No More Learning

Nothing,
therefore, but Pindarick liberty was to be expected. There is in his few
productions no want of such conceits as he thought excellent; and of
those our judgment may be settled by the first that appears in his praise
of Cromwell, where he says, that Cromwell's "fame, like man, will grow
white as it grows old. "

[Footnote 138: This observation was made to Dr. Johnson by the right hon.
Wm. Gerard Hamilton, as he told me, at Tunbridge, August, 1792. M. ]




HALIFAX

The life of the earl of Halifax was properly that of an artful and active
statesman, employed in balancing parties, contriving expedients, and
combating opposition, and exposed to the vicissitudes of advancement and
degradation; but, in this collection, poetical merit is the claim to
attention; and the account which is here to be expected may properly be
proportioned not to his influence in the state, but to his rank among the
writers of verse.

Charles Montague was born April 16, 1661, at Horton, in Northamptonshire,
the son of Mr. George Montague, a younger son of the earl of Manchester.
He was educated first in the country, and then removed to Westminster,
where, in 1677, he was chosen a king's scholar, and recommended himself
to Busby by his felicity in extemporary epigrams. He contracted a very
intimate friendship with Mr. Stepney; and, in 1682, when Stepney was
elected to Cambridge, the election of Montague being not to proceed till
the year following, he was afraid lest, by being placed at Oxford, he
might be separated from his companion, and, therefore, solicited to be
removed to Cambridge, without waiting for the advantages of another year.

It seems, indeed, time to wish for a removal; for he was already a
schoolboy of one-and-twenty.

His relation, Dr. Montague, was then master of the college in which he
was placed a fellow-commoner, and took him under his particular care.
Here he commenced an acquaintance with the great Newton, which continued
through his life, and was at last attested by a legacy[139].

In 1685, his verses on the death of king Charles made such an impression
on the earl of Dorset, that he was invited to town, and introduced by
that universal patron to the other wits. In 1687, he joined with Prior
in the City Mouse and Country Mouse, a burlesque of Dryden's Hind and
Panther. He signed the invitation to the prince of Orange, and sat in
the convention. He, about the same time, married the countess dowager of
Manchester, and intended to have taken orders; but afterwards altering
his purpose, he purchased, for 1500_l_. the place of one of the clerks of
the council.

After he had written his epistle on the victory of the Boyne, his patron
Dorset introduced him to king William, with this expression: "Sir, I have
brought a _mouse_ to wait on your majesty. " To which the king is said
to have replied, "You do well to put me in the way of making a _man_
of him;" and ordered him a pension of five hundred pounds. This story,
however current, seems to have been made after the event. The king's
answer implies a greater acquaintance with our proverbial and familiar
diction than king William could possibly have attained.

In 1691, being member of the house of commons, he argued warmly in favour
of a law to grant the assistance of counsel in trials for high treason;
and, in the midst of his speech falling into some confusion, was for
awhile silent; but, recovering himself, observed, "how reasonable it was
to allow counsel to men called as criminals before a court of justice,
when it appeared how much the presence of that assembly could disconcert
one of their own body[140]. "

After this he rose fast into honours and employments, being made one of
the commissioners of the treasury, and called to the privy council. In
1694, he became chancellor of the exchequer; and the next year engaged
in the great attempt of the recoinage, which was in two years happily
completed. In 1696, he projected the _general fund_ and raised the
credit of the exchequer; and, after inquiry concerning a grant of Irish
crown-lands, it was determined, by a vote of the commons, that Charles
Montague, esquire, "had deserved his majesty's favour. " In 1698, being
advanced to the first commission of the treasury, he was appointed one of
the regency in the king's absence; the next year he was made auditor of
the exchequer, and the year after created baron Halifax. He was, however,
impeached by the commons; but the articles were dismissed by the lords.

At the accession of queen Anne he was dismissed from the council; and in
the first parliament of her reign was again attacked by the commons, and
again escaped by the protection of the lords. In 1704, he wrote an answer
to Bromley's speech against occasional conformity. He headed the inquiry
into the danger of the church. In 1706, he proposed and negotiated the
union with Scotland; and when the elector of Hanover received the garter,
after the act had passed for securing the protestant succession, he was
appointed to carry the ensigns of the order to the electoral court. He
sat as one of the judges of Sacheverell; but voted for a mild sentence.
Being now no longer in favour, he contrived to obtain a writ for
summoning the electoral prince to parliament, as duke of Cambridge.

At the queen's death he was appointed one of the regents; and at the
accession of George the first was made earl of Halifax, knight of the
garter, and first commissioner of the treasury, with a grant to his
nephew of the reversion of the auditorship of the exchequer. More was not
to be had, and this he kept but a little while; for, on the 19th of May,
1715, he died of an inflammation of his lungs.

Of him, who from a poet became a patron of poets, it will be readily
believed that the works would not miss of celebration. Addison began
to praise him early, and was followed or accompanied by other poets;
perhaps, by almost all, except Swift and Pope, who forbore to flatter him
in his life, and after his death spoke of him, Swift with slight censure,
and Pope, in the character of Bufo, with acrimonious contempt[141].

He was, as Pope says, "fed with dedications;" for Tickell affirms that no
dedicator was unrewarded. To charge all unmerited praise with the guilt
of flattery, and to suppose that the encomiast always knows and feels the
falsehoods of his assertions, is, surely, to discover great ignorance of
human nature and human life. In determinations depending not on rules,
but on experience and comparison, judgment is always, in some degree,
subject to affection. Very near to admiration is the wish to admire.

Every man willingly gives value to the praise which he receives,
and considers the sentence passed in his favour as the sentence of
discernment. We admire, in a friend, that understanding that selected us
for confidence; we admire more, in a patron, that judgment which, instead
of scattering bounty indiscriminately, directed it to us; and, if the
patron be an author, those performances which gratitude forbids us to
blame, affection will easily dispose us to exalt.

