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I^A I- 
 
 THE LIFE OF JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 John Drtden was born on tlie 9tli of August )!J 63T^ at a 
 place variously denominated A jdwinclc , or OldwmcTe, All 
 Saints ; or at Oldwincle, St Peter's, in Northamptonsiiire. 
 Tlie name Dryden or Driden, is from the North, There are 
 Drydens still in the town of Scotland ■where we now write ; 
 and the poet's ancestors lived in the county of Cumberland. 
 One of them, named John, removed from a place called Staff- 
 hill, to Xorthamptonshirc, where lie succeeded to the estate of 
 Canons-Ashby, by marriage with the daughter of Sir John 
 Cope. John Dryden was a schoolmaster, a Puritan, and 
 honoured, it is said, with the friendship of the celebrated Eras- 
 mus, after whom he named his son, who succeeded to the 
 estate of Canons-Ashby, and, besides becoming a sheriff of 
 the county of Northamptonshire, was created a knight under 
 James I. Sir Erasmus had three sons, the third of whom, 
 also an Erasmus, became the father of our poet. His mother 
 was ]Mary, the daughter of the Rev. Henry Pickering, whose 
 father, a zealous Puritan, had been one of the marked victims 
 in the Gunpowder Plot. Dryden thus had connexions both 
 on Jiis father's and mother's side with that party, by derid- 
 ing, defaming, and opposing which he afterwards gained much 
 of his poetical glory. ' 
 
 The poet was the eldest of fourteen children — four sons and 
 ten daughters. The honour of his birth is claimed, as already 
 stated, by two parishes, that of Oldwincle, All Saints, and 
 that of Oldwincle, St Peter's, as Homer's was of old by seven 
 
VI THE LIFE OF JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 cities. His brothers and sisters have been followed, by eager 
 biographers, into their diverging and deepening paths of ob- 
 scurity — paths in which we do not choose to attend them. 
 Dryden received the rudiments of his education at Tichmarsh 
 or at Oundle — for here, too, we have conflicting statements. 
 It is certain, however, that he was admitted a king's scholar 
 at Westminster, under the tuition of Dr Busby, whom he 
 always respected, and who discovered in him poetical powei*. 
 He encouraged him to write, as a Thursday's night's task, 
 a translation of the third Satire of Persius, a writer pre- 
 cisely of that vigorously rhetorical, rapidly satirical, and semi- 
 poetical school, which Dryden was qualified to appreciate and 
 to mirror; besides other pieces of a similar kind which are 
 lost. During the last year of his residence at Westminster, 
 and when only eighteen years of age, he wrote one among the 
 ninety-eight elegies which were called forth by the sudden 
 death of Henry Lord Hastings, and published under the title 
 of " Lachrymge Musarum." Hastings seems to have been an 
 amiable person, but he v^as besides a lord, and liinc iUcb 
 lachrymce. We know not of what quality the other tears 
 were, but assuredly Dryden's is one of very suspicious 
 sincerity, and of very little poetical merit. But even the 
 crocodile tears of a great genius, if they fall into a fanciful 
 shape, must be preserved ; and we have preserved his, accord- 
 ingly, notwithstanding the false taste as well as doubtful truth 
 and honesty of this his earliest poem. 
 
 Shortly after, Dryden obtained a Westminster scholarship, 
 and on the 11th of May 1650, entered on Trinity College, 
 Cambridge. His tutor was one John Templer, famous then 
 as one of the many who had attempted to put a hook in the 
 jaws of old Hobbes, the Leviathan of his time, but whose 
 reply, as well as Hobbes' own book (like a whale disappearing 
 from a Shetland " voe " into the deep, with all the hooks and 
 harpoons of his enemies along with him) has been almost 
 entirely forgotten. At Cambridge, Dryden was noted for regu- 
 larity and diligence, and took the degree of B. A. in January 
 1653-4, and in 1657 was made A.M. by a dispensation from 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury. Once, indeed, he was rusti- 
 
THE LIFE OP JOHN DRYDEN. VU 
 
 cated for a fortniglit on account of some disobedience to the 
 vice-master. He resided, liowever, at liis university three 
 years after tlie usual term ; and altliough he did not 
 become a Fellow, and made no secret, in after days, of pre- 
 ferring Oxford to Cambridge, yet the reason of this seems 
 to have lain, not in any personal disgust, but in some other 
 cause, which, says JScott, " we may now search for in 
 vain." 
 
 Up till June 1654, his father had continued to reside at his 
 estate at Blakesley, in Northamptonshire, when lie died, leav- 
 ing Dryden two-thirds of a property, which was worth, in all, 
 only £G0 a-year. The other third was bequeathed to his 
 mother, during her lifetime. With this miserable modicum 
 of £40 a-year, the poet returned to Cambridge, and continued 
 there, doing little, and little known as one who could do any- 
 thing, till the year lGo7. The only records of the diligence 
 of his college years, are the lines on the death of Lord Hast- 
 ings, and one or two other inconsiderable copies of verses. 
 He probably, however, employed much time in private study. 
 
 While at Cambridge, he met with a young lady, a cousin 
 of his own — Honor Dridcn, daughter of Sir John Driden of 
 Chesterton — of whom he became deeply enamoured. His suit 
 was, however, rejected, although he continued all his life on 
 intimate terms with the family. 3Iiss Driden died unmar- 
 ried, many years after her poet lover ; and like the " Lass of 
 Ballochmyle" with Bums' homage, learned to value it more 
 after he became celebrated, and. carefully preserved the soli- 
 tary letter which Dryden wrote her. 
 
 But now the university was to lose, apxl-tjie world of Lon- 
 don to receive, the poet. In the year '1657, )when about six- 
 and-twenty years of age, Dryden repaired to London, " clad 
 in homely drugget," and with more projects in his head than 
 pence in his pocket. He was first employed by his relative, Sir 
 Gilbert Pickering — called the " Fiery Pickering," from his 
 Roundhead zeal — as a clerk or secretary. Here he came in 
 contact with Cromwell ; and saw very clearly those gi-eat quali- 
 ties of sagacity, determination, courage, statesmanship, insight, 
 and genuine godliness, which made him, next to Alfred the 
 
Yin THE LIFE OF JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 Great, the first monarch who ever sat on the English throne* 
 Two years after Dryden came to London, Cromwell expired, 
 and the poet wrote and puhlished his Heroic Stanzas on the 
 hero's death, which we consider really his earliest poem/ ) When 
 E-ichard resigned, Dryden, in common with the majorify of the 
 nation, saw that the Roundhead cause was lost, and hastened to 
 carry over his talents to the gaining side. For this we do not 
 blame him very severely, although it certainly had been nobler 
 if, like Milton, he had clung to his party. Sir Walter Scott re- 
 marks, that Dryden never retracted the praise he gave to Crom- 
 well. In " Absalom and Achitophel " he sneers at Richard 
 as Ishbosheth, but says nothing against the deceased giant 
 Saul. It is clear, too, that at first his desertion of the Crom- 
 well party was a loss to the poet. He lost the chance of their 
 favour, in case a reaction should come, his situation as secre- 
 tary, and the shelter of Pickering's princely mansion. As 
 might have been expected, his ancient friends were indignant 
 at the change, and not less so at the alteration he thought 
 proper at the same time to make in the spelling of his name — 
 from Driden to Dryden. 
 
 He went to reside in the obscure house of one Herring- 
 man, a bookseller, in the New Exchange, and became for life 
 a professional author. His enemies afterwards reproached 
 him bitterly for his mean circumstances at this period of 
 his life, and asserted that he was a mere drudge to Her- 
 ringman. He, at all events, did little in his own proper 
 poetic calling for two years. A poem on the Coronation of 
 Charles, well fitted to wipe away the stain of Cromwellism, 
 and to attract upon the poet the eye of that Rising-Sun, whose 
 glory he sang with more zeal than truth ; a panegyric on the 
 Lord Chancellor ; and a satire on the Dutch ; were all, and 
 are all short, and all savour of a vein somewhat hide-bound. 
 He planned, indeed, too, and partly wrote, one or more plays, 
 and was considered of consequence enough to be elected a 
 member of the Royal Society in 1662. Previous to this he 
 had been introduced, through Herringman, to Sir Robert 
 Howard, son of the first Earl of Berkshire, and a relation of 
 Edward Howard, the author of " British Princes," and the 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 On the Death of Lord Hastings .... 
 
 Heroic Stanzas on the Death of Oliver Cromwell . 
 
 Astraca Rednx. A Poem on the Happy Restoration and Re 
 
 turn of His Sacred Majesty Charles H., ICGO 
 To His Sacred Majesty. A Panegyric on his Coronation 
 To the Lord Chancellor Hyde. Presented on New Year's 
 
 Day, 1GG2 
 
 Satire on the Dutch ...... 
 
 To Her Royal Highness the Duchess, on the Memorable Via 
 toiy gained by the Duke over the Hollanders, June 3 
 16G5 ; and on her Journey afterwards into the North 
 Annus Mirabilis : the Year of Wonders, IGGG, An Historical 
 Poem ........ 
 
 An Essay upon Satire. By Mr Dryden and the Earl of Mul 
 •grave, 1G79 ....... 
 
 / Absalom and Achitophcl ...... 
 
 The Medal. A Satire against Sedition 
 
 Religio Laici ; or, A Layman's Faitii. An Epistle 
 
 Threnodia Au^istalis : a Funeral Pindaric Poem, sacred to 
 
 the Happy Memory of King Charles H. 
 Veni Creator Spiritus, Paraphrased .... 
 
 ♦' The Hind and the Panther. A Poem, in Three Parts . 
 
 •• Mac Flecknoe 
 
 Britannia Rcdiviva. A Poem on the Prince, born June 10 
 
 1G88 
 
 C 
 
 1 
 5 
 
 11 
 21 
 
 26 
 81 
 
 82 
 
 85 
 
 84 
 
 93 
 
 IGl 
 
 174. 
 
 195 
 212 
 213 
 295 
 
 302 
 
\ 
 
DRYDEN'S rOE3IS. ^ 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS. ^ 
 
 ^luST noble Hastings immaturclj die, 
 
 The honour of liis ancient family ; 
 
 Beauty and learning thus together meet, 
 
 To bring a winding for a wedding-sheet l 
 
 Must Virtue prove Death's harbinger'? must she, 
 
 AVith him exj)iring, feel mortality 'i 
 
 Is death, Sin's wages, Grace's noM' 1 shall Art 
 
 ^lakc us more learned, only to depart "? 
 
 If merit be disease ; if virtue death ; 
 
 To be good, not to be ; who 'd then bequeath lo 
 
 Himself to discipline "? who 'd not esteem 
 
 Labour a crime 1 study, self-murder deem 1 
 
 Our noble youth now have pretence to be 
 
 Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully. 
 
 JRareJinguist, whoso worth speaks itself, whose praise, 
 
 Though not his own, all tongues besides do raise : 
 
 Than whom great xVlexander may seem less. 
 
 Who conquer'd men, but not their languages. 
 
 * ' Lord Hastings : ' the nobleman herein lamented, was stjlcd Hemy Lord 
 Ilasti iigs, son to Ferdinand Earl of Huntingdon. He died before his father in 
 J G4t), being then in his twentieth year, and on the day preceding that which 
 hacTbcen fixed for his marriage. 
 
 VOL. I. A 
 
2 deyden's poems. 
 
 In his mouth nations spake ; his tongue might be i9 
 Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy. 
 His native soil was the four parts o' the Earth ; 
 All Europe was too narrow for his birth. 
 A young apostle; and, with reverence may 
 I speak it, inspired with gift of tongues, as they. 
 Nature gave him, a child, what men in vain 
 Oft strive, by art though further'd, to obtain. 
 vHis body was anjorbj)his sublime soul 
 Did move on Virtue's and on Learning's pole : 
 Whose resfular motions] better to our view. 
 Than Archimedes' ^ sphere, the Heavens did show, so 
 Graces and virtues, languages and arts, 
 Beauty and learning, fill'd up all the parts. 
 Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear 
 Scatter'd in others ; all, as in their sphere. 
 Were fix'd, conglobate in his soul; and thence 
 Shone through his body, with sweet influence ; 
 Letting their glories so on each limb fall, 
 The whole frame rend^rjdjva^^^ 
 Come, learned^^olemy, ^ and trial make, 
 If thou Ithis hero^sjaltitude canst take : 40 
 
 But that transcends thy skill; thrice happy all, 
 Could we but prove thus astronomical. 
 Lived Tycho ^ now, struck with this ray which shone 
 More bright i' the morn, than others' beam at noon. 
 He'd take his astrolabe, and seek out here 
 What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere. 
 ReplenisVd then with such rare gifts as these, 
 Where was room left for such a foul disease *? -^ 
 
 1 ' Arcliiroedes : ' a famous geometrician, who was killed at the taking of 
 Syracuse, in the 542d year of Rome. He made a glass sphere, wherein the 
 motions of the heavenly bodies were wonderfully described. — * ' Ptolemy : ' 
 Claudius Ptolemseus, a celebrated mathematician in the reign of M. Aurelius 
 Antoninus. — ^ ' Tycho ; ' Tycho Brahe. 
 
t&o 
 
 ox THE DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS. 3 
 
 The nation's sin hath drawn that veil, which shrouds 49 
 
 Our daj-spring in so sad be nighting clouds : 
 
 Heaven would no longer trust its pledge; but thus 
 
 Recall'd it; rapt its Ganymede from us. 
 *AVas there no milder way but the small-pox, \ 
 
 The very f ilthinc^ of Pandora's l)oxl \ 
 
 So many spots, like(iiccves;0n Yenus' soil, 
 
 One jewel set offwitlTso many a foil; 
 
 '^^listc.rs with pride swe.U'dj wliiclLthrougLL.'a ilesh did sprout 
 
 T<ikn rasp-]>U(Ig^stu('^^ i' thllil^skjn about, i,. \ llilJiCl 
 
 Each little pimple had a tear in it, 
 
 To wail the fault its rising did commit : 
 
 "Which, rebel-like, with its own lord at strife, 
 
 Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life. 
 
 Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin, 
 
 The cabinet of a richer soul within 1 
 
 No comet need foretell his chang e drew on, 
 
 Whose corpse might seem a constell ation. 
 
 Oh ! had he died of old, how great a strife 1 '/ 
 
 Ijlad been, who from his death should draw their life!] J"a ^. /<> v^ 
 
 "Who should, by one rich draught, become whate'er ^^^^-^ 
 
 Seneca, Cato, Numa, Caesar, were, — 7o <r^ 
 
 Learn'd, virtuous, pious, great ; and have by this 
 
 An universal metempsychosis! 
 
 ^lust all these aged sires in one funeral 
 
 Expire ? all die in one so young, so small ? 
 
 Who, had he lived his life out, his great fame 
 
 Had swoln 'bove any Greek or Roman name. 
 
 But hasty "Winter, with one blast, hath brought 
 
 The hopes of Autumn, Summer, Spring, to nought. 
 
 Thus fiides the oak i' the sprig, i' the blade the corn ; 
 
 Thus without young, this Phceuix dies, new born : so 
 
 Must then old three-legg'd graybeards, with their gout, 
 
 Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three long ages out 1 
 
4 DRYDENS POEMS. 
 
 Time's oflfals, only fit for the hospital ! 83 
 
 Or to hang antiquaries' rooms withal ! 
 Must drunkards, lechers, spent with sinning, live 
 With such helps as broths, possets, physic give 1 
 None live, but such as .should die 1 shall we meet 
 With none but ghostly fathers in the street ? 
 Grief makes me rail ; sorrow will force its way ; 
 And showers of tears, tempestuous sighs best lay. 90 
 The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes 
 Will weep out lasting streams of elegies. 
 But thou, virgin-widow, left alone. 
 Now thy beloved, heaven-ravish'd spouse is goue> 
 Whose skilful sire in vain strove to apply 
 Medicines, when thy balm was no remedy, — 
 With greater than Platonic love, wed 
 His soul, though not his body, to thy bed : 
 Let.lhat piake thee a mother; brin^ thou forth \/ 
 ^The ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth; lOO 
 
 Transcribe the original in new copies, give 
 Hastings o' the better part : so shall he live 
 In 's nobler half; and the great grandsire be 
 Of an heroic divine progeny : 
 An issue, which to eternity shall last, 
 Yet but the irradiations which he cast. 
 Erect no mausoleums : for his best 
 Monument is his spouse's marble breast. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF 
 OLIVER CROMWELL, 
 
 WRITTEN ATFER HIS FUNERAL. 
 
 cy 
 
 \^^ 
 
 1 And now 'tis time; for (their/ officious haste, 
 
 Who would before haveT)orne him to the sky, 
 Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past. 
 Did let too soon the sacred eagle ^ flj. 
 
 2 Though our best notes are treason to his fame, 
 
 Join'd with the loud applause of public A'oice ; 
 Since Heaven, what praise ^ve oifer to his name, 
 Hath reuder'd too authentic by its choice. 
 
 3 Though in his praise no arts can liberal be. 
 
 Since they, whose muses have the highest flown, 
 Add not to liis immortal memory. 
 
 But do an act of friendship to their own : 
 
 4 Yet 'tis our duty, and our'intcrest'i:oo, hTTVn'/t 
 
 Such monuments as we can build to raise ; 
 Lest all the world prevent what we should do. 
 And claim a title in him by their praise. 
 
 5 How shall I then begin, or where conclude. 
 
 To draw a fame so truly circular % 
 For in a round what order can be show'd, '-^ 
 Where aU'the parts so equal perfect are 1 
 
 ' ' Sacred eagle : ' the Romans let fly an eagle from the pile of a dead Em- 
 peror. 
 
6 dryden's poems. 
 
 6 His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone ; 
 
 For lie was great ere fortune made him so : 
 And wars, like mists that rise against the sun, 
 Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. 
 
 7 No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn, 
 
 But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring ; 
 Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born. 
 With the too early thoughts of being king. ■/ 
 
 8 Fortune (that easy mistress to the young, 
 
 But to her ancient servants coy and hard), 
 Him at that age her favourites rank'd among. 
 When she her best-loved Pompey did discard. 
 
 9 He, private, mark'd the faults of others' sway, 
 
 And set as sea-marks for himself to shun : 
 Not like rash monarchs, who their youth betray 
 By acts their age too late would wish undone. 
 
 10 (And yet dominion was^not his design ; ' 
 
 j We owe that blessing,' not to him, but Heaven, 
 Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join ; 
 Rewards, that less to him, than us, were given. 
 
 1 1 Our former chiefs, like sticklers of the war, 
 
 First sought to inflame the parties, then to poise 
 The quarrel loved, but did the cause abhor ; 
 And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise. 
 
 12 War, our consumption, was their gainful trade : 
 
 We inward bled, whilst they prolong'd our pain ; 
 He fought to end our fighting, and essay 'd 
 
 To staunch the blood by breathing of the vein. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL. 7 
 
 13 Swift and resistless through the land he past, 
 
 Like that bold Greek ^ who did the East subdue, 
 And made to battles such heroic haste, 
 As if on wings of victory he flew. 
 
 14 lie fought secure of fortune as of fame : 
 
 Still bj new maps the island might be shown, 
 Of conquests, which he strew'd where'er he came, 
 Thick as tlie galaxy with stars is sown. 
 
 15 Ilis palms, 2 though under weights they did not stand, 
 
 Still thrived ; no winter could his laurels fade : 
 Heaven in his portrait show'd a workman's hand, 
 And drew it perfect, yet without a shade. 
 
 1 G Peace was_tlic_prize of all his toil and care. 
 
 Which war had banish'd, and did now restore : 
 Bologna's walls ^ thus mounted in the air. 
 To seat themselves more surely than before. 
 
 17 Iler safety ^cued Irelan^^to him owes ; 
 
 Andtt gBtfhefOUij Scotlandy ^to no interest_true. 
 Yet blest that fiite which did ms arms dispose 
 Her land to civilize, as to subdue. 
 
 18 Nor was he like those stars which only shine, 
 
 "When to pale mariners they storms portend : 
 He had his calmer influence, and his mien 
 Did love and majesty together blend. 
 
 ' ' Bold Greek : ' Alexander the Great. — * ' Palms' were thought ta grow 
 best under pressure. — ' ' Bologna's walls,' &c. : alluding to ^ Popish story 
 about the wall of Bologna, on which was an image of the Virgin,l5erng blown 
 up, and falling exactly into its place again. 
 
8 DKTDEN^S POEMS. 
 
 1 9 'Tis true, his countenance did imprint an awe ; 
 
 And naturally all souls to his did bow, 
 As wands ^ of divination downward draw, 
 
 And point to beds where sovereign gold doth grow. 
 
 20 When past all offerings to Feretrian Jove, ^ 
 
 He Mars deposed, and arms to gowns made yield ; 
 Successful councils did him soon approve 
 As fit for close intrigues, as open field. 
 
 21 To suppliant Holland he vouchsafed a peace. 
 
 Our once bold rival of the British main, 
 Now tamely glad her unjust claim to cease, / 
 And buy our friendship with her idol, gain;^^ 
 
 22 Fame of the asserted sea through Europe blown, 
 
 Made France and Spain ambitious of his love ; 
 Each knew that side must conquer he would own ; 
 And for him fiercely, as for empire, strove. 
 
 23 No sooner was the Frenchman's cause ^ embraced. 
 
 Than the light Monsieur the grave Don outweigh'd ; 
 His fortune turn'd the scale where'er 'twas cast. 
 Though Indian mines were in the other laid. 
 
 *t3^ 
 
 24 When absent, yet we conquer'd in his right : 
 
 For though some meaner artist's skill were shown 
 In mingling colours or in placing light. 
 Yet still the fair designment was his own. 
 
 25 For from all /tempers he could service draw ; 
 
 The worth of each, with its alloy, he knew ; 
 
 • ' Wands : ' see the ' Antiquary.' — '^ ' Frenchman's cause : ' the treaty of 
 alliance which Cromwell entered into with France against the Spaniards. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROM^VELL. 
 
 Aud, as thecoafidant of Nature, sa\7 
 How 8he\complexioas"did divide and brew. 
 
 A-f/. 
 
 26 Or Iie^heir single virtues did survey, 2, "^^"^W tifiJ^^^^'^AXJii' 
 
 By intuition, in Tns'ovvn large breast ; 
 Where all the rich ideas of them lay, 
 
 That were the rule and measure to the rest. 
 
 27 When such heroic virtue Heaven sets out, 
 
 The stars, like commons, sullenly obey ; 
 
 Because it drains them "vvhcn it comes about, 
 
 x\nd therefore is a tax tliey seldom pay. 
 
 28 From this high spring our foreign conquests flow, 
 
 Which yet more glorious triumphs do portend ; 
 Since theii* commencement to his arms they owe, 
 K springs as high as fountains may ascend. 
 
 29 He made us freemen of the Continent,^ 
 
 Whom Nature did like captives treat before ; 
 To nobler preys the English lion sent, 
 
 And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar. 
 
 30 That old unquestion'd pirate of the land. 
 
 Proud Rome, with dread the fate of Dunkirk heard; 
 And trembling wisli'd behind more Alps to stand. 
 Although an Alexander ^ were her guard. 
 
 31 By his command we boldly cross'd the line. 
 
 And bravely fought where southern stars arise ; 
 We traced the far-fetch'd gold unto the mine. 
 
 And that which bribed our fathers made our prize. 
 
 ' ' Freemen of the Continent : ' by tlie taking of Dmiiiirk. — - ' Alexan- 
 der : ' Alexander VH., at this time Pope. 
 
 '\Socfi 
 
10 dryden's poems. 
 
 32 Such was our prince ; yet oWd a soul above 
 The highest acts it could produce to show : 
 Thus poor mechanic arts in public moTC, 
 Whilst the deep secrets beyond practice go. . 
 
 33; Nor died he when his ebbing fame went less, 
 I But when fresh laurels courted him to live : 
 He seem'd but to prevent some new success, 
 As if above what triumphs earth could give. 
 
 34 His latest victories still thickest came. 
 
 As near the centre motion doth increase ; 
 
 Till he, press'd down by his own weighty name, 
 
 Did, like the vestal,^ under spoils decease. 
 
 35 But first the ocean as a tribute sent 
 
 The giant prince of all her watery herd ; 
 And the Isle, when her protecting genius went, 
 Upon his obsequies loud sighs ^ conferr'd. 
 
 36 No civil broils have since his death arose, L^^ 
 
 But faction now by habit does obey ; ^-^ 
 And wars have that respect for his repose. 
 
 As winds for halcyons, when they breed at sea. 
 
 37 His ashes in a peaceful urn^ shall rest; 
 
 His name a great example stands, to show 
 How strangely high endeavours may be blest, 
 Where piety and valour jointly go. 
 
 1 'Vestal:' Tarpeia. — ^ ' Loud sighs:' tte -tempest /which occtirred-at 
 CroitiHiell's death. — ^ ' Peaceful urn : ' Diyden no true prophet — Cromwell's 
 bones having been dragged out of the royal vault, and exposed on the gibbet 
 in 1G60. 
 
 J/lj/l^yJflJ^'l&o^ 
 
ASTR^A REDUX. 11 
 
 ASTR.EA REDUX. 
 
 A POEM ON THE HAPPY RESTORATION AND RETURN OF HIS 
 SACRED MAJESTY CHARLES II.,Cl660. y 
 
 " Jam redlt et virgo, redeunt Satnmia regna." — Viro. 
 
 " ThfeJ^t great age, foretold by sacred rbynies, 
 l^news^its finish'd course ; Saturniau times 
 TtoITrSlind again." * 
 
 Now with a general peace the world was blest, 
 AVliile ours, a world divided from tlic rest, 
 ^v^4_dreadful quictTeU, and worscr hv 
 Than arms, a sullen' interval of war : 
 Thus M'hen black clouds draw down tlio labouring skies, 
 Ere yet abroad the winged thunder Hies, 
 An horrid stillness first invades the ear, 
 And in tliat silence we the tempest fear. 
 The ambitious Swede,^ like restless billows tost, 
 On this hand gaining what on tliat he lost, lo 
 
 Though in his life he blood and ruin breathed, 
 To his now guideless kingdom peace bequeath'd. 
 And Heaven, that seem'd regardless of our fate, 
 For France and Spain did miracles create ; 
 Such mortal quarrels to compose in peace. 
 As nature bred, and interest did increase. 
 We sidi'd to hear the fair Iberian bride ^ 
 Must .grog jii,J_ily to the lilj^s_side ; \^y^^ 
 While our cross stars denied us Charles' bed, 
 Whom our first flames and virgin love did wed. 20 
 
 ' ' Ambitions Swede : ' Charles X., named also Gustavus, nephew to the 
 great Gustavus Adolphus. — - ' Iberian bride : ' the Infanta of Spain was be- 
 trothed to Louis XIV. 
 
im. ^ 
 
 12 DRYDEN^S POEMS. 
 
 For his long absence Churcli and State did groan ; 21 
 Madness the pulpit, faction seized the throne : 
 Experienced age in deep despair was lost, 
 To see the rebel thrive, the loyal cross'd : 
 Youth that with joys had unacquainted been. 
 Envied gray hairs that once good days had seen : 
 rWe thought our sires, not with their own content, 
 V [ Had, ere we came to age, our portion spent. 
 
 Nor could our nobles hope their bold attempt ||u-(>M 
 Who ruin'd crowns would coronets exempt : l(!mQ' ^^ 
 For when by their designing leaders taught i■'^^^^'^ 
 
 To strike at power, which for themselves they sought, 
 The vulgar, guU'd into rebellion, arm'd ; 
 Their blood to action by the prize was warm'd. 
 The sacred purple, then, and scarlet gown, 
 Like sanguine dye to elephants, was shown. 
 Thus when the bold Typhosus scaled the sky, 
 ^ And forced great Jove from his own Heaven to fly, 
 
 S, .1. Tf.L 
 
 lat king, what crown from treason's reach is free, 
 
 ^ ^ I -; V I^ J^^^ ^^^ Heaven can violated be "?) 40 
 
 Q^fi «f^ c ^ The lesser gods, that shared his prosperous state, 
 All suffer'd in the exiled Thunderer's fate. 
 The rabble now such freedom did enjoy, 
 As winds at sea, that use it to destroy :v 
 Blind as the Cyclop, and as wild as he, 
 '' ■ if They own'd a lawless, savage liberty; 
 '"'." Like that our painted ancestors so prized. 
 Ere empire's arts their breasts had civilized. 
 How great were then our Charles' woes, who thus 
 Was forced to suffer for himself and us ! 50 
 
 He, tost by fate, and hurried up and down, 
 Heir to his father's sorrows, with his crown, 
 Could taste no sweets of youth's desired age, 
 But found his life too true a pilgrimage. 
 
ASTKJEA EEDUX. 
 
 13 
 
 Unconqiier'd yet in that forlorn estate, 55 
 
 His manly courage overcame his fate. 
 
 His wounds he took, like Romans, on his breast, 
 
 Which by his virtue "^'cre with laurels drest. 
 
 As souls reach Heaven while yet in bodies pent, 
 
 So did he live above his banishment. eo 
 
 That sun, which we beheld with cozen'd eyes 
 
 Within the water, moved along the skies. 
 
 How easy 'tis, when destiny proves kind, 
 
 With full-spread sails to run before the wind ! 
 
 But those tliat 'gainst stiff gales laveering go, 
 
 Must be at once resolved and skilful too. 
 
 He would not, life soft Otho,^ hope prevent, 
 
 But stay'd, and suffer'd fortune to repent. 
 
 These virtues Galba ^ in a stranger sought, 
 
 And Piso to adopted empire brought. 70 
 
 How shall I then my doubtful thoughts express, 
 
 Tliat must his sufferings both regret and bless ? 
 
 For when his early valour Heaven had cross'd ; 
 
 And all at AVorcestcr but the honour lost ; 
 
 Forced into exile from his rightful throne. 
 
 He made all countries where he came his own ; 
 
 And viewing monarchs' secret arts of sway, 
 
 A royal factor for his kingdoms lay. 
 
 ,ThusJ )anish'd D avid spent abroad his time, 
 
 When to be God's anointed was his crime ; so 
 
 And when restored, made his proud neighbours rue • 
 
 Those choice remarks he from his travels drew. . 
 
 Nor is he only by afflictions shown • i 
 
 To conquer other realms, but rule his own :[d^ Kj^^/ 
 
 Recovering hardly what he lost before. 
 
 His right endears it much ; his purchase more. 
 
 ' ' Otho : ' see Juvenal. — - ' Galba : ' Roman emperor, who adopted Piso. 
 
 L 
 
14 DRYDEn's POEMS- 
 
 Inured to suffer ere lie came to reign, 87 
 
 No rash procedure will his actions stain : 
 
 To business, ripeu'd bj digestive thought, 
 
 His future rule is into method brought : 
 
 As thej who first proportion understand, 
 
 With easy practice reach a master's hand. 
 
 Well might the ancient poets then confer 
 
 On Night the honour'd name of Counsellor, 
 
 Since, struck with rays of prosperous fortune blind, 
 
 We light alone in dark afflictions find. 
 
 In such adversities to sceptre train'd. 
 
 The name of Great his famous grandsire ^ gained : 
 
 Who yet a king alone in name and right, 
 
 With hunger, cold, and angry Jove did fight ; lOO 
 
 Shock'd by a covenanting league's vast powers, 
 
 As holy and as catholic as ours : 
 
 Till fortune's fruitless spite had made it known, 
 
 Her blows, not shook, but riveted, his throne. 
 
 Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease, 
 No action leave to busy chronicles : 
 Such, whose supine felicity but makes 
 In story chasms, in epocha mistakes ; 
 O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down. 
 Till, with his silent sickle, they are mown. no 
 
 Such is not Charles' too, too active age. 
 Which, govern'd by the wild distemper'd rage 
 Of some black star infecting all the skies, 
 Made him at his own cost, like Adam, wise. 
 Tremble, ye nations, which, secure before, 
 Laugh'd at those arms that 'gainst ourselves we bore ; 
 Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail. 
 Our lion now will foreign foes assail. 1/ 
 
 1 ' Famous grandsire : ' Charles II. was grandson by the mother's side to 
 Henry IV. of France. 
 
-y p^jt{\v\A.^ 
 
 ASTRiEA REDUX. 1 5 
 
 AVith algca^ who the sacred altar strews 1 ii9 
 
 To all the sea-gods Charles au offering O'wes : 
 A bull to thee, Portumuus, ^ shall be slain, 
 A lamb to you, ye Tempests of the main : 
 For those loud storms that did against him roar. 
 Have cast his shipwreck'd vessel on the shore. q, . 
 
 Yet as wise artists mix their colours so, I ^ J' 
 
 That by degrees they from each other go ; ' \ lAfe^f 
 
 Black steals unheeded from the neighbouring M'hite, 
 Without ofTendiuii; the well-cozcn'd sight : 
 ^^0 on us stole our bles sed change ^ ;) while we 
 The effect did feel, but scarce the manner see. 130 
 
 Frosts that constrain the ground, and birth deny 
 To flowers that in its womb expecting lie, 
 Do seldom their usurping power withdraw, 
 But raging floods pursue tlieir hasty thaw. 
 Our thaw was mild, the cold not chased away, 
 But lost in kindly heat of lengthen'd day. 
 Heaven would no bargain for its blessings drive. 
 But what we could not pay for, freely give. 
 The Prince of peace would like himself confer 
 A gift unhoped, without the price of war : , i40 
 
 Yet, as he knew his blessing's worth, took care, 
 That we should know it by repeated prayer ; 
 "Which storm'd the skies, and ravish'd Charles from thence. 
 As heaven itself is took by violence. 
 Bootli's^ forward valour only served to show 
 He durst that duty pay we all did owe. 
 
 \ 
 
 ' ' With alga,' ^c. : these lines refer to the ceremonies used by such hea- 
 thens as escaped from shipwreck. Alga marina^ or sea-weed, was strewed 
 about the altar, and a lamb sacrificed to the winds. — * ' Portumnus : ' 
 Palamon, or Melicerta, god of shipwrecked mariners. — ' ' Booth's : ' Sir 
 George Booth, au unsuccessful and premature warrior on the Eoyal side in 
 1659. \ 
 
16 dryden's poems. 
 
 The attempt was fair ; but Heayen's prefixed hour 147 
 Not come : so like the watchful traveller, ' 
 That bj the moon's mistaken light did rise, 
 Lay down again, and closed his weary eyes. 150 
 
 Twas Monk whom Providence design'd to loose 
 Those real bonds ^Ise freedom! did impose. 
 The blessed saints that watch'd this turning scene, 
 Did from their stars with joyful wonder lean, 
 To see small clues draw vastest weights along, 
 Not in their bulk, but in their order, strong. 
 Thus pencils can by one slight touch restore 
 Smiles to that changed face that wept before. 
 With ease such fond chimeras we pursue, 
 As fancy frames for fancy to subdue : I60 
 
 But when ourselves to action we betake, 
 (^It shuns the mint like gold that chemists make. 
 How hard was then his task ! at once to be, 
 What in the body natural we see I 
 Man's Architect distinctly did ordain 
 The charge of muscles, nerves, and of the brain. 
 Through viewless conduits spirits to dispense ; 
 The springs of motion from the seat of sense. 
 'Twas not the hasty product of a day, 
 But the well-ripen'd fruit of wise delay. iro 
 
 He, like a patient angler, ere he strook, 
 Would let him play a while upon the hook. 
 Our healthful food the stomach labours thus, 
 At first embracing what it straight doth crush. 
 Wise leeches will not vain receipts obtrude. 
 While growing pains pronounce the humours crude : 
 Deaf to complaints, they wait upon the ill. 
 Till some safe crisis authorise their skill. 
 Nor could his acts too close a vizard wear. 
 To 'scape their eyes whom guilt had taught to fear, I80 
 
ASTR.EA REDUX. 17 
 
 And guard with caution that polluted nest, i8i 
 
 Whence Legion twice before was dispossess'd : 
 
 Once sacred house ; which, when they enter'd in, 
 
 They thought the place could sanctify a sin ; 
 
 Like those that vainly hoped kind Heaven would wink, 
 
 While to excess on martyrs' tombs they drink. 
 
 And as devouter Turks first warn their souls 
 
 To part, before they taste forbidden bowls : 
 
 So these, when their black crimes they went about, 
 
 First timely charm'd their useless conscience out. 190 
 
 Religion's name against itself was made ; 
 
 The shadow served the substance to invade : 
 
 Like zealous missions, they did care pretend 
 
 Of souls in show, but made the gold their end. 
 
 The incensed powers beheld with scorn from high 
 
 An heaven so hr distant from the sky, > ' 
 
 Which durst, with horses' hoofs that beat the ground, 
 
 And martial brass, belie the thunder's sound. 
 
 'Twas hence at length just vengeance thought it fit 
 
 To speed their ruin by their impious wit. 200 
 
 Thus Sforza, cursed with a too fertile brain. 
 
 Lost by his wiles the power his wit did gain. 
 
 Henceforth their fougue^ must spend at lesser rate. 
 
 Than in its flames to wrap a nation's fate. 
 
 SufFer'd to live, they are like i helotsy set, 
 
 A virtuous shame within us toibeget. 
 
 For by example most we sinn'd before. 
 
 And glass-like clearness mix'd with frailty bore. 
 
 But, since reform'd by what we did amiss, 
 
 We by our sufferings learn to prize our bliss : 210 
 
 Like early lovers, whose unpractised hearts 
 
 Were long the May-game of malicious arts, 
 
 ' ' Fougue : ' a French word used for the fire and spirit of a horse. 
 VOL. I. B 
 
18 dryden's poems. 
 
 When once tliey find their jealousies wore vain, 213 
 
 With double heat renew their fires again. 
 
 'Twas this produced the joy that hurried o'er 
 
 Such swarms of English to the neighbouring shore, 
 
 To fetch that prize, by which Batavia made 
 
 So rich amends for our impoverished trade. 
 
 Oh! had you seen from Schevelin's^ barren shore, 
 
 (Crowded with troops, and barren now no more,) 220 
 
 x\fflicted Holland to his farewell bring 
 
 True sorrow, Holland to regret a king ! 
 
 While waiting him his royal fleet did ride, 
 
 And willing winds to their lower'd sails denied. 
 
 The wavering streamers, flags, and standard out. 
 
 The merry seamen's rude but cheerful shout : 
 
 And last the cannon's voice, that shook the skies. 
 
 And as it fares in sudden ecstasies. 
 
 At once bereft us both of ears and eyes. 
 
 The Naseby, ^ now no longer England's shame, 230 
 
 But better to be lost in Charles' name, 
 
 (Like some unequal bride in nobler sheets) 
 
 Receives her lord : the joyful London meets 
 
 The princely York, himself alone a freight ; 
 
 The Swiftsure groans beneath great Gloster's ^ weight : 
 
 Secure as when the halcyon breeds, with these. 
 
 He that was born to drown might cross the seas. 
 
 Heaven could not own a Providence, and take 
 
 The wealth three nations ventured at a stake. 
 
 The same indulgence Charles' voyage bless'd, 240 
 
 Which in his right had miracles confess'd. 
 
 * ' Schevelin : -' a village about a mile from the Hague, at which Charles II. 
 embarked for England. — - ' Naseby : ' the ship in which Charles II. returned 
 from exile. — ' ' Great Gloster : ' Henry, Duke of Gloucester, third son of 
 Charles I., landed at Dover with his brother in 1660, and died of the small- 
 pox soon afterw'"ds. 
 
ASTRiEA REDUX. 19 
 
 The winds that never moderation knew, 242 
 
 Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew ; 
 
 Or, out of breath with joj, could not enlarge 
 
 Their strai<rlitcn'd lungs, or conscious of their charge. 
 
 The British Amphitrite, smooth and clear, 
 
 In richer azure never did appear ; 
 
 Proud her returning prince to entertain 
 
 With the submitted fiisces of the main. 
 
 And welcome now, great monarch, to your own ! 250 
 Behold the approaching cliffs of Albion : 
 It is no longer motion cheats jour view, 
 As you meet it, the land approacheth you. 
 The land returns, and, in the M'hite it wears, 
 The marks of penitence and sorrow bears. 
 But you, whose goodness your descent doth show% 
 Your heavenly parentage and earthly too ; 
 By tliat samc_u^ldncss, which your father's crown 
 Before did ^avish/^ hall sccyi'ft .your own. 
 Notjied to^ruks-of policy, you find 200 
 
 Revenge less sweet than a foririvins; mind. 
 Thus, when the Almighty would to Closes give 
 A sight of all he could behold and live ; 
 A voice before his entry did proclaim 
 Long-suffering, goodness, mercy, in his name. 
 Your power to justice doth submit your cause, 
 Your goodness only is above the laws; 
 Whose rigid letter, while pronounced by you. 
 Is softer made. So winds that tempests brew, 
 When through Arabian groves they take their flight, 270 
 Made wanton with rich odours, lose their spite. 
 And as those lees, that trouble it, refine 
 The agitated soul of generous wine ; 
 So tears of joy, for your returning spilt, 
 Work out, and expiate our former guilt. 
 
20 dryden's poems. 
 
 Metliinks I see those crowds on Dover's strand, 276 
 
 Who, in their haste to welcome you to land, 
 Choked up the beach with their still growing store, 
 And made a wilder torrent on the shore : 
 While, spurr'd with eager thoughts of past delight, 280 
 Those, who had seen you, court a second sight; 
 Preventing still your steps, and making haste 
 To meet you often wheresoe'er you past. 
 How shall I speak of that triumphant day, 
 When you renew'd the expiring pomp of May ! ^ 
 (A month that owns an interest in your name : 
 You and the flowers are its peculiar claim.) 
 That star 2 that at your birth shone out so bright, 
 It stain'd the duller sun's meridian light. 
 Did once again its potent fires renew, 290 
 
 Guiding our eyes to find and worship you. 
 And no#-Tiine's whiter series is begun, 
 Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run : 
 Those clouds, that overcast your morn, shall fly, 
 
 .. Dispell'd to farthest corners of the sky. 
 Our nation with 'united interest blest, 
 
 - Not now content to poise, shall sway the rest 
 Abroad your empire shall no limits know, 
 
 [^.But, like the sea, in boundless circles flow. 
 
 j Your much-loved fleet shall, with a wide command, 300 
 I Besiege the petty monarchs of the land : 
 And as old Time his ofiEpring swallow'd down. 
 Our ocean in its depths all seas shall drown. 
 Their wealthy trade from pirates' rapine free, 
 Our merchants shall no more adventurers be : 
 Nor in the farthest East those dangers fear. 
 Which humble Holland must dissemble here. 
 
 * Charles entered London on the 29th of May. — ^ ' Star:' said to have 
 shone on the day of Charles' birth, and outshone the sun. 
 
ON THE CORONATION OF CHARLES II. 21 
 
 Spain to your gift alone her Indies o^yes ; sos 
 
 For what the powerful takes not, he bestows : 
 And France, that did an exile's presence fear, 
 May justly apprehend you still too near. 
 
 At home the hateful names of parties cease, 
 And factious souls are wearied into peace. 
 The discontented now are only they 
 Whose crimes before did your just cause betray : 
 Of those, your edicts some reclaim from sin, 
 But most your life and blest example win. 
 Oh, happy prince ! whom Heaven hath taught the May, 
 By paying vows to have more vows to pay ! 
 Dlv-lHtppy-^^S^ oh times like^ those alone, 320 
 
 J3j fatejiesfirifidjor^^ ^ 
 
 AVhen'^thft joiat gro\vth_of arms liiidlifts^ foreshow ' 
 Tlie world a monarch, and that monarch you. 
 
 TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY. 
 
 A PANEGYRIC ON HIS CORONATION. 
 
 In that wild deluge where the world was drown'd. 
 
 When life and sin one common tomb had found. 
 
 The first small prospect of a rising hill 
 
 With various notes of joy the ark did fill: 
 
 Yet when that flood in its own depths was di'own'd. 
 
 It left Jiehmd it felse and slippery ground ; 
 
 And the more solemn pompTVas still aeterr'c 
 
 Till new-born nature in ti-esn Iooks appear^i 
 
 Thus, Royal Sir, to see you landed here. 
 
 Was cause enough of triumph for a year: 10 
 
SSJ^ 
 
 22 dryden's poems. 
 
 Nor would jour care those glorious jojs repeat, 
 ^yyTill thej at once might be secure and great : 
 Till your kind beams, by their continued stay, 
 Had warm'd the ground, and call'd the damps away. 
 Such vapours, while your powerful influence dries, 
 Then soonest vanish when they highest rise. 
 Had greater haste these sacred rites prepared, 
 ^ Some guilty months had in your triumphs shared : 
 ^^But this untainted year is all your own ; 
 
 Your glories may without our crimes be shown. 
 We had not yet exhausted all our store, 
 When you refresh'd our joys by adding more : 
 As Heaven, of old, dispensed celestial dew, 
 You gave us manna, and still give us new. 
 
 Now our sad ruins are removed from sight. 
 The season too comes fraught with new delight : 
 Time seems not now beneath his years to stoop,\ 
 Nor do his wings with sickly feathers droop : 
 Soft western winds waft o'er the gaudy spring, 
 And open'd scenes of flowers and blossoms bring, so 
 To grace this happy day, while you appear. 
 Not king of us alone, but of the year. 
 All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the heart : 
 Of your own pomp, yourself the greatest part : 
 Loud shouts the nation's happiness proclaim, 
 And Heaven this day is feasted with your name. 
 Your cavalcade the fair spectators view. 
 From their high standings, yet look up to you. 
 From your brave train each singles out a prey, 
 And longs to date a conquest from your day. 4o 
 
 Now charged with blessings while you seek repose. 
 Officious slumbers haste your eyes to close ; 
 And glorious dreams stand ready to restore 
 The pleasing shapes of all you saw before. 
 
ON THE CORONATION OF CHARLES 11. 23 
 
 Next to the sacrecl temple jou are led, 45 
 
 Where waits a crown for, jour mo re sacred jiead : 
 
 How justly from the church that crown is due, 
 
 Preserved from ruin, and restored by you ! ;,^^^ 
 
 The grateful choir their harmony employ, 
 
 Not to make greater, but more solemn joy. so 
 
 Wrapt soft and warm your name is sent on high, 
 
 As flames do on the wings of incense fly : 
 
 Music herself is lost ; in Tain she brings 
 
 Her choicest notes to praise the best of kings : 
 
 Her melting strains in you a tomb have found. 
 
 And lie like bees in their own sweetness di'own'd. 
 
 He that brought peace, all discord could, atone, J 
 
 His name is music of itself alone. 
 
 Now while the sacred oil anoints your head, 
 
 And fragi-ant scents, bcgim from you, are spread 60 
 
 Through the large dome ; the people's jo}ful sound, 
 
 Sent back, is still preseiTed in hallow'd ground ; 
 
 Which in one blessing mix'd descends on you ; 
 
 As heighten'd spirits fall in richer dew. 
 
 Not that our wishes do increase your store. 
 
 Full of yourself, you can admit no more : 
 
 We add not to your glory, but employ 
 
 Our time, like angels, in expressing joy. 
 
 Nor is it duty, or our hopes alone. 
 
 Create that joy, but full fruition : 7o 
 
 We know those blessings, which we must possess, 
 
 And judge of future by past happiness. 
 
 No promise can oblige a prince so much 
 
 Still to be good, as long to have been such. 
 
 A noble emulation heats your breast, 
 
 And your own fame now robs you of your rest. 
 
 Good actions still must be maintain'd with good. 
 
 As bodies nourish'd with resembling food. 
 
24 dryden's poems. 
 
 You have already quench'd sedition's brand ; 79 
 
 And zeal, which burnt it, only warms the land. 
 
 The jealous sects, that dare not trust their cause 
 
 So far from their own will as to the laws, 
 \2f ou for their umpire and their synod take, 
 '^And their appeal alone to Csesar make. 
 
 Kind Heaven so rare a temper did provide^ 
 
 That guilt, repenting, might in it confide. 
 
 Among our crimes oblivion may be set ; 
 
 But 'tis our king's perfection to forget. 
 
 Virtues unknown to these rough northern climes 
 ^- From milder heavens you bring, without their crimes. ^0 
 
 Your calmness does no after-stormTprovide, 
 
 Nojf seeming patience mortal anger hide. 
 
 (When empire first from families did spring, 
 
 \Then every father govern'd as a king : 
 
 put you, that are a sovereign prince, allay 
 
 imperial power with your paternal sway. 
 
 From those great cares when ease your soul unbends, 
 
 Your pleasures are design'd to noble ends : 
 
 Born to command the mistress of the seas, 
 
 Your thoughts themselves in that blue empire please. 100 
 
 Hither in summer evenings you repair 
 
 To taste the fraicheur of the purer air : 
 
 Undaunted here you ride, when winter raves, 
 
 With Caesar's heart that rose above the waves. 
 
 More I could sing, but fear my numbers stays ; 
 
 No loyal subject dares that courage praise. 
 
 In stately frigates most delight you find, 
 
 I Where well-drawn battles fire your martial mind. 
 
 What to your cares we owe, is learnt from hence. 
 
 When even your pleasures serve for our defence. 110 
 
 Beyond your court flows in th' admitted tide, 
 
 Where in new depths the wondering fishes glide : 
 
ON THE CORONATION OF CHAELES II. 25 
 
 Here in a royal bed ^ the waters sleep ; 113 
 
 When tired at sea, within this bay they creep. 
 Here the mistrustful fowl no harm suspects, 
 So safe arc all things which om* king protects. 
 From your loved Thames a blessing yet is due, 
 Second alone to that it brought in you ; 
 A queen, near whose chaste womb, ordain'd by fate, 
 The souls of kings unborn for bodies wait. 120 
 
 It was yom' love before made discord cease : 
 Your love is destined to your country's peace. 
 Both Indies, rivals in your bed, provide 
 With gold or jewels to adorn your bride. 
 This to a mighty king presents rich ore, 
 While that with incense does a god implore. 
 Two kingdoms wait_xQur doom/ and, as you choose, 
 This must receive a crown, or that must lose. 
 Thus from your royal oak, like Jove's of old, 
 Are answers sought, and destinies foretold : 130 
 
 Propitious oracles are begg'd with vows, 
 And crowns that grow upon the sacred boughs. 
 Your subjects, while you weigh the nation's fate, . n 
 
 Suspend to boXh their doubtful love or hate]> ^^^U3^i— ^ ^0 
 .Choose only, Sir^'that so they may possess, j I --UvTlA 
 
 1 With their own peace their children's happiness. | / fy^ 
 
 1 ' ' liuyal bed: ' the iiver Ivd from the Thames through 6t Jaines' Park. 
 
26 deyden's poems. 
 
 TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE.1 
 
 PRESENTED ON'NEW TEAE'S DAY,»;1662>) 
 
 While flattering crowds officiously appear 
 
 To give themselves, not you, a happy year ; 
 
 And by the greatness of their presents prove 
 
 How much they hope, but not how well they love ; 
 
 The MuseB, who your early courtship boast, 
 
 Though now your flames are with their beauty lost, 
 
 Yet watch their time, that, if you have forgot 
 
 They were your mistresses, the world may not : 
 
 Decay'd by time and wars, they only prove 
 
 Their former beauty by your former love ; lo 
 
 And now present, as ancient ladies do. 
 
 That, courted long, at length are forced to woo. 
 
 For still they look on you with such kind eyes. 
 
 As those that see the church's sovereign rise ; 
 
 From their own order chose, in whose high state, 
 
 They think themselves the second choice of fate. 
 
 A^en our great monarch into exile went, 
 
 ^it and religion sufffer'd banishment. 
 
 ius once, when Troy was wrapp'd in fire and smoke, 
 The helpless gods their burning shrines forsook ; 20 
 
 They with the vanquish'd prince and party go, 
 And leave their temples empty to the foe. 
 At length the Muses stand, restored again 
 To that great charge which Nature did ordain ; 
 And their loved Druids seem revived by fate. 
 While you dispense the laws, and guide the state. 
 
 ' ' Hyde : ' the far-famed lustorian Clarcudou. 
 
^JiyKH-^^MliSCPo 
 
 r 
 
 TO LOED CHANCELLOR HYDE. 27 
 
 The nation's soul, our monarch, does dispense, 27 
 
 Through you, to us his vital influence : 
 
 You are the channel where those spirits flow, 
 
 And work them higher, as to us they go. 
 
 In open prospect nothing bounds our eye, 
 Until the earth seems join'd unto the sky : \/^ 
 So, in this hemisphere, our utmost view 
 Is only bounded by our king and you : 
 Our sight is limited M'hcre you are join'd. 
 And beyond that no farther heaven can find. 
 So well your virtues do with his agree. 
 That, though your orbs of different greatness be. 
 Yet both are for each other's use disposed, 
 His to enclose, and yours to be enclosed. 40 
 
 Nor could another in your room have been. 
 Except an emptiness had come between. 
 Well may he then to you his cares impart. 
 And share his burden where he shares his heart. 
 In you his sleep still wakes ; his pleasures find 
 Their share of business in your labouring mind. 
 So when the weary sun his place resigns. 
 He leaves his light, and by reflection shines. 
 
 Justice, that sits and frowns where public laws 
 Exclude soft mercy from a private cause, 50 
 
 In your tribunal most herself does please ; 
 Thereonlj smiles because she lives at ease ; 
 AndMjke yoiing David, finds her strength the mor 
 When dis^roumber^d from those arms she wore. 
 Heaven would our royal master should exceed 
 Most in that virtue which we most did need ; 
 And his mild father ( who 
 
 All mercy vain but what witlTpOwe r was joi ned)/ 
 HislafaTgobdnessTeffto "fittenimes^ 
 Not to increase, but to absolve, oiu* crimes : eo 
 
28 dryden's poems. 
 
 But when tlie heir of this vast treasure knew 6i * 
 
 How large a legacy was left to you 
 (Too great tor any subject to retain), 
 He wisely tied it to the crown again : 
 Yet, passing through your hands, it gathers more. 
 As streams, Jthrough mines, bear tincture of their ore. 
 While empiric politicians use deceit. 
 Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat ; 
 You boldly show that skiU which they pretend, 
 And work by means as noble as your end : 7o 
 
 Which should you veil, we might unwind the clew, 
 As men do nature, till we came to you. 
 And as the Indies were not found, before 
 Those rich perfumes, which, from the happy shore, 
 The winds upon their balmy wings convey'd, 
 Whose guilty sweetness first their world betrayed ; 
 So by your counsels we are brought to view 
 A rich and undiscover'd world in you. 
 By you our monarch does that fame assure, 
 Which kings must have, or cannot live secure : so 
 
 For prosperous princes gain their subjects' heart, 
 Who love that praise in which themselves have part. 
 By you he fits those subjects to obey, 
 As heaven's eternal Monarch does convey 
 His power unseen, and man to his designs, 
 By his bright ministers the stars, inclines. 
 Our setting sun, from his declining seat. 
 Shot beams of kindness on you, not of beat : 
 And, when his love was bounded in a few, 
 s^ That were unhappy that they might be true, 90 
 
 ^^_JI;:::^ade you the favourite of his last sad times, 
 That is a sufferer in his subjects' crimes : 
 Thus those first favours you received, were sent, 
 Like heaven's rewards in earthly punishment. 
 
TO LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE. 
 
 Yet fortune, conscious of jour destiny, 
 
 Even then took care to lay you softly by ; 
 
 And wrapp'd your f;itc among her precious things, 
 
 Kept fresh to be unfolded with your king's. 
 
 Shown all at once, you dazzled so our eyes. 
 
 As new born Pallas did the gods surprise, loo 
 
 When, springing forth from Jove's new-closing wound, 
 
 She struck the warlike spear into the ground ; 
 
 Which sprouting leaves did suddenly enclose. 
 
 And peaceful olives shaded as they rose. 
 
 How strangely active are the arts of peace. 
 Whose restless motions less than war's do cease ! 
 Peace is not freed from labour but from noise ; 
 And war more force, but not more pains employs ; 
 Such is the mighty swiftness of your mind, 
 That, like the earth, it leaves our sense behind ; 
 While you so smoothly turn and roll our sphere, 
 That rapid motion docs but rest appear, ^y^ 
 For, as in nature's swiftness, with the throng 
 Of flying orbs while ours is borne along, 
 All seems at rest to the deluded eye. 
 Moved by the soul of the same harmony, — 
 So, carried on by your unwearied care. 
 
 We rest in peace, and yet in motion share. \ ^ 
 
 Let envy then those crimes within you see. 
 
 From which the happy never must _ be free ; 
 
 Envy, that does with misery reside, 
 
 The joy and the revenge of ruin'd pride. 
 
 Think it not hard, if at so cheap a rate 
 
 You can secure the constancy of fate, 
 
 Whose kindness sent what does their malice seem 
 
 By lesser ills the greater to redeem. 
 
 Nor can we this weak shower a tempest call. 
 
 But drops of heat, that in the sunshine fall. 
 
 110 
 
 Ij^ 
 
 
30 dryden's poems. 
 
 You have already wearied fortune so, 129 
 
 She cannot further be your friend or foe ; 
 
 But sits all breathless, and admires to feel 
 
 A fate so weighty, that it stops her wheel. 
 
 In all things else above our humble fate, 
 
 Your equal mind yet swells not into state, 
 
 But, like some mountain in those happy isles, 
 
 Where in perpetual spring young nature smiles, 
 
 Your greatness shows : no horror to affright. 
 
 But trees for shade, and flowers to court the sight : 
 
 Sometimes the hUl submits itself a while 
 
 In small descents, which do its height beguile ; 140 
 
 And sometimes mounts, but so as billows play, 
 
 Whose rise not hinders, but makes short our way. 
 
 Your brow, which does no fear of thunder know, 
 
 Sees rolling tempests vainly beat below ; 
 
 And, like Olympus' top, the impression wears 
 
 Of love and friendship writ in former years. 
 
 Yet, unimpair'd with labours, or with time, 
 
 Your age but seems to a new youth to climb. 
 
 Thus heavenly bodies do our time beget. 
 
 And measure change, but share no part of it. iso 
 
 And stillit shall without a weight increase. 
 
 Like this new year, whose motions never cease. 
 
 For since the glorious course you have begun 
 
 Is led by Charles, as that is by the sun, 
 
 It must both weightless and immortal prove. 
 
 Because the centre of it is above. 
 
SATIRE ON THE DUTCH. 
 
 31 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE YEAR (1662, 
 
 r> 
 
 As need J gallants, in the scrivener's hands, 
 
 Court the ricli knaves that gripe the n" mortgaged lands ; 
 
 The first fat buck of all the season s sent, 
 
 And keepe/ Fakes no" Fee in complimenf; I/) ]n^\yCzJiT\> 
 
 The dotage of'some Englishmen is such, ^ n ^~^y 
 
 To fawn on those who ru in them — the Dutch. '^ ' ' 
 
 Thej shall have all, rather than imikelirwirr 
 
 With those, who of the same religion are. V^ 
 The Straits, the Guinea-trade, the herrings too ; 
 Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. lo 
 
 Some are resolved not to find out the cheat. 
 But, cuckold-like, love them that do the feat. 
 What injuries soe'er upon us fall. 
 Yet still the same religion answers alL k 
 Religion wheedled us to civil war, / 
 Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would spare. 
 Be gull'd no longer ; for you 11 find it true, 
 They have no more religion, faith ! than you. 
 Interest\Jhe_god__thjyLS 
 
 ind we, I take it, have not much of that. \ ly 20 
 Well monarchies may own rehgion's name. 
 But states are atheists in their very frame. 
 They share a sin ; and siicn proportions tall. 
 That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. 
 Think on their rapine, falsehood, cruelty, 
 And that what once they were, they still would be 
 
 ' ' Satire : ' the same nearly with his prologue to ' Amboyna.' 
 
32 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 To one well-born tlie affront is worse and more, 27 
 
 When he's abused and baffled b}( aTboor^^ 
 rWith an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do ; 
 I They've both ill nature and ill manners too. 30 
 
 h Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation ; 
 For they were bred ere manners were in fashion : 
 And their new commonwealth has set them free 
 Only from honour and civility. 
 Venetians do not more uncouthly ride, 
 Than did theirlubber state mankind bestride. - 
 Their sway became them with as ill a mien, 
 As their own paunches swell above their chin. 
 Yet is their empii"e no true growth but humour, 
 And only two kiiigs'^ touch can cure the tumour. 4o 
 As Cato fruits oflAfric did display, 
 Let us before our, eyes their Indies lay : 
 All Joy al English! will iike^ him conclude ; 
 Let Caesar live, and iUarthag6\be subdued. 
 
 1 
 
 ""^ir^x.-i 
 
 HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS,^ 
 
 on the memorable victory gained by the duke over 
 the hollanders, june 3, 1665?^; and on her jour- 
 ney afterwards into the north. 
 
 Madam, 
 When, for our sakes, your hero you resign'd 
 To swelling seas, and every faithless wind ; 
 
 1 ' Two kings: ' alluding to projected union between France and England. 
 
 ' The Duchess : ' daughter to the great Earl of Clarendon ; married privatelj, 
 to DukeofYprk. For account of this victory, see Hume or Macaulay. The 
 duchess accompanied the duke to Harwich, and thence made a progress north- 
 wards, referred to here. 
 
(__ H -TUfS 
 
 HE DUCHESS OF YORK. 33 
 
 When you released bis courage, and set free s 
 
 A valour fatal to the enemy ; 
 
 You lodged your country's cares within your breast 
 
 (The mansion where soft love should only rest) : 
 
 And, ere our foes abroad were overcome. 
 
 The noblest conquest you had gain'd at home. 
 
 Ah, what concerns did both youi* souls divide ! 
 
 Your honour gave us what your love denied : lo 
 
 And 'twas for him much easier to subdue 
 
 Those foes he fought with, than to part from you. 
 
 That glorious day, which two such navies saw, 
 
 As each un match'd mig ht to the world give law. 
 
 NcpfuncTyct doubtful whom Tic'sliouTd^Ob'ey, 
 
 Held to them both the trident of the sea : 
 
 The winds were hush'd, the waves in ranks were cast, 
 
 As awfully as when God's people pass'd ; 
 
 Those, yet uncertain on whose sails to blow, 
 
 These, where the wealth of nations ought to flow. 20 
 
 Then with the duke your highness ruled the day : 
 
 While all the brave did his command obey. 
 
 The fair and pious under you did pray. 
 
 How powerful are chaste vows ! the wind and tide 
 
 You bribed to combat on the English, side. 
 
 Thus to your much-loved lord you did convey 
 
 An unknown succour, sent the nearest way. 
 
 New vigour to his wearied arms you brought 
 
 (So Moses was upheld while Israel fought), 
 
 While, from afar, we heard the cannon play,^ 30 
 
 Like distant thunder on a shiny day. 
 
 For absent friends we were ashamed to fear 
 
 When we consider'd what you ventured there. 
 
 • ' Heard the caunon play : ' the cannon were heard in London a hundred 
 miles from LowestolF where the battle was fought. 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
 w 
 
34 dryden's poems. 
 
 Ships, men, and arms, our country might restore, 34 
 
 But such a leader could supply no more. 
 With generous thoughts of conquest he did burn, 
 Yet fought not more to vanquish than return. 
 Fortune and victory he did pursue. 
 To bring them as his slaves to "wait on you. 
 Thus beauty ravish'd the rewards of fame, 40 
 
 And the fair triumph'd when the brave o'ercame. 
 I^hen, as you meant to spread another way 
 /By land your conquests, far as his by sea, 
 / / / Leaving our southern clime you march'd along 
 I The stubborn North, ten thousand Cupids strong. 
 Like commons the nobility resort 
 In crowding heaps, to fill your moving court : 
 To welcome your approach the vulgar run, 
 Like some new envoy from the distant sun ; 
 And country beauties by their lovers go, 50 
 
 Blessing themselves, and wondering at the show. 
 So when the new-bofii Phoenix first is seen, 
 Her feather'd subjects all adore their queen ; 
 And while she makes her progress through the east. 
 From every grove her numerous train's increased ; 
 Each poet of the air her glory sings, 
 And round h'im"tlie"pleased audience clap their wings. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 35 
 
 ANNUS MIRABILIS : 
 
 THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1G66. 
 AN HISTORICAL POEM. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF THE ENSUING POEM, IN A LETTER TO THE 
 HONOURABLE SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 
 
 Sib, — I am so many ways obliged to you, and so little able to return your 
 favours, that, like those who owe too much, I can only live by getting further 
 into your debt. You have not only been careful of my fortune, which was the 
 ■iTect of your nobleness, but you have been solicitous of my reputation, which 
 is that of your kindness. It is not long since I gave you the trouble of perusing 
 I play for me, and now, instead of an acknowledgment, I have given you a 
 '.rreater, in the correction of a poem. But since you are to bear this persecu- 
 tion, I will at least give you the encouragement of a martyr ; you could never 
 suffer in a nobler cause. For I have chosen the most heroic subject which any 
 poet could desire : I have taken upon me to describe the motives, the begin- 
 ning, progress, and successes, of a most just and necessary war; in it, the 
 care, management, and pnidence of our king ; the conduct and valour of a 
 royal admiral, and of two incomparable generals ; the invincible courage of 
 our captains and seamen ; and three glorious victories, the result of all. 
 After tills I have, in the Fire, the most deplorable, but withal the greatest, 
 argument that can be imagined : the destruction being so swift, so sudden, so 
 vast and miserable, as nothing can parallel in storyy The former part of this 
 poem, relating to the war, is but a due expiation for my not having served 
 my king and country in it. All gentlemen are almost obliged to it ; and I 
 know no reason we should give that advantage to the commonalty of England, 
 to be foremost in brave actions, which the nobles of France would never suffer 
 in their peasants. I should not have written this but to a person who has 
 been ever fonvard to appear in all employments, whither his honour and 
 generosity have called him. The latter part of my poem, wliicli describes the 
 Fire, I owe, first to the piety and fatherly affection of our monarcli to his 
 suffering subjects ; and, in the second place, to the courage, loyalty, and 
 magnanimity of the city : both which were so conspicuous, that I wanted 
 words to celebrate them as they deserve. I have called my poem Historical, 
 not Epic, though both the actions and actors are as much heroic as any poem 
 can contain. But since the action is not properly one, nor that accomplished 
 in the last successes, I have judged it too bold a title for a few stanzas, which 
 are little more in number than a single Iliad, or the longest of the iEneids. 
 For this reason (I mean not of length, but broken action, tied too severely to 
 the laws of history) I am apt to agree with those who rank Lucan rather 
 
36" dkyden's poems. 
 
 among historians in verse, than Epic poets : in whose room, if I am not 
 deceived, Silius Italicus, though a worse writer, may more justly be admitted. 
 I have chosen to write my poem in quatrains, or stanzas of four in alternate 
 rhyme, because I have ever judged them more noble, and of greater dignity, 
 both for the sound and number, than any other verse in use amongst us ; in 
 which I am sure I have your approbation. The learned languages have 
 certainly a great advantage of us, in not being tied to the slavery of any 
 rhyme ; and were less constrained in the quantity of every syllable, which they 
 might vary with spondees or dactyls, besides so many other helps of gram- 
 matical figures, for the lengthening or abbreviation of them, than the modern 
 are in the close of that one syllable, which often confines, and more often 
 corrapts, the sense of all the rest. But in this necessity of our rhymes, I have 
 always found tlie couplet verse most easy, though not so proper for this 
 occasion : for there the work is sooner at an end, every two lines concluding 
 the labour of the poet ; but in quatrains he is to carry it further on, and not 
 only so, hut to bear along in his head the troublesome sense of four Imes 
 together. For those who write correctly in this kind must needs acknowledge, 
 that the last line of the stanza is to be considered in the composition of the 
 first. Neither can we give ourselves the liberty of making any part of a verse 
 for the sake of rhyme, or concluding with a word which is not current 
 English, or using the variety of female rhymes ; all which our fathers 
 practised: and for the female rhymes, they are still in use among other 
 nations ; with the Italian in eveiy line, with the Spaniard promiscuously, 
 with the French alternately ; as those who have read the Alarique, the Pucelle, 
 or any of their later poems, will agree with me. And besides this, they write 
 in Alexandrins, or verses of six feet ; such as amongst us is the old transla- 
 tion of Homer by Chapman : all which, by lengthening of their chain, makes 
 the sphere of their activity the larger. I have dwelt too long upon the choice 
 of my stanza, which you may remember is much better defended in the 
 preface to Gondibert ; and therefore I will hasten to acquaint you -with my 
 endeavours in the writing. In general, I will only say, I have never yet seen 
 the description of any naval fight in the proper terms which are used at sea : 
 and if there be any such, in another language, as that of Lucan in the third 
 of his Pharsalia, yet I could not avail myself of it in the English ; the terms 
 of art in every tongue bearing more of the idiom of it than any other words. 
 We hear indeed among our poets, of the thundering of guns, the smoke, the 
 disorder, and the slaughter ; but all these are common notions. And certainly, 
 as those who, in a logical dispute, keep in general terms, would hide a 
 • fallacy ; so those who do it in any poetical description, would veil their 
 ignorance. 
 
 Descriptas servare vices operumque colores, 
 Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, Poeta salutor? 
 
 For my own part, if I had little knowledge of the sea, yet I have thought it no 
 shame to leani : and if I have made some few mistakes, it is only, as you can 
 bear me witness, because I have wanted opportunity to correct them; the 
 whole poem being first written, and now sent you from a place, where I have 
 not so much as the converse of any seaman. Yet though the trouble I had in 
 writing it was great, it was more than recompensed by the pleasure. I found 
 myself so warm in celebrating the praises of militaiy men, two such especially 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 37 
 
 as the prince' and general, that it is no wonder if they inspired me with 
 thoughts above my ordinary level. And I am well satisfied, tliat, as they are 
 incomparably the best subject I ever had, excepting only the roy;U family, so 
 also, that this I have written of them is much better than what I have per- 
 formed on any other. I have been forced to help out other arguments ; but 
 tills has been bouutifid to me : they have been low and barren of praise, and I 
 have exalted them, and made them fruitful ; but here — Omnia sponte sua 
 reddit justissima tellus. I have had a large, a ftiir, and a pleasant field ; 
 so fertile that, without my cultivating, it has given me two harvests in a 
 summer, and in both oppressed the reaper. All other greatness in subjects is 
 only counterfeit ; it will not endure the test of danger ; the gieatness of arms 
 is only real ; other greatness burdens a nation with its weight, this supports 
 it with its strength. And as it is the happiness of the age, so it is the peculiar 
 goodness of the best of kings, that we may praise his subjects without offend- 
 ing him. Doubtless, it proceeds from a just confidence of his own virtue, 
 wluch the lustre of no other can be so great as to darken in him ; for the good 
 or the valiant are never safely praised under a bad or a degenerate prince. 
 But to return from this digression to a further account of my poem ; I must 
 crave leave to tell you, that as I have endeavoured to adorn it with noble 
 thoughts, so much more to express those thoughts with elocution. Tlie conir 
 position of all poems is, or ought to be, of wit ; and wit in the poet, or wit- 
 writing (if you will give me leave to use a school-distinction) is no other than 
 the faculty of imaguiation in the writer, which, like a nimble spaniel, beats 
 over and ranges through the field of memory, till it springs the quarry it 
 hunted after : or, without metaphor, which searches over all the memory 
 for the species or id eas o f those things which it designs to represent. Wit 
 written is that which is well designed, the happy result of thought, or product 
 of imagination. But to proceed from wit, in the general notion of it, to the 
 proper wit of an heroic or historical poem ; I judge it chiefly to consist in the 
 delightful imaging of persons, actions, passions, or things. It is not the jerk 
 or sting of an epigram, nor the seeming contradiction of a poor antithesis (the 
 delight of an ill-judging audience in a play of rhyme) nor the jmgle of a more 
 poor Paranomasia ; neither is it so much the morality of a grave sentence, 
 affected by Lucan, but more sparingly used by Virgil ; but it is some lively 
 and apt description, dressed in such colours of speech, that it sets before your / 
 eyes the absent object, as perfectly, and more delightfully than nature. So ! 
 then the first happiness of the poet's imagination is properly invention or find- \ 
 ing of the thought ; the second is fancy, or the variation, deriving or mould- \ 
 ing of that thought, as the judgment represents it proper to the subject ; the ' 
 third is elocution, or the art of clothing and adorning that thought, so found / 
 and varied, in apt, significant, and sounding words : the quickness of the ' 
 imagination is seen in the invention, the fertility in the fancy, and the accuracy 
 in the expression. For the two first of these, Ovid is famous among the poets ; 
 for the latter, Virgil. Ovid images more often the movements and affections 
 of the mind, either combating between two contraiy passions, or extremely 
 discomposed by one. His words therefore are the least part of his care ; for 
 he pictures nature in disorder, with which the study and choice of words is 
 inconsistent. This is the proper wit of dialogue or discourse, and consequently 
 1 Prince Rupert and General Monk, Dake of Albemarle. 
 
38 dryden's poems. 
 
 of the drama, where all that is said is to be supposed the effect of sudden 
 thought ; which, though it excludes not the quickness of wit in repartees, yet 
 admits not a too curious election of words, too frequent allusions, or use of 
 tropes, or, in fine, anything that shows remoteness of thought or labour in the 
 writer. On the other side, Virgil speaks not so often to us in the person of 
 another, like Ovid, but in his own : he relates almost all things as from him- 
 self, and thereby gains more liberty than the other, to express his thoughts 
 with all the graces of elocution, to write more figuratively, and to confess as 
 well the labour as the force of his imagination. Though he describes his 
 Dido well and naturally, in the violence of her passions, yet he must yield in 
 that to the Myrrha, the Biblis, the Althsea, of Ovid ; for as great an ad- 
 mirer of him as I am, I must acknowledge, that if I see not more of their 
 souls than I see of Dido's, at least I have a greater concernment for them : and 
 that convinces me that Ovid has touched those tender strokes more delicately 
 than Virgil could. But when action or persons are to be described, when 
 any such image is to be set before us, how bold, how masterly are the strokes 
 of Virgil ! We see the objects he presents us with in their native figures, in 
 their proper motions ; but so we see them, as our own eyes could never have 
 beheld them so beautiful in themselves. We see the soul of the poet, like 
 that universal one of which he speaks, informing and moving through all his 
 
 pictures : 
 
 Totamque infusa per artus 
 
 '' . Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore mlscet. 
 
 We behold him embellishing his images, as he makes Venus breathing beauty 
 upon her son .^neas. 
 
 lumenque juventae 
 
 Purpureum, et liBtos oculis affiarat honores : 
 Quale mttnus addunt eborl decus, aut ubi flavo 
 Argentum Pariusve lapis circundatur auro. 
 
 See his Tempest, his Funeral Sports, his Combat of Turnus and ^neas : and 
 in his Georgics, which I esteem the divinest part of all his writings, the 
 Plague, the Country, the Battle of the Bulls, the Labour of the Bees, and those 
 many other excellent images of nature, most of which are neither great in 
 themselves, nor have any natural ornament to bear them up : but the words 
 wherewith he describes them are so excellent that it might be well applied to 
 him, which was said by Ovid, Materiam superabat opus : the very sound of 
 his words has often somewhat that is connatural to the subject ; and while 
 we read him, we sit, as in a play, beholding the scenes of what he represents. 
 To perform this, he made frequent use of tropes, which you know change the 
 natm-e of a known word, by applying it to some other signification ; and tins 
 is it which Horace means in his epistle to the Pisos : 
 
 Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum 
 Reddiderit junctura novum • 
 
 But I am sensible I have presumed too far to entertain you with a rude dis- 
 course of that art, which you both know so well, and put into practice with so 
 much happiness. Yet before I leave Virgil, I must own the vanity to tell yon, 
 and by you the world, that he has been my master in this poem : I have fol- 
 lowed him everywhere, I know not with what success, but I am sure with 
 diligence enough : my images are many of them copied from him, and the 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 39 
 
 rest are imitations of him. My expressions also are as near as the idioms of 
 the two languages would admit of in translation. And this, sir, I have done 
 with that boldness, for which I will stand accountable to any of our little 
 critics, who, perhaps, are no better acquainted with him than I am. Upon 
 your first perasal of this poem, you have taken notice of some words which I 
 have innovated (if it be too bold for me to say refined) upon his Latin ; which, 
 as I otfer not to introduce into English prose, so I hope they are neither im- 
 proper, nor altogether inelegant in verse; and, in this, Horace will again 
 defend me. 
 
 Et nova, flctaquc nnper, habebant rerba fldem, si 
 
 Groeco fonte cudunt, parcu detorta 
 
 The inference is exceeding plain : for if a Roman poet might have liberty to 
 coin a word, supposing only tiiat it was derived from the Greek, was put into 
 a Latin termination, and that he used this liberty but seldom, and with 
 modesty; how much more justly may I ciialiengc that privilege to do it with 
 the same prerequisites, from the best and most judicious of Latin writers ! In 
 some places, where either tiie fancy or tiie words were his, or any other's, I 
 have noted it in the margin, that I might not seem a plagiary ; in others I 
 have neglected it, to avoid as well tediousness, as the atfectation of doing it 
 too often. Such descriptions or images well wrought, which I promise not for 
 mine, are, as I have said, the adequate delight of heroic poesy ; for they beget 
 admiration, which is its proper object ; as the images of the burlesque, whicii 
 is contrary to tiiis, by tiie same reason beget laughter : for the one shows 
 nature beautified, as in the picture of a fair woman, which we all admire ; the 
 other shows her deformed, as in that of a lazar, or of a fool with distorted 
 face and antique gestures, at which we cannot forbear to laugh, because it is 
 a deviation from nature. But though the same images serve equally for the 
 Epic poesy, and for the historic and pancg)'ric, which are branches of it, yet 
 a several sort of sculpture is to be used in tiiem. If some of them are to be 
 like those of Juvenal, Stantes in ciirribus yEmiliani, heroes drawn in their 
 triumphal chariots, and in their full proportion ; others are to be like that of 
 Virgil, Spirantia mollius ara: there is somewhat more of softness and 
 tenderness to be shown in them. You will soon find I write not this without 
 concern. Some, who have seen a paper of verses, wiiich I wrote last year to 
 her Higliness the Duchess, have accused them of that only thing I could defend 
 in them. They said, I did humi serpere, that I wanted not only height of 
 fiincy, but dignity of words, to set it off. I might well answer witii tliat of 
 Horace, Nunc non erat his locus ; I knew I addressed them to a lady, and 
 accordingly I affected the softness of expression, and the smoothness of 
 measure, rather than the height of thought ; and in what I did endeavour, it 
 is no vanity to say I have succeeded. I detest arrogance ; but there is some 
 diflference betwixt that and a just defence. But I will not further bribe youi 
 candour, or the reader's. I leave them to speak for me ; and, if they can, to 
 make out that character, not pretending to a greater, which I have given 
 them. 
 
 And now, sir, it is time I should relieve yon from the tedious length of this 
 account. You have better and more profitable employment for your hours, 
 and I wrong the public to detain you longer. In conclusion, I must leave my 
 poem to you with all its faults, which I hope to find fewer in the piiuting by 
 
40 . drtden's poems. 
 
 your emendations. 1 know you are not of the number of those, of whom the 
 younger Pliny speaks; Nee sunt pariim multi, qui carpere amicos suos 
 judicium vacant : I am rather too secure of you on that side. Your candom* 
 in pardoning my errors may make you more remiss in correcting them ; if you 
 will not withal consider that they come into the world with your approbation, 
 and through your hands. I beg from you the greatest favour you can confer 
 upon an absent person, since I repose upon your management what is dearest 
 to me, my fame and reputation ; and therefore I hope it will stir you up to 
 make my poem fairer by many of your blots ; if not, you know the story of 
 the gamester who married the rich man's daughter, and when her father denied 
 the portion, christened all the children by his surname, that if, in conclusion, 
 they must beg, they should do so by one name, as well as by the other. But 
 since the reproach of my faults will light on you, it is but reason I should do 
 you that justice to the readers, to let them know, that, if there be anything 
 tolerable in this poem, they owe the argument to your choice, the writing to 
 your encouragement, the correction to your judgment, and the care of it to 
 your friendship, to which he must ever acknowledge himself to owe all things, 
 who is, sir, the most obedient, and most faithful of your servants, 
 
 John Dryden. 
 From Charlton in Wiltshire, Nov. 10, 1G66. 
 
 1 In thriving arts long time had Holland grown, 
 
 Crouching at home and cruel when abroad : 
 Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own ; 
 Our King they courted, and our merchants awed. 
 
 2 Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow, 
 
 Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost : 
 Thither the wealth of all the world did go. 
 
 And seem'd but shipwreck' d on so base a coast. 
 
 3 For them alone the heavens had kindly heat ; 
 
 In eastern quarries ripening precious dew : 
 For them the Idumsean balm did sweat. 
 And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew. 
 
 4 The sun but seem'd the labourer of the year ; 
 
 Each waxing moon supplied her watery store. 
 To swell those tides, which from the line did bear 
 Their brimful vessels to the Belgian shore. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 41 
 
 5 Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long, 
 And swept the riches of the world from far ; 
 Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong : 
 And this may prove our second Punic -war. 
 
 G What peace can be, where both to one pretend 1 
 (But they more diligent, and we more strong) 
 Or if a peace, it soon must have an end ; 
 
 For they would grow too powerful, were it long. 
 
 7 Behold two nations, then, engaged so far 
 
 That each seven years the fit must shake each land 
 AVhere France will side to weaken us by war, 
 Wlio only can his vast designs withstand. 
 
 8 See how he feeds the Iberian with delays, 
 
 To render us his timely friendship vain : 
 And while his secret soul on Flanders preys, 
 He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain. 
 
 9 Such deep designs of empire does he lay 
 
 O'er them, whose cause he seems to take in hand ; 
 And prudently would make them lords at sea, 
 To whom with ease he can give laws by land. 
 
 10 This saw our King ; and long within his breast 
 
 His pensive counsels balanced to and fro : 
 He grieved the land he freed should be oppress'd, 
 And he less for it than usurpers do. 
 
 11 His generous mind the fair ideas drew 
 
 Of fame and honour, which in dangers lay; 
 Where wealth, like fruit on precipices, grew. 
 Not to be gather'd but by birds of prey. 
 
42 dryden's poems. 
 
 12 The loss and gain each fatally were great ; 
 
 And still his subjects call'd aloud for war ; 
 But peaceful kings, o'er martial people set, 
 Each other's poise and counterbalance are. 
 
 13 He first survey'd the charge with careful eyes. 
 
 Which none but mighty monarchs could maintain ; 
 Yet judged, like vapours that from limbecks rise. 
 It would in richer showers descend again. 
 
 14 At length resolved to assert the watery ball. 
 
 He in himself did whole Armadoes bring : 
 Him aged seamen might their master call. 
 
 And choose for general, were he not their king. 
 
 15 It seems as every ship their sovereign knows. 
 
 His awful summons they so soon obey ; 
 So hear the scaly herd when Proteus blows. 
 And so to pasture foUow through the sea. 
 
 16 To see this fleet upon the ocean move, 
 
 Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies ; 
 And heaven, as if there wanted lights above. 
 For tapers made two glaring comets rise. 
 
 17 Whether they unctuous exhalations are. 
 
 Fired by the sun, or seeming so alone : 
 Or each some more remote and slippery star. 
 Which loses footing when to mortals shown. 
 
 1 8 Or one, that bright companion of the sun. 
 
 Whose glorious aspect seal'd our new-born king ; 
 And now a round of greater years begun. 
 
 New influence from his walks of light did bring. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILI3. 43 
 
 1 9 Victorious York did first with famed success, 
 
 To his known valour make the Dutch give place : 
 Thus Heaven om* monarch's fortune did confess, 
 Beginning conquest from his royal race. 
 
 20 But since it was decreed, auspicious King, 
 
 In Britain's right that thou shouldst wed the main. 
 Heaven, as a gage, would cast some precious thing. 
 And therefore doom'd that Lawson^ shoidd be slain. 
 
 21 Lawson amongst the foremost met his fiite. 
 
 Whom sea-green Sirens from the rocks lament ; 
 Thus as an offering for the Grecian state. 
 He first was kill'd who first to battle went. 
 
 22 Their chief blown up in air, not waves, expired, 
 
 To which his pride presumed to give the law : 
 The Dutch confess'd Heaven present, and retired, 
 And all was Britain the wide ocean saw. 
 
 23 To nearest ports their shatter'd ships repair, 
 
 , AVhere by our dreadful cannon they lay awed: 
 So reverently men quit the open air. 
 
 When thunder speaks the angry gods abroad. 
 
 24 And now approach'd their fleet from India, fraught 
 
 AVith all the riches of the rising sun : 
 And precious sand from southern chmates brought. 
 The fatal regions where the war begun. 
 
 25 Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, 
 
 Their waylaid wealth to Norway's coasts they bring : 
 
 * ' Lawson : ' Sir John Lawson, rear admiral of the red, killed by a ball 
 that wounded him in the knee. 
 
44 dryden's poems. 
 
 There first tlie north's cold bosom spices bore, 
 And winter brooded on the eastern spring. 
 
 26 B J the rich scent we found our perfumed prej, 
 
 Which, flank'd with rocks, did close in covert lie ; 
 And round about their murdering cannon laj, 
 At once to threaten and invite the eje. 
 
 27 Fiercer than cannon, and than rocks more hard, 
 
 The Enghsh undertake the unequal war : 
 Seven ships alone, by which the port is barr'd, 
 Besiege the Indies, and all Denmark dare. 
 
 28 These fight like husbands, but like lovers those : 
 
 Those fain would keep, and those more fain enjoy 
 And to such height their frantic passion grows. 
 That what both love, both hazard to destroy. 
 
 29 Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball, 
 
 And now their odours arm'd against them fly : 
 Some preciously by shatter'd porcelain fall, 
 And some by aromatic splinters die. 
 
 30 And though by tempests of the prize bereft. 
 
 In Heaven's inclemency some ease we find : 
 Our foes we vanquish'd by our valour left. 
 And only yielded to the seas and wind. 
 
 31 Nor wholly lost^ we so deserved a prey; 
 
 For storms repenting part of it restored : 
 
 > ' Wholly lost : ' the Dutch ships on their return home, being separated by 
 a storm, the rear and vice-admirals of the East India fleet, with four men of 
 war, were taken by five English frigates. Soon after, four men of war, two 
 fire-ships, and thirty merchantmen, being driven out of their course, joined our- 
 fleet instead of their own, and were all taken. These things happened in 1665. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 45 
 
 "Which, as a tribute from the Baltic sea, 
 The British ocean sent her mighty lord. 
 
 32 Go, mortals, now ; and vex yourselves in vain 
 
 For wealth, which so uncertainly must come : 
 When what was brought so far, and with such pain, 
 Was only kept to lose it nearer home. 
 
 33 The son, who twice three months on tli' ocean tost, 
 
 Prepared to tell what he had pass'd before, 
 Now sees in English ships the Holland coast, 
 
 And parents' arms in Tain stretch'd from the shore. 
 
 34 This careful husband had been long away. 
 
 Whom his chaste wife and little children mourn ; 
 AVho on their fingers learn'd to tell the day 
 On which their father promised to return. 
 
 35 Such are the proud designs of human kind, 
 
 And so we suffer shipwreck every where ! 
 Alas, M-hat port can such a pilot find, 
 
 Wlio in the night of fate must blindly steer ! 
 
 36 The undistinguish'd seeds of good and ill, 
 
 Heaven, in his bosom, from our knowledge hides : 
 And draws them in contempt of human skill, 
 Which oft for friends mistaken foes provides. 
 
 37 Let Munster's prelate ^ ever be accurst, 
 
 In whom we seek the German faith in vain : 
 Alas, that he should teach the English first. 
 
 That fraud and avarice in the Church could reign ! 
 
 ' ' Munster's prelate : ' the famous Bertrand Von Der Ghalen, Bishop of Mun- 
 ster, excited by Charles, marched twenty thousand men into the province of Ove- 
 
46 ' dryden's poems. 
 
 38 Happy, who never trust a stranger's "will, 
 
 Whose Mendship's in his interest understood ! 
 Since money given but tempts him to be ill, 
 When power is too remote to make him good. 
 
 39 Till now, alone the mighty nations strove ; 
 
 The rest, at gaze, without the lists did stand : 
 And threatening France, placed like a painted Jove, 
 Kept idle thunder in his lifted hand. 
 
 40 That eunuch guardian of rich Holland's trade, 
 
 Who envies us what he wants power to enjoy ; 
 Whose noiseful valour does no foe invade. 
 And weak assistance will his friends destroy. 
 
 41 Offended that we fought without his leave. 
 
 He takes this time his secret hate to show : 
 
 Which Charles does with a mind so calm receive, 
 
 As one that neither seeks nor shuns his foe. 
 
 42 With France, to aid the Dutch, the Danes unite : 
 
 France as their tyrant, Denmark as their slave, 
 But when with one three nations join to fight. 
 They silently confess that one more brave. 
 
 43 Lewis had chased the English from his shore ; 
 
 But Charles the French as subjects does invite : 
 Would Heaven for each some Solomon restore, 
 Who, by their mercy, may decide their right ! 
 
 44 Were subjects so but only by their choice, 
 
 And not from birth did forced dominion take, 
 
 ryssel, under the dominion of the republic of Holland, where he committed 
 great outrages. 
 
Ai^NUS MIRABILIS. 47 
 
 Our prince alone would have the public voice ; 
 
 And all his neighbours* realms would deserts make. 
 
 45 lie without fear a dangerous war pursues, 
 
 Which without rashness he began before : 
 As honour made him first the danger choose, 
 So still he makes it good on virtue's score. 
 
 46 The doubled charge his subjects' love supplies, 
 
 "Who, in that bounty, to themselves arc kind : 
 So glad Egyptians see their Nilus rise, 
 And in his plenty their abundance find. 
 
 47 With equal power he does two chiefs^ create. 
 
 Two such as each scem'd worthiest when alone ; 
 Each able to sustain a nation's fate, 
 
 Since both had found a greater in their own. 
 
 48 Both great in courage, conduct, and in fame, 
 
 Yet neither envious of the other's praise ; 
 Their duty, faith, and interest too the same, 
 Like mighty partners equally they raise. 
 
 49 The prince long time had courted fortune's love, 
 
 But once possess'd, did absolutely reign : 
 Thus with their Amazons the heroes strove. 
 
 And conquer'd first those beauties they would gain. 
 
 50 The Duke beheld, like Scipio, with disdain, 
 
 That Carthage, which he ruin'd, rise once more ; 
 And shook aloft the fasces of the main, 
 
 To fright those slaves with what they felt before. 
 
 ' ' Two chiefs : ' Piince Rupert and Monk. 
 
48 dryden's poems. 
 
 51 Together to the watery camp they haste, 
 
 Whom matrons passing to their children show : 
 Infants' first vows for them to heaven are cast, 
 And future people bless them as they go. 
 
 52 With them no riotous pomp, nor Asian train, 
 
 To infect a navy with their gaudy fears ; 
 To make slow fights, and victories but vain : 
 But war severely like itself appears. 
 
 53 Diffusive of themselves, where'er they pass, 
 
 They make that warmth in others they expect ; 
 Their valour works like bodies on a glass, 
 And does its image on their men project. 
 
 54 Our fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear. 
 
 In number, and a famed commander, bold : 
 The narrow seas can scarce their navy bear, 
 Or crowded vessels can their soldiers hold. 
 
 55 The Duke, less numerous, but in courage more. 
 
 On wings of all the winds to combat flies : 
 His murdering guns a loud defiance roar. 
 And bloody crosses on his flag-staff's rise. 
 
 56 Both furl their sails, and strip th^m for the fight ; 
 
 Their folded sheets dismiss the useless air : 
 The Elean plains could boast no nobler sight, 
 
 When struggling champions did their bodies bare. 
 
 57 Borne each by other in a distant line. 
 
 The sea-built forts in dreadful order move : 
 So vast the noise, as if not fleets did join, 
 But lands unfix'd, and floating nations strove. 
 
ANXUS MIRABILIS. 49 
 
 58 Now pass'cl, on either side they nirablj tack ; 
 
 Botli strive to intercept and guide tlie wind : 
 And, in its eye, more closely they come back, 
 To finish all the deaths they left behind. 
 
 59 On high-raised decks the haughty Belgians ride. 
 
 Beneath whose shade our humble frifrates go : 
 Such port the elephant bears, and so defied 
 By the rhinoceros, her unequal foe. 
 
 GO And as the build, so dillerent is the light ; 
 
 Their mounting shot is on our sails design'd : 
 Deep in their hulls our deadly bullets light, 
 
 And through the yielding planks a passage find. 
 
 61 Our dreaded admiral from far they tlireat, 
 
 Whose batter'd rigging their whole war receives : 
 All bare, like some old oak which tempests beat, 
 lie stands, and sees below his scatter'd leaves. 
 
 62 Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter sought ; 
 
 But he who meets all danger with disdain, 
 Even in their face his ship to anchor brought, 
 And steeple-high stood propt upon the main. 
 
 63 At this excess of courage, all amazed, 
 
 The foremost of his foes awhile withdraw : 
 With such respect in enter'd Rome they gazed, 
 Who on high chairs the god-like fathers saw. 
 
 64 And now, as where Patroclus' body lay, 
 
 Here Trojan chiefs advanced, and there the Greek 
 Ours o'er the Duke their pious wings display, 
 ^ And theii's the noblest spoils of Britain seek. 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 dryden's poems. 
 
 65 MeantiDie his busy mariners he hastes, 
 
 His shatterM sails with rigging to restore ; 
 And willing pines ascend his broken masts, 
 "Whose lofty heads rise higher than before. 
 
 66 Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow, 
 
 More fierce the important quarrel to decide : 
 Like swans, in long array his vessels show. 
 Whose crests advancing do the waves divide. 
 
 67 They charge, recharge, and all along the sea 
 
 They drive, and squander the huge Belgian fleet : 
 Berkeley ^ alone, who nearest danger lay. 
 Did a like fate with lost Creusa meet. 
 
 68 The night comes on, we eager to pursue 
 
 The combat still, and they ashamed to leave : 
 Till the last streaks of dying day withdrew. 
 And doubtful moonlight did our rage deceive. 
 
 69 In the English fleet each ship resounds with joy. 
 
 And loud applause of their great leader's fame : 
 In fiery dreams the Dutch they still destroy, 
 And, slumbering, smile at the imagined flame. 
 
 70 Not so the Holland fleet, who, tired and done, 
 
 Stretch'd on their decks like weary oxen lie ; 
 Faint sweats all down their mighty members run ; 
 Vast bulks which little souls but ill supply. 
 
 71 In dreams they fearful precipices tread : 
 
 Or, shipwreck'd, labour to some distant shore : 
 Or in dark churches walk among the dead ; 
 
 They wake with horror, and dare sleep no more. 
 
 ' ' Berkeley : ' Vice-admiral Berkeley fought till his men were all killed, 
 an(i was found in the cabin dead and covered with blood. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 51 
 
 72 The morn tliej look on with unwilling ejes, 
 
 Till from their main-top joyful news thej hear 
 Of ships, which by their mould bring new supplies, 
 And in their colours Belgian lions bear. 
 
 73 Our watchful general had disccrn'd from far 
 
 This mighty succour, which made glad the foe : 
 He sigli'd, but, like a father of the war, 
 
 Ilis face spake hope, while deep his sorrows flow. 
 
 74 His wounded men he first sends off to shore. 
 
 Never till now unwilling to obey : 
 They, not their wounds, but want of strength deplore, 
 Aijd think them happy who with him can stay. 
 
 75 Then to the rest. Rejoice, said he, to-day ; 
 In you the fortune of Great Britain lies : 
 
 Among so brave a people, you are they 
 
 Whom Heaven has chose to fight for such a prize. 
 
 76 If number English courages could quell, 
 We should at first have shunn'd, not met, our foes, 
 
 Whose numerous sails the fearful only tell : 
 ( Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows. ) 
 
 77 He said, nor needed more to say : with haste 
 
 To their known stations cheerfully they go ; 
 And all at once, disdaining to be last, 
 Solicit every gale to meet the foe. 
 
 '8 Nor did the encouraged Belgians long delay, 
 
 But bold in others, not themselves, they stood : 
 So thick, our navy scarce could steer their way, 
 But seem'd to wander in a moving wood. 
 
52 deyden's poems. 
 
 79 Our little fleet was now engaged so far, 
 
 That, like the sword-fish in the whale, thej fought : 
 The combat only seem'd a civil war, 
 
 Till through their bowels we our passage wrought. 
 
 80 Never had valour, no not ours, before 
 
 Done aught like this upon the land or main, 
 Where not to be o'ercome was to do more 
 Than all the conquests former kings did gain. 
 
 81 The mighty ghosts of our great Harries rose. 
 
 And armed Edwards look'd with anxious ejes, 
 To see this fleet among unequal foes. 
 
 By which fate promised them their Charles should rise 
 
 82 Meantime the Belgians tack upon our rear, 
 
 And raking chase-guns through our sterns they send : 
 Close by their fire ships, like jackals appear 
 Who on their lions for the prey attend. 
 
 83 Silent in smoke of cannon they come on : 
 
 Such vapours once did fiery Cacus ^ hide : 
 In these the height of pleased revenge is shown, 
 Who burn contented by another's side. 
 
 84 Sometimes from fighting squadrons of each fleet. 
 
 Deceived themselves, or to preserve some friend, 
 Two grappling ^tnas on the ocean meet, 
 
 And English fires with Belgian flames contend. 
 
 85 Now at each tack our little fleet grows less ; 
 
 And like maim'd fowl, swim lagging on the main 
 Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess, 
 While they lose cheaper than the English gain. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 53 
 
 86 Have you not seen, when, whistled fi'om the fist, 
 
 Some falcon stoops at what her eye design'd, 
 And, with her eagerness the quarry raiss'd, 
 
 Straight flics at check, and clips it down the wind i 
 
 87 The dastard crow that to the wood made wing. 
 
 And sees the groves no shelter can afford, 
 
 With her loud caws her craven kind docs bring, 
 
 Who, safe in numbers, cuff the noble bird. 
 
 88 Among the Dutch thus Albemarle ^ did fare : 
 
 lie could not conquer, and disdain'd to fly ; 
 Past hope of safety, 'twas his latest care, 
 Like falling Ca3sar, decently to die. 
 
 89 Yet pity did his manly spirit move, 
 
 To see those perish who so m'cII had fought ; 
 And generously with his despair he stroAC, 
 Resolved to live till he their safety Mrought. 
 
 90 Let other muses write his prosperous fate, 
 
 Of conquer d nations tell, and kings restored ; 
 But mine shall sing of his eclipsed estate. 
 
 Which, like the sun's, more wonders does afford. 
 
 91 lie drew his mighty frigates all before. 
 
 On which the foe his fruitless force employs : 
 Ilis weak ones deep into his rear he bore 
 
 Remote from guns, as sick men from the noise. 
 
 92 His fiery cannon did their passage guide, 
 
 And following smoke obscured them from the foe : 
 Thus Israel safe from the Egyptian's pride, 
 By flaming pillars, and by clouds did go. 
 
 • • Albemarle : ' Monk. 
 
54 dryden's roEMS. 
 
 93 Elsewhere the Belgian force we did defeat, 
 
 But here our courages did theirs subdue : 
 So Xenophon once led that famed retreat, 
 Which first the Asian empire overthrew. 
 
 94 The foe approach'd ; and one for his bold sin 
 
 Was sunk ; as he that touch'd the ark was slain : 
 The wild waves master'd him and suck'd him in, 
 And smiling eddies dimpled on the main. 
 
 95 This seen, the rest at awful distance stood : 
 
 As if thej had been there as servants set 
 To stay, or to go on, as he thought good, 
 And not pursue, but wait on his retreat. 
 
 96 So Ljbian huntsmen, on some sandj plain, 
 
 From shady coverts roused, the lion chase : 
 The kingly beast roars out with loud disdain. 
 And slowly moves, unknowing to give place. 
 
 97 But if some one approach to dare his force, 
 
 He swings his tail, and swiftly turns him round ; 
 With one paw seizes on his trembling horse, 
 And with the other tears him to the ground. 
 
 98 Amidst these toils succeeds the balmy night ; 
 
 Now hissing waters the quench'd guns restore ; 
 And weary waves, withdrawing from the fight. 
 Lie lull'd and panting on the silent shore : 
 
 99 The moon shone clear on the becalmed flood. 
 
 Where, while her beams like glittering silver play, 
 Upon the deck our careful general stood, 
 And deeply mused on the succeeding day. 
 
AXNUS MIRABILIS. 55 
 
 100 That Iiappj sun, said he, will rise agaiu, 
 
 Who twice victorious did our navj see : 
 And I alone must view him rise in vain, 
 Without one raj of all his star for me. 
 
 101 Yet like an English general will I die, 
 
 And all the ocean make my spacious grave : 
 Women and cowards on the land may lie ; 
 The sea's a tomb that's proper for the brave. 
 
 102 Restless he pass'd the remnant of the night, 
 
 Till the fresh air proclaim'd the morning nigh : 
 And burning ships, the martyrs of the fight, 
 With paler fires beheld the eastern sky. 
 
 103 But now, his stores of ammunition spent. 
 
 His naked valour is his only guard ; 
 Rare thunders are from his dumb cannon sent, 
 And solitary guns are scarcely heard. 
 
 104 Thus far had fortune power, here forced to stay, 
 
 Nor longer durst with virtue be at strife : 
 This as a ransom Albemarle did pay. 
 For all the glories of so great a life. 
 
 105 For now brave Rupert from afar appears, 
 
 Whose waving streamers the glad general knows 
 With fidl spread sails his eager navy steers, 
 And every ship in swift proportion grows. 
 
 106 The anxious prince had heard the cannon long, 
 
 And from that length of time dire omens drew 
 Of English overmatch'd, and Dutch too strong, 
 Who never fought three days, but to pursue. 
 
56 dryden's poems. 
 
 107 Then, as an eagle, who, with pious care 
 
 Was beating widely on the wing for prej, 
 To her now silent ejrie does repair. 
 
 And finds her callow infants forced away : 
 
 108 Stung with her love, she stoops upon the plain, 
 
 The broken air loud whistling as she flies : 
 She stops and listens, and shoots forth again, 
 And guides her pinions by her young ones' cries. 
 
 109 With such kind passion hastes the prince to fight, 
 
 And spreads his flying canvas to the sound ; 
 Him, whom no danger, were he there, could fright, 
 Now absent every little noise can wound. 
 
 110 As in a drought the thirsty creatures cry, 
 
 And gape upon the gather'd clouds for rain, 
 And first the martlet meets it in the sky, 
 
 And with wet wings joys all the feather'd train. 
 
 111 With such glad hearts did our despairing men 
 
 Salute the appearance of the prince's fleet ; 
 And each ambitiously would claim the ken, 
 That with first eyes did distant safety meet. 
 
 112 The Dutch, who came like greedy hinds before, 
 
 To reap the harvest their ripe ears did yield, 
 Now look like those, when rolling thunders roar, 
 And sheets of lightning blast the standing field. 
 
 113 Full in the prince's passage, hills of sand, 
 
 And dangerous flats in secret ambush lay ; 
 Where the false tides skim o'er the cover'd land. 
 And seamen with dissembled depths betray. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 57 
 
 114 The wilj Dutch, tvIio, like fallen angels, fear'd 
 
 This new Messiah's coming, there did "wait, 
 And round the verge their braving vessels steer'd, 
 To tempt his courage with so fair a bait. 
 
 115 But he, unmoved, contemns their idle threat, 
 
 Secure of fame whene'er he please to fight : 
 His cold experience tempers all his heat, 
 
 And inbred worth doth boastinf; valour slidit. 
 
 116 Heroic virtue did his actions guide, 
 
 And he the substance, not the appearance chose 
 To rescue one such friend he took more pride. 
 Than to destroy whole thousands of such foes. 
 
 117 But when approach'd, in strict embraces bound, 
 
 Rupert and Albemarle together grow ; 
 He jojs to have his friend in safety found, 
 
 Which he to none but to that friend would owe. 
 
 118 The cheerful soldiers, with new stores supplied, 
 
 Now long to execute their spleenful will ; 
 And, in revenge for those three days they tried. 
 Wish one, like Joshua's, when the sun stood still. 
 
 119 Thus reinforced, against the adverse fleet. 
 
 Still doubling ours, brave Rupert leads the way : 
 With the first blushes of the morn they meet. 
 And bring night back upon the new-born day. 
 
 120 His presence soon blows up the kindling fight, 
 
 And his loud guns speak thick like angry men : 
 It seem'd as slaughter had been breathed all night, 
 And Death new pointed his dull dart again. 
 
58 dryden's poems. 
 
 121 The Dutch too well his mighty conduct knew, 
 
 And matchless courage since the former fight ; 
 Whose navy like a stijQT-stretch'd cord did show, 
 Till he bore in and bent them into flight. 
 
 122 The wind he shares, while half their fleet ofl"end8 
 
 His open side, and high above him shows : 
 Upon the rest at pleasure he descends. 
 
 And doubly harm'd he double harms bestows. 
 
 123 Behind the general mends his weary pace, 
 
 And sullenly to his revenge he sails : 
 So glides some trodden serpent on the grass, 
 And long behind his wounded volume trails. 
 
 124 The increasing sound is borne to either shore, 
 
 And for their stakes the throwing nations fear : 
 Their passions double with the cannons' roar. 
 And with warm wishes each man combats there. 
 
 1 25 Plied thick and close as when the fight begun, 
 
 Their huge unwieldy navy wastes away ; 
 So sicken waning moons too near the sun, 
 And blunt their crescents on the edge of day. 
 
 126 And now reduced on equal terms to fight. 
 
 Their ships like wasted patrimonies show ; 
 Where the thin scattering trees admit the light. 
 And shun each other's shadows as they grow. 
 
 127 The warlike prince had sever'd from the rest 
 
 Two giant ships, the pride of all the main ; 
 Which with his one so vigorously he prest. 
 And flew so home they could not rise again. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 59 
 
 128 Already batter'd, by his lee they lay, 
 
 In vain upon the passing winds they call : 
 The passing ^vinds through their torn canvas play, 
 And flarrfrinir sails oii heartless sailors fall. 
 
 129 Their open'd sides receive a gloomy light, 
 
 Dreadful as day let into shades below : 
 Without, grim Death rides barefaced in their sight, 
 And urges entering billows as they flow. 
 
 130 When one dire shot, the last they could supply, 
 
 Close by the board the prince's mainmast bore : 
 All three now helpless by each other lie. 
 
 And this ofi'ends not, and those fear no more. 
 
 131 So have I seen some fearful hare maintain 
 
 A course, till tired before the doc; she lav : 
 Who, stretch'd behind her, pants upon the plain, 
 Past power to kill, as she to get away. 
 
 132 With his loll'd tongue he faintly licks his prey ; 
 
 His warm breath blows her flix ^ up as she lies ; 
 She trembling creeps upon the ground away, 
 And looks back to him with beseeching eyes. 
 
 133 The prince unjustly does his stars accuse. 
 
 Which hiuder'd him to push his fortune on ; 
 For what they to his courage did refuse. 
 By mortal valour never must be done. 
 
 134 This lucky hour the wise Bataviau takes, 
 
 And warns his tatter'd fleet to follow home ; 
 Proud to have so got off with equal stakes, 
 Where 'twas a triumph not to be o'ercome. 
 
 • ' Flix : ' old woid for Lave fur. 
 
60 dryden's poems. 
 
 135 The general's force, as kept alive by fight, 
 
 Now not opposed, no longer can pursue : 
 Lasting till heaven had done his courage right ; 
 When he had conquer'd he his-weakness knew. 
 
 136 He casts a frown on the departing foe. 
 
 And sighs to see him quit the watery field : 
 His stern fix'd eyes no satisfaction show, 
 For all the glories which the fight did yield. 
 
 137 Though, as when fiends did miracles avow, 
 
 He stands confess'd e'en by the boastful Dutcli : 
 He only does his conquest disavow, 
 
 And thinks too little what they found too much. 
 
 138 Return'd, he with the fleet resolved to stay ; 
 
 No tender thoughts of home his heart divide ; 
 Domestic joys and cares he puts away ; 
 
 For realms are households which the great must guide. 
 
 139 As those who unripe veins in mines explore. 
 
 On the rich bed again the warm turf lay, 
 Till time digests the yet imperfect ore. 
 And know it will be gold another day : 
 
 140 So looks our monarch on this early fight, 
 
 Th' essay and rudiments of great success ; 
 Which all-maturing time must bring to light. 
 
 While he, like Heaven, does each day's labour bless. 
 
 141 Heaven ended not the first or second day, 
 
 Yet each was perfect to the work design'd ; 
 God and king's work, when they their work survey, 
 A passive aptness in all subjects find. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 61 
 
 142 lu burdcn'd vessels first, with speedy care, 
 
 His plenteous stores do season'd timber seud ; 
 Thither the brawny carpenters repair, 
 
 And as the surgeons of maiiu'd ships attend. 
 
 143 AVith cord and canvas from rich Hamburgh sent, 
 
 Ilis navy's molted wings he imps once more : 
 Tall Norway fir, tlieir masts in battle spent, 
 
 And English oak, sprung leaks and planks restore. 
 
 144 All hands cmplov'd, the royal work grows warm : 
 
 Like labouring bees on a long summer's day. 
 Some sound the trumpet for the rest to swarm. 
 And some on bells of tasted lilies play. 
 
 145 With gluey wax some new foundations lay 
 
 Of virgin-combs, which from the roof are hung : 
 Some arm'd, within doors upon duty stay, 
 Or tend the sick, or educate the young. 
 
 146 So here some pick out bullets from the sides. 
 
 Some drive old oakum through each seam and rift : 
 Their left hand does the calking-iron guide, 
 The rattling mallet with the right they lift. 
 
 147 With boiling pitch another near at hand, 
 
 From friendly Sweden brought, the seams instops 
 Which well paid o'er, the salt sea waves withstand. 
 And shakes them from the rising beak in drops. 
 
 148 Some the gall'd ropes with dauby marline bind, 
 
 Or serecloth masts with strong tarpaulin coats : 
 To try new shrouds one mounts into the wind. 
 And one below their ease or stiffness notes. 
 
62 dryden's poems. 
 
 149 Our careful monarch stands in person bj, 
 
 His new-cast cannons' firmness to explore : 
 The strength of big-corn'd powder loves to try, 
 And ball and cartridge sorts for every bore. 
 
 150 Each day brings fresh supplies of arms and men, 
 
 And ships which all last winter were abroad ; 
 And such as fitted since the fight had been, 
 Or, new from stocks, were fallen into the road. 
 
 151 The goodly London in her gallant trim 
 
 (The Phoenix daughter of the vanish'd old). 
 Like a rich bride does to the ocean swim, 
 And on her shadow rides in floating gold. 
 
 152 Her flag aloft spreadWfiling to the wind, 
 
 And sanguine streamers seem the flood to fire ; 
 The weaver, charm'd with what his loom design'd, 
 Goes on to sea, and knows not to retire. 
 
 153 AVith roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength. 
 
 Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves ; 
 Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length, 
 She seems a sea-wasp flying on the waves. 
 
 154 This martial present, piously design'd. 
 
 The loyal city give their best-loved King : 
 And with a bounty ample as the wind, 
 
 Built, fitted, and maintain'd, to aid him bring. 
 
 155 By viewing Nature, Nature's handmaid. Art, 
 
 Makes mighty things from small beginnings gi'ow : 
 Thus fishes first to shipping did impart. 
 
 Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 63 
 
 156 Some log perhaps upon the waters swam, 
 
 An useless drift, which, rudely cut within, 
 And, hollow'd, first a floating trough became, 
 And cross some rivulet passage did begin. 
 
 1:37 In shipping such as this, the Irish kern, 
 
 And untaught Indian, on the stream did glide : 
 Ere sharp-kecl'd boats to stem the flood did learn. 
 Or fin-like oars did spread from cither side. 
 
 158 Add but a sail, and Saturn so appear'd, 
 
 When from lost empire he to exile went, 
 And with the golden age to Tiber steer'd, 
 AVliere coin and commerce first he did invent. 
 
 159 Rude as their ships was navigation then ; 
 
 No useful compass or meridian known ; 
 Coasting, they kept the land within their ken, 
 
 And knew no Xorth but when the Pole-star shone. 
 
 160 Of all who since have used the open sea. 
 
 Than the bold English none more fame have won : 
 Beyond the year, and out of heaven's high way, 
 They make discoveries where they see no sun. 
 
 161 But what so long in vain, and yet unknown. 
 
 By poor mankind's benighted wit is sought. 
 Shall in this age to Britain first be shown. 
 And hence be to admiring nations taught. 
 
 162 The ebbs of tides and their mysterious flow, 
 
 We, as art's elements, shall understand, 
 And as by line upon the ocean go, 
 
 Whose paths shall be familiar as the land. 
 
64 dryden's poems. 
 
 163 Instructed sliips shall sail to quick commerce, 
 
 Bj which remotest regions are allied ; 
 Which makes one city of the uniA^erse, 
 
 Where some maj gain, and all may be supplied. 
 
 164 Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go, 
 
 And view the ocean leaning on the sky : 
 From thence our rolling neighbours we shall know, 
 And on the lunar world securely pry. 
 
 165 This I foretell from your auspicious care, 
 
 Who great in search of God and nature grow ; 
 Who best your wise Creator's praise declare, 
 Since best to praise his works is best to know. 
 
 166 truly royal! who behold the law 
 
 And rule of beings in your Maker's mind : 
 And thence, like limbecks, rich ideas draw, 
 To fit the levell'd use of human-kind. 
 
 167 But first the toils of war we must endure. 
 
 And from the injurious Dutch redeem the seas. 
 War makes the valiant of his right secure, 
 And gives up fraud to be chastised with ease. 
 
 168 Already were the Belgians on our coast. 
 
 Whose fleet more mighty every day became 
 By late success, which they did falsely boast, 
 And now by first appearing seem'd to claim. 
 
 169 Designing, subtle, diligent, and close. 
 
 They knew to manage war with wise delay : 
 Yet all those arts their vanity did cross. 
 
 And by their pride their prudence did betray. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 65 
 
 1 70 Nor stay'd tlie English long ; but, well supplied, 
 
 Appear as numerous as the insulting foe : 
 The combat now by courage must be tried, 
 And the success the braver nation show. 
 
 171 There was the Plymouth squadron now come in, 
 
 Which in the Straits last winter was abroad ; 
 "Which twice ou Biscay's working bay had been. 
 And ou the midland sea the French had awed. 
 
 172 Old expert AlJen,i loyal all along, 
 
 Famed for his action on the Smyrna fleet : 
 And Holmes, whose name shall live in epic song, 
 While music numbers, or while verse has feet. 
 
 1 73 Holmes, the Achates- of the general's fight ; 
 
 Who first bewitch'd our eyes with Guinea gold ; 
 As once old Cato in the Roman sight 
 The tempting fruits of Afric did unfold. 
 
 1 74 With him went Spragge, as bountiful as brave, 
 
 Whom his high courage to command had brought 
 Harmau, who did the twice-fired Harry save. 
 And in his burning ship undaunted fought. 
 
 175 Young Ilollis, on a Muse by Mars begot. 
 
 Born, Ca3sar-like, to M^rite and act great deeds : 
 Impatient to revenge his fatal shot. 
 
 His right hand doubly to his left succeeds. 
 
 1 76 Thousands were there in darker fame that dwell, 
 
 Whose deeds some nobler poem shall adorn : 
 And, though to me unknown, they sure fought well 
 Whom Rupert led, and who were British born. 
 
 ' ' Allen : ' Sir Thomas Allen, admiral of the white. — - ' Tlie Achates : ' 
 Sir Robert Holmes was rear-admiral of the white. 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
66 DEYDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 177 Of every size an liiindred figlitiog sail : 
 
 So vast the navy now at anchor rides, 
 That underneath it the press'd waters fail, 
 And with its weight it shoulders off the tides. 
 
 178 Now anchors weigh' d, the seamen shout so shrill, 
 
 That heaven and earth LAd the wide ocean rings : 
 A breeze from westward waits their sails to fill, 
 And rests in those high beds his downy wiugs. 
 
 179 The wary Dutch this gathering storm foresaw, 
 
 And durst not bide it on the English coast : 
 Behind their treacherous shallows they withdraw, 
 And there lay snares to catch the British host. 
 
 180 So the false spider, when her nets are spread, 
 
 Deep ambush'd in her silent den does lie : 
 And feels far off the trembliug of her thread. 
 Whose filmy cord should bind the struggling fly. 
 
 181 Then if at last she find him fast beset. 
 
 She issues forth and runs along her loom ; 
 She joys to touch the captive in her net, ' 
 x\nd drags the little wretch in triumph home. 
 > 
 
 182 The Belgians hoped, that, with disorder'd haste. 
 
 Our deep-cut keels upon the sands might run : 
 Or, if with caution leisurely were past, 
 
 Tlieir numerous gross might charge us one by one. 
 
 183 But with a fore-wind pushing them above, 
 
 And swelling tide that heaved them from below. 
 O'er the blind flats our warlike squadrons move. 
 And with spread sails to welcome battle go. 
 
ANNUS MIRABTLIS. 67 
 
 184 It seem'd as there the British" Neptune stood, 
 
 With all his hosts of Avaters at comniand. 
 Beneath them to submit the officious flood ; 
 And with his trident shoved them off tlie sand. 
 
 185 To the pale foes they suddenly draw near, 
 
 And summon them to unexpected fight : 
 They start like murderers when ghosts appear, 
 And draw their curtains in the dead of night. 
 
 186 Now van to van the foremost squadrons meet. 
 
 The midmost battles hastening up behind, 
 Who view far off the storm of falling sleet, 
 And hear their thunder rattling in the wind. 
 
 187 At length the adverse admirals appear ; 
 
 The two bold champions of each country's right : 
 Their eyes describe the lists as they come near, 
 And draw the lines of death before they fight. 
 
 188 The distance judged for shot of every size, 
 
 The linstocks touch, the ponderous ball expires : 
 The vigorous seaman every port-hole plies. 
 And adds his heart to every gun he fires ! 
 
 189 Fierce was the fight on the proud Belgians' side, 
 
 For honour, which they seldom sought before ! 
 But now they by their own vain boasts M'ere tied. 
 And forced at least in show to prize it more. 
 
 190 But sharp remembrance on the English part, 
 
 x\nd shame of being match'd by such a foe. 
 Rouse conscious virtue up in every heart, 
 And seeming to be stronger makes them so. 
 
68 dryden's poems, 
 
 191 Nor long the Belgians could that fleet sustain, 
 
 Which did two generals' fates, and Caesar's bear : 
 Each several ship a victory did gain, 
 As Rupert or as Albemarle were there. 
 
 192 Their batter'd admiral too soon withdrew, 
 
 Unthank'd by ours for his unfinish'd fight ; 
 But he the minds of his Dutch masters knew, 
 
 Who call'd that Providence which we call'd flidit. 
 
 'O' 
 
 193 Never did men more joyfully obey, 
 
 Or sooner understood the sign to fly : 
 With such alacrity they bore away, 
 
 As if to praise them all the States stood by. 
 
 194 famous leader^ of the Belgian fleet, 
 
 Thy monument inscribed such praise shall wear, 
 As Varro, timely flying, once did meet, 
 Because he did not of his Rome despair. 
 
 195 Behold that navy, which a while before, 
 
 Provoked the tardy English close to fight, 
 Now draw their beaten vessels close to shore. 
 As larks lie, dared, to shun the hobby's flight. 
 
 196 Whoe'er would English ^nonuments survey. 
 
 In other records may our courage know : 
 But let them hide the story of this day, 
 
 Whose fame was blemish'd by too base a foe. 
 
 197 Or if too busily they will inquire 
 
 Into a victory which we disdain ; 
 Then let them know the Belgians did retire 
 Before the patron saint ^ of injured Spain. 
 
 ' ' Leader : ' De Ruyter. — ^ ' Patron saint : ' St James, on whose day the 
 victory was gained. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 69 
 
 198 Repenting England this revengeful day 
 
 To Philip's manes did an offering bring : 
 England, which first by leading them astray, 
 Hatch'd up rebellion to destroy her King. 
 
 199 Our fathers bent their banefid industry, 
 
 To check a monarchy that slowly grew ; 
 But did not France or Holland's fate foresee, 
 Whose rising power to swift dominion flew. 
 
 200 In fortune's empire blindly thus we go, 
 
 And wander after pathless d(?stiny ; 
 Whose dark resorts since prudence cannot know, 
 In Tain it would provide for what shall be. 
 
 201 But whate'er English to the blcss'd shall go. 
 
 And the fourth Harry or first Orange meet ; 
 Find him disowning of a Bourbon foe, 
 And him detesting a Batavian fleet. 
 
 202 Now on their coasts our conquering navy rides, 
 
 Waylays their merchants, and their land besets : 
 Each day new wealth without their care provides ; 
 They lie asleep with prizes in their nets. 
 
 203 So, close behind some promontory lie 
 
 The huge leviathans to attend their prey; 
 And give no chase, but swallow in the fry. 
 
 Which through their gaping jaws mistake the way. 
 
 204 Nor was this all : in ports and roads remote. 
 
 Destructive fires among whole fleets we send : 
 Triumphant flames upon the water float, 
 
 And out-bound ships at home their voyage end. 
 
70 ^ dryden's poems. 
 
 205 Those various squadrons variously design'd, 
 
 Each vessel freighted with a several load, 
 Each squadron waiting for a several wind, 
 All find but one, to burn them in the road. 
 
 206 Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find, 
 
 Bore all the gauds the simple natives wear ; 
 Some for the pride of Turkish courts design'd, 
 For folded turbans finest Holland bear. 
 
 207 Some English wool, vex'd in a Belgian loom, 
 
 And into cloth of spungy softness made. 
 Did into France, or colder Denmark, doom. 
 To ruin with worse ware our staple trade. 
 
 208 Our greedy seamen rummage every hold. 
 
 Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest ; 
 And, as the priests who with their gods make bold. 
 Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest. 
 
 209 But ah ! how insincere are all our joys ! 
 
 Which, sent from heaven, like lightning make no stay ; 
 Their palling taste the journey's length destroys, 
 Or grief, sent post, o'ertakes them on the way. 
 
 210 Swell'd with our late successes on the foe. 
 
 Which France and Holland wanted power to cross, 
 We urge an unseen fate to lay us low, 
 
 And feed their envious eyes with English loss. 
 
 211 Each element His dread command obeys, 
 
 Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown ; 
 Who, as by one he did our nation raise. 
 So now he with another pulls us down. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 71 
 
 212 Yet London, empress of the nortliera clime, 
 
 By an high fate thou greatly didst expire ; 
 Great as the world's, which, at the death of time 
 Must fidl, and rise a nobler frame by fire ! 
 
 213 As when some dire usurper^ Heaven provides, '^-^ 
 
 To scourge his country with a lawless sway; v^ 
 
 His birth perhaps some petty village hides, ^ 
 
 And sets his cradle out of fortune's way. ^ 
 
 214 Till fully ripe his swelling fate breaks out, 
 
 And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on : 
 His prince, surprised at first, no ill could doubt. 
 And wants the power to meet it when 'tis known. 
 
 215 Such was the rise of tliis prodigious fire, 
 
 Which, in mean buildings first obscurely bred. 
 From thence did soon to open streets aspire, 
 And straight to palaces and temples spread. 
 
 216 The diligence of trades and noiscful gain. 
 
 And luxury more late, asleep were laid : 
 All was the night's ; and in her silent reign 
 No sound the rest of nature did invade. 
 
 217 In this deep quiet, from w^hat source unknown, 
 
 Those seeds of fire their fatal birth disclose ; 
 And first few scattering sparks about were blown. 
 Big with the flames that to our ruin rose. 
 
 218 Then in some close-pent room it crept along. 
 
 And, smouldering as it went, in silence fed ; 
 Till the infant monster, with devouring strong, 
 Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head. 
 
 ' ' Usitrper : ' this seems a reference to Cromwell ; if so, it contradicts 
 Scott's statement quoted above in the ' Life.' 
 
72 dryden's poems. 
 
 219 Now like some rich or might j murderer, 
 
 Too great for prison, which he breaks with gold ; 
 "Who fresher for new mischiefs does appear. 
 And dares the world to tax him with the old : 
 
 220 So 'scapes the insulting fire his narrow jail, 
 
 And makes small outlets into open air : 
 There the fierce winds his tender force assail. 
 And beat him downward to his first repair. 
 
 221 The winds, like crafty courtesans, withheld 
 
 His flames from burning, but to blov/ them more : 
 And every fresh attempt he is repell'd 
 With faint denials weaker than before. 
 
 222 And now no longer letted ^ of his prey, 
 
 He leaps up at it with enraged desire : 
 O'erlooks the neighbours with a wide survey, 
 And nods at every house his threatening fire. 
 
 223 The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, 
 
 With bold fanatic spectres to rejoice : 
 About the fire into a dance they bend. 
 
 And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice. 
 
 224 Our guardian angel saw them where they sate 
 
 Above the palace of our slumbering king : 
 He sigh'd, abandoning his charge to fate, 
 
 And, drooping, oft look'd back upon the wing. 
 
 225 At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze 
 
 Call'd up some waking lover to the sight ; 
 And long it was ere he the rest could raise, 
 Whose heavy eyelids yet were full of night. 
 
 ' ' Letted : ' hindered. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 73 
 
 226 The next to danger, hot pursued bj fate, 
 
 rialf-dothed, half-naked, hastily retire : 
 And frighted mothers strike their breasts too late, 
 For helpless infants left amidst the fire. 
 
 227 Their cries soon waken all the dwellers near ; 
 
 Now murmuring noises rise in every street : 
 The more remote run stumbling with their fear, 
 And in the dark men jostle as they meet. 
 
 228 So weary bees in little cells repose ; 
 
 But if night-robbers lift the well-stored hive, 
 An humming through their waxen city grows, 
 And out upon each other's wings they drive. 
 
 229 Now streets grow throng'd and busy as by day : 
 
 Some run for buckets to the hallow'd quire : 
 Some cut the pipes, and some the engines play ; 
 And some more bold mount ladders to the fire. 
 
 230 In vain : for from the east a Belgian wind 
 
 His hostile breath through the dry rafters sent ; 
 The flames impell'd soon left their foes behind. 
 And forward with a wanton fury went. 
 
 231 A quay of fire ran all along the shore, 
 
 And lighten'd all the river with a blaze : 
 The waken'd tides began again to roar. 
 And wonderino; fish in shinino; waters o;aze. 
 
 o 
 
 232 Old father Thames raised up his reverend head. 
 But fear'd the fate of Simois would return : 
 Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed, 
 And shrunk his waters back into his urn. 
 
74 deyden's poems. 
 
 233 The fire, meautime, walks in a broader gross ; 
 
 To either hand his wings he opens wide ; 
 He wades the streets, and straight he reaches cross, 
 And plays his longing flames on the other side. 
 
 234 At first they warm, then scorch, and then they take ; 
 
 Now with long necks from side to side they feed : 
 At length, grown strong, their mother-fire forsake, 
 And a new colony of flames succeed. 
 
 235 To every nobler portion of the town 
 
 The curhng billows roll their restless tide : 
 In parties now they straggle up and down, 
 As armies, unopposed, for prey divide. 
 
 236 One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped. 
 
 Through narrow lanes his cumber'd fire does haste. 
 By powerful charms of gold and silver led. 
 
 The Lombard bankers and the 'Change to waste. 
 
 237 Another backward to the Tower would go. 
 
 And slowly eats his way against the wind : 
 But the main body of the marching foe 
 Against the imperial palace is design'd. 
 
 238 Now day appears, and with the day the King, 
 
 Whose early care had robb'd him of his rest : 
 Far ofi" the cracks of falling houses ring, 
 
 And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast. 
 
 239 Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke 
 
 With gloomy pillars cover all the place ; 
 Whose little intervals of night are broke 
 By sparks, that drive against his sacred face. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 75 
 
 240 More than his guards, his sorrows made him kno-wn, 
 
 And pious tears, which down his cheeks did shower; 
 The Mretchcd in his grief forgot tlieir own ; 
 So much the pity of a king has power. 
 
 241 He wept tlie flames of what he loved so well, 
 
 And what so well had merited his love : 
 For never prince in grace did more excel, 
 Or royal city more in duty strove. 
 
 242 Nor with an idle care did he behold : 
 
 Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress ; 
 He cheers the fearful, and commends the bold. 
 And makes despairers hope for good success. 
 
 243 Himself directs what first is to be done, 
 
 And orders all the succours which they bring, 
 The helpful and the good about him run, 
 And form an army worthy such a king. 
 
 244 He sees the dire contagion spread so fast, 
 
 That, where it seizes, all relief is vain : 
 And therefore must unwillingly lay waste 
 
 That country, which would else the foe maintain. 
 
 245 The powder blows up all before the fire : 
 
 The amazed flames stand gather'd on a heap ; 
 And from the precipice's brink retire, 
 Afraid to venture on so large a leap. 
 
 246 Thus fighting fires a while themselves consume, 
 
 But straight, like Turks forced on to win or die, 
 They first lay tender bridges of their fume, 
 And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly. 
 
76 dryden's poems. 
 
 247 Part stay for passage, till a gust of wind 
 
 Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheeH- 
 Part creeping under ground their journey blind, 
 And climbing from below their feUows meet. 
 
 248 Thus to some desert plain, or old woodside, 
 
 Dire night-hags come from far to dance their round ; 
 And o'er broad rivers on their fiends they ride. 
 Or sweep in clouds above the blasted ground. 
 
 249 No help avails: for hydra-like, the fire 
 
 Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way ; 
 And scarce the wealthy can one half retire, 
 Before he rushes in to share the prey. 
 
 250 The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud; 
 
 Those offer mighty gain, and these ask more : 
 So void of pity is the ignoble crowd, 
 
 When others' ruin may increase their store. 
 
 251 As those who live by shores with joy behold 
 
 Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh ; 
 And from the rocks leap down for shipwreck'd gold. 
 And seek the tempests which the others fly : 
 
 252 So these but wait the owners' last despair, 
 
 And what 's permitted to the flames invade ; 
 Even from their jaws they hungry morsels tear, 
 And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade. 
 
 253 The days were all in this lost labour spent ; 
 
 And when the weary king gave place to night, 
 His beams he to his royal brother lent, 
 And so shone still in his reflective light. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 77 
 
 254 Night came, but without darkness or repose, — 
 
 A dismal picture of the general doom. 
 Where souls, distracted when the trumpet blows. 
 And half unready, with their bodies come. 
 
 255 Those who have homes, when home they do repair, 
 
 To a last lodging call their wandering friends : 
 Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care. 
 To look how near their own destruction tends, 
 
 256 Those who have none, sit round where once it was. 
 
 And with full eyes each wonted room require ; 
 Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place. 
 As murder'd men walk where they did expire. 
 
 257 Some stir up coals, and watch the vestal fire. 
 
 Others in vain from sight of ruin run ; 
 And, while through burning labyrinths they retire, 
 With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun. 
 
 258 The most in fields like herded beasts lie down. 
 
 To dews obnoxious on the grassy floor ; 
 And while their babes in sleep their sorrows drown, 
 Sad parents watch the remnants of their store. 
 
 259 While by the motion of the flames they guess 
 
 What streets are bm*ning now, and what are near; 
 An infant waking to the paps would press. 
 And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear. 
 
 260 No thought can ease them but their sovereign's care. 
 
 Whose praise the afflicted as their comfort sing : 
 Even those whom want might drive to just despair, 
 Think life a blessing under such a king. 
 
78 deyden's poems. 
 
 261 Meantime he sadly suffers in their grief, 
 
 Out-weeps an hermit, and out-prajs a saint : 
 All the long night he studies their relief. 
 
 How thej may be supplied, and he may want. 
 
 262 God, said he, thou patron of my days, 
 
 Guide of my youth in exile and distress ! 
 Who me, unfriended, brought'st by wondrous ways, 
 The kingdom of my fathers to possess : 
 
 263 Be thou my judge, with what unwearied care 
 
 I since haye labour'd for my people's good ; 
 To bind the bruises of a civil war, 
 
 And stop the issues of their wasting blood. 
 
 264 Thou who hast taught me to forgive the ill, 
 
 And recompense, as friends, the good misled ; 
 If mercy be a precept of thy will, 
 
 Retm-n that mercy on thy servant's head. 
 
 265 Or if my heedless youth has stepp'd astray, 
 
 Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand ; 
 On me alone thy just displeasure lay, 
 
 But take thy judgments from this mourning land. 
 
 266 We all have sinn'd, and thou hast laid us low, 
 
 As humble earth from whence at first we came : 
 Like flying shades before the clouds we show. 
 And shrink like parchment in consuming flame. 
 
 267 let it be enough what thou hast done; 
 
 When spotted Deaths ran arm'd through every street, 
 With poison'd darts which not the good could shim, 
 The speedy could out-fly, or valiant meet. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 79 
 
 268 The living few, and frequent funerals then, 
 
 Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forsaken place ; 
 And now those few who are returned again, 
 
 Thy searching judgments to their dwellings trace. 
 
 269 pass not, Lord, an absolute decree. 
 
 Or bind thy sentence unconditional ! 
 But in thy sentence our remorse foresee, 
 And in that foresight this thy doom recall. 
 
 270 Thy tlireatenings. Lord, as thine thou mayst revoke 
 
 But if immutable and fix'd they stand, 
 Continue still thyself to give the stroke, 
 And let not foreign foes oppress thy land. 
 
 271 The Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire 
 
 Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword ; 
 
 And bade him swiftly drive the approaching fire 
 
 From where our naval magazines were stored. 
 
 272 The blessed minister his wings display 'd, 
 
 And like a shootin" star he cleft the nifjht : 
 He charged the flames, and those that disobey'd 
 He lash'd to duty with his sword of light. 
 
 273 The fugitive flames chastised went forth to prey 
 
 On pious structures, by our fathers rear'd; 
 By which to heaven they did aff'ect the way, 
 
 Ere faith in churchmen without works was heard. 
 
 274 The wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes, 
 
 Their founder's charity in dust laid low ; 
 And sent to God their ever-answered cries. 
 For He protects the poor, who made them so. 
 
80 deyden's poems. 
 
 275 Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee loug, 
 
 Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise : 
 Though made immortal by a poet's song; 
 
 And poets' songs the Theban walls could raise. 
 
 276 The daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far 
 
 The awful beauties of the sacred quire : 
 But since it was profaned by civil war, 
 
 Heaven thought it fit to have it purged by fire. 
 
 277 Now down the narr(Jw streets it swiftly came. 
 
 And widely opening did on both sides prey : 
 This benefit we sadly owe the flame, 
 If only ruin must enlarge our way. 
 
 278 And now four days the sun had seen our woes : 
 
 Four nights the moon beheld the incessant fire : 
 It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose, 
 And farther from the feverish north retire. 
 
 279 In th' empyrean heaven, the bless'd abode. 
 
 The Thrones and the Dominions prostrate lie, 
 Not daring to behold their angry God ; 
 
 And a hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky. 
 
 280 At length the Almighty cast a pitying eye. 
 
 And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast : 
 He saw the town's one half in rubbish lie, 
 And eager flames drive on to storm the rest. 
 
 281 An hollow crystal pyramid he takes, 
 
 In firmamental waters dipt above; 
 Of it a broad extinguisher he makes. 
 
 And hoods the flames that to their quarry drove. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 81 
 
 282 The vanquish'd fires "withdraw from every place, 
 
 Or, full "witli feeding, sink into a sleep: 
 Each household genius shows again his face, 
 And from the hearths the little Lares creep. 
 
 283 Our King this more than natural change beholds; 
 
 With sober joj his heart and eyes abound : 
 To the All-good his lifted hands he folds, 
 And thanks him low on his redeemed ground. 
 
 284 As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the earth, 
 
 A kindly thaw unlocks it with mild rain ; 
 And first the tender blade peeps up to birth, 
 
 And straight the green fields laugh with promised 
 grain: 
 
 285 By such degrees the spreading gladness grew 
 
 In every heart which fear had froze before : 
 The standing streets with so much joy they view. 
 That with less grief the perish'd they deplore. 
 
 286 The father of the people open'd wide 
 
 His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed : 
 Thus God's anointed God's own place supplied, 
 And fiU'd the empty with his daily bread. 
 
 287 This royal bounty brought its own reward, 
 
 And in their minds so deep did print the sense, 
 That if their ruins sadly they regard, 
 
 'Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence. 
 
 "O" 
 
 288 But so may he livelong, that town to sway. 
 
 Which by his auspice they will nobler make, 
 As he will hatch their ashes by his stay, 
 And not their humble ruins now forsake. 
 VOL. I. P 
 
82 dryden's poems. 
 
 289 They have not lost their loyalty by fire; 
 
 Nor is their courage or their wealth so low, 
 That from his wars they poorly would retire, 
 Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe. 
 
 290 Not with more constancy the Jews of old. 
 
 By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent, 
 Their royal city did in dust behold, 
 Or with more vigour to rebuild it went. 
 
 291 The utmost malice of their stars is past. 
 
 And two dire comets, which have scourged the town, 
 In their own plague and fire have breathed the last, 
 Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown. 
 
 292 Now frequent trines the happier lights among. 
 
 And high-raised Jove, from his dark prison freed, 
 Those weights took ofi* that on his planet hung, 
 Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed. 
 
 293 Methinks already from this chemic flame, 
 
 I see a city of more precious mould: 
 Rich as the town which gives the Indies name. 
 With silver paved, and all divine with gold. 
 
 294 Already labouring with a mighty fate. 
 
 She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, 
 And seems to have renew'd her charter's date. 
 Which Heaven will to the death of tinie allow. 
 
 295 More great than human now, and more august. 
 
 Now deified she from her fires does rise : 
 Her widening streets on new foundations trust. 
 And opening into larger parts she flies. 
 
ANNUS MIRABILIS. 83 
 
 296 Before, she like some shepherdess did show, 
 
 Who sat to bathe her by a river's side ; 
 Not answering to her fame, but rude and low. 
 Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride. 
 
 297 Now, like a maiden queen, she will behold. 
 
 From her high turrets, hourly suitors come ; 
 The East with incense, and the West with gold. 
 Will stand, like suppliants, to receive her doom ! 
 
 298 The silver Thames, her own domestic flood. 
 
 Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train ; 
 And often wind, as of his mistress proud. 
 With longing eyes to meet her face again. 
 
 299 The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, 
 
 The glory of their towns no more shall boast ; 
 And Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join, 
 Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost. 
 
 300 The venturous merchant who design'd more far, 
 
 And touches on our hospitable shore, 
 Charm'd with the splendour of this northern star, 
 Shall here unlade him, and depart no more. 
 
 301 Our powerful navy shall no longer meet, 
 
 The wealth of France or Holland to invade ; 
 The beauty of this town without a fleet. 
 
 From all the world shall vindicate her trade. 
 
 302 And while this famed emporium we prepare, 
 
 The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, 
 That those, who now disdain our trade to share. 
 Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast. 
 
84 dryden's poems. 
 
 303 Already we have conqner'd half the war, 
 
 And the less dangerous part is left behind : 
 Our trouble now is but to make them dare, 
 And not so great to vanquish as to find. 
 
 304 Thus to the Eastern wealth through storms we go, 
 
 But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more j 
 A constant trade-wind will securely blow, 
 And gently lay us on the spicy shore. 
 
 AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 
 
 BY MR DRYDEN AND THE EARL OP MULGRAVE,^ 1679. 
 
 How dull, and how insensible a beast 
 
 Is man, who yet would lord it o'er the rest ! 
 
 Philosophers and poets vainly strove 
 
 In every age the lumpish mass to move : 
 
 But those were pedants, when compared with these, 
 
 Who know not only to instruct, but please. 
 
 Poets alone found the delightful way. 
 
 Mysterious morals gently to convey 
 
 In charming numbers ; so that as men grew 
 
 Pleased with their poems, they grew wiser too. lo 
 
 Satire has always shone among the rest. 
 
 And is the boldest way, if not the best. 
 
 To tell men freely of their foulest faults ; 
 
 To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts. 
 
 * ' Mulgrave : ' Sheffield, Duke of Buckingliam. It was for this satire, the 
 joint composition of Drydea and Sheffield, that Rochester hired bravoes to 
 cudgel Diyden. 
 
ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 85 
 
 In satire too the wise took different vrajs, 15 , 
 
 To each deserving its peculiar praise, 
 '^rae did all folly M-ith just sharpness blame, 
 Whilst others laugh'd and scorn'd them into shameA 
 But of these two, the last succeeded best, 
 As men aim Tightest when they shoot in jest. 20 
 
 Yet, if we may presume to blame our guides, 
 And censure those who censure all besides, 
 [n other things they justly are preferr'd. 
 In this alone methinks the ancients err'd,— 
 Against the grossest follies they declaim • 
 Hard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game. 
 Nothing is easier than such blots to hit, 
 And 'tis the talent of each vulgar Mit : 
 Besides, 'tis labour lost ; for who would preach 
 Morals to Armstrong,^ or dull Aston teach 1 so 
 
 'Tis being devout at play, wise at a ball, 
 Or bringing wit and friendship to "Whitehall. 
 But with sharp eyes those nictSr faults to find, 
 Which lie obscurely in the wisest mind ; 
 That little speck which all the rest does spoil. 
 To wash off that would be a noble toil ; 
 Beyond the loose writ libels of this age. 
 Or the forced scenes of our declining stage ; 
 Above all censure too, each little wit 
 Will be so glad to see the greater hit ; 40 
 
 Who, judging better, though concern'd the most, 
 Of such correction, will have cause to boast. 
 In such a satire all would seek a share, 
 And every fool will fancy he is there. 
 Old story-tellers too must pine and die, 
 To see their antiquated wit laid by ; 
 
 ' ' Armstrong : ' Sir Thomas Armstrong, a notorious character of the time 
 — hanged at Tybiun. 
 
86 deyden's poems. 
 
 Like her, who miss'd her name in a lampoon, 47 
 
 And grieved to find herself decaj'd so soon. 
 
 No common coxcomb must be mentioned here : 
 
 Not the dull train of dancing sparks appear ; 
 
 Nor fluttering officers who never fight ; 
 
 Of such a wretched rabble who would write '? 
 
 Much less half wits : that 's more against our rules ; 
 
 For they are fops, the other are but fools. 
 
 Who would not be as silly as Dunbar 1 
 
 As dull as Monmouth, rather than Sir Carr 1 ^ 
 
 The cunning courtier should be slighted too, 
 
 Who with dull knavery makes so much ado ; 
 
 Till the shrewd fool, by thriving too, too fast, 
 
 Like ^sop's fox becomes a prey at last. 60 
 
 Nor shall the royal mistresses be named, 
 
 Too ugly, or too easy to be blamed. 
 
 With whom each rhyming fool keeps such a pother. 
 
 They are as common that way as the other : 
 
 Yet sauntering Charles, between his beastly brace,^ • 
 
 Meets with dissembling still in either place, 
 
 Affected humour, or a painted face. 
 
 Li loyal libels we have often told him. 
 
 How one has jilted him, the other sold him : 
 
 How that affects to laugh, how this to weep ; 7o 
 
 But who can rail so long as he can sleep 1 
 
 Was ever prince by two at once misled. 
 
 False, foolish, old, ill-natured, and ill-bred 1 
 
 Earnely^ and Aylesbury,* with all that race 
 
 Of busy blockheads, shall have here no place ; 
 
 At council set as foils on Danby's ^ score. 
 
 To make that great false jewel shine the more ; 
 
 - ' Carr : ' Sir Carr Scrope, a wit of the time.— ^ ' Beastly brace : ' Duchess 
 of Portsmouth and Nell Gwymi. — * ' Earnely : ' Sir John Earnely, one of the 
 lords of the treasury. — '' Aylesbury : ' Robert, the first Earl of Aylesbury. — 
 * ' Daltiby : ' Thomas, Earl of Dauby, lord high-treasurer of England. 
 
ESSAY UPOIT SATIRE. 87 
 
 "VVho all that while was thought exceeding wise, 78 
 
 Onlj for taking pains and telling lies. 
 
 But there 's no meddling with such nauseous men ; 
 
 Their very names have tired mj lazj pen : 
 
 'Tis time to quit their company, and choose 
 
 Some fitter subject for a sharper muse. 
 
 First, let 's behold the merriest man ahve ^ 
 Against his careless genius vainly strive ; 
 Quit his dear ease, some deep design to lay, 
 'Gainst a set time, and tlien forget the day : 
 Yet he will laugh at his best friends, and be 
 Just as good company as Nokcs and Lee." 
 But when he aims at reason or at rule, 90 
 
 He turns himself the best to ridicule ; 
 Let him at business ne'er so earnest sit, 
 Show him but mirth, and bait that mirth with wit ; 
 That shadow of a jest shall be enjoy'd. 
 Though he left all mankind to be destroy'd. 
 So cat transform'd sat gravely and demure, 
 Till mouse appear'd, and thought himself secure ; 
 But soon the lady had him in her eye, 
 And from her friend did just as oddly fly. 
 Reaching above our nature does no good ; 100 
 
 We must fall back to our old flesh and blood ; 
 As by our little Machiavel we find 
 That nimblest creature of the busy kind. 
 His limbs are crippled, and his body shakes ; 
 Yet his hard mind which all this bustle makes, 
 No pity of its poor companion takes. 
 What gravity can hold from laughing out. 
 To see him di'ag his feeble legs about, 
 
 ' 'Merriest man alive:' Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbnry. — 
 - ' Nokes and Lee : ' two celebrated comedians in Charles II.'s reign. 
 
88 dryden's poems. 
 
 Like hoimds ill-coupled '? Jowler lugs him still io9 
 
 Through hedges, ditches, and through all that 's ill. 
 
 'Twere crime in any man but him alone, 
 
 To use a body so, though 'tis one's own : 
 
 Yet this false comfort never gives him o'er, 
 
 That whilst he creeps his vigorous thoughts can soar ; 
 
 Alas ! that soaring to those few that know, 
 
 Is but a busy grovelling here below. 
 
 So men in rapture think they mount the sky, 
 
 Whilst on the ground the entranced wretches lie : 
 
 So modern fops have fancied they could fly. 
 
 As the new earl,^ with parts deserving praise, 120 
 
 And wit enough to laugh at his own ways. 
 
 Yet loses all soft days and sensual nights, 
 
 Kind nature checks, and kinder fortune slights ; 
 
 Striving against his quiet all he cauj 
 
 For the fine notion of a busy man. 
 
 And what is that at best, but one whose mind 
 
 Is made to tire himself and all mankind 1 
 
 For Ireland he would go ; faith, let him reign ; 
 
 For if some odd, fantastic lord would fain 
 
 Carry in trunks, and all my drudgery do, 130 
 
 I 'U not only pay him, but admire him too. 
 
 But is there any other beast that lives. 
 
 Who his own harm so wittingly contrives 1 
 
 Will any dog that has his teeth and stones, 
 
 Refinedly leave his bitches and his bones, 
 
 To turn a wheel, and bark to be employ'd, 
 
 While Venus is by rival dogs enjoy'd ? 
 
 Yet this fond man, to get a statesman's name, 
 
 Forfeits his friends, his freedom, and his fame. 
 
 Though satire, nicely writ, with humour stings 140 
 But those who merit praise in other things ; 
 
 1 ' New earl : ' Earl of Essex. 
 
ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 89 
 
 Yet we must needs this one exception make, 142 
 
 And break our rules for sillj Tropos' ^ sake ; v 
 
 Who was too much despised to be accused, 
 
 And therefore scarce deserves to be abused ; 
 
 Raised only by his mercenary tongue, 
 
 For railing smoothly, and for reasoning wrong, 
 
 As boys, on holidays, let loose to play, 
 
 Lay waggish traps for girls that pass that way ; 
 
 Then shout to see in dirt and deep distress 150 
 
 Some silly cit in her flower'd foolish dress : 
 
 So have I mighty satisfaction found. 
 
 To see his tinsel reason on the ground : 
 
 To see the florid fool despised, and know it. 
 
 By some who scarce have words enough to show it : 
 
 For sense sits silent, and condemns for weaker 
 
 The finer, nay sometimes the wittier speaker : 
 
 But 'tis prodigious so much eloquence 
 
 Should be acquirtid by such little sense ; 
 
 For words and Avit did anciently agree, I60 
 
 And Tully was no fool, though this man be : 
 
 At bar abusive, on the bench unable, • 
 
 Knave on the woolsack, fop at council-table. 
 
 These are the grievances of such fools as would 
 
 Be rather wise than honest, great than good. 
 
 Some other kind of wits must be made known, 
 Whose harmless errors hurt themselves alone ; 
 Excess of luxury they think can please. 
 And laziness call loving of their ease : 
 To live dissolved in pleasures still they feign, iro 
 
 Though their whole life 's but intermitting pain : 
 So much of surfeits, headaches, claps are seen, 
 We scarce perceive the little time between : 
 
 1 ' Tropos : ' Sir William Scroggs. See Macaulay. 
 
n 
 
 90 dryden's poems. 
 
 Well-meaning men who make this gross mistake, i74 
 And pleasure lose only for pleasure's sake ; 
 Each pleasure has its price, and when we pay 
 Too much of pain, we squander life away. 
 
 Thus Dorset, purring like a thoughtful cat, 
 Married, but wiser puss ne'er thought of that : 
 And first he worried her with railing rhyme, 180 
 
 Like Pembroke's mastives at his kindest time ; 
 Then for one night sold all his slavish life, 
 A teeming widow, but a barren wife ; 
 Swell'd by contact of such a fulsome toad, 
 He lugg'd about the matrimonial load ; 
 Till fortune, blindly kind as well as he, 
 Has ill restored him to his liberty ; 
 Which he would use in his old sneaking way. 
 Drinking all night, and dozing all the day ; 
 Dull as Ned Howard,^ whom his brisker times 190 
 
 Had famed for dulness in malicious rhymes. 
 
 Mulgrave had much ado to 'scape the snare, 
 Though learn'd in all those arts that cheat the fair : 
 For after all his vulgar marriage mocks. 
 With beauty dazzled, Numps was in the stocks ; 
 Deluded parents dried their weeping eyes, 
 To see him catch his Tartar for his prize : 
 The impatient town waited the wish'd-for change. 
 And cuckolds smiled in hopes of sweet revenge ; 
 Till Petworth plot made us with sorrow see, 200 
 
 As his estate, his person too was free : 
 Him no soft thoughts, no gratitude could move ; 
 To gold he fled from beauty and from love ; 
 Yet, failing there, he keeps his freedom still, 
 Forced to live happily against his will : 
 
 1 'Ned Howard:' Edward Howard, Esq., a dull writer. See Butler's 
 works. 
 
ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 91 
 
 'Tis not his fault, if too iinich wealth and povrer 206 
 Break not his boasted quiet every hour. 
 
 And little Sid/ for simile reuowu'd, 
 Pleasure has always sought but never found : 
 Tliough all his thoughts on wine and women fall, 210 
 His are so bad, sure he ne'er thinks at all. 
 The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong, 
 His meat and mistresses are kept too long. 
 But sure we all mistake this pious man, 
 Who mortifies his person all he can : 
 What M'c uncharitably take for sin, 
 Are only rules of this odd capuchin ; 
 For never hermit under grave pretence, 
 Has lived more contrary to common sense ; 
 And 'tis a miracle we may suppose, 220 
 
 No nastiness ofi*ends his skilful nose : 
 Which from all stink can with peculiar art 
 Extract perfume and essence from a f — t. 
 Expecting supper is his great delight ; 
 He toils all day but to be drunk at night : 
 Then o'er his cups this night-bird chirping sits, 
 Till he takes Hewet and Jack Hall ^ for wits. 
 
 Rochester I despise for want of wit, 
 Thou2;li thoujjht to have a tail and cloven feet : 
 For while he mischief means to all mankind, 230 
 
 Himself alone the ill effects does find : 
 And so like witches justly suffer shame, 
 Whose harmless malice is so much the same. 
 False are his words, affected is his wit ; 
 So often he does aim, so seldom hit ; 
 To every face he cringes while he speaks. 
 But when the back is turn'd, the head he breaks : 
 
 ^ ' Sid : ' brother to Algernon Sidney. — * ' Hewet and Jack Hall : ' cour- 
 tiers of the day. 
 
92 dryden's poems. 
 
 Mean in eacli action, lewd in every limb, 238 
 
 Manners themselves are mischievous in him : 
 A proof that chance alone makes every creature, 
 A very Killigrew ^ without good nature. 
 For what a Bessus ^ has he always lived, 
 And his own tickings notably contrived ! 
 For, there's the folly that's still mix' d with fear, 
 Cowards more blows than any hero bear ; 
 Of fighting sparks some may their pleasures say, 
 But 'tis a bolder thing to run away : 
 The world may well forgive him all his ill, ' 
 
 For every fault does prove his penance still : | 
 
 Falsely he falls into some dangerous noose, 250 
 
 And then as meanly labours to get loose ; 
 A life so infamous is better quitting. 
 Spent in base injury and low submitting. 
 I 'd like to have left out his poetry ; 
 Forgot by all almost as well as me. 
 
 Sometimes he has some humour, never wit, | 
 
 And if it rarely, very rarely, hit, I 
 
 'Tis under so much nasty rubbish laid, | 
 
 To find it out 's the cinderwoman's trade ; , 
 
 Who for the wretched remnants of a fire, 260 | 
 
 Must toil all day in ashes and in mire. ^ 
 
 So lewdly dull his idle works appear, '\ 
 
 The wretched texts deserve no comments here ; \ 
 
 Where one poor thought sometimes, left all alone, :; 
 
 For a whole page of dulness must atone. J 
 
 How vain a thing is man, and how unwise ! | 
 
 Even he, who would himself the most despise ! 
 
 1 ' Killigrew : ' Thomas Killigrew, many years master of the revels, and 
 groom of the chamber to King Charles II. — ^ ' Bessus : ' a remarkable 
 cowardly character in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of ' A King and no 
 King.' 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 93 
 
 ^ I, who so "wise and humble seem to be, 2qs 
 
 Now my own vanity and pride can't see ; 
 While the world's nonsense is so sharply shown, 2:0 
 We pull down others' but to raise oui' own ; \ 
 That we may angels seem, we paint them elves, 
 And are but satires to set up ourselves. 
 I, who have all this while been finding fault, 
 Even with my master, who first satire taught ; 
 And did by that describe the task so hard. 
 It seems stupendous and above reward ; 
 Now labour with unequal force to climb 
 Tliat lofty hill, unreach'd by former time ; 
 'Tis just that I should to the bottom fall, 280 
 
 Learn to write well, or not to write at ally"- 
 
 ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 It is not my intention to make an apology for my poem : some will think it 
 
 needs no excuse, and others will receive none. The design I am sure is 
 
 honest : but he who draws his pen for one party, must expect to make 
 
 enemies of the other. For wit and fool are consequence of Whig and Tory ; 
 
 and every man is a knave or an ass to the contrary side. There is a treasury 
 
 of merits in the Fanatic church, as well as in the Popish ; and a pennyworth 
 
 to be had of saintsliip, honesty, and poetry, for the lewd, the factious, and the 
 
 blockheads : but the longest chapter in Deuteronomy has not curses enough 
 
 for an Anti-Bromingham. My comfort is, their manifest prejudice to my 
 
 cause will render their judgment of less authority against me. Yet if a poem 
 
 have genius, it will force its own reception in the world. For there is a,."""! (^((ClicW 
 
 sweetness in good verse, which tickles even while it hurts ; and no man caa be 
 
 heSfiIy~angry'\vrtTi'Emi who pleases him against his will. The commendation 
 
 1 See ' Life ' for explanation for circumstances ; and the key at the close of 
 the poem, for the real names of this satire. 
 
94 deyden's poems. 
 
 of adversaries is the greatest triumph of a writer, because it never comes 
 unless extorted. But I can be satisfied on more easy terms • if I happen to 
 please the more moderate sort, I shall be sure of an honest party, and, in all 
 probability, of the best judges ; for the least concerned are commonly the least 
 corrupt. And I confess I have laid in for those, by rebating the satire (where 
 justice would allow it), from carrying too sharp an edge. They who can 
 criticise so weakly as to imagine I have done my worst, may be convinced, at 
 their own cost, that I can write severely, with more ease than I can gently, 
 I have but laughed at some men's follies, when I could have declaimed against 
 their vices ; and other men's virtues I have commended, as freely as I have 
 taxed their crimes. And now, if you are a malicious reader, I expect you 
 should return upon me that I affect to be thought more impartial than I am. 
 But if men are not to be judged by their professions, God forgive you Com- 
 monwealth's-men for professing so plausibly for the government. You cannot 
 be so unconscionable as to charge me for not subscribing my name ; for that 
 would reflect too grossly upon your own party, who never dare, though they have 
 the advantage of a jury to secure them. If you like not my poem, the fault 
 may possibly be in my writing (though it is hard for an author to judge 
 against himself) ; but more probably it is in your morals, which cannot bear 
 the truth of it. The violent on both sides will condemn the character of 
 Absalom, as either too favourably or too hardly drawn. But they are not the 
 violent whom I desire to please. The fault on the right hand is to extenuate, 
 palliate, and indulge ; and to confess freely, I have endeavoured to commit it. 
 Besides the respect which I owe his birth, I have a greater for his heroic 
 virtues ; and David himself could not be more tender of the young man's life, 
 than I would be of his reputation. , But since the most excellent natures are 
 always the most easy, and, as being such, are the soonest perverted by ill 
 counsels, especially when baited with fame and glory ; it is no more a wonder 
 that he withstood not the temptations of Achitophel, than it was for Adam not 
 to have resisted the two devils, the serpent and the woman. The conclusion 
 of the story I purposely forbore to prosecute, because I could not obtain from 
 myself to show Absalom unfortunate. The frame of it was cut out but for a 
 picture to the waist ; and if the draught be so far true, it is as much as I 
 designed. 
 
 Were I the inventor, who am only the historian, I should certainly concliule 
 the piece with the reconcilement of Absajom to David. And who knows 
 but this may come to pass ? Things were not brought to an extremity where I 
 left the story : there seems yet to be room left for a composure ; hereafter there 
 may be only for pity. I have not so much as an uncharitable wish against 
 Achitophel, but am content to be accused of a good-natured error, and to hope 
 with Origen, that the devil himself may at last be saved. For which reason, 
 in this "poem, he is neither brought to set his house in order, nor to dispose of 
 his person afterwards as he in wisdom shall think fit. God is infinitely merci- 
 ful ; and his vicegerent is only not so, because he is not infinite. 
 
 The true end of satire is the amendment of vices by correction. And he 
 who writes honestly is no more an enemy to the offender, than the physician 
 to the patient, when he prescribes harsh remedies to an inveterate disease ; for 
 those are only in order to prevent the chirurgeon's work of an Ense rescinden- 
 dum, which I wish not to my very enemies. To conclude all ; if the body 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PAKT I. 95 
 
 politic have any analogy to the natnral, in my weak judgment, an act of 
 oblivion were as necessary in a hot distempered state, as an opiate would be in 
 a raffing fever. 
 
 PAKT I. 
 
 Si propiiis stes 
 
 Te capiat magis 
 
 \ In pious times, ere priestcraft did begin, 
 
 ^ Before polygamy was made a sin ; 
 
 When man on many multi])licd his kind, 
 Ere one to one was cursedly confined ; 
 When nature prompted, and no law denied 
 Promiscuous use of concubine and bride ;- 
 Then Isracrs 'monarch after Heaven's own heart. 
 His vigorous warmth did variously impart 
 To wives and slaves ; and wide as his command, 
 ^ Scatter'd his Maker's image through the land. lo 
 
 ^,._,^___Miclial, of royal blood, the crown did wear ; 
 
 ' A soil ungrateful to the tiller's care : 
 
 Not so the rest : .for several mothers bore 
 
 . ^ avid several sons before. 
 
 But since like slaves his bed they did ascend, 
 No true succession could their seed attend. 
 Of all the numerous progeny was none '>-(fv<»~' 
 
 So beautiful, so brave, as Absa lom : ■ ' '^"'^ jj 
 Whether inspired by some diviner lust, 
 His father got him with a greater gust ; 20 
 
 Or that his conscious destiny made way, 
 By manly beauty to imperial sway. 
 Early in foreign fields he won renown. 
 With kings and states allied to Israel's crown : 
 In peace the thoughts of war he could remove. 
 And seem'd as he were only born for love. 
 
/ 
 
 96 deyden's poems. 
 
 Wha,te'er lie did, was done with so much ease, 27 
 
 In him alone 'twas natural to please : 
 
 His motions all accompanied with grace ; 
 
 And Paradise was open'd in his face. 
 
 With secret joy indulgent David yiew'd 
 
 His youthful image in his son renew'd : I /? <^'/ 
 
 To all his wishes nothing he denied ; (jjjt^ f\ , ( 
 
 And made the charmin^Annalbd,.i his bride. M-Y'' 
 
 What faults he had (for who from faults is free '?) 
 
 His father could not, or he would not see. 
 
 Some warm excesses which the law forbore, 
 
 Were construed youth that purged by boiling o'er ; 
 
 And-^Ajmion'^ murder by a specious name, 
 
 Was call'd a just revenge for injured fame. 40 
 
 Thus praised and loved, the noble youth remaiu'd, 
 
 While David undisturb'd in Sion reign'd. 
 
 But life can never be sincerely blest : 
 
 Heaven punishes the bad, and proves the best. 
 
 The Jews, a headstrong, moody, murmuring race, 
 
 As ever tried the extent and stretch of grace ; 
 
 God's pamper'd people, whom, debauch'd with ease, 
 
 No king could govern, nor no god could please ; 
 
 (Gods they had tried of every shape and size. 
 
 That god-smiths could produce, or priests devise) : so 
 
 These Adam-wits,^ too fortunately free, 
 
 Began to dream they wanted liberty ; 
 
 And when no rule, no precedent was found. 
 
 Of men by laws less circumscribed and bound ; 
 
 They led their wild desires to woods and caves, 
 
 And thought that all but savages were slaves. 
 
 They who, when Saul was dead, without a blow, 
 
 Made foolish Ishbosheth the crown forego ; 
 
 ' ' - ■ ,' 
 
 1 'Annabel:' Lady Ann Scott, danghter of Francis, third Earl of Buccleuch. 
 — 2 ' Adam-wits : ' comparing the discontented to Adam and his fall. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACIIITOPHEL. PART I. 97 
 
 J.-.; _ /•'. .; 
 
 Who banish'd David di'd from Hebron bring, 69 
 
 And "with a general shout proclaim'd him king : 
 Tliose very Jews, who, at their very best, 
 Their humour more than loyalty expressed, 
 Now wonder'd wliy so long they had obey'd 
 An idol monarch, which their hands had made ; 
 Thought they might ruin him they could create, 
 Or melt him to that golden calf — a state. 
 But these were random bolts : no form'd design. 
 Nor interest made the factious crowd to join : 
 >/>^The sober_part of Israel, free from stain, 
 
 Well knew the value of a peaceful reign ; 70 
 
 And, looking backward with a wise aflfright, 
 
 Saw seams of wounds dishonest to the sight : 
 
 In contemplation of whose ugly scars, 
 
 They cursed the memory of civil wars. -=• - ■ 
 
 The moderate sort of men thus quaUfied, 
 
 Inchned the balance to the better side ; 
 
 And David's mildness managed it so well. 
 
 The bad found no occasion to rebel. 
 
 But when to sin our biass'd nature leans. 
 
 The careful devil is still at hand with means ; so 
 
 And providently pimps for ill desires : 
 
 The good old cause revived a plot requires. 
 
 Plots, true or false, are necessary things, 
 
 To raise up commonwealths, and ruin kings. 
 
 The inhabitants of old Jerusalem 
 Were Jeb'usites ; the town so call'd from them ; 
 
 And theirs the native right 
 
 But when the chosen people grew more strong, 
 The rightful cause at length became the w^rong ; 
 And every loss the men of Jebus bore, 90 
 
 They still were thought God's enemies the more. 
 VOL. I. G 
 
98 dryden's poems. 
 
 Thus worn or weakeu'd, well or ill content, " 92 
 
 Submit thej must to David's government : 
 
 Impoverish'd and deprived of all command, 
 
 Their taxes doubled as they lost their land ; 
 
 And, what was harder yet to flesh and blood, 
 
 Their gods disgraced, and burnt like common wood. 
 
 This set the heathen priesthood in a flame ; 
 
 For priests of all religions are the same. 
 
 Of whatsoe'er descent their godhead be, 100 
 
 Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree, 
 
 In his defence his servants are as bold, 
 
 As if he had been born of beaten gold. 
 
 The Jewish rabbins, though their enemies, 
 
 In this conclude them honest men and wise : 
 
 For 'twas their duty, all the learned think. 
 
 To espouse his cause by whom they eat and drink. 
 
 From hence began that Plot, the nation^'s curse. 
 
 Bad in itself, but represented worse ; 
 
 Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried: 110 
 
 With oaths afiirm'd, with dying vows denied; 
 
 Not weigh'd nor winnow'd by the multitude ; 
 
 But swallow'd in the mass, unchew'd and crude. 
 
 Some truth there was, but dash'd and brew'd with lies. 
 
 To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise. 
 
 Succeeding times did equal folly call, 
 
 Believing nothing, or believing all. 
 
 The Egyptian rites the Jebusites embraced, • 
 
 Where gods were recommended by their taste. 
 
 Such savoury deities must needs be good, 120 
 
 As served at once for worship and for food. 
 
 By force they could not introduce these gods ; 
 
 For ten to one in former days was odds. 
 
 So fraud was used, the sacrificer's trade : 
 
 Fools are more hard to conquer than persuade. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. .99 
 
 Their btisj teachers mhigled with the Jews, 126 
 
 Aud raked for couverts even the court and stews: 
 
 Which Hebrew priests the more unkindly took, 
 
 Because the fleece accompanies the flock. 
 
 Some thought they God's anointed meant to shxy 130 
 
 By guns, invented since full many a day : 
 
 Our author swears it not; but who can know 
 
 How far the devil and Jebusitcs may go 1 
 
 This Plot, which fail'd for Mant of common sense, 
 
 Had yet a deep and dangerous consequence : 
 
 For as, when raging fevers boil the blood. 
 
 The standing lake soon floats into a.floocL 
 
 And e\erj hostile humour, which before 
 
 Slept quiet in its channels, bubbles o'er; 
 
 So several factions from this first ferment, ho 
 
 Work up to^ioani, and threat the government. 
 
 Some by their friends, more by themselves thought wise, *" 
 
 Opposed the poM'cr to which they could not rise. 
 
 Some had in courts been great, and, thrown from thence. 
 
 Like fiends were harden'd in impenitence. 
 
 Some, by their monarch's fatal mercy, grown, 
 
 From pardon'd rebels, kinsmen to the throne. 
 
 Were raised in power and public office high ; 
 
 Strong bands, if bands ungrateful, men could tie. 
 
 Q^these, the false Achitophel was first; I ''iso 
 
 A name to all succeeding a^es cursed : '" '' 
 
 For close designs, and crooked counsels fit; 
 Sagacious, bold, and turbulent ^^^^^^^--^iff/iQfu^i/^ 
 Restless, unfix'd in prmciples and place; 
 In power nnpleased, Jmjoatient of disgrace : 
 A^5ilJ~^^^l' which, working out its way, 
 Fretted the pigmy body tojiecay, . '^|L /L^ 
 
 And o'er-inform'd the tenemeiit"of clay. 
 A daring pilot in extremity; 
 
100 deyden's poems. 
 
 I Pleased witli the danger, when the waves went high, 160 
 I He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit, 
 Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit. 
 Great wits are sure to madness near allied, 
 And thin partitions do their bounds divide ; 
 Else why should he, with wealth and honour blest, 
 , \ Refuse his ao;e the needful hours of rest ? 
 ' ■ * Punish a body which he could not please ; 
 Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease '? 
 And all to leave what with his toil he won, 
 To that unfeather'd two-legg'd thing, a son ; i7o 
 
 Got, while his soul did huddled notions try; 
 And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. 
 In friendship false, implacable in hate ; 
 Resolved to ruin, or to rule the state. 
 To compass this, the triple bond ^ he broke ; 
 The pillars of the public safety shook ; 
 And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke : 
 Then seized with fear, yet still affecting fame, 
 ./] Usurp'd a patriot's all-atoning name. 
 
 So easy still it proves, in factious times, iso 
 
 With public zeal to cancel private crimes ! 
 
 How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, 
 
 Where none can sin against the people's will ! 
 
 Where crowds can wink, and no offence be known. 
 
 Since in another's guilt they find their own ! 
 
 Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge ; 
 
 The statesman we abhor, but praise the, judge. 
 
 In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abethdiu 
 
 With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean, 
 
 Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress ; i90 
 
 Swift of despatch, and easy of access. 
 
 1 ' Triple bond : ' alliance between England, Sweden, and Holland; broken 
 by the second Dutch war through the influence of France and Shaftesbury. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 101 
 
 Oh ! had he been content to serve the crown, 192 
 
 With virtues only proper to the gown ; 
 
 Or had the raukness of the soil been freed 
 
 From cockle, that oppress'd the noble seed ; 
 
 David for him his tuuefuHmrjTiJiajyi^striing, 
 
 And Heaven had wanted one immortal song. 
 
 But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand, 
 
 And fortune's ice prefers to virtue's land. 
 
 Achitophel, grown weary to possess 200 
 
 A lawful fame, and lazy happiness, 
 
 Disdaiu'd the golden fruit to gather free, 
 
 And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. 
 
 Now, manifest of crimes contrived long since. 
 
 He stood at bold defiance with his prince ; 
 
 Held up the buckler of the people's cause 
 
 Against the crown, and skulk'd behind the laws. 
 
 The wish'd occasion of the plot he takes ; 
 
 Some circumstances finds, but more he makes ; 
 
 By buzzing emissaries fills the ears 210 
 
 Of listening crowds with jealousies and fears 
 
 Of arbitrary counsels brought to light, , 
 
 And proves the king himself a Jebusite". 
 
 Weak arguments ! which yet he knew full well 
 
 Were strong with people easy to rebel. 
 
 For, governed by the moon, the giddy Jews 
 
 Tread the same track, when she the prime renews ; ^ ^ 
 
 And once in tw^euty years, their scribes record, ''' -^ ^^- 
 
 By natural instinct they change their lord. ' ' 
 
 Achitophel still wants a chief, and none 220 
 
 Was found so fit as warlike Absalom. 
 
 Not that he wish'd his greatness to create. 
 
 For politicians neither love nor hate : 
 
 But, for he knew his title not allow'd. 
 
 Would keep him still depending on the crowd : 
 
103 dryden's poems. 
 
 That kinglj power, thus ebbing out, might be 226 
 
 Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 
 
 Him he attempts with studied arts to please. 
 
 And sheds his venom in such words as these : 
 
 Auspicious prince ! at whose nativity 230 
 
 Some royal planet ruled the southern sky; ' q^ 
 Thy longing country's darling and desire; Q^*^ 
 Their cloudy rdllar and their guardian fire : 
 Their second Moses, whose extended wand 
 Divides the seas, and shows the promised land: 
 Whose dawning day, in every distant age. 
 Has exercised the sacred prophet's rage : 
 The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, 
 The young men's vision, and the old men's dream ! 
 Thee, Saviour, thee the nation's vows confess, 240 
 
 And, never satisfied with seeing, bless: 
 Swift, unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim, 
 And stammering babes are tauglitjojisp thy nanie. ^ \^ 
 How long wilt thou the general joy detain, f\J ^, - *i 
 
 Starve and defraud the people of thy reigu ! 
 Content ingloriously to pass thy days, 
 Like one of virtue's fools that feed on praise ; 
 Till thy fresh glories, which now shine so bright, 
 Grow stale, and tarnish with our daily sight ? 
 Believe me, royal youth, thy fruit must be 250 
 
 Or gather'd ripe, or rot upon the tree. 
 Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late, 
 Some lucky revolution of their fate : 
 Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill, 
 . (For human good depends on human will,) 
 Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent. 
 And from the first impression takes the bent : 
 But if, unseized, she glides away like wind, 
 And leaves repenting folly far behind. 
 
ABSALOM AIs'D ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 103 
 
 Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize, 260 
 
 And spreads her locks before her as she flies. 
 
 Had thus old David, from whose loins you spring. 
 
 Not dared when fortune called him to be king, 
 
 At Gath an exile he might still remain, 
 
 And Heaven's anointing oil had been in vain. 
 
 Let his successful youth your hopes engage ; 
 
 But shun the example of declining age : / 
 
 Behold him setting in his western skies, f 
 
 The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise. 
 
 He is not now, as when on Jorctan's sand ^o 
 
 The joyful people throng'd to see him land, \ ^ 
 
 Covering the beach and blackening all the strand ; 
 
 But, like the prince of angels, from his height 
 
 Comes tumbling downward with dimiuish'(|^j^gh^^ 
 
 Betray'd by one poor Plot to public scorn : 
 
 (Our only blessing since his cursed return :) 
 
 Those heaps of people which one sheaf did bind, 
 
 Blown off and scatter'd by a puff' of wind. 
 
 What strength can he to your designs oppose, 
 
 Nakecl of friends, and round beset with foes 1 28 o 
 
 If Pharaoh's doubtful succour he should use, 
 
 A foreign aid would more incense the Jews : 
 
 Proud Egypt would dissembled friendship bring ; 
 
 Foment the war, but not support the king : 
 
 Nor would the royal party e'er unite 
 
 With Pharaoh's arms to assist the Jebusite ; 
 
 Or if they should, their interest soon would break. 
 
 And with such odious aid make David weak. 
 
 All sorts of men, by my successful arts, 
 
 Abhorring kings, estrange their alter'd hearts 290 
 
 From David's rule : and 'tis their general cry — 
 
 Religion, commonwealth, and liberty. 
 
104 dryden's poe:^is. 
 
 If you, as champion of the public good, 293 
 
 Add to their arms a chief of royal blood, 
 What may not Israel hope, and what applause 
 Might such a general gain by such a cause ? 
 Not barren praise alone — that gaudy flower, 
 Fair only to the sight — but solid power : 
 And nobler is a limited command. 
 Given by the love of all your native land, 300 
 
 Than a successive title, long and dark. 
 Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's ark. . ^ 
 
 What cannot praise effect in mig hty minds, H'^ j » a) 
 When flattery soothes, and when ambition blinds 1 ^ 
 Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed, 
 Yet sprung from high, is of celestial seed : 
 In God 'tis glory ; and when men aspire, 
 'Tis but a spark too much of heavenly fire. 
 The ambitious youth, too covetous of fame, 
 Too full of angels' metal in his frame, 310 
 
 Unwarily was led from virtue's ways. 
 Made drunk with honour, and debauch'd with praise. 
 Half loath, and half consenting to the ill. 
 For royal blood within him struggled still, 
 He thus replied: — And what pretence have I 
 To take up arms for public liberty 1 
 My father governs with unquestion'd right, 
 The faith's defender, and mankind's delight ; 
 Good, gracious, just, observant of the laws ; 
 And Heaven by wonders has espoused his cause. 320 
 Whom has he wrong'd, in all his peaceful reign ? 
 Who sues for justice to his throne in vain "? 
 What millions has he pardon'd of his foes. 
 Whom just revenge did to his wrath expose ! 
 Mild, easy, humble, studious of our good ;• 
 Inclined to mercy, and averse from blood. 
 
ABSALOM AXD ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 105 
 
 If mildness ill with stubborn Israel suit, 827 
 
 His crime is God's beloved attribute. 
 
 What could he gain his people to betray, 
 
 Or change his riglit for arbitrary sway ? 
 
 Let haughty PlTaraoh curse with such a reigu 
 
 His fruitful Nile, and yoke a servile train. 
 
 If David's rule Jerusalem displease, 
 
 The dog-star heats their brains to this .dlisc^iS^- 
 
 Why then should I, encouraging the bad. 
 
 Turn rebel and run popularly mad % 
 
 Were he a tyrant, who by lawless might 
 
 Oppress'd the Jews, and raised the Jebusite, 
 
 Well might I mourn ; but nature's holy bands 
 
 Would curb my spirits, and restrain my hands : 340 
 
 The people might assert their liberty ; 
 
 But what was right in them were crime in me. 
 
 His favour leaves me nothing to require, 
 
 Prevents my wishes, and outruns desire. 
 
 What more can I expect while IJavid lives 1 
 
 All but his kingly diadem he gives : 
 
 And that But here he paused ; then, sighing, said — 
 
 Is justly destined for a worthier head. 
 
 For when my father from his toils shall rest, 
 
 And late augment the number of the blest, 350 
 
 His lawful issue shall the throne ascend. 
 
 Or the collateral line, where that shall end. 
 
 His brother, though oppress'd with vulgar spite. 
 
 Yet dauntless, and secure of native right, 
 
 Of every royal virtue stands possess'd ; 
 
 Still dear to all the bravest and the best. 
 
 His courage foes — his friends his truth proclaim ; 
 
 His loyalty the king — the world his fame. 
 
 His mercy even the offending crowd will find ; 
 
 For sure he comes of a forgiving kind. 360 
 
r 
 
 106 deyden's poems. 
 
 Why should I then repine at Heaven's decree, sei 
 
 Which gives me no pretence to royalty \ 
 iYet, oh ! that fate, propitiously inclined, 
 Had raised my birth, or had debased my mind ; 
 To my large soul not all her treasure lent, 
 And then betray'd it to a mean descent ! 
 I find, I find my mounting spirits bold. 
 And David's part disdains my mother s mould. 
 Why am I scanted by a niggard birth % 
 My soul disclaims the kindred of her earth ; 370 
 
 And, made for empire, whispers me within, 
 Desire of greatness is a god-like sin. 
 -- Him staggering so, when hell's dire agent found, 
 While fainting virtue scarce maintain'd her ground, 
 :^'' He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies : 
 ^' The eternal God, supremely good and wise, 
 Imparts not these prodigious gifts in vain ; 
 What wonders are reserved to bless your reign ! 
 Against your will your arguments have shown, 
 Such virtue 's only given to guide a throne. 380 
 
 Not that your father's mildness I contemn ; 
 But manly force becomes the diadem. 
 'Tis true he grants the people all they crave ; 
 And more perhaps than subjects ought to have : 
 For lavish grants suppose a monarch tame. 
 And more his goodness than his wit proclaim. 
 \ But when should people strive their bonds to break, 
 If not when kings are neghgent or weak % 
 Let him give on till he can give no more. 
 The thrifty Sanhedrim shall keep him poor; 390 
 
 And every shekel which he can receive, 
 Shall cost a limb of his prerogative. 
 To ply him with new plots shall be my care ; 
 Or plunge him deep in some expensive war ; 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 107 
 
 Which, when his treasure can no more supply, 395 
 
 He must with the remains of kingship buy 
 
 Ilis faithful friends, our jealousies and fears 
 
 Call Jebiisites, and Pharaoli's pensioners ; 
 
 AVhom when our fury from his aid has torn, 
 
 He shall be naked left to public scorn. I 400 
 
 The next successor, whom I fear and hate, 
 
 Mj arts have made obnoxious to the state ; 
 
 Turn'd all his virtues to his overthrow, 
 
 And gain'd our elders to pronounce a foe. 
 
 His right, for suras of necessarj^ golcl, 
 
 Shall first be pawn'd, and afterwards be sold ; 
 
 Till time shall ever-wanting David draw, 
 
 To pass jour doubtful title into law ; 
 
 If not, the people have a right supreme 
 
 To make their kings, for kings are made for them. 410 
 
 All empire is no more than power in trust. 
 
 Which, when resumed, can be no longer just. 
 
 Succession, for the general good design'd, 
 
 In its own wrong a nation cannot bind : 
 
 If altering that the people can relieve, 
 
 Better one suffer than a nation grieve. '■.,.,.:■ 
 
 The Jews well know their power : ere Saul thev chose, 
 
 God was their king, and God they durst depose. 
 
 Urge now your piety, your filial name, 
 
 A father's right, and fear of future fame ; 420 
 
 The pubKc good, that universal call, 
 
 To which even Heaven submitted, answers all. 
 
 Nor let his love enchant your generous mind ; i 
 
 'Tis nature's trick to propagate her kind. 
 
 Our fond begetters, who would never die, 
 
 Love but themselves in their posterity. 
 
 Or let his kindness by the effects be tried, 
 
 Or let him lay his vain pretence aside. 
 
108 dryden's poems. 
 
 God said, he loved your father ; could he bring 429 
 
 A better proof, than to anoint him king ? 
 It surely show'd he loved the shepherd well, 
 Who gave so fair a flock as Israel. 
 Would David have you thought his darling son 1 
 What means he then to alienate the crown ? 
 The name of godly he may blush to bear 
 Is 't after God's own heart to cheat his heir 1 
 He to his brother gives supreme comnaand, 
 To you a legacy of barren land ; 
 Perhaps the old harp, on which he thrums his lays, 
 Or some dull Hebrew ballad in your praise. 440 
 
 Then the next heir, a prince severe and wise, 
 Already looks on you with jealous eyes ; 
 Sees through the thin disguises of your arts, 
 And marks your progress in the people's hearts ; 
 Though now his mighty soul its grief contains : 
 He meditates revenge who least complains ; 
 And like a lion, slumbering in the waj^ 
 Or sleep dissembling, while he waits his prey, 
 His fearless foes within his distance draws. 
 Constrains his roaring, and contracts his paws ; 450 
 
 Till at the last his time for fury found. 
 He shoots with sudden vengeance from the ground ; 
 The prostrate vulgar passes o'er and spares. 
 But with a lordly rage his hunters tears. 
 Your case no tame expedients will afford : 
 Resolve on death, or conquest by the sword. 
 Which for no less a stake than hfe you draw ; 
 And self-_defence is nature's eldest .law- 
 Leave the warm people no considering time : 
 For then rebellion may be thought a crime. 460 
 
 Avail yourself of what occasion gives, 
 But try your title while your father lives : 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 109 
 
 And that your arms may have a fair preten^p, 463 
 
 Proclaim you take them iu the king's Tlefence ; 
 
 Whose sacred hfe each minute would expose 
 
 To plots, from seeming friends, and secret foes. 
 
 And who can sound the depth of David's soul ? 
 
 Perhaps his fear, his kindness may control. "^ 
 
 He fears his brother, though he loves his son,^ 
 
 For plighted vows too late to be undone. 470 
 
 If so, by force he wishes to be gain'd : 
 
 By women's lechery to seem constrain'd. 
 
 Doubt not ; but, when he most affects the frown. 
 
 Commit a pleasing rape upon the crown. 
 
 Secure his person to secure your cause : 
 
 They who possess the prince possess the laws. 
 
 He said, and this advice above the rest. 
 With Absalom's mild nature suited best ; 
 Unblamed of life, ambition set aside, 
 Not stain'd with cruelty, nor puff'd with pride, 480 
 
 How happy had he been, if destiny 
 Had higher placed his birth, or not so high! 
 His kingly virtues might have claim'd a throne, 
 And bless'd all other countries but his own. 
 But charming greatness since so few refuse, 
 'Tis juster to lament him than accuse. 
 Strong wcfe his hopes a rival to remove, 
 With blandishments to gain the public love : 
 To head the faction while their zeal was hot, 
 And popularly prosecute the Plot. 490 
 
 To further this, Achitophel unites 
 The malcontents of all the Israehtes : 
 Whose differing parties he could M'isely join, 
 For several ends to serve the same design. 
 The best — and of the princes some were such — 
 Who thought the power of monarchy too much ; 
 
110 dryden's poems. 
 
 Mistaken men, and patriots in their hearts ; 497 
 
 Not wicked, but seduced bj impious arts. 
 
 By these the springs of property were bent, 
 
 And wound so high, they crack'd the government. 
 
 The next for interest sought to embroil the state. 
 
 To sell their duty at a dearer rate, 
 
 And make their Jewish markets of the throne ; 
 
 Pretending public good, to serve their own. 
 
 Others tllought kings an useless heavy load, ' 
 
 "Who cost too much, and did too little good. 
 
 These were for laying honest David by. 
 
 On principles of pure good husbandry. '>.'-'^' 'V 
 
 "With them join'd all the haranguers of the throng, 
 
 That thought to get preferment by the toague. 5io 
 
 "Who follow next a double danger bring. 
 
 Not only hating David, but the king ; 
 
 The Solymsean rout ; well versed of old 
 
 In godly faction, and in treason bold; 
 
 Cowering and quaking at a conqueror's sword, 
 
 But lofty to a lawful prince restored; 
 
 Saw with disdain an Ethnic plot begun, 
 
 And scorn'd by Jebusites to be outdone. 
 
 Hot Levites headed these; who pull'd before 
 
 From the ark, which in the Judges' days they bore, 520 
 
 Resumed their cant, and with a zealous cry. 
 
 Pursued their old beloved theocracy : 
 
 Where Sanhedrim and priest enslaved the nation, 
 
 And justified their spoils by inspiration : 
 
 For who so fit to reign as Aaron's race, 
 
 If once dominion they could found in grace 1 
 
 These led the pack ; though not of surest scent. 
 
 Yet deepest mouth'd against the government. 
 
 A numerous host of dreaming saints succeed, 
 
 Of the true old enthusiastic breed : 530 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOrilEL. PAET I. Ill 
 
 'Gainst form and order thcj their power employ, 531 
 
 Nothing to build, and all things to destroy. 
 
 But far more numerous was the herd of such, 
 
 W ho think to o little, and. who^talk too^muclLu- 4^. 
 
 These out of mere instinct, they knew not why, 
 
 Adored their fathers' God and })roperty; 
 
 And by the same blind benelit of fote. 
 
 The Devil and the Jebusite did hate : 
 
 Born to be saved, even in their own despite, 
 
 Because they could not help believing right. 540 
 
 Such were the tools: but a whole Hydra more 
 Remains of sprouting heads too long to score. 
 Some of their chiefs were princes of the land : 
 In the first ra uk.QLtbcsc did Zimri stand ; 
 A man so various, that he seem'd to be 
 Not one, but all mankind's epitome : *- 
 Stiff in opinions^lways in tlie wrong ; 
 Was everything by starts, and nothing long ; 
 But, in the course of one revolving moon, 
 Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon : 65o 
 
 Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, 
 Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinkiu"-. 
 Blest madman, who could every hour employ, 
 W^ith something new to wish, or to enjoy ! 
 Railing and praising w^ere his usual themes ; 
 And botlj, to show his judgment, in extremes : 
 So over violent, or over civil, 
 That every man with him was God or Devil. 
 In squandering wealth was his peculiar art : 
 Nothing went unrewarded but desert. ^'^ 560 
 
 Beggar'd by fools, whom still he found too late ; 
 He had his jest, and they had his estate. 
 He laugh'd himself from court ; then sought relief 
 By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief : 
 
112 dryden's poems. 
 
 For, spite of liim tlie weiglit of business fell 565 
 
 On Absalom and wise Achitophel : 
 Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft, 
 He left not faction, but of that was left. 
 
 Titles and names 'twere tedious to rehearse 
 Of lords, below the dignity of verse. 570 
 
 Wits, warriors, commonwealth's-men, were the best : 
 Kind husbands, and mere nobles, all the rest. 
 And therefore, in the name of dulness, be 
 The w^ell-hung Balaam and cold Caleb free : 
 And canting Nadab let oblivion damn. 
 Who made new porridge for the paschal lamb. 
 Let friendship's holy band some names assure ; 
 Some their own worth, and some let scorn secure. 
 Nor shall the rascal rabble here have place, 
 Whom kings no titles gave, and God no grace : 580 
 
 Not bull-faced Jonas, who could statutes draw 
 To mean rebellion, and make treason law. 
 But he, though bad, is foUow'd bj a worse, 
 The wretch who Heaven's anointed dared -to curse ; 
 t Shimei, whose jouth did early promise bring 
 Of zeal to God and hatred to his king, 
 Did wisely from expensive sins refrain. 
 And never broke the Sabbath but for gain ;. 
 Nor ever was he known an oath to vent, 
 Or curse, unless against tlie government. 690 
 
 Thus heaping wealth by the most ready way 
 Among the Jews, which was to cheat and pray ; 
 The city, to reward his pious hate 
 Against his master, chose him magistrate. 
 His hand a vare ^ of justice did uphold ; 
 His neck was loaded with a chain of gold. 
 
 ^ 'Vare: ' i. e., wand, from Spanish vara. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 113 
 
 During his office treason was no crime ; 597 
 
 The sons of Belial had a glorious time : 
 
 For Shimei, though not prodigal of pelf, 
 
 Yet loved his ^vickcd neighbour as himself •- 
 
 AVhen two or three were gather'd to declaim 
 
 Against the monarch of Jerusalem, 
 
 Shimei was always in the midst of them ; 
 
 And if they cursed the king when he was by, 
 
 Would rather curse than break good company. 
 
 If any durst his factious friends accuse, 
 
 He pack'd a jury of dissenting Jews ; 
 
 Whose fellow-feeling in the godly cause 
 
 Would free the suffering saint from human laws. 
 
 For laws are only made to punish those 610 
 
 Who serve the king, and to protect his foes. 
 
 If any leisure time he had from power 
 
 (Because 'tis sin to misemploy an hour), 
 
 His business was, by writing to persuade, 
 
 That kings were useless and a clog to trade ; 
 
 And, that his noble style he might refine, 
 
 No Rechabite more shunn'd the fumes of wind. 
 
 Chaste were his cellars, and his shrivel board 
 
 The grossncss of a city feast abliorf d ; 
 
 Ilis cooks with long disuse their trade forgot ; 620 
 
 Cool was his kitchen, though his brains were hot. 
 
 Such frugal virtue malice may accuse. 
 
 But sure 'twas necessary to the Jews ; 
 
 For towns, once burnt, such magistrates require 
 
 As dare not tempt God's providence by fire. 
 
 With spiritual food he fed his servants well. 
 
 But free from flesh that made the Jews rebel : 
 
 And !Moses' laws he held in more account. 
 
 For forty days of fasting in the mount. 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
114 dryden's poems. 
 
 To speak the rest wlio better are forgot, eso 
 
 Would tire a well-breatlied witness of the plot. 
 
 Yet Corah, thou shalt from obliyion pass ; 
 
 Erect thyself, thou monumental brass, 
 
 High as the serpent of thj metal made, 
 
 AYhile nations stand secure beneath thy shade. 
 
 What though his birth were base, yet comets rise 
 
 From earthly vapours, ere they shine in skies. 
 
 Prodigious actions may as well be done 
 
 By weaver's issue, as by prince's son. 
 
 This arch attestor for the public good 6io 
 
 By that one deed ennobles all his blood. 
 
 Who ever ask'd the witness's high race. 
 
 Whose oath with martyrdom did Stephen grace ? 
 
 Ours was a Levite, and as times went then, 
 
 His tribe were God Almighty's gentlemen. 
 
 Sunk were his eyes, his voice was harsh and loud, 
 
 Sure signs he neither choleric was, nor proud. 
 
 His long chin proved his wit ; his saint-like grace 
 
 A church vermilion, and a Moses' face. 
 
 His memory miraculously great, 65o 
 
 Could plots, exceeding man's belief, repeat ; 
 
 Which therefore cannot be accounted lies, 
 
 For human wit could never such devise. 
 
 Some future truths are mingled in his book ; 
 
 But wliere the witness fail'd, the prophet spoke. 
 
 Some things like visionary flights appear ; 
 
 The spirit caught him up the Lord knows where ; 
 
 And gave him his rabbinical degree, 
 
 Unknown to foreign university. 
 
 His judgment yet his memory did excel ; • 660 
 
 Which pieced his wondrous evidence so w^ell, 
 
 And suited to the temper of the times, 
 
 Then groaning under Jebusitic crimes. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 115 
 
 Let Israel's foes suspect his heavenly call, 6G4 
 
 And rashly judge his wit apocryphal ; 
 Our laws for such affronts have forfeits made ; 
 He takes his life who takes away his trade. 
 Were I myself in witness Corah's place, 
 The wretch who did me such a dire disgrace. 
 Should whet my memory, though once forgot, 670 
 
 To make him an appendix of my plot. 
 His zeal to heaven made him his prince despise, 
 And load his person with indignities. 
 But zeal peculiar privilege affords, 
 Indulging latitude to deeds and words : 
 And Corah might for Agag's murder call, .jt 
 In terms as coarse as Samuel used to Saul. 
 What others in his evidence did join. 
 The best that could be had for love or coin, 
 In Corah's own predicament will fall : cso 
 
 ^\^For witness is a common name to all. 
 
 Surrounded thus with friends of every "iort, 
 Deluded Absalom forsakes the court : 
 Impatient of high hopes, urged with renown. 
 And fired with near possession of a crown. 
 The admu'ing crowd are dazzled with surprise, 
 And on his goodly person feed their eyes. 
 His joy conceal'd he sets himself to show ; [ 
 On each side bowing popularly low : 
 His looks, his gestures, and his w^ords he frames, 690 
 And with familiar ease repeats their names. 
 Thus form'd by nature, furnish'd out with arts. 
 He glides unfelt into their secret hearts. 
 Then, with a kind compassionating look. 
 And sighs, bespeaking pity ere he spoke, 
 Few words he said ; but easy those and fit. 
 More slow than Hybla-drops, and far more sweet. 
 
116 dryden's poems. 
 
 I mourn, my countrymen, your lost estate ; 698 
 
 Though far unable to prevent your fate : 
 
 Behold a banish'd man for your dear cause 
 
 Exposed a prey to arbitrary laws ! 
 
 Yet oh ! that I alone could be undone, 
 
 Cut off from empire, and no more a son ! 
 
 Now all your liberties a spoil are made ; 
 
 Egypt and Tyrus intercept your trade. 
 
 And Jebusites your sacred rites inyade. 
 
 My father, whom with reverence yet I name, 
 
 Charm'd into ease, is careless of his fame ; 
 
 And bribed with petty sums of foreign gold, 
 
 Is grown in Batlisheba's embraces old ; 7io 
 
 Exalts his enemies, his friends destroys, 
 
 And all his power against himself employs. 
 
 He gives, and let him give, my right away : 
 
 But why should he his own and yours betray ? 
 
 He, only he, can make the nation bleed. 
 
 And he alone from my revenge is freed. 
 
 Take then my tears (with that he wiped his eyes), 
 
 'Tis all the aid my present power supplies : 
 
 No court-informer can these arms accuse ; 
 
 These arms may sons against their fathers use : 720 
 
 And 'tis my wish, the next successor's reign, 
 
 May make no other Israelite complain. 
 
 Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail ; 
 
 But common interest always will prevail : 
 J And pity never ceases to be shown 
 / "To him who makes the people's wrongs his own. 
 
 The crowd, that still believe their kings oppress, 
 
 With lifted hands their young Messiah bless : 
 
 Who now begins his progress to ordain 
 
 With chariots, horsemen, and a numerous train : 730 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 117 
 
 From east to west his glories he displays, 73i 
 
 And, like the sun, the promised land surveys. 
 Fame runs before him as the morninfj-star, 
 And shouts of joy salute him from afar: 
 Each house receives him as a guardian god. 
 And consecrates the place of his abode. 
 But hospitable treats did most commend 
 Wise Issachar, his wealthy western friend. 
 This moving court, that caught the people's eyes, 
 And scem'd but pomp, did other ends disguise : 740 
 Jt^/o-^Achitophel had form'd it, with intent 
 "^ To sound the depths, and fiithom where it went, 
 The people's hearts, distinguish friends from foes, 
 And try their strength, before they came to blows. 
 Yet all was colour'd witli a smooth pretence 
 Of specious love, and duty to their prince. 
 Religion, and redress of grievances, 
 Two names that always cheat, and always please. 
 Are often urged ; and good king David's life 
 Endanger'd by a brother and a wife. 750 
 
 Thus in a pageant show a plot is made ; \ 
 And peace itself is war in masquerade. J 
 foolish Israel ! never warn'd by ill ! 
 Still the same bait, and circumvented still ! 
 Did ever men forsake their present ease, 
 In midst of health imagine a disease ; 
 Take pains contingent mischiefs to foresee, 
 Make heirs for monarchs, and for God decree ? 
 What shall we think ? Can people give away, 
 Both for themselves and sons, their native sway "? 760 
 Then they are left defenceless to the sword 
 Of each unbounded, arbitrary lord : 
 And laws are vain, by which we right enjoy, 
 If kings unquestion'd can those laws destroy. 
 
118 drydbn's poems. 
 
 Yet if the crowd be judge of fit and just, 765 
 
 And kings are only officers in trust, 
 
 Then this resuming covenant was declared 
 
 When kings were made, or is for ever barr'd. 
 
 If those who gave the sceptre could not tie, 
 
 By their own deed, their own posterity, 77o 
 
 How then could Adam bind his future race 1 
 
 How could his forfeit on mankind take place ? 
 
 Or how could heavenly justice damn us all, 
 
 Who ne'er consented to our father's fall 1 
 
 Then kings are slaves to those whom they command. 
 
 And tenants to their people's pleasure stand. 
 
 Add, that the power for property allow'd 
 
 Is mischievously seated in the crowd ; 
 
 For who can be secure of private right. 
 
 If sovereign sway may be dissolved by might 1 780 
 
 Nor is the people's judgment always true : 
 
 The most may err as grossly as the few. '? 
 
 And faultless kings run down by common cry, 
 
 For vice, oppression, and for tyranny. 
 
 What standard is there in a fickle rout. 
 
 Which, flowing to the mark, runs faster out ? 
 
 Nor only crowds but Sanhedrims may be 
 
 Infected with this public lunacy, 
 
 And share the madness of rebellious times, 
 
 To murder monarchs for imagined crimes. 790 
 
 If they may give and take whene'er they please, 
 
 Not kings alone, the Godhead's images, 
 
 But government itself at length must fall 
 
 To nature's state, where all have right to all. 
 
 Yet, grant our lords the people kings can make. 
 
 What prudent men a settled throne would shake ? 
 
 For whatsoe'er their sufferings were before, 
 
 That change they covet makes them suffer more. 
 
ABSALOJI AND ACHITOPHEL. PAKT I. 119 
 
 All other errors but disturb a state ; 799 
 
 But innovation is the blow of fiite. 
 
 If ancient flibrics nod, and threat to fall, 
 
 To patch their flaws, and buttress up the wall. 
 
 Thus far 'tis duty : but here fix the mark; 
 
 For all beyond it is to touch the ark. 
 
 To change foundations, cast the frame anew,^, 
 
 Is work for rebels, who base cuds pursue ; 
 
 At once divine and human laws control. 
 
 And mend the parts by ruin of the whole. 
 
 The tampering world is subject to this curse, 
 
 To physic their disease into a woi;sc^___^._-'-''''^ sio 
 
 Now Avliat relief can ri^jhtcous David brin^? 
 How fatal 'tis to be too frood a kinf; ! 
 Friends he has few, so high the madness grows ; 
 Who dare be such must be the people's foes. 
 Yet some there were, even in the worst of days ; 
 Some let me name, and naming is to praise. , 
 
 In this short file Barzillai first appears ; /^^ ' ' | 
 Barzillai, crown'd wltli honour and with years. 
 Long since, the rising rebels he withstood 
 In regions waste beyond the Jordan's flood : 820 
 
 Unfortunately brave to buoy the state ; 
 But sinking underneath his master's fate : 
 In exile with his godlike prince he mourn'd ; 
 For him he sufier'd, and with him return'd. 
 The court he practised, not the courtier's art : 
 Large was his wealth, but larger was his heart, 
 Which well the noblest objects knew to choose, 
 The fightiiig warrior, and recording muse. 
 His bed could once a fruitful issue boast ; 
 Now more than half a father's name is lost. ' 830 
 
 His eldest hope, with every grace adorn'd. 
 By me, so Heaven will have it, always mourn'd. 
 
120 dryden's poems. 
 
 And always honour'd, snatch'd in manhood's prime 833 
 
 By unequal fates, and providence's crime : 
 
 Yet not before the goal of honour won, 
 
 All parts fulfill'd of subject and of son : 
 
 Swift was the race, but short the time to run. 
 
 narrow circle, but of power divine, 
 
 Scanted in space, but perfect in thj line ! 
 
 Bj sea, bj land, thj matchless worth Avas known, 840 
 
 Arms thj delight, and war was all thj own : 
 
 Thj force infused the fainting Tjrians propp'd ; 
 
 And haughtj Pharaoh found his fortune stopp'd. 
 
 ancient honour ! uuconquer'd hand. 
 
 Whom foes unpunish'd never could withstand ! 
 
 But Israel was unworthj of his name ; 
 
 Short is the date of all immoderate fame. 
 
 It looks as Heaven our ruin had design'd, 
 
 And durst not trust thj fortune and thj mind. 
 
 Now, free from earth, thj disencumber'd soul 85o 
 
 Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starrj pole : 
 
 From thence thj kindred legions majst thou bring, 
 
 To aid the guardian angel of thj king. 
 
 Here stop, mj muse, here cease thj painful flight : 
 No pinians can pursue immortal height : 
 Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no more, 
 And tell thj soul she should have fled before : 
 Or fled she with his life, and left this verse 
 To hang on her departed patron's hearse 1 
 Now take thj steepj flight from heaven, and see 860 
 If thou canst find on earth another he : 
 Another he would be too liard to find ; 
 See then whom thou canst see not far behind. 
 Zadoc the priest, whom, shunniog power and place, 
 \ HisTowlj mind advanced to David's grace. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 121 
 
 P-^^Y^ •■("■•-■■■ 
 
 With liim the Sagan of Jerusalem, 866 
 
 Of hospitable soul, and noble stem; 
 Ilim^ of the western dome, whose weighty sense 
 Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence.. • 
 The prophets' sons, by such example led, 870 
 
 To learning and to loyalty were bred : 
 For colleges on bounteous kings depend. 
 And never rebel was to arts.a friend. \ 
 To these succeed the pillars of the laws, 
 Who best can plead, and best can judge a cause. 
 Next them a train of loyal peers ascend ; 
 Sharp-judging Adriel, the Muses' friend, 
 Himself a Muse : in Sanhedrim's debate 
 True to his prince, but not a slav6 of state : 
 Whom David's love with honours did adorn, 880 
 
 That from his disobedient son were torn. 
 Jotham, of piercing wit, and pregnant thought ; 
 Endued by nature, and by learning taught 
 To move assemblies, who but only tried 
 The worse awhile, then chose the better side : 
 Nor chose alone, but turn'd the balance too, — 
 So much the weight of one brave man can do. 
 Ilushai, the friend of David in distress ; 
 In public storms of manly steadfastness : 
 By foreign treaties he inform'd his youth, 890 
 
 And join'd experience to his native truth. 
 His frugal care supplied the wanting throne- 
 Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own : 
 'Tis easy conduct when exchequers flow ; 
 But hard the task to manage well the low ; 
 For sovereign power is too depress'd or high. 
 When kings are forced to sell, or crowds to buy. 
 
 * ' Ilim : ' Dr Dolben, Bishop of Rochester. 
 
122 dryden's poems. 
 
 Indulge one labour more, my weary muse, 898 
 
 For Amiel : who can AmieFs praise refuse '? 
 ffd^*^ '^Of ancient race by birth, but nobler yet 
 ^•'^ In his own worth, and without title great : 
 The Sanhedrim long time as chief he ruled. 
 Their reason guided, and their passion cool'd N 
 So dexterous was he in the crown's defence. 
 So form'd to speak a loyal nation's sense. 
 That, as their band was Israel's tribes in small, 
 So fit was he to represent them all. 
 Now rasher charioteers the seat ascend. 
 Whose loose careers his steady skill commend : 
 They, like the unequal ruler of the day,i 910 
 
 Misguide the seasons, and mistake the way ; 
 "While he withdrawn, at their mad labours smiles. 
 And safe enjoys the sabbath of his toils. 
 
 These were the chief, a small but faithful band 
 Of worthies, in the breach who dared to stand. 
 And tempt the united fury of the land : 
 With grief they yiew'd such powerful engines bent, 
 To batter down the lawful government. 
 A numerous faction, with pretended frights. 
 In Sanhedrims to plume the regal rights ; 920 
 
 The true successor from the court removed ; 
 The plot, by hireling witnesses, improved. 
 These ills they saw, and, as their duty bound. 
 They show'd the King the danger of the wound ; 
 That no concessions from the throne would please, 
 But lenitives fomented the disease : 
 y^ That Absalom, auibitious of the crown, 
 
 f j^Was made the lure to draw the people down : 
 
 I That false Achitophel's pernicious hate 
 \Iiad turn'd the Plot to ruin church and state : 930 
 
 ^ ' Ruler of the day : ' Phaeton. 
 
ABSALOM AXD ACHITOPHEL. PART I, 123 
 
 The council violent, the rabble worse : 931 
 
 That Shimci taught Jerusalem to curse. 
 
 With all these loads of injuries oppress'd^ 
 And lone? revolving in his careful breast 
 The event of things, at last his patience tired, 
 Thus, from his royal throne, by Heaven inspired, 
 The god-like David siioke : M'ith awful fear, 
 His train their Maker in their master hear. 
 ^ '^ Thus long have I, by native mercy sway'd, 
 My wrongs dissembled, my revenge delay'd : 940 
 
 So willing to forgive the otlendiug age ; 
 So much the father did the king assuage. 
 But now so far my clemency they slight. 
 The offenders question my forgiving right : 
 That one was made for many, they contend ; 
 But ^tis to rule ; for that 's a monarch's end. 
 They call my tenderness of blood, my fear : 
 Though manly tempers can the longest bear. 
 Yet, since they will divert my native course, 
 'Tis time to show I am not good by force. 950 
 
 Those heap'd affronts that haughty subjects bring, 
 Are burdens for a camel, not a king. 
 Kings are the public pillars of the state, 
 Born to sustain and prop the nation's weight : 
 If my young Samson will pretend a call 
 To shake the column, let him share the fall : 
 But oh, that yet he would repent and live ! 
 How easy 'tis for parents to forgive ! . - - - 
 With how few tears a pardon might be won 
 From nature, pleading for a darling son ! 9S0 
 
 Poor, pitied youth, by my paternal care, 
 Raised up to all the height his frame could bear ! 
 Had God ordain'd his fate for empire born. 
 He would have given his soul another turn: 
 
124 dryden's poems. 
 
 Gull'd with a patriot's name, whose modern sense 965 
 Is one that would bj law supplant his prince; 
 The people's brave, the poHtician's tool; 
 Never was patriot yet, but was a fool. 
 Whence comes it, that religion and the laws 
 Should more be Absalom's than David's cause ? 970 
 
 His old instructor, ere he lost his place, 
 Was never thought endued with so much grace. 
 Good heavens, how faction can a patriot paint ! 
 Mj rebel ever proves mj people's saint. 
 Would they impose an heir upon the throne, 
 Let Sanhedrims be taught to give their own. 
 A king 's at least a part of government ; 
 And mine as requisite as their consent : 
 ^Without my leave a future king to choose, 
 Mnfers a right the present to depose. 980 
 
 True, they petition me to approve their choice : 
 But Esau's hands suit ill with Jacob's voice. 
 My pious subjects for my safety pray, 
 Which to secure, they take my power away. 
 From plots and treasons Heaven preserve my years. 
 But save me most from my petitioners ! 
 Insatiate as the barren womb or grave, 
 God cannot grant so much as they can crave. 
 What then is left, but with a jealous eye 
 To guard the small remains of royalty 1 990 
 
 The law shall still direct my peaceful sway. 
 And the same law teach rebels to obey : 
 Votes shall no more establish'd power control, 
 Such votes as make a part exceed the whole. 
 No groundless clamours shall my friends remove, 
 Nor crowds have power to punish ere they prove ; 
 For gods and god-like kings their care express, 
 Still to defend their servants in distress. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART I. 125 
 
 that my power to saving were confined ! 999 
 
 Why am I forced, like Heaven, against my mindr 
 
 To make examples of another kind ? 
 
 Must I at length the sword of justice draw ? 
 
 Oh, cursed effects of necessary law | 
 
 How ill my fear they by my mercy scan ! 
 
 Beware the fury of a patient man ! 
 
 Law they require, let law then show her face ; 
 
 They could not be content to look on grace, 
 
 Her hinder parts, but with a daring eye 
 
 To tempt the terror of her front and die. 
 
 By their own arts 'tis righteously decreed, 1010 
 
 Those dire artificers of death shall bleed. 
 
 Against themselves their witnesses will swear. 
 
 Till, viper-like, their mother-plot they tear ; 
 
 And suck for nutriment that bloody gore, 
 
 Which was their principle of life before. 
 
 Their Belial with their Beelzebub will fiirht: 
 
 Thus on my foes, ray foes shall do me right. 
 
 Nor doubt the event : for factious crowds engage, 
 
 In their first onset, all their brutal rage. 
 
 Then let them take an unresisted course ; 1020 
 
 Retire, and traverse, and delude theii' force ; 
 
 But when they stand all breathless, urge the fight, 
 
 And rise upon them with redoubled might — 
 
 For lawful power is still superior found ; , 
 
 When Ions driven back, at lenirth it stands the ijround. 
 
 He said : The Almighty, nodding, gave consent ; 
 And peals of thunder shook the firmament. 
 Henceforth a series of new time began. 
 The mighty years in long procession ran : ■ 
 Once more the god-like David was restored, 1030 
 
 And willing nations knew their lawful lord. 
 
126 dryden's poems. 
 
 Part IL 
 
 " Si quis tamen hoec quoque, si quis captus amore leget. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 In the year 1680, Mr Dryden undertook the poem of Absalom and Achitophel, 
 upon the desire of King Charles the Second. The performance was applauded 
 by every one ; and several persons pressing liim to write a second part, he, 
 upon declining it himself, spoke to Mr Tate' to write one, and gave him his 
 advice in the direction of it ; and that part beginning with 
 
 " Next these, a troop of busy spirits press," 
 and ending with 
 
 " To talk like Doeg, and to ■write like thee," 
 
 containing near two hundred verses, mere entirely Mr Dryden's composition, 
 besides some touches in other places. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Since men like beasts each other's prey \vere made, 
 
 Since trade began, and priesthood grew a trade, ^ 
 
 Since realms were form'd, none sure so cm'sed as those 
 
 That madly their own happiness oppose ; 
 
 There Heaven itself and god-like kings, in vain 
 
 Shower down the manna of a gentle reign ; 
 
 While pamper'd crowds to mad sedition run, 
 
 And monarchs by indulgence are undone. 
 
 Thus David's clemency was fatal grown. 
 
 While wealthy faction awed the wanting throne. lo 
 
 For now their sovereign's orders to contemn 
 
 Was held the charter of Jerusalem ; 
 
 His rights to invade, his tributes to refuse, 
 
 A privilege peculiar to the Jews ; 
 
 • The second part was written by Mr Nahum Tate, and is by no means 
 equal to the first, though Dryden corrected it throughout. The poem is here 
 printed complete. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 127 
 
 As if from heavenly call this licence fell, 15 
 
 And Jacob's seed were chosen to rebel ! 
 
 Achitophel with triumph sees his crimes 
 Thus suited to the madness of the times ; 
 And Absalom, to make his hopes succeed, 
 Of flattering charms no longer stands in need ; 20 
 
 AVhile fond of change, though ne'er so dearly bought. 
 Our tribes outstrip the youth's ambitious tliought ; 
 His swiftest hopes with swifter homage meet. 
 And crowd their servile necks beneath his feet. 
 Thus to his aid while pressing tides repair. 
 He mounts and .spreads his streamers in the aii*. 
 The charms of empire might his youth mislead. 
 But what can our besotted Israel plead 1 
 Sway'd by a monarch, whose serene command 
 Seems half the blessing of our promised laud: 30 
 
 Whose only grievance is excess of ease ; 
 Freedom our pain, and plenty our disease! 
 Yet, as all folly would lay claim to sense, 
 And wickedness ne'er wanted a pretence, 
 With arguments they 'd make their treason good. 
 And righteous David's self with slanders load ; 
 That arts of foreign sway he did affect. 
 And guilty Jcbusitcs from law protect, 
 Whose very chiefs, convict, were never freed, 
 Nay, we have seen their sacrificers bleed ! 40 
 
 Accusers' infamy is urged in vain, 
 While in the bounds of sense they did contain ; 
 But soon they launch into the unfathom'd tide. 
 And in the depths they knew disdain'd to ride. 
 For probable discoveries to dispense. 
 Was thought below a pension'd evidence; 
 Mere truth was dull, nor suited with the port 
 Of pamper'd Corah when advanced to cou;t. 
 
128 dryden's poems. 
 
 No less than wonders now they will impose, 49 
 
 And projects void of grace or sense disclose. 
 Such was the charge on pious Michal brought, — 
 Michal that ne'er was cruel, even in thought, — 
 The best of queens, and most obedient wife, 
 Impeach'd of cursed designs on David's life ! 
 His life, the theme of her eternal prayer, 
 'Tis scarce so much his guardian angel's care. 
 Not summer morns such mildness can disclose. 
 The Hermon lily, nor the Sharon rose. 
 Neglecting each vain pomp of majesty, 
 Transported Michal feeds her thoughts on high. eo 
 
 She lives with angels, and, as angels do, 
 Quits heaven sometimes to bless the world below ; 
 Where, cherish'd by her bounties' plenteous spring, 
 Reviving widows smile, and orphans sing. 
 Oh ! when rebellious Israel's crimes at height. 
 Are threateu'd with her Lord's approaching fate. 
 The piety of Michal then remain 
 
 In Heaven's remembrance, and prolong his reign ! ': 
 
 Less desolation did the pest pursue, i 
 
 That from Dan's limits to Beersheba flew; 70 
 
 Less fatal the repeated wars of Tyre, 
 And less Jerusalem's avenging fire. 
 
 With gentler terror these our state o'erran, | 
 
 Than since our evidencing days began ! ^ 
 
 On every cheek a pale confusion sate, 
 Continued fear beyond the worst of fate ! 
 Trust was no more ; art, science useless made ; 
 All occupations lost but Corah's trade. 
 Meanwhile a guard on modest Corah wait, 
 If not for safety, needful yet for state. so 
 
 Well might he deem each peer and prince his slave, 
 And lord it o'er the tribes which he could save : 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART 11. 129 
 
 Even vice in him was virtue — what sad fate, 83 
 
 But for his honesty had seized our state ! 
 
 And with what tyranny liad we been cursed, 
 
 Had Corah never proved a villain first ! 
 
 To have told his knowledge of the intrigue in gross, 
 
 Had been, alas ! to our deponent's loss : 
 
 The travell'd Levite had the experience got, 
 
 To husband well, and make the best of 's Plot ; 90 
 
 And therefore, like an evidence of skill, 
 
 With wise reserves secured his pension still ; 
 
 Nor quite of future power himself bereft, 
 
 But limbos large for unbelievers left. 
 
 And now his writ such reverence had got, 
 
 'Twas worse than plotting to suspect his Plot. 
 
 Some were so well convinced, they made no doubt 
 
 Themselves to help the fouuder'd swearers out. 
 
 Some had their sense imposed on by their fear. 
 
 But more for interest sake believe and swear : 100 
 
 Even to that height with some the frenzy grew, 
 
 They raged to find their danger not prove true. 
 
 Yet, than all these a viler crew remain, 
 Who with Achitophel the cry maintain ; 
 Not urged by fear, nor through misguided sense, — 
 Blind zeal and starving need had some pretence ; 
 But for the good old cause, that did excite 
 The original rebels' wiles — revenge and spite. 
 These raise the plot, to have the scandal thrown 
 Upon the bright successor of the crown, 110 
 
 Whose virtue with such wrongs they had pursued, 
 As seem'd all hope of pardon to exclude. 
 Thus, while on private ends their zeal is built, 
 The cheated crowd applaud, and share their guilt. 
 
 Such practices as these, too gross to lie 
 Long unobserved by each discerning eye, 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
130 dryden's poems. 
 
 The more judicious Israelites unspell'd, 117 
 
 Though still the charm the giddj rabble held. 
 
 Even Absalom, amidst the dazzling beams 
 
 Of empire, and ambition's flattering dreams, 
 
 Perceives the plot, too foul to be excused. 
 
 To aid designs, no less pernicious, used. 
 
 And, filial sense yet striving in his breast. 
 
 Thus to Achitophel his doubts express'd : 
 
 Why are mj thoughts upon a crown emploj'd. 
 
 Which, once obtain'd, can be but half enjoy 'd ? 4— 
 
 Not so when virtue did my arms re ^uire, 
 
 And to my father's wars I flew entire. 
 
 My regal power how will my foes resent, 
 
 When I myself have scarce my own consent ! I80 
 
 Give me a son's unblemish'd truth again. 
 
 Or quench the sparks of duty that remain. 
 
 How slight to force a throne that legions guard 
 
 The task to me ! to prove unjust, how hard ! 
 
 And if the imagined guilt thus wound my thought, 
 
 What will it when the tragic scene is -ought ! 
 
 Dire war must first be conjured from k jw, 
 
 The realm we rule we first must overthrow ; 
 
 And, when the civil furies are on wing. 
 
 That blind and undistinguish'd slaughters fling, 140 
 
 Who knows what impious chance may reach the king ? 
 
 Oh, rather let me perish in the strife. 
 
 Than have my crown the price of David's life ! 
 
 Or if the tempest of the war he stand, 
 
 In peace, some vile officious "«illain's hand 
 
 His soul's anointed temple may invade ; 
 
 Or, press'd by clamorous crowds, myself be made 
 
 His murderer ; rebellious crowds, whose guilt 
 
 Shall dread his vengeance till his blood be spilt. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 131 
 
 Which, if my filial tenderness oppose, i50 
 
 Since to the empire by their arms I rose. 
 
 Those very arms on me shall be employ 'd, 
 
 A new usurper crown'd, and I destroy 'd : 
 
 The same pretence of public good will hold, 
 
 And new Achitophcls be found as bold 
 
 To urge the needful change — perhaps the old. 
 
 He said. The statesman with a smile replies, 
 A smile that did his rising spleen disguise : 
 My thoughts presumed our labours at an end ; 
 And are we still with conscience to contend ? 160 
 
 Whose want in kings as needful is allow'd, 
 As 'tis for them to find it in the crowd. 
 Far in *^lie doubtful passage you are gone, 
 And only can be safe by pressing on. 
 The crown's true heir, a prince severe and wise, 
 Has view'd your motions long with jealous eyes, 
 Your person's charms, your more prevailing arts, 
 And nuirk'd your progress in the people's hearts. 
 Whose patienc" ^the effect of stinted power, 
 But treasures rgeance for the fatal hour ; 170 
 
 And if remote the peril he/ can bring, 
 Your present danger 's greater from the king. 
 Let not a parent's name deceive your sense, 
 Nor trust the father in a jealous prince ! 
 Your trivial faults if he could so resent, 
 To doom you httle less than banishment. 
 What rage must your presumption since inspire ! 
 Against his orders you return from Tyre. 
 Nor only so, but with a pomp more high, 
 And open court of popularity, * 180 
 
 The factious tribes. — And this reproof from thee! 
 The prince replies ; Oh, statesman's winding skill, 
 They first condemn that first advised the ill ! 
 
132 dryden's poems. 
 
 Illustrious youth ! returned Acliitopliel, i84 
 
 Misconstrue not the words that mean you well ; 
 The course you steer I worthy blame conclude. 
 But 'tis because you leave it unpursued. 
 A monarch's crown with fate surrounded lies, 
 Who reach, lay hold on death that miss the prize. 
 Did you for this expose yourself to show, 190 
 
 And to the crowd bow popularly low 1 
 For this your glorious progress next ordain, 
 With chariots, horsemen, and a numerous train 1 
 With fame before you, like the morning star, 
 And shouts of joy saluting from afar'? 
 Oh, from the heights you 've reach'd but take a view, 
 Scarce leading Lucifer could fall like you ! 
 And must I here my shipwreck'd arts bemoan ? 
 Have I for this so oft made Israel groan 1 
 Your single interest with the nation weigh'd, 200 
 
 And turn'd the scale where your desires were laid ; 
 Even when at helm a course so dangerous moved 
 To land your hopes, as my removal proved. — 
 
 I not dispute, the royal youth replies, 
 The known perfection of your policies ; 
 Nor in Achitophel yet grudge or blame 
 The privilege that statesmen ever claim ; 
 Who private interest never yet pursued. 
 But still pretended 'twas for others good : 
 What politician yet e'er 'scaped his fate, 210 
 
 Who, saving his own neck, not saved the state ? 
 From hence, on every humorous wind that veer'd. 
 With shifted sails a several course you steer'd. 
 What form of sway did David e'er pursue, 
 That seem'd like absolute, but sprung from you 1 
 Who at your instance quash'd each penal law, 
 That kept dissenting factious Jews in awe ; 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 133 
 
 And who suspends fix'd laws, may abrogate, 21 8 
 
 That done, form new, and so enslave the state. 
 
 Even property whose champion now you stand, 
 
 And seem for this the idol of the land, 
 
 Did ne'er sustain such violence before, 
 
 As when your counsel shut the royal store; 
 
 Advice, that ruin to wliolc tribes procured, 
 
 But secret kept till your own banks secured. 
 
 Recount with this the triple covenant broke, 
 
 And Israel fitted for a foreign yoke ; 
 
 Nor here your counsel's fatal progress stay'd, 
 
 But sent our levied powers to Pharaoh's aid. 
 
 Hence Tyre and Israel, low in niins laid, 280 
 
 And Egypt, once their scorn, their common teiTor made. 
 
 Even yet of such a season can we dream, 
 
 When royal rights you made your darling theme. 
 
 For power unlimited could reasons draw, 
 
 And place prerogative above the law ; 
 
 "Which, on your fall from office, grew unjust, 
 
 The laws made king, the king a slave in trust : 
 
 Whom with state-craft, to interest only true, 
 
 You now accuse of ills contrived by you. 
 
 To tliis hell's agent : Royal youth, fix here, 240 
 
 Let interest be the star by which you steer. 
 Hence to repose your trust in me was wise, 
 Whose interest most in your advancement lies. 
 A tie so firm as always will avail. 
 When friendship, nature, and religion fail ; 
 On ours the safety of the crowd depends ; 
 Secure the crowd, and we obtain our ends, 
 Whom I will cause so far our guilt to share. 
 Till they are made our champions by their fear. 
 What opposition can your rival bring, 250 
 
 While Sanhedrims are jealous of th^ king ? 
 
134 dryden's poems. 
 
 His strength as yet in David's friendship lies, 252 
 
 And what can David's self without supplies ? 
 
 Who with exclusive bills must now dispense, *" 
 
 Debar the heir, or starve in his defence. 
 
 Conditions which our elders ne'er will quit, 
 
 And David's justice never can admit. 
 
 Or forced by wants his brother to betray, 
 
 To your ambition next he clears the way ; 
 
 For if succession once to nought they bring, 200 
 
 Their next advance removes the present king : 
 
 Persisting else his senates to dissolve, 
 
 In equal hazard shall his reign involve. 
 
 Our tribes, whom Pharaoh's power so much alarms. 
 
 Shall rise without their prince to oppose his arms ; 
 
 Nor boots it on what cause at first they join, 
 
 Their troops, once up, are tools for our design. 
 
 At least such subtle covenants shall be made, 
 
 Till peace itself is war in masquerade. 
 
 Associations of mysterious sense, 270 
 
 Against, but seeming for, the king's defence ; 
 
 Even on their courts of justice fetters draw, 
 
 And from our agents muzzle up their law. 
 
 By which a conquest if we fail to make, 
 
 'Tis a drawn game at worst, and we secure our stake. 
 
 He said, and for the dire success depends 
 On various sects, by common guilt made friends. 
 Whose heads, though ne'er so differing in their creed, 
 r th' point of treason yet were well agreed. 
 'Mongst these, extorting Ishban first appears, 28O 
 
 Pursued by a meagre troop of bankrupt heirs. 
 Blest times when Ishban, he whose occupation 
 So long has been to cheat, reforms the nation ! 
 Ishban of conscience suited to his trade, 
 As good a saint as usurer ever made. 
 
 i 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PAI:T II. 13 J 
 
 Yet Mammon has not so engross'd him quite, 2S6 
 
 But Belial lays as large a claim of spite ; 
 
 Who, for those pardons from his prince he draws. 
 
 Returns reproaches, and cries up the cause. 
 
 That year in which the city he did sway, 290 
 
 lie left rebellion in a hopeful M-ay. 
 
 Yet his ambition once was found so bold. 
 
 To offer talents of extorted gold ; 
 
 Could David's wants have so been bribed, to shame 
 
 And scandalize our peerage with his name ; 
 
 For which, his dear sedition he 'd forswear, 
 
 And e'en turn loyal to be made a peer. 
 
 Next him, let railing Rabsheka have place. 
 
 So full of zeal he has no need of grace ; 
 
 A saint that can both flesh and spirit use, 300 
 
 Alike haunt conventicles and the stews : 
 
 Of whom the question difficult appears. 
 
 If most i' th' preacher's or the bawd's arrears. 
 
 What caution could appear too much in him 
 
 That keeps the treasure of Jerusalem ! 
 
 Let David's brother but approach the town, 
 
 Double our guards, he cries, we are undone. 
 
 Protestiug that he dares not sleep in 's bed 
 
 Lest he should rise next morn without his head. , ^ , t^ 
 
 Next ^ these, a troop of busy spirits pressTi ^ ,-, ^ 3io 
 Of little fortunes, and of conscience less ; 
 With them the tribe, whose luxury had drain'd 
 Their banks, in former sequestrations gain'd ; 
 Who rich and great by past rebellions grew, 
 And lonsf to fish the troubled streams anew. 
 Some future hopes, some present payment draws. 
 To sell their conscience and espouse the cause. 
 
 I ( 
 
 Next : ' from this to the line, ' To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee,' 
 is Dryden's own. 
 
136 dryden's poems. 
 
 Such stipends those vile hirelings best befit, sis 
 
 Priests without grace, and poets without wit. 
 
 Shall that false Hebronite escape our curse, 
 
 Judas, that keeps the rebels' pension-purse ; 
 
 Judas, that pays the treason-writer's fee, 
 
 Judas, that well deserves his namesake's tree ; 
 
 Who at Jerusalem's own gates erects 
 
 His college for a nursery of sects ; 
 
 Young prophets with an early care secures, 
 
 And with the dung of his own arts manures ! 
 
 What have the men of Hebron here to do '? 
 
 What part in Israel's promised land have you '? 
 
 Here Phaleg the lay-Hebronite is come, 330 
 
 'Cause like the rest he could not live at home ; 
 
 Who from his own possessions could not drain 
 
 An omer even of Hebronitish grain ; 
 
 Here struts it like a patriot, and talks high 
 
 Of injured subjects, alter'd property : 
 
 An emblem of that buzzing insect just, 
 
 That mounts the wheel, and thinks she raises dust. 
 
 Can dry bones live ? or skeletons produce 
 
 The vital warmth of cuckold ising juice ? 
 
 Slim Phaleg could, and at the table fed, 340 
 
 Return'd the grateful product to the bed. 
 
 A waiting-man to travelling nobles chose, 
 
 He his own laws would saucily impose, 
 
 Till bastinadoed back again he went. 
 
 To learn those manners he to teach was sent. 
 
 Chastised he ought to have retreated home. 
 
 But he reads politics to Absalom. 
 
 For never Hebronite, though kick'd and scorn'd, 
 
 To his own country willingly return'd. 
 
 — But leaving famish'd Phaleg to be fed, 350 
 
 And to talk treason for his daily bread. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 137 
 
 Let Hebron, nay let hell, produce a man 352 
 
 So made for mischief as Ben-Jochanan. 
 
 A Jew of humble parentage was he. 
 
 By trade a Levite, though of low degree : 
 
 His pride no higher than the desk aspired. 
 
 But for the drudgery of priests was hired 
 
 To read and pray in linen epliod brave, 
 
 And pick up single shekels from the grave. 
 
 Married at last, but finding charge come faster, 360 
 
 lie could not live by God, but changed his master : 
 
 Inspired by want, was made a factious tool, 
 
 They got a villain, and we lost a fool. 
 
 Still violent, whatever cause he took, 
 
 But most against the party he forsook ; 
 
 For renegadoes, who ne'er turn by halves, 
 
 Are bound in conscience to be double knaves. 
 
 So this prose-prophet took most monstrous pains 
 
 To let his masters see he earn'd his fjains. 
 
 But, as the devil owes all his imps a shame, 370 
 
 He chose the apostate for his proper theme ; 
 
 With little pains he made the picture true, 
 
 And from reflection took the rogue he drew. 
 
 A wondrous work, to prove the Jewish nation 
 
 In every age a murmuring generation ; 
 
 To trace them from their infancy of sinning. 
 
 And show them factious from their first beginning. 
 
 To prove they could rebel, and rail, and mock. 
 
 Much to the credit of the chosen flock ; 
 
 A strong authority which must convince, 380 
 
 That saints own no allegiance to their prince; 
 
 As 'tis a leading-card to make a whore. 
 
 To prove her mother had turn'd up before. 
 
 But, tell me, did the drunken patriarch bless 
 
 The son that show'd his father's nakedness 1 
 
138 dryden's poems. 
 
 Such thanks the present church thy pen will give, 386 
 Which proves rebellion was so primitive. 
 Must ancient failings be examples made 'i 
 Then murderers from Cain may learn their trade. 
 As thou the heathen and the saint hast drawn, 390 
 
 Methinks the apostate was the better man : 
 And thy hot father, waving my respect, 
 Not of a mother-church but of a sect. 
 And such he needs must be of thy inditing ; 
 This comes of drinking asses' milk and writing. 
 If Balak should be call'd to leave his place, 
 As profit is the loudest call of grace. 
 His temple, dispossess'd of one, would be 
 jReplenish'd with seven devils more by thee. 
 
 Levi, thou art a load, I '11 lay thee down, 400 
 
 And show Rebellion bare, without a gown ; 
 Poor slaves in metre, dull and addle-pated, 
 Who rhyme below even David's psalms translated; 
 Some in my speedy pace I must outrun. 
 As lame Mephibosheth the wizard's son : 
 To make quick way I '11 leap o'er heavy blocks. 
 Shun rotten Uzza, as I would the pox; 
 And hasten Og and Doeg to rehearse, 
 Two fools that crutch their feeble sense on verse : 
 Who, by my muse, to all succeeding times 410 
 
 Shall live in spite of their own doggrel rhymes. 
 
 Doeg, though without knowing how or why, 
 Made still a blundering kind of melody; 
 Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin, 
 Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in ; 
 Free from all meaning, whether good or bad. 
 And, in one word, heroically mad : 
 He was too warm on picking-work to dwell, 
 But fagoted his notions as they fell, 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 139 
 
 And if thej rhjined and rattled, all was well. 420 
 
 Spiteful he is not, though he wrote a satire, 
 
 For still there goes some thinking to ill-nature : 
 
 He needs no more than birds and beasts to think, 
 
 All his occasions are to eat and drink. 
 
 If he call rogue and rascal from a ijarret, 
 
 lie means you no more mischief than a parrot ; 
 
 The words for friend and foe alike were made. 
 
 To fetter them in verse is all his trade. 
 
 For almonds he '11 cry whore to his own mother : 
 
 And call young Absalom king David's brother. 430 
 
 Let him be gallows-free by my consent. 
 
 And nothing suffer, since he nothing meant. 
 
 Hanging supposes human soul and reason — 
 
 This animal's below committing treason: 
 
 Shall he be hang'd who never could rebel I 
 
 That 's a preferment for Achitophcl. 
 
 The woman 
 
 Was rightly sentenced by the law to die; 
 
 But 'twas hard fate that to the gallows led 
 
 The dog that never heard the statute read. 440 
 
 Railing in other men may be a crime, 
 
 But ought to pass for mere instinct in him : 
 
 Instinct he follows, and no further knows, 
 
 For to write verse with him is to transpose. 
 
 'Twere pity treason at his door to lay, 
 
 Who mal'es heavens gate a loch to its own hey: ^ 
 
 Let him rail on, let his invective muse 
 
 Have four and twenty letters to abuse, 
 
 Which, if he jumbles to one line of sense, 
 
 Indict him of a capital offence. 450 
 
 In fireworks give him leave to vent his spite — 
 
 Those are the only serpents he can write ; 
 
 * ' Who makes,' &c. : a line quoted from Settle. 
 
140 dryden's poems. 
 
 The height of his ambition is, we know, 453 
 
 But to be master of a puppet-show ; 
 On that one stage his works may yet appear, 
 And a month's harvest keeps him all the year. 
 Now stop your noses, readers, all and some, 
 For here 's a tun of midnight work to corae ; 
 Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home. 
 Round as a globe, and liquor'd every chink, 460 
 
 Goodly and great he sails behind his link ; 
 With all this bulk there 's nothing lost in Og, 
 For every inch that is not fool is rogue : 
 A monstrous mass of foul corrupted matter, 
 As all the devils had spued to make the batter. 
 When wine has given him courage to blaspheme, 
 He curses God, but God before cursed him ; 
 And if man could have reason, none has more. 
 That made his paunch so rich, and him so poor. 
 With wealth he was not trusted, for Heaven knew 470 
 What 'twas of old to pamper up a Jew ; 
 To what would he on quail and pheasant swell. 
 That even on tripe and carrion could rebel ? 
 But though Heaven made him poor (with reverence 
 
 speaking), 
 He never was a poet of God's making ; 
 The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull, 
 With this prophetic blessing — Be thou dull ; 
 Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lew^d delight 
 Fit for thy bulk — do anything but write : 
 Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men, 480 
 
 A strong nativity — but for the pen ! 
 Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink. 
 Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink. 
 I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain, 
 For treason botch'd in rhyme will be thy bane ; 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 141 
 
 Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to Avreck, 4S6 
 
 'Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck : 
 
 Why should thy metre good king David blast ? 
 
 A psalm of his will surely be thy last. 
 
 Dar'st thou presume in verse to meet thy foes, 400 
 
 Thou whom tlie penny pamphlet foil'd in prose 1 
 
 Docg, whom God for mankind's mirth has made, 
 
 O'ertops thy talent in thy very trade ; 
 
 Doeg to thee, thy paintings are so coarse, 
 
 A poet is, though he 's the poet's horse. ^ 
 
 A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull. 
 
 For writing treason, and for writing dull ; 
 
 To die for faction is a common evil, 
 
 But to be haniif'd for nonsense is the devil : 
 
 Hadst thou the glories of thy king express'd, 500 
 
 Thy praises had been satire at the best ; 
 
 But thou in clumsy verse, unlick'd, unpointed. 
 
 Hast shamefully defied the Lord's anointed : 
 
 I will not rake the dunghill for thy crimes. 
 
 For M'ho would read thy life that reads thy rhymes "? 
 
 But of king David's foes, be this the doom. 
 
 May all be like the young man Absalom ; 
 
 And, for my foes, may this their blessing be, 
 
 To talk like Doe":, and to write like thee ! I 
 
 Achitophel, each rank, degree, and age, 510 
 
 For various ends neglects not to engage ; 
 The wise and rich, for purse and counsel brought, 
 The fools and beggars, for their number sought : 
 Who yet not only on the town depends, 
 For even in court the faction had its friends ; 
 These thought the places they possess'd too small, 
 And in their hearts wish'd court and king to fall : 
 Whose names the muse disdaining, holds i' the dark, 
 Thi'ust in the villain herd without a mark ; 
 
142 deyden's poems. 
 
 With parasites and libel-spawning imps, 520 
 
 Intriguing fops, dull jesters, and worse pimps. 
 
 Disdain the rascal rabble to pursue. 
 
 Their set cabals are yet a viler crew : 
 
 See where, involved in common smoke, they sit ; 
 
 Some for our mirth, some for our satire fit : 
 
 These, gloomy, thoughtful, and on mischief bent, 
 
 While those, for mere good-fellowship, frequent 
 
 The appointed club, can let sedition pass, 
 
 Sense, nonsense, anything to employ the glass ; - 
 
 And who believe, in their dull honest hearts, 530 
 
 The rest talk reason but to show their parts ; 
 
 Who ne'er had wit or will for mischief yet, 
 
 But pleased to be reputed of a set. 
 
 But in the sacred annals of our plot, 
 Industrious Arod never be forgot : 
 The labours of this midnight-magistrate. 
 May vie with Corah's to preserve the state. 
 In search of arms, he fail'd not to lay hold 
 On war's most powerful, dangerous weapon — gold. 
 And last, to take from Jebusites all odds, 540 
 
 Their altars pillaged, stole their very gods ; 
 Oft would he cry, when treasure he surprised, 
 'Tis Baalish gold in David's coin disguised ; 
 Which to his house with richer relics came, 
 While lumber idols only fed the flame : 
 For our wise rabble ne'er took pains to inquire, 
 What 'twas he burnt, so 't made a rousing fire. 
 With which our elder was enrich'd no more 
 Than false Gehazi with the Syrian's store ; 
 So poor, that when our choosing- tribes were met, 550 
 Even for his stinking votes he ran in debt ; 
 For meat the wicked, and, as authors think. 
 The saints he choused for his electing drink ; 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PAKT II. 143 
 
 Thus every shift and subtle method past, 554 
 
 And all to be no Zaken at the last. 
 
 Now, raised on Tyre's sad ruins, Pharaoh's pride 
 Soar'd high, his legions threatening far and wide ; 
 As when a battering storm engender'd high, 
 By winds upheld, hangs hovering in the sky, 
 Is gazed upon by every trembling swain — 560 
 
 This for his vineyard fears, and that, his grain ; 
 For blooming plants, and flowers new opening these, 
 For lanibs yean'd lately, and far-labouring bees : 
 To guard his stock each to the gods does call, 
 Uncertain where the fire-charged clouds will fall : 
 Even so the doubtful nations watch his arms, 
 With terror each expecting his alarms. 
 Where, Judah ! where was now thy lion's roar ? 
 Thou only couldst the captive lands restore ; 
 But thou, with inbred broils and faction press'd, 570 
 From Egypt needst a guardian with the rest. 
 Thy prince from Sanhedrims no trust allow'd, 
 Too much tlie representers of the crowd, 
 Who for their own defence give no supply, 
 But what the crown's prerogatives must buy : 
 As if their monarch's rights to violate 
 More needful were, than to preserve the state ! 
 From present dangers they divert their care, 
 And all their fears are of the royal heir ; 
 Whom now the reigning malice of his foes 680 
 
 Unjuclged would sentence, and e'er crown'd depose. 
 Religion the pretence, but their decree 
 To bar his reign, whate'er his faith shall be ! 
 By Sanhedi'ims and clamorous croM'ds thus press'd, 
 What passions rent the righteous David's breast ! 
 Who knows not how to oppose or to comply—^ 
 Unjust to grant, or dangerous to deny ! 
 
144 dryden's poems. 
 
 How near, in this dark juncture, Israel's fate, 588 
 
 Whose peace one sole expedient could create, 
 
 Which yet the extremest virtue did require, 
 
 Even of that prince whose downfall they conspire ! 
 
 His absence David does with tears advise. 
 
 To appease their rage. Undaunted he complies. 
 
 Thus he, who, prodigal of blood and ease, 
 
 A royal life exposed to winds and seas. 
 
 At once contending with the waves and fire, 
 
 And heading danger in the wars of Tyre, 
 
 Inglorious now forsakes his native sand, 
 
 And Kke an exile quits the promised land ! 
 
 Our monarch scarce from pressing tears refrains, eoo 
 
 And painfully his royal state maintains, 
 
 Who now, embracing on the extremest shore, 
 
 Almost revokes what he enjoin'd before : 
 
 Concludes at last more trust to be allow'd 
 
 To storms and seas than to the raging crowd ! 
 
 Forbear, rash muse ! the parting scene to draw, 
 
 With silence charm'd as deep as theirs that saw ! 
 
 Not only our attending nobles weep. 
 
 But hardy sailors swell with tears the deep ! 
 
 The tide restrain'd her course, and more amazed, eio 
 
 The twin-stars on the royal brothers gazed : 
 
 While this sole fear 
 
 Does trouble to our suffering hero bring, 
 
 Lest next the popular rage oppress the king ! 
 
 Thus parting, each for the other's danger grieved, 
 
 The shore the king, and seas the prince received. 
 
 Go, injured hero ! while propitious gales. 
 
 Soft as thy consort's breath, inspii'e thy sails ; 
 
 Well may she trust her beauties on a flood. 
 
 Where thy triumphant fleets so oft have rode ! 620 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 
 
 145 
 
 Safe on thj breast reclined, her rest be deep, ^^21 
 
 Rock'd like aXereid bj the waves asleep ; 
 
 While happiest dreams her fancy entertain, 
 
 And to Eljsian fields convert the main ! 
 
 Go, injured hero ! while the shores of Tyre 
 
 At thy approach so silent shall admire, 
 
 AVho on thy thunder still their thoughts employ, 
 
 And greet thy landing with a trembling joy ! 
 
 On heroes thus the prophet's fate is thrown, 
 Admired by every nation but their own ; 630 
 
 Yet while our fiictious Jews his worth deny, 
 Their aching conscience gives their tongue the lie. 
 Even in the worst of men the noblest parts 
 Confess him, and he triumphs in their hearts. 
 Whom to his king the best respects commend 
 Of subject, soldier, kinsman, prince, and friend ; 
 All sacred names of most divine esteem. 
 And to perfection all sustain 'd by him ; 
 Wise, just, and constant, courtly without art, 
 Swift to discern and to reward desert ; 64o 
 
 No hour of his in fruitless ease destroy 'd, 
 But on the noblest subjects still employ 'd : 
 Whose steady soul ne'er learn'd to separate 
 Between his monarch's interest and the state ; 
 But heaps those blessings on the royal head. 
 Which he well knows must be on subjects shed. 
 
 On what pretence could then the vulgar rage 
 Against his worth and native rights engage \ 
 Religious fears their argument are made — 
 Religious fears his sacred rights invade ! 650 
 
 Of future superstition they complain, 
 And Jebusitic worship in his reign : 
 With such alarms his foes the crowd deceive, 
 With dangers fright, which not themselves believe. 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
146 dryden's poems. 
 
 Since nothing can our sacred rites remove, 655 
 
 Whate'er the faith of the successor prove : 
 Our Jews their ark shall undisturb'd retain, 
 At least while their religion is their gain, 
 Who know by old experience Baal's commands 
 Not only claim'd their conscience, but their lands ; 66 o 
 The J grudge God's tithes, how therefore shall they yield 
 An idol full possession of the field "? 
 Grant such a prince enthroned, we must confess 
 The people's sufferings than that monarch's less. 
 Who must to hard conditions still be bound. 
 And for his quiet with the crowd compound ; 
 Or should his thoughts to tyranny incline. 
 Where are the means to compass the design ? 
 Our crown's revenues are too short a store, 
 And jealous Sanhedrims would give no more. 670 
 
 As vain our fears of Egypt's potent aid, 
 Not so has Pharaoh learn'd ambition's trade, 
 Nor ever with such measures can comply. 
 As shock the common rules of policy ; 
 None dread like him the growth of Israel's king. 
 And he alone sufficient aids can bring ; 
 Who knows that prince to Egypt can give law. 
 That on our stubborn tribes his yoke could draw : 
 At such profound expense he has not stood, 
 Nor dyed for this his hands so deep in blood ; 680 
 
 Would ne'er through wrong and right his progress take, 
 Grudge his own rest, and keep the world awake, 
 To fix a lawless prince on Judah's throne, 
 First to invade our riglits, and then his own ; 
 His dear-gain'd conquests cheaply to despoil. 
 And reap the harvest of his crimes and toil. 
 We grant his wealtli vast as our ocean's sand, 
 And curse its fatal influence on our land, 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 147 
 
 AVliicli our bribed Jews so numerously partake, 689 
 
 That even an host his pensioners would make. 
 
 From these deceivers our divisions spring. 
 
 Our weakness, and the growth of Pjgjpt's king ; 
 
 These, with pretended friendship to the state. 
 
 Our crowds' suspicion of their prince create ; 
 
 Both pleased and frighten'd with the specious ciy, 
 
 To guard their sacred rites and property. 
 
 To ruin thus the chosen flock are sold, 
 
 While wolves are ta'en for guardians of the fold ; 
 
 Seduced by these, we groundlessly complain, 
 
 And loathe the manna of a gentle reign : too 
 
 Thus our forefathers' crooked paths are trod — 
 
 AVe trust our prince no more than they their God. 
 
 But all in vain our reasoning prophets preach. 
 
 To those whom sad experience ne'er could teach, 
 
 Wlio can commence new broils in bleeding scars. 
 
 And fresh remembrance of intestine wars ; 
 
 When the same household mortal foes did yiekh 
 
 And brothers stain'd with brothers' blood tlic field ; 
 
 AVlien sous' cursed steel the fathers' gore did stain, 
 
 And mothers mourn'd for sons by Withers slain ! 710 
 
 When thick as Egypt's locusts on the sand. 
 
 Our tribes lay slaughter'd through the promised land, 
 
 Whose few suiTivors with worse fate remain, 
 
 To drag the bondage of a tyrant's reign : 
 
 Which scene of woes, unknowing we renew, 
 
 And madly, even those ills we fear, pursue; 
 
 While Pharaoh laughs at our domestic broils, 
 
 And safely crowds his tents with nations' spoils. 
 
 Yet our fierce Sanhedrim, in restless rage. 
 
 Against our absent hero still engage, 720 
 
 And chiefly urge, such did their frenzy prove, 
 
 The only suit their prince forbids to move. 
 
148 dryden's poems. 
 
 Which, till obtained, they cease affairs of state, 723 
 
 And real dangers waive for groundless hate. 
 
 Long David's patience waits relief to bring, 
 
 With all the indulgence of a lawful king, 
 
 Expecting still the troubled waves would cease, 
 
 But found the raging billows still increase. 
 
 The crowd, whose insolence forbearance swells, 
 
 While he forgives too far, almost rebels. 730 
 
 At last his deep resentments silence broke, 
 
 The imperial palace shook, while thus he spoke — • 
 
 Then Justice wait, and Rigour take her time, 
 For lo ! our mercy is become our crime : 
 While halting Punishment her stroke delays. 
 Our sovereign right. Heaven's sacred trust, decays ! 
 For whose support even subjects' interest calls. 
 Woe to that kingdom where the monarch falls ! 
 That prince who yields the least of regal sway, 
 So far his people's freedom does betray. 740 
 
 Right lives by law, and law subsists by power ; 
 Disarm the shepherd, wolves the flock devour. 
 Hard lot of empire o'er a stubborn race. 
 Which Heaven itself in vain has tried with grace ! 
 When will our reason's long-charm'd eyes unclose, 
 And Israel judge between her friends and foesi 
 When shall we see expired deceivers' sway. 
 And credit what our God and monarchs say ? 
 Dissembled patriots, bribed with Egypt's gold. 
 Even Sanhedrims in blind obedience hold ; 750 
 
 Those patriots falsehood in their actions see, 
 And judge by the pernicious fruit the tree. 
 If aught for which so loudly they declaim, 
 Religion, laws, and freedom, were their aim, 
 Our senates in due methods they had led. 
 To avoid those mischiefs which they seem'd to dread : 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 149 
 
 But first, e'er yet thej propp'd the sinking state, 757 
 
 To impeach and charge, as urged by private hate, 
 
 Proves that they ne'er believed the fears tliey press'd, 
 
 But barbarously destroy 'd the nation's rest! 
 
 Oh ! whither will ungovern'd senates drive, 
 
 And to what bounds licentious votes arrive ? 
 
 AVhen their injustice we are press'd to share, 
 
 The monarch urged to exclude the lawful heir ; 
 
 Are princes thus distinguish'd from the crowd, 
 
 And this the privilege of royal blood ? 
 
 But grant we should confirm the wrongs they press. 
 
 His sufferings yet were than the people's less ; 
 
 Condemn'd for life the murdering sword to wield. 
 
 And on their heirs entail a bloody field. 770 
 
 Thus madly their own freedom they betray, 
 
 And for tlie oppression which they fear make way ; 
 
 Succession tix'd by Heaven, the kingdom's bar, 
 
 Which once dissolved, admits the flood of war ; 
 
 Waste, rapine, spoil, Mitliout the assault begin. 
 
 And our mad tribes supplant the fence within. 
 
 Since then their good they will not understand, 
 
 'Tis time to take the monarch's power in hand ; 
 
 Authority and force to join with skill, 
 
 And save the lunatics against their will, 780 
 
 The same rough means that 'suage the crowd, appease 
 
 Our senates raging with the crowd's disease. 
 
 Henceforth unbiass'd measures let them draw 
 
 From no false gloss, but genuine text of law ; 
 
 Nor urge those crimes upon religion's score, 
 
 Themselves so much in Jebusites abhor. 
 
 Whom laws convict, and only they, shall bleed, 
 
 Nor pharisees by pharisees be freed. 
 
 Impartial justice from our throne shall shower, 
 
 All shall have right, and we our sovereign power. 790 
 
150 dryden's roEMS. 
 
 He said, the attendants heard with awful joy, 79i 
 And glad presages their fix'd thoughts employ ; 
 From Hebron now the suffering heir return'd, 
 A realm that long with civil discord mourn'd ; " 
 Till his approach, like some arriving God, 
 Composed and heal'd the place of his abode ; 
 The deluge check'd that to Judea spread. 
 And stopp'd sedition at the fountain's head. 
 Thus, in forgiving, David's paths he drives. 
 And, chased from Israel, Israel's peace contrives, 800 
 The field coufess'd his power in arms before, 
 And seas proclaim'd his triumphs to the shore ; 
 As nobly has his sway in Hebron shown, 
 How fit to inherit godlike David's throne. 
 Through Sion's streets his glad arrival 's spread, 
 And conscious faction shrinks her snaky head ; 
 His train their sufferings think o'erpaid to see 
 The crowd's applause with virtue once agree. 
 Success charms all, but zeal for worth distress'd, 
 A virtue proper to the brave and best ; sio 
 
 'Mongst whom was Jothran — Jothran always bent 
 To serve the crown, and loyal by descent ; 
 Whose constancy so firm, and conduct just, 
 Deserved at once two royal masters' trust ; 
 Who Tyre's proud arms had manfully Avithstood 
 On seas, and gather'd laurels from the flood ; 
 Of learning yet no portion was denied. 
 Friend to the Muses and the Muses' pride. 
 Nor can Benaiah's worth forgotten lie. 
 Of steady soul when public storms were high ; 820 
 
 Wliose conduct, while the Moor fierce onsets made. 
 Secured at once our honour and our trade. 
 Such were the chiefs who most his sufferings mourn'd, 
 And view'd with silent joy the prince return'd ; 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 151 
 
 While lliose that sought his absence to betray, 825 
 
 Press first their nauseous false respects to pay ; 
 Him still the officious hypocrites molest, 
 And with malicious duty break his rest. 
 
 While real transports thus his friends employ, 
 And foes are loud in their dissembled joy, 830 
 
 His triumphs, so resounded far and near, 
 Miss'd not his young ambitious rival's ear ; 
 And as when joyful hunters' clamorous train, 
 Some slumbering lion wakes in Moab's plain, 
 Who oft had forced the bold assailants yield. 
 And scatter'd his pursuers througli the field, 
 Disdaining, furls his mane and tears the ground, 
 Ilis eyes inflaming all the desert round, 
 With roar of seas directs his chasers' way, 
 Provokes from fiir, and dares tliem to tlie fray : 840 
 
 Such rage storm'd now in Absalom's fierce breast. 
 Such indignation his fired eyes confess'd. 
 Where now was the instructor of his pride 1 
 Slept the old pilot in so rough a tide, 
 Whose wiles had from the happy shore betray'd, 
 And thus on shelves the credulous youth convey'd ? 
 In deep revolving tlioughts he weighs his state, 
 Secure of craft, nor doubts to baffle fate ; 
 At least, if his storm'd bark must go adrift, 
 To balk his charge, and for himself to shift, sso 
 
 In which his dexterous wit had oft been shown, 
 And in the wreck of kingdoms saved his own. 
 But now, with more than common danger press'd, 
 Of various resolutions stands possess'd, 
 Perceives the crowd's unstable zeal decay 
 Lest their recanting chief the cause betray. 
 Who on a father's grace his hopes may ground, 
 And for his pardon with their heads compound. 
 
152 dkyden's poems. 
 
 Him therefore, e'er his fortune slip her time, 859 
 
 The statesman plots to engage in some bold crime 
 
 Past pardon — ^'hether to attempt his bed, 
 
 Or threat with open arms the rojal head, 
 
 Or other daring method, and unjust. 
 
 That may confirm him in the people's trust. 
 
 But failing thus to ensnare him, nor secure 
 
 How long his foil'd ambition may endure, 
 
 Plots next to lay him by as past his date, 
 
 And try some new pretender's luckier fate ; 
 
 Whose hopes with equal toil be would pursue, 
 
 Nor care what claimer 's crown'd, except the tru6. 870 
 
 Wake, Absalom ! approaching ruin shun, 
 
 And see, see, for whom thou art undone ! 
 
 How are thy honours and thy fame betray 'd, 
 
 The property of desperate villains made ! 
 
 Lost power and conscious fears their crimes create. 
 
 And guilt in them was little less than fate ; 
 
 But why shouldst thou, from every grievance free. 
 
 Forsake thy vineyards for their stormy sea ■? 
 
 For thee did Canaan's milk and honey flow, 
 
 Love dress'd thy bowers, and laurels sought thy brow ; 880 
 
 Preferment, wealth, and power thy vassals were, - 
 
 And of a monarch all things but the care. 
 
 Oh ! should our crimes again that curse draw down. 
 
 And rebel-arms once more attempt the crown, 
 
 Sure ruin waits unhappy Absalom, 
 
 Alike by conquest or defeat undone. 
 
 Who could relentless see such youth and charms 
 
 Expire with wretched fate in impious arms ? 
 
 A prince so form'd, with earth's and Heaven's applause. 
 
 To triumph o'er crown'd heads in David's cause : 890 
 
 Or grant him victor, still his hopes must fail. 
 
 Who, conquering, would not for himself prevail ; 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 153 
 
 The faction whom he trusts for future swaj, 893 
 
 Him aud the public would alike betray ; 
 
 Amongst themselves divide the captive state, 
 
 And found their hydra-empire in his fate ! 
 
 Thus having beat the clouds with painful flight, 
 
 The pitied youth, with sceptres in his sight 
 
 (So have their cruel politics decreed), 
 
 Must by that crew, that made him guilty, bleed ! 900 
 
 For, could their pride brook any prince's sway, 
 
 Whom but mild David would they choose to obey ? 
 
 Who once at such a gentle reign repine, 
 
 Tlie fall of monarchy itself design : 
 
 From hate to that their reformations spring, 
 
 And David not their gi'ievance, but the king. 
 
 Seized now with panic fear the faction lies. 
 
 Lest this clear truth strike Absalom's charm'd eyes, 
 
 Lest he perceive, from long enchantment free, 
 
 Wliat all beside the flatter'd youth must see : 9io 
 
 But whate'er doubts his troubled bosom swell. 
 
 Fair carriage still became Achitophel, 
 
 Who now an envious festival installs, 
 
 Aud to survey their strength the faction calls, — 
 
 Which fraud, religious worship too must gild. 
 
 But oh ! how weakly does sedition build ! 
 
 For lo ! the royal mandate issues forth, 
 
 Dashing at once their treason, zeal, and mirth ! 
 
 So have I seen disastrous chance invade. 
 
 Where careful emmets had their forage laid, 920 
 
 Whether fierce Vulcan's rage the furzy plain 
 
 Had seized, engender'd by some careless swain ; 
 
 Or swelling Xeptune lawless inroads made, 
 
 And to their cell of store his flood convey 'd ; 
 
 The commonwealth broke up, distracted go, 
 
 And in wild haste their loaded mates o'erthroM- : 
 
154 deyden's poems. 
 
 Even so our scatter'd guests confusedly meet, 927 
 
 With boil'd, baked, roast, all justling in the street ; 
 Dejecting all, and ruefully dismay 'd, 
 For shekel without treat or treason paid. 
 
 Sedition's dark eclipse now fainter shows, 
 More bright each hour the royal planet grows, 
 Of force the clouds of envy to disperse, 
 . In kind conjunction of assisting stars. 
 Here, labouring muse ! those glorious chiefs relate. 
 That turn'd the doubtful scale of David's fate ; 
 The rest of that illustrious band rehearse, 
 Immortalized in laurell'd Asaph's verse : 
 Hard task ! yet will not I thy flight recall. 
 View heaven, and then enjoy thy glorious fall. 940 
 
 First write Bezaliel, whose illustrious name 
 Forestalls our praise, and gives his poet fame. 
 The Kenites' rocky province his command, 
 A barren limb of fertile Canaan's land ; 
 Which for its generous natives yet could be 
 Held worthy such a president as he. 
 Bezaliel, with each grace and virtue fraught, 
 Serene his looks, serene his life and thought ; 
 On whom so largely nature heap'd her store, 
 There scarce remain'd for arts to give him more ! 950 
 To aid the crown and state his greatest zeal. 
 His second care that service to conceal ; 
 Of dues observant, firm to every trust. 
 And to the needy always more than just ; 
 Who truth from specious falsehood can divide, 
 Has all the gownsmen's skill without their pride. 
 Thus crown'd with worth, from heights of honour won. 
 Sees all his glories copied in his son, 
 W^liose forward fame should every muse engage — 
 Whose vouth boasts skill denied to others' ao;e. 960 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PAKT II. 155 
 
 Men, mauners, language, books of noblest kind, 96i 
 
 Already are the conquest of his mind ; 
 
 Whose loyalty before its date was prime, 
 
 Nor waited the dull course of rolling time : 
 
 The monster faction early he dismay 'd. 
 
 And David's cause long since coufess'd his aid. 
 
 Brave Abdacl o'er the prophet's scliool was placed — 
 Abdael with all his father's virtue graced ; 
 A hero who, wliile stars look'd wondering down, 
 Without one Hebrew's blood restored tlie crown. 970 
 That praise was his ; what therefore did remain 
 For following chiefs, but boldly to maintain 
 That crown restored 1 and in this rank of fame, 
 Brave Abdael with the first a place must claim. 
 Proceed, illustrious, happy chief! proceed, 
 Foreseize the garlands for thy brow decreed, 
 While the inspired tribe attend with noblest strain 
 To register the glories thou shalt gain : 
 For sure the dew shall Gilboa's hills forsake. 
 And Jordan mix his stream M'ith Sodom's lake ; 9S0 
 
 Or seas retired, their secret stores disclose, 
 And to the sun their scaly brood expose. 
 Or swell'd above the cliffs their billows raise, 
 Before the muses leave their patron's praise. 
 
 Eliab our next labour does invite, 
 And hard the task to do Eliab right. 
 Long with the royal wanderer he roved, 
 And firm in all the turns of fortune proved. 
 Such ancient service and desert so large 
 Well claim'd the royal household for his charge. 990 
 His age with only one mild heiress bless'd. 
 In all the bloom of smiling nature dress'd, 
 And bless'd again to see his flower allied 
 To David's stock, and made young OthnieFs bride. 
 
156 DEYDEX'S POEMS. 
 
 The bright restorer of his father's youth, 995 
 
 Devoted to a son's and subject's truth ; 
 
 Resolved to bear that prize of duty home, 
 
 So bravely sought, while sought by Absalom. 
 
 x\h, prince ! the illustrious planet of thy birth, 
 
 And thy more powerful virtue, guard thy worth ! 1000 
 
 That no Achitophel thy ruin boast ; 
 
 Israel too much in one such wreck has lost. 
 
 Even envy must consent to Helon's worth. 
 Whose soul, though Egypt glories in his birth, 
 Could for our captive-ark its zeal retain. 
 And Pharaoh's altars in their pomp disdain : 
 To slight his gods was small ; with nobler pride, 
 He all the allurements of his court defied ; 
 Whom profit nor example could betray, 
 But Israel's friend, and true to David's sway. 1010 
 
 What acts of favour in his province fall 
 On merit he confers, and freely all. 
 
 Our list of nobles next let Amri grace. 
 Whose merits claim'd the Abethdin's high place ; 
 Who, with a loyalty that did excel. 
 Brought all the endowments of Achitophel. 
 Sincere was Amri, and not only knew, 
 But Israel's sanctions into practice drew ; 
 Our laws, that did a boundless ocean seem. 
 Were coasted all, and fathom'd all bj^ him. 1020 
 
 No rabbin speaks like him their mystic sense. 
 So just, and with such charms of eloquence : 
 To whom the double blessing does belong, 
 With Moses' inspiration, Aaron's tongue. 
 
 Than Sheva none more loyal zeal have shown, 
 Wakeful as Judah's lion for the crown ; 
 Who for that cause still combats in his age. 
 For which his youth with danger did engage. 
 
ABSALOM AND ACIIITOPHEL. PART II. 157 
 
 lu vain our factious priests the cant revive ; 1029 
 
 In vain seditious scribes with libel strive 
 To inflame the crowd ; while he with watchful eye 
 Observes, and shoots their treasons as thej fly ; 
 Their weekly frauds his keen replies detect ; 
 He undeceives more fast than tliey infect : 
 So Moses, when the pest on legions prey'd, 
 Advanced his signal, and the plague was stay'd. 
 
 Once more, ray fainting muse ! thy pinions try, 
 And strength's exhausted store let love supply. 
 What tribute, Asaph, shall we render thee ? 
 We '11 crown thee with a wreath from thy own tree ! lojo 
 Thy laurel grove no envy's flash can blast ; 
 The song of Asaph shall for ever last. 
 
 With wonder late posterity shall dwell 
 On Absalom and false Achitophel : 
 Thy strains shall be our slumbering prophets' dream, 
 And when our Sion virgins sing their theme ; 
 Our jubilees shall with thy verse be graced, 
 The song of Asaph shall for ever last. 
 
 How fierce his satire loosed ! restrain'd, how tame ! 
 How tender of the offending young man's fame ! 1050 
 How well his worth, and brave adventures styled, 
 Just to his virtues, to his error mild ! 
 No page of thine that fears the strictest view, 
 But teems with just reproof, or praise as due ; 
 Not Eden could a fairer prospect yield, 
 All Paradise without one barren field : 
 Whose wit the censure of his foes has pass'd — 
 The song of Asaph shall for ever last. 
 
 What praise for such rich strains shall we allow 1 
 What just rewards the grateful crown bestow 1 loeo 
 
 While bees in flowers rejoice, and flowers in dew, 
 While stars and fountains to their course are true ; 
 
158 dryden's poems. 
 
 While Jiidali's throne, and Sion's rock stand fast, 1063 
 The song of Asaph and the fame shall last ! 
 
 Still Hebron's honour'd, happy soil retains 
 Our royal hero's beauteous, dear remains ; 
 Who now sails off with winds nor wishes slack, 
 To bring his sufferings' bright companion back. 
 But e'er such transport can our sense employ, 
 A bitter grief must poison half our joy ; 1070 
 
 Nor can our coasts restored those blessings see 
 Without a bribe to envious destiny ! 
 Cursed Sodom's doom for ever fix the tide 
 Where by inglorious chance the valiant died ! 
 Give not insulting Askelon to know. 
 Nor let Gath's daughters triumph in our woe ; 
 No sailor with the news swell Egypt's pride. 
 By what inglorious fate our valiant died. 
 Weep, Arnon ! Jordan, weep thy fountains dry ! 
 While Sion's rock dissolves for a supply. 108O 
 
 Calm were the elements, night's silence deep, 
 The waves scarce murmuring, and the winds asleep ; 
 Yet fate for ruin takes so still an hour, 
 And treacherous sands the princely bark devour ; 
 Then death unworthy seized a generous race, 
 To virtue's scandal, and the stars' disgrace ! 
 Oh ! had the indulgent powers vouchsafed to yield, 
 Instead of faithless shelves, a listed field ; 
 A listed field of Heaven's and David's foes, 
 Fierce as the troops that did his youth oppose, 1090 
 Each life had on his slaughter'd heap retired. 
 Not tamely, and unconquering, thus expired : 
 But destiny is now their only foe. 
 And dying, even o'er that they triumph too ; 
 With loud last breaths their master's 'scape applaud, 
 Of whom kind force could scarce the fates defraud ; 
 
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. PART II. 159 
 
 Who for such followers lost, matchless mind! 1097 
 
 At his own safety now almost repined ! 
 
 Saj, royal Sir ! by all your fame in arms, 
 
 Your praise in peace, and by Urania's charms. 
 
 If all your sulTerings past so nearly press'd, 
 
 Or pierced with half so paiuful grief your breast 1 
 
 Thus some diviner muse her hero forms. 
 Not soothed with soft delights, but toss'd in storms ; 
 Nor stretch'd on roses in the myrtle grove, 
 Nor crowns his days Avith mirth, his niglits with love. 
 But far removed in thundering camps is found, 
 Ilis slumbers short, his bed the herbless ground. 
 In tasks of danger always seen the first, 
 Feeds from tlie hedge, and slakes with ice his thirst. 1110 
 Long must his patience strive with fortune's rage, 
 And long-opposing gods themselves engage ; 
 Must see his country flame, his friends destroyed, 
 Before the promised empire be enjoy 'd. 
 Such toil of fate must bujld a man of fame. 
 And such, to Israel's crown, the godlike David came. 
 
 What sudden beams dispel the clouds so fast, 
 Whose drenching rains laid all our vineyards waste? 
 The spring, so far behind her course delay'd. 
 On the instant is in all her bloom array 'd ; 1120 
 
 The winds breathe low, the element serene ; 
 Yet mark what motion in the waves is seen ! 
 Thronging and busy as Ilybla^an swarms. 
 Or straggled soldiers summon'd to their arms. 
 See where the princely bark in loosest pride, 
 With all her guardian fleet, adorns the tide ! 
 High on her deck the royal lovers stand. 
 Our crimes to pardon, e'er they touch'd our land. 
 Welcome to Israel and to David's breast ! 
 Here all your toils, here all your sufl'erings rest. 1130 
 
160 
 
 DRYDE]S'S POEMS. 
 
 1131 
 
 This year did Ziloah rule Jerusalero, 
 And boldly all sedition's surges stem, 
 Howe'er encumber'd with a viler pair 
 Than Ziph or Shimei to assist the chair; 
 Yet Ziloah's loyal labours so prevail' d, 
 That faction at the next election fail'd, 
 When even the common cry did justice found, 
 And merit by the multitude was crown'd : 
 With David then was Israel's peace restored, 
 Crowds mourn'd their error, and obey'd their lord. ii40 
 
 A KEY TO BOTH PARTS OF ABSALOM AND A^HITOPHEL. 
 
 Ahdael — General Monk, Duke of 
 Albemarle. 
 
 Abetlidin — The name given, throngh 
 this poem, to a Lord -Chancellor 
 in general. 
 
 Absalom — Duke of Monmouth, na- 
 tural son of King Cliarles II. 
 
 Acliitopliel — Anthony AshleyCooper, 
 Earl of Shaftesbury. 
 
 Adriel—3o\u\ Sheffield, Earl of Mid- 
 grave. 
 
 Agag — Sir Edmundbury Godfrey. 
 
 Amiel—lslr Seymour, Speaker of the 
 House of Commons. 
 
 A'hwi — Sir Ileneage Finch, Earl of 
 Winclielsea, and Lord Chan- 
 cellor. 
 
 Annabel — Duchess of Monmouth. 
 
 ^ro(Z— Sir William Waller. 
 
 Asaph — A character drawn by Tate 
 for Dryden, in the second part 
 of this poem. 
 
 Balaam — Earl of Huntingdon. 
 
 Balak — Barnet. 
 
 Barzillai — Duke of Ormond. 
 
 Bathsheba — Duchess of Portsmouth. 
 
 Benaiah — General Sackville. 
 
 Ben Jochanan — Rev. Samuel John- 
 son. 
 
 Bezaliel — Duke of Beaufort. 
 
 Caleb — Ford, Lord Grey of Werk. 
 
 Corah — Dr Titus Gates. 
 
 David — King Charles II. 
 
 Doeg — Elkanah Settle, the city poet. 
 
 Egypt — France. 
 
 Eliab — Sir Henry Benuet, Earl of 
 Arlington. "^r 
 
 Ethnic-Plot— The Popish Plot. 
 
 Gath— 'The Land of Exile, more par- 
 ticularly Brussels, where King 
 Charles II. long resided. 
 
 Hebrew Priests — The Church of 
 England Clergy. 
 
 Hebron — Scotland. 
 
 Helon — Earlofreversham,aFrench- 
 man by birth, and nephew to 
 Marshal Turenne. 
 
 Hiishai — Hyde, Earl of Rochester. 
 
 Ishban — Sir Robert Clayton, Alder- 
 man, and one of the City Mem- 
 bers. 
 
 Ishbosheth—Richnri Cromwell. 
 
THE MEDAL. 
 
 IGl 
 
 Israel — England. 
 
 Issachar— Thomas Thjmne, Esq., 
 who was shot in liis coach. 
 
 Jehusites — Papists. 
 
 Jerusalem — Loudon . 
 
 Jews — English. 
 
 Jonas — Sir William Jones, a great 
 lawyer. 
 
 Jordan — Dover. 
 
 Jotham — Saville, Marquis of Hali- 
 fax. 
 
 Jotltram — Lord Dartmouth. 
 
 Judas — Mr Ferguson, a canting 
 teacher. 
 
 Mephibosheth — Pordage. 
 
 Michal—(lacen Catharine. 
 
 Nadab — Lord Howard of Escrick. 
 
 0</— Siudwell.— 
 
 Olhniel — Henry, Duke of Grafton, 
 natunil son of King Charles H. 
 by the Duchess of Cleveland. 
 
 Phaleg —Forbes. 
 
 Pharaoh — King of France. 
 
 Rabsheka — Sir Thomas Player, one 
 of the City Members. 
 
 Sagan of Jerusalem — Dr Compton, 
 Bishop of London, youngest son 
 to the Earl of Northampton. 
 
 Sanhedrim — Parliament. 
 
 Saul — Oliver Cromwell. 
 
 Sheva — Sir Roger Lest range. 
 
 Shimei—SVmgshy Bethel, Sheriff of 
 London in 1080. 
 
 Sion — England. 
 
 Solymcean Rout — London Rebels. 
 
 T/yre— Holland. 
 
 TJzza-J&ck Hall. 
 
 Zadoc — Sancroft, Archbishop of 
 Canterbury. 
 
 Zaken — A Member of tiie House of 
 Commons. 
 
 Ziloah — Sir John Moor, Lord Mayor 
 in 1C82. 
 
 Zimri — Villiers, Duke of Bucking- 
 ham. 
 
 THE MEDAL. » 
 
 A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION". 
 
 EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS. 
 
 For to whom can I dedicate this poem with so much justice as to yoyA 'It 
 is the representation of your own hero : it is the picture drawn at length, 
 which you admire and prize so much in little. None of your ornaments are 
 wanting ; neither the landscape of your Tower, nor the rising sun ; nor the 
 Anno Domini of your new sovereign's coronation. This must needs be a 
 grateful undertaking to your whole party ; especially to those who have not 
 been so happy as to purchase the original. I hear the graver has made a good 
 market of it: all his kings are bought up already; or the value of the 
 remainder so enhanced, that many a poor Polander, who would be glad to 
 worship the image, is not able to go to the cost of him, but must be content 
 to see him here. I must confess I am no great artist ; but sign-post painting 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 The Medal : ' see 
 L 
 
 Lite. 
 
162 dryden's poems. 
 
 will serve the turn to remember a friend by, especially when better is not to be 
 had. Yet, for your comfort, the lineaments are true ; and though he sat not 
 five times to me, as he did to B., yet I have consulted history, as the Italian 
 painters do when they would draw a Nero or a Caligula : though they have 
 not seen the man, they can help their imagination by a statue of him, and find 
 out the colouring from Suetonius and Tacitus. Truth is, you ihlght have 
 spared one side of your Medal : the head would be seen to more advantage if 
 it were placed on a spike of the Tower, a little nearer to the sun, which would 
 then break out to better purpose. 
 
 You tell us in your preface to the "No-Protestant Plot,"^ that you shall be 
 forced hereafter to leave off" your modesty : I suppose you mean that little which 
 is left you ; for it was worn to rags when you put out this Medal. Never was 
 there practised such a piece of notorious impudence in the face of an established 
 government. I believe when he is dead you will wear him in thumb rings, as 
 the Turks did Scanderbeg ; as if there were virtue in his bones to preserve you 
 against monarchy. Yet all this while you pretend not only zeal for the 
 public good, but a due veneration for the person of the king. But all men 
 who can see an inch before them, may easily detect those gross fallacies. That 
 it is necessary for men in your circumstances to pretend both, is granted you ; 
 for without them there could be no ground to raise a faction. But I would 
 ask you one civil question. What right has any man among you, or any asso- 
 ciation of men (to come nearer to you), who, out of parliament, cannot be 
 considered in a public cap?,city, to meet as you daily do in factious clubs, to 
 vilify the government in your discourses, and to libel it in all your writings? 
 Who made you judges in Israel? Or how is it consistent with your zeal for 
 the public welfare, to promote sedition ? Does your definition of loyal, which 
 is to serve the king according to the laws, allow you the licence of traducing 
 the executive power with which you own he is invested ? You complain that 
 his majesty has lost the love and confidence of his people ; and by your very 
 urging it, you endeavour what in you lies to make him lose them. All good 
 subjects abhor the thought of ai-bitrary power, whether it be in one or many : 
 if you were the patriots you would seem, you would not at this rate incense 
 the multitude to assume it ; for no sober man can fear it, either from the 
 king's disposition or his practice ; or even, where you would odiously fay it, 
 from his ministers. Give us leave to enjoy the government and the benefit of 
 laws under which we M-ere born, and which we desire to transmit to our 
 posterity. You are not the trustees of the public liberty ; and if you have not 
 right to petition in a crowd, much less have you to intermeddle in the manage- 
 ment of affairs ; or to arraign what you do not like, which in efl'ect is every- 
 thing that is done by the king and council. Can you imagine that any 
 reasonable man will believe you respect the person of his majesty, when 
 it is apparent that yoin- seditious pamphlets are stuffed with particular reflec- 
 tions on him ? If you have the confidence to deny this, it is easy to be 
 evinced from a thousand passages, which I only forbear to quote, because I de- 
 sire they should die and be forgotten. I have perused many of your papers ; and 
 to show you that I have, the third part of your " No-Protestant Plot " is umch 
 
 1 A pamphlet vindicating Lord Shaftesbury from being concerned in any plotting designs 
 against the King. Wood says, the general report was, that it was written by the earl him- 
 self. 
 
THE MEDAL. 163 
 
 of it stolen from your dead author's pamphlet, called the " Growth of Popery ; " 
 as manifestly as Milton's "Defence of the English People" is from Buchanan 
 " De jure regni apud Scotos :" or your first Covenant and new Association from 
 tlie holy league of the French Guisards. Any one who reads Davila, may trace 
 your practices all along. There were the same pretences for reformation and 
 loyalty, tlie same aspersions of the king, and the same grounds of a rebellion. 
 I know not whether you will take the liistorian's word, wlio says it was re- 
 ported, tliat Poltrot, a Huguenot, murdered Francis Duke of Guise, by the in- 
 stigations of Theodore Bcza ; or that it was a Huguenot minister, otlierwise 
 called a Presbyterian (for our church abhors so devilish a tenet), who first 
 writ a treatise of tiic lawfulness of deposing and murdering kings of a difi"ercnt 
 persuasion in religion : but I am able to prove, from tiie doctrine of Calvin, 
 and principles of Buclianaii, tiiat they set tlie people above the magistrate ; 
 which, if I mistake not, is your own fundamental, and which carries your 
 loyalty no further tiian your liking. When a vote of the House of Commons 
 goes on your side, you are as ready to observe it as if it were piissed into a 
 law ; but when you are pinched witli any former, and yet unrepealed act of 
 parliament, you declare tiiat in some cases you will not be obliged by it. The 
 passage is in the same third part of the " No-Protestant Plot," and is too plain 
 to be denied. Tlie late copy of your intended Association, you neitiier wholly 
 justify nor condemn ; but as the Papists, when they are unopposed, fly out 
 into ail the pageantries of worship, but in times of war, when they are hard 
 pressed by arguments, lie close intrenched behind the Council of Trent : so now, 
 when your aflairs are in a low condition, you dare not pretend that to be a 
 legal combination, but whensoever you are afloat, I doubt not but it will be 
 maintained and justified to purpose. For, indeed, there is nothing to defend 
 it but the sword : it is the proper time to say anything when men have all 
 things in their power. 
 
 In the mean time, you would lain be nibbling at a parallel betwixt this Asso- 
 ciation, and that in tiie time of Queen Elizabeth.' But there is tiiis small 
 difference betwixt them, tliat the ends of the one are directly opposite to the 
 other: one with the queen's approbation and conjunction, as head of it; the 
 otiier, without either tlie consent or knowledge of the king, against whose 
 authority it is manifestly designed. Therefore you do well to have recourse to 
 your last evasion, that it Avas contrived by your enemies, and shufHed into the 
 papers that were seized ; which yet you see the nation is not so easy to believe 
 as your own jury ; but the matter is not difBcalt to find twelve men in New- 
 gate who would acquit a malefactor. 
 
 I have only one favour to desire of you at parting, that when you think of 
 answering this poem, you would employ the same pens against it, who have 
 combated with so much success agauist Absalom and Achitophel : for tlien you 
 may assure yom-selves of a clear victory, without the least reply. Rail at me 
 abundantly ; and, not to break a custom, do it without wit : by this method 
 you wiU gain a considerable point, which is, wholly to waive the answer of my 
 arguments. Never own the bottom of your principles, for fear they should be 
 treason. Fall severely on the miscarriages of government ; for if scandal be 
 
 1 When England, in the sixteenth century, was supposed in danger from the designs of 
 Spain, the principal people, with the queen at their head, entered into an association fbrthe 
 defence of their country, and of the Protestant religion, against Popery, invasion, and inno- 
 vation. 
 
164 deyden's poems. 
 
 not allowed, you are no freeborn subjects. If God has not blessed you widi 
 the talent of rhyming, make use of ray poor stock, and welcome : let yom* 
 verses run upon my feet ; and for the utmost refuge of notorious blockheads, 
 reduced to the last extremity of sense, turn my own lines upon me, and, in 
 utter despair of your own satire, make me satirize myself. Some of you have 
 been driven to this bay already ; but, above all the rest, commend me to the 
 nonconformist parson, who writ the " Whip and Key." I am afraid it is not 
 read so much as the piece deserves, because the bookseller is every week crying 
 help at the end of his Gazette, to get it oif. You see I am charitable enough 
 to do him a kindness, that it may be published as well as printed ; and that so 
 much skill in Hebrew derivations may not lie for waste-paper in the shop. Yet 
 I half suspect he went no farther for his learning, than the index of Hebrew 
 names and etymologies, which is printed at the end of some English Bibles. 
 If Achitophel signifies the brother of a fool, the author of that poem will pass 
 with his readers for the next of kin. And perhaps it is the relation that makes 
 the kindness. Whatever the verses are, buy them up, I beseech you, out of 
 pity ; for I hear the conventicle is shut up, and the brother' of Achitophel out 
 of service. 
 
 Now, footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a purse for a member 
 of their society, who has had his livery pulled over his ears, and even protest- 
 ant socks are bought up among you, out of veneration to the name. A dis- 
 senter in poetry from sense and English will make as good a Protestant rhymer, 
 as a dissenter from the Church of England a Protestant parson. Besides, if 
 you encourage a young beginner, who knows but he may elevate his style 
 a little above the vulgar epithets of profane, and saucy jack, and atheistic 
 scribbler, with which he treats me, when the fit of enthusiasm is strong upon 
 him : by which well-mannered and charitable expressions I was certain of his 
 sect before I knew his name. What would you have more of a man ? He has 
 damned me in yom- cause from Genesis to the Revelations ; and has half the 
 texts of both the Testaments against me, if you will be so civil to j^ourselves 
 as to take him for your interpreter ; and not to take them for Irish witnesses. 
 After all, perhaps you will tell me, that you retained him only for the opening 
 of your cause, and that your main lawyer is yet behind. Now, if it so happen 
 he meet with no more reply than his predecessors, you may either conclude that 
 I trust to the goodness of my cause, or fear my adversary, or disdain him, or 
 what you please ; for the short of it is, it is indifferent to your humble servant, 
 whatever your party says or thinks of him. 
 
 Op all our antic sights and pageantry, 
 Which English idiots run in crowds to see, 
 The Polish 2 Medal bears the prize alone: 
 
 ' ' Brother : ' George Cooper, Esq., brother to the Earl of Shaftesbury, was 
 married to a daughter of Alderman Oldfield ; and, being settled in the city, 
 became a great man among the Whigs and fimatics. — - ' Polish : ' Shaftes- 
 bury was said to have entertained hopes of the crown of Poland. 
 
THE MEDAL. 165 
 
 A monster, more the favourite of the town 4 
 
 Than either fairs or theatres have shown. 
 
 Never did art so well with nature strive ; 
 
 Nor ever idol seem'd so much alive : 
 
 So like the man ; so golden to the sight, 
 
 So base within, so counterfeit and light. 
 
 One side is fill'd with title and with face ; lo 
 
 And, lest the king should want a regal place. 
 
