Books: Lives of the Poets: Waller, Milton, Cowley

S >> Samuel Johnson >> Lives of the Poets: Waller, Milton, Cowley

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It is the opinion of Clarendon, that in Waller's plan no violence or
sanguinary resistance was comprised; that he intended only to abate
the confidence of the rebels by public declarations, and to weaken
their powers by an opposition to new supplies. This, in calmer
times, and more than this, is done without fear; but such was the
acrimony of the Commons, that no method of obstructing them was
safe.

About this time another design was formed by Sir Nicholas Crispe, a
man of loyalty, that deserves perpetual remembrance; when he was a
merchant in the city, he gave and procured the king, in his
exigencies, a hundred thousand pounds; and, when he was driven from
the Exchange, raised a regiment, and commanded it.

Sir Nicholas flattered himself with an opinion, that some
provocation would so much exasperate, or some opportunity so much
encourage, the king's friends in the city, that they would break out
in open resistance, and would then want only a lawful standard, and
an authorised commander; and extorted from the king, whose judgment
too frequently yielded to importunity, a commission of array,
directed to such as he thought proper to nominate, which was sent to
London by the Lady Aubigny. She knew not what she carried, but was
to deliver it on the communication of a certain token which Sir
Nicholas imparted.

This commission could be only intended to lie ready till the time
should require it. To have attempted to raise any forces would have
been certain destruction; it could be of use only when the forces
should appear. This was, however, an act preparatory to martial
hostility.

Crispe would undoubtedly have put an end to the session of
Parliament, had his strength been equal to his zeal; and out of the
design of Crispe, which involved very little danger, and that of
Waller, which was an act purely civil, they compounded a horrid and
dreadful plot.

The discovery of Waller's design is variously related.

In "Clarendon's History" it is told, that a servant of Tomkyns,
lurking behind the hangings when his master was in conference with
Waller, heard enough to qualify him for an informer, and carried his
intelligence to Pym.

A manuscript, quoted in the "Life of Waller," relates, that "he was
betrayed by his sister Price, and her Presbyterian chaplain Mr.
Goode, who stole some of his papers; and if he had not strangely
dreamed the night before, that his sister had betrayed him, and
thereupon burnt the rest of his papers by the fire that was in his
chimney, he had certainly lost his life by it." The question cannot
be decided. It is not unreasonable to believe that the men in
power, receiving intelligence from the sister, would employ the
servant of Tomkyns to listen at the conference, that they might
avoid an act so offensive as that of destroying the brother by the
sister's testimony.

The plot was published in the most terrific manner.

On the 31st of May (1643), at a solemn fast, when they were
listening to the sermon, a messenger entered the church, and
communicated his errand to Pym, who whispered it to others that were
placed near him, and then went with them out of the church, leaving
the rest in solicitude and amazement. They immediately sent guards
to proper places, and that night apprehended Tomkyns and Waller;
having yet traced nothing but that letters had been intercepted,
from which it appears that the Parliament and the city were soon to
be delivered into the hands of the cavaliers.

They perhaps yet knew little themselves, beyond some general and
indistinct notices. "But Waller," says Clarendon, "was so
confounded with fear, that he confessed whatever he had heard, said,
thought, or seen; all that he knew of himself, and all that he
suspected of others, without concealing any person of what degree or
quality soever, or any discourse which he had ever upon any occasion
entertained with them; what such and such ladies of great honour, to
whom, upon the credit of his wit and great reputation, he had been
admitted, had spoken to him in their chambers upon the proceedings
in the Houses, and how they had encouraged him to oppose them; what
correspondence and intercourse they had with some Ministers of State
at Oxford, and how they had conveyed all intelligence thither." He
accused the Earl of Portland and Lord Conway as co-operating in the
transaction; and testified that the Earl of Northumberland had
declared himself disposed in favour of any attempt that might check
the violence of the Parliament, and reconcile them to the king.

He undoubtedly confessed much which they could never have
discovered, and perhaps somewhat which they would wish to have been
suppressed; for it is inconvenient in the conflict of factions, to
have that disaffection known which cannot safely be punished.

