Skip to main content

Full text of "Biographical memoirs of the rev. Sneyd Davies, in a letter to mr. Nichols"

See other formats


This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http: //books .google .com/I 

BT'tyTn., Uvv-W^--?- M^t^n^i. 

lip 'i-- ^'^ 

■'' L. 






In a Letter to Mk. Nichols. 

^^* Of this Memoir^ Fifty dbkims are priilted; not for sale, 
but for Mr. Harding^'s Friends^ and those of Dr. Davie^. 


Printed by NichoU, Son, and Bentley, 
Red Lion Pa$8a^e^ FUet-ttreety Loudoiu 













[ 5 ] 


¥er cineres Amartlli foritf. Yirgiii. 

To John Nichols, Esq. 

Dear Sir, Walton Grove, March 4, 1816. 

AN accident has tempted me to rescue from the 
dust of oblivion (if I can hope to be so fortunate) 
a man of consummate genius, and of exemplary 
virtue, who (at least in my conception of his value) 
deserves a conspicuous niche in j/our Temple of 
the Sages, and of the Poets, who confer honour upon 
the Century behind us. 

The accident was this: On my judicial tour 
into Wales in the summer of last year, I called at 
the house of Admiral Sir Charles Knowles, who 
then resided in Ludlmv, and who had received me, 
as an occasional visitor, in the most obliging manner. 

He was absent from home : but Ladi/ Knowles 
honoured me with her company for half an hour. 
Accomplished in her talents, and most engaging in 
her manners, a model in the dignified graces of do- 
mestic virtue, a zealous enthusiast in literature, but 
with no affectation, she is the ornament, and the de- 
light of her numerous Relations, and of all who have 
the happiness to be her friends. 

In the course of chat between us, and in the com-*: 
pany of others, a good laugh took place against 
both of us, at her supposition that I had written si 
Letter which had been copied by her from the ori- 
ginal, and which, if I had written it, would have 
advanced my age to that of a hundred andjifteenl 

Except for this awhuoard inference from the date, 
I should have owned it with pride, if I could have 



made the confession agree to the Jhct. It will ap- 
j>ear in these Memoirs, and I am now possesseti of 
it in the writer's hand. He was mi/ own Father. 
He had written this Letter to a certain Mr. Da- 
vies, then Rector of Kingsland, in the County 
of //isre/brrf, afterwards Canon Residentiary oi Lick- 
field, and Archdeacon of Derby, a person whoi 
though 1 was not " a hundred and Jifleen" I w 
old enough to have seen at the table of the first Lord 
Camden, my imcle, when he was Chancellor, and 
whom I should have seen there, on the day appoint- 
ed for the interview, if I had not been deprived of 
that pleasure by some youthful engagements of my 
own, which I had not sense enough to countermand. 

I had often heard the Chancellor speak of him as 
of an admired friend, and favourite in Eton school — 
at King's College in Cambridge- — and occasionally, 
in rambles of the summer, before the Law tied him 
by the leg. As a Poet indeed he had caught my at- 
tention at school, and when I only knew him, as 
the Writer of an address in blank verse to C — 
P , Esq. — Charles Pratt (as I found after- 
wards) before tlie latter attained any of his profes- 
sional honours. 

Tliis Poem had struck me long before I could fill 
up those initials of the name; and the Ueader will na- 
turally suppose that I was not less partial to it when it 
acquired the additional value, to me, of its reference 
to a person whom 1 loved, admired, and revered. — ■ 
It pleased me the more, because it was temperate, and 
manly in praise (an arduous province of tne Muse) j 
nor could I fail to admire the sagacity of anticipa- 
tion — which made the partial, and poetical friend a 
discerning prophet. 

When I read tliis Poem 6rst, it chimed in my ear, 
and I could repeat every syllable of it by heart. — I 
liave the same passion for it still ; — but what I shall 
think of it in my hundred and fifteenth year, I will 
not risk an opinion before its time ! 

^ "^ When 


When my uncle had the Seals, he told me one day 
that his friend the Poet had presented him with a 
poetical address to Camden the Antiquary, and that 
he had placed this keepsake at the back ojTthe Anti* 
quary's picture (which had been given to him by iWr. 
James West *) — "a good place for such high-- 
Jlown compliments r was, I remember, his phrase. 
It was an ^hge upon the Chancellor in verse. He 
added (and seemed more pleased with it than with 
his own Jame behind the picture) that his friend 
had also given him his own Portrait. 

But, at an earlier period still, though after I had 
first read the Poem, I had seen amongst my father's 
loose papers, English verse of the same IJavies to 
him. I thought it excellent of its kind in the Mil^ 
tonic measure, which his poetical ear had most hap- 
pily caught, and which his earliest prepossession had 
selected as a model in general for his own. 

One Poem in particular (though in the removal 
of papers at various times, when I shifted my AraVs 
tenty I lost many others) was preserved by me, and 
was in my possession, but so mislaid that I could 
only at first give a part of it, which memory had re- 
tained. But I have now received the remainder of 
it, from a gentleman who was in possession of it. 

I recollect that I also have read some of his Let-* 
ters to my father in prose, which I thought unaf- 
fectedly elegant — a character which is the perfec- 
tion of epistolary eloquence. In one of them he 
sends Latin Alcaics which address him thus : 

^^ O Dana Regum progenies,*' 
in allusion to the unexplained affinity between our 
Crest and that of the Berheleys, which (in pure 

* " Viro integerrimo 

Carolo^ Baroni Camden^ 

JuruiD> Libertatumque Populi Anglican! 

Vindici acri, forti, fideU, 

Hoc Camdeni illuslris Prototjrphon 

In .^dibus Camdenianis olim 

asaenratuoi, nunc reponendum 

OSbrt, J4C0BUS West.-* 



je^/) carried US,' with our Berheley cousins, to the 

FUzrffardinges, who were Princes of Denmark! 

These Letters, and Verses making him a kind of 

tableau defamille, tempted me to read more of his 

works in the same vokune of Dodsleifs Miscellany. 

'■ They were, I thought, little, if at all, inferior to 
tliat, which had fascinated me when I was at school, 
f n short, he became a favourite of my youthful taste. 
But youth is youth; and I had almost forgotten him. 

During my ill-omened acquaintance with Miss 
Seward^ whose poetical fancy I admired, and who 
resided in Lichfield, I imparted (with my habitual 
enthusiasm for genius) to her, the impression which 
Da VIES had made upon me. 

That celebrated female has conferred upon me 
the unsolicited honour of prititing, and publishing 
tier answer to me upon this topic, and upon every 
OTHER which had been the subject of mutual confi- 
dence between us — either transcribed (as the Editor 
has represented) from her own copies of those Let- 
ters, made when she wrote the originals first, or, as 
I suspect, in this peculiar instance, from the origin 
nals; but, upon either supposition, with perfidy in 
cold blood, unexampled (I hopej in literary in- 

After many high-flown compliments to me, whom 
she had never seen but once, and after the exchange 
of childish pedantries between us, my disagreement 
with her upon subjects of criticism embittered her 
against me; for, with all her attainments in litera- 
ture, she overlooked a maxim of Cicero, " that we 
should refute without anger, and should be refuted 
without pertinacity." She laid her commands upon 
me, in a fit of spleen, to return all the Letters I had 
received, oflfering to part with all mine back to me, 
upon a solemn pledge between us, instituted by her- 
self, that no trace of the correspondence was ever to 



appear. — This contract, with my perfect assent, 
was in part executed — she sent back all my Letters 
to me — 1 burnt them. She obtained possession of 
her own to me ; and I received a direct assurance 
from her, which / also burnt (with a disdain to 
keep it as a check, and security), that no vestige of 
the opinions, or sentiments, which fiad been circun 
lated between her and me, should ever appear. 

Instead of keeping her word, she has betrayed, by 
a posthumous deceit, but contemplated with delibe- 
rate foresight, in the shape of her own replies, all the 
idle rhapsodies of criticism, or taste, which at the im- 
pulseof the moment I had communicated,as her friend. 
She has trafficked away her good faith, and sense of 
honour, to a Bookseller; and has exposed me to ridi- 
cule, as guilty, at the best, of a labor ineptiarum, 
and at the worst — of many unfashionable opinions^ 
which I thought sacred in her hands. She has even 
copied one entire letter of mine to her, in a letter to 
her friend. This too, after we had parted in amity, 
and after some kind attentions to me on her part, 
even since we had quarrelled upon literary subjects 

That is not all ; nor is it the worst. There are 
passages of a delicate nature in my Letters, af- 
fecting the character of respectable individuals, 
which a feeling mind would have shuddered even at 
the POWER of revealing to the indiscriminate world ; 
and she has not suppressed one of them, if made, as 
they generally were, the subjects of her LiCtters to me. 

It happens too, that upon the subject of this Lich^ 
^eld Poet her disingenuity is betrayed. In a letter 
to me, his poetical rank is, by comparison, depre- 
ciated ; but in a marginal note upon his verse in 
Dodslejfs Collection, presented by her to Da- 
vies himself, and recently discovered at Kingsland, 
he U the subject of a more animated ihge. 



To me her expression is (word for word) as follows : 

" Yes, indeed, Dr. Davies had genuine poetical 

"fancy, and his numbers were often graceful, and 

" harmonious : so far I think with j/ou ; but must 

" dissent from j/OMr assertion," [which I never made,] 

" That he is a Poet, sweet as any of modern times ! 
" the times that boast of Grai/, Mason, Collins, 
" Hayley, Beattie, Cowper, Ckatterton, Burns, 
" with MANY OTHERS, who hold the poetic torch 
" MUCH higher*, surely, than it was lifted by the 
" GENTLE -f", the ELEGANT Davies." 

In the marginal note of her keepsake, which i» 
extant in her own hand, she writes thus ; 
" Witness the lays that still engage 
Poetic eyes in VodsUys page ; 
Meek Davies % thine ; whose feeling mind 
Was by each Cbristlan grace reCin'd, 

Shed living lustre on the lyre." 

To resume Lady Knowles (who is never to be 
left at the call of any digression, without reluctance), 
I took the liberty of asking her, if she knew any 
more of DavieS; and I learnt from her, with no 
common delight, that she had found at Kingsland, 
where she had copied this Letter "of mine" several 
interesting manuscripts, in prose, and in verse, con- 
nected withDAViES, the mirrors of his genius, virtues, 
and familiar habits. In the kindest manner, observ- 
ing, that my zeai for him was in unison with her own, 
she communicated copies of these treasures to me, 
and some of the originals J to which, at a later period^ 

* If the reader can unriddle this image, I give him joy, 

f How these Ia(/y-/ite epilhels can be deemed appjicable to 

the peculiar style, andcharader of /tit Muse, will liercaAer appear. 
X To this I have no objection. It is tbe fact, as applicable 

to hb moral character. 



she added all the rest. They are chiefly the foun- 
tains, from which I have drawn the Memoirs of thi» 
accomplished Poet^ and most amiable man. Upon 
the box which retained the originals, before tney 
were in my possession, she wrote this beautiful 
tribute of gratitude^ for the delight she had felt in 
reading his works : 


Ob, §t4y the band, that would to flames consigo 
A polisb'd vein, and feelings, pure ^ thine ! 
Though Time, obsequious to the world's decay. 
Has thy immortal essence borne away. 
Still, through the foliage of a deathless wreath. 
Shall InspiratioQ^s fond memorial breathe ; 
To future Pilgrims, that shall hither stray. 
Thy renovated spirit shall display ; , 
The S^ge, and Po^t, shall /itm^e^ redeem. 
His own bright mirror of the hallo wM theme; 
-r-* Can this be death, when souls from bodies part^ 
But live to Fame, in genius, and the heart ? 

He was born in 1709, a younger son, of a good fa- 
mily in the f^ale ofClewyd, near St. Asaph. They 
were possessed of an estate, and of a mansion there, 
which is in the hands of a descendant, who is en^ 
titled by entail. 

At Kingsland there is a curious drawing of this 
family seat, " in Chinese perspective^* to use Lady 
Knoiples's words, in allusion to it. 

His father was Rector, and Impropriator of 
Kingsland, Prebendary of Hereford, and of St. 
Asaph, Precentor of St. David's, and a Doctor of 

In a most whimsical, but facetious manuscript, 
which I have seen in one of my detours from the 




Circuit into the adjacent Counties^ and which id 
very much in the manner of Henry Fielding^ coe- 
val to the date of the elder Davies's residence at 
Kingshndy a satirical account appears, at which he 
would have laughed himself, both of his exterior, and 
of bis air, in these words : . 

*' One Doctor Davies was both Rector^ and Im^ 
propriator oi Kingsland. 

* He was tall, and bulky. — He had an air of gra- 
vity, and of dignity in the expression of his coun- 

'* tenahce. It said, or seemed to say, especially to 
•* those who were not of his acquaintance, ^ that he 
was not only Rector ofKingstand, but a Chan- 
ter of St. David's r 

- He died in 1/32. The son drew his character: 
and I have taken one extract from it, as thinking 
it very original, and well expressed : 

*' He had many ways to gain friends, and but 
" one, that could endanger the loss of them. It 
*^ was, that he sacrificed his interest, by telling them 
** an unwelcome truth." 

The inscription upon his monument, perhaps 
written by the son, is in these words : 

" Here lies the Rev. John Davies, D. D. 

Hector of Kingslandj 

Precentor of St. David's^ 

and Prebendarj/ of the Cathedrals 

of Ilerefordf and St, Asaph, 

but much better distinguished 

by bis personal worth, 

than he could have been 

by the highest station in a Church^, 

frbose doctrines he constantly preached, and practised, 

in a manner equalled by few, 

excelled by none. 

Nor was he less remarkable 

for bis public spirit, 

and an unalterable attachndent 

* tie was to haTe beea the next Bishop^ if he had lired. 



to the interest of his Country; 

which engaged him to many, 

and recommended him to all good men. 

By him lies Honora his first wife, the relict 

f Thomas Ilavenscrofi, Esq. greatly distinguished for 

her piety, and charity. 

He was the son of Mutton Davies, Esq. 

an ancient, and loyal family in Flintshire. 

He died December the 14tb, 1732, 

aged 63, 

leaving behind him Isabella, relict 

of the Jiighi Reverend John Harlstonge, 

Bishop rf Derry, 

his second, and sincerely afflicted wife: 

John, Sneyd, and Eli::abeth, his children, 

by his first wife. 

It is worthy of remark, that in his will he gave the 
living oi Kinssland to Sneyd, the second son, " he- 
" came of all his children he deserved the best of 
*' him, and was Jit for the ministrt/J" 

Of John I have no intelligence, except that he 
died Sept. S, 173 J, at the age of 31, and had this in- 
scription to his memory ; so classical, that I have 
no doubt of the hand; — Sneyd was evidently the 
writer of it — 

" Hoc juxta breve ntarmor 

non sine lande, et lachrymis, 

jacet Johannes Davies, armiger; 

Naturae dotibus feliciter instructus, 

Elegans Poeta, jucundus comes, 

Dilectus in viti — in mortS deSendus, 

^Fil. nat. max. 
Rev''" JoHANNis Davies, 
Rectoris de Kingsland, 
in Comitatu Herefordiie. 
Ohiit quinto die Septembris, 
A.D. 1735, ntatis31. 
U We 



We have no other traces of him ; and it is very 
singular, that in the numerous Letters of the sur- 
viving Brother, he is not once named ! 

Notwithstanding the ridicule upon his father's 
exterior, and manner, conferred upon them by the 
Manuscript, he appears to have been a very deep 
scholar. Many books written by him are at Kings- 
land, religious, and classical ; — but, half mouldering 
away. Many, alas, are such treasures, lost, and buried 
in themodest obscurity of secludedhfe, though graced 
by genius, and learning ; — they have" blushed unseen." 

He must also have been lively, and pleasant; for 
there is a Ballad written by him upon the rage for 
the South Sea, very much in Swift's manner, and 
worth copying. It is intituled, 

In London stands a famons pile, 

And near that place an alley; 
Where merry crowds for riches toil. 

And Wisdom stoops to Folly. 
Here aad, and joyful, high, and low, 

Court Fortune for her graces ; 
And, as she smiles, or frowns, they shew 

Tbelr gesturei, and grimaces. 
There Slavs, and Garters do appear, 

And 'mongst our Lords the rabble ; 
To buy, and sell, to see, and hear. 

The Jew, and Gentile squabble. 
Here crafty Courtiers are too wise. 

For those who trust to Fortune ; 
They see the cheat with clearer eyes, 

Who peep behind the curtain. 


Our greatest Ladies hither come^ 

And ply in chariots daily} 
Oft pawn their jewels for a turn^ 

To venture in the alley. 

Young harlots too^ from Drury Lme^ 
Approach the ^Change in coaches ; 

To fool away the gold they gain 
By their obscene debauches. 

Long heads may thrive by sober ruled. 
Because they think, and drink not ; 

But head-longs are no thriving fools. 
Who only drink, and think not. 

The lucky rogues, like spaniel dogs. 

Leap into South Sea water ; 
And there they fish for golden fro^. 

Not caring what comes a^ten 

'Tis said, that alchemists of old 

Could turn a broken kettle. 
Or lieaden cistern, into gold. 

That noble tempting metaL 

But, if it here may be allow'd. 

To bring-in great with small things ; 

Our cunning South Sea, like a god^ 
Turns nothing into all things^ 

What need have we of Indian wealth, 
Or commerce with our neighbours I 

Our Constitution is in health. 
And riches crown our labours. 

Our South Sea ships have golden shrouds^ 
They bring us wealth, 'tis granted ; 

But lodge their treasure in the clouds. 
To hide it till it's wanted. 

O Britain I 


O Britain ! bless thy happy state, 

Thou Only happy nation ; 
So oddly rich, so madly great, 

Since Bubbles came in fashion. 

Successful rakes exert their pride, 
And court these airy millions ; 

Whilst homely drabs in coaches ride. 
Brought up to town on pillions. 

Few men, who borrow Reason*s rules, 

Grow fat with Sauth-Sea diet ; 
Young rattles, and unthinking fools, 

Are those that flourish by it. 

Old musty jades, and pushing blades. 

Of least consideration ; 
Grow rich apace, whilst wiser heads 

Are struck with admiration. 

A race of men who, to this day. 
Lay crush'd beneath disasters ; 

Are now by stock brought into play. 
Are made our Lords, and Masters. 

But sbould one tenth from Babel fall, 
What numbers would be frowning ! 

The honest then must ease their gall. 
By hanging, or by drowning ! 

Fire hundred millions, notes, and bonds. 
Our stocks are worth in value ; 

But neither lie in goods, nor lands. 
Nor money, let me tell you. 

Yet though our foreign trade is lost. 

Of mighty wealth we vapour ; 
When all the riches that we boast, . ' 

Consist in scraps of paper ! 



The Davieses were originally of Gwynsaneyy near 
Motd^ in Flintshire; but about four, or five genera- 
tions before, had married a Mutton*^ heiress oiLlan^ 
nerch. — A\\ the issue of John died without children. 
The family seat has the name of Llannerch. The 
owner of it, the Rev. Mr. William Whitehall 
Davies, resides at Broughton Hall, near Wrexham. 

Honora Sneyd, whose maiden surname was con- 
ferred upon her second son, married her first hus- 
band, in Shrewsbury, Feb. 12, 1690. He was bu- 
ried at Harwarden in Flintshire, May 10, 169 8. 

Honora was the daughter of Ralph Sneyd, Esq. 
(who was of Keel, in the county of Stafford), by 
Frances, daughter of Sir John Dryden, Bart, of 
Canons Ashhy, in the county of Northampton. 
She was born in 1668. - - — 

Dr. John Davies was of Shrewsbury, wher^ all 
his children were born. - 

John, Feb. 3, I703-4. 
Sneyd, Oct. 30, 1709. 
Thomas^ June 27, 1711. 
And a A^M^Xex Elizabeth. 

There is a Letter from Earl Camden, a very lit- 
tle before he left the bar, to his friend, lamenting, 
that he cannot, by a dash of his pen, make the law 
in his favour. The question was, if he was a tenant 
for life, or in fee, to some part of the family estate. 

" Dear Sneyd, 
*^ The point is clear ; you are only tenant for life. 
" I wish the dash of my pen would alter the law 
*' for your sake ; but it is too stubborn. Your uncle's 
** heir at law is entitled after your death, &c. 

(Signed) " C. Pratt. Sept. 31, 1761;* 

From one of the co-heirs now in possession, the 
Rev. Mr. William Whitehall Davies, I have 
received a series of kind, and very entertaining Letters. 

* This word> as the Welsh utter it, has the souod of MiHon. 

c He 


He has traced the family back to a remote, and 
venerable period. 

The common ancestor of this Gentleman and 
Sneyd was Mutton Davies, the father of John, 
but who was not the elder son *. Robert, who came 
before him, had many children. His grandson wa» 
Peter, father to my Correspondent. 

Mv-ttoa, Mutton. 

I I 

Robert. John. 

-J . I 


rUiiam fVhitehaH. 

Amongst the descendants from this Mutton or 
MiTTON Davies, Richard, brother to the first Ro- 
bert, and who left an estate for life to his nephew the 
Rector of Kingsland, merits a distinguished place 
in these Memoirs, if in the anecdotes of a descend- 
ant from the common ancestor, those of the same 
family can without indecorum be introduced, who 
attract peculiar notice, by deserving it. 

I cannot better describe this Gentleman, than by 
copying an extnict from a Letter which I have just 
received from the coheir of the North ffclsft inhe- 
ritance, Mr.WhitehallDavies; to whom I am in- 
debted for many other communications, no less in- 
teresting, than courteous, and liberal. 

His words are these : 

" Richard, being thus brought into contact with 
" your Hero, cannot be dismissed without further 
** notice. 

* Robert his elder Brother was a deep scholar, and versed in 
biblical studiei. — John, when young, was admired for his wit, and 
vivacity. It was the hahit (hen to say, " the Panon should have 
heenSoKtVe, arid nice Der»d,"* 





' My Father, when he 


was young, knew him 
' well, and he never spoke of him but with most 
' affectionate esteem. 

" His epitaph designates him as the pious, and 
'charitable. — It might have added that he was 
' 'an Israelite without guile \ so discharging the 
' various duties of his pastoral office, that his Pa- 
' rishioners crowded after him to the church, and 
' literally fell upon their knees for his blessing. 

" I contemplate him with absolute veneration. — • 
' He was an epitome of all that is excellent, and yet, 
' with peculiaritt/ enough to confer a singular fla- 
'* vour upon all that he did, or said. 

" Anecdotes often illustrate a character- the best. — 
" In 1745, during the political Same of the two 
" parties, and upon the verge of a contested election, 
" one of his Relations rode up to the vicarage of 
" Rhuabon with a message from the Bishop, im- 
" porting, that, if .1/r, Davies expected any favours 
" from him, he must give his vote, and his interest, 
" for the Court. 

"'Well, Sir, (my Father asked him), and what 
" answer did you make to the Bishop ?' — ' My du- 
*' tifu! respect ; but adding, that his Lordship was 
" meddling with subjects of no fit concern for him — ' 
" that his duty was, to visit the Diocese — to see his 
" Clergy at their post, and superintending their 
" flocks — carefully to advance the deserving, and 
*' them alone. — That, as to my vote, I should give 
" it according to my conscience.' 

" 'Well, and what said you to our cousiyiT 

" ' I said nothing.' 

" ' What ! nothing to our kinsman V 

" ' He did not come to me as my hinsman, but 
" as a servant of' the Bishop. I treated him accord- 
*' ingly, and I told Roger to carry a tankard of ale 
' for his horse." 



Sneyd was a Colleger at Eton school; and "went 
" off'(\n the Eton phrase) to King's." 

At both of those two seminaries he formed an 
affectionate intimacy with Charles Pratt, afterwards 
Earl Cainden, wlio was a Colleger at Eton, and a 
Fellow of King's College, in the University of Cam~ 
bridge. — Through him lie became, at a later period, 
acquainted with Mr. Nicholas Hardirige, my father; 
of whom, at first, he seems to have been afraid, 
without a shadow of reason, except that my father 
had a reserved countenance, and manner, with 
strangers, though witty, social, and pleasant with 
friends, and familiar companions. This y^ar wore 
off, and he appears to have been his guest, as well as 

Perhaps the " constitutional timidity" which is 
marked m Miss Seward's portrait of him, may have 
compelled him to be shy of anew acquaintance, who 
lived more in the world, and whom he only knew 
throuf^h tliG medium, oiidpartiality of their common 
friend, Mr. Pratt, as bearing a high character for 
classical tasle. 

The woTds of Miss Setvard are these ; and, bating 
only two words of that infiated style, which 1 always 
consiflercd as the bane of her genius (brilliant as it 
was) in prate, they are admirable. As in this por- 
trait she had no bias upon her mind, we may ac- 
credit her fidelity. We have also the advantage of 
her fumiliar access to the original, of her acute ob- 
servation upon the circle of her Z,/t.7')£fW neighbours, 
and of her lively pencil in delineating tliem : 

" In my giriish days I knew him well, and always 
*' shed tears of deliglit when I listened to him from 
" the pulpit; for his manner of preaching was in- 
*' efl'able t, a voice of tremtiloitslif pathetic softness, 
" religious energies struggling through coastitu- 
" tional timidity j but in all his words, his looks, 
" his manners, within, and without the church, 
" there looked out of a feeble frame a spirit heati- 
"Jled before its time." At 


' * At the same Eton school he became the associate, 
and friend of that amiable Prelate, Cornwallis^ first 
Bishop of LicJifieldy and afterwards Archbishop of 

Both of them, to my personal knowledge, re- 
tained their school affection for him, and were proud 
of hini, as their friend, — I have heard Lord Camden 
say, that he thought him, n^xt only to Mr. Hardinge 
(his brother-in-law), the best classical scholar of his 
age *• 

If, as I rather suspect, in the declining years of his 
life he felt the ambition of preferment, it was unfor- 
tunate, that Cornwallls did not reach the Metropoli- 
tan Seey till a very few months before Davies's death. 

To that excellent Prelate, whom I had the happi- 
ness to know and cultivate, there is a poetical ad- 
dress by Davies, at an early period of their lives, 
perhaps not inferior to that, which I have described 
as enchanting me at Eton school, in honour to 
Lord Camden — at least it is a measuring cast be- 
tween them. 

1 have no precise date for the address to Owti- 
wallis; but I should guess, that it was written a 
little before I745 — The date of the lines to Lord 
Camden is 1743. 

■ Amongst the Letters preserved at Kingjsland are 
many of Lord Camden, which I now possess in 
the originals, by the obliging aid, and generous at- 
tentions of Lady Knowles. 

There is also a Letter of Davies to his ad- 
mired friend, written, but not sent, either as having 
been acidentally mislaid, or, as having been thought 
by him too dull, and cold, for the demand of his 
feelings, and of his taste ; both which had, in gene- 
ral, too little mercy to their own works. 

. * In this ehge, I of course make, and claim allowance for pat" 
iialitm, . 




At the same Eton school he formed an acquaint- 
ance with Mr. Dodd, afterwards of Swallow-Jield- 
place in Berkshire, and a Member of Parliament 
for the Borough of Reading. — They coatinued their 
acquaintance at King's, where Mr. Dodd was a 
Gentleman Commoner. 

To this gentleman was attached TVhaley, of the ' 
same College, his tutor. 

The pupil was no scholar; hut he was a favourite 
of many ingenious, and clever men, as well as of 
others, who were exemplary in worth, and were of 
high rank. Lord Fane described him as ajine horse 
ill brohe-in* . He was generous, open-hearted, and 
convivial, — friendly, and hospitable to a fault. 

Whaley was of a more dissipated, and wild 
character. He died in distress; and his Kingsland 
friend, whom nothing else could have seduced from 
his diffidence, for he liad a modesty unexampled in 
the estimate of his own powers, gave to him some 
of his poetry, to be inserted in his Collection of 
Poetical Miscellanies, published yb/- bread. — But 
his name was to he concealed — as it was. 

From this Collection some of the Poems, written 
by Da VIES, and judiciously selected, found their way 
into Dodsley's Collection, but were still anonymous. 

Inoneof Davies's Letters there is an allusion to the 
difficulties of bis friend ; and, as it is most honour- 
able to his feelings, it shall be copied in its place. 

It is not, upon the hrst view, easy to account for 
what is called /r/e«(/.v/ii/7, in the union of three such 
characters. — But friendships, made at school, or even 
at College, are seldom permanent. We are therefore 
so pleased when they are, that we readily forgive, 
and almost admire, the amiable prejudice of a per- 
severing attachment, where meriton one side has no 
claim, or, at the best, an equivocal one, to the ho- 
nour, and sanction of the intercourse on the other. 

• I owe this arcli, and clever simile to the report of my ofiec- 
lionate, ingeniouB, and pleasant friend. Lord Braybrooke. 



But, amongst the Manuscripts preserved Sil^Kingg^ 
land, there is a very short note from tVhaley to 
Da VIES, and countersigned by Dodd, which is cu- 
rious, because it marks what gave the first iHipres* 
sion of Lord Camden^s promising fame at the Bar ; 
and the fact is the more pleasing, because it arose fron^ 
the zeal of his professional exertions for Mr. Dodd, 
his personaiyWewrf. 

He was Counsel for him, and victorious, in a con^ 
tested Election for the Borough of Reading, in 1 740. 

That as a boy Da vies at Eton school was a gifte4 
scholar, and was eminent in classical compositions^ 
may be inferred^ with safe analogy, from his youth* 
ful works, after he had left College. 

Indeed, we have a powerful hint of his genius, 
when at school, in a Poem from which I mean to ex- 
tract some of the lines ; arid in JVhalejfs Collection 
there is an exercise at Cambridge, when he was not 
more than 20 years of age, which has poetical spirit 
enough to have then warranted the hope, that he 
would make a figure as a Poet, if he would but 
overcome his delicacy, and fear. 

But when I name this amiable infirmity of his 
nature, I think it will appear, that although his man- 
ners were timid, his Muse, and his thoughts in her 
school were as manly, as they were graceful, and 
polished — They were much nearer to .sui/imiV^, than 
to elegance (Miss Seward*s character of them) ; and 
were marked with an originality of spirit, which 
made him distinguished, by a superior cast, I think, 
from some of his contemporaries, who have acquired 
a more popular character, as being more pushed into 

All accounts of him, that have reached me, describe 
him as the most amiable of human beings ; cheerful, 
though modest ; and pious, without parade of his 
religion; — friendly, humane, public-i^irited, and vir- 
tuous in every sense of thai: word. 

In Whaley^s Poems there are more allusions than 
pne to the simplicity of his domestic, and moral cha- 


Tacter.— -They are not, I think, JVhaletfs comipo^ 
'sitions. — If they are,. they are the best of him, for 
I see little of genius in the rest of his works. Who- 
ever has written them, as they give taints at least 
of the poet, and the divine, 1 may as well copy 
them here. 

In a Poem which is " in praise of water,** and 
which has many admirable strokes of genius (but 
which I feel a difficulty in ascribing to IVhaley, who 
was a Bacchanal professed) is a charming portrait'. 
He is Romanized by the name of Gallus. 

I copy these allusions with pleasure, upon their 
own account, and as recommending the character 
of Davies : 

Hail then, ye limpid streams, that sweetly glide. 
Daughters of Pinsley^s * ever-flowing tide ; 
But from your Sire in happy error speed, 
PIeas*d to be lost in Kingsland*s verdant mead ; 
With you for fame while Mincio vainly strives. 
Since Maro 's dead, and tuneful Gallus lives ; 
And as you, sweetly murm'ring, glide along, 
Repay each murmur with a sweeter song. 
. Nor is the price beyond the gifts you bring. 
Though Orpheus breathes upon the vocal string, 
Soft pleasure sports along the banks you lave. 
And health comes rolling on, at every wave. 

In the address to John Dodd are these lines : 

Nor less sincere, though calmer joys arise, 
With aspect mild when Gallus greets my eyes, 
And challenges from this thy new abode 
The hospitality he once bestow'd. 
When Lempster sheep, long from the butcher kept. 
Their master^s bounty, and our hunger wept. 

* A rivulet or brook at KingsUmd. 



' • • • 

And as on Pinsley^s sunny banks we lay. 

The cyder-tuns ran unperceived avi^ay. 

Here, as in Greek^ and Roman timeS| we find 

The pious priest ^ and tuneful poet join'd ; 

His verses, what good men should be — declare. 

And his whole life informs us, what they are. 

Da VIES had another Eton friend, or acquired for 
him by his Eton associates (Dodd, fVhalejfy and 
Pratt) J a gentleman whom I had the honour, and 
the happiness to enjoy as my host for one happy 
day ; Mr. Aldworth Neville, of Billingbear in 
Berkshire, father to Lord Braybroohe. He was a 
most kind-hearted, and benevolent man, highly ac- 
complished, and well-bred, a generous friend, and 
a most enchanting companion. In all duties of so- 
cial, and moral intercourse, he was excelled by none, 
but was for many of his later years withheld from 
the world at large (as he was at the time that I had 
the good fortune to be his guest), by the gout, which 
crippled, and imprisoned him at home. 

To this gentleman, when travelling abroad, there 
is a very exquisite Poem by Da vies, in imitation 
of Horace, which I trust you will not be sorry to 

I feel my own judgment honoured by the feelings, 
and the taste of il/r. Neville, who (ias Lord Bray-*- 
hroohe informs me) was quite an enthusiast for the 
poetical genius of Davies, and would often repeat 
the lines of his verse, that were his favourites. 

Mr. Neville married a lady, whose name was 
Calandrini. She was the eldest daughter of the first 
syndic atGeweva, and was highly accomplished. Mr. 
Neville had resided five years in Geneva, and mar- 
ried this lady in two years after his return, when he 
w^sUnder Secretary of State, and M. P, for Reading. 




In a Life (by the celebrated Mr. Coxe) of a most 
ingenious, but unassuming, and retired man, the 
late 3fr. Benjamin SiilUngJleet, are many particu- 
lars of Mj'. Neville, entertaining in themselves, and 
reported, with spirit hke his own, by that pleasing 
writer Mr. Coxe. But there are also what may be 
termed some o( 3!r. Neville's works, and I cannot 
enougli recommend them to readers of taste. — His 
account of his theatrical friends at Geneva has all 
the charm, and grace of that astonishing meteor at 
Ferney, but more simplicity of nature ; and his three 
■portrait -characters* are standard compositions, pot 
surpassed by those of Lord Clarendon. 

Amongst them I cannot forbear to select, and re- 
publish, that living sketch which he has drawn of 
the eccentric Father to the late Mr. fVindham*, so 
universally admired, and lamented. 

The father appears to have been, with shades of 
difference, as extraordinary as the son. Both had a 
passion for manly exercises. 

This portrait has captivated me ; and I have not 
much fear that I shall be singular. 

" Windham, tail, thin, and narrow-chested, would 
vie with Price, in every feat of strength, and agi- 
lity ; and so far he succeeded, that he was known 
through London by the name of Boxing Windham ; 
whilst few knew that his quiet friend Mr. Price, who 
was eminent as a pugilist, could box at all. Fewer 
yet could divine, that Windham would have excelled 
in almost every pursuit but those he was seen to fol- 
low ; that he possessed Greeh, Latin, Spanish ■)-, 
and French, to a high degree, and knew something 
of Dutch, and German. This was, however, the fact; 

* The subjects are, Mr. Price of Foiley, Mr. tVindham, and the. 
Ret. Mr. WMiamson. 

t He lifts [irovetl his iatimate acquaintance with Spaaiib, by 
hia witty, and acuie critkism on the specimen of the proposeil 
tinnsliiliun (if Don Qutrote by Smollett, in which be has proved 
him grossly ignoiimt of the idiom, anil as nu less deticicnt ia elegance, and beauty of stykj which mark the original. 



and from these various sources, his amazing parts^ 
equally quick and retentive^ had drawn, and amassed 
treasures of science, and amusement; — the more 
striking from hisapparentdissipation: he was, besides, 
a mathematician, mechanic, and draughtsman; could, 
and did build vessels, and navigate them himself ; 
in short, he was every thing. 

" He had an utter abhorrence of restraint, which 
made him love to associate with those that put him 
under none at all : here he might throw his legs 
against the chimney, round himself into a hoop in 
his elbow chair, and at the same time read one sub- 
ject, and converse on another ; a method, he con* 
stantly practised, and with what success the following 
instance will best illustrate. One day in our Com- 
mon room at Geneva (which for an hour or two after 
dinner was the resort of every odd genius of every 
country) two sets at the same time were talking on 
different subjects; cmein English^ the other m Italian. 
Windham was between them, reading as usual, yet 
occasionally joining with each in the language which 
that party was speaking, and in a manner that would 
have made you think him solely attentive to one 
single subject. I remarked this, made another do so 
likewise, and we both of us watched him for some 
time; when our surprize was increased by his shut^ 
ting his book (which was old Brantome in French) 
and telling us an excellent story which he had been 
reading at the very time he had been keeping up the 
doubleconversation. — Intolerance of theleastrestraint, 
was a marked feature of Windham*s character, and 
serves as the best clue to unravel seeming inconsisten-^ 
cies. This accounts for a man of nice honour, bright 
imagination, and extensive knowledge, often throw- 
ing away such talents, on those who could neither 
do cpedit to that honour, entertain that imagination, 
nor improve that knowledge. In his* friendships he 
was never known to fail ; the friends of his youth 
(though he neglected their company occasionally) 



were ever nearest his heart; nor could he die, with- 
out leaving us marks of his latest remembrance, and 

" The lively beauty of his countenance was most 
striking, and every feature spoke genius; it was im- 
possible to see, and not admire him : to this, when 
he chose to please, he added an address that could not 
foil to captivate*. Such was the man, who, with the 
additional advantages of connexions, and fortune, 
would have died almost unknown to his country, had 
not the iI///iVio been estabhshed. He instantly adopt- 
ed the measure, and pursued it with such sense, and 
vigour, that in a short time he had the honour of 
being pointed out as the man, who by his pen, 
and his example, had most contributed to carry it 
into perfection. 

" During his travels he was peculiarly attentive 
to the system established in the Prussian army, at 
that time the school of Europe. He applied the 
knowledge he had thus acquired to the advantage of 
his country. In the Seven Vears" IVar, he pub- 
lished an Essay to prove the Necessity of a regular 
AHlitia, to oppose the Invasion with which we were 
then threatened by an inveterate Enemy ; and on 
the establishment of the Militia, he became a Lieu- 
tenant-colonel in that of bis native county. While 
in this office, he introduced a new, and superior 
mode of discipline; and may be considered as one 
of the first, who contributed to explode our anti- 
quated system of tactics, which, in spite of its many 
absurdities, and the improvement made in other 
countries, still maintained its ground in England. 
He reduced the exercise to a simple, and systematic 
form; and by the publication of his " Plan of Dis- 
cipline for the Militia of Norfolk" rendered his 
own corps a pattern for others. This work was 

^ I Tenieinber seeing at Mr. GaTTick's, in Ihe ytdetph'i, a 
nhole-knglli ligiirc of him, in a picturesque habit, and present- 
' ing a most elegunt form. G. H. 



highly esteemed by the best judges of military dis* 
cipline, and the Author deservedly received the ap- 
probation of the patriot, and the officer. 

*' His treatise on the subject is well known, and 
admired even by the Regulars; I have heard Ge^ 
nerals declare, the Author was himself one of the 
best Battalion Officers in the service, and might 
with opportunity make a great Commander in 
Chief. In this, however, they were mistaken ; he 
wanted constitution : even the Militia-duty was too 
much for him ; and greatly helped to hurry him to 
his grave. He left a son, who promises, at this early 
age, to inherit his father's virtues, snd abilities.** 

One more of these characters, that of 3Ir. JVil- 
Mamsofiy will appear in the Appendix. 

To resume Da vies ; it appears by Letters, that he 
had also an acquaintance, admirer, and friend, in Mr. 
Richard Phelps, who writes to him from Italy , two 
classical, and most ingenious notes upon scenery, and 
the works of art. — ^These Letters, dated 1 751 > prove, 
in what a high estimation he held his Kingsland 

Davies's father dying in 1732, when he was 22 
years of age, and having left him a competency in 
the living at Kingsland^ and in some portions of 
his landed property, I should apprehend that he soon 
began to reside there. It appears, that from thence 
he corresponded with such of his friends in the world 
as he loved the most, and the best The circle was, 
I dare say, extensive at first, and by d^rees dwindled 
a.way to few, very few, and those in general, of a turn 
Jike hrs own, retired, studious, and spell-bound by 
the Comus of literary taste, whose dominions are not 
of ample extent. — I must here introduce a passage 

VI Ladj/ Knawles's letter to me : 

" Davies 



" Davies resigned the world. He took little con- 
*' cern even in his own pecuniary affairs, lived ia 
" his library, where his books, like those of the 
" Hermit in Vaucluse, were his friends ; but, want- 
" ing the all-powerful charm of love, and female 
" intercourse, to soften asperities which his mode of 
*' life probably infused, he might, perhaps, have be- 
" come a little too philosophically satirical in his 
" views of the world, as formed of splendour in 
" rank, and wealth ; but loving, still to the last, 
*' those he had loved in youth, and the immediate 
*' circle of those around him." 

His character had singularities in it, and weak- 
nesses too (who is exempt from them f) ; but the 
average, if I may use that phrase, was beauty of 
moral deportment, and worth. His nature was mo- 
dest, his manners gracefully gentle, his life the mir- 
rour of sainted innocence, his vein rich in classical 
taste, and spirit. He had the most affectionate 
warmth of heart, but with it a sensibility a little too 
susceptible for perfect happiness. 

It will appear, I think, in' that moralizing, and 
beautiful Poem, addressed in early days to his friend 
Cornwallis, that he Jelt himself disappointed ; but 
had acquired (or thought he had) philosophy enough 
to enjoy a cheerful obscurity, though at the same 
time he warned hisjriends to avoid the example 
of his unambitious indolence. 

But I now come to apart of his life that is almost 
romantic in its good fortune. 

Instead of the common fate, that baffles youthful 
hoi)e, in the solitude, or society worse than solitude, 
at such a distance from the world, he discovered at 
Prcjiteigne, within a^euj miles of him, a congenial 
spirit in the Rector of that parish. All his earlier 
friendships " kid their diminished heads" He ad- 
mired, revered, and loved him, with unexampled, 
and with unlimited aflection. Both were unmar- 
ried ; both admirable scholars, especially in classical 

taste ; 


taste ; both friendly, and zealous in their attachments. 
The name of this gentleman was Timotht Thomas* 
He was of Christ Church, and presented by Ed- 
ward Earl of Oxfardy in 172fi, to that rectory. 
Their correspondence was never discontinued, and 
they wrote verse together. 

It appears, that in the earliest part of their inter- 
course, they had between them translated Pope's Es- 
say on Man into Latin verse. Frequent allusions to 
it are made, but no vestige of it appears. 

They met occasionally in the alternate characters 
of host^ and of guest; but, notwithstanding their vici-^ 
nity, the roads which are now desperate enough to 
rival antiquity^ were, I should think, in those days^ 
what a celebrated wit in our profession called ^^ the 
feathered way, because none but the birds of the avf 
could pass over it.'* 

I have the first I^etter of Davies to this interest**' 
ing neighbour, in which he solicits bis correspcmd* 
^nce. It is dated in 1737. Unfortunately we have 
but one Letter of Thomas upon subjects of literature, 
to lay before the reader ; and we Imve not one of 
his authenticated works in Poetry (though Davies 
alludes to him as an Author in Verse, and as a joint 
author with him) except a laughable jeu desprit^ 
preserved in his hand^ fit only for the amusement 
of the hour, and of the scene. 

I come now to a painfully delicate subject ; but a 
sense of honour to hiniy as well as to the first Lord 
Camden, makes it necessary to avert a censurC;^ 
which, unexplained, would reflect in difierent views 
Hpon both ox them. 

It is also (and therefore I touch upon it with ail 
sMiditional motive) an affecting theme of remarik 
upon one disadvantage of a public school. 

I do not go into the old story of debating the 
hackneyed problem ; whether habits of extravagance, 
end of early vice at these public seminaries can, 
though mischievous in themselves, be overbalanced 



to boys of genius. 

'fdiiitr personam, in its pre- 


by the advantage of connexion, 

but poor ; and by the manliness of spirit which e. 

bles the boy, when adult, in the world's great 

school, to cope with it the better. But I must remark 

upon one of its fatalities, exemplified in Davies, 

and which, I feat 


The youth, who has preserved a high character for 
his teaming, for his morals, for popular manners, 
and for briiliant connexions, up to the period of 
his departure from College to his Living, secluded 
from the world, looks round him at his contempora- 
ries, who were also his friends. He sees one of them 
a Judge, perhaps a Chancellor ; another a Bishop, 
and perhaps a Metropolitan ; a third rolling in opu- 
lence, titled, and at the summit of power. 

He remembers, that at school they were at the 
best his equals, in the fame of his genius ; but, alas, 
what genius? wliat fame? that of writing good La- 
tin verse; or, at the best, as being one of those who 
are called great Scholars, — a most equivocal term. 

Let him be ever so amiable, and let him be ever 
to wise, he tabes a false measure of liis talent. 
A miscalculated imjjrcssion of his capacity induces 
him to complain, with more or less of spleen in the 
mode of it, if loud, or with pique suppressed in 
a mind of delicacy, like that of Daviks, " That he 
" is not what thei/ are T' 

To detect this plant of bitterness in such a patri- 
arch of sweet simplicity as Davies of Kiiigsland, 
may seem a fastidious refinement of moralizii 
criticism, and a kind of ungenerous inquisition, 
through thcpastoral habit of this angel's life, to in- 
terrogate his pillow whether all amhithn had slept, 
when his manners to every circle he filled were so 
gentle, and " constitutionally timid" 

But, in the first place, 1 read it in his works. — 
They are dignified, and beautifully moral admoni- 


t)R. 8KEYD I>4Vi£S. 35 

tions, but a little sprinkled by Satire^ though in ge- 
neral disciplined by ^judicial intellect, and by his 
Christian temper of resignation. — In the next place, 
I KNOW, that in the two or three last years of life, 
and when he was upon the verge of sixty, unmar- 
ried, unattached, and with all the competency which 
he could enjoy ^ he was elevated by ambitious hopes, 
for which nothing but nervous debility^ pushed by 
those hopes into nervous irritation, could account. 
I KNOW, that Lord Camden^ when Chancellory had 
preferment at heart for him, and could not accom- 
plish it, either so expeditiously, or in such a rank 
of elevation, as he had projected, and claimed. 

Soon after his arrival in town, in 1766, he gave 
to him as a keepsake, his own picture, and with 
it an ^loge upon his friend, in which he disdainfully 
marks, that he wants, and claims no preferment. 

Yet I believe, that he had asked for it, even ^tan 
earlier period; and I know, that because he did 
not obtain it, from Aim, he complained of him for 
neglecting him, took huff, repelled his effi>rts to be 
on terms with him, and returned in a fit of spleen 
to his Rectory, or to Lichfield. 

I KNOW that he made the remark to which I have 
alluded as a natural one. Alluding to his verses in ho- 
nour to the Chancellor, he said, " They are better, 
*^ than he could write.'' — What is tlie key to this? 
Not that his friend rejected him. That Lord Camden 
was a generous patron, his enemies would have al* 
lowed; and that he had not one atom of pride, in the 
vulgar sense of theword. Not, — that " meek'' Davies, 
either was, or could have been, ever bold, and pre- 
suming. He was remarkably the reverse. But that, 
in a weak state of enervated health, and flurried spirits 
at the parting scene of life, or upon the verge of it, 
he did not possess that self-controul which his pri- 
vacy had nourished, and which his talents for soli- 
tude had refined. 

D In 


In his countenance^ which the picture has retained^ 
there is an amiable, and pleasing expression, but a 
hectic hue upon the cheek, and an eye inflamed, as 
well as prominent, which I recollect, that I remarked 
when I saw it first in Lord Camden's parlour. 

I suppress the lines of the i^loge^ because (to 
my ear at least) though ingenious, they mark a very 
impaired state in the powers of his genius, and spi* 
rit of his character. The panegyric is lavish ; and 
the contempt for preferment seff-delusion. 

He died in little more than two years after his 
return from town ; and whether he owed his death 
to a nervous decay m stamina, or to an oppressed 
mind, either alternative proves, that he had tost him- 
self in this ill-fated journey to the Metropolis. 

Amongst his companions and friends at Eton and 
at King's we must not omit Richard Mount eney, 
who was a very excellent scholar, and published an 
Edition of Demosthenes, A. D. 1731. — He was no 
less intimate with Pratt than with Davies ; and 
both of them, in their correspondence, allude very 
often to him, as their favourite *. 

In 1737, the same year, in which Davies begins 
to correspond with Dr. Thomas, he was made Baron 
of the Exchequer in Ireland. 

Davies addressed him in these lines, not unworthy 
of his favourite. Swift : 

They tell me, Dick, that j/(m Ve preferred : 

I 'm still in doubt — but so have heard. 

Can you to be a Judge he Jit, 

That are notorious for your wit ? 

