Lives of the Poets, vol 1 | Page 4

any thing as it was heard, when Sprat
could not refrain from amplifying a commodious incident, though the
book to which he prefixed his narrative, contained its confutation. A
memory admitting some things and rejecting others, an intellectual
digestion that concocted the pulp of learning, but refused the husks, had
the appearance of an instinctive elegance, of a particular provision
made by nature for literary politeness. But, in the author's own honest
relation, the marvel vanishes: he was, he says, such "an enemy to all
constraint, that his master never could prevail on him to learn the rules
without book." He does not tell, that he could not learn the rules; but

that, being able to perform his exercises without them, and being an
"enemy to constraint," he spared himself the labour.
Among the English poets, Cowley, Milton, and Pope, might be said "to
lisp in numbers;" and have given such early proofs, not only of powers
of language, but of comprehension of things, as, to more tardy minds,
seems scarcely credible. But of the learned puerilities of Cowley there
is no doubt, since a volume of his poems was not only written, but
printed, in his thirteenth year[6]; containing, with other poetical
compositions, the Tragical History of Pyramus and Thisbe, written
when he was ten years old; and Constantia and Philetus, written two
years after.
While he was yet at school, he produced a comedy, called, Love's
Riddle, though it was not published, till he had been some time at
Cambridge. This comedy is of the pastoral kind, which requires no
acquaintance with the living world, and, therefore, the time at which it
was composed adds little to the wonders of Cowley's minority.
In 1636, he was removed to Cambridge[7], where he continued his
studies with great intenseness; for he is said to have written, while he
was yet a young student, the greater part of his Davideis; a work of
which the materials could not have been collected without the study of
many years, but by a mind of the greatest vigour and activity.
Two years after his settlement at Cambridge he published Love's
Riddle, with a poetical dedication to sir Kenelm Digby, of whose
acquaintance all his contemporaries seem to have been ambitious; and
Naufragium Joculare, a comedy, written in Latin, but without due
attention to the ancient models; for it is not loose verse, but mere prose.
It was printed with a dedication in verse, to Dr. Comber, master of the
college; but, having neither the facility of a popular, nor the accuracy of
a learned work, it seems to be now universally neglected.
At the beginning of the civil war, as the prince passed through
Cambridge, in his way to York, he was entertained with a
representation of the Guardian, a comedy, which, Cowley says, was
neither written nor acted, but rough-drawn by him, and repeated by the

scholars. That this comedy was printed during his absence from his
country, he appears to have considered as injurious to his reputation;
though, during the suppression of the theatres, it was sometimes
privately acted with sufficient approbation.
In 1643, being now master of arts, he was, by the prevalence of the
parliament, ejected from Cambridge, and sheltered himself at St. John's
college, in Oxford; where, as is said by Wood, he published a satire,
called the Puritan and Papist, which was only inserted in the last
collection of his works[8]; and so distinguished himself by the warmth
of his loyalty and the elegance of his conversation, that he gained the
kindness and confidence of those who attended the king, and, amongst
others, of lord Falkland, whose notice cast a lustre on all to whom it
was extended.
About the time when Oxford was surrendered to the parliament, he
followed the queen to Paris, where he became secretary to the lord
Jermyn, afterwards earl of St. Alban's, and was employed in such
correspondence as the royal cause required, and particularly in
ciphering and deciphering the letters that passed between the king and
queen; an employment of the highest confidence and honour. So wide
was his province of intelligence, that, for several years, it filled all his
days and two or three nights in the week.
In the year 1647, his Mistress was published; for he imagined, as he
declared in his preface to a subsequent edition, that "poets are scarcely
thought freemen of their company without paying some duties, or
obliging themselves to be true to love."
This obligation to amorous ditties owes, I believe, its original to the
fame of Petrarch, who, in an age rude and uncultivated, by his tuneful
homage to his Laura, refined the manners of the lettered world, and
filled Europe with love and poetry. But the basis of all excellence is
truth: he that