No More Learning

The same year produced the History and Fall of Caius Marius; much of
which is borrowed from the Romeo and Juliet of Shakespeare.

In 1683[77] was published the first, and next year[78] the second, parts
of the Soldier's Fortune, two comedies now forgotten; and, in 1685[79]
his last and greatest dramatick work, Venice Preserved, a tragedy,
which still continues to be one of the favourites of the publick,
notwithstanding the want of morality in the original design, and the
despicable scenes of vile comedy with which he has diversified his
tragick action[80]. By comparing this with his Orphan, it will appear
that his images were by time become stronger, and his language more
energetick. The striking passages are in every mouth; and the publick
seems to judge rightly of the faults and excellencies of this play, that
it is the work of a man not attentive to decency, nor zealous for virtue;
but of one who conceived forcibly, and drew originally, by consulting
nature in his own breast.

Together with those plays he wrote the poems which are in the present
collection, and translated from the French the History of the
Triumvirate.

All this was performed before he was thirty-four years old; for he died
April 14, 1685, in a manner which I am unwilling to mention. Having
been compelled by his necessities to contract debts, and hunted, as is
supposed, by the terriers of the law, he retired to a publick house on
Tower hill, where he is said to have died of want; or, as it is related
by one of his biographers, by swallowing, after a long fast, a piece of
bread which charity had supplied. He went out, as is reported, almost
naked, in the rage of hunger, and, finding a gentleman in a neighbouring
coffee-house, asked him for a shilling. The gentleman gave him a guinea;
and Otway, going away, bought a roll, and was choked with the first
mouthful. All this, I hope, is not true; and there is this ground of
better hope, that Pope, who lived near enough to be well informed,
relates in Spence's Memorials, that he died of a fever, caught by
violent pursuit of a thief that had robbed one of his friends. But that
indigence, and its concomitants, sorrow and despondency, pressed hard
upon him, has never been denied, whatever immediate cause might bring him
to the grave.

Of the poems which the present collection admits, the longest is the
Poet's Complaint of his Muse, part of which I do not understand; and in
that which is less obscure, I find little to commend. The language is
often gross, and the numbers are harsh. Otway had not much cultivated
versification, nor much replenished his mind with general knowledge. His
principal power was in moving the passions, to which Dryden[81], in his
latter years, left an illustrious testimony. He appears, by some of his
verses, to have been a zealous royalist, and had what was in those times
the common reward of loyalty; he lived and died neglected.

[Footnote 75: In Roscius Anglicanus, by Downes, the prompter, p. 34,
we learn, that it was the character of the king in Mrs. Behn's Forced
Marriage, or the Jealous Bridegroom, which Mr. Otway attempted to
perform, and failed in. This event appears to have happened in the year
1672. R. ]

[Footnote 76: This doubt is, indeed, very reasonable. I know not where it
is said that Don Carlos was acted thirty nights together. Wherever it is
said, it is untrue. Downes, who is perfectly good authority on this point,
informs us, that it was performed ten days successively. M. ]

[Footnote 77: 1681. ]

[Footnote 78: 1684. ]

[Footnote 79: 1682. ]

[Footnote 80: The "despicable scenes of vile comedy" can be no bar
to its being a favourite of the publick, as they are always omitted in
the representation. J. B. ]

[Footnote 81: In his preface to Fresnoy's Art of Painting. Dr. J. ]




WALLER

Edmund Waller was born on the third of March, 1605, at Coleshill in
Hertfordshire. His father was Robert Waller, esq. of Agmondesham, in
Buckinghamshire, whose family was originally a branch of the Kentish
Wallers; and his mother was the daughter of John Hampden, of Hampden in
the same county, and sister to Hampden, the zealot of rebellion.

His father died while he was yet an infant, but left him a yearly income
of three thousand five hundred pounds; which, rating together the value
of money and the customs of life, we may reckon more than equivalent to
ten thousand at the present time.

He was educated, by the care of his mother, at Eton; and removed
afterwards to King's college, in Cambridge. He was sent to parliament in
his eighteenth, if not in his sixteenth year, and frequented the court of
James the first, where he heard a very remarkable conversation, which the
writer of the life prefixed to his works, who seems to have been well
informed of facts, though he may sometimes err in chronology, has
delivered as indubitably certain:

"He found Dr. Andrews, bishop of Winchester, and Dr. Neale, bishop of
Durham, standing behind his majesty's chair; and there happened something
extraordinary," continues this writer, "in the conversation those
prelates had with the king, on which Mr. Waller did often reflect. His
majesty asked the bishops: 'My lords, cannot I take my subjects' money,
when I want it, without all this formality of parliament? ' The bishop of
Durham readily answered, 'God forbid, sir, but you should: you are the
breath of our nostrils. ' Whereupon the king turned and said to the bishop
of Winchester, 'Well, my lord, what say you? ' 'Sir,' replied the bishop,
'I have no skill to judge of parliamentary cases. ' The king answered, 'No
put-offs, my lord; answer me presently. ' 'Then, sir,' said he, 'think it
is lawful for you to take my brother Neale's money; for he offers it. '
Mr. Waller said, the company was pleased with this answer, and the wit of
it seemed to affect the king; for, a certain lord coming in soon after,
his majesty cried out, 'Oh, my lord, they say you lig with my lady. ' 'No,
sir,' says his lordship, in confusion;' but I like her company, because
she has so much wit. ' 'Why then,' says the king, 'do you not lig with my
lord of Winchester there? '"

Waller's political and poetical life began nearly together. In his
eighteenth year he wrote the poem that appears first in his works, on the
Prince's Escape at St. Andero; a piece which justifies the observation,
made by one of his editors, that he attained, by a felicity like
instinct, a style which, perhaps, will never be obsolete; and that, "were
we to judge only by the wording, we could not know what was wrote at
twenty, and what at fourscore. " His versification was, in his first
essay, such as it appears in his last performance. By the perusal of
Fairfax's translation of Tasso, to which, as Dryden relates[82], he
confessed himself indebted for the smoothness of his numbers, and by
his own nicety of observation, he had already formed such a system
of metrical harmony, as he never afterwards much needed, or much
endeavoured, to improve. Denham corrected his numbers by experience, and
gained ground gradually upon the ruggedness of his age; but what was
acquired by Denham was inherited by Waller.

The next poem, of which the subject seems to fix the time, is supposed,
by Mr. Fenton, to be the Address to the Queen, which he considers as
congratulating her arrival, in Waller's twentieth year. He is apparently
mistaken; for the mention of the nation's obligations to her frequent
pregnancy, proves that it was written, when she had brought many
children. We have, therefore, no date of any other poetical production
before that which the murder of the duke of Buckingham occasioned: the
steadiness with which the king received the news in the chapel, deserved,
indeed, to be rescued from oblivion.

Neither of these pieces, that seem to carry their own dates, could have
been the sudden effusion of fancy. In the verses on the prince's escape,
the prediction of his marriage with the princess of France must have
been written after the event; in the other, the promises of the king's
kindness to the descendants of Buckingham, which could not be properly
praised, till it had appeared by its effects, show that time was taken
for revision and improvement. It is not known that they were published
till they appeared, long afterwards, with other poems.

