The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland Volume IV Part 8

Sincerest critic of my prose, or rhyme.

Tell how thy pleasing Stowe employs thy time.

Say, Cobham, what amuses thy retreat?

Or stratagems of war, or schemes of state?

Dost thou recall to mind, with joy or grief, Great Marlbro's actions? that immortal chief, Whose highest trophy, rais'd in each campaign, More than suffic'd to signalize a reign.

Does thy remembrance rising, warm thy heart With glory past, where thou thyself had'st part; Or do'st thou grieve indignant, now to see The fruitless end of all thy victory!

To see th' audacious foe, so late subdu'd, Dispute those terms for which so long they su'd, As if Britannia now were sunk so low, To beg that peace she wanted to bestow.

Be far, that guilt! be never known that shame!

That England should retract her rightful claim!

Or ceasing to be dreaded and ador'd, Stain with her pen the l.u.s.tre of her sword.

Or dost thou give the winds, a-far to blow, Each vexing thought, and heart-devouring woe, And fix thy mind alone on rural scenes, To turn the levell'd lawns to liquid plains; To raise the creeping rills from humble beds, And force the latent springs to lift their heads; On watry columns capitals to rear, That mix their flowing curls with upper air?

Or dost thou, weary grown, late works neglect, No temples, statues, obelisks erect; But catch the morning breeze from fragrant meads.

Or shun the noon-tide ray in wholesome shades; Or lowly walk along the mazy wood, To meditate on all that's wise and good: For nature, bountiful, in thee has join'd, A person pleasing, with a worthy mind, Not giv'n the form alone, but means and art, To draw the eye, or to allure the heart.

Poor were the praise, in fortune to excel, Yet want the way to use that fortune well.

While thus adorn'd, while thus with virtue crown'd, At home in peace; abroad, in arms renown'd; Graceful in form, and winning in address, While well you think, what aptly you express; With health, with honour, with a fair estate, A table free, and elegantly neat.

What can be added more to mortal bliss?

What can he want that stands possest of this?

What can the fondest wis.h.i.+ng mother more, Of heav'n attentive, for her son implore?

And yet, a happiness remains unknown, Or to philosophy reveal'd alone; A precept which, unpractis'd, renders vain Thy flowing hopes, and pleasure turns to pain.

Shou'd hope and fear thy heart alternate tear, Or love, or hate, or rage, or anxious care, Whatever pa.s.sions may thy mind infest, (Where is that mind which pa.s.sions ne'er molest?) Amidst the pangs of such intestine strife, Still think the present day the last of life; Defer not 'till to-morrow to be wise, To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise; Or shou'd to-morrow chance to chear thy sight, With her enliv'ning, and unlook'd-for light.

How grateful will appear her dawning rays!

Its favours unexpected doubly please.

Who thus can think, and who such thoughts pursues, Content may keep his life, or calmly lose.

All proofs of this, thou may'st thyself receive, When leisure from affairs will give thee leave.

Come, see thy friend retir'd, without regret, Forgetting care, or striving to forget, In easy contemplation, soothing time With morals much, and now and then with rhyme; Not so robust in body as in mind, And always undejected, tho' declin'd; Not wond'ring at the world's new wicked ways, Compar'd with those of our fore-father's days: For virtue now is neither more or less, And vice is only vary'd in the dress: Believe it, men have ever been the same, And OVID'S GOLDEN AGE is but a dream.

We shall conclude the life of this eminent wit, with the testimony of Mr. Pope in his favour, from the close of his postscript to the translation of Homer: It is in every respect so honourable, that it would be injurious to Mr. Congreve to omit it.-His words are-'Instead of endeavouring to raise a vain monument to myself, let me leave behind me a memorial of my friends.h.i.+p with one of the most valuable men, as well as the finest writers of my age and country. One who has tried, and knows by his own experience, how hard an undertaking it is to do justice to Homer, and one who I'm sure sincerely rejoices with me at the period of my labours. To him therefore, having brought this long work to a conclusion, I desire to dedicate it, and have the honour and satisfaction of placing together in this manner, the names of Mr. Congreve and of

A. POPE.

[Footnote A: General Dictionary.]

[Footnote B: Wilson's Memoirs of Congreve.]

[Footnote C: Yet Maskwell purposely talks to himself, designing to be overheard by Lord Touchwood; undoubtedly an error in the conduit, and want of art in the author. This he seems here to forget, or would not remember it.]

