LXXIII. EPISTLE TO MASTER ARTHUR SQUIB. I am to dine, friend, where I must weighed be For a just wager, and that wager paid An ill commodity it must make good weight.1 So that, upon the point, my corporal fear That's six in silver: now within the socket Stinketh my credit, if, into the pocket LXXIV. TO MASTER JOHN BURGES. Would God, my BURGES, I could think Then would I promise here to give Yet with a dye that fears no moth, LXXV. TO MY LADY COVELL. You won not verses, madam, you won me, It do not come: one piece I have in Laden with belly, and doth hardly approach His friends but to break chairs, or crack a coach. store, Lend me, more, dear ARTHUR, for a week, five And you shall make me good in weight and fashion, And then to be returned; or protestation To go out after:- -till when take this letter For your security. I can no better. An ill commodity, &c.] The lady alludes, I presume, to the decisive depression of the scale, exacted in the weighing of coarse merchandize. 2 But, rather with advantage to be found Full twenty stone; of which I lack two pound: That's six in silver.] The wager, it seems, was that the poet weighed full twenty stone, but he found that he wanted two pounds of that weight. This he artfully turns to a reason for borrowing five pounds in money of his friend Mr. Squib, which added to the pound he had of his own, would make up the deficiency in his weight. Six pounds in silver, he says, will weigh two pounds in weight: it may be so; we will take his word.-WHAL. I doubt whether we understand the nature of this wager, which was probably a mere jest. If the sense be as Whalley states it, there is as little of art as of honesty in it. 3 To Master John Burges.] Burges was probably the deputy paymaster of the household. He had made Jonson a present of some ink, and this little production, which wants neither spirit nor a proper self-confidence, inclosed, perhaps, the return for it. Master Burges might have sent the wine at the same time. His weight is twenty stone within two pound; And that's made up as doth the purse abound.4 Marry, the Muse is one can tread the air, And stroke the water, nimble, chaste, and fair; Jonson, who lived much about the court while his health permitted him to come abroad, seems to have made friends of most of those who held official situations there, and to have been supplied with stationery, and, perhaps, many other petty articles. The following is transcribed from the blank leaf of a volume of miscellaneous poetry, formerly in the possession of Dr. John Hoadly, son of the Bishop of Winchester. He has written over it, "A Relique of Ben Jonson." To my worthy and deserving Brother as the Token of my Love, And that's made up, &c.] Is this too a hint ?-If so, it must have sorely puzzled the lady, unless she had previously seen the Epistle to Master Squib. Sleep in a virgin's bosom without fear, Such, if her manners like you, I do send : pay. LXXVI. TO MASTER JOHN BURGES. Father JOHN BURGES, To Sir Robert Pie :1 And that he will venture 1 My woeful cry To Sir Robert Pie.] Sir Robert Pie was appointed to the Exchequer about 1618, upon the resignation of Sir John Bingley, who was implicated in a charge of peculation with the Lord Treasurer, the Earl of Suffolk. Sir Robert was a retainer of Buckingham's, to whose interest he owed his promotion. He was the ancestor of the late laureate, under whose hands the family estate vanished. Mr. Pye had probably raised his woeful cry to the treasurer of the day as loudly as Jonson, for he was equally clamorous and necessitous. Such are the mutations of time Nor any quick warming-pan help him to bed If the 'Chequer be empty, so will be his head. LXXVII. TO MY BOOKSELLER. Thou, friend, wilt hear all censures; unto thee All mouths are open and all stomachs free: Be thou my book's intelligencer, note What each man says of it, and of what coat His judgment is; if he be wise, and praise, Thank him; if other, he can give no bays. If his wit reach no higher but to spring Thy wife a fit of laughter; a cramp-ring Will be reward enough; to wear like those That hang their richest jewels in their nose: Like a rung bear or swine; grunting out wit As if that part lay for a [ ] most fit! If they go on, and that thou lov'st a-life Their perfumed judgments, let them kiss thy wife. LXXVIII. AN EPITAPH ON HENRY, LORD LA-WARE.3 But crept like darkness through his blood, 2 A word has been dropt in the folio, and I cannot reinstate it. [A word has not been 'dropt," the blank being left between hooks, precisely as it is now represented in the text.