Waller was not one of those idolaters of praise who cultivate their minds
at the expense of their fortunes. Rich as he was by inheritance, he took
care early to grow richer, by marrying Mrs. Banks, a great heiress in
the city, whom the interest of the court was employed to obtain for Mr.
Crofts. Having brought him a son, who died young, and a daughter, who was
afterwards married to Mr. Dormer, of Oxfordshire, she died in childbed,
and left him a widower of about five-and-twenty, gay and wealthy, to
please himself with another marriage.

Being too young to resist beauty, and probably too vain to think himself
resistible, he fixed his heart, perhaps half fondly and half ambitiously,
upon the lady Dorothea Sidney, eldest daughter of the earl of Leicester,
whom he courted by all the poetry in which Sacharissa is celebrated; the
name is derived from the Latin appellation of sugar, and implies, if it
means any thing, a spiritless mildness, and dull good-nature, such as
excites rather tenderness than esteem, and such as, though always treated
with kindness, is never honoured or admired.

Yet he describes Sacharissa as a sublime predominating beauty, of lofty
charms, and imperious influence, on whom he looks with amazement rather
than fondness, whose chains he wishes, though in vain, to break, and
whose presence is "wine that inflames to madness. " His acquaintance with
this high-born dame gave wit no opportunity of boasting its influence;
she was not to be subdued by the powers of verse, but rejected his
addresses, it is said, with disdain, and drove him away to solace his
disappointment with Amoret or Phillis. She married, in 1639, the earl of
Sunderland, who died at Newbury, in the king's cause; and, in her old
age, meeting somewhere with Waller, asked him, when he would again write
such verses upon her; "when you are as young, madam," said he, "and as
handsome, as you were then. "

In this part of his life it was that he was known to Clarendon, among the
rest of the men who were eminent in that age for genius and literature;
but known so little to his advantage, that they who read his character
will not much condemn Sacharissa, that she did not descend from her rank
to his embraces, nor think every excellence comprised in wit.

The lady was, indeed, inexorable; but his uncommon qualifications,
though they had no power upon her, recommended him to the scholars and
statesmen; and, undoubtedly, many beauties of that time, however they
might receive his love, were proud of his praises. Who they were, whom he
dignifies with poetical names, cannot now be known. Amoret, according to
Mr. Fenton, was the lady Sophia Murray. Perhaps, by traditions, preserved
in families, more may be discovered.

From the verses written at Penshurst, it has been collected that he
diverted his disappointment by a voyage; and his biographers, from his
poem on the Whales, think it not improbable that he visited the Bermudas;
but it seems much more likely, that he should amuse himself with forming
an imaginary scene, than that so important an incident, as a visit to
America, should have been left floating in conjectural probability.

From his twenty-eighth to his thirty-fifth year, he wrote his pieces on
the reduction of Sallee; on the reparation of St. Paul's; to the King on
his Navy; the panegyrick on the Queen Mother; the two poems to the earl
of Northumberland; and perhaps others, of which the time cannot be
discovered.

When he had lost all hopes of Sacharissa, he looked round him for an
easier conquest, and gained a lady of the family of Bresse, or Breaux.
The time of his marriage is not exactly known. It has not been discovered
that this wife was won by his poetry; nor is any thing told of her, but
that she brought him many children. He, doubtless, praised some whom he
would have been afraid to marry, and, perhaps, married one whom he would
have been ashamed to praise. Many qualities contribute to domestick
happiness, upon which poetry has no colours to bestow; and many airs and
sallies may delight imagination, which he who flatters them never can
approve. There are charms made only for distant admiration. No spectacle
is nobler than a blaze.

Of this wife, his biographers have recorded that she gave him five sons
and eight daughters.

During the long interval of parliament, he is represented as living among
those with whom it was most honourable to converse, and enjoying an
exuberant fortune with that independence and liberty of speech and
conduct which wealth ought always to produce. He was, however, considered
as the kinsman of Hampden, and was, therefore, supposed by the courtiers
not to favour them.

When the parliament was called in 1640, it appeared that Waller's
political character had not been mistaken. The king's demand of a supply
produced one of those noisy speeches which disaffection and discontent
regularly dictate; a speech filled with hyperbolical complaints of
imaginary grievances: "They," says he, "who think themselves already
undone, can never apprehend themselves in danger; and they who have
nothing left can never give freely. " Political truth is equally in danger
from the praises of courtiers, and the exclamations of patriots.

He then proceeds to rail at the clergy, being sure, at that time, of a
favourable audience. His topick is such as will always serve its purpose;
an accusation of acting and preaching only for preferment; and he exhorts
the commons "carefully to provide _for their_ protection against pulpit
law. "

It always gratifies curiosity to trace a sentiment. Waller has, in this
speech, quoted Hooker in one passage; and in another has copied him,
without quoting. "Religion," says Waller, "ought to be the first thing in
our purpose and desires; but that which is first in dignity is not always
to precede in order of time; for well-being supposes a being; and the
first impediment which men naturally endeavour to remove, is the want of
those things without which they cannot subsist. God first assigned
unto Adam maintenance of life, and gave him a title to the rest of the
creatures, before he appointed a law to observe. "

"God first assigned Adam," says Hooker, "maintenance of life, and then
appointed him a law to observe. True it is, that the kingdom of God
must be the first thing in our purpose and desires; but, inasmuch as a
righteous life presupposeth life, inasmuch as to live virtuously it
is impossible, except we live; therefore the first impediment which
naturally we endeavour to remove is penury, and want of things without
which we cannot live. " Book i. Sect. 9.

The speech is vehement; but the great position, that grievances ought to
be redressed, before supplies are granted, is agreeable enough to law and
reason: nor was Waller, if his biographer may be credited, such an enemy
to the king, as not to wish his distresses lightened; for he relates,
"that the king sent particularly to Waller, to second his demand of some
subsidies to pay off the army; and sir Henry Vane objecting against first
voting a supply, because the king would not accept, unless it came up
to his proportion, Mr. Waller spoke earnestly to sir Thomas Jermyn,
comptroller of the household, to save his master from the effects of so
bold a falsity; 'for' he said, 'I am but a country gentleman, and cannot
pretend to know the king's mind:' but sir Thomas durst not contradict
the secretary; and his son, the earl of St. Alban's, afterwards told Mr.
Waller, that his father's cowardice ruined the king. "

In the long parliament, which, unhappily for the nation, met Nov. 3,
1640, Waller represented Agmondesham the third time; and was considered,
by the discontented party, as a man sufficiently trusty and acrimonious
to be employed in managing the prosecution of judge Crawley, for his
opinion in favour of ship-money; and his speech shows that he did not
disappoint their expectations. He was, probably, the more ardent, as his
uncle Hampden had been particularly engaged in the dispute, and, by
a sentence, which seems generally to be thought unconstitutional,
particularly injured.

