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me look upon all such noble achievements | signs, instead of a penitential psalm, to disas downright silly and romantic. What the miss his audience with an excellent new rest of the audience felt, I cannot so well ballad of his own composing. Pray, sir, do tell. For myself I must declare, that at the what you can to put a stop to these growing hit end of the play I found my soul uniform, evils, and you will very much oblige your and all of a piece; but at the end of the humble servant, bepilogue it was so jumbled together, and 'PHYSIBULUS.' divided between jest and earnest, that, if will forgive me an extravagant fancy, will here set it down. I could not but No. 339.] Saturday, March 29, 1712. fancy, if my soul had at that moment quit



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-Ut his exordia primis
Omnia, et ipse tener mundi concreverit orbis,
Tum durare solum et discludere Nerea ponto
Cœperit, et rerum paullatim sumere formas.

Virg. Ecl. v. 33.

my body, and descended to the poetical shades in the posture it was then in, what a strange figure it would have made among them. They would not have known what He sung the secret seeds of nature's frame: to have made of my motley spectre, half How seas, and earth, and air, and active flame, comic and half tragic, all over resembling Fell through the mighty void, and in their fall a ridiculous face that at the same time Were blindly gather'd in this goodly ball. The tender soil then stiff ning by degrees, laughs on one side and cries on the other. Shut from the bounded earth the bounding seas, The only defence, I think, I have ever heard The earth and ocean various forms disclose, made for this, as it seems to me the most And a new sun to the new world arose.-Dryden. unnatural tack of the comic tail to the tragic LONGINUS has observed that there may head, is this, that the minds of the audience be a loftiness in sentiments where there is must be refreshed, and gentlemen and ladies no passion, and brings instances out of annot sent away to their own homes with too cient authors to support this his opinion. dismal and melancholy thoughts about them: The pathetic, as that great critic observes, her for who knows the consequence of this? We may animate and inflame the sublime, but are much obliged, indeed, to the poets, for is not essential to it. Accordingly, as he great tenderness they express for the further remarks, we very often find that safety of our persons, and heartily thank those who excel most in stirring up the them for it. But if that be all, pray, good passions very often want the talent of writsir, assure them, that we are none of us like ing in the great and sublime manner, and to come to any great harm; and that, let so on the contrary. Milton has shown himthem do their best, we shall in all proba self a master in both these ways of writing. bility live out the length of our days, and fre- The seventh book, which we are now enquent the theatres more than ever. What tering upon, is an instance of that sublime makes me more desirous to have some in- which is not mixed and worked up with formation of this matter is, because of an passion. The author appears in a kind of consequence or two attending it: for a composed and sedate majesty; and though great many of our church musicians being the sentiments do not give so great an related to the theatre, they have, in imita-emotion as those in the former book, they erion of these epilogues, introduced, in their abound with as magnificent ideas. The farewell voluntaries, a sort of music quite sixth book, like a troubled ocean, represoreign to the design of church-services, to sents greatness in confusion; the seventh the great prejudice of well-disposed people. affects the imagination like the ocean in Those fingering gentlemen should be in-a calm, and fills the mind of the reader, brmed, that they ought to suit their airs to without producing in it any thing like tuAnd he place and business, and that the musi- mult or agitation. cian is obliged to keep to the text as much The critic above-mentioned, among the is the preacher. For want of this, I have rules which he lays down for succeeding in bund by experience a great deal of mis- the sublime way of writing, proposes to his thief. When the preacher has often, with reader, that he should imitate the most reat piety, and art enough, handled his celebrated authors who have gone before ubject, and the judicions clerk has with him, and have been engaged in works of The utmost diligence culled out two staves the same nature; as in particular that, if roper to the discourse, and I have found he writes on poetical subjects, he should myself and the rest of the pew, good consider how Homer would have spoken on Shoughts and dispositions, they have been, such an occasion. By this means one great all in a moment, dissipated by a merry jig genius often catches the flame from another, rom the organ-loft. One knows not what and writes in his spirit, without copying urther ill effects the epilogues I have been servilely after him. There are a thousand peaking of may in time produce: but this shining passages in Virgil, which have been am credibly informed of, that Paul Lor- lighted up by Homer. ain has resolved upon a very sudden reormation in his tragical dramas; and that, the next monthly performance, he de

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In this book which gives us an account of clouds which lay as a barrier before of the six days' works, the poet received them.

