Page:Protestant Exiles from France Agnew vol 1.djvu/257

 said to Dryden, ‘Was there ever such stuff? I could not have imagined that even this author could have written so ill.’ ‘O sir,’ said Dryden, ‘you don’t know my friend Tom as well as I do; I’ll answer for him he will write worse yet.’”

What D’Urfey professed was rather to sing than to write. His comedies, like others of that age, or even like its still admired social and satirical essays, contained much that ought never to have been written. The words of his songs were simply arrangements of syllables and rhymes, done to measure, for music. But that in his characteristic vocation he was destitute of merit, no competent critic will assert. A good word is spoken for him, in Notes and Queries (3d series, vol. x. p. 465), by a great authority in music, Dr Rimbault, who says of “poor old Tom D’Urfey”:— “His works — including many that have entirely escaped the notice of bibliographers — occupy a conspicuous place on my bookshelves, and my note-books are rich in materials of Tom and his doings. He existed, or rather, I might say, flourished for forty-six years and more, living chiefly on the bounty of his patrons. He was always a welcome guest wherever he went, and even though stuttering was one of his failings, he could sing a song right well, and greatly to the satisfaction of the merry monarch. His publications are numerous, but Tom (it may be surmised) did not make much by his copy. The chance profits on benefit nights brought more into his pockets than the sale of his plays to the booksellers.” He died at the age of seventy. His memorial-stone, on the south wall of St James’s Church, Piccadilly, gives as the date of his death 26th February 1723. Le Neve, in his MS. diary quoted by Rimbault, says “D’Urfey, Thomas, the poet, ingenious for witty madrigals, buried Tuesday, 26th day of February, 1722-23, in St James’s Church, Middlesex, at the charge of the Duke of Dorset.” The following sonnet is not unworthy of preservation. "To my dear mother, Mrs Frances D’Urfey, a Hymn on Piety, written at Cullacombe, September 1698.

 

The name of Dubois has, probably, often disappeared in the anglicized form, “Wood.” Francois Dubois, with his wife and son, fled from the St. Bartholomew massacre to Shrewsbury, and is said to have founded a ribbon manufactory there. His descendants removed to Wolverhampton, where they purchased coal mines, and built extensive iron forges, some of which are still in operation. Here, about 1652, the family name is Wood; and William Wood (born in 1671) known as the “Irish Patentee,” was fourth in descent from the refugee, Francois Dubois. If Dean Swift had known or told that Wood was of a family of metallurgists, he could hardly have succeeded in his political scheme of imposing upon the Irish people the notion that that copper coinage was bad, as to which, there is evidence that “the weight and fineness of the metal was determined by Sir Isaac Newton, the master of the mint.”

The abusive outcry against Mr. Wood having given him a bad name among uninformed people, I must briefly state the facts. In 1722 King George I. granted to William Wood, Esq., a patent for coining farthings and halfpence for Ireland, and halfpence and twopences for the plantations of America. In September 1723 the Houses of Lords and Commons of Ireland resolved that Mr. Wood’s obtaining of the