* * * * *

Mr. Marvel's first appearance in public business at home, was, in being assistant to Milton as Latin secretary to the Protector. He himself tells us, in a piece called The Rehearsal Transposed, that he never had any, not the remotest relation to public matters, nor correspondence with the persons then predominant, until the year 1657, when indeed, says he, 'I entered into an employment, for which I was not altogether improper, and which I considered to be the most innocent, and inoffensive towards his Majesty's affairs of any in that usurped, and irregular government, to which all men were then exposed; and this I accordingly discharged, without disobliging any one person, there having been opportunities, and endeavours since his Majesty's happy return, to have discovered, had it been otherwise.'

A little before the Restoration, he was chosen by his native town, Kingston upon Hull, to sit in that Parliament which began at Westminster April 25, 1660, and again after the Restoration for that which began at the same place May 8, 1661. In this station our author discharged his trust with the utmost fidelity, and always shewed a peculiar regard for those he represented; for he constantly sent the particulars of every proceeding in the House, to the heads of the town for which he was elected; and to those accounts he always joined his own opinion. This respectful behaviour gained so much on their affections, that they allowed him an honourable pension to his death, all which time he continued in Parliament. Mr. Marvel was not endowed with the gift of eloquence, for he seldom spoke in the house; but was however capable of forming an excellent judgment of things, and was so acute a discerner of characters, that his opinion was greatly valued, and he had a powerful influence over many of the Members without doors. Prince Rupert particularly esteemed him, and whenever he voted agreeable to the sentiments of Mr. Marvel, it was a saying of the opposite party, he has been with his tutor. The intimacy between this illustrious foreigner, and our author was so great, that when it was unsafe for the latter to have it known where he lived, on account of some mischief which was threatened him, the prince would frequently visit him in a disguised habit. Mr. Marvel was often in such danger of assassination, that he was obliged to have his letters directed to him in another name, to prevent any discovery that way. He made himself obnoxious to the government, both by his actions, and writings; and notwithstanding his proceedings were all contrary to his private interest, nothing could ever make his resolution, of which the following is a notable instance, and transmits our author's name with lustre to posterity.

One night he was entertained by the King, who had often been delighted with his company: his Majesty next day sent the lord treasurer Danby to find out his lodging; Mr. Marvel, then rented a room up two pair of stairs, in a little court in the Strand, and was writing when the lord treasurer opened the door abruptly upon him. Surprized at the sight of so unexpected a visitor, Mr. Marvel told his lordship, that he believed he had mistaken his way; the lord Danby replied, not now I have found Mr. Marvel: telling him that he came with a message from his Majesty, which was to know what he could do to serve him? his answer was, in his usual facetious manner, that it was not in his Majesty's power to serve him: but coming to a serious explanation of his meaning, he told the lord treasurer, that he well knew the nature of courts, and that whoever is distinguished by a Prince's favour, is certainly expected to vote in his interest. The lord Danby told him, that his Majesty had only a just sense of his merits, in regard to which alone, he desired to know whether there was any place at court he could be pleased with. These offers, though, urged with the greatest earnestness, had no effect upon him; he told the lord treasurer, that he could not accept it with honour, for he must either be ungrateful to the King by voting against him, or betray his country by giving his voice against its interest, at least what he reckoned so. The only favour therefore which he begged of his Majesty, was, that he would esteem him as dutiful a subject as any he had, and more in his proper interest in rejecting his offers, than if he had embraced them. The lord Danby finding no arguments would prevail, told him, the King had ordered a thousand pounds for him, which he hoped he would accept, 'till he could think what farther to ask of his Majesty. This last temptation was refused with the same stedfastness of mind as the first.

The reader must have already taken notice that Mr. Marvel's chief support was the pension allowed him by his constituents, that his lodgings, were mean, and consequently his circumstances at this time could not be affluent. His resisting these temptations therefore in such a situation, was perhaps one of the most heroic instances of patriotism the Annals of England can furnish. But his conduct will be still heightened into a more amiable light, when it is related, that as soon as the lord treasurer had taken his leave, he was obliged to send to a friend to borrow a guinea. As the most powerful allurements of riches, and honour, could never seduce him to relinquish the interest of his country, so not even the most immense dangers could deter him from pursuing it. In a private letter to a friend from Highgate, in which he mentions the insuperable hatred of his foes to him, and their design of murthering him, he has these words; Praeterea magis eccidere metuo quam occidi, non quod vitam tanti aestimem, sed ne imparatus moriar, i.e., 'Besides, I am more apprehensive of killing, than being killed, not that I value life so much, but that I may not die unprepared.' Mr. Marvel did not remain an unconcerned member of the state, when he saw encroachments made upon it both by the civil, and ecclesiastical powers. He saw that some of the bishops had formed an idea of protestantism very different from the true one, and were making such advances towards popery, as would soon issue in a reconciliation. Amongst these ecclesiastics, none was so forward as Dr. Samuel Parker, who published at London 1672 in 8vo. bishop Bramhal's Vindication of himself, and the Episcopal Clergy, from the Presbyterian charge of Popery, as it is managed by Mr. Baxter in his Treatise on the Grotian Religion. Dr. Parker likewise preached up the doctrine of Non-resistance, which slavish principle is admirably calculated to prepare the people for receiving any yoke. Marvel, whose talent consisted in drollery, more than in serious reasoning, took his own method of exposing those opinions. He wrote a piece called The Rehearsal Transposed, in which he very successfully ridiculed Dr. Parker. This ludicrous essay met with several answers, some serious, and others humorous; we shall not here enumerate all the Rejoinders, Replies, and Animad-versions upon it. Wood himself confesses, who was an avowed enemy to Marvel, 'that Dr. Parker judged it more prudent rather to lay down the cudgels, than to enter the lists again, with an untowardly combatant, so hugely well versed, and experienced, in the then newly refined art of sporting, and jeering buffoonery.' And bishop Burnet tells us in the History of his own Time, 'That Dr. Parker, after he had for some years entertained the nation with several virulent books, was attacked by the liveliest droll of the age, who wrote in a burlesque stile, but with so peculiar, and entertaining a conduct, that from the King down to the tradesman, his book was read with great pleasure. This not only humbled Parker, but the whole party, for the author of The Rehearsal Transposed, had all the men of wit on his side.' Dr. Swift likewise in his Apology for the Tale of a Tub, speaking of the usual fate of common answerers to books, and how short-lived their labours are, observes, 'That there is indeed an exception, when any great genius thinks it worth his while to expose a foolish piece; so we still read Marvel's answer to Parker with pleasure, though the book it answers be sunk long ago.'

The next controversy in which we find Mr. Marvel engaged, was with an antagonist of the pious Dr. Croft, bishop of Hereford, who wrote a discourse entitled The Naked Truth, or A True State of the Primitive Church: By an humble Moderator. Dr. Turner, fellow of St. John's College, wrote Animadversions upon this book; Mr. Marvel's answer to these Animadversions, was entitled Mr. Smirk, or The Divine in Mode; being certain Annotations upon the Animadversions on The Naked Truth, together with a Short Historical Essay concerning General Councils, Creeds, and Impositions in Matters of Religion, printed 1676.

Our author's next work was An Account of the Growth of Popery, and Arbitrary Government in England; more particularly from the long prorogation of November 1675, ending February 15, 1676, 'till the meeting of Parliament July 15, 1677, printed in folio 1678. Our author in a letter dated June 10, 1678, wrote thus; 'There came out about Christmas last here, a large book concerning the Growth of Popery, and Arbitrary Government. There have been great rewards offered in private, and considerable, in the Gazette, to any, who would inform of the author, and Printer, but not yet discovered. Three or four printed books since have described (as near as was proper to go, the man being a member of Parliament) Mr. Marvel to be the author, but if he had, he surely could not have escaped being questioned in Parliament, or 'Some other place.' This book was so offensive to the court at that time, that an order was published in these words,

'Whereas there have been lately printed, and published several seditious, and scandalous libels against the proceedings of both Houses of Parliament, and other his Majesty's Courts of Justice, to the dishonour of his Majesty's government, and the hazard of the public peace, these are to give notice, that what person soever shall discover unto one of the secretaries of state, the printer, publisher, author, or hander to the press of any of the said libels, so that full evidence may be made thereof to a Jury, without mentioning the informer, especially one libel, entitled An Account of the Growth of Popery; and another called A Reasonable Argument to all the Grand Juries, &c. the discoverer shall be rewarded as follows; he shall have fifty pounds for such discovery as aforesaid, of the printer or publisher of it from the press, and for the hander of it to the press, one hundred pounds.'

Mr. Marvel begins this book with a panegyric on the constitution of the English government, shewing how happy the people are under such wholesome laws, which if faithfully observed, must make a people happy, and a monarch great. He observes, that the king and the subject are equally under the laws; and that the former is no longer king than he continues to obey them. 'So that, says he, the kings of England, are in nothing inferior to other princes, save in being more abridg'd from injuring their own subjects, but have as large a field as any of external felicity, wherein to exercise their own virtue, and to reward and encourage it in others. In short there is nothing that comes nearer the divine perfection, than when the monarch, as with us, enjoys a capacity of doing all the good imaginable to mankind, under a disability of all that is evil.'

After slightly tracing popery from earlier times, he begins with the Dutch war in 1665; but dwells most upon the proceedings at Rome, from November 1675, to July 1677. He relates the occasion of the Dutch war, shews that the papists, and the French in particular, were the true springs of all our councils; and draws the following picture of popery.

