speaking about the indifference of Elizabeth and herministers to the fortune of poets; though this, with curiousinconsistency, is flatly contradicted, probably for prudential reasons, in the _Discourse_ itself-- 'As the Greeke and Latin Poets have wonne immortal credit to their native speech, being encouraged and graced by liberal patrones and bountiful benefactors; so our famous and learned Lawreate masters of England would entitle our English to far greater admired excellency, if either the Emperor Augustus or Octavia his sister or noble Maecenas were alive to reward and countenance them; or if witty Comedians and stately Tragedians (the glorious and goodlie representers of all fine witte, glorified phrase and great action) bee still supported and uphelde, by which meanes (O ingrateful and damned age) our Poets are soly or chiefly maintained, countenanced and patronized. ' Of the author of this work, Francis Meres or Meers, comparatively littleis known. He sprang from an old and highly respectable family inLincolnshire, and was born in 1565, the son of Thomas Meres, of Kirton inHolland in that county. After graduating from Pembroke College, Cambridge, in 1587, proceeding M. A. In 1591 at his own University, and subsequentlyby _ad eundem_ at Oxford, he settled in London, where in 1597, havingtaken orders, he was living in Botolf Lane. He was presented in July 1602to the rectory of Wing in Rutland, keeping a school there. He remained atWing till his death, in his eighty-first year, January 29, 1646-7. AsCharles FitzGeoffrey, in a Latin poem in his _Affaniae_ addressed toMeres, speaks of him as '_Theologus et poeta_', it is possible that the'F. M. ' who was a contributor to the _Paradise of Dainty Devices_ is to beidentified with Meres. In addition to the _Palladis Tamia_, Meres was theauthor of a sermon published in 1597, a copy of which is in the Bodleian, and of two translations from the Spanish, neither of which is of anyinterest. Meres's _Discourse_ is, like the rest of his work, mainly a compilation, with additions and remarks of his own. Much of it is derived from thethirty-first chapter of the first book of Puttenham; with thesedistinctions, that Meres's includes the poets who had come intoprominence between 1589 and 1598, and instituted parallels, biographicaland critical, between them and the ancient Classics. It is the notices ofthese poets, and more particularly the references to Shakespeare'swritings, which make this treatise so invaluable to literary students. Thus we are indebted to Meres for a list of the plays which Shakespearehad produced by 1598, and for a striking testimony to his eminence atthat date as a dramatic poet, as a narrative poet, and as a writer ofsonnets. The perplexing reference to _Love's Labour's Won_ has neverbeen, and perhaps never will be, satisfactorily explained. To assume thatit is another title for _All's Well that Ends Well_ in an earlier form isto cut rather than to solve the knot. It is quite possible that it refersto a play that has perished. The references to the imprisonment of Nashfor writing the _Isle of Dogs_, to the unhappy deaths of Peele, Greene, and Marlowe, and to the high personal character of Drayton are of greatinterest. Meres was plainly a man of muddled and inaccurate learning, ofno judgment, and of no critical power, a sort of Elizabethan Boswellwithout Boswell's virtues, and it is no paradox to say that it is thiswhich gives his _Discourse_ its chief interest. It probably representsnot his own but the judgments current on contemporary writers inElizabethan literary circles. And we cannot but be struck with theirgeneral fairness. Full justice is done to Shakespeare, who is placed atthe head of the dramatists; full justice is done to Spenser, who isstyled divine, and placed at the head of narrative poets; to Sidney, bothas a prose writer and as a poet; to Drayton, to Daniel, and to Hall, Lodge, and Marston, as satirists. We are surprised to find such a highplace assigned to Warner, 'styled by the best wits of both ouruniversities the English Homer, ' and a modern critic would probablysubstitute different names, notably those of Lodge and Campion, for thoseof Daniel and Drayton in a list of the chief lyric poets then in activity. In Meres's remarks on painters and musicians, there is nothing to detainus. Of a very different order is the important critical treatise which comesnext, Dryden's _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_, to which are prefixed asprolegomena Dryden's _Dedicatory Epistle to The Rival Ladies_, Sir RobertHoward's _Preface to Four New Plays_, and, as supplementary, Howard's_Preface to The Duke of Lerma_, and Dryden's _Defence of the Essay ofDramatic Poesy_. As Dryden's _Essay_, like almost all his writings, bothin verse and prose, was of a more or less occasional character, it willbe necessary to explain at some length the origin of the controversy outof which it sprang, as well as the immediate object with which it waswritten. The Restoration found Dryden a literary adventurer, with a very slenderpatrimony and with no prospects. Poetry was a drug in the market;hack-work for the booksellers was not to his taste; and the only chanceof remunerative employment open to him was to write for the stage. Tothis he accordingly betook himself. He began with comedy, and his comedywas a failure. He then betook himself to a species of drama, for whichhis parts and accomplishments were better fitted. Dryden had few or noneof the qualifications essential in a great dramatist; but as arhetorician, in the more comprehensive sense of the term, he was soon tobe unrivalled. In the rhymed heroic plays, as they were called, he foundjust the sphere in which he was most qualified to excel. The taste forthese dramas, which owed most to France and something to Italy and Spain, had come in with the Restoration. Their chief peculiarities were thecomplete subordination of the dramatic to the rhetorical element, thepredominance of pageant, and the substitution of rhymed for blank verse. Dryden's first experiment in this drama was the _Rival Ladies_, in whichthe tragic portions are composed in rhyme, blank verse being reserved forthe parts approaching comedy. In his next play, the _Indian Queen_, written in conjunction with Howard, blank verse is wholly discarded. Thededication of the _Rival Ladies_ to Orrery is appropriate. Roger Boyle, Baron Broghill, and first Earl of Orrery, was at this time Lord Presidentof Munster, and it was he who had revived these rhymed plays in his _HenryV. _, which was brought out in the same year as Dryden's comedy. Whoeverhas read this drama and Orrery's subsequent experiments, _Mustapha_(1665), the _Black Prince_ (1667), _Tryphon_ (1668), will be able toestimate Dryden's absurd flattery at its proper value. But these dramatic innovations were sure not to pass without protest, though the protest came from a quarter where it might least have beenexpected. Sir Robert Howard was the sixth son of Thomas, first Earl ofBerkshire. He had distinguished himself on the Royalist side in the CivilWar, and had paid the penalty for his loyalty by an imprisonment inWindsor Castle during the Commonwealth. At the Restoration he had beenmade an Auditor of the Exchequer. Dryden seems to have made hisacquaintance shortly after arriving in London. In 1660 Howard published acollection of poems and translations, to which Dryden prefixed an address'to his honoured friend' on 'his excellent poems. ' Howard's rank andposition made him a useful friend to Dryden, and Dryden in his turn wasno doubt of much service to Howard. Howard introduced him to his family, and in December 1663 Dryden married his friend's eldest sister, the LadyElizabeth Howard. In the following year Dryden assisted hisbrother-in-law in the composition of the _Indian Queen_. There hadprobably been some misunderstanding or dispute about the extent of theassistance which Dryden had given, which accounts for what follows. Inany case Howard published in 1665, professedly under pressure fromHerringman, four plays, two comedies, _The Surprisal_ and _TheCommittee_, and two tragedies, the _Vestal Virgin_ and _Indian Queen_;and to the volume he prefixed the preface, which is here reprinted. Itwill be seen that though he makes no reference to Dryden, he combats allthe doctrines laid down in the preface to the _Rival Ladies_. He exaltsthe English drama above the French, the Italian, and the Spanish; andvindicates blank verse against rhymed, making, however, a flatteringexception of Orrery's dramas. If Dryden was not pleased, he appears tohave had the grace to conceal his displeasure. For he passed the greaterpart of 1666 at his father-in-law's house, and dedicated to Howard his_Annus Mirabilis_. But Howard was to have his answer. In the _Essay ofDramatic Poesy_ he is introduced in the person of Crites, and in hismouth are placed all the arguments advanced in the _Preface_ that theymay be duly refuted and demolished by Dryden in the person of Neander. Atthis mode of retorting Howard became really angry; and in the _Preface tothe Duke of Lerma_, published in the middle of 1668, he replied in a toneso contemptuous and insolent that Dryden, in turn, completely lost histemper. The sting of Howard's _Preface_ lies, it will be seen, in hisaffecting the air of a person to whom as a statesman and public man thepoints in dispute are mere trifles, hardly worth consideration, and inthe patronising condescension with which he descends to a discussion withone to whom as a mere _litterateur_ such trifles are of importance. The_Defence of the Essay of Dramatic Poesy_ Dryden prefixed to the secondedition of the _Indian Emperor_, one of the best of his heroic plays. Theseriously critical portion of this admirable little treatise deals withHoward's attacks on the employment of rhyme in tragedy, on the observanceof strict rules in dramatic composition, and on the observance of theunities. But irritated by the tone of Howard's tract, Dryden does notconfine himself to answering his friend's arguments. He ridicules, whatShadwell had ridiculed before, Howard's coxcombical affectation ofuniversal knowledge, makes sarcastic reference to an absurdity of whichhis opponent had been guilty in the House of Commons, mercilessly exposeshis ignorance of Latin, and the uncouthness and obscurity of his English. The brothers-in-law afterwards became reconciled, and in token of thatreconciliation Dryden cancelled this tract. The _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_ was written at Charleton Park in the latterpart of 1665, and published by Herringman in 1668. It was afterwardscarefully revised, and republished with a dedication to Lord Buckhurst in1684. Dryden spent more pains than was usual with him on the compositionof this essay, though he speaks modestly of it as 'rude and indigested, 'and it is indeed the most elaborate of his critical disquisitions. Itwas, he said, written 'chiefly to vindicate the honour of our Englishwriters from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French beforethem. ' Its more immediate and particular object was to regulate dramaticcomposition by reducing it to critical principles, and these principleshe discerned in a judicious compromise between the licence of romanticdrama as represented by Shakespeare and his School, and the austererestraints imposed by the canons of the classical drama. Assuming that adrama should be 'a just and lively image of human nature, representingits passions and humours, and the changes of fortune to which it issubject, for the delight and instruction of mankind, ' it is shown thatthis end can only be attained in a drama founded on such a compromise;that the ancient and modern classical drama fails in nature; that theShakespearian drama fails in art. At the conclusion of the essay hevindicates the employment of rhyme, a contention which he afterwardsabandoned. The dramatic setting of the essay was no doubt suggested bythe Platonic _Dialogues_, or by Cicero, and the essay itself may havebeen suggested by Flecknoe's short _Discourse of the English Stage_, published in 1664. The _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_ may be said to make an era in the historyof English criticism, and to mark an era in the history of English prosecomposition. It was incomparably the best purely critical treatise whichhad hitherto appeared in our language, both synthetically in itsdefinition and application of principles, and particularly in its lucid, exact, and purely discriminating analysis. It was also the most strikingand successful illustration of what may be called the new prose style, orthat style which, initiated by Hobbes and developed by Sprat, Cowley, andDenham[1] blended the ease and plasticity of colloquy with the solidityand dignity of rhetoric, of that style in which Dryden was soon to becomea consummate master. The _Advice to a Young Reviewer_ brings us into a very different sphereof criticism, and has indeed a direct application to our own time. It waswritten by Edward Copleston, afterwards Dean of St. Paul's and Bishop ofLlandaff. Born in February 1776 at Offwell, in Devonshire, Coplestongained in his sixteenth year a scholarship at Corpus Christi College, Oxford. After carrying off the prize for Latin verse, he was elected in1795 Fellow of Oriel. In 1800, having been ordained priest, he becameVicar of St. Mary's. In 1802 he was elected Professor of Poetry, in whichcapacity he delivered the lectures subsequently published under the titleof _Praelectiones Academicae_--a favourite book of Cardinal Newman's. In1814 he succeeded Dr. Eveleigh as Provost of Oriel. In 1826 he was madeDean of Chester, in 1828 Bishop of Llandaff and Dean of St. Paul's. Hedied at Llandaff, on October 14th, 1849. Copleston is one of the fathersof modern Oxford, and from his provostship date many of the reforms whichtransformed the University of Gibbon and Southey into the University ofWhateley, of Newman, of Keble, and of Pusey. The brochure which isprinted here was written when Copleston was Fellow and Tutor of Oriel. Itwas immediately inspired, not, as is commonly supposed, by the critiquesin the _Edinburgh Review_, but by the critiques in the _British Critic_, a periodical founded in 1793, and exceedingly influential between thattime and about 1812. Archbishop Whateley, correcting a statement in the_Life_ of Copleston by W. J. Copleston, says that it was occasioned by areview of Mant's poems in the _British Critic_[2]. But on referring tothe review of these poems, which appeared in the November number of 1806, plainly the review referred to, we find nothing in it to supportWhateley's assertion. That the reviews in the _British Critic_ are, however, what Copleston is parodying in the critique of _L'Allegro_ isabundantly clear, but what he says about voyages and travels and aboutscience and recondite learning appear to have reference to articlesparticularly characteristic of the _Edinburgh Review_. It was not, however, till after the date of Copleston's parody that the _EdinburghReview_ began conspicuously to illustrate what Copleston here satirises;it was not till a time more recent still that periodical literaturegenerally exemplified in literal seriousness what Copleston intended asextravagant irony. It is interesting to compare with Copleston's remarkswhat Thackeray says on the same subjects in the twenty-fourth chapter of_Pendennis_, entitled 'The Pall Mall Gazette. ' This brochure is evidentlymodelled on Swift's 'Digression Concerning Critics' in the third sectionof the _Tale of a Tub_, and owes something also to the _Treatise on theBathos_ in Pope's and Swift's _Miscellanies_, as the title may have beensuggested by Shaftesbury's _Advice to an Author_. The _Advice_ itself andthe supplementary critique of Milton are clever and have good points, butthey will not bear comparison with the satire of Swift and Pope. The excerpt which comes next in this Miscellany links with the name ofthe author of the _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_ the name of the mostillustrious of his contemporaries. The difference, indeed, between Miltonand Dryden is a difference not in degree merely, but in kind, soimmeasurably distant and alien is the sphere in which they moved andworked both as men and as writers. It has sometimes been questionedwhether Dryden is a poet. Few would dispute that Milton divides withShakespeare the supremacy in English poetry. In Dryden as a man there islittle to attract or interest us. In character and in private life heappears to have been perfectly commonplace. We close his biography, andour curiosity is satisfied. With Milton it is far otherwise. We feelinstinctively that he belongs to the demi-gods of our race. We have thesame curiosity about him as we have about Homer, Aeschylus, andShakespeare, so that the merest trifles which throw any light on hispersonality assume an interest altogether out of proportion to theirintrinsic importance. Our debt to Ellwood is, it must be admitted, muchless than it might have been, if he had thought a little more of Miltonand a little less of his somewhat stupid self and the sect to which hebelonged. But, as the proverb says, we must not look a gift-horse in themouth, and we are the richer for the Quaker's reminiscences. WithEllwood's work, the _History of Thomas Ellwood, written by Himself_, weare only concerned so far as it bears on his relation with Milton. Bornin 1639, the son of a small squire and justice of the peace at Crowell inOxfordshire, Ellwood had, in 1659, been persuaded by Edward Burrough, oneof the most distinguished of Fox's followers, to join the Quakers. He wasin his twenty-fourth year when he first met Milton. Milton was then livingin Jewin Street, having removed from his former lodging in Holborn, mostprobably in the autumn of 1661. The restoration had terminated his workas a controversialist and politician. For a short time his life had beenin peril, but he had received a pardon, and could at least live in peace. He could no longer be of service as a patriot, and was now occupied withthe composition of _Paradise Lost_. Since 1650 he had been blind, and forstudy and recreation was dependent on assistance. Having little domesticcomfort as a widower, he had just married his third wife. Ellwood's narrative tells its own story. What especially strikes us init, and what makes it particularly interesting, is that it presentsMilton in a light in which he is not presented elsewhere. Ellwood seemsto have had the same attraction for him as Bonstetten had for Gray. Nodoubt the simplicity, freshness, and enthusiasm of the young Quakertouched and interested the lonely and world-wearied poet who, whenEllwood first met him, had entered on his fifty-fifth year; he had nodoubt, too, the scholar's sympathy with a disinterested love of learning. In any case, but for Ellwood, we should never have known the softer sideof Milton's character, never have known of what gentleness, patience, andcourtesy he was capable. And, indeed, when we remember Milton's positionat this time, as tragical as that of Demosthenes after Chaeronea, and ofDante at the Court of Verona, there is something inexpressibly touchingin the picture here given with so much simplicity and with such evidentunconsciousness on the part of the painter of the effect produced. Thereis one passage which is quite delicious, and yet its point may be, as itcommonly is, easily missed. It illustrates the density of Ellwood'sstupidity, and the delicate irony of the sadly courteous poet. Milton hadlent him, it will be seen, the manuscript of _Paradise Lost_; and onEllwood returning it to him, 'he asked me how I liked it, and what Ithought of it, which I modestly but freely told him, and after somefurther discourse about it I pleasantly said to him, "Thou has said muchhere of Paradise Lost, but what has thou to say of Paradise Found?"' Nowthe whole point and scope of Paradise Lost is Paradise Found--theredemption--the substitution of a spiritual Eden within man for aphysical Eden without man, a point emphasised in the invocation, andelaborately worked out in the closing vision from the Specular Mount. Itis easy to understand the significance of what follows: 'He made me noanswer, but sat sometime in a muse; then broke off that discourse, andfell upon another subject. ' The result no doubt of that 'muse' was thesuspicion, or, perhaps, the conviction, that the rest of the world would, in all probability, be as obtuse as Ellwood; and to that suspicion orconviction we appear to owe _Paradise Regained_. The Plague over, Miltonreturned to London, settling in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields. 'And whenafterwards I went to wait on him there . .. He shewed me his second poem, called _Paradise Regained_, and in a pleasant tone said to me, "This isowing to you, for you put it into my head by the question you put to meat Chalfont, which before I had not thought of. "' In 'the pleasant tone'more, and much more, is implied, of that we may be very sure, than meetsthe ear. We should like to have seen the expression on Milton's face bothon this occasion and also when, on Dryden requesting his permission toturn _Paradise Lost_ into an opera, he replied; 'Oh, certainly, you maytug my verses if you please, Mr. Dryden. ' It may be added that _ParadiseLost_ was not published till 1667, and _Paradise Regained_ did not seethe light till 1671. Ellwood seems to imply that _Paradise Regained_ wascomposed between the end of August or the beginning of September 1665, and the end of the autumn of the same year, which is, of course, incredible and quite at variance with what Phillips tells us. Ellwood is, no doubt, expressing himself loosely, and his 'afterwards' need notnecessarily relate to his first, or to his second, or even to his thirdvisit to Milton after the poet's return to Artillery Walk, but refersvaguely to one of those 'occasions which drew him to London. ' When helast saw Milton we have no means of knowing. He never refers to himagain. His autobiography closes with the year 1683. For the rest of his life Ellwood was engaged for the most part infighting the battles of the Quakers-esoterically in endeavouring tocompose their internal feuds, exoterically in defending them and theirtenets against their common enemies--and in writing poetry, which it isto be hoped he did not communicate to his 'master. ' After the death ofhis father in 1684 he lived in retirement at Amersham. His most importantliterary service was his edition of George Fox's _Journal_, the manuscriptof which he transcribed and published. He died at his house on HungerHill, Amersham, in March 1714, and lies with Penn in the Quaker'sburying-ground at New Jordan, Chalfont St. Giles. We have now arrived at the pamphlets in our Miscellany bearing on thereign of Queen Anne. First come the Partridge tracts. The history of theinimitable hoax of which they are the record is full of interest. InNovember 1707 Swift, then Vicar of Laracor, came over to England on acommission from Archbishop King. His two satires, the _Battle of theBooks_ and the _Tale of a Tub_, published anonymously three years before, had given him a foremost place among the wits, for their authorship was anopen secret. Though he was at this time principally engaged in the causeof the Established Church, in active opposition to what he considered thelax latitudinarianism of the Whigs on the one hand and the attacks of theFreethinkers on the other, he found leisure for doing society anotherservice. Nothing was more detestable to Swift than charlatanry andimposture. From time immemorial the commonest form which quackery hasassumed has been associated with astrology and prophecy. It was thefrequent theme or satire in the New Comedy of the Greeks and in theComedy of Rome; it has fallen under the lash of Horace and Juvenal;nowhere is Lucian more amusing than when dealing with this species ofroguery. Chaucer with exquisite humour exposed it and its kindred alchemyin the fourteenth century, and Ben Jonson and the author of _Albumazar_ inthe seventeenth. Nothing in _Hudibras_ is more rich in wit and humour thanthe exposure of Sidrophel, and one of the best of Dryden's comedies is the_Mock Astrologer_. But it was reserved for Swift to produce the mostamusing satire which has ever gibbeted these mischievous mountebanks. John Partridge, whose real name is said to have been Hewson, was born onthe 18th of January 1644. He began life, it appears, as a shoemaker; butbeing a youth of some abilities and ambition, had acquired a fairknowledge of Latin and a smattering of Greek and Hebrew. He had thenbetaken himself to the study of astrology and of the occult sciences. After publishing the _Nativity of Lewis XIV. _ and an astrological essayentitled _Prodromus_, he set up in 1680 a regular prophetic almanac, under the title of _Merlinus Liberatus_. A Protestant alarmist, for suchhe affected to be, was not likely to find favour under the government ofJames II. , and Partridge accordingly made his way to Holland. On hisreturn he resumed his Almanac, the character of which is exactlydescribed in the introduction to the _Predictions_, and it appears tohave had a wide sale. Partridge, however, was not the only impostor ofhis kind, but had, as we gather from notices in his Almanac and from hisother pamphlets, many rivals. He was accordingly obliged to resort toevery method of bringing himself and his Almanac into prominence, whichhe did by extensive and impudent advertisements in the newspapers andelsewhere. In his Almanac for 1707 he issues a notice warning the publicagainst impostors usurping his name. It was this which probably attractedSwift's attention and suggested his mischievous hoax. The pamphlets tell their own tale, and it is not necessary to tell ithere. The name, Isaac Bickerstaff, which has in sound the curiouspropriety so characteristic of Dickens's names, was, like so many of thenames in Dickens, suggested by a name on a sign-board, the name of alocksmith in Long Acre. The second tract, purporting to be written by arevenue officer, and giving an account of Partridge's death, was, ofcourse, from the pen of Swift. The verses on Partridge's death appearedanonymously on a separate sheet as a broadside. It is amusing to learnthat the tract announcing Partridge's death, and the approaching death ofthe Duke of Noailles, was taken quite seriously, for Partridge's name wasstruck off the rolls of Stationers' Hall, and the Inquisition in Portugalordered the tract containing the treasonable prediction to be burned. AsStationers' Hall had assumed that Partridge was dead--a serious matterfor the prospects of his Almanac--it became necessary for him tovindicate his title to being a living person. Whether the next tract, _Squire Bickerstaff Detected_, was, as Scott asserts, the result of anappeal to Rowe or Yalden by Partridge, and they, under the pretence ofassisting him, treacherously making a fool of him, or an independent_j'eu d'esprit_, is not quite clear. Nor is it easy to settle with anycertainty the authorship. In the Dublin edition of Swift's works, it isattributed to Nicholas Rowe; Scott assigns it to Thomas Yalden, thepreacher of Bridewell and a well-known poet. Congreve is also said tohave had a hand in it. It would have been well for Partridge had heallowed matters to rest here, but unhappily he inserted in the Novemberissue of his Almanac another solemn assurance to the public that he wasstill alive; and was fool enough to add, that he was not only alive atthe time he was writing, but was also alive on the day on whichBickerstaff had asserted that he was dead. Swift saw his opportunity, andin the most amusing of this series of tracts proceeded to prove thatPartridge, under whatever delusions as to his continued existence hemight be labouring, was most certainly dead and buried. The tracts here printed by no means exhaust the literature of thePartridge hoax, but nothing else which appeared is worth reviving. It issurprising that Scott should include in Swift's works a vapid andpointless contribution attributed to a 'Person of Quality. ' The effect ofall this on poor Partridge was most disastrous; for three years hisAlmanac was discontinued. When it was revived, in 1714, he had discoveredthat his enemy was Swift. What comments he made will be found at the endof these tracts. Partridge did not long survive the resuscitation of hisAlmanac. What had been fiction became fact on June 24th, 1715, and hisvirtues and accomplishments, delineated by a hand more friendly thanSwift's, were long decipherable, in most respectable Latin, on his tombin Mortlake Churchyard. The Partridge hoax has left a permanent trace in our classicalliterature. When, in the spring of 1709, Steele was about to start the_Tatler_, he thought he could best secure the ear of the public byadopting the name with which Englishmen were then as familiar as acentury and a half afterwards they became with the name of Pickwick. Itwas under the title of the _Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff_ that theessays which initiated the most attractive and popular form of ourperiodical literature appeared. The next tract, Gay's _Present State of Wit_, takes up the history of ourpopular literature during the period which immediately succeeded thediscomfiture of poor Partridge. Its author, John Gay, who is, as we needscarcely add, one of the most eminent of the minor poets of the Augustanage, was at the time of its appearance almost entirely unknown. Born inSeptember 1685, at Barnstaple, of a respectable but decayed family, hehad received a good education at the free grammar school of that place. On leaving school he had been apprenticed to a silk mercer in London. Buthe had polite tastes, and employed his leisure time in scribbling versesand in frequenting with his friend, Aaron Hill, the literarycoffee-houses. In 1708 he published a vapid and stupid parody, suggestedby John Philip's _Splendid Shilling_ and _Cider_, entitled _Wine_. Hisnext performance was the tract which is here printed, and which is datedMay 3rd, 1711. It is written with skill and sprightliness, and certainlyshows a very exact and extensive acquaintance with the journalistic worldof those times. And it is this which gives it its value. The best and mostuseful form, perhaps, which our remarks on it can take will be to furnishit with a running commentary explaining its allusions both topublications and to persons. It begins with a reference to the unhappyplight of Dr. King. This was Dr. William King, who is not to beconfounded with his contemporaries and namesakes, the Archbishop ofDublin or the Principal of St. Mary Hall, Oxford, but who may be best, perhaps, described as the Dr. William King 'who could write verses in atavern three hours after he could not speak. ' He had long been aprominent figure among wits and humorists. His most important recentperformances had been his _Art of Cookery_ and his _Art of Love_, published respectively in 1708 and in 1709. In the latter year he had, much to the disgust of Sir John Soames, issued some very amusing parodiesof the _Philosophical Transactions_, which he entitled _UsefulTransactions in Philosophy and other sorts of Learning_, to be continuedas long as it could find buyers. It ceased apparently to find buyers, andafter reaching three numbers had collapsed. When the _Examiner_ wasstarted in August 1710, King was one of the chief contributors. Latterly, however, things had been going very badly with this 'poor starving wit, 'as Swift called him. He was either imprisoned or on the point of beingimprisoned in the Fleet, but death freed him from his troubles at the endof 1712. John Ozell was, perhaps, the most ridiculous of the scribblersthen before the public, maturing steadily for the _Dunciad_, where, manyyears afterwards, he found his proper place. He rarely aspired beyond'translations, ' and the _Monthly Amusement_ referred to is not, as mightbe supposed, a periodical, but simply his frequent appearances as atranslator. Gay next passes to periodicals and newspapers. De Foe istreated as he was always treated by the wits. Pope's lines are wellknown, and the only reference to him in Swift is: 'The fellow who waspilloried--I forget his name. ' Posterity has done him more justice. The'poor _Review_' is of course the _Weekly Review_, started by De Foe in1704, the first number of which appeared on Saturday, February 19th ofthat year. It had been continued weekly, and still continued, till 1712, extending to nine volumes, eight of which are extant. [3] The_Observator_, which is also described as in its decline, had been set upby John Tutchin in imitation of the paper issued by Sir Roger L'Estrangein 1681, its first number appearing April 1st, 1702. Tutchin, dying in1707, the paper was continued for the benefit of his widow, under themanagement of George Ridpath, the editor of the _Flying Post_, and itcontinued to linger on till 1712, when it was extinguished by the StampTax. The first number of the _Examiner_ appeared on the 3rd of August1710, and it was set up by the Tories to oppose the _Tatler_, the chiefcontributors to it being Dr. King, Bolingbroke, then Henry St. John, Prior, Atterbury, and Dr. Freind. With No. 14 (Thursday, October 26th, 1710), Swift assumed the management, and writing thirty-two paperssuccessively, made it the most influential political journal in thekingdom. The 'Letter to Crassus' appeared on February 1st, 1711, and waswritten by Swift. To oppose the _Examiner_, the Whigs set up what, afterthe second number, they called the _Whig Examiner_, the first number ofwhich appeared on September 14th, 1710. It was continued weekly tillOctober 12th, five numbers appearing, all of which were, with oneexception, perhaps, written by Addison, so that Gay's conjecture--ifBickerstaff may be extended to include Addison--was correct. The_Medley_, to which Gay next passes, was another Whig organ. The firstnumber appeared on August 5th, 1710, and it was continued weekly tillAugust 6th, 1711. It was conducted by Arthur Mainwaring, a man of familyand fortune, and an ardent Whig, with the assistance of Steele, AnthonyHenley, and Oldmixon. With the reference to the _Tatler_, we pass from obscurity into daylight. Since April 12th, 1709, that delightful periodical had regularly appearedthree times a week. With the two hundredth and seventy-first number onJanuary 2nd, 1711, it suddenly ceased. Of the great surprise anddisappointment caused by its cessation, of the causes assigned for it, and of the high appreciation of all it had effected for moral andintellectual improvement and pleasure, Gay gives a vivid picture. What hesays conjecturally about the reasons for its discontinuance is so near thetruth that we may suspect he had had some light on the subject from Steelehimself. It was, of course, from the preface to the edition of the firstthree volumes of the collected _Tatlers_, published in 1710, that Gayderived what he says about the contributions of Addison (though Steelehad not mentioned him by name, in accordance, no doubt, with Addison'srequest) and about the verses of Swift. In all probability this was thefirst public association of Addison's name with the _Tatler_. The Mr. Henley referred to was Anthony Henley, a man of family and fortune, andone of the most distinguished of the wits of that age, to whom Garthdedicated _The Dispensary_. In politics he was a rabid Whig, and it washe who described Swift as 'a beast for ever after the order ofMelchisedec. ' Gay had not been misinformed, for Henley was the author ofthe first letter in No. 26 and of the letter in No. 193, under thecharacter of Downes. The cessation of the _Tatler_ had been the signal for the appearance ofseveral spurious papers purporting to be new numbers. One entitlingitself No. 272 was published by one John Baker; another, purporting to beNo. 273, was by 'Isaac Bickerstaff, Junior. ' Then, on January 6th, appeared what purported to be Nos. 272 and 273 of the original issue, with a letter from Charles Lillie, one of the publishers of the original_Tatler_. Later in January, William Harrison, a _protégé_ of Swift, ayoung man whose name will be familiar to all who are acquainted withSwift's _Journal to Stella_, was encouraged by Swift to start a new_Tatler_, Swift liberally assisting him with notes, and not onlycontributing himself but inducing Congreve also to contribute a paper. And this new _Tatler_ actually ran to fifty-two numbers, appearing twicea week between January 13th and May 19th, 1711, but, feeble from thefirst, it then collapsed. Nor had the _Tatler_ been without rivals. Inthe two hundred and twenty-ninth number of the _Tatler_, Addison, enumerating his antagonists, says, 'I was threatened to be answeredweekly _Tit for Tat_, I was undermined by the _Whisperer_, scolded at bya _Female Tatler_, and slandered by another of the same character underthe title of _Atalantis_. ' To confine ourselves, however, to thepublications mentioned by Gay. The _Growler_ appeared on the 27th ofJanuary 1711, on the discontinuance of the _Tatler_. The _Whisperer_ wasfirst published on October 11th, 1709, under the character of 'Mrs. JennyDistaff, half-sister to Isaac Bickerstaff. ' The _Tell Tale_ appears to bea facetious title for the _Female Tatler_, the first number of whichappeared on July 8th, 1709, and was continued for a hundred and elevennumbers, under the editorship of Thomas Baker, till March 3rd, 1710. Theallusion in the postscript to the _British Apollo_ is to a paper entitled_The British Apollo: or Curious Amusements for the Ingenious_, the firstnumber of which appeared on Friday, March 13th, 1708, the paper regularlycontinuing on Wednesdays and Fridays till March 16th, 1711. Selectionsfrom this curious miscellany were afterwards printed in three volumes, and ran into three editions. Gay does not appear to be aware that thisperiodical had ceased. The reference in 'the two statesmen of the lastreign whose characters are well expressed in their mottoes' are to LordSomers and the Earl of Halifax, as what follows refers respectively toAddison and Steele. The tract closes with a reference to the _Spectator_, the first number of which had appeared on the first of the preceding March. Gay's brochure attracted the attention of Swift, who thus refers to it inhis _Journal to Stella_, May 14th, 1711: 'Dr. Freind was with me andpulled out a two-penny pamphlet just published called _The State of Wit_. The author seems to be a Whig, yet he speaks very highly of a paper calledthe _Examiner_, and says the supposed author of it is Dr. Swift, but aboveall he praises the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_. ' The two tracts which follow consist of the Life of Addison, which formsthe preface to Addison's collected works, published by Tickell in 1721, and of the Dedicatory Epistle prefixed by Steele to an edition ofAddison's _Drummer_ in 1722. To the student of the literary history ofthose times they are of great interest and importance. Of all Addison'sfriends, Steele had long been the most intimate of the younger men whomhe had taken under his patronage. Tickell was the most loyal and the mostattached. While still at Oxford he had expressed his admiration of Addisonin extravagant terms: on arriving in London he made his acquaintance. Tickell was an accomplished poet and man of letters, and though not aprofound a graceful scholar. Addison was pleased with a homage which wasworth accepting. As he rose, his _protégé_ rose with him. On hisappointment as Chief Secretary in Ireland he took Tickell with him. Whenhe was appointed Secretary of State he chose him as Under Secretary, andshortly before his death made him his literary executor, instructing himto collect his writings in a final and authentic edition. This, forreasons which will be explained directly, was a task of no smalldifficulty, but to this task Tickell loyally addressed himself. In thespring of 1721 appeared, in four sumptuous quartos, the collected editionof Addison's works. It was prefaced by the biography which is herereprinted, and to the biography was appended that noble and patheticelegy which will make Tickell's name as immortal as Addison's. There can be very little doubt that Steele had been greatly distressedand hurt by the rupture of the friendship which had so long existedbetween himself and Addison, but that Tickell should have taken his placein Addison's affections must have been inexpressibly galling to him. Naturally irritated, his irritation had no doubt been intensified byAddison appointing Tickell Under Secretary of State, and still more byhis making him his literary executor--offices which Steel might naturallyhave expected, had all gone well, to fill himself. It would not have beenin human nature that he could regard Tickell with any other feelings thanhostility and jealousy. Tickell's omission of the _Drummer_ from Addison'sworks was, in all probability--such at least is the impression which theletter makes on me--a mere pretext for the gratification of personalspite. There is nothing to justify the interpretation which he puts onTickell's words. All that Steele here says about Addison he had saidpublicly and quite as emphatically before, as Tickell had recorded. AsSteele had, in Tickell's own words, given to Addison 'the honour of themost applauded pieces, ' it is absurd to accuse Tickell of insinuatingthat Addison wished his papers to be marked because he was afraid Steelewould assume the credit of these pieces. In one important particular heflatly contradicts himself. At the beginning he asks 'whether it was adecent and reasonable thing that works written, as a great part of Mr. Addison's were, in correspondence with me, ought to have been publishedwithout my review of the catalogue of them. ' Three pages afterward, itappears that, in compliance with the request of Addison delivered to himby Tickell, he did mark with his own hand those _Tatlers_ which wereinserted in Addison's works--a statement of Tickell's, but a statement towhich Steele takes no exception. So far from attempting to disparageSteele, Tickell does ample justice to him; and to accuse him ofinsensibility to Addison's virtues, and of cold indifference to himpersonally, is a charge refuted not only by all we know of Tickell, butby every page in the tract itself. Many of the objections which he makesto Tickell's remarks are too absurd to discuss. From nothing indeed whichTickell says, but from one of Steele's own admissions, it is impossiblenot to draw a conclusion very derogatory to Steele's honesty, and to makeus suspect that his sensitiveness was caused by his own uneasy conscience:'What I never did declare was Mr. Addison's I had his direct injunctionsto hide. ' This certainly seems to imply that Steele had allowed himselfto be credited with what really belonged to his friend. A month afterAddison's death he had written in great alarm to Tonson, on hearing thatit had been proposed to separate Addison's papers in the _Tatler_ fromhis own. He bases his objection, it is true, on the pecuniary injurywhich he and his family would suffer, but this is plainly meresubterfuge. The truth probably is, that Steele wished to leave asundefined as possible what belonged to Addison and what belonged tohimself; that he was greatly annoyed when he found that their respectiveshares were by Addison's own, or at least his alleged, request to bedefined; that in his assignation of the papers he had not been quitehonest; and that, knowing this, he suspected that Tickell knew it too. There is nothing to support Steele's assertion that it was at hisinstigation that Addison distinguished his contributions to the_Spectator_ and the _Guardian_. Addison, as his last injunctions showed, must have contemplated a collective edition of his works, and must havedesired therefore that they should be identified. Steele's ambition, nodoubt, was that he and his friend should go down to posterity together, but the appointment of Tickell instead of himself as Addison's literaryexecutor dashed this hope to the ground. Few things in literary biography are more pathetic than the estrangementbetween Addison and Steele. They had played as boys together; they had, for nearly a quarter of a century, shared each other's burdens, and theburdens had not been light; in misfortune and in prosperity, in businessand in pleasure, they had never been parted. The wisdom and prudence ofAddison had more than once been the salvation of Steele; what he knew ofbooks and learning had been almost entirely derived from Addison'sconversation; what moral virtue he had, from Addison's influence. And hehad repaid this with an admiration and affection which bordered onidolatry. A more generous and genial, a more kindly, a more warm-heartedman than Steele never lived, and it is easy to conceive what his feelingsmust have been when he found his friend estranged from him and a rival inhis place. There is much to excuse what this letter to Congreve plainlybetrays; but excuse is not justification. Tickell had a delicate anddifficult task to perform: a duty to his dead friend, which wasparamount, a duty to Steele, and a duty to himself, and he succeeded inperforming each with admirable tact. Whether Tickell ever made any replyto Steele's strictures, I have not been able to discover. We pass now from the literary pamphlets to the extract and excerptsillustrating the condition of the Church and the clergy at the end of theseventeenth and about the first half of the eighteenth century. They areof particular interest, not only in themselves, but in their relation toSwift and Macaulay--to Swift as a Church reformer, to Macaulay as asocial historian. Few historical questions in our own time provoked morecontroversy than the famous pages delineating the clergy who, accordingto Macaulay, were typical of their order about the time of theRestoration. The first excerpt is from Chamberlayne's _Angliae Notitia_. The author of that work, Edward Chamberlayne, was born on the 13th ofDecember 1616. He was educated at Oxford, where he graduated as B. A. InApril 1638. For a short time he was Reader in Rhetoric to the University, but on the breaking out of the Civil War he left for the Continent, wherehe visited nearly every country in Europe. At the Restoration hereturned; and about 1675, after having been secretary to the Earl ofCarlisle, he became tutor to the King's natural son, Henry Fitzroy, afterwards Duke of Grafton, and subsequently instructor in English toPrince George of Denmark. He was also one of the earliest Fellows of theRoyal Society. He died at Chelsea in May 1703. In 1669 he publishedanonymously _Angliae Notitia, or the Present State of England with DiversReflection upon the Ancient State therefor_, a work no doubt suggested byand apparently modelled on the well-known _L'Estat Nouveau de la France_. The work contains more statistics than reflections, and is exactly whatits title implies--a succinct account of England, beginning with itsname, its climate, its topography, and giving information, nowinvaluable, about everything included in its constitution and in itseconomy. The extract printed here is, as is indicated, from pp. 383-389and p. 401. The work passed through two editions in the year of itsappearance, the second bearing the author's name, and at the time ofChamberlayne's death it had, with successive amplifications, reached itstwentieth edition. Of a very different order to Chamberlayne's work is the remarkable tractwhich follows. The author, John Eachard, was born about 1636, at whatdate is doubtful, but he was admitted into Catherine Hall, Cambridge, inMay 1653. Becoming Fellow of the Hall in 1658, he was chosen, on thedeath of Dr. Lightfoot, Master. His perfectly uneventful life closed onthe 7th of July 1697. Personally he was a facetious and agreeable man, and had the reputation of being rather a wit and humorist than a divineand scholar. Baker complained of his inferiority as a preacher; andSwift, observing 'that men who are happy enough at ridicule aresometimes perfectly stupid upon grave subjects, ' gives Eachard as aninstance. _The Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy andReligion enquired into, In a letter written to R. L. _, appearedanonymously in 1670. This anonymity Eachard carefully preserved duringthe controversies which it occasioned. It is difficult to understand howany one after reading the preface could have misunderstood the purpose ofthe book. But Eachard's fate was Swift's fate afterwards, though there wasmore excuse for the High Church party missing the point of the _Tale of aTub_ than for the clergy generally missing that of Eachard's plea forthem. Ridicule is always a dangerous ally, especially when directedagainst an institution or community, for men naturally identifythemselves with the body of which they are members, and resent asindividuals what reflects on them collectively. When one of the opponentsof Barnabus Oley in his preface to Herbert's _Country Parson_ observed:'The pretence of your book was to _show_ the occasions, your book is_become_ the occasion of the contempt of God's ministers, ' he expressedwhat the majority of the clergy felt. The storm burst at once, and thestorm raged for months. 'I have had, ' wrote Eachard in one of his manyrejoinders, 'as many several names as the Grand Seignior has titles ofhonour; for setting aside the vulgar and familiar ones of Rogue, Rascal, Dog, and Thief (which may be taken by way of endearment as well as out ofprejudice and offence), as also those of more certain signification, asMalicious Rogue, Ill-Natured Rascal, Lay Dog, and Spiteful Thief. ' He hadalso, he said, been called Rebel, Traitor, Scot, Sadducee, and Socinian. Among the most elaborate replies to his work were: _An Answer to a Letterof Enquiry into the Ground, _etc. . 1671; _A Vindication of the Clergy fromthe Contempt imposed upon them, By the author of the Grounds_ etc. , 1672;_Hieragonisticon, or Corah's Doom, being an Answer to_, etc. , 1672; _AnAnswer to two Letters of T. B. _, etc. , 1673. The occasional references toit in the theological literature of these times are indeed innumerable. Many affected to treat him as a mere buffoon--the concoctor, as onebitterly put it, of 'a pretty fardle of tales bundled together, and theyhave had the hap to fall into such hands as had rather lose a friend, notto say their country, than a jest. ' Anthony Wood, writing at the time ofits appearance, classes it with 'the fooleries, playes, poems, anddrolling books, ' with which, as he bitterly complains, people were 'takenwith' coupling with it Marvell's _Rehearsal Transposed_ and Butler's_Hudibras_. [4] To some of his opponents Eachard replied. Of his method of conductingcontroversy, in which it is clear that he perfectly revelled, Igive a short specimen. It is from his letter to the author of_Hieragonisticon_:-- 'You may possibly think, sir, that I have read your book, but if you doyou are most mistaken. For as long as I can get Tolambu's _History ofMustard_, Frederigo _Devastation of Pepper, The Dragon_, with cuts, Mandringo's _Pismires rebuffeted_ and _retro-confounded, Is qui medubitat, or a flap against the Maggot of Heresie, EfflorescentinaFlosculorum_, or a choice collection of F. (_sic_) Withers _Poems_ or thelike, I do not intend to meddle with it. Alas, sir, I am as unlikely toread your book that I can't get down the title no more than a duck canswallow a yoked heifer'--and then follows an imitation of gulps strainingat the divided syllables of Hieragonisticon. There is no reason to suspect the sincerity of Eachard, or to doubt thathe was, in his own words, an honest and hearty wisher that 'the best ofthe clergy might for ever continue, as they are, rich and learned, andthat the rest might be very useful and well esteemed in theirprofession. ' To describe the work as 'a series of jocose caricatures--asChurchill Babington in his animadversions on Macaulay's _History_does--is absurd. Eachard was evidently a man of strong common sense, ofmuch shrewdness, a close observer, and one who had acquainted himselfexactly and extensively with the subject which he treats. But he was ahumorist, and, like Swift, sometimes gave the reins to his humour. Itmust be remembered that his remarks apply only to the inferior clergy, and there can be no doubt that since the Reformation they had, as a body, sunk very low. Chamberlayne had no motive for exaggeration, but thelanguage he uses in describing them is stronger even than Eachard's. Swift had no motive for exaggeration, and yet his pictures of Corusodesand Eugenio in his _Essay on the Fates of Clergymen_, and what we gatherfrom his _Project for the Advancement of Religion_, his _Letter to aYoung Clergyman_, and what may be gathered generally from his writings, very exactly corroborate Eachard's account. The lighter literature of thelater seventeenth and of the first half of the eighteenth century teemswith proofs of the contempt to which their ignorance and poverty exposedthem. To the testimonies of Oldham and Steele, and to the authoritiesquoted by Macaulay and Mr. Lecky, may be added innumerable passages fromthe _Observator_, from De Foe's _Review_, from Pepys, [5] from Baxter's_Life_ of himself, from Archbishop Sharp's _Life_, from Burnet, and manyothers. It is remarkable that Eachard says nothing about two causes whichundoubtedly contributed to degrade the Church in the eyes of the laity:its close association with party politics, and the spread oflatitudinarianism, a conspicuous epoch in which was marked sometwenty-six years later in the Bangorian controversy. The appearance of the first volume of Macaulay's _History_ in 1848 againbrought Eachard's work into prominence. Macaulay's famous description ofthe clergy of the seventeenth century in his third chapter was basedmainly on Eachard's account. The clergy and orthodox laity of our own daywere as angry with Eachard's interpreter as their predecessors, nearly twocenturies before, had been with Eachard himself. The controversy beganseriously, after some preliminary skirmishing in the newspapers andlighter reviews, with Mr. Churchill Babington's _Mr. Macaulay'sCharacters of the Clergy in the Latter Part of the Seventeenth CenturyConsidered_, published shortly after the appearance of the _History_. What Mr. Babington and those whom he represented forgot was preciselywhat Eachard's opponents had forgotten, that it was not the clergyuniversally who had been described, for Macaulay, like Eachard, haddistinguished, but the clergy as represented by its proletariat. If Eachard had occasionally given the reins to humour, Macaulay hadoccasionally perhaps given them to rhetoric. But of the substantialaccuracy of both there can be no doubt at all. On the intelligent, discriminating friends of the Church, Eachard's workhad something of the same effect, as Jeremy Collier's _Short View of theProfaneness and Immorality of the English Stage_ had in another sphere. It directed serious attention to what all thoughtful and right-feelingpeople must have felt to be a national scandal. It was an appeal tosentiment and reason on matters with respect to which, in this country atleast, such appeals are seldom made in vain. It did not, indeed, leadimmediately to practical reform, but it advanced the cause of reform byinspiring and bringing other initiators into the field. And pre-eminentamong these was Swift. Swift was evidently well acquainted with Eachard'swork. In the apology prefixed to the fourth edition of the _Tale of a Tub_in 1710, he speaks of Eachard with great respect. Contemptuouslyexplaining that he has no intention of answering the attacks which hadbeen made on the _Tale_, he observes: 'When Dr. Eachard wrote his bookabout the _Contempt of the Clergy_, numbers of these answerersimmediately started up, whose memory, if he had not kept alive by hisreplies, it would now be utterly unknown that he were ever answered atall. ' No one who is familiar with Swift's tracts on Church reform candoubt that he had read Eachard's work with minute attention, and wasgreatly influenced by it. In his _Project for the Advancement ofReligion_, he largely attributed the scandalous immorality everywhereprevalent to the insufficiency of religious instruction, and to the lowcharacter of the clergy, the result mainly of their ignorance andpoverty. His _Letter to a Young Clergyman_ is little more than a didacticadaptation of that portion of Eachard's work which deals with thecharacter and education of the clergy. The _Essay on the Fates ofClergymen_ is another study from the _Contempt_, while the fragment ofthe tract which he had begun, _Concerning that Universal Hatred whichprevails against the Clergy_, brings us still more closely to Eachard. The likeness between them cannot be traced further; they were both, it istrue, humorists, but there is little in common between the austere andbitter, yet, at the same time, delicious flavour of the one, and thetrenchant and graphic, but coarse and rollicking, humour of the other. The essays reprinted from the _Tatler_ give humorous expression to agrievance which not only wounded the pride of the clergy, but touchedthem on an equally sensitive part--the stomach. It was not usual for thechaplain in great houses to remain at table for the second course. Whenthe sweets were brought in, he was expected to retire. As Macaulay putsit: 'He might fill himself with the corned beef and carrots; but as soonas the tarts and cheese-cakes made their appearance, he quitted his seatand stood aloof till he was summoned to return thanks for the repast, from a great part of which he had been excluded. ' Gay refers to thischurlish custom in the second book of _Trivia_:-- 'Cheese that the table's closing rites denies. And bids me with th' unwilling chaplain rise. ' Possibly the custom originally arose, not from any wish to mark thesocial inferiority of the chaplain, but because his presence was a checkon conversation. It must be owned, however, that this would have beenmore intelligible had he retired, not with the corned beef and carrots, but with the ladies. The passage quoted by Steele from Oldham is from his_Satire, addressed to a Friend that is about to Leave the University andcome Abroad in the World_, not the only poem in which Oldham has thrownlight on the degraded profession of the clergy. See the end of his_Satire, spoken in the person of Spenser_. The last piece in this Miscellany has no connection with what precedesit, but it has an interest of its own. Among the many services of one ofthe purest and most indefatigable of philanthropists to hisfellow-citizens was the establishment of what is commonly known as _PoorRichard's Almanack_. Of this periodical, and of the particular number ofit which is here reprinted, Franklin gives the following account in hisautobiography:-- 'In 1732 I first published an Almanack, under the name of _RichardSaunders_; it was continued by me about twenty-five years, and commonlycalled _Poor Richard's Almanack_. I endeavoured to make it bothentertaining and useful, and it accordingly came to be in such demandthat I reaped considerable profit from it, vending annually near tenthousand. And observing that it was generally read (scarce anyneighbourhood in the province being without it), I considered it as aproper vehicle for conveying instruction among the common people, whobought scarcely any other books. I therefore filled all the little spacesthat occurred between the remarkable days in the calendar with proverbialsentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality as the meansof procuring wealth and thereby securing virtue, it being more difficultfor a man in want to act always honestly, as, to use here one of theseproverbs, "it is hard for an empty sack to stand upright. " Theseproverbs, which contained the wisdom of many ages and nations, Iassembled and formed into a connected discourse prefixed to the_Almanack_ of 1757, as the harangue of a wise old man to the peopleattending an auction. The bringing all these scattered counsels thus intoa focus enabled them to make a greater impression. The piece beinguniversally approved, was copied in all the newspapers of the AmericanContinent, reprinted in Britain on a large sheet of paper to be stuck upin houses; two translations were made of it in France, and great numbersbought by the clergy to distribute gratis among their poor parishionersand tenants. In Pennsylvania, as it discouraged useless expense inforeign superfluities, some thought it had its share of influence inproducing that growing plenty of money which was observable for severalyears after its publication. '--_Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin_, Part II, Works Edit. 1833, vol. Ii. Pp. 146-148. Reprinted innumerable times while Franklin was alive, this paper has, since his death, passed through seventy editions in English, fifty-six InFrench, eleven in German, and nine in Italian. It has been translated intonearly every language in Europe: into French, German, and Italian, as wehave seen; into Spanish, Danish, Swedish, Polish, Bohemian, Dutch, Welsh, and modern Greek; it has also been translated into Chinese. [6] In theedition of _Franklin's Works_, printed in London in 1806, it appearsunder the title of _The Way to Wealth, as clearly shown in the Preface toan old Pennsylvanian Almanack, entitled Poor Richard Improved_, and underthis title it was usually printed when detached from the Almanack. As Franklin himself owns, the maxims have little pretension tooriginality. It is evident that he had laid under contribution suchcollections as Clerk's _Adagio Latino-Anglica_, Herbert's _JaculaPrudentum_, James Howell's collection of proverbs, David Fergtison's_Scotch Proverbs_ (with the successively increasing editions between 1641and 1706), Ray's famous _Collection of English Proverbs_, William Penn's_Maxims_, and the like. A few are probably original, and many have beenre-minted and owe their form to him. The first number of the famous _Almanack_ from which they are extractedwas published at the end of 1732, just after Franklin had set up as aprinter and stationer for himself, its publication being announced in the_Pennsylvania Gazette_ of December 9th, 1732; and for twenty-five years itcontinued regularly to appear, the last number being that for the year1758, and having for preface the discourse which became soextraordinarily popular. The name assumed by Franklin was no doubtborrowed from that of Richard Saunders, a well-known astrologer of theseventeenth century, of whom there is a notice in the _Dictionary ofNational Biography_. But Mr. Leicester Ford[7] says that it was the nameof 'a chyrurgeon' of the eighteenth century who for many years issued apopular almanac entitled _The Apollo Anglicanus__. Of this publication Iknow nothing, and can discover nothing. The probability is that itscompiler, whoever he was, anticipated Franklin in assuming the name ofJohn Saunders. He is most certainly not to be identified with Saundersthe astrologer, who died in, or not much later than, 1687. It remains to add that no pains have been spared to make the texts of theexcerpts and tracts in this Miscellany as accurate as possible--indeed, Mr. Arber's name is a sufficient guarantee of the efficiency with whichthis important part of the work has been done. For the modernisation ofthe spelling, which some readers may perhaps be inclined to regret, andfor the punctuation, as well as for the elucidatory notes withinbrackets, Mr. Arber is solely responsible. J. CHURTON COLLINS. [1] See his Preface to his version of part of Virgil's second _Aeneid_. [2] Whateley's _Reminiscences of Bishop Copleston_, p. 6. [3] See _Late Stuart Tracts_. [4] Wood's _Life and Times_, Clark's Ed. Vol. Ii. P. 240. [5] See, for example, _Diary_, February 16th, 1668: 'Much discourse about the bad state of the Church, and how the clergy are come to be men of no worth in the world, and, as the world do now generally discourse, they must be reformed. ' [6] For this information I am indebted to Mr. Paul Leicester Ford's interesting monograph on the sayings of Poor Richard, prefixed to his selections from the _Almanack_, privately printed at Brooklyn in 1890. [7] Introduction to his selections from the _Almanack_. THOMAS WILSON. _Eloquence first given by GOD, after lost by man, and last repaired by GOD again_. [_The Art of Rhetoric_. ] Man in whom is poured the breath of life, was made at his first being aneverlasting creature, unto the likeness of GOD; endued with reason, andappointed lord over all other things living. But after the fail of ourfirst father, sin so crept in that our knowledge was much darkened, andby corruption of this our flesh, man's reason and entendment[_intellect_] were both overwhelmed. At what time, GOD being sore grievedwith the folly of one man; pitied, of His mere goodness, the whole stateand posterity of mankind. And therefore whereas through the wickedsuggestion of our ghostly enemy, the joyful fruition of GOD's glory wasaltogether lost; it pleased our heavenly Father to repair mankind of hisfree mercy and to grant an everlasting inheritance unto such as would byconstant faith seek earnestly thereafter. Long it was, ere that man knew; himself being destitute of GOD's grace, so that all things waxed savage, the earth untilled, society neglected, GOD's will not known, man against man, one against another, and allagainst order. Some lived by spoil, some like brute beasts grazed uponthe ground, some went naked, some roamed like woodwoses [_mad wild men_], none did anything by reason, but most did what they could by manhood. Nonealmost considered the everliving GOD; but all lived most commonly aftertheir own lust. By death, they thought that all things ended; by life, they looked for none other living. None remembered the true observationof wedlock, none tendered the education of their children; laws were noteregarded, true dealing was not once used. For virtue, vice bare place; forright and equity, might used authority. And therefore whereas man throughreason might have used order, man through folly fell into error. And thusfor lack of skill and want of grace, evil so prevailed that the devil wasmost esteemed; and GOD either almost unknown among them all or elsenothing feared among so many. Therefore--even now when man was thus pastall hope of amendment--GOD still tendering his own workmanship; stirredup his faithful and elect, to persuade with reason all men to society;and gave his appointed ministers knowledge both to see the natures ofmen; and also granted to them the gift of utterance, that they might withease win folk at their will, and frame them by reason to all good order. And therefore whereas men lived brutishly in open fields having neitherhouse to shroud [_cover_] them in, nor attire to clothe their backs; noryet any regard to seek their best avail [_interest_]; these appointed ofGOD, called them together by utterance of speech; and persuaded with themwhat was good, what was bad, and what was gainful for mankind. Andalthough at first the rude could hardly learn, and either for thestrangeness of the thing would not gladly receive the offer or else forlack of knowledge could not perceive the goodness; yet being somewhatdrawn and delighted with the pleasantness of reason and the sweetness ofutterance, after a certain space, they became through nurture and goodadvisement, of wild, sober; of cruel, gentle; of fools, wise; and ofbeasts, men. Such force hath the tongue, and such is the power ofEloquence and Reason that most men are forced, even to yield in thatwhich most standeth against their will. And therefore the poets do feignthat HERCULES, being a man of great wisdom, had all men linked togetherby the ears in a chain, to draw them and lead them even as he listed. Forhis wit so great, his tongue so eloquent, and his experience such that noman was able to withstand his reason; but every one was rather driven todo that which he would, and to will that which he did; agreeing to hisadvice both in word and work, in all that ever they were able. Neither can I see that men could have been brought by any other means tolive together in fellowship of life, to maintain cities, to deal truly, and willingly to obey one another; if men, at the first, had not by artand eloquence persuaded that which they full oft found out by reason. Forwhat man, I pray you, being better able to maintain himself by valiantcourage than by living in base subjection, would not rather look to rulelike a lord, than to live like an underling; If by reason he were notpersuaded that it behoveth every man to live in his own vocation, and notto seek any higher room than that whereunto he was at the first, appointed? Who would dig and delve from morn till evening? Who wouldtravail and toil with the sweat of his brows? Yea, who would, for hisKing's pleasure, adventure and hazard his life, if wit had not so won menthat they thought nothing more needful in this world nor anythingwhereunto they were more bounden than here to live in their duty and totrain their whole life, according to their calling. Therefore whereas menare in many things weakly by nature, and subject to much infirmity; Ithink in this one point they pass all other creatures living, that theyhave the gift of speech and reason. And among all other, I think him of most worthy fame, and amongst men tobe taken for half a god that therein doth chiefly and above all otherexcel men; wherein men do excel beasts. For he that is among thereasonable of all the most reasonable; and among the witty, of all themost witty; and among the eloquent, of all the most eloquent: him, thinkI, among all men, not only to be taken for a singular man, but rather tobe counted for half a god. For in seeking the excellency hereof, thesooner he draweth to perfection the nigher he corneth to GOD, who is thechief Wisdom: and therefore called GOD because He is the most wise, orrather wisdom itself. Now then seeing that GOD giveth heavenly grace unto such as called untohim with outstretched hands and humble heart; never wanting to those thatwant not to themselves; I purpose by His grace and especial assistance, toset forth such precepts of eloquence, and to show what observation thewise have used in handling of their matters; that the unlearned by seeingthe practice of others, may have some knowledge themselves; and learn bytheir neighbours' device what is necessary for themselves in their owncase. Sir PHILIP SIDNEY. _Letter to his brother ROBERT, then in Germany, 18 October_ 1580. Sir PHILIP SIDNEY to his brother, ROBERT SIDNEY, who was the first Earlof LEICESTER of that familiar name. My Dear Brother, For the money you have received, assure yourself (for it is true) thereis nothing I spend so pleaseth me; as that which is for you. If ever Ihave ability, you shall find it so: if not, yet shall not any brotherliving be better beloved than you, of me. I cannot write now to N. WHITE. Do you excuse me! For his nephew, theyare but passions in my father; which we must bear with reverence: but Iam sorry he should return till he had the circuit of his travel; for youshall never have such a servant, as he would prove. Use your owndiscretion! For your countenance, I would (for no cause) have it diminished inGermany. In Italy, your greatest expense must be upon worthy men, and notupon householding. Look to your diet, sweet ROBIN! and hold up your heartin courage and virtue. Truly, great part of my comfort is in you! I knownot myself what I meant by bravery in you; so greatly you may see Icondemn you. Be careful of yourself, and I shall never have cares. I have written to Master SAVELL. I wish you kept still together. He is anexcellent man. And there may, if you list, pass good exercises betwixt youand Master NEVELL. There is great expectation of you both. For method of writing history, BODEN hath written at large. You may readhim, and gather out of many words, some matter. This I think, in haste. A Story is either to be considered as a Story; oras a Treatise, which, besides that, addeth many things for profit andornament. As a Story, he is nothing, but a narration of things done, withthe beginnings, causes, and appendices thereof. In that kind, your methodmust be to have _seriem temporum_ very exactly, which the chronologies ofMELANCTHON, TARCHAGNORA, LANGUET and such others will help you to. Then to consider by that. .. As you note yourself, XENOPHON to followTHUCYDIDES, so doth THUCYDIDES follow HERODOTUS, and DIODORUS SICULUSfollow XENOPHON. So generally, do the Roman stories follow the Greek; andthe particular stories of the present monarchies follow the Roman. In that kind, you have principally to note the examples of virtue andvice, with their good or evil success; the establishment or rains ofgreat Estates, with the causes, the time, and circumstances of the lawsthen written of; the enterings and endings of wars; and therein, thestratagems against the enemy, and the discipline upon the soldier. And thus much as a very historiographer. Besides this, the Historian makes himself a Discourser for profit; and anOrator, yea, a Poet sometimes, for ornament. An Orator; in makingexcellent orations, _è re nata_, which are to be marked, but marked withthe note of rhetorical remembrances: a Poet; in painting for the effects, the motions, the whisperings of the people, which though in disputation, one might say were true--yet who will mark them well shall find themtaste of a poetical vein, and in that kind are gallantly to bemarked--for though perchance, they were not so, yet it is enough theymight be so. The last point which tends to teach profit, is of aDiscourser; which name I give to whosoever speaks _non simpliciter defacto, sed de qualitatibus et circumstantiis facti_: and that is it whichmakes me and many others, rather note much with our pen than with our mind. Because we leave all these discourses to the confused trust of ourmemory; because they be not tied to the tenour of a question: asPhilosophers use sometimes, places; the Divine, in telling his opinionand reasons in religion; sometimes the Lawyer, in showing the causes andbenefits of laws; sometimes a Natural Philosopher, in setting down thecauses of any strange thing which the Story binds him to speak of; butmost commonly a Moral Philosopher, either in the ethic part, where hesets forth virtues or vices and the natures of passions; or in thepolitic, when he doth (as often he doth) meddle sententiously withmatters of Estate. Again, sometimes he gives precept of war, bothoffensive and defensive. And so, lastly, not professing any art as hismatter leads him, he deals with all arts; which--because it carrieth thelife of a lively example--it is wonderful what light it gives to the artsthemselves; so as the great Civilians help themselves with the discoursesof the Historians. So do Soldiers; and even Philosophers and Astronomers. But that I wish herein is this, that when you read any such thing, youstraight bring it to his head, not only of what art; but by your logicalsubdivisions to the next member and parcel of the art. And so--as in atable--be it witty words, of which TACITUS is full; sentences, of whichLIVY; or similitudes, whereof PLUTARCH: straight to lay it up in theright place of his storehouse--as either military, or more speciallydefensive military, or more particularly, defensive by fortification--andso lay it up. So likewise in politic matters. And such a little table youmay easily make wherewith I would have you ever join the historical part;which is only the example of some stratagem, or good counsel, or such like. This write I to you, in great haste, of method, without method: but, withmore leisure and study--if I do not find some book that satisfies--I willventure to write more largely of it unto you. Master SAVELL will, with ease, help you to set down such a table ofremembrance to yourself; and for your sake I perceive he will do much;and if ever I be able, I will deserve it of him. One only thing, as itcomes into my mind, let me remember you of, that you consider wherein theHistorian excelleth, and that to note: as DION NICAEUS in the searchingthe secrets of government; TACITUS, in the pithy opening of the venom ofwickedness; and so of the rest. My time--exceedingly short--will suffer me to write no more leisurely. STEPHEN can tell you who stands with me, while I am writing. Now, dear brother! take delight likewise in the mathematicals. MasterSAVELL is excellent in them. I think you understand the sphere. If youdo, I care little for any more astronomy in you. Arithmetic and Geometry, I would wish you well seen in: so as both in matter of number and measure, you might have a feeling and active judgment, I would you did bear themechanical instruments, wherein the Dutch excel. I write this to you as one, that for myself have given over the delightin the world; but wish to you as much, if not more, than to myself. So you can speak and write Latin, not barbarously; I never require greatstudy in Ciceronianism, the chief abuse of Oxford, _qui dum verbasectantur, res ipsas negligunt_. My toyful books I will send--with GOD's help--by February [1581]; atwhich time you shall have your money. And for £200 [_nearly £2, 000 at thepresent day_] a year, assure yourself! If the estates of England remain, you shall not fail of it. Use it to your best profit! My Lord of LEICESTER sends you £40 as I understand, by STEPHEN; andpromiseth he will continue that stipend yearly at the least. Then that isabove commons. In any case, write largely and diligently unto him: for, intruth, I have good proof that he means to be every way good unto you. Theodd £30 shall come with the £100, or else my father and I will jarle. Now, sweet Brother, take a delight to keep and increase your music. Youwill not believe what a want I find of it, in my melancholy times. At horsemanship; when you exercise it, read CRISON CLAUDIO, and a bookthat is called _La Gloria de l'Cavallo_ withal: that you may join thethorough contemplation of it with the exercise: and so shall you profitmore in a month, than others in a year. And mark the bitting, saddling, and cur[ry]ing of horses. I would, by the way, your Worship would learn a better hand. You writeworse than I: and I write evil enough. Once again, have a care of yourdiet; and consequently of your complexion. Remember _gratior est veniensin pulchro corpore virtus_. Now, Sir, for news; I refer myself to this bearer. He can tell you howidly we look on our neighbour's fires: and nothing is happened notable athome; save only DRAKE's return. Of which yet, I know not the secretpoints: but about the world he hath been, and rich he is returned. Portugal, we say, is lost. And to conclude, my eyes are almost closed up, overwatched with tedious business. God bless you, sweet Boy! and accomplish the joyful hope I conceive ofyou. Once again commend me to Master NEVELL, Master SAVELL, and honestHARRY WHITE, and bid him be merry. When you play at weapons; I would have you get thick caps and bracers[_gloves_], and play out your play lustily; for indeed, ticks anddalliances are nothing in earnest: for the time of the one and the othergreatly differs. And use as well the blow as the thrust. It is good initself; and besides increaseth your breath and strength, and will makeyou a strong man at the tourney and barriers. First, in any case, practise the single sword; and then, with the dagger. Let no day passwithout an hour or two of such exercise. The rest, study; or conferdiligently: and so shall you come home to my comfort and credit. Lord! how I have babbled! Once again, farewell, dearest Brother! Your most loving and careful brother PHILIP SIDNEY. At Leicester Housethis 18th of October 1580. Francis Meres, M. A. _Sketch of English Literature, Painting, and Music, up to September_ 1598. _A comparative Discourse of our English Poets [Painters and Musicians]with the Greek, Latin, and Italian Poets [Painters and Musicians]_. As Greece had three poets of great antiquity, ORPHEUS, LINUS, andMUSAEUS; and Italy, other three ancient poets, LIVIUS ANDRONICUS, ENNIUS, and PLAUTUS: so hath England three ancient poets, CHAUCER, GOWER, andLYDGATE. As HOMER is reputed the Prince of Greek poets; and PETRARCH of Italianpoets: so CHAUCER is accounted the god of English poets. As HOMER was the first that adorned the Greek tongue with true quantity:so [WILLIAM LANGLAND, the author of] _PIERS PLOWMAN_ was the first thatobserved the true quantity of our verse without the curiosity of rhyme. OVID writ a Chronicle from the beginning of the world to his own time;that is, to the reign of AUGUSTUS the Emperor: so hath HARDING theChronicler (after his manner of old harsh rhyming) from ADAM to his time;that is, to the reign of King EDWARD IV. As SOTADES Maronites, the Iambic poet, gave himself wholly to writeimpure and lascivious things: so SKELTON (I know not for what greatworthiness, surnamed the Poet Laureate) applied his wit to scurrilitiesand ridiculous matters; such [as] among the Greeks were called_Pantomimi_, with us, buffoons. As CONSALVO PEREZ, that excellent learned man, and secretary to KingPHILIP [II. ] of Spain, in translating the "Ulysses" [_Odyssey_] of HOMERout of Greek into Spanish, hath, by good judgement, avoided the fault ofrhyming, although [he hath] not fully hit perfect and true versifying: sohath HENRY HOWARD, that true and noble Earl of SURREY, in translating thefourth book of VIRGIL's _AEneas_: whom MICHAEL DRAYTON in his _England'sHeroical Epistles_ hath eternized for an _Epistle to his fair GERALDINE_. As these Neoterics, JOVIANUS PONTANUS, POLITIANUS, MARULLUS TARCHANIOTA, the two STROZAE the father and the son, PALINGENIUS, MANTUANUS, PHILELPHUS, QUINTIANUS STOA, and GERMANUS BRIXIUS have obtained renown, and good place among the ancient Latin poets: so also these Englishmen, being Latin poets; WALTER HADDON, NICHOLAS CARR, GABRIEL HARVEY, CHRISTOPHER OCKLAND, THOMAS NEWTON, with his _LELAND_, THOMAS WATSON, THOMAS CAMPION, [JOHN] BRUNSWERD, and WILLEY have attained [a] goodreport and honourable advancement in the Latin empire [of letters]. As the Greek tongue is made famous and eloquent by HOMER, HESIOD, EURIPIDES, AESCHYLUS, SOPHOCLES, PINDARUS, PHOCYLIDES, and ARISTOPHANES;and the Latin tongue by VIRGIL, OVID, HORACE, SILIUS ITALICUS, LUCANUS, LUCRETIUS, AUSONIUS, and CLAUDIANUS: so the English tongue is mightilyenriched, and gorgeously invested in rare ornaments and resplendenthabiliments by Sir PHILIP SYDNEY, SPENSER, DANIEL, DRAYTON, WARNER, SHAKESPEARE, MARLOW, and CHAPMAN. As XENOPHON, who did imitate so excellently as to give us _effigiem justiimperii_, "the portraiture of a just empire" under the name of _CYRUS_, (as CICERO saith of him) made therein an absolute heroical poem; and asHELIODORUS wrote in prose, his sugared invention of that picture of lovein _THEAGINES and CARICLEA_; and yet both excellent admired poets: so SirPHILIP SIDNEY writ his immortal poem, _The Countess of PEMBROKE's"Arcadia"_ in prose; and yet our rarest poet. As SEXTOS PROPERTIUS said, _Nescio quid magis nascitur Iliade_: so I sayof SPENSER's _Fairy Queen_; I know not what more excellent or exquisitepoem may be written. As ACHILLES had the advantage of HECTOR, because it was his fortune to beextolled and renowned by the heavenly verse of HOMER: so SPENSER's _ELIZA, the Fairy Queen_, hath the advantage of all the Queens in the world, to beeternized by so divine a poet. As THEOCRITUS is famoused for his _Idyllia_ in Greek, and VIRGIL for his_Eclogues_ in Latin: so SPENSER their imitator in his _ShepherdsCalendar_ is renowned for the like argument; and honoured for finepoetical invention, and most exquisite wit. As PARTHENIUS Nicaeus excellently sang the praises of _ARETE_: so DANIELhath divinely sonnetted the matchless beauty of _DELIA_. As every one mourneth, when he heareth of the lamentable plangors[plaints] of [the] Thracian ORPHEUS for his dearest _EURYDICE_: so everyone passionateth, when he readeth the afflicted death of DANIEL'sdistressed _ROSAMOND_. As LUCAN hath mournfully depainted the Civil Wars of POMPEY and CAESAR:so hath DANIEL, the Civil Wars of York and Lancaster; and DRAYTON, theCivil Wars of EDWARD II. And the Barons. As VIRGIL doth imitate CATULLUS in the like matter of _ARIADNE_, for hisstory of Queen _DIDO_: so MICHAEL DRAYTON doth imitate OVID in his_England's Heroical Epistles_. As SOPHOCLES was called a Bee for the sweetness of his tongue: so inCHARLES FITZ-GEFFRY's _DRAKE_, DRAYTON is termed "golden-mouthed, " forthe purity and preciousness of his style and phrase. As ACCIUS, MARCUS ATILIUS, and MILITHUS were called _Tragaediographi_;because they writ tragedies: so we may truly term MICHAEL DRAYTON, _Tragaediographus_: for his passionate penning [_the poem of_] thedownfalls of valiant ROBERT of NORMANDY, chaste MATILDA, and greatGAVESTON. As JOANNES HONTERUS, in Latin verse, wrote three books of Cosmography, with geographical tables; so MICHAEL DRAYTON is now in penning in Englishverse, a poem called _Poly-olbion_ [which is] geographical andhydrographical of all the forests, woods, mountains, fountains, rivers, lakes, floods, baths [_spas_], and springs that be in England. As AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS is reported, among all writers to [have] been ofan honest life and upright conversation: so MICHAEL DRAYTON, _quem totieshonoris et amoris causa nomino_, among scholars, soldiers, poets, and allsorts of people, is held for a man of virtuous disposition, honestconversation, and well governed carriage: which is almost miraculousamong good wits in these declining and corrupt times; when there isnothing but roguery in villainous man, and when cheating and craftinessare counted the cleanest wit and soundest wisdom. As DECIUS AUSONIUS Gallus, _in libris Fastorum_, penned the occurrencesof the world from the first creation of it to this time; that is, to thereign of the Emperor GRATIAN: so WARNER, in his absolute _Albion'sEngland_, hath most admirably penned the history of his own country fromNOAH to his time, that is, to the reign of Queen ELIZABETH. I have heardhim termed of the best wits of both our Universities, our English HOMER. As EURIPIDES is the most sententious among the Greek poets: so is WARNERamong our English poets. As the soul of EUPHORBUS was thought to live in PYTHAGORAS: so the sweetwitty soul of OVID lives in mellifluous and honey-tongued SHAKESPEARE. Witness his _VENUS and ADONIS_; his _LUCRECE_; his sugared _Sonnets_, among his private friends; &c. As PLAUTUS and SENECA are accounted the best for Comedy and Tragedy amongthe Latins: so SHAKESPEARE among the English is the most excellent in bothkinds for the stage. For Comedy: witness his _Gentlemen of Verona_; his[_Comedy of_] _Errors_; his _Love's Labour's Lost_; his _Love's Labour'sWon_ [? _All's Well that Ends Well_] his _Midsummer Night's Dream_; andhis _Merchant of Venice_. For Tragedy: his _RICHARD II. , RICHARD III. , HENRY IV. , King JOHN, TITUSANDRONICUS_, and his _ROMEO and JULIET_. As EPIUS STOLO said that the Muses would speak with PLAUTUS's tongue, ifthey would speak Latin: so I say that the Muses would speak withSHAKESPEARE's fine filed phrase; if they would speak English. As MUSAEUS, who wrote the love of HERO and LEANDER, had two excellentscholars, THAMYRAS and HERCULES; so hath he [MUSAEUS] in England, twoexcellent, poets, imitators of him in the same argument and subject, CHRISTOPHER MARLOW and GEORGE CHAPMAN. As OVID saith of his work, _Famque opus exegi, quod nec FOVIS ira, nec ignis, Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas_; And as HORACE saith of his, _Exegi monumentum oere perennius Regalique situ pyramidum altius, Quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens Possit disruere, aut innumerabilis Annorum series, et fuga temporum_: So I say, severally, of Sir PHILIP SIDNEY's, SPENSER's, DANIEL's, DRAYTON's, SHAKESPEARE's, and WARNER's works, _Non FOVIS ira: imbres: MARS: ferrum: flamma: senectus: Hoc opus unda: lues: turbo: venena ruent. Et quanquam ad pulcherrimum hoc opus evertendum, tres illi Dii conspirabunt, CHRONUS, VULCANUS, et PATER ipse gentis. Non tamen annorum series, non flamma, nec ensis; AEternum potuit hoc abolere Decus_. As Italy had DANTE, BOCCACE [BOCCACIO], PETRARCH, TASSO, CELIANO, andARIOSTO: so England had MATTHEW ROYDON, THOMAS ATCHELOW, THOMAS WATSON, THOMAS KYD, ROBERT GREENE, and GEORGE PEELE. As there are eight famous and chief languages; Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Syriac, Arabic, Italian, Spanish, and French; so there are eight notableseveral kinds of poets, [1] Heroic, [2] Lyric, [3] Tragic, [4] Comic, [5]Satiric, [6] Iambic, [7] Elegiac, and [8] Pastoral. [1] As HOMER and VIRGIL among the Greeks and Latins are the chief Heroicpoets: so SPENSER and WARNER be our chief heroical "makers. " [2] As PINDARUS, ANACREON, and CALLIMACHUS, among the Greeks; and HORACEand CUTALLUS among the Latins are the best Lyric poets: so in thisfaculty, the best among our poets are SPENSER, who excelleth in allkinds; DANIEL, DRAYTON, SHAKESPEARE, BRETON. [3] As these Tragic poets flourished in Greece: AESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, ALEXANDER AEtolus; ACHAEUS ERITHRIOEUS, ASTYDAMAS Atheniensis, APOLLODORUS Tarsensis, NICOMACHUS Phrygius, THESPIS Atticus, and TIMONAPOLLONIATES; and these among the Latins, ACCIUS, MARCUS ATILIUS, POMPONUS SECUNDUS, and SENECA: so these are our best for Tragedy; TheLord BUCKHURST, Doctor LEG, of Cambridge, Doctor EDES, of Oxford, MasterEDWARD FERRIS, the author[s] of the _Mirror for Magistrates_, MARLOW, PEELE, WATSON, KYD, SHAKESPEARE, DRAYTON, CHAPMAN, DECKER, and BENJAMINJOHNSON. As MARCUS ANNEUS LUCANUS writ two excellent tragedies; one called_MEDEA_, the other _De incendio Trojoe cum PRIAMI calamitate_: so DoctorLEG hath penned two famous tragedies; the one of _RICHARD