PREFACE. It would be very unjust to the memory of a writer so much and so justly esteemed as Butler, to suppose it necessary to make any formal apology for the publication of these Remains. Whatever is the genuine performance of a genius of his class cannot fail of recommending itself to every reader of taste; and all that can be required from the publisher is, to satisfy the world that it is not imposed upon by false and spurious pretensions. This has already been attempted in the printed proposals for the subscription; but as the perishing form of a loose paper seems too frail a monument to preserve a testimony of so much importance, it cannot, I hope, be judged impertinent to repeat the substance of what I observed upon that occasion-That the manuscripts, from which this work is printed, are Butler's own handwriting, as evidently appears from some original letters of his found amongst them-That, upon his death, they fell into the hands of his good friend Mr. W. Longueville, of the Temple; who, as the writer of Butler's life informs us, was at the charge of burying him-That, upon Mr. Longueville's decease, they became the property of his son, the late Charles Longueville, esq. who bequeathed them, at his death, to John Clarke, esq. and that this gentleman has been prevailed upon to part with them, and favoured me with an authority to insert the following certificate of their authenticity. "I do hereby certify, that the papers now proposed to be published by Mr. Thyer are the original manuscripts of Mr. Samuel Butler, author of Hudibras, and were bequeathed to me by the late Charles Longueville, esq. Walgherton, Cheshire, Nov. 20, 1754. JOHN CLARKE." Although, from evidence of such a nature, there cannot remain the least doubt about the genuineness of this work, and it be very certain, that every thing in it is the performance of Butler, yet it must be owned, at the same time, that there is not the same degree of perfection and exactness in all the compositions here printed. Some are finished with the utmost accuracy, and were fairly transcribed for the press, as far as can be judged from outward appearance; others, though finished, and wrote with the same spirit and peculiar vein of humour, which distinguishes him from all other writers, seem as if, upon a second review, he would have retouched and amended in some little particulars; and some few are left unfinished, or at least parts of them are lost or perished. This acknowledgment I think due to the poet's character and memory, and necessary to bespeak that candid allowance from the reader, which the posthumous works of every writer have a just claim to. It is, I know, a common observation, that it is doing injustice to a departed genius to publish fragments, or such pieces as he had not given the last hand to.—Without controverting the justness of this remark in general, one may, I think, venture to affirm, that it is not to be extended to every particular case, and that a writer of so extraordinary and uncommon a turn as the author of Hudibras is not to be included under it. It would be a piece of foolish fondness to purchase at a great expense, or preserve with a particular care, the unfinished works of every tolerable painter; and yet it is esteemed a mark of fine taste to procure, at almost any price, the rough sketches and half-formed designs of a Raphael, a Rembrandt, or any celebrated master. If the elegant remains of a Greek or Roman statuary, though maimed and defective, are thought worthy of a place in the cabinets of the polite admirers of antiquity, and the learned world thinks itself obliged to laborious critics for handing down to us the half intelligible scraps of an ancient classic, no reason can, I think, be assigned, why a genius of more modern date should not be entitled to the same privilege, except we will absurdly and enthusiastically fancy, that time gives a value to writings, as well as to coins and medals.-It may be added also, that as Butler is not only excellent, but almost singular too, in his manner of writing, every thing of his must acquire a proportionable degree of value and curiosity. I shall not longer detain the reader from better entertainment, by indulging my own sentiments upon these Remains; and shall rather choose to wait for the judgment of the public, than impertinently to obtrude my own. It is enough for me, that I have faithfully discharged the office of an editor, and shall leave to future critics the pleasure of criticising and remarking, approving or condemning. The notes which I have given, the reader will find to be only such as were necessary to let him into the author's meaning, by reciting and explaining some circumstances, not generally known, to which he alludes; and he cannot but observe, that many more might have been added, had I given way to a fondness for scribbling, too common upon such occasions'. Although my author stands in need of no apology for the appearance he is going to make in the following sheets, the world may probably think, that the publisher does, for not permitting him to do it sooner. All that I have to say, and to persons of candour I need to say no more, is, that the delay has been owing to a bad state of health, and a consequent indisposition for a work of this nature, and not to indolence, or any selfish narrow views of my own. In the present edition, such only are retained as are necessary to bring the reader acquainted with the several less-usual allusions. THE GENUINE REMAINS OF SAMUEL BUTLER. THE ELEPHANT IN THE MOON1. A LEARN'D Society of late, To search the Moon by her own light; To take an inventory of all Tobserve her country, how 'twas planted, This was the purpose of their meeting, Approv'd the most profound and wise, Advancing gravely, to apply To th' optic glass his judging eye, Cry'd, "Strange !"-then reinforc'd his sight Against the Moon with all his might, ! This poem was intended by the author for a satire upon the Royal Society, which, according to his opinion at least, ran too much, at that time, And bent his penetrating brow, Quoth he, "Th' inhabitants o' th' Moon, Of eight miles deep, and eighty round, Which they count towns and cities there, And now both armies, highly enrag'd, That men, whose natural eyes are out, into the virtuosi taste, and a whimsical fondness for surprising and wonderful stories in natural history. And if they chanc'd to fail of those, As clearly it may, by those that wear And from their trenches make a sally "These silly ranting Privolvans, And face their neighbours hand to hand, They still retain the antique course Things of the greatest weight they do." While thus the learn'd man entertains Th' assembly with the Privolvans, Another, of as great renown, And solid judgment, in the Moon, That understood her various soils, And which produc'd best genet-moyles, And amply satisfy'd us all Of the Privolvans' original. Since from the greatest to the least, A people of so vast a stature, 'Tis consequent she should bring forth Far greater beasts too, than the Earth; (As by the best accounts appears Of all our great'st discoverers) And that those monstrous creatures there Are not such rarities as here." Meanwhile the rest had had a sight Of all particulars o' th' fight, And every man, with equal care, Perus'd of th' elephant his share, Proud of his interest in the glory Of so miraculous a story; When one, who for his excellence In heightening words and shadowing sense And magnifying all he writ With curious microscopic wit, Was magnify'd himself no less In home and foreign colleges, Began, transported with the twang Of his own trillo, thus t' harangue. "Most excellent and virtuous friends, This great discovery makes amends For all our unsuccessful pains, And lost expense of time and brains: For, by this sole phenomenon, We've gotten ground upon the Moon, And gain'd a pass, to hold dispute With all the planets that stand out; To carry this most virtuous war Home to the door of every star, And plant th' artillery of our tubes Against their proudest magnitudes; To stretch our victories beyond Th' extent of planetary ground, And fix our engines, and our ensigns, Upon the fix'd stars' vast dimensions, (Which Archimede, so long ago, Durst not presume to wish to do) And prove if they are other suns, As some have held opinions, Or windows in the Empyreum, From whence those bright effluvias come |