several uses. The argument is seriously propounded by Lucretius after this manner: Nec fuit ante, videre, oculorum lumina nata, Nec dictis orare, prius quam lingua creata est; Quam et sonus est auditus; et omnia denique membra Haud igitur potuere utendi crescere causa. Lucret. iv. v. 834, &c. "To this sense, there was no such thing as seeing before eyes were made, nor hearing before ears, nor speaking before the tongue. But the original of the tongue much preceded speech; so likewise eyes and ears were made before there was any seeing of colours or hearing of sounds. In like manner, all the other members of the body were produced before their respective uses. And, therefore, they could not be made intentionally, for the sake of those uses.-The force of which argument, consisteth in this proposition: That whatsoever is made for the sake of another thing, must exist in time after that other thing, for whose sake it was made: or, That, for which any thing is made, must not only be in order of nature, but also of time, before that which is made for it. Therefore, whosoever affirms eyes to have been made for the sake of seeing, must suppose, in like manner, there was some kind of seeing or other before eyes. But since there was no seeing at all before eyes, therefore could not eyes be made for seeing." Even this bauble of an argument does our author seriously set himself to confute-so that, in good truth, he leaves no stone unturned to effect the complete subversion of the Atheistic hypothesis. In this last chapter, are many sound and sober remarks on the conceits of the Philosopher of Malmesbury, but into these we have not now any intention of entering, reserving them for a more minute and full attention in a future number, when we propose to give our readers a view of the morals, philosophy, and politics of Thomas Hobbes. We cannot conclude this account of the Intellectual System, without noticing the sobriety of our author's expectations of the effect which his demonstrations would produce on the minds of his readers. In his preface, he writes— "As for the last chapter, though it promise only a confutation of all the Atheistic grounds, yet we do therein also demonstrate the absolute impossibility of all Atheism, and the actual existence of a God. We say demonstrate, not a priori, which is impossible and contradictious; but by necessary inference, from principles altogether un deniable. For we can by no means grant to the Atheists, that there is no more than a probable persuasion or opinion to be had of the existence of a God, without any certain knowledge or science. Nevertheless, it will not follow from hence, that whosoever shall read these demonstrations of our's, and understand all the words of them, must therefore of necessity be presently convinced, whether he will or no, and put out of all manner of doubt and hesitancy, concerning the existence of a God. For we believe that to be true, which some have affirmed, that were there any interest of life, any concernment of appetite and passion, against the truth of geometrical theorems themselves, as of a triangle having three angles equal to two right, whereby men's judgments may be clouded and bribed, notwithstanding all the demonstrations of them, many would remain at least sceptical about them." ART. IV.-Poems, with the Muses' Looking-Glasse, Amyntas, Jealous Lovers, Aristippus. By Thomas Randolph, M.Ă. and late Fellow of Trinity College, in Cambridge. 1640. Thomas Randolph was one of those bright spirits, which burn too fast, cast a vivid flash over their time, and then suddenly expire. He seems to have been so supplied with vigour, both mental and corporeal, as to have started, pursued, and ended his race, by the time that the phlegmatic genius of other men is just ready for the course. He died before the age of twenty-nine, and yet can hardly be said to have lived a shorter time than other men; with such enjoyment did he consume his minutes, in such a state of excitement did he spend his days and nights; such a number of ideas flashed through his brain; so many kindred spirits doubled his gratifications by sharing his pleasures. He passed through the university, where the brilliancy of his wit, and the liveliness of his manners made him a general favourite; and where his talents ensured him success, and his poetical productions brought him in a large harvest of fame, which, on his removal from Cambridge to London, secured him a most cordial reception from the wits and poets of the metropolis. A band, which, with Ben Jonson at their head, was never more brilliant, active, joyous, and important, than when our young poet sparkled away his nights with them "in those lyric feasts" at the Sun, the Dog, the "Triple Tun,” "Where they such clustres had As made them nobly wild, not mad." He was soon joined with Cartwright, as the adopted son, in the Muses, of Jonson himself, a distinction, which all who know the character of that great writer, will allow to be no ordinary : proof of the qualifications of Randolph. In such company, and with such pursuits as this volume shews, he blazed out his life and died, at Blatherwyke, in Northamptonshire, in the year 1635; it is said in great poverty, but biographers, and especially the cynical Antony Wood, are so fond of plunging poets into excesses, misery, and wretchedness, that we know not what credit to give to the report. In the university he was a fellow on one of the most wealthy and considerable foundations when he died, he had a brother at Christ Church, Oxford his death took place at the house of an ancient family in Staffordshire, with the ancestors of whom he was buried, and had a monument erected to his memory, at the charge of his friend, Lord Hatton.