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The rocks of Hernicus-besides a band,
That followed from Velinum's dewy land-
And mountaineers that from Severus came:
And from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica;
And those where yellow Tiber takes his way,
And where Himella's wanton waters play:
Casperia sends her arms with those that lie
By Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli.

But to proceed:

'Earl Douglas on a milk-white steed, Most like a baron bold,

Rode foremost of the company,

Whose armour shone like gold.'

Dryden.

Turnus ut antevolans tardum præcesserat agmen, &c.
Vidisti, quo Turnus equo, quibus ibat in armis
Aureus-

'Our English archers bent their bows,

Their hearts were good and true;
At the first flight of arrows sent,
Full threescore Scots they slew.
'They clos'd full fast on ev'ry side,
No slackness there was found;
And many a gallant gentleman

Lay gasping on the ground.

'With that there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow,

Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,

A deep and deadly blow.'

Æneas was wounded after the same manner

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In the catalogue of the English who fell, Witherington's behaviour is in the same manner particularized very artfully, as the reader is prepared for it by that account which is given of him in the beginning of the battle; though I am satisfied your little buffoon readers (who have seen that passage ridiculed in Hudibras) will not be able to take the beauty of it: for which reason I dare not so much as quote it.*

by an unknown hand in the midst of a par-We
ley.

Has inter voces, media inter talia verba,
Ecce viro stridens alis allapsa sagitta est,
Incertum qua pulsa manu-

Jn. xii. 318.

Thus while he spake, unmindful of defence,
A winged arrow struck the pious prince;
But whether from a human hand it came,

Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame. Dryden. But of all the descriptive parts of this song, there are none more beautiful than the four following stanzas, which have a great force and spirit in them, and are filled with very natural circumstances. The thought in the third stanza was never touched by any other poet, and is such a one as would have shined in Homer or Virgil:

So thus did both these nobles die,
Whose courage none could stain;
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble Earl was slain.

'He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree,
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Unto the head drew he.
'Against Sir Hugh Montgomery
So right his shaft he set,

The grey-goose wing that was thereon
In his heart-blood was wet.

This fight did last from break of day
Till setting of the sun;

For when they rung the ev'ning bell
The battle scarce was done.'

One may observe, likewise, that in the ca-
talogue of the slain, the author has followed
the example of the great ancient poets, not
only in giving a long list of the dead, but
by diversifying it with little characters of
particular persons.

And with Earl Douglas there was slain
Sir Hugh Montgomery,

Sir Charles Carrel, that from the field
One foot would never fly:

'Sir Charles Murrel of Ratcliff too,
His sister's son was he;

Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,

Yet saved could not be.'

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The familiar sound in these names destroys the majesty of the description; for this rea

'Then stept a gallant 'squire forth,
Witherington was his name,
Who said, I would not have it told
To Henry our king for shame,

"That e'er my captain fought on foot,
And I stood looking on."

meet with the same heroic sentiment in Virgil.

Non pudet, O Rutuli, cunctis pro talibus unam
Objectare animam? numerone, an viribus æqui
?
En. xii. 229.
Non sumus
For shame, Rutilius, can you bear the sight
Of one expos'd for all, in single fight,

Can we before the face of Heav'n confess
Our courage colder, or our numbers less? Dryden.
What can be more natural, or more mov-
ing, than the circumstances in which he
describes the behaviour of those women
who had lost their husbands on this fatal
day?

'Next day did many widows come

Their husbands to bewail;

They wash'd their wounds in brinish tears,
But all would not prevail.

"Their bodies bath'd in purple blood,

They bore with them away;

They kiss'd them dead a thousand times,
When they were clad in clay.'

Thus we see how the thoughts of this
poem, which naturally arise from the sub-
ject, are always simple, and sometimes ex-
quisitely noble; that the language is often
very sounding, and that the whole is writ-
ten with a true poetical spirit.

If this song had been written in the Gothic manner, which is the delight of all our little wits, whether writers or readers, it would not have hit the taste of so many ages, and have pleased the readers of all ranks and conditions. I shall only beg pardon for such a profusion of Latin quotations; which I should not have made use of, but that I feared my own judgment would have looked too singular on such a subject, had not I supported it by the practice and authority of Virgil.

C.

There is nothing ludicrous in the verse alluded to

as it stands in the original ballad:

'For Wetharryngton my harte is wo,

That ever he slayne shulde be;

For when both his legges wear hewyne in to,
Yet he knul'd and fought on his kne.'

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No. 75.] Saturday, May 26, 1711.

Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res.
Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. 23. xvii.

All fortune fitted Aristippus well.-Creech. Ir was with some mortification that I suffered the raillery of a fine lady of my acqaintance, for calling, in one of my papers, Dorimant a clown. She was so unmerciful as to take advantage of my invincible taciturnity, and on that occasion with great freedom to consider the air, the height, the face, the gesture of him, who could pretend to judge so arrogantly of gallantry. She is full of motion, janty and lively in her impertinence, and one of those that commonly pass, among the ignorant, for persons who have a great deal of humour. She had the play of Sir Fopling in her hand, and after she had said it was happy for her there was not so charming a creature as Dorimant now living, she began with a theatrical air and tone of voice to read, by way of triumph over me, some of his speeches. 'Tis she! that lovely air, that easy shape, those wanton eyes, and all those melting charms about her mouth, which Medley spoke of. I'll follow the lottery, and put in for a prize with my friend Bellair.

'In love the victors from the vanquish'd fly;
They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.'

Then turning over the leaves, she reads alternately, and speaks,

'And you and Loveit to her cost shall find I fathom all the depths of woman-kind.' Oh the fine gentleman! But here, continues she, is the passage I admire most, where he begins to tease Loveit, and mimic Sir Fopling. Oh, the pretty satire, in his resolving to be a coxcomb to please, since noise and nonsense have such powerful charms.

'I, that I may successful prove,
Transform myself to what you love.'

vail, as the standards of behaviour, in the country wherein he lives. What is opposite to the eternal rules of reason and good sense, must be excluded from any place in the carriage of a well-bred man. I did not, subject, when I called Dorimant a clown, I confess, explain myself enough on this and made it an instance of it, that he called the orange-wench, Double Tripe: I should tleman to give no part of humankind rehave shown, that humanity obliges a genproach, for what they, whom they rethe most virtuous and worthy amongst us. proach, may possibly have in common with When a gentleman speaks coarsely, he has dressed himself clean to no purpose. The clothing of our minds certainly ought to be regarded before that of our bodies. To beis a much greater offence against the contray in a man's talk a corrupt imagination, versation of a gentleman, than any negligence of dress imaginable. But this sense of the matter is so far from being received among people even of condition, that Vocifor a fine gentleman. He is loud, haughty, gentle, soft, lewd, and obsequious by turns, just as a little understanding and sent moment. He passes among the silly great impudence prompt him at the pre-. part of our women for a man of wit, because he is generally in doubt. He contradicts with a shrug, and confutes with a certain sufficiency, in professing such and such a thing is above his capacity. What makes his character the pleasanter is, that he is a professed deluder of women; and because the empty coxcomb has no regard to any thing that is of itself sacred and inviolable. I have heard an unmarried lady of fortune say, It is a pity so fine a gentleman as Vocifer is so great an atheist. The crowds of such inconsiderable creatures, that infest all places of assembling, every reader will have in his eye from his own observation; but would it not be worth

fer passes

Then how like a man of the town, so wild considering what sort of figure a man

and gay is that!

'The wise will find a diff'rence in our fate, You wed a woman, I a good estate.'

who formed himself upon those principles among us, which are agreeable to the dictates of honour and religion, would make in the familiar and ordinary occurrences of life?

It would have been a very wild endeavour for a man of my temper to offer any opposition to so nimble a speaker as my fair several duties of life better than Ignotus. I hardly have observed any one fill his enemy is; but her discourse gave me very All the under parts of his behaviour, and many reflections, when I had left her com- such as are exposed to common observapany. Among others, I could not but con- tion, have their rise in him from great and sider with some attention, the false impres-noble motives. A firm and unshaken exsions the generality (the fair sex more pectation of another life makes him become especially) have of what should be in this; humanity and good-nature, fortified tended, when they say a fine gentleman;' by the sense of virtue, has the same effect and could not help revolving that subject upon him as the neglect of all goodness has in my thoughts, and settling, as it were, an idea of that character in my own imagina- in all matters of importance, that certain upon many others. Being firmly established

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tion.

