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me look upon all such noble achievements | signs, instead of a penitential psalm, to dis as 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 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, epilogue it was so jumbled together, and

PHYSIBULUS.' divided between jest and earnest, that, if you will forgive me an extravagant fancy, I will here set it down. I could not but No. 339.] Saturday, March 29, 1712. fancy, if my soul had at that moment quit- -Ut his exordia primis ted my body, and descended to the poetical Omnia, et ipse tener mundi concreverit orbis, shades in the posture it was then in, what a

Tum durare solum et discludere Nerea ponto strange figure it would have made among

Cæperit, et rerum paullatim sumere formas.

Virg. Ecl. v. 33. 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 stiftning 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 an not 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, 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 the 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 ill 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 tion 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, repreforeign 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, formed, that they ought to suit their airs to without producing in it any thing like tuthe 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 as the preacher. For want of this, I have rules which he lays down for succeeding in found by experience a great deal of mis- the sublime way of writing, proposes to his chief. When the preacher has often, with reader, that he should imitate the most great piety, and art enough, handled his celebrated authors who have gone before subject, and the judicious 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 proper to the discourse, and I have found he writes on poetical subjects, he should in myself and the rest of the pew, good consider how Homer would have spoken on thoughts 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, from the organ-loft. One knows not what and writes in his spirit, without copying further ill effects the epilogues I have been servilely after him. There are a thousand speaking of may in time produce: but this shining passages in Virgil, which have been I am credibly informed of, that Paul Lor- lighted up by Homer. rain* has resolved upon a very sudden re- Milton, though his own natural strength formation in his tragical dramas; and that, of genius was capable of furnishing out a at the next monthly performance, he de- perfect work, has doubtless very much

raised and ennobled his conceptions by The ordinary of Newgate at tbis time. See the such an imitation as that which Longinus Tatler, No. 63.

has recommended. VOL. II. 6

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. 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 which follows, where the Messiah is restrokes of poetry upon this subject in holy presented at the head of his angels, as lookwrit, the author has numberless allusions to ing down into the chaos, calming its confuthem through the whole course of this book. sion, riding into the midst of it, and drawing The great critic I have before mentioned, the first outline of the creation: though a heathen, has taken notice of the

On heav'nly ground they stood, and from the shore sublime manner in which the lawgiver of They view'd the vast immeasurable abyss the Jews has described the creation in the Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild, first chapter of Genesis; and there are many

Up from the bottom turn'd by furious winds

And surging waves, as mountains to assault other passages in scripture which rise up Heav'n's height, and with the centre inix the pole. to the same majesty, where the subject is “Silence, ye troubled waves; and thou, deep, peace!"

Said then ih' omnific Word, “ Your discord end !" touched upon. Milton has shown his judg

Nor staid, but, on the wings of cherubim ment very remarkably, in making use of Uplifted, in paternal glory rode such of these as were proper for his poem,

Far into Chaos, and the world unborn;

For Chaos heard his voice. Him all his train and in duly qualifying those strains of eastern

Follow'd in bright procession, to behold poetry which were suited to readers whose

Creation, and the wonders of his might. imaginations were set to a higher pitch than Then stay'd the fervid wheels; and in his hand those of colder climates.

He took ihe golden compasses, prepard

In God's eternal store to circumscribe Adam's speech to the angel, wherein The universe, and all created things : he desires an account of what had passed One foot be centred, and the other turn'd within the regions of nature before the

Round through the vast profundity obscure,

And said, “ Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, creation, is very great and solemn. The

This be ihy just circumference, O world!" following lines, in which he tells him, that the day is not too far spent for him to enter The thought of the golden compasses is upon such a subject, are exquisite in their conceived altogether in Homer's spirit, and kind:

is a very noble incident in this wonderful

description. Homer, when he speaks of And the great light of day yet wants to run

the gods, ascribes to them several arms and Much of his race, though steep; suspense in heav'n Held by thy voice, thy potent voice he bears,

instruments with the same greatness of And longer will delay io hear thee tell

imagination. Let the reader only peruse His generation, &c.