 On the reverse, a tower the town surveys ; 
 
 O'er which our mounting sun his beams displays. 
 
 The word, pronounced aloud by shrieval voice, 
 
 La3tamur, which, in Polish, is rejoice. 
 
 The day, month, year, to the great act are join'd : 
 
 And a new canting holiday design'd. 
 
 Five days he sate, for every cast and look — 
 
 Four more than God to finish Adam took. 
 
 But who can tell what essence angels are, 20 
 
 Or how long Heaven was making Lucifer ? 
 
 Oh, could the style that copied every grace, 
 
 And plough'd such furrows for an eunuch face, 
 
 Could it have form'd his ever-changing will, 
 
 The various piece had tired the graver's skill ! 
 
 A martial hero first, with early care, 
 
 Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war. 
 
 A beardless chief, a rebel, e'er a man : 
 
 So young his hatred to his prince began. 
 
 Next this (how wildly will ambition steer !) 30 
 
 A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear. 
 
 Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold. 
 
 He cast himself into the saint-like mould ; 
 
 Groan'd, sigh'd, and pray'd, while godliness was gain — 
 
 The loudest bagpipe of the squeaking train. 
 
 But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes. 
 
 His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise. 
 
166 dryden's poems. 
 
 There split the saint : for hjpocritic zeal 38 
 
 Allows no sins but those it can conceal. 
 
 Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope : 
 
 Saints must not trade ; but they may interlope : 
 
 The ungodly principle was all the same ; 
 
 But a gross cheat betrays his partner's game. 
 
 Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and slack ; 
 
 His nimble wit outran the heavy pack. 
 
 Yet still he found his fortune at a stay ; 
 
 Whole droves of blockheads choking up his way ; 
 
 They took, but not rewarded, his advice ; 
 
 Villain and wit exact a double price. 
 
 Power was his aim : but, thrown from that pretence, 50 
 
 The wretch turn'd loyal in his own defence ; 
 
 And malice reconciled him to his prince. 
 
 Him, in the anguish of his soul he served ; 
 
 Rewarded faster still than he deserved. 
 
 Behold him now exalted into trust ; 
 
 His counsel 's oft convenient, seldom just. 
 
 Even in the most sincere advice he gave. 
 
 He had a grudging still to be a knave. 
 
 The frauds he learn'd in his fanatic years 
 
 Made him uneasy in his lawful gears ; 60 
 
 At best, as little honest as he could, 
 
 And, like white witches,^ mischievously good. 
 
 To his first bias longingly he leans ; 
 
 And rather would be great by wicked means. 
 
 Thus framed for ill, he loosed our triple hold ; ^ 
 
 Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold. 
 
 From hence those tears ! that Ilium of our woe ! 
 
 Who helps a powerful friend, forearms a foe. 
 
 ' ' White witches : ' who wrought good ends by infernal means. — * ' Loosed 
 our triple hold : ' our breaking the alliance with Holland and Sweden, was 
 owing to the Earl of Shaftesbury's advice. 
 
THE MEDAL. 167 
 
 What wonder if the waves prevail so far, 69 
 
 When he cut down the banks that made the bar 1 
 
 Seas follow but their nature to invade ; 
 
 But he by art our native strength betray 'd. 
 
 So Samson to his foe his force confess'd, 
 
 And, to be shorn, lay slumbering on her breast. 
 
 But when this ftital counsel, found too late, 
 
 Exposed its author to tlie public hate ; 
 
 When his just sovereign, by no impious way 
 
 Could be seduced to arbitrary sway ; 
 
 Forsaken of that hope he shifts his sail, 
 
 Drives down the current with a popular gale ; 80 
 
 And shows the fiend confess'd without a veil. 
 
 lie preaches to the crowd that power is lent, 
 
 But not convcy'd, to kingly government ; 
 
 That claims successive bear no binding force, 
 
 That coronation oaths are tilings of course ; 
 
 ^laintains the multitude can never err, 
 
 And sets the people in the papal chair. 
 
 The reason 's obvious : interest never lies ; 
 
 The most have still their interest in their eyes ; 
 
 The power is always theirs, and jDOwer is ever wise. 90 
 
 Almighty crowd, thou shortenest all dispute — 
 
 Power is thy essence ; wit thy attribute ! 
 
 Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay. 
 
 Thou leap'st o'er all eternal truths in thy Pindaric way ! \ 
 
 Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide, 
 
 AVhen Phocion and when Socrates were tried : 
 
 As righteously they did those dooms repent ; 
 
 Still they were wise whatever way they went. 
 
 Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run ; 
 
 To kill the father, and recall the son. lOO 
 
 Some think the fools were most, as times went then, 
 
 But now the world 's o'erstock'd with prudent men. 
 
168 DEYDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 The common cry is even religion's test — 103 
 
 The Turk's is at Constantinople best ; 
 
 Idols in India ; Popery at Rome ; 
 
 And our own worship only true at home : 
 
 And true, but for the time 'tis hard to know 
 
 How long we please it shall continue so. 
 
 This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns ; 
 
 So all are God Almighties in their turns. 110 
 
 A tempting doctrine, plausible and new ; 
 
 What fools our fathers were, if this be true ! 
 
 Who, to destroy the seeds of civil war, 
 
 Inherent right in monarchs did declare : ^ 
 
 And, that a lawful power might never cease, 
 
 Secured succession to secure our peace. 
 
 Thus property and sovereign sway, at last, 
 
 In equal balances were justly cast : 
 
 But this new Jehu spurs the hot-mouth'd horse — 
 
 Instructs the beast to know his native force ; 120 
 
 To take the bit between his teeth, and fly 
 
 To the next headlong steep of anarchy. 
 
 Too happy England, if our good we knew, 
 
 Would we possess the freedom we pursue ! 
 
 The lavish government can give no more : 
 
 Yet we repine, and plenty makes us poor. 
 
 God tried us once ; our rebel-fathers fought, 
 
 He glutted them with all the power they sought : 
 
 Till, master'd by their own usurping brave, 
 
 The free-born subject sunk into a slave. 130 
 
 We loathe our manna, and we long for quails ; 
 
 Ah, what is man when his own wish prevails ! 
 
 How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill ! 
 
 Proud of his power, and boundless in his will ! 
 
 That kings can do no wrong, we must believe ; 
 
 None can they do, and must they all receive 1 
 
THE JfEDAL. 169 
 
 f Help, Heaven ! or sadlj vrc shall see an hour, 137 
 
 When neither wrong nor right are in their power ! 
 
 Already they have lost their best defence — 
 
 Tlie benefit of laws which they dispense. 
 
 No justice to their righteous cause allow'd ; 
 
 But baffled by an arbitrary crowd. 
 
 And medals graved their conquest to record, 
 
 The stamp and coin of tlieir adopted lord. 
 
 The man ^ who laugh'd but once, to see an ass 
 
 Mumbling to make the cross-grain'd thistles pass, 
 
 flight laugh again to see a jury chaw 
 
 The prickles of unpalatable law. 
 
 The witnesses, that leech-like lived on blood. 
 
 Sucking for them was medicinally good ; 150 
 
 But Mhen they fasten'd on their fcster'd sore. 
 
 Then justice and religion they forswore, 
 
 Their maiden oaths debauch'd into a whore. 
 
 Thus men are raised by factions, and decried ; 
 
 And rogue and saint distinguish'd by their side. 
 
 They rack even Scripture to confess their cause. 
 
 And plead a call to preach in spite of laws. 
 
 But that 's no news to the poor injured page ; 
 
 It has been used as ill in every age, 
 
 And is constrain'd with patience all to take : I60 
 
 For what defence can Greek and Hebrew make ? 
 
 Happy who can this talking trumpet seize ; 
 
 They make it speak whatever sense they please : 
 
 'Twas framed at first our oracle to inquire; 
 
 But since our sects in prophecy grow higher, 
 
 The text inspires not them, but they the text inspire. 
 London, thou gi'eat emporium of our isle, 
 
 thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Xile ! 
 .• How shall I praise or curse to thy desert 1 
 
 Or separate thy sound from thy corrupted part ? iro 
 
 » ' The i\Iau : ' Crassus. 
 
170 dryden's poems. 
 
 I call thee Nile ; the parallel will stand ; 17-. 
 
 Thy tides of wealth o'erflow the fatteu'd land ; 
 Yet mousters^ from thy large increase we find, 
 Engeuder'd on the slime_thou leav'st behind. 
 Sedition has not wholly seized on thee, 
 Thy nobler parts are from infection free. 
 Of Israel's tribes thou hast a numerous band, 
 But still the Canaanite is in the land. 
 Thy military chiefs are brave and true ; 
 Nor are thy disenchanted burghers few. iso 
 
 The head ^ is loyal which thy heart commands, 
 But what 's a head with two such gouty hands ? 
 The wise and wealthy love the surest way. 
 And are content to thrive and to obey. 
 But wisdom is to sloth too great a slave ; 
 None are so busy as the fool and knave. 
 Those let me curse ; what vengeance will they urge, 
 Whose ordures neither plague nor fire can purge 1 
 Nor sharp experience can to duty bring, 
 Nor angry Heaven, nor a forgiving king ! i90 
 
 In gospel-phrase, their chapmen they betray ; 
 Their shops are dens, the buyer is their prey. 
 The knack of trades is living on the spoil ; 
 They boast even w^hen each other they beguile. 
 Customs to steal is such a trivial thing, 
 1 That 'tis their charter to defraud their king. 
 All hands unite, of every jarring sect ; 
 They cheat the country first, and then infect. 
 They for God's cause their monarchs dare dethrone. 
 And they '11 be sure to make his cause their own. 200 
 Whether the plotting Jesuit laid the plan 
 Of murdering kings, or the French Puritan, 
 
 ' ' The head,' &c. : alluding to the lord mayor and the two sheriffs : the 
 former, Sir John Moor, being a Tory ; the latter, Shute and Pilkington, Whigs. 
 
THE MEDAL. 171 
 
 Our sacrilegious sects their guides outgo, 203 
 
 And kings and kingly power would murder too. 
 Wliat means their traitorous combination less, 
 Too plain to evade, too sliamcful to confess ! 
 But treason is not own'd when 'tis descried ; 
 Successful crifnes alone are justified. 
 The men, who no conspirac}' would find. 
 Who doubts, but had it taken, they had join'd, 210 
 
 Join'd in a mutual covenant of defence ; 
 At first without, at last against their prince 1 
 If sovereign right by sovereign power tliey scan, 
 The same bold maxim holds in God and man : 
 God were not safe, his thunder could they shun, 
 lie should be forced to crown another son. 
 Thus M'hen the heir was from the vineyard thrown. 
 The rich possession was the murderer's own. 
 In vain to sophistry they have recourse : 
 By proving theirs no plot, they prove 'tis worse — 220 
 Unmask'd rebellion, and audacious force : 
 AVhich, though not actual, yet all eyes may sec 
 'Tis working in the immediate power to be. 
 For from pretended grievances they rise. 
 First to dislike, and after to despise ; 
 Then, Cjxlo^4ikCj in human flesli to deal, 
 Chop u_p^ minister at every meal : 
 Perhaps not wholly to melt down the king, 
 But clip his regal rights within the ring. 
 From thence to assume the power of peace and war, 230 
 And ease him, by degrees, of public care. 
 Yet, to consult his dignity and fame, 
 He should have leave to exercise the name, 
 And hold the cards, while commons play'd the game. 
 For what can power give more than food and drink, 
 To live at ease, and not be bound to think 1 
 
172 dryden's poems. 
 
 These are the cooler methods of their crime, 237 
 
 But their hot zealots think 'tis loss of time ; 
 On utmost bounds of lojaltj thej stand, 
 And grin and whet like a Croatian band, 
 That waits impatient for the last command. 
 Thus outlaws open villainy maintain. 
 They steal not, but in squadrons scour the plain ; 
 ,And if their power the passengers subdue, 
 I The most have right, the wrong is in the few. 
 Such impious axioms foolishly they show, 
 IFor in some soils republics will not grow : 
 /Our temperate isle will no extremes sustain, 
 * Of popular sway or arbitrary reign ; 
 But slides between them both into the best, 250 
 
 Secure in freedom, in a monarch blest : 
 And though the climate, vex'd with various winds, 
 Works through our yielding bodies on our minds, 
 The wholesome tempest purges what it breeds. 
 To recommend the calmness that succeeds. 
 
 But thou, the pander of the people's hearts, 
 crooked soul, and serpentine in arts, 
 Whose blandishments a loyal land have whored. 
 And broke the bonds she plighted to her lord ; 
 / What curses on thy blasted name will fall ! 26O 
 
 Which age to age their legacy shall call; 
 For all must curse the woes that must descend on all. 
 Religion thou hast none : thy mercury 
 Has pass'd through every sect, or theirs through thee. 
 But what thou giv'st, that venom still remains. 
 And the pox'd nation feels thee in their brains. 
 What else inspires the tongues and swells the breasts 
 Of all thy bellowing renegado priests, 
 That preach up thee for God, dispense thy laws. 
 And with thy stum ferment their fainting cause ? 270 
 
THE MEDAL. 173 
 
 Fresh fumes of madness raise ; and toil and sweat 27 1 
 
 To make the formidable cripple great. 
 
 Yet, should thj crimes succeed, sliould lawless power 
 
 Compass those ends thy greedy hopes devour, 
 
 Thy canting friends thy mortal foes would be, 
 
 Thy God and theirs will never long agree ; 
 
 For thine, if thou liast any, must be one 
 
 That lets the M'orld and human kind alone : 
 
 A jolly god that passes hours too well 
 
 To promise heaven, or threaten us with liell ; 280 
 
 That unconcern'd can at rebellion sit. 
 
 And wink at crimes he did himself commit. 
 
 A tyrant theirs ; the heaven their priesthood paints 
 
 A conventicle of gloomy, sullen saints ; 
 
 A heaven like ^ecUam, slovenly and sad, 
 
 Foredoom'd for souls with false religion mad. 
 
 Without a vision poets can foreshow 
 What all but fools by common sense may know : 
 If true succession from our isle sliould fail. 
 And crowds profane with impious arms prevail, 290 
 
 Not thou, nor those thy factious arts engage, 
 Shall reap that harvest of rebellious rage, 
 AVith which thou flatterest thy decrepit age. 
 The swelling poison of the several sects, 
 Which, w^anting vent, the nation's health infects, 
 Shall burst its bag ; and, fighting out their way. 
 The various venoms on each other prey. 
 The presbyter, puff 'd up with spiritual priue, 
 Shall on the necks of the lewd nobles ride : 
 His brethren damn, the civil power defy ; 300 
 
 And parcel out republic prelacy. 
 But short shall be his reign : his rigid yoke 
 And tyrant power will puny sects provoke ; 
 
174 dryden's poems. 
 
 And frogs and toads, and all the tadpole train, 304 
 
 Will croak to heaven for help, from this devouring crane. 
 The cut-throat sword and clamorous gown shall jar. 
 In sharing their ill-gotten spoils of war : 
 Chiefs shall be grudged the part which they pretend ; 
 Lords envj lords, and friends with everj friend 
 About their impious merit shall contend. 310 
 
 The surlj commons shall respect deny, 
 And justle peerage out with property. 
 Their general either shall his trust betray, 
 And force the crowd to arbitrary sway ; 
 Or they, suspecting his ambitious aim, 
 In hate of kings shall cast anew the frame ; 
 And thrust out Collatine that bore their name. 
 Thus inborn broils the factions would engage, 
 Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage. 
 Till halting vengeance overtook our age : 320 
 
 And our wild labours, wearied into rest, 
 Reclined us on a rightfid monarch's breast. 
 
 "Pudet hsec opprobria, voLis 
 
 Et did potuisse, et nou potuisse refelli." 
 
 RELIGIO LAICI ; OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH. 
 
 AN EPISTLE. 
 
 THE PREFACE. 
 
 A Poem with so bold a title, and a name prefixed from which the handling of 
 80 serious a subject would not be expected, may reasonably oblige the autlior 
 to say somewhat in defence, both of himself and of his undertaking. In the 
 first place, if it be objected to me, that, being a layman, I ought not to have 
 concerned myself with speculations whicli belong to the profession of divinity ; 
 I could answer, that perhaps laymen, with equal advantages of parts and 
 
EELIGIO LAICI. 175 
 
 knowledge, are not the most incompetent judges of sacred things ; but in tlie 
 due sense of my own weakness and want of learning, I plead not this : I pre- 
 tend not to make myself a judge of faith in others, but only to make a con- 
 fession of my own. I lay no unhallowed hand upon the ark, but wait on it, 
 with the reverence that becomes me, at a distance. In the next place, I will 
 ingenuously confess, that the helps I have used in this small treatise, were 
 many of them taken from the works of our own reverend divines of the Church 
 of England; so that the weapons with which I combat irreligion, are already 
 consecrated ; thougii 1 suppose they may be taken down as lawfully as the 
 sword of Goliah was by David, when they are to be employed for the common 
 cause against the enemies of piety. I intend not by this to entitle them to 
 any of my errors, which yet I hope are only those of charity to mankind ; and 
 such as my own charity has caused me to connnit, that of others may more 
 easily excuse. Being naturally iucliued to scepticism iu philosophy, I have 
 no reason to impose my opinions in a subject which is above it ; but whatever 
 they are, I submit them with all reverence to my mother church, accounting 
 them no further mine, than jis they are authorised, or at least uncondemned 
 by her. And, indeed, to secure myself on this side, I have used the necessaiy 
 precaution of showing this paper, before it was published, to a judicious and 
 learned friend, a num indefatigably zealous in the service of the church and 
 state ; and whose writings have highly deserved of both. He was plea.sed to 
 approve the body ot the discourse, and I hope he is more my friend than to do 
 it out of complaisance : it is true he had too good a taste to like it all ; and 
 amongst some other faults recommended to my second view, what I have 
 written perhaps too boldly on St Athanasius, which he advised me wholly to 
 omit. I am sensible enough that I had done more prudently to have followed 
 his opinion : but then I could not have satislied myself that I had done honestly 
 not to have written what was my own. It has always been my thought, that 
 lieathens who never did, nor without miracle could, hear of the name of Christ, 
 were yet in a possibility of salvation. Neither will it enter easily into my 
 belief, that before the coming of our Saviour the whole world, excepting only 
 the Jewish nation, should lie under the inevitable necessity of everlasting 
 punishment, for want of that revelation, which was confined to so small a spot 
 of ground as that of Palestine. Among the sons of Noah we read of one only 
 who was accursed ; and if a blessing in the ripeness of time was reserved for 
 Japhet (of whose progeny we are), it seems unaccountable to me, why so 
 many generations of the same offspring, as preceded our Saviour in the flesh, 
 should be all involved in one common condemnation, and yet that tiieir poste- 
 rity should be entitled to the hopes of salvation : as if a bill of exclusion had 
 passed only on the fathers, which debarred not the sons from their succession : 
 or that so many ages had been delivered over to hell, and so many reserved 
 for heaven ; and that the devil had the first choice, and God the next. Truly 
 1 am apt to think, that the revealed religion which was taught by Noah to all 
 his sons, might continue for some ages in the whole posterity. Tliat after- 
 wards it was included wholly iu the family of Shem is manifest ; but when the 
 progenies of Ham and Japhet swarmed into colonies, and those colonies were 
 subdivided into many others, in process of lime their descendants lost by 
 little and little the primitive and purer rites of divine worsiiip, retaining only 
 the notion of one Deity ; to which succeeding generations added others : for 
 
176 deyden's poems. 
 
 men took their degrees in those ages from conquerors to gods. Revelation 
 being thus eclipsed to almost all mankind, the light of nature, as the next in 
 dignity, was substituted ; and that is it which St Paul concludes to be the 
 rule of the heathens, and by which they are hereafter to be judged. If my 
 supposition be true, then the consequence which I have assumed in my poem 
 may be also true ; namely, that Deism, or the principles of natural worship, 
 are only the faint remnants or dying flames of revealed religion in the posterity 
 of Noah : and that our modern philosophers — nay, and some of our philosophis- 
 ing divines — have too much exalted the faculties of our souls, when they have 
 maintained that by their force mankind has been able to find out that there is 
 one supreme agent or intellectual Being which we call God : that praise and 
 prayer are his due worship ; and the rest of those deducements, which I am 
 confident are the remote effects of revelation, and unattainable by our discourse, 
 I mean as simply considered, and without the benefit of divine illumination. 
 So that we have not lifted up ourselves to God, by the weak pinions of our 
 reason, but he has been pleased to descend to us ; and what Socrates said of 
 him, what Plato writ, and the rest of the heathen philosophers of several na- 
 tions, is all no more than the twilight of revelation, after the sun of it was set 
 in the race of Noah. That there is something above us, some principle of 
 potion, our reason can apprehend, though it cannot discover what it is by its 
 /own virtue. And, indeed, it is very improbable, that we, who by the strength 
 ; of our faculties cannot enter into the knowledge of any Being, not so much as 
 I of our own, should be able to find out by them, that supreme nature, which 
 i we cannot otherwise define than by saying it is infinite ; as if infinite were 
 definable, or infinity a subject for our narrow understanding. They who would 
 Wove religion by reason, do but weaken the cause which they endeavour to 
 pupport : it is to take away the pillars from our faith, and to prop it only with 
 ■a twig ; it is to design a tower like that of Babel, which, if it were possible, 
 as it is not, to reach heaven, would come to nothing by the confusion of the 
 workmen. For every man is building a several way ; impoteutly conceited of 
 his own model and his own materials : reason is always striving, and always 
 at a loss ; and of necessity it must so come to pass, while it is exercised about 
 that which is not its own proper object. Let us be content at last to know 
 God by his own methods ; at least, so much of him as he is pleased to reveal 
 to us in the sacred Scriptures : to apprehend them to be the Word of God is 
 all our reason has to do ; for all beyond it is the work of fiiith, which is the 
 seal of Heaven impressed upon our human understanding. 
 
 And now for what concerns the holy bishop Athanasius ; the prefiice of 
 whose creed seems inconsistent with my opinion ; which is, that heathens may 
 possibly be saved. In the first place, I desire it may be considered that it is 
 the preface only, not the creed itself, which, till I am better informed, is of 
 too hard a digestion for my charity. It is not that I am ignorant how many 
 several texts of Scripture seemingly support that cause ; but neither am I 
 ignorant how all those texts may receive a kinder and more mollified inter- 
 pretation. Every man who is read in Church history, knows that belief was 
 drawn up after a long contestation with Arius, concerning the divinity of our 
 blessed Saviour, and his being one substance with the Father ; and that thus 
 compiled, it was sent abroad among the Christian Churches, as a kind of test, 
 which whosoever took was looked upon as an orthodox believer. It is maui- 
 
RELIGIO LAICI. 177 
 
 fest from hence, that the heathen part of the empire was not concerned in it ; 
 for its business was not to distinguish betwixt Pagans and Christians, but 
 betwixt Heretics and true Believers. This, well considered, takes off the lieavy 
 weight of censure, which I would willingly avoid, from so venerable a man ; 
 for if this proportion, " whosoever will be saved," be restrained only to those 
 to whom it was intended, and for whom it was composed, I mean the Chris- 
 tians ; then the anathema reaches not the heathens, who had never heard 
 of Christ, and were nothing interested in that dispute. After all, I am far 
 from blaming even that prefiUory addition to the creed, and as for from cavil- 
 ling at the continuation of it in the Liturgj' of the Church, where, on the days 
 appointed, it is puljlicly read : fur I suppose there is the same reason for it now, 
 in opposition to the Socinians, as there was then against the Arians ; the one 
 being a heresy, which seems to have been refined out of the other ; and with 
 how much more plausibility of reason it combats our religion, with so much 
 more caution it ought to be avoided : therefore the pnidence of our Church is 
 to be commended, which has interposed her authority for the recommendation 
 of this creed. Yet to such as are grounded in the true belief, those explanatory 
 creeds, the Niceiie and this of Athanasius, might perhaps be spared ; for what 
 is supernatural will always be a mystery, in spite of exposition ; and for my 
 own part, the plain Apostles' creed is most suitable to my weak understanding, 
 as the simplest diet is the most easy of digestion. 
 
 I have dwelt longer on this subject than I intended, and longer than perhaps 
 I ought ; for having laid down, as my foundation, that the Scripture is a rule ; | 
 that in all things needful to salvation it is clear, sufficient, and ordained by I 
 God Almighty for that purpose, I have left myself no right to interpret obscure I 
 places, such as concern the possibility of eternal happiness to heathens : because ', 
 whatsoever is obscure is concluded not necessary to be known. 
 
 But, by asserting the Scripture to be the canon of our faith, I have un- 
 avoidably created to myself two sorts of enemies : the Papists indeed, more 
 directly, because they have kept the Scriptures from us what they could ; and 
 have reserved to themselves a right of interpreting what they have delivered 
 under the pretence of infallibility : and the Fanatics more collaterally, because 
 they have assumed what amounts to an iufallibility, in the private spirit ; and 
 have detorted those texts of Scripture which are not necessary to salvation, to 
 the damnable uses of sedition, disturbance, and destruction of the civil govern- 
 ment. To begin with the Papists, and to speak freely, I think them the less 
 dangerous, at least in appearance to our present state ; for not only the penal 
 laws are in force against them, and their number is contemptible, but also 
 their peers and commons are excluded from parliament, and consequently 
 those laws in no probability of being repealed. A general and uninterrupted 
 plot of their clergy, ever since the Reformation, I suppose all Protestants 
 believe ; for it is not reasonable to think but that so many of their orders, as 
 were outed from their fat possessions, would endeavoiu- a re-entrance against 
 those whom they account heretics. As for the late design, Mr Coleman's 
 letters, for aught I know, are the best evidence ; and what they discover, 
 without vdredrawing their sense, or malicious glosses, all men of reason 
 conclude credible. If there be anything more than this required of me, I must 
 believe it as well as I am able, in spite of the witnesses, and out of a decent 
 conformity to the votes of parliament ; for I suppose the Fanaja'cs will not 
 
 TOL. I. M ; ,.^ . 
 
178 dryden's poems. 
 
 allow the private spirit in this case. Here the infallibility is at least in one 
 part of the government ; and our understandings as well as our wills are 
 represented. But to return to the Roman Catholics, how can we be secure 
 from the practice of Jesuited Papists in that religion ? For not two or three 
 of that order, as some of them would impose upon us, but almost the whole 
 body of them are of opinion, that their infallible master has a right over kings, 
 not only in spirituals but temporals. Not to name Mariana, Bellarmine, 
 Emanuel Sa, Molina, Santare, Simancha,* and at least twenty others of foreign 
 countries ; we can produce of our own nation, Campian, and Doleman or 
 Parsons ; besides, many are named whom I have not read, who all of them 
 attest this doctrine, that the pope can depose and give away the right of any 
 sovereign prince, si vel paulum defiexerit, if he shall never so little warp : but 
 if he once comes to be excommunicated, then the bond of obedience is taken 
 off from subjects; and they may, and ought to drive him, like another 
 Nebuchadnezzar, ex Tiominum Christianorum dominatu^ from exercising 
 dominion over Christians ; and to this they are bound by virtue of divine 
 precept, and by all the ties of conscience, under no less penalty than damnation. 
 If they answer me, as a learned priest has lately MTitten, that this doctrine of 
 the Jesuits is not de fide ; and that consequently they are not obliged by it, 
 they must pardon me, if I think they have said nothing to the purpose ; for it 
 is a maxim in their church, where points of faith are not decided, and that 
 doctors are of contrary opinions, they may follow which part they please ; but 
 more safely the most received and most authorised. And their champion 
 Bellarmine has told the world, in his Apology, that the king of England is a 
 vassal to the pope, ratione directi doniini, and that he holds in villanage of 
 his Roman landlord : which is no new claim put in for England. Our chronicles 
 are his authentic witnesses, that King John was deposed by the same plea, and 
 Philip Augustus admitted tenant. And which makes the more for Bellarmine, 
 the French king was again ejected when our king submitted to the church, 
 and the crown was received under the sordid condition of a vassalage. 
 
 It is not sufficient for the more moderate and well-meaning Papists, of which 
 I doubt not there are many, to produce the evidences of their loyalty to the 
 late king, and to declare their innocency in this plot: I will grant their 
 behaviour in the first to have been as loyal and as brave as they desire ; and 
 will be willing to hold them excused as to the second, I mean when it comes 
 to my tum, and after my betters ; for it is a madness to be sober alone, while 
 the nation continues drunk : but that sayiug of their father Cres. is still run- 
 ning in my head, that they may be dispensed with in their obedience to an 
 heretic prince, while the necessity of the times shall oblige them to it : for 
 that, as another of them tells us, is only the effect of Christian prudence ; but 
 when once they shall get power to shake him off, an heretic is no lawful king, 
 and consequently to rise against him is no rebellion. I should be glad, there- 
 fore, that tiiey would follow the advice which was charitably given them by a 
 reverend prelate of our church ; namely, that they would join in a public 
 act of disowning and detesting those Jesuitic principles ; and subscribe to all 
 doctrines which deny the pope's authority of deposing kings, and releasing 
 subjects from their oath of allegiance : to which I should think they might 
 
 1 ' Not to name Mariana, Bellarmine,' &c. : all Jesuits and controversial writers In the 
 Roman Catholic Church. 
 
RELIGIO LAICI. 179 
 
 easily be induced, if it be true that this present pope has condemned the 
 doctrine of king-killing, a thesis of the Jesuits maintained, amongst others, 
 ex cathedra, as they call it, or in open consistory. 
 
 Leaving them, therefore, in so fair a way, if tliey please tlieniselves, of satis- 
 fying all reasonable men of their sincerity and good meaning to the govern- 
 ment, I shall make bold to consider that other extreme of our religion — I mean 
 the Fanatics, or Schismatics, of the English Church. Since the Bible has been 
 translated into our tongue, they have used it so, as if their business was not to 
 be saved, but to be damned by its contents. If we consider only them, better 
 had it been for the English nation that it had still remained in the original 
 Greek and Hebrew, or at least in tiic honest Latin of St Jerome, than that 
 several texts in it should have been prevaricated, to the destruction of that 
 government which put it into so ungrateful hands. 
 
 How many heresies tiie first translation of Tindal produced in few years, let 
 my Lord Herbert's history of Henry VIH. inform ^ou ; insomuch, that for 
 the gross errors in it, and the great mischiefs it occasioned, a sentence passed 
 on the first edition of the Bible, too shameful almost to be repeated. After the 
 short reign of Edward VL, who had continued to carry on the Reformation on 
 other principles than it was begun, every one knows that not only the chief 
 promoters of that work, but many others, whose consciences would not dis- 
 pense with Popery, were forced, for fear of persecution, to change climates : 
 from whence returning at the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's reign, many of 
 them who had been in France, and at Geneva, brought back the rigid opinions 
 and imperious discipline of Calvin, to graft upon our Reformation : which, 
 though they cunningly concealed at first, as well knowing how nauseously 
 that drug would go down in a lawful monarchy, which was prescribed for a 
 rebellious commonwealth, yet they always kept it in reserve ; and were never 
 wanting to themselves either in court or parliament, when either they had any 
 prospect of a numerous party of fanatic members of the one, or the encourage- 
 ment of any ftivourite in the other, whose covetousness was gaping at the 
 patrimony of the Church. They who will consult the works of our venerable 
 Hooker, or the account of his life, or more particularly the letter written to 
 him on this subject by George Cranmer, may see by what gradations they 
 proceeded : from the dislike of cap and surplice, the very next step was admo- 
 nitions to the parliament against the whole government ecclesiastical : then 
 came out volumes in English and Latin in defence of their tenets : and imme- 
 diately practices were set on foot to erect their discipline without authority. 
 Those not succeeding, satire and railing was the next : and Martin Mar-pre- 
 late, the Marvel of those times, was the first Presbyterian scribbler, who sanc- 
 tified libels and scurrility to the use of the good old cause : which was done, 
 says my author, upon this account ; that their serious treatises having been 
 fully answered and refuted, tliey might compass by railing what they had lost 
 by reasoning ; and, when their cause was sunk in court and pai-liament, they 
 might at least hedge in a stake amongst the rabble : for to their ignorance all 
 things are wit which are abusive ; but if Church and State were made the 
 theme, then the doctoral degree of wit was to be taken at Billingsgate : even 
 the most saint-like of the party, though they durst not excuse this contempt 
 and vilifying of the government, yet were pleased, and grinned at it with a 
 pious smile ; and called it a judgment of God against the hierarchy. Thus 
 
180 dryden's poems. 
 
 sectaries, we may see, were born Avitli teeth, foul-mouthed and scun-ilous from 
 their infancy : and if spiritual pride, venom, violence, contempt of superiors, 
 and slander, had been the marks of orthodox belief, the presbytery and the 
 rest of our schismatics, which are their spawn, were always the most visible 
 church in the Christian world. 
 
 It is trae, the government was too strong at that time for a rebellion ; 
 but, to show what proficiency they had made in Calvin's school, even then 
 their mouths watered at it : for two of their gifted brotherhood, Hacket • and 
 Coppinger, as the story tells us, got up into a pease-cart and harangued the 
 people, to dispose them to an insurrection, and to establish their discipline by 
 force : so that however it comes about, that now they celebrate Queen Eliza- 
 beth's birth-night as that of their saint and patroness ; yet then they were for 
 doing the work of the Lord by arms against her ; and in all probability they 
 wanted but a fanatic lord mayor and two sheriffs of their party to have com- 
 passed it. 
 
 Our venerable Hooker, after many admonitions which he had given them, 
 towards the end of bis preface breaks out into this prophetic speech : — 
 " There is in every one of these considerations most just cause to fear, lest 
 our hastiness to embrace a thing of so perilous consequence (meaning the 
 Presbyterian discipline) should cause posterity to feel those evils, which as yet 
 are more easy for us to prevent, than they would be for them to remedy." 
 
 How fiitally this Cassandra has foretold, we know too well by sad experi- 
 ence : the seeds were sown in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the bloody harvest 
 ripened in the reign of King Charles the Martyr ; and, because all the sheaves 
 could not be carried off without shedding some of the loose grains, another 
 crop is too like to follow ; nay, I fear it is unavoidable, if the conventiclers be 
 permitted still to scatter. 
 
 A man may be suffered to quote an adversary to our religion, when he 
 speaks truth ; and it is the observation of Maimbourg, in his " History of Cal- 
 vinism," that wherever that discipline was planted and embraced, rebellion, 
 civil war, and misery attended it. And how, indeed, should it happen other- 
 wise ? Reformation of Church and State has always been the ground of our 
 divisions in England. While we were Papists, our holy father rid us, by pre- 
 tending authority out of the Scriptures to depose princes ; when we shook off 
 his authority, the sectaries furnished themselves with the same weapons, and 
 out of the same magazme, the Bible ; so that the Scriptures, which are in 
 themselves the greatest security of governors, as commanding express obedi- 
 ence to them, are now turned to their destruction ; and never since the Refor- 
 mation has there wanted a text of their interpreting to authorise a rebel. 
 And it is to be noted, by the way, that the doctrines of king-killing and 
 deposing, which have been taken up only by the worst party of the Papists, 
 the most frontless flatterers of the pope's authority, have been espoused, 
 defended, and are still maintained by the whole body of nonconformists and 
 republicans. It is but dubbing themselves the people of God, which it is the 
 interest of their preachers to tell them they are, and their own interest to 
 believe ; and, after that, they cannot dip into the Bible, but one text or 
 
 1 Hacket was a man of learning; he had much of the Scriptures by heart, and made him- 
 self remarkable by preaching in au entlmsiastic strain. In 1591, he made a great parade 
 of sanctity, pretended to divine inspiration, and visions from God. 
 
RELTGIO LA.ICI. 
 
 -I' 
 
 'V 181 ' 
 
 another will turn up for their purpose : if they are under persecution, as they 
 call it, then that is a mark of their election ; if they flourish, then God works 
 miracles for their deli%'erance, and the saints are to possess the earth. 
 
 They may think themselves to be too roughly handled in this paper ; but I, 
 who know best how far I could have gone on this subject, must be bold to 
 tell them they are spared : though at the same time I am not ignorant that 
 they interpret the mildness of a writer to them, as they do the mercy of the 
 goveniment ; in the one they think it fear, and conclude it weakness in the 
 other. The best way for them to coiifute me is, as I before advised the Papists, 
 to disclaim their principles and renounce their practices. We shall all be glad 
 to think them true Englishmen when they obey the king, and true Protestants 
 when they conform to the church discipline. 
 
 It remains that I acquaint tlic reader, that these verses were written for an 
 ingenious young gentleman,' my friend, upon his translation of " The Critical 
 History of the Old Testament," composed by the learned Father Simon : the 
 verses, therefore, are addressed to the translator of that work, and the style of 
 them is, what it ought to be, epistolary. 
 
 If any one be so lamentable a critic as to require the smoothness, the num- 
 bers, and the turn of hgToic poetry in this poem, I must tell him, that if he / 
 has not read Horace. .^Iiav e studied him, and hope the stjlcof JuaLCBistles^is i/ 
 not ill imitated here. The expressions of a poem designed purely for instruc- 
 tion, ought to be plaW and natural, and yet miyestic: for here the poet is .i^ 
 presumed to be a kind of lawgiver, and those three qualities which I have lA^ 
 named, are proper to the lep;islative stvlc. The florid, elevated, and li^rurative 
 
 t ■ . 
 
 ■ -wiajc^is for the passions ; for love and hatred, fear and anger, are begotten in 
 
 
 04^ 
 
 the soul, by ^bowing their objects quLoLilieir Jrue jgrogortiojj, eithe r g^^^^^ l fuuTKA/ 
 but instruction is to be given by showing them what they^y ___,_J2 
 
 to hti cheatet\ into passions but to be reasoned into I 
 • . ^ —• I 'I 
 
 ' aJa^ 
 
 H^nas the borrow 'd beams of moon and stars 
 To lonely, we arj, wa ndering travellers, 
 [s reasonjbgf^tlie^oulj) and as on high, 
 Those rolling fires discover but the skj, 
 Not light us here ; so reason's glimmering raj 
 yWaa.Ient; not to assure our doubtful way,' 
 Jut guide us upward to a betteFday^ t/^ 
 Lud as'tliose niglitly tapersnctisappear 
 When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere ; 
 
 
 I The son of the celebrated John Ilanipden. 
 £15,0U0, which was remitted at the Revolution. 
 
 He was in the Ryehouse Plot, and fined 
 
MI'- ^^"^ 
 
 182 drtden's poems. 
 
 So pale grows reason at religion's sight ; lo 
 
 .-^^0 dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light, 
 
 -^Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been led 
 From cause to cause, to nature's secret head ; 
 And found that one first principle must be : 
 , But what, or who, that Universal He : 
 /) Whether some- souL. encompassing this ball. 
 Unmade, unmoved ; jet making, moving all ; 
 Or various atoms' interfering dance 
 Leap'd intoTorm,"the noble work o f chance ^^ 
 Or this "Grreat~^All was from eternitj ; 20 
 
 Not even the Stagjrite himself could see ; 
 And Epicurus guess'd as well as he : 
 l/^;s^blindlj groped tliej^.fq^ a future state ;; 
 As rashly judged of providence "and Tate : 
 But least of all could their endeavours find 
 What most concern'd the good of human kind : 
 For happiness was never to be found, 
 Butjvanisli'd from them like enchanted ground. 
 One thought Content the good to be enjoj'd — 
 I This (everyTittle^cident destroy'd : / 30 
 
 / ^ The wiser madmen did for Virtue toil-::^^ ;iD \Q 
 ][ A thorny, or at best a barren soil : ^y 1 
 
 |--^ In Pleasure some their glutton souls would steep ; '^•\Mc^.KKZ^ 
 y J But fouu^" their line too shorty the well too deep^ ' 
 And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep. " 
 Thus anxious thoughts in endless circlesrolir 
 Without a centre where to fix the soul : 
 fin this wild maze their vain endeavours end^ 
 fHow can the less the greater comprehend ?J) • 
 
 ' Or finite reason reach Infinity F ^ ^^ // 40 
 
 For what could fathom God were more than He.] 
 The Deist thinks he stands on firmer around : 
 Cries ey/)6«a," the mighty secret 's found : 
 
 A 
 
RELIGIO LAICI. 183 
 
 God is that spring of good ; supreme and best ; 44 
 
 AVe made to serve, and in tllat service blest ;) ^^/y\j^XAjr\^ ^rVb ac{ 
 
 If so, some rulesofjvvorship must be given, y 
 
 Distributed alike to airby Heaven : 
 
 Else God were partial, anc^to some denied 
 
 The means his justice shomd for all provide, y 
 ^^^^hiTgeinrral^'orship isTo praise and pray '.\/ 50 
 
 One part to borrow blessings, one to pay : 
 
 And when frail nature slides into offence, 
 ^•s^Tie^acriliccTor crimcs js penttT!Tn!e> , u-^ 
 
 Yet since tTie~effccFs of Providence, we find. 
 
 Are variously dispensed to hu man^ kiud; 
 
 Thaj^' vice triumphs^ and virtue suffers herer^ ^ 
 
 AT brand that soA'ereign justice cannot bear — j 
 
 OurJ;e4SO?^pronl]^ts us to a future state : 
 LTheJasL appeal fioni furtunc-aiid-iioiu,fote_,^ 
 7 Where God's all-righteous ways will be declared — ^^ 
 \, "7 T he ba d meet punishment, the good reward. 
 \ ' CThus man by his own strength to heaven would soar, 
 \4nd would not be obliged to God for more.^' >! '^[j^^C^aA (jA^ 
 
 Vaih^^^wretched creature, how art thou misled, .\ i;\jjC V\j^ 
 
 To think thy wrt 'thes^e^j Grnl-like notions brcd!]i CJLu^t^ 
 
 These truths are not the product of thy mind,/' UAfe/j^) JE-v^h^STh 
 
 3ut_j[iQPtLdJ' rom heaven, and o f a nobler kind./ >^ i ^ 
 
 iReYeal dJCehgion first ipform^H^l E^sj ght, L ^^/1/ti^yhy^^ 
 
 Snareasou ^a-\viiot/till faith spni ngthe light, f 
 
 Hence all t hy natural 'w orship takes the source 
 l^^yelationjwha^thou think'st discourse!! 
 
 Else how com'st thou to^ee tlicse truths so clear, 
 
 Which so obscure to heathens did appear 1 
 
 Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found : 
 
 Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown'd.y ^ 
 
 Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime, 
 
 Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb ? 
 
[/vi .4,I'1,3^J 0\l)jW^^J^ 
 
 184 DRYDENS POEMS. 
 
 Canst thou % reason'pore of Godhead kno^r 
 Than Phitarch, Seneca, or Cicero 1 
 Those giant wits, J.njiappier agesjx)m. 
 When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn 
 Knew no such system : no such piles could raise 
 Of naturar worship, built on prayer and praise, 
 JTo one sole God. 
 
 Nor did Vemorse to expiatFsiri)prescribe, \ i 
 But slew their Tellow-creatiOifes for a bribe £) ' 
 j y The guiltless victim groan'd for their offence ; 
 And cruelty and blood was penitence. 
 j If sheep and oxen could atone for men, 
 i Ah^' ^^ ^^^ cheap a rate the rich might sin ! ^ 
 / And great oppressors might Heaven's wrath beguile, 
 ' By offering His own creatures for a spoil ! 
 ~~" Barest thou, poor worm, offend Infinity ? 
 
 And must the terms of peace be given by thee % / 
 I Then thou art Justice in the last appeal "N^ 
 
 l^/l Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel : 
 
 / And, lite a ling remote, and weak, must take 
 What satisfaction thou art pleased to make. 
 • But if there be a Power too just and strong 
 To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish'd wrong, lOO 
 
 Look humbly upward, see His will disclose 
 The forfeit first, and then the fine impose? 
 . A mulct thy poverty could never pay^ ^ 
 /'•'/ j Had not Eternal Wisdom found the way : 
 
 AniTwith celestial' wealth supplied"thy store : 
 
 His justice makes the fine, His mercy quits the score. 
 
 ee (jod descending in thy human frame ; 
 The Offended suffering in the offender's name : 
 All thy misdeeds to Him imputed see, .,.-^ 
 And~an His rlghIeousness"^3evoIved on thee. no 
 
 ^^ 
 
'Pva. im i-^jii 
 
 
 RELIGIO LAICI. 
 
 
 For, granting we have sinn'd, and that the oflfence in 
 Of manJsjBatle-again&fc -Ouinipotence, ^ 
 
 /^ome^ice that bears proportion must bejKiid,^ 
 /^And infinite^ithjnSnite TJU'^STHgli'd. 
 See theiTthe Deist lost i r emorse for vice. 
 Nol; 
 
 ma aequate in price 
 What furthermeans can reason now direct, | 
 
 / 
 
 i'i-'^'^O 
 
 /i^Axn. 
 
 € 
 
 Or what r elief from human ~wit expectl 
 
 That shows us sick ; and sadly are w5" sure 
 
 Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the cure : 120 
 
 /If, then, Ileavcji'sjiiilmust needs be understood 
 ^ (Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven be good), 
 
 Let all records^ of ^ILrevcal'd be shown ;\ 
 
 With Scripure air,'in equal balance thrown, 
 
 And our one SacrecT BooF wrll be^fEat one 
 Troofjiiceds^othere, for whether we compare 
 
 That impious, idle, superstitious ware 
 
 Of rites, lustrations, offerings, which before. 
 
 In various ages, various countries bore, 
 
 With Christian faith and virtues, we shall find 130 
 
 /TN'one answering the great ends of hum an ki nd, 
 y .But tl.is one rule otlii'e«^ that shows us/best / 
 ^ , How (iod may be appeasccT. an d mor'tals _blesLj . / • 
 
 yWTiether from leiip:th of timd'it's^worth we draWy^jU^.,(jWr"; 
 l/|,TIic word is scarco lu^jv^' ancient tha n the, law : '^ ' 
 
 M| Heavj & nV ear ly care jDrescribedJorevery^^ 
 
 First, in the soul, andafter, in the page. 
 
 Or, whether more abstractedly we look, 
 t Or on the writers, or the written book, 
 \ Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill'd in arts, 
 
 \j[D«g,everal ages born, in several parts^ 141 j 
 
 Weave such agreeing truths I: or how, or why W/- 
 
 Should all conspire to~cEeaf us with a lie 1 
 
im \^ y* Oi^^-M)^W| ' 
 
 186 DKYDEN'S POEMS. WI/lM/ 
 
 Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice, H4 
 
 _^J]^^tarving their gain, and martyrdom their price. 
 /' "f'lf on the Book itselfi we cast our view, / 
 
 * /Vpncuri'ent heathens prove the story true : 
 i^^X^jv^ j—The doctrine, miracles 7^ which must couvince, y^iM^J^^^ 
 ^ ■ For Heaven in them appeals to human sense :] 
 
 And though they prove not, they confirm the cause, 150 
 When. :what is taught agrees with Nature's laws. ..^^-"■^^ 
 
 Then for the style, majestic and divine, 
 t.speaks_no less than God in every line : 
 (omman dm^, words ; whose force is still the same 
 As the first fiat that produced our frame. ^ "tj f 
 
 All faiths beside, or did by arms~,ascend ; ^'^^ "^ 
 
 I Or, sense indulged, has made mankind their friend : 
 This only doctrine does our lusts oppose — / ^^ 
 
 Unfed by Nature's soil, in which it grows ; 
 
 Cross to our interests, curbing sense, and sin; leo 
 
 Oppress'd without, and undermined within, 
 —It thrives through pain ; its own tormentors tires ; 
 And with a stubborn patience still aspires. 
 |To what can reason such effects assign, 
 iTranscendin^ nature, but to laws divine ? 
 jfVhich in that sacredTvoIume are~contain'd ; 
 /Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordaiii"*^ 
 
 But stay : the Deist here will urge anew, . 
 
 No supernatural worship can be true : 
 Because ^'general law is that alone 170 
 
 Which must to all, and every where be known : 
 A style so large as not this Book can claim. 
 Nor aught that bears Reveal'd Religion's name. 
 Tis said the sound of a Messiah's birth 
 Is gone through all the habitable earth : 
 /rBut still that text must be /confinedl^ alone ) / 1 -4 — ~ / 
 (Jto what was then^inhabitej^a^^^fij^^ AM^^\tCi ^^ 
 
0^^ ijiw^/cx^) 
 
 RELIGIO LAICI. / 187 
 
 And what . proTision J could from. thence accrue its 
 
 To'TncHSTpsoiils, and worlds discorer'd new ? 
 n other parts it helps, thatft«€s past, 
 The Scriptures there were knowu^^nd were embraced, 
 Till sin spread once again^tEe^ades of night : 
 iVhat 's that to these who never saw the light ? 
 Of all objections this indeed is chief i^ 
 iJik) startle reason, stagger fraii Deliet : 
 
 We grant, 'tis true, that Heaven from human sense 
 Has hid the secret paths of Providence : 
 But boundless Avisdom, boundless mercy may 
 Find even for those bewilder'd souls a way. 
 
 (If from His nature foes may pity claim, i90 
 
 Much mnrft-may-sti-ang^rs-who ne'er heard -His -nfmrerV/ 
 
 . And though no name be for salvation known, 
 But that of his Eternal Son alone ; 
 Who^nowsJo\Lfar transcendinf; goodness can 
 Extend the merits of that Son to man ? /^ 
 
 ho knows what reasons may His mercy lead ; 
 Or ignorance invincible may plead ?y-^—..^^CrJ //p Lf^l* 
 Not only charit}' bids hope the best, ^T' ^ ' u_ ^ 
 
 But morevthc_^;eat_apostle^as express'd : ) ^^ i\\0i/i^ 
 That if the GentilesTwhom no laM' inspired, . 200 cx^ 
 
 fy^J nature did what was by law required ; [ /t^ HJ u, 
 
 They, who the written rule had never known, \ ' -l. • 
 
 AVere to themselves both rule and law alone : " >>X^u6V| 
 To nature';^' plain indictment they shall plead ; 
 And by tl^'eir conscience be condemn'd or freed. 
 Most righteous doom I because a rule reveal'd 
 Is none to those from whom it was conceal'd. 
 Then those who follow'd reason's dictates right, / 
 .Lived up, and lifted high their natural light ; 
 
 ^pVith Socrates may see their Maker's face, ; 210 
 
 While jthousandrubi'ic-martyrs^ want a place. 
 
188 dryden's poems. 
 
 Nor does_ifc-balk inj cliaritjHo find 212 
 
 'The Egyptian bishop^ ■Dfanother mind : 
 
 ^4'^ 
 
 For tHougli his creed; eternal truth contains, 
 
 'Tis hard for man to doom to endless pains ? 
 
 All who believed not all his zeal required ; ) 
 
 Unless he first could prove he was inspired. 
 
 Then let us either think he meant to saj 
 / .3'his faith, : where; publisli'd, was the only way ; 
 
 Or else conclude that, Arms to confute, / 220 
 
 The good old man, too eager in dispute. 
 
 Flew high ; and as his Christian fuij rose,' 
 z-rc/ Damn'd all for heretics who durst oppose. 
 ^^^ — ^ Thus far my charity thisjpath has tried, 
 
 (A much unskilful, but well meaning guide :) 
 
 Yet what they are, even these crude thoughts were bred 
 
 A » By reading that which better tlioij hast read^__-- ^,.,,^^ 
 
 \ \V\^ Crhy matchless author's work : ^rhich thoiif my friend^^ 
 
 By weUUraffslatino; better dost commend ; T~P' 
 
 --« vJ^ '"-^~" '-° — V" — "■ L^-"'''^ 
 
 . '-v^-^'TEose youthful hours which, of thy equals most 230 
 
 {^. , In toys have squander'd, or in vice have lost. 
 
 Those hours hast thou to nobler use employ'd ; ^ /^ '' 
 
 ^\A.nd the severe delights of truth enjoy'd. ' r\J^ 
 
 Witness this weighty book, in which appears il^i^^ 
 
 The crabbed. toil"Of-m^ny thoughtful years, V^^Afluv^^ 
 
 Spent by/thy author, Jn the sifting care ' ' / 
 
 Of Rabbins' old sophisticated ware 
 
 From gold divine ; which he who well can sort 
 
 May afterwards make algebra a sport : 
 
 A treasure, which if country curates buy, 240 
 
 They Junius and Tremellius ^ may defy ; 
 
 % 
 
 ' ' Bishop : ' Athanasius. — - ' Junius and Tremellius : ' Francis Junius | 
 
 and Emanuel TremelHus^ 'two Calvinist ministers, who, in the sixteenth cen- 1 
 
 tury, joined in translating the Bible from Hebrew into Latin. 
 
 \ y^^^"^ I 
 
;r 
 
 RELIGIO LAICI. (/ 189 
 
 Save pains in various readings, and translations ; 242 y 
 And without Hebrew make most learu'd quotations. 
 A work so full with various learning fiaught, 
 So nicclj pondcr'd, jet so strongly wrought,^ 
 As nature's height and art's last hand required : 
 As much as man could compass, uninspired. 
 Where we may see what errors have been made 
 Both in the copiers' and IrajiidiLtQiii.' trade; 
 
 ^-^How Jewish, Poj^Msh. interests have prevail'd, 250 
 
 ~~-^;;^nd where infallibility has fail'd. 
 
 For some, who jiave his secret meaning guess'd. 
 Have found ^ir_authoA,not~too much a "priest : ^ 
 For fashion-sake he seems to have recourse 
 To Pope, and Councils, and Tradition's force : 
 /^ut he that old traditions could subdue, 
 Could not but find the Mcakuess of the new : 
 If Scripture, thougli derived from heavenly birth, 
 JHas been but carelessly preserved on earth ; 
 If God's own people, who of God before 260 
 
 Knew what we know, and had been promised more. 
 In fuller terms, of Heaven's assisting care. 
 And who did neither time nor study spare, 
 To keep this Book untainted, unperplex'd, 
 ^Let in gross errors to corrupt the text. 
 Omitted paragraphs, embroird the sense, 
 With vain traditions stopp'd the gaping fence, 
 Which every common hand pull'd up with eas&4^^ 
 What safety ^msuch brushwood^clps as (these M 
 written words from time are not secured,^- — -^ 270 
 [ow can we think have oral sounds endured ■? 
 /'Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has fail'd, 
 [mmortal lies on ages are entail'd : 
 And that some such have been, is proved too plain, 
 If we consider interest, church, and gain. 
 
yjiU^^P^^ 
 
 190 dryden's poems. ' | /L 
 
 but, sajs one, tradition set aside, 
 Where can we hope for an unerring guide ? 
 For since the original Scripture has been lost, 
 All copies disagreeing, maim'd the most, 
 I Or Christian faith can have no certain ground, 
 [.^.''I^.Or truth in Church Tradition must be found. 
 
 Such an omniscient Church we wish indeed : 
 
 Twere worth both Jestaments, cast i n the Creed : 
 1 But-if ^is mother be a guide so sure, 
 MO I Y*,^ As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure, 
 — Then her infallibility, as well [ 
 
 Where copies are corrupt or lame, can tell ; v 
 Restore lost canon with as little pains, 
 As truly explicate what still remains : 
 ~ — Which jet no Council dare pretend to do; 290 
 
 Unless, like Esdras, they could write ft new : 
 /Strange confidence still to interpret true, 
 Yet not be sure that all they have explain'd 
 Is in the blest original contain'd ! 
 , ^More safe, and much more modest 'tis to say, 
 riGod would not leave mankind without a way: 
 And that the Scriptures, though not every where 
 Free from corruption, or entire, or clear, 
 Are uncorrupt, sufiicient, clear, e ntire. 
 
 In all thinos w hicli our needful faitlrTe^Teri// 30o y^ 
 If others in the same glass better see, . ;<"" J> 
 
 'Tis for themselves they look, but not for me : n ^r h^*^ 
 For my salvation must its doom receive, ^ ^ 
 
 Not from what others, but-wliatJLLbfil^BO 
 
 ^Must all tradition then be set asidfe'? 
 
 This to affirm were ignorance or pr^e. 
 Are there not many points, some r/eedfiil sure 
 '"-T.0 saving faith, that Scripture lea(^es obscure ? 
 

 / EELIGIO LAICI. 
 
 ; /) 
 
 * ly 
 
 Which every: sect will "wrest a several way, , _ 309 
 
 For what one sect interprets, all sects may. ^ ^^ U'oizl, 
 
 1 1 '' Wc hold, a nd say we prove from Scripture ^lain, 
 Thfjt niirisf, is (j od ; the bold Socinian 
 From the saiflo Scripture urges he 's but man. 
 Now, what appeal can end tlie irapoitant suit 1 
 Both parts talk loudly, but tlic rule is mute. 
 
 , Shall I Bpcak ))lain, and in a nation free 
 
 Assume an honest layman's liberty '? ^.^ 
 I think, acccij'ding to my little skill, 
 To my own ^lotlicr Church submitting still, \ 
 That many have been saved, and many may, \ 820 
 "Who ne ver h eard tliis .question brou<fht in play. 
 yTJi'jmlc tt£r!djpiiri^iaaj-Avho belici£ s^in g ross, ^ 
 Vj^ocls (111 to li(';iV(Mi. and ix'Vr is at a loss; 
 For the strait i^atc would be made straiter ye't. 
 Were none admitted there but men of wit. 
 The few by nature form'd, with learning fraught, 
 Born to instruct, as others to be taught. 
 Must study well the sacred page ; and see 
 Which doctrine, this or that, does best agree 
 With the whole tenor of the work divine : 330 
 
 And plainliest points to Heaven's reveal'd design : 
 
 /^^^hich exposition flows from genuine "setrserT \_ 
 
 ^ And which is forced by wit and eloquence. "T" 
 Not that tradition's paHs~are usetes§~trerer — 
 When gener al, old, disinteress'd, and clear: 
 That ancient Fathers thus expound the page. 
 Gives Truth the reverend majesty of age : 
 Confirms its force, by bj^ding every test;/ ^„jl^,^ M-fr^ 
 For best authority's next" rules are best, r r~X / 
 And still the nearer to the spring we go, ^^ ^^^"Jc^-P, 340 
 More limpid, more unsoil'd, the waters flow. 
 
192 ' dryden's poems. / 
 
 Thus first tradifeieia^ were a proof alone,',/ 342 
 
 yuoulcl we_be certain \ucli they were, so known; 
 But since some naws in long descent may be, 
 They make not truth but^probabilityi^'' 
 Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke 
 To what the centuries preceding spoke. 
 Such difference is there in an oft-told tale : 
 But Truth by its own sinews will prevaili/ 
 [Traditioi](written,i therefore, more commends 350 
 
 Authority, than what from voice descends : 
 And this, as peifect as its kind c an be, j ^'' 
 Rolls down to us-t^e^sacred history : 
 Which from the Universal ChurcE;^ received, 
 Is tried, and after for rtselfbelfeved. 
 "" The partial Pai^ists would infer from hence, 
 '^f r /Their Cliurch, in hist resort, should judge the sense. 
 {M'''-'-' ' 'But first they would assume, with wondrous art, 
 .Themselves to be the whole, who are but part, 
 jOf that vast frame the Church i^ yet grant they M'ere 360 
 [/ The banders dowJM:;an they froin thence infer 
 j A right to interpret % \?r would they alone _ 
 Who brought the present, claim it for their own %) 
 T\* ^ **-The Book's a common largess to mankind; 
 r . L^ot more for them than every man design'd : 
 The welcome news is in theTetter found; 
 The carrier 's not commissioned to expound ; 
 It speaks itself, and what it does contain 
 In all things needful to be known is plain. 
 r In times o'ergrown with rust and ignorance, 370 
 
 A gainful trade their clergy did advance : 
 J When want of learning kept the laymen low, , 
 
 C^V I "^^^ ^^^^ ^^* priests were authorised to know : 
 I I When what small knowledge was, in them did dwell; 
 \ And he a god, who could but read and spell : 
 
 isv^ 
 
^M£^ •'"- •/''■'" 
 
 EELIGIO LAICI. ^ ' 193 
 
 Then Mother Church did migh^ftlj prevail ; \ 376 
 
 She parcell'd out the Bible bj/retail : ) ^ 
 
 But still expounded what shq/ soIc^"OT gave ; | .-,,^ J ' ' 
 
 To keep it in her power to damn and save. / '/ i - 
 
 Scripture was scarce, and a^ the market went,l/ 380 
 
 Poor laymen took salvation on content ; K'^'^-'j-^ 
 
 As needy men take money, good or bad : '^ r .. - 
 
 Gi}d's-"\yord they had noti but th' pr iest's they ha d.'- 
 
 Yet, whate'er false convm-ances they made, 
 
 The lawyer still was certain to be paid.'v.^ 
 i /In thosd-.dark times thej" Icarn'd tlicir knack so well. 
 
 That by long use fhey grew infiiUible. v -^ y 
 
 ~^At last a knowing ag6 tegan to inquire/ K^^V^AX^-i^^^c^/TOiv^ 
 
 If they tlie~Book7^or tlijat did them inspire : 3S9 
 
 And making narrower bcarch, they found, though late. 
 
 That M'hat they thouglijt the priest's, was their estate ; 
 
 Taught b^sth e^sdll p rodii^^ the, wxitt£ii-4\^erd,\x^ 
 
 How long theyliad been cheated on record. 
 
 Then every man who saw tlie title fair, 
 
 Claim'd a child's part, and put in for a share : 
 
 Consulted soberly his private good, 
 
 And saved himself as cheap as e'er he could. 
 
 \ 'Tis true, my friend, (and far be flattery hence), 
 
 TMs good had full as bad a consequence : c^" 
 
 The Book thus put in every vulgar hand, 400 y 
 
 Which each presumed he best could understand, 
 
 The common rule was made the common prey ; 
 /And at the mercy of the rabble_Lay. . 
 / The tendeFpage with" horny fists was gall'd ; 
 
 And he was gifted most that loudest bawl'd. \. 
 
 The spirit gave the doctoral degree : 
 
 And every member of a company 
 
 Was of his trade, and of the Bible free. / 
 
 ^ VOL. I. ""' N 
 
.1- 
 
 i 
 
 /^ 
 
 194 \lU/y' DRYDENS POEMS. 
 
 Plain truths enougli for needful use Jhej found 
 /^But men would still be itching to expound : 
 i^JBach was ambitious of the obscurest place, 
 i 'No measure ta'en from knowledge, all from grace. 
 f — Study and pains were now no more their care ; » 
 I Texts were explain^ bj fasting and bj prayer : i/^ 
 This was the fruit.the private spirit brought ; 
 Occasiqn'd by great zeal and little thought. 
 While crowds imlearn'd, with rude devotion warm, 
 , About the sacred viands buzz and swarm. 
 y I The ^y^iblown text creates a crawling brood, / jl-X-- 
 JAnd turns to maggots what was rneant for foodT ^o 
 A thousand daily sects rise up and die ; " "^ 
 
 -t^A thousand more the perish'd race supply ; 
 So all we make of Heaven's disco ver'd will, 
 
 ^ ^ A Is, not to have it, or to use it ill. {^■^ 
 
 The danger 's much the same ; on several, shelves, ^ 
 _If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves. 
 5 — What then remains, but, waiving each extreme7 
 The tides of ignorance and pride to steinT? 
 , Neither so rich a treasure to forego ; 
 Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know : u- 430 
 ; Faith is not built on disquisitions vain ; 
 I The things we must believe are few and plain : v 
 \ But since men will believe more_than they need, 
 __And every man will make himself a -creed ; "" 
 In doubtful questions 'tis the safest way 
 To learn what unsuspected ancients say : 
 .EfiT 'tis not likely we should higher soar^ / 
 j Tn^search of heaven, than all the Church before : W^ 
 \ Nor can we be deceived, unless we see j i 
 The Scripture and the Fathers disagree, i ) ^ 440 
 
 k^5 
 
 If, after all^ they stand suspected still, 
 (For 110 man's faith depends upon his will) ; 
 
Q|fv^-,%55luA MM^ 
 
 THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 
 
 'is some relief, that points not clearly known, 
 '^ithout much hazard may be let alone : 
 And after hearing what our Church can say, 
 If still our reason runs another "^va^ 
 
 195 
 
 ^ 
 
 That (private reaso n 'tis, more ]ust to curb 
 ianby^3ts^nies the pubhc peace 
 
 [For points obscHJ '-a.aJ p- »f small use toj^am 
 hit common quiet is raankind*s concern. 
 
 ' {l1^ - 
 
 Thus have I made my own opmions cleai* ; ' l\Q^ /'7\JJj2^ f(^ 
 Yet neither praise expect, nor censur e fear :^ U2£^^ " 
 Andjlnsliinp^listu^^^ «iJ— 
 
 s fittest fo r discourse, jjid nearest prose j j 
 For wliiletrora sacredCtrutlM do not swerve 
 om Sternhold's or 
 
 jk^ 
 
 
 XuA^ 
 
 A-^ 
 
 ladweU's rhymes will serve\- pi UxM. ' 
 
 >^ A^ THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS : '^/fn^/ 
 
 A FUNERAL PINDJCRIC POEM, SACRED TO THE HAPPY 
 MEMORY OF KING CHARLES IL 
 
 L 
 
 Thus long my grief has kept me dumb : 
 
 Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe. 
 
 Tears stand congeal'd, and cannot flow ; 
 And the sad soul retires into her inmost room : 
 Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief ; 
 
 But, unprovided for a sudden blow. 
 
 Like Niobe we marble grow ; 
 And petrify with grief 
 
196 dryden's poems. 
 
 Our British heaven was all serene, 
 
 No threatening cloud was nigh, 
 
 Not the least wrinkle to deform the skj ; 
 
 We lived as unconcern'd and happily 
 As the first age in Nature's golden scene ; I 
 
 Supine amidst our flowing store, 
 We slept securely, and we dreamt of more : i 
 
 When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard, 1 
 
 It took us unprepared and out of guard, 
 
 Already lost before we fear'd. 
 The amazing news of Charles at once were spread. 
 
 At once the general voice declared, 
 " Our gracious prince was dead." 
 
 No sickness known before, no slow disease, 
 
 To soften grief by just degrees : 
 
 But like a hurricane on Indian seas, 
 The tempest rose ; 
 An unexpected burst of woes ; 
 With scarce a breathing space betwixt — 
 This now becalm'd, and perishing the next. 
 As if great Atlas from his height 
 Should sink beneath his heavenly weight. 
 And with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall 
 
 (At once it shall), 
 Should gape immense, and rushing down, o'erwhelm this 
 
 nether ball ; 
 So swift and so surprismg was our fear : 
 Our Atlas fell indeed, but Hercules was near. 
 
 II. 
 
 His pious brother, sure the best 
 
 Who ever bore that name ! 
 Was newly risen from his rest, 
 
 And, with a fervent flame. 
 
THREXODIA AUGUST ALIS. 197 
 
 His usual morning vows had just address'd 
 For his dear sovereign's health ; 
 
 And hoped to have them heard, 
 
 In long increase of years, 
 In honour, fame, and wealth : 
 Guiltless of greatness thus he always pray'd, 
 Nor knew nor M'isli'd those vows he made, 
 On his own head should be repaid. 
 Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reach'd his ear, 
 (111 news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace,) 
 
 Who can describe the amazement of his face ! 
 Horror in all his pomp was there, 
 Mute and magnificent without a tear : 
 And then the hero first was seen to fear. 
 Half unarray'd he ran to liis relief, 
 So hasty and so artless was his grief : 
 Approaching greatness met him with her charms 
 
 Of power and future state ; 
 
 But look'd so ghastly in a brother's fate. 
 He shook her from his arms. 
 Arrived within the mournful room, he saw 
 
 A wild distraction, void of awe. 
 And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law. 
 
 God's image, God's anointed lay 
 Without motion, pulse, or breath, 
 
 A senseless lump of sacred clay, 
 An image now of death. 
 Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries, 
 
 The lines of that adored, forgiving face, 
 
 Distorted from their native grace ; 
 An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes. 
 The pious duke — Forbear, audacious Muse ! 
 No terms thy feeble art can use 
 Are able to adorn so vast a woe : 
 
198 dryden's poems. 
 
 The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show, 
 
 His like a sovereign did transcend ; 
 No wife, no brother, such a grief could know, 
 
 Nor any name but friend. 
 
 III. 
 
 wondrous changes of a fatal scene, 
 
 Still varying to the last ! 
 
 Heaven, though its hard decree was past, 
 Seem'd pointing to a gracious turn again : 
 
 And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste. 
 
 Heaven half repented of the doom, 
 And almost grieved it had foreseen, 
 
 What by foresight it will'd eternally to come. 
 Mercy above did hourly plead 
 
 For her resemblance here below ; 
 And mild forgiveness intercede 
 
 To stop the coming blow. 
 New miracles approach'd the ethereal throne. 
 Such as his wondrous life had oft and lately known, 
 And urged that still they might be shown. 
 
 On earth his pious brother pray'd and vow'd. 
 Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate, 
 
 Himself defending what he could, 
 
 From all the glories of his future fate. 
 
 With him the innumerable crowd 
 Of armed prayers 
 Knocked at the gates of Heaven, and knock'd aloud ; 
 
 The first well-meaning rude petitioners. 
 All for his life assail'd the throne. 
 All would have bribed the skies by offering up their own. 
 So great a throng not Heaven itself could bar ; 
 'Twas almost borne bv force as in the o-iants' war. 
 
THRENODIA AUGTJSTALIS. 199 
 
 The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard ; 
 His death, like Ilezekiah's, \ras deferr'd : 
 
 Against the sun tlic shadow went ; 
 
 Five days, tliose five degrees, M-ere lent 
 
 To form our patience and prepare tlie event. 
 The second causes took the swift command. 
 The medicinal head, the ready hand. 
 All eager to perform their ])art ; 
 All but eternal doom was conquer'd by their art : 
 Once more the fleeting soul came back 
 
 To inspire the mortal frame ; 
 And in the body took a doubtful stand, 
 
 Doubtful and hovering like expiring flame, 
 That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The joyful short-lived news soon spread around. 
 Took tlie same train, the same impetuous bound : 
 The drooping town in smiles again M'as dress'd. 
 Gladness in every face express'd, 
 Theii" eyes before their tongues confess'd. 
 Men met each other with erected look, 
 The steps were higher that they took ; 
 Friends to congratulate their friends made haste ; 
 And long inveterate foes saluted as they pass'd : 
 Above the rest heroic James appear'd — 
 Exalted more, because he more had fear'd: 
 His manly heart, whose noble pride 
 Was still above 
 
 Dissembled hate or varuish'd love, 
 Its more than common transport could not hide ; 
 But like an eagre ^ rode in triumph o'er the tide. 
 
 ' ' All eagre : ' a tide swelling above another tiJe — observed on the River 
 Trent. 
 
200 dryden's poems. 
 
 •> 
 Thus, in alternate course, 
 The tyrant passions, hope and fear, 
 Did in extremes appear. 
 And flash'd upon the soul with equal force. 
 Thus, at half ebb, a rolling sea 
 Returns and wins upon the shore ; 
 The watery herd, affrighted at the roar, 
 Rest on their fins awhile, and stay, 
 Then backward take their wondering way : 
 The prophet wonders more than they, 
 At prodigies but rarely seen before, 
 And cries, A king must fall, or kingdoms change their sway, 
 Such were our counter-tides at land, and so 
 Presaging of the fatal blow. 
 In their prodigious ebb and flow. 
 The royal soul, that, like the labouring moon, 
 By charms of art was hurried down. 
 Forced with regret to leave her native sphere, 
 Came but awhile on liking here : 
 Soon weary of the painful strife. 
 And made but faint essays of life : 
 An evening light 
 Soon shut in night ; 
 A strong distemper, and a weak relief. 
 Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief. 
 
 Y. 
 
 The sons of art all medicines tried, 
 And every noble remedy applied ; 
 AVith emulation each essay'd 
 His utmost skill, nay more, they pray'd : 
 Never was losing game with better conduct play'd. 
 Death never won a stake with greater toil, 
 Nor e'er was fate so near a foil : 
 
THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 201 
 
 But like a fortress on a rock, 
 
 The impregnable disease their vain attempts did mock; 
 
 Thcj mined it near, they batter'd from afar 
 
 AVitli all the cannon of the medicinal war; 
 
 No gentle means could be essayed, 
 
 'Twas beyond parley when the siege was laid : 
 
 The extremest ways they first ordain, 
 
 Prescribing such intolerable pain, 
 
 As none but Caesar could sustain : 
 
 Undaunted Cresar underwent 
 
 The malice of their art, nor bent 
 
 Beneath whate'cr their pious rigour could invent : 
 
 In five such days he sufFcr'd more 
 
 Than any suffer'd in his reign before ; 
 
 More, infinitely more, than he, 
 
 Against the worst of rebels, could decree, 
 
 A traitor, or twice pardon'd enemy. 
 
 Now art was tried without success, 
 
 No racks could make the stubborn malady confess. 
 
 The vain insurancers of life. 
 
 And they w^ho most perform'd and promised less. 
 
 Even Short and Hobbes ^ forsook the unequal strife. 
 
 Death and despair were in their looks, 
 
 No longer they consult their memories or books ; 
 
 Like helpless friends, who view from shore 
 
 The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar ; 
 
 So stood they with their arms across ; 
 
 Not to assist, but to deplore 
 
 The inevitable loss. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Death was denounced; that frightful sound 
 Which even the best can hardly bear, 
 
 ' ' Short and Hobbes : ' two physicians who attended on the king. 
 
202 dryden's poems. 
 
 He took the summons void of fear ; 
 And unconcern'dlj cast his eyes around; 
 As if to find and dare the grisly challenger. 
 What death could do he lately tried, 
 When in four days he more than died. 
 The same assurance all his words did grace ; 
 The same majestic mildness held its place : 
 Nor lost the monarch in his dying face. 
 Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave, 
 He look'd as when he conquer'd and forgave. 
 
 VII. 
 
 As if some angel had been sent 
 To lengthen out his government, 
 And to foretell as many years again. 
 As he had number'd in his happy reign. 
 So cheerfully he took the doom 
 Of his departing breath ; 
 Nor shrunk nor stepp'd aside for death ;. 
 But witli unalter'd pace kept on, 
 Providing for events to come. 
 When he resign'd the throne. 
 Still he maintain'd his kingly state ; 
 And grew familiar with his fate. 
 Kind, good, and gracious to the last. 
 On all he loved before his dying beams he cast : 
 Oh, truly good, and truly great. 
 For glorious as he rose, benignly so he set ! 
 All that on earth he held most dear. 
 He recommended to his care. 
 To whom both Heaven, 
 The right had given 
 
 And his own love bequeathed supreme command 
 He took and press'd that ever loyal hand 
 
THRENODIA AOGUSTALIS. 203 
 
 Whicli could in peace secure his reigu, 
 
 AVhicli could in wars his power maintain, 
 
 Tliat hand on which no phghted vows were ever vain. 
 
 Well for so great a tmst he chose 
 
 A prince who never disobej'd : 
 
 Not when the most severe commands were laid ; 
 
 Nor want, nor exile with his duty weigh'd : 
 
 A prince on whom, if Heaven its eyes could close, 
 
 The welfare of the world it safely might repose. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 That king ^ who lived to God's own heart, 
 Yet less serenely died than he : 
 Charles left behind no harsh decree 
 For schoolmen with laborious art 
 To salve from cruelty : 
 
 Those for whom love could no excuses frame. 
 He graciously forgot to name. 
 Thus fiir my Muse, though rudely, has design 'd 
 Some faint resemblance of his godlike mind : 
 But neither pen nor pencil can express 
 The parting brothers' tenderness : 
 Though that 's a term too mean and low ; 
 The blest above a kinder word may know. 
 But what they did, and what they said, 
 The monarch who triumphant went. 
 The militant who staid, 
 
 Like painters, when their heightening arts are spent, 
 I cast into a shade. 
 That all-forsivino; kin<x, 
 The type of Him above, 
 That inexhausted spring 
 Of clemency and love ; 
 
 ' ' King : ' King David. 
 
204 dryden's poems. 
 
 Himself to his next self accused, 
 
 And asked that pardon which he ne'er refused : 
 
 For faults not his, for guilt and crimes 
 
 Of godless men, and of rebellious times : 
 
 For an hard exile, kindly meant, 
 
 When his ungrateful country sent 
 
 Their best Camillus into banishment : 
 
 And forced their sovereign's act — they could not his consent. 
 
 Oh, how much rather had that injured chief 
 
 Repeated all his sufferings past, 
 
 Than hear a pardon begg'd at last, 
 
 Which, given, could give the dying no relief ! 
 
 He bent, he sunk beneath his grief : 
 
 His dauntless heart would fain have held 
 
 From weeping, but his eyes rebell'd. 
 
 Perhaps the godlike hero in his breast 
 
 Disdain' d, or was ashamed to show. 
 
 So weak, so womanish a woe. 
 
 Which yet the brother and the friend so plenteously confess'd. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Amidst that silent shower, the royal mind 
 An easy passage found. 
 And left its sacred earth behind : 
 Nor murmuring groan express'd, nor labouring sound, 
 Nor any least tumultuous breath ; 
 Calm was his life, and quiet was his death. 
 Soft as those gentle whispers were. 
 In which the Almighty did appear ; 
 By the still voice the prophet ^ knew him there. 
 That peace which made thy prosperous reign to shine, 
 That peace thou leavest to thy imperial line, 
 That peace, oh, happy shade, be ever thine ! 
 
 • ' The prophet : ' Elijah. 
 
THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 205 
 
 X. 
 
 For all those joys thy restoration brouglit, 
 For all the miracles it wrought, 
 For all the healing balm thy mercy pour'd 
 Into the nation's bleeding wouud, 
 And care that after kept it sound, 
 For numerous blessings yearly showcr'd, 
 And property with plenty crown'd; 
 For freedom, still maintain'd alive — 
 Freedom ! which in no other land will thrive — 
 Freedom ! an English subject's sole prerogative, 
 AVithout whose charms even peace would be 
 But a dull, quiet slavery : 
 For these and more, accept our pious praise ; 
 'Tis all the subsidy 
 The present age can raise, 
 The rest is charged on late posterity : 
 Posterity is charged the more. 
 Because the large abounding store 
 To them and to their heirs, is still entail'd by thee. 
 Succession of a long descent 
 Which chastely in the channels ran, 
 And from our demi-gods began, 
 Equal almost to time in its extent. 
 Through hazards numberless and great, 
 Thou hast derived this mighty blessing down, 
 And fix'd the fairest gem that decks the imperial crown : 
 Not faction, M'hen it shook thy regal seat, 
 Not senates, insolently loud. 
 Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd, 
 Not foreign or domestic treachery. 
 Could warp thy soul to their unjust decree. 
 So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook, 
 Who judged it by the milduess of thy look : 
 
206 dryden's poems. 
 
 Like a well-temper'd sword it bent at will ; 
 But kept the native toughness of the steel. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Be true, Clio, to thy hero's name ! 
 But draw him strictly so, 
 That all who view the piece may know. 
 He needs no trappings of fictitious fame : 
 The load 's too weighty : thou mayest choose 
 Some parts of praise, and some refuse : 
 Write, that his annals may be thought more lavish than 
 
 the Muse. 
 In scanty truth thou hast confined 
 The virtues of a royal mind. 
 Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and kind : 
 His conversation, v/it, and parts. 
 His knowledge in the noblest useful arts, 
 Were such, dead authors could not give ; 
 But habitudes of those who live ; 
 Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive : 
 He drain'd from all, and all they knew ; 
 His apprehension quick, his judgment true : 
 That the most learn'd, with shame, confess 
 His knowledge more, his reading only less. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Amidst the peaceful triumphs of his reign. 
 What wonder if the kindly beams he shed 
 Revived the drooping Arts again ; 
 If Science raised her head, 
 And soft Humanity, that from rebellion fled ! 
 Our isle, indeed, too fruitful was before ; 
 But all uncultivated lay 
 Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway ; 
 
THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 207 
 
 "With rank Geneva weeds run o'er, 
 
 And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore. 
 
 The royal husbandman appcar'd, 
 
 And plough'd, and sow'd, and till'd ; 
 
 The thorns he rooted out, the rubbish clear'd, 
 
 And bless'd the obedient field : 
 
 AVhcn straight a double harvest rose ; 
 
 Such as the swarthy Indian mows ; 
 
 Or happier climates near the line, 
 
 Or Paradise manured and dress'd by hands divine. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 As when the new-born Phoenix takes his way, 
 II is rich paternal regions to survey, 
 Of airy choristers a numerous train 
 Attends his wondrous progress o'er the plain ; 
 So, rising from his father's urn, 
 So glorious did our Charles return ; 
 The officious Muses came along — 
 A gay harmonious quire, like angels ever young : 
 The Muse that mourns him now, his happy triumph sung, 
 Even they could thrive in his auspicious reign ; 
 And such a plenteous crop they bore 
 Of purest and M'ell-winnow'd grain, 
 As Britain never knew before. 
 Though little was their hire, and light their gain, 
 Yet somewhat to their share he threw ; 
 Fed from his hand, they sung and flew, 
 Like birds of Paradise that lived on morning dew. 
 Oh, never let their lays his name forget ! 
 The pension of a prince's praise is great. 
 Live, then, thou great encourager of arts ! 
 Live ever in our thankful hearts ; 
 Live blest above, almost invoked below ; 
 
208 dryden's poems. 
 
 Live and receive this pious vow, 
 
 Our patron once, our guardian angel now ! 
 
 Thou Fabius of a sinking state, 
 
 Who didst bj wise delays divert our fate, 
 
 When faction like a tempest rose, 
 
 In death's most hideous form, 
 
 Then art to rage thou didst oppose, 
 
 To weather-out the storm : 
 
 Not quitting thy supreme command. 
 
 Thou held'st the rudder with a steady hand, 
 
 Till safely on the shore the bark did land : 
 
 The bark that all our blessings brought, 
 
 Charged with thyself and James, a doubly royal fraught. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Oh, frail estate of human things, 
 And slippery hopes below ! 
 Now to our cost your emptiness we know, 
 For 'tis a lesson dearly bought. 
 Assurance here is never to be sought. 
 The best, and best beloved of kings. 
 And best deserving to be so. 
 When scarce he had escaped the fatal blow 
 Of faction and conspiracy, 
 Death did his promised hopes destroy : 
 He toil'd, he gain'd, but lived not to enjoy. 
 What mists of Providence are these. 
 Through which we cannot see ! 
 So saints, by supernatural power set free, 
 Are left at last in martyrdom to die ; 
 Such is the end of oft-repeated miracles. 
 Forgive me. Heaven, that impious thought! 
 'Twas grief for Charles, to madness wrought, 
 That question'd thy supreme decree. 
 
THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 209 
 
 Thou didst his gracious reign prolong, 
 
 Even in thy saints' and angels' wrong, 
 
 His fellow-citizens of immortality : 
 
 For twelve long years of exile borne, 
 
 Twice twelve we number'd since his blest return : 
 
 So strictly wert thou just to pay, 
 
 Even to the driblet of a day. 
 
 Yet still we murmur and complain, 
 
 The quails and manna should no longer rain ; 
 
 Those miracles 'twas needless to renew ; 
 
 The chosen stock has now the promised land in view. 
 
 XV. 
 
 A warlike prince ascends the regal state, 
 A prince long exercised by fate : 
 Long may he keep, though he obtains it late ! 
 Heroes in Heaven's peculiar mould are cast, 
 They and their poets are not forni'd in haste ; 
 Man was the first in God's design, and man was made the last. 
 False heroes, made by flattery so, 
 Heaven can strike out, like sparkles, at a blow ; 
 But ere a prince is to perfection brought, 
 He costs Omnipotence a second thought. 
 With toil and sweat, 
 With hardening cold, and forming heat. 
 The Cyclops did their strokes repeat, 
 Before the impenetrable shield was wrought. 
 It looks as if the Maker would not own 
 The noble work for His, 
 Before 'twas tried and found a masterpiece. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 View, then, a monarch ripen'd for a throne ! 
 Alcides thus his race began, 
 VOL. I. 
 
210 dryden's poems. 
 
 O'er infancy he swiftly ran ; 
 
 The future god at first was more than man : 
 
 Dangers and toils, and Juno's hate, 
 
 Even o'er his cradle lay in wait ; 
 
 And there he grappled first with fate : 
 
 In his young hands the hissing snakes he press'd, 
 
 So early was the deity confess'd. 
 
 Thus by degrees he rose to Jove's imperial seat ; 
 
 Thus difficulties prove a soul legitimately great. 
 
 Like his, our hero's infancy was tried ; 
 
 Betimes the Furies did their snakes provide ; 
 
 And to his infant arms oppose 
 
 His father's rebels, and his brother's foes ; 
 
 The more oppress' d, the higher still he rose : 
 
 Those were the preludes of his fate. 
 
 That form'd his manhood, to subdue 
 
 The Hydra of the many-headed hissing crew. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 As after Numa's peaceful reign, 
 The martial Ancus did the sceptre wield, 
 Furbish'd the rusty sword again, 
 Resumed the long-forgotten shield. 
 And led the Latins to the dusty field ; 
 So James the drowsy genius wakes 
 Of Britain, long entranced in charms, 
 Restive and slumbering on its arras : 
 'Tis roused, and with a new-strung nerve, the spear 
 
 already shakes. 
 No neighing of the warrior steeds. 
 No drum, or louder trumpet, needs 
 To inspire the coward, warm the cold — 
 His voice, his sole appearance makes them bold. 
 
THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 211 
 
 Gaul and Batavia dread the impending blow ; 
 
 Too well the vigour of that arm thej know ; 
 
 They lick the dust, and crouch beneath tlieir fatal foe. 
 
 Long may they fear this awful prince, 
 
 And not provoke his lingering sword ; 
 
 Peace is their only sure defence. 
 
 Their best security his word : 
 
 In all the changes of his doubtful state. 
 
 His truth, like Heaven's, was kept inviolate, 
 
 For him to promise is to make it fate. 
 
 His valour can triumph o'er land and main ; 
 
 With broken oaths his fome he will not stain ; 
 
 With conquest basely bought, and with inglorious gain. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 For once, Heaven ! unfold thy adamantine book : 
 And let his wondering senate see. 
 If not thy firm immutable decree, 
 At least the second page of strong contingency ; 
 Such as consists with wills originally free : 
 
 Let them with glad amazement look 
 
 On what their happiness may be : 
 Let them not still be obstinately blind, 
 Still' to divert the good thou hast design'd, 
 Or with malignant penuiy. 
 To starve the royal virtues of his mind. 
 Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test, 
 give them to believe, and they are surely blest ! 
 
 They do ; and with a distant view I see 
 
 The amended vows of English loyalty. 
 And all beyond that object, there appears 
 The long retinue of a prosperous reign, 
 A series of successful years, 
 In orderly array, a martial, manly train. 
 Behold even the remoter shores, 
 
212 dryden's poems. 
 
 A conquering navy proudly spread ; 
 
 The British cannon formidably roars, 
 
 While starting from his oozy bed, 
 
 The asserted Ocean rears his reverend head ; 
 
 To view and recognise his ancient lord again 
 
 And •with a willing hand, restores 
 
 The fasces of the main. 
 
 VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS, PARAPHRASED. 
 
 Creator Spirit, by whose aid 
 The world's foundations first were laid, 
 Come, visit every pious mind ; 
 Come, pour thy joys on human kind ; 
 From sin and sorrow set us free, 
 And make thy temples worthy thee. 
 
 source of uncreated light, 
 The Father's promised Paraclete ! 
 Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. 
 Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ; 
 Come, and thy sacred unction bring 
 To sanctify us, while we sing ! 
 
 Plenteous of grace, descend from high, 
 Rich in thy sevenfold energy I 
 Thou strength of his Almighty hand. 
 Whose power does heaven and earth command : 
 Proceeding Spirit, our defence. 
 Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense, 
 And crown'st thy gift with eloquence ! 
 
 Refine and purge our earthly parts ; 
 But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts ! 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 213 
 
 Our frailties help, our vice control, 
 Submit the seuses to the soul ; 
 And when rebellious they are grown, 
 Then lay thy hand, and liold them down ! 
 
 Chase from our minds the infernal foe, 
 And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ; 
 And, lest our feet should step astray, 
 Protect and guide us in the way. 
 
 Make us eternal truths receive, 
 And practise all that we believe : 
 Give us thyself, that we may see 
 The Father, and the Son, by thee. 
 
 Immortal honour, endless fame, 
 Attend the Almighty Father's name \ 
 The Saviour Son be glorified. 
 Who for lost man's redemption died : 
 And equal adoration be, 
 Eternal Paraclete, to thee ! 
 
 THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 
 
 A POEM, IN THREE PARTS. 
 
 Antiquam exquirite matrem. 
 
 Et vera incessu patuit Dea. 
 
 ViRO. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 The nation is in too high a ferment for me to expect either fair war, or even 
 so much as fair quarter, from a reader of the opposite party. All men are 
 engaged either on this side or that; and though conscience is the common 
 word, which is given by both, yet if a writer fall among enemies, and cannot 
 
V, 
 
 214 deyden's poems. 
 
 give the marks of their conscience, he is knocked down before the reasons of 
 his own are heard. A preface, therefore, which is but a bespeaking of favour, 
 is altogether useless. What I desire the reader should know concerning me, 
 he will find in the body of the poem, if he have but the patience to peruse it. 
 Only this advertisement let him take beforehand, which relates to the merits 
 of the cause. No general characters of parties (call them either Sects or 
 Churches) can be so fully and exactly drawn, as to comprehend all the several 
 members of them ; at least all such as are received under that denomination. 
 For example, there are some of the Church by law established, who envy not 
 liberty of conscience to Dissenters, as being well satisfied that, according to 
 their own principles, they ought not to persecute them. Yet these, by reason 
 of their fewness, I could not distinguish from the numbers of the rest, with 
 ^whom they are embodied in one common name. On the other side, there are 
 many of our sects, and more indeed than I could reasonably have hoped, who 
 have withdrawn themselves from the commimion of the Panther, and em- 
 braced this gracious indulgence of his Majesty in point of toleration. But 
 neitlier_to_ the one nor the other of these is this satire any way intended : 
 it is aimed only at the"refractory"aiid "disobedient on either sid_e..v For those 
 who are come over to the royal party are consequently supposed to be out of 
 gun-shot. Our physicians have observed, that, in process of time, some dis- 
 eases have abated of their virulence, and have in a manner worn out their 
 malignity, so as to be no longer mortal ; and why may not I suppose the same 
 concerning some of those who have formerly been enemies to kingly govern- 
 ment, as well as Catholic religion ? I hope they have now another notion of 
 both, as having found, by comfortable experience, that the doctrine of perse- 
 cution is far from being an article of our faith. 
 
 It is not for any private man to censure the proceedings of a foreign prince ; 
 but, ^dthout suspicion of flattery, I may praise our own, who has taken con- 
 trary measures, and those more suitable to the spirit of Christianity. Some of 
 the Dissenters, in their addresses to his Majesty, have said, " that he has 
 restored God to his empire over conscience." I confess I dare not stretch the 
 figure to so great a boldness ; but I may safely say, that conscience is the 
 royalty and prerogative of every private man. He is absolute in his own 
 breast, and accountable to no earthly power, for that which passes only be- 
 twixt God and him. Those who are driven into the fold are, generally speak- 
 ing, rather made hypocrites than converts. 
 
 This indulgence being granted to all the sects, it ought in reason to be 
 expected, tliat they should both receive it, and receive it thankfully. For, at 
 this time of day, to refuse the benefit, and adhere to those whom they have 
 esteemed their persecutors, what is it else, but publicly to own, that they suf- 
 fered not before for conscience-sake, but only out of pride and obstinacy, to 
 separate fi'om a church for those impositions, which they now judge may be 
 lawfully obeyed ? After they have so long contended for their classical ordi- 
 nation (not to speak of rites and ceremonies) will they at length submit to an 
 episcopal? If they can go so far, out of complaisance to their old enemies, 
 methinks a little reason should persuade them to take another step, and see 
 whither that would lead them. 
 
 Of the receiving this toleration thankfully I shall say no more, than that 
 they ought, and I doubt not they will consider from what hand they received 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 215 
 
 it. It is not from a Cynis, a heathen prince, and a foreigner, but from a 
 Christian king, their native sovereign ; who expects a return in specie from 
 tliem, that the kindness, which he has graciously shown tliem, may be reta- 
 liated on those of his own persuasion. 
 
 As for the poem in general, I will only thus far satisfy the reader, that it 
 was neither imposed on me, nor so much as the subject given me by any man. 
 It was written during the last winter, and the beginning of this spring ; 
 though with long interruptions of ill jiffllth an4 ithnr hin'b \"'<"<^ 3tt»eata 
 fortnight before I had fiiiisiied it, jiis Maiestj^sdcclaration for liberty of con- 
 ..jsjgeflceJcauiS^afiMad ; which, if I had so soon expected, i migiit iiave spared 
 mj'self the labour of writing many things which are contained in the third 
 part of it. But I was always in some hope, that the Church oT-Eugland might 
 have been persuaded to have taken off the penal laws ancV the test, which was 
 one design of the poem, when I proposed to myself the writing drit. 
 
 It is evident that some pait of it was only occasional, and not first intended : 
 I mean that defence of myself, to which every honest man is bound, when he 
 is injuriously attacked in print ; and I refer myself to the judgment of those who 
 have read the Answer to the Defence of the late King's Papers, and that of the 
 Duchess (in which last I was concerned), how charitably I have been repre- 
 sented there. I am now informed both of flif>jiitlinr ajjl supervisors of this 
 pamphlet, and will reply, when I think he can affront me; for TlStimf— 
 Socrates's opinion, that all creatures cannotT" In the mean time let him con- 
 sider whether he dcsers-ed not a more severe reprehension than I gave him 
 formerly, for using so little respect to the memory of those whom he pretended 
 to answer ; and at his leisure, look out for some original treatise of humility, 
 written by any Protestant in English ; I believe I may say in any other 
 tongue : for the magnified piece of Duncomb on that subject, which either he 
 must mean, or none, and with which another of his fellows has upbraided me, 
 was translated from the Spanish of Rodriguez ; though with the omission of 
 the seventeenth, the twenty-fourth, the twenty-fifth, and the last chapter, 
 which will be found in comparing of the books. 
 
 He would have insinuated to the world, that her late Highness died not a 
 Roman Catholic. He declares himself to be now satisfied to the contrary, in 
 which he has given up the cause ; for matter of fact was the principal debate 
 betwixt us. In the mean time, he would dispute the motives of her change ; 
 how preposterously, let all men judge, when he seemed to deny the subject of 
 the controversy, the change itself. And because I would not take up this 
 ridiculous challenge, he tells the world I cannot argue : but he may as well 
 infer, that a Catholic cannot fast, because he will not take up the cudgels 
 against Mrs James, to confute the Protestant religion. 
 
 I have but one word more to say concerning the poem as such, and abstract- 
 ing from the matters, either religious or civil, which are handled in it. The j 
 first part, consisting most in general characters and narration, I have endea- I 
 voured to raise, and give it the majestic turn of heroic poesy. The second j 
 being matter of dispute, and chiefly concerning Church authority, I was 
 obliged to make as plain and perspicuous as possibly I could ; yet not wholly 
 neglecting the numbers, though I had not frequent occasions for the magnifi- 
 cence of verse. The third, which has more of the nature of domestic conversa- 
 tion, is, or ought to be, more free and familiar than the two former. 
 
216 dryden's poems. 
 
 There are in it two episodes, or fables, which are interwoven with the main 
 design ; so that they are properly parts of it, though they are also distinct 
 stories of themselves. In both of these I have made use of the commonplaces 
 of satire, whether true or false, which are urged by the members of the one 
 Church against the other : at which I hope no reader of either party will be 
 scandalized, because they are not of my invention, but as old, to my know- 
 ledge, as the times of Boccace and Chaucer on the one side, and as those of 
 the Reformation on the other. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 A MILK-WHITE Hind, immortal and unchanged, 
 
 Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged ; 
 
 Without unspotted, innocent within, 
 
 She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin. 
 
 Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds, 
 
 And Scythian shafts ; and many winged wounds 
 
 Aim'd at her heart ; was often forced to fly, 
 
 And doom'd to death, though fated not to die. 
 
 Not so her young ; for their unequal line 
 Was hero's make, half human, half divine. lo 
 
 Their earthly mould obnoxious was to fate, 
 The immortal part assumed immortal state. 
 Of these a slaughter'd army lay in blood, 
 Extended o'er the Caledonian wood, 
 Their native walk ; whose vocal blood arose. 
 And cried for pardon on their perjured foes. 
 Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine seed. 
 Endued with souls, increased the sacred breed. 
 So captive Israel multiplied in chains, 
 A numerous exile, and enjoy'd her pains. 20 
 
 With grief and gladness mix'd, the mother view'd 
 Her martyr'd offspring, and their race renew 'd ; 
 Their corpse to perish, but their kind to last. 
 So much the deathless plant the dying fruit surpass'd. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 217 
 
 Panting and pensive now she ranged alone, 25 
 
 And wander'd in the kingdoms once her own, 
 
 I The common hunt, though from their rage restrain'd 
 
 I By sovereign power, her company disdain'd ; 
 Grinn'd as they pass'd, and with a gharing eye 
 Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. 80 
 
 'Tis true, she bounded by, and tripp'd so light, 
 They had not time to take a steady sight ; 
 
 ' For truth has such a face and such a mien, 
 
 I As to be loved needs only to be seen. 
 
 The bloody Bear, an independent beast, 
 Unlick'd to form, in groans her hate express'd. 
 Among the timorous kind the quaking 11 are ^ 
 Profess'd neutrality, but would not swear. 
 Next her the buffoon Ape," as Atheists use, 
 Mimick'd all sects, and had his own to choose : 40 
 
 Still when the Lion look'd, his knees he bent, 
 And paid at church a courtier's compliment. 
 The bristled Baptist Boar, impure as he, 
 But whiten'd with the foam of sanctity, 
 With fat pollutions fiU'd the sacred place, 
 And mountains levell'd in his furious race ; 
 So first rebellion founded was in grace. 
 But since the mighty ravage, which he made 
 In German forests, had his guilt betray'd, 
 With broken tusks, and with a borrow'd name, 50 
 
 He shunn'd the vengeance, and conceal'd the shame : 
 So lurk'd in sects unseen. With greater guile 
 False Reynard ^ fed on consecrated spoil : 
 The graceless beast by Athanasius first 
 Was chased from Nice, then by Socinus nursed : 
 
 ' ' Hare:' the Quakers. — ^ ' Ape: ' latitudinarians in general.—* ' Rey- 
 nard : ' the Arians. 
 
218 dkyden's poems. 
 
 His impious race their blasphemy renew'd, 56 
 
 I And nature's King through nature's optics yiew'd. 
 [Reversed they view'd him lessen'd to their eye, 
 Nor in an infant could a God descry : 
 New swarming sects to this obliquely tend, 
 Hence they began, and here they all will end, 
 
 iWhat weight of ancient witness can prevail. 
 If private reason hold the public scale *? 
 But, gracious God, how well dost thou provide 
 For erring judgments an unerring guide ! 
 Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light, 
 A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. 
 teach me to believe thee thus conceal'd. 
 And search no farther than thyself reveaFd ; 
 But her alone for my director take, 7o 
 
 Whom thou hast promised never to forsake ! 
 My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires ; 
 My manhood, long misled by wandering fires, 
 FoUow'd false lights ; and when their glimpse was gone. 
 My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. 
 Such was I, such by nature still I am ; 
 Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame. 
 Good life be now my task ; my doubts are done : 
 What more could fright my faith, than Three in One ? 
 Can I believe Eternal God could lie so 
 
 Disguised in mortal mould and infancy ? 
 That the great Maker of the world could die ? 
 And after that trust my imperfect sense. 
 Which calls in question His Omnipotence 1 
 Can I my reason to my faith compel, 
 And shall my sight, and touch, and taste rebel ? 
 ^uperior faculties are set aside ; 
 IShall their subservient organs be my guide t 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 219 
 
 Then let the moon usurp the rule of day, S9 
 
 And winking tapers show the sun his way ; 
 
 For what my senses can themselves perceive, 
 
 I need no revelation to believe. 
 
 Can they who say the Host should be descried 
 
 By sense, define a body glorified ? 
 
 Impassable, and penetrating parts '? 
 
 Let them declare by what mysterious arts 
 
 He shot that body through the opposing might 
 
 Of bolts and bars impervious to the light, 
 
 And stood before his train confess'd in open sight. 
 
 iFor since thus wondrously he pass'd, 'tis plain, loo 
 
 vne single place two bodies did contain. 
 
 And sure the same Omnipotence as well 
 
 Can make one body in more places dwell. 
 
 Let reason, then, at her own quarry ily, 
 
 But how can finite grasp infinity ? 
 
 'Tis urged again, that fi^ith did first commence 
 By miracles, which are appeals to sense. 
 And thence concluded, that our sense must be 
 The motive still of credibility. 
 
 For latter ages must on former wait, no 
 
 And what began belief must propagate. 
 
 But winnow well this thought, and you shall find 
 'Tis light as chaff that flies before the wind. 
 Were all those wonders wrought by power divine, 
 As means or ends of some more deep design 1 
 Most sure as means, whose end was this alone, 
 To prove the Godhead of the Eternal Son. 
 vGod thus asserted, man is to believe 
 peyond what sense and reason can conceive, 
 And for mysterious things of faith rely 120 
 
 On the proponent. Heaven's authority. 
 
220 deyden's poems. 
 
 If, then, our faith we for our guide admit, 122 
 
 Vain is the farther search of human wit ; 
 
 As when the building gains a surer stay, 
 
 We take the unuseful scaffolding away. 
 
 Reason by sense no more can understand ; 
 
 The game is play'd into another hand. 
 
 Why choose we, then, like bilanders,^ to creep 
 
 Along the coast, and land in view to keep, 
 
 When safely we may launch into the deep 1 iso 
 
 In the same vessel which our Saviour bore. 
 
 Himself the pilot, let us leave the shore. 
 
 And with a better guide a better world explore. 
 
 Could he his Godhead veil with flesh and blood, 
 
 And not veil these again to be our food 1 
 
 His grace in both is equal in extent. 
 
 The first afibrds us life, the second nourishment. 
 
 And if he can, why all this frantic pain 
 
 To construe what his clearest words contain, 
 
 And make a riddle what he made so plain ? i40 
 
 I To take up half on trust, and half to try, 
 -Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry. 
 Both knave and fool the merchant we may call. 
 To pay great sums, and to compound the small : 
 For who would break with Heaven, and would not 
 
 break for all 1 
 Rest, then, my soul, from endless anguish freed : 
 Nor sciences thy guide, nor sense thy creed. 
 . . Faith is the best insurer of thy bliss ; 
 ^ The bank above must fail before the venture miss. 
 
 But heaven and heaven-born faith are far from thee, i50 
 Thou first apostate^ to divinity. 
 Unkennell'd range in thy Polonian plains ; 
 A fiercer foe the insatiate Wolf ^ remains. 
 
 ' ' Bilanders : ' an old word for a coasting boat. — ^ ' First Apostate : 
 Arius. — ' ' Wolf: ' Presbytery. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 221 
 
 Too boastful Britain, please tbjself no more, 154 
 
 That beasts of prey are banish'd from thy shore : 
 The Bear, the Boar, and every savage name, 
 Wild in effect, though in appearance tame, 
 Lay waste thy woods, destroy thy blissful bower. 
 And, muzzled though they seem, the mutes devour. 
 More haughty than the rest, the wolfish race 160 
 
 Appear with belly gaunt and famish'd face : 
 Never was so deform'd a beast of grace. 
 His ragged tail betwixt his legs he wears, 
 Close clapp'd for shame ; but his rough crest he rears, 
 And pricks up his predestinating ears. 
 His wild disorder'd walk, his haggard eyes, 
 Did all the bestial citizens surprise. 
 Thougli fear'd and hated, yet he ruled awhile, 
 As captain or companion of the spoil. 
 Full many a year ^ his hateful liead had been i7o 
 
 For tribute paid, nor since in Cambria seen : 
 The last of all the litter 'scaped by chance, 
 And from Geneva first infested France. 
 Some authors thus his pedigree will trace, 
 But others write him of an upstart race : 
 Because of Wickliff 's brood no mark he brings, 
 I But his innate antipathy to kings. 
 These last deduce him from th' Helvetian kind. 
 Who near the Leman lake his consort lined : 
 That fiery Zuinglius first th' affection bred, 18O 
 
 And meagre Calvin bless'd the nuptial bed. 
 In Israel some believe him whelp'd long since,- 
 When the proud Sanhedrim oppress'd the prince ; 
 Or, since he will be Jew, derive him higher, 
 When Corah with his brethren did conspire 
 
 ' ' Many a year : ' referring to the price put on the head of wolves in Wales. 
 
222 dryden's poems. 
 
 From Moses' hand the sovereign sway to wrest, i86 
 
 And Aaron of his ephod to divest : 
 
 Till opening earth made way for all to pass, 
 
 And could not bear the burden of a class. 
 
 The Fox and he came shuffled in the dark, 190 
 
 If ever they were stow'd in Noah's ark : 
 
 Perhaps not made ; for all their barking train 
 
 The Dog (a common species) will contain. 
 
 And some wild curs, who from their masters ran, 
 
 Abhorring the supremacy of man. 
 
 In woods and caves the rebel race began, 
 
 happy pair, how well have you increased ! 
 What ills in Church and State have you redress'd ! 
 With teeth untried, and rudiments of claws. 
 Your first essay was on your native laws : 200 
 
 Those having torn with ease, and trampled down, 
 Your fangs you fasten'd on the mitred crown, 
 And freed from God and monarchy your town. 
 What though your native kennel ^ still be small, 
 Bounded betwixt a puddle ^ and a wall ; 
 Yet your victorious colonies are sent 
 Where the north ocean girds the continent. 
 Quicken'd with fire below, your monsters breed 
 In fenny Holland, and in fruitful Tweed : 
 And, like the first, the last affects to be 210 
 
 Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 
 As, where in fields the fairy rounds are seen, 
 A rank, sour herbage rises on the green ; 
 So, springing where those midnight elves advance, 
 Rebellion prints the footsteps of the dance. 
 Such are their doctrines, such contempt they show 
 To Heaven above and to their prince below. 
 As none but traitors and blasphemers know. 
 
 ' ' Kennel : ' Geneva. — « ' Puddle : ' 5ts lake. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PAKT I. 223 
 
 God, like the tyrant of the skies, is placed, 219 
 
 And kings, like slaves, beneath the crowd debased. 
 
 So fulsome is their food, that flocks refuse 
 
 To bite, and only dogs for physic use. 
 
 As, where the lightning runs along the ground, 
 
 No husbandry can heal the blasting wound ; 
 
 Nor bladed grass, nor bearded corn succeeds. 
 
 But scales of scurf and putrefiiction breeds : 
 
 Such wars, such waste, such fiery tracks of dearth 
 
 Their zeal has left, and such a teemless earth, 
 
 But, as the poisons of the deadliest kind 
 
 Arc to tlicir own unhappy coasts confined ; 230 
 
 As only Indian shades of sight deprive, 
 
 And magic plants will but in Colchos thrive ; 
 
 So Presbytery and pestilential zeal 
 
 Can only flourish in a commonweal. 
 
 From Celtic woods is chased the wolfish crew ; 
 But ah ! some pity eyeu to brutes is due : 
 Their native walks mcthinks they might enjoy, 
 Curb'd of their native malice to destroy. 
 Of all the tyrannies on human kind, 1 
 
 The worst is that which persecutes the mind. | 2io 
 Let us but weigh at what offence we strike ; 
 'Tis but because we cannot think alike. \ 
 
 In punishing of this, we overthrow ^j 
 
 The laws of nations and of nature too. 
 Beasts are the subjects of tyrannic sway. 
 Where still the stronger on the weaker prey. 
 Man only of a softer mould is made. 
 Not for his fellows' ruin, but their aid : 
 Created kind, beneficent, and free, 
 The noble image of the Deity. 250 
 
 One portion of informing fire was given j 
 To brutes, the inferior family of heaven : 
 
224 dryden's poems. 
 
 The Smith Divine, as with a careless beat, 253 
 
 Struck out the mute creation at a heat : 
 
 But when arrived at last to human race. 
 
 The Godhead took a deej) considering space; 
 
 And to distinguish man from all the rest, 
 
 Unlock'd the sacred treasures of his breast ; 
 
 \^nd mercy mix'd with reason did impart, 
 
 pne to his head, the other to his heart : 260 
 
 Reason to rule, and mercy to forgive ; 
 
 /The first is law, the last prerogative. 
 And like his mind his outward form appear'd. 
 When, issuing naked, to the wondering herd, 
 He charm'd their eyes ; and, for they loved, they fear'd : 
 Not arm'd with horns of arbitrary might, 
 Or claws to seize their furry spoils in fight, 
 Or with increase of feet to o'ertake them in their flight : 
 Of easy shape, and pliant every way ; 
 Confessing still the softness of his clay, 270 
 
 And kind as kings upon their coronation day : 
 With open hands, and with extended space 
 Of arms, to satisfy a large embrace. 
 Thus kneaded up with milk, the new-made man 
 His kingdom o'er his kindred world began : 
 Till knowledge misapplied, misunderstood. 
 And pride of empire, sour'd his balmy blood. 
 * Then, first rebelling, his own stamp he coins; 
 ^ The murderer Cain was latent in his loins : 
 And blood began its first and loudest cry, 280 
 
 For diSering worship of the Deity. 
 Thus persecution rose, and further space 
 Produced the mighty hunter of his race.^ 
 Not so the blessed Pan his flock increased. 
 Content to fold them from the famish'd beast : 
 
 * ' Mighty hunter of his race : ' Nimrod. 
 
THE HIND AXD THE PANTHER. PART I. 225 
 
 Mild were his laws; the Sheep and harmless Hiud 28o 
 
 Were never of the persecuting kind. 
 
 Such pitj now the pious pastor shows. 
 
 Such mercy from the Britisli Lion flows, 
 
 That both provide protection from their foes. 
 happy regions, Italy and Spain, 
 
 Which never did those monsters entertain ! 
 
 The Wolf, the Bear, the Boar, can there advance 
 
 No native claim of just inheritance. 
 
 And self-preserving laws, severe in show, 
 
 !May guard thcii' fences from the invading foe. 
 
 Where birth has placed them, let them safely share 
 
 The common benefit of vital air. 
 
 Themselves unharmful, let them live unharm'd ; 
 
 Their jaM's disabled, and their claws disarm'd : 300 
 
 Here, only in nocturnal bowlings bold, 
 
 They dare not seize the hind, nor leap the fold. 
 
 More powerful, and as vigilant as they, 
 
 The Lion awfully forbids the prey. 
 
 Their rage rcpress'd, though pincli'd with famine sore, 
 
 They stand aloof, and tremble at his roar : 
 
 Much is their hunger, but their fear is more. 
 
 These are the chief : to number o'er the rest, 
 
 And stand, like Adam, naming every beast, 
 \ Were weary work ; nor will the muse describe 310 
 
 I A slimy-born and sun-begotten tribe ; 
 
 Who far from steeples and their sacred sound, 
 
 In fields their sullen conventicles found. 
 ( These gross, half-animated lumps I leave ; 
 
 Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive. 
 
 But if they think at all, 'tis sure no higher 
 
 Than matter, put in motion, may aspire : 
 
 Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay ; 
 VOL. I. p 
 
226 dryden's poems. 
 
 So drossj, so divisible are they, 319 
 
 As would but serye pure bodies for allay : 
 
 Such souls as shards produce, such beetle things 
 
 As only buzz to heaven with evening wings ; 
 
 Strike in the dark, offending but by chance, 
 
 Such are the blindfold blows of ignorance. 
 
 They know not beings, and but hate a name ; 
 
 To them the Hind and Panther are the same. 
 
 The Panther ^ sure the noblest, next the Hind, 
 And fairest creature of the spotted kind ; 
 Oh, could her inborn stains be wash'd away, 
 She were too good to be a beast of prey ! 330 
 
 How can I praise, or blame, and not offend, 
 Or how divide the frailty from the friend 1 
 j Her faults and virtues lie so mix'd, that she 
 / Nor wholly stands condemned, nor wholly free. 
 Then, like her injured Lion, let me speak ; 
 He cannot bend her, and he would not break. 
 Unkind already, and estranged in part. 
 The Wolf begins to share her wandering heart. 
 Though unpolluted yet with actual ill, 
 She half commits, who sins but in her will. 340 
 
 If, as our dreaming Platonists report, 
 There could be spirits of a middle sort. 
 Too black for heaven, and yet too white for hell, 
 Who just dropt half way down, nor lower fell ; 
 So poised, so gently she descends from high, 
 It seems a soft dismission from the sky. 
 Her house not ancient, whatsoe'er pretence 
 Her clergy heralds make in her defence. 
 A second century not half-way run, 
 Since the new honours of her blood begun. 350 
 
 ' ' Panther : ' Church of England. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 227 
 
 A Lion 1 old, obscene, and furious made 351 
 
 Bj lust, compress'd her mother in a shade ; 
 
 Then, bj a left-hand marriaire, weds the dame, 
 
 Covering adultery with a specious name : 
 
 So Schism begot ; and Sacrilege and she, 
 
 A well match'd pair, got graceless Heresy. 
 
 God's and king's rebels have the same jrood cause. 
 
 To trample down divine and human laws : 
 
 Both would be call'd reformers, and their hate 
 
 Alike destructive both to Church and State : 3go 
 
 The fruit proclaims the plant ; a lawless prince 
 
 By luxury reform'd incontinence ; 
 
 By ruins, charity ; by riots, abstinence. 
 
 Confessions, fasts, and penance set aside, 
 
 Oh, with what ease we follow such a guide, 
 
 Where souls are starved, and senses gratified ! 
 
 Where marriage pleasures midnight prayers supply, 
 
 And matin bells, a melancholy cry, 
 
 Arc tuned to merrier notes, Increase and multiply. 
 
 Religion shows a rosy-colour' d foce ; 370 
 
 Not batter'd out with drudging works of grace : 
 
 A down-hill reformation rolls apace. 
 
 What flesh and blood would crowd the narrow gate. 
 
 Or, till they waste their pamper'd paunches, wait 1 
 
 All would be happy at the cheapest rate. 
 
 Though our lean faith these rigid laws has given. 
 The full-fed Mussulman goes fat to heaven; 
 For his Arabian prophet with delights 
 Of sense allured his eastern proselytes. 
 The jolly Lusher, reading him, began 380 
 
 To interpret Scriptures by his Alcoran ; 
 To grub the thorns beneath our tender feet, 
 And make the paths of Paradise more sweet ; 
 
 1 ' Lion : ' Henry VHl. 
 
228 deyden's poems. 
 
 Betliouglit him of a wife ere half way gone, S84 
 
 For ^twas imeasj travelHng alone ; 
 
 And, in this masquerade of mirth and love, 
 
 Mistook the bliss of heaven for Bacchanals above. 
 
 Sure he presumed of praise, who came to stock 
 
 The ethereal pastures with so fair a flock, 
 
 Burnish'd, and battening on their food, to show 390 
 
 Their diligence of careful herds below. 
 
 Our Panther, though like these she changed her head, 
 
 Yet, as the mistress of a monarch's bed, 
 
 Her front erect with majesty she bore, 
 
 The crosier wielded, and the mitre wore. 
 
 Her upper part of decent discipline 
 
 Show'd affectation of an ancient line ; 
 
 And Fathers, Councils, Church, and Church's head, 
 
 Were on her reverend phylacteries read. 
 \But what disgraced and disavow'd the rest, 400 
 
 I Was Calvin's brand, that stigmatized the beast. 
 
 Thus, like a creature of a double kind. 
 
 In her own labyrinth she lives confined. 
 
 To foreign lands no sound of her is come, 
 
 Humbly content to be despised at home. 
 
 Such is her faith, where good cannot be had, 
 
 At least she leaves the refuse of the bad : 
 
 Nice in her choice of ill, though not of best. 
 
 And least deform'd, because reform'd the least.' 
 
 (In doubtful points betwixt her differing friends, dio 
 
 Where one for substance, one for sign contends. 
 Their contradicting terms she strives to join ; 
 Sign shall be substance, substance shall be sign. 
 A real presence all her sons allow. 
 And yet 'tis flat idolatry to bow. 
 Because the Godhead 's there they know not how. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 229 
 
 Her novices are taught that bread and wine 4i7 
 
 Are but the visible and outward sign, 
 
 Received by those who in communion join. 
 
 But the inward grace, or the thiug signified, 
 
 Ilis blood and body, who to save us died ; 
 
 The faithful this thiug signified receive : 
 
 What is "t those faithful then partake or leave 1 
 
 For what is signified and understood. 
 
 Is, by her own confession, fiesh and blood. 
 
 Then, by the same acknowledgment, we know 
 
 They take the sign, and take the substance too. 
 
 The literal sense is hard to fiesh and blood, 
 
 But nonsense never can be understood. 
 
 Her wild belief on every wave is toss'd ; 430 
 
 But sure no Church can better morals boast ; 
 True to her king her principles are found ; 
 that her practice were but lialf so sound ! 
 Steadfiist in various turns of state she stood, 
 And scal'd her vow'd affection with her blood : 
 Nor ^Yill I meanly tax her constancy. 
 That interest or obligcment made the tie 
 Bound to the fiite of murder'd monarchy. 
 Before the sounding axe so falls the vine, 
 AVhose tender branches round the poplar twine. 440 
 
 She chose her ruin, and resign'd her life, 
 In death undaunted as an Indian wife : 
 A rare example ! but some souls we see 
 Grow hard, and stiffen with adversity : 
 'Yet these by fortune's favours are undone ; 
 Resolved into a baser form they run, 
 And bore the wind, but cannot bear the sun. 
 Let this be nature's frailty, or her fate, 
 i Or Isgrim's ^ counsel, her new-chosen mate ; 
 
 * ' Isffrim : ' the wolf. 
 
230 dryden's poems. 
 
 Still she 's tlie fairest of the fallen crew, 450 
 
 No mother more indulgent, but the true. 
 
 Fierce to her foes, jet fears her force to trj. 
 Because she wants innate authority ; 
 For how can she constrain them to obey, 
 Who has herself cast off the lawful sway 1 
 RebeUion equals all, and those who toil 
 In common theft, will share the common spoil. 
 Let her produce the title and the right 
 Against her old superiors first to fight ; 
 If she reform by text, even that 's as plain 460 
 
 For her own rebels to reform again. 
 As long as words a different sense will bear. 
 And each may be his own interpreter, 
 Our airy faith will no foundation find : 
 The word 's a weathercock for every wind : 
 The Bear, the Fox, the Wolf, by turns prevail ; 
 The most in power supplies the present gale. 
 The wretched Panther cries aloud for aid 
 To Church and Councils, whom she first betray'd ; 
 No help from Fathers or Tradition's train : 470 
 
 Those ancient guides she taught us to disdain. 
 And, by that Scripture, which she once abused 
 To reformation, stands herself accused. 
 What bills for breach of laws can she prefer, 
 Expounding which she owns herself may err 1 
 And, after all her winding ways are tried. 
 If doubts arise, she slips herself aside. 
 And leaves the private conscience for the guide. 
 If then that conscience set the ofiender free. 
 It bars her claim to Church authority. 480 
 
 How can she censure, or what crime pretend, 
 But Scripture may be construed to defend ? 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART I. 231 
 
 Even those, whom for rebellion she transmits 4S3 
 
 To civil power, her doctrine first acquits ; 
 
 Because no disobedience can ensue, 
 
 Where no submission to a judge is due ; 
 
 Each judging for himself, by her consent. 
 
 Whom thus absolved she sends to punishment. 
 
 Suppose the magistrate revenge her cause, 
 
 'Tis onlj for transgressing human laws. 490 
 
 How answering to its end a Church is made. 
 
 Whose power is but to counsel and persuade ? 
 
 Oh, solid rock, on M'hich secure she stands ! 
 
 Eternal house, not built with mortal hands ! 
 
 Oh, sure defence against the infernal gate, — 
 
 A patent during pleasure of the state ! 
 
 Thus is the Panther neither loved nor fear'd, 
 A mere mock queen of a divided herd ; 
 Whom soon by lawful power she might control. 
 Herself a part submitted to the whole. 500 
 
 Then, as the moon who first receives the light 
 By which she makes our nether regions bright. 
 So might she shine, reflecting from afar 
 The rays she borrow'd from a better star ; 
 Big with the beams which from her mother flow. 
 And reigning o'er the rising tides below : 
 Now, mixing with a savage crowd, she goes, 
 And meanly flatters her inveterate foes ; 
 Ruled while she rules, and losing every hour 
 Her wretched remnants of precarious power. 610 
 
 One evening, while the cooler shade she sought, 
 Revolving many a melancholy thought. 
 Alone she walk'd, and look'd around in vain, 
 AVith rueful visage, for her vanish'd train : 
 None of her sylvan subjects made their court ; 
 Levees and couchees pass'd without resort. 
 
\ 
 
 232 DRYDEN'g POEMS. 
 
 So hardly can usurpers manage well 517 
 
 Those whom they first instructed to rebel. 
 
 More liberty begets desire of more ; 
 
 The hunger still increases with the store. 
 
 Without respect they brush'd along the wood, 
 
 Each in his clan, and, fiU'd with loathsome food, 
 
 Ask'd no permission to the neighbouring flood. 
 
 The Panther, full of inward discontent. 
 
 Since they would go, before them wisely went ; 
 
 Supplying want of power by drinking first, 
 
 As if she gave them leave to quench their thirst. 
 
 Among the rest, the Hind, with fearful face, 
 
 Beheld from far the common watering place, 
 
 Nor durst approach ; till, with an awful roar, 530 
 
 The sovereign Lion ^ bade her fear no more. 
 
 Encouraged thus she brought her younglings nigh. 
 
 Watching the motions of her patron's eye. 
 
 And drank a sober draught ; the rest amazed 
 
 Stood mutely still, and on the stranger gazed ; 
 
 Survey'd her part by part, and sought to find 
 
 The ten-horn'd monster in the harmless Hind, 
 
 Such as the Wolf and Panther had design'd. 
 
 They thought at first they dream'd ; for 'twas oiFence 
 
 With them to question certitude of sense, 540 
 
 Their guide in faith : but nearer when they drew. 
 
 And had the faultless object full in view, 
 
 Lord, how they all admired her heavenly hue ! 
 
 Some, who before her fellowship disdain'd. 
 
 Scarce, and but scarce, from in-born rage restrain'd. 
 
 Now frisk'd about her, and old kindred feign'd. 
 
 Whether for love or interest, every sect 
 
 Of all the savage nation show'd respect. 
 
 ' Lion : ' James II. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PAKT II. 233 
 
 The viceroy Panther coiikl not awe the herd ; 549 
 
 The more the company, the less they fcar'd. 
 
 The surly Wolf with secret envy burst, 
 
 Yet could not howl ; (the Hind had seen him first :) 
 
 But what he durst not speak the Panther durst. 
 
 For when the herd, sufficed, did late repair, 
 To ferny heaths, and to their forest lair, 
 She made a mannerly excuse to stay. 
 Proffering the Hind to wait her half the way : 
 That, since the sky was clear, an hour of talk 
 Might help her to beguile the tedious walk. 
 With much good-will the motion was embraced, 56o 
 
 To chat a while on their adventures pass'd : 
 Nor had the grateful Hind so soon forgot 
 Her frieud and fellow-sufferer in the Plot. 
 Yet, wondering how of late she grew estranged. 
 Her forehead cloudy, and her countenance changed, 
 She thought this hour the occasion would present 
 To learn her secret cause of discontent. 
 Which well she hoped might be with ease redress'd, 
 Considering her a well-bred civil beast, 
 And more a gentlewoman than the rest. 570 
 
 After some common talk what rumours ran, 
 The lady of the spotted muff began. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 Dame, said the Panther, times are mended well, 
 Since late among the Philistines^ you fell. 
 The toils were pitch'd, a spacious tract of ground 
 With expert huntsmen was encompass'd round ; 
 
 ' ' Philistines : ' the Cromwellians, &c. 
 
234 dryden's poems. 
 
 The enclosure narrow'd ; the sagacious power 5 
 
 Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour. 
 
 'Tis true, the younger Lion ^ 'scaped the snare, 
 
 But all your priestly Calves ^ lay struggling there, 
 
 As sacrifices on their altars laid ; 
 
 While you, their careful mother, wisely fled, 10 
 
 Not trusting destiny to save your head ; 
 
 For, whate'er promises you have applied 
 
 To your unfailing Church, the surer side 
 
 Is four fair legs in danger to provide. 
 
 And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell, 
 
 Yet, saving reverence of the miracle, 
 
 The better luck was yours to 'scape so well. 
 
 As I remember, said the sober Hind, 
 Those toils were for your own dear self designed, 
 As well as me, and with the self-same throw^ 20 
 
 To catch the quarry and the vermin too. 
 (Forgive the slanderous tongues that call'd you so.) 
 Howe'er you take it now, the common cry 
 Then ran you down for your rank loyalty. 
 Besides, in Popery they thought you nursed, 
 As evil tongues will ever speak the worst, 
 Because some forms, and ceremonies some 
 You kept, and stood in the main question dumb. 
 Dumb you were born indeed ; but thinking long 
 The Test^ it seems at last has loosed your tongue. so f 
 And to explain what your forefathers meant. 
 By real presence in the sacrament. 
 After long fencing push'd against the wall. 
 Your salvo comes, that he 's not there at all : 
 There changed your faith, and what may change may fall. 
 
 ' 'Younger lion:' CharlesII. — « 'Priestly calves,' &c.: this alludes to 
 the Commons voting in 1641 that all deans, chapters, &c. should be abolished. 
 — * ' The Test : ' the Test Act, passed in 1672, enjoined the abjuration of the 
 real presence in the sacrament. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART II. 235 
 
 Who can believe what varies every day, 86 
 
 Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay '? 
 
 Tortures may force tlie tongue untruths to tell, 
 And I ne'er own'd myself infallible. 
 Replied the Panther : grant such presence were, 
 Yet in your sense I never own'd it there. 
 A real virtue we by faith receive, 
 And that we in the sacrament believe. 
 Then, said the Hind, as you the matter state, 
 Not only Jesuits can equivocate ; 
 For real, as you now the word expound. 
 From solid substance dwindles to a sound. 
 Methinks an ^sop's fable you repeat ; 
 You know who took the shadow for the meat : 
 Your Church's substance thus you change at will, 50 
 And yet retain your former figure still. 
 I freely grant you spoke to save your life ; 
 For then you lay beneath the butcher's knife. 
 Long time you fought, redoubled battery bore, 
 But, after all, against yourself you swore ; 
 Your former self: for every hour your form 
 Is chopp'd and changed, like winds before a storm. 
 Thus fear and interest will prevail M'ith some ; 
 For all have not the gift of martyrdom. 
 
 The Panther grinn'd at this, and thus replied ; 60 
 That men may err was never yet denied. 
 But, if that common principle be true. 
 The canon, dame, is levell'd full at you. 
 But, shunning long disputes, I fain would see 
 That wondrous wight Infallibility. 
 Is he from Heaven, this mighty champion, come ; 
 Or lodged below in subterranean Rome "? 
 First, seat him somewhere, and derive his race, 
 Or else conclude that nothing has no place. 
 
236 dryden's poems. 
 
 Suppose (though I disown it), said the Hind, 70 
 
 The certain mansion were not jet assign'd ; 
 The doubtful residence no proof can bring 
 Against the plain existence of the thing. 
 Because philosophers may disagree 
 If sight bj emission or reception be, 
 Shall it be thence inferr'd, I do not see 1 
 But you require an answer positive, 
 Which yet, when I demand, you dare not give ; 
 For fallacies in universals live. 
 
 I then affirm that this unfailing guide so 
 
 In Pope and General Councils must reside ; 
 Both lawful, both combined : what one decrees 
 By numerous votes, the other ratifies : 
 On this undoubted sense the Church relies. 
 'Tis true, some doctors in a scantier space, 
 I mean, in each apart, contract the place. 
 Some, who to greater length extend the line, 
 The Church's after-acceptation join. 
 This last circumference appears too wide ; 
 The Church diffused is by the Council tied ; 90 
 
 As members by their representatives 
 Obliged to laws which Prince and Senate gives. 
 Thus some contract, and some enlarge the space : 
 In Pope and Council, who denies the place. 
 Assisted from above with God's unfailing grace 1 
 Those canons all the needful points contain ; 
 Their sense so obvious, and their words so plain, 
 That no disputes about the doubtful text 
 Have hitherto the labouring world perplex'd. 
 If any should in after-times appear, 100 
 
 New Councils must be call'd, to make the meaning clear : 
 Because in them the power supreme resides ; 
 And all the promises are to the guides. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART II. 237 
 
 This may be taught with sound and safe defence ; 104 
 
 But mark how sandy is your own pretence, 
 
 Who, setting Councils, Pope, and Church aside, 
 
 Are every man his own presuming guide. 
 
 The Sacred Books, you say, are full and plain. 
 
 And every needful point of truth contain : 
 
 All who can read interpreters may be: no 
 
 Thus, though your several Churches disagree. 
 
 Yet every saint has to himself alone 
 
 The secret of this philosophic stone. 
 
 These principles your jarring sects unite, 
 
 AVhen ditfering doctors and disciples fight. 
 
 Though Luther, Zuinglius, Calvin, holy chiefs. 
 
 Have made a battle royal of beliefs ; 
 
 Or, like wild horses, several ways have whirl'd 
 
 The tortured text about the Christian world ; 
 
 Each Jehu lashing on with furious force, 120 
 
 That Turk or Jew could not have used it worse : 
 
 No matter what dissension leaders make, 
 
 Where every private man may save a stake : 
 
 Ruled by the Scripture and his own advice. 
 
 Each has a blind by-path to Paradise ; 
 
 Where, driving in a circle, slow or fast. 
 
 Opposing sects are sure to meet at last. 
 
 A wondrous charity you have in store 
 
 For all reform'd to pass the narrow door : 
 
 So much, that Mahomet had scarcely more. 130 
 
 For he, kind prophet, was for damning none ; 
 
 But Christ and Moses were to save their own : 
 
 Himself was to secure his chosen race, 
 
 Though reason good for Turks to take the place, 
 
 And he allow'd to be the better man, 
 
 In virtue of his holier Alcoran. 
 
238 dryden's poems. 
 
 True, said the Panther, I shall ne'er deny 137 
 
 My brethren may be saved as well as I : 
 Though Huguenots condemn our ordination, 
 Succession, ministerial vocation ; 
 And Luther, more mistaking what he read, 
 Misjoins the sacred body with the bread : 
 Yet, lady, still remember, I maintain, 
 The Word in needful points is only plain. 
 
 Needless, or needful, I not now contend, 
 For still you have a loop-hole for a friend ; 
 Rejoin'd the matron : but the rule you lay 
 Has led whole flocks, and leads them still astray, 
 In weighty points, and full damnation's way. 
 For did not Arius first, Socinus now, 150 
 
 The Son's Eternal Godhead disavow ? 
 And did not these by gospel texts alone 
 Condemn our doctrine, and maintain their own ? 
 Have not all heretics the same pretence 
 To plead the Scriptures in their own defence 1 
 How did the Nicene Council then decide 
 That strong debate ? was it by Scripture tried ? 
 No, sure ; to that the rebel would not yield ; 
 Squadrons of texts he marshall'd in the field : 
 That was but civil war, an equal set, I60 
 
 Where piles with piles,^ and eagles eagles met. 
 With texts point-blank and plain he faced the foe. 
 And did not Satan tempt our Saviour so ? 
 The good old bishops took a simpler way; 
 Each ask'd but what he heard his father say, 
 Or how he was instructed in his youth. 
 And by tradition's force upheld the truth. 
 
 The Panther smiled at this ; and when, said she. 
 Were those first Councils disallow'd by me ? 
 
 ' '■ Piles, &c. : ' the Roman arms — pili and eagles. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART II. 239 
 
 Or ^here did I at sure Tradition strike, no 
 
 Provided still it were apostolic 1 
 
 Friend, said the Hind, you quit your former ground, 
 Where all your fiiith you did on Scripture found : 
 Now 'tis Tradition join'd Muth Holy Writ ; 
 But thus your memory betrays your wit. 
 
 No, said the Panther, for in that I view, 
 When your tradition's forged, and M'hen 'tis true. 
 I set them by the rule, and, as they square, 
 Or deviate from undoubted doctrine there. 
 This oral fiction, that old fiiith declare. 180 
 
 Hind : The Council steer'd, it seems, a different course; 
 They tried the Scripture by Tradition's force : 
 But you Tradition by the Scripture try ; 
 Pursued by sects, from this to that you fly, 
 Nor dare on one foundation to rely. 
 The Word is then deposed, and in this view, 
 You rule the Scripture, not the Scripture you. 
 Thus said the dame, and, smiling, thus pursued : 
 I see Tradition then is disallow "d. 
 When not evinced by Scripture to be true, i90 
 
 And Scripture, as interpreted by you. 
 But here you tread upon unfaithful ground; 
 Unless you could infallibly expound : 
 Which you reject as odious Popery, 
 And throw that doctrine back with scorn on me. 
 Suppose we on things traditive divide, 
 And both appeal to Scripture to decide ; 
 By various texts we both uphold our claim, 
 Nay, often ground our titles on the same : 
 After long labour lost, and time's expense, 200 
 
 Both grant the words, and quarrel for the sense. 
 Thus all disputes for ever must depend ; 
 For no dumb rule can controversies end. 
 
240 dryden's poems. 
 
 Thus, when you said, Tradition must be tried 204 
 
 Bj Sacred Writ, whose sense yourselves decide, 
 
 You said no more, but that yourselves must be 
 
 The judges of the Scripture sense, not we. 
 
 Against our Church-Tradition you declare, 
 
 And yet your clerks would sit in Moses' chair ; 
 
 At least 'tis proved against your argument, 210 
 
 The rule is far from plain, where all dissent. 
 
 If not by Scriptures, how can we be sure, 
 Replied the Panther, what Tradition 's pure 1 
 For you may palm upon us new for old : 
 All, as they say, that glitters, is not gold. 
 
 How but by following her, replied the dame, 
 To whom derived from sire to son they came ; 
 Where every age does on another move, 
 And trusts no farther than the next above ; 
 Where all the rounds like Jacob's ladder rise, 220 
 
 The lowest hid in earth, the topmost in the skies. 
 
 Sternly the savage did her answer mark, 
 Her glowing eye-balls glittering in the dark, 
 And said but this : Since lucre was your trade. 
 Succeeding times such dreadful gaps have made, 
 'Tis dangerous climbing : to your sons and you 
 I leave the ladder, and its omen too. 
 
 Hind : The Panther's breath was ever famed for sweet ; 
 But from the Wolf such wishes oft I meet : 
 You learn'd this language from the Blatant Beast, 230 
 Or rather did not speak, but were possess'd. 
 As for your answer, 'tis but barely urged : 
 You must evince Tradition to be forged ; 
 Produce plain proofs : unblemish'd authors use 
 As ancient as those ages they accuse ; 
 'Till when 'tis not sufficient to defame : 
 An old possession stands, 'till elder quits the claim. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART 11. 241 
 
 Then for our interest, which is named alone 238 
 
 To load with envj, we retort jour own, 
 For when Traditions in your faces fly, 
 Resolving not to yield, you must decry. 
 As when the cause goes hard, the guilty man 
 Excepts, and thins his jury all he can ; 
 So when you stand of other aid bereft, 
 You to the Twelve Apostles would be left. 
 Your friend the Wolf did with more craft provide 
 To set those toys, Traditions, quite aside ; 
 And Fathers too, unless when, reason spent, 
 He cites them but sometimes for ornament. 
 But, madam Panther, you, though more sincere, 250 
 Are not so wise as your adulterer : 
 The private spirit is a better blind, 
 Than all the dodging tricks your authors find. 
 For they, who left the Scripture to the crowd, 
 Each for his own peculiar judge allow'd ; 
 The way to please them was to make them proud. 
 Thus, with full sails, they ran upon the shelf : 
 Who could suspect a cozenage from himself? 
 On his own reason safer 'tis to stand. 
 Than be deceived and damn'd at second-hand. 26o 
 
 But you, who Fathers and Traditions take. 
 And garble some, and some you quite forsake. 
 Pretending Church-autliority to fix, 
 And yet some grains of private spirit mix, 
 Are hke a mule, made up of differing seed. 
 And that 's the reason why you never breed ; 
 At least not propagate your kind abroad. 
 For home dissenters are by statutes awed. 
 And yet they grow upon you every day, 
 While you, to speak the best, are at a stay, 270 
 
 For sects, that are extremes, abhor a middle way. 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
242 dryden's poems. 
 
 Like tricks of state, to stop a raging flood, 272 
 
 Or mollify a mad-brain'd senate's mood : 
 Of all expedients never one was good. 
 Well may they argue, nor can you deny. 
 If we must fix on Church authority. 
 Best on the best, the fountain, not the flood ; 
 That must be better still, if this be good. 
 Shall she command who has herself rebell'd ? 
 Is Antichrist by Antichrist expell'd ? 28O 
 
 Did we a lawful tyranny displace, 
 To set aloft a bastard of the race 1 
 Why all these wars to win the Book, if we 
 Must not interpret for ourselves, but she "i 
 Either be wholly slaves, or wholly free. 
 For purging fires Traditions must not fight ; 
 But they must prove Episcopacy 's right. 
 Thus those led horses are from service freed ;, 
 You never mount them but in time of need. 
 Like mercenaries, hired for home defence, 290 
 
 They will not serve against their native prince. 
 Against domestic foes of hierarchy 
 These are drawn forth, to make fanatics fly ; 
 But, when they see their countrymen at hand, 
 Marching against them under Church-command, 
 Straight they forsake their colours, and disband. 
 
 Thus she, nor could the Panther well enlarge 
 With weak defence against so strong a charge ; 
 But said : For what did Christ his Word provide, 
 If still his Church must want a living guide ? 300 
 
 And if all saving doctrines are not there. 
 Or sacred penmen could not make them clear, 
 From after ages we should hope in vain 
 For truths, which men inspired could not explain. 
 
 Before the Word was written, said the Hind, 
 Our Saviour preach'd his faith to human kind : 
 
THE HIND AND THE PA>^THER. PART II. 243 
 
 From liis apostles the first age received 307 
 
 Eternal truth, and what thej taught believed. 
 
 Thus bj Tradition faith was planted first ; 
 
 Succeeding flocks succeeding pastors nursed. 
 
 This was the way our wise Redeemer chose 
 
 (Who sure could all things for the best dispose), 
 
 To fence his fold from their encroaching foes. 
 
 lie could have writ himself, but well foresaw 
 
 Tlie event would be like that of Moses' law ; 
 
 Some difference would arise, some doubts remain, 
 
 Like those which jet the jarring Jews maintain. 
 
 No written laws can be so plain, so pure. 
 
 But wit may gloss, and malice may obscure ; 
 
 Not those indited by his first command, 320 
 
 A prophet graved the text, an angel held his hand. 
 
 Thus faith was ere the written word appear'd, 
 
 And men believed not what they read, but heard. 
 
 But since the apostles could not be confined 
 
 To these, or those, but severally designed 
 
 Their large commission round the world to blow, 
 
 To spread their faith, they spread their labours too. 
 
 Yet still their absent flock their pains did share ; 
 
 They hearken'd still, for love produces care, 
 
 And, as mistakes arose, or discords fell, 330 
 
 Or bold seducers taught them to rebel, 
 
 As charity grew cold, or faction hot. 
 
 Or long neglect their lessons had forgot, 
 
 For all their wants they wisely did provide. 
 
 And preaching by epistles was supplied: 
 
 So great physicians cannot all attend. 
 
 But some they visit, and to some they send. 
 
 Yet all those letters were not writ to all ; 
 
 Nor first intended but occasional, 
 
 Their absent sermons ; nor if they contain ' 340 
 
 All needful doctrines, are those doctrines plain. 
 
244 dryden's poems. 
 
 Clearness by frequent preaching must be wrought ; 342 
 
 They writ but seldom, but thej daily taught. 
 
 And what one saint has said of holy Paul, 
 
 " He darkly writ," is true, applied to all. 
 
 For this obscurity could Heaven provide 
 
 More prudently than by a living guide, 
 
 As doubts arose, the difference to decide 1 
 
 A guide was therefore needful, therefore made ; 
 
 And, if appointed, sure to be obey'd. 350 
 
 Thus, with due reverence to the Apostle's writ. 
 
 By which my sons are taught, to which submit; 
 
 I think those truths their sacred works contain, 
 
 The Church alone can certainly explain ; 
 
 That following ages, leaning on the past, 
 
 May rest upon the Primitive at last. 
 
