Volume 2 — PORSONIANA.
Reading edition
Quanquam non commisi quidem ut defensore mihi opus sit adversus obtrectatos, neminem enim dicto quidem læsi, sed adversus obtrectatores, quibus orbis literatus passim infestatur, sicuti suis via insidiatoribus, forum vililitigatoribus, militia provocatoribus.
By far the greater part of the pieces which follow are printed from Professor Porson’s own manuscripts. Those which are not so, were either written from his personal dictation, or copied by his permission.
The subjoined is, perhaps, the earliest specimen of Porson’s Latinity which has hitherto appeared. The Proemium to the Notes, which, at the request of Maps, alias Nicholson, the Cambridge Bookseller, and which commences facetiously “Lectori si quis erit” was written two years afterwards. This Oration was probably delivered in the Chapel of Trinity College, at the time when it is dated.
Maii 29ᵒ 1784.
Quamvis super Caroli secundi meritis hodie privatorum hominum multæ sint et discrepantes sententiæ, tamen si publicum istius sæculi Ecclesiæ totiusq; populi suffragium respicimus, hunc diem non modo cretâ notandum sed et dignum judicabimus, qui solenni gratiarum actione quotannis celebretur. Et cum nulla neq; lex neq; consuetudo altius radices agat, aut diutius floreat, quam quæ religionis nomen prætendat; operæ pretium sit propius inspicere et exigere Caroli mores atq; ingenium; sine irâ et studio inquirere, quantum reipublicæ contulerit; quibus sive privatim sive publice virtutibus eminuerit; quantis libertatem et religionem beneficiis auxerit; quam bene denique cum regis tum hominis partes impleverit.
Si qui rex unquam fuit, qui optimis et felicissimis avibus regnum suum auspicatus est, is profectò fuit Carolus, qui tanto tamq; unanimi totius imperii consensu, in solium hæreditarium escenderit. Et quemadmodum amantium iræ (aiunt) amoris integratio est, quicquid in Carolum patrem populus deliquerat, aut quodcunq; in officio erga eum fungendo desiderari potuerat, id omne effusissimâ est, quâ filium prosequebatur benevolentiâ pensare aut supplere adnixus. Qui per tot annos sub crudelis et suspicacis tyranni dominatione gemuissent, expectatione melioris fortunæ nunc se consolabantur, si princeps ab exilio revocaretur; satiusq; duxerunt, etiam si tyranni potestatem iterum experiri necesse esset, ejus arbitrium agnoscere, ad quem lege hereditariæ successionis regnandi jus aliquatenus pertinere videretur. Cromwello igitur tandem mortuo, omnes sectæ et factiones certatim se regi restituendo accinxêre. Sperabant scilicet, fore, ut novus rex, quantum patriæ favori deberet, gratus memoriæ mandaret, et aliquando tam re quam verbis ostenderet; ut patris sui miserabili fortunâ et immaturo exitu admonitus, scopulos et syrtes in quas ille impegisset, ipse gubernator factus, cautâ et prudenti navigatione evitaret; ut neq; communia jura deminueret, neq; præter jus fasq; prærogativæ suæ fines propagaret; ut adversis rebus diu multumq; conflictatus, humanè et sine insolenti lætitiâ secundis frueretur.
His freti cogationibus regni hæreditatem stabilem et perpetuam videntur reddidisse; tantamq; vectigalium partem regiis sumptibus suppeditandis destinâsse, quanta magni principis splendori et dignitati non solum tutandæ, sed etiam ostentandæ sufficeret. Neq; de suo tantum largiti sunt, quippe qui hæc præclara propensæ in regem voluntatis argumenta ediderint, ne minimâ quidem conditionum ab ipso servandarum mentione factâ. Adeo enixe studium, suum et obedientiam probare aggressi sunt, ut quid majorum suorum memoriæ, quid sibi ipsi, quid posteritati deberent, pariter obliti essent. Sed ne quicquam requiri posset, quo se regi dicto audientes et morigeros præberent, iidem homines penes quos potissimum restituti regis gloria esset, totius gentis personâ susceptâ perduellionis erga beatum (quem vocabant) martyrem se ipse reos profitebantur et admissi facinoris a clementissimo domino veniam impetrabant. Non tamen rex eo usq; clementiâ suâ abusus est, ut neminem omnino veniâ indignum judicaret, sed lenitatem suam justâ severitate temperavit, in eosq; judices qui ex animi sententiâ et quoniam è rep. fore censuerunt, patrem suum capitis damnâssent, omnibus exemplis animadvertendum statuit. Qui autem temporis causâ hoc parricidium perpetrâssent, iis quod sibi videretur fidelibus consiliorum suorum ministris olim usurus, generosâ et sapienti sententiâ pœnam condonavit. Sed ut quod sentio liberè et sine ambagibus dicam; fatendum est ab iis quorum affectus in neutram partem proclivior est, contra regiam dignitatem, contra civilem prudentiam peccâsse Carolum, quod non præteritorum omnium facinorum memoriam penitus aboleret. Sin autem hoc fautores Stewartorum negabunt; illud certè non negabunt (neq; enim vel possunt vel audent;) suppliciorum qua a perduellibus leges exigunt, crudeliorem partem, utpote exempli parum memoris legum humanarum, remitti oportuisse.
Quanquam autem, ut supra demonstravimus, quod satis superq; esset frugali regiæ donâsset, tamen ut amoris quo novum regem amabant, locupletissimum darent testimonium, plures extraordinarias pensiones in ipsius fratrisq; loculos contulerunt. Ac nè quid deesset quod civium bene sentientium animos indicaret, decreto incertum magis ridiculo an absurdo, omnia quæ Senatus aut Cromwellus per viginti annos egerant, abrogabantur. Si historici hujus temporis audiendi sunt, hæc flagitia quodammodo excusari possunt, propterea quod ab ebriis ferè et discinctis nebulonibus admissa essent, quanquam facilitas ea, quæ hujusmodi homines in supremum pene gentis concilium adsciverit, non omnino laudanda videtur.
Est et alia res, levicula quidem illa, neq; tamen prorsus negligenda, cædis nempe cupido quædam et aviditas, quâ per totum regni tempus Carolus tam vehementur flagravit, ut vix suspicari possis in genitâ ejus crudelitate factum ut tot innocentes homines contra leges sanctas et jura imo interdum contra ipsius pollicitationes capite plecterentur. Verisimilius videtur talia spectacula huic principi ludi jociq; instar fuisse. Neq; equidem valdè miror, si Carolus, qui Galliæ sæpe vidisset, quantâ ibi facilitate rex morte, exilio, aut bonorum publicatione cives afficiat, quemq; Angli non minori adulatione, quam Galli Ludovicum mulcere solerent, regis Gallici potestatem in hâc quoq; parte usurpare vellet. Certè nisi pondus aliquod his excusationibus subesse concedamus, agnoscendum erit vix quicquam in omni historiâ, quod ab humanitate alienius sit de pessimis et odiosissimis tyrannis narrari, neq; quod ab omni lenitate et prudentià, ut legum violationem omittam, magis abhorreat. Inter nobiles hujus temporis reos, Vanius, Russelius et Sidneius præcipuè eminent, quorum injusta et crudelis mors Caroli memoriæ æternam dedecoris atq; intamiæ notam inuret. Si horum exemplorum atrocitatem eâ quâ par est, indignatione contemplabimur, Tiberii alterius aut Neronis scelera legere videbimur.
