Part 2

While, under the direction of the Archbishop, he was thus severe with the heterodox, he was equally zealous in supporting the establishment of which he was a dignitary: exertions were now making by the King, the Clergy, and indeed all orders of people, for the restoring Saint Paul’s cathedral, which had remained in ruins since its second destruction by fire, early in Elizabeth’s reign. In 1631 a special commission was issued by the King, for the purpose of collecting money, to be applied to this purpose. The subscription went on tardily till Laud contributed a hundred pounds, to be renewed annually, and “Corbet bishop of Norwich (then almoner to the king) giving four hundred pounds, multitudes of others, says Stowe, for eleven years together brought in their monies very plentifully[27].” Nor did his liberality stop here: Wood says[28] that in addition to this contribution, which at the time we speak of was an enormous bounty, he gave money to many needy ministers, thereby to excite the donations of their wealthier brethren; and he pronounced the following admonitory, persuasive and satirical address[29] to the clergy of his diocese:

“Saint Paul’s church! One word in the behalf of Saint Paul; he hath spoken many in ours: he hath raised our inward temples. Let us help to requite him in his outward. We admire commonly those things which are oldest and greatest: old monuments, and high buildings, do affect us above measure: and what is the reason? Because what is oldest cometh nearest God for antiquity: and what is greatest, comes nearest his works for spaciousness and magnitude: so that in honouring these we honour God, whom old and great do seem to imitate. Should I commend Paul’s to you for the age, it were worth your thought and admiration. A thousand years, though it should fall now, were a pretty climacterical. See the bigness, and your eye never yet beheld such a goodly object. It’s worth the reparation, though it were but for a land mark; but, beloved, it is a church, and consecrated to God. From Charles to Ethelbert she hath been the joy of princes. It was once dedicated to Diana (at least some part of it); but the idolatry lasted not long. And see a mystery in the change: Saint Paul confuting twice the idol, there in person, where the cry was, ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians!’ and here: by proxy. Paul installed, where Diana is thrust out. It did magnify the creation, it was taken out of the darkness: light is not the clearer for it, but stronger and more wonderful: and it doth beautify this church, because it was taken from pollution. The stones are not the more durable, but the happier for it. It is worthy the standing for the age, the time since it was built, and for the structure, so stately an edifice is it: it is worthy to stand for a memorial of it from which it is redeemed, but chiefly for his house that dwells therein. We are bound to do it, for the service sake that is done in it. Are we not beholden to it, every man, either to the body, or the choir: for a walk or a warbling note: for a prayer or a thorough-path? Some way or other, there is a topick may make room for your benevolence.

“It hath twice suffered Martyrdom: and both by fire, in the time of Henry the Sixth and the third of Elizabeth.

“Saint Paul complained of Stoning twice; his church of firing: stoning she wants, indeed, and a good stoning would repair her.

“Saint Faith holds her up, I confess. Oh that works were sainted to keep her upright! The first way of building churches was by ways of benevolence; but then there needed no petition: men came on so fast that they were commanded to be kept back, but repairing now, needs petition. Benevolence was a fire once had need to be quenched: it is a spark, now and needs blowing on it: blow it hard, _and put it out_. Some petitions there are, for pulling down of such an isle, or changing lead for thack: so far from reparation, that our suit is to demolish. If to deny this be persecution, if to repair churches be innovation, I’ll be of that religion too.

“I remember a tale in Henry Steevens, in his Apology for Herodotus, or in some of the Colloquies of Erasmus, which would have us believe that times were so depraved in popery, that all œconomical discipline was lost by observing the œcumenical; that if an ingenious person would ask his father’s blessing, he must get a dispensation and have a licence from the bishop.

“Believe me when I match this tale with another. Since Christmas I was sued to (and I have it under the hands of the minister and the whole parish) that I would give way to the adorning of the church within and without, to build a stone wall about the church-yard which till now had but a hedge. I took it for a flout at first, but it proved a suit indeed; they durst not mend a fault of forty years, without a licence. Churchwardens, though they say it not, yet I doubt me most of them think it, that foul spirits in the Gospel said, ‘O thou Bishop or Chancellor, what! art thou come to torment us before the time, that all is come down to the ground?’ The truth went out once in this phrase: ‘Zelus domûs tuæ exedit ossa mea,’ but now vice versa, it is, ‘Zelus meus exedit domum tuam.’ I hope I gall none here.