To these prejudices, hardly culpable, interest adds a power always
operating, though not always, because not willingly, perceived. The
modesty of praise wears gradually away; and, perhaps, the pride of
patronage may be in time so increased, that modest praise will no longer
please.

Many a blandishment was practised upon Halifax, which he would never have
known, had he no other attractions than those of his poetry, of which a
short time has withered the beauties. It would now be esteemed no honour,
by a contributor to the monthly bundles of verses, to be told, that, in
strains either familiar or solemn, he sings like Montague.

[Footnote 139: He left sir Isaac Newton 200/. M. ]

[Footnote 140: Mr. Reed observes, that this anecdote is related by Mr.
Walpole, in his Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors, of the earl of
Shaftesbury, author of the Characteristicks, but it appears to me to be
a mistake, if we are to understand that the words were spoken by
Shaftesbury at this time, when he had no seat in the house of commons;
nor did the bill pass at this time, being thrown out by the house of
lords. It became a law in the seventh of William, when Halifax and
Shaftesbury both had seats. The editors of the Biog. Brit. adopt Mr.
Walpole's story, but they are not speaking of this period. The story
first appeared in the life of lord Halifax, published in 1715. ]

[Footnote 141: Mr. Roscoe denies that Pope's character of Bufo, in the
prologue to the Satires, was intended for Halifax. In evidence of his
assertion he quotes several passages from Pope's poems, and the preface
to the Iliad, all published after that nobleman's death, when the poet
could hope for no return for his praises, when flattery could not sooth
"the dull cold ear of death. " Twenty years after Halifax's decease, he is
thus commemorated:

"But does the court one worthy man remove,
That moment I declare he has my love:
I shun their zenith, court their mild decline;
Thus SOMERS once, and HALIFAX were mine. "

See Roscoe's Pope, vol. i. p. 138. ED. ]




PARNELL

The life of Dr. Parnell is a task which I should very willingly decline,
since it has been lately written by Goldsmith, a man of such variety of
powers, and such felicity of performance, that he always seemed to do
best that which he was doing; a man who had the art of being minute
without tediousness, and general without confusion; whose language was
copious without exuberance, exact without constraint, and easy without
weakness.

What such an author has told, who would tell again? I have made an
abstract from his larger narrative; and have this gratification from my
attempt, that it gives me an opportunity of paying due tribute to the
memory of Goldsmith:


'Tho geras esti thanonton'

Thomas Parnell was the son of a commonwealthsman of the same name, who,
at the restoration, left Congleton, in Cheshire, where the family had
been established for several centuries, and, settling in Ireland,
purchased an estate, which, with his lands in Cheshire, descended to the
poet, who was born at Dublin, in 1679; and, after the usual education at
a grammar-school, was, at the age of thirteen, admitted into the college,
where, in 1700, he became master of arts; and was the same year ordained
a deacon, though under the canonical age, by a dispensation from the
bishop of Derry.

About three years afterwards he was made a priest; and, in 1705, Dr.
Ashe, the bishop of Clogher, conferred upon him the archdeaconry of
Clogher. About the same time he married Mrs. Anne Minchin, an amiable
lady, by whom he had two sons, who died young, and a daughter who long
survived him.

At the ejection of the whigs, in the end of queen Anne's reign, Parnell
was persuaded to change his party, not without much censure from those
whom he forsook, and was received by the new ministry as a valuable
reinforcement. When the earl of Oxford was told that Dr. Parnell waited
among the crowd in the outer room, he went, by the persuasion of Swift,
with his treasurer's staff in his hand, to inquire for him, and to bid
him welcome; and, as may be inferred from Pope's dedication, admitted him
as a favourite companion to his convivial hours, but, as it seems often
to have happened in those times to the favourites of the great, without
attention to his fortune, which, however, was in no great need of
improvement.

Parnell, who did not want ambition or vanity, was desirous to make
himself conspicuous, and to show how worthy he was of high preferment. As
he thought himself qualified to become a popular preacher, he displayed
his elocution with great success in the pulpits of London; but the
queen's death putting an end to his expectations, abated his diligence;
and Pope represents him as falling from that time into intemperance of
wine. That in his latter life he was too much a lover of the bottle, is
not denied; but I have heard it imputed to a cause more likely to obtain
forgiveness from mankind, the untimely death of a darling son; or, as
others tell, the loss of his wife, who died, 1712, in the midst of his
expectations.

He was now to derive every future addition to his preferments from
his personal interest with his private friends, and he was not long
unregarded. He was warmly recommended by Swift to archbishop King, who
gave him a prebend in 1713; and in May, 1716, presented him to the
vicarage of Finglass, in the diocese of Dublin, worth four hundred pounds
a year. Such notice from such a man inclines me to believe, that the vice
of which he has been accused was not gross, or not notorious.

But his prosperity did not last long. His end, whatever was its cause,
was now approaching. He enjoyed his preferment little more than a year;
for in July, 1717, in his thirty-eighth year, he died at Chester, on his
way to Ireland.

He seems to have been one of those poets who take delight in writing. He
contributed to the papers of that time, and probably published more than
he owned. He left many compositions behind him, of which Pope selected
those which he thought best, and dedicated them to the earl of Oxford. Of
these Goldsmith has given an opinion, and his criticism it is seldom safe
to contradict. He bestows just praise upon the Rise of Woman, the Fairy
Tale, and the Pervigilium Veneris; but has very properly remarked, that
in the Battle of Mice and Frogs, the Greek names have not in English
their original effect.

