THECOMPLAINT58.

“After long toils and voyages in vain,This quiet port let my tost vessel gain;Of heav’nly rest this earnest to me lend,Let my life sleep, and learn to love her end.”

And what if they, who have not the means of enjoying this rest, submit to the drudgery of business? Is that a reason for me to continue in it, who have made my fortune, even to the extent of my wishes? I see you smile at this boast. But where would you have me stop in my desires; or what is it you would have me understand by the mysterious language ofmaking a fortune? Is it two hundred a year, or four, or a thousand? Say, where shall we fix, or what limits will you undertake to prescribe to the vague and shifting notion ofa competency? Or, shall we own the truth at once, that every thing is acompetencywhich a man is contented to live upon, and that therefore it varies only, as his desires are more or less contracted?

To talk at any other rate of aman’s fortune, is surely to expose one’s self to the ridicule, which the philosopher, you know, threw on the restless humour of king Pyrrhus. ’Tis whim, chimera, madness, or what you will, except sober reason and common sense. Yet still the world cries, “What, sit down with a pittance, when the ways of honour and fortune are open to you? take up with what may barely satisfy, when you have so fair a chance for affluence, and even superfluity?”

Alas! and will thataffluence, then, more than satisfy? or can it be worth the while to labour, for asuperfluity?

’Tis true the violence of the times, in which it was my fortune to bear a part, had left me bare and unprovided even of those moderate accommodations, which my education and breeding might demand, and which a parent’s piety had indeed bequeathed to me. It was but fitting then I should strive to repair thisloss; and the rather, as my honest services gave me leave to hope for a speedy reparation. And thus far I was contented to try my fortune in the court, though at the expence of much uneasy attendance and solicitation. But, seeing that this assiduity was without effect, and that the bounty of two excellent persons42hath now set me above the necessity of continuing it, what madness were it to embark again

“Fluctibus in mediis et tempestatibus urbis!”

So that if you will needs be urging me with the ceaseless exhortation of

“I, bone, quo virtus tua te vocat: I pede fausto,Grandia laturus meritorum præmia:—”

I must take leave to remind you of the sage reply that was made to it. It was, you know, by an old soldier, who found himself exactly in my situation. The purse, which he had lost by one accident, he had recovered by another. The conclusion was, that he had no mind, in this different state of affairs, to turnadventurer again, and expose himself to the same perilous encounters:

“Post hæc ille catus, quantumvisRUSTICUS, ibit,Ibit eo, quo visQUI ZONAM PERDIDIT, inquit.”

In one word, my friend, I am happy here, as you see me, in my little farm, which yet is large enough to answer all my real necessities; and I am not in the humour of him in the fable43, to fill my head with visions, and spend a wretched life in quest of theflying island.

And now, added he, you have before you in one view the principal reasons that have determined me to this retreat. I might have enlarged on each more copiously; but I know to whom I speak: and perhaps to such a one I might even have spared a good deal of what I have now been offering, from the several considerations of myTEMPER,TALENTS, andSITUATION.

Here he stopped. And now, my lord, it came to my turn to take the lead in this controversy.There was indeed an ample field before me. And, if the other side of the question afforded most matter for wit and declamation, mine had all the advantages of good sense and sound reason. The superiority was so apparent, and my victory over him, in point of argument, so sure, that I thought it needless and ungenerous to press him on every article of his defence, in which he had laid himself open to me.

Your lordship hath, no doubt, observed, with wonder and with pity, the strange spirit that runs through every part of it: the confined way of thinking, which hath crept upon him; the cynical severity, he indulges against courts; the importance he would sometimes assume to his own character; the peevish turn of mind, that leads him to take offence at the lighter follies and almost excusable vices of the great; in short, the resentment, the pique, the chagrin, which one overlooks in the hopeless suitor, or hungry poet, but which are very unaccountable in one of Mr.Cowley’scondition and situation.

Here then, my lord, was a fair occasion for a willing adversary. But I spared the infirmities of my friend. I judged it best, too, tokeep him in temper, and avoid that heat of altercation, which must have arisen from touching these indiscretions, as they deserved. Your lordship sees the reason I had for confining my reply to such parts of his apology, as bore the fairest shew of argument, and might be encountered without offence.

When he had ended, therefore, with so formal a recapitulation of his discourse, I thought it not amiss to follow him in his own train; and, dissembling the just exceptions I had to his vindication in other respects, “You have proceeded, said I, in a very distinct method, and have said as much, I believe, on the subject, as so bad a cause would admit. But if this indeed be all you have to allege, for so uncommon a fancy, you must not think it strange, if I pronounce it, without scruple, very insufficient for your purpose.

For, to give your several pleas a distinct examination, what is thatTEMPER, let me ask, on which you insist so much, but a wayward humour, which your true judgement should correct and controul by the higher and more important regards ofduty? Every man is born with some prevailing propensity or other, which, if left to itself, and indulged beyondcertain bounds, would grow to be very injurious to himself and society. There is something, no doubt, amusing in the notion ofretirement. The very word implies ease and quiet, and self-enjoyment. And who doubts, that in the throng and bustle of life, most men are fond to image to themselves, and even to wish for a scene of more composure and tranquillity? It is just as natural as that the labourer should long for his repose at night; or that the soldier, amidst the dust and heat of a summer’s march, should wish for the conveniencies of shade and shelter. But what wild work would it make if these so natural desires should be immediately gratified? if the labourer should quit his plow, and the soldier his arms, to throw themselves into the first shade or thicket that offered refreshment? All you have therefore said on this article can really stand for nothing in the eye of sober reason, whatever figure it may make in the dress of your eloquence44. The inconveniencies of every station are to be endured from the obligations ofduty, and on account of the services one is bound to render to himself and his country.

True, replied he, if it appeared to be one’s duty, or even interest, to continue in that station. But what principle of conscience binds me to a slavish dependence at court? or what interest, public or private, can be an equivalent for wearing these chains, when I have it in my power to throw them off, and redeem myself into a state of liberty?