Quod si de domestica rerum administratione nihil quod quereremur, haberemus, bellorum à Carolo gestorum et fœderum ictorum tanta est ignominia, quantam vix Joannes noster suscepit cum a Pontifice Romano coronam precario acciperet. Misso primum contra Belgas, a quibus magnificentissimo fuerat hospitio exceptus, exercitu, avaræ et ingratæ mentis justissimas pœnas persolvit. Cum enim res Belgarum superior evasisset, iniquis Carolus est pacis conditionibus acquiescere coactus. Ut bellum gereret, spoliorum cupiditas, si verum amamus, primo regem pepulerat, quam non frustatus est eventus. Quamvis enim ex Belgio Fœderato nihil præter dedecus, reportaret, pecuniam quam in sumptus belli erogandam civium liberalitas dedisset, in rem suam ipse catus convertit. Multa vero delicta, quæ in alio quovis flagitia essent, ut in Carolo leviore nomine notentur, facit præcipuorum ejus facinorum magnitudo; quorum in numero principem locum merito obtinet, quod duo maxima totius imperii robora et firmamenta, Dunquercam et Tingen hosti turpiter prodiderit. Illud autem consilium palmam cœteris præripit, quod inter eum et Ludovicum mercenariis conditionibus convenerat.
Satis jam notum est regem clam se eidem religionis sectæ, cui fratrem Jacobum, Romanæ nempe, addixisse: Hanc quoq; per Britanniam, Ludovici auxilio, ubicunq; tempus sineret, propagare, veterem constitutionem delere, pro libertate tyrannidem, pro reformatâ religione, Catholicam invehere decreverat. Sed tam timide gelideq; hanc rem ministravit, tantâ solertiâ dicam an malitiâ, animi cogitata celavit, ut multis Catholicorum gravissimis suppliciis afficerentur, ipso rege, qui eandem fidem amplexus erat, approbante.
Hæc pauca ex innumeris publicarum Caroli virtutum exempla selegimus. Videamus si privati mores cæteros defectus compensent. Etiam pater ejus, regni errores cæteris virtutibus partim redemit. Sed in hâc parte valdè dissimilem et degenerem filium reliquit. Vix ullam Europæ regionem peragravit, quin ex eâ novas ineptias, nova vitia reportaret. Avus ejus Jacobus ab adulatoribus suis appellari solitus est Salomon secundus. Quæ una res ei defuit ad perfectam similitudinem Carolus supplevit, quem nemo Salomonis simillimum fuisse negabit, qui immensum utriusq; concubinarum numerum reputaverit. Cum hujusmodi mulierculis et viris non honestioribus otium suum omni luxus et libidinis genere oblectavit. Qualis vir fuisset, indicio fuerunt, (ut quidam non ineptè observavit) ultima ejus extremâ in morte verba, quibus neq; reip. neq; amicorum cujus aut propinquorum, sed meretricis meminerat. At forsan, inquies, opum suarum facultatibus ad patris suiq; comitum et defensorum inopiam sublevandam usus est, et hanc occasionem testandi quam bene adversus omne qui alterius utrius causam fortunis, manu, scriptis adjuvissent, avidè arripuit. Nihil minus; fidelissimos regiæ potestatis servos aut neglexit, ut inter mille alios Couleium et Butlerum nominem, aut, sicut Clarendonum, à se et patriâ removit, exiliiq; periculis et laboribus objecit.
Qui omnes nervos contendunt, ut Caroli memoriam qua jure qua injuriâ aliquatenus ab infamiâ quâ premitur liberent, regis comitatem atq; hilaritatem prædicant; quamq; facetus et lepidus conviva esset, libenter narrant. Et sanè disertus fuit leporum et facetiarum, si modo pro leporibus et facetiis scurrilis dicacitas sumatur. Hujus enim uberrimâ abundabat copiâ; nihil unquam facetè dixit, quod salvo pudore; nec liberè, quod salvâ religione dici posset. Per totum hujus principis regnum, modestiæ, pudoris, sinceritatis, temperantiæ, religionis deniq; nulla habita est ratio; neq; certior aut expeditior ad regis favorem patebat aditus, quam si quis, scurra, impius, vinosus et prodigus audiret. Ut quisq; ipse erat simillimus, ita carissimus. Ut breviter absolvam, antequam coronam adeptus esset, mendicus fuit; postquam adeptus esset, rex non fuit: sine dignitate sapientiâ aut fortitudine; sine amicitiâ; sine fide et amore connubiali; sine fraternâ pietate, atheus vivebat, Papista moriebatur. Talis fuit Carolus secundus.
⸺manibus date lilia plenis; Purpureos spargam flores, animamq; tyranni His saltem accumulem donis⸺
The subjoined Preface is printed from the Professor’s first copy, in his own hand-writing, which he permitted to be prefixed to Toup’s Emendations of Suidas.
LECTORI S.
Cum nuper audivissem, Toupii Emendationes in Suidam prælo Oxoniensi mox prodituras, Viros doctissimos, qui laborem edendi suscepissent, certiores feci, me non indiligenter opus illud aureum perlegisse, et notarum mearum, quas hic illic adscripsissem, modo dignæ viderentur, quæ Toupii scriptis pro appendice adjungerentur, copiam iis facturum. Habes igitur breves hasce notas; quas tu, qualescunque tandem sunt fructu leges. Sed duo sunt, quæ abs te mihi ignosci pervelim. Unum est, quod plerumque censoris personam gero, sæpiusque Toupium reprehendo, quam laudo; alterum, quod libros alios haud raro indicavi, in quibus idem jam ante Toupium observatum sit. De priori, ita res erat, faciundum fuit. Neque enim hoc juvenili jactantia feci, nec quo viris me longe majoribus vellicandis laudem mihi comparare vellem; sed semper ab eorum consuetudine valde abhorrui, qui nihil aliud quam pulchre, bene, recte, tertio quoque verbo ingerunt. Ego sane, nisi Toupii ingenium et doctrinam maximi facerem, nunquam in eum, ne hæc quidem, quantulacunque sunt, scriberem. Sed editoris aut commentatoris officium esse duco, auctoris sui errores corrigere, delectus supplere. Vix unquam igitur Toupii sententiam calculo meo comprobavi, nisi ubi novis argumentis confirmari posse, aut ab aliis criticis nullo jure impugnata esse videretur. Quod ad alterum attinet, neminem opinor adeo iniquum fore, ut credat me Toupio, quoties ejus cum aliis consensum memoro, plagii vel minimam suspicionem inustam velle. Sed cum duo scriptores idem tradant, mihi non alteruter, ab altero ideo sumpsisse, sed uterque rem recte reputantes, veritatis vi coacti, in eandem sententiam devenisse videntur. Omnes enim, inquit Bentleius[4], in multa incidimus, nescientes, illa jam ab aliis esse occupata. Quæ observatio ut et mihi prosit rogo, si quid in his notulis, quod dictum sit prius, ipse dixisse inveniar.
Dabam Londini, 1 Julii, 1787.
The Professor once kindly undertook to write down, for a young friend who was preparing to make a collection of classical and philological books, a list of such works as he conceived to be indispensable in a well-chosen library.
A paper book was provided, in which the Professor first wrote, Libri Desiderati in Museo. A.B.
The two first pages of this Manuscript are subjoined.
Euripidis Hippolytus Valckenærii cum Diatribe in perditas Tragædias, &c.
Euripidis Phœnissæ Valckenærii Ursini Collatio Græcorum cum Virgilio, cui accedunt Valckenærii Epistola ad M. Röverum et Dissertatio de Scholiis in Homerum ineditis, &c.
Ammonius de differentia Vocum et alia ad Grammaticam spectantia cum Animadversionibus Valckenærii.
Thomas Magister Bernardi, Oudendorpii et aliorum.
Gregoriùs Corinthi Episcopus de Dialectis per Gisbertum Koënium.
B. Brissonius de Formulis et solennibus verbis populi Rom.
Dion Cassius J. A. Fabricii et H. S. Reimari, 2 vol. fol. Hamburgi.
Fax Artium Gruteri, 7 vol.
Selecta Theocriti Idyllia, a Valckenærio.
Gatakeri Opera Critica Trajecti ad Rhen. 2 vol. fol. interdum in 1.
Dion Chrysostomus Reiskii, 2 vol. 8vo.
Arnobius Heraldi, 4to.
Clemens Alexandrinus Potteri.