“Should Christ say that to us now which he said once to the Jews, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will build it up again:’ we would quickly know his meaning not to be the material temple. Three years can scarce promoove three foot.

“I am verily persuaded, were it not for the pulpit and the pews, (I do not now mean the altar and the font for the two sacraments, but for the pulpit and the stools as you call them;) many churches had been down that stand. Stately pews are now become tabernacles, with rings and curtains to them. There wants nothing but beds to hear the word of God on; we have casements, locks and keys, and cushions; I had almost said, bolsters and pillows: and for those we love the church. I will not guess what is done within them, who sits, stands, or lies asleep, at prayers, communion, &c., but this I dare say, they are either to hide some vice or to proclaim one; to hide disorder, or proclaim pride.

“In all other contributions justice precedes charity. For the King, or for poor, as you are rated you must give and pay. It is not so in benevolence. Here Charity rates herself; her gift is arbitrary, and her law is the conscience. He that stays till I persuade him, gives not all his own money: I give half that have procured it. He that comes persuaded gives his own; but takes off more than he brought, God paying use for nothing. But now comes your turn to speak, or God in you by your hands: for so he useth to speak many times by the hands of Moses and Aaron, and by the hands of Esay and Ezekiel, and by the hands of you his minor prophets. Now prosper, O Lord! the works of these hands! O prosper Thou our handy work! Amen.”

He was not fated, however, to witness the elevation of the temple in favour of which he was thus active and benevolent; indeed he was then consuming with lingering disorders. “Corbet, bishop of Norwich,” says the garrulous correspondent of lord Strafford, “is dying; the best poet of all the bishops in England. He hath incurable diseases upon him, and hath been said to be dead[30].” This was written on the 30th of July, 1635, and he had rested from his labours two days preceding. He was buried in the cathedral church of his diocese, where a large stone was laid over his remains, to which a brass plate was affixed, bearing his arms and the following inscription:

Ricardus Corbet, Theologiæ Doctor, Ecclesiæ Cathedralis Christi Oxoniensis Primum Alumnus, deinde Decanus, exinde Episcopus, illinc huc translatus, et Hinc in cœlum Jul. 28. An. 1635.

By his will “he commits and commends the nurture and maintenance of his son and daughter to the faythful and loving care of his mother-in-law Anne Hutton;” from which, and the total silence as to his wife, I conclude he outlived her—and with a legacy of one thousand pounds to his daughter Alice, to be paid at her attaining the age of seventeen, or upon her marriage, he enjoins her not to marry without the consent of her grandmother. By the further provisions of his testament, his son was to be joined with Anne Hutton in the administration upon his attaining the age of seventeen; and in case of the decease of both, the whole was to devolve upon his daughter Alice.

Such was the end of this learned and ingenious prelate and poet, of whose works I have undertaken the revision, and in collecting the scattered memorials for whose biography,

et etiam disjecta membra poetæ,

I have, I hope not unprofitably to myself or others, employed some leisure hours.

His person, if we may rely upon a fine portrait of him in the hall of Christ-Church, Oxford, was dignified, and his frame above the common size: one of his companions[31] says he had

A face that might heaven to affection draw:

and Aubrey says, he had heard that “he had an admirable grave and venerable aspect.”

In no record of his life is there the slightest trace of malevolence or tyranny: “he was,” says Fullers[32], “of a courteous carriage, and no destructive nature to any who offended him, counting himself plentifully repaired with a jest upon him.” Benevolent, generous and spirited in his public character; sincere, amiable, and affectionate in private life; correct, eloquent, and ingenious as a poet; he appears to have deserved and enjoyed through life the patronage and friendship of the great, and the applause and estimation of the good.

Apology is not necessary for his writings, or it might be urged that they were not intended for publication by their author. “His merits are disclosed,” and, at the distance of near a century and a half, are now again submitted to the censure of the public.

His panegyric is liberal without grossness, and complimentary without servility: his satires on the Puritans, a pestilent race which Corbet fortunately did not live to see ascendant, and which soon after his decease sunk literature and the arts in “the Serbonian bog” of ignorance and fanaticism, evince his skill in severe and ludicrous reproof; and the addresses to his son and his parents, while they are proofs of his filial and parental regard, bear testimony to his command over the finer feelings. But the predominant faculty of his mind was wit, which he employed with most success when directed ironically: of this the address “to the Ghost of Wisdome,” and “the Distracted Puritane,” are memorable examples. Indeed he was unable to overcome his talent for humour, even when circumstance and character concurred to repress its indulgence. Of this propensity the following anecdotes, copied _verbatim_ from Aubrey’s MSS. in Mus. Ashmole[33], are curious proofs, and may not improperly close this account of a character which they tend forcibly to illustrate.