He tells us, that the Bookworm is borrowed from Beza; but he should have
added, with modern applications; and, when he discovers that Gay Bacchus
is translated from Augurellus, he ought to have remarked, that the latter
part is purely Parnell's. Another poem, when Spring comes on, is, he
says, taken from the French. I would add, that the description of
Barrenness, in his verses to Pope, was borrowed from Secundus; but lately
searching for the passage, which I had formerly read, I could not find
it. The Night-piece on Death is indirectly preferred by Goldsmith to
Gray's Church-yard; but, in my opinion, Gray has the advantage in
dignity, variety, and originality of sentiment. He observes, that the
story of the Hermit is in More's Dialogues and Howell's Letters, and
supposes it to have been originally Arabian.

Goldsmith has not taken any notice of the Elegy to the old Beauty, which
is, perhaps, the meanest; nor of the Allegory on Man, the happiest of
Parnell's performances. The hint of the Hymn to Contentment[142] I
suspect to have been borrowed from Cleiveland.

The general character of Parnell is not great extent of comprehension, or
fertility of mind. Of the little that appears, still less is his own. His
praise must be derived from the easy sweetness of his diction: in his
verses there is more happiness than pains; he is sprightly without
effort, and always delights, though he never ravishes; every thing is
proper, yet every thing seems casual. If there is some appearance of
elaboration in The Hermit, the narrative, as it is less airy, is less
pleasing[143]. Of his other compositions it is impossible to say whether
they are the productions of nature, so excellent as not to want the help
of art, or of art so refined as to resemble nature.

This criticism relates only to the pieces published by Pope. Of the large
appendages, which I find in the last edition, I can only say, that I know
not whence they came, nor have ever inquired whither they are going. They
stand upon the faith of the compilers.

[Footnote 142: Parnell's "exquisite Hymn to Contentment, is manifestly
formed on the Divine _Psalmodia_ of cardinal Bona--this imitation has
escaped the notice of Dr. Johnson, and, it is believed, of all other
critics and commentators. " Dr. Jebb's Sermons, second edition, p. 94. ]

[Footnote 143: Dr. Warton asks, "Less than what? "]




GARTH

Samuel Garth was of a good family in Yorkshire, and, from some school in
his own country, became a student at Peter-house, in Cambridge, where he
resided till he became doctor of physick, on July the 7th, 1691. He was
examined before the college at London, on March the 12th, 1691-2, and
admitted fellow, July 26th, 1693. He was soon so much distinguished
by his conversation and accomplishments, as to obtain very extensive
practice; and, if a pamphlet of those times may be credited, had the
favour and confidence of one party, as Radcliffe had of the other.

He is always mentioned as a man of benevolence; and it is just to
suppose, that his desire of helping the helpless disposed him to so much
zeal for the dispensary; an undertaking of which some account, however
short, is proper to be given.

Whether what Temple says be true, that physicians have had more learning
than the other faculties, I will not stay to inquire; but, I believe,
every man has found in physicians great liberality and dignity of
sentiment, very prompt effusion of beneficence, and willingness to exert
a lucrative art where there is no hope of lucre. Agreeably to this
character, the College of Physicians, in July, 1687, published an
edict, requiring all the fellows, candidates, and licentiates, to give
gratuitous advice to the neighbouring poor.

This edict was sent to the court of aldermen; and, a question being made
to whom the appellation of the _poor_ should be extended, the college
answered, that it should be sufficient to bring a testimonial from the
clergyman officiating in the parish where the patient resided.

After a year's experience, the physicians found their charity frustrated
by some malignant opposition, and made, to a great degree, vain by the
high price of physick; they, therefore, voted, in August, 1688, that the
laboratory of the college should be accommodated to the preparation of
medicines, and another room prepared for their reception; and that the
contributors to the expense should manage the charity.

It was now expected, that the apothecaries would have undertaken the care
of providing medicines; but they took another course. Thinking the whole
design pernicious to their interest, they endeavoured to raise a faction
against it in the college, and found some physicians mean enough to
solicit their patronage, by betraying to them the counsels of the
college. The greater part, however, enforced by a new edict, in 1694,
the former order of 1687, and sent it to the mayor and aldermen, who
appointed a committee to treat with the college, and settle the mode of
administering the charity.

It was desired by the aldermen, that the testimonials of churchwardens
and overseers should be admitted; and that all hired servants, and all
apprentices to handicrafts-men, should be considered as poor. This,
likewise, was granted by the college.

It was then considered who should distribute the medicines, and who
should settle their prices. The physicians procured some apothecaries to
undertake the dispensation, and offered that the warden and company of
the apothecaries should adjust the price. This offer was rejected; and
the apothecaries who had engaged to assist the charity were considered as
traitors to the company, threatened with the imposition of troublesome
offices, and deterred from the performance of their engagements. The
apothecaries ventured upon publick opposition, and presented a kind of
remonstrance against the design to the committee of the city, which the
physicians condescended to confute; and, at last, the traders seem to
have prevailed among the sons of trade; for the proposal of the college
having been considered, a paper of approbation was drawn up, but
postponed and forgotten.

The physicians still persisted; and, in 1696, a subscription was raised
by themselves, according to an agreement prefixed to The Dispensary. The
poor were, for a time, supplied with medicines; for how long a time, I
know not. The medicinal charity, like others, began with ardour, but soon
remitted, and, at last, died gradually away.

About the time of the subscription begins the action of The Dispensary.
The poem, as its subject was present and popular, cooperated with
passions and prejudices then prevalent, and, with such auxiliaries to its
intrinsick merit, was universally and liberally applauded. It was on
the side of charity against the intrigues of interest, and of regular
learning against licentious usurpation of medical authority; and was,
therefore, naturally favoured by those who read and can judge of poetry.

In 1697, Garth spoke that which is now called the Harveian oration; which
the authors of the Biographia mention with more praise than the passage
quoted in their notes will fully justify. Garth, speaking of the
mischiefs done by quacks, has these expressions: "Non tamen telis
vulnerat ista agyrtarum colluvies, sed theriaca quadam magis perniciosa;
non pyrio, sed pulvere nescio quo exotico certat; non globulis plumbeis,
sed pilulis aeque lethalibus interficit. " This was certainly thought fine
by the author, and is still admired by his biographer. In October, 1702,
he became one of the censors of the college.