Eusebii Præparatio } Evangelica a Fr. Vigero
Eusebii Demonstratio }
Ecclesiasticæ Historiæ Scriptores a Valesio, 3 vol. fol. (ed. opt. Reading)
Pollux Hemsterhusii.
Philostratus Olearii.
Libanius.
Miscellaneæ Observationes a Britannis cœptæ, a Belgis continuata.
Aristides Jebbii, 2 vol. 4to.
Beausobre Histoire du Manicheisme, 2 vol. 4.
Menagiana, 4 vol. ed. opt. 1729.
Mœris Atticista, 1759, Piersoni.
Ursini Fragmenta Lyricorum.
Artemidorus Rigaltii, Par. 1603. 4to.
The subjoined are specimens of Porson’s familiar Letters. The person to whom they were addressed negotiated, at Porson’s desire, with the bookseller, for the publication of the Letters to Travis. It is correctly stated in the Athenæum that the prize given was thirty pounds. That the publisher lost money by it can hardly be conceived. The book is now out of print and numbered among the scarcer books.
Dear ⸺
Settle the matter of publication for me in any way that you think reasonable, or that would be satisfactory to yourself. If you agree upon the terms that you mention in your letter, inform me when they would wish to begin. For, as the Preface will of course be printed last, I could send them a copy of the Letters in the Magazine, properly corrected, within a few days. With respect to the Lay Fellowship, I thank you for the information, but if it is already vacant, you need not doubt of its being given away. If you see the Rev. Mr. W. tell him the same from me, which will be equivalent to an acknowledgement of his letter, and tell him besides that Mr. Goodall is extremely flattered by the attention of a person so much his superior in dignity: συγκαθημενων, I would render the women who live with him. The literal sense is, without doubt, “who sit together;” but this expression refers to what was generally the case, not what was the case in this particular instance, for we are informed that it was quite the contrary. See Dorville on Chariton, which I have not by me here.
I am, with compliments to ⸺
Your’s,
R. PORSON.
Eton, 17 Sept. 1789.
The Clergyman alluded to in the above Letter, was the Rev. Dr. Wingfield, for a time head master of Westminster School, and since that period, Prebendary of Worcester, with whom Porson subsequently spent a great deal of his time. Mr. Goodall is the present worthy Provost of Eton College.
Dear ⸺
I think you may tell Mr. Egerton that I accept his proposals, which appear to me liberal enough. I find upon a review of my Letters in the Magazine, that besides changing the form of the Address, I shall make several alterations and additions that will render it necessary for me to write the whole over again. I shall return to London some time next week with the first part, fairly written for the press. I suppose that will be time enough. Συγκατημένων is Ionic, as κατιεις for καθιεις, &c. Your ⸺ packed up in a small parcel, and directed as before, will come safe.
I am, with compliments to ⸺
Your’s, &c.
R. PORSON.
Eton, 28 Sept. 1789.
There are two things obvious from the above short Epistle, namely, that the Professor did not accustom himself to overrate the value of his talents, and that he was ready, at all times, to communicate, to those who required it, the benefit of his superior erudition.
Dear ⸺
I wrote to you last Monday, but as I suppose my Letter might miscarry, I shall repeat the substance of it. I authorized you to accept Mr. Egerton’s terms; to which I shall only add, what I then omitted through haste, a request that you would stickle for half a dozen copies to be thrown into the bargain. As I am obliged to write over all my Letters that have been printed, to prevent mistakes and confusion, I cannot let them have any part of the copy before next week, when I expect to have the pleasure of seeing you and ⸺ in town, to whom present my compliments, and believe me to be
Your’s sincerely,
R. PORSON.
Eton, 30 Sept. 1789.
PORSONIAN LEVITIES.
ÆNIGMA.
Ex eo genere quod ex duabus vocibus monosyllabis unam vocem disyllabon efficit.
Primum, secundum, tertium, sive totum, sive integrum.
Te primum incauto nimium, propiusque tuenti Laura, mihi furtim surrippuisse queror, Nec tamen hoc furtum tibi condonare recusem Si pretium simili solvere merce velis Sed quo plus candoris habent tibi colla secundo Hoc tibi plus primum frigoris intus habet, Jamque sinistra cava cantavit ab ilice totum Omina, et audaces spes vetat esse ratas.
On the Publications of Mrs. Thrale (Piozzi), Mr. Boswell, and Sir John Hawkins, on the Subject of Dr. Johnson.
Lexiphanem fatis functum, qua fœmina, qua vir Certain indignis dedecorare modis, Hic quantum in Scotos fuerit testatus amorem Enarrat, fatuos vendidit illa sales. Fabellas Eques ede tuas, seu Musice mavis, Si famæ Herois vis superesse nihil. At Johnson’s death both sexes join, His character to undermine, Proclaim his courtesy to Scots, And print his stupid anecdotes, ’Tis now thy turn musician knight, Publish and damn his fame outright.
Porson one day visiting his brother-in-law Mr. P⸺, who at that time lived in Lancaster-court, in the Strand, found him indisposed, and under the influence of medicine. On returning to the house of a common friend, he of course expected to be asked after the health of his relation. After waiting with philosophic patience, without the expected questions being proposed, he reproached the company for not giving him an opportunity of giving the following answer, which he had composed on his walk.
My Lord of Lancaster, when late I came from it, Was taking a medicine of names not a few, In Greek an emetic, in Latin a vomit, In English a puke, and in vulgar a ⸺.
The following humourous verses were undoubtedly composed by Porson, but they are not copied from his own hand-writing, which most of the things here inserted are. He, however, repeated them to the person from whose manuscript they are now printed.
ON THE POPULAR PLAY OF PIZARRO. As I walked through the Strand so careless and gay, I met a young girl who was wheeling a barrow, Choice fruit, Sir, said she, and a bill of the play, So my apples I bought, and set off for Pizarro. When I got to the door, I was squeezed, and cried dear me, I wonder they made the entrance so narrow, At last I got in, and found every one near me Was busily talking of Mr. Pizarro. Lo! the hero appears, what a strut and a stride, He might easily pass for a Marshal to-morrow, And Elvira so tall, neither virgin nor bride, The loving companion of gallant Pizarro. But Elvira, alas! turned so dull and so prosy, That I longed for a hornpipe by little Del Caro; Had I been ’mong the Gods I had surely cried Nosy, Come play up a jig, and a fig for Pizarro. On his wife and his child his affection to pay, Alonzo stood gazing, and straight as an arrow; Of him I have only this little to say, His boots were much neater than those of Pizarro. Then the priestess and virgins, in robes white and flowing, Walked solemnly on like a sow and her farrow, And politely informed the whole house they were going To entreat heaven’s curses on noble Pizarro. Rolla made a fine speech with such logic and grammar, As must sure raise the envy of Counsellor Garrow; It would sell for five pounds were it brought to the hammer, For it raised all Peru against valiant Pizarro. Four acts are tol lol, but the fifth’s my delight, Where history’s traced with the pen of a Varro, And Elvira in black, and Alonzo in white, Put an end to the piece by killing Pizarro. I have finished my song if it had but a tune, Nancy Dawson won’t do, nor the sweet banks of Yarrow, I vow I would sing it from morning till noon, So much am I charmed with the play of Pizarro.
Porson’s fondness for Algebra was universally known, but perhaps a more singular proof of this can hardly be adduced than is exhibited in the following equation, composed by him in Greek. The original is comprized in one line.
Τις ὁ αριθμος ον τεμνομενον εις δυο ανισεις μερεις η του μειζονος μεριδος δυναμις μετα του ελαττονος μεταλαμβανομενη ισος εσσεται του ελαττονος δυναμει μετα του μειζονος μεταλαμβανομενῃ.
Required the number, which being divided into two unequal parts, the square of the greater added to the less shall be equal to the square of the less added to the greater. Let the numbers be x and y.
x² × y = y² × x
x² - y² = x - y
x + y = 1.
CHARADES AND RIDDLES.
I.