WhatInterest, do you ask? returned I. Why that great and extensive one, whichsocietyhath in an honest and capable man’s continuing to bear a part in public affairs. For as to inducements of another kind, I may find occasion hereafter to press them upon you more seasonably. Consider well with yourself, what would the consequence be, if all men of honour and ability were to act upon your principles? What a world would this be, if knaves and fools only had the management in their hands, and all the virtuous and wise, as it were by common consent, were to withdraw from it? Nay, the issue would even be fatal to themselves;and they would presently find it impossible to taste repose, even in their own sanctuary of retirement.

Small need, replied he, to terrify one’s self with such apprehensions. The virtuous, at least they who pass for such, will generally have ambition enough to keep them in the road of public employments. So long as there are such things as riches and honours, courts will never be unfurnished of suitors, even from among the tribes of lettered and virtuous men. The desperately bad, at least, will never have the field left entirely to themselves. And, after all, the interest of men in office is, in the main, so providentially connected with some regard to the rules of honour and conscience, that there is seldom any danger that matters should come to extremities under theworstadministration. And I doubt this is all we are to expect, or at least to reckon upon with assurance, under the verybest.

But my answer is more direct. It is not for your little friend to think of getting a seat in the cabinet-council, or of conducting the great affairs of the state. He knows himself to be as unfit for those high trusts, as he is incapable of aspiring to them. Besides, he does not allowhimself to doubt of their being discharged with perfect ability, by the great persons who now fill them.He, at least, who occupies the foremost place of authority, is, by the allowance of all, to be paralleled with any that the wisest prince hath ever advanced to that station45. And when so consummate a pilot sits at the helm, it seems a matter of little momentby what hands the vessel of the commonwealth is navigated.

I could not agree with him in this concluding remark, and much less in the high-flown encomium which introduced it46. But, waving these lesser matters, I contented myself with observing, “That let him put what gloss he would on this humour of declining civil business, it must needs be considered by all unbiassed persons, as highly prejudicial to public order and government; that, if good men would not be employed, the bad must; and that, to say the least, the cause of learning and virtue must suffer exceedingly in the eyes of men, when they see those very qualities, which alone can render us useful to the world, dispose us to fly from it.”

For as to theplea, continued I, of employing them to better purpose in the way ofprivate and solitaryCONTEMPLATION, I can hold it for little better than enthusiasm. Severalpersons, I know, would give it a worse name, and say, asTacitussomewhere does, that it serves only for a specious cover to that love of ease and self-indulgence, which he will have to be at the bottom of such pretences47. But even with the best construction the matter was capable of, he could never, I insisted, justify that plea to the understandings of prudent and knowing men. We allow the obscure pedant to talk high of the dignity of his office, and magnify, as much as he pleases, the importance of his speculations. Such an indulgence serves to keep him in humour with himself, and may be a means to convert a low and plodding genius to the only use of which it is capable. But for a man of experience in affairs, and who is qualified to shine in them, to hold this language, is very extraordinary.

I saw with what impatience he heard me, and therefore took care to add, “’Tis true, the studies to which you would devote yourself, are the noblest in the world of science. ForDivinity, the very name speaks its elogium.And the countenance which his majesty is pleased, in his true wisdom, to give tonatural science, must be thought to ennoble that branch of learning beyond all others, that are merely of human consideration. Yet still, my friend, what need of taking these studies out of the hands of those, to whom they are properly intrusted? Religion is very safe in the bosom of the national church. And questions of natural science will doubtless be effectually cleared and ventilated in theNew Society48, and in the schools of ourUniversities. It could never be his majesty’s intention to thin his court, for the sake of furnishing students in natural philosophy.”

And can you then, interposed he, in your concern for what you very improperly call my interests, allow yourself to speak so coolly of the great interests of natural and divine truth? Is religion a trade to be confined to the craftsmen? Or, are fellows of colleges and of the Royal Society, if such we are to have, the only persons concerned to adore God in the wonders of his creation? Pardon me, my friend: I know you mean nothing less; but the strangeindifference of your phrase provokes me to this expostulation.

You warm yourself, resumed I, too hastily. My design was only to suggest, that as there are certain orders of men appointed for the sole purpose of studying divinity, and advancing philosophy, I did not see that a man of business was obliged to desert his proper station for the sake of either.

I suspect, said he, there may be some equivocation wrapped up in that wordobliged. All I know is, that I shall spend my time more innocently, at least; and, I presume to think, more usefully in those studies, than in that slipperystation, if it may deserve to be called one, of court-favour and dependence. And if I extended the observation to many others, that are fond to take up their residence in these quarters, I cannot believe I should do them any injustice.

I cannot tell, returned I, against whom this censure is pointed. But I know there are many of the gravest characters, and even lights and fathers of the church, who do not consider it as inconsistent, either with their duty, orthe usefulness of their profession, to continue in that station.

O! mistake me not, replied he: I intended no reflection on any of the clergy, and much less on the great prelates of the church, for their attendance in the courts of princes. Theirs is properly an exempt case. They are the authorized guides and patterns of life. Their great abilities indeed qualify them, above all others, for serving the cause of science and religion, by their private studies and meditations. But they very properly consider too, that part of their duty is to enlighten the ignorant of all ranks, by their wise and pious discourse, and to awe and reclaim the wandering of all denominations, by their example. Hence it is, that I cannot enough admire the zeal of so many pastors of the church; who, though the slavish manners and libertinism of a court must be more than ordinarily offensive to men of their characters, continue to discharge their office so painfully, and yet so punctually, in that situation.

Here, my lord, observing my friend for once to deliver himself reasonably, I was encouraged to add, that since he was so just to maintain the commerce of good and wise churchmen inthe great world to be, as it truly was, a matter of duty, he should also have the candour to own, that his withdrawing from it was, at least, a work ofSupererogation.

It might be so, he said; but, though our church gave no encouragement to think we merit by such works, he did not know that it condemned and utterly forbad them.

O! but, returned I, if that be all, and you acknowledge at last that yourretiringis no matter of duty, it will be easy to advance another step, and demonstrate to you, that such a project is, in your case, altogether unreasonable49.