III. _, theother of _The Destruction of Jerusalem_. [4] The best poets for Comedy among the Greeks are these: MENANDER, ARISTOPHANES, EUPOLIS Atheniensis, ALEXIS Terius, NICOSTRATUS, AMIPSIASAtheniensis, ANAXANDRIDES Rhodeus, ARISTONYMUS, ARCHIPPUS Atheniensis, and CALLIAS Atheniensis; and among the Latins, PLAUTUS, TERENCE, NAEVIUS, SEXTUS TURPILIUS, LICINIUS IMBREX, and VIRGILIUS Romanus: so the best forComedy amongst us be EDWARD [VERE], Earl of OXFORD; Doctor GAGER, ofOxford; Master ROWLEY, once a rare scholar of learned Pembroke Hall inCambridge; Master EDWARDES, one of Her Majesty's Chapel; eloquent andwitty JOHN LILLY, LODGE, GASCOIGNE, GREENE, SHAKESPEARE, THOMAS NASH, THOMAS HEYWOOD, ANTHONY MUNDAY, our best plotter; CHAPMAN, PORTER, WILSON, HATHWAY, and HENRY CHETTLE. [5] As HORACE, LUCILIUS, JUVENAL, PERSIUS, and LUCULLUS are the best forSatire among the Latins: so with us, in the same faculty, these are chief[WILLIAM LANGLAND, the author of] _PIERS PLOWMAN_, [T. ] LODGE, [JOSEPH]HALL of Emmanuel College in Cambridge [_afterwards Bishop of NORWICH_];[JOHN MARSTON] the Author of _PYGMALION's Image, and certain Satires_;the Author of _Skialetheia_. [6] Among the Greeks, I will name but two for Iambics, ARCHILOCHUS Pariusand HIPPONAX Ephesius: so amongst us, I name but two Iambical poets;GABRIEL HARVEY and RICHARD STANYHURST, because I have seen no more inthis kind. [7] As these are famous among the Greeks for Elegies, MELANTHUS, MYMNERUSColophonius, OLYMPIUS Mysius, PARTHENIUS Nicoeus, PHILETAS Cous, THEOGENESMegarensis, and PIGRES Halicarnassoeus; and these among the Latins, MAECENAS, OVID, TIBULLUS, PROPERTIUS, C. VALGIUS, CASSIUS SEVERUS, andCLODIUS Sabinus: so these are the most passionate among us to bewail andbemoan the perplexities of love, HENRY HOWARD, Earl of SURREY, Sir THOMASWYATT the Elder, Sir FRANCIS BRYAN, Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Sir WALTER RALEIGH, Sir EDWARD DYER, SPENSER, DANIEL, DRAYTON, SHAKESPEARE, WHETSTONE, GASCOIGNE, SAMUEL PAGE sometime Fellow of Corpus Christi College inOxford, CHURCHYARD, BRETON. [8] As THEOCRITUS in Greek; VIRGIL and MANTUAN in Latin, SANNAZAR inItalian, and [THOMAS WATSON] the Author of _AMINTAE Gaudia_ and_WALSINGHAM's MELIBOEUS_ are the best for Pastoral: so amongst us thebest in this kind are Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Master CHALLONER, SPENSER, STEPHEN GOSSON, ABRAHAM FRAUNCE, and BARNFIELD. These and many other Epigrammatists, the Latin tongue hath; Q. CATULLUS, PORCIUS LICINIUS, QUINTUS CORNIFICIUS, MARTIAL, CNOEUS GETULICUS, andwitty Sir THOMAS MORE: so in English we have these, HEYWOOD, DRANT, KENDAL, BASTARD, DAVIES. As noble MAECENAS, that sprang from the Etruscan Kings, not only gracedpoets by his bounty, but also by being a poet himself; and as JAMES VI. , now King of Scotland, is not only a favourer of poets, but a poet; as myfriend Master RICHARD BARNFELD hath in this distich passing well recorded, The King of Scots now living is a poet, As his _Lepanto_ and his _Furies_ show it: so ELIZABETH, our dread Sovereign and gracious Queen, is not only aliberal Patron unto poets, but an excellent poet herself; whose learned, delicate and noble Muse surmounteth, be it in Ode, Elegy, Epigram; or inany other kind of poem, Heroic or Lyric. OCTAVIA, sister unto AUGUSTUS the Emperor, was exceeding[ly] bountifulunto VIRGIL, who gave him for making twenty-six verses, £1, 137, to wit, ten _sestertiae_ for every verse (which amounted to above £43 for everyverse): so learned MARY, the honourable Countess of PEMBROKE [and] thenoble sister of the immortal Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, is very liberal untopoets. Besides, she is a most delicate poet, of whom I may say, asANTIPATER Sidonius writeth of SAPPHO: _Dulcia Mnemosyne demirans carmina Sapphus, Quaesivit decima Pieris unde foret_. Among others, in times past, poets had these favourers; AUGUSTUS, MAECENAS, SOPHOCLES, GERMANICUS; an Emperor, a Nobleman, a Senator, and aCaptain: so of later times, poets have [had] these patrons; ROBERT, Kingof Sicily, the great King FRANCIS [I. ] of France, King JAMES of Scotland, and Queen ELIZABETH of England. As in former times, two great Cardinals, BEMBA and BIENA did countenancepoets: so of late years, two great Preachers, have given them their righthands in fellowship; BEZA and MELANCTHON. As the learned philosophers FRACASTORIUS and SCALIGER have highly prizedthem: so have the eloquent orators, PONTANUS and MURETUS very gloriouslyestimated them. As GEORGIUS BUCHANANUS' _JEPTHAE_, amongst all modern tragedies, is ableto abide the touch of ARISTOTLE's precepts and EURIPIDES's examples: sois Bishop WATSON's _ABSALOM_. As TERENCE for his translations out of APOLLODORUS and MENANDER, andAQUILIUS for his translation out of MENANDER, and C. GERMANICUS AUGUSTUSfor his out of ARATUS, and AUSONIUS for his translated _Epigrams_ out of[the] Greek, and Doctor JOHNSON for his _Frog-fight_ out of HOMER, andWATSON for his _ANTIGONE_ out of SOPHOCLES, have got good commendations:so these versifiers for their learned translations, are of good noteamong us; PHAER foi VIRGIL's _AEneid_, GOLDING for OVID's_Metamorphosis_, HARINGTON for his _ORLANDO Furioso_, the Translators ofSENECA's _Tragedies_, BARNABE GOOGE for PALINGENIUS's [_Zodiac of Life_], TURBERVILLE for OVID's _Epistles_ and MANTUAN, and CHAPMAN for hisinchoate HOMER. As the Latins have these Emblematists, ANDREAS ALCIATUS, REUSNERUS, andSAMBUCUS: so we have these, GEFFREY WHITNEY, ANDREW WILLET, and THOMASCOMBE. As NONNUS PANAPOLYTA wrote the _Gospel_ of Saint JOHN in Greekhexameters: so GERVASE MARKHAM hath written SOLOMON's _Canticles_ inEnglish verse. As CORNELIUS PLINIUS writ the life of POMPONUS SECUNDUS; so young CHARLESFITZ-GEFFERY, that high towering falcon, hath most gloriously penned _Thehonourable Life and Death of worthy Sir FRANCIS DRAKE_. As HESIOD wrote learnedly of husbandry in Greek: so TUSSER [hath] verywittily and experimentally written of it in English. As ANTIPATER Sidonius was famous for extemporal verse in Greek, and OVIDfor his _Quicquid conabar dicere versus erat_: so was our TARLETON, of whom Doctor CASE, that learned physician, thusspeaketh in the Seventh Book and 17th chapter of his _Politics_. _ARISTOTLES suum THEODORETUM laudavit quendam peritum Tragaediarumactorem, CICERO suum ROSCIUM: nos Angli TARLETONUM, in cujus voce etvultu omnes jocosi affectus, in cujus cerebroso capite lepidae facetiaehabitant_. And so is now our witty [THOMAS] WILSON, who, for learning and extemporalwit in this faculty, is without compare or compeer; as to his great andeternal commendations, he manifested in his challenge at the _Swan_, onthe Bank Side. As ACHILLES tortured the dead body of HECTOR; and as ANTONIUS and hiswife FULVIA tormented the lifeless corpse of CICERO; so GABRIEL HARVEYhath showed the same inhumanity to GREENE, that lies full low in hisgrave. As EUPOLIS of Athens used great liberty in taxing the vices of men: sodoth THOMAS NASH. Witness the brood of the HARVEYS! As ACTAEON was worried of his own hounds: so is TOM NASH of his _Isle ofDogs_. Dogs were the death of EURIPIDES; but be not disconsolate, gallantyoung JUVENAL! LINUS, the son of APOLLO, died the same death. Yet GODforbid that so brave a wit should so basely perish! Thine are but paperdogs, neither is thy banishment like OVID's, eternally to converse withthe barbarous _Getae_. Therefore comfort thyself, sweet TOM! withCICERO's glorious return to Rome; and with the counsel AENEAS gives tohis seabeaten soldiers, _Lib_ 1, _AEneid_. Pluck up thine heart! and drive from thence both fear and care away! To think on this, may pleasure be perhaps another day. _Durato, et temet rebus servato secundis_. As ANACREON died by the pot: so GEORGE PEELE, by the pox. As ARCHESILAUS PRYTANOEUS perished by wine at a drunken feast, asHERMIPPUS testifieth in DIOGENES: so ROBERT GREENE died by a surfeittaken of pickled herrings and Rhenish wine; as witnesseth THOMAS NASH, who was at the fatal banquet. As JODELLE, a French tragical poet, being an epicure and an atheist, madea pitiful end: so our tragical poet MARLOW, for his Epicurism and Atheism, had a tragical death; as you may read of this MARLOW more at large, in the_Theatre of GOD's judgments_, in the 25th chapter, entreating of _Epicuresand Atheists_. As the poet LYCOPHRON was shot to death by a certain rival of his: soCHRISTOPHER MARLOW was stabbed to death by a baudy Servingman, a rival ofhis, in his lewd love. _PAINTERS_. APELLES painted a mare and a dog so lively [_lifelike_], that horses anddogs passing by would neigh and bark at them. He grew so famous for hisexcellent art, that great ALEXANDER came often to his shop to visit him, and commanded that none other should paint him. At his death, he leftVENUS unfinished; neither was any [one] ever found, that durst perfectwhat he had begun. ZEUXIS was so excellent in painting, that it was easier for any man toview his pictures than to imitate them; who, to make an excellent table[_picture_], had five Agrigentine virgins naked by him. He painted grapesso lively, that birds did fly to eat them. PARRHASIUS painted a sheet [_curtain_] so artificially, that ZEUXIS tookit for a sheet indeed; and commanded it to be taken away, to see thepicture that he thought it had veiled. As learned and skilful Greece had these excellently renowned for theirlimning; so England hath these: HILIARD, ISAAC OLIVER, and JOHN DECREETES, very famous for their painting. As Greece moreover had these painters, TIMANTES, PHIDIAS, POLIGNOTUS, PANEUS, BULARCHUS, EUMARUS, CIMON CLEONCEUS, PYTHIS, APPOLLODORUSAtheniensis, ARISTIDES Thebanus, NICOPHANES, PERSEUS, ANTIPHILUS, andNICEARCHUS: so in England, we have also these; WILLIAM and FRANCIS SEGAR, brethren; THOMAS and JOHN BETTES; LOCKEY, LYNE, PEAKE, PETER COLE, ARNOLDE, MARCUS, JACQUES DE BRAY, CORNELIUS, PETER GOLCHIS, HIERONIMO andPETER VAN DE VELDE. As LYSIPPUS, PRAXITELES, and PYRGOTELES were excellent engravers: so wehave these engravers; ROGERS, CHRISTOPHER SWITSER, and CURE. _MUSIC_. The loadstone draweth iron unto it, but the stone of Ethiopia called_Theamedes_ driveth it away: so there is a kind of music that dothassuage and appease the affections, and a kind that doth kindle andprovoke the passions. As there is no law that hath sovereignty over love; so there is no heartthat hath rule over music, but music subdues it. As one day takes from us the credit of another: so one strain of musicextincts [_extinguishes_] the pleasure of another. As the heart ruleth over all the members: so music overcometh the heart. As beauty is not beauty without virtue: so music is not music without art. As all things love their likes: so the more curious ear, the delicatestmusic. As too much speaking hurts, too much galling smarts; so too much musicgluts and distempereth. As PLATO and ARISTOTLE are accounted Princes in philosophy and logic;HIPPOCRATES and GALEN, in physic; PTOLOMY in astromony; EUCLID ingeometry; and CICERO in eloquence: so BOETIUS is esteemed a Prince andcaptain in music. As Priests were famous among the Egyptians; Magi among the Chaldeans, andGymnosophists among the Indians; so Musicians flourished among theGrecians: and therefore EPAMINONDAS was accounted more unlearned thanTHEMISTOCLES, because he had no skill in music. As MERCURY, by his eloquence, reclaimed men from their barbarousness andcruelty: so ORPHEUS, by his music, subdued fierce beasts and wild birds. As DEMOSTHENES, ISOCRATES, and CICERO, excelled in oratory: so ORPHEUS, AMPHION, and LINUS surpassed in music. As Greece had these excellent musicians, ARION, DORCEUS, TIMOTHEUSMilesius, CHRYSOGONUS, TERPANDER, LESBIUS, SIMON Magnesius, PHILAMON, LINUS, STRATONICUS, ARISTONUS, CHIRON, ACHILLES, CLINIAS, EUMONIUS, DEMODOCHUS, and RUFFINUS: so England hath these, Master COOPER, MasterFAIRFAX, Master TALLIS, Master TAVERNER, Master BLITHMAN, Master BYRD, Doctor TIE, Doctor DALLIS, Doctor BULL, Master THOMAS MUD, sometimeFellow of Pembroke Hall in Cambridge, Master EDWARD JOHNSON, MasterBLANKES, Master RANDALL, Master PHILIPS, Master DOWLAND, and MasterMORLEY. _A Choice is to be had in Reading of Books_. As the Lord DE LA NOUE in the sixth Discourse of his _Politic andMilitary Discourses_, censureth the books of _AMADIS de Gaul_; which, hesaith, are no less hurtful to youth than the works of MACHIAVELLI to age:so these books are accordingly to be censured of, whose names follow. _BEVIS of Hampton. GUY of Warwick. ARTHUR of the Round Table. HUON of Bordeaux. OLIVER of Castile. The Four Sons of AYMON. GARGANTUA. GIRELEON. The Honour of Chivalry. PRIMALEON of Greece. PALERMIN DE OLIVA. The Seven Champions [of Christendom]. The Mirror of Knighthood. BLANCHARDINE. MERVIN. OWLGLASS. The Stories of PALLADIN and PALMENDOS. The Black Knight. The Maiden Knight. The History of CAELESTINA. The Castle of Fame. GALLIAN of France. ORNATUS and ARTESIA. &c_. _Poets_. As that ship is endangered where ail lean to one side; but is in safety, one leaning one way and another another way: so the dissensions of Poetsamong themselves, doth make them, that they less infect their readers. And for this purpose, our Satirists [JOSEPH] HALL [_afterwards Bishop ofNORWICH_], [JOHN MARSTON] the Author of _PYGMALION's Image and CertainSatires_, [JOHN] RANKINS, and such others, are very profitable. JOHN DRYDEN. Dedicatory Epistle to _The Rival Ladies_. [Printed in 1664. ] To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROGER, EARL OF ORRERY. MY LORD, This worthless present was designed you, long before it was a Play; whenit was only a confused mass of thoughts tumbling over one another in thedark: when the Fancy was yet in its first work, moving the sleepingImages of Things towards the light, there to be distinguished; and then, either chosen or rejected by the Judgement. It was yours, my Lord! beforeI could call it mine. And I confess, in that first tumult of my thoughts, there appeared adisorderly kind of beauty in some of them; which gave me hope, somethingworthy of my Lord of ORRERY might be drawn from them: but I was then, inthat eagerness of Imagination, which, by over pleasing Fanciful Men, flatters them into the danger of writing; so that, when I had moulded itto that shape it now bears, I looked with such disgust upon it, that thecensures of our severest critics are charitable to what I thought, andstill think of it myself. 'Tis so far from me, to believe this perfect; that I am apt to concludeour best plays are scarcely so. For the Stage being the Representation ofthe World and the actions in it; how can it be imagined that the Pictureof Human Life can be more exact than Life itself is? He may be allowed sometimes to err, who undertakes to move so manyCharacters and Humours (as are requisite in a Play) in those narrowchannels, which are proper to each of them; to conduct his ImaginaryPersons through so many various intrigues and chances, as the labouringAudience shall think them lost under every billow: and then, at length, to work them so naturally out of their distresses, that when the wholePlot is laid open, the Spectators may rest satisfied that every Cause waspowerful enough to produce the Effect it had; and that the whole Chain ofthem was, with such due order, linked together, that the first Accident[_Incident_], would, naturally, beget the second, till they All renderedthe Conclusion necessary. These difficulties, my Lord! may reasonably excuse the errors of myUndertaking: but for this confidence of my Dedication, I have anargument, which is too advantageous for me not to publish it to theWorld. 'Tis the kindness your Lordship has continually shown to all mywritings. You have been pleased, my Lord! they should sometimes cross theIrish seas, to kiss your hands; which passage, contrary to the experienceof others, I have found the least dangerous in the world. Your favour hasshone upon me, at a remote distance, without the least knowledge of myperson: and, like the influence of the heavenly bodies, you have donegood, without knowing to whom you did it, 'Tis this virtue in yourLordship, which emboldens me to this attempt. For did I not consider youas my Patron, I have little reason to desire you for my Judge: and shouldappear, with as much awe before you, in the Reading; as I had, when thefull theatre sate upon the Action. For who so severely judge of faults, as he who has given testimony hecommits none? Your excellent _Poems_ having afforded that knowledge of itto the World, that your enemies are ready to upbraid you with it as acrime, for a Man of Business to write so well. Neither durst I havejustified your Lordship in it, if examples of it had not been in theworld before you: If XENOPHON had not written a Romance; and a certainRoman, called AUGUSTUS CAESAR, a Tragedy and Epigrams. But their writingwas the entertainment of their pleasure; yours is only a diversion ofyour pain. The Muses have seldom employed your thoughts, but when someviolent fit of the gout has snatched you from Affairs of State: and, likethe priestess of APOLLO, you never come to deliver his oracles, butunwillingly, and in torment. So that we are obliged to your Lordship'smisery, for our delight. You treat us with the cruel pleasure of aTurkish triumph, where those who cut and wound their bodies, sing songsof victory as they pass; and divert others with their own sufferings. Other men endure their diseases, your Lordship only can enjoy them! Plotting and Writing in this kind, are, certainly, more troublesomeemployments than many which signify more, and are of greater moment inthe world. The Fancy, Memory, and Judgement are then extended, like somany limbs, upon the rack; all of them reaching, with their utmoststress, at Nature: a thing so almost infinite and boundless, as can neverfully be comprehended but where the Images of all things are alwayspresent. Yet I wonder not your Lordship succeeds so well in this attempt. Theknowledge of men is your daily practice in the world. To work and bendtheir stubborn minds; which go not all after the same grain, but, each ofthem so particular a way, that the same common humours, in severalpersons, must be wrought upon by several means. Thus, my Lord! your sickness is but the imitation of your health; thePoet but subordinate to the Statesman in you. You still govern men withthe same address, and manage business with the same prudence: allowing ithere, as in the world, the due increase and growth till it comes to thejust height; and then turning it, when it is fully ripe, and Nature callsout (as it were) to be delivered. With this only advantage of ease to you, in your Poetry: that you have Fortune, here, at your command: with which, Wisdom does often unsuccessfully struggle in the world. Here is noChance, which you have not foreseen. All your heroes are more than yoursubjects, they are your creatures: and, though they seem to move freely, in all the sallies of their passions; yet, you make destinies for them, which they cannot shun. They are moved, if I may dare to say so, like therational creatures of the Almighty Poet; who walk at liberty, in their ownopinion, because their fetters are invincible: when, indeed, the Prison oftheir Will is the more sure, for being large; and instead of an AbsolutePower over their actions, they have only a Wretched Desire of doing that, which they cannot choose but do. I have dwelt, my Lord! thus long, upon your Writing; not because youdeserve not greater and more noble commendations, but because I am notequally able to express them in other subjects. Like an ill swimmer, Ihave willingly stayed long in my own depth; and though I am eager ofperforming more, yet I am loath to venture out beyond my knowledge. Forbeyond your Poetry, my Lord! all is Ocean to me. To speak of you as a Soldier, or a Statesman, were only to betray my ownignorance: and I could hope no better success from it, than thatmiserable Rhetorician had, who solemnly declaimed before HANNIBAL "of theConduct of Armies, and the Art of War. " I can only say, in general, thatthe Souls of other men shine out at little cranies; they understand someone thing, perhaps, to admiration, while they are darkened on all theother parts: but your Lordship's Soul is an entire Globe of Light, breaking out on every side; and if I have only discovered one beam of it, 'tis not that the light falls unequally, but because the body whichreceives it, is of unequal parts. The acknowledgement of which, is a fair occasion offered me, to retirefrom the consideration of your Lordship to that of myself. I here presentyou, my Lord! with that in Print, which you had the goodness not todislike upon the Stage; and account it happy to have met you here inEngland: it being, at best, like small wines, to be drunk out upon theplace [i. E. , _of vintage, where produced_]; and has not body enough toendure the sea. I know not, whether I have been so careful of the Plot and Language, as Iought: but for the latter, I have endeavoured to write English, as near asI could distinguish it from the tongue of pedants, and that of affectedtravellers. Only, I am sorry that, speaking so noble a language as we do, we have not a more certain Measure of it, as they have in France: wherethey have an "Academy" erected for that purpose, and endowed with largeprivileges by the present King [_LOUIS XIV. _]. I wish, we might, atlength, leave to borrow words from other nations; which is now awantonness in us, not a necessity: but so long as some affect to speakthem, there will not want others who will have the boldness to write them. But I fear, lest defending the received words; I shall be accused forfollowing the New Way: I mean, of writing Scenes in Verse; though, tospeak properly, 'tis no so much a New Way amongst us, as an Old Way newrevived. For, many years [i. E. , 1561] before SHAKESPEARE's Plays, was theTragedy of _Queen_ [or rather _King_] _GORBODUC_ [_of which, however, theauthentic title is "FERREX and PORREX"_] in English Verse; written bythat famous Lord BUCKHURST, afterwards Earl of DORSET, and progenitor tothat excellent Person, [_Lord BUCKHURST, see_ p. 503] who, as he inheritshis Soul and Title, I wish may inherit his good fortune! But supposing our countrymen had not received this Writing, till of late!Shall we oppose ourselves to the most polished and civilised nations ofEurope? Shall we, with the same singularity, oppose the World in this, asmost of us do in pronouncing Latin? Or do we desire, that the brand whichBARCLAY has, I hope unjustly, laid upon the English, should stillcontinue? _Angli suos ac sua omnia impense mirantur; coeteras nationesdespectui habent_. All the Spanish and Italian Tragedies I have yet seen, are writ in Rhyme. For the French, I do not name them: because it is thefate of our countrymen, to admit little of theirs among us, but thebasest of their men, the extravagancies of their fashions, and thefrippery of their merchandise. SHAKESPEARE, who (with some errors, not to be avoided in that Age) had, undoubtedly, a larger Soul of Poesy than ever any of our nation, was theFirst, who (to shun the pains of continual rhyming) invented that kind ofwriting which we call Blank Verse [_DRYDEN is here wrong as to fact, LordSURREY wrote the earliest_ printed _English Blank Verse in his FourthBook of the_ AEneid, _printed in_ 1548]; but the French, more properly_Prose Mesurée_: into which, the English Tongue so naturally slides, thatin writing Prose, 'tis hardly to be avoided. And, therefore, I admire[_marvel that_] some men should perpetually stumble in a way so easy:and, inverting the order of their words, constantly close their lineswith verbs. Which, though commended, sometimes, in writing Latin; yet, wewere whipt at Westminster, if we used it twice together. I know some, who, if they were to write in Blank Verse _Sir, I ask yourpardon!_ would think it sounded more heroically to write _Sir, I, your pardon ask!_ I should judge him to have little command of English, whom the necessityof a _rhyme_ should force upon this rock; though, sometimes, it cannot beeasily avoided. And, indeed, this is the only inconvenience with which Rhyme can becharged. This is that, which makes them say, "Rhyme is not natural. Itbeing only so, when the Poet either makes a vicious choice of words; orplaces them, for Rhyme's sake so unnaturally, as no man would, inordinary speaking. " But when 'tis so judiciously ordered, that the firstword in the verse seems to beget the second; and that, the next; tillthat becomes the last word in the line, which, in the negligence ofProse, would be so: it must, then, be granted, Rhyme has all advantagesof Prose, besides its own. But the excellence and dignity of it, were never fully known, till Mr. WALLER taught it. He, first, made writing easily, an Art: first, showedus to conclude the Sense, most commonly in distiches; which in the Verseof those before him, runs on for so many lines together, that the readeris out of breath, to overtake it. This sweetness of Mr. WALLER's Lyric Poesy was, afterwards, followed inthe Epic, by Sir JOHN DENHAM, in his _Cooper's Hill_; a Poem which, yourLordship knows! for the majesty of the style, is, and ever will be theExact Standard of Good Writing. But if we owe the invention of it to Mr. WALLER; we are acknowledging forthe noblest use of it, to Sir WILLIAM D'AVENANT; who, at once, brought itupon the Stage, and made it perfect in _The Siege of Rhodes_. The advantages which Rhyme has over Blank Verse, are so many that it werelost time to name them. Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, in his _Defence of Poesy_, gives us one, which, in myopinion, is not the least considerable: I mean, _the Help it brings toMemory_; which Rhyme so knits up by the Affinity of Sounds, that byremembering the last word in one line, we often call to mind both theverses. Then, in the Quickness of Repartees, which in Discoursive Scenes fallvery often: it has so particular a grace, and is so aptly suited to them, that _the Sudden Smartness of the Answer, and the Sweetness of the Rhymeset off the beauty of each other_. But that benefit, which I consider most in it, because I have not seldomfound it, is that _it Bounds and Circumscribes the Fancy_. ForImagination in a Poet, is a faculty so wild and lawless, that, like ahigh ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun theJudgement. The great easiness of Blank Verse renders the Poet tooluxuriant. He is tempted to say many things, which might better beomitted, or, at least, shut up in fewer words. But when the difficulty of artful Rhyming is interposed, where the Poetcommonly confines his Sense to his Couplet; and must contrive that Senseinto such words that the Rhyme shall naturally follow them, not they theRhyme [pp. 571 581]: the Fancy then gives leisure to the Judgement tocome in; which, seeing so heavy a tax imposed, is ready to cut off allunnecessary expenses. This last consideration has already answered an objection, which somehave made, that "Rhyme is only an Embroidery of Sense; to make that whichis ordinary in itself, pass for excellent with less examination. " But, certainly, that which most regulates the Fancy, and gives the Judgementits busiest employment, is like[ly] to bring forth the richest andclearest thoughts. The Poet examines that most which he produceth withthe greatest leisure, and which, he knows, must pass the severest test ofthe audience, because they are aptest to have it ever in their memory: asthe stomach makes the best concoction when it strictly embraces thenourishment, and takes account of every little particle as it passesthrough. But, as the best medicines may lose their virtue, by being ill applied;so is it with Verse, if a fit Subject be not chosen for it. Neither mustthe Argument alone, but the Characters and Persons be great and noble:otherwise, as SCALIGER says of CLAUDIAN, the Poet will be _Ignobilioremateria depressus_. The Scenes which (in my opinion) most commend it, arethose of Argumentation and Discourse, on the result of which, the doing ornot doing [of] some considerable Action should depend. But, my Lord! though I have more to say upon this subject; yet, I mustremember, 'tis your Lordship, to whom I speak: who have much bettercommended this Way by your writing _in_ it; than I can do, by writing_for_ it. Where my Reasons cannot prevail, I am sure your Lordship'sExample must. Your Rhetoric has gained my cause; as least, the greatestpart of my design has already succeeded to my wish: which was, tointerest so noble a Person in the Quarrel; and withal, to testify to theWorld, how happy I esteem myself in the honour of being, My Lord, Your Lordship's most humble, and most obedient servant, JOHN DRYDEN. The Honourable Sir ROBERT HOWARD, Auditor of the Exchequer. Preface to _Four new Plays_. [Licensed 7 March 1665, Printed the same year. ] _TO THE READER_. There is none more sensible than I am, how great a charity the mostIngenious may need, that expose their private wit to a public judgement;since the same Phancy from whence the thoughts proceed, must probably bekind to its own issue. This renders men no perfecter judges of their ownwritings, than fathers are of their own children: who find out that witin them, which another discerns not; and see not those errors, which areevident to the unconcerned. Nor is this Self Kindness more fatal to menin their writings, than in their actions; every man being a greaterflatterer to himself, than he knows how to be to another: otherwise, itwere impossible that things of such distant natures, should find theirown authors so equally kind in their affections to them; and men sodifferent in parts and virtues, should rest equally contented in theirown opinions. This apprehension, added to that greater [one] which I have of my ownweakness, may, I hope, incline the Reader to believe me, when I assurehim that these follies were made public, as much against my inclinationas judgement. But, being pursued with so many solicitations of Mr. HERRINGMAN's [_the Publisher_], and having received civilities from him, if it were possible, exceeding his importunities: I, at last, yielded toprefer that which he believed his interest; before that, which Iapprehended my own disadvantage. Considering withal, that he mightpretend, It would be a real loss to him: and could be but an imaginaryprejudice to me: since things of this nature, though never so excellent, or never so mean, have seldom proved the foundation of men's new builtfortunes, or the ruin of their old. It being the fate of Poetry, thoughof no other good parts, to be wholly separated from Interest: and thereare few that know me but will easily believe, I am not much concerned inan unprofitable Reputation. This clear account I have given the Reader, of this seemingcontradiction, to offer that to the World which I dislike myself: and, inall things, I have no greater an ambition than to be believed [to be] aPerson, that would rather be unkind to myself, than ungrateful to others. I have made this excuse for myself. I offer none for my writings; butfreely leave the Reader to condemn that which has received my sentencealready. Yet, I shall presume to say something in the justification of ournation's Plays, though not of my own: since, in my judgement, withoutbeing partial to my country, I do really prefer our Plays as much beforeany other nation's; as I do the best of ours before my own. The manner of the Stage Entertainments has differed in all Ages; and, asit has increased in use, it has enlarged itself in business. The generalmanner of Plays among the Ancients we find in SENECA's Tragedies, forserious subjects; and in TERENCE and PLAUTUS, for the comical. In whichlatter, we see some pretences to Plots; though certainly short of what wehave seen in some of Mr. [BEN. ] JOHNSON's Plays. And for their Wit, especially PLAUTUS, I suppose it suited much better in those days, thanit would do in ours. For were their Plays strictly translated, andpresented on our Stage; they would hardly bring as many audiences as theyhave now admirers. The serious Plays were anciently composed of Speeches and Choruses; whereall things are Related, but no matter of _fact_ Presented on the Stage. This pattern, the French do, at this time, nearly follow: only leavingout the Chorus, making up their Plays with almost Entire and DiscoursiveScenes; presenting the business in Relations [p. 535]. This way has verymuch affected some of our nation, who possibly believe well of it, moreupon the account that what the French do ought to be a fashion, than uponthe reason of the thing. It is first necessary to consider, Why, probably, the compositions of theAncients, especially in their serious Plays were after this manner? And itwill be found, that the subjects they commonly chose, drave them upon thenecessity; which were usually the most known stories and Fables [p. 522]. Accordingly, SENECA, making choice of MEDEA, HYPPOLITUS, and HERCULES_OEtaeus_, it was impossible to _show_ MEDEA throwing old mangled AESONinto her age-renewing caldron, or to _present_ the scattered limbs ofHYPPOLITUS upon the Stage, and _show_ HERCULES burning upon his ownfuneral pile. And this, the judicious HORACE clearly speaks of, in his _Arte Poetica_;where he says _Non tamen intus Digna geri, promes in scenam: multaque tolles Ex oculis, quae mox narret facundia praesens. Nec pueros coram populo MEDEA trucidet[8] Aut humana palam coquat extra nefarius ATREUS, Aut in avem PROGNE vertatur, CADMUS in anguem. Quodcunque ostendit mihi sic, incredulus odi_. So that it appears a fault to chose such Subjects for the Stage; but muchgreater, to affect that Method which those subjects enforce: and thereforethe French seem much mistaken, who, without the necessity, sometimescommit the error. And this is as plainly decided by the same author, inhis preceding word _Aut agitur res in Scenis aut acta refertur: Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem; Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quae Ipse sibi tradit spectator_. By which, he directly declares his judgement, "That every thing makesmore impression Presented, than Related. " Nor, indeed, can any onerationally assert the contrary. For, if they affirm otherwise, they do, by consequence, maintain, That a whole Play might as well be Related, asActed. Therefore whoever chooses a subject, that enforces him to RELATIONS, isto blame; and he that does it without the necessity of the subject, ismuch more. If these premisses be granted, 'tis no partiality to conclude, That ourEnglish Plays justly challenge the pre-eminence. Yet, I shall as candidly acknowledge, that our best Poets have differedfrom other nations, though not so happily [_felicitously_], in usuallymingling and interweaving Mirth and Sadness, through the whole course oftheir Plays. BEN. JOHNSON only excepted; who keeps himself entire to oneArgument. And I confess I am now convinced in my own judgement, that itis most proper to keep the audience in one entire disposition both ofConcern and Attention: for when Scenes of so different natures, immediately succeed one another; 'tis probable, the audience may not sosuddenly recollect themselves, as to start into an enjoyment of Mirth, orinto the concern for the Sadness. Yet I dispute not but the variety ofthis world may afford pursuing accidents of such different natures; butyet, though possible in themselves to be, they may not be so proper to bePresented. An Entire Connection being the natural beauty of all Plays: andLanguage, the Ornament to dress them in; which, in serious Subjects, oughtto be great and easy, like a high born Person that expresses greatnesswithout pride or affection. The easier dictates of Nature ought to flow in Comedy; yet separated fromobsceneness. There being nothing more impudent than the immodesty ofwords. Wit should be chaste; and those that have it, can only write well: _Si modo Scimus in urbanum Lepido se ponere dicto_. Another way of the Ancients, which the French follow, and our Stage has, now lately, practised; is to write in Rhyme. And this is the disputebetwixt many ingenious persons, _Whether Verse in Rhyme; or Verse withoutthe Sound, which may be called Blank Verse_ (though a hard expression) _isto be preferred_? But take the question, largely, and it is never to be decided [p. 512];but, by right application, I suppose it may. For, in the general, theyare both proper: that is, one for a Play; the other for a Poem or Copy ofVerses: as Blank Verse being as much too low for one [_i. E. , a. Poem orVerses_]; as Rhyme is unnatural for the other [_i. E. , a Play_]. A Poem, being a premeditated Form of thoughts, upon designed occasions:ought not to be unfurnished of any Harmony in Words or Sound. The other[_a Play_] is presented as the _present effect_ of accidents not thoughtof. So that, 'tis impossible, it should be equally proper to both these;unless it were possible that all persons were born so much more thanPoets, that verses were not to be composed by them, but already made inthem. Some may object "That this argument is trivial; because, whatever isshowed, 'tis known still to be but a Play. " But such may as well excusean ill scene, that is not naturally painted; because they know 'tis onlya scene, and not really a city or country. But there is yet another thing which makes Verse upon the Stage appearmore unnatural, that is, when a piece of a verse is made up by one thatknew not what the other meant to say; and the former verse answered asperfectly in Sound as the last is supplied in Measure. So that thesmartness of a Reply, which has its beauty by coming from suddenthoughts, seems lost by that which rather looks like a Design of two, than the Answer of one. It may be said, that "Rhyme is such a confinement to a quick andluxuriant Phancy, that it gives a stop to its speed, till slow Judgementcomes in to assist it [p. 492];" but this is no argument for the questionin hand. For the dispute is not which way a man may write best in; butwhich is most proper for the subject he writes upon. And if this were letpass, the argument is yet unsolved in itself; for he that wants Judgementin the liberty of his Phancy, may as well shew the defect of it in itsconfinement: and, to say truth, he that has judgement will avoid theerrors, and he that wants it, will commit them both. It may be objected, "'Tis Improbable that any should speak _ex tempore_, as well as Beaumont and Fletcher makes them; though in Blank Verse. " I donot only acknowledge that, but that 'tis also improbable any will write sowell that way. But if that may be allowed improbable; I believe it may beconcluded impossible that any should speak as good Verses in Rhyme, asthe best Poets have writ: and therefore, that which seems _nearest_ towhat he intends is ever to be preferred. Nor are great thoughts more adorned by Verse; than Verse unbeautified bymean ones. So that Verse seems not only unfit in the best use of it, butmuch more in the worst, when "a servant is called, " or "a door bid to beshut" in Rhyme [p. 569]. Verses, I mean good ones, do, in their height ofPhancy, declare the labour that brought them forth! like Majesty thatgrows with care: and Nature, that made the Poet capable, seems to retire, and leave its offers to be made perfect by pains and judgement. Against this, I can raise no argument, but my Lord of Orrery's writings. In whose Verse, the greatness of the Majesty seems unsullied with thecares, and his inimitable Phancy descends to us in such easy expressions, that they seem as if neither had ever been added to the other: but bothtogether flowing from a height; like birds got so high that use nolabouring wings, but only, with an easy care, preserve a steadiness inmotion. But this particular happiness, among those multitudes which thatexcellent Person is owner of, does not convince my reason, but employ mywonder. Yet, I am glad such Verse has been written for our Stage; sinceit has so happily exceeded those whom we seemed to imitate. But while I give these arguments against Verse, I may seem faulty, that Ihave not only writ ill ones, but writ any. But since it was the fashion; Iwas resolved, as in all indifferent things, not to appear singular: thedanger of the vanity being greater than the error. And therefore, Ifollowed it as a fashion; though very far off. For the Italian plays; I have seen some of them, which have been given meas the best: but they are so inconsiderable that the particulars of themare not at all worthy to entertain the Reader. But, as much as they areshort of others, in this; they exceed in their other performances on theStage. I mean their Operas: which, consisting of Music and Painting;there's none but will believe it as much harder to equal them in thatway, than 'tis to excel them in the other. The Spanish Plays pretend to more; but, indeed, are not much: beingnothing but so many novels put into Acts and scenes, without the leastattempt or design of making the Reader more concerned than a well-toldtale might do. Whereas, a Poet that endeavours not to heighten theaccidents which Fortune seems to scatter in a well-knit Design, hadbetter have told his tale by a fireside, than presented it on a Stage. For these times, wherein we write. I admire to hear the Poets so oftencry out upon, and wittily (as they believe) threaten their judges; sincethe effects of their mercy has so much exceeded their justice, thatothers with me, cannot but remember how many favourable audiences, someof our ill plays have had: and, when I consider how severe the former Agehas been to some of the best of Mr. Johnson's never to be equalledComedies; I cannot but wonder why any Poet should speak of former Times, but rather acknowledge that the want of abilities in this Age are largelysupplied with the mercies of it. I deny not, but there are some who resolve to like nothing, and such, perhaps, are not unwise; since, by that general resolution, they may becertainly in the right sometimes: which, perhaps, they would seldom be, if they should venture their understandings in different censures; and, being forced to a general liking or disliking (lest they should discovertoo much their own weakness), 'tis to be expected they would ratherchoose to pretend to Judgement than Good Nature, though I wish they couldfind better ways to shew either. But I forget myself; not considering that while I entertain the Reader, in the entrance, with what a good play should be: when he is come beyondthe entrance, he must be treated with what ill plays are. But in this, Iresemble the greatest part of the World, that better know how to talk ofmany things, than to perform them; and live short of their own discourses. And now, I seem like an eager hunter, that has long pursued a chase afteran inconsiderable quarry; and gives over, weary; as I do. [8] p. 537 OF DRAMATIC POESY, AN ESSAY. By JOHN DRYDEN Esq. ; _Fungar vice cotis, acutum Reddere quae ferrum valet, exors ipsa secandi_. Horat. De Arte Poet. 1668 To the Right Honourable CHARLES LORD BUCKHURST. My Lord, _As I was lately reviewing my loose papers, amongst the rest I found thisEssay, the writing of which, in this rude and indigested manner whereinyour Lordship now sees it, served as an amusement to me in the country[in 1665], when the violence of the last Plague had driven me from thetown. Seeing, then, our theatres shut up; I was engaged in these kind[s]of thoughts with the same delight with which men think upon their absentmistresses. I confess I find many things in this Discourse, which I do not nowapprove; my judgement being a little altered since the writing of it: butwhether for the better or worse, I know not. Neither indeed is it muchmaterial in an_ Essay, _where all I have said is problematical. For the way of writing Plays in Verse, which I have seemed to favour [p. 561]; I have, since that time, laid the practice of it aside till I havemore leisure, because I find it troublesome and slow. But I am no wayaltered from my opinion of it, at least, with any reasons which haveopposed it. For your Lordship may easily observe that none are veryviolent against it; but those who either have not attempted it, or whohave succeeded ill in their attempt. 'Tis enough for me, to have yourLordship's example for my excuse in that little which I have done in it:and I am sure my adversaries can bring no such arguments against Verse, as the Fourth Act of_ POMPEY _will furnish me with in its defence. Yet, my Lord! you must suffer me a little to complain of you! that youtoo soon withdraw from us a contentment, of which we expected thecontinuance, because you gave it us so early. 'Tis a revolt withoutoccasion from your Party! where your merits had already raised you to thehighest commands: and where you have not the excuse of other men that youhave been ill used and therefore laid down arms. I know no other quarrelyou can have to Verse, than that which_ SPURINA _had to his beauty; whenhe tore and mangled the features of his face, only because they pleasedtoo well the lookers on. It was an honour which seemed to wait for you, to lead out a New Colony of Writers from the Mother Nation; and, upon thefirst spreading of your ensigns, there had been many in a readiness tohave followed so fortunate a Leader; if not all, yet the better part ofwriters. _ Pars, indocili melior grege, mollis et expes Inominata perprimat cubilia. _I am almost of opinion that we should force you to accept of thecommand; as sometimes the Praetorian Bands have compelled their Captainsto receive the Empire. The Court, which is the best and surest judge ofwriting, has generally allowed of Verse; and in the Town, it has foundfavourers of Wit and Quality. As for your own particular, my Lord! you have yet youth and time enoughto give part of it to the Divertisement of the of the Public, before youenter into the serious and more unpleasant Business of the World. That which the French Poet said of the Temple of Love, may be as wellapplied to the Temple of Muses. The words, as near[ly] as I can rememberthem, were these--_ La jeunesse a mauvaise grace N'ayant pas adoré dans le Temple d'Amour; Il faut qu'il entre: et pour le sage; Si ce n'est son vrai sejour, Ce'st un gîte sur son passage. _I leave the words to work their effect upon your Lordship, in their ownlanguage; because no other can so well express the nobleness of thethought: and wish you may be soon called to bear a part in the affairesof the Nation, where I know the World expects you, and wonders why youhave been so long forgotten; there being no person amongst our youngnobility, on whom the eyes of all men are so much bent. But, in themeantime, your Lordship may imitate the Course of Nature, which gives usthe flower before the fruit; that I may speak to you in the language ofthe Muses, which I have taken from an excellent Poem to the King [i. E. , _CHARLES II. ] _As Nature, when she fruit designs, thinks fit By beauteous blossoms to proceed to it, And while she does accomplish all the Spring, Birds, to her secret operations sing. I confess I have no greater reason in addressing this Essay to yourLordship, than that it might awaken in you the desire of writingsomething, in whatever kind it be, which might be an honour to our Ageand country. And, methinks, it might have the same effect upon you, which, HOMER tells us, the fight of the Greeks and Trojans before thefleet had on the spirit of ACHILLES; who, though he had resolved not toengage, yet found a martial warmth to steal upon him at the sight ofblows, the sound of trumpets, and the cries of fighting men. For my own part, if in treating of this subject, I sometimes dissent fromthe opinion of better Wits, I declare it is not so much to combat theiropinions as to defend mine own, which were first made public. Sometimes, like a scholar in a fencing school, I put forth myself, and show my ownill play, on purpose to be better taught. Sometimes, I stand desperatelyto my arms, like the Foot, when deserted by their Horse; not in hope toovercome, but only to yield on more honourable terms. And yet, my Lord! this War of Opinions, you well know, has fallen outamong the Writers of all Ages, and sometimes betwixt friends: only it hasbeen persecuted by some, like pedants, with violence of words; andmanaged, by others, like gentlemen, with candour and civility. Even TULLYhad a controversy with his dear ATTICUS; and in one of his_ Dialogues, _makes him sustain the part of an enemy in Philosophy, who, in his_Letters, _is his confident of State, and made privy to the most weightyaffairs of the Roman Senate: and the same respect, which was paid byTULLY to ATTICUS; we find returned to him, afterwards, by CAESAR, on alike occasion: who, answering his book in praise of CATO, made it not somuch his business to condemn CATO, as to praise CICERO. But that I may decline some part of the encounter with my adversaries, whom I am neither willing to combat, nor well able to resist; I will giveyour Lordship the relation of a dispute betwixt some of our wits upon thissubject: in which, they did not only speak of Plays in Verse, but mingled, in the freedom of discourse, some things of the Ancient, many of theModern Ways of Writing; comparing those with these, and the Wits of ourNation with those of others. 'Tis true, they differed in their opinions, as 'tis probable they would; neither do I take upon me to reconcile, butto relate them, and that, as TACITUS professes of himself_, sine studiopartium aut ira_, "without passion or interest": leaving your Lordship todecide it in favour of which part, you shall judge most reasonable! Andwithal, to pardon the many errors of_ Your Lordship's most obedient humble servant, JOHN DRYDEN. TO THE READER. _The drift of the ensuing Discourse was chiefly to vindicate the honourof our English Writers from the censure of those who unjustly prefer theFrench before them. This I intimate, lest any should think me soexceeding vain, as to teach others an Art which they understand muchbetter than myself. But if this incorrect Essay, written in the country, without the help of books or advice of friends, shall find any acceptancein the World: I promise to myself a better success of the Second Part, wherein the virtues and faults of the English Poets who have written, either in this, the Epic, or the Lyric way, will be more fully treatedof; and their several styles impartially imitated. _ AN ESSAY OF Dramatic Poesy. It was that memorable day [_3rd of June_ 1665] in the first summer of thelate war, when our Navy engaged the Dutch; a day, wherein the two mostmighty and best appointed Fleets which any Age had ever seen, disputedthe command of the greater half of the Globe, the commerce of Nations, and the riches of the Universe. While these vast floating bodies, oneither side, moved against each other in parallel lines; and ourcountrymen, under the happy conduct of His Royal Highness [_the Duke ofYORK_], went breaking by little and little, into the line of the enemies:the noise of the cannon from both navies reached our ears about the City;so that all men being alarmed with it, and in a dreadful suspense of theevent which we knew was then deciding, every one went following the soundas his fancy [_imagination_] led him. And leaving the Town almost empty, some took towards the Park; some cross the river, others down it: allseeking the noise in the depth of silence. Among the rest, it was the fortune of EUGENIUS, CRITES, LISIDEIUS andNEANDER to be in company together: three of them persons whom their Witand Quality have made known to all the Town; and whom I have chosen tohide under these borrowed names, that they may not suffer by so ill aRelation as I am going to make, of their discourse. Taking then, a barge, which a servant of LISIDEIUS had provided for them, they made haste to shoot the Bridge [_i. E. , London Bridge_]: and [so] leftbehind them that great fall of waters, which hindered them from hearingwhat they desired. After which, having disengaged themselves from many vessels which rode atanchor in the Thames, and almost blocked up the passage towards Greenwich:they ordered the watermen to let fall their oars more gently; and then, every one favouring his own curiosity with a strict silence, it was notlong ere they perceived the air break about them, like the noise ofdistant thunder, or of swallows in a chimney. Those little undulations ofsound, though almost vanishing before they reached them; yet still seemingto retain somewhat of their first horror, which they had betwixt thefleets. After they had attentively listened till such time, as the sound, bylittle and little, went from them; EUGENIUS [_i. E. , Lord BUCKHURST_]lifting up his head, and taking notice of it, was the first tocongratulate to the rest, that happy Omen of our nation's victory:adding, "we had but this to desire, in confirmation of it, that we mighthear no more of that noise, which was now leaving the English coast. " When the rest had concurred in the same opinion, CRITES [_i. E. , SirROBERT HOWARD_] (a person of a sharp judgment, and somewhat a toodelicate a taste in wit, which the World have mistaken in him for illnature) said, smiling, to us, "That if the concernment of this battle hadnot been so exceeding[ly] great, he could scarce have wished the victoryat the price, he knew, must pay for it; in being subject to the readingand hearing of so many ill verses, he was sure would be made upon it. "Adding, "That no argument could 'scape some of those eternal rhymers, whowatch a battle with more diligence than the ravens and birds of prey; andthe worst of them surest to be first in upon the quarry: while the betterable, either, out of modesty, writ not at all; or set that due value upontheir poems, as to let them be often called for, and long expected. " "There are some of those impertinent people you speak of, " answeredLISIDEIUS [_i. E. , Sir CHARLES SEDLEY_], "who, to my knowledge, arealready so provided, either way, that they can produce not only aPanegyric upon the Victory: but, if need be, a Funeral Elegy upon theDuke, and, after they have crowned his valour with many laurels, at last, deplore the odds under which he fell; concluding that his courage deserveda better destiny. " All the company smiled at the conceit of LISIDEIUS. But CRITES, more eager than before, began to make particular exceptionsagainst some writers, and said, "The Public Magistrate ought to send, betimes, to forbid them: and that it concerned the peace and quiet of allhonest people, that ill poets should be as well silenced as seditiouspreachers. " "In my opinion" replied EUGENIUS, "you pursue your point too far! For, asto my own particular, I am so great a lover of Poesy, that I could wishthem all rewarded, who attempt but to do well. At least, I would not havethem worse used than SYLLA the Dictator did one of their brethrenheretofore. _Quem in concione vidimus_ (says TULLY, speaking of him) _cumei libellum malus poeta de populo subjecisset, quod epigramma in eumfecisset tantummodo alternis versibus longiuculis, statim ex iis rebusquae tunc vendebat jubere ei praemium tribui, sub ea conditione ne quidpostea scriberet_. " "I could wish, with all my heart, " replied CRITES, "that many whom weknow, were as bountifully thanked, upon the same condition, that theywould never trouble us again. For amongst others, I have a mortalapprehension of two poets, whom this Victory, with the help of both herwings, will never be able to escape. " "'Tis easy to guess, whom you intend, " said LISIDEIUS, "and withoutnaming them, I ask you if one [_i. E. , GEORGE WITHER_] of them does notperpetually pay us with clenches upon words, and a certain clownish kindof raillery? If, now and then, he does not offer at a catachresis [_whichCOTGRAVE defines as 'the abuse, or necessary use of one word, for lack ofanother more proper'_] or Clevelandism, wresting and torturing a wordinto another meaning? In fine, if be not one of those whom the Frenchwould call _un mauvais buffon_; one that is so much a well willer to theSatire, that he spares no man: and though he cannot strike a blow to hurtany, yet ought to be punished for the malice of the action; as our witchesare justly hanged, because they think themselves so, and suffer deservedlyfor believing they did mischief, because they meant it. " "You have described him, " said CRITES, "so exactly, that I am afraid tocome after you, with my other Extremity of Poetry. He [_i. E. , FRANCISQUARLES_] is one of those, who, having had some advantage of educationand converse [_i. E. , conversation, in the sense of Culture throughmixture with society_], knows better than the other, what a Poet shouldbe; but puts it into practice more unluckily than any man. His style andmatter are everywhere alike. He is the most calm, peaceable writer youever read. He never disquiets your passions with the least concernment;but still leaves you in as even a temper as he found you. He is a veryLeveller in poetry; he creeps along, with ten little words in every line, and helps out his numbers with _For to_, and _Unto_, and all the prettyexpletives he can find, till he drags them to the end of another line:while the Sense is left, tired, halfway behind it. He doubly starves allhis verses; first, for want of Thought, and then, of Expression, Hispoetry neither has wit in it, nor seems to have it; like him, in MARTIAL, "_Pauper videri CINNA vult, et est pauper_. "He affects plainness, to cover his Want of Imagination. When he writesin the serious way; the highest flight of his Fancy is some miserable_antithesis_ or seeming contradiction: and in the comic; he is stillreaching at some thin conceit, the ghost of a jest, and that too fliesbefore him, never to be caught. These swallows, which we see before us onthe Thames, are the just resemblance of his Wit. You may observe how nearthe water they stoop! how many proffers they make to dip, and yet howseldom they touch it! and when they do, 'tis but the surface! they skimover it, but to catch a gnat, and then mount in the air and leave it!" "Well, gentlemen!" said EUGENICS, "you may speak your pleasure of theseauthors; but though. I and some few more about the Town, may give you apeaceable hearing: yet, assure yourselves! there are multitudes who wouldthink you malicious, and them injured; especially him whom you firstdescribed, he is the very _Withers_ of the City. They have bought moreEditions of his works, than would serve to lay under all their pies atthe Lord Mayor's Christmas. When his famous poem [_i. E. , SpeculumSpeculativium; Or, A Considering Glass, Being an Inspection into thepresent and late sad condition of these Nations. .. . London. Written Junexiii. XDCLX, and there imprinted the same year_] first came out in theyear 1660, I have seen them read it in the midst of Change time. Nay, sovehement were they at it, that they lost their bargain by the candles'ends! But what will you say, if he has been received among the GreatOnes? I can assure you, he is, this day, the envy of a Great Person, whois Lord in the Art of Quibbling; and who does not take it well, than anyman should intrude so far into his province. " "All I would wish, " replied CRITES, "is that they who love his writings, may still admire him and his fellow poet. _Qui Bavium non odit &c. _, iscurse sufficient. " "And farther, " added LISIDEIUS; "I believe there is no man who writeswell; but would think himself very hardly dealt with, if their admirersshould praise anything of his. _Nam quos contemnimus eorum quoque laudescontemnimus_. " "There are so few who write well, in this Age, " said CRITES, "thatmethinks any praises should be welcome. They neither rise to the dignityof the last Age, nor to any of the Ancients: and we may cry out of theWriters of this Time, with more reason than PETRONIUS of his, _Pacevestra liceat dixisse, primi omnium eloquentiam perdidistis_! 'You havedebauched the true old Poetry so far, that Nature (which is the Soul ofit) is not in any of your writings!'" "If your quarrel, " said EUGENIUS, "to those who now write, be groundedonly upon your reverence to Antiquity; there is no man more ready toadore those great Greeks and Romans than I am: but, on the other side, Icannot think so contemptibly of the Age I live in, or so dishonourably ofmy own Country as not to judge [that] we equal the Ancients in most kindsof Poesy, and in some, surpass them; neither know I any reason why I maynot be as zealous for the reputation of our Age, as we find the Ancientsthemselves, in reference to those who lived before them. For you hearHORACE saying "_Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia crasse Compositum, ille pide've putetur, sed quia nuper. _ "And, after, "Si meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit, Scire velim pretium chartis quotus arroget annus?_ "But I see I am engaging in a wide dispute, where the arguments are notlike[ly] to reach close, on either side [p. 497]: for Poesy is of solarge extent, and so many (both of the Ancients and Moderns) have donewell in all kinds of it, that, in citing one against the other, we shalltake up more time this evening, than each man's occasions will allow him. Therefore, I would ask CRITES to what part of Poesy, he would confine hisarguments? and whether he would defend the general cause of the Ancientsagainst the Moderns; or oppose any Age of the Moderns against this ofours?" CRITES, a little while considering upon this demand, told EUGENIUS, heapproved of his propositions; and, if he pleased, he would limit theirdispute to Dramatic Poesy: in which, he thought it not difficult toprove, either that the Ancients were superior to the Moderns; or the lastAge to this of ours. EUGENIUS was somewhat surprised, when he heard CRITES make choice of thatsubject. "For ought I see, " said he, "I have undertaken a harder provincethan I imagined. For though I never judged the plays of the Greek andRoman poets comparable to ours: yet, on the other side, those we now seeacted, come short of many which were written in the last Age. But mycomfort is, if we were o'ercome, it will be only by our own countrymen;and if we yield to them in this one part of Poesy, we [the] more surpassthem in all the other[s]. "For in the Epic, or Lyric way, it will be hard for them to shew us onesuch amongst them, as we have many now living, or who lately were so. They can produce nothing so Courtly writ, or which expresses so much theconversation of a gentleman, as Sir JOHN SUCKLING; nothing so even, sweet, and flowing, as Mr. WALLER; nothing so majestic, so correct, asSir JOHN DENHAM; nothing so elevated, so copious, and full of spirit, asMr. COWLEY. As for the Italian, French, and Spanish plays, I can make itevident, that those who now write, surpass them; and that the Drama iswholly ours. " All of them were thus far of EUGENIUS his opinion, that "the sweetness ofEnglish Verse was never understood or practised by our fathers"; evenCRITES himself did not much oppose it: and every one was willing toacknowledge how much our Poesy is improved by the happiness of somewriters yet living, who first taught us to mould our thoughts into easyand significant words; to retrench the superfluities of expression; andto make our Rhyme so properly a part of the Verse, that it should nevermislead the Sense, but itself be led and governed by it. EUGENIUS was going to continue this discourse, when LISIDEIUS told him, that "it was necessary, before they proceeded further, to take a StandingMeasure of their controversy. For how was it possible to be decided whowrit the best plays, before we know what a Play should be? but this onceagreed on by both parties, each might have recourse to it; either toprove his own advantages, or discover the failings of his adversary. " He had no sooner said this; but all desired the favour of him to give thedefinition of a Play: and they were the more importunate, because neitherARISTOTLE, nor HORACE, nor any other who writ of that subject, had everdone it. LISIDEIUS, after some modest denials, at last, confessed he had a rudenotion of it; indeed, rather a Description than a Definition; but whichserved to guide him in his private thoughts, when he was to make ajudgment of what others writ. That he conceived a Play ought to be A JUSTAND LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, REPRESENTING ITS PASSIONS AND HUMOURS;AND THE CHANGES OF FORTUNE, TO WHICH IT IS SUBJECT: FOR THE DELIGHT ANDINSTRUCTION OF MANKIND. This Definition, though CRITES raised a logical objection against it(that "it was only _a genere et fine_, " and so not altogether perfect), was yet well received by the rest. And, after they had given order to the watermen to turn their barge, androw softly, that they might take the cool of the evening in their return:CRITES, being desired by the company to begin, spoke on behalf of theAncients, in this manner. "If confidence presage a victory; EUGENIUS, in his own opinion, hasalready triumphed over the Ancients. Nothing seems more easy to him, thanto overcome those whom it is our greatest praise to have imitated well:for we do not only build upon their foundation, but by their models. "Dramatic Poesy had time enough, reckoning from THESPIS who firstinvented it, to ARISTOPHANES; to be born, to grow up, and to flourish inmaturity. "_It has been observed of Arts and Sciences, that in one and the samecentury, they have arrived to a great perfection_ [p. 520]. And, nowonder! since every Age has a kind of Universal Genius, which inclinesthose that live in it to some particular studies. The work then beingpushed on by many hands, must, of necessity, go forward. "Is it not evident, in these last hundred years, when the study ofPhilosophy has been the business of all the _Virtuosi_ in Christendom, that almost a new Nature has been revealed to us? that more errors of theSchool have been detected, more useful experiments in Philosophy have beenmade, more noble secrets in Optics, Medicine, Anatomy, Astronomy, discovered; than, in all those credulous and doting Ages, from ARISTOTLEto us [p. 520]? So true it is, that nothing spreads more fast thanScience, when rightly and generally cultivated. "Add to this, _the more than common Emulation that was, in those times, of writing well_: which, though it be found in all Ages and all personsthat pretend to the same reputation: yet _Poesy, being then in moreesteem than now it is, had greater honours decreed to the Professors ofit, and consequently the rivalship was more high between them_. They hadJudges ordained to decide their merit, and prizes to reward it: andhistorians have been diligent to record of AESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, LYCOPHRON, and the rest of them, both who they were thatvanquished in these Wars of the Theatre, and how often they were crowned:while the Asian Kings and Grecian Commonwealths scarce[ly] afforded them anobler subject than the unmanly luxuries of a debauched Court, or giddyintrigues of a factious city. _Alit oemulatio ingenia_, says PATERCULUS, _et nunc invidia, nunc admiratio incitationem accendit_: 'Emulation isthe spur of wit; and sometimes envy, sometimes admiration quickens ourendeavours. ' "But now, since the rewards of honour are taken away: that VirtuousEmulation is turned into direct Malice; yet so slothful, that it contentsitself to condemn and cry down others, without attempting to do better. 'Tis a reputation too unprofitable, to take the necessary pains for it;yet wishing they had it, is incitement enough to hinder others from it. And this, in short, EUGENIUS, is the reason why you have now so few goodpoets, and so many severe judges. Certainly, to imitate the Ancientswell, much labour and long study is required: which pains, I have alreadyshown, our poets would want encouragement to take; if yet they had abilityto go through with it. "Those Ancients have been faithful Imitators and wise Observers of thatNature, which is so torn and ill-represented in our Plays. They havehanded down to us a perfect Resemblance of Her, which we, like illcopyers, _neglecting to look on_, have rendered monstrous and disfigured. "But that you may know, how much you are indebted to your Masters! and beashamed to have so ill-requited them! I must remember you, that all theRules by which we practise the Drama at this day (either such as relateto the Justness and Symmetry of the Plot; or the episodical ornaments, such as Descriptions, Narrations, and other beauties which are notessential to the play), were delivered to us from the Observations thatARISTOTLE made of those Poets, which either lived before him, or were hiscontemporaries. We have added nothing of our own, except we have theconfidence to say, 'Our wit is better!' which none boast of in our Age, but such as understand not theirs. Of that book, which ARISTOTLE has leftus, [Greek: peri taes Poietikaes]; HORACE his _Art of Poetry_ is anexcellent _Comment_, and, I believe, restores to us, that Second Book ofhis [_i. E. , ARISTOTLE_] concerning _Comedy_, which is wanting in him. "Out of these two [Authors], have been extracted the Famous Rules, whichthe French call, _Des trois Unités_, or 'The Three Unities, ' which oughtto be observed in every _regular_ Play; namely, of TIME, PLACE, andACTION. "The UNITY OF TIME, they comprehend in Twenty-four hours, _the compass ofa natural Day_; or, as near it, as can be contrived. And the reason of itis obvious to every one. That _the Time_ of the feigned Action or Fableof the Play _should be proportioned_, as near as can be, _to the durationof that Time in which it is REPRESENTED_. Since therefore all plays areacted on the Theatre in a space of time _much within_ the compass ofTwenty-four hours; that Play is to be thought the _nearest Imitation_ ofNature, whose Plot or Action is confined within that time. "And, by the same Rule which concludes this General Proportion of Time, it follows, _That all the parts of it are to be equally subdivided_. As, namely, that one Act take not up the supposed time of Half a day, whichis out of proportion to the rest; since the other four are then to bestraitened within the compass of the remaining half: for it is unnaturalthat one Act which, being spoken or written, is not longer than the rest;should be supposed longer by the audience. 'Tis therefore the Poet's dutyto take care _that no Act_ should be imagined to _exceed the Time inwhich it is Represented on the Stage_; and that the intervals andinequalities of time, be supposed to fall out _between_ the Acts. "This Rule of TIME, how well it has been observed by the Ancients, mostof their plays will witness. You see them, in their Tragedies (wherein tofollow this Rule is certainly most difficult), from the very beginning oftheir Plays, falling close into that part of the Story, which they intendfor the Action or principal Object of it: leaving the former part to bedelivered by Narration. So that they set the audience, as it were, at thepost where the race is to be concluded: and, saving them the tediousexpectation of seeing the Poet set out and ride the beginning of thecourse; you behold him not, till he is in sight of the goal, and justupon you. "For the Second Unity, which is that of PLACE; the Ancients meant by it, _That the scene_ [locality] _ought to be continued_, through the Play, _in the same place, where it was laid in the beginning_. For _the Stage_, on which it is represented, _being but one, and the same place; itisunnatural to conceive it many, and those far distant from one another_. I will not deny but by the Variation of Painted scenes [_scenery wasintroduced about this time into the English theatres, by Sir WILLIAMD'AVENANT and BETTERTON the Actor: see Vol. II. P. 278_] the Fancy which, in these casts, will contribute to its own deceit, may sometimes imagineit several places, upon some appearance of probability: yet it stillcarries _the greater likelihood of truth_, if those places be supposed sonear each other as in the same town or city, which may all be comprehendedunder the larger denomination of One Place; for a greater distance willbear no proportion to the _shortness of time which is allotted in theacting_, to pass from one of them to another. "For the observation of this; next to the Ancients, the French are mostto be commended. They tie themselves so strictly to the Unity of Place, that you never see in any of their plays, a scene [_locality_] changed inthe middle of an Act. If the Act begins in a garden, a street, or [a]chamber; 'tis ended in the same place. And that you may know it to be thesame, the Stage is so supplied with persons, that it is never empty allthe time. He that enters the second has business with him, who was onbefore; and before the second quits the stage, a third appears, who hasbusiness with him. This CORNEILLE calls _La Liaison des Scenes_, 'theContinuity or Joining of the Scenes': and it is a good mark of a wellcontrived Play, when all the persons are known to each other, and everyone of them has some affairs with all the rest. "As for the third Unity, which is that of ACTION, the Ancients meant noother by it, than what the Logicians do by their _Finis_; the End orScope of any Action, that which is the First in intention, and Last inexecution. "Now the Poet is to aim at _one great and complete Action_; to thecarrying on of which, all things in the Play, even the very obstacles, are to be subservient. And the reason of this, is as evident as any ofthe former. For two Actions, equally laboured and driven on by theWriter, would destroy the Unity of the Poem. It would be no longer onePlay, but two. Not but that there may be many actions in a Play (as BEN. JOHNSON has observed in his _Discoveries_), but they must be allsubservient to the great one; which our language happily expresses, inthe name of Under Plots. Such as, in TERENCE's _Eunuch_, is the deferenceand reconcilement of _THAIS_ and _PHAEDRIA_; which is not the chiefbusiness of the Play, but promotes the marriage of _CHOEREA_ and_CHREMES's sister_, principally intended by the Poet. "'There ought to be but one Action, ' says CORNEILLE, 'that is, onecomplete Action, which leaves the mind of the audience in a full repose. 'But this cannot be brought to pass, but by many other imperfect ones, which conduce to it, and hold the audience in a delightful suspense ofwhat will be. "If by these Rules (to omit many others drawn from the Precepts andPractice of the Ancients), we should judge our modern plays, 'tisprobable that few of them would endure the trial. That which should bethe business of a Day, takes up, in some of them, an Age. Instead of OneAction, they are the Epitome of a man's life. And for one spot of ground, which the Stage should represent; we are sometimes in more countries thanthe map can show us. "But if we will allow the Ancients to have _contrived_ well; we mustacknowledge them to have _writ_ better. Questionless, we are deprived ofa great stock of wit, in the loss of MENANDER among the Greek poets, andof COECILIUS, AFFRANIUS, and VARIUS among the Romans. We may guess ofMENANDER's excellency by the Plays of TERENCE; who translated some ofhis, and yet wanted so much of him, that he was called by C. CAESAR, theHalf-MENANDER: and of VARIUS, by the testimonies of HORACE, MARTIAL, andVELLEIUS PATERCULUS. 'Tis probable that these, could they be recovered, would decide the controversy. "But so long as ARISTOPHANES in the Old Comedy, and PLAUTUS in the Neware extant; while the Tragedies of EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, and SENECA areto be had: I can never see one of those Plays which are now written, butit increases my admiration of the Ancients. And yet I must acknowledgefurther, that to admire them as we ought, we should understand thembetter than we do. Doubtless, many things appear flat to us, whose witdepended upon some custom or story, which never came to our knowledge; orperhaps upon some criticism in their language, which, being so long dead, and only remaining in their books, it is not possible they should make usknow it perfectly. "To read MACROBIUS explaining the propriety and elegancy of many words inVIRGIL, which I had before passed over without consideration as commonthings, is enough to assure me that I ought to think the same of TERENCE;and that, in the purity of his style, which TULLY so much valued that heever carried his _Works_ about him, there is yet left in him great roomfor admiration, if I knew but where to place it. "In the meantime, I must desire you to take notice that the greatest manof the last Age, BEN. JOHNSON, was willing to give place to them in allthings. He was not only a professed imitator of HORACE, but a learnedplagiary of all the others. You track him everywhere in their snow. IfHORACE, LUCAN, PETRONIUS _Arbiter_, SENECA, and JUVENAL had their ownfrom him; there are few serious thoughts that are new in him. You willpardon me, therefore, if I presume, he loved their fashion; when he woretheir clothes. "But since I have otherwise a great veneration for him, and you, EUGENIUS! prefer him above all other poets: I will use no fartherargument to you than his example. I will produce Father BEN. To you, dressed in all the ornaments and colours of the Ancients. You will needno other guide to our party, if you follow him: and whether you considerthe bad plays of our Age, or regard the good ones of the last: both thebest and worst of the Modern poets will equally instruct you to esteemthe Ancients. " CRITES had no sooner left speaking; but EUGENIUS, who waited with someimpatience for it, thus began: "I have observed in your speech, that the former part of it isconvincing, as to what the Moderns have profited by the Rules of theAncients: but, in the latter, you are careful to conceal, how much theyhave excelled them. "We own all the helps we have from them; and want neither veneration norgratitude, while we acknowledge that, to overcome them, we must make useof all the advantages we have received from them. But to theseassistances, we have joined our own industry: for had we sate down with adull imitation of them; we might then have lost somewhat of the oldperfection, but never acquired any that was new. We draw not, therefore, after their lines; but those of Nature: and having the Life before us, besides the experience of all they knew, it is no wonder if we hit someairs and features, which they have missed. "I deny not what you urge of Arts and Sciences [p. 514]; that they haveflourished in some ages more than others: but your instance in Philosophy[p. 514] makes for me. "For if Natural Causes be more known now, than in the time of ARISTOTLE, because more studied; it follows that Poesy and other Arts may, with thesame pains, arrive still nearer to perfection. And that granted, it willrest for you to prove, that they wrought more perfect Images of HumanLife than we. "Which, seeing, in your discourse, you have avoided to make good; itshall now be my task to show you some of their Defects, and some fewExcellencies of the Moderns. And I think, there is none amongst us canimagine I do it enviously; or with purpose to detract from them: for whatinterest of Fame, or Profit, can the Living lose by the reputation of theDead? On the other side, it is a great truth, which VELLEIUS PATERCULUSaffirms, _Audita visis libentius laudamus; et proesentia invidia, proeterita, admiratione prosequimur, et his nos obrui, illis instruicredimus_, 'That Praise or Censure is certainly the most sincere, whichunbribed Posterity shall give us. ' "Be pleased, then, in the first place, to take notice that the GreekPoesy, which CRITES has affirmed to have arrived to perfection in thereign of the Old Comedy [p. 514], was so far from it, that _thedistinction of it into Acts was not known to them_; or if it were, it isyet so darkly delivered to us, that we cannot make it out. "All we know of it is, from the singing of their Chorus: and that too, isso uncertain, that in some of their Plays, we have reason to conjecturethey sang more than five times. "ARISTOTLE, indeed, divides the integral parts of a Play into four. "Firstly. The _Protasis_ or Entrance, which gives light only to the Characters of the persons; and proceeds very little into any part of the Action. "Secondly. The _Epitasis_ or Working up of the Plot, where the Play grows warmer; the Design or Action of it is drawing on, and you see something promising, that it will come to pass. "Thirdly. The _Catastasis_ or Counter-turn, which destroys that expectation, embroils the action in new difficulties, and leaves you far distant from that hope in which it found you: as you may have observed in a violent stream, resisted by a narrow passage; it turns round to an eddy, and carries back the waters with more swiftness than it brought them on. "Lastly. The _Catastrophe_, which the Grecians call [Greek: desis]; the French, _Le denoument_; and we, the Discovery or Unravelling of the Plot. There, you see all things settling again upon the first foundations; and the obstacles, which hindered the Design or Action of the Play, once removed, it ends with that Resemblance of Truth or Nature, that the audience are satisfied with the conduct of it. "Thus this great man delivered to us the Image of a Play; and I mustconfess it is so lively, that, from thence, much light has been derivedto the forming it more perfectly, into Acts and Scenes. But what Poetfirst limited to Five, the number of the Acts, I know not: only we see itso firmly established in the time of HORACE, that he gives it for a rulein Comedy. "_Neu brevier quinto, neu sit productior actu:_ "So that you see, the Grecians cannot be said to have consumated thisArt: writing rather by Entrances than by Acts; and having rather ageneral indigested notion of a Play, than knowing how and where to bestowthe particular graces of it. "But since the Spaniards, at this day, allow but three Acts, which theycall _Jornadas_, to a Play; and the Italians, in many of theirs, followthem: when I condemn the Ancients, I declare it _is not altogetherbecause they have not five Acts to every Play; but because they have notconfined themselves to one certain number_. 'Tis building a house, without a model: and when they succeeded in such undertakings, they oughtto have sacrificed to Fortune, not to the Muses. "Next, for the Plot, which ARISTOTLE called [Greek: to muthos], and often[Greek: ton pragmaton sunthesis]; and from him, the Romans, _Fabula_. Ithas already been judiciously observed by a late Writer that 'in their_TRADGEDIES_, it was only some tale derived from Thebes or Troy; or, atleast, something that happened in those two Ages: which was worn sothreadbare by the pens of all the Epic Poets; and even, by traditionitself of the _talkative Greeklings_, as BEN. JOHNSON calls them, thatbefore it came upon the Stage, it was already known to all the audience. And the people, as soon as ever they heard the name of _OEDIPUS_, knew aswell as the Poet, that he had killed his father by a mistake, andcommitted incest with his mother, before the Play; that they were now tohear of a great plague, an oracle, and the ghost of _LAIUS_: so that theysate, with a yawning kind of expectation, till he was to come, with hiseyes pulled out, and speak a hundred or two of verses, in a tragic tone, in complaint of his misfortunes. ' "But one _OEDIPUS_, _HERCULES_, or _MEDEA_ had been tolerable. Poorpeople! They scaped not so good cheap. They had still the _chaponbouillé_ set before them, till their appetites were cloyed with the samedish; and the Novelty being gone, the Pleasure vanished. So that one mainend of Dramatic Poesy, in its definition [p. 513] (which was, to cause_Delight_) was, of consequence, destroyed. "In their _COMEDIES_, the Romans generally borrowed their Plots from theGreek poets: and theirs were commonly a little girl stolen or wanderedfrom her parents, brought back unknown to the same city, there got withchild by some lewd young fellow, who (by the help of his servant) cheatshis father. And when her time comes to cry _JUNO Lucina fer opem!_ one orother sees a little box or cabinet, which was carried away with her, andso discovers her to her friends: if some god do not prevent[_anticipate_] it, by coming down in a machine [_i. E. , supernaturally_], and take the thanks of it to himself. "By the Plot, you may guess much [_many_] of the characters of thePersons. An old Father that would willingly, before he dies, see his sonwell married. His debauched Son, kind in his nature to his wench, butmiserably in want of money. A Servant or Slave, who has so much wit [as]to strike in with him, and help to dupe his father, A braggadochioCaptain, a Parasite, and a Lady of Pleasure. "As for the poor honest maid, upon whom all the story is built, and whoought to be one of the principal Actors in the Play; she is commonly aMute in it. She has the breeding of the old ELIZABETH [_Elizabethan_]way, for 'maids to be seen, and not to be heard': and it is enough, youknow she is willing to be married, when the Fifth Act requires it. "These are plots built after the Italian mode of houses. You see throughthem all at once. The Characters, indeed, are Imitations of Nature: butso narrow as if they had imitated only an eye or an hand, and did notdare to venture on the lines of a face, or the proportion of a body. "But in how strait a compass sorever, they have bounded their Plots andCharacters, we will pass it by, if they have regularly pursued them, andperfectly observed those three Unities, of TIME, PLACE, and ACTION; theknowledge of which, you say! is derived to us from them. "But, in the first place, give me leave to tell you! that the Unity ofPLACE, however it might be practised by them, was never any of theirRules. We neither find it in ARISTOTLE, HORACE, or any who have writtenof it; till, in our Age, the French poets first made it a Precept of theStage. "The Unity of TIME, even TERENCE himself, who was the best and mostregular of them, has neglected. His _Heautontimoroumenos_ or 'SelfPunisher' takes up, visibly, two days. 'Therefore, ' says SCALIGER, 'thetwo first Acts concluding the first day, were acted overnight; the lastthree on the ensuing day. ' "And EURIPIDES, in tying himself to one day, has committed an absurditynever to be forgiven him. For, in one of his Tragedies, he has madeTHESEUS go from Athens to Thebes, which was about forty English miles;under the walls of it, to give battle; and appear victorious in the nextAct: and yet, from the time of his departure, to the return of the_Nuntius_, who gives relation of his victory; _AETHRA_ and the _Chorus_have but thirty-six verses, that is, not for every mile, a verse. "The like error is evident in TERENCE his _Eunuch_; when _LACHES_ the oldman, enters, in a mistake, the house of _THAIS_; where, between his _Exit_and the Entrance of _PYTHIAS_ (who comes to give an ample relation of thegarboils he has raised within), _PARMENO_ who was left upon the stage, has not above five lines to speak. _C'est bien employé, un temps sicourt!_ says the French poet, who furnished me with one of the[se]observations. "And almost all their Tragedies will afford us examples of the likenature. "'Tis true, they have kept the Continuity, or as you called it, _Liaisondes Scenes_, somewhat better. Two do not perpetually come in together, talk, and go out together; and other two succeeded them, and do the same, throughout the Act: which the English call by the name of 'Single Scenes. 'But the reason is, because they have seldom above two or three Scenes, properly so called, in every Act. For it is to be accounted a _new_Scene, not every time the Stage is empty: but every person _who enters_, though to others, makes it so; because he introduces a new business. "Now the Plots of their Plays being narrow, and the persons few: one oftheir Acts was written in a less compass than one of our well-wroughtScenes; and yet they are often deficient even in this. "To go no further than TERENCE. You find in the _Eunuch_, _ANTIPHO_entering, single, in the midst of the Third Act, after _CHREMES_ and_PYTHIAS_ were gone off. In the same play, you have likewise _DORIAS_beginning the Fourth Act alone; and after she has made a relation of whatwas done at the soldier's entertainment (which, by the way, was veryinartificial to do; because she was presumed to speak directly to theAudience, and to acquaint them with what was necessary to be known: butyet should have been so contrived by the Poet as to have been told bypersons of the Drama to one another, and so by them, to have come to theknowledge of the people), she quits the Stage: and _PHAEDRIA_ entersnext, alone likewise. He also gives you an account of himself, and of hisreturning from the country, in monologue: to which unnatural way ofNarration, TERENCE is subject in all his Plays. "In his _Adelphi_ or 'Brothers, ' _SYRUS_ and _DEMEA_ enter after theScene was broken by the departure of _SOSTRATA_, _GETA_, and _CANTHARA_;and, indeed, you can scarce look into any of his Comedies, where you willnot presently discover the same interruption. "And as they have failed both in [the] laying of the Plots, and managingof them, swerving from the Rules of their own Art, by misrepresentingNature to us, in which they have ill satisfied one intention of a Play, which was Delight: so in the Instructive part [pp. 513, 582-4], they haveerred worse. Instead of punishing vice, and rewarding virtue; they haveoften shown a prosperous wickedness, and an unhappy piety. They have setbefore us a bloody Image of Revenge, in _MEDEA_; and given her dragons toconvey her safe from punishment. A _PRIAM_ and _ASTYANAX_ murdered, and_CASSANDRA_ ravished; and Lust and Murder ending in the victory of himthat acted them. In short, there is no indecorum in any of our modernPlays; which, if I would excuse, I could not shadow with some Authorityfrom the Ancients. "And one farther note of them, let me leave you! Tragedies and Comedieswere not writ then, as they are now, promiscuously, by the same person:but he who found his genius bending to the one, never attempted the otherway. This is so plain, that I need not instance to you, that ARISTOPHANES, PLAUTUS, TERENCE never, any of them, writ a Tragedy; AESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, and SENECA never meddled with Comedy. The Sock and Buskin werenot worn by the same Poet. Having then so much care to excel in one kind;very little is to be pardoned them, if they miscarried in it. "And this would lead me to the consideration of their Wit, had not CRITESgiven me sufficient warning, not to be too bold in my judgement of it;because (the languages being dead, and many of the customs and littleaccidents on which it depended lost to us [p. 518]) we are not competentjudges of it. But though I grant that, here and there, we may miss theapplication of a proverb or a custom; yet, a thing well said, will be Witin all languages: and, though it may lose something in the translation;yet, to him who reads it in the original, 'tis still the same. He has anIdea of its excellency; though it cannot pass from his mind into anyother expression or words than those in which he finds it. "When _PHAEDRIA_, in the _Eunuch_, had a command from his mistress to beabsent two days; and encouraging himself to go through with it, said, _Tandem ego non illa caream, si opus sit, vel totum triduum? PARMENO_ tomock the softness of his master, lifting up his hands and eyes, criesout, as it were in admiration, _Hui! universum triduum!