If Nature and Fortune had plac’d me with you, On my first, we my second might hope to obtain; I might marry you, were I my third, it is true; But that marriage would only embitter my pain.
II.
My first is the lot that is destin’d by fate, For my second to meet with in every state: My third is by many philosophers reckoned, To bring very often my first to my second.
III.
My first, though your house, nay your life, he defends, You ungratefully name like the wretch you despise; My second, I speak it with grief, comprehends All the brave, and the good, and the learn’d, and the wise. Of my third I have little or nothing to say, Except that it tells the departure of day.
IV.
The child of a peasant, Rose thought it no shame To toil at my first all the day; When her father grew rich, and a farmer became, My first to my second gave way: Then she married a merchant, who brought her to town; To this eminent station preferr’d. Of my first and my second unmindful she’s grown, And gives all her time to my third.
V.
My first is the nymph I adore, The sum of her charms is my second, I was going to call it my third, But I counted a million and more, Till I found they could never be reckoned; So I quickly rejected the word.
VI.
My first in ghosts, ’tis said abounds, And wheresoe’er she walks her rounds, My second never fails to go, Yet oft attends her mortal foe. If with my third you quench your thirst, You sink for ever in my first.
VII.
My first is expressive of no disrespect, Yet I never shall call you it while you are by; If my second you still are resolv’d to reject, As dead as my third I shall speedily lie.
VIII.
My first of unity’s a sign; My second ere we knew to plant, We us’d upon my third to dine, “If all be true that poets chant.”
IX.
Your cat does my first in your ear, O that I were admitted as near; In my second I’ve held you my fair So long that I almost despair; But my prey if at last I o’ertake, What a glorious third I shall make.
X.
My first with more than quaker’s pride, At your most solemn duty, You keep, nor deign to throw aside, E’en though it veils your beauty. My second on your cheek or lip, May kindle Cupid’s fire, While from your eye or nose’s tip It ne’er provokes desire. But if your third you entertain For your unhappy poet, In mercy Chloe spare his pain, Not ever let him know it.
The following specimens of good-natured levity and humour were also produced by him, without any study or previous meditation.
The little girl, who was his favourite, as has before been mentioned, one day led him by the hand into the kitchen, to deliver a message to a servant. A young woman who had lived long in the family, and was much respected, was ironing linen. Her name was Susan, and the child desired Porson to write some verses upon her. Porson, as soon as he returned to the parlour, pronounced the following lines.
When lovely Susan irons smocks, No damsel ere looked neater, Her eyes are brighter than her box, And burn me like a heater.
On the extravagant terms of flattery, which Mr. Hayley and Miss Seward used in compliments to one another, Porson frequently indulged much satirical observation. The following dialogue is supposed to take place between the parties.
MISS SEWARD loquitur. Tuneful Poet, Britain’s glory, Mr. Hayley that is you. HAYLEY respondet. Ma’am, you carry all before you, Trust me Lichfield Swan you do. MISS SEWARD. Ode, didactic, epic, sonnet, Mr. Hayley you’re divine. MR. HAYLEY. Ma’am, I’ll take my oath upon it, You yourself are all the Nine.
Copied from Porson’s Manuscript, but whether his own or not is uncertain.
DE CE LIEU DIEU SORT MORT SORT FORT DUR MAIS TRES SUR
Qu a d t d p
os nguis irus risti ulcedine avit.
H sa m Ch m l
Mors mortis morti mortem nisi morte dedisset, Aeternae vitæ janua clausa foret.
FRENCH CHARADES.
A Lise fais tu mon premier, Qui prend le vrai pour le grossier, Ne traite ne de gris ses yeux, Ni de mon second ses cheveux, On Lise en mon tout se mettra, Et tes cheveux arrachera.
CHARADE BACCHIQUE.
Je reçu hier de mon cousin, Pour etrennes tonneau de vin, C’est mon premier lui m’en repond, Pour la douceur et pour l’esprit, Mais puisqu’au au moins c’est mon second, Car c’est gratis comme j’ai dit. Ouvrons mon tout, rien ne me coute, Et buvons jusque a ne voir goutte. ... Quand vous me fites mon premier, En ravissant mon cœur, Iris, Je jurai de vous adorer, Malgre votre orgueilleux mepris, Et voici ce que je promis, J’amuserai jusqu’au dernier point. Maintenant je ne songe point, Aux sermens que je violés, Ai je tort? vous en jugerez Vous etes mon entier toujours. Plus mon entier encor que belle, Vous me jouez cent mauvais tours, Du beau sexe trop vrai modele, Doit ma constance etre eternelle?
ON THE ENQUIRIES MADE AFTER THE WRITER OF A CERTAIN LEARNED PREFACE.
Perturbed spirits spare your ink, Nor beat your stupid brains no longer, Soon to oblivion then shall sink Your persecuted Preface-monger.
INCERTI AUCTORIS.
RIDDLE.
In every gift of Fortune I abound, In me is every vice and virtue found, With black and blue and green myself I paint, With me an atheist stands before a saint; Far above Nature, I make Art precede, And before sovereigns give the poor the lead. Many who bear the name of learned and wise, Did I not help them, you would oft despise; Nay more, within my grasp together bound The king, the beggar, and the harlot’s found; In one thing I excel the proudest lords, You always may depend upon my words.
RIDDLE.
I’m sometimes very honest, sometimes not, And less sincere at court than in a cot; Sometimes I pleasure give, and sometimes pain, And now I praise bestow, and now disdain; The lovelier I appear when small my throne, Enlarge but this, and all my beauty’s gone; Sullen and silent when my friends are gone, I’m e’en invisible if left alone; Few things there are, at least but few I know, Which cost so little, and so much bestow.
RIDDLE.
Tho’ so light is my weight that no strength is required, They who take me about are oftentimes tired; Short, long, narrow, broad, of materials not strong, The forms I assume to rude fingers belong; Under thousands of names I am every day seen, And of very great use to dull people have been; Nay! often the vulgarest creatures on earth Take me from the hands of the noblest in birth; Me the folks of the country in general disown, So civil and gay, I’m fit only for town; In the coldest of winters my back is quite bare, Yet so little I find of compassion or care, That as soon as I’m seen I’m thought worthy of none, My service is past, and my business is done.
RIDDLE.
What could man do without my aid? Or what each fair industrious maid? I lead the first o’er sea and land, The second takes me by the hand, Presses me close with care and skill, And makes me do whate’er she will. I cannot boast of many charms, I’ve neither feet, nor legs, nor arms, But all allow I have an eye So fine, it may with beauty vye; I fear I many wounds impart, Shed blood, but never touch the heart. They who would contemplate my end, For that’s the point where I offend, Sharply to look about must mind, Or me much sharper they will find.
It has been mentioned that Porson wrote some notes for Nicholson, to be prefixed to the edition of Xenophon’s Anabasis, published at Cambridge, in 1786. One of the copies of that work, given him by the bookseller, he presented to the writer of this article, with an inscription in Latin, written in his most beautiful manner, and expressed in the most flattering terms. A great many years afterwards he happened to take this particular Volume into his hands, and on looking at the inscription, hastily tore it out, promising the owner to write another. He never could be prevailed upon to explain his motive for this act, but it was conceived that some particular form of expression or disposition of the words had appeared erroneous to his better judgment. His friendly sentiments were certainly unchanged, which he manifested by subsequently writing another inscription in the book, expressed in terms, to the full as flattering as those which preceded. The words were these.
Viro doctissimo atque Amicissimo
Amicitiæ Ergo Donat. Ricardus Porson. 1789.
That he was friendly and social, many examples have already been adduced, sufficiently strong and numerous to prove that Gilbert Wakefield’s application to him of the term “Misanthrope” was absurd and unjust. But he was occasionally very playful, and once in a very merry mood, being in company with the young lady, of whom we have before spoken, and for whom he wrote most of the Charades, (printed in this work) he offered a trifling wager, that he could carry her round the room in his teeth. This was accordingly accepted. He fixed a handkerchief round her waist, and by first obtaining a nice balance he actually accomplished his purpose, without any seeming inconvenience.