For, notwithstanding all you have said, in the spirit and language of stoicism, of the comfortsof your presentSITUATION, will you seriously undertake to persuade me that they are in any degree comparable to what you might propose to yourself, by returning to a life of business? Is the littleness, the obscurity, and pardon me if I even say, the meanness of this retreat, to be put in competition with the liberal and even splendid provision, which your friends at court will easily be able to make for you? Is it nothing, my friend, (for let us talk common sense, and not bewilder ourselves with the visions of philosophy) is it nothing to live in a well-furnished house, to keep a good table, to command an equipage, to have many friends and dependants, to be courted by inferiors, to be well received by the great, and to be somebody even in thepresence?

And what if, in order to compass such things, some little devoirs and assiduities are expected? Is it not the general practice? And what every body submits to, can it be ignominious? Is this any thing more than conforming one’s self to the necessary subordination of society? Or, what if some time passes in these services, which a present humour suggests might be more agreeably spent in other amusements? The recompence cannot be far off; and, in the mean time, the lustre and very agitation of alife of business, hath somewhat in it sprightly and amusing. Besides, yours is not the case of one that is entering, for the first time, on a course of expectation. Your business is half done. The prince is favourable; and there are of his ministers that respect and honour you. Your services are well known; your reputation is fair; your connexions great; and the season inviting. What, with all these advantages, forego the court in a moping mood, or, as angry men use, run to moralize in a cloister!

I was proceeding in the warmth of this remonstrance, when, with a reproachful smile, he turned upon me, and, in a kind of rapture, repeated the following lines ofSpenser:

“Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried,What hell it is in suing long to bide:To lose good days, that might be better spent;To waste long nights in pensive discontent:To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow;To have thy prince’s grace, yet want his peeres50;To have thy askings, yet wait many yeers51;To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares;To eat thy heart through comfortless despaires;To faun, to crouche, to wait, to ride, to ronne;To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.”

This, said he, is my answer once for all to your long string of interrogatories. I learnt it of one that had much experience in courts: and I thought it worth imprinting on my memory, to have it in readiness on such an occasion. Or, if you would rather have my answer in my own words, the Muse shall give it you in a little poem, she dictated very lately52. It may shewyou perhaps, that, though my nature be somewhat melancholy, I am notmoping; and that I can moralize, and evencomplain, as I have reason to do, without beingangry.

The look and tone of voice, with which he said this, a little disconcerted me. But I recovered myself, and was going on to object to his unreasonable warmth, and the fascination of this wicked poetry, when he stopped me with saying, “Come, no more of these remonstrances and upbraidings. I have heard enough of your pleadings in a cause, which no eloquence can carry against my firm and fixed resolutions. I have seen, besides, the force you have done to yourself in this mock combat. Your extreme friendliness hath even tempted you to act a part which your true sense, and the very decorum of your profession, I have observed through all your disguises, has rendered painful to you. I will tell you my whole mind in one word. No inducements of what the world callsINTEREST, no views ofHONOUR, no, nor what the poet aptly calls,SANCTISSIMA DIVITIARUM MAJESTAS53, shall make me recede from thepurpose I am bent upon, of consecrating the remainder of a comfortless distracted life, to the sweets of this obscure retirement. Believe me, I have weighed it well, with all its inconveniencies. And I find them such as are nothing to the agonies have long felt in that troubled scene, to which you would recal me. If it hath any ingredients, which I cannot so well relish, they are such as my friends, and, above all, such as you, my best friend, may reconcile to me. Let me but have the pleasure to see the few, I love and esteem, in these shades, and I shall not regret their solitude.

And as for my much honoured friend, whose munificence hath placed me in them, I shall hope to satisfy him in the most effectual manner. Nothing, you will believe, could give me a pain equal to that of being suspected of ingratitude towards my best benefactor. It was indeed with the utmost difficulty, that I constrained myself at last to think of leaving his service. The truth is, he expostulated with me upon it pretty roundly; and though my resolution was taken, I left him with the concern of not being able to give him entire satisfaction. These repeated instances by you are a fresh proof of his goodness, and do me an honour I had little reason to expect from him. Buthis lordship’s notions of life and mine are very different, as is fitting in persons, whom fortune hath placed in two such different situations. It becomes me to bear the most grateful remembrance of his kind intentions; and, for the rest, I can assure myself, that his equity and nobleness of mind, will permit an old servant to pursue, at length, his own inclinations.

However, to repay his goodness as I can, and to testify all imaginable respect to his judgment, I have purposed to write my ownAPOLOGYto his lordship; and to represent to him, in a better manner, than I have done in this sudden and unpremeditated conversation, the reasons that have determined me to this resolution. I have even made some progress in the design, and have digested into severalessaysthe substance of such reflections as, at different times, have had most weight with me54.

Hearing him speak in so determined a manner, I was discouraged from pressing him further with such other considerations, as I had, prepared on this argument. Only I could not help enforcing, in the warmest manner, and in terms your lordship would not allow me to use in this recital, what he himself had owned of your unexampled goodness to him; and the obligation which, I insisted, that must needs create in a generous mind, of paying an unreserved obedience to your lordship’s pleasure. He gave me the hearing very patiently; but contented himself with repeating his design of justifying himself to your lordship in the apology he had before promised.

And now, resumed he with an air of alacrity, since you know my whole mind, and that no remonstrances can move me, confess the whole truth; acknowledge at last that youhave dissembled with me all this while, and that, in reality, you approve my resolution. I know you do, my friend, though you struggle hard to conceal it. It cannot be otherwise. Nature, which linked our hearts together, had formed us in one mould. We have the same sense of things; the same love of letters and of virtue. And though I would not solicit one of your years and your profession to follow me into the shade, yet I know you so well55, that you will preserve in the world that equal frame of mind, that indifference to all earthly things, which I pretend to have carried with me into this solitude.

Go on, my friend, in this track; and be an example to the churchmen of our days, that the highest honours of the gown, which I easily foresee are destined to your abilities, are not incompatible with the strictest purity of life, and the most heroic sentiments of integrity and honour. Go, and adorn the dignities which are reserved for you; and remember only in the heights of prosperity to be what you are, to serve the world with vigour, yet so as to indulge with me

“the generous scornOf things, for which we were not born56.”