the description of Minerva's ægis or buckin a modest pursuit after knowledge, with helmet that was sufficient to cover an army The angel's encouraging our first parents ler, in the fifth book, with her spear which

would overturn whole squadrons, and her the causes which he assigns for the creation drawn out of a hundred cities. The golden of the world, are very just and beautiful. The Messiah, by whom, as we are told in compasses, in the above-mentioned passage, scripture, the heavens were made, goes of him whom Plato somewhere calls the Di

appear a very natural instrument in the hand forth in the power of his father, surrounded vine Geometrician. As poetry delights in with a host of angels, and clothed with such clothing abstracted ideas in allegories and a majesty as becomes his entering upon a sensible images, we find a magnificent dework which, according to our conceptions, appears the utmost exertion of Omnipo- scription of the creation, formed after the tence. What a beautiful description has wherein he describes the Almighty Archi

same manner, in one of the prophets, our author raised upon that hint in one of tect as measuring the waters in the hollow the prophets! * And behold there came of his hand, meting out the heavens with four chariots out from between two moun: his span, comprehending the dust of the tains, and the mountains were mountains of earth in a measure, weighing the mounbrass:'

tains in scales, and the hills in a balance. About his chariot numberless were pour'd

Another of them describing the Supreme Cherub and seraph, potentates and thrones,

Being in this great work of creation, reAnd virtues, winged spirits, and chariots wing'd From the armoury of God, where stand of old presents him as laying the foundations of the Myriads hetween two brazen mountains lodg'd earth, and stretching a line upon it; and, Against a solemn day, harness'd at hand, Celestial equipage! and now came forth

in another place, as garnishing the heavens, Spontaneous, for within them spirit livid,

stretching out the north over the empty Attendant on their Lord: heav'n open'd wide place, and hanging the earth upon nothing. Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound!

This last noble thought Milton has exOn golden hinges moving

pressed in the following verse: I have before taken notice of these cha

And carth self-balanced on her centre hung. riots of God, and of these gates of heaven; and shall here only add, that Homer gives The beauties of description in this book us the same idea of the latter as opening lie so very thick, that it is impossible to of themselves; though he afterwards takes enumerate them in this paper. off from it, by telling us, that the Hours has employed on them the whole energy of first of all removed those prodigious heaps our tongue. The several great scenes of

The poet the creation rise up to view one after an-| ascended up in triumph through the everother, in such a manner, that the reader lasting gates; when he looked down with seems present at this wonderful work, and pleasure upon his new creation; when to assist among the choirs of angels who every part of nature seemed to rejoice in are the spectators of it. How glorious is the its existence, when the morning-stars sang conclusion of the first day!

together, and all the sons of God shouted -Thus was the first day even and morn,

for joy. Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung

So even and morn accomplish'd the sixth day: By the celestial choirs, when orient light

Yet not till the Creator from his work Exhaling first from darkness they beheld;

Desisting, though unwearied, up return'd, Birth-day of heav'n and earth! with joy and shout

Up to the heaven of heavens, his high abode, The hollow universal orb they fill'd.

Thence to behold his new created world We have the same elevation of thought

The addition of his empire, how it show'd

In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair, in the third day, when the mountains were

Answering his great idea. Up he rode, brought forth, and the deep was made: Follow'd with acclamation and the sound Immediately the mountains huge appear

Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tun'd Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave

Angelic harmonies, the earth, the air, Into the clouds, their tops ascend the sky:

Resounded, (thou rememberest, for thou heard'st)

The heavens and all the constellations rung,
So high as heav'n the tumid hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,

The planets in their station list'ning stood,
Capacious bed of waters-

While the bright pomp ascended jubilant.