 Nor would I thence the Word no rule infer, 
 
 But none without the Church-interpreter. 
 
 Because, as I have urged before, 'tis mute. 
 
 And is itself the subject of dispute. 360 
 
 But what the Apostles their successors taught, 
 
 They to the next, from them to us is brought, 
 
 The undoubted sense which is in Scripture sought. 
 
 From hence the Church is arm'd, when errors rise. 
 
 To stop their entrance, and prevent surprise ; 
 
 And, safe entrench'd within, her foes without defies. 
 
 By these all festering sores her Councils heal, 
 
 "Which time or has disclosed, or shall reveal; 
 
 For discord cannot end without a last appeal. 
 
 Nor can a Council national decide, 370 
 
 But with subordination to her guide ; 
 
 (I wish the cause were on that issue tried.) 
 
 Much less the Scripture ; for suppose debate 
 
 Betwixt pretenders to a fair estate, 
 
 Bequeathed by some legator's last intent; 
 
 (Such is our dying Saviour's Testament :) 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART II. 245 
 
 The will is proved, is open'd, and is read ; 377 
 
 The doubtful heirs their diflferiiig titles plead : 
 
 All vouch the "words their interest to maintain, 
 
 And each pretends bj those his cause is plain. 
 
 Shall then the Testament award the right 1 
 
 No, that 's the Hungary for which thej fight ; 
 
 The field of battle, subject of debate ; 
 
 The thing contended for, the fair estate. 
 
 The sense is intricate, 'tis only clear 
 
 What vowels and what consonants are there. 
 
 Therefore 'tis plain, its meaning must be tried 
 
 Before some judge appointed to decide. 
 
 Suppose, the fair apostate said, I grant, 
 The faithful flock some living guide should want, 390 
 Your arguments an endless chase pursue; 
 Produce this vaunted leader to our view, 
 This mighty Moses of the chosen crew. 
 
 The dame, who saw her fainting foe retired, 
 With force renew'd, to victory aspired; 
 And, looking upward to her kindred sky, 
 As once our Saviour own'd his Deity, 
 Pronounced his words : — " She whom ye seek am I." 
 Nor less amazed this voice the Panther heard, 
 Than were those Jews to hear a God declared. 400 
 
 Then thus the matron modestly renew'd: 
 Let all your prophets and their sects be view'd, 
 And see to which of them yourselves think fit 
 The conduct of your conscience to submit : 
 Each proselyte would vote his doctor best. 
 With absolute exclusion to the rest : 
 Thus would your Polish diet disagree, 
 And end, as it began, in anarchy : 
 Yourself the fairest for election stand. 
 Because you seem crown-general of the land: 410 
 
246 dryden's poems. 
 
 But soon against jour superstitious lawn 4ii 
 
 Some Presbyterian sabre would be drawn : 
 
 In your establisli'd laws of sovereignty 
 
 The rest some fundamental flaw would see, 
 
 And call rebellion gospel-liberty. 
 
 To Churcli-decrees your articles require 
 
 Submission modified, if not entire. 
 
 Homage denied, to censures you proceed : 
 
 But when Curtana^ will not do the deed, 
 
 You lay that pointless clergy-weapon by, 420 
 
 And to the laws, your sword of justice, fly. 
 
 Now this your sects the more unkindly take 
 
 (Those prying varlets hit the blots you make), 
 
 Because some ancient friends of yours declare, 
 
 Your only rule of faith the Scriptures are, 
 
 Interpreted by men of judgment sound. 
 
 Which every sect will for themselves expound ; 
 
 Nor think less reverence to their doctors due 
 
 For sound interpretation, than to you. 
 
 If then, by able heads, are understood 430 
 
 Your brother prophets, who reform'd abroad ; 
 
 Those able heads expound a wiser way, 
 
 That their own sheep their shepherd should obey. 
 
 But if you mean yourselves are only sound. 
 
 That doctrine turns the Reformation round, 
 
 And all the rest are false reformers found ; 
 
 Because in sundry points you stand alone, 
 
 Not in communion join'd with any one ; 
 
 And therefore must be all the Church, or none. 
 
 Then, till you have agreed whose judge is best, 440 
 
 Against this forced submission they protest : 
 
 ' ' Curtana : ' the name of King Edward the Confessor's sword, with- 
 out a pohit, aa emblem of mercy, and carried before the king at the corona- 
 tion. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART II. 247 
 
 While sound and sound a different sense explains, 442 
 
 Both play at hardhead till they break their brains ; 
 
 And from their chairs each other's force defy, 
 
 While unregarded thunders vainly fly. 
 
 I pass the rest, because your Church alone 
 
 Of all usurpers best could fill the throne. 
 
 But neither you, nor any sect beside, 
 
 For this high office can be qualified, 
 
 With necessary gifts required in such a guide. 450 
 
 For that which must direct the whole must be 
 
 Bound in one bond of faith and unity : 
 
 But all your several Churches disagree. 
 
 The consubstantiating Church and priest 
 
 Refuse communion to the Calvinist : 
 
 The French reforui'd from preaching you restrain. 
 
 Because you judge their ordination vain ; 
 
 And so the) judge of yours, but donors must ordain. 
 
 In short, in doctrine, or in discipline, 
 
 Not one reform'd can with another join : 460 
 
 But all from each, as from damnation, fly ; 
 
 No union they pretend, but in Non-Popery. 
 
 Nor, should their members in a Synod meet, 
 
 Could any Church presume to mount the seat, 
 
 Above the rest, their discords to decide ; 
 
 None would obey, but each would be the guide : 
 
 And face to face dissensions would increase ; 
 
 For only distance now preserves the peace. 
 
 All in their turns accusers, and accused : 
 
 Babel was never half so much confused : 470 
 
 What one can plead, the rest can plead as well ; 
 
 For amongst equals lies no last appeal, 
 
 And all confess themselves are faUible. 
 
 Now since you grant some necessary guide, 
 
 All who can err are justly laid aside : 
 
24 S dryden's poems. 
 
 Because a trust so sacred to confer 476 
 
 Shows want of such a sure interpreter ; 
 
 And how can he be needful who can err ? 
 
 Then, granting that unerring guide we want, 
 
 That such there is jou stand obliged to grant : 480 
 
 Our Saviour else were wanting to supply 
 
 Our needs, and obviate that necessity. 
 
 It then remains, the Church can only be 
 
 The guide, which owns unfailing certainty ; 
 
 Or else you slip your hold, and change your side, 
 
 Relapsing from a necessary guide. 
 
 But this annex'd condition of the crown, 
 
 Immunity from errors, you disown ; 
 
 Here then you shrink, and lay your weak pretensions down. 
 
 For petty royalties you raise debate j 490 
 
 But this unfailing universal state 
 
 You shun ; nor dare succeed to such a glorious weight ; 
 
 And for that cause those promises detest 
 
 With which our Saviour did his Church invest ; 
 
 But strive to evade, and fear to find them true, 
 
 As conscious they were never meant to you : 
 
 All which the Mother Church asserts her own, 
 
 And with unrivall'd claim ascends the throne. 
 
 So, when of old the Almighty Father sate 
 
 In council, to redeem our ruin'd state, 500 
 
 MiUions of millions, at a distance round, 
 
 Silent the sacred consistory crown'd. 
 
 To hear what mercy, mix'd with justice, could propound : 
 
 All prompt, with eager pity, to fulfil 
 
 The full extent of their Creator's will. 
 
 But when the stern conditions were declared, 
 
 A mournful whisper through the host was heard, 
 
 And the whole hierarchy, with heads hung down, 
 
 Submissively declined the ponderous proffer'd crown. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART H. 249 
 
 Theu, not till then, the Eternal Son from high 5io 
 
 Rose in the strength of all the Deitj : 
 
 Stood forth to accept the terms, and underwent 
 
 A weight which all the frame of heaven had bent. 
 
 Nor he himself could bear, but as Omnipotent. 
 
 Now, to remove the least remaining doubt. 
 
 That even the blear-eyed sects may find her out, 
 
 Behold what heavenly rays adorn her brows, 
 
 What from his wardrobe her beloved allows 
 
 To deck the wedding-day of his unspotted spouse. 
 
 Behold Mhat marks of majesty she brings; 520 
 
 Richer than ancient heirs of eastern kings ! 
 
 Her right hand holds the sceptre and the keys, 
 
 To show whom she commands, and who obeys : 
 
 With these to bind, or set the sinner free. 
 
 With that to assert spiritual royalty. 
 
 One in herself, not rent by schism,^ but sound, 
 Entire, one solid shining diamond ; 
 Not sparkles shatter'd into sects like you : 
 One is the Church, and must be to be true : 
 One central principle of unity. 530 
 
 As undivided, so from errors free, 
 As one in faith, so one in sanctity. 
 Thus she, and none but she, the insulting rage 
 Of heretics opposed from age to age : 
 Still when the giant-brood invades her throne, 
 She stoops from heaven, and meets them half way down, 
 And with paternal thunder vindicates her crown. 
 But like Egyptian sorcerers you stand, 
 And vainly lift aloft your magic wand, 
 To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the land : 540 
 You could like them, with like infernal force. 
 Produce the plague, but not arrest the course. 
 
 ' ' Not rent by schism : ' marks of tlie Catholic Church from the Nicene creed. 
 
250 dryden's poems. 
 
 But when the boils and blotches, with disgrace 643 
 
 And public scandal, sat upon the face, | 
 
 Themselves attack'd, the Magi strove no more, ^ 
 
 Thej saw God's finger, and their fate deplore ; 
 
 Themselves thej could not cure of the dishonest sore. 
 
 Thus one, thus pure, behold her largely spread, 
 
 Like the fair ocean from her mother-bed ; 
 
 Prom east to west triumphantly she rides, 550 
 
 All shores are water'd by her wealthy tides. 
 
 The Gospel-sound, diffused from pole to pole. 
 
 Where winds can carry, and where waves can roll. 
 
 The self-same doctrine of the sacred page 
 
 Convey'd to every clime, in every age. 
 
 Here let my sorrow give my satire place. 
 To raise new blushes on my British race ; 
 Our sailing-ships like common sewers we use. 
 And through our distant colonies diffuse 
 The draught of dungeons, and the stench of stews. 560 
 Whom, when their home-bred honesty is lost, 
 We disembogue on some far Indian coast : 
 Thieves, panders, paillards,^ sins of every sort ; 
 Those are the manufactures we export ; 
 And these the missioners our zeal has made : 
 For, with my country's pardon be it said. 
 Religion is the least of all our trade. 
 
 Yet some improve their trafiic more than we ; 
 For they on gain, their only god, rely, 
 And set a pubhc price on piety. 570 
 
 Industrious of the needle and the chart, 
 They run full sail to their Japonian mart ; 
 Prevention fear, and, prodigal of fame, 
 Sell all of Christian,^ to the very name ; 
 Nor leave enough of that, to hide their naked shame. 
 
 ' ' Paillards : ' a French word for licentious persons. — - ' Sell all of Chris- 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART II. 251 
 
 Thus, of three marks, which in the Creed we view, 
 Not one of all can be applied to jou : 577 
 
 Much less the fourth ; in vain, alas ! you seek 
 The ambitious title of Apostolic : 
 God-like descent ! 'tis well your blood can be 
 Proved noble in the third or fourth degree : 
 For all of ancient that you had before, 
 (I mean what is not borrow'd from our store) 
 Was error fulminated o'er and o'er ; 
 Old heresies condemn'd in ages past, 
 By care and time recover'd from the blast. 
 
 'Tis said with ease, but never can be proved, 
 The Church her old foundations has removed. 
 And built new doctrines on unstable sands : 
 Judge that, ye winds and rains : you proved her, yet 
 she stands. 590 
 
 Those ancient doctrines charged on her for new, 
 Show when and how, and from what hands they grew. 
 We claim no power, when heresies grow bold, 
 To coin new faith, but still declare the old. 
 How else could that obscene disease be purged, 
 When controverted texts are vainly urged ? 
 To prove tradition new, there 's somewhat more 
 Required, than saying, 'twas not used before. 
 Those monumental arms are never stirr'd, 
 Till schism or heresy call down Goliah's sword. eoo 
 
 Thus, what you call corruptions, are, in truth. 
 The first plantations of the Gospel's youth ; 
 Old standard faith : but cast your eyes again, 
 And view those errors which new sects maintain, 
 Or which of old disturb'd the Church's peaceful reign ; 
 
 tian,' &c. : it is said that the Dutch, in order to secure to themselves the 
 whole trade of Japan, trample on the cross, and deny the name of Jesus. 
 
252 deyden's poems. 
 
 And we can point each period of the time, 606 
 
 When thej began, and who begot the crime ; 
 Can calculate how long the eclipse endured, 
 Who interposed, what digits were obscured : 
 Of all which are already pass'd away, eio 
 
 We know the rise, the progress, and decay. 
 Despair at our foundations then to strike. 
 Till you can prove your faith Apostolic ; 
 A limpid stream drawn from the native source ; 
 Succession lawful in a lineal course. 
 Prove any Church, opposed to this our head. 
 So one, so pure, so unconfinedly spread, 
 Under one chief of the spiritual state, 
 The members all combined, and all subordinate. 
 Show such a seamless coat, from schism so free, 620 
 
 In no communion join'd with heresy. 
 If such a one you find, let truth prevail : 
 Till when your weights will in the balance fail : 
 A Church unprincipled kicks up the scale. 
 But if you cannot think (nor sure you can ' 
 Suppose in God what were unjust in man) 
 That He, the fountain of eternal grace, 
 Should suffer falsehood, for so long a space. 
 To banish truth, and to usurp her place : 
 That seven successive ages should be lost, 63o 
 
 And preach damnation at their proper cost ; 
 That all your erring ancestors should die, 
 Drown'd in the abyss of deep idolatry : 
 If piety forbid such thoughts to rise, 
 Awake, and open your unwilling eyes : 
 God hath left nothing for each age undone, 
 From this to that wherein he sent his Son : 
 Then think but well of him, and half your work is done. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART II. 253 
 
 See how his Church, adorn'cl "vrith every grace, 639 
 
 With open arms, a kind forgiving face, 
 
 Stands ready to prevent her long-lost son's embrace. 
 
 Not more did Joseph o'er his brethren weep. 
 
 Nor less himself could from discovery keep, 
 
 When in the crowd of suppliants they were seen, 
 
 And in their crew his best-loved Benjamin. 
 
 That pious Joseph in the Church behold, 
 
 To feed your famine, ^ and refuse your gold : 
 
 The Joseph you exiled, the Joseph whom you sold. 
 
 Thus, while with heavenly charity she spoke, 
 A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke ; 650 
 
 Shot from the skies ; a cheerful azure light : 
 The birds obscene to forests wing'd their flight, 
 And gaping graves received the wandering guilty sprite. 
 
 Such were the pleasing triumphs of the sky. 
 For James his late nocturnal victory ; 
 The pledge of his Almighty Patron's love, 
 The fireworks which his angels made above. 
 I saw myself the lambent easy hght 
 Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night : 
 The messenger with speed the tidings bore ; eeo 
 
 News, which three labouring nations did restore ; 
 But Heaven's own Nuntius was arrived before. 
 
 By this, the Hind had reach'd her lonely cell, 
 And vapours rose, and dews unwholesome fell. 
 When she, by frequent observation wise, 
 As one who long on heaven had fix'd her eyes, 
 Discern'd a change of weather in the skies ; 
 The western borders were with crimson spread, 
 The moon descending look'd all flaming red ; 
 She thought good manners bound her to invite 670 
 
 The stranger dame to be her guest that night. 
 
 1 ' Feed your famine : ' the renunciation of the Benedictines to the abbey lands. 
 
254 . dryden's poems. 
 
 'Tis true, coarse diet, and a short repast, 672 
 
 (She said) were weak inducements to the taste 
 
 Of one so nicely bred, and so unused to fast : 
 
 But what plain fare her cottage could afford, 
 
 A hearty welcome at a homely board. 
 
 Was freely hers ; and, to supply the rest, 
 
 An honest meaning, and an open breast : 
 
 Last, with content of mind, the poor man's wealtli, 
 
 A grace-cup to their common patron's health. 680 
 
 This she desired her to accept, and stay 
 
 For fear she might be wilder'd in her way, 
 
 Because she wanted an unerring guide ; 
 
 And then the dew-drops on her silken hide 
 
 Her tender constitution did declare, 
 
 Too lady-like a long fatigue to bear. 
 
 And rough inclemencies of raw nocturnal air. 
 
 But most she fear'd that, travelling so late. 
 
 Some evil-minded beasts might lie in wait, 
 
 And, without witness, wreak their hidden hate. 690 
 
 The Panther, though she lent a listening ear, 
 Had more of lion in her than to fear : 
 Yet, wisely weighing, since she had to deal 
 With many foes, their numbers might prevail, 
 Returu'd her all the thanks she could afford, 
 And took her friendly hostess at her word : 
 Who, entering first her lowly roof, a shed 
 With hoary moss, and winding ivy spread. 
 Honest enough to hide an humble hermit's head, 
 Thus graciously bespoke her welcome guest : 7oo 
 
 So might these walls, with your fair presence blest, 
 Become your dwelling-place of everlasting rest ; 
 Not for a night, or quick revolving year ; 
 Welcome an owner, not a sojourner. 
 
THE HIXD AND THE PANTHEK. PAET III. 255 
 
 This peaceful seat mj poA'ertj secures ; 705 
 
 AVar seldom enters but where wealth allures : 
 
 Nor yet despise it ; for this poor abode 
 
 Has oft received, and yet receives a God ; 
 
 A God victorious of the Stygian race 
 
 Here laid his sacred limbs, and sanctified the place, no 
 
 This mean retreat did mighty Pan contain : 
 
 Be emulous of him, and pomp disdain. 
 
 And dare not to debase your soid to gain. 
 
 The silent stranger stood amazed to see 
 Contempt of wealtli, and wilful poverty : 
 And, though ill habits are not soon controll'd, 
 A while suspended her desire of gold. 
 But civilly drew in her sharpened paws, 
 Not violating hospitable laws ; 
 And pacified her tail, and liok'd her frothy jaws. 720 
 
 The Hind did first her country cates provide ; 
 Then couch'd herself securely by her side. 
 
 Part HI. 
 
 Much malice, mingled with a little wit, 
 
 Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ : 
 
 Because the Muse has peopled Caledon 
 
 With Panthers, Bears, and Wolves, and beasts unknown, 
 
 As if we were not stock'd with monsters of our own. 
 
 Let ^sop answer, who has set to view 
 
 Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew ; 
 
 And mother Hubbard, ^ in her homely dress, 
 
 Has sharply blamed a British Lioness ; 
 
 That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep, 10 
 
 Exposed obscenely naked and asleep. 
 
 * ' Mother Hubbard : ' Mother Hubbard's tale, written by Speuser. 
 
256 dryden's poems. 
 
 Led bj those great examples, may not I 12 
 
 The wanted organs of their words supply ? 
 If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then 
 For brutes to claim the privilege of men. 
 
 Others our Hind of folly will indite. 
 To entertain a dangerous guest by night. 
 Let those remember, that she cannot die 
 Till rolling time is lost in round eternity ; 
 Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed, 20 
 
 Because the Lion's peace ^ was now proclaim'd : 
 The wary savage would not give offence, 
 To forfeit the protection of her prince ; 
 But watch'd the time her vengeance to complete, 
 When all her furry sons in frequent senate met ; 
 Meanwhile she quench'd her fury at the flood, 
 And with a lenten salad cool'd her blood. 
 Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant. 
 Nor did their minds an equal banquet want. 
 
 For novf the Hind, whose noble nature strove so 
 
 To express her plain simplicity of love. 
 Did all the honours of her house so well. 
 No sharp debates disturb'd the friendly meal. 
 She turn'd the talk, avoiding that extreme, 
 To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme ; 
 Remembering every storm which toss'd the state. 
 When both were objects of the public hate, 
 And dropp'd a tear betwixt for her own children's fate. 
 
 Nor fail'd she then a full review to make 
 Of what the Panther suffer'd for her sake : 40 
 
 Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care, 
 Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,^ 
 
 • ' Lion's peace • ' liberty of conscience, and toleration of all religions. — 
 * ' Exiled heir : ' the Duke of York, while opposed by the favourers and abet- 
 tors of the Bill of Exclusion, was obliged to retire from London. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 257 
 
 Her strength to endure, lier courage to defy ; 43 
 
 Her choice of honourable infamj. 
 
 On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged ; 
 
 Then with acknowledgment herself she charged ; 
 
 For friendship, of itself an holj tie, 
 
 Is made more sacred by adversity. 
 
 Now should they part, malicious tongues would say, 
 
 They met like chance companions on the way, 50 
 
 Whom mutual fear of robbers had possess'd ; 
 
 While danger lasted, kindness was profess'd ; 
 
 But that once o'er, the short-lived union ends ; 
 
 The road divides, and there divide the friends. 
 
 The Panther nodded when her speech was done. 
 And thank'd her coldly in a hollow tone : 
 But said her gratitude had gone too far 
 For common offices of Christian care. 
 If to the lawful heir she had been true, 
 She paid but Csesar what was Caesar's due. 60 
 
 I might, she added, with like praise describe 
 Your suffering sons, and so return your bribe : 
 But incense from my hands is poorly prized ; 
 For gifts are scorn'd where givers are despised. 
 I served a tui'n, and then was cast away ; 
 You, like the gaudy fly, your wings display, 
 And sip the sweets, and bask in your great patron's day. 
 
 This heard, the matron was not slow to find 
 What sort of malady had seized her mind : 
 Disdain, with gnawing envy, fell despite, 70 
 
 And canker'd malice stood in open sight : 
 Ambition, interest, pride without control. 
 And jealousy, the jaundice of the soul ; 
 Revenge, the bloody minister of ill, 
 With all the lean tormentors of the will. 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
258 drtden's poems. 
 
 'Twas easy now to guess from Trhence arose 76 
 
 Her new-made union with her ancient foes, 
 
 Her forced civilities, her faiut embrace, 
 
 Affected kindness with an alter'd face : 
 
 Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound, so 
 
 As hoping still the nobler parts were sound : 
 
 But strove with anodjmes to assuage the smart, 
 
 And mildly thus her medicine did impart. 
 
 Complaints of lovers help to ease their pain ; 
 It shows a rest of kindness to complain ; 
 A friendship loath to quit its former hold ; 
 And coDScious merit may be justly bold. 
 But much more just your jealousy would show, 
 If others' good were injury to you : 
 Witness, ye heavens, how I rejoice to see so 
 
 Rewarded worth and rising loyalty ! 
 Your warrior offspring that upheld the crown. 
 The scarlet honour of your peaceful gown, 
 Are the most pleasing objects I can find. 
 Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind : 
 When virtue spooms before a prosperous gale. 
 My heaving wishes help to fill the sail ; 
 And if my prayers for all the brave were heard, 
 Caesar should still have such, and such should still reward. 
 
 The labour'd earth your pains have sow'd and till'd ; 
 'Tis just you reap the product of the field: loi 
 
 Yours be the harvest, 'tis the beggar's gain 
 To glean the fallings of the loaded wain. 
 Such scatter'd ears as are not worth your care, 
 Your charity, for alms, may safely spare, 
 For alms ai'e but the vehicles of prayer. 
 My daily bread is literally implored ; 
 I have no barns nor granaries to hoard. 
 If Caesar to his own his hand extends. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 259 
 
 Say which of yours his charity offends: no 
 
 You know he largely gives to more than are his friends. 
 
 Are you defrauded when he feeds the poor ? 
 
 Our mite decreases nothing of your store, 
 
 I am but few, and by your fare you see 
 
 My crying sins are not of luxury. 
 
 Some justcr motive sure your mind withdraws, 
 
 And makes you break our friendship's holj laws ; 
 
 For barefaced envy is too base a cause. 
 
 Show more occasion for your discontent ; 
 Your love, the Wolf, would help you to invent : 120 
 
 Some German quarrel, or, as times go now, 
 Some French, where force is uppermost, will do. 
 When at the fountain's head, as merit ought 
 To claim the place, you take a swilling draught, 
 How easy 'tis an envious oyc to throw, 
 And tax the sheep for troubling streams below ; 
 Or call her (when no farther cause you find) 
 An enemy possess'd of all your kind ! 
 But then, perhaps, the wicked world would think, 
 The Wolf design'd to eat as well as drink. iso 
 
 This last allusion gall'd the Panther more, 
 Because indeed it rubb'd upon the sore. 
 Yet seem'd she not to wince, though shrewdly pain'd : 
 But thus her passive character maintained. 
 
 I never grudged, whate'er my foes report, 
 Your flauntino; fortune in the Lion's court. 
 You have your day, or you are much belied, 
 But I am always on the suffering side : 
 You know my doctrine, and I need not say, 
 I will not, but I cannot disobey. 140 
 
 On this firm principle I ever stood ; 
 He of my sons who fails to make it good. 
 By one rebellious act renounces to my blood. 
 
260 dryden's poems. 
 
 Ah, said the Hind, how many sons have you, 144 
 
 Who call you mother, whom you never knew ! 
 But most of them who that relation plead, 
 Are such ungracious youths as wish you dead. 
 They gape at rich revenues which you hold, 
 And fain would nibble at your grandame Gold ; 
 Inquire into your years, and laugh to find i5o 
 
 Your crazy temper shows you much declined. 
 Were you not dim and doted, you might see 
 A pack of cheats that claim a pedigree. 
 No more of kin to you, than you to me. 
 Do you not know, that for a little coin. 
 Heralds can foist a name into the line ? 
 They ask you blessing but for what you have ; 
 But once possess'd of what with care you save, 
 The wanton boys would piss upon your grave. 
 
 Your sons of latitude that court your grace, leo 
 
 Though most resembling you in form and face, 
 i\.re far the worst of your pretended race. 
 And, but I blush your honesty to blot. 
 Pray God you prove them lawfully begot: 
 For in some Popish libels I have read. 
 The Wolf has been too busy in your bed ; 
 At least her hinder parts, the belly-piece, 
 The paunch, and all that Scorpio claims, are his. 
 Their malice too a sore suspicion brings ; 
 For though they dare not bark, they snarl at kings : i7o 
 Nor blame them for intruding in your line ; 
 Fat bishoprics are still of right divine. 
 
 Think you your new French proselytes^ are come 
 To starve abroad, because they starved at home ? 
 
 ' ' French proselytes : ' tlie French refugees that came into England after 
 the revocation of the edict of Nantes. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART 111. 261 
 
 Your benefices twinkled from afar ; 175 
 
 They found the new Messiah by the star : 
 
 Those Swisses fight on any side for pay, 
 
 And 'tis the living that conforms, not they. 
 
 Mark with what management their tribes divide, 
 
 Some stick to you, and some to the other side, 18O 
 
 That many churches may for many mouths provide. 
 
 More vacant pulpits would more converts make ; 
 
 All would have latitude enough to take : 
 
 The rest unbeneficed your sects maintain ; 
 
 For ordinations without cures are vain, 
 
 And chamber practice is a silent gain. 
 
 Your sons of breadth at home are much like tbese ; 
 
 Their soft and yielding metals run with ease : 
 
 They melt, and take the figure of the mould ; 
 
 But harden and preserve it best in gold. 190 
 
 Your Delphic sword, the Panther then replied. 
 Is double-edged, and cuts on either side. 
 Some sous of mine, who bear upon their shield 
 Three steeples argent in a sable field. 
 Have sharply tax'd your converts, who unfed 
 Have follow 'd you for miracles of bread ; 
 Such who themselves of no religion are, 
 Allured with gain, for any will declare. 
 Bare lies with bold assertions they can face ; 
 But dint of argument is out of place. 200 
 
 Tlie grim logician puts them in a fright ; 
 'Tis easier far to flourish than to fight. 
 Thus our eighth Henry's marriage they defame ; 
 They say the schism of beds began the game. 
 Divorcing from the Church to wed the dame : 
 Though largely proved, and by himself profess'd, 
 That conscience, conscience vrould not let him rest : 
 
262 DETDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 I mean, not till possess'd of her he loved, 208 
 
 And old, unchai'ming Catherine was removed. 
 
 For sundry years before he did complain, 
 
 And told his ghostly confessor his pain. 
 
 With the same impudence without a ground, 
 
 They say, that look the Reformation round, 
 
 No Treatise of Humility is found. 
 
 But if none were, the gospel does not want ; 
 
 Our Saviour preach'd it, and I hope you grant, 
 
 The Sermon on the Mount was Protestant. 
 
 No doubt, replied the Hind, as sure as all 
 The writings of Saint Peter and Saint Paul ; 
 On that decision let it stand or fall. 220 
 
 Now for my converts, who, you say, unfed. 
 Have follow'd me for miracles of bread ; 
 Judge not by hearsay, but observe at least, 
 If since their change their loaves have been increased. 
 The Lion buys no converts ; if he did. 
 Beasts would be sold as fast as he could bid. 
 Tax those of interest who conform for gain. 
 Or stay the market of another reign : 
 Your broad-way sons would never be too nice 
 To close with Calvin, if he paid their price ; 230 
 
 But, raised three steeples higher, would change their note, 
 And quit the cassock for the canting-coat. 
 NoM', if you damn this censure, as too bold, 
 Judge by yourselves, and think not others sold. 
 
 Meantime my sons, accused by fame's report, 
 Pay small attendance at the Lion's court, 
 Nor rise with early crowds, nor flatter late ; 
 For silently they beg who daily wait. 
 Preferment is bestow'd, that comes unsought ; 
 Attendance is a bribe, and then 'tis bought. 240 
 
THE HIND AXD THE PANTHER. PART III, 263 
 
 How they should speed, their fortune is untried ; 241 
 
 For not to ask, is not to be denied. 
 
 For M'hat they hare, their God and king they bless, 
 
 And hope they should not murmur, had they less. 
 
 But if reduced, subsistence to implore. 
 
 In common prudence they should pass your door. 
 
 Unpitied Iludibras,^ your champion friend, 
 
 Has shown how far your charities extend. 
 
 This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read, 
 
 " He shamed you living, and upbraids you dead." 250 
 
 With odious atheist names - you load your foes ; 
 Your liberal clei'gy why did I expose 1 
 It never fiiils in charities like those. 
 In climes where true religion is profess'd, 
 That imputation were no laughing jest. 
 But imprimatur,^ with a chaplain's name, 
 Is here sufficient licence to defame. 
 What wonder is 't that black detraction thrives ? 
 The homicide of names is less than lives ; 
 And yet the perjured murderer survives. 260 
 
 This said, she paused a little, and sujDpress'd 
 The boiling indignation of her breast. 
 She knew the virtue of her blade, nor would 
 Pollute her satire with ignoble blood : 
 Her panting foe she saw before her eye, 
 And back she drew the shining weapon dry. 
 So when the generous Lion has in sight 
 His equal match, he rouses for the fight ; 
 But when his foe lies prostrate on the plain, 
 He sheaths his paws, uncurls his angry mane, 270 
 
 • ' Hudibras : ' Butler. — ^ ' Atheist names : ' alluding here and afterwards 
 to Stilling-fleet's attacks on Dryden. — * ' Imprimatur : ' the Bishop of Lon- 
 don and his chaplains had formerly the examiuation of all books, and none 
 could be printed without their imprimatur, or licence. 
 
264 dryden's poems. 
 
 And, pleased with bloodless honours of the day, 271 
 
 Walks over and disdains the inglorious prej. 
 
 So James, if great with less we may compare, 
 
 Arrests his rolling thunderbolts in air ! 
 
 And grants ungrateful friends a lengthen'd space, 
 
 To implore the remnants of long-suffering grace. 
 
 This breathing-time the matron took ; and then 
 Resumed the thread of her discourse again. 
 Be yengeance wholly left to powers divine, 
 And let Heaven judge betwixt your sons and mine : 280 
 If joys hereafter must be purchased here 
 With loss of all that mortals hold so dear, 
 Then welcome infamy and public shame. 
 And, last, a long farewell to worldly fame. 
 'Tis said with ease, but, oh, how hardly tried 
 By haughty souls to human honour tied ! 
 sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride ! 
 Down then, thou rebel, never more to rise. 
 And what thou didst, and dost, so dearly prize, 
 That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sacrifice. 290 
 'Tis nothing thou hast given, then add thy tears 
 For a long race of unrepenting years : 
 'Tis nothing yet, yet all thou hast to give : 
 Then add those may-be years thou hast to live : 
 Yet nothing still; then poor, and naked come : 
 Thy father will receive his unthrift home. 
 And thy blest Saviour's blood discharge the mighty sum. 
 
 Thus (she pursued) I discipline a son. 
 Whose uncheck'd fury to revenge would run : 
 He champs the bit, impatient of his loss, 300 
 
 And starts aside, and flounders at the Cross. 
 Instruct him better, gracious God, to know, 
 As thine is vengeance, so forgiveness too : 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 265 
 
 That, suffering from ill tongues, he bears no more 304 
 Than what his sovereign bears, and what liis Saviour bore. 
 
 It now remains for you to school your child. 
 And ask whv God's anointed he reviled ; 
 A king and princess dead ! did Shimei worse ? 
 The curser's punishment should fright the curse : 
 Your son was warn'd, and wisely gave it o'er, 310 
 
 But he who counsell'd him has paid the score : 
 The heavy malice could no higher tend, 
 But woe to him on whom the weights descend. 
 So to permitted ills the Demon flies ; 
 His rage is aim'd at him who rules the skies : 
 Constrain'd to quit his cause, no succour found, 
 The foe discharges every tire around, 
 In clouds of smoke abandonin"; the fidit : 
 But his own thundering peals proclaim his flight. 
 
 In Henry's change his charge as ill succeeds ; 320 
 To that long story little answer needs : 
 Confront but Henry's words with Henry's deeds. 
 Were space allow'd, with case it might be proved, 
 "What springs his blessed Reformation moved. 
 The dire eflfects appear'd in open sight. 
 Which from the cause he calls a distant flight, 
 And yet no larger leap than from the sun to light. 
 
 Now let your sons a double paean sound, 
 A Treatise of Humility is found. 
 'Tis found, but better it had ne'er been souijht, 330 
 
 Than thus in Protestant procession brought. 
 The famed original through Spain is known, 
 Rodriguez' work, my celebrated son, 
 AVhich yours, by ill-translating, made his own ; 
 Conceal'd its author, and usurp'd the name, 
 The basest and ignoblest theft of fame. 
 
266 dkyden's poems. 
 
 Mj altars kindled first that living coal ; 337 
 
 Restore, or practice better, what jou stole : 
 That virtue could this humble verse inspire, 
 'Tis all the restitution I require. 
 
 Glad was the Panther that the charge was closed. 
 And none of all her favourite sons exposed. 
 For laws of arms permit each injured man, 
 To make himself a saver where he can. 
 Perhaps the plunder'd merchant cannot tell 
 The names of pirates in whose hands he fell ; 
 But at the den of thieves he justly flies, 
 And every Algerine is lawful prize. 
 No private person in the foe's estate 
 Can plead exemption from the public fate. 350 
 
 Yet Christian laws allow not such redress ; 
 Then let the greater supersede the less. 
 But let the abettors of the Panther's crime 
 Learn to make fairer wars another time. 
 Some characters may sure be found to write 
 Among her sons ; for 'tis no common sight, 
 A spotted dam, and all her offspring white. 
 
 The savage, though she saw her plea controU'd, 
 Yet would not wholly seem to quit her hold. 
 But offer'd fairly to compound the strife, 360 
 
 And judge conversion by the convert's life. 
 'Tis true, she said, I think it somewhat strange, 
 So few shoidd follow profitable change : 
 For present joys are more to flesh and blood, 
 Than a dull prospect of a distant good. 
 'Twas well alluded by a son of mine 
 (I hope to quote him is not to purloin). 
 Two magnets, heaven and earth, allure to bliss ; 
 The larger loadstone that, the nearer this : 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 267 
 
 The weak attraction of the greater fails ; 370 
 
 We nod a while, but neighbourhood prevails : 
 But when the greater proves the nearer too, 
 I wonder more jour converts come so slow. 
 Methinks in those who firm with me remain. 
 It shows a nobler principle than gain. 
 
 Your inference would be strong, the Hind replied. 
 If jours were in effect the suffering side : 
 Your clergj's sons their own in peace possess, 
 Nor are their prospects in reversion less. 
 Mj proseljtes are struck with awful dread ; 380 
 
 Your blood J comet-laws hang blazing o'er their head ; 
 The respite thej enjoj but onlj lent, 
 The best thej have to hope, protracted punishment. 
 Be judge joursclf, if interest maj prevail. 
 Which motives, jours or mine, will turn the scale. 
 While pride and pomp allure, and plenteous ease, 
 That is, till man's predominant passions cease, 
 Admire no longer at mj slow increase. 
 
 Bj education most have been misled ; \ 
 
 So thej believe, because thej so were bred. \ 390 
 
 The priest continues what the nurse began. 
 And thus the child imposes on the man. 
 The rest I named before, nor need repeat : j 
 
 But interest is the most prevailing cheat, | 
 
 The slj seducer both of age and jouth ; 
 Thej studj that, and think thej studj truth. 
 When interest fortifies an argument. 
 Weak reason serves to gain the will's assent ; 
 For souls, alreadj warp'd, receive an easj bent. 
 Add long 23rescription of establish'd laws, 400 
 
 And pique of honour to maintain a cause, 
 x\nd shame of change, and fear of future ill. 
 And zeal, the blind conductor of the will ; 
 
268 dryden's poems. 
 
 And chief among tlie still-mistaking crowd, 404 
 
 The fame of teachers obstinate and proud, 
 And, more than all, the private judge allow'd ; 
 Disdain of Fathers which the dance began, 
 And last, uncertain whose the narrower span, 
 The clown unread, and half-read gentleman. 
 
 To this the Panther, with a scornful smile : 4io 
 
 Yet still you travel with unwearied toil, 
 And range around the realm without control, 
 Among mj sons for proselytes to prowl, 
 And here and there you snap some silly soul. 
 You hinted fears of future change in state ; 
 Pray heaven you did not prophesy your fate ! 
 Perhaps you think your time of triumph near, 
 But may mistake the season of the year ; 
 The Swallow's 1 fortune gives you cause to fear. 
 
 For charity, replied the matron, tell 42o 
 
 What sad mischance those pretty birds befell. 
 
 Nay, no mischance, the savage dame replied. 
 But want of wit in their unerring guide, 
 And eager haste, and gaudy hopes, and giddy pride. 
 Yet, wishing timely warning may prevail. 
 Make you the moral, and I '11 tell the tale. 
 
 The Swallow, privileged above the rest 
 Of all the birds, as man's familiar guest. 
 Pursues the sun in summer, brisk and bold, 
 But wisely shuns the persecuting cold : 430 
 
 Is well to chancels and to chimneys known, 
 Though 'tis not thought she feeds on smoke alone. 
 From hence she has been held of heavenly line, 
 Endued with particles of soul divine. 
 
 ' ' Swallow : ' this story is supposed to refer to a meeting of Roman Catho- 
 lics held in the Savoy to deliberate on King James' measures, when Father 
 Petre (M. Martin) induced them to join the king's side, and to remain in 
 England. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 269 
 
 This merry chorister had loug possess'd 435 
 
 Her summer seat, and feather'd well her nest : 
 
 Till fi'owniug skies began to change their cheer. 
 
 And time turn'd up the wrong side of the year ; 
 
 The shedding trees bef]:an the (rround to strow 
 
 With yellow leaves, and bitter blasts to blow. 440 
 
 Sad auguries of winter thence she drew, 
 
 Which by instinct, or prophecy, she knew : 
 
 When prudence waru'd her to remove betimes, 
 
 And seek a better heaven, and warmer climes. 
 
 Her sons were summon'd on a steeple's height, 
 And, call'd in common council, vote a flight ; 
 The day was named, the next that should be fair: 
 All to the general rendezvous repair. 
 They try their fluttering wings, and trust themselves in air. 
 But whether upward to the moon they go, 450 
 
 Or dream the winter out in caves below, 
 Or hawk at flies elsewhere, concerns us not to know. 
 
 Southwards, you may be sure, they bent their flight, 
 And harbour'd in a hollow rock at night : 
 Next morn they rose, and set up every sail ; 
 The wind was fair, but blew a mackerel gale : 
 The sickly young sat shivering on the shore, 
 Abhorr'd salt M-ater never seen before, 
 And pray'd their tender mothers to delay 
 The passage, and expect a fairer day. 460 
 
 With these the Martin readily concurr'd, 
 A church-begot, and church-believing bird; 
 Of little body, but of lofty mind, 
 Round-bellied, for a dignity design'd. 
 And much a dunce, as Martins are by kind. 
 Yet often quoted Canon-laws, and Code, 
 And Fathers which he never understood ; 
 But little learning needs in noble blood. 
 
270 DRYDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 For, sooth to say, the Swallow brought him in, 469 
 
 Her household chaplain, and her next of kin : 
 
 In superstition silly to excess, 
 
 And casting schemes by planetary guess : 
 
 In fine, short- wing'd, unfit himself to fly, 
 
 His fears foretold foul weather in the sky. 
 
 Besides, a Raven from a wither'd oak, 
 Left of their lodging, was observed to croak. 
 That omen liked him not ; so his advice 
 Was present safety, bought at any price ; 
 A seeming pious care, that cover'd cowardice. 
 To strengthen this, he told a boding dream 48o 
 
 Of rising waters, and a troubled stream, 
 Sure signs of anguish, dangers, and distress, 
 With something more, not lawful to express : 
 By which he slily seem'd to intimate 
 Some secret revelation of their fate. 
 For he concluded, once upon a time. 
 He found a leaf inscribed with sacred rhyme, 
 Whose antique characters did well denote 
 The Sibyl's hand of the Ciimsean grot : 
 The mad divineress had plainly writ, 490 
 
 A time should come (but many ages yet), ♦ 
 In which, sinister destinies ordain, 
 A dame should drown with all her feather'd train. 
 And seas from thence be call'd the Chelidonian main. 
 At this, some shook for fear, the more devout 
 Arose, and bless'd themselves from head to foot. 
 
 ^Tis true, some stagers of the wiser sort 
 Made all these idle wonderments their sport : 
 They said, their only danger was delay. 
 And he, who heard what every fool could say, 500 
 
 Would never fix his thought, but trim his time away. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 271 
 
 The passage yet was good ; the wind, 'tis true, 602 
 
 Was somewhat high, but that was nothing new, 
 
 Xo more than usual equinoxes blew. 
 
 The sun, ah'eady from tlie Scales declined. 
 
 Gave little hopes of better days behind, 
 
 But change, from bad to worse, of weather and of wind. 
 
 Nor need they fear the dampness of the sky 
 
 Should flag their wings, and hinder them to fly 
 
 'Twas only water thrown on sails too dry. 610 
 
 But, least of all, philosophy presumes 
 
 Of truth in dreams, from melancholy fumes : 
 
 Perhaps the Martin, housed in holy ground, 
 
 Might think of ghosts that walk their midnight round, 
 
 Till grosser atoms, tumbling in the stream 
 
 Of fancy, madly met, and clubb'd into a dream : 
 
 As little weight his vain presages bear. 
 
 Of ill effect to such alone who fear : 
 
 Most prophecies are of a piece with these. 
 
 Each Nostradamus can foretell with ease : 520 
 
 Not naming persons, and confounding times. 
 
 One casual truth supports a thousand lying rhymes. 
 The advice was true ; but fear had seized the most. 
 
 And all good counsel is on cowards lost. 
 
 The question crudely put to shun delay, 
 
 'Twas carried by the major part to stay. 
 
 His point thus gain'd, Sir Martin dated thence 
 
 His power, and from a priest became a prince. 
 
 He order'd all things with a busy care. 
 
 And cells and refectories did prepare, 530 
 
 And large provisions laid of winter fare : 
 
 But now and then let fall a word or two 
 
 Of hope, that Heaven some miracle might show, 
 
 And for their sakes the sun should backward go ; 
 
272 drydbn's poems. 
 
 Against the laws of nature upward climb, 535 
 
 And, mounted on the Ram, renew the prime : 
 
 For which two proofs in sacred story lay, 
 
 Of Ahaz' dial, and of Joshua's day. 
 
 In expectation of such times as these, 
 
 A chapel housed them, truly call'd of ease : 64 o 
 
 For Martin much devotion did not ask ; 
 
 They pray'd sometimes, and that was all their task. 
 
 It happen'd, as beyond the reach of wit 
 Blind prophecies may haTc a lucky hit, 
 That this accomplish'd, or at least in part, 
 Gaye great repute to their new Merlin's art. 
 Some Swifts, the giants of the Swallow kind, 
 Large-limb'd, stout-hearted, but of stupid mind 
 (For Swisses, or for Gibeonites design'd). 
 These lubbers, peeping through a broken pane, 550 
 
 To suck fresh air, survey'd the neighbouring plain ; 
 And saw (but scarcely could beheve their eyes) 
 New blossoms flourish, and new flowers arise ; 
 As God had been abroad, and, walking there. 
 Had left his footsteps, and reform'd the year : 
 The sunny hills from far were seen to glow 
 With glittering beams, and in the meads below 
 The burnish'd brooks appear'd with liquid gold to flow. 
 At last they heard the foolish Cuckoo sing. 
 Whose note proclaim'd the holiday of spring. seo 
 
 No longer doubting, all prepare to fly, 
 And repossess their patrimonial sky. 
 The priest before them did his wings display ; 
 And that good omens might attend their w^ay. 
 As luck would have it, 'twas St Martin's day. 
 Who but the Swallow triumphs now alone ? 
 The canopy of heaven is all her own : 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 273 
 
 Iler youthful offspring to their haunts repair, 568 
 
 And glide along in glades, and skim in air, 
 
 And dip for insects in the purling springs, 
 
 And stoop on rivers to refresh their wings. 
 
 Their mothers think a fair provision made, 
 
 That every son can live upon his trade : 
 
 And, now the careful charge is off their hands. 
 
 Look out for husbands, and new nuptial bauds : 
 
 The youthful widow longs to be supplied ; 
 
 But first the lover is by lawyers tied 
 
 To settle jointure-chimneys on the bride. 
 
 So thick they couple, in so short a space, 
 
 That Martin's marriage-offerings rise apace. sso 
 
 Their ancient houses running to decay. 
 
 Are furbish'd up, and cemented with clay; 
 
 They teem already ; store of eggs are laid, 
 
 And brooding mothers call Luciua's aid. 
 
 Fame spreads the news, and foreign fowls appear 
 
 In flocks to greet the new returning year. 
 
 To bless the founder, and partake the cheer. 
 
 And now 'twas time (so fast their numbers rise) 
 To plant abroad, and people colonies. 
 The youth drawn forth, as Martin had desired 590 
 
 (For so their cruel destiny required). 
 Were sent far off on an ill-fated day ; 
 The rest would needs conduct them on their way, 
 x\nd Martin went, because he fear'd alone to stay. 
 
 So long they flew with inconsiderate haste. 
 That now their afternoon began to waste ; 
 And, what was ominous, that very morn 
 The sun was enter'd into Capricorn ; 
 Which, by theu' bad astronomer's account, 
 That week the Virgin balance should remount. eoo 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
274 dryden's poems. 
 
 An infant moon eclipsed him in his way, eoi 
 
 And hid the small remainders of his day. 
 
 The crowd, amazed, pursued no certain mark ; 
 
 But birds met birds, and jostled in the dark : 
 
 Few mind the public in a panic fright ; 
 
 And fear increased the horror of the night. 
 
 Night came, but unattended with repose ; 
 
 Alone she came, no sleep their eyes to close : 
 
 Alone, and black she came ; no friendly stars arose. 
 
 What should they do, beset with dangers round, eio 
 No neighbouring dorp,^ no lodging to be found. 
 But bleaky plains, and bare unhospitable ground. 
 The latter brood, who just began to fly, 
 Sick-feather'd, and unpractised in the sky, 
 For succour to their helpless mother call : 
 She spread her wings ; some few beneath them crawl ; 
 She spread them wider yet, but could not cover all. 
 To augment their woes, the winds began to move, 
 Debate in air, for empty fields above. 
 Till Boreas got the skies, and pour'd amain 620 
 
 His rattling hailstones mix'd with snow and rain. 
 
 The joyless morning late arose, and found 
 A dreadfid desolation reign around — 
 Some buried in the snow, some frozen to the ground. 
 The rest were struggling still with death, and lay 
 The Crows' and Ravens' rights, an undefended prey : 
 Excepting Martin's race ; for they and he 
 Had gain'd the shelter of a hollow tree : 
 But soon discover'd by a sturdy clown, 
 He headed all the rabble of a town, 630 
 
 And finish'd them with bats, or poU'd them down. 
 Martin himself was caught alive, and tried 
 For treasonous crimes, because the laws provide 
 No Martin there in winter shall abide. 
 
 ' 'Dorp:' hamlet. 
 
 i 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 275 
 
 Higli on an oak, which never leaf shall bear, 635 
 
 He breathed his last, exposed to open air ; 
 And there his corpse, unbless'd, is hanging still, 
 To show the change of winds with his prophetic bill. 
 
 The patience of the Hind did almost fail ; 
 For well she mark'd the malice of the tale ; ^ 640 
 
 Which ribald art their Church to Luther owes ; 
 In malice it began, bj malice grows ; 
 He sow'd the Serpent's teeth, an iron-harvest rose. 
 But most in Martin's character and fate, 
 She saw her slander'd sons, the Panther's hate, 
 The people's rage, the persecuting state : 
 Then said, I take the advice in friendly part ; 
 You clear jour conscience, or at least vour heart : 
 Perhaps jou fail'd in your foreseeing skill, 
 For Swallows are unlucky birds to kill : 650 
 
 As for my sons, the family is bless'd, 
 Whose every child is equal to the rest ; 
 No Church reform'd can boast a blameless line ; 
 Such ^Martins build in yours, and more than mine : 
 Or else an old fanatic ^ author lies, 
 Who summ'd their scandals up by centmies. 
 But through your parable I plainly see 
 The bloody laws, the crowd's barbarity ; 
 The sunshine that offends the purblind sight : 
 Had some their wishes, it would soon be night. 660 
 
 Mistake me not ; the charge concerns not you : 
 Your sons are malcontents, but yet are true, 
 As far as non-resistance makes them so ; 
 But that 's a word of neutral sense, you know, 
 A passive term, which no relief will bring. 
 But trims betwixt a rebel and a king. 
 
 ' ' The tale : ' a parable of the fate of the Papists, soon fulfilled. — * ' Old 
 tiuiatic : ' Century White, a vehement writer on the Puritan side. 
 
276 dryden's poems. 
 
 Rest well assured, the Pardelis replied, 667 
 
 My sons would all support the regal side. 
 Though Heaven forbid the cause by battle should be 
 tried. 
 
 The matron answer'd with a loud Amen, ero 
 
 And thus pursued her argument again. 
 If, as you say, and as I hope no less, 
 Your sons will practise what yourselves profess. 
 What angry power prevents our present peace 1 
 The Lion, studious of our common good. 
 Desires (and kings' desires are ill withstood) 
 To join our nations in a lasting love ; 
 The bars betwixt are easy to remove ; 
 For sanguinary laws were never made above. 
 If you condemn that prince of tyranny, 680 
 
 Whose mandate forced your Gallic friends to fly, 
 Make not a worse example of your own ; 
 Or cease to rail at causeless rigour shown, 
 And let the guiltless person throw the stone. 
 His blunted sword your suffering brotherhood 
 Have seldom felt ; he stops it short of blood : 
 But you have ground the persecuting knife, 
 And set it to a razor edge on life. 
 Cursed be the wit, which cruelty refines. 
 Or to his father's rod the scorpion's joins ! eoo 
 
 Your finger is more gross than the great monarch's loins. 
 But you, perhaps, remove that bloody note, 
 And stick it on the first reformer's coat. 
 Oh, let their crime in long oblivion sleep ! 
 'Twas theirs indeed to make, 'tis yours to keep. 
 Unjust, or just, is all the question now ; 
 'Tis plain, that not repealing you allow. 
 
 To name the Test would put you in a rage ; 
 You charge not that on any former age, 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 277 
 
 But smile to think how innocent you stand, 700 
 
 Arm'cl by a weapon put into your hand. 
 
 Yet still remember that you wield a sword 
 
 Forged by your foes against your sovereign lord ; 
 
 Desigu'd to hew the imperial cedar down, 
 
 Defraud succession, and dis-heir the crown. 
 
 To abhor the makers, and their laws approve, 
 
 Is to hate traitors, and the treason love. 
 
 What means it else, which now your children say, 
 
 AVe made it not, nor will Me take away ? 
 
 Suppose some great oppressor had by slight 710 
 
 Of law, disseised your brother of his right, 
 Your common sire surrenderinir in a fright ; 
 Would you to that unrighteous title stand. 
 Left by the villain's will to heir the land ? 
 More just was Judas, M'ho his Saviour sold ; 
 The sacrilegious bribe he could not hold, 
 Nor hang in peace, before he render'd back the gold. 
 AVhat more could you have done, than now you do, 
 Had Gates and Bedlow, and their plot been true ? 
 Some specious reasons for those wrongs were found; 720 
 Their dire magicians threw their mists around, 
 And wise men walk'd as on enchanted ground. 
 But now when time has made the imposture 2~)lain 
 (Late though he follow'd truth, and limping held her train), 
 What new delusion charms your cheated eyes again ? 
 The painted harlot might a while bewitch, 
 But why the hag uncased, and all obscene with itch 1 
 
 The first Reformers were a modest race ; 
 Our peers possess'd in peace their native place ; 
 And when rebellious arms o'erturn'd the state, 730 
 
 They suffer'd only in the common fate: 
 But now the Sovereign mounts the regal chair, 
 And mitred seats ai-e full, yet David's bench is bare. 
 
278 dryden's poems. 
 
 Your answer is, they were not dispossess'd ; 734 
 
 They need but rub their metal on the test 
 
 To prove their ore : 'twere well if gold alone 
 
 Were touch'd and tried on your discerning stone ; 
 
 But that unfaithful Test unsound will pass 
 
 The dross of atheists, and sectarian brass : 
 
 As if the experiment were made to hold 740 
 
 For base production, and reject the gold. 
 
 Thus men ungodded may to places rise, 
 
 And sects may be preferr'd without disguise : 
 
 No danger to the Church or State from these ; 
 
 The Papist only has his writ of ease. 
 
 No gainful office gives him the pretence 
 
 To grind the subject, or defraud the prince. 
 
 Wrong conscience, or no conscience, may deserve 
 
 To thrive, but ours alone is privileged to starve. 
 
 Still thank yourselves, you cry ; your noble race 750 
 
 We banish not, but they forsake the place ; 
 
 Our doors are open : true, but ere they come, 
 
 You toss your 'censing Test, and fume the room ; 
 
 As if 'twere Toby's^ rival to expel. 
 
 And fright the fiend who could not bear the smell. 
 
 To this the Panther sharply had replied ; 
 But having gain'd a verdict on her side, 
 She wisely gave the loser leave to chide ; 
 Well satisfied to have the But and Peace, 
 And for the plaintifi''s cause she cared the less, 760 
 
 Because she sued in forma pauperis ; 
 Yet thought it decent something should be said ; 
 For secret guilt by silence is betray'd. 
 So neither granted all, nor much denied. 
 But answer'd with a yawning kind of pride : 
 
 ' ' Toby's : ' Tobit ; see Apocrypha. 
 
f 
 
 THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 279 
 
 Methinks such terms of proffer'd peace you bring, 
 As once iEneas to the Itahan king : 767 
 
 By long possession all the land is mine ; 
 You strangers come with your intruding line, 
 To share ray sceptre, which you call to join. 
 You plead, like him. an ancient pedigree, 
 And claim a peaceful seat by fate's decree. 
 In ready pomp your sacrificer stands. 
 To imite the Trojan and the Latin bands, 
 And, that the league more firmly may be tied. 
 Demand the fair Lavinia for your bride. 
 Thus plausibly you veil the intended wrong, 
 But still you bring your exiled gods along ; 
 And will endeavour, in succeeding space. 
 Those household puppets on our hearths to place. Tso 
 Perhaps some barbarous laws have been preferr'd ; 
 I spake against the Test, but was not heard ; 
 These to rescind, and peerage to restore, 
 My gracious Sovereign would my vote implore : 
 I owe him much, but owe my conscience more. 
 
 Conscience is then your plea, replied the dame. 
 Which, well inform'd, will ever be the same. 
 But yours is much of the chameleon hue. 
 To change the dye with every distant view. 
 When first the Lion sat with awful sway, 790 
 
 Your conscience taught your duty to obey : 
 He might have had your Statutes and your Test ; 
 No conscience but of subjects was profess'd. 
 He found your temper, and no farther tried. 
 But on that broken reed, your Church, relied. 
 In vain the sects assay'd their utmost art, 
 With offer'd treasure to espouse their part ; 
 Their treasures were a bribe too mean to move his heart. 
 
280 dryden's poems. 
 
 But when, by long experience, you had proved, 799 
 
 How far he could forgive, how well he loved ; 
 
 A goodness that excell'd his godlike race. 
 
 And only short of Heaven's unbounded grace ; 
 
 A flood of mercy that o'erflow'd our isle. 
 
 Calm in the rise, and fi'uitful as the Nile ; 
 
 Forgetting whence our Egypt was supplied, 
 
 You thought your sovereign bound to send the tide : 
 
 Nor upward look'd on that immortal spring. 
 
 But vainly deem'dj he durst not be a king : 
 
 Then Conscience, unrestrain'd by fear, began 
 
 To stretch her limits, and extend the span ; 8io 
 
 Did his indulgence as her gift dispose. 
 
 And made a wise alliance with her foes. 
 
 Can Conscience own the associating name, 
 
 And raise no blushes to conceal her shame ? 
 
 For sure she has been thought a bashful dame. 
 
 But if the cause by battle should be tried, 
 
 You grant she must espouse the regal side : 
 
 Proteous Conscience, never to be tied ! 
 
 What Phoebus from the Tripod shall disclose. 
 
 Which are, in last resort, your friends or foes ? 820 
 
 Homer, who learn'd the language of the sky, 
 
 The seeming Gordian knot would soon untie ; 
 
 Immortal powers the term of Conscience know, 
 
 But Interest is her name with men below. 
 
 Conscience or Interest be 't, or both in one, 
 The Panther answer'd in a surly tone. 
 The first commands me to maintain the crown, 
 The last forbids to throw my barriers down. 
 Our penal laws no sons of yours admit. 
 Our Test excludes your tribe from benefit. 830 
 
 These are my banks your ocean to withstand, 
 Which, proudly rising, overlooks the land ; 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PAET Til. 281 
 
 And, once let in, with unresisted s^vaj, 833 
 
 Would sweep the pastors and their flocks away. 
 
 Think not my judgment leads me to comply 
 
 With laws unjust, but hard necessity ; 
 
 Imperious need, which cannot be withstood, 
 
 Makes ill authentic, for a greater good. 
 
 Possess your soul with patience, and attend : 
 
 A more auspicious planet may ascend ; 840 
 
 Good fortune may present some happier time. 
 
 With means to cancel my unwilling crime ; 
 
 (Unwilling, witness all ye Powers above !) 
 
 To mend my errors, and redeem your love : 
 
 That little space you safely may allow ; 
 
 Your all-dispensing power protects you now. 
 
 Hold, said the Hind, 'tis needless to explain ; 
 You would postpone me to another reign ; 
 Till when you are content to be unjust : 
 Your part is to possess, and mine to trust. 850 
 
 A fair exchange proposed of future chance. 
 For present profit and inheritance. 
 Few words will serve to finish our dispute ; 
 Who will not now repeal, would persecute. 
 To ripen green revenge your hopes attend. 
 Wishing that happier planet Mould ascend. 
 For shame let Conscience be your plea no more : 
 To will hereafter, proves she might before ; 
 But she 's a bawd to gain, and holds the door. 
 
 Your care about your banks infers a fear 860 
 
 Of threatening floods and inundations near ; 
 If so, a just reprise would only be 
 Of what the land usurp'd upon the sea ; 
 And all your jealousies but serve to show 
 Your ground is, like your neighbour-nation, low. 
 
282 dryden's poems. 
 
 To intrencli in what you grant unrighteous laws, 866 
 Is to distrust the justice of jour cause ; 
 And argues that the true religion lies 
 In those weak adversaries you despise. 
 
 Tyrannic force is that which least you fear ; 
 The sound is frightful in a Christian's ear : 
 Avert it, Heaven ! nor let that plague be sent 
 To us from the dispeopled continent. 
 
 But piety commands me to refrain ; 
 Those prayers are needless in this monarch's reign. 
 Behold ! how he protects your friends oppress'd. 
 Receives the banish'd, succours the distress'd : 
 Behold, for you may read an honest open breast. 
 He stands in day-light, and disdains to hide 
 An act, to which by honour he is tied, 880 
 
 A generous, laudable, and kingly pride. 
 Your Test he would repeal, his peers restore ; 
 This when he says he means, he means no more. 
 
 Well, said the Panther, I believe him just, 
 
 And yet 
 
 And yet, 'tis but because you must ; 
 
 You would be trusted, but you would not trust. 
 
 The Hind thus briefly ; and disdain'd to enlarge 
 
 On power of kings, and their superior charge. 
 
 As Heaven's trustees before the people's choice : 890 
 
 Though sure the Panther did not much rejoice 
 
 To hear those echoes given of her once loyal voice. 
 
 The matron woo'd her kindness to the last, 
 But could not win ; her hour of grace was past. 
 Whom, thus persisting, when she could not bring 
 To leave the Wolf, and to believe her king, 
 She gave her up, and fairly wish'd her joy 
 Of her late treaty with her new ally : 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 283 
 
 Which well she hoped would more successful prove, 899 
 
 Than was the Pigeon's and the Buzzard's love. 
 
 The Panther ask'd what concord there could be 
 
 Betwixt two kinds wliose natures disagree ? 
 
 The dame replied : 'Tis sung in every street, 
 
 The common chat of gossips when they meet ; 
 
 But, since unheard by you, 'tis worth your while 
 
 To take a wholesome tale, thougli told in homely style. 
 
 A plaiu good man,^ whose name is understood 
 (So few deserve the name of plain and good), 
 Of three fair lineal lordships stood possess'd, 
 And lived, as reason was, upon the best. 910 
 
 Inured to hardships from his early youth, 
 Much had he done, and suffer'd for his truth : 
 At land and sea, in many a doubtful fight, 
 Was never known a more adventurous knij^ht, 
 Who oftcner drew liis sword, and always for the right. 
 
 As fortune would (his fortune came, though late) 
 He took possession of his just estate : 
 Nor rack'd his tenants with increase of rent ; 
 Nor lived too sparing, nor too largely spent ; 
 But overlook'd his hinds ; their pay was just, 920 
 
 And ready, for he scorn'd to go on trust : 
 Slow to resolve, but in performance quick ; 
 So true, that he was awkward at a trick. 
 For little souls on little shifts rely, 
 And coward arts of mean expedients try ; 
 The noble mind will dare do anything but lie. 
 False friends, his deadliest foes, could find no way 
 But shows of honest bluntness, to betray : 
 That unsuspected plainness he believed ; 
 He looked into himself, and was deceived. 930 
 
 ' ' A plain good man : ' a character of King James II. 
 
284 dryden's poems. 
 
 Some lucky planet sure attends his birth, 931 
 
 Or Heaven would make a miracle on earth ; 
 For prosperous honesty is seldom seen 
 To bear so dead a weight, and yet to win. 
 It looks as fate with nature's law would strive. 
 To show plain-dealing once an age may thrive : 
 And, when so tough a frame she could not bend, 
 Exceeded her commission to befriend. 
 
 This grateful man, as Heaven increased his store. 
 Gave God again, and daily fed his poor. 940 
 
 His house with all convenience was purvey'd ; 
 The rest he found, but raised the fabric where he pray'd ; 
 And in that sacred place his beauteous wife 
 Employ 'd her happiest hours of holy life. 
 
 Nor did their alms exteud to those alone. 
 Whom common faith more strictly made their owu ; 
 A sort of Doves ^ were housed too near their hall, 
 AVho cross the proverb, and abound with gall. 
 Though some, 'tis true, are passively inclined, 
 The greater part degenerate from their kind ; 950 
 
 Voracious birds, that hotly bill and breed. 
 And largely drink, because on salt they feed. 
 Small gain from them their bounteous owner draws ; 
 Yet, bound by promise, he supports their cause, 
 As corporations privileged by laws. 
 
 That house which harbour to their kind affords. 
 Was built, long since, God knows for better birds ; 
 But fluttering there, they nestle near the throne, 
 And lodge in habitations not their own, 
 By their high crops and corny gizzards known. 960 
 
 Like Harpies, they could scent a plenteous board. 
 Then to be sure they never fail'd their lord : 
 
 ' ' Doves : ' the clergy of the Church of England, and otlier religions dis- 
 senting from that of Rome. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 285 
 
 The rest was form, and bare attendance paid ; 963 
 
 Thej drank, and ate, and grudgingly obey'd. 
 
 The more they fed, they raven'd still for more ; 
 
 They drain'd from Dan, and left Beersheba poor. 
 
 All this they had by law, and none repined ; 
 
 The preference was but due to Levi's kind ; 
 
 But when some lay-preferment fell by chance, 
 
 The gourmands made it their inheritance. 970 
 
 When once possess'd, they never quit their claim ; 
 
 For then 'tis sanctified to Heaven's high name ; 
 
 And, hallow'd thus, they cannot give consent, 
 
 The gift should be profaned by worldly management. 
 
 Their flesh was never to the table served ; 
 Though 'tis not thence inferr'd the birds were starved ; 
 But that their master did not like the food. 
 As rank, and breeding melancholy blood. 
 Nor did it with his gracious nature suit. 
 Even though they were not Doves, to persecute : 980 
 Yet he refused (nor could they take offence) 
 Their glutton kind should teach him abstinence. 
 Nor consecrated grain their wheat he thought. 
 Which, new from treading, in their bills they brought : 
 But left his hinds each in his private power. 
 That those who like the bran might leave the flour. 
 He for himself, and not for others, chose. 
 Nor would he be imposed on, nor impose ; 
 But in their faces his devotion paid, 
 And sacrifice with solemn rites was made, 990 
 
 And sacred incense on his altars laid. 
 
 Besides these jolly birds, whose corpse impure 
 Repaid their commons with their salt-manure ; 
 Another farm ^ he had behind his house, 
 Not overstock'd, but barely for his use : 
 
 • ' Another farm,' &c. : this alludes to the Popish priests, whom the king 
 particularly favoured. 
 
286 dryden's poems. 
 
 Wherein his poor domestic poultry fed, 996 
 
 And from his pious hands received their bread. 
 
 Our pamper'd Pigeons, with malignant eyes, 
 
 Beheld these inmates, and their nurseries : 
 
 Though hard their fare, at evening, and at morn, 
 
 A cruise of water and an ear of corn ; 
 
 Yet still they grudged that modicum, and thought 
 
 A sheaf in every single grain was brought. 
 
 Fain would they filch that little food away, 
 
 While unrestrain'd those happy gluttons prey. 
 
 And much they grieved to see so nigh their hall, 
 
 The bird that warn'd St Peter of his fall ; 
 
 That he should raise his mitred crest on high, 
 
 And clap his wings, and call his family 
 
 To sacred rites; and vex the ethereal powers loio 
 
 With midnight matins at uncivil hours : 
 
 Nay more, his quiet neighbours should molest, 
 
 Just in the sweetness of their morning rest. 
 
 Beast of a bird, supinely when he might 
 
 Lie snug and sleep, to rise before the light ! 
 
 What if his dull forefathers used that cry, 
 
 Could he not let a bad example die '? 
 
 The world was fallen into an easier way ; 
 
 This age knew better than to fast and pray. 
 
 Good sense in sacred worship would appear 1020 
 
 So to begin, as they might end tlie year. 
 
 Such feats in former times had wrought the falls 
 
 Of crowing Chanticleers ^ in cloister'd walls. 
 
 Expell'd for this, and for their lands, they fled ; 
 
 And sister Partlet,^ with her hooded head. 
 
 Was hooted hence, because she would not pray a-bed. 
 
 The way to win the restive world to God, 
 
 Was to lay by the disciplining rod, 
 
 ' ' Chanticleers : ' friars. — - ' Partlet : ' nuns. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 287 
 
 Unnatural fasts, and foreign forms of prayer : 1029 
 
 Relimon frmhts us with a mien severe. 
 
 o o 
 
 'Tis prudence to reform her into ease, 
 And put her in undress to make lier please ; 
 A lively faith will bear aloft the mind, 
 And leave the luggage of good works behind. 
 
 Such doctrines in the Pigeon-house were taught : 
 You need not ask how wondrously they wrought : 
 But sure the common cry was all for these, 
 Whose life and precepts both encouraged ease. 
 Yet fearing those alluring baits might fail. 
 And holy deeds o'er all their arts prevail ; i040 
 
 (For vice, though frontless, and of harden'd face, 
 Is daunted at the sight of awful grace ;) 
 An hideous figure of their foes they drew, 
 Nor lines, nor looks, nor shades, nor colours true ; 
 And this grotesque design exposed to public view. 
 One would have thought it some Egyptian piece, 
 With garden-gods, and barking deities. 
 More thick than Ptolemy has stuck the skies. 
 All so perverse a draught, so far unlike. 
 It was no libel where it meant to strike. 1050 
 
 Yet still the daubing pleased, and great and small. 
 To view the monster, crowded Pigeon Hall. 
 There Chanticleer was drawn upon his knees 
 Adoring shrines, and stocks of sainted trees : 
 And by him, a misshapen, ugly race ; 
 The curse of God was seen on every face : 
 No Holland emblem could that malice mend. 
 But still the worse the look, the fitter for a fiend. 
 
 The master of the farm, displeased to find 
 So much of rancour in so mild a kind, 106O 
 
 Enquired into the cause, and came to know. 
 The passive Church had struck the foremost blow ; 
 
288 dkyden's poems. 
 
 With groundless fears and jealousies possess'd, iocs 
 
 As if tliis troublesome intruding guest 
 Would drive the birds of Venus from their nest ; 
 A deed his inborn equity abhorr'd ; 
 But Interest will not trust, though God should plight 
 his word. 
 
 A law,i the source of many future harms, 
 Had banish'd all the poultry from the farms ; 
 With loss of life, if any should be found loro 
 
 To crow or peck on this forbidden ground. 
 That bloody statute chiefly was design'd 
 For Chanticleer the white, of clergy kind ; 
 But after-malice did not long forget 
 The lay that wore the robe and coronet. 
 For them, for their inferiors and allies. 
 Their foes a deadly Shibboleth devise : 
 By which unrighteously it was decreed. 
 That none to trust or profit should succeed, 
 Who would not swallow first a poisonous wicked weed : ^ 
 Or that, to which old Socrates was cursed, losi 
 
 Or henbane juice to swell them till they burst 
 
 The patron (as in reason) thought it hard 
 To see this inquisition in his yard, 
 By which the Sovereign was of subjects' use debarr'd. 
 All gentle means he tried, which might withdraw 
 The effects of so unnatural a law : 
 But still the Dove-house obstinately stood 
 Deaf to their own and to their neighbours' good ; 
 And which was worse, if any w^orse could be, looo 
 
 Repented of their boasted loyalty : 
 Now made the champions of a cruel cause, 
 And drunk with fumes of popular applause ; 
 
 * ' A law : ' penal laws against Popish recusants. — * ' Wicked weed : ' the 
 Test Act. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PART III. 289 
 
 For those whom God to ruin has design'd, 1094 
 
 He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind. 
 
 New doubts indeed thej daily strove to raise, 
 Suggested dangers, interposed delays ; 
 And emissary Pigeons had in store, 
 Such as the Meccan prophet used of yore. 
 To whisper counsels in their patron's ear ; noo 
 
 And veil'd their false advice with zealous fear. 
 The master smiled to see them work in vain, 
 To wear him out, and make an idle reign : 
 lie saw, but suffer'd their protractive arts. 
 And strove by mildness to reduce their hearts : 
 But they abused that grace to make allies. 
 And fondly closed with former enemies ; 
 For fools are doubly fools, endeavouring to be wise. 
 
 After a gi-ave consult what course were best, 
 One, more mature in folly than the rest, 1110 
 
 Stood up, and told them, with his head aside, 
 That desperate cures must be to desperate ills applied : 
 And therefore, since their main impending fear 
 Was from the increasing race of Chanticleer, 
 Some potent bird of prey they ought to find, 
 A foe profess'd to him, and all his kind : 
 Some haggard Ilawk, who had her eyrie nigh. 
 Well pounced to fasten, and well wing'd to fly ; 
 One they might trust, their common wrongs to wreak : 
 The Musquet and the Coystrel were too weak, 1120 
 
 Too fierce the Falcon ; but, above the rest. 
 The noble Buzzard^ ever pleased me best ; 
 Of small renown, 'tis true ; for, not to lie, 
 We call him but a Hawk by courtesy. 
 I know he hates the Pigeon-house and Farm, 
 And more, in time of war has done us harm : 
 
 • ' Buzzard : ' Bishop Burnet. 
 VOL. I. T 
 
290 dryden's poems. 
 
 But all his hate on trivial points depends ; 1127 
 
 Give up our forms, and we shall soon be friends. 
 For Pigeons' flesh he seems not much to care ; 
 Cramm'd chickens are a more delicious fare. 
 On this high potentate, without delay, 
 I wish you would confer the sovereign sway : 
 Petition him to accept the government, 
 And let a splendid embassy be sent. 
 
 This pithy speech prevail'd, and all agreed, 
 Old enmities forgot, the Buzzard should succeed. 
 
 Their welcome suit was granted soon as heard, 
 His lodgings furnish'd, and a train prepared. 
 With B's upon their breast, appointed for his guard. 
 He came, and crown'd with great solemnity; ii4o 
 
 God save king Buzzard, was the general cry. 
 
 A portly prince, and goodly to the sight, 
 He seem'd a son of Anak for his height : 
 Like those whom stature did to crowns prefer : 
 Black-brow'd, and bluff*, like Homer's Jupiter : 
 Broad-back'd, and brawny-built for love's delight ; 
 A prophet form'd to make a female proselyte. 
 A theologue more by need than genial bent ; 
 By breeding sharp, by nature confident. 
 Interest in all his actions was discern'd ; ii50 
 
 More learn'd than honest, more a wit than learn'd: 
 Or forced by fear, or by his profit led. 
 Or both conjoin'd, his native clime he fled : 
 But brought the virtues of his heaven along ; 
 A fair behaviour, and a fluent tongue. 
 And yet with all his arts he could not thrive ; 
 The most unlucky parasite alive. 
 Loud praises to prepare his paths he sent. 
 And then himself pursued his compliment ; 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. TAET III. 291 
 
 But bj reverse of fortune chased away, iico 
 
 His gifts no longer than their author stay : 
 
 He shakes the dust against the ungrateful race, 
 
 And leaves the stench of ordures in the place. 
 
 Oft has he flattcr'd and blasphemed the same ; 
 
 For in his rage he spares no sovereign's name : 
 
 The hero and the tyrant change their style 
 
 By the same measure tliat they frown or smile. 
 
 When well received by hospitable foes, 
 
 The kindness he returns, is to expose : 
 
 For courtesies, though undeserved and great, iiro 
 
 No gratitude in felon-minds beget ; 
 
 As tribute to his wit, the churl receives the treat. 
 
 His praise of foes is venomously nice ; 
 
 So touch 'd, it turns a virtue to a vice : 
 
 " A Greek, and bountiful, forewarns us twice." 
 
 Seven sacraments he wisely does disown. 
 
 Because he knows Confession stands for one ; 
 
 AVliere sins to sacred silence are convey 'd, 
 
 And not for fear, or love, to be betray 'd : 
 
 But he, uncall'd, his patron to control, iiso 
 
 Divulged the secret whispers of his soul ; 
 
 Stood forth the accusing Satan of his crimes, 
 
 And offer'd to the Moloch of the times. 
 
 Prompt to assail, and careless of defence, 
 
 Invidnerable in his impudence. 
 
 He dares the world ; and, eager of a name. 
 
 He thrusts about, and jostles into fame. 
 
 Frontless, and satire-proof, he scours the streets, 
 
 And runs an Indian-muck at all he meets. 
 
 So fond of loud report, that not to miss 1190 
 
 Of being known (his last and utmost bliss) 
 
 He rather would be known for what he is. 
 
292 detden's poems. 
 
 Sucli was, and is, the Captain of tlie Test, nas 
 
 Thougli half his virtues are not here express'd ; 
 The modesty of fame conceals the rest. 
 The spleenful Pigeons never could create 
 A prince more proper to revenge their hate : 
 Indeed, more proper to revenge, than save ; 
 A king, whom in his wrath the Almighty gave : 
 For all the grace the landlord had allow'd, 1200 
 
 But made the Buzzard and the Pigeons proud ; 
 Gave time to fix their friends, and to seduce the crowd. 
 They long their fellow-subjects to enthral, 
 Their patron's promise into question call, 
 And vainly think he meant to make them lords of all. 
 
 False fears their leaders fail'd not to suggest. 
 As if the Doves were to be dispossess'd ; 
 Nor sighs, nor groans, nor goggling eyes did want ; 
 For now the Pigeons too had learn'd to cant. 
 The house of prayer is stock'd with large increase ; 1210 
 Nor doors nor windows can contain the press : 
 For birds of every feather fill the abode ; 
 Even Atheists out of envy own a God : 
 And, reeking from the stews, adulterers come, 
 Like' Goths and Vandals to demolish Rome. 
 That Conscience, which to all their crimes was mute, 
 . Now calls aloud, and cries to persecute : 
 No rio-our of the laws to be released, 
 And much the less, because it was their Lord's request : 
 They thought it great their Sovereign to control. 
 And named their pride, nobility of soul. 
 
 'Tis true, the Pigeons, and their prince elect, 
 Were short of power, their purpose to effect : 
 But with their quills did all the hurt they could, 
 And cuff'd the tender Chickens from their food : 
 
 1220 
 
MAC FLECKXOE. 295 
 
 But, with affected jawnings at the close, 1292 
 
 Seem'd to require her natural repose : 
 
 For now the streaky light began to peep ; 
 
 And setting stars admonish'd both to sleep. 
 
 The dame withdrew, and, wishing to her guest 
 
 The peace of heayen, betook herself to rest. 
 
 Ten thousand angels on her slumbers wait, 
 
 With iflorious visions of her future state. 
 
 MAC FLECKNOE.' 
 
 All human things are subject to decay, - — 
 And when fate summons, monarchs must obey. 
 This Flecknoe found, who, like Ancnisf.us, young 
 Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long ; 
 In prose and yerse, was own'd, without dispute, 
 Through all the realms of Nonsenscv absolute. '— 
 This aged priuceTnow^'ftoirfisliiBglF peace. 
 And blest with issue of a large increase ; 
 Worn out with business, did at length debate 
 To settle the succession of the state : 10 
 
 And, pondering which of all his sons.was fit 
 To reign, and wage immortal war with wit, - l/fv . 
 Cried, 'Tis resolved ; for nature pleads, that he ! 
 Should only rule, who most resembles me. . A 
 
 ^hadwell trbne my perfect image bears, Ta.^/^ ^y 
 Mature in dulness from his tender years : "^ " '^ / 
 
 -Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he 
 Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. 
 
 n 
 

 ij 
 
 296 dkyden's poems. 
 
 296 
 
 ( The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, 19 
 
 V But Shadwell never deviates into sense. 
 Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, 
 Strike through, and make a lucid interval ; 
 But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray. 
 His rising fogs prevail upon the day. ^ 
 Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eyeT* ^i (^^ 
 And seems designed for thoughtless majesty : J) 
 f\ — ^Thoughtless as monarch oaks7T)hat shade "the plain, 
 ^ L-'Andj.spread ijL solemn state, supinely reigi "^" 
 ^. /^ -rHeywood and Shirley^ were but types of thee, 
 Thou last great prophet of tautology. 
 Even I, a dunce of more renown than they. 
 Was sent before but to prepare thy way ; 
 And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came 
 To teach the nations in thy greater name. 
 My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung, 
 When to king John of Portugal I sung, — 
 Was but the prelude to that glorious day. 
 When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way. 
 With well-timed oars before the royal barge, 
 S weird with the pride of thy celestial charge ; 40 
 
 And big with hymn, commander of an host. 
 The like was ne'er in Epsom; blankets toss'd. 
 Methinks I see the new "Arion sail, 
 The lute still trembling undi^neath thy nail. 
 At thy well-sharpen'd thumb, from shore to shore 
 The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar : 
 Echoes from Pissing- Alley, Shadwell call, 
 And Shadwell they resound from Aston-Hall. 
 About thy boat the little fishes) throng. 
 As at the morning toast that floats along. 50 
 
 ' ' Heywood and Shirley : ' play writers in Queen Elizabeth's time. 
 
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. PAKT III. 293 
 
 And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir, 1220 
 
 Hioush naming not the patron, to infer, 
 With all respect, he was a gross idolater. 
 But when the imperial owner did espy, 
 That thus they turn'd his grace to villany, 
 Not suflferiug Mrath to discompose his mind, 
 He strove a temper for the extremes to find, 
 So to be just, as he might still be kind ; 
 Then, all maturely weigh'd, pronounced a doom 
 Of sacred strength for every age to come. 
 By this the Doves their wealth and state possess, 
 No rights infringed, but licence to oppress : 
 Such power have they as factious lawyers long 
 To crowns ascribed, that Kings can do no wrong. 
 But since his own domestic birds have tried 1240 
 
 The dire effects of their destructive pride. 
 He deems that proof a measure to the rest, 
 Concluding well within his kingly breast, 
 His fowls of nature too unjustly were oppress'd. 
 He therefore makes all birds of every sect 
 Free of his farm, with promise to respect 
 Their several kinds alike, and equally protect. 
 His gracious edict the same franchise yields 
 To all the wild increase of woods and fields, 
 And who in rocks aloof, and who in steeples builds : 
 To Crows the like impartial grace affords, 1251 
 
 And Choughs and Daws, and such republic birds : 
 Secured with ample privilege to feed, 
 Each has his district, and his bounds decreed ; 
 Combined in common interest with his own, 
 But not to pass the Pigeon's Rubicon. 
 
 Here ends the reign of this pretended Dove ; 
 All prophecies accomplish'd from above, 
 From Shiloh comes the sceptre to remove. 
 
294 dryden's poems. 
 
 Reduced from her imperial high abode, 1260 
 
 Like Dionjsius to a private rod, 
 
 The Passive Ckirch, that with pretended grace 
 
 Did her distinctive mark in duty place, " 
 
 Now touch'd, reviles her Maker to his face. 
 
 What after happen'd is not hard to guess : 
 The small beginnings had a large increase, 
 And arts and wealth succeed, the secret spoils of peace. 
 Tis said, the Doves repented, though too late, 
 Become the smiths of their own foolish fate : 
 Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour ; 1270 
 
 But, sunk in credit, they decreased in power : 
 Like snows in warmth that mildly pass away, 
 Dissolving in the silence of decay. 
 
 The Buzzard, not content with equal place, 
 Invites the feather'd Nimrods of his race ; 
 To hide the thinness of their flock from sight. 
 And all together make a seeming goodly flight : 
 But each have separate interests of their own ; 
 Two Czars are one too many for a throne. 
 Nor can the usurper long abstain from food ; 1280 
 
 Already he has tasted Pigeons' blood : 
 And may be tempted to his former fare, 
 When this indulgent lord shall late to heaven repair. 
 Bare benting times, and moulting months may come, 
 When, lagging late, they cannot reach their home ; 
 Or, rent in schism (for so their fate decrees). 
 Like the tumultuous college of the bees,^ 
 They fight their quarrel, by themselves oppress'd ; 
 The tyrant smiles below, and waits the falling feast. 
 
 Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end, 12% 
 
 Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend ; 
 
 ' ' College of the bees : ' College of Pliysiciaas. 
 
MAC FLECENOE. 297 
 
 ISometimes, as prince of thy liarmouious band, 51 
 
 Thou wield'st -thy papers in thy tlireshingliand>) s/ 
 
 St Andre's ^ feet~ ne'er kept monrrqttaHimeT ^^ 
 
 Not even the feet of thy own Psyche's 2 rhyme :^ ^WvV) ^ 
 
 Though the^ in number as in sense excel ; * 
 
 So just, so like tautology, they fell, 
 
 That, pale with envy, Sin nl* toil ^. forswore_J^I ^"^^ ; / 
 
 The lute and sword, whicli he in triumph bore, / ' " ' 
 
 And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more. ' 
 
 Here stopp'd the good old sire, and wept for joy, 60 
 In silent raptures of the hopeful boy. 
 All arguments, but most his plays, persuade, 
 That for anointed dulness he wiaiLmacle. 
 
 Close to the walls which fair Augusta -bind 
 (The fair Augusta much to fears inclined), 
 AiTaircTcnt'fabric raised to inform the sight, 
 There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight : 
 A watch-tower once ; butlTowTso f^ite ordains, 
 Of all the pile an empty name remains : 
 From its old ruinS-brothcl-houscs rise, 70 
 
 Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys. 
 Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets keep. 
 And, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep. ^ 
 
 Near these a Nursery ^ erects its head, ^--^ * .- rc 
 Where queens"are form'd, and future heroes bred ; 
 Where unfledged, actors learn to laugh and cry, 
 
 ^yWhereugfant punks their tender voices try, 
 And little ^aximins; the gods defy. 
 
 ( Great FletcheFnerer treads in buskins here, 
 Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear ; so 
 
 \.^^' St Andre : ' a famoas/^FrencE~aa5cin^^aste?. — "^ ' Psyche : ' an opera 
 oC ^adwell's . — * ' SingletS H:' a um5 iCtair"6rtEe tinie. — * ' Nursery : ' a 
 theatre for training actors. ;' 
 
 \ 
 
 
r4 
 
 298 dryden's poems. 
 
 But gentle Simkin i just reception finds 81 
 
 Amidst this monument of vanisli'd minds : 
 '^Pure clinches the suburban muse affords, 
 And Panton ^ waging harmless war with words. / 
 Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known, |/ 
 Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne. 
 f For ancient Decker ^ prophesied long since, 
 / That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, 
 Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense : 
 To whom true dulness should some Psyches owe, 90 
 But worlds of Misers-^ frojii his pen should flow ; 
 
 , Humomists, and hypocrites it should produce, >r/^^/>, 
 X V Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce^ ^ 
 
 Now Empress Fame had publish'd the renown 
 Of Shadwell's coronation; through the town. 
 
 Roused by report of fame, the nations meet. 
 From near Bunhill, and distant Watling Street. 
 No Persian carpets spread the imperial way, 
 But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay : / 
 From dusty shops neglected authors come, \^ loo 
 
 Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum^^ ^/t^HeJI ^ 
 Ji^oi-v^f-; Much Hey wood, Shirley, Ogleby^ there lay. 
 
 But loads of Shadwell almost choked the way. 
 Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepared. 
 And Herringman "^ was captain of the guard. 
 The hoary prince in majesty appear'd, 
 High on a throne of his own labnux's rear'd. 
 At his right hand our young Ascanius^eate, 
 Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state, 
 
 " ' Simkin : ' a character of a cobbler, in an interlude. — ' ' Panton : ' a 
 famous punster. — ' 'Decker:' Thomas Decker, a dramatic poet of James 
 I.'s reign.— •• ' Worlds of Misers : ' ' The Miser ' and ' The Humourists ' ^vere 
 two of Shadwell's comedies. — ^ ' Raymond ' and ' Bruce ' the first of these 
 is an insipid character in ' The Humourists ; ' the second, in ' The Virtuoso.' 
 — " ' Ogleby : ' translator of Virgil. — ' ' Herringman : ' Henry Herringmau, 
 a bookseller ; see ' Life.' 
 
MAC FLECKNOE. 299 
 
 //Tlis brows thick fogs, iustcad of glories, grace, no 
 
 L-And lambent duluess plaj'd arouud bis face. 
 As Hannibal did to the altars come, 
 Sworn bj his fire, a mortal foe to Rome ; 
 So Shadwell swore, nor should his tow be vain, 
 That he till death true duluess would maintain ; 
 
 .^r'Aud, in his father's right, and realm's defence^. 
 
 V— Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with^cnse^ 
 The king himself the sacred unction made, 
 As king by office, and as priest by trade. 
 
 ^ In hi^i^sinister hand, instead of ball, 120 
 
 He placed a mighty mug of potent ale ; 
 Love's Kingdom ^ to his'rigTit lie did convey, 
 At once his sceptre and his rule of sway ; 
 Whose righteous lore the prince had practised young, 
 And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung. 
 His temples, last, with poppies were o'erspread, Ly 
 That nodding seem'd to consecrate his head. 
 Just at the point of time, if fame not lie. 
 On his left hand twelve reverend owls^did fly. 
 So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook, 130 
 
 Presage of sway from twice six vultures took.C/ 
 The admiring throng loud acclamations' make, 
 And omens of his future empire take. 
 The sire then shook the honours of his head, 
 
 G\nd from his brows/ damps of oblivion shed, 
 uU on the filial duluess : Idnglie stood, 
 Repelling from his breast the raging god ; 
 At length bm'st out in this pf()phetic~mood : 
 ^"Heavens bless my son, from Ireland let him reign 
 ([To far Barbadoes on the western main ; i4o 
 
 ' ' Love's Kingdom : ' this is the name of the only play of Flecknoe's, 
 which was acted, but miscarried in the representation. 
 
300 
 
 I dryden's poems. 
 
 141 
 
 150 
 
 D 
 
 M^l 
 
 Of his dominion may no end be known, 
 And greater than his father's be his throne ; 
 ; Beyond Love's kingdom let him stretch his peiT!^ 
 He paused, and all the people cried, Amen. — ^ 
 Then thus continued he : My son, advance 
 Still in new impudence, new ignorance. 
 Success let others teach, learn thou from me 
 Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. 
 Let Virtuosos^ in five years be writ ; 
 
 \ JYet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit. 
 
 ^ Let gentle George ^ in triumph tread the stage, 
 Make |)orimant betray, and Loveit rage ; 
 Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit, 
 And in their folly show the writer's wit" "^-~ / 
 Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence, (,/ 
 And justify their author's want of sense. 
 TLet them be all by thy own mocTefj made 
 Of dulness, and desire uo foreign aid_j 
 That they to future ages may be known. 
 Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own. 
 Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same, 
 All full of thee, and differing but in name. 
 But let no alien Sedley ^ interpose, 
 To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.* 
 And when false flowers of rhetoric thou wouldst cull, 
 Trust nature, do not labour to be dull ; 
 But write thy best, and top ; and, in each line, 
 Sir Formal's ^ oratory will be thine : 
 Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill, 
 And does thy northern dedications fill. iro 
 
 160 
 
 ' ' Virtuoso : ' a play of Shadwell's. — "^ ' Gentle George : ' Sir George 
 Etheredge. — * ' Alien Sedley : ' Sir Charles Sedley was supposed to assist 
 ShadweU in writing his plays. — ■• ' Epsom prose : ' alluding to Shadwell's 
 play of ' Epsom Wells.' — * ' Formal : ' a character in ' The Virtuoso.' 
 
MAC FLECKNOE. 
 
 301 
 
 Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame, i7i 
 
 By arrogating Jonson's hostile name. 
 
 Let Father Flccknoe fire thy mind with praise, 
 
 And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise, / 
 
 Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part : 
 
 What share have we in nature, or in art ? 
 
 Where did his wit on learning fix a brand, 
 
 And rail at arts he did not understand % 
 , Where made he love in prince Nicander's ^ vein, 
 \ \ Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain ? 
 
 W^liere sold he bargains, whip-stitch, kiss my a— e, 
 
 Promise^~arplayr5nd dwindTed~Ecr^ farce"? 
 
 When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin, 
 
 As thou "whole Ethoridge dost transfuse to thine \ 
 
 But so transfused, as oil and "waters flow, 
 
 His always floats above, thine sinks belo"w. 
 
 This is thy provmcer-tlu5 thy wondrous way, 
 
 New humours to i nvent For each n gg-^^lay : 
 
 This IS that boasted bias of thy mind,_^ 
 
 ,By which one way' to dulncssPtisinclined : 
 
 Which makcs~th3r^r itii> g«4ean on one side stilly 
 
 lAnd, in all changes, that way bends thy will. 
 
 £Nor let thy mfiaiatain-belly make pretence — i— j . j^ 
 
 I Of likeness ; thine 'satympTniJ"of seTRe: ^ '^ A^^N/A-'^ ' 
 
 A tun of man in thyjarge bulk is writ, 
 
 But sure thou 'rt but altlt^rkin of w^it. 
 J Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep ; 
 ' — ^Thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep. 
 
 i With whate'er gall thou sett'st thyself to write, 
 [Thy inoffensive satires never bite. \ 200 
 
 /3n_thy felonious heart thou^L-^gOm^lieSy 
 Vlt doesHjuTIouc^'lirrTnshpe^, ^nd dies. 
 
 ' ' Nicander : ' a character of a lover in Shadwell's opera of ' Psyche.' 
 
302 deyden's poems. 
 
 Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame 203 
 
 In keen lambiea, but mild Anagram. 1^- 
 Leave writing plays, and choc^e^fthy command, 
 Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. 
 There thou mayst wings display and altars ^ raise, 
 And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. \/ 
 Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit, ^rX '^ 
 r Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute. . - 210 
 He said ; but his last words were scarcely hearct . ]j^ ^ 
 For Bruce and Longville ^ had a trap prepared, 
 And down they sent the yet declaiming bard. 
 Sinking he left his drugget robe behind, 
 , Borne upwards by a subterranean windTXl 
 The mantle fell to the young prophet's part, 
 With do uble po rtion of his father's art. h \ /^ ^ 
 
 BRITANNIA REDIVI 
 
 A POEM ON THE PRINCE, BORN JUNE 10, 1688, 
 
 Our vows are heard betimes ! and Heaven takes care 
 To grant, before we can conclude the prayer : 
 Preventing angels met it half the way. 
 And sent us back to praise, who came to pray. 
 
 Just on the day, when the high-mounted Sun 
 Did furthest in his northern progress run. 
 He bended forward, and even stretch'd the sphere 
 Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year, 
 To view a brighter sun in Britain born ; 
 That was the business of his longest morn ; lo 
 
 The glorious object seen, 'twas time to turn. 
 
 ' ' Wings and altars : ' forms in which old acrostics were cast. See Herbert's 
 ' Temple.' — ^ ' Bruce and Longville: ' two characters iu Shadwell'si^Tirtuoso.' 
 
BRITANNIA EEDIVIVA. 303 
 
 Departing Spring could only stay to slied 12 
 
 Ilcr bloomy beauties on the genial bed, 
 But left the manly Summer in her stead, 
 With timely fruit the longing land to cheer, 
 And to fulfil the promise of the year. 
 Betwixt two seasons comes the auspicious heir, 
 This age to blossom, and the next to bear. 
 
 Last solemn Sabbath ^ saw the Church attend, 
 The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend ; 20 
 
 But when his wondrous octave ^ roll'd again, 
 He brought a royal infant in his train. 
 So great a blessing to so good a king, 
 None but the Eternal Comforter could bring. 
 
 Or did the mighty Trinity conspire, 
 As once in council, to create our sire 1 
 It seems as if they sent the new-born guest 
 To wait on the procession of their feast ; 
 And on their sacred anniverse decreed 
 To stamp their image on the promised seed. 30 
 
 Three realms united, and on one bestow'd. 
 An emblem of their mystic union show'd : 
 The Mighty Trine the triple empire shared, 
 As every person would have one to guard. 
 
 Hail, son of prayers ! by holy violence 
 Drawn down from heaven ; but long be banish'd thence, 
 And late to thy paternal skies retire : 
 To mend our crimes, whole ages would require ; 
 To change the inveterate habit of our sins, 
 And finish what tby godlike sire begins. 40 
 
 Kind Heaven, to make us Englishmen again, 
 No less can give us than a patriarch's reign. 
 
 The sacred cradle to your charge receive. 
 Ye seraphs, and by turns the guard relieve ; 
 
 * ' Solemn Sabbath : ' Whit-Sunday. — * ' Wondrous octave : ' Trinity Sunday. 
 
304 drtden's poems. 
 
 Thj father's angel, and thy father join, 45 
 
 To keep possession, and secure the line ; 
 
 But long defer the honours of thy fate : 
 
 Great may they be like his, like his be late ; 
 
 That James this running century may view, 
 
 And give his son an auspice to the new. 50 
 
 Our wants exact at least that moderate stay : 
 For see the Dragon ^ winged on his way. 
 To watch the travail,^ and devour the prey. 
 Or, if allusions may not rise so high. 
 Thus, when Alcides ^ raised his infant cry, 
 The snakes besieged his young divinity : 
 But vainly with their forked tongues they threat ; 
 For opposition makes a hero great. 
 To needful succour all the good will run, 60 
 
 And Jove assert the godhead of his son. 
 
 still repining at your present state. 
 Grudging yourselves the benefits of fate, 
 Look up, and read in characters of light 
 A blessing sent you in your own despite . 
 The manna falls, yet that celestial bread 
 Like Jews you munch, and murmur while you feed. 
 May not your fortune be, like theirs, exiled, 
 Yet forty years to wander in the wild ! 
 Or if it be, may Moses live at least, 7o 
 
 To lead you to the verge of promised rest ! 
 
 Though poets are not prophets, to foreknow 
 What plants will take the blight, and what will grow, 
 By tracing Heaven, his footsteps may be found : 
 Beliold ! how awfully he walks the round ! 
 God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways, 
 The rise of empires, and their fall surveys ; 
 
 ' ' The Dragon : ' alluding only to the Commonwealth party, here and in 
 other places of the poem. — * ' The travail : ' see Rev. xii. 4. — ' ' Alcides : ' 
 Hercules. 
 
BRITANNIA REDIYIVA. 305 
 
 More, might I saj, than -with an usual eye, 78 
 
 lie sees his bleeding church in ruin lie, 
 
 And hears the souls of saints beneath his altar crj. 
 
 Already has he lifted high the Sign,^ 
 
 Which crown'd the conquering arms of Constantine ; 
 
 The ]\Ioon ^ grows pale at that presaging sight, 
 
 And half her train of stars have lost their light. 
 
 Behold another Sylvester,'^ to bless 
 The sacred standard, and secure success ; 
 Large of his treasures, of a soul so great, 
 As fills and crowds his universal seat. 
 Now view at home a second Constantine ; 
 (The former too was of tlie British line ;) * 90 
 
 Has not his healing balm your breaches closed, 
 "Whose exile many sought, and few opposed 1 
 Or, did not Heaven by its eternal doom 
 Permit those evils, tliat tliis good might come ? 
 So manifest, that even the moon-eyed sects 
 See whom and what this Providence protects. 
 Mcthinks, had we within our minds no more 
 Than that one sliipwrcck on the fatal Ore,^ 
 That only thought may make us think again, 
 What wonders God reserves for such a reign. 100 
 
 To dream that Chance his preservation wrought. 
 Were to think Noah was preserved for nought; 
 Or the surviving eight were not design'd 
 To people Earth, and to restore their kind. 
 
 ' ' Sign : ' the sign of the cross, as denoting the Roman Catholic faith. — 
 * ' The moon : ' the Turkish crescent. — ' ' Another Sylvester : ' the Pope in 
 James II. 's time is here compared to him that governed the Romish Church 
 in the time of Constantine. — ■• ' British line : ' St Helen, mother of Constan- 
 tine the Great, was an Englishwoman. — * ' Fatal Ore : ' the sandbank on 
 which the Duke of York had like to have been lost in 1682, on hia voyage to 
 Scotland, is known by the name of Lemman Ore. 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
306 dryden's poems. 
 
 When humbly on the royal babe we gaze, los 
 
 The manly lines of a majestic face 
 Give awful joy : 'tis Paradise to look 
 On the fair frontispiece of Nature's book : 
 If the first opening page so charms the sight, 
 Think how the unfolded volume will delight ! no 
 
 See how the venerable infant lies 
 In early pomp ; how through the mother's eyes 
 The father's soul, with an undaunted view, 
 Looks out, and takes our homage as his due. 
 See on his future subjects how he smiles. 
 Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles ; 
 But with an open face, as on his throne, 
 Assures our birthrights, and assumes his own. 
 Born in broad day-liglit, that the ungrateful rout 
 May find no room for a remaining doubt; 120 
 
 Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun. 
 And the true eaglet safely dares the sun. 
 
 Fain would the fiends ^ have made a dubious birth, 
 Loath to confess the Godhead clothed in earth : 
 But sicken'd, after all their baffled lies, 
 To find an heir-apparent of the skies : 
 Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge. 
 And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge. 
 
 Not great ^^neas^ stood in plainer day. 
 When, the dark mantling mist dissolved away;, i30 
 
 He to the Tyrians show'd his sudden face. 
 Shining with all his goddess mother's grace : 
 For she herself had made his countenance bright, 
 Breathed honour on his eyes, and her own purple light. 
 
 ' ' Fiends : ' the malcontents who doubted the truth of the birth are here 
 compared to the evil spirits that tempted our Saviour in the wilderness. — 
 * ' J^iieus : ' see Virgil ; yEneid, I. 
 
BRITANNIA EEDIVIVA. 30 7 > 
 
 If our victorious Edward,^ as tlicj say, 135 
 
 Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day, 
 Why may not years, revolving with his fate, 
 Produce his like, but with a longer date ; 
 One, who may carry to a distant shore 
 The terror that his famed forefather bore 1 no 
 
 But wliy should James or his young hero stay 
 For slight presages of a name or day ? 
 We need no Edward's fortune to adorn 
 That happy moment when our prince was born : 
 Our prince adorns his day, and ages hence 
 Shall wish his birth-day for some future prince. 
 
 Great Michael, prince of all the ethereal hosts, 
 And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts ; 
 And thou, tlie adopted patron of our isle,^ 
 With cheerful aspects on this infant smile: ]50 
 
 The pledge of Heaven, which, dropping from above, 
 Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love. 
 
 Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought, 
 When to the dregs we drank the bitter draught ; 
 Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire, 
 Nor did the avenging angel yet retire, 
 But purged our still increasing crimes with fire. 
 Then perjured plots, the still impending Test, 
 And worse — but charity conceals the rest : 
 Here stop the current of the sanguine flood; 160 
 
 Require not, gracious God, thy martyrs' blood ; 
 But let their dying pangs, their living toil. 
 Spread a rich harvest through their native soil : 
 A harvest ripening for another reign, 
 Of which this royal babe may reap the grain. 
 
 ' ' Edward : ' Edward the Black Prince, born on Trinity Sunday. — 
 ' ' Patron of our isle : ' St George. 
 
308 DRYDENS POEMS. 
 
 Enough of early saints one womb has given ; lee 
 
 Enough increased the family of Heaven : 
 Let them for his and our atonement go ; 
 And, reigning blest above, leave him to rule below. 
 
 Enough already has the year foreshowed 
 His wonted course, the sea has overflow'd, 
 The meads were floated with a weeping spring, 
 And frighten'd birds in woods forgot to sing : 
 The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness faints, 
 And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints. 
 When will the minister of wrath give o'er ? 
 Behold him at Araunah's threshing-floor : ^ 
 He stops, and seems to sheathe his flaming brand, 
 Pleased with burnt incense from our David's hand. 
 David has bought the Jebusite's abode, iso 
 
 And raised an altar to the living God. 
 
 Heaven, to reward him, makes his joys sincere ; 
 No future ills nor accidents appear. 
 To sully and pollute the sacred infant's year. 
 Five months to discord and debate were given : 
 He sanctifies the yet remaining seven. 
 Sabbath of months ! henceforth in him be blest, 
 And prelude to the realm's perpetual rest ! 
 
 Let his baptismal drops for us atone ; 
 Lustrations for ofiences not his own. 190 
 
 Let Conscience, which is Interest ill disguised, 
 In the same font be cleansed, and all the land baptized. 
 
 Unnamed as yet ;^ at least unknown to fame : 
 Is there a strife in Heaven about his name, 
 Where every famous predecessor vies. 
 And makes a faction for it in the skies ? 
 
 1 ' Araunah's threshing-floor : ' alluding to the passage in 1 Kings xxiv. — 
 ^ ' Unnamed as yet : ' the prince was christened but not named when this 
 poem was published. 
 
BRITANNIA REDIVIVA. 309 
 
 Or must it be reserved to thought aloue 1 i97 
 
 Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton.^ 
 
 Things worthy silence must not be reveal'd ; 
 
 Thus the true name of Rome was kept conceal'd,^ 
 
 To shun the spells and sorceries of those 
 
 Who durst her infiint majesty oppose. 
 
 But when his tender strength in time shall rise 
 
 To dare ill tongues, and fascinating eyes ; 
 
 This isle, which hides the little Thunderer's fame, 
 
 Shall be too narrow to contain his name : 
 
 The artillery of heaven shall make him known ; 
 
 Crete ^ could not hold the god, when Jove Avas grown. 
 
 As Jove's increase, who from his brain was born,^ 
 Whom arms and arts did equally adorn, 210 
 
 Free of the breast was bred, whose milky taste 
 Minerva's name to Venus had debased ; 
 So this imperial babe rejects the food 
 That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood : 
 Food that his inborn courage might control, 
 Extinguish all the fiithcr in his soul, 
 And, for his Estian race, and Saxon strain, 
 Might reproduce some second Richard's reign. 
 Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood : 
 But kings too tame are despicably good : 220 
 
 Be this the mixture of this regal child, 
 By nature manly, but by virtue mild. 
 
 Thus far the furious transport of the news 
 Had to prophetic madness fired the Muse ; 
 
 ' ' Tetragrammaton : ' Jehovah, or the name of God, unlawful to be pro- 
 nounced by the Jews. — ^ ' Rome was kept concealed : ' some autliors say, 
 that the tnie name of Rome was ,kept a secret. — ' ' Crete : ' Candia, where 
 Jupiter was born and bred secretly. — * ' Brain was bom : ' Pallas or Minerva, 
 said by the poets to have sprung from tho brain of Jove, and to have been 
 bred up by hand, as was this young prince. 
 
310 drydek's poems. 
 
 Madness imgoverDable, uninspired, 225 
 
 Swift to foretell whatever she desired. 
 
 Was it for me the dark abyss to tread, 
 
 And read the book which angels cannot read ? 
 
 How was I piinish'd, when the sudden blast,^ 
 
 The face of heaven, and our young sun o'ercast ! 230 
 
 Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she roll'd, 
 
 Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told ; 
 
 At three insulting strides she stalk'd the town, 
 
 And, like contagion, struck the loyal down. 
 
 Down fell the winnow'd wheat ; but, mounted high, 
 
 The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky. 
 
 Here black rebeUion shooting from below 
 
 (As earth's gigantic brood by moments grow ^) 
 
 And here the sons of God are petrified with woe : 
 
 An apoplex of grief : so low were driven 240 
 
 The saints, as hardly to defend their heaven. 
 
 As, when pent vapours run their hollow round, 
 Earthquakes, which are convulsions of the ground, 
 Break bellowing forth, and no confinement brook, 
 Till the third settles what the former shook ; 
 Such heavings had our souls ; till, slow and late. 
 Our life with his returu'd, and Faith prevail'd on Fate. 
 By prayers the mighty blessing was implored, 
 To prayers was granted, and by prayers restored. 
 
 So, ere the Shunamite^ a son conceived, 250 
 
 The prophet promised, and the wife believed. 
 A son was sent, the son so much desired ; 
 But soon upon the mother's knees expired. 
 The troubled seer approach'd the mournful door. 
 Ran, pray'd, and sent his pastoral staff before, 
 
 • ' Sudden blast : ' the sudden false report of the prince's death. — * ' Mo- 
 ments grow : ' those giants are feigned to have grown fifteen yards every day. 
 ' ' Shunamite : ' see 2 Kings iv. 
 
BRITANNIA REDIVIVA. 311 
 
 Then stretcli'd his limbs upon the child, and moiirn'd, 
 Till warmth, and breath, and a new soul return'd. 257 
 
 Thus Mercy stretches out her hand, and saves 
 Desponding Peter sinking in the waves. 
 
 As when a sudden storm of hail and rain 
 Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, 
 Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd 
 On the flat field, and on the naked void ; 
 The light unloaded stem, from tempest freed, 
 Will raise the youthful honours of his head ; 
 And soon, restored by native vigour, bear 
 The timely product of tlie bounteous year. 
 
 Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past : 
 For Heaven will exercise us to the last ; 
 Sometimes will check us in our full career, 270 
 
 With doubtful blessings, and with mingled fear ; 
 That, still depending on his daily grace. 
 His every mercy for an alms may pass, 
 With sparing hands will diet us to good ; 
 Preventing surfeits of our pamper'd blood. 
 So feeds the mother bird her craving young 
 With little morsels, and delays them long. 
 
 True, this last blessing was a royal i^ast ; 
 But where 's the wedding-garment on the guest ? 
 Our manners, as religion were a dream, 280 
 
 Are such as teach the nations to blaspheme. 
 In lusts we wallow, and with pride we swell, 
 And injuries with injuries repel; 
 Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive, 
 Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe. 
 Thus Israel sinn'd, impenitently hard, 
 And vainly thought the present ark their guard ;i 
 
 • ' Ark their guard : ' see I Sam. iv. 10. 
 
312 dryden's poems. 
 
 But when the haughty Philistines appear, 288 
 
 They fled, abandoned to their foes and fear; 
 
 Their God was absent, though his ark was there. 
 
 Ah ! lest our crimes should snatch this pledge away, 
 
 And make our joys the blessings of a day ! 
 
 For we have sinn'd him hence, and that he lives, 
 
 God to his promise, not our practice gives. 
 
 Our crimes would soon weigh down the guilty scale, 
 
 But James and Mary, and the Church, prevail. 
 
 Nor Amalek can rout the chosen bands,^ 
 
 While Hur and Aaron hold up Moses' hands. 
 
 By living well, let us secure his days ; 
 Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways. 300 
 
 No force the free-born spirit can constrain, 
 But charity and great examples gain. 
 Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day : 
 'Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay. 
 
 But you, propitious queen, translated here. 
 From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged sphere, 
 Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year : 
 You, who your native climate have bereft 
 Of all the virtues, and the vices left ; 
 Whom piety and beauty make their boast, 3io 
 
 Though beautiful is well in pious lost ; 
 So lost, as star-light is dissolved away. 
 And melts into the brightness of the day ; 
 Or gold about the regal diadem. 
 Lost to improve the lustre of the gem. 
 What can we add to your triumphant day ? 
 Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay. 
 For should our thanks awake the rising sun, 
 And lengthen, as his latest shadows run, 
 
 • ' Amalek can rout the chosen bands : ' sec Exod. xviii. 8. 
 
BRITANNIA REDIYIVA. 313 
 
 That, though the longest day, would soon, too soon be 
 done. 320 
 
 Let angels' Toices with their harps conspire, 
 But keep the auspicious infant from the quire ; 
 Late let him sing above, and let us know 
 No sweeter music than his cries below. 
 
 Nor can I wish to you, great Monarch, more 
 Than such an annual income to your store ; 
 The day which gave this Unit, did not shine 
 For a less omen, than to fill the Trine. 
 After a prince, an admiral begot ; 
 The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet. 830 
 
 Our isle has younger titles still in store, 
 And when the exhausted land can yield no more, 
 Your line can force them from a foreign shore. 
 
 The name of Great your martial mind will suit ; 
 But justice is your darling attribute : 
 Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's^ due, 
 And, in him, Plutarch prophesied of you. 
 A prince's favours but on few can fall, 
 But justice is a virtue shared by all. 
 
 Some kings the name of conquerors have assumed, 340 
 Some to be great, some to be gods presumed ; 
 But boundless power and arbitrary lust 
 Made tyrants still abhor the name of just ; 
 They shunn'd the praise tliis godlike virtue gives, 
 And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives. 
 
 The Power, from which all kings derive their state, 
 AVhom they pretend, at least, to imitate. 
 Is equal both to punish and reward ; 
 For few would love their God, unless they fear'd. 
 
 Resistless force and immortality 350 
 
 Make but a lame, imperfect, deity : 
 
 ' Aristides, surnamed the Just. 
 VOL. I. U 2 
 
314 dryden's poems. 
 
 Tempests have force unbounded to destroy, 352 
 
 And deathless being, even the damn'd enjoy ; 
 
 And yet Heaven's attributes, both last and first, 
 
 One without life, and one with life accurst : 
 
 But justice is Heaven's self, so strictly he, 
 
 That could it fail, the Godhead could not be. 
 
 This virtue is your own ; but life and state 
 
 Are one to Fortune subject, one to Fate : 
 
 Equal to all, you justly frown or smile ; 360 
 
 Nor hopes nor fears your steady hand beguile ; 
 
 Yourself our balance hold, the world 's our isle. 
 
 END OF FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PKIKTERS, EDINBURGH. 
 
CRITICAL ESTIMATE 
 
 GENIUS AND POETICAL WOEKS OF JOHN DRYDEN, 
 
 In our Life of Dryden we promised to say something about 
 the question, How far is a poet, particularly in the moral 
 tendency and taste of his writings, to be tried — and either 
 condemned or justified — by the character ;.nd spirit of his age ? 
 To a rapid consideration of this question we now proceed, 
 before examining the constituent elements or the varied fruits 
 of the poet's genius. 
 
 And here, unquestionably, there are extremes, which every 
 critic should avoid. Some imagine that a writer of a former 
 century should be tried, either by the standard which prevails 
 in the cultured and civilised nineteenth, or by the exposition 
 of moral principles and practice which is to be found in the 
 Scriptmes. Now, it is obviously, so far as taste is concerned, 
 as unjust to judge a book -sratten in the style and manner 
 of one age by the merely arbitrary and conventional rules 
 established in another, as to judge the dress of om* ances- 
 tors by the fashions of the present day. And in respect of 
 morality, it is as unfair to visit with the same measure of 
 condemnation offences against decorum or decency, committed 
 by writers living before or living after the promulgation of 
 the Christian code, as it would be to class the Satyrs, Priapi, 
 and Bacchantes of an antique sculptor, with their imita- 
 
Yl CKITICAL ESTIMATE OF THE GENIUS 
 
 tions, by inferior and coarser artists, in later times. There 
 must be a certain measure of allowance made for the errors 
 of Genius when it was working as the galley-slave of its 
 position and period, and when it had not yet received the 
 Divine Light which, shining into the world from above, has 
 supplied men with higher aesthetic as well as spiritual models 
 and principles, and revealed man's body to be the temple of 
 the Holy Ghost. To look for our modern philanthropy in 
 that " Greek Gazette," the Iliad of Homer — to expect that 
 reverence for the Supreme Being which the Bible has taught 
 us, in the Metamorphoses of Ovid — or to seek that refinement 
 of manners and language which has only of late prevailed 
 amongst us, in the plays of Aristophanes and Plautus — w^ere 
 very foolish and very vain. In ages not so ancient, and which 
 have revolved since the dawn of Christianity, a certain coarse- 
 ness of thought and language has been prevalent ; and for it 
 still larger allowance should be made, because it has been 
 allied to simplicity rather than to sensuality — to rustic bar- 
 barism, not to civilised corruption — and carries along with it 
 a rough raciness, and a reference to the sturdy aboriginal 
 Past — just as acorns in the trough suggest the immemorial 
 forests where they grew, and the rich greenswards on which 
 they fell. 
 
 In two cases, it thus appears, should the severest censor 
 be prepared to modify his condemnation of the bad taste or 
 the impurity to be found in writers of genius — first, in that of 
 a civilization, perfect in its kind, but destitute of the refining 
 and sublimating element which a revelation only can supply ; 
 and, secondly, in that of those ages in which the lights of 
 knowledge and religion are contending with the gloom of 
 barbarian rudeness. Perhaps there are still two other cases 
 capable of palliation — that of a mind so constituted as to be 
 nothing, if not a mirror of its age, and faithfully and irresist- 
 ibly reflecting even its vices and pollutions ; or that of a mind 
 morbidly in love with the morbidities and the vile passages of 
 human nature. But suppose the case of a writer, sitting under 
 the full blaze of Gospel truth, professedly a believer in the 
 Gospel, and intimately acquainted with its oracles, living in a 
 late and dissipated, not a rude and simple age — possessed of 
 
AND POETICAL WOllKS OF JOHN DRYDEX. Vll 
 
 varied and splendid talents, which qualified him to make as 
 well as to mirror, and with a taste naturally sound and manly, 
 who should yet seek to shock the feelings of the pious, to 
 gi-atify the low tendencies, and fire to frenzy the evil passions 
 of his period — he is not to be shielded by the apology that he 
 has only conformed to the bad age on which he was so unfor- 
 tunate as to full. Prejudice may, indeed, put in such a plea 
 in his defence ; but the inevitable eye of common sense, dis- 
 tinguishing between necessity and choice, between coarseness 
 and corruption, between a man's passively yielding to and 
 actively inviting and encouraging the currents of false 
 taste and immorality which he must encounter, wiU find that 
 plea nugatory, and bring in against the author a verdict of 
 guilty. 
 
 Now this, we fear, is exactly the case of Dryden. He was 
 neither a " barbarian " nor a " Scythian." He was a conscious 
 artist, not a high though helpless reflector of his age. He had 
 not, we think, like his relative, Swift, originally any diseased 
 delight in filtli for its own sake ; was not — shall we say ? — a 
 natural, but an artificial Yahoo. He wielded a power over 
 the public mind, approaching the absolute, and which he could 
 have turned to virtuous, instead of vicious account — at first, it 
 might have been amidst considerable resistance and obloquy, 
 but ultimately with triumphant success. This, however, he 
 never attempted, and must therefore be classed, in this respect, 
 with such writers as Byron, whose powers gilded their pollu- 
 tions, less than their pollutions degraded and defiled their 
 powers ; nay, perhaps he should be ranked even lower than 
 the noble bard, whose obscenities are not so gross, and who 
 had, besides, to account for them the double palliations of pas- 
 sion and of despair. 
 
 In these remarks we refer principally to Dryden's plays ; 
 for his poems, as we remarked in the Life, are (with the excep- 
 tion of a few of the Prologues, which we print under protest) 
 in a great measure free from impurity. We pass gladly to 
 consider him in his genius and his poetical works. The most 
 obvious, and among the most remarkable characteristics of his 
 poetic style, are its wondrous elasticity and ease of movement. 
 There is never for an instant any real or apparent effort, 
 
7111 CEITICAL ESTIMATE OF THE GENIUS 
 
 any straining for effect, any of that " double, double, toil and 
 trouble," by which many even of the weird cauldrons in which 
 Genius forms her creations are disturbed and bedimmed. That 
 power of doing everything with perfect and conscious ease, 
 which Dugald Stewart has ascribed to Barrow and to Horsley 
 in prose, distinguished Dryden in poetry. Whether he 
 discusses the deep questions of fate and foreknowledge in 
 " Religio Laici," or lashes Shaftesbury in the " Medal," or 
 pours a torrent of contempt on Shadwell in " MacFlecknoe," 
 or describes the fire of London in the " Annus Mirabilis," 
 or soars into lyric enthusiasm in his " Ode on the Death of 
 Mrs Killigrew," and " Alexander's Feast," or paints a tour- 
 nament in " Palamon and Arcite," or a fairy dance in the 
 " Flower and the Leaf," — he is always at home, and always 
 aware that he is. His consciousness of his own powers 
 amounts to exultation. He is like the steed who glories in 
 that tremendous gallop which affects the spectator with fear. 
 Indeed, we never can separate our conception of Dryden's 
 vigorous and vaulting style from the image of a noble horse, 
 devouring the dust of the field, clearing obstacles at a bound, 
 taking up long leagues as a little thing, and the very strength 
 and speed of whose motion give it at a distance the appearance 
 of smoothness. Pope speaks of his 
 
 " Long resounding march, and energy divine." 
 
 Perhaps " ease divine " had been words more characteristic of 
 that almost superhuman power of language by which he makes 
 the most obstinate materials pliant, melts down difficulties as 
 if by the touch of magic, and, to resume the former figure, 
 comes into the goal without a hair turned on his mane, or a 
 single sweat- drop confessing effort or extraordinary exertion. 
 We know no poet since Homer who can be compared to 
 Dryden in this respect, except Scott, who occasionally, in 
 " Marmion," and the " Lay of the Last Minstrel," exhibits 
 the same impetuous ease and fiery fluent movement. Scott 
 does not, however, in general, carry the same weight as the 
 other ; and the species of verse he uses, in comparison to the 
 heroic rhyme of Dryden, gives you often the impression of 
 a hard trot, rather than of a " long-resounding" and mag- 
 
 i 
 
AND POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN DllYDEN. IX 
 
 nificent gallop. Scott exhibits in his poetry the soul of a 
 ■warrior; but it is of a warrior of the Border — somewhat savage 
 and coarse. Drjden can, for the nonce at least, assume the 
 appearance, and display the spirit, of a knight of ancient 
 chivalry — gallant, accomplished, elegant, and gay. 
 
 Next to tliis poet's astonishing ease, spirit, and elastic 
 vigour, may be ranked his clear, sharp intellect. He may 
 be called more a logician than a poet. He reasons often, 
 and always acutely, and his rhyme, instead of shackling, 
 strengthens the movement of his argumentation. Parts of his 
 " Religio Laici" and the "Hind and Panther" resemble 
 portions of Duns Scotus or Aquinas set on fire. Indeed, 
 keen,__s^rong_jntellect, inflamed with . passion,, and inspi- 
 ri ted by that "ardour and impetuosity of mind" which 
 WordswortlT is compelled to allow to him, rather than creative 
 or original genius, is the differentia of Dryden. AVe have 
 compared him to a courser, but he was not one of those 
 coursers of Achilles, who fed on no earthly food, but on the 
 golden barley of heaven, having sprung from the gods — 
 
 Savdov Koi BaXiov, rot ufia Trvoijjai, TTfTtadrjv. 
 Toi/s tTtKe Zf<pipfO dvefxto Apnvia llo8dpyT), 
 
 Dryden resembled rather the mortal steed which was yoked 
 with these immortal twain, the brood of Zephyr and the 
 Harpy Podarga ; only we can hardly say of the poet what 
 Homer says of Pedasus — 
 
 *0f KOI dvTjTos €0)1/, enfff inirois dSavuToicrt, 
 
 He was not, although a mortal, able to keep up with the 
 immortal coursers. His path was on the plains or table-lands 
 of earth — never or seldom in " cloudland, gorgeous land," or 
 through the aerial altitudes which stretch away and above the 
 clouds to the gates of heaven. He can hardly be said to have 
 possessed the power of sublimity, in the high sense of that 
 term, as the power of sympathising with the feeling of the 
 Infinite. Often he gives us the impression of the picturesque, 
 of the beautiful, of the heroic, of the nobly disdainful — but 
 never (when writing, at least, entirely from his own mind) of 
 that infinite and nameless grandeur which the imaginative 
 
 b 
 
X CRITICAL ESTIMATE OF THE GENIUS 
 
 soul feels shed on it from the multitudhious waves of ocean — 
 from the cataract leaping from his rock, as if to consummate 
 an act of prayer to God — from the hum of great assemblies of 
 men — from the sight of far-extended wastes and wildernesses 
 — and from the awful silence, and the still more mysterious 
 sparkle of the midnight stars. This sense of the presence of 
 the shadow of immensity — immensity itself cannot be felt any 
 more than measured — this sight like that vouchsafed to Moses 
 of the " backparts" of the Divine — the Divine itself cannot 
 be seen — has been the inspiration of all the highest poetry of 
 the world — of the "Paradise Lost," of the " Divina Com- 
 media," of the " Night Thoughts," of Wordsworth and Cole- 
 ridge, of " Festus," and, highest far, of the Hebrew Prophets, 
 as they cry, " Whither can we go from Thy presence? whither 
 can we flee from Thy Spirit? " Such poets have resembled a 
 blind man, who feels, although he cannot see, that a stranger 
 of commanding air is in the room beside him ; so they stand 
 awe-struck in the '' wind of the going " of a majestic and 
 unseen Being. This feeling differs from mysticism, inasmuch 
 as it is connected with a reality, while the mystic dreams a 
 vague and unsupported dream, and the poetry it produces is 
 simply the irresistible cry springing from the perception of 
 this wondrous Some One who is actually near them. The 
 feeling is connected, in general, with a lofty moral and religious 
 nature ; and yet not always, since, while wanting in Dryden, 
 we find it intensely discovered, although in an imperfect and 
 perverted shape, in Byron and Rousseau. 
 
 In Dryden certainly it exists not. We do not — and in this 
 we have Jeffrey's opinion to back us — remember a single line 
 in his poetry that can be called sublime, or, which is the sam^i 
 thing, that gives us a thrilling shudder, as if a god or a ghost 
 were passing by. Pleasure, high excitement,' — rapture even, 
 he often produces ; but such a feeling as is created by that 
 line of Milton, 
 
 " To bellow through the vast and boundless deep," 
 
 never. Compare, in proof of this, the description of the tour- 
 nament in " Palamon and Arcite" — amazingly spirited as it is 
 — to the description of the war-horse in Jobj or, if that appear 
 
AND POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEX. XI 
 
 too high a test, to the contest of Achilles with the rivers in 
 Homer ; to the war of the Angels, and the interrupted pre- 
 parations for contest between Gabriel and Satan in jMilton; 
 to the contest between Apollyon and Christian in the " Pil- 
 grim's Progress ; " to some of the combats in Spenser ; and to 
 that wonderful one of the Princess and the Magician in mid- 
 air in the "Arabian Nights," in order to understand the 
 distinction between the most animated literal pictures of 
 battle and those into which the element of imagination is 
 strongly injected by the poet, who can, to the inevitable 
 shiver of human nature at the sight of struggle and carnage, 
 add the far more profound and terrible shiver, only created 
 by a vision of the concomitants, the consequences — the UNSEEN 
 BOKDEUS of the bloody scene. 
 Take these lines, for instance : — 
 
 " They look anew : the beauteous form of fight 
 Is changed, and war appears a grisly sight ; 
 Two troops in fair array one moment showed — 
 The next, a field with fallen bodies strowed ; 
 Not half tlie number in their seats are found. 
 But men and steeds lie groveUing on the ground. 
 The 2:>oints of spears are stuck within the shield, 
 The steeds without their ridei-s scour the field ; 
 The knights, mihorsed, on foot renew the fight — 
 The glittering faulchions cast a gleaming light ; 
 Hauberks and helms are hew'd with many a wound, 
 Out-spins the streaming blood, and dyes the ground." 
 
 This is vigorous and vivid, but is not imaginative or sug- 
 gestive. It does not carry away the mind from the field to 
 bring back thoughts and images, which shall, so to speak, 
 brood over, and aggravate the general horror. It is, in a 
 word, plain, good painting, but it is not poetry. There is not 
 a metaphor, such as " he laugheth at the shaking of a spear," 
 in it all. 
 
 In connexion with this defect in imagination is the lack of 
 natural imagery in Dryden's poetry. Wordsworth, indeed, 
 gi'eatly overcharges the case, when he says (in a letter to 
 Scott), " that there is not a single image from nature in the 
 whole body of his poetry." AVe have this minute taken up 
 
XU CRITICAL ESTIMATE OF THE GENIUS 
 
 the " Hind and the Panther," and find two images from 
 nature in one page : — 
 
 " As where in fields the fairy rounds are seen, 
 A rank sour herbage rises on the green ; 
 So," &c. 
 
 And a few lines down : — 
 
 " As where the lightning runs along the ground. 
 No husbandry can heal the blasting wound." 
 
 And some pages farther on occurs a description of Spring, 
 not unworthy of Wordsworth himself ; beginning — 
 
 " New blossoms flourish and new flowers arise. 
 As Ood had been abroad, and walking there. 
 Had left his footsteps, and reform'd the year." 
 
 Still it is true, that, taking his writings as a whole, they 
 are thin in natural images ; and even those which occur, are 
 often rather the echoes of his reading, than the results of his 
 observation. And what Wordsworth adds is, we fear, true ; 
 in his translation of Virgil, where Virgil can be fairly said 
 to have his eye upon his object, Dryden always spoils the 
 passage. The reason of this, apart from his want of high 
 imaginative sympathy, may be found in his long residence in 
 London ; and his lack of that intimate daily familiarity w^ith 
 natural scenes, which can alone supply thorough knowledge, 
 or enkindle thorough love. Nature is not like the majority 
 of other mistresses. Her charms deepen the longer she is 
 known ; and he that loves her most warmly, has watched her 
 with the narrowest inspection. She can bear the keenest 
 glances of the microscope, and to see all her glory would 
 exhaust an antediluvian life. The appetite, in her case, 
 " grows with what it feeds on;" but such an appetite was 
 not Dryden's. 
 
 Another of his great defects is, in true tenderness of feeling. 
 He has very few passages which can be called pathetic. His 
 Elegies and funeral Odes, such as those on " Mrs Killigrew" 
 and " Eleonora," are eloquent ; but they move you to admi- 
 ration, not to tears. Dryden's long immersion in the pollu- 
 
AND POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 XIU 
 
 tions of the playhouses, had combined, Avith his long course oP 
 domestic infelicity, and his employments as a hack author, a 
 party scribe, and a satirist, to harden his heart, to brush away 
 whatever fine bloom of feeling there had been originally on 
 his mind, and to render him incapable of even simulating the 
 softer emotions of the soul. But for the discovered fact, that " 
 he was in early life a lover of liis relative. Honor Dridcn, you 
 would have judged him from his works incapable of a pure 
 passion. " Lust hard by Hate," being his twin idols, liow 
 could he represent human, far less ethereal love; and how 
 could he touch tliose springs of holy tears, which lie deep in 
 man's heart, and which are connected with all that is dignified, 
 and all that is divine in man's nature? What could the 
 a utho r of " Limberham" know of love, or t^ author of " Mac- 
 Flecknoe '^ of_ pi ty ? 
 
 Wordsworth, in that admirable letter to which we have re- 
 peatedly referred, says, " Whenever his language is poetically 
 impassioned, it is mostly upon unpleasing subjects, such as 
 the follies, vices, and crimes of classes of men, or individuals." 
 This is unquestionable. lie never so nearly reaches the sub- 
 lime, as when he is expressing contempt. He never rises so 
 high, as in the act of trampling, lie is a '' good hater," and 
 expresses his hatred with a mixture of animus and ease, of 
 fierceness and of trenchant rapidity, which makes it very for- 
 midable. He only, as it were, waves off his adversaries dis- 
 dainfully, but the very wave of his hand cuts like a sabre. 
 His satire is not savage and furious, like Juvenal's ; not cool, 
 collected, and infernal, like that of Junius; not rabid and 
 reckless, like that of Swift; and never darkens into the un- 
 earthly gi-andeur of Byron's : but it is strong, swift, dashing, 
 and decisive. Nor does it want deep and subtle touches. 
 His pictures of Shaftesbmy and Buckingham are as delicately 
 finished, as they are powerfully conceived. He flies best at 
 the highest game; but even in dealing with Settles and Shad- 
 wells, he can be as felicitous as he is fierce. No satire in the\ 
 world contains lines more exquisitely inverted, more ingeni- \ 
 ously bm'lesqued, more artfully turned out of their apparently j 
 proper course, like rays at once refracted and cooled, than thosa' 
 which thus ominously panegyrise Shadwell : — j 
 
 •Hu^t^t 
 
XIV CEITICAL ESTIMATE OF THE GENIUS 
 
 " His brows thick fogs, instead of glories grace, 
 And la7nbent dtdness play'd about his face. 
 As Hannibal did to the altar come, 
 Sworn by his sire, a mortal foe to Rome ; 
 So Shadwell swoi'e, nor should his vow be vain, 
 That he till death true dulness would maintain." 
 
 Better still the following picture, in imitation of the Homeric 
 or Miltonic manner : — 
 
 " The Sire then shook the honours of his head, 
 And from his brows damps of oblivion shed 
 FuU on th.Q filial dulness — long he stood 
 RepeUing from his breast the raging God." 
 
 What inimitable irony in this epithet ! The God of dulness 
 raging I A stagnant pool in a passion ; a canal insane j a 
 mouton enrage, as the French says; or a snail in a tumultuous 
 state of excitement, were but types of the satirical ideas im- 
 plied in these words. What a description of labouring non- 
 sense — of the Pythonic genius of absurdity, panting and 
 heaving on his solemnly ridiculous tripod ! 
 
 The language and versification of Dryden have been praised, 
 and justly. His style is worthy of a still more powerful and 
 original vein of genius than his own. It is a masculine, clear, 
 elastic, and varied diction, fitted to express all feelings, save 
 the deej3est; all fancies, save the subtlest; all passions, save 
 the loftiest; all moods of mind, save the most disinterested 
 and rapt; to represent incidents, however strange; characters, 
 however contradictory to each other; shades of meaning, how- 
 ever evasive : and to do all this, as if it were doing nothing, 
 in point of ease, and as if it were doing everything in point of 
 felt and rejoicing energy. No poetic style since can, in such 
 respects, be compared to Dryden's. Pope's to his is feeble — 
 and Byron's forced. He can say the strongest things in the 
 swiftest way, and the most felicitous expressions seem to fall 
 unconsciously from his lips. Had his matter, you say, but 
 been equal to his manner, his thought in originality and 
 imaginative power but commensurate with the boundless 
 quantity, and no less admirable quality, of his words ! His 
 versification deserves a commendation scarcely inferior. It is 
 " all ear," if we may so apply an expression of Shakspeare's. 
 
AND POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN. XV 
 
 No studied rules, — no elaborate complication of harmonies, — 
 it is the mere sinking and swelling of the wave of his 
 thought, as it moves onward to the shore of his purpose. 
 And, as in the sea, there are no furrows absolutely isolated 
 fi-om each other, but each leans on, or melts into each, and 
 the subsidence of the one is the rise of the other — so with the 
 versification of his better poetry. The beginning of the 
 " Hind and Panther," we need not quote ; but it will be re- 
 membered, as a good specimen of that peculiar style of run- 
 ning the lines into one another, and thereby producing a 
 certain free and noble effect, which tlie uniform tinkle of Pope 
 and his school is altogether unable to reach ; a style which 
 has since been copied by some of our poets — by Churchill, by 
 Cowper, and by Slielley. The lines of the artificial school, 
 on the other hand, may be compared to roUcrs, each distinct 
 from each other, — each being in itself a whole, — but altogether 
 forming none. Pope, says Hazlitt, has turned Pegasus into 
 a rocking-horse. 
 
 We are, perhaps, nearly right when we call Dryden the 
 most eloquent and rhetorical of English poets. He bears 
 in this respect an analogy to Lucretius among the Komans, 
 who, inferior in polish to Virgil, was incomparably more ani- 
 mated and energetic in style ; who exhibited, besides, traits- 
 of lofty imagination rarely met w'ith in Virgil, and never in 
 Dryden ; and who equalled the English poet in the power of 
 reasoning in verse, and setting the severe abstractions of meta- 
 pliysical thought to music. "With the Shakspeares, Chan- 
 cers, Spensers, Miltons, Byrons, Wordsworths, and Cole- 
 ridges, the Bii majorum gentium of the Poetic Pantheon of 
 Britain, Dryden ranks not, although towering far above the 
 Moores, Goldsmiths, Gays, and Priors. He may be classed 
 with a middle, but still high order, in which we find the 
 names of Scott, as a poet, Johnson, Pope, Cowper, Southey, 
 Crabbe, and two or three others, who, while all excelling 
 Dryden in some qualities, are all excelled by him in others, 
 and bulk on the whole about as largely as he on the public 
 eye. 
 
 We come to make a few remarks, in addition to some we 
 have already incidentally made, on Dryden's separate works. 
 
XVI CRITICAL ESTIMATE OF THE GENIUS 
 
 And first of his Lyrics. His songs, properly so called, are 
 lively, buoyant, and elastic ; yet, compared to those of Shak- 
 speare, they are of " the earth, earthy." They are the down 
 of the thistle, carried on a light breeze upwards. Shakspeare's 
 resemble aerial notes — snatches of superhuman melody — de- 
 scending from above. Compared to the warm-gushing songs 
 of Burns, Dryden's are cold. Better than his songs are his 
 Odes. That on the death of Mrs Killigrew has much divided 
 the opinion of critics — Dr Johnson calling it magnificent, and 
 Warton denying it any merit. We incline to a mediate view. 
 It has bold passages ; the first and the last stanzas are very 
 powerful, and the whole is full of that rushing torrent-move- 
 ment characteristic of the poet. But the sinkings are as deep 
 as the swellings, and the inequality disturbs the general 
 effect. This is still more true of " Threnodia Augustalis," 
 the ode on the death of Charles II. Not only is its spirit 
 fulsome, and its statement of facts grossly partial, but many 
 of its lines are feeble, and the whole is wire-spun. Yet what 
 can be nobler in thought and language than the following, 
 descriptive of the joy at the king's partial recovery ! — 
 
 " Men met each other with erected look, 
 The steps were higher that they took ; 
 Each to congratulate his friend made haste, 
 And long inveterate foes saluted as they jjass'd." 
 
 How admirably this last line describes that sudden solution 
 of the hostile elements in human nature — that swift sense of 
 unity in society, produced by some glad tidings or great 
 public enthusiasm, when for an horn' the Millennium is anti- 
 cipated, and the poet's wish, that 
 
 " Man wi' man, the warld o'er. 
 Shall blithers be, for a' that," 
 
 is fulfilled ! 
 
 The two odes on St Cecilia's Day are both admirable in 
 different ways. " Alexander'a. Feast," like Burns's " Tam 
 o' Shanter," seems to come out at once " as from a mould." 
 It is pure inspiration, but of the second order — rather that of 
 the Greek Pythoness than ofthe Hebrew prophet. Coleridge 
 
AND POETICAL WORKS OF JOHX DRYDEN. XVll 
 
 or Wordsworth makes tlie objection to it, tliat the Lacchiis 
 it describes is the mere vulgar dclt}' of drink — 
 
 " Flush'd with a purple grace, 
 He shows his honest face " — 
 
 not the ideal Bacchus, clad in vine-leaves, returning from the 
 conquest of India, and attended by a procession of tlie lions and 
 tigers he had tamed. But this, although a more imaginative 
 representation of the god of wine, had not been so suitably 
 sung at an entertainment presided over by an Alexander and a 
 Thais, a drunk conqueror and a courtezan. Dryden himself, 
 we liave seen, thought this the best ode that ever was or would 
 be written in the English language. In a certain sense he was 
 right. For vivacity, freedom of movement, and eloquence, it 
 has never been equalled. But there are some odes — such as 
 Coleridge's " Ode to France " and Wordsworth's '' Power of 
 Sound " — which as certainly excel it in strength of imagina- 
 tion, grandeur of conception, and unity of execution and 
 effect. 
 
 Of Dryden's Satires we liave already spoken in a general 
 way. " Absalom and Achltophel " is of course the master- 
 piece, and cannot be too highly praised as a gallery of por- 
 traits, and for the daring force and felicity of its style. Why 
 enlarge on a poem, almost every line of which has become a 
 pjw-crb ? " The Medal " is inferior only in condensation — 
 in spirit and energy it is quite equal. In '' MacFlecknoe," 
 tlie mock-heroic is sustained with unparalleled vigour from the 
 first line to the last. Shadwell is a favourite of Dryden's ire. 
 He fancies him, and loves to empty out on his head all the 
 riches of his wrath. What can be more temble than tlie 
 words occm-ring in the second part of " Absalom and Achi- 
 tophel "— 
 
 " When wine hath given him courage to blaspheme, 
 He curses God — but God before curst him ! " 
 
 He has written two pieces, which may be called didactic 
 or controversial poems — " Religio Laici " and " The Hind 
 and Panther." The chief power of the former is in its admir- 
 able combination of two things, often dissociated — reason and 
 
XVm CRITICAL ESTIMATE OF THE GENIUS 
 
 :.mei and its chief interest lies in the ligbtil; casts upon 
 jDryden's uncertainty of religious view. The thought has 
 ' jlittle originality, the versification less varied music than is 
 I his Avont, and no passage of transcendent power occurs. Far 
 / more faulty in plan, and far more unequal, is " The Hind and 
 / Panther ; " hut it has, on the other hand, many passages of 
 amazing eloquence — some satirical pictures equal to anything 
 in " Absalom and Achitophel " — some vivid natural descrip- 
 tions ,• and even the absurdities of the fable, and the sophis- 
 tries of the argument add to its character as the most 
 exquisitely perverted piece of ingenuity in the language. No- 
 thing but high genius, very vigorously exerted, could recon- 
 cile us to a story so monstrous, and to reasoning so palpably 
 one-sided and weak. 
 