I began to be a little uneasy at his long sermon, when he broke it off with this couplet. The day by this time was pretty far advanced; and rising from his seat, he proposed to me to walk into his hermitage (so he called his house); where, he said, I should see how a philosopher lived as well as talked. I staid to dine, and spent a good part of the afternoon with him. We discoursed of various matters; but not a word more of what had occasioned this visit. Only he shewed me thecomplaining poemhe had mentioned, and of which, for the pleasure so fine a composition will give you, I here send your lordship a copy. His spirits, he said, were enlivened by the face of an old friend; and indeed I never knew his conversation more easy and chearful57; which yet I could not perfectly enjoy for the regret the ill success of my negociation had given me.

I returned to town in the evening, ruminating on what had passed, and resolving to send your lordship an exact account of our conversation. I particularly made a point of suppressing nothing which Mr.Cowleyhad to say for himself in this debate, however it may sometimes seem to make against me. The whole hath grown under my pen into a greater length than I expected. But your Lordship wished to know the bottom of our friend’s mind; and I thought you would see it more distinctly and clearly in this way, than in any other. I am, my lord, with the most profound respect,

Your Lordship’s most obedientand faithful servant,T. Sprat.

In a deep vision’s intellectual sceneBeneath a bower for sorrow made,Th’ uncomfortable shadeOf the black yew’s unlucky green,Mixt with the mourning willow’s careful gray,Where reverendCamcuts out his famous way,The melancholyCowleylay:And lo! a Muse appear’d to’s closed sight,(The Muses oft in lands of visions play)Bodied, array’d, and seen by an internal light:A golden harp with silver strings she bore,A wonderous hieroglyphic robe she wore,In which all colours, and all figures were,That nature, or that fancy can create,That art can never imitate;And with loose pride it wanton’d in the air.In such a dress, in such a well-cloath’d dream,She us’d of old, near fairIsmenus’stream,PindarherThebanfavourite to meet;A crown was on her head, and wings were on her feet.II.She touch’d him with her harp, and rais’d him from the ground;The shaken strings melodiously resound.Art thou return’d at last, said she,To this forsaken place and me?Thou prodigal, who didst so loosely wasteOf all thy youthful years, the good estate?Art thou return’d here to repent too late;And gather husks of learning up at last,Now the rich harvest-time of life is past,AndWintermarches on so fast?But when I meant t’adopt thee for my son,And did as learn’d a portion thee assign,As ever any of the mighty NineHad to her dearest children done;When I resolv’d t’exalt thy anointed name,Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame59;Thou changeling, thou, bewitch’d with noise and show,Would’st into courts and cities from me go;Would’st see the world abroad, and have a shareIn all the follies, and the tumults there.Thou would’st, forsooth, be something in a state,And business thou would’st find, and would’st create:Business! the frivolous pretenceOf humane lusts to shake off innocence:Business! the grave impertinence:Business! the thing which I of all things hate:Business! the contradiction of thy fate.III.Go, renegado, cast up thy account,And see to what amountThy foolish gains by quitting me:The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty,The fruits of thy unlearn’d apostasy.Thou thought’st, if once the public storm were past,All thy remaining life should sun-shine be;Behold, the public storm is spent at last,The sovereign is tost at sea no more,And thou, with all the noble company,Art got at last to shore.But whilst thy fellow voyagers, I see,All march’d up to possess the promis’d land,Thou still alone (alas!) dost gaping standUpon the naked beach, upon the barren sand.IV.As a fair morning of the blessed spring,After a tedious stormy night;Such was the glorious entry of our king:Enriching moisture dropp’d on every thing;Plenty he sow’d below, and cast about him light.But then (alas!) to thee alone,One of oldGideon’smiracles was shown;For every tree, and every herb around,With pearly dew was crown’d,And upon all the quicken’d groundThe fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lye,And nothing but the Muse’s fleece was dry.It did all other threats surpassWhen God to his own people said,(The men, whom thro’ long wanderings he had led)That he would give them ev’n a heaven of brass;They look’d up to that heaven in vain,That bounteous heaven, which God did not restrain,Upon the most unjust to shine and rain.V.TheRachael, for which twice seven years and moreThou didst with faith and labour serve,And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve,Though she contracted was to thee,Giv’n to another who had storeOf fairer, and of richer wives before,And not aLeahleft, thy recompence to be.Go on, twice seven years more thy fortune try,Twice seven years more, God in his bounty mayGive thee, to fling awayInto the court’s deceitful lottery.But think how likely ’tis that thou,With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough,Should’st in a hard and barren season thrive,Should even able be to live;Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall,In the miraculous year, whenMANNArain’d on all.VI.Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile,That seem’d at once to pity and revile,And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head,The melancholyCowleysaid:Ah, wanton foe, dost thou upbraidThe ills which thou thyself hast made?When, in the cradle, innocent I lay,Thou, wicked spirit, stolest me away,And my abused soul didst bearInto thy new-found words I know not where,Thy goldenIndiesin the air;And ever since I strive in vainMy ravish’d freedom to regain:Still I rebel, still thou dost reign,Lo, still in verse against thee I complain.There is a sort of stubborn weeds,Which if the earth but once, it ever breeds;No wholesome herb can near them thrive,No useful plant can keep alive;The foolish sports I did on thee bestow,Make all my art and labour fruitless now;Where once such Fairies dance no grass doth ever grow.VII.When my new mind had no infusion known,Thou gav’st so deep a tincture of thine own,That ever since I vainly tryTo wash away the inherent dye:Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite,But never will reduce the native white;To all the ports of honour and of gain,I often steer my course in vain,Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again.Thou slack’nest all my nerves of industry,By making them so oft to beThe tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsie.Whoever this world’s happiness would see,Must as entirely cast off thee,As they who only heaven desire,Do from the world retire.This was my error, this my gross mistake,Myself a demy-votary to make.Thus withSapphira, and her husband’s fate,(A fault which I like them am taught too late)For all that I gave up, I nothing gain,And perish for the part which I retain.VIII.Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse,The court, and better king, t’ accuse;The heaven under which I live is fair;The fertile soil will a full harvest bear;Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thouMak’st me sit still and sing, when I should plough;When I but think, how many a tedious yearOur patient sov’reign did attendHis long misfortunes fatal end;How chearfully, and how exempt from fear,On the Great Sovereign’s will he did depend,I ought to be accurst, if I refuseTo wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse!Kings have long hands (they say) and though I beSo distant, they may reach at length to me.However, of all princes, thouShould’st not reproach rewards for being small or slow;Thou, who rewardest but with popular breath,And that too after death.

