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J O N S O N. 



positorics, without the .slightest discoverable intention 

 of ever giving them to the public:. Those notes, how- 

 ever, were found among Druminond's pnpers after his 

 death, and they contain some unfavourable reflections 

 on Jonson's manners and character. After he had ta- 

 ken those notes, Drutnmond received some affectionate 

 letters from Jonson, and answered him with kindness 

 and civility. For this Mr. Gifford pronounces Drnm- 

 rnond a cankered hypocrite, wl:o decoyed his friend 

 under his roof, for the express purpose of defaming 

 him. as one who sat down complacently to destroy Jon- 

 son's character for ever ; and who, having framed a li- 

 bellous attack on the reputation of a friend, kept it 

 carefully in store for thirty years, and finally bequeath- 

 ed it, fairly engrossed, to the caprice or cupidity of his 

 executors. 



This language is intemperate and unjust. Whatever 

 Drummond thought of Jonson,* he was at liberty to 

 make a memorandum of it, anil that memorandum which 

 he-made was, to all appearance, a private one. The 

 words, " bequeath, and fairly engrossed," are either 

 without meaning, or insinuate what is untrue. Mr. 

 Gifford does not know whether the notes were fairly 

 engrossed, (by which we generally mean very distinctly 

 written.) or very indistinctly scrawled. Nor can he, or 

 any man, pretend to decide whether they were left 

 among the writer's papers by accident or design. Their 

 being found, implied no bequest of them to any one. 

 Drummond was apparently disgusted by Ben's propen- 

 sity to intoxication, and by his arrogance. And we know, 

 from other testimony than. Drummond's, that Jonson was 

 fond of his bottle, and could talk very loftily of himself. 

 Drummond's general private character is sufficient to 

 make us believe his testimony. After all, what he has 

 even privately recorded, as his own impression of Jon- 

 son's character, does not amount to its total condemna- 

 tion. There are many men as intemperate and overbear- 

 ing as Jonson is described by Drummond, for whom we 

 find it possible to retain a considerable share of esteem, 

 especially when splendid talents accompany their foi- 

 bles. We cannot believe that Drummond had the 

 slightest intention to decoy Jonson under his roof with 

 the view of detroying his reputation ; or that his me- 

 mory deserves to be blasted for those remarks which 

 he never published. 



In the year 1621, his Majesty, by letters patent, 

 gave to Jonson a reversionary grant of the office of 

 master of the records, to be held by him and his 

 assigns for life, from and after the date of the de- 

 cease of Sir George Bue and Sir John Astley, the 

 present masters, or as soon as the office should become 

 vacant by resignation, forfeiture, or surrender. In con- 

 templation, perhaps, of his speedy accession to this of- 

 fice, James was desirous of conferring upon our poet the 

 honour of knighthood. Jonson, who was probably well 

 aware that a distinction of this nature would only ex- 

 pose him to farther envy, shrunk from the meditated 

 kindness of his sovereign, and persuaded souie of his 

 friends about the court to dissuade his royal master 

 from the purpose Jonson derived no advantage from 

 the reversionary grant which has been mentioned ; the 

 patent, towards the conclusion of his life, was suffered 

 by King Charles to be transferred to Jonson's son. 

 From the year 1616 to 1625, our poet's labours for the 

 theatre were entirely suspended, although he produced, 

 during that period, some of the most beautiful of his- 

 masques and entertainments. Necessity at last drove 

 him back to the stage. Profusion and thoughtlessness 

 had now brought him to poverty, and sickness was su- 



peraddi-d to Im indigence. During the liie of Jaui<\s Jom* 

 we never hear of Ji.n-on's poverty; but, by the death Ett 

 of that monarch in lO''J3; he lost a most-indulgent and ^T 

 liberal patron. lie was attacked, towards -the end of 

 the same year, by the palsy, and his decaying constitu- 

 tion also bt trayed a tendency to dropsy. While 

 decay was coming or., he wrote his play The Sinph- < !' 

 AV//-.V. Th-!;.',h the language of this comedy is forcible-, 

 and the satire well directed, its plot labours under the 

 same difficulties and defects as that of t e plots of 

 Aristophanes, which the poet had in view, namely a con- 

 fusion of real and allegorical characters. The gossiping 

 credulity of the age i, however, admirably held up to 

 ridicule. While his wants and infirmities were increas- 

 ing, he applied once more to the theatre, and pro- 

 duced his comedy of the New Inn ii; lft'29-30. The 

 fate of this drama was, to be driven by his enemies 

 from the stage.. An allusion to the king and queen, 

 which was made in the epilogue of this play, awoke the 

 slumbering kindness of Charles, and he instantly sent 

 him a present of lOO. The monarch also liberally acce- 

 ded to our poet's petition, " that he would be pleased to 

 make the 100 marks of his father 100;" and he add- 

 ed, unsolicited, to the grant, a tierce of Canary wine. 



Notwithstanding this accessi-.n to his income, hi.s 

 circumstances continued to decline together with his 

 he'ilt'i. It is acknowledged, that he was utterly de- 

 void of worldly prudence ; what was liberally given 

 him was lavishly spent. A dispute, in which he was in- 

 volved with the architect Inigo Jones, contributed to 

 embitter his last days, in which it sppears that Jones 

 was at least as vindictive as the offended poet. Under 

 these melancholy circumstances he was employed in 

 writing his Magnetic Lady, which appeared in 1632. 

 It was indifferently received. There is, indeed, too 

 much reason for acknowledging the remark of Drytien, 

 " that Jonson's last plays were his dotages." The 

 Talc of a Tub was his last comedy that was submitted 

 to the public (in 1633.) It was not liked by the court, 

 before whom it was represented. The mantle of his 

 comic inspiration was now worn to thinness. Still, 

 with his faint and faultering tongue, he continued to 

 pay his annual duty to his royal master, and to com- 

 pose occasional interludes. One bright and sunny ray, 

 says his biographer, yet broke through the cloud which 

 hung over his closing hours. In this he produced the 

 Sad Shepherd, a pastoral drama of exquisite beauty ; the 

 better half of which, however, was unfortunately lost 

 in the confusion that followed his death. This was ap- 

 parently the close of his labours. Among his papers 

 were found the plot and opening of a domestic tragedy, 

 on the story of Mortimer, Earl of March, together with 

 the Discoveries find Grammar of the English Language. 

 His death took place on the oth of August 1637, and 

 he was buried on the Qth, in Westminster Abbey i in 

 the north aisle, in the path of square stone opposite to 

 the scutcheon of Robertas de Ros. His friends design- 

 ed to raise a noble monument to his memory by sub- 

 scription, and, till this was ready, nothing more was re- 

 quired than to cover his ashes decently with the common 

 pavement stone which had been removed. While this 

 was doing, Aubrey tells us, Sir John Young, of Great 

 Melton, in Oxfordshire, whom he familiarly calls Jack 

 Young, chanced to pass through the abbey, and not 

 enduring that the remains of so great a man should lie 

 without a memorial, gave one of the workmen eighteen-' 

 pence to cut the words, " O rare Ben Joiison." The 

 subscript, on was successful, but the troubles of the civil 

 war prevented the execution of the monument ; and the 