He was not, however, a bigot to his party, nor adopted all their
opinions. When the great question, whether episcopacy ought to be
abolished, was debated, he spoke against the innovation so coolly, so
reasonably, and so firmly, that it is not without great injury to his
name that his speech, which was as follows, has been hitherto omitted in
his works[83]:

"There is no doubt but the sense of what this nation hath suffered from
the present bishops hath produced these complaints; and the apprehensions
men have of suffering the like, in time to come, make so many desire the
taking away of episcopacy: but I conceive it is possible that we may not,
now, take a right measure of the minds of the people by their petitions;
for, when they subscribed them, the bishops were armed with a dangerous
commission of making new canons, imposing new oaths, and the like; but
now we have disarmed them of that power. These petitioners lately did
look upon episcopacy, as a beast armed with horns and claws; but now that
we have cut and pared them (and may, if we see cause, yet reduce it into
narrower bounds,) it may, perhaps, be more agreeable. Howsoever, if they
be still in passion, it becomes us soberly to consider the right use and
antiquity thereof; and not to comply further with a general desire, than
may stand with a general good.

"We have already showed, that episcopacy, and the evils thereof, are
mingled like water and oil; we have also, in part, severed them; but, I
believe, you will find, that our laws and the present government of
the church are mingled like wine and water; so inseparable, that the
abrogation of, at least, a hundred of our laws is desired in these
petitions. I have often heard a noble answer of the lords, commended in
this house, to a proposition of like nature, but of less consequence;
they gave no other reason of their refusal but this, 'Nolumus mutare
leges Angliae:' it was the bishops who so answered then; and it would
become the dignity and wisdom of this house to answer the people now with
a 'Nolumus mutare. '

"I see some are moved with a number of hands against the bishops;
which, I confess, rather inclines me to their defence; for I look upon
episcopacy as a counterscarp, or outwork; which, if it be taken by this
assault of the people, and, withal, this mystery once revealed, 'That we
must deny them nothing, when they ask it thus in troops,' we may, in the
next place, have as hard a task to defend our property, as we have lately
had to recover it from the prerogative. If, by multiplying hands and
petitions, they prevail for an equality in things ecclesiastical, the
next demand, perhaps, may be 'Lex Agraria,' the like equality in things
temporal.

"The Roman story tells us, that when the people began to flock about the
senate, and were more curious to direct and know what was done, than to
obey, that commonwealth soon came to ruin; their 'Legem rogare' grew
quickly to be a 'Legem ferre;' and after, when their legions had found
that they could make a dictator, they never suffered the senate to have a
voice any more in such election.

"If these great innovations proceed, I shall expect a flat and level in
learning too, as well as in church-preferments: 'Honos alit artes. ' And
though it be true, that grave and pious men do study for learning-sake,
and embrace virtue for itself; yet it is as true that youth, which is the
season when learning is gotten, is not without ambition, nor will
ever take pains to excel in any thing, when there is not some hope of
excelling others in reward and dignity.

"There are two reasons chiefly alleged against our church-government.

"First, Scripture, which, as some men think, points out another form.

"Second, The abuses of the present superiours.

"For scripture, I will not dispute it in this place; but I am confident
that, whenever an equal division of lands and goods shall be desired,
there will be as many places in scripture found out, which seem to favour
that, as there are now alleged against the prelacy or preferment in the
church. And, as for abuses, where you are now in the remonstrance told
what this and that poor man hath suffered by the bishops, you may be
presented with a thousand instances of poor men that have received hard
measure from their landlords; and of worldly goods abused, to the injury
of others, and disadvantage of the owners.

"And, therefore, Mr. Speaker, my humble motion is, that we may settle
men's minds herein; and, by a question, declare our resolution, 'to
reform,' that is, 'not to abolish, episcopacy. '"

It cannot but be wished that he, who could speak in this manner, had been
able to act with spirit and uniformity.

When the commons began to set the royal authority at open defiance,
Waller is said to have withdrawn from the house, and to have returned
with the king's permission; and, when the king set up his standard, he
sent him a thousand broad-pieces. He continued, however, to sit in
the rebellious conventicle; but "spoke," says Clarendon, "with great
sharpness and freedom, which, now there was no danger of being outvoted,
was not restrained; and, therefore, used as an argument against those who
were gone, upon pretence that they were not suffered to deliver their
opinion freely in the house, which could not be believed, when all men
knew what liberty Mr. Waller took, and spoke every day with impunity
against the sense and proceedings of the house. "

Waller, as he continued to sit, was one of the commissioners nominated
by the parliament to treat with the king at Oxford; and, when they were
presented, the king said to him, "Though you are the last, you are not
the lowest, nor the least in my favour. " Whitlock, who, being another of
the commissioners, was witness of this kindness, imputes it to the king's
knowledge of the plot, in which Waller appeared afterwards to have been
engaged against the parliament. Fenton, with equal probability, believes
that his attempt to promote the royal cause arose from his sensibility of
the king's tenderness. Whitlock says nothing of his behaviour at Oxford:
he was sent with several others to add pomp to the commission, but was
not one of those to whom the trust of treating was imparted.

The engagement, known by the name of Waller's plot, was soon afterwards
discovered. Waller had a brother-in-law, Tomkyns, who was clerk of the
queen's council, and, at the same time, had a very numerous acquaintance,
and great influence, in the city. Waller and he, conversing with great
confidence, told both their own secrets and those of their friends; and,
surveying the wide extent of their conversation, imagined that they
found, in the majority of all ranks, great disapprobation of the violence
of the commons, and unwillingness to continue the war. They knew that
many favoured the king, whose fear concealed their loyalty; and many
desired peace, though they durst not oppose the clamour for war; and they
imagined that, if those who had these good intentions could be informed
of their own strength, and enabled by intelligence to act together, they
might overpower the fury of sedition, by refusing to comply with the
ordinance for the twentieth part, and the other taxes levied for the
support of the rebel army, and by uniting great numbers in a petition for
peace. They proceeded with great caution. Three only met in one place,
and no man was allowed to impart the plot to more than two others; so
that, if any should be suspected or seized, more than three could not be
endangered.

Lord Conway joined in the design, and, Clarendon imagines, incidentally
mingled, as he was a soldier, some martial hopes or projects, which,
however, were only mentioned, the main design being to bring the loyal
inhabitants to the knowledge of each other; for which purpose there was
to be appointed one in every district, to distinguish the friends of the
king, the adherents to the parliament, and the neutrals. How far
they proceeded does not appear; the result of their inquiry, as Pym
declared[84], was, that within the walls, for one that was for the
royalists, there were three against them; but that without the walls, for
one that was against them, there were five for them. Whether this was
said from knowledge or guess, was, perhaps, never inquired.

It is the opinion of Clarendon, that in Waller's plan no violence or
sanguinary resistance was comprised; that he intended only to abate the
confidence of the rebels by publick declarations, and to weaken their
powers by an opposition to new supplies. This, in calmer times, and
more than this, is done without fear; but such was the acrimony of the
commons, that no method of obstructing them was safe.

About this time, another design was formed by sir Nicholas Crispe, a man
of loyalty that deserves perpetual remembrance: when he was a merchant
in the city, he gave and procured the king, in his exigencies, a hundred
thousand pounds; and, when he was driven from the exchange, raised a
regiment, and commanded it.