Open, ye everlasting gales !" they sung, We have also the rising of the whole Open, ye heavens. your living doors ! let in

The great Creator from his work return'd vegetable world, described in this day's

Magnificent, his six days' work-a world !" work, which is filled with all the graces that other poets have lavished on their de

I cannot conclude this book upon the scription of the spring, and leads the rea-creation without mentioning a poem which der's imagination into a theatre equally has lately appeared under that title. * The surprising and beautiful.

work was undertaken with so good an inThe several glories of the heavens make tention, and is executed with so great a mastheir appearance on the fourth day:

tery, that it deserves to be looked upon as First in his east the glorious lamp was seen,

one of the most useful and noble producRegent of day, and all the horizon round

tions in our English verse. The reader Invested with bright rays, jocund to run

cannot but be pleased to find the depths of His longitude through heavn's high road; the gray Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danc'd,

philosophy enlivened with all the charms Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the moon,

of poetry, and to see so great a strength of But opposite in levell'd west was set,

reason, amidst so beautiful a redundancy His mirror, with full face borrowing her light From him, for other lights she needed none

of the imagination. The author has shown In that aspect, and still the distance keeps

us that design in all the works of nature Till night; then in the east her turn she shines, which necessarily leads us to the knowRevolv'd on beav'n's great axle, and her reign ledge of its first cause. In short, he has With thousand lesser lights dividual holds, With thousand thousand stars, that then appear'd

illustrated, by numberless and incontestSpangling the hemisphere

able instances, that divine wisdom which One would wonder how the poet could the son of Sirach has so nobly ascribed to be so concise in his description of the six the Supreme Being in his formation of the days' works, as to comprehend them with world, when he tells us, that He created in the bounds of an episode, and, at the her, and saw her, and numbered her, and same time, so particular, as to give us a poured her out upon all his works." lively idea of them. This is still more remarkable in his account of the fifth and sixth days, in which he has drawn out to No. 340.] Monday, March 31, 1712. our view the whole animal creation, from the reptile to the behemoth. As the lion

Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes ?

Quein sese ore ferens ! quam forti pectore et armis! and the leviathan are two of the noblest

Virg. n. iv. 10. 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 noble mind, to bear great qualities without

I TAKE it to be the highest instance of a with the formation 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 obedience, which was the principal design the duty of a great person so to demean

the world. Or, to say it otherwise, it is of this visit.

The poet afterwards represents the Mes himself, as that, whatever endowments he siah returning into heaven, and taking a may have, he may appear to value himself survey of his great work. There is some upon no qualities but such as any man may thing inexpressibly sublime in this part of arrive at. He ought to think no mar valuable the poem, where the author describes the and all other endowments to be esteemed

but for his public spirit, justice, and integrity; great period of time, filled with so many glorious circumstances; when the heavens and rarth were finished; when the Messiah

• By Sir Richard Blackmore

only as they contribute to the exerting, who forced the trenches at Turin: but in 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 beof 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 ceremomust soon turn admiration into contempt. ny, and no less adapted for agility and deIt 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 be haviour in an assembly peculiarly graceful invidious. In this light it is considered as in a certain art of mixing insensibly with a thing in which every man bears a share the rest, and becoming one of the company, It annexes the ideas of dignity, power, and instead of receiving the courtship of it. fame, in an agreeable and familiar manner, The shape of his person, and composure of to him who is possessor of it; and all men his limbs, are remarkably exact and beauwho are strangers to him are naturally in- tiful. There is in his looks something subcited to indulge a curiosity in beholding lime, which does not seem to arise from the person, behaviour, feature, and shape his quality or character, but the innate of him in whose character, perhaps, each disposition of his mind. It is apparent that man had formed something in common with he suffers the presence of much company, himself.

instead of taking delight in it: and he apWhether 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 tumul that 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 magnifithe 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 reaction 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 hato 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 aphis 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 circumpay 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 seen 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 disexpectation 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 art- This I thought fit to entertain my reader ful glance there is in his countenance who with, concerning a hero who never was surprised Cremona; how daring he appears equalled but by one man:t over whom also

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

The duke of Marlborough, who was disgraced about this time.

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he has this advantage, that he has had antised by Mr. Dryden, who, if he was not opportunity to manifest an esteem for him the best writer of tragedies in his time, was in his adversity.