_ The elegancy ofwhich _universum_, though it cannot be rendered in our language; yetleaves an impression of the Wit on our souls. "But this happens seldom in him [_i. E. , TERENCE_]; in PLAUTUS oftner, whois infinitely too bold in his metaphors and coining words; out of which, many times, his Wit is nothing. Which, questionless, was one reason whyHORACE falls upon him so severely in those verses. "_Sed Proavi nostri Plautinos el numeros et Laudavere sales, nimium patienter utrumque Ne dicam stolidè_. "For HORACE himself was cautious to obtrude [_in obtruding_] a new wordupon his readers: and makes custom and common use, the best measure ofreceiving it into our writings, "_Multa renascentur quae nunc cecidere, cadentque Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus Quem penes, arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loquendi_. "The not observing of this Rule, is that which the World has blamed inour satirist CLEVELAND. To express a thing hard and unnaturally is hisNew Way of Elocution. Tis true, no poet but may sometimes use a_catachresis_. VIRGIL, does it, "_Mistaque ridenti Colocasia fundet Acaniho_-- "in his Eclogue of _POLLIO_. "And in his Seventh AEneid-- "_Mirantur et unda, Miratur nemus, insuetam fulgentia longe, Scuta virum fluvio, pictaque innare carinas_. "And OVID once; so modestly, that he asks leave to do it. "_Si verbo audacia, detur Haud metuam summi dixisse Palatia coeli_ "calling the Court of JUPITER, by the name of AUGUSTUS his palace. Though, in another place, he is more bold; where he says, _Et longasvisent Capitolia pompas_. "But to do this always, and never be able to write a line without it, though it may be admired by some few pedants, will not pass upon thosewho know that _Wit is best conveyed to us in the most easy language: andis most to be admired, when a great thought comes dressed in words socommonly received, that it is understood by the meanest apprehensions; asthe best meat is the most easily digested_. But we cannot read a verse ofCLEVELAND's, without making a face at it; as if every word were a pill toswallow. He gives us, many times, a hard nut to break our teeth, without akernel for our pains. So that there is this difference between his_Satires_ and Doctor DONNE's: that the one [_DONNE_] gives us deepthoughts in common language, though rough cadence; the other[_CLEVELAND_] gives us common thoughts in abtruse words. 'Tis true, insome places, his wit is independent of his words, as in that of the_Rebel Scot_-- "Had CAIN been Scot, GOD would have changed his doom, Not forced him wander, but confined him home. "_Si sic, omnia dixisset!_ This is Wit in all languages. 'Tis likeMERCURY, never to be lost or killed. And so that other, "For beauty, like white powder, makes no noise, And yet the silent hypocrite destroys. "You see the last line is highly metaphorical; but it is so soft andgentle, that it does not shock us as we read it. "But to return from whence I have digressed, to the consideration of theAncients' Writing and Wit; of which, by this time, you will grant us, insome measure, to be fit judges. "Though I see many excellent thoughts in SENECA: yet he, of them, who hada genius most proper for the Stage, was OVID. He [_i. E. , OVID_] had a wayof writing so fit to stir up a pleasing admiration and concernment, whichare the objects of a Tragedy; and to show the various movements of a soulcombating betwixt different passions: that, had he lived in our Age, or(in his own) could have writ with our advantages, no man but must haveyielded to him; and therefore, I am confident the _MEDEA_ is none of his. For, though I esteem it, for the gravity and sentiousness of it (which hehimself concludes to be suitable to a Tragedy, _Omne genus scriptigravitate Tragadia, vincit_); yet it moves not my soul enough, to judgethat he, who, in the Epic way, wrote things so near the Drama (as thestories of _MYRRHA, _ of _CAUNUS and BIBLIS, _ and the rest) should stir upno more concernment, where he most endeavoured it. "The masterpiece of SENECA, I hold to be that Scene in the _Troades_, where _ULYSSES_ is seeking for _ASTYANAX, _ to kill him. There, you seethe tenderness of a mother so represented in _ANDROMACHE_, that it raisescompassion to a high degree in the reader; and bears the nearestresemblance, of anything in their Tragedies, to the excellent Scenes ofPassion in SHAKESPEARE or in FLETCHER. "For Love Scenes, you will find but few among them. Their Tragic poetsdealt not with that soft passion; but with Lust, Cruelty, Revenge, Ambition, and those bloody actions they produced, which were more capableof raising horror than compassion in an audience: leaving Love untouched, whose gentleness would have tempered them; which is the most frequent ofall the passions, and which (being the private concernment of everyperson) is soothed by viewing its own Image [p. 549] in a publicentertainment. "Among their Comedies, we find a Scene or two of tenderness: and that, where you would least expect it, in PLAUTUS. But to speak generally, their lovers say little, when they see each others but anima mea! vitamea! [Greek: zoae kai psuchae!] as the women, in JUVENAL's time, used tocry out, in the fury of their kindness. "Then indeed, to speak sense were an offence. Any sudden gust of passion, as an ecstasy of love in an unexpected meeting, cannot better be expressedthan in a word and a sigh, breaking one another. Nature is dumb on suchoccasions; and to make her speak, would be to represent her unlikeherself. But there are a thousand other concernments of lovers asjealousies, complaints, contrivances, and the like; where, not to opentheir minds at large to each other, were to be wanting to their own love, and to the expectation of the audience: who watch the Movements of theirMinds, as much as the Changes of their Fortunes. For the Imaging of thefirst [p. 549], is properly the work of a Poet; the latter, he borrows ofthe Historian. " EUGENIUS was proceeding in that part of his discourse, when CRITESinterrupted him. "I see, " said he, "EUGENIUS and I are never likely to have this questiondecided betwixt us: for he maintains the Moderns have acquired a _newperfection_ in writing; I only grant, they have _altered the mode_ of it. "HOMER describes his heroes, [as] men of great appetites; lovers of beefbroiled upon the coals, and good fellows: contrary to the practice of theFrench romances, whose heroes neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep for love. "VIRGIL makes _AENEAS_, a bold avower of his own virtues, "_Sum pius AENEAS fama super aethera notus_; "which, in the civility of our Poets, is the character of a _Fanfaron_ orHector. For with us, the Knight takes occasion to walk out, or sleep, toavoid the vanity of telling his own story; which the trusty Squire isever to perform for him [p. 535]. "So, in their Love Scenes, of which EUGENIUS spoke last, the Ancientswere more hearty; we, the more talkative. They writ love, as it was thenthe mode to make it. "And I will grant thus much to EUGENIUS, that, perhaps, one of theirPoets, had he lived in our Age, "_Si foret hoc nostrum fato delupsus in aevum_, "as HORACE says of LUCILIUS, he had altered many things: not that theywere not natural before; but that he might accommodate himself to the Agehe lived in. Yet, in the meantime, we are not to conclude anything rashlyagainst those great men; but preserve to them, the dignity of Masters:and give that honour to their memories, _quos libitina sacravit_; part ofwhich, we expect may be paid to us in future times. " This moderation of CRITES, as it was pleasing to all the company, so itput an end to that dispute: which EUGENIUS, who seemed to have the betterof the argument, would urge no further. But LISIDEIUS, after he had acknowledged himself of EUGENIUS his opinion, concerning the Ancients; yet told him, "He had forborne till his discoursewas ended, to ask him, Why he preferred the English Plays above those ofother nations? and whether we ought not to submit our Stage to theexactness of our next neighbours?" "Though, " said EUGENIUS, "I am, at all times, ready to defend the honourof my country against the French; and to maintain, we are as well able tovanquish them with our pens, as our ancestors have been with their swords:yet, if you please!" added he, looking upon NEANDER, "I will commit thiscause to my friend's management. His opinion of our plays is the samewith mine. And besides, there is no reason that CRITES and I, who havenow left the Stage, should re-enter so suddenly upon it: which is againstthe laws of Comedy. " "If the question had been stated, " replied LISIDEIUS, "Who had writ best, the French or English, forty years ago [_i. E. , in_ 1625]? I should havebeen of your opinion; and adjudged the honour to our own nation: but, since that time, " said he, turning towards NEANDER, "we have been so longbad Englishmen, that we had not leisure to be good Poets. BEAUMONT [_d. _1615], FLETCHER [_d. _ 1625], and JOHNSON [_d. _ 1637], who were only[_alone_] capable of bringing us to that degree of perfection which wehave, were just then leaving the world; as if, in an Age of so muchhorror, Wit and those milder studies of humanity had no farther businessamong us. But the Muses, who ever follow peace, went to plant in anothercountry. It was then, that the great Cardinal DE RICHELIEU began to takethem into his protection; and that, by his encouragement, CORNEILLE andsome other Frenchmen reformed their _Theatre_: which, before, was so muchbelow ours, as it now surpasses it, and the rest of Europe. But becauseCRITES, in his discourse for the Ancients, has prevented [_anticipated_]me by touching on many Rules of the Stage, which the Moderns haveborrowed from them; I shall only, in short, demand of you, 'Whether youare not convinced that, of all nations, the French have best observedthem?' "In the Unity of TIME, you find them so scrupulous, that it yet remains adispute among their Poets, 'Whether the artificial day, of twelve hoursmore or less, be not meant by ARISTOTLE, rather that the natural one oftwenty-four?' and consequently, 'Whether all Plays ought not to bereduced into that compass?' This I can testify, that in all their dramaswrit within these last twenty years [1645-1665] and upwards, I have notobserved any, that have extended the time to thirty hours. "In the Unity of PLACE, they are full[y] as scrupulous. For many of theircritics limit it to that spot of ground, where the Play is supposed tobegin. None of them exceed the compass of the same town or city. "The Unity of ACTION in all their plays, is yet more conspicuous. Forthey do not burden them with Under Plots, as the English do; which is thereason why many Scenes of our Tragi-Comedies carry on a Design that isnothing of kin to the main Plot: and that we see two distincts webs in aPlay, like those in ill-wrought stuffs; and two Actions (that is, twoPlays carried on together) to the confounding of the audience: who, before they are warm in their concernments for one part, are diverted toanother; and, by that means, expouse the interest of neither. "From hence likewise, it arises that one half of our Actors [_i. E. , theCharacters in a Play_] are not known to the other. They keep theirdistances, as if they were _MONTAGUES_ and _CAPULETS_; and seldom beginan acquaintance till the last Scene of the fifth Act, when they are allto meet on the Stage. "There is no _Theatre_ in the world has anything so absurd as the EnglishTragi-Comedy. 'Tis a Drama of our own invention; and the fashion of it isenough to proclaim it so. Here, a course of mirth; there, another ofsadness and passion; a third of honour; and the fourth, a duel. Thus, intwo hours and a half, we run through all the fits of Bedlam. "The French afford you as much variety, on the same day; but they do itnot so unseasonably, or _mal apropos_ as we. Our Poets present you thePlay and the Farce together; and our Stages still retain somewhat of theoriginal civility of the 'Red Bull. ' "_Atque ursum et pugiles media inter carmina poscunt. _ "'The end of Tragedies or serious Plays, ' says ARISTOTLE, 'is to begetAdmiration [_wonderment_], Compassion, or Concernment. ' But are not mirthand compassion things incompatible? and is it not evident, that the Poetmust, of necessity, destroy the former, by intermingling the latter? thatis, he must ruin the sole end and object of his Tragedy, to introducesomewhat that is forced in, and is not of the body of it! Would you notthink that physician mad! who having prescribed a purge, shouldimmediately order you to take restringents upon it? "But to leave our Plays, and return to theirs. I have noted one greatadvantage they have had in the Plotting of their Tragedies, that is, theyare always grounded upon some known History, according to that of HORACE, _Ex noto fictum carm n sequar_: and in that, they have so imitated theAncients, that they have surpassed them. For the Ancients, as wasobserved before [p. 522], took for the foundation of their Plays somepoetical fiction; such as, under that consideration, could move butlittle concernment in the audience, because they already knew the eventof it. But the French[man] goes farther. "_Atque ita mentitur, sic veris falso remiscet, Primo ne medium, media ne discrepet imum. _ "He so interweaves Truth with probable Fiction, that he puts a pleasingfallacy upon us; mends the intrigues of Fate; and dispenses with theseverity of History, to reward that virtue, which has been rendered tous, there, unfortunate. Sometimes the Story has left the success sodoubtful, that the writer is free, by the privilege of a Poet, to takethat which, of two or more relations, will best suit his Design. As, forexample, the death of CYRUS; whom JUSTIN and some others report to haveperished in the Scythian War; but XENOPHON affirms to have died in hisbed of extreme old age. "Nay more, when the event is past dispute, even then, we are willing tobe deceived: and the Poet, if he contrives it with appearance of truth, has all the audience of his party [_on his side_], at least, during thetime his Play is acting. So naturally, we are kind to virtue (when ourown interest is not in question) that we take It up, as the generalconcernment of mankind. "On the other side, if you consider the Historical Plays of SHAKESPEARE;they are rather so many Chronicles of Kings, or the business, many times, of thirty or forty years crampt into a Representation of two hours and ahalf: which is not to imitate or paint Nature, but rather to draw her inminiature, to take her in little; to look upon her, through the wrong ofa perspective [_telescope_], and receive her Images [pp. 528, 549], notonly much less, but infinitely more imperfect than the Life. This, instead of making a Play delightful, renders it ridiculous. "_Quodeunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi. _ "For the Spirit of Man cannot be satisfied but with Truth, or, at least, Verisimilitude: and a Poem is to contain, if not [Greek ta hetuma], yet[Greek: hetmoisiu homia]; as one of the Greek poets has expressed it[_See_ p. 589. ]. "Another thing, in which the French differ from us and from theSpaniards, is that they do not embarrass or cumber themselves with toomuch Plot. They only represent so much of a Story as will constitute Onewhole and great Action sufficient for a Play. We, who undertake more, dobut multiply _Adventures [pp. 541, 552]; which (not being produced fromone another, as Effects from Causes, but, barely, following) constitutemany Actions in the Drama, and consequently make it many Plays. "But, by pursuing close[ly] one Argument, which is not cloyed with manyTurns; the French have gained more liberty for Verse, in which theywrite. They have leisure to dwell upon a subject which deserves it; andto represent the passions [p. 542] (which we have acknowledged to be thePoet's work) without being hurried from one thing to another, as we arein the plays of CALDERON; which we have seen lately upon our theatres, under the name of Spanish Plots. "I have taken notice but of one Tragedy of ours; whose Plot has thatuniformity and unity of Design in it, which I have commended in theFrench; and that is, ROLLO, or rather under the name of ROLLO, the storyof BASSANIUS _and_ GOETA, in HERODIAN. There, indeed, the plot is neitherlarge nor intricate; but just enough to fill the minds of the audience, not to cloy them. Besides, you see it founded on the truth of History;only the time of the Action is not reduceable to the strictness of theRules. And you see, in some places, a little farce mingled, which isbelow the dignity of the other parts. And in this, all our Poets areextremely peccant; even BEN. JOHNSON himself, in _SEFANUS_ and_CATILINE, _ has given this Oleo [_hodge-podge_] of a Play, this unnaturalmixture of Comedy and Tragedy; which, to me, sounds just as ridiculous as_The History of DAVID, with the merry humours of GOLIAS_. In _SEFANUS_, you may take notice of the Scene between _LIVIA_ and the _Physician;_which is a pleasant satire upon the artificial helps of beauty. In_CATILINE_, you may see the Parliament of Women; the little envies ofthem to one another; and all that passes betwixt _CURIO_ and _FULVIA_. Scenes, admirable in their kind, but of an ill mingle with the rest. "But I return again to the French Writers: who, as I have said, do notburden themselves too much with Plot; which has been reproached to themby an Ingenious Person of our nation, as a fault. For he says, 'Theycommonly make but one person considerable in a Play. They dwell upon himand his concernments; while the rest of the persons are only subservientto set him off. ' If he intends this by it, that there is one person inthe Play who is of greater dignity than the rest; he must tax not onlytheirs, but those of the Ancients, and (which he would be loath to do)the best of ours. For it 'tis impossible but that one person must be moreconspicuous in it than any other; and consequently the greatest share inthe Action must devolve on him. We see it so in the management of allaffairs. Even in the most equal aristocracy, the balance cannot be sojustly poised, but some one will be superior to the rest, either inparts, fortune, interest, or the consideration of some glorious exploit;which will reduce [_lead_] the greatest part of business into his hands. "But if he would have us to imagine, that in exalting of one character, the rest of them are neglected; and that all of them have not some shareor other in the Action of the Play: I desire him to produce any ofCORNEILLE's Tragedies, wherein every person, like so many servants in awell governed family, has _not_ some employment; and who is _not_necessary to the carrying on of the Plot, or, at least, to yourunderstanding it. "There are, indeed, some protactic persons [_precursors_] in theAncients; whom they make use of in their Plays, either to hear or givethe Relation; but the French avoid this with great address; making theirNarrations only to, or by such, who are some way interessed[_interested_] in the main Design. "And now I am speaking of RELATIONS; I cannot take a fitter opportunityto add this, in favour of the French, that they often use them withbetter judgement, more _apropos_ than the English do. "Not that I commend NARRATIONS in general; but there are two sorts ofthem: "One, of those things which are antecedent to the Play, and are relatedto make the Conduct of it more clear to us. But 'tis a fault to choosesuch subjects for the Stage, as will inforce us upon that rock: becausewe see that they are seldom listened to by the audience; and that it is, many times, the ruin of the play. For, being once let pass withoutattention, the audience can never recover themselves to understand thePlot; and, indeed, it is somewhat unreasonable that they should be put toso much trouble, as that, to comprehend what passes in their sight, theymust have recourse to what was done, perhaps ten or twenty years ago. "But there is another sort of RELATIONS, that is, of things happening inthe Action of a Play, and supposed to be done behind the scenes: and thisis, many times, both convenient and beautiful. For by it, the French avoidthe tumult, which we are subject to in England, by representing duels, battles, and such like; which renders our Stage too like the theatreswhere they fight for prizes [_i. E. , theatres used as Fencing Schools, forAssaults of Arms, &c. _]. For what is more ridiculous than to represent anarmy, with a drum and five men behind it? All which, the hero on theother side, is to drive in before him. Or to see a duel fought, and oneslain with two or three thrusts of the foils? which we know are soblunted, that we might give a man an hour to kill another, in goodearnest, with them. "I have observed that in all our Tragedies, the audience cannot forbearlaughing, when the Actors are to die. 'Tis the most comic part of thewhole Play. "All Passions may be lively Represented on the Stage, if, to the wellwriting of them, the Actor supplies a good commanded voice, and limbsthat move easily, and without stiffness: but there are many Actions, which can never be Imitated to a just height. "Dying, especially, is a thing, which none but a Roman gladiator couldnaturally perform upon the Stage, when he did not Imitate or Representit, but naturally Do it. And, therefore, it is better to omit theRepresentation of it. The words of a good writer, which describe itlively, will make a deeper impression of belief in us, than all the Actorcan persuade us to, when he seems to fall dead before us: as the Poet, inthe description of a beautiful garden, or meadow, will please ourImagination more than the place itself will please our sight. When we seedeath Represented, we are convinced it is but fiction; but when we hear itRelated, our eyes (the strongest witnesses) are wanting, which might haveundeceived us: and we are all willing to favour the sleight, when thePoet does not too grossly impose upon us. "They, therefore, who imagine these Relations would make no concernmentin the audience, are deceived, by confounding them with the other; whichare of things antecedent to the Play. Those are made often, in coldblood, as I may say, to the audience; but these are warmed with ourconcernments, which are, before, awakened in the Play. "What the philosophers say of Motion, that 'when it is once begun, itcontinues of itself; and will do so, to Eternity, without some stop beput to it, ' is clearly true, on this occasion. The Soul, being moved withthe Characters and Fortunes of those Imaginary Persons, continues going ofits own accord; and we are no more weary to hear what becomes of them, when they are not on the Stage, than we are to listen to the news of anabsent mistress. "But it is objected, 'That if one part of the Play may be related; then, why not all?' "I answer. Some parts of the Action are more fit to be Represented; some, to be Related. CORNEILLE says judiciously, 'That the Poet is not obligedto expose to view all particular actions, which conduce to the principal. He ought to select such of them to be Seen, which will appear with thegreatest beauty, either by the magnificence of the shew, or the vehemenceof the passions which they produce, or some other charm which they have inthem: and let the rest arrive to the audience, by Narration. ' "'Tis a great mistake in us, to believe the French present no part of theAction upon the Stage. Every alteration, or crossing of a Design; everynew sprung passion, and turn of it, is a part of the Action, and much thenoblest: except we conceive nothing to be Action, till they come to blows;as if the painting of the Hero's Mind were not more properly the Poet'swork, than, the strength of his Body. "Nor does this anything contradict the opinion of HORACE, where he tellsus "_Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem Quam quae sunt occulis subjecta fidelibus. _ "For he says, immediately after, "_Non tamen intus Digna, geri promes in scenam, Multaque tolles Ex occulis, quae mox narret facundia praesens. _ "Among which 'many, ' he recounts some, "_Nec pueros coram populo MEDEA trucidet, Aut in avem PROGNE mutetur, CADMUS in anguem, &c. _ "that is, 'Those actions, which, by reason of their cruelty, will causeaversion in us; or (by reason of their impossibility) unbelief [pp. 496, 545], ought either wholly to be avoided by a Poet, or only delivered byNarration. ' To which, we may have leave to add, such as 'to avoidtumult, ' as was before hinted [pp. 535, 544]; or 'to reduce the Plot intoa more reasonable compass of time, ' or 'for defect of beauty in them, ' arerather to be Related than presented to the eye. "Examples of all these kinds, are frequent; not only among all theAncients, but in the best received of our English poets. "We find BEN. JOHNSON using them in his _Magnetic Lady_, where one comesout from dinner, and Relates the quarrels and disorders of it; to savethe indecent appearing of them on the Stage, and to abbreviate the story:and this, in express imitation of TERENCE, who had done the same beforehim, in his _Eunuch_; where _PYTHIAS_ makes the like Relation of what hadhappened within, at the soldiers' entertainment. "The Relations, likewise, of _SEFANUS_'s death and the prodigies beforeit, are remarkable. The one of which, was hid from sight, to avoid thehorror and tumult of the Representation: the other, to shun theintroducing of things impossible to be believed. "In that excellent Play, the _King and no King_, FLETCHER goes yetfarther. For the whole unravelling of the Plot is done by Narration inthe Fifth Act, after the manner of the Ancients: and it moves greatconcernment in the audience; though it be only a Relation of what wasdone many years before the Play. "I could multiply other instances; but these are sufficient to prove, that there is no error in chosing a subject which requires this sort ofNarration. In the ill managing of them, they may. "But I find, I have been too long in this discourse; since the Frenchhave many other excellencies, not common to us. "As that, _you never see any of their Plays end with a Conversion, orsimple Change of Will_: which is the ordinary way our Poets use [_areaccustomed_] to end theirs. "It shows little art in the conclusion of a Dramatic Poem, when they whohave hindered the felicity during the Four Acts, desist from it in theFifth, without some powerful cause to take them off: and though I denynot but such reasons may be found; yet it is a path that is cautiously tobe trod, and the Poet is to be sure he convinces the audience, that themotive is strong enough. "As, for example, the conversion of the _Usurer_ in the _Scornful Lady_, seems to me, a little forced. For, being a Usurer, which implies a Loverof Money in the highest degree of covetousness (and such, the Poet hasrepresented him); the account he gives for the sudden change, is, that hehas been duped by the wild young fellow: which, in reason, might renderhim more wary another time, and make him punish himself with harder fareand coarser clothes, to get it up again. But that he should look upon itas a judgement, and so repent; we may expect to hear of in a Sermon, butI should never endure it in a Play. "I pass by this. Neither will I insist upon _the care they take, that noperson, after his first entrance, shall ever appear; but the businesswhich brings upon the Stage, shall be evident_. Which, if observed, mustneeds render all the events of the Play more natural. For there, you seethe probability of every accident, in the cause that produced it; andthat which appears chance in the Play, will seem so reasonable to you, that you will there find it almost necessary: so that in the Exits oftheir Actors, you have a clear account of their purpose and design in thenext Entrance; though, if the Scene be well wrought, the event willcommonly deceive you. 'For there is nothing so absurd, ' says CORNEILLE, 'as for an Actor to leave the Stage, only because he has no more to say!' "I should now speak of _the beauty of their Rhyme_, and the just reason Ihave to prefer _that way of writing_, in Tragedies, _before ours, in BlankVerse_. But, because it is partly received by us, and therefore, notaltogether peculiar to them; I will say no more of it, in relation totheir Plays. For our own; I doubt not but it will exceedingly beautifythem: and I can see but one reason why it should not generally obtain;that is, because our Poets write so ill in it [pp. 503, 578, 598]. This, indeed, may prove a more prevailing argument, than all others which areused to destroy it: and, therefore, I am only troubled when great andjudicious Poets, and those who are acknowledged such, have writ or spokeagainst it. As for others, they are to be answered by that one sentenceof an ancient author. _Sed ut primo ad consequendos eos quos prioresducimus accendimur, ita ubi aut praeteriri, aut aequari eos possedesperavimus, studium cum spe senescit: quod, scilicet, assequi nonpotest, sequi desinit; praeteritoque eo in quo eminere non possumus, aliquid in quo nitamur conquirimus_. " LISIDEIUS concluded, in this manner; and NEANDER, after a little pause, thus answered him. "I shall grant LISIDEIUS, without much dispute, a great part of what hehas urged against us. "For I acknowledge _the French contrive their Plots more regularly;observe the laws of Comedy, and decorum of the Stage_, to speakgenerally, _with more exactness_ _than the English_. Farther, I deny notbut he has taxed us justly, in some irregularities of ours; which he hasmentioned. Yet, after all, I am of opinion, that neither our faults, northeir virtues are considerable enough to place them above us. "For _the lively Imitation of Nature_ being the Definition of a Play [p. 513]; those which best fulfil that law, ought to be esteemed superior tothe others, 'Tis true those beauties of the French Poesy are such as willraise perfection higher where it is; but are not sufficient to give itwhere it is not. They are, indeed, the beauties of a Statue, not of aMan; because not animated with the Soul of Poesy, which is _Imitation ofHumour and Passions_. "And this, LISIDEIUS himself, or any other, however biased to theirparty, cannot but acknowledge; if he will either compare the Humours ofour Comedies, or the Characters of our serious Plays with theirs. "He that will look upon theirs, which have been written till [within]these last ten years [_i. E. _, 1655, _when MOLIERE began to write_], orthereabouts, will find it a hard matter to pick out two or three passableHumours amongst them. CORNEILLE himself, their Arch Poet; what has heproduced, except the _Liar_? and you know how it was cried up in France. But when it came upon the English Stage, though well translated, and thatpart of _DORANT_ acted to so much advantage by Mr. HART, as, I amconfident, it never received in its own country; the most favourable toit, would not put it in competition with many of FLETCHER's or BEN. JOHNSON's. In the rest of CORNEILLE's Comedies you have little humour. Hetells you, himself, his way is first to show two lovers in goodintelligence with each other; in the working up of the Play, to embroilthem by some mistake; and in the latter end, to clear it up. "But, of late years, DE MOLIERE, the younger CORNEILLE, QUINAULT, andsome others, have been imitating, afar off, the quick turns and graces ofthe English Stage. They have mixed their serious Plays with mirth, likeour Tragi-Comedies, since the death of Cardinal RICHELIEU [_in_ 1642]:which LISIDEIUS and many others not observing, have commended that inthem for a virtue [p. 531], which they themselves no longer practise. "Most of their new Plays are, like some of ours, derived from the Spanishnovels. There is scarce one of them, without a veil; and a trusty _DIEGO_, who drolls, much after the rate of the _Adventures_ [pp. 533, 553]. Buttheir humours, if I may grace them with that name, are so thin sown; thatnever above One of them comes up in a Play. I dare take upon me, to findmore variety of them, in one play of BEN. JOHNSON's, than in all theirstogether: as he who has seen the _Alchemist_, the _Silent Woman_, or_Bartholomew Fair_, cannot but acknowledge with me. I grant the Frenchhave performed what was possible on the ground work of the Spanish plays. What was pleasant before, they have made regular. But there is not aboveone good play to be writ upon all those Plots. They are too much alike, to please often; which we need not [adduce] the experience of our ownStage to justify. "As for their New Way of mingling Mirth with serious Plot, I do not, withLISIDEIUS, condemn the thing; though I cannot approve their manner ofdoing it. He tells us, we cannot so speedily re-collect ourselves, aftera Scene of great Passion and Concernment, as to pass to another of Mirthand Humour, and to enjoy it with any relish. But why should he imaginethe Soul of Man more heavy than his Senses? Does not the eye pass from anunpleasant object, to a pleasant, in a much shorter time than is requiredto this? and does not the unpleasantness of the first commend the beautyof the latter? The old rule of Logic might have convinced him, that'Contraries when placed near, set off each other. ' A continued gravitykeeps the spirit too much bent. We must refresh it sometimes; as we bait[_lunch_] upon a journey, that we may go on with greater ease. A Scene ofMirth mixed with Tragedy, has the same effect upon us, which our music hasbetwixt the Acts; and that, we find a relief to us from the best Plots andLanguage of the Stage, if the discourses have been long. "I must, therefore, have stronger arguments, ere I am convinced thatCompassion and Mirth, in the same subject, destroy each other: and, inthe meantime, cannot but conclude to the honour of our Nation, that wehave invented, increased, and perfected a more pleasant way of writingfor the Stage than was ever known to the Ancients or Moderns of anynation; which is, Tragi-Comedy. "And this leads me to wonder why LISIDEIUS [p. 533], and many others, should cry up _the barrenness of the French Plots_ above _the variety andcopiousness of the English_? "Their Plots are single. They carry on one Design, which is push forwardby all the Actors; every scene in the Play contributing and movingtowards it. Ours, besides the main Design, have Under Plots orBy-Concernments of less considerable persons and intrigues; which arecarried on, with the motion of the main Plot: just as they say the orb[?_orbits_] of the fixed stars, and those of the planets (though theyhave motions of their own), are whirled about, by the motion of the_Primum Mobile_ in which they are contained. That similitude expressesmuch of the English Stage. For, if contrary motions may be found inNature to agree, if a planet can go East and West at the same time; oneway, by virtue of his own motion, the other, by the force of the FirstMover: it will not be difficult to imagine how the Under Plot, which isonly different [from], not contrary to the great Design, may naturally beconducted along with it. "EUGENIUS [?_LISIDEIUS_] has already shown us [p. 534], from theconfession of the French poets, that the Unity of Action is sufficientlypreserved, if all the imperfect actions of the Play are conducing to themain Design: but when those petty intrigues of a Play are so ill ordered, that they have no coherence with the other; I must grant, that LISIDEIUShas reason to tax that Want of due Connection. For Co-ordination in aPlay is as dangerous and unnatural as in a State. In the meantime, hemust acknowledge, our Variety (if well ordered) will afford a greaterpleasure to the audience. "As for his other argument, that _by pursuing one single Theme, they gainan advantage to express, and work up the passions_ [p. 533]; I wish anyexample he could bring from them, would make it good. For I confess theirverses are, to me, the coldest I have ever read. "Neither, indeed, is It possible for them, in the way they take, so toexpress Passion as that the effects of it should appear in theconcernment of an audience; their speeches being so many declamations, which tire us with the length: so that, instead of persuading us togrieve for their imaginary heroes, we are concerned for our own trouble, as we are, in the tedious visits of bad [_dull_] company; we are in paintill they are gone. "When the French Stage came to be reformed by Cardinal RICHELIEU, thoselong harangues were introduced, to comply with the gravity of aChurchman. Look upon the _CINNA_ and _POMPEY_! They are not so properlyto be called Plays, as long Discourses of Reason[s] of State: and_POLIEUCTE_, in matters of Religion, is as solemn as the long stops uponour organs. Since that time, it has grown into a custom; and their Actorsspeak by the hour glass, as our Parsons do. Nay, they account it the graceof their parts! and think themselves disparaged by the Poet, if they maynot twice or thrice in a Play, entertain the audience, with a speech of ahundred or two hundred lines. "I deny not but this may suit well enough with the French: for as we, whoare a more sullen people, come to be diverted at our Plays; they, who areof an airy and gay temper, come thither to make themselves more serious. And this I conceive to be one reason why Comedy is more pleasing to us, and Tragedy to them. "But, to speak generally, it cannot be denied that _short_ Speeches andReplies are more apt to move the passions, and beget concernment in us;than the other. For it is unnatural for any one in a gust of passion, tospeak long together; or for another, in the same condition, to suffer himwithout interruption. "Grief and Passion are like floods raised in little brooks, by a suddenrain. They are quickly up; and if the Concernment be poured unexpectedlyin upon us, it overflows us: but a long sober shower gives them leisureto run out as they came in, without troubling the ordinary current. "As for Comedy, Repartee is one of its chiefest graces. The greatestpleasure of the audience is a Chase of Wit, kept up on both sides, andswiftly managed. And this, our forefathers (if not we) have had, inFLETCHER's _Plays_, to a much higher degree of perfection, than theFrench Poets can arrive at. "There is another part of LISIDEIUS his discourse, in which he has ratherexcused our neighbours, than commended them; that is, _for aiming only_[simply] _to make one person considerable in their Plays_. "'Tis very true what he has urged, that one Character in all Plays, evenwithout the Poet's care, will have the advantage of all the others; andthat the Design of the whole Drama will chiefly depend on it. But thishinders not, that there may be more shining Characters in the Play; manypersons of a second magnitude, nay, some so very near, so almost equal tothe first, that greatness may be opposed to greatness: and all the personsbe made considerable, not only by their Quality, but their Action. "'Tis evident that the more the persons are; the greater will be thevariety of the Plot. If then, the parts are managed so regularly, thatthe beauty of the whole be kept entire; and that the variety become not aperplexed and confused mass of accidents: you will find it infinitelypleasing, to be led in a labyrinth of Design; where you see some of yourway before you, yet discern not the end, till you arrive at it. "And that all this is practicable; I can produce, for examples, many ofour English plays, as the _Maid's Tragedy_, the _Alchemist_, the _SilentWoman_. "I was going to have named the _Fox_; but that the Unity of Design seemsnot exactly observed in it. For there appear two Actions in the Play; thefirst naturally ending with the Fourth Act, the second forced from it, inthe Fifth. Which yet, is the less to be condemned in him, because thedisguise of _VOLPONE_ (though, it suited not with his character as acrafty or covetous person) agreed well enough with that of a voluptuary:and, by it, the Poet gained the end he aimed at, the punishment of vice, and reward of virtue; which that disguise produced. So that, to judgeequally of it, it was an excellent Fifth Act; but not so naturallyproceeding from the former. "But to leave this, and to pass to the latter part of LISIDEIUS hisdiscourse; which concerns RELATIONS. I must acknowledge, with him, thatthe French have reason, _when they hide that part of the Action, whichwould occasion too much tumult on the Stage_; and choose rather to haveit made known by Narration to the audience [p. 535]. Farther; I think itvery convenient, for the reasons he has given, that _all incredibleActions were removed_ [p. 537]: but, whether custom has so insinuateditself into our countrymen, or Nature has so formed them to fierceness, Iknow not; but they will scarcely suffer combats or other objects of horrorto be taken from them. And indeed the _indecency_ of tumults is all whichcan be objected against fighting. For why may not our imagination as wellsuffer itself to be deluded with the _probability_ of it, as any otherthing in the Play. For my part, I can, with as great ease, persuademyself that the blows, which are struck, are given in good earnest; as Ican, that they who strike them, are Kings, or Princes, or those personswhich they represent. "For _objects of incredibility_ [p. 537], I would be satisfied fromLISIDEIUS, whether we have any so removed from all appearance of truth, as are those in CORNEILLE's _ANDROMEDE_? A Play that has been frequented[_repeated_] the most, of any he has writ. If the _PERSEUS_ or the son ofthe heathen god, the _Pegasus_, and the Monster, were not capable to chokea strong belief? let him blame any representation of ours hereafter!Those, indeed, were objects of delight; yet the reason is the same as tothe probability: for he makes it not a Ballette [_Ballet_] or Masque; buta Play, which is, _to resemble truth_. "As for _Death_, that _it ought not to be represented_ [p. 536]: I have, besides the arguments alleged by LISIDEIUS, the authority of BEN. JOHNSON, who has foreborne it in his Tragedies: for both the death ofSEJANUS and CATILINE are Related. Though, in the latter, I cannot butobserve one irregularity of that great poet. He has removed the Scene inthe same Act, from Rome to _CATILINE_'s army; and from thence, again toRome: and, besides, has allowed a very inconsiderable time after_CATILINE_'s speech, for the striking of the battle, and the return of_PETREIUS_, who is to relate the event of it to the Senate. Which Ishould not animadvert upon him, who was otherwise a painful observer of[Greek: to prepon] or the Decorum of the Stage: if he had not usedextreme severity in his judgement [_in his 'Discoveries'_] upon theincomparable SHAKESPEARE, for the same fault. "To conclude on this subject of Relations, if we are to be blamed forshowing too much of the Action; the French are as faulty for discoveringtoo little of it. A mean betwixt both, should be observed by everyjudicious writer, so as the audience may neither be left unsatisfied, bynot seeing what is beautiful; or shocked, by beholding what is eitherincredible or indecent. "I hope I have already proved in this discourse, that though we are notaltogether so punctual as the French, in observing the laws of Comedy:yet our errors are so few, and [so] little; and those things wherein weexcel them so considerable, that we ought, of right, to be preferredbefore them. "But what will LISIDEIUS say? if they themselves acknowledge they are toostrictly tied up by those laws: for the breaking which, he has blamed theEnglish? I will allege CORNEILLE's words, as I find them in the end ofthis _Discourse_ of _The three Unities_. _Il est facile aux speculatifsd'être severe, &c_. ''Tis easy, for speculative people to judge severely:but if they would produce to public view, ten or twelve pieces of thisnature; they would, perhaps, give more latitude to the Rules, than I havedone: when, by experience, they had known how much we are bound up, andconstrained by them, and how many beauties of the Stage they banishedfrom it. ' "To illustrate, a little, what he has said. By their servile imitationsof the UNITIES of TIME and PLACE, and INTEGRITY OF SCENES they havebrought upon themselves the Dearth of Plot and Narrowness of Imaginationwhich may be observed in all their Plays. "How many beautiful accidents might naturally happen in two or threedays; which cannot arrive, with any probability, in the compass oftwenty-four hours? There is time to be allowed, also, for maturity ofdesign: which, amongst great and prudent persons, such as are oftenrepresented in Tragedy, cannot, with any likelihood of truth, be broughtto pass at so short a warning. "Farther, by tying themselves strictly to the UNITY OF PLACE and UNBROKENSCENES; they are forced, many times, to omit some beauties which cannot beshown where the Act began: but might, if the Scene were interrupted, andthe Stage cleared, for the persons to enter in another place. Andtherefore, the French Poets are often forced upon absurdities. For if theAct begins in a Chamber, all the persons in the Play must have somebusiness or other to come thither; or else they are not to be shown inthat Act: and sometimes their characters are very unfitting to appearthere. As, suppose it were the King's Bedchamber; yet the meanest man inthe Tragedy, must come and despatch his business there, rather than inthe Lobby or Courtyard (which is [_were_] fitter for him), for fear theStage should be cleared, and the Scenes broken. "Many times, they fall, by it, into a greater inconvenience: for theykeep their Scenes Unbroken; and yet Change the Place. As, in one of theirnewest Plays [_i. E. , before 1665_]. Where the Act begins in a Street:there, a gentleman is to meet his friend; he sees him, with his man, coming out from his father's house; they talk together, and the firstgoes out. The second, who is a lover, has made an appointment with hismistress: she appears at the Window; and then, we are to imagine theScene lies under it. This gentleman is called away, and leaves hisservant with his mistress. Presently, her father is heard from within. The young lady is afraid the servingman should be discovered; and thrustshim through a door, which is supposed to be her Closet [_Boudoir_]. Afterthis, the father enters to the daughter; and now the Scene is in a House:for he is seeking, from one room to another, for his poor _PHILIPIN_ orFrench _DIEGO_: who is heard from within, drolling, and breaking many amiserable conceit upon his sad condition. In this ridiculous manner, thePlay goes on; the Stage being never empty all the while. So that theStreet, the Window, the two Houses, and the Closet are made to walkabout, and the Persons to stand still! "Now, what, I beseech you! is more easy than to write a regular FrenchPlay? or more difficult than to write an irregular English one, likethose of FLETCHER, or of SHAKESPEARE? "If they content themselves, as CORNEILLE did, with some flat design, which (like an ill riddle) is found out ere it be half proposed; suchPlots, we can make every way regular, as easily as they: but whene'erthey endeavour to rise up to any quick Turns or Counter-turns of Plot, assome of them have attempted, since CORNEILLE's _Plays_ have been less invogue; you see they write as irregularly as we! though they cover it morespeciously. Hence the reason is perspicuous, why no French plays, whentranslated, have, or ever can succeed upon the English Stage. For, if youconsider the Plots, our own are fuller of variety; if the Writing, oursare more quick, and fuller of spirit: and therefore 'tis a strangemistake in those who decry the way of writing Plays in Verse; as if theEnglish therein imitated the French. "We have borrowed nothing from them. Our Plots are weaved in Englishlooms. We endeavour, therein, to follow the variety and greatness ofCharacters, which are derived to us from SHAKESPEARE and FLETCHER, Thecopiousness and well knitting of the Intrigues, we have from JOHNSON. Andfor the Verse itself, we have English precedents, of elder date than anyof CORNEILLE's plays. Not to name our old Comedies before SHAKESPEARE, which are all writ in verse of six feet or Alexandrines, such as theFrench now use: I can show in SHAKESPEARE, many Scenes of Rhyme together;and the like in BEN. JOHNSON's tragedies. In _CATILINE_ and _SEJANUS_, sometimes, thirty or forty lines. I mean, besides the Chorus or theMonologues; which, by the way, showed BEN. No enemy to this way ofwriting: especially if you look upon his _Sad Shepherd_, which goessometimes upon rhyme, sometimes upon blank verse; like a horse, who easeshimself upon trot and amble. You find him, likewise, commending FLETCHER'spastoral of the _Faithful Shepherdess_: which is, for the most part, [in]Rhyme; though not refined to that purity, to which it hath since beenbrought. And these examples are enough to clear us from, a servileimitation of the French. "But to return, from whence I have digressed. I dare boldly affirm thesetwo things of the English Drama, "First. That we have many Plays of ours as regular as any of theirs; and which, besides, have more variety of Plot and Characters. And "Secondly. That in most of the irregular Plays of SHAKESPEARE or FLETCHER (for BEN. JOHNSON's are for the most part regular), there is a more masculine Fancy, and greater Spirit in all the Writing, than there is in any of the French. "I could produce, even in SHAKESPEARE's and FLETCHER's _Works_, somePlays which are almost exactly formed; as the _Merry Wives of Windsor_and the _Scornful Lady_. But because, generally speaking, SHAKESPEARE, who writ first, did not perfectly observe the laws of Comedy; andFLETCHER, who came nearer to perfection [_in this respect_], yet, throughcarelessness, made many faults: I will take the pattern of a perfect Playfrom BEN. JOHNSON, who was a careful and learned observer of the DramaticLaws; and, from all his Comedies, I shall select the _Silent Woman_ [p. 597], of which I will make a short examen [_examination_], according tothose Rules which the French observe. " As NEANDER was beginning to examine the _Silent Woman_: EUGENIUS, lookingearnestly upon him, "I beseech you, NEANDER!" said he, "gratify thecompany, and me in particular, so far, as, before you speak of the Play, to give us a Character of the Author: and tell us, frankly, your opinion!whether you do not think all writers, both French and English, ought togive place to him?" "I fear, " replied NEANDER, "that in obeying your commands, I shall draw alittle envy upon myself. Besides, in performing them, it will be firstnecessary to speak somewhat of SHAKESPEARE and FLETCHER his Rivals inPoesy; and one of them, in my opinion, at least his Equal, perhaps hisSuperior. "To begin then with SHAKESPEARE. He was the man, who, of all Modern andperhaps Ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive Soul [p. 540]. All the Images of Nature [pp. 528, 533] were still present[_apparent_] to him [p. 489]: and he drew them not laboriously, butluckily [_felicitously_]. When he describes anything; you more than seeit, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning; givehim the greater commendation. He was naturally learned. He needed not thespectacles of books, to read Nature; he looked inwards, and found herthere. I cannot say, he is everywhere alike. Were he so; I should do himinjury to compare him [_even_] with the greatest of mankind. He is manytimes flat, insipid: his comic wit degenerating into clenches; hisserious swelling, into bombast. "But he is always great, when some great occasion is presented to him. Noman can say, he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did not then raisehimself as high above the rest of poets, "_Quantum lenta solent, inter viberna cupressi. _ "The consideration of this, made Mr. HALES, of Eton, say, 'That there wasno subject of which any poet ever writ; but he would produce it muchbetter treated of in SHAKESPEARE. ' And however others are, now, generallypreferred before him; yet the Age wherein he lived (which hadcontemporaries with him, FLETCHER and JOHNSON) never equalled them tohim, in their esteem. And in the last King's [_CHARLES I. _] Court, whenBEN. 's reputation was at [the] highest; Sir JOHN SUCKLING, and with him, the greater part of the Courtiers, set our SHAKESPEARE far above him. "BEAUMONT and FLETCHER (of whom I am next to speak), had, with theadvantage of SHAKESPEARE's wit, which was their precedent, great naturalgifts improved by study. BEAUMONT, especially, being so accurate a judgeof plays, that BEN. JOHNSON, while he [_i. E. , BEAUMONT_] lived, submittedall his writings to his censure; and, 'tis thought, used his judgement incorrecting, if not contriving all his plots. What value he had for[_i. E. , attached to_] him, appears by the verses he writ to him: andtherefore I need speak no farther of it. "The first Play which brought FLETCHER and him in esteem, was their_PHILASTER_. For, before that, they had written two or three veryunsuccessfully: as the like is reported of BEN. JOHNSON, before he writ_Every Man in his Humour_ [_acted in_ 1598]. Their Plots were generallymore regular than SHAKESPEARE's, especially those which were made beforeBEAUMONT's death: and they understood, and imitated the conversation ofgentlemen [_in the conventional sense in which it was understood inDRYDEN's time_], much better [_i. E. , than SHAKESPEARE_]; whose wilddebaucheries, and quickness of wit in repartees, no Poet can ever paintas they have done. "This Humour, which BEN. JOHNSON derived from particular persons; theymade it not their business to describe. They represented all the passionsvery lively; but, above all, Love. "I am apt to believe the English language, in them, arrived to itshighest perfection. What words have since been taken in, are rathersuperfluous than necessary. "Their Plays are now the most pleasant and frequent entertainments of theStage; two of theirs being acted through the year, for one ofSHAKESPEARE's or JOHNSON's. The reason is because there is a certainGaiety in their Comedies, and Pathos in their more serious Plays, whichsuit generally with all men's humours, SHAKESPEARE's Language is likewisea little obsolete; and BEN. JOHNSON's Wit comes short of theirs. "As for JOHNSON, to whose character I am now arrived; if we look uponhim, while he was himself (for his last Plays were but his dotages) Ithink him the most learned and judicious Writer which any _Theatre_ everhad. He was a most severe judge of himself, as well as others. One cannotsay he wanted Wit; but rather, that he was frugal of it [p. 572]. In hisworks, you find little to retrench or alter. "Wit and Language, and Humour also in some measure, we had before him;but something of Art was wanting to the Drama, till he came. He managedhis strength to more advantage than any who preceded him. You seldom findhim making love in any of his Scenes, or endeavouring to move thepassions: his genius was too sullen and saturnine to do it gracefully;especially when he knew, he came after those who had performed both tosuch a height. Humour was his proper sphere; and in that, he delightedmost to represent mechanic [_uncultivated_] people. "He was deeply conversant in the Ancients, both Greek and Latin; and heborrowed boldly from them. There is scarce a Poet or Historian, among theRoman authors of those times, whom he has not translated in _SEJANUS_ and_CATILINE_: but he has done his robberies so openly, that one may see hefears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors, like a Monarch; andwhat would be Theft in other Poets, is only Victory in him. With thespoils of these Writers, he so represents old Rome to us, in its rites, ceremonies, and customs; that if one of their own poets had writteneither of his Tragedies, we had seen less of it than in him. "If there was any fault in his Language, 'twas that he weaved it tooclosely and laboriously in his serious Plays. Perhaps, too, he did alittle too much Romanize our tongue; leaving the words which hetranslated, almost as much Latin as he found them: wherein, though helearnedly followed the idiom of their language, he did not enough complywith ours. "If I would compare him with SHAKESPEARE, I must acknowledge him, themore correct Poet; but SHAKESPEARE, the greater Wit. SHAKESPEARE was theHOMER, or Father of our Dramatic Poets; JOHNSON was the VIRGIL, thepattern of elaborate writing. I admire him; but I love SHAKESPEARE. "To conclude of him. As he has given us the most correct Plays; so in thePrecepts which he has laid down in his _Discoveries_, we have as many andprofitable Rules as any wherewith the French can furnish us. "Having thus spoken of this author; I proceed to the examination of hisComedy, the _Silent Woman_. "_Examen of the Silent Woman. _ "To begin, first, with the Length of the Action. It is so far fromexceeding the compass of a natural day, that it takes not up anartificial one. 'Tis all included in the limits of three hours and ahalf; which is no more than is required for the presentment[_representation of it_] on the Stage. A beauty, perhaps, not muchobserved. If it had [been]; we should not have looked upon the SpanishTranslation [_i. E. , the adaptation from the Spanish_] of _Five Hours_[pp. 533, 541], with so much wonder. "The Scene of it is laid in London. The Latitude of Place is almost aslittle as you can imagine: for it lies all within the compass of twohouses; and, after the First Act, in one. "The Continuity of Scenes is observed more than in any of our Plays, excepting his own _Fox_ and _Alchemist_, They are not broken above twice, or thrice at the most, in the whole Comedy: and in the two best ofCORNEILLE's Plays, the _CID_ and _CINNA_, they are interrupted once apiece. "The Action of the Play is entirely One: the end or aim of which, is thesettling _MQROSE's_ estate on _DAUPHINE_. "The Intrigue of it is the greatest and most noble of any pure unmixedComedy in any language. You see in it, many persons of various Charactersand Humours; and all delightful. "As first, _MOROSE_, an old man, to whom all noise, but his own talking, is offensive. Some, who would be thought critics, say, 'This humour ofhis is forced. ' But, to remove that objection, we may consider him, first, to be naturally of a delicate hearing, as many are, to whom allsharp sounds are unpleasant: and, secondly, we may attribute much of itto the peevishness of his age, or the wayward authority of an old man inhis own house, where he may make himself obeyed; and this the Poet seemsto allude to, in his name _MOROSE_. Besides this, I am assured fromdivers persons, that BEN. JOHNSON was actually acquainted with such aman, one altogether as ridiculous as he is here represented. "Others say, 'It is not enough, to find one man of such an humour. Itmust he common to more; and the more common, the more natural. ' To provethis, they instance in the best of comical characters, _FALSTAFF_. Thereare many men resembling him; Old, Fat, Merry, Cowardly, Drunken, Amorous, Vain, and Lying. But to convince these people; I need but [to] tell them, that _Humour is the ridiculous extravagance of conversation, wherein oneman differs from all others_. If then it be common, or communicated toany; how differs it from other men's? or what indeed causes it to beridiculous, so much as the singularity of it. As for _FALSTAFF_, he isnot properly one Humour; but a Miscellany of Humours or Images drawn fromso many several men. That wherein he is singular is his Wit, or thosethings he says, _praeter expectatum_, 'unexpected by the audience'; hisquick evasions, when you imagine him surprised: which, as they areextremely diverting of themselves, so receive a great addition from hisperson; for the very sight of such an unwieldy old debauched fellow is aComedy alone. "And here, having a place so proper for it, I cannot but enlarge somewhatupon this subject of Humour, into which I am fallen. "The Ancients had little of it in their Comedies: for the [Greek: nogeloiou] [_facetious absurdities_] of the Old Comedy, of whichARISTOPHANES was chief, was not so much to imitate a man; as to make thepeople laugh at some odd conceit, which had commonly somewhat ofunnatural or obscene in it. Thus, when you see _SOCRATES_ brought uponthe Stage, you are not to imagine him made ridiculous by the imitation ofhis actions: but rather, by making him perform something very unlikehimself; something so childish and absurd, as, by comparing it with thegravity of the true SOCRATES, makes a ridiculous object for thespectators. "In the New Comedy which succeeded, the Poets sought, indeed, to expressthe [Greek: aethos] [_manners and habits_]; as in their Tragedies, the[Greek: pathos] [_sufferings_] of mankind. But this [Greek: aethos]contained only the general characters of men and manners; as [of] OldMen, Lovers, Servingmen, Courtizans, Parasites, and such other persons aswe see in their Comedies. All which, they made alike: that is, one Old Manor Father, one Lover, one Courtizan so like another, as if the first ofthem had begot the rest of every [_each_] sort. _Ex homine hunc natumdicas_. The same custom they observed likewise in their Tragedies. "As for the French. Though they have the word _humeur_ among them: yetthey have small use of it in their Comedies or Farces: they being but illimitations of the _ridiculum_ or that which stirred up laughter in the OldComedy. But among the English, 'tis otherwise. Where, by Humour is meant_some extravagant habit, passion, or affection, particular_, as I saidbefore, _to some one person, by the oddness of which, he is immediatelydistinguished from the rest of men_: which, being lively and naturallyrepresented, most frequently begets that malicious pleasure in theaudience, which is testified by laughter: as all things which aredeviations from common customs, are ever the aptest to produce it. Though, by the way, this Laughter is only accidental, as the personrepresented is fantastic or bizarre; but Pleasure is essential to it, asthe Imitation of what is natural. This description of these Humours[9], drawn from the knowledge and observation of particular persons, was thepeculiar genius and talent of BEN. JOHNSON. To whose Play, I now return. "Besides _MOROSE_, there are, at least, nine or ten different Charactersand Humours in the _Silent Woman_: all which persons have severalconcernments of their own; yet are all used by the Poet to the conductingof the main Design to perfection. "I shall not waste time in commending the Writing of this Play: but Iwill give you my opinion, that there is more Wit and Acuteness of Fancyin it, than in any of BEN. JOHNSON's. Besides that, he has here describedthe conversation of gentlemen, in the persons of _TRUE WIT_ and hisfriends, with more gaiety, air, and freedom than in the rest of hisComedies. "For the Contrivance of the Plot: tis extreme[ly] elaborate; and yet, withal, easy. For the [Greek: _desis_], or Untying of it: 'tis soadmirable, that, when it is done, no one of the audience would think thePoet could have missed it; and yet, it was concealed so much before thelast Scene, that any other way would sooner have entered into yourthoughts. "But I dare not take upon me, to commend the Fabric of it; because it isaltogether so full of Art, that I must unravel every Scene in it, tocommend it as I ought. And this excellent contrivance is still the moreto be admired; because 'tis [a] Comedy where the persons are only ofcommon rank; and their business, private; not elevated by passions orhigh concernments as in serious Plays. Here, every one is a proper judgeof what he sees. Nothing is represented but that with which he dailyconverses: so that, by consequence, all faults lie open to discovery; andfew are pardonable. 'Tis this, which HORACE has judiciously observed-- "_Creditur ex medio quia res arcessit habere Sudoris minimum, sed habet Comedia tanto Plus oneris, quanto venice minus. _ "But our Poet, who was not ignorant of these difficulties, had prevailed[? _availed_] himself of all advantages; as he who designs a large leap, takes his rise from the highest ground. "One of these Advantages is that, which CORNEILLE has laid down as _thegreatest which can arrive_ [happen] _to any Poem_; and which he, himself, could never compass, above thrice, in all his plays, viz. , _the makingchoice of some signal and long expected day; whereon the action of thePlay is to depend_. This day was that designed by _DAUPHINE_, for thesettling of his uncle's estate upon him: which to compass, he contrivesto marry him. That the marriage had been plotted by him, long beforehand, is made evident, by what he tells _TRUE WIT_, in the Second Act, that 'inone moment, he [_TRUE WIT_] had destroyed what he had been raising manymonths. ' "There is another artifice of the Poet, which I cannot here omit;because, by the frequent practice of it in his Comedies, he has left itto us, almost as a Rule: that is, _when he has any Character or Humour, wherein he would show a_ coup de maître _or his highest skill; herecommends it to your observation by a pleasant description of it, beforethe person first appears_. Thus, in _Bartholomew Fair_, he gives you thepicture of _NUMPS and COKES_; and in this, those of _DAW, LAFOOLE, MOROSE_, and the _Collegiate Ladies_: all which you hear described, before you, see them. So that, before they come upon the Stage, you havea longing expectation of them; which prepares you to receive themfavourably: and when they are there, even from their first appearance, you are so far acquainted with them, that nothing of their humour is lostto you. "I will observe yet one thing further of this admirable Plot. Thebusiness of it rises in every Act. The Second is greater than the First;the Third, than the Second: and so forward, to the Fifth. There, too, yousee, till the very last Scene, new difficulties arising to obstruct theAction of the Play: and when the audience is brought into despair thatthe business can naturally be effected; then, and not before, theDiscovery is made. "But that the Poet might entertain you with more variety, all this while;he reserves some new Characters to show you, which he opens not till theSecond and Third Acts, In the Second, _MOROSE, DAW, the Barber_, and_OTTER_; in the Third, the _Collegiate Ladies_, All which, he moves, afterwards, in by-walks or under-plots, as diversions to the main Design, least it grow tedious: though they are still naturally joined with it;and, somewhere or other, subservient to it. Thus, like a skilful chessplayer, by little and little, he draws out his men; and makes his pawnsof use to his greater persons. "If this Comedy and some others of his, were translated into French prose(which would now be no wonder to them, since MOLIERE has lately given themPlays out of Verse; which have not displeased them), I believe thecontroversy would soon be decided betwixt the two nations: even makingthem, the judges. "But we need not call our heroes to our aid. Be it spoken to the honourof the English! our nation can never want, in any age, such, who are ableto dispute the Empire of Wit with any people in the universe. And thoughthe fury of a Civil War, and power (for twenty years together [1640-1660A. D. ]) abandoned to a barbarous race of men, enemies of all goodlearning[10], had buried the Muses under the ruins of Monarchy: yet, withthe Restoration of our happiness [1660], we see revived Poesy lifting upits head, and already shaking off the rubbish, which lay so heavy upon it. "We have seen, since His Majesty's return, many Dramatic Poems whichyield not to those of any foreign nation, and which deserve all laurelsbut the English. I will set aside flattery and envy. It cannot be deniedbut we have had some little blemish, either in the Plot or Writing of allthose plays which have been made within these seven years; and, perhaps, there is no nation in the world so quick to discern them, or so difficultto pardon them, as ours: yet, if we can persuade ourselves to use thecandour of that Poet [_HORACE_], who, though the most severe of critics, has left us this caution, by which to moderate our censures. "_Ubi plum nitent in carmine non ego paucis offendar maculis. _ "If, in consideration of their many and great beauties, we can wink atsome slight and little imperfections; if we, I say, can be thus equal toourselves: I ask no favour from the French. "And if I do not venture upon any particular judgement of our late Plays:'tis out of the consideration which an ancient writer gives me. _Vivorum, ut magna admiratio ita censura difficilis_; 'betwixt the extremes ofadmiration and malice, 'tis hard to judge uprightly of the living. ' Only, I think it may be permitted me to say, that as it is no lessening to us, to yield to some Plays (and those not many) of our nation, in the lastAge: so can it be no addition, to pronounce of our present Poets, that_they have far surpassed all the Ancients, and the Modern Writers ofother countries_. " This, my Lord! [_i. E. , the Dedicatee, the Lord BUCKHURST, p. 503] was thesubstance of what was then spoke, on that occasion: and LISIDEIUS, Ithink, was going to reply; when he was prevented thus by CRITES. "I am confident, " said he, "the most material things that can be said, have been already urged, on either side. If they have not; I must beg ofLISIDEIUS, that he will defer his answer till another time. For I confessI have a joint quarrel to you both: because you have concluded [pp. 539, 548], without any reason given for it, that _Rhyme is proper for theStage. _ "I will not dispute how ancient it hath been among us to write this way. Perhaps our ancestors knew no better, till SHAKESPEARE's time, I willgrant, it was not altogether left by him; and that PLETCHER and BENJOHNSON used it frequently in their Pastorals, and sometimes in otherPlays. "Farther; I will not argue, whether we received it originally from ourown countrymen, or from the French. For that is an inquiry of as littlebenefit as theirs, who, in the midst of the Great Plague [1665], were notso solicitous to provide against it; as to know whether we had it from themalignity of our own air, or by transportation from Holland. "I have therefore only to affirm that _it is not allowable in seriousPlays. _ For Comedies, I find you are already concluding with me. "To prove this, I might satisfy myself to tell you, _how much in vain itis, for you, to strive against the stream of the People's inclination!_the greatest part of whom, are prepossessed so much with those excellentplays of SHAKESPEARE, FLETCHER, and BEN. JOHNSON, which have been written_out_ of Rhyme, that (except you could bring them such as were writtenbetter _in_ it; and those, too, by persons of equal reputation with them)it will be impossible for you to gain your cause with them: who will(still) be judges. This it is to which, in fine, all your reasons mustsubmit. The unanimous consent of an audience is so powerful, that evenJULIUS CAESAR (as MACROBIOS reports of him), when he, was PerpetualDictator, was not able to balance it, on the other side: but whenLABERIUS, a Roman knight, at his request, contended in the _Mime_ withanother poet; he was forced to cry out, _Etiam favente me victus esLiberi_. "But I will not, on this occasion, take the advantage of the greaternumber; but only urge such reasons against Rhyme, as I find in thewritings of those who have argued for the other way. "First, then, I am of opinion, that Rhyme is unnatural in a Play, because_Dialogue, _ there, _is presented as the effect of sudden thought. _ For aPlay is the Imitation of Nature: and since no man, without premeditation, speaks in rhyme; neither ought he to do it on the Stage. This hinders notbut the Fancy may be, there, elevated to a higher pitch of thought thanit is in ordinary discourse; for there is a probability that men ofexcellent and quick parts, may speak noble things _ex tempore_: but thosethoughts are never fettered with the numbers and sound of Verse, withoutstudy; and therefore it cannot be but unnatural, _to present the mostfree way of speaking, in that which is the most constrained_. "'For this reason, ' says ARISTOTLE, ''tis best, to write Tragedy in thatkind of Verse, which is the least such, or which is nearest Prose': andthis, among the Ancients, was the _Iambic_; and with us, is _Blank Verse, or the Measure of Verse kept exactly, without rhyme_. These numbers, therefore, are fittest for a Play: the others [_i. E. , Rhymed Verse_] fora paper of Verses, or a Poem [p. 566]. Blank Verse being as much belowthem, as Rhyme is improper for the Drama: and, if it be objected thatneither are Blank Verses made _ex tempore_; yet, as nearest Nature, theyare still to be preferred. "But there are two particular exceptions [_objections_], which many, beside myself, have had to Verse [_i. E. , in rhyme_]; by which it willappear yet more plainly, how improper it is in Plays. And the first ofthem is grounded upon that very reason, for which some have commendedRhyme. They say, 'The quickness of Repartees in argumentative scenes, receives an ornament from Verse [pp. 492, 498]. ' Now, _what is moreunreasonable than to imagine that a man should not only light upon theWit, but the Rhyme too; upon the sudden_? This nicking of him, who spokebefore, both in Sound and Measure, is so great a happiness [_felicity_], that you must, at least, suppose the persons of your Play to be poets, _Arcades omnes et cantare pares et respondere parati_. They must havearrived to the degree of _quicquid conabar dicere_, to make verses, almost whether they will or not. "If they are anything below this, it will look rather like the design oftwo, than the answer of one. It will appear that your Actors holdintelligence together; that they perform their tricks, like fortunetellers, by confederacy. The hand of Art will be too visible in it, against that maxim of all professions, _Ars est celare artem_; 'that itis the greatest perfection of Art, to keep itself undiscovered. ' "Nor will it serve you to object, that however you manage it, 'tis stillknown to be a Play; and consequently the dialogue of two persons, understood to be the labour of one Poet. For a Play is still an Imitationof Nature. We know we are to be deceived, and we desire to be so; but noman ever was deceived, but with a _probability of Truth_; for who willsuffer a gross lie to be fastened upon him? Thus, we sufficientlyunderstand that the scenes [_i. E. , the scenery which was just now cominginto use on the English Stage_], which represent cities and countries tous, are not really such, but only painted on boards and canvas. But shallthat excuse the ill painture [_painting_] or designment of them? Nayrather, ought they not to be laboured with so much the more diligence andexactness, to help the Imagination? since the Mind of Man doth naturallybend to, and seek after Truth; and therefore the nearer anything comes tothe Imitation of it, the more it pleases. "Thus, you see! your Rhyme is incapable of expressing the greatestthoughts, naturally; and the lowest, it cannot, with any grace. For whatis more unbefitting the majesty of Verse, than 'to call a servant, ' or'bid a door be shut' in Rhyme? And yet, this miserable necessity you areforced upon! "'But Verse, ' you say, 'circumscribes a quick and luxuriant Fancy, whichwould extend itself too far, on every subject; did not the labour whichis required to well-turned and polished Rhyme, set bounds to it [pp. 492-493]. Yet this argument, if granted, would only prove, that _we maywrite better in Verse_, but not _more naturally_. "Neither is it able to evince that. For he who _wants_ judgement toconfine his Fancy, in Blank Verse; may want it as well, in Rhyme: and hewho has it, will avoid errors in both kinds [pp. 498, 571], Latin Versewas as great a confinement to the imagination of those poets, as Rhyme toours: and yet, you find OVID saying too much on every subject. "_Nescivit_, says SENECA, _quod bene cessit relinquere_: of which he[OVID] gives you one famous instance in his description of the Deluge. "_Omnia pontus erat, deerant quoque litora ponto. _ Now all was sea; nor had that sea a shore. "Thus OVID's Fancy was not limited by Verse; and VIRGIL needed not Verseto have bounded his. "In our own language, we see BEN. JOHNSON confining himself to what oughtto be said, even in the liberty of Blank Verse; and yet CORNEILLE, themost judicious of the French poets, is still varying the same Sense ahundred ways, and dwelling eternally upon the same subject, thoughconfined by Rhyme. "Some other exceptions, I have to Verse; but these I have named, being, for the most part, already public: I conceive it reasonable they should, first, be answered. " "It concerns me less than any, " said NEANDER, seeing he had ended, "toreply to this discourse, because when I should have proved that Verse maybe _natural_ in Plays; yet I should always be ready to confess that thosewhich I [_i. E. , DRYDEN, see_ pp. 503, 566] have written in this kind, come short of that perfection which is required. Yet since you arepleased I should undertake this province, I will do it: though, with allimaginable respect and deference both to that Person [_i. E. , SIR ROBERTHOWARD, see_ p. 494] from whom you have borrowed your strongestarguments; and to whose judgement, when I have said all, I finally submit. "But before I proceed to answer your objections; I must first rememberyou, that I exclude all Comedy from my defence; and next, that I deny notbut Blank Verse may be also used: and content myself only to assert that_in serious Plays_, where the Subject and Characters are great, and thePlot unmixed with mirth (which might allay or divert these concernmentswhich are produced), _Rhyme is there, as natural, and more effectual thanBlank Verse_. "And now having laid down this as a foundation: to begin with CRITES, Imust crave leave to tell him, that some of his arguments against Rhyme, reach no farther that from _the faults or defects of ill Rhyme_ toconclude against _the use of it in general_ [p. 598]. May not I concludeagainst Blank Verse, by the same reason? If the words of some Poets, whowrite in it, are either ill-chosen or ill-placed; which makes not onlyRhyme, but all kinds of Verse, in any language, unnatural: shall I, fortheir virtuous affectation, condemn those excellent lines of FLETCHER, which are written in that kind? Is there anything in Rhyme moreconstrained, than this line in Blank Verse? "I, heaven invoke! and strong resistance make. "Where you see both the clauses are placed unnaturally; that is, contraryto the common way of speaking, and that, without the excuse of a rhyme tocause it: yet you would think me very ridiculous, if I should accuse thestubbornness of Blank Verse for this; and not rather, the stiffness ofthe Poet. Therefore, CRITES! you must either prove that _words, thoughwell chosen and duly placed, yet render not Rhyme natural in itself_; orthat, _however natural and easy the Rhyme may be, yet it is not properfor a Play_. "If you insist on the former part; I would ask you what other conditionsare required to make Rhyme natural in itself, besides an election of aptwords, and a right disposing of them? For the due _choice_ of your wordsexpresses your Sense naturally, and the due _placing_ them adapts theRhyme to it. "If you object that _one verse may be made for the sake of another, though both the words and rhyme be apt_, I answer it cannot possibly sofall out. For either there is a dependence of sense betwixt the firstline and the second; or there is none. If there be that connection, then, in the natural position of the words, the latter line must, of necessity, flow from the former: if there be no dependence, yet, still, the dueordering of words makes the last line as natural in itself as the other. So that the necessity of a rhyme never forces any but bad or lazywriters, to say what they would not otherwise. "'Tis true, there is both care and art required to write in Verse. A goodPoet never concludes upon the first line, till he has sought out such arhyme as may fit the Sense already prepared, to heighten the second. Manytimes, the Close of the Sense falls into the middle of the next verse, orfarther off; and he may often prevail [_avail_] himself of the sameadvantages in English, which VIRGIL had in Latin; he may break off in thehemistich, and begin another line. "Indeed, the not observing these two last things, makes Plays that arewrit in Verse so tedious: for though, most commonly, the Sense is to beconfined to the Couplet; yet, nothing that does _perpetuo tenore fluere_, 'run in the same channel, ' can please always. 'Tis like the murmuring of astream: which, not varying in the fall, causes at first attention; atlast, drowsiness. VARIETY OF CADENCES is the best Rule; the greatest helpto the Actors, and refreshment to the Audience. "If, then, Verse may be made _natural in itself; how becomes it improperto a Play_? You say, 'The Stage is the Representation of Nature, and noman, in ordinary conversation, speaks in Rhyme': but you foresaw, whenyou said this, that it might be answered, 'Neither does any man speak inBlank Verse, or in measure without Rhyme!' therefore you concluded, 'Thatwhich is nearest Nature is still to be preferred. ' But you took no noticethat Rhyme might be made as natural as Blank Verse, by the well placingof the words, &c. All the difference between them, when they are bothcorrect, is the sound in one, which the other wants: and if so, thesweetness of it, and all the advantages resulting from it which arehandled in the _Preface_ to the _Rival Ladies_ [pp. 487-493], will yetstand good. "As for that place of ARISTOTLE, where he says, 'Plays should be writ inthat kind of Verse which is nearest Prose': it makes little for you, Blank Verse being, properly, but Measured Prose. "Now Measure, alone, in any modern language, does not constitute Verse. Those of the Ancients, in Greek and Latin, consisted in Quantity ofWords, and a determinate number of Feet. But when, by the inundations ofthe Goths and Vandals, into Italy, new languages were brought in, andbarbarously mingled with the Latin, of which, the Italian, Spanish, French, and ours (made out of them, and the Teutonic) are dialects: a NewWay of Poesy was practised, new, I say, in those countries; for, in allprobability, it was that of the conquerors in their own nations. The NewWay consisted of Measure or Number of Feet, _and_ Rhyme. The sweetness ofRhyme and observation of Accent, supplying the place of Quantity in Words:which could neither exactly be observed by those Barbarians who knew notthe Rules of it; neither was it suitable to their tongues, as it had beento the Greek and Latin. "No man is tied in Modern Poesy, to observe any farther Rules in the Feetof his Verse, but that they be dissyllables (whether Spondee, Trochee, orIambic, it matters not); only he is obliged to Rhyme. Neither do theSpanish, French, Italians, or Germans acknowledge at all, or very rarely, any such kind of Poesy as Blank Verse among them. Therefore, at most, 'tisbut a Poetic Prose, _a sermo pedestris_; and, as such, most fit forComedies: where I acknowledge Rhyme to be improper. "Farther, as to that quotation of ARISTOTLE, our Couplet Verses may berendered _as near_ Prose, as Blank Verse itself; by using thoseadvantages I lately named, as Breaks in the Hemistich, or Running theSense into another line: thereby, making Art and Order appear as looseand free as Nature. Or, not tying ourselves to Couplets strictly, we mayuse the benefit of the Pindaric way, practised in the _Siege of Rhodes_;where the numbers vary, and the rhyme is disposed carelessly, and farfrom often chiming. "Neither is that other advantage of the Ancients to be despised, ofchanging the Kind of Verse, when they please, with the change of theScene, or some new Entrance. For they confine not themselves always toIambics; but extend their liberty to all Lyric Numbers; and sometimes, even, to Hexameter. "But I need not go so far, to prove that Rhyme, as it succeeds to allother offices of Greek and Latin Verse, so especially to this of Plays;since the custom of all nations, at this day, confirms it. All theFrench, Italian, and Spanish Tragedies are generally writ in it; and, sure[ly], the Universal Consent of the most civilised parts of the worldought in this, as it doth in other customs, [to] include the rest. "But perhaps, you may tell me, I have proposed such a way to make Rhyme_natural_; and, consequently, proper to Plays, as is impracticable; andthat I shall scarce find six or eight lines together in a Play, where thewords are so placed and chosen, as is required to make it _natural_. "I answer, no Poet need constrain himself, at all times, to it. It isenough, he makes it his general rule. For I deny not but sometimes theremay be a greatness in placing the words otherwise; and sometimes they maysound better. Sometimes also, the variety itself is excuse enough. But if, for the most part, the words be placed, as they are in the negligence ofProse; it is sufficient to denominate the way _practicable_: for weesteem that to be such, which, in the trial, oftener succeeds thanmisses. And thus far, you may find the practice made good in many Plays:where, you do not remember still! that if you cannot find six naturalRhymes together; it will be as hard for you to produce as many lines inBlank Verse, even among the greatest of our poets, against which I cannotmake some reasonable exception. "And this, Sir, calls to my remembrance the beginning of your discourse, where you told us _we should never find the audience favourable to thiskind of writing_, till we could produce as good plays _in_ Rhyme, as BEN. JOHNSON, FLETCHER, and SHAKESPEARE had writ _out_ of it [p. 558]. But itis to raise envy to the Living, to compare them with the Dead. They arehonoured, and almost adored by us, as they deserve; neither do I know anyso presumptuous of themselves, as to contend with them. Yet give me leaveto say thus much, without injury to their ashes, that not only we shallnever equal them; but they could never equal themselves, were they torise, and write again. We acknowledge them our Fathers in Wit: but theyhave ruined their estates themselves before they came to their children'shands. There is scarce a Humour, a Character, or any kind of Plot; whichthey have not blown upon. All comes sullied or wasted to us: and werethey to entertain this Age, they could not make so plenteous treatmentsout of such decayed fortunes. This, therefore, will be a good argument tous, either not to write at all; or to attempt some other way. There are noBays to be expected in their walks, _Tentanda via est qua me quoque possumtollere humo_. "This way of Writing in Verse, they have only left free to us. Our Age isarrived to a perfection in it, which they never knew: and which (if we mayguess by what of theirs we have seen in Verse, as the _FaithfulShepherdess_ and _Sad Shepherd_) 'tis probable they never could havereached. For the Genius of every Age is different: and though ours excelin this; I deny not but that to imitate Nature in that perfection whichthey did in Prose [_i. E. , Blank Verse_] is a greater commendation than towrite in Verse exactly. "As for what you have added, _that the people are not generally inclinedto like this way_: if it were true, it would be no wonder but betwixt theshaking off of an old habit, and the introducing of a new, there should bedifficulty. Do we not see them stick to HOPKINS and STERNHOLD's Psalms;and forsake those of DAVID, I mean SANDYS his Translation of them? If, bythe _people_, you understand the Multitude, the [Greek: _oi polloi_]; 'tisno matter, what they think! They are sometimes in the right, sometimes inthe wrong. Their judgement is a mere lottery. _Est ubi plebs recte putat, est ubi peccat_. HORACE says it of the Vulgar, judging Poesy. But if youmean, the mixed Audience of the Populace and the Noblesse: I dareconfidently affirm, that a great part of the latter sort are alreadyfavourable to Verse; and that no serious Plays, written since the King'sreturn [_May_ 1660], have been more kindly received by them, than the_Siege of Rhodes_, the _MUSTAPHA_, the _Indian Queen_ and _IndianEmperor_. [_See_ p. 503. ] "But I come now to the Inference of your first argument. You said, 'Thedialogue of Plays is presented as the effect of sudden thought; but noone speaks suddenly or, _ex tempore_, in Rhyme' [p. 498]: and youinferred from thence, _that Rhyme_, which you acknowledge to be proper toEpic Poesy [p. 559], _cannot equally be proper to Dramatic; unless wecould suppose all men born so much more than poets, that verses should bemade_ in _them, not_ by _them_. "It has been formerly urged by you [p. 499] and confessed by me [p. 563]that 'since no man spoke any kind of verse _ex tempore_; that which was_nearest_ Nature was to be preferred. ' I answer you, therefore, bydistinguishing betwixt what is _nearest_ to the nature of Comedy: whichis the Imitation of common persons and Ordinary Speaking: and, what is_nearest_ the nature of a serious Play. This last is, indeed, theRepresentation of Nature; but 'tis Nature wrought up to an higher pitch. The Plot, the Characters, the Wit, the Passions, the Descriptions are allexalted above the level of common converse [_conversation_], as high asthe Imagination of the Poet can carry them, with proportion toverisimility [_verisimilitude_]. "Tragedy, we know, is wont to Image to us the minds and fortunes of noblepersons: and to pourtray these exactly, Heroic Rhyme is _nearest_ Nature;as being the noblest kind of Modern Verse. "_Indignatur enim privatis, et prope socco, Dignis carminibus narrari coena THYESTOE. _ "says HORACE. And in another place, "_Effutire leveis indigna tragoedia versus. _ "Blank Verse is acknowledged to be too low for a Poem, nay more, for apaper of Verses [pp. 473, 498, 559]; but if too low for an ordinarySonnet, how much more for Tragedy! which is, by ARISTOTLE, in the disputebetween the Epic Poesy and the Dramatic, (for many reasons he therealleges) ranked above it. "But setting this defence aside, your argument is almost as strongagainst the use of Rhyme in Poems, as in Plays. For the Epic way iseverywhere interlaced with Dialogue or Discoursive Scenes: and, therefore, you must either grant Rhyme to be improper there, which iscontrary to your assertion; or admit it into Plays, by the same titlewhich you have given it to Poems. "For though Tragedy be justly preferred above the other, yet there is agreat affinity between them; as may easily be discovered in thatDefinition of a Play, which LISIDEIUS gave us [p. 513]. The genus of themis the same, A JUST AND LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, IN ITS ACTIONS, PASSIONS, AND TRAVERSES OF FORTUNE: so is the End, namely, FOR THEDELIGHT AND BENEFIT OF MANKIND. The Characters and Persons are still thesame, viz. , the greatest of both sorts: only the _manner of acquaintingus_ with those actions, passions, and fortunes is different. Tragedyperforms it, _viva voce_, or by Action in Dialogue: wherein it excels theEpic Poem; which does it, chiefly, by Narration, and therefore is not solively an Image of Human Nature. However, the agreement betwixt them issuch, that if Rhyme be proper for one, it must be for the other. "Verse, 'tis true, is not 'the effect of Sudden Thought. ' But thishinders not, that Sudden Thought may be represented in Verse: since thosethoughts are such, as must be higher than Nature can raise them withoutpremeditation, especially, to a continuance of them, even out of Verse:and, consequently, you cannot imagine them, to have been sudden, eitherin the Poet or the Actors. "A Play, as I have said, to be like Nature, is to be set above it; asstatues which are placed on high, are made greater than the life, thatthey may descend to the sight, in their just proportion. "Perhaps, I have insisted too long upon this objection; but the clearingof it, will make my stay shorter on the rest. "You tell us, CRITES! that 'Rhyme is most unnatural in Repartees or ShortReplies: when he who answers, it being presumed he knew not what the otherwould say, yet makes up that part of the Verse which was left incomplete;and supplies both the sound and the measure of it. This, ' you say, 'looksrather like the Confederacy of two, than the Answer of one. ' "This, I confess, is an objection which is in every one's mouth, wholoves not Rhyme; but suppose, I beseech you! the Repartee were made onlyin Blank Verse; might not part of the same argument be turned againstyou? For the measure is as often supplied there, as it is in Rhyme: thelatter half of the hemistich as commonly made up, or a second linesubjoined as a reply to the former; which any one leaf in JOHNSON's Playswill sufficiently make clear to you. "You will often find in the Greek Tragedians, and in SENECA; that when aScene grows up into the warmth of Repartees, which is the close fightingof it, the latter part of the trimeter is supplied by him who answers:and yet it was never observed as a fault in them, by any of the Ancientor Modern critics. The case is the same in our verse, as it was intheirs: Rhyme to us, being in lieu of Quantity to them. But if nolatitude is to be allowed a Poet; you take from him, not only his licenseof _quidlibet audendi_: but you tie him up in a straighter compass thanyou would a Philosopher. "This is, indeed, _Musas colere severiores_. You would have him followNature, but he must follow her on foot. You have dismounted him from his_Pegasus_! "But you tell us 'this supplying the last half of a verse, or adjoining awhole second to the former, looks more like the Design of two, than theAnswer of one [pp. 498, 559]. ' Suppose we acknowledge it. How comes thisConfederacy to be more displeasing to you, than a dance which is wellcontrived? You see there, the united Design of many persons to make upone Figure. After they have separated themselves in many petty divisions;they rejoin, one by one, into the gross. The Confederacy is plain amongstthem; for Chance could never produce anything so beautiful, and yet thereis nothing in it that shocks your sight. "I acknowledge that the hand of Art appears in Repartee, as, ofnecessity, it must in all kind[s] of Verse. But there is, also, the quickand poignant brevity of it (which is a high Imitation of Nature, in thosesudden gusts of passion) to mingle with it: and this joined with thecadency and sweetness of the Rhyme, leaves nothing in the Soul of theHearer to desire. 