 His Epistles are of divers merit, but all discover Dryden's 
 usual sense, sarcastic observation, and sweeping force of style. 
 The best are that to Sir Godfrey Kneller — remarkable for its 
 .knowledge of, and graceful tribute to, the " serene and silent 
 art" of painting; and the very noble epistle addressed" to 
 Congreve, which reminds you of one giant hand of genius 
 held out to welcome and embrace another. Gross flatterer as 
 Dryden often was, there is something in this epistle that rings 
 true, and the emotion in it you feel even all his powers could 
 never have enabled him to counterfeit. Such generous 
 patronage of rising, by acknowledged merit, was as rare 
 then as it is still. The envy of the literary man too often 
 crowns his gray hairs with a chaplet of nightshade, and pours 
 its dark poispn into the latest cup of existence. 
 
 His " Annus Mirabilis " is another instance of perverted 
 power, and ingenuity astray. Written in that bad style he 
 found prevalent in his early days — the style of the metaphy- 
 sical poets, Cowley, Donne, and Drayton — the author ever 
 and anon soars out of his trammels into strong and simple 
 poetry, fervid description, and in one passage — that about the 
 future fortmies of London — into eloquent prophecy. The fire 
 of London is vigorously pictured, but its breath of flame 
 should have burned up petty conceit and tawdry ornament. 
 He should have sternly daguerreotyped the spectacle of the 
 capital of the civilised world burning — a spectacle awful, not 
 
AND POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN. . XIX 
 
 only in the siglit of men, but, as Hall says of the French Re- 
 volution, in that of superior beings. "We need not dwell on 
 the far-famed absurdities which the poem contains — about God 
 turning a " crystal pyramid into a broad extinguisher " to put 
 out the fire — of the ship compared to a sea-wasp floating on 
 the waves — and of men in the fight killed by " aromatic 
 splinters " from the Spice Islands ! Criticism has long ago 
 said its best and its worst about these early escapades of a 
 writer whose taste, to the last, was never commensurate with 
 his genius. 
 
 Plis Translations we have not included in this edition, as we 
 reserve them, along witli other masterpieces of translated verse, 
 for a separate issue afterwards. That of the " Art of Poetry," 
 sometimes included in editions of his works, was not his, but 
 only revised by him. We may say here, in general, however, 
 that although there are more learned and more correct trans- 
 lators than Dryden, there are few who have produced versions 
 so vigorous, so full of exuberant life, and, in those parts of 
 the authors suitable to the peculiarities of the translator's own 
 genius, so faithful to their spirit and soul, if not to their letter 
 and their body, as he. Parts of Virgil he does not translate 
 well ; he has no sympathy with Maro's elegance, concinnitas^ 
 chaste grandeur, and minute knowledge of nature ; but wher- 
 ever Virgil begins to glow and gallop, Dryden glows and 
 gallops with him ; and wherever Virgil is nearest Homer, 
 Dryden is nearest him. 
 
 We have reserved to the close his Fables, as, on the whole, 
 forming the culmination of Dryden the artist, if not, perhaps, 
 of Dryden the poet. In preparing his poems for publication, 
 how refreshing we found it to pass from a needful although 
 cursory perusal of his plays, and a revision of his prologues, 
 to these comparatively pure, right-manly, and eloquent com- 
 positions — the fables of Dryden ! We do not, because it 
 would be hardly fair, with Wordsworth, seek to compare 
 them with the Chaucerian originals — a comparison under 
 which they would be infallibly cnished. We prefer looking 
 at them as bearing only the relation to Chaucer which Mac- 
 pherson's, did to the original, Ossian. And regarding them in 
 this light, as adaptations, where the original author furnishes 
 
XX CKITICAL ESTIMATE OP THE GENIUS, ETC. 
 
 only tlie ground-work, they are surely masterpieces and 
 models of composition, if not exemplars of creative power and 
 genius. How free and majestic their numbers ! How bold 
 and buoyant their language ! How interesting the stories 
 they tell ! How perfect the preservation, and artful the pre- 
 sentment, of the various characters ! What a fine chivalrous 
 spirit breathes in " Palamon and Arcite ! " What a soft 
 yet purple, pure yet gorgeous, light of love hovers over the 
 " Flower and the Leaf!" — the only poem of Dryden's in 
 which — thanks perhaps to his master, Chaucer — the poet dis- 
 covers the slightest perception of that 
 
 " Love which spirits feel 
 In climes where all is equable and pure." 
 
 What gay and gallant badinage, exquisite irony, and inte- 
 resting narrative, in the story of " The Cock and Fox ! " And 
 what knowledge of human nature and skilful construction in 
 " The Wife of Bath's Tale ! " We are half inclined, with 
 George Ellis, to call these fables the " noblest specimen of 
 versification to be found in any modern language." We 
 gather, too, from them a notion about Dryden's capabilities, 
 which we may state. It is, that had Dryden lived in a novel 
 and romance-writing age, and turned his great powers in that ' 
 direction, he might have easily become the best fictionist — 
 next to Cervantes and Scott — that ever lived, possessing, as 
 he did, most of the qualities of a good novelist — vigorous and 
 facile diction ; dramatic skill ; an eye for character ; the power 
 of graphic description, and rapid changeful narrative ; the 
 command of the grave and the gay, the severe and the lively ; 
 and a sympathy both with the bustling activities and the wild 
 romance of human life, if not with its more solemn aspects, 
 its transcendental references, and its aerial heights and giddy 
 abysses of imagination and poetry. 
 
 [We have followed the judicious example of Warton and Mitford in 
 excluding several Prologues which appear in some editions, but which 
 reflect no honour on their author. 
 
 Dryden's Translations will be pubhshed in the separate series of 
 " Translations," which it is the intention of the Publisher to issue, 
 independent of the " Poetical Works " of the various authors.] 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 I. To my honoured friend, Sir Robert Howard, on his excellent 
 
 Poems, ......... 1 
 
 II. To my honoured friend, Dr Charleton, on his learned and 
 useful Works; but more particularly his Treatise of Stoue- 
 henge, by hlra restored to the true founder, ... 5 
 HI. To the Lady Castleraain, upon her encouraging his first play, 7 
 
 IV. To Mr Lee, on his " Alexander," 9 
 
 V. To the Earl of Roscommon, on his excellent Essay on Trans- 
 lated Verse, . . . . . . . .11 
 
 VI. To the Ducliess of York, on her return from Scotland in the 
 
 year 1G82, 13 
 
 VII. A Letter to Sir George Etheredge, . . . . .15 
 
 VIII. To Mr Southerne,on his Comedy called "The Wives' Excuse," 18 
 IX. To Henry Higden, Esq., on his translation of the Tenth 
 
 Satire of Juvenal, ....... 19 
 
 X. To my dear friend, Mr Congreve, on his Comedy called " The 
 
 Double-dealer," 20 
 
 XI. To Mr Granville, on his excellent Tragedy called " Heroic 
 
 Love," 23 
 
 XII. To my friend, Mr Motteux, on his Tragedy called " Beauty 
 
 in Distress," ........ 25 
 
 XIII. To my honoured kinsman, John Dryden of Chesterton, in 
 
 the county of Huntingdon, Esq., . . . .27 
 
 XIV. To Sir Godfrey Kneller, principal painter to his Majesty, . 33 
 XV. To his friend the author, John Hoddesdon, on his Divine 
 
 Epigrams, . . . . . . . .39 
 
 XVI. To my friend, Mr J. Northleigh, author of " The Parallel," 
 
 on his " Triumph of the British Monarchy," . . .40 
 
xxu 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 V I. To the Memory of Mr Oldham, 41 
 
 ij>/ll. To the pious memory of the accomplished young lady, Mrs 
 Anne Killigrew, excellent in the tivo sister arts of Poesy 
 and Painting : an Ode, ...... 42 
 
 III. Upon the death of the Earl of Dundee, . . . .49 
 
 IV. Eleonora : a Panegyrical Poem, dedicated to the memory of 
 
 the late Countess of Abingdon, . " . . . .50 
 
 _jf^"'V. On the Death of Amyntas : a Pastoral Elegj', . . .64 
 
 YI. On the Death of a very Young Gentleman, . . .67 
 
 VII. Upon young Mr Rogers of Gloucestershire, . . .69 
 
 VIII. On the Death of Mr Purcell, 69 
 
 IX. Epitaph on the Lady Whitmore, . . . . .70 
 
 X. Epitaph on SirPalmesFairbone's tomb in Westminster Abbey, 71 
 XL Under Mr Milton's picture, before his " Paradise Lost," . 72 
 XII. On the monument of a fair Maiden Lady, who died at Bath, 
 
 and is there interred, . . . . . .73 
 
 XIII. Epitaph on Mrs Margaret Paston of Burningham, in Norfolk, 74 
 
 XIV. On the monument of the Marquis of Winchester, . . 75 
 
 SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE 
 
 I. The Fair Stranger, . ' . 
 II. On the Young Statesmen, ... 
 VlIL A Song for St Cecilia's Day, 1687, 
 
 IV. The Tears of Aniynta for the denth of Damon, 
 V. The Lady's Song, .... 
 
 VI. A Song, 
 
 VII. A Song, 
 
 VIII. Eoundelay, 
 
 IX. A Song, ...... 
 
 X. A Song to a fair Young Lady going out of tow 
 XI. Song in the " Indian Emperoi'," 
 XII. Song in " The Maiden Queen,'' 
 
 XIII. Songs in " The Conquest of Granada," . 
 
 XIV. Song of the Sea-fight in " Amboyna," . 
 XV. Incantation in " GEdipus," 
 
 XVI. Songs in " Albion and Albanius," . 
 
 u in Spring, 
 
 76 
 77 
 78 
 81 
 82 
 83 
 83 
 84 
 85 
 86 
 87 
 88 
 89 
 91 
 92 
 93 
 
co^'TE^^TS. 
 
 5X111 
 
 XYII. Songs in " King Arthur," 
 XVIII. Song of Jealousy in " Love Triumphant," . 
 XIX, Song — Farewell, fair Arniida, . 
 \/XX. Alexander's Feast ; or, the Power of Music 
 honour of St Cecilia's Day, . 
 XXI, The Secular Masque, . . . . 
 XXII, Song of a Scholar and his Mistress, . 
 
 an Ode in 
 
 P«GK 
 
 95 
 
 99 
 
 100 
 
 101 
 107 
 111 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 I. Prologue to " The Rival Ladies," 
 
 II. Prologue to " The Indian Queen," 
 
 III. Epilogue to " The Indian Queen," 
 
 IV. Epilogue to " The Indian Emperor," . 
 V. Prologue to " Sir Martin Marr-all," . 
 
 VI. Prologue to " The Tempest," .... 
 
 VII. Prologue to " Tyrannic Love," .... 
 
 VIII. Epilogue to " The "Wild Gallant," 
 IX. Prologue, spoken the first day of the King's House actin* 
 after the fire of London, .... 
 
 L/^. Epilogue to the Second Part of the " Conquest of Gra 
 nada," ....... 
 
 XL Prologue to " Aboyna," ..... 
 
 XII. Epilogue to " Aboyna," ..... 
 
 XIII. Prologue, spoken at the Opening of the New House 
 
 March 26, 1674, 
 
 XIV. Prologue to the University of Oxford, 1C74, 
 XV. Prologue to " Circe," a Tragic Opera, 
 
 XVI. Epilogue, intended to have been spoken by the Lady 
 Hen. Mar. Weutworth, when " Calista" was acted at 
 . Court, ....... 
 
 yXVII. Prologue to "Aurenzebe," .... 
 
 XVIII. Epilogue to "The Man of Mode ; or. Sir Fopling Flutter, 
 XIX. Epilogue to " All for Love," .... 
 
 XX. Prologue to " Limberham," .... 
 
 XXI. Epilogue to " Mithridatcs, King of Pontus," 
 XXII. Prologue to " Oedipus," ..... 
 
 XXIIL Epilogue to " CEdipus," 
 
 XXIV. Prologue to " Troilus and Cressida," . 
 
 113 
 114 
 115 
 116 
 117 
 118 
 119 
 120 
 
 122 
 
 123 
 125 
 126 
 
 127 
 129 
 130 
 
 132 
 loo 
 134 
 136 
 137 
 138 
 139 
 140 
 141 
 
XXIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 XL. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 L. 
 
 Prologue to " Caesar Borgia," .... 
 
 Prologue to " Sophonisba," ..... 
 
 Prologue to " The Royal General," 
 
 Prologue to " The Uuiversity of Oxford," 1681, 
 
 Prologue to his Royal Highness, upon his first appear- 
 ance at the Duke's Theatre, after his return from 
 Scotland, 1682, . . . 
 
 Prologue to " The Earl of Essex ; or, the Unhappy 
 Favourite," ...... 
 
 Epilogue for " The King's House," 
 
 Prologue to " The Loyal Brother ; or, the Persian 
 Prince," 
 
 Prologue to "The King and Queen," 
 
 Prologue to the University of Oxford, 
 
 Epilogue, ....... 
 
 Epilogue spoken at Oxford by Mrs Marshall, . 
 
 Prologue to the University of Oxford, . 
 
 Prologue to the University of Oxford, . 
 
 Prologue to " Albion and Albanius," 
 
 Epilogue to " Albion and Albanius," 
 
 Prologue to " x\viragns and Phiiicia Revived," 
 
 Prologue to " Don Sebastian," 
 
 Prologue to " The Prophetess," 
 
 Prologue to " The Mistakes," 
 
 Prologue to " King Arthur," 
 
 Prologue to " Albumazar," .... 
 
 An Epilogue, ...... 
 
 Prologue to " The Husband his own Cuckold," 
 
 Prologue to " The Pilgrim," .... 
 
 Epilogue to " The Pilgrim," 
 
 PAGE 
 
 143 
 144 
 
 145 
 147 
 
 148 
 
 1.50 
 151 
 
 153 
 155 
 
 157 
 158 
 160 
 161 
 162 
 164 
 165 
 167 
 168 
 169 
 171 
 173 
 175 
 177 
 178 
 180 
 182 
 
 TALES FROM CHAUCER. 
 
 To her Grace the Duchess of Ormond, 
 
 Palamon and Arcite ; or, the Knight's Tale, .... 
 The Cock and the Fox ; or, the Tale of the Nun's Priest, . 
 The Flower and the Leaf ; or, the Lady in the Ai-bour : a Vision, 
 
 The Wife of Bath, her Tale, 
 
 The Character of a good Parson, ...... 
 
 202 
 208 
 281 
 305 
 324 
 340 
 
DRYDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 EPISTLE I. V^ts.in 2)Un 
 
 TO MY HONOURED FRIEND (SI|L ROBERT HOWARIi,VbN HIS 
 EXCELLENT POEMS. 
 
 ^a 
 
 As there is music uninform'd bj_art; 
 
 In those wild notes, uhich, with a merry heart, 
 
 The birds in unfrequented shades express, U \}i ('"^ 
 
 ^Vho, better taught at home, yet please j| less i^ ^jjl^ \r\X\ ^ 
 
 So~in your verse a native sweetness dwells, /^'WjuUl^ ItMi**; 
 
 Which shames composure, and its art excels. /y\L ' 
 
 Singing no more can your soft numbers grace. 
 
 Than paint adds charms unto a beauteous face. 
 
 Yet as, when mighty rivers gently creep, 
 
 Their even calmness does suppose them deep ; lo 
 
 inch is your muse : no metaphor s^Yel^d high., 
 [With dangerous boldness lifts her to. the sk^U- 
 
 L^ 
 
 ^hose niouiiting Fancies, ^-heu they fall again, 
 Show sand and dirt at bottom do remain. } >^ 
 
 * ' Sir Robert Howard : ' brother to Dryden's wife. 
 VOL. II. / X "" 
 
 6M^>r" 
 
 4- 
 
 I 
 
2 dryden's poems. 
 
 So firm a strength, and „3!:et. withal so sweet, 15 
 
 Did never but irt^Samson's riddle meet. 
 
 'Tis strange each line so great a weight should bear, • 
 
 And yet no sign of toil, no sweat appear. 
 
 Either your art hides art, as Stoics feign 
 
 Then least to feel when most they suffer pain ; 20 
 
 And we, dull souls, admire, but cannot see 
 
 What hidden springs within the engine be : 
 
 Or 'tis some happiness that still pursues 
 
 Each act and motion of your graceful muse. 
 
 Or is it fortune's work, that in your head 
 
 The curious net,^ that is for fancies spread, 
 
 Lets through its meshes every meaner thought, 
 
 While rich ideas there are only caught ? 
 
 'Sure that 's not all ; this is a piece too fair , / 
 
 To be the child of chance, and not of care. V^ so 
 
 No atoms casually together hurl'd 
 
 Could e'er produce so beautiful a world. 
 
 Nor dare I such a doctrine here admit, ^ 
 
 As would destroy the providence of wit. 
 
 'Tis your strong genius, then, which does not feel 
 
 Those weights would make a weaker spirit reel. 
 
 To carry weight, and run so lightly too, 
 
 Is what alone your Pegasus can do. 
 
 Great Hercules himself could ne'er do more, 
 
 Than not to feel those heavens and gods he bore. 4o 
 
 Your easier odes, which for delight were penn'd, 
 
 Yet our instruction make their second end : 
 
 We 're both enrich'd and pleased, like them that woo 
 
 At once a beauty and a fortune too. 
 
 TOf moral knowledge poesy was queen. 
 And still she might, had wanton wits not been ; 
 
 1 ' The curious net,' &c. : a compliment to a poem of Sir Robert's, caOed 
 ' Rete Mtrabile.', 
 
 \ 
 
A A . 7 EPISTLES. *, . > 3 
 
 Who, like ill guardians, lived tliemselvcs at large, 47 'Ty 
 And, not content with that, debauch'd their charge. ^ ^ l^UAA 
 Like some brave captain, your successful pen ^^^^/Cn^ 
 
 Restores the exiled to her crown again : p_ /j 
 
 And gives us hope, that liaving seen the days ^ aj^^"^ 
 
 When nothing fiourish'd but fanatic bays, ^^/^ ^ N^\y 
 AU will at length in this opinion resl;,— V's,, ..^\aJ\c<^ 
 
 " A sober prince's government is best." / ^^^ \\J ' /)*A? /* 
 This is not all : your art the way has found r-rr€^. CAAMpjM^Ji. 
 To make the improvement of the richest ground ; ( ^'vMl^ 
 
 That soil which those immortal laurels bofei^ 
 That once the sacred Maro's temples wore. 
 Eliza's griefs are so express'd by you, 
 
 ""•They are too eloquent to have been truey> AJnTP" ^^ 
 Had she so spoke, -dlJneas hacTTJbFy^ -^— * 
 
 l^hat Dido, rather than what Jove had said. 
 If funeral rites can give a gliost repose, 
 Your Muse so justly has discharged those ; 
 
 (^Hza'g shade may now its wandering cease, 
 And claim a title to the fields of peace. 
 But if ^neas be obliged, no less 
 
 Your kindness great Achilles^dotL-confess.; /^ fj' , ^ 
 Who, dress'd by Statins^ in too bold a loot ' "^ ^^ ^ 
 Did ill become those virgin robes he took. -p. 7o 
 To imderstand how much we owe to you, " 
 We must your numbers, with your author's, view : 
 Then we shall see his work was lamely rougL^-^ — * 
 Each figure ^tiff, as if design'd in bufi" : ' • 
 His colours laid so .thick on every place, y 
 As only show'd the paint, but hid the face. '/ 
 But as in perspective we beauties see, ,— -.....^^^ 
 Which in the glass, not in the picture, pe ; 'j/? ^ / ^ 
 
 ' ' Statius : ' author of ' Thebaid ' and the ' Achilleid ; ' the lattar translated -^ 
 by Sir Robert Howard. 
 
\w>tJ^U\ /f^-^'^Uh. 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 So here our sight obligingly mistakes 79 
 
 That wealth, which his youi; bounty only makes. 
 Thus vulgar dishes are by cooks disguised, 
 More for their dressing than their substance prized.) 
 \ ; Your curious notes so search into that age, 
 '*'>j When all was fable but the sacred page, 
 I That, since in that dark night we needs must stray, 
 * We are at least misled in pleasant way. 
 But what we most admire, youTTerse no less 
 The prophet than the poet doth confess. 
 Ere our weak eyes discern'd the doubtful streak 
 Of light, you saw great Charles his morning break. ^ 90 
 So skilful seamen ken the land from far, 
 ^. .. Which shows like mists to the dull passenger. 
 r To Charles your Muse first pays her duteous love, 
 ",.;~- —As still the ancients did begin from Jove ; 
 
 With Monk you end,^ whose name preserved shall be. 
 As Rome recorded Rufus'^ memory, -s-^h^ 
 
 Who thought it greater honour to obey ^ 
 
 His country's interest, than the world to sway^^ 
 I But to write worthy things of worthy men, V , 
 *' 1 Is the peculiar talent of your pen : ^ 
 
 Yet let me take your mantle up, and I 
 Will venture in your right to prophesy — 
 " This work, by merit first of fame secure. 
 Is likewise happy in its geniture : 
 ' For, since 'ti^ born when Charles ascends the throne, 
 /^ilt shares at once his fortune and its own." 
 
 * ' With Monk you end,' &c. : alluding to a poem of this gentleman's on 
 General Monk. — * ' Rufus : ' a Roman consul, banished to Smyrna through 
 intrigues, but greatly respected. 
 
 * \.( 
 
 
Ih hfi^^ -'^^ ^^' 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 EPISTLE II. 
 
 ^^'^/x-. 5 
 
 TO MY HONOURED FRIEND ' PR CHARLETOnI ON HIS 
 LEARNED AND USEFUL ^YORKS ; BUT MORE PARTI- 
 CULARLY HIS TREATISE OF STONEHENGE,^ BY HIM 
 RESTORED TO THE TRUE ROUNDER. 
 
 The longest tjrannj^at efcf~swayd, 
 \\^as tliat whcrciiL our ancestors betrayed 
 Their frcc-lioni rca-^oii to the Stagjrite, i..^ 
 And nuulc lii> h^ivh their universal liglTt. 
 So truth, ^>hiic pnlj one ;sujppTied7tM"s.tate, 
 
 ' Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sopliisticate. 
 Still it was bouglit, like empiric wares, or charms, 
 H ^rd wo rds seal'd up with Artistotle's arms, i^ j 
 ^. Columbus was the firs t that shook liis tiiro ne, )\/ 
 And found a temperate in a torrid zone, ' lo 
 
 The feverish air fann'd by a cooling breeze, 
 The fruitful vales set round with sliady trees : 
 And guiltless men, who danced away their time, > .^ 
 Fresh asllieTr groves, and hap_py as their clime. "' 
 Had we still paid that homage to a name, 
 Which only God and nature justly claim,V-'^ 
 The western seas had been our utmost bound, . 
 
 Where poets still might dream the sun was di*own'd "N 
 And all the stars that shine in southern skies, ^ 
 
 Had been admired by none but savage eyes. 20 
 
 r^ Among the asserters of Jfree reason's claim, 
 Ji Our nation 's not the least m worth or fame. 
 
 I The world to Bacon does not only owe 
 
 \ Its present knowledge, but its futuT^ooT' / i""^" 
 
 ' ' Treatise of Stonehenge : ' Charleton wrote a book proving, against Inigo 
 ,^_Jones, that Stonehenge was built by the Dane8j_ 
 
 4^5"C<iJu^ f^^frt^ktu^ 
 
6 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 Gilbert^ shall live, till loadstones cease to draw, 25 
 
 OHF British fleets the boundless ocean awe. 
 
 And noble Boyle, not less in nature seen, 
 
 Than his grean^Tother read in states and men. 
 
 The circling streams, once thought but pools, of blood 
 
 (Whether life's fuel, or the body's food) 30 
 
 From dark oblivion Harvey's ^ name shall save ; 
 
 While Ent^ keeps all the honour that he gave. 
 
 Nor are you, learned friend, the least renown'd, 
 
 Whose fame, not circumscribed with English ground, 
 
 Flies like the nimble journeys of the light ; 
 
 And is, like that, unspent too in its flight. 
 ; Whatever truths have been, by art or chance, 
 
 Redeem'd from error, or from ignorance. 
 
 Thin in their authors, like rich veins of ore, / 
 
 Your works unite, and still discover more. 40 j 
 
 • Such is the healing virtue of your pen, 
 \ To perfect cures on books, as well as men. 
 ■ Nor is this work the least : you well may give 
 
 To men new vigour, who make stones to live. 
 
 Through you, the Danes, their short dominion lost, 
 
 A longer conquest than the Saxons boast. 
 
 Stonehenge, once thought a temple, you have found 
 
 A throne, where kings, our earthly gods, were crowned ; . 
 
 Where by their wondering subjects they were seen, 
 
 Joy'd with their stature, and their princely mien. 50 
 "Our sovereign here above the rest might stand. 
 
 And here be chose again to rule the land. V~^\$Lr"(c, kc» 
 These ruins ^ shelter'd once his sacred head, 
 
 When he from Worcester's fatal battle fled ; 
 
 ' ' Gilbert : ' Dr William Gilbert, a physician both to Queen Elizabeth and 
 King James, and author of a treatise on the magnet. — ' ' Harvey : ' dis- 
 coverer of the circulation of the blood. — ' ' Ent : ' a physician of the day. — 
 * ' These ruins,' &c. : in the dedication of this book to Charles II. is the fol- 
 lowing passage, v?hich gave occasion to the last six lines of this poem : — ' I 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 Watcli'd by the genius of this rojal place, ^5 
 
 And mighty visions^oLthp. Danish race. 
 His refugCy then ^as for a temJJIS shown : 
 Butyhe restored, 'tis now become a throne. 
 
 EPISTLE III. 
 
 TO THE LADY CASTLEMAIN,! UPON HER ENCOURAGING HIS 
 FIRST PLAY. 
 
 ■y'M^ M; iX-y i:>i;r^^ 
 
 
 As seamen, shipwreck'd on some happyNshore, 
 Discover wealth in lands iinT;nbw>t befefcj"-----..^^! , f 
 
 And, what their art had laboiir'd long in vain, / v^^TVcfc VlJ 
 By their misfortunes happily obtain : !.!,/.. 
 
 So my much-envied Muse, by storms long tost, (J' 
 
 Is thrown upon your hospitable coast, 
 And finds more favour by her ill succcss^^ ^ i" f^'l^^ . 
 Than she could hope for by her happiness. ^^^^^^^"^fvL. 
 
 Once Cato's virtue did the gods oppose ; 
 While they the victor, he the vanquish'd chose : 10 
 
 But you have done what Cato could not do, 
 ^0 choose the vanqu ish'd, and restore him too. 
 Let others triumph still, and gain their cause 
 By their deserts, or by the world's applause ; 
 Let merit crowns, and justice laurels give, 
 But let me happy by your pity live. 
 True poets empty fame and praise despise ; 
 Fame is the trumpet, but your smile the prize. 
 
 have had the honour to hear from your majesty's own mouth, that you were 
 pleased to visit this monument, and entertain yourself with the delightful view 
 thereof, after the defeat of your array at Worcester.' — ' ' Lady Castlemain : ' 
 this lady was for njarjy years a favourite mistress of Charles II., and was 
 afterwards created Duchess of Cleveland. ^ 
 
8 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 You sit above, and see vain men below 19 
 
 Contend for what you only can bestow : 
 But those great actions others do by chance, 
 Are, like your beauty, your inheritance ; 
 So great a soul, such sweetness join'd in one, 
 Could only spring from noble Grandison.^ 
 You, like the stars, not by reflection bright, 
 Are born to your own heaven, and your own light ; 
 Like them are good, but from a nobler cause. 
 From your own knowledge, not from nature's laws. 
 Your power you never use, but for defence. 
 To guard your own, or other's innocence : 30 
 
 Your foes are such as they, not you, have made. 
 And virtue may repel, though not invade. 
 Such courage did the ancient heroes show, 
 Who, when they might prevent, would wait the blow : 
 f With such assurance as they meant to say, 
 We will o'ercome, but scorn the safest way.„^ 
 What further fear of danger can there be ? 
 Beauty, which captives all things, sets me free. 
 Posterity will judge by my success. 
 
 I had the Grecian poet's happiness, • 40 
 
 Who, waving plots, found out a better way ; \/ ^ 
 
 Some god descended, and preserved the play. Vf 
 
 When first the triumphs of your sex were sung 
 
 By those old poets, beauty was but youm 
 
 And few admired, the native red and white, ~ 
 
 Till poets dress'd them up to charm the sigh ^ ; 
 
 So beauty took on trust, and did engage 
 
 For sums of praises till she came to age. Ci "^ ' 1"* 
 
 But this long-growing debt to poetry\^__^.,^ Xo ^^i'^^^ 
 
 You justly, madam, have discharged to me, 'fe 6-^^KX^ 
 
 When your applause and favour did infuse | ^ M 
 
 New life to my condemn'd and dying Muse. I (/^ 
 
 ^ ' Grandison : ' Ler father, killed at Edgehill. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 EPISTLE IV. 
 
 TOlMR LEE, ON HIS ** ALEXANDeS^ ^' 
 
 <{-Zctoi^ 
 
 The blast of common censure could I fear, '^ 
 
 Before your play my name should not appear ; 
 
 For 'twill be thought, and with some colour too, 
 
 I pay the bribe I first received from you ; 
 
 That mutual vouchers for our fame we stand, 
 
 .And play the game iuto each other's hand ; 
 
 And as cheap pen'i)rths to ourselves afford, ^ 
 
 As Bessus^ and the brothers of the sword. 
 
 Such libels private men may well endure. 
 
 When states and kings themselves are not secure : lo 
 - \ For ill men, conscious of their inward guilt, >^ /(•/_. 
 ■"^^H^hink the best actions on by-ends are built.^yl^-4^ ^Hfo 
 
 And yet my silence had not ^scaped their spite ; 
 
 / 
 
 Then, envy had not sufler'd me to write : . 
 For, since I could not ignorance pretend, 
 Such: merit I must envy or commend. 
 So many candidates there stand for wit, 
 A place at court is scarce so hard to get : 
 In vain they crowd each other at the door ; 
 For even reversions are all begg'd before : slo 
 
 Desert, how- known soe'er, is long delay 'd ; 
 And then, too, fools and knaves are better paid. 
 Yet, as some actions bear so great a name. 
 That courts themselves are just, for fear of shame ; 
 (So has the mighty merit of your play 
 jxtorted praise, and forced itself away, 
 
 .\^ 
 
 ' ' Bessu3 : ' a cowardly cbai'acter in Beaumont and Fletcher's comedy of 
 ' A King and no King.' 
 
10 
 
 DRYDEFS POEMS. 
 
 'Tis here as 'tis at sea ; who farthest goes, 
 Or dares the most, makes all the rest his foes. 
 Yet when some virtue much outgrows the rest, 
 It shoots too fast and high to be express'd ; 
 As his heroic worth struck envy dumb. 
 Who took the Dutchman, and who cut the boom. 
 Such praise is yours, while you the passions move, 
 That 'tis no longer feign'd, 'tis real love. 
 Where nature triumphs over wretched art ; 
 We only warm the head, but you the heart. v-- 
 Always you warm; and if the rising year, 
 As in hot regions, brings the sun too near, 
 'Tis but to make your fragrant spices blow. 
 Which in our cooler climates will not grow. 
 They only think you animate your theme 
 With too much fire, who are themselves all phlegm. 
 Prizes would be for lags of slowest pace. 
 Were cripples made the judges of the race. 
 Despise those drones, who praise, while they accuse 
 ^he too much vigour of your youthful Muse. 
 That humble style which tlieyyour virtue make, 
 Is in your power ; you need but stoop and take? 
 Your beauteous images must be allow'd \ 
 
 By all, but some vile poets of the crowd. 
 But how should any sigu-post dauber know 
 The worth of Titian or of Angelo 1 
 Hard features every bungler can command ; 
 To draw true beauty shows a master's hand 
 
 27 
 
 40 
 
 .Ai^T^" 
 
 
k\<jfviy M^^5 Ct^/ VM^ . 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 11 
 
 EPISTLE V. 
 
 TO ^lE EAEL OP BOSCOMMON,'jON HIS EXCELLENT ESSAY 
 OX TRANSLATED VERSE. 
 
 r Whether the fruitful Nile, or Tyrian shore, 
 The seeds of arts and infant science bore, 
 'Tis sure tlic noble plant, translated first. 
 Advanced its head in Grecian gardens nursed 
 The Grecians added verse) their tuneful tongue 
 Made Nature hrst, and Nature's God their sonjr. 
 Nor stopp'd translation here : for conquering Rome, 
 With Grecian spoils, brought Grecian numbers home ;*■ 
 Enrich'd by those Athenian Muses more, 
 ^^Thaa-aH'-rtTC~Ya'nqTrish'd world Qonldj;jeld before. lo 
 I Till Jj^irbarou^ natio^^^^^ times, 
 
 I Debased the mnjesty ofyerse to rhymes : 1 J^ 
 
 \ Those rude at first ; a kind of hobbling prose, 
 \ That limp'd along, and tmliTed in the close. / 
 ' But Italy, reviving from the" trance 
 Of Vandal, Goth, and Monkish ignorance, 
 "With pauses, cadence, and well-vowell'd words. 
 And all the graces a good ear afford?, ' 
 
 Made rhyme an art, and Dante's polish'd page 
 Restored a silver, not a golden age. i,^,^ , «^nf)r) ^20 
 Then Petrarch follow'd, and in him "we see^-''^ 
 What rhyme improved in all its height can be : 
 At best a pleasing sound, and fair barbarity./ 
 ^JThe French pursued their steps ; and Britain, lastj^V 
 In manly sweetness all the rest surpass'd. \^ 
 
 The wit of Greece, the gravity of Rome, /i. V 
 
 ear exalted in the British loom : 
 
 ^^^wc^ 
 
 

 ''^*^W^J2 I P DRTDEN S POEMS. 
 
 The Muses' empire is restored again, u (k \A /?^ h_ 
 
 In Charles' reign, and by Roscommon's pen. nH'^AF 
 
 Yet modestly he does his work survey, • jt. Oy^. a 
 And calls a finished Poem an Essay 'y\y\^ ^M/v^Kp 
 
 j^For all the needful rules are scatter'd here ; 
 \ ^|fTruth. smoothly told, and pleasantly severe ; 
 ! So well is art disguised, for nature to appear, 
 Nor need those rules to give translation light : 
 His own example is a flame so bright, 
 That he who but arrives to copy well 
 Unguided will advance, unknowing will excel. 
 Scarce his own Horace could such rules ordain, 
 U Or his own Virgd sing a nobler strain. 40 
 
 4--Af[ow much in him may rising Ireland boast — 
 '1 How much in gaining him has Britain lost ! 
 I Their island in revenge has ours reclaim'd ; 
 i The more instructed we, the more we still are shamed. 
 'Tis well for us his generous blood did flow, 
 Derived from British channels long ago. 
 That here' his conquering ancestors were nursed; --r-" -^ 
 """^"^^And Ireland but translated England first : />?'^ U^ 
 By this reprisal we regain our right, Of 6 
 
 Else must the two contending nations fight ; ' 50 
 
 : A nobler quarrel for his native earth, 
 Than what divided Greece for Homer's birth. 
 To what perfection will our tongue arrive, 
 How will invention and translation thrive, 
 When authors nobly born will bear their part, 
 --And not disdain the inglorious praise of art ! 
 ■"^'1 Great generals thus, descending from command, 
 . With their own toil provoke the soldier's hand. 
 , How will sweet Ovid's ghost be pleased to hear 
 I His fame augmented by an English peer ; ^ 00 
 
 1 ' Au English peer : ' the Earl of Mulgi'ave. 
 
 -> 
 
A\w\t- " i 
 
 ce'v'.);u^i<^ 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 13 
 
 61 
 
 IIow be embellishes bis Helen's loves, 
 
 Outdoes bis softness, and bis sense improiea,: ^ 
 
 ben tbcse translate, anfHojacb tmns lators tooTK /''^ 
 Nor firstling kid, nor any vulgar vow, 
 Sbould at Apollo's grateful altar stand. 
 Roscommon writes ; to tbat auspicious band. 
 Muse, feed tbc bull tbat spurns the yellow sandT, \ 
 Roscommon, whom both court and camps com mend, 
 True to bis ])rince, and faithful to his tnend ; [^ 
 Roscommon iirst in fields ot honour lindWn, 7o 
 
 First in tlic peaceful triumphs of tbc gown ; 
 
 "Wlio liotli Minervas) justly makes his own^^ ^{aUsl^^^ \fri) 
 
 NoM- let tbc few T)e1oved"b7"Juv(}, khd Ihej 
 
 AVboni infused Titan form'd of better clay, 
 
 Qa ec[ual terms with ancient wit engage, 
 
 I^or mighty Iloincr fear, nor sacred Virgil's page : 
 
 Our ?]iigli>li palace opens wide in state ; 
 
 l^ud witbuut stooping tbey may pa?s the gate. 
 
 / 
 
 EPISTLE VI. 
 
 TO TEE DUCHESS OF YORK, ON HEK RETURN FROM 
 
 SCOTLAND IN THE YEAR 1682. 
 
 'i 
 
 When factious rage to cruel exile drove 
 The queen of beauty,^ and the court of love. 
 The Muses droop'd, with their forsaken arts. 
 And the sad Cupids broke their useless darts : 
 Our fruitful plains to wilds and deserts turn'd 
 Like Eden's face, when banish'd man it mourn'd. 
 
 1 ' Queen of beauty : ' Mary D'Este, the beautiM second, wife of the Duke 
 of York; she had been banished to Scotland. -- -.. 
 
14 dryden's poems. 
 
 Love was no more, when loyalty was gone, 7 
 
 The great supporter of his awful throne. 
 Love could no longer after beauty stay, 
 But wander'd northward to the verge of day, 
 As if the sun and he had lost their way. 
 But now the illustrious nymph, return'd again. 
 Brings every grace triumphant in her train. 
 The wondering Nereids, though they raised no storm, 
 Foreflow'd her passage, to behold her form : 
 Some cried, A Venus ; some, A Thetis, pass'd ; 
 But this was not so fair, nor that so chaste. 
 Far from her sight flew Faction, Strife, and Pride ; 
 And Envy did but look on her, and died. 
 Whate'er we suffer'd from our sullen fate, 20 
 
 Her sight is purchased at an easy rate. 
 I X Three gloomy years against this day were set. 
 But this one mighty sum has clear'd the debt : 
 Like Joseph's dream, but with a better doom, 
 The famine past, the plenty still to come. 
 For her the weeping heavens become serene ; 
 For her the ground is clad in cheerful green : 
 For her the nightingales are taught to sing, 
 And Nature has for her delay'd the spring. 
 The Muse resumes her long-forgotten lays ; 30 
 
 And Love, restored his ancient realm surveys, 
 Recalls our beauties, and revives our plays ; £..,-^ 
 His waste dominions peoples once again, 
 .And from her presence dates his second reign. « 
 
 But awful charms on her fair forehead sit, a /it^ 
 
 Dispensing what she never will admit : "^ ^^^'uP-r' *? 
 Pleasing, yet cold, like Cynthia's silver beam,-^' vv\^ ^ 
 
 The people's wonder, and the poet's theme. \ lAx ip"^ 
 
 Distemper'd Zeal, Sedition, canker'd Hate, ^ 
 
 No more shall vex the Church, and tear the State : 40 
 
EPISTLES. 1 5 
 
 No more shall Faction civil discords move, 41 
 
 Or only discords of too tender love : |- 
 
 Discord, like that of music's various parts ; 
 
 Discord, that makes the harmony of hearts ; 
 
 Discord, that only this dispute shall brings _ 
 
 Who best should love the Duke, and serve the King^ 
 
 EPISTLE VII. 
 
 A LETTER TO"siR GEORGE ETHER EDGE.^ 
 
 To you who live in chill degree, 
 As map informs, of fifty-three, 
 And do not much for cold atone,''- 
 By bringing thither fifty-one,^ ^ 7^ 
 Methinks all climes should be alik^r*"^ 
 From tropic e'en to pole arctique ; J 
 Since you have such a c onstitu tior '^ - 
 
 ^ <5fl As nowhere suffers diminutionr> j|^^J^c1Vv/'d^^ 
 I '^ (You can be old in grave debate, fj 
 
 jl/lA::lwvy' 
 
 itijo^y 
 
 I And young in love-affairs of state ; 10 
 
 And both to wives" and husbands show 
 The vigour of a pleriipo. 
 
 fLike mighty mission or you come K/'tt"^^{5V\^li, ^ rvt) 
 "Ad Partes Jnfidelium." fy^, 7 
 
 A work of wondi-oiiTmerit sure, "'^ ' 
 So far to go, so much t' endure ; ? f* \ 
 
 I And all to preach to German dame, '>yJ^U<^;t(Wr\ y 
 VWhere sound of Cupid never came. -^d^^^7 
 
 1 Written to Etheredge, then at Ratisbon, in reply to one from Sir George to ' 
 tlie Earl of Middleton, at the Eaxl's Tcqaesti 
 
16 
 
 Ofkju 
 
 
 Less had you done, had you been sent i/2^flo 
 As far as Drake or Pinto went, ^ A 
 
 For cloves or nutmegs to the line-a, A\j^ 
 
 d/^l^^ ^^ ®^^^ ^^^ oranges to China. M'TUT 
 
 ^- ^T/l£'tV\>i _That had indeed been charity ; L I^Lf 
 
 '- Where love-sick ladies helpless lie, vL/{j9 K/ 
 Chapt, and for want of liquor dry. '.*7 N]mA^m, 
 But you have made your zeal appear ' J 
 
 Within the circle of the Bear. 
 What region of the earth 's so dull 
 That is not of your labours full ? 
 Triptolemus (so sung the Nine) 30 
 
 Strew'd plenty from his cart divine, 
 But spite of all these fable-makers, 
 He never sow'd on Almain acres : 
 No ; that was left by Fate's decree, 
 To be perform'd and sung by thee. 
 Thou break'st through forms with as much ease 
 As the French king through articles. 
 In grand affairs thy days are spent. 
 In waging weighty compliment, 
 With such as monarchs represent. 40 
 
 They, whom such vast fatigues attend, 
 Want some soft minutes to unbend, 
 
 ' H » A V... .', '^^ show the world that now and then 
 
 ''fVu/ilu ''^> ^ ( Great ministers are mortal men. 
 
 Then Rhenish rummers walk the round ; 
 In bumpers every~¥ing is crown'd ; . 
 
 Besides three holy mitred Hectors, ^'At^*"^^ 
 And the whole college of Electors, ^^-^i;J^W-\y 
 No health of potentate is sunk, M^f'*^ ^ 
 
 That pays to make his envoy drunk. ' 50 
 
 ' These Dutch delights I mention'd last 
 ! Suit not, I know, your English taste : 
 

 For wine to leave a whore or play 63 
 
 Was ne'er your Excellency's way. 
 Nor need this title give offence, 
 For here you were your Excellence, 
 For gaming, writing, speaking, keeping. 
 His Excellence for all but sleeping. 
 Now if you tope in form, and treat, cX^Vts^^ 
 'Tis the sour sauce to the sweet meat, co 
 
 The fine you pay for being great. 
 Nay, here 's a harder imposition, 
 Which is indeed tlifi cQlirt^ petition,iX^ 
 jThat setting worldly pomp aside, 
 
 ^/^ Which poet has at font denied, 
 
 You would be pleased in humble way 
 
 To write a trifle call'd a play. 
 
 This truly is a degradation, 
 
 But would oblige the crown and nation 
 
 ""■"^Next to your wise negotiation. 70 
 
 If you pretend, as well you may, 
 Yom- high degree, your friends will say, 
 
 The Duke St Aignon made a play. 
 
 If Gallic wit convince you scarce, 
 
 Ilis Grace of Bucks has made a farce, 
 
 And you, whose comic wit is terse all, 
 
 Can hardly fall below rehearsal. 
 
 Then finish what you have began ; 
 
 But scribble faster, if you can : 
 
 For yet no George, to our discerning, so 
 
 Has writ without a ten years' warning. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
r 
 
 18 dryden's poems. 
 
 EPISTLE VIII. 
 
 ^IP.^^ 
 
 TO MB SOUT HEBNE, - ON HIS COMEDY CALLED " THE WIVES 
 ' ~~ EXCUSE." 
 
 Sure there 's a fate in plays, and 'tis in vain ^^ 
 
 To write, while these malignant planets reign.*.- ^^ 
 
 Some very foolish influence rules the pit, i.^^ 
 
 Not always kind to sense, or just to wit : 
 
 And whilst it lasts, let bufibonry succeed ^^ 
 
 To make us laugh ; for never was more needi>i^ ICIXUff 
 
 Farce, in itself, is of a nasty scent ; ' 5 
 
 But the gain smells not of the excrement. 
 
 The Spanish nymph, a wit and beauty too. 
 
 With all her charms, bore but a single show : lo 
 
 But let a monster Muscovite appear, 
 
 He draws a crowded audience round the year. 
 
 May be thou hast not pleased the box and pit ; 
 
 Yet those who blame thy tale applaud thy wit : jL /ifl' 
 
 So Terence plotted, but so Terence writ. ^Jl- ^ ^-^ ( I 
 
 Like his thy thoughts are true, thy language clean ; .^ ' 
 
 Even lewdness is made moral in thy scene. 
 
 The hearers may for want of Nokes repine ; 
 
 But rest secure, the readers will be thine. 
 
 Nor was thy labour'd drama damn'd or hiss'd, 20 
 
 But with a kind civility dismissed ; ,'; ,. 
 
 With such good manners, as the Wife ^ did use, 
 
 Who, not accepting, did but just refuse. 
 
 There was a glance at parting ; such a look, 
 
 As bids thee not give o'er, for one rebuke. 
 
 ^But if thou wouldst be seen, as well as read, 
 Copy one living author, and one dead : 
 
 ^ ' Wife : ' the wife in the play, Mrs Friendall. 
 
EPISTLES. 19 
 
 The standard of tliy^tjle let Etheredge be ;y 
 For wit, the immortal spring of Wjcherlj : ^y/ 
 Learn, after both, to draw some just design, 30 
 
 And the next age will learn to copy thine. 
 
 EPISTLE IX. 
 
 TO HENRY HIGDEN,^ ESQ., ON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE 
 TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 
 
 The G recian wits, who Sati re first began} 
 
 Were plcasanTJt*asc[uins on~tHe lift oTman ; 
 
 At mighty villains, who the state oppress'd, 
 
 They durst not rail, perhaps ; tl^ey lasITd, at least, 
 
 And turn'd them out of office witliU jest> ^' 
 
 No fool could peep abroad, but reacTy stand 
 
 The drolls to clap a bauble in his hand. 
 
 Wise legislators never yet could draw 
 
 A fop 'within the reach of common law ; 
 
 For posture, dress, grimace, and ajGTectation, 10 
 
 Though foes to sense, are harmless to the nation. 
 
 Om' last redress is dint of verse to try. 
 
 And Satire is our Court of Chancery. 
 
 This way took Horace to reform an age, 
 
 Not bad enough to need an author's rage : 
 
 But yours, ^ who lived in more degenerate times, 
 
 Was forced to fasten deep, and worry crimes. 
 
 you, my friend, have temper'd him so well, 
 .You make him smile in spite of all his zeal : 
 
 1 ' Higden : ' author of a bad comedy, which was condemned. — * ' Yours : ' 
 Juvenal, the tenth satire of whom Higden had translated. 
 
P(P.h'..1^ rA/J\^jJ^ 
 
 
 ZCMM{fJK 
 
 20 DRYDENS POEMS. 
 
 ? 
 
 r 
 
 Wp^ 
 
 An art peculiar to yourself alone, 20 
 
 ,^ To join the virtues of two styles in one. 
 SsrOh ! were your author's principle received, 
 Half of the labouring world woald be relieved : 
 For not to wish is not to be deceived. ^ ^ it\ / 
 Revenge would into charity be changed,^ ^rVXt^^|V« 
 Because it costs too dear to be revenged : ^ 
 
 It costs our quiet and content of mind, 
 And when 'tis compass'd leaves a sting behind. 
 Suppose I had the better end 0' the staff, 
 Why'should I help the ill-natured world to laugh % 30 
 'Tis all alike to them, who get the day ; 
 They love the spite and mischief of the fray. 
 No ; I have cured myself of that disease ; 
 Nor will I be provoked, but when I please : i— — ^ 
 But let me half that care to you restore ; 
 You gave the salve, I laid it to the sore. 
 
 Our kind relief against a rainy day, \ 
 
 Beyond a tavern, or a tedious play, k ' 
 
 — ^^;W« take your book, and laugh our spleen away.. 
 
 If all your tribe, too studious of debate, 40 
 
 Would cease false hopes and titles to create, 
 Led by the rare example you begun. 
 Clients would fail, and lawyers be undone. 
 
 EPISTLE X. 
 
 TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR CONGREVE, ON HIS COMEDY CALLED 
 " THE DOUBLE-DEALER." 
 
 Well, then, the promised hour is come at last, 
 The present age of wit obscures the past : 
 
^.v^^l&LaJ^Mal^: 
 
 EPISTLES. 21 
 
 Strong Avere our sires, and as tliej fought they writ, 
 
 Conquering M'ith force of arms, and dint of wit : 
 
 Theirs was the giant race, before the flood ; 
 
 And thus, when Charles rcturn'd, our empire stood. 
 
 Like Janus he the stubborn soil manured. 
 
 With rules of husbandly the rankness cured ; 
 
 Tamed us to manners, when the stage was rude ; 
 
 And boisterous English wit with art endued. lo 
 
 Our age was cultivated thus at length ; 
 
 BuTwTiat we gained in sknTwe lostTn strength. 
 
 Our builders were with want of genius cursed ; 
 
 The second temple was not like the first : I 
 
 _TiU jou, the best Vitruvius, come at leiigth^; j pAA^yt^J^Xf 
 
 Our beauties eqiiar, but excel our strength. / /v^Krvi 
 
 Firm Doric pillars found your solid base : ^ i>v "f ^ <i,-4- 
 
 The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space : ' y^cAj<icrr-i*'y\/y, 
 ^Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace. 
 
 In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise ; 20 
 
 He moved the mind, but had not power to raise. 
 
 Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please ; 
 
 Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. 
 
 In differing talents both adorn'd their age ; ♦ 
 
 One for the study, the other for the stage. 
 vBut both to Congreve justly shall submit — 
 
 One match'd in judgment, both o'ermatch'd in wit. 
 ^"'In him all beauties of this age we see, / 
 
 Jl. Etheredge's courtship. Southern e's purity,' 
 (L-The satire, M'it, and strength of manly Wycherly. 30 
 
 All this in blooming youth you have achieved : 
 
 Nor are yout foil'd contemporaries grieved. 
 
 So much the sweetness of your manners move, 
 
 We cannot' envy you, because we love. 
 
 Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw 
 
 A beardlesl^ consul made against the law, 
 
 \^\, 
 
22 dryden's poems. 
 
 And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome ; sr 
 
 Though he with Hannibal was overcome. 
 Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame, 
 And scholar to the youth he taught became. 
 
 that your brows my laurel had sustain'd ! 
 Well had I been deposed, if you had reign'd : 
 The father had descended for the son ; 
 For only you are lineal to the throne. 
 Thus, when the state one Edward did depose, 
 A greater Edward in his room arose : ^ 
 But now, not I, but poetry is cursed ; 
 ^ < For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first. ' 
 '« But let them not mistake my patron's part, * 
 
 Nor call his charity their own desert. so 
 
 Yet this I prophesy : Thou shalt be seen 
 (Though with some short parenthesis between) 
 High on the throne of wit, and, seated there, 
 Not mine, that's little, but thy laurel wear. 
 Thy first attempt an early promise made ; 
 That early promise this has more than paid. 
 So bold, yet so judiciously you dare. 
 That your least praise is to be regular. 
 Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought ; 
 ? But genius must be born, and never can be taught, eo 
 This is your portion ; this your native store ; 
 Heaven, that but once was prodigal before. 
 To Shakspeare gave as much ; she could npt give him 
 more. 
 
 Maintain your post : that 's all the fame you need ; 
 For 'tis impossible you should proceed. 
 Already I am worn with cares and age, 
 And just abandoning the ungrateful stage : 
 Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expense, 
 I lire a rent-charge on his providence : 
 
^%^^QL\ji,. 
 
 EPISTLES. 23 
 
 But joii, whom every muse and grace adoru, 70 
 
 Whom I foresee to better fortune born, 
 Be kind to my remains ; and defend, 
 Against your judgment, your departed friend ! 
 Let not the insulting foe my f\ime pursue, 
 But shade those laurels which descend to you : 
 And take for tribute what these lines express : 
 [^ou merit more ; nor could my love do less. 
 
 EPISTLE XI. ^j^^^ 
 
 TO MB GRANVILLE,^ 'on HIS EXCELLENT TRAGEDY CALLED 
 ^^> J " HEROIC LOVE." 
 
 Auspicious poet, wert thou not my friend, 
 
 How could I envy, what I must commend ! 
 
 But since 'tis nature's law, in love and wit, 
 
 That youth should reign, and withering age submit, 
 
 With less regret those laurels I resign. 
 
 Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine. 
 
 With better grace an ancient chief may yield 
 
 The long-contended honours of the field, 
 
 Than venture all his fortune at a cast, 
 
 And fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last. 10 
 
 Young princes, obstinate to win the prize, 
 
 Though yearly beaten, yearly yet they rise : 
 
 COM monarchs, though successful, still in doubt, 
 Catch at a peace, and wisely turn devout. /_ 
 
 1 ' JL- Granville : ' Lord Lansdowne. 
 
24 dryden's poems. 
 
 Thine be the laurel, then ; thy blooming age is 
 
 Can best, if any can, support the stage ; 
 .Which so declines, that shortly we may see 
 A /Players and plays reduced to second infancy. 
 ^v^\ Sharp to the world, but thoughtless of renown, 
 
 They plot not on the stage, but on the town, 20 
 
 And, in despair, their empty pit to fill, 
 
 Set up some foreign monster in a bill. 
 
 Thus they jog on, still tricking, never thriving, 
 
 And murdering plays, which they miscall reviving. 
 
 Our sense is nonsense, through their pipes convey 'd ; 
 
 Scarce can a poet know the play he made ; 
 
 'Tis so disguised in death ; nor thinks 'tis he 
 
 That sufiers in the mangled tragedy. 
 
 Thus Itys first was kill'd, and after dress'd 
 
 For his own sire, the chief invited guest. 30 
 
 I say not this of thy successful scenes. 
 
 Where thine was all the glory, theirs the gains. 
 
 With length of time, much judgment, and more toil. 
 
 Not ill they acted, what they could not spoil. 
 
 Their setting sun^ still shoots a glimmering ray, 
 
 Like ancient Rome majestic in decay : 
 
 And better gleanings their worn soil can boast. 
 
 Than the crab-vintage of the neighbouring coast.-^ 
 
 This difference yet the judging world will see ; 
 
 Thou copiest Homer, and they copy thee. 
 
 ^ '• Setting sun,' &c. : Betterton, who had mustered up a company, and 
 played in Lincoln's-Inn Fields. — ^ ' Neighbouring coast : ' Drury Lane 
 " play-house. 
 
.<u' im^f^l 
 
 EPISTLES. 25 
 
 EPISTLE XII. 
 
 TO MY FKIEND MR MOTTEUX,^ ON HIS TRAGEDY CALLED 
 " BEAUTY IN DISTRESS." 
 
 'Tis hard, mj friend, to write in such an_a^, 
 As damns, not only poets, but the stage.U"""''^ 
 That sacred art, by Heaven itself infused. 
 Which Moses, David, Solomon have used, 
 Is now to be no more : the Muses' foes 'V^ - - ^\l^^ 
 Would sink their Maker's praises into prose. U^ ^v 
 Were they content to prune the lavish vine"^' 
 Of straggling branches, and improve the wine, 
 Who but a madman would his thouj^hts defend ? 
 All would submit ; for all but fools will mend. lo 
 
 But when to common sense they give the lie, 
 And turn distorted words to blasphemy. 
 They give the scandal ; and the wise discern, 
 Their glosses' teacE an age, too apt to learn. 
 What I have loosely, or profanely, writ. 
 Let them to fires, their due desert, commit : 
 Nor, when accused by me, jet..them complain : 
 Their faults, and not their function, 1% arraign. 
 j;^Rebellion, worse than witcIicraFt, they pursued ; 
 The pulpit preach'd the crime, the people rued. 20 
 
 The stage was silenced ; for the saints would see 
 In fields perform'd their plotted tragedy. 
 But let us first reform, and then so live, 
 That we may teach our teachers to forgive : 
 
 ^ 'Motteux:' an., exiled\ Frenchman, translator of 'Don Quixote,' and a 
 play-wright. Dryden alludes here to Collier's attacks on himself. 
 
 ^ /.n . E^ t: 
 
Our desk be placed below their lofty chairs ; \ 25 
 
 Ours be the practice, as the precept theirs. 
 
 The moral part, at least, we may divide, 
 
 Humility reward, and punish pride ; 
 /'I' Ambition, interest, avarice, accuse : 
 J These are the province of a tragic Muse. 
 ' !! I These hast thou chosen ; and the public voice 
 
 Has equall'd thy performance with thy choice. 
 
 Time, action, place, are so preserved by thee; 
 
 That even Corneille might with envy see 
 
 The alliance of his tripled Unity. 
 
 Thy incidents, perhaps, too thick are sown ; 
 
 But too much plenty is thy fault alone. 
 
 At least but two can that good crime commit, 
 
 Thou in design, and Wycherly in wit. 
 
 Let thy own Gauls condemn thee, if they dare ; 40 
 
 Contented to be thinly regular : 
 
 Born there, but not for them, our fruitful soil 
 
 With more increase rewards thy happy toil. 
 
 Their tongue, enfeebled, is refined too much ; 
 
 And, like pure gold, it bends at every touch : 
 
 Our sturdy Teuton yet will art obey, 
 
 More fit for manly thought, and strengthen'd with allay. 
 
 But whence art thou inspired, and thou alone, 
 
 To flourish in an idiom not thy own 1 
 , j It moves our wonder, that a foreign guest 50 
 
 \J i^ Should over-match the most, and match the best. 
 
 In under-praising thy deserts, I wrong ; 
 
 Here find the first deficience of our tongue : 
 
 Words, once my stock, are wanting, to commend 
 
 So great a poet, and so good a friend. 
 
EPISTLES. 27 
 
 EPISTLE XIII. 
 
 TO MY HONOURED KINSMAN, JOHN DRYDEN,! OF CHESTER- 
 TON, IN THE COUNTY OP HUNTINGDON, ESQ. 
 
 How bless'd is he wlio leads a country life, 
 Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife ! 
 Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage. 
 Enjoy 'd his youth, and now enjoys his age : 
 All who deserve his love, he makes his own ; 
 And, to be loved himself, needs only to be known. 
 
 Just, good, and wise, contending neighbours come, 
 From your award to wait their final doom ; k A 
 And, foes before, return in friendship homeN ^\\^ 
 Without their cost, you terminate the cause ; ! ^ ^ '^1^ 
 And save the expense of long litigious laws : 
 Where suits are traversed ; and so little won, . 
 
 That he who conquers, is but last undone : lisA^ , ^ 
 
 Such are not your decrees ; but so designed. 
 The sanction leaves a lasting peace behind ; ^Pl- 
 
 Like your own soul, serene ; a pattern of your mind. 
 
 Promoting concord, and composing strife. 
 Lord of yourself, uncumber'd with a wife ; 
 Where, for a year, a month, perhaps a night, 
 Ijong penitence succeeds a sliort delight : 20 
 
 Minds are so hardly match'd, that even the first. 
 Though pair'd by Heaven, in Paradise were cursed. 
 For man and woman, though in one they grow, 
 Yet, first or last, return again to two. 
 
 1 ' John Dryden : ' this poem was written ia 1699 j the person to whom it 
 is addressed was cousin-german to the poet, and""a younger brother of the 
 baronet. He repaid this poem by a ' noble present ' to his kinsman. 
 
28 drtdbn's poems. 
 
 He to God's image, she to his was made ; 25 
 
 So farther from the fount the stream at random straj'd. 
 
 How could he stand, when, put to double pain, 
 He must a weaker than himself sustain ! 
 Each might have stood perhaps ; but each alone ; 
 Two wrestlers help to pull each other down. 30 
 
 Not that mj verse would blemish all the fair ; 
 But yet, if some be bad, 'tis wisdom to beware ;\J/ 
 And better shun the bait, than struggle in the snare. 
 Thus have you shunn'd, and shun the married state, 
 Trusting as little as you can to fate. 
 ~'^MJi/lr\ j^Q porter guards the passage of your door. 
 To admit the wealthy, and exclude the poor ; 
 For God, who gave the riches, gave the heart, ^ . j 
 
 To sanctify the whole, by giving part ; ' ■ f1TU''> i'^^^^^^Ml, | 
 "^^ i Heaven, who foresaw the will, the means has wrought, 40 
 
 julO<^' { -^^^ *^ *^^^ second son a blessing brought ; 
 
 The first-begotten had his father's share : ; 
 
 But you, like Jacob, are Rebecca's heir.^ /i ,, 
 
 ■''■{\ So may your stores and fruitful fields increase ; 
 , .■ . . ; And ever be jou bless'd, who live to bless. ;U' _4 
 
 As Ceres sow'd, where'er her chariot flew ; hUM^^-^^^ 
 As Heaven in deserts rain'd the bread of dew : '^ ^"4' 
 So free to many, to relations most, 7 ^ 
 
 You feed with manna your own Israel hosti^'- ' 
 
 With crowds attended of your ancient race, 50 
 
 You seek tlie champion sports, or sylvan chase : 
 With well-breath'd beagles you surround the wood, 
 ^j Even then, industrious of the common good : 
 
 ^ And often have you brought the wily fox/li- 
 
 To sufi'er for the firstlings of the flocks ; | j 
 (5s/ \S} Chased even amid the folds ; and made to bleed. 
 Like felons, where they did the murderous deed. 
 
 1 ' Rebecca's lieir : ' be inherited his mother's fortune. 
 
 v.5^) 
 
RQ<Ler' EPISTLES. 29 
 
 This fierj game jour active youth maiutain'd ; 58 
 
 Not jet bj jears extinguisli'd, though restrain'd : 
 
 You season still with sports jour serious hours : ly -f 
 
 For age but tastes of pleasures jouth devours. -^"^ vw- 
 
 ,The hare in pastures or in plains is found, 
 ;,-^jEniblem of human life, who runs the round; ^'^^P^^^X^.t^ 
 
 ^nd, after all his wandering wajs are done, ' > 
 
 . , His circle fills, and ends where he besiun — '"^ 
 
 I Just as the setting meets the rising sun. 
 EV'^ Thus princes ease their cares ; fcut happier he. 
 
 Who seeks not pleasure through necessitj,; 
 , Than sudv as once on slippcrj thrones were placed ; 
 I And.chasing, sigh to think themselves are chased.- 70 
 ^0 lived our sires, ere doctors learn'd to kill, 
 
 And multiplied with theirs the wceklj bill. 
 
 The first physicians bj debauch were made : 
 
 Excess began; and sloth sustains the trade, 
 
 Pitj the generous kind their cares bestow 
 
 To search forbidden truths (a sin to know), 
 , To which, if human science could attain, 
 (^The doom of death, pronounced bj God, were vain. 
 
 In vain the leech would interpose delay ; 
 
 Fate fastens first, and vindicates the prej. so 
 
 What help from art's endeavours can we have ? 
 ; Gibbons ' but guesses, nor is sure to save : 
 A But Maurus^ sweeps whole parishes, and peoples everj grave ; 
 
 And no more mercj to mankind will use, y 
 
 Than when he robb'd and murder'd Maro's Muse. -''^ 
 \ Wouldst thou be soon despatch-d, and perish whole, 
 
 Trust Maurus with thj life, and Milbourn^ with thj souL 
 Bj chase our long-lived fathers earn'd their food ; 
 
 Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood : 
 
 1 ' Gibbons : ' Dr Gibbons, physician. — "^ ' Maurus : ' Sir Richard Black- 
 more. — ' ' Milboum : ' the foe of Drjden's ' Virgil,' and a clergyman. 
 
 ^fl^ 
 
 
30 dryden's poems. ^ 
 
 But we tlieir sons, a pamper'd race of men, 90 
 
 Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. 
 Better to hunt in fields for health unbought. 
 Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 
 The wise, for cure, on exercise depend ; ■' p 
 
 -God never made his work for man to mend. ^ 
 
 The tree of knowledge, once in Eden placed, O^"^^^. 
 Was easy found, but was forbid the taste : 
 Oh, had our grandsire walk'd without his wife, f^z^A/fc 
 
 He first had sought the better plant of life ! 
 Now both are lost : yet, wandering in the dark, loo 
 Physicians, for the tree, have found the bark :,.. 
 They, labouring for relief of human kind, 
 With sharpen'd sight some remedies may find ; 
 The apothecary-train is wholly blind. 
 From files a random recipe they take. 
 And many deaths of one prescription make. 
 Garth, ^ generous as his Muse, prescribes and gives ; _ 
 The shopman sells ; and by destruction lives : 7^ ^r • • 
 Ungrateful tribe ! who, like the viper's brood, 
 From medicine issuing, suck their mother's blood_l'\.- no 
 Let these obey ; and let the learn'd prescribe ; '^-''"^ ' 
 That men may die, without a double bribe : 
 Let them, but under their superiors, kill ; 
 When doctors first have sign'd the bloody bill ; 
 He 'scapes the best, who, nature to repair, 
 Draws physic from the fields, in draughts of vital air. 
 
 You hoard not health, for your own private use ; 
 But on the public spend the rich produce. 
 When, often urged, unwilling to be great. 
 Your country calls you from your loved retreat, 120 
 
 And sends to senates, charged with common care. 
 Which none more shuns, and none can better bear : 
 
 I 1 ' Garth : ' author of 'The Dispensary.' 
 
 L^VA - l_?iK^' 
 
 VI 
 
ly'f I' ^- : 
 
 ; ~V v 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 y 
 
 77 
 
 31 
 
 
 Where could they find another form'd so fit, 123 
 
 To poise, with solid sense, a sprightly wit 1 
 Were these both wanting, as they both abound. 
 Where could so firm integrity be found "? 
 Well born, and wealthy, wanting no support, 
 (You steer betwixt the country and tlie court : . 
 j Nor gratify whate'er the great desire, 
 /^\ Nor grudging give wliaf; public needs requjre.- 130 
 
 Part must be left, a fund when foes invadel^ 
 And part employ'd to roll the watery trade 
 I Even Canaan's happy land, when worn with toil, 
 'O, Required a sabbath-year to mend the meagre soil. 
 Good senators (and such as you) so give, 
 That kings may be supplied, the people thrive. 
 And he, when want requires, is truly wise, 
 Who slights not foreign aids, nor over-buys ;\ 
 But on our native strength, in time of need, relies. 
 jMunster was bought, we boast not the success ; ho 
 
 ""^^^Who fights for gain, for greater makes his peace. 
 
 Our foes, compell'd by need, have peace embraced : 
 ^ The peace both parties want, is like to last : 
 Which, if seciu-e, securely we may trade ; 
 Orj not secure, should never have been made. 
 Safe in ourselves, while on ourselves we stand, 
 The sea is ours, and that defends the land. 
 ^Be then the naval stores the nation's care, 
 ' New ships to build, and batter d to repair^ 
 
 Observe the war, in every annual course ; 150 
 
 What has been done, was done with British force : 
 Namur subdued,^ is England's palm alone; 
 The rest besieged, but w^e constrain'd the town ; 
 We saw the event that follow'd our success ; 
 France, though pretending arms, pursued the peace ; 
 
 1 ' Namur subdued : ' in 1695, King William took Namnr, after a siege of 
 one month. — ' " 
 
 Cf-l^Vi 
 
 ^hk 
 
 'O^iUi 
 
 M 
 
32 dryden's poems. 
 
 : Obliged, by one sole treaty,^ to restore i56 
 
 i What twenty years of war had won before. 
 
 Enough for Europe has our Albion fought : 
 
 Let us enjoy the peace our blood has bought. 
 
 When once the Persian king was put to flight, i60 
 
 The weary Macedons refused to fight : 
 
 Themselves their own mortality confess'd : 
 
 And left the son of Jove to quarrel for the rest. 
 Even victors are by victories undone ; 
 
 Thus Hannibal, with foreign laurels won, 
 
 To Carthage was recall'd, too late to keep his own. 
 
 While sore of battle, while our wounds are green, 
 
 Why should we tempt the doubtful die again 1 
 
 In wars renew'd, uncertain of success ; 
 
 Sure of a share, I as umpires of the peace. i7o 
 
 A patriot both the king and country serves : ^ 
 
 Prerogative and privilege preserves : 
 
 Of each our laws the certain limit show ; 
 
 One must not ebb, nor the other overflow : 
 
 Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand ; 
 
 The barriers of the state on either hand : 
 
 May neither overflow, for then they drown the land. 
 
 When both are full, they feed our biess'd abode ; 
 ! Like those that water'd once the paradise of God. P-^ 'if^^ "" 
 
 Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share ; i80 ^ 
 - In peace the people, and the prince in war : 
 
 Consuls of moderate power in calms were made ; 
 
 When the Gauls came, one sole dictator sway'd. 
 Patriots, in peace, assert the people's right ;-- , - 
 
 With noble stubbornness resisting might : - 
 
 No lawless mandates from the court receive, 
 
 Nor lend by force, but in a body give. 
 
 Such was your generous grandsire ; free to grant 
 
 In parliaments, that weigh'd their prince's want : 
 
 ' ' Treaty : ' the treaty of Ryswick, concluded ia September 1697."^ 
 
EPISTLES. 33 
 
 But so tenacious of the common cause, 190 
 
 As not to leud the king against his laws ; 
 ^ And, in a loathsome dungeon doom'd to lie, 1 
 "In bonds retain'd his birthright liberty, 
 And shamed oppression, till it set him free. 
 
 true descendant of a patriot line. 
 Who, while thou shar'st their lustre, lend'st them thine ! 
 Vouchsafe this picture of thy soul to^ee ; 
 'Tis so far good, as it resembles thee : " 
 The beauties to the original I owe ; 
 Which when I miss, my own defects I show : 200 
 
 'Nor think the kindred Muses thy disgrace -} \, j -+ C 
 A poet is not born in every race. -^^ " P^^f^^ t ^^^^ 
 Two of a house few ages can afford ; 7 -^A/' 6 j, 
 
 One to perform, another to record. T 
 
 Praiseworthy actions arc by thee embraced ; 
 And 'tis my praise, to make thy praises last. 
 For even when death dissolves our human frame, 
 The soul returns to heaven from whence it came ; 
 Earth keeps the body — verse preserves the hmeM—Y.y/,,^. 
 
 IC'Ur'y EPISTLE XIV. 
 
 TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, PRINCIPAL PAINTER TO HIS 
 
 MAJESTY. , ,^ 
 
 'iM(\ 
 
 Once I beheld the fairest of her kind. 
 And still the sweet idea charms my mind : 
 True, she was dumb ; for Nature gazed so long, 
 Pleased with her work, that she forgot her tongue ; 
 
 \j- Supposed to be an acknowledgment of a copy of the' Ci^dQS, portrait of / 
 , SUiakspeare given to Dryden by Kneller, 
 VOL. II. 
 
_.:._./34 '" , deyden's poems. 
 
 ^; But, smiling, said, She still sliall gain tlie prize ; 5 
 
 I only have transferred it to her eyes. 
 Such are thy pictures, Kneller : such thy skill, 
 [' '^'fThat Nature seems obedient to thy will ; 
 
 Comes out and meets thy pencil in the draught ; 
 ^Lives there, and wants but words to speak her thought. 
 : At least thy pictures look a voice ; and we I . n 
 
 9 Imagine sounds, deceived to that degree, /f}^ilj^ , 
 
 We think 'tis somewhat more than just to see. 
 ' Shadows are but privations of the light ; 
 Yet, when we walk, they shoot before the sight ; 
 With us approach, retire, arise, and fall ; 
 ' Nothing themselves, and yet expressing all. 
 /Such are thy pieces, imitating life 
 v^So near, they almost conquer in the strife ; 
 And from their animated canvas came, 20 
 
 Demanding souls, and loosen'd from the frame. 
 
 Prometheus, were he here, would cast away X/hi^, 
 His Adam, and refuse a soul to clay ; ''■ -T^ 
 
 And either would thy noble work inspire, 
 Or think it warm enough, without his fire. 
 
 But vulgar hands may vulgar likeness raise ; , . 
 This is the least attendant on thy praise : . - ' ^ .. 
 From hence the rudiments of art began ; \^] 
 
 A coal, or chalk, first imitated man : 
 / Perhaps the shadow, taken on a wall, 30 
 
 / Gave outlines to the rude original ; 
 / Ere canvas yet was strain'd, before the grace 
 
 Of blended colours found their use and place. 
 Or cypress tablets first received a face. 
 
 By slow degrees the godlike art advanced ;, 
 
 As man grew polish'd, picture was enhanced : 
 
 .^Greece added posture, shade, and perspective ; >•- " 
 
 \/ ( /And th'en the mimic piece began to live. 
 
 % 
 
EPISTLES. — -85-""" — 
 
 Yet p^^rspective was lame, no distance true, / 39 
 
 But all came forward in one common view^ v^- 
 
 No point of liglitjWas known, no bounds of ai-t ; 
 
 AVhen light was there, it knew not to depart, -^ , 
 
 But glaring on remoter objects plaj'd ;: ^ 0-^^ 
 
 ^_Not languish'd, and insensibly decay'd. 
 
 Ronia-WMsed not art, but barely kept alive. 
 And with old Greece unequally did strive : 
 Till Goths, and Vandals, a rude northern race, 
 Did all the matchless monuments deface. )■ 
 
 Then all the Muses in one ruin lie. 
 And rhyme began to enervate poetry. , 50 
 
 Thus, in a stupid military state. 
 The pen and pencil find an equal fiite. {/ 
 , Flat faces, such as would disgrace a screen,' ' 
 
 "^ Such as in Bantam's embassy were seen, 
 Unraised, unrounded, were the rude deli'i'ht ! 
 Of brutal nations only born to fight. / ^ 
 
 Long time, the sister arts, in iron sleep, ' 
 A heavy sabbath did supinely keep : 
 At length, in Raphael's age, at once they rise, 
 Stretch all their limbs, and open all their eyes. o'O 
 
 Thence rose the Roman, and the Lombard line : 
 One colour'd best, and one did best design. 
 Raphael's, like Homer's, was the nobler part, +1 0^\pf-s^ ' • 
 But Titian's painting look'd like Virgil's art. | 1^ v\l//A 
 
 Thy genius gives thee both ; where true design^' 
 Postures unforced, and lively colours join. ^ 
 
 Likeness is ever there ; but still the best. 
 Like proper thoughts in lofty language dress'd : 
 Where light, to shades descending, plays, ^not strives. 
 Dies by degrees, and by degrees revives. ' 70 
 
 Of vaxious parts a perfect whole is wrought : 
 
 \yThy pictures think, and we divine their thought. 
 
36 dryden's poems. 
 
 Sliakspeare, tliy gift, I place before my sight ; 73 
 ' "'" With awe, I ask his blessing ere I write ; ^i-t'-^A 
 
 .\ *fi • With reverence look on his majestic face ; 1/^'. fi 
 
 Proud to be less,"l}ut of his godlike race. . 
 His soul inspires me, while thy praise I write, 
 And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight : 
 Bids thee, through me, be bold ; with dauntless breast 
 Contemn the bad, and emulate the best. so 
 
 Like his, thy critics in the attempt are lost : 
 When most they rail, know then, they envy most. 
 In vain they snarl aloof; a noisy crowd. 
 Like women's anger, impotent and loud. 
 While they their barren industry deplore, 
 Pass on secure, and mind the goal before. 
 Old as she is, my Muse shall march behind, \ . /' 
 Bear off the blast, and intercept the wind. \ ^ 
 — Our arts are sisters, though not twins in birth ; 
 
 For hymns were sung in Eden's happy earth : 90 
 
 But oh! the painter Muse, though last in place. 
 
 Has seized the blessing first, like Jacob's race. 
 
 Apelles' art an Alexander found ; 
 
 And Raphael did with Leo's gold abound ; 
 
 But Homer was with barren laurel crown'd. 
 
 Thou hadst thy Charles a while, and so had I ; 
 
 But pass we that unpleasiug image by. u^->^ \l\J 1 
 
 Ptich in thyself, and of thyself divine. 
 
 All pilgrims come and offer at thy shrine. 
 
 A graceful truth thy pencil can command ; loo 
 
 The fair themselves go mended from thy hand. 
 
 Likeness appears in every lineament ; 
 
 But likeness in thy work is eloquent. 
 
 Though nature there her true resemblance bears, • 
 
 A nobler beauty in thy peace appears. "" 
 
EPISTLES. 37 
 
 So \Yarm tlij work, so glows the generous frame, loc 
 Flesh looks less living in the lovely dame. 
 Thou paint'st as wo describe, improving still,; , , 
 When on wild nature we ingraft our skill ; | 
 j fBut not creating beauties at our will. , ? -/I ^.'' 'no 
 
 ' / But poets are confined in narrower space, , 
 To speak the language of their native place;/' 
 --^The painter widely stretches his comraamf; 
 Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land. 
 From hence, my friend, all climates are your own, 
 Nor can you forfeit, for you hold of none. \ , . 
 
 J 'All nations all immunities will give / . ^ .^ 
 
 To make you theirs, where'er you please to liver ; '^ 
 VAnd not seven cities, but the world w^ould strive. 
 
 Sure some propitious planet, tlicn, did smile, 120 
 
 When first you were conducted to this isle : ^jJl^ 
 Our genius brought you here to enlarge our fame ; 
 For your good stars are everywhere the same, i 
 Tliy matchless hand, of every region free. 
 Adopts our climate, not our climate thee. 
 
 Great jlomejind Venice ^carly did impart ^' 
 To thee the examples of their wondrous art. 
 Those masters then, but seen, not understood, 
 AVith generous emulation fired thy blood: 
 For what in nature's dawn the child admired, 130 
 
 The youth endeavour'd, and the man acquired. 
 
 If yet thou hast not reach'd their high degree, 
 'Tis only wanting to this age, not thee. 
 /•Thy genius, bounded by the times, like mine, 
 
 .LDrudges on petty di'aughts, nor dare design ) 
 V^A more exalted work, and more divineT) 
 
 
 For what a song, or senseless opera 
 Is to the living labour of a play ; 
 
 \ 
 
 V 
 

 i 
 
 38 ' " dryden's ^oems. 
 
 Or what a plaj to Virgil's work would be, 139 ^ 
 
 Such is a single piece to history. ' -'-M 
 
 But we, who life bestow, ourselyes must live : 
 ( Kings cannot reign, unless their subjects give ; 
 
 And they who pay the taxes, bear the rule : 
 1 Thus thou, sometimes, art forced to draw a fool : 
 ' But so his follies in thy posture sink, vtui^"-'^ 
 
 The senseless idiot seems at last to think. )^ 1 \yy^ 
 
 Good heaven ! that sots and knaves should be so vain. 
 To wish their vile resemblance may remain! 
 And stand recorded, at their own request, j 
 
 To future days, a libel or a jest! 150 i 
 
 Else should we see your noble pencil trace 
 Our unities of action, time, and place : 
 A whole composed of parts, and those the best, 
 With every various character expressed ; 
 Heroes at large, and at a nearer view , 
 Less, and at distance, an ignobler crew. 
 While all the figures in one action join. 
 As tending to complete the main design. 
 
 More cannot be by mortal art express'd ; 
 But venerable age shall add the rest : 160 
 
 For time shall with his ready pencil stand ; 
 Retouch your fingers with his ripening hand ; 
 Mellow your colours, and embrown the tint ; 
 Add every grace, which time alone can grant ; 
 To future ages shall your fame convey, 
 And give more beauties than he takes away. 
 
EPISTLES. 39 
 
 EPISTLE XV. 
 
 TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR, JOHN HODDESON, ON HIS 
 DIVINE EPIGRAMS. 
 
 Thou hast inspired mc with thy soul, and I 
 Who ne'er before could ken of poetry. 
 Am grown so good proficient, I can lend 
 A line in commendation of my friend. 
 Yet 'tis but of the second hand ; if ought 
 There be in this, 'tis from thy fancy brought. 
 Good thief, who dar'st, Prometheus-like, aspire, 
 \^And fill thy poems with celestial fire : 
 Enliven'd by these sparks divine, their rays 
 Add a briglit lustre to thy crown of bays. lo 
 
 Young eaglet, who thy nest thus soon forsook, 
 So lofty and divine a course hast took 
 As all admire, before the down begin 
 To peep, as yet, upon thy smoother chin ; 
 And, making heaven thy aim, hast had the grace 
 To look the Sun of righteousness i' the face. 
 What may we hope, if thou go'st on thus fast, 
 Scriptures at first ; enthusiasms at last ! ] V--'" j 
 
 [^ 
 
 Thou hast commenced, betimes, a saint ; go on. 
 Mingling diviner streams with Helicon ; / ' 20 
 
 on ' 
 
 That they who view what epigrams here be. 
 May learn to make like, in just praise of thee. 
 Reader, I've done, nor longer will withhold 
 Thy greedy eyes ; looking on this pure gold 
 Thou 'It know adulterate copper, which, like this, 
 [Will only serve to be a foil to his. / ' 
 
 / 
 
 ^/5/^^ 
 
40 
 
 DKYDEN's' POEMS. 
 
 
 EPISTLE XVI. 
 
 
 TO MY FRIEND MR J. NORTHLEIGH, AUTHOR OF " THE 
 PARALLEL," ON HIS " TRIUMPH OP THE BRITISH 
 MONARCHY." 
 
 So Joseph, yet a yoiitli, expounded well 
 
 The boding dream, and did the event foretell ; 
 
 ■Judged by the past, and drew the Parallel. ' 
 
 Thus early Solomon the truth explored, 
 
 The right awarded, and the babe restored. 
 
 Thus Daniel, ere to prophecy he grew, 
 
 -The perjured Presbyters did first subdue, 
 
 And freed Susanna from the canting crew. 
 
 Well may our monarchy triumphant stand. 
 
 While warlike James protects both sea and land ; lO 
 
 And, under covert of his sevenfold shield, 
 
 Thou send'st thy shafts to scour the distant field. 
 
 By law thy powerful pen has set us free ; 
 
 Thou studiest that, and that may study thee. 
 
 ^'■'' :.,.; 
 
 9 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 
 
 I. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MR OLDHAM, i 
 
 Farewell, too little, and too lately known, 
 Whom I began to think, and call my own : 
 For sure our souls were near allied, and thine 
 Cast in the same poetic mould with mine! 
 One common note on either lyre did strike, 
 And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike. 
 To the same goal did both our studies drive ; 
 The last set out, the soonest did arrive. 
 Thus Nisu s fell upon the slippery place. 
 Whilst his young friend perform'd, and won the race, lo 
 early ripe ! to thy abundant store 
 What could advancing age have added more ? 
 It might (what nature never gives the young) 
 Have taught the-smoothues_s_of thy native tongue. 
 ^~^ut satire needs not those, and wit will shine ^^ 
 —Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.V^ 
 A noble error, and but seldom made, 
 When poets are by too much force betray 'd. 
 
 1 ' Mr 01d]iaia.iJ Jolrn Oldham^ th.e .Batirist,. died of the small-pox in his 
 30th year,a683, ■ .1^..,.^^ 
 
42 deyden's poems. 
 
 Thy generous fruits, tliough gather'd ere their prime, 19 
 
 Still show'd a quickness ; and maturing time 
 
 But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets of rhyme. 
 
 Once more, hail! and farewell, farewell, thou young, 
 
 But, ah! too short, Marcellus of our tongue! 
 
 Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound ; 
 
 But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around. 
 
 11. 
 
 TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF THE ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY 
 
 MRS ANNE KILLIGREW,! 
 
 EXCELLENT IN THE TWO SISTER ARTS OF POESY AND 
 PAINTING. AN ODE. ' 1685. 
 
 I- '\/V\ _ 
 
 Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, 
 
 Made in the last promotion of the blest ; 
 
 Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise, 
 
 In spreading branches more sublimely rise, 
 
 Rich with immortal green above the rest : 
 i Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star, 
 XThou roll'st above us, in thy wandering race. 
 Or, in procession fix'd and regular, 
 Mov'st with the heavens' majestic pace ; 
 Or, call'd to more superior bliss. 
 
 Thou tread'st, with seraphims, the vast abyss : 
 
 1 ' Killigrew : ' a lady of remarkable promise alike in painting and poetry ; 
 maid of honour to the Duchess of York ; died at the age of 25, in 1685 ; her 
 father an eminent clergyman, her brother a wit. 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 43 
 
 Whatever happy region is thy place, 
 
 Cease thj celestial song a little space ; 
 
 Tlioii wilt have time enough for hymns divine, 
 
 Since Heaven's eternal year is thine. 
 Hear then a mortal Muse tliy praise rehearse, 
 
 In no ignoble verse ; 
 
 But such as thy own voice did practise here, 
 
 When thy first fruits of Poesy were given ; 
 
 To make thyself a welcome inmate there : 
 
 While yet a young probationer, 
 
 And candidate of heaven. 
 
 II. 
 
 If by traduction came thy mind, 
 
 Our wonder is the less to find 
 A soul so charming from a stock so good ; 
 Thy father was transfused into thy blood : 
 So wert thou born into a tuneful strain, 
 An early, rich, and incxhausted vein. 
 
 But if thy pre-existing soid 
 
 Was form'd, at first, with myriads more. 
 It did through all the mighty poets roll, 
 
 Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, 
 And was that Sappho last, which once it was before. 
 
 If so, then cease thy flight, heaven-born mind ! 
 
 Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore : 
 
 Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find, 
 
 Than was the beauteous frame she left behind : 
 Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind. 
 
 III. 
 
 May we presume to say, that, at thy birth, 
 New joy was sprung in heaven, as weU as here on earth? 
 
44 dryden's poems. 
 
 For sure the milder planets did combine 
 On thy auspicious horoscope to shine, 
 And even the most malicious were in trine. 
 Thy brother angels at thy birth 
 
 Strung each his lyre, and tuned it high, 
 
 That all the people of the sky 
 Might know a poetess was born on earth. 
 
 And then, if ever, mortal ears 
 Had heard the music of the spheres, 
 And if no clustering swarm of bees 
 On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew, 
 
 'Twas that such vulgar miracles 
 
 Heaven had not leisure to renew : 
 For all thy blest fraternity of love 
 Solemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above. 
 
 IT. 
 
 gracious God! how far have we 
 Profaned thy heavenly gift of Poesy ! 
 Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, 
 Debased to each obscene and impious use. 
 Whose harmony was first ordain'd above 
 For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love ! 
 wretched we! why were we hurried down 
 
 This lubrique and adulterate age, 
 (Nay added fat pollutions of our own,) 
 To increase the streaming ordures of the stage ? 
 What can we say to excuse our second fall ? 
 Let this thy vestal. Heaven, atone for all: 
 \Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd, 
 IJnmix'd with foreign, filth, and undefiled : 
 I|[er wit was more than man, her innocence a child. 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 45 
 
 Art she had none, yet wanted none ; 
 
 For nature did that want supply : 
 
 So rich in treasures of her own, 
 
 She might our boasted stores defy : 
 Sucli noble vigour did her verse adorn, 
 That it seem'd borrow'd where 'twas only born. 
 Her morals too were in her bosom bred. 
 
 By great examples daily fed, 
 What in the best of books, her father's life, she read : 
 And to be read herself she need not fear ; 
 Each test, and every light, her Muse will bear, 
 Though Epictetus with his lamp were there. 
 Even love (for love sometimes her Muse express'd) 
 Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her breast : 
 Light as the vapours of a morning dream, 
 So cold herself, whilst she such "warmth express'd, 
 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Born to the spacious empire of the Nine, 
 
 One would have thought she shoidd have been content 
 
 To manage well that mighty government ; 
 
 But what can young ambitious souls confine 1 
 
 To the next realm she stretch'd her sway. 
 
 For Painture near adjoining lay, 
 A plenteous ^royirLcer-aod alluring prey. i /) 
 
 A Chamb er of Dependencies was framed,") lIM>^A14T~ -tt-^ 
 (As conquerors~will niver'want pretence, ^ 
 
 When arm'd, to justify the offence) 
 And the whole fief, in right of poetry, she claim'd. 
 The country open lay without defence : 
 
46 dryden's poems. 
 
 For poets frequent inroads there had made, 
 And perfectly could represent 
 The shape, the face, with every lineament, 
 And all the large domains which the Dumb Sistef sway'd ; 
 All bow'd beneath her government, 
 Received in triumph wheresoe'er she went. 
 Her pencil drew whate'er her soul design' d. 
 And oft the happy draft surpass'd the image in her mind. 
 - <X.^ _ The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks, 
 f|^Vi*j ^^^ fruitful plains and barren rocks, 
 'H^ Of shallow brooks that flow'd so clear, 
 kAJ^M^ The bottom did the top appear : 
 \j H V^ Of deeper, too, and ampler floods, 
 ^U '" I Which, as in mirrors, show'd the woods; 
 ' Of lofty trees, with sacred shades, 
 
 And perspectives of pleasant glades, 
 Where nymphs of brightest form appear, 
 And shaggy satyrs standing near, 
 Which them at once admire and fear. 
 The ruins, too, of some majestic piece. 
 Boasting the power of ancient Rome or Greece, 
 Whose statues, friezes, columns broken lie. 
 And, though defaced, the wonder of the eye ; 
 What nature, art, bold fiction e'er durst frame, 
 Her forming hand gave feature to the name. 
 / — So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before, 
 /\ But when the peopled ark the whole creation bore. 
 
 vii. 
 
 d^ 
 
 ?he scene then changed: with bold erected look 
 ..Out martial king the sight with reverence strook : 
 For hot content to express his outward part, 
 -y Her hand call'd out the image of his heart : 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 47 
 
 His warlike mind, jiis soul deToid of fear, 
 Hrrhigh-Hesignrng thoughts were figured there, 
 As when».bj. magic, ghosts are made appear. 
 
 Our phoenix queen was portray 'd too so bright, 
 Beauty alone coliTd beauty take so right ; 
 Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace. 
 Were all observed, as well as heavenly face. 
 With such a peerless majesty she stands. 
 As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands : 
 Before a train of heroines was seen, I , / 
 
 In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen. 1 '-A^^-dJM^i 
 
 Thus nothing to her genius was denied, 
 But like a ball of fire the further thrown, 
 
 Still with a greater blaze she shone. 
 And her bright soul broke out on every side. 
 What next she had designed Heaven only knows : 
 To such immoderate growth her conquest rose, 
 That fate alone its progress could oppose. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now all those charms, that blooming gi'ace. 
 The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous face, 
 Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes; 
 In earth the much lamented virgin lies. 
 
 Notwit, nor piety could Fate prevent ; 
 
 Nor was the cruel destiny content 
 
 To finish all the murder at a blow. 
 
 To sweep at once her life, and beauty too ; 
 But, like a hardened felon, took a pride 
 
 To work more mischievously slow. 
 And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd. 
 Oh, double sacrilege on things divine. 
 To rob the relic, and deface the shrine ! 
 
48 dryden's poems. 
 
 But thus Orinda ^ died : 
 Heaven, by the same disease, did both translate : 
 As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Meantime her warlike brother on the seas 
 His waving streamers to the wind displays. 
 
 And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays. 
 Ah, generous youth ! that wish forbear, 
 The winds too soon will waft thee here : 
 Slack all thy sails, and fear to come, 
 
 Alas, thou know'st not thou art wreck'd at home ! 
 
 No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face, 
 
 Thou hast already had her last embrace. 
 
 But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far 
 
 Among the Pleiads a new-kindled star, 
 
 If any sparkles than the rest more bright, 
 
 'Tis she that shines in that propitious light. 
 
 X. 
 
 When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound, 
 
 To raise the nations under ground : 
 
 When in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, 
 The judging God shall close the book of fate : 
 
 And there the last assizes keep. 
 
 For those who wake, and those who sleep ; 
 
 When rattling bones together fly, 
 
 From the four corners of the sky ; 
 When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread, 
 Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires the dead ; 
 
 1 ' Orin^a : ' Mrs Catherine Philips, author of a book of poems, died, like 
 Mrs Killigrew, of the small-pox, in 1664:, being only thirty-two years of age. 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 49 
 
 The sacred poets first shall hear the sound, 
 And foremost from the tomb shall bound, 
 For they are cover'd with the lightest ground ; 
 And straight, with inborn vigour, on the wing. 
 Like mounting larks, to the new mornins: sinfr. 
 There thou, sweet saint, before the quire shalt go, 
 As harbinger of heaven, tlie way to show. 
 The way which thou so well hast learned below^/,^ 
 
 QJJU. 
 
 III. 
 
 UPOX THE DEATH OF 
 
 THE EARL OF DUNDEE.' 
 
 Oh, last and best of Scots ! who didst maintain 
 Thy country's freedom from a foreign reign ; 
 New people fill the land now thou art gone, 
 New gods the temples, and new kings the throne. 
 Scotland and thee did each in other live ; 
 Nor wouldst thou her, nor could slie thee survive. 
 Farewell! who dying didst support the state. 
 And couldst not fall but with thy country's fate. 
 
 1 This is translated from a Latin elegy by Dr Pitcaira. 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
50 deyden's poems. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ELEONORA j 
 
 A PANEGYRICAL POEM, DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF 
 THE LATE COUNTESS OP ABINGDON. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF ABINGDON, &c. 
 
 My Lord, — The commands, with which you honoured me some months 
 ago, are now performed : they had been sooner ; but betwixt ill health, some 
 business, and many troubles, I was forced to defer them till this time. Ovid, 
 going to his banishment, and writing from on shipboard to his friends, excused 
 the faults of his poetry by his misfortunes ; and told them, that good verses 
 never flow but from a serene and composed spirit. Wit, which is a kind of 
 Mercury, with wings fastened to his head and heels, can fly but slowly in a 
 damp air. I therefore chose rather to obey you late than ill : if at least I am 
 capable of writing anything, at any time, which is worthy your perusal and 
 your patronage. I cannot say that I have escaped from a shipwreck; but 
 have only gained a rock by hard swimming, where I may pant a while and 
 gather breath : for the doctors give me a sad assurance, that my disease never 
 took its leave of any man, but with a purpose to return. However, my lord, 
 I have laid hold on the interval, and managed the small stock, which age has 
 left me, to the best advantage, in performing this inconsiderable service to my 
 lady's memory. We, who are priests of Apollo, have not the inspiration when 
 we please ; but must wait until the god comes rushing on us, and invades us 
 with a fury which we are not able to resist : which gives us double strength 
 while the fit continues, and leaves us languishing and spent at its departure. 
 Let me not seem to boast, my lord, for I have really felt it on this occasion, 
 and prophesied beyond my natural power. Let me add, and hope to be 
 believed, that the excellency of the subject contributed much to the happiness 
 of the execution ; and that the weight of thirty years was taken off" me while 
 I was writing. I swam with the tide, and the water under me was buoyant. 
 The reader will easily observe that I was transported by the multitude and 
 variety of my similitudes ; which are generally the product of a luxuriant 
 fancy, and the wantonness of wit. Had I called in my judgment to my assist- 
 ance, I had certainly retrenched many of them. But I defend them not ; let 
 them pass for beautiful faults amongst the better sort of critics : for the whole 
 poem, though written in that which they call Heroic verse, is of the Pindaric 
 nature, as well in the thought as the expression ; and, as such, requires the 
 same grains of allowance for it. It was intended, as your lordship sees in the 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 51 
 
 title, not for an elegy, but a panegyric : a kind of apotheosis, indeed, if a 
 heathen word may be applied to a Christian use. And on all occasions of 
 praise, if we take the ancients for our patterns, we are bound by prescription 
 to employ the magnificence of words, and the force of figures, to adorn the 
 Bublimity of thoughts. Isocrates amongst the Grecian orators, and Cicero, 
 and the younger Pliny, amongst the Romans, have left us tlieir precedents for 
 our security ; for I think I need not mention the inimitable Pindar, who 
 stretches on these pinions out of sight, and is carried upward, as it were, into 
 another world. 
 
 This, at least, my lord, I may justly plead, that if I have not performed so 
 well as I tiiink I have, yet I have used my best endeavours to excel myself. 
 One disadvantage I have had ; which is, never to have known or seen my 
 lady : and to draw the lineaments of her mind, from the description which I 
 have received from others, is for a painter to set himself at work without the 
 living original before him : which, the more beautiful it is, will be so mucli 
 the more ditticult for him to conceive, when he has only a relation given him 
 of such and such features by an acquaintance or a friend, without the nice 
 touches, which give the best resemblance, and make the graces of the picture. 
 Every artist is apt enough to flatter himself (and I amongst the rest) that tlieir 
 own ocular observations would have discovered more perfections, at least 
 others, than have been delivered to them : though I have received mine from 
 the best hands, that is, from persons who neitiier want a just understanding 
 of my lady's worth, nor a due veneration for her memory. 
 
 Dr Donne, the greatest wit, though not the greatest poet of our nation, 
 acknowledges, that he had never seen Mrs Drury, whom he has made im- 
 mortal in his admirable " Anniversaries." I have had the same fortune, though 
 I have not succeeded to the same genius. However, I have followed his foot- 
 steps in the design of his panegyric ; which was to raise an emulation in the 
 living, to copy out the example of the dead. And therefore it was, that I once 
 intended to have called this poem "The Pattern : " and though, on a second con- 
 sideration, I changed the title into the name of the illustrious person, yet the 
 design continues, and Eleonora is still the pattern of charity, devotion, and 
 humility ; of the best wife, the best mother, and the best of friends. 
 
 And now, my lord, though I have endeavoured to answer your commands ; 
 yet I could not answer it to the world, nor to my conscience, if I gave not 
 your lordship my testimony of being the best husband now living : I say my 
 testimony only ; for the praise of it is given you by yourself. They who 
 despise the rules of virtue both in their practice and tlieir morals, will think 
 this a very trivial commendation. But I think it the peculiar happiness of 
 the Countess of Abingdon to have been so tnily loved by you while she was 
 living, and so gratefully honoured after she was dead. Few there are who 
 have either had, or could have, such a loss ; and yet fewer who carried their 
 love and constancy beyond the grave. The exteriors of mourning, a decent 
 funeral, and black habits, are the usual stints of common husbands : and 
 perhaps their wives deserve no better than to be mourned with hypocrisy, and 
 forgot with ease. But you have distinguished yourself from ordinary lovers, 
 by a real and lasting grief for the deceased ; and by endeavouring to raise for 
 her the most durable monument, which is that of verse. And so it w'ould 
 have proved, if the workman had been equal to the work, and your choice of 
 
52 dryden's poems. 
 
 the artificer as happy as your design. Yet, as Phidias, when he had made the 
 statue of Minerva, could not forbear to engrave liis own name, as author of 
 the piece : so give me leave to hope, that, by subscribing mine to this poem, I 
 may live by the goddess, and transmit my name to posterity by the memory 
 of hers. It is no flattery to assure yom- lordship, that she is remembered, in 
 the present age, by all who have had the honour of her conversation and ac- 
 quaintance ; and that I have never been in any company since the news of her 
 death was first brought me, where they have not extolled her virtues, and 
 even spoken the same things of her in prose, which I have done in verse. 
 
 I therefore think myself obliged to thank your lordship for the commission 
 which you have given me : how I have acquitted myself of it, must be left to 
 the opinion of the world, in spite of any protestation which I can enter against 
 the present age, as incompetent or corrupt judges. For my comfort, they are 
 but Englishmen, and, as such, if they think ill of me to-day, they are incon- 
 stant enough to think well of me to-morrow. And after all, I have not 
 much to thank my fortune that I was born amongst them. The good of both 
 sexes are so few, in England, that they stand like exceptions against general 
 rules : and though one of them has deserved a greater commendation than I 
 could give her, they have taken care that I should not tire my pen with 
 frequent exercise on the like subjects; that praises, like taxes, should be 
 appropriated, and left almost as individual as the person. They say, my 
 talent is satu-e : if it be so, it is a fruitful age, and there is an extraordinary 
 crop to gather. But a single hand is insufficient for such a harvest : they 
 have sown the dragons' teeth themselves, and it is but just they should reap 
 each other in lampoons. You, my lord, who have the character of honour, 
 though it is not my happiness to know you, may stand aside, with the small 
 remainders of the English nobility, truly such, and, unhurt yourselves, behold 
 the mad combat. If I have pleased you, and some few others, I have 
 obtained my end. You see I have disabled myself, like an elected speaker of 
 the house : yet like him I have undertaken the charge, and find the burden 
 sufficiently recompensed by the honour. Be pleased to accept of these my 
 unworthy labours, this paper-monument ; and let her pious memory, which I 
 am sure is sacred to you, not only plead the pardon of my many faults, but 
 gain me your protection, which is ambitiously sought by, my lord, your 
 lordship's most obedient servant, John Dryden. 
 
 As when some great and gracious monarch, dies, 
 Soft whispers, first, and mournful murmurs rise 
 Among the sad attendants ; then the sound 
 Soon gathers voice, and spreads the news around. 
 Through town and country, till the dreadful hlast 
 Is blown to distant colonies at last ; 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 53 
 
 Who then, perhaps, were offering vows in vain, 7 
 
 For his long life, and for his happy reign : 
 So slowly, by degrees, unwilling ftime 
 Did matchless Eleonora's fate proclaim. 
 Till public as the loss the news became. 
 
 The nation felt it in the cxtremest parts, 
 "With eyes o'erflowing, and with bleeding hearts ; 
 But most the poor, whom daily she supplied, 
 ^ginning tobc^such, but when she died. ^ 
 For, while she lived, they slept in peace by night. 
 Secure of bread, as of returning light ; 
 And with such firm dependence on the day. 
 That need grew pamper'd, and forgot to pray • 
 So sure the doll, so ready at their call, ^ Ji^t^ ' 20 
 They stood prepared to see the manna fall. 
 
 Such multitudes she fed, she clothed, she nursed, 
 That she herself mi2;ht fear her wanting first. 
 Of her five talents, other five she made ; 
 Heaven, that had largely given, was largely paid : 
 
 end in few lives, in wondrous few, we find 
 fortune better fitted to the mind. 
 Nor did her alms from ostentation fall. 
 Or proud desire of praise ; the soul gave all : 
 Unbribed it gave ; or, if a bribe appear, 30 
 
 No less than heaven — to heap huge treasures there. 
 
 Want pass'd for merit at her open door ; \y 
 Heaven saw. He safely might increase His poor, \y 
 And trust their sustenance with her so well, 
 As not to be at charge of miracle. 
 None could be needy, whom she saw, or knew ; 
 All in the compass of her sphere she drew : 
 He, who could touch her garment, was as sure. 
 As the first Christians of the apostles' cure. 
 
54 deyden's poems. 
 
 The distant heard, bj fame, her pious deeds, 40 
 
 And laid her up for their extremest needs ; 
 
 A future cordial for a fainting mind ; 
 
 For, what was ne'er refused, all hoped to find. 
 
 Each in his turn ; the rich might freely come, 
 
 As to a friend ; but to the poor 'twas home. 
 
 As to some holy house the afflicted came, 
 
 The hunger-starved, the naked and the lame ; 
 
 Want and diseases fled before her name. 
 
 For zeal like her's her servants were too slow ; 
 
 She was the first, where need required, to go ; so 
 
 Herself the foundress and attendant too. 
 
 Sure she had guests sometimes to entertain. 
 Guests in disguise, of her great Master's train : 
 Her Lord himself might come, for aught we know ; 
 Since in a servant's form He lived below : ^ 
 Beneath her roof He might be pleased to stay ; 
 Or some benighted angel, in his way, 
 Might ease his wings, and, seeing heaven appear 
 In its best work of mercy, think it there : 
 Where all the deeds of charity and love 60 
 
 Were, in as constant method as above, 
 All carried on ; all of a piece with theirs ; 
 As free her alms, as diligent her cares ; 
 As loud her praises, and as warm her prayers. 
 
 Yet was she not profuse ; but feared to waste, ', 
 And wisely managed, that the stock might last ; 
 That all might be supplied, and she not grieve. 
 When crowds appear'd, she had not to relieve : 
 Which to prevent, sh-e still increased her store ; 
 Laid up, and spared, that she might give the more. 70 
 So Pharaoh, or some greater king than he, 
 Provided for the seventh necessity : 
 
/, 
 
 ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 55 
 
 Taught from above bis magazines to frame, 73 
 
 That famine was prevented ere it came. 
 
 Thus Heaven, though all-sufficient, shows a thrift 
 
 In Ilis economy, and bounds Ilis gift : 
 
 Creating, for our day, one single light ; 
 
 And his reflection, too, supplies the night. 
 
 Perhaps a thousand other worlds, that lie 
 
 Remote from us, and latent in the sky, so 
 
 Are lighteu'd by his beams^ and kindly nursed ; 
 
 Of which our earthly dunghill is the worst. 
 
 Now, as all virtues keep the middle line. 
 Yet somewhat more to one extreme incline. 
 Such was her soul ; abhorring avarice. 
 Bounteous, but almost bounteous to a vice : 
 Had she given more, it had profusion been, 
 And turn'd the excess of goodness into ?>m.V 
 
 These virtues raised her fabric to the sky ; 
 For that, which is next heaven, is Charity, ix so 
 
 But, as high turrets, for their airy steep. 
 Require foundations in proportion deep ; 
 And lofty cedars as far upward shoot. 
 As to the nether heavens they drive the root : 
 So low did her secure foundation lie, 
 
 She was not humble, but Humility. —- -^ — \ 
 
 V Scarcely she knew that she AV-asrgf eat, or fair, 
 ' Or wise, beyond what other women are ; 
 Or, which is better, knew, but never durst compare 
 For to be conscious of what all admire. 
 And not be vain, advances virtue higher. 
 But still she found, or rather thought she found, 
 Her own worth wanting, others' to abound ; 
 Ascribed above their due to every one — 
 Unjust_and_scanty^ie -herself alo 
 
 100 
 
56 dryden's poems. 
 
 Such her devotion was, as might give rules loe 
 
 Of speculation to disputing schools, " 
 
 x\nd teach us equally the scales to hold 
 Betwixt the two extremes of hot and cold ; 
 That pious heat may moderately prevail, no 
 
 ■^And we be warm'd, but not be scorch'd with zeal : 
 Business might shorten, not disturb, her prayer ; 
 Heaven had the best, if not the greater share. 
 An active life long orisons forbids ; 
 Yet still she pray'd, for still she pray'd by deeds. 
 
 Her every day was Sabbath ; only free 
 From hours of prayer, for hours of charity : 
 Such as the Jews from servile toil released ; 
 Where works of mercy were a part of rest ; 
 Such as blest angels exercise above, 120 
 
 Varied with sacred hymns and acts of love : 
 Such Sabbaths as that one she now enjoys. 
 Even that perpetual one, which she employs 
 (For such vicissitudes in heaven there are) 
 In praise alternate, and alternate prayer. 
 All this she practised here ; that when she sprung 
 Amidst the choirs, at the first sight she sung : 
 Sung, and was sung herself in angels' lays ; 
 For, praising her, they did her Maker praise. 
 All offices of heaven so well she knew, 130 
 
 Before she came, that nothing there was new : 
 And she was so familiarly received, 
 As one returning, not as one arrived. 
 
 Muse, down again precipitate thy flight ! 
 For how can mortal eyes sustain immortal light 1 
 But as the sun in water we can bear — 
 Yet not the sun, but his reflection there. 
 So let us view her, here, in what she was, 
 And take her image in this watery glass : 
 
iJf>^ 
 
 ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 57 
 
 Yet look not every lineament to see ; lio 
 
 Some will be cast in shades, and some will be 
 , So lamely drawn, you '11 scarcely know 'tis she. 
 I For where.-saclizarious virtues we recite, 
 * 'Tis like j the milkyj: way> all over bright, /_,-^^ 1 
 
 t Bijt sown so thick with stars, 'tis undistinguish'd lightj ^ 
 Her virtue, not her virtues, let us call ; 
 
 For one heroic comprehends them all : 
 
 One, as a constellation is but one, 
 
 Though 'tis a train of stars, that, rolling on, 
 
 Rise in their turn, and in the zodiac run : 150 
 
 Ever in motion ; now 'tis faith ascends. 
 
 Now hope, now charity, that upward tends. 
 
 And downwards with diffusive good descends. 
 As in perfumes composed with art and cost, 
 
 'Tis hard to say what scent is uppermost ; 
 
 Nor this part musk or civet can we call, 
 
 Or amber, but a rich result of all ; 
 
 So she was all a sweet, whose every part, 
 
 In due proportion mix'd, proclaim'd the Maker's art. 
 
 No single virtue we could most commend, leo 
 
 Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend ; 
 
 For she was all, in that supreme degree, 
 
 That as no one prevail'd, so all was she. 
 
 The several parts lay hidden in the piece ; 
 
 The occasion but exerted that, or this. 
 A wife as tender, and as true withal, 
 
 As the first woman was before her fall : 
 
 Made for the man, of whom she was a part ; 
 
 Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart. 
 
 A second Eve, but by no crime accursed ;/ i7o 
 
 As beauteous, not as brittle, as the first : 
 
 Had she been first, still Paradise had been, iX 
 
 And Death had found no entrance by her sin : 
 
58 dryden's poems. 
 
 So she not only had preserved from ill 174 
 
 Her sex and ours, but lived their pattern still. 
 
 Love and obedience to her lord she bore ; 
 She much obej'd him, but she loved him more : 
 Not awed to duty by superior sway, 
 But taught by his indulgence to obey. 
 Thus we love God, as author of our good ; I80 
 
 So subjects love just kings, or so they should. 
 Nor was it with ingratitude return'd ; 
 In equal fires the blissful couple burn'd ; 
 One joy possess'd them both, and in one giief they 
 
 moum'd. 
 His passion still improved ; he loved so fast 
 As if he fear'd each day would be her last. 
 Too true a prophet to foresee the fate 
 That should so soon divide their happy state ; 
 When he to heaven entirely must restore 
 That love, that heart, where he went halves before. i90 
 Yet as the soul is all in every part, 
 So God and he might each have all her heartv^ 
 
 So had her children toa ; for charity 
 Was not more fruitful, or more kind than she : 
 Each under other by degrees they grewj 
 A goodly perspective of distant view. 
 Anchises look'd not with so pleased a face. 
 In numbering o'er his future Roman race, 
 And marshalling the heroes of his name. 
 As, in their order, next to light they came. 200 
 
 Nor Cybele, with half so kind an eye, 
 Survey'd her sons and daughters of the sky ; 
 Proud, shall I say, of her immortal fruit 1 
 As far as pride with heavenly minds may suit. 
 Her pious love excell'd to all she bore ; 
 New objects only multiplied it more. 
 
'\A WT>' 
 
 ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 
 
 And as the chosen found the pearly graioy 11 m *^ /• 
 
 As much as every vessel could contain ; (AAaJJ~ p-AAA,i^ 
 
 As in the blissful vision each shall share 
 As much of glory as his soul can bear ; 
 So did she love, and so dispense her care. 
 
 CHer eldest thus, by consequence, was best, 
 As longer cultivated than the rest. 
 The babe had all that infant care beguiles. 
 And early knew his mother in her smiles : 
 But when dilated organs let in day 
 To the young soul, imd gave it room to pla^ 
 A.t his first aptness, the maternal love 
 QvThose rudiments of reason did improve : 
 The tender age was pliant to command ; 
 Like wax it yielded to the forming hand : 
 True 'to the artificer, the labour'd mind 
 With ease was pious, generous, just, and kind 
 
 
 220 
 
 oft for impressionT^from the first pre pafgd r 
 ^ilTYiSue with lo ng exercise grew hard : 
 
 ''ith every act confirm d, and made at last 
 50 durable as not to be eSi\ced, 
 [t turn'd to habit ; and, from vices free, 
 Goodness resolved into necessity 
 
 Thus fix'd she virtue's image, that 's her own, 
 Till the whole mother in the children shone ; 
 For that was their perfection : she was such, 
 They never could express her mind too much. 
 So unexhausted her perfections were, 
 That, for more children, she had more to spare ; 
 For souls unborn, whom her untimely death 
 Deprived of bodies, and of mortal breath ; 
 And (could they take the impressions of her mind) 
 Enough still left to sanctify her kindj 
 
 230 
 
 -t 
 
60 dryden's poems. 
 
 Then wonder not to see this soul extend 240 
 
 The bounds, and seek some other self, a friend : 
 As swelling seas to gentle rivers glide. 
 To seek repose, and empty out the tide ; 
 / So this full soul, in narrow limits pent, 
 ^ ' Unable to contain her, sought a vent 
 
 To issue out, and in some friendly breast 
 \ Discharge her treasures, and securely rest : 
 ] To unbosom all the secrets of her heart, 
 / Take good advice, but better to impart : 
 j For 'tis the bliss of friendship's holy state, 250 
 
 / To mix their minds, and to communicate ; 
 ; Though bodies cannot, souls can penetrate. 
 ; Fix'd to her choice, inviolably true, 
 
 And wisely choosing, for she chose but few. 
 i Some she must have ; but in no one could find 
 ! A tally fitted for so large a mind. 
 J : /' ' The souls of friends, like kings in progress, are 
 Still in their own, 'though from the palace far : 
 Thus her friend's heart her country dwelling was 
 A sweet retirement to a coarser place ; 260 
 
 Where pomp and ceremonies euter'd not. 
 Where greatness was shut out, and business well forgot. 
 
 This is the imperfect draught ; but short as far 
 As the true height and bigness of a star 
 Exceeds the measures of the astronomer. 
 She shines above, we know ; but in what place, 
 How near the throne, and Heaven's imperial face, 
 By our weak optics is but vainly guess'd ; 
 Distance and altitude conceal the rest. 
 
 Though all these rare endowments of the mind 270 
 Were in a narrow space of life confined. 
 The figure was with full perfection crown'd ; 
 Though not so large an orb, as truly round. 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 61 
 
 As when iu glory, through the public place, 274 
 
 The spoils of conquer'd nations were to pass, 
 And but one day for triumph was allow'd, 
 The consul was constraint! his pomp to crowd ; 
 And so the swift procession hurried on, 
 That all, though not distinctly, might be shown : 
 So in the straiten'd bounds of life confined, 280 
 
 She gave but glimpses of her glorious mind : 
 And multitudes of virtues pass'd along ; 
 Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, 
 Ambitious to be seen, and then make room 
 For greater multitudes that were to come. 
 
 Yet unemploy'd no minute slipp'd aM-ay ; 
 Moments were precious in so short a stay. 
 The haste of heaven to have her was so great, 
 That some were single acts, though each complete ; 
 But every act stood ready to repeat. 290 
 
 Her fellow-saints with busy care will look 
 For her bless'd name in Fate's eternal book ; 
 And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will see 
 Numberless virtues, endless charity : 
 But more will wonder at so short an age, 
 To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page^^ 
 And with a pious fear begin to doubt 
 The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. 
 ^ut 'twas her Saviour's time ; and, could there be 
 /A copy near the Original, 'twas she. 300 
 
 As precious gums are not for lasting fire, 
 They but perfume the temple, and expire : 
 So was she soon exhaled, and vauish'd hence ; 
 \^^^ short sweet odour, of a vast expense. 
 She vanish'd, we can scarcely say she died ; 
 For but^ ijow did heaven and earth divide : 
 
 . ,AA ^ / 
 
62 dryden's poems. 
 
 She pass'd serenely with a single breath ; 307 
 
 This moment perfect health, the next was death : \/' 
 One sigh did her eternal bliss assure ; , 
 So little penance needs, wlicn souls are almost pure. 
 As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue ; 
 Or, one dream pass'd, we slide into a new ; 
 So close they follow, such wild order keep, 
 We think ourselves awake, and are asleep : 
 So softly death succeeded life in her. 
 She did but dream of heaven, and she was there. 
 No pains she suffer'd, nor expired with noise ; 
 Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still voice ; 
 As an old friend is beckon'd to a feast, 
 And treated like a long-familiar guest. 320 
 
 He took her as He found, but found her so, 
 As one in hourly readiness to go : 
 Even on that day, in all her trim prepared ; 
 As early notice she from heaven had heard, 
 And some descending courier from above 
 Had given her timely warning to remove ; 
 Or counsell'd her to dress the nuptial room. 
 For on that night tlie Bridegroom was to come. 
 He kept His hour, and found her where she lay 
 Clothed all in white, the livery of the day. 330 
 
 Scarce had she sinn'd in thought, or word, or act ; 
 " Unless omissions were to pass for fact : 
 That hardly death a consequence could draw, 
 To make her liable to nature's law : 
 And, that she died, we only have to show ..." 
 The mortal part of her she left below : 
 The rest, so smooth, so suddenly she went, \ 
 Look'd like; translaJtiaii^ through the firmament; 
 Or, like the fiery car,~on the third errand^ sent. 
 
 ' ' Third errand : ' Enoch and Elias were the first two. 
 
 OAu. 
 
 L/t'iUA 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 63 
 
 liappy soul ! if thou canst view from high, 340 
 
 Where thou art all intelligence, all eye ; 
 If, looking up to God, or down to us, 
 Thou find'st that any way be pervious, 
 Survey the ruins of thy house, and see 
 Thy widow'd, and thy orphan family : 
 Look on thy tender pledges left behind ; 
 And, if thou canst a vacant minute find 
 From heavenly joys, that interval afford 
 To thy sad children, and thy mourning lord. 
 See how they grieve, mistaken in their love, ^ 350 
 
 And shed a beam of comfort from above ; 
 Give them, as much as mortal eyes can bear, 
 A transient view of thy full glories there ; 
 That they with moderate sorrow may sustain 
 And mollify their losses in thy gain : 
 Or else divide the grief ; for such thou wert, 
 That should not all relations bear a part. 
 It were enough to break a single heart. 
 
 Let this suffice : nor thou, great saint, refuse 
 This humble tribute of no vulgar Muse : 360 
 
 Who, not by cares, or wants, or age depress'd, 
 Stems a wild deluge with a dauntless breast j ^ \/^ 
 lAnd dares to sing thy praises in a clime 
 Where vice triumphs, and virtue is a crime ; 
 A\' here even to draw the pictiu'e of thy mind, 
 Is satire on the most of human kind : " 
 
 Take it, while yet 'tis praise ; before my rage. 
 Unsafely just, break loose on-4his bad age ; 
 
 So bad, that thou thyself hadst no def 
 iFrom vice, but barely by departing hence. ■ 3:0 
 
 ^ Be what, and where thou art : to wish thy place. 
 Were, in the best, presumption more than grace. 
 
64 DRYDENS POEMS. 
 
 \ Thy relica (sucli tliy works of mercy are) 373 
 
 \ Have, in this poem, been my holy care. 
 ' As earth thy body keeps, thy sonl the sky, 
 
 ^0 shall this verse preserve thy memory ; 
 
 For thou shalt make it live, because it sings of thee. 
 
 V. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF /AMYNTASJ 
 
 ArPASTORAL^ELEGY. 
 
 (■ 
 
 'TwAS on a joyless and a gloomy morn, 
 
 Wet was the grass, and hung with pearls the thorn ; 
 
 When Damon, who designed to pass the day 
 
 With hounds and horns, and chase the flying prey, 
 
 Rose early from his bed ; but soon he found 
 
 The welkin pitch'd with sullen clouds around. 
 
 An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground. 
 
 Thus while he stood, and, sighing, did survey 
 
 The fields^ jand .cursed the ill omens of the day, 
 
 He saw(Menalcas/ come with heavy pace ; lo 
 
 Wet were his eyes, and cheerless was his face : 
 
 He wrung his hands, distracted with his care, 
 
 And sent his voice before him from afar. 
 
 Return, he cried, return, unhappy swain ! 
 
 The spungy clouds are fiU'd with gathering rain : 
 
 The promise of the day not only cross'd, 
 
 But even the spring, the spring itself is lost. 
 
 Amyntas — oh ! — ^he could not speak the rest. 
 
 Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd. 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 65 
 
 Equal with heaven young Damon loved the boy, 20 
 
 The boast of nature, both his parents' joy, 
 
 His graceful form revolving in his mind ; 
 
 So great a genius, and a soul so kind, 
 
 Gave sad assurance that his fears were true ; 
 
 Too well the envy of the gods he knew : 
 
 For when their gifts too lavishly are placed. 
 
 Soon they repent, and will not make them last. 
 
 For sure it was too bountiful a dole. 
 
 The mother's features, and the father's soul. 
 
 Then thus he cried ; the morn bespoke the news : 30 
 
 The morning did her cheerful light diffuse : 
 
 But see how suddenly she changed her face. 
 
 And brought on clouds and rain, the day's disgrace ! 
 
 Just such,^Am^tas,)was thy promised race:\/ 
 
 What charmsacTorn'd thy youth, where nature smiled. 
 
 And more than man was given us in a child ! w' 
 
 His infancy was ripe : a soul sublime 
 
 In years so tender thatprevcuted time : 
 
 Heaven gave him all at once ; then snatch'd awaj', 
 
 Ere mortals all his beauties could survey : 40 
 
 Just like the flower that buds and withers in a day. 
 
 MENALCAS. 
 
 The mother, lovely, though with grief oppress'd, 
 Reclined his dying head upon her breast. 
 The mournful family stood all around ; 
 One groan was heard, one universal sound : 
 All were in floods of tears and endless sorrow drown'd. 
 So dire a sadness sat on every look. 
 Even Death repented he had given the stroke. 
 He grieved his fatal work had been ordain'd 
 But promised length of life to those who yet remain'd. 50 
 
 VOL. IL E 
 
 f ^ 
 
66 dryden's poems. 
 
 The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace, 5i 
 
 It seems, had bribed him to prolong their space. 
 The father bore it with undaunted soul, 
 Like one who durst his destiny control : 
 Yet with becoming grief he bore his part, 
 Resign'd his son, but not resign'd his heart : 
 Patient as Job ; and may he live to see, 
 Like him, a new increasing family ! 
 
 DAMON. 
 
 Such is my wish, and such my prophecy. 
 For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains ; eo 
 Long may she exercise her fruitful pains ! 
 But, ah ! with better hap, and bring a race 
 More lasting, and endued with equal grace ! 
 Equal she may, but further none can go : 
 For he was all that was exact below. 
 
 MENALCAS. 
 
 Damon ! behold yon breaking purple cloud ; 
 Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud 1 
 There mounts Amyntas ; the young cherubs play 
 About their godlike mate, and sing him on his way ! 
 He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies, 70 
 
 And every moment gains upon the skies ! 
 The new-come guest admires the ethereal state, 
 The sapphire portal, and the golden gate ; 
 And now admitted in the shining throng. 
 He shows the passport which he brought along : 
 His passport is his innocence and grace, 
 Well known to all the natives of the place. 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 67 
 
 Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire 78 
 
 Your brother's voice that comes to mend your quire : 
 Sing you, ^vhile endless tears our eyes bestow ; 
 For like Amyntas none is left below. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG 
 GENTLEMAN. 
 
 He who could view the book of destiny, 
 
 And read whatever there was writ of thee, 
 
 charming youth, in the first opening page, 
 
 So many graces in so green an age, 
 
 Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, 
 
 A soul at once so manly, and so kind ; 
 
 Would wonder, when he turu'd the volume o'er. 
 
 And after some few leaves should find no more, 
 
 Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, 
 
 A step of life that promised such a race. lo 
 
 We must not, dare not think, that Heaven began 
 
 A child, and could not finish him a man ; 
 
 Reflecting what a mighty store was laid 
 
 Of rich materials, and a model made : 
 
 The cost already furnish'd ; so bestow'd^ 
 
 As more was never to one soul allow'd: 
 
 Yet after this profusion spent in vain. 
 
 Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain, 
 
 I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf, 
 
 Yet durst I guess, Heaven kept it for himself ; 20 
 
68 dryden's poems. 
 
 And giving us the use, did soon recall, 21 
 
 Ere we could spare, the mighty principal. 
 
 Thus then he disappear'd, was rarified ; 
 For 'tis improper speech to say he died : 
 He was exhaled ; his great Creator drew 
 His spirit, as the sun the morning dew. 
 'Tis sin produces death ; and he had none, 
 But the taint Adam left on every son. 
 He added not, he was so pure, so good, 
 'Twas but the original forfeit of his blood : 30 
 
 And that so little, that the river ran 
 More clear than the corrupted fount began. 
 Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay ; 
 The length of course had wash'd it in the way : 
 So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold 
 The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold. 
 
 As such we loved, admired, almost adored, 
 Gave all the tribute mortals could afibrd. 
 Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above 
 Grew angry at our superstitious love : 40 
 
 For when we more than human homage pay, 
 The charming cause is justly snatch'd away. 
 
 Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone : 
 And yet we murmur that he went so soon ; 
 Though miracles are short and rarely shown. 
 
 Learn, then, ye mournful parents, and divide 
 That love in many, which in one was lied. 
 That individual blessing is no more. 
 But multiplied in your remaining store. 
 The flame 's dispersed, but does not all expire ; so 
 
 The sparkles blaze, though not the globe of fire. 
 Love him by parts, in all your numerous race, 
 And from those parts form one collected grace : 
 Then, when you have refined to that degree, 
 Imagine all in one, and think that one is he. 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 69 
 
 VII. 
 
 UPON YOUNG MR ROGERS OF GLOUCESTER- 
 SHIRE. 
 
 Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure, 
 
 Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure, 
 
 Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, 
 
 A large provision for so short a race ; 
 
 More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date, 
 
 Too early fitted for a better state ; 
 
 But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay. 
 
 He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way. 
 
 VIII. 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR PURCELL. 
 
 SET TO MUSIC BY DR BLOW. 
 
 Mark how the lark and linnet sing ; 
 With rival notes 
 They strain their warbling throats, 
 To welcome in the spring. 
 But in the close of night, 
 "When Philomel begins her heavenly lay, 
 They cease their mutual spite. 
 Drink in her music with delight, 
 And, listening, silently obey. 
 
70 drtden's poems. 
 
 2 So ceased the rival crew, when Purcell came ; 
 They sung no more, or only sung his fame : 
 Struck dumb, they all admired the godlike man : 
 
 The godlike man, 
 Alas ! too soon retired, 
 As he too late began.y 
 We beg not hell our Orpheus to restore : 
 Had he been there. 
 Their sovereign's fear 
 Had sent him back before. 
 The power of harmony too well they knew : 
 / He long ere this had tuned their jarring sphere, 
 And left no hell below. 
 
 / 
 
 3 The heavenly choir, who heard his notes from high. 
 Let down the scale of music from the sky : 
 
 They handed him along, 
 And all the way he taught, and all the way they sung. 
 Ye brethren of the lyre, and tuneful voice, 
 Lament his lot ; but at your own rejoice : 
 Now live secure, and linger out your days ; 
 The gods are pleased alone with PurceU's lays, 
 Nor know to mend their choice. 
 
 IX. 
 
 EPITAPH ON THE LADY WHITMORE. 
 
 Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone, 
 A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one. 
 Rest in this tomb, raised at thy husband's cost, 
 Here sadly summing what he had, and lost. 
 
 i .^ — . 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 71 
 
 Come, virgius, ere in equal bands ye join. 
 Come first, and offer at her sacred shrine ; 
 Pray but for half the virtues of this wife, 
 Compound for all the rest, with longer life ; 
 And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd, 
 So loved when living, and when dead so mourn'd. 
 
 X. 
 
 EPITAPH ON SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMB 
 IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 SACRED TO THE IMMOrvTAL MEMORY OF SIR PALMES FAIRBONE, 
 KNIGHT, GOVERNOR OF TANGIER ; IN EXECUTION OF WHICH 
 COMMAND, HE WAS MORTALLY WOUNDED BY A SHOT FROM 
 THE MOORS, THEN BESIEGING THE TOWN^IN THE FORTY- 
 SIXTH YEAR OF HIS AGE. OCTOBER 24, 1680. 
 
 Ye sacred relics, which your marble keep, 
 Here, undisturbed by wars, in quiet sleep : 
 Discharge the trust, which, when it was below, 
 Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo, 
 And be the town's Palladium from the foe. 
 Alive and dead these walls he will defend : 
 Great actions great examples must attend. 
 The Candian siege his early valour knew. 
 Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue. 
 From thence returning with deserved applause, 
 Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he draws ; 
 The same the courage, and the same the cause. 
 
72 dryden's poems. 
 
 His youth and age, his life and death, combine, 
 
 As in some great and regular design. 
 
 All of a piece throughout, and all divine. 
 
 Still nearer heaven his virtues shone more bright, 
 
 Like rising flames expanding in their height ; 
 
 The mai^r'^-glorj^crown'd the soldier's fight. 
 
 More bravely BritisllT general never fell, 
 
 Nor general's ^eath was e'er revenged so well ; 20 
 
 Which his pleased eyes beheld before their close, 
 
 Followed by thousand victims of his foes. 
 
 To his lamented loss for time to come 
 
 His pious widow consecrates this tomb. 
 
 XL 
 
 UNDER MR MILTON'S PICTURE, BEFORE HIS 
 PARADISE LOST.i 
 
 Theee Poets, in three distant ages born, 
 
 Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn. 
 — — [^The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd ; 
 "^ The next, in majesty ; in both the last. 
 
 The force of nature could no further go ; 
 
 To make a third, she join'd the former two. 
 
 1 In Toiisoii's fdio edition. 
 
 g^iisK- 
 
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 73 
 
 XII, 
 
 ON THE MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN 
 
 LADYi, WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE 
 
 INTERRED. 
 
 Below this marble monument is laid 
 All that heaven wants of this celestial maid. 
 Preserve, sacred tomb 1 thy trust consigned ; 
 The mould was made on purpose for the mind : 
 And she would lose, if, at the latter day, 
 One atom could be mix'd of other clay. 
 Such were the features of her heavenly face, 
 Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious grace : 
 So faultless was the frame, as if the whole 
 Had been an emanation of the soul : lo 
 
 Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd; 
 And hke a picture shone, in glass anneal'd. 
 Or like the sun eclipsed, with shaded li^ht : 
 Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight. 
 Each thought was. visible that roll'd within : 
 As through a crystal case the figured hours are seen. 
 And Heaven did this transparent veil provide, 
 Because she had no guilty thought to hide.- 
 AU white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies : 
 For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes. 20 
 
 r^igh though her wit, yet humble was her mind : 
 As if she could not, or she would not find 
 How much her worth transcended all her kind. 
 Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below. 
 That, when arrived, she scarce had more to know : 
 
 ' This Lady is interred in~~the Abbey-church. Her name was Mary 
 Frampton. She died iii 1G98. 
 
74 drtden's poems. 
 
 But only to refresh the former hint, 26 
 
 And read her Maker in a fairer print. 
 
 So pious, as she had no time to spare 
 
 For human thoughts, but was confined to prayer. 
 
 Yet in such charities she pass'd the day, 30 
 
 'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray. 
 
 A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows. 
 
 Which passion could but curl, not discompose. 
 
 A female softness, with a manly mind : 
 
 A daughter duteous, and a sister kind : 
 
 In sickness patient, and in death resign'd. 
 
 / 
 
 XIII. 
 
 n^ 
 
 EPITAPH ON MRS MARGARET PASTON, OF 
 BURNINGHAM IN NORFOLK. 
 
 So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet, 
 So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit. 
 Require at least an age in one to meet. 
 In her they met ; but long they could not stay, 
 'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay. 
 Heaven's image was in her so well express'd, 
 Her very sight upbraided all the rest ; 
 Too justly ravish'd from an age like tH^ 
 Now she is gone, the world is of a piece. 
 
 < 
 
ELEGIES AXD EPITAPHS. 75 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ON THE MONUMENT OF THE MARQUIS OF 
 WINCHESTER.! 
 
 He who in l impious times) undaunted stood, / \ r">^ / 
 And 'midst rebellion durst be just and good u ^(/^ 
 Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more 
 
 . Confirm'd the cause for which he sought before. 
 Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince, 
 For what his earthly could not reconipeng 
 
 ("^'Pmy, reacler, that slTcli times no more appear : 
 Or, if they happen, learn true honour here. 
 Ask of this age's faith and loyalty, 
 Which, to preserve them, Heaven confined in thee. 
 Few subjects could. a king like thine deserve ; 
 And fewer such a king so well could serve. 
 Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state 
 By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate ! 
 Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns given 
 To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven. 
 
 1 Winchester, a..staimcli royalist, besieged two years in bis castle of 
 Basing, died in l(j74. 
 
SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE FAIR STRANGER.1 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 1 Happy and free, securely blest, 
 No beauty could disturb my rest ; 
 My amorous heart was in despair. 
 To find a new victorious fair. 
 
 2 Till you descending on our plains, 
 With foreign force renew my chains : 
 Where now you rule without control 
 The mighty sovereign of my soul. 
 
 3 Your smiles have more of conquering charms, 
 Than all your native country arms ; 
 
 Their troops we can expel with ease, 
 Who vanquish only when we please. 
 
 4 But in your eyes, oh ! there's the spell, 
 Who can see them, and not rebel "? 
 You make us captives by your stay, 
 Yet kill us if you go away. 
 
 > This song is a compliment to the Duchess of Portsmouth, Charles's mistress, 
 on her first coming to England. 
 
 f 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 77 
 
 II. 
 
 ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN. 
 
 WRITTEN m/l680. ) 
 
 1 Clarendon had law and sense, 
 
 Clifford was fierce and brave ; 
 Bonnet's grave look was a pretence, 
 And Danbj's matchless impudence 
 
 Help'd to support the knave. 
 
 2 But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory i, l)^\i\pA^ 
 These will appear such chits in stor\f 
 
 'Twill turn all politics to jests. 
 To be repeated like John Dory, 
 When fiddlers sing at feasts. 
 
 3 Protect us, mighty Providence ! 
 
 What would these madmen have ? 
 First, they would bribe us without pence, 
 Deceive us without common sense, 
 
 And without power enslave^ 
 
 4 Shall free-born men, in humble awe. 
 
 Submit to servile shame ; 
 Who from consent and custom draw 
 The same right to be ruled by law. 
 
 Which kings pretend to reign 1 
 
 » ' Laurence Hyde,' afterwards Earl of Rochester, is the person here called 
 Lory. 
 
78 drtden's poems. 
 
 5 The duke shall wield his conquering sword, 
 
 The chancellor make a speech, 
 The king shall pass his honest word, 
 The pawTi'd revenue sums afford, 
 
 And then, come kiss my breech. 
 
 6 So have I seen a king on chess 
 
 (His rooks and knights withdrawn, 
 His queen and bishops in distress) 
 Shifting about, grow less and less. 
 
 With here and there a pawn. 
 
 ni. 
 
 A SONG FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY,i 1687.) 
 
 L Feom harmony, from heavenly harmony ^. 
 
 This universal frame began : ^ f . 
 
 When nature underneath a heap 
 
 Of jarring atoms lay,/']) '" }• y 
 
 And could not heave herTiead, . r- •■^ 
 
 The tuneful voice was heard from high, 
 
 Arise, ye more than dead. ir ' 
 
 Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, 
 In order to their "stations leap,(C, 
 
 And Music's power obey. |^> 
 From harmony, from heavenly harmony 
 
 This universal frame began : 
 
 From harmony to harmony 
 
 ^ ' St Cecilia's Day : ' 22d November — birthday of St Cecilia, the patron 
 saint of music — a Roman lady martyred in the third century, said to have been 
 taught miisic by an angel. 
 
L s cA 
 
 SONGS, ODES, ETC. 79 
 
 Through all the compass of the notes it rau, 
 The diapasoQ) closing full in Man. 
 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell 1 
 
 When Jubal struck the chorded shell, ~ / 
 His listening brethren stood around, 
 And, wondering, on their faces fell 
 To worship that celestial sound. 
 Less than a God thej thought there could not dwell 
 Within the hollow of that shell, 
 That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 
 
 The&mpgtr's loud clangour ^ \ k > ■ ^ . 
 
 Excites us to arms, -'^ .^S^ J( • i" 
 
 With shrill notes of anger, >'\\\/)^^^ 
 
 And mortal alarms. 
 The double double double beat 
 Of the thundering drum 
 Cries, hark ! the foes come ; 
 Charge, charge ! 'tis too late to retreat. 
 
 The soft complaining flute T 3 
 In dying notes discovers" 
 The woes of hopeless lovers, „ '^ ■ 
 
 Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute^it 
 
 Sharp violins proclaim 
 Their jealous pangs, and desperation, 
 Fury, frantic indignation, 
 Depth of pains, and height of passion, 
 
 For the fair, disdainful dame. 
 
80 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 IAa^ 
 
 But oh ! what art can teach, 
 
 -6, What human voice can reach, 
 The sacred organ's praise ? 
 Notes inspiringTioly love, 
 Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
 To mend the choirs above. 
 
 Orpheus could lead the savage race ; 
 j^nd trees uprooted left their place, 
 'Sequacious of the lyre : \ 
 But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : 
 When to her organ vocal breath was given, 
 An angel heard, and straight appear'd, 
 
 Mistaking earth for heaven. 
 
 i- 
 
 As from the power of sacred lays 
 
 The spheres began to move, 
 And sung the great Creator's praise 
 
 To all the bless'd above ; 
 So when the last and dreadful hour 
 This crumbling pageant shall devour, 
 , I . The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
 
 .^^m o^V/^ rpjjg dead shall live^ the^living die, 
 And Music shalK untune yhe sky. 
 
 '^■'amf wl*^ ■) 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 81 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE TEARS OF AMYNTA, FOR THE DEATH 
 OF DAMON. 
 
 1 On a bank, beside a'\villow,^ 
 Heaven her covering, earth her pillow, 
 Sad Amynta sigh'd alone : 
 
 From the cheerless dawn of morning 
 Till the dews of night returning. 
 Singing thus she made her moan : 
 
 Hope is banish'd, 
 
 Joys are vanish'd, 
 Damon, my beloved, is gone ! 
 
 2 Time, I dare thee to discover 
 Such a youth and such a lover ; 
 Oh, so true, so kind was he ! 
 Damon was the pride of nature, 
 Charming in his every feature ; 
 Damon lived alone for me ; 
 Melting kisses. 
 
 Murmuring blisses : 
 
 Who so lived and loved as we 1 
 
 Never shaU we curse the morning. 
 
 Never bless the night returning. 
 
 Sweet embraces to restore : 
 
 ^Never shall we both lie dyingr 
 
 Nature faihng. Love supplying 
 
 All the joys he drain'd before : 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
82 dryden's poems. 
 
 Death come end me, 
 To befriend me : 
 Love and Damon are no more. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE LADY'S SONG.^ 
 
 1 A Choir of bright beauties in spring did appear, 
 To choose a May-lady to govern the year ; 
 All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green ; 
 The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen : 
 But Phyllis refused it, and sigliilig did say, 
 I '11 not wear a garland (While Pan is away. 
 
 C^ 2 While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore. 
 The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more : 
 The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires, 
 Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires ; 
 And vows that himself and his mother will mourn. 
 Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return. 
 
 3 Forbear your addresses, and court us no more ; 
 For we will perform what the Deity swore : 
 But if you dare think of deserving our charms, 
 ' — ^Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms ; 
 Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn, 
 When Pan, and his soti;^and fair Syrinx return. 
 
 1 Intended to apply to the bariisBment of King James'iand his wife, Mary 
 ofEste. ^ 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 83 
 
 VI. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize 
 Reserved for your victorious eyes : 
 From crowds, whom at your feet you see, 
 pity, and distinguish me ! 
 As I from thousand beauties more 
 Distinguish you, and only you adore. 
 
 Your face for conquest was design'd. 
 Your every motion charms my mind ; 
 Angels, when you your silence break, 
 Forget their hymns, to hear you speak ; 
 But when at once they hear and view, 
 Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you. 
 
 No graces can your form improve, 
 But all are lost, unless you love ; 
 While that sweet passion you disdain, 
 Your veil and beauty are in vain : 
 In pity then prevent my fate. 
 For after dying all reprieve 's too late. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 High state and honours to others impart, 
 
 But give me your heart : 
 That treasure, that treasure alone, 
 
 I beg for my own. 
 
84 dryden's poems. 
 
 So gentle a love, so fervenjt a fire, 
 
 Mj soul does inspire ; 
 That treasure, that treasure alone, 
 
 I beg for my own. 
 Your love let me crave ; 
 Give me in possessing 
 So matchless a blessing ; 
 That empire; is all I would have. 
 Love 's my petition, 
 All my ambition ; 
 If e'er you discover 
 So faithful a lover, 
 So real a flame, 
 rUdie, rUdie, 
 So give up my game. 
 
