Observatory at Greenwich, and the Mathematical School at Christ's Hospital, are enduring instances of his regard for science.
He had all the hereditary love of the Stuarts for poetry and poets, and in this respect was certainly different from George II., who considered a poet in the light of a mechanic.[1] He carried Hudibras about in his pocket,[2] protected its publication by his royal warrant, but allowed its author to starve. Nor was this from want of admiration, but from indolence. Patronage had been a trouble to him. The noble song of Shirley—
The glories of our blood and state,
was often sung to him by old Bowman, and, while he enjoyed the poetry, he could have cared but little for the moral grandeur which pervades it. He suggested the Medal to Dryden as a subject for a poem while walking in the Mall. "If I was a poet," he said, "and I think I am poor enough to be one, I would write a poem on such a subject in the following manner."—Dryden took the hint, carried his poem to the King, and had a hundred broad pieces for it.[3] A good new comedy, we are told by
