Lives of the English Poets: Prior, et al. by Samuel Johnson - HTML preview

What a whole thankless land to his denies.

Of this inscription the chief fault is that it belongs less to Rowe, for whom it was written, than to Dryden, who was buried near him; and indeed gives very little information concerning either.

To wish PEACE TO THY SHADE is too mythological to be admitted into a Christian temple: the ancient worship has infected almost all our other compositions, and might therefore be contented to spare our epitaphs. Let fiction, at least, cease with life, and let us be serious over the grave.

 VI.

 On Mrs. CORBET, who died of a Cancer in her Breast.

Here rests a woman, good without pretence,

Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense;

No conquest she, but o'er herself, desired;

No arts essayed, but not to be admired.

Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,

Convinced that Virtue only is our own.

So unaffected, so composed a mind,

So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refined,

Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried;

The saint sustained it, but the woman died.

I have always considered this as the most valuable of all Pope's epitaphs; the subject of it is a character not discriminated by any shining or eminent peculiarities; yet that which really makes, though not the splendour, the felicity of life, and that which every wise man will choose for his final and lasting companion in the languor of age, in the quiet of privacy, when he departs weary and disgusted from the ostentatious, the volatile, and the vain. Of such a character, which the dull overlook and the gay despise, it was fit that the value should be made known and the dignity established. Domestic virtue, as it is exerted without great occasions, or conspicuous consequences, in an even unnoted tenor, required the genius of Pope to display it in such a manner as might attract regard and enforce reverence. Who can forbear to lament that this amiable woman has no name in the verses? If the particular lines of this inscription be examined, it will appear less faulty than the rest. There is scarce one line taken from commonplaces, unless it be that in which ONLY VIRTUE is said to be OUR OWN. I once heard a lady of great beauty and excellence object to the fourth line that it contained an unnatural and incredible panegyric. Of this let the ladies judge.

 VII.

 On the Monument of the Hon. ROBERT DIGBY, and of his Sister MARY, erected by their Father the Lord DIGBY in the church of Sherborne in Dorsetshire, 1727

Go! fair example of untainted youth,

Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth:

Composed in sufferings, and in joy sedate,

Good without noise, without pretension great

Just of thy word, in every thought sincere,

Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:

Of softest manners, unaffected mind,

Lover of peace, and friend of human kind:

Go, live! for heaven's eternal year is thine,

Go, and exalt thy mortal to divine.

   And thou, blest maid! attendant on his doom.

Pensive hast followed to the silent tomb,

Steered the same course to the same quiet shore,

Not parted long, and now to part no more!

Go, then, where only bliss sincere is known!

Go, where to love and to enjoy are one!

   Yet take these tears, Mortality's relief,

And, till we share your joys, forgive our grief:

These little rites a stone, a verse receive.

'Tis all a father, all a friend can give!

This epitaph contains of the brother only a general indiscriminate character, and of the sister tells nothing but that she died. The difficulty in writing epitaphs is to give a particular and appropriate praise. This, however, is not always to be performed, whatever be the diligence or ability of the writer; for the greater part of mankind HAVE NO CHARACTER AT ALL, have little that distinguishes them from others, equally good or bad, and therefore nothing can be said of them which may not be applied with equal propriety to a thousand more. It is indeed no great panegyric that there is enclosed in this tomb one who was born in one year, and died in another; yet many useful and amiable lives have been spent which yet leave little materials for any other memorial. These are however not the proper subjects of poetry; and whenever friendship, or any other motive, obliges a poet to write on such subjects, he must be forgiven if he sometimes wanders in generalities, and utters the same praises over different tombs.

The scantiness of human praises can scarcely be made more apparent than by remarking how often Pope has, in the few epitaphs which he composed, found it necessary to borrow from himself. The fourteen epitaphs which he has written comprise about a hundred and forty lines, in which there are more repetitions than will easily be found in all the rest of his works. In the eight lines which make the character of Digby there is scarce any thought or word which may not be found in the other epitaphs. The ninth line, which is far the strongest and most elegant, is borrowed from Dryden. The conclusion is the same with that on Harcourt, but is here more elegant and better connected.