I Ul grant that Wainwright may be dead, — 

His venerable spirit ^s fled, 

* See ♦' Literary Anecdotes;' vol. II. pp. 192. 273 : rol. III. 
p. 106. 



It follows not, in Reason's Creed, 
That you are therefore to succeed. 
What can mistaken Fortune mean ? 
Is *t not enough that Swift *8 a Dean 9 
But she must blunder now, anew. 
And thus repeat her faults in youf 
Or may we not account for it 
By a good-humour'd heedless fit ? 
She now and then, by way of jest. 
Forgets her maxims, long profest. 
Rejects the useless, dull, and prim. 
To honour merit — as a whim.— 
But when, if thus proceeds the gale. 
Will English wit in Ireland fail ? 
Yet were this precious talent, wit, 
The only point, that you have hit ; 
Or if your sense, and skill in Laws 
Paid homage to a venal cause ; 
If this pretence your state updrew, 
I would not own, that me you knew. 
However high your name, — howe'er 
Inferior my poetic sphere. 
But, as it is, at home I find 
A dawning pleasure in the mind. 
How will that honest Roman face 
Erect, the sage tribunal grace ? 
As when the Laws were Cato^^s care, 
Or Brutus fill'd his Pnetofs chair, 
Proceed then to adorn your task. 
The dignity, you did not ask ; 
With an applauding public voice, 
To justify the Monarch's choice. 
Yet hold — lest meaner flatt'ries blend 
With all I dictate, as your friend, 

D 2 To 


To give the joy its charter'd scope. 
Without a selfish view, or hope. 
It 's not Humility* s pretence ; 
Believe, at least, my Indolence^ 
No mitre^ cross the Irish seas. 
Not ev'n Armagh^ has bribes for Ease. 

To resume Dr. Thomas^ in whom this treasure 
of Davies's Letters, now laid before the Reader, has 
originated, I cannot better introduce them than by 
his incomparable address to his friend, in verse, pub- 
lished first in Whalejfs Collection of Poems, and af- 
terwards in Dodsley^ volume the Fifth. 

They will, I trust, appear worthy of a more ele- 
vated epithet, as fAeir character, than, " elegant,*' 
the encomium, suggested by Miss Seward I 

They are the very last in the second, and final vo- 
lume of his friend Whalejfs Poems — a position of 
them, which convinces me, that he was more partial 
to them, (and perhaps in honour to his friendship) 
than to all the rest of his works; I have no date 
for them ; but at least they were prior to A. D. 
1745, the date of the title-page, consequently be- 
fore he was thirty-Jive. Most of his Poems indeed 
are of nearly a similar age, except those in IVhaley'^s 
first volume, dated in 1732. 

The lines to Dr. Thomas are intitled thus : 

TO THE REV. T. T. D. D. 

French powV, and weak allies, and war, and want! — 
No more of that, my friend ; you touch a string. 
That hurts my ear«— - All politics apart, 



Except a genVous wish, and glowing prayer 
For -ffnViiA welfare, commerce, glory, peace. 
Give party to the winds ! It is a word, 
A phantom-sound, by which the cunning great 
Whistle to their dependants ; — a decoy 
To gull th' unwary ; where the master stands 
Encouraging his minions, his trainM bands. 
Fed, and caressed, their species to betray. 
See with what hollow blandishment and art 
They lead the wing'd, their captives to the snare, 
Fools ! that in open eether might have soarM, 
Free as the air they cut, — sipt purest rills, 
Div'd in the Thames^ — or bathM in chrystal floods. 

We have no badges; — no dependance own ; 
No silken fetters can enclose the mind. 
That loves, and claims the charter of its birth. 
Heaven knows, it is not insolence that speaks : 
The tribute of respect, to greatness due. 
Not the brib'd sycophant more willing pays : 
Still, still, as much of party be retained 
As principles demand, and sense directs ; 
Else the vain bark without a rudder floats. 
The wanton pastime of the veering gale. 

This gentle evening let the Sun descend 
Untroubled : while it paints yon ambient hills 
With faded lustre, and with sweet farewell. 
Here is our seat : — The Castle opposite. 
Proud of its woody brow, adorns the scene. 

Dictate, O ! versM in books, and just of taste. 
The interest^ and theme of the discourse. 
Shall we trace Science from her Eastern home, 
Chaldean ? or the banks of NiUy where Thebes, 



Nursing her filial Arts, majestic stood, 
And pour'd forth knowledge from a hundred gates^ 
There first the marble learnt to mimick form, 
The piilar'd temple rose, and pyramids, 
Whose grandeur, undecaying, laughs at age : 
Birth-place of Letters \ where the sun was shewn 
His radiant way, and heav'ns were taught to roll. 
There too the Muses tun'd their earliest lyre. 
Warbling soft murmurs, to Serapis dear. 
Till, chacM by tyrants, or a milder clime 
Inviting, they removed, with pilgrim harps, 
And all their band of harmony, to Greece. 

As when a flock of linnets, if perchance 
Delivered from the falcon's talons, fly 
With trembling wings to cover, and renew 
Their notes, tell every bush of their escape. 
And trill their merry thanks to Liberty. 

The tuneful Tribe, pleasM in their new abode, 
Polish'd the rude inhabitants ; whence tales 
Of listening woods, and rocks, that danced to sound. 
-^ Hark to the chorus, lifting hymns to Jove I 
LinuSj and Orpheus, catch the strain, and all 
The raptur'd audience utter loud applause. 

A Song, believe me, was no trifle then \ 
Weighty the Muse's task, and wide her sway. 
Her's was Religion, the resounding fanes 
Echoed her language ; Polity was her's ; 
And the world bow'd to Legislative Verse. 

When States increased, and Governments were formr^d. 
Her aid less useful, she retir'd to grots. 
And shady bow'rs, content to teach, and please. 
Under her laurel frequent bards repos'd, 



The rapid Pindar troird his patriot song^ 

Or Sappho breath'd her sphited complaint : 

Here the Stagt^huskin ; there the Lyric choir ; 

And Homefs epic trumpet ! Happy Greece I 

Blest in her offspring ! seat of eloquence, 

Of arms, and reason ; — Virtue's Patriot seat \ 

Go search in Athens for herself , enquire 
Where are the orators, and sages now : 
Her arsenal o'erturn'd, her walls in dust, 
But far less ruin*d, than her Soul decayM. 
The stone inscribed to Socrates^ debasM 
To prop a reeling cot. Minerva! s shrine 
Possest by those, who never heard her name. 
Upon the Mount, where old Musaus sung. 
Sits the gruff turban'd Captain, and exacts 
Harsh tribute. On the spot, where Flato taugl\t 
His heavenly strain sublime, a stupid Turk 
Is preaching Ignorance, and Mahomet. 

Turn next to Rome : Is that, the clime, the place, 
Where once, as Fame reports, Augustus liv'd ? 
What magic has transformed her? shrunk her nerves? 
A withered laurel ! and a mouldering arch ! 
Could the pure crimson tide, the noblest blood 
That ever flow'd, to such a puddle turn ? 
She ends, like her long Appian^ in a marsh. 
Or JordaiCs river pouring his clear urn 
Into Asphaltus, black, and slimy lap. 
Patrons of art, and victors of mankind. 
Bards, warriors, worthies, (revolution strange !) 
Are pimps, and fiddlers, mountebanks, and monks! 
In Tully's Bee-hive, magazine of sweets. 
The lazy drones are buzzing, or asleep ! 



But we forgive the living for the dead, 
Indebted more to Rome than we can pay : 
Of a long dearth prophetic, she laid in 
A feast for ages : O thou banquet nice ! 
Where the soul riots with secure excess. 
What feast of soul ! what pleasing, useful hours^ 
Reflected owe we to her lettered sons ! 
We by their favour Tiber* s walks enjoy, 
Their temples trace, and share their noble games ; 
Enter their crowded theatre at will ; 
Go to the Foruniy hear the Consul plead ; 
Are present in the thund'ring Capitol, 
When Tullt/ speaks ; at softer hours attend 
Harmonious Virgil to his Mantuan farm. 
Or Baian; and with happy Horace talk 
In myrtle groves, by Tiverone^s cascade. 
— Hail, precious pages ! that amuse, and teach. 
Exalt the genius, and improve the heart. 
Ye sage Historians, all your stores unfold, 
Reach your clear, steady mirror; — in that glass 
The forms of good, and ill, are well pourtray'd. 

But chiefly thou. Divine Philosophy, 
Sh^d thy blest influence ; and with Arts appear 
Of Graces born ; far be the Stoic boast, 
The Cynic snarl, and churlish pedantry ! 
Bright visitant, if not too high my wish. 
Come in the lovely dress you wore, a guest 
At Plato* s table ; or in Tusculum, 
The Roman feasting his selected friends. 
Tamer of Pride ! at thy serene rebuke 
See crouching insolence, and mean revenge^ 
Before the shining taper disappear. 



Tutor of human life ! auspicious Guide ! 

Whose faithful clue unravels ev'ry maze ; 

Whose conduct smooths the roughest paths; whose voice 

Controuls each storm, and bids the roar be still. 

condescend to gild my darksome roof, 
Let me know thee ,-^-the Delphic Oracle 
Is then obeyed, — and I shall know myself. 

It may perhaps be deemed an impertinence, if I 
obtrude comments of mine upon this Poem ; but 

1 cannot forbear to ask the dispassionate reader, if 
it is not poetry of the highest class, full of manly, 
and philosophical thought, spirit, and poetical ge- 
nius — if it has not caught the hem, at least, and 
skirts of Milton's robe. 

An extract from it was published by il/r. fFiU 
Ham Duncombe, at the end of his fourth volume, 
in the Miscellaneous Imitations of Horace, edited 
by him. He had inscribed that volume to Mr. 
Davies by name. 

His words, introducing the extract, are these : 
*^ We shall close our notes with a just character of 
" the ancient Romans^ in an excellent Poem, which 
" we think may be styled The Progress of Sci- 

^^ ENCE." 

This extract begins at the line, " Turn next to 
Rome,'' &c. and proceeds to the end. 

At the foot of the extract he adds a very hand- 
some ^loge upon Davies. It is a just portrait of 
his extraordinary character, which, really, and with 
no colouring of the Muse, ^* blushed to find it 

" We ought not to conclude without returning 
*^ our thanks to the Author of the above lines. Dr. 
** Sneyd Davies, Archdeacon of Derby, for the 
'' valuable assistance which he has given to us in the 

" course 


" course of this work, though we are sensibley that 
we run the hazard of offending him hy this tribute, 
as he is not more ready to confer jdvours, than 
^* studious in declining all return.'* 

It is a curious, and memorable fact, that in ff^halet/*s 
Poems, dated 1745, these lines to Dr. Thomas, of 
Presteigne^ should be reserved, as the last in the 
series, to do them honour ; and that, in twelve years 
afterwards, the very same lines are selected by Mr. 
Duncombe, as closing his volumes the best. 

Before I copy the first Letter in this Collection, I 
must here mark a delightful trait in the character of 
the Poet. The Rector of Kingsland, who is now 
possessed of these Manuscripts, owes the perpetual 
advowson of that living to the pure gift of Davies, 
through his father, Davies's College friend, but no 
Relation, to whom he bequeathed it by his will *. 

The following Letter has no date of year expressed; 
but appears from the context, as compared with cir- 
cumstances, to have been written in February 1738. 

*' Dear Doctor, 

I know not when this little packet will be deli- 
vered to you without waiting for Saturday's con- 
veyance, the call of the post-boy being uncertain, 
and at midnight. 
^' If I thought, a delay would be inconvenient, I 
" would send a purpose-messenger. 

I cannot thank you too often for the noble Edi- 
tion of Chaucer 'jf, valuable in itself, but more so 
for the sake of the expositor, and the giver. 

* Some exi^nations upon this topic will be necessary in the 

t This was Urry's Chaucer. In editing this work, Thomas wrote 
a Preface, and Glossary, which that matchless critic Mr. Tyr- 
90hitt commends 3 and praise from such a man is Fame. 

" There 




** There is something nervous, and manly in the 
written verses that you sent me ; but are ihey not 
*^ a little stubborn, and obscure ? Of the Author I 
^' have not the least knowledge. I read over and 
** over again, with new pleasure, my dear Swift on 
^^ his own death, which is, like all his other writings, 
" most excellent. It is natural, without passion, and 
** easy, without being flat. 

" After perusal of it, I fell into some reflections, 
** and began to consider with myself how far 
" Rochefoucaulfs maxim was true, or the Dean's 
^' comment upon it. 

" The general depravity of human nature in this 
point I admit; but I was thinking,whether, or no, 
particular instances could be given to the contrary. 
** It has been said, that Virgil^ Horace^ f^arius, 
^^ and all the higher wits of the Augustan age, lived, 
" and conversed in daily intercourse, not only with 
complete good-nature, but in bosom friendship. 
It is clear, that nothing of envy, or detraction, ap- 
pears in what remains of their works — indeed 
guite the reverse ^. 
" The same was observed of Botleau, Racine^ 
** and Molikre^ &c. in France ; — of Sicift and Pope 
" with us. You are aware, that were I fond of 

* I do not acquiesce in this remark. There is no evidence 
that Varius and Virgil were competitors in the Epicy and still 
friends. That both Horace and Virgil were good-natured men, I 
admit 5 and that Horace had a passion, or, as we should thlnk^ 
rather too romantic a regard, for VirgU, we know from the une- 
quivocal testimony of the Lyric Poet himself. But it btrikes me as 
Si Jaint praise (like that which Pope censures in Addison) that Ho- 
race, who must have seen that immortal poem the Georgics, 
^equal, if not superior to the j^neid, in sxiblimity of thought 
and majesty of expression), should only say that his fiiend had 
the •* molle at que facetunC* as a writer of pastoral verse. The 
Commentator tells us that he points at the Bucolics alone, and 
supposes the JEneid then unpublished ^ but why are the Georgics 
omitted as objects of praise ? It is the more extraordinary, be- 
cause in this very passage he commends Varius for poetical spirit. 
yifgil never alludes to Horace, 

*^ noting, 




•* noting, older instances could be fetched from. 
*^ Greece in the age of Plato. 

" But perhaps this union may be said to have 
arisen from the different provinces in wit, that were 
taken by those Authors. If one excelled in He- 
** roics ; another in Tragedy ; a third in Elegy ; 
" they might all of them be well contented. — But 
" Virgil, and Farius wrote at the same time, and in 
^^ the same way. Tibullus *, Ovid, and Prapertius^ 
'* did the same. After all, the differences between the. 
rule, and the exceptions, may be justly reconciled. 
Some few great souls may have escaped from this 
mean character, or have been able to overcome it. 
" But, as a mark of its prevalence, and strength, it 
** must be admitted, that no small degree of morality, 
" and reflection, must be armed against it before we 
" can thoroughly conquer it. 

" You and I agreed, some time ago, that, had not 
" fVaterland overtopped him in the maintenance of 
orthodoxy, Middleton would have been to this 
day a believer. If it is true, it is a powerful ex- 
ample of pique at superior fame. 
You see how I lay open my little notions to you^ 
" without reserve. In truth, I should be timorous 
^' with blockheads ; and wouM rather trust a man 
** of sense with any thing of mine, that came upper- 
" most.. Besides, had I known of Dr. Thomas 
nothing but his judgment, I should have been 
more upon my guard ; but I knew something bet- 
^^ ter of him ; for I knew his candour, and his ge- 
** nerous allowances. 

'^ I am not so punctual as to count the days, or 
" the hours in a visit of yours. — Yet, from the 
** shortness of your last, and from words to that ef- 
" feet when you left me, I am in hopes to see you 
** again. Faithfully yours, Sneyd Davies.** 

* This remark is a little inaccurate ; Ovid was no friend, or 
competitor of T%bulluM, nor one of his contemporaries. 

" Remember 


** Remember the Lady's Poem, ancj return my 
^^ Translation, that I may correct faults. I should 
** be glad to have yours of the First Epistle ; but not 
** for the same reason." 

Blest in this literary, and affectionate intercourse 
of taste, and of the heart, these two accomplished 
men could have said, as a lover said of himself and 
of his mistress, but with a better application. 

Satis magnum alter alteri theatrum sumus. 

Gray has beautifully described the life they led^ 
but without calling in the additional charm of their 
polished minds : 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
Their sober wishes never learnt to stray; 

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way* 

Indulging these habits of classical repose, he wrote 
a charming Poem, dated Aug. 1 739, in honour to 
the Goddess of Indolence^ which he has called Va- 
CUNA, from Ovid^ and from Horace ; though, but 
from them^ we are ignorant of her claims to divinity, 
and they have not ascertained her privileges; or the 
position which is here assumed, for want of a better^ 
that she was the Goddess of Ease, Idleness, or Ex- 
emption from Labour. Some treat the title as an 
attribute of Minerva ^ others accredit Victory , as 
claiming it. Leisure, of some kind or other, seems 
to be the natural import, from its analogy to vaco; 
and it seems understood, that she had a. tiemple 
amongst the Sahins worshiped by the peasants 
after harvest. 



This Poem introduces Da vies in a new character } 
that of humour, in a kind of stately ridicule upon 
himself. But the cadence (to my ear at least) has 
a peculiar charm, superior to that of the lines to his 
friend at Presteigne ; upon which account, though 
it appears the first in the second volume of Mr. 
Whaleys Poems, I should have guessed it the birth 
of a later period, and sprung fl-om a more careful at- 
tention to rhithm. But I shall be much hurt if the 
Reader should not think with me, that in happy 
expression, poetical effect, and chaste wit, it is a per- 
fect gem of its kind. 

I have recently discovered, that it was written ia 
August 173a. 


Sceptre of Ease ! — whose calm dominion spreads 
Through the chill Chronian^ or whose lagging weeds . 
Fan to repose the Southern realms ! whose throne 
More slaves obey than swarm around the Courts 
Pekin^ or Agra^ — universal Queen ! 

Me haply dozing through a summer's day. 
Thy meanest subject, thou hast often deign'd 
Ev'n here to visit — If thy poppy then 
Was ever shed upon my careless quill ; 
If e'er the nodding Muse was blest with power 
To lull the Reader with her opiate verse j 
Come, Goddess; but be gentle, not, as when 
On studious heads attendant, thou art seen 
At the night's twinkling lamp, with poring eye 
Immers'd in meditation. Slumber's foe. 
Where the bewilder'd casuist unwinds 
Perplexities, or Halley^ from his tower, 
Explores the world of stars. — In other guise 
Thee I invoke ; serene, and mild approach ; 
With forehead smooth and saunt'ring gait 3 —put on 



Suiilesy of no meatiing, or in sober mood 

Fix the dull visage, and the leaden eye 

Lethargic, when it stares, and seems to think — 

Jleserve, by thee directed, keeps at home. 

Intent upon his volume, or applies 

The needle's reparation to his hose. 

Or scjssars to the paper. Taught by thee, 

Dullman takes snufF; but ever, and anon 

Turns o'er the page unread. — Others, more sage. 

Place, year, and printer, ably noted, well 

Examine the whole Frontispiece; or, if 

Yet stricter their inspection, venture in 

From leaf to leaf, and, curious, there select 

JtalitkSy or consult the margin ; pleas'd 

With hero, or with anecdote ; — all else, 

The observation, maxim, inference. 

Disturb him into thought. — It sure were long 

To name thy sev'ral vot'ries, pow'r supreme. 

Or all thy varied realms. Why should I speak 

Of news, and coffee, or where eunuchs play. 

And where the buskin'd Boscius. These, and more 

Flock to thy Temple, where thou sitst enshrin'd 

In apathies profound, and waste of time, 

The sacrifice. — About thee dice, and cards 

Lie scatter'd^ and a thousand vassal beaux 

Officiate in thy worship. — Nor from shade 

Of Solitude withhold thy gentle sphere : 

There, unattended, thou canst ever shrowd 

Thy beauties, and thy attributes with me, 

By vale, or brook to loiter, not unpleas'd. 

And listen to the current, or the bee 

That hums her fairy tunes in Florals praise, 

Or to loud rooks, on aged elm, or oak, 



Where, perch'd aloft, the legislature sits 
Debating in full senate points of state. 

My bowV, my walks, and studies, all are thine ; 
For thee my shade of yew extends, my lawn 
Spreads the soft lap, and waters whisper sleep. 
Here thou may'st reign secure ; nor hostile thought, 
Nor argument, nor logick's dread array. 
Make inroad on thy kingdom's peace. What, though 
Malicious tongues accuse me, and report 
That I am false to thee ; for that I hold 
Forbidden commerce with Parnassian maids. 
With Phosbus^ and thy foes ; or, more severe. 
Impeach me as a lurking Satirist ; 
Known is my innocence to thee. It's true 
That I can scribble, but the pen is thine : 
Accept in proof, O Goddess, this my verse. 

In one of his Letters, Aug. 14, 1738, he describes 
the effect of Gulliver upon him in the following pa- 

*^ I have all the day, and I confess it with no 
" shame, been reading Gulliver, which I never had 
^^ read from the time that I was at school. 

" I laugh' d, and was grave, by fits. 

^ The humour has the most comic effect, and the 
'^ morality chastises it.'* 

In a letter upon the subject of Mr. IVhaley, he 
marks obligation to Dr. Thomas^ for his endeavours 
to assist that unfortunate man. 



*^ I heard (he tells hira) by a side-wind, that his 
" whole dependance was upon this Collection.^ 

5 This, I think, evidently points at the Second 
ume, published in 1745.] 

" He is idle, even as a versifier ; for you will see 
" what I let him have, but he wants more. — ^To- 
^^ day's tinkering has been pretty successful ; and I 
" have almost accomplishea my part of the work.** 

Dr. Thomas thus addresses him : 

*^ Presteigne, Dec. iff, 1743. 

" I lind, and wonder not, that fVhaleifs proposal 

" puts you to some anxiety, as your humanity and 

" kindness for him are likely to preponderate^ and 

you would be as much concealed as you can. — 

Those pieces which you mention seem properest 

" for the purpose; though there are others of a more 

particular and private nature, which I dare say 

would find an agreeable reception from the public.** 

Whaley^s Letters are negligent, and wild, but 
sometimes elegant, as well as ingenious, and always 

" Narw. Feb. 4, 1741. 

He calls Wales " Goat-landr 

c< m m * I knew little of the great man *, but fear 
*^ that he is tottering. Yet why should I fear? — I 
** am a little creeping shrub, and below the reach of 

political hurricanes.^-As I cannot boast of any 

thing he gave to me, I am sure that nothing will, 
** or c%n, be taken away. — I like your verses to Ao- 
" nest Dick ^ very much, and have forwarded them 
*^ to Geneva.'' 


" Dearest Sneyd, 
" I hope you will think of those which you chuse 
^^ to have published. — So far shall I be from printing 
*^ a line without your consent, that I will never ask 

* Sir Robert Walpole. 

f Riclmd AHnDorih NeviUe, Father to Lord Braybroke. 

E '' you 


*^ you to give me a Kne more than yourself shall pro- 
" pose to me. 

" Dr. IVdller * is exceedingly pleased with your 
^^ verses on Archbishop Williams s monument; and 
*^ begs hard for a copy, to be writ upon vellum, and 
*• hung under his picture in St. JohrCs Library : do 
*^ you consent to it ?** 

April 14, 1744. Bread-street. 
I had yours of the 3d at College, and thank you 
" for your verses on L. and C. \ They please all to 
" whom I shew them. But Ben Richards thinks, 
" tohosefame. in the fourth line, should be whose 
frame ; and laid Showell two bottles of wine it 
was so in the copy you sent me ; so I was called 
'^ upon to produce your original, which I did, and 
" drank part of his wine, with glee. 

^^ Ironside likes them ; but wishes, instead of Das- 
^ tardsy and Heroes, you had put Lestock, and 
'' Cornwall." 


" Some tobacco for JRee*, if he recovers the deluge ; 
" but, as I believe him ante-diluvian, why should 
" not he be a post ? — Positively I do not mean a pun 
*^ upon his dullness ; for, upon my word, I think he 
^' is a very illuminated smoker.*' 

'' Sept.6, 1742. 

" I shall make my dear Sneyd*s company the 
" acm^ of the summer's pleasure, which has given 
*^ me no common delight ; but, compared with 
" Kingsland and my Davies, 

" Loses discojuntenanc*d, and like Sorrow feels." 

« My dearest Davies, 3^^^i ^''" 

' Mar. 28, 1743. 

*^ I had yours of the 22d, and am sorry at your 
" complaints of ill health. — But it is a tax which 

* One of the Senior Fellows of St. John's College, Cambridge, 
and M. D. * Le$to%k, and ComwaU, 

" you 


" you great geniuses pay to Nature, for your parts ; 
" and we Bceotians have this advantage over you, 
" that, although we are dull, we are healthy. 

" Exercise, and temperance! harbingers to health ! 
— why the name of either would throw a bon cam" 
pagnon into that acquaintance of ingenuity the 
" Ay/?. But of banter enough. I am as well under 
my late more temperate life, as I was in my looser 
days, and wish only that I could impart a little of 
my own obesity, and salubrity at Kingsland, ac- 
cepting in return your walking faculties, and a few 
ounces of your sublimate in the vis poetica. We 
" should then be two sizeable men between us, and 
" moderate Poets, who could live, and chat with 
" folks of this world. 

Old Buckingham^ left Lord Orford^ her exe- 
cutor; on which he said, it was but just the Pre- 
f^ tender s sister should take him for her executor, 
" when the King had taken Lord Gower for his 
Privy Seal !" 







" I have not so much as heard of Mr. fVarhur^ 
^^ ton's ^Alliance between Church and State.' But 
^^ I never conceived them to be far asunder, since 
" Bishoprichs and their Translations were in the 
'' world." 



" Dear Sneyd, Oct. 15, 1745. Norwich. 
'^ I beg pardon for stealing so much of your time 
from your study, your walk, or your pipe, with 
any scrawl of mine. 

* Catlianne, Dutchess Dotoc^er of Buckingham, natural daugh- 
ter of King James IL by the Countess of Dorchester. The King» 
ker &ther, gave her the title of Lady Catharine Damley, gave 
her the rank of a Duke's Daughter, and permitted her to bear 
his arms. She was married, first, to James, Earl of Anglesea, 
and literwards to John Duke of Buckingham, She died Jan. 13, 

t Sir Robert Walpolevf^a so created Feb. 9, 1741-2. 

* E 2 '^ In 


*^ In revenge, light the said pipe with it ,• but, in 
^^ charity, drink the health of him who daily thinks 
" of you, and will continue to do so as long as you 
" Hve, and as long as he is J. iV. 

" Respects to Mr. Price's pipe ; may it ever be 
" warm, yet never dry ! — As the winter advances, I 
*' shall expect your Poetical quicksilver to rise, and 
" shall expect verse in every Letter." 

I possess the two volumes of Mr. Wtialey's 
Poems ; and in the first is a line written in Davies's 
hand. It contains an apology for printing again 
the lines of Da vies, called his Friend^ in the Se- 
cond Volume, which had appeared in the First ; — 
and it seems that Mr. Davies had corrected thein. 
But they do not appear in the Second Volume. 

They were most of them written when he was 
extremely young, and when he had not formed that 

?^Qliar taste, in which he acquired such power, 
et even in these are passages which deserve to form 
a part of the Appendix; were it only for the purpose 
of marking his facility in rhime^ to which, at later 
periods, he had also occasional recourse, but still in 
a manner very much his own ; — in which taste and 
sense prevailed. 

At the end of his Letter upon Whalejfs calami- 
ties,' he gives an admirable mock-beroic in honour to 
a Mr. Rees Price, who is named often t© bis friend 
as their companion.. 

*^ I shall, en passant, examine Rees^s library, and 
^* in the mean time cannot forbear to describe him 
^^ as refusing a drano. 

•« WbeR 

DR. 8NEYD lUVlES, 53 

** When CcesaVj and when Cromwell^ saw their cc6wQ 
Presented, they unwillingly could wave 
Th^t sparkling * pageant: In their look askant 
What featur'd variations ! Pangs acute 
Of doubt, and longing, how appalPd, and blank, . 
When the decamping genius from their breast 
Summoned his train of spirits to be gone. 
Thus, conscious of self-perfidy, amazed, 
With glowing cheek, and haggard eye, stood Rees, 
When he refus'd his dram P' 

He wrote upon the same tempting subject the fol- 
lowing soliloquy of Rees Price, and accredited him 
as the writer of it. 

" Plagues take me if I ever did a thing 
That left within me such a venomM sting, 
As when this morning, with an idiot shamcf, 
My soul I cheated — and refused a dram." 

^' N. B. On the fourteenth of the month of June, 
** in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hun- 
^ dred forty and four, R. P. refused to drink a dram." 

An Acrostic is in itself the lowest class of poetical 
ingenuity, and it is not improved by such a confie- 
derate as the Pun ; but it cannot be refused its claim 
to approbation, when it is turned so neatly as this 
on Mr. 


H — umble in manners, in his air serene, 
0-^f aspect honest, and in office clean, 
L--*ov'd and reverM the most where most he 's known, 
D— -irecting moral conduct by his own, 

* What a hs^py epithet in its double application ! 

S — tiga- 


S — agacioud Mentor of unpoIishM youth, 
W — ins the affections by the force of Truth, 
O — bserves the genius, to inform the heart, 
R — eproves with, tenderness, commends with art, 
T — hus draws the hidden seeds in virtue forth, 
H — olds out the hand that points to real wbrth. 


In one of his Letters he describes, in a manner 
worthy of Mr^ Gray in his Letters to fVest, and 
very like it, the anger which he felt at being called 

You hipt me (are his words), for you began 
your Letter, Dear Sir. — I cannot reconcile myself 
to it, unless you tell me it means nothing; nor in- 
deed can I guess, or imagine, that it means any 
" thing. — But a tenderness, though it may be a 
faulty one, makes one often suspicious in a wrong 
place; — and yet I cannot be easy to-night without 
" notice of it, though my reason tells me it is ridi- 
" culous to be alarmed." 

In this half-equivocal passage, though wit has an 
ample share, there is a delicacy in his friendship a 
little too irritable, even at that early period. 

He adds : — "I believe that I did not send you 
^^ my verse on the Nativity — and yet, could a 
*^ writer be a judge of his own style, I think it more 
" in the run of Milton's verse than what I ever scrib- 
'' bled before." 

I am not sure if I agree with him, but if would 
' be impertinence in me to differ from so correct a 
taste ; and sure I am, that he deserves, upon that sub- 
ject, a fair trial by his Peers. — Besides, I see beau- 
ties in this poem, though I think it unequal, that 
stamp him a Poet of masterly powers. I publish it 
also as a feature of h\s piety, in which, as well as in 
the harmony of numbers^ he emulated our British 




"Twas when remorseless Herod Bird the throne. 
His children's butcher, and JudatCs scourge, 
A Ruler, fit,* *and worthy to command 
The wry-neckt people with an iron rod. 
When Salem^ yet in festal pomp serene, 
To her aspiring Temple's lofty gate 
With smother'd curses climb'd ; yet well at ease. 
And reckt not, though with piercing bondage gairJ, 
Long as the broad phylactery appear'd, 
Th« market greetings, and the chairs of pride : 
Save who, attentive to prophetic song, 
lilxplor'd the sacred rolls, the mystic leaves. 
And, days and years computing, found the time 
Big with foretold events, and ripe for birth : 
Curious, and gazing stood with speechless trance. 
Not only Judahy but the World, as Fame 
Had scatter'd widely, that a scepter'd Prince 
Would rise, and rule the Universe ; but most 
The race of Solyma^ with eager haste 
Their spacious portals op'ning; to let in 
MessiaKs glory, or on ZiorCs top 
Expectant when the Saviour should descend 
la his sBthereal equipage, all arm'd 
In thunder, and with angels : when arrive, 
And when his legions would their entry make 
On flames of Seraphim in fiery car, 
Their hope to be equipped with angry bolts. 
And smite their blasted foe. — The Saviour came. 
Not to destroy, but lift us into Heaven \ 
Yes, be was born; — the pillow of his birth 

A man< 



A manger ; — from his cradle Pride was rul'd, 
And Royalties inferior blush'd. Were gold 
Of price and worth intrinsic, or coul-d gems 
Have grac'd him, would Creation have denied 
Her Author these? could thankless Nature grudge 
The Giver his own gift ? — She, at a nod, 
Had pour'd her inmost treasures up to day, 
Had roll'd her pearl, and coral to the shore. 
To deck her Infant King — ^But State had there 
No sign ; though Angels hymning sung the tale 
In chorus, it was over BethlerrCs field, 
And sung to lowly shepherds, where they lay, 
Tending their fleecy charge ; their listening ear 
Caught from their hovels the immortal strain. 

Why in the firmament that beaming star 
New kindled ? — Ask the Magi : from beyond 
Euphratesj cross Arabian land and rock, 
Directed by the meteor- guide they came, 
The ray down-pointed, and the journey's end 
Clos'd at the canopy of straw; but see 
Those rich and swarthy worthies ope their casks, 
And, suppliants, prostrate on the knee, present 
Oblation rich, gold, myrrh, and frankincense. 
To hail their King, their Prophet, and their God ! 

The Virgin-mother, pensive, and in doubt 
What these portents could mean, or whither lead, 
With tenderness refinM, and pious awe, 
Hung o^er the Child enamoured ; much of Seers 
And of the Angel's word revolving, she, 
With sainted love, caress'd the Holy Babe ^. 

* The end is abrupt^ and I should think he intended move 



Amongst the relicks of this gifted Poet, so little 
known, is a Rhapsody to Milton^ which cannot be 
introduced in a better stage of these Memoirs, and 
which contains a most animated vindication of blank 
verse, in strains worthy of his model. 

Soul of the Muses ! and supreme in verse ! 
Unskiird, — a novice in the sacred art, 
May I unblam'd approach thee — and implore 
Thy blessing, inharmonious, pleas'd enough, 
Shouldst thou vouchsafe to own me for thy son. 
Thy son, though dwindled from the mighty size 
And stature of the parent's ample mind, 
Content enough, and biessM, if but a line, 
If but a distant feature half-express'd. 
The birth can tell. — This privilege denied, 
Grant me at least thy converse now and oft. 
That I may ruminate the hallow'd soil. 
And learn to build the lofty rhimefrom thee. 
Explore thy inspirations, and inquire 
When from ^bove they came, and how convey'd. 
If darted on thee by the Sun's bright ray, 
Meridian fire, or by the Sacred Muse 
Nocturnal wafted in thy favour'd ear. 
How else, explain, could human intellect 
Grasp universal Nature infinite? 
Or where, O tell me, couldst thou language find, 
Of pow'r to bear the weight of such a theme. 
So elevated, that all other verse 
Seems trivial, not excepting Greece smd Romef — 
Whether in air thy sounding pinions match 
The shout of eagle's flight, or the pois'd wings, 
Dove-like and silent, float upon the air, 
Calm as the summer's breath, softer than down ? 



" with the school-boys for one of his medals — not 
^^ that when I wrote thern I thought of the Auditor 
" and of his medals T 

In the same Letter which adverts to the Nativity, 
be intimates a wish that, as a monument of their 
friendship, the last hand could be given to their 
Translation of Popes " Essay " This, I suppose, 
was in Latin verse; and, from their joint efforts, 
would have been very interesting if preserved, as 
perhaps it is. 

In the same Letter he tells his friend, that he dis- 
agrees with Dean Swift ; and that he excepts to Jm- 
nius BrutuSy for the barbarity of standing by when 
his children were executed. 

" Cato,^' he adds, ^' was a pedant in Philosophy ; 
** was proud, stiff", and vain ; — as to Marcus Bru^ 
" tuSy I will not admire people who stab their friends. 
*^ — If such a work is necessary, other hands could 
*^ be found: I have the highest veneration for 
^* the virtues of Timoleon, to whom, perhaps I'give 
^^ preference over all the heroes of antiquity ; but I 
*^ cannot reconcile myself to his act in killing his 
^^ own brother, though a tyrant, and a scoundrel.*' 

In a Letter dated London^ June 1740, he alludes 
to my Father, and my Father's friend Mr. Pelham. 
Jn that view it is interesting, of course, io me ; but 
it is very entertaining in itself, and I copy it here. 

^^ Dear Doctor, 

:*^ I have shifted the scene so often, and have 
*^ moved about so frequently, since I left Hereford- 
^' shire ; that I have not found leisure till this mo- 
^^.rnent, nor have I now leisure eaoagh to say more 

than a word, though to my friend at Presteigne, 




' if he is there, and, if he is not, i 
' like me. 

' After a kv9 days \n Berkshire*, I 

; friendu, 

' the Metropolis, thei 

' their 

' But, 

of last week, 

ihng just 

r to hear of 
t Kingston 


, most J 
" vpon Thames -(-, where il 
" you have heard me often speak, shewed me all the 
" beautiful places in that oeiglibourhood, Richmond, 
" &c. &c. to advantage, being acquainted with most 
" of the owners. 

" Claremonf a little disappointed me; but Esher 
" pleased me infinitely. — In short, I am Esher-mad ; 
" but something will arise to pall one's pleasures; 
" for, in the midst of my career, I met with a check 
" from Pope's gardener, whom I could not induce 
" to give me a sight of that paradise. 3Ir. liar- 
" dlnge, for some reasons, did not care to accompa- 
" ny me ; so that, as I went alone, and as Mr, Pope 
" was at home, the repulse was unavoidable, and 
" the fate of other strangers. — Why did not I take 
" with me a line from you J, which, like the golden 
" bough in Firgil, would have been my passport 
*' into Elysium ? 

" Do you remember the following verses in Jfo- 
** mer § ? Apply them to Admiral Vernon, in his 
" action at Porto Bella, &c. &c. Sneyd Daviks," 

« At SwallovifeM, or BilUngheaT —■ perlisipa at both. 

f Cafihury Uoute, near Kingston, my Falher'n country seat. 

^ It is c\eav from ibis passage Ibat Mr. Pope corrcspouded with 
Tliomas ; anrl he did not correspond with common men. The fol- 
lowing passage in a Letter to Davies confirms the fact : " Are 
" you not concerned for Pope? 1 did not know till now that I 
" bad so great a personal regard for him. His cmversalion as 
" well as writings have given me many hours entertainment. — I 
" can liBrdly tell you how miicli it grieves me that I nt'ither saw 
" him, nor answered his last I^etier." 

\ 1 ha\e imfurtunately singular opinions upon the subject of 
Poets ; but I do not affect, or court them ; and think a man who 
differs in apoint of laalefrom tliegeneialily of the world is at the 
best likely to be in the wrong ; but, if he piques himself upon it. 



As we now begin to see light in dates, I would 
here beg your notice of two Letters written by Lord 
Camden to his friend the Rector of Kingsland. 

The first is dated February I4, 1743-4. 

" Dear Davies, 
" If you are dead, let me know by the return of 
" the post, and our correspondence shall cease : 
" but, if you are living, then tell me for what 
'* reason it is that you have forborne to converse 
*' with us, who are living too, as you used to do. 
" I expected before this time to see you in town, 
" but I give over those hopes now. I see you are 
" rooted to that wretched spot * where you live; and 
" that indolent disposition, which busy people call 
" Content, has taken full possession of all your facul- 
" ties. — You are buried, and have foi^ot your friends 
" before they have forgot you. — As the principal 
" business of this Letter is Cyder, I am afraid yon 
" will think this expostulation not so serious as it 
*' is. But remember you are a Letter in my debt ; 
" and therefore the correspondence, exclusive of bu- 
" siness, has failed of your side. I assure you that 
" 1 am so provoked with your silence, that indigna- 
" tion alone would have roused me to reproach you 
" for this neglect ; and the rather because it is not 
" particular to myself, but extends to all your other 
" friends. Naylor, and fVhaley make the same 
" complaint. If you are determined that your body 
" shall always reside at. Kingsland, yet send your 
" mind abroad, and let the post-boy carry your soul 

he is inupertineoL — On llie otlier liand, if I think Pope's Iliad 
no likeness of Homer in Greek, though a beautiful Poem in itself, 
and if 1 think even as a Poem it haa many tame passages, — hia 
version of ihe passage before us being one of them, it would be 
servile delicacy to suppress that opinion. The lines are these : 
Iliad, E. 640, &c. 
'O, TOoli Sevj- ;?.9i,\, h-x' 'it^oi AM^.'J<.y7i>r, 

* I hope that Kingsland wiL forgiTc this pro&ne picture. 

" about 


'^ about in a letter-bag. — ^This may be done while 
" you sit in your great chair, and you will not feel 
" the conveyance. 

" I set out upon the Circuit in a fortnight ; but 
" I leave a direction in town by which all the Letters 
" for me there will be sent after me ; and therefore 
" do not let this be an excuse for not writing. 

*' I congratulate Herefordshire^ and all the Cyder 
'^ Counties, upon the victory they have obtained in 
•^ the House of Commons. — To be sure, you have 
*^ heard of it. 

" ff^e talk here of nothing but the French Fleet. 
** It lies now in the road before Dunkirk. — Norris 

is gone after them, with a force much superior, as 

we are told. Every body here is in great spirits, 
^^ and we expect an engagement soon. 

As to Cyder, I want two hogsheads for Mr. 

Page^ of the best that can be got. — I shall be gone 
'^ the Circuit before you can procure this quantity 
** and can send it to London ; and therefore I wish 
*^ you to direct it for Thomas Page*, Esq. at Mr. 
^^ Mordaunfs, in Gerrard-street ; and write a letter 
** of advice to that place at the same time. 

" I am, dear Sneyd, yours most affectionately, 

" C. Pratt." 

* Young as I am {notwithstanding Lady Knowles) I have been 
the guest of this gentleman, who died half a century ago. He 
was a younger brother of the late Sir Gregory Page, and resided 
at Battlesden in Bedfordshire, — He was one of my Father's inti- 
mate friends ; and we always baited there for three or four days in 
9ur summer*s tour to Knoll Hills. — He had the appearance of a 
Quaker, and was in general of a serious turn, but of polished 
manners, an excellent understanding, well cultivated, and of a 
most benevolent heart. He never left this country seat, . the gift 
of his brother to him. He was blessed with a most beautiful wife, 
who was an aunt of Lord Howe, and survived her husband several 
years. A gentle and sweet manner graced her beauty, and she 
was handsome at a very advanced age. 






'' Dear Davies, Feb. 25, 1743-4. 

" I thank you for your Letter. — You have made 

amends for your silence before ; and I am satisfied 

as to the other part of my complaint, that you 

would not let us see you in town. If your stay in 

the country is like to prove advantageous, as you 

" seem to think, 1 am more pleased, at this distance, 

" to know you have such profitable views, than I 

" should have been to see you in town without those 

*^ hopes. Go on, and prosper. — If we thrive in the 

" world, and are destined to live many years in it, 

" Fortune will take care to bring us together. — Wka- 

" let/ was gone out of town, so that I must contrive 

*^ to transmit the enclosed paper to Hohlyn. — I have 

*^ read it over, but can make nothing of it. — As far 

" as I can judge, it seems to contain materials for 

some curious disquisition, which will not be worth 

knowing when the secret is found out and settled. 

•^ But you great scholars are always puzzling 

your brains in some such notable inquiry as this 

appears to be. I should guess by this, that all that 

is useful in Learning is soon known -, for I observe 

that, after a few years of study, when you scholars 

are tolerably perfect in the languages, and have 

" read most of the good books that are extant in those 

*' tongues, the rest of your lives is generously spent 

" in subtle disquisitions upon trifles, wherein though 

" the search may, for aught I know, be entertaining, 

*^ yet the discovery is for the most part vain and un- 

" profitable. — I am afraid this my contempt of good 

^^ learning is very profane : therefore I would not 

" have you publish it to my disadvantage. — I am ten- 

*^ der of speaking too freely ; as, for any thing I 

" know, the true understanding of this Dominical 

^^ Olympiad^ in the first printed books, may be of 

^^ serious importance to the learned world. 

*' Don't you mistake in your debt to Hardinge ? 
^^ I think you owe him but one hogshead ; I aiii 
" pretty sure, upon memory, it is no more ; and I 

" know 



" know he expects no more. — ^You will direct his to 
^^ Savile-row *, Bur lington-gar dens. * * ♦ * 

" There has been an engagement in the Mediter- 
*^ raneaUy wherein we have had the advantage, but 
the particulars are not yet known. — We expect 
every hour news that Sir John Norrls has fought in 
the Channel. — He is superior to the enemy in the 
*^ size and the number of ships: we are not therefore 
'* solicitous, but confident, respecting the event. I 
" set out for the IVest^ to morrow. Adieu. 

** Yours, C. Pratt. 

*^ Take care Dr. Crank :}; does not forget me." 


I come now to my favourite Poem, the address to 
Lord Camden, theniWr. Pratt, written in 1743. 

If Davies had only written this Poem, the 
Reader will forgive my confident persuasion that 
my enthusiasm for him as a Poet, originating in a 
passion for these lines, will not be insulated, but will 
be honoured by superior judgments with a counter- 
signed 4loge. We are still in his favourite measure, 
the Miltonic; and it seems to have rewarded his pre- 
dilection for it, by its influence upon his ear^ and po* 
etical vein ; though I shall have tne happiness to lay 
before you rhimes which have no common beauty 
and force, often, I think, breaking a lance with Pope 
himself, and marked by a character of sterling sense 
in the eloquence of poetical numbers happily turned. 
— But he is never so powerfully original, as in blank 

* The house in which mjr Father h'ved and continued his resi- 
dence to his death in 1758. It was built by the celebrated Kent. 

f The Western Circuit, in which he acquired great celebrity. 

X This gentleman is named witli honour in a Letter of Mr. 

F To 


To Charles Pratt ♦, Esq. 

£*roD] Friendship's cradle up the verdant paths 
Of youtb> •^— lifers jocund spring, and thence mature 
To its full manhood, and meridian strength. 
Her fiti&l stage ; — fbr she is evei^ bale. 
Knows not old age, diseases, or decay. 
Herb, ' Prattp we social meet, and gaze about. 
Reflecting on the scenes our pastime trod 
In Lifers gay morning, when the jovial hours 
Had botinding feet, and laughM themselves away. 
Enchanting season I blissful prime ! where Thames 
Flows by Eiana's wall, and sees around 
Her sons wide-swarming ; and where sedgy Cam 
Bittbes with sldw pace his academic grove, 
Pieridh walks I O never hope again. 
Impossible ! untenable ! to catch 
Those joys again ! to feel again the pulse 
t)ancing, and spirits boiling in their frame, 
Or see delights that with a careless wing 
Swept on, and flow'ry garlands tossM aroui^d 
Disporting \ Try to call them back I As well 
Bid yesterday return ! arrest the wing 
Of Time; or, musing by a river^s brink, 
Say to the wave that swiftly huddles by 
For ever, — " From thy foilntain roll anew V 

The merriment — the tale — the heartfelt lavgh 
That echo'd round the table, idle guests. 
Must rise, and serious inmates take their place, 
Reflectiou's daughters, there, and world-worn thd«ghts 

* These names ia Whaley'i book, and in the first edition of 
DodAley*i Poems, are under the mask of initials at tke Author's 
requeit. — It may almost be said of him, that he courted obscniity*. 



Dislodging Fancy's empire. — ^Yet who knows 
To poise a balance of the loss and gain ? 
Who knows how far a rattle may outweigh 
The mace, or sceptre ? But, as boys resign 
Their playthings and their infancy^s delight^ 
So fares^it with maturer years : the sage 
Imagination's airy regions quit. 
And under Reason's banner take the field, 
With resohition face the pelting storm, 
When all their fleeting rainbows die away. 

Some to the Palace with regardful step, 
And courtly blandishment resort, and there 
Advance obsequious ; in the sun-shine bask 
Of regal grace, and catch the Master's eye. 
Parent of honours.— -In theSenate some 
Harangue the full-bench'd auditory, and wield 
The list'ning passions by the power and sway 
Of reason's eloquence — or at the Bar 
Where Somers, Cowper^ Talbot, Yorkcy before 
Sped their bright way to. glory's chair supreme. 
And wortliy fill'd it. — Let not these great names 
Damp, but incite ; nor Murray* s praise obscure 
Thy younger merit ; — for these lights, ere yet 
To noon-day lustre kindled, had their dawn : — 
Proceed familiar to the gate of Fame ; 
Nor deem the task severe, — its prize too high 
Of toil — and honour for thy Fathefs * Son, .* 

The following document, however, proves to de- 
monstration that it was written before October 25 

* Lord Chief Justice Pratt was father to Lord Camden. Tlie 
turn of this compliment, the manliness pf the encouragement, 
and the ingenui^ that leads it up into the scene, are strokes/ 1 
thinks of a master*6 hand; 

F 2 1744, 


1744, which is the date of my Father's Letter to 
Davies, now possessed by me, and lying before me. 
— As I think it confers honour upon him, I annex, 
it here. — ^You will see that he alludes to this Poem,^ 
and quotes from it. 

" Dear Davies, 25 Oct, 1744. London. 

^' I will bring an action against you ; and it shall 
*' be tried by a Jury from the neighbourhood of 
" Parnassus, — But Charles Pratt shall not be one 
" of them. 

