My Garden painted o"re With Natures hand, not Arts; and pleasures yeild, _Horace_ might envy in his Sabine field.
11.
Thus would I double my Lifes fading s.p.a.ce, For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight, These unbought sports, this happy State, I would not fear nor wish my fate, But boldly say each night, To morrow let my Sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them; I have liv"d to Day.
You may see by it, I was even then acquainted with the Poets (for the Conclusion is taken out of _Horace_;) and perhaps it was the immature and immoderate love of them which stampt first, or rather engraved these Characters in me: They were like Letters cut into the Bark of a young Tree, which with the Tree still grow proportionably. But, how this love came to be produced in me so early, is a hard question: I believe I can tell the particular little chance that filled my head first with such Chimes of Verse, as have never since left ringing there: For I remember when I began to read, and to take some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my Mothers Parlour (I know not by what accident, for she her self never in her life read any Book but of Devotion) but there was wont to lie _Spencers_ Works; this I happened to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted with the Stories of the Knights, and Giants, and Monsters, and brave Houses, which I found every where there: (Though my understanding had little to do with all this) and by degrees with the tinckling of the Rhyme and Dance of the Numbers, so that I think I had read him all over before I was twelve years old, and was thus made a Poet as immediately [1] as a Child is made an Eunuch. With these affections of mind, and my heart wholly set upon Letters, I went to the University; But was soon torn from thence by that violent Publick storm which would suffer nothing to stand where it did, but rooted up every Plant, even from the Princely Cedars to Me, the Hyssop. Yet I had as good fortune as could have befallen me in such a Tempest; for I was cast by it into the Family of one of the best Persons, and into the Court of one of the best Princesses of the World. Now though I was here engaged in wayes most contrary to the Original design of my life, that is, into much company, and no small business, and into a daily sight of Greatness, both Militant and Triumphant (for that was the state then of the _English_ and _French_ Courts) yet all this was so far from altering my Opinion, that it oncly added the confirmation of Reason to that which was before but Natural Inclination. I saw plainly all the Paint of that kind of Life, the nearer I came to it; and that Beauty which I did not fall in Love with, when, for ought I knew, it was reall, was not like to bewitch, or intice me, when I saw that it was Adulterate. I met with several great Persons, whom I liked very well, but could not perceive that any part of their Greatness was to be liked or desired, no more then I would be glad, or content to be in a Storm, though I saw many Ships which rid safely and bravely in it: A storm would not agree with my stomach, if it did with my Courage. Though I was in a croud of as good company as could be found any where, though I was in business of great and honourable trust, though I eate at the best Table, and enjoyed the best conveniences for present subsistance that ought to be desired by a man of my condition in banishment and publick distresses, yet I could not abstain from renewing my old School-boys Wish in a Copy of Verses to the same effect.
Well then; I now do plainly see This busie World and I shall ne"re agree, &c.
And I never then proposed to my self any other advantage from His Majesties Happy Restoration, but the getting into some moderately convenient Retreat in the Country, which I thought in that case I might easily have compa.s.sed, as well as some others, who[2] with no greater probabilities or pretences have arrived to extraordinary fortunes: But I had before written a shrewd Prophesie against my self, and I think _Apollo_ inspired me in the Truth, though not in the Elegance of it.
Thou, neither great at Court nor in the War, Nor at th" Exchange shal"t be, nor at the wrangling Barr; Content thy self with the small barren praise Which neglected Verse does raise, &c.
However by the failing of the Forces which I had expected, I did not quit the Design which I had resolved on, I cast my self into it _A Corps perdu_, without making capitulations, or taking counsel of Fortune. But G.o.d laughs at a Man, who sayes to his Soul, _Take thy ease_: I met presently not onely with many little enc.u.mbrances and impediments, but with so much sickness (a new misfortune to me) as would have spoiled the happiness of an Emperour as well as Mine: Yet I do neither repent nor alter my course. _Non ego perfidum Dixi Sacramentum_; Nothing shall separate me from a Mistress, which I have loved so long, and have now at last married; though she neither has brought me a rich Portion, nor lived yet so quietly with me as I hoped from Her.
--_Nec vos, dulcissima mundi Nomina, vos Musae, Libertas, Otia, Libri, Hortique Syluaeq; anima remanente relinquam._
Nor by me ere shall you, You of all Names the sweetest, and the best, You Muses, Books, and Liberty and Rest; You Gardens, Fields, and Woods forsaken be, As long as Life it self forsakes not Me.
[Footnote 1: "irremediably" text 1668, "immediately" errata 1668.]
