Having, in the year seventeen hundred and seventy-six, put forth A HISTORY OF MUSIC, in five volumes quarto (which buy), notwithstanding my then avocations as Justice of the Peace for the county of Middlesex and city and liberty of Westminster; I, Sir John Hawkins, of Queen-square, Westminster, Knight, do now, being still of sound health and understanding, esteem it my bounden duty to step forward as Editor and Revisor of THE PROBATIONARY ODES. My grand reason for undertaking so arduous a task is this: I do from my soul believe that Lyric Poetry is the own, if not twin sister of Music; wherefore, as I had before gathered together every thing that any way relates to the one, with what consistency could I forbear to collate the best effusions of the other?—I should premise, that in volume the first of my quarto history, chap. i. page 7, I lay it down as a principle never to be departed from, that, “The Lyre is the prototype of the fidicinal species.” And accordingly I have therein discussed at large, both the origin, and various improvements of the Lyre, from the Tortoise-shell scooped and strung by Mercury on the banks of the Nile, to the Testudo, exquisitely polished by Terpander, and exhibited to the Ægyptian Priests. I have added also many choice engravings of the various antique Lyres, viz. the Lyre of Goats-horns, the Lyre of Bullshorns, the Lyre of Shells, and the Lyre of both Shells and Horns compounded; from all which, I flatter myself, I have indubitably proved the Lyre to be very far superior to the shank bone of a crane, or any other Pike, Fistula, or Calamus, either of Orpheus’s or Linus’s invention; ay, or even the best of those pulsatile instruments, commonly known by the denomination of the drum.