which follows, where the Messiah is represented at the head of his angels, as looking down into the chaos, calming its confusion, riding into the midst of it, and drawing the first outline of the creation:

but very few assistances from heathen I do not know any thing in the whole writers, who are strangers to the wonders poem more sublime than the description of creation. But as there are many glorious strokes of poetry upon this subject in holy writ, the author has numberless allusions to them through the whole course of this book. The great critic I have before mentioned, though a heathen, has taken notice of the sublime manner in which the lawgiver of the Jews has described the creation in the first chapter of Genesis; and there are many other passages in scripture which rise up to the same majesty, where the subject is touched upon. Milton has shown his judgment very remarkably, in making use of such of these as were proper for his poem, and in duly qualifying those strains of eastern poetry which were suited to readers whose imaginations were set to a higher pitch than those of colder climates.

Adam's speech to the angel, wherein he desires an account of what had passed within the regions of nature before the creation, is very great and solemn. The following lines, in which he tells him, that the day is not too far spent for him to enter upon such a subject, are exquisite in their kind:

And the great light of day yet wants to run
Much of his race, though steep; suspense in heav'n
Held by thy voice, thy potent voice he hears,
And longer will delay to hear thee tell
His generation, &c.

The angel's encouraging our first parents in a modest pursuit after knowledge, with the causes which he assigns for the creation of the world, are very just and beautiful. The Messiah, by whom, as we are told in scripture, the heavens were made, goes forth in the power of his Father, surrounded with a host of angels, and clothed with such a majesty as becomes his entering upon a work which, according to our conceptions, appears the utmost exertion of Omnipotence. What a beautiful description has our author raised upon that hint in one of the prophets! And behold there came four charots out from between two mountains, and the mountains were mountains of


About his chariot numberless were pour'd
Cherub and seraph, potentates and thrones,
And virtues, winged spirits, and chariots wing'd
From the armoury of God, where stand of old
Myriads between two brazen mountains lodg'd
Against a solemn day, harness'd at hand,
Celestial equipage! and now came forth
Spontaneous, for within them spirit liv'd,
Attendant on their Lord: heav'n open'd wide
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound!
On golden hinges moving-

I have before taken notice of these chariots of God, and of these gates of heaven; and shall here only add, that Homer gives us the same idea of the latter as opening of themselves; though he afterwards takes off from it, by telling us, that the Hours first of all removed those prodigious heaps

On heav'nly ground they stood, and from the shore
They view'd the vast immeasurable abyss
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,
Up from the bottom turn'd by furious winds
And surging waves, as mountains to assault
Heav'n's height, and with the centre inix the pole.
"Silence, ye troubled waves; and thou, deep, peace
Said then th' omnific Word, "Your discord end!"
Nor staid, but, on the wings of cherubim
Uplifted, in paternal glory rode

Far into Chaos, and the world unborn;
For Chaos heard his voice. Him all his train
Follow'd in bright procession, to behold
Creation, and the wonders of his might.
Then stay'd the fervid wheels; and in his hand
He took the golden compasses, prepar'd
In God's eternal store to circumscribe
The universe, and all created things:
One foot be centred, and the other turn'd
Round through the vast profundity obscure,
And said, "Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,
This be thy just circumference, O world!"


The thought of the golden compasses is conceived altogether in Homer's sprit, and is a very noble incident in this wonderful description. Homer, when he speaks of the gods, ascribes to them several arms and instruments with the same greatness imagination. Let the reader only peruse the description of Minerva's ægis or buckler, in the fifth book, with her spear which would overturn whole squadrons, and her helmet that was sufficient to cover an army drawn out of a hundred cities. The golden compasses, in the above-mentioned passage, of him whom Plato somewhere calls the Di appear a very natural instrument in the hand vine Geometrician. As poetry delights in clothing abstracted ideas in allegories and sensible images, we find a magnificent de scription of the creation, formed after the wherein he describes the Almighty Archi same manner, in one of the prophets,

with tect as measuring the waters in the hollow his span, comprehending the dust of the earth in a measure, weighing the moun tains in scales, and the hills in a balance. Another of them describing the Supreme Being in this great work of creation, re presents him as laying the foundations of the earth, and stretching a line it; and, upon in another place, as garnishing the heavens, stretching out the north over the empty place, and hanging the earth upon nothing This last noble thought Milton has expressed in the following verse:

And earth self-balanced on her centre hung.