'Tis an Art which _appears_; but it _appears_ only likethe shadowings of painture [_painting_], which, being to cause therounding of it, cannot be absent: but while that is considered, they arelost. So while we attend to the other beauties of the Matter, the careand labour of the Rhyme is carried from us; or, at least, drowned in itsown sweetness, as bees are some times buried in their honey. "When a Poet has found the Repartee; the last perfection he can add toit, is to put it into Verse. However good the Thought may be, however aptthe Words in which 'tis couched; yet he finds himself at a little unrest, while Rhyme is wanting. He cannot leave it, till that comes naturally;and then is at ease, and sits down contented. "From Replies, which are the most _elevated_ thoughts of Verse, you passto the most _mean_ ones, those which are common with the lowest ofhousehold conversation. In these you say, the majesty of the Versesuffers. You instance in 'the calling of a servant' or 'commanding a doorto be shut' in Rhyme. This, CRITES! is a good observation of yours; but noargument. For it proves no more, but that such thoughts should be waved, as often as may be, by the address of the Poet. But suppose they _are_necessary in the places where he uses them; yet there is no need to putthem into rhyme. He may place them in the beginning of a verse and breakit off, as unfit (when so debased) for any other use: or granting theworst, that they require more room than the hemistich will allow; yetstill, there is a choice to be made of best words and least vulgar(provided they be apt) to express such thoughts. "Many have blamed Rhyme in general for this fault, when the Poet, with alittle care, might have redressed it: but they do it, with no morejustice, than if English Poesy should be made ridiculous, for the sake of[JOHN TAYLOR] the Water Poet's rhymes. "Our language is noble, full, and significant; and I know not why he whois master of it, may not clothe ordinary things in it, as decently as theLatin; if he use the same diligence in his choice of words. "_Delectus verborum origo est eloquentiae_ was the saying of JULIUSCAESAR; one so curious in his, that none of them can be changed but forthe worse. "One would think 'Unlock the door!' was a thing as vulgar as could bespoken; and yet SENECA could make it sound high and lofty, in his Latin-- "_Reserate clusos regii postes Laris. _ "But I turn from this exception, both because it happens not above twiceor thrice in any Play, that those vulgar thoughts are used: and then too, were there no other apology to be made, yet the necessity of them (whichis, alike, in all kind[s] of writing) may excuse them. Besides that, thegreat eagerness and precipitation with which they are spoken, makes usrather mind the substance than the dress; that for which they are spoken, rather than what is spoke[n]. For they are always the effect of some hastyconcernment; and something of consequence depends upon them. "Thus, CRITES! I have endeavoured to answer your objections. It remainsonly that I should vindicate an argument for Verse, which you have goneabout to overthrow. "It had formerly been said [p. 492] that, 'The easiness of Blank Verserenders the Poet too luxuriant; but that the labour of Rhyme bounds andcircumscribes an over fruitful fancy: the Sense there being commonlyconfined to the Couplet; and the words so ordered that the Rhymenaturally follows them, not they, the Rhyme. ' "To this, you answered, that 'It was no argument to the question in hand:for the dispute was not which way _a man may write best_; but which is_most proper for the subject on which he writes_. ' "First. Give me leave, Sir, to remember you! that the argument on whichyou raised this objection was only secondary. It was built upon thehypothesis, that to write in Verse was proper for serious Plays. Whichsupposition being granted (as it was briefly made out in that discourse, by shewing how Verse might be made _natural_): it asserted that this wayof writing was a help to the Poet's judgement, by putting bounds to awild, overflowing Fancy. I think therefore it will not be hard for me tomake good what it was to prove. "But you add, that, 'Were this let pass; yet he who wants judgement inthe liberty of the Fancy, may as well shew the defect of it, when he isconfined to Verse: for he who has judgement, will avoid errors; and hewho has it not will commit them in all kinds of writing. ' "This argument, as you have taken it from a most acute person, so Iconfess it carries much weight in it. But by using the word Judgementhere indefinitely, you seem to have put a fallacy upon us. I grant he whohas judgement, that is, so profound, so strong, so infallible a judgementthat he needs no helps to keep it always poised and upright, will commitno faults; either in Rhyme, or out of it: and, on the other extreme, hewho has a judgement so weak and crazed, that no helps can correct oramend it, shall write scurvily out of Rhyme; and worse in it. But thefirst of these Judgements, is nowhere to be found; and the latter is notfit to write at all. "To speak, therefore, of Judgement as it is in the best Poets; they whohave the greatest proportion of it, want other helps than from it within:as, for example, you would be loath to say that he who was endued with asound judgement, had no need of history, geography, or moral philosophy, to write correctly. "Judgement is, indeed, the Master Workman in a Play; but he requires manysubordinate hands, many tools to his assistance. And Verse, I affirm to beone of these. 'Tis a 'Rule and Line' by which he keeps his buildingcompact and even; which, otherwise, lawless Imagination would raise, either irregularly or loosely. At least, if the Poet commits errors withthis help; he would make greater and more without it. 'Tis, in short, aslow and painful, but the surest kind of working. "OVID, whom you accuse [p. 561] for luxuriancy in Verse, had, perhaps, been farther guilty of it, had he writ in Prose. And for your instance ofBEN. JOHNSON [p. 561]; who, you say, writ exactly, without the help ofRhyme: you are to remember, 'tis only an aid to a _luxuriant_ Fancy;which his was not [p. 551]. As he did not want Imagination; so, none eversaid he had much to spare. Neither was Verse then refined so much, to be ahelp to that Age as it is to ours. "Thus then, the second thoughts being usually the best, as receiving thematurest digestion from judgement; and the last and most mature productof those thoughts, being artfull and laboured Verse: it may well beinferred, that Verse is a great help to a luxuriant Fancy. And this iswhat that argument, which you opposed, was to evince. " NEANDER was pursuing this discourse so eagerly that EUGENIUS had calledto him twice or thrice, ere he took notice that the barge stood still;and that they were at the foot of Somerset Stairs, where they hadappointed it to land. The company were all sorry to separate so soon, though a great part ofthe evening was already spent: and stood a while, looking back upon thewater; which the moonbeams played upon, and made it appear like floatingquicksilver. At last, they went up, through a crowd of French people, who were merrilydancing in the open air, and nothing concerned for the noise of the guns, which had alarmed the Town that afternoon. Walking thence together to the Piazza, they parted there, EUGENIUS andLISIDEIUS, to some pleasant appointment they had made; and CRITES andNEANDER to their several lodgings. FINIS. [9] Compare DRYDEN's definition of Humour, with that of Lord MACAULAY, in his review of _Diary and Letters of Madame D'ARBLAY (Edinburgh Review_, Jan. 1843). E. A. 1880. [10] Glorious JOHN DRYDEN! thee liest! CROMWELL and his Court were no "enemies of all good learning, " though they utterly rejected the Dramatic branch of it. E. A. 1880. The Honourable Sir ROBERT HOWARD Auditor of the Exchequer. Preface to _The great Favourite, or the Duke of LERMA_. [Published in 1668. ] _TO THE READER. _ I cannot plead the usual excuse for publishing this trifle, which iscommonly the subject of most Prefaces, by charging it upon theimportunity of friends; for I confess I was myself willing, at the firstdesire of Mr. HERRINGMAN [_the Publisher_], to print it: not for anygreat opinion that I had entertained; but for the opinion that otherswere pleased to express. Which, being told me by some friends, I wasconcerned to let the World judge what subject matter of offence wascontained in it. Some were pleased to believe little of it mine; but theyare both obliging to me, though perhaps not intentionally: the last, bythinking there was anything in it that was worth so ill designed an envy, as to place it to another author; the others, perhaps the best bredInformers, by continuing their displeasure towards me, since I mostgratefully acknowledge to have received some advantage in the opinion ofthe sober part of the World, by the loss of theirs. For the subject, I came accidentally to write upon it. For a gentlemanbrought a Play to the King's Company, called, _The Duke of LERMA_; and, by them, I was desired to peruse it, and return my opinion, "Whether Ithought it fit for the Stage!" After I had read it, I acquainted themthat, "In my judgement, it would not be of much use for such a design, since the Contrivance scarce would merit the name of a Plot; and some ofthat, assisted by a disguise: and it ended abruptly. And on the person ofPHILIP III. , there was fixed such a mean Character; and on the daughter ofthe Duke of LERMA, such a vicious one: that I could not but judge it unfitto be presented by any that had a respect, not only to Princes, butindeed, to either Man or Woman. " And, about that time, being to go in the country, I was persuaded by Mr. HART to make it my diversion there, that so great a hint might not belost, as the Duke of LERMA saving himself, in his last extremity, by hisunexpected disguise: which is as well in the true Story [_history_], asthe old Play. And besides that and the Names; my altering the most partof the Characters, and the whole Design, made me uncapable to use muchmore, though, perhaps, written with higher Style and Thoughts than Icould attain to. I intend not to trouble myself nor the World any more in such subjects;but take my leave of these my too long acquaintances: since that littleFancy and Liberty I once enjoyed, is now fettered in business of moreunpleasant natures. Yet, were I free to apply my thoughts, as my ownchoice directed them; I should hardly again venture into the Civil Warsof Censures. _Ubi . .. Nullos habitura triumphos_. In the next place. I must ingeniously confess that the manner of Plays, which now are in most esteem, is beyond my power to perform [p. 587]; nordo I condemn, in the least, anything, of what nature soever, that pleases;since nothing could appear to me a ruder folly, than to censure thesatisfaction of others. I rather blame the unnecessary understanding ofsome, that have laboured to give strict Rules to things that are notmathematical; and, with such eagerness, pursuing their own seemingreasons, that, at last, we are to apprehend such Argumentative Poets willgrow as strict as SANCHO PANZA's Doctor was, to our very appetites: for inthe difference of Tragedy and Comedy, and of Fars [_farce_] itself, therecan be no determination, but by the taste; nor in the manner of theircomposure. And, whoever would endeavour to like or dislike, by the Rulesof others; he will be as unsuccessful, as if he should try to bepersuaded into a power of believing, not what he must, but what othersdirect him to believe. But I confess, 'tis not necessary for Poets to study strict Reason: sincethey are so used to a greater latitude [pp. 568, 588], than is allowed bythat severe Inquisition, that they must infringe their own Jurisdiction, to profess themselves obliged to argue well. I will not, therefore, pretend to say, why I writ this Play, some Scenes in Blank Verse, othersin Rhyme; since I have no better a reason to give than Chance, whichwaited upon my present Fancy: and I expect no better reason from anyIngenious Person, than his Fancy, for which he best relishes. I cannot, therefore, but beg leave of the Reader, to take a little noticeof the great pains the author of an _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_ has taken, to prove "Rhyme as _natural_ in a serious Play, and more _effectual_ thanBlank Verse" [pp. 561, 581]. Thus he states the question, but pursues thatwhich he calls natural, in a wrong application: for 'tis not the question, whether Rhyme or not Rhyme be best or most natural for a grave or seriousSubject: but what is _nearest the nature_ of that which it presents. Now, after all the endeavours of that Ingenious Person, a Play will stillbe supposed to be a Composition of several persons speaking _ex tempore_and 'tis as certain, that good verses are the hardest things that can beimagined, to be so spoken [p. 582]. So that if any will be pleased toimpose the rule of measuring things to be the best, by _being nearest_Nature; it is granted, by consequence, that which is most remote from thething supposed, must needs be most improper: and, therefore, I may justlysay, that both I and the question were equally mistaken. For I do own Ihad rather read good verses, than either Blank Verse or Prose; andtherefore the author did himself injury, if he like Verse so well inPlays, to lay down Rules to raise arguments, only unanswerable againsthimself. But the same author, being filled with the precedents of the Ancientswriting their Plays in Verse, commends the thing; and assures us that"our language is noble, full, and significant, " charging all defects uponthe ill placing of words; and proves it, by quoting SENECA loftilyexpressing such an ordinary thing, as "shutting a door. " _Reserate clusos regii postes Laris_. I suppose he was himself highly affected with the sound of these words. But to have completed his Dictates [_injunctions_]; together with hisarguments, he should have obliged us by charming our ears with such anart of placing words, as, in an English verse, to express so loftily "theshutting of a door": that we might have been as much affected with thesound of his words. This, instead of being an argument upon the question, rightly stated, isan attempt to prove, that Nothing may seem Something by the help of averse; which I easily grant to be the ill fortune of it: and therefore, the question being so much mistaken, I wonder to see that author troublehimself twice about it, with such an absolute Triumph declared by his ownimagination. But I have heard that a gentleman in Parliament, going tospeak twice, and being interrupted by another member, as against theOrders of the House: he was excused, by a third [member] assuring theHouse he had not yet spoken to the question. But, if we examine the General Rules laid down for Plays by strictReason; we shall find the errors equally gross: for the great Foundationthat is laid to build upon, is Nothing, as it is generally stated; whichwill appear on the examination of the particulars. First. We are told the Plot should not be so ridiculously contrived, asto crowd several Countries into one Stage. Secondly, to cramp theaccidents of many years or days, into the Representation of two hours anda half. And, lastly, a conclusion drawn that the only remaining dispute, is concerning Time; whether it should be contained in twelve or four andtwenty hours; and the Place to be limited to the spot of ground, eitherin town or city, where the Play is supposed to begin [p. 531]. And thisis called _nearest_ to Nature. For that is concluded most natural, whichis most _probable_, and _nearest_ to that which it presents. I am so well pleased with any ingenious offers, as all these are, that Ishould not examine this strictly, did not the confidence of others forceme to it: there being not anything more unreasonable to my judgement, than the attempts to infringe the Liberty of Opinion by Rules so littledemonstrative. To shew, therefore, upon what ill grounds, they dictate Laws for DramaticPoesy; I shall endeavour to make it evident that there's no such thing, aswhat they All pretend [p. 592]. For, if strictly and duly weighed, 'tis asimpossible for one Stage to represent two houses or two rooms truly, astwo countries or kingdoms; and as impossible that five hours or four andtwenty hours should be two hours and a half, as that a thousand hours oryears should be less than what they are, or the greatest part of time tobe comprehended in the less. For _all_ being impossible; they are none ofthem nearest the Truth, or nature of what they present. Forimpossibilities are all equal, and admit no degrees. And, then, if allthose Poets that have so fervently laboured to give Rules as Maxims, would but be pleased to abbreviate; or endure to hear their Reasonsreduced into one strict Definition; it must be, That there are _degrees_in impossibilities, and that many things, which are not possible, may yetbe more or less impossible; and from this, proceed to give Rules toobserve the least absurdity in things, which are not at all. I suppose, I need not trouble the Reader, with so impertinent a delay, toattempt a further confutation of such ill grounded Reasons, than, thus, byopening the true state of the case. Nor do I design to make any furtheruse of it, than from hence, to draw this modest conclusion: That I would have all attempts of this nature, be submitted to the Fancyof others; and bear the name of Propositions [p. 590], not of confidentLaws, or Rules made by demonstration. And, then, I shall not discommend any Poet that dresses his Play in sucha fashion as his Fancy best approves: and fairly leave it for others tofollow, if it appears to them most convenient and fullest of ornament. But, writing this _Epistle_, in much haste; I had almost forgot oneargument or observation, which that author has most good fortune in. Itis in his _Epistle Dedicatory_, before his _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_, where, speaking of Rhymes in Plays, he desires it may be observed, "Thatnone are violent against it; but such as have not attempted it; or whohave succeeded ill in the attempt [pp. 503, 539, 598], " which, as tomyself and him, I easily acknowledge: for I confess none has written, inthat way, better than himself; nor few worse than I. Yet, I hope he is soingenious, that he would not wish this argument should extend further thanto him and me. For if it should be received as a good one: all Divines andPhilosophers would find a readier way of confutation than they yet havedone, of any that should oppose the least Thesis or Definition, bysaying, "They were denied by none but such as never attempted to write, or succeeded ill in the attempt. " Thus, as I am one, that am extremely well pleased with most of the_Propositions_, which are ingeniously laid down in that _Essay_, forregulating the Stage: so I am also always concerned for the true honourof Reason, and would have no spurious issue fathered upon her Fancy, maybe allowed her wantonness. But Reason is always pure and chaste: and, as it resembles the sun, inmaking all things clear; it also resembles it, in its several positions. When it shines in full height, and directly ascendant over any subject, it leaves but little shadow: but, when descended and grown low, itsoblique shining renders the shadow larger than the substance; and givesthe deceived person [_i. E. , DRYDEN_] a wrong measure of his ownproportion. Thus, begging the Reader's excuse, for this seeming impertinency; Isubmit what I have written to the liberty of his unconfined opinion:which is all the favour I ask of others, to afford me. JOHN DRYDEN. _A Defence of_ An Essay of Dramatic Poesy. Being an Answer to the Preface of _The great Favourite or the Duke ofLERMA_. [Prefaced to the Second Edition of _The Indian Emperor_. 1668. ] The former Edition of the _Indian Emperor_, being full of faults, whichhad escaped the printer; I have been willing to overlook this Second withmore care: and, though I could not allow myself so much time as wasnecessary, yet, by that little I have done, the press is freed from somegross errors which it had to answer for before. As for the more material faults of writing, which are properly mine;though I see many of them, I want leisure to amend them. 'Tis enough forthose, who make one Poem the business of their lives, to leave thatcorrect; yet, excepting VIRGIL, I never met with any which was so, in anylanguage. But while I was thus employed about this impression, there came to myhands, a new printed Play, called, _The great Favourite, or the Duke ofLERMA_. The author of which, a noble and most ingenious Person, has doneme the favour to make some observations and animadversions upon my_Dramatic Essay_. I must confess he might have better consulted his reputation, than bymatching himself with so weak an adversary. But if his honour bediminished in the choice of his antagonist, it is sufficientlyrecompensed in the election of his cause: which being the weaker, in allappearance (as combating the received opinions of the best Ancient andModern authors), will add to his glory, if he overcome; and to theopinion of his generosity, if he be vanquished, since he engages at sogreat odds, and so (like a Cavalier) undertakes the protection of theweaker party. I have only to fear, on my own behalf, that so good a cause as mine, maynot suffer by my ill management or weak defence; yet I cannot, in honour, but take the glove, when 'tis offered me: though I am only a Champion, bysuccession; and, no more able to defend the right of ARISTOTLE andHORACE, than an infant DYMOCK, to maintain the title of a King. For my own concernment in the controversy, it is so small, that I caneasily be contented to be driven from a few Notions of Dramatic Poesy, especially by one who has the reputation of understanding all things [!]:and I might justly make that excuse for my yielding to him, which thePhilosopher made to the Emperor, "Why should I offer to contend with him, who is Master of more than twenty Legions of Arts and Sciences!" But I amforced to fight, and therefore it will be no shame to be overcome. Yet, I am so much his servant as not to meddle with anything which doesnot concern _me_ in his Preface. Therefore, I leave the good sense, andother excellencies of the first twenty lines [_i. E. , of the Preface, see_p. 573] to be considered by the critics. As for the Play of _The Duke of LERMA_; having so much altered andbeautified it, as he has done, it can be justly belong to none but him. Indeed, they must be extreme[ly] ignorant as well as envious, who wouldrob him of that honour: for you see him putting in his claim to it, evenin the first two lines. _Repulse upon repulse, like waves thrown back, That slide to hang upon obdurate rocks_. After this, let Detraction do its worst! for if this be not his, itdeserves to be. For my part, I declare for Distributive Justice! and fromthis, and what follows, he certainly deserves _those advantages_, which heacknowledges, to _have received from the opinion of sober men_. In the next place, I must beg leave to observe his great address incourting the Reader to his party. For, intending to assault all Poetsboth Ancient and Modern, he discovers not his whole Design at once; butseems only to aim at me, and attack me on my weakest side, my Defence ofVerse. To begin with me. He gives me the compellation of "The Author of a_Dramatic Essay_"; which is a little Discourse in dialogue, for the mostpart borrowed from the observations of others. Therefore, that I may notbe wanting to him in civility, I return his compliment, by calling him, "The Author of _The Duke of LERMA_. " But, that I may pass over his salute, he takes notice [p. 575] of mygreat pains to prove "Rhyme as _natural_ in a serious Play; and more_effectual_ than Blank Verse" [p. 561]. Thus, indeed, I did state thequestion, but he tells me, _I pursue that which I call_ natural, _in awrong application; for 'tis not the question whether_ Rhyme _or_ notRhyme _be best or most natural for a serious Subject; but what is nearestthe nature of that it represents_. If I have formerly mistaken the question; I must confess my ignorance sofar, as to say I continue still in my mistake. But he ought to haveproved that I mistook it; for 'tis yet but _gratis dictum_. I still shallthink I have gained my point, if I can prove that "Rhyme is best or most_natural_ for a serious Subject. " As for the question, as he states it, "Whether Rhyme be nearest thenature of what it represents"; I wonder he should think me so ridiculousas to dispute whether Prose or Verse be nearest to ordinary conversation? It still remains for him, to prove his Inference, that, Since Verse isgranted to be more remote than Prose from ordinary conversation;therefore no serious Plays ought to be writ in Verse: and when he clearlymakes that good, I will acknowledge his victory as absolute as he candesire it. The question now is, which of us two has mistaken it? And if it appear Ihave not, the World will suspect _what gentleman that was, who wasallowed to speak twice in Parliament, because he had not yet spoken tothe question_ [p. 576]: and, perhaps, conclude it to be the same, who (as'tis reported) maintained a contradiction _in terminis_, in the face ofthree hundred persons. But to return to Verse. Whether it be natural or not in Plays, is aproblem which is not demonstrable, of either side. 'Tis enough for me, that he acknowledges that he had rather read good Verse than Prose [p. 575]: for if all the enemies of Verse will confess as much, I shall notneed to prove that it is _natural_. I am satisfied, if it cause Delight;for Delight is the chief, if not the only end of Poesy. Instruction canbe admitted but in the second place; for Poesy only instructs as itdelights. 'Tis true, that to Imitate Well is a Poet's work: but to affect the soul, and excite the passions, and, above all, to move Admiration [_wonderingastonishment_] (which is the Delight of serious Plays), a bare Imitationwill not serve. The converse [_conversation_] therefore, which a Poet isto _imitate_, must be _heightened_ with all the arts and ornaments ofPoesy; and must be such as, _strictly considered_, could never besupposed [to be] spoken by any, without premeditation. As for what he urges, that, _A Play will still be supposed to be acomposition of several persons speaking_ ex tempore; and that good versesare the hardest things, which can be imagined, to be so spoken_ [p. 575]:I must crave leave to dissent from his opinion, as to the former part ofit. For, if I am not deceived, A Play is supposed to be the work of thePoet, _imitating_ or _representing_ the conversation of several persons:and this I think to be as clear, as he thinks the contrary. But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good, though a paradox, that, One great reason why Prose is not to be used in serious Plays isbecause it is too near the nature of converse [_conversation_]. There maybe too great a likeness. As the most skilful painters affirm there may betoo near a resemblance in a picture. To take every lineament and featureis not to make an excellent piece, but to take so much only as will makea beautiful resemblance of the whole; and, with an ingenious flattery ofNature, to heighten the beauties of some parts, and hide the deformitiesof the rest. For so, says HORACE-- _Ut pictura Poesis erit Haec amat obscurum; vult haec sub luce videri, Judicis argutum quae non formidat acumen. Et quae Desperat, tractata nitescere posse, relinquit_. In _Bartholomew Fair_, or the lowest kind of Comedy, that degree ofheightening is used which is proper to set off that subject. 'Tis true, the author was not there to go out of Prose, as he does in his higherarguments of Comedy, the _Fox_ and _Alchemist_; yet he does so raise hismatter in that Prose, as to render it delightful: which he could neverhave performed had he only said or done those very things that are dailyspoken or practised in the Fair. For then, the Fair itself would be asfull of pleasure to an Ingenious Person, as the Play; which we manifestlysee it is not: but he hath made an excellent Lazar of it. The copy is ofprice, though the origin be vile. You see in _CATILINE_ and _SEJANUS_; where the argument is great, hesometimes ascends to Verse, which shews he thought it not unnatural inserious Plays: and had his genius been as proper for Rhyme as it was forHumour, or had the Age in which he lived, attained to as much knowledgein Verse, as ours; 'tis probable he would have adorned those Subjectswith that kind of writing. Thus PROSE, though the rightful Prince, yet is, by common consent, deposed; as too weak for the Government of serious Plays: and he failing, there now start up two competitors! one, the nearer in blood, which isBLANK VERSE; the other, more fit for the ends of Government, which isRHYME. BLANK VERSE is, indeed, the nearer PROSE; but he is blemished withthe weakness of his predecessor. RHYME (for I will deal clearly!) hassomewhat of the Usurper in him; but he is brave and generous, and hisdominion pleasing. For this reason of Delight, the Ancients (whom I willstill believe as wise as those who so confidently correct them) wrote alltheir Tragedies in Verse; though they knew it most remote fromconversation. But I perceive I am falling into the danger of another rebuke from myopponent: for when I plead that "the Ancients used Verse, " I prove notthat, They would have admitted Rhyme, had it then been written. All I can say, is, That it seems to have succeeded Verse, by the generalconsent of Poets in all modern languages. For almost all their seriousPlays are written in it: which, though it be no Demonstration thattherefore it ought to be so; yet, at least, the Practice first, and thenthe Continuation of it shews that it attained the end, which was, toPlease. And if that cannot be compassed here, I will be the first whoshall lay it down. For I confess my chief endeavours are _to delight the Age in which Ilive_ [p. 582]. If the Humour of this, be for Low Comedy, small Accidents[_Incidents_], and Raillery; I will force my genius to obey it: though, with more reputation, I could write in Verse. I know, I am not so fitted, by nature, to write Comedy. I want that gaiety of Humour which is requiredto it. My conversation is dull and slow. My Humour is saturnine andreserved. In short, I am none of those, who endeavour to break jests incompany, or make repartees. So that those who decry my Comedies, do me noinjury, except it be in point of profit. Reputation in _them_ is the lastthing to which I shall pretend. I beg pardon for entertaining the reader with so ill a subject: butbefore I quit that argument, which was the cause of this digression; Icannot but take notice how I am corrected for my quotation of SENECA, inmy defence of Plays in Verse. My words were these [p. 570]: "Our language is noble, full, andsignificant; and I know not why he, who is master of it, may not clotheordinary things in it, as decently as the Latin; if he use the samediligence in his _choice of words_. " One would think, "Unlock the door, " was a thing as vulgar as could bespoken: yet SENECA could make it sound high and lofty in his Latin. _Reserate clusos regii postes Laris_. But he says of me, _That being filled with the precedents of the Ancientswho Writ their Plays in Verse, I commend the thing; declaring our languageto be full, noble, and significant, and charging all the defects upon the_ill placing of words; _which I prove by quoting SENECA's loftilyexpressing such an ordinary thing as_ shutting the door. Here he manifestly mistakes. For I spoke not of the Placing, but theChoice of words: for which I quoted that aphorism of JULIUS CAESAR, _Delectus verborum est origo eloquentiae_. But _delectus verborum_ is nomore Latin for the "Placing of words;" than _Reserate_ is Latin for"_Shut_ the door!" as he interprets it; which I, ignorantly, construed"_Unlock_ or _open_ it!" He supposes I was highly affected with the Sound of these words; and Isuppose I may more justly imagine it of him: for if he had not beenextremely satisfied with the Sound, he would have minded the Sense alittle better. But these are, now, to be no faults. For, ten days after his book waspublished, and that his mistakes are grown so famous that they are comeback to him, he sends his _Errata_ to be printed, and annexed to hisPlay; and desires that instead of _Shutting_, you should read _Opening_, which, it seems, was the printer's fault. I wonder at his modesty! thathe did not rather say it was SENECA's or mine: and that in some authors, _Reserate_ was to _Shut_ as well as to _Open_, as the word _Barach_, saythe learned, is [_in Hebrew_] both to _Bless_ and _Curse_. Well, since it was the printer['s fault]; he was a naughty man, to committhe same mistake twice in six lines. I warrant you! _Delectus verborum_ for _Placing_ of words, was hismistake too; though the author forgot to tell him of it. If it were mybook, I assure you it should [be]. For those rascals ought to be theproxies of every Gentleman-Author; and to be chastised for him, when heis not pleased to own an error. Yet, since he has given the _Errata_, I wish he would have enlarged themonly a few sheets more; and then he would have spared me the labour of ananswer. For this cursed printer is so given to mistakes, that there isscarce a sentence in the Preface without some false grammar, or hardsense [_i. E. , difficulty in gathering the meaning_] in it; which will allbe charged upon the Poet: because he is so good natured as to lay butthree errors to the Printer's account, and to take the rest upon himself;who is better able to support them. But he needs not [to] apprehend that Ishould strictly examine those little faults; except I am called upon to doit. I shall return, therefore, to that quotation of SENECA; and answer notto what he _writes_, but to what he _means_. I never intended it as an Argument, but only as an Illustration of what Ihad said before [p. 570] concerning the Election of words. And all he cancharge me with, is only this, That if SENECA could make an ordinary thingsound well in Latin by the choice of words; the same, with like care, might be performed in English. If it cannot, I have committed an error onthe right hand, by commending too much, the copiousness and well soundingof our language: which I hope my countrymen will pardon me. At least, thewords which follow in my _Dramatic Essay_ will plead somewhat in mybehalf. For I say there [p. 570], That this objection happens but seldomin a Play; and then too, either the meanness of the expression may beavoided, or shut out from the verse by breaking it in the midst. But I have said too much in the Defence of Verse. For, after all, 'tis avery indifferent thing to me, whether it obtain or not. I am content, hereafter to be ordered by his rule, that is, "to write it, sometimes, because it pleases me" [p. 575]; and so much the rather, because "he hasdeclared that it pleases him. " But, he has taken his last farewell of the Muses; and he has done itcivilly, by honouring them with the name of _his long acquaintances_ [p. 574]: which is a compliment they have scarce deserved from him. For my own part, I bear a share in the public loss; and how emuloussoever I may be, of his Fame and Reputation, I cannot but give thistestimony of his Style, that it is extreme[ly] poetical, even in Oratory;his Thoughts elevated, sometimes above common apprehension; his Notionspolitic and grave, and tending to the instruction of Princes andreformation of State: that they are abundantly interlaced with variety offancies, tropes, and figures, which the Critics have enviously brandedwith the name of Obscurity and False Grammar. Well, _he is now fettered in business of more unpleasant nature_ [p. 574]. The Muses have lost him, but the Commonwealth gains by it. Thecorruption of a Poet is the generation of a Statesman. _He will not venture again into the Civil Wars of Censure_ [Criticism]. _Ubi . .. Nullos habitura triumphos_. If he had not told us, he had left the Muses; we might have halfsuspected it by that word, _ubi_, which does not any way belong to_them_, in that place. The rest of the verse is indeed LUCAN's: but that_ubi_, I will answer for it, is his own. Yet he has another reason for this disgust of Poesy. For he says, immediately after, that _the manner of Plays which are now in mostesteem, is beyond his power to perform_ [p. 574]. To _perform_ the_manner_ of a thing, is new English to me. _However he condemns not the satisfaction of others, but rather theirunnecessary understanding; who, like SANCHO PANZA's Doctor, prescribe toostrictly to our appetites. For_, says he, _in the difference of Tragedyand Comedy and of Farce itself; there can be no determination but by thetaste; nor in the manner of their composure_. We shall see him, now, as great a Critic as he was a Poet: and the reasonwhy he excelled so much in Poetry will be evident; for it will haveproceeded from the exactness of his Judgement. _In the difference of Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce itself; there can be nodetermination but by the taste_. I will not quarrel with the obscurity ofthis phrase, though I justly might: but beg his pardon, if I do notrightly understand him. If he means that there is no essential differencebetwixt Comedy, Tragedy, and Farce; but only what is made by people'staste, which distinguishes one of them from the other: that is somanifest an error, that I need lose no time to contradict it. Were there neither Judge, Taste, or Opinion in the world; yet they woulddiffer in their natures. For the Action, Character, and Language ofTragedy would still be great and high: that of Comedy, lower and morefamiliar. Admiration would be the Delight of the one: Satire, of theother. I have but briefly touched upon these things; because, whatever his wordsare, I can scarce[ly] imagine that _he who is always concerned for thetrue honour of Reason, and would have no spurious issue fathered uponher_ [p. 578], should mean anything so absurd, as to affirm _that thereis no difference between Comedy and Tragedy, but what is made by tasteonly_: unless he would have us understand the Comedies of my Lord L. [?];where the First Act should be _Potages_, the Second, _Fricasses &c. _, andthe Fifth, a _chère entière_ of women. I rather guess, he means that betwixt one Comedy or Tragedy and another;there is no other difference but what is made by the liking or dislikingof the audience. This is, indeed, a less error than the former; but yetit is a great one. The liking or disliking of the people gives the Play the _denomination_of "good" or "bad"; but does not really make or constitute it such. Toplease the people ought to be the Poet's aim [pp. 513, 582, 584]; becausePlays are made for their delight: but it does not follow, that they arealways pleased with good plays; or that the plays which please them, arealways good. The Humour of the people is now for Comedy; therefore, in hope to pleasethem, I write Comedies rather than serious Plays; and, so far, theirtaste prescribes to me. But it does not follow from that reason, thatComedy is to be preferred before Tragedy, in its own nature. For thatwhich is so, in its own nature, cannot be otherwise; as a man cannot butbe a rational creature: but the opinion of the people may alter; and inanother Age, or perhaps in this, serious Plays may be set up aboveComedies. This I think a sufficient answer. If it be not, he has provided me of[_with_] an excuse. It seems, in his wisdom, he foresaw my weakness; andhas found out this expedient for me, _That it is not necessary for Poetsto study strict Reason; since they are so used to a greater latitude thanis allowed by that severe inquisition; that they must infringe their ownjurisdiction to profess themselves obliged to argue well_. I am obliged to him, for discovering to me this back door; but I am notyet resolved on my retreat. For I am of opinion, that they cannot be goodPoets, who are not accustomed to argue well. False Reasonings and Coloursof Speech are the certain marks of one who does not understand the Stage. For Moral Truth is the Mistress of the Poet as much as of the Philosopher. Poesy must _resemble_ Natural Truth; but it must _be_ Ethical. Indeed thePoet dresses Truth, and adorns Nature; but does not alter them. _Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris_. Therefore that is not the best Poesy which resembles notions of _things, which are not_, to _things which are_: though the Fancy may be great, andthe Words flowing; yet the Soul is but half satisfied, when there is notTruth in the foundation [p. 560]. This is that which makes VIRGIL [to] be preferred before the rest ofpoets. In Variety of Fancy, and Sweetness of Expression, you see OVID farabove him; for VIRGIL rejected many of those things which OVID wrote. "Agreat Wit's great work, is to refuse, " as my worthy friend, Sir JOHNBIRKENHEAD has ingeniously expressed it. You rarely meet with anything inVIRGIL but Truth; which therefore leaves the strongest impression ofPleasure in the Soul. This I thought myself obliged to say in behalf ofPoesy: and to declare (though it be against myself) that when poets donot argue well, the defect is in the Workmen, not in the Art. And, now, I come to the boldest part of his Discourse, wherein he attacksnot me, but all the Ancient and Moderns; and undermines, as he thinks, thevery foundations on which Dramatic Poesy is built. I could wish he wouldhave declined that envy, which must, of necessity, follow such anundertaking: and contented himself with triumphing over me, in myopinions of Verse; which I will never, hereafter, dispute with him. Buthe must pardon me, if I have that veneration for ARISTOTLE, HORACE, BEN. JOHNSON, and CORNEILLE, that I dare not serve him in such a cause, andagainst such heroes: but rather fight under their protection; as HOMERreports of little TEUCER, who shot the Trojans from under the largebuckler of AJAX Telamon-- [Greek: _Stae d'ar hap Aiautos sakei Telamoniadao_], &c. He stood beneath his brother's ample shield; And, covered there, shot death through all the field. The words of my noble adversary are these-- _But if we examine the general Rules laid down for Plays, by strictReason, we shall find the errors equally gross: for the great Foundationwhich is laid to build upon, is Nothing, as it is generally stated: aswill appear upon the examination of the particulars_. These particulars, in due time, shall be examined. In the meanwhile, letus consider, what this great Foundation is; which, he says, is "Nothing, as it is generally stated. " I never heard of any other Foundation of Dramatic Poesy, than theImitation of Nature: neither was there ever pretended any other, by theAncients or Moderns, or me who endeavoured to follow them in that Rule. This I have plainly said, in my Definition of a Play, that IT IS A JUSTAND LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, &c. Thus 'the Foundation, as it is generally stated, ' will stand sure, ifthis Definition of a Play be true. If it be not, he ought to have madehis exception against it; by proving that a Play is _not_ an Imitation ofNature, but somewhat else, which he is pleased to think it. But 'tis very plain, that he has mistaken the Foundation, for that whichis built upon it; though not immediately. For the direct and immediateconsequence is this. If Nature be to be imitated, then there is a Rulefor imitating Nature rightly; otherwise, there may be an End, and noMeans conducing to it. Hitherto, I have proceeded by demonstration. But as our Divines, whenthey have proved a Deity (because there is Order), and have inferred thatthis Deity ought to be worshipped, differ, afterwards, in the Manner ofthe Worship: so, having laid down, that "Nature is to be imitated;" andthat Proposition [p. 577] proving the next, that, then, "there are means, which conduce to the imitating of Nature"; I dare proceed no farther, positively, but have only laid down some opinions of the Ancients andModerns, and of my own, as Means which they used, and which I thoughtprobable, for the attaining of that End. Those Means are the same, which my antagonist calls the Foundations: howproperly the World may judge! And to prove that this is his meaning, heclears it immediately to you, by enumerating those Rules or Propositions, against which he makes his particular exceptions, as namely, those of TIMEand PLACE, in these words. _First, we are told the Plot should not be so ridiculously contrived, asto crowd several Countries into one Stage. Secondly, to cramp theaccidents of many years or days, into the Representation of two hours anda half. And, lastly, a conclusion drawn that the only remaining dispute, is concerning Time; whether it should be contained in Twelve or Four andtwenty hours; and the Place to be limited to the spot of ground, [eitherin town or city] where the Play is supposed to begin. And this is called, nearest to Nature. For that is concluded most natural; which is mostprobable and nearest to that which it presents_. Thus he has, only, made a small Mistake of the Means conducing to theend, for the End itself; and of the Superstructure for the Foundation. But he proceeds, _To show, therefore, upon what ill grounds, they dictate Laws forDramatic Poesy &c. _ He is, here, pleased to charge me with being Magisterial; as he has donein many other places of his Preface. Therefore, in vindication of myself, I must crave leave to say, that mywhole Discourse was sceptical, according to that way of reasoning whichwas used by SOCRATES, PLATO, and all the Academics of old; which TULLYand the best of the Ancients followed, and which is imitated by themodest Inquisitions of the Royal Society. That it is so, not only the name will show, which is _An Essay_; but theframe and composition of the work. You see it is a dialogue sustained bypersons of several opinions, all of them left doubtful, to be determinedby the readers in general; and more particularly deferred to the accuratejudgement of my Lord BUCKHURST, to whom I made a dedication of my book. These are my words, in my Epistle, speaking of the persons, whom Iintroduced in my dialogue, "'Tis true, they differed in their opinions, as 'tis probable they would; neither do I take upon me to reconcile, butto relate them: leaving your Lordship to decide it, in favour of thatpart, which you shall judge most reasonable. " And, after that, in my _Advertisements to the Reader_, I said this, "Thedrift of the ensuing Discourse was chiefly to vindicate the honour of ourEnglish Writers, from the censure of those who injustly prefer the Frenchbefore them. This I intimate, lest any should think me so exceeding vain, as to teach others an Art, which they understand much better than myself. " But this is more than [is] necessary to clear my modesty in that point:and I am very confident that there is scarce any man, who has lost somuch time as to read that trifle, but will be my compurgator as to thatarrogance whereof I am accused. The truth is, if I had been naturallyguilty of so much vanity, as to dictate my opinions; yet I do not findthat the Character of a Positive or Self Conceited Person is of suchadvantage to any in this Age, that I should labour to be PubliclyAdmitted of that Order. But I am not, now, to defend my own cause, when that of all the Ancientsand Moderns is in question. For this gentleman, who accuses me ofarrogance, has taken a course not to be taxed with the other extreme ofmodesty. Those Propositions which are laid down in my Discourse, as Helpsto the better Imitation of Nature, are _not_ mine, as I have said; norwere ever pretended so to be: but were derived from the authority ofARISTOTLE and HORACE, and from the rules and examples of BEN. JOHNSON andCORNEILLE. These are the men, with whom be properly he contends: andagainst _whom he will endeavour to make it evident, that then is no suchthing as what they All pretend_. His argument against the Unities of PLACE and TIME is this. _That 'tis as impossible for one Stage to present two Rooms or Housestruly, as two Countries or Kingdoms; and as impossible that Five hours orTwenty-four hours should be Two hours as that a Thousand years or hoursshould be less than what they are, or the greatest part of time to becomprehended in the less: for all of them being impossible they are noneof them nearest the Truth or Nature of what they present, forimpossibilities are all equal, and admit of no degrees_. This argument is so scattered into parts, that it can scarce be unitedinto a Syllogism: yet, in obedience to him, _I will abbreviate_, andcomprehend as much of it, as I can, in few words; that my Answer to it, may be more perspicuous. I conceive his meaning to be what follows, as to the Unity of PLACE. If Imistake, I beg his pardon! professing it is not out of any design to playthe _argumentative Poet_. "If one Stage cannot properly present two Roomsor Houses, much less two Countries or Kingdoms; then there can be no Unityof Place: but one Stage cannot properly perform this; therefore, there canbe no Unity of Place. " I plainly deny his Minor Proposition: the force of which if I mistakenot, depends on this; that "the Stage being one place, cannot be two. "This, indeed, is as great a secret as that, "we are all mortal. " But, torequite it with another, I must crave leave to tell him, that "though theStage cannot be two places, yet it may properly Represent them, successively or at several times. " His argument is, indeed, no more than a mere fallacy: which willevidently appear, when we distinguished Place as it relates to Plays, into Real and Imaginary. The Real place is that theatre or piece ofground, on which the Play is acted. The Imaginary, that house, town, orcountry, where the action of the Drama is supposed to be; or, moreplainly, where the Scene of the Play is laid. Let us now apply this to that Herculean argument, _which if strictly andduly weighed, is to make it evident, that there is no such thing as whatthey All pretend. 'Tis impossible_, he says, _for one Stage to presenttwo Rooms or Houses_. I answer, "Tis neither impossible, nor improper, for one _real_ place to represent two or more _imaginary_ places: so itbe done successively, " which, in other words, is no more than this, "Thatthe Imagination of the Audience, aided by the words of the Poet, andpainted scenes [_scenery_], nay _suppose_ the Stage to be sometimes oneplace, sometimes another; now a garden or wood, and immediately a camp;"which I appeal to every man's imagination, if it be not true! Neither the Ancients nor Moderns (as much fools as he is pleased to thinkthem) ever asserted that they could make one place, two: but they mighthope, by the good leave of this author! that the change of a Scene mightlead the Imagination to suppose the place altered. So that he cannotfasten those absurdities upon this Scene of a Play or Imaginary Place ofAction; that it is one place, and yet two. And this being so clearly proved, that 'tis past any shew of a reasonabledenial; it will not be hard to destroy that other part of his argument, which depends upon it; that _'tis as impossible for a Stage to representtwo Rooms or Houses, as two Countries or Kingdoms_: for his reason isalready overthrown, which was, _because both were alike impossible_. Thisis manifestly otherwise: for 'tis proved that a stage may properlyRepresent two Rooms or Houses. For the Imagination, being judge of whatis represented, will, in reason, be less chocqued [shocked] with theappearance of two rooms in the same house, or two houses in the samecity; than with two distant cities in the same country, or two remotecountries in the same universe. Imagination in a man or reasonable creature is supposed to participate ofReason; and, when that governs (as it does in the belief of fiction)reason is not destroyed, but misled or blinded. That can prescribe to theReason, during the time of the representation, somewhat like a weak beliefof what it sees and hears; and Reason suffers itself to be so hoodwinked, that it may better enjoy the pleasures of the fiction: but it is never sowholly made a captive as to be drawn headlong into a persuasion of thosethings which are most remote from probability. 'Tis, in that case, a freeborn subject, not a slave. It will contribute willingly its assent, as faras it sees convenient: but will not be forced. Now, there is a greater Vicinity, in Nature, betwixt two rooms thanbetwixt two houses; betwixt two houses, than betwixt two cities; and so, of the rest. Reason, therefore, can sooner be led by Imagination, to stepfrom one room to another, than to walk to two distant houses: and yet, rather to go thither, than to fly like a witch through the air, and behurried from one region to another. Fancy and Reason go hand in hand. Thefirst cannot leave the last behind: and though Fancy, when it sees thewide gulf, would venture over, as the nimbler; yet, it is withheld byReason, which will refuse to take the leap, when the distance, over it, appears too large. If BEN. JOHNSON himself, will remove the scene fromRome into Tuscany, in the same Act; and from thence, return to Rome, inthe Scene which immediate follows; Reason will consider there is noproportionable allowance of time to perform the journey; and therefore, will choose to stay at home. So then, the less change of place there is, the less time is taken up intransporting the persons of the Drama, with Analogy to Reason: and inthat Analogy or Resemblance of Fiction to Truth consists the excellencyof the Play. For what else concerns the Unity of PLACE; I have already given myopinion of it in my _Essay_, that "there is a latitude to be allowed toit, as several places in the same town or city; or places adjacent toeach other, in the same country; which may all be comprehended under thelarger denomination of One Place; yet, with this restriction, the nearerand fewer those imaginary places are, the greater resemblance they willhave to Truth: and Reason which cannot _make_ them One, will be moreeasily led to _suppose_ them so. " What has been said of the Unity of PLACE, may easily be applied to thatof TIME. I grant it to be impossible that _the greater part of timeshould be comprehended in the less_, that _Twenty-four hours should becrowded into three_. But there is no necessity of that supposition. For as Place, so TIME relating to a Play, is either Imaginary or Real. The Real is comprehended in those three hours, more or less, in the spaceof which the Play is Represented. The Imaginary is that which is Supposedto be taken up in the representation; as twenty-four hours, more or less. Now, no man ever could suppose that twenty-four _real_ hours could beincluded in the space of three: but where is the absurdity of affirming, that the feigned business of twenty-four _imagined_ hours, may not morenaturally be represented in the compass of three _real_ hours, than thelike feigned business of twenty-four years in the same proportion of realtime? For the _proportions_ are always real; and much nearer, by hispermission! of twenty-four to three, than of 4000 to it. I am almost fearful of illustrating _anything_ by Similitude; lest heshould confute it for an Argument: yet, I think the comparison of a Glasswill discover, very aptly, the fallacy of his argument, both concerningTime and Place. The strength of his Reason depends on this, "That theless cannot comprehend the greater. " I have already answered that we neednot suppose it does. I say not, that the less can _comprehend_ thegreater; but only that it may _represent_ it; as in a mirror, of half ayard [in] diameter, a whole room, and many persons in it, may be seen atonce: not that it can _comprehend_ that room or those persons, but thatit _represents them to the sight_. But the Author of _The Duke of LERMA_ is to be excused for his declaringagainst the Unity of TIME. For, if I be not much mistaken, he is aninteressed [_interested_] person; the time of that Play taking up so manyyears as the favour of the Duke of LERMA continued: nay, the Second andThird Acts including all the time of his prosperity, which was a greatpart of the reign of PHILIP III. ; for in the beginning of the Second Act, he was not yet a favourite, and before the end of the Third, was indisgrace. I say not this, with the least design of limiting the Stage too servilelyto twenty-four hours: however he be pleased to tax me with dogmatizing inthat point. In my Dialogue, as I before hinted, several personsmaintained their several opinions. One of them, indeed, who supported thecause of the French Poesy, said, how strict they were in that particular[p. 531]; but he who answered in behalf of our nation, was willing togive more latitude to the Rule; and cites the words of CORNEILLE himself, complaining against the severity of it, and observing what beauties itbanished from the Stage, page 44, of my _Essay_. In few words, my own opinion is this; and I willingly submit it to myadversary, when he will please impartially to consider it. That theImaginary Time of every Play ought to be contrived into as narrow acompass, as the nature of the Plot, the quality of the Persons, andvariety of Accidents will allow. In Comedy, I would not exceedtwenty-four or thirty hours; for the Plot, Accidents, and Persons ofComedy are small, and may be naturally turned in a little compass. But inTragedy, the Design is weighty, and the Persons great; therefore therewill, naturally, be required a greater space of time, in which to movethem. And this, though BEN. JOHNSON has not told us, yet 'tis, manifestly, hisopinion. For you see, that, to his Comedies, he allows generally buttwenty-four hours: to his two Tragedies _SEJANUS_ and _CATILINE_, a muchlarger time; though he draws both of them into as narrow a compass as hecan. For he shows you only the latter end of _SEJANUS_ his favour; andthe conspiracy of _CATILINE_ already ripe, and just breaking out intoaction. But as it is an error on the one side, to make too great a disproportionbetwixt the _imaginary_ time of the Play, and the _real_ time of itsrepresentation: so, on the other side, 'tis an oversight to compress theAccidents of a Play into a narrower compass than that in which they couldnaturally be produced. Of this last error, the French are seldom guilty, because the thinness oftheir Plots prevents them from it: but few Englishmen, except BEN. JOHNSON, have ever made a Plot, with variety of Design in it, included intwenty-four hours; which was altogether natural. For this reason, I preferthe _Silent Woman_ before all other plays; I think, justly: as I do itsauthor, in judgement, above all other poets. Yet of the two, I think thaterror the most pardonable, which, in too straight a compass, crowdstogether many accidents: since it produces more variety, and consequentlymore pleasure to the audience; and because the nearness of proportionbetwixt the imaginary and real time does speciously cover the compressionof the Accidents. Thus I have endeavoured to answer the _meaning_ of his argument. For, ashe drew it, I humbly conceive, it was none. As will appear by hisProposition, and the proof of it. His Proposition was this, _If strictlyand duly weighed, 'tis as impossible for one Stage to present two Roomsor Houses, as two countries or kingdoms, &c_. And his Proof this, _Forall being impossible, they are none of them, nearest the Truth or Natureof what they present_. Here you see, instead of a Proof or Reason, there is only a _petitioprincipii_. For, in plain words, his sense is this, "Two things are asimpossible as one another: because they are both equally impossible. " Buthe takes those two things to be _granted_ as impossible; which he ought tohave _proved_ such, before he had proceeded to prove them equallyimpossible. He should have made out, first, that it was impossible forone Stage to represent two Houses; and then have gone forward, to provethat it was as equally impossible for a Stage to present two Houses, astwo Countries. After all this, the very absurdity to which he would reduce me, is noneat all. For his only drives at this. That if his argument be true, I mustthen acknowledge that there are degrees in impossibilities. Which I easilygrant him, without dispute. And if I mistake not, ARISTOTLE and the Schoolare of my opinion. For there are some things which are absolutelyimpossible, and others which are only so, _ex parte_. As, 'tis absolutelyimpossible for a thing _to be_ and _not to be_, at the same time: but, fora stone to move naturally upward, is only impossible _ex parte materiae_;but it is not impossible for the First Mover to alter the nature of it. His last assault, like that of a Frenchman, is most feeble. For where Ihave observed that "None have been violent against Verse; but such onlyas have not attempted it, or have succeeded ill in their attempt" [pp. 503, 539, 561, 578], he will needs, according to his usual custom, improve my Observation into an Argument, that he might have the glory toconfute it. But I lay my observation at his feet: as I do my pen, which I have oftenemployed, willingly, in his deserved commendations; and, now, mostunwillingly, against his judgement. For his person and parts, I honourthem, as much as any man living: and have had so many particularobligations to him, that I should be very ungrateful, if I did notacknowledge them to the World. But I gave not the first occasion of this Difference in Opinions. In my_Epistle Dedicatory_, before my _Rival Ladies_ [pp. 487-493], I saidsomewhat in behalf of Verse: which he was pleased to answer in his_Preface_ to his _Plays_ [pp. 494-500]. That occasioned my reply in my_Essay_ [pp. 501-572]: and that reply begot his rejoinder in his_Preface_ to _The Duke of LERMA_ [pp. 573-578]. But, as I was the lastwho took up arms; I will be the first to lay them down. For what I havehere written, I submit it wholly to him [p. 561]; and, if I do nothereafter answer what may be objected to this paper, I hope the Worldwill not impute it to any other reason, than only the due respect which Ihave for so noble an opponent. THOMAS ELLWOOD. _Relations with JOHN MILTON_. I mentioned, before, that, when I was a boy, I made some good progress inlearning; and lost it all again before I came to be a man: nor was Irightly sensible of my loss therein, until I came amongst the Quakers. But then, I both saw my loss, and lamented it; and applied myself withthe utmost diligence, at all leisure times, to recover it: so false Ifound that charge to be, which, in those times, was cast as a reproachupon the Quakers, that "they despised and decried all human learning"because they denied it to be _essentially necessary_ to a GospelMinistry; which was one of the controversies of those times. But though I toiled hard, and spared no pains, to regain what once I hadbeen master of; yet I found it a matter of so great difficulty, that Iwas ready to say as the noble eunuch to PHILIP, in another case, "How canI! unless I had some man to guide me?" This, I had formerly complained of to my especial friend ISAAC PENINGTON, but now more earnestly; which put him upon considering and contriving ameans for my assistance. He had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. PAGET, a physician of note inLondon; and he, with JOHN MILTON, a gentleman of great note in learning, throughout the learned world, for the accurate pieces he had written onvarious subjects and occasions. This person, having filled a public station in the former times, livednow a private and retired life in London: and, having wholly lost hissight, kept a man to read to him; which, usually, was the son of somegentleman of his acquaintance, whom, in kindness, he took to improve inhis learning. Thus, by the mediation of my friend ISAAC PENINGTON, with Dr. PAGET; andof Dr. PAGET with JOHN MILTON, was I admitted to come to him: not as aservant to him (which, at that time, he needed not), nor to be in thehouse with him; but only to have the liberty of coming to his house, atcertain hours, when I would, and to read to him, what books he shouldappoint me, which was all the favour I desired. But this being a matter which would require some time to bring it about, I, in the meanwhile, returned to my father's house [at Crowell] inOxfordshire. I had, before, received direction by letters from my eldest sister, written by my father's command, to put off [_dispose of_] what cattle hehad left about his house, and to discharge his servants; which I had doneat the time called Michaelmas [1661] before. So that, all that winter when I was at home, I lived like a hermit, allalone; having a pretty large house, and nobody in it but myself, atnights especially. But an elderly woman, whose father had been an oldservant to the family, came every morning, and made my bed; and did whatelse I had occasion for her to do: till I fell ill of the small-pox, andthen I had her with me, and the nurse. But now, understanding by letter from my sister, that my father did notintend to return and settle there; I made off [_sold_] those provisionswhich were in the house, that they might not be spoiled when I was gone:and because they were what I should have spent, if I had tarried there, Itook the money made of them, to myself, for my support at London; if theproject succeeded for my going thither. This done, I committed the careof the house to a tenant of my father's, who lived in the town; andtaking my leave of Crowell, went up to my sure friend ISAAC PENINGTONagain. Where, understanding that the mediation used for my admittance toJOHN MILTON had succeeded so well, that I might come when I would: Ihastened to London [_in the Spring of 1662_], and, in the first place, went to wait upon him. He received me courteously, as well for the sake of Dr. PAGET, whointroduced me; as of ISAAC PENINGTON, who recommended me: to both ofwhom, he bore a good respect. And having inquired divers things of me, with respect to my former progression in learning, he dismissed me, toprovide myself of such accommodation as might be most suitable to myfuture studies. I went, therefore, and took myself a lodging as near to his house, whichwas then in Jewin Street, as conveniently as I could; and fromthenceforward, went every day in the afternoon, except on the First Daysof the week; and, sitting by him in his dining-room, read to him, in suchbooks in the Latin tongue as he pleased to hear me read. At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I used the Englishpronounciation; he told me, "If I would have the benefit of the Latintongue, not only to read and understand Latin authors, but to conversewith foreigners, either abroad or at home; I must learn the foreignpronounciation. " To this, I consenting, he instructed me how to sound the vowels sodifferent[ly] from the common pronounciation used by the English, whospeak _Anglice_ their Latin, that (with some few other variations, insounding some consonants: in particular case[s], as _c_ before _e_ or_i_, like _ch_; _sc_ before _i_, like _sh_, &c. ) the Latin, thus spoken, seemed as different from that which was delivered as the Englishgenerally speak it, as if it were another language. I had, before, during my retired life at my father's, by unwearieddiligence and industry, so far recovered the Rules of Grammar (in which, I had, once, been very ready) that I could both read a Latin author; and, after a sort, hammer out his meaning. But this change of pronounciationproved a new difficulty to me. It was now harder for me to read; than itwas, before, to understand, when read. But _Labor omnia vincit Improbus. _ Incessant pains, The end obtains. And so, did I: which made my reading the more acceptable to my Master. He, on the other hand, perceiving with what earnest desire, I pursuedlearning, gave me not only all the encouragement, but all the help hecould. For, having a curious ear, he understood by my tone, when Iunderstood what I read, and when I did not; and, accordingly, would stopme, examine me, and open the most difficult passages. Thus I went on, for about six weeks' time, reading to him in theafternoons; and exercising myself with my own books, in my chamber, inthe forenoons. I was sensible of an improvement. But, alas, I had fixed my studies in a wrong place. London and I couldnever agree, for health. My lungs, as I suppose, were too tender, to bearthe sulphurous air of that city; so that, I soon began to droop, and inless than two months' time, I was fain to leave both my studies and thecity; and return into the country to preserve life, and much ado I had toget thither. I chose to go down to Wiccombe, and to JOHN RANCE's house there: both ashe was a physician, and his wife a honest, hearty, discreet, and gravematron, whom I had a very good esteem of; and who, I knew, had a goodregard for me. There, I lay ill a considerable time; and to that degree of weakness, that scarcely any who saw me, expected my life [_that I should live_]:but the LORD was both gracious to me, in my illness; and was pleased toraise me up again, that I might serve Him in my generation. As soon as I had recovered so much strength, as to be fit to travel; Iobtained of my father (who was then at his house in Crowell, to disposeof some things he had there; and who, in my illness, had come to see me)so much money as would clear all charges in the house, for physic, food, and attendance: and having fully discharged all, I took leave of myfriends in that family, and town; and returned [_? in October 1662_] tomy studies at London. I was very kindly received by my Master, who had conceived so good anopinion of me, that my conversation, I found, was acceptable to him; andhe seemed heartily glad of my recovery and return: and into our oldmethod of study, we fell again; I reading to him, and he explaining to meas occasion required. But as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to me; scarce was I wellsettled in my work; before I met with another diversion [_hindrance_], which turned me quite out of my work. For a sudden storm arising (from, I know not what surmise of a plot; andthereby danger to the Government); the meetings of Dissenters, such, Imean, as could be found (which, perhaps, were not many besides theQuakers) were broken up throughout the City: and the prisons mostlyfilled with our Friends. I was, that morning, which was the 26th day of the 8th month [_which, according to the reckoning of the Society of Friends, was October. TheirFirst month down to 1752, was March_], 1662, at the Meeting, at the _Bulland Mouth_, by Alders Gate: when, on a sudden, a party of soldiers, of theTrained Bands of the City, rushed in with noise and clamour: being led byone, who was called Major ROSEWELL: an apothecary if I misremember not;and, at that time, under the ill name of a Papist. [So the Friends there, with ELLWOOD, are taken; and sent to Bridewelltill the 19th December following: when they were taken to Newgate, expecting to be called at the Old Bailey sessions: but, not being called, were sent back to Bridewell again. On the 29th December, they were broughtup at the Sessions, and, refusing to swear, were all committed to the"Common Side" of Newgate; but that prison being so full, they were sentback to Bridewell again. Then we have the following extraordinarycircumstance. ] Having made up our packs, and taken our leave of our Friends, whom wewere to leave behind; we took our bundles on our shoulders, and walked, two and two a breast, through the Old Bailey into Fleet Street, and so toOld Bridewell. And it being about the middle of the afternoon, and thestreets pretty full of people; both the shopkeepers at their doors, andpassengers in the way would stop us, and ask us, "What we were? andwhither we were going?" And when we had told them, "We were prisoners, going from one prison toanother (from Newgate to Bridewell). " "What, " said they, "without a keeper?" "No, " said we, "for our Word, which we have given, is our keeper. " Some thereupon would advise us, not to go to prison; but to go home. Butwe told them, "We could not do so. We could suffer for our testimony; butcould not fly from it. " I do not remember we had any abuse offered us; but were generally pitiedby the people. When we were come to Bridewell, we were not put up into the great room inwhich we had been before; but into a low room, in another fair court, which had a pump in the middle of it. And, here, we were not shut up asbefore; but had the liberty of the court, to walk in; and of the pump, towash and drink at. And, indeed, we might easily have gone quite away, ifwe would; there was a passage through the court into the street: but wewere true and steady prisoners, and looked upon this liberty arising fromtheir confidence in us, to be a kind of _parole_ upon us; so that bothConscience and Honour stood now engaged for our true imprisonment. And this privilege we enjoyed by the indulgence of our Keeper, whoseheart GOD disposed to favour us; so that both the Master and his porterwere very civil and kind to us, and had been so, indeed, all along. Forwhen we were shut up before; the porter would readily let some of us gohome in an evening, and stay at home till next morning, which was a greatconveniency to men of trade and business; which I, being free from, forbore asking for myself, that I might not hinder others. Under this easy restraint, we lay till the Court sate at the Old Baileyagain; and, then (whether it was that the heat of the storm was somewhatabated, or by what other means Providence wrought it, I know not), wewere called to the bar; and without further question, discharged. Whereupon we returned to Bridewell again; and having raised some moniesamong us, and therewith gratified both the Master and his porter, fortheir kindness to us; we spent some time in a solemn meeting, to returnour thankful acknowledgment to the LORD; both for His preservation of usin prison, and deliverance of us out of it. And then, taking a solemnfarewell of each other; we departed with bag and baggage [_at the end ofJanuary 1663_]. [Thus, by such magnificent patience under arbitrary injustice, theseinvincible Quakers shamed the reckless Crime which, in those days, wentby the name of The Law; and such stories as ELLWOOD's _Life_ and GEORGEFOX's _Journal_ abound with like splendid victories of patience, by menwho were incapable of telling a lie or of intentionally breaking theirword. JOHN BUNYAN's imprisonment at this time was much of the same kind asELLWOOD's, as soon as the Keeper of Bedford gaol found he could trusthim. ] Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my friends, that werestill in prison: and, more particularly, my friend and benefactor, WILLIAM PENINGTON, at his house; and then, went to wait upon my Master, MILTON. With whom, yet, I could not propose to enter upon my intermittedstudies, until I had been in Buckinghamshire, to visit my worthy friends, ISAAC PENINGTON and his virtuous wife, with other friends in that country[_district or county_]. Thither, therefore, I betook myself; and the weather being frosty, andthe ways by that means clean and good; I walked it through in a day: andwas received by my friends there, with such demonstration of heartykindness, as made my journey very easy to me. I intended only a visit hither, not a continuance; and thereforepurposed, after I had stayed a few days, to return to my lodging andformer course [_i. E. , of reading to MILTON_] in London. But Providenceordered otherwise. ISAAC PENINGTON had, at that time, two sons and one daughter, all thenvery young: of whom, the eldest son, JOHN PENINGTON, and the daughter, MARY (the wife of DANIEL WHARLEY), are yet living at the writing of this[_? 1713_]. And being himself both skilful and curious in pronounciation;he was very desirous to have them well grounded in the rudiments of theEnglish tongue. To which end, he had sent for a man, out of Lancashire, whom, upon inquiry, he had heard of; who was, undoubtedly, the mostaccurate English teacher, that ever I met with or have heard of. His namewas RICHARD BRADLEY. But as he pretended no higher than the Englishtongue, and had led them, by grammar rules, to the highest improvementthey were capable of, in that; he had then taken his leave, and was goneup to London, to teach an English school of Friends' children there. This put my friend to a fresh strait. He had sought for a new teacher toinstruct his children in the Latin tongue, as the old had done in theEnglish: but had not yet found one. Wherefore, one evening, as we satetogether by the fire, in his bedchamber, which, for want of health, hekept: he asked me, his wife being by, "If I would be so kind to him, asto stay a while with him; till he could hear of such a man as he aimedat; and, in the meantime, enter his children in the rudiments of theLatin tongue?" This question was not more unexpected, than surprising to me; and themore, because it seemed directly to thwart my former purpose andundertaking, of endeavouring to improve myself, by following my studieswith my Master, MILTON; which this would give, at least, a presentdiversion from; and, for how long, I could not foresee. But the sense I had, of the manifold obligations I lay under to theseworthy friends of mine, shut out all reasonings; and disposed my mind toan absolute resignation to their desire, that I might testify mygratitude by a willingness to do them any friendly service, that I couldbe capable of. And though I questioned my ability to carry on that work to its dueheight and proportion; yet, as that was not proposed, but an initiationonly by Accidence into Grammar, I consented to the proposal, as a presentexpedient, till a more qualified person should be found; without furthertreaty or mention of terms between us, than that of mutual friendship. And to render this digression from my own studies, the less uneasy to mymind; I recollected, and often thought of, that Rule of LILLY-- _Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus esset, Ipse brevi reliquis, doctior esse queat. _ He that th'unlearned doth teach, may quickly be More learned than they, though most unlearned he. With this consideration, I undertook this province; and left it not untilI married; which was not till [_the 28th October in_] the year 1669, near[ly] seven years from the time I came thither. In which time, having the use of my friend's books, as well as of my own, I spent my leisure hours much in reading; not without some improvement tomyself in my private studies: which (with the good success of my laboursbestowed on the children, and the agreeableness of conversation which Ifound in the family) rendered my undertaking more satisfactory; and mystay there more easy to me. Although the storm raised by the _Act for Banishment [16 Car. II. C. 4. 