" Have not I a double right to your verses upon 
" the subject of Knoll Huls, both as a Poetaster 
*' myself, and as the owner of that scene r Do you 
" think it honest, that you should have borrowed 
*' ideas from a farm of mine, and should not repay 
" the loan with interest ? You will conclude, per- 
" haps, that he has forwarded the said verses to me. 
" But I must undeceive you. — ^This very day, when 
" I had the hope to see them at his chambers, 
'' for I never could entice them from his pocket *, 
^' he has thoroughly disappointed me. After search- 
*^ ing all the repositories of neglected papers, frown- 
'* ing, and inquiring of his man, he had the bold- 
'^ ness to look me in the face, and steadily to say, 
" that he had lost them ! — You are therefore to 
" make them good ; and if you can expect aqy littlq 
" trifles in return, you must impart rhapsodies of 

yours, the most hurried, and the most incorrect, 

serious, or whimsical, to your admirer, and friend. 

*' You must not forget that I am one who has 
" been educated 

•* Where Thames 

Flows by Etona^s walls, and sees around 

Her sons wide-swarming, and where sedgy Cam 

* Here is a feature of Davibs*s habitual and constitutiooal 
lUfiidcnce in his powers, brilliant as they were. 


DR, SNEYD BAVlfiS. ^9 

Bathes with slow pace his academic grove, 
Pierian walks!" 

" And you must not believe that * world-worn * 
" thoughts' have yet extinguished in me tlie vestal 

" As for Charles^ he is a loose treasurer of poetry. 
** I always foretold, and he begins -f* to be afraid o^ 
** it himself, that he will succeed in his unjx)etical 
" profession. He will soon be too much occupied 
*^ there, to navigate the ^ye, or to hear the organ at 
^' Hereford^ or drink tea with Miss Henn^ or Miss 
" Pen, or dine at an ale-house in the golden vale. — 
*^ Consult him, if you will, upon tithes, or upon 
'* your marriage settlement. — But, if you desire a 
** lasting correspondence with a Son of Idleness, you 
" must cultivate intercourse, and friendship with 
^^ me. Charles encourages me to make this over- 
" ture, and I shall expect a favourable answer. 

" Yours, N. Hardinge.*' 

I have named the Archbishop of Canterbury as 
another of Mr. Davies's friends. — The Poem to 
which I alluded, and still in blank verse, is by some 
friends of niine thought not inferior to that which I 
have recently copied. It is perhaps a measuring 
casthetween them. — But this Poem is additionally 
curious, because 1 think, as I have already said, that 
it marks, though with perfect complacency of tem- 
per, a disappointment in his ambition. — ^I'he energy 
of thought, and vigour of his intellect were, [)erhaps, 
improved by that moralizing spirit which disappoint- 
ments like these often generate in feeling minds; 

* He toas then First Clerk to the House of Coaimons; but he 
wrote vers«; all his life, English, and Latin. 

t He was, like Davies, (though with a constant flow of animal 
'spirits) diffident in his opinion of his talents, till conviction 
flashed upon him, that he possessed them. 



but an amiable spirit is never absent, and beautifully 
tempers the satire. Perhaps there is more fancy 
and spirit here than in all the rest of his works. 

To the Hon. and Rev. F. C. 
By the same. 

In Frolick*s hour, ere serious thoughts had birth^ 

There was a time, my dear C s *, when 

The Muse would take me on her airy wing, 
And waft to views romantic, there present 
Some motley vision, shade, and 3un, the cliff 
Overhanging, sparkling brooks, and ruins grey : 
Meanders tracM, and bid me catch the form 
Of shifting clouds, and rainbows learn to paint. 

Sometimes Ambition, brushing by, would twitch 
My spirits, and with winning look, sublime, 
Allure to follow. — ** What if steep her track, 
** The mountain's top would overpay, when climb'd, 
" The scaler's toil. — Her Temple there was high, 
" And lovely thence her prospect. — She could tell 
*^ Where laurels grew — whence many a wreath antique;'* 
But more advis'd *^ to shun the barren twig 
" (What is immortal verdure without fruit ?) 
^VAnd woo some thriving art; her numVous mines 
<^ Were open to the searcher's toil and skill."' 

Caught by her speech, heartbeat, and £utt' ring pake. 
Sounded irreg'lar marches to be gone ; — 
What! pause a moment, when Aajbrtion calk ! 
No : the vain gallops to the distant goal, 
And throbs to reach it. Let the tame sit still ! 

* Frederick ComwaUts, — He would not let his frieud fill up 
the name. 



When Fortune at the mountain's verge e^itreme^ 
Arrayed in decent garb^ though somewhat thin, . 
Smiling approached, and ^^ what occasion'* ask'd 
" Of climbing ? — She, already provident, 
^< Had caterM well, if stomachs can digest 
^^ Her viands, and a palate not too nice ; 
" Unfit," she said, " for perilous attempt, 
** That manly nerve requir'd and siuews tojugh.'' 

She took and laid me in a vale remote 
Amid the scenes of gloomy fir and yew, 
On poppy earth where Morpheus laid the bed. 
Obscurity her curtains round me drew. 
And syren Shih a dull quietus playM. 

Sithence, no fairy sights, no quickening ray, 
No stir of pulse, or objects to entice 
Abroad the spirits, but the cloisterM heart 
Sits squat at home, like Pagod in a niche 
Demure, or mutes, with a nod-watching eye 
And folded arms, in presence of their King, 
Turk or Indosian — Cities, forums, courts. 
And prating Sanhedrims, and drumming wars, 
Affect no more than stories told the bed 
Lethargic, which at intervals the sick 
Hears and forgets, and wakes to doze again. 
Instead of converse and variety, 
The sametduU round, the same unchequer\d scene— t- 
Such are thy comforts, blessed Sbhtude I 

But Innocence is there,^— but peace of mind. 
And simple Quiet with her lap of down. 
Meads lowing,% tune of birds, and lapse of streams^ 
Jkud ^^uat«r with a book, and warbling muse 



In praise of hawthorns *, — Life's whole business, this 7 

Is it to bask i* th* Sun ? if so, a snail 

Were happy, loitering on a Southern wall. 

Why sits Content upon a cottage-sill 

At even-tide, and blesses the coarse meal 

In sooty corner ? why sweet Sluofiber loves 

Hard pallets ?--^Not because, from crowds remote. 

Sequestered in a dingle's bushy lap ; 

'Tis labour makes the peasant's cheering face, 

And works out his repose — for Ease must ask 

The leave of Diligence to be eujoy'd. 

O ! turn in time from that enchantress Ease I 
Her smiles are feigned ; her palatable cup 
By standing grows insipid — and beware 
The bottom, for there's poison in the lees. — 
What health impair'd, what spirits crush'd, and maini'J, 
What martyrs to her chain of sluggish lead ! 
No such observance Russ or Persian claim 
Despotic — and as vassals long inur'd 
To servile homage grow supine, and tame, 
So fares it with our Sov' reign and her train. 
What though with lure ensnaring she pretend 
From worldly bondage to set free ? — what gain 
Her vot'ries ? what avails from iron chains 
Exempt, if rosy fetters bind as fast ? 

Bestir 1 — and answer yoiir Creation's end ! 
Think we, that man, w^h vig'rons pow'r endow'dj 
And room to stretch, was destin'd to sit still ? 
Sluggards^ are Nature's rebels, not her sons. 
Nor live up to the terms, on which they hold 

* This appears to me very much in the best manner of 5/a9^ 
gpearCj p<dished by Milton. 


Their lease of life — laborious terms, and hard^ 
But such the tenure of our earthly state. 
Riches, and Fame are Industry's reward ; 
The nimble runner courses Fortune down, 
And then he banquets, for she feeds the bold ^. 

Think what you owe your Country, what yourself ! 
If splendour charms you, yet avoid the scorn 
That treads on lowly station ! Think of some 
Assiduous booby, mounting o'er your head. 
And thence with saucy grandeur looking down ! 
Think of Reflection's stab, the pitying friend 
With shoulder shrug'd, and sorry ! Think that Time 
Has golden minutes, if discreetly seiz'd : 
And if an exemplary indolence 
To warn, and scare, be wanting — look on me ! 

I cannot better mark the versatility of Davies's 
poetical talent, than by annexing to this beautiful 
Poem a galanterie in rhime, no less gifted, of its 
kind, " on the Hon. Miss Cornwalli^^s carpet :" 
she was afterwards Lady Betty Southwell^ was the 
eldest daughter of Lord (Jornwallisy and was the 
Archbishop*s niece. 

In this fair work, the needless light and shade. 
Studious of use, and guiltless of parade^ 
The Nymph displays the model of her mind, 
With beauty, neat, — ^^and solid, though refined. 
What if no flow^r^ts in the texture bloom, 
Nor fruits and foliage deck the varied loom ? . 

* The very soul of Shakespeare is in these liues^ to my ear at 



Yet these arethreacls, the Sister Graces join. 
Their offVings to Minerva^s hallowM shrine. 
I hear her voice, and see her genial smile ; 
*^ It 's thus my chosen fav'rites ever toil. 
^^ 'Twas thus, — by me inspirM, — that Grecian Dames 
" EmployM their vacant hours — illustrious names ! 
" These in the fair Andromache were seen, 
" Thus, when returned, Ulysses found his Queen. 
'^ Their silks unsullied laugh at fading age ; 
The Tyrian carpet glows in Ifmner*s page. 


^^ Not that such meaner tasks engross the fair, 
^' Though pleasing samples of domestic care : 
" The same bright eyes can traverse Learning's fieldj 
*^ The same fair hands the pen, or pencil wield. 
" My golden fanes to them unbar the gate, 
" On their own sex the zealous Mtises wait, 
** And when to join the virgin-choir they deign, 
** How sweet the notes ! what spirit in their strain ! 

** O that Britannid*s daughters would approve 
** The paths that lead them to esteem, and love ! 
** Would know — unhappy wanderers — the way 
'^ Lies not through balls, the masquerade, or play ! 
'^ What ! — can they chuse to build upon the saads, 
** When solid Fame on Virtue^s pillar stands ? 
'^ Like some fleet cloud be hurried by the wind, 
'^ A gilded cloud that leaves no trace behiinl ? 
" Not so-my votaries ; — 'tis theirs to shine 
^^ Where use and elegance direct the lioe. . 
^^ Time that hangs weighty upon slothfdl hands 
^^ Attends their beck, and runs at their commands ; 
** The tyrant, as a vassal they employ, 
*' The foe that others murder^^they enjoy. 


■<' 0R. SNEYD DAVIE6. 7 

" Ye'^b% to follies proDe, to wisdom shy, 
** To cards and fiddles for protection fly, 
** Ye pert, though listless, — and ye busy vain, 
" What is your service in Minerva's train ? 
** TTiis — in reward of light and silly toils, 
" 'Tis what they want not, — ^you can serve, — as foils.^^ 

HI' ' jij i i \ i i y 

The next Letter of Davies, improved by a date, 
is of October l8, 1744. It is interesting personally 
to me, because it alludes, at least as I conjecture, to 
my Father, as I shall have the opportunity of ex- 

•^ My dear Doctor, Oct. 18, 1744. 

" I was much pleased with your answer. I see 
*^ your spirits were struggling with your weariness, 
^* and were getting the better of it, which proves at 
" once friendship, and resolution. 

I will enclose the lines on Knoll *, because I 
^' mentioned them in my last ; but in transcribing 
them I am not pleased with them. 

Your humorous translation of Scaliger's epi- 
gram pleased me well ; and in return I send some 
Latin and English. The Latin Ode, in my opi- 
'^'fiiem, has much of -Horace'* spirit, and manner, 
f^ and is ahxiost the only good modem Alcaic I «ver 
** sawij-. But of that ysOU'will judge, when you peruse 
^ iti 1 do vnot pretend to enter into the justice of 
" his encomiums on the two great men. But this 

* A romantic scat of my Father*«s in Derkf shire, which D^vui^s 
had vMted. 

f This, alludes to an AlcaSc Ode which I possess^ and have 
printed with' my Father's other sLatin Poems. It is addressed 
by Mr, Sardinge to Mr, Poyniz, matemal grandfather to Earl 
Spencer. He was Preceptor to the Duke of Cumberland, Mr. 
^Avies made a version of it into English, 

*^ may 




" miy be observed, to take off the imputation of a 
*^ courtier s flattery ; that he is not a follower, but 
** has long been an intimate acquaintance of theirs, 
" &c. &c. &c." 

1 am not enough acquainted with Scali^er to 
know what are his works ; but, if the Latin epi- 
gram in Whaleys volume of 1745> page ^l^y j* 
written by him, the version, which is very neat, is 
by Thomas'. 

On a young Lady of the North. 
By . 

Though from the North the damsel came, 

All Spring is in her breast, 
Her skin is of the driven snow, 

But sun-shine all the rest. 

I have a Letter with no date, but, from the con- 
text, in 1744 : it is in itself so excellent, and above 
all, to me, so interesting ad homines, that I must 
copy it. 

But I have another reason for it. You will se^ 
in it not only his wit, but the amiable simplicity of 
his character, and his readiness to believe that all 
liis friends loved him, as he loved them — upon th^ 
least hint of their good-will to him. 

You will see too his romantic Stoicism in those 
days, carried, I think, to a weak extreme, • against 
all preferment, against even the acceptance of it. 

He had therefore most wonderfully changed his 
tone in I766, if he then solicited that which here 
he reprobates even if accepted. Nor do 4 hnote 



PE. SNEYD DitVlES. 77 

that he did solicit prefer men t, although^ when out 
of spirits, he may have complained^ that it was not 
obtruded upon him. 

I know from the Bishop of Lichfield, who saw 
him at Bath in 1761, that he was then paralytic, 
and weak in his health ; a fact, which accounts for 
the nervous irritation of his mind in 1766, and for 
a new turn to his thoughts of rising in the Church. 
This too agrees, in point of date, with Miss 5e- 
ward*s portrait of him in the declining period of 
his life. 

" My dear Doctor, 
*^ I desire you to send Stanhope, and Simplicius, 
having questions to put to them, and in doubt as 
to the meaning of certain words, and passages. 
" I perceive you bestow more of the lima upon 
*^ some chapters than upon others ; but at the same 
" time shew your judgment in the choice of them. 
" You ask whether modern allusions be allowable 
" in such a work — strictly speaking, not — for the 
** persona loquens should be simplex^ et una — 
" whereas you sometimes are in his place, and at 
" other times leave him to himself. For example, 
" when the names that are modern are used, 1\ T. 
** speaks* — when he complains of larneness, we have 
" Epictetus* before us. Cannot you acquire^ the 
*' gout ? and the exception then will be disarmed. 
*^ You do Pratt great honour, which, if I tell 

* In Epictetus, which he was translating into verse. This 
critique is vei^ sound, and chaste ; but one laments that such 
fl| masterly Poet as Dry den should be guilty of a similar outrage—- 
yet in his Translation of the Tyrrhena Regum Progenies, amongst 
the /{onion figures he introduces the Lord Mayor. 

t This reminds me of the celebrated painter in landscape, Wil^ 
son. My Father desired him to paint one of Tu//^*!* villas. — He 
did»0'f and, as a help to the picturesque in the portrait c^f the scene 
m he found it, introduced the orator and his friends. — An arch 
critic recoqpmended that he should whiten their faces, and make 
them Spirits. J" 



The time at 0;r/br</pass'd, hear Gr — nv — lie* tell, 
At Mother Red Cap*s had been passed as well, 
The grove of Christ Church where the Muses sing, 
The tongue ofAldrich was an idle thing. 
Your tree owes nothing to its pruner's care. 
And grounds untill'd the aoblest harvest bear, 
E*en let us drink the cool and limpid stream. 
But curse the needless fountain whence it came. 

" There are more of these lines, but I think we 
*' had better leave off here, and so, good night. 

^^ ^r. Phelps ^ desired his service." 

I am so delighted with Davies in his Milton s 
habit, that I wish no part of it, when he had become 
familiar to it, should be lost. — I therefore add with 
pleasure a very humourous address to his friend 
Whdey^ as employed in ranging his pamphlets. 
The following passage, Ithinhy alludes to it. 

You may conclude that I must have been dis- 
gracefully idle when I wrote the enclosed burlesque 
" MiltonicSy which, as I am now spying them upon 
*' my table, I send, not as being specimens of ge- 
" nius, but only to amuse you, and make you smile." 

To J. W. 

What ken mine eyes encbaoted ? — nian of ease 
In elbow chair, and under brow of thought 
Intense, on some great object fix'd, no doubt : 
What mean the Myimidons on either hand, 

* Granmlle, 

t Of this gentleman we have more to say hereafter. 



In paper coats, and orderly array, 

Spread far and wide on table, desk, and stool. 

Variety of troops, white, purple, pied, 

And grey, and blue's battalion trim, and who 

In marbled regimentals, some in vest 

Gay-edgM with gold, of chequer'd garb, and tongue. 

And clime; — extended o'er the wooden plain. 

Not force more numerous from her teeming loini 
Pours forth Hungaria to the Danube's bank, 
Croat and PandouVy nor the host in war 
Of Turk or Nadir, nodding opposite 
With turban particolourM. — Sing, O Muse, 
Their marshalM numbers and puissance. First 
With sable shield and arms opaque advance 
Divinities polemic — sober feuds 
Yet deadly — and can rage the soul divine 
Inhabit? Councils, synods, cloyster, school, 
Cowl beats off cowl, and mitre mitre knocks, 
Presbyt'ry here, in witherM face askew, 
Revenge demure ! and there devoutly fierce 
Caiholicos in lawn, but streak' d with blood. 

Not far behind, with her divided troops. 
Comes Policy, with democratic shouts. 
On one hand — on the other loud acclaim 
For pow'r hereditary's boon divine ! 
I see the various portraiture displayed, 
Nimrod and Brutus — liberties — and slaves, 
And crowns and breeches * flutter in the air. 

Who next, with aspect sage, and parchment scroll, 
Voluminous come on ? I know their beard 

* *^ This alludes to the arms impressed on the money of the 
Commonmealih,** Note of the Editor in Whaley"$ book. — ^N. B. 
It is whimsical that Sam^culottes should have been the title of 
the modern rejmblicans in Paris. 

Q Historic, 


Historic^ and their style acute, whose edge 

Fights hoary Time, tnaugre his despVate scythe. 

And as he cleaves the pyramid, apply 

Their fumbling props. — Hence Annals — hence De Foes, 

And Meuioirs, doubtful truths and certain lies, 

And tales, and all the magazines of war. 

What Muse, O Poesy, can pass unsung 
Thy flowing banners, and gay tents adorn*d 
With air-borne trophies ? or would leave thy name 
Un-catalogued, were it but, Ninius like. 
To beautify the list ? — nor wantest thou 
Offensive darts, till Satire*s quiver fail. 

AH these, and more, came flocking, but await 
Their dread commander's voice, and dare no more 
Start from their place than did tbe stone of Thebes 
Ere yet AmpKion sung. — From side to side 
Tbe sedentary chief, in studious mood. 
And keen research, darts an experienced eye. 
Forth from his presence hies the aide-de-camp, 
A doughty Cambro- Briton ^^ to survey 
The posture of the field ; from rank to rank 
Posting, succinct he gives the. word, how best 
Light squadrons to advance, and wheel the course. 
" Vanguards to right and left.'* — Forthwith a band, 
As at the sound of trump, obedient move 
In phalanx — each and all their stations know. 
And quarters, as the General's will ordains. 

First at the call spontaneous Verse appears 
To its due rank, and prompt as light obeys 
Tbe summons. — Peaceful Controversy sheaths 
Her claws contracted, and makes room for Scoty 
Leagued with Aquinas^ nodding side by side, 
Arid BelUmiinc, and Luther^ heard no more 

* Rice Price. 



Than Delphic shrine, or Memnon's form. — Now mute^ 

All in due order, and in silence look, 

A modern Convocation — Hist*ry lies 

With HistVy — HydesLud Oldmixon agree *. 

Which, when the Marshal, from his easy chair 
Of calimanco saw, knit his calm brow. 
Thoughtful, and thus addressM the subject leaves : 
** Ye Hierarchies, Commonwealths, and Thrones, 
Folio, octavo ; and ye minor pow'rs 
Of paper, ere to winter- quarters due. 
Hear me, ye list^iing books. — First I direct 
Submission to your lord, aud faith entire. 
Did I not list you, and enroll your names 
On parchment? — See the volume ! — Look at me. 
Did I not mark you (as the Prussian mark'd 
His subjects) for my service, when required ? 
'Tis well — and let me next, ye flimsy peers, 
Love, brother-like, and union recommend ; 
Live peaceful, as by me together tied 
In bands of strictest amity. Should then 
Your master lend you to some neighVring state, 
^Auxiliaries f, remember ye preserve 
Your first allegiance pure, and cheerful home 
Return, when summoned by your natural prince. 
Be humble, nor repine, though smearM with spots. 
Or dust inglorious : know your birth and end. 
Rags ye were born ; to rags ye must return. 

For a little variety, though of a date posterior to 
that of the Poeais vs^hich remain to be gopied, I 

* '' The Author begs pardon of Lord Clarendon for placing 
Mr. Oldmixon so near him.*' 
t All thb wit upon his books lent out is admirable. 

G 2 shall 


shall transcribe a passage in a Letter of Mr. Pratt 
(copied by Davies) ; in which he appears to have 
marked, at this early period, no common power in 
delineating character. The date is December I743. 
It gives a portrait of Dr. George^ Provost of 
King'Sy who had been a Master of Eton school. I 
suppose it was written at Kings College. 

The character is masterly ; it is Hke the banter of 
Tully upon Cato^ in the Oration for MurcenOy and 
the words, but I confess liable to the suspicion of a 
pun, " quse nonnunquam requirimus, ea sunt omnia 
' non k Natura, sed a Maghtro'' I am not sure if I 
do not think him a little too cold, upon the subject 
of his poetical genius, in one sphere of it — in Latin 
verse. He had there an ear, taste, and spirit of the 
highest order, with a command of beautiful and ele- 
vated thoughts: but, when that classical joen dropped 
from his hand, he relapsedinto an absurd^ though a 
good-humoured and lively pedant. 

" The new Provost is the delight of the Society, 
-*^ and behaves to every one's perfect satisfaction — 
^ released from all care, free, and jovial. ' 

^^ This is very different from his carriage and 
" conduct at Eton. I will try if I can account for 

" it. 

^' He is naturally, in the same degree, good-na- 

" tured and absurd. He undertook the care of that 

*^ school without parts, of the kind I mean that was 

" necessary to govern it. This broughc him under 

" difficulties, from which he had not either sense or 

*^ spirit enough to extricate himself. These plagues 

" and vexations wrought upon his temper, and 

** made him sour. His absurdity, the gift of Na- 

" ture, still remained ; and, by working upon a 

*^ mind crossed by ill success, made him not only 

" foolish, but proud, ill-mannerly, and brutal. 

• " You may see how. that perverse disposition, 

'^-'which I call absurdity, or blundering ignorance 

'^ of decorum, will make the same individual odious 





** or entertaining, as the temper in which it acts is 
" in or out of tune. 

" At present, as he has no care, his good-nature 
" has returned ; so that now his absurdity, which is 
" rather heightened than diminished, gives an agree- 
able turn to every thing he says or does. 
" These men are very unfit for business which 
calls for steady abilities and steady resolution ; but 
" make very excellent companions in private hfe, 
" especially where they are tinctured with tetters, 
" and have, like him, quick fancies, a good ear, 
^* and a powerful memory." 

I venture to suggest my opinion that nothing in 
Plutarch is more shrewd, is more philosophically 
just, or marks a deeper knowledge of the. human 

Dr, Thomas thus writes to Davies on this subject: 

Dec. 2S, 1743- 
*' I often have smiled at the character of the Pro- 

" vost, which is drawn with much liveliness, and 

*^ your correspondent must be a pretty fellow. — ^The 

*• absurd is completely wound up in quickness of 

" parts and a great memory, which are generally 

" considered as inconsistent^ even to a proverb." 

It may here be observed in general, that Mr. Da- 
vies, by keeping up at intervals his acquaintance 
with men of the world, and by his good sense, 
though leading more habitually a secluded life, 
writes like no hermit, but like a social companion' to 
the best and the most polished intercourse. The so- 
ciety at Lichfieldy a sort of London to him, improved 
these habits. — -By .the way, he had more preferment 
there than I had imagined, or than his monument 
has recorded ; for he had the Prebend of Longdon— 
Was Master of the Hospital — I learn too that he was 
Archdeacon of Derby, — All these (and one records 
it with delight) were the gifts of that incomparable 
Prelate CornwalliSy then Bishop of Lichfield. 

r rem 


From one of his connexions at Lichfield, and by 
the favour of the Dean, I have received a composi- 
tion quite new to me, and supremely beautiful ; an 
Alcaic Ode, which, for a little variety, and as mark- 
ing the versatility of his talent, I here insert. 

It is the rivulet Ptiw/ey, above mentioned, which is 
here addressed. 

O nata temo/onte^, voiubilis; 
Te, Lympha candens, quk celebrem lyrd. ! 
Qu8B len^ distillas, meosqne 
OflSciosa lavis Penates ; 

Quippe sstuoso f sidere frigidum 
Servas tenorem ; nee glacialibus 
Obstricta brumis, usque % ripatn 
Lambis aqua metuente vinc'lum. 

** Hoc monte quondam Begia §," dixeris, 
** Stetittyranni parvula Mercii, 
" Urn& repercussus solebam 
" Exiguas numerare turres." 

Saxi vetustus quin pereat labor ; 
Dum tu salubri || murmure prsfluens 
JEterne curras, in propinqui 
Laetitiam, geniumque pagi. 

* Pinsley takes its rise in three lakes under Shobflon Court. 
They are called The Lady Pools. Mr, Richard Price, of Knighton, 
M. P. desciibes them to me as romantic m their scenery, and 
as well desen^ing a visit from travellers who love the wild and pic- 
turesque forms of Nature undrest. 

f Mark here the coincidence ! In a Letter to J. Dodd, 1740> 
the Writer says — •' on Pinsley' s sunny banks.** 

J Here too is another feature. — ^The admirable Poem in praise 
of Water, has *' Pinsley's evbb flowing tide.** 

II " Health comes rolling on in every wave." Ibid. 

§ It is reported by Antiquaries, that the Kings of Jlfercta bad a 
Palace at Kingsland. 



If I translate this, for the benefit of the country- 
gentlemen, or the country ladies, I fear they will 
not thank me for it ; but I cannot resist an impulse 
to the attempt. 

Wing'd and bright stream of triple fountain born ! 
What harp shall thee with reconipence adorn ! 
In my domam the currents trip along, 
Soliciting no tribute but a song : 
Cool in meridian summer's parching beat. 
The tenor of their step has twitikhng feet; 
ChainM by no winter** ice the waters flow^ 
And grace the bank with music as they go. 
*' Upon this mountain** — \ could hear them s^y, 
*^ Stood once a palace of the Mercian sway, 
" When from this urn renew'd my course I pac*d, 
^ The turrets my observant vision traced.** 

Perish these ancient piles of laboured stone ! 
Be mine^ dear wave ! but not be mine alone ! 
The genial boon of health extend around, 
Joy to the peasant— by the village crowned ! 

The following lines are admirable, and in Mar- 
tiaFs best manner : 

Feb. 5, 1744. 
Ad T. T. D. D.— S. D. 

Dum tu fraterno celebras natalia ritu, 
Si quid me poterit detinuisse, rogas. 

En obstant mihi niulta, repagula multa negott, 
Cur te non visum, cur mihi non placeam. 

Non adsum, fateor, convivas inter amicos ; 
Sin animam spectes — nee minims alter abest. 

A curious 


. A. curious Letter now before me again brings 
Lord Camdetij his favourite, upon the scene. It 
opens with four ludicrously polished lines of mock- 
heroic verse, and gives the hint of an Opera intended 
for Handel^ which, I suppose, came to nothing, 
for we never hear of it again. 

" Dear Doctor, 

** O you that lobsters in a basket bring, 

^^ And bottled shrub to make Apollo sing, 

" Come, often come, nor think I grudge the feast, 

" A miser would rejoice at such a guest." 

[You see (were it only from this one specimen) 
that he had an easy and fluent command of rhime^ 

* " Vou have a right to these lines, not only because 
*^ I address them to you, but as being the legitimate 
" produce of your punch the night you left me. — At 
*^ least I hope you will accept them in part of pay- 
^* ment for the Latin couplet received this morning. 

" The Opera for Handel is begun, at the request 
** of his friend. — Be sure it is the first and last of the 
" kind as a foolery of mine. 

" The Argument is taken from Livt/. You will 
*^ have the contents and plot when you hear next. 

^^ Pratty who is a musician (that is, he was be- 
*^ fore Law un-harmonized him) bids me lie upon 
'^ my oars till he can find leisure to give directions 
" concerning the genius of 7nusical verse -— the 
" length of the performance — the numbers and the 
" talent of the singers — how to adapt the subject of 
*^ each air — to ascertain the number of choruses, 
" and their position. These are very arduous diffi- 
" culties. &c. &c. ' S. D.'* 

I resume Davies, the Miltonic Poet. He has 
written a Night Thought, which I am not afraid of 
setting by the side of Young himself. 




Oc/.4, 1744-. 
^^ Why should not we have Night Thoughts, as 

" well as Z)r. Youngy though less voluminous ?' 


Mortal, whoe'er thou art — beware ! since Time 
To a thatch'd hovel, or triumphant arch, 
Levels alike the undiscerning scythe. 
And Deathy wide-sweeping, no distinction owes 
To the crown'd villain ; — all alike in hell, 
Caligula y and ChartreSy seated both 
On burning couches in the fiery hall. 

Whence is that milder blaze of aether pure. 
As op'ning clouds a scenery divine 
Unfold ? where brightest in a robe of sky 
Sits VirtuCy under shade of palm, with look 
Stern, tho' serene — Herculean strength behind 
Waiting, and trampled worlds beneath her feet. 
Nearest her throne, associate ever dear, 
(Not sullen CatOy nor the patriot's aim 
Of BrutuSy nor imperial Casar's pride) 
EpaminondaSy smiling at his blood, 
YovhxsXow^di Thebans ; Antoniney the just. 
The wise, the humble ; Nerva too is there. 
Humanity imperial, pleasM in death 
An heir ^ adopting, who shall bless mankind. 
AH the choice few, union of great and good ; 
Poor Epidetusy with his free-born soul ; 
Morels cheerful wisdom, Boyle with study wan^ 
Beneficent, and meek. Th' Athenian-^ sage, 
The Indian Xy in abstruse debate sublime 

• • 

* Trajan. f Socrates* J Confucm. 





Of the first good, their eyes turn'd up to Heav'n. 
The shielded saint rejoices in her sons, 
Gather'd around, and pick'd from all the world. 

In the Kingsland Collection I have obtained the 
sight of a few Letters, addressed by Dr. Thomas to 
his friend ; but tliey make one regret that one has 
not more. They unite the gentleman, scholar, and 

" My dear Friend, 

" I thank you for yours of yesterday, and parti- 
, " cularly for the sheet enclosed in it, which I do 
" not mean to return till the next opportunity. 

" If I were any judge of sunh performances, 
" which I am not, I cannot be an impartial one, on 
" account of the bias which my regard and IViend- 
" ship create in your favour. Whatever appro- 
" bation, therefore, I may express in perusing this 
" new flight of your Muse, will be regarded by you 
" as little more than prepossession. 

" You know ) have always thought your genius 
" would exert itself successfully in dramatic eoter- 
" prize. Indeed I was led into this opinion on per- 
" using an extemporary essay of yours in that line. 

" The litile sketch now before me confirms me in 
" this creed. — As it is the 6rst onset, it really sur- 
" passes what I expected even from the earlier hint 
" of your hand. 

" In your three first speeches, if I must establish 
" precedency and preference, I should rather incline 
" to that of f'alerius. — It is, according to your own 
*' rule, more negligent and familiar, but strong. 

" Of ihis at oiir next meeting; but let me desire 
" in general that you would not suffer your nicety 
" of taste, and of judgment, in compositions like 
" these, to exercise too powerful a check on the vi- 

*' gour 


*^ gour and bold spirit of your genius. — Catch your 
*^ thoughts at the first hand, and fly with them to 
'^ your paper ; a revisal will soon find but little pec- 
'^ cantos ; or, I should rather say, will destroy the 
" beauties of nature. 

^^ Do you design that Brutus should make his 
first appearance in that speech ? or will you shew 
him first as personating the fool, and played upon 
by Tarquin ? What think you of introducing 
him in that very scene, whilst they are talking of 
" this ramble, and frolic to their wives ? Let them 
^ sport with him, and let him answer with all the 
•^ habitual archness of the lunatic fool. — When they 
" are gone to horse, let him burst into this higb- 
" spirited soliloquy." 

[I can scarce recollect an example of such mo- 
desty in two such ingenious and cultivated minds.] 

" My dear Friend, Nov. 5, 1745. 

" I now return the MS sheet. * * * 
" I long to see the scene where Lucretia is visited, 
with her maids employed about her. You know, 
that story is told by Ovid in his Fasti. Upon 
" reading it there, I have been thinking that after 
^' some chat with her maids (to one of whom you 
^^ could give a lover there) about the news of the 
*^ Camp, one of them could ask her mistress to sing 
" that pretty song (and it may be adapted to the 
** occasion) which she used to amuse herself with ; 
*^ and while this scene of the woman is transacting, 
" Collatinus and his companions may be looking on, 
^^ and listening in the anti-chamber, and may then 
" break in upon them. — But am not I impertinent 
^^ in offering any hints ?" 

Nov. 17, 1745. 
Your design of not imposing upon yourself the 
" task of a resrular progress from scene to scene is 




" right. You will find the method of working up 
a scene or character here and there, just as hits 
your fancy at the time, preferable ^on many ac- 
" counts, and the last work is to sew them together 
in a regular form. — I own to you, that when I first 
gave the hint of a song, I imagined Lucretia^s 
attendants might be introduced, as Ovid and the 
History have represented them, at the wheel and 
" the distaff; and I have observed that it is as natu- 
" ral for women, in that business and situation, to 
" be diverting themselves by a song, as for a cobler 
" in his stall. — But what particularly gave me the 
" notion of it was, those lines in Ovid put into Lu- 
" cretia^s mouth, and which I have sometimes fan- 
*^ cied her to sing. — Mittenda est domino nunCy nunc 
" properate puellce : — and what if I should make 
" you smile, by singing you a stanza on the occa- 
" sion? But the method you have taken in shewing 
" them at needle-work is better, for it would be 
*^ hardly possible to represent them at the other 
** business without oflfending the taste of a modern 
*^ audience. But representing them as you do must 
" answer, as it is agreeable to our notion of the em- 
" ployment of good Queen Bess, and her Maids of 
« Honour." 

Dr. Thomas'* s Letters are very unequal, are in 
general short, and, upon the whole, much inferior 
to those of his friend, especially in style ; yet there 
are some clever passages here and there. 

He ends one of them prettily, and with a good 
heart, — as well as good Latin. 

" Feb. 14, 1742. 
"In hisce rei nummariae angustiis — {Rentleii 
verbis utor) non est cur tibi sis molestus de com- 
puto inter nos conferendo: noveris enim (sed mini- 
mi noverint universi) domum banc (saltern quo 

" scribo 





scribo tempore) non esse exilem ; sed multa su- 
peresse quae (si perruperint) prosint furibus. — Ita 
" pronuntiat T. T ; scilicet 

" Timotheus Tuissimus^' 

In a letter of the same year thus he interrogates 

" Is Wlioley come^ teres atque rotundus, that 
*^ you may unfeed him in South fVales ?" 

In a Letter of 1741 : 

"If Pulteney has deserted, it will often put me in 
" mind of King James's expression when Prince 
** George left him : " What ! is ' Est-il possible * 
" gone too ?" 

" Aug. 2, 1 742. 
" When I told them bow extra-generously it was 
'^ given to me in usum Timothei et amicorum^ they 
" condemned me for accepting it ; — ^ but indeed it 
" * was most kindly done ; and I have not had any 
** 'venison this year, and I think I never tasted 
' finer ;' — * nor fatter,* says another ; — ' and it is 
' admirably roasted — another piece, if you please — 
'and now your hand is in, pray cut me another — 
'a little of the fat, if you please, for there is quite 
" 'enough of it for us all."' 

" Dec. 1745. 
A most incomparable Pun ! 
tte says, "You see there is a Regiment of Lawyers. 
" They never cslu make a stand; for is not their 
" maxim, ' Currat Lex P '' 

Of Davies's Dramatic Muse there is not a vestige 
to be found; and of T/idmas, nothing but these 

Letters ; 


Letters ; yet both were authors, and Mr. Davies 
often alludes to his friend as a joint Poet with him-*- 
self, especially in Imitations of Horace. 

In this difficult branch of composition, Davi£S, 
I think, had peculiar merit ; and, consulting variety 
again, I will part with him at present in blank 
verse. Indeed, I am not aware of any other Poems 
in that measure but the Epithalamium to Mr. Dodd, 
. the Song of Mos^s^ and that of Deborah. The two 
latter have passages in them which are truly sublime, 
and the rhythm is inferior to none in the other 
Poems which I have copied; but there is less of 
originality, and less power in the general effect of 
the verse. 

The Epithalamium is too beautiful to be sop- 
pressed, and will have its place. 

To resume the Imitations of Horace y I shall now 
produce one of them, in the shape of an address to 
Ijord Camden^ written, I should think, between 
1732 and 1745; perhaps a very little time before 
1745, because he alludes to his friend's professional 
occupations ; which, I think, were not commenced 
(in power and command) before 1740. 

To C. P. Esq. 
Translation of Horace^ Book I. Ep. II. 

[I must here beg of the learned and classical 
reader to put the original before him ; because much 
of the happiness, in this branch of his Muse, arises 
from the accuracy of the version, witliout prejudice 
to the air and spirit of an original. 

From this time, except in the Epithalamium, I 
shall produce Mr. Davies in rhyme alone. I con- 
fess myself delighted by the ease and flow, grace 
and spirit, of these compositions in a Poet who has 
marked that he was averse to rhime^ and who shone 
in a more stately measure.] 


]>R. SN£YO PAVIE8* 95 

While you, my friend, were pleading at the bar, 
I read the Writer of the Trojan war. 
Whence good pr evil, shame or houour^ flows. 
The Philosophic Bard exactly shows. 
With useful rule and sage instructions fraught. 
Beyond what Crantor and Chrysippus taught. 
What makes to me this bold assertion clear, 
Unless a golden brief detains you, hear. 
The tale which tells bow, armM by wanton Love, 
Fur ten long years two bleeding Nations strove. 
Contains a turbulence of tide that springs 
From heated mobs, and witless pride of Kings. 

Give up the cause of strife, ArUenx>r cries : 
But hear the lover, and what he replies; 
^^ Nor health, nor life, nor empire^s easy charms. 
Can force the ravishM fair-one from his arms.*' 

Good Nestor strives the fierce disputes to quell. 
In which Achilles and Atrides swell. 
Keen love deprives one hero of his rest. 
But rage in either sways the ruffled breast. 
The people's loss from Regal error springs, 
ATid subjects pay the want of sense in Kings *. 
Sedition, falsehood, guilty lust, and rage, 
The camp, »like, and garrison engage. 

Again, what virtue, wisdom-joinM, can do. 
The wand' ring Prince of Ithaca will shew. 
Who, Troy in dust, on many a distant shore 
Had studied human arts, and manners more. 

* There is ofiten a peculiar fprce in the digi^ified simplicity of 
thought and language. It appears to be exemplified in th« ener- 
gy of this line, which has the additional merit of improving the 
subject by the vari^Hon^-^lbr.the woi^ pa^ goes 6Qfoa^ the word 
fiectwntur, and it serves to heighten the image it sustains. 



He, o'er the sea by raging tempest borne, 
Toil'd for his friends, and for his own return ; 
Stemm'd Fortune's wave, and, with unwearied pain, 
Plung'd in adversity, he rose again. 
The Syren lays are known, and Circe* s draft, 
Which, like his comrades, had their leader quafTd, 
Unmann'd, he would have rued the harlot's wiire, 
Yelp'd as a dog, or rolled in mud a swine. 

JVe are life's expletives, to eat or drink> 
Shunning itsonly good employ — to think. 
JVe are Penelope'' s disorder'd train. 
Youths of the soft Alcinous's reign — 
A vicious crew, that lull the tortur'd breast 
With midnight song, and sleep at noon caress'd. 
The murd'ring felon leaves the restless bed. 
And ere the sun is up his victim 's dead : 
When to his neighbour's doom the villain hies. 
To save yourself can you be loth to rise ? 
In health you will not leave your easy chair ; 
But stir you must, when dropsy finds you there. 
Call then for book and candle ere 'tis light. 
Stretch your whole mind in search of truth and right, 
Lest a worse cause may rob the bed of rest. 
And Love disturb, or Envy taint your breast. 
If penetrating gravel tries the reins. 
Physicians are call'd in to ease the pains ; 
And shall the mind a worse disease endure, 
When you let years elapse, and seek no cure ? 
Set out ! — the race defied will soon be run ! 
The work is half accomplish'd when begun. 
Who lets the hour of present claim pass by^ 
Waits, like the rustic, till the river's dry. 




Poor senseless idiot ! the unvaried stream 
Flows on^ and will for ever flow the same. 

Wealth to obtain, is Man^s habitual carCi 
And then a wife, to give that wealth an heir; 
Improving ploughshares in the waste are seen, 
And barren heaths in fruitful tilth are green. 
The satisfied should no increase implore. 
Nor waste a momentary wish for more. 
No stately equipage, or splendid plate, 
No sumptuous house, no rental of estate. 
E'er gave the fever'd blood a moment^s rest. 
Or pluckM one thorn from out the master^s breast. 
Who thinks * to know the use of joy and wealth. 
Must first be well in mind, and strong in health. 
Who lives in fears, or longs, though rich, for more, 
Has the same pleasure from his languid store 
As age-dim eyes from painting can receive. 
Or music to an ear imposthum'd give. 
The tainted cask sours all it^s to contain: 
And pleasure is a curse that 's bought with pain. 
The wretch that covets ever lives in want ; 
To av*ricef deaf, the Fates no more will grant. 
The envious are to self an abject prey. 
And, as their neighbours thrive, they pine away. 

* There is here a whimsical coincidence of the two idioms, 
and which I never saw elsewhere — " cogitat uti/* thinks to use. 

f In our language the word avarice does not appear to be used 
with sufficient precision. It is often confound^ with a miser's 
jealousy of his wealth, and fear to make use of it ; but this inac- 
curacy was never so glaring as in a late publication by Helen Ma* 
ria Williams, who is in general a very correct, and a very neat 
writer of prose.' — ^Twice in this work she makes avarice of* blood 
pass for cevonomy in shedding it. 

VOL. I. H Wifb 


With pains refin'd and keen their bosoms prickt, 

Beyond what fell Inquisitors inflict. 

The impotent, his anger to controuI| 

Shall rue the allies of the heated soul ; 

Shall wish, in agony of heart, undone, 

What Pasfiion will'd in absent Reason's throne : 

Anger 's a short-livM madness, and in sway 

A despot, if no master to obey. 

Keep strongly in, the hot rebellious mind, 

With curb restrained, and with a bit confinM. 

The docile horse in prime of years is broke 

To bear the rein, or stretch beneath the yoke. 

The whelp that hunts the deerskin round a court. 

Staunch at the field enjoys the labourM sport. 

Drink early then, dear friend, at Reason's bowl. 

And fill with wholesome draughts the youthful soul. 

If gall or wine the recent vessel stains. 

This or that scent the faithful cask retains. 

Start then in Virtue's cause with no delay : 
If you get on but slow, I shall not stay. 
Nor press upon you if you lead the way. 

I am almost afraid of proceeding with his Imita- 
tions, which are very numerous, and yet so excellent 
that I am equally afraid of suppressing them. But^ 
as a compromise, I will threaten you with only two 
more; because, though both of them are Imita- 
tions of the same Poet, they are in a very different 
vein, and shew the ready powers of the Artist. 

Perhaps the following lines are the most grace- 
fully polished rhymes of his Muse. — ^They reconcile 
perfect elegance to familiarity-— nothing is more dif- 


DriL. s^Yili DAYIES. :: 991 


Book I. Epist. XL 

Fth. 1T44. 

What says dear A — —/A * to fine places seen, 
Magnificent K^rr^aifto, polite Turin f 
Is Pam^quite so charming as we hear, , 

And not one sigh for Thames and B r\i 

With Roman glory is thy spirit fir'd ? 

Or to Geneva J studiously retired, 

With arts delighted, and with ramblin|g tir'd ? 

Yes,'' you exclaim, " that corner be my lot. 
Of English friends forgetful, and forgot : 
Repose oblivious by the JthSne I Ml take, 
** Or musing view the wide-expanded lake;" 

^Tis well, I ow^n, to bait upon the rpad; 
But who would make an alehouse bis i^bode I • ^ 

ArrivM in town, thro' cold, and dirt, £(nd snow, 
Late, wet, and weary, to the bagnio go; , 

The bagnio for a night aflFords good obe^. 
But not the1)est of lodgings by the. y!e?ir> 
Too wise to cast upon a distant shore, 
To sell the vessel, Aiid' return rio more. . * 

* Mr. Aldworth Neville, Father of Lord Braybrooke, then upoct 
lus travels. 

t BiUingbear, 

X -He was then resident at Geneva ; and there^ as I learn from 
Lord Braybrooke, with many other accomplished friends, he insti* 
tuted a theatre, in which they acted plays ; and Mr, Aldworth be« 
came so admired, that Garrick heard of it, and cultivated an ac- 
quaintance with hun on his return, in hpAour to his talent. 

H 2 France^ 


France^ Italy^ and Spairty and ruinM Greece^ 

Are in the mind, as useful to its peace. 

As in the raging dog-star warm attire, 

A stream in winter, or in June a fire. 

At ease, in affluence, Naples^ Tlorence^ Homcy 

Alt pretty things to chat about at home. 

Commend the soft Montpelitr's balmy air, 

But, bale and vigorous, why should ^0U go there? 

When Fortune bails you with auspicious wings, 
In gratitude enjoy the boon she brings, 
Nor put it by ; nor, if you like your meat, 
Be nice, and scorn the room in which you eat. 
If sense and reason can alone give ease. 
Not airy. views or prospect of the seas. 
Travel and voyage are but loss of time. 
The temper will not alter with the clime. 
In idle diligence from day to night. 
We aim at happiness with all our might ; 
For this in Scythian cold, or Indian sun, 
On horse, in ships, we ride, and swim, and run. 
But well to live demands no help of sails ; 
No matter where, — in Cumberland or Wales; 
Content is captive to no certain space. 
The man may be in fault— but not his place *. 

* Th^ mind is i<« oton place— are the words of Miiton^ 



TQ J. W. 

Book L Epist. X. 

[Again I beg the Reader to have the original 
before him.J 

D ■ ^*f of raral scenes a lover grown. 

Salutes his friend, a lover of the town : 

Except the variance this and plumpness make, 

Who think we disagree, perhaps mistake ; 

The difference much the same as lies between 

The egg of parent swan, or of a ben ; 

Debating, scribbling, sauntering, sitting still. 

Studious of ease, and brothers of the quill* 

London 's your choice — I know it — but approve 

The seat of moss, the rivulet, and grove. . 

If you should ask how I employ the hour : 

Better than some in place, and some in pow'r. 

Not plagued with patrons here, nor slave to pelf. 

Lord of my time, and master of myself f. 

What have your noisy streets like this to give. 

Or what like this Sir Robert % to receive ! 

Cotta^ disgracM, in Ariconian vales. 
Likes, I am told, the neighbourhood of Wales : 
Sick of parade, attendance, and resort. 
Flies — to exhale the surfeit of a Court §. 

* Davies himself; — and this one iuitial is the single hint that 
he gives the Reader of his name. — So amiable was the modesty 
of this philosophical recluse. 

f There is not a verse in Dryden or ia Pope to which I could 
fear to name this for a competitor. 

X This would have been sufficient to date the Poem at sovm 

^riod before 1741, when that able and great Minister (with all 
lis blemishes) resigned his power^ had not the date of it since 
occurred to me, viz, 1735. 

^ I b^ your attention to the beauty of that verse. 



Consult the voice of Nature at her shrine: 
'' Build in the country/' says the voice divine. 

Where can the winter joy so pure inspire. 
Morals wholesome frost, and evening's brilliant fire T 
Where has the suaimer's heat such cooling gales, 
T6 fafi the hills, and cheer the drooping dales ? 
Where 's discontent so rare an inmate seen, 
And slumbers light so innocent of spleen? 

What is that marble portal to my bow'r, 
ArrayM in green, and pearl'd in ev'ry show*r ? 
What the dull stream^ that pipes or conduits yield. 
To the sofll rill that whispers in my field ? 


Confes)i at once your wants ; for it is clear 
In town you faintly mimick what is here ; 
Look at St. Jdmts^Sj or at Lincoln'Square^ 
The rustic scehe^s tame counterfeit is there. 
Say why that Sheffidd^ mansion pleasant stand^^ 
Because a length of country it commands. 

