Part 7

She touch’d him with her harp, and rais’d him from the ground; The shaken strings melodiously resound. Art thou return’d at last, said she, To this forsaken place and me? Thou prodigal, who didst so loosely waste Of all thy youthful years, the good estate? Art thou return’d here to repent too late; And gather husks of learning up at last, Now the rich harvest-time of life is past, And _Winter_ marches on so fast? But when I meant t’adopt thee for my son, And did as learn’d a portion thee assign, As ever any of the mighty Nine Had to her dearest children done; When I resolv’d t’exalt thy anointed name, Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame[59]; Thou changeling, thou, bewitch’d with noise and show, Would’st into courts and cities from me go; Would’st see the world abroad, and have a share In all the follies, and the tumults there. Thou would’st, forsooth, be something in a state, And business thou would’st find, and would’st create: Business! the frivolous pretence Of humane lusts to shake off innocence: Business! the grave impertinence: Business! the thing which I of all things hate: Business! the contradiction of thy fate.

III.

Go, renegado, cast up thy account, And see to what amount Thy foolish gains by quitting me: The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty, The fruits of thy unlearn’d apostasy. Thou thought’st, if once the public storm were past, All thy remaining life should sun-shine be; Behold, the public storm is spent at last, The sovereign is tost at sea no more, And thou, with all the noble company, Art got at last to shore. But whilst thy fellow voyagers, I see, All march’d up to possess the promis’d land, Thou still alone (alas!) dost gaping stand Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand.

IV.

As a fair morning of the blessed spring, After a tedious stormy night; Such was the glorious entry of our king: Enriching moisture dropp’d on every thing; Plenty he sow’d below, and cast about him light. But then (alas!) to thee alone, One of old GIDEON’S miracles was shown; For every tree, and every herb around, With pearly dew was crown’d, And upon all the quicken’d ground The fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lye, And nothing but the Muse’s fleece was dry. It did all other threats surpass When God to his own people said, (The men, whom thro’ long wanderings he had led) That he would give them ev’n a heaven of brass; They look’d up to that heaven in vain, That bounteous heaven, which God did not restrain, Upon the most unjust to shine and rain.

V.

The RACHAEL, for which twice seven years and more Thou didst with faith and labour serve, And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve, Though she contracted was to thee, Giv’n to another who had store Of fairer, and of richer wives before, And not a _Leah_ left, thy recompence to be. Go on, twice seven years more thy fortune try, Twice seven years more, God in his bounty may Give thee, to fling away Into the court’s deceitful lottery. But think how likely ’tis that thou, With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough, Should’st in a hard and barren season thrive, Should even able be to live; Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall, In the miraculous year, when MANNA rain’d on all.

VI.

Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, That seem’d at once to pity and revile, And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head, The melancholy COWLEY said: Ah, wanton foe, dost thou upbraid The ills which thou thyself hast made? When, in the cradle, innocent I lay, Thou, wicked spirit, stolest me away, And my abused soul didst bear Into thy new-found words I know not where, Thy golden _Indies_ in the air; And ever since I strive in vain My ravish’d freedom to regain: Still I rebel, still thou dost reign, Lo, still in verse against thee I complain. There is a sort of stubborn weeds, Which if the earth but once, it ever breeds; No wholesome herb can near them thrive, No useful plant can keep alive; The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, Make all my art and labour fruitless now; Where once such Fairies dance no grass doth ever grow.

VII.

When my new mind had no infusion known, Thou gav’st so deep a tincture of thine own, That ever since I vainly try To wash away the inherent dye: Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite, But never will reduce the native white; To all the ports of honour and of gain, I often steer my course in vain, Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again. Thou slack’nest all my nerves of industry, By making them so oft to be The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsie. Whoever this world’s happiness would see, Must as entirely cast off thee, As they who only heaven desire, Do from the world retire. This was my error, this my gross mistake, Myself a demy-votary to make. Thus with SAPPHIRA, and her husband’s fate, (A fault which I like them am taught too late) For all that I gave up, I nothing gain, And perish for the part which I retain.

VIII.

Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse, The court, and better king, t’ accuse; The heaven under which I live is fair; The fertile soil will a full harvest bear; Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thou Mak’st me sit still and sing, when I should plough; When I but think, how many a tedious year Our patient sov’reign did attend His long misfortunes fatal end; How chearfully, and how exempt from fear, On the Great Sovereign’s will he did depend, I ought to be accurst, if I refuse To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse! Kings have long hands (they say) and though I be So distant, they may reach at length to me. However, of all princes, thou Should’st not reproach rewards for being small or slow; Thou, who rewardest but with popular breath, And that too after death.

DIALOGUE III.