She touch’d him with her harp, and rais’d him from the ground;The shaken strings melodiously resound.Art thou return’d at last, said she,To this forsaken place and me?Thou prodigal, who didst so loosely wasteOf all thy youthful years, the good estate?Art thou return’d here to repent too late;And gather husks of learning up at last,Now the rich harvest-time of life is past,AndWintermarches on so fast?But when I meant t’adopt thee for my son,And did as learn’d a portion thee assign,As ever any of the mighty NineHad to her dearest children done;When I resolv’d t’exalt thy anointed name,Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame59;Thou changeling, thou, bewitch’d with noise and show,Would’st into courts and cities from me go;Would’st see the world abroad, and have a shareIn all the follies, and the tumults there.Thou would’st, forsooth, be something in a state,And business thou would’st find, and would’st create:Business! the frivolous pretenceOf humane lusts to shake off innocence:Business! the grave impertinence:Business! the thing which I of all things hate:Business! the contradiction of thy fate.

Go, renegado, cast up thy account,And see to what amountThy foolish gains by quitting me:The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty,The fruits of thy unlearn’d apostasy.Thou thought’st, if once the public storm were past,All thy remaining life should sun-shine be;Behold, the public storm is spent at last,The sovereign is tost at sea no more,And thou, with all the noble company,Art got at last to shore.But whilst thy fellow voyagers, I see,All march’d up to possess the promis’d land,Thou still alone (alas!) dost gaping standUpon the naked beach, upon the barren sand.

As a fair morning of the blessed spring,After a tedious stormy night;Such was the glorious entry of our king:Enriching moisture dropp’d on every thing;Plenty he sow’d below, and cast about him light.But then (alas!) to thee alone,One of oldGideon’smiracles was shown;For every tree, and every herb around,With pearly dew was crown’d,And upon all the quicken’d groundThe fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lye,And nothing but the Muse’s fleece was dry.It did all other threats surpassWhen God to his own people said,(The men, whom thro’ long wanderings he had led)That he would give them ev’n a heaven of brass;They look’d up to that heaven in vain,That bounteous heaven, which God did not restrain,Upon the most unjust to shine and rain.

TheRachael, for which twice seven years and moreThou didst with faith and labour serve,And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve,Though she contracted was to thee,Giv’n to another who had storeOf fairer, and of richer wives before,And not aLeahleft, thy recompence to be.Go on, twice seven years more thy fortune try,Twice seven years more, God in his bounty mayGive thee, to fling awayInto the court’s deceitful lottery.But think how likely ’tis that thou,With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough,Should’st in a hard and barren season thrive,Should even able be to live;Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall,In the miraculous year, whenMANNArain’d on all.

Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile,That seem’d at once to pity and revile,And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head,The melancholyCowleysaid:Ah, wanton foe, dost thou upbraidThe ills which thou thyself hast made?When, in the cradle, innocent I lay,Thou, wicked spirit, stolest me away,And my abused soul didst bearInto thy new-found words I know not where,Thy goldenIndiesin the air;And ever since I strive in vainMy ravish’d freedom to regain:Still I rebel, still thou dost reign,Lo, still in verse against thee I complain.There is a sort of stubborn weeds,Which if the earth but once, it ever breeds;No wholesome herb can near them thrive,No useful plant can keep alive;The foolish sports I did on thee bestow,Make all my art and labour fruitless now;Where once such Fairies dance no grass doth ever grow.

When my new mind had no infusion known,Thou gav’st so deep a tincture of thine own,That ever since I vainly tryTo wash away the inherent dye:Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite,But never will reduce the native white;To all the ports of honour and of gain,I often steer my course in vain,Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again.Thou slack’nest all my nerves of industry,By making them so oft to beThe tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsie.Whoever this world’s happiness would see,Must as entirely cast off thee,As they who only heaven desire,Do from the world retire.This was my error, this my gross mistake,Myself a demy-votary to make.Thus withSapphira, and her husband’s fate,(A fault which I like them am taught too late)For all that I gave up, I nothing gain,And perish for the part which I retain.

Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse,The court, and better king, t’ accuse;The heaven under which I live is fair;The fertile soil will a full harvest bear;Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thouMak’st me sit still and sing, when I should plough;When I but think, how many a tedious yearOur patient sov’reign did attendHis long misfortunes fatal end;How chearfully, and how exempt from fear,On the Great Sovereign’s will he did depend,I ought to be accurst, if I refuseTo wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse!Kings have long hands (they say) and though I beSo distant, they may reach at length to me.However, of all princes, thouShould’st not reproach rewards for being small or slow;Thou, who rewardest but with popular breath,And that too after death.

Ithappened, in the summer of the year 1716, that Dr.Arbuthnotand Mr.Addisonhad occasion to take a journey together intoWarwickshire. Mr.Digby, who had received intelligence of their motions, and was then atColeshill, contrived to give them the meeting atWarwick; where they intended to pass a day or two, in visiting the curiosities of that fine town, and the more remarkable of these remains of antiquity that are to be seen in its neighbourhood. These were matter of high entertainment to all of them; to Dr.Arbuthnot, for the pleasure of recollecting the ancient times; to Mr.Addison, on account ofsome political reflexions, he was fond of indulging on such occasions; and to Mr.Digby, from an ingenuous curiosity, and the love of seeing and observing whatever was most remarkable, whether in the past ages, or the present.