'It is such a thing, as cannot but for want of a word to express it, be called a religion; nor is it to be mentioned with that civility, which is otherwise decent to be used in speaking of the differences of human opinions about divine matters; were it either open Juadism, or plain Turkery, or, there is yet a certain Bona Fides in the most extravagant belief, and the sincerity of an erroneous profession may render it more pardonable: But this is a compound of all the three, an extract of whatever is most ridiculous or impious in them, incorporated with more peculiar absurdities of its own, in which those were deficient; and all this deliberately contrived, and knowingly carried on, by the solid imposture of priests, under the name of Christianity.'

This great man died, not without strong suspicions of being poisoned, August 16, 1678, in the 58th year of his age, and was interred in the church of St. Giles's in the Fields; and in the year 1688 the town of Kingston upon Hull contributed a sum of money to erect a monument over him, in St. Giles's church, for which an epitaph was composed by an able hand; but the minister of that church, piously forbad both the inscription and monument to be placed there.

Mr. Wood tells us, that in his conversation, he was very modest, and of few words; and Mr. Cooke observes, 'that he was very reserved among people he did not very well know; but a most delightful, and improving companion amongst his friends.'

In the year 1680, his miscellaneous poems were published, to which is prefixed this advertisement. 'These are to certify every ingenious reader, that all these poems, as also the other things in this book contained, are printed according to the exact copies of my late dear husband, under his own hand writing, both found since his death, among his other papers.

Witness my hand,

MARY MARVEL.

But Mr. Cooke informs us, 'that these were published with a mercenary view; and indeed not at all to the honour of the deceased, by a woman with whom he lodged, who hoped by this stratagem to share in what he left behind him.'

He was never married, and the same gentleman observes in another place, that in the editions of 1681, there are such gross errors, especially in the Latin Poems, as make several lines unintelligible; and that in the volume of Poems on Affairs of State, the same mistakes are as frequent; and in those, some pieces are attributed to our author, which he never wrote. Most of his Poems printed in Dryden's Miscellanies are so imperfect, that whole stanzas are omitted in many places.

These Mr. Cooke has restored in his edition of the works of Andrew Marvel, Esq; printed at London 1725, in two volumes, and corrected such faults as in either of the two former editions obscure the sense: in this edition are also added, some poems from original manuscripts. Great care has likewise been taken by Mr. Cooke, to retrench such pieces as he was sure were not genuine.

Mr. Marvel, considered as a statesman, makes a more conspicuous figure than any of the age in which he lived, the proceeding, or the subsequent: He possessed the first quality of a statesman, that is, inviolable integrity, and a heart so confirmed against corruption, that neither indigence, a love of pomp or even dangers the most formidable, could move his settled purpose, to pursue in every respect, the interest of his country.

That Marvel understood the true interest of his country, is abundantly clear, from the great reverence paid to his opinion, by such persons as were most able to discern, and most disposed to promote its welfare. He has succeeded to a miracle in the droll way of writing; and when he assumes a severity, and writes seriously his arguments and notions are far removed from imbecility.

As a poet, I cannot better delineate his character than in the words of Mr. Cooke, 'There are few of his poems (says he) that have not something very pleasing in them, and some he must be allowed to have excelled in; most of them seem to be the effect of a lively genius, and manly sense, but at the same time seem to want that correctness he was capable of making. His most finished pieces are upon Milton's Paradise Lost, and upon Blood's stealing the crown; the latter of which is very satirical.'

On BLOOD's stealing the Crown.

When daring Blood, his rent to have regain'd, Upon the English diadem distrain'd; He chose the cassoc, circingle, and gown, The fittest mask for one that robs the crown: But his lay-pity underneath prevail'd, And, while he sav'd the keeper's life, he fail'd. With the priest's vestment had he but put on The prelate's cruelty, the crown had gone.

'In his state Poems, is contained much of the secret history of king Charles the IId, in which time they were all written. They were composed on various occasions, and chiefly to expose a corrupt ministry, and the violence of those who were for persecuting all who differed from them in opinion. He has several Poems in Latin, some of which he translated into English, and one in Greek. They have each their proper merit; he discovers a great facility in writing the Latin tongue. There are some small pieces of his in prose, which ought not to escape observation. From his letter to Sir John Trott, there seems to have been a friendly correspondence between him and that gentleman. By his Familiar Letters, we may easily judge what part of his works are laboured, and what not. But of all his pieces in Prose, the King's Mock-Speech to both Houses of Parliament, has most of spirit, and humour. As it will furnish the best specimen of Mr. Marvel's genius for drollery, as well as the character of that prince and ministry, we shall here insert it, as a performance of the most exquisite humour we have ever seen.

His Majesty's most gracious Speech to both Houses of Parliament.

My Lords and Gentlemen,

'I told you, at our last meeting, the winter was the fittest time for business, and truly I thought so, till my lord treasurer assured me the spring was the best season for sallads and subsidies. I hope therefore, that April will not prove so unnatural a month, as not to afford some kind showers on my parched exchequer, which gapes for want of them. Some of you, perhaps, will think it dangerous to make me too rich; but I do not fear it; for I promise you faithfully, whatever you give me I will always want; and although in other things my word may be thought a slender authority, yet in that, you may rely on me, I will never break it.

My Lords and Gentlemen,

I can bear my straits with patience; but my lord treasurer does protest to me, that the revenue, as it now stands, will not serve him and me too. One of us must suffer for it, if you do not help me. I must speak freely to you, I am under bad circumstances, for besides my harlots in service, my Reformado Concubines lie heavy upon me. I have a passable good estate, I confess, but, God's-fish, I have a great charge upon't. Here's my lord treasurer can tell, that all the money designed for next summer's guards must, of necessity, be applyed to the next year's cradles and swadling-cloths. What shall we do for ships then? I hint this only to you, it being your business, not mine. I know, by experience, I can live without ships. I lived ten years abroad without, and never had my health better in my life; but how you will be without, I leave to yourselves to judge, and therefore hint this only by the by: I do not insist upon it. There's another thing I must press more earnestly, and that is this: It seems, a good part of my revenue will expire in two or three years, except you will be pleased to continue it. I have to say for't; pray why did you give me so much as you have done, unless you resolve to give as fast as I call for it? The nation hates you already for giving so much, and I'll hate you too, if you do not give me more. So that if you stick not to me, you must not have a friend in England. On the other hand, if you will give me the revenue I desire, I shall be able to do those things for your religion and liberty, that I have had long in my thoughts, but cannot effect them without a little more money to carry me through. Therefore look to't, and take notice, that if you do not make me rich enough to undo you, it shall lie at your doors. For my part, I wash my hands on't. But that I may gain your good opinion, the best way is to acquaint you what I have done to deserve it, out of my royal care for your religion and your property. For the first, my proclamation is a true picture of my mind. He that cannot, as in a glass, see my zeal for the church of England, does not deserve any farther satisfaction, for I declare him willful, abominable, and not good. Some may, perhaps, be startled, and cry, how comes this sudden change? To which I answer, I am a changling, and that's sufficient, I think. But to convince men farther, that I mean what I say, there are these arguments.

First, I tell you so, and you know I never break my word.

Secondly, my lord treasurer says so, and he never told a lye in his life.

Thirdly, my lord Lauderdale will undertake it for me; and I should be loath, by any art of mine, he should forfeit the credit he has with you.

If you desire more instances of my zeal, I have them for you. For example, I have converted my natural sons from Popery; and I may say, without vanity, it was my own work, so much the more peculiarly mine than the begetting them. 'Twould do one's heart good to hear how prettily George can read already in the Psalter. They are all fine children, God bless 'em, and so like me in their understandings! But, as I was saying, I have, to please you, given a pension to your favourite, my lord Lauderdale; not so much that I thought he wanted it, as that you would take it kindly. I have made Carwel duchess of Portsmouth, and marry'd her sister to the earl of Pembroke. I have, at my brother's request, lent my lord Inchequin into Barbary, to settle the Protestant religion among the Moors, and an English interest at Tangier. I have made Crew bishop of Durham, and, at the first word of my lady Portsmouth, Prideaux bishop of Chichester. I know not, for my part, what factious men would have; but this I am sure of, my predecessors never did any thing like this, to gain the good-will of their subjects. So much for your religion, and now for your property. My behaviour to the bankers is a public instance; and the proceedings between Mrs. Hyde and Mrs. Sutton, for private ones, are such convincing evidences, that it will be needless to say any more to't.

I must now acquaint you, that, by my lord treasurer's advice, I made a considerable retrenchment upon my expences in candies and charcoal, and do not intend to stop there, but will, with your help, look into the late embezzlements of my dripping-pans and kitchenstuff; of which, by the way, upon my conscience, neither my lord treasurer, nor my lord Lauderdale, are guilty. I tell you my opinion; but if you should find them dabling in that business, I tell you plainly, I leave 'em to you; for, I would have the world to know, I am not a man to be cheated.

My Lords and Gentlemen,

I desire you to believe me as you have found me; and I do solemnly promise you, that whatsoever you give me shall be specially managed with the same conduct, trust, sincerity, and prudence, that I have ever practiced, since my happy restoration.'

In order to shew the versification of Mr. Marvel, we shall add a beautiful dialogue between the resolved soul, and created pleasure. It is written with a true spirit of poetry, the numbers are various, and harmonious, and is one of the best pieces, in the serious way, of which he is author.

A DIALOGUE between the Resolved SOUL and Created PLEASURE.

Courage, my Soul, now learn to weild The weight of thine immortal shield. Close on thy head thy helmet bright; Ballance thy sword against the fight. See where an army, strong as fair, With silken banners spreads the air. Now, if thou be'st that thing divine, In this day's combat let it shine; And shew that nature wants an art To conquer one resolved heart.