Nature, in spite of changes and removes, 
Jtetums elastic to the point she loves, ■ 
RaisM from distortion, she appears the same. 
And from her bend recovers like the palm. 
Not she, whose want of taste, or want of care, 
Buys the resembling Delft for Chma ware ; 
Nor who to City-publicans resort. 
And buy for claret's price deceitful port, — 
Are more the dupes of counterfeit, than who 
Mistake false blessings for the gem that 's true. 

* Buckingham-house, now the J3ueen*s Palace. 


Who launch too far in Fortune's purest lake, 
The tempest of Adversity will shake. 
Slow to discredit what allures the eyes, 
We pause before we drop the tempting prize. 

Come to the shade, where peace eternal springs, 
Despise the Court with me, and pity Kings. 
Britons, impatient of the Saxon reign, 
Caird-in their good alli/ supposed , the Dane : 
Their good ally to conquest led the way, 
But swept the whole dominion — for his pay *, 
The wanton stranger, in his new abode. 
Upon the neck of high-born vassals rode. 

Thus for the golden fleece it you shall trade, 
And sell your mind, of pinching want afraid, 
That hideous monster is expelPd, I own ; 
But a most lordly tyrant mounts his throne. 
If, by dependance, treasure you obtain, 
I wish you well — but leave you to your chain. 
It 's known that shoes, and why not an estate ? 
Pinch or slip off, too little or too great. 

Be wise, and be content : though short in wealth, 
Rich in the gifts of competence and health. 
Don't throw away the happiness they bring. 
For virtuous freedom is a sacred thing f. 
And when you see me lay my honour down^ 
When you detect me fawning in the town, 
Give indignation the unchecked career, 
Don't spare the satire — pr'y thee be severe ! 

* Is not this a little applicable to Napoleon* s fraternal embrace 
of Holland, Italy, and Spain 9 • 

f Here again is a verse to be remembered. 




These high-spirited verses, and the Poet is full 
of ihem, convince me that avarice never at any one 
moment invaded or touched the purity of his mind, 
— and that he had shaken off" the 'influence of a no- 
bler appetite, that of ambition itself. But 1 think 
it is impossible to dispute the existence of pique \\\ 
his mind, at the obscurity into which the nature of 
his course in the world had thrown him, operating, 
not in the malevolent asperity of cynic spleen, but 
in a virtuous pride, at the neglect he had experienced, 
as he thought, and felt, from the world. 

Upon this awful theme of moralizing reflection 
upon the miscalculated view of his nature and fortune, 
wnich threw, but in a very gentle degree, a shade 
over his happiness, 1 cannot forbear to copy the 
temperate, judicious, and philosophical remarks of 
Lady Knowles. They confer honour upon her 
taste, and upon that language of the heart, which 
is of eloquence the best. 

« « * « ] regret much any little blemish in Mr, 
" Davies's judgment or feelings. — I had almost 
'* thought him an absolute model of perfection in 
" his profession's elevated sphere (for such in its 
" essence it really is) — blessed with tenderness of 
"heart, — noble, independent, and great in himself, 
*' above the levities or temptations of the world. 

" I never can so degrade the image 1 had formed 
" of him, as to think he was ambitious of profes- 
" sional advancement, or suffered any disappoint- 
" ment to embitter him. — But a portion of our en- 
" thusiasm for it we must and we may resign — we 
" can afford it, and still admire him enough. — We 
"moralize, however, upon these frailties of the hu- 
" man character. 

" The science of life surely is the most abstruse of 

" any. — Else how comes it that such highly-culti- 

" vated minds, and such commanding spirits, fail in 

" unity of action, or in a just conception of its parts. 

" Johnson 




Johnson had naturally a morose temper, besides a 
morbid and a distempered habit. Davids had the 
"temper of a Sai*it. 

" But is there not in the minds of the gifted few, 
" a cevtsLinJiert^i which induces them to act as upon 
" the defensive against inferiors, who are children of 
*^ this world, and wiser than children of light. — I 
^^ often have observed a refined and a delicate state 
** of the feelings, too keenly aUve, in the nicety of 
" their distinctions, to the casual and the unintentional 
*' neglects of the world. — I attribute, therefore, Mh. 
" Davies's false estimate of the public sphere, and of 
" his own, to this or a similar cause, which a retired 
^' and secluded habit ofsolitude, or partial intercourse, 
^* would rather encourage than stifle-^in a brilliant 
" vein of moralizing satire.'* 

I can add, that wherever I can reach a vestige of 
him, in the few who can speak of him, from the 
written opinion of others, or traditions concerning 
him, the picture is that of unqualified praise and 

As far too as I can learn, he was cheerful and so- 
cial, but with a temperate and gentle enjoyment of 
Attic mirth and wit. — Of ill-nature no syllable in 
him is the mark. 

The Epithalamiuniy to which I alluded, is before 
me, and says, or seems to say, " let me in/* It is, 
I own, a favourite of mine, and in a very different 
strain from all the rest of his works. — It has all that 
couleur de rose^ which is adapted with taste of choice^ 
but with a familiar and graceful air, to the nuptial 

It is also in blank verse ; but I am not sure if I 
should not have preferred it in rhyme, though h^ 
has caught the mantle of Cofnu^'^s Poet. 




Ye Nymphs, that, from Diana^s sport retir'd, 
Your forest leave awhile, and love to haunt 
The bord'ring valley, saw ye, as ye passed, 
A chosen pair, the glory of your plains, 
Array'd in youthful bloom of Nature's prime i 
Saw ye that glance of beauty, when the fair 
QuiverM with charms, and by the Graces dressM, 


MarchM on : with joy her bridegroom flushM, beyond 
What fancy unpossessM can ever dream ? 

Heard ye the music of their groves around, 
\Varbling, as choirs of gratulation sprung 
From evVy bough ? The nightingale was there, 
Whose note peculiar trillM the nuptial song. 
Such as in Windsor's music-loving shade 
They chaunt; and, if their HandeVs* ear is true, 
No where in silence steal with lay so sw^et. 
Auspicious omens brood in the fair hour ; 
Did ever HymerCs cheek more fresh appear. 
Or his bright vest with deeper yellow glow ? 
The vest that on occasions high and rare 
Pontifical he wears f, when hearts with hands 
Combine, of healthy cheek and sparkling eye^ 

^ This alludes with graceful and charming address to the cir- 
eumstance tlmt both of the nuptial parties lived in the perambu*- 
lation of Windsor Forest, where^ Handel se^ld, the nightingale 
had a more harmonious note than he ever heard it elsewhere.-— 
This note^ as well as many others, I owe to Lord Braybrooke, 

f This copied image, from Shakespeare's fancy, in a perfectly 
Aew application^ acquires a character of its own;, equally original. 



As ill the rights of Nature, ere the shafts * 
By gold were blunted. — Here the blazing torch. 
Fanned by Lovers pinion, sheds unusual fire! 
I.o ! by the trail of light he left behind, 
As homeward the gay jubilee returned, 
The Muse, invited guest, attends her theme 
On to the nuptial bow'r; there entering, haird 
Preludes of happiness to come ; her lyre 
She strung — it was the heart's unborrowM strain. 

" Hail,'* she began, ^^distinguishM pair! how fit 
To join in wedded love! each other's choice! 
Bridegroom, thy taste is elegant indeed. 
And fingers nice, that on a sunny bank 
•In Beauty's garden, cuU'd so bright a flow'r, 
To thine transplanted from her native soil. 
Cherish, be sure, thy blooming charge ; keep off 
Each blush unkind ; and zephyr's gale alone 
Blow there, and genial suns for ever smile. 
Who not applauds thy vow ? — hereafter who 
Disputes thy palate, judging and exact, 
Owner of curious bliss? Nor thou, fair bride. 
Repine, or homeward cast thy wavering eye! ^ 

'Twas time to sever from the virgin choir. 
What joy in loneliness to waste the hours 
Unfruitful ! See, hard by, Lodorui% stream 
Cold and inactive creep along, her face 
Shaded with pensive willow, till anon, ^ 

Married to jovial Thames^ briskly she moves 
O'er many a laughing mead. — 'Twas Nature will'd * 
Such union — blest society, where souls 
Move, as in dance, to harmony divine. 
Fit partners. — How unlike the noisy feuds 
Iq wedded strife ! Hence Friendship's gen'rous care, , 




At Love's high noon, and hence the iober flame, 
Steady as life declines: all comforts hence 
Of child and parent, Love's endearing ties. 
Tliink not tbe fair original design'd 

I To flourish, and be lost. — The world expects 

I A copy to adorn a future age. 

['Thank the kind Gods ! — be happy, live, and love !" 

[The date of this Poem was Sept. 24, 1739- 
Mr. Dodd married his neighbour Miss St. Le^er, 
of Trunkwell, distant three miles from SivaUow- 
Jield, his country seat. 

The parishes of Shenfield (of which Trunkwell 
is a part) and of Swalloicfield join. 

Trunku-eUis one of a thousand entertaining proofs 
that John Bull is never to be entrusted with a hard 

Mr. St. Leger, the father, one of the refugees 
after the Edict of Nantes had been (so infamously) 
revokedj cajled this place Tranquille. 

This gentleman was Father also to Mrs, Blossett, 

I -who was mother to the late Miss Blossett, the j ustly 

f admired singer (as an amateur), and to Mrs. De 

Sails, now living, the widow of Dr. De Salts, one 

' of my Eton schoolfellows.^ 

So virgin-like was tbe modesty and blush of his 
Muse, that he is afraid he shall be accused o^ indeli- 
cacy in some of those lines, which he declares that 
he did not intend. — The simplicity of his alarm is 

" Yon mentioned the Epithalamium favourably, 
•' but you intimated some lines in it which made 
*' you smile. 

" After this hint, I perused it, and find what I 

" never intended, that an iWe/ica^e construction, or, 

" to use prettier words, a double entendre might be 

" put upon the metaphor that I carried on upon the 

" garden- 



'* garden-flower. — It is also true that a hint i^ given, 
*^ perhaps too broad a one. I was aware of it, but 
*^ considered that I was writing to a young and 
" riierry couple." 

[It reminds me of a ludicrous account which Mr. 
Bryant gave to me of Dr. George, who, when 
Master, from an outrage and refinement of prudery, 
was in the habit of putting into the heads of the 
boys indecent allusions, which, but for the horror 
which he expressed when they construed the passage, 
they would never have dreamt of endeavouring to 
discover. One in particular was in Theocritus. A« 
that Author is not before me, and as I am not sure 
of all the words, I will give the Latin. 

Utinam devenerim apis murmurans, 
Et ad tuum antrum profectus fuerim 
[Hederam — ] 
Penetrans, et involucruai quo tu tegeris.] 

Lucina heard the Muse, perhaps in hopes of a 
serenade ; and here it is, not only ingenious, but, 
like all his works, of a cast original and peculiar to 


Oct. 22, 1741. 
Thy sanguine hope completed in a boy, 
HymaCs dear boon, my friend, I give thee joy. 
Of strange, fine things, and miracles to be. 
Expect no flatt'ring prophecies from me : 
It *8 Time's maturing business to call forth 
Degenerate meanness, or transmitted worth. 
Under that sliding course of hours or days, 
The limner's eflFort mellows, or decays. 
First, let me s^e, what my fond wish bespoke. 
The lively colouring, the manly strode, . 
r : - " The 


The gentle swieetness, and the modest grace — * 

^laternal beauty— shed upon the face ? 

The gay and frank benevolence, the fire 

Sincere and gen'rous, darted from the Sire. 

The judging Muse, where lines like these can strike. 

Will own the copied portrait 's very like ; 

Will mark each virtue, each perfection tell. 

Pleased that his parents drew themselves so well. 

At every turn we discern the same dignified grace 
and manliness of spirit — no base honiage to the rich 
and great. The panegyric springs froni the hearty 
and the heroes of it personal friends — unsolicited for 
patronage — nay, of minds unlike his own, though 
with points rn them that pleased him ; and one of 
them never deserted, who had not even a virtue in 
his favour, and was thrown, by degrading indiscre- 
tions, to say no worse of them, into poverty. What 
cap be a higher panegyric upon this affectionate spi- 
rit, than to attest, record, and perpetuate, the fact ? 
that nothing but the distress of this mendicant could 
ever seduce the modesty of his Muse from its home, 
and then, upon conditions that veiPd her from the 
world, suppressing, by obstinate initials, 

The local habitation, or the name. 

By the next Poenri I should think it not improba- 
ble that he was acquainted in early days with Horace 
ff^alpole; for it alludes to his birth, and that of Mr^ 
Dodd the same day. This Poem has the additional 
recommendation of shewing that he had great talent 
in -the discriminating analysis of character. 

The two friends, as Lord Braybroohe first in- 
formed me, were the Hon. Horace fFalpolcy nnd 
John Dodd, Esq. 




Sept. 1736. 
There are, it seems, who think a natal star 
Softens to peace, or animates to war ; 
That yOD bright orbs, as in their course they roll. 
Dart their strong influence on the dawning soul ; 
Whether to empire led by radiant Jove^ 
Or luird in pleasure by the Queen of Love ; 
Whether Mercurius gently wav'd bis hand, 
That points to arts and sciences the wand ; 
Or angry Mars^ inspiring warlike heat. 
Alarm the pulse, and at the bosom beat. 

If so, in these, of uncongenial mind. 
Whence can the Muse her pointed contrast find ? 
The one, of nature easy, and compos'd, 
Untost by passions, and in arts repos*d * ; 
The other, of a keen impatient soul, 
Wing'd in the race, and stretching to the goal* : 
One calm as Theodosius to desire; 
The other glowing with Karanes^ fire : 
This pleasM to wander in Pierian glades. 
Where the rill murmurs^ and the laurel shades * ; 
The other warm'd in what his heart approves, 
The chace, the mistress, or the friend he loves. 

' Yet the same beam saluted them on earth. 
And the same planets glittered at their birth ; 
Thef same soft gale had whisperM in the wood. 
Or the same tempest arm^d the raging flood. 

* Gaua these lines be forgotten ? — Where is Pope superior to 




It is enough, no question of their stars, 
Thai Friendship reconciles where Aaiurc jars. 
1^'ativities .' resign your dreaming plea ! 
TUeyr planets differ, but their lives agree. 

Upon this elegant and poetical 7'eu desprit 1 can- 
not forbear to solicit your acceptance of two com- 

It may seem to militate on my character of Da- 
vies in the sacred article of independent sincerity; 
for I may be asked, how sincerity could account for 
this panegyric upon a man who made no figure in 
the world, who had no genius, or literature. I an- 
swer by the fact, as it has reached ine from the best 
authority. Mr. Dodd, as I have before observed, 
had a generous heart, and zeal for his friends, with 
a delight in those who, in their talents and attain- 
ments, were as unlike him as f-f'alpole could have 
been; Davies, for example, and Lord Camden, — 
He loved their genius, and was proud of it. — He 
had also, I have no doubt, social talents, which re- 
quire no Attic wit, but have a peculiar humour of 
their own. In a poetical dialogue, full of pleasant 
ridicule upon fVhaley, and published in your ad- 
mirable Collection of Poems, there is a festive and 
jovial spirit given to Mr. Dodd, which, I dare say, 
made him very entertaining as a companion. 

But, in the next place, nothing is more common 
than to see what the Foet so well expresses here, 
the union which Friendship can form of dissimilar 
characters. We are all of us vain, the least of the 
little, as well as those at the top of the leaf; and 
we do not like partners upon our throne. Either 
inferiorities are cultivated, or equalities in a different 
sphere — besides that in society one loves the amia- 
ble varieties which two friends produce, who have 
attainments and merits of a different kind. 


DR. SNEYD DAVlfiS.' 113 

By the way, as that Poem is before me, though it 
is too lopg to be inserted here, and perhaps a Httle too 
burlesque to suit the Attic though brilliant wit of the 
rider, I cannot forbear to catch a passage or two, as 
proving his talent for parody, which he does not ap- 
pear to have indulged, but certainly possessed. 

The opening of this Dialogue upon the subject of 
Mr. fVhalejfs cowardice in a fox-chace is incompa- 
rable, as a banter upon Dryden or Lee. 

Dr. Thirlhy, 

There 's pleasure sure in being clad in green, 
Which none but green-men know. 

The passage in view, if I am correct in it, is this: 

There is a pleasure sure in being mad, 
Which none but madmen know. 

Whaley solus, 
' but chief, of thee *, 

Of thee I most complain, O want of meal. 

i(p i|t 9|r 9|p W V 'k 

Must I then leave thee. Burgundy t> &c. &c. 

No more I'll to the window — beauteous scene 

Of river and of hills, of lawns and trees, 
What respite can ye give to my distress ! 
And you, plump deer, that feed upon the lawn, 
Serve to awake the ven'son appetite. 


Am I deceived, or through the waving boughs 
An alehouse-sign peeps forth. I *m not deceived \ 
For through the boughs an alehouse-sign peeps forth. 
Would I were there ! 

* Sampson. 

t *' Must I then leave thee. Paradise,'' ^c. 

I This 


This imitation of the attendant Spirit in Comus 
deserves to be noted. 

Was I deceivMy or does a sable cloud 

Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? 

I did not err, there dots a sable cloud 

Turn forth her silver lining on the night. 

We have alluded to, and shall in the Appendix 
produce, one of Mr. Davies's travelling correspond- 
ents. Let us now produce Mr. Davies himself as a 

We have read Musical travels, Astronomical and 
Botanical ones, Antiquarian^ Political, Historical, 
and Sentimental. The all-accomplished Addison 
and Eustace (I wish we had more of them) were 
Classical Topographers. Davies, in his few rambles 
from home, viewed every scene with a Poefs eye, 
nor has even his Muse produced any thing more 
gifted than two Poems which are now to be introduced, 
both of them in rhyme ; one upon a voyage to the 
Ruins of Tintern Abbey ; the other upon Archbi- 
shop Willianufs Tomb. They are of the same sra, 
between 1732 and 1745. 

I am bold enough to anticipate the Reader's de- 
light in them, who will not fail to observe the differ- 
ence of the tone (if 1 may use that phrase for want 
of a better) between the picturesque and the mo- 
ralizing Poet. 

A Voyage to Tintern Abbey in Monynouthshire, from 
IVhitminster* in Gloucestershire. 

Aug. 1742. 
From where the iftrou^, smooth stream, serenely glides, 
We reach the peopled Sevenths rapid tides. 

* Where^ at his country seat near Stroud, he had visited dfr. 



Stop ere we sail ! and from this point survey 
The hiII-encompass*d sea-resembling bay ; 
See the tide's * ridge with sober grandeur heave, 
And float in triumph o'er the river wave ! 
Lo ! where it comes ! with what extensive sweep, 
Like a whale sideling rolling in the deep ! 
Wide and more wide it joins the distant hills^ 
And swiftly the expanded area Alls. 

We sail ; — now steadily ; now gulphs inform 
The tumbling waves to imitate a storm ; 
The rising shores a thousand charms bestow, 
Lawn at their feet, and forest at their brow ; 
The polish'd villas, neighbours to the flood ; 
The taper spire ; and the surrounding wood. 

These lines, my C 1 read, and smiling view 

How faint the hope thy landscape to renew. 
That image of thyself how soon decay'd — 
See all its beauties in description fade! 

Where to each other the tall banks incline. 
And distant cliffs, though severM, seem to join, 

* This coming-in of the tide is called the Eager, There is a 
beautiful allusion to it in Sprat*s History of the Royal Society, 

t Thb was the late Mr. Cambridge, another friend of Mr. 
Davies^ and> as I can proudly add^ of my own. He then lived 
at fVhitminster, — Amongst the verses addressed to Mr. Carti- 
bridge, and published by his son amongst his works, there is 
an Elusion to Davies by name^ which^ tor the honour of them 
both> I shall insert. They are dated in 1739, and are the line^ of 
Henry Berkeley, Esq. 

" Ask verse of him who knows to sing ; 
His well-tuned lyre bid Davies^ bring. 
And boldly strike the docile string : 


* A friend of the Author's, and of Mr, Cambridge, who was a very ele- 
gant Po^t. £siTOft. 

I S Drawn 


A narrow frith — our gM^nt ^rgd*s way, 
A door that opens to the boundless sea — 
What if a ship with strutting sail come on, 
Her wanton streamers waving in the sun ! 
Just in the midst, as Fancy would contrive. 
See the proud vessel o^er the billows drive* 

The Streight is passM, the swelling surges beat. 
The prospects widen, and the shores retreat. 
Ye Nereids hail ! for now we leave behind 
The town and palaces with tide and wind. 
Here noble Stafford* s'^ yet unfinishM dome, 
And thence the long-stretch'd race of Berkeley •\ come; 
Till, tossing and full-feasted, more than tir'd. 
We change the wilder scene for paths retir'd. 
Quit the rough element of noise and strife. 
As from a public to domestic life, 
Skirt the mild coast, and up the channel ride. 
Where Vaga % mingles with Sabnna^s % tide. 

From the same hill the sister streams their source 
Deriving, took, when young, a parted course, 

Drawn § by the pow'r of that sweet sound. 

The listening herd shall gaze around. 

Whilst from the deep and oozy bed 

Sabrina rears her awefiil head. 

And, as his notes harmonious glide. 

Forgets to roll lier ample tide. 

Ah, Cambridge ! may the chattering pie 

With Philomela's music vie. 

Then shall be heard my Clio*s tongue. 

Where you and Da vies deign a song. 
* The remains of a noble seat, begun by Stafford Duke of 

t Berkeley Castle. 

X The Wye and the Severn, 

* Immemor herbarum quos est mirata juvencSi 
£t matata suoi reqoierunt flumiDa cursas. 

Vtrg. Eel. 8. 



And many cities, many a region seen, 

High towVs, and walls antique, and margins green, 

Now gladly meet, nor now to part again, 

Go hand in hand, and slide into the main. 

In spite of Time, though wars and tempests beat. 
Ascending Chepstow shews a castled seat ; 
Beneath slope hills, and by the rolling flood, 
Clasp'd in a theatre of rising wood. 
With air majestic to the eye stands forth, 
Tow'ring, and conscious of its pristine worth, 
Sublime in its decay, in age's pride 
Erect, it overlooks and braves the tide. 

Pass a few moments! — the returning sea 
Shall those high-stranded vessels sweep away; 
That bridge, from whence the eye descends with fear, 
Low with its flood, and level shall appear. 

The giddy bank still winds to something new ; 
Each turning oar diversifies the view ; 
Of trees and stones the interrupted scene. 
The shady rocks and precipices green ; 
Or where the forms of Nature, to surprize. 
Curve into bastions, or in columns rise ; 
Here sinking spaces with dark brows o'ergrown^ 
And there the naked quarries look a town : 
At length our pilgrimage's home appears. 
Her venerable fabric Tintem rears ; 
While the sun, glancing in its calm decline. 
With his last gilding beautifies her shrine ; 
Enter with reverence the hallowM gate. 
And trace the aweful relicks of her state ; 
The meeting arches — pillar'd walks admire ; 
,Or musing listen to the fancied choir; 



Encircling groves diffuse their solemti grace, 
And dinaly fill the op'ning window's place, 
While pitying shrubs, on the bare summits, try 
To give the roofless pile a canopy. 

Here, my lov'd friend, along the mossy dome, 
In pleasurable sadness let me roam ; 
Look back upon the world, in haven safe ; 
Weep o'er its ruins, at its follies laugh. 

It may seem an impertinence to commentupon 
this Poem ; but I cannot forbear to recommend the 
appropriate features of the scene in this living me- 
moir and portrait — the happiness of the expressions, 
and the chaste abstinence from all those vapid su- 
perfluities which the taste of modern poetry seems 
to court. The picture of Chepstow Castle and of 
its bridge — the wish for the ship and its arrival — the 
comparison of the sea to public life — and last, not 
least in love^ the solemn cast of the concluding lines, 
which are like the scene they describe, appear to me 
the gifts of genius in poetical description, if I at least 
can even guess what those gifts are. 

But how diflferent is the pencil in the Poem that 
follows. — ^^In painting J the artist who has a manner, 
too generally adopted in all his works, bears the 
title of a mannerist. Horace, with infinite humour, 
to make this degrading vanity more ludicrous, tells 
a painter that "perhaps he can paint a cypress" 
— " And what has the cypress to do/' savs the Poet, 
*^ if you are to paint a shipwreck ?" Even a good 
manner may be tiresome if it is not varied, especially 
when the subject requires the diflference. 

This remark applies with powerful analogy to 
writers in prose and in verse, but in a peculiar 



degree to the latter. It is very seldom that one finds 
a diversity of manner in the same Poet. If it is 
not profane, I would say that Pope, charming and 
brilliant as he is^ wants light and shade in the ca- 
dence of his measure, and in the turn of his thoughts. 
Prior, a very inferior, but still a most engaging and 
fertile Poet, is in variety more distinguished. The 
Muse of Dryden is in this view of it pre-eminent. 
Young has written with a masterly hand in blank 
verse and in rhyme : a solemn strain in the first ; 
and pointed wit in the latter — brilliant epigrams and 
satire. Thomson is decidedly a mannerist. Gray, 
though his forte is Lyric, is enchanting in the Ele^ 
giac strain. 

Davies, if I can presume to introduce him in the 
company of these Luminaries, cannot be accused of 
sameness in the character of his Muse. — ^What 1 
have produced in blank verse of a sententious and 
moralizing cast is very unlike his Imitations of' Ho- 
race — the vers de soci^tS — hh graceful compUments 
— and his fancy in description. 

But, if I were to chuse, I would select as the fa- 
vourites those of a moral cast, whether in blank 
verse or in rhyme ; and what follows would, I think, 
of itself stamp the character of a Poet upon the 
modest Rector of Kingsland. 

It is whimsical enough, but it is the fact, that, 
after his friend the Bishop of Litchfield he^tovied 
preferment upon him there, we have no further 
trace of his Muse ; and all that he has left (except 
the Alcaic Ode, which has no date) was prior to 
17455 though it cannot be supposed that he laid 
aside his poetical habits ; and in a Poem written by 
Mr. Seward, his brother Canon, father to the mas-- 
cula Sappho *, he is represented as enlivening the 
Litchfield sett by the powers of his Muse. 

The lines are these ; 

Davies shall bring a concert of the Nine, 
And treat with genuine Heliconian wine. 

* Horace- In 


' In 1 745 he was not more than thirty-five years of 
age, when, as it should seem, his vein disappeared, 
though Uis life reached fifty-nine. 

But I have scarce a doubt that his rooted and con- 
stitutional diffidence induced him, in these later pe- 
riods of his life, to be more nice in his judgment of 
his own works, and rather to play with his Muse, 
than to aim at the improvement of its powers ; more 
especially if the weakness of his frame and consti- 
tution made him struggle with his energies^ to use 
the excellent phrase of Miss Seward. — -Perhaps the 
religious duties of his pure and sainted life may 
have infused a more serious turn of thought. — Ano- 
ther key, however, to this blank of intelligence may 
be found in the devolution of all his Manuscripts 
upon the Rector who succeeded him, and who had 
no turn for literature, so that perhaps many of the 
later works may have been destroyed, and what re- 
mains (which, but for Lady Knowles^ would soon 
have been consumed) may . have been saved more 
by accident than design. 

At seeing Archbishop Williams*s * Monument 

in Carnarvonshire. 


In that remote and solitary place, 

Which the seas wash, and circling hills embrace. 

Where those lone wails amid their groves arise, 

All that remains of thee, fam'd Williams, lies. 

Thither, sequesterM shade. Creation's nook. 

The wand'ring Muse her pensive journey took; 

She. came to mark the wandVing Statesman's home, 

And moralize at leisure on his tomb. 

* Dr. John Williams was consecrated Bishop of Lincoln, Nor. 
11> 1621, was translated to York, Dec. 4, 1641 -, died March 25, 
1649, and was buried at Lion Degla, near Bangor, 



She came^ not like a Pilgrim, tears to shed, 
Mutter a vow, or trifle with a bead ; 
But such a sadness could her thoughts employ, 
As in the neighbourhood of sober joy, 
Reflecting much upon the mighty shade, 
His glories baffled, and his wreaths decay'd. 

" How poor the lot of the once honour'd dead ! 
Perhaps the dust is Williams, that we tread. 
The learn'd, ambitious, politick, and great, 
Statesman or Prelate, this, alas, thy fate ! 
Could not ihy Lincoln yield her Pastor room ? 
Could not thy York supply thee with a tomb ^ 
Was it for this^ a lofty genius soar'd^ 
Caress'd by monarcbs, and by crowds ador'd ? 
For this thy hand o'er rivals could prevail. 
Grasping by turns the crosier and the seal *? 
Who dar'd on Laud^s meridian lustre frown. 
And on aspiring Buckingham look down ? 
How gay the morn ! — But, ere the day decline, 
Clouds gather, and adversity is thine. 
Though 'twas thy doom to see the fierce alarms. 
What had thy tott'ring age to do with arms ? 
Thy lands dragoon'd, thy palaces in dust. 
And life suspended only to be curs'd ; 
Thy king in chains, thyself, by lawless might, 
Stripp'd of all rank, supremacy, and right." 

Awhile the venerable hero stood, 
And stemm'd with shaking limbs the boist'rous flood : 
At length, o'ermatch'd by injuries of Time, 
Stole from the world, and sought his native clime. 

* He was made Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, July W, 1751- 



Yet one likes to read these early indications of 
talent, and may indulge the whim of discovering in 
the first hints of the future Poet what he was likely 
to be. 

This long digression terminates in Davies, re- 
sumed, but carried back to Eton school. I have 
caught some of his Latin verse in that seat of the 
Muses; but there is one Poem in English, which 
is quite the verse of a boy in general (and therefore 
I do not copy it), but has passages which are stamps 
of the manly character that formed a ruling feature 
of his poetical mind, and shewed him very unlike 

the ^^ ELEGANT AND THE GENTLE DaVI^s" of his 

panegyrical defamer Miss Seward. 

He was to write upon Henry the Sixth, Founder 
of Eton College. In general he has marked a pe- 
culiar judgment in the selection of his topics for 
that poor creature of a King. But I must quote the 
following lines, which few Poets have surpassed in 
dignity or spirit in the meridian of their genius 
and fame. 

*^ No papal legends, consecrated lies, 

Shall o'er thi/ merit cast their spurious dies ; 

Dull monkish miracles, and clumsy paint. 

That wrong the twaw, to canonize the saints 

There is another passage equally beautiful and 
chaste — nor have I ever seen the architecture of 
King's College Chapel so honoured in verse. 

** Thy works, beyond the reach of art, proclaimj, 

" In living characters, the Author's fame, 

** Fit for their great Inhabitanfs abode, 

" In arveful height , and worthy of a God *. 

* There is here a very curious coincidence, and it is noted by 
Davies himself in his own hand, viz, that he wrote this Poem 
before Mr. Pope wrote the following line: 

Bid Templet worthy of the God ascend ! 



** No cumbrous Gothic, of enormous size, 
*^ Heaves into air, and swells the aching eyes : 
" In graceful symmetry the piles advance, 
" With chaste reserve, and simple elegance, 
" Here soften'd stones the downy rose express, 
" And figur'd glass can RaphaeVs touch express; 
" Contending arts their magic have displayed, 
** Self-balanc'd * hangs the roof, and scorns the pillar*3 
" aid." 

I often have thought Horace of all the Roman 
Poets could fall the best into English verse, and 
without any modern infusion. But I do not recol- 
lect that I ever saw this proposition better exempli- 
fied than by Mr. Davies, m a version, as* it could 
well be called, but which he entitles, an Imitation 
of Book II. Ode 4. 

Ne sit ancillsB tibi amor pudori. 

It is almost literal, except in a beautiful turn at the 
end of it in honour to Fielding and Shirley^ two 
celebrated beauties of that period. 

This too must have been written in 1732 at the 
latest, for that is the date of the book in which it 
appears, and he was then two and twenty. I am 
pleased with it also, because it is the only English 
Lyric of his pen which I have reached. 

Don't blush, dear Sir, your flame to own, 

Yogr sable mistress to approve. 
Thy passion other breasts have known. 

And heroes justify your love. 

* This, which is the fact, produces in the verse a sublime 



By Ethiopian beauties movM, 
Persetis was clad in martial arms; 

And the world's lord too feeble provM 
For CUopatra^s jetty charms. 

What if no sickly white and red. 

With short-liv'd glow, adorn the maid. 

The deeper yew its leaves ne'er shed. 
When roses and when lilies fade. 

What if no conscious blush appear. 
The tincture of a guilty skin, 

Here is a colour sure to wear, 
And black will never harbour sin. 

Think'st thou such blood in slaves can roll, 
Or that such lightnings can arise. 

That such a dart could pierce the soul 
In vulgar and plebeian eyes ? 

No — by that air — that form and dress, 
Thy Fusca of uncommon race 

No doubt a high-born offspring is. 
And swarthy kings her lineage grace. 

Such decent modesty and ease — 
But, lest my rapture be suspected. 

Cease, prying, jealous lover, cease, 
Nor judge the Muse too much affected. 

Me, paler, Northern beauties move, 
My bosom other darts receives ; 

Think not I Ml toast an Indian love 
While Fielding or a Shirley lives. 



One other Poem solicits me. It is the Tatler of 
No. 249, hy the immortal Addison^ put into a poeti- 
cal habit ^ and shews the versatility of his Muse. It 
is in the same volume of 1732, and consequently 



The busy path of active men. 
Who tread this foolish worldly scene^ 
When bustling on their crowded stage. 
Could my reflecting thoughts engage ; 
Till soft repose, and gentle rest, 
HushM evVy tumult of the breast ; 
And my ideas, much the same, 
ArrangM themselves into a dream. 

Methought a Shilling, round and fair. 
In silver sounds harangued my ear ; 
Which, from its usual prison freed, 
ChancM on my table to be laid ; 
And, op^iing oft its polish'd mouth. 
Related an historic truth. 

* Here, Critic, spare the dull objection, 
Nor sneer the tale as idle fiction ; 
Tripods, you know, in Homer walk. 
And Bacon^s head of brass could talk. 
Thus, whether use or whim requires, 
Things known to modern theatres. 
Unheard-of prodigies, advance ; 
Tea-pots can sing, and chairs can dance*. 

*^ Me fair Peruvians climate nourish' d,, 
Where long the family had flourish'd, 

* This digression is the ex.clusive right of the Poet. 




Witness the deep and spreading vein. 
That in the Earth's rich bosom ran. 
E'er since the sun, with genial power. 
First visited our sultry shore : 
But, fearing sad Peruvians fate, 
And loathing Spain with inbred hate, 
Lest I should sneak, as others did. 
In galleons prisoner to Madrid, 
There take the habit of my foes, 
Their spectacles, and mustachoes ; 
Better to live in utmost Finland ; 
I e'en took ship with Drake for England. 

Then good Eliza^s golden sway 
Adorn'd the Isle, and bless'd the sea : 
Soon as we reach'd fam'd LondorCs sbore- 
I was conducted to the Tower ; 
There by an art of curious power, 
And quick'ning touch, no shapeless ore 
As once I lay — in ev'ry feature, 
Improv'd, I look'd a diff'rent creature ; 
Chang'd in my form, in air, in dress, 
To my surprize, became Queen Bessi 
A ruff * upon my neck was plac'd. 
My hands her globe and sceptre grac'd. 
And, in a beauteous round convey'd, 
Her titles grac'd my lettered head. 

Thus, by adoption's forming bounty, 
I seemM a native of each county ; 
And, privileg'd, my fickle mind 
To rambling strangely was inclined ; 

* All these paraphernalia are added by the Poet^ and surely 
with admirable e£fect. 



^Twas Liberty's alluring smile 

Drevir me to this her favorite Isle. 

Too long in close confinement pent. 

No sooner had I left the Mint 

But I had gossiped, and had run 

To ev*ry corner of the town ; 

In square, in street, in court, in alley, 

From Tower HUl to Piccadilly ; 

Or, when my lodging I would change, 

And in a suburb chuse to range. 

My locomotive charms were seen 

At Hampstead or in Turnham Green ; 

In better mansions, or in worse, 

In silken or in leather purse * ; 

In galligaskins, whole or torn. 

To markets, taverns^ playhouse borne ; 

Now on a Mercer's counter seated ; 

In a fat Brewer's pocket sweated ; 

Or, honour'd with a secret place 

In CselicCs or in Chlotfs grace. 

There took my short and fleeting stand, 

And softly touched my charmer's hand ; 

In a fair station grac'd and blest, 

Where kings would give their crowns to rest; 

Or left the service, yet content. 

Upon some pretty errand sent. 

What kind attentions I have shewn. 

To. each possessor well is known : 

When stomachs did for victuals ache, 

I 've treated Macer with a steak ; 

When the -Beau fear'd a Power's approach, 

For a spruce Templar call'd a coach -^ 



K With 

t »• 



With me no student in his cloysters 
Or sighed for ale, or pitCd/or oysters * : 
So ha{>py was the favVite's case. 
Whose honourM fob my touch could grace. 

Say, Ch£MIST, what could more be done, 
Had you possess^ your fancied stone ? 

Thus I ID restless journeys went 
From place to place, from Tweed to Kent^ 
When Fortune, ere I could apprize her. 
Conveyed me to a sordid Miser, 
Where many sufferers I found, 
And my relations in a pound, 
Unhappy victims ! and opprest 
In the deep cavern of a chest. 

There numVous years in bondage passM, 
Till the Old Hunks had breath'd his last ^ 
At the young Lord^s commanding voice 
The box flew open in a trice ; 
Again we catch the Sun's dear face ; 
Again renew the jocund race ; 
Away to different shops we pack. 
For brandy one, and one for sack, 
t In Britain thus, when Monarch dies, 
And Royal Heir his room supplies, 
Through Neugate joyous cries are heard^ 
The debtor freed, and prison clearM |. 

Thence I continued much the same. 
In honour, figure, and. esteem, 
Till the fam'd South Sea*s flattVing year J,, 
When palaces could rise in air. 

* P^i/iftf again. 

f Added by the Poet, and with infinite humour. 

.t This also is added. 



As the fond schemer ey'd my figure, 
Methought I look'd some inches bigger. 

But one adventure has impressM 
With grateful joy my pious breast ; 
Once, and but once, the tale you *11 stare at, 
I visited a Poet's garret, 
When the Bard, smit with grateful zeal, 
Awhile forgot his cheese and ale ; 
Preferred me to each lovely dame, 
Near VagcCs bank, or Severn stream ; 
Invoked each Muse my charms to tell. 
That in his native mountains dwell ; 
And while in verse my theme bewitches. 
Regretting less the tatter'd breeches.^ — 
Thus a wii's hand at last I fell in, 
His ever-lmng Splendid Shilling." 

Here I would close my ^lite of Davies's works, 
though I leave many other of his effusions that 
have striking and original passages in them ; but I 
hope these extracts will recommend him, in your po* 
pular work, to the notice of a generous, enlightened^ 
and impartial age. 

" No dispute upon tasfCy' we are told ; but I may 
at least indulge the wish^ if I must not call it the 
kopcy that men of genius and virtue, regardless of 
the feeble Champion he has found, niay admire the 
Poet, and may love the Man. 

Your aflfectionate 

Geo. Hardinojiu. 



To John Nichols, Esq. 

My dear Sir, fValton Grove, Mar.g^ l8l6. 

I have received a mass of recent acquisitions to my 

To save myself a little trouble, as well as to over- 
come a difficulty, in adapting these new materials to 
the memoirs hitherto collected* and arranged,ya//cre 
et effugerey I shall make a Postscript of all that I 
think worth your acceptance. 

Dr. Thomas being ten years older, Davies ap- 
pears uniformly in all his Letters, even of badi- 
nage^ to mark the respect for him due to the dif- 
ference of age. There is nothing so difficult, or so 
amiable, in the junior of the two ages. 

It appears to me, that both of them were, like 
Davies's earlier friend Lord Camden^ epicures, 
though not a hint appears that either of them was 

The Poet was fond of smoking his pipe, and ban- 
ters himself as being no hero in cavalry. He piques 
himself, however, upon his gun, and represents 
that he shot a buck with his own hand. 

Thomas was a huntsman ; but, except in occa* 
sional visits to his patron the Earl of Oxford, he 
appears to have been more stationary than Davies, 
who made frequent rambles, and especially into 
North IVales. 

I am afraid that, although he calls himself a 
fFhig, his personal affection to Sir ff^atkin ffll^ 
Hams tVynne, the most popular man of his day, 
Ton/ized him, imperceptibly to himself. Lady 
H^ffn^e appe.irs to have been one of his favourites. 

He was, at least, very Anti- IValpolian. 

' The 


The Dean ()f Lic/i/ield hhs obtained for tne copied 
of three Latin exercises written by Davies at Eton 
school. I intend making extracts from them ; but 
am arrested, in limine, by an elegant and accom- 
plished man, the celebrated Melmoth, who, in Fitz^ 
Osborne's Letters (a most charming work, too little 
read) turns all modern Latium in verse into ridicule. 

Perhaps I am prejudiced, my own father having 
made so brilliant a figure in that line of composition ; 
but, as Tnlly said, *' libentei* erro, nee mihi hunc 
" errorem dum vivam extorqueri velim." 

I make one previous remark, ad homines, to all 
the defamers of modern verse in the Augustan mea- 
sure, I never met with any one of them who had 
the talent of writing it. Dr. Johnson holds it 
cheap. He wrote in it, and was under par in the 
attempt. He was not at home in - it ; and 1 havQ 
detected in him what, in the i^^^ime of Eton disci- 
pline, would have subjected him to the penalty 
which he inflicts upon Milton at College. ' 

Mr. MelmotlCs arguments do not surprize me, 
though I think them feeble, and a little disinge- 
nuous, because I recollect his Notes upon the Let- 
ters of Cicero, translated by him with such grace 
of eloquence that one hardly misses the original. 
But his notes are those of preconceived antipathy 
to all the public virtues of that wonderful creature, 
and much even of his domestic fame. They are 
comments of polemic asperity and spleen, many of 
them ungenerous, and ill argued, though specious 
in the surface. 

One of his remarks upon the Latin Poet of mo* 
dem periods can immediately be refuted. He de- 
mands, with an air of triumph, if any post-Au* 
gustan Bard, since the language became dead, ha^ 
written a considerable Poem in Latin verse. I an- 
swer, by the celebrated work of Isaac Hawkins 
Browne, on the Immortality of the Soul. It is 
true that he could not have read that Poem when he 



wrote his defiance. But the after-existence of it 
proves that in theory he was wrong. . 

He says, the language was difficult, even to the 
Romans themselves ; and that of course we have no 
chance, unless by patches of unequivocal plagiarism 
from Virgil and Co.; for that else we are not sure of 
the idiom. 

I would first concede the minor of the syllogism, 
which, however, could be safely denied, and chal- 
lenge him upon the inference. 

If, by the occasional adoption of passages like 
these, an elegant and classical air can be given to ^ 
modern theme, it is autant de gagnS; it is a diffi- 
culty overcome, and the effect is pleasing. Nay, to 
do this well, may as much distinguish a poeti(*al ear 
and judgment, as if all the words and phrases had 
sprung from the writer alone. 

There is a kind of surprize in wit, and Locke de-r 
fines it as the union of two dissimilar images. 

But where is the fact, that modern verse in Latin 
must be, for the sake of accuracy, a theft of the 
idiom in the very habit of the antient Poet ? Is it 
in the Poem I have mentioned ? Is it in J/r. Grajfs 
Akaic left at the Grande Chartreuse ? and is it not 
an honour to the habit of an attempt at least in La- 
tin verse, that such a man chose it as the vehicle of 
his poetical feelings, at the impulse of the moment^^ 
and with a sublime efTect ? 

But I go further, and I ask if a knowledge of La^ 
tin idiom in verse or prose is not indispensable to a 
just perception of classical beauties ; and, if it is, 
whether even the miscalculated ambition to attain it, 
though sure to end in failure, does not improve the 

Will any man, who knows the effect and principle 
of style, deny that a knowledge in the taste and 
charm of other languages improves eloquence in 
our own ? 


^Jt^ZA'* '^Nr- ■ .'iiii«l ^^--^jp.*-- -^ .. .«3^; -- j»-- 


What shall be said of Milton ? Dr. Johnson^ 
who hates him with one of his excellent hatreds ♦, 
would have us believe that others have written at 
his youthful age better Latin verse than he wrote. 
It may be so, though it is new to me ; but at least 
it will be admitted, by those who. have an ear, that 
nothing in Ovid himself is more beautiful^ and, I 
was going to say« more Ovidian, than his early and 
flowing verse in that u(ieasure. 

It reminds me of a Pedant (like Melmoth in this 
article), who told me that ** Ovid stood alone, and 
that half an ear would refute the counterfeit/' 

I made believe to acquiesce; and repeated the 
following lines " out of' the Fasti /" at a future 
day, under pretence of ridicule upon them, and of 
difficulty in making sense of them. He was enrap- 
tured when I took a Milton out of my pocket, and 
read them from him. 

They are so beautiful of their kind, that I will 
insert them here, and close the discussion. 

But can it be ever obliterated from the memory 
of dispassionate criticism, that fFarton^ another MiU 
ton-hater, affirmed in his first edition the following 
paradox : 

Milton had no ear I 

He withdrew it afterwards, and without apology. 

" Desere," — Fhoebtis ait, " thalamos Aurora seniles ; 
*' Quid juvat efFceto proeubuisse toro ? 


^^ Te maoet bolides viridi venator in herbl, 
" Surge ; — tuos ignes altus Hymettus habet/* 

Flava verecundo Dea crimen in ore fatetur, 
Et matutinos ocyils urget equos. 

Was Paradise Lost the worse for these lines ? 

* " He hates fVhigs, and he hateg the Scotch, &c. — ^He Is an 
'' excellent hater** 



Having made these apologies^ I will take the cou-^ 
rage to lay before you Davies at Eton school, the 
writer of Latin verse. 

Of course I shall not claim for him the merit of his 
patterns, Ovid and Horace. But the Reader will, I 
trust, give him credit for taste and feeling, even in 
these productions. 

I will admit, beforehand, partial thefts of the kind 
which Melmoth has deprecated, but which, as far 
as they extend, are, in my conception, beauties, and 
marks of genius. 

One of these compositions, in Ovidian measure 
and style, is upon Jealousy; and it will not elude . 
the remark of tne Reader, which I can venture to 
anticipate, with how much delicacy of judgment 
this Poet in his teens, a boy at school, has combined 
Othello's different soliloquies into one ; or how he 
has varied them, without losing their spirit, in the 
extract I am now to lay before him. 

Nee minds ardescit furiis agitatus Othello^ 

Invitisque gemens polluit era sonis. 
Non mihi ^ Lrthao perfusa papavera somno 

Jam referunt puisi rounera cara dei ; 
Pallida lassatos macies depaseitur artus, 

Anxiaque in fixe lumine cura sedet ; 
Ingruit atra dies, et noctis amarior umbra est, 

Dum fcedo laesus crimine sordet amor. 
Mens tranquilla vale, et virtus quascunque corollas 

Texuerit nostris ambitiosa comis. 
Non animum exacuunt Mars et Bellona dolentem, 

Ingratos edit buccina rauca sonos. 
Jam Stygid Nemesis — Findictaque surgit ab und&, 

Sanguineo cedit corde sepultus amor. 
Ut pereat lasciva, — novos ne perdat amantes, 

Una dies vitam finiet, una doios. 

* A^lniirably yaried and shifted from Desdetnona to him. 


.i^.^*: • • "'— — -.1 


These are manly, affecting, and spirited lines, in 
the best manner of both his models. 

The other subject was that of Despair ; to illus- 
trate which, he selects Milton's eloquent speech of 

Thus early was Davies's predilection for Br'Uah^s 

Here too, which is a discipline of inHnite use in 
forming the poetical taste of boys, lie has aimed at 
the tone and spirit of the English original, clothed 
in a Parpin habit, and with Lyric melody. 

As to his plagiarism, if it must be so called, from 
Horace, I take the liberty of expressing my opinion 
that it is not servile enough to degrade the copyist, 
and is ingenious enough to recommend his judgment 
in the passages which mark his imitation of so ex- 
quisite a model. 

Orci per sdes turba silens favet 
Grale elocuto conciliantibus 
Mammone — " Demens fortitudo 
" Qud rapit et malesana virtus ? 
" Pulsus redibit scilicet acrior, 
*• Et mane ccelum proteret irrito ! 
" — Speremne cum spes ipsa fuglt ? 
" Stratus liumi superare coner? 

" Te quod negatum est quidlibet impotens 
* Sperare in armis, te, Satana, incilat 
" Vindicta? — snrgas; — etsub orco 
" Pracipitem ejicias tyrannum ! 

" Te, cinctum in armis, instrue ! — lugubris 
" Fortuna savS clade iterabitur; 
*' Victusne viciorem laceasit f 
" Nee metues MicHAELis ensem ? 


*^ Vindicta fallax ! plins vice simplici 
*^ Assurgit ultor ; desuper igneds 
^ Intorquet igues ; poena vindez 
*^ Crescit et ingeminat procellam. 

^ Ceelo tonantem sensimas obruti, 
** Regumque Regem : — Scimus ut arbiter 
*^ In bella se accingens per altum 
'^ Fttlmine'is equit&rit alis. 

