For Amiel, Amiel, who cannot endite, Of his then value wont disdain to write; The very _him_, with gown and mace did rule The Sanhedrim, when guided by a fool; The _him_ that did both sense and reason shift. That he to gainful place himself might lift; The very _him_, that did adjust the seed Of such as did their votes for money breed; The mighty _him_, that frothy notions vents, In hope to turn them into presidents; The _him_ of _hims_, although in judgment small, That fain would be the biggest at Whitehall; The _he_, that does for justice coin postpone, As on account may be hereafter shown. The noble author, with what cause the reader is now enabled to determine, piqued himself especially upon the satirical vigour of these last verses. "As to the character of Amiel, I confess my lines are something pointed: the one reason being, that it alludes much to a manner of expression of this writer's, as may be seen by the marginal notes; and a second will soon be allowed. The figure of Amiel has been so squeezed into paint, that his soul is seen in spite of the varnish." As these verses were written on an occasion, when personal indignation must have fired his Grace's wit, they incline us to believe, with Mr Malone, that his friends, Clifford and Sprat, had the greatest share in the lively farce of "The Rehearsal." Buckingham's death was as awful a beacon as his life. He had dissipated a princely fortune, and lost both the means of procuring, and the power of enjoying, the pleasures to which he was devoted. He had fallen from the highest pinnacle of ambition, into the last degree of contempt and disregard. His dying scene, in a paltry inn in Yorkshire, has been immortalized by Pope's beautiful lines: In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung, The floors of plaister, and the walls of dung; On once a flock-bed, but repaired with straw, With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw, The George and Garter dangling from that bed, Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, Great Villiers lies! alas, how changed from him! That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim; Gallant and gay, in Cliefden's proud alcove, The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love; Or just as gay at council, in a ring Of mimicked statesmen, and a merry king; No wit to flatter left of all his store, No fool to laugh at, which he valued more; There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends! Note XIX. _------Balaam._--P. 234.