PLEASURE.

Welcome the creation's guest, Lord of earth, and heaven's heir; Lay aside that warlike crest, And of nature's banquet share: Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs, Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.

SOUL.

I sup above, and cannot stay, To bait so long upon the way.

PLEASURE.

On these downy pillows lye, Whose soft plumes will thither fly: On these roses, strew'd so plain Lest one leaf thy side should strain. SOUL.

My gentler rest is on a thought, Conscious of doing what I ought.

PLEASURE.

If thou be'st with perfumes pleas'd, Such as oft the gods appeas'd, Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show Like another god below.

SOUL.

A Soul that knows not to presume, Is heaven's, and its own, perfume.

PLEASURE.

Every thing does seem to vye Which should first attract thine eye; But since none deserves that grace, In this crystal view thy face.

SOUL.

When the creator's skill is priz'd, The rest is all but earth disguis'd.

PLEASURE.

Hark how music then prepares, For thy stay, these charming airs; Which the posting winds recall, And suspend the river's fall. SOUL.

Had I but any time to lose, On this I would it all dispose. Cease Tempter. None can chain a mind, Whom this sweet cordage cannot bind.

CHORUS.

Earth cannot shew so brave a sight, As when a single Soul does fence The batt'ry of alluring sense, And Heaven views it with delight. Then persevere; for still new charges sound; And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd.

PLEASURE.

All that's costly, fair, and sweet, Which scatteringly doth shine, Shall within one beauty meet, And she be only thine.

SOUL.

If things of sight such heavens be, What heavens are those we cannot see?

PLEASURE.

Wheresoe'er thy foot shall go The minted gold shall lye; Till thou purchase all below, And want new worlds to buy.

SOUL.

Wer't not for price who'd value gold? And that's worth nought that can be sold.

PLEASURE.

Wilt thou all the glory have That war or peace commend? Half the world shall be thy slave, The other half thy friend.

SOUL.

What friends, if to my self untrue? What slaves, unless I captive you?

PLEASURE.

Thou shalt know each hidden cause; And see the future time: Try what depth the centre draws; And then to heaven climb.

SOUL.

None thither mounts by the degree Of knowledge, but humility.

CHORUS.

Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul; The world has not one pleasure more; The rest does lye beyond the pole, And is thine everlasting store.

We shall conclude the life of Mr. Marvel, by presenting the reader with that epitaph, which was intended to be inscribed upon his tomb, in which his character is drawn in a very masterly manner.

Near this place Lieth the body of ANDREW MARVEL, Esq; A man so endowed by nature, So improved by education, study, and travel, So consummated, by experience and learning; That joining the most peculiar graces of wit With a singular penetration and strength of judgment, And exercising all these in the whole course of his life, With unalterable steadiness in the ways of virtue, He became the ornament and example of his age, Beloved by good men, fear'd by bad, admired by all, Tho' imitated, alas! by few; And scarce paralleled by any. But a tombstone can neither contain his character, Nor is marble necessary to transmit it to posterity. It is engraved in the minds of this generation, And will be always legible in his inimitable writings. Nevertheless He having served near twenty-years successively in parliament, And that, with such wisdom, integrity, dexterity, and courage, As became a true patriot, The town of Kingiton upon Hull, From whence he was constantly deputed to that Assembly, Lamenting in his death the public loss, Have erected this monument of their grief and gratitude, 1688.

He died in the 58th year of his age On the 16th day of August 1678.

Heu fragile humanum genus! heu terrestria vana! Heu quem spectatum continet urna virum!

[Footnote A: A disappointment occasioned our throwing this life out of the chronlogical order. But we hope the candid reader will pardon a fault of this kind: we only wish he may find nothing of more consequence to accuse us of.]

[Footnote B: Cook's Life of Andrew Marvel, Esq; prefixed to the first volume of Mr. Marvel's Works, London 1726.]

[Footnote C: Life ubi supri.]

[Footnote D: Mr. John Oxenbridge, who was made fellow of Eton College curing the civil war, but ejected at the Restoration; he died in New England, and was a very enthusiastic person.]

* * * * *



Mrs. ELIZABETH THOMAS,

This lady, who is known in the world by the poetial name of Corinna, seems to have been born for misfortunes; her very bitterest enemies could never brand her with any real crime, and yet her whole life has been one continued scene of misery[A]. The family from which she sprung was of a rank in life beneath envy, and above contempt. She was the child of an ancient, and infirm parent, who gave her life when he was dying himself, and to whose unhappy constitution she was sole heiress. From her very birth, which happened 1675, she was afflicted with fevers and defluxions, and being over-nursed, her constitution was so delicate and tender, that had she not been of a gay disposition, and possessed a vigorous mind, she must have been more unhappy than she actually was. Her father dying when she was scarce two years old, and her mother not knowing his real circumstances, as he was supposed from the splendour of his manner of life to be very rich, some inconveniencies were incurred, in bestowing upon him a pompous funeral, which in those times was fashionable. The mother of our poetess, in the bloom of eighteen, was condemned to the arms of this man, upwards of 60, upon the supposition of his being wealthy, but in which she was soon miserably deceived. When the grief, which so young a wife may be supposed to feel for an aged husband, had subsided, she began to enquire into the state of his affairs, and found to her unspeakable mortification, that he died not worth one thousand pounds in the world. As Mrs. Thomas was a woman of good sense, and a high spirit, she disposed of two houses her husband kept, one in town, the other in the county of Essex, and retired into a private, but decent country lodging. The chambers in the Temple her husband possessed, she sold to her brother for 450 l. which, with her husband's books of accounts, she lodged in her trustee's hands, who being soon after burnt out by the fire in the paper buildings in the temple (which broke out with such violence in the dead of night, that he saved nothing but his life) she lost considerably. Not being able to make out any bill, she could form no regular demand, and was obliged to be determined by the honour of her husband's clients, who though persons of the first fashion, behaved with very little honour to her. The deceased had the reputation of a judicious lawyer, and an accomplished gentleman, but who was too honest to thrive in his profession, and had too much humanity ever to become rich. Of all his clients, but one lady behaved with any appearance of honesty. The countess dowager of Wentworth having then lost her only daughter the lady Harriot (who was reputed the mistress of the duke of Monmouth) told Mrs. Thomas, 'that she knew she had a large reckoning with the deceased, but, says she, as you know not what to demand, so I know not what to pay; come, madam, I will do better for you than a random reckoning, I have now no child, and have taken a fancy to your daughter; give me the girl, I will breed her as my own, and provide for her as such when I die.' The widow thank'd her ladyship, but with a little too much warmth replied, 'she would not part with her child on any terms;' which the countess resented to such a degree, that she would never see her more, and dying in a few years, left 1500 l. per annum inheritance, at Stepney, to her chambermaid.

Thus were misfortunes early entailed upon this lady. A proposal which would have made her opulent for life, was defeated by the unreasonable fondness of her mother, who lived to suffer its dismal consequences, by tasting the bitterest distresses. We have already observed, that Mrs. Thomas thought proper to retire to the country with her daughter. The house where she boarded was an eminent Cloth-worker's in the county of Surry, but the people of the house proved very disagreeable. The lady had no conversation to divert her; the landlord was an illiterate man, and the rest of the family brutish, and unmannerly. At last Mrs. Thomas attracted the notice of Dr. Glysson, who observing her at church very splendidly dressed, sollicited her acquaintance. He was a valuable piece of antiquity, being then, 1684, in the hundredth year of his age. His person was tall, his bones very large, his hair like snow, a venerable aspect, and a complexion, which might shame the bloom of fifteen. He enjoyed a sound judgment, and a memory so tenacious, and clear, that his company was very engaging. His visits greatly alleviated the solitude of this lady. The last visit he made to Mrs. Thomas, he drew on, with much attention, a pair of rich Spanish leather gloves, embost on the backs, and tops with gold embroidery, and fringed round with gold plate. The lady could not help expressing her curiosity, to know the history of those gloves, which he seemed to touch with so much respect. He answered, 'I do respect them, for the last time I had the honour of approaching my mistress, Queen Elizabeth, she pulled them from her own Royal hands, saying, here Glysson, wear them for my sake. I have done so with veneration, and never drew them on, but when I had a mind to honour those whom I visit, as I now do you; and since you love the memory of my Royal mistress, take them, and preserve them carefully when I am gone.' The Dr. then went home, and died in a few days.