No man ought to have the esteem of the rest of the world, for any actions which are disagreeable to those maxims which pre

*Spect. No. 65.

inattention which makes men's actions look by a thorough contempt of little exceleasy, appears in him with greater beauty: lencies, he is perfectly master of them. This temper of mind leaves him under no necessity of studying his air, and he has this

He that can work himself into a pleasure in considering this being as an uncertain one, and think to reap an advantage by its discontinuance, is in a fair way of doing all things with a graceful unconcern, and a gentleman-like ease. Such a one does not behold his life as a short, transient, perplexing state, made up of trifling pleasures and great anxieties; but sees it in quite another light; his griefs are momentary and his joys immortal. Reflection upon death is not a gloomy and sad thought of resigning every thing that he delights in, but it is a short night followed by an endless day. What I would here contend for is, that the more virtuous a man is, the nearer he will naturally be to the character of genteel and agreeable. A man whose fortune is plentiful, shows an ease in his countenance, and confidence in his behaviour, which he that is under wants and difficulties cannot assume. It is thus with the state of the mind; he that governs his thoughts with the everlasting rules of reason and sense, must have something so inexpressibly graceful in his words and actions, that every circumstance must become him. The change of persons or things around him does not alter his situation, but he looks disinterested in the occurrences with which others are distracted, because the greatest purpose of his life is to maintain an indifference both to it and all its enjoyments. In a word, to be a fine gentleman, is to be a generous and a brave

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peculiar distinction, that his negligence is alliances. A man who is but a mere Spec-
unaffected.
tator of what passes around him, and not
engaged in commerces of any consideration,
is but an ill judge of the secret motions of
the heart of man, and by what degrees it is
actuated to make such visible alterations in
the same person: but at the same time,
when a man is no way concerned in the
effect of such inconsistencies in the beha-
viour of men of the world, the speculation
must be in the utmost degree both divert-
ing and instructive; yet to enjoy such ob-
servations in the highest relish, he ought
to be placed in a post of direction, and have
the dealings of their fortunes to them. I
have therefore been wonderfully diverted
with some pieces of secret history, which
an antiquary, my very good friend, lent me
as a curiosity. They are memoirs of the
private life of Pharamond of France. 'Pha
ramond,' says my author, was a prince of
infinite humanity and generosity, and at the
same time the most pleasant and facetious
companion of his time. He had a peculiar
taste in him, which would have been un-
lucky in any prince but himself; he thought
there could be no exquisite pleasure in con-
versation, but among equals; and would
pleasantly bewail himself that he always
lived in a crowd, but was the only man in
France that could never get into company.
This turn of mind made him delight in
midnight rambles, attended only with one
person of his bed-chamber. He would in
these excursions get acquainted with men
(whose temper he had a mind to try) and
What can make a man so much in recommend them privately to the parti
constant good humour, and shine, as we cular observation of his first minister. He
call it, than to be supported by what can generally found himself neglected by his
never fail him, and to believe that what-new acquaintance as soon as they had hopes
ever happens to him was the best thing of growing great; and used on such occa
that could possibly befal him, or else he on sions to remark, that it was a
great injus
whom it depends, would not have permitted tice to tax princes of forgetting themselves
in their high fortunes, when there were so
few that could with constancy bear the
favour of their very creatures. My author
in these loose hints has one passage that
gives us a very lively idea of the uncommon'
genius of Pharamond. He met with one
man whom he had put to all the usual proofs
he made of those he had a mind to know
thoroughly, and found him for his purpose.
THERE is nothing so common as to find In discourse with him one day, he gave him
a man whom in the general observation of an opportunity of saying how much would
his carriage you take to be of a uniform satisfy all his wishes.
The prince imme-
temper, subject to such unaccountable starts diately revealed himself, doubled the sum,
of humour and passion, that he is as much and spoke to him in this manner: 'Sir, you
unlike himself, and differs as much from have twice what you desired, by the favour
the man you at first thought him, as any of Pharamond; but look to it, that you are
two distinct persons can differ from each satisfied with it, for it is the last you shall
other. This proceeds from the want of ever receive. I'from this moment consider
forming some law of life to ourselves, or you as mine; and to make you truly so, I
fixing some notion of things in general, give you my royal word you shall never be
which may affect us in such a manner as to greater or less than you are at present.
create proper habits both in our minds and Answer me not (concluded the prince smil-
bodies. The negligence of this, leaves us ing,) but enjoy the fortune I have put you
exposed, not only to an unbecoming levity in in, which is above my own condition; for
our usual conversation, but also to the same you have hereafter nothing to hope or fear.
instability in our friendships, interests, and]
His majesty having thus well chosen and

man.

it to have befallen him at all.

R.