Amongst other things that amused them, they were much taken with the great church atWarwick. They entertained themselves with the several histories, which it’s many old monuments recalled to their memory60. The famous inscription of SirFulk Greviloccasioned some reflexions; especially to Mr.Digby, who had used to be much affected with the fame and fortunes of the accomplished SirPhilip Sidney. The glory of the house ofWarwickwas, also, an ample field of meditation. But what chanced to take their attention most, was the monument of the great earl ofLeicester. It recorded his titles at full length, and was, besides, richly decorated with sculpture, displaying the various ensigns and trophies of his greatness. The pride of this minister had never appeared to them so conspicuous, as in the legends and ornaments ofhis tomb-stone; which had not only outlived his family, but seemed to assure itself of immortality, by taking refuge, as it were, at the foot of the altar.

These funeral honours engaged them in some common reflexions on the folly of such expedients to perpetuate human grandeur; but at the same time, as is the usual effect of these things, struck their imaginations very strongly. They readily apprehended what must have been the state of this mighty favourite in his lifetime, from what they saw of it in this proud memorial, which continued in a manner to insult posterity so many years after his death. But understanding that the fragments at least of his supreme glory, when it was flourishing at its height, were still to be seen atKenelworth, which they knew could be at no great distance, they resolved to visit them the next day, and indulge to the utmost the several reflexions which such scenes are apt to inspire. On enquiry, they found it was not more than five or six miles to the castle; so that, by starting early in the morning, they might easily return to dinner atWarwick. They kept to their appointment so well, that they got toKenelworthin good time, and had even twoor three hours on their hands to spend, in taking an exact view of the place.

It was luckily one of those fine days, which our travellers would most have wished for, and which indeed are most agreeable in this season. It was clear enough to afford a distinct prospect of the country, and to set the objects, they wanted to take a view of, in a good light; and yet was so conveniently clouded as to check the heat of the sun, and make the exercise of walking, of which they were likely to have a good deal, perfectly easy to them.

When they alighted from the coach, the first object that presented itself was the principalGate-wayof the Castle. It had been converted into a farm-house, and was indeed the only part of these vast ruins that was inhabited. On their entrance into theinner-court, they were struck with the sight of many mouldering towers, which preserved a sort of magnificence even in their ruins. They amused themselves with observing the vast compass of the whole, with marking the uses, and tracing the dimensions, of the several parts. All which it was easy for them to do, by the very distinct traces that remained of them, and especially by meansofDugdale’splans and descriptions, which they had taken care to consult.

After rambling about for some time, they clambered up a heap of ruins, which lay on the west side the court: and thence came to a broken tower, which, when they had mounted some steps, led them out into a path-way on the tops of the walls. From this eminence they had a very distinct view of the several parts they had before contemplated; of thegardenson the north-side; of thewinding meadowthat encompassed the walls of the castle, on the west and south; and had, besides, the command of the country round about them for many miles. The prospect of so many antique towers falling into rubbish, contrasted to the various beauties of the landscape, struck them with admiration, and kept them silent for some time.

At length recovering himself, I perceive, said Dr.Arbuthnot, we are all of us not a little affected with the sight of these ruins. They even create a melancholy in me; and yet a melancholy of so delightful a kind, that I would not exchange it, methinks, for any brisker sensation. The experience of this effect hath often led me to enquire, how it is that the mind,even while it laments, finds so great a pleasure in visiting these scenes of desolation. Is it, continued he, from the pure love of antiquity, and the amusing train of reflexions into which such remains of ancient magnificence naturally lead us?

I know not, returned Mr.Addison, what pain it may give you to contemplate these triumphs of time and fortune. For my part, I am not sensible of the mixt sensation you speak of. I feel a pleasure indeed; but it is sincere, and, as I conceive, may be easily accounted for. ’Tis nothing more, I believe, than a fiction of the imagination, which makes me think I am taking a revenge on the once prosperous and overshadowing height,PRÆUMBRANS FASTIGIUM, as somebody expresses it, of inordinate Greatness. It is certain, continued he, this theatre of a great statesman’s pride, the delight of many of our princes, and which boasts of having given entertainment to one of them in a manner so splendid, as to claim a remembrance, even in the annals of our country, would now, in its present state, administer ample matter for much insulting reflexion.

“Where, one might ask, are the tilts and tournaments, the princely shows and sports,which were once so proudly celebrated within these walls? Where are the pageants, the studied devices and emblems of curious invention, that set the court at a gaze, and even transported the high soul of ourElizabeth? Where now, pursued he, (pointing to that which was formerly a canal, but at present is only a meadow with a small rivulet running through it) where is the floating island, the blaze of torches that eclipsed the day, the lady of the lake, the silken nymphs her attendants, with all the other fantastic exhibitions surpassing even the whimsies of the wildest romance? What now is become of the revelry of feasting? of the minstrelsy, that took the ear so delightfully as it babbled along the valley, or floated on the surface of this lake? See there the smokeless kitchens, stretching to a length that might give room for the sacrifice of a hecatomb; the vaulted hall, which mirth and jollity have set so often in an uproar; the rooms of state, and the presence-chamber: what are they now but void and tenantless ruins, clasped with ivy, open to wind and weather, and representing to the eye nothing but the ribs and carcase, as it were, of their former state? And see, said he, that proud gate-way, once the mansion ofa surly porter61, who, partaking of the pride of his lord, made the crowds wait, and refused admittance, perhaps, to nobles whom fear or interest drew to these walls, to pay their homage to their master: see it now the residence of a poor tenant, who turns the key but to let himself out to his daily labour, to admit him to a short meal, and secure his nightly slumbers. Yet, in this humble state, it hath had the fortune to outlive the glory of the rest, andhath even drawn to itself the whole of that little note and credit which time hath continued to this once pompous building. For, while the castle itself is crumbled into shapeless ruins, and is prophaned, as we there see, by the vilest uses, this outwork of greatness is left entire, sheltered and closed in from bird and beast, and even affords some decent room in which thehuman face divineis not ashamed to shew itself.”

