XXII.

TO MY DEAR Son, and right learned FRIEND,
MASTER JOSEPH Rutter.

OU look, my Joseph, I should something say
Unto the world, in praise of your first play:
And truly, so I would, could I be heard.

You know, I never was of truth afeard,
And less asham'd; not when I told the crowd
How well I lov'd truth: I was scarce allow'd
By those deep-grounded, understanding men,
That sit to censure Plays, yet know not when,
Or why to like; they found it all was new,
And newer than could please them, because true.
Such men I met withal, and so have you.
Now, for mine own part, and it is but due,
(You have deserv'd it from me) I have read,
And weigh'd your play: untwisted ev'ry thread,
And know the woof and warp thereof; can tell
Where it runs round, and even; where so well,
So soft, and smooth it handles, the whole piece,
As it were spun by nature off the fleece :
This is my censure. Now there is a new
Office of wit, a mint, and (this is true)
Cried up of late: whereto there must be first
A master-worker call'd, th' old standard burst
Of wit, and a new made; a warden then,
And a comptroller, two most rigid men
For order, and for governing the pix,
A say-master, hath studied all the tricks
Of fineness, and alloy : follow his hint,
You have all the mysteries of wit's new mint,
The valuations, mixtures, and the same

Concluded from a caract to a dram."

6 These lines are placed before the Shepherd's Holiday, a Pas

XXIII.

EPIGRAM.

IN AUTHOREM.7

HOU, that wouldst find the habit of true passion,

And see a mind attir'd in perfect strains; Not wearing moods, as gallants do a fashion, In these pied times, only to shew their trains, Look here on Breton's work, the master print, Where such perfections to the life do rise; If they seem wry to such as look asquint,

The fault's not in the object, but their eyes. For, as one coming with a lateral view,

Unto a cunning piece wrought perspective, Wants faculty to make a censure true;

So with this author's readers will it thrive; Which being eyed directly, I divine,

His proof their praise 'll incite, as in this line.

toral Drama, published in 1635. May joined with Jonson in commendation of this piece, which is favourably noticed by Langbaine. Rutter, who was probably a man of learning, was tutor to the son of the earl of Dorset, lord chamberlain, and therefore much about the court. He is said to have translated the Cid of Corneille, at the command of Charles I.

7 In Authorem.] This Epigram is printed before a poem of that indefatigable writer, Nicholas Breton, called "Melancholike humours, in verses of diverse natures." 1600.

XXIV.

TO THE WORTHY AUTHOR,

ON THE HUSBAND.8

T fits not only him that makes a book
To see his work be good; but that he look
Who are his test, and what their judgment is,
Least a false praise do make their dotage his.
I do not feel that ever yet I had

The art of uttering wares, if they were bad;
Or skill of making matches in my life:
And therefore I commend unto the Wife,
That went before-a Husband. She, I'll swear,
Was worthy of a good one, and this, here,
I know for such, as (if my word will weigh)
She need not blush upon the marriage day.

XXV.

TO THE AUTHOR.9

N picture, they which truly understand,
Require (besides the likeness of the thing)
Light posture, heightening,
heightening, shadow,

colouring,

All which are parts commend the cunning hand;
And all your book, when it is throughly scann'd,

8 The poem to which these lines are prefixed, is one of the numerous effusions to which that popular production, The Wife of sir Thomas Overbury, gave rise. The name of the writer is unknown; the poem itself is extremely rare indeed, I am not aware of the existence of any other copy than that from which the above transcript was made, in the collection of Mr. Hill. The title of the work is "The Husband: a poem expressed in a complete man." 1614, 8vo.

9 This sonnet stands before a work, by Thomas Wright, called "The Passions of the Mind in general. 1604, and 1620," 4to.

Will well confess; presenting, limiting

Each subtlest passion, with her source, and spring, So bold, as shews your art you can command. But now your work is done, if they that view The several figures, languish in suspense, To judge which passion's false, and which is true, Between the doubtful sway of reason and sense; 'Tis not your fault if they shall sense prefer, Being told there Reason cannot, Sense may err.

XXVI.

TO THE AUTHOR.1

RUTH is the trial of itself,

And needs no other touch;
And purer than the purest gold,
Refine it ne'er so much.

It is the life and light of love,
The sun that ever shineth,
And spirit of that special grace,

That faith and love defineth.

1 Taken from the complimentary verses prefixed to The Touchstone of Truth, 12mo. Lond. 1630, by T. Warre.

The last nine little pieces are now, for the first time, added to Jonson's works: I have collected them as I could, and placed them together, without regard to the respective dates of their first appearance, which, indeed, it was not always easy to ascertain. They are not given out of respect to any intrinsic merit which they may be thought to possess, though they are not without their value on another account. Jonson has been held forth to the world as the very soul of envy, jealous of all merit in others, unwilling, and, indeed, unable, to bear a rival candidate for fame. But what is the fact? that in the long list of English poets, he is decidedly among the most candid and generous: the most free of his advice and assistance, the most liberal of his praise. This part of Jonson's character was so well established among his contemporaries, that almost every one who meditated the publication of a book applied to him.

It is the warrant of the word,
That yields a scent so sweet,
As gives a power to faith to tread
All falsehood under feet.

It is the sword that doth divide
The marrow from the bone,
And in effect of heavenly love
Doth shew the Holy One.

for a favourable judgment of it. Whence it has happened that there are far more commendatory verses to be met with by our author than by any other writer of those times. This could not escape Dr. Farmer; and to the utter confusion of Steevens and Malone, he has had the honesty to acknowledge it. He calls the verses on Shakspeare, "sparing and invidious" as they appear to those critics, "the warmest panegyrick that ever was penned; and in truth," adds he, "the received opinion of the pride and malignity of Jonson, at least in the earlier part of his life, is absolutely groundless; at this time scarce a play or a poem appeared without Ben's encomium, from the original Shakspeare to the translator of Du Bartas." Essay, &c. p. 12. This passage stands at the opening of the second volume of the Variorum Shakspeare, which, notwithstanding, is filled with abusive ribaldry on the "early malignity" of our author. Such is the consistency of the wretched confederacy against his reputation !

But even Dr. Farmer might have spared his "earlier part at least;" for it is altogether certain that Jonson's encomiums were as liberally bestowed in the decline of his life, as at any other period, and that the last productions of his pen were panegyrics on the writings of his contemporaries. In truth, the failings of this poet lay on the side of proneness to commendation, and he was very sensible of it. As early as 1614, he tells the learned Selden, that he had hitherto been too liberal of his applause; but that he would turn a sharper eye upon himself in future, and consider what he wrote,

"and vex it many days,

Before men got a verse; much less a praise."

Such, however, was the kindly warmth of his disposition, that this resolution was broken as soon as made; and he continued to the close of his life to speak with favour of almost every literary work that appeared. His reward for this is an universal outcry on the peculiar malevolence of his nature!