No. 76.] Monday, May 28, 1711.
Ut tu fortunam, sic nos te, Celse, feremus.
Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. viii. 17.
As you your fortune bear, we will bear you.

Creech.

sp

ble and generous use of his observations,
and did not regard his ministers as they
were agreeable to himself, but as they were
useful to his kingdom. By this means, the
king appeared in every officer of state; and
no man had a participation of the power,
who had not a similitude of the virtue of
Pharamond.
R.

bought a friend and companion, he enjoyed which no man else can ever have an ophima alternately all the pleasures of an agreeable portunity of enjoying. He gave fortune to private man, and a great and powerful mo- none but those whom he knew could retnarch. He gave himself, with his compa-ceive it without transport. He made a node nion, the name of the merry tyrant; for he punished his courtiers for their insolence Sa and folly, not by any act of public disfavour, en but by humorously practising upon their imaginations. If he observed a man untractable to his inferiors, he would find an opportunity to take some favourable notice of him, and render him insupportable. He heknew all his own looks, words, and actions, had their interpretations; and his friend Monsieur Eucrate (for so he was called) having a great soul without ambition, he No. 77.] Tuesday, May 29, 1711. could communicate all his thoughts to him, and fear no artful use would be made of that freedom. It was no small delight when they were in private, to reflect upon all which had passed in public.

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Non convivere licet, nec urbe tota Quisquam est tam prope tam proculque nobis. Mart. Epig. 87. I. i. What correspondence can I hold with you, Who are so near, and yet so distant too? Pharamond would often, to satisfy a vain fool of power in his country, talk to him in My friend Will Honeycomb is one of a full court, and with one whisper make those sort of men who are very often absent him despise all his old friends and acquain-in conversation, and what the French call tance. He was come to that knowledge of a reveur and a distrait. A little before our men by long observation, that he would club-time last night, we were walking toprofess altering the whole mass of blood in gether in Somerset-gardens, where Will some tempers, by thrice speaking to them. had picked up a small pebble of so odd a As fortune was in his power, he gave him- make, that he said he would present it to a self constant entertainment in managing the friend of his, an eminent virtuoso. After mere followers of it with the treatment they we had walked some time, I made a full deserved. He would, by a skilful cast of stop with my face towards the west, which eye, and half a smile, make two fellows Will knowing to be my usual method of who hated, embrace, and fall upon each asking what's o'clock, in an afternoon, imother's necks with as much eagerness, as mediately pulled out his watch, and told me if they followed their real inclinations, and we had seven minutes good. We took a intended to stifle one another. When he turn or two more, when to my great surwas in high good humour, he would lay the prise, I saw him squir away his watch a scene with Eucrate, and on a public night considerable way into the Thames, and exercise the passions of his whole court. with great sedateness in his looks put up He was pleased to see a haughty beauty the pebble, he had before found, in his fob. watch the looks of the man she had long As I have naturally an aversion to much despised, from observation of his being speaking, and do not love to be the messentaken notice of by Pharamond; and the ger of ill news, especially when it comes lover conceive higher hopes, than to follow too late to be useful, I left him to be conthe woman he was dying for the day be- vinced of his mistake in due time, and confore. In a court, where men speak affec-tinued my walk, reflecting on these little tion in the strongest terms, and dislike in absences and distractions in mankind, and the faintest, it was a comical mixture of resolving to make them the subject of a incidents to see disguises thrown aside in future speculation. one case, and increased on the other, according as favour or disgrace attended the respective objects of men's approbation or disesteem. Pharamond, in his mirth the meanness of mankind, used to say, As he could take away a man's five senses, he could give him a hundred. The man in disgrace shall immediately lose all his natural endowments, and he that finds favour have the attributes of an angel.' He would carry it so far as to say, It should not be only so in the opinion of the lower part of his court, but the men themselves shall think thus meanly or greatly of themselves, as they are out or in the good graces of a

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court.

upon

A monarch, who had wit and humour like Pharamond, must have pleasures!

I was the more confirmed in my design, when I considered that they were very often blemishes in the characters of men of excellent sense; and helped to keep up the reputation of that Latin proverb, which Mr. Dryden has translated in the following lines:

'Great wit to madness sure is near ally'd, And thin partitions do their bounds divide."* My reader does, I hope, perceive, that I distinguish a man who is absent, because he thinks of something else, from one who is absent, because he thinks of nothing at all. The latter is too innocent a creature to be taken notice of; but the distractions of the

Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiæ.
Seneca De Tranquil. Anim. cap. xv.

former may, I believe, be generally ac-house about 'Change. I was his bail i counted for from one of these reasons. the time of the Popish plot, when he wa taken up for a Jesuit.' If he had looked o me a little longer, he had certainly de scribed me so particularly, without eve considering what led him into it, that th whole company must necessarily hav found me out; for which reason, remem bering the old proverb, 'Out of sight o of mind,' I left the room; and upon mee ing him an hour afterwards, was asked b him, with a great deal of good humour, i what part of the world I lived, that he ha not seen me these three days.