This gentleman's death left her again without a companion, and an uneasiness hung upon her, visible to the people of the house; who guessing the cause to proceed from solitude, recommended to her acquaintance another Physician, of a different cast from the former. He was denominated by them a conjurer, and was said to be capable of raising the devil. This circumstance diverted Mrs. Thomas, who imagined, that the man whom they called a conjurer, must have more sense than they understood. The Dr. was invited to visit her, and appeared in a greasy black Grogram, which he called his Scholar's Coat, a long beard, and other marks of a philosophical negligence. He brought all his little mathematical trinkets, and played over his tricks for the diversion of the lady, whom, by a private whisper, he let into the secrets as he performed them, that she might see there was nothing of magic in the case. The two most remarkable articles of his performance were, first lighting a candle at a glass of cold water (performed by touching the brim before with phosphorus, a chymical fire which is preserved in water and burns there) and next reading the smallest print by a candle of six in the pound, at a hundred yards distance in the open air, and darkest night. This was performed by a large concave-glass, with a deep pointed focus, quick-silvered on the backside and set in tin, with a socket for a candle, sconce fashion, and hung up against a wall. While the flame of the candle was diametrically opposite to the centre, the rays equally diverging, gave so powerful a light as is scarce credible; but on the least variation from the focus, the charm ceased. The lady discerning in this man a genius which might be improved to better purposes than deceiving the country people, desired him not to hide his talents, but to push himself in the world by the abilities of which he seemed possessed. 'Madam, said he, I am now a fiddle to asses, but I am finishing a great work which will make those asses fiddle to me.' She then asked what that work might be? He replied, 'his life was at stake if it took air, but he found her a lady of such uncommon candour, and good sense, that he should make no difficulty in committing his life and hope to her keeping.' All women are naturally fond of being trusted with secrets; this was Mrs. Thomas's failing: the Dr. found it out, and made her pay dear for her curiosity. 'I have been, continued he, many years in search of the Philosopher's Stone, and long master of the smaragdine-table of Hermes Trismegistus; the green and red dragons of Raymond Lully have also been obedient to me, and the illustrious sages themselves deign to visit me; yet is it but since I had the honour to be known to your ladyship, that I have been so fortunate as to obtain the grand secret of projection. I transmuted some lead I pulled off my window last night into this bit of gold.' Pleased with the sight of this, and having a natural propension to the study, the lady snatched it out of the philosopher's hand, and asked him why he had not made more? He replied, 'it was all the lead I could find.' She then commanded her daughter to bring a parcel of lead which lay in the closet, and giving it to the Chymist, desired him to transmute it into gold on the morrow. He undertook it, and the next day brought her an ingot which weighed two ounces, which with the utmost solemnity he avowed was the very individual lead she gave him, transmuted to gold.

She began now to engage him in serious discourse; and finding by his replies, that he wanted money to make more powder, she enquired how much would make a stock that would maintain itself? He replied, one fifty pounds after nine months would produce a million. She then begged the ingot of him, which he protested had been transmuted from lead, and flushed with the hopes of success, hurried to town to examine whether the ingot was true gold, which proved fine beyond the standard. The lady now fully convinced of the truth of the empyric's declaration, took fifty pounds out of the hands of a Banker, and entrusted him with it.

The only difficulty which remained, was, how to carry on the work without suspicion, it being strictly prohibited at that time. He was therefore resolved to take a little house in another county, at a few miles distance from London, where he was to build a public laboratory, as a professed Chymist, and deal in such medicines as were most vendible, by the sale of which to the apothecaries, the expence of the house was to be defrayed during the operation. The widow was accounted the housekeeper, and the Dr. and his man boarded with her; to which she added this precaution, that the laboratory, with the two lodging rooms over it, in which the Dr. and his man lay, was a different wing of the building from that where she and her little daughter, and maid-servant resided; and as she knew some time must elapse before any profit could be expected, she managed with the utmost frugality. The Dr. mean time acted the part of a tutor to miss, in Arithmetic, Latin, and Mathematics, to which she discovered the strongest propensity. All things being properly disposed for the grand operation, the vitriol furnace was set to work, which requiring the most intense heat for several days, unhappily set fire to the house; the stairs were consumed in an instant, and as it surprized them all in their first sleep, it was a happy circumstance that no life perished. This unlucky accident was 300 l. loss to Mrs. Thomas: yet still the grand project was in a fair way of succeeding in the other wing of the building. But one misfortune is often followed by another. The next Sunday evening, while she was reading to, and instructing her little family, a sudden, and a violent report, like a discharge of cannon was heard; the house being timber, rocked like a cradle, and the family were all thrown from their chairs on the ground. They looked with the greatest amazement on each other, not guessing the cause, when the operator pretending to revive, fell to stamping, tearing his hair, and raving like a madman, crying out undone, undone, lost and undone for ever. He ran directly to the Athanor, when unlocking the door, he found the machine split quite in two, the eggs broke, and that precious amalgamum which they contained was scattered like sand among the ashes. Mrs. Thomas's eyes were now sufficiently opened to discern the imposture, and, with a very serene countenance, told the empyric, that accidents will happen, but means might be fallen upon to repair this fatal disappointment. The Dr. observing her so serene, imagined she would grant him more money to compleat his scheme, but she soon disappointed his expectation, by ordering him to be gone, and made him a present of five guineas, left his desperate circumstances should induce him to take some violent means of providing for himself.

Whether deluded by a real hope of finding out the Philosopher's Stone, or from an innate principle of villainy, cannot be determined, but he did not yet cease his pursuit, and still indulged the golden delusion. He now found means to work upon the credulity of an old miser, who, upon the strength of his pretensions, gave him his daughter in marriage, and embarked all his hoarded treasure, which was very considerable, in the same chimerical adventure. In a word, the miser's stock was also lost, the empyric himself, and the daughter reduced to beggary. This unhappy affair broke the miser's heart, who did not many weeks survive the loss of his cash. The Dr. also put a miserable end to his life by drinking poison, and left his wife with two young children in a state of beggary. But to return to Mrs. Thomas.

The poor lady suffered on this occasion a great deal of inward anguish; she was ashamed of having reduced her fortune, and impoverished her child by listening to the insinuations of a madman. Time and patience at last overcame it; and when her health, which by this accident had been impaired, was restored to her, she began to stir amongst her husband's great clients. She took a house in Bloomsbury, and by means of good economy, and an elegant appearance, was supposed to be better in the world than she really was. Her husband's clients received her like one risen from the dead: They came to visit her, and promised to serve her. At last the duke of Montague advised her to let lodgings, which way of life she declined, as her talents were not suited for dealing with ordinary lodgers; but added she, 'if I knew any family who desired such a conveniency, I would readily accommodate them.' I take you at your word, replied the duke, 'I will become your sole tenant: Nay don't smile, for I am in earnest, I love a little freedom more than I can enjoy at home, and I may come sometimes and eat a bit of mutton, with four or five honest fellows, whose company I delight in.' The bargain was bound, and proved matter of fact, though on a deeper scheme than drinking a bottle: And his lordship was to pass in the house for Mr. Freeman of Hertfordshire.

In a few days he ordered a dinner for his beloved friends, Jack and Tom, Will and Ned, good honest country-fellows, as his grace called them. They came at the time appointed; but how surprized was the widow, when she saw the duke of Devonshire, the lords Buckingham, and Dorset, and a certain viscount, with Sir William Dutton Colt, under these feign'd names. After several times meeting at this lady's house, the noble persons, who had a high opinion of her integrity, entrusted her with the grand secret, which was nothing less than the project for the Revolution.

Tho' these meetings were held as private as possible, yet suspicions arose, and Mrs. Thomas's house was narrowly watched; but the messengers, who were no enemies to the cause, betrayed their trust, and suffered the noblemen to meet unmolested, or at least without any dread of apprehension.

The Revolution being effected, and the state came more settled, that place of rendezvous was quitted: The noblemen took leave of the lady, with promises of obtaining a pension, or some place in the houshold for her, as her zeal in that cause highly merited; besides she had a very good claim to some appointment, having been ruined by shutting up the Excheqner. But alas! court promises proved an aerial foundation, and these noble peers never thought of her more. The duke of Montague indeed made offers of service, and being captain of the band of pensioners, she asked him to admit Mr. Gwynnet, a gentleman who had made love to her daughter, into such a post. This he promised, but upon these terms, that her daughter should ask him for it. The widow thanked him, and not suspecting that any design was covered under this offer, concluded herself sure of success: But how amazed was she to find her daughter (whom she had bred in the most passive subjection) and who had never discovered the least instance of disobedience, absolutely refuse to ask any such favour of his grace. She could be prevailed upon neither by flattery, nor threatning, and continuing still obstinate in her resolution; her mother obliged her to explain herself, upon the point of her refusal. She told her then, that the duke of Montague had already made an attack upon her, that his designs were dishonourable; and that if she submitted to ask his grace one favour, he would reckon himself secure of another in return, which he would endeavour to accomplish by the basest means. This explanation was too satisfactory; Who does not see the meanness of such an ungenerous conduct? He had made use of the mother as a tool, for carrying on political designs; he found her in distress, and as a recompence for her service, and under the pretence of mending her fortune, attempted the virtue of her daughter, and would provide for her, on no other terms, but at the price of her child's innocence.

In the mean time, the young Corinna, a poetical name given her by Mr. Dryden, continued to improve her mind by reading the politest authors: Such extraordinary advances had she made, that upon her sending some poems to Mr. Dryden, entreating his perusal, and impartial sentiments thereon, he was pleased to write her the following letter.

Fair CORINNA,

'I have sent your two poems back again, after having kept them so long from you: They were I thought too good to be a woman's; some of my friends to whom I read them, were of the same opinion. It is not very gallant I must confess to say this of the fair sex; but, most certain it is, they generally write with more softness than strength. On the contrary, you want neither vigour in your thoughts, nor force in your expression, nor harmony in your numbers; and me-thinks, I find much of Orinda in your manner, (to whom I had the honour to be related, and also to be known) but I am so taken up with my own studies, that I have not leisure to descend to particulars, being in the mean time, the fair Corinna's

Most humble, and

Most faithful servant Nov. 12, 1699. JOHN DRYDEN.