Upon the tendency of his politics it is not intended to expatiate. It never interrupted an harmonious intercourse of more than twenty years with him, who pays this tribute to his memory, and to whom, in a moment of confidence, he gave, in his own hand-writing, a Pamphlet written in answer to Mr. Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution. It is termed, A new Catechism for the use of the Natives of Hampshire. It is written with much vivacity and humour, but strongly marks the incorrigible bitterness of his political prejudices.
The humour of the Tract consists in playing upon the expression of the Swinish Multitude, said to have been applied by Burke to the common people. The beginning and conclusion are inserted as a sufficient specimen.
Q. What is your name?
A. Hog or Swine.
Q. Did God make you a Hog?
A. No. God made me man in his own image; the Right Hon. Sublime Beautiful made me a Swine.
Q. How did he make you a Swine?
A. By muttering obscure and uncouth spells. He is a dealer in the black art.
Q. Who feeds you?
A. Our Drivers, the only real men in this County.
Q. How many Hogs are you in all?
A. Seven or eight millions.
Q. How many Drivers?
A. Two or three hundred thousand.
Q. With what do they feed you?
A. Generally with husks, swill, draff, malt, grains, and now and then with a little barley-meal and a few potatoes, and when they have too much butter-milk themselves they give us some.
The following must be allowed not to be destitute of humour.
Q. What are the Interpreters[5] called?
A. The Black Letter Sisterhood.
Q. Why do they give the office to women?
A. Because they have a fluent tongue, and a knack of scolding.
Q. How are they are dressed?
A. In gowns and false hair.
Q. What are the principal orders?
A. Three—Writers, Talkers, and Hearers, which last are also called Deciders.
Q. What is their general business?
A. To discuss the mutual quarrels of the hogs, and to punish their affronts to any or all of the drivers.
Q. If two hogs quarrel, how do they apply to the sisterhood?
A. Each hog goes separately to a Writer.
Q. What does the Writer?
A. She goes to a Talker.
Q. What does the Talker?
A. She goes to a Hearer (or Decider.)
Q. What does the Hearer decide?
A. What she pleases.
Q. If a hog is decided to be in the right, what is the consequence?
A. He is almost ruined.
Q. If in the wrong, what?
A. He is quite ruined.
After some facetious sneers at the clergy, who are termed peace-makers, the dialogue proceeds.
Q. How are these peace-makers rewarded?
A. With our potatoes.
Q. What with all?
A. Ten per cent. only.
Q. Then you have still ninety left in the hundred?
A. No, we have only forty left.
Q. What becomes of the odd fifty?
A. The drivers take them, partly as a small recompence for their trouble in protecting us, and partly to make money of them, for the prosecution of law-suits with the neighbouring farmers.
Q. You talk very sensibly for a hog; whence had you your information?
A. From a learned Pig.
The following is given by way of answer to the question by what ceremony the hog is disenchanted, and resumes his natural shape.
A. The hog that is going to be disenchanted, grovels before the Chief Driver, who holds an iron skewer over him, and gives him a smart blow on the shoulder, to remind him at once of his former subjection and future submission. Immediately he starts up, like the devil from Ithuriel’s spear, in his proper shape, and ever after goes about with a nick-name. He then beats his hogs without mercy, and when they implore his compassion, and beg him to recollect that he was once their Fellow Swine, he denies that ever he was a hog.
This curious dialogue thus concludes:—
Q. What is the general wish of the hogs at present?
A. To save their bacon.
Chorus of hogs.
Amen.
It may be observed of Porson, as Junius heretofore remarked of himself, that perhaps his own recollection could not always bring before him the numerous things he had written at various times, and on different occasions. Two learned articles of great judgment and acute criticism, may be pointed out, which not improbably Porson never communicated, except to the individuals for whose immediate service they were intended; more particularly as those individuals proudly pursued and sturdily avowed principles and sentiments, in the most determined opposition to those with whom the Professor lived with greater familiarity and intimacy.
The first of these was an article containing very learned and ingenious observations on the Codex Theodori Bezæ Cantabrigiensis, published by Dr. Kipling in 1793.
The reader may remember, that this MS. was so printed, that every page, line, word, letter, and point, as far as types can imitate hand-writing, corresponded with the original. Dr. Woide had done the same thing before with respect to the celebrated Alexandrian MS. But of the two works, the Professor remarks, “that as much as Kipling’s work is superior to Dr. Woide’s in its outside, so does it appear to be below it in intrinsic merit.”
The Professor objects, in the first instance, to the title prefixed by Dr. Kipling, viz. Codex Theodori Bezæ Cantabrigiensis. It is argued that an ambiguity is here involved, and that the natural construction of the words would make Bezæ, a Cambridge man at least, if not a member of the University. The whole, however, forms a fair and candid specimen of criticism, though the writer persists to the last in assigning the higher rank in point of merit to Dr. Woide’s most valuable publication.
The other Critical Essay, to which the Professor materially contributed, was a series of remarks on Wakefield’s Lucretius. It could not escape the discernment of so sagacious an observer as Porson manifestly was, that even when performing the office merely of editing a classical author, Wakefield could not resist the impulse he always obeyed of obtruding his opinions on subjects no more connected with Lucretius than with the history of China; and this has extorted the following sentence, sharp enough it must be acknowledged, but unquestionably true. “Mr. W.’s notes are very numerous and various; philological, critical, illustrative, and political, such as he always pours forth with a facility which judgment sometimes limps after in vain.”
It is well known to scholars, that the undertaking of collating manuscripts is very far from being an easy task, but in this labour the Professor was remarkably well skilled. It will appear from the observations here alluded to, that Porson actually submitted to the drudgery of collating three of the manuscripts employed by Wakefield. These MSS. were as follows:—
A MS, belonging to the public library at Cambridge, designated in Wakefield’s edition by the Greek letter Ω.
A MS. belonging to Edward Poore, Esq. of no great value or antiquity, referred to by Ο.
And three Harleian MSS. preserved in the British Museum, respectively called in the edition Δ. Π. Σ.
These three last MSS. being immediately within his reach, the Professor carefully collated, and the result of his conclusion was, that Wakefield cannot receive the palm of a skilful and scrupulously accurate collator. It is not intended to assert that the passage which follows, came from Porson’s pen, but it is so perfectly true in itself, and characteristic of Wakefield, that it is here inserted.
“In thus examining the present Edition of Lucretius, we feel a strong confidence that we shall not be suspected of being actuated by any resentment against a person, who must himself feel the chief evils of a restless, impatient, intolerant, mind. We think it, indeed, most lamentable, that a man, whose proper occupations are study and polite literature, should be so little able to command himself, as to fall into extravagances of political conduct, injurious ultimately to himself and family. Too many instances of this spirit appear completely out of their places in this Edition of Lucretius, in the form of political verses, allusions to the glories of France, and aspirations after similar changes here, with prophetic intimations of their approach.
“In such a farrago, abuse of us and our work, as supporting all that Mr. W. wishes to see overthrown, is virtually the highest compliment, and though we owe no gratitude to the author, we cannot but approve the tendency of his conduct towards us.
“We see, however, in his pages not the slightest tincture of that character, which he has, very early in his Preface, bestowed upon himself. ‘Si quis unquam diffidens mei.’ A most extravagant self-confidence, on the contrary, is every where conspicuous, except in a few of the prefatory flourishes; and though his maturer judgment has enabled him to see in his own ‘Silva critica plurima quæ sint juveniliter temeraria απροσδιονυσα prorsus et homine critico indigna,’ yet the very same character unimproved, will be found to prevail in his critical conjectures, scattered abundantly throughout the notes to his work, and readily accessible by means of his critical index. No author escapes his rage for correction, and Horace and Virgil in particular would have as little knowledge of their own works, were they presented to them reformed à la Wakefield, as we should of the British constitution were it given to his emendation. We can, however, pity while we censure, and most sincerely wish that with a more temperate mind, even in literature, he would give himself exclusively, and without mixture, to those studies, in which, with all his failings, he has certainly made a proficiency not common among scholars of this country.”