Sir JOHN VANBRUGH,

This Gentleman was descended from an antient family in Ches.h.i.+re, which came originally from France; though by the name it would appear to be of Dutch extraction. He received a very liberal education, and became eminent for his poetry, and skill in architecture, to both which he discovered an early propension. It is somewhat remarkable in the History of Poetry, that when the spirit of Tragedy, in a great measure, declined, when Otway and Lee were dead, and Dryden was approaching to old age, that Comedy should then begin to flourish; at an aera, which one would not have expected to prove auspicious to the cause of mirth.

Much about the same time rose Mr. Congreve, and Sir John Vanbrugh; who, without any invidious reflection on the genius of others, gave a new life to the stage, and restored it to reputation, which before their appearance had been for some time sinking. Happy would it have been for the world, and some advantage to the memory of those comic writers, if they had discovered their wit, without any mixture of that licentiousness, which while it pleased, tended to corrupt the audience. The first step our author made into life, was in the character of an ensign in the army. He was possessed of a very ready wit, and an agreeable elocution. He happened somewhere in his winter quarters, to contract an acquaintance with Sir Thomas Skipwith, and received a particular obligation from him. He had very early discovered a taste for dramatic writing, to improve which he made some attempts in that way, and had the draft or out-lines of two plays lying by him, at the time his acquaintance commenced with Sir Thomas. This gentleman possessed a large share in a Theatrical Patent, though he very little concerned himself in the conduct of it; but that he might not appear altogether remiss, he thought to procure some advantage to the stage, by having our author's play, called the Relapse, to be acted upon it. In this he was not disappointed, for the Relapse succeeded beyond the warmest expectation, and raised Vanbrugh's name very high amongst the writers for the stage.

Tho' this play met with greater applause, than the author expected, yet it was not without its enemies. These were people of the graver sort, who blamed the looseness of the scenes, and the unguarded freedom of the dialect. These complaints induced Vanbrugh to make some observations upon them in his preface, which he thus begins, 'To go about to excuse half the defects this abortive brat is come into the world with, would be to provoke the town with a long useless preface, when 'tis, I doubt, sufficiently sour'd already, by a tedious play.

'I do therefore, with all the humility of a repenting sinner, confess it wants every thing-but length, and in that I hope the severest critics will be pleased to acknowledge, I have not been wanting. But my modesty will sure attone for every thing, when the world shall know it is so great, I am even to this day insensible of those two s.h.i.+ning graces, in the play (which some part of the town is pleased to compliment me with) blasphemy and bawdy. For my part I cannot find them out; if there were any obscene expressions upon the stage, here they are in print; for I have dealt fairly, I have not sunk a syllable, that could be ranged under that head, and yet I believe with a steady faith, there is not one woman of real reputation in town, but when she has read it impartially over in her closet, will find it so innocent, she'll think it no affront to her prayer book, to lay it upon the same shelf.'

Being encouraged by the success of the Relapse, he yielded to the sollicitation of lord Hallifax, who had read some of the loose sheets of his Provok'd Wife, to finish that piece; and after throwing them into a proper form, gave the play to the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Though Sir John had a greater inclination to serve the other company, yet the request of lord Hallifax, so eminent a patron of the poets, could not be resisted. Sir Thomas Skipwith was not offended at so reasonable a compliance, and the Provok'd Wife was acted 1698, with success. Some critics likewise objected against this, as a loose performance; and that it taught the married women how to revenge themselves on their husbands, who should offend them.

The play has indeed this moral, that such husbands as resemble Sir John Brute, may expect that neglected beauty, and abused virtue, may be provoked to yield to the motives of revenge, and that the forcible sollicitations of an agreeable person, who not only demonstrates a value, but a pa.s.sion for what the possessor slights, may be sufficiently prevalent with an injured wife to forfeit her honour.

Though this event may often fall out, that the brutality of a husband produces the infidelity of a wife, yet it need not be shewn upon the stage; women are not generally so tame in their natures, as to bear neglect with patience, and the natural resentments of the human heart will without any other monitor point out the method of revenge. Besides, every husband ought not to be deemed a brute, because a too delicate, or ceremonious wife, shall, in the abundance of her caprice, bestow upon him that appellation. Many women who have beheld this representation, may have been stimulated to imitate lady Brute in her method of revenge, without having suffered her provocation. This play verifies the observation of Mr. Pope,

That Van wants grace, who never wanted wit.