Our amiable poetess, in a letter to Dr. Talbot, Bishop of Durham, has given some farther particulars of her life. We have already seen that she was addressed upon honourable terms, by Mr. Gwynnet, of the Middle Temple, son of a gentleman in Gloucestershire. Upon his first discovering his passion to Corinna, she had honour enough to remonstrate to him the inequality of their fortune, as her affairs were then in a very perplexed situation. This objection was soon surmounted by a lover, especially as his father had given him possession of the greatest part of his estate, and leave to please himself. Mr. Gwynnet no sooner obtained this, than he came to London, and claimed Corinna's promise of marriage: But her mother being then in a very weak condition, she could not abandon her in that distress, to die among strangers. She therefore told Mr. Gwynnet, that as she had not thought sixteen years long in waiting for him, he could not think six months long in expectation of her. He replied, with a deep sigh, 'Six months at this time, my Corinna, is more than sixteen years have been; you put it off now, and God will put it off for ever.'—It proved as he had foretold; he next day went into the country, made his will, sickened, and died April the 16th, 1711, leaving his Corinna the bequest of six-hundred pounds; and adds she, 'Sorrow has been my food ever since.'

Had she providentially married him, she had been secure from the insults of poverty; but her duty to her parent was more prevalent than considerations of convenience. After the death of her lover, she was barbarously used: His brother, stifled the will, which compelled her to have recourse to law; he smothered the old gentleman's conveyance deed, by which he was enabled to make a bequest, and offered a large sum of money to any person, who would undertake to blacken Corinna's character; but wicked as the world is, he found none so compleatly abandoned, as to perjure themselves for the sake of his bribe. At last to shew her respect to the memory of her deceased lover, she consented to an accommodation with his brother, to receive 200 l. down, and 200 l. at the year's end. The first payment was made, and distributed instantly amongst her mother's creditors; but when the other became due, he bid her defiance, stood suit on his own bond, and held out four terms. He carried it from one court to another, till at last it was brought to the bar of the House of Lords; and as that is a tribunal, where the chicanery of lawyers can have no weight, he thought proper to pay the money without a hearing: The gentlemen of the long-robe had made her sign an instrument, that they should receive the money and pay themselves: After they had laid their cruel hands upon it, of the 200 l. the poor distressed lady received but 13 l. 16 s. which reduced her to the necessity of absconding from her creditors, and starving in an obscure corner, till she was betrayed by a false friend, and hurried to jail.

Besides all the other calamities of Corinna, she had ever a bad state of health, occasioned by an accident too curious to be omitted.

In the year 1730 her case was given into the college of physicians, and was reckoned a very surprizing one. It is as follows.

'In April 1711 the patient swallowed the middle bone of the wing of a large fowl, being above three inches long; she had the end in her mouth, and speaking hastily it went forcibly down in the act of inspiration. After the first surprize, feeling no pain she thought no more of it; in a few days after, she complained what she eat or drank lay like a stone in her stomach, and little or nothing pass'd through her. After three weeks obstruction, she fell into a most violent bloody flux, attended with a continual pain at the pit of her stomach, convulsions, and swooning fits; nor had she any ease but while her stomach was distended with liquids, such as small beer, or gruel: She continued in this misery, with some little intervals, till the Christmass following, when she was seized with a malignant fever, and the convulsions encreased to so high a degree, that she crowed like a cock, and barked like a dog, to the affrightment of all who saw her, as well as herself. Dr. Colebatch being called to her relief, and seeing the almost incredible quantity of blood she voided, said it was impossible she could live, having voided all her bowels. He was however prevailed with to use means, which he said could only be by fetching off the inner coat of her stomach, by a very strong vomit; he did so, and she brought the hair-veel in rolls, fresh and bleeding; this dislodged the bone, which split length ways, one half pass'd off by siege, black as jet, the cartilaginous part at each end consumed, and sharp on each side as a razor; the other part is still lodged within her. In this raw and extream weak condition, he put her into a salivation, unknown to her mother or herself, to carry off the other part, which shocked them to such a degree, that they sent for Dr. Garth, who with much difficulty, and against his judgment, was prevailed on to take it off, and using a healing galenical method, she began to recover so much strength as to be turned in her bed, and receive nourishment: But she soon after was seized with the Iliac Passion, and for eleven days, her excrements came upwards, and no passage could be forced through her, till one day by Dr. Garth, with quick-silver. After a few weeks it returned again, and the same medicine repeated, upon which she recovered, and for some months was brought to be in a tolerable state of health, only the region of the spleen much swelled; and at some times, when the bone moved outwards, as it visibly did to sight and touch, was very painful.—In July 1713, on taking too strong a purge, a large imposthume bag came away by stool, on which it was supposed, the cystus, which the bone had worked for itself, being come away, the bone was voided also; but her pains continued so extraordinary, she willingly submitted to the decree of four surgeons, who agreed to make an incision in the left side of the abdomen, and extract the bone; but one of the surgeons utterly rejecting the operation, as impracticable, the bone being lodged in the colon, sent her to Bath, where she found some relief by pumping, and continued tolerably well for some years, even to bear the fatigue of an eight years suit at law, with an unjust executor; save that in over-walking, and sudden passion, she used to be pained, but not violent; and once or twice in a year a discharge of clean gall, with some portions of a skin, like thin kid leather, tinged with gall, which she felt break from the place, and leave her sore within; but the bone never made any attempt out-wards after the first three years. Being deprived of a competent fortune, by cross accidents, she has suffered all the extremities of a close imprisonment, if want of all the necessaries of life, and lying on the boards for two-years may be termed such, during which time she never felt the bone. But on her recovering liberty, and beginning to use exercise, her stomach, and belly, and head swelled to a monstrous degree, and she was judged in a galloping dropsy; but no proper medicines taking place, she was given over as incurable, when nature unexpectedly helped itself, and in twelve hours time by stool, and vomit, she voided about five gallons of dirty looking water, which greatly relieved her for some days, but gathered again as the swelling returned, and always abounded with a hectic, or suffocating asthma in her stomach, and either a canine appetite or loathing. She has lately voided several extraneous membranes different from the former, and so frequent, that it keeps her very low, some of which she has preserved in spirits, and humbly implores your honours judgment thereon.'

Under all these calamities, of which the above is a just representation, did poor Corinna labour; and it is difficult to produce a life crouded with greater evils. The small fortune which her father left her, by the imprudence of her mother, was soon squandered: She no sooner began to taste of life, than an attempt was made upon her innocence. When she was about being happy in the arms of her amiable lover Mr. Gwynnet, he was snatched from her by an immature fate. Amongst her other misfortunes, she laboured under the displeasure of Mr. Pope, whose poetical majesty she had innocently offended, and who has taken care to place her in his Dunciad. Mr. Pope had once vouchsafed to visit her, in company with Henry Cromwel, Esq; whose letters by some accident fell into her hands, with some of Pope's answers. As soon as that gentleman died, Mr. Curl found means to wheedle them from her, and immediately committed them to the press. This so enraged Pope, that tho' the lady was very little to blame, yet he never forgave her.

Not many months after our poetess had been released from her gloomy habitation, she took a small lodging in Fleet street, where she died on the 3d of February 1730, in the 56th year of her age, and was two days after decently interred in the church of St. Bride's.

Corinna, considered as an authoress, is of the second rate, she had not so much wit as Mrs. Behn, or Mrs. Manley, nor had so happy a power of intellectual painting; but her poetry is soft and delicate, her letters sprightly and entertaining. Her Poems were published after her death, by Curl; and two volumes of Letters which pass'd between her and Mr. Gwynnet. We shall select as a specimen of her poetry, an Ode addressed to the duchess of Somerset, on her birth-day.

An ODE, &c.

I.

Great, good, and fair, permit an humble muse, To lay her duteous homage at your feet: Such homage heav'n itself does not refuse, But praise, and pray'rs admits, as odours sweet.

II.

Blest be forever this auspicious day, Which gave to such transcendent virtue birth: May each revolving year new joys display, Joys great as can supported be on earth.

III.

True heiress of the Finch and Hatton line, Formed by your matchless parents equal care (The greatest statesman he, yet best divine, She bright example of all goodness here).

IV.

And now incircled in the dearest tye, To godlike Seymour, of connubial love; Seymour illustrious prince, whose family Did heretofore the kingly race improve.

V.

Adorns the nation still, and guards the throne, In noble Somerset, whose generous breast, Concenters all his ancestors in one, That were in church, and state, and arms profest. VI.

Yet 'midst the plaudits of a grateful land, His heaven-born soul reviews his pristine state; And in obedience to divine command, Numberless poor are feasted at his gate.

VII.

Thrice happy greatness, true philosophy, That does so well the use of riches know, And can by charity transpire the sky, Encompass'd round with splendour here below.

VIII.

O may posterity from such a pair, Enjoy a progeny almost divine, Great as their fire, and as their mother fair, And good as both, till last extent of time.

[Footnote A: See the Memoirs of Mrs. Thomas's Life, prefixed to a volume of Letters between her and Mr. Gwynnet; the only account that is preserved concerning her.]

* * * * *



ELIJAH FENTON,

This worthy gentleman was born at Shelton, near Newcastle under the Line, in Staffordshire[A]. In this county, though there are several families of the name of Fenton, yet they are all branches from one flock, which is a very antient and opulent family: Our author's mother being immediately descended from one Mare, an officer in William the Conqueror's army.

Our poet was the youngest of twelve children, and was intended by his parents for the ministry: He was sent to the university of Cambridge, where he embraced the principles very opposite to the government, by which he became disqualified for entering into holy orders. We find him soon after his quitting the university, secretary to the earl of Orrery, but how long he remained in that station we cannot ascertain. After he quitted the service of this noble peer, it was his custom to perform a visit annually to his eldest brother's house in the country, who possessed an estate of 1000 l. per annum. He was caressed in the country, by all his relations, to whom he endeared himself, by his affable and genteel behaviour. Mr. Fenton was a man of the most tender humanity, and discovered it upon every proper occasion: A gentleman resident in that county, who has transmitted to us some account of Mr. Fenton, has given us the following instance of his humane disposition.