 VIII. 
 RONDELAY. 
 
 1 Chloe found Amyntas lying, 
 
 All in tears upon the plain ; 
 Sighing to himself, and crying. 
 
 Wretched I, to love in vain ! 
 Kiss me, dear, before my dying ; 
 
 Kiss me once, and ease my pain ! 
 
 2 Sighing to himself, and crying, 
 
 Wretched I, to love in vain ! 
 Ever scorning and denying 
 
 To reward your faithful swain : 
 Kiss me, dear, before my dying ; 
 
 Kiss me once, and ease my pain : 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 85 
 
 Ever scorning, and denying 
 
 To reward joiu- faithful swain : 
 Cbloe, laughing at his crying, 
 
 Told him, that he loved in vain : 
 Kiss me, dear, before my dying ; 
 
 Kiss me once, and ease my pain ! 
 
 Chloe, laughing at his crying, 
 Told him, that lie loved in vain : 
 
 But repenting, and complying. 
 When he kiss'd, she kiss'd again : 
 Jviss'd him up before his dying ; 
 
 Kissed him up, and eased his pain. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 1 Go tell Amynta, gentle swain, 
 
 I would not die, nor dare complain : 
 Thy tuneful voice with numbers join, 
 Thy words will more prevail than mine. 
 To souls oppress'd and dumb with grief. 
 The gods ordain this kind relief; 
 That music should in sounds convey, 
 What dying lovers dare not say. 
 
 2 A sigh or tear perhaps she '11 give, 
 But love on pity cannot live. 
 
 Tell her that hearts for hearts were made, 
 And love with love is only paid. 
 
86 dryden's poems. 
 
 Tell her my pains so fast increase, 
 That soon they will be past redress ; 
 But ah ! the wretch that speechless lies, 
 Attends but death to close his eyes. 
 
 X. 
 
 A SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING 
 OUT OF TOWN IN THE SPRING. 
 
 1 Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring ) 
 
 So long delays her flowers to bear ; 
 Why warbling birds forget to sing, 
 
 And winter storms invert the year : 
 Chloris is gone, and fate provides 
 To make it Spring, where she resides. 
 
 2 Chloris is gone, the cruel fair ; 
 
 She cast not back a pitying eye ; 
 But left her lover in despair, 
 
 To sigh, to languish, and to die : 
 Ah, how can those fair eyes endure 
 To give the wounds they will not cure ? 
 
 Ss^reat God of love^^'hy hast thou made 
 ^^ATace thatTcah all hearts command, 
 That all religions can evade. 
 
 And change the laws of every land ? 
 Where thou hadst placed such power before, 
 Thou shouldst have made her mercy more. 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 87 
 
 When Chloris to the temple comes. 
 
 Adoring croM-ds before her fall ; 
 She can restore the dead from tombs. 
 
 And every life but mine recall. 
 I only am by Love desigii'd 
 To be Jhe Yictim for majikind. j^ 
 
 XI. 
 
 SONGS IN THE "INDIAN EMPEROR." 
 
 I. 
 
 Ah, fading joy ! how quickly art thou past ! 
 
 Yet we thy ruin haste. 
 As if the cares of human life were few. 
 
 We seek out new : 
 And follow Fate, which would too fast pursue. 
 See how on every bough the birds express, 
 In their sweet notes, their happiness. 
 They all enjoy, and nothing spare ; 
 But on their mother Nature lay their care : 
 Why then should man, the lord of aU below, 
 
 Such troubles choose to^now,, 
 As none of all his subjects undergo 1 
 \^ark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall, 
 ' And with a murmuring sound 
 \j)ash, dash upon the ground. 
 
 To gentle slumbers call. 
 
88 
 
 DEYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 I look'd, and saw within the book of fate, 
 
 When many days did lour, 
 r^ When lo 1 one happy hour 
 
 v^ Xieap'd up, and smiled to save the sinking state ; 
 A day shall come when in thy power 
 
 Thy cruel foes shall be ; 
 
 Then shall thy land be free : 
 ■ And then in peace shall reign ; 
 
 i But take, take that opportunity, 
 ' Which, once refused, will never come again. 
 I 
 
 XII. 
 
 SONG IN THE " MAIDEN QUEEN." 
 
 I FEED a flame within, which so torments me. 
 That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me : 
 ^Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, /u/il^Ai/j^rc 
 I That I had rather die than once remove it. ^ 
 
 i/1ret he for whom I grieve shall never know ij; : 
 My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. 
 Not a sigh, not a tear, my pain discloses, 
 But they fall silently, like dew on roses. 
 
 Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel,_ 
 My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fueT: 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 89 
 
 And while I suffer this to give him quiet, 
 Mj faith rewards mj love, though he deny it. 
 
 On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me ; 
 
 Where I conceal my love no frown can fright me : 
 be more happy, I dare not aspire ; ^ 
 
 oFcanTTfall morcrlow,' mounting'^o higher. 
 
 XIII. 
 SONGS IN « THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA." 
 
 I. 
 
 Wherever I am, and whatever I do, 
 
 My Phyllis^ is still in my mind ; 
 When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go. 
 
 My feet, of themselves, the way find : 
 Unknown to myself I am just at her door, 
 And when I would rail, I can bring out no more. 
 
 Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind ! 
 
 When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my breast, 
 And the love I would stifle is shown ; 
 
 But asleep or awake I am never at rest. 
 When from my eyes Phyllis is gone. 
 
 Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad mind ; 
 
 But, alas ! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find, 
 How I sigh to myself all alone ! 
 
90 dryden's poems. 
 
 Should a king be my rival in her I adore. 
 He should offer his treasure in vain : 
 
 Oh, let me alone to be happy and poor, 
 And give me my Phyllis again ! 
 
 Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever h6 kind, 
 
 I could to a desert with her be confined, 
 And envy no monarch his reign. 
 
 Alas ! I discover too much of my love. 
 And she too well knows her own power ! 
 
 She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove, 
 And makes me grow jealous each hour : 
 
 But let her each minute torment my poor mind, 
 
 I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind. 
 Than ever be freed from her power. 
 
 II. 
 
 He. How unhappy a lover am I, 
 
 While I sigh for my Phyllis in vain : 
 All my hopes of delight 
 Are another man's right, 
 
 Who is happy, while I am in pain ! 
 
 She. Sinc^ h^er honour jallows no relief, 
 
 1/ But^to~pityMie pains which you bear, 
 Tis the best of your fate. 
 In a hopeless estate, 
 
 To give o'er, and betimes to despair. 
 
 He. I have tried the false medicine in vain; 
 
 For I wish what I hope not to win : 
 From without, my desire 
 Has no food to its fire ; 
 
 But it burns and consumes me within. 
 
 / 
 
 i 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 91 
 
 She. Yet, at least, 'tis a pleasure to know 
 That you are not unhappy alone : 
 For the nymph you adore 
 ^ Is as wretched, and more ; x 
 
 And counts all your sufferings her own. \ 
 
 ye gods, let me suffer for both ; 
 
 At the feet of my PhyUis I '11 lie : 
 I '11 resign up my breath, 
 And take pleasure in death. 
 
 To be pitied by her when I die.| 
 
 She. What her honour denied you in life. 
 
 In hat death she will give to your love. 
 /Such a flame as is true 
 After fate will rejiew^ 
 
 For the souls to meet closer above. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN 'AMBOYNA. 
 
 Who ever saw a noble i sight, ly" 
 
 That never view'd a brave sea-fight ! 
 
 Hang up your bloody colours in the air, 
 
 Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare ; 
 
 Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright 
 
 Now each man his briudace, and then to the fight. 
 
 St George, St George, we cry, — 
 
 The shouting Turks reply. 
 
 Oh, now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot. 
 
 Ply it with culverin and with small shot ; 
 
 (lli'M. yoiio^ 
 
92 drtden's poems. 
 
 Hark, does it not thunder 1 no, 'tis the guns' roar, 
 The neighbouring billows are turn'd into gore ; 
 Now each man must resolve to die, 
 For here the coward cannot fly. 
 
 Drums and trumpets toll the knell, 
 
 And culverins the passing belL,-'^'''^'^^ 
 
 -hco^ 
 
 ^^^^ow, now they grapple, and now board amain ; 
 Blow up the hatches, they 're oiF all again : 
 Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, 
 Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings fall ; 
 She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, 
 ._She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel. 
 \ Who ever beheld so noble a sight, 
 \ As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight ! 
 
 
 H 
 
 
 XV. 
 
 INCANTATION IN (EDIPUS. 
 
 Tie. Choose the darkest part o' th' grove, 
 Such as ghosts at noonday love. 
 Dig a trench, and dig it nigh 
 Where the bones of Laius lie ; 
 Altars raised, of turf or stone, 
 Will th' infernal powers have none. 
 Answer me, if this be done 1 
 ^LiTPRX'Tis done. 
 
 TiR. Is the sacrifice made fit 1 
 Draw her backward to the pit : 
 Draw the barren heifer"^ack ; 
 Barren let lief T5e,~'£rard t^lack. 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 93 
 
 Cut the curl'd liair that grows 
 Full betwixt her horns and brows : 
 And turn your faces from the sun, 
 Answer me, if this be done 1 
 
 All Pr. 'Tis clone^ ^^^_^^ 
 
 ^rTiR. Pour inblood, )and blood-like wine) 
 To Mothex EartlTaud^Proserpine : 
 Mingle milk into tlie stream ; 
 Feast the ghosts that lovethe steam : 
 Snatch a brand from funeral pile : 
 Toss it in to mako them boil ; 
 And turn your faces from the sun, 
 Answer me, if this be done 1 
 
 All Pr. Tis done. 
 
 XVI. 
 SONGS IN ALBION AND ALBANIUS. 
 
 r Cease, Augusta ! cease thy mourning, 
 ' Ha ppy days appear, 
 (^GocfliTeinbioii is retm~mrig,' i 
 Loyal hearts to cheer ! 
 Every grace his youth adorning, 
 Glorious as the star of morning, 
 Or the planet of the year.V 
 
 II 
 
 \Albion, by the nymph attended, 
 ""^ l^as to Neptune recommended, 
 
94 dryden's poems. 
 
 Peace and plenty spread the sails ; 
 Venus, in her shell before him, 
 From the sands in safety bore him, 
 
 Aftd supplied ^^siaii^ gales. 
 ( Archon pn the shore commanding, 
 • Lowly met him at his landing, 
 
 Crowds of people swarm'd around ; 
 "Welcome, rang like peals of thunder. 
 Welcome, rent the skies asunder, 
 
 Welcome, heaven and earth resound. 
 
 a>" 
 
 III. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Infernal offspring of the Night, 
 ^^ Debarr'd of heaven your native right, 
 
 A> vK \ ^^^ ^^'^^ *^^ glorious fields of light, 
 ^/Jvl^?"^ Condemn'd in shades to drag the chain, 
 ^ And fill with groans the glooiiiy plain ; 
 Since pleasures here are none below, 
 Be ill our good, our joy be woe ; 
 Our work t' embroil the worlds above, 
 Disturb their union, disunite their love, 
 And blast the beauteous frame of our victorious foe. 
 
 IVo 
 
 See the god of seas attends thee, 
 Nymphs divine, a beauteous train : 
 All the calmer gales befriend thee 
 In thy passage o'er the main : 
 Every maid her locks is binding, 
 Every Triton's horn is winding. 
 Welcome to the watery plain. 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 
 
 05 
 
 V. 
 
 Albion", loved of floods and m«By- 
 
 
 *rince of Peace too mildlj^ rciiruia^N 
 son'OwjiiKl_coiu J »1 a i n ing, 
 
 l alt be re stored aga in : 
 Albion, loved of gods and men. 
 
 Still thou art the care of heaven, 
 Injhj^jouth to exile driven : 
 Heaven tliy ruin then prevented, , 
 Till the guilty land repented : \y^ 
 In thy age, when none could aid thee, 
 
 \ Foes conspired, and friends betray'd thee. 
 
 • To the brink of danger driven, 
 .Still thou art the care of heaven. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 SONGS IN KING ARTHUR. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 '^Q>fM?fV) 
 
 I 
 
 W here a battle is supposed to be given ( behind t he scenes J )with drums, 
 trumpets, and militaiy shouts and excursions ; after which, the Britoiis^ 
 expressing their joy for the victory, sing this song of triumph. 
 
 Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound ; 
 Come, if you dare, the foes rebound : 
 We come, we come, we come, we come. 
 Says the double, double, double beat of the thunder- 
 ing drum. 
 
 (mj^i^ iki ^-MH^ii^^ ( 
 
 ^H' 
 
96 DEYDENS POEMS. 
 
 
 Now [they charge on amain, 
 Now they rally again : ' ' " v'.^f} 
 The gods from above the macl labour behold, 
 And pity mankind, that will perish for gold. 
 \'ifJj\ \ \The fainting Saxons quit their ground, 
 . \ \ "Their trumpets languish in the sound : 
 '^AKpl / They fly, they fly, they fly, jt]iey-%j 
 
 \ Victoria, Victoria,' the bold Britons cry. j 
 I Now the Tictory''s"won7~ — 
 
 I To the plunder we run : 
 \^ We return to our lasses like fortunate traders. 
 Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish'd invaders. 
 
 II. 
 
 MAN SINGS. 
 
 sight, the mother of desires, 
 
 What charming objects dost thou yield ! 
 
 'Tis sweet, when tedious night expires, 
 To see the rosy morning gild 
 
 The mountain-tops, and paint the field ! 
 (" But when Clarinda, comes in sight. 
 
 She makes the summer's day more bright ; 
 And when she goes away, 'tis night. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When fair Clarinda comes in sight, &c. 
 
 WOMAN SINGS. 
 
 'Tis sweet the blushing morn to view ; 
 And plains adorn'd with pearly dew : 
 But such cheap delights to see, 
 
 Heaven and nature 
 
 Give each creature ; 
 They have eyes, as well as we ; 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 99 
 
 Every swain shall pay bis duty, 
 Grateful every nymph shall prove ; 
 
 And as these excel in beauty, 
 Those shall be renowu'd for love. 
 
 XVIII. 
 SONG OF JEALOUSY, IN LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 What state of life can be so blest 
 
 As love, that warms a lover's breast ? 
 
 Two souls in one, the same desire 
 
 To grant the hV'.o, and to require ! 
 
 But if in aeaven a hell we find, 
 
 'Tis .il from thee, 
 
 t^n lousy ! 
 
 'Tis ail from thee, 
 
 Jealousy! 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
 
 Thou tyrant of the^ mind 1\ 
 
 All other ills, though sharp they prove, 
 Serve to refine, and perfect love : 
 In absence, or unkind disdain, 
 it\^ty Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain. 
 W^ , n / But, ah ! no cure but death we jj^d^ 
 
 <l/([r LT2_£^ ^s free ' 
 
 _ From~D ealousy : 
 Jealousy ! 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
 Thou tyrant of the mind ! 
 
 ^i*yy^. 
 
 iS 
 
100 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 False in thy glass all objects are, 
 "^ome set too near, and some too far ; 
 
 Thou art the fire of endless night, 
 
 The fire that burns, and gives no light. 
 /All tojments of the damn'd we_find 
 
 In only thee^_ 
 \ Jealousy ! 
 
 Thou tjrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
 
 Thou tyrant of the mind ! 
 
 L/^^^' ^'^■^ 
 
 XIX. 
 
 SONG. FAREWELL, 
 
 
 Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and mv' grief, 
 In vain I have loved you, and hoj^e no relief ; 
 ./^CE^Qiie by your yii'tue, too strict and severe. 
 Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair ; 
 Now call'd by my honour, I seek with content 
 The fate which in pity you would not prevent : 
 To languish in love, were to find by delay 
 A death that 's more welcome the speediest way. 
 On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire, 
 The dangerns less than in hopeless desire ; lo 
 
 // M^- dcatli's- wound you give, though far-off4~b.e.ar 
 /My fall from your sight-^not to cost you a tear j^ 
 / But if the kind flood on a wave should convey, 
 And under your window my body should lay. 
 The wound on my breast when you happen to see. 
 You 'U say with a sigh — it was given by me. 
 
 ') 
 
 l| 
 
 ft..+ ^rlo...<^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 A/^^ 
 
 .l^ryvvf^^-^ \ I 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 101 
 
 XX. 
 
 ALEXANDER'S FEAST ; OR, ITHE POWER OF 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 AN ODE, IN HONOUR OF ST CECILIA S DAY; 
 
 1 'TwAS at the royal feast, TQE_P££siawon|, 
 B)t,.Siilip's "wailil^6 son : 
 Aloft in awful state 
 The godlike hero sate 
 
 On his imperial throne : 
 His valiant peers were placed around ; 
 Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound 
 (So should desert in arms be crown'd). 
 
 {Jfhe lovely^iais, % his side, I - 
 
 Sate like a bToorning Eastern brida"^; — K^Q/r^ULdiA-^ "^ 
 In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 
 Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
 None but the brave. 
 None but the brave, 
 — None but the brave deserves the fair. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
 
 None but the brave, 
 
 None but the brave. 
 
 None but the brave deserves the fair. 
 
102 detden's poems. 
 
 2 'Timotheus, placed on high 1/ 
 Amid the tuneful quire^^ 
 "With flying fingers toiich'd the fyre : 
 The trembling notes ascend the sky, 
 
 -r^ ~— ^ And heavenly joys inspire. 
 
 /^ //The song began from Jove, 
 f Who left his blissful seats above 
 (Such is the power of mighty love). 
 A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
 Sublime on radiant spires he rode, . 
 When he to fair Olympia press'd : 
 And while he sought her snowy breast : 
 Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, 
 __\ And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the worlds 
 / The listening crowd admire the lofty sound, 
 A present deity, they shout around, 
 A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound : 
 With ravish'd ears 
 The monarch hears, 
 /<^ssumes the god;. 
 Affects to nod. 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 With ravish'd ears 
 The monarch hears, 
 Assumes the god, 
 Affects to nod, 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 OuV 
 
 The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician sung ; 
 Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : 
 The jolly god in triumph comes ; 
 Sound the trumpets ; beat the drums ; 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 103 
 
 Flush'd with a purple grace 
 He sVinwR his hnnpst. face : 
 Now give the hautbojs, breath ; lie comes, he comes. 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
 
 Drinking joys did first ordain ; 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure. 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 
 RicITthe treasure," 
 Sweet the pleasure ; 
 Sweet is pleasure after pain. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure. 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 
 
 Rich the treasure. 
 
 Sweet the pleasure ; 
 Sweet is pleasure after pain. 
 
 t _Soothed with the sound the king grew vain ; -^ 
 
 Foughfntriiis'l)attles o'er agarirr~ 
 
 And thrice he routed all his foes ; and thrice he slew the 
 slain. _ c~- 
 The- master saw the madness rise ; 
 His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
 And while he heaven and earth defied, 
 Changed his hand, and check'd his pride. 
 He chose a mournful muse 
 Soft pity to infuse : 
 
 3 
 
 He sung Dafius great and good. 
 
 By too sBrere-fi fate. 
 Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen. 
 Fallen from his high estate. 
 
 And weltering in his blood ; 
 
104 deyden's poems 
 
 Deserted, at his utmost need, (X^^^I^W^ 
 Bj; those hisJormeiii)oujitj fed ; ^ itAJLmJi^-'i 
 
 On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
 With not a friend to close his eyes. 
 With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, 
 Revolving in his alter'd soul 
 
 The various turns of chance below ; 
 And now and then a sig h he stole ; 
 And tears began tonowTN \/ 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Revolving in his alter'd soul 
 
 The various turns of chance below 
 
 And now and then a sigh he stole ; 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 ■'o'- 
 
 5 The mighty master smiled, to see 
 That love was in the next degree : 
 'Twas but a kindred sound to move. 
 For pity melts the mind to love. 
 Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
 Soon he soothed his^soul to pleasures. 
 War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
 Honour, but an empty bubble ; 
 Never ending, still beginning, 
 Fighting still, and still destroying : 
 
 If the world be worth thy winning, 
 Think, think it worth enjoying : 
 / ^Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 
 j~^ \ Take the good the gods provide thee. 
 K The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
 ^^^0 Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
 Gazed on the fair 
 Who caused his care, 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 105 
 
 And sigh'd and look'd, sigli'd and look'd, 
 Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
 At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, 
 The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
 Gazed on the fair 
 Who caused his care, 
 And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
 Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
 At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd. 
 The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. 
 
 No w strike the gold en lyre again]: "["" \/ 
 A louder yet, and yeTaTloiider straip. -^ 
 Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
 And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. ^ 
 Ilark, hark, the horrid sound 
 Has raised up his head : 
 As awaked from the dead, 
 And amazed, he stares around. ^ \\jAr-rf^^^ 
 
 Efiv^ng^iieyengejrimotheus cries, \,.^^ (/\}/ai^ ^^A6^M 
 See the Furies ariseT (J 
 
 See the snakes that they rear, 
 How they hiss in their hair, 
 And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
 
 Behold a ghastlj- band. 
 Each a torch in Jiis hand! 
 Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
 -— pAnd unburied remain 
 
 Inglorious on the plain : 
 Give the vengeance due 
 To the vailant'^'cre^w. _ 
 
106 dryden's poems. 
 
 Behold how they toss their torches on high, 
 How thej point to the Persian abodes, 
 
 And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 
 
 The princes applaud, with a furious joj ; 
 
 And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; 
 Thais led the m ay, 
 To light him to his prey, 
 
 And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; 
 
 Thais led the way, 
 
 To light him to his prey. 
 And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 
 
 Thus, long ago. 
 Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, 
 
 While organs yet were mute ; 
 Timotheus, to his breathing flute,/* 
 And soundiDg lyre, 
 .Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
 At last divine Cecilia came, 
 Inyentress of the vocal frame ; 
 The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store, 
 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
 
 And added length to solemn sounds, /'' 
 With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
 ' Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 
 Or both divide the crown ; 
 He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
 She drew an angel down. 
 
 \ 
 
 .QRAND CHORUS. 
 
 At last, divine Cecilia came, 
 Inventress of the vocal frame 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. 
 
 107 
 
 The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store. 
 Enlarged the former nairow bounds, 
 And added length to solemn sounds. 
 With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
 Let old Timotheus yield the j)rizc, 
 
 Or both divide the crown ; 
 He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
 She drew an ancjel down. 
 
 XXL 
 
 ECULARn MASQUE 
 
 Enter janus. 
 
 Cheonos, Chronos,\m end thy pace . 
 An hundred times the rolling sun 
 Around the radiant belt has run 
 In his revolving race. 
 
 
 
 Behold, behold the goal in sight, ~) 
 ^A^^ ^pread thy Jan s, and wing^ 
 Enter Chronos, with'a'scyllie^in his hand, and a globe 
 
 on his back ; ivhich he sets doiun at his entrance. 
 Chronos. Weary, weary of my weight. 
 Let me, let me drop my freight, 
 And leave the world behind. 
 I could not bear, lo 
 
 Another year. 
 The load of human kind. 
 
 'This Masque, with the song of a scholar and his mistress, was performed 
 in 070^ for the author's benefit, withflEe'pTay of the Pilgrim, altered by Sir 
 Job 'il yiuto igh, his fortune and health being at that time in a declining state. 
 
 "^V 
 
 M^'^ 
 
 
 
108 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 / , — "yBnterij&OM.vsl laughing. 
 
 Momus. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! well hast thou done 
 To lay down thy pack, 
 And lighten thy back. 
 jl/'vC" ^^^ world was a fool, ere since it begun, 
 I And since neither Janus nor Chronos, nor I, 
 6 \* \^^^ ' ^^^ hinder the crimes, 
 Z^Jux^lM^ Or mend the bad times, 
 
 ^ 'Tis better to laugh than to cry. 20 
 
 of all three. 'Tis better to laugh than to cry. 
 Since Momus comes to laugh below. 
 
 Old time begin the show, 
 That he may see, in every scene, , 
 
 What changes in this age have been. '-^ 
 Chronos. Then goddess of the silver bow begin. 
 
 [HornSi or hunting-music within.~\ 
 
 ' ^ ) Enter diana. 
 
 Diana. With horns and with hounds, I waken t he day, 
 And hie to the woodland walks"away ; 
 I tuck up my robe, and am buskin'd soon. 
 And tie to my forehead a waxing moon ; 30 
 I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox, 
 And chase the wild goats o'er summits of rocks ; 
 With shouting and hooting we pierce through 
 
 the sky. 
 And Echo'turns hunter, and doubles the cry. 
 
 Chorus of all. With shouting and hooting we pierce through 
 the sky, 
 
 ^ And Echo turns hunterj a nd doub les the cry. 
 
 Janus. Then our age'wasTn its prime : 
 
 Chronos.Free from rage : 
 
 ■\' 
 
 Diana. 
 
 And free from crime. 
 
 ^ 
 
lOL^ iaiU m^ li^ijd, o,i(^^] 
 
 SONGS, ODES, ETC. ' 109 
 
 Momus. A very meny, dancing, drinking, //40 
 
 Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time. 
 
 Chorus of all. Then our age was in its prime, 
 
 Free from rage, and free from crime, 
 A very merry, dancing, drinking. 
 Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time. 
 
 [Dance of Diana's attendants.^ 
 
 JFnter mars. 
 
 Mars. Inspire ^thejj^^brasSjjnspire ; 
 The world is past Ttffinf ant age : 
 
 Arms and honour. 
 
 Arms and honour. 
 Set the martial mind on fire, 60 
 
 And kindle manly rage. 
 Mars has look'd the sky to red ; 
 And Peace, the lazy god, is fled. , 
 
 PTciTtY, ponce, and pleasure "flyi — ' . fv^- l^ 
 
 L^he_ sprightly green, -"'^ P ^AMA^ 
 In woodland walks, no more is seen^ j "l^J^ tio 
 The sprightly green lias drunk the Tyrian dye. 
 Chorus of all. Plenty, peace, &c. ~' 
 
 Mars. Sound the trumpet, beat the drum ; 
 
 Through all the Avorld around, 60 
 
 Sound a reveilHe, soimd, sound. 
 The warrior god is come. 
 Ch&pus of all. Sound the trumpet, &c. 
 Momus. Thy sword within the scabbard keep, 
 x\nd let mankind agree ; 
 fet ter the w orld were fast asle.eg» 
 Than kept awake by thee. 
 The fools are only thinner, 
 With all our cost and care ; 
 
110 DRYDEN's POEMS. 
 
 But neither side a "winner, 7o 
 
 For things are as thej were. 
 Chorus of all. The fools are only, &c. 
 
 i\ 
 
 Enter yen us. 
 
 Venus. Calms~^pear when storms are past ; 
 Love will have his hour at last : 
 Nature is my kindly care..; 
 
 Mars destroys, and I repair j 
 
 Take"me, take me, while you may, 
 Venus comes not every day. 
 Chorus of all. Take her, take her, &c. 
 ChronoSi The world was then so light, so 
 
 I scarcely felt the weight ; 
 oy ruled the day, and Love the night. 
 But, since the q^ueen of pleasure left the ground, 
 I faint, I lag, 
 And feebly drag 
 The ponderous orb around. 
 Momus. All, all of a piece throughout ; 
 [Pointing to Diana.~\ Thy chase had a beast in view ; 
 [To Mars.^ Thy wars brought nothiug about ; 
 [To Venus.^ Thy lovers were all untrue. 90 
 
 Janus. 'Tis well an old age is out. . 
 i^'fChronos. And time to begin a new. J 
 "^ Cho. of all. All, all of a piece throughout ; 
 Thy chase had a beast in view : 
 Thy wars brought nothing about ; 
 jf] oa A ^^ '^^^ lovers were all untrue. 
 
 /HjfJt^ 
 
 ^Tis well an old age is out, 
 And time to begin a new. 
 
 Dance of huntsmen, nymphs, warriors, and lovers. 
 
SONGS, ODES, ETC. / i i 111 
 
 HIS MISTRESS, 
 
 VHO, fiEINQ CROSSED BY THEIR FRIENDS, I feLL MAD FOR 
 ONE ANOTHER ; AND NOW FIRST MEET IN BEDLAM.- 
 
 [Music within.li 
 
 The Lo vers enter at opposite doors, each held hy a keeper. 
 
 Phillis.j Look, look I see — I see mj love appear ! 
 
 j 'Tis he 'Tis he alone ; 
 
 ' For, like him, there is none : 
 
 — >,'Tis the dear, dear man, 'tis thee, dear. 
 
 4. myntas. |Iark ! the winds war ; 
 ^The foamy waves roar; 
 I see a ship afar : 
 
 Tossing and tossing, and making to the shore : 
 But what 's that I view. 
 So radiant of hue, 
 rSt Hermo»;^t Ilermo, that sits upon the sails 1 
 Ah ! No, no, no. 
 St Hermo never, never shone so bright ; 
 'Tis Phillis, only Phillis, can shoot so fair a 
 
 light; 
 'Tis Phillis, 'tis Phillis, that saves the ship 
 
 alone. 
 For all the winds are hush'd, and the storm is 
 overblown.y' 
 Phillis. Let me go, let me run, let me flj to his arms. 
 Amyntas. If all the fates combine. 
 And all the furies join, 
 I '11 force mj waj to Phillis, and break through 
 the charm. 
 
112 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 [Eere they break from their keepers, run to each othei\ 
 and embrace.] 
 
 Phillis. Shall I marry the man I love % 
 
 And shall I conclude my pains ? 
 Now bless'd be the powers above, 
 I feel the blood bound in my veins ; 
 With a lively leap it began to move, 
 And the vapours leave my brains. 
 Amyntas. Body join'd to body, aadjieart join'd to heart, 
 To make sure of the cure, 
 Go call the man in black, to mumble o'er his 
 part. 
 
 Phillis. But suppose he should stay 
 
 Amyntas. At worst if he delay, 
 
 'Tis a work mugt be dong l 
 We '11 borrow but a day, 
 And the better, the sooner begun. 
 
 * 
 
 Cho. of both. At worst if he delay, &c. 
 
 [^They run out together hand in hand.] 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES, f' -^^^^/ 
 
 L 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE RIVx\L LADIES. ' 
 
 'Tis much desired, you judges of the town '^^-^AAM . V'O > 
 
 Would pass a vote to put all prologues down : p5 h f 
 For who can show me, since they first were writ, 
 They e'er converted one hard-hearted wit ? 
 
 -"Yet the world's mended well ; in former days 
 Good prologues were as scarce as now good plays. 
 For the reforming poets of our age, 
 In this first charge, spend their poetic rage : 
 
 JExpect no more when once the prologue's done ij^'^ 
 The wit is ended ere the play 's begun. |^**^ lo 
 
 You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rhymes ; .- 
 High language often ; ay, and sense, sometimes. >^. 
 As for a clear contrivance, doubt it noy*;^:- — 
 They blow out candles to give light to the plot.^/ 
 And for surprise, two bloody-minded men 
 Fight till they die, then rise and dance again, i^ 
 Such deep intrigues you 're welcome to this day : > 
 
 JBut blame yourselves, not him who writ the play : 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
ri 
 
 , JO 6 / ^-^.. (r\ w^'\^D, , 
 
 114 dryden's poems. 
 
 Though his plot's dull, as can be well, desired, \y i9 
 I /Wit stiff as any you have e'er admired : 
 '"" 'He 's bound to please, not to write well ; and knows 
 
 There is a mode in plays as well as clothes ; 
 
 Therefore, kind judges / . . . —mJL.^ 
 
 ■\ J . ' .V U^ 
 
 ^TWm».<U<?.-'j^ SECOND PKOLOGUE ENTEES. VStUcS^] 
 
 Hold ; would you admit 
 For judges all you ^ee^within the pit ? 
 '^*-4. Whom would he then except, or on what score ? ,. 
 '^V -72. All who (like him) have writ ill plays before f>x^ ' '^ 
 For they, like thieves condemn'd, are hangmen made, -' ' 
 l">To execute the members of their trade. U^" 
 All that are writing now he would disown, 
 But then he must except — even all the town ii J^ 
 All choleric, losing gamesters, who,"' in spite". 
 In fV^-')>^\ ^^11 damn to-day, because they lost last night ; 
 
 ' All servants, whom their mistress' scorn upbraids ;i 
 All maudlin lovers, and all slighted maids ; 
 All who are out of humour, all severe ; 
 All that want wit, or hope to find it here. 
 
 • 11. ' ''^"^diAx^ 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE INDIAN QUEEN. ; ^ 
 
 As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly and discovers an Indian 
 boy and girl sleeping under two plantain-trees ; and, when the curtain is 
 almost up, the music turns into a tune expressing an alarm, at which the 
 boy awakes, and speaks : 
 
 Boy. Wake, wake, Quevira ! our soft rest must cease, 
 And fly together with our country's peace ! 
 
^^^[/l; \!Mr PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 115 
 
 / 
 
 No more must v^e sleep under plantain shade, 3 
 
 Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade ; 
 Where bounteous nature never feels decay, 
 \ And opening buds drive falling fruits away. 
 
 Que. Whj^should men quarrel here, where all pos^ss 
 As much as thej can hope for bj success 1 — ^ \ X/^ 
 None can have most, "where nature is so kind, 
 As to exceed man's use, though not his mind. lo 
 
 Boy. By ancient prophecies we have been told, / 
 Our world shall be subdued by one more old; — >VVV^J2^ VtC' 
 And, see, that world already 's hither coni^ '^^^^-^ -<) 
 
 Que. If these be they, we welcome then oiir doom ! 
 Tlieir looks are such, that mercy flows from thence, 
 More gentle than our native innocence.^ CL/\kM i 
 
 Boy. Why should we then fear these, our enemies, 
 That rather seem to us like deities ? 
 
 Que, By their protection, let us begio live ; \^ 
 They came not here to conquer, but forgive. >.♦ 20 
 
 If so, your goodness may your power express, ^^ ru,i> 
 And we shall judge both best by our success. ■ ' "^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 III. 
 EEILOGIUB TO THE INDIAN QUEEN. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA. 
 
 You see what shifts we are enforced to try, 
 To help out wit with some variety ; 
 Shows may be found that never yet were seen, 
 'Tis^rd to find such wit as ne'er has been : \ 
 
lib' dryden's poems. 
 
 You have seen all that this old world can do, 5 
 
 We therefore trj the fortune of the new, 
 
 And hope it is below your aim to hit 
 
 At untaught nature with your practised wit : 
 
 Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear, 
 
 Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards here. 10 
 
 'Tis true, you have marks enough, the plot, the show, 
 
 The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too ; 
 
 If all this fail, considering the cost, 
 
 'Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost : 
 
 But if you smile on all, then these designs, 
 
 Like the imperfect treasure of our minds, 
 
 Will pass for current wheresoe'er they g(>. 
 
 When to your bounteous hands their stahips/ they owe. 
 
 IV. 
 
 EPILOGUE TO THE INDIAN EMPEROR, 
 
 BY A MERCURY. 
 
 To all and singular in this full meeting, 
 Ladies and gallants, Pha3bus sends ye greeting. 
 To all his sons, by whate'er title known, 
 Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town 5 
 r From his most mighty sons, whose confidence 
 ; Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense, 
 [ ' Even to his little infants of the time. 
 
 Who write new songs, and trust in tune and rhyme ; 
 
 Be 't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved 
 
 To see good plays condemn'd, and bad received) 10 
 
 -U-i 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES, 1 1 7 
 
 Ordains your judgment upon every cause, ii 
 
 Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws. 
 He first thinks fit no'^nnetteer advance 
 His censure fartlier than the song or dance, 
 Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb. 
 And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme ; 
 
 . All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too ; 
 All that appears high sense, and scarce is low. 
 
 '*"As for the coffee wits, he says not much ; 
 Their proper business is to damn the Dutch : 20 
 
 For the great dons of wit — ' 
 
 Pha3bus gives them full privilege alone, 
 To damn all others, and cry up their own. 
 Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will, 
 They should have power to save, but not to kill : \ 
 For love and he long since have thought it fit, 
 
 ^it live by beauty,:beauty~reignlby wit^^ ,^ 
 
 V. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO SIR MARTIN MARR-ALL. 
 
 Fools, which each man meets in his dish each day, 
 
 Are yet the great regalios of a play ; 
 
 In which to poets you but just appear, 
 
 To prize that highest, which cost them so dear : 
 
 Fops in the town more easily will pass ; 
 
 One story makes a statutable ass : 
 
 But such in plays must be much thicker sown. 
 
 Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one. 
 
V 
 
 118 dryden's poems. 
 
 Observing poets all their walks invade, 
 As men watch woodcocks gliding through a glade : 
 And when they have enough for comedj, 
 "^hej stow their several bodies in a pie : 
 ^The poet 's but the cook to fashion it, 
 For, gallants, you yourselves have found the wit. \ 
 1 To bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong ; \ v 
 INone welcome those who bring their cheer along. ^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE TEMPEST. 
 
 As when a tree 's cut down, the secret root 
 
 Lives under ground, and thence new branches shoot ; 
 
 So from old Shakspeare's honour'd dust, this day 
 
 Springs up and buds a new reviving play : 
 
 Shakspeare, who (taught by none) did first impart 
 
 To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art. 
 
 He, monarch like, gave those, his subjects, law ; 
 
 And is that nature which they paint and draw. 
 J -Fletcher reached that which on his heights did grow. 
 
 While Jonson crept, and gather'd all below. lo 
 
 This did his love, and this his mirth digest : 
 
 One imitates him most, the other best. 
 
 If they have since outwrit all other men, 
 -t-^is with the drops which fell from Shakspeare's pen. 
 
 'The storm, which vanish'd on the neighbouring shore, 
 
 Was taught by Shakspeare's Tempest first to roar. 
 
 That innocence and beauty, which did smile / 
 
 ^ / ^^ 
 
(kti'^'^i- 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 119 
 
 lu Fletcher, grew on this enchanted isle. i8 
 
 But Shakspeare's^m^gtc: could not copied be ; 
 Within that circle none durst walk but he. 
 I must confess 'twas~ bold, nor would jou now 
 That liberty to vulgar wits allow, 
 Which works bj magic supernatural things : . 
 
 But Shakspeare's power is sacred as a king's. / \^y^ 
 Those legends from old priesthood were I'^ccivedN^lj- ' V-"^ 
 And he then writ, as people then believed. ' 
 
 But if for Shakspeare we your grace implore, 
 We for our theatre shall want it more : 
 I ,Who, by our dearth of youths, are forced to employ 
 One of our women to present a boy ; 30 
 
 And that 's a transformation, you will say, 
 Exceeding all the magic in the play. 
 Let none expect in the last act to find 
 Her sex transform'd from man to womankind. 
 Whate'er she was before the play began, 
 All you shall see of her is perfect man. 
 Or, if your fancy will be further led 
 To find her woman— it must be a-bed. 
 
 / 
 
 VII. 
 PROLOGUE TO TYRANNIC LOVE. 
 
 Self-love, which, never rightly understood, \y 
 _.- Makes poets still conclude their plays are good. 
 
 And malice in all critics reigns so high,\/ 
 (/That for small errors, they whole plays decry ; 
 
120 DRYDEN's POEMS. i^Oljj^-<J}; 
 
 So that to see this fondness, and that spite, s 
 
 You'd think that none but madmen judge or write, 
 
 Therefore our poet, as he thinks not fit 
 
 To rmpOse upon you what he writes for wit ; 
 
 So hopes, that, leaving you your censures free, 
 
 You equal judges of the whole will be : lo 
 
 They judge but half, who only faults will see. 
 
 Poets, like lovers, should be bold and dare. 
 
 They spoil their business with an over care jy 
 
 And he, who servilely creeps after sense, 
 
 Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence. 
 
 Hence 'tis, our poet, in his conjuring, 
 
 AUow'd his fancy the full scope and swing. 
 
 But when a tyrant for his theme he had. 
 
 He loosed the reins, and bid his muse run mad : 
 
 And though he stumbles in a full career, 20 
 
 Yet rashness is a better fault than fear. 
 
 He saw his way ; but in so swift a pace. 
 
 To choose the ground might be to lose the race. 
 
 They, then, who of each trip the advantage take. 
 
 Find but those faults, which they want wit to make. 
 
 vni. 
 
 EPILOGUE TO THE WILD GALLANT, 
 
 I WHEN REVIVED. 
 
 Op all dramatic writing, comic wit. 
 
 As 'tis the best, so 'tis most hard to hit, 
 
 /For it lies all in level to the eye, 
 
 ' Where all may judge, and each defect may spy. 
 
 '■ ..-f -4-'" 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 121 
 
 Humour is that which every day we meet, 5 
 
 And therefore known as every public street ; 
 
 In which, if e'er the poet go astray. 
 
 You all can point, 'twas there he lost his way. \^^_^ 
 
 But, what 's so common, to make pleasant too. 
 
 Is more than any wit can always do. lo 
 
 For 'tis like Turks, with hen and rice to treat ; 
 
 To make rcgalios out of common meat. 
 
 But, in your diet, you grow savages : I ^juX,!^, ^,^ 
 
 Nothing but human flesli your taste can please ; 1, ^ u I 
 
 And, as their feasts with slaughter'd slaves began, ' If ^ 
 
 So you, at each new play, must have a man. j ~t)) n 
 
 Hither you come, as to see prizes fouglifV ' 
 
 If no blood 's drawn, you cry, the prize is nought. 
 
 But fools gi'ow Mary now : and, when they see 
 
 A poet eyeing round the company, 
 
 Straight each man for himself begins to doubt ; 
 
 They shrink like seamen when a press comes out. 
 
 Few of them will be found for public use. 
 
 Except you charge an oaf upon each house, 
 
 Like the train bands, and every man engage 
 
 For a sufficient fool, to serve the stage, 
 
 And when, with much ado, you get him there, 
 
 Where he in all his glory should appear. 
 
 Your poets make him such rare things to say, « 
 
 That he 's more wit than any man i' th' play : so 
 
 But of so ill a mingle with the rest. 
 
 As when a parrot 's taught to break a jest. 
 
 Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a show, 
 
 As tawdry squires in country churches do.^ 
 
 Things well consider'd, ^tis so hard to make) — 
 
 A comedy, which should the knowing take, 
 
 That our duU poet, in despair to please. 
 
 Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of ease. 
 
(\^hUco 
 
 ^/ 
 
 122 DRYDENS POEMS 
 
 'Tis a land-tax, which he 's too poor to pay ; 39 
 
 ^jdu therefore must some other impost lay. 
 ( Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, 
 -'^ This motley garniture of fool and farce, / 
 
 Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at homej \/\ 
 Which does, like vests, our gravity become. 
 Our poet yields you should^this play refuse : 
 As tradesmen, by the change of fashions, lose, 
 With some content, \their fripperies of France, 
 In hope it may their staple trade advance. \ . 
 
 IX. 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 SPOKEN THE FIRST DAY OP THE KINGS HOUSE) ACTING 
 AFTER THE FIRE OF LONDON. 
 
 So shipwreck'd passengers escape to land, 
 So look they, when on the bare beach they stand,^/ 
 Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce o'er, 
 Expecting famine on a desert shore. \ " 
 From that hard climate we must wait for bread, 
 Whence even the natives, forced by hunger, fled. 
 Our stage does human chance present to view, 
 But ne'er before was seen so sadly true : 
 "You are changed too, and your pretence to see 
 Js but a nobler name for charity. lo 
 
 Your own provisions furnish out our feasts, 
 '^hile you the founders make yourselves the guests. 
 
 \ 
 
Y' 6iMv ^ffi,Q ij)^^^ 
 
 ^-';' . - - '<■ i^L-j) < 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. ' .123 /. 
 
 Of all mankind beside fate had some care, '''^-^l^lX^ 
 
 But for poor Wit no portion did prcpare,v/ 
 
 <Ji^eft^a_rent-charge to the braTeanSjEir; 
 
 You cherish'd it, and now ifs~fairjou mourn, 
 
 Which blind junmanncr'd zealots make their ^coru,">n#. if" 
 /^Who think that fire a judgment on the stage, '^\^-^yv 
 
 Which spared not temples in its furious rage. 
 
 But as our now^uittcitj rrscs higher; '" 20 
 
 So from old theatres may new aspire, 
 
 Since fate contrives magnificence by fire. 
 
 Our great metropolis does far surpass 
 
 Whate'cr is now, and equals all that was : 
 , Our wit as far does foreign wit excel, 
 
 And, like a king, should in a palace dwell. 
 (iBut we^with golden hopes arc vainly fed,w^ 
 1 Talk high, and entertain you in a shed": 
 
 Your presence here, for which m'c humbly sue, 
 
 Will grace old theatres, and build up new. 30 
 
 TwjA 
 
 X. 
 
 Q:pilogue to the second part of the 
 -^ conquest of granada. 
 
 (They who have best succeeded on the stage, ic/?//^5^; S^tZ^ 
 Have still conform'd their genius to their age. ' / * {jLr> 
 Thus Jonson did mechanic humour show, ^^"^ ^P^ 
 
 When men were dull, and conversation low. xA^ 
 
 Then comedy was faultless, but 'twas coarse': 0»^ j bdO^^j!^^ /^ 
 Cobb's tankard was a jest, and Otter'sliorsa ^ ^7/35^'Wt/l 
 
K 
 
 124 
 
 deydbn's poems. 
 
 "« fH^ljJU 
 
 b 
 
 r 
 
 (^And, as their comedy, their love was mean ) 
 Except, by chance, m some one labour'd scene, 
 AVhich must atone for an ill-written play. 
 They rose, but at their height could seldom stay. 
 Fame then was cheap,, and the first comer sped ; 
 And they have kept it since, by being dead. 
 But, were they now to write, when critics weigh 
 Each line, and every word, throughout a play, 
 None of them, no not Jonson in his height, 
 
 ' Could pass, without allowing grains for weigM. 
 
 r^hink it not envy, that these truths are told : 
 Our poet's not mahcious, though he's bold. 
 'Tis not to brand them, that their faults are shown 
 But, by their errors, to excuse his own. 
 If love and honour now are higher raised, 
 'Tis not the poet, but the age is praised. 
 Wit 's now arrived to a more high degree : 
 Our native language more refined and free. 
 Our ladies and our men now speak more wit 
 In conversation, than those poets writ. 
 Then, one of these is, consequently, true : 
 That what this poet writes comes short of you, 
 And imitates you ill (which most he fears). 
 Or else his writing is not worse than theirs. V' 
 Yet though you judge (as sure the critics will), 
 That some before him writ with greater skill. 
 In this one praise he has their fame surpass'd, 
 
 ywTo please an age more gallant than the last. 
 
 20 
 
 30 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. . 125 
 
 XL 
 
 PROLOGUE TO AMBOYNA 
 
 
 As needy gallants in the scrivener's liauds^ f ^^' 
 
 Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgaged lands, 
 The first fat buck of all the season 's sent, _^ ^ ^ 
 
 And keeper takes no fee in compliment r, /^'Mxi \\j^\^xi^^) 
 ^re dotage of some Englishmen is sucET^ ( Cl^^t^M 
 
 To fawn on those who ruin them — the Dutch. ' y 
 They shall have all, rather than make a m iir 
 ,\Vlth those who of the same religion are. 
 The Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too, 
 Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. lo 
 
 Some are resolved not to find out the cheat, 
 But, cuckold-like, love him who does the feat : 
 What injuries soe'er upon us fall, 
 Yet, still the same religion answers alT: ) V^ 
 Religion wheedled you ta civil "wm^ — [spare : 
 
 Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would 
 Be gull'd no longer, for you'll find it true, 
 They have no more religion, faith — than you ; 
 Interest 's the god they worship in their state ; 
 And you, I take it, have not much of that. 20 
 
 Well, monarchies may own religion's name, 
 But states are atheists in their very frame. 
 They share a sin, and such proportions fall. 
 That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to tliem all. 
 How they love England, ydu~sliall see this day ; 
 
 / No map shows Holland truer than our play : ; 
 
 Their pictures and inscriptions well we know ; 
 We may be bold one medal^^sure to show. 
 
 1 ' A(nboyna: ' a play written against the Dutch. 
 
126 r '^DRYDENS POEl^S. /: i 
 
 / . ^-^.: 
 
 j View then thifeir falsehoods, rapine, cruelty ; y I'tj^^ 29 
 
 And think what once thej were, the j still would^be : 
 
 [But hope not either language, plot, or art ; 1 
 
 PTwas writ in haste, but with an English heart : \ 
 
 [And least hope wit ; in Dutchmen that would be) 
 
 j As much improper, as would honesty. 
 
 XII. 
 EPILOGUE TO AMBOYNA. 
 
 ^^ , _ 
 
 A/"^ poet' once the Spartans led to fight. 
 And made them conquer in the muse's right; 
 So would our poet lead you on this day. 
 Showing your tortured fathers in his play*^ 
 To one well born the affront is worse, and more, 
 When he 's abused and baffled by a boor : 
 With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do. 
 They 've both ill nature and ill manners too. 
 Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation, 
 For they were bred ere manners were in fashion , 
 \And their new commonwealth has set them free, 
 Only from honour and civility. — — -. / 
 'JV^enetians do not more uncouthly ride,/ !■ 
 Than did their lubber state mankind bestride ; 
 JTheir sway became them with as ill a mien, 
 As their own paunches swell above their chin : 
 Yet is their empire no true growth, but humour, 
 And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour. 
 pAs Cato did his Afric fruits display, 
 So we before your eyes their Indies lay : ^_^ 
 
 \ 
 
 /" 
 
L 
 
 i^el 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 127 
 
 All loyal English will, like liiin, conclude, 
 Let Csesar live, and Carthage be subdued! 1/ 
 
 XIII. 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 
 SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF ^^HE N EW HOUSE, yAROH 
 
 26, J674. 
 
 A PLAiN-built^ house, after so long a^^) 
 Will send you half unsatisfied away ; 
 When, fallen from your expected pomp, you find 
 AJbare^fionveniencc only is dosigiiVl. ^ 
 You, who each day can theatres behold. 
 Like Nero 's palace, shining all with gold, 
 Our mean ungilded stage will scorn, we fear. 
 And, for the homely room, disdain tlie cheer. 
 Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown, 
 And a plain suit, since we can make but one, / lo 
 
 Is better than to be by tarnish'd ga'\vtliyiknown.J/ 
 They, who are by your favours wealthy made, 
 With mighty sums may carry on the trade : 
 We, broken bankers, half destroy'd by fire, 
 With our small stock to humble roofs retire' : 
 Pity our loss, while you their pomp admire. 
 For fame and honour we no longer strive, 
 \We yield in both, and only Leg to live : 
 
 ' This Prologue was written for the King's company, who pad .lost o pene3L 
 their house in Drury-lane. 
 
v:.: 
 
 128 ^l/^yf/lf' DEYDEI^'S POEMS. 
 
 Unable to support their vast expense, ^ \Auv^ 19 j/" 
 Who build and treat with such magnificence ; 
 That, like the ambitious monarchs of the age, , : 
 They give the law to our provincial stage. 
 
 jGreat neighbours enviously promote excess,^ 
 
 awhile they impose their splendour on the less. 
 But only fools, and they of vast estate, 
 The extremity of modes will imitate, 
 The dangling knee-fringe, and the bib-cravat. 
 Yet if some pride with want may be allow'd, 
 We in our plainness may be justly proud : 
 Our royal master will'd it should be so ; 30 
 
 Whate'er he 's pleased to own, can need no show : 
 That sacred name gives ornament and grace. 
 And, like his stamp, makes basest metals pass. 
 'Twere folly now a stately^ pile to raise. 
 To build a playhouse, while you throw down plays ; 
 While scenes, machines, and empty operas reign. 
 And for the pencil you the pen disdain : 
 While troops of famish'd Frenchmen hither drive, 
 And laugh at those upon whose alms they live : 
 Old English authors vanish, and give place ~~'~" 40 
 
 To these new conquerors of the Norman race. 
 More tamely than your fathers you submit ; 
 You 're now grown vassals to them in your wit 
 Mark, when they play, how our fine fops advance 
 The mighty merits of their men of France, 
 /| t. Keep time, cry Bon, and humour the cadence. 
 tf^i^X' Well, please yourselves ; but sure 'tis understood. 
 
 That French machines have ne'er done England good., ^* 
 v^l would not prophesy our house's fate : r^f-^^-'^lC 
 
 ^■vs 'But while vain shows and scenes you over-rate, J> '50 „- 
 
 ,' The reflection on tlie taste of tlie town in tiiese four lines is levelled at 
 f;the Duke's company, wlio had exhibited the siege of Rhodes, ^3440 other ex- 
 pensive operas, and were now getting up tlie operas of Psyche^ Circe,-. &c. 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 129 
 
 Tis to be fear 'd 5i 
 
 Phat as a fire the former Louse o'erthrew, _ 
 \lachine& aad tempests will destraj_the-Hewt) 
 
 75 XIV. l^4t,0jjj,^li^ 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY oV) ^ ^/-^5ar 
 rOXFORD, 1 671. ^ -k (^ 
 
 WJl^/i^AiMJy SPOKEN BY MR HART. Of 'v^ 
 
 J'oETS.iyour subjects have their partslssigii'd 
 
 Po unbend, and to divert their-saienfiigD^ mind : \, - 
 
 tN^'heu tired with following nature, jou thinklit 
 
 Fo seek repose in the cool shades of w^it, 
 
 iud, from the sweet retreat, with joj survey .^ 
 
 iVhat rests, and what is conquer'd, of the wayr 
 
 riere, free yourselves from envy, care, and st rife L^ -*^' ^ 
 
 fou view the various turns of human life M ^. /H^f^ I ifk 
 
 5afe in our scene, through dangerous courts you go, 
 
 ind, undebauch'd, the vice of cities know. 10 
 
 ifour theories are here to practice brought, 
 
 ^.s in mechanic operations wrought ; 
 
 ind man, the little world, before you set, 
 
 A.S once the spJnere ^ of crystal show'd the gr^at. 
 
 Blest, sure, are you above all mortal kind, 
 
 [f to your fortunes you can suit your mind 
 
 ]!Iontent to see, and shun, those ills we show, 
 
 A.nd crimes on theatres alone to know. 
 
 W^ith joy we bring what our dead anthO fs'wTlt^ 
 
 A.nd beg from you the value^tTheir wit ; 20 
 
 ' ' Sphere,' &c. : referring to the macrocosm — the universe ; and the micro- 
 !Osm — man. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 
■b J ^1/ 3 
 
 130 DRYDEFS POEMS. 
 
 r 
 
 y'That Shakspeare's, Fletcher's, and great Jonson's claim, 
 
 May be renew'd from those who gave them fame. 22 
 
 None of our living poets dare appear ; 
 
 For Muses so severe are worshipped here,(/ 
 
 That, conscious of their faults, they shun the eye, 
 
 And, as profane, from sacred places fly. 
 
 Rather than see the offended God, and die. 
 
 We bring no imperfections but our own ; 
 
 Such faults as made are by the makers shown : 
 
 And you have been so kind, that we may boast, 30 
 
 The greatest judges still can pardon most, l^.- 
 
 1 Poets must stoop, when they would please our pit, 
 
 1 Debased even to the level of their wit ; 
 
 ' . . . . . 
 
 1 Disdaining that, which yet they know will take, 
 
 i Hating themselves what their applause must make. 
 
 But when to praise from you they would aspire, 
 
 Though they like eagles mount, your Jove is higher. 
 
 So far your knowledge all their power transcends, 
 
 As wh^t should he beyond what is extends. 
 
 /Im/pv/U^-^. 
 
 v^'WI '^'^ \ 
 
 XV. 
 
 P- / PROLOGUE TO " CIRCE," A TRAGIC OPERA ; 
 
 X^\ 
 
 4V 
 
 BY DR DAYENANT,! 1675. 
 
 Rw ^ Were you but half so wise ks you 're severeT) (y^ 
 Our youthful poet should not need to tear : 
 To his green years your censures you would suit. 
 Not blast the blossom, but expect the fruit. 
 
 ' Son of Sir William Davenant, and author of several political pieces, much 
 esteemed. 
 
PKOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 131 
 
 The sex, the best does pleasure understand, 5 
 
 AVill always choose to err on the other hand. 
 
 Thej check not him that 's awkward m~delighi^. 
 
 But clap the young rogue's cheek, and set him right. 
 
 Thus hearten'd well, and flesh'd upon his prey, 
 
 The youth may prove a man another day. ]o 
 
 Your Ben and Fletcher, in their first young fliglit. 
 
 Did no Volpone, nor Arbaces write ;\ 
 
 But hopp'd about, and short excursions made 
 
 From bough to bough, as if they were afraid. 
 
 And each was guilty of some Slighted Maid:\ 
 
 Shakspeare's own muse her Pericles firstljwe ;! 
 
 The Prince of Tyro Avas elder than the Moor : 
 
 'Tis miracle to see a first good play ; 
 
 All hawthorns do not bloom on Christinas-daj^. \^.^- 
 
 A slender poet must have time to grow, 20 
 
 And spread and burnish, as his brotliers do. 
 
 Who still looks lean, sure with some pox is cursed : 
 
 But no man can be FalstafF-fot at fir.-^t. 
 
 Then damn not, but indulge his rude essays ; 
 
 Encourage him, and bloat him up with praise, 
 
 That he may get more bulk before he dies : 
 
 He 's not yet fed enough for sacrifice. 
 
 Perhaps, if now your grace you will not grudge, 
 
 He may grow up to write, and you to judge. 
 
132 dryden's poems. 
 
 XVI. 
 ^EPILOGUE, 
 
 INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY THE LADY HEN. 
 MAR. i WENTWOETH, WHEN " CALISTO " ^ WAS ACTED AT 
 COURT. 
 
 As Jupiter I made my court in vain ; 
 I '11 now assume mj native shape again. 
 I 'm weary to be so unkindly used, 
 And would not be a god to be refused. • 
 vState grows uneasy when it hinders love ; 
 A glorious burden, which the wise remove. ' 
 Now, as a nymph I need not sue, nor try ' 
 The force of any lightning but the eye. 
 Beauty and youth more than a god command ; 
 No Jove could e'er the force of these withstand. lo 
 
 'Tis here that sovereign power admits dispute ; 
 Beauty sometimes is justly absolute. / 
 
 Our sullen Catos, whatsoe'er they say. 
 Even while they frown, and dictate laws, obey. 
 You, mighty sir,^ our bonds more easy make, ;, 
 And gracefully, what all must suffer, take : 
 Above those forms the grave affect to wear ; 
 For 'tis not to be wise to be severe. ^^ 
 True wisdom' may some gallantry admit, 
 (And soften business with the charms of wit. 20 
 
 These peaceful triumphs with your cares you bought. 
 And from the midst of fighting nations brought. 
 You only hear it thunder from afar, ^ r Xy^ 
 
 And sit in peace the arbiter of war : •'^ t\{^. ) - ' 
 
 • ' Calisto : ' a Masque, -written by Cro^aie, Dryden's rival and Rocliestej-'* 
 protege ; this Epilogue was through Rochester's influence rejected. — '^ This 
 part of the Epilogue is addressed to the King. \ 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 133 
 
 Peace, the loathed manna, Tvhich hot brains despise. 25 
 x^ou knew its worth, and made it early prize : 
 And in its happy leisure sit and see 
 The promises of more felicity : 
 Two glorious nymphs,^ of your own godhke line, 
 Whose morning rays like noontide strike and shine: 30 
 Whom you to suppliant monarchs shall dispose, 
 To bind your friends, and to disarm your foes. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO " AUREN GZEBE?) '^)J^ f^ 
 
 Our author, by experience, finds it true, 
 
 'Tis much more hard to please himself than you ; 
 
 And out of no feign'd modesty, this day 
 
 Damns his laborious trifle of a play ; 
 
 Not that it 's worse than what before he writ. 
 
 But he has now another taste of wit ; 
 
 And, to confess a truth, though out of time. 
 
 Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyrne.J_-.'^ 
 
 Passion 's too fierce to be in fetters bound, \^ 
 
 And natui'e flies him like enchanted ground : 10 
 
 What verse can do, he has perform'd in this. 
 Which he presumes the most correct of his ; 
 But spite of all his pride, a secret shame 
 Invades his breast at Shakspcare's sacred name : 
 
 Awed when he hears his godlike Romairs-Tage^ 
 
 He, in a just despair, would quit the stage ; 
 And to an age less polish'd, more unskill'd. 
 Does, with disdain, the foremost honours yield. 
 
 ' The Dtike of York's two daughters, Mary and Ann. 
 
134 dryden's poems. 
 
 As with the greater dead he dares not strive, 19 
 
 He would not match his verse with those who live : 
 Jjet him retire, betwixt two ages cast, / 
 
 The first of this, and hindmost of the last. '\/ 
 A losing gamester, let him sneak away ; 
 He bears no ready money from the play. 
 The fate which governs poets, thought it fit I , -A-, 
 JHe should not raise his fortunes by his wit. J 
 The clergy thrive, and the litigious bar ; 
 Dull heroes fatten with the spoils of war : 
 All southern vices, heaven be praised, are here ; 
 But wit 's a luxury you think too dear. 30 
 
 When you to cultivate the plant are loth, 
 'Tis a shrewd sign, 'twas never of your growth ; 
 And wit in northern climates will not blow, . 
 
 xcept, like orange trees, 'tis housed with snowA v 
 There needs no care to put a playhouse down, 
 Tis the most desert place of all the town : 
 e, and our neighbours, to speak proudly, are, 
 
 ike monarchs, ruin'd with expensive war ; 
 While,, likewise English, unconcern'd you sit, 
 A|nd see us play the tragedy of wit. 40 
 
 XVIII. \ 
 
 rEPILOGUE 70 "THE MAN OF MODE ; OR, SIR 
 "^"'■^—^^^^ FOPLING FLUTTER;" 
 
 BY SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE/1676>\ 
 
 Most modern wits such monstrous fools have shown, 
 They seem not of Heaven's 1 making, but their own. 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 135 
 
 Those nauseous harlequins in farce may pass ; 3 
 
 But there goes more to^a substantial ass : 
 
 Something of man must be exposed to view, 
 
 That, gallants, thej may more resemble you. \/ 
 
 Sir Fopling is a fool so nicely writ, 
 
 The ladies would mistake him for a wit ; 
 
 And, when he sings, talks loud, and cocks, would cry, 
 
 I vow, methinks, he's pretty company : 10 
 
 So brisk, so cay, so travcU'd, so refined, [^^.^ 
 
 As he" took pains to graS* upon his kind. 
 
 True fops help nature's work, and go to school 
 
 To file and finish God Ahniiility's fool. 
 
 Yet none Sir Fopling him, or him can ofTfl ; 
 
 He's knight 0' the shire, and represents yt^ aUL I, 
 
 From each lie lucci- Im^ culls v>liato"cr lie eacnj""' 
 
 Legion '*sTiis name, a people in a man. 
 
 His bulky folly gathers as it goes, 
 
 And, rolling o'er you, like a snow-ball grows. 20 
 
 His various modes from various fathers follow ; 
 
 One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow : 
 
 His sword-knot this, his cravat that design'd ; 
 
 And this the yard-long snake he twirls behind. 
 
 From one the sacred periwig he gaiu'd, 
 
 Which wind ne'er blew, nor touch of hat profaned. 
 
 Another's diving bow he did adore, 
 
 Which with a shog casts all the hair before, 
 
 Till he, with full decorum, brings it back, 
 
 And rises with a water-spaniel shake. 30 
 
 As for his songs, the ladies' dear delight, ^ 
 
 Tliese sure he took from most of you who write. 
 
 Yet every man is safe from what he fear'd ; 
 
 For noong fool is hunted from the herd. 
 
?s^lia<^. 
 
 136 dryden's POEMS. y^yy^iAA 
 
 EPILOGUE TO "ALL FOR LOVE/' 
 
 Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail,,A:~^ 
 
 Have one sure refuge left— and that ^s to rail. 
 
 Fop, coxcomb, fool, are thunder'd through the pit ; 
 
 And this is all their equipage of wit. 
 
 We wonder how the devil this difference grows, 
 
 Betwixt our fools in verse, and yours in prose : 
 
 For, 'faith, the quarrel rightly understood, 
 
 'Tis civil war with their own flesh and blood. 
 
 The threadbare author hates the gaudy coat ; 
 
 And swears at the gilt coach, but swears afoot : lo 
 
 For 'tis observed of every scribbling^ man, 
 
 He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can ; 
 I Prunes up, and asks his oracle, the glass, 
 
 If pink and purple best become his face. 
 
 For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays ; 
 
 Nor likes your wit, just as you like his plays ; 
 
 He has not yet so much of Mr Bayes. 
 
 He does his best ; and if he cannot please. 
 
 Would quietly sue out his writ of ease. 
 
 Yet, if he might his own grand jury call, 20 
 
 By the fair sex he begs to stand or fall. 
 
 Let Caesar's power the men's ambition move. 
 
 But grace you him who lost the world for loveT) 
 
 Yet if some antiquated lady say. 
 
 The last age is not copied in his play ; 
 
 Heaven help the man who for that face must drudge, 
 
 Which only has the wrinkles of a judge. 
 
 Let not the young and beauteous join with those ; 
 
 For should you raise such numerous hosts of foes, 
 
 Young wits and sparks he to his aid must call ; 30 
 
 'Tis more than one man's work to please you all. 
 
 J 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 137 
 
 XX. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO "LIMBERHAM." 
 
 True wit has seen its best days long ago ; 
 It ne'er look'd up, since we were dipp'd in show : 
 When sense in doggerel rhymes and clouds was lost, 
 And dulness flourish'd at the actors' cost. 
 Nor stopp'd it here ; when tragedy was done, 
 \ Satire and humour the same fate have run, ^x* 
 
 ; And comedy is sunk to trick and punT"^ 1 
 
 Now our machining lumber will not sell, 
 And you no longer care for heaven or hell; 
 What stuff can please you next, the Lord can tell. lo 
 Let them, who the rebellion first began 
 To wit restore the monarch, if they can ; 
 Our author dares not be the first bold man. 
 He, like the prudent citizen, takes care 
 To keep for better marts his staple ware ; 
 His toys are good enough for Sturbridge fair. 
 ■ Tricks" were the fiishion ; if it,now be spent, 
 'Tis time enough at Easter to invent ; 
 No man will make up a new suit for Lent. 
 If now and then he takes a small pretence, 20 
 
 To forage for a little wit and sense. 
 Pray pardon him, he meant you no offence. 
 Next summer, Nostradamus tells, they say, 
 That all the critics shall be shipp'd away. 
 And not enow be left to damn a play. 
 To every sail beside, good heaven, be kind : 
 But drive away that swarm with such a wind. 
 That not one locust may be left behind ! 
 
Sm^%%''^ 
 
 138 dryden's poems. 
 
 XXL 
 
 EPILOGUE TO "MITHRIDATES, KING OF 
 "^ PONTUS;" io\)^%\dU!lit 
 
 BY NATHAN LEE, 1678. ' 
 
 ylDiii^E-SfieiLa £air of faithful lovers die : 
 LA^jid much you care^; for most of you wiU cry, 
 'Twas a just judgment on their constancy. 
 
 1 For, heaven be thank'd, we live in such an age, 
 / rWhen no man dies for love, but on the stage : 
 And even those martyrs are but rare in plays ; 
 A cursed sign hov/ much true faith decays. 
 Love is no more a violent desire ', y , 
 
 'Tis'a mere metaphor, a painted fire. ' i^u^-, u^ 
 
 In all our sex, the name examined well, r |^^r'io 
 
 'Tis pride to gain, and vanity to tell, ibtr^iv' ,'.} j 
 '■ ^ In woman, 'tis of subtle interest made : ,_^- 
 
 { Curse on the punk that made it first a trade ! 
 frsfffYM-^^ rghe first did wit's prerogative remove, 
 
 I And made a fool presume to prate of love. 
 Let honour and preferment go for gold ; \ 
 But glorious beauty is not to be sold : I ) ^ 
 Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate so high, j 
 
 That nothing but adoring it should buy. j 
 Yet the rich cullies may their boasting spare ; 20 
 
 They purchase but sophisticated ware. 
 ~~-^'Tis prodigality that buys ^eceit, - 
 
 AVhere both the giver and the taker cheat, u 
 
 ^ Men but refine on the old_ half-crown way; -7/ ^r^ ' 
 And women fight, like Swisses for their pay. ^^^^ 
 
n 
 
 PKOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 139 
 
 'I 
 
 XXII. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO " (EDIPUS."YjX.a^x-^ t.vtj 
 
 [ENjaihen^all the Grecian state did^uide, 
 And Greece gave laws to all the world beside ; 
 ^Then Sopliocles with Socrates did sit, 
 -Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit : 
 And wit from wisdom difFer'd not in thosej, 
 But as 'twas sung in^verse, or said in pros- 
 Tlien, CEdipus, on crowded theatres. 
 
 'M 
 
 tC^'- 
 
 / 
 
 '^3l 
 
 
 Drew all admiring eyes and listening ears : 
 The pleased spectator shouted every line, 
 The noblest, manliest, and the best design \\y lo 
 
 And every critic of each learned age, 
 /^By this jusF model has reform'd the stage. 
 Now, shbuld^rt fail (as Heaven avert our fear). 
 Damn it in silence, lest the world should hear. 
 For were it known this poem did not please. 
 You might set up for perfect savages : 
 Your neighbours would not look on you as men, 
 But think the nation all tum'd Picts again. 
 ~~^aith' as you manage matters, 'tis' not fit \ 
 , You should suspect yourselves of too miich wit : 20 
 
 -JDrive^otJhejestJoq^far, but^ spare this piece ; ^^^ 
 And, for this once, be not more wise than Greece. 
 See twice : do not pellmell to damning fall, j^^" 
 Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all : ;> ly^ 
 Pray be advised ; and though at Mons you won, 
 On pointed cannon do not always run. , I A^yt^^v'-r 
 /With some respect to ancient wit proceed ; 
 ( You take the fom^first councils ;Lor your creed, y 
 
 fn ..-+10 CTAMA 1 
 
t 
 
 140 DRYDEN^S POEMS. 
 
 But, when jou lay tradition wholly byJ 29 
 
 And on the private spirit alone reljjl [/ 
 
 You turn fanatics in your poetry. 
 
 If, notwithstanding all that we can say, 
 
 >>Y"ou needs will have your penn'orths of the play^^j 'Z^ 
 
 ' And come resolved to damn, because you pay, " v^^i'^ 
 Record it, in ineinprial of the fact, 
 ^ — ^^hQ first play .buried since the woollen act. ? 
 
 1^ 'xxiii. ^^^ Kje d ^ 
 
 ' * ' ' ■ ;" EPILOGUE TO " (EDIPUS." 
 
 f What Sophocles could undertake alone, 
 \ Our poets found^^work for more than one ; - 
 And therefore two lay tugging at the piece, 
 With all their force, to di-aw the ponderous mass from Greece ; 
 A weight that bent e'en Seneca's strong Muse, 
 And which Corneille's shoulders did refuse : 
 So hard it is the Athenian harp to string ! 
 So much two consuls yield to one just king ! 
 Terror and pity this whole poem sway ; 
 The mightiest machines that can mount a play. 10 
 
 How heavy will those vulgar souls be found. 
 Whom two such engines cannot move from ground ! 
 When Greece and Rome have smiled upon this birth, 
 You can but damn for one poor spot of earth : 
 rAnd when your children find your judgment such, 
 i-They 'U scorn their sires, and wish themselves born Dutch ; 
 I Each haughty poet will infer, with ease. 
 How much his wit must underwrite to please. 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 141 
 
 As some strong churl would, brandishing, advance^ 19 
 The monumental sword that conqucr'd France ; 
 So you, by judging this, your judgment teachAcl Pl^iu J/vw 
 Thus far you hke, that is, thus far you reach5 (J>\^ f& \^cJ\ 
 
 Since, then, the vote of full two thousand years Oi(\Q'^ — ~ 
 Has crown'd this plot, and all the dead are theirs, 1 \j^>w>' 
 Think it a debt you pay, not alms you give^ \ ^^~~arr 
 
 And, in your own deTence71et~this play live. \ p^-^^ 
 r Think them not vain, when Sophocles is shown, \ P i ' 
 ^^.4?_mise hisworth they humbly doubt their own. VJ ^^<NpVv 
 Yet as weak states each other's power assure, ") ^J 
 
 "Weak poets by conjunction are secure. 1 so 
 
 Their treat is what your palates relish most, 
 > Charm ! ^ong ! and show ! a murder and a ghost ! K ltej7?^Q^/. 
 We know not what you can desire OT^lope ''^ 
 
 To please you more, but burning of a Pope. Cfxrj-^ 
 
 XXIV. 
 PROLOGUE TO " TROILUS AND CRESSIDA." 
 
 ( SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTOX, REPRESENTING 
 THE GHOST OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 See, my loved Britons, see your Shakspeare rise. 
 An awful ghost, confess'd, to human eyes 
 Unnamed, methinks, distinguish'd I had been 
 From other shades, by this eternal green. 
 About whose wreaths the vulgar poets strive, 
 And with a touch thei r withered bays r evived \y/ 
 
142 ' '' DRYDEN's POEMS. 
 
 /^Untauglit, unpractised in a barbarous age, 
 ( J found not, but created first the stage.; iX 
 And, if I drain'd no Greek or Latin store, / 
 
 'Twas that my own abundance gave me more. / 
 On foreign trade I needed not relj, 
 Like fruitful Britain, rich without supply. 
 In this my rough-drawn play you shall behold 
 Some master strokes, so manly and so bold, 
 ,/That he who meant to alter, found 'em such, A$^v<-^ C 
 He shook, and thought it sacrilege to touch. v 
 
 Now, where are the successors to my name '? 
 What bring they to fill out a poet's fame 'i 
 
 -. ) Weak, short-lived issues of a feeble age ; "^ 
 
 Scarce living to be christen'd on the stage ! 20 
 
 For humour, farce —for love they rhyme dispense, ^ 
 X (vThat toUs the knell for their departed sense. A v. 
 Dulness might thrive in any trade, but this "" 
 q 'T would recommend to some fat benefice : *.i.- — 
 Dulness, that in a playhouse meets disgrace, ' 
 
 n x^ Might meet with reverence in its proper place. 
 ri/hOU ST^6 fulsome clench, that nauseates the town, 
 — p^ Would from a judge or alderman go down ; 
 \ AC^'IS'f'vfSuch virtue is there in a robe and gown! 
 
 j^S And that insipid stuff, which here you hate, , , ^0 
 
 f 
 
 Might somewhere else be call'd a graveC^g bat'eT ) /^ ^^(. 
 Dulness is decent in the church and state. / ^'Kc^tJ 
 
 But I forget that still 'tis understood, [ ^^^C^ 
 
 Bad plays are best decried by showing good. y n,(L^r. 
 Sit silent, then, that my pleased soul may see 
 ^j^ judging audience once, and worthy me ; U 
 My faithful scene from true records shall tell^ 
 How Trojan valour did the Greek excel ; 
 rYour great forefathers shall their fame regain, 
 xAud Homer's angry ghost repine in vain. 
 
 
 n n 
 
 u4P/_ YAcAA /lA^VTiA., <^ 
 

 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 ,f 
 
 XXV. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO "CAESAR BORGIA ;"i 
 
 BY NATHAN LEE, 1680. , 
 
 The unhappy man, who once has trail'd a pen, 
 Lives not to please himself, but other men ; 
 Is always drudging, M-astes his life and blood, 
 
 ^eF onlj; eafs aud.drinirs wha^ think goo^)]^- 
 What praise soe'er the poetry deserve, 
 Yet every froob can bid the_£oet starve./^ 
 
 >plapumblmg TecheiStorevenge is bent, 
 
 ^ Because he thinks himself or whore is meant 
 
 "^ame^ but ^ cnckotd, aH the city s^armT; 
 
 /From Leadenhall to Ludgate is in arras ; 
 Were there no fear of Antichrist, or France,<c: 
 
 \In, the bless'd time poor poets live by chance 
 Either you come not here, or, as you grace - 
 Some old acquaintance, drop into the place. 
 Careless and qualmish, with a yawning face : 
 You sleep o'er wit, and, by my troth, you may ; 
 Most of your talents lie another way. 
 You love to kear of some prodigious tale. 
 The bell that toll'd alone, or Irish whale. 
 
 ** I^ews is your food, and you enough provide. 
 Both for yourselves, and all the world beside ; 
 On£_lli£ati:e there is of vast resort, 
 Which whilome of Requests was called the Court ; 
 But now the great[ExchMi^e^f_Ne}ys 'tisTiiTght',^_^ 
 And full of hum and buzz from noon till night. 
 Up stairs and down you run, as for a race, 
 And each man wears three nations in his faccu*-^ 
 
 ' ' Cffisar Borgia : ' a play produced about the time of the Popish Plot 
 
 
"13. wieri Utu,. ,-.^. (>j^ 
 
 144 drtden's poems. — — ___ 
 
 So big you look, though claret you retrench, 28 
 
 That, arm'd with bottled ale, you huff the French. 
 
 But all your entertainment still is fed 
 
 By villains in your own dull island bred. ^ ,- 
 
 Would you return to us, we dare engage 
 
 To show you better rogues' upon the stage. ^ 
 
 You know no poison,but plain ratsbane here ; 
 
 Death 's more refined, and better bred elsewhere. 
 
 They hare a civil way in Italy, 
 
 By smelling a perfume to make you die : 
 
 A trick would make you lay your snuff-box by. v^ 
 
 i^Iurder 's a trade, so known and practised there, 
 
 'hat 'tis infallible as is the Chair. \4o 
 
 But mark their feast, you shall behold such pranT^s ; 
 
 i(The Pope says grace, but 'tis_the Devil gives thanks. 
 
 '\i>.a^ 
 
 XXVI. _. ^ 
 
 PROLOGUE TO'^^gOPHONISBA^ 
 
 (S^tT^^ ACTED AT^OXFORD,' I680/ ^{K/j/KL 
 
 'WRITTEN BY NATHAN LEE. ^ y/TA 
 
 \ Thespis,^ the first professor of our art, . (mJUIt^ 
 "^^SA-t country wakes sung ballads from a carl/ 
 y^ To prove this true, if Latin be no trespass, 
 "Dicitur et plaustris yexisse poemata Thespis." 
 /-But -<^schylus, says Horace in some page, 
 / IJWas the first mountebank-that trod tlie st^T7 j^^ 
 'Yet Athens never knew your learned sport 
 Of tossing poets in a tennis-couil? 
 
 ' ' Thespis : '/ the inventor of tragedy. 
 
Tfl44^ ■% m^ ^^^^ 
 
 » p 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 But 'tis the ftalen ^of our English nation, 
 Still to be plotting some new reformation : 
 And few years hence, if anarchy poes on7- 
 Jack PresbjteLshall here erect his throue, 
 Knock out a tub with preachijig once a clajr 
 And every prayer be longer than a pLay. 
 Then all your heathen wits shall go to pot, 
 
 "For disbelie\ing of a Popish plot : 
 Your poets shall be used like infidelsj 
 And worst, the author of tlie Oxford bells :J> ? 
 Nor sliould we 'scap'e tlic sentence, to depart, 
 Even in our first original, a cart. "^ 
 No zealous brotlicr there would want a sto 
 To maul us cardinals, and pelt Pope 
 Religion, learning, wit, would be ^suppresstT — u 
 Rags of the whore, and trappings of the beast 
 Scot, Suarez, Tom of Aquin, must go down, 
 As chief supporters of the triple crown ; 
 
 '^A.nd Aristotle 's for destruction ripe-j 
 Some say he call'd the soul an organ-pj] 
 Which by some little TieTp of derivation, 
 >Shall^en be proved a pipc^^iuspifatioi 
 
 
 PROLOGUE TO 
 
 TPAVreig. 
 
 BY M 
 
 If yet there be a few that take delight 
 In that which reasonable men should write 
 To them alone we dedicate this night. 
 VOL. n. K 
 
af 
 
 ^^<A 
 
 146 V k r -^deyden's poems. 
 
 The rest may satisfy their curious itch 4 
 
 With citj-gazettes, or some factious speech, 
 Or whate'er libel, forjhe public good, : ^. 
 - Stirs up the shrove-tide crew to fire and blood. 
 (^ Remove your benches, you apostate pit, ) (j ^MX'h^ 
 
 And take, abote^ twelve pennyworth of wit ; ' ^fOhJl, 
 I Sjo back to your dear dancing on the rope, l/zi?^^ 
 
 4 — ^„.0r see, what 's worse, the Devil and the Pope> T" 
 The plays that take on our corrupted stage, 
 Methinks, resemble the distracted age ; 
 Noise, madness, all unreasonable things. 
 That strike at sense, as rebels do at kings.; 
 The style of forty-one our poets write, 
 And you are grown to judge like forty-eight. ^ 
 '-'' Such censures our mistaking audience make, / 
 That 'tis almost grown scandalous to ,take. *- ^ \^^'^^-^ 
 They talk of fevers that infect the brains ; ' 20 
 
 But nonsense is the new disease that reigns. 
 Weak stomachs, with a long disease oppress'd, 
 Cannot the cordials of strong wit digest. 
 Therefore thin nourishment of farce ye choose, V^^ 
 Decoctions of a barley-water Muse : 
 A meal of tragedy would make ye sick, 
 Unless it were a very tender chick. \ 
 
 Some scenes in sippets would be worth our time i^b^jr*^- 
 Those would go down ; some love that 's.'poacli'd in rhyme : 
 
 If these should fail • ' ' ., ^ ,, 30 
 
 We must lie down, and, after all our cost, '^ ^ 
 Keep holiday, like watermen in frost p 
 I While you turn players on the world's great stage. 
 And act yourselves the farce of your own age. .. 
 
 1 ' Forty-one, forty-eight:' referring to the Puritan era, which some were then 
 seeiiing to revive. 
 
 %^ Civa| l^l 
 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 147 
 
 'X XXVIIL 
 
 PROLOGUE^ TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 
 
 .^ 1681. r--^\,x UU^v/^a (4^^ 
 
 The famed Italian^ Muse, whose rhymes advance 
 
 Orlando and the Paladins of France, 16 , " 
 
 ( Records,") that, when our wit and sense is'>flmvn, Ipofs i 
 
 ^"^nrioHged within the circle of the moon, ' ^^MAj^P^ 
 
 In earthen jars, which one, who thither soar'd, ^^nc^f) ^mau T 
 Set to his nose, snufF'd up, and was restored. < ^y^^ ' 
 Whate'er the story be, the moral's true ; -^ 
 The wit wetost in town, we fifiid ra-yoo-; '^ L c^. 
 
 OwY poets their fled parts may draw fi-om hence,->^^ -^ 
 And fill their windy heads with sober sense. -^ 10 
 When London votes with Southwark's disagree, ^ 
 
 JBere may they find their long-lost loyalty. U- 
 Here busy senates, to the old cause; inclined, q 
 
 May snuff the votes their fellows left behind : -T ^^i^ . 
 
 Your country neighbours, when their grain gi'ows dear, f^O.^'^-c- 
 
 May come, and find their last provision here : I 
 
 AVhereas we cannot much lament our loss, / \v^^Aj\} 
 
 "Who neither carried back, nor brought one cross)/ f^lfi'^Hui 
 We look'd what representatives would bring ; ^ j ^A/a ( 
 
 But they help'd us, just as they did the kingfh>-^ 2<k * 
 
 Yet we despair not ; for we now lay forth ^ 
 
 , The Sibyl's books to those who know their worth ; 
 And though the first was sacrificed before, 
 These volumes doubly will the price restore. 
 Our poet bade us hope this grace to find, 
 To whom by long prescription you are kind. 
 
 ' ' Prologue ; ' spoken during the sitting of Parliament^ there. See 
 
148 
 
 ^t^ 
 
 dryden's poems. 
 
 r'He whose undaunted Muse, with loyal rage;|V 
 Has never spared the vices of the age, 
 Here finding nothing that his spleen can raise, j / y 
 Is forced to turn his satire into praise. / [^ 
 
 ^t\ ^\ A -hkcX ^' m C/tT flic TxQ , rv,, 
 
 ^ilH-^ PROLOj&UEi TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, ^.j" 
 
 ^ 'T"' UPON HIS FIRST APPEARANCE AT THE DUKES THEATRE, 
 I^J-^SCT^fP^ ^ AFTER HIS RETURN FROM SCOTLAND, 1682. 
 
 In those cold regions which no summers cheer, 
 lo \^3 O^here brooding darkness covers half the year, 
 (^ To hollow caves the shivering natives go ; 
 
 V \ Bears range abroad, and hunt in tracks of snow : 
 
 ijft^^J But when the tedious twilight wears away, 
 
 And stars grow paler at the approach of day. 
 The longing crowds to frozen mountains run ; 
 Happy who first can see the glimmering sun : jjUPlL 
 pThe sui'ly savage ofispring disappear, ^ 
 
 And curse the bright successor of the year. ' io 
 
 Yet, though rough bears in covert seek defence, 
 ^ ^ jWhite foxes stay, with seeming innocence : 
 That crafty kind with daylight can dispense. 
 Still we are throng'd so full with Reynard's race. 
 That loyal subjects, scarce can find a place : 
 
 rroiogue : spoken -when the iJuke of York returned trom Scotland in 
 -•*^ Sy ti'iu'^pli- He went to the theatre ia Dorset Garden8,Vlien this was uttered as 
 ^****^^he Prologue to "Venice Presented. " '■ -_«_jL i 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 149 
 
 Thus modest trutli is cast behind the crowd : 16 
 
 Truth speaks too low : hypocrisy too loud. 
 
 Let them be first to flatter in success ; 
 
 Duty can stay, but guilt has need to press. 
 
 Once, when true zeal the sons of God did call, 20 
 
 To make their solemn show at heaven's AVhitehallJ, 
 •"—The fawning Devil appear'd among the rest, 
 
 And made as good a courtier as the best. 
 
 The friends of Job, who rail'd at him before, 
 
 Came, cap in hand, when he had three times more. 
 
 Yet late repentance may, perhaps, be true ; 
 ^"^*4vings can forgive, if rebels can but sue : 
 
 |A tyrant's power in rigour is express'd ; \ 
 
 ^iThe father yearns in the true princess breast. I \y 
 
 We grant, an o'ergrown Whig no grace can mend ; 30 
 _But most are babes, that know not they offend. 
 
 Tlie crowd^To~restless motion still inclined. 
 
 Are clouds, that tack according to the wind. 
 
 Driven by their chiefs, they storms of hailstones pour ; 
 
 Then mourn, and soften to a silent shower. 
 1 (3 welcome to this much-oflendiug land, 
 I The prince that brings forgiveness in his hand ! 
 \ Thus angels on glad messages appear : 
 1 Their first salute commands us not to fear. 
 \ Thus Heaven, that could constrain us to obey, 40 
 
 ,1 (\Yith reverence if we might presume to sayj,^^ 
 
 Seems to relax the rights of sovereign Sway : 
 
 Permits to man the choice of good and ill, 
 
 And makes us happy by our own free will. 
 
 + 
 
150 drtden's poems. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO "THE EARL OF ESSEX; OR, 
 THE UNHAPPY FAVOURITE ; "^^---— 
 
 BY MR J. BANKS, 1682. , 
 
 SPOKEN TO THE KING AND QUEEN AT THEIR COMING TO 
 THE HOUSE. 
 
 When first the ark was landed on the shore, 
 And Heaven had vow'd to curse the ground no more ; 
 L^' When tops of hills the longing patriarch saw, 
 "^ And the new scene of earth began to draw ; 
 The dove was sent to view the waves' decrease, 
 And first brought back to man the pledge of peace. 
 'Tis needless to apply, when those appear. 
 Who bring the olive, and who plant it here. 
 We have before our eyes the royal dove, 
 Still innocent, as harbinger of love : lo 
 
 The ark is open'd to dismiss the train, 
 And people with a better race the plain. 
 Tell me, ye Powers ! why should vain man pursue, 
 { With endless toil, each object that is new. 
 And for the seeming substance leave tlie true \ 
 Why should he quit for hopes his certain good, 
 And loathe the manna of his daily food ? 
 Must England still the scene of changes be. 
 Tost and tempestuous, like our ambient sea ? 
 U-Must still our weather aud our wills agree % 20 
 
 Without our blood our liberties we have : 
 Who"tKat is free would fight to be a slave ? 
 
XryUA^J't 
 
 f 
 
 ^^' '" ' PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 151 
 
 Or, what can wars to after-times assure, 23 
 
 Of which our present age is not secure 1 
 
 All that our monarch would for us ordain. 
 
 Is but to eujoj the blessings of his reign. 
 
 Our land 's an Eden, and the main 's our fence, 
 
 j While we preserve our state of innocence : 
 That lost, then beasts their brutal force employ, 
 And first their lord, and then themselves destroy. so 
 What civil broils have cost, we know too well ; 
 
 ^h. ! let it be enough that'Otice^we fell ! 
 And every heart conspire, ancTevery tongue. 
 Still to have such a king, and this king long. 
 
 .-^ 
 
 
 Y^-^> 
 
 / EPILOGUE FOR "THE KING'S HOUSE." i 
 
 (^^E_a^by fits and starts, like drowning men, 
 
 But just peep up, and then pop down again. 
 
 Let those who call us wicked change their sense ; — 
 
 .For never men lived more on Providencer\\/ 
 
 Not lottery cavaliers are half so poor^ ^ 
 
 Nor broken cits, nor a vacation wTiore; 
 
 Not courts, nor courtiers living on the rents 
 
 Of the three last ungiving parliaments : 
 r-Sojg retched , that, if Pharaoh could divine, /jd>m*^ 
 
 He might have spared his dream of seven lean kine, lo 
 L_And changed his vision for the Muses ^^ine.' 
 
 > Epilogue spoken in, 1GS2; and full of temporary allusions now of no 
 earthly interest. 
 
 
^Ik^JM^^^ :^Kr^ 
 
 152 'it)iAA/( 
 
 DRYDEN^S POEMS. 
 
 rThe comet that, the j saj, porteiids-a_dearth, 12 
 
 Was but a vapour drawn from plaj-hoiise earth : 
 
 ! Pent there since our last fire, and, Lillj sajs, 
 Foreshows our change of state, and thin third-dajs. 
 
 I 'Tis not our want of wit that keeps us poor ; 
 - For then the printer's press would suffer more. 
 Their pamphleteers each day their yenom spit ; 
 They thrive by treason, and we starve by wit.\/ ' 
 Confess the truth, which of you has not laid 20 
 
 Four farthings out to buy the Hatfield maid 1 
 Or, which is duller yet, and more would spite us, 
 
 -- " Democritus his wars with Heraclitus 1 
 
 Such are the authors who have run us down, 
 
 And exercised you critics of the town. 
 
 Yet these are pearls to your lampooning rhymes, 
 
 Ye abuse yourselves more dully than the times. 
 
 Scandal, the glory of the English nation, 
 
 Is worn to rags, and scribbled out of fashion. 
 
 Such harmless thrusts, as if, like fencers wise, 30 
 
 They had agreed their play before their prize. 
 
 Faith ! they may hang their harps upon the willows ; 
 
 'Tis just like children when they box with pillows. 
 
 Then put an end to civil wars for shame ; 
 
 Let each knight-errant, who has wrong'd a dame, ] 
 
 Throw down his pen, and give her, as he can, \ ^ 
 
 The satisfaction of a gentleman. / 
 
e^ 
 
 1/Wa''- — V ^ >crii;^. 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 153 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO " THE LOYAL BROTHER ; 
 
 OR, THE PERSIAN PRINCE;"^ y^ 
 
 
 ex 
 
 \j[^c: BY MR SOUTHE RN, 1G82." 1^ 
 
 r< 'F.T>, like la'ffful inonarchs, ruled tlie stage, 
 
 Till critics, like danni'd Whigs, debaucli'd our ageAy^ 
 
 ^lark how they jump : criticsVould rc;^adate | 
 
 Our theatres, and Whigs reforin OTrrstate": j V^ 
 
 Both pretend love,' and both (plague rot them !) hate. 
 
 The critic humbly seems advice to bring ; 
 
 The fawning AVhig petitions to the king : 
 
 But one's advicelnto a satire slides ; 
 
 The other's petition a remonstrance hides. _y-^^ CXHA^Cd 
 
 These will no'"tJtTc«r-give, and those no pence |^ ^ lo 
 
 Critics would starve the i)oet, Whigs the^rinca 
 
 The critic all our troops of friends discards ; 
 
 Just so the Whig M'ould fain pull dow n the guard s. 
 
 Guards are illegal, that drive foes away, ^ 
 
 As watchful shepherds, that fright beasts of prey. 
 
 Kings, who disband such ucGdless aids as these. 
 
 Are safe — as long as e'er their subjects please : - — ^ 
 
 And that would be till next Queen Bess's night : ^ '^ 
 
 WhiehJJiusgi'aA'e penny chroniclers iudite._ N^-f^^' ;...o~ 
 
 Sir Edmondbury first, in woful wise, -^ 20 y\^j)(;-f 
 
 Leads up the show, and milks their maudlin eyes. ^^J>/-f 
 
 There 's not a butcher's wife but dribs her part, » 
 
 And pities the poor pageant from her heart ; 
 
 * ' The Loyal Brother ; or, the Persian Prince,' Mr Southern's first play, 
 acted at Drury-Lane in 1682. The Loyal Brother was intended for the Duke 
 of York. — * ' Queen Bess's night : ' alluding to a procession of the Whigs, carrying 
 party efiigies, and a representation of the dead body of Sir E. Godfrey, on the 
 17th of November, the birthday of Queen Elizabeth. < 
 
 — — Ur'^^x. 
 
 u - 1 / 
 
154 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 Who, to provoke revenge, rides round the fire, 24 
 
 And, with a civil conge, does retire : . 
 
 But guiltless blood to ground must never fall ;)> 
 There 's Antichrist behind, to pay for all. j x. / 
 I The punk of Babylon in pomp appears, ' * 
 i^ A lewd old gentleman of seventy years : 
 Whose age in vain our mercy would implore ; so 
 
 For few take pity on an old cast whore. 
 The Devil, who brought him to the shame, takes part ; 
 Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart ; - - 
 Like thief and parson in a Tyburn-cart. 
 The word is given, and with a loud huzza 
 The mitred puppet from his chair they draw : 
 On the slain corpse contending nations fall : 
 Alas ! what 's one poor Pope among them all ! 
 He burns ; now all true hearts your triumphs ring : 
 And, next, for fashion, cry, God save the king ! 40 
 
 A needful cry in midst of such alarms. 
 When forty thousand men are up in arms. 
 But after he 's once saved, to make amends, 
 In each succeeding health they -damn his friends : 
 So God begins, but still the Devil ends. 
 What if some one, inspired with zeal, should call. 
 Come, let 's go cry, God save him at Whitehall ? 
 His best friends would not like this over-care, ^ 
 Or think him ere the safer for this prayer, l^ 
 "Five praying saints are by an act allow 'd ; ^ so 
 
 But not the whole church-militant in crowd.*** 
 /Yet, should Heaven all the 4jci^petitious drain]) 
 ! Of Presbyterians, who would kings maintain, j> ( 
 ^Of forty thousand, five would scarce remain. 
 
 ' By the Bartholomew Act not more than five Dissenters were allowed to 
 commune together at one time. 
 
 V 
 
 4:(o^^^lL i^vUi 
 
PEOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. ) r\/V-|yu ^55 
 
 ' — A - ■ A(>oy 
 
 PROLOGUE TO "THE I^NG AND QUEEN."i^>s^jt;/^ 
 
 -^/a(lW7 
 
 upon the union of th^ two companies in 1686. ,;'""' 
 
 1 Since, faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion, '^ 
 Their penny scribes Jtake care to tnform the nation, 
 How Avcll men thrive in tliis or that phintation : 
 
 2 How Pennsylvania's air agrees with Quakers, 
 And CaroHna's with Associatprs : 
 Both even too good for madmen and for traitors, "^f 
 
 3 Truth is, our land with saints is so run o'er, / 
 And every age produces such a store, 
 That now there 's need of two New-Englands more. 
 
 4 What's this, you '11 say, to us and pur vocation ly 
 Only thus much, that sye hjisaiefLour station,'4$:SSS"N/^ 
 ^d made this theatre our new plantatiopis^ \y 
 
 5 The factious natives, never could agree '/■, \vfb 
 But aiming, as they call'd it, to be fi'eejf t^"""^ 
 Those playlioiise Whigs set up for property, ^y"^ 
 
 6 Some say, they no obedience paid of late ; — N^^/ 
 But would new fears and jealousies create ; / ■■ 
 Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the state. 
 
 ^i^wo theatrical companies : the Duke's and the King's Houses — both full of 
 /ever^ s^SSi^s oT^oniinationj^^Jtt TaBlTumted in 1686, ijnd the most profligate 
 "^oet of the age was fitly chosen to proclaim the banns. 
 
156 detden's poems. Ot ^ "^ ^-^l' ^ 
 
 , . . ■ /'Ve€ 
 
 \ 7 Plain sense, without the talent of foretelling, / c^st" - 
 
 PI ,. ,\ Might guess 'twould end in downright knocks and ''M, 
 ^f^^\ quelliDg : 
 
 ^ 1 For seldom comes there better of rebelling. 
 
 8 When men will, needlessly, their freedom barter 
 ^ . For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar ; 
 
 ^ ^yvxvo There 's a damn'd word that rhy Dies to this call'd 
 -fW/ioG^'' \ Charter. ^.,, ... .: > - . 
 
 9 But, since the victory with us remains, 
 
 ^ You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains ; j 
 If you 11 not think us saucy for our pains. 
 
 ' 1 0' Old men shall have good old plays to delight them : 
 \ And you, fair ladies and gallants, that slight them, 
 
 " * "VVe '11 treat with good new plays ; if our new wits 
 
 can write them. 
 
 1 1 We '11 take no blundering verse, no fustian tumour, 
 No dribbling love, from this or that presumer ; 
 No(^dull fat fool shamm'd on the stage for humour. 
 
 12 For, faith, some of them such vile stuff have made, f/ 
 As none but fools or fairies ever play'd ; 
 
 ^yi^i But 'twas, as shopmen say, to force a trade. 
 
 13 We 've given you tragedies, all sense defying, 
 \ |\ /r>m9 And singing men, in woful metre dying ; 
 
 / 6/ ' This 'tis when heavy lubbers will be flying. 
 
 - - '• 1 4 All these disasters we well hope to weather ; 
 'We bring you none of our old lumber hither ; 
 -V y--Whig poets and Whig sheriffs may hang together. \/ 
 
PEOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 157 
 
 XXXIV. 
 PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR HART, AT THE ACTING OP 
 
 ^'^HE SILENT WOMAN." ^TM'^/'V^ 
 
 AT G reece, when learning flourisli'd, only knew, 
 ^Jfcheni^judgeSj^you this clay renew ; 
 Here too are annual rites to Pallas done, 
 And here poetic prizes lost or won. 
 Methiuks I see you, crown'd_with_oliYes, sit, 
 And strike a^acrcd horror from the pit. u-- 
 A day of doom is this of your decree, - 
 Where even the best are but by mercy free : c^ i 
 
 A day, which hone but Johso n durst Have wish'd to see.v 
 Here they, who long have knoM-n the useful stage, —rt) — 
 Come to be taudit themselves to teach the age. 
 As your commissioners our poets go, 
 To cultivate the virtue which you sow ; 
 in your Lycasum first themselves refined. 
 And delegated^Heu ce to human-lvin d. 
 iBut as ambassadors, when long from home, 
 iFornew^ instructions to tliei'r'princesjcbme ; 
 So poets, who your precepts have forgot, 
 Return, and beg they may be better taught : 
 Follies and faults elsewhere by tliem are shown, 20 
 
 But by your manners the}' correct their own. . 
 The illiterate writer, empiric-like, applies x'' \ i I A\^ 
 To minds diseased unsafe, chance remedies: )/ *^ 
 the leajn'dJn schools, where knowledge first began,/ 
 3tudies^with_care_the anatomy of man ; '\ ly 
 
 ^ees virtue, vice, and~passions in their cause, ' 
 
 ind fame from science, not from fortune, draws. 
 
 ■A 
 
158 detden's poems. 
 
 ^0 Poetrj, which is in Oxford made'| 28 
 
 An art, in London only is a trade. 
 "There^ughty dunces, whose unlearned pen 
 \ Could ne'er spell grammar, would be reading men. 
 i Such build their poems the Lucretian way ; 
 I So many huddled atoms make" a piuyt" 
 T And if they hit in order, by some chance, 
 They call that nature, which is ignorance. 
 To such a fame let mere town wits aspire, 
 And their gay nonsense their own cits admire. 
 Our poet, could he find forgiveness here. 
 Would wish it rather than a plaudit there. 
 He owns no crown from those Praetorian bands, 4o 
 
 But knows that right is in the senate^s hands ; 
 Not impudent enough to hope your praise, 
 Low at the Muses' feet his wreath he lays. 
 And, where he took it up, resigns his bays. 
 -J^ings make their poets whom themselves think fit, 
 L But 'tis your sufirage makes authentic wit. 
 
 V^-'iC 
 
 XXXV, 
 EPILQGIIE; 
 
 
 
 ».^\)^^^ /'V^ - ..VVjV SPOKEN BY THE SAME. ^ • 
 
 No poor Dutch peasant, wing'd with all his fear, 
 Flies with more haste, when the French arms draw near. 
 Than we with our poetic train come-down, I ctlviiZ 
 For refuge hither, from the infected town> ]/ (jn/^ 
 

 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 Heaven, for our sins, this summer has thought fit 
 To visit us with all the plagues of wit. 
 A French troop first swept all tilings in its \vayp 
 But those hot Monsieurs were too quick to stay : 
 Yet, to our 'cost,tn that short time, we find 
 They left their itch of novelty behind. 
 The Italian ^lerry- Andrews fook their place, 
 And quite debauch'd the stage with lewd grimace : 
 Instead of wit and humours, your delight 
 Was there to see two hoLLy-horses fight •? 
 "Stout Scaramouchar with rush-lance rode inA^-^ 
 ^nd ran a tilt at centaur Arleqnin. j 
 
 For love you heard how amorous asses bray'd. 
 And cats in gutters gave their serenade. 
 Nature was out of countenance, and each day j 
 Some new-born monster shown you for a play. 
 But M'hen all fail'd, to strike the stage quitc_iiiimb, 
 Those wieketl engines callVl machines are comer \,,x^ 
 Thunder and lightning now for wit are play'd. 
 And shortly scenes in Lapland will be laid : -^ 
 Art magic is for poetry profess'd; . 
 And cats and dogs, and each obscener beast, 
 To which Egyptian dotards once didbow, 
 Upon our English stage ai'e worshipp'd now. l^y"^ 
 "Witchcraft reigns there, and raises to renown 
 Macbeth and Simon Magus of the town, 
 Flet cher 's desp ised, your Jonson 's out of fashion, 
 And wit the only druij; in all the nation. 
 In this low ebb our wares to you are shown ; 
 By you those staple authors' worth is known ; 
 .For witVa^ manufacture of your own. 
 
 .59 ^ ^^' 
 
 
 10 
 
 'I 
 
 sa 
 
 so 
 
 f When you, who only can, their scenes have praised, 
 We '11 boldly back, and say, their price is raised. 
 
 v4feL- CUiW^, 
 
160 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 EPILOGUE, 
 
 SPOKEN AT OXFORD, BY MRS MARSHALL 
 
 /-v 
 
 r 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 35/ 
 
 Oft has our poet wish'd, this happy seat 
 
 I J^Jghtrprove his fading Muse's last retreat : ^ 
 T^onder'd at his wish, but now I find 
 He sought for quiet, and content of mind ; 
 Which noiseful towns, and courts can never know, 
 And only in the shades like laurels grow. 
 Youth, ere it sees the world, here studies rest. 
 And age returning thence concludes it best. 
 "What wonder if we court that happiness 
 Yearly to share, which hourly you possess ; 
 Teaching even you, while the vex'd world we show, 
 
 _your peace to value more, and better know 1 
 'Tis all we can return for favours past, 
 Whose holy memory shall ever last ; 
 For patronage from him whose care presides 
 O'er every noble art, and every science guides : 
 Bathurst,^ a name the learn'd with reverence know, 
 And scarcely more to his own Virgil owe ; 
 
 V. Whose age enjoys but what his youth deserved, 
 To rule those Muses whom before he served. 
 His learning, and untainted manners too, 
 
 \ We find, Athenians, are derived to you : 
 Such ancient hospitality there rests 
 In yours, as dwelt in the first Grecian breasts, 
 Whose kindness was religion to their guests. 
 
 ' Dr Ralph Batliurst, President of Trinity College, Oxford. 
 
 10 
 
 20 
 
fjj/mi 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 0- 161 . 
 
 Such modesty did to our sex appear, 
 
 As, had there beeu no laws, we need not fear, ^y^A^^ U^ 
 
 Since each of you was our protector here. "T^kfi, 
 
 Converse so chaste, and so strict virtue shown, V'j. t^^Tf) n 
 
 As might Apollo witli the Muses own. P ' 
 
 Till our return, we must despair to find -^ i i 
 
 Judges so just, so knowing, and so kind. ^AAt>-^ [^^i^^ 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Discord and plots, whicli have undone our age,l '^ 
 With the same rmn "BaYe o'erwheim'd the stage. ^ 
 Our house has suffer'd in the common woe, ' 
 We have been troubled with Scotch rebels too. 
 Our brethren are from Thames to Tweed departed. 
 And of our sisters, all the kinder-hearted. 
 To Edinburgh gone, or coach'd, or carted. 
 With bonny bluecap there they act all night ^ 
 For Scotch half-crown, in English three-pence hight 
 One nymph, to whom fat Sir John FalstafF 's lean. 
 There with her single person fills the scene. 
 Another, with long use and age decay 'd. 
 Dived here old woman, and rose there a maid 
 Our trusty doorkeepers of former time 
 There strut and swagger in heroic rhyme. 
 Tack but a copper-lace to drugget suit, ' 
 And there 's a ^hero made with out dispute : - 
 VOL. IL ~~ 7l ^ 
 
 
 10 
 
 a^"^ 
 
 Srf^'i 
 
v« Knur^ 6^jM/Lj4y 
 
 '^x. 
 
 162 DKYDEn's POEMS. • iJ>, 
 
 And that, which wks a capon's tail before, ^^ is 
 
 Becomes a plume for Indian emperor. 
 But all his subjects, to express the care 
 Of imitation, go, like Indians, bare : , 
 
 -Laced linen there -would be a dangerous thing ; / .^&L /; 
 It might perhaps a new rebellion bring ; / ^^V 
 
 "The Scot, who wore it, would be chosen king. 
 But why should I these renegades, describe, 
 When you yourselves have seen a lewder tribe 1 
 Teague has been here, and, to this learned pit,- 
 "With Irish action slander'd English wit : 
 -You have beheld such barbarous Macs appear, 
 As merited a second massacre : so 
 
 Such as, like Cain, were branded with disgrace. 
 And had their country stamp'd upon their face. 
 When strollers durst presume to pick your purse, 
 We humbly thought our broken troop not worse, 
 ^ow ill soe'er our action may deserve, 
 Oxford's a place where wit can never starve. / , 
 
 XXXVIIL 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Though actors cannot much of learning boast. 
 
 Of all who want it, we admire it most : - 
 
 We love the praises of a learned pit. 
 
 As we remotely are allied to wit. 
 
 We speak our poet's wit, and trade in ore. 
 
 Like those who touch upon the golden shore : 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 163 
 
 ..:'!_ 
 
 7 
 
 Betwixt our judges can dcstinction make, 
 
 Discern how much, and whj, our poems take : 
 
 Mark if the fools, or men of sense, rejoice ; . 
 
 Whether the applause be only sound or voice. ^ — 
 
 When our fop gallants, or our city follj, 
 
 Clap over-loud, if; mak:es us melancholy : 
 
 We doubt that scene which docs their wonder raise, -"^ 
 
 And, for their ignorance, contemn their praise. • 
 
 Judge then, if we who act, and they who write, 
 
 Should not.be proud of giving you delight. 
 
 London likes grossly ; but this nicer pit 
 
 ^Examines, ^thom s"aIl the dept hs o f wit ; 
 
 The ready finger lays on every blot ; 
 vnows what should justly please, and what should not. 20 
 ature herself lies open fo^your vicw^l ' I 
 
 ou judge by her, what draught of her is trueTy ^ 
 here outlines f^ilse, and colours seem too fkim,^ 
 Jiliere bunglers daub, and where true poets paint) 
 (But by the sacred genius of this place, 
 
 By^ every Muse^_by^ach domestic grace, /^ _/•/// r* . ^ /} 
 
 Be kind to iwit, whidijbut endeavours well, ■ *^l^T|ti^^ ^ 
 
 And, where you judge, presumes not to excelA L^ ^ChTM 
 
 Z\* 
 
 Our poets hither for adoption come^ 
 
 As nations sued to be made free of Rome : 
 
 Not in the sufFragatiiig tribes to stand. 
 
 But in your utmost, last, provincial band. 
 
 If his ambition may those hopes pursue. 
 
 Who with religion loves your arts and you, 
 
 Oxford to him a dearer name shall be, 
 
 Than his own mother university. 
 
 Thebes did his green, unknowing youth engage ; 
 
 He chooses Athens in his riper age. 
 
 V'kM 1 itc^ . 
 
 80 
 
 \ 
 
 A-ju' 
 
 I 1X1 
 
 \ 
 
164 dryden's poems. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 PROLOGUE TO "ALBION AND ALBANIUS." 
 
 m, 
 
 ;Fdll„ twenty years and more, our labouring stage 
 Has lost on this incorrigible age : 
 Our poets, the John Ketches of the nation, 
 Have seem'd to lash ye, even to excoriation : 
 ^But still no sign remains ; which plainly notes, 
 You bore like heroes, or you bribed like Gates. 
 What can we do, when mimicking a fop. 
 Like beating nut-trees, makes a larger crop 1 
 Faith, we'll e'en spare our pains 1 and, to content you. 
 Will fairly leave you what your Maker meant you. lo 
 Satire was once your physic, wit your food : 
 One nourish'd not, and t 'other drew no blood : 
 We now prescribe, like doctors in despair, 
 ^fThe diet your weak appetites can bear. 
 Since hearty beef and mutton will not do, 
 Here 's julep-dance, ptisan of song and show : 
 Give you strong sense, the liquor is too heady : 
 You 're come to farce, — that 's asses' milk, — already. 
 Some hopeful youths there are, of callow wit. 
 Who one day may be men, if Heaven tliink fit : 20 
 
 Sound may serve such, ere they to sense are grown, 
 Like leading-strings till they can walk alone. 
 But yet, to keep our friends in countenance, know, 
 The wise Italians first invented show : 
 Thence into France the noble pageant pa^s'd : 
 
 'Tis England's credit to be cozen'd last. " 
 
 Freedom and zeal have choused you o'er and o'er : 
 Pray ^ive us leave to bubble you once more ; 
 You never were so cheaply fool'd before : 
 
mwamLL^^^ 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. '^^^ ^afL 
 
 I We bring jou change, to humour joiir disease ps 30 ^J^IA^^^ 
 
 Change for the worse has crer used to please ^\\^' A A? A , 
 
 j Then, 'tis the mode of France ; without whose rules 
 
 / None must presume to ?rt np here for fuol:^. , "7: — — ■ 
 
 In France, the oldest man is always young, 
 
 Sees operas daily, learns the tunes so long. 
 
 Till foot, liaiid, liead keep time M'ith every song : 
 . Each sings Iils part, echoing from pit and box, [ 
 
 \Vith_his hoarse Toirr. hnlf liarnxmy, lialf pnTT' 
 
 Le plus grand rol da inondr is always ringing, 
 
 They show themselves good subjects by their singing : 40 
 
 On that condition, set up every throat : 
 
 You Whigs may sing, for you have chan;:cd your note. 
 
 Cits and citesses raise a joyful strain, 
 
 'Tis a good omen to begin a reign : 
 
 Voices may help your ^barter to pes l6 rtHgrj 
 
 Andget by singing whaTyou lost by roanng. \^ 
 
 XL. 
 
 EPILOGUE TO " ALBION AND ALBANIUS." 
 
 Y y- — - 
 
 P^AFTEEvOur -^sop's fable shown to-day, 
 I come to give the moral of the play. ,v , 1 ^ 
 
 Feign'd Zeal, you saw, set out the speedier pace^^'v htd 
 But the last heat. Plain Dealing won the race : 
 Plain Dealing for a jewel has been known'; ~" 
 But ne'er till now the jewel of a crown. 
 When Heaven made man, to show the work divine, 
 (Truth was His image stamp'd upon the coin : 
 
166 deyden's poems. 
 
 \ And when a king is to a god refined, 9 
 
 On all he sajs and does he stamps his mind : 
 -This proves a soul without alio j, and pure • — / 
 
 |"Kings, like their gold, should every touchjenduxfi/ ^ 
 ("To dare in fields is valour: but how fe1r^ ./ 
 IDare be so thoroughly valiant, — to be true]/ 
 VThe name of great let other kings affect : 
 
 Ipe 's great indeed, the prince that is direct. 
 
 iHis subjects know him now, and trust him more 
 
 Than all their kings, and all their laws before. 
 
 What safety could their public acts afford "? 
 
 Those he can break ; but cannot break his word. 20 
 
 So great a trust to him alone was due ; 
 
 Well have they trusted whom so well they knew. 
 
 The saint, who walk'd on waves, securely trod. 
 
 While he believed the beckoning of his God : , 
 
 But when his faith no longer bore him out, I K 
 
 Began to sink, as he began to doubt. 
 
 Let us our native character maintain ; 
 
 'Tis of our growth to be sincerely plain. ^ 
 
 To excel in truth we loyally may strive, 
 
 Set privilege against prerogative : 30 
 
 He plights his faith, and we believe him just ; 
 
 His honom* is to promise, ours to trust. , , 
 
 Thus Britain's basis on a word is laid. 
 
 As by a word the world itself was made 
 
 ^ 
 
l/vx v-v . PROLOGUES A;ND EPILOGUES. ''^^H'O ^ 1^^ 
 
 D/L ^Mx n^^ P^Ij^j^'^^^ \'^^aiA^'' ^ 
 
 PROLOGUE TO "ARVIRAGUS AND PHILICIA 
 ^ REVIVED. " 
 
 BY LODOWICK , CARLELL, pSQ^/jWO. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR HART. . Am<^^ Y^i^nr^ 
 
 With sickly actors and an old house too, ^c ^^ti^^^^^ 
 
 \Vc 're matcli'd with glorious theatres and new ; ^^^aJCq!^ 
 
 And with our alehouse scenes, and clothes bare worn, ^^hxP^h, 
 
 Can neither raise old plays, aoi" new adorn.— 
 r- slX^l. these ills could not undo us^quite^ 
 [ A brisk French troop is grown your dear delight ; 
 
 Who with broad bloody bills call you each day 
 
 To laugh and break your buttons at their play ; 
 
 Or see some serious piece, which we presume 
 
 Is fallen from some incomparable plume ; lo 
 
 And therefore. Messieurs, if you '11 do us grace, 
 
 Send lackeys early to prcscrvQ j;fiur4)lace. ^ ^UcL/^ 
 . We dare not on your privilege intrench, 
 
 \0r ask you why you like them 1 they are French 
 
 [Therefore some go, with courtesy exceeding, 
 
 peither to hear nor see, but show their breeding : j^^ 
 
 Each lady striving to out-laugh the rest ; 
 
 ^0 make it seem they understood the jest. 
 
 Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay. 
 
 To teach us English where to clap the play : 20 
 
 Civil, egad ! our hospitable land 
 
 Bears all the charge, for them to understand : 
 
 Mean time we languish and neglected lie, 
 
 Like wives, while you keep better company ; 
 
 And wish for your own sakes, without a satire, 
 ji You 'd less good breeding, or had more good nature. 
 
 
168 dryden's poems 
 
 XLII. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO "DON SEBASTIAN." \ 
 
 SPOKEN BY A WOMAN. 
 
 The judge remoyed, tliongli he 's no more mj lord, 
 
 Maj plead at bar, or at the council board : 
 
 So maj cast poets write ; there 's no pretension 
 
 To argue loss of wit from loss of pension. 
 
 Your looks are cheerful ; and in all this place 
 
 I see not one that wears a damning face. 
 
 The British nation is too brave to show 
 
 Ignoble vengeance on a vanquish'd foe. 
 
 At last be civil to the wretch imploring ; 
 
 And lay your paws upon him without roaring. lo 
 
 "■---Suppose our poet was your foe before, 
 Yet now, the business of the field is o'er ; 
 
 , Tis time to let your civil wars alone. 
 
 When troops are into winter quarters gone. 
 
 Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian ; 
 
 And you well know, a play 's of no religion. 
 
 Take good advice, and please yourselves this day ; 
 
 No matter from what hands you have the play. 
 
 Among good fellows every health will pass, 
 
 That serves to carry round another glass : 20 
 
 When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine. 
 
 Though at the mighty monarch you repine, 
 
 You grant him still Most Christian in his wine. 
 
 Thus far the poet ; but his brains grow addle, 
 And all the rest is purely from his noddle. 
 You have seen young ladies at the senate door 
 Prefer petitions, and your grace implore ; 
 
 .1 J^O- 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 169 
 
 However grave the legislators were, 28 
 
 Their cause went ne'er the worse for being fair. 
 Reasons as weak as theirs, perhaps, I bring ; 
 But I could bribe you with as good a thing. 
 I heard him make advances of good nature ; 
 r5^hat_hc^Jor_once, .maild sheath his cutting satire. - 
 Sign but his peace, be vows he '11 ne'er again ^"" 
 The sacred names of fops and beaux profane. 
 Strike up the bargain quickly ; for I swear, 
 As times go now, he offers very fair. ^^ 
 Be not too hard on him with statutes neither ; 
 Be kind ; and do not set your teeth together, 
 To stretch the laws, as cobblers do their leather. 40 
 
 Horses by Papists are not to be ridden, 
 But sure the Muses' horse was ne'er forbidden ; . | /iy iS\S ^ 
 For in no rate-book it was ever found 
 I That Pegasus M-as valued at five pound ; 
 >lFine him to daily drudging and inditing : 
 ^nd let him pay his taxes out in writing, r* J ec P 
 
 170 
 
 f^\>■ 
 
 r> fV-v, P/jJEr WZT^ 
 
 XLIII. 
 PROLOGUE TO "THE PROPHETESS."^ 
 
 BY BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON. /69oN 
 
 What Nostradame, with all his art, can guess \ 
 The fate of our approaching Prophetess % \J, 
 
 ' This prologue was forbid by the Earl of Dorset, then Lord Chamberlain,"' 
 after the first day of its being spoken. 
 
 t>'6^ 
 
 i\ * ^ ,. . Vl.. 
 
170 deyden's poems. 
 
 A play which, like a perspectiye set right, 3 
 
 Presents our vast expenses close to sight ; 
 But turn the tube, and there we sadly view 
 Our distant gains ; and those uncertain too : 
 A sweeping tax. which on ourselves we raise. 
 And all, like you, in hopes of better days ; 
 When will our losses warn us to be M'ise ? 
 Our wealth decreases, and our charges rise. 10 
 
 Money, the sweet allurer of our hopes. 
 Ebbs out in oceans, and comes in by drops ; 
 We raise new objects to provoke delight. 
 But you grow sated ere the second sight. 
 False men, e'en so you serve your mistresses : 
 They rise three storeys in their towering dress ; 
 And, after all, you love not long enough 
 .To pay the rigging, ere you leave them off. 
 / I Never content with what you had before, 
 ^"^ I But true to change, and Englishmen all o'er. , 20 
 
 » Now; honour calls you hence ; and all your care 
 
 I^-W provide the horrid pomp of war. 
 /^n plume and scarf, jack-boots, and Bilbo blade, 
 ( 'Your silver goes, that should support our trade. 
 Go, unkind heroes ! ^ leave our stage to mourn, 
 Till rich from vanquish'd rebels you return ; 
 And the fat spoils of Teague in triumph draw, 
 His firkin-butter, and his usquebaugh. 
 Go, conquerors of your male and female foes ! 
 Men without hearts, and women without hose : 30 
 
 Each bring his love a Bogland captive home ; 
 Such proper pages will long trains become ; 
 With copper collars, and with brawny backs, 
 Quite to put down the fashion of our blacks. 
 
 } King William was at this time prosecuting the war in Ireland. 
 
m-^iO 
 
 ->■— - 
 
 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 171 
 
 Prhen shall the pious Muses pay their vows, 85 
 
 /And furnish all their laurels for your brows ; 
 Their tuneful voice shall raise for your delights ; 
 We want not poets fit to sing your flights. 
 But you, bright beauties ! for whose only sake 
 Those doughty knights such dangers undertake, 40 
 
 When they with happy gales are gone away. 
 With your propitious presence grace our play ; 
 And with a sigh their empty seats survey : 
 Then thinks on that bare bench my servant sat ; 
 Jsee him ogle still, and hear him chat ; 
 
 VjSelling facetious bargains, and propounding < 
 That witty recreation, call'd dmnfouuding. ' ^^' 
 Their loss with patience we will try to bear ; 
 And would do more, to see you often here ; 
 That our dead stage, revived by your fair eyes, so 
 
 Under a female regency may rise. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 { 
 
 PROLOGUE TO '^TEE MISTAKES." 
 
 BY JOSEPH HARRIS, COMEDIAN, 1690. (WRITTEN BY fSQMF. 
 
 OTHER.) *~~ 
 
 iJnter Mr Bright. 
 
 Gentlemen, we must beg your pardon ; here 's no Pro- 
 logue to be had to-day ; our new play is like to come 
 on, without a frontispiece ; as bald as one of you young 
 beaux, without your periwig. I left our young poet. 
 
172 dryden's poems. 
 
 snivelling and sobbing behind the scenes, and cursing 
 somebody that has deceived him. 
 
 Enter Mr Bowen. 
 
 Hold jour prating to the audience : here is honest Mr 
 Williams, just come in, half mellow, from the Rose 
 Tavern. He swears he is inspired with claret, and will 
 come on, and that extempore too, either with a prologue 
 of his own or something like one. Oh, hereiie comes to 
 his trial, at all adventures : for my part I wish him a 
 good deliverance. 
 
 [Exeunt Mr Bright and Mr Bowen. 
 
 Enter Mr Williams. 
 
 Save ye, sirs, save ye ! I am in a hopeful way. 
 I should speak something in rhyme, now, for the play : 
 But the deuce take me, if I know what to say. 
 I '11 stick to my friend the author, that I can tell ye, 
 To the last drop of claret in my belly. 
 So far I 'm sure 'tis rhyme — that needs no granting : 
 And, if my verses' feet stumble — you see my own are wanting. 
 Our young poet has brought a piece of work. 
 In which, though much of art there does not lurk, 9 
 It may hold out three days — and that 's as long as Cork. 
 But for this play (which till I have done, we show not) 
 AVhat may be its fortune — by the Lord ! I know not. 
 
 ^^his I dare swear, no malice here is writ : 
 
 i^is innocent of all things — even of wit. 
 He 's no highflier — he makes no sky-rockets, 
 His squibs are only levell'd at your pockets. 
 And if his crackers light among your pelf, 
 You are blown up ; if not, then he 's blown up himself. 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 173 
 
 By this time, I 'm something recover'd of my fluster'd 
 
 madness" 
 And now, a word or two in sober sadness. 20 
 
 Ours is a common play ; and you pay down 
 A common harlot's price — just half-a-crown. 
 You '11 say, I play the pimp, on my friend's score ; 
 But since 'tis for a friend your gibes give o'er : 
 For many a mother has done that before. 
 How 's this 1 you cry ; an actor write 1 — we know it ; 
 But Shakspeare was an actor, and a poet, 
 lias not great Jonson's learning often fail'd 1 
 But Shakspeare's greater genius still prevail'd. 
 Have not some writing actors, in this age, 30 
 
 Deserved and found success upon the stage ? 
 To tell the truth, when our old wits are tired, 
 Not one of us but means to be inspired. 
 Let your kind presence grace our homely cheer ; 
 Peace and tlie butt is all our business here : 
 So much for that ; — and the devil take small beer. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO "KING ARTHUR/'] 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON. 
 
 Sure there 's a dearth of wit in this dull town, 
 When silly plays so savourily go down ; 
 As, when dipt money passes, 'tis a sign 
 A nation is not over-stock'd with coin. 
 
1//: fr p^^%t^7 
 
 174 deyden's poems, 
 
 Happy is he who, in his own defence, 5 
 
 Can write just level to your humble sense ; 
 
 Who higher than your pitch can never go ; 
 
 And, doubtless, he must creep, who writes below. 
 
 So have I seen, in hall of knight, or lord, 
 
 A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board ; , 10 
 
 He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks. 
 
 Secured by weakness not to reach the box. j 
 
 A feeble poet will his business do, " 
 
 Who, straining all he can, comes up to you : 
 
 For, if you like yourselves, you like him too. 
 
 An ape his own dear image will embrace ; 
 
 An ugly beau adores a hatchet face : 
 
 So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature, 
 
 Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow-creature. 
 
 In fear of which, our house has sent this day, 20 
 
 To insure our new-built vessel, call'd a play ; 
 
 No sooner named, than one cries out, These stagers 
 
 Come in good time, to make more work for wagers. 
 
 The town divides, if it will take or no : 
 
 The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too ; 
 
 A sign they have but little else to do. 
 
 Bets, at the first, were fool-traps ; where the wise. 
 
 Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies : 
 
 But now they 're grown a common trade for all, 
 
 And actions by the new book rise and fall ; 30 
 
 Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall. 
 
 One policy as far as Lyons carries ; 
 
 Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris. 
 
 Our bets, at last, would e'en to Rome extend. 
 
 But that the pope has proved our trusty friend. 
 
 Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money, 
 
 Could we insure another Ottoboni. 
 

 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 175 
 
 Among the rest there are a sharping set, ] 88 
 
 That pray for us, and yet against us bet. 
 
 Sure IleaTen itself is at a loss to know 
 
 If these would hare their prayers be heard, or no : 
 
 For, in great stakes, we piously suppose, 
 
 Men pray but very faintly they may lose. 
 
 Leave off these wagers ; for, in conscience speaking, , 
 
 The city needs not your new tricks for breaking : 
 
 And if you gallants lose, to all appearing, 
 
 You '11 want an equipage for volunteering ; 
 
 While thus, no spark of honour left within ye. 
 
 When you should di'aw the sword, you draw the guini 
 
 PROLOGUE TO " ALBUMAZAR." i 
 
 To say, this comedy pleased long ago, 
 
 Is not enough to make it pass you now. 
 
 Yet, gentlemen, your ancestors had wit ; 
 
 When few men censured, and when fewer writ. 
 -And Jonson, of those few the best, chose this 
 
 As the best model of his masterpiece. 
 
 Subtle was got by our Album azar, 
 
 That Alchymist by this Astrologer ; 
 
 Here he was fashion'd, and we may suppose 
 i^He liked the fashion well, who wore the clothes. lo 
 
 ' An old play written by one Tomkius, four years, however, after Jonson's 
 "Alchymist," and resuscitated ia 16C8.^ 
 
176 dkyden's poems. 
 
 But Ben made nobly his what he did mould ; ii 
 
 What was. another's lead becomes his gold : 
 
 Like an unrighteous conqueror he reigns, 
 
 Yet rules that well which he unjustly gains. 
 
 By this our age such authors does afford, 
 
 As make whole plays, and yet scarce write one word : 
 
 Who, in his anarchy of wit, rob all. 
 
 And what 's their plunder, their possession call : 
 
 Who, like bold padders, scorn by night to prey, 
 
 But rob by sunshine, in the face of day : 20 
 
 Nay, scarce the common ceremony use 
 
 Of, Stand, sir, and deliver up your Muse ; 
 
 But knock the Poet down, and, with a grace. 
 
 Mount Pegasus before the owner's face. 
 
 Faith, if you have such country Toms abroad, 
 
 'Tis time for all true men to leave that road. 
 
 Yet it were modest, could it but be said. 
 
 They strip the living, but these rob the dead ; 
 
 Dare with the mummies of the Muses play. 
 
 And make love to them the Egyptian way ; 30 
 
 Or, as a rhjming author would have said. 
 
 Join the dead living to the living dead. 
 
 Such men in poetry may claim some part : 
 
 They have the licence, though they want the art ; 
 
 And might, where theft was praised, for Laureates stand, - 
 
 Poets, not of the head, but of the hand. 
 
 They make the benefits of others' studying. 
 
 Much like the meals of politic Jack-Pudding, 
 
 Whose dish to challenge no man has the courage ; 39 
 
 'Tis all his own, when once he has spit in the porridge. 
 
 But, gentlemen, you 're all concern'd in this ; 
 
 You are in fault for what they do amiss : 
 
 For they their thefts still undiscover'd think, 
 
 And durst not steal unless you please to wink. 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. I'' " 177 ^ 
 
 rerhaps jou ni^aj award, by jour decree, 45 
 
 They sliould refuud ; but that can never be. 
 
 For sliould your letters of reprisal, seal,) 
 
 Tliese men write that which no man else would steal. 
 
 XLVII. 
 AN EPILOGUE. 
 
 You saw our wife was chaste, y*et thoroughly tried, 
 
 And, without doubt, ye are hugely edified ; 
 
 For, like our hero, whom we show'd to-da}-. 
 
 You think no woman true, but in a play. 
 
 Love once did make a pretty kind of show : 
 
 Esteem and kindness in one breast would grow : 
 
 But 'twas Heaven knows how many years ago. 
 
 Now some small chat, and guinea expectation, 
 
 Gets all the pretty creatures in the nation : 
 
 In comedy your little selves you meet ; lo 
 
 'Tis Covent Garden drawn in Bridges Street. 
 
 Smile on our author then, if he has shown 
 
 A jolly nut-brown bastard of your own. 
 
 Ah ! happy you, with ease and with delight, 
 
 Who act those follies, Poets toil to write ! 
 
 The sweating Muse does almost leave the chase ; 
 
 She puffs, and hardly keeps your Protean vices pace. 
 
 Pinch you but in one vice, away you fly 
 
 To some new frisk of contrariety. 
 
 You roll like snow-balls, gathering as you run, 20 
 
 Atid get seven devils, when dispossessed of one. 
 
 VOL. IL M 
 
178 dryden's poems. 
 
 Your Venus once was a Platonic queen ; 22 
 
 Nothing of love beside the face was seen ; 
 
 But every inch of her you now uncase, 
 
 And clap a vizard-mask upon the face. 
 
 For sins like these, the zealous of the land, 
 
 With little hair, and little or no band, 
 
 Declare how circulating pestilences 
 
 Watch, every twenty years, to snap offences. 
 
 Saturn, even now, takes doctoral degrees ; 30 
 
 He '11 do your work this summer without fees. 
 
 Let all the boxes, Phoebus, find thy grace, 
 
 And, ah ! preserve the eighteen-penny place ! 
 
 But for the pit confounders, let 'em go, 
 
 And find as little mercy as they show : 
 
 The Actors thus, and thus thy Poets pray ; 
 
 For every critic saved, thou damn'st a play. 
 
 XLVIIL 
 
 EPILOGUE TO " THE HUSBAND HIS OWN 
 CUCKOLD." 
 
 BY MR JOH^ DRYDEN, JUN., 1696. ^ 
 
 Like some raw sophister that mounts the pulpit, 
 So trembles a young Poet at a full pit. 
 Unused to crowds, the parson quakes for fear. 
 And wonders how the devil he durst come there ; 
 Wanting three talents needful for the place — ■ 
 Some beard, some learning, and some little grace. 
 
 ' ' John Dryden, jiin. : ' second son of the poet, M'ho was at Rome when this 
 play was brought out. 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 1 79 
 
 Nor is the punj Poet Yold of care ; 7 
 
 For authors, such as our new authors are, 
 
 Have not much learning, nor much wit to spare : 
 
 And as for grace, to tell the truth, there 's scarce one 
 
 But has as little as the very Parson : 
 
 Both say, they preach and write for your instruction : 
 
 But 'tis for a third day, and for jnduc.tiaa. 
 
 The difference is, that though you like the play, 
 
 The Poet's gain is ne'er beyond his day. 
 
 But with the Parson 'tis another case, 
 
 He, without holiness, may rise to grace. 
 
 The Poet has one disadvantage more. 
 
 That if his play be dull, he 's daran'd all o'er, 
 
 Not only a damn'd blockhead, but damn'd poor. 20 
 
 Bufdulness well becomes the sable garment ; 
 
 I warrant that ne'er spoil'd a Priest's perfermcnt : 
 
 Wit 's not his business, and as wit now goes, 
 
 Sirs, 'tis not so much yours as you suppose, 
 
 For you like nothing now but nauseous beaux. 
 
 You laugh not, gallants, as by proof appears, 
 
 At what liis beauship says, but what he wears ; y 
 
 So 'tis your eyes are tickled, not your ears. 
 
 The tailor and the furrier find the stuff. 
 
 The wit lies in the dress, and monstrous mufif. 30 
 
 The truth on 't is, the payment of the pit 
 
 Is like for like, dipt money for dipt witTl 
 
 You cannot from our absent author hope 
 
 He should equip the stage with such a fop : 
 
 Fools change in England, and new fools arise, 
 
 For though the immortal species never dies, 
 
 Yet every year new maggots make new flies ; 
 
 But where he lives abroad, he" scarce can'SncT 
 
 One fool for millions that he left behind. 
 
180 dryden's poems. 
 
 XLIX. 
 PROLOGUE TO "THE PILGRIM." 
 
 BY BEAUMONT AND_ FLETCHER. 
 REVIVED FOR OUR AUTHOR'S BENEFIT, ANNO 1700. 
 
 How wretched is the fate of those who write ! 
 
 'Brought muzzled to the stage, for fear thej bite. 
 
 Where, like Tom DoTe, they stand the common foe ; 
 Lugg'd by the critic, baited by the beau. 
 Yet worse, their brother poets damn the play, 
 
 / ,.' And roar the loudest, though they never pay. 
 
 ^ The fops are proud of scandal, for they cry,,.. 
 At every lewd, low character, — That 's I. 
 He who writes letters to himself would swear, 
 The world forgot him, if he was not there. lo 
 
 "What should a poet do \ 'Tis hard for one 
 To pleasure all the fools that would be shown : 
 And yet not two in ten will pass the town. 
 Most coxcombs are not of the laughing kind ; 
 More goes to make a fop, than fops can find. 
 
 Quack Maurus,^ though he never took degrees 
 In either of our universities. 
 Yet to be shown by some kind wit he looks. 
 Because he play'd the fool, and writ three books. 
 ~ But, if he would be worth a Poet's pen, 20 
 
 He must be more a fool, and write again : 
 For all the former fustian stuff he wrote 
 Was dead-born doggerel, or is quite forgot : 
 His man of Uz, stript of his Hebrew robe, 
 Is just the proverb, and as poor as Job. 
 
 ' ' Quack Maurus : ' Sir Richard Blackmore. 
 
PROLOGUES a:sd epilogues. j__ /VlSli 
 
 U> ^^ vr\^i^^ 
 
 One would have thought he could no longer jog ; 2g 
 
 But Arthur was a level, Job 's a bog. . ■ ..' - ' 
 
 There, though he crept, yet still he kept in sight ; ']\C.^ 
 
 But here, he founders in, and sinks down right, 
 
 Had he prepared us, and been dull by rule, 30 
 
 Tobit had first been turn'd to ridicule : 
 
 But our bold Briton, without fear or awe, 
 
 O'erleaps at once the whole Apocrypha ; 
 
 Invades the Psalms with rhymes, and leaves no room 
 
 For any Vandal Hopkins yet to come. 
 
 But when if, after all, this godly gear 
 Is not so senseless as it would appear ; 
 Our mountebank has laid a deeper train, 
 His cant, like !Merry-Andrew's noble vein, 
 Cat-calls the sects to draw them in again. 40 
 
 At leisure hours, in epic song die., deals. 
 Writes to the rumbling of his coach's wTieels, 
 Prescribes in haste, and seldom kills by rule, 
 But rides triumphant between stool and stool. 
 
 Well, let him go ; 'tis yet too early day. 
 To get himself a place in farce or play. 
 AVe know not by what name we should arraign him, 
 For no one category can contain him ; 
 A pedant, canting preacher, and a quack. 
 Are load enough to break one ass's back : >, so 
 
 At last, grown wanton, he presumed to write, / (KMAy^ 
 Traduced two kings, their kindness to requite ; v T\n()\j^ 
 One made the docfor, and one Hubb'd the knight. , *^^^ 
 
182 dsyden's poems. 
 
 L. 
 
 EPILOGUE TO "THE PILGRIM." 
 
 Perhaps tlie parson ^ stretcli'd a point too far, 
 When with our Theatres he waged a war. 
 He tells you, that this yery moral age 
 Received the first infection from the stage. 
 •J But sure, a banish'd court, with lewdness fraught, 
 /,_The seeds of open vice, returning, brought. 
 Thus lodged (as vice by great example thrives) 
 It first debauch'd the daughters and the wives. 
 London, a fruitful soil, yet never bore 
 So plentiful a crop of horns before. lo 
 
 The poets, who must live by courts, or starve,* 
 Were proud so good a government to serve : 
 I And, mixing with buffoons and pimps profane, 
 ' Tainted the stage, for some small snip of gain. 
 For they, like harlots under bawds profess'd. 
 Took all the ungodly pains, and got the least. 
 Thus did the thriving malady prevail : 
 The court, its head, the poets but the tail. 
 The sin was of our native growth, 'tis true ; 
 The scandal of the sin was wholly new. 20 
 
 Misses they were, but modestly conceal'd ; 
 AVhitehall the naked Venus first reveal'd, 
 Who, standing as at Cyprus, in her shrine, 
 The strumpet was adored with rites divine. 
 Ere this, if saints had any secret motion, 
 'Twas chamber-practice all, and close devotion. 
 I pass the peccadilloes of their time ; 
 Nothing but open lewdness was a crime. 
 
 * ' Parson : ' Jeremy Collier. 
 
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 183 
 
 A monarcli's blood was venial to tlie nation, 29 
 
 Compared M'itli one foul act of fornication. 
 
 Now, thej would silence us, and shut tlie door, 
 
 That let in all the barefaced vice before. 
 
 As for reforming us, which some pretend, 
 
 That work in England is witliout an end : 
 
 Well may we change, but we shall never mend. 
 
 Yet, if you can but bear the present Stage, 
 
 We hope much better of the coming age. 
 
 What would you say, if we should first begin 
 
 To stop the trade of love behind the scene, 
 
 Where actresses make bold with married men 1 40 
 
 For while abroad so prodigal the dolt is. 
 
 Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is. 
 
 In short, we '11 grow as moral as we can. 
 
 Save here and there a woman or a man : 
 
 But neither you, nor we, with all our pains, 
 
 Can make clean work ; there will be some remains. 
 
 While you have still your Dates, and we our Haines. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 
 
 TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF ORMOND. 
 
 An7io 1699. 
 
 My Lord, — Some estates are held in England by paying a fine at the 
 change of every lord : I have enjoyed the patronage of your family, from the 
 time of your excellent grandfather to this present day. I have dedicated the 
 translation of the "Lives of Plutarch " to the first Duke ; and have celebrated the 
 memory of your heroic father. Though I am very short of the age of Nestor, 
 yet I have lived to a third generation of your house ; and by your Grace's 
 favour am admitted still to hold from you by the same tenure. 
 
 I am not vain enough to boast that I have deserved the value of so illustri- 
 ous a line ; but my fortune is the greater, that for three descents they have 
 been pleased to distinguish my poems from those of other men ; and have 
 accordingly made me their peculiar care. May it be permitted me to say, 
 that, as your grandfather and father were cherished and adorned with honours 
 by two successive monarchs, so I have been esteemed and patronised by the 
 grandfather, the father, and the son, descended from one of the most ancient, 
 most conspicuous, and most deserving families in Europe ? 
 
 It is true, that by delaying the payment of my last fine, when it was due by 
 your Grace's accession to the titles and patrimonies of your house, I may seem, 
 in rigour of law, to have made a forfeiture of my claim ; yet my heart has 
 always been devoted to your service ; and since you have been graciously 
 pleased, by your permission of this address, to accept the tender of my duty, 
 it is not yet too late to lay these poems at your feet. 
 