Sir Nicholas flattered himself with an opinion, that some provocation
would so much exasperate, or some opportunity so much encourage, the
king's friends in the city, that they would break out in open resistance,
and then would want only a lawful standard, and an authorized commander;
and extorted from the king, whose judgment too frequently yielded to
importunity, a commission of array, directed to such as he thought proper
to nominate, which was sent to London by the lady Aubigney. She knew not
what she carried, but was to deliver it on the communication of a certain
token, which sir Nicholas imparted.

This commission could be only intended to lie ready, till the time should
require it. To have attempted to raise any forces, would have been
certain destruction; it could be of use only when the forces should
appear. This was, however, an act preparatory to martial hostility.
Crispe would, undoubtedly, have put an end to the session of parliament,
had his strength been equal to his zeal: and out of the design of Crispe,
which involved very little danger, and that of Waller, which was an act
purely civil, they compounded a horrid and dreadful plot.

The discovery of Waller's design is variously related. In Clarendon's
History, it is told, that a servant of Tomkyns, lurking behind the
hangings, when his master was in conference with Waller, heard enough
to qualify him for an informer, and carried his intelligence to Pym. A
manuscript, quoted in the Life of Waller, relates, that "he was betrayed
by his sister Price, and her presbyterian chaplain, Mr. Goode, who stole
some of his papers; and, if he had not strangely dreamed the night
before, that his sister had betrayed him, and, thereupon, burnt the rest
of his papers, by the fire that was in his chimney, he had certainly lost
his life by it. " The question cannot be decided. It is not unreasonable
to believe, that the men in power, receiving intelligence from the
sister, would employ the servant of Tomkyns to listen at the conference,
that they might avoid an act so offensive as that of destroying the
brother by the sister's testimony.

The plot was published in the most terrifick manner. On the 31st of
May, 1643, at a solemn fast, when they were listening to the sermon, a
messenger entered the church, and communicated his errand to Pym, who
whispered it to others that were placed near him, and then went with them
out of the church, leaving the rest in solicitude and amazement. They
immediately sent guards to proper places, and, that night, apprehended
Tomkyns and Waller; having yet traced nothing but that letters had been
intercepted, from which it appeared that the parliament and the city were
soon to be delivered into the hands of the cavaliers.

They, perhaps, yet knew little themselves, beyond some general and
indistinct notices. "But Waller," says Clarendon, "was so confounded with
fear, that he confessed whatever he had heard, said, thought, or seen;
all that he knew of himself, and all that he suspected of others, without
concealing any person of what degree or quality soever, or any discourse
which he had ever upon any occasion entertained with them; what such and
such ladies of great honour, to whom, upon the credit of his wit and
great reputation, he had been admitted, had spoke to him in their
chambers upon the proceedings in the houses, and how they had encouraged
him to oppose them; what correspondence and intercourse they had with
some ministers of state at Oxford, and how they had conveyed all
intelligence thither. " He accused the earl of Portland, and lord Conway,
as cooperating in the transaction; and testified, that the earl of
Northumberland had declared himself disposed in favour of any attempt,
that might check the violence of the parliament, and reconcile them to
the king.

He, undoubtedly, confessed much which they could never have discovered,
and, perhaps, somewhat which they would wish to have been suppressed;
for it is inconvenient, in the conflict of factions, to have that
disaffection known which cannot safely be punished.

Tomkyns was seized on the same night with Waller, and appears, likewise,
to have partaken of his cowardice; for he gave notice of Crispe's
commission of array, of which Clarendon never knew how it was discovered.
Tomkyns had been sent with the token appointed, to demand it from lady
Aubigney, and had buried it in his garden, where, by his direction, it
was dug up; and thus the rebels obtained, what Clarendon confesses them
to have had, the original copy.

It can raise no wonder that they formed one plot out of these two
designs, however remote from each other, when they saw the same agent
employed in both, and found the commission of array in the hands of him,
who was employed in collecting the opinions and affections of the people.

Of the plot, thus combined, they took care to make the most. They sent
Pym among the citizens, to tell them of their imminent danger, and happy
escape; and inform them, that the design was, "to seize the lord mayor,
and all the committee of militia, and would not spare one of them. " They
drew up a vow and covenant, to be taken by every member of either house,
by which he declared his detestation of all conspiracies against the
parliament, and his resolution to detect and oppose them. They then
appointed a day of thanksgiving for this wonderful delivery; which
shut out, says Clarendon, all doubts whether there had been such a
deliverance, and whether the plot was real or fictitious.

On June 11, the earl of Portland and lord Conway were committed, one to
the custody of the mayor, and the other of the sheriff; but their lands
and goods were not seized.

Waller was still to immerse himself deeper in ignominy. The earl of
Portland and lord Conway denied the charge; and there was no evidence
against them but the confession of Waller, of which, undoubtedly, many
would be inclined to question the veracity. With these doubts he was so
much terrified, that he endeavoured to persuade Portland to a declaration
like his own, by a letter extant in Fenton's edition. "But for me," says
he, "you had never known any thing of this business, which was prepared
for another; and, therefore, I cannot imagine why you should hide it
so far as to contract your own ruin by concealing it, and persisting
unreasonably to hide that truth, which without you already is, and will
every day be made more manifest. Can you imagine yourself bound in honour
to keep that secret, which is already revealed by another? or possible it
should still be a secret, which is known to one of the other sex? If you
persist to be cruel to yourself, for their sakes who deserve it not,
it will, nevertheless, be made appear, ere long, I fear, to your ruin.
Surely, if I had the happiness to wait on you, I could move you to
compassionate both yourself and me, who, desperate as my case is, am
desirous to die with the honour of being known to have declared
the truth. You have no reason to contend to hide what is already
revealed--inconsiderately to throw away yourself, for the interest of
others, to whom you are less obliged than you are aware of. "

This persuasion seems to have had little effect. Portland sent, June
29, a letter to the lords, to tell them, that he "is in custody, as
he conceives, without any charge; and that, by what Mr. Waller hath
threatened him with, since he was imprisoned, he doth apprehend a very
cruel, long, and ruinous restraint:--He, therefore, prays, that he
may not find the effects of Mr. Waller's threats, by a long and close
imprisonment; but may be speedily brought to a legal trial, and then he
is confident the vanity and falsehood of those informations which have
been given against him will appear. "

In consequence of this letter, the lords ordered Portland and Waller
to be confronted; when the one repeated his charge, and the other his
denial. The examination of the plot being continued, July 1, Thinn, usher
of the house of lords, deposed, that Mr. Waller having had a conference
with the lord Portland in an upper room, lord Portland said, when he came
down, "do me the favour to tell my lord Northumberland, that Mr. Waller
has extremely pressed me to save my own life and his, by throwing the
blame upon the lord Conway and the earl of Northumberland.
"

Waller, in his letter to Portland, tells him of the reasons which he
could urge with resistless efficacy in a personal conference; but he
overrated his own oratory; his vehemence, whether of persuasion or
entreaty, was returned with contempt.

One of his arguments with Portland is, that the plot is already known
to a woman. This woman was, doubtless, lady Aubigney, who, upon this
occasion, was committed to custody; but who, in reality, when she
delivered the commission, knew not what it was.