 VIII.

 On Sir GODFREY KNELLER, in Westminster Abbey, 1723.

Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught,

Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures thought;

Now for two ages, having snatched from fate

Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,

Lies crowned with Princes, honours, Poets, lays,

Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise.

   Living, great Nature feared he might outvie

Her works; and dying, fears herself may die.

Of this epitaph the first couplet is good, the second not bad, the third is deformed with a broken metaphor, the word crowned not being applicable to the honours or the lays, and the fourth is not only borrowed from the epitaph on Raphael, but of a very harsh construction.

 IX.

 On General HENRY WITHERS, in Westminster Abbey, 1729.

Here, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind,

Thy country's friend, but more of human kind.

O born to arms! O worth in youth approved!

O soft humanity in age beloved!

For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear,

And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere

   Withers, adieu! yet not will thee remove

Thy martial spirit, or thy social love!

Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage,

Still leave some ancient virtues to our age:

Nor let us say (those English glories gone)

The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.

The epitaph on Withers affords another instance of commonplaces, though somewhat diversified by mingled qualities, and the peculiarity of a profession. The second couplet is abrupt, general, and unpleasing; exclamation seldom succeeds in our language; and, I think, it may be observed that the particle O! used at the beginning of a sentence, always offends. The third couplet is more happy; the value expressed for him, by different sorts of men, raises him to esteem; there is yet something of the common cant of superficial satirists, who suppose that the insincerity of a courtier destroys all his sensations, and that he is equally a dissembler to the living and the dead. At the third couplet I should wish the epitaph to close, but that I should be unwilling to lose the two next lines, which yet are dearly bought if they cannot be retained without the four that follow them.

 X.

 On Mr. ELIJAH FENTON, at Easthamstead in Berkshire, 1730.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can,

May truly say, Here lies an honest man:

A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate,

Whom Heaven 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 looked on either life, and here

Saw nothing to regret or there to fear;

From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied,

Thanked Heaven that he lived, and that he died.

The first couplet of this epitaph is borrowed from Crashaw. The four next lines contain a species of praise peculiar, original, and just. Here, therefore, the inscription should have ended, the latter part containing nothing but what is common to every man who is wise and good. The character of Fenton was so amiable, that I cannot forbear to wish for some poet or biographer to display it more fully for the advantage of posterity. If he did not stand in the first rank of genius, he may claim a place in the second; and, whatever criticism may object to his writings, censure could find very little to blame in his life.

 XI.

 On Mr. GAY, in Westminster Abbey, 1732.

Of manners gentle, of affections mild;

In wit, a muse; simplicity, a child:

With native humour tempering virtuous rage,

Formed to delight at once and lash the age:

Above temptation, in a low estate,

And uncorrupted, ev'n among the Great:

A safe companion and an easy friend,

Unbiased through life, lamented in thy end,

These are thy honours! not that here thy bust

Is mixed with heroes, or with kings thy dust;

But that the worthy and the Good shall say,

Striking their pensive bosoms--Here lies GAY.

As Gay was the favourite of our author this epitaph was probably written with an uncommon degree of attention, yet it is not more successfully executed than the rest, for it will not always happen that the success of a poet is proportionate to his labour. The same observation may be extended to all works of imagination, which are often influenced by causes wholly out of the performer's power, by hints of which he perceives not the origin, by sudden elevations of mind which he cannot produce in himself, and which sometimes rise when he expects them least. The two parts of the first line are only echoes of each other; GENTLE MANNERS and MILD AFFECTIONS, if they mean anything, must mean the same.

That Gay was a MAN IN WIT is a very frigid commendation; to have the wit of a man is not much for a poet. The WIT OF MAN and the SIMPLICITY OF A CHILD make a poor and vulgar contrast, and raise no ideas of excellence, either intellectual or moral.

