Volume I Part 20 (1/2)
Be silent Muse, thy praises are too faint, Thou want'st a power this prodigy to paint, At once a poet, prelate, and a saint.
[Footnote 1: Athen. Oxon. vol. I. col. 600--I.]
[Footnote 2: Winstanley.]
[Footnote 3: Wood. ubi. supra. fol. 509.]
EDWARD FAIRFAX.
All the biographers of the poets have been extremely negligent with respect to this great genius. Philips so far overlooks him, that he crowds him into his supplement, and Winstanley, who followed him, postpones our author till after the Earl of Rochester. Sir Thomas Pope Blount makes no mention of him; and Mr. Jacob, so justly called the Blunderbus of Law, informs us he wrote in the time of Charles the first, tho' he dedicates his translation of Ta.s.so to Queen Elizabeth.
All who mention him, do him the justice to allow he was an accomplished genius, but then it is in a way so cool and indifferent, as shews that they had never read his works, or were any way charmed with the melody of his verses. It was impossible Mr. Dryden could be so blind to our author's beauties; accordingly we find him introducing Spencer and Fairfax almost on the level, as the leading authors of their times; nay tacitly yielding the palm in point of harmony to the last; by a.s.serting that Waller confessed he owed the music of his numbers to Fairfax's G.o.dfrey of Bulloign. The truth is, this gentleman is perhaps the only writer down to Sir William Davenant, who needs no apology to be made for him, on account of the age in which he lived.
His diction is so pure, elegant, and full of graces, and the turn of his lines so perfectly melodious, that one cannot read it without rapture; and we can scarcely imagine the original Italian has greatly the advantage in either, nor is it very probable that while Fairfax can be read, any author will attempt a new translation of Ta.s.so with success. Mr. Fairfax was natural son of Sir Thomas Fairfax of Denton, and natural brother to Sir Thomas Fairfax, the first who was created Baron of Cameron. His younger brother was knighted, and slain at the memorable siege of Ostend, 1601, of which place he was some time governor[1]. When he married is not on record, or in what circ.u.mstances he lived: But it is very probable, his father took care to support him in a manner suitable to his own quality, and his son's extraordinary merit, he being always stiled Edward Fairfax, Esq; of Newhall in Fuystone, in the forest of Knaresborough. The year in which he died is likewise uncertain, and the last account we hear of him is, that he was living in 1631, which shews, that he was then pretty well advanced in years, and as I suppose gave occasion to the many mistakes that have been made as to the time of his writing. Besides the translation of G.o.dfrey of Bulloigne, Mr. Fairfax wrote the history of Edward the Black Prince, and certain eclogues, which Mrs. Cooper tells us are yet in ma.n.u.script, tho' (says she) ”by the indulgence of the family, from whom I had likewise the honour of these memoirs, I am permitted to oblige the world with a specimen of their beauties.” He wrote also a book called, Daemonologie, in which he shews a great deal of ancient reading and knowledge; it is still in ma.n.u.script, and in the beginning he gives this character of himself[2]. ”I am in religion neither a fantastic Puritan, nor superst.i.tious Papist, but so settled in conscience, that I have the sure ground of G.o.d's word to warrant all I believe, and the commendable ordinances of our English Church, to approve all I practise; In which course I live a faithful Christian, and an obedient, and so teach my family.” The eclogues already mentioned are twelve in number, all of them written after the accession of King James to the throne of England, on important subjects, relating to the manners, characters, and incidents of the times he lived in: they are pointed with many fine strokes of satire, dignified with n.o.ble instructions of morality, and policy, to those of the highest rank, and some modest hints to Majesty itself. The learning contained in these eclogues is so various and extensive, lhat according to the opinion of his son, who has written long annotations on each, no man's reading besides his own was sufficient to explain his references effectually. As his translation of Ta.s.so is in every body's hand, we shall take the specimen from the fourth eclogue, called Eglon and Alexis, as I find it in Mrs. Cooper's collection.
EGLON and ALEXIS.
Whilst on the rough, and heath-strew'd wilderness His tender flocks the rasps, and bramble crop, Poor shepherd Eglon, full of sad distress!