[Footnote 2: "who" omitted 1668, inserted 1669.]
61.
By THOMAS SPRAT.
I think it fit to direct my Speech concerning him, by the same rule by which he was wont to judge of others. In his esteem of other men, he constantly prefer"d the good temper of their minds, and honesty of their Actions, above all the excellencies of their Eloquence or Knowledge. The same course I will take in his praise, which chiefly ought to be fixed on his life. For that he deserves more applause from the most virtuous men, than for his other abilities he ever obtained from the Learned.
He had indeed a perfect natural goodness, which neither the uncertainties of his condition, nor the largeness of his wit could pervert. He had a firmness and strength of mind, that was of proof against the Art of Poetry it self. Nothing vain or fantastical, nothing flattering or insolent appeared in his humour. He had a great integrity, and plainness of Manners; which he preserv"d to the last, though much of his time was spent in a Nation, and way of life, that is not very famous for sincerity. But the truth of his heart was above the corruption of ill examples: And therefore the sight of them rather confirm"d him in the contrary Virtues.
There was nothing affected or singular in his habit, or person, or gesture. He understood the forms of good breeding enough to practise them without burdening himself, or others. He never opprest any mans parts, nor ever put any man out of countenance. He never had any emulation for Fame, or contention for Profit with any man. When he was in business he suffer"d others importunities with much easiness: When he was out of it he was never importunate himself. His modesty and humility were so great, that if he had not had many other equal Virtues, they might have been thought dissimulation.
His Conversation was certainly of the most excellent kind; for it was such as was rather admired by his familiar Friends, than by Strangers at first sight. He surpriz"d no man at first with any extraordinary appearance: he never thrust himself violently into the good opinion of his company. He was content to be known by leisure and by degrees: and so the esteem that was conceiv"d of him, was better grounded and more lasting.
In his Speech, neither the pleasantness excluded gravity, nor was the sobriety of it inconsistent with delight. No man parted willingly from his Discourse: for he so ordered it, that every man was satisfied that he had his share. He govern"d his Pa.s.sions with great moderation. His Virtues were never troublesome or uneasy to any. Whatever he disliked in others, he only corrected it, by the silent reproof of a better practise.
His Wit was so temper"d, that no man had ever reason to wish it had been less: he prevented other mens severity upon it by his own: he never willingly recited any of his Writings. None but his intimate friends ever discovered he was a great Poet, by his discourse. His Learning was large and profound, well compos"d of all Antient and Modern Knowledge. But it sat exceeding close and handsomly upon him: it was not imbossed on his mind, but enamelled.
He never guided his life by the whispers, or opinions of the World.
Yet he had a great reverence for a good reputation. He hearkened to Fame when it was a just Censurer: But not when an extravagant Babler.
He was a pa.s.sionate lover of Liberty and Freedom from restraint both in Actions and Words. But what honesty others receive from the direction of Laws, he had by native Inclination: And he was not beholding to other mens wills, but to his own for his Innocence.
62.
CHARLES II.
_Born 1630. Died 1685._
By HALIFAX.
_His_ DISSIMULATION.
One great Objection made to him was the concealing himself, and disguising his Thoughts. In this there ought a Lat.i.tude to be given; it is a Defect not to have it at all, and a Fault to have it too much.
Human Nature will not allow the Mean: like all other things, as soon as ever Men get to do them well, they cannot easily hold from doing them too much. "Tis the case even in the least things, as singing, &c.
In _France_, he was to dissemble Injuries and Neglects, from one reason; in _England_, he was to dissemble too, though for other Causes; A King upon the _Throne_ hath as great Temptations (though of another kind) to dissemble, as a King in _Exile_. The King of _France_ might have his Times of Dissembling as much with him, as he could have to do it with the King of _France_: So he was in a _School_.
No King can be so little inclined to dissemble but he must needs learn it from his _Subjects_, who every Day give him such Lessons of it.
Dissimulation is like most other Qualities, it hath two Sides; it is necessary, and yet it is dangerous too. To have none at all layeth a Man open to Contempt, to have too much exposeth him to Suspicion, which is only the less dishonourable Inconvenience. If a Man doth not take very great Precautions, he is never so much shewed as when he endeavoureth to hide himself. One Man cannot take more pains to hide himself, than another will do to see into him, especially in the Case of Kings.
It is none of the exalted Faculties of the Mind, since there are Chamber-Maids will do it better than any Prince in Christendom.