** Ti^i^ir experiri vino decuit : Jacet 

*' Effracta virtus ; — sulphure livido 

** Involyimur; — quistela sumet 

*^ Tartare'is manicis gravatus ? 

** Salusne aperta est hostibus in jugo 
^' Ceelum obsidebunt ? — Fulmina muniunt 
" Et Fata portas, — an tonantem 
" Compositis veneremur arrnis ? 

*^ Absiste, cui victoria denegat 
^^ Palmam, a duello : seriils induit 
^' Ille arena, cui victorem opimus 
*^ Fallere et effugere est triumphus*'^ 

In December 1741, Davies wrote the following 
spirited advice to the Queen of Hungary. Gene- 
ral Newperg had been defeated, and Prague had 
been taken. 

Lines to the Queen of Hungaby, 
after the loss of prague. 

*Tis not /Ay fault that Europe is undone ; 

Retire ; enjoy the calm and setting sun 

While yet the conscious dignity remains, 

Nor base compliance wears the Gallic chains : ' 


. . .w ■>< 


Assume the glories of the fallen brave, 
Nor deem that lost, which valour could not save. 
Know there is triumph in well-earned distress, 
*Tis thine, — let others quake at their success. 
The princely dupes, of half thy realms possest^ 
E'en leave the field, and blast them with the rest; 
Leave rhem^ O leave them, to the curs'd event. 
To reign, and sigh' — to conquer, and repent. 
See Fleury with one hand presents the Crown, 
The other hides the scourge within the gown. 

Thus France rewards her gay confedVate slaves, 
The Prussian Boy shall have the rod he craves ; 
And Poland^ on his sons, if he prevail, 
Descending servitude, not crowns, entail. 

Who would not trust such Venerable things 
As hoary Prelates, and Most Christian K^ngs ? 
A violated faith, unheard, and new is, 
In successors of Mazarine and Louis I 

But see the Eagle to Bavaria flown, 
Happy the man who mounts the Roman throne ; 
Happy to flutter in Imperial plumes. 
With length of titles, and with sound of drums. 
Eas'd of all powV, that Gallia shall supply 
For her good cousin, brother, and ally 1 

From thirUj what memorable aids ensue 
(Firm to thy int'rest, if their own they knew), 
Let unimpassionM History declare. 
To make the future generation stare. 

Retire thou peaceful to Etrurians seat, 
In soul, superior to all sceptres, great; 



There shall kind Neptune fence the wat'ry bound ; 
lliere Natufe stretch her guardian*hills around. 
No mare thy towns be sackM, thy armies bleed> 
But noble arts to diadems succeed. 
There shall thy joys begin ; — thy labour ends, 
Secure from Foes, Relations, Turks^ and Friends. 

Her Majesty, I dare say, like other Ladies upon 
similar occasions, thanked Mr. Davies ; and went 
her own way. 

I have just received many other Letters, in the 
original of Lord Camden^ to his friend. 

One of them is dated the 29th of November 1 7412, 
and being, as I think, an excellent Letter in itself, 
1 copy it here. 

" Dear Davies, November 29, 1742. 

I am obliged to you for your Letter, and shall 
be for your verses when I receive them, which I 
have not yet; for, though IVhaley has brought 
them to town, Naylor * has laid hold of them, 
" and he detains them. 

" You desire to know how the world goes : I 
" might bid you come and see ; for a man who lives 
" apart and sequestered from the reach of all news, 
*^ and that wilfully too, deserves to hear none. 

^' I suppose you know, in general, the temper of 
" Parliament ; and of its monitors : the desperate 
instructions of your friends ^ the Tories ^ have 
shewn clearly enough their hope to be that of con- 
^' fusion. In a word, finding they are as obnoxious, 
^^ even since the change of Administration, as be- 
^^ fore, and as far distant from places, the onlytno- 
*' tives in this age to conversion : they cry out against 

* John Naylor, of King*s College, Cambridge, B. A. 1730 i 
M. A. 1734; b. D. 1749. 

« the 



*' the new Ministers with more vehemence than 
^^ against the old, and want already\to reform their 
own reformation, — ^They are, it seeois, betrayed; 
they are deserted ; and they denounce vengeance 
against those who, as they assert, have deluded them* 

" To-morrow is appointed for an impeachment of 
" Lard O. upon the Report of the Secret Commit-- 
tee. This is the last card they have left ; and they 
hope it may have one or other of these conse* 
quences — either to carry their point by the assist- 
" ance of their old friends the New Ministers ; or, if 
'^ they should refuse their concurrence, to make 
" them universally odious. What the event will be, 
cannot be seen with certainty at present, but Lord 
Ot^brd's friends are very sanguine. They, in- 
deed, ap])ear to be confident of success. 

^* If this point should be lost, the Session will be 
an easy one ; for the majority of the House, upon 

^' all other questions in support of the new men, will 

*' beat all opposition down, 

" However, I must inform you that all the new 
*^ placemen are not satisfied. Lord Gower will cer- 
tainly resign, as will my Lord Cohham^ and of 
course Pitt and Lyttelton^ who remain still in the 
opposition, but will be forced, as I hear, to quit 
*^ the service of the Heir Apparent J^ 




'^ Dec. 2, 1 742. 

'* I left off, as you see, and postponed the convey- 
*^ ance of my Letter, to give you an account of the 
** Great MotioUy and of its result. 

^^ It was moved yesterday to revive the Committee 
*^ of Enquiry against LoraOrford% but the Motion 
^' was lost. The Numbers against it were 253; for 
« it 187. 

".All the new Ministers were firm to Lord 
" Orford at this time ; for they lop^Led mpoq it «s 

*^ rather 




** rather an attack upon them, in its object, than 
upon him. 

They menace other questions of the same kind ; 
but I suspect this majority will discourage them 
from any further attempt. 

Mr. Murray^ who is made Solicitor-General, 
was introduced yesterday into the House, and voted 
*' as one of the majority. 

Here, I think, are politics enough. How they 
^^ will pleaseyoM, I cannot even guess; for the people 
*^ at a distance from town have conceived so invete- 
*^ rate a hatred against Ministers and Courts, that I 
" am afraid they would never like any Government, 
" where either of those two parties are concerned. 
. " You tell me that Liberty and Opposition are my 
^^ proper sphere. Perhaps they are ; but these 
•^ words have been pervert^, by those who have used 
<' them to such wild and strange purposes, that I am 
*' half sick of them, and would preserve the medium, 
^^ if I could find it, between a bad government, and 
** the opposite alternative — no government at all. 

** The last Instructions are so outrageous, that I 
" am ashamed of calling them Liberty ; for to me 
they appear to mean the coarse and brutal fierce- 
ness of Misrule^ and of Anarchy. Therefore, if a 
** party should rise to oppose the Opposers, I would 
*' join them, and be in the Opposition still. 

" Yours most affectionately, C. Pratt.*' 

I cannot help touching here upon a curious and 
whimsical coincidence between two future Chancel- 
lors, the first Lord Hardwicke, and the first Lord 

I had the singular good fortune to read a series of 
Letters like this, written by the first of these great 
men to a Country Gentleman, his friend, when he 
had just commenced his professional career. They 
are easy, nat^ral^ and pleasant^ relating anecdotes, 




like these, in a mo8t entertaining manner, and appa- 
rently well informed in the political circles of the day. 
Nothing is more amiable than such attentions to 
an absent and rural friend, as calculated for the sin- 
gle object of social benevolence. 

Da VIES, who was proud of his newsman, conveys 
a copy of this Letter to Dr. Thomas, and, piqued 
against him, proposes to his friend a reply to him^ 
in these words : 

" Dear Pratt, 
" By Opposers to the Opposition^ I suppose you 
*^ mean the Court and the Ministers ; to whom if 
" you are not already a convert, I foresee tliat you 
" will be, and speedily too/' 

But whatever in jest he intimates here to his po- 
litical associate, his nature was too gentle, and his 
partiality for the writer too deeply rooted, for even 
this ridicule upon him. 

In the following January we find Mr. Pratt en- 

figed at Kings College in the election of a new 

" Dear Sneyd, 

# * # « We are all busy in the choice of a new 
*' Provost. George and Thackeray are the candi- 
^^ dates. — George has all the power and weight of 
" the Court interest ; but I am for Thackeray — so 
" that I am at present a Patriot, and vehemently 
^^ declaim against all unstatutable influence. 

" The College are so divided, that your friends 
*' the Tories may turn the balance if they will: but, 
*' if they should be moody, and either absent them* 
*^ selves, or nominate a third man. Chapman for 
'^ example, Thackeray will b^ discomfited. 

" Why 



" Why are not you a, Doctor ? We could chuse 
" you against all opposition. — However, I insist upon 
'■ it, that you shall qualify against the next vacancy, 
" — for, since you will not come to London, and 
" wear lawn sleeves, you may stay where you are, 
" and be a Provost. 

" Fredericli Cornwatlis, who is come to London, 
" will solicit Snope's Prebend. You wish him suc- 
*' cess, I know; but I fancy he must wait till another 
" turn. 

" We think the Session will be short, and that 
" you will see your Patriot friends in the country 
" soon, 

" I perceive that we differ somewhat in our poli- 
" tics. — But I do not care; we agree well enough in 
" the main, and we had best, I think, deferany further 
" mention of these topics till we can debate them 
" over a bottle. 

" I rejoice in your verses." 

I have principally copied this Letter for the pur- 
pose of marking a simplicity in Davees, not unwor- 
thy of the Rev. Mr. Abraham Adams. 

He writes the moment he has received this Letter 
to his iriend at Presteigne; and, construing the light 
phrase of good-humoured flattery as a concerted opi- 
nion of the College, he writes these words : 

" Audi, Amiciiia! atilernondixerim. You know, 
" I suppose, that a new Provost is to be chosen at 
" King's. — ^This to me is no actual success, but a 
" little self-satisfaction. 

" There is much division amongst them, three 
" candidates on different grounds of interest ; but 
" I am told that I should carry it against all 
" opposition — but am not of standing enough by 
" one year. It n)ay be impudence to add, that they 
" seem determined to have a statutable election, — 
*' one of their own choosing, without Court influence! 
■' Yours ever, S. D." 

" Upon 






Upon the celebrated party-contest between Les- 
tock and Mathews j Da vies wrote a most animated 
epigram in honour to the memory of Cornwall, who 
was killed in the action. 

I have a short Letter of Thomas, dated May 1744. 

" I see Lestock and Cornwall are got into the 
" Evening Post, which got hither to-day. — They 

seem to have been put in by Velters^ or some 

friend of his ; for you see they are inscribed to Mr. 
" Cornwall; and I warrant you there are several 
" who have claimed the merit of them. 

" Sic vos non vobis. Tuus T- T.** 

I have these lines in Davies's hand^ and copy 
them with enthusiasm. 

What is the vollied bolt's corporeal maim 
Of limbs disseverM — to a blasted name ! 
Laurels and honours wait the mangled brave, 
With his whole fame descending to his grave. 
Who does not hail the gallant CornwalVs wound ? 

Who does not spurn at L k safe and sound ? 

Spare the fond sigh ! — and BritairCs tears be shed 
For dastards living — not for heroes dead ! /^S^ 

Si ^CTi^-^.-^ 


It happens whimsically that I possess a Letter in- 
tended for his friend Mr. Pratt j but not sent. — I 
have no doubt that he thought it uninteresting, for 
he had no mercy, and gave no quarter to his own 

It appears to me worthy of his pen. 

" Dear Pratt, 
" You know you saw me in town : we dined toge- 
^^ ther at a tavern, and I was to breakfast with you 
*^ the next morning ; but, upon a serious computa- 

L " tion 





" tion with myself, I found tl>e time (Ie3tine4 for V^y 
^^ absence outrun by some day^, and awjiy I sc^qoi- 
" pered, 

^^ It is well I did, for I came home just in time 
^ for business. This 1 know, that I ipissed sjeeing 

Mr. Hardinge, whom it was my full intention to 
" see ; and, if I had not been misinformed, I should 

certainly have called at Kingston:- — I shall be glad 
*• to be better acquainted with him, and in less awe 

o/* him, which a little time would bring about. 

" Between fVindsor and fVokingham^ in the Fo- 
rest, I mused not a little about you and me<, and 
versified boyishly enough : but since forgot our 
contrary situations, tending to the same poipt of 
^^ dullness and of indifference, one by weight of bu- 
" siness perhaps hereafter, the other through idle- 
*^ ness; you working at Law till you become insensi- 
ble to joy, when I shall quietly sink into nothing* 

" I recollect, however, to have lately heard thai 
you had thoughts of matrimony. 

" This will destroy the comp^ri^on Ijetwe^n us, 
" and will turn the balance of advantage to your 
" side. It will keep you awake and alert, better 
'^ than Grand Cyrus *, after a long cause at fVest- 
" minster. 

" When I began to write, I thought I had a great 
*^ deal of humour for you ; see what it is — tamed 
" and checked in the very act of writing what you 
" will not answer. — Why then do I send it? Why ? 
*' It is to let you know that I am 

" Yours affectionately, S. D.** 

'' July 22, 1 748 -f. 

* Lord Camden had. in every part of his life a passion for the 
old Romances^ and I l»elieve he had read every odq of them. 

t It may sound a paradox^ but I must correct this ds^te^ though 
it is in Davies's hand, and should think it a mistake oftensfon 
if it ii a mistake, for his figure 3 is not unlike a 4, and vice versd, 

I think 



I^. SNBfTD* DAVIM^ . 14? 

I think it is clear that in 176I he had solicited 
preferment ; for one expression contained in Lord 
Camden^s Letter to him, dated in that year, which 
I possess in the original, marks it without asserting it. 

" D£AR Davies, Camden Place, Sept. 13, 1761. 

**#*<« ^g to yourself, my old friendship and 
esteem will always preserve you in my thoughts 
without the aid of a memorandum ,• but God 
*' knows whether I shall have interest or authority 
*' enough to obtain Church preferments^ &c. &c. 

" C. Pratt/' 

What is the inference from the contrast ? That 
man is ignorant of himself, and is like Benedick, 
who did not think of being ever married when he 
said he would live a Bachelor ! 

There is another passage in this Letter, not a little 
striking, from that credulous, amiable, and fond sim- 
plicity of character which constituted a leading fea- 
ture in the portrait now before us. Though Mount - 
eney had neglected him, and had not even acknow- 
ledged the receipt of his Letter ; yet, because in a 
convivial meeting between him and Pratt, their 
common friend, he was kind in his inquiries after 
the Rector of Kingsland — he affirms with pride 
that no friend ever deceived him ! 

He appears to have been fond of humour and wit, 
but never to have courted it ; though, if it fairly 
came across him, he picked it up, dropped it again, 
and thought of it no more. 

In 1739, Dec. 23, at an early period of the inter- 
course with Presteigne^ he writes, in this natural 
and familiar style, a charming Letter to his nevr 

L 2 « Dear 








" Dear Sir, 

When I return you many thanks for your kind 
Letter of Saturday last, 1 must at the same time 
acquaint you that I fear you have a good deal to 
answer for, in speaking so favourably of certain 
rhymes ; for you must know that I grew vain upon 
it, and continued in that state for half an hour, 
till, after searching into the merits of the cause, I 
found that certain things, called Partiality and 
Candour^ at the best had perverted a judgment 
which, unbiassed, is of sterling value. I agree 
that you shall keep what is the subject of this de- 
tection, tha*^^ you may be convinced, at your lei- 
sure, how much you have proved yourself in the 

" To dissemble with you no more, I will now 
" disclose the fact, that I enclosed these trifles to 
entice you into something infinitely superior out 
of your hands; for I dare say the Muses are no 
*^ strangers in your house. You see that I am a man 
'^ of the world, and that I have interest in view. 

" As folks from raud-wall'd tenement 
*^ Bring landlords pepper-corn as rent, 
** Present a turkey or a hen 
"** To those might better spare 'em ten : 
** Ev*n so — says Matthew Prior — I, 
** For first men instance, then apply, 

" Send you a homely letter, 

" Who may return me a much better. 

^^ Dr. Cranke's * horse, upon which I had pro- 
** posed a visit in Presteigne^ has constant employ- 
" ment under him; but 1 shall with all practicable 
" speed look out for another. To convince you that 

* This gentleman eludes all search after him, though he ap- 
pears to have been very much admired and beloved by Da vies, 
and by all his friends. He was a Physician j and lived at Eyton 
flail, about three miles from Kingtiand, 

^^ Presteigne 


" Presteigne is in my thoughts, I acquaint you 
" that I have discovered a new way to it hy the help 
*^ of road connoisseurs ; — but how shall I be accurate 
" in spelling it — through Conhope, over Darvel ♦, 
" and through or near LyCj or a name somewhat 
" like it. 

" I intend putting these theories into the earliest 
" experiment; and I hope to give you an account of 
^' the new-found passage at your own house the week 
*^ after next. 

^* Is not there a sea-passage in the North of Ame^ 
" rica which has the name of Davies's Streights } 
" But how shall I establish the appiication ? The 
" last question is not so foolish as the former. But 
" I have stepped into nonsense before 1 was aware 
«• of it. 

^' Have you seen the Enquiry info the Meaning 
'* of Demoniacs in Scripture^, and the Answer'i^io 
^^ it. 1 intended a longer chat ; but the Fates, in the 
" shape of supper on the table, and company just 
" come in, will not have it so. 

" Your affectionate humble servant, 

" Sn. Davies." 

I have laid stress on the felicity of Da vies in the 
acquisition of such a neighbour, genius, guide, and 
friend, as Thomas. He seems to have been struck 
with him when he solicited correspondence with him 
in 1737. He had not been possessed of his little 
Rectory, a feather compared with Presteigne^ which 
he calls in one of his Letters a fat Rectory. Their 

* He is generally fiacetious upon these ruads^ and in one of 
his early banters upon them he calls the rocks on one side tomb- 
lane and on the ojher Scylla and Chary bdis. Who will believe me 
when I say, that in 1815, at the distance of more than 70 years, 
they are very little improved ? — 1 have experienced the infandam 

f By the Rev. Dr. William IVorthingion, a Welsh Divine. 

X By the Rev. Dr, Hugh Farmer. 



6tle is difl&rent : the latter has fallen off; the formed 
has become ^^fatT 

In 1751 Davies lost his friend, who died in that 

yw at the very age which Davies attained at the 

time of his death, near twenty. years afterwards, 

jyiy-nine ; a disparity of years which makes their 

friendship more honourable to both of them. 

I have a copy of Thomas's will. — He makes 
Davies a co-executor. He leaves him his Cornelian 
seal, set in gold, with the head of Plato done by 
Mr. Christian ; his rough tortoise-shell tobacco- 
stopper finished with gold, and two diamonds ; and 
whatever books he shall chuse out of his collection ; 
and he returns those which Davies had given to 
him out of his uncle's library ; the six pictures 
bought by the Testator at Lawton; and the silver 
candlestick for wax-light, formerly his uncle's. 

After marking where he wished they would bury 
him, he desires a marble slab, or brass plate, with a 
short inscription, in English or Latirij which he 
desires may be drawn up by his dear friend the Rec- 
tor of Kingsland ; a last favour, which he makes 
no doubt that he will readily grant to one so long 
acquainted with his great virtues, and who loved 
and honoured him accordingly. 

Is it credible? — No — but it is true — that of this 
inscription, knownio have been written — in Latin — 
there is not a vestige to be found ! In some of the 
church-improvements it has been mislaid — another 
word for lost and thrown away. 

Upon the 4th of July 174O he writes thus : 
" Dear Doctor, 

" I wish myself joy of my arrival at Kingsland^ 
** within %\yt miles of my good friend. 

" A few hours before I left Berkshire, I received 
** a Letter from you, in answer to mine from Lon- 
** rfow, which helped me to set out in good spirits. 

^ lu which county he had visited Mr. Dodd at Swallowjield, 

" Several 

Dk. I^EYD BAVINS. 151 

^' Several friends acoompani^ me as fkt ttGlouces- 
'^ tershire * ; and in the w*y to it We tnade a circle 
'^ through Newbery, and paid our homage to old 
'^ Chaucer's mansion. 

" Where can I with more propriety mention Pope 
*^ than after nanling his parent? How unhappy was 
*^ I, in ignorance of the fact that I should have 
" been welcome under his roof! But, had I known 

it, how could the knowledge avail me ? / had no 

one to introduce we+. Some time or other I 
" may possibly be introdu^ced by yourself, ^ild then 
" I cannot fail to be well received. 

" The enclosed Ode was written by Mr. Har- 
" dinge after visiting Pope; which I send you, that 
" you may wonder, as 1 do, they are not better ac- 
" quainted. Sn. Davies.'* 


PoPii fas sit nemus, et penates 
Ingredi ; quamvis strepitum malignaB 
Plebis, hie grato vacuus sub antro, 

Spernit, et arcet J. 

Ipse Musarum cobies^ et virentis 
Hortuli cultor, p^r amcena vatis 
Rura vicini, pede non profane, 

Duni licet, errem ; 

Qud ducas, qu6 me rapitis, Camotna^ 
Sake'is InBtum ktebris, et antri 
Semitd § Isetum Thamesisqae fluctu 


* Where he visited his friend Mr. Cambridge, at WiUminster,. 
near Stroud, 

t Such was the modesty (upon ttle verge of mauvaise hontej 
inseparable from the habit of his life. 

X See Mr. Pope's Epistle to Dr, Arhuthnot, — 

*' Shut, shut the door, 8(c" 

§ '' falientis simiidvita** is iuscHbed on ttie (entrance pf thb 




Me levis lymphse trepidante rivo 
Sparge, muscosi mihi Na'i venas 
Foiitis, et sacros penijtiis caverns 

Pande recessus. 


Est tuuoi, fessi renovare nervos 
Ingen! ; — nee vos, LtmureSy coruscisi 
Dedecet conchis domino * coronam 

Nectere vestro. 

Quis procul summo lapis in vireto 
Candet ? — agnosco memoris querelas 
Signa, et incisam meritSl f parentis 

Laude coluoinam. 

Qu6 vagor ? magnis simulata cernam 
Tecta, apum sedes ? caveamne lentis 
Qua salex ramis tremul&que moerens 

Imminet umbr^ ? 

An toros herbsB magis, an comantis 
Copiani sjlvse, nitidaeque mirer 
Pluriroum lauri decus, an paten tis 

Lsve palaestrae 

Gramen ? O quis me specula reponet 
Fronde'i collis, j^g^ V^^ supinae 
Clara Shenaa J, viireumque late 

Prospicit amnem ? 

♦ A piece of shell-work in the form of a croum supported by 
pillars. It is here supposed a work of the Fairies. 

t An obelisk erected by Mr. Pope to the memory of his Mo- 
ther : '* Ah EcfiMavale^matrum optima, mulierum^ amantissima.** 

} Richmond, formerly called Shene-hill, till the reign of Hen, 
VIL For the sake of the verse the word Shena is lengthened. 

§ W'th submission to Mr, Pop*, 1 cannot admire the Latinity of his idi- 
om, which makes the compliment so .equivocal, that it would Ruit the gallan- 
tries of &tppho, Q. U. — The same objection to this epithet has been made 
by others. 



Talis *, O MusiBy ferar ipse, vestro 
Fonte decurrens,— nee iners, nee acer, 
Plenus, at ripae patiens, profunda 

Flumine purus. 

Quid novS, posco prece ? me procacis 
Barbito solers leviore cantu 
Musa me nugis voluit jocisque 

Fallere vitam f. 

Littore hoc saltern viridante tecum 
Considens Fhccum videar % tueri, 
Dicta depascar || tua, sub cavern® 

Tegmine, Popk 

'^ Jpril II, 1744. 
* # # « I could wish you had not shewn Mr^ 

" Proctor the lines on . They are trifling, 

'* and he really had no intention of plaguing me 
*^ with a visit, and such a notion reported might put 

* Imitation of the celebrated lines in Denham : 

'' O could I How like thee, and make thv stream 
My bright example as it is my theme f 
Though deep yet clear, though gentle never dull. 
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full." 
A Spanish writer commends Manzofiares, the river of Madridy 
for not being deep, for not being full, for not being navigable, 
and polluted with traffick. 

t Falleniis vitm — Pope's inscription, above quoted. 
J In imitation of the compliment paid by Mr, Pope himself 
to Mr, Pelham, in the Dialogue entitled. One thousand seven hun^ 
dred and thirty eight : 

*' Pieas'd let me own, in Esher's peaceful grove. 
Where Kent with Nature vies for Pelham's love. 
The scene, the master op'ning to my view, 
I sit, and dream I see my Craggs anew.'* 
§ A metaphor borrowed from Lucretius: 

** Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant, 
Omnia nos itidem depascimur aurea dicta 
Aurea^ perpetu^ semper dignissima vit^.** 


" it into the (fellow's head. It was told me in jest — 
" though iny contempt for the man is so very supe- 
*^ rior to my abhorrence, that, if he canie hither to- 
^ night, I would send him a-packing to-morrow as 
*^ sure as his name is ." 

I have copied this extract for the purpose of shew- 
ing that one of the best-natured beings upon earth 
could be personally bitter, and for the purpose of 
introducing the verse to which he alludes. — It is 
more bitter still, but a most brilliant ^ecimen of 
satirical powers. 

That he had these powers at comorand many little 
escapes like this from his pen would prove. — But 
his temper and benevolence kept them in order, and 
at bay. 

His were, in general, the energies of a moralizing 
spirit. — But, that he could write with personal as- 
ferity y the following spirited impromptu upon the 
subject of this Mr. will afForrf ample evi- 
dence ; awd the Reader will be much pleased with it 
for its mock-heroic solemnity, which, I ttiink, was 
the favourite cast of his humour. At the same time 
he has copied the polished grace of Pope in his 
numbers with happy effect. 


Sent to a Friend at Cambridge, to be read to 
on hearing that he intended him a visit. 


Droll, heathen pow'r y — divinity obscene ; 
Save the ripe fruit, and keep the garden clean. 
Come in thy tatterM coat, and paunch of straw. 
Terror of thieves ; — thy wooden rapier draw. 
Assist and guard me from the rifling foe. 
And shake thy tulrriip-noddle at thd crow, 



With rustling gales redouble thy alarms, 
Andy if thou canst, avert all other harms! 
Avert — what more I fear than jays or owls, 
I tell thee — 'tis a visit — and from — — — . 

It has often struck me that in every man's life 
extraordinary and fomantic felicities may be found;^ 
as well as extraordinary misadventures. I have seen 
it in the first Lord Camden's life, and felt it in my 
own. Family pictures would be a romance in every 
house, little or great, if they could be faithfully de- 
lineated, as they are by Augustine Fontaine. 

It was a boon of the Fairies, that, just at the pe- 
riod of Davies's heaviest blow, the loss of his friend 
at Presteigne^ Cornwallis had become the Bishop 
of Lichfield ; and by his endearing attentions made 
thfe remainder of his life a scene of delightful inter- 
course with him, and with a most interesting sett of 
literary men at Lichfield^ who were charmed with 
him, and left the most affectionate memorials of him 
behind them which tradition has preserved. All 
his few Letters upon the subject of this Prelate 
make one love them both. 

Every word in DaviiiS breathes a " language of 
the heart." 

He writes thus to his friend at Presteigne. 

^^ Dear Doctor, Feh. 5, 1 749-50. 

Saturday night's post brought me a letter, j)en- 

ned by my Lord of Lichfield ; who takes me at 

my word *, and says that I have freed him from a 

difficulty which had perplexed him, the choice of 

" a proper Chaplain ; — a point, he adds, of the 

*, Does not this prove that he had agk^for U P 

^' utmost 







utmost consequence ; for, after much thought, he 
could fix upon no one that would answer his pur- 
pose ; that, if he could have thought 1 would have 
accepted, he would have immediately offered it*. 
He desires I would be domestic^ so that we might 
live together a good part of the year; and, though 
he cannot promise great things, he will find some- 
thing worth my acceptance ^. In short, it is a 
most friendly and kind Letter — in the fair spirit 
of his early acquaintance with me. As he desired 
an answer immediate, as to the point of being do- 
*' mestic, at least of my appearing ;}: in that character 
" when he should be at Lichfield^ by last night's post 
" I consented. — It was too late for consulting friends 
*^ (yourself) ; and I had gone too far before to think 
^* of receding. 

" Thus, against former and vehement resolutions, 
" I am become a dependant — but I surrender to an 
'^ intimate and an old friend, which makes a differ-- 
" ence^. 

" Do you not wonder that 1 should find him per- 
" fectly disengaged, and that neither his Relations, 
*^ nor the Ministry, should at all interfere? 

" Well — I am in for it, and may be lost in the mud, 
*^ if not even drowned ; but I dare believe that I have 
" strength and vigour enough to swim out again, 
" and recover land, whenever it may suit me. 1 will 
" not venture out of reach from the shore. 

" How will Harrons applaud his keen sagacity ! 
for it appears || the Bishop did really think I would 
not accept; and you know I promised you in print 
** that we should wear no liveri^a^ 5fc. 

* Here again is the simplicity of Davies*s character. — " Cre-' 
" dula res amor est.** 

t He showered upon him whatever he could give. 

J How charming was the delicacy of the condition ! It was 
like Jlworthy*s lodgings in town to be kept for km, who scarce ' 
ever used them, by Mrs. Miller, who was to let them in the mean 

§ Oh, what a self-deceiver is man ! 

il Simplicity again ! 

" Seriously, 


^^ Seriously, may not this appointment, as I am 
^^ in effect sole Chaplain, put it in my power to do 
*^ some little good * ; which I have more at heart 
^^ (you must not call it vanity) than all preferments 
** in the world ? 

" Perhaps 1 am too sanguine, having so little ac- 
^ quaintance with mankind ; and you, who know 
" more of it, may foresee difficulties which do not 
" occur to me. Yours ever, S. D.** 


June 25, 1750, he dates from the Bishop's Palace 
at Eccleshall^ in the county of Stafford. 

jj mj y^ Eccleshall Castle ; for a 

^ Castle it is, and shall be. 
Am not I tardy in writing? But can you not 
suppose that my time has been pretty much taken 
up between attendance and company, morning, 
and afternoon excursions ? You must know that, 
'^ by his Lordship s good permission, I am pre-emi- 
*^ nent as a Rambler far and near. The late Bishop's 
" Chaplain and Secretary declare that I have seen 
^ more of the County in less than a fortnight than 
*^ either of them has done in a course of nine yesfcrs, 
" You will rejoice with me that all things are to 
** my perfect content and satisfaction. The Bishop's 
*' behaviour is free and kind. These, you will say, 
are too early days for conjecture to rest upon 
them ; yet, knowing -as I do (and have done for 
years) the nian, as well as my own resolution, 
never to intrude or trespass upon his amiable tem- 
*^ per, I venture to believe that I shall find him ever 
**' the same. He remembers the host at Presteigne. 
" As I honour him, it is with cordial pleasure that 
*' I observe his obliging treatment of all the world ; 

* Simplicity again ! He is a casuist without meaning it. 

'* though 


haps at a period not very distant from this. At all 
events I insert them here. 


Thy coarse in various travel has been run, 
0*er paths illuminM by the rising sun. 
Here, Anson, rest ; thy labour is no more; ' 
Wa^«es and the tempest recommend the shore. 
See from this port the length of Ocean past. 
Look from this Eden to it^i dreary waste ! 
Serene, enjoy the contrast of thy pains. 
The burning sand, the aromatic plains. 
Here to reflection thirsty deserts brought. 
Here groves of citron through the gales be caught ! 
The boast of Europe and of Asia thine, 
Their bloom and their decay for thee combine ; 
The radiant splendour in Versailles displayM, 
And the mild beauty in FrescatVs shade ; 
Where fretted gold Elcaira's roof adorns, 
And Balbec her majestic ruin mourns; 
On the inaini'd architrave in shrubs o'er-growii, 
The living eagle soars in sculptured stone, 
Jove in the wreck, still awful and sublime : 
Barbarian ravage, and the worm of Time, 
To charm thy view, restrain their havock's power. 
Spare the rent pillars, and the falling tower ; 
Palmyra! s columns to thy mansion guide. 
And bid MinerviCs Fane resume its pride. 

-Can thy fond wish beyond possession roam. 
And sigh for Arts or Nature's charms at home ? 
Can fam'd FactQlus grace a richer mead. 
Or Tempers lawn a softer carpet spread ? 



May not that broken pile's disordered state 

Express in emblem all-consuming fate ; 

Recall in lovM remains departed skill, 

Grace the memorial, and the wonder still ? 

Upon that storied marble cast thine eye, 

The scene commands a moralizing sigh ; 

£v'n in Arcadians blessM Elj/sian plains, 

Amidst the laughing Nymphs, and sportive swains. 

See festal joy subside, with melting grace. 

And pity visit the half-smiling face ; 

Where now the dance, the lute, the nuptial feast. 

The passion throbbing in the lover's breast ? 

Life's emblem here, in youth and vernal bloom, 

But Reason's finger pointing at the tomb ! 

Yet, while thou may'st, enjoy, and love the bow'r^ 
With soul sedate above the passing hour. 
Behold thy Oriental structures rise. 
Though turban'd pride, and Sultans they despise ; 
From servile climes their Grecian arts demand. 
And rear Athenian domes in Freedom's land. 

These lines, elegant, ingenious, and appropriate 
as they are, come with a disadvantage against them 
to me ; for I was presented by Mr. Anson himself 
at the time of my visit with a Poem on the same 
topic, written by his neighbour and friend, the fa- 
ther of this Lord Bagotj which I cannot enough la- 
inent that I either mislaid, or gave or lent away, es- 
pecially as I never could obtain a copy of them. — I 
am pretty sure they exist ; but where they are now 
deposited, I have reason to fear that it is under the 
hermetical seal of his request, that no copy of them 
should be taken. I recollect in particular the affect? 
ing Episode of his Muse upon the ^^ Et in Atcadid 
ego^ to which Davies alludes. 

M tip 


To resume the Bishop : — Amongst the papers at 
Kingsland are two kind Letters, friendly and confi- 
dential as if his brother bad written them, from the 
Bishop to his Chaplain, one of them in 1766. 

Let us also resume Lord Camden. I have two 
or three short Letters from him to his Eton friend, 
which are proofs that his affection to him had not 
cooled, or lost its youthful spirit. It appears too that 
in the Letter of the Bishop, dated September 1766, 
he tells Davies he had just been to congratulate 
their friend the Chancellor. 

I shall give the Letters word for word as I have 
them before me ; and shall then make a short com- 
ment on them, reinforced by personal recollections. 

Lady Knoivlesj in the kindest manner, shares my 
zeal for the vindication of Lord Camden ; and rea- 
sons well upon the calumny of supposing that he 
was cool to his friend, who never complains of it — 
and kept all his Letters, which breathed affection to 
the last. 


" Dear Davies, jVay 1/41. . 

" Your horse, your cyder, and your Letters, are 
^^ all come safe, and I am in your debt upon the 
*^ balance 5^.3. 2^. 6d. The hprse neither has 
^^ been tried nor seen, though I dare say it will an- 
^^ swer ; your Letters are good ; and your cyder is 
'^ excellent ; so that you have reason to be satisfied 
in every point. The cyder is approved, even more 
than perhaps you desire, when you read the con- 
sequence of its popularity. Mr. Page and his 
^^ brother Sir Gregory have urged me to intercede 
" with you for two hogsheads more ; and I was 
pressed so earnestly that I could not refuse. How- 
ever, I told them it was not fair you should be at 
*^ such trouble gratis ; but that, in return, they 
^^ should give me leave to introduce you as their 
" guest wnen you shall come into these parts. This, 
^* if 1 know you and them^ will be an ample reward. 

^' I have 


** I have not yet seen Hardinge since your last, 
" but can Venture to answer for him, that he will 
^* assi&:n his claim to ttie. 

" Our Letters begin to be the correspondence of 
^ two inerchants ; and I cannot advise you better 
" than to set up for a cyder-factor, and claim so 
*^ much for commission, to learn accounts, and the 
" art of drawing bills — nay, once in a winter to see 
your customers, and settle your accompts. 
As you are determined not to rise in the Church, 
*^ what better way can you take to get money ; es- 
pecially as your Curate runs away with your sur- 
^' plice fees ? 

" Where do you go in the summer ? If it is pos- 
^^ sible, I will contrive to see you. If you go mto 
^^ Derbyshife^ I can meet you there ; if you remain 
" at Kingslandy I will endeavour to make a third 
" with iNaylor and Cornwallis. 

*^ Alas, my horse is lamer than ever ; no sooner 
** cured of one shoulder but the other began to halt. 
*^ He has two rowels in him, and must graze the 
whole summer. My losses in horseflesh ruin me, 
and keep me so poor, that I have scarce money 
enough to bear me out in a summer's ramble; yet 
*^ ramble I must, if I starve to pay for it. 

Are you one of the seven voters who polled for 

your neighbour, Bryan Crowther ? Poor man ! 

"'with all his honesty, good sense, and Jacobitism, 

to get but seven votes! I conclude, from this 

*^ fact, that he did not stand upon your interest, but 

^ was deserted by his good friends the Parsons. 

" I am, dear Sneyd, yours most affectionately, 

"C. Pratt/ 




" Dear Sneyd, Nov. 8, 1 742. 

" What good man is upon earth who is not in 
" charity with you ? I am— though you have np 

M 2 ^^ cyder 


" cyder in your country, and though you never an- 

' swered 


' clubbed in 
' at Baih. 

Letter of last year ; nay, though yovt 
writing the dull epistle which I received 

" I shall desire you in future to write separately, 
" for this copulation of three Witsgenerates dullness; 
" insomuch that, if I had not previously known, from 
" a thousand proofs, that you had been three inge- 
" nious men, this Letter would have ruined you in 
" my opinion. — ^There was not so much as nonsense 
"in it, wliich I should have exjiected from the 
"Archdeacon — or poetry, the least that you and 
" Wkaleif should have sent, 

'_' Are you so veiy bare of cyder that your county 
" will not produce one hogshead ? 1 am sorry for 
"it; but a few dozen would be far preferable to 
"none. Try to carry this point forme, if it be 
" only with a design to keep up sometliing like a 
" correspondence between us : for we are both so 
" lazy, that unless a subject, which has at least the 
" air of business, forced us now and then to write, 
" we should never set pen to paper. 

" Adieu. ■ — ■ If you will answer this Letter, I will 
" behave better in future. 

" Yours affectionately, C. Pratt." 

" Jprilsg, 1744. 
" Hardinge has received his cyder. I received 
" your Letter ; and though I intended every post to 
" answer it, I perceive it yet unanswered. This is 
" the case of all indolent men, such as you and my- 
" self, that we defer business of slight concern, or 
" of easy performance, because it may be done at" 
"any time; and, for that very reason, it is very 
" seldom done at all. But you 6nd that even to 
" answer a Letter, to look over a bill, &c. which 
" could be dispatched at those very times without ' 
" effort, become at last things of labour in your own 
" imagiDatioa. ■ 
T — ' 





^ imagination. — So it is with me, and I have at last 
^^ found it out ; I am angry with myself^ and will 
** correct it. . . 

^ Nil actum reputans si quid superesset agendum, 
is the active diligence of some great General^ I 
forget whom, — You are conversant in Classics -; 
you can tell me of whom it has been said, and 
*' where the line is to be found. However, I would 
'^ recommend the example to your imitation. 

I have seen two epigrams of yours, and like 
them extremely ; yet one * of them is in danger, 
for it b^ns now to be confidently said that Lei- 
*^ tock is innocent^ but I pray heartily it may prove 
^^ otherwise, for the sake of your verses. The Court 
*^ people will protect him if they can, in opposition 
'* to Mathews, who is no favourite of theirs. 
" Whether he is really innocent or not, I cannot say ; 
^^ but the general cry is against him. 

*^ Two Poems in blank verse, I cannot say iM«7- 
tonic, have been lately published : one is called 
The Pleasures of Imagination +, the other is Tkt 
*^ Art of preserving Health p They have, both of 
'^ them, their admirers ; but my churlish motto is, 
'^ Nil admirari, in the literal sense. But the book 
*^ most talkeil of at present is a pamphlet of Bishop 
*^ Berkeley^ s upon The Virtues of Tar^water, which 
^' he recommends as the universal medicine for all 
^ complaints. There is a deal of abstruse inquiry 
^^ into the nature of air and fire, and the Lord 
^^ knows what. It closes in some conceits upon the 
^^ Trinity. You, know how wild ingenious enthusiasts 
^* are ; but the book deserves to be read for the ele- 
^^ gance of its style, a thing rarely met with in this 
^' age of bombast. 

'' C. Pratt.** 

* That upon Lestock and ComwalL 
t By Dr. AkenMe, 
X By Dr. Anmtrong. 





*^ Dear Davies, Nov. 29, 1744. 

I beg your pardon for not having demanded be- 
fore this time the sequel of the verses addressed m 
your Letter to me. I am very much pleased with 
^^ all that I have seen, but at present the Poem is 
imperfect, and wants that finishing which is to 
bind up and crown the performance^ Do not 
imagine that I shall be at all displeased with your 
panegyric on me, for this kind of elegant flattery 
?*' n as always been allowed in verse ; and, for all Pope, 
^' is not half so unprincipled as a lie in prose. All 
such praise, by a kind of poetical charter, may be 
f^ given and. received without blushing. 

" As to your verses in honour to Knoll Hills, re- 
*^^ specting which J/arrfiw^e has written you many 
.^' calumnies, — Naylor stole them, so that I beg you 
*^ will not believe his insinuations that I am a care- 
less depositary of your verse. He hopes, I sefe, 
to displace me from the office of General Receiver, 
and get himself appointed in my room. But I 
hope that he will fail in his attempt, and that you 
will never change a reader so candid as I am for 
" one of his critical severity. 

*^ Your caution to him, that I should hear nothing 
*' of your intended Opera, came too late. I knew 
'^ it before, and will tell you at once, without reserve, 
^* that, as I am not at your elbow to instruct you in 
^' the nature of musical poetry , you had better desist 
^^ at present. 

Beforeyou can write for Handel, you shouldknow 

how long the performance ought, in strictness x>f 

*^ rule, to be-— the number and the talents of the 

singers, how many songs are to be made for each, 

" and in what particulars they excel, whether in 

^^.the soft or the wilder passions, that you may suit 

and may adapt the subject of each air to the genius 

of each performer. 

" Then you must know the number of choruses, 

*^ and in what parts they are to be inserted. * 

« These, 


« •- 




** These, besides other considerations, must be 
weighed and calculated before you think of writing 
an Opera. ' But, if you will come to London^ we 
can easily put you in a way ; and I confess it would 
be like a new sense to me, if I could hear good 
poetry and good music united. 
*^ Lord Granville, you see, is out. The Oppo- 
sition are pleased, and the Parliament is just noW 
quite unanimous. But how long this harmony is 

*^ to last I am not prophet enough to foretell. 

*^ Where arie your hares and your woodcocks ?— 

^^ Where is my Lexicon? you will say. To say 
truth, I have not the heart after all to part with it, 
though I am sure that I have no further u^e fot 

*^ it ; but I vvill give you another, for I cannot pre- 

'^ vail upon myself to part with my own. 

*^ Yours most sincerely, G. Pratt." 

The following is a copy of the Verses alluded to 
in the preceding Letter. 

To N. Hardinge, Esq. of Knoll Hills, 

DERBYSmRE, 1743. 

Hardinge, a native cbarm in ev'ry clime 
Earth's varied scene displays : from Monads Isle > 

Beheld, the distant amphitheatre 
Of mountains, rock and verdure intermixed. 
With SnowdorCs central spire, delights ; when I, 
In pleasing rapture, on a Cromlech * sit. 
Musing at eve. The time and place invite 
My song ; for here the tuneful Druids pourM 
Blest orisons, and charm'd with mystic strains 
Their oaken habitation ; or explain'd 

* A jyruidycaX Altar. 




By lecture high, the moral, social tien. 

Here on their craggy seats, tribunal rude, 

Shaded with awful misletoe, the Seers 

In hallow'd chanc'ry sat, dispensing law. 

Hither of old the dubious world repair'd. 

From the Iberian or (he Gallic shore. 

For truths oracular and righteous doom 

Appealing, nor deceiv'd : the Mede's decree 

Less firm, less visited the Tauric shrine, 

Ammon or Epkesas, or Eldest Thebes. 

But now no sainied thrones, or magic fanes. 

Or groves tltis erst enchanted Isle adorn: 

Where Inspiration, hid from vulgar eyes, 

Her sacred orgies held, a desert lawn. 

Dreary and bare, unletter'd hinds possess; 

Nor Wisdom now, nor Legislature reigns. 

No carol cheers the wild, no hymns resound. 

Save where the shepherd, on a rock forlorn, 

The legendary tale or ditty sings, 

Memorial of his brave, though concjuer'd, sires, 

By savage foe subdued; innate revenge 

Yet rankling in his patriot heart, and fell 

Inexorable rage, and steadfast hate 

Of alien tribes ; — hence, prompted oft by guile 

To lead bewilder'd travellers astray, 

O'er shelves, and per'lous sands, and bogs impure. 

Such greeting Mosti/n found, puissant Knight! 

Who, here a Saxon deem'd, by British wiles 

Cnsnar'd, the penance though to aliens due 

Bore guiltless ; near o'erwhelm'd in surging seas. 

With all his brav'ries trim, and liv'ried host. 

At Penmon Rhos ; though shining from his car, 

His blazon'd shield, of Arthur's ancient stem 

Boastful ; 



DR. 3NEVD DAV1K9. iCfi 

Boastful ; and look sincere, anJ genuine, boarse, 
Rough rhetoric, his true descent declar'd. 

Sprung as I am from mountaineers, of pure 
Paternal blood ; yei I to Mona's sons 
A luriiing stranger seem, by English air 
And food corrupted, by exotic lore 
And arts debas'd, ignobly ciTiliz'd ! 
With lowly diffidence, and niodeit awe. 
Suppliant, I seek the colloquy benign : 
Tiiey, with a keen suspicious leer, askance 
Eye me, and look as if they fear'd a guest 
Ambiguous, of an English mother born. 
Nor wonder, if ihns tempted by iheir foe, 
A double-tongued apostaie, they, infiam'd 
With more than hostile fury, destine me 
A victim to tlie shades of Heroes slain 
By Saxon Lords. The Saxon yoke alone 
Their Chronicles record ; the Norman sway 
Too late is deem'd for Cambrian ire; too late 
Thy pedigree *, from Danish kings deriv'd. 

But English thou ! by these monitions warn'd 
If search of dark antiquity, or love 
Of Nature's beauties, hither should allure 
Thy wandVing steps, beware the jealous race, 
Nor to the sisters of Parnassus t: 
Who sav'd not Orpheus from the jealous crew. 

Content thyself in fair though humble scenes, 
Thy secret Nola's f vale and verdant brow, 

* An allusion lo the descent of Ihe WnrdirayM, traced (injoke) 
to the Kings of Denmark, through their supposed aSimty, and 
partial resemblance in their coat of arms, to the House of 

t The Poet here deKfibes that Elytian scene like a painter — 
til fiiiura poeiis. 



Her grotto's waving slopes, and pendant groves. 
And lapse of murmuring rills, reflecting gleaqf^s 
Of lustre from the sun's meridian blaze ; 
Nor less illuminM when the moon full-orb'd 
Hangs o'er the mirrour down the shelving glade. 
And glitters on the gently falling stream* 

Enjoy thy cave's recess, PiVriaw shade. 
And blissful mansion — here thy Lesbian Muse 
Attend, here tune the magic shell amidst 
The vocal bow'rs, and echoing Trent s applause. 
Here feast when wrangling Senates * are at restj, 
Repos'd on Latian t flow'rs and Attic f thyme. 

Perhaps I niay here^ insert, with no unbecoming 

Srejudice of grateful and filial attachments, two 
rhapsodies of the Owner upon this favourite spot. 


Written in 1735. 

Where lurks my cave's recess, my lovM abode. 
Near Trenta^s playful stream, her bank, the road. 
Beyond that rising dale with harvest crown'd. 
Impending woods the secret nook surround. 
Lead me, ye Muses, to the lov'd retreat, 
Lead to Nolillula^s % inviting seat, 
Where,- by a fountain's gentle source supplied, 
Down the soft bank still ebbs the silver tide, 

* Mr, Hardinge was then First Cleik of the House of Commons. 

f This charming verse contains an appropriate^ as well as delt- 
cate> eloge on Mr. Hardvnge's classical pursuits, attainments^ 
and powers. 

X A burlesque poetical name for Knoll Hills. 



Where interwoven trees an arch have made. 

And the sun trembles through the dusky shade, 

Cheers the gay mead, adorns the tufted hills. 

And sheds new lustre on the falling rills. 

Why should I ask the happy scene to change, 

Or grovqs that Horace lov'd, capricious range, 

Or ask, vvhere, charming the poetic eye, 

* Stretch'd b,eneatb Woodhmse^ DcerUjfs f pastures lie ? 

Whence DarwenCs flood to rocky Matlock rolPd 

Laves the high shore, ot where the Manifald J, 

Kiss*d by the D(rje §, in social rapture glides, 

Or vyhere smooch Vaga || leads her sportive tides } 

*#* The rest has b^en mislaid. 