By the small stream, fat on a mole-hill top: Crowned with a wreath of Heban branches broke: Whom good Alexis found, and thus bespoke.
ALEXIS.
My friend, what means this silent lamentation?
Why on this field of mirth, this realm of smiles Doth the fierce war of grief make such invasion?
Witty Timanthes[3] had he seen, e're whiles, What face of woe thy cheek of sadness bears, He had not curtained Agamemnon's tears.
The black ox treads not yet upon thy toe, Nor thy good fortune turns her wheel awaye; Thy flocks increase, and thou increasest so, Thy straggling goates now mild, and gentlely; And that fool love thou whipst away with rods; Then what sets thee, and joy so far at odds?
[Footnote 1: Muses Library, p. 343.]
[Footnote 2: Muses Library, p. 344.]
[Footnote 3: Timanthes the painter, who designing the sacrifice of Iphigenia, threw a veil over the face of Agamemnon, not able to express a father's anguish.]
THOMAS RANDOLPH,
A Poet of no mean genius, was born at Newnham, near Daintry in Northamptons.h.i.+re, the 15th of June, 1605; he was son of William Randolph of Hams, near Lewes in Suss.e.x, was educated at Westminster school, and went from thence to Trinity College in Cambridge, 1623, of which he became a fellow; he commenced Master of Arts, and in this degree was incorporated at Oxon[1], became famous (says Wood) for his ingenuity, being the adopted son of Ben Johnson, and accounted one of the most pregnant wits of his age. The quickness of his parts was discovered early; when he was about nine or ten years old he wrote the History of the Incarnation of Our Saviour in verse, which is preserved in ma.n.u.script under his own hand writing. Randolph receives from Langbaine the highest encomium. He tells his readers that they need expect no discoveries of thefts, for this author had no occasion to practice plagiary, having so large a fund of wit of his own, that he needed not to borrow from others. Were a foreigner to form a notion of the merit of the English poets from reading Langbaine, they would be in raptures with Randolph and Durfey, and others of their cla.s.s, while Dryden, and the first-rate wits, would be quite neglected; Langbaine is so far generous, that he does all he can to draw obscure men into light, but then he cannot be acquitted of envy, for endeavouring to shade the l.u.s.tre of those whose genius has broke through obscurity without his means, and he does no service to his country while he confines his panegyric to mean versifiers, whom no body can read without a certain degree of contempt.
Our author had done nothing in life it seems worth preserving, or at least that cotemporary historians thought so, for there is little to be learned concerning him. Wood says he was like other poets, much addicted to libertine indulgence, and by being too free with his const.i.tution in the company of his admirers, and running into fas.h.i.+onable excesses, he was the means of shortening his own days. He died at little Haughton in Northamptons.h.i.+re, and was buried in an isle adjoining to the church in that place, on the 17th of March, 1634. He had soon after a monument of white marble, wreathed about with laurel, erected over his grave at the charge of lord Hatton of Kirby. Perhaps the greatest merit which this author has to plead, is his attachment to Ben Johnson, and admiration of him: Silius Italicus performed an annual visit to Virgil's tomb, and that circ.u.mstance reflects more honour upon him in the eyes of Virgil's admirers, than all the works of that author. Langbaine has preserved a monument of Randolph's friends.h.i.+p for Ben Johnson, in an ode he addressed to him, occasioned by Mr. Feltham's severe attack upon him, which is particularized in the life of Ben; from this ode we shall quote a stanza or two, before I give an account of his dramatic compositions.
Ben, do not leave the stage, 'Cause 'tis a loathsome age; For pride, and impudence will grow too bold, When they shall hear it told, They frighted thee; stand high as is thy cause, Their hiss is thy applause.
Most just were thy disdain, Had they approved thy vein: So thou for them, and they for thee were born; They to incense, and thou too much to scorn.
Wilt thou engross thy store Of wheat, and pour no more, Because their bacon brains have such a taste As more delight in mast?
No! set them forth a board of dainties, full As thy best muse can cull; Whilst they the while do pine, And thirst 'midst all their wine, What greater plague can h.e.l.l itself devize, Than to be willing thus to tantalize?
The reader may observe that the stanzas are reasonably smooth, and mark him a tolerable versifier. I shall now give some account of his plays.