DR EDWARD, was the son of a clergyman of the same name, and was born about the year 1679. When sufficiently qualified, he was matriculated into All-Souls college, Oxford; and desiring to follow the civil law, he took a degree in that profession. In this situation he wrote his poem called The Last Day, published in 1704; which coming from a layman gave universal satisfaction: this was soon after followed by another, entitled The Force of Religion, or Vanquished Love. These productions gained him a respectable acquaintance; he was intimate with Addison, and thus became one of the writers of the Spectator: but the turn of his mind leading him to the church, he took orders, was made one of the king's chaplains, and obtained the living of Welwyn in Hertfordshire, worth about 500l. per annum, but he never rose to higher preferment. For some years before the death of the late prince of Wales, Dr Young attended his court pretty constantly; but upon his decease all his hopes of church preferment vanished; however, upon the death of Dr Hales, he was taken into the service of the princess-dowager of Wales, and succeeded him as her privy chaplain. When pretty far advanced in life, he married the lady Elizabeth Lee, daughter of the late earl of Litchfield. This lady was a widow, and had an amiable son and daughter, who both died young. What he felt for their loss, as well as for that of his wife, is finely expressed in his Night Thoughts, in which the young lady is characterised under the name of Narcissa; her brother by that of Philander; and his wife, though nameless, is frequently mentioned; and he thus, in an apostrophe to death, deplores the loss of all the three.

Infatiate archer, could not once suffice! Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain, And thrice ere thrice yon moon renew'd her horn.

He wrote three tragedies, The Revenge, Bufonis, and The Brothers. His satires, called Love of Fame the universal Passion, are by many esteemed his principal performance; though Swift said the poet should have been been either more angry or more merry: they have been characterised as a string of epigrams written on one subject, that tire the reader before he gets through them. His Complaint, or Night Thoughts, exhibit him as a moral and melancholy poet, and are esteemed his masterpiece; They form a species of poetry peculiarly his own, and in which he has been unrivalled by all those who attempted to write in this manner. They were written under the recent prelude of his sorrow for the loss of his wife, daughter, and son-in-law; they are addressed to Lorenzo, a man of pleasure and the world, and who, as it is infinuated by some, is his own son, but then labouring under his father's displeasure. As a profe-writer, he arranged the prevailing manners of his time, in a work called The Centaur not Fabulous; and when he was above 80 years of age, published Conjectures on Original Composition. He published some other pieces; and the whole of his works are collected in 4 and 5 vols 12mo. Dr Young's turn of mind was naturally solemn; and he usually, when at home in the country, spent many hours of the day walking in his own church-yard among the tombs. His conversation, his writings, had all a reference to the life after this; and this turn of disposition mixed itself even with his improvements in gardening. He had, for instance, an alcove with a bench, so painted, near his house, that at a distance it looked as a real one which the spectator was then approaching. Upon coming up near it, however, the deception was perceived, and this motto appeared, Invojibilia non decipiant, "The things unseen do not deceive us." Yet, notwithstanding this gloominess of temper, he was fond of innocent sports and amusement: he instituted an assembly and a bowling-green in the parish of which he was rector, and often promoted the gaiety of the company in person. His wit was generally poignant, and ever levelled at those who testified any contempt for decency and religion. His epigram, spoken extempore on Voltaire, is well known; who happening in his company to ridicule Milton, and the allegorical personages of Death and Sin, Young thus addressed him:

Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin, You seem a Milton with his Death and Sin.

One Sunday, preaching in office at St James's, he found, that though he strove to make his audience attentive, he could not prevail. Upon which his pity for their folly got the better of all decorums, and he sat back in the pulpit and burst into a flood of tears. Towards the latter part of life he knew his own infirmities, and suffered himself to be in pupilage to his house-keeper; for he considered that, at a certain time of life, the second childhood of age demanded its wonted protection. His son, whose boyish follies were long obnoxious to paternal severity, was at last forgiven in his will; and our poet died regretted by all, having performed all that man could do to fill his post with dignity. His death happened in 1765.