The parliament then proceeded against the conspirators, and committed
their trial to a council of war. Tomkyns and Chaloner were hanged near
their own doors. Tomkyns, when he came to die, said it was a "foolish
business;" and, indeed, there seems to have been no hope that it should
escape discovery; for, though never more than three met at a time, yet
a design so extensive must, by necessity, be communicated to many, who
could not be expected to be all faithful, and all prudent. Chaloner was
attended at his execution by Hugh Peters. His crime was, that he had
commission to raise money for the king; but it appears not that the money
was to be expended upon the advancement of either Crispe's or Waller's
plot.

The earl of Northumberland, being too great for prosecution, was only
once examined before the lords. The earl of Portland and lord Conway,
persisting to deny the charge, and no testimony, but Waller's, yet
appearing against them, were, after a long imprisonment, admitted to
bail. Hassel, the king's messenger, who carried the letters to Oxford,
died the night before his trial. Hampden escaped death, perhaps, by the
interest of his family; but was kept in prison to the end of his life.
They, whose names were inserted in the commission of array, were not
capitally punished, as it could not be proved that they had consented to
their own nomination; but they were considered as malignants, and their
estates were seized.

"Waller, though confessedly," says Clarendon, "the most guilty, with
incredible dissimulation, affected such a remorse of conscience, that his
trial was put off, out of christian compassion, till he might recover his
understanding. " What use he made of this interval, with what liberality
and success he distributed flattery and money, and how, when he was
brought, July 4, before the house, he confessed and lamented, and
submitted and implored, may be read in the History of the Rebellion, (b.
vii. ) The speech, to which Clarendon ascribes the preservation of his
"dear-bought life," is inserted in his works. The great historian,
however, seems to have been mistaken in relating that "he prevailed" in
the principal part of his supplication, "not to be tried by a council of
war;" for, according to Whitlock, he was, by expulsion from the house,
abandoned to the tribunal which he so much dreaded, and, being tried and
condemned, was reprieved by Essex; but, after a year's imprisonment,
in which time resentment grew less acrimonious, paying a fine of ten
thousand pounds, he was permitted to "recollect himself in another
country. "

Of his behaviour in this part of his life, it is not necessary to
direct the reader's opinion. "Let us not," says his last ingenious
biographer[85], "condemn him with untempered severity, because he was
not a prodigy which the world hath seldom seen, because his character
included not the poet, the orator, and the hero. "

For the place of his exile he chose France, and stayed some time at Roan,
where his daughter Margaret was born, who was afterwards his favourite,
and his amanuensis. He then removed to Paris, where he lived with great
splendour and hospitality; and, from time to time, amused himself with
poetry, in which he sometimes speaks of the rebels, and their usurpation,
in the natural language of an honest man.

At last, it became necessary, for his support, to sell his wife's jewels;
and being reduced, as he said, at last "to the rump-jewel," he solicited,
from Cromwell, permission to return, and obtained it by the interest of
colonel Scroop, to whom his sister was married. Upon the remains of a
fortune which the danger of his life had very much diminished, he lived
at Hall Barn, a house built by himself very near to Beaconsfield, where
his mother resided. His mother, though related to Cromwell and Hampden,
was zealous for the royal cause, and, when Cromwell visited her, used
to reproach him; he, in return, would throw a napkin at her, and say he
would not dispute with his aunt; but finding, in time, that she acted for
the king, as well as talked, he made her a prisoner to her own daughter,
in her own house. If he would do any thing, he could not do less.

Cromwell, now protector, received Waller, as his kinsman, to familiar
conversation. Waller, as he used to relate, found him sufficiently versed
in ancient history; and when any of his enthusiastick friends came to
advise or consult him, could, sometimes, overhear him discoursing in the
cant of the times; but, when he returned, he would say: "Cousin Waller, I
must talk to these men in their own way;" and resumed the common style of
conversation.

He repaid the protector for his favours (1654) by the famous Panegyrick,
which has been always considered as the first of his poetical
productions. His choice of encomiastick topicks is very judicious; for he
considers Cromwell in his exaltation, without inquiring how he attained
it; there is, consequently, no mention of the rebel or the regicide. All
the former part of his hero's life is veiled with shades; and nothing is
brought to view but the chief, the governour, the defender of England's
honour, and the enlarger of her dominion. The act of violence, by
which he obtained the supreme power, is lightly treated, and decently
justified. It was, certainly, to be desired, that the detestable band
should be dissolved, which had destroyed the church, murdered the king,
and filled the nation with tumult and oppression; yet Cromwell had not
the right of dissolving them, for all that he had before done could be
justified only by supposing them invested with lawful authority. But
combinations of wickedness would overwhelm the world, by the advantage
which licentious principles afford, did not those, who have long
practised perfidy, grow faithless to each other.

In the poem on the war with Spain are some passages, at least, equal
to the best parts of the Panegyrick; and, in the conclusion, the poet
ventures yet a higher flight of flattery, by recommending royalty to
Cromwell and the nation. Cromwell was very desirous, as appears from his
conversation, related by Whitlock, of adding the title to the power of
monarchy, and is supposed to have been withheld from it partly by fear of
the army, and partly by fear of the laws, which, when he should govern by
the name of king, would have restrained his authority. When, therefore, a
deputation was solemnly sent to invite him to the crown, he, after a long
conference, refused it; but is said to have fainted in his coach, when he
parted from them.

The poem on the death of the protector seems to have been dictated by
real veneration for his memory. Dryden and Sprat wrote on the same
occasion; but they were young men, struggling into notice, and hoping for
some favour from the ruling party. Waller had little to expect; he had
received nothing but his pardon from Cromwell, and was not likely to ask
any thing from those who should succeed him.

Soon afterwards, the restoration supplied him with another subject; and
he exerted his imagination, his elegance, and his melody, with equal
alacrity, for Charles the second. It is not possible to read, without
some contempt and indignation, poems of the same author, ascribing
the highest degree of "power and piety" to Charles the first, then
transferring the same "power and piety" to Oliver Cromwell; now inviting
Oliver to take the crown, and then congratulating Charles the second
on his recovered right. Neither Cromwell nor Charles could value his
testimony, as the effect of conviction, or receive his praises, as
effusions of reverence; they could consider them but as the labour of
invention, and the tribute of dependence.

Poets, indeed, profess fiction; but the legitimate end of fiction is the
conveyance of truth; and he that has flattery ready for all whom the
vicissitudes of the world happen to exalt, must be scorned, as a
prostituted mind, that may retain the glitter of wit, but has lost the
dignity of virtue.

The Congratulation was considered as inferiour in poetical merit to the
Panegyrick; and it is reported, that, when the king told Waller of the
disparity, he answered, "poets, sir, succeed better in fiction than in
truth. "

The Congratulation is, indeed, not inferiour to the Panegyrick, either by
decay of genius, or for want of diligence; but because Cromwell had done
much, and Charles had done little. Cromwell wanted nothing to raise him
to heroick excellence but virtue; and virtue his poet thought himself at
liberty to supply. Charles had yet only the merit of struggling without
success, and suffering without despair. A life of escapes and indigence
could supply poetry with no splendid images.