T. allowed by every one to have the happiest

turn for a prologue, or an epilogue. The

epilogues to Cleomenes, Don Sebastian, No. 341.] Tuesday, April 1, 1712.

The duke of Guise, Aurengzebe, and Love

Triumphant, are all precedents of this -Revocate animos, mæstumque timorem

nature. Virg. Æn. i. 206.

"I might further justify this practice by Resume your courage, and dismiss your fear.

Dryden.

that excellent epilogue which was spoken,

a few years since, after the tragedy of HAVING, to oblige my correspondent Phædra and Hippolytus;* with a great Physibulus, printed his letter last Friday, many others, in which the authors have in relation to the new epilogue, he cannot endeavoured to make the audience merry. take it amiss if I now publish another, which If they have not all succeeded so well as the I have just received from a gentleman who writer of this, they have however shown does not agree with him in his sentiments that it was not for the want of good-will. upon that matter.

I must further observe, that the gaiety “SIR, I am amazed to find an epilogue at the end of a French play; since every

of it may be still the more proper, as it is attacked in your last Friday's paper, which one knows that nation, who are generally has been so generally applauded by the esteemed to have as polite a taste as any town, and received such honours as were in Europe, always close their tragic ennever before given to any in an English tertainment with what they call a petite theatre.

• The audience would not permit Mrs. piece, which is purposely designed to raise Oldfield to go off the stage the first night pleased. The same person who has sup

mirth, and send away the audience well till she had repeated it twice; the second night 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 a 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 self in a former speculation, found fault with

• Tragi-comedy, indeed, you have yourhas already been repeated nine times.

1. must own, I am the more surprised to very justly, because it breaks the tide of the find this censure in opposition to the whole passions while they are yet flowing; but this town, in a paper which has hitherto been is nothing at all to the present case, where famous for the candour of its criticisms.

they have already had their full course. "I can by no means allow your melan- ably to the practice of our best poets, so it

As the new epilogue is written conformcholy correspondent, that the new epilogue is not such a one, which, as the duke of is unnatural because it is gay. If I had a mind to be learned, I could tell him that

Buckingham says in his Rehearsal, might the prologue and epilogue were real parts out of the occurrences of the piece 'it was

serve for any other play; but wholly rises of the ancient tragedy; but every one knows, that, on the British stage, they are

composed for. distinct performances by themselves, pieces spondent gives against this facetious epi,

•The only reason your mournful correentirely detached from the play, and no way essential to it.

logue, as he calls it, is, that he has a mind The moment the play ends, Mrs. Old- to go home melancholy. I wish the gentlefield is no more Andromache but Mrs. For my own part, I must confess, I think

man may not be more grave than wise. Oldfield; and though the poet had left And it very sufficient to have the anguish of a dromache stone-dead upon the stage, as fictitious piece remain upon me while it is your ingenious correspondent phrases it, Mrs. Oldfield might still have spoken a representing; but I love to be sent home merry epilogue. We have an instance of to bed in a good humonr. If Physibulus is, this in a tragedy where there is not only anot to have his tears dried up, he need only

however, resolved to be inconsolable, and death, but à martyrdom. St. Catherine continue his old custom, and when he has was there personated by Nell Gwin; she had his half-crown's worth of sorrow, slink lies stone-dead upon the stage, but upon out before the epilogue begins. those gentlemen's offering to remove her body, whose business it is to carry off the cal genius complaining of the great mis.

•It is pleasant enough to hear this tragislain' in our English tragedies, she breaks chief Andromache had done him. What out into that abrupt beginning of what was a very ludicrous, but at the same time was that? Why she made him laugh. The thought a very good epilogue:

poor gentleman's sufferings put me in mind

of Harlequin's case, who was tickled to * Hold! are you mad ? you damn'd confounded dog, I am to rise and speak the epilogue.'

* Mr. Edmund Neal, alias Smith, 8vo. 1707. Addison

wrote a prologue to this play to ridicule the Italian *This diverting manner was always prac- 1 operas. The epilogue was written by Prior.

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