Garth, being an active and zealous whig, was a member of the Kit-cat
club, and, by consequence, familiarly known to all the great men of that
denomination. In 1710, when the government fell into other hands, he writ
to lord Godolphin, on his dismission, a short poem, which was criticised
in The Examiner, and so successfully either defended or excused by Mr.
Addison, that, for the sake of the vindication, it ought to be preserved.

At the accession of the present family his merits were acknowledged and
rewarded. He was knighted with the sword of his hero, Marlborough; and
was made physician in ordinary to the king, and physician general to the
army. He then undertook an edition of Ovid's Metamorphoses, translated
by several hands; which he recommended by a preface, written with more
ostentation than ability; his notions are half-formed, and his materials
immethodically confused. This was his last work. He died Jan. 18,
1717-18, and was buried at Harrow-on-the-Hill.

His personal character seems to have been social and liberal. He
communicated himself through a very wide extent of acquaintance; and
though firm in a party, at a time when firmness included virulence, yet
he imparted his kindness to those who were not supposed to favour his
principles. He was an early encourager of Pope, and was, at once, the
friend of Addison and of Granville. He is accused of voluptuousness and
irreligion; and Pope, who says, that "if ever there was a good Christian,
without knowing himself to be so, it was Dr. Garth," seems not able to
deny what he is angry to hear, and loath to confess.

Pope afterwards declared himself convinced, that Garth died in the
communion of the church of Rome, having been privately reconciled. It is
observed by Lowth, that there is less distance than is thought between
skepticism and popery; and that a mind, wearied with perpetual doubt,
willingly seeks repose in the bosom of an infallible church.

His poetry has been praised, at least, equally to its merit. In The
Dispensary there is a strain of smooth and free versification; but few
lines are eminently elegant. No passages fall below mediocrity, and few
rise much above it. The plan seems formed without just proportion to the
subject; the means and end have no necessary connexion. Resnel, in his
Preface to Pope's Essay, remarks, that Garth exhibits no discrimination
of characters; and that what any one says might, with equal propriety,
have been said by another. The general design is, perhaps, open to
criticism; but the composition can seldom be charged with inaccuracy or
negligence. The author never slumbers in self-indulgence; his full vigour
is always exerted; scarcely a line is left unfinished; nor is it easy
to find an expression used by constraint, or a thought imperfectly
expressed. It was remarked by Pope, that The Dispensary had been
corrected in every edition, and that every change was an improvement. It
appears, however, to want something of poetical ardour, and something
of general delectation; and, therefore, since it has been no longer
supported by accidental and extrinsick popularity, it has been scarcely
able to support itself.



ROWE


Nicholas Rowe was born at Little Beckford, in Bedfordshire, in 1673. His
family had long possessed a considerable estate, with a good house, at
Lambertoun, in Devonshire[144]. The ancestor from whom he descended, in a
direct line, received the arms borne by his descendants for his bravery
in the holy war. His father, John Rowe, who was the first that quitted
his paternal acres to practise any art of profit, professed the law, and
published Benlow's and Dallison's Reports, in the reign of James the
second, when in opposition to the notions, then diligently propagated,
of dispensing power, he ventured to remark how low his authors rated the
prerogative. He was made a sergeant, and died April 30, 1692. He was
buried in the Temple church.

Nicholas was first sent to a private school at Highgate; and, being
afterwards removed to Westminster, was, at twelve years[145], chosen one
of the king's scholars. His master was Busby, who suffered none of his
scholars to let their powers lie useless; and his exercises in several
languages are said to have been written with uncommon degrees of
excellence, and yet to have cost him very little labour.

At sixteen he had, in his father's opinion, made advances in learning
sufficient to qualify him for the study of law, and was entered a student
of the Middle Temple, where, for some time, he read statutes and reports
with proficiency proportionate to the force of his mind, which was
already such that he endeavoured to comprehend law, not as a series
of precedents, or collection of positive precepts, but as a system of
rational government, and impartial justice.

When he was nineteen, he was, by the death of his father, left more to
his own direction, and, probably, from that time suffered law gradually
to give way to poetry[146]. At twenty-five he produced the Ambitious
Step-Mother, which was received with so much favour, that he devoted
himself, from that time, wholly to elegant literature.

His next tragedy, 1702, was Tamerlane, in which, under the name of
Tamerlane, he intended to characterize king William, and Lewis the
fourteenth under that of Bajazet. The virtues of Tamerlane seem to have
been arbitrarily assigned him by his poet, for I know not that history
gives any other qualities than those which make a conqueror. The fashion,
however, of the time was, to accumulate upon Lewis all that can raise
horrour and detestation; and whatever good was withheld from him, that it
might not be thrown away, was bestowed upon king William.

This was the tragedy which Rowe valued most, and that which, probably by
the help of political auxiliaries, excited most applause; but occasional
poetry must often content itself with occasional praise. Tamerlane has
for a long time been acted only once a year, on the night when king
William landed. Our quarrel with Lewis has been long over; and it now
gratifies neither zeal nor malice to see him painted with aggravated
features, like a Saracen upon a sign.

The Fair Penitent, his next production, 1703, is one of the most pleasing
tragedies on the stage, where it still keeps its turns of appearing, and
probably will long keep them, for there is scarcely any work of any poet,
at once, so interesting by the fable and so delightful by the language.
The story is domestick, and, therefore, easily received by the
imagination, and assimilated to common life; the diction is exquisitely
harmonious, and soft or sprightly as occasion requires.