Tomkyns was seized on the same night with Waller, and appears
likewise to have partaken of his cowardice; for he gave notice of
Crispe's commission of array, of which Clarendon never knew how it
was discovered. Tomkyns had been sent with the token appointed, to
demand it from Lady Aubigny, and had buried it in his garden, where,
by his direction, it was dug up; and thus the rebels obtained, what
Clarendon confesses them to have had, the original copy.

It can raise no wonder that they formed one plot out of these two
designs, however remote from each other, when they saw the same
agent employed in both, and found the commission of array in the
hands of him who was employed in collecting the opinions and
affections of the people.

Of the plot, thus combined, they took care to make the most. They
sent Pym among the citizens, to tell them of their imminent danger
and happy escape; and inform them, that the design was, "to seize
the Lord Mayor and all the Committee of Militia, and would not spare
one of them." They drew up a vow and covenant, to be taken by every
member of either House, by which he declared his detestation of all
conspiracies against the Parliament, and his resolution to detect
and oppose them. They then appointed a day of thanksgiving for this
wonderful delivery; which shut out, says Clarendon, all doubts
whether there had been such a deliverance, and whether the plot was
real or fictitious.

On June 11, the Earl of Portland and Lord Conway were committed, one
to the custody of the mayor, and the other of the sheriff; but their
lands and goods were not seized.

Waller was still to immerse himself deeper in ignominy. The Earl of
Portland and Lord Conway denied the charge; and there was no
evidence against them but the confession of Waller, of which
undoubtedly many would be inclined to question the veracity. With
these doubts he was so much terrified, that he endeavoured to
persuade Portland to a declaration like his own, by a letter extant
in Fenton's edition. "But for me," says he, "you had never known
anything of this business, which was prepared for another; and
therefore I cannot imagine why you should hide it so far as to
contract your own ruin by concealing it, and persisting unreasonably
to hide that truth, which, without you, already is, and will every
day be made more manifest. Can you imagine yourself bound in honour
to keep that secret, which is already revealed by another? or
possible it should still be a secret, which is known to one of the
other sex?--If you persist to be cruel to yourself for their sakes
who deserve it not, it will nevertheless be made appear, ere long, I
fear, to your ruin. Surely, if I had the happiness to wait on you,
I could move you to compassionate both yourself and me, who,
desperate as my case is, am desirous to die with the honour of being
known to have declared the truth. You have no reason to contend to
hide what is already revealed--inconsiderately to throw away
yourself, for the interest of others, to whom you are less obliged
than you are aware of."

This persuasion seems to have had little effect. Portland sent
(June 29) a letter to the Lords, to tell them that he "is in
custody, as he conceives, without any charge; and that, by what Mr.
Waller hath threatened him with since he was imprisoned, he doth
apprehend a very cruel, long, and ruinous restraint:- He therefore
prays, that he may not find the effects of Mr. Waller's threats, a
long and close imprisonment; but may be speedily brought to a legal
trial, and then he is confident the vanity and falsehood of those
informations which have been given against him will appear."

In consequence of this letter, the Lords ordered Portland and Waller
to be confronted; when the one repeated his charge, and the other
his denial. The examination of the plot being continued (July 1),
Thinn, usher of the House of Lords, deposed, that Mr. Waller having
had a conference with the Lord Portland in an upper room, Lord
Portland said, when he came down, "Do me the favour to tell my Lord
Northumberland, that Mr. Waller has extremely pressed me to save my
own life and his, by throwing the blame upon the Lord Conway and the
Earl of Northumberland."

Waller, in his letter to Portland, tells him of the reasons which he
could urge with resistless efficacy in a personal conference; but he
overrated his own oratory; his vehemence, whether of persuasion or
entreaty, was returned with contempt.

One of his arguments with Portland is, that the plot is already
known to a woman. This woman was doubtless Lady Aubigny, who, upon
this occasion, was committed to custody; but who, in reality, when
she delivered the commission, knew not what it was.

The Parliament then proceeded against the conspirators, and
committed their trial to a council of war. Tomkyns and Chaloner
were hanged near their own doors. Tomkyns, when he came to die,
said it was a "foolish business;" and indeed there seems to have
been no hope that it should escape discovery; for, though never more
than three met at a time, yet a design so extensive must by
necessity be communicated to many who could not be expected to be
all faithful and all prudent. Chaloner was attended at his
execution by Hugh Peters. His crime was, that he had commission to
raise money for the king; but it appears not that the money was to
be expended upon the advancement of either Crispe's or Waller's
plot.