ON THE

GOLDEN AGE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.

BETWEEN

THE HON. ROBERT DIGBY,

DR. ARBUTHNOT,

AND

MR. ADDISON.

DIALOGUE III.

ON THE AGE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.

MR. DIGBY, DR. ARBUTHNOT, MR. ADDISON.

It happened, in the summer of the year 1716, that Dr. ARBUTHNOT and Mr. ADDISON had occasion to take a journey together into _Warwickshire_. Mr. DIGBY, who had received intelligence of their motions, and was then at _Coleshill_, contrived to give them the meeting at _Warwick_; where they intended to pass a day or two, in visiting the curiosities of that fine town, and the more remarkable of these remains of antiquity that are to be seen in its neighbourhood. These were matter of high entertainment to all of them; to Dr. ARBUTHNOT, for the pleasure of recollecting the ancient times; to Mr. ADDISON, on account of some political reflexions, he was fond of indulging on such occasions; and to Mr. DIGBY, from an ingenuous curiosity, and the love of seeing and observing whatever was most remarkable, whether in the past ages, or the present.

Amongst other things that amused them, they were much taken with the great church at _Warwick_. They entertained themselves with the several histories, which it’s many old monuments recalled to their memory[60]. The famous inscription of Sir FULK GREVIL occasioned some reflexions; especially to Mr. DIGBY, who had used to be much affected with the fame and fortunes of the accomplished Sir PHILIP SIDNEY. The glory of the house of WARWICK was, also, an ample field of meditation. But what chanced to take their attention most, was the monument of the great earl of LEICESTER. It recorded his titles at full length, and was, besides, richly decorated with sculpture, displaying the various ensigns and trophies of his greatness. The pride of this minister had never appeared to them so conspicuous, as in the legends and ornaments of his tomb-stone; which had not only outlived his family, but seemed to assure itself of immortality, by taking refuge, as it were, at the foot of the altar.

These funeral honours engaged them in some common reflexions on the folly of such expedients to perpetuate human grandeur; but at the same time, as is the usual effect of these things, struck their imaginations very strongly. They readily apprehended what must have been the state of this mighty favourite in his lifetime, from what they saw of it in this proud memorial, which continued in a manner to insult posterity so many years after his death. But understanding that the fragments at least of his supreme glory, when it was flourishing at its height, were still to be seen at KENELWORTH, which they knew could be at no great distance, they resolved to visit them the next day, and indulge to the utmost the several reflexions which such scenes are apt to inspire. On enquiry, they found it was not more than five or six miles to the castle; so that, by starting early in the morning, they might easily return to dinner at _Warwick_. They kept to their appointment so well, that they got to _Kenelworth_ in good time, and had even two or three hours on their hands to spend, in taking an exact view of the place.

It was luckily one of those fine days, which our travellers would most have wished for, and which indeed are most agreeable in this season. It was clear enough to afford a distinct prospect of the country, and to set the objects, they wanted to take a view of, in a good light; and yet was so conveniently clouded as to check the heat of the sun, and make the exercise of walking, of which they were likely to have a good deal, perfectly easy to them.

When they alighted from the coach, the first object that presented itself was the principal GATE-WAY of the Castle. It had been converted into a farm-house, and was indeed the only part of these vast ruins that was inhabited. On their entrance into the _inner-court_, they were struck with the sight of many mouldering towers, which preserved a sort of magnificence even in their ruins. They amused themselves with observing the vast compass of the whole, with marking the uses, and tracing the dimensions, of the several parts. All which it was easy for them to do, by the very distinct traces that remained of them, and especially by means of DUGDALE’S plans and descriptions, which they had taken care to consult.

After rambling about for some time, they clambered up a heap of ruins, which lay on the west side the court: and thence came to a broken tower, which, when they had mounted some steps, led them out into a path-way on the tops of the walls. From this eminence they had a very distinct view of the several parts they had before contemplated; of the _gardens_ on the north-side; of the _winding meadow_ that encompassed the walls of the castle, on the west and south; and had, besides, the command of the country round about them for many miles. The prospect of so many antique towers falling into rubbish, contrasted to the various beauties of the landscape, struck them with admiration, and kept them silent for some time.

At length recovering himself, I perceive, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, we are all of us not a little affected with the sight of these ruins. They even create a melancholy in me; and yet a melancholy of so delightful a kind, that I would not exchange it, methinks, for any brisker sensation. The experience of this effect hath often led me to enquire, how it is that the mind, even while it laments, finds so great a pleasure in visiting these scenes of desolation. Is it, continued he, from the pure love of antiquity, and the amusing train of reflexions into which such remains of ancient magnificence naturally lead us?