 The world is sensible that you worthily succeed, not only to the honom'S of 
 your ancestors, but also to their virtues. The long chain of magnanimity, 
 courage, easiness of access, and desire of doing good even to the prgudice of 
 your fortune, is so fiir from being broken in your Grace, that the precious 
 metal yet runs pure to the newest link of it ; which I vvfill not call the last, 
 because I hope and pray it may descend to late posterity : and yom- flourish- 
 ing youth, and that of your excellent Duchess, are happy omens of my wish. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 185 
 
 It is observed by Livy and by others, that some of the noblest Roman fami- 
 lies retained a resemblance of their ancestry, not only in their shapes and 
 features, but also in their manners, their qualities, and the distinguishing 
 cliaracters of their minds. Some lines were noted for a stern, rigid virtue, 
 savage, haughty, parsimonious, and unpopular : others were more sweet and 
 aft'able, made of a more pliant paste, humble, courteous, and obliging, studious 
 of doing charitable offices, and diffusive of the goods which they enjoyed. The 
 last of these is the proper and indelible character of your Grace's family. God 
 Almighty has endued you with a softness, a beneficence, an attractive beha- 
 viour wiiming on the hearts of others ; and so sensible of their misery, that 
 the wounds of fortune seem not inflicted on them, but on yourself. You are 
 so ready to redress, that you almost prevent their wishes, and always exceed 
 their expectations ; as if what w:is yours, was not jour own, and not given 
 you to possess, but to bestow on wanting merit. But this is a topic which I 
 must cast in shades, lest I offend your modesty, which is so far from being 
 ostentatious of the good you do, that it blushes even to have it known ; and 
 therefore I must leave j'ou to the satisfaction and testimony of your own con- 
 science, which, though it be a silent panegyric, is yet the best. 
 
 You are so eiisy of access, that Poplicola was not more, whose doors were 
 opened on the outside to save the people even the common civility of asking 
 entrance ; where all were equally admitted — where nothing that was reason- 
 able was denied — where misfortune was a powerful recommendation, and 
 where (I can scarce forbear saying) that want itself was a powerful mediator, 
 and was next to merit. 
 
 The iiistory of Peru assures us, that their Incas, above all their titles 
 esteemed that the highest which called them Lovers of the Poor — a name 
 more glorious than the Felix, Pius, and Augustus of the Roman emperors, 
 which were epithets of flattery, deserved by few of them, and not running 
 in a blood like the perpetual gentleness and inherent goodness of the Ormond 
 family. 
 
 Gold, as it is the purest, so it is the softest and most ductile of all metals. 
 Iron, which is the hardest, gathers nist, corrodes itself, and is therefore sub- 
 ject to corruption ; it was never intended for coins and medals, or to bear the 
 faces and inscriptions of the great. Indeed, it is fit for armour, to bear off 
 insults, and preserve the wearer in the day of battle ; but the danger once 
 repelled, it is laid aside by the brave, as a garment too rough for civil con- 
 versation ; a necessary guard in war, but too harsh and cumbersome in peace, 
 and which keeps off the embraces of a more humane life. 
 
 For this reason, my Lord, though you have courage in an heroical degree, 
 yet I ascribe it to you but as your second attribute : mercy, beneficence, and 
 compassion claim precedence, as they are first in the Divine nature. An 
 intrepid courage, which is inherent in your Grace, is at best but a holiday 
 kind of virtue, to be seldom exercised, and never but in cases of necessity : 
 affability, mildness, tenderness, and a word which I would fain bring back to 
 its original signification of virtue, I mean good-nature, are of daily use: they 
 are the bread of mankind, and staff of life ; neither sighs, nor tears, nor groans, 
 nor curses of the vanquished, follow acts of compassion and of charity, but a 
 sincere pleasure and serenity of mind, in him who performs an action of mercy, 
 which cannot suffer the misfortunes of another without redress, lest they 
 
186 dkyden's poems. 
 
 should bring a kind of contagion along with them, and pollute the happiness 
 ■which he enjoys. 
 
 Yet since the perverse tempers of mankind, since oppression on one side, 
 and ambition on the other, are sometimes the unavoidable occasions of war ; 
 that courage, that magnanimity, and resolution, which is born with you, can- 
 not be too much commended. And here it grieves me that I am scanted in 
 the pleasure of dwelling on many of your actions ; but atSeo/Aat Tpaas is an 
 expression which Tully often uses, when he would do what he dares not, and 
 fears the censure of the Romans. 
 
 I have sometimes been forced to amplify on others ; but here, where the 
 subject is so fruitful that the harvest overcomes the reaper, I am shortened 
 by my chain, and can only see what is forbidden me to reach, since it is not 
 permitted me to commend you, according to the extent of my wishes, and 
 much less is it in my power to make my commendations equal to your merits. 
 Yet in this frugality of your praises there are some things which I cannot 
 omit without detracting from your character. You have so formed your own 
 education, as enables you to pay the debt you owe your country ; or, more 
 properly speaking, both your countries, because you were born, I may almost 
 say, in purple, at the castle of Dublin, when your grandfather was Lord-Lieu- 
 tenant, and have since been bred in the court of England. 
 
 If this address had been in verse, I might have called you, as Claudian calls 
 Mercury, Numen comvmne, gemino faciens commercia mundo. The better 
 to satisfy this double obligation, you have early cultivated the genius you 
 have to arms, that when the service of Britain or Ireland shall require your 
 courage and your conduct, you may exert them both to the benefit of either 
 country. You began in the Cabinet what you afterwards practised in the 
 Camp ; and thus both LucuUus and Cresar (to omit a crowd of shining Romans) 
 formed themselves to war by tlie study of history, and by the examples of the 
 greatest captains, both of Greece and Italy, before their time. I name those 
 two commanders in particular, because they were better read in chronicle than 
 any of the Roman leaders ; and that LucuUus, in particular, having only the 
 theory of war from books, was thought fit, without practice, to be sent into 
 the field against the most formidable enemy of Rome. Tully, indeed, was 
 called the learned consul in derision ; but then he was not born a soldier — his 
 head was turned another way ; when he read the Tactics, he was thinking on 
 the bar, which was his field of battle. The knowledge of warfare is thrown 
 away on a general who dares not make use of what he knows. I commend it 
 only in a man of courage and resolution : in him it will direct his martial 
 spirit, and teach him the way to the best victories, — which are those which 
 are least bloody, and which, though achieved by the hand, are managed by 
 the head. Science distinguishes a man of honour from one of those athletic 
 brutes whom undeservedly we call lieroes. Cursed be the poet who first 
 honoured with that name a mere Ajax, a man-killing idiot ! The Ulysses of 
 Ovid upbraids his ignorance, that he understood not tlie shield for which he 
 pleaded : tliere was engraven on it plans of cities and maps of countries which 
 Ajax coidd not comprehend, but looked on them as stupidly as his fellow- 
 beast, the lion. But on the other side, your Grace has given yourself the 
 education of his rival ; you have studied every spot of ground in Flanders, 
 which for these ten years past has been the scene of battles and of sieges. No 
 
TALES FR05I CHAUCER. 187 
 
 wonder if you performecl your part witli such applause on a tlieatre which 
 you understood so well. 
 
 If I designed this for a poetical encomium, it were easy to enlarge on so 
 copious a suliject; but, confining myself to the severity of truth, and to what 
 is becoming me to say, I must not only pass over many instances of your 
 military skill, but also those of your assiduous diligence in the war, and of 
 your personal bravery, attended with an ardent thirst of honour — a long train 
 of generosity — profusencss of doing good — a soul unsatisfied with all it has 
 done, ami an unextinguished desire of doing more. But all this is matter for 
 your own historians ; I am, as Virgil says, Spatiis excluf!it.'< ini'jitis. 
 
 Yet not to be wholly silent of all your charities, I must stay a little on one 
 action, which preferred the relief of others to the consideration of yourself. 
 When, in the battle of Landen, your heat of courage (a fault only pardonable 
 to your youth) had transported you so far before your frieiuls, that they were 
 unable to follow, much less to succour you ; when you were not only danger- 
 ously, but in all ap])earauce mortally wounded ; when in that desperate con- 
 dition you were made prisoner and carried to Namur, at that time in posses- 
 sion of the French : then it was, my Lord, that you took a considerable part of 
 what was remitted to you of your own revenues, and, as a memorable instance 
 of your heroic charity, put it into the hands of Count Guiscard, who was 
 governor of the place, to be distributed among your fellow-prisoners. The 
 French commander, charmed with the greatness of your soul, accordingly 
 consigned it to the use for which it was intended by the donor ; by which 
 means the lives of so many miserable men were saved, and a comfortable 
 provision made for their subsistence, who had otherwise perished, had not 
 you been the companion of their misfortune ; or rather sent by Providence, 
 like another Joseph, to keep out famine from invading those whom in humi- 
 lity you called your brethren. How happy was it for those poor creatures 
 that your Grace was made their fellow-sufferer! and how glorious for you 
 that you chose to want rather than not relieve the wants of others ! The hea- 
 then poet, in commending the charity of Dido to the Trojans, spoke like a 
 Christian : Non ignara mall, mifferis succurrere disco. All men, even those 
 of a different interest, and contrary principles, must praise this action as the 
 most eminent for piety, not only in this degenerate age, but almost in any of 
 the foiTOer ; when men vrere made de meliore luto ; when examples of charity 
 were frequent, and when there were in being, Teucri pulchcrrima proles^ 
 magnanimi heroes Jiati melioribus annis. No envy can detract from this : it 
 will shine in history, and, like swans, grow whiter the longer it endures, and 
 the name of Ormoxd will be more celebrated in his captivity than in his 
 greatest triumphs. 
 
 But all actions of your Grace are of a piece, as waters keep the tenor of 
 their fountains : your compassion is general, and has the same effect as well 
 on enemies as friends. It is so much in your nature to do good, that your 
 life is but one continued act of placing benefits on many, as the sun is always 
 carrying his light to some part or other of the world ; and were it not that 
 your reason guides you where to give, I might almost say that you could not 
 help bestowing more than is consisting with the fortune of a private man, 
 or with the will of any but an Alexander. 
 
 What wonder is it, then, that being born for a blessing to mankind, your 
 
188 dryden's poems. 
 
 supposed death in that engagement was so generally lamented through the 
 nation ! The concernment for it was as universal as the loss ; and though the 
 gratitude might be counterfeit in some, yet the tears of all were real : where 
 every man deplored his private part in that calamity, and even those who had 
 not tasted of your favours, yet built so much on the fame of your beneficence, 
 that they bemoaned the loss of their expectations. 
 
 This brought the untimely death of your great father into iresh remem- 
 brance : as if the same decree had passed on two short successive generations 
 of the virtuous ; and I repeated to myself the same verses which I had formerly 
 applied to him : Ostendunt terris hunc tantum fata, iiec ultra esse sinunt. 
 But to the joy, not only of all good men, but of mankind in general, the an- 
 happy omen took not place. You are still living to enjoy the blessings and 
 applause of all the good you have performed, the prayers of multitudes whom 
 you have obliged, for your long prosperity ; and that your power of doing 
 generous and charitable actions may be as extended as your will ; which is 
 by none more zealously desired than by your Grace's most humble, most 
 obliged, and most obedient servant, John Dryden. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It is with a poet as with a man who designs to build, and is very 
 exact, as he supposes, in casting up the cost beforehand ; but, generally 
 speaking, he is mistaken in his account, and reckons short in the expense he 
 first intended. He alters his mind as tlie work proceeds, and will have this 
 or that convenience more, of which he had not thought when he began. So 
 has it happened to me : I have built a house, where I intended but a lodge ; 
 yet with better success than a certain nobleman, who, beginning with a dog- 
 kennel, never lived to finish the palace he had contrived. 
 
 From translating the first of Homer's Iliads (which I intended as an essay 
 to the whole work) I proceeded to the translation of the twelfth book of Ovid's 
 Metamorphoses, because it contains, among other things, the causes, the 
 beginning, and ending of the Trojan war. Here I ought in reason to have 
 stopped ; but the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses lying next in my way, I could 
 not baulk them. When I had compassed them, I was so taken with the 
 former part of the fifteenth book, which is the masterpiece of the wliole 
 Metamorphoses, that I enjoined myself the pleasing task of rendering it into 
 English. And now I found, by the number of my verses, that they began to 
 swell into a little volume ; whicli gave me an occasion of looking backward 
 on some beauties of my author, in his former books. Tiiere occurred to me 
 the hunting of the boar, Cinyras and JMyrrha, the good-natured story of 
 Baucis and Philemon, with the rest, which I hope I have translated closel}'' 
 enough, and giveu them the same turn of verse which they had in the original ; 
 and this, I may say without vanity, is not the talent of every poet. He who 
 has arrived the nearest to it, is the ingenious and learned Sandys, the best 
 versifier of the former age ; if I may properly call it by that name, which was 
 the former part of this concluding century. For Spenser and Fairfax both 
 flourished in the reign of Queen Elizabeth ; great masters in om- language ; 
 
TALES FPtOM CHAUCER. 189 
 
 and who saw much farther into the beauties of our numbers, than those who 
 immediately followed them. Milton was the poetical son of Spenser, and Mr 
 Wartler, of Fairfax ; for we have our lineal descents and clans, as well as other 
 families. Spenser more than ouce insinuates, that the soul of Chaucer was 
 transfused into his body ; and that he was begotten by him two hundred years 
 after his decease. Milton has acknowledged to me, that Spenser was his 
 original ; and many besides myself have heard our famous Waller own, that 
 he derived the harmony of his numbers from the Godfrey of Bulloigne, which 
 was turned into English by Mr Fairfax. But to return. Having done with 
 Ovid for this time, it came into my mind, that our old English poet Chaucer 
 in many things resembled him, and that with no disadvantage on the side of 
 the modem author, a.s I shall endeavour to prove when I compare them. And 
 as I am, and always have been, studious to promote the honour of my native 
 country, so I soon resolved to put their merits to the trial, by turning some of 
 the Canterbury tales into our language, as it is now refined ; for by this means, 
 both the poets being set in the same light, and dressed in the same English 
 liabit, story to be compared with story, a certain judgment may be made 
 betwixt them, by the reader, without obtruding my opinion on him. Or if I 
 seem partial to my countryman, aud predecessor in the laurel, the friends of 
 antiquity are not few ; and besides many of the learned, Ovid has almost all 
 the beaux, and the whole fair sex, his declared patrons. Perhaps I have 
 assumed somewhat more to myself than they allow me, because I have adven- 
 tured to sum up the evidence ; but the readers are the jury, and their pri- 
 vilege remains entire to decide according to the merits of the cause, or, if they 
 please, to bring it to another hearing, before some other court. In the mean- 
 time, to follow the thread of my discourse (as thoughts, according to Mr 
 Ilobbs, have always some connexion), so from Chaucer I was led to thmk on 
 Boccace, who was not only his contemporary, but also pursued the same 
 studies ; wrote novels in prose, and many works in verse : particularly is said 
 to have invented the octave rhyme, or stanza of eight lines, which ever since 
 Las been maintained by the practice of all Italian writers, who are, or at least 
 assume the title of. Heroic Poets. He and Chaucer, among other things, had 
 this in common, that they refined their mother tongues; but with this 
 difference, that Dante had begun to file their language, at least in verse, 
 before the time of Boccace, who likewise received no little help from his master 
 Petrarch. But the reformation of their prose was wholly owing to Boccace 
 himself, who is yet the standard of purity in the Italian tongue; though many 
 of his phrases are become obsolete, as in process of time it must needs happen. 
 Chaucer, as you have formerly been told by our learned Mr Eymer, first 
 adorned and amplified our barren tongue from the Provencal, which was then 
 the most polished of all the modem languages; but this subject has been 
 copiously treated by that great critic, who deserves no little commendation 
 from us his countrymen. For these reasons of time, and resemblance of genius 
 in Chaucer and Boccace, I resolved to join them in my present work ; to which 
 I have added some original papers of my own ; which, whether they are equal 
 or inferior to my other poems, an author is the most improper judge ; and, 
 therefore, I leave them wholly to the mercy of the reader. I will hope the 
 best, that they will not be condemned ; but if they should, I have the excuse 
 of an old gentleman, who, mounting on horseback before some ladies, when 1 
 
190 DRYDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 •was present, got up somewhat heavily, but desired of the fair spectators that 
 they would count fourscore and eight before they judged him. By the mercy 
 of God, I am already come within twenty years of his number, a cripple in my 
 limbs ; but what decays are in my mind, the reader must determine. I think 
 myself as vigorous as ever in the faculties of my soul, excepting only my 
 memory, which is not impaired to any great degree ; and if I lose not more of 
 it, I have no great reason to complain. What judgment I had, increases 
 rather than diminishes ; and thoughts, such as they are, come crowding in so 
 fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or to reject ; to run them 
 into verse, or to give them the other harmony of prose. I have so long 
 studied and practised both, that they are grown into a habit, and become 
 famihar to me ; in short, though I may lawfully plead some part of the old 
 gentleman's excuse, yet I will reserve it till I think I have greater need, and 
 ask no grains of allowance for the fiiults of this my present work, but those 
 which are given of course to human frailty. I will not trouble my reader 
 with the shortness of time in which I writ it, or the several intervals of sick- 
 ness. They who think too well of their own performances, are apt to boast in 
 their prefaces how little time their works have cost them, and what other 
 business of more importance interfered ; but the reader will be as apt to ask 
 the question, why they allowed not a longer time to make their works more 
 perfect? and why they had so despicable an opinion of their judges, as to 
 thrust their indigested stuff upon them, as if they deserved no better? 
 
 With this account of my present undertaking, I conclude the first part of 
 this discourse ; in the second part, as at a second sitting, though I alter not 
 the draught, I must touch the same features over again, and change the dead 
 colouring of the whole. In general I will only say, that I have written nothing 
 which savours of immorality or profaneness ; at least, I am not conscious to 
 myself of any such intention. If there happen to be found an irreverent 
 expression, or a thought too wanton, they are crept into my verses through 
 my inadvertency ; if the searchers find any in the cargo, let them be staved or 
 forfeited, like contraband goods ; at least, let their authors be answerable for 
 them, as being but imported merchandise, and not of my own mamifacture. 
 On the other side, I have endeavoured to choose such fables, both ancient and 
 modern, as contain in each of them some instructive moral, which I could 
 prove by induction ; but the way is tedious, and they leap foremost into sight, 
 without the reader's trouble of looking after them. I wisli I could affirm with 
 a safe conscience, that I had taken the same care in all my former writings ; 
 for it must be owned, that supposing verses are never so beautiful or pleasing, 
 yet if they contain anything which shocks religion, or good manners, they are 
 at best, what Horace says of good numbers without good sense, Vet'sus 
 inopes reruni^ nugceque canorce. Thus far, I hope, I am right in court, 
 without renouncing my other right of self-defence, where I have been wrong- 
 fully accused, and my sense wiredrawn into blasphemy or bawdry, as it has 
 often been by a religious lawyer, in a late pleading against the stage, in which 
 he mixes truth with falsehood, and has not forgotten the old rule of calumniat- 
 ing strongly, that something may remain. 
 
 I resume the thread of my discourse with the first of my translation, which 
 was the first Iliad of Homer. If it shall please God to give me longer life, and 
 moderate health, my intentions are to translate the whole Ilias ; provided still 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 191 
 
 that I meet with those encouragements from the public which may enable me 
 to proceed in my undertaking with some cheerfulness. And this I dare assure 
 the world beforehand, that I have found, by trial, Homer a more pleasing 
 task than Virgil (though I say not the translation will be less laborious) ; for 
 the Grecian is more according to my genius, than the Latin poet. In the 
 works of the two authors, we may read their manners and natural inclinations, 
 which are wholly different. Virgil was of a quiet, sedate temper; Homer was 
 violent, impetuous, and full of fire. The chief talent of Virgil was propriety 
 of thoughts, imd ornament of words ; Homer was rapid in his thoughts, 
 and took all the liberties, both of numbers and of expressions, which 
 his language, and the age in which he lived, allowed him : Homer's 
 invention was more copious, Virgil's more confined ; so that if Homer had not 
 led the way, it was not in Virgil to have begun heroic poetry ; for nothing 
 can be more evident, than that the Roman poem is but the second part of the 
 Hias ; a continuation of the same story, and the persons already formed : the 
 manners of >Eneas are those of Hector superadded to those which Homer gave 
 him. The adventures of Ulysses in the Odysseis are imitated in the first six 
 books of Virgil's jEneas, and though the accidents are not the same (which 
 would have argued him of a servile copying, and total barrenness of inven- 
 tion), yet the seas were the same in which both the heroes wandered, and 
 Dido cannot be denied to be the poetical daughter of Calypso. The six latter 
 books of Virgil's poem are the four and twenty Iliads contracted ; a quarrel 
 occasioned by a lady, a single combat, battles fought, and a town besieged. 
 I say not this in derogation to Virgil, neither do I contradict anything which 
 I have formerly said in his just praise, for his episodes are almost wholly of 
 his own invention ; and the form which he has given to the telling makes the 
 tale his own, even though the original story had been the same. But this 
 proves, however, that Homer taught Virgil to design ; and if invention be the 
 first virtue of an epic poet, then the Latin poem can only be allowed the second 
 place. Mr Hobbs, in the preface to his own bald translation of the Hias 
 (studying poetry as he did mathematics, when it was too late), Mr Hobbs, I 
 say, begins the praise of Homer where he should have ended it. He tells lis, 
 that the first beauty of an Epic poem consists in diction, that is, in the choice 
 of words, and harmony of numbers. Now, the words are the colouring of the 
 work, which in the order of nature is last to be considered : the design, the 
 disposition, the manners, and the thoughts, are all before it ; where any of 
 those are wanting or imperfect, so much wants or is imperfect in the imitation 
 of human life, which is in the very definition of a poem. Words indeed, like 
 glaring colours, are the first beauties that arise, and strike the sight ; but if 
 the drauglit be false or lame, the figures ill-disposed, the manners obscure 
 or inconsistent, or the thoughts unnatural, then the finest colours are but 
 daubing, and the piece is a beautiful monster at the best. Neither Virgil nor 
 Homer were deficient in any of the former beauties ; but in this last, which is 
 expression, the Roman poet is at least equal to the Grecian, as I have said 
 elsewhere, supplying the poverty of his language by his musical ear, and by 
 his diligence. But to return : our two great poets, being so different in their 
 tempers, one choleric and sanguine, the other phlegmatic and melancliolic ; 
 that which makes them excel in their several ways is, that each of them has 
 followed liis o^\•n natural inclination, as weU in forming the design, as in the 
 
192 dryden's poems. 
 
 execution of it. The very heroes show their authors ; Achilles is hot, impa- 
 tient, revengeful — iinpiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer, &c. : ^neas patient, 
 considerate, careful of his people, and merciful to his enemies ; ever submissive 
 to the will of Heaven — quo fata trahunt, retraliuntque^ sequamur. I could 
 please myself with enlarging on this subject, but am forced to defer it to a 
 fitter time. From all I have said, I will only draw this inference, that the 
 action of Homer being more full of vigour than that of Virgil, according to the 
 temper of the writer, is of consequence more pleasing to the reader. One 
 warms you by degrees ; the other sets you on fire all at once, and never inter- 
 mits his heat. 'Tis the same diflference which Longinus makes betwixt the 
 effects of eloquence in Demosthenes and Tully — one persuades; the other 
 commands. You never cool while you read Homer, even not in the second 
 book (a graceful flattery to his countrymen), but he hastens from the ships, 
 and concludes not that book till he has made you an amends by the violent 
 playing of a new machine. From thence he hurries on his action with variety 
 of events, and ends it in less compass than two months. This vehemence of 
 his, I confess, is more suitable to my temper ; and therefore I have translated 
 Iiis first book with greater pleasure than any part of Virgil. But it was not a 
 pleasure without pains ; the continual agitations of the spirits must needs be a 
 weakening of any constitution, especially in age, and many pauses are required 
 for refreshment betwixt the heats, the Iliad of itself being a third part longer 
 than all Virgil's works together. 
 
 This is what I thought needful in this place to say of Homer. I proceed to 
 Ovid and Chaucer ; considering the former only in relation to the latter. 
 With Ovid ended the golden age of the Roman tongue : from Chaucer the 
 purity of the English tongue began. The manners of the poets were not 
 unlike : both of them were well-bred, well-natured, amorous, and libertine, 
 at least in their writings — it may be also in their lives. Their studies were the 
 same — philosophy and philology. Both of them were known in astronomy, of 
 which Ovid's books of the Roman feasts, and Chaucer's treatise of the Astrolabe, 
 are sufiicient witnesses. But Chaucer was likewise an astrologer, as were 
 Virgil, Horace, Persius, and ManiHus. Both writ with wonderful facility and 
 clearness : neither were great inventors ; for Ovid only copied the Grecian 
 fables, and most of Chaucer's stories were taken from his Italian con- 
 temporaries, or their predecessors. Boccace's Decameron was first published ; 
 and from thence our Englishman has borrowed many of his Canterbury tales ; 
 yet that of Palamon and Arcite was written in all probability by some Italian 
 wit, in a former age ; as I shall prove hereafter. The tale of Grizzild was the 
 invention of Petrarch ; by him sent to Boccace ; from whom it came to 
 Chaucer. Troilus and Cressida was also written by a Lombard autlior ; but 
 much amplified by our English translator, as well as beautified ; the genius of 
 our countrymen in general being rather to improve an invention, than to 
 invent themselves ; as is evident not only in our poetry, but in many of our 
 manufactures. I find I have anticipated already, and taken up from Boccace 
 before I come to him ; but there is so much less behind ; and I am of the 
 temper of most kings, who love to be in debt, are all for present monej^, no 
 matter how they pay it afterwards : besides, the nature of a preface is ramb- 
 ling ; never wholly out of the way, nor in it. This I have learned from the 
 practice of honest Montiiign, and return at my pleasure to Ovid and Chaucer, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 193 
 
 of whom I have little more to say. Both of them built on the inventions of 
 other men ; yet since Ciiaucer had sometliing of his own, as the Wife of 
 Bath's Tale, the Cock and the Fox, whicli I have translated, and some others, 
 I may justly give our countryman the precedence in that part ; since I can 
 remember nothing of Ovid which was wholly his. Both of them understood 
 the manners, under which name I comprehend the passions, and, in a larger 
 sense, tlie descriptions of persons, and their very habits : for an example, I 
 see Baucis and Philemon as perfectly before me, as if some ancient painter had 
 drawn them ; and all tiie pilgrims in the Canterbury tales, tlieir humours, 
 their features, and the very dress, as distinctly as if I had supped ^vith them 
 at the Tabard in Southwark : yet even tiiere too the figures in Chaucer are 
 much more lively, and set in a better light ; whicii though I have not time to 
 prove, yet I appeal to the reader, and am sure he will clear me from partiality. 
 The thoughts and words remain to be considered in the comparison of the two 
 poets ; and I have saved myself one half of tiiat labour, by owning that Ovid 
 lived when the Roman tongue was in its meridian ; Chaucer, in the dawning 
 of our language: therefore that part of the comparison stands not on an equal 
 foot, any more than the diction of Ennius and Ovid ; or of Chaucer and our 
 present English. The words are given up as a post not to be defended in our 
 poet, because he wanted the modern art of fortifying. The thoughts remain 
 to be considered ; and they are to be measured only by their propriety ; that 
 is, as they flow more or less naturally from the persons described, on such and 
 such occasions. The vulgar judges, which are nine parts in ten of all nations, 
 who call conceits and jingles wit, who see Ovid full of them, and Chaucer 
 altogether without them, will think me little less than mad for preferring the 
 Englishman to the Roman ; yet, with their leave, I must presume to .say, 
 that the things they admire are only glittering trifles, and so ftir from being 
 witty, that in a serious poem they are nauseous, because they are unnatural. 
 Would any man, who is ready to die for love, describe his passion like 
 Narcissus ? Would he think of iiiopem me copia fecit, and a dozen more of 
 such expressions, poured on the neck of one another, and signifying all the same 
 thing ? If this were wit, was this a time to be witty, when the poor wretch 
 was in the agony of death? This is just John Littlewit in Bartholomew Fair, 
 who had a conceit (as he tells you) left him in his misery ; a miserable con- 
 ceit. On these occasions the poet should endeavour to raise pity; but 
 instead of this, Ovid is tickling you to laugh. Virgil never made use of such 
 machines, when he was moving you to commiserate the death of Dido : he 
 would not destroy what he was building. Chaucer makes Arcite violent in 
 his love, and unjust in the pursuit of it ; yet when he came to die, he made 
 him think more reasonably : he repents not of his love, for that had altered 
 his character ; but acknowledges the injustice of his proceedings, and resigns 
 Emilia to Palamon. What would Ovid have done on this occasion ? He 
 would certainly have made Arcite witty on his deathbed. He had complained 
 he was farther oflT from possession by being so near, and a thousand such 
 boyisms, which Chaucer rejected as below the dignity of the subject. They 
 who think otherwise would, by the same reason, prefer Lucan and Ovid to 
 Homer and Virgil, and Martial to all four of them. As for the turn of words, 
 in which Ovid particularly excels all poets, they are sometimes a fault, and 
 sometimes a beauty, as they are used properly or improperly , but in strong 
 
 VOL. IL N 
 
194 dryden's poems. 
 
 passions always to be shunned, because passions are serious, and will admit 
 no playing. The French have a high value for them ; and I confess, they 
 are often what they call delicate, when they are introduced with judgment ; 
 but Chaucer writ with more simplicity, and followed nature more closely, 
 than to use them. I have thus far, to the best of my knowledge, been an 
 npright judge betwixt the parties in competition, not meddling with the 
 design nor the disposition of it ; because the design was not their own, and 
 in the disposing of it they were equal. It remains that I say somewhat of 
 Chaucer in particular. 
 
 In the first place, as he is the father of English poetry, so I hold him in the 
 same degree of veneration as the Grecians held Homer, or the Romans 
 Virgil. He is a perpetual fountain of good sense; learned in all sciences, 
 and therefore speaks properly on all subjects ; as he knew what to say, 
 so he knows also when to leave off — a continence which is practised 
 by few writers, and scarcely by any of the ancients, excepting Virgil 
 and Horace. One of our late great poets is sunk in his reputation, 
 because he could never forgive any conceit which came in his way ; but swept 
 like a drag-net, great and small. There was plenty enough, but the dishes 
 were ill-sorted ; whole pyramids of sweetmeats, for boys and women ; but 
 little of solid meat, for men. All this proceeded not from any want of know- 
 ledge, but of judgment ; neither did he want that in discerning the beauties 
 and faults of other poets ; but only indulged himself in the luxury of writing ; 
 and perhaps knew it was a fault, but hoped the reader would not find it. For 
 this reason, though he must always be thought a great poet, he is no longer 
 esteemed a good writer ; and for ten impressions, which his works have had in 
 so many successive years, yet at present a hundred books are scarcely pur- 
 chased once a twelvemonth : for, as my last Lord Rochester said, though 
 somewhat profanely, not being of God, he could not stand, 
 
 Chaucer followed nature everywhere ; but was never so bold to go beyond 
 her : and there is a great difference of being Poeta and nimis Poeta, if we 
 believe Catullus, as much as betwixt a modest behaviour and affectation. The 
 verse of Chaucer, I confess, is not harmonious to us ; but it is like the 
 eloquence of one whom Tacitus commends, it was auribus istius temporis 
 accommodata. They who lived with him, and some time after him, thought it 
 musical ; and it continues so even in our judgment, if compared with the 
 numbers of Lidgate and Gower, his contemporaries : there is the rude sweet- 
 ness of a Scotch tune in it, which is natural and pleasing, though not perfect. 
 It is trae, I cannot go so ftir as he who published the last edition of him ; for 
 he would make us believe the fault is in our ears, ajid that there were really ten 
 syllables in a verse where we find but nine. But this opinion is not worth 
 confuting ; it is so gross and obvious an error, that common sense (which is a 
 rule in every thing but matters of faith and revelation) must convince the 
 reader, that equality of numbers in eveiy verse which we call Heroic, was 
 either not known, or not always practised in Chaucer's age. It were an easy 
 matter to produce some thousands of his verses, which are lame for want of 
 half a foot, and sometimes a whole one, and which no pronunciation can make 
 otherwise. We can only say, that he lived in the infancy of our poetry, and 
 that nothing is brought to perfection at the first. We must be children before 
 we grow men. There was an Ennius, and in process of time a Lucilius, and a 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 195 
 
 Lucretius, before Virgil and Horace ; even after Chaucer there was a Spenser, 
 a Harrington, a Fairfax, before Waller and Denham were in being ; and our 
 numbers were in their nonage till these last appeared. I need say little of his 
 parentage, life, and fortunes : they are to be found at large in all the editions 
 of his works. He was employed abroad and favoured by Edward the Third, 
 Richard the Second, and Henry the Fourth, and was poet, as I suppose, to all 
 three of them. In Richard's time, I doubt, he was a little dipt in the rebellion 
 of the commons ; and being brother-in-law to John of Gaunt, it was no 
 wonder if he followed the fortunes of that family ; and was well with Henry 
 the Fourth when he had deposed his predecessor. Neither is it to be admired, 
 that Henry, who was a wise as well as a valiant prince, who claimed by 
 succession, and was sensible that his title was not sound, but was rightfully 
 in Mortimer, who had married the heir of York ; it was not to be admired, I 
 say, if that great politician should be pleased to have the greatest wit of those 
 times in his interests, and to be the trumpet of his praises. Augustus had 
 given him the example, by the advice of Ma;cenas, who recommended Virgil 
 and Horace to him ; whose praises helped to make him popular while he was 
 alive, and after his death have made him precious to posterity. As for the 
 religion of our poet, he seems to have some little bias towards the opinions of 
 WickJiff, after John of Gaunt his patron ; somewhat of which appears in the 
 tale of Piers Plowman : yet I cannot blame him for inveighing so sharply 
 against the vices of the clergy in his age : their pride, their ambition, their 
 pomp, their avarice, their worldly interest, deserved the lashes which he gave 
 them, both in that, and in most of his Canterbuiy tales : neither has his con- 
 temporary Boccace spared them. Yet both those poets lived in much esteem 
 with good and holy men in orders ; for the scandal which is given by parti- 
 cular priests, reflects not on the sacred function. Chaucer's Monk, his Chanon, 
 and his Fryer, took not from the character of his Good Parson. A satirical 
 poet is the check of the laymen on bad priests. We are only to take care, 
 that we involve not the innocent with the guilty in the same condemnation. 
 The good cannot be too much honoured, nor the bad too coarsely used ; for 
 the corruption of the best becomes the worst. When a clergyman is whipped, 
 his gown is first taken off, by which the dignity of his order is secured : if he 
 be wrongfully accused, he has his action of slander ; and it is at the poet's 
 peril, if he transgress the law. But they will tell us, that all kind of satire, 
 though never so well deserved by particular priests, yet brings the whole order 
 into contempt. Is then the peerage of England anything dishonoured, when 
 a peer suffers for his treason ? If he be libelled, or any way defamed, he has 
 his Scandalum Magnatum to punish the offender. They who use this kind of 
 argument, seem to be conscious to themselves of somewhat which has deserved 
 the poet's lash ; and are less concerned for their public capacity, than for their 
 private ; at least there is pride at the bottom of their reasoning. If the faults 
 of men in orders are only to be judged among themselves, they are all in some 
 sort parties ; for, since they say the honour of their order is concerned in every 
 member of it, how can we be sure that they will be impartial judges '? How 
 far I may be allowed to speak my opinion in this case, I know not ; but I am 
 sure a dispute of this nature caused mischief in abundance betwixt a king of 
 England and an archbishop of Canterbury ; one standing up for the laws of 
 his land, and the other for the honour (as he called it) of God's Church ; which 
 
196 dryden's poems. 
 
 ended in the murder of the prelate, and in the whipping of his majesty from 
 post to pillar for his penance. The learned and ingenious Dr Drake has 
 saved me the labour of inquiring into the esteem and reverence which 
 the priests have had of old ; and I would rather extend than diminish 
 any part of it ; yet I must needs say, that when a priest provokes me 
 without any occasion given him, I have no reason, unless it be the charity 
 of a Christian, to forgive him. Prior Icesit is justification sulScient in 
 the civil law. If I answer him in his own language, self-defence, I am sure, 
 must be allowed me ; and if I carry it farther, even to a sharp recrimination, 
 somewhat may be indulged to human frailty. Yet my resentment has not 
 wrought as far, but that I have followed Chaucer in his character of a holy 
 man, and have enlarged on that subject with some pleasure, reserving to my- 
 self the right, if I shall think fit hereafter, to describe another sort of priests, 
 such as are more easily to be found than the Good Parson ; such as have given 
 the last blow to C*istianity in this age, by a practice so contrary to their 
 doctrine. But this will keep cold till another time. In the mean while, I 
 take up Chaucer where I left him. He must have been a man of a most won- 
 derful comprehensive nature, because, as it has been truly observed of him, 
 he has taken into the compass of his Canterbury tales the various manners 
 and humours (as we now call them) of the whole English nation, in his age. 
 Not a single character has escaped him. All his pilgrims are severally dis- 
 tinguished from each other ; and not only in their inclinations, but in their 
 very physiognomies and persons. Baptista Porta could not have described 
 their natures better, than by the marks which the poet gives them. The 
 matter and manner of their tales, and of their telling, are so suited to their 
 different educations, humours, and callings, that each of them would be 
 improper in any other mouth. - Even the grave and serious characters are 
 distinguished by their several sorts of gravity : their discourses are such^ as 
 belong to their age, their calling, and their breeding ; such as are becoming 
 of them, and of them only. Some of his persons are vicious, and some 
 virtuous ; some are unlearned, or (as Chaucer calls them) lewd, and some are 
 learned. ■ Even the ribaldry of the low characters is different. The Reeve, 
 the Miller, and the Cook, are several men, and distinguished from each other, 
 as much as the mincing Lady Prioress, and the broad-speaking gap-toothed 
 Wife of Bath. But enough of this : there is such a variety of game springing 
 up before me, that I am distracted in my choice, and know not which to fol- 
 low. 'Tis sufficient to say, according to the proverb, that here is God's plenty. 
 We have our forefathers and great -granddames all before us, as they were in 
 Chaucer's days : their general characters are still remaining in mankind, and 
 even in England, though they are called by other names than those of monks 
 and friars, and chanons, and lady abbesses, and nuns : for mankind is ever the 
 same, and nothing lost out of nature, though every thing is altered. May I 
 have leave to do myself the justice, (since my enemies will do me none, and 
 are so far from granting me to be a good poet, that they will not allow me so 
 much as to be a Christian, or a moral man) ; may I have leave, I say, to inform 
 my reader, that I have confined my choice to such tales of Chaucer as savour 
 nothing of immodesty. If I had desired more to please than to instruct, the 
 Reeve, the Miller, the Shipman, the Merchants, the Sumner, and above all the 
 Wife of Bath, in the prologue to her tale, would have procured me as many 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 197 
 
 friends and readers as there are beaux and ladies of pleasure in the town. 
 But I will no more offend against good manners. I am sensible, as I ought to be, 
 of the scandal I have given by my loose writings ; and make what reparation 
 I am able by tiiis public acknowledgment. If any thing of this natinc, or of 
 profaneness, be crept into these poems, I am so far from defending it, that I 
 disown it. Totum hoc indictum volo. Chaucer makes another manner of 
 apology for his broad-speaking, and Boccace makes the like ; but I will fol- 
 low neither of them. Our countryman, in the end of his characters, before 
 the Canterbury tales, thus excuses the ribaldry, which is very gross in many 
 of his novels. 
 
 " But first, I pray you of your courtesy, 
 
 That ye ne arrettee it nought my villainy, 
 
 Though that I plainly speak in this mattere. 
 
 To tellen you her words, and eke her chere : 
 
 Ne though I speak her words properly, 
 
 For this ye knowen as well as I, 
 
 Who shall tellen a tale after a man. 
 
 He mote rehearse as nye as ever he can : 
 
 Everich word of it been in his charge. 
 
 All spcke he, never so rudely, ne large. 
 
 Or else he mote tellen his tale untrue, 
 
 Or feine things, or find words new : 
 
 He may not spare, although he were his brother, 
 
 He mote as well say o word as another. 
 
 Christ spake himself full broad in holy writ. 
 
 And well I wote no villainy is it ; 
 
 Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede. 
 
 The words mot« been cousin to the dede." 
 
 Yet, if a man should have inquired of Boccace or of Chaucer what need they 
 had of introducing such characters, where obscene words were proper in their 
 mouths, but very indecent to be heard, — I know not what answer they could 
 have made ; for that reason, such tale shall be left untold by me. You have 
 here a specimen of Chaucer's language, which is so obsolete, that his sense 
 is scarce to be understood ; and you have likewise more than one example of 
 his unequal numbers, which were mentioned before. Yet many of his verses 
 consist of ten syllables, and the words not much behind our present English ; 
 as, for example, these two lines in the description of the carpenter's young wife : 
 " Wincing she was, as is a iolly colt. 
 Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt." 
 
 I have almost done with Chaucer when I have answered some objections 
 relating to my present work. I find some people are offended that I have 
 turned these tales into modern English, because they think them unworthy of 
 my pains, and look on Chaucer as a dry, old-fashioned wit not worth reviv- 
 ing. I have often heard the late Earl of Leicester say that Mr Cowley him- 
 self was of that opinion, who, having read him over at my lord's request, 
 declared he had no taste of him. I dare not advance my opinion against the 
 judgment of so great an author, but I think it fair, however, to leave the 
 decision to the public. Mr Cowley was too modest to set up for a dictator, 
 and being shocked, perhaps, with his old style, never examined into the depth 
 of his good sense. Chaucer, I confess, is a rough diamond, and must first be 
 
198 dryden's poems. 
 
 polished ere he shines. I deny not, likewise, that, living in our early days of 
 poetry, he writes not always of a piece, but sometimes mingles trivial things 
 with those of greater moment. Sometimes also, though not often, he runs 
 riot, like Ovid, and knows not when he has said enough. But there are more 
 great wits besides Chaucer, whose fault is their excess of conceits, and those 
 ill sorted. An author is not to wTite all he can, but only aU he ought. Hav- 
 ing observed this redundancy in Chaucer (as it is an easy matter for a man 
 of ordinary parts to find a fault in one of greater), I have not tied myself to a 
 literal translation, but have often omitted what I judged unnecessary, or not 
 of dignity enough to appear in the company of better thoughts. I have pre- 
 sumed farther, in some places, and added somewhat of my own where I thought 
 my author was deficient, and had not given his thoughts their true lustxe, 
 for want of words in the beginning of our language. And to this I was the 
 more emboldened, because (if I may be permitted to say it of myself) I found 
 I had a soul congenial to his, and that I had been conversant in the same 
 studies. Another poet, in another age, may take the same liberty with my 
 writings, if, at least, they live long enough to deserve correction. It was 
 also necessary sometimes to restore the sense of Chaucer, which was lost or 
 mangled in the errors of the press. Let this example sufiice at present. In the 
 story of Palamon and Arcite, where the temple of Diana is described, you find 
 these verses in all the editions of our author : — 
 
 " There saw I Dane turned into a tree, 
 I mean not the goddess Diane, 
 But Venus' daughter, which that hight Dane : " 
 
 Which, after a little consideration, I knew was to be reformed into this sense, 
 that Daphne, the daughter of Peneus, was turned into a tree. I durst not 
 make thus bold with Ovid, lest some future Milbourn should arise, and say I 
 varied from my author because I understood him not. 
 
 But there are other judges who think I ought not to have translated 
 Chaucer into English, out of a quite contrary notion. They suppose there is 
 a certain veneration due to his old language, and that it is little less than 
 profanation and sacrilege to alter it. They are farther of opinion, that some- 
 what of his good sense will suffer in this transfusion, and much of the beauty 
 of his thoughts will infallibly be lost, which appear with more grace in their 
 old habit. Of this opinion was that excellent person whom I mentioned, the 
 late Earl of Leicester, who valued Chaucer as much as Mr Cowley despised 
 him. My lord dissuaded me from this attempt (for I was thinking of it 
 some years before his death), and his authority prevailed so far with me, as to 
 defer my undertaking while he lived, in deference to him ; yet my reason was 
 not convinced with what he urged against it. If the first end of a writer be 
 to be understood, then, as his language grows obsolete, his thoughts must 
 grow obscure : viulta renascentur quce nunc cecidere, cadentque^ quce nunc 
 sunt in honors vocahula^ si volet usus, quern penes arhitrium est et jus et 
 norma loquendi. When an ancient word for its sound and significancy 
 deserves to be revived, I have that reasonable veneration for antiquity to 
 restore it. All beyond this is superstition. Words are not like landmarks, 
 so sacred as never to be removed ; customs are changed, and even statutes 
 are silently repealed, when the reason ceases for which they were enacted. As 
 
TALES FROil CHAUCER. 199 
 
 for the other part of the argument, that his thoughts will lose their original 
 beauty by the innovation of words ; iu the first place, not only their beauty, 
 but their being is lost, where they are no longer understood, which is the 
 present case. I grant that something must be lost in all transfusion, that is, 
 in all translations ; but the sense will remain, which would otlierwise be lost, 
 or at least be maimed, when it is scarce intelligible, and that but to a few. 
 How few are there who can read Chaucer, so as to understand him perfectly ! 
 And if imperfectly, tlien with less profit and no pleasure. 'Tis not for tlie use 
 of some old Saxon friends that I have taken these pains with him : let them 
 neglect my version, because they have no need of it. I made it for their sakes 
 who understand sense and poetry as well as they, when that poetry and sense 
 is put into words which they understand. I will go further, and dare to add, 
 that what beauties I lose in some places, I give to others whicli iiad them not 
 originally ; but in this I may be partial to myself; let the reader judge, and I 
 submit to his decision. Yet I think I have just occasion to complain of tliem, 
 who, because they understand Chaucer, would deprive the greater part of their 
 countrymen of the same advantage, and hoard him up, as misers do their 
 grandam, gold, only to look on it themselves, and hinder others from making 
 use of it. In sum, I seriously protest that no man ever had, or can have, 
 a greater veneration for Chaucer than myself I have translated some part of 
 his works, only that I might perpetuate his memory, or at least refresh it, 
 amongst my countrymen. If I have altered him anywhere for the better, I 
 must at the same time acknowledge that I could have done nothing without 
 him : Facile est inventis addere is no great commendation, and I am not so 
 vain to think I have deserved a greater. I will conclude what I have to say 
 of him singly, with this one remai'k : a lady of my acquaintance, who keeps a 
 kind of correspondence with some authors of the fair sex in France, has been 
 informed by them that Mademoiselle de Scudery, who is as old as Sibyl, and 
 inspired like her by the same god of poetry, is at this time translating Chaucer 
 into modern French ; from which I gather that he has been formerly translated 
 into the old Provencal, (for how she should come to understand old English I 
 know not). But the matter of fact being true, it makes me think that there 
 is something in it like fatality ; that, after certain periods of time, the fame 
 and memory of gi'eat wits should be renewed, as Chaucer is both in France 
 and England. If this be wholly chance, 'tis extraordinary, aud I dare not 
 call it more for fear of being taxed with superstition. 
 
 Boccace comes last to be considered, who, living in the same age with 
 Chaucer, had the same genius, and followed the same studies. Both writ 
 novels, and each of them cultivated his mother tongue. But the greatest 
 resemblance of our two modern authors being in their familiar style, and 
 pleasing way of relating comical adventures, I may pass it over, because I 
 have translated nothing from Boccace of that nature. In the serious part of 
 poetry, the advantage is wholly on Chaucer's side ; for though the English- 
 man has borrowed many tales from the Italian, yet it appears that those of 
 Boccace were not generally of his own making, but taken trom authors of 
 former ages, and by him only modelled ; so that what there was of invention 
 in either of them may be judged equal. But Chaucer has refined on Boccace, 
 and has mended the stories which he has borrowed, in his way of telling ; 
 though prose allows more liberty of thought, aud the expi-ession is more easy 
 
200 dryden's poems. 
 
 when unconfined by numbers. Our countryman carries weight, and yet wins 
 the race at disadvantage. I desire not the reader should take my word, and, 
 therefore, I will set two of their discourses on the same subject, in the same light, 
 for every man to judge betwixt them. I translated Chaucer flrst, and, 
 amongst the rest, pitched on the Wife of Bath's tale, not daring, as I have 
 said, to adventure on her prologue, because it is too licentious. There Chaucer 
 introduces an old woman of mean parentage, whom a youthful knight of noble 
 blood was forced to marry, and consequently loathed her. The crone being 
 in bed with him on the wedding night, and finding his aversion, endeavours 
 to win his affection by reason, and speaks a good word for herself, (as who 
 could blame her?) in hope to mollify the sullen bridegroom. She takes her 
 topics from the benefits of poverty, the advantages of old age and ugliness, 
 the vanitj'^ of youth, and the silly pride of ancestry and titles without inherent 
 virtue, whicli is the true nobility. When I had closed Chaucer I returned 
 to Ovid and translated some more of his fables, and by this time had so far 
 forgotten the Wife of Bath's tale, that, when I took up Boccace, unawares I 
 fell on the same argument of preferring virtue to nobility of blood and titles, 
 in the story of Sigismunda, which I had certainly avoided for the i-esemblance 
 of the two discourses, if my memory had not failed me. Let the reader weigh 
 them both, and if he thinks me partial to Chaucer, it is in him to right Boccace. 
 
 I prefer in our countryman, far above all his other stories, the noble poem 
 of Palamon and Arcite, which is of the Epic kind, and perhaps not much 
 inferior to the Ilias, or the jEneis. The story is more pleasing than either of 
 them, the manners as perfect, the diction as poetical, the learning as deep and 
 various, and the disposition full as artful, — only it includes a greater length of 
 time, as taking up seven years at least ; but Aristotle has left undecided the 
 duration of the action, which, yet, is easily reduced into the compass of a 
 year by a narration of what preceded the return of Palamon to Athens. I 
 had thought, for the honour of our nation, and more particularly for his, 
 whose laurel, though unworthy, I have worn after him, that this stoiy was of 
 English growth, and Clhaucer's own ; but I was undeceived by Boccace, for, 
 casually looking on the end of his seventh Giornata, I found Dioneo (under 
 which name he shadows himself) and Fiametta (who represents his mistress, 
 the natural daughter of Robert king of Naples) of whom these words are 
 spoken : Dioneo e la Fiametta granpezza contarono insieme (TArcita e 
 di Palamone : by which it appears that this story was written before the time 
 of Boccace, but the name of its author being wholly lost, Chaucer is now 
 become an original, and I question not but the poem has received many 
 beauties by passing through his noble hands. Besides this tale, there is another 
 of his own invention, after the manner of the Provencals, called " The Flower 
 and the Leaf," with which I was so particularly pleased, both for- the inven- 
 tion and the moral, that I cannot hinder myself from recommending it to the 
 reader. 
 
 As a corollary to this preface, in which I have done justice to others, I owe 
 somewhat to myself : not that I think it worth my time to enter the lists with 
 one Milbourn, and one Blackmore, but barely to take notice, that such men 
 there are, who have written scurrilously against me without any provocation. 
 Milbourn, who is in orders, pretends, amongst the rest, this quarrel to me, 
 that I have fallen foul on priesthood. If I have, I am only to ask pardon of 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 201 
 
 good priests, and am afraid his part of the reparation will come to little. 
 Let him be satisfied that lie shall not be able to force himself upon me for an 
 adversary. I contemn him too much to enter into competition with him. 
 His own translations of Virgil have answered his criticisms on mine. If (as 
 they say he has declared in print) he prefers the version of Ogilby to mine, 
 tiie world has made him the same compliment : for it is agreed on all hands 
 tiiat he writes even below Ogilby : that, you will say, is not easily to be 
 done ; but what cannot Jlilbourn bring about ? I am satisfied, however, that 
 Mhile lie and I live togetiier, I shall not be thought tlie worst poet of the age. 
 It looks as if I liad desired him underliand to write so ill against me ; but 
 upon my honest word I have not bribed him to do me this service, and am 
 wiioUy guiltless of his pamphlet. 'Tis true, I should be glad, if I could per- 
 •suade him to continue his good offices, and write such another critique on any 
 thing of mine ; for I find by experience he has a great stroke with the reader, 
 when he condemns any of my poems, to make the world have a better opinion 
 of them. He has taken some pains with my poetry ; but nobody will be per- 
 suaded to take the same with his. If I had taken to the church (as he affirms, 
 but which was never in my thoughts), I shoidd have had more sense, if not 
 more grace, than to have turned myself out of my benefice by writing libels 
 on my parishioners. But his account of my manners and my principles are 
 of a piece with his cavils and his poetry ; and so I have done with him for 
 ever. 
 
 As for the City Bard, or Knight Physician, I hear his quarrel to me is, that 
 I was the author of Absalom and Achitophel, which he thinks is a little hard 
 on his fanatic patrons in London. 
 
 But I will deal the more civilly with his two poems, because nothing ill is 
 to be spoken of the dead ; and therefore peace be to the manes of his Arthurs ! 
 1 will only say, that it was not for this noble knight that I drew the plan of 
 an Epic poem on King Arthur, in my preface to the translation of Juvenal. 
 The guardian angels of kingdoms were machines too ponderous for him to 
 manage ; and therefore he rejected them, as Dares did the whirlbats of Eryx, 
 when they were thrown before him by Entellus. Yet from that preface he 
 plainly took his hint ; for he began immediately upon the story, though he 
 liad the baseness not to acknowledge his benefactor, but instead of it, to traduce 
 me in a libel. 
 
 I shall say the less of Mr Collier, because in many things he has taxed me 
 justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts and expressions of mine, 
 which can be truly argued of obscenity, profaneness, or immorality ; and re- 
 tract them. If he be my enemy, let him triumph ; if he be my friend, as I 
 have given him no personal occasion to be otherwise, he wiU be glad of my 
 repentance. It becomes me not to draw my pen in the defence of a bad cause, 
 when I have so often drawn it for a good one. Yet it were not difficult to 
 prove, that in many places he has perverted my meaning by his glosses ; and 
 interpreted my words into blasphemy and bawdry, of Avhich they were not 
 guilty ; besides that he is too much given to horse-play in his raillery ; and 
 comes to battle like a dictator from the plough. I will not say, the zeal of 
 God's house has eaten him up ; but I am sure it has devoured some part of Iiis 
 good-manners and civility. It might also be doubted whether it were alto- 
 gether zeal which prompted him to this rough manner of proceeding : perhaps 
 
202 dryden's poems. 
 
 it became not one of his function to rake into the rubbish of ancient and mo- 
 dern plays : a divine might have employed his pains to better purpose than in 
 the nastiuess of Plautus and Aristophanes ; whose examples, as they excuse 
 not me, so it might be possibly supposed that he read them not without some 
 pleasure. They who have written commentaries on those poets, or on Horace, 
 Juvenal, and Martial, have explained some vices, which without their interpre- 
 tation had been unknown to modern times. Neither has he judged impartially 
 betwixt the former age and us. 
 
 There is more bawdry in one play of Fletcher's, called " The Custom of the 
 Country," than in all ours together. Yet this has been often acjed on the 
 stage in my remembrance. Are the times so much more reformed now, than 
 they were five-and-twenty years ago ? If they are, I congratulate the amend- 
 ment of our morals. But I am not to prejudice the cause of my fellow-poets, 
 though I abandon my own defence. They have some of them answered for 
 themselves, and neither they nor I can think Mr Collier so formidable an enemy 
 that we should shun him. He has lost ground at the latter end of the day, by 
 pursuing his point too far, like the Prince of Conde at the battle of Senneffe : from 
 immoral plays, to no plays ; ah ahiisu ad usum non valet consequentia. But 
 being a party, I am not to erect myself into a judge. As for the rest of those 
 who liave written against me, they are such scoundrels, that they deserve not 
 the least notice to be taken of them. Blackmore and Milbourn are only dis- 
 distinguished from the crowd, by being remembered to their infamy. 
 
 Demetri, teque Tigelli 
 
 Discipulorum inter jubeo plorare cathedras. 
 
 TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF 
 ORMOND,! 
 
 with the following poem of palamon and arcite. 
 Madam, 
 
 The bard who first adorn'd our native tongue, 
 Tuned to his British lyre this ancient song : 
 Which Homer might without a blush rehearse, 
 And leaves a doubtful palm in Virgil's verse : 
 He match'd their beauties, where they most excel ; 
 Of love sung better, and of arms as well. 
 
 1 'Duchess of Ormond : ' daughter of Duke of Bedford, afterwards Lieu- 
 tenant of Ireland, and who had recently visited it. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 203 
 
 Vouchsafe, illustrious Ormond ! to behold 7 
 
 What power the charms of beauty had of old ; 
 Nor wonder if such deeds of arms were done, 
 Inspired by two fair eyes that sparkled like your own. 
 
 If Chaucer by the best idea wrought, 
 And poets can divine each other's thought, 
 The fairest nymph before his eyes he set ; 
 And then the fairest was Plantagenet ; 
 Who three contending princes made her prize, 
 And ruled the rival nations with her eyes : 
 Who left immortal trophies of her fame, 
 And to the noblest order gave the name. 
 
 Like her, of equal kindred to the throne. 
 You keep her conquests, and extend your own : 20 
 
 As when the stars in their ethereal race, 
 At length have roll'd around the liquid space. 
 At certain periods they resume their place ; 
 From the same point of heaven their course advance. 
 And move in measures of their former dance ; 
 Thus, after length of ages, she returns, 
 Restored in you, and the same place adorns ; 
 Or you perform her office in the sphere. 
 Born of her blood, and make a new Platonic year. 
 true Plantagenet ! race divine ! 30 
 
 (For beauty still is fatal to the line) 
 Had Chaucer lived that angel-face to view, 
 Sure he had drawn his Emily from you : 
 Or had you lived to judge the doubtful right, 
 Your noble Palamon had been the knight ; 
 And conquering Theseus from his side had sent 
 Your generous lord, to guide the Theban government. 
 Time shall accomplish that ; and I shall see 
 A Palamon in him, in you an Emily. 
 
204 deyden's poems. 
 
 Already have the Fates your path prepared, 40 
 
 And sure presage your future sw'ky declared : 
 
 When westward, like the sun, you took your way, 
 
 And from benighted Britain bore the day, 
 
 Blue Triton gave the signal from the shore. 
 
 The ready Nereids heard, and swam before, 
 
 To smooth the seas ; a soft Etesian gale 
 
 But just inspired, and gently swell'd the sail ; 
 
 Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand 
 
 Heaved up his lighten'd keel, and sunk the sand, 
 
 And steer'd the sacred vessel safe to land. 50 
 
 The land, if not restrain'd, had met your way, 
 
 Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea. 
 
 Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, adored 
 
 In you the pledge of her expected lord ; 
 
 Due to her isle ; a venerable name ; 
 
 His father and his grandsire known to fame ; 
 
 Awed by that house, accustom'd to command. 
 
 The sturdy kerns in due subjection stand ; 
 
 Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand. 
 
 At your approach, they crowded to the port ; 60 
 
 And scarcely landed, you create a court : 
 
 As Ormond's harbinger, to you they run ; 
 
 For Venus is the promise of the sun. 
 
 The waste of civil wars, their towns destroy 'd, 
 
 Pales unhonour'd, Ceres unemploy'd. 
 
 Were all forgot ; and one triumphant day 
 
 Wiped all the tears of three campaigns away. 
 
 Blood, rapines, massacres, were cheaply bought, 
 
 So mighty recompence your beauty brought. 
 
 As when the dove returning bore the mark 70 
 
 Of earth restored to the long labouring ark, 
 
 The relics of mankind, secure of rest, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 205 
 
 Oped every window to receive the guest, 73 
 
 And the fair bearer of the message bless'd ; 
 
 So, when jou came, with loud repeated cries, 
 
 The nation took an omen from your eyes, 
 
 And God advanced his rainbow in the skies, ' 
 
 To sign invioLable peace restored ; 
 
 The saints, with solemn shouts, proclaim'd the new accord. 
 
 When at your second coming you appear, so 
 
 (For I foretell that millenary year) 
 
 The sharpen'd share shall vex the soil no more, 
 
 But earth unbidden shall produce her store ; 
 
 The land shall laugh, the circling ocean smile, 
 
 And Heaven's indulgence bless the holy isle. 
 
 Heaven from all ages has reserved for you 
 
 That happy clime, which venom never knew ; 
 
 Or if it had been there, your eyes alone 
 
 Have power to chase all poison, but their own. 
 
 Now in this interval, which Fate has cast 90 
 
 Betwixt your future glories, and your past. 
 This pause of power, 'tis Ireland's hour to mourn ; 
 While England celebrates your safe return. 
 By which you seem the seasons to command. 
 And brino; our summers back to their forsaken land. 
 
 The vanquish'd isle our leisure must attend, 
 Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send ; 
 Nor can we spare you long, though often we may lend. 
 The dove "was twice employ'd abroad, before 
 The world was dried, and she return'd no more. 100 
 
 Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger, 
 New from her sickness, to that northern air : 
 Rest here a while, your lustre to restore, 
 That they may see you as you shone before ; 
 For yet the eclipse not wholly past, you wade 
 Through some remains, and dimness of a shade. 
 
206 dryden's poems. 
 
 A subject in his prince may claim a riglit, 107 
 
 Nor suffer him with strength impair'd to fight ; 
 Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, 
 And curb his warlike wish to cross the main. 
 
 Now past the danger, let the learn'd begin 
 The inquiry where disease could enter in ; 
 How those malignant atoms forced their way; 
 What in the faultless frame they found to make their prey, 
 Where every element was weigh'd so well. 
 That Heaven alone, who mix'd the mass, could tell 
 Which of the four ingredients could rebel ; 
 And where, imprison'd in so sweet a cage, 
 A soul might well be pleased to pass an age. 
 
 And yet the fine materials made it weak : 120 
 
 Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break ; 
 Even to your breast the sickness durst aspire ; 
 And, forced from that fair temple to retire, 
 Profanely set the holy place on fire. 
 In vain your lord, like young Vespasian, raourn'd 
 When the fierce flames the sanctuary burn'd : 
 And I prepared to pay in verses rude 
 A most detested act of gratitude : 
 Even this had been your elegy, which now 
 Is ofi'er'd for your health, the table of my vow, 130 
 
 Your angel sure our Morley's mind inspired, 
 To find the remedy your ill required ; 
 As once the Macedou, by Jove's decree. 
 Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolemy : 
 Or Heaven, which had such over-cost bestow'd. 
 As scarce it could afford to flesh and blood. 
 So liked the frame, he would not work anew% 
 To save the charges of another you. 
 Or by his middle science did he steer, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 207 
 
 And saw some great contingent good appear, i40 
 
 Well worth a miracle to keep you here : 
 
 And for that end preserved the precious mould, 
 
 "Which all the future Ormonds was to hold ; 
 
 And meditated in his better mind 
 
 An heir from you, which may redeem the failing kind. 
 
 Blest be the Power which has at once restored 
 The hopes of lost succession to your lord ! 
 Joy to the first and last of each degree — 
 Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to see, 
 To you the Graces, and the Muse to me ! i50 
 
 daughter of the rose ! whose cheeks unite 
 The differing titles of the red and white ; 
 Who Heaven's alternate beauty well display, 
 The blush of morning, and the milky way ; 
 Whose face is Paradise, but fenced from sin : 
 For God in either eye has placed a cherubin. 
 
 All is your lord's alone ; even absent, he 
 Employs the care of chaste Penelope. 
 For him you waste in tears your widow'd hours, 
 For him your curious needle paints the flowers ; leo 
 Such works of old imperial dames were taught ; 
 Such, for Ascanius, fair Eliza wrought. 
 The soft recesses' of your hours improve 
 The three fair pledges of your happy love : 
 All other parts of pious duty done. 
 You owe your Ormond nothing but a son ; 
 To fill in future times his father's place. 
 And wear the garter of his mother's race. 
 
208 dryden's poems. 
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE : 
 
 OR, THE knight's TALE. 
 
 Book I. 
 
 In days of old, there lived, of mighty fame, 
 
 A valiant prince, and Theseus was his name : 
 
 A chief, who more in feats of arms excell'd, 
 
 The rising nor the setting sun beheld. 
 
 Of Athens he was lord ; much land he won. 
 
 And added foreign countries to his crown. 
 
 In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove, 
 
 Whom first by force he conquer'd, then by love ; 
 
 He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame, 
 
 With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came. lo 
 
 With honour to his home let Theseus ride, 
 
 With love to friend, and fortune for his guide. 
 
 And his victorious army at his side. 
 
 I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array. 
 
 Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the way. 
 
 But, were it not too long, I would recite 
 
 The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight 
 
 Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight ; 
 
 The town besieged, and how much blood it cost 
 
 The female army, and the Athenian host ; 20 
 
 The spousals of Hippolita the queen ; 
 
 What tilts and tourneys at the feast were seen ; 
 
 The storm at their return, the ladies' fear : 
 
 But these, and other things, I must forbear. 
 
 The field is spacious I design to sow, 
 
 With oxen far unfit to draw the plough : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 209 
 
 The remnant of mj tale is of a length 27 
 
 To tire your patience, and to waste my strength ; 
 
 And trivial accidents shall be forborne, 
 
 That others may have time to take their turn ; 
 
 As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host : 
 
 That he whose tale is best, and pleases most, 
 
 Should win his supper at our common cost. 
 
 And therefore where I left, I will pursue 
 This ancient story, whether false or tiiie. 
 In hope it may be mended with a new. 
 The prince I mention'd, full of high renown, 
 In this array drew near the Athenian town ; 
 When in his pomp and utmost of his pride, 
 Marching he chanced to cast his eye aside, 40 
 
 And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay 
 By two and two across the common way : 
 At his approach they raised a rueful cry, 
 And beat their breasts, and held their hands on high. 
 Creeping and crying, till they seized at last 
 His courser's bridle, and his feet embraced. 
 
 Tell me, said Theseus, what and whence you are, 
 And why this funeral pageant you prepare ? 
 Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds, 
 To meet my triumph in ill-omen'd weeds ? 50 
 
 Or envy you my praise, and would destroy 
 With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy ? 
 Or are you injured, and demand relief? 
 Name your request, and I will ease your grief. 
 
 The most in years of all the mourning train 
 Began ; but swooned first away for pain, 
 Then scarce recover'd spoke : Nor envy we 
 Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory ; 
 ^Tis thine, king, the afflicted to redress, 
 And fame has fill'd the world with thy success : eo 
 
 VOL. IL 
 
210 dryden's poems. 
 
 We wretched women sue for that alone, ei 
 
 Which of thy goodness is refused to none ; 
 
 Let fall some drops of pity on our grief, 
 
 If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief : 
 
 For none of us, who now thy grace implore, 
 
 But held the rank of sovereign queen before ; 
 
 Till, thanks to giddy chance, which never bears, 
 
 That mortal bliss should last for length of years, 
 
 She cast us headlong from our high estate, 
 
 And here in hope of thy return we wait : 70 
 
 And long have waited in the temple nigh, 
 
 Built to the gracious goddess Clemency. 
 
 But reverence thou the Power whose name it bears, 
 
 Relieve the oppress'd, and wipe the widow's tears. 
 
 I, wretched I, have other fortune seen, 
 
 The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen : 
 
 At Thebes he fell ; cursed be the fatal day ! 
 
 And all the rest thou seest in this array, 
 
 To make their moan, their lords in battle lost 
 
 Before that town besieged by our confederate host : so 
 
 But Creon, old and impious, who commands 
 
 The Theban city, and usurps the lands, 
 
 Denies the rites of funeral fires to those 
 
 Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes. 
 
 Unburn'd, unburied, on a heap they lie ; 
 
 Such is their fate, and such his tyranny ; 
 
 No friend has leave to bear away the dead. 
 
 But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed. 
 
 At this she shriek'd aloud ; the mournful train 
 
 Echoed her grief, and grovelling on the plain, 9o 
 
 With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mind. 
 
 Besought his pity to their helpless kind ! 
 
 The prince was touch'd, his tears began to flow. 
 And, as his tender heart would break in two, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 211 
 
 He sigli'd, and could not but their fate deplore, 95 
 
 So "wretcbed now, so fortunate before. 
 
 Then lightly from his lofty steed he flew, 
 
 And, raising one by one the suppliant crew, 
 
 To comfort each fidl solemnly he swore, 
 
 That by tlie faith which knights to knighthood bore, 100 
 
 And whate'er else to chivalry belongs. 
 
 He would not cease, till he revenged their wrongs : 
 
 That Greece should see perform'd what he declared ; 
 
 And cruel Creon find his just reward. 
 
 He said no more, but, shunning all delay, 
 
 Rode on ; nor enter'd Athens on his way : 
 
 But left his sister and his queen behind, 
 
 And waved his royal banner in the M-ind : 
 
 Where in an argent field the god of war 
 
 Was drawn triumphant on his iron car ; 110 
 
 Red was his sword, and shield, and whole attire. 
 
 And all the godhead seem'd to glow with fire ; 
 
 Even the ground glitter'd where the standard flew, 
 
 And the green grass was dyed to sanguine Ime. 
 
 High on his pointed lance his pennon bore 
 
 His Cretan fight, the conquer'd Minotaur : 
 
 The soldiers shout around with generous rage. 
 
 And in that victory their own presage. 
 
 He praised their ardour : inly pleased to see 
 
 His host the flower of Grecian chivalry. 120 
 
 All day he march'd, and all the ensuing night, 
 
 And saw the city with returning light. 
 
 The process of the war I need not tell. 
 
 How Theseus conquer'd, and how Creon fell : 
 
 Or after, how by storm the walls were won. 
 
 Or how the victor sack'd and burn'd the town : 
 
 How to the ladies he restored again 
 
 The bodies of their lords in battle slain : 
 
212 dryden's poems. 
 
 And with what ancient rites thej were interr'd ; 129 
 
 All these to fitter times shall be deferr'd. 
 
 I spare the widows' tears, their woeful cries, 
 
 And howling at their husbands' obsequies ; 
 
 How Theseus at these funerals did assist. 
 
 And with what gifts the mourning dames dismiss'd. 
 
 Thus when the victor chief had Creon slain, 
 And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the plain 
 His mighty camp, and, when the day return'd, 
 The country wasted, and the hamlets burn'd, 
 And left the pillagers, to rapine bred, 
 Without control to strip and spoil the dead. i4o 
 
 There, in a heap of slain, among the rest 
 Two youthful knights they found beneath a load oppress'd 
 Of slaughter'd foes, whom first to death they sent — 
 The trophies of theu* strength, a bloody monument. 
 Both fair, and both of royal blood they seem'd. 
 Whom kinsmen to the crown the heralds deem'd ; 
 That day in equal arms they fought for fame ; 
 Their swords, their shields, their surcoats were the same. 
 Close by each other laid, they press'd the ground. 
 Their manly bosoms pierced with many a grisly wound ; 
 Nor well alive, nor wholly dead they were, 151 
 
 But some faint signs of feeble life appear : 
 The wandering breath was on the wing to part. 
 Weak was the pulse, and hardly heaved the heart. 
 These two were sisters' sons ; and Arcite one 
 Much famed in fields, with valiant Palamon. 
 From these their costly arms the spoilers rent, 
 And softly both convey'd to Theseus' tent : 
 Whom, known of Creon's line, and cured with care, 
 He to his city sent as prisoners of the war, 160 
 
 Hopeless of ransom, and condemn'd to lie 
 In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 213 
 
 This done, he march'd awaj with warlike sound, i63 
 And to his Athens tiirn'd, with laurels crown'd, 
 Where happy long he lived, much loved, and more renown'd. 
 But in a tower, and never to be loosed. 
 The woful captive kinsmen are enclosed. 
 
 Thus year by year they pass, and day by day, 
 Till once, 'twas on the morn of cheerful May, 
 The young Emilia, fairer to be seen iro 
 
 Than the fair lily on the flowery green, 
 More fresh than May herself in blossoms new, 
 For with the rosy colour strove her hue, 
 Waked, as her custom was, before the day, 
 To do the observance due to sprightly May : 
 For sprightly May commands our youth to keep 
 The vigils of her night, and breaks their sluggard sleep ; 
 Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she moves ; 
 Inspires new flames, revives extinguish'd loves. 
 In this remembrance, Emily, ere day, 180 
 
 Arose, and dress'd herself in rich array ; 
 Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair : 
 Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair : 
 A riband did the braided tresses bind. 
 The rest was loose and wanton'd in the wind. 
 Aurora had but newly chased the night. 
 And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light, 
 When to the garden walk she took her way. 
 To sport and trip along in cool of day, 
 And offer maiden vows in honour of the May. i90 
 
 At every turn, she made a little stand. 
 And thrust among the thorns her lily hand 
 To draw the rose, and every rose she drew 
 She shook the stalk, and brush'd away the dew : 
 Then party-colour'd flowers of white and red 
 She wove, to make a garland for her head : 
 
214 deyden's poems. 
 
 This done, she sung and caroll'd out so clear, 197 
 
 That men and angels might rejoice to hear : 
 
 Even wondering Philomel forgot to sing ; 
 
 And learn'd from her to welcome in the spring. 
 
 The tower, of which before was mention made, 
 
 Within whose keep the captive knights were laid. 
 
 Built of a large extent, and strong withal. 
 
 Was one partition of the palace wall : 
 
 The garden was enclosed within the square 
 
 Where joung Emilia took the morning air. 
 
 It happen'd Palamon, the prisoner knight. 
 Restless for woe, arose before the light, 
 And with his jailer's leave desired to breathe 
 An air more wholesome than the damps beneath. 210 
 This granted, to the tower he took his way, 
 Cheer'd with the promise of a glorious day : 
 Then cast a languishing regard around, 
 And saw, with hateful eyes, the temples crown'd 
 With golden spires, and all the hostile ground. 
 He sigh'd, and turn'd his eyes, because he knew 
 'Twas but a larger jail he had in view : 
 Then look'd below, and from the castle's height 
 Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight : 
 The garden, which before he had not seen, 220 
 
 In spring's new livery clad of white and green. 
 Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks between. 
 This view'd, but not enjoy'd, with arms across 
 He stood, reflecting on his country's loss ; 
 Himself an object of the public scorn, 
 And often wish'd he never had been born. 
 At last, for so his destiny required. 
 With walking giddy, and with thinking tired, 
 He through a little window cast his sight, 
 Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light : 230 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 215 
 
 But even that glimmering served him to descrj 231 
 
 The inevitable charms of Emily. 
 
 Scarce had he seen, but seized with sudden smart, 
 Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart ; 
 Struck blind ^ith overpowering light he stood, 
 Then started back amazed, and cried aloud. 
 
 Young Arcite heard ; and up he ran with haste. 
 To help his friend, and in his arms embraced ; 
 And ask'd him why he look'd so deadly wan^ 
 And whence and how his change of cheer began "? 240 
 Or who had done the oifence 1 But if, said he, 
 Your grief alone is hard captivity ; 
 For love of Heaven, with patience undergo 
 A cureless ill, since Fate will have it so : 
 So stood our horoscope in chains to lie, 
 And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky, 
 Or other baleful aspect, ruled our birth, 
 AVhen all the friendly stars were under earth : 
 Whate'er betides, by Destiny 'tis done ; 
 And better bear like men, than vainly seek to shun. 250 
 Nor of my bonds, said Palamon again. 
 Nor of unhappy planets I complain ; 
 But when my mortal anguish caused my cry, 
 That moment I was hurt through either eye ; 
 Pierced with a random shaft, I faint away. 
 And perish with insensible decay ; 
 A glance of some new goddess gave the wound, 
 Whom, like Actseon, unaware I found. 
 Look how she Avalks along yon shady space ! 
 Not Juno moves with more majestic grace ; 260 
 
 And all the Cyprian queen is in her face. 
 If thou art Venus (for thy charms confess 
 That face was form'd in heaven, nor art thou less 
 
216 dryden's poems. 
 
 Disguised in habit, undisguised in shape), 264 
 
 Oh, help us captives from our chains to 'scape ! 
 But if our doom be past in bonds to lie 
 For life, and in a loathsome dungeon die, 
 Then be thy wrath appeased with our disgrace, 
 And show compassion to the Theban race, 
 Oppress'd by tyrant power ! While yet he spoke, 270 
 Arcite on Emily had fix'd his look ; 
 The fatal dart a ready passage found, 
 And deep within his heart infix'd the wound : 
 So that if Palamon were wounded sore, 
 Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more : 
 Then from his inmost soul he sigh'd, and said, 
 The beauty I behold has struck me dead : 
 Unknowingly she strikes ; and kills by chance ; 
 Poison is in her eyes, and death in every glance. 
 Oh, I must ask ; nor ask alone, but move 28 
 
 Her mind to mercy, or must die for love ! 
 Thus Arcite : and thus Palamon replies, 
 (Eager his tone and ardent were his eyes) : 
 Speak'st thou in earnest, or in jesting vein '? 
 Jesting, said Arcite, suits but ill with pain. 
 It suits far worse (said Palamon again, 
 And bent his brows) with men who honour weigh, 
 Their faith to break, their friendship to betray ; 
 But worst with thee, of noble lineage born. 
 My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn. 290 
 
 Have we not plighted each our holy oath. 
 That one should be the common good of both ; 
 One soul should both inspire, and neither prove 
 His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love ? 
 To this before the gods we gave our hands, 
 And nothing but our death can break the bands. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 217 
 
 This binds thee, then, to further mj design, 297 
 
 As I am bound bj vow to further thine : 
 
 Nor canst, nor dar'st thou, traitor, on the plain 
 
 Appeach mj honour, or thine own maintain, 
 
 Since thou art of my council, and the fi'iend 
 
 Whose faith I trust, and on whose care depend : 
 
 And would'st thou court my lady's love, which I 
 
 Much rather than release would choose to die "? 
 
 But thou, false Arcite, never shall obtain 
 
 Thy bad pretence ; I told thee first my pain ; 
 
 For first my love began ere thine was born : 
 
 Thou as my council, and my brother sworn, 
 
 Art bound to assist my eldership of right, 
 
 Or justly to be deem'd a perjured knight. sio 
 
 Thus Palamou : but Arcite with disdain 
 In haughty language thus replied again : 
 Forsworn thyself : the traitor's odious name 
 I first return, and then disprove thy claim. 
 If love be passion, and that passion nursed 
 With strong desires, I loved the lady first. 
 Canst thou pretend desire, whom zeal inflamed 
 To worship, and a power celestial named 1 
 Thine was devotion to the blest above, 
 I saw the woman and desired her love ; 320 
 
 First own'd my passion, and to thee commend 
 The important secret, as my chosen friend. 
 Suppose (which yet I grant not) thy desire 
 A moment elder than my rival fire ; 
 Can chance of seeing first thy title prove ? 
 And know'st thou not, no law is made for love "? 
 Law is to things which to free choice relate ; 
 Love is not in our choice, but in our fate ; 
 Laws are but positive ; love's power, we see. 
 Is Nature's sanction, and her first decree. 330 
 
218 dryden's poems. 
 
 Each day we break the bond of human laws 33i 
 
 For love, and vindicate the common cause. 
 
 Laws for defence of civil rights are placed, 
 
 Love throws the fences down, and makes a general waste ; 
 
 Maids, widows, wives, without distinction fall ; 
 
 The sweeping deluge, love, comes on, and covers all. 
 
 If, then, the laws of friendship I transgress, 
 
 I keep the greater, while I break the less ; 
 
 And both are mad alike, since neither can possess. 
 
 Both hopeless to be ransom'd, never more 340 
 
 To see the sun, but as he passes o'er. 
 
 Like ^sop's hounds contending for the bone, 
 Each pleaded right, and would be lord alone : 
 The fruitless fight continued all the day ; 
 A cur came by, and snatch'd the prize away. 
 As courtiers, therefore, jostle for a grant. 
 And when they break their friendship, plead their want ; 
 So thou, if fortune will thy suit advance. 
 Love on, nor envy me my equal chance : 
 For I must love, and am resolved to try 350 
 
 My fate, or, failing in the adventure, die. 
 
 Great was their strife, which hourly was renew'd, 
 Till each with mortal hate his rival view'd ; 
 Now friends no more, nor walking hand in hand ; 
 But when they met, they made a surly stand ; 
 And glared like angry lions as they pass'd, 
 And wish'd that every look might be their last. 
 
 It chanced at length, Pirithous came to attend 
 This worthy Theseus, his familiar friend o 
 Their love in early infancy began, 360 
 
 And rose as childhood ripen'd into man. 
 Companions of the war ; and loved so well, 
 That when one died, as ancient stories tell, 
 His fellow to redeem him went to Hell. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 219 
 
 But to pursue my tale ; to welcome home 865 
 
 Ilis warlike brother is Pirithous come : 
 Arcite of Thebes was known in arms long since, 
 And honour'd by this young Thessalian prince. 
 Theseus, to gratify his fi'icnd and guest, 
 Who made our Arcite's freedom his request, sto 
 
 Restored to liberty the captive knight. 
 But on these hard conditions I recite : 
 That if hereafter Arcite should be found 
 Within the compass of Athenian ground, 
 By day or night, or on whate'er pretence, 
 His head should pay the forfeit of the offence. 
 To this Pirithous for his friend agreed, 
 And on his promise was the prisioner freed. 
 
 Unpleased and pensive hence he takes his way, 
 At his own peril ; for his life must pay. 380 
 
 Who now but Arcite mourns his bitter fate. 
 Finds his dear purchase, and repents too late '? 
 What have I gain'd, he said, in prison pent, 
 If I but change my bonds for banishment 'i 
 And banish'd from her sight, I suffer more 
 In freedom than I felt in bonds before ; 
 Forced from her presence, and condemn'd to live : 
 Unwelcome freedom, and unthank'd reprieve ! 
 Heaven is not, but where Emily abides. 
 And where she 's absent, all is hell besides. 390 
 
 Next to my day of birth, was that accursed, 
 Which bound my friendship to Pu'ithous first : 
 Had I not known that prince, I still had been 
 In bondage, and had still Emilia seen : 
 For though I never can her grace deserve, 
 ^Tis recompence enough to see and serve. 
 Palamon, my kinsman and my friend, 
 How much more happy fates thy love attend ! 
 
220 dryden's roEMS. 
 
 Thine is the adventure ; thine the victory : 399 
 
 Well has thy fortune turn'cl the dice for thee : 
 
 Thou on that angel's face may'st feed thine eyes, 
 
 In prison, no ; but blissful paradise ! 
 
 Thou daily seest that sun of beauty shine, 
 
 And lovest at least in love's extremest line. 
 
 I mourn in absence, love's eternal night ; 
 
 And who can tell but since thou hast her sight, 
 
 And art a comely, young, and valiant knight. 
 
 Fortune (a various power) may cease to frown, 
 
 And by some ways unknown thy wishes crown *? 
 
 But I, the most forlorn of human kind, 410 
 
 Nor help can hope, nor remedy can find ; 
 
 But doom'd to drag my loathsome life in care, 
 
 For my reward, must end it in despair. 
 
 Fire, water, air, and earth, and force of fates, 
 
 That governs all, and Heaven that all creates, 
 
 Nor art, nor nature's hand can ease my grief ; 
 
 Nothing but death, the wretch's last relief : 
 
 Then farewell youth, and all the joys that dwell, 
 
 With youth and life, and life itself farewell ! 
 
 But why, alas ! do mortal men in vain 420 
 
 Of fortune, fate, or Providence complain ? 
 God gives us what he knows our wants require, 
 And better things than those which we desire : 
 Some pray for riches ; riches they obtain ; 
 But, watch'd by robbers, for their wealth are slain : 
 Some pray from prison to be freed ; and come. 
 When guilty of their vows, to fall at home ; 
 Murder'd by those they trusted with their life, 
 A favour'd servant, or a bosom wife. 
 Such dear-bought blessings happen every day, 430 
 
 Because we know not for what things to pray. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 221 
 
 Like drunken sots about the street we roam ; 432 
 
 Well knows the sot he has a certain home ; 
 
 Yet knows not how to find the uncertain place, 
 
 And blunders on, and staggers every pace. 
 
 Thus all seek happiness ; but few can find, 
 
 For far the greater part of men are blind. 
 
 This is mj case, who thouglit our utmost good 
 
 Was in one word of freedom understood : 
 
 The fatal blessing came : from prison free, 440 
 
 I starve abroad, and lose the sight of Emily. 
 
 Thus Arcite ; but if Arcite thus deplore 
 His sufierings, Palamon yet sufi*ers more. 
 For when he knew his rival freed and gone, 
 He swells with wrath ; he makes outrageous moan : 
 He frets, he fumes, he stares, he stamps the ground ; 
 The hollow tower with clamours rings around : 
 With briny tears he bathed his fetter'd feet. 
 And dropp'd all o'er with agony of sweat. 
 Alas ! he cried, I wretch in prison pine, 450 
 
 Too happy rival, while the fruit is thine : 
 Thou livest at large, thou draw'st thy native air. 
 Pleased with thy freedom, proud of my despair : 
 Thou may'st, since thou hast youth and courage join'd, 
 A sweet behaviour and a solid mind, 
 Assemble ours, and all the Theban race, 
 To vindicate on Athens thy disgrace ; 
 And after, by some treaty made, possess 
 Fair Emily, the pledge of lasting peace. 
 So thine shall be the beauteous prize, while I 460 
 
 Must languish in despair, in prison die. 
 Thus all the advantage of the strife is thine. 
 Thy portion double joys, and double sorrows mine. 
 
 The rage of jealousy then fired his soul, 
 And his face kindled like a burning coal : 
 
222 deyden's poems. 
 
 Now cold despair, succeeding in her stead, 466 
 
 To livid paleness turns the glowing red. 
 
 His blood, scarce liquid, creeps within his veins, 
 
 Like water which the freezing wind constrains. 
 
 Then thus he said : Eternal Deities, 470 
 
 Who rule the world with absolute decrees, 
 
 And write whatever time shall bring to pass, 
 
 With pens of adamant on plates of brass ; 
 
 What ! is the race of human kind your care, 
 
 Beyond what all his fellow-creatures are 1 
 
 He with the rest is liable to pain. 
 
 And like the sheep, his brother-beast, is slain ; 
 
 Cold, hunger, prisons, ills without a cure, 
 
 All these he must, and guiltless, oft endure. 
 
 Or does your justice, power, or prescience fail, 480 
 
 When the good suffer, and the bad prevail 1 
 
 What worse to wretched virtue could befall, 
 
 If fate or giddy fortune govern'd all ? 
 
 Nay, worse than other beasts is our estate ; 
 
 Them, to pursue their pleasures, you create ; 
 
 We, bound by harder laws, must curb our will, 
 
 And your commands, not our desires, fulfil ; 
 
 Then when the creature is unjustly slain. 
 
 Yet after death, at least, he feels no pain ; 
 
 But man, in life surcharged with woe before, 4 90 
 
 Not freed when dead, is doom'd to suffer more. 
 
 A serpent shoots his sting at unaware ; 
 
 An ambush'd thief forelays a traveller : 
 
 The man lies murder'd, while the thief and snake, 
 
 One gains the thickets, and one threads the brake. 
 
 This let divines decide ; but well I know, 
 
 J ust, or unjust, I have my share of woe, 
 
 Through Saturn seated in a luckless place, 
 
 And Juno's wrath, that persecutes my race ; 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 223 
 
 Or Mars and Venus, in a quartile, move soo 
 
 Mj pangs of jealousy for Arcite's love. 
 
 Let Palamon oppress'd in bondage mourn, 
 While to his exiled rival we return. 
 By this, the sun, declining from his height, 
 The day had shorten'd to prolong the niglit; 
 The lengthen'd night gave length of misery 
 Both to the captive lover and the free. 
 For Palamon in endless prison mourns, 
 And Arcite forfeits life if he returns : 
 The banish'd never hopes his love to sec, 510 
 
 Nor hopes the captive lord his liberty. 
 'Tis hard to say who suffers greater pains : 
 One sees his love, but cannot break his chains : 
 One free, and all his motions uncontroU'd, 
 Beholds whate'er he would, but what he would behold. 
 Judge as you please, for I will haste to tell 
 What fortune to the banish'd knight befell. 
 
 When Arcite was to Thebes return'd again, 
 The loss of her he loved renew'd his pain ; 
 What could be worse, than never more to see 520 
 
 His life, his soul, his charming Emily 1 
 He raved with all the madness of despair, 
 He roar'd, he beat his breast, he tore his hair. 
 Dry sorrow in his stupid eyes appears. 
 For, wanting nourishment, he wanted tears : 
 His eye-balls in their hollow sockets sink, 
 Bereft of sleep, he loathes his meat and di'ink. 
 He withers at his heart, and looks as wan 
 As the pale spectre of a murder'd man : 
 That pale turns yellow, and his face receives 530 
 
 The faded hue of sapless boxen leaves : 
 In solitary groves he makes his moan, 
 Walks early out, and ever is alone : 
 
224 dryden's poems. 
 
 Nor, mix'd in mirth, in youthful pleasures shares, 534 
 
 But sighs when songs and instruments he hears. 
 
 His spirits are so low, his voice is drown'd, 
 
 He hears as from afar, or in a swound. 
 
 Like the deaf murmurs of a distant sound : 
 
 Uncomb'd his locks and squalid his attire, 
 
 Unlike the trim of love and gaj desire ; sio 
 
 But full of museful mopings, which presage 
 
 The loss of reason, and conclude in rage. 
 
 This when he had endured a year and more. 
 Now wholly changed from what he was before, 
 It happen'd once, that, slumbering as he lay. 
 He dream'd (his dream began at break of day) 
 That Hermes o'er his head in air appear'd, 
 And with soft words his drooping spirits cheer'd : 
 His hat, adorn'd with wings, disclosed the god. 
 And in his hand he bore the sleep-compelling rod : 550 
 Such as he seem'd, when, at his sire's command, 
 On Argus' head he laid the snaky wand. 
 Arise, he said, to conquering Athens go, 
 There fate appoints an end to all thy woe. 
 The fright awaken'd Arcite with a start. 
 Against his bosom bounced his heaving heart ; 
 But soon he said, with scarce-recover'd breath, 
 And thither will I go, to meet my death. 
 Sure to be slain ; but death is my desire. 
 Since in Emilia's sight I shall expire. 66O 
 
 By chance he spied a mirror while he spoke. 
 And gazing there, beheld his alter'd look ; 
 AYondering, he saw his features and his hue 
 So much were changed, that scarce himself he knew. 
 A sudden thought then starting in his mind. 
 Since I in Arcite cannot Arcite find, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 225 
 
 The world may search in yain with all their eyes, 567 
 
 But never penetrate through this disguise. 
 
 Thanks to the change which grief and sickness give, 
 
 In low estate I may securely live, 
 
 And see unknown my mistress day by day. 
 
 He said ; and clothed himself in coarse array : 
 
 A labouring hind in show ; then forth he went, 
 
 And to the Athenian towers his journey bent : 
 
 One squire attended in the same disguise, 
 
 Made conscious of his master's enterprise. 
 
 Arrived at Athens, soon he came to court, 
 
 Unknown, unquestion'd in that thick resort : 
 
 Proffering for hire his service at the gate. 
 
 To drudge, draw water, and to run or wait. 580 
 
 So fair befell him, that for little gain 
 He served at first Emilia's chamberlain ; 
 And, watchful all advantages to spy. 
 Was still at hand, and in his master's eye ; 
 And as his bones were big, and sinews strong, 
 Refused no toil that could to slaves belong ; 
 But from deep wells with engines water drew, 
 And used his noble hands the wood to hew. 
 He pass'd a year at least attending thus 
 On Emily, and calFd PhUostratus. 590 
 
 But never was there man of his degree 
 So much esteem'd, so well beloved as he. 
 So gentle of condition was he known. 
 That through the court his courtesy was blown : 
 All think him worthy of a greater place, 
 And recommend him to the royal grace ; 
 That, exercised within a higher sphere. 
 His virtues more conspicuous might appear. 
 Thus by the general voice was Arcite praised, 
 And by gi-eat Theseus to high favour raised; 600 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
226 dryden's poems. 
 
 Among his menial servants first enroll'd, " eoi 
 
 And largely entertain'd with sums of gold : 
 
 Besides what secretly from Thebes was sent, 
 
 Of his own income, and his annual rent : 
 
 This well employ'd, he purchased friends and fame, 
 
 But cautiously conceal'd from whence it came- 
 
 Thus for three years he lived with large increase, 
 
 In arms of honour, and esteem in peace ; 
 
 To Theseus' person he was ever near ; 
 
 And Theseus for his virtues held him dear. eio 
 
 Book IL 
 
 While Arcite lives in bliss, the story turns 
 Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns. 
 For six long years immured, the captive knight 
 Had dragg'd his chains, and scarcely seen the light : 
 Lost liberty and love at once he bore : 
 His prison pain'd him much, his passion more : 
 Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove, 
 Nor ever wishes to be free from love. 
 
 But when the sixth revolving year was run. 
 And May within the Twins received the sun, lo 
 
 Were it by chance, or forceful destiny, 
 Which forms in causes first whate'er shall be, 
 Assisted by a friend, one moonless night. 
 This Palamon from prison took his flight : 
 A pleasant beverage he prepared before 
 Of wine and honey, mix'd with abided store 
 Of opium ; to his keeper this he brought. 
 Who swallow 'd unaware the sleepy draught, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 227 
 
 And snored secure till morn, bis senses bound 19 
 
 In slumber, and in long oblivion drown'd. 
 
 Short was the night, and careful Palamon 
 
 Sought the next covert e'er the rising sun. 
 
 A thick-spread forest near the city lay, 
 
 To this with lengthen'd strides he took his way, 
 
 (For far he could not fly, and fear'd the day). 
 
 Safe from pursuit, he meant to shun the light. 
 
 Till the brown shadoM's of the friendly night 
 
 To Thebes might favour his intended flight. 
 
 When to his country come, his next design 
 
 Was all the Theban race in arms to join, 30 
 
 And war on Theseus, till he lost his life, > 
 
 Or won the beauteous Emily to wife. 
 
 Thus while his thoughts the lingering day beguile. 
 To gentle Arcite let us turn our style ; 
 W^ho little dreamt how nigh he was to care, 
 Till treacherous fortune caught him in the snare. 
 The morning lark, the messenger of day. 
 Saluted in her song the morning gray ; 
 And soon the sun arose with beams so bright. 
 That all the horizon laugh'd to see the joyous sight : 40 
 He with his tepid rays the rose renews, 
 And licks the drooping leaves, and dries the dews; 
 When Arcite left his bed, resolved to pay 
 Observance to the month of merry May : 
 Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode, 
 That scarcely prints the turf on which he trode : 
 At ease he seem'd, and, prancing o'er the plains, 
 Turn'd only to the grove his horse's reins. 
 The grove I named before ; and, lighted there, . 
 A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair; 50 
 
 Then turn'd his face against the rising day. 
 And raised his voice to welcome in the May. 
 
228 dryden's poems. 
 
 For thee, sweet montli ! the groves green liveries wear, 
 If not the first, the fairest of the year : 54 
 
 For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, 
 And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers: 
 When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun 
 The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. 
 So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight, 
 Nor goats with venom'd teeth thy tendrils bite, 60 
 
 As thou shalt guide my wandering feet to find 
 The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind. 
 
 His vows address'd, within the grove he stray 'd, 
 Till Fate, or Fortune, near the place convey 'd 
 His steps where, secret, Palamon was laid. 
 Full little thought of him the gentle knight, 
 Who, flying death, had there conceal'd his flight. 
 In brakes and brambles hid, and shunning mortal sight : 
 And less he knew him for his hated foe. 
 But fear'd him as a man he did not know. 7o 
 
 But as it has been said of ancient years. 
 That fields are full of eyes, and woods have ears ; 
 For this the wise are ever on their guard, 
 For, unforeseen, they say, is unprepared. 
 Uncautious Arcite thought himself alone, 
 And less than all suspected Palamon, 
 Who, listening, heard him, while he search'd the grove, 
 And loudly sung his roundelay of love : 
 But on the sudden stopp'd, and silent stood, 
 As lovers often muse, and change their mood ; so 
 
 Now high as heaven, and then as low as hell ; 
 Now up, now down, as buckets in a well : 
 For Venus, like her day, will change her cheer, 
 And seldom shall we see a Friday clear. 
 Thus Arcite having sung, with alter'd hue 
 Sunk on the ground, and from his bosom drew 
 
TALES FKOM CHAUCER. 229 
 
 A desperate sigh, accusing Heaven and Fate, 87 
 
 And angry Juno's unrelenting hate. 
 
 Cursed be the day ^vhen first I did appear ; 
 
 Let it be blotted from the calendar, 90 
 
 Lest it pollute the month, and poison all the year ! 
 
 Still will the jealous queen pursue our race 1 
 
 Cadmus is dead, the Theban city was : 
 
 Yet ceases not her hate : for all who come 
 
 From Cadmus are involved in Cadmus' doom. 
 
 I suffer for my blood : unjust decree ! 
 
 That punishes another's crime on me. 
 
 In mean estate I serve my mortal foe, • ^ 
 
 The man who caused my country's overthrow. 
 
 This is not all ; for Juno, to my shame, 100 
 
 Has forced me to forsake my former name ; 
 
 Arcite I was, Philostratus I am. 
 
 That side of heaven is all my enemy : 
 
 Mars ruin'd Thebes : his mother ruin'd me. 
 
 Of all the royal race remains but one 
 
 Besides myself, the unhappy Palamon, 
 
 AYhom Theseus holds in bonds, and will not free ; 
 
 Without a crime, except his kin to me. 
 
 Yet these, and all the rest, I could endure ; 
 
 But love 's a malady without a cure : 110 
 
 Fierce love has pierced me with his fiery dart ; 
 
 He fires within, and hisses at my heart. 
 
 Your eyes, fair Emily, my fate pursue ; 
 
 I suffer for the rest, I die for you ! 
 
 Of such a goddess no time leaves record. 
 
 Who bm'n'd the temple where she was adored : 
 
 And let it bm'n, I never will complain. 
 
 Pleased with my sufferings, if you knew my pain. 
 
 At this a sickly qualm his heart assail'd, 
 His ears ring inward, and his senses fail'd. 120 
 
230 dryden's poems. 
 
 No word miss'd Palamon of all he spoke, 121 
 
 But soon to deadly pale he changed his look : 
 
 He trembled every limb, and felt a smart, 
 
 As if cold steel had glided through his heart ; 
 
 No longer staid, but starting from his place, 
 
 Disco ver'd stood, and show'd his hostile face : 
 
 False traitor, Arcite ! traitor to thy blood ! 
 
 Bound by thy sacred oath to seek my good, 
 
 Now art thou found forsworn, for Emily ; 
 
 And darest attempt her love, for whom I die, iso 
 
 So hast thou cheated Theseus with a wile, 
 
 Against thy vow, returning to beguile 
 
 Under a borrow'd name : as false to me. 
 
 So false thou art to him who set thee free. 
 
 But rest assured, that either thou shalt die, 
 
 Or else renounce thy claim in Emily : 
 
 For though unarm'd I am, and (freed by chance) 
 
 Am here without my sword, or pointed lance, 
 
 Hope not, base man, unquestion'd hence to go, 
 
 For I am Palamon, thy mortal foe. 140 
 
 Arcite, who heard his tale, and knew the man. 
 His sword unsheath'd, and fiercely thus began : 
 Now by the gods who govern heaven above, 
 Wert thou not weak with hunger, mad with love. 
 That word had been thy last, or in this grove 
 This hand should force thee to renounce thy love. 
 The surety which I gave thee, I defy: 
 Fool, not to know that love endures no tie. 
 And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury. 
 Know 1 will serve the fair in thy despite ; 150 
 
 But since thou art my kinsman, and a knight. 
 Here, have my faith, to-morrow in this grove 
 Our arms shall plead the titles of our love : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 231 
 
 And Heaven so help mj right, as I alone 154 
 
 AVill come, and keep the cause and quarrel both unknown ; 
 
 With arms of proof both for myself and thee ; 
 
 Choose thou the best, and leave the worst to me. 
 
 And, that at better ease thou may'st abide. 
 
 Bedding and clothes I will this night provide. 
 
 And needful sustenance, that thou maj'st bo I60 
 
 A conquest better won, and worthy me. 
 
 His promise Palamon accepts ; but pray'd 
 
 To keep it better than the first he made. 
 
 Thus fair they parted till the morrow's dawn, 
 
 For each had laid his plighted faith to pawn. 
 
 Oh, Love ! thou sternly dost thy power maintain. 
 And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign ; 
 Tyrants and thou all fellowship disdain ! 
 This was in Arcite proved, and Palamon, 
 Both in despair, yet each would love alone. 170 
 
 Arcite return'd, and, as in honour tied, 
 His foe with bedding, and with food supplied ; 
 Then, ere the day, two suits of armour sought, 
 Which, borne before him on his steed, he brought : 
 Both were of shining steel, and wrought so pure, 
 As might the strokes of two such arms endure. 
 Now, at the time, and in the appointed place. 
 The challenger and challenged, face to face. 
 Approach ; each other from afar they knew, 
 And from afar their hatred changed their hue. I80 
 
 So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear, 
 Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear. 
 And hears him rustling in the wood, and sees 
 His course at distance by the bending trees ; 
 And thinks, Here comes my mortal enemy. 
 And either he must fall in fight, or I : 
 This while he thinks, he lifts aloft his dart ; 
 
232 dryden's poems. 
 
 A generous chilness seizes every part : iss 
 
 The veins pour back the blood, and fortify the heart. 
 
 Thus pale they meet ; their eyes with fury burn ; 
 None greets ; for none the greeting will return : 
 But in dumb surliness, each arm'd with care 
 His foe profess'd, as brother of the war : 
 Then both, no moment lost, at once advance 
 Against each other, arm'd with sword and lance : 
 They lash, they foin, they pass, they strive to bore 
 Their corslets and the thinnest parts explore. 
 Thus two long hours in equal arms they stood, 
 And wounded, wound, till both were bathed in blood ; 
 And not a foot of ground had either got, 200 
 
 As if the world depended on the spot. 
 Fell Arcite like an angry tiger fared. 
 And like a lion Palamon appear'd : 
 Or, as two boars, whom love to battle draws. 
 With rising bristles, and with frothy jaws. 
 Their adverse breasts with tusks oblique they wound ; 
 "With grunts and groans the forest rings around. 
 So fought the knights, and fighting must abide, 
 Till fate an umpire sends their difference to decide. 
 
 The power that ministers to God's decrees, 210 
 
 And executes on earth what Heaven foresees, 
 Call'd providence, or chance, or fatal sway, 
 Comes with resistless force, and finds or makes her way. 
 Nor kings, nor nations, nor united power. 
 One moment can retard the appointed hour ; 
 And some one day, some wondrous chance appears, 
 Which happen'd not in centuries of years : 
 For sure, whate'er we mortals hate, or love, 
 Or hope, or fear, depends on Powers above ; 
 They move our appetites to good or ill, ' 220 
 
 And by foresight necessitate the will. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 233 
 
 In Theseus this appears ; whose youthful joj 222 
 
 Was beasts of chase in forests to destroy : 
 
 This gentle knight, inspired by jolly May, 
 
 Forsook his easy couch at early day, 
 
 And to the wood and wilds pursued his way. 
 
 Beside him rode Hippolita the queen, 
 
 And Emily attired in lively green, 
 
 With horns, and hounds, and all the tuneful cry. 
 
 To hunt a royal hart within the covert nigh : 230 
 
 And as he follow'd Mars before, so now 
 
 He serves the goddess of the silver bow. 
 
 The way that Theseus took was to the wood 
 
 Where the two knights in cruel battle stood : 
 
 The lawn on which they fought, the appointed place 
 
 In which the uncoupled hounds began the chase. 
 
 Thither forth-right he rode to rouse the prey, 
 
 That, shaded by the fern, in harbour lay ; 
 
 And thence dislodged, was wont to leave the wood 
 
 For open fields, and cross the crystal flood. 240 
 
 Approach'd, and looking underneath the sun. 
 
 He saw proud Arcite, and fierce Palamon, 
 
 In mortal battle doubling blow on blow. 
 
 Like lightning flamed their falchions to and fro, 
 
 And shot a dreadful gleam ; so strong they strook, 
 
 There seem'd less force required to fell an oak : 
 
 He gazed with wonder on their equal might, 
 
 Look'd eager on, but knew not either knight : 
 
 Resolved to learn, he spurr'd his fiery steed 
 
 With goring rowels to provoke his speed. 250 
 
 The minute ended that began the race, 
 
 So soon he was betwixt them on the place ; 
 
 And, with his sword unsheath'd, on pain of life 
 
 Commands both combatants to cease their strife : 
 
234 dryden's poems. 
 
 Then with imperious tone pursues his threat : 255 
 
 What are you "? why in arms together met ? 
 
 How dares your pride presume against my laws, 
 
 As in a listed field to fight your cause ? 
 
 Unask'd the royal grant ; no marshal by, 
 
 As knightly rites require ; nor judge to try ? 260 
 
 Then Palamon, with scarce recover'd breath, 
 
 Thus hasty spoke : We both deserve the death, 
 
 And both would die ; for look the world around, 
 
 A pair so wretched is not to be found ; 
 
 Our life's a load ; encumber'd with the charge, 
 
 We long to set the imprison'd soul at large. 
 
 Now, as thou art a sovereign judge, decree 
 
 The rightful doom of death to him and me ; 
 
 Let neither find thy grace, for grace is cruelty. 
 
 Me first, oh, kill me first, and cure my woe ; 270 
 
 Then sheath the sword of justice on my foe : 
 
 Or kill him first ; for when his name is heard. 
 
 He foremost will receive his due reward. , 
 
 Arcite of Thebes is he ; thy mortal foe : 
 
 On whom thy grace did liberty bestow, 
 
 But first contracted, that if ever found 
 
 By day or night upon the Athenian ground, 
 
 His head should pay the forfeit ; see return'd 
 
 The perjured knight, his oath and honour scorn'd. 
 
 For this is he, who, with a borrowed name 280 
 
 And proff'er'd service, to thy palace came. 
 
 Now call'd Philostratus : retain'd by thee, 
 
 A traitor trusted, and in high degree. 
 
 Aspiring to the bed of beauteous Emily. 
 
 My part remains ; from Thebes my birth I own, 
 
 And call myself the unhappy Palamon. 
 
 Think me not like that man ; since no disgrace 
 
 Can force me to renounce the honour of my race. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 235 
 
 Know me for wliat I am : I broke my cliaiu, 289 
 
 Nor promised I tlij prisoner to remain : 
 
 The love of liberty with life is given, 
 
 And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven. 
 
 Thus without crime I fled ; but further know, 
 
 I, with this Arcite, am thj mortal foe : 
 
 Then give me death, since I thy life pursue ; 
 
 For safeguard of thyself, death is my due. 
 
 More would'st thou know ? I love bright Emily, 
 
 And, for her sake, and in her sight will die : 
 
 But kill my rival too ; for he no less 
 
 Deserves ; and I thy righteous doom will bless, 300 
 
 Assured that what I lose, he never shall possess. 
 
 To this replied the stern Athenian prince, 
 And sourly smiled : In owning your offence 
 You judge yourself ; and I but keep record 
 In place of law, while you pronounce the word. 
 Take your desert, the death you have decreed ; 
 I seal your doom, and ratify the deed : 
 By Mars, the patron of my arms, you die ! 
 
 He said ; dumb sorrow seized the standers-by. 
 The queen above the rest, by nature good, 310 
 
 (The pattern form'd of perfect womanhood) 
 For tender pity wept : when she began. 
 Through the bright quire the infectious virtue ran. 
 All dropt their tears, even the contended maid ; 
 And thus among themselves they softly said : 
 What eyes can suffer this unworthy sight ! 
 Two youths of royal blood, renown'd in fight. 
 The mastership of Heaven in face and mind. 
 And lovers, far beyond their faithless kind : 
 See their wide streaming wounds ; they neither came 
 For pride of empire, nor desire of fame : 321 
 
236 dryden's poems. 
 
 Kings fight for kingdoms, madmen for applause ; 322 
 But love for love alone ; that crowns the lover's cause. 
 This thought, which ever bribes the beauteous kind, 
 Such pity wrought in every lady's mind. 
 They left their steeds, and, prostrate on the place, 
 From the fierce king implored the ofienders' grace. 
 
 He paused a while, stood silent in his mood 
 (For yet his rage was boiling in his blood) ; 
 But soon his tender mind the impression felt, 330 
 
 (As softest metals are not slow to melt. 
 And pity soonest runs in softest minds) : 
 Then reasons with himself ; and first he finds 
 His passion cast a mist before his sense. 
 And either made, or magnified the offence. 
 Offence ! of what *? to whom 1 who judged the cause ^ 
 The prisoner freed himself by nature's laws : 
 Born free, he sought his right : the man he freed 
 Was perjured, but his love excused the deed. 
 Thus pondering, he look'd under with his eyes, S40 
 
 And saw the women's tears, and heard their cries ; 
 Which moved compassion more ; he shook his head. 
 And, softly sighing, to himself he said : 
 Curse on the unpardoniug prince, whom tears can draw 
 To no remorse ; who rules by lions' law ; 
 And deaf to prayers, by no submission bow'd, 
 Rends all alike ; the penitent, and proud ! 
 At this, with look serene, he raised his head ; 
 Reason resumed her place, and passion fled : 
 Then thus aloud he spoke : The power of love, 350 
 
 In earth, and seas, and air, and heaven above, 
 Rules, unresisted, with an awful nod ; 
 By daily miracles declared a god : 
 He blinds the wise, gives eyesight to the blind ; 
 And moulds and stamps anew the lover's mind. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 237 
 
 Behold that Arcite, and this Palamon, 356 
 
 Freed from mj fetters, and iu safety gone, 
 
 AVhat hinder'd either in their native soil 
 
 At ease to reap the harvest of their toil ? 
 
 But Love, their lord, did otherwise ordain, 360 
 
 And brought them in their own despite again. 
 
 To suflPer death deserved ; for well they know, 
 
 'Tis in my power, and I their deadly foe. 
 
 The proverb holds, that to be wise and love, 
 
 Is hardly granted to the gods above. 
 
 See how the madmen bleed ! behold the gains 
 
 With which their master. Love, rewards their pains ! 
 
 For seven long years, on duty every day, 
 
 Lo, their obedience, and their monarch's pay: 
 
 Yet, as in duty bound, they serve him on ; 87o 
 
 And, ask the fools, they think it wisely done ; 
 
 Nor ease, nor M'ealth, nor life itself regard. 
 
 For 'tis their maxim. Love is love's reward. 
 
 This is not all ; the fair, for whom they strove. 
 
 Nor knew before, nor could suspect their love ; 
 
 Nor thought, when she beheld the sight from far, 
 
 Her beauty was the occasion of the war. 
 
 But sure a general doom on man is past. 
 
 And all are fools and lovers, first or last : 
 
 This both by others and myself I know, 380 
 
 For I have served their sovereign long ago ; 
 
 Oft have been caught within the winding train 
 
 Of female snares, and felt the lover's pain. 
 
 And learn'd hoM^ far the god can human hearts constrain. 
 
 To this remembrance, and the prayers of those 
 
 Who for the offending warriors interpose, 
 
 I give their forfeit lives ; on this accord. 
 
 To do me homage as their sovereign lord ; 
 
238 dryden's poems. 
 
 And, as mj vassals, to their utmost might, 389 
 
 Assist mj person, and assert my right. 
 
 This freely sworn, the knights their grace obtain'd ; 
 Then thus the king his secret thoughts explain'd : 
 If wealth, or honour, or a royal race, 
 Or each, or all, may win a lady's grace, 
 Then either of you knights may well deserve 
 A princess born; and such is she you serve : 
 For Emily is sister to the crown. 
 And but too well to both her beauty known : 
 But should you combat till you both were dead. 
 Two lovers cannot share a single bed : 400 
 
 As, therefore, both are equal in degree, 
 The lot of both be left to destiny. 
 Now hear the award, and happy may it prove 
 To her, and him who best deserves her love* 
 Depart from hence in peace, and, free as air. 
 Search the wide world, and where you please repair • 
 But on the day when this returning sun 
 To the same point through every sign has run. 
 Then each of you his hundred knights shall bring. 
 In royal lists, to fight before the king ; 410 
 
 And then the knight, whom fate or happy chance 
 Shall with his friends to victory advance, 
 And grace his arms so far in equal fight, 
 From out the bars to force his opposite. 
 Or kiU, or make him recreant on the plain, 
 The prize of valour and of love shall gain ; 
 The vanquish'd party shall their claim release, 
 And the long jars conclude in lasting peace. 
 The charge be mine to adorn the chosen ground, 
 The theatre of war, for champions so renown'd ; 420 
 And take the patron's place of either knight, 
 
TALES PROM CHAUCER. 239 
 
 With eyes impartial to behold the fight ; 422 
 
 And Heaven of me so judge as I shall judge aright. 
 If both are satisfied with this accord, 
 Swear bj the laws of knighthood on my sword. 
 
 Who now but Palamon exults with joj 1 
 And ravish'd Arcite seems to touch the sky : 
 The whole assembled troop was pleased as well, 
 Extol the award, and on their knees they fell 
 To bless the gracious king. The knights, with leave, 430 
 Departing from the place, his last commands receive ; 
 On Emily with equal ardom* look, 
 And from her eyes their inspiration took. 
 From thence to Thebes' old walls pursue their way, 
 Each to provide his champions for the day. 
 
 It might be dcem'd, on our historian's part, 
 Or too much negligence, or w^ant of art. 
 If he forgot the vast magnificence 
 Of royal Theseus, and his large expense. 
 
 He first enclosed for lists a level ground^ 440 
 
 The whole circumference a mile around ; 
 
 The form was circular ; and all without 
 
 A trench was sunk, to moat the place about. 
 
 Within an amphitheatre apjDcar'd, 
 
 Raised in degrees ; to sixty paces rear'd : 
 
 That when a man was placed in one degree, 
 
 Height was allow'd for him above to see. 
 Eastward was built a gate of marble white ; 
 
 The like adorn'd the western opposite. 
 
 A nobler object than this fabric was, 450 
 
 Rome never saw ; nor of so vast a space. 
 
 For rich with spoils of many a conquer'd land, 
 
 All arts and artists Theseus could command ; 
 
 Who sold for hire, or wrought for better fame ; 
 
 The master-painters, and the carvers came. 
 
240 drydeit's poems. 
 
 So rose within the compass of the year 456 
 
 An age's work, a glorious theatre. 
 
 Then o'er its eastern gate was raised above 
 
 A temple, sacred to the Queen of Love ; 
 
 An altar stood below : on either hand 460 
 
 A priest with roses crown'd, who held a myrtle wand. 
 
 The dome of Mars was on the gate opposed, 
 And on the north a turret was enclosed, 
 Within the wall, of alabaster white, 
 And crimson coral, for the Queen of Night, 
 Who takes in sylvan sports her chaste delight. 
 
 Within these oratories might you see 
 Rich carvings, portraitures, and imagery : 
 Where every figure to the life express'd 
 The godhead's power to whom it was address'd. 470 
 In Venus' temple on tlie sides were seen 
 The broken slumbers of enamour'd men ; 
 Prayers that even spoke, and pity seem'd to call. 
 And issuing sighs that smoked along the wall ; 
 Complaints, and hot desires, the lover's hell, 
 And scalding tears that wore a channel where they fell : 
 And all around were nuptial bonds, the ties, 
 Of love's assurance, and a train of lies, 
 That, made in I'ust, conclude in perjuries. 
 Beauty, and Youth, and Wealth, and Luxury, 480 
 
 And spritely Hope, and short-enduring Joy ; 
 And Sorceries to raise the infernal powers, 
 And Sigils framed in planetary hours : 
 Expense, and After-Thought, and idle Care, 
 And Doubts of motley hue, and dark Despair ; 
 Suspicious, and fantastical Surmise, 
 And Jealousy suffused, with jaundice in her eyes, 
 Discolouring all she view'd, in tawny dress'd, 
 Down-look'd, and with a cuckoo on her fist 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 241 
 
 Opposed to her, on the other side advance 490 
 
 The costly feast, the carol, and the dance. 
 
 Minstrels and Music, Poetry and Play, 
 
 And balls by night, and tournaments by day. 
 
 All these were painted on the wall, and more ; 
 
 With acts and monuments of times before : 
 
 And others added by prophetic doom. 
 
 And lovers yet unborn, and loves to come : 
 
 For there the Idalian mount, and Citheron, 
 
 The court of Venus, was in colours drawn : 
 
 Before the palace-gate, in careless dress, soo 
 
 And loose array, sat portress Idleness : 
 
 There, by the fount, Narcissus pined alone ; 
 
 There Samson was ; with wiser Solomon, 
 
 And all the mighty names by love undone. 
 
 Medea's charms were there, Circean feasts. 
 
 With bowls that turn'd enaraour'd youths to beasts : 
 
 Here might be seen, that beauty, wealth, and wit, 
 
 And prowess, to the power of love submit : 
 
 The spreading snare for all mankind is laid ; 
 
 And lovers all betray, and are betray 'd. 510 
 
 The goddess self some noble hand had wrought ; 
 
 Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing thought : 
 
 From ocean as she first began to rise. 
 
 And smooth'd the ruffled seas and clear'd the skies ; 
 
 She trode the brine, all bare below the breast, 
 
 And the green waves but ill conceal'd the rest ; 
 
 A lute she held ; and on her head was seen 
 
 A wreath of roses red, and myrtles green ; 
 
 Her turtles fann'd the buxom air above ; 
 
 And, by his mother, stood an infant Love, 520 
 
 With wings unfledged ; his eyes were banded o'er ; 
 
 His hands a bow, his back a quiver bore, 
 
 Supplied with arrows bright and keen, a deadly store. 
 
 VOL. IL Q 
 
242 dryden's poems. 
 
 But in the dome of mighty Mars the red 524 
 
 With different figures all the sides were spread ; 
 This temple, less in form, with equal grace, 
 Was imitative of the first in Thrace : 
 For that cold region was the loved abode 
 And sovereign mansion of the warrior god. 
 The landscape was a forest wide and bare ; 530 
 
 Where neither beast, nor human kind repair ; 
 The fowl, that scent afar, the borders fly. 
 And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about the sky. 
 A cake of scurf lies baking on the ground, 
 And prickly stubs, instead of trees, are found ; 
 Or woods, with knots and knares, deform'd and old ; 
 Headless the most, and hideous to behold : 
 A rattling tempest through the branches went, 
 That stripp'd them bare, and one sole way they bent. 
 Heaven froze above, severe, the clouds congeal, 540 
 
 And through the crystal vault appear'd the standing hail. 
 Such was the face without ; a mountain stood 
 Threatening from high, and overlook'd the wood : 
 Beneath the lowering brow, and on a bent, 
 The temple stood of Mars armipotent : 
 The frame of burnish'd steel, that cast a glare 
 From far, and seem'd to thaw the freezing air. 
 A strait long entry to the temple led, 
 Blind with high walls ; and horror over head : 
 Thence issued such a blast, and hollow roar, 550 
 
 As threaten'd from the hinge to heave the door : 
 In through that door, a northern light there shone ; 
 'Twas all it had, for windows there were none. 
 The gate was adamant ; eternal frame ! 
 Which, hew'd by Mars himself, from Indian quarries came, 
 The labour of a god ; and all along 
 Tough iron plates were clench'd to make it strong. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 243 
 
 A tun about was every pillar there ; 558 
 
 A polish'd mirror shone not half so clear. 
 
 There saw I how the secret felon wrought, 
 
 And treason labouring in the traitor's thought ; 
 
 And mid\yife Time the ripen'd plot to murder brought. 
 
 There the red Auger dared the pallid Fear ; 
 
 Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer, 
 
 Soft smiling, and demurely looking down, 
 
 But hid the dagger underneath the gown : 
 
 The assassinating wife, the household fiend ; 
 
 And far the blackest there, the traitor-friend. 
 
 On the other side, there stood Destruction bare ; 
 
 Unpunish'd Rapine, and a waste of War. 570 
 
 Contest, with sharpen'd knives, in cloisters drawn. 
 
 And all with blood bespread the holy lawn. 
 
 Loud menaces were heard, and foul disgrace, 
 
 And bawling infamy, in language base ; 
 
 Till sense was lost in sound, and silence fled the place. 
 
 The slayer of himself yet saw I there. 
 
 The gore congeal'd was clotted in his hair ; 
 
 "With eyes half closed, and gaping mouth he lay. 
 
 And grim, as when he breathed his sullen soul away. 
 
 In midst of all the dome, Misfortune sate, 580 
 
 And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate, 
 
 And Madness laughing in his ireful mood ; 
 
 And arm'd complaint on theft ; and cries of blood. 
 
 There was the murder'd corpse in covert laid, 
 
 And violent death in thousand shapes display'd : 
 
 The city to the soldiers rage resign'd : 
 
 Successless wars, and poverty behind : 
 
 Ships burnt in fight, or forced on rocky shores, 
 
 And the rash hunter strangled by the boars : 
 
 The new-born babe by nurses overlaid ; 590 
 
 And the cook caught within the raging fire he made. 
 
244 deyden's poems. 
 
 All ills of Mars his nature, flame and steel ; 592 
 
 The gasping charioteer, beneath the wheel 
 Of his own car ; the ruin'd house that falls 
 And intercepts her lord betwixt the walls : 
 The whole division that to Mars pertains, 
 All trades of death that deal in steel for gains, 
 Were there : the butcher, armourer, and smith, 
 Whose forges sharpen'd falchions, or the scythe. 
 The scarlet conquest on a tower was placed, eoo 
 
 With shouts, and soldiers' acclamations graced : 
 A pointed sword hung threatening o'er his head, 
 Sustain'd but by a slender twine of thread. 
 There saw I Mars his ides, the Capitol, 
 The seer in vain foretelling Caesar's fall ; 
 The last triumvirs, and the wars they move. 
 And Antony, who lost the world for love. 
 These, and a thousand more, the fane adorn ; 
 Their fates were painted ere the men were born. 
 All copied from the heavens, and ruling force eio 
 
 Of the red star, in his revolving course. 
 The form of Mars high on a chariot stood, 
 All sheath'd in arms, and grufily look'd the god : 
 Two geomantic figures were display'd 
 Above his head, a warrior and a maid. 
 One when direct, and one when retrograde. 
 Tired with deformities of death, I haste 
 To the third temple of Diana chaste. 
 A sylvan scene with various greens was drawn. 
 Shades on the sides, and in the midst a lawn : 620 
 
 The silver Cynthia, with her nymphs around, 
 Pursued the flying deer, the woods with horns resound : 
 Calisto there stood manifest of shame. 
 And, turn'd a bear, the northern star became : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 245 
 
 Her son was next, and, bj peculiar grace, 625 
 
 In the cold circle held the second place : 
 
 The stag Acteon in the stream had spied 
 
 The naked huntress, and, for seeing, died : 
 
 His hounds, unknowing of his change pursue 
 
 The chase, and their mistaken master slew. 630 
 
 Peneian Daphne too was there to see, 
 
 Apollo's love before, and now his tree : 
 
 The adjoining fane the assembled Greeks express'd, 
 
 And hunting of the Caledonian beast. 
 
 Oenides' valour, and his envied prize ; 
 
 The fatal power of Atalanta's ejes ; 
 
 Diana's vengeance on the victor shown. 
 
 The murderess mother ; and consuming son ; 
 
 The Volscian queen extended on the plain ; 
 
 The treason punisli'd, and the traitor slain. 64o 
 
 The rest were various huntings, well design'd. 
 
 And savage beasts destroy'd, of every kind. 
 
 The graceful goddess was array 'd in green ; 
 
 About her feet were little beagles seen. 
 
 That watch'd with upward eyes the motions of their queen. 
 
 Her legs were buskin'd, and the left before, 
 
 In act to shoot ; a silver bow she bore. 
 
 And at her back a painted quiver wore. 
 
 She trod a waxing moon, that soon would wane. 
 
 And, drinking borrow'd hght, be fiU'd again : eso 
 
 With downcast eyes, as seeming to survey 
 
 The dark dominions, her alternate sway. 
 
 Before her stood a women in her throes, 
 
 And call'd Lucina's aid, her burden to disclose. 
 
 All these the painter drew with such command. 
 
 That Nature snatch'd the pencil from his hand, 
 
 Ashamed and angry that his art could feign 
 
 And mend the tortures of a mother's pain. 
 
246 deyden's poems. 
 
 Theseus beheld the fanes of every god, 659 
 
 And thought his mighty cost was well bestow'd. 
 So princes now their poets should regard ; 
 But few can write, and fewer can reward. 
 
 The theatre thus raised, the lists enclosed, 
 And all with vast magnificence disposed, 
 We leave the monarch pleased, and haste to bring 
 The knights to combat, and their arms to sing. 
 
 Book III. 
 
 The day approach'd when Fortune should decide 
 
 The important enterprise, and give the bride ; 
 
 For now, the rivals round the world had sought, 
 
 And each his number, well appointed, brought. 
 
 The nations, far and near, contend in choice, 
 
 And send the flower of war by public voice ; 
 
 That after, or before, were never known 
 
 Such chiefs, as each an array seem'd alone : 
 
 Beside the champions, all of high degree, 
 
 Who knighthood loved, and deeds of chivalry, lo 
 
 Throng'd to the lists, and envied to behold 
 
 The names of others, not their own, enroll'd. 
 
 Nor seems it strange ; for every noble knight 
 
 Who loves the fair, and is endued with might, 
 
 In such a quarrel would be proud to fight. 
 
 There breathes not scarce a man on British ground 
 
 (An isle for love and arms of old renown d) 
 
 But would have sold his life to purchase fame. 
 
 To Palamon or Arcite sent his name : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 247 
 
 And had the land selected of the best, 20 
 
 Half had come hence, and let the world provide the rest. 
 
 A hundred knights with Palamon there came, 
 
 Approved in fight, and men of mighty name ; 
 
 Their arms were several, as their nations were, 
 
 But furnish'd all alike with sword and spear. 
 
 Some wore coat-armour, imitating scale ; 
 
 And next their skins were stubborn shirts of mail. 
 
 Some wore a breastplate and a light jupon, 
 
 Their horses clothed M'ith rich caparison : 
 
 Some for defence would leathern bucklers use, 30 
 
 Of folded hides ; and others shields of pruce. 
 
 One hung a pole-axe at his saddle-bow. 
 
 And one a heavy mace to stun the foe ; 
 
 One for his legs and knees provided well, 
 
 With jambeaux arm'd, and double plates of steel : 
 
 This on his helmet wore a lady's glove, 
 
 And that a sleeve embroider'd by his love. 
 
 With Palamon above the rest in place, 
 Lycurgus came, the surly king of Thrace ; 
 Black was his beard, and manly was his face ; 40 
 
 The balls of his broad eyes roll'd in his head, 
 And glared betwixt a yellow and a red : 
 He look'd a lion with a gloomy stare, 
 And o'er his eyebrows hung his matted hair : 
 Big-boned, and large of limbs, with sinews strong, 
 Broad-shoulder'd, and his arms were round and long. 
 Four milk-white bulls (the Thracian use of old) 
 Were yoked to draw his car of burnish'd gold. 
 Upright he stood, and bore aloft his shield. 
 Conspicuous from afar, and overlook'd the field. 50 
 
 His surcoat was a bear-skin on his back ; 
 His hair hung long behind, and glossy raven black. 
 
248 dryden's poems. 
 
 His ample forehead bore a coronet, 53 
 
 With sparkhng diamonds and with rubies set : 
 
 Ten brace, and more, of greyhounds, snowy fair, 
 
 And tall as stags, ran loose, and coursed around his chair, 
 
 A match for pards in flight, in grappling for the bear : 
 
 With golden muzzles all their mouths were bound, 
 
 And collars of the same their necks surround. 
 
 Thus through the fields Lycurgus took his way ; eo 
 
 His hundred knights attend in pomp and proud array. 
 
 To match this monarch, with strong Arcite came 
 Emetrius, king of Ind, a mighty name ; 
 On a bay courser, goodly to behold, 
 The trappings of his horse adorn'd with barbarous gold. 
 Not Mars bestrod a steed with greater grace ; 
 His surcoat o'er his arms was cloth of Thrace, 
 Adorn'd with pearls, all orient, round, and great ; 
 His saddle was of gold, with emeralds set, 
 His shoulders large a mantle did attire, 70 
 
 With rubies thick, and sparkling as the fire : 
 His amber-colour'd locks in ringlets run. 
 With graceful negligence, and shone against the sun. 
 His nose was aquiline, his eyes were blue ; 
 Ruddy his Hps, and fresh and fair his hue : 
 Some sprinkled freckles on his face were seen, 
 Whose dusk set off the whiteness of the skin : 
 His awful presence did the crowd surprise. 
 Nor durst the rash spectator meet his eyes ; 
 Eyes that confessed him born for kingly sway, so 
 
 So fierce, they flash'd intolerable day. 
 His age in nature's youthful prime appear'd. 
 And just began to bloom his yellow beard. 
 Whene'er he spoke, his voice was heard around, 
 Loud as a trumpet, with a silver sound ; 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 249 
 
 A laurel wreathed his temples, fresh and green ; 86 
 
 And myrtle sprigs, the marks of love, were mix'd between. 
 Upon his fist he bore, for his delight, 
 An eagle well reclaim'd, and lily white. 
 
 His hundred knights attend him to the war, 9o 
 
 All arm'd for battle ; save their heads were bare. 
 Words and devices blazed on every shield. 
 And pleasing was the terror of tiie field. 
 For kings, and dukes, and barons, you might see, 
 Like sparkling stars, though different in degree, ' 
 All for the increase of arms, and love of chivalry. 
 Before the king tame leopards led the way, 
 And troops of lions innocently play. 
 So Bacchus through the conquer'd Indies rode. 
 And beasts in gambols frisk'd before their honest god. loo 
 
 In this array, the war of either side 
 Through Athens pass'd with military pride. 
 At prime, they enter'd on the Sunday morn ; 
 Rich tapestry spread the streets, and flowers the posts adorn. 
 The town was all a jubilee of feasts ; 
 So Theseus will'd, in honour of his guests ; 
 Himself with open arms the kings embraced. 
 Then all the rest in their degrees were graced. 
 No harbinger was needful for the night. 
 For every house was proud to lodge a knight. no 
 
 I pass the royal treat, nor must relate 
 The gifts bestow'd, nor how the champions sate : 
 Who first, who last, or how the knights address'd 
 Their vows, or who was fairest at the feast ; 
 Whose voice, whose graceful dance did most surprise ; 
 Soft amorous sighs, and silent love of eyes. 
 The rivals call my Muse another way. 
 To sing their vigils for the ensuing day. 
 
250 DRYDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 'Twas ebbing darkness, past the noon of night : 119 
 And Phosphor, on the confines of the light, 
 Promised the sun ; ere day began to spring, 
 The tuneful lark already stretch'd her wing. 
 And flickering on her nest, made short essays to sing. 
 When wakeful Palamon, preventing day, 
 Took to the royal lists his early way, 
 To Venus at her fane, in her own house, to pray. 
 There, falling on his knees before her shrine. 
 He thus implored with prayers her power divine : 
 
 Creator Venus, genial power of love, 
 The bliss of men below, and gods above ! 130 
 
 Beneath the sliding sun thou runn'st thy race, 
 Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place. 
 For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear, 
 Thy month reveals the spring, and opens all the year. 
 Thee, goddess ! thee the storms of winter fly, 
 Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the sky, 
 And birds to lays of love their tuneful notes apply. 
 For thee the lion loathes the taste of blood. 
 And, roaring, hunts his female through the wood : 
 For thee the bulls rebellow through the groves, i40 
 
 And tempt the stream, and snufi* their absent loves. 
 'Tis tliine, whate'er is pleasant, good, or fair : 
 All nature is thy province, life thy care : 
 Thou madest the world, and dost the world repair. 
 Thou gladder of the mount of Cytheron, 
 Increase of Jove, companion of the sun ! 
 If e'er Adonis touch'd thy tender heart. 
 Have pity, goddess, for thou know'st the smart ! 
 Alas ! I have not words to tell my grief; 
 To vent my sorrow would be some relief; iso 
 
 Light sufi*erings give us leisure to complain ; 
 We groan, but cannot speak, in greater pain. 
 
TALES PROM CHAUCER. 251 
 
 goddess! tell thyself what I M'oiild say, 153 
 
 Thou know'st it, and I feel too much to pray. 
 So grant my suit, as I enforce my might, 
 In love to be thy champion, and thy knight ; 
 A servant to thy sex, a slave to thee, 
 A foe profess'd to barren chastity. 
 Nor ask I fame or honour of the field, 
 Nor choose I more to vanquish than to yield : I60 
 
 In my divine Emilia make me blest ; 
 Let Fate, or partial Chance, dispose the rest : 
 Find thou the manner, and the means prepare ; 
 Possession, more than conquest, is my care. 
 !Mars is the warrior's god ; in him it lies. 
 On whom he favours to confer the prize ; 
 With smiling aspect you serenely move 
 In your fifth orb, and rule the realm of love. 
 The Fates but only spin the coarser clue. 
 The finest of the wool is left for you ; 170 
 
 Spare me but one small portion of the twine, 
 And let the sisters cut below your line : 
 The rest among the rubbish may they sweep, 
 Or add it to the yarn of some old miser's heap. . 
 But, if you this ambitious prayer deny, 
 (A wish, I grant, beyond mortality,) 
 Then let me sink beneath proud Arcite's arms. 
 And I once dead, let him possess her charms. 
 Thus ended he ; then with observance due 
 The sacred incense on her altar threw : iso 
 
 The curling smoke mounts heavy from the fires ; 
 At length it catches flame, and in a blaze expires ; 
 At once the gracious goddess gave the sign. 
 Her statue shook, and trembled all the shrine : 
 Pleased Palamon the tardy omen took : 
 For, since the flames pursued the trailing smoke, 
 
252 dryden's poems. 
 
 He knew his boon was granted ; but the day i87 
 
 To distance driven, and joy adjourn'd with long delay. 
 
 Now morn with rosy light had streak'd the sky, 
 Up rose the sun, and up rose Emily ; 
 Address'd her early steps to Cynthia's fane, 
 In state attended by her maiden train. 
 Who bore the vests that holy rites require, 
 Incense, and odorous gums, and cover'd fire. 
 The plenteous horns with pleasant mead they crown, 
 Nor wanted aught besides in honour of the Moon. 
 Now while the temple smoked with hallow'd steam. 
 They wash the virgin in a living stream ; 
 The secret ceremonies I conceal, 
 Uncouth, perhaps unlawful, to reveal : 200 
 
 But such they were as Pagan use required, 
 Perform'd by women when the men retired, 
 Whose eyes profane their chaste mysterious rites 
 Might turn to scandal, or obscene delights. 
 Well-meaners think no harm ; but for the rest, 
 Things sacred they pervert, and silence is the best. 
 Her shining hair, uncomb'd, was loosely spread, 
 A crown of mastless oak adorn'd her head : 
 When to the shrine approach'd, the spotless maid 
 Had kindling fires on either altar laid : 210 
 
 (The rites were such as were observed of old. 
 By Statins in his Theban story told.) 
 Then kneeling with her hands across her breast, 
 Thus lowly she preferr'd her chaste request: 
 
 Oh, goddess, haunter of the woodland green. 
 To whom both heaven and earth and seas are seen ; 
 Queen of the nether skies, where half the year 
 Thy silver beams descend, and light the gloomy sphere ! 
 Goddess of maids, and conscious of our hearts. 
 So keep me from the vengeance of thy darts, 220 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCEE. 253 
 
 Which Niobe's devoted issue felt, 221 
 
 When hissing through the skies the feather'd deaths were 
 
 dealt ; 
 As I desire to live a virgin life, 
 Nor know the name of mother or of wife. 
 Thy votress from mj tender years I am, 
 And love, like thee, the woods and sylvan game. 
 Like death, thou know'st, I loathe the nuptial state, 
 And man, the tyrant of our sex, I hate, 
 A lowly servant, but a lofty mate : 
 Where love is duty on the female side ; 230 
 
 On theirs, mere sensual gust, and sought with surly pride. 
 Now by thy triple shape, as thou art seen 
 In heaven, earth, hell, and everywhere a queen, 
 Grant this my first desire ; let discord cease. 
 And make betwixt the rivals lasting peace : 
 Quench their hot fire, or far from me remove 
 The flame, and turn it on some other love ; 
 Or, if my frowning stars have so decreed, 
 That one must be rejected, one succeed, 
 Make him my lord, within whose faithful breast 240 
 Is fix'd my image, and who loves me best. 
 But, oh ! even that avert ! 1 choose it not. 
 But take it as the least unhappy lot. 
 A maid I am, and of thy virgin train ; 
 Oh, let me still that spotless name retain ! 
 Frequent the forests, thy chaste will obey, 
 And only make the beasts of chase my prey ! 
 
 The flames ascend on either altar clear. 
 While thus the blameless maid address'd her prayer. 
 When, lo ! the burning fire that shone so bright, 250 
 Flew ofi" all sudden, with extinguish'd light, 
 And left one altar dark, a little space ; 
 Which turn'd self-kindled, and renew'd the blaze : 
 
254 drtden's poems. 
 
 The other victor-flame a moment stood, 254 
 
 Then fell, and lifeless left the extinguish'd wood ; 
 
 For ever lost, the irrevocable light 
 
 Forsook the blackening coals, and sunk to night : 
 
 At either end it whistled as it flew. 
 
 And as the brands were green, so dropp'd the dew ; 
 
 Infected as it fell with sweat of sanguine hue. 26O 
 
 The maid from that ill omen turn'd her ejes, 
 And with loud shrieks and clamours rent the skies. 
 Nor knew what signified the boding sign, 
 But found the Powers displeased, and fear'd the wrath 
 divine. 
 
 Then shook the sacred shrine, and sudden light 
 Sprung through the vaulted roof, and made the temple 
 bright. 
 
 The Power, behold ! the Power in glory shone, 
 By her bent bow, and her keen arrows known ; 
 The rest, a huntress issuing from the wood, 
 Reclining on her cornel spear she stood. 270 
 
 Then gracious thus began : Dismiss thy fear, 
 And Heaven's unchanged decrees attentive hear : 
 More powerful gods have torn thee from my side. 
 Unwilling to resign, and doom'd a bride : 
 The two contending knights are weigh'd above ; 
 One Mars protects, and one the Queen of Love : 
 But which the man, is in the Thunderer's breast ; 
 This he pronounced, 'Tis he who loves thee best. 
 The fire that, once extinct, revived again. 
 Foreshows the love allotted to remain : 28 
 
 Farewell ! she said, and vanish'd from the place ; 
 The sheaf of arrows shook, and rattled in the case. 
 Aghast at this, the royal virgin stood, 
 Disclaim'd, and now no more a sister of the wood : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 255 
 
 But to the parting goddess thus she praj'd : 285 
 
 Propitious still be present to mj aid, 
 
 Nor quite abandon your once favourd maid. 
 
 Then sighing she rcturn'd ; but smiled betwixt, 
 
 With hopes and fears, and joys with sorrows mix'd. 
 
 The next returning planetary hour 290 
 
 Of Mars, who shared the heptarchy of power, 
 His steps bold Arcite to the temple bent, 
 To adore with Pagan rites the power armipoteut : 
 Then prostrate, low before his altar lay. 
 And raised his manly voice, and thus began to pray : 
 
 Strong God of arms, whose iron sceptre sways 
 The freezing North, and Hyperborean seas. 
 And Scythian colds, and Thracia's wintry coast, 
 Where stand thy steeds, and thou art honour'd most ! 
 There most ; but everywhere thy power is known, 300 
 The fortune of the fight is all thy own : 
 Terror is thine, and wild amazement, flung 
 From out thy chariot, withers even the strong : 
 And disarray and shameful rout ensue, 
 And force is added to the fiiiutiug crew. 
 Acknowledged as thou art, accept my prayer, 
 If aught I have achieved deserve thy care : 
 If to my utmost power, with sword and shield, 
 I dared the death, unknowing how to yield, 
 And falling in my rank, still kept the field : 310 
 
 Then let my arms prevail, by thee sustain'd, 
 That Emily by conquest may be gain'd. 
 Have pity on my pains ; nor those unknown 
 To Mars, which, when a lover, were his own. 
 Venus, the public, care of all above. 
 Thy stubborn heart has soften'd into love : 
 Now, by her blandishments and powerful charms, 
 When yielded she lay curling in thy arms, 
 
256 dryden's poems. 
 
 Even bj thy shame, if shame it may be call'd, 319 
 
 When Vulcan had thee in his net enthrall'd ; 
 
 (Oh, envied ignominy, sweet disgrace, 
 
 When every god that saw thee wish'd thy place !) 
 
 By those dear pleasures, aid my arms in fight. 
 
 And make me conquer in my patron's right : 
 
 For I am young, a novice in the trade. 
 
 The fool of love, unpractised to persuade : 
 
 And want the soothing arts that catch the fair, 
 
 But, caught myself, lie struggling in the snare : 
 
 And she I love, or laughs at all my pain, 
 
 Or knows her worth too well ; and pays me with disdain. 
 