The character of Lothario seems to have been expanded by Richardson into
Lovelace; but he has excelled his original in the moral effect of the
fiction. Lothario, with gaiety which cannot be hated, and bravery which
cannot be despised, retains too much of the spectator's kindness. It
was in the power of Richardson alone to teach us, at once, esteem and
detestation; to make virtuous resentment overpower all the benevolence
which wit, elegance, and courage, naturally excite; and to lose, at last,
the hero in the villain.

The fifth act is not equal to the former; the events of the drama are
exhausted, and little remains but to talk of what is past. It has been
observed that the title of the play does not sufficiently correspond
with the behaviour of Calista, who, at last, shows no evident signs
of repentance, but may be reasonably suspected of feeling pain from
detection rather than from guilt, and expresses more shame than sorrow,
and more rage than shame.

His next, 1706, was Ulysses; which, with the common fate of mythological
stories, is now generally neglected. We have been too early acquainted
with the poetical heroes, to expect any pleasure from their revival; to
show them as they have already been shown, is to disgust by repetition;
to give them new qualities, or new adventures, is to offend by violating
received notions.

The Royal Convert, 1708, seems to have a better claim to longevity. The
fable is drawn from an obscure and barbarous age, to which fictions are
most easily and properly adapted; for when objects are imperfectly
seen, they easily take forms from imagination. The scene lies among
our ancestors in our own country, and, therefore, very easily catches
attention.
Rodogune is a personage truly tragical, of high spirit, and
violent passions, great with tempestuous dignity, and wicked with a soul
that would have been heroick if it had been virtuous. The motto seems to
tell that this play was not successful.

Rowe does not always remember what his characters require. In Tamerlane
there is some ridiculous mention of the god of love; and Rodogune, a
savage Saxon, talks of Venus, and the eagle that bears the thunder of
Jupiter.

This play discovers its own date, by a prediction of the union, in
imitation of Cranmer's prophetick promises to Henry the eighth. The
anticipated blessings of union are not very naturally introduced, nor
very happily expressed.

He once, 1706, tried to change his hand. He ventured on a comedy, and
produced The Biter; with which, though it was unfavourably treated by the
audience, he was himself delighted; for he is said to have sat in the
house laughing with great vehemence, whenever he had, in his own opinion,
produced a jest. But, finding that he and the publick had no sympathy of
mirth, he tried at lighter scenes no more.

After the Royal Convert, 1714, appeared Jane Shore, written, as its
author professes, "in imitation of Shakespeare's style. " In what he
thought himself an imitator of Shakespeare, it is not easy to conceive.
The numbers, the diction, the sentiments, and the conduct, every thing in
which imitation can consist, are remote, in the utmost degree, from the
manner of Shakespeare; whose dramas it resembles only as it is an English
story, and as some of the persons have their names in history. This play,
consisting chiefly of domestick scenes and private distress, lays hold
upon the heart. The wife is forgiven, because she repents, and the
husband is honoured, because he forgives. This, therefore, is one of
those pieces which we still welcome on the stage.

His last tragedy, 1715, was Lady Jane Grey. This subject had been chosen
by Mr. Smith, whose papers were put into Rowe's hands, such as he
describes them in his preface. This play has, likewise, sunk into
oblivion. From this time he gave nothing more to the stage.

Being, by a competent fortune, exempted from any necessity of combating
his inclination, he never wrote in distress, and, therefore, does not
appear to have ever written in haste. His works were finished to his own
approbation, and bear few marks of negligence or hurry. It is remarkable,
that his prologues and epilogues are all his own, though he sometimes
supplied others; he afforded help, but did not solicit it. As his studies
necessarily made him acquainted with Shakespeare, and acquaintance
produced veneration, he undertook, 1709, an edition of his works, from
which he neither received much praise, nor seems to have expected it;
yet, I believe, those who compare it with former copies will find, that
he has done more than he promised; and that, without the pomp of notes,
or boasts of criticism, many passages are happily restored. He prefixed
a life of the author, such as tradition, then almost expiring, could
supply, and a preface[147], which cannot be said to discover much
profundity or penetration. He, at least, contributed to the popularity of
his author.

He was willing enough to improve his fortune by other arts than poetry.
He was under-secretary, for three years, when the duke of Queensberry was
secretary of state, and afterwards applied to the earl of Oxford for some
publick employment[148]. Oxford enjoined him to study Spanish; and when,
some time afterwards, he came again, and said that he had mastered it,
dismissed him, with this congratulation: "Then, sir, I envy you the
pleasure of reading Don Quixote in the original. "

This story is sufficiently attested; but why Oxford, who desired to
be thought a favourer of literature, should thus insult a man of
acknowledged merit; or how Rowe, who was so keen a whig[148], that he
did not willingly converse with men of the opposite party, could ask
preferment from Oxford, it is not now possible to discover. Pope, who
told the story, did not say on what occasion the advice was given; and,
though he owned Rowe's disappointment, doubted whether any injury was
intended him, but thought it rather lord Oxford's _odd way_.

It is likely that he lived on discontented through the rest of queen
Anne's reign; but the time came, at last, when he found kinder friends.
At the accession of king George he was made poet-laureate; I am afraid,
by the ejection of poor Nahum Tate, who, 1716, died in the Mint, where
he was forced to seek shelter by extreme poverty[150]. He was made,
likewise, one of the land-surveyors of the customs of the port of
London. The prince of Wales chose him clerk of his council; and the lord
chancellor Parker, as soon as he received the seals, appointed him,
unasked, secretary of the presentations. Such an accumulation of
employments undoubtedly produced a very considerable revenue.