The Earl of Northumberland, being too great for prosecution, was
only once examined before the Lords. The Earl of Portland and Lord
Conway persisting to deny the charge, and no testimony but Waller's
yet appearing against them, were, after a long imprisonment,
admitted to bail. Hassel, the king's messenger, who carried the
letters to Oxford, died the night before his trial. Hampden
[Alexander] escaped death, perhaps by the interest of his family;
but was kept in prison to the end of his life. They whose names
were inserted in the commission of array were not capitally
punished, as it could not be proved that they had consented to their
own nomination; but they were considered as malignants, and their
estates were seized.

"Waller, though confessedly," says Clarendon, "the most guilty, with
incredible dissimulation affected such a remorse of conscience, that
his trial was put off, out of Christian compassion, till he might
recover his understanding." What use he made of this interval, with
what liberality and success he distributed flattery and money, and
how, when he was brought (July 4) before the House, he confessed and
lamented, and submitted and implored, may be read in the "History of
the Rebellion" (B. vii.). The speech, to which Clarendon ascribes
the preservation of his "dear-bought life," is inserted in his
works. The great historian, however, seems to have been mistaken in
relating that "he prevailed" in the principal part of his
supplication, "not to be tried by a council of war;" for, according
to Whitelock, he was by expulsion from the House abandoned to the
tribunal which he so much dreaded, and, being tried and condemned,
was reprieved by Essex; but after a year's imprisonment, in which
time resentment grew less acrimonious, paying a fine of ten thousand
pounds, he was permitted to "recollect himself in another country."

Of his behaviour in this part of life, it is not necessary to direct
the reader's opinion. "Let us not," says his last ingenious
biographer, "condemn him with untempered severity, because he was
not a prodigy which the world hath seldom seen, because his
character included not the poet, the orator, and the hero."

For the place of his exile he chose France, and stayed some time at
Roan, where his daughter Margaret was born, who was afterwards his
favourite, and his amanuensis. He then removed to Paris, where he
lived with great splendour and hospitality; and from time to time
amused himself with poetry, in which he sometimes speaks of the
rebels, and their usurpation, in the natural language of an honest
man.

At last it became necessary, for his support, to sell his wife's
jewels; and being reduced, as he said, at last "to the rump-jewel,"
he solicited from Cromwell permission to return, and obtained it by
the interest of Colonel Scroop, to whom his sister was married.
Upon the remains of a fortune, which the danger of his life had very
much diminished, he lived at Hallbarn, a house built by himself very
near to Beaconsfield, where his mother resided. His mother, though
related to Cromwell and Hampden, was zealous for the royal cause,
and, when Cromwell visited her, used to reproach him; he, in return,
would throw a napkin at her, and say he would not dispute with his
aunt; but finding in time that she acted for the king, as well as
talked, he made her a prisoner to her own daughter, in her own
house. If he would do anything, he could not do less.

Cromwell, now Protector, received Waller, as his kinsman, to
familiar conversation. Waller, as he used to relate, found him
sufficiently versed in ancient history; and, when any of his
enthusiastic friends came to advise or consult him, could sometimes
overhear him discoursing in the cant of the times: but, when he
returned, he would say, "Cousin Waller, I must talk to these men in
their own way;" and resumed the common style of conversation.

He repaid the Protector for his favours (1654) by the famous
Panegyric, which has been always considered as the first of his
poetical productions. His choice of encomiastic topics is very
judicious; for he considers Cromwell in his exaltation, without
inquiring how he attained it; there is consequently no mention of
the rebel or the regicide. All the former part of his hero's life
is veiled with shades; and nothing is brought to view but the chief,
the governor, the defender of England's honour, and the enlarger of
her dominion. The act of violence by which he obtained the supreme
power is lightly treated, and decently justified. It was certainly
to be desired that the detestable band should be dissolved, which
had destroyed the Church, murdered the king, and filled the nation
with tumult and oppression; yet Cromwell had not the right of
dissolving them, for all that he had before done could be justified
only by supposing them invested with lawful authority. But
combinations of wickedness would overwhelm the world by the
advantage which licentious principles afford, did not those, who
have long practised perfidy, grow faithless to each other.