— F. C.] first setter of the colony of Virginia, of which 8 The son of Thomas, Lord De-la-ware, the he was appointed captain-general by James I. in 1609. Henry succeeded him as fourth Lord De-la-vare, in 1618, and died 1628, the date of this Epitaph, at the early age of 25. He was a young man of great promise. 1 This is not inscribed to any one in the folio, but was evidently addressed to the Lord-Keeper Williams, Bishop of Lincoln. It was probably written in 1625, when the chancellorship was transferred from him to Sir Thomas Coventry. 2 Jonson has given the date of this Epigram, 1629. In that wretched tissue of ignorance and malice, called in Cibber's Collection "the Life of Ben Jonson," it is stated that "in the year 1629, Ben fell sick, and was then poor, and lodged in an obscure alley; his Majesty was supplicated in his favour, who sent him ten guineas. When the messenger delivered the sum, Ben took it in his hand, and said, 'His Majesty has sent me ten guineas because I am poor and live in an alley; go and tell him that his soul lives in an alley," vol. i. p. 238. Here is a fair specimen of the injustice with which the character of Jonson is universally treated. The writer of his "Life" had before him not only the poet's own acknowledgment that the sum sent to him by the king was one hundred pounds, but three poems in succession full of gratitude, thankfulness, and respectful duty, all written at the very period selected by his enemies for charging him with a rude and ungrateful message to his benefactor. Of riot and consumption, knows the way To teach the people how to fast and pray, And do their penance to avert God's rod, He is the Man, and favourite, of God. LXXX. AN EPIGRAM, TO KING CHARLES, FOR AN HUNDRED POUNDS HE SENT ME IN MY SICKNESS, MDCXXIX.2 Great CHARLES, among the holy gifts of grace, Annexed to thy person and thy place, But thou wilt yet a kinglier mastery try, And in these cures dost so thyself enlarge, As thou dost cure our evil at thy charge. Nay, and in this thou show'st to value more One poet, than of other folk ten score.3 hood, as well he might he goes farther, and wonders," why Smollett should insert this contemptible lie in his "History of England," and above all, "where he found it. Mr. Malone's surprise is gratuitous. He could not be ignorant of Cibber's publication, for he has borrowed from it; and he must have been equally aware that it was the polluted source from which Smollett, who was probably acquainted with the writer (Shiels, a Scotchman), derived his ridiculous anecdote. Smollett knew less of Jonson than even Mr. Malone; he knew enough, however, of the public to be convinced that in calumniating him he was on the right side. Is it too much to hope that this palpable perversion of a recorded fact will be less current hereafter? Or is the calumniation of Jonson so indispensable to the interests of sound literature, that a falsehood once charged upon him must immediately assume a sacred character, and in despite of shame, be promulgated, as a duty, from book to book, and from age to age? 8 To value more alludes to the angel, or ten shilling-piece which One poet, than of other folks tenscore.] This was given to all who presented themselves to be This fabrication was too valuable to be neg-doubtedly presents the true key both of the touched for the king's-evil, and which unnumerous applications, and the cures. score angels make an hundred pounds. lected; it has therefore been disseminated in a variety of forms by most of the Shakspeare commentators. Mr. Malone indeed rejects the false Ten 1 To our great and good King Charles] In taking leave of the Epigrams of this year, let me pluck one solitary sprig to adorn the head of this good king" (who has been stripped of all his honours by the insatiable rancour of the heirs of the ancient puritanism), from the garland woven for him by Dr. Burney. "This prince (Charles I.), however his judgment, or that of his councillors, may have misled him in the more momentous concerns of government, appears to have been possessed of an invariable good taste in all the fine arts; a quality which, in less morose and fanatical times, would have endeared him to the most enlightened part of the nation: but now his patronage of poetry, painting, architecture, and music, was ranked among