“After he was doctor of divinity, he sang ballads at the Crosse at Abingdon; on a market-day he and some of his comrades were at the taverne by the Crosse, (which, by the way, was then the finest of England; I remember it when I was a freshman; it was admirable curious Gothicque architecture, and fine figures in the nitches; ’twas one of those built by king ... for his queen.) The ballad-singer complayned he had no custome—he could not put off his ballads. The jolly Doctor puts off his gowne, and puts on the ballad-singer’s leathern jacket, and being a handsome man, and a rare full voice, he presently vended a great many, and had a great audience.

“After the death of Dr. Goodwin, he was made deane of Christ-Church. He had a good interest with great men, as you may finde in his poems; and that with the then great favourite the duke of Bucks, his excellent wit ever ’twas of recommendation to him. I have forgot the story; but at the same time Dr. Fell thought to have carried it, Dr. Corbet put a pretty trick on him to let him take a journey to London for it, when he had alreadie the graunt of it.

“His conversation was extreme pleasant. Dr. Stubbins was one of his cronies; he was a jolly fat doctor, and a very good housekeeper. As Dr. Corbet and he were riding in Lob-lane in wet weather, (’tis an extraordinary deepe dirty lane,) the coach fell, and Corbet said, that Dr. S. was up to the elbows in mud, and he was up to the elbows in Stubbins.

“A. D. 1628, he was made bishop of Oxford; and I have heard that he had an admirable grave and venerable aspect.

“One time as he was confirming, the country people pressing in to see the ceremonie, said he, ‘Beare off there! or I’ll confirm ye with my staffe.’—Another time, being to lay his hand on the head of a man very bald, he turns to his chaplaine, and said, ‘Some dust, Lushington,’ to keepe his hand from slipping.—There was a man with a great venerable beard; said the bishop, ‘You, behind the beard!’

“His chaplaine, Dr. Lushington, was a very learned and ingenious man, and they loved one another. The Bishop would sometimes take the key of the wine-cellar, and he and his chaplaine would go and lock themselves in and be merry; then first he layes down his episcopal hood, ‘There layes the doctor;’ then he putts off his gowne, ‘There layes the bishop;’ then ’twas, ‘Here’s to thee, Corbet;’—‘Here’s to thee, Lushington.’”

One word on the subject of the former editions; which bear dates 1647, 1648, and 1672. The first and last impressions correspond in their contents, and the publisher of the latter has also copied, for the most part, the errors of his predecessor, which are so numerous as to render the poems not unfrequently unintelligible. I must observe, however, from the information of Mr. Park, that many copies of the first edition conclude at page 53. The additions extend the volume to 85 pages. The only impression with any pretension to accuracy is that of 1648, which, from its internal evidence, I suspect was published under the eye of the Bishop’s family; I have therefore retained the Preface. It contains only twenty-four poems.

An edition bearing the date of 1663 is cited in Willis’s Cathedrals; but, it is believed, through mistake.

CONTENTS.

[_Additions to the former Impressions of Corbet’s Poems are distinguished by an Asterisk, thus_: *]