Whether the miscellaneous articles which follow be worthy of insertion, may by some be doubted, but they are genuine, and asperity may be softened by the consideration that they are the last.
If the reader will refer to the edition of Demosthenes, by Wolfius, printed at Frankfort, 1604, at p. 470, he will find the Oration of Æschines contre Ctesiphontem to conclude thus:
Και ειμεν καλως και αζιως του αδικηματος κατηγορηκα, ειπον ως εβουλομην, ειδε ενδεεστερως ως εδυναμην.
Porson has noted a singular coincidence of expression to be found in the 38th verse of the last chapter of the second book of Maccabees.
“And if I have done well and as fitting the story it is that which I desired, but if slenderly and meanly, it is that which I could attain unto.”
Part of a humourous and satirical copy of verses addressed to Dr. W⸺, on his being appointed Tutor to the D⸺ of G⸺ by some attributed to Porson, by some to a hand now Right Reverend.
A POETICAL ADDRESS.
PART I.
Sage W⸺, Royal William’s Tutor, Thou reverend dilettanti Fluter, His voice an humble poet raises To celebrate thy Pupil’s praises; The lovely Boy and senior Gloster, Shall condescend my muse to foster With praise—not pay; for you and I know Our patron’s not too full of rhino; You for a paltry pimping payment, That scarce will find you food and raiment, Give up your talents, freedom, leisure, To do the Royal folks a pleasure; I, for we poets in all ages, Have scorned to do our work for wages, Waste pen, wit, rhyme, and why? the cause is An hungry hope of lean applauses. ... Now W⸺ swears, so goes the rumour, These squibs more scandal have than humour. “Oh! curse the rascal, did I know him, (aside) “I’d maul him for his doggrel poem[6].” Yet W⸺, should ill-tempered satire, Prince William’s character bespatter, Fret not, but check thy rising choler, For I’ll defend thy Royal Scholar.
END OF PART I.
The Essay which succeeds was discovered after his decease among the manuscripts of the elegant and accomplished youth, whose character will be found in Vol. I. p. 173, et seq. It is supposed to be descriptive of his own particular situation.
Goodness wounds itself, And sweet affection proves the spring of woe. Shakespeare.
The character of Timon of Athens presents a delineation of sudden change in the principles of human action, which, though drawn by the pen of Shakespeare himself, whose knowledge of the heart appears almost intuitive, has been censured as extravagant and unnatural. The glowing generosity, the indefatigable friendship, the expansive openness of soul, which mark the earlier features of the character of Timon, are suddenly, on a change of fortune, which discover treachery in his supposed friends, subverted to their foundation. The whole mental scene, shifting with rapidity and violence, presents in their room the most inveterate and ferocious detestation directed against all mankind. In my mind, the poet has here only afforded another proof of the keenness of that penetration, which, glancing through all the springs and mazes of the human soul, fixes the changing features of the mental portrait, and holds a mirror to nature herself. He perceived that on the ruins of our best feelings the temple of misanthropy is ever erected, the force of this truth he has exemplified by characters stamped with the kindliest affections of nature, containing those propensities on which the fairest structure of human happiness is raised, in which those benefits, so far from tending to their proper end, ill-managed and abused, involve their possessors in delusion and misery, and naturally end in a frame of mind inimical to mankind, and incapable of felicity.
Of these Timon is one; although inconsiderate ostentation forms a striking feature in the delineation of Shakespeare, the violence of misanthropy is to be traced to other causes, and we are led to exclaim, from a thorough knowledge of his character, with the faithful Flavius,
Poor honest Lord, brought low by his own heart; Undone by goodness.
To follow the general idea of the poet more closely, to apply it more generally to human nature at large, will probably reward our labour. For this purpose, we may call up before our eyes the painful, though too common picture, which the mind, where the glow of fancy triumphs over reason, and the mere impulse of sensibility supersedes reflection and settled principle, exhibits in its progress through the world.
To a mind of high wrought feelings, and heated imagination, the entrance of life is fairy ground. The objects which solicit attention, viewed through the medium of that elevated hope which youth alone inspires, shine with a brilliancy of tint not their own. The face of universal nature impresses the soul with secret influence, a delicious rapture, which gives a new charm to being, and the heart, intoxicated with its own sensations, expands with an unbounded warmth to all existence.
The desert of the world is decorated with the fleeting visions of a raised and glowing fancy, while the eye rests, with unsuspicious wonder, on the splendid prospects which the magic of early expectation calls up on every side. Filled with that strong enthusiasm which elevates whilst it deludes, the mind soon is taught to feel, that in the crowd of pleasures, which court her acceptance, something is still deficient. The finer and more exalted ideas, which stimulate incessantly to action, are still without an object worthy of all their energy. The powers of the soul languish, and are depressed, from the narrowness of the sphere in which they have yet moved, the master strings of the heart are yet untouched, the higher, stronger passions of the breast are to be rouzed before the keenness of expectation can be gratified. The charms of friendship, the delicate and intoxicating sensations which attend the first delicious emotions of the tender passion, rush on the imagination with violence, to which even the energy of youthful ambition is feeble and impotent in comparison. It seems that but a dream of pleasure, a prospect of bliss, has been presented to the view, which friendship and love alone can realize and render perfect.
The enthusiast now looks eagerly around for the objects, which a heart, yet unacquainted with the realities of things, and wound up to its highest pitch, tells him are alone able to fill that void which still aches within the bosom. In the moment of delusion, the connections are formed which are to stamp existence with happiness or misery in the extreme. A blind impulse overpowers deliberation, and the heart expands itself for the reception of inmates, whose value it has not for a moment paused to ascertain. The measure of happiness is now for a moment full. The mind, conscious that the energy of sentiment no longer languishes in inaction, feels those wishes compleated, which the vividity of imagination had before but imperfectly suggested, and yields without reserve to the novel emotions, which begin to make part of its existence. On every side the heart is cheered by the smile of affection, on every side the arms of friendship are expanded with inviting openness.
The wand of deception creates a little world around, where nothing meets the eye but the mutual efforts of emulative exertion, and the smile of beneficence exulting over its own work. And love! sacred love! who that has truly felt thy first pure, and delicious influence, but learns, even if the object be delusion, that the few moments which thy power can confer, are of more value than whole existences unanimated by thy holy and vital flame.
But this rapture is not to last. The time is to come when the prospect which depended on the influence of passion, however noble, and prejudice, however honest, shall melt away from the view. The mind, raised to a pitch of enjoyment above the reality of sublunary happiness, is in danger when the faces of things appear at once in their proper colours, of sinking to a degree equally below it. He, who in the glow of his earlier feelings, feasted his eye with increasing transport, on the gay and captivating scenery, with which the creative power of an ardent imagination had overspread the barrenness of reality, now begins to find a thousand little deceptions wear away. The insipidity and nakedness of many an object, which, at a distance, had attracted his eagerness, and roused the keenness of his passions, press so close upon him, that even prejudice and enthusiasm fail to operate the accustomed delusion.
The little vanity, so often interwoven with the best natures, receives a variety of unexpected and grievous wounds. As the mists which clouded his better judgment retire, on every side he discovers with astonishment, that a dupe to self-deception, he has, like a blind idolator, fallen prostrate before the gaudy images his own hands have formed and decorated. He perceives that he has walked in a world of his own creation, that life and man are still before him to study, and he only recovers his cooler reason to feel the loss of that mental elevation, that brilliant perception of things, which, though ideal, were so dear to him.