Men given to dissembling are like Rooks at play, they will cheat for Shillings, they are so used to it. The vulgar Definition of Dissembling is downright Lying; that kind of it which is less ill-bred cometh pretty near it. Only Princes and Persons of Honour must have gentler Words given to their Faults, than the nature of them may in themselves deserve.
Princes dissemble with too many, not to have it discovered; no wonder then that He carried it so far that it was discovered. Men compared Notes, and got Evidence; so that those whose Morality would give them leave, took it for an Excuse for serving him ill. Those who knew his Face, fixed their Eyes there; and thought it of more Importance to see, than to hear what he said. His Face was as little a Blab as most Mens, yet though it could not be called a prattling Face, it would sometimes tell Tales to a good Observer. When he thought fit to be angry, he had a very peevish Memory; there was hardly a Blot that escaped him. At the same time that this shewed the Strength of his Dissimulation, it gave warning too; it fitted his present Purpose, but it made a Discovery that put Men more upon their Guard against him.
Only Self-flattery furnisheth perpetual Arguments to trust again: The comfortable Opinion Men have of themselves keepeth up Human Society, which would be more than half destroyed without it.
_Of his WIT and CONVERSATION._
His Wit consisted chiefly in the _Quickness_ of his _Apprehension_.
His Apprehension made him _find Faults_, and that led him to short Sayings upon them, not always equal, but often very good.
By his being abroad, he contracted a Habit of conversing familiarly, which added to his natural Genius, made him very _apt to talk_; perhaps more than a very nice judgment would approve.
He was apter to make _broad Allusions_ upon any thing that gave the least occasion, than was altogether suitable with the very Good-breeding he shewed in most other things. The Company he kept whilst abroad, had so used him to that sort of Dialect, that he was so far from thinking it a Fault or an Indecency, that he made it a matter of Rallery upon those who could not prevail upon themselves to join in it. As a Man who hath a good Stomach loveth generally to talk of Meat, so in the vigour of his Age, he began that style, which, by degrees grew so natural to him, that after he ceased to do it out of Pleasure, he continued to do it out of Custom. The Hypocrisy of the former Times inclined Men to think they could not shew too great an Aversion to it, and that helped to encourage this unbounded liberty of Talking, without the Restraints of Decency which were before observed. In his more familiar Conversations with the Ladies, even they must be pa.s.sive, if they would not enter into it. How far Sounds as well as Objects may have their Effects to raise Inclination, might be an Argument to him to use that Style; or whether using Liberty at its full stretch, was not the general Inducement without any particular Motives to it.
The manner of that time of _telling Stories_, had drawn him into it; being commended at first for the Faculty of telling a Tale well, he might insensibly be betrayed to exercise it too often. Stories are dangerous in this, that the best expose a Man most, by being oftenest repeated. It might pa.s.s for an Evidence for the Moderns against the Ancients, that it is now wholly left off by all that have any pretence to be distinguished by their good Sense.
He had the Improvements of _Wine, &c_. which made him _pleasant_ and _easy in Company_; where he bore his part, and was acceptable even to those who had no other Design than to be merry with him.
The Thing called _Wit_, a Prince may taste, but it is dangerous for him to take too much of it; it hath Allurements which by refining his Thoughts, take off from their _dignity_, in applying them less to the governing part. There is a Charm in Wit, which a Prince must resist: and that to him was no easy matter; it was contesting with Nature upon Terms of Disadvantage.
His Wit was not so ill-natured as to put Men out of countenance. In the case of a King especially, it is more allowable to speak sharply _of_ them, than _to_ them.
His Wit was not acquired by _Reading_; that which he had above his original Stock by Nature, was from Company, in which he was very capable to observe. He could not so properly be said to have a Wit very much raised, as a plain, gaining, well-bred, recommending kind of Wit.
But of all Men that ever _liked_ those who _had Wit_, he could the best _endure_ those who had _none_. This leaneth more towards a Satire than a Compliment, in this respect, that he could not only suffer Impertinence, but at some times seemed to be pleased with it.
He encouraged some to talk a good deal more with him, than one would have expected from a Man of so good a Taste: He should rather have order"d his Attorney-General to prosecute them for a Misdemeanour, in using Common-sense so scurvily in his Presence. However, if this was a Fault, it is arrogant for any of his Subjects to object to it, since it would look like defying such a piece of Indulgence. He must in some degree loosen the Strength of his Wit, by his Condescension to talk with Men so very unequal to him. Wit must be used to some _Equality_, which may give it Exercise, or else it is apt either to languish, or to grow a little vulgar, by reigning amongst Men of a lower Size, where there is no Awe to keep a Man upon his _guard_.