1664_], fell with the greatest weight and force upon some other parts, asat London, Hertford, &c. : yet were we, in Buckinghamshire, not whollyexempted therefrom. For a part of that shower reached us also. For a Friend, of Amersham, whose name was EDWARD PEROT or PARRET, departing this life; and notice being given, that his body would beburied there on such a day (which was the First Day of the Fifth Month[_July_], 1665): the Friends of the adjacent parts of the country, resorted pretty generally to the burial. So that there was a fairappearance of Friends and neighbours; the deceased having been wellbeloved by both. After we had spent some time together, in the house (MORGAN WATKINS, who, at that time, happened to be at ISAAC PENINGTON's, being with us); thebody was taken up, and borne on Friends' shoulders, along the street, inorder to be carried to the burying-ground: which was at the town's end;being part of an orchard belonging to the deceased, which he, in hislifetime, had appointed for that service. It so happened, that one AMBROSE BENNET, a Barrister at Law, and aJustice of the Peace for that county, was riding through the town [ofAmersham] that morning, in his way to Aylesbury: and was, by someill-disposed person or other, informed that there was a Quaker to beburied there that day; and that most of the Quakers in the country[_county_] were come thither to the burial. Upon this, he set up his horses, and stayed. And when we, not knowinganything of his design against us, went innocently forward to perform ourChristian duty, for the interment of our Friend; he rushed out of his Innupon us, with the Constables and a rabble of rude fellows whom he hadgathered together: and, having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one ofthe foremost of the bearers, with it; commanding them "To set down thecoffin!" But the Friend, who was so stricken, whose name was THOMAS DELL(being more concerned for the safety of the dead body than his own, lestit should fall from his shoulder, and any indecency thereupon follow)held the coffin fast. Which the Justice observing, and being enraged thathis word (how unjust soever) was not forthwith obeyed, set his hand to thecoffin; and, with a forcible thrust, threw it off the bearers' shoulders, so that it fell to the ground, in the midst of the street: and there, wewere forced to leave it. For, immediately thereupon, the Justice giving command for theapprehending us; the Constables with the rabble fell on us, and drewsome, and drove others in the Inn: giving thereby an opportunity to therest, to walk away. Of those that were thus taken, I was one. And being, with many more, putinto a room, under a guard; we were kept there, till another Justice, called Sir THOMAS CLAYTON, whom Justice BENNET had sent for, to join withhim in committing us, was come. And then, being called forth severally before them, they picked out tenof us; and committed us to Aylesbury gaol: for what, neither we, nor_they_ knew. For we were not convicted of having either done or saidanything, which the law could take hold of. For they took us up in the open street, the King's highway, not doing anyunlawful act; but peaceably carrying and accompanying the corpse of ourdeceased Friend, to bury it. Which they would not suffer us to do; butcaused the body to lie in the open street, and in the cartway: so thatall the travellers that passed by (whether horsemen, coaches, carts, orwaggons) were fain to break out of the way, to go by it, that they mightnot drive over it; until it was almost night. And then, having caused agrave to be made in the unconsecrated part, as it is accounted, of thatwhich is called the Church Yard: they forcibly took the body from thewidow (whose right and property it was), and buried it there. When the Justices had delivered us prisoners to the Constable, it beingthen late in the day, which was the seventh day of the week: he (notwilling to go so far as Aylesbury, nine long miles, with us, that night;nor to put the town [of Amersham] to the charge of keeping us, there, that night and the First day and night following) dismissed us, upon our_parole_, to come to him again at a set hour, on the Second day morning. Whereupon, we all went home to our respective habitations; and coming tohim punctually [_on Monday, 3rd July_, 1665] according to promise, wereby him, without guard, conducted to the Prison. The Gaoler, whose name was NATHANIEL BIRCH, had, not long before, behavedhimself very wickedly, with great rudeness and cruelty, to some of ourFriends of the lower side of the country [_i. E. , Buckinghamshire_]; whomhe, combining with the Clerk of the Peace, whose name was HENRY WELLS, had contrived to get into his gaol: and after they were legallydischarged in Court, detained them in prison, using great violence, andshutting them up close in the Common Gaol among the felons; because theywould not give him his unrighteous demand of Fees, which they were themore straitened in, from his treacherous dealing with them. And theyhaving, through suffering, maintained their freedom, and obtained theirliberty: we were the more concerned to keep what they had so hardlygained; and therefore resolved not to make any contract or terms foreither Chamber Rent or Fees, but to demand a Free Prison. Which we did. When we came in, the gaoler was ridden out to wait on the Judges, whocame in, that day [_3rd July, 1665_], to begin the Assize; and his wifewas somewhat at a loss, how to deal with us. But being a cunning woman, she treated us with a great appearance of courtesy, offering us thechoice of all her rooms; and when we asked, "Upon what terms?" she stillreferred us to her husband; telling us, she "did not doubt, but that hewould be very reasonable and civil to us. " Thus, she endeavoured to havedrawn us to take possession of some of her chambers, at a venture; andtrust to her husband's kind usage: but, we, who, at the cost of ourFriends, had a proof of his kindness, were too wary to be drawn in by thefair words of a woman: and therefore told her, "We would not settleanywhere till her husband came home; and then would have a Free Prison, wheresoever he put us. " Accordingly, walking all together into the court of the prison, in whichwas a well of very good water; and having, beforehand, sent to a Friendin the town, a widow woman, whose name was SARAH LAMBARN, to bring ussome bread and cheese: we sate down upon the ground round about the well;and when we had eaten, we drank of the water out of the well. Our great concern was for our Friend, ISAAC PENINGTON, because of thetenderness of his constitution: but he was so lively in his spirit, andso cheerfully given up to suffer; that he rather encouraged us, thanneeded any encouragement from us. In this posture, the gaoler, when he came home, found us. And having, before he came to us, consulted his wife; and by her, understood on whatterms we stood: when he came to us, he hid his teeth, and putting on ashew of kindness, seemed much troubled that we should sit there abroad[_in the open air_], especially his old friend, Mr. PENINGTON; andthereupon, invited us to come in, and take what rooms in his house wepleased. We asked, "Upon what terms?" letting him know, withal, that wewere determined to have a Free Prison. He (like the Sun and the Wind, in the fable, that strove which of themshould take from the traveller, his cloak) having, like the wind, triedrough, boisterous, violent means to our Friends before, but in vain;resolved now to imitate the Sun, and shine as pleasantly as he could uponus. Wherefore, he told us, "We should make the terms ourselves; and be asfree as we desired. If we thought fit, when we were released, to give himanything; he would thank us for it: and if not, he would demand nothing. " Upon these terms, we went in: and dispose ourselves, some in thedwelling-house, others in the malt-house: where they chose to be. During the Assize, we were brought before Judge MORTON [_Sir WILLIAMMORTON, Recorder of Gloucester_], a sour angry man, who [_being an oldCavalier Officer, naturally_, ] very rudely reviled us, but would not heareither us or the cause; referring the matter to the two Justices, who hadcommitted us. They, when the Assize was ended, sent for us, to be brought before them, at their Inn [at Aylesbury]; and fined us, as I remember, 6s. 8d. Apiece: which we not consenting to pay, they committed us to prison again, for one month from that time; on the _Act for Banishment_. When we had lain there that month [_i. E. , not later than the middle ofAugust, 1665_], I, with another, went to the gaoler, to demand ourliberty: which he readily granted, telling us, "The door should beopened, when we pleased to go. " This answer of his, I reported to the rest of my Friends there; and, thereupon, we raised among us a small sum of money, which they put intomy hand, for the gaoler. Whereupon, I, taking another with me, went tothe gaoler, with the money in my hand; and reminding him of the terms, upon which we accepted the use of his rooms, I told him, "That though wecould not pay Chamber Rent nor Fees, yet inasmuch as he had now beencivil to us, we were willing to acknowledge it by a small token": andthereupon, gave him the money. He, putting it into his pocket, said, "Ithank you, and your Friends for it! and to let you see that I take it asa gift, not a debt; I will not look on it, to see how much it is. " The prison door being then set open for us; we went out, and departed toour respective homes. Some little time before I went to Aylesbury prison [_on 3rd July, 1665_], I was desired by my quondam Master, MILTON, to take a house for him in theneighbourhood where I dwelt; that he might get out of the City, for thesafety of himself and his family: the Pestilence then growing hot inLondon. I took a pretty box for him [_i. E. , in June, 1665_] in Giles-Chalfont[_Chalfont St. Giles_], a mile from me [_ELLWOOD was then living in ISAACPENINGTON's house, called The Grange, at Chalfont St. Peter; or Peter'sChalfont, as he calls it_], of which, I gave him notice: and intended tohave waited on him, and seen him well settled in it; but was prevented bythat imprisonment. [_Therefore MILTON did not come into Buckinghamshire atthis time, till after the 3rd July, 1665_. ] But, now [_i. E. , not later than the middle of August, 1665_], beingreleased, and returned home; I soon made a visit to him, to welcome himinto the country [_county_]. After some common discourses had passed between us [_evidently atELLWOOD's first visit_], called for a manuscript of his: which beingbrought, he delivered to me; bidding me, "Take it home with me, and readit at my leisure; and, when I had so done, return it to him, with myjudgement thereupon!" When I came home [_i. E. , The Grange; from which ISAAC PBNINGTON, with hisfamily (including THOMAS ELLWOOD) was, _ by military force, _expelled abouta month after their first return from Aylesbury gaol (i. E. , about themiddle of September); and he again sent to the same prison_], and had setmyself to read it; I found it was that excellent poem, which he entitled, _Paradise Lost_. After I had, with the best attention, read it through: I made him anothervisit, and returned him his book; with due acknowledgment of the favour hehad done me, in communicating it to me. He asked me, "How I liked it? And what I thought of it?" Which I, modestly but freely, told him. And, after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, "Thou hast said much, here, of _Paradise lost_: but what hast thou to sayof _Paradise found_?" He made me no answer; but sate some time in a muse: then brake off thatdiscourse, and fell upon another subject. After the sickness [_Plague_] was over; and the City well cleansed, andbecome safely habitable again: he returned thither. And when, afterwards [_probably in 1668 or 1669_], I went to wait on himthere (which I seldom failed of doing, whenever my occasions drew me toLondon), he showed me his second poem, called _Paradise Regained_: and, in a pleasant tone, said to me, "This is owing to you! For you put itinto my head, by the question you put to me at Chalfont! which, before, Ihad not thought of. " [_Paradise Regained_ was licensed for publication on 2nd July, 1670. ] ADVICE TO A YOUNG REVIEWER, WITH A SPECIMEN OF THE ART. 1807. ADVICE TO A YOUNG REVIEWER, &c. You are now about to enter on a Profession which has the means of doingmuch good to society, and scarcely any temptation to do harm. You mayencourage Genius, you may chastise superficial Arrogance, exposeFalsehood, correct Error, and guide the Taste and Opinions of the Age inno small degree by the books you praise and recommend. And this too maybe done without running the risk of making any enemies; or subjectingyourself to be called to account for your criticism, however severe. While your name is unknown, your person is invulnerable: at the same timeyour aim is sure, for you may take it at your leisure; and your blows fallheavier than those of any Writer whose name is given, or who is simplyanonymous. There is a mysterious authority in the plural, _We_, which nosingle name, whatever may be its reputation, can acquire; and, under thesanction of this imposing style, your strictures, your praises, and yourdogmas, will command universal attention; and be received as the fruit ofunited talents, acting on one common principle--as the judgments of atribunal who decide only on mature deliberation, and who protect theinterests of Literature with unceasing vigilance. Such being the high importance of that Office, and such itsopportunities; I cannot bestow a few hours of leisure better than infurnishing you with some hints for the more easy and effectual dischargeof it: hints which are, I confess, loosely thrown together; but which arethe result of long experience, and of frequent reflection and comparison. And if anything should strike you, at first sight, as rather equivocal inpoint of morality, or deficient in liberality and feeling; I beg you willsuppress all such scruples, and consider them as the offspring of acontracted education and narrow way of thinking, which a littleintercourse with the World and sober reasoning will speedily overcome. Now as in the conduct of life nothing is more to be desired than someGoverning Principle of action, to which all other principles and motivesmust be made subservient; so in the Art of Reviewing I would lay down asa fundamental position, which you must never lose sight of, and whichmust be the mainspring of all your criticisms--_Write what will sell!_ Tothis Golden Rule every minor canon must be subordinate; and must be eitherimmediately deducible from it, or at least be made consistent with it. Be not staggered at the sound of a precept which, upon examination, willbe found as honest and virtuous as it is discreet. I have alreadysketched out the great services which it is in your power to rendermankind; but all your efforts will be unavailing if men did not read whatyou write. Your utility therefore, it is plain, depends upon yourpopularity; and popularity cannot be attained without humouring the tasteand inclinations of men. Be assured that, by a similar train of sound and judicious reasoning, theconsciences of thousands in public life are daily quieted. It is betterfor the State that their Party should govern than any other. The goodwhich they can effect by the exercise of power is infinitely greater thanany which could arise from a rigid adherence to certain subordinate moralprecepts; which therefore should be violated without scruple wheneverthey stand in the way of their leading purpose. He who sticks at thesecan never act a great part in the World, and is not fit to act it if hecould. Such maxims may be very useful in ordinary affairs, and for theguidance of ordinary men: but when we mount into the sphere of publicutility, we must adopt more enlarged principles; and not suffer ourselvesto be cramped and fettered by petty notions of Right and Moral Duty. When you have reconciled yourself to this liberal way of thinking; youwill find many inferior advantages resulting from it, which at first didnot enter into your consideration. In particular, it will greatly lightenyour labours, to _follow_ the public taste, instead of taking upon you to_direct_ it. The task of Pleasing is at all times easier than that ofInstructing: at least it does not stand in need of painful research andpreparation; and may be effected in general by a little vivacity ofmanner, and a dexterous morigeration [_compliance, or obsequiousness_], as Lord BACON calls it, to the humours and frailties of men. Yourresponsibility too is thereby much lessened. Justice and Candour can onlybe required of you so far as they coincide with this Main Principle: and alittle experience will convince you that these are not the happiest meansof accomplishing your purpose. It has been idly said, That a Reviewer acts in a judicial capacity, andthat his conduct should be regulated by the same rules by which the Judgeof a Civil Court is governed: that he should rid himself of every bias; bepatient, cautious, sedate, and rigidly impartial; that he should not seekto shew off himself, and should check every disposition to enter into thecase as a partizan. Such is the language of superficial thinkers; but in reality there is noanalogy between the two cases. A Judge is promoted to that office by theauthority of the State; a Reviewer by his own. The former is independentof control, and may therefore freely follow the dictates of his ownconscience: the latter depends for his very bread upon the breath ofpublic opinion; the great law of self-preservation therefore points outto him a different line of action. Besides, as we have already observed, if he ceases to please, he is no longer read; and consequently is nolonger useful. In a Court of Justice, too, the part of amusing thebystanders rests with the Counsel: in the case of criticism, if theReviewer himself does not undertake it, who will? Instead of vainly aspiring to the gravity of a Magistrate; I would advisehim, when he sits down to write, to place himself in the imaginarysituation of a cross-examining Pleader. He may comment, in a vein ofagreeable irony, upon the profession, the manner of life, the look, dress, or even the name, of the witness he is examining: when he hasraised a contemptuous opinion of him in the minds of the Court, he mayproceed to draw answers from him capable of a ludicrous turn; and he maycarve and garble these to his own liking. This mode of proceeding you will find most practicable in Poetry, wherethe boldness of the image or the delicacy of thought (for which theReader's mind was prepared in the original) will easily be made to appearextravagant, or affected, if judiciously singled out, and detached fromthe group to which it belongs. Again, since much depends upon the rhythmand the terseness of expression (both of which are sometimes destroyed bydropping a single word, or transposing a phrase), I have known muchadvantage arise from _not_ quoting in the form of a literal extract: butgiving a brief summary in prose, of the contents of a poetical passage;and interlarding your own language, with occasional phrases of the Poemmarked with inverted commas. These, and a thousand other little expedients, by which the arts ofQuizzing and Banter flourish, practice will soon teach you. If it shouldbe necessary to transcribe a dull passage, not very fertile in topics ofhumour and raillery; you may introduce it as a "favourable specimen ofthe Author's manner. " Few people are aware of the powerful effects of what is philosophicallytermed Association. Without any positive violation of truth, the wholedignity of a passage may be undermined by contriving to raise some vulgarand ridiculous notions in the mind of the reader: and language teems withexamples of words by which the same idea is expressed, with thedifference only that one excites a feeling of respect, the other ofcontempt. Thus you may call a fit of melancholy, "the sulks"; resentment, "a pet"; a steed, "a nag"; a feast, "a junketing"; sorrow and affliction, "whining and blubbering". By transferring the terms peculiar to one stateof society, to analogous situations and characters in another, the sameobject is attained. "A Drill Serjeant" or "a Cat and Nine Tails" in theTrojan War, "a Lesbos smack putting into the Piraeus, " "the Penny Post ofJerusalem, " and other combinations of the like nature which, when you havea little indulged in that vein of thought, will readily suggestthemselves, never fail to raise a smile, if not immediately at theexpense of the Author, yet entirely destructive of that frame of mindwhich his Poem requires in order to be relished. I have dwelt the longer on this branch of Literature, because you arechiefly to look here for materials of fun and irony. Voyages and Travels indeed are no barren ground; and you must seldom leta Number of your _Review_ go abroad without an Article of thisdescription. The charm of this species of writing, so universally felt, arises chiefly from its uniting Narrative with Information. The interestwe take in the story can only be kept alive by minute incident andoccasional detail; which puts us in possession of the traveller'sfeelings, his hopes, his fears, his disappointments, and his pleasures. At the same time the thirst for knowledge and love of novelty isgratified by continual information respecting the people and countries hevisits. If you wish therefore to run down the book, you have only to play offthese two parts against each other. When the Writer's object is tosatisfy the first inclination, you are to thank him for communicating tothe World such valuable facts as, whether he lost his way in the night, or sprained his ankle, or had no appetite for his dinner. If he is busiedabout describing the Mineralogy, Natural History, Agriculture, Trade, etc. Of a country: you may mention a hundred books from whence the sameinformation may be obtained; and deprecate the practice of emptying oldmusty Folios into new Quartos, to gratify that sickly taste for asmattering about everything which distinguishes the present Age. In Works of Science and recondite Learning, the task you have undertakenwill not be so difficult as you may imagine. Tables of Contents andIndexes are blessed helps in the hands of a Reviewer; but, more than all, the Preface is the field from which his richest harvest is to be gathered. In the Preface, the Author usually gives a summary of what has beenwritten on the same subject before; he acknowledges the assistance he hasreceived from different sources, and the reasons of his dissent fromformer Writers; he confesses that certain parts have been lessattentively considered than others, and that information has come to hishands too late to be made use of; he points out many things in thecomposition of his Work which he thinks may provoke animadversion, andendeavours to defend or palliate his own practice. Here then is a fund of wealth for the Reviewer, lying upon the verysurface. If he knows anything of his business, he will turn all thesematerials against the Author: carefully suppressing the source of hisinformation; and as if drawing from the stores of his own mind long agolaid up for this very purpose. If the Author's references are correct, agreat point is gained; for by consulting a few passages of the originalWorks, it will be easy to discuss the subject with the air of having aprevious knowledge of the whole. Your chief vantage ground is, That you may fasten upon any position inthe book you are reviewing, and treat it as principal and essential; whenperhaps it is of little weight in the main argument: but, by allotting alarge share of your criticism to it, the reader will naturally be led togive it a proportionate importance, and to consider the merit of theTreatise at issue upon that single question. If anybody complains that the greater and more valuable parts remainunnoticed; your answer is, That it is impossible to pay attention to all;and that your duty is rather to prevent the propagation of error, than tolavish praises upon that which, if really excellent, will work its way inthe World without your help. Indeed, if the plan of your _Review_ admits of selection, you had betternot meddle with Works of deep research and original speculation; such ashave already attracted much notice, and cannot be treated superficiallywithout fear of being found out. The time required for making yourselfthoroughly master of the subject is so great, that you may depend upon itthey will never pay for the reviewing. They are generally the fruit oflong study, and of talents concentrated in the steady pursuit of oneobject: it is not likely therefore that you can throw much new light on aquestion of this nature, or even plausibly combat the Author'spropositions; in the course of a few hours, which is all you can wellafford to devote to them. And without accomplishing one or the other ofthese points; your _Review_ will gain no celebrity, and of course no goodwill be done. Enough has been said to give you some insight into the facilities withwhich your new employment abounds. I will only mention one more, becauseof its extensive and almost universal application to all Branches ofLiterature; the topic, I mean, which by the old Rhetoricians was called[Greek: _ex enantion_], That is, when a Work excels in one quality; youmay blame it for not having the opposite. For instance, if the biographical sketch of a Literary Character isminute and full of anecdote; you may enlarge on the advantages ofphilosophical reflection, and the superior mind required to give ajudicious analysis of the Opinions and Works of deceased Authors. On thecontrary, if the latter method is pursued by the Biographer; you can, with equal ease, extol the lively colouring, and truth, and interest, ofexact delineation and detail. This topic, you will perceive, enters into Style as well as Matter; wheremany virtues might be named _which are incompatible_: and whichever theAuthor has preferred, it will be the signal for you to launch forth onthe praises of its opposite; and continually to hold up that to yourReader as the model of excellence in this species of Writing. You will perhaps wonder why all my instructions are pointed towards theCensure, and not the Praise, of Books; but many reasons might be givenwhy it should be so. The chief are, that this part is both easier, andwill sell better. Let us hear the words of Mr BURKE on a subject not very dissimilar: "In such cases, " says he, "the Writer has a certain fire and alacrityinspired into him by a consciousness that (let it fare how it will withthe subject) his ingenuity will be sure of applause: and this alacritybecomes much greater, if he acts upon the offensive; by the impetuositythat always accompanies an attack, and the unfortunate propensity whichmankind have to finding and exaggerating faults. " Pref. , _Vindic. Nat. Soc_. , p. 6. You will perceive that I have on no occasion sanctioned the baser motivesof private pique, envy, revenge, and love of detraction. At least I havenot recommended harsh treatment upon any of these grounds. I have arguedsimply on the abstract moral principle which a Reviewer should ever havepresent to his mind: but if any of these motives insinuate themselves assecondary springs of action, I would not condemn them. They may come inaid of the grand Leading Principle, and powerfully second its operation. But it is time to close these tedious precepts, and to furnish you with, what speaks plainer than any precept, a Specimen of the Art itself, inwhich several of them are embodied. It is hastily done: but itexemplifies well enough what I have said of the Poetical department; andexhibits most of those qualities which disappointed Authors are fond ofrailing at, under the names of Flippancy, Arrogance, Conceit, Misrepresentation, and Malevolence: reproaches which you will only regardas so many acknowledgments of success in your undertaking; and infallibletests of an established fame, and [a] rapidly increasing circulation. _L'Allegro_. A Poem. By JOHN MILTON. No Printer's name. It has become a practice of late with a certain description of people, who have no visible means of subsistence, to string together a few triteimages of rural scenery, interspersed with vulgarisms in dialect, andtraits of vulgar manners; to dress up these materials in a Sing-Songjingle; and to offer them for sale as a Poem. According to the mostapproved recipes, something about the heathen gods and goddesses; and theschoolboy topics of Styx and Cerberus, and Elysium; are occasionallythrown in, and the composition is complete. The stock in trade of theseAdventurers is in general scanty enough; and their Art therefore consistsin disposing it to the best advantage. But if such be the aim of theWriter, it is the Critic's business to detect and defeat the imposture;to warn the public against the purchase of shop-worn goods and tinselwares; to protect the fair trader, by exposing the tricks of needy Quacksand Mountebanks; and to chastise that forward and noisy importunity withwhich they present themselves to the public notice. How far Mr. MILTON is amenable to this discipline, will best appear froma brief analysis of the Poem before us. In the very opening he assumes a tone of authority which might bettersuit some veteran Bard than a raw candidate for the Delphic bays: for, before he proceeds to the regular process of Invocation, he clears theway, by driving from his presence (with sundry hard names; and bitterreproaches on her father, mother, and all the family) a venerablePersonage, whose age at least and staid matron-like appearance, mighthave entitled her to more civil language. Hence, loathèd Melancholy! Of CERBERUS and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, &c. There is no giving rules, however, in these matters, without a knowledgeof the case. Perhaps the old lady had been frequently warned off before;and provoked this violence by continuing still to lurk about the Poet'sdwelling. And, to say the truth, the Reader will have but too good reasonto remark, before he gets through the Poem, that it is one thing to tellthe Spirit of Dulness to depart; and another to get rid of her inreality. Like GLENDOWER's Spirits, any one may order them away; "but willthey go, when you do order them?" But let us suppose for a moment that the Parnassian decree is obeyed;and, according to the letter of the _Order_ (which is as precise andwordy as if Justice SHALLOW himself had drawn it) that the obnoxiousfemale is sent back to the place of her birth, 'Mongst horrid shapes, shrieks, sights, &c. At which we beg our fair readers not to be alarmed; for we can assurethem they are only words of course in all poetical Instruments of thisnature, and mean no more than the "force and arms" and "instigation ofthe Devil" in a common Indictment. This nuisance then being abated; we are left at liberty to contemplate acharacter of a different complexion, "buxom, blithe, and debonair": onewho, although evidently a great favourite of the Poet's and therefore tobe received with all due courtesy, is notwithstanding introduced underthe suspicious description of an _alias_. In heaven, ycleped EUPHROSYNE; And by men, heart-easing Mirth. Judging indeed from the light and easy deportment of this gay Nymph; onemight guess there were good reasons for a change of name as she changedher residence. But of all vices there is none we abhor more than that of slanderousinsinuation. We shall therefore confine our moral strictures to theNymph's mother; in whose defence the Poet has little to say himself. Heretoo, as in the case of the _name_, there is some doubt. For theuncertainty of descent on the Father's side having become trite to aproverb; the Author, scorning that beaten track, has left us to choosebetween two mothers for his favourite and without much to guide ourchoice; for, whichever we fix upon, it is plain she was no better thanshe should be. As he seems however himself inclined to the latter of thetwo, we will even suppose it so to be. Or whether (as some sager say) The frolic _wind that breathes the Spring_, ZEPHYR with AURORA playing, _As he met her once a Maying_; There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, _&c. _ Some dull people might imagine that _the wind_ was more like _the breathof Spring_; than _Spring, the breath of the wind_: but we are moredisposed to question the Author's Ethics than his Physics; andaccordingly cannot dismiss these May gambols without some observations. In the first place, Mr. M. Seems to have higher notions of the antiquityof the May Pole than we have been accustomed to attach to it. Or perhapshe sought to shelter the equivocal nature of this affair under thatsanction. To us, however, who can hardly subscribe to the doctrine that"Vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness"; neither theremoteness of time, nor the gaiety of the season, furnishes a sufficientpalliation. "Violets blue" and "fresh-blown roses" are, to be sure, moreagreeable objects of the Imagination than a gin shop in Wapping or abooth in Bartholomew Fair; but, in point of morality, these aredistinctions without a difference: or it may be the cultivation of mind(which teaches us to reject and nauseate these latter objects) aggravatesthe case, if our improvement in taste be not accompanied by aproportionate improvement of morals. If the Reader can reconcile himself to this latitude of principle, theanachronism will not long stand in his way. Much indeed may be said infavour of this union of ancient Mythology with modern notions andmanners. It is a sort of chronological metaphor--an artificial analogy, by which ideas, widely remote and heterogeneous, are brought intocontact; and the mind is delighted by this unexpected assemblage, as itis by the combinations of figurative language. Thus in that elegant Interlude, which the pen of BEN JONSON hastransmitted to us, of the loves of HERO and LEANDER: Gentles, that no longer your expectations may wander, Behold our chief actor, amorous LEANDER! With a great deal of cloth, lapped about him like a scarf: For he yet serves his father, a Dyer in Puddle Wharf: Which place we'll make bold with, to call it our Abydus; As the Bankside is our Sestos, and _let it not be denied us_. And far be it from us to deny the use of so reasonable a liberty;especially if the request be backed (as it is in the case of Mr. M. ) bythe craving and imperious necessities of rhyme. What man who has everbestrode Pegasus for an hour, will be insensible to such a claim? _Haud ignara mali miseris succurrere disco_. We are next favoured with an enumeration of the Attendants of this"debonair" Nymph, in all the minuteness of a German _Dramatis Personae_, or a Ropedancer's Handbill. Haste thee, Nymph; and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, Nods and becks and wreathèd smiles Such as hang on HEBE's cheek And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. The Author, to prove himself worthy of being admitted of the crew, skipsand capers about upon "the light fantastic toe, " that there is nofollowing him. He scampers through all the Categories, in search of hisimaginary beings, from Substance to Quality, and back again; from thenceto Action, Passion, Habit, &c. With incredible celerity. Who, forinstance, would have expected _cranks, nods, becks_, and _wreathèdsmiles_ as part of a group in which Jest, Jollity, Sport, and Laughterfigure away as full-formed entire Personages? The family likeness iscertainly very strong in the two last; and if we had not been told, weshould perhaps have thought the act of _deriding_ as appropriate toLaughter as to Sport. But how are we to understand the stage directions? _Come_, and trip it as you _go_. Are the words used synonymously? Or is it meant that this airy gentryshall come in a Minuet step, and go off in a Jig? The phenomenon of a_tripping crank_ is indeed novel, and would doubtless attract numerousspectators. But it is difficult to guess to whom, among this jolly company, the Poetaddresses himself: for immediately after the Plural appellative _you_, heproceeds, And in _thy_ right hand lead with _thee_ The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty. No sooner is this fair damsel introduced; but Mr M. , with most unbecominglevity, falls in love with her: and makes a request of her companion whichis rather greedy, that he may live with both of them. To live with her, and live with thee. Even the gay libertine who sang "How happy could I be with either!" didnot go so far as this. But we have already had occasion to remark on thelaxity of Mr M. 's amatory notions. The Poet, intoxicated with the charms of his Mistress, now rapidly runsover the pleasures which he proposes to himself in the enjoyment of hersociety. But though he has the advantage of being his own caterer, eitherhis palate is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the mostjudicious selection. To begin the day well, he will have the _sky-lark_ to come _in spite of sorrow_ And at his window bid "Good Morrow!" The sky-lark, if we know anything of the nature of that bird, must come"in spite" of something else as well as "of sorrow, " to the performanceof this office. In the next image, the Natural History is better preserved; and, as thethoughts are appropriate to the time of day, we will venture totranscribe the passage, as a favourable specimen of the Author's manner: While the Cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before; Oft listening how the hounds and horns Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing still. Is it not lamentable that, after all, whether it is the Cock, or thePoet, that listens, should be left entirely to the Reader's conjectures?Perhaps also his embarrassment may be increased by a slight resemblanceof character in these two illustrious Personages, at least as far asrelates to the extent and numbers of their seraglio. After a _flaming_ description of sunrise, on which the clouds attend intheir very best liveries; the Bill of Fare for the day proceeds in theusual manner. Whistling Ploughmen, singing Milkmaids, and sentimentalShepherds are always to be had at a moment's notice; and, if wellgrouped, serve to fill up the landscape agreeably enough. On this part of the Poem we have only to remark, that if Mr JOHN MILTONproposeth to make himself merry with Russet lawns, and fallows grey Where the nibbling flocks _do_ stray; Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds _do_ often rest, Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide, Towers and battlements, &c. &c. &c. he will either find himself egregiously disappointed; or he must possessa disposition to merriment which even DEMOCRITUS himself might envy. Tosuch a pitch indeed does this solemn indication of joy sometimes rise, that we are inclined to give him credit for a literal adherence to theApostolic precept, "Is any merry, let him sing Psalms!" At length, however, he hies away at the sound of bell-ringing, and seemsfor some time to enjoy the tippling and fiddling and dancing of a villagewake: but his fancy is soon haunted again by spectres and goblins, a setof beings not, in general, esteemed the companions or inspirers of mirth. With stories told of many a feat, How fairy MAB the junkets eat. She was pinched, and pulled, she said: And he, by friar's lanthern led, Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set; When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy Flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end. Then lies him down the lubbar Fiend; And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength: And, crop-full, out of door he flings Ere the first cock his Matins rings. Mr. M. Seems indeed to have a turn for this species of Nursery Tales andprattling Lullabies; and, if he will studiously cultivate his talent, heneed not despair of figuring in a conspicuous corner of Mr NEWBERY's shopwindow: unless indeed Mrs. TRIMMER should think fit to proscribe thoseempty levities and idle superstitions, by which the World has been toolong abused. From these rustic fictions, we are transported to another species of_hum_. Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men; Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold, In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold: With _store of Ladies_, whose bright eyes _Rain influence_, and judge the Prize Of Wit or Arms; while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. To talk of the bright eyes of Ladies judging the Prize of Wit is indeedwith the Poets a legitimate species of humming: but would not, we mayask, the _rain_ from these Ladies' bright eyes rather tend to dim theirlustre? Or is there any quality in a shower of _influence_; which, instead of deadening, serves only to brighten and exhilarate? Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. By all means to keep outof the way of these "Knights and Barons bold": for, if he has nothing buthis Wit to trust to, we will venture to predict that, without a largeshare of most undue influence, he must be content to see the Prizeadjudged to his competitors. Of the latter part of the Poem little need be said. The Author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the Actorsand Musicians: though his head is still running upon ORPHEUS and EURYDICEand PLUTO, and other sombre personages; who are ever thrusting themselvesin where we least expect them, and who chill every rising emotion ofmirth and gaiety. He appears however to be so ravished with this sketch of festivepleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well, thathe closes with a couplet which would not have disgraced a STERNHOLD. These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I _mean_ to live. Of Mr. M. 's good _intentions_ there can be no doubt; but we beg leave toremind him that there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumesperhaps upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them asirresistible: for every one must observe in how different a strain heavows his attachment now, and at the opening of the Poem. Then it was If I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew! But having, it should seem, established his pretensions; he now thinks itsufficient to give notice that he means to live with her, because he likesher. Upon the whole, Mr. MILTON seems to be possessed of some fancy and talentfor rhyming; two most dangerous endowments which often unfit men foracting a useful part in life without qualifying them for that which isgreat and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he hasdeclined advantageous prospects in business, for the sake of indulginghis poetical humour; we hope it is not yet too late to prevail upon himto retract his resolution. With the help of COCKER and common industry, he may become a respectable Scrivener: but it is not all the ZEPHYRS, andAURORAS, and CORYDONS, and THYRSIS's; aye, nor his "junketing Queen MAB"and "drudging Goblins, " that will ever make him a Poet. PREDICTIONS FOR THE YEAR 1708. Wherein the Month and Day of the Month are set down, the Persons named, and the great Actions and Events of next Year particularly related, asthey will come to pass. _Written to prevent the People of England from being further imposed onby vulgar_ Almanack _Makers_. By ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq. MDCCVIII. PREDICTIONS for the Year 1708, &c. I have long considered the gross abuse of Astrology in this Kingdom; andupon debating the matter with myself, I could not possibly lay the faultupon the Art, but upon those gross Impostors who set up to be the Artists. I know several Learned Men have contended that the whole is a cheat; thatit is absurd and ridiculous to imagine the stars can have any influence atall on human actions, thoughts, or inclinations: and whoever has not benthis studies that way, may be excused for thinking so, when he sees in howwretched a manner this noble Art is treated by a few mean illiteratetraders between us and the stars; who import a yearly stock of nonsense, lies, folly, and impertinence, which they offer to the world as genuinefrom the planets, although they descend from no greater height than theirown brains. I intend, in a short time, to publish a large and rational Defence ofthis Art; and therefore shall say no more in its justification at presentthan that it hath been, in all Ages, defended by many Learned Men; and, among the rest, by SOCRATES himself, whom I look upon as undoubtedly thewisest of uninspired mortals. To which if we add, that those who havecondemned this Art, although otherwise learned, having been such aseither did not apply their studies this way, or at least did not succeedin their applications; their testimonies will not be of much weight toits disadvantage, since they are liable to the common objection ofcondemning what they did not understand. Nor am I at all offended, or think it an injury to the Art, when I seethe common dealers in it, the _Students in Astronomy_, the _Philomaths_, and the rest of that tribe, treated by wise men with the utmost scorn andcontempt: but I rather wonder, when I observe Gentlemen in the country, rich enough to serve the nation in Parliament, poring in PARTRIDGE's_Almanack_ to find out the events of the year, at home and abroad; notdaring to propose a hunting match, unless GADBURY or he have fixed theweather. I will allow either of the two I have mentioned, or any others of thefraternity, to be not only Astrologers, but Conjurers too, if I do notproduce a hundred instances in all their _Almanacks_, to convince anyreasonable man that they do not so much as understand Grammar and Syntax;that they are not able to spell any word out of the usual road, nor even, in their _Prefaces_, to write common sense, or intelligible English. Then as their Observations or Predictions, they are such as will suit anyAge or country in the world. _This month, a certain great Person will be threatened with death orsickness_. This the News Paper will tell them. For there we find at theend of the year, that no month passeth without the death of some Personof Note: and it would be hard if it should be otherwise, where there areat least two thousand Persons of Note in this kingdom, many of them old;and the _Almanack_ maker has the liberty of choosing the sickliest seasonof the year, where he may fix his prediction. Again, _This month, an eminent Clergyman will be preferred_. Of which, there may be some hundreds, half of them with one foot in the grave. Then, _Such a Planet in such a House shews great machinations, plots, andconspiracies, that may, in time, be brought to light_. After which, if wehear of any discovery, the Astrologer gets the honour; if not, hisprediction still stands good. And, at last, _God preserve King WILLIAM from all his open and secretenemies, Amen_. When, if the King should happen to have died, theAstrologer plainly foretold it! otherwise it passeth but for the piousejaculation of a loyal subject: although it unluckily happened in some oftheir _Almanacks_, that poor King WILLIAM was prayed for, many monthsafter he was dead; because it fell out, that he died about the beginningof the year. To mention no more of their impertinent Predictions, What have we to dowith their advertisements about pills, or their mutual quarrels in verseand prose of Whig and Tory? wherewith the stars have little to do. Having long observed and lamented these, and a hundred other abuses ofthis Art too tedious to repeat; I resolved to proceed in a New Way;which, I doubt not, will be to the general satisfaction of the Kingdom. Ican, this year, produce but a specimen of what I design for the future:having employed the most part of my time in adjusting and correcting thecalculations I made for some years past; because I would offer nothing tothe World, of which I am not as fully satisfied as that I am now alive. For these last two years, I have not failed in above one or twoparticulars, and those of no very great moment. I exactly foretold themiscarriage at Toulon [_fruitlessly besieged by Prince EUGENE, between26th July, and 21st August_, 1707] with all its particulars: and the lossof Admiral [Sir CLOUDESLY] SHOVEL [_at the Scilly isles, on 22nd October_, 1707]; although I was mistaken as to the day, placing that accident aboutthirty-six hours sooner than it happened; but upon reviewing my Schemes, I quickly found the cause of that error. I likewise foretold the battleof Almanza [_25th April_, 1707] to the very day and hour, with the losson both sides, and the consequences thereof. All which I shewed to somefriends many months before they happened: that is, I gave them paperssealed up, to open in such a time, after which they were at liberty toread them; and there they found my Predictions true in every Article, except one or two very minute. As for the few following Predictions I now offer the World, I forbore topublish them until I had perused the several _Almanacks_ for the year weare now entered upon. I found them all in the usual strain; and I beg thereader will compare their manner with mine. And here I make bold to tell the World that I lay the whole credit of myArt upon the truth of these Predictions; and I will be content thatPARTRIDGE and the rest of his clan may hoot me for a cheat and impostor, if I fail in any single particular of moment. I believe any man who readsthis Paper [_pamphlet_], will look upon me to be at least a person of asmuch honesty and understanding as the common maker of _Almanacks_. I donot lurk in the dark, I am not wholly unknown to the World. I have set myname at length, to be a mark of infamy to mankind, if they shall find Ideceive them. In one thing, I must desire to be forgiven: that I talk more sparingly ofhome affairs. As it would be imprudence to discover Secrets of State, soit would be dangerous to my person: but in smaller matters, and that asare not of public consequence, I shall be very free: and the truth of myconjectures will as much appear from these, as the other. As for the most signal events abroad, in France, Flanders, Italy, andSpain: I shall make no scruple to predict them in plain terms. Some ofthem are of importance; and I hope I shall seldom mistake the day theywill happen. Therefore I think good to inform the reader, that I, allalong, make use of the Old Style observed in England; which I desire hewill compare with that of the News Papers at the time they relate theactions I mention. I must add one word more. I know it hath been, the opinion of severalLearned [Persons], who think well enough of the true Art of Astrology, that the stars do only _incline_ and not _force_ the actions or wills ofmen: and therefore, however I may proceed by right rules; yet I cannot, in prudence, so confidently assure that the events will follow exactly asI predict them. I hope I have maturely considered this objection, which, in some cases, is of no little weight. For example, a man may, by the influence of anoverruling planet, be disposed or inclined to lust, rage, or avarice; andyet, by the force of reason, overcome that evil influence. And this wasthe case of SOCRATES. But the great events of the World usually dependingupon numbers of men; it cannot be expected they should _all_ unite tocross their inclinations, from pursuing a general design wherein theyunanimously agree. Besides, the influence of the stars reacheth to manyactions and events which are not, in any way, in the power of Reason, assickness, death, and what we commonly call accidents; with many more, needless to repeat. But now it is time to proceed to my Predictions: which I have begun tocalculate from the time that the sun entereth into _Aries [April]_; andthis I take to be properly the beginning of the natural year. I pursuethem to the time that he entereth _Libra [September]_ or somewhat more;which is the busy period of the year. The remainder I have not yetadjusted, upon account of several impediments needless here to mention. Besides, I must remind the reader again, that this is but a specimen ofwhat I design, in succeeding years, to treat more at large; if I may haveliberty and encouragement. My first Prediction is but a trifle; yet I will mention it to shew howignorant those sottish pretenders to Astrology are in their own concerns. It relateth to PARTRIDGE the _Almanack_ maker. I have consulted the starof his nativity by my own rules; and find he will infallibly die upon the29th of March [1708] next, about eleven at night, of a raging fever. Therefore I advise him to consider of it, and settle his affairs in time. The month of APRIL will be observable for the death of many Great Persons. On the 4th will die the Cardinal DE NOAILLES, Archbishop of Paris. On the 11th, the young Prince of the ASTURIAS, son to the Duke of ANJOU. On the 14th, a great Peer of this realm will die at his country house. On the 19th, an old Layman of great fame and learning; and on the 23rd, an eminent goldsmith in Lombard street. I could mention others, both at home and abroad, if I did not consider itis of very little use or instruction to the Reader, or to the World. As to Public Affairs. On the 7th of this month, there will be aninsurrection in Dauphiny, occasioned by the oppressions of the people;which will not be quieted in some months. On the 15th, there will be a violent storm on the southeast coast ofFrance; which will destroy many of their ships, and some in the veryharbours. The 19th will be famous for the revolt of a whole Province or Kingdom, excepting one city: by which the affairs of a certain Prince in theAlliance will take a better face. MAY, against common conjectures, will be no very busy month in Europe;but very signal for the death of the Dauphin [_Note, how SWIFT is killingoff all the Great Men on the French side, one after another: became thatwould jump with the inclination of the nation just at the moment_]; whichwill happen on the 7th, after a short fit of sickness, and grievoustorments with the stranguary. He dies less lamented by the Court than theKingdom. On the 9th, a Marshal of France will break his leg by a fall from hishorse. I have not been able to discover whether he will then die or not. On the 11th, will begin a most important siege, which the eyes of allEurope will be upon. I cannot be more particular; for in relating affairsthat so nearly concern the Confederates, and consequently this Kingdom; Iam forced to confine myself, for several reasons very obvious to thereader. On the 15th, news will arrive of a _very surprising_ event; than which, nothing could be more unexpected. On the 19th, three noble Ladies of this Kingdom, will, against allexpectation, prove with child; to the great joy of their husbands. On the 23rd, a famous buffoon of the Play House will die a ridiculousdeath, suitable to his vocation. JUNE. This month will be distinguished at home by the utter dispersing ofthose ridiculous deluded enthusiasts, commonly called Prophets [_Scotchand English Jesuits affecting inspiration, under the name of the FrenchProphets_], occasioned chiefly by seeing the time come when many of theirprophecies were to be fulfilled; and then finding themselves deceived bythe contrary events. It is indeed to be admired [_astonished at_] how anydeceiver can be so weak to foretell things near at hand; when a very fewmonths must, of necessity, discover the imposture to all the world: inthis point, less prudent than common _Almanack_ makers, who are so wise[as] to wander in generals, talk dubiously, and leave to the reader thebusiness of interpreting. On the 1st of this month, a French General will be killed by a randomshot of a cannon ball. On the 6th, a fire will break out in all the suburbs of Paris, which willdestroy above a thousand houses; and seems to be the foreboding of whatwill happen, to the surprise of all Europe, about the end of thefollowing month. On the 10th, a great battle will be fought, which will begin at four ofthe clock in the afternoon, and last until nine at night, with greatobstinacy, but no very decisive event. I shall not name the place, forthe reasons aforesaid; but the Commanders of each left wing will bekilled. .. . I see bonfires, and hear the noise of guns for a victory. On the 14th, there will be a false report of the French King's death. On the 20th, Cardinal PORTOCARRERO will die of a dysentery, with greatsuspicion of poison: but the report of his intentions to revolt to KingCHARLES will prove false. JULY. The 6th of this month, a certain General will, by a gloriousaction, recover the reputation he lost by former misfortunes. On the 12th, a great Commander will die a prisoner in the hands of hisenemies. On the 14th, a shameful discovery will be made of a French Jesuit givingpoison to a great foreign General; and, when he is put to the torture, [he] will make wonderful discoveries. In short, this will prove a month of great action, if I might haveliberty to relate the particulars. At home, the death of an old famous Senator will happen on the 15th, athis country house, worn [out] with age and diseases. But that which will make this month memorable to all posterity, is thedeath of the French King LEWIS XIV. , after a week's sickness at Marli;which will happen on the 29th, about six o'clock in the evening. Itseemeth to be an effect of the gout in his stomach followed by a flux. And in three days after, Monsieur CHAMILLARD will follow his master;dying suddenly of an apoplexy. In this month likewise, an Ambassador will die in London; but I cannotassign the day. AUGUST. The affairs of France will seem to suffer no change for a while, under the Duke of BURGUNDY's administration. But the Genius that animatedthe whole machine being gone, will be the cause of mighty turns andrevolutions in the following year. The new King maketh yet little change, either in the army or the Ministry; but the libels against his[grand]father that fly about his very Court, give him uneasiness. I see an Express in mighty haste, with joy and wonder in his looks, arriving by the break of day on the 26th of this month, having travelled, in three days, a prodigious journey by land and sea. In the evening, Ihear bells and guns, and see the blazing of a thousand bonfires. A young Admiral, of noble birth, doth likewise, this month, gain immortalhonour by a great achievement. The affairs of Poland are, this month, entirely settled. AUGUSTUS resignshis pretensions, which he had again taken up for some time. STANISLAUS ispeaceably possessed of the throne: and the King of SWEDEN declares forthe Emperor. I cannot omit one particular accident here at home: that, near the end ofthis month, much mischief will be done at Bartholomew Fair [_held onAugust 24th_], by the fall of a booth. SEPTEMBER. This month begins with a very surprising fit of frostyweather, which will last near[ly] twelve days. The Pope having long languished last month, the swellings in his legsbreaking, and the flesh mortifying; he will die on the 11th instant. And, in three weeks' time, after a mighty contest, he will be succeeded by aCardinal of the Imperial faction, but a native of Tuscany, who is nowabout 61 years old. The French army acts now wholly on the defensive, strongly fortified intheir trenches: and the young French King sendeth overtures for a treatyof peace, by the Duke of MANTUA; which, because it is a matter of Statethat concerneth us here at home, I shall speak no further of. I shall add but one Prediction more, and that in mystical terms, whichshall be included in a verse out of VIRGIL, _Alter erit jam TETHYS, et altera quae vehat ARGO Dilectos Heroas_. Upon the 25th day of this month, the fulfilling of this Prediction willbe manifest to everybody. This is the furthest I have proceeded in my calculations for the presentyear. I do not pretend that these are all the great events which willhappen in this period; but that those I have set down will infalliblycome to pass. It may perhaps, still be objected, why I have not spoken moreparticularly of affairs at home, or of the success of our armies abroad;which I might, and could very largely have done. But those in Power havewisely discouraged men from meddling in public concerns: and I wasresolved, by no means, to give the least offence. This I _will_ ventureto say, that it will be a glorious campaign for the Allies, wherein theEnglish forces, both by sea and land, will have their full share ofhonour; that Her Majesty Queen ANNE will continue in health andprosperity; and that no ill accident will arrive to any in the chiefMinistry. As to the particular events I have mentioned, the readers may judge bythe fulfilling of them, whether I am of the level with commonAstrologers, who, with an old paltry cant, and a few Pothooks for Planetsto amuse the vulgar, have, in my opinion, too long been suffered to abusethe World. But an honest Physician ought not to be despised because thereare such things as mountebanks. I hope I have some share of reputation; which I would not willinglyforfeit for a frolic, or humour: and I believe no Gentleman, who readsthis Paper, will look upon it to be of the same last and mould with thecommon scribbles that are every day hawked about. My fortune hath placedme above the little regard of writing for a few pence, which I neithervalue nor want. Therefore, let not any wise man too hastily condemn thisEssay, intended for a good design, to cultivate and improve an ancientArt, long in disgrace by having fallen into mean unskilful hands. Alittle time will determine whether I have deceived others, or myself: andI think it is no very unreasonable request, that men would please tosuspend their judgements till then. I was once of the opinion with those who despise all Predictions from thestars, till, in the year 1686, a Man of Quality shewed me written in hisalbum, that the most learned astronomer, Captain H[ALLEY], assured him hewould never believe anything of the stars' influence, if there were not agreat Revolution in England in the year 1688. Since that time, I began tohave other thoughts [SWIFT _does not say on what subject_]; and, aftereighteen years' [1690-1708] diligent study and application [_in what?_], I think I have no reason to repent of my pains. I shall detain the reader no longer than to let him know, that theaccount I design to give of next year's events shall take in theprincipal affairs that happen in Europe. And if I be denied the libertyof offering it to my own country; I shall appeal to the Learned World, bypublishing it in Latin, and giving order to have it printed in Holland. FINIS. A Revenue Officer [_JONATHAN SWIFT_. ] _A Letter to a Lord_. [30 March 1708. ] MY LORD, In obedience to your Lordship's commands, as well as to satisfy my owncuriosity; I have, for some days past, inquired constantly afterPARTRIDGE the _Almanack_ maker: of whom, it was foretold in Mr. BICKERSTAFF's _Predictions_, published about a month ago, that he shoulddie, the 29th instant, about eleven at night, of a raging fever. I had some sort of knowledge of him, when I was employed in the Revenue;because he used, every year, to present me with his _Almanack_, as he didother Gentlemen, upon the score of some little gratuity we gave him. I saw him accidentally once or twice, about ten days before he died: andobserved he began very much to droop and languish; although I hear hisfriends did not seem to apprehend him in any danger. About two or three days ago, he grew ill; was confined first to hischamber, and in a few hours after, to his bed: where Dr. CASE and Mrs. KIRLEUS [_two London quacks_] were sent for, to visit, and to prescribeto him. Upon this intelligence, I sent thrice every day a servant or other, toinquire after his health: and yesterday, about four in the afternoon, word was brought me, that he was past hopes. Upon which, I prevailed with myself to go and see him: partly, out ofcommiseration: and, I confess, partly out of curiosity. He knew me verywell, seemed surprised at my condescension, and made me compliments uponit, as well as he could in the condition he was. The people about him, said he had been delirious: but, when I saw him, he had his understandingas well as ever I knew, and spoke strong and hearty, without any seeminguneasiness or constraint. After I had told him, I was sorry to see him in those melancholycircumstances, and said some other civilities suitable to the occasion; Idesired him to tell me freely and ingenuously, whether the _Predictions_, Mr. BICKERSTAFF had published relating to his death, had not too muchaffected and worked on his imagination? He confessed he often had it in his head, but never with muchapprehension till about a fortnight before: since which time, it had theperpetual possession of his mind and thoughts, and he did verily believewas the true natural cause of his present distemper. "For, " said he, "Iam thoroughly persuaded, and I think I have very good reasons, that Mr. BICKERSTAFF spoke altogether by guess, and knew no more what will happenthis year than I did myself. " I told him, "His discourse surprised me, and I would be glad he were in astate of health to be able to tell me, what reason he had, to be convincedof Mr. BICKERSTAFF's ignorance. " He replied, "I am a poor ignorant fellow, bred to a mean trade; yet Ihave sense enough to know that all pretences of foretelling by Astrologyare deceits: for this manifest reason, because the wise and learned (whocan only judge whether there be any truth in this science), do allunanimously agree to laugh at and despise it; and none but the poorignorant vulgar give it any credit, and that only upon the word of suchsilly wretches as I and my fellows, who can hardly write or read. " I thenasked him, "Why he had not calculated his own nativity, to see whether itagreed with BICKERSTAFF's Predictions?" At which, he shook his head, and said, "O, Sir! this is no time forjesting, but for repenting those fooleries, as I do now from the verybottom of my heart. " "By what I can gather from you, " said I, "the Observations andPredictions you printed with your _Almanacks_, were mere impositions uponthe people. " He replied, "If it were otherwise, I should have the less to answer for. We have a common form for all those things. As to foretelling theweather, we never meddle with that! but leave it to the printer, whotaketh it out of any old _Almanack_, as he thinketh fit. The rest was myown invention, to make my _Almanack_ sell; having a wife to maintain, andno other way to get my bread: for mending old shoes is a poor livelihood!And, " added he, sighing, "I wish I may not have done more mischief by myphysic than by astrology! although I had some good receipts from mygrandmother, and my own compositions were such as I thought could, atleast, do no hurt. " I had some other discourse with him, which now I cannot call to mind: andI fear I have already tired your Lordship. I shall only add onecircumstance. That on his deathbed, he declared himself a Nonconformist, and had a Fanatic [_the political designation of Dissenters_] preacher tobe his spiritual guide. After half an hour's conversation, I took my leave; being almost stifledby the closeness of the room. I imagined he could not hold out long; and therefore withdrew to a littlecoffee-house hard by, leaving a servant at the house, with orders to comeimmediately, and tell me as near as he could the minute when PARTRIGEshould expire: which was not above two hours after, when, looking upon mywatch, I found it to be above Five minutes after Seven. By which it isclear that Mr. BICKERSTAFF was mistaken almost four hours in hiscalculation [_see_ p. 173]. In the other circumstances he was exactenough. But whether he hath not been the cause of this poor man's death as wellas the Predictor may be very reasonably disputed. However, it must beconfessed the matter is odd enough, whether we should endeavour toaccount for it by chance or the effect of imagination. For my own part, although I believe no man has less faith in thesematters, yet I shall wait with some impatience, and not withoutexpectation, the fulfilling of Mr. BICKERSTAFF's second prediction, thatthe Cardinal De NOAILLES is to die upon the 4th of April [1708]; and ifthat should be verified as exactly as this of poor PARTRIDGE, I must ownI shall be wholly surprised, and at a loss, and infallibly expect theaccomplishment of all the rest. [In the original broadside, there are Deaths with darts, wingedhour-glasses, crossed marrow-bones, &c. ] [JONATHAN SWIFT. ] _An Elegy on Mr. PATRIGE, the_ Almanack _maker, who died on the 29th ofthis instant March_, 1708. [Original broadside in the British Museum, C. 39. K. /74. ] Well, 'tis as BICKERSTAFF has guest; Though we all took it for a jest; PATRIGE is dead! nay more, he died Ere he could prove the good Squire lied! Strange, an Astrologer should die Without one wonder in the sky Not one of all his crony stars To pay their duty at his hearse! No meteor, no eclipse appeared, No comet with a flaming beard! The sun has rose and gone to bed Just as if PATRIGE were not dead; Nor hid himself behind the moon To make a dreadful night at noon. He at fit periods walks through _Aries_, Howe'er our earthly motion varies; And twice a year he'll cut th'Equator, As if there had been no such matter. Some Wits have wondered what analogy There is 'twixt[11] Cobbling and Astrology? How PATRIGE made his optics rise From a shoe-sole, to reach the skies? A list, the cobblers' temples ties, To keep the hair out of their eyes; From whence, 'tis plain, the diadem That Princes wear, derives from them: And therefore crowns are now-a-days Adorned with golden stars and rays; Which plainly shews the near alliance 'Twixt Cobbling and the Planet science. Besides, that slow-paced sign _Bo-otes_ As 'tis miscalled; we know not who 'tis? But PATRIGE ended all disputes; He knew his trade! and called it _Boots_![12] The Horned Moon which heretofore Upon their shoes, the Romans wore, Whose wideness kept their toes from corns, And whence we claim our Shoeing Horns, Shews how the art of Cobbling bears A near resemblance to the Spheres. A scrap of parchment hung by Geometry, A great refinement in Barometry, Can, like the stars, foretell the weather: And what is parchment else, but leather? Which an Astrologer might use Either for _Almanacks_ or shoes. Thus PATRIGE, by his Wit and parts, At once, did practise both these Arts; And as the boding owl (or rather The bat, because her wings are leather) Steals from her private cell by night, And flies about the candle light: So learned PATRIGE could as well Creep in the dark, from leathern cell; And in his fancy, fly as far, To peep upon a twinkling star! Besides, he could confound the Spheres And set the Planets by the ears, To shew his skill, he, Mars would join To Venus, in _aspect malign_, Then call in Mercury for aid, And cure the wounds that Venus made. Great scholars have in LUCIAN read When PHILIP, King of Greece was dead, His soul and spirit did divide, And each part took a different side: One rose a Star; the other fell Beneath, and mended shoes in hell. Thus PATRIGE still shines in each Art, The Cobbling, and Star-gazing Part; And is installed as good a star As any of the CAESARS are. Thou, high exalted in thy sphere, May'st follow still thy calling there! To thee, the _Bull_ will lend his hide, By _Phoebus_ newly tanned and dried! For thee, they _Argo_'s hulk will tax, And scrape her pitchy sides for wax! Then _Ariadne_ kindly lends Her braided hair, to make thee ends! The point of Sagittarius' dart Turns to an awl, by heavenly art! And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife, Will forge for thee, a paring-knife! Triumphant Star! some pity shew On Cobblers militant below! [13] But do not shed thy influence down Upon St. James's end o' the Town! Consider where the moon and stars Have their devoutest worshippers! Astrologers and lunatics Have in Moorfields their stations fixt: Hither, thy gentle aspect bend, [14] Nor look asquint on an old friend! [11] PATRIGE was a cobbler. [12] See his _Almanack_. [13] _Sed nec in Arctoo sede tibi legeris Orbe, &c. _ [14] _Neve tuam videas obliquo idere Romam_. THE EPITAPH. _Here five foot deep, lies on his back, A Cobbler, Starmonger, and Quack; Who to the stars, in pure good will, Does to his best, look upward still. Weep all you customers, that use His Pills, his_ Almanacks, _or Shoes! And you that did your fortunes seek, Step to this grave, but once a week! This earth which bears his body's print You'll find has so much virtue in it; That I durst pawn my ears, 'twill tell Whate'er concerns you, full as well (In physic, stolen goods, or love) As he himself could, when above!_ LONDON: Printed in the Year 1708. Squire BICKERSTAFF detected;OR THE _Astrological Impostor convicted_. BY JOHN PARTRIDGE, Student in Physic and Astrology. [This was written for PARTRIDGE, either by NICHOLAS ROWE or Dr. YALDEN, and put forth by him, in good faith, in proof of his continued existence. ] It is hard, my dear countrymen of these United Nations! it is very hard, that a Britain born, a Protestant Astrologer, a man of RevolutionPrinciples, an assertor of the Liberty and Property of the people, shouldcry out in vain, for justice against a Frenchman, a Papist, and anilliterate pretender to Science, that would blast my reputation, mostinhumanly bury me alive, and defraud my native country of those serviceswhich, in my double capacity [_Physician and Astrologer_], I daily offerthe public. What great provocations I have received, let the impartial reader judge!and how unwillingly, even in my own defence, I now enter the listsagainst Falsehood, Ignorance, and Envy! But I am exasperated at length, to drag out this CACUS from the den of obscurity, where he lurketh, todetect him by the light of those stars he hath so impudently traduced, and to shew there is not a Monster in the skies so pernicious andmalevolent to mankind as an ignorant pretender to Physic and Astrology. I shall not directly fall on the many gross errors, nor expose thenotorious absurdities of this prostituted libeller, until I have let theLearned World fairly into the controversy depending; and then leave theunprejudiced to judge of the merits and justice of my cause. It was towards the conclusion of the year 1707 [_according to the old wayof reckoning the year from March 25th. The precise date is February, 1708, see_ p. 469], when an impudent Pamphlet crept into the world, intituled_Predictions &c. By ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esquire_. Among the many arrogantassertions laid down by that lying Spirit of Divination; he was pleasedto pitch on the Cardinal DE NOAILLES and myself, among many other eminentand illustrious persons that were to die within the confines of theensuing year, and peremptorily fixed the month, day, and hours of ourdeaths. This, I think, is sporting with Great Men, and Public Spirits, to thescandal of Religion, and reproach of Power: and if Sovereign Princes andAstrologers must make diversion for the vulgar, why then, Farewell, sayI, to all Governments, Ecclesiastical and Civil! But, I thank my betterstars! I am alive to confront this false and audacious Predictor, and tomake him rue the hour he ever affronted a Man of Science and Resentment. The Cardinal may take what measures he pleases, with him: as HisExcellency is a foreigner and a Papist, he hath no reason to rely on mefor his justification. I shall only assure the World that he is alive!but as he was bred to Letters, and is master of a pen, let him use it inhis own defence! In the meantime, I shall present the Public with a faithful Narrative ofthe ungenerous treatment and hard usage I have received from the virulentPapers and malicious practices of this pretended Astrologer. A true and impartial ACCOUNT OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq. , against Me. The 29th of March, _Anno Dom_. , 1708, being the night this Sham Prophethad so impudently fixed for my last; which made little impression onmyself, but I cannot answer for my whole family. For my wife, with aconcern more than usual, prevailed on me to take somewhat to sweat for acold; and between the hours of 8 and 9, to go to bed. The maid as she was warming my bed, with the curiosity natural to youngwomen, runs to the window, and asks of one passing the street, "Who thebell tolled for?" "Dr. PARTRIDGE, " says he, "the famous _Almanack_ maker, who died suddenlythis evening. " The poor girl provoked, told him, "He lied like a rascal!" The other very sedately replied, "The sexton had so informed him; and iffalse, he was to blame for imposing on a stranger. " She asked a second, and a third as they passed; and every one was in thesame tone. Now I don't say these were accomplices to a certain astrological Squire, and that one BICKERSTAFF might be sauntering thereabouts; because I willassert nothing here but what I dare attest, and plain matter of fact. My wife, at this, fell into a violent disorder; and I must own I was alittle discomposed at the oddness of the accident. In the meantime, one knocks at the door. BETTY runneth down and opening, finds a sober grave person, who modestly inquires "If this was Dr. PARTRIDGE's?" She, taking him for some cautious City patient, that came at that timefor privacy, shews him into the dining-room. As soon as I could compose myself, I went to him; and was surprised tofind my gentleman mounted on a table with a two-foot rule in his hand, measuring my walls, and taking the dimensions of the room. "Pray, Sir, " says I, "not to interrupt you, have you any business withme?" "Only, Sir, " replies he, "to order the girl to bring me a better light:for this is but a dim one. " "Sir, " sayeth I, "my name is PARTRIDGE!" "Oh! the Doctor's brother, belike, " cries he. "The staircase, I believe, and these two apartments hung in close mourning will be sufficient; andonly a strip of Bays [cloth] round the other rooms. The Doctor must needsdie rich. He had great dealings in his way, for many years. If he had nofamily Coat [of arms], you had as good use the scutcheons of the Company. They are as showish and will look as magnificent as if he were descendedfrom the Blood-Royal. " With that, I assumed a greater air of authority, and demanded, "Whoemployed him? and how he came there?" "Why, I was sent, Sir, by the Company of Undertakers, " saith he, "andthey were employed by the honest gentleman who is the executor to thegood Doctor departed: and our rascally porter, I believe is fallen fastasleep with the black cloth and sconces or he had been here; and we mighthave been tacking up by this time. " "Sir, " says I, "pray be advised by a friend, and make the best of yourspeed out of my doors; for I hear my wife's voice, " which, by the way, ispretty distinguishable! "and in that corner of the room stands a goodcudgel which somebody [_i. E. , himself_] has felt ere now. If that lightin her hands, and she knew the business you came about; withoutconsulting the stars, I can assure you it will be employed very much tothe detriment of your person. " "Sir, " cries he, bowing with great civility, "I perceive extreme grieffor the loss of the Doctor disorders you a little at present: but earlyin the morning, I'll wait on you, with all necessary materials. " Now I mention no Mr. BICKERSTAFF, nor do I say that a certain star-gazingSquire has been a playing my executor before his time: but I leave theWorld to judge, and if it puts things to things fairly together, it won'tbe much wide of the mark. Well, once more I get my doors closed, and prepare for bed, in hopes of alittle repose, after so many ruffling adventures. Just as I was puttingout my light in order to it, another bounceth as hard as he can knock. I open the window and ask, "Who is there, and what he wants?" "I am NED the Sexton, " replies he, "and come to know whether the Doctorleft any orders for a Funeral Sermon? and where he is to be laid? andwhether his grave is to be plain or bricked?" "Why, Sirrah!" says I, "you know me well enough. You know I am not dead;and how dare you affront me after this manner!" "Alack a day, Sir, " replies the fellow, "why it is in print, and thewhole Town knows you are dead. Why, there's Mr. WHITE the joiner is butfitting screws to your coffin! He'll be here with it in an instant. Hewas afraid you would have wanted it before this time. " "Sirrah! sirrah!" saith I, "you shall know to-morrow to your cost that Iam alive! and alive like to be!" "Why, 'tis strange, Sir, " says he, "you should make such a secret of yourdeath to us that are your neighbours. It looks as if you had a design todefraud the Church of its dues: and let me tell you, for one who haslived so long by the heavens, that is unhandsomely done!" "Hist! hist!" says another rogue that stood by him, "away, Doctor! intoyour flannel gear as fast as you can! for here is a whole pack of dismalscoming to you with their black equipage; how indecent will it look for youto stand frightening folks at your window, when you should have been inyour coffin this three hours!" In short, what with Undertakers, Embalmers, Joiners, Sextons, and your_Elegy_ hawkers _upon a late practitioner in Physic and Astrology_; I gotnot one wink of sleep that night, nor scarce a moment's rest ever since. Now, I doubt not but this villanous Squire has the impudence to assertthat these are entirely strangers to him; he, good man! knoweth nothingof the matter! and honest ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, I warrant you! is more a manof honour than to be an accomplice with a pack of rascals that walk thestreets on nights, and disturb good people in their beds. But he is out, if he thinks the whole World is blind! for there is one JOHN PARTRIDGEcan smell a knave as far as Grub street, although he lies in the mostexalted garret, and writeth himself "Squire"! But I will keep my temper!and proceed in the Narration. I could not stir out of doors for the space of three months after this;but presently one comes up to me in the street: "Mr. PARTRIDGE, thatcoffin you were last buried in, I have not yet been paid for. " "Doctor!" cries another dog, "How do you think people can live by makinggraves for nothing? Next time you die, you may even toll out the bellyourself, for NED!" A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders "how I have theconscience to sneak abroad, without paying my funeral expenses. " "Lord!" says one, "I durst have sworn that was honest Dr. PARTRIDGE, myold friend; but, poor man, he is gone!" "I beg your pardon, " says another, "you look so like my old acquaintancethat I used to consult on some private occasions: but, alack, he is gonethe way of all flesh. " "Look, look!" cries a third, after a competent space of staring at me;"would not one think our neighbour the _Almanack_ maker was crept out ofhis grave, to take another peep at the stars in this world, and shew howmuch he is improved in fortune telling by having taken a journey to theother. " Nay, the very Reader of our parish (a good sober discreet person) hassent two or three times for me to come and be buried decently, or sendhim sufficient reasons to the contrary: or if I have been interred in anyother parish, to produce my certificate as the _Act_ requires. My poor wife is almost run distracted with being called Widow PARTRIDGE, when she knows it's false: and once a Term, she is cited into the Court, to take out Letters of Administration. But the greatest grievance is a paltry Quack that takes up my callingjust under my nose; and in his printed directions with a, _N. B. _, says:_He lives in the house of the late ingenious Mr. JOHN PARTRIDGE, aneminent Practitioner in Leather, Physic, and Astrology_. But to shew how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice, and resentment canhurry some men, my nameless old persecutor had provided a monument at thestone-cutter's, and would have it erected in the parish church: and thispiece of notorious and expensive villany had actually succeeded, if I hadnot used my utmost interest with the Vestry; where it was carried at lastbut by two voices, that I am alive. That stratagem failing, out cometh a long sable _Elegy_ bedecked withhour-glasses, mattocks, skulls, spades, and skeletons, with an _Epitaph_[_see_ p. 486] as confidently written to abuse me and my profession, asif I had been under ground these twenty years. And, after such barbarous treatment as this, can the World blame me, whenI ask, What is become of the freedom of an Englishman? and, Where is theLiberty and Property that my old glorious Friend [_WILLIAM III_. ] cameover to assert? We have driven Popery out of the nation! and sent Slaveryto foreign climes! The Arts only remain in bondage, when a Man of Scienceand Character shall be openly insulted! in the midst of the many usefulservices he is daily paying the public. Was it ever heard, even in Turkeyor Algiers, that a State Astrologer was bantered out of his life, by anignorant impostor? or bawled out of the world, by a pack of villanousdeep-mouthed hawkers? Though I print _Almanacks_, and publish _Advertisements_; although Iproduce certificates under the Minister's and Churchwardens' hands, thatI am alive: and attest the same, on oath, at Quarter Sessions: out comes_A full and true Relation of the death and interment of JOHN PARTRIDGE_. Truth is borne down; Attestations, neglected; the testimony of soberpersons, despised: and a man is looked upon by his neighbours as if hehad been seven years dead, and is buried alive in the midst of hisfriends and acquaintance. Now can any man of common sense think it consistent with the honour of myprofession, and not much beneath the dignity of a philosopher, to standbawling, before his own door, "Alive! Alive! Ho! the famous DoctorPARTRIDGE! no counterfeit, but all alive!" as if I had the twelvecelestial Monsters of the Zodiac to shew within, or was forced for alivelihood, to turn retailer to May and Bartholomew Fairs. Therefore, if Her Majesty would but graciously be pleased to think ahardship of this nature worthy her royal consideration; and the nextParl[ia]m[en]t, in their great wisdom, cast but an eye towards thedeplorable case of their old _Philomath_ that annually bestoweth hispoetical good wishes on them: I am sure there is one ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esquire, would soon be trussed up! for his bloody persecution, andputting good subjects in terror of their lives. And that henceforward, tomurder a man by way of Prophecy, and bury him in a printed _Letter_, either _to a Lord_ or Commoner, shall as legally entitle him to thepresent possession of Tyburn, as if he robbed on the highway, or cut yourthroat in bed. _Advertisement_. N. B. : _There is now in the Press, my Appeal to the Learned; Or my generalInvitation to all Astrologers, Divines, Physicians, Lawyers, Mathematicians, Philologers, and to the_ Literati _of the whole World, tocome and take their Places in the Common Court of Knowledge, and receivethe Charge given in by me, against ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq. , that mostnotorious Impostor in Science and illiterate Pretender to the Stars;where I shall openly convict him of ignorance in his profession, impudence and falsehood in every assertion, to the great detriment andscandal of Astrology. I shall further demonstrate to the Judicious, thatFrance and Rome are at the bottom of this horrid conspiracy against me;and that the Culprit aforesaid is a Popish emissary, has paid his visitsto St. Germains, and is now in the Measures of LEWIS XIV. ; that inattempting my reputation, there is a general Massacre of Learningdesigned in these realms; and, through my sides, there is a wound givento all the Protestant_ Almanack _makers in the universe_. Vivat Regina! Not satisfied with this _Impartial Account_, when next Almanack time came(in the following November, 1708), PARTRIDGE's _Almanack_ for 1709 [P. P. 2465/8] contained the following: You may remember that there was a Paper published predicting my deathupon the 29th March at night, 1708, and after the day was past, the samevillain told the World I was dead, and how I died, and that he was withme at the time of my death. I thank GOD, by whose mercy I have my Being, that I am still alive, and(excepting my age) as well as ever I was in my life: as I was also atthat 29th of March. And that Paper was said to be done by oneBICKERSTAFF, Esq. But that was a sham name, it was done by an impudentlying fellow. But his Prediction did not prove true! What will he say to that? For thefool had considered the "Star of my Nativity" as he said. Why the truthis, he will be hard put to it to find a _salvo_ for his Honour. It was abold touch! and he did not know but it might prove true. One hardly knows whether to wonder most at the self-delusion or credulityof this last paragraph by the old quack. This called forth from SWIFT: A VINDICATION OF ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq. , &c. MR. PARTRIDGE hath been lately pleased to treat me after a very roughmanner, in that which is called his _Almanack_ for the present year. Suchusage is very undecent from one Gentleman to another, and does not at allcontribute to the discovery of Truth, which ought to be the great End inall disputes of the Learned. To call a man, _fool_, and _villain_, and_impudent fellow_, only for differing from him in a point merelyspeculative, is, in my humble opinion, a very improper style for a personof his Education. I appeal to the Learned World, whether, in my last year's _Predictions_, I gave him the least provocation for such unworthy treatment. Philosophers have differed in all Ages; but the discreetest among them, have always differed as became Philosophers. Scurrility and Passion in aControversy among Scholars, is just so much of nothing to the purpose;and, at best, a tacit confession of a weak cause. My concern is not so much for my own reputation, as that of the Republicof Letters; which Mr. PARTRIDGE hath endeavoured to wound through mysides. If men of public spirit must be superciliously treated for theiringenious attempts; how will true useful knowledge be ever advanced? Iwish Mr. PARTRIDGE knew the thoughts which foreign Universities haveconceived of his ungenerous proceeding with me: but I am too tender ofhis reputation to publish them to the World. That spirit of envy andpride, which blasts so many rising Geniuses in our nation, is yet unknownamong Professors abroad. The necessity of justifying myself will excuse myvanity, when I tell the reader that I have received nearly a hundredHonorary Letters from several part of Europe, some as far as Muscovey, inpraise of my performance: besides several others, which (as I have beencredibly informed) were opened in the P[ost] Office, and never sent me. It is true, the Inquisition in P[ortuga]l was pleased to burn my_Predictions_ [_A fact, as Sir PAUL METHUEN, the English Ambassadorthere, informed SWIFT_], and condemned the Author and the readers ofthem: but, I hope at the same time, it will be considered in howdeplorable a state Learning lieth at present in that Kingdom. And, withthe profoundest reverence for crowned heads, I will presume to add, thatit a little concerned His Majesty of Portugal to interpose his authorityin behalf of a Scholar and a Gentleman, the subject of a nation withwhich he is now in so strict an alliance. But the other Kingdoms and States of Europe have treated me with morecandour and generosity. If I had leave to print the Latin letterstransmitted to me from foreign parts, they would fill a Volume! and be afull defence against all that Mr. PARTRIDGE, or his accomplices of theP[ortuga]l Inquisition, will be ever able to object: who, by the way, arethe only enemies my _Predictions_ have ever met with, at home or abroad. But I hope I know better what is due to the honour of a LearnedCorrespondence in so tender a point. Yet some of those illustrious Persons will, perhaps, excuse me fortranscribing a passage or two, in my own vindication. [15]The most learned Monsieur LEIBNITZ thus addresseth to me his thirdLetter, _Illustrissimo BICKERSTAFFIO Astrologico Instauratori, &c. _Monsieur LE CLERC, quoting my _Predictions_ in a treatise he publishedlast year, is pleased to say, _Ita, nuperrime BICKERSTAFFIUS, magnumillud Angliae sidus_. Another great Professor writing of me, has thesewords, _BICKERSTAFFIUS nobilis Anglus, Astrologarum hujusce seculi facilePrinceps_. Signior MAGLIABECCHI, the Great Duke's famous Library Keeper, spendeth almost his whole Letter in compliments and praises. It is truethe renowned Professor of Astronomy at Utrecht seemeth to differ from mein one article; but it is after the modest manner that becometh aPhilosopher, as _Pace tanti viri dixerim_: and, page 55, he seemeth tolay the error upon the printer, as, indeed it ought, and sayeth, _velforsan error typographi, cum alioquin BICKERSTAFFIUS vir doctissimus, &c_. If Mr. PARTRIDGE had followed these examples in the controversy betweenus, he might have spared me the trouble of justifying myself in so publica manner. I believe few men are readier to own their error than I, or morethankful to those who will please to inform him of them. But it seems thisGentleman, instead of encouraging the progress of his own Art, is pleasedto look upon all Attempts of this kind as an invasion of his Province. He has been indeed so wise, as to make no objection against the truth ofmy _Predictions_, except in one single point, relating to himself. And todemonstrate how much men are blinded by their own partiality, I dosolemnly assure the reader, that he is the _only_ person from whom I everheard that objection offered! which consideration alone, I think, willtake off its weight. With my utmost endeavours, I have not been able to trace above twoObjections ever made against the truth of my last year's _Prophecies_. The first was of a Frenchman, who was pleased to publish to the World, that _the Cardinal DE NOAILLES was still alive, notwithstanding thepretended Prophecy of Monsieur BIQUERSTAFFE_. But how far a Frenchman, aPapist, and an enemy is to be believed, in his own cause, against anEnglish Protestant, who is _true to the Government_, I shall leave to thecandid and impartial reader! The other objection is the unhappy occasion of this Discourse, andrelateth to an article in my _Predictions_, which foretold the death ofMr. PARTRIDGE to happen on March 29, 1708. _This_, he is pleased tocontradict absolutely, in the _Almanack_ he has published for the presentyear; and in that ungentlemanly manner (pardon the expression!) as I haveabove related. In that Work, he very roundly asserts that _he is not only now alive, butwas likewise alive upon that very 29th of March, when I had foretold heshould die_. This is the subject of the present Controversy between us, which I designto handle with all brevity, perspicuity, and calmness. In this dispute, Iam sensible the eyes, not only of England, but of all Europe will be uponus: and the Learned in every country will, I doubt not, take part on thatside where they find most appearance of Reason and Truth. Without entering into criticisms of Chronology about the hour of hisdeath, I shall only prove that _Mr. PARTRIDGE is not alive_. And my first argument is thus. Above a thousand Gentlemen having boughthis _Almanack_ for this year, merely to find what he said against me: atevery line they read, they would lift up their eyes, and cry out, betweenrage and laughter, _They were sure, no man alive ever wrote such stuff asthis!