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senate, and in Grub Street. He never prostitutes his talents to enforce the fashionable tenets of passive obedience and nonresistance—" the right divine of kings to govern wrong"—which cost the first Charles his head and his family the throne.

That such a writer as Butler should have been neglected by a profligate and arbitrary court ought not to excite a moment's surprise. His intellect was too sturdy and independent for their purposes: he was not a fit companion for the L'Estranges and the Birkenheads—" he stood amongst them, but not of them." They were labourers worthy of their hire, and went through their dirty work without any compunctious visitings. They received their reward, and Butler trusted for his to his conscience and to posterity.

Of Mr. Tnyer's annotations we have only to add, that, excepting a few strange oversights,* they are generally pertinent and sensible, and have always the merit of being brief.

Since this article was written, the following passage has appeared in the Edinburgh Review, in a critique on Mr. Hogg's Jacobite Relics—" That we may have enough of so good a thing, he subjoins the prose character of a whig 'drawn by the celebrated Butler,' and which sets out with stating him to be ' the spawn of a regicide, hammered out of a rank Anabaptist hypocrite,' and forthwith becomes too indecent to be farther transcribed. We will here just mention, for the edification of Mr. Hogg, that 'the celebrated Butler,' who, among many other vituperations, compares a whig to the nettle, because 'the more gently you handle him, the more he is apt to hurt you,' is well known to those who know any thing of literary history, to have lived in the family, supported by the bounty of Sir Samuel Luke, one of Cromwell's captains, at the very time he planned his Hudibras, of which he was pleased to make his kind and hospitable patron the hero—Now we defy the history of whiggism to match this anecdote—or to produce so choice a specimen of the human nettle."

Unfortunately for the infallibility of the Reviewer, it happens, that the passage which calls forth this tirade is Not Butler's—it is not included in his Genuine Remains, nor even in the spurious collection which bears his name; but in the Secret History of the Calves-head Club, under the title of The Cliaracter of a Calves-head Club-man. It would require better authority than the assertion of the publisher of that miserable work, to make us believe the author of Hudibras guilty of such impotent

* As for instance, doubting the existence of such a writer as Benlowes, (the well-known mock Meecenas of his time,) and shrewdly conjecturing that Denham was the person aimed at .

scurrility. The charge against Butler of ingratitude is more serious, but. we trust, equally unfounded. Butler, it is true, lived some time in the family of Sir Samuel Luke, who was a

i'ustice of the peace, as his clerk. Of his treatment, while in lis service, we know nothing: to take it for granted, that it was "kind" and "hospitable," in order to enhance the perfidy of Butler, is wanton and gratuitous malice, and it is equally uncandid and unjust to describe him as "supported by the bounty of his employer. After all, it is extremely problematical, whether Sir Samuel was the hero of Butler's poem. The circumstance of the poet's having lived some time in the service of a distinguished puritan, was sufficient to make public report exalt the latter to that " bad eminence;" to say nothing of sir Henry Rosewell and the other candidates for that distinction. Dr. Nash is decidedly of opinion, that he was not the hero, and gives it as his belief, that Butler began his Hudibras while in the service of the Countess of Kent, previous to his living with Sir Samuel. But the strongest proof against the charge is in the work itself: there is so little of individuality about the knight—his folly is of such a motley description—his notions so heterogeneous—and his whole character so outre—that if Butler intended it for a likeness of any one man, we must sav, he was a most wretched dauber: the portraits of Lilly, of Lilburne, of Shaftesbury, disprove such a supposition. It is a circumstance worthy of remark, that in his Genuine Remains, he never makes the slightest allusion to his reputed hero.

Art. V. Lingua; or, The combate of the Tongue and the Jive Sencesfor Superioritie. A pleasant Comedie. London, Printed by Augustine Mathewes, for Simon Waterson. 1632. 4to. [Other editions; 4to. 1607; 4to. 1617; 4to. 1622; 8vo. 1657.]

There are many reasons why we should select this excellent drama for the subject of our notice. It will be sufficient to mention two, its singular merit and its singular nature. The characters may be termed allegorical, though not strictly so; and yet there is as much of life and individuality infused into them as are to be found in the best copies of reality. Though they are abstract, yet the scenes pass off with as much spirit and humour as in the best wrought comedy, filled with actions drawn from nature, and persons whose originals are to be met with every day. And, in addition to this, the unknown author of Lingua possessed an invention and a store of rich expression which cannot but cause us to lament not only that he is unknown, but that he has not left us more of the productions of his manifestly