Having already translated some parts of Lucan's Pharsalia, which had been
published in the Miscellanies, and doubtless received many praises, he
undertook a version of the whole work, which he lived to finish, but not
to publish. It seems to have been printed under the care of Dr. Welwood,
who prefixed the author's life, in which is contained the following
character:

"As to his person, it was graceful and well made; his face regular, and
of a manly beauty. As his soul was well lodged, so its rational and
animal faculties excelled in a high degree. He had a quick and fruitful
invention, a deep penetration, and a large compass of thought, with
singular dexterity and easiness in making his thoughts to be understood.
He was master of most parts of polite learning, especially the classical
authors, both Greek and Latin; understood the French, Italian, and
Spanish languages; and spoke the first fluently, and the other two
tolerably well.

"He had likewise read most of the Greek and Roman histories in their
original languages, and most that are wrote in English, French, Italian,
and Spanish. He had a good taste in philosophy; and, having a firm
impression of religion upon his mind, he took great delight in divinity
and ecclesiastical history, in both which he made great advances in the
times he retired into the country, which were frequent. He expressed, on
all occasions, his full persuasion of the truth of revealed religion; and
being a sincere member of the established church himself, he pitied, but
condemned not, those that dissented from it. He abhorred the principles
of persecuting men upon the account of their opinions in religion; and,
being strict in his own, he took it not upon him to censure those of
another persuasion. His conversation was pleasant, witty, and learned,
without the least tincture of affectation or pedantry; and his inimitable
manner of diverting and enlivening the company made it impossible for any
one to be out of humour when he was in it. Envy and detraction seemed to
be entirely foreign to his constitution; and whatever provocations he
met with at any time, he passed them over without the least thought of
resentment or revenge. As Homer had a Zoilus, so Mr. Rowe had sometimes
his; for there were not wanting malevolent people, and pretenders to
poetry too, that would now and then bark at his best performances; but
he was conscious of his own genius, and had so much good-nature as to
forgive them; nor could he ever be tempted to return them an answer.

"The love of learning and poetry made him not the less fit for business,
and nobody applied himself closer to it, when it required his attendance.
The late duke of Queensberry, when he was secretary of state, made him
his secretary for publick affairs; and when that truly great man came
to know him well, he was never so pleased as when Mr. Rowe was in
his company. After the duke's death, all avenues were stopped to his
preferment; and, during the rest of that reign, he passed his time with
the muses and his books, and sometimes the conversation of his friends.

"When he had just got to be easy in his fortune, and was in a fair way to
make it better, death swept him away, and in him deprived the world of
one of the best men, as well as one of the best geniuses of the age. He
died like a christian and a philosopher, in charity with all mankind,
and with an absolute resignation to the will of God. He kept up his
good-humour to the last; and took leave of his wife and friends
immediately before his last agony, with the same tranquillity of mind,
and the same indifference for life, as though he had been upon taking
but a short journey. He was twice married; first to a daughter of Mr.
Parsons, one of the auditors of the revenue; and afterwards to a daughter
of Mr. Devenish, of a good family in Dorsetshire[151]. By the first he
had a son; and by the second a daughter, married afterwards to Mr. Fane.
He died the sixth of December, 1718, in the forty-fifth year of his age;
and was buried the nineteenth of the same month in Westminster Abbey,
in the aisle where many of our English poets are interred, over against
Chaucer, his body being attended by a select number of his friends, and
the dean and choir officiating at the funeral. "

To this character, which is apparently given with the fondness of a
friend, may be added the testimony of Pope, who says, in a letter to
Blount: "Mr. Rowe accompanied me, and passed a week in the forest. I
need not tell you how much a man of his turn entertained me; but I must
acquaint you, there is a vivacity and gaiety of disposition, almost
peculiar to him, which makes it impossible to part from him without that
uneasiness which generally succeeds all our pleasure. "

Pope has left behind him another mention of his companion, less
advantageous, which is thus reported by Dr. Warburton.

"Rowe, in Mr. Pope's opinion, maintained a decent character, but had no
heart. Mr. Addison was justly offended with some behaviour which arose
from that want, and estranged himself from him; which Rowe felt
very severely. Mr. Pope, their common friend, knowing this, took an
opportunity, at some juncture of Mr. Addison's advancement, to tell him
how poor Rowe was grieved at his displeasure, and what satisfaction he
expressed at Mr. Addison's good fortune, which he expressed so naturally,
that he (Mr. Pope) could not but think him sincere. Mr. Addison replied,
'I do not suspect that he feigned; but the levity of his heart is such,
that he is struck with any new adventure; and it would affect him just in
the same manner, if he heard I was going to be hanged. ' Mr. Pope said he
could not deny but Mr. Addison understood Rowe well[152]. "

This censure time has not left us the power of confirming or refuting;
but observation daily shows, that much stress is not to be laid on
hyperbolical accusations, and pointed sentences, which even he that
utters them desires to be applauded rather than credited. Addison can
hardly be supposed to have meant all that he said. Few characters can
bear the microscopick scrutiny of wit quickened by anger; and, perhaps,
the best advice to authors would be, that they should keep out of the way
of one another.

Rowe is chiefly to be considered as a tragick writer and a translator. In
his attempt at comedy he failed so ignominiously, that his Biter is not
inserted in his works; and his occasional poems and short compositions
are rarely worthy of either praise or censure; for they seem the casual
sports of a mind seeking rather to amuse its leisure than to exercise its
powers.

In the construction of his dramas, there is not much art; he is not a
nice observer of the unities. He extends time and varies place as his
convenience requires. To vary the place is not, in my opinion, any
violation of nature, if the change be made between the acts; for it is no
less easy for the spectator to suppose himself at Athens in the second
act, than at Thebes in the first; but to change the scene, as is done by
Rowe, in the middle of an act, is to add more acts to the play, since an
act is so much of the business as is transacted without interruption.
Rowe, by this license, easily extricates himself from difficulties; as,
in Jane Grey, when we have been terrified with all the dreadful pomp of
publick execution, and are wondering how the heroine or the poet will
proceed, no sooner has Jane pronounced some prophetick rhymes, than--pass
and be gone--the scene closes, and Pembroke and Gardiner are turned out
upon the stage.

