1798

WITHER AND QUARLES

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LETTER 38

CHARLES LAMB TO ROBERT SOUTHEY

I the

Nov. 8th, 1798.

DO not know that I much prefer this Eclogue [Lamb has received 'The Last of the Flock '] to the last ['The Wedding']; both are inferior to the former ['The Ruined Cottage'].

"And when he came to shake me by the hand,

And spake as kindly to me as he used,

I hardly knew his voice-"

is the only passage that affected me.

Servants speak, and their language ought to be plain, and not much raised above the common, else I should find fault with the bathos of this passage:

"And when I heard the bell strike out,

I thought (what?) that I had never heard it toll
So dismally before."

I like the destruction of the martens' old nests hugely, having just such a circumstance in my memory. I should be very glad to see your remaining Eclogue, if not too much trouble, as you give me reason to expect it will be the second best.

I perfectly accord with your opinion of old Wither. Quarles is a wittier writer, but Wither lays more hold of the heart. Quarles thinks of his audience when he lectures; Wither soliloquises in company with a full heart. What wretched stuff are the "Divine Fancies" of Quarles! Religion appears to him no longer valuable than it furnishes matter for quibbles and riddles; he turns God's grace into wantonness. Wither is like an old friend, whose warmheartedness and estimable qualities make us wish he possessed more genius, but at the same time make us willing to dispense with that want. I always love W., and sometimes admire Q. Still that

1[The destruction of the martens' nests, in “The Last of the Family," runs thus:

portrait poem is a fine one; and the extract from "The Shepherds' Hunting" places him in a starry height far above Quarles. If you wrote that review in "Crit. Rev.," I am sorry you are so sparing of praise to the "Ancient Marinere ; "-so far from calling it, as you do, with some wit, but more severity, "A Dutch Attempt," &c., I call it a right English attempt, and a successful one, to dethrone German sublimity. You have selected a passage fertile in unmeaning miracles, but have passed by fifty passages as miraculous as the miracles they celebrate. I never so deeply felt the pathetic as in that part,

It stung me into high pleasure through sufferings. Lloyd does not like it; his head is too metaphysical, and your taste too correct; at least I must allege something against you both, to excuse my own dotage

"So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be!"—&c., &c.

But

But you allow some elaborate beauties-you should have extracted 'em. "The Ancient Marinere". plays more tricks with the mind than that last poem, which is yet one of the finest written. I am getting too dogmatical; and before I degenerate into abuse, I will conclude with assuring you that I am

Sincerely yours,

C. LAMB.

I am going to meet Lloyd at Ware on Saturday, to return on Sunday. Have you any commands or commendations to the metaphysician? I shall be very happy if you will dine or spend any time with me in your way through the great ugly city; but I know you have other ties upon you in these parts.

Love and respects to Edith, and friendly remembrances to Cottle.

NOTE

[Lamb's ripe judgment of Wither will be found in his essay "On the Poetical Works of George Wither," in the Works, 1818 (see Vol. I. of this edition, page 181). "The portrait poem " would be "The Author's Meditation upon Sight of His Picture," prefixed to Emblems, 1635.

Lyrical Ballads, by Wordsworth and Coleridge, had just been published by Cottle, "The Ancient Mariner" stood first. "That

1798

"THE DYING LOVER"

131

last poem was Wordsworth's "Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey." Southey (?) reviewed the book in the Critical Review for October, 1798. Of the "Ancient Mariner" he said: "It is a Dutch attempt at German sublimity. Genius has here been employed in producing a poem of little merit."

Here should come a letter from Lamb to Robert Lloyd, dated November 13, 1798, not available for this edition. Robert Lloyd seems to have said in his last letter that the world was drained of all its sweets. Lamb sends him a beautiful passage in praise of the world's good things-the first foretaste in the correspondence of his later ecstatic manner.

Here also should come a letter from Lamb to Southey, which apparently does not now exist, containing "The Dying Lover," an extract from Lamb's play. I have taken the text from the version of the play sent to Manning late in 1800 (see page 205). Lamb did not include "The Dying Lover" in John Woodvil when he printed it in 1802; but he sent it, slightly altered, to Dr. Anderson's magazine (see page 187) for November, 1800, and to the London Magazine for January, 1822.

Margaret.

THE DYING LOVER

I knew a youth who died

For grief, because his Love proved so,

And married to another.

I saw him on the wedding day,

For he was present in the church that day,
And in his best apparel too,

As one that came to grace the ceremony.

