It may be that Gay thought that he might in time live down the disfavour at Court in which he had been involved by the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Queensberry and his other partisans. He may even have had a momentary hope, in 1730, when the office of Poet-Laureate was vacant that the position might be offered to him, who had written "Fables" for a young Prince. When Colley Cibber was appointed, Gay probably had it brought home to him that his day as a courtier had pa.s.sed for good and all.

Certainly he is credited, though on what authority is not known, with a share in the burlesque, "Ode for the New Year [1731]. Written by Colley Cibber, Esq.," in which his disappointment is vented in somewhat coa.r.s.e expression. This begins,

This is the day when, right or wrong, I, Colley Bays, Esquire, Must for my sack indite a song, And thrum my venal lyre.

The King is attacked, and there is a disgraceful reference to the Queen:--

O may she always meet success In every scheme and job, And still continue to caress That honest statesman Bob.

That Gay was furious there is no question, and he attacked Walpole in one of the second series of his "Fables" (which appeared posthumously in 1738), ent.i.tled "The Vulture, the Sparrow, and Other Birds," which concluded:

In days of yore (my cautious rhymes Always except the present times) A greedy Vulture, skill'd in game, Inured to guilt, unawed by shame, Approach'd the throne in evil hour, And, step by step, intrudes to power.

When at the royal eagle's ear.

He longs to ease the monarch's care.

The monarch grants. With proud elate, Behold him, minister of state!

Around him throng the feather'd rout; Friends must be served, and some must out: Each thinks his own the best pretension; This asks a place, and that a pension.

The nightingale was set aside: A forward daw his room supplied.[14]

This bird (says he), for business fit Has both sagacity and wit.

With all his turns, and shifts, and tricks, He's docile, and at nothing sticks.

Then with his neighbours, one so free At all times will connive at me.

The hawk had due distinction shown, For parts and talents like his own.

Thousands of hireling c.o.c.ks attend him, As bl.u.s.t'ring bullies to defend him.

At once the ravens were discarded, And magpies with their posts rewarded.

Those fowls of omen I detest, That pry into another's nest.

State lies must lose all good intent, For they foresee and croak th' event.

My friends ne'er think, but talk by rote, Speak when they're taught, and so to vote.

When rogues like these (a Sparrow cries) To honour and employment rise I court no favour, ask no place, From such, preferment is disgrace: Within my thatch'd retreat I find (What these ne'er feel) true peace of mind.

The animus is evident, and it is clear that Gay's sense of humour had entirely deserted him. A man who had been a hanger-on at Court for more than ten years, and bidding diligently all the time for a sinecure, could but arouse laughter when, discarded at length by those in power, he says proudly, "I court no favour, ask no place."

[Footnote 1: Swift: _Works_, XVII, p. 182.]

[Footnote 2: _Ibid_., XVII, p. 188.]

[Footnote 3: _Ibid_., XVII, p. 189.]

[Footnote 4: Pope: _Works_ (ed. Elwin and Courthope), VII, p. 429.]

[Footnote 5: Swift: _Works_, XVII, p. 205]

[Footnote 6: _Fortnightly Review_, June, 1912]

[Footnote 7: Swift: _Works_ (ed. Scott), XVII, p. 228 (note).]

[Footnote 8: Hervey: _Memoirs_, I, p. 123.]

[Footnote 9: Swift: _Works_ (ed. Scott), XVII, p. 228.]

[Footnote 10: Mrs. Delany: _Memoirs_, I, p. 198.]

[Footnote 11: Nichol: _Literary Anecdotes_, I, p. 405.]

[Footnote 12: Swift: _Works_ (ed. Scott), XVII, p. 114.]

[Footnote 13: _Ibid_., XVII, p. 157.]

[Footnote 14: This appears to be a reference to the appointment of Cibber as Poet Laureate.]

CHAPTER X

1729

CORRESPONDENCE

With the composition of "Polly," the literary life of Gay came practically to an end, although he survived until December 4th, 1732.

During these four years he worked not at all, save occasionally on the second series of "Fables."

After the prohibition of "Polly," Gay, who had been ill during 1728, had a severe attack of fever, during which he was attended by the faithful Arbuthnot, and carefully tended by the d.u.c.h.ess of Queensberry.

ALEXANDER POPE TO JOHN GAY.

[_circa_ December, 1728.]

"No words can tell you the great concern I feel for you; I a.s.sure you it was not, and is not, lessened by the immediate apprehension I have now every day lain under of losing my mother. Be a.s.sured, no duty less than that should have kept me one day from attending your condition. I would come and take a room by you at Hampstead, to be with you daily, were she not still in danger of death. I have constantly had particular accounts of you from the doctor [Arbuthnot], which have not ceased to alarm me yet. G.o.d preserve your life, and restore your health! I really beg it for my own sake, for I feel I love you more than I thought in health, though I always loved you a great deal. If I am so unfortunate as to bury my poor mother, and yet have the good fortune to have my prayers heard for you, I hope we may live most of our remaining days together.

If, as I believe, the air of a better clime, as the southern part of France, may be thought useful for your recovery, thither I would go with you infallibly; and it is very probable we might get the Dean [Swift]

with us, who is in that abandoned state already in which I shall shortly be, as to other cares and duties. Dear Gay, be as cheerful as your sufferings will permit: G.o.d is a better friend than a Court: even any honest man is a better. I promise you my entire friendship in all events."

Gay gradually got well. "I am glad to hear of your recovery, and the oftener I hear it, the better, when it becomes easy to you to give it,"

Pope, who remained a regular correspondent, wrote to him in January, 1729. But, though Gay was better in health, his spirits were low.

JOHN GAY TO ALEXANDER POPE.

[Feb. or March, 1729.]

"My melancholy increases, and every hour threatens me with some return of my distemper, nay, I think I may rather say I have it on me. Not the divine looks, the kind favours, and the expressions of the divine d.u.c.h.ess, who, hereafter, shall be in the place of a queen to me--nay, she shall be my queen--nor the inexpressible goodness of the Duke, can in the least cheer me. The Drawing-room no more receives light from those two stars. There is now what Milton says is in h.e.l.l--darkness visible. Oh, that I had never known what a Court was! Dear Pope, what a barren soil (to me so) have I been striving to produce something out of.

Why did I not take your advice before my writing Fables for the Duke, not to write them! It is my very hard fate I must get nothing, write for them or against them. I find myself in such a strange confusion and depression of spirits that I have not strength enough even to make my will, though I perceive by many warnings I have no continuing city here.

I begin to look upon myself as one already dead, and desire, my dear Mr.

Pope, whom I love as my own soul, if you survive me, as you certainly will, that you will, if a stone should mark the place of my grave, see these words put upon it:--

Life is a jest, and all things show it, I thought so once, but now I know it,