In the first parliament, summoned by Charles the second, March 8, 1661,
Waller sat for Hastings, in Sussex, and served for different places in
all the parliaments of that reign. In a time when fancy and gaiety were
the most powerful recommendations to regard, it is not likely that Waller
was forgotten. He passed his time in the company that was highest both in
rank and wit, from which even his obstinate sobriety did not exclude
him. Though he drank water, he was enabled, by his fertility of mind, to
heighten the mirth of Bacchanalian assemblies; and Mr. Saville said, that
"no man in England should keep him company without drinking, but Ned
Waller. "

The praise given him by St. Evremond is a proof of his reputation; for it
was only by his reputation that he could be known, as a writer, to a man
who, though he lived a great part of a long life upon an English pension,
never condescended to understand the language of the nation that
maintained him.

In parliament, "he was," says Burnet, "the delight of the house, and,
though old, said the liveliest things of any among them. " This, however,
is said in his account of the year seventy-five, when Waller was only
seventy. His name, as a speaker, occurs often in Grey's Collections; but
I have found no extracts that can be more quoted, as exhibiting sallies
of gaiety than cogency of argument.

He was of such consideration, that his remarks were circulated and
recorded. When the duke of York's influence was high, both in Scotland
and England, it drew, says Burnet, a lively reflection from Waller, the
celebrated wit. He said "the house of commons had resolved that the duke
should not reign after the king's death; but the king, in opposition to
them, had resolved that he should reign, even in his life. " If there
appear no extraordinary liveliness in this remark, yet its reception
proves the speaker to have been a celebrated wit, to have had a name
which the men of wit were proud of mentioning.

He did not suffer his reputation to die gradually away, which may easily
happen in a long life, but renewed his claim to poetical distinction,
from time to time, as occasions were offered, either by publick events
or private incidents; and, contenting himself with the influence of his
muse, or loving quiet better than influence, he never accepted any office
of magistracy.

He was not, however, without some attention to his fortune; for he asked
from the king, in 1665, the provostship of Eton college, and obtained
it; but Clarendon refused to put the seal to the grant, alleging that
it could be held only by a clergyman. It is known that sir Henry Wotton
qualified himself for it by deacon's orders.

To this opposition the Biographia imputes the violence and acrimony with
which Waller joined Buckingham's faction in the prosecution of Clarendon.
The motive was illiberal and dishonest, and showed that more than sixty
years had not been able to teach him morality. His accusation is such as
conscience can hardly be supposed to dictate, without the help of malice:
"We were to be governed by janizaries, instead of parliaments, and are in
danger from a worse plot than that of the fifth of November; then, if the
lords and commons had been destroyed, there had been a succession; but
here both had been destroyed for ever. " This is the language of a man
who is glad of an opportunity to rail, and ready to sacrifice truth to
interest, at one time, and to anger, at another.

A year after the chancellor's banishment, another vacancy gave him
encouragement for another petition, which the king referred to the
council, who, after hearing the question argued by lawyers for three
days, determined that the office could be held only by a clergyman,
according to the act of uniformity, since the provosts had always
received institution, as for a parsonage, from the bishops of Lincoln.
The king then said, he could not break the law which he had made; and Dr.
Zachary Cradock, famous for a single sermon, at most, for two sermons,
was chosen by the fellows.

That he asked any thing else is not known; it is certain that he obtained
nothing, though he continued obsequious to the court through the rest of
Charles's reign.

At the accession of king James, in 1685, he was chosen for parliament,
being then fourscore, at Saltash, in Cornwall; and wrote a Presage of the
Downfal of the Turkish Empire, which he presented to the king, on his
birthday. It is remarked, by his commentator, Fenton, that, in reading
Tasso, he had early imbibed a veneration for the heroes of the holy war,
and a zealous enmity to the Turks, which never left him. James, however,
having soon after begun what he thought a holy war at home, made haste to
put all molestation of the Turks out of his power.

James treated him with kindness and familiarity, of which instances are
given by the writer of his life. One day, taking him into the closet, the
king asked him how he liked one of the pictures: "My eyes," said Waller,
"are dim, and I do not know it. " The king said it was the princess of
Orange. "She is," said Waller, "like the greatest woman in the world. "
The king asked who was that; and was answered, queen Elizabeth. "I
wonder," said the king, "you should think so; but I must confess she
had a wise council. " "And, sir," said Waller, "did you ever know a fool
choose a wise one? " Such is the story, which I once heard of some other
man. Pointed axioms, and acute replies, fly loose about the world, and
are assigned, successively, to those whom it may be the fashion to
celebrate.

When the king knew that he was about to marry his daughter to Dr. Birch,
a clergyman, he ordered a French gentleman to tell him, that "the king
wondered he could think of marrying his daughter to a falling church. "
"The king," said Waller, "does me great honour, in taking notice of my
domestick affairs; but I have lived long enough to observe that this
falling church has got a trick of rising again. "

He took notice to his friends of the king's conduct; and said that "he
would be left like a whale upon the strand. " Whether he was privy to any
of the transactions which ended in the revolution, is not known. His heir
joined the prince of Orange.

Having now attained an age beyond which the laws of nature seldom suffer
life to be extended, otherwise than by a future state, he seems to have
turned his mind upon preparation for the decisive hour, and, therefore,
consecrated his poetry to devotion. It is pleasing to discover that
his piety was without weakness; that his intellectual powers continued
vigorous; and that the lines which he composed when "he, for age, could
neither read nor write," are not inferiour to the effusions of his youth.

Towards the decline of life, he bought a small house, with a little land,
at Coleshill; and said, "he should be glad to die, like the stag,
where he was roused. " This, however, did not happen. When he was at
Beaconsfield, he found his legs grow tumid; he went to Windsor, where sir
Charles Scarborough then attended the king, and requested him, as both a
friend and a physician, to tell him, "What that swelling meant. " "Sir,"
answered Scarborough, "your blood will run no longer. " Waller repeated
some lines of Virgil, and went home to die.

As the disease increased upon him, he composed himself for his departure;
and, calling upon Dr. Birch to give him the holy sacrament, he desired
his children to take it with him, and made an earnest declaration of his
faith in christianity. It now appeared what part of his conversation
with the great could be remembered with delight. He related, that being
present when the duke of Buckingham talked profanely before king Charles,
he said to him, "My lord, I am a great deal older than your grace, and
have, I believe, heard more arguments for atheism than ever your grace
did; but I have lived long enough to see there is nothing in them; and
so, I hope, your grace will. "

He died October 21, 1687, and was buried at Beaconsfield, with a monument
erected by his son's executors, for which Rymer wrote the inscription,
and which, I hope, is now rescued from dilapidation.

He left several children by his second wife; of whom, his daughter was
married to Dr. Birch. Benjamin, the eldest son, was disinherited, and
sent to New Jersey, as wanting common understanding. Edmund, the second
son, inherited the estate, and represented Agmondesham in parliament,
but, at last, turned quaker. William, the third son, was a merchant in
London. Stephen, the fourth, was an eminent doctor of laws, and one of
the commissioners for the union. There is said to have been a fifth, of
whom no account has descended.

The character of Waller, both moral and intellectual, has been drawn by
Clarendon, to whom he was familiarly known, with nicety, which certainly
none to whom he was not known can presume to emulate. It is, therefore,
inserted here, with such remarks as others have supplied; after which,
nothing remains but a critical examination of his poetry.

