e lord Rochester,
entirely ruined his reputation for courage, though nobody had still
a greater as to wit, which supported him pretty well in the world,
notwithstanding some more accidents of the same kind, that never fail to
succeed one another, when once people know a man's weakness.' The duke
of Buckingham's works speak him a beautiful prose writer, and a very
considerable poet, which is proved by the testimony of some of the best
writers, his cotemporaries.

His prose works consist chiefly of

Historical Memoirs, Speeches in Parliament, Characters, Dialogues,
Critical Observations, Speeches and Essays, which, with his poetical
compositions, were printed by Alderman Barber in 1723. in two splendid
4to volumes. The first volume containing pieces in most species of
poetry, the epic excepted, and also imitations from other authors. His
Grace wrote some Epigrams, a great number of lyric pieces, some in the
elegiac strain, and others in the dramatic. Amongst his poems, an Essay
on Poetry, which contains excellent instructions to form the poet, is
by far the most distinguished. He wrote a play called Julius Caesar and
another called Brutus: or rather altered them from Shakespear.

His grace was a great lover of the polite arts in general, as appears
from the fondness he expresses for them in several parts of his works;
particularly Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture; of the two former
he made several curious collections, and his house, built under his
direction in St. James's Park, speaks him not unacquainted with the
latter. It would be superfluous to enumerate all the writers who have
given testimony in his grace's favour as an author. Dryden in several of
his Dedications, while he expresses the warmth of his gratitude, fails
not to convey the most amiable idea of his lordship, and represents him
as a noble writer. He lived in friendship with that great poet, who has
raised indelible monuments to his memory. I shall add but one other
testimony of his merit, which if some should think unnecessary, yet
it is pleasing; the lines are delightfully sweet and flowing. In his
Miscellanies thus speaks Mr. Pope;

'Muse 'tis enough, at length thy labour ends,
And thou shalt live; for Buckingham commends.
Let crowds of critics now my verse assail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail.
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain,
Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain.
Sheffield approves: