In conjunction with Nicholas Brady, he prepared that version of the Psalms still appended to the English Book of Common Prayer.  In conjunction with Dryden and others, he translated Juvenal.  In conjunction with Lord Dorset, he edited a praiseworthy edition of the poems of Sir John Davies, which might otherwise have been lost or forgotten.  In conjunction with Garth, he translated the “Metamorphoses” of Ovid.  And in conjunction with Dr. Blow, he prepared those Pindaric flights which set King William asleep, and made Godolphin ashamed that the deeds of Marlborough should be so unworthily sung.

So long as he continued to enjoy the patronage of his liberal Maecenas, Tate, with his aid, and these labors, and the income of his office, contrived to maintain the state of a gentleman.  But Dorset died in 1706; the Laureate’s dull heroics found no vent; and ere the death of Queen Anne,—­an event which he bewailed in the least contemptible of his odes,—­his revenues were contracted to the official stipend.  The accession of the house of Hanover, in 1714, was the downfall of Toryism; and Tate was a Tory.  His ruin was complete.  The Elector spared not the house of Pindar.  The Laureate was stripped of the wreath; his only income confiscated; and after struggling feebly with fate in the form of implacable creditors, he took refuge in the Old Mint, the resort of thieves and debtors, where in 1715 he died,—­it is said, of starvation.  Alas, that the common lot of Grub Street should have precedent in the person of laurelled royalty itself!

The coronation of Laureate Rowe was simultaneous with that of George I. His immediate claim to the honor dated back to the year 1702, when his play of “Tamerlane” had caught the popular fancy, and proved of vast service to the ministry at a critical moment in stimulating the national antipathy to France.  The effect was certainly not due to artistic nicety or refinement.  King William, as Tamerlane, was invested with all virtues conceivable of a Tartar conqueror, united with the graces of a primitive saint; while King Louis, as Bajazet, fell little short of the perfections of Satan.  These coarse daubs, executed in the broadest style of the sign-post school of Art, so gratified the mob, that for half a century their exhibition was called for on the night of November the fifth.  Rowe, moreover, belonged to the straitest sect of Whiggery,—­was so bigoted, indeed, as to decline the acquaintance of a Tory, and in play and prologue missed no chance of testifying devotion to liberal opinions.[5] His investiture with the laurel was only another proof that at moments of revolution extremists first rise to the surface.  A man of affluent fortune, and the recipient of redundant favors from the new ministry, Rowe enjoyed the sunshine of life, while the dethroned Nahum starved in the Mint, as the dethroned James starved at Rome.  Had the dramatic tribute still been exacted, there is little doubt that the author of the “Fair Penitent,” and of “Jane Shore,” would have lent splendid lustre to his office.  His odes, however,—­such, at least, as have been thought worthy of preservation among his works,—­are a prodigious improvement upon the tenuity of his predecessor, and immeasurably superior in poetical fire and elegance to those of any successor antecedent to Warton.