"Edmund Waller," says Clarendon, "was born to a very fair estate, by the
parsimony, or frugality, of a wise father and mother: and he thought it
so commendable an advantage, that he resolved to improve it with his
utmost care, upon which, in his nature, he was too much intent; and, in
order to that, he was so much reserved and retired, that he was scarce
ever heard of, till, by his address and dexterity, he had gotten a very
rich wife in the city, against all the recommendation and countenance and
authority of the court, which was thoroughly engaged on the behalf of
Mr. Crofts, and which used to be successful, in that age, against any
opposition. He had the good fortune to have an alliance and friendship
with Dr. Morley, who had assisted and instructed him in the reading many
good books, to which his natural parts and promptitude inclined him,
especially the poets; and, at the age when other men used to give over
writing verses, (for he was near thirty years when he first engaged
himself in that exercise, at least that he was known to do so,) he
surprised the town with two or three pieces of that kind; as if a tenth
muse had been newly born to cherish drooping poetry. The doctor, at that
time, brought him into that company which was most celebrated for good
conversation; where he was received and esteemed with great applause and
respect. He was a very pleasant discourser, in earnest and in jest, and,
therefore, very grateful to all kind of company, where he was not the
less esteemed for being very rich.

"He had been even nursed in parliaments, where he sat when he was very
young; and so, when they were resumed again, (after a long intermission,)
he appeared in those assemblies with great advantage; having a graceful
way of speaking, and by thinking much on several arguments, (which his
temper and complexion, that had much of melancholick, inclined him to,)
he seemed often to speak upon the sudden, when the occasion had only
administered the opportunity of saying what he had thoroughly considered,
which gave a great lustre to all he said; which yet was rather of delight
than weight. There needs no more be said to extol the excellence and
power of his wit, and pleasantness of his conversation, than that it was
of magnitude enough to cover a world of very great faults; that is, so to
cover them, that they were not taken notice of to his reproach; viz. a
narrowness in his nature to the lowest degree; an abjectness and want of
courage to support him in any virtuous undertaking; an insinuation and
servile flattery to the height, the vainest and most imperious nature
could be contented with; that it preserved and won his life from those
who were most resolved to take it, and in an occasion in which he ought
to have been ambitious to have lost it; and then preserved him again from
the reproach and contempt that was due to him for so preserving it, and
for vindicating it at such a price; that it had power to reconcile him to
those whom he had most offended and provoked; and continued to his age
with that rare felicity, that his company was acceptable where his spirit
was odious; and he was, at least, pitied where he was most detested. "

Such is the account of Clarendon; on which it may not be improper to make
some remarks.

"He was very little known till he had obtained a rich wife in the city. "

He obtained a rich wife about the age of three-and-twenty; an age before
which few men are conspicuous much to their advantage. He was known,
however, in parliament and at court; and, if he spent part of his time
in privacy, it is not unreasonable to suppose, that he endeavoured the
improvement of his mind, as well as of his fortune.

That Clarendon might misjudge the motive of his retirement is the more
probable, because he has evidently mistaken the commencement of his
poetry, which he supposes him not to have attempted before thirty. As
his first pieces were, perhaps, not printed, the succession of his
compositions was not known; and Clarendon, who cannot be imagined to
have been very studious of poetry, did not rectify his first opinion by
consulting Waller's book.

Clarendon observes, that he was introduced to the wits of the age by Dr.
Morley; but the writer of his life relates that he was already among
them, when, hearing a noise in the street, and inquiring the cause, they
found a son of Ben Jonson under an arrest. This was Morley, whom Waller
set free, at the expense of one hundred pounds, took him into the country
as director of his studies, and then procured him admission into the
company of the friends of literature. Of this fact Clarendon had a nearer
knowledge than the biographer, and is, therefore, more to be credited.

The account of Waller's parliamentary eloquence is seconded by Burnet,
who, though he calls him "the delight of the house," adds, that "he was
only concerned to say that which should make him be applauded; he never
laid the business of the house to heart, being a vain and empty, though a
witty man. "

Of his insinuation and flattery it is not unreasonable to believe that
the truth is told. Ascham, in his elegant description of those whom, in
modern language, we term wits, says, that they are "open flatterers, and
privy mockers. " Waller showed a little of both, when, upon sight of the
dutchess of Newcastle's verses on the Death of a Stag, he declared that
he would give all his own compositions to have written them; and, being
charged with the exorbitance of his adulation, answered, that "nothing
was too much to be given, that a lady might be saved from the disgrace of
such a vile performance. " This, however, was no very mischievous or very
unusual deviation from truth: had his hypocrisy been confined to such
transactions, he might have been forgiven, though not praised; for who
forbears to flatter an author or a lady.

Of the laxity of his political principles, and the weakness of his
resolution, he experienced the natural effect, by losing the esteem of
every party. From Cromwell he had only his recall; and from Charles the
second, who delighted in his company, he obtained only the pardon of his
relation Hampden, and the safety of Hampden's son.

As far as conjecture can be made from the whole of his writing, and his
conduct, he was habitually and deliberately a friend to monarchy. His
deviation towards democracy proceeded from his connexion with Hampden,
for whose sake he prosecuted Crawley with great bitterness; and the
invective which he pronounced on that occasion was so popular, that
twenty thousand copies are said, by his biographer, to have been sold in
one day.

It is confessed that his faults still left him many friends, at least
many companions. His convivial power of pleasing is universally
acknowledged; but those who conversed with him intimately, found him not
only passionate, especially in his old age, but resentful; so that the
interposition of friends was sometimes necessary.

His wit and his poetry naturally connected him with the polite writers
of his time: he was joined with lord Buckhurst in the translation of
Corneille's Pompey; and is said to have added his help to that of Cowley
in the original draught of the Rehearsal.

The care of his fortune, which Clarendon imputes to him, in a degree
little less than criminal, was either not constant or not successful;
for, having inherited a patrimony of three thousand five hundred pounds a
year in the time of James the first, and augmented it, at least, by one
wealthy marriage, he left, about the time of the revolution, an income of
not more than twelve or thirteen hundred; which, when the different value
of money is reckoned, will be found, perhaps, not more than a fourth part
of what he once possessed.

Of this diminution, part was the consequence of the gifts which he was
forced to scatter, and the fine which he was condemned to pay at the
detection of his plot; and if his estate, as is related in his life, was
sequestered, he had probably contracted debts when he lived in exile;
for we are told, that at Paris he lived in splendour, and was the only
Englishman, except the lord St. Albans, that kept a table.

His unlucky plot compelled him to sell a thousand a year; of the waste
of the rest there is no account, except that he is confessed, by his
biographer, to have been a bad economist. He seems to have deviated from
the common practice; to have been a hoarder in his first years, and a
squanderer in his last.

Of his course of studies, or choice of books, nothing is known more than
that he professed himself unable to read Chapman's translation of Homer,
without rapture. His opinion concerning the duty of a poet is contained
in his declaration, that "he would blot from his works any line that did
not contain some motive to virtue. "

* * * * *
The characters, by which Waller intended to distinguish his writings, are
sprightliness and dignity; in his smaller pieces, he endeavours to be
gay; in the larger, to be great. Of his airy and light productions, the
chief source is gallantry, that attentive reverence of female excellence
which has descended to us from the Gothick ages. As his poems are
commonly occasional, and his addresses personal, he was not so liberally
supplied with grand as with soft images; for beauty is more easily found
than magnanimity.