Either their minds are wholly fixed on some particular science, which is often the case of mathematicians and other learned men; or are wholly taken up with some violent passion, such as anger, fear or love, which ties the mind to some distant object, or, lastly, these distractions proceed from a certain vivacity and fickleness in a man's temper, which while it raises up infinite numbers of ideas in the mind, is continually pushing it on, without allowing it to rest on any particular image. Nothing therefore is more unnatural than the thoughts and conceptions of such a man, which are seldom occasioned either by the company he is in, or any of those objects which are placed before him. While you fancy he is admiring a beautiful woman, it is an even wager that he is solving a proposition in Euclid; and while you may imagine he is reading the Paris Gazette, it is far from being impossible, that he is pulling down and rebuilding the front of his country

house.

At the same time that I am endeavouring to expose this weakness in others, I shall readily confess that I once laboured under the same infirmity myself. The method I took to conquer it was a firm resolution to learn something from whatever I was obliged to see or hear. There is a way of thinking, if a man can attain to it, by which he may strike somewhat out of any thing. I can at present observe those starts of good sense, and struggles of unimproved reason in the conversation of a clown, with as much satisfaction as the most shining periods of the most finished orator; and can make a shift to command my attention at a puppet-show or an opera, as well as at Hamlet or Othello. I always make one of the company I am in; for though I say little myself, my attention to others, and those nods of approbation which I never bestow unmerited, sufficiently show that I am among them. Whereas Will Honeycomb, though a fellow of good sense, is every day doing and saying a hundred things, which he afterwards confesses, with a well-bred frankness, were somewhat mal à propos, and undesigned.

Monsieur Bruyere has given us the cha racter of an absent man, with a great de of humour, which he has pushed to a agreeable extravagance: with the heads it I shall conclude my present paper.

'Menalcas,' says that excellent autho comes down in a morning, opens his do to go out, but shuts it again, because perceives that he has his night-cap on: ar examining himself further, finds that he but half shaved, that he has stuck h sword on his right side, that his stocking are about his heels, and that his shirt over his breeches. When he is dresse he goes to court, comes into the drawing room, and walking bolt-upright under branch of candlesticks, his wig is caught u by one of them, and hangs dangling in th air. All the courtiers fall a-laughing, but M nalcas laughs louder than any of them ar looks about for the person that is the jest the company. Coming down to the cour gate he finds a coach, which taking for b own, he whips into it; and the coachma drives off, not doubting but he carries h master. As soon as he stops, Menalc throws himself out of the coach, cross the court, ascends the stair-case, and ru through all the chambers with the greate familiarity; reposes himself on a couc and fancies himself at home. The mast of the house at last comes in; Menalc rises to receive him, and desires him to down; he talks, muses, and then tal again. The gentleman of the house is tir and amazed; Menalcas is no less so, but every moment in hopes that his imper nent guest will at last end his tedious vis Night comes on, when Menalcas is hard

I chanced the other day to go into a cof-undeceived. fee-house, where Will was standing in the When he is playing at backgammo midst of several auditors, whom he had he calls for a full glass of wine and wate gathered round him, and was giving them it is his turn to throw, he has the box an account of the person and character of one hand, and his glass in the other; a Moll Hinton. My appearance before him being extremely dry, and unwilling to lo just put him in mind of me, without making time, he swallows down both the dice, a him reflect that I was actually present. at the same time throws his wine into t So that, keeping his eyes full upon me, to tables. He writes a letter, and flings t the great surprise of his audience, he sand into the ink-bottle; he writes a seco broke off his first harangue, and proceed- and mistakes the superscription. A nob ed thus: Why now there's my friend,' man receives one of them, and upon ope mentioning me by my name, he is a fel- ing it reads as follows: I would have yo low that thinks a great deal, but never honest Jack, immediately upon the rece opens his mouth; I warrant you he is now of this, take in hay enough to serve me t thrusting his short face into some coffee-winter.' His farmer receives the oth

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