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THE LIFE

LIFE OF J.
OF 7. PHILIPS.

JOHN PHILIPS was fon of Dr. Stephen Philips, Archdeacon of Salop, and born at Bampton, in Oxfordshire, on the 30th of December 1676.

After he had received a grammatical education at home, he was fent to Winchester school, where he distinguished himself by the fuperiority of his exercises, and endeared himself to his schoolfellows by his civility and good-nature.

It is related, that he seldom mingled in play with the other boys, but retired to his chamber, where his highest pleasure was to have his hair combed by somebody; probably from the fame ridiculous fancy that made Isaac Voffius delight in having his hair combed by barbers, or other perfons skilled in the rules of profody, as he himself relates in his treatise, " De Poematum cantu et. viribus Rythmi."

At school, he made himself master of the Latin and Greek languages, and was distinguished for his happy imitation of the excellencies of the best classical writers.

Jn 1694, he was removed to Christ Church College, Oxford, where he performed his academical exercises with great applause; and carefully studied the works of the ancient and modern poets, particularly the Paradife Loft of Milton; whose founding words and stately construction he afterwards imitated in his own compofitions.

1 He was not, however, so much addicted to the study of poetry, as to neglect natural philosophy; and as the profeffion which he intended to follow was that of phyfic, he took much delight in natural history, of which botany was his favourite department.

While he resided at Christ Church, he was esteemed by the most eminent scholars in the college; at that time in the highest reputation; and was distinguished by the friendship of Smith, author of « Phædra and Hippolitus."

In 1703, he published The Splendid Shilling, a burlesque poem, which struck the public attention. with a mode of writing, in which the opposition between the ftyle and the fentiment was unexpected; and the application of Milton's phrafeology to familiar incidents, gave the words and things a new appearance.

It has the uncommon merit of being an original specimen of burlesque, that has loft nothing by time, the peculiar manners of which it did not, like Hudibras, represent, and therefore will be longer intelligible than that celebrated poem; which is not built on observations on nature.

This performance raised his reputation fo high, that he was employed by Mr. St. John, afterwards Lord Viscount Bolingbroke, and the Tories, to write a poem on the Victory of Blenheim, probably in oppofition to Addison, who was employed to write upon the fame subject by Halifax and the Whigs.

Accordingly, his Blenke'm appeared in 1705; and it was not denied to be a tolerable poem even by those who did not allow its fuperiority to the "Campaign" of Addison. It is the poem of a schoL1 iiij

lar, written with little comprehenfion of the qualities neceffary to the composition of a modera hero, which Addifon has difplayed with fo much propriety.

In 1706, he published his greatest work, the Poem on Cider, in two books, the plan of which he laid at Oxford, and afterwards completed in London. It was read with univerfal approbation, as an imitation of Virgil's Georgic, which emulated the beauties of the finest production of antiquity. It continued long to be read, and is entitled to this peculiar praise, That it is founded in truth; that the precepts it contains are exact and just; and that it is therefore at once a book d entertainment and of science.

About this time, he wrote a Latin Ode to his patron, St. John, in return for a prefent of wine and tobacco, which is gay and elegant, and exhibits feveral artful accommodations of claffic expres fions to new purposes.

He meditated a poem on the Laft Day, the defign of which his friend Smith had probably fern, who thus fpeaks of it in the admirable Elegy which he wrote upon his death,

"O had relenting Heaven prolong'd his days,
The towering bard had fung in nobler lays,
How the last trumpet wakes the lazy dead,
How faints aloft the cross triumphant spread,
Well might he fing the day he could not fear,
And paint the glories he was fure to wear !"

This work he did not live to finish; a flow confumption and an asthma put an end to his life on the 15th of February 1708, in the 32d year of his age. He was buried in the Cathedral of Hereford, with an epitaph infcribed upon his grave-stone by his mother; and Sir Simon Harcourt, afterwards Lord Chancellor, erected a monument to his memory, in Westminster Abbey, with a copious and elegant infcription, written by Dr. Atterbury, though commonly given to Dr. Freind.

Philips has been praised by Dr. Sewell, without contradiction, as a man modest, blameless, and pious, who bore narrowness of fortune without discontent, and a tedious and painful illness without impatience, beloved by all who knew him, but not ambitious to be known.

His converfation is commended for its innocent gaiety." He was free, familiar, and easy with his friends, but fomewhat referved and filent amongst strangers: he was averse to disputes, and thought no time fo ill spent, and no wit fo ill used as that which was employed in such debates; his whole life was diftinguished by a natural goodness, and a well grounded and unaffected piety, an univerfal charity, and a steady adherence to his principles; no one obferved the natural and civil duties of life with a stricter regard, whether a fon, a friend, or a member of society; and he had the happiness to fill every one of thofe parts without even the fufpicion either of unditifulness, inûncerity, or difrespect."

His addiction to the pleasures of the pipe is mentioned, with this remark, that in all his writings, except Blenheim, he has found an opportunity of celebrating tobacco.

His poetical character is given by Dr. Johnson, whose unfavourable opinion of blank verfe will weigh little with readers uncorrupted by literary prejudices.

"His works are few; he unhappily pleased himself with blank verse, and supposed that the numbers of Milton, which imprefs the mind with veneration, combined as they are with subjects of inconceivable grandeur, could be sustained by images which at most can rise only to elegance.

"He imitates Milton's numbers indeed, but imitates them very injudicioufly. Deformity is eafily copied; and whatever there is in Milton which the reader wishes away, all that is obfolete, peculiar, or licentious, is accumulated with great care by Philips, Thofe afperities, therefore, which are venerable in the Paradife Loft, are contemptible in Blenkeim.