The delicacy which he cultivated, restrains him to a certain nicety
and caution, even when he writes upon the slightest matter. He has,
therefore, in his whole volume, nothing burlesque, and seldom any thing
ludicrous or familiar. He seems always to do his best; though his
subjects are often unworthy of his care. It is not easy to think without
some contempt on an author who is growing illustrious in his own opinion
by verses, at one time, to a Lady who can do any thing but sleep when she
pleases; at another, to a Lady who can sleep when she pleases; now, to a
Lady on her passing through a crowd of people; then, on a Braid of divers
colours, woven by four fair Ladies; on a tree cut in paper; or, to a
Lady, from whom he received the copy of verses on the paper tree, which
for many years had been missing.

Genius now and then produces a lucky trifle. We still read the Dove of
Anacreon, and Sparrow of Catullus; and a writer naturally pleases himself
with a performance, which owes nothing to the subject. But compositions
merely pretty have the fate of other pretty things, and are quitted in
time for something useful: they are flowers fragrant and fair, but of
short duration; or they are blossoms to be valued only as they foretell
fruits. Among Waller's little poems are some which their excellency ought
to secure from oblivion; as, to Amoret, comparing the different modes
of regard, with which he looks on her and Sacharissa; and the verses on
Love, that begin, "Anger in hasty words or blows. "

In others he is not equally successful; sometimes his thoughts are
deficient, and sometimes his expression.

The numbers are not always musical; as,

Fair Venus, in thy soft arms
The god of rage confine:
For thy whispers are the charms
Which only can divert his fierce design.
What though he frown, and to tumult do incline;
Thou the flame
Kindled in his breast canst tame
With that snow which unmelted lies on thine.

He seldom, indeed, fetches an amorous sentiment from the depths of
science; his thoughts are, for the most part, easily understood, and his
images such as the superficies of nature readily supplies; he has a just
claim to popularity, because he writes to common degrees of knowledge;
and is free, at least, from philosophical pedantry, unless, perhaps,
the end of a song to the sun may be excepted, in which he is too much a
Copernican. To which may be added, the simile of the palm in the verses,
on her passing through a crowd; and a line in a more serious poem on the
Restoration, about vipers and treacle, which can only be understood by
those who happen to know the composition of the Theriaca.

His thoughts are sometimes hyperbolical, and his images unnatural:

The plants admire,
No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre:
If she sit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd,
They round about her into arbours crowd:
Or if she walks, in even ranks they stand,
Like some well-marshall'd and obsequious band.

In another place:

While in the park I sing, the listening deer
Attend my passion, and forget to fear:
When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the same:
To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers,
With loud complaints they answer me in showers.
To thee a wild and cruel soul is given,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven!

On the head of a stag:

O fertile head! which every year
Could such a crop of wonder bear!
The teeming earth did never bring,
So soon so hard, so huge a thing:
Which might it never have been cast,
Each year's growth added to the last,
These lofty branches had supply'd
The earth's bold sons' prodigious pride:
Heaven with these engines had been scal'd,
When mountains heap'd on mountains fail'd.

Sometimes, having succeeded in the first part, he makes a feeble
conclusion. In the song of Sacharissa's and Amoret's Friendship, the two
last stanzas ought to have been omitted.

His images of gallantry are not always in the highest degree delicate:

Then shall my love this doubt displace.
And gain such trust, that I may come
And banquet sometimes on thy face,
But make my constant meals at home.

Some applications may be thought too remote and unconsequential; as in
the verses on the Lady Dancing:

The sun in figures such as these
Joys with the moon to play:
To the sweet strains they advance,
Which do result from their own spheres;
As this nymph's dance
Moves with the numbers which she hears.

Sometimes a thought, which might, perhaps, fill a distich, is expanded
and attenuated, till it grows weak and almost evanescent:

Chloris! since first our calm of peace
Was frighted hence, this good we find,
Your favours with your fears increase,
And growing mischiefs make you kind.
So the fair tree, which still preserves
Her fruit, and state, while no wind blows,
In storms from that uprightness swerves;
And the glad earth about her strows
With treasure from her yielding boughs.

His images are not always distinct; as, in the following passage, he
confounds love, as a person, with love, as a passion:

Some other nymphs, with colours faint,
And pencil slow, may Cupid paint,
And a weak heart, in time, destroy;
She has a stamp, and prints the boy:
Can, with a single look, inflame
The coldest breast, the rudest tame.

His sallies of casual flattery are sometimes elegant and happy, as that
in Return for the Silver Pen; and sometimes empty and trifling, as that
upon the Card torn by the Queen. There are a few Lines written in the
Dutchess's Tasso, which he is said, by Fenton, to have kept a summer
under correction. It happened to Waller, as to others, that his success
was not always in proportion to his labour.

Of these petty compositions, neither the beauties nor the faults deserve
much attention. The amorous verses have this to recommend them, that
they are less hyperbolical than those of some other poets. Waller is not
always at the last gasp; he does not die of a frown, nor live upon a
smile. There is, however, too much love, and too many trifles. Little
things are made too important; and the empire of beauty is represented as
exerting its influence further than can be allowed by the multiplicity of
human passions, and the variety of human wants. Such books, therefore,
may be considered, as showing the world under a false appearance, and, so
far as they obtain credit from the young and unexperienced, as misleading
expectation, and misguiding practice.

Of his nobler and more weighty performances, the greater part is
panegyrical: for of praise he was very lavish, as is observed by his
imitator, lord Lansdowne:

No satyr stalks within the hallow'd ground,
But queens and heroines, kings and gods abound;
Glory and arms and love are all the sound.

In the first poem, on the danger of the Prince on the coast of Spain,
there is a puerile and ridiculous mention of Arion, at the beginning; and
the last paragraph, on the Cable, is, in part, ridiculously mean, and in
part, ridiculously tumid. The poem, however, is such as may be justly
praised, without much allowance for the state of our poetry and language
at that time.

The two next poems are upon the king's behaviour at the death of
Buckingham, and upon his navy.

He has, in the first, used the pagan deities with great propriety:

'Twas want of such a precedent as this,
Made the old heathen frame their gods amiss.

In the poem on the Navy, those lines are very noble, which suppose the
king's power secure against a second deluge; so noble, that it were
almost criminal to remark the mistake of _centre_ for _surface_, or to
say that the empire of the sea would be worth little, if it were not that
the waters terminate in land.

The poem upon Sallee has forcible sentiments; but the conclusion is
feeble. That on the Repairs of St. Paul's has something vulgar and
obvious; such as the mention of Amphion; and something violent and harsh;
as,

So all our minds with his conspire to grace
The Gentiles' great apostle, and deface
Those state-obscuring sheds, that, like a chain,
Seem'd to confine, and fetter him again:

Which the glad saint shakes off at his command,
As once the viper from his sacred hand.
So joys the aged oak, when we divide
The creeping ivy from his injur'd side.