-So that we will venture to hope, that the close of a short life of great industry and high enjoyment was not embittered by the pains of want and neglect. This volume of poems, which was published after his death by his brother, is ushered in by a number of recommendatory verses, which speak the language of affection and respect, and encourage the hope that those who lamented his death, protected his life. "Such was his genius, like the quick eyes' work, He could write sooner than another think; These lines are from a much greater number of verses written on Randolph's death, by his friend Owen Feltham, the author of the Resolves, and if we may trust them, and the other elegies, particularly those by his brother, the great learning, quick genius, and various accomplishments of this extraordinary man, make us deeply regret that he lived to finish nothing more than this volume contains. He appears to have been not only a wit and poet, but to have filled the office of moderator in the schools of Cambridge, in such a manner as to attract the notice of the oldest and subtlest logicians. "The grave divines stood gazing, as if there His ready eloquence and lively fancy seem to have been as serviceable at court, as his ingenuity and learning in the schools. "Was he at court? his compliments would be Which the spruce gallants echo-like would speak So witty 'twas, would sting and please the ear." His skill in language too is thus finely recorded by Feltham, though in the language of panegyric. "Nor could he only in his native speech Robe his ripe thoughts, but even the copious, rich, In him, as orient in their proper sphere: Is worn, disguis'd and shadow'd. Had he Though we should ever in his change have lost, Our hopes are nipp'd, ere they began to blow." The qualifications of Randolph as a poet, we fortunately need not rest on the word of a panegyrist. The poems speak for themselves. In listening to their voice, however, it should be remembered, that they appear without the stamp of his authority, and are not entitled to be considered as undoubted testimonies of his poetical talent. He himself did not publish them, nor write them for publication, doubtless reserving himself for some effort worthy of his gifted muse. Such as they are, they bear evidence of a most varied and highly-endowed nature; for they are full of lively sallies of wit and fancy, deep learning, shrewd observations on man, and eloquent descriptions of passions. It is to be lamented that their only fault is one of very constant recurrence, which unfortunately casts a shade on too many of the productions of this writer's time. They are not only marked by a coarseness of language and plainness of expression, but too common among his contemporaries, but likewise indulge in warm and highly-coloured descriptions, and dwell upon themes of an indelicate nature. While we regret that our poet should have thus given the reins to a prurient imagination, it must be recollected that he intended the circulation of his poems to be limited, and that many were probably written. in moments of elevation, and thrown aside, and forgotten until after his death, when they were raked together by his brother, for the purpose of publication. Being, however, disfigured by this blemish, and rendered unfit for general perusal, while at the same time there is much which is deserving of notice and admiration, they come precisely within the plan of our work, whose principle it is to rescue the remains of neglected genius from oblivion, and whose pride it will ever be, while it promotes the cause of literature, never to forget the interests of virtue and morality. This volume consists of two parts, the first being a collection of miscellaneous poems; the second, plays and dramatic pieces; from each of which we will proceed to make our extracts. The first poem in the book, on "The inestimable content he enjoys in the Muses; to those of his friends who dehort him from poetry," is a most ingenious and eloquent composition beginning with a very amusing specimen of the poetical wisdom, in praise of poverty, which unfortunately holds only in verse, and proceeding to some very fine vigorous satire on the folly of hoarding, written with all the strength, without the grossness, of Juvenal. "Lord of my self in chief; when they that have More wealth, make that their Lord, which is my slave. Have in myself a household government. And when abroad I go, fancy shall be Through heaven and earth, and Neptune's watry plain, And in a moment drive me back again. The charge of all my cellar, thirst, is thine; |