But perhaps this is not all, nor does the discovery which scourges vanity, and detects the harmless fallacies of judgment, alone await him. Perhaps the hour of deception has treasured up disappointment more heavy and intolerable. What are his sensations, if the truth he now begins anxiously and fearfully to learn, is brought immediately home to his own bosom, and he is doomed to feel that the exalted and glowing ideas of friendship, which first expanded his soul, shrink even in his view, and leave his breast void and desolate. When in the heart, which his earliest ideas had imaged as the residence of that sacred passion, the trial of experience detects hollowness and falsehood. When it is his bitter lot to mark the progress of alienated affection, to watch the subsidence of cooling attachment, to feel the ties connected in an honest and unsuspicious bosom with all his first enjoyments of happiness, beginning one by one to untwine. When he is to groan under the pang of the heart, which accompanies the tearing out of the thousand little habits of confidence, the innumerable kindly affections, which long custom had rooted in the soul, and made a part of the pleasantness of existence; or when he is to experience the agony of the moment, when he, in whom the bosom fondly trusted, insults the confidence he has cruelly violated, and aggravates by unfeeling mockery the distress his perfidy has excited.
But if this can be borne, perhaps the last and most fearful shock awaits him; the tenderest strings of his soul are to be more cruelly rent, and the wound, which before smarted almost to madness, rendered at once incurable. There are finer and more exalted ties, comprehending the best feelings, the dearest relations of which our natures are capable. Their severing is accompanied by sensations to which the wound of violated friendship itself is feeble, and, to minds of a certain frame, communicates that deadly stroke, to which the power of all other human evils, would have been inadequate. Such are those which unexpected treachery, from that quarter where the soul had gathered up its best and tenderest hope, must call forth, and few are the hearts, round the ruggedness of whose nature so little of the softer feelings are entwined, as not to feel the full keenness of that wound which the tearing of the ties of love inflicts, though its firmness had been inaccessible to the force of common calamities. The distress is more complicated and hopeless from its nature than any other, and the pangs of a thousand discordant passions are crouded and concentrated into that terrible moment which discovers infidelity, where the confiding heart had fondly rested all its prospects of happiness. Under other strokes of calamity the soul gains force and dignity from the greatness of unmerited misfortunes, and rouses every latent power to combat against evil fate.
In the school of distress the energies of the mind are disclosed, and, learning our own powers, we combat against the impression of adversity till we are able to contemn it. But here the sufferer finds himself as it were waked suddenly from a dream of happiness to intolerable misery; with his mind unnerved and weakened by passion, all the resources of fortitude lying dormant, every tender sensation doubly acute, every softening feeling alive. From the object of tenderness and idolatry of one, who was the world to him, he at once finds himself a deserted and despised being; he sees his best and finest feelings blasted for ever, his honest sources of pleasure and peace cut off at one stroke, with the terrible aggravation that the hand to which alone he could look for comfort and healing under the wound of calamity, instead of being stretched out to save him, itself lodges the dagger in his breast.
He is now alone. The ties which bound him to existence, cruelly loosened before, are torn for ever by this last, worst stroke. The prospect which before warmed his heart, is narrowed and darkened on every side. The journey of life is before him dreary and comfortless. The weary path of rugged labour remains to be trodden, when the motives of activity and the rewards of exertion have ceased to exist, when the keenness of expectation can no longer be stimulated, and the spirit of enterprize has subsided into sullen indifference. While he ruminates with agony on the past, he cheerlessly looks forward to a gloomy futurity, and his foreboding mind sees, in the ruin of his first and fondest hopes, the nothingness of the visions of imagination, the destruction of the thousand little schemes and prospects suggested by an honest ambition, which the exultation of an heart untouched by calamity had fondly and fearlessly indulged. The recollection of those delusions, which cheated his unsuspecting youth, whispers for ever that safety is alone compatible with apathy, and cases his heart in impenetrable suspicion. A line of separation is drawn between him and his species.
Deceived, insulted, wounded, from that quarter where his heart had treasured up all hope, where his ideas of human excellence had all concentred confidence in mankind, is in his eyes the weakness of despicable folly, or the extreme of desperate madness. The principles of the soul, already unsettled, are soon shaken to their foundation. The milk of human kindness turns fast to gall; while those very passions, that frame of mind, which operated the first delusion, which stamped the features of unbounded friendship, of enthusiastic beneficence, now all subverted, are applied to exalt the violence of the opposite character. Under this stroke the self-love, which might bear up against the common weight of calamity, receives an incurable and rankling wound, over which the soul gloomily broods. The passions of the misanthrope still flaming with violence, tend, as to a centre, to the aggravation of abhorrence and distrust of his species, and he hates with a keenness and acrimony proportioned to the strength of disappointed feeling which marked his entrance into life.
H⸺
The following Imitations of the Ancients, by Milton and Pope, are printed from a Manuscript of Gilbert Wakefield’s, dated Warrington, April 20, 1783.
MILTON’S IMITATION OF THE ANCIENTS.
Book I. l. 594.
As when the sun In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations—
Lucan. Pharsal. I. 542.
Involvetque orbem tenebris, gentesque coegit Desperare diem—
Book I. v. 665.
The sudden blaze Far round illumined hell; highly they raged Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war.
Lucret. L II. 325.
Fulgur ibi ad cœlum se tollit, totaque circum Ære renidescit tellus, subterque, virûm vi, Excitur pedibus sonitus, clamoreque montes Ictei rejectant voces ad sidera mundi.
Book II. 220.
This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.
Sophoc. Ajax. 397.
Ιω σκοτος εμον φαος· Ερεβος ω φαεννοτατον.
Book III. v. 39.
As the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid Tunes her nocturnal note—
Moschus. Id. III. 9.
Αδονες αἱ πυκινοισιν οδυρομεναι ποτι φυλλοις.
Book III. v. 217.
He asked, but all the heavenly quire stood mute, And silence was in heaven.
Il. κ. 218.
Ὡς ἔφαθ. οι δε αρα παντες ακην εγενοντο σιωπῆ.
See also Revelations, chap. viii. v. 1.
“There was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.”
Book IV. v. 323.
Adam the goodliest man of men.
Virg. Æn. VII. 55.
Ante alios pulcherrimus omnes Turnus.
V. 677.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen.
Hesiod, Op. et Di. I. 250.
Τρις γαρ μυριοι εισιν επι χθονι πολυβοτειρῃ Αθανατοι Ζηνος, φυλακες θνητων ανθρωπων.
V. 764.
Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings.
Ovid Amor. L. II. 9. 34.
Notaque purpureus tela resumit amor.
Again,
Art. Amand. I. 232.
Purpureus Bacchi cornua pressit amor.
V. 985.
Satan alarmed, Collecting all his might dilated stood Like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved.
Virg. Æn. VI. 49.
Rabie fera corda tument, majorque videri Nec mortale, &c.
Book V. 11.
Sowed the earth with orient pearl.
Apud Aristot. Poet. β. ωδ. Ed. Ox.
Σπειρων θεακτιστον φλογα.
V. 7.
And the shrill matin song Of birds on every bough.
Sophoc. Elect. 18.
Εωα κινει φθεγματ’ ορνιθων σαφη.
V. 165.
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Theog. Sent. V. 3.
Αλλ’ αιει πρωτοντε, καὶ υστατον εντεμεσοισιν Αεισω.
V. 205.
Be bounteous still To give us only good.
Theog. V. 4.
Κλυθι καὶ εσθλα διδου.
Ver. 896.
Abdiel faithful found Among the faithless, faithful only he.
Sophoc. Elect. 1367.
Ουτος ὁν ποτ’ εκ πολλων εγω Μονον προσευρον πιστον.
Book VI. 233.
Expert When to advance or stand.
Hom. Il. Η. 237.
Αυτὰρ ἐγών εὖ οῖδα μάχαστε ανδροκτασίαστε Οἶδ επι δεξια, οἶδ επαριστερα.
V. 695.
War wearied hath performed.
Virg. Æn. VII. 582.
Martemque fatigant.
V. 710.
Go then thou mightiest, Ascend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels, That shake heaven’s basis, bring forth all my war, My bow and thunder, my almighty arms Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh.
Homer. Il. XVI. 64.
Τυνη δ’ωμοιιν μεν εμα κλυτα τευχεα δυθι, &c. &c.