The copy of the other Poem is complete. 


Written in the same year. 

What cliiPs projected brow, what <;ave's repeat % 
What bowV shall hide me from the summer's beat { 
My ** indolence the shelter'd vale approves^ 
The tuneful streams, the deep-embosom'd groves. 
Beneath cool steeps, in loftiest wood array'd. 
Place and protect me with extended shade ft- 

* The admired seat of Captain Morgan in DarUy Fal&, 
f The vale of Darley near Chatsworth. 

X A river which gushes out of a rock at Ham (near Davedale) 
the seat of Mr. P(yrt, 

§ The rivers of the Manifold and the Doye, having met under- 
ground, rise together, and form one river in Mr, Port* s garden. 

II The ^ye, a river m Derbyshire, — Philips, in his Poem upon 
Cyder, gives that name to his Wye in Herefordshire. 
^ Speluncaeque tegant^ et saxea procubet umbra. — ^Vi&gil. 
** Rura mihi et rigui placeant in vallibus amnes, 
Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius. — Viao il. 
Sylvas inter tantum reptare sali^res. — Horacs^ :. * 
f f O, qui me gelidis in .vallibus Hami , . i . . . 

Sistat^ et ingenti ramorum pro^egat umbr4.?'rrVM9U'^: 



This was my wish * — Fate's pleasing gift— a farm 
Not unadornM in rural beauty's charm ; 
A garden, clean, thdugh guiltless of parterre, 
A sylvan shade overspread — a fountain near, 
Whence fresh-distill'd perpetual water glides, 
Whose glist'ring path its verdant slope divides ; 
Trees o'er the gentle precipice incline 
Tbieir social t tops, no creatures of design, 
Roofd by no art a pendent c:an{ij9j/|. — 
Swift through that slope arcade my raptur'd ieye 
Ascends to yonder hills majestic round. 
Where <tufted saplings grace the landscape's bounds 
Sleek to the sun their gilded leaf display. 
Or to the winds reveal his latent ray ; 
His influence pierces the meridian maze, 
Cheer'd by his gleam, but shelter'd from bis blaze. 

May Knights and Barons, toil their pleasure, chase 
The bounding stag, or vex the JTeather'd race \ 
Calm be my joys, enchanting though serene. 
Too proud for vice, though pure of cynic spleen. 

Nor thou, companion of my youth, disdain. 
Compliant Muse, to add thy wonted strain : 
Sportive, yet chaste, resume thy lyric shell. 
Nor cease to visit this Pierian § cell. 
—And shall not here, where native Dryads rove, 
A nymph of mortal race frequent the grove ? 


* Hoc erat in votis : modus agri non ita magnus ; 

Hortus \xh\, et tecto vicinus jugis aquae fons^ 

£t paulum silvse super his fbret. — ^Horace. 
^ iBmbram hospitalem consociare amant 

Ramis. — Horace. 
{ A bank 

With ivy canopied^ and interwoven 

With flaunting honeysuckle.— Milton*8 Comus. 
I l^iMiofeoreatusantro. 


Dare, C€lia, to despise * the pillarM dome, 

Nor scorn the lowly roof and rustic home. 

An artless cpttage, elegant -f though plain t» 

Me and a willing guest may well detain. 

Arise — for us, my fair, a purer day^ 

Pledg'd by the morn, attends ; with me surrey 

What Pope or Kent may satisfied admire^ 

Or Pelham praise, and Burlington desire. 

Come, o'er that close- fed heath's dry carpet stray, 

Where flocks on monumental % hillocks play, 

Or where the fount, in humid caverns fed, 

Septemjluous \ gushes from his latent bed. 

Haunt of the Naiads || ; — They, incessant, pour 

From copious urns profuse their liquid store : 

Down leap their streams loquacious ^ ; here they trace 

Their way oblique **, and here, with bolder pace, 

O'er many a native rock their surface break. 

Or spread their modest brightness in a lake. 

Lo ! where, inscribed with PastorelWs name. 
Yon bank records enamour'd Burdetfs Aame. 
Flourish the beach, beneath whose ample shade 
The Dane, perhaps, with Mercian damsels play'd. 
Here may we sit, and woods or fountains praise. 
In Georgic raptures, or JEolian lays, 

* Aude, hospes, cpntemnere opes. — ^Vihgil. 

t Simplex munditiis. — Horace. 

X Several ancient tumuli, where the Danes, defeated in this 
place by the Mercians, are supposed to have been buried. Tb« 
place is still called by the country people the Danes' Graves. 

§ A famous and singular spring which rose at Knoll Hilts, and 
went by the name of the Seven Springs or Seven Spouts, 

II Nympharum domus. — ^Virgil. 

^ Unde loquaces 

Lymphs desiliunt. — Horace. 

** Obliquo laborat 

Lympha fugax trepidare rivo.^— HibiilcB^ 



His who enjoyed repose near Anions flood. 
And roamM with Lalage the Sabine wood. 

O may I thus from cares, like Aim, retired. 
Studious of ease, by no ambition fir'd, 
. Far from the Senate, faction's hateful seat. 
Inglorious loiter in this rio6k*s retreat. 
*I nor Albunea^s echoing grove require. 
Nor grots responsive to the Latian lyre, 

* In a Letter of the Author's to Lord Dacre, then Mr, Barret, 
and making the tour of Italy, this and another emendation are 
explained a little more in detail. His words ajre : '^ I wish you 
would visit the famous TivoLi, and the Anio, if it were only 
to settle the reading of two passages in Horace where he deli- 
neates that scene. 

Me nee tarn patiens Lacedaemon, 
Nee tam LarissiB percussit campus opimae 

Qukm domus Albuneae resonantis^ 
£t prseceps Jnio, et Tibumi lucus^ et uda 
MobHibus pomariarivis. 

« « 4^ «: « w 

Eripe te morse, 

Ne semper udum Tibur, et Esulae 

Declive coutempleris arvum, et 

Telegoni'^uga. parricidse. 

'^ In the first of the passages I have had the boldness to read 

nemus instead of domm, upon VirgiVs authority. 

Lucosque sub alta 

Consulit Albunea ; nemorum quae maxima f sacro 

Fontesonat. — ^Virgil, -^n.VII. v. 82, &c. 


*' Ne semper udum, &c. I suspect this to be a false reading in 
all the Editions and MSS. 

'^ For, as Horace invites MtEcenas from Rome to his Tibur, it 
seems inconceivable that he should press him to make haste, 
lest he should be always taking a view of Tibur, How much 
properer would it have been to recommend his departure from 
Rome that he might enjoy the scenes of Tibur. 1 therefore change 
NE to UT. N. H." 

Ut coutempleris may be rendered that you may take a nearer 
view of, &c. which is the import of the word. 

Mr, Phelps had written upon this very passage a most inge- 
nious Essay, which the Reader will see in the Appendix, as it 
forms part of his first Letter to Dr. Davies. 

f Horace too himself tjppeare to intend this word in that short picture 
of his villa*— circa nemus uvidiqae T^buris ripas. 



Nor famM Pranestej nor the Baian coast, 
I^or what soblimer scenes the Muse can boast. 
Vies not that rising lawn with Tibufs hill, , 
This trembling brook with cool Degentia^s rill ? 
To my pure stream Blandmid's mirrour yields. 
And all Campania to my velvet fields. 
There, o'er the summit of surrounding trees, 
A world of^charms the curious gazer sees ; 
TrenVs wanton maze, and villages, and fanes. 
The valleys half-conceard, or op'ning plains. 
Here smooth declivities by wood embrac'd, 
Here, in horizons lost, a distant waste. 

Tempt me no more that Alpine scene to range. 
Or with delight those wonders to exchange. 
Though mountain summits oft aspire between. 
Beneath a parchiog sun, with mantles green. 
Though Darwent there in wild meander flies, 
Though Darlei/s Vale allures romantic eyes. 
Though Matlock's verdant cliffs heav'n-born appear 
To musing Fancy, what / seek is here. 

But to return to Lord Camden : — 

^' Dear Sneyd, Feb. 28, 1744-5. 

*^ How can you have good-nature enough to keep 

^ up so worthless a correspondent ! Your Letters 
unanswered! your Verses unpraised!-r- yourself 
treated with i^uch disregard that nothing but 
your easy ten}per, unless I may add your persua- 

•^•sioitthat I love you, could prevail upon you to 

" forgive rae ! 

- "I assure you that I havel the most affectionate 

" regard for you ; but my laziness, and my aversip» 

'^ to writing, are ^most incredible. 



" 1 am now going the Circuit, but I cannot leave 
" with a good conscience unless I make my peace 


r las 

t that y 

,1 would 

' like to see the pamphlets of the time. I am in 
' this article the most ignorant of men ; for 1 have 
" not curiosity enough to read the common trash of 
" the day ; and 1 do not think I have read 6ve 
" pamphlets in the last five years. 

" The politics of the hour, as I gather them from 
" conversation, are at present incomprehensible. 
" The supphes in effect are granted. — Broad-bottom 
" and the Pelkamites at present are one — but how 
" long this junction is to last I despair even to guess. 
" No Popular Bills, as they are called, are to pass 
*' during the Session. But the day before yesterday 
" the House came to a Resolution that an inquiry 
" should be made into the conduct of the two Ad-^ 
" mirals in the Mediterranean. 

" Lord Granville's friends are mute, and sit by in 
" hopes of a quarrel between the new Ministers 
" and the old, and they endeavour to sow distention 
" amongst them. The new men wish to carry some 
" popular measures ; and the old ones are unwill- 
" ing to weaken the Government by these conces- 
" sions — an outward unanimity in votes, but much 
" distraction of sentiment. However, as the main 
" business of the Session, the Supply, is over, they 
" will probably keep together at least this year. 

" Thomson is going to exhibit a new Play, an 
"extraordinary thing in these barren times; for I 
■' do not remember any period since the revival of 
■' learning so deficient in good writers. 

"Jack Naylor* '\s m town, after preferment; 
■' but I fear he will dance attendance for some time 
' longer. 

" How are you inclined for a journey in Sep- 
' tember to the Isle of .Anglesey? 


' A King^t Collegt friend ot them both. 


" Our Summer Circuit falls late, and vrill not be 
" fini3hed, I feiar, till the end of August — perhaps 
** too late for a ramble. 

•^ Poor Rees * / I have to i?iy shame forgotten 
him ; not in the article of preferment, which has 
not been in my power, but in making th^ little 
cplleetion for him, which I firmly intended ; but, 
^^ if you will mention it when I come back, I will 
^* set about it. 

*' Farewell! — Service to /)>•. Thomas and Cranh. 
** — Crawther is a blab. He told Mr. Harley that 
" I was only within a hundred yards of his brother'* 
^' house, and I have been rebuked. I hope,, as Lord 
^ Batemcm is dead; that Shohden will be inhabited 
** again. — Write soon, and your Letter vnW be for- 
^* warded after me. 

" Yours affectionately, C. Pratt.*' 

■ ■ , . 1 

From this time there are no traces of corres^pond- 
ence (amongst the Kingsland Papers) between these 
two dear and pleasant friends, till Sept. 13, I760, 
when Lord Camden was Attorney General; and 
then we find this Letter : 

" Dear Davies, Camden-ptace, Sept. 13,1 760. 
*^ Though your cyder is a daily memento that I am 
" a Letter in your debt ^^ yet I confess, with shame, 
^' that 1 have deferred my answer^or three weeks -f- ; 
" for, when it came to London^ I was in Monmouth- 
*^ ahh'C upon a ramble. I heartily wish it may be in 
** my power to do any thing for poor Rees Price. My 
" Lord Keeper ;}; is now, and has been for above a 
^^ year, under promise to give me a Living for a Rela- 
^ tion of my own ; but has been so tardy in the 
perfornaance, that I can scarce entertain the hope 
of his doing much for Price upon a new applica- 

f This proy^ the CQiretponding habit between them. 

+ Sir Robert Esnieyj afterwards liord Jfeitey, and Lord ChaxW' 


" tion. Nevertheless, 1 will try my interpst with 
" him, though I cannot answer for ttie success. 

" As for yourself, my old friendship and esteem 
" for you will always preserve you in my thoughts 
" without the aid (if a mcmnraiidum* . But (iod 
" knows whether 1 shall ever have interest or autho- 
" rity enough to obtain Church Preferments. My 
" friends at present have no weight in these dispo-' 
" sitions, as you well know; and they who have are 
" no friends to me. Times may change; and it is 
"possible that I may be more considerable than I 
" am at present ; but I am afraid it is probable that 
" I shall not. Be this however as it may, and let 
" Fortune deal with me as she thinks fit, I shall, in 
" all conditions, remain, unalterably, your sincere 
" and affectionate friend, C. Pratt." 

" My dear Davies, September 21, 176I. 
" When I received your Letter, I threw it amongst 
" a parcel of Cases, to be answered as soon as I re- 
" covered fiom an ill state of health, which then 

* rendered me incapable of business. I am now 
*' got perfectly well, and should have answered your 
" question in two or three davs." 

[He then gives him a Law opinion, lamenting that 
" he cannot by a dash of his pen alter the Law for 
" his sake," butwhich is "too stubborn ;" seep. 4^1^ 

" Lincoln' S'tnn-Jields, Feb. 12, 17( 
" I remember you prophesied formerly that I - 

* should be a Chief Justice, or perhaps something 

" higher. Half is come to pass. I am Thane of ] 
" Cawdor; but the greater is behind ; and if that 
" fails me, you are still a false prophet. 

" Joking aside, I am retired out of this bustling 
" world to a place of sufficient profit, ease, and 
" dignity; and believe that I am a much happier 
" man than the highest post in the Law could have 

* Docs nut this appear to point at a memoruidum as baviog 
Iwea made, though superfluous } 



^' made me. If I regret any thing, it is that I shall 
never now be able to promote you to the Reverend 
Bench of Bishops. 

*^ I am a cloistered man ; and, as you have now de- 
serted London^ I shall never see you till I go the 
Oxford Circuit, and that I fear will not be soon. 
^^ I wish that our lot had placed us nearer to one 
*^ anbther. But I have been too much in the world, 
and you too much out of it, for conversation be- 
tween us. My love is the same towards you that 
*^ it ever was ; neither time nor distance can make 
^* me, any other than, &c. C. Pratt.** 

" Dear Davies, Bath^ Jan. 8, 1764. 

^^ I am so lazy, and so deeply immersed in 
" the diversions of this place, that I have not been 
" able till this blessed Sabbath to bestow a few mi- 
nutes on a reply to your Letter. 
** 1 thank you for the verses *. The worst of the 
two copies pleases me the best, because it is flat- 
^^ tering to myself. But the other is a fine perform- 
^' ance, and valuable to every body. These waters 
*^ have perfectly restored my health ; and I begin to 
** think I shall become a regular visiter to this place, 
** where I shall entertain some hopes of meeting 
'^ you now and then, since I despair of that pleasure 
" in London. 

** I would have you think seriously upon this sub- 
ject; for I do verily believe that solitude and 
the bashful shunning of company, have been the 
** true cause of your indifferent state of health* — - 
** My prescription therefore is, com^ hither e^eiy 
*^ year, and write a good many verses when you are 
^^ alone at Kingsland. I would advise matrimony ; 
^^ but you are too far gone for that, and have lost 
*^ your opportunity. — Farewell I and follow my 
** orders.** 

* What these verses are does not appear. Perhaps th^ Pcend 
on Caroctocwr forms one of tbe topics. 

V 2 In 




Ii* 176*7, Mr. Davies had a copy made of his own 
portrait, and sent it as a keep-sake to Lord Camden. 
He was by this time in town; and Lord Camden 
writes to him this note : the direction is, 

" Mr. Grove's, Park-place, Sf. Jamess-street. 
" Dear Davies, j/iprii . . , 1 766. 

" I dehvered your verses to the old gentleman,' 
" and shall be glad to see you and tlie Bishop of 
*' Lichfield on 'I"hursday. 

" The old gentleman begs me to paste the verses 
" on the back of his picture, near Mr. IVeafs in- 
" scription, Camden." 


"Mayj, 1766. 
" I am extremely pleased with your picture, be- 
"cause it is like, and your gift. I shall be very. 
" glad to see you as often as you may contrive ta 
" call, either here or in tiie country ; and will take 
"care to obey all your commands. — My time, 
" however, is so awkwardly circumstanced, and my 
" avocations are so uncertain, that you may not al- 
" ways meet with me, &.c. Camden." 

" Dear Davies, LincoMs-mn-Jields, May 12. 

" I have inclosed and franked your Letter, and 
' return you a thousand thanks for your picture. 
' It shall be hung up by the side of old Camden, 
' and the verses * shall be inscribed on the back, so 
' that the same canvas will represent your geniusi 
' and your person, and will remain a lasting me- 
* morlal of our friendship. 

" My sittings begin to-morrow, and will last duP' 
'' ing the remainder of the week. This is the mosi 
■' fatiguing part of my office. After this, I shall go 
■'• to Camden-place, where I shall be very happy to 
' see yon. Yours most sincerely, Camden." 

* Tliese vertcs will be glwn ia a future ptfgi. 



' In the same year, Mr. Camir/(%e wrote an 'excel- 
lent quotation tolum. 

'* air John, thy tender laiufbkrn now is King. -^ 
^^ I give you joy, thalt your old, amiable, learned, 
*^ ai&d nrespectatble friend, i« now Chancellor. I hope 

it is also very agreeable to yon, that your Bishop 

(Continues, with the addition of the Deanry, &c. &c. 
Uwhhenhamj July 5 1 . R. O. 'Cam»rid6£.** 



I have alluded already to a misunderstanding on 
the part of Da vies in 1766; but it seems to have 
made no impression upon Lord Camden*s mind, 
who afterwards wrote thiis Letter to his friend, in 
which I see nothing distant or cool : 

" Dear Davies, Aug. 5, 1 768. 

'' There is a little living vacant in your neigh- 
boiirhood, called Aymstrjf. It is in my gift ; and 
perha,ps, as the parish adjoins to your own, it 
may be worth your acceptance. Be so good as 
to let me know if you like it. The benefice may 
'^ be convenient for you, though the value is incon- 
** siderable. It is not worth your thanks. Camden." 

I took notice that in 1766 Davies's nerves, tem- 
per, and spirits, were affected. This, I dare say, 
was paralytic. I understand from Lichfield that he 
was grown pale, and reserved. His picture de- 
scribes him m perfect health, but with prominent 
eyes, which are indications generally of irritable 
nerves. — But I possess a Letter in the hand of Da- 
vies, written at this period, and the copy, no doubt, 
of his answer to the Chancellor. 

Had the offer ofiended him, or had he then en- 
tertained the idea that his friend had been previously 
cool to him, he would have marked it in this reply, 
which is temperate, respectful, and friendly. But 
the hand is parblytic ; and the characters, not easily 
read, 'prove that all his energies were flown ; and the 
turn of the Letter marks the decay of stamina, which 
terminated in his death a very few months afterwards/' 

1 82 


" My Lord, ^ng-9, 1768. 

" Extremely obliged to you for having me in * 
" yoor friendly thoughts, and should thankfully 
'* hftve accepted your kind ofler of Aijmstry Living, 
" if my weak state of health permitted, which was 
" the reason I did not apply to you for myself, when 
" I took the freedom of writing to your Lordship ' 
" last post in behalf of Mr. Evans, a most valuable 
" man, and for whom I have the greatest respect. 
" May I again repeat my earnest request, that your 
" Lordship will be pleased to bestow it upon him ? 

" Upon recollection. Lord Bateman will proba- 
" bly apply, who has the best title to recommend. 
*' In that case I by no means ask it. Mr. Evans 
" and myself are both of us obliged to his Lordship." 

The answer was friendly, and in these words: 
" Dear Daviks, Camden-place, Aug. 14, 1 768. 

" I am very sorry your application for Mr, Evans 
" comes too late. I am engaged to Lord Oxford, if 
" you refuse Aymstry, 

" I should think you might serve it, by a Curate, ' 
"without any inconvenience to yourself; but you 
" are the best judge. 

" Your Liclifield Patron is gone to Lambeth. I 
" shall remind him of you, if your modesty should 
** be silent. Camden." 

In January of the next year, five months at the 
most, he was no more. 

As I never have been Chancellor, I am not at ' 
home in the difficulties of reconciling patronage to 
personal affections ; but this I know, that Lord ' 
Camden was not accused of deserting friends, though 
he was often, to my knowledge, hampered, as in 
the case of this Aymstry Living, by Peers, or men 
of consequence, who lived in the neighbourhood of 
tbc vacant preferment. I can also recollect that he 
gave Livings and Prebends to men for whom he 
could not have a tithe of the regard which he uni- 


formly expressed for his Eton friend. This may 
appear to be an ill-omen'd apology for his apparent 
inattentions to the Rector oi Kingsland. But, if it 
is fairly analyzed, it is unanswerable. It must have 
arisen from circumstances which he could not over- 
come ; especially when I add, that Sleechy a com- 
mon friend of them both, was preferred by him. Per- 
haps the apparent, or, occasionally, the real indif- 
ference of Davies himself to any additional pre^ 
ferment, perhaps the observations which could not 
fail to be made upon his enervated mind, upon his 
age, and good circumstances, may have co-oper- 
ated — when younger men who were necessitous 
became (if they ever did become) his competitors, 
and the influence of great men was thrown perhaps 
into the balance in aid of those feelings. But I lay 
great stress upon the absence of all proof that the 
JBishop of Lichfield was piqued for his friend, as he 
lived in constant intimacy with Lord Camden. In* 
deed, it should rather seem that a shyness had there 
also taken place; for, T am now to mark a con- 
firmation of Lord CamderCs affectionate reproof tp 
the modesty of his friend on the elevation of CoHi- 
wallis to Canterbury, by a most pleasing &ct of a 
dal^^st prior, in the difference of only two days. 

It is a Letter of Mr. Richard Phelps, whom we 
have dropped so long, and who, I should think, 
had scarce ever stirred from town after J 763. It 
shews the kindest affection to his old friend, when 
he had himself not more than two or three years 
to live. He dates it, however, at Ross, in August 
1768 *. 


* In this very month ofAugust he made his will. In six months 
}ie wsis no more. It is pleasing to observe in his will a l^acy to 
Bichard Phelps of a cornelian 1^^ set in gold^ and representing^ 
Shaketpeare^s head. 



It is in theae words : '" ' 

" Mv DEAR Doctor, -^^g- 12, 1768. 

" I heartily congratulate you ui>on your friend's 
" exaltation to the See of Canterbmy ; suppose you 
*' write him two or three words, by way of sayinrr 
" you are very glad. 1 suppose, till the necessary 
*' forms are passed, you are to direct, Bishop of 
" Lichfield. My landlord desires me to send you his 
" compliments and best wishes. Adieu, my worthy 
" friend. Most affectionately yours, R. Phelps." 

N. B. In the hand-writing is also perceptible » 
bint of his [jUr. Phelps^s] premature decay. 

But the heart is young and amiable still *. 

Though, in general, after the death of Thomas^ 
one has little of the Poet, and though, as 1 appre- 
hend, he was more or less paralytic in the nine or 
ten last years of his life ; yet, upon the jst of De- 
cember, 1763. he resumed his vein, and wrote a 
most elegant portrait of ^T/r.^rf(/»i5'.« villa near Bath, 

It is observable, that in this little Poem he hag 
left the Miltonic measure, and falls with graceful 
ease into rhyme ; perhaps because it was less diffi- 
cult, and required less toil in thought or in the 

But the native turn of his genius was rather force, 
and weight of sense and of spirit, than of ornamentf 
like these — we shall call his tirst manner before we 
have done with him. 

In the mean time, what can be more genteel than 
his lighter effusions? 

Could not IValler have written the Poem an- 
nexed, a little primed in his conceits ? 

• It aeemstohavebpcnadelightfulpart of Mr. Fhe}jisic\iAne- 
ter thar he gave himself no airs, whether as n traveller, as accom- 
plished m lar.i^uagea, or as a poiiulitr taiouvite and keeping the 
bcii company in town, or aa poiiiicaifora lime, and the Secrerary 
of a Cabinet Minister. The simplicity and good humour of his 
deportment are often louthed by his friend with due praise. 





Smile, jivofif ia tby course, an<l flow with pride. 
Not that aspiring villas crown thy side. 
That airy piles the raptu9*d view surprize, 
That Fanes and Cities on the bank arise ; 
Less haiighty, and more pleasing views appear — 
Look nearer — nearer yet — the scene is here. 

Smile, ^v&n, in thy course, and flow with pride } 
And, as thy currents mingle in the tide, 
Ask the congenial rivers all their boast, 
Or on the Latian bank, or Grecian coast ; 
Ask Peneusj warbling in Thessalia^s field ; 
Ask Arno^s Muse what charm her valleys yield. 
And soft llyssus^ in the tuneful shade. 
Who points to names of glory now decayed. 
** Here, the pale envy of all-conquering Rome^ — 
** That shrine to Theseus — there ApolUfs dome. ' 

Pensive be wanders through Athenian plains, 
And whispers to the ruin mournful strains. 
Hail, happier thou, through living wonders glide ;^ 
Flow, Avonj in thy course, and swell with pride ^. 

I have received, Jan. 11, 1816, a Letter from a 
gentleman, vA\o saw and well htew Dr. Da vies in 
that same year 1763. His Letter is very important 
iti its value to me, as it accounts for all the /lecu/mri* 
ties of the Doctor's deportment in 1^66; confirms 
the Bishop of Lichfield and Miss Seward; agrees 
I0 the expression of the portrait ; and marks, what I 

* A whimsical incident followed this claim of the Poet upon 
Che rivfir: for almost immediately after this composition was 
written^ the Jhon bad a very unusual floods which of course, in 
jestj made the Poet vain. 



otherwise knew by the evidence of a most acute, in- 
lelhgent, and venerable witness, that in the declining 
years of his hfe he was not in his perfect mind. The 
substance of the Letter is, that he had a paralytic 
stroke in I763, which left him enfeebled, but not 
broke down, feeble in health and spirits, reserved^ 
and retired. He describes him as piqued that 
Cornwallis gave him only feathers, but no sub- 
stance, and as having told the Bishop this remark ; 
an assertion utterly unfounded, and a complaint ir- 
reconcilable to tetters in which he desciibes the same 
Cornwallis in terms of the most grateful attachment 
— irreconcilable to the delicacy of his (perfect) mind, 
and the high spirit of his character. 

Mr. Pennant has a description of Caer Caradoc. 
It ia a part of his Tour in Wales. 
His words are these : 

" It has from very remote times been traditionally 
" considered as a strong-hold of Caractacus. 

" A society of gentlemen, struck with admiration 
" of his virtue, met annually on the hill, to celebrate 
" his name in prose and verse. 

" In one year a gentleman, distinguished as much 
*' by his modesty as by his great ingenuity, inspired 
" with tlie subject, almost instantly extolled the 
" most brilliant part of the history of Caractacus in 
*' the following lines, which 1 flatter myself will re- 
*' lieve my long-suffering readers after the satiety of 
" my Welsh pen, now hung up for ever." 

Here, by the way, is a third instance of closing 
a work by an extract from this Poet, and a high 
compliment in honour to his genius. 

Here too, as by Mr. William Duncombe, his mo- 
desty is not omitted in the subjects of ^loge. 

I have 



I have a Letter from the Rev. Mr. Archdeacon 
dorhet^ of Longnor, addressed by him to Mr. 
Kynaston Powell j Knight of the shire for the county 
of Salopj which throws more light upon this Poem, 
and is admirably well written by a most admired and 
respected person, as I have always heard from those 
who are acquainted with him. I shall extract from 
it what immediately relates to this Poem, with grate- 
ful thanks to him, as well as to Mr. Powell, who 
recommended my wishes to his attention* 

" Dear Sir, Lovgnor, Dec. 26, 1815. 

*^ The late Rev. fViUiam Russell, originally, of 
Sidlejf Hayes, not far from Caer Caradoc (or the 
Caerdoc Hill), afterwards of Overton in FHnt^ 
** shire y and who died some years ago at Chester, 
^' was supposed by my father to have instituted the 
^^ Caractacan meeting, by making parties to ascend 
*^ the hill, where they partook of a cold collation, 
^ and where Mr. Read, the Rector of Munslow, 
^^ made an oration in honour of Caractacus one 
'^ year, and perhaps other gentlemen spoke at other 
^^ times. The dinner at the top of the hill was soon 
'^ discontinued ; and the encouragers of the meeting 
^' ascended the hill before dinner, but returned to 
*^ dine at the Bowling-green House at Longnor. 

^^ Dr. Davies called at this inn upon one of the 
*^ days of meeting ; and, hearing the purport of it, 
*' composed for the next year some verses, which he 
** transmitted, and which were then, and for many 
succeeding years, recited by some one of the com- 
pany before dinner. 
" I our Letter led me to see what positive informal 
'^ tion I could add to the general idea which I had 
** formed upon the subject. 

" Dr. Davies's verses were recorded in letters of 
*^ gold upon a black frame hung up in the Bowling- 
" green house at Lonsnor. When that ceased to 
'^ be a public house, they were brought to Longnor 

« When 



" When I fitted up a court-liouEe for the manors 
" of Si/dley and Cardington, within which is the 
" Caerdoc, I removed the verses thitlier. 

" The only inscription wliich they bear is Carac- 
" taats, 1757. I conclude, therefore, that was the 
'• year in which they were composed, 

" The meeting could not then be of long stand- 
" ing. Mr. Russell, the founder of it, was born in 
" 1733 ; and though all who remember him will give 
" him praise for inventing schemes of amusement at 
*' an early age, yet, as he would be only 24 years of 
** age in 1757, there had not been, I should think, 
" many returns of this celebration of Caractacus 
*' prior to that year. 

" Mr. /'fildm^, oi All Streiton, informs me, that 
*' the first meeting at the top of Caerdoc was called 
" hy Mr. John Russell, of Etichmarsh, a person of 
" some estate within the manor. He was High 
*' Constable, and summoned the Petty Constables 
" of the Hundred of Munsloiv to meet him at the top 
** of the hill, where he directed an Innkeeper from 
'*' Church Sfretlon to bring cold meat and liquor. 
'" This probably suggested the idea to Mr. Rmsell* 
"*• of Sydley Hayes, of establishing an annual meet- 
' ing. Joseph Corbet." 


All Rome was still — -the Nation stood at gaze ; 

.forth came the mighty Chief, august in chains. 

Unbroken, unsubdued; — his lofty air 
I 'Stern as in Reld of battle ; round he lookM 
' 'Wiih steadfast glare, a lion in the toils. 

Yet mindful of his fate — to Casar's throne 

He bow'd majestic, and majestic spoke : 

* This gentlemEin, aa Sir. /hchieacon Corbel reports, died two 
years ago, at near 100 yean of age, and inorried a lecmd wife at 
putt 90 ! 


" Had moderation sway'd iny prosp'rous days, 
" Ravie had beheld me Ciesar^s guest and friend, 
" Nor biusli'd, for I am of a scepter'd raca 
" That rul'd Brilannia's independent Is]« 
" Beyond all annaU of recording Fame. •^ 

" If Home commands, must vassal worlds obey f 
" What 1 not resist ? — The undefended rights 
" Are vanish'd — cowards only are ynur slaves. 
" Yes, I had arms, and wealth, and friends, and fame; 
" AVhal ? — tamely give them up ! disgrace indeed 
" That I so long withstood your baffled powers 
" Forgive me, Boman virtue, that offence. 
" Had I a cheap, an easy conquest prov'd, 
" My ruin and your glory had been less ; 
" Oblivion soon had veil'd my dastard name, 
*' Unworthy Caesar's triumph : death or life 
" Are at his dread disposal : that or this 
" I neither fear to meet, nor scorn to ask." 

•* Yes, noble Captive," said the Lord of Jlomt, 
" Thy life is sacred, and thy freedom seai'd. 
" My sole ambition, soaring high, retjuires 
" Around my banners and triumphant cars 
" To bear thy valiant Country's glorious name." 

He spoke, and thund'ring acclamaiiomrung. 
Shouts that half rent the Capitol proclaim'd 
" Imperial mercy to the gallant Foe." /^^^^i 

All eyes were put in wonder ; some admire ^ifiSSw 
His front erect, broad limbs, and martial port ; ^"^^^ 
All, the unwearied valour that had cop'd 
With Roman prowess, and well nigh prevail'd. 
^ot bold Juguriha, not the Syrian King, 



tllustRations of literature.. 

Nor Perm's, 'reft of AU.rander's crown, 
' Attracted more regard, or gazing awe : 
Ev'n Claudius, in liis radiant seat sublime, 
The world's great master, with his legions fierce 
And glitrriiig eagles, wiili liis trophied pomp 
And pride begirt, look'd little on his throne. 

Brave Caradoc ! applauded by thy foes, 
What shall thy friends, thy grateful Britons, say ? 
To thee what columns and what shrines are due ! 
Thrice told five hundred courses of the sun, 
Thy age is green, thy laurels fresh in leaf, 
Still on thy well-fougin hill, whose stony brow 
O'erlooks the subject plains, the gen'rous youili 
Gladsome repair with annual fiow'r and song. 
And festal music, to record thy praise. 
But whither Bed is thy heroic fame ? 
IF aught regarding this dull orb of earth, 
Boils not thy wrath, and chafes not thy renown. 
To see the rivals of all-conquering Home, 
Thy harJy Britons, foil'd by tinsel Francef 
Imagination frowning pictures thee 
With featur'd veneration, scorn, and shame — 
Henries ! and Edwards I thunderbolts in war, 
Where is the lion-heart, and sweeping swor<l( 
That purpled Agincourl, and C/wsy^ field? 
Assist — inspire our host ! But chiefly thou. 
The champion-guardian, Genius of the Isle 
Hover around our tents, thy lance in air 
Direct, and spread the visionary shield : 
Call — rouze thy countrymen — to arms, to arms I 
Ye antient Bards, ye mystic Druids, bail ! 
Prophetic transport seizes me — I see, 



Though dim in prospect, from this craggy height^ 
Unrolling clouds illuminate a scene 
Of joy and triumph ! — Hark — they shout — I see 
Britannia^ s Trident vindicate the main, 
Her colours waving in Columbian skies 
Victorious — Peace returns, and Albion smiles ; 
Proceed, ye Britons ! mark the kindled fire 
In this unwarlike breast — ^my vefran Muse 
Shall march along in spirit-breathing strain, 
Sound her Pierian trumpets, to awake 
Her sleeping Country, and her laurePd hand 
A wreath shall bear to grace the Victor's brow. 


Character of Dr. Davies. 

Arcadian simplicity would be one ruling feature 
of Dr. Davies's life and manners, if the Arcadians 
had but a pipe for smoking, as well as a musical onel 

He mentions, in one of his Letters, that Lady 
Williams told him "he knew the world as if he had 
never lived in it.'* 

I am happy again to borrow the words of Lady 
Knowles : " Whether it is from their abstracted no- 
*' tion of things or not, it has often been said, and 
*' proved as a fact, that Scholars are not men of the 
^' world in their manners and their opinions. 

" As travellers, who overlook the beauties of their 
^ own country, to expatiate with enthusiasm on the 
'^ attractions of a distant clime ; so these men of 
'' science, and of literary taste, fond of solitude and 
" of study, are often deficient in the common usages 
*^ of the world, and in the knowledge of the human 
'^ mind, which can only be obtained by collisioQ 
*' with men." 



All the little spurs of amiiition, or of public life, 
to the gentle spirit and most affectionate nature of this 
amiable inau, were desultory and occasional. The 
domestic and prevalent habit was either solitude, or 
a society of individuals not likely to expand the 
energies of the mind, like the commerce of the 

His darling friend was a good scholar, but station- 
ary and recluse, indolent at home, and with no ap- 
parent energies abroad, except as a huntsman or a 
bowler. He was fond of good livintj, but in a re- 
tired way, ignorant of the world, and crippled by 
College-habits of self-indulgence.* 

As a part of this native simplicity in the Rector of 
Kiiigslaiid, we must not overlook a readiness to be 
deceived, and a kind of literal credulity reposed in 
the words or the actions of his friends, whom he 
often injured by overstraining the import and pledge 
of their zeal for him, expresised in language of en- 
dearment, which is half poetical, and should never 
be taken aa pied de la leltre. 

His modesty was of no common degree or kind ; 
be by 110 means undervalued his powers; and I am 
not sure whether, from ignorance of the world, he 
did not miscalculate their ej'tenf, or at least their 
application. He was disinclined habitually to what 
is called business ; had no talent for acconijils ; had 
no taste for the polemics of ihe Church, or public 
display of any kind ; was never so happy as in 
smoking, laughing, and writing verse; but, I dare 
say, thought nimself equal to the highest of all de- 

Eartments in his own profession. His poetiunl talent 
lid been so flattered, that, if his friends could have 
made him vain of any thing, it would have been 
there. Yet such was his basfifulness, and his limi- 
ditij, that nothing but his compassionate zeal for a 
luUering acquaintance and friend would have enabled 
us to know that he could write a verse. 




He had a modesty of another kind, which opera- 
ted as a defect, and as a misfortune. A man of so 
elegant a mind would have delighted in the society 
of accomplished and well-bred women, if he could 
ever have reached them. But they are never dreamt 
of in his philosophy ; and he appears to have been an 
old bachelor all his life, in dropping the other sex, 
as if they formed no part of the world around him. 

In his verse, except the Epithalamium upon Mr. 
Dodd's marriage, there are no compliments to the 
fair sex, no raptures in description of their beauty, 
and their grace. Here was at least one source of in- 
spiration to his fancy and spirit as much withheld as 
the objects of sight are lost upon those who are blind. 

But he had modesty of another kind, that was ab- 
solute heroism. He associated with convivial men, 
some of whom had little delicacy in their man- 
ners and their habits. But he was their abdict, and 
led a sainted life amongst them whilst he enjoyed 
their wit and good humour. 

As to the Rector of Presteigne, any Horace of 
his day might have been tempted, unless traditions 
and collateral documents lie, to address him thus : 
Ne sit ancilla iih'x amor pudori! * 

You understand me, but the ladies are not in 
the secret. They may consult, however, the trans- 
lation either of Mr. Duncombe or Dr. Francis. 

I have mentioned that I can trace no attachment 
of Da VIES to the fair sex. 

Lady Williams, wife to the King of North 
Wales (and who reigned in the noblest of all domi- 
nions — in the heart) appears to have been much in 
habits with him, and left him a legacy of ^lOO. 

I have discovered a most ludicrous anecdote, 
which combines the modesty and simplicity of his 
character. I cannot relate it better than in the 
words of my Historian. 

** One day, upon bis return from a visit, a lady, 
^' who was visitor too, solicited the vacant seat in his 

* Hor. 1 Od. vr. 

o *' carriage, 



" carriage, aa far as to her door, in his way bacic to 
" Kingsland. Though secretly disconcerted, neither 
" good humour nor good manners permitted him to 
" refuse. When he drew near the town where he 
" was to lose and spill his companion, afraid of the 
" gossiping zeal which propagated and accepted 
" reports where sex was concerned, he thought it 
" most prudent and sagacious to disarm raillery of 
" its aim by eluding observation. He therefore 
" drew up his blinds !" 

The cunning of the Ostrich is not more ludicrous. 

His ambition was an artificial impulse ; his genu- 
ine passion was for just the habits that accident ar- 
ranged for him — solitude and a. Jew selected friends. 
— \x\ friendship he was above all praise ; generous, 
engaging, and firm to all his youthful attachments. 
Except the Rector of Presteigne, they were all of 
them school and college friends. He lost none of 
them; all admired, revered, and loved him to the 
last. The partiality of his pleasant habits with 
them reconciled all the differences of their style in a 
centre of union with him. 

Lady Knowles often has drawn his character as it 
appears to her in his Letters. They are breathing 
features of his mind. " You will join with me," she 
tella me, " in admiring all the minor acts of his 
" friendship. So warm and so aflectionate, yet 
" maintaining so just a balance, he attached every 
" human creature to him, high and low. It is much 
" to be lamented, for his own improved interest when 
" living, and for his memory when the curtain fell, 
" that he did not let the world know him, and love 
" him. They were synonymous terms *." 

He had weak health and weak nerves, but manly 
thoughts and a high-spirited mind. When he said 

* See, in p. 11, the beautiful veraes ivtitten by this Sister- 
Enthusiast for Davibs. — What noble creaiurts women ore! — I 
believe this lady had not written a Tei'se before 1 saw her a few 
months ago, unless mereters de society, and see how elegant a 
vein her feelings have displa^d ! G. H. 




that even the acceptance o^ preferment was a barter 
of the soul, hejelt the sentiment with ingenuous and 
perfect honour. 

But when he solicited preferment at a later period, 
which he certainly did, it was not avarice or caprice, 
but a new turn of his mind, when it became enfee- 
bled by age and by irritable nerves. He did not 
want, and he could not have enjoyed, any addition to 
his fortune. It was ample enough to give him every 
comfort, and gratify all his wishes. But his friends 
were importunate, and he was the dupe of their 
generous partiality for him. It appears from a Let- 
ter to him, 1759, that he had entertained hopes of 
being elected a Fellow of Eton College. 

The little change of scene which his incomparable 
friend the Bishop of Lichfield obtained for him was 
delightful, and was just enough to animate or to in- 
terest him by the variety without prejudice to his 
general habits; but it is clear that 4ie offered himself 
to that Patron. 

I think it was no infelicity, but the Reverse, that 
he died when he did, and Just after the Archbishop 
obtained the See, because I am convinced that any 
thing like a public scene would have quite overset 
him, and would have thrown him into a perpetual 
fever, the bane of enjoyment. 

It is impossible to conceive a mind that was more 
superior to artifice otfiattery. The lines of 1743 to 
Lord Camden are as manly as they are encouraging ; 
and those of 1766, which are more in the vein of 
homage, are proofs only that his taste was ener- 
vated, not that his heart was touched by the world. 

Of his Poetry the Reader will judge for himself.— 
The beauties of it are dignity of thought and phrase, 
elevated conceptions in tuneful numbers, and the 
command of poetical phrase. 

The general defect is, that it wants a little more 
ease, fluency, and grace of dishabille. I observe, 
and it certainly is a defect, no pathetic tenderness, 
no elegiac delicacy of sorrow— yet a more feeling 

o ^ heart 

IqS illustrations of litehature. 

heart no man ever possesseJ. Upon fVhalpy's death 
he excluded all the world for a time. 

His Letters, to my impressions at least, are just 
what Letters of an accomplished and gifted mind 
should be, — elegant, and famihar too, lively and 
chaste, affectionate without parade of sensibility, 
and social without negligence of decorum. 

I hear from those who are living, that his maimer 
of preaching was impressive, though delivered in a 
subdued and gentle tone. 

No breath of calumny has imputed vice to him of 
any kind, or the absence of any virtue in domestic, 
social, and moral intercourse. 

He had a comic vein, but (like all the rest of him) 
very original and peculiar, more accidental than ha- 
bitual, and calculated for no effort but that of pro- 
moting innocent good humour. With a jjovvcr of sa- 
tire, proved . enough bv the lines on B , and 

upon Lestocit, he seldom indulged it, and seemed 
as much afraid of intemperate censure, as of lavish 
praise. At one of his pleasant meetings with Lord 
Camden he wrote a ludicrous, but shrewd, portrait 
of his friend. It is preserved in his own hand, and 
is countersigned by C. P. the hero of it. It was in- 
tended for Whaleji, but not sent. 

Half jest, and half earnest, there are traits of si- 
militude in it which I can attest, as exemplified in 
the Hero when he was not in tune for that mirth 
which in general he enjoyed. 
Pratt odtlly is made ; 

For, wlien vex'd out of measure, 
He calls Spleen lo liisaid. 

And is pleas'd witli iJispleasure. 
Stranger vet bis disease, 

As I know to my cost; 
For the most you displease 

When you please liim tbe most, 
" Excuse seriousness. 


Rees Price, a harmless old man, but fond of 
drams and good living, in general seems to have in* 
terested both Davies and his friend at Presteigne by 
simplicities of mind. He was, like ff^ill Whimble, 
officious in good ofBces of a minor cast, and grate- 
fully accepted in return for them hospitable dinners. 
To men of talent and wit these are pleasant appen- 
dages ; and, like the Jesters of Kings in early day^, 
now and then can be a little arch. They could 
laugh at Rees Price with impunity ; but their laugh 
is never insolent or overbearing in its raillery ; and 
they speak of him, as well as to him, with friendly 

In a loose paper I observe this note in Davies's 
hand : 

" Annotation on a passage in Epictetus"* (which 
Dr. Thomas, l)y a singular taste, was turning into 

« J Fact. 

*' Rees, in a violent hurry, took the ferule of his 
^' walking-stick, which had become loose, to a 2 ay- 
^^ for, who was to mend it.^ 

Little strokes of humour appear scattered in the 
letters and scraps of notes to his friend, such as this: 

" Gilt, because no other paper in the house — pride 
" ?/* poverty r 

I have an excellent performance of Latinized 
JEngUsh, which is a model of its kind. 

'^ Cum hacteniis summa felicitate viarum et coeli, 
hac Tiocte solus apud Bon, scribam occurrentia et 
cursiv^ in itinere. Imprimis grates ago, deind^ do- 
leo, vel, ut Anglic^ aiunt, mille est misericordiae, te 
non potuisse simul ire : hujus mentionem facio, mei 
praecipu^, et nonnihil tui causa. Redii ad Cestr. 
nocte Jovis invitus, at necessarid, ut rotas contra- 
herem, ad insigne Alhi Leonis, hospite Smith 
Hopsono Cestriens. cum qu6 coenam longdmque 
colloquium habui — viro rationaliter comico, qui pro 
me, et pro meo judicio in vehiculis et in caballid, 



maximum habet respectum ac defei*entiam. Subivi 
Castell. de Hawarden — reverenter su$pexi, movique 
cucullum. Humanissimi san^ sunt Antiquarii, qui 
labantia et ruinas colunt. Ad Flint, villatam sat)s 
elegantem^ commeatu destitutam, quam mare alia- 
bitur, cui Castellum turribus circuitu latissimis, sed 
non excelsis. Ipse de muro descend!, ipse in arena 
steti ; sobriam indulsi reveriam de fate Ricardi Se- 
cundiy et rerum humanarum vicibus. Haec scrib- 
blavi, nee affectatione, nee vitatione Latinitatis Avi- 
glicce, nee, ut tu soles, abbrevio, ut planiiis, etsi 
brevissimum, intellexeris. In eodem diversorio fuit 
Griffith, Preb. de Cant. Ita me D. &c. malim ob- 
scurus, et inter amicissimos virum ire, qukm cum 
illo et mitra domum.'* 

In one of his notes : 

" I could not smoke with serenity, much less go 
" to bed, till I had set you right." 

" Oct. 27, 1748. 

^* My wooden horse is arrived — an excellent ma- 
" chine for exercise, a kind of go-cart, or hobby- 
" horse, for the adult and the lazy. I jogged out a 
" Sapphic or two upon it, hut It is not a Pegasus'* 

'' Feb. 8, 1739-40. 

^* Before this humour had well run off, I was at- 
^^ tacked by another, which I will call a versifying 
^^ dejluxion. The latter malady continued working 
*^ in my pate, as the former had previously done, all 
*^ Monday and Tuesday ; on Wednesday it ceased. 
" What flowed I took special care to preserve,' and 
" send enclosed for the Doctor s opinion. 

* * * " I much question whether one ought, in 
^^ prudence, to be ambitious of passing for a Poet — 
"a man who would thrive had better be thought and 
" called the reversed 

His politics were like those of a secluded man, 
conversant in the opinions of those with whom he 
was the most in habits. He called himself 9i Whig ; 
but seems to have imbibed prejudices of Tory-ism 



from North JVales^ and I should guess in part from 
the Rector of Presteigne^ who came from Christ 
Church ! All his violent spleen against the accept- 
ance of preferment was Tory language in those days, 
though he has bantered it well himself in a most 
admirable epigram, which I will here introduce; 
though, if it was not for Prior's example of the ladle, 
I should fear to lay it before you ; but, as our neigh- 
bours admirably express it, le papier souffre tout. 

Says Watkin to Cotton^ " I thought, my Lord Gower, 
" Tou told us, intended to leave us no more." 
Ssy^s Cotton^ " He has not." Says Watkiriy *' You lie ; 
** And you too, grave Sir, have 2Lplace^ by the bye-^ 
*^ I thought all your boasting wou4d end in a farce : 
" Pray vfhere^syour broad-bottovi?^^ S9,y sCoiton/' ** ♦***.»' 

The last act of his life does him so much honour 
that I introduce it with pleasure in bidding farewell 
to his amiable and pleasing character. 

He bequeathed his Rectory of Kingsland, and all 
his fortune, to Mr. Evans^ whom he had patronized 
at College, and who was the father of three sons, 
now living : one of them has the Rectory, and has 
in the kindest manner communicated the copious 
materials for this Report of him, which my zeal for 
his character has tempted me to undertake with en- 
thusiasm, which its failure could not make me re- 
pent ; and which has delightfully occupied the half- 
slumbering hours of an old age, young enough still 
to admire the wise, and love the good. 