"What study could confer, Philips had obtained; but natural deficience cannot be supplied. He feems not born to greatness and elevation. He is never lofty; nor does he often surprise with unexpected excellence; but perhaps to his last poem may be applied what Tully said of the work of Lucretius, that it is written with much art, though with few blazes of genius.”,

MR. PHILIP'S DESIGNED DEDICATION

TO THE

SPLENDID SHILLING.

TO W. BROME, ESQ. OF EWITHINGTON, IN THE COUNTY OF HEREFORD.

SIR,

It would be too tedious an undertaking at this time to examine the rife and progress of Dedications. The use of them is certainly ancient, as appears both from Greek and Latin authors; and we have reason to believe that it was continued without any interruption till the beginning of this century, at which time mottos, anagrams, and frontispieces being introduced, Dedications were mightily difcouraged, and at laft abdicated. But to discover precisely when they were reftored, and by whom they were firft ufhered in, is a work that far tranfcends my knowledge; a work that can justly be expected from no other pen but that of your operofe Doctor Bentley. Let us, therefore, at prefent acquiefce in the dubioufnefs of their antiquity, and think the authority of the paft and prefent times a fufficient plea for your patronizing, and my dedicating this poem: efpecially fince in this age Dedications are not only fashionable, but almoft neceffary; and indeed they are now fo much in vogue, that a book without one is as feldom seen as a bawdy-house without a Practice of Piety, or a poet with money. Upon this account, Sir, those who have no friends, dedicate to all good Chriftians; fome to their bookfellers; Come, for want of a fublunary patron, to the

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manes of a departed one. There are, that have dedicated to their whores: God help thofe henpecked writers that have been forced to dedicate to their own wives! But while I talk so much of other men's patrons, I have forgot my own; and feem rather to make an effay on Dedications, than to write one. However, Sir, I prefume you will pardon me for that fault; and perhaps like me the better for faying nothing to the purpose. You, Sir, are a perfon more tender of other men's reputation than your own, and would hear every body commended but yourself. Should I but mention your skill in turning, and the compaffion you fhewed to my fingers ends when you gave me a tobacco-stopper, you would blush, and be confounded with your just praises. How much more would you, fhould I tell you what a progress you have made in that abftruse and useful language, the Saxon? Since, therefore, the recital of your excellencies would prove fo troublefome, I fhall offend your modefty no longer. Give me leave to speak a word or two concerning the poem, and I have done. This poem, Sir, if we confider the moral, the newness of the subject, the variety of images, and the exactness of the fimilitudes that compofe it, must be allowed a piece that was never equalled by the moderns or ancients. The subjec

of the poem is myself, a subject never yet haudled | by any poets. How fit to be handled by all, we may learn by thofe few divine commendatory verfes written by the admirable Monfieur le Bog. Yet fince I am the fubject, and the poet too, I fhall fay no more of it, left I fhould feem vainglorious. As for the moral, I have taken particular care that it fhould lie incognito, not like the ancients, who let you know at firft fight they defign fomething by their verfes. But here you may look a good while, and perhaps, after all, find that the poet has no aim or defign, which must needs be a diverting furprise to the reader. What fhall I fay of the fimiles, that are fo full of geography, that you must get a Welshman to understand them? that fo raife our ideas of the things they are applied to? that are fo extraordinarily quaint and well chofen, that there's nothing like them? So that I think I may, without vanity, kay, Avia Pieridum peragro loca, &c. Yet, how

ever excellent this poem is, in the reading of it you will find a vast difference between some parts and others; which proceeds not from your bumble fervant's negligence, but diet. This poem was begun when he had little victuals, and no money; and was finished when he had the misfortune, at a virtuous lady's house, to meet with both. But I hope, in time, Sir, when hunger and poverty fhall once more be my companions, to make amends for the defaults of this poem, by an Effay on Minced Pies, which shall be devoted to you with all fubmiflion, by,

SIR,

Your moft obliged,

And humble fervant,

J. PHILIPS.

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HAPPY the man, who, void of cares and ftrife,
n filken or in leathern purse retains
A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain
New oyfters cry'd, nor fighs for cheerful ale ;
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpye, or Town-hall * repairs:
Where, mindful of the nymph, whofe wanton eye
Transfix'd his foul, and kindled amorous flames,
Cloe or Phyllis, he each circling glafs
Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love.
Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale,
Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.
But I, whom griping penury furrounds,
And hunger, fure attendant upon want,
With fcanty offals, and small acid tiff,
(Wretched repaft!) my meagre corpse sustain :
Then folitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black
As winter-chimney, or well-polifh'd jet,
Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming fcent:
Not blacker tube, nor of a fhorter fize,
Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree,
Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale) when he
Q'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,
Upon a cargo of fam'd Ceftrian cheese,
High over-fhadowing rides, with a defign
To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart,
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town

Two noted alchoufes in Oxford, 1700.

Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful foil!
Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie
With Maffic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.

Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow,
With looks demure, and filent pace, a Dun
Horrible monfter! hated by gods and men,
To my aërial citadel afcends,

With vocal beel thrice thundering at my gate,
With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know
The voice ill-boding, and the folemn found.
What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd,`
Confounded, to the dark recefs I fly

Of wood-hole; ftraight my bristling hairs erect
Through sudden fear; a chilly fweet bedews
My fhuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!)
My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;
So horrible he feems! His faded brow
Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard,
And spreading band, admir'd by modern faints,
Dilaftrous acts forbode; in his right hand
Long fcrolls of paper folemnly he waves,
With characters and figures dire infcrib'd,
Grievous to mortal eyes; (ye gods, avert [ftalks
Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him
Another monfter, not unlike himself,
Sullen of afpect, by the vulgar call'd

A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods
With force incredible, and magic charms,
First have endued: if he his ample palm
Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay

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