at his house in Surrey-street in the Strand, January 29, 1728-9. Having lain in state in the Jerusalem chamber, he was buried in Westminster-abbey, where a monument is erected to his memory by Henrietta duchess of Marlborough, to whom, for reasons either not known or not mentioned, he bequeathed a legacy of about ten thousand pounds; the accumulation of attentive parsimony, which though to her superfluous and useless, might have given great assistance to the ancient family from which he descended, at that time by the imprudence of his relation reduced to difficulties and distress. CONGREVE has merit of the highest kind; he is an original writer, who borrowed neither the models of his plot nor the manner of his dialogue. Of his piays I cannot speak distinctly, for since I inspected them many years have passed; but what remains upon my memory is, that his characters are commonly fictitious and artificial, with very little of nature and not much of life. He formed a peculiar idea of comic excellence, which he supposed to consist in gay remarks and unexpected answers; but that which he endeavoured he seldom failed of performing. His scenes exhibit not much of humour, imagery, or passion: his personages are a kind of intellectual gladiators; every sentence is to ward or strike: the contest of smartness is never intermitted; his wit is a meteor playing to and fro with alternate coruscations. His comedies have therefore, in some degree, the operation of tragedies; they surprize rather than divert, and raise admiration oftener than merriment. But they are the works of a mind replete with images and quick in combination. Of his miscellaneous poetry I cannot say any thing very favourable. The powers of Congreve seem to desert him when he leaves the stage, as Antæus was no longer strong than when he could touch the ground. It cannot be observed without wonder, that a mind so vigorous and fertile in dramatic compositions should on any other occasion discover nothing but impotence and poverty. He has in these little pieces neither elevation of fancy, selection of language, nor skill in versification; yet, if I were required to select from the whole mass of English poetry the most poetical paragraph, I know not what I could prefer to an exclamation in The Mourning Brides ALMERIA. It was a fancy'd noise; for all is hush'd. LEONORA. It bore the accent of a human voice. ALMERIA. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind Whistling thro' hollows of this vaulted aisle We'll listen Hark! LEONORA. ALMERIA. No, all is hush'd and still as death.-'Tis dreadful! How reverend is the face of this tall pile, Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, He who reads these lines enjoys for a moment the powers of a poet; he feels what he remembers to have felt before; but he fells it with great increase of sensibility; he recognizes a familiar image, but meets it again amplified and expanded, embellished with beauty and enlarged with majesty. Yet could the author who appears here to have enjoyed the confidence of nature, lament the death of queen Mary in lines like these: The rocks are cleft, and new descending rills The water-gods to floods their rivulets turn, And each, with streaming eyes, supplies his wanting urn. And round the plain in sad distractions rove; In prickly brakes their tender limbs they tear, And leave on thorns their locks of golden hair. With their sharp nails, themselves the Satyrs wound, See how she wrings her hands, and beats her breast, For grief they sigh, forgetful of their loves. And, many years after, he gave no proof that time had. improved his wisdom. or his wit; for on the death of the marquis of Blandford this was his song: And now the winds' which had so long been still, Began the swelling air with sighs to fill ; The water-nymphs, who motionless remain❜d, Now loos'd their streams; as when descending rains, Nothing but groans and sighs were heard around, In both these funeral poems, when he has yelled out many syllables of senseless dolour, he dismisses his reader with senseless consolation; from the grave of Pastora rises a fight that forms a star; and where Amaryllis wept for Amyntas, from every tear sprung up a violet. But William is His hero, and of William he will sing: The hovering winds on downy wings shall wait around, It cannot but be proper to show what they shall have to. catch and carry : "Twas now, when flowery lawns the prospect made, And flowing brooks beneath a forest-shade, A lowing heifer, loveliest of the herd, Stood feeding by: whilst two fierce bulls prepar'd Unthought presage of what met next my view; For soon the shady scene withdrew. And now, for woods, and fields, and springing flowers, Behold a town arise, bulwarked with walls and lofty towers; Two rival armies all the plain o'erspread, Each in battalia rang'd, and shining arms array'd; With eager eyes beholding both from far Namur, the prize and mistress of the war.. The Birth of the Muse is a miserable fiction. One good line it has, which was borrowed from Dryden. The concluding verses are these ; This said, no more remain'd. Th' ethereal host The father now, within his spacious hands, Of his irregular poems, that to Mrs. Arabella Hunt seems to be the best: his ode for St. Cecilia's Day, however, has some lines which Pope had in his mind when he wrote his own. His imitations of Horace are feebly paraphrastical, and the additions which he makes are of little value. He sometimes retains what were more properly omitted, as when he talks of vervian and gums to propitiate Venus. Of his translations, the satire of Juvenal was written very early, and may therefore be forgiven, though it have not the massiness and vigour of the original. In all his versions strength and sprightliness are wanting: his Hymn to Venus, from Homer, is perhaps the best. His lines are weakened with expletives, and his rhymes are frequently imperfect. His petty poems are seldom worth the cost of criticism; sometimes the thoughts are false, and sometimes common. In his verses on lady Gethin, the latter part is in imitation of Dryden's ode on Mrs. Killigrew; and Doris, that has been so lavishly flattered by Steele, has indeed some lively stanzas, but the expression might be mended; and the most striking part of the character had been already shown in Love for Love. His Art of Pleasing is founded on a vulgar, but perhaps impracticable, principle, and the |