The next play which Sir John Vanbrugh introduced upon the stage was Aesop, a Comedy; in two Parts, acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane 1698. This was originally written in French, by Mr. Boursart, about six years before; but the scenes of Sir Polidorus Hogstye, the Players, the Senator, and the Beau, were added by our author. This performance contains a great deal of general satire, and useful morality; notwithstanding which, it met with but a cold reception from the audience, and its run terminated in about 8 or 9 days. This seemed the more surprising to men of taste, as the French comedy from which it was taken, was played to crowded audiences for a month together. Sir John has rather improved upon the original by adding new scenes, than suffered it to be diminished in a translation, but the French and the English. taste was in that particular very different. We cannot better account for the ill success of this excellent piece, than in the words of Mr. Cibber's Apology for his own Life, when speaking of this play, he has the following observation; 'The character that delivers precepts of wisdom, is, in some sort, severe upon the auditor, for shewing him one wiser than himself; but when folly is his object, he applauds himself for being wiser than the c.o.xcomb he laughs at, and who is not more pleased with an occasion to commend, than to accuse himself?'

Sir John Vanbrugh, it is said, had great facility in writing, and is not a little to be admired for the spirit, ease, and readiness, with which he produced his plays. Notwithstanding his extraordinary expedition, there is a clear and lively simplicity in his wit, that is equally distant from the pedantry of learning, and the lowness of scurrility. As the face of a fine lady, with her hair undressed, may appear in the morning in its brightest glow of beauty; such were the productions of Vanbrugh, adorned with only the negligent graces of nature.

Mr. Cibber observes, that there is something so catching to the ear, so easy to the memory in all he wrote, that it was observed by the actors of his time, that the stile of no author whatsoever gave the memory less trouble than that of Sir John Vanbrugh, which he himself has confirmed by a pleasing experience. His wit and humour was so little laboured, that his most entertaining scenes seemed to be no more than his common conversation committed to paper. As his conceptions were so full of life and humour, it is not much to be wondered at, if his muse should be sometimes too warm to wait the slow pace of judgment, or to endure the drudgery of forming a regular Fable to them.

That Sir John was capable of a great force of thinking, appears abundantly clear from that scene between Aesop and a country gentleman, who comes to complain of the bad conduct of those in power. The dialogue is at once sensible and animated. Aesop shews him what he reckoned the oppressions of the administration, flowed from the prejudices of ignorance, contemplated through the medium of popular discontent. In the interview between the Beau and the Philosopher, there is the following pretty fable. The Beau observes to Aesop, 'It is very well; it is very well, old spark; I say it is very well; because I han't a pair of plod shoes, and a dirty s.h.i.+rt, you think a woman won't venture upon me for husband.-Why now to shew you, old father, how little you philosophers know the ladies.-I'll tell you an adventure of a friend of mine.'

A Band, a Bob-wig and a Feather Attack'd a lady's heart together, The band in a most learned plea, Made up of deep philosophy, Told her, if she would please to wed A reverend beard, and take instead Of vigorous youth, Old solemn truth, With books, and morals into bed, How happy she would be.

The Bob, he talk'd of management, What wond'rous blessings Heav'n sent On care, and pains, and industry; And truly he must be so free, To own he thought your airy beaux, With powdered wigs, and dancing shoes, Were good for nothing (mend his soul) But prate and talk, and play the fool.

He said, 'twas wealth gave joy, and mirth, And that to be the dearest wife, Of one who laboured all his life, To make a mine of gold his own, And not spend sixpence when he'd done Was Heaven upon earth.

When these two blades had done, d'ye see.

The Feather (as it might be me) Steps out sir from behind the skreen.

With such an air and such a mien, Look you, old gentleman, in short, He quickly spoil'd the statesman's sport.

It prov'd such suns.h.i.+ne weather, That you must know at the first beck The lady leapt about his neck, And off they went together.

The reputation which Sir John gained by his comedies was rewarded with, greater advantages, than what arise from the usual profits of writing for the stage. He was appointed Clarencieux King at Arms, a place which he some time held, and at last disposed of. In August 1716 he was appointed surveyor of the works at Greenwich Hospital; he was likewise made comptroller-general of his Majesty's works, and surveyor of the gardens and waters, the profits of which places, collectively considered, must amount to a very considerable sum. In some part of our author's life (for we cannot justly ascertain the time) he gratified an inclination of visiting France. As curiosity no doubt induced him to pa.s.s over to that country, he lost no time in making such observations as could enable him to discern the spirit, and genius of that polite people. His taste for architecture excited him to take a survey of the fortifications in that kingdom; but the ardour of his curiosity drew him into a snare, out of which he found great difficulty to escape. When he was one day surveying some fortifications with the strictest attention, he was taken notice of by an Engineer, secured by authority, and then carried prisoner to the Bastile in Paris. The French were confirmed in suspicions of his design, by several plans being found in his possession at the time he was seized upon; but as the French, except in cases of Heresy, use their prisoners with gentleness and humanity, Sir John found his confinement so endurable, that he amus'd himself in drawing rude draughts of some comedies. This circ.u.mstance raising curiosity in Paris, several of the n.o.blesse visited him in the Bastile, when Sir John, who spoke their language with fluency and elegance, insinuated himself into their favour by the vivacity of his wit, and the peculiarity of his humour. He gained so much upon their affections, that they represented him to the French King in an innocent light, and by that means procured his liberty some days before the sollicitation came from: England.