The beauties of description in this book lie so very thick, that it is impossible enumerate them in this paper. The poet has employed on them the whole energy our tongue. The several great scenes of




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the creation rise up to view one after another, in such a manner, that the reader seems present at this wonderful work, and to assist among the choirs of angels who are the spectators of it. How glorious is the conclusion of the first day!


Thus was the first day even and morn,

past uncelebrated, nor unsung

By the celestial choirs, when orient light
Exhaling first from darkness they beheld;
Birth-day of heav'n and earth! with joy and shout
The hollow universal orb they fill'd.

We have the same elevation of thought in the third day, when the mountains were brought forth, and the deep was made:

Immediately the mountains huge appear
Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave
Into the clouds, their tops ascend the sky:
So high as heav'n the tumid hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,
Capacious bed of waters-

We have also the rising of the whole vegetable world, described in this day's work, which is filled with all the graces that other poets have lavished on their description of the spring, and leads the reader's imagination into a theatre equally surprising and beautiful.

The several glories of the heavens make their appearance on the fourth day:

First in his east the glorious lamp was seen,
Regent of day, and all the horizon round
Invested with bright rays, jocund to run
His longitude through heavn's high road; the gray
Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danc'd,
Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the moon,
But opposite in levell'd west was set,

His mirror, with full face borrowing her light
From him, for other lights she needed none
In that aspect, and still the distance keeps
Till night; then in the east her turn she shines,
Revolv'd on heav'n's great axle, and her reign
With thousand lesser lights dividual holds,
With thousand thousand stars, that then appear'd
Spangling the hemisphere-

One would wonder how the poet could bebe so concise in his description of the six days' works, as to comprehend them within the bounds of an episode, and, at the same time, so particular, as to give us a lively idea of them. This is still more remarkable in his account of the fifth and


ascended up in triumph through the ever-
lasting gates; when he looked down with
pleasure upon his new creation; when
every part of nature seemed to rejoice in
its existence, when the morning-stars sang
together, and all the sons of God shouted
for joy.

So even and morn accomplish'd the sixth day:
Yet not till the Creator from his work
Desisting, though unwearied. up return'd,
Up to the heaven of heavens, his high abode,
Thence to behold his new created world
The addition of his empire, how it show'd
In prospect from his throne, how good. how fair,
Answering his great idea. Up he rode,
Follow'd with acclamation and the sound
Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tun'd
Angelic harmonies, the earth, the air,

Resounded, (thou rememberest, for thou heard'st)
The heavens and all the constellations rung,
The planets in their station list ning stood,
While the bright pomp ascended jubilant.

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Open, ye everlasting gates!" they sung. "Open, ye heavens, your living doors! let in The great Creator from his work return'd Magnificent, his six days' work-a world !" I cannot conclude this book upon the creation without mentioning a poem which has lately appeared under that title. The work was undertaken with so good an intention, and is executed with so great a mastery, that it deserves to be looked upon as one of the most useful and noble productions in our English verse. The reader cannot but be pleased to find the depths of philosophy enlivened with all the charms of poetry, and to see so great a strength of reason, amidst so beautiful a redundancy of the imagination. The author has shown us that design in all the works of nature which necessarily leads us to the knowledge of its first cause. In short, he has illustrated, by numberless and incontestable instances, that divine wisdom which

the son of Sirach has so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in his formation of the world, when he tells us, that He created her, and saw her, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his works."

Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes ?
Quem sese ore ferens! quam forti pectore et armis!
Virg. n. iv. 10.

sixth days, in which he has drawn out to No. 340.] Monday, March 31, 1712. our view the whole animal creation, from th the reptile to the behemoth. As the lion and the leviathan are two of the noblest productions in the world of living creatures, What chief is this that visits us from far, the reader will find a most exquisite spirit Whose gallant mien bespeaks him train'd to war! of poetry in the account which our author gives us of them. The sixth day concludes I TAKE it to be the highest instance of a with the formation of man, upon which the noble mind, to bear great qualities without angel takes occasion, as he did after the discovering in a man's behaviour any conbattle in heaven, to remind Adam of his sciousness that he is superior to the rest of bedience, which was the principal design the duty of a great person so to demean the world. Or, to say it otherwise, it is The poet afterwards represents the Mes- himself, as that, whatever endowments he iah returning into heaven, and taking a may have, he may appear to value himself urvey of his great work. There is some- upon no qualities but such as any man may hing inexpressibly sublime in this part of arrive at. He ought to think no man valuable the poem, where the author describes the and all other endowments to be esteemed but for his public spirit, justice, and integrity; reat period of time, filled with so many glorious circumstances; when the heavens and earth were finished; when the Messiah

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this visit.