He had a great number of sisters, some of whom were less happy in their marriages than others; one in particular was exposed to many misfortunes, by the indiscretion and extravagance of her husband. It is the custom of some people to make very great distinctions between their rich and poor relations; Mr. Fenton's brother was of this stamp, and it seems treated his unfortunate sister with less ceremony than the rest. One day, while Mr. Fenton, was at his brother's house, he observed the family going to dinner without this sister, who was in town, and had as good a right to an invitation, as any of the rest who dined there as a compliment to him. He could not help discovering his displeasure at so unnatural a distinction, and would not sit down to table till she was sent for, and in consequence of this slight shewn her by the rest of the family, Mr. Fenton treated her with more tenderness and complaisance than any of his sisters.

Our author carried through life a very fair reputation, he was beloved and esteemed by Mr. Pope, who honoured him with a beautiful epitaph. Mr. Fenton after a life of ease and tranquility, died at East-Hampstead-Park, near Oakingham, the 13th of July 1730, much regretted by all men of taste, not being obnoxious to the resentment even of his brother writers.

In the year 1723, Mr. Fenton introduced upon the stage his Tragedy of Mariamne, built upon the story related of her in the third volume of the Spectator, Numb. 171, which the ingenious author collected out of Josephus. As this story so fully displays the nature of the passion of jealousy, and discovers so extraordinary a character as that of Herod, we shall here insert it, after which we shall consider with what success Mr. Fenton has managed the plot. In a former paper, the author having treated the passion of jealousy in various lights, and marked its progress through the human mind, concludes his animadversions with this story, which he says may serve as an example to whatever can be said on that subject.

'Mariamne had all the charms that beauty, birth, wit, and youth could give a woman, and Herod all the love that such charms are able to raise in a warm and amorous disposition. In the midst of his fondness for Mariamne, he put her brother to death, as he did her father not many years after. The barbarity of the action was represented to Mark Anthony, who immediately summoned Herod into Egypt, to answer for the crime that was laid to his charge: Herod attributed the summons to Anthony's desire of Mariamne, whom therefore before his departure, he gave into the custody of his uncle Joseph, with private orders to put her to death, if any such violence was offered to himself. This Joseph was much delighted with Mariamne's conversation, and endeavoured with all his art and rhetoric to set out the excess of Herod's passion for her; but when he still found her cold and incredulous, he inconsiderately told her, as a certain instance of her lord's affection, the private orders he had left behind him, which plainly shewed, according to Joseph's interpretation, that he could neither live nor die without her. This barbarous instance of a wild unreasonable passion quite put out for a time those little remains of affection, she still had for her lord: Her thoughts were so wholly taken up with the cruelty of his orders, that she could not consider the kindness which produced them; and therefore represented him in her imagination, rather under the frightful idea of a murderer, than a lover.

'Herod was at length acquitted, and dismiss'd by Mark Anthony, when his soul was all in flames for his Mariamne; but before their meeting he was not a little alarmed at the report he had heard of his uncle's conversation and familiarity with her in his absence. This therefore was the first discourse he entertained her with, in which she found it no easy matter to quiet his suspicions. But at last he appeared so well satisfied of her innocence; that from reproaches, and wranglings, he fell to tears and embraces. Both of them wept very tenderly at their reconciliation and Herod pour'd out his whole soul to her in the warmest protestations of love and constancy; when, amidst all his sighs and languishings, she asked him, whether the private orders he left with his uncle Joseph were an instance of such an enflamed affection? The jealous king was immediately roused at so unexpected a question, and concluded his uncle must have been too familiar with her, before he would have discovered such a secret. In short he put his uncle to death, and very difficultly prevailed on himself to spare Mariamne.

'After this he was forced on a second journey into Egypt, when he committed his lady to the care of Sohemus, with the same private orders he had before given his uncle, if any mischief befel himself: In the meantime Mariamne had so won upon Sohemus, by her presents and obliging behaviour, that she drew all the secret from him, with which Herod had entrusted him; so that after his return, when he flew to her, with all the transports of joy and love, she received him coldly with sighs and tears, and all the marks of indifference and aversion. This reception so stirred up his indignation, that he had certainly slain her with his own hands, had not he feared he himself should become the greater sufferer by it. It was not long after this, when he had another violent return of love upon him; Mariamne was therefore sent for to him, whom he endeavoured to soften and reconcile with all possible conjugal caresses, and endearments; but she declined his embraces, and answered all his fondness, with bitter invectives for the death of her father and her brother.

'This behaviour so incensed Herod, that he very hardly refrained from striking her; when in the heat of their quarrel, there came in a witness, suborned by some of Mariamne's enemies, who accused her to the king of a design to poison him. Herod was now prepared to hear any thing in her prejudice, and immediately ordered her servant to be stretched upon the rack; who in the extremity of his tortures confest, that his mistresses aversion to the king arose from something Sohemus had told her; but as for any design of poisoning, he utterly disowned the least knowledge of it. This confession quickly proved fatal to Sohemus, who now lay under the same suspicions and sentence, that Joseph had before him, on the like occasion. Nor would Herod rest here; but accused her with great vehemence of a design upon his life, and by his authority with the judges had her publickly condemned and executed.

'Herod soon after her decease grew melancholy and dejected, retiring from the public administration of affairs, into a solitary forest, and there abandoned himself to all the black considerations, which naturally arise from a passion made up of love, remorse, pity and despair. He used to rave for his Mariamne, and to call upon her in his distracted fits; and in all probability, would have soon followed her, had not his thoughts been seasonably called off from so sad an object, by public storms, which at that time very nearly threatened him.'

Mr. Fenton in the conduct of this design, has shewn himself a very great master of stage propriety. He has softened the character of Herod, well knowing that so cruel a tyrant as the story makes him, could not be born upon the English stage. He has altered the character of Sohemus, from an honest confident, to a crafty enterprising statesman, who to raise his master to the throne of Judea, murthered the natural heir. He has introduced in his drama, a character under the name of Salome, the king's sister, who bore an implacable hatred to Mariamne; and who in league with Sohemus pursues her revenge, at no less a price than that of her brother's and the queen's life.

After the wars, which had subsided between Caesar and Anthony, had subsided, and the world fell to the share of the former; Herod is represented as having just returned from Rome, where, as an hostage to the emperor, he has stipulated to send his younger son there, and Flaminius, a noble Roman accompanies him into Jewry, to carry off the young prince. The day in which this dramatic action begins, is upon a grand festival, appointed in honour of Herod's safe return from Rome, and being still permitted to enjoy his kingdom. The hard condition of sending the prince to Rome, greatly affects the heart of the queen, whom the poet has drawn a most tender mother. This throws a cloud over the ceremony, and furnishes an opportunity for Sohemus and Salome, to set their infernal engines at work; who, in conjunction with Sameas the king's cup bearer, contrive to poison the king and queen at the feast. But the poisoned cup is first tasted by Hazeroth, a young lord related to the queen, and the sudden effect which it has upon him discovers the villainy.

The queen's absence from the feast proves a fatal circumstance, and as managed by Sohemus, fixes the appearance of guilt upon her. While Herod was absent at Rome, Sohemus made addresses to Arsinoe, a Roman lady, confidant to Mariamne; to whom in the ardour of his passion he revealed the secret entrusted to him by Herod, of putting Mariamne to death, in case he by any calamitous accident should lose his life. Arsinoe from a motive of affection communicated this to Mariamne; as an instance of the violent passion which Herod had for her. This she did immediately before her departure for Rome, with Flaminius the Roman envoy, who proved to be the lord of her wishes, whom she imagined to have been killed in fighting against Mark Anthony. Mariamne thrown into this imminent danger, orders Arsinoe to be intercepted, whose return clears up her innocence, as she declares that no correspondence had ever been carried on between the queen and Sohemus, of whom he was now jealous, as Mariamne had upbraided him with his cruel resolutions of putting her to death, entrusted to that minister. Herod is satisfied of her innocence, by the evidence of Arsinoe; but as he had before given the cruel orders for patting the queen to death, she, to prevent the execution of such barbarity, drank poison. The Queen is conducted in by the high priest in the agonies of death, which gives such a shock to Herod, that not able to survive her, he dies in the sight of the audience.

Sohemus, who knew what tortures would be reserved for him, kills himself, after having sacrificed Sameas, by whose treachery the plot was discovered, and who in his falling stabs Salome to the heart, as the last effort of his revenge.

As the plan of this play is regular, simple, and interesting, so are the sentiments no less masterly, and the characters graphically distinguished. It contains likewise many beautiful strokes of poetry.

When Narbal, a lord of the queen's party, gives an account to Flaminius the Roman general, of the queen's parting with her son; he says,

——A while she stood, Transform'd by grief to marble, and appear'd Her own pale monument;

Flaminius consistent with his character as a soldier, answers,

Give me, ye gods! the harmony of war, The trumpet's clangor, and the clash of arms, That concert animates the glowing breast, To rush on death; but when our ear is pierc'd With the sad notes which mournful beauty yields; Our manhood melts in symphathising tears.

The character of Sameas the king's cup-bearer, is one of the most villainous ever shewn upon a stage; and the poet makes Sohemus, in order to give the audience a true idea of him, and to prepare them for those barbarities he is to execute, relate the following instance of his cruelty.

——Along the shore He walk'd one evening, when the clam'rous rage Of tempests wreck'd a ship: The crew were sunk, The master only reach'd the neighb'ring strand, Born by a floating fragment; but so weak With combating the storm, his tongue had lost The faculty of speech, and yet for aid He faintly wav'd his hand, on which he wore A fatal jewel. Sameas, quickly charm'd Both by its size, and lustre, with a look Of pity stoop'd, to take him by the hand; Then cut the finger off to gain the ring, And plung'd him back to perish in the waves; Crying, go dive for more.—I've heard him boast Of this adventure.

