46 SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. of the most harmonious writers of verse in our language, and he was, moreover, an ambassador, and a man of repute in his time. He has never had justice done to him. We almost wonder that the writers of the "Retrospective Review" should for so long a time have neglected the translator of Camoëns and Guarini. Fanshawe's version of the prologue to the Pastor Fido, shews that he possessed an exceedingly fine ear, and some of his minor poems contain beautiful lines, and sparkling images. His "Prologue" (supposed to be spoken by Alfeo, a river of Arcadia) begins thus: "If from old fame, and peradventure not O' the amorous brook ye heard the wonder ever, Of his beloved Arethusa, ran (O, force of love!) piercing the ocean, And the earth's hidden bowels to that isle, And leaves it doubtful to the world that's under, If heaven at him, or he at heaven doth thunder: The reader will forgive one ludicrous epithet (in the ninth line) for the sake of the rest of the extract. shawe is grave and observing. The countenance of FanIt is all" ambassador." No. 52. SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. From an original Picture, late in the collection of R. Cosway, Esq. R. A. WE Confess that we should not have detected "the poet" in this curious but striking head. The eyes are not unintelligent; but the SIR JOHN MENNIS. 47 face is broad and square, and is moreover encircled by a bush of hair which we cannot consent to patronize. The engraver, however, has done his part well, and has struck out a sturdy portrait. Davenant was the author of a folio of poetry, and his name is pleasantly connected with that of one or two of our greatest poets. His own verses, with the exception of some occasional stanzas, are not remarkable. No. 53. GEORGE WITHER. 66 From a scarce Print by Payne, prefixed to his Emblems." WITHER has the crabbed cramped look of a puritan. His broad hat, and fierce, contracted, frowning brow savour but little of the profession of poetry. He would pass muster for a covenanter or round-head,-for one of old Noll's preaching and fighting followers, during the time when that "immortal rebel" played at bowls with crowns and sceptres, turned kingdoms into commonwealths, and rode like the sea-eagle over the sounding ocean, a victor whom few dared meet, and none could vanquish. Wither is a voluminous writer. Some of his pieces are interesting; and there is one passage in his Shepherds' Hunting," which is surpassingly beautiful; but generally speaking, his poetry is indifferent enough. He wrote some of his verses while in durance; and he keeps, we think, in this portrait, his prison look,-stern and suffering. No. 54. SIR JOHN MENNIS. From a Picture by Vandyke, in the Collection of Lord Clarendon. WHETHER the merit be in the air of this head, the drapery, the expression of the face, or otherwise, we know not; but 48 RICHARD BRAITHWAITE. that this portrait is excellent and even beautiful, no one, we think, who looks upon it for a moment, will refuse to acknowledge. The painter and engraver indeed seem to have conspired, for once, to do high justice to a man. At the first glance, the head of SIR JOHN MENNIS (though far more handsome and more chivalrous) reminds one of some of the portraits of Cromwell. There is, however, a gentler expression in his face. It has neither the fierté, nor perhaps quite the thought which is usually seen lying, like a cloud, on the brow of the great Protector. The scarf flows across the breast of our knight like a river, and his armour is worthy of the forge of Mulciber. Sir John Mennis was the poet laureat of Suckling, and celebrated his Horatian virtues. No. 55. RICHARD BRAITHWAITE. From a scarce Print by Vaughan, prefixed to his " English Gentleman." BRAITHWAITE (the historian of Drunken Barnaby, and author of various satires and comedies), has the look of a listener; and indeed he seems to have sate, through life, a self-elected judge of the follies and vices of the surrounding world. What an eye he has for a court-martial! We could almost fancy him dealing with the small wits of the army, disengaging their wisdom from the stays and stocks, the sashes and gilding, with which it is confounded, and laying it bare, and displaying its due proportions, for the benefit of admiring villagers. We should tremble for our heroes in epaulets and scarlet, were they compelled to abide the scrutiny of Mr. Richard Braithwaite. Would they vanquish fewer women, or enlist a less number of recruits, if they were stripped of the bright plumage of the mind, and made manifest ? —perhaps not. JOHN MILTON. No. 56. JOHN MILTON. From a Picture by Dobson, in Dr. Williams's Library. THERE is no portrait which at all equals our notions of the elevated countenance of MILTON. It is almost the same with him as with Shakspeare: no painting can do him justice. He was the parent of that vast creation, Satan,-" the Archangel!" moulding him, not from the dust of superstition, or the vaporous exhalations of monkish fear, but in the mighty cast of his own imagination; stripping him of beggarly deformity and paltry vices, and arraying him in the grandeur of a fallen god, *In bulk as huge As whom the fables name of monstrous size, with limbs that combined the proportions of Hercules and Apollo, with the face of a seraph thunder-scarred, and a stature which touched the stars."-We can no more paint the author of this than the thing itself. We have here given a resemblance of Milton which has never before been made public. It is as well authenticated-perhaps better, than such pictures usually are: but it fails in some few respects, like all others. Nevertheless, there is something characteristic in it. There is an approach to sweetness and majesty, (both of which Milton possessed in no common degree,) that we do not recollect elsewhere. The eye-brow is contracted, like that of a thinker; the glance is penetrating, yet raised ; the mouth wears a sweet expression; and the hair flows down upon the shoulders, and gives a massy character to the whole that is not without its grandeur. The ordinary portraits of Milton shew little more than his infirmities. We have the "Strict age and sour severity" E 50 ANDREW MARVELL. of his life, or the unmeaning features (they, assuredly, can be no likeness) of his youth. But we want his capacity made visible, his imagination, his love of the beautiful, his sway over earth, and hell, and the "boundless deep :"-And accordingly, even in this portrait, we miss, we must confess, somewhat of that lofty aspect which penetrated the depths of Tartarus, and passed the blazing bounds of heaven; as well as those looks accustomed to dwell on the first green freshness of paradise, and to repose with our first parents in the flower-inwoven shades and solitary haunts of Eden. No. 57. JOHN OGILBY. From a Picture by Fuller, in the Collection at Strawberry Hill. THIS writer seems to have chosen to be painted in character. We must say, that it is not at all to our taste. OGILBY was the translator of Homer and Virgil, (his translations still keep their place on our shelves, though they are by no means excellent,) but why he should have elected to be painted like a shipwrecked sailor, with his hands crossed on his breast, his hair dishevelled, and with a back ground of storm and lightning, is utterly beyond our simple guess; we will leave it to the speculation of the reader, and pass on to the next. No. 58. ANDREW MARVELL. From an original Picture, presented by his Nephew to the British Museum. MARVELL was one of the truest men that ever stood up for the great cause of liberty. We do not know that a finer or more inflexible spirit can be found either in our own or any foreign na |