Farewell, best of Patrons and Friends. 

I think Davies had better close vour volume, 
after other intermediate Lives. 

I have picked up more Daviesiana. Like Wray, 
he is too little known. 

Ever yours, George Hardinge. 

March lA, iSlff. 

[ 200 ] 


I am distressed, in the Daviesiana, by the inordi- 
nate volume of new intelligence, and the fear to 
overwhelm the candour pf the Reader. My late 
acquisitions entangle me with their wealth, and I 
almost wish to be poor again, 

I have made a discovery. 

I had occasion to intimate, that, when at Eton 
school, the boy gave hints of the man. Some of his 
Eton poetry has been laid before the Reader. But, 
in a manuscript from Kingsland, for which I owe 
my affectionate thanks to the Rev. Mr. Evans, the 
Rector's brother, I observe a Poem so excellent as to 
merit copying; and the more, since I have discovered 
that it is published in the first volume of the Musoe 
EtonenseSy a collection printed in 1755 ; and which 
first volume is represented by the Editor as contain- 
ing only the verses that, according to the Eton 
phrase, well understood by the Etonians, went vp 
for the play, one of the highest honours there con- 
ferred upon the youthful Poet of the day selected 
from the rest. 

In the manuscript it is dated August 1727. He 
was therefore 18 years of age, and very near his de- 
parture to College, when it was written. 

There is a powerful spirit of moralizing thought in 
it, and of picturesque effect in language, very un- 
common for those years. 

" Res est sacra miser.*' 

Quis mentem JEacidre subito novus occupat horror? 

Cur trepidant foedi nescia corda metds ? 



Ferrea in humentes liquuniur peclora guttas, 

Ut lupe ei£ dur&flere videnturaquse. 
Rex miser et senior qui niajestatevercndus 

Projicitur seevi priiicipis ante pedes! 
Nil manet augustce regali in fronte tiara:, 

Splendidus terumnis pulvere fcedus adest. 
Ipse habitus,^— gestus, oculi, sine voce loqituntt 

Et causam dicunt, Hector adempte, tuam. 
Non ea vis animo est Pelidis ut ante superbt ; 

Et rabiem Eumenides dededeceresuam. 
Quid mirum ? valet iste dolor tetigisse hicenas, 

Et miilcere aiigues, toxva. Medusa, tuoi. 
Queni non iniperiis jigamevinan 6exit eundem, 

Stratus huDii etsupplex in sua vota regit. 
Accedit proprius decorj et sua forma dolori ; 

Ipsa gerit veneres cana senecta suas. 
Majestas animi falls invicta superbit, 

El casu ex ipso pukhrior CTebiiur. 
Haud aliter Marti stetit imperterrita virtus 

Torva tuens gladii terruit ore minas. 
Qui vultus ? quales oculi ? nee inermis in iliis : 

ArmatEB in ca^dem contremuere matius. 
Fulguris afflarint ardentia tela ; — bidental 

Relligioisa sacrum terra piare valet. 
Nee minds ille sacer qui fatis Isditur, etvi 

Sustinet adversa fortiter esse miser. 
EfFulget virtus in clade illustrior ipsS, 

Itnpavidumque decet spreta ruina ducem. 
Sic McetEois Titan emergat ab undls 

Pulcber ubi croceura fundit in exidium, 
Non lamen occidnae cedena in vespere luci, 

Major in oceanum splendidiorque cadit. 


There is a very humourous collection of Letters 
in the second volume of" The Repository," pubHshed 
in 1777- The title is, " Origines Divisian/e, or tiie 
ANTiauiTiES OF THE Devizes, in familiar Letters 
tea Friend, in 1750 and 175 1, by Dr.Davies; first 
printed in I754." 

The Letters are nine. 

I was informed, upon authority which I cannot 
resist, that Sneyd Davies, unquestionably, was the 
writer of them. 

As they occupy several pages, and contain ridicule 
upon my respected friends \\\e Antiquaries, lam 
loth to copy more than one passage, which appears 
to me in a very different style from hia other worts, 
— an admirable specimen of his comic powers. It 
is in the Fourth Letter. 

" Though I am sensible the list (of the H'ardens) 
" is very imperfect, I have not leisure to make it 
" complete by passing six months in the Tower. 

" If you would have it exact, you may go and 
" consult Srowne Ifillis, a man of a singular cha- 
*' racter — a genuine Antiquary, in learning, man- 
'■ ners, habit, and person — so extraordinary, that I 
" think it worth a digression to give you an account 
, " of him, to acquaint you with his family, and 
" point out his residence by such marks that yoi 
" will know it the moment you see it. 

" The fortune of his family was acquired by the 
" celebrated Thonias Willis^ M. D, out of Cavaliers 
" who were sick of the war. It was acquired by 
" single J'ees, before the Funds v/ere created, and 
*' Change Alley turned into a Court of Requests. 

" He was a man of uncommon penetration, and 
" saw farther into the head than his contemporaries, 
" He wrote many ingenious Romances, in a nervous 
" and pleasmg style, 

" He was known to have dealt much with familiar 
" spirits called animal. Having command over 
" themj he could make, for the entertainment of 

" his 



' his acquaintance, a million of them dance a jigg 
' on the pineal gland of a fine lady, or ou the point 
' of a needle. He would send them on errands, 
■' God knows where, and remand them back, as 
' quick asthouglit. These obsequious beings always 
' perched upon his elbow when he wrote prescrip- 
' lions, after which they instantly whipped into the 
' palm of his right hand. He could place them 
' spread over all that was exterior in fribbles, or 
' confine them to the finger c,f a celebrated fiddler — 
' the hand of a cheat — the foot of a dancing-master 
' — the toeof a soldier — the posteriors of a bully — or 
' the heart of a lover, and make them jump through 
' little crevices into the hollow pericranium of a 
* Methodist. 

" The Doctor gave the money thus acquired for 
' his grandson's purchase of this antique place, 
' which indeed is a little crowded with natural plan- 
' tationSi the owner having made a vow to live in a 
' wood. 

" The house is invested with tall and large trees, 
' which look formidable in decay, yielding an occa- 
' sional habitation to a colony of rooks, who legally 
' have enjoyed them by authentic prescription irom 
' the days of Richard the First. 

" The vallum that encloses the garden, is a little 
' out of repair, but is never to be rebuilt by his 
' heirs. The penalty is a curse of pulling an old 
' wall upon their heads. 

" The moaf that surrounds the house has from all 
' time enjoved a melancholy and slumbering still- 
' ness, unruffled by winds, and stranger to a dim- 
' pie ; but has been for several years changing its 
' nature, and thickening into earth. 

" His unmolested gate loves its threshold * ; a lit- 
' tie v^icket lets you into a little court, lined and 
' overshadowed with yews, which present a very so- 


" lemn gloom. You need not strike your hand upon 
*^ the door ; you may with ease creep through it ; or 
*' the walls that are pervious can give you ample 
*' room for admittance. 

The furniture of the inside is green, but resenn- 
bles the verde antique. The parlour is wains- 
** coated with oak, indigenous, and more than co* 
eval with its tenement. The pannels are little 
** squares, intermixed with fluted /7a//wA*^rarfc, which, 
" by way of capital, support the faces of men, 
" but which bear no resemblance to human nature?. 
**The chambers are hung with silks and velvets, in 
'* a kind of Mosaic^ in the manner of patchwork. 
His father must have purchased them out of the 
Arundelian wardrobe; for the son, by his indefati- 
gable erudition, can prove them to be the genuine 
" remnants of Queen ElizabetKs hoop-petticoat. 
. " A variety of ornaments appear in furniture 
^* which Time has impaired. You see an assortment 
" of statues that fell at the Reformation from their 
*^ crosses *, and have looked as if they had been 
'^ scared * ever since. 

" There is many a Saxon bust, of man, or beast, 
'^ but which is not well determined ; numberless 
*^ fragments of painted glass, scraps of inscriptions, 
^' and shreds of deeds. 

" In bis library, adorned with fretwork of pendent 
*' spiders-webs, you will find a large collection of 
"*Co/w,y, down from Abraham to the Borough half- 
•' pemiy. 

" He had, before he gave them to the University 
" of Oxford, the most ample collection of Towns- 
" men's Halfpence; ten of which are nearly equal in 
" their intrinsic value to one of the farthings issued 
" by tVoody but in the extrinsic are infinitely supe- 
" rior. 

* This appears to me very like the manner of Hot act Walpole 
in his lively and amusing Letters. 

" Amongst 


" Amongst his MSS. written all of them in his 
own hand with incredible assiduity, you will see 
a laborious Dictionary of Lords, Abbots, Parlia- 
ment-men, Gentlemen, Clergymen, and Parish 
clerks, ever since the Saxon Invasion ; and in what 
may be called h\s Jamil i/ pictures you have the 
most copious registers of marriages, births, and 
burials, that is id be found in the world. 
" The territory around him has been remarkable 
for considerable actions heretofore; but is now dis- 
figured with pits, dug, not for marie, gravel, or 
earthly use, but in search of Roman spears, and 
Saxon stirrups. 

" He shews a botanical curiosity, unparalleled in 
England, Europe, or the Universe. It is a willow 
basket, propagated from the identical wicker has- 
het of JJruidism recorded by Julius Ccesar ; 
though some carry it no higher than to the buck- 
ing basket, welj known in the facetious reign of 
Henry the Fourths 

From the Original in Dr. Davies's hand : 

Upon entering my house at Kingsland 
after a long journey. 

In iniiiation of Catullus ad Sirmumem peninsulam. 

Nov. 1736. 
Welcome, my little snug retreat ♦, , 
Where all is cairn, where all is neat ; 
For thee, whate'er I 've seen besides, 
My heart, my faith, my love derides. 

* Peninsulai'um Sirmio, insularumque 

Ocelle, quascunque in liquentibus stagnis^ 

Marique vasto fert uterque Neptuntu, 



* With what delight and cordial giee^ 
Dismounting, I re-visit thee, 
And scarcely can persuade the mind 
That storms and JVales are left behind, 
t Happy the peaceful joys to share 
That fold me in my elbow-chair, 
The mind, by irksome toil opprest. 
Unbends itself, and leans to rest, 
PleasM I behold the welUknown hearth. 
And scenes familiar to its mirth; 
This golden minute overpays 
The weary nights, the restless days. 

I Then hail again, my gentle home, 
And say you 're pleasM that I am come, 
vWhetheryour nodding trees approve. 
Or your streams murmur out their love. 
Come, ye familiar sports, and, all 
Ye laughs, be ready, when I call. 

* jQukm te libenter> qu^mque laetus inviso^ 

Vix mi ipse credens Thyniam, atque Bithynos 

Liquisse campos. — 
f O quid solutis est beatius curis 

Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 

Lahore fessi venimus Lareni ad nostrum^ 

Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto ? 

Hoc est^ quod unum est pro laboribus tantis. 
X Salve, O venusta Sirmio, atque hero gaude ; 

Gaudete, vosque Laria lacus unds ; 

Ridete quicquid est doml cachinnonun. 




[These verses are addressed to Stephen Poyntz*, 
Esq. Preceptor to the Duke of Cumberland; writ- 
ten at Knoll'HUlsy 1 739.] 

Liisi Camenis aptus, et otio. 
Qua Trenta^ dulci flumine, Derbxit 
Per prata decurrit, vetusque 
Sylva tegit juga summa Nola, 

Nee me sub umbr^ desicliam btevem 
Captare, nee me rupibus aviis 
Gaudere, cUvosoque agello 
Bedeeuity nemorumque seen! 

Teeto imminentum desup^r, et Lares 
|.ymphis ad imos desilientibus, 
Doctisque per pronum nitentt 
Gramen iter properare rivo, 

Tuto latentem rure, nee Austria 
Clades labantis^ nee Batavi timor, 
Gallusve mendax, aut superbi 
Solicitat rabies Iberi: 

Insanientis non populi seelus, 
Noil Italorum cautibus et chorls 

* Mr. Poyntz was a most accomplished as well as a most ami- 
able man. He was educated with Mr. Hardinge in Eton College, 
and was a Fellow of King's, He became afterwards Preceptor to 
the Duke of Cumberland ; and Mr. Hardinge was His Royal High- 
nesses Attorney General. He waa maternal grandfather to Earl 
Spencer, and was emfrfbyed in the Corps Diplomatique, His 
country seat was at Midgham in Berkshire. His Letters to Mr. 
Hardinge were uncommonly elegant and pleasing. 



Assueta, virtutisque veras 

Immemor^ et patrise, juventus. 

Jam fessus urbem, longaque curis 
Gestit Senator praelia linquere ; 
Oblitus iraraoiy paternos 

Lustrat agros, avibus timendus^ 

JVdlpolus, arvis, et laribas novis 
Auctas aviti lustrat opes soli, 
FestHque jam dignus quiete 
Per vacuam sibi vivit horam. 

Lucos Esher^y dsedala qui mum 
Natura gestit vincere Kentium, 
Molamque labentem, domumque 
Pieriam repetit PelhamuSy 

Miscere lento seria caliidus 
Risu ; nee idem consiliis iners, 
Lingulque, rem parcit Britannam 
Temporibus dubiis tueri. 

Nee tu, Poyntziy inglorius in sinu 
Fundi cubantis consita nunc colis 
Querceta, nunc lauros perennes 
Spargere amas, placidusve frustra 

CoUes amictos arboribus vides, 
Villaeque aquarum planitiem adjicis 
^desque dulci quae parumper 
Hospitio teneant Wilhelmum, 

Curse ferentem signa tuae, ac patris 
Ritu paratum Martis bonoribus 
; Fulgere, seu pcenas daturus 

Angliacam petat hostis orami 



Seu classe Gades vindice Georgiusj 
Notoque gentem fulmine perfidam 
Irritet, Arctoo^xxe reddat 
Pnesidium pelago, suaeve 

Littus remotum visat America^ 
£t Mexicanos imperio regat 
Portus, et Indarum triumpbet 
Dives opum, domitor Feruvi. 

Cur me reducts vallis in angulo 
Civilis ardor, telave terreant 
Adversa, Walpolo profundi 

Quid deceat dominum cavente ? 

Translation of the foregoing, 1 740. 

friend of the Muses and repose, 
Where Trent^ delightful current, flows 

Through Derby^s pastures green : 
Stranger to care of lace I playM 
Under my Nolans hilly shade. 

Romantic, pleasing scene ! 

Nor need I deem it a disgrace. 
When leisure for a while takes place, 

To catch a short repast. 
Of prospect which the mountains yield, 
The cave retired, and sloping field, 

Imagination's feast. 

The overhanging woods above 
ImbowMng in their green alcove, 

That crowns the limpid rill ; 
Whose streams, eternally supplied. 
Form a bright track, and glitt'ring slide 

Adown the verdant hill. 

P Why 


Why should I think, in this retreat, 
Of sinking Germanjfs defeat, 

Or Fleurifs wily brain ; 
Whatever the puzzled DtUchman fears, 
Or what the haughty Don prepares 

In impotence from Spain f 

The maddening people^s causeless rage. 
And all the follies of the age, 

The masque, the song (which yet 
Our giddy youth with warmth pursue. 
To virtue and their country due) 

I willingly forget. 

The City^s hum, the noisy war 
Of Lawyers wrangling at the Bar, 

All now are hushed in peace. 
Each party-senator retires. 
And all agree to turn their (ires 

Against the featherM race. 

See Pei/iam to his Usher goes, 
Where potent Nature only knows 

Ifer artist to excel : 
Pelham himself delights to hear 
The Mole soft-murmuring to his ear 

In his Pierian cell. 

Who happier in the art to blend, 
Alike Philosopher and Friend, 

The grave and debonair? 
Nor less his eloquence and mind 
To counsel able and incliuM, 

When Britain asks his care. 



Nor thine^ O PoyntZy ignoble ease, 
Studious to plant thy favVite trees 

Along the shelving glade : 
And here the infant oak is sown. 
And here the laurel hopes to crown 

Thy merit with a shade. 

Say not, when you the woody brow 
Survey, and the spread lake below. 

That these not entertain — 
Seats that may Cumberland ?l^ while, 
In whom thy happy labours smile. 

Agreeably detain. 

He, all his Father in his soul, 

Each hostile effort shall controul, * 

And bring his country peace ; 
Whether the Sovereign will ordain 
His thundering fleets to visit Spain^ 

Or awe the Northern seas. 

Or whether in the Indian sky 
The bannerM sails victorious fly. 

And with a name subdue. 
The ports of Mexico are won, 
And the bright produce of t\xe sua 

Is ours in rich Peru. 

Abstracted in a corner here. 

Why should I war and weapons fear. 

Or aught of ill besides ? 
For Walpole at the helm secure 
Takes measures worthy of the Power 

That o'er the sea presides. 



HORACE, Ep. VI. Lib. I.* 

With steady wing between extremes to soar, 
Not proudly vain, nor despicably poor ; 
Our even soul in Virtue's scale to poize, 
Not sunk by cares, nor buoyed by idle joys ; 
In a calm medium to secure our state. 
Deaf to uneasy love and restless bate : — 
This golden lesson ancient sages taught, 
Thus Tully acted, and thus Horace thought. 
Cato for this disdained Rome's little pride, 
And Scipio threw his worthless wreaths aside. 
These rules alone insure untainted bliss, 
And point the easy path to happiness. 
Stay thy fixM breast, by flattering scenes unbent; 
Fond admiration dwells not with content. 
3ome lurking ills the gaz'd-at pomp destroy, 
Delights fatigue, tumultuous pleasures cloy. 
While abject crowds are ruffled with surprize. 
And ideot wonder stares from vulgar eyes ; 
No sudden turn the settled thought can move ; 
Philosophers admire not, but approve. 

* The design of this Epistle is to show, that we are widely 
mistaken if we place our happiness in riches> honours, or plea- 
sure } that every thing which excites in our hearts fear or desire 
must be fatal to our peace j that surprise and admiration are the 
source of this fear or desire ^ and, consequently, that in order 
to get rid of the latter we must discard the former, and keep our 
minds so firmly poised, as not to be disconcerted hy the ardent 
hope of gaining, or anxious dread of losing, any of those things 
on which the bulk of mankind commonly doat. But this even- 
ness of temper is only to be acquired by the study of moral phi- 
losophy, and the practice of virtue. Dukcombb. 



No glaring meteors can disturb their soul, 

Nor all the starry worlds above that roll : 

Since what the dastard populace affright, 

A Newton or a Derham may delight. 

They trace, unmov'd, the comet's swift career, 

Though monarchs shudder, and though nations fear ; 

They view the countless terrors of the sky 

With cool reflection, and through reason's eye. 

Let us then spurn all vain terrestrial joys, 

Think honours trifles, diadems but toys. 

Shall the mind lie unhingM by each mad flight, 

And gaudy objects catch the giddy sight ? 

Shall we from paint and stone our bliss receive. 

Hang o'er a statue, on a picture live ? 

Go, purchase gewgaws, and at auctions pine 
For mummies, urns, a pebble, or a coin. 
Peru its birds or butterflies shall bring, 
And Indians womb be tortur'd for a ring. 
A tea-board from Japan thy wish attends; 
Persia a screen, a carpet Turkey sends. 

Yet know, whatever you are, whom pleasure's bait 
Tempts to delight, or grandeur prompts to state ; 
Whether for trifles of a higher sphere 
You long, perhaps, a coronet to wear. 
Or your vain breast beats fondly for a star ; 
Pleas'd from your gilded chariot to bestow 
A look on bending crowds that gaze below ; 
Or, more exalted, ev'n at courts preside. 
And cringing levees feed your swelling pride ; 
Though you in senates every taste could hit 
With ComptorCs eloquence, and Stanhope^ s wit, 
Know your gay sunshine swiftly hastes to set : 



You to that common fatal goal must run. 
Where Tvxlors and Plantagenets are gone. 

If through your blood contagious humours glide. 
If torturing pains afflict your aching jside. 
If agues chill, or fevers scorch your brain, 
Quick seek a refuge from disease and pain. 
Do you (as sure all must) desire with ease 
And true content to tread lifers dangerous ways ? 
If Virtue can alone that blessing give, 
And her attendants only happy live. 
Pursue the Goddess with unceasing pain 
O'er the bleak mountain, or the barren plain. 
While Wealth invites, and Pleasure smiles in vain. 

But if strict Virtue's laws your soul denies. 
As holy cheats imposed on vulgar eyes. 
To interest's call your honesty postpone. 
Bid widows weep, and plundered orphans groan \ 
Add plumb to plumb, your swelling stock increase. 
Till a Director's wealth your labours bless; 
Till your full warehouses can hold no more, 
Atid your heap'd treasures bend the groaning floor. 

The man whom wealth surrounds no want laments, 
Each charm, each grace bis every wish prevents ; 
Obsequious friends his crowded levee grace, 
And willing beauty yields to his embrace : 
Less Hervey*s form could tempt th* enamour'd maid, 
Less Murray's strongest eloquence persuade. 

If then content by gold alone is bought. 
Let that alon6 employ your every thought : 
But should vain pomp and grandeur sooth your breast, 
Convinc'd that all who haunt the court are blest. 



Quick to the park and drawing-room repair. 
Like Savage^ know each staff and ribbon there ; 
Bow to the Minister, accost his Grace, 
And talk familiar with the Peer in place ; 
InroU each noble Lord among your friends, 
Who makes a Bishop, or a Member sends. 

If more substantial bliss ragouts supply. 
And all the joys of life in eating lie. 
The dictates of your palate swift pursue. 
Search all that *s costly, elegant, and new : 
Be it the business of each day to dine, 
While meats Pontac supplies, and Jephson wine. 

Thus seijeant MUler^ 46af to MamrrunCs call, 
Oft changM his wig, ^nd hurried from the hall ; 
And if the luscioi^s turbo^ fili'd his eye. 
Threw Littleton and all his Tenures by ; 
Or while the venison bent his loaded fork. 
Left eloquence and law to Pratt and Yorke, 

If your soft senses mirth and music charm, 
And wit and love alone your soul can warm, 
Be seen at every masquerade and play. 
Wear at quadrille the tedious nights away ; 
The joys most exquisite that life can give 
From Heidegger* s alluring arts receive, 
And every wish that fires your wanton will, 
In Epicurus* modern groves fulfil. 

Pleasuipes like these low vulgar minds affect ; 
From these the people happiness expect : 
But Virtue minds of nobler stamp invites. 
In paths where soft enchanting pleasures play. 
An Orleans or a Rochester may stray ; 
But a Nassau approves the thorny way. 



TO T, T. (Dr. Thomas) ; 

Dec. 1741. 

Horace^ Lib. I. Ep. 12. 

Between what you collect and what you set^ 
A hundred pounds per quarter^ profits nett ! 
It 's opulence — it leaves no room for more, 
Andy if you dare^ complain that you are poor! 
The world's good things enjoy'd, and at command, 
* You need not stoop to kiss the Royal hand ; 
With ease, with health, and cheerful thoughts — I doubt 
What more you can acquire — unless the gout. 
Should you in plenty's lap of diet spare, 
Nettles and water-cresses all your fare. 
O'er the cool sallad hermit-like rejoice. 
We should not call it avarice, but choice ; 
No Fortune's whim can alter Nature's bent. 
And Virtue is the mother of Content. 

Think you that NewtorCs meat escap'd from flies 
When his free soul was absent in the skies ? 
When you, with tithes and parish cares perplext, 
By thieving neighbours, cheating farmers, vext. 
Yet, unabsorb'd in all this worldly sink. 
Have time to eat, and bowl f — to read and think. 
Of actions trace the source, and mark the tides. 
Why, though it 's war, in peace the navy rides ; 

* What an origina] and spirited line ! 

t The race here described is, I trust, obsolete in 1816. 



Who checks our prowess ? whether in the deep, 

H ck 's by choice or by command asleep ; 

Discern between the tarnish'd and the pure. 
Why Femon shines when others are obscure ; 

But, whether you dissect your stall-fed beast. 
Or slay the leeks and cabbage for your feast, 
Pray think of Hees t ; and, of your own accord, 
A pipe unaskM-for to your guest afford. 
You 'U find his claim, now conscionable, stints 
All evening draughts to less than seven pints ; 
When your full casks with liquid plenty burst, 
It 's very hard your friend should die of thirst. 

As to the rest — above how matters go. 
Who fall and rise at Westminster^ you Ml know ; 

Unrighteous Bl cy the Law's decree 

Has heard, abashM, and shorter hy the knee %. 
Astraa 's come ; — and Ceres o'er the fields 
Her promise of a golden harvest yields. 

* The two next lines, though full of spirit^ mark so little re- 
spect for the Constitution of Parliaments that I am afi'aid of 
copying them. Our Friend was a most flaming Patriot ! 

t Rees Price, of Erdiskmd, a curate fond of a cup. 

X Genibus minor, — Horace. 



In these Imitations I do injustice to my Hero in 
suppressing the Original, because much of their un- 
common merit arises from comparison ; but I assume 
that all classical readers will have recourse to it : and 
I can promise that I shall have their best thanks for 
enabling them to see what happiness there is in the 
version. They are closer than Pope^s, but not less 

Two or three passages I must particularize. 

Fnictibus Agrippse Siculis, quos coUigis. 

Here the word collect in the Imitation, though 
literal^ gives a new sense. This answers to Mvn 
Lockers definition of pure wit. But the whole is 
equally ingenious; and the Imitations of this charm- 
ing Poet were never, if it is not a paradox to say it, 
more truly original. 

The turn of kissing the royal hand^ and of ac- 
quiring the gouti the parody of the offered pipe, 
and of the moderate claim on the* cellar, deserve to 
be remarked. 

Si ventri bene, si latqri est, pedibusque tuisy nil 
DivitisB poterunt regales addere majus. — - 
Utere Pompeie Grospho : et, si quid petit, ultro 
Defer: nil Grosphus nisi verum orabit et sequuiii. 

The decree against the unrighteous party, a recent 
and popular event, is here a fine stroke of satire, 
produced by a shade of departure from the original. 

Jus imperiumque Phra'dtes 
Casaris accepit, genibus minor. 

I may 


I may now, my dear Friend, as well give you the 
additional verses of this charming Poet. 

April 1742. 

While now the vernal clouds impend. 
And ^eem the distant hills to kiss, 

May no ill-omenM blast attend 
To waft away the hov'ring bliss ! 

The heavens are waving in suspense^ 

In doubt as yet what face to wear. 
Whether look stern on man^s offence, 

Or on his follies drop a tear. 
To his own race in terror shewn. 

Stern was the air that Joseph kept : 
But, when their guilt he heard them own, 

'Twas then he turrCd^ and then he wept. 


£dium acclinis lateri sinistro, 
Quod Lares inter tibi nomen addam ? 
Crustane ut serves vigil, an Cloaca 

Arbiter audis ? 
Quatuor te vix homines (pusillos 
Parturit quales bodierna tellus) 
Vix queant portare humeris, nov&que 

Figere terra ! 
Failor : angustum colit bunc recessum 
Quern probd noscunt et amant Camtena ; 
Hie jacet /urfi* satur in vireiOy 

Totus in illis. 
Arcta sit curtae domus, et reductae 
Molis; hic ilium comitare vellem 
Cum bonis et cum lepidis, ThofmeqQe 

Instar, amicis. 

* Tlie Bowling-green. 

I am 


I am happy in the power to add an Alcaic Ode, 
addressed by him to his friend Doctor Cranke the 
Physician. I take it irom a book which gives this 
character of Davies : 

*^ Dr. Davies possessed the most amiable and 
'^ conciliating manners^ To the refined accomplish- 
^^ ments oi the scholar he joined the meek and the 
** unassuming spifit of the Christian. His moral 
'^ and intellectual character is pourtrayed in some 
*^ elegant lines by Miss Seward; and in a Latin 
'^ Epistle^ in which the easy flow of the verse and the 
** felicity of the diction contend for superioribr, writ- 
•^ ten by Mr. Phelps^ of New College, Oxford'* 

The Writer then gives the lines of Miss Seward, 
which have been already laid before the Reader in 
p. 10; and reserves ih^ LatinVoemoi Mr. Phelps 
for his Appendix. 

The Alcaic of Davies appears to me of the high- 
est order, in poetical spirit, grace, and eflfect. The 
Writer of these articles describes it well, in terming 
it " an elegant composition of terse Latinity." 


Amice ; — villae temperiem tuae 
Laudo; nee alter me magis angulus 
Oblectat : arridet, fatemur, 
Len^ Cubans et aprica sedes, 

Cui clivus Euros et Boream altior 
Defendit, et quae Iseta Favonio 
Se pandit, et flatus tepentes 
Captat, amans genialis Austri. 

C re das 


Credas Poetae ; non alia h&c domus 
Flaccum recepit; non aliter jugo 
Supina, decHvemque fundum, et 
Irriguam speculata vallem : 

Si tecta culmis haec popularibus 
Congesta, — tignis, et pale& rudis 
Si murus horrescat, nee altae 
Invidiam faciant columnaB, 

At non supellex munda, nec%iortuli 
Deerunt salubres ; arid urn iter soli, 
Amnesque piscosi — et paratse 
Artis opes, tua coena, perdix. 

Jucunda visu panditur area, 
Amicta cultu, strata mapaliis, 
Alt^ue vill& — nee recusat 
Coeruleos aperire montes. 

Hunc o recessum saepiiis oppido 

Mutes, et arti ; — dum licet otio 

Fruare, nee Febris clientes 

Det nimios, nimiiiinque paucos. 

For the authenticity of this Ode as the work of 
Da VIES, I have the evidence of Major Evans, bro- 
ther to the Rector of Kingslandy a gentleman to 
whose liberal aid and politest attentions I am grate- 
fully indebted. 



In Imitation of Horace. 

O nata mecum, Kc.—Uh. III. Od. XXI. 

Dec. 1742. 
My cask ; wbate'er attends thy train, 
Tiie comic or the sober vein, 

* Whate'er thy brooding barrel 
Of mirth or wisdom brings along, 
The tale — the argument — the song, 

Or amicable quarrel : 

t Whether gay chat makes free with night, 
Or slumbers wave their feathers light, 

And close the cheerful scene. 
Thy piercing be delay'd no more. 
Come and yield up thy liquid store. 

For Crank£ the taste will deign. 

X Not he, though deep in volume sage 

Of SydenhanCsy FreimFsy or Hoffman! s page. 

Will scruple to partake ; 
Ev'n they v9\\!cLBourdeaux^x\A Champaigne 
Could warm the philosophic brain. 

And Mead could be a rake. 

* Seu tu querelas^ sive geris jocos 
Seu rixam, et insanos amores, 
Seu facUem^ pia testa, somnum. 

f Descende, Coromo jubente, 
Promere languicUora vina. 

X Non ille, quanqukm Socraticis madet 
Sermonibus, te negliget horridus. 
Narratur et prisci Catonu 
Ssp^ mere caluisse virtus. 



* Thou gentle engine to extort 
Froai pining sorrow, jest and sporty 

The balm of hearts opprest; 
fThou bliss, that stealing soft thy way, 
Can turn insensibly the key 

That opes the human breast ; 

X From thee Despair has gleams of hope, 
The Curate emulates the Pope, 

The beggar lifts his crest : 
§ Patients awhile forget their ails, 
Nor debtors fear to lie in jails. 

Nor strollers to be pressM. 

II Thee Bacchus with himself shall cheer ; 
O that a Fenus too were here, 

With all her graceful court ! 
The tapers blaze with merry light ; 
And pleasure makes the tedious night 

Of slow December short. 

* Tu lene tormentum ingenio admoves 
Plerumque duro. 

t Tu sapientium 

Curas et arcanum jocoso 
Consilium retegb Lyao, 

I Tu spem reducis mentibus anxiis^ 
§ £t addis comua pau]^eri. 

II Post te neque iratos trementi 

Regum apices^ neque militum anna. 

^ Te Liber, et si Iseta aderit Fenus, 
Segnesque nodum solvere Gratise. 



He seldom wrote verse of humour; but his talent 
for it will appear in the following address to his 

On Dr. Cranke's Victory over the Gout. 

The Maladies, assembled atl» 
Were grumbling in their sable hall : 
For want of meat grown spare and lank, 
They all complained of Doctor Crankcy 
Of savage cruelty accus'd him, 
How shockingly the tyrant usM'em. 
The raging Fever at command 
Was tame beneath his chilling hand, 
And their best fiend, subdued, could spare 
Its cherishM prey, the young and fair. 
In vain they burrow'd ev'ry part, 
The reins, the liver, and the heart ; 
In vain could each recess explore, — 
He sends 'em back through evVy pore: 
Some from the turbid stomach's coat 
He forces up the patient's throat ; 
And some, too heavy so to jump, 
He sends before him to the rump : 
These with a fatal powder slew, 
And with a lancet those ran through; 
Sustain'd the gasping patient's breath. 
And pbysick'd all the fiends to death. 

Gouty who had no Physician fear'd. 
His agonizing phiz up-rear'd. 
Swore that in vengeance he would go. 
And catch the Doctor by the toe ; 



But he, who saw the lurking fiend, 
Said calmly, ** IHlhewithyou^friendy 
And snatchM at once, in his defence. 
The goodly weapon abstinence ; 
He fenc'd and parried with his foe, 
And warded off each coming blow. 
While in his firm unshaken strength 
He kept the monster at arms^ length. 
The monster vext retir'd, and swore 
He never met his match before. 

Dec. 30, 1745. 
May no misfortune blot the rising year ! 
No rebel bonnet South of Eske appear ! 
No more her savage crest Distraction rear ! 
O ! may the scene, polluted thus with blood. 
Ope the seaPd eyes to make us wise and good ! 
The menac'd havock, and the passing storm. 
With terrors arm*d, a guilty age reform ! 
Strike the base heart, and sweep corruptions all 
From the packM Senate, or the tainted Stall ! 
To virtue if no blessings could allure. 
With scourges, to reclaim, — and plagues, to cure ! 

Hints from Phadrus, Lib. 3, Prol. 

Sincere if Bateman askM the Muse to sing, — 
Ere she can raise her voice, or spread her wing, 
She ventures to demand a vacant ear : 
Unoccupied in state, from levees clear, 

Q H« 


He must not think a moment is too long 
To bear and feel the energy of song. 

But justly he retorts — " Can he have time 
'^ From youth and pleasure to bestow on rhyme ! 
** What, leave on Epsom down, or Windsor cbace^ 
" The noble game, or animating chace ! 
** When, swiftly o'er the hill and forest borne, 
*^ The mind re-echoes to the cheering horn ? 
** Or leave his princely board, and social friend, 
** On a poetic trifler to attend ! 
** My verses to a rainy hour he '11 keep, 

And with my sonnets doze himself asleep." 


Born to sip early the Castalian rill, 
Nurs'd as if cradled on the sacred hill 
Where Inspiration sweeps the magic string. 
And breath in air wafts music on its wing. 
In youthful bloom, their laurel bowers among, 
Play'd on their knees, and lisp'd their hallow'd song ; 
Though from the heart each abject wish is torn, 
The wo):ld forsaken, and its bribes forsworn, 
Fond of inglorious ease, without a name. 
Or paid with envied praise in barren fame. 
Yet by the Muses doom'd, alas, to wait. 
Kept at a distance from their lofty gate ! 
Still, as I feel the debt, my verse is due, 
A neighbour's tribute of no servile hue ; 
Pleas'd could I hear that Bateman, young and gay. 
Stole half an hour of life to read the lay. 





I have no key to this Poem, except what the verse 
itself can supply. It should seem that some old 
figure * imported from Bangor was presented by 
Dr. Milles to a Lord Bateman of those days ; but 
whether it was the last Peer, or his immediate Pre- 
decessor, for want of the Poem's date, I cannot as 
yet ascertain. Both were contemporaries. The last 
acquired the title, and the Shobden estate, very near 
Kingslandy A. D. 1744. 

Why did I leave my Bangor'* s native shore ? 

Why ramble to the distant vale oi Dore\? 

No Briton could profane my hallow'd shrine, 
*' Or treat my form but as a thing divine. — 
*^ Yet where than Dorez. more sequester'd shade 
** Has thought conceiv'd, or gloomy Nature made ? 
*' Yet there was found a sacrilegious race, 
** Who seiz'd and rent me from the hallow'd base. 
** Think, to be wak'd with such alarming fears, 
" Where I had slept in peace five hundred years ! 
*^ O direful deed ! avenging powers, look down, 
*V Behold me toss'd and carted up to town, 
** Where smiling at his plunder Bateman stands, 
" And Milles^ arch traitor, clasps his impious hands. 
** Can I forget the leap that bounding sprung, 
^^ His breathless accent struggling on his tongue, 
** When first the caitiff spied upon my breast, 
** The emblematic speculum imprest ? 
** No more, ye fiends, upon my ruins tread ! 
'* Cease, ye barbarians, to insult the dead !'* 

* Mr. Pennant, in his Wekh Tour, vol. I. p. ^33, has engraved 
some old coffin-lids found at Bangor, on one of which is in- 
scribed, '* Hic JACET Ithel Cadwgon." J. N. 

f A river of that name runs through the golden valley in the 
county of Hereford, 

Q 2 Thus 



Thus in accusing mood the Image cried^ 
MiUes beard — and thus in choler's tone replied : 

^^ Ungrateful Caducan I unkind amends ! 
*^ Why blame compassion ? why calumniate friends ? 

For this — bad BatemarCs kind and genVous care 

Brought thee from darkness into light and air ? 

From killing damps and charnel vaults obscene^ 
'^ From walls in mossy distillations green ? 
** Plac'd thee in decent state, a welcome guest, 
** Brusb'd off thy dirt, and scowerM thy tattered vest ? 

Was it for this repairing arts were spread, 

And laboring skill reformM thy shattered head ? 
"Go, and lament, ingrate, the varied scene ; 

Go and complain that Batanan made thee clean ; 

Go to the silent gloom, and be forgot ; 

Enjoy thy solitude ; — prefer to rot; 
** Go to the Dorian vale, or Cambrian shore !'* 
AbashM, the Idol slept, and spoke no mora. 




An extract frona a gay little feather of Dr. Da- 
vies, addressed to his friend John Dodd, has been 
given in p. 504; and I shall now transcribe the 
lines alluded to in pp. 487. 675. 

Father of Britain! (late restored) a while 

Attend, and cast a venerable smile ! 

Know*st thou these walls, these walks, this woody brow I 

Blush, good old man, and see its glories now. 

* I have obtained, by the fevour of Lady Knowles, the origi- 
nal picture of Davies, from which the keepsake to Lord Cam- 
den was a copy 3 and I send it you that it may be engraved, — 
/ know from the first Lord Camden that it was the very maa 
alive ; but I should guess at a younger age> not much above tii6 
eighth lustre. 



Know^st thou the Man — 
Whom neither fear nor favour can controul, 
His inborn worth, and probity of soul : 
Mild as the vernal gale, or softest lay ; 
Firm as the rock that spurns the roaring sea: 
^* Inflexible, and steady to his trust :" — 
Barely to say he 's upright, is unjust. 
Father, be proud ; assume thy later fame : 
Hear, and rejoice : he bears thy honourM name. 

Do I then flatter ? what ! for dirt and pence ? 
'Tis false, ye hirelings ! wretches, get ye hence. 
What ! for some meed ! — with me as light as air : 
Trifles and toys beneath my serious care. 
Where interest, trifles, and ev'n power are weak. 
Freely I draw ; and what I feel, I speak. 
Ask, ask the People^s, ask the Sovereign's choice. 
Ask thy own Britain — she confirms my voic*. 

I shall conclude my account of this excellent man, 
by transcribing his Epitaph: 

" To the memory of 

Sneyd Davies, D. D. 

Archdeacon of Derby, 

Canon Residentiary of the Cathedral Church of 

Lichfield, and Rector of this Parish. 

Born with natural abilities, 

and furnished with acquired endowments, 

equal to the highest station ; 

his modest disposition withheld him from the pursuit 

of that degree and advancement in the Church 

to which his merits 

peculiarly entitled him. 

He died 20th day of January, 1769, 

aged 59." 

P. s. 


P. S. As a proper appendage to the preceding ar- 
ticle, I proceed to transcribe, from Mr. Coxe^s Me- 
moirs of Stillingjleet *, an excellent sketch of the 
Character of the Rev. John Williamson, by Mr. 
Aldworth Neville : 

" If ever man lived to fifty, and died without 
having lost a friend, or made an enemy, it was 
Johnny fViUiamson. 

Pope drew his character in a single line, 
* In wit a man, simplicity a child.' 

Had he ^at for the picture, it could not have been 
more like: however, this is only a great outline^ 
and I must be more minute. With the most 
acute understanding, and infinite discernment, any 
dull scoundrel might have duped him any hour of his 
life ; some did, and they always escaped with impu- 
nity ; for he was as careful to conceal their iniquity 
, as they could be themselves : without vice himself, he 
could not bear the thought of punishing it in others. 
" The gentleness of his manners could only be 
equalled by the depth of his genius : no sickness 
could ruffle the one, or blunt the other. Bad health 
indeed checked the flight of the latter, and hindered 
its attaining those heights in philosophy and mathe- 
matics to which he would otherwise have soared ; 
as I heard from Professor Bradley^ when I was a 
Student at Oxford, and had not the happiness of 
knowing Williamson ; and many times have I heard 
it since from some of the first men in those sciences 

* Of that entertaining Work I have already spoken in p. 506, 
and shall only now observe that I think Mr. StillingfleeVs prose 
most elegant, easy, and beautiful j his thoughts, at once, inge- 
nious, and chaste 5 but his Charge, and Sermon, to Windham, 
liis Botanical Memoirs, and his Tour, could have been spared. — 
I have seen him at Lord Dacre's, and have heard him, but 
thought him rather amiable than interesting. He generally ac- 
companied his friend Marsham, who was of the same cast. When 
I read his Letters to Mrs, Montagu I was charmed. Indeed all 
his Letters are pleasing and lively, as well as clever. I should 
have thought it impossible for him to have loved any thing but a 
Linnaan flame. By the way, I think his pittance of 100/. a year 
shamefully inadequate, G. U. 



here and at Geneva ; from Robins^ Earl Stanhope, 
StevenSj Stillingfleetj Professors Calandrini and 
Cramer of Geneva^ to whom I may, from report, 
add Simson of Glasgow. These are the illustrious 
witnesses of Williamson's inventive genius and ac- 
curate judgment ; and well might they judge of both, 
for none of them ever published any mathematical 
work, when he was within reach, without first sub- 
mitting it to his censure and correction. When Dr. 
Frewen, the celebrated physician at Oxford, had 
obtained his promise not to think of mathematics for 
a twelvemonth at least, he employed that time in 
making himself thorough master of Greek, which he 
did without any fatigue of mind ; and afterwards, 
when his bad health had entirely stopped his mathe- 
matical career, he applied himself to the study of his 
own profession, whicn he enforced and adorned with 
every argument and ornament that could be drawn 
from antient philosophy, history, poetry, or belles 
lettres. Superior as his genius was, it was nothing 
to his heart : that was literally without a spot ; for I 
will not call by that name a thoughtless indolency, 
the child of innocence and generosity. 

" He was in the strictest sense of the word a true 
Christian, made up of faith, meekness, and charity. 
Generous to such a degree as never to look on the 
solitary guinea in his pocket as his own, whilst any 
object struck him that seemed to want it more than 
himself : no wonder, therefore, he was always poor. 
I asked him one day, why he was not of the Royal 
Society? His answer was, that he had never found 
himself worth ^20 to pay the fees. This, amongst 
other marks of his character, I mentioned to the 
Duke of Bedford, in my recommendation of him to 
the Chaplaincy of Lisbon ; and such an union of 
merit and poverty weighed more with his Grace, than 
the efforts of very powerful solicitors in favour of 
other competitors: he was appointed to that employ- 
ment. How he discharged his duty, the universal 
veneration and affection of every rank of every Na- 


tion with which he had any concern, best certified. 
Sir Benfamin Keene, Mr. Castres, and Mr. Hat/y 
His Majesty's Ministers at the Courts of Spain and 
Portugal, together with the whole British Factory, 
adored him. The Portuguese Nobility and Clergy 
treated him with a respect never paid to his Prede- 
cessors ; and, what flattered him more than all the 
rest, the common people of Lisbon, forgetting he 
was a Heretick, never once oflfered him the least 
insult ; but, on the contrary, were ever ready to 
assist him in finding out the huts of the sick or dying 
English sailors. 

" He escaped the Earthquake miraculously ; but it 
left such a horror on his gentle mind, that he fre- 
quently requested his friends to wave their curiosity 
on that subject. He happened to have received 
fifty moidores the day before the Earthquake, and 
had them in his pocket the next morning ; reflecting 
on this circumstance, he was saying some time after- 
wards, that he believed he had been at one time the 
richest man in Lisbon : " True," said Mr. Castres, 
" but how much had you left the next night ?" He 
had given it all away ; and soon afterwards insisted, 
and from a perseverance very unusual in him, pre- 
vailed with the Factory to abate 130 moidores of the 
stipend they had themselves fixed upon him. He, 
however, continued to remit a handsome allowance to 
his mother and sisters in Scotland, to his dying day. 
All his books and papers, which last was an irrepa- 
rable loss to the publick, as well as to himself, were 
buried in the general ruin. The horrid executions 
on account of the King's assassination wrought 
deeply likewise on his gentle disposition ; and the 
more so, as he had personally known the Marquis de 
Tavora, and others of the suflTerers. 

** Early in the year 1793, this godlike man was, 
about his 50th year, relieved from all his infirmities, 
and gathered to his kindred angels. He left just 
enough to bury him, and would have left no more 
if he had been Archbishop of Canterbiirjf'* 


[ 233 ] 

My dear Friend, Walton GrovCy Mar. 20, 1 8 1 ff. 

I have still one more article for you, connected 
with the Memoir of Dr. Davies. 

Noscitur a sociis^ though it is not universal, is a 
very general, and a very safe criterion of the asso^ 
ciated individuals — till presumption is overturned by 
fact. Let us apply this criterion. 

Mr. fVhaley was intemperate, and a libertine 
—Dr. Davies an exemplary moralist; but the foi> 
mer, I should guess, had convivial talents, and com- 
panionable ones. These cover a multitude of sins, 
Mr. Dodd had no literature, but he had a generous 
heart and benevolence of manner. In Dr. Thomas^ 
in Lord Camden, in Aldivorth Neville^ and in 
Phelps, " though last not least,'* Dr. Davies had 
the society of spirits in perfect unison with his own. 
—The Writer who is now coming upon the scene 
would confer honour upon friends of the highest 
class for genius and wit. — I mean Mr. Phelps. 

I have made inquiries, and some discoveries, con-? 
>cerning this accomplished and gifted scholar, but as 
yet very incomplete. 

The name struck me, as familiar to my recollection 
of it in a very different place from TivolL 

I was carried once to the Catch Club — against all 
rule — not as a guest protected by one of the mem- 
bers ; but as an interloper, in the very heart of the 
vocal feast, and at night. 

There I saw^ and there I heard, a Mr. Phelps, 
who was then filling the chair of the Vice President. 

I was much pleased with his appearance, with his 
manners, and, above all, with his musical talent. 

I learnt that he was a personal friend of Ltord 
Sandwich, and that he had been Under Secretary of 
State : but that he had in this Club the less dignified 
post of Secretary, and Treasurer, from his passion for 
vocal musick. In two or three years afterwards he 
w^ no more. 

I have 


I have since found that he was the writer of the 
following Letters — that in 1761 he was Secretary 
to the Legation at Turin — that in 17 68 he was 
appointed Provost Marshal of the Leeward 
Islands — and that he died without issue in 1771^ ^ 
Yery general favourite. 

1 have also learnt more details of him, and they ' 
are not a little curious. 

He was born at Eye^ in the county of Hereford , 
the son of the Rev. George Phelps, Custos of the 
College in Hereford, and Vicar oi All Saints in that 
City, who married a tVhitney (whose mother was a 
Cornwall), and died March 23, 1753, in Hereford^. 

He was educated at Winchester school ; and the 
Bishop of Worcester informs me that his Latin 
Terses there had a very ingenious and classical turn. 
He there formed an acquaintance with Lord Rivers^ 
then George Pitty and with Lord Bruce^ afterwards 
the last Earl of Aylesbury. After he took his Ba- 
chelor's degree, he became travelling tutor to the 
Duhe of Beaufort, Mr. Bouverie of Teston, and 
Mr. James Dawhins. It appears from the Letters 
©f Da VIES that he had been twice abroad, and I 
suppose with different pupils. In one of these trips 
he was accompanied by the two Winchester friends. 
Lord Bruce and Mr. Pitt. The latter, being ap- 
pointed Embassador to the King of Sardinia, made 
Phelps the Secretary of Legation. 

Upon the King's marriage we have his name to 
an English Epithalamium, published in the Oxford 
Collection • This, I have no doubt, was the compo- 
sition of Davies, though it is the Odyssey of his 
Iliad; but it has marks of his power and style, 
which are decisive to shew that he is the writer of it. 

Phelps, at the date of this Poem, was at Win-- 
Chester, as an Adjutant of the Dorset Militia. — la 
the verse he alludes to his travels, and these two 
friends by name. 