_ Neither did I ever hear that opinion disputed. So that Mr. PARTRIDGE lieth under a dilemma, either of disowning his _Almanack_, orallowing himself to be _no man alive_. Death is defined by all Philosophers [as] a separation of the soul andbody. Now it is certain that the poor woman [_Mrs. PARTRIDGE_] who hasbest reason to know, has gone about, for some time, to every alley in theneighbourhood, and swore to her gossips that _her husband had neither lifenor soul in him_. Therefore, if an _uninformed_ Carcass walks still aboutand is pleased to call itself PARTRIDGE; Mr. BICKERSTAFF doth not thinkhimself any way answerable for that! Neither had the said Carcass anyright to beat the poor boy, who happened to pass by it in the street, crying _A full and true Account of Dr. PARTRIDGE's death, &c_. SECONDLY. Mr. PARTRIDGE pretendeth to tell fortunes and recover stolengoods, which all the parish says, he must do by conversing with the Deviland other evil spirits: and no wise man will ever allow, he could conversepersonally with either, until after he was dead. THIRDLY. I will plainly prove him to be dead out of his own _Almanack_for this year; and from the very passage which he produceth to make usthink him alive. He there sayeth, _He is not only_ now _alive, but wasalso alive upon that very 29th of March, which I foretold he should dieon_. By this, he declareth his opinion that a man may be alive _now_, whowas not alive a twelve month ago. And, indeed, here lies the sophistry ofhis argument. He dareth not assert he was alive _ever since the 29th ofMarch_! but that he is _now alive_, and _was so on that day_. I grant thelatter, for he did not die until night, as appeareth in a printed accountof his death, in a _Letter to a Lord_; and whether he be since revived, Ileave the World to judge! This indeed is perfect cavilling; and I amashamed to dwell any longer upon it. FOURTHLY. I will appeal to Mr. PARTRIDGE himself, whether it be probableI could have been so indiscreet as to begin my _Predictions_ with the_only_ falsehood that ever was pretended to be in them! and this in anaffair at home, where I had so many opportunities to be exact, and musthave given such advantages against me, to a person of Mr. PARTRIDGE's Witand Learning: who, if he could possibly have raised one single objectionmore against the truth of my Prophecies, would hardly have spared me! And here I must take occasion to reprove the above-mentioned Writer[i. E. , SWIFT _himself, see_ p. 482] of the Relation of Mr. PARTRIDGE'sdeath, in a _Letter to a Lord_, who was pleased to tax me with a mistakeof _four whole hours_ in my calculation of that event. I must confess, this censure, pronounced with an air of certainty, in a matter that sonearly concerned me, and by a grave _judicious_ author, moved me not alittle. But though I was at that time out of Town, yet several of myfriends, whose curiosity had led them to be exactly informed (as for myown part; having no doubt at all of the matter, I never once thought ofit!) assured me, I computed to something under half an hour: which (Ispeak my private opinion!) is an error of no very great magnitude, thatmen should raise clamour about it! I shall only say, it would not be amiss, if that Author would henceforthbe more tender of other men's reputation, as well as of his own! It iswell there were no more mistakes of that kind: if there had been, Ipresume he would have told me of them, with as little ceremony. There is one objection against Mr. PARTRIDGE's death, which I havesometimes met with, although indeed very slightly offered, That he stillcontinueth to write _Almanacks_. But this is no more than what is commonto all of that Profession. _GADBURY, Poor Robin, DOVE, WING_, and severalothers, do yearly publish their _Almanacks_, though several of them havebeen dead since before the Revolution. Now the natural reason of this Itake to be, that whereas it is the privilege of other Authors, _to live_after their deaths; _Almanack_ makers are only excluded, because theirDissertations, treating only upon the Minutes as they pass, becomeuseless as those go off: in consideration of which, Time, whose Registersthey are, gives them a lease in reversion, to continue their Works aftertheir death. Or, perhaps, a _Name_ can _make_ an _Almanack_ as well as_sell_ one. And to strengthen this conjecture, I have heard thebooksellers affirm, that they have desired Mr. PARTRIDGE to spare himselffurther trouble, and only to lend his Name; which could make _Almanacks_much better than himself. I should not have given the Public or myself, the trouble of this_Vindication_, if my name had not been made use of by several persons, towhom I never lent it: one of which, a few days ago, was pleased to fatheron me, a new set of _Predictions_. But I think these are things tooserious to be trifled with. It grieved me to the heart, when I saw myLabours, which had cost me so much thought and watching, bawled about bythe common hawkers of Grub street, which I only intended for the weightyconsideration of the gravest persons. This prejudiced the World so muchat first, that several of my friends had the assurance to ask me, "Whether I were in jest?" To which I only answered coldly, that "theevent will shew!" But it is the talent of our Age and nation to turnthings of the greatest importance into ridicule. When the end of the yearhad _verified all_ my _Predictions_; out cometh Mr. PARTRIDGE's_Almanack!_ disputing the point of his death. So that I am employed, likethe General who was forced to kill his enemies twice over, whom anecromancer had raised to life. If Mr. PARTRIDGE has practised the sameexperiment upon himself, and be again alive; long may he continue so! Butthat doth not, in the least, contradict my veracity! For I think I haveclearly proved, _by invincible demonstration_, that he died, at farthest, within half an hour of the time I foretold [; and not four hours sooner, as the above-mentioned Author, in his _Letter to a Lord_ hath maliciouslysuggested, with a design to blast my credit, by charging me with so grossa mistake]. FINIS. Under the combined assault of the Wits, PARTRIDGE ceased to publish his_Almanack_ for a while; but afterwards took heart again, publishing his"_Merlinus Redivivus_, being an Almanack for the year 1714, by JOHNPARTRIDGE, a Lover of Truth [P. P. 2465/6];" at p. 2 of which is thefollowing epistle. To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq. SIR, There seems to be a kind of fantastical propriety in a dead man'saddressing himself to a person not in Being. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF [_i. E. , RICHARD STEELE_] is no more [_the_ Tatler _having come to an end_], and Ihave now nothing to dispute with on the subject of his fictions concerningme, _sed magni nominis umbra_, "a shadow only, and a mighty name. " I have indeed been for some years silent, or, in the language of Mr. BICKERSTAFF, "dead"; yet like many an old man that is reported so by hisheirs, I have lived long enough to bury my successor [_the_ Tatler_having been discontinued_]. In short, I am returned to Being after youhave left it; and since you were once pleased to call yourself mybrother-astrologer, the world may be apt to compare our story to that ofthe twin-stars CASTOR and POLLUX, and say it was our destiny, not toappear together, but according to the fable, to live and die by turns. Now, Sir, my intention in this Epistle is to let you know that I shallbehave myself in my new Being with as much moderation as possible, andthat I have no longer any quarrel with you [_i. E. , STEELE_], for theaccounts you inserted in your writings [_the joke was continued in the_Tatler] concerning my death, being sensible that you were no less abusedin that particular than myself. The person from whom you took up that report, I know, was your namesake, the author of BICKERSTAFF's _Predictions_, a notorious cheat. [16] And ifyou had been indeed as much an Astrologer as you pretended, you mighthave known that his word was no more to be taken than that of an Irishevidence [_SWIFT was now Dean of St. Patrick's_]: that not being the only_Tale of a Tub_ he had vented. The only satisfaction therefore, I expectis, that your bookseller in the next edition of your Works [_TheTatler_], do strike out my name and insert his in the room of it. I havesome thoughts of obliging the World with his nativity, but shall deferthat till another opportunity. I have nothing to add further, but only that when you think fit to returnto life again in whatever shape, of Censor [_the designation of thesupposed Writer of the_ Tatler], a _Guardian_, an _Englishman_, or anyother figure, I shall hope you will do justice to Your revived friend and servant, JOHN PARTRIDGE. On the last leaf of this _Almanack_ is the following notice:-- This is to give notice to all people, that all those _Prophecies, Predictions, Almanacks_, and other pamphlets, that had my name eithertrue, or shammed with the want of a Letter [_i. E. , spelling his namePARTRIGE instead of PARTRIDGE_]: I say, they are all impudent forgeries, by a breed of villains, and wholly without my knowledge or consent. And Idoubt not but those beggarly villains that have scarce bread to eatwithout being rogues, two or three poor printers and a bookbinder, withhonest BEN, will be at their old Trade again of Prophesying in my name. This is therefore to give notice, that if there is anything in print inmy name beside this _Almanack_, you may depend on it that it is a lie, and he is a villain that writes and prints it. In his _Almanack_ for 1715 [P. P. 2465/7], PARTRIDGE says-- It is very probable, that the beggarly knavish Crew will be this yearalso printing _Prophecies_ and _Predictions_ in my name, to cheat thecountry as they used to do. This is therefore to give notice, that ifthere is anything of that kind done in my name besides this _Almanack_printed by the Company of Stationers, you may be certain it is not mine, but a cheat, and therefore refuse it. [15] The quotations here, are said to be a parody of those of BENTLEY in his controversy with BOYLE. [16] _Vide_ Dr. S[WI]FT. THE PRESENT STATE OF WIT, IN A LETTER TO AFriend in the Country. _LONDON_: Printed in the Year, MDCCXI. (Price 3_d_. ) THE Present State OF WIT, &c. SIR, You acquaint me in your last, that you are still so busy building at----, that your friends must not hope to see you in Town this year: atthe same time, you desire me, that you may not be quite at a loss inconversation among the _beau monde_ next winter, to send you an accountof the present State of Wit in Town: which, without further preface, Ishall endeavour to perform; and give you the histories and characters ofall our Periodical Papers, whether monthly, weekly, or diurnal, with thesame freedom I used to send you our other Town news. I shall only premise, that, as you know, I never cared one farthing, either for Whig or Tory: so I shall consider our Writers purely as theyare such, without any respect to which Party they belong. Dr. KING has, for some time, lain down his monthly _PhilosophicalTransactions_, which the title-page informed us at first, were only to becontinued as they sold; and though that gentleman has a world of Wit, yetas it lies in one particular way of raillery, the Town soon grew weary ofhis Writings: though I cannot but think that their author deserves a muchbetter fate than to languish out the small remainder of his life in theFleet prison. About the same time that the Doctor left off writing, one Mr. OZELL putout his _Monthly Amusement_; which is still continued: and as it isgenerally some French novel or play indifferently translated, it is moreor less taken notice of, as the original piece is more or less agreeable. As to our Weekly Papers, the poor _Review_ [_by DANIEL DEFOE_] is quiteexhausted, and grown so very contemptible, that though he has provokedall his Brothers of the Quill round, none of them will enter into acontroversy with him. This fellow, who had excellent natural parts, butwanted a small foundation of learning, is a lively instance of those Witswho, as an ingenious author says, "will endure but one skimming"[!]. The _Observator_ was almost in the same condition; but since our partystruggles have run so high, he is much mended for the better: which isimputed to the charitable assistance of some outlying friends. These two authors might however have flourished some time longer, had notthe controversy been taken up by abler hands. The _Examiner_ is a paper which all men, who speak without prejudice, allow to be well written. Though his subject will admit of no greatvariety; he is continually placing it in so many different lights, andendeavouring to inculcate the same thing by so many beautiful changes ofexpression, that men who are concerned in no Party, may read him withpleasure. His way of assuming the Question in debate is extremely artful;and his _Letter to Crassus_ is, I think, a masterpiece. As these Papersare supposed to have been written by several hands, the critics will tellyou that they can discern a difference in their styles and beauties; andpretend to observe that the first _Examiners_ abound chiefly in Wit, thelast in Humour. Soon after their first appearance, came out a Paper from the other side, called the _Whig Examiner_, written with so much fire, and in soexcellent a style, as put the Tories in no small pain for their favouritehero. Every one cried, "_BICKERSTAFF_ must be the author!" and people werethe more confirmed in this opinion, upon its being so soon laid down:which seemed to shew that it was only written to bind the _Examiners_ totheir good behaviour, and was never designed to be a Weekly Paper. The _Examiners_, therefore, have no one to combat with, at present, buttheir friend the _Medley_: the author of which Paper, though he seems tobe a man of good sense, and expresses it luckily now and then, is, Ithink, for the most part, perfectly a stranger to fine writing. I presume I need not tell you that the _Examiner_ carries much the moresail, as it is supposed to be written by the direction, and under the eyeof some Great Persons who sit at the helm of affairs, and is consequentlylooked on as a sort of Public Notice which way they are steering us. The reputed author is Dr. S[WIF]T, with the assistance, sometimes, of Dr. ATT[ERBUR]Y and Mr. P[RIO]R. The _Medley_ is said to be written by Mr. OLD[MIXO]N; and supervised byMr. MAYN[WARIN]G, who perhaps might entirely write those few Papers whichare so much better than the rest. Before I proceed further in the account of our Weekly Papers, it will benecessary to inform you that at the beginning of the winter [_on Jan. 2_, 1711], to the infinite surprise of all men, Mr. STEELE flang up his_Tatler_; and instead of _ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esquire_, subscribed himselfRICHARD STEELE to the last of those Papers, after a handsome compliment tothe Town for their kind acceptance of his endeavours to divert them. The chief reason he thought fit to give for his leaving off writing was, that having been so long looked on in all public places and companies asthe Author of those papers, he found that his most intimate friends andacquaintance were in pain to speak or act before him. The Town was very far from being satisfied with this reason, and mostpeople judged the true cause to be, either That he was quite spent, and wanted matter to continue his undertaking any longer; or That he laid it down as a sort of submission to, and composition with, the Government, for some past offences; or, lastly, That he had a mind to vary his Shape, and appear again in some new light. However that were, his disappearance seemed to be bewailed as somegeneral calamity. Every one wanted so agreeable an amusement, and theCoffee-houses began to be sensible that the _Esquire's Lucubrations_alone had brought them more customers, than all their other News Papersput together. It must indeed be confessed that never man threw up his pen, understronger temptations to have employed it longer. His reputation was at agreater height, than I believe ever any living author's was before him. It is reasonable to suppose that his gains were proportionablyconsiderable. Every one read him with pleasure and good-will; and theTories, in respect to his other good qualities, had almost forgiven hisunaccountable imprudence in declaring against them. Lastly, it was highly improbable that, if he threw off a Character theideas of which were so strongly impressed in every one's mind, howeverfinely he might write in any new form, that he should meet with the samereception. To give you my own thoughts of this Gentleman's Writings, I shall, in thefirst place, observe, that there is a noble difference between him and allthe rest of our Polite and Gallant Authors. The latter have endeavoured toplease the Age by falling in with them, and encouraging them in theirfashionable vices and false notions of things. It would have been a jest, some time since, for a man to have asserted that anything witty could besaid in praise of a married state, or that Devotion and Virtue were anyway necessary to the character of a Fine Gentleman. _BICKERSTAFF_ventured to tell the Town that they were a parcel of fops, fools, andcoquettes; but in such a manner as even pleased them, and made them morethan half inclined to believe that he spoke truth. Instead of complying with the false sentiments or vicious tastes of theAge--either in morality, criticism, or good breeding--he has boldlyassured them, that they were altogether in the wrong; and commanded them, with an authority which perfectly well became him, to surrender themselvesto his arguments for Virtue and Good Sense. It is incredible to conceive the effect his writings have had on theTown; how many thousand follies they have either quite banished or givena very great check to! how much countenance, they have added to Virtueand Religion! how many people they have rendered happy, by shewing themit was their own fault if they were not so! and, lastly, how entirelythey have convinced our young fops and young fellows of the value andadvantages of Learning! He has indeed rescued it out of the hands of pedants and fools, anddiscovered the true method of making it amiable and lovely to allmankind. In the dress he gives it, it is a most welcome guest attea-tables and assemblies, and is relished and caressed by the merchantson the Change. Accordingly there is not a Lady at Court, nor a Banker inLombard Street, who is not verily persuaded that Captain STEELE is thegreatest Scholar and best Casuist of any man in England. Lastly, his writings have set all our Wits and Men of Letters on a newway of Thinking, of which they had little or no notion before: and, although we cannot say that any of them have come up to the beauties ofthe original, I think we may venture to affirm, that every one of themwrites and thinks much more justly than they did some time since. The vast variety of subjects which Mr. STEELE has treated of, in sodifferent manners, and yet ALL so perfectly well, made the World believethat it was impossible they should all come from the same hand. This setevery one upon guessing who was the _Esquire's_ friend? and most peopleat first fancied it must be Doctor SWIFT; but it is now no longer asecret, that his only great and constant assistant was Mr. ADDISON. This is that excellent friend to whom Mr. STEELE owes so much; and whorefuses to have his name set before those Pieces which the greatest pensin England would be proud to own. Indeed, they could hardly add to thisGentleman's reputation: whose works in Latin and English Poetry longsince convinced the World, that he was the greatest Master in Europe ofthose two languages. I am assured, from good hands, that all the visions, and other tracts ofthat way of writing, with a very great number of the most exquisitepieces of wit and raillery throughout the _Lucubrations_ are entirely ofthis Gentleman's composing: which may, in some measure, account for thatdifferent Genius, which appears In the winter papers, from those of thesummer; at which time, as the _Examiner_ often hinted, this friend of Mr. STEELE was in Ireland. Mr. STEELE confesses in his last Volume of the _Tatlers_ that he isobliged to Dr. SWIFT for his _Town Shower_, and the _Description of theMorn_, with some other hints received from him in private conversation. I have also heard that several of those _Letters_, which came as fromunknown hands, were written by Mr. HENLEY: which is an answer to yourquery, "Who those friends are, whom Mr. STEELE speaks of in his last_Tatler_?" But to proceed with my account of our other papers. The expiration of_BICKERSTAFF's Lucubrations_ was attended with much the same consequencesas the death of _MELIBOEUS's Ox_ in VIRGIL: as the latter engenderedswarms of bees, the former immediately produced whole swarms of littlesatirical scribblers. One of these authors called himself the _Growler_, and assured us that, to make amends for Mr. STEELE's silence, he was resolved to _growl_ at usweekly, as long as we should think fit to give him any encouragement. Another Gentleman, with more modesty, called his paper, the _Whisperer_;and a third, to please the Ladies, christened his, the _Telltale_. At the same time came out several _Tatlers_; each of which, with equaltruth and wit, assured us that he was the genuine _ISAAC BICKERSTAFF_. It may be observed that when the _Esquire_ laid down his pen; though hecould not but foresee that several scribblers would soon snatch it up, which he might (one would think) easily have prevented: he scorned totake any further care about it, but left the field fairly open to anyworthy successor. Immediately, some of our Wits were for formingthemselves into a Club, headed by one Mr. HARRISON, and trying how theycould shoot in this BOW of ULYSSES; but soon found that this sort ofwriting requires so fine and particular a manner of Thinking, with soexact a Knowledge of the World, as must make them utterly despair ofsuccess. They seemed indeed at first to think, that what was only the garnish ofthe former _Tatlers_, was that which recommended them; and not thoseSubstantial Entertainments which they everywhere abound in. Accordingthey were continually talking of their _Maid, Night Cap, Spectacles_, andCHARLES LILLIE. However there were, now and then, some faint endeavours atHumour and sparks of Wit: which the Town, for want of betterentertainment, was content to hunt after, through a heap ofimpertinences; but even those are, at present, become wholly invisibleand quite swallowed up in the blaze of the _Spectator_. You may remember, I told you before, that one cause assigned for thelaying down the _Tatler_ was, Want of Matter; and, indeed, this was theprevailing opinion in Town: when we were surprised all at once by a papercalled the _Spectator_, which was promised to be continued every day; andwas written in so excellent a style, with so nice a judgment, and such anoble profusion of Wit and Humour, that it was not difficult to determineit could come from no other hands but those which had penned the_Lucubrations_. This immediately alarmed these gentlemen, who, as it is said Mr. STEELEphrases it, had "the Censorship in Commission. " They found the new_Spectator_ came on like a torrent, and swept away all before him. Theydespaired ever to equal him in Wit, Humour, or Learning; which had beentheir true and certain way of opposing him: and therefore rather chose tofall on the Author; and to call out for help to all good Christians, byassuring them again and again that they were the First, Original, True, and Undisputed _ISAAC BICKERSTAFF_. Meanwhile, the _Spectator_, whom we regard as our Shelter from that floodof false wit and impertinence which was breaking in upon us, is in everyone's hands; and a constant topic for our morning conversation attea-tables and coffee-houses. We had at first, indeed, no manner ofnotion how a diurnal paper could be continued in the spirit and style ofour present _Spectators_: but, to our no small surprise, we find themstill rising upon us, and can only wonder from whence so prodigious a runof Wit and Learning can proceed; since some of our best judges seem tothink that they have hitherto, in general, outshone even the _Esquire_'sfirst _Tatlers_. Most people fancy, from their frequency, that they must be composed by aSociety: I withal assign the first places to Mr. STEELE and his Friend. I have often thought that the conjunction of those two great Geniuses, who seem to stand in a class by themselves, so high above all our otherWits, resembled that of two statesmen in a late reign, whose charactersare very well expressed in their two mottoes, viz. , _Prodesse quamconspici_ [LORD SOMERS], and _Otium cum dignitate_ [CHARLES MONTAGU, Earlof HALIFAX]. Accordingly the first [_ADDISON_] was continually at workbehind the curtain, drew up and prepared all those schemes, which thelatter still drove on, and stood out exposed to the World, to receive itspraises or censures. Meantime, all our unbiassed well-wishers to Learning are in hopes thatthe known Temper and prudence of one of these Gentlemen will hinder theother from ever lashing out into Party, and rendering that Wit, which isat present a common good, odious and ungrateful to the better part of theNation [_by which, of course, GAY meant the Tories_]. If this piece of imprudence does not spoil so excellent a Paper, Ipropose to myself the highest satisfaction in reading it with you, over adish of tea, every morning next winter. As we have yet had nothing new since the _Spectator_, it only remains forme to assure you, that I am Yours, &c. , J[OHN] G[AY]. _Westminster, May_ 3, 1711. _POSTCRIPT_. Upon a review of my letter, I find I have quite forgotten the _BritishApollo_; which might possibly have happened, from its having, of late, retreated out of this end of the Town into the country: where, I aminformed however, that it still recommends itself by deciding wagers atcards, and giving good advice to shopkeepers and their apprentices. _FINIS_. THOMAS TICKELL. _Life of JOSEPH ADDISON_. [_Preface_ to first edition of ADDISON's _Works_ 1721. ] JOSEPH ADDISON, the son of LANCELOT ADDISON, D. D. , and of JANE, thedaughter of NATHANIEL GULSTON, D. D. , and sister of Dr. WILLIAM GULSTON, Bishop of BRISTOL, was born at Milston, near Ambrosebury, in the countyof Wilts, in the year 1671. His father, who was of the county of Westmoreland, and educated atQueen's College in Oxford, passed many years in his travels throughEurope and Africa; where he joined to the uncommon and excellent talentsof Nature, a great knowledge of Letters and Things: of which, severalbooks published by him, are ample testimonies. He was Rector of Milston, above mentioned, when Mr. ADDISON, his eldest son, was born: andafterwards became Archdeacon of Coventry, and Dean of Lichfield. Mr. ADDISON received his first education at the _Chartreuse_[_Charterhouse School in London_]; from whence he was removed very earlyto Queen's College, in Oxford. He had been there about two years, whenthe accidental sight of a Paper of his verses, in the hands of Dr. LANCASTER, then Dean of that House, occasioned his being elected intoMagdalen College. He employed his first years in the study of the old Greek and RomanWriters; whose language and manner he caught, at that time of life, asstrongly as other young people gain a French accent, or a genteel air. An early acquaintance with the Classics is what may be called the GoodBreeding of Poetry, as it gives a certain gracefulness which neverforsakes a mind that contracted it in youth; but is seldom, or never, hitby those who would learn it too late. He first distinguished himself by his Latin compositions, published inthe _Musae Anglicanae_: and was admired as one of the best Authors sincethe Augustan Age, in the two universities and the greatest part ofEurope, before he was talked of as a Poet in Town. There is not, perhaps, any harder task than to tame the natural wildnessof Wit, and to civilize the Fancy. The generality of our old EnglishPoets abound in forced conceits and affected phrases; and even those whoare said to come the nearest to exactness, are but too often fond ofunnatural beauties, and aim at something better than perfection. If Mr. ADDISON's example and precepts be the occasion that there now begins tobe a great demand for Correctness, we may justly attribute it to hisbeing first fashioned by the ancient Models, and familiarized toPropriety of Thought and Chastity of Style. Our country owes it to him, that the famous Monsieur BOILEAU firstconceived an opinion of the English Genius for Poetry, by perusing thepresent he made him of the _Musae Anglicanae_. It has been currentlyreported, that this famous French poet, among the civilities he shewedMr. ADDISON on that occasion, affirmed that he would not have writtenagainst PERRAULT, had he before seen such excellent Pieces by a modernhand. Such a saying would have been impertinent, and unworthy [of]BOILEAU! whose dispute with PERRAULT turned chiefly upon some passages inthe Ancients, which he rescued from the misinterpretations of hisadversary. The true and natural compliment made by him, was that thosebooks had given him a very new Idea of the English Politeness, and thathe did not question but there were excellent compositions in the nativelanguage of a country, that professed the Roman Genius in so eminent adegree. The first English performance made public by him, is a short copy ofverses _To Mr. DRYDEN_, with a view particularly to his Translations. This was soon followed by a Version of the fourth _Georgic_ of VIRGIL; ofwhich Mr. DRYDEN makes very honourable mention in the _Postscript_ to hisown Translation of VIRGIL's _Works_: wherein, I have often wondered thathe did not, at the same time, acknowledge his obligation to Mr. ADDISON, for giving the _Essay upon the Georgics_, prefixed to Mr. DRYDEN'sTranslation. Lest the honour of so exquisite a piece of criticism shouldhereafter be transferred to a wrong Author, I have taken care to insertit in this Collection of his _Works_. Of some other copies of Verses, printed in the _Miscellanies_ while hewas young, the largest is _An Account of the greatest English Poets_; inthe close of which, he insinuates a design he then had of going into HolyOrders, to which he was strongly importuned by his father. His remarkableseriousness and modesty, which might have been urged as powerful reasonsfor his choosing that life, proved the chief obstacles to it. Thesequalities, by which the Priesthood is so much adorned, represented theduties of it as too weighty for him, and rendered him still the moreworthy of that honour, which they made him decline. It is happy that thisvery circumstance has since turned so much to the advantage of Virtue andReligion; in the cause of which, he has bestowed his labours the moresuccessfully, as they were his voluntary, not his necessary employment. The World became insensibly reconciled to Wisdom and Goodness, when theysaw them recommended by him, with at least as much Spirit and Elegance asthey had been ridiculed [with] for half a century. He was in his twenty-eighth year [1699], when his inclination to seeFrance and Italy was encouraged by the great Lord Chancellor SOMERS, oneof that kind of patriots who think it no waste of the Public Treasure, topurchase Politeness to their country. His Poem upon one of King WILLIAM'sCampaigns, addressed to his Lordship, was received with great humanity;and occasioned a message from him to the Author, to desire hisacquaintance. He soon after obtained, by his Interest, a yearly pension of threehundred pounds from the Crown, to support him in his travels. If theuncommonness of a favour, and the distinction of the person who confersit, enhance its value; nothing could be more honourable to a young Man ofLearning, than such a bounty from so eminent a Patron. How well Mr. ADDISON answered the expectations of my Lord SOMERS, cannotappear better than from the book of _Travels_, he dedicated to hisLordship at his return. It is not hard to conceive why that performancewas at first but indifferently relished by the bulk of readers; whoexpected an Account, in a common way, of the customs and policies of theseveral Governments In Italy, reflections upon the Genius of the people, a Map [_description_] of the Provinces, or a measure of their buildings. How were they disappointed! when, instead of such particulars, they werepresented only with a Journal of Poetical Travels, with Remarks on thepresent picture of the country compared with the landskips [_landscapes_]drawn by Classic Authors, and others the like unconcerning parts ofknowledge! One may easily imagine a reader of plain sense but without afine taste, turning over these parts of the Volume which make more thanhalf of it, and wondering how an Author who seems to have so solid anunderstanding when he treats of more weighty subjects in the other pages, should dwell upon such trifles, and give up so much room to matters ofmere amusement. There are indeed but few men so fond of the Ancients, asto be transported with every little accident which introduces to theirintimate acquaintance. Persons of that cast may here have thesatisfaction of seeing Annotations upon an old Roman Poem, gathered fromthe hills and valleys where it was written. The Tiber and the Po serve toexplain the verses which were made upon their banks; and the Alps andApennines are made Commentators on those Authors, to whom they weresubjects, so many centuries ago. Next to personal conversation with the Writers themselves, this is thesurest way of coming at their sense; a compendious and engaging kind ofCriticism which convinces at first sight, and shews the vanity ofconjectures made by Antiquaries at a distance. If the knowledge of PoliteLiterature has its use, there is certainly a merit in illustrating thePerfect Models of it; and the Learned World will think some years of aman's life not misspent in so elegant an employment. I shall concludewhat I had to say on this Performance, by observing that the fame of itincreased from year to year; and the demand for copies was so urgent, that their price rose to four or five times the original value, before itcame out in a second edition. The _Letter from Italy_ to my Lord HALIFAX may be considered as the Text, upon which the book of _Travels_ is a large Comment; and has been esteemedby those who have a relish for Antiquity, as the most exquisite of hispoetical performances. A Translation of it, by Signor SALVINI, Professorof the Greek tongue, at Florence, is inserted in this edition; not onlyon account of its merit, but because it is the language of the country, which is the subject of the Poem. The materials for the _Dialogues upon Medals_, now first printed from amanuscript of the Author, were collected in the native country of thosecoins. The book itself was begun to be cast in form, at Vienna; asappears from a letter to Mr. STEPNEY, then Minister at that Court, datedin November, 1702. Some time before the date of this letter, Mr. ADDISON had designed toreturn to England; when he received advice from his friends that he waspitched upon to attend the army under Prince EUGENE, who had just begunthe war in Italy, as Secretary from His Majesty. But an account of thedeath of King WILLIAM, which he met with at Geneva, put an end to thatthought: and, as his hopes of advancement in his own country, were fallenwith the credit of his friends, who were out of power at the beginning ofher late Majesty's reign, he had leisure to make the tour of Germany, inhis way home. He remained, for some time after his return to England, without anypublic employment: which he did not obtain till the year 1704, when theDuke of MARLBOROUGH arrived at the highest pitch of glory, by deliveringall Europe from slavery; and furnished Mr. ADDISON with a subject worthyof that Genius which appears in his Poem, called _The Campaign_. Lord Treasurer GODOLPHIN, who was a fine judge of poetry, had a sight ofthis Work when it was only carried on as far as the applauded simile ofthe Angel; and approved of the Poem, by bestowing on the Author, in a fewdays after, the place of Commissioner of Appeals, vacant by the removal ofthe famous Mr. [JOHN] LOCKE to the Council of Trade. His next advancement was to the place of Under Secretary, which he heldunder Sir CHARLES HEDGES, and the present Earl of SUNDERLAND. The operaof _Rosamond_ was written while he possessed that employment. What doubtssoever have been raised about the merit of the Music, which, as theItalian taste at that time began wholly to prevail, was thoughtsufficient inexcusable, because it was the composition of an Englishman;the Poetry of this Piece has given as much pleasure in the closet, asothers have afforded from the Stage, with all the assistance of voicesand instruments. The Comedy called _The Tender Husband_ appeared much about the same time;to which Mr. ADDISON wrote the _Prologue_. Sir RICHARD STEELE surprisedhim with a very handsome _Dedication_ of his Play; and has sinceacquainted the Public, that he owed some of the most taking scenes of it, to Mr. ADDISON. His next step in his fortune, was to the post of Secretary under the lateMarquis of WHARTON, who was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in theyear 1709. As I have proposed to touch but very lightly on those parts ofhis life, which do not regard him as an Author; I shall not enlarge uponthe great reputation he acquired, by his turn for business, and hisunblemished integrity, in this and other employments. It must not be omitted here, that the salary of Keeper of the Records inIreland was considerably raised, and that post bestowed upon him at thistime, as a mark of the Queen's favour. He was in that Kingdom, when he first discovered Sir RICHARD STEELE to bethe Author of the _Tatler_, by an observation upon _VIRGIL_, which hadbeen by him communicated to his friend. The assistance he occasionallygave him afterwards, in the course of the Paper, did not a littlecontribute to advance its reputation; and, upon the Change of theMinistry, he found leisure to engage more constantly in that Work: which, however, was dropped at last, as it had been taken up, without hisparticipation. In the last Paper, which closed those celebrated Performances, and in the_Preface_ to the last Volume, Sir RICHARD STEELE has given to Mr. ADDISON, the honour of the most applauded Pieces in that Collection. But as thatacknowledgement was delivered only in general terms, without directingthe Public to the several Papers; Mr. ADDISON (who was content with thepraise arising from his own Works, and too delicate to take any part ofthat which belonged to others), afterwards, thought fit to distinguishhis Writings in the _Spectators_ and _Guardians_, by such marks as mightremove the least possibility of mistake in the most undiscerning readers. It was necessary that his share in the _Tatlers_ should be adjusted in acomplete Collection of his _Works_: for which reason, Sir RICHARD STEELE, in compliance with the request of his deceased friend, delivered to him bythe Editor, was pleased to mark with his own hand, those _Tatlers_, whichare inserted in this edition; and even to point out several, in thewriting of which, they were both concerned. The Plan of the _Spectator_, as far as regards the feigned Person ofthe Author, and of the several Characters that compose his Club, wasprojected in concert with Sir RICHARD STEELE. And because many passagesin the course of the Work would otherwise be obscure, I have taken leaveto insert one single Paper written by Sir RICHARD STEELE, wherein thoseCharacters are drawn; which may serve as a _Dramatis Personae_, or as somany pictures for an ornament and explication of the whole. As for the distinct Papers, they were never or seldom shewn to eachother, by their respective Authors; who fully answered the Promise theyhad made, and far outwent the Expectation they had raised, of pursuingtheir Labour in the same Spirit and Strength with which it was begun. It would have been impossible for Mr. ADDISON (who made little or no useof letters sent in, by the numerous correspondents of the _Spectator_) tohave executed his large share of his task in so exquisite a manner; if hehad not engrafted into it many Pieces that had lain by him, in littlehints and minutes, which he from time to time collected and ranged inorder, and moulded into the form in which they now appear. Such are theEssays upon _Wit_, the _Pleasures of the Imagination_, the _Critique uponMILTON_, and some others: which I thought to have connected in a continuedSeries in this Edition, though they were at first published with theinterruption of writings on different subjects. But as such a schemewould have obliged me to cut off several graceful introductions andcircumstances peculiarly adapted to the time and occasion of printingthen; I durst not pursue that attempt. The Tragedy of CATO appeared in public in the year 1713; when thegreatest part of the last _Act_ was added by the Author, to the foregoingwhich he had kept by him for many years. He took up a design of writing aplay upon this subject, when he was very young at the University; andeven attempted something in it there, though not a line as it now stands. The work was performed by him in his travels, and retouched in England, without any formed resolution of bringing it upon the Stage, until hisfriends of the first Quality and Distinction prevailed on him, to put thelast finishing to it, at a time when they thought the Doctrine of Libertyvery seasonable. It is in everybody's memory, with what applause it was received by thePublic; that the first run of it lasted for a month, and then stoppedonly because one of the performers became incapable of acting a principalpart. The Author received a message that the Queen would be pleased to have itdedicated to her: but as he had designed that compliment elsewhere, hefound himself obliged, by his duty on the one side, and his honour on theother, to send it into the World without any _Dedication_. The fame of this tragedy soon spread through Europe; and it has not onlybeen translated, but acted in most of the languages of Christendom. TheTranslation of it into Italian by Signor SALVINI is very well known: butI have not been able to learn, whether that of Signor VALETTA, a youngNeapolitan Nobleman, has ever been made public. If he had found time for the writing of another tragedy, the Death ofSOCRATES would have been the story. And, however unpromising that subjectmay appear; it would be presumptuous to censure his choice, who was sofamous for raising the noblest plants from the most barren soil. Itserves to shew that he thought the whole labour of such a Performanceunworthy to be thrown away upon those Intrigues and Adventures, to whichthe romantic taste has confined Modern Tragedy: and, after the example ofhis predecessors in Greece, would have employed the Drama _to wear out ofour minds everything that is mean or little, to cherish and cultivatethat Humanity which is the ornament of our nature, to soften Insolence, to soothe Affliction, and to subdue our minds to the dispensations ofProvidence_. (_Spectator_, No. 39. ) Upon the death of the late Queen, the Lords Justices, in whom theAdministration was lodged, appointed him their Secretary. Soon after His Majesty's arrival in Great Britain, the Earl ofSUNDERLAND, being constituted Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; Mr. ADDISONbecame, a second time, Secretary for the Affairs of that Kingdom: and wasmade one of the Lords Commissioners of Trade, a little after his Lordshipresigned the post of Lord Lieutenant. The Paper called the _Freeholder_, was undertaken at the time when theRebellion broke out in Scotland. The only Works he left behind for the Public, are the _Dialogues uponmedals_, and the Treatise upon the _Christian Religion_. Some account hasbeen already given of the former: to which nothing is now to be added, except that a great part of the Latin quotations were rendered intoEnglish in a very hasty manner by the Editor and one of his friends whohad the good nature to assist him, during his avocations of business. Itwas thought better to add these translations, such as they are; than tolet the Work come out unintelligible to those who do not possess thelearned languages. The Scheme for the Treatise upon the _Christian Religion_ was formed bythe Author, about the end of the late Queen's reign; at which time, hecarefully perused the ancient Writings, which furnish the materials forit. His continual employment in business prevented him from executing it, until he resigned his office of Secretary of State; and his death put aperiod to it, when he had imperfectly performed only one half of thedesign: he having proposed, as appears from the Introduction, to add theJewish to the Heathen testimonies for the truth of the Christian History. He was more assiduous than his health would well allow, in the pursuit ofthis Work: and had long determined to dedicate his Poetry also, for thefuture, wholly to religious subjects. Soon after, he was, from being one of the Lords Commissioners of Trade, advanced to the post of Secretary of State; he found his health impairedby the return of that asthmatic indisposition; which continued often, toafflict him during his exercise of that employment: and, at last, obligedhim to beg His Majesty's leave to resign. His freedom from the anxiety of business so far re-established hishealth, that his friends began to hope he might last for many years: but(whether it were from a life too sedentary; or from his naturalconstitution, in which was one circumstance very remarkable, that, fromhis cradle, he never had a regular pulse) a long and painful relapse intoan asthma and dropsy deprived the World of this great man, on the 17th ofJune, 1719. He left behind him only one daughter, by the Countess of WARWICK; to whomhe was married in the year 1716. Not many days before his death, he gave me directions to collect hisWritings, and at the same time committed to my care the _Letter_addressed to _Mr. CRAGGS_, his successor as Secretary of State, whereinhe bequeaths them to him, as a token of friendship. Such a testimony, from the First Man of our Age, in such a point of time, will be perhaps as great and lasting an honour to that Gentleman as anyeven he could acquire to himself, and yet it is no more than was due froman affection that justly increased towards him, through the intimacy ofseveral years. I cannot, save with the utmost tenderness, reflect on thekind concern with which Mr. ADDISON left Me as a sort of incumbrance uponthis valuable legacy. Nor must I deny myself the honour to acknowlege thatthe goodness of that Great Man to me, like many other of his amiablequalities, seemed not so much to be renewed, as continued in hissuccessor; who made me an example, that nothing could be indifferent tohim which came recommended to Mr. ADDISON. Could any circumstance be more severe to me, while I was executing theseLast Commands of the Author, than to see the Person to whom his Workswere presented, cut off in the flower of his age, and carried from thehigh Office wherein he had succeeded Mr. ADDISON, to be laid next him, inthe same grave? I might dwell upon such thoughts as naturally rise fromthese minute resemblances in the fortune of two persons, whose namesprobably will be seldom mentioned asunder while either our Language orStory subsist; were I not afraid of making this _Preface_ too tedious:especially since I shall want all the patience of the reader, for havingenlarged it with the following verses. _To the_ EARL OF WARWICK _On the Death of_ MR. ADDISON. If dumb too long, the drooping muse hath stay'd And left her debt to Addison unpaid, Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. What mourner ever felt poetic fires! Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires: Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. Can I forget the dismal night that gave My soul's best part for ever to the grave! How silent did his old companions tread By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings! What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; The pealing organ, and the pausing choir; The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate paid; And the last words, that dust to dust convey'd! While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. Oh gone for ever! take this long adieu; And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague. To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine; Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part, May shame afflict this alienated heart; Of thee forgetful if I form a song, My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue. My grief be doubled from thy image free, And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee. Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone, Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown, Along the walls, where speaking marbles show What worthies form the hallow'd mould below; Proud names who once the reins of empire held; In arms who triumphed; or in arts excelled; Chiefs graced with scars and prodigal of blood; Stern patriots who for sacred freedom stood; Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; And saints who taught and led the way to heaven; Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest Since their foundation came a nobler guest; Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd A fairer spirit or more welcome shade. In what new region to the just assigned, What new employments please th' unbody'd mind; A wingèd virtue, through th' ethereal sky From world to world unweary'd does he fly? Or curious trace the long laborious maze Of heaven's decrees where wondering angels gaze; Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell How Michael battl'd and the dragon fell, Or mixed with milder cherubim to glow In hymns of love not ill-essay'd below? Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend To me thy aid, thou guardian genius lend When rage misguides me or when fear alarms, When pain distresses or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join nor death can part us more. That awful form, which, so the heavens decree, Must still be loved and still deplor'd by me In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, Or rous'd by fancy, meets my waking eyes. If business calls, or crowded courts invite; Th' unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my sight; If in the stage I seek to soothe my care I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there; If pensive to the rural shades I rove, His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove; 'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong, Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious song: There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, A candid censor, and a friend severe; There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high The price for knowledge) taught us how to die. Sir RICHARD STEELE. _Dedicatory Epistle to_ WILLIAM CONGREVE. [This Dedication is prefixed to the Second Edition of ADDISON's_Drummer_, 1722. ] To Mr. CONGREVE: occasioned by Mr. TICKELL's _Preface_ to the fourvolumes of Mr. ADDISON's _Works_. Sir, This is the second time that I have, without your leave, taken the liberty to make a public address to you. However uneasy you may be, for your own sake, in receiving compliments of this nature, I depend upon your known humanity for pardon; when I acknowledge that you have this present trouble, for mine. When I take myself to be ill treated with regard to my behaviour to the merit of other men; my conduct towards you is an argument of my candour that way, as well as that your name and authority will be my protection in it. You will give me leave therefore, in a matter that concerns us in the Poetical World, to make you my judge whether I am not injured in the highest manner! for with men of your taste and delicacy, it is a high crime and misdemeanour to be guilty of anything that is disingenuous. But I will go into my matter. Upon my return from Scotland, I visited Mr. TONSON's shop, and thanked him for his care in sending to my house, the Volumes of my dear and honoured friend Mr. ADDISON; which are, at last, published by his Secretary, Mr. TICKELL: but took occasion to observe, that I had not seen the Work before it came out; which he did not think fit to excuse any otherwise than by a recrimination, that I had put into his hands, at a high price, a Comedy called _The Drummer_; which, by my zeal for it, he took to be written by Mr. ADDISON, and of which, after his [_ADDISON's_] death, he said, I directly acknowleged he was the author. To urge this hardship still more home, he produced a receipt under my hand, in these words-- _March 12, 1715 [-16]_. _Received then, the sum of Fifty Guineas for the Copy_ [copyright] _of the Comedy called_, The Drummer or the Haunted House. _I say, received by order of the Author of the said Comedy_, _RICHARD STEELE_. and added, at the same time, that since Mr. TICKELL had not thought fitto make that play a part of Mr. ADDISON's _Works_; he would sell the Copyto any bookseller that would give most for it [_i. E. , TONSON threw theonus of the authenticity of the_ Drummer _on STEELE_]. This is represented thus circumstantially, to shew how incumbent it isupon me, as well in justice to the bookseller, as for many otherconsiderations, to produce this Comedy a second time [_It was firstprinted in_ 1716]; and take this occasion to vindicate myself againstcertain insinuations thrown out by the Publisher [_THOMAS TICKELL_] ofMr. ADDISON's Writings, concerning my behaviour in the nicestcircumstance--that of doing justice to the Merit of my Friend. I shall take the liberty, before I have ended this Letter, to say why Ibelieve the _Drummer_ a performance of Mr. ADDISON: and after I havedeclared this, any surviving writer may be at ease; if there be any onewho has hitherto been vain enough to hope, or silly enough to fear, itmay be given to himself. Before I go any further, I must make my Public Appeal to you and all theLearned World, and humbly demand, Whether it was a decent and reasonablething, that Works written, as a great part of Mr. ADDISON's were, incorrespondence [_coadjutorship_] with me, ought to have been publishedwithout my review of the Catalogue of them; or if there were anyexception to be made against any circumstance in my conduct, Whether anopportunity to explain myself should not have been allowed me, before anyReflections were made on me in print. When I had perused Mr. TICKELL's _Preface_, I had soon so manyobjections, besides his omission to say anything of the _Drummer_, against his long-expected performance: the chief intention of which (andwhich it concerns me first to examine) seems to aim at doing the deceasedAuthor justice, against me! whom he insinuates to have assumed to myself, part of the merit of my friend. He is pleased, Sir, to express himself concerning the present Writer, inthe following manner-- _The Comedy called_ The Tender Husband, _appeared much about the sametime; to which Mr. ADDISON wrote the _Prologue: _Sir RICHARD STEELEsurprised him with a very handsome_ Dedication _of this Play; and hassince acquainted the Public, that he owed some of the most taking scenesof it, to Mr. ADDISON_. Mr. TICKELL's _Preface_. Pag. 11. _He was in that Kingdom_ [Ireland], _when he first discovered Sir RICHARDSTEELE to be the Author of the_ Tatler, _by an observation upon_ VIRGIL, _which had been by him communicated to his friend. The assistance heoccasionally gave him afterwards, in the course of the Paper, did not alittle contribute to advance its reputation; and, upon the Change of theMinistry_ [in the autumn of 1710], _he found leisure to engage moreconstantly in that Work: which, however, was dropped at last, as it hadbeen taken up, without his participation_. _In the last Paper which closed those celebrated Performances, and inthe_ Preface _to the last Volume, Sir RICHARD STEELE has given to Mr. ADDISON, the honour of the most applauded Pieces in that Collection. Butas that acknowledgement was delivered only in general terms, withoutdirecting the Public to the several Papers; Mr. ADDISON (who was contentwith the praise arising from his own Works, and too delicate to take anypart of that which belonged to others), afterwards thought fit todistinguish his Writings in the_ Spectators _and_ Guardians _by suchmarks as might remove the least possibility of mistake in the mostundiscerning readers. It was necessary that his share in the_ Tatlers_should be adjusted in a complete Collection of his_ Works: _for whichreason, Sir RICHARD STEELE, in compliance with the request of hisdeceased friend, delivered to him by the Editor, was pleased to mark withhis own hand, those_ Tatlers _which are inserted in this edition; and evento point out several, in the writing of which, they both were concerned_. Pag. 12. _The Plan of the_ Spectator, _as far as it related to the feigned Personof the Author, and of the several Characters that compose his Club, wasprojected in concert with Sir_ RICHARD STEELE: _and because many passagesin the course of the Work would otherwise be obscure, I have taken leaveto insert one Paper written by Sir_ RICHARD STEELE, _wherein thoseCharacters are drawn; which may serve as a_ Dramatis Personae, _or as somany pictures for an ornament and explication of the whole. As for thedistinct Papers, they were never or seldom shewn to each other, by theirrespective Authors, who fully answered the Promise they made, and faroutwent the Expectation they had raised, of pursuing their Labour in thesame Spirit and Strength with which it was begun_. Pag. 13. It need not be explained that it is here intimated, that I had notsufficiently acknowledged what was due to Mr. ADDISON in these Writings. I shall make a full Answer to what seems intended by the words, _He wastoo delicate to take any part of that which belonged to others_; if I canrecite out of my own Papers, anything that may make it appear groundless. The subsequent [_following_] encomiums bestowed by me on Mr. ADDISONwill, I hope, be of service to me in this particular. _But I have only one Gentleman_, who will be nameless, _to thank for anyfrequent assistance to me: which indeed it would have been barbarous inhim, to have denied in one with whom he has lived in an intimacy fromchildhood; considering the great Ease with which he is able to despatchthe most entertaining Pieces of this nature. This good office heperformed with such force of Genius, Humour, Wit, and Learning, that Ifared like a distressed Prince who calls in a powerful neighbour to hisaid; I was undone by my auxiliary! When I had once called him in, I couldnot subsist without dependence on him_. _The same Hand wrote the distinguishing Characters of Men and Women underthe names of_ Musical Instruments, _the_ Distress of the News-Writers, _the_ Inventory of the Play House, _and the_ Description of theThermometer; _which I cannot but look upon, as the greatestembellishments of this Work. Pref_. To the 4th Vol. Of the _Tatlers_. _As to the Work itself, the acceptance it has met with is the best proofof its value: but I should err against that candour which an honest manshould always carry about him, if I did not own that the most approvedPieces in it were written by others; and those, which have been mostexcepted against by myself. The Hand that has assisted me in those nobleDiscourses upon the Immortality of the Soul, the Glorious Prospects ofanother Life, and the most sublime ideas of Religion and Virtue, is aperson, who is too fondly my friend ever to own them: but I should littledeserve to be his, if I usurped the glory of them. I must acknowledge, atthe same time, that I think the finest strokes of Wit and Humour in allMr_. BICKERSTAFF's Lucubrations, _are those for which he is also beholdento him. Tatler_, No. 271. _I hope the Apology I have made as to the license allowable to a feignedCharacter may excuse anything which has been said in these Discourses ofthe_ Spectator _and his Works. But the imputation of the grossest vanitywould still dwell upon me, if I did not give some account by what means Iwas enabled to keep up the Spirit of so long and approved a performance. All the Papers marked with _a C, L, I, _or_ O--_that is to say, all thePapers which I have distinguished by any letter in the name of the Muse_CLIO--_were given me by the Gentleman, of whose assistance I formerlyboasted in the_ Preface _and concluding Leaf of the_ Tatler. _I am indeedmuch more proud of his long-continued friendship, than I should be of thefame of being thought the Author of any Writings which he himself iscapable of producing_. _I remember, when I finished the_ Tender Husband; _I told him, there wasnothing I so ardently wished as that we might, some time or other, publish a Work written by us both; which should bear the name of theMonument, in memory of our friendship. I heartily wish what I have donehere, were as honorary to that sacred name, as Learning, Wit, andHumanity render those Pieces, which I have taught the reader how todistinguish for his_. _When the Play above mentioned was last acted, there were so manyapplauded strokes in it which I had from the same hand, that I thoughtvery meanly of myself that I had never publicly acknowledged them_. _After I have put other friends upon importuning him to publish Dramaticas well as other Writings, he has by him; I shall end what I think I amobliged to say on this head, by giving the reader this hint for thebetter judgement of my productions: that the best Comment upon them wouldbe, an Account when the Patron_ [i. E. , ADDISON] _to the_ Tender Husband_was in England or abroad_ [i. E. , Ireland]. _Spectator_, No. 555. _My purpose in this Application is only to shew the esteem I have foryou, and that I look upon my intimacy with you as one of the mostvaluable enjoyments of my life. Dedication_ before the _Tender Husband_. I am sure, you have read my quotations with indignation against thelittle [_petty_] zeal which prompted the Editor (who by the way, hashimself done nothing in applause of the Works which he prefaces) to themean endeavour of adding to Mr. ADDISON, by disparaging a man who had(for the greatest part of his life) been his known bosom friend, andshielded him from all the resentments which many of his own Works wouldhave brought upon him, at the time they were written. It is really a goodoffice to Society, to expose the indiscretion of Intermedlers in thefriendship and correspondence [_coadjutorship_] of men, whose sentiments, passions, and resentments are too great for their proportion of soul! Could the Editor's indiscretion provoke me, even so far as (within therules of strictest honour) I could go; and I were not restrained bysupererogatory affection to dear Mr. ADDISON, I would ask this unskilfulCreature, What he means, when he speaks in an air of a reproach, _thatthe_ Tatler _was laid down as it was taken up, without hisparticipation_? Let him speak out and say, why _without his knowledge_would not serve his purpose as well! If, as he says, he restrains himself to "Mr. ADDISON's character as aWriter;" while he attempts to lessen me, he exalts me! for he hasdeclared to all the World what I never have so explicitly done, that Iam, to all intents and purposes, _the Author of the_ Tatler! He veryjustly says, the occasional assistance Mr. ADDISON gave me, in the courseof that Paper, "did not a little contribute to advance its reputation, especially when, upon the Change of Ministry [_August, 1710_], he foundleisure to engage more constantly in it. " It was advanced indeed! for itwas raised to a greater thing than I intended it! For the elegance, purity, and correctness which appeared in his Writings were not so muchmy purpose; as (in any intelligible manner, as I could) to rally allthose Singularities of human life, through the different Professions andCharacters in it, which obstruct anything that was truly good and great. After this Acknowledgement, you will see; that is, such a man as you willsee, that I rejoiced in being excelled! and made those little talents(whatever they are) which I have, give way and be subservient to thesuperior qualities of a Friend, whom I loved! and whose modesty wouldnever have admitted them to come into daylight, but under such a shelter. So that all which the Editor has said (either out of design, orincapacity), Mr. CONGREVE! must end in this: that STEELE has been socandid and upright, that he owes nothing to Mr. ADDISON as a Writer; butwhether he do, or does not, whatever STEELE owes to Mr. ADDISON, thePublic owe ADDISON to STEELE! But the Editor has such a fantastical and ignorant zeal for his Patron, that he will not allow his correspondents [_coadjutors_] to concealanything of his; though in obedience to his commands! What I never did declare was Mr. ADDISON's, I had his direct injunctionsto hide; against the natural warmth and passion of my own temper towardsmy friends. Many of the Writings now published as his, I have been very patientlytraduced and culminated for; as they were pleasantries and obliquestrokes upon certain of the wittiest men of the Age: who will now restoreme to their goodwill, in proportion to the abatement of [the] Wit whichthey thought I employed against them. But I was saying, that the Editor won't allow us to obey his Patron'scommands in anything which he thinks would redound to his credit, ifdiscovered. And because I would shew a little Wit in my anger, I shallhave the discretion to shew you that he has been guilty, in thisparticular, towards a much greater man than your humble servant, and onewhom you are much more obliged to vindicate. Mr. DRYDEN, in his _VIRGIL_, after having acknowledged that a "certainexcellent young man" [_i. E. , W. CONGREVE himself_] had shewed him manyfaults in his translation of _VIRGIL_, which he had endeavoured tocorrect, goes on to say, "Two other worthy friends of mine, who desire tohave their names concealed, seeing me straightened in my time, took pityon me, and gave me the _Life of VIRGIL_, the two _Prefaces_ to the_Pastorals_ and the _Georgics_, and all the Arguments in prose to thewhole Translation. " If Mr. ADDISON is one of the two friends, and the_Preface_ to the _Georgics_ be what the Editor calls the _Essay upon theGeorgics_ as one may adventure to say they are, from their being word forword the same, he has cast an inhuman reflection upon Mr. DRYDEN: who, though tied down not to name Mr. ADDISON, pointed at him so as allMankind conservant in these matters knew him, with an eulogium equal tothe highest merit, considering who it was that bestowed it, I could notavoid remarking upon this circumstance, out of justice to Mr. DRYDEN: butconfess, at the same time, I took a great pleasure in doing it; because Iknew, in exposing this outrage, I made my court to Mr. CONGREVE. I have observed that the Editor will not let me or any one else obey Mr. ADDISON's commands, in hiding anything he desired to be concealed. I cannot but take further notice, that the circumstance of marking his_Spectators_ [_with the letters C, L, I, O, _], which I did not know tillI had done with the Work; I made my own act! because I thought it toogreat a sensibility in my friend; and thought it (since it was done)better to be supposed marked by me than the Author himself. The realstate of which, this zealot rashly and injudiciously exposes! I ask thereader, Whether anything but an earnestness to disparage me could provokethe Editor, in behalf of Mr. ADDISON, to say that he marked it out ofcaution against me: when I had taken upon me to say, it was I that didit! out of tenderness to him. As the imputation of any the Least Attempt of arrogating to myself, ordetracting from Mr. ADDISON, is without any Colour of Truth: you willgive me leave to go on in the same ardour towards him, and resent thecold, unaffectionate, dry, and barren manner, in which this Gentlemangives an Account of as great a Benefactor as any one Learned Man ever hadof another. Would any man, who had been produced from a College life, andpushed into one of the most considerable Employments of the Kingdom as toits weight and trust, and greatly lucrative with respect to a Fellowship[_i. E. , of a College_]: and who had been daily and hourly with one of thegreatest men of the Age, be satisfied with himself, in saying _nothing_ ofsuch a Person besides what all the World knew! except a particularity (andthat to his disadvantage!) which I, his friend from a boy, don't know tobe true, to wit, that "he never had a regular pulse"! As for the facts, and considerable periods of his life, he either knewnothing of them, or injudiciously places them in a worse light than thatin which they really stood. When he speaks of Mr. ADDISON's declining to go into Orders, his way ofdoing it is to lament _his seriousness and modesty_, which might haverecommended him, _proved the chief obstacles to it, it seems thesequalities, by which the Priesthood is so much adorned, represented theduties of it as too weighty for him, and rendered him still more worthyof that honour which they made him decline_. These, you know very well!were not the Reasons which made Mr. ADDISON turn his thoughts to thecivil World; and, as you were the instrument of his becoming acquaintedwith my Lord HALIFAX, I doubt not but you remember the warm instancesthat noble Lord made to the Head of the College, not to insist upon Mr. ADDISON's going into Orders. His arguments were founded on the generalpravity [_depravity_] and corruption of men of business [_public men_]who wanted liberal education. And I remember, as if I read the letteryesterday, that my Lord ended with a compliment, that "however he mightbe represented as no friend to the Church, he would never do it any otherinjury than keeping Mr. ADDISON out of it!" The contention for this man in his early youth, among the people ofgreatest power; Mr. Secretary TICKELL, the Executor for his Fame, ispleased to ascribe to "a serious visage and modesty of behaviour. " When a Writer is grossly and essentially faulty, it were a jest to takenotice of a false expression or a phrase, otherwise _Priesthood_ in thatplace, might be observed upon; as a term not used by the realwell-wishers to Clergymen, except when they would express some solemnact, and not when that Order is spoken of as a Profession amongGentlemen. I will not therefore busy myself about the "unconcerning partsof knowledge, but be content like a reader of plain sense withoutpoliteness. " And since Mr. Secretary will give us no account of thisGentleman, I admit "the Alps and Apennines" instead of the Editor, to be"Commentators of his Works, " which, as the Editor says, "have raised ademand for correctness. " This "demand, " by the way, ought to be morestrong upon those who were most about him, and had the greatest advantageof his example. But as our Editor says, "that those who come nearest toexactness are but too often fond of unnatural beauties, and aim atsomething better than perfection. " Believe me, Sir, Mr. ADDISON's example will carry no man further thanthat height for which Nature capacitated him: and the affectation offollowing great men in works above the genius of their imitators, willnever rise farther than the production of uncommon and unsuitableornaments in a barren discourse, like flowers upon a heath, such as theAuthor's phrase of "something better than perfection. " But in his _Preface_, if ever anything was, is that "something better:"for it is so extraordinary, that we cannot say, it is too long or tooshort, or deny but that it is both. I think I abstract myself from allmanner of prejudice when I aver that no man, though without anyobligation to Mr. ADDISON, would have represented him in his family andin his friendships, or his personal character, so disadvantageously ashis Secretary (in preference of whom, he incurred the warmest resentmentsof other Gentlemen) has been pleased to describe him in those particulars. Mr. Dean ADDISON, father of this memorable Man, left behind him fourchildren, each of whom, for excellent talents and singular preferments, was as much above the ordinary World as their brother JOSEPH was abovethem. Were things of this nature to be exposed to public view, I couldshew under the Dean's own hand, in the warmest terms, his blessing on thefriendship between his son and me; nor had he a child who did not preferme in the first place of kindness and esteem, as their father loved melike one of them: and I can with pleasure say, I never omitted anyopportunity of shewing that zeal for their persons and Interests asbecame a Gentleman and a Friend. Were I now to indulge myself, I could talk a great deal to you, which Iam sure would be entertaining: but as I am speaking at the same time toall the World, I consider it would be impertinent. Let me then confine myself awhile to the following Play [_The Drummer_], which I at first recommended to the Stage, and carried to the Press. No one who reads the _Preface_ which I published with it, will imagine Icould be induced to say so much, as I then did, had I not known the man Ibest loved had had a part in it; or had I believed that any otherconcerned had much more to do than as an amanuensis. But, indeed, had I not known at the time of the transaction concerningthe acting on the Stage and the sale of the Copy; I should, I think, haveseen Mr. ADDISON in every page of it! For he was above all men in thattalent we call Humour; and enjoyed it in such perfection, that I haveoften reflected, after a night spent with him apart from the World, thatI had had the pleasure of conversing with an intimate acquaintance ofTERENCE and CATULLUS, who had all their Wit and Nature heightened withHumour more exquisite and delightful than any other man ever possessed. They who shall read this Play, after being let into the secret that itwas written by Mr. ADDISON or under his direction, will probably beattentive to those excellencies which they before overlooked, and wonderthey did not till now observe that there is not an expression in thewhole Piece which has not in it the most nice propriety and aptitude tothe Character which utters it. Here is that smiling Mirth, that delicateSatire and genteel Raillery, which appeared in Mr. ADDISON when he wasfree among intimates; I say, when he was free from his _remarkable_bashfulness, which is a cloak that hides and muffles merit: and hisabilities were covered only by modesty, which doubles the beauties whichare seen, and gives credit and esteem to all that are concealed. The _Drummer_ made no great figure on the Stage, though exquisitely wellacted: but when I observe this, I say a much harder thing of the Stage, than of the Comedy. When I say the Stage in this place, I am understood to mean, in general, the present Taste of theatrical representations: where nothing that isnot violent, and as I may say, grossly delightful, can come on, withouthazard of being condemned or slighted. It is here republished, and recommended as a closet piece [_i. E. , forprivate reading_], to recreate an intelligent mind in a vacant hour: forvacant the reader must be, from every strong prepossession, in order torelish an entertainment, _quod nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum_, whichcannot be enjoyed to the degree it deserves, but by those of the mostpolite Taste among Scholars, the best Breeding among Gentlemen, and theleast acquainted with sensual Pleasure among the Ladies. The Editor [_THOMAS TICKELL_] is pleased to relate concerning _CATO_, that a Play under that design was projected by the Author very early, andwholly laid aside; in advanced years, he reassumed the same design; andmany years after Four acts were finished, he wrote the Fifth; and broughtit upon the Stage. All the Town knows, how officious I was in bringing it on, and you (thatknow the Town, the Theatre, and Mankind very well) can judge hownecessary it was, to take measures for making a performance of that sort, excellent as it is, run into popular applause. I promised before it was acted (and performed my duty accordingly to theAuthor), that I would bring together so just an audience on the FirstDays of it, it should be impossible for the vulgar to put its success ordue applause at any hazard: but I don't mention this, only to shew howgood an Aide-de-Camp I was to Mr. ADDISON; but to shew also that theEditor does as much to cloud the merit of this Work, as I did to set itforth. Mr. TICKELL's account of its being taken up, laid down, and at lastperfected, after such long intervals and pauses, would make any onebelieve, who did not know Mr. ADDISON, that it was accomplished with thegreatest pain and labour; and the issue rather of Learning and Industrythan Capacity and Genius: but I do assure you, that never Play whichcould bring the author any reputation for Wit and Conduct, notwithstanding it was so long before it was finished, employed theAuthor so little a time in writing. If I remember right, the Fifth Act was written in less than a week'stime! For this was particular in this Writer, that when he had taken hisresolution, or made his Plan for what he designed to write; he would walkabout the room and dictate it into Language, with as much freedom and easeas any one could write it down: and attend to the Coherence and Grammar ofwhat he dictated. I have been often thus employed by him; and never took it into my head, though he only spoke it and I took all the pains of throwing it uponpaper, that I ought to call myself the Writer of it. I will put all my credit among men of Wit for the truth of my averment, when I presume to say that no one but Mr. ADDISON was, in any other way, the Writer of the _Drummer_. At the same time, I will allow, that he sent for me (which he couldalways do, from his natural power over me, as much as he could send forany of his clerks when he was Secretary of State), and told me that aGentleman then in the room had written a play that he was sure I wouldlike; but it was to be a secret: and he knew I would take as much pains, since he recommended it, as I would for him. I hope nobody will be wronged or think himself aggrieved, that I givethis rejected Work [_the Comedy of_ The Drummer _not included by TICKELLin his collected edition of ADDISON's Works_] where I do: and if acertain Gentleman [_TICKELL_] is injured by it, I will allow I havewronged him upon this issue; that if the reputed translator [_TICKELL_]of the _First Book of HOMER_ shall please to give us another _Book_, there shall appear another good Judge in poetry, besides Mr. ALEXANDERPOPE, who shall like it! But I detain you too long upon things that are too personal to myself, and will defer giving the World a true Notion of the Character andTalents of Mr. ADDISON, till I can speak of that amiable Gentlemen on anoccasion void of controversy. I shall then perhaps say many things of him which will be new even toyou, with regard to him in all parts of his Character: for which I was sozealous, that I could not be contented with praising and adorning him asmuch as lay in my own power; but was ever soliciting and putting myfriends upon the same office. And since the Editor [_TICKELL_] has adorned his heavy Discourse withProse in rhyme at the end of it, upon Mr. ADDISON's death: give me leaveto atone for this long and tedious _Epistle_, by giving after it, what Idare say you will esteem, an excellent Poem on his marriage [_by Mr. WELSTED_]. I must conclude without satisfying as strong a desire, as every man had, of saying something remarkably handsome to the Person to whom I amwriting: for you are so good a judge, that you would find out theEndeavourer to be witty! and therefore, as I have tired you and myself, Iwill be contented with assuring you, which I do very honestly, I wouldrather have you satisfied with me on this subject, than any other manliving. You will please pardon me, that I have, thus, laid this nice affairbefore a person who has the acknowledged superiority to all others; notonly in the most excellent talents; but possessing them with anequanimity, candour, and benevolence which render those advantages apleasure as great to the rest of the World as they can be to the owner ofthem. And since Fame consists in the Opinion of wise and good men: youmust not blame me for taking the readiest way to baffle any Attempt uponmy Reputation, by an Address to one, whom every wise and good man looksupon, with the greatest affection and veneration. I am, Sir, Your most obliged, most obedient, and most humble servant, RICHARD STEELE. EDWARD CHAMBERLAYNE. _The social position of the English Established Clergy, in 1669, A. D. _ [_Angliae Notitia_, or the Present State of England, 1st _Ed_. 1669. ] At present, the revenues of the English Clergy are generally very smalland insufficient: above a third of the best benefices of England, havingbeen anciently, by the Pope's grant, appropriated to monasteries, were ontheir dissolution, made _Lay fees_; besides what hath been taken by secretand indirect means, through corrupt compositions and compacts and customsin many other parishes. And also many estates being wholly exempt frompaying tithes, as the lands that belonged to the Cistercian Monks, and tothe Knights Templars and Hospitallers. And those benefices that are free from these things are yet (besidesFirst Fruits and Tenths to the King, and Procurations to the Bishop)taxed towards the charges of their respective parishes, and towards thepublic charges of the nation, above and beyond the proportion of theLaity. The Bishoprics of England have been also since the latter of HENRYVIII. 's reign, to the coming in of King JAMES, most miserably robbed andspoiled of the greatest part of their lands and revenues. So that, atthis day [1669], a mean gentleman of £200 from land yearly, will notchange his worldly estate and condition with divers Bishops: and anAttorney, a shopkeeper, a common artisan will hardly change theirs, withthe ordinary Pastors of the Church. Some few Bishoprics do yet retain a competency. Amongst which, theBishopric of Durham is accounted one of the chief: the yearly revenueswhereof, before the late troubles [_i. E. , the Civil Wars_] were above£6, 000 [= £25, 000 _now_]: of which by the late _Act for abolishing Tenuresin capite_ [1660], was lost about £2, 000 yearly. Out of this revenue, a yearly pension of £800 is paid to the Crown, eversince the reign of Queen ELIZABETH; who promised, in lieu thereof, somuch in Impropriations: which was never performed. Above £340 yearly is paid to several officers of the County Palatine ofDurham. The Assizes and Sessions, also, are duly kept in the Bishop's House, atthe sole charges of the Bishop. Also the several expenses for keeping in repair certain banks of riversin that Bishopric, and of several Houses belonging to the Bishopric. Moreover, the yearly Tenths, public taxes, the charges of going to andwaiting at Parliament, being deducted; there will remain, in ordinaryyears, to the Bishop to keep hospitality, which must be great, and toprovide for those of his family, but about £1, 500 [= £4, 500 _now_] yearly. The like might be said of some other principal Bishoprics. The great diminution of the revenues of the Clergy, and the little careof augmenting and defending the patrimony of the Church, is the greatreproach and shame of the English Reformation; and will, one day, provethe ruin of Church and State. "It is the last trick, " saith St. GREGORY, "that the Devil hath in thisworld. When he cannot bring the Word and Sacraments into disgrace byerrors and heresies; he invents this project, to bring the Clergy intocontempt and low esteem. " As it is now in England, where they are accounted by many, the Dross andRefuse of the nation. Men think it a stain to their blood to place theirsons in that function; and women are ashamed to marry with any of them. It hath been observed, even by strangers, that the iniquity of thepresent Times in England is such, that the English Clergy are not onlyhated by the Romanists on the one side, and maligned by the Presbyterianson the other. .. ; but also that, of all the Christian Clergy of Europe, whether Romish, Lutheran, or Calvinistic, none are so little _respected, beloved, obeyed_, or _rewarded_, as the present pious, learned, loyalClergy of England; even by those who have always professed themselves ofthat Communion. THE GROUNDS & OCCASIONS OF THE CONTEMPTOF THE CLERGY AND RELIGIONEnquired into. _In a_ LETTER _written to_ R. L. LONDON, Printed by W. GODBID for N. BROOKEat the _Angel_ in Cornhill. 1670. This work is dated August 8, 1670. ANTHONY A. WOOD in his _Life_ (_Ath. Oxon. _ I. Lxx. Ed. 1813), gives the following account of our Author. _February_ 9 [1672] A. W. Went to London, and the next day he was kindlyreceiv'd by Sir LIOLIN JENKYNS, in his apartment in Exeter house in theStrand, within the city of Westminster. Sunday 11 [Feb. 1672], Sir LIOLIN JENKYNS took with him, in the morning, over the water to Lambeth, A. WOOD, and after prayers, he conducted himup to the dining rome, where archb. SHELDON received him, and gave himhis blessing. There then dined among the company, JOHN ECHARD, the authorof _The Contempt of the Clergy_, who sate at the lower end of the tablebetween the archbishop's two chaplaynes SAMUEL PARKER and THOMASTHOMKINS, being the first time that the said ECHARD was introduced intothe said archbishop's company. After dinner, the archbishop went into hiswithdrawing roome, and ECHARD with the chaplaynes and RALPH SNOW to theirlodgings to drink and smoak. [JOHN EACHARD, S. T. P. , was appointed Master of Catherine Hall, Cambridge, in 1675. ] _THE PREFACE TO THE READER_. _I can very easily fancy that many, upon the very first sight of thetitle, will presently imagine that the Author does either want the GreatTithes, lying under the pressure of some pitiful vicarage; or that he ismuch out of humour, and dissatisfied with the present condition ofaffairs; or, lastly, that he writes to no purpose at all, there havingbeen an abundance of unprofitable advisers in this kind. As to my being under some low Church dispensation; you may know, I writenot out of a pinching necessity, or out of any rising design. You mayplease to believe that, although I have a most solemn reverence for theClergy in general, and especially for that of England; yet, for my ownpart, I must confess to you, I am not of that holy employment; and haveas little thought of being Dean or Bishop, as they that think so, havehopes of being all Lord Keepers. Nor less mistaken will they be, that shall judge me in the leastdiscontented, or any ways disposed to disturb the peace of the presentsettled Church: for, in good truth, I have neither lost King's, norBishop's lands, that should incline me to a surly and quarrelsomecomplaining; as many be, who would have been glad enough to see HisMajesty restored, and would have endured Bishops daintily well, had theylost no money by their coming in. I am not, I will assure you, any of those Occasional Writers, that, missing preferment in the University, can presently write you their newways of Education; or being a little tormented with an ill-chosen wife, set forth the doctrine of Divorce to be truly evangelical. The cause of these few sheets was honest and innocent, and as free fromall passion as any design. As for the last thing which I supposed objected_, viz. , _that this bookis altogether needless, there having been an infinite number of Churchand Clergy-menders, that have made many tedious and unsuccessful offers:I must needs confess, that it were very unreasonable for me to expect abetter reward. Only thus much, I think, with modesty may be said; that I cannot atpresent call to mind anything that is propounded but what is veryhopeful, and easily accomplished. For, indeed, should I go about to tellyou, that a child can never prove a profitable Instructor of the people, unless born when the sun is in_ Aries; _or brought up in a school thatstands full South: that he can never be able to govern a parish, unlesshe can ride the great horse; or that he can never go through the greatwork of the Ministry, unless for three hundred years backward it can beproved that none of his family ever had cough, ague, or grey hair; then Ishould very patiently endure to be reckoned among the vainest that evermade attempt. But believe me, Reader! I am not, as you will easily see, any contriverof an incorruptible and pure crystaline Church, or any expecter of areign of nothing but Saints and Worthies: but only an honest and heartyWisher that the best of our Clergy might, for ever, continue as they are, rich and learned! and that the rest might be very useful and well esteemedin their Profession!