* By Sir Richard Blackmore.

only as they contribute to the exerting | who forced the trenches at Turin: but int those virtues. Such a man, if he is wise or general I can say, that he who beholds him valiant, knows it is of no consideration to will easily expect from him any thing that other men that he is so, but as he employs is to be imagined, or executed, by the wit those high talents for their use and service. or force of man. The prince is of that He who affects the applauses and addresses stature which makes a man most easily be of a multitude, or assumes to himself a come all parts of exercise; has height to be preeminence upon any other consideration, graceful on occasions of state and ceremo must soon turn admiration into contempt. ny, and no less adapted for agility and de It is certain that there can be no merit in spatch: his aspect is erect and composed: any man who is not conscious of it; but the his eye lively and thoughtful, yet rather sense that it is valuable only according to vigilant than sparkling; his action and adthe application of it, makes that superi- dress the most easy imaginable, and his be ority amiable, which would otherwise behaviour in an assembly peculiarly graceful invidious. In this light it is considered as a thing in which every man bears a share. It annexes the ideas of dignity, power, and fame, in an agreeable and familiar manner, to him who is possessor of it; and all men who are strangers to him are naturally incited to indulge a curiosity in beholding the person, behaviour, feature, and shape of him in whose character, perhaps, each man had formed something in common with himself.

in a certain art of mixing insensibly with the rest, and becoming one of the company, instead of receiving the courtship of it The shape of his person, and composure of his limbs, are remarkably exact and beautiful. There is in his looks something sublime, which does not seem to arise from his quality or character, but the innate disposition of his mind. It is apparent that he suffers the presence of much company, instead of taking delight in it: and he ap Whether such, or any other, are the peared in public, while with us, rather to causes, all men have a yearning curiosity to return good-will, or satisfy curiosity, than behold a man of heroic worth. I have had to gratify any taste he himself had of being many letters from all parts of this kingdom, popular. As his thoughts are never tumulthat request I would give them an exact ac- tuous in danger, they are as little discomcount of the stature, the mien, the aspect of posed on occasions of pomp and magnifi the prince who lately visited England, and cence. A great soul is affected, in either has done such wonders for the liberty of case, no further than in considering the Europe. It would puzzle the most curious properest methods to extricate itself from to form to himself the sort of man my seve- them. If this hero has the strong incentives ral correspondents expect to hear of by the to uncommon enterprises that were re action mentioned, when they desire a de-markable in Alexander, he prosecutes and scription of him. There is always some- enjoys the fame of them with the justness, thing that concerns themselves, and growing propriety, and good sense of Cæsar. It is out of their own circumstances, in all their easy to observe in him a mind as capable inquiries. A friend of mine in Wales be- of being entertained with contemplation as seeches me to be very exact in my account enterprise; a mind ready for great exploits, of that wonderful man who had marched but not impatient for occasions to exert an army and all its baggage over the Alps; itself. The prince has wisdom and valour and if possible, to learn whether the pea- in as high perfection as man can enjoy it; sant who showed him the way, and is which noble faculties, in conjunction, banish drawn in the map, be yet living. A gen- all vain-glory, ostentation, ambition, and tleman from the university, who is deeply all other vices which might intrude upon intent on the study of humanity, desires me his mind, to make it unequal. These ha to be as particular, if I had an opportunity, bits and qualities of soul and body render in observing the whole interview between his personage so extraordinary, that he ap his highness and our late general. Thus do pears to have nothing in him but what every men's fancies work according to their se- man should have in him, the exertion of veral educations and circumstances; but all his very self, abstracted from the circum pay a respect, mixed with admiration, to stances in which fortune has placed him. this illustrious character. I have waited Thus, were you to see prince Eugene, and for his arrival in Holland, before I would were told he was a private gentleman, let my correspondents know that I have not you would say he is a man of modesty been so uncurious a Spectator as not to have and merit. Should you be told that was sren prince Eugene. It would be very prince Eugene, he would be diminished difficult, as I said just now, to answer every no otherwise, than that part of your dis expectation of those who have written to tant admiration would turn into a familiar me on that head; nor is it possible for me good-will. to find words to let one know what an artful glance there is in his countenance who surprised Cremona; how daring he appears


He stood godfather to Steele's second son, who was named Eugene after this prince.