In the 5th act, when Herod is agitated with the rage of jealousy, his brother Pheroras thus addresses him,

Sir, let her crime Erase the faithful characters which love Imprinted on your heart,

HEROD. Alas! the pain We feel, whene'er we dispossess the soul Of that tormenting tyrant, far exceeds The rigour of his rule.

PHERORAS. With reason quell That haughty passion; treat it as your slave: Resume the monarch.

The observation, which Herod makes upon this, is very affecting. The poet has drawn him so tortured with his passion, that he seems almost sufficiently punished, for the barbarity of cutting off the father and brother of Mariamne,

HEROD. Where's the monarch now? The vulgar call us gods, and fondly think That kings are cast in more than mortal molds; Alas! they little know that when the mind Is cloy'd with pomp, our taste is pall'd to joy; But grows more sensible of grief or pain. The stupid peasant with as quick a sense Enjoys the fragrance of a rose, as I; And his rough hand is proof against the thorn, Which rankling in my tender skin, would seem A viper's tooth. Oh blissful poverty! Nature, too partial! to thy lot assigns Health, freedom, innocence, and downy peace, Her real goods; and only mocks the great With empty pageantries! Had I been born A cottager, my homely bowl had flow'd Secure from pois'nous drugs; but not my wife! Let me, good heav'n! forget that guilty name, Or madness will ensue.

Some critics have blamed Mariamne, for yielding her affections to Herod, who had embrued his hands in her father and brother's blood; in this perhaps she cannot be easily defended, but the poet had a right to represent this as he literally found it in history; and being the circumstance upon which all the others depended. Tho' this play is one of the most beautiful in our language, yet it is in many places exposed to just criticism; but as it has more beauties than faults, it would be a kind of violence to candour to shew the blemishes.

The life of Fenton, like other poets who have never been engaged in public business, being barren of incidents, we have dwelt the longer on his works, a tribute which his genius naturally demanded from us.

Mr. Fenton's other poetical works were published in one volume 1717, and consist chiefly of the following pieces.

An Ode to the Sun, for the new year 1707, as a specimen of which we shall quote the three following stanza's.

I.

Begin celestial source of light, To gild the new revolving sphere; And from the pregnant womb of night; Urge on to birth the infant year. Rich with auspicious lustre rife, Thou fairest regent of the skies, Conspicuous with thy silver bow! To thee, a god, 'twas given by Jove To rule the radiant orbs above, To Gloriana this below.

II.

With joy renew thy destin'd race, And let the mighty months begin: Let no ill omen cloud thy face, Thro' all thy circle smile serene. While the stern ministers of fate Watchful o'er the pale Lutetia wait. To grieve the Gaul's perfidious head; The hours, thy offspring heav'nly fair, Their whitest wings should ever wear, And gentle joys on Albion shed.

III.

When Ilia bore the future fates of Rome, And the long honours of her race began, Thus, to prepare the graceful age to come, They from thy stores in happy order ran. Heroes elected to the list of fame, Fix'd the sure columns of her rising state: Till the loud triumphs of the Julian name Render'd the glories of her reign compleat, Each year advanc'd a rival to the rest, In comely spoils of war, and great achievements drest.

Florelio, a Pastoral, lamenting the death of the marquis of Blandford.

Part of the fourteenth chapter of Isaiah Paraphrased. Verses on the Union.

Cupid and Hymen.

Olivia, a small Poem of humour against a Prude.

The fair Nun, a Tale.

An Epistle addressed to Mr. Southern, written in the year 1711.

The eleventh Book of Homer's Odyssey, translated in Milton's stile.

The Widow's Will; a Tale.

A-La-Mode, a very humorous representation of a fond, doating Husband, injured by his Wife.

Sappho to Phaon. A Love Epistle, translated from Ovid.

Phaon to Sappho.

A Tale devised in the pleasant manner of Chaucer; in which the Poet imitates that venerable old Bard, in the obsolete Language of his Verse.

Verses addressed to Mr. Pope.

The Platonic Spell.

Marullus de Neaera.

Marullus imitated.

Joannis Secundi Basium I.

Kisses. Translated from Secundus. I know not if all poetry ever exceeded the smoothness and delicacy of those lines. They flow with an irresistable enchantment, and as the inserting them will shew the spirit both of the original and translation, we shall make no further apology for doing it.

When Venus, in the sweet Idalian shade, A violet couch for young Ascanius made; Their op'ning gems, th' obedient roses bow'd And veil'd his beauties with a damask cloud: While the bright goddess with a gentle show'r, Of nectar'd dews, perfum'd the blissful bow'r; Of sight insatiate, she devours his charms. Till her soft breast re-kindling ardour warms: New joys tumultuous in her bosom rowl, And all Adonis rusheth on her soul. Transported with each dear resembling grace, She cries, Adonis!—Sure I see thy face! Then stoops to clasp the beauteous form, but fears He'd wake too soon, and with a sigh forbears; Yet, fix'd in silent rapture, stands to gaze, Kissing each flow'ring bud that round him plays. Swell'd with the touch, each animated rose Expands; and strait with warmer purple glows: Where infant kisses bloom, a balmy store! Redoubling all the bliss she felt before. Sudden, her swans career along the skies, And o'er the globe the fair celestial flies. Then, as where Ceres pass'd, the teeming plain, Yellow'd with wavy crops of golden grain; So fruitful kisses fell where Venus flew; And by the power of genial magic grew: A plenteous harvest! which she deign'd t'impart To sooth an agonizing love-sick heart. All hail, ye Roseat kisses! who remove Our cares, and cool the calenture of love. Lo! I your poet in melodious lays, Bless your kind pow'r; enamour'd of your praise: Lays! form'd to last, 'till barb'rous time invades The muses hill, and withers all their shades. Sprung from the Guardian[B] of the Roman name, In Roman numbers live secure of fame.

Joannis Secundi Basum IId. translated.

An Epistle to Thomas Lambard Esq;

An Ode to the right hon. John lord Gower.

An EPITAPH

On Mr. ELIJAH FENTON,

At EAST-HAMPSTEAD in BERKS, 1730.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, here lies an honest man: A Poet, bless'd beyond a Poet's fate, Whom Heav'n kept sacred from the proud and great: Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, Content with science in the vale of peace. Calmly he look'd on either life, and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; From nature's temp'rate feast rose satisfy'd Thank'd Heav'n, that he had liv'd, and that he died.

[Footnote A: See Jacob, p. 55.]

[Footnote B: Venus.]

* * * * *



BARTON BOOTH, Esq;

It[A] is but justice to the memory of this great actor to give him a place among the poets, if he had been less considerable in that province than he really was; for he appears early to have understood the Latin classics, and to have succeeded in occasional pieces, and little odes, beyond many persons of higher name in poetry. Mr. Booth was descended from a very ancient, and honourable family, originally seated in the County Palatine of Lancaster. His father, John Booth, esq; was a man of great worth and honour; and though his fortune was not very considerable, he was extremely attentive to the education of his children, of whom Barton (the third) was born in 1681.

When about nine years of age, he was put under the tuition of the famous Dr. Busby, head-master of Westminster school, under whom some of the ablest men have been educated, that in the last and present age have done honour to the nation. The sprightliness of Booth's parts early recommended him to the notice of Dr. Busby: he had a strong passion for learning, and a peculiar turn for Latin poetry, and by studying the best authors in it, he fixed many of the finest passages so firmly in his memory, that he was able to repeat them with such propriety, and graceful action, with so fine a tone of voice, and peculiar emphasis, that it was taken notice of by the whole school.

In consequence of this happy talent, when, according to the custom of the school, a Latin play was to be acted, a considerable part thereof was given to young Booth, who drew by the melody of his voice, and the gracefulness of his action, the applause of all the spectators, a circumstance which first fired him with theatrical ambition, much against the inclination of his father, who intended him for the church, and was therefore careful of his education. This propension in our young Roscius, recommended him still more to the favour of Dr. Busby, who bestowed the most lavish encomiums upon him: Busby was himself a great admirer of theatrical elocution, and admirably fitted by nature for the stage; when he was young, he obtained great applause in a part he performed in a play of Cartwright's, and from that moment held theatrical accomplishments in the highest esteem.

When Booth had reached the age of eighteen, and the time approached when he was to have been sent to the university, he resolved to run any risk, rather than enter upon a course of life inconsistent with the liveliness of his temper, and the natural bent of his inclinations. It happened that there was then in London one Mr. Ashbury, who had been long master of a company at Dublin, with whom young Booth became acquainted, and finding that under his direction there was no danger of his getting a livelihood, he quitted all other views, stole away from school, and went over to Ireland with Mr. Ashbury in 1698.[B]

He very soon distinguished himself on the stage at Dublin, where he had great natural advantages over most of his cotemporaries, especially in tragedy; he had a grave countenance, a good person, an air of dignity, a melodious voice, and a very manly action. He spoke justly, his cadence was grateful to the ear, and his pronunciation was scholastically correct and proper. He so far insinuated himself into the favour of English gentlemen in Ireland, and found his reputation growing to so great a heighth, that he returned home in 1701, to make a trial of his talents on the British stage. He accordingly applied to lord Fitzharding, of the bedchamber to Prince George of Denmark, and was by him recommended to Mr. Betterton, who took him under his care, and gave him all the assistance in his power, of which Mr. Booth greatly profited.