_ THE GROUNDS & OCCASIONS OF THE CONTEMPTOF THE CLERGY AND RELIGIONEnquired into. SIR, That short discourse which we lately had concerning the Clergy, continuesso fresh in your mind, that, I perceive by your last, you are more than alittle troubled to observe that Disesteem that lies upon several of thoseholy men. Your good wishes for the Church, I know, are very strong andunfeigned; and your hopes of the World receiving much more advantage andbetter advice from some of the Clergy, than usually it is found byexperience to do, are neither needless nor impossible. And as I have always been a devout admirer as well as strict observer ofyour actions; so I have constantly taken a great delight to concur withyou in your very thoughts. Whereupon it is, Sir, that I have spent somefew hours upon that which was the occasion of your last letter, and thesubject of our late discourse. And before, Sir, I enter upon telling you what are my apprehensions; Imust most heartily profess that, for my own part, I did never think, since at all I understood the excellency and perfection of a Church, butthat Ours, now lately Restored, as formerly Established, does far outgo, as to all Christian ends and purposes, either the pomp and bravery ofRome herself, or the best of Free Spiritual States [_Nonconformists_]. But if so be, it be allowable (where we have so undoubtedly learned andhonourable a Clergy) to suppose that some of that sacred profession mightpossibly have attained to a greater degree of esteem and usefulness to theWorld: then I hope what has thus long hindered so great and desirable ablessing to the nation, may be modestly guessed at! either without givingany wilful offence to the present Church; or any great trouble, dear Sir, to yourself. And, if I be not very much mistaken, whatever hasheretofore, or does at present, lessen the value of our Clergy, or renderit in any degree less serviceable to the World than might be reasonablyhoped; may be easily referred to two very plain things--the IGNORANCE ofsome, and the POVERTY of others of the Clergy. And first, as to _the IGNORANCE of some of our Clergy_. If we would make a search to purpose, we must go as deep as the veryBeginnings of Education; and, doubtless, may lay a great part of ourmisfortunes to the old-fashioned methods and discipline of Schoolingitself: upon the well ordering of which, although much of the improvementof our Clergy cannot be denied mainly to depend: yet by reason this is sowell known to yourself, as also that there have been many of undoubtedlearning and experience, that have set out their several models for thispurpose; I shall therefore only mention such Loss of Time and Abuse ofYouth as is most remarkable and mischievous, and as could not beconveniently omitted in a Discourse of this nature, though ever so short. And first of all, it were certainly worth the considering, Whether it beunavoidably necessary to keep lads to 16 or 17 years of age, _in pureslavery to a few Latin or Greek words_? or Whether it may not be moreconvenient, especially if we call to mind their natural inclinations toease and idleness, and how hardly they are persuaded of the excellency ofthe liberal Arts and Sciences (any further than the smart of the lastpiece of discipline is fresh in their memories), Whether, I say, it benot more proper and beneficial to mix with those unpleasant tasks anddrudgeries, something that, in probability, might not only take muchbetter with them, but might also be much easier obtained? As, suppose some part of time was allotted them, for the reading of someinnocent English Authors! where they need not go, every line, sounwillingly to a tormenting Dictionary, and whereby they might come in ashort time, to apprehend common sense, and to begin to judge what istrue. For you shall have lads that are arch knaves at the NominativeCase, and that have a notable quick eye at spying out of the Verb; who, for want of reading such common and familiar books, shall understand nomore of what is very plain and easy, than a well educated dog or horse. Or suppose they were taught, as they might much easier be than what iscommonly offered to them, the principles of Arithmetic, Geometry, andsuch alluring parts of Learning. As these things undoubtedly would bemuch more useful, so much more delightful to them, than to be tormentedwith a tedious story how PHAETON broke his neck, or how many nuts andapples TITYRUS had for his supper. For, most certainly, youths, if handsomely dealt with, are muchinclinable to emulation, and to a very useful esteem of glory; and moreespecially, if it be the reward of knowledge: and therefore, if suchthings were carefully and discreetly propounded to them, wherein theymight not only earnestly contend amongst themselves, but might also seehow far they outskill the rest of the World, a lad hereby would thinkhimself high and mighty; and would certainly take great delight incontemning the next unlearned mortal he meets withal. But if, instead hereof, you diet him with nothing but with Rules andExceptions, with tiresome repetitions of _Amo_ and [Greek: _Tupto_], setting a day also apart also to recite _verbatim_ all the burdensometask of the foregoing week (which I am confident is usually as dreadfulas an old Parliament Fast) we must needs believe that such a one, thusmanaged, will scarce think to prove immortal, by such performances andaccomplishments as these. You know very well, Sir, that lads in general have but a kind of ugly andodd conception of Learning; and look upon it as such a starving thing, andunnecessary perfection, especially as it is usually dispensed out untothem, that Nine-pins or Span-counter are judged much more heavenlyemployments! And therefore what pleasure, do we think, can such a onetake in being bound to get against breakfast, two or three hundredRumblers out of HOMER, in commendation of ACHILLES's toes, or theGrecians' boots; or to have measured out to him, very early in themorning, fifteen or twenty well laid on lashes, for letting a syllableslip too soon, or hanging too long on it? Doubtless instant executionupon such grand miscarriages as these, will eternally engage him to amost admirable opinion of the Muses! Lads, certainly, ought to be won by all possible arts and devices: andthough many have invented fine pictures and games, to cheat them into theundertaking of unreasonable burdens; yet this, by no means, is such alasting temptation as the propounding of that which in itself is pleasantand alluring. For we shall find very many, though of no excellingquickness, will soon perceive the design of the landscape; and so, looking through the veil, will then begin to take as little delight inthose pretty contrivances, as in getting by heart three or four leaves ofungayed nonsense. Neither seems the stratagem of Money to be so prevailing and catching, asa right down offer of such books which are ingenious and convenient: therebeing but very few so intolerably careful of their bellies, as to lookupon the hopes of a cake or a few apples, to be a sufficient recompense, for cracking their pates with a heap of independent words. I am not sensible that I have said anything in disparagement of those twofamous tongues, the Greek and Latin; there being much reason to value thembeyond others, because the best of Human Learning has been delivered untous in those languages. But he that worships them, purely out of honour toRome and Athens, having little or no respect to the usefulness andexcellency of the books themselves, as many do: it is a sign he has agreat esteem and reverence of antiquity; but I think him, by no meanscomparable, for happiness, to him who catches frogs or hunts butterflies. That some languages therefore ought to be studied is in a mannerabsolutely necessary: unless all were brought to one; which would be thehappiest thing that the World could wish for! But whether the beginning of them might not be more insensibly instilled, and more advantageously obtained by reading philosophical as well as otheringenious Authors, than _Janua linguarum_, crabbed poems, andcross-grained prose, as it has been heretofore by others: so it ought tobe afresh considered by all well-wishers, either to the Clergy orLearning. I know where it is the fashion of some schools, to prescribe to a lad, for his evening refreshment, out of COMMENIUS, all the Terms of Art[_technical terms_] belonging to Anatomy, Mathematics, or some such pieceof Learning. Now, is it not a very likely thing, that a lad should takemost absolute delight in conquering such a pleasant task; where, perhaps, he has two or three hundred words to keep in mind, with a very smallproportion of sense thereunto belonging: whereas the use and full meaningof all those difficult terms would have been most insensibly obtained, byleisurely reading in particular, this or the other science? Is it not also likely to be very savoury, and of comfortable use to onethat can scarce distinguish between Virtue and Vice, to be tasked withhigh and moral poems? It is usually said by those that are intimatelyacquainted with him, that HOMER's _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ contain, mystically, all the Moral Law for certain, if not a great part of theGospel (I suppose much after that rate that RABELAIS said his _Gargantua_contained all the Ten Commandments!); but perceivable only to those thathave a poetical discerning spirit: with which gift, I suppose, few atschool are so early qualified. Those admirable verses, Sir, of yours, both English and others, which youhave sometimes favoured me with a sight of, will not suffer me to be sosottish as to slight and undervalue so great and noble an accomplishment. But the committing of such high and brave sensed poems to a schoolboy(whose main business is to search out cunningly the Antecedent and theRelative; to lie at catch for a spruce Phrase, a Proverb, or a quaint andpithy Sentence) is not only to very little purpose, but that havinggargled only those elegant books at school, this serves them instead ofreading them afterwards; and does, in a manner, prevent their beingfurther looked into. So that all improvement, whatsoever it be, that maybe reaped out of the best and choicest poets, is for the most partutterly lost, in that a time is usually chosen of reading them, whendiscretion is much wanting to gain thence any true advantage. Thus thatadmirable and highly useful morality, TULLY's _Offices_, because it is abook commonly construed at school, is generally afterwards so contemnedby Academics, that it is a long hour's work to convince them that it isworthy of being looked into again; because they reckon it as a book readover at school, and, no question! notably digested. If, therefore the ill methods of schooling do not only occasion a greatloss of time there, but also do beget in lads a very odd opinion andapprehension of Learning, and much disposes them to be idle when they aregot a little free from the usual severities; and that the hopes of more orless improvement in the Universities very much depend hereupon: it is, without all doubt, the great concernment of all that wish to the Church, that such care and regard be had to the management of schools, that theClergy be not so much obstructed in their first attempts and preparationsto Learning. I cannot, Sir, possibly be so ignorant as not to consider that what hasbeen now offered upon this argument, has not only been largely insistedon by others; but also refers not particularly to the Clergy (whosewelfare and esteem, I seem at present in a special manner solicitousabout), but in general to all learned professions, and therefore mightreasonably have been omitted: which certainly I had done, had not Icalled to mind that of those many that propound to themselves Learningfor a profession, there is scarce one in ten but that his lot, choice, ornecessity determines him to the study of Divinity. Thus, Sir, I have given you my thoughts concerning the orders and customsof common schools. A consideration, in my apprehension, not slightly to beweighed: being that upon which to me seems very much to depend thelearning and wisdom of the Clergy, and the prosperity of the Church. The next unhappiness that seems to have hindered some of our Clergy fromarriving to that degree of understanding that becomes such a holy office, whereby their company and discourses might be much more, than theycommonly are, valued and desired, is the inconsiderate sending of allkinds of lads to the Universities; let their parts be ever so low andpitiful, the instructions they have lain under ever so mean andcontemptible, and the purses of their friends ever so short to maintainthem there. If they have but the commendation of some lamentable andpitiful Construing Master, it passes for sufficient evidence that theywill prove persons very eminent in the Church. That is to say, if a ladhas but a lusty and well bearing memory, this being the usual and almostonly thing whereby they judge of their abilities; if he can sing oververy tunably three or four stanzas of LILLY's Poetry; be very quick andready to tell what is Latin for all the instruments belonging to hisfather's shop; if presently [_at sight_], upon the first scanning, heknows a Spondee from a Dactyl, and can fit a few of those same, withoutany sense, to his fingers' ends; if, lastly, he can say perfectly byheart his Academic Catechism, in pure and passing Latin, _i. E. _, "What ishis Name?" "Where went he to School?" and "What author is he best andchiefly skilled in?" "A forward boy!" cries the Schoolmaster: "a verypregnant child! Ten thousand pities, but he should be a Scholar; heproves a brave Clergyman, I'll warrant you!" Away to the University he must needs go! Then for a little Logic, alittle Ethics, and, GOD knows! a very little of everything else! And thenext time you meet him, he is in the pulpit! Neither ought the mischief which arises from small country schools topass unconsidered. The little mighty Governors whereof, having, for themost part, not sucked in above six or seven mouthsful of University air, must yet, by all means, suppose themselves so notably furnished with allsorts of instructions, and are so ambitious of the glory of being countedable to send forth, now and then, to Oxford or Cambridge, from the littlehouse by the Churchyard's side, one of their ill-educated disciples, thatto such as these ofttimes is committed the guidance and instruction of awhole parish: whose parts and improvements duly considered, will scarcerender them fit Governors of a small Grammar Castle. Not that it is necessary to believe, that there never was a learned oruseful person in the Church, but such whose education had been atWestminster or St. Paul's. But, whereas most of the small schools, beingby their first founders designed only for the advantage of poor parishchildren, and also that the stipend is usually so small and discouragingthat very few who can do much more than teach to write and read, willaccept of such preferment: for these to pretend to rig out their smallones for a University life, proves ofttimes a very great inconvenienceand damage to the Church. And as many such Dismal Things are sent forth thus, with very smalltackling; so not a few are predestinated thither by their friends, fromthe foresight of a good benefice. If there be rich pasture, profitablecustoms, and that HENRY VIII. Has taken out no toll, the Holy Land is avery good land, and affords abundance of milk and honey! Far be it fromtheir consciences, the considering whether the lad is likely to beserviceable to the Church, or to make wiser and better any of hisparishioners! All this may seem, at first sight, to be easily avoided by a strictexamination at the Universities; and so returning by the next carrier, all that was sent up not fit for their purpose. But because many of theirrelations are ofttimes persons of an inferior condition; and who (eitherby imprudent counsellors, or else out of a tickling conceit of their sonsbeing, forsooth, a University Scholar) have purposely omitted all otheropportunities of a livelihood; to return such, would seem a very sharpand severe disappointment. Possibly, it might be much better, if parents themselves or theirfriends, would be much more wary of determining their children to thetrade of Learning. And if some of undoubted knowledge and judgement, would offer their advice; and speak their hopes of a lad, about 13 or 14years of age (which, I will assure you, Sir, may be done withoutconjuring!); and never omit to inquire, Whether his relations are ableand willing to maintain him seven years at the University, or see somecertain way of being continued there so long, by the help of friends orothers, as also upon no such conditions as shall, in likelihood, deprivehim of the greatest parts of his studies? For it is a common fashion of a great many to compliment and inviteinferior people's children to the University, and there pretend to makesuch an all bountiful provision for them, as they shall not fail ofcoming to a very eminent degree of Learning; but when they come there, they shall save a servant's wages. They took therefore, heretofore, avery good method to prevent Sizars overheating their brains. Bed-making, chamber-sweeping, and water-fetching were doubtless great preservativesagainst too much vain philosophy. Now certainly such pretended favoursand kindnesses as these, are the most right down discourtesies in theWorld. For it is ten times more happy, both for the lad and the Church, to be a corn-cutter or tooth-drawer, to make or mend shoes, or to be ofany inferior profession; than to be invited to, and promised theconveniences of, a learned education; and to have his name only standairing upon the College Tables [_Notice-boards_], and his chief businessshall be, to buy eggs and butter. Neither ought lads' parts, before they be determined to the University, be only considered, and the likelihood of being disappointed in theirstudies; but also abilities or hopes of being maintained until they beMasters of Arts. For whereas 200, for the most part, yearly Commence[_Matriculate_], scarce the fifth part of these continue after theirtaking the First Degree [_B. A. _]. As for the rest, having exactlylearned, _Quid est Logica_? and _Quot sunt Virtutes Morales_? down theygo, by the first carrier, on the top of the pack, into the West, orNorth, or elsewhere, according as their estates lie; with BURGESDICIUS, EUSTACHIUS, and such great helps of Divinity; and then, for propagationof the Gospel! By that time they can say the _Predicaments_ and _Creed_;they have their choice of preaching or starving! Now what a Champion ofTruth is such a thing likely to be! What a huge blaze he makes in theChurch! What a Raiser of Doctrines! What a Confounder of Heresies! Whatan able Interpreter of hard Places! What a Resolver of Cases ofConscience! and what a prudent guide must he needs be to all his parish! You may possibly think, Sir, that this so early preaching might be easilyavoided, by withholding Holy Orders; the Church having very prudentlyconstituted in her _Canons_, that none under twenty-three years of age, which is the usual age after seven years being at the University, shouldbe admitted to that great employment. This indeed might seem to do some service, were it carefully observed;and were there not a thing to be got, called a _Dispensation_, which willpresently [_at once_] make you as old as you please. But if you will, Sir, we will suppose that Orders were strictly denied toall, unless qualified according to _Canon_, I cannot foresee any otherremedy but that most of those University youngsters must fall to theparish, and become a town charge until they be of spiritual age. ForPhilosophy is a very idle thing, when one is cold! and a small _System ofDivinity_, though it be WOLLEBIUS himself, is not sufficient when one ishungry! What then shall we do with them? and where shall we dispose of them, until they come to a holy ripeness? May we venture them into the Desk to read _Service_? That cannot be, because not capable! Besides, the tempting Pulpit usually stands toonear. Or shall we trust them in some good Gentleman's house, there toperform holy things? With all my heart! so that they may not be calleddown from their studies to say Grace to every Health; that they may havea little better wages than the Cook or Butler; as also that there be aGroom in the house, besides the Chaplain (for sometimes to the £10 ayear, they crowd [in] the looking after couple of geldings): and that hemay not be sent from table, picking his teeth, and sighing with his hatunder his arm; whilst the Knight and my Lady eat up the tarts andchickens! It may be also convenient, if he were suffered to speak now and then inthe Parlour, besides at Grace and Prayer time; and that my cousin ABIGAILand he sit not too near one another at meals, nor be presented together tothe little vicarage! All this, Sir, must be thought on! For, in good earnest, a person at allthoughtful of himself and conscience, had much better choose to live withnothing but beans and pease pottage, so that he might have the command ofhis thoughts and time; than to have his Second and Third Courses, and toobey the unreasonable humours of some families. And as some think two or three years' continuance in the University, tobe time sufficient for being very great Instruments in the Church: soothers we have, so moderate as to count that a solemn admission and aformal paying of College Detriments, without the trouble of Philosophicaldiscourses, disputations, and the like, are virtues that will influence asfar as Newcastle, and improve though at ever such a distance. So strangely possessed are people in general, with the easiness and smallpreparation that are requisite to the undertaking of the Ministry, thatwhereas in other professions, they plainly see, what considerable time isspent before they have any hopes of arriving to skill enough to practisewith any confidence what they have designed; yet to preach to ordinarypeople, and govern a country parish, is usually judged such an easyperformance, that anybody counts himself fit for the employment. We findvery few so unreasonably confident of their parts, as to profess eitherLaw or Physic, without either a considerable continuance in some of theInns of Courts, or an industrious search in herbs, Anatomy, Chemistry, and the like, unless it be only to make a bond [_bandage_] or give aglyster [_an injection_]. But as for "the knack of Preaching" as theycall it, that is such a very easy attainment, that he is counted dull topurpose, that is not able, at a very small warning, to fasten upon anytext of Scripture, and to tear and tumble it, till the glass [_thehourglass on the pulpit_] be out. Many, I know very well, are forced to discontinue [_at College_], havingneither stock [_capital_] of their own, nor friends to maintain them inthe University. But whereas a man's profession and employment in thisworld is very much in his own, or in the choice of such who are mostnearly concerned for him; he therefore, that foresees that he is notlikely to have the advantage of a continued education, he had much bettercommit himself to an approved-of cobbler or tinker, wherein he may be dulyrespected according to his office and condition of life; than to be only adisesteemed pettifogger or empiric in Divinity. By this time, Sir, I hope you begin to consider what a great disadvantageit has been to the Church and Religion, the mere venturous andinconsiderate determining of Youths to the profession of Learning. There is still one thing, by very few, at all minded, that ought also notto be overlooked: and that is, a good constitution and health of body. Andtherefore discreet and wise physicians ought also to be consulted, beforean absolute resolve be made to live the Life of the Learned. For he thathas strength enough to buy and bargain, may be of a very unfit habit ofbody to sit still so much, as, in general, is requisite to a competentdegree of Learning. For although reading and thinking break neither legsnor arms; yet, certainly, there is nothing that flags the spirits, disorders the blood, and enfeebles the whole body of Man, as intensestudies. As for him that rives blocks or carries packs, there is no great expenseof parts, no anxiety of mind, no great intellectual pensiveness. Let himbut wipe his forehead, and he is perfectly recovered! But he that hasmany languages to remember, the nature of almost the whole world toconsult, many histories, Fathers, and Councils to search into; if thefabric of his body be not strong and healthful, you will soon find him asthin as a piece of metaphysics, and look as piercing as a School subtilty. This, Sir, could not be conveniently omitted; not only because many arevery careless in this point, and, at a venture, determine their youngrelations to Learning: but because, for the most part, if, amongst many, there be but one of all the family that is weak and sickly, that islanguishing and consumptive; this, of all the rest, as counted not fitfor any coarse employment, shall be picked out as a Choice Vessel for theChurch! Whereas, most evidently, he is much more able to dig daily in themines, than to set cross-legged, musing upon his book. I am very sensible, how obvious it might be, here, to hint that this socurious and severe Inquiry would much hinder the practice, and abate theflourishing of the Universities: as also, there have been several, andare still, many Living Creatures in the world, who, whilst young, beingof a very slow and meek apprehension, have yet afterward cheered up intoa great briskness, and become masters of much reason. And others therehave been, who, although forced to a short continuance in the University, and that ofttimes interrupted by unavoidable services, have yet, bysingular care and industry, proved very famous in their generation. Andlastly, some also, of very feeble and crazy constitutions in theirchildhood, have out-studied their distempers, and have become veryhealthful and serviceable in the Church. As for the flourishing, Sir, of the Universities--what has been beforesaid, aims not in the least at Gentlemen, whose coming thither is chieflyfor the hopes of single [_personal_] improvement; and whose estates dofree them from the necessity of making a gain of Arts and Sciences: butonly at such as intend to make Learning their profession, as well as[their] accomplishment. So that our Schools may be still as full offlourishings, of fine clothes, rich gowns, and future benefactors, asever. And suppose we do imagine, as it is necessary we should, that the numbershould be a little lessened; this surely will not abate the truesplendour of a University in any man's opinion, but his who reckons theflourishing thereof, rather from the multitude of mere gowns than fromthe Ingenuity and Learning of those that wear them: no more than we havereason to count the flourishing of the Church from that vast number ofpeople that crowd into Holy Orders, rather than from those learned anduseful persons that defend her Truths, and manifest her Ways. But I say, I do not see any perfect necessity that our Schools shouldhereupon be thinned and less frequented: having said nothing against theMultitude, but the _indiscreet choice_. If therefore, instead of such, either of inferior parts or a feeble constitution, or of unable friends;there were picked out those that were of a tolerable ingenuity [_naturalcapacity_], of a study-bearing body, and had good hopes of beingcontinued; as hence there is nothing to hinder our Universities frombeing full, so likewise from being of great credit and learning. Not to deny, then, but that, now and then, there has been a lad of verysubmissive parts, and perhaps no great share of time allowed him for hisstudies, who has proved, beyond all expectation, brave and glorious: yet, surely, we are not to over-reckon this so rare a hit, as to think that onesuch proving lad should make recompense and satisfaction for those many"weak ones, " as the common people love to phrase them, that are in theChurch. And that no care ought to be taken, no choice made, nomaintenance provided or considered; because (now and then in an Age) one, miraculously, beyond all hopes, proves learned and useful; is a practice, whereby never greater mischiefs and disesteem have been brought upon theClergy. I have, in short, Sir, run over what seemed to me, the First Occasions ofthat Small Learning that is to be found amongst some of the Clergy. Ishall now pass from Schooling to the Universities. I am not so unmindful of that devotion which I owe to those places, norof that great esteem I profess to have of the Guides and Governorsthereof, as to go about to prescribe new Forms and Schemes of Education;where Wisdom has laid her top-stone. Neither shall I here examine whichPhilosophy, the Old or New, makes the best sermons. It is hard to say, that exhortations can be to _no_ purpose, if the preacher believes thatthe earth turns round! or that his reproofs can take _no_ effect, unlesshe will suppose a vacuum! There have been good sermons, no question! madein the days of _Materia Prima_ and Occult Qualities: and there are, doubtless, still good discourses now, under the reign of Atoms. There are but two things, wherein I count the Clergy chiefly concerned, as to University Improvements, that, at present, I shall make Inquiryinto. And the first is this: Whether or not it were not highly useful, especially for the Clergy who are supposed to speak English to thepeople, that _English Exercises were imposed upon lads_, if not in PublicSchools, yet at least privately. Not but that I am abundantly satisfiedthat Latin (O Latin! it is the all in all! and the very cream of thejest!); as also, that Oratory is the same in all languages, the samerules being observed, the same method, the same arguments and arts ofpersuasion: but yet, it seems somewhat beyond the reach of ordinary youthso to apprehend those general Laws as to make a just and allowable use ofthem in all languages, unless exercised particularly in them. Now we know the language that the very learned part of this nation musttrust to live by, unless It be to make a bond [_bandage_] or prescribe apurge (which possibly may not oblige or work so well in any otherlanguage as Latin) is the English: and after a lad has taken his leave ofMadame University, GOD bless him! he is not likely to deal afterwards withmuch Latin; unless it be to checker [_variegate_] a sermon, or to say_Salveto_! to some travelling _Dominatio vestra_. Neither is it enough tosay, that the English is the language with which we are swaddled androcked asleep; and therefore there needs none of this artificial andsuperadded care. For there be those that speak very well, plainly, and tothe purpose; and yet write most pernicious and fantastical stuff: thinkingthat whatsoever is written must be more than ordinary, must be beyond theguise [_manner_] of common speech, must savour of reading and Learning, though it be altogether needless, and perfectly ridiculous. Neither ought we to suppose it sufficient that English books befrequently read, because there be of all sorts, good and bad; and theworst are likely to be admired by Youth more than the best: unlessExercises be required of lads; whereby it may be guessed what theirjudgement is, where they be mistaken, and what authors they propound tothemselves for imitation. For by this means, they may be corrected andadvised early, according as occasion shall require: which, if not done, their ill style will be so confirmed, their improprieties of speech willbecome so natural, that it will be a very hard matter to stir or altertheir fashion of writing. It is very curious to observe what delicate letters, your young studentswrite! after they have got a little smack of University learning. In whatelaborate heights, and tossing nonsense, will they greet a right downEnglish father, or country friend! If there be a plain word in it, andsuch as is used at home, this "tastes not, " say they, "of education amongphilosophers!" and is counted damnable duncery and want of fancy. Because"Your loving friend" or "humble servant" is a common phrase in countryletters; therefore the young Epistler is "Yours, to the Antipodes!" or atleast "to the Centre of the earth!": and because ordinary folks "love" and"respect" you; therefore you are to him, "a Pole Star!" "a Jacob's Staff!""a Loadstone!" and "a damask Rose!" And the misery of it is, that this pernicious accustomed way ofexpression does not only, ofttimes, go along with them to their benefice, but accompanies them to the very grave. And, for the most part, an ordinary cheesemonger or plum-seller, thatscarce[ly] ever heard of a University, shall write much better sense, andmore to the purpose than these young philosophers, who injudiciouslyhunting only for great words, make themselves learnedly ridiculous. Neither can it be easily apprehended, how the use of English Exercisesshould any ways hinder the improvement in the Latin tongue; but rather bemuch to its advantage: and this may be easily believed, considering whatdainty stuff is usually produced for a Latin entertainment! Chicken brothis not thinner than that which is commonly offered for a Piece of mostpleading and convincing Sense! For, I will but suppose an Academic youngster to be put upon a LatinOration. Away he goes presently to his magazine of collected phrases! Hepicks out all the Glitterings he can find. He hauls in all Proverbs, "Flowers, " Poetical snaps [_snatches_], Tales out of the _Dictionary_, orelse ready Latined to his hand, out of LYCOSTHENES. This done, he comes to the end of the table, and having made a submissiveleg [_made a submissive bow_] and a little admired [_gazed at_] thenumber, and understanding countenances of his auditors: let the subjectbe what it will, he falls presently into a most lamentable complaint ofhis insufficiency and tenuity [_slenderness_] that he, poor thing! "hathno acquaintance with above a Muse and a half!" and "that he never drankabove six quarts of Helicon!" and you "have put him here upon such atask" (perhaps the business is only, Which is the nobler creature, a Fleaor a Louse?) "that would much better fit some old soaker at Parnassus, than his sipping unexperienced bibbership. " Alas, poor child! he is"sorry, at the very soul! that he has no better speech! and wonders inhis heart, that you will lose so much time as to hear him! for he hasneither squibs nor fireworks, stars nor glories! The cursed carrier losthis best Book of Phrases; and the malicious mice and rats eat up all his_Pearls_ and _Golden Sentences_. " Then he tickles over, a little, the skirts of the business. By and by, for similitude from the Sun and Moon, or if they be not at leisure, from"the grey-eyed Morn, " or "a shady grove, " or "a purling stream. " This done, he tells you that "_Barnaby Bright_ would be much too short, for him to tell you all that he could say": and so, "fearing he shouldbreak the thread of your patience, " he concludes. Now it seems, Sir, very probable, that if lads did but first of all, determine in English what they intended to say in Latin; they would, ofthemselves, soon discern the triflingness of such Apologies, thepitifulness of their Matter, and the impertinency of their Tales andFancies: and would (according to their subject, age, and parts) offerthat which would be much more manly, and towards tolerable sense. And if I may tell you, Sir, what I really think, most of thatridiculousness, of those phantastical phrases, harsh and sometimesblasphemous metaphors, abundantly foppish similitudes, childish and emptytransitions, and the like, so commonly uttered out of pulpits, and sofatally redounding to the discredit of the Clergy, may, in a greatmeasure, be charged upon the want of that, which we have here so muchcontended for. The second Inquiry that may be made is this: _Whether or not Punning, Quibbling, and that which they call Joquing_ [joking], _and suchdelicacies of Wit_, highly admired in some Academic Exercises, _might notbe very conveniently omitted_? For one may desire but to know this one thing: In what Profession shallthat sort of Wit prove of advantage? As for Law, where nothing but themost reaching subtility and the closest arguing is allowed of; it is notto be imagined that blending now and then a piece of a dry verse, andwreathing here and there an odd Latin Saying into a dismal jingle, shouldgive Title to an estate, or clear out an obscure evidence! And as littleserviceable can it be to Physic, which is made up of severe Reason andwell tried Experiments! And as for Divinity, in this place I shall say no more, but that thoseusually that have been Rope Dancers in the Schools, ofttimes prove JackPuddings in the Pulpit. For he that in his youth has allowed himself this liberty of AcademicWit; by this means he has usually so thinned his judgement, becomes soprejudiced against sober sense, and so altogether disposed to triflingand jingling; that, so soon as he gets hold of a text, he presentlythinks he has catched one of his old School Questions; and so falls aflinging it out of one hand into another! tossing it this way, and that!lets it run a little upon the line, then "_tanutus_! high jingo! comeagain!" here catching at a word! there lie nibbling and sucking at an_and_, a _by_, a _quis_ or a _quid_, a _sic_ or a _sicut_! and thusminces the Text so small that his parishioners, until he _rendezvous_[_reassemble_] it again, can scarce tell, what is become of it. But "Shall we debar Youth of such an innocent and harmless recreation, ofsuch a great quickener of Parts and promoter of sagacity?" As for the first, its innocency of being allowed of for a time; I am sofar from that persuasion that, from what has been before hinted, I countit perfectly contagious! and as a thing that, for the most part, infectsthe whole life, and influences most actions! For he that finds himself tohave the right knack of letting off a joque, and of pleasing the Humsters;he is not only very hardly brought off from admiring those goodlyapplauses, and heavenly shouts; but it is ten to one! if he directs notthe whole bent of his studies to such idle and contemptible books asshall only furnish him with materials for a laugh; and so neglects allthat should inform his Judgement and Reason, and make him a man of senseand reputation in this world. And as for the pretence of making people sagacious, and pestilentlywitty; I shall only desire that the nature of that kind of Wit may beconsidered! which will be found to depend upon some such fooleries asthese-- As, first of all, the lucky ambiguity of some word or sentence. O, what a happiness is it! and how much does a youngster count himself beholden to the stars! that should help him to such a taking jest! And whereas there be so many thousand words in the World, and that he should luck upon the right one! that was so very much to his purpose, and that at the explosion, made such a goodly report! Or else they rake LILLY's _Grammar_; and if they can but find two or three letters of any name in any of the _Rules_ or _Examples_ of that good man's Works; it is as very a piece of Wit as any has passed in the Town since the King came in [1660]! O, how the Freshmen will skip, to hear one of those lines well laughed at, that they have been so often yerked [_chided_] for! It is true, such things as these go for Wit so long as they continue inLatin; but what dismally shrimped things would they appear, if turnedinto English! And if we search into what was, or might be pretended; weshall find the advantages of Latin-Wit to be very small and slender, whenit comes into the World. I mean not only among strict Philosophers and Menof mere Notions, or amongst all-damning and illiterate HECTORS; butamongst those that are truly ingenious and judicious Masters of Fancy. Weshall find that a quotation out of _Qui mihi_, an Axiom out of Logic, aSaying of a Philosopher, or the like, though managed with some quicknessand applied with some seeming ingenuity, will not, in our days, pass, orbe accepted, for Wit. For we must know that, as we are now in an Age of great Philosophers andMen of Reason, so of great quickness and fancy! and that Greek and Latin, which heretofore (though never so impertinently fetched in) was countedadmirable, because it had a learned twang; yet, now, such stuff, beingout of fashion, is esteemed but very bad company! For the World is now, especially in discourse, for One Language! and hethat has somewhat in his mind of Greek and Latin, is requested, now-a-days, "to be civil, and translate it into English, for the benefitof the company!" And he that has made it his whole business to accomplishhimself for the applause of boys, schoolmasters, and the easiest ofCountry Divines; and has been shouldered out of the Cockpit for his Wit:when he comes into the World, is the most likely person to be kicked outof the company, for his pedantry and overweening opinion of himself. And, were it necessary, it is an easy matter to appeal to Wits, bothancient and modern, that (beyond all controversy) have been sufficientlyapproved of, that never, I am confident! received their improvements byemploying their time in Puns and Quibbles. There is the prodigiousLUCIAN, the great Don [_QUIXOTE_] of Mancha; and there are many nowliving, Wits of our own, who never, certainly, were at all inspired froma _Tripus_'s, _Terras-filius_'s, or _Praevarecator_'s speech. I have ventured, Sir, thus far, not to find fault with; but only toinquire into an ancient custom or two of the Universities; wherein theClergy seem to be a little concerned, as to their education there. I shall now look on them as beneficed, and consider their preaching. Wherein I pretend to give no rules, having neither any gift at it, norauthority to do it: but only shall make some conjectures at those uselessand ridiculous things commonly uttered in pulpits, that are generallydisgusted [_disliked_], and are very apt to bring contempt upon thepreacher, and that religion which he professes. Amongst the first things that seem to be useless, may be reckoned _thehigh tossing and swaggering preaching_, either mountingly eloquent, orprofoundly learned. For there be a sort of Divines, who, if they buthappen of an unlucky hard word all the week, they think themselves notcareful of their flock, if they lay it not up till Sunday, and bestow itamongst them, in their next preachment. Or if they light upon somedifficult and obscure notion, which their curiosity inclines them to bebetter acquainted with, how useless soever! nothing so frequent as forthem, for a month or two months together, to tear and tumble thisdoctrine! and the poor people, once a week, shall come and gaze upon themby the hour, until they preach themselves, as they think, into a rightunderstanding. Those that are inclinable to make these useless speeches to the people;they do it, for the most part, upon one of these two considerations. Either out of simple phantastic glory, and a great studiousness of beingwondered at; as if getting into the pulpit were a kind of Staging[_acting_]; where nothing was to be considered but how much the sermontakes! and how much stared at! Or else, they do this to gain a respectand reverence from their people: "who, " say they, "are to be puzzled nowand then, and carried into the clouds! For if the Minister's words besuch as the Constable uses; his matter plain and practical, such as comesto the common market; he may pass possibly for an honest and well-meaningman, but by no means for any scholar! Whereas if he springs forth, nowand then, in high raptures towards the uppermost heavens; dashing, hereand there, an all-confounding word! if he soars aloft in unintelligiblehuffs! preaches points deep and mystical, and delivers them as darkly andphantastically! this is the way, " say they, "of being accounted a mostable and learned Instructor. " Others there be, whose parts stand not so much towards Tall Words andLofty Notions, but consist in scattering up and down and besprinkling alltheir sermons with plenty of Greek and Latin. And because St. PAUL, onceor so, was pleased to make use of a little heathen Greek; and that only, when he had occasion to discourse with some of the learned ones that wellunderstood him: therefore must they needs bring in twenty Poets andPhilosophers, if they can catch them, into an hour's talk [_evidently theordinary length of a sermon at this time, see_ pp. 259, 313]; spreadingthemselves in abundance of Greek and Latin, to a company, perhaps, offarmers and shepherds. Neither will they rest there, but have at the Hebrew also! not contentingthemselves to tell the people in general, that they "have skill in theText, and the exposition they offer, agrees with the Original"; but mustswagger also over the poor parishioners, with the dreadful Hebrew itself!with their BEN-ISRAELS! BEN-MANASSES! and many more BENS that they areintimately acquainted with! whereas there is nothing in the church, ornear it by a mile, that understands them, but GOD Almighty! whom, it issupposed, they go not about to inform or satisfy. This learned way of talking, though, for the most part, it is done merelyout of ostentation: yet, sometimes (which makes not the case much better), it is done in compliment and civility to the all-wise Patron, orall-understanding Justice of the Peace in the parish; who, by the commonfarmers of the town, must be thought to understand the most intricatenotions, and the most difficult languages. Now, what an admirable thing this is! Suppose there should be one or so, in the whole church, that understands somewhat besides English: shall Inot think that he understands that better? Must I (out of courtship tohis Worship and Understanding; and because, perhaps, I am to dine withhim) prate abundance of such stuff, which, I must needs know, nobodyunderstands, or that will be the better for it but himself, and perhapsscarcely he? This, I say, because I certainly know several of that disposition: who, if they chance to have a man of any learning or understanding more thanthe rest in the parish, preach wholly at him! and level most of theirdiscourses at his supposed capacity; and the rest of the good peopleshall have only a handsome gaze or view of the parson! As if plain words, useful and intelligible instructions were not as good for an Esquire, orone that is in Commission from the King, as for him that holds the ploughor mends hedges. Certainly he that considers the design of his Office, and has aconscience answerable to that holy undertaking, must needs conceivehimself engaged, not only to mind this or that accomplished orwell-dressed person, but must have a universal care and regard of all hisparish. And as he must think himself bound, not only to visit down bedsand silken curtains, but also flocks and straw [_mattresses_], if therebe need: so ought his care to be as large to instruct the poor, the weak, and despicable part of his parish, as those that sit in the best pews. Hethat does otherwise, thinks not at all of a man's soul: but onlyaccommodates himself to fine clothes, an abundance of ribbons, and thehighest seat in the church; not thinking that it will be as much to hisreward in the next worlds by sober advice, care, and instruction, to havesaved one that takes collection [_alms_] as him that is able to relievehalf the town. It is very plain that neither our Saviour, when he wasupon earth and taught the World, made any such distinction in hisdiscourses. What is more intelligible to all mankind than his _Sermonupon the Mount_! Neither did the Apostles think of any such way. Iwonder, whom they take for a pattern! I will suppose once again, that the design of these persons is to gainglory: and I shall ask them, Can there be any greater in the world, thandoing general good? To omit future reward, Was it not always esteemed ofold, that correcting evil practices, reducing people that lived amiss, was much better than making a high rant about a shuttlecock, and talking_tara-tantara_ about a feather? Or if they would be only admired, thenwould I gladly have them consider, What a thin and delicate kind ofadmiration is likely to be produced, by that which is not at allunderstood? Certainly, that man has a design of building up to himselfreal fame in good earnest, by things well laid and spoken: his way toeffect it is not by talking staringly, and casting a mist before thepeople's eyes; but by offering such things by which he may be esteemed, with knowledge and understanding. Thus far concerning Hard Words, High Notions, and Unprofitable Quotationsout of learned languages. I shall now consider such things _as are ridiculous_, that serve forchimney and market talk, after the sermon be done; and that do cause, more immediately, the preacher to be scorned and undervalued. I have no reason, Sir, to go about to determine what style or method isbest for the improvement and advantage of _all_ people. For, I questionnot but there have been as many several sorts of Preachers as Orators;and though very different, yet useful and commendable in their kind. TULLY takes very deservedly with many, SENECA with others, and CATO, noquestion! said things wisely and well. So, doubtless, the same place ofScripture may by several, be variously considered: and although theirmethod and style be altogether different, yet they may all speak thingsvery convenient for the people to know and be advised of. But yet, certainly, what is most undoubtedly useless and empty, or what is judgedabsolutely ridiculous, not by this or that curious or squeamish auditor, but by every man in the Corporation that understands but plain Englishand common sense, ought to be avoided. For all people are naturally bornwith such a judgement of true and allowable Rhetoric, that is, of what isdecorous and convenient to be spoken, that whatever is grossly otherwiseis usually ungrateful, not only to the wise and skilful part of thecongregation, but shall seem also ridiculous to the very unlearnedtradesmen [_mechanics_] and their young apprentices. Amongst which, maybe chiefly reckoned these following, _harsh Metaphors, childishSimilitudes_, and _ill-applied Tales_. The first main thing, I say, that makes many sermons so ridicuous, andthe preachers of them so much disparaged and undervalued, is _aninconsiderate use of frightful Metaphors_: which making such a remarkableimpression upon the ears, and leaving such a jarring twang behind them, are oftentimes remembered to the discredit of the Minister as long as hecontinues in the parish. I have heard the very children in the streets, and the little boys closeabout the fire, refresh themselves strangely but with the repetition of afew of such far-fetched and odd sounding expressions. TULLY, therefore, and CAESAR, the two greatest masters of Roman eloquence, were very waryand sparing of that sort of Rhetoric. We may read many a page in theirworks before we meet with any of those bears; and if you do light uponone or so, it shall not make your hair stand right up! or put you into afit of convulsions! but it shall be so soft, significant, and familiar, as if it were made for the very purpose. But as for the common sort of people that are addicted to this sort ofexpression in their discourses; away presently to both the Indies! rakeheaven and earth! down to the bottom of the sea! then tumble over allArts and Sciences! ransack all shops and warehouses! spare neither campnor city, but that they will have them! So fond are such deceived ones ofthese same gay words, that they count all discourses empty, dull, andcloudy; unless bespangled with these glitterings. Nay, so injudicious andimpudent together will they sometimes be, that the Almighty Himself isoften in danger of being dishonoured by these indiscreet and horridMetaphor-mongers. And when they thus blaspheme the God of Heaven by suchunhallowed expressions; to make amends, they will put you in an "As itwere" forsooth! or "As I may so say, " that is, they will make bold tospeak what they please concerning GOD Himself, rather than omit what theyjudge, though never so falsely, to be witty. And then they come inhobbling with their lame submission, and with their "reverence be itspoken": as if it were not much better to leave out what they foresee islikely to be interpreted for blasphemy, or at least great extravagancy;than to utter that, for which their own reason and conscience tell them, they are bound to lay in beforehand an excuse. To which may be further subjoined, that Metaphors, though very apt andallowable, are intelligible but to some sorts of men, of this or thatkind of life, of this or that profession. For example, perhaps one Gentleman's metaphorical knack of preachingcomes of the sea; and then we shall hear of nothing but "starboard" and"larboard, " of "stems, " "sterns, " and "forecastles, " and such salt-waterlanguage: so that one had need take a voyage to Smyrna or Aleppo, andvery warily attend to all the sailors' terms, before I shall in the leastunderstand my teacher. Now, though such a sermon may possibly do some goodin a coast town; yet upward into the country, in an inland parish, it willdo no more than Syriac or Arabic. Another, he falls a fighting with his text, and makes a pitched battle ofit, dividing it into the Right Wing and Left Wing; then he _rears_ it!_flanks_ it! _intrenches_ it! _storms_ it! and then he _musters_ allagain! to see what word was lost or lamed in the skirmish: and so fallingon again, with fresh valour, he fights backward and forward! chargesthrough and through! routs! kills! takes! and then, "Gentlemen! as youwere!" Now to such of his parish as have been in the late wars, this isnot very formidable; for they do but suppose themselves at Edgehill orNaseby, and they are not much scared at his doctrine: but as for others, who have not had such fighting opportunities, it is very lamentable toconsider how shivering they sit without understanding, till the battle beover! Like instance might be easily given of many more discourses, themetaphorical phrasing whereof, depending upon peculiar arts, customs, trades, and professions, makes them useful and intelligible only to such, who have been very well busied in such like employments. Another thing, Sir, that brings great disrespect and mischief upon theClergy, and that differs not much from what went immediately before, istheir _packing their sermons so full of Similitudes_; which, all theWorld knows, carry with them but very small force of argument, unlessthere be _an exact agreement with that which is compared_, of which thereis very seldom any sufficient care taken. Besides, those that are addicted to this slender way of discourse, forthe most part, do so weaken and enfeeble their judgement, by contentingthemselves to understand by colours, features, and glimpses; that theyperfectly omit all the more profitable searching into the nature andcauses of things themselves. By which means, it necessarily comes topass, that what they undertake to prove and clear out to theCongregation, must needs be so faintly done, and with such little forceof argument, that the conviction or persuasion will last no longer in theparishioners' minds, than the warmth of those similitudes shall glow intheir fancy. So that he that has either been instructed in some part ofhis duty, or excited to the performance of the same, not by any judiciousdependence of things, and lasting reason; but by such faint and toyishevidence: his understanding, upon all occasions, will be as apt to bemisled as ever, and his affections as troublesome and ungovernable. But they are not so Unserviceable, as, usually, they are Ridiculous. Forpeople of the weakest parts are most commonly overborn with thesefooleries; which, together with the great difficulty of their beingprudently managed, must needs occasion them, for the most part, to bevery trifling and childish. Especially, if we consider the choiceness of the authors out of whichthey are furnished. There is the never-to-be-commended-enoughLYCOSTHENES. There is also the admirable piece [by FRANCIS MERES] calledthe _Second Part of Wits Commonwealth_ [1598]: I pray mind it! it is the_Second Part_, and not the _First_! And there is, besides, a book whollyconsisting of Similitudes [? JOHN SPENCER's _Things New and Old, or aStorehouse of Similies, Sentences, Allegories, &c. _, 1658] applied andready fitted to most preaching subjects, for the help of young beginners, who sometimes will not make them hit handsomely. It is very well known that such as are possessed with an admiration ofsuch eloquence, think that they are very much encouraged in their way bythe Scripture itself. "For, " say they, "did not our blessed Saviourhimself use many metaphors and many parables? and did not his disciples, following his so excellent an example, do the like? And is not this, notonly warrant enough, but near upon a command to us so to do?" If you please, therefore, we will see what our Saviour does in this case. In _St. Matthew_ he tells his disciples, that "they are the salt of theearth, " that "they are the light of the world, " that "they are a city seton a hill. " Furthermore, he tells his Apostles, that "he sends them forthas sheep in the midst of wolves;" and bids them therefore "be as wise asserpents, and harmless as doves. " Now, are not all these things plain andfamiliar, even almost to children themselves, that can but taste and see;and to men of the lowest education and meanest capacities! I shall not here insist upon those special and admirable reasons forwhich our Saviour made use of so many parables. Only thus much is needfulto be said, namely, that they are very much mistaken, that, from hence, think themselves tolerated to turn all the world into frivolous andabominable similitudes. As for our Saviour, when he spoke a parable, he was pleased to go nofurther than the fields, the seashore, a garden, a vineyard, or the like;which are things, without the knowledge whereof, scarcely any man can besupposed to live in this world. But as for our Metaphorical- and Similitude-Men of the Pulpit, thesethings to them, are too still and languid! they do not rattle and rumble!These lie too near home, and within vulgar ken! There is little on thisside the moon that will content them! Up, presently, to the _PrimumMobile_, and the Trepidation of the Firmament! Dive into the bowels andhid treasures of the earth! Despatch forthwith, for Peru and Jamaica! Atown bred or country bred similitude is worth nothing! "It is reported of a tree growing upon the bank of Euphrates, the great river Euphrates! that it brings forth an Apple, to the eye very fair and tempting; but inwardly it is filled with nothing but useless and deceiving dust. Even so, dust we are; and to dust we must all go!" Now, what a lucky discovery was this, that a man's Body should be soexactly like an Apple! And, I will assure you that this was not thoughton, till within these few years! And I am afraid, too, he had a kind of a hint of this, from another whohad formerly found out that a man's Soul was like an Oyster. For, says he in his prayer, "Our souls are constantly gaping after thee, O LORD! yea, verily, our souls do gape, even as an oyster gapeth!" It seems pretty hard, at first sight, to bring into a sermon all theCircles of the Globe and all the frightful terms of Astronomy; but I willassure you, Sir, it is to be done! because it has been. But not by everybungler and ordinary text-divider; but by a man of great cunning andexperience. There is a place in the prophet _Malachi_, where it will do very nicely, and that is chapter iv. Ver. 2, "But unto you, that fear my Name, shall the Sun of Righteousness arise with healing in his wings. " From which words, in the first place, it plainly appears that our Saviour passed through all the twelve signs of the Zodiac; and more than that too, all proved by very apt and familiar places of Scripture. First, then, our Saviour was in _Aries_. Or else, what means that of the Psalmist, "The mountains skipped like rams, and the little hills like lambs!"? And again, that in Second of the _Kings_, chap. Iii. Ver. 4, "And MESHA, King of Moab, was a sheep master, and rendered unto the King of Israel an hundred thousand lambs, " and what follows, "and an hundred thousand rams, with the wool!" Mind it! it was the King of Israel! In like manner, was he in _Taurus. Psalm_ xxii. 12. "Many bulls have compassed me! Strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round!" They were not ordinary bulls. They were _compassing_ bulls! they were _besetting_ bulls! they were _strong Bashan_ bulls! What need I speak of _Gemini_? Surely you cannot but remember ESAU and JACOB! _Genesis_ xxv. 24. "And when her days to be delivered were fulfilled, behold there were Twins in her womb!" Or of _Cancer_? when, as the Psalmist says so plainly, "What ailed thee, O thou sea, that thou fleddest? thou Jordan! that thou wast driven back?" Nothing more plain! It were as easy to shew the like in all the rest of the Signs. But instead of that, I shall rather choose to make this one practical Observation. That the mercy of GOD to mankind in sending His Son into the world, was a very _signal_ mercy. It was a _zodiacal_ mercy! I say it was truly zodiacal; for CHRIST keeps within the Tropics! He goes not out of the Pale of the Church; but yet he is not always at the same distance from a believer. Sometimes he withdraws himself into the _apogaeum_ of doubt, sorrow, and despair; but then he comes again into the _perigaeum_ of joy, content, and assurance; but as for heathens and unbelievers, they are all arctic and antarctic reprobates! Now when such stuff as this, as sometimes it is, is vented in a poorparish, where people can scarce tell, what day of the month it is by theAlmanack? how seasonable and savoury it is likely to be! It seems also not very easy for a man in his sermon to learn [_teach_]his parishioners how to dissolve gold, of what, and how the stuff ismade. Now, to ring the bells and call the people on purpose together, would be but a blunt business; but to do it neatly, and when nobodylooked for it, that is the rarity and art of it! Suppose, then, that he takes for his text that of _St. Matthew_, "Repent ye, for the Kingdom of GOD is at hand. " Now, tell me, Sir, do you not perceive the gold to be in a dismal fear! to curl and quiver at the first reading of these words! It must come in thus, "The blots and blurs of our sins must be taken out by the _aqua-fortis_ of our tears; to which _aqua-fortis_, if you put a fifth part of _sal-ammoniac_, and set them in a gentle heat, it makes _aqua-regia_ which dissolves gold. " And now it is out! Wonderful are the things that are to be done by thehelp of metaphors and similitudes! And I will undertake that, with alittle more pains and considerations, out of the very same words, hecould have taught the people how to make custards, or marmalade, or tostew prunes! But, pray, why "the _aqua-fortis_ of tears?" For if it so falls out thatthere should chance to be neither Apothecary, nor Druggist at church, there is an excellent jest wholly lost! Now had he been so considerate as to have laid his wit in some morecommon and intelligible material; for example, had he said the "blots ofsin" will be easily taken out "by the soap of sorrow, and thefullers-earth of contrition, " then possibly the Parson and the parishmight all have admired one another. For there be many a good-wife thatunderstands very well all the intrigues of pepper, salt, and vinegar, whoknows not anything of the all-powerfulness of _aqua-fortis_, how that itis such a spot-removing liquor! I cannot but consider with what understanding the people sighed andcried, when the Minister made for them this metaphysical confession: "Omnipotent All! Thou art only! Because Thou art all, and because Thou only art! As for us, we are not; but we seem to be! and only seem to be, because we are not! for we be but Mites of Entity, and Crumbs of Something!" and so on. As if a company of country people were bound to understand SUAREZ, andall the School Divines! And as some are very high and learned in their attempts; so others therebe, who are of somewhat too mean and dirty imagination. Such was he, who goes by the name of Parson SLIPSTOCKING. Who preachingabout the grace and assistance of GOD, and that of ourselves we are ableto do nothing, advised his "beloved" to take him this plain similitude. "A father calls his child to him, saying, 'Child, pull off this stocking!' The child, mightily joyful that it should pull off father's stocking, takes hold of the stocking, and tugs! and pulls! and sweats! but to no purpose: for stocking stirs not, for it is but a child that pulls! Then the father bids the child to rest a little, and try again. So then the child sets on again, tugs again; but no stocking comes: for child is but a child! Then the father taking pity upon his child, puts his hand behind and slips down the stocking; and off comes the stocking! Then how does the child rejoice! for child hath pulled off father's stocking, Alas, poor child! it was not child's strength, it was not child's sweating that got off the stocking; but yet it was the father's hand that slipped down the stocking. Even so--" Not much unlike to this, was he that, preaching about the Sacrament andFaith, makes CHRIST a shopkeeper; telling you that "CHRIST is a Treasuryof all wares and commodities, " and thereupon, opening his wide throat, cries aloud, "Good people! what do you lack? What do you buy? Will you buy any balm of Gilead? any eye salve? any myrrh, aloes, or cassia? Shall I fit you with a robe of Righteousness, or with a white garment? See here! What is it you want? Here is a choice armoury! Shall I shew you a helmet of Salvation, a shield, or breastplate of Faith? or will you please to walk in and see some precious stones? a jasper, a sapphire, a chalcedony? Speak, what do you buy?" Now, for my part, I must needs say (and I much fancy I speak the mind ofthousands) that it had been much better for such an imprudent andridiculous bawler as this, to have been condemned to have cried oystersor brooms, than to discredit, after this unsanctified rate, hisProfession and our Religion. It would be an endless thing, Sir, to count up to you all the follies, for a hundred years last past, that have been preached and printed ofthis kind. But yet I cannot omit that of the famous Divine in his time, who, advising the people in days of danger to run unto the LORD, tellsthem that "they cannot go to the LORD, much less run, without feet;" that"there be therefore two feet to run to the LORD, Faith and Prayer. " "It is plain that Faith is a foot, for, 'by Faith we stand, ' 2 _Cor_. I. 24; therefore by Faith, we must run to the LORD who is faithful. "The second is Prayer, a spiritual Leg to bear us thither. Now that Prayer is a spiritual Leg appears from several places in Scripture, as from that of JONAH speaking of _coming_, chap. Ii. Ver. 7, 'And my prayer _came_ unto thy holy temple. ' And likewise from that of the Apostle who says, _Heb_. Iv. 16, 'Let us therefore _go_ unto the throne of grace. ' Both intimating that Prayer is a spiritual Leg: there being no _coming_ or _going_ to the LORD without the Leg of Prayer. " He further adds, "Now that these feet may be able to bear us thither, we must put on the Hose [_stockings_] of Faith; for the Apostle says, 'Our feet must be shod with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace. '" The truth of it is, the Author is somewhat obscure: for, at first, Faithwas a Foot, and by-and-by it is a Hose, and at last it proves a Shoe! Ifhe had pleased, he could have made it anything! Neither can I let pass that of a later Author; who telling us, "It isGoodness by which we must ascend to heaven, " and that "Goodness is theMilky Way to JUPITER's Palace"; could not rest there, but must tell usfurther, that "to strengthen us in our journey, we must not take morningmilk, but some morning meditations:" fearing, I suppose, lest some peopleshould mistake, and think to go to heaven by eating now and then a mess ofmorning milk, because the way was "milky. " Neither ought that to be omitted, not long since printed upon those wordsof St. JOHN, "These things write I unto you, that ye sin not. " The Observation is that "it is the purpose of Scripture to drive men from sin. These Scriptures contain Doctrines, Precepts, Promises, Threatenings, and Histories. Now, " says he, "take these five smooth stones, and put them into the Scrip of the heart, and throw them with the Sling of faith, by the Hand of a strong resolution, against the Forehead of sin: and we shall see it, like GOLIATH, fall before us. " But I shall not trouble you any further upon this subject: but, if youhave a mind to hear any more of this stuff, I shall refer you to thelearned and judicious Author of the _Friendly Debates_ [_i. E. _, SIMONPATRICK, afterwards Bishop of ELY, who wrote _A Friendly Debate between aConformist and a Nonconformist_, in two parts, 1669]: who, particularly, has at large discovered the intolerable fooleries of this way of talking. I shall only add thus much, that such as go about to fetch blood intotheir pale and lean discourses, by the help of their brisk and sparklingsimilitudes, ought well to consider, Whether their similitudes be true? I am confident, Sir, you have heard it, many and many a time, or, if needbe, I can shew you it in a book, that when the preacher happens to talkhow that the things here below will not satisfy the mind of man; thencomes in, "the round world which cannot fill the triangular heart ofman!" whereas every butcher knows that the heart is no more triangularthan an ordinary pear, or a child's top. But because _triangular_ is ahard word, and perhaps a jest! therefore people have stolen it one fromanother, these two or three hundred years; and, for aught I know, muchlonger! for I cannot direct to the first inventor of the fancy. In like manner, they are to consider, What things, either in the heavensor belonging to the earth, have been found out, by experience, tocontradict what has been formerly allowed of? Thus, because some ancient astronomers had observed that both thedistances as well as the revolutions of the planets were in someproportion or harmony one to another: therefore people that abounded withmore imagination than skill, presently fancied the Moon, Mercury, andVenus to be a kind of violins or trebles to Jupiter or Saturn; that theSun and Mars supplied the room of tenors, and the _Primum Mobile_ runningDivision all the tune. So that one could scarce hear a sermon, but theymust give you a touch of "the Harmony of the Spheres. " Thus, Sir, you shall have them take that of St. PAUL, about "faith, hope, and charity. " And instead of a sober instructing of the people in thoseeminent and excellent graces, they shall only ring you over a few changesupon the three words; crying, "Faith! Hope! and Charity!" "Hope! Faith!and Charity!" and so on: and when they have done their peal, they shalltell you that "this is much better than the Harmony of the Spheres!" At other times, I have heard a long chiming only between two words; assuppose Divinity and Philosophy, or Revelation and Reason. Setting forthwith Revelation first. "Revelation is a Lady; Reason, an Handmaid!Revelation is the Esquire; Reason, the Page! Revelation is the Sun;Reason, but the Moon! Revelation is Manna; Reason is but an acorn!Revelation, a wedge of gold; Reason, a small piece of silver!" Then, by and by, Reason gets it, and leads it away, "Reason indeed isvery good, but Revelation is much better! Reason is a Councillor, butRevelation is the Lawgiver! Reason is a candle, but Revelation is thesnuffer!" Certainly, those people are possessed with a very great degree ofdulness, who living under the means of such enlightening preaching, should not be mightily settled in the right notion and true bounds ofFaith and Reason. No less ably, methought, was the difference between the Old Covenant andthe New, lately determined. "The Old Covenant was of Works; the NewCovenant, of Faith. The Old Covenant was by MOSES; The New, by CHRIST. The Old was heretofore; the New, afterwards. The Old was first; the Newwas second. Old things are passed away: behold, all things are becomenew. " And so the business was very fundamentally done. I shall say no more upon this subject, but this one thing, which relatesto what was said a little before. He that has got a set of similitudescalculated according to the old philosophy, and PTOLEMY's system of theworld, must burn his commonplace book, and go a-gleaning for new ones; itbeing, nowadays, much more gentle and warrantable to take a similitudefrom the Man in the Moon than from _solid_ orbs: for though few people doabsolutely believe that there is any such Eminent Person there; yet thething is possible, whereas the other is not. I have now done, Sir, with that imprudent way of speaking by Metaphor andSimile. There are many other things commonly spoken out of the pulpit, that are much to the disadvantage and discredit of the Clergy; that oughtalso to be briefly hinted. And that I may the better light upon them, Ishall observe their _common method of Preaching_. [1. ] Before the text be divided, a _Preface_ is to be made. And it is a great chance if, first of all, the Minister does not make histext to be _like something or other_. For example. One, he tells you, "And now, methinks, my Text, like aningenious [_clever_] Picture, looks upon all here present: in which, bothnobles and people, may behold their sin and danger represented. " This wasa text out of _Hosea_. Now, had it been out of any other place of the_Bible_; the gentleman was sufficiently resolved to make it like "aningenious Picture. " Another taking, perhaps, the very same words, says, "I might compare myText to the mountains of Bether, where the LORD disports Himself like ayoung hart or a pleasant roe among the spices. " Another man's Text is "like the rod of MOSES, to divide the waves ofsorrow"; or "like the mantle of ELIJAH, to restrain the swelling floodsof grief. " Another gets to his Text thus, "As SOLOMON went up six steps to come tothe great Throne of Ivory, so must I ascend six degrees to come to thehigh top-meaning of my Text. " Another thus, "As DEBORAH arose, and went with BARAK to Kadesh; so, ifyou will go with him, and call in the third verse of the chapters he willshew you the meaning of his Text. " Another, he fancies his Text to be extraordinarily like to "an orchard ofpomegranates;" or like "St. MATTHEW sitting at the receipt of custom;" orlike "the dove that NOAH sent out of the Ark. " I believe there are above forty places of Scripture, that have been "likeRACHEL and LEAH": and there is one in _Genesis_, as I well remember, thatis "like a pair of compasses stradling. " And, if I be not much mistaken, there is one, somewhere else, that is "like a man going to Jericho. " Now, Sir, having thus made the way to the Text as smooth and plain asanything, with a _Preface_, perhaps from ADAM, though his business lie atthe other end of the _Bible_: in the next place; [2] he comes to _dividethe Text_. _Hic labor, hoc opus Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum, Silvestrem tenui_. Now, come off the gloves! and the hands being well chafed [_rubbedtogether_]; he shrinks up his shoulders, and stretches forth himself asif he were going to cleave a bullock's head, or rive the body of an oak! But we must observe, that there is a great difference of Texts. For allTexts come not asunder alike! For sometimes the words naturally _fall_asunder! sometimes they _drop_ asunder! sometimes they _melt_! sometimesthey _untwist_! and there be some words so willing to be parted that they_divide themselves_! to the great ease and rejoicing of the Minister. But if they will not easily come to pieces, then he falls to hacking andhewing! as if he would make all fly into shivers! The truth of it is, Ihave known, now and then, some knotty Texts, that have been divided sevenor eight times over! before they could make them _split_ handsomely, according to their mind. But then comes the Joy of Joys! when the Parts jingle! or begin with thesame Letter! and especially if in Latin. O how it tickled the Divider! when he got his Text into those twoexcellent branches, _Accusatio vera: Comminatio severa_: "A Charge fullof Verity: A Discharge of Severity. " And, I will warrant you! that didnot please a little, viz. , "there are in the words, _duplex miraculum;Miraculum in modo_ and _Miraculum in nodo_. " But the luckiest I have met withal, both for Wit and Keeping of theLetter, is upon these words of _St. Matthew_ xii. 43, 44, 45: "When theunclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest and finding none. Then he saith I will return, " &c. In which words, all these strange things were found out. First, there wasa _Captain_ and a _Castle_. (Do you see. Sir, the same letter!) Then, there was an _ingress_, an _egress_; and a _regress_ or _reingress_. Then, there was _unroosting_ and _unresting_. Then, there were _number_and _name, manner_ and _measure, trouble_ and _trial, resolution_ and_revolution, assaults_ and _assassination, voidness_ and _vacuity_. Thiswas done at the same time, by the same man! But, to confess the truth ofit! it was a good long Text; and so, he had the greater advantage. But for a short Text, that, certainly, was the greatest _break_ that everwas! which was occasioned from those words of _St. Luke_ xxiii. 28, "Weepnot for me, weep for yourselves!" or as some read it, "but weep foryourselves!" It is a plain case, Sir! Here are but eight words; and the business wascunningly ordered, that there sprang out eight Parts. "Here are, " saysthe Doctor, "eight Words, and eight Parts! "1. Weep not! 2. But weep! 3. Weep not, but weep! 4. Weep for me! 5. For yourselves! 6. For me, for yourselves! 7. Weep not for me! 8. But weep for yourselves! "That is to say, North, North-and-by-East, North-North-East, North-Eastand by North, North-East, North-East and by East, East-North-East, Eastand by North, East. " Now, it seems not very easy to determine, who has obliged the world most;he that found out the Compass, or he that divided the fore-mentioned Text?But I suppose the cracks [_claps_] will go generally upon the Doctor'sside! by reason what he did, was done by undoubted Art and absoluteindustry: but as for the other, the common report is that it was foundout by mere foolish fortune. Well, let it go how it will! questionless, they will be both famous in their way, and honourably mentioned toposterity. Neither ought he to be altogether slighted, who taking that of _Genesis_xlviii. 2 for his text; viz. , "And one told JACOB, and said, 'Behold, thyson JOSEPH cometh unto thee!'" presently perceived, and made it out to hispeople, that his Text was "a spiritual Dial. " "For, " says he, "here be in my Text, twelve words, which do plainly represent the twelve hours. _And one told JACOB, and said, 'Thy son JOSEPH cometh unto thee!'_ And here is, besides, _Behold_, which is the Hand of the Dial, that turns and points at every word of the Text. _And one told JACOB, and said, 'Behold, thy son JOSEPH cometh unto thee!'_ For it is not said, _Behold JACOB!_ or _Behold JOSEPH!_ but it is, _And one told JACOB, and said, Behold, thy son JOSEPH cometh unto thee_. That it is say, Behold _And_, Behold _one_, Behold _told_, Behold _JACOB_. Again Behold _and_, Behold _said_, and also Behold _Behold_, &c. Which is the reason that this word _Behold_ is placed in the middle of the other twelve words, indifferently pointing to each word. "Now, as it needs must be One of the Clock before it can be Two or Three; so I shall handle this word _And_, the first word of the Text, before I meddle with the following. "And _one told JACOB_. The word _And_ is but a particle, and a small one: but small things are not to be despised. _St. Matthew_ xviii. 10, _Take heed that you despise not one of these little ones_. For this _And_ is as the tacks and loops amongst the curtains of the Tabernacle. The tacks put into the loops did couple the curtains of the Tent and sew the Tent together: so this particle _And_ being put into the loops of the words immediately before the Text, does couple the Text to the foregoing verse, and sews them close together. " I shall not trouble you, Sir, with the rest: being much after this wittyrate, and to as much purpose. But we will go on, if you please, Sir! to [3] the cunning _Observations, Doctrines, and Inferences_ that are commonly made and raised from placesof Scripture. One takes that for his Text, _Psalm_ lxviii. 3, _But let the righteous beglad_. From whence, he raises this doctrine, that "there is a Spirit ofSingularity in the Saints of GOD: but let the righteous--" a doctrine, Iwill warrant him! of his own raising; it being not very easy for anybodyto prevent him! Another, he takes that of _Isaiah_ xli. 14, 15, _Fear not, thou wormJACOB_! &c. .. . _thou shalt thresh the mountains. _ Whence he observes that"the worm JACOB was a threshing worm!" Another, that of _Genesis_ xliv. 1. _And he commanded the Steward of thehouse, saying, Fill the men's sacks with food, as much as they cancarry_: and makes this note from the words. That "great sacks and many sacks will hold more than few sacks and little ones. For look, " says he, "how they came prepared with sacks and beasts, so they were sent back with corn! The greater, and the more sacks they had prepared, the more corn they carry away! if they had prepared but small sacks, and a few; they had carried away the less!" Verily, and indeed extraordinarily true! Another, he falls upon that of _Isaiah_ lviii. 5, _Is it such a fast thatI have chosen? A day for a man to afflict his soul? Is it to bow down hishead like a bulrush?_ The Observation is that "Repentance for an hour, ora day, is not worth a bulrush!" And, there, I think, he hit the business! But of these, Sir, I can shew you a whole book full, in a treatise called_Flames and Discoveries_, consisting of very notable and extraordinarythings which the inquisitive Author had privately observed anddiscovered, upon reading the Evangelists; as for example: Upon reading that of _St. John_, chapter ii. Verse 15, _And when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove them all out of the Temple_; this prying Divine makes these discoveries, "I discover, " says he, "in the first place, that in the Church or Temple, a scourge may be made, _And when he had made a scourge_. Secondly, that it may be made use of, _he drove them all out of the Temple_. " And it was a great chance that he had not discovered a third thing; and that is, that the scourge was made, before it was made use of. Upon _Matthew_ iv. 25, _And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee_, "I discover, " says he, "when JESUS prevails with us, we shall soon leave our Galilees! I discover also, " says he, "a great miracle, viz. : that the way after JESUS being straight, that such a multitude should follow him. " _Matthew_ v. 1. _And seeing the multitude, he went up into a mountain_. Upon this, he discovers several very remarkable things. First, he discovers that "CHRIST went _from the multitude_. " Secondly, that "it is safe to take warning at our eyes, for _seeing the multitude, he went up_. " Thirdly, "it is not fit to be always upon the plains and flats with the multitude: but, _if we be risen with CHRIST, to seek those things that are above_. " He discovers also very strange things, from the latter part of the fore-mentioned verse. _And when he was set, his disciples came unto him_. 1. CHRIST is not always in motion, _And when he was set_. 2. He walks not on the mountain, but sits, _And when he was set_. From whence also, in the third place, he advises people, that "when they are teaching they should not move too much, for that is to be _carried to and fro with every wind of doctrine_. " Now, certainly, never was this place of Scripture more seasonably brought in. Now, Sir, if you be for a very short and witty discovery, let it be upon that of _St. Matthew_ vi. 27. _Which of you, by taking thought, can add one cubit unto his stature?_ The discovery is this, that "whilst the disciples were taking thought for a cubit; CHRIST takes them down a cubit lower!" Notable also are two discoveries made upon _St. Matthew_ viii. 1. 1. That "CHRIST went down, as well as went up. _When he came down from the mountain_. " 2. That "the multitude did not go 'hail fellow well met!' with him, nor before him; _for great multitudes followed him_. " I love, with all my heart, when people can prove what they say. For therebe many that will talk of their Discoveries and spiritual Observations;and when all comes to all, they are nothing but pitiful guesses andslender conjectures. In like manner, that was no contemptible discovery that was made upon _St. Matthew_ viii. 19. _And a certain Scribe came and, said, "Master, I will follow thee wheresoever thou goest. "_ "A _thou_ shall be followed more than a _that_. _I will follow_ thee _wheresoever thou goest_. " And, in my opinion, that was not altogether amiss, upon _St. Matthew_ xi. 2. _Now when JOHN had heard in prison the works of CHRIST, he sent two of his disciples_. The discovery is this. That "it is not good sending single to CHRIST, _he sent two of his disciples_. " Some also, possibly may not dislike that upon _St. Luke_ xii, 35. _Let your loins be girded_. "I discover, " says he, "there must be a holy girding and trussing up for heaven. " But I shall end all, with that very politic one that he makes upon _St. Matthew_ xii. 47. _Then said one unto him "Behold thy mother and thy brethren stand without, desiring to speak with thee. " But he answered and said, "Who is my mother? and who are my brethren?"_ "I discover now, " says he, "that JESUS is upon business. " Doubtless, this was one of the greatest Discoverers of Hidden Mysteries, and one of the most Pryers into Spiritual Secrets that ever the world wasowner of. It was very well that he happened upon the godly calling, and nosecular employment: or else, in good truth! down had they all gone! Turk!Pope! and Emperor! for he would have discovered them, one way or another, every man! Not much unlike to these wonderful Discoverers, are they who, choosing topreach on some Point in Divinity, shall purposely avoid all such plainTexts as might give them very just occasion to discourse upon theirintended subject, and shall pitch upon some other places of Scripture, which no creature in the world but themselves, did ever imagine thatwhich they offer to be therein designed. My meaning, Sir, is this. Suppose you have a mind to make a sermon concerning Episcopacy, as in thelate times [_the Commonwealth_] there were several occasions for it, youmust, by no means, take any place of Scripture that proves or favoursthat kind of Ecclesiastical Government! for then the plot will bediscovered; and the people will say to themselves, "We know where to findyou! You intend to preach about Episcopacy!" But you must take _Acts_, chapter xvi. Verse 30, _Sirs, what must I do to be saved?_ An absoluteplace for Episcopacy! that all former Divines had idly overlooked! For_Sirs_ being in the Greek [Greek: Kurioi], which is to say, in true andstrict translation, _Lords_, what is more plain than, that of old, Episcopacy was not only the acknowledged Government; but that Bishopswere formerly Peers of the Realm, and so ought to sit in the House ofLords! Or, suppose that you have a mind to commend to your people, KinglyGovernment: you must not take any place that is plainly to the purpose!but' that of the Evangelist, _Seek first the Kingdom of GOD_! From whichwords, the doctrine will plainly be, that Monarchy or Kingly Governmentis most according to the mind of GOD. For it is not said, "seek the_Parliament_ of GOD!" "the _Army_ of GOD!" or "the _Committee of Safety_of GOD!" but it is "seek the _Kingdom_ of GOD!" And who could expectless? Immediately after this [_i. E. , this argument_], the King came in, and the Bishops were restored [1660 A. D. ]. Again, Sir (because I would willingly be understood), suppose you designto preach about Election and Reprobation. As for the eighth chapter tothe _Romans_, that is too well known! but there is a little private placein the _Psalms_ that will do the business as well! Psalm xc. 19, _In themultitude of my thoughts within me, thy comforts delight my soul_. The doctrine, which naturally flows from the words, will be that amongst_the multitude of thoughts_, there is a great thought of Election andReprobation; and then, away with the Point! according as the preacher isinclined. Or suppose, lastly, that you were not fully satisfied that Pluralitieswere lawful or convenient. May I be so bold, Sir? I pray, what Text wouldyou choose to preach up against non-residents? Certainly, nothing ever wasbetter picked than that of _St. Matthew_ i. 2. _ABRAHAM begat ISAAC_. Aclear place against non-residents! for "had ABRAHAM not resided, but haddiscontinued from SARAH his wife, he could never have begotten ISAAC!" But it is high time, Sir, to make an end of their preaching, lest you beas much tired with the repetition of it, as the people were littlebenefited when they heard it. I shall only mind you, Sir, of one thing more; and that is [4] theridiculous, senseless, and unintended use which many of them make of_Concordances_. I shall give you but one instance of it, although I could furnish youwith a hundred printed ones. The Text, Sir, is this, _Galatians_ vi. 15, _For in CHRIST JESUS neitherCircumcision nor Uncircumcision avail anything; but a new creature_. Now, all the world knows the meaning of this to be, that, let a man be of whatnation he will, Jew or Gentile, if he amends his life, and walksaccording to the Gospel, he shall be accepted with GOD. But this is not the way that pleases them! They must bring into thesermon, to no purpose at all! a vast heap of places of Scripture, whichthe _Concordance_ will furnish them with, where the word _new_ ismentioned. And the Observation must be that "GOD is for _new_ things. GOD is for _a_ new _creature. St. John_ xix, 41, _Now in the place when he was crucified, there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid. There they laid JESUS_. And again _St. Mark_ xvi. 17. CHRIST tells his disciples that they that are true believers, shall cast out devils, and speak _with_ new _tongues_. And likewise, the prophet teaches us, _Isaiah_ xlii. 10, _Sing unto the LORD a new song, and his praise to the end of the earth_. "Whence it is plain that CHRIST is not for _old_ things. He is not for an _old sepulchre_. He is not for _old tongues_. He is not for an _old song_. He is not for an _old creature_. CHRIST is for a _new creature! Circumcision and Uncircumcision availeth nothing, but a new creature_. And what do we read concerning SAMSON? _Judges_ xv, 15. Is it not that he slew a thousand of the Philistines with one _new_ jawbone? An _old_ one might have killed its tens, its twenties, its hundreds! but it must be a _new_ jawbone that is able to kill a thousand! GOD is for the _new creature_! "But may not some say, 'Is GOD altogether for new things?' How comes it about then, that the prophet says, _Isaiah_ i. 13, 14, _Bring no more vain oblations! &c. Your new Moons, and your appointed Feasts, my soul hateth!