This I thought fit to entertain my reader with, concerning a hero who never was equalled but by one man:†, over whom also

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the has this advantage, that he has had an Opportunity to manifest an esteem for him in his adversity. T.

No. 341.] Tuesday, April 1, 1712.

-Revocate animos, mæstumque timorem
Virg. Æn. i. 206.
Resume your courage, and dismiss your fear.

HAVING, to oblige my correspondent Physibulus, printed his letter last Friday, in relation to the new epilogue, he cannot ake it amiss if I now publish another, which I have just received from a gentleman who does not agree with him in his sentiments apon that matter.

SIR,-I am amazed to find an epilogue kattacked in your last Friday's paper, which has been so generally applauded by the town, and received such honours as were never before given to any in an English fatheatre.

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tised by Mr. Dryden, who, if he was not the best writer of tragedies in his time, was allowed by every one to have the happiest turn for a prologue, or an epilogue. The epilogues to Cleomenes, Don Sebastian, The duke of Guise, Aurengzebe, and Love Triumphant, are all precedents of this


'I might further justify this practice by that excellent epilogue which was spoken, a few years since, after the tragedy of Phædra and Hippolytus;* with a great many others, in which the authors have endeavoured to make the audience merry. If they have not all succeeded so well as the writer of this, they have however shown that it was not for the want of good-will.

'I must further observe, that the gaiety of it may be still the more proper, as it is at the end of a French play; since every one knows that nation, who are generally esteemed to have as polite a taste as any in Europe, always close their tragic entertainment with what they call a petite The audience would not permit Mrs. piece, which is purposely designed to raise mirth, and send away the audience well Oldfield to go off the stage the first night ill she had repeated it twice; the second pleased. The same person who has supnight the noise of ancora was as loud as be- ported the chief character in the tragedy fore, and she was obliged again to speak it very often plays the principal part in the twice: the third night it was still called for petite piece; so that I have myself seen, at Dom second time; and, in short, contrary to all Paris, Orestes and Lubin acted the same other epilogues, which are dropped after night by the same man. the third representation of the play, this has already been repeated nine times. I must own, I am the more surprised to ind this censure in opposition to the whole town, in a paper which has hitherto been famous for the candour of its criticisms. I can by no means allow your choly correspondent, that the new epilogue is unnatural because it is gay. If I had a mind to be learned, I could tell him that the prologue and epilogue were real parts of the ancient tragedy; but every one knows, that, on the British stage, they are distinct performances by themselves, pieces entirely detached from the play, and no way essential to it.

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The moment the play ends, Mrs. Oldfield is no more Andromache but Mrs. Oldfield; and though the poet had left AnAromache stone-dead upon the stage, as your ingenious correspondent phrases it, Mrs. Oldfield might still have spoken a merry epilogue. We have an instance of his in a tragedy where there is not only a leath, but a martyrdom. St. Catherine was there personated by Nell Gwin; she ies stone-dead upon the stage, but upon hose gentlemen's offering to remove her body, whose business it is to carry off the lain in our English tragedies, she breaks ut into that abrupt beginning of what was very ludicrous, but at the same time hought a very good epilogue:

Hold! are you mad? you damn'd confounded dog,
I am to rise and speak the epilogue.'

Tragi-comedy, indeed, you have yourself in a former speculation, found fault with very justly, because it breaks the tide of the passions while they are yet flowing; but this is nothing at all to the present case, where they have already had their full course.

"As the new epilogue is written conformably to the practice of our best poets, so it is not such a one, which, as the duke of Buckingham says in his Rehearsal, might serve for any other play; but wholly rises out of the occurrences of the piece it was composed for.

'The only reason your mournful correspondent gives against this facetious epilogue, as he calls it, is, that he has a mind to go home melancholy. I wish the gentleman may not be more grave than wise. For my own part, I must confess, I think it very sufficient to have the anguish of a fictitious piece remain upon me while it is representing; but I love to be sent home to bed in a good humour. If Physibulus is, however, resolved to be inconsolable, and not to have his tears dried up, he need only continue his old custom, and when he has had his half-crown's worth of sorrow, slink out before the epilogue begins.

cal genius complaining of the great misIt is pleasant enough to hear this tragichief Andromache had done him. What was that? Why she made him laugh. The poor gentleman's sufferings put me in mind of Harlequin's case, who was tickled to

*Mr. Edmund Neal, alias Smith, 8vo. 1707. Addison wrote a prologue to this play to ridicule the Italian "This diverting manner was always prac-operas. The epilogue was written by Prior.

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