I know not, returned Mr. ADDISON, what pain it may give you to contemplate these triumphs of time and fortune. For my part, I am not sensible of the mixt sensation you speak of. I feel a pleasure indeed; but it is sincere, and, as I conceive, may be easily accounted for. ’Tis nothing more, I believe, than a fiction of the imagination, which makes me think I am taking a revenge on the once prosperous and overshadowing height, PRÆUMBRANS FASTIGIUM, as somebody expresses it, of inordinate Greatness. It is certain, continued he, this theatre of a great statesman’s pride, the delight of many of our princes, and which boasts of having given entertainment to one of them in a manner so splendid, as to claim a remembrance, even in the annals of our country, would now, in its present state, administer ample matter for much insulting reflexion.

“Where, one might ask, are the tilts and tournaments, the princely shows and sports, which were once so proudly celebrated within these walls? Where are the pageants, the studied devices and emblems of curious invention, that set the court at a gaze, and even transported the high soul of our ELIZABETH? Where now, pursued he, (pointing to that which was formerly a canal, but at present is only a meadow with a small rivulet running through it) where is the floating island, the blaze of torches that eclipsed the day, the lady of the lake, the silken nymphs her attendants, with all the other fantastic exhibitions surpassing even the whimsies of the wildest romance? What now is become of the revelry of feasting? of the minstrelsy, that took the ear so delightfully as it babbled along the valley, or floated on the surface of this lake? See there the smokeless kitchens, stretching to a length that might give room for the sacrifice of a hecatomb; the vaulted hall, which mirth and jollity have set so often in an uproar; the rooms of state, and the presence-chamber: what are they now but void and tenantless ruins, clasped with ivy, open to wind and weather, and representing to the eye nothing but the ribs and carcase, as it were, of their former state? And see, said he, that proud gate-way, once the mansion of a surly porter[61], who, partaking of the pride of his lord, made the crowds wait, and refused admittance, perhaps, to nobles whom fear or interest drew to these walls, to pay their homage to their master: see it now the residence of a poor tenant, who turns the key but to let himself out to his daily labour, to admit him to a short meal, and secure his nightly slumbers. Yet, in this humble state, it hath had the fortune to outlive the glory of the rest, and hath even drawn to itself the whole of that little note and credit which time hath continued to this once pompous building. For, while the castle itself is crumbled into shapeless ruins, and is prophaned, as we there see, by the vilest uses, this outwork of greatness is left entire, sheltered and closed in from bird and beast, and even affords some decent room in which the _human face divine_ is not ashamed to shew itself.”

While Mr. ADDISON went on in this vein, his two friends stood looking on each other; as not conceiving what might be the cause of his expressing himself with a vehemence, so uncommon, and not suited to his natural temper. When the fit was over, I confess, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, this is no bad topic for a moralist to declaim upon. And, though it be a trite one, we know how capable it is of being adorned by him who, on a late occasion, could meditate so finely on the TOMBS AT WESTMINSTER[62]. But surely, proceeded he, you warm yourself in this contemplation, beyond what the subject requires of you. The vanity of human greatness is seen in so many instances, that I wonder to hear you harangue on this with so peculiar an exultation. There is no travelling ten miles together in any part of the kingdom without stumbling on some ruin, which, though perhaps not so considerable as this before us, would furnish occasion, however, for the same reflexions. There would be no end of moralizing over every broken tower, or shattered fabric, which calls to mind the short-lived glories of our ancestors.

True, said Mr. ADDISON; and, if the short continuance of these glories were the only circumstance, I might well have spared the exultation, you speak of, in this triumph over the shattered remnants of _Kenelworth_. But there is something else that fires me on the occasion. It brings to mind the fraud, the rapine, the insolence, of the potent minister, who vainly thought to immortalize his ill-gotten glory by this proud monument. Nay, further, it awakens an indignation against the prosperous tyranny of those wretched times, and creates a generous pleasure in reflecting on the happiness we enjoy under a juster and more equal government. Believe me, I never see the remains of that greatness which arose in the past ages on the ruins of public freedom and private property, but I congratulate with myself on living at a time, when the meanest subject is as free and independent as those royal minions; and when his property, whatever it be, is as secure from oppression, as that of the first minister. And I own this congratulation is not the less sincere for considering that the instance before us is taken from the reign of the virgin queen, which it hath been the fashion to cry up above that of any other of our princes[63]. I desire no other confutation of so strange unthankful a preference, than the sight of this vast castle, together with the recollection of those means by which its master arrived at his enormous greatness.