While Mr.Addisonwent on in this vein, his two friends stood looking on each other; as not conceiving what might be the cause of his expressing himself with a vehemence, so uncommon, and not suited to his natural temper. When the fit was over, I confess, said Dr.Arbuthnot, this is no bad topic for a moralist to declaim upon. And, though it be a trite one, we know how capable it is of being adorned by him who, on a late occasion, could meditate so finely on theTombs at Westminster62. But surely, proceeded he, you warm yourself in this contemplation, beyond what the subject requires of you. The vanity of human greatness is seen in so many instances, that I wonder to hear you harangue on this withso peculiar an exultation. There is no travelling ten miles together in any part of the kingdom without stumbling on some ruin, which, though perhaps not so considerable as this before us, would furnish occasion, however, for the same reflexions. There would be no end of moralizing over every broken tower, or shattered fabric, which calls to mind the short-lived glories of our ancestors.

True, said Mr.Addison; and, if the short continuance of these glories were the only circumstance, I might well have spared the exultation, you speak of, in this triumph over the shattered remnants ofKenelworth. But there is something else that fires me on the occasion. It brings to mind the fraud, the rapine, the insolence, of the potent minister, who vainly thought to immortalize his ill-gotten glory by this proud monument. Nay, further, it awakens an indignation against the prosperous tyranny of those wretched times, and creates a generous pleasure in reflecting on the happiness we enjoy under a juster and more equal government. Believe me, I never see the remains of that greatness which arose in the past ages on the ruins of public freedom and private property, but I congratulate with myself on living at a time, when the meanest subject is as free andindependent as those royal minions; and when his property, whatever it be, is as secure from oppression, as that of the first minister. And I own this congratulation is not the less sincere for considering that the instance before us is taken from the reign of the virgin queen, which it hath been the fashion to cry up above that of any other of our princes63. I desire no other confutation of so strange unthankful a preference, than the sight of this vast castle, together with the recollection of those means by which its master arrived at his enormous greatness.

Your indignation then, replied Dr.Arbuthnot, is not so much of the moral, aspoliticalkind64. But is not the conclusion a little toohasty, when, from the instance of one overgrown favourite, you infer the general infelicity of the time, in which he flourished? I am not, I assure you, one of those unthankful men who forget the blessings they enjoy under a prince of more justice and moderation than queenElizabeth, and under a better constitution of government than prevailed in the days of our forefathers. Yet, setting aside some particular dishonours of that reign (of which, let the tyranny ofLeicester, if you will, be one), I see not but the acknowledged virtues of that princess, and the wisdom of her government, may be a proper foundation for all the honours that posterity have ever paid to her.

Were I even disposed to agree with you, returned Mr.Addison, I should not have the less reason for triumphing, as I do, on the present state of our government. For, if such abuses could creep in, and be suffered for so many years under so great a princess, what was there not to fear (as what, indeed, did not the subject actually feel) under some of her successors? But, to speak my mind frankly, I see no sufficient grounds for the excessive prejudice, that hath somehow taken place, in favour of theGOLDEN REIGN, as it is called,of Elizabeth. I find neither the wisdom, northe virtue in it, that can entitle it to a preference before all other ages.

On the contrary, said Dr.Arbuthnot, I never contemplate the monuments of that time, without a silent admiration of the virtues that adorned it. Heroes and sages crowd in upon my memory. Nay, the very people were of a character above what we are acquainted with in our days. I could almost fancy, the soil itself were another face, and, as you poets imagine on some occasions, that our ancestors lived under a brighter sun and happier climate than we can boast of.

To be sure! said Mr.Addison, smiling: or, why not affirm, in the proper language of romance, that the women of those days were all chaste, and the men valiant? But cannot you suspect at least that there is some enchantment in the case, and that your love of antiquity may possibly operate in more instances than those of your favouriteGreeksandRomans? Tell me honestly, pursued he, hath not this distance of a century and a half a little imposed upon you? Do not these broken towers, which moved you just now to so compassionate a lamentation over them, dispose you to a greaterfondness for the times in which they arose, than can be fairly justified?

I will not deny, returned Dr.Arbuthnot, but we are often very generous to the past times, and unjust enough to the present. But I think there is little of this illusion in the case before us. And, since you call my attention to these noble ruins, let me own to you, that they do indeed excite in me a veneration for the times of which they present so striking a memorial. But surely not without reason. For there is scarce an object in view, that doth not revive the memory of some distinguishing character of that age, which may justify such veneration.

Alas! interrupted Mr.Addison, and what can these objects call to mind but the memory of barbarous manners and a despotic government?

For thegovernment, replied Dr.Arbuthnot, I do not well conceive how any conclusion about that can be drawn from this fabric. TheMANNERSI was thinking of; and I see them strongly expressed in many parts of it. But whether barbarous or not, I could almost take upon me to dispute with you. And why, indeed,since you allowed yourself to declaim on the vices, so apparent, as you suppose, in this monument of antiquity, may not I have leave to consider it in another point of view, and present to you the virtues which, to my eye at least, are full as discernible?

You cannot, continued he, turn your eyes on any part of these ruins, without encountering some memorial of the virtue, industry, or ingenuity, of our ancestors.

Look there, said he, on that fine room (pointing to theHALL, that lay just beneath them); and tell me if you can help respecting theHOSPITALITYwhich so much distinguished the palaces of the great in those simpler ages. You gave an invidious turn to this circumstance when you chose to consider it only in the light of wasteful expence and prodigality. But no virtue is privileged from an ill name. And, on second thoughts, I persuade myself, it will appear you have injured this, by so uncandid an appellation. Can it deserve this censure, that the lord of this princely castle threw open his doors and spread his table for the reception of his friends, his followers, and even for the royal entertainment of his sovereign? Is any expence more proper than that which tends toconciliate65friendships, spread the interests of society, and knit mankind together by a generous communication in these advantages of wealth and fortune? The arts of a refined sequestered luxury were then unknown. The same bell, that called the great man to his table, invited the neighbourhood all around, and proclaimed a holiday to the whole country66. Who does not feel the decorum, and understand the benefits of this magnificence? The pre-eminence of rank and fortune was nobly sustained: the subordination of society preserved: and yet the envy, that is so apt to attend the great, happily avoided. Hencethis weight and influence of the old nobility, who engaged the love, as well as commanded the veneration, of the people. In the mean time, rural industry flourished: private luxury was discouraged: and in both ways that frugal simplicity of life, our country’s grace and ornament in those days, was preserved and promoted.

