id="id00151">In 1714 he had the honour to present an Ode to King George I. on his
Arrival at Greenwich, which is printed in a Collection of Poems,
Amorous, Moral, and Divine, which he published in octavo, 1718, and
dedicated them to his friend Mr. Needler.

He published a History of the Rebellion of 1715, and dedicated it to the late Duke of Argyle.

He made himself master of the French tongue by his own application and study; and in 1734 published a Translation of Boulainvillers's Life of Mahomet, which is well esteemed, and dedicated it to his intimate and worthy friend Mr. William Duncombe, Esq;

He was concerned, with others, in the publishing several other ingenious performances, and has left behind him in manuscript, a Translation of the nine first Books of Telemachus in blank Verse, which cost him great labour, but he did not live to finish the remainder.

He is the author of a volume of poems in 8vo, many of which are written with a true poetical spirit.

The INVITATION[1].

1.

O come Lavinia, lovely maid,
  Said Dion, stretch'd at ease,
Beneath the walnut's fragrant shade,
A sweet retreat! by nature made
  With elegance to please.

2.

O leave the court's deceitful glare,
  Loath'd pageantry and pride,
Come taste our solid pleasures here.
Which angels need not blush to share,
  And with bless'd men divide.

3.

What raptures were it in these bow'rs,
  Fair virgin, chaste, and wise,
With thee to lose the learned hours,
And note the beauties in these flowers,
  Conceal'd from vulgar eyes.

4.

For thee my gaudy garden blooms,
  And richly colour'd glows;
Above the pomp of royal rooms,
Or purpled works of Persian looms,
  Proud palaces disclose.

5.

Haste, nymph, nor let me sigh in vain,
  Each grace attends on thee;
Exalt my bliss, and point my strain,
For love and truth are of thy train,
  Content and harmony.

[1] This piece is not in Mr. Hinchliffe's works, but is assuredly his.

* * * * *

MR. MATTHEW CONCANEN.

This gentleman was a native of Ireland, and was bred to the Law. In this profession he seems not to have made any great figure. By some means or other he conceived an aversion to Dr. Swift, for his abuse of whom, the world taxed him with ingratitude. Concanen had once enjoyed some degree of Swift's favour, who was not always very happy in the choice of his companions. He had an opportunity of reading some of the Dr's poems in MS. which it is said he thought fit to appropriate and publish as his own.

As affairs did not much prosper with him in Ireland, he came over to London, in company with another gentleman, and both commenced writers. These two friends entered into an extraordinary agreement. As the subjects which then attracted the attention of mankind were of a political cast, they were of opinion that no species of writing could so soon recommend them to public notice; and in order to make their trade more profitable, they resolved to espouse different interests; one should oppose, and the other defend the ministry. They determined the side of the question each was to espouse, by tossing up a half-penny, and it fell to the share of Mr. Concanen to defend the ministry, which task he performed with as much ability, as political writers generally discover.

He was for some time, concerned in the British, and London Journals, and a paper called The Speculatist. These periodical pieces are long since buried in neglect, and perhaps would have even sunk into oblivion, had not Mr. Pope, by his satyrical writings, given them a kind of disgraceful immortality. In these Journals he published many scurrilities against Mr. Pope; and in a pamphlet called, The Supplement to the Profound, he used him with great virulence, and little candour. He not only imputed to him Mr. Brome's verses (for which he might indeed seem in some degree accountable, having corrected what that gentleman did) but those of the duke of Buckingham and others. To this rare piece some body humorously perswaded him to take for his motto, De profundis clamavi. He afterwards wrote a paper called The Daily Courant, wherein he shewed much spleen against lord Bolingbroke, and some of his friends. All these provocations excited Mr. Pope to give him a place in his Dunciad. In his second book, l. 287, when he represents the dunces diving in the mud of the Thames for the prize, he speaks thus of Concanen;

  True to the bottom see Concanen creep,
  A cold, long winded, native of the deep!
  If perseverance gain the diver's prize,
  Not everlasting Blackmore this denies.

In the year 1725 Mr. Concanen published a volume of poems in 8vo. consisting chiefly of compositions of his own, and some few of other gentlemen; they are addressed to the lord Gage, whom he endeavours artfully to flatter, without offending his modesty. 'I shall begin this Address, says he, by declaring that the opinion I have of a great part of the following verses, is the highest indication of the esteem in which I hold the noble character I present them to. Several of them have authors, whose names do honour to whatever patronage they receive. As to my share of them, since it is too late, after what I have already delivered, to give my opinion of them, I'll say as much as can be said in their favour. I'll affirm that they have one mark of merit, which is your lordship's approbation; and that they are indebted to fortune for two other great advantages, a place in good company, and an honourable protection.'

The gentlemen, who assisted Concanen in this collection, were Dean Swift, Mr. Parnel, Dr. Delany, Mr. Brown, Mr. Ward, and Mr. Stirling. In this collection there is a poem by Mr. Concanen, called A Match at Football, in three Cantos; written, 'tis said, in imitation of The Rape of the Lock. This performance is far from being despicable; the verification is generally smooth; the design is not ill conceived, and the characters not unnatural. It perhaps would be read with more applause, if The Rape of the Lock did not occur to the mind, and, by forcing a comparison, destroy all the satisfaction in perusing it; as the disproportion is so very considerable. We shall quote a few lines from the beginning of the third canto, by which it will appear that Concanen was not a bad rhimer.

  In days of yore a lovely country maid
  Rang'd o'er these lands, and thro' these forests stray'd;
  Modest her pleasures, matchless was her frame,
  Peerless her face, and Sally was her name.
  By no frail vows her young desires were bound,
  No shepherd yet the way to please her found.
  Thoughtless of love the beauteous nymph appear'd,
  Nor hop'd its transports, nor its torments fear'd.
  But careful fed her flocks, and grac'd the plain,
  She lack'd no pleasure, and she felt no pain.
  She view'd our motions when we toss'd the ball,
  And smil'd to see us take, or ward, a fall;
  'Till once our leader chanc'd the nymph to spy,
  And drank in poison from her lovely eye.
  Now pensive grown, he shunn'd the long-lov'd plains,
  His darling pleasures, and his favour'd swains,
  Sigh'd in her absence, sigh'd when she was near,
  Now big with hope, and now dismay'd with fear;
  At length with falt'ring tongue he press'd the dame,
  For some returns to