I know not that there can be found in his plays any deep search into
nature, any accurate discriminations of kindred qualities, or nice
display of passion in its progress; all is general and undefined. Nor
does he much interest or affect the auditor, except in Jane Shore, who is
always seen and heard with pity. Alicia is a character of empty noise,
with no resemblance to real sorrow, or to natural madness.

Whence, then, has Rowe his reputation? From the reasonableness and
propriety of some of his scenes, from the elegance of his diction, and
the suavity of his verse. He seldom moves either pity or terrour, but
he often elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but he
always delights the ear, and often improves the understanding.

His translation of the Golden Verses, and of the first book of Quillet's
poem, have nothing in them remarkable. The Golden Verses are tedious.

The version of Lucan is one of the greatest productions of English
poetry; for there is, perhaps, none that so completely exhibits the
genius and spirit of the original. Lucan is distinguished by a kind of
dictatorial or philosophick dignity, rather, as Quintilian observes,
declamatory than poetical; full of ambitious morality and pointed
sentences, comprised in vigorous and animated lines. This character Rowe
has very diligently and successfully preserved. His versification,
which is such as his contemporaries practised, without any attempt at
innovation or improvement, seldom wants either melody or force. His
author's sense is sometimes a little diluted by additional infusions,
and sometimes weakened by too much expansion. But such faults are to
be expected in all translations, from the constraint of measures and
dissimilitude of languages. The Pharsalia of Rowe deserves more notice
than it obtains, and, as it is more read, will be more esteemed[153].

[Footnote 144: In the Villare, _Lamerton_. Dr. J. ]

[Footnote 145: He was not elected till 1688. N. ]

[Footnote 146: Sewell, in a life of Rowe, says, that he was called to the
bar and kept chambers in one of the inns of court, till he had produced
two plays; that is till 1702, at which time he was twenty-nine. M. ]


[Footnote 147: Mr. Rowe's preface, however, is not distinct, as it might
be supposed from this passage, from the life. R. ]

[Footnote 148: Spence. ]

[Footnote 149: Spence. ]

[Footnote 150: Jacob, who wrote only four years afterwards, says, that
Tate had to write the first birthday ode after the accession of king
George, (Lives of the Poets, 11. 232. ) so that he was probably not
ejected to make room for Rowe, but made a vacancy by his death, in 1716.
M. ]

[Footnote 151: Mrs. Anne Deanes Devenish, of a very good family in
Dorsetshire, was first married to Mr. Rowe the poet, by whom she was left
in not abounding circumstances, was afterwards married to colonel Deanes,
by whom also she was left a widow; and upon the family estate, which was
a good one, coming to her by the death of a near relation, she resumed
the family name of Devenish. She was a clever, sensible, agreeable woman,
had seen a great deal of the world, had kept much good company, and was
distinguished by a happy mixture of elegance and sense in every thing she
said or did. Bishop Newton's Life by himself, p. 32.

About the year 1738, he, by her desire, collected and published Mr.
Rowe's works, with a dedication to Frederick prince of Wales. Mrs.
Devenish, I believe, died about the year 1758. She was, I think, the
person meant by Pope in the line,

Each widow asks it for her own good man. M. ]

[Footnote 152: Sewell, who was acquainted with Howe, speaks very highly
of him: "I dare not venture to give you his character, either as a
companion, a friend, or a poet. It may be enough to say, that all good
and learned men loved him; that his conversation either struck out mirth,
or promoted learning or honour whereever he went; that the openness of a
gentleman, the unstudied eloquence of a scholar, and the perfect freedom
of an Englishman, attended him in all his actions. " Life of Rowe prefixed
to his poems. M.

That the author of Jane Shore should have no heart; that Addison should
assert this, whilst he admitted, in the same breath, that Rowe was
grieved at his displeasure; and that Pope should coincide in such an
opinion, and yet should have stated in his epitaph on Rowe,

'That never heart felt passion more sincere,'

are circumstances that cannot be admitted, without sacrificing to the
veracity of an anecdote, the character and consistency of all the persons
introduced. Roscoe's Life of Pope, prefixed to his works, vol. i. p.
250. ]

[Footnote 153: Rowe's Lucan, however, has not escaped without censure.
Bentley has criticised it with great severity in his Philoleutheros
Lipsiensis. J. B.

The life of Rowe is a very remarkable instance of the uncommon strength
of Dr. Johnson's memory. When I received from him the MS. he complacently
observed, "that the criticism was tolerably well done, considering that
he had not read one of Rowe's plays for thirty years! " N. ]




ADDISON

Joseph Addison was born on the 1st of May, 1672, at Milston, of which
his father, Launcelot Addison, was then rector, near Ambrosebury, in
Wiltshire, and appearing weak and unlikely to live, he was christened
the same day[154]. After the usual domestick education, which, from the
character of his father, may be reasonably supposed to have given him
strong impressions of piety, he was committed to the care of Mr. Naish,
at Ambrosebury, and afterwards of Mr. Taylor, at Salisbury.

Not to name the school or the masters of men illustrious for literature,
is a kind of historical fraud, by which honest fame is injuriously
diminished: I would, therefore, trace him through the whole process of
his education. In 1683, in the beginning of his twelfth year, his father,
being made dean of Lichfield, naturally carried his family to his new
residence, and, I believe, placed him, for some time, probably not long,
under Mr. Shaw, then master of the school at Lichfield, father of the
late Dr. Peter Shaw. Of this interval his biographers have given no
account, and I know it only from a story of a barring-out, told me, when
I was a boy, by Andrew Corbet, of Shropshire, who had heard it from Mr.
Pigot his uncle.