 For sure I am, unless I win in arms, 331 
 
 To stand excluded from Emilia's charms : 
 
 Nor can my strength avail, unless by thee 
 
 Endued vs^ith force, I gain the victory ! 
 
 Then for the fire which warm'd thy generous heart. 
 
 Pity thy subject's pains, and equal smart. 
 
 So be the morrow's sweat and labour mine. 
 
 The palm and honour of the conquest thine ; 
 
 Then shall the war, and stern debate, and strife" 
 
 Immortal, be the business of my life ; 340 
 
 And in thy fime, the dusty spoils among, 
 
 High on the burnish'd roof, my banner shall be hung : 
 
 Rank'd with my champions' bucklers, and below, 
 
 With arms reversed, the achievements of my foe : 
 
 And while these limbs the vital spirit feeds, 
 
 While day to night, and night to day succeeds, 
 
 Thy smoking altar shall be fat with food 
 
 Of incense, and the grateful steam of blood ; 
 
 Burnt-offerings morn and evening shall be thine ; 
 
 And fires eternal in thy temple shine. 350 
 
 The bush of yellow beard, this length of hair. 
 
 Which from my birth inviolate I bear, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 257 
 
 Guiltless of steel, and from the razor free, 353 
 
 Shall fall a plenteous crop, reserved for thee. 
 So may my arms with victory be blest, 
 I ask no more ; let Fate dispose the rest. 
 
 The champion ceased ; there follow'd in the close 
 A hollow groan : a mm*muring wind arose ; 
 The rings of iron, that on the doors M-ere hung. 
 Sent out a jarring sound, and harshly rung : 360 
 
 The bolted gates flew open at the blast. 
 The storm rush'd in, and Arcite stood aghast : 
 The flames were blown aside, yet shone they bright, 
 Fann'd by the wind, and gave a ruffled light. 
 Then from the ground a scent began to rise, 
 Sweet smelling, as accepted sacrifice : 
 This omen pleased, and as the flames aspire 
 With odorous incense Arcite heaps the fire : 
 Nor wanted hymns to Mars, or heathen charms : 
 At length the nodding statue clash'd his arms, 370 
 
 And with a sullen sound and feeble cry, 
 Half sunk, and half pronounced the word of victory. 
 For this, with soul devout, he thank'd the god. 
 And, of success secure, return'd to his abode. 
 
 These vows thus granted, raised a strife above. 
 Betwixt the God of War and Queen of Love. 
 She, granting first, had right of time to plead ; 
 But he had granted too, nor would recede. 
 Jove was for Venus ; but he fear'd his wife. 
 And seem'd unwilling to decide the strife ; 380 
 
 Till Saturn from his leaden throne arose, 
 And found a way the difierence to compose : 
 Though sparing of his grace, to mischief bent, 
 He seldom does a good with good intent. 
 Wayward, but wise ; by long experience taught, 
 To please both parties, for ill ends, he sought : 
 
 VOL. II. R 
 
258 dryden's poems. 
 
 For this advantage age from youth has won, 387 
 
 As not to be outridden, though outrun. 
 
 By fortune he was now to Venus trined, 
 
 And with stern Mars in Capricorn was join'd : 
 
 Of him disposing in his own abode, 
 
 He soothed the goddess, while he guH'd the god : 
 
 Cease, daughter, to complain, and stint the strife ; 
 
 Thy Palamon shall have his promised wife : 
 
 And Mars, the lord of conquest, in the fight 
 
 With palm and laurel shall adorn his knight. 
 
 Wide is my course, nor turn I to my place. 
 
 Till length of time, and move with tardy pace. 
 
 Man feels me, when I press the ethereal plains, 
 
 My hand is heavy, and the wound remains. 400 
 
 Mine is the shipwreck, in a watery sign ; 
 
 And in an earthy, the dark dungeon mine. 
 
 Cold shiveriDg agues, melancholy care. 
 
 And bitter blasting winds, and poison'd air. 
 
 Are mine, and wilfal death, resulting from despair. 
 
 The throttling quinsey 'tis my star appoints. 
 
 And rheumatisms ascend to rack the joints : 
 
 When churls rebel against their native prince, 
 
 I arm their hands, and furnish the pretence ; 
 
 And housing in the lion's hateful sign, 4io 
 
 Bought senates, and deserting troops are mine. 
 
 Mine is the privy poisoning ; I command 
 
 Unkindly seasons, and ungrateful land. 
 
 By me kings' palaces are push'd to ground. 
 
 And miners crush'd beneath their mines are found. 
 
 'Twas I slew Samson, when the pillar'd hall 
 
 Fell down, and crush'd the many with the fall. 
 
 My looking is the sire of pestilence. 
 
 That sweeps at once the people and the prince. 
 
TALES FEOM CHAUCER. 259 
 
 Now weep no more, but trust tliy grandsire's art, 420 
 
 Mars shall be pleased, and thou perform thy part. 
 
 'Tis ill, though different your complexions are. 
 
 The family of heaven for men should war. 
 
 The expedient pleased, where neither lost his right ; 
 
 Mars had the day, and Venus liad the night. 
 
 The management they left to Chronos' care ; 
 
 Now turn we to the effect, and sing the war. 
 
 In Athens all was pleasure, mirth, and play, 
 All proper to the spring, and spritely May : 
 Which eyery soul inspired with such delight, 430 
 
 'Twas jesting all the day, and love at night. 
 Heaven smiled, and gladded was the heart of man ; 
 And Venus had the world as when it first began. 
 At length in sleep their bodies they compose, 
 And dreamt the future fight, and early rose. 
 
 Now scarce the dawning day began to spring. 
 As at a signal given, the streets with clamours ring : 
 At once the crowd arose ; confused and high. 
 Even from the heaven, was heard a shouting cry ; 
 For Mars was early up, and roused the sky. 440 
 
 The gods came downward to behold the wars, 
 Sharpening their sights, and leaning from their stars. 
 The neighing of the generous horse was heard, 
 For battle by the busy groom prepared : 
 Rustling of harness, rattling of the shield, 
 Clattering of armour, furbish'd for the field. 
 Crowds to the castle mounted up the street, 
 Battering the pavement with their coursers' feet : 
 The greedy sight might there devour the gold 
 Of glittering arms, too dazzling to behold : 450 
 
 And polish'd steel, that cast the view aside, 
 And crested morions, with their plumy pride. 
 
260 dryden's poems. 
 
 Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 453 
 
 In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires. 
 One laced the helm, another held the lance : 
 A third the shining buckler did advance. 
 The courser paw'd the ground with restless feet. 
 And snorting foam'd, and champ'd the golden bit. 
 The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, 
 Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, 46o 
 
 And nails for loosen'd spears, and thongs for shields provide 
 The yeomen guard the streets, in seemly bands ; 
 And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their 
 hands. 
 
 The trumpets, next the gate, in order placed, 
 Attend the sign to sound the martial blast ; 
 The palace-yard is fill'd with floating tides, 
 And the last comers bear the former to the sides. 
 The throng is in the midst : the common crew 
 Shut out, the hall admits the better few ; 
 In knots they stand, or in a rank they walk, 470 
 
 Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk ; 
 Factious, and favouring this or the other side, 
 As their strong fancy or weak reason guide : 
 Their wagers back their wishes ; numbers hold 
 With the fair freckled king, and beard of gold : 
 So vigorous are his eyes, such rays they cast, 
 So prominent his eagle's beak is placed. 
 But most their looks on the black monarch bend. 
 His rising muscles, and his brawn commend ; 
 His double-biting axe, and beamy spear, 4So 
 
 Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 
 All spoke as partial favour moved the mind; 
 And, safe themselves, at others' cost divined. 
 
 Waked by the cries, the Athenian chief arose, 
 The knightly forms of combat to dispose ; 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 261 
 
 And passing through the obsequious guards, he sate 486 
 Conspicuous on a throne, subUme in state ; 
 
 There, for the two contending knights he sent ; 
 
 Arm'd cap-a-pie, with reverence low thev bent ; 
 
 He smiled on both, and with superior look 490 
 
 Alike their offer'd adoration took. 
 
 The people press on every side to see 
 
 Their awful prince, and hear his high decree. 
 
 Then signing to their heralds with his hand, 
 
 They gave his orders from their lofty stand. 
 
 Silence is thrice enjoin'd; then thus aloud 
 
 The king-at-arms bespeaks the knights and listening crowd 
 Our sovereign lord has ponder'd in his mind 
 
 The means to spare the blood of gentle kind ; 
 
 And of his grace, and inborn clemency, 500 
 
 He modifies his first severe decree ! 
 
 The keener edge of battle to rebate, 
 
 The troops for honour fighting, not for hate : 
 
 He wills, not death should terminate their strife, 
 
 And wounds, if wounds ensue, be short of life : 
 
 But issues, ere the fight, his dread command, 
 
 That slings afar, and poniards hand to hand. 
 
 Be banish'd from the field; that none shall dare 
 
 With shorten'd sword to stab in closer war; 
 
 But in fair combat fight with manly strength, 510 
 
 Nor push with biting point, but strike at length; 
 
 The tourney is allow'd but one career, 
 
 Of the tough ash, with the sharp-grinded spear; 
 
 But knights unhorsed may rise from off the plain, 
 
 ■ And fight on foot their honour to regain ; 
 Nor, if at mischief taken, on the ground 
 Be slain, but prisoners to the pillar bound, 
 At either barrier placed; nor (captives made). 
 Be freed, or arm'd anew the fight invade. 
 
262 DKTDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 The chief of either side, bereft of life, 520 
 
 Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife. 
 Thus dooms the lord : now, valiant knights and young, 
 Fight each his fill with swords and maces long. 
 
 The herald ends : the vaulted firmament 
 With loud acclaims and vast applause is rent : 
 Heaven guard a prince so gracious and so good, 
 So just, and yet so provident of blood ! 
 This was the general cry. The trumpets sound, 
 And warlike symphony is heard around. 
 The marching troops through Athens take their way, 530 
 The great earl-marshal orders their array. 
 The fair from high the passing pomp behold ; 
 A rain of flowers is from the windows roll'd. 
 The casements are with golden tissue spread. 
 And horses' hoofs, for earth, on silken tapestry tread. 
 The king goes midmost, and the rivals ride 
 In equal rank, and close his either side. 
 Next after these, there rode the royal wife. 
 With Emily, the cause, and the reward of strife. 
 The following cavalcade, by three and three, fi4o 
 
 Proceed by titles marshall'd in degree. 
 Thus through the southern gate they take their way, 
 And at the list arrived ere prime of day. 
 There, parting from the king, the chiefs divide, 
 And wheeling east and west, before their many ride. 
 The Athenian monarch mounts his throue on high, 
 And after him the queen and Emily : 
 Next these, the kindred of the crown are graced 
 With nearer seats, and lords by ladies placed. 
 Scarce were they seated, when with clamours loud 550 
 In rush'd at once a rude promiscuous crowd ; 
 The guards, and then each other overbear. 
 And in a moment throng the spacious threatre. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 263 
 
 Now changed the jarring noise to whispers low, 554 
 
 As winds forsaking seas more softly blow ; 
 
 When at the western gate, on which the car 
 
 Is placed aloft, that bears the god of war. 
 
 Proud Arcite entering arni'd before his train. 
 
 Stops at the barrier, and divides tlie plain. 
 
 Red was his banner, and displaj'd abroad 560 
 
 The bloody colours of his patron god. 
 
 At that self moment enters Palamon 
 The gate of Venus, and the rising Sun ; 
 Waved by the wanton winds, his banner flies, 
 All maiden white, and shares the people's eyes. 
 From east to west, look all the world around, 
 Two troops so match'd were never to be found ; 
 Such bodies built for strength, of equal age. 
 In stature sized ; so proud in equipage : 
 The nicest eye could no distinction make, 570 
 
 Where lay the advantage, or what side to take. 
 
 Thus ranged, the herald for the last proclaims 
 A silence, while they answer'd to their names : 
 For so the king decreed, to shun the care, 
 The fraud of musters false, the common bane of war. 
 The tale was just, and then the gates were closed ; 
 And chief to chief, and troop to troop opposed. 
 The heralds last retired, and loudly cried — 
 The fortune of the field be fairly tried ! 
 
 At this, the challenger with fierce defy 58 
 
 His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply ; 
 With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 
 Their vizors closed, their lances in the rest, 
 Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest. 
 They vanish from the barrier, speed the race. 
 And spurring see decrease the middle space. 
 
264 deyden's poems. 
 
 A cloud of smoke envelops either host, 587 
 
 And all at once the combatants are lost : 
 
 Darkling they join adverse, and shock unseen, 
 
 Coursers with coursers jostling, men with men : 
 
 As labouring in eclipse, a while thej stay, 
 
 Till the next blast of wind restores the day. 
 
 Thej look anew : the beauteous form of fight 
 
 Is changed, and war appears a grisly sight. 
 
 Two troops in fair array one moment show'd. 
 
 The next, a field with fallen bodies strow'd : 
 
 Not half the number in their seats are found ; 
 
 But men and steeds lie grovelling on the ground. 
 
 The points of spears are stuck within the shield, 
 
 The steeds without their riders scour the field. eoo 
 
 The knights, unhorsed, on foot renew the fight ; 
 
 The glittering falchions cast a gleaming light : 
 
 Hauberks and helms are hew'd with many a wound. 
 
 Out spins the streaming blood and dyes the ground. 
 
 The mighty maces with such haste descend. 
 
 They break the bones, and make the solid armour bend. 
 
 This thrusts amid the throng with furious force ; 
 
 Down goes, at once, the horseman and the horse : 
 
 That courser stumbles on the fallen steed. 
 
 And floundering throws the rider o'er his head. eio 
 
 One rolls along, a foot-ball to his foes ; 
 
 One with a broken truncheon deals his blows. 
 
 This halting, this disabled with his wound, 
 
 In triumph led, is to the pillar bound. 
 
 Where by the king's award he must abide : 
 
 There goes a captive led on the other side. 
 
 By fits they cease ; and leaning on the lance, 
 
 Take breath a while, and to new fight advance. 
 
 Full oft the rivals met, and neither spared 
 His utmost force, and each forgot to ward. 620 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 265 
 
 The head of this was to the saddle bent, 62i 
 
 The other backward to the crupper sent : 
 
 Both were bj turns unhorsed ; the jealous blows 
 
 Fall thick and heavy, when on foot they close. 
 
 So deep their falchions bite, that every stroke 
 
 Pierced to the quick ; and equal wounds they gave and took. 
 
 Borne far asunder by the tides of men, 
 
 Like adamant and steel they meet again. 
 
 So when a tiger sucks the bullock's blood, 
 A famish'd lion issuing from the wood 63o 
 
 Roars lordly fierce, and challenges the food : 
 ?jach claims possession, neither will obey. 
 But both their paws are fasten'd on the prey ; 
 They bite, they tear ; and while in vain they strive, 
 The swains come arm'd between, and both to distance drive. 
 
 At length, as Fate foredoom'd, and all things tend 
 By course of time to their appointed end ; 
 So when the sun to west was far declined, 
 And both afresh in mortal battle join'd, 
 The strong Emetrius came in Arcite's aid, 64 o 
 
 And Palamon with odds was overlaid : 
 For turning short, he struck with all his might 
 Full on the helmet of the unwary knight. 
 Deep was the wound ; he stagger'd with the blow, 
 And turn'd hira to his unexpected foe ; 
 Whom with such force he struck, he fell'd him down. 
 And cleft the circle of his golden crown. 
 But Arcite's men, who now prevail'd in fight, 
 Twice ten at once surround the single knight : 
 O'erpower'd, at length, they force him to the ground, 65o 
 Unyielded as he was, and to the pillar bound ; 
 And King Lycurgus, while he fought in vain 
 His friend to free, was tumbled on the plain. 
 
266 deyden's poems. 
 
 Who now laments but Palamon, compell'd 654 
 
 No more to try the fortune of the field ! 
 And, worse than death, to view with hateful eyes 
 His rival's conquest, and renounce the prize ! 
 
 The royal judge, on his tribunal placed. 
 Who had beheld the fight from first to last. 
 Bade cease the war ; pronouncing from on high, 660 
 Arcite of Thebes had won the beauteous Emily. 
 The sound of trumpets to the voice replied. 
 And round the royal lists the heralds cried, 
 Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride ! 
 
 The people rend the skies with vast applause ; 
 All own the chief, when Fortune owns the cause. 
 Arcite is own'd even by the gods above, 
 And conquering Mars insults the Queen of Love. 
 So laugh'd he, when the rightful Titan fail'd. 
 And Jove's usurping arms in heaven prevail'd. 670 
 
 Laugh'd all the powers who favour tyranny ; 
 And all the standing army of the sky. 
 But Venus with dejected eyes appears. 
 And, weeping on the lists, distill'd her tears ; 
 Her will refused, which grieves a woman most. 
 And, in her champion foil'd, the cause of Love is lost. 
 Till Saturn said. Fair daughter, now be still, 
 The blustering fool has satisfied his will ; 
 His boon is given ; his knight has gain'd the day, 
 But lost the prize ; the arrears are yet to pay ; eso 
 
 Thy hour is come, and mine the care shall be 
 To please thy knight, and set thy promise free. 
 
 Now while the heralds run the lists around, 
 And Arcite ! Arcite ! heaven and earth resound ; 
 A miracle (nor less it could be call'd) 
 Their joy with unexpected sorrow pall'd. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 267 
 
 The victor knight had laid his helm aside, 687 
 
 Part for his ease, the greater part for pride ; 
 
 Bare-headed, popularly low he bow'd, 
 
 And paid the salutations of the crowd. 
 
 Then spurring at full speed, ran endlong on 
 
 Where Theseus sate on his imperial throne ; 
 
 Furious he droYe, and upward cast his eye, 
 
 Where, next the queen, was placed his Emily ; 
 
 Then passing, to the saddle-bow he bent : 
 
 A sweet regard the gracious virgin lent ; 
 
 (For women, to the brave an easy prey, 
 
 Still follow Fortune where she leads the way) : 
 
 Just then, from earth sprung out a flashing fire. 
 
 By Pluto sent, at Saturn's bad desire : 7oo 
 
 The startling steed was seized with sudden fright, 
 
 And, bounding, o'er the pommel cast the knight : 
 
 Forward he flew, and pitching on his head. 
 
 He quiver'd with his feet, and lay for dead. 
 
 Black was his countenance in a little space, 
 
 For all the blood was gather'd in his face. 
 
 Help was at hand : they rear'd him from the ground. 
 
 And from his cumbrous arms his limbs unbound ; 
 
 Then lanced a vein, and watch'd returning breath ; 
 
 It came, but clogg'd with symptoms of his death. 710 
 
 The saddle-bow the noble parts had press'd. 
 
 All bruised and mortified his manly breast. 
 
 Him still entranced, and in a litter laid, 
 
 They bore from field, and to his bed convey'd. 
 
 At length he waked, and with a feeble cry, 
 
 The word he first pronounced was *' Emily." 
 
 Mean time the king, though inwardly he mourn'd, 
 In pomp triumphant to the town return'd, 
 Attended by the chiefs, who fought the field ; 
 (Now friendly mix'd, and in one troop compeU'd.) 720 
 
268 deyden's poems. 
 
 Composed his looks to counterfeited cheer, r2i 
 
 And bade them not for Arcite's life to fear. 
 
 But that which gladded all the warrior train, 
 
 Though most were sorely wounded, none were slain. 
 
 The surgeons soon despoil'd them of their arms, 
 
 And some with salves they cure, and some with charms ; 
 
 Foment the bruises, and the pains assuage, 
 
 And heal their inward hurts with sovereign draughts 
 
 of sage. 
 The king in person visits all around, 
 Comforts the sick, congratulates the sound ; 730 
 
 Honours the princely chiefs, rewards the rest, 
 And holds for thrice three days a royal feast. 
 None was disgraced ; for falling is no shame ; 
 And cowardice alone is loss of fame. 
 The venturous knight is from the saddle thrown ; 
 But 'tis the fault of Fortune, not his own, 
 If crowds and palms the conquering side adorn, 
 The victor under better stars was born : 
 The brave man seeks not popular applause, 
 Nor, overpower'd with arms, deserts his cause ; 74o 
 
 Unshamed, though foil'd, he does the best he can ; 
 Force is of brutes, but honour is of man. 
 
 Thus Theseus smiled on all with equal grace, 
 And each was set according to his place ; 
 With ease were reconciled the differing parts, 
 For envy never dwells in noble hearts. 
 At length they took their leave, the time expired. 
 Well pleased, and to their several homes retired. 
 
 Mean while the health of Arcite still impairs ; 749 
 From bad proceeds to worse, and mocks the leech's cares ; 
 Swoln is his breast ; his inward pains increase. 
 All means are used, and all without success. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 269 
 
 The clotted blood lies heavy on his heart, 753 
 
 Corrupts, and there remains, in spite of art : 
 
 Nor breathing veins, nor cupping will prevail ; 
 
 All outward remedies and inward fail : 
 
 The mould of nature's fabric is destroy'd, 
 
 Her vessels discomposed, her virtue void ; 
 
 The bellows of his lungs begin to swell : 
 
 All out of frame is every secret cell, 760 
 
 Nor can the good receive, nor bad expel. 
 
 Those breathing organs thus within oppress'd, 
 
 With venom soon distend the sinews of his breast. 
 
 Nought profits him to save abandon'd life, 
 
 Nor vomit's upward aid, nor downward laxative. 
 
 The midmost region batter'd and destroy'd. 
 
 When nature cannot work, the effect of art is void. 
 
 For physic can but mend our crazy state, 
 
 Patch an old building, not a new create. 
 
 Arcite is doom'd to die in all his pride, 77o 
 
 Must leave his youth, and yield his beauteous bride, 
 
 Gain'd hardly, against right, and unenjoy'd. 
 
 When 'twas declared all hope of life was past. 
 
 Conscience (that of all physic works the last) 
 
 Caused him to send for Emily in haste. 
 
 With her, at his desire, came Palamon ; 
 
 Then on his pillow raised, he thus begun : 
 
 No language can express the smallest part 
 Of what I feel, and suffer in my heart 
 For you, whom best I love and value most ; 78o 
 
 But to yom- service I bequeath my ghost ; 
 Which from this mortal body when untied. 
 Unseen, unheard, shall hover at your side ; 
 Nor fright you waking, nor your sleep offend, 
 But wait officious, and your steps attend : 
 
270 dryden's poems. 
 
 How I have loved, excuse mj faltering tongue, 786 
 
 Mj spirit 's feeble, and mj pains are strong : 
 
 This I may say, I only grieve to die, 
 
 Because I lose my charming Emily : 
 
 To die, when Heaven had put you in my power, 790 
 
 Fate could not choose a more malicious hour ! 
 
 What greater curse could envious Fortune give, 
 
 Than just to die, when I began to live 1 
 
 Vain men ! how vanishing a bliss we crave. 
 
 Now warm in love, now withering in the grave ! 
 
 Never, oh never more to see the sun ! 
 
 Still dark, in a damp vault, and still alone ! 
 
 This fate is common ; but I lose my breath ; 
 
 Near bliss, and yet not bless'd before my death. 
 
 Farewell ; but take me dying in your arms, soo 
 
 'Tis all I can enjoy of all your charms: 
 
 This hand I cannot but in death resign ; 
 
 Ah ! could I live ! but while I live 'tis mine. 
 
 I feel my end approach, and thus embraced. 
 
 Am pleased to die ; but hear me speak my last r 
 
 Ah ! my sweet foe, for you, and you alone, 
 
 I broke my faith with injured Palamon. 
 
 But love the sense of right and wrong confounds, 
 
 Strong love and proud ambition have no bounds. 
 
 And much I doubt, should Heaven my life prolong, sio 
 
 I should return to justify my wrong : 
 
 For while my former flames remain within, 
 
 Repentance is but want of power to sin. 
 
 With mortal hatred I pursued his life. 
 
 Nor he, nor you, were guilty of the strife ; 
 
 Nor I, but as I loved; yet all combined, 
 
 Your beauty, and my impotence of mind; 
 
 And his concurrent flame that blew my fire ; 
 
 For still our kindred souls had one desire. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 271 
 
 He had a moment's right in point of time ; 820 
 
 Had I seen first, then his had been the crime. 
 
 Fate made it mine, and justified his right ; 
 
 Nor holds this earth a more deserving knight, 
 
 For virtue, valour, and for noble blood, 
 
 Truth, honour, all that is comprised in good ; 
 
 So help me Heaven, in all the world is none 
 
 So worthy to be loved as Palamon. 
 
 He loves you too, with such an holy fire, 
 
 As will not, cannot, but with life expire : 
 
 Our vow'd affections both have often tried, 830 
 
 Nor any love but yours could ours divide. 
 
 Then, by my love's inviolable band. 
 
 By my long suff'ering, and my short command, 
 
 If e'er you plight your vom's when I am gone, 
 
 Have pity on the faithful Palamon, 
 
 This was his last ; for Death came on amain, 
 And exercised below his iron reign ; 
 Then upward to the seat of life he goes : 
 Sense fled before him, what he touch'd he froze : 
 
 Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw, 840 
 
 Though less and less of Emily he saw ; 
 
 So, speechless, for a little space he lay ; 
 
 Then grasp'd the hand he held, and sigh'd his soul away. 
 But whither went his soul, let such relate 
 
 Who search the secrets of the future state : 
 
 Divines can say but what themselves believe ; 
 
 Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative : 
 
 For, were all plain, then all sides must agree, 
 
 And faith itself be lost in certainty. 
 
 To live uprightly, then, is sure the best, 850 
 
 To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest. 
 
 The soul of Arcite went where heathens go. 
 
 Who better live than we, though less they know. 
 
272 dryden's poems. 
 
 In Palamon a manly grief appears ; 854 
 
 Silent, he wept, asliamed to show his tears : 
 Emilia shriek'd but once, and then, oppress'd 
 With sorrow, sunk upon her lover's breast : 
 Till Theseus in his arms convey'd with care. 
 Far from so sad a sight, the swooning fair. 
 'Twere loss of time her sorrow to relate ; seo 
 
 111 bears the sex a youthful lover's fate. 
 When just approaching to the nuptial state. 
 But like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast. 
 That all at once it falls, and cannot last. 
 The face of things is changed, and Athens now, 
 That laugh'd so late, becomes the scene of woe : 
 Matrons and maids, both sexes, every state, 
 With tears lament the knight's untimely fate. 
 Nor greater grief in falling Troy was seen 
 For Hector's death ; but Hector was not then. 87o 
 
 Old men with dust deform'd their hoary hair, 
 The women beat their breasts, their cheeks they tear. 
 Why wouldst thou go, with one consent they cry, 
 When thou hadst gold enough, and Emily 1 
 
 Theseus himself, who should have cheer'd the grief 
 Of others, wanted now the same relief ; 
 Old Egeus only could revive his son, 
 Who various changes of the world had known, 
 And strange vicissitudes of human fate. 
 Still altering, never in a steady state ; sso 
 
 Good after ill, and, after pain, delight. 
 Alternate like the scenes of day and night : 
 Since every man who lives, is born to die. 
 And none can boast sincere felicity, 
 With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, 
 Nor joy, nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 273 
 
 Like pilgrinis to the appointed place we tend ; 887 
 
 The world's an inn, and death the journey's end. 
 
 Even kings but play ; and when their part is done, 
 
 Some other, worse or better, mount the throne. 
 
 With words like these the crowd was satisfied, 
 
 And so they would have been, had Theseus died. 
 
 But he, their king, was labouring in his mind, 
 
 A fitting place for funeral pomps to find, 
 
 Which were in honour of the dead design'd. 
 
 And after long debate, at last he found 
 
 (As love itself had mark'd the spot of ground) 
 
 That grove for ever green, that conscious laund, 
 
 Where he with Palaraon fought hand to hand : 
 
 That where he fed his amorous desires 900 
 
 With soft complaints, and felt liis hottest fires ; 
 
 There other flames might waste his earthly part, 
 
 And burn his limbs, where love had burn'd his heart. 
 
 This once resolved, the peasants were enjoin'd 
 Sere-wood, and firs, and dodder'd oaks to find. 
 With sounding axes to the grove they go, 
 Fell, split, and lay the fuel on a row, 
 Vulcanian food : a bier is next prepared. 
 On which the lifeless body should be rear'd, 
 Cover'd with cloth of gold, on which was laid 910 
 
 The corpse of x\rcite, in like robes array'd. 
 White gloves were on his hands, and on his head 
 A wreath of laui-el, mix'd with myrtle spread. 
 A sword keen-edged within his right he held, 
 The warlike emblem of the conquer'd field : 
 Bare was his manly visage on the bier : 
 Menaced his countenance ; even in death severe. 
 Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight, 
 To lie in solemn state, a pubhc sight. 
 Groans, cries, and bowlings fill the crowded place, 920 
 
 VOL. n. s 
 
274 dryden's poems. 
 
 And unaffected sorrow sate on every face. 921 
 
 Sad Palamon above the rest appears, 
 
 In sable garments, dew'd with gushing tears : 
 
 His auburn locks on either shoulder flow'd, 
 
 Which to the funeral of his friend he vow'd : 
 
 But Emilj, as chief, was next his side, 
 
 A virgin-widow, and a mourning bride. 
 
 And that the princely obsequies might be 
 
 Perform'd according to his high degree. 
 
 The steed, that bore him living to the fight, 930 
 
 Was trapp'd with polish'd steel, all shining bright, 
 
 And cover'd with the achievements of the knight. 
 
 The riders rode abreast, and one his shield. 
 
 His lance of cornel-wood another held ; 
 
 The third his bow, and, glorious to behold, 
 
 The costlj quiver, all of burnish'd gold. 
 
 The noblest of the Grecians next appear. 
 
 And, weeping, on their shoulders bore the bier ; 
 
 With sober pace they march'd, and often stay'd, 
 
 And through the master-street the corpse convey 'd. 940 
 
 The houses to their tops with black were spread, 
 
 And even the pavements were with mourning hid. 
 
 The right side of the pall old Egeus kept, 
 
 And on the left the royal Theseus wept ; 
 
 Each bore a golden bowl, of work divine. 
 
 With honey fiU'd, and milk, and mix'd with ruddy wine. 
 
 Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slain, 
 
 And after him appear'd the illustrious train. 
 
 To grace the pomp, came Emily the bright, 
 
 AVith cover'd fire, the funeral pile to light. 950 
 
 With high devotion was the service made, 
 
 And all the rites of Pagan honour paid : 
 
 So lofty was the pile, a Parthian bow, 
 
 With vigom- drawn, must send the shaft below. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 275 
 
 The bottom was full twenty fathom broad, 955 
 
 With crackling straw beneath in due proportion strew'd. 
 
 Tlie fabric seem'd a wood of rising green, 
 
 With sulphur and bitumen cast between. 
 
 To feed the flames : the trees were unctuous fir, 
 
 And mountain-ash, the mother of the spear ; 960 
 
 The mourner-yew, and builder oak were there ; 
 
 The beech, the swiumiing alder, and the plane. 
 
 Hard box, and linden of a softer grain, 
 
 And laurels, which the gods for conquering chiefs ordain. 
 
 How they were rank'd, shall rest untold by me. 
 
 With nameless Nymphs that lived in every tree ; 
 
 Nor how the Dryads, or the woodland train, 
 
 Disherited, ran howling o'er the plain : 
 
 Nor how the birds to foreign seats repair'd. 
 
 Or beasts, that bolted out, and saw the forest bared : 970 
 
 Nor how the ground, now clear'd, with ghastly fright 
 
 Beheld the sudden sun, a stranger to the light. 
 
 The straw, as first I said, was laid below; 
 Of chips and sere-wood was the second row ; 
 The third of greens, and timber newly fell'd ; 
 The fourth high stage the fragrant odours held. 
 And pearls, and precious stones, and rich array; 
 In midst of which, embalm'd, the body lay. 
 The service sung, the maid with mourning eyes 
 The stubble fired ; the smouldering flames arise : 9S0 
 This office done, she sunk upon the ground; 
 But what she spoke, recover'd from her swound, 
 I want the wit in moving words to dress; 
 But by themselves the tender sex may guess. 
 While the devouring fire was burning fast, 
 Rich jewels in the flame the wealthy cast ; 
 And some their shields, and some their lances threw, 
 And gave their warrior's ghost a warrior's due. 
 
276 dryden's poems. 
 
 Full bowls of wine, of honey, milk, and blood 989 
 
 Were pour'd upon tlie pile of burning wood, 
 
 And hissing flames receive, and hungry lick the food. 
 
 Then thrice the mounted squadrons ride around 
 
 The fire, and Arcite's name they thrice resound : 
 
 Hail, and farewell ! they shouted thrice amain. 
 
 Thrice facing to the left, and thrice they turn'd again : 
 
 Still as they turn'd, they beat their clattering shields; 
 
 The women mix their cries; and clamour fills the fields. 
 
 The warlike wakes continued all the night. 
 
 And funeral games were play'd at new returning light ; 
 
 Who naked wrestled best, besmear'd with oil, looo 
 
 Or who with gauntlets gave or took the foil, 
 
 I will not tell you, nor would you attend ; 
 
 But briefly haste to my long story's end. 
 
 I pass the rest ; the year was fully mourn'd, 
 And Palamon long since to Thebes returned : 
 When, by the Grecians' general consent, 
 At Athens Theseus held his parliament : 
 Among the laws that pass'd, it was decreed, 
 That conquer'd Thebes from bondage should be freed ; 
 Reserving homage to the Athenian throne, loio 
 
 To which the sovereign summon'd Palamon. 
 Unknowing of the cause, he took his way, 
 Mournful in mind, and still in black array. 
 
 The monarch mounts the throne, and, placed on high, 
 Commands into the court the beauteous Emily : 
 So call'd, she came; the senate rose, and paid 
 Becoming reverence to the royal maid. 
 And first, soft whispers through the assembly went ; 
 With silent wonder then they watch'd the event : 
 All hush'd, the king arose with awful grace, 1020 
 
 Deep thought was in his breast, and counsel in his face. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 277 
 
 At length he sigh'd; and having first prepared 1022 
 
 The attentive audience, thus his will declared : 
 
 The Cause and Spring of motion, from above, 
 Hung down on earth the golden chain of Love : 
 Great was the effect, and high was his intent, 
 When peace among the jarring seeds he sent. 
 Fire, flood, and earth, and air bj this were bound. 
 And Love, the common link, the new creation crown'd. 
 The chain still holds; for though the forms decay, 1030 
 Eternal matter never wears away : 
 The same First Mover certain bounds has placed. 
 How long those perishable forms shall last : 
 Nor can they last beyond the time assign'd 
 By that all-seeing, and all-making mind : 
 Shorten their hours they may ; for will is free ; 
 But never pass the appointed destiny. 
 So men oppress'd, when weary of their breath, 
 Throw off the burden, and suborn their death. 
 Then since those forms begin, and have their end, 1040 
 On some unalter'd cause they sure depend : 
 Parts of the whole are we ; but God the whole ; 
 Who gives us life, and animating soul. 
 For nature cannot from a part derive 
 That being, which the whole can only give : 
 He perfect, stable ; but imperfect we. 
 Subject to change, and different in degree ; 
 Plants, beasts, and man ; and as oar organs are, 
 We more or less of his perfection share. 
 But by a long descent, the ethereal fire 1050 
 
 Corrupts ; and forms, the mortal part, expire : 
 As he withdraws his virtue, so they pass, 
 And the same matter makes another mass : 
 This law the Omniscient Power was pleased to give, 
 That every kind should by succession live : 
 
278 deyden's poems. 
 
 That individuals die, His will ordains ; 1056 
 
 The propagated species still remains. 
 
 The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, 
 
 Shoots rising up, and spreads bj slow degrees ; 
 
 Three centuries he grows, and three he stays, loeo 
 
 Supreme in state, and in three more decays : 
 
 So wears the paving pebble in the street, 
 
 And. towns and towers their fatal periods meet : 
 
 So rivers, rapid once, now naked lie, 
 
 Forsaken of their springs ; and leave their channels dry. 
 
 So man, at first a drop, dilates with heat, 
 
 Then, form'd, the little heart begins to beat ; 
 
 Secret he feeds, unknowing in the cell ; 
 
 At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the shell, 
 
 And struggles into breath, and cries for aid ; 1070 
 
 Then, helpless, in his mother's lap is laid : 
 
 He creeps, he walks, and issuing into man. 
 
 Grudges their life, from whence his own began : 
 
 Reckless of laws, affects to rule alone, 
 
 Anxious to reign, and restless on the throne : 
 
 First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last ; 
 
 Rich of three souls, and lives all three to waste. 
 
 Some thus ; but thousands more in flower of age : 
 
 For few arrive to run the latter stage. 
 
 Sunk in the first, in battle some are slain, 108O 
 
 And others whelm'd beneath the stormy main. 
 
 What makes all this, but Jupiter the king. 
 
 At whose command we perish, and we spring'? 
 
 Then 'tis our best, since thus ordain'd to die. 
 
 To make a virtue of necessity. 
 
 Take what he gives, since to rebel is vain ; 
 
 The bad grows better, which we well sustain ; 
 
 And could we choose the time, and choose aright, 
 
 'Tis best to die, our honour at the height. 
 
TALES FEOM CHAUCER. 279 
 
 When "we have done our ancestors no shame, 1090 
 
 But served our friends, and well secured our fame ; 
 
 Then should we "wish our happy life to close, 
 
 And leave no more for fortune to dispose : 
 
 So should we make our death a glad relief 
 
 From future shame, from sickness, and from grief : 
 
 Enjoying while we live the present hour. 
 
 And dying in our excellence and flower. 
 
 Then round our death-bed every friend should run. 
 
 And joyous of our conquest early won : 
 
 While the malicious world with envious tears 1100 
 
 Should grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs. 
 
 Since then our Arcite is M'ith honour dead. 
 
 Why shoidd we mourn, that he so soon is freed. 
 
 Or call untimely, what the gods decreed 1 
 
 AVith gi'ief as just, a friend may be deplored 
 
 From a foul prison to free air restored. 
 
 Ought he to thank his kinsman or his wife. 
 
 Could tears recall him into wretched life ? 
 
 Their sorrow hurts themselves ; on him is lost ; 
 
 And worse than both, offends his happy ghost. 1110 
 
 What then remains, but, after past annoy, 
 
 To take the good vicissitude of joy ? 
 
 To thank the gracious gods for what they give, 
 
 Possess our souls, and while we live, to live 1 
 
 Ordain we then two sorrows to combine. 
 
 And in one point the extremes of grief to join ; 
 
 That thence resulting joy may be renew'd, 
 
 As jarring notes in harmony conclude. 
 
 Then I propose that Palamon shall be 
 
 In marriage join'cl with beauteous Emily; 1120 
 
 For which already I have gain'd the assent 
 
 Of my free people in full parliament. 
 
 OF THt 
 
 UNIVERS 
 
280 deyden's poems. 
 
 LoDg love to her has borne the faithful knight, 1123 
 
 And well deserved, had fortune done him right : 
 
 'Tis time to mend her fault ; since Emily 
 
 By Arcite's death from former vows is free : 
 
 If you, fair sister, ratify the accord, 
 
 And take him for your husband, and your lord, 
 
 'Tis no dishonour to confer your grace 
 
 On one descended from a royal race : 1130 
 
 And were he less, yet years of service past, 
 
 From grateful souls exact reward at last : 
 
 Pity is Heaven's and yours ; nor can she find 
 
 A throne so soft as in a woman's mind. 
 
 He said ; she blush'd ; and as o'er-awed by might, 
 
 Seem'd to give Theseus what she gave the knight. 
 
 Then turning to the Theban thus he said : 
 
 Small arguments are needful to persuade 
 
 Your temper to comply with my command ; 
 
 And speaking thus, he gave Emilia's hand. 1140 
 
 Smiled Venus, to behold her own true knight 
 
 Obtain the conquest, though he lost the fight ; 
 
 And bless'd with nuptial bliss the sweet laborious night. 
 
 Eros, and Anteros, on either side, 
 
 One fired the bridegroom, and one warm'd the bride ; 
 
 And long-attending Hymen from above, 
 
 Shower'd on the bed the whole Idalian grove. 
 
 All of a tenor was their after-life. 
 
 No day discolour'd with domestic strife ; 
 
 No jealousy, but mutual truth believed, 1150 
 
 Secure repose, and kindness undeceived. 
 
 Thus Heaven, beyond the compass of his thought. 
 
 Sent him the blessing he so dearly bought. 
 
 So may the Queen of Love long duty bless. 
 And all true lovers find the same success ! 
 
TALES PROM CHAUCER. 281 
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX : 
 OR, THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST. 
 
 There lived, as authors tell, in days of yore, 
 
 A widow somewhat old, and very poor : 
 
 Deep in a cell her cottage lonely stood, 
 
 Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood. 
 
 This dowager, on whom my tale I found, 
 
 Since last she laid her husband in the ground, 
 
 A simple sober life, in patience, led, 
 
 And had but just enough to buy her bread : 
 
 But huswifing the little Heaven had lent, 
 
 She duly paid a groat for quarter rent ; lo 
 
 And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two. 
 
 To bring the year about with much ado. 
 
 The cattle 'n her homestead were three sows, 
 A ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded cows. 
 Her parlour-window stuck with herbs around. 
 Of savoury smell ; and rushes strew'd the ground. 
 A mapple-dresser in her hall she had, 
 On which full many a slender meal she made ; 
 For no delicious morsel pass'd her throat ; 
 According to her cloth she cut her coat : 20 
 
 No poignant sauce she knew, nor costly treat, 
 Her hunger save a relish to her meat : 
 A sparing diet did her health assure ; 
 Or sick, a pepper posset was her cure. 
 Before the day was done, her work she sped, 
 And never went by candlelight to bed : 
 With exercise she sweat ill humours out, 
 Her dancing was not hindered by the gout. 
 Her poverty was glad ; her heart content ; 
 Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant. so 
 
282 dryden's poems. 
 
 Of wine she never tasted through the year, 3i 
 
 But white and black was all her homely cheer : 
 
 Brown bread, and milk (but first she skimm'd her bowls), 
 
 And rashers of singed bacon on the coals ; 
 
 On holy days, an egg or two at most ; 
 
 But her ambition never reach'd to roast. 
 
 A yard she had with pales enclosed about, 
 Some high, some low, and a dry ditch without. 
 Within this homestead lived, without a peer .| 
 
 For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer ; 40 
 
 So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass 
 The merry notes of organs at the mass. 
 More certain was the crowing of the cock 
 To number hom's, than is an abbey-clock ; 
 And sooner than the matin-bell was rung. 
 He clapp'd his wings upon his roost, and sung : 
 For when degrees fifteen ascended right, 
 By sure instinct he knew 'twas one at night. 
 High was his comb, and coral-red withal, 
 In dents embattled like a castle wall ; so 
 
 His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet ; 
 Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet ; 
 White were his nails, like silver to behold. 
 His body glittering like the burnish'd gold. 
 This gentle cock, for solace of his life, 
 Six misses had, besides his lawful wife. 
 Scandal that spares no king, though ne'er so good. 
 Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood. 
 His sisters both by sire and mother's side ; 
 And sure their likeness show'd them near allied. eo 
 
 But make the worst, the monarch did no more, 
 Than all the Ptolemys had done before : 
 When incest is for interest of a nation, 
 'Tis made no sin by holy dispensation. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 283 
 
 Some Hues have been maiutaiu'd by this alone, 65 
 
 Which by their common ugliness are known. 
 
 But passing this, as from our tale apart, 
 Dame Partlet was the sovereign of his heart : 
 Ardent in love, outrageous in his play. 
 He feather'd her a hundred times a day : 7o 
 
 And she, that M\as not only passing fair, 
 But was with all discreet, and debonair, 
 Resolved the passive doctrine to fulfil. 
 Though loth ; and let him work his wicked will : 
 At board and bed was affable and kind, 
 According as their marriage vow did bind, 
 And as the Church's precept had enjoin'd. 
 Even since she was a se'ennight old, they say, 
 Was chaste and humble to her dying day, 
 Nor chick nor hen was known to disobey. 80 
 
 By this her husband's heart she did obtain ; 
 What cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain ! 
 She was his only joy, and he her pride, 
 She, when he walk'd, went pecking by his side ; 
 If spurning up the ground, he sprung a corn, 
 The tribute in his bill to her was borne. 
 But oh ! what joy it was to hear him sing 
 In summer, when the day began to spring, 
 Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat ; 
 Solus cum sola then was all his note. 90 
 
 For in the days of yore, the birds of parts 
 Were bred to speak, and sing, and learn the liberal arts. 
 
 It happ'd that, perching on the parlour-beam 
 Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream. 
 Just at the dawn ; and sigh'd, and groan'd so fast, 
 As every breath he drew would be his last. 
 Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his side. 
 Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cried 
 
284 
 
 DRYDEN S POEMS. 
 
 For help from gods and men : and sore aghast 99 
 
 She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last. 
 Dear heart, said she, for love of heaven declare 
 Your pain, and make me partner in your care ! 
 You groan, sir, ever since the morning-light. 
 As something had disturb'd your noble sprite. 
 
 And, madam, well I might, said Chanticleer ; 
 Never was shrovetide cock in such a fear. 
 Even still I run all over in a sweat, 
 Mj princely senses not recover'd yet. 
 For such a dream I had, of dire portent, 
 That much I fear my body will be shent : no 
 
 It bodes I shall have wars and wofid strife, 
 Or in a loathsome dungeon end my life. 
 Know, dame, I dreamt within my troubled breast, 
 That in our yard I saw a murderous beast. 
 That on my body would have made arrest. 
 With waking eyes I ne'er beheld his feUow ; 
 His colour was betwixt a red and yellow : 
 Tipp'd was his tail, and both his pricking ears 
 Were black ; and much unlike his other hairs : 
 The rest, in shape a beagle's whelp throughout, 120 
 
 With broader forehead, and a sharper snout : 
 Deep in his front were sunk his glowing eyes, 
 That yet, methinks, I see him with surprise. 
 Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat. 
 And lay it to my heart, and feel it beat. 
 Now fie, for shame, quoth she ; by Heaven above, 
 Thou hast for ever lost thy lady's love ! 
 No woman can endure a recreant knight. 
 He must be bold by day, and free by night : 
 Our sex desires a husband or a friend, 130 
 
 Who can our honour and his own defend. 
 
TALES PROM CHAUCER. 285 
 
 Wise, hard J, secret, liberal of his purse : 132 
 
 A fool is nauseous, but a coward worse : 
 
 No bragging coxcomb, jet no baffled knight. 
 
 How darest thou talk of love, and darest not fight ? 
 
 How darest thou tell thy dame thou art afFenr'd "? 
 
 Hast thou no manlj heart, and hast a beard 1 
 
 If aught from fearful dreams may be divined. 
 They signify a cock of dunghill kind. 
 All dreams, as in old Galen I have read, 140 
 
 Are from repletion and complexion bred ; 
 From rising fumes of indigested food, 
 And noxious humours that infect the blood : 
 And sure, my lord, if I can read aright, 
 These foolish fancies you have had to-night 
 Are certain symptoms (in the canting style) 
 Of boiling choler, and abounding bile ; 
 This yellow gall, that in your stomach floats, 
 Engenders all these visionary thoughts. 
 When choler overflows, then dreams are bred 160 
 
 Of flames, and all the family of red ; 
 Red dragons, and red beasts, in sleep we view, 
 For humours are distinguish'd by their hue. 
 From hence we di-eam of wars and warhke things, 
 And wasps and hornets with their double wings. 
 Choler adust congeals our blood with fear. 
 Then black bulls toss us, and black devils tear. 
 In sanguine airy dreams, aloft we bound ; 
 With rheums oppress'd, we sink in rivers di'own'd. 
 More I could say, but thus conclude my theme, 160 
 
 The dominating humoiu* makes the dream. 
 Cato was in his time accounted wise. 
 And he condemns them all for empty lies. 
 Take my advice, and when we fly to ground, 
 
286 dryden's poems. 
 
 With laxatives preserve jour body sound, les 
 
 And purge the peccant humours that abound. 
 
 I should be loath to lay you on a bier ; 
 
 And though there lives no pothecary near, 
 
 I dare for once prescribe for your disease, 
 
 And save long bills, and a daran'd doctor's fees. 170 
 
 Two sovereign herbs, which I by practice know, 
 
 And both at hand (for in our yard they grow). 
 
 On peril of my soul shall rid you wholly 
 
 Of yellow choler, and of melancholy : 
 
 You must both purge, and vomit ; but obey, 
 
 And for the love of heaven make no delay. 
 
 Since hot and dry in your complexion join. 
 
 Beware the sun when in a vernal sign ; 
 
 For when he mounts exalted in the Ram, 
 
 If then he finds your body in a flame, 180 
 
 Replete with choler, I dare lay a groat, 
 
 A tertian ague is at least your lot. 
 
 Perhaps a fever (which the gods forefend !) 
 
 May bring your youth to some untimely end : 
 
 And therefore, sir, as you desire to hve, 
 
 A day or two before your laxative. 
 
 Take just three worms, nor under nor above, 
 
 Because the gods unequal numbers love. 
 
 These digestives prepare you for your purge ; 
 
 Of fumetory, centaury, and spurge, 190 
 
 And of ground ivy add a leaf or two, — 
 
 All which within our yard or garden grow. 
 
 Eat these, and be, my lord, of better cheer ; 
 
 Your father's son was never born to fear. 
 
 Madam, quoth he, gramercy for your care, 
 But Cato, whom you quoted, you may spare : 
 'Tis true, a wise and worthy man he seems. 
 And (as you say) gave no belief to dreams : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 287 
 
 But other men of more authority, 199 
 
 And, bj the immortal powers ! as wise as he, 
 
 Maintain, with sounder sense, that dreams forebode ; 
 
 For Plomer pLainlj- says they come from God. 
 
 Nor Cato said it : but some modern fool 
 
 Imposed in Cato's name on boys at school. 
 
 Believe me, madam, morning dreams foreshow 
 
 The events of tilings, and future weal or woe : 
 
 Some truths are not by reason to be tried, 
 
 But we have sure experience for our guide. 
 
 An ancient author, equal with the best. 
 
 Relates this tale of dreams among the rest. 210 
 
 Two friends or brothers, with devout intent, 
 On some far pilgrimage together went. 
 It happen'd so that, when the sun was down, 
 They just an-ived by twilight at a town ; 
 That day had been the baiting of a bull, 
 'Twas at a feast, and every inn so full, 
 That no void room in chamber, or on ground, 
 And but one sorry bed was to be found : 
 And that so little it would hold but one. 
 Though till this hour they never lay alone. 220 
 
 So were they forced to part ; one staid behind. 
 His fellow sought what lodging he could find : 
 At last he found a stall where oxen stood, 
 And that he rather chose than lie abroad. 
 'Twas in a farther yard without a door ; 
 But, for his ease, well litter'd was the floor. 
 His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept, 
 Was weary, and without a rocker slept : 
 Supine he snored ; but in the dead of night 
 He dream'd his friend appear'd before his sight, 230 
 Who, with a ghastly look and doleful cry. 
 Said, Help me, brother, or this night I die : 
 
288 dryden's poems. 
 
 Arise, and help, before all help be vain, 233 
 
 Or in an ox's stall I shall be slain. 
 
 Roused from his rest, he waken'd in a start, 
 
 Shivering with horror, and with aching heart ; 
 
 At length to cure himself bj reason tries ; 
 
 'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies 1 
 
 So thinking, changed his side, and closed his ejes. 
 
 His dream returns ; his friend appears again : 24 o 
 
 The murderers come, now help, or I am slain : 
 
 'Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain. 
 
 He dream'd the third : but now his friend appear'd 
 
 Pale, naked, pierced with wounds, with blood besmear'd : 
 
 Tlii'ice warn'd, awake, said he ; relief is late. 
 
 The deed is done ; but thou revenge mj fate : 
 
 Tardy of aid, unseal thj heavy eyes ; 
 
 Awake, and with the dawning day arise : 
 
 Take to the western gate thy ready way, 
 
 For by that passage they my corpse convey : 250 
 
 My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among 
 
 The filth and ordure, and enclosed with dung ; 
 
 That cart arrest, and raise a common cry ; 
 
 For sacred hunger of my gold, I die : 
 
 Then show'd his grisly wound ; and last he drew 
 
 A piteous sigh, and took a long adieu. 
 
 The frighted friend arose by break of day. 
 And found the stall where late his fellow lay. 
 Then of his impious host inquiring more, 
 Was answer'd that his guest was gone before : 260 
 
 Muttering he went, said he, by morning light. 
 And much complain'd of his ill rest by night. 
 This raised suspicion in the pilgrim's mind ; 
 Because all hosts are of an evil kind. 
 And oft to share the spoils with robbers join'd. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 289 
 
 His dreaui confirm'd his tlioiiglit : with troubled look 
 Straight to the western gate his way he took : 2g7 
 
 There, as his dream foretold, a cart he found, 
 That carried compost forth to dung the ground. 
 This when the pilgrim saw, he stretch'd his throat, 
 And cried out murder with a jelling note. 
 My murder'd fellow in this cart lies dead, 
 Vengeance and justice on the villain's head ; 
 You, magistrates, who sacred laws dispense, 
 On you I call to punish this offence. 
 
 The word thus given, within' a little space 
 The mob came roaring out, and throng'd the place. 
 All in a trice they cast the cart to ground, 
 And in the dung the murder'd body found ; 
 Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the wound. 
 Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find 28i 
 
 Is boundless grace and mercy to mankind. 
 Abhors the cruel ; and the deeds of night 
 By wondrous ways reveals in open light : 
 Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time. 
 But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime. 
 And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels ; 
 The hue and cry of Heaven pursues him at the heels, 
 Fresh from the fact ; as in the present case, 
 The criminals are seized upon the place : 29c 
 
 Carter and host confronted face to face. 
 Stiff in denial, as the law appoints. 
 On engines they distend their tortured joints : 
 So was confession forced, the offence was known. 
 And public justice on the offenders done. 
 
 Here may you see that visions are to dread ; 
 And ir^ the page that follows this, I read 
 Of two young merchants, whom the hope of gain 
 Induced in partnership to cross the main : 
 
 VOL. n. T 
 
290 drtden's poems. 
 
 Waiting till willing winds their sails supplied, 300 
 
 Within a trading town they long abide, 
 Full fairly situate on a haven's side. 
 
 One evening it befell, that, looking out, 
 The wind they long had wish'd was come about : 
 Well pleased, they went to rest ; and if the gale 
 Till morn continued, both resolved to sail. 
 But as together in a bed they lay, 
 The younger had a dream at break of day. 
 A man he thought stood frowning at his side : 
 Who warn'd him for his safety to provide, sio 
 
 Nor put to sea, but safe on shore abide. 
 I come, thy Genius, to command thy stay ; 
 Trust not the winds, for fatal is the day. 
 And death unhoped attends the watery way. 
 The vision said ; and vanish'd from his sight : 
 The dreamer waken'd in a mortal fright : 
 Then puU'd his drowsy neighbour, and declared 
 What in his slumber he had seen and heard. 
 His friend smiled scornful, and with proud contempt 
 Rejects as idle what his fellow dreamt. 320 
 
 Stay, who will stay : for me no fears restrain, 
 Who follow Mercury, the god of gain ; 
 Let each man do as to his fancy seems, 
 I wait, not I, till you have better dreams. 
 Dreams are but interludes which fancy makes ; 
 When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes : 
 Compounds a medley of disjointed things, 
 A mob of cobblers, and a court of kings : 
 Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad : 
 Both are the reasonable soul run mad : 330 
 
 And many monstrous forms in sleep we see, 
 That neither were, nor are, nor e'er can be. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 291 
 
 Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind, 333 
 
 Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind. 
 The nurse's legends are for truths received. 
 And the man dreams but M'hat the boj believed. 
 
 Sometimes we but rehearse a former play, 
 The night restores our actions done bj day ; 
 As hounds in sleep will open for their prey. 
 In short, the farce of dreams is of a piece : 340 
 
 Chimeras all ; and more absurd, or less : 
 You, who believe in tales, abide alone ; 
 Whate'er I get this voyage is my own. 
 
 Thus while he spoke, he heard the shouting crew 
 That call'd aboard, and took his last adieu. 
 The vessel went before a merry gale. 
 And for quick passage put on every sail : 
 But when least fear'd, and even in open day, 
 The mischief overtook her in the way : 
 Whether she sprung a leak, I cannot find, 350 
 
 Or whether she was overset with wind. 
 Or that some rock below her bottom rent ; 
 But down at once with all her crew she went : 
 Her fellow ships from far her loss descried ; 
 But only she was sunk, and all were safe beside. 
 
 By this example you are taught again. 
 That dreams and visions are not always vain : 
 But if, dear Partlet, you are still in doubt. 
 Another tale shall make the former out. 
 
 Kenelm, the son of Kenulph, Mercia's king, 360 
 
 Whose holy life the legends loudly sing, 
 Warn'd in a dream, his murder did foretell 
 From point to point as after it befell : 
 AU circumstances to his nurse he told, 
 (A wonder fi'om a child of seven years old) : 
 
292 dryden's poems. 
 
 The dream witli horror heard, the good old wife 366 
 
 From treason coimsell'd him to guard his life ; 
 
 But close to keep the secret in his mind, 
 
 For a boy's vision small belief would find. 
 
 The pious child, bj promise bound, obej'd, 370 
 
 Nor was the fatal murder long delay'd : 
 
 By Quenda slain, he fell before his time, 
 
 Made a young martyr by his sister's crime. 
 
 The tale is told by venerable Bede, 
 
 Which, at your better leisure, you may read. 
 
 Macrobius, too, relates the vision sent 
 To the great Scipio, with the famed event : 
 Objections makes, but after makes replies, 
 And adds, that dreams are often prophecies. 
 
 Of Daniel you may read in holy writ, 38o 
 
 Who, when the king his vision did forget, 
 Could word for word the wondrous dream repeat. 
 Nor less of patriarch Joseph understand, 
 Who by a dream enslaved the Egyptian land, 
 The years of plenty and of dearth foretold, 
 When, for their bread, their liberty they sold. 
 Nor must the exalted butler be forgot. 
 Nor he whose dream presaged his hanging lot. 
 
 And did not Croesus the same death foresee. 
 Raised in his vision on a lofty tree 1 390 
 
 The wife of Hector, in his utmost pride, 
 Dream'd of his death the night before he died ; 
 Well was he waru'd from battle to refrain. 
 But men to death decreed are warn'd in vain : 
 He dared the dream, and by his fatal foe was slain. 
 
 Much more I know, which I forbear to speak, 
 For, see, the ruddy day begins to break ; 
 Let this suffice, that plainly I foresee 
 My dream was bad, and bodes adversity : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 293 
 
 But neither pills nor laxatives I like, 400 
 
 They only serve to make the Avell-man sick : 
 
 Of these his gain the sharp physician makes, 
 
 And often gives a purge, but seldom takes : 
 
 They not correct, but poison all the blood, 
 
 And ne'er did any but the doctors good. 
 
 Their tribe, trade, trinkets, I defy them all ; 
 
 With every work of pothecary's hall. 
 
 These melancholy matters I forbear : 
 
 But let me tell thee, Partlet mine, and swear, 
 
 That when I vieM' the beauties of thy face, 410 
 
 I fear not death, nor dangers, nor disgrace : 
 
 So may my soul have bliss, as when I spy 
 
 The scarlet red about thy partridge eye, 
 
 While thou art constant to tliy own true knight. 
 
 While thou art mine, and I am thy delight. 
 
 All sorrows at thy presence take their fliglit. 
 
 For true it is, as in principio, 
 
 Mulier est hominis confusio. 
 
 Madam, the meaning of this Latin is, 
 
 That woman is to man his sovereign bliss. 420 
 
 For when by night I feel your tender side. 
 
 Though for the narrow perch I cannot ride. 
 
 Yet I have such a solace in my mind. 
 
 That all my boding cares are cast behind ; 
 
 And even already I forget my dream. 
 
 He said, and downward flew from off the beam ; 
 
 For daylight now began apace to spring. 
 
 The thrush to whistle, and the lark to sing ; 
 
 Then, crowing, clapp'd his wings, the appointed call, 
 
 To chuck his wives together in the hall. 430 
 
 By this the widow had unbarr'd the door, 
 And Chanticleer went strutting out before. 
 
294 dryden's poems. 
 
 With rojal courage, and with heart so light, 433 
 
 As show'd he scorned the visions of the night. 
 
 Now roaming in the yard, he spuru'd the ground, 
 
 And gave to Partlet the first grain he found ; 
 
 Then often feather'd her with wanton plaj, 
 
 And trod her twenty times ere prime of day ; 
 
 And took by turns, and gave, so much delight, 
 
 Her sisters pined with envy at the sight. 440 
 
 He chuck'd again, when other corns he found, 
 
 And scarcely deign'd to set a foot to ground ; 
 
 But swagger'd like a lord about his hall. 
 
 And his seven wives came running at his call. 
 
 'Twas now the month in which the world began, 
 (If March beheld the first created man) : 
 And since the vernal equinox, the sun, 
 In Aries twelve degrees, or more, had run ; 
 AVhen, casting up his eyes against the light. 
 Both month, and day, and hour he measured right ; 450 
 And told more truly than the Ephemeris : 
 For art may err, but nature cannot miss. 
 Thus numbering times and seasons in his breast, 
 His second crowing the third hour confess'd. 
 Then turning, said to Partlet, See, my dear. 
 How lavish nature has adorn'd the year ; 
 How the pale primrose and blue violet spring. 
 And birds essay their throats disused to sing : 
 All these are ours ; and I with pleasure see 
 Man strutting on two legs, and aping me : 460 
 
 An unfledged creature, of a lumpish frame, 
 Endow'd with fewer particles of flame ; 
 Our dame sits cowering o'er a kitchen fire, 
 I di-aw fresh air, and nature's works admire : 
 And even this day in more delight abound. 
 Than, since I was an egg, I ever found. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 295 
 
 The time shall come when Chanticleer shall wish 467 
 His words unsaid, and hate his boasted bliss : 
 The crested bird shall bj experience know, 
 Jove made not him his masterpiece below ; 
 And learn the latter end of jov is woe. 
 The vessel of his bliss to dregs is run, 
 And Heaven will have him taste his other tun. 
 
 Ye wise, draw near, and hearken to mj tale, 
 Which proves that oft the proud bv flattery fall : 
 The legend is as true, I undertake. 
 As Tristran is, and Launcelot of the lake : 
 Which all our ladies in such reverence hold, 
 As if in Book of Martyrs it were told. 
 
 A fox, full-fraught with seeming sanctity, 480 
 
 That fear'd an oath, but, like the devil, would lie ; 
 Who look'd like Lent, and had the holy leer. 
 And durst not sin before he said his prayer ; 
 This pious cheat, that never suck'd the blood, 
 Nor chew'd the flesh of lambs, but when he could, 
 Had pass'd three summers in the neighbouring wood : 
 And musing long, whom next to circumvent, 
 On Chanticleer his wicked fancy bent ; 
 And in his high imagination cast, 
 By stratagem, to gratify his taste. 490 
 
 The plot contrived, before the break of day 
 Saint Reynard through the hedge had made his way ; 
 The pale was next, but proudly with a bound 
 He leapt the fence of the forbidden ground : 
 Yet fearing to be seen, within a bed 
 Of coleworts he conceal'd his wily head ; 
 Then skulk'd till afternoon, and watch'd his time 
 (As mm'derers use) to perpetrate his crime. 
 
 Oh, hypocrite, ingenious to destroy ! 
 Oh, traitor, worse than Sinon was to Troy ! 500 
 
296 deyden's poems. 
 
 Oh, vile subverter of the Gallic reign, 60i 
 
 More false than Gano was to Charlemagne ! 
 
 Oh, Chanticleer, in an unhappy hour 
 
 Didst thou forsake the safety of thj bower ! 
 
 Better for thee thou hadst believed thy dream. 
 
 And not that day descended from the beam. 
 
 But here the doctors eagerly dispute : 
 Some hold predestination absolute ; 
 Some clerks maintain, that Heaven at first foresees;, 
 And in the virtue of foresight decrees. 510 
 
 If this be so, then prescience binds the will, 
 And mortals are not free to good or ill ; 
 For what he first foresaw, he must ordain, 
 Or its eternal prescience may be vain : 
 As bad for us as prescience had not been : 
 For first, or last, he 's author of the sin. 
 And who says that, let the blaspheming man 
 Say worse even of the devil, if he can. 
 For how can that Eternal Power be just 
 To punish man, who sins because he must ? 520 
 
 Or, how can he reward a virtuous deed, 
 Which is not done by us ; but first decreed 1 
 
 I cannot bolt this matter to the bran, 
 As Bradwardin and holy Austin can ; 
 If prescience can determine actions so 
 That we must do, because he did foreknow, 
 Or that, foreknowing, yet our choice is free, 
 Not forced to sin by strict necessity ; 
 This strict necessity they simple call, 
 Another sort there is conditional. 530 
 
 The first so binds the will, that things foreknown 
 By spontaneity, not choice, are done. 
 Thus galley-slaves tug willing at their oar. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 297 
 
 Content to work, in prospect of the shore ; 534 
 
 But would not work at all if not constrain'd before. 
 That otlier does not liberty constrain, 
 But man may either act, or may refrain. 
 Heaven made us agents free to good or ill, 
 And forced it not, though he foresaw the will. 
 Freedom was first bestow'd on human race, 540 
 
 And prescience only held the second place. 
 
 If he could make such agents wholly free, 
 I not dispute, the point's too high for me ; 
 For Heaven's unfathom'd power what man can sound, 
 Or put to his Omnipotence a bound 1 
 He made us to his image, ^all agree ; 
 That image is the soul, and that must be, 
 Or not, the Maker's image, or be free. 
 But whether it were better man had been 
 By nature bound to good, not free to sin, 550 
 
 I waive, for fear of splitting on a rock. 
 The tale 1 tell is only of a cock ; 
 AVho had not run the hazard of his life. 
 Had he believed his dream, and not his wife : 
 For women, with a mischief to their kind. 
 Pervert with bad advice our better mind. 
 A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, 
 And made her man his paradise forego, 
 Where at heart's ease he lived ; and might have been 
 As free from sorrow as he was from sin. 560 
 
 For what the devil had their sex to do. 
 That, born to folly, they presumed to know, 
 And could not see the serpent in the grass ? 
 But I myself presume, and let it pass. 
 
 Silence in times of suffering is the best, 
 'Tis dangerous to disturb an hornet's nest. 
 In other authors you may find enough, 
 
298 dryden's poems. 
 
 But all the J saj of dames is idle stuff : 568 
 
 Legends of lying wits together bound, 
 
 The Wife of Bath would throw them to the ground ; 
 
 These are the words of Chanticleer, not mine ; 
 
 I honour dames, and think their sex divine. 
 
 Now to continue what my tale begun : 
 Lay Madam Partlet basking in the sun. 
 Breast-high in sand : her sisters in a row 
 Enjoy'd the beams above, the warmth below ; 
 The cock, that of his flesh was ever free, 
 Sung merrier than the mermaid in the sea : 
 And so befell, that as he cast his eye 
 Among the cole worts on a butterfly, 5So 
 
 He saw false Eeynard where he lay full low : 
 I need not swear he had no list to crow : 
 But cried coch, cock, and gave a sudden start, 
 As sore dismay'd, and frighted at his heart : 
 For birds and beasts, inform'd by nature, know 
 Kinds opposite to theirs, and fly their foe ; 
 So Chanticleer, who never saw a fox, 
 Yet shunn'd him as a sailor shuns the rocks. 
 
 But the false loon, who could not work his will 
 But open force, employ'd his flattering skill ; 590 
 
 I hope, my lord, said he, I not offend ; 
 Are you afraid of me, that am your friend 1 
 I were a beast indeed to do you wrong, 
 I, who have loved and honour'd you so long : 
 Stay, gentle sir, nor take a false alarm, 
 For, on my soul, I never meant you harm. 
 I come no spy, nor as a traitor press. 
 To learn the secrets of your soft recess : 
 Far be from Reynard so profane a thought, 
 But by tlie sweetness of your voice was brought : 600 
 For, as I bid my beads, by chance I heard 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 299 
 
 The soDg as of an angel in the yard ; 602 
 
 A song that ^vould have charm'd the infei'Dal gods, 
 
 And banish'd horror from the dark abodes : 
 
 Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere, 
 
 So much the hymn had pleased the tyrant's ear. 
 
 The wife had been detain'd, to keep the husband there. 
 
 My lord, your sire familiarly I knew, 
 A peer deserving such a son as you : 
 He, with your lady-mother (whom Heaven rest !) 610 
 Has often graced my house, and been my guest ; 
 To view his living features does me good, 
 For I am your poor neighbour in the wood ; 
 And in my cottage should be proud to see 
 The worthy heir of my friend's family. 
 But since I speak of singing, let me say, 
 As with an upright heart I safely may. 
 That, save yourself, there breathes not on the ground 
 One like your father for a silver sound. 
 So sweetly would he wake the winter day, 620 
 
 That matrons to the church mistook their way, 
 And thought they heard the merry organ play. 
 And he, to raise his voice, with artful care, 
 (What will not beaux attempt to please the fair 1) 
 On tiptoe stood to sing with greater strength. 
 And stretch'd his comely neck at all the length : 
 And while he strain'd his voice to pierce the skies, 
 As saints in raptures use, would shut his eyes, 
 That the sound striving through the narrow throat, 
 His winking might avail to mend the note, 630 
 
 By this, in song, he never had his peer, 
 From sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer ; 
 Nor Maro's muse, who sung the mighty Man, 
 Nor Pindar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a swan. 
 Your ancestors proceed from race divine : 
 
I 
 
 300 dryden's poems. 
 
 From Brennus and Belinus is your line ; 636 
 
 Who gave to sovereign Rome sucli loud alarms, 
 That even the priests were not excused from arms. 
 
 Besides, a famous monk of modern times 
 Has left of cocks recorded in his rhymes, 640 
 
 That of a parish priest the son and heir 
 (When sons of priests were from the proverb clear). 
 Affronted once a cock of noble kind, 
 And either lamed his legs, or struck him blind; 
 For which the clerk his father was disgraced, 
 And in his benefice another placed. 
 Now sing, my lord, if not for love of me, 
 Yet for the sake of sweet Saint Charity ; 
 Make hills and dales, and earth and heaven rejoice, 
 And emulate your father's angel-voice. 65o 
 
 The cock was pleased to hear him speak so fair. 
 And proud beside, as solar people are; 
 Nor could the treason from the truth descry, 
 So was he ravish'd with this flattery ; 
 So much the more, as from a little elf 
 He had a high opinion of himself ; 
 Though sickly, slender, and not large of limb. 
 Concluding all the world was made for him. 
 
 Ye princes, raised by poets to the gods. 
 And Alexander'd ^ up in lying odes ! eeo 
 
 Believe not every flattering knave's report, 
 There 's many a Reynard lurking in the court ; 
 And he shall be received with more regard. 
 And listen'd to, than modest truth is heard. 
 
 This Chanticleer, of whom the story sings. 
 Stood high upon his toes, and clapp'd his wings ; 
 Then stretch'd his neck, and wink'd with both his eyes, 
 Ambitious as he sought the Olympic prize. 
 
 ^ ' Alexander'd : ' au allusion to his famous ode. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 301 
 
 But M'hile lie paiu'd himself to raise his note, 669 
 
 False Renyarcl rush'd and caught him by the throat. 
 Then on his back he laid tlie precious load, 
 And sought his wonted shelter of the wood ; 
 Swiftly he made his way the mischief done, 
 Of all unheeded, and pursued by none. 
 
 Alas, what stay is there in human state ! 
 Or who can shun inevitable fate 1 
 The doom was written, the decree was pass'd, 
 Ere the foundations of the world were cast ! 
 In Aries though the sun exalted stood. 
 His patron-planet, to procure liis good ; 68o 
 
 Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he, 
 In Libra raised, opposed the same degree : 
 The rays both good and bad, of equal power, 
 Each thwarting other, made a mingled hour. 
 
 On Friday morn he dreamt this direful dream, 
 Cross to the worthy native, in his scheme ! 
 Ah, blissful Venus, Goddess of delight ! 
 How couldst thou suffer thy devoted knight 
 On thy own day to fall by foe oppress'd. 
 The wight of all the world who served thee best 1 690 
 Who, true to love, was all for recreation, 
 And minded not the work of propagation. 
 Ganfride,^ who couldst so well in rhyme complain 
 The death of Richard with an arrow slain, 
 Why had not I thy muse, or thou my heart, 
 To sing this heavy dirge with equal art "? 
 That I, like thee, on Friday might complain ; 
 For on that day was Coeur de Lion slain. 
 
 Not louder cries, when IHum was in flames. 
 Were sent to Heaven by woful Trojan dames, 7oo 
 
 When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade, 
 
 • ' Ganfride : ' a mediaeval ballad-monger. 
 
302 dryden's poems. 
 
 And offer'd Priam to his father's shade, 702 
 
 Than for the cock the widow'd poultry made. 
 
 Fair Partlet first, when he was borne from sight. 
 
 With sovereign shrieks bewail'd her captive knight : 
 
 Far louder than the Carthaginian wife, 
 
 When Asdrubal, her husband, lost his life; 
 
 When she beheld the smouldering flames ascend, 
 
 And all the Punic glories at an end : 
 
 Willing into the fires she plunged her head, 710 
 
 With greater ease than others seek their bed. 
 
 Not more aghast the matrons of renown. 
 
 When tyrant Nero burn'd the imperial town, 
 
 Shriek'd for the downfall in a doleful cry. 
 
 For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die. 
 
 Now to my story I return again : 
 The trembling w^idow, and her daughters twain, 
 This woful cackling cry with horror heard. 
 Of those distracted damsels in the yard ; 
 And starting up beheld the heavy sight, 720 
 
 How Reynard to the forest took, his flight. 
 And 'cross his back, as in triumphant scorn, 
 The hope and pillar of the house was borne. 
 
 The fox ! the wicked fox I was all the cry ; 
 Out from his house ran every neighbour nigh : 
 The vicar first, and after him the crew. 
 With forks and staves the felon to pursue. 
 Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band, 
 And Malkin, with her distaff" in her hand : 
 Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs, 730 
 
 In panic horror of pursuing dogs ; 
 With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak, 
 Poor swine, as if their pretty hearts would break. 
 The shouts of men, the women in dismay, 
 With shrieks augment the terror of the day. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 303 
 
 The ducks that heard the proclamation cried, 736 
 
 And fear'd a persecution might betide, 
 
 Full twenty miles fi'om town their voyage take, 
 
 Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake. 
 
 The geese fly o'er the barn ; the bees in arms 740 
 
 Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms. 
 
 Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout, 
 
 Struck not the city with so loud a shout ; 
 
 Not when, with English hate, they did pursue 
 
 A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew : 
 
 Not when the welkin rung with ' one and all ; ' 
 
 And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall : 
 
 Earth seem'd to sink beneath, and heaven above to fall. 
 
 With might and main they chased the murderous fox. 
 
 With brazen trumpets, and inflated box, 750 
 
 To kindle Mars with military sounds. 
 
 Nor wanted horns to inspire sagacious hounds. 
 
 But see how Fortune can confound the wise, 
 And when they least expect it, turn the dice ! 
 The captive-cock, who scarce could draw his breath. 
 And lay within the very jaws of death ; 
 Yet in this agony his fancy wrought, 
 And fear supplied him with this happy thought : 
 
 Yours is the prize, victorious prince ! said he, 
 The vicar my defeat, and all the village see. 760 
 
 Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, 
 And bid the churls that envy you the prey 
 Call back their mongrel curs, and cease their cry, 
 See, fools, the shelter of the wood is' nigh, 
 And Chanticleer in your despite shall die, 
 He shall be pluck'd and eaten to the bone. 
 
 'Tis well advised, in faith it shall be done ; 
 This Reynard said : but as the word he spoke. 
 The prisoner with a spring from prison broke ; 
 
304 dryden's poems. 
 
 Then stretcli'd his feather'd fans with all his might, 770 
 
 And to the neighbouring maple wing'd his flight ; 
 
 Whom, when the traitor safe on tree beheld, 
 
 He cursed the gods, with shame and sorrow fiU'd : 
 
 Shame for his folly, sorrow out of time, 
 
 For plotting an unprofitable crime ; 
 
 Yet mastering both, the artificer of lies 
 
 Renews the assault, and his last battery tries. 
 
 Though I, said he, did ne'er in thought offend, 
 How justly may my lord suspect his friend 1 
 The appearance is against me, I confess, 780 
 
 Who seemingly have put you in distress : 
 You, if your goodness does not plead my cause, 
 May think I broke all hospitable laws. 
 To bear you from your palace-yard by might. 
 And put your noble person in a fright : 
 This, since you take it ill, I must repent, 
 Though, Heaven can witness, with no bad intent : 
 I practised it, to make you taste your cheer 
 With double pleasure, first prepared by fear. 
 So loyal subjects often seize their prince, 790 
 
 Forced (for his good) to seeming violence. 
 Yet mean his sacred person not the least oflfence. 
 Descend ; so help me Jove, as you shall find, 
 That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind. 
 
 Nay, quoth the Cock, but I beshrew us both. 
 If I believe a saint upon his oath : 
 An honest man may take a knave's advice, 
 But idiots only may be cozen'd twice : 
 Once warn'd is well bewared ; no flattering lies 
 Shall soothe me more to sing with winking eyes, soo 
 And open mouth, for fear of catching flies. 
 Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim. 
 When he should see, has he deserved to swim ? 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 305 
 
 Better, Sir Cock, let all contention cease, 804 
 
 Come down, said Reynard, let us treat of peace. 
 A peace with all my soul, said Chanticleer ; 
 But, with your favour, I will treat it here : 
 And, lest the truce with treason should be mix'd, 
 'Tis my concern to have the tree betwixt. 
 
 THE MORAL. 
 
 In this plain fable you the effect may see 8io 
 
 Of negligence, and fond credulity : 
 And learn besides of flatterers to beware, 
 Then most pernicious when they speak too fair. 
 The cock and fox, the fool and knave imply ; 
 The truth is moral, though the tale a lie. 
 Who spoke in parables, I dare not say ; 
 But sure he knew it Mas a pleasing way, 
 Sound sense, by plain example, to convey. 
 And in a heathen author we may find. 
 That pleasure with instruction should be join'd ; 820 
 So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind. 
 
 THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF: 
 
 OR, THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR.^ 
 A VISION. 
 
 Now turning from the wintry signs, the sun, 
 His course exalted, through the Ptam had run, 
 
 • This poem is intended to describe, in those who honour the " Flower," the 
 votaries of perishable beauty; and in those who honour the "Leaf," the 
 votaries of virtue. 
 
 VOL. II. U 
 
306 dryden's poems. 
 
 And whirling up the skies, his chariot drove 3 
 
 Through Taurus, and the lightsome realms of love ; 
 Where Venus from her orb descends in showers, 
 To glad the ground, and paint the fields with flowers : 
 When first the tender blades of grass appear. 
 And buds, that jet the blast of Eurus fear, 
 Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe the year : 
 Till gentle heat, and soft repeated rains, lo 
 
 Make the green blood to dance within their veins : 
 Then, at their call, embolden'd out they come. 
 And swell the gems, and burst the narrow room ; 
 Broader and broader yet, their blooms display, 
 Salute the welcome sun, and entertain the day. 
 Then from their breathing souls the sweets repair 
 To scent the skies, and purge the unwholesome air : 
 Joy spreads the heart, and, with a general song. 
 Spring issues out, and leads the jolly months along. 
 
 In that sweet season, as in bed I lay, 20 
 
 And sought in sleep to pass the night away, 
 I turn'd my weary side, but still in vain. 
 Though full of youthful health, and void of pain : . 
 Cares I had none, to keep me from my rest, 
 For love had never enter'd in my breast ; 
 I wanted nothing fortune could supply, 
 Nor did she slumber till that hour deny. 
 I wonder'd then, but after found it true. 
 Much joy had dried away the balmy dew : 
 Seas would be pools, without the brushing air 30 
 
 To curl the waves ; and sure some little care 
 Should weary nature so, to make her want repair. 
 
 When Chanticleer the second watch had sung. 
 Scorning the scorner sleep, from bed I sprung ; 
 And dressing, by the moon, in loose array, 
 
TALES FKOM CHAUCER. 307 
 
 Pass'd out in open air, preventing daj, 36 
 
 And sought a goodly grove, as fancy led my way. 
 
 Straight as a line in beauteous order stood 
 
 Of oaks unshorn a venerable wood ; 
 
 Fresh was the grass beneath, and every tree, 40 
 
 At distance planted in a due degree. 
 
 Their branching arms in air with equal space 
 
 Stretch'd to their neighbours with a long embrace : 
 
 And the new leaves on every bough were seen. 
 
 Some ruddy colour d, some of lighter green. 
 
 The painted birds, companions of the spring, 
 
 Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing. 
 
 Both eyes and ears received a like delight. 
 
 Enchanting music, and a cliarming sight. 
 
 On Philomel I fix'd my M'hole desire, 50 
 
 And listeu'd for the queen of all the quire ; 
 
 Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing ; 
 
 And wanted yet an omen to the spring. 
 
 Attending long in vain, I took the way 
 Which through a path but scarcely printed lay ; 
 In narrow mazes oft it seem'd to meet. 
 And look'd as lightly press'd by fairy feet. 
 Wandering I walk'd alone, for still methought 
 To some strange end so strange a path was wrought : 
 At last it led me where an arbour stood, 60 
 
 The sacred receptacle of the wood : 
 This place unmark'd, though oft I walk'd the green. 
 In all my progress I had never seen : 
 And seized at once with wonder and delight, 
 Gazed all around me, new to the transporting sight. 
 'Twas bench'd with turf, and goodly to be seen, 
 The thick young grass arose in fresher green : 
 The mound was newly made, no sight could pass 
 Betwixt the nice partitions of the grass, 
 
308 dryden's poems. 
 
 The well-united sods so closely lay ; 70 
 
 And' all around the shades defended it from day ; 
 
 For sycamores with eglantine were spread, 
 
 A hedge about the sides, a covering overhead. 
 
 And so the fragrant brier was wove between, 
 
 The sycamore and flowers were mixed with green, 
 
 That nature seem'd to vary the delight, 
 
 And satisfied at once the smell and sight. 
 
 The master workman of the bower was known 
 
 Through fairy-lands, and built for Oberon ; 
 
 Who twining leaves with such proportion drew, so 
 
 They rose by measure, and by rule they grew ; 
 
 No mortal tongue can half the beauty tell ; 
 
 For none but hands divine could work so well. 
 
 Both roof and sides were like a parlour made, 
 
 A soft recess, and a cool summer shade ; 
 
 The hedge was set so thick, no foreign eye 
 
 The persons placed within it could espy ; 
 
 But all that pass'd without with ease was seen, 
 
 As if nor fence nor tree was placed between. 
 
 'Twas border'd with a field ; and some was plain 90 
 
 With grass, and some was sow'd with rising grain. 
 
 That (now the dew with spangles deck'd the ground) 
 
 A sweeter spot of earth was never found. 
 
 I look'd, and look'd, and still Avith new delight ; 
 
 Such joy my soul, such pleasures fill'd my sight : 
 
 And the fresh eglantine exhaled a breath, 
 
 Whose odours were of power to raise from death. 
 
 Nor sullen discontent, nor anxious care. 
 
 Even though brought thither, could inhabit there : 
 
 But thence they fled as from their mortal foe ; 100 
 
 For this sweet place could only pleasure know. 
 
 Thus as I mused, I cast aside my eye, 
 x\nd saw a medlar-tree was planted nigh. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 309 
 
 « 
 
 Tlie spreading branches made a goodlj sIiom', 104 
 
 And full of opening blooms was every bough : 
 
 A goldfinch there I saw, with gaudy pride 
 
 Of painted plumes, that hopp'd from side to side, 
 
 Still pecking as she pass'd ; and still she drew 
 
 The sweets from every flower, and suck'd the dew : 
 
 Sufficed at length, she warbled in her throat, 110 
 
 And tuned her voice to many a merry note, 
 
 But indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear. 
 
 Yet such as soothed my soul, and pleased my ear. 
 
 Iler short performance was no sooner tried, 
 When she I sought, the nightingale, replied : 
 So sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung. 
 That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung ; 
 And I so ravish'd with her heavenly note, 
 I stood entranced, and had no room for thought, 
 But all o'er-power'd with ecstasy of bliss, 120 
 
 Was in a pleasing dream of paradise. 
 At length I waked, and looking round the bower, 
 Search'd every tree, and pry'd on every flower. 
 If any where by chance I might espy 
 The rural poet of the melody ; 
 For still methought she sung not far away : 
 At last I found her on a laurel spray. 
 Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight. 
 Full in a line, against her opposite ; 
 Where stood with eglantine the laurel twined ; 130 
 
 And both their native sweets were well conjoin'd. 
 
 On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long ; 
 (Sitting was more convenient for the song) : 
 Nor till her lay was ended could I move, 
 But wish'd to dwell for ever in the grove. 
 Only methought the time too swiftly pass'd, 
 And every note I fear'd would be the last. 
 
310 drtden's poems. 
 
 My sight and smell, and hearing were emploj'd, i88 
 
 And all three senses in full gust enjoj'd. 
 
 And what alone did all the rest surpass, 
 
 The sweet possession of the fairy place ; 
 
 Single, and conscious to myself alone 
 
 Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown : 
 
 Pleasures which nowhere else were to be found, 
 
 And all Elysium in a spot of ground. 
 
 Thus while I sat intent to see and hear. 
 And drew perfumes of more than vital air, 
 All suddenly I heard the approaching sound 
 Of vocal music on the enchanted ground : 
 A host of saints it seem'd, so full the quire ; 150 
 
 As if the bless'd above did all conspire 
 To join their voices, and neglect the lyre. 
 At length there issued from the grove behind 
 A fair assembly of the female kind : 
 A train less fair, as ancient fathers tell, 
 Seduced the sons of heaven to rebel. 
 I pass their form, and every charming grace. 
 Less than an angel would their worth debase : 
 But their attire, like liveries of a kind. 
 All rich and rare, is fresh within my mind. 160 
 
 In velvet white as snow the troop was gown'd, 
 The seams with sparkling emeralds set around ; 
 Their hoods and sleeves the same ; and purfled o'er 
 With diamonds, pearls, and all the shining store 
 Of eastern pomp : their long descending train, 
 With rubies edged, and sapphires, swept the plain : 
 High on their heads, with jewels richly set. 
 Each lady wore a radiant coronet. 
 Beneath the circles, all the quire was graced 
 With chaplets green on their fair foreheads placed: i7o 
 Of laurel some, of woodbine many more ; 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 311 
 
 And wreaths of Agnus castus ^ others bore ; 172 
 
 These last, who with those virgin crowns were dress'd, 
 
 Appear'd in higher honour than the rest. 
 
 They danced around : but in the midst was seen 
 
 A lad J of a more majestic mien ; 
 
 By stature, and bj beauty mark'd their sovereign queen 
 
 She in the midst began witli sober grace ; 
 Her servants' eyes were fix'd upon her face ; 
 And as she moved or turn'd, her motions view'd, i80 
 Her measures kept, and step by step pursued. 
 Methouglit she trod the ground with greater grace, 
 With more of godhead shining in her face ; 
 And as in beauty she surpass'd the quire, 
 So, nobler than the rest, was her attire. 
 A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow. 
 Plain without pomp, and rich without a show : 
 A branch of Agnus castus in her hand 
 She bore aloft (her sceptre of command) ; 
 Admired, adored by all the circling crowd, 190 
 
 For wheresoe'er she turn'd her face, they bow'd : 
 And as she danced, a roundelay she sung. 
 In honour of the laurel, ever young : 
 She raised her voice on high, and sung so clear, 
 The fawns came scudding from the groves to hear : 
 And all the bending forest lent an ear. 
 At every close she made, the attending throng 
 Replied, and bore the burden of the song : 
 So just, so small, yet in so sweet a note. 
 It seem'd the music melted in the throat. 200 
 
 Thus dancing on, and singing as they danced, 
 They to the middle of the mead advanced, 
 Till round my arbour a new ring they made, 
 And footed it about the sacred shade. 
 
 ' ' Agnus castus : ' a flower representing chastity. 
 
312 dryden's poems. 
 
 O'erjoy'cl to see the jolly troops so near, 205 
 
 But somewhat awed, I shook with holj fear; 
 Yet not so much, but what I noted well 
 Who did the most in song or dance excel. 
 
 Not long I had observed, when from afar 
 I heard a sudden symphony of war ; • 210 
 
 The neighing coursers, and the soldiers cry. 
 And sounding trumps, that seem'd to tear the sky : 
 I saw soon after this, behind the groye 
 From whence the ladies did in order move. 
 Come issuing out in arms a warrior train, 
 That like a deluge pour'd upon the plain ; 
 On barbed steeds they rode in proud array, 
 Thick as the college of the bees in May, 
 When swarming o'er the dusky fields they fly, 
 New to the flowers, and intercept the sky, 220 
 
 So fierce they drove, their coursers were so fleet. 
 That the turf trembled underneath their feet. 
 
 To tell their costly furniture were long, 
 The summer's day would end before the song : 
 To purchase but the tenth of all their store, 
 Would make the mighty Persian monarch poor. 
 Yet what I can, I will ; before the rest 
 The trumpets issued, in white mantles dress'd, 
 A numerous troop, and all their heads around 
 With chaplets green of cerrial-oak ^ were crown'd, 230 
 And at each trumpet was a banner bound ; 
 Which, waving in the wind, display'd at large 
 Their master's coat of arms, and knightly charge. 
 Broad were the banners, and of snowy hue, 
 A purer web the silk-worm never drew. 
 The chief about their necks the scutcheons wore, 
 With orient pearls and jewels powder'd o'er : 
 
 • ' Cerrial-oak : ' Cerrus, bitter oak. 
 
TALES FjROM CHAUCER. 313 
 
 Broad were their collars too, and every one 238 
 
 Was set about with many a costly stone. 
 
 Next these, of kings-at-arms a goodly train 
 
 In proud array came prancing o'er the plain : 
 
 Tlieir cloaks were cloth of silver mix'd with gold, 
 
 And garlands green around their temples roll'd : 
 
 Rich crowns were on their royal scutcheons placed, 
 
 With sapphires, diamonds, and with rubies graced : 
 
 And as the trumpets their appearance made, 
 
 So these in habits were alike array 'd ; 
 
 But with a pace more sober, and more slow ; 
 
 And twenty, rank in rank, they rode a-row. 
 
 The pursuivants came next, in number more ; 25o 
 
 And, like the heralds, each his scutcheon bore : 
 
 Clad in white velvet all their troop they led. 
 
 With each an oaken chaplet on his head. 
 
 Nine royal knights in equal rank succeed, 
 Each warrior mounted on a fiery steed ; 
 In golden armour glorious to behold ; 
 The rivets of their arms were nail'd with gold. 
 Their surcoats of white ermine fur were made ; 
 With cloth of gold between, that cast a glittering shade. 
 The trappings of their steeds were of the same ; 260 
 The golden fringe even set the ground on flame, 
 And drew a precious trail : a crown divine 
 Of laurel did about their temples twine. 
 
 Three henchmen were for every knight assign'd. 
 All in rich livery clad, and of a kind ; 
 White velvet, but unshorn, for cloaks they wore, 
 And each within his hand a truncheon bore : 
 The foremost held a helm of rare device ; 
 A prince's ransom would not pay the price. 
 The second bore the buckler of his knight, 270 
 
 The third of cornel-wood a spear upright, 
 
314 dryden's poems. 
 
 Headed with piercing steel, and polisli'd bright. 272 
 
 Like to their lords their equipage was seen, 
 
 And all their foreheads crown'd with garlands green. 
 
 And after these came, arm'd with spear and shield, 
 A host so great as cover'd all the field : 
 And all their foreheads, like the knights before, 
 With laurels ever-green were shaded o'er. 
 Or oak, or other leaves of lasting kind, 
 Tenacious of the stem, and firm against the wind. 280 
 Some in their hands, beside the lance and shield. 
 The boughs of woodbine, or of hawthorn held, 
 Or branches for their mystic emblems took, 
 Of palm, of laurel, and of cerrial-oak. 
 
 Thus marching to the trumpet's loftj sound, 
 Drawn in two lines adverse thej wheel'd around. 
 And in the middle meadow took their ground. 
 Among themselves the tourney they divide, 
 In ec^ual squadrons ranged on either side. 
 Then turn'd their horses' heads, and man to man, 290 
 And steed to steed opposed, the jousts began. 
 They lightly set their lances in the rest. 
 And, at the sign, against each other press'd : 
 They met. I sitting at my ease beheld 
 The mix'd events, and fortunes of the field. 
 Some broke their spears, some tumbled horse and man. 
 And round the field the lighten'd coursers ran. 
 An hour and more, like tides, in equal sway 
 They rush'd, and won by turns, and lost the day : 
 At length the nine (who still together held) 300 
 
 Their fainting foes to shameful flight compell'd. 
 And with resistless force o'er-ran the field. 
 Thus, to their fame, when finish'd was the fight. 
 The victors from their lofty steeds alight : 
 Like them dismounted all the warlike train, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. , 315 
 
 And two bj two proceeded o'er the plain, 306 
 
 Till to the fair assembly thej advanced, 
 Who near the secret arbour sung and danced. 
 
 The ladies left their measures at the sight, 
 To meet the chiefs returning from the fight, 310 
 
 And each with open arms embraced her chosen knight. 
 Amid the plain a spreading laurel stood, 
 The grace and ornament of all the wood : 
 That pleasing shade thej sought, a soft retreat 
 From sudden April showers, a shelter from the heat : 
 Her leafy arms with such extent were spread. 
 So near the clouds was her aspiring head. 
 That hosts of birds, that wing the liquid air, 
 Perch'd in the boughs, had nightly lodging there : 
 And flocks of sheep beneath the shade from far 320 
 
 Might hear the rattling hail, and wintry war ; 
 From heaven's inclemency here found retreat, 
 Enjoy'd the cool, and shunn'd the scorching heat : 
 A hundred knights might there at ease abide ; 
 And every knight a lady by his side : 
 The trunk itself such odours did bequeath. 
 That a Moluccan^ breeze to these was common breath. 
 The lords and ladies here, approaching, paid 
 Their homage, with a low obeisance made ; 
 And seem'd to venerate the sacred shade. 330 
 
 These rites perform'd, their pleasures they pursue, 
 With song of love, and mix with measures new ; 
 Around the holy tree their dance they frame, 
 And every champion leads his chosen dame. 
 
 I cast my sight upon the farther field, 
 And a fresh object of delight beheld : 
 For from the region of the West I heard 
 New music sound, and a new troop appear'd ; 
 
 ' ' Molucca : ' one of the Spice Islands. 
 
316 dryden's poems. 
 
 Of knights and ladies mix'd, a jollj band, 339 
 
 But all on foot they march'd, and hand in hand. 
 
 The ladies dress'd in rich sjmars were seen 
 Of Florence satin, flower'd with white and green, 
 And for a shade betwixt the bloomy gridelin. 
 The borders of their petticoats below 
 Were guarded thick with rubies on a row ; 
 And every damsel wore upon her head 
 Of flowers a garland blended white and red. 
 Attired in mantles all the knights were seen, 
 That gratified the view with cheerful green : 
 Their chaplets of their ladies' colours were, 350 
 
 Composed of white and red, to shade their shining hair. 
 Before the merry troop the minstrels play'd ; 
 All in their masters' liveries were array 'd. 
 And clad in green, and on their temples wore 
 The chaplets white and red their ladies bore. 
 Their instruments were various in their kind, 
 Some for the bow, and some for breathing wind ; 
 The sawtry, pipe, and hautboy's noisy band, 
 And the soft lute trembling beneath the touching hand. 
 A tuft of daisies on a flowery lea 360 
 
 They saw, and thitherward they bent their way ; 
 To this both knights and dames their homage made. 
 And due obeisance to the daisy paid. 
 And then the band of flutes began to play, 
 To which a lady sung a virelay : ^ 
 And still at every close she would repeat 
 The burden of the song. The daisy is so sweet, 
 The daisy is so sweet : when she begun. 
 The troop of knights and dames continued on. 
 The concert and the voice so charm'd my ear, 370 
 
 And soothed my soul, that it was heaven to hear. 
 
 ' ' Yirelay : ' a poem with recurring rhymes. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 317 
 
 But soon their pleasure pass'd : at noon of day 372 
 The sun with sultry beams began to play : 
 Not Sirius shoots a fiercer flame from high, 
 When with his poisonous breath he blasts the sky : 
 Then droop'd the fading flowers (their beauty fled) 
 And closed their sickly eyes, and hung the head ; 
 And rivell'd up with heat, lay dying in their bed. 
 The ladies gasp'd, and scarcely could respire ; 
 The breath they drew, no longer air but fire ; 38o 
 
 The fainty knights were scorch'd, and knew not where 
 To run for shelter, for no shade was near ; 
 And after this the gathering clouds amain 
 Pour'd down a storm of rattling hail and rain "; 
 And lightning flashed betwixt : the field, and flowers. 
 Burnt up before, were buried in the showers. 
 The ladies and the knights, no shelter nigh, 
 Bare to the weather and the wintry sky. 
 Were drooping wet, disconsolate, and wan, 
 And through their thin array received the rain ; 390 
 While those in white, protected by the tree. 
 Saw pass in vain the assault, and stood from danger free ; 
 But as compassion moved their gentle minds, 
 When ceased the storm, and silent were the winds, 
 Displeased at what, not suffering they had seen. 
 They went to cheer the faction of the green. 
 The queen in white array, before her band. 
 Saluting, took her rival by the hand ; 
 So did the knights and dames, with courtly grace. 
 And with behaviour sweet their foes embrace ; 400 
 
 Then thus the queen with laurel on her brow — 
 Fair sister, I have sufier'd in your woe ; 
 Nor shall be wanting aught within my power 
 For your relief in my refreshing bower. 
 That other answer'd with a lowly look, 
 
318 dryden's poems. 
 
 And soon tlie gracious inyitation took : 406 
 
 For ill at ease both she and all her train 
 The scorching sun had borne, and beating rain. 
 Like courtesy was used by all in white, 
 Each dame a dame received, and every knight a knight. 
 The laurel champions with their swords invade 4ii 
 
 The neighbouring forests, where the jousts were made, 
 And serewood from the rotten hedges took. 
 And seeds of latent fire, from flints provoke : 
 A cheerful blaze arose, and by the fire 
 They warm'd their frozen feet, and dried their wet attire. 
 Refresh'd with heat, the ladies sought around 
 For virtuous herbs, which, gather'd from the ground, 
 They squeezed the juice, and cooling ointment made, 
 Which on their sun-burnt cheeks, and their chapt skins 
 they laid : 420 
 
 Then sought green salads, which they bade them eat, 
 A sovereign remedy for inward heat. 
 
 The Lady of the Leaf ordain'd a feast, 
 And made the Lady of the Flower her guest : 
 When, lo ! a bower ascended on the plain, 
 With sudden seats ordain'd, and large for either train.' 
 This bower was near my pleasant arbour placed, 
 That 1 could hear and see whatever pass'd : 
 The ladies sat with each a knight between, 
 Distinguish'd by their colours, white and green ; 430 
 The vanquished party with the victors join'd, 
 Nor wanted sweet discourse, the banquet of the mind. 
 Meantime the minstrels play'd on either side, 
 Vain of their art, and for the mastery vied : 
 The sweet contention lasted for an hour, 
 And reach'd my secret arbour from the bower. 
 
 The sun was set ; and Vesper, to supply 
 His absent beams, had lighted up the sky. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 319 
 
 When Philomel, officious all the day 439 
 
 To sing the service of the ensuing May, 
 
 Fled from her laurel shade, and wing'd her flight 
 
 Directly to the queen array'd in M'hite : 
 
 And, hopping, sat familiar on her hand, 
 
 A new musician, and increased the band. 
 
 The goldfinch, who, to shun the scalding heat. 
 Had changed the medlar for a safer seat, 
 And hid in bushes 'scaped the bitter shower. 
 Now perch'd upon the Lady of the Flower ; 
 And either songster holding out their throats, 
 And folding up their wings, renew'd their notes : 450 
 As if all day, precluding to the fight, 
 They only had rehearsed, to sing by night. 
 The banquet ended, and the battle done. 
 They danced by star-light and the friendly moon : 
 And when they were to part, the laureate queen 
 Supplied with steeds the lady of the green, 
 Her and her train conducting on the way, 
 The moon to follow, and avoid the day. 
 
 This when I saw, inquisitive to know 
 The secret moral of the mystic show, 460 
 
 I started from my shade, in hopes to find 
 Some nymph to satisfy my longing mind : 
 And as my fair adventure fell, I found 
 A lady all in white, with laurel crown'd, 
 Who closed the rear, and softly paced along, 
 Repeating to herself the former song. 
 With due respect my body I inclined, 
 As to some being of superior kind. 
 And made my court according to the day, 
 Wishing her queen and her a happy May. 470 
 
 Great thanks, my daughter, with a gracious bow. 
 She said ; and I, who much desired to know 
 
320 deyden's poems. 
 
 Of whence she was, yet fearful how to break 473 
 
 My mind, adventured humbly thus to speak : 
 
 Madam, might I presume and not offend, 
 
 So may the stars and shining moon attend 
 
 Your nightly sports, as you vouchsafe to tell, 
 
 What nymphs they were who mortal forms excel, 
 
 And what the knights who fought in listed fields so well. 
 
 To this the dame replied : Fair daughter, know, 480 
 
 That what you saw was all a fairy show ; 
 
 And all those airy shapes you now behold. 
 
 Were human bodies once, and clothed with earthly mould 
 
 Our souls, not yet prepared for upper light, 
 
 Till doomsday wander in the shades of night ; 
 
 This only holiday of all the year, 
 
 We privileged in sunshine may appear : 
 
 With songs and dance we celebrate the day, 
 
 And with due honours usher in the May. 
 
 At other times we reign by night alone, 490 
 
 And posting through the skies pursue the moon ; 
 
 But when the morn arises, none are found ; 
 
 For cruel Demogorgon walks the round, 
 
 And if he finds a fairy lag in light, 
 
 He drives the wretch before, and lashes into night. 
 
 All courteous are by kind ; and ever proud 
 With friendly offices to help the good. 
 In every land we have a larger space 
 Than what is known to you of mortal race ; 
 Where we with green adorn our fairy bowers, 500 
 
 And even this grove, unseen before, is ours. 
 Know farther ; every lady clothed in white, 
 And, crown'd with oak and laurel every knight, 
 Are servants to the Leaf, by liveries known 
 Of innocence ; and I myself am one. 
 Saw you not her, so graceful to behold, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCEE. ' 321 
 
 In wliite attire, and crown'd with radiant ^old 1 507 
 
 The sovereign lady of our Lind is she, 
 
 ])iana call'd, the Queen of Chastity : 
 
 And, for the spotless name of maid she bears, 
 
 That Agnus castus in her hand appears ; 
 
 And all her train, with leafy chaplets crown'd. 
 
 Were for unblamed virginity renown'd ; 
 
 But those the chief and highest in command 
 
 Who bear those holy branches in their hand : 
 
 The knights adorn'd with laurel crowns are they. 
 
 Whom death nor danger ever could dismay, 
 
 Victorious names, who made the w^orld obey ; 
 
 Who, while they lived, in deeds of arms excell'd, 
 
 And after death for deities were held. 520 
 
 But those who wear the woodbine on their brow, 
 
 Were knights of love, who never broke their vow ; 
 
 Firm to their plighted faith, and ever free 
 
 From fears and fickle chance, and jealousy. 
 
 The lords and ladies, who the woodbine bear, 
 
 As true as Tristram and Isotta w^ere. 
 
 But what are those, said I, the unconquer'd nine. 
 Who, crown'd with laurel-wreaths, in golden armour shine ? 
 And who the knights in green, and what the train 
 Of ladies dress'd with daisies on the plain ^ 530 
 
 Why both the bands in worship disagree, 
 And some adore the flower, and some the tree ? 
 
 Just is your suit, fair daughter, said the dame : 
 Those laurell'd chiefs were men of mighty fame ; 
 Nine worthies were they call'd of difi'erent rites, 
 Three Jews, three Pagans, and three Christian knights. 
 These, as you see, ride foremost in the field, 
 As they the foremost rank of honour held, 
 And all in deeds of chivalry excell'd : 
 
 VOL. n. X 
 
322 dryden's poems. 
 
 Their temples wreathed with leaves, that still renew ; 540 
 
 For deathless laurel is the victor's due : 
 
 Who bear the bows were knights in Arthur's reign, 
 
 Twelve thej, and twelve the peers of Charlemagne ; 
 
 For bows the strength of brav/ny arms imply, 
 
 Emblems of valour, and of victory. 
 
 Behold an order yet of newer date, 
 
 Doubling their number, equal in their state ; 
 
 Our England's ornament, the crown's defence, 
 
 In battle brave, protectors of their prince ; 
 
 Unchanged by fortune, to their sovereign true, 550 
 
 For which their manly legs are bound with blue. 
 
 These, of the Garter call'd, of faith unstain'd, 
 
 In fighting fields the laurel have obtain'd, 
 
 And well repaid the honours which they gain'd. 
 
 The laurel wreaths were first by Cesar worn. 
 
 And still they Cesar's successors adorn : 
 
 One leaf of this is immortality. 
 
 And more of worth than all the world can buy. 
 
 One doubt remains, said I, the dames in green. 
 What were their qualities, and who their queen ? 560 
 Flora commands, said she, those nymphs and knights, 
 Who lived in slothful ease and loose delights ; 
 Who never acts of honour durst pursue, 
 The men inglorious knights, the ladies all untrue : 
 W^ho, nursed in idleness, and train'd in courts, 
 Pass'd all their precious hours in plays, and sports, 
 Till death behind came stalking on, unseen, 
 And wither'd (like the storm) the freshness of their green. 
 These, and their mates, enjoy their present hour. 
 And therefore pay their homage to the Flower : 570 
 But knights in knightly deeds should persevere, 
 And still continue what at first they were ; 
 Continue, and proceed in honour's fair career. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 323 
 
 No room for cowardice, or dull delay ; 574 
 
 From good to better they should urge their way. 
 
 For this with golden spurs the chiefs are graced, 
 
 With pointed rowels arm'd to mend their haste ; 
 
 For this with lasting leaves their brows are bound ; 
 
 For laurel is the sign of labour crown'd, 
 
 Which bears the bitter blast, nor shaken falls to ground 
 
 From winter winds it suffers no decay, ssi 
 
 For ever fresh and fair, and every month is May. 
 
 Even M'hen the vital sap retreats below. 
 
 Even when the hoary head is hid in snow, 
 
 The life is in the Leaf, and still between 
 
 The fits of falling snow appears the streaky green. 
 
 Not so the Flower, which lasts for little space, 
 
 A short-lived good, and an uncertain grace ; 
 
 This way, and that, the feeble stem is driven, 
 
 Weak to sustain the storms and injuries of heaven. 590 
 
 Propp'd by the spring, it lifts aloft the head, 
 
 But of a sickly beauty, soon to shed ; 
 
 In summer living, and in winter dead. 
 
 For things of tender kind, for pleasure made. 
 
 Shoot up with swift increase, and sudden are decay 'd. 
 
 With humble words, the wisest I could frame, 
 And proffer'd service, I repaid the dame ; 
 That, of her grace, she gave her maid to know 
 The secret meaning of this moral show. 
 And she, to prove what profit I had made goo 
 
 Of mystic truth, in fables first convey 'd, 
 Demanded, till the next returning May, 
 Whether the Leaf or Flower I would obey ? 
 I chose the Leaf ; she smiled with sober cheer, 
 And wish'd me fair adventure for the year, 
 And gave me charms and sigils, for defence 
 Against ill tongues that scandal innocence : 
 
324 drtden's poems. 
 
 But I, said she, my fellows must pursue, 608 
 
 Already past the plain, and out of view. 
 
 We parted thus ; I homeward sped my way, 
 Bewilder'd in the wood till dawn of day ; 
 And met the merry crew who danced about the May. 
 Then late refresh'd with sleep, I rose to write 
 The visionary vigils of the night. 
 
 Blush, as thou may'st, my little book, with shame, 
 Nor hope with homely verse to purchase fame ; 
 For such thy maker chose ; and so design'd 
 Thy simple style to suit thy lowly kind. 
 
 THE WIFE OF BATH, HER TALE. 
 
 In days of old, when Arthur fiU'd the throne, 
 
 Whose acts and fame to foreign lands were blown ; 
 
 The king of elves and little fairy queen 
 
 Gamboll'd on heaths, and danced on every green ; 
 
 And where the jolly troop had led the round. 
 
 The grass unbidden rose, and mark'd the ground : 
 
 Nor darkling did they dance, the silver light 
 
 Of Phoebe served to guide their steps aright. 
 
 And with their tripping pleased, prolong the night. 
 
 Her beams they follow'd, where at full she play'd, lo 
 
 Nor longer than she shed her horns they stay'd ; 
 
 From thence with airy flight to foreign lands convey 'd 
 
 Above the rest our Britain held they dear. 
 
 More solemnly they kept their sabbaths here. 
 
 And made more spacious rings, and revell'd half the year. 
 
 I speak of ancient times, for now the swain 
 Returning late may pass the woods in vain, 
 
T 
 
 TALES FROM CHAUCER. 325 
 
 And never hope to see the niglitlj train : i8 
 
 n vain the dairy now with mints is dress'd, 
 The dairymaid expects no fairy guest, 
 To skim the bowls, and after pay the feast. 
 She sighs and shakes her empty shoes in vain. 
 No silver penny to reward her pain : 
 For priests, with prayers, and other godly gear. 
 Have made the merry goblins disappear ; 
 And where they play'd their merry pranks before. 
 Have sprinkled holy water on the floor : 
 And friars, that through the wealthy regions run. 
 Thick as the motes that twinkle in the sun. 
 Resort to farmers rich, and bless their halls, 30 
 
 And exorcise the beds, and cross the walls : 
 This makes the fairy quires forsake the place, 
 When once 'tis hallow'd with the rites of grace : 
 But in the walks where wicked elves have been. 
 
 The learning of the parish now is seen. 
 
 The midnight parson, posting o'er the green, 
 
 With gown tuck'd up, to wakes, for Sunday next, 
 
 With humming ale encouraging his text ; 
 
 Nor wants the holy leer to country girl betwixt. 
 
 From fiends and imps he sets the village free, 40 
 
 There haunts not any incubus but he. 
 
 The maids and women need no danger fear 
 
 To walk by night, and sanctity so near : 
 
 For by some haycock, or some shady thorn, 
 
 He bids his beads both even-song and morn. 
 It so befell, in this King Artlmr's reign, 
 
 A lusty knight was pricking o'er the plain ; 
 
 A bachelor he was, and of the courtly train. 
 
 It happen'd, as he rode, a damsel gay. 
 
 In russet robes, to market took her way. so 
 
 Soon on the girl he cast an amorous eye. 
 
326 deyden's poems. 
 
 So straight she walk'd, and on her pasterns high : 52 
 
 If, seeing her behind, he liked her pace, 
 
 Now turning short, he better likes her face. 
 
 He lights in haste, and, full of youthful fire, 
 
 By force accomplish'd his obscene desire : 
 
 This done, away he rode, not unespied. 
 
 For swarming at his back the country cried : 
 
 And once in view they never lost the sight, 
 
 But seized, and pinion'd brought to court the knight. 60 
 
 Then courts of kings were held in high renown, 
 Ere made the common brothels of the town : 
 There, virgins honourable vows received, 
 But chaste as maids in monasteries lived : 
 The king himself, to nuptial ties a slave, 
 No bad example to his poets gave : 
 And they, not bad, but in a vicious age. 
 Had not, to please the prince, debauch'd the stage. 
 
 Now, what should Arthur do 1 He loved the knight, 
 But sovereign monarchs are the source of right : 70 
 
 Moved by the damsel's tears and common cry, 
 He doom'd the brutal ravisher to die. 
 But fair Geneura rose in his defence. 
 And pray'd so hard for mercy from the prince, 
 That to his queen the king the oifender gave, 
 And left it in her power to kill or save : 
 This gracious act the ladies all approve, 
 Who thought it much a man should die for love ; 
 And with their mistress join'd in close debate, 
 (Covering their kindness with dissembled hate) so 
 
 If not to free him, to prolong his fate. 
 At last agreed, they call him by consent 
 Before the queen and female parliament ; 
 And the fair speaker, rising from the chair. 
 Did thus tlie judgment of the house declare : 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 327 
 
 Sir kniglit, tliougli I liave ask'd thy life, vet still S6 
 Thy destiny depends upon my T\'ill : 
 Nor hast thou other surety than the grace 
 Not due to thee from our offended race. 
 But as our kind is of a softer mould, 90 
 
 And cannot blood without a sigli behold, 
 I grant thee life ; reserving still the power 
 To take the forfeit Tvhen I see my hour : 
 Unless tliy answer to my next demand 
 Shall set thee free from our avenging hand. 
 The question, whose solution I require, ^ 
 
 Is, What the sex of women most desire 1 4 
 
 In this dispute thy judges are at strife ; ^• 
 
 Beware ; for on thy wit depends thy life. 
 Yet (lest surprised, unknowing what to say, loc 
 
 Thou damn thyself) we give thee farther day : 
 A year is thine to wander at thy will. 
 And learn from others, if thou want'st the skill. 
 But, not to hold our proffer turn'd to scorn, 
 Good sureties wiU we have for thy return ; 
 That at the time prefix'd thou shalt obey, 
 And at thy pledge's peril keep thy day. 
 
 Woe was the knight at this severe command ; 
 But well he knew 'twas bootless to withstand : 
 The terms accepted, as the fair ordain, H' 
 
 He put in bail for his return again, 
 And promised answer at the day assign'd, 
 The best, with Heaven's assistance, he could find. 
 
 His leave thus taken, on his way he went 
 With heavy heart, and full of discontent, 
 Misdoubting much, and fearful of the event. 
 'Twas hard the truth of such a point to find, 
 As was not yet agreed among the kind. 
 Thus on he went ; still anxious more and more. 
 
328 deyden's poems. 
 
 Ask'd all he met, and knock'd at every door ; 120 
 
 Inquired of men ; but made bis chief request, 
 
 To learn from women what they loved the best. 
 
 They answer'd each according to her mind, 
 
 To please herself, not all the female kind. 
 
 One was for wealth, another was for place ; 
 
 Crones, old and ugly, wish'd a better face : 
 
 The widow's wish was oftentimes to wed ; 
 
 The wanton maids were all for sport a-bed. 
 
 Some said the sex were pleased with handsome lies, 
 
 And some gross flattery loved without disguise : 130 
 
 Truth is, says one, he seldom fails to win 
 
 Who flatters well ; for that 's our darling sin : 
 
 But long attendance, and a duteous mind. 
 
 Will work even with the wisest of the kind. 
 
 One thought the sex's prime felicity 
 
 Was from the bonds of wedlock to be free ; 
 
 Their pleasures, hours, and actions all their own. 
 
 And uncontroll'd to give account to none. 
 
 Some wish a husband-fool ; but such are cursed, 
 
 For fools perverse of husbands are the worst : 140 
 
 All women would be counted chaste and wise, 
 
 Nor should our spouses see, but with our eyes ; 
 
 For fools will prate ; and though they want the wit 
 
 To find close faults, yet open blots will hit ; 
 
 Though better for their ease to hold their tongue. 
 
 For womankind was never in the wrong. 
 
 So noise ensues, and quarrels last for life ; 
 
 The wife abhors the fool, the fool the wife. 
 
 And some men say that great delight have we, 
 
 To be for truth extoll'd, and secrecy ; 150 
 
 And constant in one purpose still to dwell ; 
 
 And not our husbands' counsels to reveal. 
 
 But that 's a fable ; for our sex is frail, 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 329 
 
 Inventing rather than not tell a tale. 154 
 
 Like leaky sieves, no secrets we can hold : 
 Witness the famous tale that Ovid told. 
 
 Midas the king, as in his book appears. 
 By Phoebus was endow'd M'ith ass's ears, 
 AVhich under his long locks he well conceal'd, 
 (As monarchs' vices must not be reveal'd) igo 
 
 For fear the people have them in the wind. 
 Who Ions ajro were neither dumb nor blind : 
 Nor apt to think from Heaven their title springs, 
 Since Jove and Mars left off begetting kings. 
 This Midas knew ; and durst communicate 
 To none but to his wife his ears of state : 
 One must be trusted, and he thought her fit. 
 As passing prudent, and a parlous wit. 
 To this sagacious confessor he went. 
 And told her what a gift the gods had sent : no 
 
 But told it under matrimonial seal. 
 With strict injunction never to reveal. 
 The secret heard, she plighted him her troth, 
 (And sacred sure is every woman's oath) 
 The royal malady should rest unknown, 
 Both for her husband's honour and her own ; 
 But ne'ertheless she pined with discontent ; 
 The counsel rumbled till it found a vent. 
 The thing she knew she was obliged to hide ; 
 By interest and by oath the wife was tied ; 18O 
 
 But if she told it not, the woman died. 
 Loath to betray a husband and a prince, 
 But she must burst, or blab ; and no pretence 
 Of honour tied her tongue from self-defence. 
 A marshy ground commodiously was near, 
 Thither she ran, and held her breath for fear ; 
 Lest if a word she spoke of any thing. 
 
330 deyden's poems. 
 
 That word might be the secret of the king. iss 
 
 Thus full of counsel to the fen she went, 
 
 Griped all the way, and longing for a vent ; 
 
 Arrived, by pure necessity compell'd, 
 
 On her majestic marrow-bones she kneel'd : 
 
 Then to the water's brink she laid her head, 
 
 And as a bittour ^ bumps within a reed, 
 
 To thee alone, lake, she said, I tell, 
 
 (And, as thy queen, command thee to conceal !) 
 
 Beneath his locks the king, my husband wears 
 
 A goodly royal pair of ass's ears : 
 
 Now I have eased my bosom of the pain, 
 
 Till the next longing fit return again. 200 
 
 Thus through a woman was the secret known ; 
 Tell us, and in effect you tell the town. 
 But to my tale ; the knight with heavy cheer. 
 Wandering in vain, had now consumed the year : 
 One day was only left to solve the doubt, 
 Yet knew no more than when he first set out. 
 But home he must, and as the award had been, 
 Yield up his body captive to the queen. 
 In this despairing state he happ'd to ride, 
 As fortune led him, by a forest side : 210 
 
 Lonely the vale, and full of horror stood, 
 Brown with the shade of a religious wood ! 
 When full before him, at the noon of night, 
 (The moon was up, and shot a gleamy light) 
 He saw a quire of ladies in a round 
 That featly footing seem'd to skim the ground : 
 Thus dancing hand in hand, so light they were, 
 He knew not where they trod, on earth or air. 
 At speed he drove, and came a sudden guest. 
 In hope where many women were, at least 220 
 
 ' ' 'Bittour:' bittcra. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 331 
 
 Some one by chance might answer his request. 221 
 
 But faster than his horse the ladies flew, 
 And in a trice were vanish'd out of view. 
 
 One only hag remained ; but fouler far 
 Than grandame apes in Indian forests are : 
 Against a wither'd oak she leau'd her weight, 
 Propp'd on her trusty staff, not half upright, 
 And dropp'd an awkward courtesy to the knight ; 
 Then said, What makes you, sir, so late abroad 
 Without a guide, and this no beaten road ? 230 
 
 Or want you aught that here you hope to find, 
 Or travel for some trouble in your mind 1 
 The last I guess ; and if I read aright. 
 Those of our sex are bound to serve a knight ; 
 Perhaps good counsel may your grief assuage, 
 Then tell your pain ; for wisdom is in age. 
 
 To this the knight : Good mother, would you know 
 The secret cause and spring of all my woe 'i 
 My life must with to-morrow's light expire, 
 Unless I tell what women most desire. 240 
 
 Now could you help me at this hard essay, 
 Or for your inborn goodness, or for pay ; 
 Yours is my life, redeem'd by your advice. 
 Ask what you please, and I will pay the price ; 
 The proudest kerchief of the court shall rest 
 Well satisfied of what they love the best. 
 PHght me thy faith, quoth she, that what I ask, 
 Thy danger over, and perform'd thy task. 
 That thou shalt give for hire of thy demand ; 
 Here take thy oath, and seal it on my hand ; 250 
 
 I warrant thee, on peril of my life. 
 Thy words shall please both widow, maid, and wife. 
 
 More words there needed not to move the knight 
 To take her offer, and his truth to plight. 
 
332 deyden's poems. 
 
 AVith that she spread a mantle on the ground, 255 
 
 And, first inqnmng whither he was bound, 
 
 Bade him not fear, though long and rough the way, 
 
 At court he should arrive ere break of day ; 
 
 His horse should find the way without a guide. 
 
 She said : with furj they began to ride, 260 
 
 He on the midst, the beldam at his side. 
 
 The horse what deyil drove I cannot tell, 
 
 But only this, they sped their journey well : 
 
 And ail the way the crone inform'd the knight, 
 
 How he should answer the demand aright. 
 
 To court they came ; the news was quickly spread 
 Of his returning to redeem his head. 
 The female senate was assembled soon, 
 With all the mob of women in the town : 
 The queen sat lord chief-justice of the hall, 270 
 
 And bade the crier cite the criminal. 
 The knight appear'd ; and silence they proclaim ; 
 Then first the culprit answer'd to his name : 
 And, after forms of law, was last required 
 To name the thing that women most desired. 
 
 The offender, taught his lesson by the way. 
 And by his counsel order'd what to say, 
 Thus bold began : My lady liege, said he, 
 What all your sex desire is Sovereignty. 
 The wife affects her husband to command ; 28O 
 
 All must be hers, both money, house, and land. 
 The maids are mistresses even in their name ; 
 And of their servants full dominion claim. 
 This, at the peril of my head, I say, 
 A blunt plain truth, the sex aspires to sway. 
 You to rule all, while we, like slaves, obey. 
 There was not one, or widow, maid, or wife, 
 But said the knight had well deserved his life. 
 
TALES FEOM CHAUCER. 333 
 
 Even fair Geneura, with a blusli, confess'd 289 
 
 The man had found -what women love the best. 
 
 Upstarts the beklam, who was there unseen, 
 And, reverence made, accosted thus the queen : 
 Mj liege, said she, before the court arise, 
 May I, poor wretch, find favour in jour eyes, 
 To grant my just request '? 'twas I who taught 
 The knight this answer, and inspired his thought ; 
 None but a woman could a man direct 
 To tell us women what we most affect. 
 But first I swore him on his knightly troth, 
 (x\nd here demand performance of liis oath) 300 
 
 To grant the boon that next I should desire ; 
 He gave his faith, and I expect my hire : 
 My promise is fulfiU'd ; I saved his life. 
 And claim his debt, to take me for his wife. 
 The knight was ask'd, nor could his oath deny, 
 But hoped they would not force him to comply. 
 The women, who would rather wrest the laws. 
 Than let a sister-plaintiff lose the cause, 
 (As judges on the bench more gracious are. 
 And more attent to brothers of the bar) 310 
 
 Cried one and all, the suppliant should have right. 
 And to the grandame hag adjudged the knight. 
 
 In vain he sigh'd, and oft with tears desired 
 Some reasonable suit might be required. 
 But still the crone was constant to her note ; 
 The more he spoke, the more she stretch'd her throat. 
 In vain he proffer'd all his goods, to save 
 His body destined to that living grave. 
 The liquorish hag rejects the pelf with scorn ; 
 And nothino; but the man would serve her turn. 320 
 Not all the wealth of eastern kings, said she, 
 Have power to part my plighted love, and me ; 
 
334 dryden's poems. 
 
 And, old and uglj as I am, and poor, 323 
 
 Yet never will I break the faith I swore ; 
 For mine thou art by promise, during life, 
 And I thy loving and obedient wife. 
 
 Mj love ! naj, rather, mj damnation thou. 
 Said he : nor am I bound to keep my vow : 
 The fiend thy sire hath sent thee from below. 
 Else how couldst thou my secret sorrows know ? 330 
 Avaunt, old witcli ! for I renounce thy bed : 
 The queen may take the forfeit of my head. 
 Ere any of my race so foul a crone shall wed. 
 Both heard, the judge pronounced against the knight ; 
 So was he married in his own despite ; 
 And all day after hid him as an owl. 
 Not able to sustain a sight so foul. 
 Perhaps the reader thinks I do him wrong, 
 To pass the marriage feast, and nuptial song : 
 Mirth there was none, the man was a-la-mort, S40 
 
 And little courage had to make his court. 
 To bed they went, the bridegroom and the bride : 
 Was never such an ill-pair'd couple tied, 
 Restless, he toss'd and tumbled to and fro. 
 And roU'd, and wriggled further off, for woe. 
 The good old wife lay smiling by his side. 
 And caught him in her quivering arms, and cried, 
 When you my ravish'd predecessor saw, 
 You were not then become this man of straw ; 
 Had you been such, you might have 'scaped the law. 350 
 Is this the custom of King Arthur's court 1 
 Are all round-table knights of such a sort ? 
 Remember, I am she who saved your life. 
 Your loving, lawful, and complying wife : 
 Not thus you swore in your unhappy hour, 
 Nor I for this return employ'd my power. 
 
TALES PEOM CHAUCER. 335 
 
 111 time of need I was jour faithful friend ; 357 
 
 Nor did I since, nor ever will offend. 
 
 Believe me, my loved lord, 'tis much unkind ; 
 
 "What furj has possess'd jour alter'd mind ? 
 
 Thus on mj wedding night — without pretence — 
 
 Come turn this waj, or tell me mj offence. 
 
 If not jour wife, let reason's rule persuade ; 
 
 Name but mj fault, amends shall soon be made. 
 
 Amends ! naj, that's impossible, said he, 
 
 AVhat change of age or ugliness can be 1 
 
 Or could Medea's magic mend thj face, 
 
 Thou art descended from so mean a race, 
 
 That never knight was match'd with such disgrace. 
 
 What wonder, madam, if I move mj side, 370 
 
 When, if I turn, I turn to such a bride 1 
 
 And is this all that troubles jou so sore 1 
 
 And what the devil couldst thou wish me more 1 
 
 Ah, Benedicite, replied the crone ; 
 
 Then cause of just complaining have jou none. 
 
 The remedy to this were soon applied. 
 
 Would JOU be like the bridegroom to the bride : 
 
 But, for you say a long descended race. 
 
 And wealth and dignity, and power and place, 
 
 Make gentlemen, and that jour high degree 38 
 
 Is much disparaged to be match'd with me ; 
 
 Know this, my lord, nobility of blood 
 
 Is but a glittering and fallacious good : 
 
 The nobleman is he, whose noble mind 
 
 Is fill'd with inborn worth, unborrow'd from his kind. 
 
 The King of Heaven was in a manger laid, 
 
 And took his earth but from an humble maid ; 
 
 Then* what can birth, or mortal men, bestow ? 
 
 Since floods no higher than their fountains flow. 
 
 We, who for name and empty honour strive, 390 
 
336 dryden's poems. 
 
 Our true nobility from him derive. 391 
 
 Your ancestors, who puff jour mind with pride, 
 
 And vast estates to mighty titles tied, 
 
 Did not your honour, but their own, advance ; 
 
 For virtue comes not by inheritance. 
 
 If you tralineate from your father's mind, 
 
 What are you else but of a bastard kind ? 
 
 Do, as your great progenitors have done, 
 
 And, by their virtues, prove yourself their son. 
 
 No father can infuse or wit or grace ; 400 
 
 A mother comes across, and mars the race. 
 
 A grandsire or a grandame taints the blood ; 
 
 And seldom three descents continue good. 
 
 Were virtue by descent, a noble name 
 
 Could never villanise his father's fame ; 
 
 But, as the first, the last of all the line, 
 
 Would, like the sun, even in descending shine ; 
 
 Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house, 
 
 Betwixt King Arthur's court and Caucasus : 
 
 If you depart, the flame shall still remain, 410 
 
 And the bright blaze enlighten all the plain : 
 
 Nor, till the fuel perish, can decay. 
 
 By nature form'd on things combustible to prey. 
 
 Such is not man, who, mixing better seed 
 
 With worse, begets a base degenerate breed : 
 
 The bad corrupts the good, and leaves behind 
 
 No trace of all the great begetter's mind. 
 
 The father sinks within his son, we see, 
 
 And often rises in the third degree ; 
 
 If better luck a better mother give, 420 
 
 Chance gave us being, and by chance we live. 
 
 Such as our atoms were, even such are we. 
 
 Or call it chance, or strong necessity : 
 
 Thus loaded with dead weight, the will is free. 
 
TALES PROM CHAUCER. 337 
 
 And thus it needs must be ; for seed conjoin'd 425 
 
 Lets into nature's work the imperfect kind ; 
 But fire, the enlivener of the general frame, 
 Is one, its operation still the same. 
 Its principle is in itself: while ours 
 Works, as confederates war, with mingled powers ; 430 
 Or man or woman, M'hich soever fails : 
 And oft the vigour of the worse prevails, 
 ^ther with sulphur blended alters hue. 
 And casts a dusky gleam of Sodom blue. 
 Thus, in a brute, their ancient honour ends. 
 And the fair mermaid in a fish descends : 
 The line is gone ; no longer duke or earl ; 
 But, by himself degraded, turns a churl. 
 Nobility of blood is but renown 
 
 Of thy great fathers by their virtue known, 440 
 
 And a long trail of light, to thee descending down. 
 If in thy smoke it ends, their glories shine ; 
 But infiimy and villanage are thine. 
 Then what I said before is plainly show'd. 
 The true nobility proceeds from God ; 
 Nor left us by inheritance, but given 
 By bounty of our stars, and grace of Heaven. 
 Thus from a captive Servius TuUius rose. 
 Whom for his virtues the first Romans chose : 
 Fabricius from their walls repell'd the foe, 450 
 
 Whose noble hands had exercised the plough. 
 From hence, my lord, and love, I thus conclude. 
 That though my homely ancestors were rude, 
 Mean as I am, yet I may have the grace 
 To make you father of a generous race : 
 And noble then am I, when I begin, 
 In virtue clothed, to cast the rags of sin. 
 If poverty be my upbraided crime, 
 VOL. n. y 
 
338 DRYDEN'S POEMS. 
 
 And you believe in Heaven, there was a time 459 
 
 When He, the great controller of our fate, 
 
 Deign'd to be man, and lived in low estate ; 
 
 Which He who had the world at his dispose, 
 
 If poverty were vice, would never choose. 
 
 Philosophers have said, and poets sing, 
 
 That a glad poverty 's an honest thing. 
 
 Content is wealth, the riches of the mind ; 
 
 And happy he who can that treasure find. 
 
 But the base miser starves amidst his store, 
 
 Broods on his gold, and, griping still at more. 
 
 Sits sadly pining, and believes he 's poor, 470 
 
 The ragged beggar, though he want relief. 
 
 Has not to lose, and sings before the thief. 
 
 Want is a bitter and a hateful good, 
 
 Because its virtues are not understood ; 
 
 Yet many things, impossible to thought. 
 
 Have been by need to full perfection brought : 
 
 The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, 
 
 Sharpness of wit, and active diligence ; 
 
 Prudence at once, and fortitude, it gives, 
 
 And, if in patience taken, mends our lives ; 48o 
 
 For even that indigence, that brings me low. 
 
 Makes me myself, and Him above, to know. 
 
 A good which none would challenge, few would choose, 
 
 A fair possession, which mankind refuse. 
 
 If we from wealth to poverty descend. 
 
 Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend. 
 
 If I am old and ugly, well for you, 
 
 No lewd adulterer will my love pursue ; 
 
 Nor jealousy, the bane of married life, 
 
 Shall haunt you for a wither'd homely wife ; 490 
 
 For age and ugliness, as all agree, 
 
 Are the best guards of female chastity. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 339 
 
 Yet since I see jour mind is worldly bent, 493 
 
 I '11 do my best to further jour content. 
 
 And therefore of two gifts in my dispose, 
 
 Think ere jou speak, I grant jou leave to choose : 
 
 Would JOU I should be still deform'd and old, 
 
 Nauseous to touch, and loathsome to behold ; 
 
 On this condition to remain for life, 
 
 A careful, tender, and obedient wife, 500 
 
 In all I can contribute to jour ease. 
 
 And not in deed, or word, or thought displease : 
 
 Or would JOU rather have me joung and fair, 
 
 And take the chance that happens to jour share ? 
 
 Temptations are in beautj, and in jouth, 
 
 And how can jou depend upon mj truth ? 
 
 Now weigh the danger with the doubtful bliss. 
 
 And thank jourself, if aught should fall amiss. 
 
 Sore sigh'd the knight, who this long sermon heard ; 
 At length, considering all, his heart he cheer'd, 510 
 
 And thus replied : Mj ladj, and mj wife, 
 To jour wise conduct I resign mj life : 
 Choose JOU for me, for well jou understand 
 The future good and ill, on either hand : 
 But if an humble husband maj request. 
 Provide, and order all things for the best ; 
 Yours be the care to profit, and to please ; 
 And let jour subject servant take his ease. 
 
 Then thus in peace, quoth she, concludes the strife, 
 Since I am turn'd the husband, jou the wife : 520 
 
 The matrimonial victorj is mine. 
 Which, having fairlj gain'd, I will resign : 
 Forgive if I have said or done amiss, 
 And seal the bargain with a friendlj kiss. 
 I promised jou but one content to share. 
 But now I will become both good and fair : 
 
340 dryden's poems. 
 
 No nuptial quarrel shall disturb your ease ; 527 
 
 The business of my life shall be to please : 
 And for my beauty, that, as time shall try — 
 But draw the curtain first, and cast your eye. 
 
 He look'd, and saw a creature heavenly fair, 
 In bloom of youth, and of a charming air. 
 With joy he turn'd, and seized her ivory arm ; 
 And like Pygmalion found the statue warm. 
 Small arguments there needed to prevail ; 
 A storm of kisses pour'd as thick as hail. 
 Thus long in mutual bliss they lay embraced, 
 And their first love continued to the last : 
 One sunshine was their life, no cloud between ; 
 Nor ever was a kinder couple seen. 540 
 
 And so may all our lives like theirs be led ; 
 Heaven send the maids young husbands fresh in bed ! 
 May widows wed as often as they can, 
 And ever for the better change their man ! 
 And some devouring plague pursue their lives. 
 Who will not well be govern'd by their wives ! 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON.i 
 
 A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim train ; 
 An awful, reverend, and religious man. 
 His eyes diSiised a venerable grace, 
 And charity itself was in his face. 
 Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor ; 
 (As God had clothed his own ambassador ;) 
 For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore. 
 Of sixty years he seem'd ; and well might last 
 
 ' This poem is intended as a palinode for some of Dryden's former misdeeds, 
 and partly as a covert panegyiic on the Nonjuring clergy. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 341 
 
 To sixty more, but that he lived too fast ; 9 
 
 Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense ; 
 And made almost a sin of abstinence, 
 Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe, 
 But such a face as promised him sincere. 
 Nothing reserved or sullen was to see ; 
 But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity : 
 Mild was his accent, and his action free. 
 With eloquence "innate his tongue was arm'd ; 
 Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm'd. 
 For letting down the golden chain from high. 
 He drew his audience upward to the sky ; 20 
 
 And oft, with holy hymns, he charm'd their ears : 
 (A music more melodious than the spheres.) 
 For David left him, when he went to rest. 
 His lyre ; and after him he sung the best. 
 He bore his great commission in his look : 
 But sweetly temper'd awe ; and soften'd all he spoke. 
 He preach'd the joys of heaven, and pains of hell ; 
 And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal ; 
 But on eternal mercy loved to dwell. 
 He taught the gospel rather than the law, so 
 
 And forced himself to drive : but loved to draw. 
 For fear but freezes minds ; but love, Hke heat, 
 Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat. 
 To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard, 
 Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm prepared ; 
 But, when the milder beams of mercy play, 
 He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away, 
 Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery) 
 As harbingers before the Almighty fly : 
 Those but proclaim his style, and disappear ; 40 
 
 The stiller sound succeeds, and God is there. 
 The tithes, his parish freely paid, he took ; 
 
342 dryden's poems. 
 
 But never sued, or cursed with bell and book. 43 
 
 With patience bearing wrong ; but offering none : 
 Since every man is free to lose his own. 
 The country churls, according to their kind, 
 (Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind). 
 The less he sought his offerings, pinch'd the more. 
 And praised a priest contented to be poor. 
 
 Yet of his little he had some to spare, 5o 
 
 To feed the famish'd, and to clothe the bare ; 
 For mortified he was to that degree, 
 A poorer than himself he would not see. 
 True priests, he said, and preachers of the Word, 
 Were only stewards of their sovereign Lord : 
 Nothing was theirs ; but all the public store ; 
 Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor : 
 Who, should they steal for Avant of his relief, 
 He judged himself accomplice with the thief. 
 
 Wide was his parish ; not contracted close eo 
 
 In streets, but here and there a straggling house ; 
 Yet still he was at hand, without request. 
 To serve the sick ; to succour the distress'd : 
 Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright, 
 The dangers of a dark tempestuous night. 
 
 All this the good old man performed alone, 
 Nor spared his pains ; for curate he had none : 
 Nor durst he trust another with his care ; 
 Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair, 
 To chaffer for preferment with his gold, 70 
 
 Where bishoprics and sinecures are sold : 
 But duly watch'd his flock, by night and day, 
 And from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey ; 
 And hungry sent the wily fox away. 
 
 The proud he tamed, the penitent he cheer'd ; 
 Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd. 
 
TALES FROM CHAUCER. 343 
 
 His preaching much, but more his practice wrought ; 77 
 
 (A living sermon of the tmths he taught) ; 
 
 For this bj rules severe his life he squared, 
 
 That all might see the doctrine which they heard. 
 
 For priests, he said, are patterns for the rest : 
 
 (The gold of heaven, who bear the God impressed) : 
 
 But when the precious coin is kept unclean, 
 
 The Sovereign's image is no longer seen. 
 
 If they be foul on whom the people trust, 
 
 Well may the baser brass contract a rust. 
 
 The prelate for his holy life he prized ; 
 The worldly pomp of prelacy despised : 
 His Saviour came not with a gaudy show ; 
 Nor was his kingdom of the world below. 90 
 
 Patience in want, and poverty of mind, 
 These marks of Church and Churchmen he design'd, 
 And living taught, and dying left behind. 
 The crown he wore was of the pointed thorn : 
 In purple he was crucified, not born. 
 They who contend for place and high degree. 
 Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee. 
 
 Not but he knew the signs of earthly power 
 Might well become Saint Peter's successor ; 
 The holy father holds a double reign, loo 
 
 The prince may keep his pomp, the fisher must be plain. 
 
 Such was the saint, who shone with every grace, 
 Reflecting, Moses'-like, his Maker's face. 
 God saw his image lively was express'd ; 
 And his own work, as in creation, bless'd. 
 
 The Tempter saw him too, with envious eye ; 
 And, as on Job, demanded leave to try. 
 He took the time when Richard was deposed. 
 And high and low with happy Harry closed. 
 This prince, though great in arms, the priest withstood : 
 
344 - dryden's poems. 
 
 Near though he was, yet not the next of blood. iii 
 
 Had Richard, unconstrain'd, resign'd the throne, 
 A king can give no more than is his own : 
 The title stood entail'd, had Richard had a son. 
 
 Conquest, an odious name, was laid aside. 
 Where all submitted, none the battle tried. 
 The senseless plea of right by Providence 
 Was, by a flattering priest, invented since ; 
 And lasts no longer than the present sway ; 
 But justifies the next who comes in play. 120 
 
 The people's right remains ; let those who dare 
 Dispute their power, when they the judges are. 
 
 He join'd not in their choice, because he knew 
 Worse might, and often did, from change ensue. 
 Much to himself he thought ; but little spoke ; 
 And, undeprived, his benefice forsook. 
 
 Now, through the land, his cure of souls he stretch'd ; 
 And like a primitive apostle preach'd : 
 Still cheerful ; ever constant to his call ; 
 By many foUow'd ; loved by most, admired by all. i30 
 With what he begg'd, his brethren he relieved : 
 And gave the charities himself received. 
 Gave, while he taught ; and edified the more, 
 Because he showed, by proof, 'twas easy to be poor. 
 
 He went not with the crowd to see a shrine ; 
 But fed us, by the way, with food divine. 
 
 In deference to his virtues, I forbear 
 To show you what the rest in orders were : 
 This brilhant is so spotless and so bright. 
 He needs no foil, but shines by his own proper light. i4o 
 
 THE END. 
 
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