_ And again, what means that, _Deuteronomy_ xxxii. 17, 19, _They sacrificed unto devils, and to new gods, whom they knew not, to new gods that came newly up. .. . And when the LORD saw it, He abhorred them!_ To which I answer, that GOD indeed is not for _new moons_, nor for _new gods_; but, excepting _moons_ and _gods_, He is for the _new creature_. " It is possible, Sir, that somebody besides yourself, may be so vain as toread this _Letter_: and they may perhaps tell you, that there be no suchsilly and useless people as I have described. And if there be, there benot above two or three in a country [_county_]. Or should there be, it isno such complaining matter: seeing that the same happens in otherprofessions, in Law and Physic: in both [of] which, there be many acontemptible creature. Such therefore as these, may be pleased to know that, if there had beenneed, I could have told them, either the book (and very page almost) ofall that has been spoken about Preaching, or else the When and Where, andthe Person that preached it. As to the second, viz. : that the Clergy are all mightily furnished withLearning and Prudence; except ten, twenty, or so; I shall not sayanything myself, because a very great Scholar of our nation shall speakfor me: who tells us that "such Preaching as is usual, is a hindrance ofSalvation rather than the means to it. " And what he intends by "usual, " Ishall not here go about to explain. And as to the last, I shall also, in short, answer, That if theAdvancement of true Religion and the eternal Salvation of a Man were nomore considerable than the health of his body and the security of hisestate; we need not be more solicitous about the Learning and Prudence ofthe Clergy, than of the Lawyers and Physicians. But we believing it to beotherwise, surely, we ought to be more concerned for the reputation andsuccess of the one than of the other. I come now, Sir, to the Second Part that was designed, viz. : _the Povertyof some of the Clergy_. By whose mean condition, their Sacred Professionis much disparaged, and their Doctrine undervalued. What largeprovisions, of old, GOD was pleased to make for the Priesthood, and uponwhat reasons, is easily seen to any one that but looks into the _Bible_. The Levites, it is true, were left out, in the Division of theInheritance; not to their loss, but to their great temporal advantage. For whereas, had they been common sharers with the rest, a Twelfth partonly would have been their just allowance; GOD was pleased to settle uponthem, a Tenth, and that without any trouble or charge of tillage: whichmade their portion much more considerable than the rest. And as this provision was very bountiful, so the reasons, no question!were very Divine and substantial: which seem chiefly to be these two. First, that the Priesthood might be altogether at leisure for the serviceof GOD: and that they of that Holy Order might not be distracted with thecares of the world; and interrupted by every neighbour's horse or cowthat breaks their hedges or shackles [_or hobbled, feeds among_] theircorn. But that living a kind of spiritual life, and being removed alittle from all worldly affairs; they might always be fit to receive holyinspirations, and always ready to search out the Mind of GOD, and toadvise and direct the people therein. Not as if this Divine exemption of them from the common troubles andcares of this life was intended as an opportunity of luxury and laziness:for certainly, there is a labour besides digging! and there is a truecarefulness without following the plough, and looking after their cattle! And such was the employment of those holy men of old. Their care andbusiness was to please GOD, and to charge themselves with the welfare ofall His people: which thing, he that does it with a good and satisfiedconscience, I will assure he has a task upon him much beyond them thathave for their care, their hundreds of oxen and five hundreds of sheep. Another reason that this large allowance was made to the Priests, wasthat they might be enabled to relieve the poor, to entertain strangers, and thereby to encourage people in the ways of godliness. For they being, in a peculiar manner, the servants of GOD, GOD was pleased to entrust intheir hands, a portion more than ordinary of the good things of the land, as the safest Storehouse and Treasury for such as were in need. That, in all Ages therefore, there should be a continued tolerablemaintenance for the Clergy: the same reasons, as well as many others, make us think to be very necessary. Unless they will count money andvictuals to be only Types and Shadows! and so, to cease with theCeremonial Law. For where the Minister is pinched as to the tolerable conveniences ofthis life, the chief of his care and time must be spent, not in animpertinent [_trifling_] considering what Text of Scripture will be mostuseful for his parish; what instructions most seasonable; and whatauthors, best to be consulted: but the chief of his thoughts and his mainbusiness must be, How to live that week? Where he shall have bread for hisfamily? Whose sow has lately pigged? Whence will come the next rejoicinggoose, or the next cheerful basket of apples? how far to Lammas, or[Easter] Offerings? When shall we have another christening and cakes? andWho is likely to marry, or die? These are very seasonable considerations, and worthy of a man's thoughts. For a family cannot be maintained by texts and contexts! and a child thatlies crying in the cradle, will not be satisfied without a little milk, and perhaps sugar; though there be a small German _System_ [_ofDivinity_] in the house! But suppose he does get into a little hole over the oven, with a lock toit, called his Study, towards the latter end of the week: for you mustknow, Sir, there are very few Texts of Scripture that can be divided, atsoonest, before Friday night; and some there be, that will never bedivided but upon Sunday morning, and that not very early, but either alittle before they go, or in the going, to church. I say, suppose theGentleman gets thus into his Study, one may very nearly guess what is hisfirst thought, when he comes there--viz. , that the last kilderkin of drinkis nearly departed! that he has but one poor single groat in the house, and there is Judgement and Execution ready to come out against it, formilk and eggs! Now, Sir, can any man think, that one thus racked and tortured, can beseriously intent, half an hour, to contrive anything that might be ofreal advantage to his people? Besides, perhaps, that week, he has met with some dismal crosses and mostundoing misfortunes. There was a scurvy-conditioned mole, that broke into his pasture, andploughed up the best part of his glebe. And, a little after that, came acouple of spiteful ill-favoured crows, and trampled down the littleremaining grass. Another day, having but four chickens, sweep comes thekite! and carries away the fattest and hopefullest of the brood. Then, after all this, came the jackdaws and starlings (idle birds that theyare!), and they scattered and carried away from his thin thatched house, forty or fifty of the best straws. And, to make him completely unhappy, after all these afflictions, another day, that he had a pair of breecheson, coming over a perverse stile, he suffered very much, in carelesslylifting over his leg. Now, what parish can be so inconsiderate and unreasonable as to look foranything from one, whose fancy is thus checked, and whose understandingis thus ruffled and disordered? They may as soon expect comfort andconsolation from him that lies racked with the gout and the stone, asfrom a Divine thus broken and shattered in his fortunes! But we will grant that he meets not with any of these such frightfuldisasters; but that he goes into his study with a mind as calm as theevening. For all that; upon Sunday, we must be content with what GODshall please to send us! For as for books, he is, for want of money, somoderately furnished, that except it be a small Geneva _Bible_ (so small, as it will not be desired to lie open of itself), together with a certain_Concordance_ thereunto belonging; as also a Latin book for all kind ofLatin sentences, called _Polyanthaea_; with some _Exposition_ upon the_Catechism_, a portion of which, is to be got by heart, and to be put offfor his own; and perhaps Mr. [JOSEPH] CARYL _upon_ [JOHN] PINEDA [_thesetwo authors wrote vast Commentaries on the Book of Job_]; Mr. [JOHN] DODupon the _Commandments_, Mr. [SAMUEL] CLARKE's Lives of famous men, bothin Church and State (such as Mr. CARTER of Norwich, that uses to eat suchabundance of pudding): besides, I say, these, there is scarcely anythingto be found, but a budget of old stitched sermons hung up behind thedoor, with a few broken girths, two or three yards of whipcord; and, perhaps, a saw and a hammer, to prevent dilapidations. Now, what may not a Divine do, though but of ordinary parts and unhappyeducation, with such learned helps and assistances as these? No vice, surely, durst stand before him! no heresy, affront him! And furthermore, Sir, it is to be considered, that he that is but thusmeanly provided for: it is not his only infelicity that he has neithertime, mind, nor books to improve himself for the inward benefit andsatisfaction of his people; but also that he is not capable of doing thatoutward good amongst the needy, which is a great ornament to that holyProfession, and a considerable advantage towards the having the doctrinebelieved and practised in a degenerate world. And that which augments the misery; whether he be able or not, it isexpected from him, if there comes a _Brief_ to town, for the Minister tocast in his mite will not satisfy! unless he can create sixpence or ashilling to put into the box, for a stale [_lure_], to decoy in the restof the parish. Nay, he that hath but £20 or £30 [= £60 to £90 _now_] _perannum_, if he bids not up as high as the best in the parish in all acts ofcharity, he is counted carnal and earthly-minded; only because he durstnot coin! and cannot work miracles! And let there come ever so many beggars, half of these, I will secureyou! shall presently inquire for the Minister's house. "For GOD, " saythey, "certainly dwells there, and has laid up for us, sufficient relief!" I know many of the Laity are usually so extremely tender of the spiritualwelfare of the Clergy, that they are apt to wish them but very smalltemporal goods, lest their inward state should be in danger! A thing, they need not much fear, since that effectual humiliation by HENRY VIII. "For, " say they, "the great tithes, large glebes, good victuals and warmclothes do but puff up the Priest! making him fat, foggy, and useless!and fill him with pride, vainglory, and all kind of inward wickedness andpernicious corruption! We see this plain, " say they, "in the Whore ofBabylon [_Roman Catholic Church_]! To what a degree of luxury andintemperance, besides a great deal of false doctrine, have riches andhonour raised up that strumpet! How does she strut it! and swagger itover all the world! terrifying Princes, and despising Kings and Emperors! "The Clergy, if ever we would expect any edification from them, ought tobe dieted and kept low! to be meek and humble, quiet, and stand in needof a pot of milk from their next neighbour! and always be very loth toask for their very right, for fear of making any disturbance in theparish, or seeming to understand or have any respect for this vile andoutward world! "Under the Law, indeed, in those old times of Darkaess and Eating, thePriests had their first and second dishes, their milk and honey, theirManna and quails, also their outward and inward vestments: but now, underthe Gospel, and in times of Light and Fasting, a much more sparing diet isfitter, and a single coat (though it be never so ancient and thin) isfully sufficient!" "We must look, " say they, "if we would be the better for them, for ahardy and labouring Clergy, that is mortified to [the possession of] ahorse and all such pampering vanities! and that can foot it five or sixmiles in the dirt, and preach till starlight, for as many [5 _or_ 6]shillings! as also a sober and temperate Clergy, that will not eat somuch as the Laity, but that the least pig, the least sheaf, and the leastof everything, may satisfy their Spiritualship! And besides, amoney-renouncing Clergy, that can abstain from seeing a penny, a monthtogether! unless it be when the Collectors and Visitationers come. Theseare all Gospel dispensations! and great instances of patience, contentedness, and resignation of affections [in respect] to all theemptinesses and fooleries of this life!" But cannot a Clergyman choose rather to lie upon feathers than a hurdle;but he must be idle, soft, and effeminate! May he not desire wholesomefood and fresh drink; unless he be a cheat, a hypocrite, and an impostor!And must he needs be void of all grace, though he has a shilling in hispurse, after the rates be crossed [off]! and full of pride and vanitythough his house stands not upon crutches; and though his chimney is tobe seen a foot above the thatch! O, how prettily and temperately may half a score of children bemaintained with _almost_ £20 [= £60 _now_] _per annum_! What a handsomeshift, a poor ingenious and frugal Divine will make, to take it by turns, and wear a cassock [_a long cloak_] one year, and a pair of breechesanother! What a becoming thing is it for him that serves at the Altar, tofill the dung cart in dry weather, and to heat the oven and pull [_strip_]hemp in wet! And what a pleasant thing is it, to see the Man of GODfetching up his single melancholy cow from a small rib [_strip_] of landthat is scarcely to be found without a guide! or to be seated upon a softand well grinded pouch [_bag_] of meal! or to be planted upon a pannier, with a pair of geese or turkeys bobbing out their heads from under hiscanonical coat! as you cannot but remember the man, Sir, that was thusaccomplished. Or to find him raving about the yards or keeping hischamber close, because the duck lately miscarried of an egg, or that thenever-failing hen has unhappily forsaken her wonted nest! And now, shall we think that such employments as these, can, any way, consist with due reverence, or tolerable respect from a parish? And he speaks altogether at a venture that says that "this is false, or, at least it need not be so; notwithstanding the mean condition of some ofthe Clergy. " For let any one make it out to me, which way is it possiblethat a man shall be able to maintain perhaps eight or ten in his family, with £20 or £30 _per annum_, without a intolerable dependence upon hisparish; and without committing himself to such vileness as will, in alllikelihood, render him contemptible to his people. Now where the income is so pitifully small (which, I will assure you, isthe portion of hundreds of the Clergy of this nation), which way shall hemanage it for the subsistence of himself and his family? If he keeps the glebe in his own hand (which he may easily do, almost inthe hollow of it!) what increase can he expect from a couple of appletrees, a brood of ducklings, a hemp land, and as much pasture as is justable to summer a cow? As for his tithes, he either rents them out to a layman; who will be veryunwilling to be his tenant, unless he may be sure to save by the bargainat least a third part: or else, he compounds for them; and then, as forhis money, he shall have it when all the rest of the world be paid! But if he thinks fit to take his dues in kind, he then either demands histrue and utmost right; and if so, it is a great hazard if he be notcounted a caterpillar! a muck worm! a very earthly minded man! and toomuch sighted into this lower world! which was made, as many of the Laitythink, altogether for themselves: or else, he must tamely commit himselfto that little dose of the creature that shall be pleased to beproportioned out unto him; choosing rather to starve in peace andquietness, than to gain his right by noise and disturbance. The best of all these ways that a Clergyman shall think fit for hispreferment, to be managed (where it is so small), are such as willundoubtedly make him either to be hated and reviled, or else pitifullypoor and disesteemed. But has it not gone very hard, in all Ages with the Men of GOD? Was notour Lord and Master our great and high Priest? and was not his fare low, and his life full of trouble? And was not the condition of most of hisdisciples very mean? Were not they notably pinched and severely treatedafter him? And is it not the duty of every Christian to imitate such holypatterns? but especially of the Clergy, who are to be shining lights andvisible examples; and therefore to be satisfied with a very littlemorsel, and to renounce ten times as much of the world as other people? And is not patience better than the Great Tithes, and contentedness to bepreferred before large fees and customs? Is there any comparison betweenthe expectation of a cringing bow or a low hat, and mortification to allsuch vanities and fopperies; especially with those who, in a peculiarmanner, hope to receive their inheritance, and make their harvest in thenext life? This was well thought of indeed. But for all that, if you please, Sir, wewill consider a little, some of those remarkable Inconveniences that do, most undoubtedly, attend upon the Ministers being so meanly provided for. First of all, the holy Men of GOD or the Ministry in general, hereby, isdisesteemed and rendered of small account. For though they be called Menof GOD: yet when it is observed that GOD seems to take but little care ofthem, in making them tolerable provision for this life, or that men aresuffered to take away that which GOD was pleased to provide for them; thepeople are presently apt to think that they belong to GOD no more thanordinary folks, if so much. And although it is not to be questioned but that the Laying on of Handsis a most Divine institution: yet it is not all the Bishops' hands in theworld, laid upon a man, if he be either notoriously ignorant or dismallypoor, that can procure him any hearty and lasting respect. For though wefind that some of the disciples of CHRIST that carried on and establishedthe great designs of the Gospel, were persons of ordinary employments andeducation: yet we see little reason to think that miracles should becontinued, to do that which natural endeavours, assisted by the Spirit ofGOD, are able to perform. And if CHRIST were still upon earth to makebread for such as are his peculiar Servants and Declarers of his Mind andDoctrine; the Laity, if they please, should eat up all the cornthemselves, as well the tenth sheaf as the others: but seeing it isotherwise, and that that miraculous power was not left to the succeedingClergy; for them to beg their bread, or depend for their subsistence uponthe good pleasure and humour of their parish, is a thing that renders thatHoly Office, very much slighted and disregarded. That constitution therefore of our Church was a most prudent design, thatsays that all who are ordained shall be ordained to somewhat, not ordainedat random, to preach in general to the whole world, as they travel up anddown the road; but to this or that particular parish. And, no question, the reason was, to prevent spiritual peddling; and gadding up and downthe country with a bag of trifling and insignificant sermons, inquiring"Who will buy any doctrine?" So that no more might be received into HolyOrders than the Church had provision for. But so very little is this regarded, that if a young Divinity Intenderhas but got a sermon of his own, or of his father's; although he knowsnot where to get a meal's meat or one penny of money by his preaching:yet he gets a Qualification from some beneficed man or other, who, perhaps, is no more able to keep a curate than I am to keep ten footboys!and so he is made a Preacher. And upon this account, I have known anordinary Divine, whose living would but just keep himself and his familyfrom melancholy and despair, shroud under his protection as many Curatesas the best Nobleman in the land hath Chaplains [_i. E. , eight_]. Now, many such as these, go into Orders against the sky falls! foreseeingno more likelihood of any preferment coming to them, than you or I do ofbeing Secretaries of State. Now, so often as any such as these, for wantof maintenance, are put to any unworthy and disgraceful shifts; thisreflects disparagement upon all that Order of holy men. And we must have a great care of comparing our small preferred Clergywith those but of the like fortune, in the Church of Rome: they havingmany arts and devices of gaining respect and reverence to their Office, which we count neither just nor warrantable. We design no more, than tobe in a likely capacity of doing good, and not discrediting our religion, nor suffering the Gospel to be disesteemed: but their aim is clearly, notonly by cheats, contrived tales, and feigned miracles, to get money inabundance; but to be worshipped, and almost deified, is as little as theywill content themselves withal. For how can it be, but that the people belonging to a Church, wherein theSupreme Governor is believed never to err (either purely by virtue of hisown single wisdom, or by help of his inspiring Chair, or by theassistance of his little infallible Cardinals; for it matters not, wherethe root of not being mistaken lies): I say, how can it be, but that allthat are believers of such extraordinary knowledge, must needs stand inmost direful awe, not only of the aforesaid Supreme, but of all thatadhere to him, or are in any ghostly authority under him? And although it so happens that this same extraordinary knowing Person ispleased to trouble himself with a good large proportion of this vile andcontemptible world; so that should he, now and then, upon some odd andcloudy day, count himself _mortal_, and be a little mistaken; yet he haschanced to make such a comfortable provision for himself and hisfollowers, that he must needs be sufficiently valued and honoured amongstall. But had he but just enough to keep himself from catching cold andstarving, so long as he is invested with such spiritual sovereignty andsuch a peculiar privilege of being infallible; most certainly, withoutquarrelling, he takes the rode [?] of all mankind. And as for the most inferior priests of all, although they pretend not tosuch perfection of knowledge: yet there be many extraordinary things whichthey are believed to be able to do, which beget in people a most venerablerespect towards them: such is, the power of "making GOD" in the Sacrament, a thing that must infallibly procure an infinite admiration of him thatcan do it, though he scarce knows the _Ten Commandments_, and has not afarthing to buy himself bread. And then, when "CHRIST is made, " theirgiving but half of him to the Laity, is a thing also, if it be minded, that will very much help on the business, and make the people stand at agreater distance from the Clergy. I might instance, likewise, in theirAuricular Confession, enjoining of Penance, forgiving sins, making ofSaints, freeing people from Purgatory, and many such useful tricks theyhave, and wonders they can do, to draw in the forward believing Laityinto a most right worshipful opinion and honourable esteem of them. And therefore, seeing our holy Church of England counts it not just, norwarrantable, thus to cheat the world by belying the _Scriptures_; and bymaking use of such falsehood and stratagems to gain respect andreverence: it behoves us, certainly, to wish for, and endeavour, all suchmeans as are useful and lawful for the obtaining of the same. I might here, I think, conveniently add that though many prefermentsamongst the Clergy of Rome may possibly be as small as some of ours inEngland; yet are we to be put in mind of one more excellent contrivanceof theirs: and that is, the denial of marriage to Priests, whereby theyare freed from the expenses of a family, and a train of young children, that, upon my word! will soon suck up the milk of a cow or two, and grindin pieces a few sheaves of corn. The Church of England therefore thinkingit not fit to oblige their Clergy to a single life (and I suppose are notlikely to alter their opinion, unless they receive better reasons for itfrom Rome than have been as yet sent over): he makes a comparison verywide from the purpose, that goes about to try the livings here in Englandby those of the Church of Rome; there being nothing more frequent in ourChurch than for a Clergyman to have three or four children to get breadfor, by that time, one, in theirs, shall be allowed to go into HolyOrders. There is still one thing remaining, which ought not to be forgotten (athing that is sometimes urged, I know, by the Papist, for the single lifeof the Priests) that does also much lessen the esteem of our Ministry; andthat is the poor and contemptible employment that many children of theClergy are forced upon, by reason of the meanness of their father'srevenue. It has happened, I know, sometimes, that whereas it has pleased GOD tobestow upon the Clergyman a very sufficient income: yet such has been hiscarelessness as that he hath made but pitiful provision for his children:and, on the other side, notwithstanding all the good care andthoughtfulness of the father, it has happened, at other times, that thechildren, beyond the power of all advice, have seemed to be resolved fordebauchery. But to see Clergymen's children condemned to the walking [_holding_] ofhorses! to wait upon a tapster! or the like; and that only because theirfather was not able to allow them a more genteel education: these aresuch employments that cannot but bring great disgrace and dishonour uponthe Clergy. But this is not all the inconvenience that attends the small income thatis the portion of some Clergymen: for besides that the Clergy in generalis disesteemed, they are likely also to do but little good in theirparish. For it is a hard matter for the people to believe, that he talksanything to the purpose, that wants ordinary food for his family; andthat his advice and exposition can come from above, that is scarcelydefended against the weather. I have heard a travelling poor man beg withvery good reason and a great stream of seasonable rhetoric; and yet it hasbeen very little minded, because his clothes were torn, or at least out offashion. And, on the other side, I have heard but an ordinary sayingproceeding from a fine suit and a good lusty title of honour, highlyadmired; which would not possibly have been hearkened to, had it beenuttered by a meaner person: yet, by all means, because it was a fancy ofHis Worship's, it must be counted high! and notably expressed! If, indeed, this world were made of sincere and pure beaten virtue, likethe gold of the first Age, then such idle and fond prejudices would be avery vain supposal; and the doctrine that proceeded from the mostbattered and contemptible habit [_clothes_] and the most sparing dietwould be as acceptable as that which flowed from a silken cassock[_cloak_] and the best cheer. But seeing the world is not absolutelyperfect, it is to be questioned whether he that runs upon trust for everyounce of provisions he spends in his family, can scarce look from hispulpit into any seat in the church but that he spies somebody or otherthat he is beholden to and depends upon; and, for want of money, hasscarce confidence to speak handsomely to his Sexton: it is to bequestioned, I say, whether one, thus destitute of all tolerablesubsistence, and thus shattered and distracted with most necessary cares, can either invent with discretion, or utter with courage, anything thatmay be beneficial to his people, whereby they may become his diligentattenders and hearty respecters. And as the people do almost resolve against being amended or bettered bythe Minister's preaching, whose circumstances as to this life are so bad, and his condition so low: so likewise is their devotion very cool andindifferent, in hearing from such a one the _Prayers_ of the Church. The _Divine Service_, all the world knows! is the same, if read in themost magnificent Cathedral or in the most private parlour; or ifperformed by the Archbishop himself, or by the meanest of his priests:but as the solemnity of the place, besides the consecration of it to GODAlmighty, does much influence the devotion of the people; so also thequality and condition of the person that reads it. And though there benot that acknowledged difference between a Priest comfortably providedfor, and him that is in the thorns and briars; as there is between oneplaced in great dignity and authority and one that is in less: yet such adifference the people will make, that they will scarce hearken to what isread by the one, and yet be most religiously attentive to the other. Not, surely, that any one can think that he whose countenance is cheerly andhis barns full, can petition heaven more effectually, or prevail with GODfor the forgiveness of a greater sin, than he who is pitifully pale and isnot owner of an ear of corn; yet, most certainly, they do not delight toconfess their sins and sing praises to GOD with him who sighs, more forwant of money and victuals, than for his trespasses and offences. Thus itis, and will be! do you or I, Sir, what we can to the contrary. Did our Church indeed believe, with the Papists, every person rightfullyordained, to be a kind of GOD Almighty, working miracles and doingwonders; then would people most readily prostrate themselves toeverything in Holy Orders, though it could but just creep! But as ourChurch counts those of the Clergy to be but mortal men, though peculiarlydedicated to GOD and His service; their behaviour, their condition andcircumstances of life, will necessarily come into our value and esteem ofthem. And therefore it is no purpose for men to say "that this need notbe, it being but mere prejudice, humour, and fancy: and that if the manbe but truly in Holy Orders; that is the great matter! and from thencecome blessings, absolution and intercession through CHRIST with GOD. Andthat it is not Philosophy, Languages, Ecclesiastical History, Prudence, Discretion, and Reputation, by which the Minister can help us on towardsheaven. " Notwithstanding this, I say again, that seeing men are men, and seeingthat we are of the Church of England and not of that of Rome, thesethings ought to be weighed and considered; and for want of being so, ourChurch of England has suffered much. And I am almost confident that, since the Reformation, nothing has morehindered people from a just estimation of a _Form of Prayer_ and our holy_Liturgy_ than employing a company of boys, or old illiterate mumblers, toread the _Service_. And I do verily believe, that, at this very day, especially in Cities and Corporations, which make up the third part ofour nation, there is nothing that does more keep back some dissatisfiedpeople from Church till _Service_ be over, than that it is read by some£10 or £12 man, with whose parts and education they are so wellacquainted, as to have reason to know that he has but skill enough toread the _Lessons_ with twice conning over. And though the office of theReader be only to read word for word, and neither to invent or expound:yet people love he should be a person of such worth and knowledge, as itmay be supposed he understands what he reads. And although for some it were too burdensome a task to read the _Service_twice a day, and preach as often; yet certainly it were much better if thepeople had but one sermon in a fortnight or month, so the _Service_ wereperformed by a knowing and valuable person, than to run an unlearned routof contemptible people into Holy Orders, on purpose only to say the_Prayers_ of the Church, who perhaps shall understand very little morethan a hollow pipe made of tin or wainscoat. Neither do I here at all reflect upon Cathedrals, where the _Prayers_ areusually read by some grave and worthy person. And as for the unlearnedsingers, whether boys or men, there is no complaint to be made, as tothis case, than that they have not an all understanding Organ, or aprudent and discreet Cornet. Neither need people be afraid that the Minister for want of preachingshould grow stiff and rusty; supposing he came not into the pulpit everyweek. For he can spend his time very honestly, either by taking bettercare of what he preaches, and by considering what is most useful andseasonable for the people: and not what subject he can preach upon withmost ease, or upon what text he can make a brave speech, for which nobodyshall be the better! or where he can best steal, without being discovered, as is the practice of many Divines in private parishes. Or else, he mayspend it in visiting the sick, instructing the ignorant, and recoveringsuch as are gone astray. For though there be churches built for public assemblies, for publicinstruction and exhortation; and though there be not many absolutelyplain places of Scripture that oblige the Minister to walk from house tohouse: yet, certainly, people might receive much more advantage from suchcharitable visits and friendly conferences, than from general discourseslevelled at the whole world, where perhaps the greatest part of the timeshall be spent in useless Prefaces, Dividings, and Flourishings. Whichthing is very practicable; excepting some vast parishes: in which, also, it is much better to do good to some, than to none at all. There is but one calamity more that I shall mention, which though it neednot absolutely, yet it does too frequently, accompany the low condition ofmany of the Clergy: and that is, it is a great hazard if they be not_idle, intemperate_, and _scandalous_. I say, I cannot prove it strictly and undeniably that a man smallybeneficed, must of necessity be dissolute and debauched. But when weconsider how much he lies subject to the humour of all reprobates, andhow easily he is tempted from his own house of poverty and melancholy: itis to be feared that he will be willing, too often to forsake his ownStudy of a few scurvy books; and his own habitation of darkness wherethere is seldom eating or drinking, for a good lightsome one where thereis a bountiful provision of both. And when he comes there, though he swears not at all; yet he must be sureto say nothing to those that do it by all that they can think of. Andthough he judges it not fit to lead the Forlorn in vice and profaneness:yet, if he goes about to damp a frolic, there is great danger, not onlyof losing his Sunday dinner, but also all opportunities of such futurerefreshments, for his niceness and squeamishness! And such as are but at all disposed to this lewd kind of meetings;besides the Devil, he shall have solicitors enough! who count all suchrevelling occasion very unsavoury and unhallowed, unless they have thepresence of some Clergyman to sanctify the ordinance: who, if he sticksat his glass, bless him! and call him but "Doctor!" and it slidespresently [_i. E. , the Clergyman drinks_]. I take no delight, I must confess, to insist upon this: but only I couldvery much wish that such of our Governors as go amongst our smallpreferred Clergy, to take a view of the condition of the Church andChancel; that they would but make inquiry, Whether the Minister himselfbe not much out of repair? I have now done, Sir, with the Grounds of that Disesteem that many of theClergy lie under, both by the _Ignorance_ of some, and the _extremePoverty_ of others. And I should have troubled you no further, but that Ithought it convenient not to omit the particular Occasions that do concurto the making of many of our Clergy so pitifully poor and contemptible. The first thing that contributes much to the Poverty of the Clergy is_the great scarcity of Livings_. Churches and Chapels we have enough, it is to be confessed, if comparedwith the bigness of our nation: but, in respect of that infinite numberthat are in Holy Orders, it is a very plain case, that there is a verygreat want. And I am confident, that, in a very little time, I couldprocure hundreds that should ride both sun and moon down, and beeverlastingly yours! if you could help them but to a Living of £25 or £30a year. And this, I suppose, to be chiefly occasioned upon these two accounts:either from _the eagerness and ambition_ that some people have, of goinginto Orders; or from the _refuge of others_ into the Church, who, beingotherwise disappointed of a livelihood, hope to make sure of one by thatmeans. First, I say, that which increases the unprovided-for number of theClergy, is people posting into Orders before they know their Message orbusiness, only out of a certain pride and ambition. Thus some are hugelyin love with the mere title of Priest or Deacon: never considering howthey shall live, or what good they are likely to do in their Office; butonly they have a fancy, that a cassock, if it be made long, is a veryhandsome garment, though it be never paid for; that the Desk is clearlythe best, and the Pulpit, the highest seat in all the parish; that theyshall take place [_precedence_] of most Esquires and Right Worshipfuls;that they shall have the honour of being spiritual guides andcounsellors; and they shall be supposed to understand more of the Mind ofGOD than ordinary, though perhaps they scarcely know the Old Law from theNew, nor the _Canon_ from the _Apocrypha_. Many, I say, such as these, there be, who know not where to get two groats, nor what they have to sayto the people: but only because they have heard that the office of aMinister is the most noble and honourable employment in the world;therefore they (not knowing in the least what the meaning of that is), Orders, by all means, must have! though it be to the disparagement ofthat holy function. Others also there be who are not so highly possessed with the meredignity of the office and honourableness of the employment; but think, had they but licence and authority to preach, O how they could pay itaway! and that they can tell the people such strange things, as theynever heard before, in all their lives! That they have got such acommanding voice! such heart-breaking expressions! such a peculiar methodof Text-dividing! and such notable helps for the interpreting alldifficulties in Scripture! that they can shew the people a much shorterway to heaven than has been, as yet, made known by any! Such a forwardness as this, of going in Holy Orders, either merely out ofan ambitious humour of being called a Priest; or of thinking they could dosuch feats and wonders, if they might be but free of the Pulpit, hasfilled the nation with many more Divines than there is any competentmaintenance for in the Church. Another great crowd that is made in the Church is by those that take inthere only as a place of shelter and refuge. Thus, we have many turnPriests and Deacons, either for want of employment in their profession ofLaw, Physic, or the like; or having been unfortunate in their trade, orhaving broken a leg, or an arm, and so disabled from following theirformer calling; or having had the pleasure of spending their estate, orbeing (perhaps deservedly) disappointed of their inheritance. The Churchis a very large and good "Sanctuary"; and one Spiritual shilling is asgood as three Temporality shillings. Let the hardest come to the hardest!if they can get by heart, _Quid est fides? Quid est Ecclesia? quot suntConcilia Generalia_? and gain Orders; they may prove Readers orPreachers, according as their gifts and opportunities shall lie. Nowmany, such as these, the Church being not able to provide for (as thereis no great reason that she should be solicitous about it) must needsprove a very great disparagement to her; they coming hither, just as theold heathens used to go to prayers. When nothing would stop the anger ofthe gods, then for a touch of devotion! and if there be no way to getvictuals; rather than starve, let us Read or Preach! In short, Sir, we are perfectly overstocked with Professors of Divinity:there being scarce employment for half of those who undertake thatoffice. And unless we had some of the Romish tricks, to ramble up anddown, and cry Pardons and Indulgences; or, for want of a living, have agood store of clients in the business of Purgatory, or the like, and somake such unrighteous gains of Religion: it were certainly much better ifmany of them were otherwise determined. Or unless we have some vent[_export_] for our Learned Ones, beyond the sea; and could transport somany tons of Divines yearly, as we do other commodities with which thenation is overstocked; we do certainly very unadvisedly, to breed up somany to that Holy Calling, or to suffer so many to steal into Orders:seeing there is not sufficient work and employment for them. The next thing that does as much to heighten the misery of our Church, asto the _poverty_ of it, is the Gentry's designing, not only the weak, thelame, and usually the most ill-favoured of their children for the officeof the Ministry; but also such as they intend to settle nothing upon fortheir subsistence: leaving them wholly to the bare hopes of Churchpreferment. For, as they think, let the Thing look how it will, it isgood enough for the Church! and that if it had but limbs enough to climbthe pulpit, and eyes enough to find the day of the month, it will servewell enough to preach, and read _Service_! So, likewise, they think they have obliged the Clergy very much, if theyplease to bestow two or three years' education upon a younger son at theUniversity: and then commend him to the grace of GOD, and the favour ofthe Church; without one penny of money, or inch of land! You must not think, that he will spoil his eldest son's estate, or hazardthe lessening of the credit of the family, to do that which may, any way, tend to the reputation and honour of the Clergy! And thus it comes to pass, that you may commonly ride ten miles, andscarce meet with a Divine that is worth above two spoons and a pepperbox, besides his living or spiritual preferments. For, as for the Land, that goes sweeping away with the eldest son, for the immortality of thefamily! and, as for the Money, that is usually employed for to bind out[_apprentice_] and set up other children! And thus, you shall have themmake no doubt of giving £500 or a £1, 000 [= £1, 500 _or_ £3, 000 _now_] fora stock [_capital_] to them: but for the poor Divinity son, if he gets butenough to buy a broad hat at second-hand, and a small _System of Faith_ ortwo, that is counted stock sufficient for him to set up withal. And, possibly, he might make some kind of shift in this world, if anybodywill engage that he shall have, neither wife nor children: but, if it sofall out, that he leaves the world, and behind him either the one or theothers: in what a dismal condition are these likely to be! and how willtheir sad calamities reflect upon the Clergy! So dismal a thing is thiscommonly judged, that those that at their departure out of this life, arepiously and virtuously disposed, do usually reckon the taking care for therelief of the poor Ministers' widows, to be an opportunity of as necessarycharity as the mending the highways, and the erecting of hospitals. But neither are spiritual preferments only scarce, by reason of thatgreat number that lie hovering over them; and that they that are thus onthe wing, are usually destitute of any other estate and livelihood: butalso, when they come into possession of them, they finding, for the mostpart, nothing but a little sauce and Second Course (pigs, geese, andapples), must needs be put upon great perplexities for the standingnecessaries of a family. So that if it be inquired by any one, How comes it to pass, that we haveso many in Holy Orders that understand so little, and are able to do solittle service in the Church? if we may answer plainly and truly, we maysay, "Because they are fit for nothing else!" For, shall we think that any man that is not cursed to uselessness, poverty, and misery, will be content with £20 or £30 a year? For though, in the bulk, it looks, at first, like a bountiful estate; yet, if wethink of it a little better, we shall find that an ordinary bricklayer orcarpenter (I mean not your great undertakers [_contractors_] and masterworkmen) that earns constantly but his two shillings a day, has clearly abetter revenue, and has certainly the command of more money. For that theone has no dilapidations and the like, to consume a great part of hisweekly wages; of which you know how much the other is subject unto. So that as long as we have so many small and contemptible livingsbelonging to our Church, let the world do what it can! we must expectthat they should be supplied by very lamentable and unserviceable Things. For that nobody else will meddle with them! unless, one in an Ageabounding with money, charity, and goodness, will preach for nothing! For if men of knowledge, prudence, and wealth have a fancy against aLiving of £20 or £30 a year; there is no way to get them into such anundertaking, but by sending out a spiritual press [_press gang_]: forthat very few volunteers that are worth, unless better encouraged, willgo into that Holy Warfare! but it will be left to those who cannot devisehow otherwise to live! Neither must people say that, "besides Bishoprics, Prebendaries, and thelike, we have several brave benefices, suffice to invite those of thebest parts, education, and discretion. " For, imagine one Living in fortyis worth £100 [= £300 _now_] a year, and supplied by a man of skill andwholesome counsel: what are the other thirty-nine the better for that?What are the people about Carlisle bettered by his instructions andadvice who lives at Dover? It was certainly our Saviour's mind, not onlythat the Gospel should be preached to all nations at first; but that themeaning and power of it should be preserved, and constantly declared toall people, by such as had judgement to do it. Neither again must they say, that "Cities, Corporations, and the greattrading towns of this nation, which are the strength and glory of it, andthat contain the useful people of the world, are usually instructed byvery learned and judicious persons. " For, I suppose that our Saviour'sdesign was not that Mayors, Aldermen, and merchants should be only saved:but also that all plain country people should partake of the same means;who (though they read not so many _Gazettes_ as citizens; nor concernthemselves where the Turk or King of France [_Louis XIV_. ] sets on next)yet the true knowledge of GOD is now so plainly delivered in Scripture, that there wants nothing but sober and prudent Offerers of the same, tomake it saving to those of the meanest understandings. And therefore, inall parishes, if possible, there ought to be such a fixed and settledprovision as might reasonably invite some careful and prudent person, forthe people's guide and instruction in holy matters. And furthermore, it might be added, that the revenue belonging to most ofthe Corporation Livings is no such mighty business: for were it not forthe uncertain and humorsome contribution of the well-pleasedparishioners, the Parson and his family might be easily starved, for allthe lands and income that belong to the Church. Besides, the greatmischief that such kind of hired Preachers have done in the World--whichI shall not stay here, to insist upon. And as we have not churches enough, in respect of the great multitudethat are qualified for a Living: so, considering the smallness of therevenue and the number of people that are to be the hearers, it is veryplain that we have too many. And we shall, many times, find two churches in the same yard, when as onewould hold double the people of both the parishes. If they were united forthe encouragement of some deserving person, he might easily make shift tospend, very honestly and temperately, the revenue of both. And what though churches stand at a little further distance? People mayplease to walk a mile, without distemperating themselves; when as theyshall go three or four to a market, to sell two pennyworth of eggs. But suppose they resolved to pretend that they shall catch cold (theclouds being more than ordinarily thick upon the Sunday; as they usuallyare, if there be religion in the case); and that they are absolutely bentupon having instruction brought to their own town. Why might not onesermon a day, or (rather than fail) one in a fortnight, from a prudentand well-esteemed-of Preacher, do as well as two a day from him thattalks, all the year long, nothing to the purpose; and thereupon islaughed at and despised? I know what people will presently say to this, viz. , that "if, uponSunday, the Church doors be shut, the Alehouses will be open! andtherefore, there must be somebody (though never so weak and lamentable!)to pass away the time in the Church, that the people may be kept soberand peaceable. " Truly, if religion and the worship of GOD consisted only in _negatives_, and that the observation of the Sabbath, was only _not_ to be drunk! thenthey speak much to the purpose; but if it be otherwise, very little. Itbeing not much unlike, as it is the fashion in many places, to thesending of little children of two or three years old to a School Dame, without any design of learning one letter, but only to keep them out ofthe fire and water. Last of all, people must not say that "there needs no great store oflearning in a Minister; and therefore a small Living may answer hisdeserts: for that there be _Homilies_ made on purpose by the Church foryoung beginners and slow inventors. Whereupon it is, that such differenceis made between giving Orders, and License to Preach: the latter beinggranted only to such, as the Bishop shall judge able to make sermons. " But this does not seem to do the business. For though it be not necessaryfor every Guide of a parish to understand all the Oriental languages, orto make exactly elegant or profound discourses for the Pulpit; yet, mostcertainly, it is very requisite that he should be so far learned andjudicious as prudently to advise, direct, inform, and satisfy the peoplein holy matters; when they demand it, or beg it from him. Which toperform readily and judiciously requires much more discretion and skill, than, upon long deliberation, to make a continued talk of an hour, without any great discernible failings. So that were a Minister tied up, never to speak one sentence of his own invention out of the pulpit in hiswhole lifetime; yet doubtless many other occasions there be, for whichneither wisdom nor reputation should be wanting in him that has the careand government of a parish. I shall not here go about to please myself with the imagination of allthe Great Tithes being restored to the Church; having little reason tohope to see such days of virtue. Nor shall I here question thealmightiness of former Kings and Parliaments, nor dispute whether all theKing HENRIES in the world, with ever such a powerful Parliament, were ableto determine to any other use, what was once solemnly dedicated to GOD, and His service. By yet, when we look over the Prefaces to those _Acts ofParliament_ whereby some Church revenues were granted to HENRY VIII. , onecannot but be much taken with the ingenuity of that Parliament; that whenthe King wanted a supply of money and an augmentation to his revenue, howhandsomely, out of the Church they made provision for him, without doingthemselves any injury at all! _For_, say they, _seeing His Majesty is our joy and life; seeing that heis so courageous and wise; seeing that he is so very tender of, and wellaffected to, all his subjects; and that he has been at such largeexpenses, for five and twenty whole years, to defend and protect this hisrealm: therefore, in all duty and gratitude, and as a manifest token ofour unfeigned thankfulness, We do grant unto the king and his heirs forever, &c. _ It follows as closely as can be, that because the king has been a goodand deserving king, and had been at much trouble and expense for thesafety and honour of the nation, that therefore all his wants shall besupplied _out of the Church_! as if all the charges that he had been at, were upon the account only of his Ecclesiastical subjects, and not inrelation to the rest. It is not, Sir, for you or I to guess, which way the whole Clergy ingeneral, might be better provided for. But, sure it is, and must not bedenied, that so long as many Livings continue as they now are, thusimpoverished; and that there be so few encouragements for men ofsobriety, wisdom, and learning: we have no reason to expect much betterInstructors and Governors of parishes, than at present we commonly find. There is a way, I know, that some people love marvellously to talk of;and that is a just and equal levelling of Ecclesiastical preferments. "What a delicate refreshment, " say they, "would it be, if £20, 000 or£30, 000 a year were taken from the Bishops, and discreetly sprinkledamongst the poorer and meaner sort of the Clergy! how would it rejoicetheir hearts, and encourage them in their Office! What need those greatand sumptuous palaces, their city and their country houses, their parksand spacious waters, their costly dishes and fashionable sauces? May nothe that lives in a small thatched house, that can scarcely walk fourstrides in his own ground, that has only _read_ well concerning venison, fish, and fowl: may not he, I say, preach as loud and to as much purposeas one of those high and mighty Spiritualists? Go to, then! Seeing ithath pleased GOD to make such a bountiful provision for His Church ingeneral, what need we be solicitous about the emending the low conditionof many of the Clergy, when as there is such a plain remedy at hand, hadwe but grace to apply it?" This invention pleases some mainly well. But for all the great care theypretend to have of the distressed part of the Clergy, I am confident, onemight easily guess what would please them much better! if (instead ofaugmenting small benefices) the Bishops would be pleased to return tothem, those lands purchased in their absence [_i. E. , during theCommonwealth, which were restored to the Bishoprics at the Restoration_]:and then, as for the relieving of the Clergy, they would try if they couldfind out another way! But, art thou in good earnest? my excellent Contriver! Dost thou thinkthat if the greatest of our Church preferments were wisely parcelled outamongst those that are in want, it would do such feats and courtesies?And dost thou not likewise think, that if ten or twenty of the lustiestNoblemen's estates of England were cleverly sliced among the indigent;would it not strangely refresh some of the poor Laity that cry "SmallCoal!" or grind scissors! I do suppose if GOD should afterwards inclinethy mind (for I fancy it will not be as yet, a good while!) to be aBenefactor to the Church; thy wisdom may possibly direct thee to dispersethy goodness in smaller parcels, rather than to flow in upon two or threewith full happiness. But if it be my inclination to settle upon one Ecclesiastical person andhis successors for ever, a £1, 000 a year [= £3, 000 _now_] upon conditiononly to read the _Service_ of the Church once in a week; and you take itill, and find fault with my prudence and the method of my munificence, and say that "the stipend is much too large for such a small task": yet, I am confident, that should I make thy Laityship heir of such an estate, and oblige thee only to the trouble and expense of spending a singlechicken or half a dozen larks once a year, in commemoration of me; thatthou wouldst count me the wisest man that ever was, since the Creation!and pray to GOD never to dispose thy mind, to part with one farthing ofit for any other use, than for the service of thyself and thy family. And yet so it is, that, because the Bishops, upon their first beingrestored [in 1660], had the confidence to levy fines, according as theywere justly due; and desired to live in their own houses, if not pulleddown! and to receive their own rents: presently, they cry out, "TheChurchmen have got all the treasure and money of the nation into theirhands. " If they have, let them thank GOD for it! and make a good use of it. Weepnot, Beloved! for there is very little hope that they will cast it allinto the sea, on purpose to stop the mouths of them, that say "they havetoo much!" What other contrivances there may be, for the settling upon Ministers ingeneral, a sufficient revenue for their subsistence and encouragement intheir office; I shall leave to be considered of, by the Governors ofLearning and Religion. Only thus much is certain, that so long as the maintenance of manyMinisters is so very small, it is not to be avoided, but that a greatpart of them will want learning, prudence, courage, and esteem to do anygood where they live. And what if we have (as by all must be acknowledged) as wise and learnedBishops as be in the world, and many others of very great understandingand wisdom; yet (as was before hinted) unless there be provided for mosttowns and parishes some tolerable and sufficient Guides, the strength ofReligion, and the credit of the Clergy will daily languish more and more. Not that it is to be believed that every small country parish should bealtogether hopeless as to the next life, unless they have a HOOKER, aCHILLINGWORTH, a HAMMOND, or a SANDERSON dwelling amongst them: but it isrequisite, and might be brought about, that somebody there should be, towhom the people have reason to attend, and to be directed and guided byhim. I have, Sir, no more to say, were it not that you find the word_Religion_ in the Title: of which in particular I have spoken verylittle. Neither need I! considering how nearly it depends, as to itsglory and strength, upon the reputation and mouth of the Priest. And I shall add no more but this, viz. , that among those many things thattend to the decay of Religion, and of a due reverence of the _HolyScriptures_, nothing has more occasioned it than the ridiculous and idlediscourses that are uttered out of pulpits. For when the Gallants of theworld do observe how the Ministers themselves do jingle, quibble, andplay the fool with the Texts: no wonder, if they, who are so inclinableto Atheism, do not only deride and despise the Priests; but droll uponthe _Bible_! and make a mock of all that is sober and sacred! I am, Sir, Your most humble servant, T. B. _August_ 8, 1670. FINIS. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF [_i. E. _, RICHARD STEELE]. _The miseries of the Domestic Chaplain, in_ 1710. [_The Tatler_. No. 255. Thursday, 23 Nov. 1710. ] _To the Censor of Great Britain. Sir, I am at present, under very great difficulties; which is not in the powerof any one besides yourself, to redress. Whether or not, you shall thinkit a proper Case to come before your Court of Honour, I cannot tell: butthus it is. I am Chaplain to an honourable Family, very regular at the Hours ofDevotion, and I hope of an unblameable life: but, for not offering torise at the Second Course, I found my Patron and his Lady very sullen andout of humour; though, at first, I did not know the reason of it. At length, when I happened to help myself to a jelly, the Lady of thehouse, otherwise a devout woman, told me "It did not become a Man of myCloth, to delight in such frivolous food!" But as I still continued tosit out the last course, I was yesterday informed by the butler, that"His Lordship had no further occasion for my service. " All which is humbly submitted to your consideration, by, Sir, Your most humble servant, &c. _ The case of this Gentleman deserves pity, especially if he lovessweetmeats; to which, if I may guess by his letter, he is no enemy. In the meantime, I have often wondered at the indecency of discarding theholiest man from the table, as soon as the most delicious parts of theentertainment are served up: and could never conceive a reason for soabsurd a custom. Is it because a licorous palate, or a sweet tooth (as they call it), isnot consistent with the sanctity of his character? This is but a trifling pretence! No man of the most rigid virtue, givesoffence by any excesses in plum pudding or plum porridge; and that, because they are the first parts of the dinner. Is there anything thattends to _incitation_ in sweetmeats, more than in ordinary dishes?Certainly not! Sugar-plums are a very innocent diet; and conserves of amuch colder nature than your common pickles. I have sometimes thought that the Ceremony of the _Chaplain flying awayfrom the Dessert_ was typical and figurative. To mark out to the company, how they ought to retire from all the luscious baits of temptation, anddeny their appetites the gratifications that are most pleasing to them. Or, at least, to signify that we ought to stint ourselves in the mostlawful satisfactions; and not make our Pleasure, but our Support the endof eating. But, most certainly, if such a lesson of temperance had been necessary ata table: our Clergy would have recommended it to all the Lay masters offamilies; and not have disturbed other men's tables with suchunreasonable examples of abstinence. The original therefore of this _barbarous custom_, I take to have beenmerely accidental. The Chaplain retired, out of pure complaisance, to make room for theremoval of the dishes, or possibly for the ranging of the dessert. This, by degrees, grew into a duty; till, at length, as the fashion improved, the good man found himself cut off from the Third part of theentertainment: and, if the arrogance of the Patron goes on, it is notimpossible but, in the next generation, he may see himself reduced to theTithe or Tenth Dish of the table. A sufficient caution not to part withany privilege we are once possessed of! It was usual for the Priest, in old times, to feast upon the sacrifice, nay the honey cake; while the hungry Laity looked upon him with greatdevotion: or, as the late Lord ROCHESTER describes it in a very livelymanner, _And while the Priest did eat, the People stared_. At present, the custom is inverted. The Laity feast while the Prieststands by as an humble spectator. This necessarily puts the good man upon making great ravages on all thedishes that stand near him; and upon distinguishing himself byvoraciousness of appetite, as knowing that "his time is short. " I would fain ask these stiff-necked Patrons, Whether they would not takeit ill of a Chaplain that, in his grace, after meat, should return thanksfor the whole entertainment, with an exception to the dessert? And yet Icannot but think that in such a proceeding, he would but deal with themas they deserved. What would a Roman Catholic priest think (who is always helped first, andplaced next the ladies), should he see a Clergyman giving his company theslip at the first appearance of the tarts or sweetmeats? Would he notbelieve that he had the same antipathy to a candid orange or a piece ofpuff paste, as some have to a Cheshire cheese or a breast of mutton? Yet to so ridiculous a height is this foolish custom grown, that even theChristmas Pie, which in its very nature is a kind of consecrated cake anda badge of distinction, is often forbidden to the Druid of the family. Strange! that a sirloin of beef, whether boiled or roasted, when entire, is exposed to his utmost depredations and incisions; but if minced intosmall pieces and tossed up with plums and sugar, it changes its property;and, forsooth, it is meat for his Master! In this Case, I know not which to censure [_blame_], the Patron or theChaplain! the insolence of power, or the abjectness of dependence! For my own part, I have often blushed to see a Gentleman, whom I knew tohave more Wit and Learning than myself, and who was bred up with me atthe University upon the same foot of a liberal education, treated in suchan ignominious manner; and sunk beneath those of his own rank, by reasonof that character which ought to bring him honour. This deters men of generous minds from placing themselves in such astation of life; and by that means frequently excludes Persons of Qualityfrom the improving and agreeable conversation of a learned and obsequiousfriend. Mr. OLDHAM lets us know that he was affrighted from the thought of suchan employment, by the scandalous sort of treatment, which oftenaccompanies it. _Some think themselves exalted to the sky, If they light in some noble family: Diet, a horse, and Thirty pounds a year; Besides th' advantage of his Lordship's ear, The credit of the business, and the State; Are things that in a youngster's sense sound_ great. _Little the unexperienced wretch does know, What slavery he oft must undergo! Who, though in silken scarf and cassock drest, Wears but a gayer_ livery, _at best. When dinner calls, the Implement must wait, With holy words to consecrate the meat: But hold it, for a favour seldom known, If he be deigned the honour to sit down! Soon as the tarts appear, "Sir CRAPE, withdraw! These dainties are not for a spiritual maw! Observe your distance! and be sure to stand Hard by the cistern with your cap in hand! There, for diversion, you may pick your teeth Till the kind Voider comes for your relief. " Let others who, such meannesses can brook, Strike countenance to every Great Man's look: I rate my freedom higher!_ The author's raillery is the raillery of a friend, and does not turn theSacred Order into ridicule: but it is a just censure on such persons astake advantages from the necessities of a Man of Merit, to impose uponhim hardships that are by no means suitable to the dignity of hisprofession. NESTOR IRONSIDE [_i. E. , RICHARD STEELE_]. _Another description of the miseries of the Domestic Chaplain, in_ 1713, A. D. [_The Guardian_. No. 173. Thursday, 17 Sept. 1713. ] When I am disposed to give myself a day's rest, I order the _Lion_ to beopened [_i. E. , a letter-box at BUTTON's Coffee-house_], and search intothat magazine of intelligence for such letters as are to my purpose. Thefirst I looked into, comes to me from one who is Chaplain to a greatfamily. He treats himself, in the beginning of it, after such a manner as I ampersuaded no Man of Sense would treat him. Even the Lawyer, and thePhysician to a Man of Quality, expect to be used like gentlemen; and muchmore, may any one of so superior a profession! I am by no means encouraging that dispute, Whether the Chaplain, or theMaster of the house be the better man, and the more to be respected? Thetwo learned authors, Dr. HICKS and Mr. COLLIER (to whom I might addseveral others) are to be excused, if they have carried the point alittle too high in favour of the Chaplain: since in so corrupt an Age asthat we live in, the popular opinion runs so far into the other extreme. The only controversy between the Patron and the Chaplain ought to be, Which should promote the good designs and interests of each other most?And, for my own part, I think it is the happiest circumstance in a greatEstate or Title, that it qualifies a man for choosing, out of such alearned and valuable body of men as that of the English Clergy, a friend, a spiritual guide, and a companion. The letter which I have received from one of this Order, is as follows: _Mr. Guardian, I hope you will not only indulge me in the liberty of two or three questions; but also in the solution of them. I haw had the honour, many years, of being Chaplain in a noble Family; and of being accounted the_ highest servant _in the house: either out of respect to my Cloth, or because I lie in the uppermost garret. Whilst my old Lord lived, his table was always adorned with useful Learning and innocent Mirth, as well as covered with Plenty. I was not looked upon as a piece of furniture, fit only to sanctify and garnish a feast; but treated as a Gentleman, and generally desired to fill up the conversation, an hour after I had done my duty_ [i. E. , said grace after dinner]. _But now my young Lord is come to the Estate, I find I am looked upon as a_ Censor Morum, _an obstacle to mirth and talk: and suffered to retire constantly with_ "Prosperity to the Church!" _in my mouth_ [i. E. , after drinking this toast]. _I declare, solemnly, Sir, that I have heard nothing from all the fine Gentlemen who visit us, more remarkable, for half a year, than that one young Lord was seven times drunk at Genoa. I have lately taken the liberty to stay three or four rounds_ [i. E. , of the bottle] _beyond [the toast of]_ The Church! _to see what topics of discourse they went upon: but, to my great surprise, have hardly heard a word all the time, besides the Toasts. Then they all stared full in my face, and shewed all the actions of uneasiness till I was gone. Immediately upon my departure, to use the words of an old Comedy, "I find by the noise they make, that they had a mind to be private. " I am at a loss to imagine what conversation they have among one another, which I may not be present at: since I love innocent Mirth as much as any of them; and am shocked with no freedoms whatsoever, which are inconsistent with Christianity. I have, with much ado, maintained my post hitherto at the dessert, and every day eat a tart in the face of my Patron: but how long I shall be invested with this privilege, I do not know. For the servants, who do not see me supported as I was in my old Lord's time, begin to brush very familiarly by me: and they thrust aside my chair, when they set the sweetmeats on the table. I have been born and educated a Gentleman, and desire you will make the public sensible that the Christian Priesthood was never thought, in any Age or country, to debase the Man who is a member of it. Among the great services which your useful Papers daily do to Religion, this perhaps will not be the least: and it will lay a very great obligation on Your unknown servant, G. W. _ BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. _Poor RICHARD improved, Being an Almanac, &c. , for the year of our Lord_1758. RICHARD SAUNDERS. Philom. Philadelphia. COURTEOUS READER. I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to findhis works respectfully quoted by other learned authors. This pleasure Ihave seldom enjoyed. For though I have been, if I may say it withoutvanity, an _eminent_ author of _Almanacs_ annually, now a full quarter ofa century, my brother authors in the same way, for what reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their applauses; and no other author hastaken the least notice of me: so that did not my writings produce me somesolid Pudding, the great deficiency of Praise would have quite discouragedme. I concluded at length, that the people were the best judges of my merit;for they buy my works: and besides, in my rambles, where I am notpersonally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my Adagesrepeated, with "as _Poor RICHARD_ says!" at the end of it. This gave mesome satisfaction, as it shewed, not only that my Instructions wereregarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my Authority. And Iown, that to encourage the practice of remembering and repeating thosewise Sentences: I have sometimes _quoted myself_ with great gravity. Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an incident I amgoing to relate to you! I stopped my horse lately, where a great number of people were collectedat a Vendue [_sale_] of Merchant's goods. The hour of sale not beingcome, they were conversing on the badness of the Times: and one of thecompany called to a clean old man, with white locks, "Pray, FatherABRAHAM! what do you think of the Times? Won't these heavy taxes quiteruin the country? How shall we be ever able to pay them? What would youadvise us to?" Father ABRAHAM stood up, and replied, "If you would have my advice; Iwill give it you, in short; for _a word to the wise is enough_, and _manywords won't fill a bushel_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says. " They all joined, desiring him to speak his mind; and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows: "Friends" says he, "and neighbours! The taxes are indeed very heavy; andif those laid on by the Government were the only ones we had to pay, wemight the more easily discharge them: but we have many others, and muchmore grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our IDLENESS, three times as much by our PRIDE, and four times as much by our FOLLY:and from these taxes, the Commissioners cannot ease, or deliver us byallowing an abatement. However let us hearken to good advice, andsomething may be done for us. _GOD helps them that help themselves_, as_Poor RICHARD_ says in his _Almanac_ of 1733. " It would be thought a hard Government that should tax its peopleOne-tenth part of their TIME, to be employed in its service. But Idlenesstaxes many of us much more; if we reckon all that is spent in absolutesloth, or doing of nothing; with that which is spent in idle employmentsor amusements that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life. _Sloth, like Rust, consumes faster than Labourwears; while the used key is always bright, as Poor RICHARD says_. But_dost thou love Life? Then do not squander time! for that's the stuffLife is made of_, as _Poor RICHARD says_. How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep? forgetting that_the sleeping fox catches no poultry_; and that _there will be sleepingenough in the grave_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says. If Time be of all thingsthe most precious, _Wasting of Time must be_ (as _Poor RICHARD_ says)_the greatest prodigality;_ since, as he elsewhere tells us, _Lost timeis never found again_; and what we call _Time enough! always prows littleenough_. Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose: so, bydiligence, shall we do more with less perplexity. _Sloth makes all thingsdifficult, but Industry all things easy_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says: and _Hethat riseth late, must trot all day; and shall scarce overtake hisbusiness at night_. While _Laziness travels so slowly, that Poverty soonovertakes him_, as we read in _Poor RICHARD_; who adds, _Drive thybusiness! Let not that drive thee!_ and _Early to bed, and early to rise, Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise_. So what signifies _wishing_ and _hoping_ for better Times! We may makethese Times better, if we bestir ourselves! _Industry need not wish!_ as_Poor RICHARD_ says; and _He that lives on Hope, will die fasting. Thereare no gains without pains_. Then _Help hands! for I have no lands_; orif I have, they are smartly taxed. And as _Poor RICHARD_ likewiseobserves, _He that hath a Trade, hath an Estate_, and He that _hath aCalling, hath an Office of Profit and Honour_: but, then, the Trade mustbe worked at, and the Calling well followed, or neither the Estate, northe Office, will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious, we shall never starve, for, as _Poor RICHARD_says, _At the working man's houses Hunger looks in; but dares not enter_. Nor will the Bailiff, or the Constable enter: for _Industry pays debts, while, Despair increaseth them_, says _Poor RICHARD_. What though you have found no treasure, nor has any rich relation leftyou a legacy. _Diligence is the Mother of Good-luck_, as _Poor RICHARD_says; and _GOD gives ail things to Industry_. Then _Plough deep, while sluggards sleep; And you shall have corn to sell and to keep, _ says _Poor DICK_. Work while it is called to-day; for you know not, howmuch you may be hindered to-morrow: which makes _Poor RICHARD_ say, _OneTo-day is worth two To-morrows_, and farther, _Have you somewhat to doto-morrow? do it to-day!_ If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that a good master shouldcatch you idle? Are you then your own Master? _Be ashamed to catchyourself idle!_ as _Poor DICK_ says. When there is so much to be done foryourself, your family, your country, and your gracious King; be up by peepof day! _Let not the sun look down, and say, "Inglorious, here he lies!"_Handle your tools, without mittens! Remember that _The cat in glovecatches no mice!_ as _Poor RICHARD_ says. 'Tis true there is much to be done; and perhaps you are weak handed; butstick to it steadily! and you will see great effects, For _Constantdropping wears away stones_, and _By diligence and patience, the mouseate in two the cable_, and _little strokes fell great oaks_; as _PoorRICHARD_ says in his _Almanac_, the year I cannot, just now, remember. Methinks, I hear some of you say, "Must a man afford himself no leisure?" I will tell thee, my friend! what _Poor RICHARD_ says. _Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure! and Since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour!_ Leisure is time for doing something useful. This leisure the diligent manwill obtain; but the lazy man never. So that, as _Poor RICHARD_ says, _Alife of leisure, and a life of laziness are two things_. Do you imaginethat Sloth will afford you more comfort than Labour? No! for as _PoorRICHARD_ says, _Trouble springs from idleness, and grievous toil fromneedless ease. Many without labour, would live by their Wits only; butthey'll break, for want of Stock_ [_i. E. _, Capital]. Whereas Industrygives comfort, and plenty, and respect. _Fly Pleasures! and they'llfollow you! The diligent spinner has a large shift_, and _Now I have a sheep and a cow Everybody bids me "Good morrow. "_ All which is well said by _Poor RICHARD_. But with our Industry; we must likewise be Steady, Settled, and Careful:and oversee our own affairs _with our own eyes_, and not trust too muchto others. For, as _Poor RICHARD_ says, _I never saw an oft removed tree, Nor yet an oft removed family, That throve so well, as those that settled be_. And again, _Three Removes are as bad as a Fire;_ and again _Keep thyshop! and thy shop will keep thee!_ and again, _If you would have yourbusiness done, go! if not, send!_ and again, _He that by the plough would thrive; Himself must either hold or drive_. And again, _The Eye of the master will do more work than both his Hands;_and again, _Want of Care does us more damage than Want of Knowledge;_ andagain, _Not to oversee workmen, is to leave them your purse open_. Trusting too much to others' care, is the ruin of many. For, as theAlmanac says, _In the affairs of this world, men are saved, not by faith, but by the want of it_. But a man's own care is profitable; for, saith_Poor DICK, Learning is to the Studious, _ and _Riches to the Careful;_ aswell as _Power to the Bold, _ and _Heaven to the Virtuous_. And further, _If you would have a faithful servant, and one that you like; serveyourself!_ And again, he adviseth to circumspection and care, even in the smallestmatters; because sometimes, _A little neglect may breed great mischief_;adding, _For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, thehorse was lost; and for want of a horse, the rider was lost_; beingovertaken, and slain by the enemy. All for want of care about ahorse-shoe nail. So much for Industry, my friends! and attention to one's own business;but to these we must add FRUGALITY, if we would make our industry morecertainly successful. _A man may_, if he knows not how to save as hegets, _keep his nose, all his life, to the grindstone; and die not wortha groat at last. A fat Kitchen makes a lean Will_, as _Poor RICHARD_says, and _Many estates are spent in the getting, Since women, for Tea, forsook spinning and knitting; And men, for Punch, forsook hewing and splitting_. _If you would be healthy_, says he in another _Almanac, think of Saving, as well as of Getting! The Indies have not made Spain rich; because herOutgoes are greater than her Incomes_. Away, then, with your expensive follies! and you will not have so muchcause to complain of hard Times, heavy taxes, and chargeable families. For, as _Poor DICK_ says, _Women and Wine, Game and Deceit, Make the Wealth small, and the Wants great_. And farther, _What maintains one vice, would bring up two children_. You may think perhaps, that, a _little_ tea, or a _little_ punch, now andthen; diet, a _little_ more costly; clothes, a _little_ finer; and a_little_ entertainment, now and then; can be no great matter. Butremember what _Poor RICHARD_ says, _Many a Little makes a Mickle_; andfarther, _Beware of little expenses! a small leak will sink a greatship_; and again, _Who dainties love; shall beggars prove!_ and moreover, _Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them_. Here are you all got together at this Vendue of Fineries and knicknacks!You call them Goods: but if you do not take care, they will prove Evilsto some of you! You expect they will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may, for less than they cost; but if you have no occasion for them, they mustbe _dear_ to you! Remember what _Poor RICHARD_ says! _Buy what thou hastno need of, and, ere long, thou shalt sell thy necessaries!_ And again, _At a great pennyworth, pause a while!_ He means, that perhaps thecheapness is apparent only, and not real; or the bargain by straiteningthee in thy business, may do thee more harm than good. For in anotherplace, he says, _Many have been ruined by buying good pennyworths_. Again, _Poor RICHARD_ says, _'Tis foolish, to lay out money in a purchaseof Repentance_: and yet this folly is practised every day at Vendues, forwant of minding the _Almanac_. _Wise men_, as _Poor DICK_ says, _learn by others' harms; Fools, scarcelyby their own_: but _Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum_. Many aone, for the sake of finery on the back, has gone with a hungry belly, and half starved their families. _Silks and satins, scarlet and velvets_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says, _put out the kitchen fire!_ These are not thenecessaries of life; they can scarcely be called the conveniences: andyet only because they look pretty, how many _want_ to have them! Theartificial wants of mankind thus become more numerous than the natural;and as _Poor DICK_ says, _For one poor person, there are a hundred_indigent. By these, and other extravagances, the genteel are reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow of those whom they formerly despised; but who, through Industry and Frugality, have maintained their standing. In whichcase, it appears plainly that _A ploughman on his legs is higher than agentleman on his knees_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says. Perhaps they have had asmall estate left them, which they knew not the getting of. They think_'tis day! and will never be night!_; that _a little to be spent out ofso much I is not worth minding_ (_A Child and a Fool_, as _Poor RICHARD_says, _imagine Twenty Shillings and Twenty Years can never be spent_):but _always taking out of the meal tub, and never putting in, soon comesto the bottom_. Then, as _Poor DICK says_, _When the well's dry, theyknow the worth of water!_ but this they might have known before, if theyhad taken his advice. _If you would know the value of money; go, and tryto borrow some!_ For, _he that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing!_ andindeed, so does he that lends to such people, _when he goes to get it inagain!_ _Poor DICK_ further advises, and says _Fond Pride of Dress is, sure, a very curse! Ere Fancy you consult; consult your purse!_ And again, _Pride is as loud a, beggar as Want, and a great deal moresaucy!_ When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy ten more, thatyour appearance may be all of a piece; but _Poor DICK_ says, _'Tis easierto suppress the First desire, than to satisfy All that follow it_. And'tis as truly folly, for the poor to ape the rich; as for the frog toswell, in order to equal the ox. _Great Estates may venture more; But little boats should keep near shore!_ 'Tis, however, a folly soon punished! for Pride that _dines on Vanity, sups on Contempt_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says. And in another place. _Pridebreakfasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with Infamy_. And, after all, of what use is this Pride of Appearance? for which somuch is risked, so much is suffered! It cannot promote health or easepain! It makes no increase of merit in the person! It creates envy! Ithastens misfortune! _What is a butterfly? At best He's but a caterpillar drest! The gaudy fop's his picture just_. as _Poor RICHARD_ says. But what madness must it be, to _run into debt_ for these superfluities? We are offered, by the terms of this Vendue, Six Months' Credit; andthat, perhaps, has induced some of us to attend it, because we cannotspare the ready money, and hope now to be fine without it. But, ah, thinkwhat you do, when you run in debt? _You give to another, power over yourliberty!_ If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see yourcreditor! You will be in fear, when you speak to him! You will make poorpitiful sneaking excuses! and, by degrees, come to lose your veracity, and sink into base downright lying! For, as _Poor RICHARD_ says, _Thesecond vice is Lying, the first is Running into Debt_: and again, to thesame purpose, _Lying rides upon Debt's back_. Whereas a free bornEnglishman ought not to be ashamed or afraid to see, or speak to any manliving. But Poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. _'Tishard for an Empty Bag to stand upright!_ as _Poor RICHARD_ truly says. What would you think of that Prince, or the Government, who should issuean Edict forbidding you to dress like a Gentleman or Gentlewoman, on painof imprisonment or servitude. Would you not say that "You are free! have aright to dress as you please! and that such an Edict would be a breach ofyour privileges! and such a Government, tyrannical!" And yet you areabout to put yourself under that tyranny, when you run in debt for suchdress! Your creditor has authority, at his pleasure, to deprive you ofyour liberty, by confining you in gaol for life! or to sell you for aservant, if you should not be able to pay him! When you have got yourbargain; you may, perhaps, think little of payment, but _Creditors_(_Poor RICHARD_ tells us) _have better memories than Debtors_; and, inanother place, says, _Creditors are a superstitious sect! great observersof set days and times_. The day comes round, before you are aware; and thedemand is made, before you are prepared to satisfy it: or, if you bearyour debt in mind, the term which, at first, seemed so long, will, as itlessens, appear extremely short. TIME will seem to have added wings tohis heels, as well as shoulders. _Those have a short Lent_, saith _PoorRICHARD, who owe money to be paid at Easter_. Then since, as he says, _The Borrower is a slave to the Lender, and the Debtor to the Creditor_;disdain the chain! preserve your freedom! and maintain your independency!Be industrious and free! be frugal and free! At present, perhaps, you maythink yourself in thriving circumstances; and that you can bear a littleextravagance without injury: but _For Age and Want, save while you may! No morning sun lasts a whole day, _ as _Poor RICHARD_ says. Gain may be temporary and uncertain; but, ever while you live, Expense isconstant and certain: and _'tis easier to build two chimneys than to keepone in fuel_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says. So _rather go to bed supperless, than rise in debt!_ _Get what you can! and what you get, hold! 'Tis the Stone that will turn all your lead into gold!_ as _Poor RICHARD_ says. And when you have got the Philosopher's Stone, sure, you will no longer complain of bad times, or the difficulty ofpaying taxes. This doctrine, my friends! is Reason and Wisdom! But, after all, do notdepend too much upon your own Industry, and Frugality, and Prudence;though excellent things! For they may all be blasted without the Blessingof Heaven: and, therefore, ask that Blessing humbly! and be notuncharitable to those that at present, seem to want it; but comfort andhelp them! Remember, JOB suffered, and was afterwards prosperous. And now to conclude. _Experience keeps a dear school; but Fools willlearn in no other, and scarce in that!_ for it is true, _We may giveAdvice, but we cannot give Conduct_, as _Poor RICHARD_ says. However, remember this! _They that won't be counselled, can't be helped!_ as _PoorRICHARD_ says: and farther, that, "_If you will not hear reason, she'llsurely rap your knuckles!"_ Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it, andapproved the doctrine; and immediately practised the contrary, just as ifit had been a common sermon! For the Vendue opened, and they began to buyextravagantly; notwithstanding all his cautions, and their own fear oftaxes. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my _Almanacs_, and digestedall I had dropped on those topics during the course of five and twentyyears. The frequent mention he made of me, must have tired any one else;but my vanity was wonderfully delighted with it: though I was consciousthat not a tenth part of the wisdom was my own, which he ascribed to me;but rather the gleanings I had made of the Sense of all Ages and Nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the Echo of it; and though I had, at first, determined to buy stuff for a new coat; I went away resolved towear my old one a little longer. Reader! if thou wilt do the same, thyprofit will be as great as mine. I am, as ever, Thine, to serve thee! July 7, 1757. RICHARD SAUNDERS.