The practice of barring-out was a savage license, practised in many
schools to the end of the last century, by which the boys, when the
periodical vacation drew near, growing petulant at the approach of
liberty, some days before the time of regular recess, took possession
of the school, of which they barred the doors, and bade their master
defiance from the windows. It is not easy to suppose that on such
occasions the master would do more than laugh; yet, if tradition may be
credited, he often struggled hard to force or surprise the garrison. The
master, when Pigot was a schoolboy, was barred-out at Lichfield; and the
whole operation, as he said, was planned and conducted by Addison.

To judge better of the probability of this story, I have inquired when he
was sent to the Chartreux; but, as he was not one of those who enjoyed
the founder's benefaction, there is no account preserved of his
admission. At the school of the Chartreux, to which he was removed either
from that of Salisbury or Lichfield, he pursued his juvenile studies
under the care of Dr. Ellis, and contracted that intimacy with
sir Richard Steele, which their joint labours have so effectually
recorded[155].

Of this memorable friendship the greater praise must be given to Steele.
It is not hard to love those from whom nothing can be feared; and Addison
never considered Steele as a rival; but Steele lived, as he confesses,
under an habitual subjection to the predominating genius of Addison, whom
he always mentioned with reverence, and treated with obsequiousness.

Addison[156], who knew his own dignity, could not always forbear to show
it, by playing a little upon his admirer; but he was in no danger of
retort: his jests were endured without resistance or resentment.

But the sneer of jocularity was not the worst. Steele, whose imprudence
of generosity, or vanity of profusion, kept him always incurably
necessitous, upon some pressing exigence, in an evil hour, borrowed a
hundred pounds of his friend, probably without much purpose of repayment;
but Addison, who seems to have had other notions of a hundred pounds,
grew impatient of delay, and reclaimed his loan by an execution. Steele
felt, with great sensibility, the obduracy of his creditor, but with
emotions of sorrow rather than of anger[157].

In 1687 he was entered into Queen's college in Oxford, where, in 1689,
the accidental perusal of some Latin verses gained him the patronage
of Dr. Lancaster, afterwards provost of Queen's college; by whose
recommendation he was elected into Magdalen college as a demy, a term by
which that society denominates those which are elsewhere called scholars;
young men, who partake of the founder's benefaction, and succeed in their
order to vacant fellowships[158]. Here he continued to cultivate poetry
and criticism, and grew first eminent by his Latin compositions, which
are, indeed, entitled to particular praise. He has not confined himself
to the imitation of any ancient author, but has formed his style from
the general language, such as a diligent perusal of the productions of
different ages happened to supply.

His Latin compositions seem to have had much of his fondness, for he
collected a second volume of the Musae Anglicanae, perhaps, for a
convenient receptacle, in which all his Latin pieces are inserted, and
where his poem on the Peace has the first place. He afterwards presented
the collection to Boileau, who, from that time, "conceived," says
Tickell, "an opinion of the English genius for poetry. " Nothing is better
known of Boileau, than that he had an injudicious and peevish contempt of
modern Latin, and, therefore, his profession of regard was, probably, the
effect of his civility rather than approbation.

Three of his Latin poems are upon subjects on which, perhaps, he would
not have ventured to have written in his own language. The Battle of the
Pygmies and Cranes; the Barometer; and a Bowling-green. When the matter
is low or scanty, a dead language, in which nothing is mean because
nothing is familiar, affords great conveniencies; and, by the sonorous
magnificence of Roman syllables, the writer conceals penury of thought
and want of novelty, often from the reader, and often from himself.

In his twenty-second year he first showed his power of English poetry
by some verses addressed to Dryden; and soon afterwards published a
translation of the greater part of the fourth Georgick upon bees; after
which, says Dryden, "my latter swarm is hardly worth the hiving. "

About the same time he composed the arguments prefixed to the several
books of Dryden's Virgil; and produced an Essay on the Georgicks,
juvenile, superficial, and uninstructive, without much either of the
scholar's learning or the critick's penetration.

His next paper of verses contained a character of the principal English
poets, inscribed to Henry Sacheverell, who was then, if not a poet, a
writer of verses[159]; as is shown by his version of a small part of
Virgil's Georgicks, published in the Miscellanies; and a Latin Encomium
on queen Mary, in the Musae Anglicanae. These verses exhibit all the
fondness of friendship; but, on one side or the other, friendship was
afterwards too weak for the malignity of faction.

In this poem is a very confident and discriminative character of Spenser,
whose work he had then never read[160]. So little, sometimes, is
criticism the effect of judgment. It is necessary to inform the reader,
that about this time he was introduced by Congreve to Montague, then
chancellor of the exchequer[161]: Addison was then learning the trade of
a courtier, and subjoined Montague, as a poetical name to those of Cowley
and Dryden.

By the influence of Mr. Montague, concurring, according to Tickell, with
his natural modesty, he was diverted from his original design of entering
into holy orders. Montague alleged the corruption of men who engaged in
civil employments without liberal education; and declared, that, though
he was represented as an enemy to the church, he would never do it any
injury but by withholding Addison from it.

Soon after, in 1695, he wrote a poem to king William, with a rhyming
introduction, addressed to lord Somers[162]. King William had no regard
to elegance or literature; his study was only war; yet by a choice
of ministers, whose disposition was very different from his own, he
procured, without intention, a very liberal patronage to poetry. Addison
was caressed both by Somers and Montague.

In 1697 appeared his Latin verses on the Peace of Ryswick, which he
dedicated to Montague, and which was afterwards called, by Smith, "the
best Latin poem since the Aeneid. " Praise must not be too rigorously
examined; but the performance cannot be denied to be vigorous and
elegant.

Having yet no publick employment, he obtained, in 1699, a pension of
three hundred pounds a year, that he might be enabled to travel. He staid
a year at Blois[163], probably to learn the French language; and then
proceeded in his journey to Italy, which he surveyed with the eyes of a
poet.