Samuel Pegge - the younger (1733 – 22 May 1800) was an antiquary, poet, musical composer and lexicographer. He was the son of Samuel Pegge and their work is frequently intertwined.[3] He was the only surviving son of Samuel and his wife Anne, daughter of Benjamin Clarke, esq., of Stanley, near Wakefield, Yorkshire.[2]
Quick Facts Born, Died ...
Samuel Pegge (the younger) |
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Born | 1733[2] |
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Died | 22 May 1800 (aged 66 or 67) |
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Occupation | Aniquarian |
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Spouse(s) | Martha Bourne and Goodeth Belt |
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Children | Sir Christopher Pegge and Charlotte Anne |
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Parent | Samuel Pegge the elder |
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After receiving a classical education at St. John's College, Cambridge,[4] he was called to the bar at the Middle Temple, and by the favour of the Duke of Devonshire, lord chamberlain, he was appointed one of the Grooms of the Privy Chamber and an Esquire of the king's household. On 2 June 1796 he was elected a fellow of the Society of Antiquaries.[5] After his death, he was buried on the west side of Kensington churchyard, where a monument was erected to his memory.[2]
By his first wife, Martha, daughter of Dr. Henry Bourne, an eminent physician of Chesterfield, he had one son, Sir Christopher Pegge, M.D. (1764 – 22 May 1822), and a daughter, Charlotte Anne, who died unmarried on 17 March 1793. He married, secondly, Goodeth Belt, aunt to Robert Belt, esq., of Bossall, Yorkshire.[2]
His son, Christopher, was a well known doctor in Oxford and also delivered lectures in mineralogy at Oxford University, and in 1800, the university purchased a cabinet of minerals from him which was to be part of the establishment of that subject at the university.[6]
Christopher Pegge, together with Wall and Bourne was one of the three most important doctors in Oxford in the early nineteenth century.[7] quotes the following rhyme about them, entitled The Oxford medical trio:
I would not call in any one of them all,
For only "the weakest will go to the Wall";
The second, like Death, that scythe-armed mower,
Will speedily make you a peg or two lower;
While the third, with the fees he so silently earns,
Is "the bourn whence no traveller ever returns".
Another rhyme, about Sir Christopher Pegge, went:
Like Circe Sir C. can prescribe a mixt cup,
But mixtures Circeian beware to drink up[8]