Book VII. v. 422.
With clang despised the ground.
Horat. Od. III. 2. 24.
Udam Spernit humum fugiente pennâ.
V. 430.
Over lands with mutual wing Easing their flight.
Cicero de Nat. Deor. II. 49.
Pennis cursus avium levatur.
Book VIII. 221.
Speaking or mute all comeliness and grace Attend thee, and each word each motion forms.
Tibull.
Illam quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia vertit Componit furtim subsequiturque decor.
V. 316.
Whom thou soughtst, I am.
Virg. Æn. I. 599.
Coram quem quæritus, adsum.
V. 430.
Canst raise thy creature to what height thou wilt.
Hor. Od. I. 35. 2.
Præsens vel imo tollere de gradu Mortale corpus.
V. 513.
The earth Gave sign of gratulation.
Virg. Æn. IV. 166.
Tellus et pronuba Juno Dant signum.
V. 606.
More grateful than harmonious sound to th’ ear.
Hor. Sat. II. 5. 93.
Carmine gratior aurem Occupat humanam.
Book XI. v. 505.
Would either not accept Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down.
Gr. Epig.
Τοινδε δυοιν ἑνος ἁιρεσις, η το γενεσθαι Μηδεποτ’ η το θανειν αυτικα τικτομενον.
V. 657.
Others from the wall defend With dart and javelin, stones.
Virg. Æn. X. 130.
Hi jaculis, illi certant defendere saxis.
We could subjoin many other instances, but these may suffice to prove, that he who marked them was not confined to a very circumscribed path of reading. There are, however, some imitations by Pope, which appear worth preserving.
Prologue to Sat.
Pretty in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms, The things we know are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they came there.
Martial. VI. 15.
Dum Phaetonteâ formica vagatur in umbrâ Implicuit tenuem succina gutta feram, Sic modo quæ fuerat vitâ contempta manente, Funeribus facta est nunc pretiosa suis.
Essay on Man, B. IV.
Or why so long, if long in life can be, Lent heaven a parent to the poor and me.
Virg. Æn. X. 861
Phœbe diu, res si qua diu mortalibus ulla est Viximus.
Moral Essays, II.
Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air, Chuse a firm cloud, before it fall and in it Catch e’er she change this Cynthia of the minute.
Cowley’s David.
He took for skin a cloud most soft and bright, Of a new rainbow ere it fret or fade, The choicest there cut out.
Moral Essays, III.
Nature, as in duty bound, Deep hid this shining mischief under ground, But when by man’s audacious labour won, Flamed forth this rival to its sire the sun.
Cowley’s David.
Where the sun’s fruitful beams give metals birth, Where he the growth of fatal gold does see, Gold which alone more influence has than he.
Dunciad, Book IV.
Tis true on words is still our whole debate, Dispute of me or te, of aut or at.
Gr. Epig. in Athen. Lib. V.
Φευγετ Ἀρισταρχειοι Γωνιοβομβυκες, μονοσυλλαβοι, οισε μεμηλε Το σφιν, καὶ σφωιν, καὶ το μιν, ηδε το νιν.
Windsor Forest.
Hills, vales, and woods, appear already crost, And e’er he starts a thousand steps are lost.
Lucret. II. 263.
Nonne vides etiam patefactis tempore puncto Carceribus, non posse tamen prorumpere equorum Vim cupidam tam desubito quam mens avet ipsa, Et seq.
Rape of the Lock.
Trivial the subject, but not so the praise.
Virg. Georg.
In tenui labor, et tenuis non gloria.
Windsor Forest, 337.
First the famed authors of his ancient name, The winding Isis and the fruitful Thame; The Kennet swift, for silver eels renowned, The Lodden slow with verdant alders crowned; Cole whose dark streams his flowery islands lave, And chalky Wey that rolls a milky wave; The blue transparent Vandalis appears, The gulphy Lee his sedgy tresses rears; And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood, And silent Darent stained with Danish blood.
Claudian in Prob. et Olyb. Cons. V. 254.
Indigenas fluvios, Italis quicunque suberrant Montibus, Alpinasque bibunt de more pruinas, Vulturnusque rapax, et Nar vitiatus odoro Sulfure, tardatisque suis erroribus useus, Et Phætonteæ perpessus damna ruinæ, Eridanus, flavæque terens querceta Maricæ Liris et Æbaliæ qui temporat arva Galesus.
Art. of Crit.
Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend head.
Claudian. I. Stel. Cons. II. 127.
despectaque Musæ Cella levant.
To revert for a moment to Milton, the following similitude will appear very remarkable.
Book IV. v. 159.
As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the blest, with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles.
Diodorus Siculus, L. III. c. 45.
Θεια γαρ τις φαινεται και λογου κρειττων ἡ προς πιπτουσα και κινοῦσα τας εκαστων αισθησεις εοωδια. Και γαρ τους παρα πλεοντας, καιπερ πολυ της χερσου κεχωρισμενους, ουκ αμοιρους ποιει της τοιαυτης απολαυσεως—κατα γαρ την εαρινην ωραν, οταν αμενος απογειος· γενηται, συμβαινει τας απο των σμυρνοφορων δενδρων και των αλλων των τοιαυτων αποπνεομενας εοωδιαδ διικνεισθαι προς τα πλησιον μερη της θαλαττης.
For the variety of fragrances which here is perpetually exhaled seems somewhat divine, and beyond the power of description; for they who are sailing by, although at a considerable distance from the coast, cannot be insensible of this delight; for in the season of Spring, when the wind blows from the land, it brings with it to the contiguous parts of the sea, the sweet fragrance of myrrh, and other aromatic shrubs.
One more resemblance shall suffice.
Book VII. v. 438.
The swan with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet.
Silius Italicus, XIV. 190.
Haud secus Eridani stagnis ripâve Caystri Innatat albus olor, pronoque immobile corpus Dat fluvio, et pedibus tacitas eremigat undas.
The lines which are subjoined are among the very first poetical productions of the late amiable Mr. Jerningham.
AN IRREGULAR ODE IN HONOUR OF MISS CAMPBELL, By Mr. J⸺m, Written Impromptu at Lady J⸺’s Tea Table.
1. Oh the pride Of Lord Hyde, And the care Of Lord Clare, And the darling Of Alderman Starling. 2. For Venus oft art thou mistaken, In Bruton-street, by Teddy Bacon[7]. 3. Sir Armine[8], when he looks at thee, Forgets his house of Industry. 4. One touch of thy celestial hand, Tho’ shaded by thy brownest glove, (Such is the power of mighty Love) Consumes to atoms Mr. Brand[9]. 5. Thy rising charms spread such alarms, That when of late to Berkeley-square[10], (With conquests big) thou didst repair, Intent thy skill in dancing to display, The amorous youth for fear kept all away. 6. In prose or rhyme it cannot told be, How deep you’ve wounded Mr. Bowlby. 7. One of the valiant sons of war Still wears thy deep imprinted scar, ’Tis Captain—what d’ye call him—Pshaw! The little Adjutant—Fanshaw[11]. 8. Then to Squallini Brooke[12] thou’rt such a treat, The Doctor sweetly smiles, and does not—eat. 9. And when you come to Grosvenor-square, You make no small confusion there, Thy beauteous form too briskly urges The throbbing pulse of Mr. Burges[13]. 10. To Mr. Lombe[14] you give a fever, For thee he quits his lovely B⸺r. 11. Thy beauty casts so warm a ray, That hearts and bowels melt away, On warlike Alpe[15], of the Militia, It had th’ effect of strong magnesia. 12. On Wisdom’s calm sequester’d seat, Thou’st dared to rush with impious feet, And there thou hast been fondly thieving The heart that’s due to Madam Stephen[16]. 13. Now cease, oh Muse, thy too ambitious strain, To count her charms thou still wouldst strive in vain, Were you blest with the pen of the Bard of Fernay[17], Quick time. Or the still keener wit of Sir Hanson Berney[18].