fertile brain. Before we proceed to describe the plot of this comedy, and make a selection from its scenes, we will give our readers some idea of the nature of the dramatis personae. The principal mover of the action is Lingua, or the Tongue, who is apparelled in a white satten gowne, a dressing of white roses, a little skeane tied in a purple scarfe, a paire of white buskins drawne with white ribbands, silke garters, gloves, &c. The five Senses are the next chief personages: Auditus, or the sense of Hearing ; Tactus, that of Touch; Visus, or that of Sight; Olfactus, of Smell; and Gustus, the Taste—all attired in suitable dresses. Communis Sensus, or Common Sense, “a grave man in a black velvet cassocke like a counsellor,” figures as a very important personage. Added to these is Memoria, or Memory, “an old decrepit man, in a blacke velvet cassocke, a taffeta gowne, furred with white grogaram, a white beard, velvet slippers, a watch, staffe, &c.;” together with his page Anamnestes, or Remembrancer. We have also Phantastes, or Fancy, a most fantastical creature to behold, with his page Heuresis, or Invention; with a crowd of other equally substantial individuals, as Appelitus, Somnus, Crapula, &c. The scene is Microcosmus, in a grove, and the Queen of Microcosmus is Psyche, or Empress Soul. The moving spring of the action is no other than the ambition of Lingua, who considers that she has as much right to be esteemed a Sense as any of the Five, who treat her claims with contempt. With the assistance of her page Mendacio, or Liar, she devises means to set the five Senses at loggerheads, and, in the contention, she thinks she shall stand a chance of being heard, and may then take the opportunity of setting her pretensions in a formidable light. The five Senses quarrel about a robe and crown, which Mendacio feigns Mercury had sent “for the best,” and straightway proceed to determine their respective claims by arms in the field. Common Sense, however, Chief Justice of Microcosmus, interferes, and prevails upon them to submit to his decision. He sits in judgment, contrives to sooth all parties; but Lingua, to whom he assigns the rank of a sense among women alone, is discontented with his award, and contrives, at the dinner of reconciliation given by Gustus or Taste, to make all the Senses drunk; who straightway begin to enact most ridiculous fancies, and are only quieted y Somnus, who lays them all asleep—Lingua, among the rest. Lingua, however, talks in her sleep, and unconsciously discloses her whole contrivance and designs. The five Senses awake in a most amicable humour, are reconciled to each other, and Common Sense pronounces sentence of imprisonment upon Lingua, who is committed to the charge of Gustus, to be kept “under

the custodie of two strong doores; and every day, till she come to eighty yeeres of age, to be well garded by thirty tall watchmen, without whose license she shall by no means wag abroad; nevertheless to be used lady-like, according to her estate."

The following contains part of the objurgation between Lingua and Auditus. Lingua thus replies to the tauntings of Auditus, who treats her claims, to be considered a Sense, with contempt.

"Ling. If then your confidence esteeme my cause,
To be so frivolous and weakely wrought,
Why doe you dayly subtill plots devise,
To stop me from the eares of Common Sense?
Whom since our great Queene Psyche hath ordain'd,
For his sound wisedome, our vice-governour,
To him, and to his too-wise assistance,
Nymble Phantastes, and firme Memory,
Myselfe and cause, I humbly doe commit,
Let them but heare and judge, I wish no more.

Aud. Should they but know thy rash presumption,
They would correct it in the sharpest sort:
Good Jove, what sense hast thou to be a sense;
Since, from the first foundation of the world,
We never were accounted more than five;
Yet you, forsooth, an idle prating dame,
Would faine increase the number, and upstart
To our high seates, decking your babling selfe
With usurp't titles of our dignity.

Ling. An idle prating dame: know, fond Auditus,
Records affirme my title full as good,
As his amongst the five is counted best.

Aud. Lingua, confesse the truth, th'art wont to lye.

Ling. I say so too, therefore I doe not lye,
But now, spight of you all, I speake the truth.
You five amongst us subiects tyrannize,
Making the sacred name of Common Sense
A cloak to cover your enormities:
He beares the rule, he's iudge, but iudgeth still,
As hee's inform'd by your false evidence.
So that a plaintiffe cannot have accesse,
But through your gates, he heares, but what? nought else
But that thy crafty eares to him convayes,
And all he sees, is by proud Visus shew'd him,
And what he touches is by Tactus' hand,
And smels I know, but through Olfactus' nose,
Gustus begins to him what ere he tastes:

By these quaint tricks free passage hath beene bar'd,
That I could never equally be heard.
But well, 'tis well.

And. Lingua, thy feeble sexe
Hath hitherto with-held my ready hands,
That long'd to plucke that nimble instrument.

Ling. O, horrible ingratitude! that thou,
That thou of all the rest should'st threaten me:
Who by my meanes conceiv'st as many tongues,
As Neptune closeth lands betwixt his amies:
The ancient Hebrew, clad with mysteries,
The learned Greeke, rich in Jit epithites,"
Blest in the lovely marriage of pure words,
The Caldy wise, the Arabian physicall,
The Romane eloquent, the Tuscane grave,
The braving Spanish, and the smooth-tong'd French,
These precious iewels that adorne thine eares,
All from my mouthe's rich cabinet are stolne:
How oft hast thou beene chain'd vnto my tongue?
Hang'd at my lips, and ravisht with my words,
So that a speech, faire feather'd, could not flie,
But thy eares' pit-fall caught it instantly.
But now, O, heavens!

And. 0, heavens, thou wrong's! me much,
Thou wrong'st me much thus falsely to upbraid me:
Had I not granted thee the use of hearing,
That sharpe-edg'd tongue, whetted against her master,
Those puffing lungs, those teeth, those dropsie lips,
That scalding throat, those nostrils full of ire;
Thy palate, proper instruments of speech,
Like to the winged chaunters of the wood,
Uttering nought else but idle sistements,

• Mr. Payne Collier, in his very interesting Poetical Decameron, vol. 1. p. 34, thus cites these two lines,

-" the learned Greek,

Blest in the lovely marriage of sweet words,

as Middleton beautifully expresses it in that odd play of his with an odd title, A Mad World, my Masters"—Mr. C. probably quoted from memory ; but it seems extraordinary that he should attribute two beautiful verses like these to a comedy of the nature of the one to which he has referred them. The only connection we can perceive between Lingua and the Mad World, my Masters, is, that they stand next to one another in Dodsley's Collection.


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