THE LIFE OF POMFRET, BY DR. JOHNSON. OF Mr. JOHN POMFRET nothing is known but from a slight and confused account prefixed to his poems by a nameless friend; who relates, that he was the son of the rev. Mr. Pomfret, rector of Luton in Bedfordshire; that he was bred at Cambridge'; entered into orders, and was rector of Malden in Bedfordshire, and might have risen in the church; but that, when he applied to Dr. Compton, bishop of London, for institution to a living of considerable value, to which he had been presented, he found a troublesome obstruction raised by a malicious interpretation of some passage in his Choice; from which it was inferred, that he considered happiness as more likely to be found in the company of a mistress than of a wife. This reproach was easily obliterated: for it had happened to Pomfret as to almost all other men who plan schemes of life; he had departed from his purpose, and was then married. The malice of his enemies had however a very fatal consequence: the delay constrained his attendance in London, where he caught the small-pox, and died in 1703, in the thirty-sixth year of his age. He published his poems in 1699; and has been always the favourite of that class of readers, who, without vanity or criticism, seek only their own amusement. His Choice exhibits a system of life adapted to common notions, and equal to common expectations; such a state as affords plenty and tranquillity, without exclusion of intellectual pleasures. Perhaps no composition in our language has been oftener perused than Pomfret's Choice. In his other poems there is an easy volubility; the pleasure of smooth metre is afforded to the ear, and the mind is not oppressed with ponderous or entangled with intricate sentiment. He pleases many; and he who pleases many must have some species of merit. 'He was of Queen's College there, and, by the university-register, appears to have taken his bachelor's degree in 1684, and his master's 1698. H.His father was of Trinity. C. PREFACE. Ir will be to little purpose, the author presumes, to offer any reasons why the following poems appear in public; for it is ten to one whether he gives the true; and if he does, it is much greater odds, whether the gentle reader is so courteous as to believe him. He could tell the world, according to the laudable custom of prefaces, that it was through the irresistible importunity of friends, or some other excuse of ancient renown, that he ventured them to the press; but he thought it much better to leave every man to guess for himself, and then he would be sure to satisfy himself: for, let what will be pretended, people are grown so very apt to fancy they are always in the right, that, unless it hit their humour, it is immediately condemned for a sham and hypocrisy. In short, that which wants an excuse for being in print, ought not to have been printed at all; but whether the ensuing poems deserve to stand in that class, the world must have leave to determine. What faults the true judgment of the gentleman may find out, it is to be hoped his candour and good-humour will easily pardon ; but those, which the peevishness and ill-nature of the critic may discover, must expect to be unmercifully used: though, methinks, it is a very preposterous pleasure, to scratch other persons till the blood comes, and then laugh at and ridicule them. Some persons, perhaps, may wonder, how things of this nature dare come into the world without the protection of some great name, as they call it, and a fulsome epistle dedicatory to his grace, or right honourable: for, if a poem struts out under my lord's patronage, the author imagines it is no less than scandalum magnatum to dislike it; especially if he thinks fit to tell the world, that this same lord is a person of wonderful wit and understanding, a notable judge of poetry, and a very considerable poet himself. But if a poem have no intrinsic excellencies, and real beauties, the greatest name in the world will never induce a man of sense to approve it; and if it has them, Tom Piper's is as good as my lord duke's; the only difference is, Tom claps half an ounce of snuff into the poet's hand, and his grace twenty guineas: for, indeed, there lies the strength of a great name, and the greatest protection an author can receive from it. To please every one, would be a new thing; and to write so as to please nobody, would be as new: for even Quarles and Withers have their admirers. The author is not so fond of fame, to desire it from the injudicious many; nor of so mortified a temper, not to wish it from the discerning few. It is not the multitude of applauses, but the good sense of the applauders, which establishes a valuable reputation; and if a Rymer or a Congreve say it is well, he will not be at all solicitous how great the majority may be to the contrary. |