In the poem on the War with Spain are some passages at least equal
to the best parts of the Panegyric; and, in the conclusion, the poet
ventures yet a higher flight of flattery, by recommending royalty to
Cromwell and the nation. Cromwell was very desirous, as appears
from his conversation, related by Whitelock, of adding the title to
the power of monarchy, and is supposed to have been withheld from it
partly by fear of the army, and partly by fear of the laws, which,
when he should govern by the name of king, would have restrained his
authority. When, therefore, a deputation was solemnly sent to
invite him to the crown, he, after a long conference, refused it,
but is said to have fainted in his coach when he parted from them.

The poem on the death of the Protector seems to have been dictated
by real veneration for his memory. Dryden and Sprat wrote on the
same occasion; but they were young men, struggling into notice, and
hoping for some favour from the ruling party. Waller had little to
expect; he had received nothing but his pardon from Cromwell, and
was not likely to ask anything from those who should succeed him.

Soon afterwards, the Restoration supplied him with another subject;
and he exerted his imagination, his elegance, and his melody, with
equal alacrity, for Charles the Second. It is not possible to read,
without some contempt and indignation, poems of the same author,
ascribing the highest degree of "power and piety" to Charles the
First, then transferring the same "power and piety" to Oliver
Cromwell; now inviting Oliver to take the Crown, and then
congratulating Charles the Second on his recovered right. Neither
Cromwell nor Charles could value his testimony as the effect of
conviction, or receive his praises as effusions of reverence; they
could consider them but as the labour of invention, and the tribute
of dependence.

Poets, indeed, profess fiction; but the legitimate end of fiction is
the conveyance of truth, and he that has flattery ready for all whom
the vicissitudes of the world happen to exalt must be scorned as a
prostituted mind, that may retain the glitter of wit, but has lost
the dignity of virtue.

The Congratulation was considered as inferior in poetical merit to
the Panegyric; and it is reported that, when the king told Waller of
the disparity, he answered, "Poets, Sir, succeed better in fiction
than in truth."

The Congratulation is indeed not inferior to the Panegyric, either
by decay of genius, or for want of diligence, but because Cromwell
had done much and Charles had done little. Cromwell wanted nothing
to raise him to heroic excellence but virtue, and virtue his poet
thought himself at liberty to supply. Charles had yet only the
merit of struggling without success, and suffering without despair.
A life of escapes and indigence could supply poetry with no splendid
images.

In the first Parliament summoned by Charles the Second (March 8,
1661), Waller sat for Hastings, in Sussex, and served for different
places in all the Parliaments of that reign. In a time when fancy
and gaiety were the most powerful recommendations to regard, it is
not likely that Waller was forgotten. He passed his time in the
company that was highest, both in rank and wit, from which even his
obstinate sobriety did not exclude him. Though he drank water, he
was enabled by his fertility of mind to heighten the mirth of
Bacchanalian assemblies; and Mr. Saville said, that "no man in
England should keep him company without drinking but Ned Waller."

The praise given him by St. Evremond is a proof of his reputation;
for it was only by his reputation that he could be known, as a
writer, to a man who, though he lived a great part of a long life
upon an English pension, never consented to understand the language
of the nation that maintained him.

In Parliament, "he was," says Burnet, "the delight of the House, and
though old, said the liveliest things of any among them." This,
however, is said in his account of the year seventy-five, when
Waller was only seventy. His name as a speaker occurs often in
Grey's Collections, but I have found no extracts that can be more
quoted as exhibiting sallies of gaiety than cogency of argument.

He was of such consideration, that his remarks were circulated and
recorded. When the Duke of York's influence was high, both in
Scotland and England, it drew, says Burnet, a lively reflection from
Waller, the celebrated wit. He said, "The House of Commons had
resolved that the duke should not reign after the king's death: but
the king, in opposition to them, had resolved that he should reign
even in his life." If there appear no extraordinary "liveliness" in
this "remark," yet its reception proves its speaker to have been a
"celebrated wit," to have had a name which men of wit were proud of
mentioning.