Your indignation then, replied Dr. ARBUTHNOT, is not so much of the moral, as _political_ kind[64]. But is not the conclusion a little too hasty, when, from the instance of one overgrown favourite, you infer the general infelicity of the time, in which he flourished? I am not, I assure you, one of those unthankful men who forget the blessings they enjoy under a prince of more justice and moderation than queen ELIZABETH, and under a better constitution of government than prevailed in the days of our forefathers. Yet, setting aside some particular dishonours of that reign (of which, let the tyranny of _Leicester_, if you will, be one), I see not but the acknowledged virtues of that princess, and the wisdom of her government, may be a proper foundation for all the honours that posterity have ever paid to her.

Were I even disposed to agree with you, returned Mr. ADDISON, I should not have the less reason for triumphing, as I do, on the present state of our government. For, if such abuses could creep in, and be suffered for so many years under so great a princess, what was there not to fear (as what, indeed, did not the subject actually feel) under some of her successors? But, to speak my mind frankly, I see no sufficient grounds for the excessive prejudice, that hath somehow taken place, in favour of the GOLDEN REIGN, as it is called, OF ELIZABETH. I find neither the wisdom, nor the virtue in it, that can entitle it to a preference before all other ages.

On the contrary, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, I never contemplate the monuments of that time, without a silent admiration of the virtues that adorned it. Heroes and sages crowd in upon my memory. Nay, the very people were of a character above what we are acquainted with in our days. I could almost fancy, the soil itself were another face, and, as you poets imagine on some occasions, that our ancestors lived under a brighter sun and happier climate than we can boast of.

To be sure! said Mr. ADDISON, smiling: or, why not affirm, in the proper language of romance, that the women of those days were all chaste, and the men valiant? But cannot you suspect at least that there is some enchantment in the case, and that your love of antiquity may possibly operate in more instances than those of your favourite _Greeks_ and _Romans_? Tell me honestly, pursued he, hath not this distance of a century and a half a little imposed upon you? Do not these broken towers, which moved you just now to so compassionate a lamentation over them, dispose you to a greater fondness for the times in which they arose, than can be fairly justified?

I will not deny, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, but we are often very generous to the past times, and unjust enough to the present. But I think there is little of this illusion in the case before us. And, since you call my attention to these noble ruins, let me own to you, that they do indeed excite in me a veneration for the times of which they present so striking a memorial. But surely not without reason. For there is scarce an object in view, that doth not revive the memory of some distinguishing character of that age, which may justify such veneration.

Alas! interrupted Mr. ADDISON, and what can these objects call to mind but the memory of barbarous manners and a despotic government?

For the _government_, replied Dr. ARBUTHNOT, I do not well conceive how any conclusion about that can be drawn from this fabric. The MANNERS I was thinking of; and I see them strongly expressed in many parts of it. But whether barbarous or not, I could almost take upon me to dispute with you. And why, indeed, since you allowed yourself to declaim on the vices, so apparent, as you suppose, in this monument of antiquity, may not I have leave to consider it in another point of view, and present to you the virtues which, to my eye at least, are full as discernible?

You cannot, continued he, turn your eyes on any part of these ruins, without encountering some memorial of the virtue, industry, or ingenuity, of our ancestors.

Look there, said he, on that fine room (pointing to the HALL, that lay just beneath them); and tell me if you can help respecting the HOSPITALITY which so much distinguished the palaces of the great in those simpler ages. You gave an invidious turn to this circumstance when you chose to consider it only in the light of wasteful expence and prodigality. But no virtue is privileged from an ill name. And, on second thoughts, I persuade myself, it will appear you have injured this, by so uncandid an appellation. Can it deserve this censure, that the lord of this princely castle threw open his doors and spread his table for the reception of his friends, his followers, and even for the royal entertainment of his sovereign? Is any expence more proper than that which tends to conciliate[65] friendships, spread the interests of society, and knit mankind together by a generous communication in these advantages of wealth and fortune? The arts of a refined sequestered luxury were then unknown. The same bell, that called the great man to his table, invited the neighbourhood all around, and proclaimed a holiday to the whole country[66]. Who does not feel the decorum, and understand the benefits of this magnificence? The pre-eminence of rank and fortune was nobly sustained: the subordination of society preserved: and yet the envy, that is so apt to attend the great, happily avoided. Hence this weight and influence of the old nobility, who engaged the love, as well as commanded the veneration, of the people. In the mean time, rural industry flourished: private luxury was discouraged: and in both ways that frugal simplicity of life, our country’s grace and ornament in those days, was preserved and promoted.

It would spoil your panegyric, I doubt, said Mr. ADDISON, to observe the factious use, that was made of this magnificence, and the tendency it had to support the pride and insolence of the old nobility. The interest of the great, I am afraid, was but another name for the slavery of the people[67].