Sir John Vanbrugh formed a project of building a stately theatre in the Hay-market, for which: he had interest enough, to raise a subscription of thirty persons of quality at 100 l. each, in consideration whereof, every subscriber for his own life, should be admitted to whatever entertainments should be publickly performed there, without farther payment for entrance.

On the first stone that was laid in this theatre, were inscribed the words LITTLE WHIG, as a compliment to a lady of extraordinary beauty, then the celebrated toast, and pride of that party. In the year 1706 when this house was finished, Mr. Betterton and his copartners put themselves under the direction of Sir John Vanbrugh and Mr. Congreve; imagining that the conduct of two such eminent authors would restore their ruined affairs; but they found their expectations were too sanguine, for though Sir John was an expeditious writer, yet Mr. Congreve was too judicious to let any thing come unfinished out of his hands; besides, every proper convenience of a good theatre had been sacrificed to shew the audience a vast triumphal piece of architecture, in which plays, by means of the s.p.a.ciousness of the dome, could not be successfully represented, because the actors could not be distinctly heard.

Not long before this time the Italian Opera began to steal into England, but in as rude a disguise, and as unlike itself as possible; notwithstanding which the new monster pleaded, though it had neither grace, melody, nor action to recommend it. To strike in therefore with the prevailing fas.h.i.+on, Vanbrugh and Congreve opened their New Theatre in the Hay-market, with a translated Opera, set to Italian music, called The Triumph of Love, but it met with a cold reception, being performed only three days, to thin houses.

Immediately upon the failure of the Opera, Vanbrugh produced his comedy called The Confederacy, greatly improved from the Bourgois a la mode of Dancour. The success of this play was not equal to its merit; for it is written in, an uncommon vein of humour, and abounds with the most lively strokes of raillery. The prospects of gain from this theatre were so very unpromising, that Congreve, in a few months, gave up his share and interest in the government wholly to Sir John Vanbrugh; who being now sole proprietor of the house, was under a necessity to exert himself in its support. As he had a happier talent for throwing the English spirit into his translations of French plays, than any former author who had borrowed from them, he, in the same season, gave the public three more of that kind, viz.

1. The Cuckold in Conceit, from the Cocu imaginaire of Moliere.

2. Squire Treelooby, from his Monsieur de Pourceaugnac.

3. The Mistake, from the Depit Amoureux of the same Author[A].

However well executed these pieces were, yet they came to the ear in the same undistinguished utterance, by which almost all their plays had equally suffered; for as few could plainly hear, it was not likely a great many would applaud.

In this situation it appears, that nothing but the union of the two companies could restore the stage to its former reputation.

Sir John Vanbrugh therefore, tired of theatrical management, thought of disposing of his whole farm to some industrious tenant, that might put it into better condition. It was to Mr. Owen Swiny, that in the exigence of his affairs, he made an offer of his actors under such agreements of salary as might be made with them; and of his house, cloaths, and scenes, with the Queen's license to employ them, upon payment of the casual rent of five pounds every acting day, and not to exceed 700 l. per annum. With this proposal Mr. Swiny complied, and governed that stage till another great theatrical revolution.

There are two plays of our author not yet mentioned, viz. The False Friend, a Comedy; acted in 1698, and A Journey to London, a Comedy; which he left unfinished. This last piece was finished by Mr. Cibber to a very great advantage, and now is one of the best comedies in our language. Mr. Cibber, in his prologue, takes particular notice of our author's virtuous intention in composing this piece, which, he says, was to make some amends for those loose scenes, which in the fire of his youth he had with more regard to applause, than virtue, exhibited to the public: but this design will be best understood by inserting the prologue.

PROLOGUE.

This play took birth from principles of truth, To make amends for errors past, of youth.

A bard that's now no more, in riper days, Conscious review'd the licence of his plays: And tho' applause his wanton muse had fir'd, Himself condemn'd what sensual minds admir'd.

At length he own'd that plays should let you see Not only what you are, but ought to be: Though vice was natural, 'twas never meant, The stage should shew it, but for punishment!