I mark'd him when the ring was given,

His countenance never changed;

And when the priest pronounced the marriage blessing,

He put a silent prayer up for the bride,

For they stood near who saw his lips move.

He came invited to the marriage-feast

With the bride's friends,

And was the merriest of them all that day;

But they, who knew him best, call'd it feign'd mirth;

And others said,

Not long for this world.

And true it was, for even then

The silent love was feeding at his heart
Of which he died:

Nor ever spake word of reproach,

Only he wish'd in death that his remains

Might find a poor grave in some spot, not far
From his mistress' family vault, "being the place
Where one day Anna should herself be laid."

The line in italics Lamb crossed through in the Manning copy. The last four lines he crossed through and marked "very bad." I have reproduced them here because of the autobiographical hint contained in the word Anna, which was the name given by Lamb to his "fair-haired maid" in his love sonnets.]

LETTER 39

CHARLES LAMB TO ROBERT SOUTHEY

[Probably November, 1798.]

HE following is a second Extract from my Tragedy that is to be, 'tis narrated by an old Steward to Margaret, orphan ward of Sir Walter Woodvil;-this, and the Dying Lover I gave you, are the only extracts I can give without mutilation. I expect you to like the old woman's curse :

Old Steward.-One summer night, Sir Walter, as it chanc'd,
Was pacing to & fro in the avenue

That westward fronts our house,

Among those aged oaks, said to have been planted

Three hundred years ago

By a neighb'ring Prior of the Woodvil name,

But so it was,

Being overtask't in thought, he heeded not
The importune suitor who stood by the gate,
And beg'd an alms.

Some say he shov'd her rudely from the gate
With angry chiding; but I can never think
(Sir Walter's nature hath a sweetness in it)
That he would use a woman-an old woman-
With such discourtesy ;

For old she was who beg'd an alms of him.
Well, he refus'd her;

Whether for importunity, I know not,

Or that she came between his meditations.
But better had he met a lion in the streets

Than this old woman that night;

For she was one who practis'd the black arts,

And served the devil-being since burn'd for witchcraft.

She look'd at him like one that meant to blast him,

And with a frightful noise

('Twas partly like a woman's voice,

And partly like the hissing of a snake)

She nothing said but this (Sir Walter told the words):

"A mischief, mischief, mischief,
And a nine-times killing curse,

By day and by night, to the caitive wight
Who shakes the poor like snakes from his door,
And shuts up the womb of his purse;

And a mischief, mischief, mischief,

And a nine-fold withering curse,—

For that shall come to thee, that will render thee
Both all that thou fear'st, and worse."

These words four times repeated, she departed,
Leaving Sir Walter like a man beneath

Whose feet a scaffolding had suddenly fal'n :
So he describ'd it.

Margaret.-A terrible curse!

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Old Steward.-O Lady, such bad things are told of that old woman, As, namely, that the milk she gave was sour,

And the babe who suck'd her shrivel'd like a mandrake;

And things besides, with a bigger horror in them,

Almost, I think, unlawful to be told!

Margaret.-Then must I never hear them. But proceed,

And say what follow'd on the witch's curse.

Old Steward.-Nothing immediate; but some nine months after,
Young Stephen Woodvil suddenly fell sick,

And none could tell what ail'd him: for he lay,

And pin'd, and pin'd, that all his hair came off;

And he, that was full-flesh'd, became as thin

As a two-months' babe that hath been starved in the nursing;-
And sure, I think,

He bore his illness like a little child,

With such rare sweetness of dumb melancholy

He strove to clothe his agony in smiles,

Which he would force up in his poor, pale cheeks,

Like ill-tim'd guests that had no proper business there ;

And when they ask'd him his complaint, he laid

His hand upon his heart to show the place

Where Satan came to him a nights, he said,

And prick'd him with a pin.

And hereupon Sir Walter call'd to mind

The Beggar Witch that stood in the gateway,

And begg'd an alms

Margaret.-I do not love to credit Tales of magic.
Heav'n's music, which is order, seems unstrung;

And this brave world,

Creation's beauteous work, unbeautified,

Disorder'd, marr'd, where such strange things are acted.

This is the extract I brag'd of, as superior to that I sent you from Marlow. Perhaps you smile; but I should like your remarks on the above, as you are deeper witch-read than I.

NOTE

[The passage quoted in this letter, with certain alterations, became afterwards "The Witch," a dramatic sketch independent of "John Woodvil." By the phrase "without mutilation," Lamb possibly means to suggest that Southey should print this sketch and