He did not suffer his reputation to die gradually away, which may
easily happen in a long life, but renewed his claim to poetical
distinction from time to time, as occasions were offered, either by
public events or private incidents; and, contenting himself with the
influence of his Muse, or loving quiet better than influence, he
never accepted any office of magistracy.

He was not, however, without some attention to his fortune, for he
asked from the king (in 1665) the provostship of Eton College, and
obtained it; but Clarendon refused to put the seal to the grant,
alleging that it could be held only by a clergyman. It is known
that Sir Henry Wotton qualified himself for it by deacon's orders.

To this opposition, the Biographia imputes the violence and acrimony
with which Waller joined Buckingham's faction in the prosecution of
Clarendon. The motive was illiberal and dishonest, and showed that
more than sixty years had not been able to teach him morality. His
accusation is such as conscience can hardly be supposed to dictate
without the help of malice. "We were to be governed by Janizaries
instead of Parliaments, and are in danger from a worse plot than
that of the fifth of November; then, if the Lords and Commons had
been destroyed, there had been a succession; but here both had been
destroyed for ever." This is the language of a man who is glad of
an opportunity to rail, and ready to sacrifice truth to interest at
one time, and to anger at another.

A year after the chancellor's banishment, another vacancy gave him
encouragement for another petition, which the king referred to the
Council, who, after hearing the question argued by lawyers for three
days, determined that the office could be held only by a clergyman,
according to the Act of Uniformity, since the provosts had always
received institution as for a parsonage from the Bishops of Lincoln.
The king then said he could not break the law which he had made; and
Dr. Zachary Cradock, famous for a single sermon, at most for two
sermons, was chosen by the Fellows.

That he asked anything else is not known; it is certain that he
obtained nothing, though he continued obsequious to the court
through the rest of Charles's reign.

At the accession of King James (in 1685) he was chosen for
Parliament, being then fourscore, at Saltash, in Cornwall; and wrote
a Presage of the Downfall of the Turkish Empire, which he presented
to the king on his birthday. It is remarked, by his commentator
Fenton, that in reading Tasso he had early imbibed a veneration for
the heroes of the Holy War, and a zealous enmity to the Turks, which
never left him. James, however, having soon after begun what he
thought a holy war at home, made haste to put all molestation of the
Turks out of his power.

James treated him with kindness and familiarity, of which instances
are given by the writer of his life. One day, taking him into the
closet, the king asked him how he liked one of the pictures: "My
eyes," said Waller, "are dim, and I do not know it." The king said
it was the Princess of Orange. "She is," said Waller, "like the
greatest woman in the world." The king asked who was that; and was
answered, Queen Elizabeth. "I wonder," said the king, "you should
think so; but I must confess she had a wise council." "And, Sir,"
said Waller, "did you ever know a fool choose a wise one?" Such is
the story, which I once heard of some other man. Pointed axioms,
and acute replies, fly loose about the world, and are assigned
successively to those whom it may be the fashion to celebrate.

When the king knew that he was about to marry his daughter to Dr.
Birch, a clergyman, he ordered a French gentleman to tell him that
"the king wondered he could think of marrying his daughter to a
falling church." "The king," said Waller, "does me great honour in
taking notice of my domestic affairs; but I have lived long enough
to observe that this falling church has got a trick of rising
again."

He took notice to his friends of the king's conduct; and said that
"he would be left like a whale upon the strand." Whether he was
privy to any of the transactions that ended in the revolution is not
known. His heir joined the Prince of Orange.

Having now attained an age beyond which the laws of nature seldom
suffer life to be extended, otherwise than by a future state, he
seems to have turned his mind upon preparation for the decisive
hour, and therefore consecrated his poetry to devotion. It is
pleasing to discover that his piety was without weakness; that his
intellectual powers continued vigorous; and that the lines which he
composed when "he, for age, could neither read nor write," are not
inferior to the effusions of his youth.

Towards the decline of life he bought a small house, with a little
land, at Coleshill; and said "he should be glad to die, like the
stag, where he was roused." This, however, did not happen. When he
was at Beaconsfield, he found his legs grow tumid: he went to
Windsor, where Sir Charles Scarborough then attended the king, and
requested him, as both a friend and physician, to tell him "what
that swelling meant." "Sir," answered Scarborough, "your blood will
run no longer." Waller repeated some lines of Virgil, and went home
to die.

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