the deadly sins, and his passion for the works of the best artists in the nation, profane, pagan, popish, idolatrous, dark, and damnable. Indeed, when had Great Britain greater cause Than now, to love the sovereign and the laws; When you that reign are her example grown, And what are bounds to her, you make your own? When your assiduous practice doth secure Are lost upon account, and none will know LXXXIII. AN EPIGRAM ON THE PRINCE'S BIRTH, MDCXXX. And art thou born, brave babe? blest be thy birth, That so hath crowned our hopes, our spring, and earth, The bed of the chaste Lily and the Rose! What month than May was fitter to disclose This prince of flow'rs? Soon shoot thou up, and grow The same that thou art promised, but be slow, And long in changing. Let our nephews see Thee quickly come the garden's eye to be, As to the expenses of his government, for the levying which he was driven to illegal and violent expedients, if compared with what has been since peaceably and cheerfully granted to his successors, his extravagance in supporting the public splendour and amusements of his court, will be found more moderate, and perhaps more innocent, than that of secret service in later times; and however gloomy state-reformers may execrate this prince, it would be ungrateful, in professors of any of the fine arts, to lose all reverence for the patron of Ben Jonson, Vandyke, Inigo Jones, and Dr. Child."-History of Musick, vol. iii. This Epigram is addressed, in the Newcastle MS., "To the great and good King Charles, by his Majesty's most humble and thankful ser vant, Ben Jonson." Another proof of the poet': " insolence and ingratitude!" And still to stand so. Haste now, envious moon, And interpose thyself,' (care not how soon) And threat the great eclipse; two hours but run, Sol will re-shine: if not, CHARLES hath a Non displicuisse meretur LXXXIV. AN EPIGRAM, TO THE QUEEN, THEN LYING-IN, MDCXXX. Hail, Mary, full of grace! it once was said, The mother of our Prince? when was there seen, Except the joy that the first Mary brought, To make the hearts of a whole nation smile, 1 moon. Haste now, envious moon, And interpose thyself, &c.] The prince (Charles II.) was born this year, on the 29th of May, on which day there was an eclipse of the This day was also memorable for the appearance of a star. "On the 29th of May (Sir Richard Baker says) the queen was brought to bed of a son, which was baptized at St. James's on the 27th of June, and named Charles. It is observed that at his nativity, at London, was seen a star about noon-time: what it portended, good or ill, we leave to the astrologers." Bishop Corbet has a congratulatory poem"To the new-borne Prince, upon the opposition of a star and the following eclipse:" it abounds in all that extravagance of conceit which characterizes the poetry of his school. Of the moon he says, "And was't this news that made pale Cynthia run In so great haste to intercept the sun!" And he questions the infant very significantly on the appearance of the star: "Was heaven afraid to be outdone on earth When thou wert born, great prince, that it brought forth Another light to help the aged sun, Lest by thy lustre he might be out-shone? LXXXV. AN ODE OR SONG, BY ALL THE MUSES, IN CELEBRATION OF HER MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY, MDCXXX. 1. Clio. Up, public joy, remember This sixteenth of November, Some brave uncommon way: And though the parish steeple Be silent to the people, Ring thou it holy-day. 2. Mel. What though the thrifty Tower, And guns there spare to pour Their noises forth in Thunder: As fearful to awake 'This city, or to shake Their guarded gates asunder? 3. Thal. Yet let our trumpets sound, With touch of learned thumbs. 4. Eut. That when the quire is full, The harmony may pull The angels from their spheres: For such an object?" &c. 2 After this Epigram the 12mo edition, 1640, inserts two others on the same subject. The first, on the Birth of the Prince, bears, perhaps, some remote resemblance of Jonson's style, at least as much of it as is here subjoined; but the concluding part is of a different character, and could only have proceeded from some wretched imitator of Donne. The second piece, called a Parallel of the Prince to the King, is utterly unworthy of notice. I cannot descend to vin dicate the poet from either of them. ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE. Another Phoenix, though the first is dead, 1 |