* One of his daughters mariied Dr. Leigh, a Canon Residen- 
tiary of Hereford, and Archdeacon of Salop. 

1 may 


I may as well copy here the Poem addressed by 
him to Davies, and sent from Oxford : 

O qui sub umbr& Socraticis mades 
Chartis, et idem carmen amabile 
EfFundis, arridente Phasbo 
Ca^/fl^zbque choris fluente: 

Nunc o resumas, nunc potiis, lyram 
Laurosque soevas, et faciles humo 
Sterni catervas, et cruenti 
Anna canas animosa belli. 

En qua caducum fortior Atcstria * 
Inspirat ignem, qua rapidos agit 
Victrix triumphos, et calentes 
Vindicat inferias suorum. 

Audin% quis horror ; quid referunt soni 
Fatale^ — circa quis reboantuiii 

Plausus virorum est ? heu quot umbrss 
Praecipitant per opaca lethi ! 

tllliic vagari non patitur sues 
Perita vestri cura Machaoms, 

* This, I apprehend, has a peculiar grace ad hominem, for 
Davie s had written a poetical address to the Queen of Hungary, 

f These two stanzas, which are copied by Da vies in one of 
his Letters, prove a command of the Horatian tune. They are 
thus introduced by his friend. The Letter has no date : 

'^ I have a Letter from young Phelps at Oxford, with a Latin 
*' Ode. I mention it upon account of two stanzas wherein Dr. 
" Cranke is dubbed a Poet. After describing the havock of the 
*' war, 

'^ Quot umbrae 
*' Precipitant per opaca lethi 3 
** follow these lines : 

" lllilc vagari, &c. &c. MedicuS'Poeta. 
*' He has incuned this odium and scandal by keeping bad 
'* company, and, should the notion spread, it may do him harm 
*' in busine^ — yet I love mischief so well, that I cannot forbear 
*' smiling," 



Quoscunque Febris torquet urens, 
Inflat Hydrops, minuitve Tabes. 

Hoic Pheshus artem non dedit unicam ; 
Et sanat herbis, et cithar^ valet. 
Ipse instar Hannesiy coron4 
Par duplici — Medicus-Poeta. 

Te jure, totutn te sibi vindicant 
Pindi soxores \ te fidibus Deus 
Donavit argutisque nervis 

Et properam dedit ipse laurum. 

Sed O dolendum ! te penetralibus 
Non Wiccamanis erudiens lyram 
Instruxit sedes — non disertse 
Wintonidum coluere Muss. 

Prndens futu'ri Regia te domus 
In lacte fovit ; Camus alit suum 
^tate matur^, invidetque 

Tarn celebrem Rhedr/cinte alumnum* 

Ille inter omnes flevit aquas dolens. 
Cum te juvents prssesidium suae 
Vidit revulsum — " Siste,'* dixit, 
<^ Ruris amans, tacitseque famse (^ 

Desideratus jam nimiilm diu. 
Tandem pudori pone modum tuo ; 
Te Gratia tristes reposcunt, 
Et citbarte sine te silentes. 

Nee me pusillum filiolum chori. 
Nil praevigentem te genio, et sacri 
Juris potentem, dedecebit 
Verba loqui socianda chordis. 




Dti vatis umbrae dent requiem, croco 
Spirante in urn^, qui didicit priils 
Virtute vim prsebente, Phaebi 
Digna lyr& resonare versu. 

Nee ulla Musis gratior est lyra 
Qu^m qu8B protervis abstinet a modis, 
Moresque sustentat caducos 
Auspicio melioris aBvi. 

At vate ab illo laurea decidat, 
Utcunque felix, qui vitiis heri 
Venalis inservit superbi, 

Immeritam famulus per aulauu 

Musis amici spiritus altior 
Salve Maronis ! — jure tulit suum 
Te peuna, quae nescivit aulae 
Blanditiis animosa solvi. 

Hunc nuda ?^/r/W5 prosequitur; piis 
Hunc lachrymarum muneribus Fides^ 
Et flore multo, Gratiarum 
Accumulat soror omnis urnam. 

Nee parce venae tu simili et su(b 
Marone adempto — ^Te pietas vetat 
Latere in umbr& ; desine abdi, 
Virgineum excutiens pudorem. 

Longe procellis da trepidos metus 
Portare ; felix, et patriae, 4ll tibi 
Succedat annus ; nee per aevum 
Deficiant nivei colores f 




The modesty of Davies induced him to unite 
upon this Letter, as the motto, *' Non tarn de me, 
*' quam supra me ;" as if he had said, " this poetical 
effusion is to be considered rather as the eulogy of a 
partial friend, than as a delineation of me.** 

Where Phelps acquired the charm of his musical 
talent an^ power, does not appear. But I never can 
forget the impression of them upon qae. It struck 
me that he was a perfect master of the science, that 
he had the most admirable voice of the kind I ever 
heard, a deep and mellow tone, with a taste not in- 
ferior to it. When I saw him, I thought him built 
for a century; — he had a handsome countenance 
and figure. 

It has been supposed that his music introduced 
him to the Earl of Sandwich, and it is probable 
enough ; but it has been added invidiously — that 
Phelps ^^ nimium dilexit amicum;" in other words, 
that it was the suicide of late hours and convivial 
frolics ; — but especially when they were engrafted 
upon all the leisure he could obtain from the desk 
when he was Under Secretary of State, and Lord 
Sandwich his Principal — that he was all day occupied 
in his official toil ; for which he consoled himself^ 
and his principal with him, by roaring and reveling 
all night. 

Such is party, and the vulgar estimate of character. 
That Lord SandicU;h was convivial to a fault, when 
disengaged from his public trust, it would be abject 
flattery to dispute : but his enemies, if they knew 
him, would admit that in all the offices he filled he 
was exemplary in attentions and in talent ; with a 
power, and with a habit of discernment, that would 
never have chosen i^man to be his deputy in a public 
trust because he had a good voice, and sang well. 

I was not acquainted with him, but often met him 
at the Catch Club ; and with all my recollections in 
prose and verse that record his intemperate mirth^ 
I never saw a conduct tn him that was not perfectly 



suitable to the dignified manners of a geintleman, 
though animated by comic humour^ as a performer 
in catches which demanded comic effect : — And I 

Srfectly recollect, as I have already intimated, that 
R. Phelps had the appearance of perfect health 
when 1 saw him two or three years before his deaths 
When I add, that a Bishop, whom to name is to ho- 
nom- his birth and his rank in the Church, the Bi^ 
shop of Durham, accompanied him in visits to the 
lateJtfr. Neville; this obloquy, 1 trust, will be no 

Upon this gentleman's travels I have made up a 
final and correct opinion. It is — that he never tra- 
velled at all, and that he was three times abroad ; 
— -that he had no pupils, and that he had three, 

I have an obliging Letter from the celebrated Mr. 
Uvedale Price, Author of the Essay on the Pictu- 
resque, as accomplished a person as any of this age, 
in which are these slight, but valuable, notices upon 
the subject of Mr. Phelps. They will speak for 

" I was not acquainted with Mr. Phelps till his 
^^ constitution and his voice had been much im- 
^^ paired, and my short acquaintance with him sooa 
>^ ended with his life. 

^^ By what remained of his voice, even to the last, 

it must have been a very fine one. 

I have always heard him spoken of as a man 
^f»highly esteemed and beloved on various accounts : 
^^ I am persuaded that his Letters from Ital^ must 

be very interesting." 

Lady Cornwall says, ^^ With Mr. Richard Phelps 
all my family were in habits of the greatest inti- 
macy. He was a most popular companion, and I 
have always heard him highly spoken of as a 
*^ scholar. In modern languages and in music he 
excelled extremely." 

In the following Letter the Reader will compare 
him to that masterly Painter, the late Mr. Eustace, 




the Marcellus of his day. We had but seen him 
before he left us the melancholy office to deplore the 
loss of so high-spirited and so accomplished a genius 
— to cherish his remains — and perpetuate 'his fame! 
I cannot forbear to add, however, that in this Let- 
ter Phelps makes Mr. Eustace appear in a subordi- 
nate light, as a careless observer and superficial rea- 
soner, as I shall have occasion to demonstrate. 

Copy from the original in my possession, G. H, 

*^ Dear Rector, Rome, July 10, I751. 

*' Perhaps you may by this time be Mr. Arch- 
*' deacon^ Mr. Chancellor^ Mr. Residentiary, &c. ; 
^* but, whatever titles you possess, or may acquire, 
" including Prelacy itself, I hope you will always 
*' hold Kingsland in commendam ; which a little sa- 
*^ vours of self-interest. I remember too well the 
many agreeable hours I have passed there ; and if 
you will just allow me a little of Dr. Bentley's 
comment, that is, if you will agree that terrarum 
" has the sense of Britanniarum, I sincerely can 

" sav with Horace : 


" lUe terrarum mihi praeter omnes 
" Aiigulus ridet. 

" I am but just returned from an expedition into 
" the country, and amongst other places have been 
" examining pretty carefully what I call yourjriend 
^^ Horaces villa. 

" I have had a notable dispute with a learned fli- 
*^ mflw, who is an absolute sceptic in antiquities, and 
carries this point so far as even to doubt if there 
ever existed such a man as AugtAstus^ &c. 
*^ However, lately, finding the mollia tempora, I 
prevailed upon him to allow that such a man as 
your friend has existed : moreover, that he actually 
" wrote all those Odes, &c. which are attributed by 
" the moderns to him. ' Upon this I advanced a 
" little step further, and I asked him what he 
^^ thought of that palace in Tivoli (anciently TiburJ 

** which 




^ which Antiquaries have agreed in general to name 
^^ Horace^s villa. He replied, that, in oppoi^ition to 
" his usual diffidence, he would allow that Horace 
*^ had a villa, or farm, in some place or other, because 
*^ he talks of such a thing in one of his Epistles; 
" but, if I had not surprized him iii a merciful hour, 
^^ he had arguments enough by him to shew, and 
prove, that Horace was only -bantering, and that 
he never possessed one foot of land in his life. — • 
" ' However,' continued he, ^ I have allowed you 
'thus far, and scorn to retract ; but how he came 
" ' into possession of property in Tibur, I think no 
* man who has not the. cacoethes of Antiquaries 
'would ever dream.' Upon this we entered into 
''a pitched battle and smart engagement. I at 
length obliged him to advance one step further in 
concession, and grant me that Horace had a farm 
'' in the Sabine country. After this bold flight of sue- 
f cess, I grew more unreasonable; and, after having 
examined the whole spot most attentively, I con- 
vinced myselfi though I could not Aim, that he 
'' had not only a villa near Tivoli, but that I had 
found the very scene described, in his Epistles. 
'' You will find that my arguments are far from 
^^ being, mathematical demonstrations ; but, such as 
^^ they are, 1 leave them to you. ' 

"I chiefly insist upon two passages in Horace, 
*' besides the wish 

" ' Tibur Argreo positum colono,'* 

^' The first is, 

'* ' Ego, apis Matime 
^' * More ynodoquCf 
" * Grata carpentis thyma^'' Kc. 

'' Here, I think, he fairly makes himself more than 
^' a visitor of Mcecenas, which is the only argu- 
'' ment I have heard for his being so fond of cele* 
*' brating Tibur upon every occasion. But doe« he 

R " not 






** not upon this occasion carry a little the air of 
** ownership ? 

" * Per laborem 
" * Plurimum, circi nemus, uvidique 
^ * Tihuris ripas, operosa parvus 
" < Carmina fingo.' 

*^ But, should we allow that he takes the liberty 
'^ with his patron's friendship to make his villa in a 
^^ manner his own, this next passage demolishes it alt 
^* at once: 

" * Ronnie Tibur amo ventosus, Tibure Romavu^ 


"We may allow a fine gentleman, particulady a man 
^ of genius, to be as fickle as he will, and to be tired 

of elegant luxury as fast as he chuses ; but to pitch 

upon his protector's villa as one of the scenes in 
^ which he is to mark his caprice, is what the 4tU 
*^ quette of Augustus's court, I fancy, would never 
^ nave allowed. 

*^ Thus far we may infer that Horace had some 
*^ little abode in Tibur ^ which he could honestly call 
^^ his own, and round or square it as fitted his hu- 
^^ mour. 

** Now, then, Jet us try whether it is practicable 
*^ for us to hit upon the identical spot which he has 
^' given to us in one of his Epistles : 

** * Continui montesy nisi dissocieniur opacd 
« ' Falle: 

'^ This picture is exemplified with such particula- 
^ rity in the Tivoli hills, and in that spot which I 
^[ call the villa of Horace j that no other part of the 
^ country can equal it. That spot which I take for 
*^ his yarm has most literally tne dextrum latus et 
** Uevum^ exposed by its position to the morning and 
^evening sun, its figure being most like a semi-oval. 
^* That formerly there has been a villa there, we 
« discern by the remains. The Antiquaries have 

*^ given 



^^ given it the name of Sallusfs villa, and have called 
*' another not very distant from it the villa of 
*^ Horace; to which I can only say that, as conjecture 
" is the word, what I give to Horace^ and they 
to Sallusty so expressly conforms to the Poet's 
own description of his own place, that it would be 
very particular indeed if there had been two so 
very similar. I should rather imagine some of the 
very old Antiquaries mistook the two places. — 
^^ That which they give to Horace^ but I to Sallust, 
^^ has been very magnificent. There is particularly 
*^ a large and a noble aqueduct, that brought water 
^* to this domain over a considerable tract of moun« 
*' tain ; whereas the other is watered still by a most 
beautiful, clear, and powerful spring, exactly as 
2/our Poet has done us the favour to describe it, 
*^ and which, the moment I saw it, I had no manner 
^ of doubt in calling the Fons Blandusias : 

" ^ Tejlagrantis atrox hora CaniculiSy Kc. 

^ is only applicable to this fountain. 

'* In the times of drought the most general and 
^^ severe, it has never failed. This fountain too has 
^^ been graced with its presiding Nymph, or Deity, 
** as there are some remains of grotto-work about it ; 
^^ though some of the moderns, with piety a little 
^' miscalculated, have strengthened it with brick ! 
^•' and put an old marble sarcophagus there by way 
^^ of basin, for the better convenience of men and 
^^ cattle. 

** A little below the Tivoli mountains, close to 
^^ Quintilius VaruSs villa, is a charming grotto, very 

antique. It has water at least as limpid as the 

fountain I have just mentioned; and this Messrs. 
'^ the Antiquaries have called Fons Blandusioe, It 
^^ is, however, let them say what they will, an artifi- 
^^ cial spring, which, when you are the inmate of this 
^^ grotto, seems to break out naturally from the rock. 

After close inspection^ we discovered it to be the 

R 2 gift 



ift of a subterraneous aqueduct from the spring- 
ead about a hundred yards higher up. This 
*^ aqueduct we detected by observing the sameness 
of the water in the spring above and that which is 
here presented below. We saw the water from 
the height running away in a little brook five or 
" six feet wide. This induced us to search more cu- 
" riously ; and amongst the bushes we discovered an 
opening into an aqueduct. We immediately hired 
a little boy, who went down with a light, by the 
" help of which, as the opening was just wide 
enough to admit our heads, we saw the course of 
the aqueduct, which had commenced at the springs 
head, and proceeded in a direct line to this grotto. 
** That spring rises immediately under a part of 
*^ Quintilius Farus^s villa. This grotto undoubt- 
" edly formed a part of his domain * : but whether 
" an artificial grotto supplied with water could with 
" propriety be called a Pons ; or, if it could, whether 
" Horace would have celebrated it in the same man- 
" ner that he has commemorated a spring with 
** which he had a particular and an appropriate con- 
" nexion, I leave to your better judgment. 

*^ You are to observe, that all the scene which I 
^* have thus far delineated lies upon the right side of 
" the river AniOj and consequently in the Sabine 
*^ region. 

" Mcecenas's villa, on the contrary, lies upon the 
^^ Faust ine hill, close to the skirts of Tibur; the via 
" Tihurtina running directly under the principal 
" court of his palace, and consequently the great 
" arch of the substruction going immediately over it. 
'' This piece of magnificence is still in use amongst 
" other places of the villa which the King of Naples 
'^ has built upon the old Herculaneum. The main 
" road runs through the very centre of the palace. 

* Surely this acuteness of research is wonderfully ingenious j 
-and it is entertaining even to those who are not Antiquaries^ by 
the unaffected and lively manner of describing it 

« There 



" There are still great remains oi Maecenases villa. 
" It is built of a small hard stone, of the marbled 
"kind, cut into shape, so as to form the opus reti- 
" culatum. It was encrusted, all over it, by the 
" richest marble. The lower order, which is the 
^' only remaining one, is an elegant specimen of the 
'^ Doric. Those above probably were Corinthian. 
This part of the villa, and which was the body of 
it, consisted of a magnificent court, which com- 
^^ manded three sides of almost a perfect square, 
*^ that side omitted which looked at Rome and its 
Campania ; so that, more properly, this building 
consisted of a front, and the two wings projecting 
" almost as far as was the length of the front. There 
'^ a noble arcade ran all round this building, the 
** arches of which communicated with the area. 
Another arcade ran along the outside of the right 
wing, which communicated immediately to the 
^^ gardens and pomaria described by Horace^ which 
^^ vyere watered by the aqueducts from the river 
" Anio, for that I take to be the meaning of Ho- 
*^ race's ^ mobiles rivi *.* 

" The Anio^ as you know, falls at once, loses itself 
^' amongst the rocks, and afterwards runs, in the 
*^ deep valley below in a picturesque manner, on ac- 
count of the little breaks made by the rocks, and 
the inequalities that are interspersed. The gar- 
" dens of Maecenas's villa were laid out upon the very 
high and steep acclivities of this valley, and were 
undoubtedly diversified with all the aid that art 
^* could give to them. To this, end an aqueduct of 
a considerable size was brought from the river im- 
mediately before its fall. This work still continues, 
and about a hundred yards from its head branches 
out into six aqueducts of smaller size. These are 
" subdivided into many others, that served, as occa- 
sion required, for fountains, water-pipes, &c. 

* This exposition is admirable, and is quite nen to om;^ 










which could be checked or supplied as might be 
necessary. These I should imagine to be tne mo^ 
^^ Mies rivi to which Horace alludes. At present 
your friend Mcecenas^s pomaria and superb gardens 
are converted into little vineyards and herb-gar- 
dens. His magnificent aqueducts are in many 
parts of them broken, and the water has worked 
" a channel by itself as the declivity has directed its 
^^ progress. In other parts they are kept in repair, 
" and serve as olive mills, or make small canals for 
the grounds above-mentioned. They afterwards 
fall in different and beautiful cascades, making the 
" Tivoli of this age, of all spots upon the earth 
** known to me, the most picturesque. 

'^ Now, having tired you by descriptions which 
" are likely to afford you very little amusement, 
" though to reflect upon the scene is very interesting 
" and agreeable to me; I must only add, that, against 
the general rule of travellers, I do not mean to dic- 
tate, and least of all to you my admired friend, as 
presuming upon the advantage which may have ari- 
^* sen from the opportunity of inspecting the scene. 
*^ I tell you of things just as I find them — to enjoy 
*' your judgment — give it me as freely as I now 
" scribble to you, following your own opinion as it 
** naturally occurs, and caring not sixpence for Com- 
*^ mentators or Antiquaries. I am, with all truth 
** and sincerity, dear Rector, 

^' Your most faithful and obliged, R. Phelps. 
" My hearty respects to Dr. Cranked 

That a fair comparison may now be made between 
Mr. Phelps and Mr. Eustace, I will here copy from 
the latter what he has reported from the same topic 
and scene. 

Magno sejudice quisque tuetur. 

He shall have the last word — here it is, though 
I may risk a note or two upon his context. 

" The 

MR. RICHARD PHEJUP^.) \ : :^4il 

^ The fond attachment of ffdrofie to Tihttt, 
united to the testimony of Suetoniw, hw induced 
many Antiquaries to imagine that, lat ^ome period 
or other of his life^ he possessed a littW villa in the 
neighbourhood ; and tradition accotHdipgly enno- 
bles a few scattered fragments of walls and arches 
with the interesting appellation of Hor^c^s villa. 
*^ The site is indeed worthy of the Poet- Defended 
by a semicircular range of wooded mountains from 
every cold and blustering wind, he might look 
down on the playful windings of the Anio below, 
discover numerous rills gleaming through the 
thickets as they glided down the opposite bank, 
enjoy a full view of the splendid mansion of his^ 
friend Moecenas rising directly before him, and 
catch a distant perspective of Aurea Roma, of the 
golden towers of the Capitol soaring majestic on 
its distant mount. But, whatever his wishes might 
be, it is notprobable that his moderate income per- 
mitted him to enjoy such a luxurious residence, in 
a place so much frequented, and consequently so 
very expensive ; and, indeed, the very manner in 
which those wishes are expressed seems to imply 
but slight hopes of ever being able to realize them. 
— Tibur Sgc, sit — utinam — undesi Parcae prohibent 
iniquce. — If Horace actually possessed a villa there, 
the wish was unnecessary, as the event lay in his 
power. The authority of Suetonius seems indeed 
positive; but it is possible that the same place may 
be alluded to under the double appellation of his 
Sabine or Tiburtine seat. The Poet, it is true, 
often represents himself as meditating his compo- 
sitions while he wandered along the plains, and 
through the groves, of Tibur : " 

** Circa nemus, uvidique 

** Tiburis ripas, operosa parvus 

** Carmina fingo. 

" But, as he was probably a frequent companion 
" of Maecenas in his excursions to his villa at Tibur, 



^^ he may in those Hnes allude to his solitary ram- 
^^ bles and poetic reveries. CafulltiSy a Roman 
^'knight, had fortune sufficient to indulge himself 
^^in such an expensive residence; and accordingly 
^^ speaks with much complacency of his Tiburtine 
^^ retreat, which, on account of its proximity to the 
/^ town, he calls suburbana. Munatius Plancus 
*^ also possessed a villa at Tibur, apparently of great 
" beauty. To this the Poet alludes in that Orfe, 
** where, enlarging on the charms of the place, he 
*^ recommends indirectly, and with much delicacy, 
^' to his friend, who, in a moment of despondency, 
" had resolved upon a voluntary exile, his delight* 
" ful seat at Tibur as a retirement far preferable to 
*^ Rhodes and Mitylene^ places in those times much 
^^ frequented by disaffected or banished Romans^ 

Alas ! I had fondly hoped that I should deposit 
the preceding statement in the hands oi Mr. Eus- 
tace himself, and had begun to copy it for him, 
when I heard that we had lost that accomplished 
and brilliant Historian*. 

As we are now upon the subject of Horaces 
villa, I take the liberty of laying before you an ad- 
mired criticism struck out by Mr. Nicholas Har- 
dinge^y and adopted implicitly, as I happen to 
know, by the Patriarch of Commentators, Dr. Bent- 
let/ himself, though not recorded. 

As it has been already mentioned, in p. 654 ; I 
will now merely give the hint of it. 

* How little did the learned and worthy Judge foresee thatliis 
own end was so near approaching ! J. N. 

t I have lately made another discovery of greater value : It is, 
that Markland commends my Father*s critique upon the ^e sem^ 
per ; and that Parr countersigns him> as well as Taylor. The 
passages are short, but pithy 5 and, if you love your Father's me- 
mory, you will not be angry with me for loving that of mine. — 
At ' this moment, I would give the eyes of Argus (if I had them 
all) to obtain the " Epistola Critica"Qf AfarAr/and to Hare. — G. H. 



The lines in Horace to Maecenas are these : 

Eripe te morse, 
Ne semper udum Tibur^ et ^sula 
Declive contempleris arvum, et 
Telegoni jug?i parricidae. 

Fastidiosam desere copiam, et 
Molem propinquam nubibus arduis : 
Omitte mirari beatse 

Fumum et opes strepitumqu^ tiorn^e. 

The Reader will be astonished when I tell him 
that, as the words now appear, accompanied by our 
knowledge of the scene, it is perfect ridicule and 

To familiarize it, it is just as if I should say to 
some great man who lived in town, or near it, " Come 
to me, that you may not always contemplate EsheVy 
Hampton Court, and Richmond.^' 

The scenery which the Poet here describes, as that 
which he exhorts Mcecenas to contemplate no more 
for a time, is the very scene for which he invites him 
to leave town, and visit him, who (it seems agreed) 
had a villa in Tibur, unless this Ode is to deprive 
him of it. How then would Mcecenas cease to con- 
template the udum TibuVy &c. by coming to it ? 

My Father proposed (and Bentley approved) in- 
stead of we, to read ut ; and then to compress the 
semper-udum into a single word, marking the peren- 
nial streams of the Tiburine scene. 

The manner of Bentlejfs approbation was charac- 
teristic of his wit, his memory, and his familiar ha- 
bits, which tempted him to put a modern thought 
into Latin J or Greeks centuries old. 

Mr. Townshendy the first Viscount Sydnejfs fa- 
ther, and Mr. Hardinge's intimate friend, stated the 
remark and the correction to Dr. Bentley. 

" Good," said he, " very good ! — and sound; but 
that Hardinge is a A^m^Vman! — is he not? — 



Those King^s^men are bad fellows — not one, or ano- 
ther, but all of them— except Hardinge — and JEfar- 
dinge is a King's-man r 

He immediately recollected an epigram of PAti- 
cylideSy which he repeated, laughing all the time: 

Uai^res — ctXijv HgoxXse^' — xai IlgoxXsTj^ Augio^. 

I have attethpted the image in English rhime : 

I hate those Lyricks — they are trump' ry men — 

It is not one, or two, or nine in ten, — 

I hate 'em a//, Phucylides exclaimed, 

Except that Procles, whom you just have namM : 

He *8 an exception to the worthless crew; 

And yet, that Procles is a Lyric too. G. H, 

If you and I, my incomparable Coadjutor, should 
reach the page * in which the Letter of Richay^d 
Phelps and the Journal of Eustace are compared, I 
have to request that, after you have introduced my 
Father's critique, and closed it, you will add these 
words, upon a curious problem at issue between 
Phelps and Eustace; but in which I conceive the 
former to be indisputably the better Classic of the 

Mr. PhelpSy in this lively, but clear and sensible 
account, wants no help from those who may adopt 
his opinion, much less would mine be of use; but I 
think him so clearly in the right, that I cannot help 
suggesting a reply or two upon the objections oi Mr. 
Eustace, and a fair appeal to the Reader upon the 
union of all the passages which refer (as I at least 
conceive) to the villa near Tibur. 

* The benevolent Writer did not live to see this page printed; 
and his Coadjutor very narrowly escaped from a most alarmiog 
illness s^ this sheet Was passing through the press* J* N. 



Both of these gentlemen are so far hvpercriticSy 
that what is the vulgar tradition of the local and of 
the ruins obtains no credit from either of them-*- 
and whether Mr. Phelps makes out a tolerable cont 
jecture as to the real spot, is no question before us. 

But I wish to say a word upon the general ques- 
tion, whether it appears Jrom Horace himself that 
he had ant/ villa near Tibur. 

The first objection of Mr. Eustace appears to me 
rather colourable than solid. 

^ He wishes for it,' says the Writer, " and a man 
^^ does not wish for that which he has.'' 

He then gives the following passage, and which it 
appears to me that he has perfectly misunderstood 
in more views than one. 

Tibur, Argaeo positum colono, 
Sit mea& secies UTINAM senectae ; 
Sit modus lasso maris, et viarum, 

Unde si Parce prohibent iniquje, &c. 

He does not (as of course) w ish to possess it as a 
new acquisition ; for, if he had it, the words could be 
reconciled with his wish to retain it in his old age 
— and what he deprecates may be the loss of it, by 
violence, or fraud, or poverty. If the words, how- 
ever, could be so reconciled, that sense would be due 
to them (as determining the construction) which 
corresponds to other passages in the same Poet, that 
he may be consistent with himself. 

But, excluding atpresent even that argument, I am 
surprized at the want of attention to this very Ode 
in particular, which alone can have misled so acute a 
mind as that of Mr. Eustace. 

The Ode refers evidently to the scene as that 
which the Poet then possessed, and from which, on 
account of his partiality for it, he wished never to 
be removed by the Fates. 



It is an Ode addressed by him to his friend Titius 
SeptimiuSy his brother-officer in early days^ whOj 
as it should seem from the context, had invited hiiB 
to his villa near Tarentum, a favourite retreat of the 
Romans who were expatriated either by their fears 
or their independent spirit. 

He begins by telling him that he knows his friend 
would accompany him to the remotest and wildest 
part of the world : 

Septimiy Gades aditure mecum, et 
Cantabrum indoctum juga ferre nostra, et 
Barbaras Si/rtes^ ubi Maura semper 


JEstuat unda : 

Of course he should be equally desirous to accom- 
pany his friend : but he means to decline it, and he 
is to give the reason for it, which is, that he wishes 
for wo Tarentuniy unless driven from Tibur. The 
Ode in any other sense would be unintelligible, and 
the wish for Tibur absurd, especially with a refer- 
ence to his old age, which had not then arrived. 

The very second stanza introduces the wish that 
he may end his days in Tibur, a scene which, if he 
had it, he could not without inconvenience desert, 
or perhaps without peril of losing it. But it is very 
natural that, after expressing a wish to retain if, he 
should pay his friend's taste the compliment, and 
should give Tarentum the second place, which he 
does throughout the sequel of the Ode — marking 
that Septimius was there, and was likely to be there 
if Horace could reach him — losing Tibur hy force. 
The words — 

Ille te mecum locus, et beatae 
Postulant arces. 

There he tells him they would live together, and 
his friend would close his eyes. All the Ode except 



the first and second stanzsi is one of Horace^s grace- 
ful compliments to his friend's preference of Taren- 
turn. The Editors and Commentators (all at least 
whom I have reached) give this interpretation, which 
makes the Od^ consistent and proper. 

The next objection of Mr. Eustace appears to me 
an extraordinary one : ^^ It was too beautiful a scene 
*^ to be in the reach of Horace's purse ; for it was 
^^ crowded with villas, and must have been too pro- 
*' digal a luxury for him."' 

In the first place, how can Mr. Eustace convince 
me that Maecenas could not have allotted a little 
nook for him near his own villa — if it is clear that 
he had one, as tradition reports — or, if he had not, 
could not have paid the rent of a little cottage in this 
romantic scene for his friend ? 

But Mr. Eustace must have read Horace curso* 
rily, if a passage which completely refutes this remark 
eluded his critical eye. 

1 Epist. iii. 44. 
Parv UM PARVA decent : mihi jam non regia Roma, 
Sed VACUUM TiBUR placet, autimbelle Tarentum. 

*^ Vacuum (says the note) ob paucos incolas atque ob 
^^otium — dilogwf. B. 

By the way, this very Epistle shews two things : 
1. the liberality of Mcecenas to his Poet; and 2. 
that Horace, who is invited by him into the coun- 
try, could not have invited him to the neighbour- 
hood of Tihur. 

The key to all the passages which point at the 
villa suggested by Mr, Eustace, and in which others 
liad anticipated him, has been taken from them by 
Mr. Phelps, without effort, and with no spirit of 
litigation or self-conceit. The 

Roma Tibur amem veniosus, Tibure Romam, 

is too cavalier for Horace, considered only as a guest 
oi Mcecenas (which, by the way, it never appears that 



he was) ; but it is very intelligible with a reference 
to a town residence and a country one capriciously 
exchanged, which is the turn of the passage. In all 
these cases the context is the best key. 

It is a low-spirited Letter to Celsus Albinovanus. 
He describes himself, in the most elegant language-— 

Vivere nee recte nee suaviter — 


not, says he, that my vineyards are crushed by the 
hail, or the heat has bit my olives ; not that my 
herds are sick in a distant field (so that he had pro- 
perty) ; but it is because I am worse in health of the 
mind than in that of the body. I will not hear, I 
will not learn, what may relieve this complaint. I 
am offended with my physicians, and quarrel with 
my best friends. *^ At Rome I wish for Tibur — 
" when AT TiBUR I wish to be at RomeT How can 
this point at any Tibur but his own ? 

But I have another passage from Horace which 
may illustrate the subject. Mr. Eustace observes, 
that Tibur, as a generic description, might reach the 
Sabine territory , and quotes from Catullus to that 

But I think it is clear that, k converso, the Sabines 
would embrace Tibur, if credit is given to Horace 
himself, Carm. lib. HI. iv. 22. 

Vaster, Camcenae, vester in auduos 

ToLLOR Sabinos: seu mihi frigiduni 

Praneste, seu Tibur supinum, 

Seu liquidss placuere Baia. 

Here Tibur, and so described (by the epithet ^2i/?i- 
num) as to be the modem Tivoli, is represented as a 
feature of the Sabine territory ; and these lines 
mark (as well as all the rest) that he had a some- 
thing of his own in that part of the world. 

Dr. Bentley has dated all Horace's works. 

According to him, the Ode expressing the wish was 
wi'itten when he was 40, or 41, years of age. 



The Epistle which commends the vacuum Tihur, 
and that in which he marks the levity of his choice 
and love between Tibur and Rome^ he ascribes to the 
46th year of his age. 

Having stated these preliminary comments^ and 
referring to the passages already enumerated, I add 
the following : 

Pindarum quisquis studet sBmulari, &c. 

TTiis Ode was written when he was 50 years of 
age, as Bentley calculates. 

In this high-spirited and sublime Ode, having 
been challenged by Judms Antonius to emulate Pin- 
dar in celebrating a victory of Augustus, he affects 
to decline it, speaks of his model in terms of rapture, 
and then produces the miniature of his own powers 
in this exquisite passage : 

Multa Diraeum levat aura cycnum, 
Tendit, Antoni, quoties in altos 
Nubium tractus. £gOf apis Matinss 
More modoque, 

Grata carpentis thyma per laboretn 
Plurimumy circa nemus, uvidique 
TiBUiiis ripas, operosa parvus 
Carmina fingo. 

But why in Tibur, and so hard at work, if he had no 
RESIDENCE there ? 

At the very same period he writes another Ode, no 
less beautiful : 

Quem tu, Melpomene, semel, &c. 

He begins with a magnificent ^hge upon himself 

—as a Bard— not that he is in a military car, and 

shewn to the Capitol :. 



Sed qusB Tibur aqvje fertile perfluunt, 
£t sptssse nemorum comae, 
Fingent JEoHo carmine nobilem. 

But why are those waters to have the monopoly 

In Carm. I. vii. he gives Tifewr the choice and 
preference of his own taste: 

Me nee tarn patiens LaceJsemoDi 
Nee tam Lariss^ percuss'it campus opimse^ 

Quam domus Albune^e resonantis, 
Et praeceps Anioy et Tiburni lucus, et uda 

Mobilibus pomaria rivis. 

He advises Plancus to make his {Plancus^s) villa 
there the seat of his retirement from Rome, and 
(with his favourite advice) to bury sorrow in wine ; 
and then he will be sure to do well, in camp or at his 
own villa: and here the expression seems emphatical, 
TiBURis umbra tui. — But why tiii, unless Horace 
had a villa there too ? 

The construction put by Mr. Nicholas Hardinge 
upon the Ne semper udum Tibur is confirmed by all 
the preceding passages ; for it is clear that he invites 
MAECENAS to his villa as a guest : 

Jamdudum apud M£ est. 

Pauperum coena', &c. 

To resume this delightful Correspondent : 
There is an earlier Letter of Phelps to Davies, 
from Vienna, with no year annexed, but from 
the context I guess it was in 1750. He there 
says, that he has been abroad almost one year, so 
that he commenced his travels in 1749. It is so en- 
tertaining, that I cannot forbeaf to make further 
demands upon your patience and predilection. 

'' Dear 


" Dear Sir, Vienna^ Sept. 22 (probably 1/50.) 
'^ I have been abroad now almost a full year, and 
'^ begin to think it high time to lay before you some 
*^ little account of what I have seen. As you love 
^' to be at the fountain-head, I shall carry you 
** immediately to Rome^ where I have spent the 
" greatest part of my time, and yet much too little 
*^ for a thorough examination of all the Virtii. 
" I hope, however, to return in a month or two^ 
*^ when I shall endeavour to acquire a more accu- 
rate knowledge of its antiquities, and of its mo^ 
dern beauties. Its present walls, built, some An- 
tiquaries tell you, others repaired, by BeHsa- 
riuSy are fifteen miles in circuit; but, as the city is 
*^ in many parts filled up with vineyards, gardens, and 
^^ waste ground, the number of inhabitants bears no 
" proportion to so wide a circumference. It is no 
" difficultenterprize to ascertain the girdle of the 0/(i 
" Citi/. The Agger Tarquinii is very discernible ; 
'^ and from thence you may observe all the way 
*^ round that they built the wall as the ground fa- 
^^ voured them, in order to make it more defensible ; 
*^ whereas that which now appears is built without 
^^ any view to such an advantage, and seems to be 
*^ run up in haste. The numerous ruins in the 
^^ town have raised the earth so much, that the Seven 
" Hills have lost much of their distinct appearance, 
*^ though the Capitol^ where it has not been sloped 
'^ on purpose for the convenience of ascent, still 
^^ shews you how strong it must have been formerly, 
and how much higher than the parts round it. 

The Antiquary who attends you in your course 
is an Englishman^ and bred up all his life in the 
'^ Pope's galleys. He is, of course, about as equal to 
*^ the office he undertakes, as he would be to that of 
*^ Lord High Admiral in England ! However, he 
'* serves to shew you the undisputed antiquities, 
*' just as the man at JVestminster Abbey serves to 
*^ shew the tombs. He carries you to the two differ- 

s " ent 



*^ ent parts of the Capitol^ and leaves you to chuse, 
** one of them for the Tarpeian rock. As the situa- 
*' tion has been exactly delineated by the Histo- 
" rians, you easily distinguish the real one. The 
*^ ground under both has been much filled up ; but 
there is even still such an ample space remaining, 
that if the good Bishop of Salisburi/ had himself 
** tried the experiment of jumping down, as he as- 
sures us that any one could have safely done, I am 
afraid we should have lost an excellent * Histo- 
*^ rian. The Capitol^ as it was formerly the main 
*• strength of Rome, is even still one^of its principal 
*^ ornaments. You ascend by a gentle slope between 
*^ balustrades into a large cortile^ where you com- 
*^ mand a very handsome building in front, between 
*' two wings. This front building contains offices, 
&c. for certain magistrates of the City; and the 
wings are the magazines, if that is not a degrading 
*^ word, for the antique statues, busts, and sculp- 
*^ tures of all kinds. The Pope of the day has been 
" at some expence in making additions to them, and 
" in ranging them with a more accommodating re- 

" In the middle of the court stands the famous 
^' equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius: it is of 
" gilt brass, and is conceived in a remarkably fine 
^' taste. From the place where it was found, and 
*• from its perfect preservation, it was supposed never 
'' to have been erected, when it was found that un- 
^' der the horseman's left arm was a cornucopice, the 
^- fruits and flowers of which were of wrought gold. 
" These, in a figure of so gigantic a size, must have 
" been of considerable value, and were therefore se- 
" creted. But as this cornucopias did honour only 
^' to the Emperor, none to the figure, the loss of it 
" is of no detriment. I have seen many antique 
" models in miniature by comparison of this beau- 

* The wit of this remark i3 very neat ; for the " j)erxl of tlie 
fii!)'^oria/i 'iliscreclits huu^aud makes a bow to him at the sauie time. 

« tiful 



'^ tiful statue, and, as I remember, almost all of 
" them have the cornucoplce. 

" Upon the balustrade that runs along the front 
" of the cortile are two trophies in marble^ at- 
" tributed by some to Marius^ by others to T/a- 
" Jan. — The advocates for Trajan object the good- 
ness of the work, as too perfect for Marius's time, 
without considering that his trophies were re- 
^^ stored by Julius Cdesar^ and consequently that 
" objection falls to the ground : — but I suspect 
*^ there are no proofs on either side. Upon the 
*^ same balustrade is an antique lapis inilliarius with 
" number one upon it, found in one of the old 
" ways; but, by the ignorance of one of the workmen 
" who found it, and who never marked where it 
" was found, it is of no use in clearing up the point 
*' from what part of the City the Romans began 
*^ their miles, and consequently what the perfect 
^^ measure of them was. But I had most occasion 
^^ to censure the ignorance of the workmen, in going 
^^ up the stairs that carry you to the antique statues, 
*^ &c. where you are entertained with an antique 
*^ plan of Rome, engraved upon white marble, broke 
*^ all to pieces, and fixed upon the wall in every de- 
*^ gree of confusion imaginable, and I am afraid be- 
^^ yond the power of adjustment by art. It was 
" found in its regular disposition, though cracked 
*' all through in the pieces that are seen at present ; 
'^ and no immediate care being taken to preserve it 
" in that order, the workmen threw it all in a heap, 
" which i am afraid the whole Conclave are not able 
*^ to rectify, if you read this paragraph in the 
morning, I wish it may not spoil your dinner, as 
I assur»*you the sight of these Gothic and Cimme- 
*' rian horrors had this very effect upon me. 

"I shall not be able to give you an account of the 
" celebrated statues and sculptures in the Capitol at 
" present, having left my notes behind me in Italy. 
^* Sonie of the most remarkable I can recollect, and 

" shall 


shall set them down without any order as they 
happen to occur. 

" The dying Gladiator, in Grecian taste, and beau- 
tifully expressed. He has two wounds, one in 
his thigh, another in his breast; and is just in the 
point of dying. He has a rope round his neck, 
in the nature of a collar, to shew that he was a 
slave. It has a good effect, as it increases the mi- 
sery of his appearance. 

*^ A large statue of white marble : — It has all the 
attitude and form of an Egyptian one, but the 
expression and the turn of the limbs prove it of 
Grecian work. It was, in all probability, de- 
signed for conveyance to Rome^ as it is made so 
as to divide in two pieces for convenience of car- 

*^ A Floray lately found, very perfect, and su- 
premely beautiful. — But it is idle to give you only 
a catalogue without particular descriptions, which 
at present I am unable to add. I shall therefore 
only mention three articles more : 

" The two first are has reliefs^ and which I think 
are in as great perfection as it is practicable for the 
chissel to reach. The first is, Perseus leading 
Andromeda down from the rock after he has over- 
come and slain the monster. The noble and 
manly countenance and gesture of the hero, 
softened by the modest loveliness of the rescued 
nymph, are above all conception. The second is, 
Endymion asleep, remarkable for the natural grace 
of the limbs, and beauty of the attitude. The 
last is, the Wolf, and the two Brothers in the act 
of sucking her, more remarkable for being, in all 
probability, the identical statue which is men- 
tioned by Cicero, than for the powers of sculpture 
displayed in the work. If you remember, this 
friend (^' yours mentions, at least, a similar statue 
in brass, but which had been struck with light- 

" ning. 


" ning. The wolfs thigh is melted in such a man- 
*^ iier that I cannot see how it could be the effect of 
*^ any thing but a sudden blast, and such as light- 
^^ ning would produce. It certainly is accomplished 
" by some operation of fire, and I see not the least 
*' appearance of art in it. 

" As, like a magician, I must consult my books 
" before I can give you an exact description within 
the City, ( will emigrate with you in two direc- 
tions, and then I shall have pretty well tired you. 

" The f^illa Madama is the first. It stands upon 
*^ the top of a hill, two miles from Rome ; and I 
^' think I may venture to call it, without a colour 
" of dispute, the villa of Julius Martialis. I dined 
" in the villa, and, with ^ Martial m my pocket, I 
" could have almost sworn that I read his epigram, 

*' Jw/z jugera pauca Martialis^ 
^^ Hortis Hespmdum beationi, 
" Longo Janiculi]wgo recumbunt. 


in the very identical spot where he wrote it. This, 
however, is curious, that if I had gone two hun- 
" d red yards more to the right, or more to the left, I 
" had lost all those parts which he describes, and 
" consequently could not have reached the position 
" from which he takes the landscape. This epigram 
*^ too clears up an error of the Antiquaries, who place 
" the Janiculum ']ust behind the f^atican, and con- 
" fine it into a very narrow space : whereas, besides 
" the expression of longo Janiculijugo, if you were 
to stand upon the path which they call the Jani-- 
culuMj you would be so far from seeing the whole 
" picture given you by Martial^ that you would not 
" see any one thing in perfection but the Albanos 
" Tusculosve colles, which you cannot fail to see, go 
^^ where you will. 





^^ The other place I mean, is that mentioned by 
^^ Horace : 

" Domus Albunea resonantis, 
" Et prfficeps Anioy et Tiburni lucus, &c. 

^^ This is a most beautifql and romantic situation. 
^^ ProBceps Avio is a whole river, that falls down at 
** once an awful depth, and then branches into 
*^ cascades of inferior size for two miles. 

" Near the fall stands the Temple of the Sibyls. 
" It is of a circular form, and of pretty architecture. 
*^ I think it as beautiful a ruin of the size as I ever 
*^ saw. But iXxedomiis Albunece resonantis^ in Ho^ 
*^ rflfce, 1 had never seen till 1 was shewn the place, 
*^ and even still I do not feel sure that I am right. 
*^ The Albunea was formerly a grove, but is now 

only a barren waste, except what remains of the 

sulphureous lake, which is much decreased, and^ 
*^ perhaps, upon that account many little islands are 
^^ formed by the weeds and scum of the water. — - 
^^ These not only are often consolidated, but from a 
^^ long stagnation of the lake, join to the sides, and 
" contract the margin. The lake has an outlet 
^' through a kind of subterraneous aqueduct, and it 
^' now makes a noise in running through it, so that 
*^ when the bodv of the water was more considerable, 

and the aqueduct stuflfed up less, it must have 

been more noisy in proportion, which, added to 
*^ the horror of a consecrated grove, made them 
" stile it the Albunea resonans. 

" There is a passage in Virgil which confirms this 
" interpretation. 

*' Lucosque sub altd 
^^ Consulit Albuncdj nemorum quae maxima pure 
*' Fonte sonat, saevamque exhaiatopaca JI/^rj9A//em. 

"As you have commentators of all sorts and sizes, 
•' I wish you would let me know what they mutter 
" upon these passages. Richard Phelps.** 


[ 263 ] 

To John Nichols, Esq. 

My invaluable Friend, ^^^ ^6, 1816. 

I am delighted with your Ninth Volume^ which 
contains many interesting articles; and shall send 
you some Comments and Corrections. 

From the nature of your Work, much of it will 
not interest or entertain any but us Antiquaries ; 
and may be thought, even as to Mem, or other and 
more popular Heroes^ too minute. I answer, as 
your Champion, that all branches of Literature fall 
within your plari — that where you dig up, as it were, 
obscure men, it is the most benevolent office, ^nd 
the most useful to the policy of encouraging the 
Pursuit of Literature, by the recompence of making 
the adventurers, who act upon the noblest princi- 
ples, not as mercenaries, better known. 

But you owe to me some recompence for the heavy 
disappointment I have experienced from the delay 
of the publication of W ray*; and that recompence 
is, though it should produce more delay ^y that you 
should confer upon my ambition the honour of ac- 
companying Doctor Parr in the same volume;};. I 

* The Memoirs of Mr. Wray were intended (both by Mr. 
Hardinge and myself) to have formed a prominent part of the 
Ninth VoKmie of the ♦' Literary Anecdotes 3" and with that vievf 
were begun at the press in the Autumn of 1814 ; but, from a 
variety of unexpected disappointments experienced by Mr. Har- 
dinge in his indefatigable researches, it was more than nine 
months before the first sheet was actually printed off, and nearly 
nine months more before the whole was finished. In the mean 
time the Ninth Volume had been completed by other articles. 

f *' By no means publish Wray till it is complete^" was the 
injunction of more than one Letter. 

J That illustrious Luminary of Learning has kindly under- 
taken to favour me with what I shall consider as the brightest 
ornament of these Volumes ; and I still flatter myself that Mr. 
Hardinge's wishes may be indulged, by the appearance of Dr. 
Parr^s very interesting communication in the same volume with 
Mr. Hardinge's Memoirs of Sir John Pratt, Earl Camden, 
and Mr. Nicholas Hardinge. 



will bribe you, if I can ; though 1 have been impu- 
dent enough to think our friendship ensured your 
coincidence in all my wishes that are ingenuous — 
and I think, if I know myself, the ambitioif^to which 
I allude is that of being accredited as an admirer of 
Genius and Virtue. My wish to accompany Dr. 
Parr, and you may tell him so, arises from the 
enthusiasm which I entertain for his powerful intel- 
lect, for his classical taste, for his depth of learning, 
and for his eloquence. 

I have still treasures upon treasures for you ; 
particularly an admirable composition by Dr, Har- 
dinge, my uncle, in Latin Iambics. I also mean 
to give you (apart from Lord Camden's Life) Me- 
moirs of his wonderful Father Sir John Pratt. 
They ^re finished, and wait your commands. 

I could give you some characteristic traits of Dr. 
Glynn, whom I intimately knew, and of whom I 
possess many Letters to me, but all of them on a 
subject of business. 

Remind me of Athenian Stuart ;3Lnd Dr. Good. 

Yours ajffectionately, G. Hardinge. 

Printed by Nichols, Son, and Beotley, 
Red Lion Passage, Fleet-street, London.