Page

* Life of the Author v

Preface to the Edition of 1648 lxiii

* Commendatory Poems lxv

An Elegie on Dr. Ravis 3

* Thomæ Coriato de Odcombe 9

To Thomas Coryate 11

A certaine Poem, &c. to the tune of “Bonny Nell” 13

* An Answer to the former Song, &c. 22

* Responsio, &c. 25

* Additamenta superiori Cantico 42

On the Lady Arabella Stuart 43

Upon Mistriss Mallet; an unhandsome gentlewoman who made love unto him 47

In quendam Anniversariorum Scriptorem 52

An Answer to the same, by Dr. Price 54

In Poetam exauctoratum et emeritum 56

* On Francis Beaumont, then newly dead 58

An Elegie on the late Lord William Howard of Effingham 59

To the Lord Mordaunt, upon his returne from the North 66

* To the Prince 82

A Newe-Years Gift to my Lorde Duke of Buckingham 83

A Letter to Sir Thomas Aylesbury 65

Dr. Corbet’s Journey into France 94

An Exhortation to Mr. John Hamon 103

An Elegie upon the Death of Queen Anne 112

An Elegie upon the Death of his owne Father 118

An Elegie upon the Death of the Lady Haddington 123

On the Christ-Church Play at Woodstock 131

A Letter to the Duke of Buckingham, being with the Prince in Spaine 134

On the Earle of Dorset’s Death 142

To the Newe-born Prince 146

On the Birth of the young Prince Charles 148

To his Son Vincent Corbet 149

An Epitaph on Dr. Donne, Dean of Pauls 152

* Certain few Woordes spoken concerninge one Benet Corbett after her decease 154

Iter Boreale 156

On Mr. Rice, the Manciple of Christ-Church in Oxford 205

On Henry Bollings 206

On John Dawson, Butler of Christ-Church 207

On Great Tom of Christ-Church 209

R.C. 212

A proper new Ballad, entituled The Faeryes Farewell 213

* A Non Sequitur 218

Nonsence 220

* The Country Life 222

To the Ghost of Robert Wisdome 228

An Epitaph on Thomas Jonce 230

To the Ladies of the New Dresse 232

* The Ladies’ Answer 233

* Corbet’s Reply 234

On Fairford Windows 235

* Another on the same 239

The Distracted Puritane 243

* Oratio in Funus Henrici Principis 249

* In Obitum Domini Thomæ Bodleii 260

TO THE READER.

(From Edition 1648.)

READER,

I heere offer to view a collection of certaine peices of poetry, which have _flowne_ from hand to hand, these many yeares, in _private_ papers, but were never _fixed_ for the _publique_ eie of the worlde to looke upon, till now[34]. If that witt which runnes in every veyne of them seeme somewhat _out of fashion_, because tis neither _amorous_ nor _obscene_, thou must remember that the author, although scarse a _Divine_ when many of them were written, had not only so _masculine_ but even so _modest_ a witt also, that he would lett nothing fall from his pen but what he himselfe might owne, and never blush, when he was a _bishop_; little imagining the age would ever come, when his calling should prove more out of fashion than his witt could. As concerning any thing else to be added in commendation of the author, I shall never thinke of it; for as for those men who did _knowe him_, or ever _heard of him_, they need none of _my good opinion_: and as for those who _knew him not_, and never so much as _heard of him_, I am sure he needs none of _theirs_.

Farewell.

COMMENDATORY POEMS.

TO THE DEANE,

(From Flower in Northamptonshire, 1625,)

NOW THE WORTHY BISHOP OF NORWICH.

BY ROBERT GOMERSALL[35].

Still to be silent, or to write in prose, Were alike sloth, such as I leave to those Who either want the grace of wit, or have Untoward arguments: like him that gave Life to the flea, or who without a guest Would prove that famine was the only feast; Self tyrants, who their braines doubly torment, Both for their matter and their ornament. If these do stutter sometimes, and confesse That they are tired, we could expect no lesse. But when my matter is prepared and fit, When nothing’s wanting but an equal wit, I need no Muse’s help to ayde me on, Since that my subject is my Helicon. And such are you: O give me leave, dear sir, (He that is thankful is no flatterer,) To speak full truth: Wherever I find worth, I shew I have it if I set it forth: You read yourself in these; here you may see A ruder draft of Corbet’s infancy. For I professe, if ever I had thought Needed not blush if publish’d, were there ought Which was call’d mine durst beare a critic’s view, I was the instrument, but the author you. I need not tell you of our health, which here Must be presum’d, nor yet shall our good cheare Swell up my paper, as it has done me, Or as the Mayor’s feast does Stowe’s History: Without an early bell to make us rise, Health calls us up and novelty; our eyes Have divers objects still on the same ground, As if the Earth had each night walk’d her round To bring her best things hither: ’tis a place Not more the pride of shires then the disgrace, Which I’de not leave, had I my Dean to boot, For the large offers of the cloven-foot Unto our Saviour, but you not being here ’Tis to me, though a rare one, but a shire; A place of good earth, if compared with worse, Which hath a lesser part in Adam’s curse: Or, for to draw a simile from the High’st, Tis like unto salvation without Christ, A fairly situate prison: When again Shall I enjoy that friendship, and that braine? When shall I once more hear, in a few words, What all the learning of past times affords? Austin epitomiz’d, and him that can To make him clear contract Tertullian. But I detain you from them: Sir, adieu! You read their works, but let me study you.

ON DR. CORBET’S MARRIAGE.

(From “Wit Restored,” 8vo. 1658.)