In his retirement he may be fupposed to have applied himself to books; for he difcovers more literature than the poets have commonly attained. But his ftudies were in his latter days obftructed by cataracts in his eyes, which at laft terminated in blindnefs. This melancholy ftate was aggravated by the gout, for which he fought relief by a journey to Bath; but being overturned in his chariot, complained from that time of a pain in his fide, and died, at his house in Sureryftreet in the Strand, Jan. 29, 1728-9. Having lain in ftate in the, Jerufalem-chamber, he was buried in Weftminster-abbey, where a monument is erected to his memory by Henrietta dutchefs of Marlborough, to whom, for reafons either not known or not mentioned, he bequeathed a legacy of about ten thousand pounds; the accumulation of attentive parfimony, which, though to her fuperfluous and ufelefs, might have given great affiftance to the ancient family from which he defcended, at that time by the imprudence of his relation reduced to difficulties and diftrefs.

CON

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 plays I cannot fpeak diftinctly; for fince I infpected them many years haye paffed; 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 comick excellence, which he fuppofed to confift in gay remarks and unexpected anfwers; but that which he endeavoured, he feldom failed of performing. His fcenes exhibit not much of humour, imagery, or paffion: his perfonages are a kind of intellectual gladiators; every fentence is to ward or ftrike; the conteft of smartness is never intermitted; his wit is a meteor playing to and fro with alternate corufcations. His comedies have therefore, in fome degree, the operation of tragedies; they surprise 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 mifcellaneous poetry, I cannot fay any thing very favourable. The powers of Congreve

Congreve seem to desert him when he leaves the stage, as Antæus was no longer strong than he could touch the ground. It cannot be obferved without wonder, that a mind fo vigorous and fertile in dramatick compofitions fhould on any other occafion discover nothing but impotence and poverty. He has in these little pieces neither elevation of fancy, felection of language, nor skill in verfification: yet, if I were required to felect from the whole mafs of English poetry the most poetical paragraph, I know not what I could prefer to an exclama tion in The Mourning Bride :

ALMERIA.

It was a fancy'd noife; for all is hush'd.

LEONOR A.

It bore the accent of a human voice.

ALMERIA.

It was thy fear, or elfe fome tranfient wind Whiftling thro' hollows of this vaulted ifle: We'll liften

Hark!

LEONORA.

ALMERIA.

No, all is hufh'd, and ftill as death.-'Tis

dreadful!

How reverend is the face of this tall pilę ;

Whofe

Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arch'd and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity! It ftrikes an awe
And terror on my aching fight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chilnefs to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.

He who reads thofe lines enjoys for a moment the powers of a poet; he feels what he remembers to have felt before, but he feels it with great increase of fenfibility; he recognizes a familiar image, but meets it again amplified and expanded, embellished with beauty, and enlarged with majefty.

Yet could the author, who appears here to have enjoyed the confidence of Nature, lament the death of queen Mary in lines like thefe:

The rocks are cleft, and new-defcending rills Furrow the brows of all th' impending hills. The water-gods to floods their rivulets turn, And each, with ftreaming eyes, fupplies his wanting urn.

The

T

The Fauns forfake the woods, the Nymphs the

grove,

And round the plain in fad diftractions rove:
In prickly brakes their tender limbs they tear,
And leave on thorns their locks of golden hair.
With their fharp nails, themselves the Satyrs
wound,

And tug their fhaggy beards, and bite with grief the ground.

Lo Pan himself, beneath a blafted oak,
Dejected lies, his pipe in pieces broke.
See Pales weeping too, in wild despair,
And to the piercing winds her bosom bare.
And fee yon fading myrtle, where appears
The Queen of Love, all bath'd in flowing tears;
See how the wrings her hands, and beats her breast,
And tears her ufelefs girdle from her waist:
Hear the fad murmurs of her fighing doves!
For grief they figh, forgetful of their loves.

And many years after, he gave no proof that time had improved his wifdom or his wit; for, on the death of the marquis of Blandford, this was his fong?

And now the winds, which had fo long been still, Began the fwelling air with fighs to fill : The water-nymphs, who motionless remain'd, Like images of ice, while fhe complain'd,

Now