It would spoil your panegyric, I doubt, said Mr.Addison, to observe the factious use, that was made of this magnificence, and the tendency it had to support the pride and insolence of the old nobility. The interest of the great, I am afraid, was but another name for the slavery of the people67.

I see it, Dr.Arbuthnotsaid, in a different light; and so did our princes themselves, who could not but be well acquainted with the proper effects of that interest. They considered the weight of the nobility, as a counterpoise to their own sovereignty. It was on this account they had used all means to lessen their influence. But the consequence was beside their expectation. The authority of the crown fell with it: and, which was still less expected by political men, the liberty of the people, after it had wantoned for a time, sunk under the general oppression. It was then discovered, but a little of the latest, that public freedom throve best, when it wound itself about the stock of the ancient nobility. In truth, it was the defect, not the excess, of patrician influence, that made way for the miseries of the next century.

You see then it is not without cause that I lay a stress, even in a political view, on this popular hospitality of the great in the former ages68.

But, lest you think I sit too long at the table, let us go on to theTILTYARD, which lies just before us; that school of fortitude and honour to our generous forefathers. A younger fancy, than mine, would be apt to kindle at the sight. And our sprightlier friend here, I dare say, has already taken fire at the remembrance of the gallant exercises, which were celebrated in that quarter.

Mr.Digbyowned, he had a secret veneration for the manly games of that time, which he had seen so triumphantly set forth in the old poets and romancers.

Right, said Mr.Addison; it is precisely in that circumstance that the enchantment consists. Some of our best wits have taken a deal of idle pains to ennoble a very barbarous entertainment, and recommend it to us under the specious name of gallantry and honour. But Mr.Digbysees through the cheat. Notthat I doubt, continued he, but the Doctor, now he is in the vein of panegyric, will lay a mighty stress on these barbarities; and perhaps compare them with the exercises in theRomanCircus, or theOlympicBarriers.

And why not? interrupted Dr.Arbuthnot. The tendency of all three was the same; to invigorate the faculties both of mind and body; to give strength, grace, and dexterity, to the limbs; and fire the mind with a generous emulation of the manly and martial virtues.

Why truly, said Mr.Addison, I shall not deny that allthree, as you observe, were much of the same merit. And, now your hand is in for this sort of encomium, do not forget to celebrate the sublime taste of our forefathers forbear-baiting69, as well astilting; and tell ustoo, how gloriously the mob of those days, as well as their betters, used to belabour one another.

I confess, said Dr.Arbuthnot, the softness of our manners makes it difficult to speak on this subject without incurring the ridicule, you appear so willing to employ against me. But you must not think to discredit these gymnastics by a little raillery, which has its foundation only in modern prejudices. For it is nosecret that the gravest and politest men of antiquity were of my mind. You will hardly suspectPlatoof incivility, either in his notions or manners. And need I remind you how much he insists on the gymnastic discipline; without which he could not have formed, or at least have supported, his Republic?

It was upon this principle, I suppose then, said Mr.Digby, or perhaps in imitation of hisGræcianmaster, that ourMiltonlaid so great a stress on this discipline in hisTRACTATE OF EDUCATION. And before him, in the very time you speak of,Ascham, I observe, took no small pains to much the same purpose in hisToxophilus.

It is very clear, resumed Dr.Arbuthnot, from these instances, and many more that might be given, that the ancients were not singular in their notions on this subject. But, since you have drawn me into a grave defence of these exercises, let me further own to you that I think theGothicTilts and Tournaments exceeded, both in use and elegance, even theGræciangymnastics70. They were a more direct image of war, than any of the games atOlympia. And ifXenophoncould be so lavish in his praises on thePersianpractice of hunting, because it had some resemblance to the exercise of arms, what would he not have said of an institution, which has all the forms of a real combat?

But there was an elegance, too, in the conduct of the tournament, that might reconcile it even to modern delicacy. For, besides the splendor of the shew; the dexterity, with which these exercises were performed; and the fancy, that appeared in their accoutrement, dresses, and devices; the whole contest was ennobled with an air of gallantry, that must have had a great effect in refining the manners of the combatants. And yet this gallantry had no ill influence on morals; for, as you insulted me just now, it was the odd humour of those days for the women to pride themselves in their chastity71, as well as the men in their valour.

In short, I consider theTournay, as the best school of civility as well as heroism. “High-erected thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy,” as an old writer72well expresses it, was the proper character of such as had been trained in this discipline.

No wonder then, pursued he, the poets and romance-writers took so much pains to immortalize these trials of manhood. It was but whatPindarandHomerhimself, those ancient masters of romance, had done before them. And how could it be otherwise? The shew itself, as I said, had something very taking in it; whilst every graceful attitude of person, with every generous movement of the mind, afforded the finest materials for description.And I am even ready to believe, that what we hear censured in their writings, as false, incredible, and fantastic, was frequently but a just copy of life, and that there was more of truth and reality73in their representations, than we are apt to imagine. Their notions of honour and gallantry were carried to an elevation74,which, in these degenerate days, hurts the credit of their story; just as I have met with men that have doubted whether the virtues of theReguliand theScipiosof ancient fame were not the offspring of pure fancy.

Nay now, Dr.Arbuthnot, said Mr.Addison, you grow quite extravagant. What you, who are used to be so quick at espying all abuses in science, and defects in good taste, turn advocate for these fopperies! Mr.Digbyand I shall begin to think you banter us, in this apology for the ancient gymnastics, and are only preparing a chapter for the facetious memoirs75, you sometimes promise us.

Never more in earnest, assure you, replied the Doctor. I know what you have to object to these pictures of life and manners. But, if they will not bear examining as copies, they may deserve to be imitated as models. And their use, methinks, might atone for some defects in the article of probability.

For my part, I consider the legends of ancient chivalry in a very serious light,

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