In the next couplet RAGE is less properly introduced after the mention of MILDNESS and GENTLENESS, which are made the constituents of his character; for a man so MILD and GENTLE to TEMPER his RAGE was not difficult. The next line is inharmonious in its sound, and mean in its conception; the opposition is obvious, and the word LASH used absolutely, and without any modification, is gross and improper. To be ABOVE TEMPTATION in poverty and FREE FROM CORRUPTION AMONG THE GREAT is indeed such a peculiarity as deserved notice. But to be a SAFE COMPANION is a praise merely negative, arising not from possession of virtue but the absence of vice, and that one of the most odious.

 As little can be added to his character by asserting that he was LAMENTED IN HIS END. Every man that dies is, at least by the writer of his epitaph, supposed to be lamented, and therefore this general lamentation does no honour to Gay.

The first eight lines have no grammar; the adjectives are without any substantive, and the epithets without a subject. The thought in the last line, that Gay is buried in the bosoms of the WORTHY and GOOD, who are distinguished only to lengthen the line, is so dark that few understand it, and so harsh, when it is explained, that still fewer approve.

 XII.

 Intended for Sir ISAAC NEWTON, in Westminster Abbey.

ISAACUS NEWTONIUS:

Quem Immortalem

Testantur, Tempus, Natura, Coelum:

Mortalem hoc marmor fatetur.

Nature, and Nature's laws, lay hid in night:

God said, Let Newton be! And all was light.

On this epitaph, short as it is, the faults seem not to be very few. Why part should be Latin and part English it is not easy to discover. In the Latin the opposition of IMMORTALIS and MORTALIS is a mere sound, or a mere quibble; he is not IMMORTAL in any sense contrary to that in which he is MORTAL. In the verses the thought is obvious, and the words NIGHT and LIGHT are too nearly allied.

 XIII.

 On EDMUND Duke of BUCKINGHAM, who died in the 19th Year of his Age, 1735.

If modest youth, with cool reflection crowned,

And every opening virtue blooming round,

Could save a parent's justest pride from fate,

Or add one patriot to a sinking state;

This weeping marble had not asked thy tear,

Or sadly told how many hopes lie here!

The living virtue now had shone approved,

The senate heard him, and his country loved.

Yet softer honours, and less noisy fame,

Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham:

In whom a race, for courage famed and art,

Ends in the milder merit of the heart;

And, chiefs or sages long to Britain given,

Pays the last tribute of a saint to heaven.

This epitaph Mr. Warburton prefers to the rest, but I know not for what reason. To CROWN with REFLECTION is surely a mode of speech approaching to nonsense. OPENING VIRTUES BLOOMING ROUND is something like tautology; the six following lines are poor and prosaic. ART is in another couplet used for ARTS, that a rhyme may be had to HEART. The six last lines are the best, but not excellent.

The rest of his sepulchral performances hardly deserve the notice of criticism. The contemptible dialogue between He and She should have been suppressed for the author's sake.

 In his last epitaph on himself, in which he attempts to be jocular upon one of the few things that make wise men serious, he confounds the living man with the dead:

"Under this stone, or under this sill,

Or under this turf, &c."

When a man is once buried, the question, under what he is buried, is easily decided. He forgot that though he wrote the epitaph in a state of uncertainty, yet it could not be laid over him till his grave was made. Such is the folly of wit when it is ill employed.

 The world has but little new, even this wretchedness seems to have been borrowed from the following tuneless lines:-

"Ludovici Areosti humantur ossa

Sub hoc marmore, vel sub hac humo, seu

Sub quicquid voluit benignus haeres

Siv haerede benignior comes, seu

Opportunius incidens Viator:

Nam scire haud potuit futura, sed nec

Tanti erat vacuum sibi cadaver

Ut utnam cuperet parere vivens,

Vivens ista tamen sibi paravit.

Quae inscribi voluit suo sepulchro

Olim siquod haberetis sepulchrum."

 Surely Ariosto did not venture to expect that his trifle would have ever had such an illustrious imitator.

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