Forasmuch, therefore, as all this was finally proved and established by my History of Music, I say, I hold it now no alien task to somewhat turn my thoughts to the late divines specimens of Lyric Minstrelsy. For although I may be deemed the legal guardian of MUSIC alone, and consequently not in strictness bound to any farther duty than that of her immediate Wardship (see Burn’s Justice, article Guardian), yet surely, in equity and liberal feeling, I cannot but think myself very forcibly incited to extend this tutelage to her next of kin; in which degree I hold every individual follower of THE LYRIC MUSE, but more especially all such part of them, as have devoted, or do devote their strains to the celebration of those best of themes, the reigning King and the current year; or in other words, of all CitharistÆ Regis, Versificators CoronÆ, Court Poets, or as we now term them, Poets Laureats.—Pausanias tells us, that it pleased the God of Poets himself, by an express oracle, to order the inhabitants of Delphi to set apart for Pindar one half of the first fruit offerings brought by the religious to his shrine, and to allow him a place in his temple, where, in an iron chair, he was used to sit and sing his hymns in honour of that God. Would to heaven that the Bench of Bishops would, in some degree, adopt this excellent idea!—or at least that the Dean and Chapter of Westminster, and the other Managers of the Abbey Music Meetings, would in future allot the occasional vacancies of Madame Mara’s seat in the Cathedral Orchestra, for the reception of the reigning Laureat, during the performance of that favourite constitutional ballad, “May the King live for ever!” It must be owned, however, that the Laureatship is already a very kingly settlement; one hundred a year, together with a tierce of Canary, or a butt of sack, are surely most princely endowments, for the honour of literature and the advancement of poetical genius. And hence (thank God and the King for it!) there scarcely ever has been wanting some great and good man both willing and able to supply so important a charge.—At one time we find that great immortal genius, Mr. Thomas Shadwell (better known by the names of Og and Mac Flecknoe), chanting the prerogative praises of that blessed Æra.—At a nearer period, we observe the whole force of Colley Cibber’s genius devoted to the labours of the same reputable employment.—And finally, in the example of a Whitehead’s Muse, expatiating on the virtues of our gracious Sovereign, have we not beheld the best of Poets, in the best of Verses, doing ample justice to the best of Kings!—The fire of Lyric Poesy, the rapid lightening of modern Pindarics, were equally required to record the Virtues of the Stuarts, or to immortalize the Talents of a Brunswick.—On either theme there was ample subject for the boldest flights of inventive genius, the full scope for the most daring powers of poetical creation; from the free, unfettered strain of liberty in honour of Charles the First, to the kindred Genius and congenial Talents that immortalize the Wisdom and the Worth of George the Third.—But on no occasion has the ardour for prerogative panegyrics so conspicuously flamed forth, as on the late election for succeeding to Mr. Whitehead’s honours. To account for this unparalleled struggle, let us recollect, that the ridiculous reforms of the late Parliament having cut off many gentlemanly offices, it was a necessary consequence that the few which were spared, became objects of rather more emulation than usual. Besides, there is a decency and regularity in producing at fixed and certain periods of the year, the same settled quantity of metre on the same unalterable subjects, which cannot fail to give a particular attraction to the Office of the Laureatship, at a crisis like the present.—It is admitted, that we are now in possession of much sounder judgment, and more regulated taste, than our ancestors had any idea of; and hence, does it not immediately follow, that the occupancy of a poetical office, which, from its uniformity of subject and limitation of duty, precludes all hasty extravagance of style, as well as any plurality of efforts, is sure to be a more pleasing object than ever to gentlemen of regular habits and a becoming degree of literary indolence? Is it not evident too, that in compositions of this kind, all fermentation of thought is certain in a very short time to subside and settle into mild and gentle composition—till at length the possessors of this grave and orderly office prepare their stipulated return of metre, by as proportionate and gradual exertions, as many other classes of industrious tenants provide for the due payment of their particular rents? Surely it is not too much to say, that the business of Laureat to his Majesty is, under such provision, to the full as ingenious, reputable, and regular a trade, as that of Almanack Maker to the Stationer’s Company. The contest therefore for so excellent an office, having been warmer in the late instance than at any preceding period, is perfectly to be accounted for; especially too at a time, when, from nobler causes, the Soul of Genius may reasonably be supposed to kindle into uncommon enthusiasm, at a train of new and unexampled prodigies. In an age of Reform; beneath the mild sway of a British Augustus; under the Ministry of a pure immaculate youth; the Temple of Janus shut; the Trade of Otaheite open; not an angry American to be heard of, except the Lottery Loyalists; the fine Arts in full Glory; Sir William Chambers the Royal Architect; Lord Sydney a Cabinet Minister!—What a golden Æra!—From this auspicious moment, Peers, Bishops, Baronets, Methodists, Members of Parliament, Chaplains, all genuine Beaux Esprits, all legitimate heirs of Parnassus, rush forward, with unfeigned ardour, to delight the world by the united efforts of liberal genius and constitutional loyalty.—The illustrious candidates assemble—the wisest of Earls sits as Judge—the archest of Buffos becomes his assessor—the Odes are read—the election is determined—how justly is not for us to decide. To the great Tribunal of the public the whole of this important contest is now submitted.—Every document that can illustrate, every testimony that tends to support the respective merits of the Probationers, is impartially communicated to the world of letters.—Even the Editor of such a collection may hope for some reversionary fame from the humble, but not inglorious task, of collecting the scattered rays of Genius.—At the eve of a long laborious life, devoted to a sister Muse (vide my History, printed for T. Payne and Son, at the Mews-Gate), possibly it may not wholly appear an irregular vanity, if I sometimes have entertained a hope, that my tomb may not want the sympathetic record of Poetry—I avow my motive.—

It is with this expectation I appear as an Editor on the present occasion.—The Authors whose compositions I collect for public notice are twenty-three. The odds of survivorship, according to Doctor Price are, that thirteen of these will outlive me, myself being in class III. of his ingenious tables.—Surely, therefore, it is no mark of that sanguine disposition which my enemies have been pleased to ascribe to me, if I deem it possible that some one of the same thirteen will requite my protection of their harmonious effusions with a strain of elegiac gratitude, saying, possibly (pardon me, ye Survivors that may be, for presuming to hint the thought to minds so richly fraught as yours are) saying, I say,

Here lies Sir John Hawkins,
Without his shoes or stockings![1]

[1] Said Survivors are not bound to said Rhime, if not agreeable.