Never were a tutor and pupil better met; the one was capable of giving the best instructions in his own performance, and the other had a promptness of conception, a violent propensity, and a great genius. The first part Booth performed in London was Maximus in Valentinian, a play of Beaumont and Fletcher's originally, but altered, and brought upon the stage by the earl of Rochester. The reception he met with exceeded his warmest hopes, and the favour of the town had a happy effect upon him, in inspiring him with a proper degree of confidence without vanity. The Ambitious Step-mother, a tragedy written by Mr. Rowe, in which that author has thrown out more fire, and heat of poetry, than in any other of his plays, was about this time introduced upon the stage; the part of Artaban was assigned to Booth, in which he raised his character to such a heighth, as to be reckoned only second to his great master.

In the year 1704 he married Miss Barkham, daughter to Sir William Barkham of Norfolk, bart. who lived with him six years, and died without issue. In the theatrical revolutions which happened in those days, Mr. Booth, notwithstanding his great capacity, and reputation with the town, had very little share. He adhered constantly to Mr. Betterton, while he could be of any service to him, and when his tutor retired from the management of the stage, he trusted to his merit, and the taste of the public, in which he was never deceived.

Mr. Booth was particularly turned for tragedy, he never could bear those parts which had not strong passion to inspire him; and Mr. Cibber observes, that he could not so well melt in the lover, as rage in the jealous husband. Othello was his master-piece, but in all his parts he was often subject to a kind of indolence, which some people imagined he affected, to shew that even in his lazy fits he was superior to every body upon the stage; as if secure of all beholders hearts, neglecting he could take them.[C] The late ingenious Mr. Whitingham, who perfectly understood theatrical excellence, and who was, beyond any man I ever knew, distinct, and accurate in his relations of things, often told me, that such was the dignity of Booth's appearance, such his theatrical ease, and gracefulness, that had he only crossed the stage without uttering a word, the house would be in a roar of applause.

We come now to that period of time, when Mr. Booth's sole merit raised him to the greatest height, and procured for him that reward he had long deserved. The tragedy of Cato, which had been written in the year 1703, or at least four acts of it, was brought upon the stage in 1712, chiefly on a political principle; the part of Cato was given to Booth, for the managers were very well satisfied that nobody else could perform it. As party prejudice never than higher than at that time, the excellency of the play was distinguished by the surprizing contests between both factions, which should applaud it most, so the merit of the actor received the same marks of approbation, both parties taking care to shew their satisfaction, by bestowing upon him, most liberal presents, the particulars of which are already inserted in the life of Addison. The run of Cato being over at London, the managers thought fit to remove to Oxford in the summer, where the play met with so extraordinary a reception, that they were forced to open the doors at noon, and the house was quite full by one o'clock. The same respect was paid it for three days together, and though the universal applause it met with at London, surpassed any thing that had been remembered of that kind, yet the tribute of praise it received from this famous university, surpassed even that. Booth, whose reputation was now at its heighth, took the advantage of it, and making his application to lord Bolingbroke, then at the head of the ministry, he procured a new licence, recalling all former ones, and Mr. Booth's name was added to those of Cibber, Dogget, and Wilks. Tho' none of the managers had occasion to be pleased with this act of justice done to Booth's merit, at the expence of, what they deemed, their property, yet none of them carried their resentment so high as Mr. Dogget, who absolutely refused to accept of any consideration for his share in the scenes and clothes; this obstinacy had however no other effect, than depriving him of his share, which brought him in 1000 l. a year; though Mr. Cibber informs us, that this was only a pretence, and that the true reason of quitting the stage, was, his dislike to another of the managers, whose humour was become insupportable. This person we conjecture to have been Mr. Wilks, who, according to Cibber's account, was capricious in his temper, though he had otherwise great merit as a player, and was a good man, morally considered; some instances of the generosity and noble spirit of Wilks, are taken notice of in the life of Farquhar.

A few years after Mr. Booth rose to the dignity of manager, he married the celebrated Miss Santlowe, who, from her first appearance as an actress in the character of the Fair Quaker of Deal, to the time she quitted the stage, had always received the strongest marks of public applause, which were repeated when after a retreat of some years, she appeared there again. By her prudence in managing the advantages that arose to her from her reputation as an actress, and her great diligence in her profession, she acquired a considerable fortune, which was very useful to Mr. Booth, who, from the natural turn of his temper, though he had a strict regard to justice, was not much inclined to saving.

During the few years they lived together, there was the greatest harmony between them, and after the death of Booth, his disconsolate widow, who is yet alive, quitted the stage, and devoted herself entirely to a private course of life. By degrees the health of Mr. Booth began to decline, so that it was impossible for him to continue to act with so much diligence as usual, but at whatever time he was able to return to the stage, the town demonstrated their respect for him by crowding the house. Being attacked by a complication of distempers, he paid the debt to nature May 10, 1733. A copy of his Will was printed in the London Magazine for 1733, p. 126, in which we find he testified his esteem for his wife, to whom he left all his fortune, for reasons there assigned, which he declared amounted to no more than two thirds of what he had received from her on the day of marriage. His character as an actor, has been celebrated by the best judges, and was never questioned by any. And here we cannot resist the opportunity of shewing Mr. Booth in that full, and commanding light in which he is drawn by the late ingenious Aaron Hill, esq; who had long experience in the affairs of the stage, and could well distinguish the true merits of an actor. His words are,

'Two advantages distinguished him in the strongest light from the rest of his fraternity: he had learning to understand perfectly what it was his part to speak, and judgment to know how far it agreed, or disagreed with his character. Hence arose a peculiar grace, which was visible to every spectator, though few were at the pains of examining into the cause of their pleasure. He could soften, and slide over, with a kind of elegant negligence, the improprieties in the part he acted, while, on the contrary, he would dwell with energy upon the beauties, as if he exerted a latent spirit which had been kept back for such an occasion, that he might alarm, awaken, and transport in those places only, where the dignity of his own good sense could be supported by that of his author. A little reflexion upon this remarkable quality, will teach us to account for that manifest languor which has sometimes been observed in his action, and which was generally, though I think falsly, imputed to the natural indolence of his temper. For the same reason, though in the customary round of his business, he would condescend to some parts in comedy; he seldom appeared in any of them with much advantage to his character. The passions which he found in comedy, were not strong enough to excite his fire, and what seemed want of qualification, was only the absence of impression. He had a talent at discovering the passions where they lay hid in some celebrated parts, by the injudicious practice of other actors; when he had discovered he soon grew able to express them; and his secret of his obtaining this great lesson of the theatre, was an adaption of his look to his voice, by which artful imitation of nature, the variations in the sound of his words, gave propriety to every change in his countenance, so that it was Mr. Booth's peculiar felicity to be heard and seen the same, whether as the pleased, the grieved,the pitying,the reproachful,or the angry. One would be almost tempted to borrow the aid of a very bold figure, and to express this excellence more significantly, beg permission to affirm, that the blind might have seen him in his voice, and the deaf have heard him in his visage. His gesture, or as it is commonly called his action, was but the result, and necessary consequence of his dominion over his voice and countenance; for having by a concurrence of two such causes, impressed his imagination with such a stamp, and spirit of passion, he ever obeyed the impulse by a kind of natural dependency, and relaxed, or braced successively into all that fine expressiveness with which he painted what he spoke, without restraint, or affectation.'

But it was not only as a player that Mr. Booth excelled; he was a man of letters also, and an author in more languages than one. He had a taste for poetry which we have observed discovered itself when he was very young, in translations of some Odes of Horace; and in his riper years he wrote several songs, and other original poems, which did him honour. He was also the author of a masque, or dramatic entertainment, called Dido and Aeneas, which was very well received upon the stage, but which however did not excite him to produce any thing of the same kind afterwards. His master-piece was a Latin inscription to the memory of a celebrated actor, Mr. William Smith, one of the greatest men of his profession, and of whom Mr. Booth alway spoke in raptures. It is a misfortune that we can give no particular account of the person this excellent inscription referred to, but it is probable he was of a good family, since he was a Barrister at Law of Gray's-Inn, before he quitted that profession for the stage.

The inscription is as follows,

Scenicus eximius Regnante Carolo secundo: Bettertono Coaetaneus & Amicus, Necnon propemodum Aequalis. Haud ignobili stirpe oriundus, Nec literarum rudis humaniorum, Rem fenicam Per multos feliciter annos administravit; Justoque moderamine & morum suavitate, Omnium intra Theatrum Observantiam, extra Theatrum Laudem, Ubique benevolentiam & amorem fibi conciliavit.

In English thus;

An excellent player In the reign of Charles the Second; The cotemporary, and friend of Betterton, and almost his equal. Descended of no ignoble family, Nor destitute of polite learning. The business of the stage He for many years happily managed, And by his just conduct, and sweetness of manners Obtained the respect of all within the theatre, The applause of those without, And the good will, and love of all mankind.

Such the life and character of Mr. Booth, who deservedly stood very high in the esteem of mankind, both on account of the pleasure which he gave them, and the native goodness of heart which he possessed. Whether considered as a private gentleman, a player, a scholar, or a poet, Mr. Booth makes a very great figure, and his extraordinary excellence in his own profession, while it renders his memory dear to all men of taste, will ever secure him applause amongst those happy few, who were born to instruct, to please, and reform their countrymen.

[Footnote A: N.B. As Mr. Theophilus Cibber is publishing (in a work entirely undertaken by himself) The Lives, and Characters of all our Eminent Actors, and Actresses, from Shakespear, to the present time; he leaves to the other gentlemen, concerned in this collection, the accounts of some players who could not be omitted herein, as Poets.]