[The Following excellent observations on the LYRIC STYLE, have been kindly communicated to the EDITOR by the REV. THOMAS WARTON.—They appear to have been taken almost verbatim from several of the former works of that ingenious author; but chiefly from his late edition of Milten’s Minora. We sincerely hope, therefore, that they may serve the double purpose of enriching the present collection, and of attracting the public attention to that very critical work from which they are principally extracted.]

THOUGHTS ON ODE WRITING.

O?? ???p? Carmen, Cantus, Cantilena, Chanson, Canzone, all signify what, AnglicÈ, we denominate ODE—Among the Greeks, Pindar; among the Latins, Horace; with the Italians, Petrarch; with the French, Boileau; are the principes hujusce scientiÆ—Tom Killegrew took the lead in English Lyrics; and, indeed, till our own Mason, was nearly unrivalled—Josephus Miller too hath penned something of the Odaic, inter his Opera Minora. My grandfather had a M.S. Ode on a Gilliflower, the which, as our family had it, was an esquisse of Gammer Gurton’s; and I myself have seen various Cantilenes of Stephen Duck’s of a pure relish—Of Shadwell, time hath little impaired the fame—Colley’s Bays rust cankereth not—Dr. Casaubon measures the Strophe by AnapÆsts—In the Polyglott, the epitrotus primus is the metrimensura.—I venture to recommend “Waly, waly, up the Bank,” as no bad model of the pure Trochaic—There is also a little simple strain, commencing “Saw ye my father, saw ye my mother;” which to my fancy, gives an excellent ratio of hendecasyllables.—Dr. Warton indeed prefers the Adonic, as incomparably the neatest, ay, and the newest ??p?? et???——A notion too has prevailed, that the Black Joke, or ?e?af???a? ?af?a? is not the “Cosa deta in prosa mai, ne in rima;” whereas the Deva Cestrensis, or Chevy Chase, according to Dr. Joseph Warton, is the exemplar of

Trip and go,
Heave and hoe,
Up and down,
To and fro.

Vide Nashe’s Summer’s Last Will and Testament, 1600.

I observe that Ravishment is a favourite word with Milton, Paradise Lost, B. V. 46. Again, B. IX. 541. Again, Com. V. 245.—Spenser has it also in Astrophel. st. 7.—Whereof I earnestly recommend early rising to all minor Poets, as far better than sleeping to concoct surfeits. Vid. Apology for Smectymnuus.—For the listening to Throstles or Thrushes, awaking the lustless Sun, is an unreproved or innocent pastime: As also are cranks, by which I understood cross purposes. Vid. my Milton, 41.—“Filling a wife with a daughter fair,” is not an unclassical notion (vid. my Milton, 39), if, according to Sir Richard Brathwaite, “She had a dimpled chin, made for love to lodge within” (vid. my Milton, 41). “While the cock,” vid. the same, 44.—Indeed, “My mother said I could be no lad, till I was twentye,” is a passage I notice in my Milton with a view to this; which see; and therein also of a shepherdess, “taking the tale.”—’Twere well likewise if Bards learned the Rebeck, or Rebible, being a species of Fiddle; for it solaceth the fatigued spirit much; though to say the truth, we have it; ’tis present death for Fiddlers to tune their Rebecks, or Rebibles, before the great Turk’s grace. However, Middteton’s Game of Chess is good for a Poet to peruse, having quaint phrases fitting to be married to immortal verse. JOSHUA POOLE, of Clare-hall, I also recommend as an apt guide for an alumnus of the Muse.—Joshua edited a choice Parnassus, 1657, in the which I find many “delicious, mellow hangings” of poesy.—He is undoubtedly a “sonorous dactylist”—and to him I add Mr. Jenner, Proctor of the Commons, and Commissary of St. Paul’s, who is a gentleman of indefatigable politeness in opening the Archives of a Chapter-house for the delectation of a sound critic. Tottell’s Songs and Sonnets of uncertain Auctoures is likewise a butful, or plenteous work. I conclude with assuring the Public, that my brother remembers to have heard my father tell his (i.e. my brother’s) first wife’s second cousin, that he, once, at Magdalen College, Oxford, had it explained to him, that the famous passage “His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff,” has no sort of reference to verbal criticism and stale quotations.