The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume I Part 18

That year in which the city he did sway, 290 He left rebellion in a hopeful way, 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.

Protesting that he dares not sleep in 's bed Lest he should rise next morn without his head.

Next[74] these, a troop of busy spirits press, 310 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 long to fish the troubled streams anew.

Some future hopes, some present payment draws, To sell their conscience and espouse the cause.

Such stipends those vile hirelings best befit, 318 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 cuckoldising juice?

Slim Phaleg could, and at the table fed, 340 Return'd the grateful product to the bed.

A waiting-man to travelling n.o.bles 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, Let Hebron, nay let h.e.l.l, produce a man 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 ephod brave, And pick up single shekels from the grave.

Married at last, but finding charge come faster, 360 He could not live by G.o.d, 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 gains.

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 wh.o.r.e, 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?

Such thanks the present church thy pen will give, Which proves rebellion was so primitive.

Must ancient failings be examples made?

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 a.s.ses' 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 Replenished with seven devils more by thee.

Levi, thou art a load, I'll 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'll leap o'er heavy blocks, Shun rotten Uzza, as I would the pox; And hasten Og and Doeg to rehea.r.s.e, 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 f.a.goted his notions as they fell, And if they rhymed 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 garret, He 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'll cry wh.o.r.e 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?

That's a preferment for Achitophel.

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 pa.s.s 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 makes heaven's gate a lock to its own key_:[75]

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; The height of his ambition is, we know, 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 come; Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home, Round as a globe, and liquor'd every c.h.i.n.k, 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 ma.s.s of foul corrupted matter, As all the devils had spued to make the batter.

When wine has given him courage to blaspheme, He curses G.o.d, but G.o.d 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 G.o.d's making; The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull, With this prophetic blessing--Be thou dull; Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd 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 a.r.s.enic 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; Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck, '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, 490 Thou whom the penny pamphlet foil'd in prose?

Doeg, whom G.o.d for mankind's mirth has made, O'ertops thy talent in thy very trade; Doeg to thee, thy paintings are so coa.r.s.e, 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 hang'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 who 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 Doeg, and to write like thee!

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, Thrust in the villain herd without a mark; With parasites and libel-sp.a.w.ning 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 pa.s.s, Sense, nonsense, anything to employ the gla.s.s; 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 G.o.ds; 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; Thus every shift and subtle method past, 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 lambs yean'd lately, and far-labouring bees: To guard his stock each to the G.o.ds 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 the 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 580 Unjudged 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 Sanhedrims and clamorous crowds thus press'd, What pa.s.sions rent the righteous David's breast!

Who knows not how to oppose or to comply-- Unjust to grant, or dangerous to deny!

How near, in this dark juncture, Israel's fate, Whose peace one sole expedient could create, Which yet the extremest virtue did require, 590 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 like an exile quits the promised land!

Our monarch scarce from pressing tears refrains, 600 And painfully his royal state maintains, Who now, embracing on the extremest sh.o.r.e, 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 n.o.bles weep, But hardy sailors swell with tears the deep!

The tide restrain'd her course, and more amazed, 610 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 sh.o.r.e the king, and seas the prince received.

Go, injured hero! while propitious gales, Soft as thy consort's breath, inspire thy sails; Well may she trust her beauties on a flood, Where thy triumphant fleets so oft have rode! 620 Safe on thy breast reclined, her rest be deep, Rock'd like a Nereid by the waves asleep; While happiest dreams her fancy entertain, And to Elysian fields convert the main!

Go, injured hero! while the sh.o.r.es of Tyre At thy approach so silent shall admire, Who 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 factious Jews his worth deny, Their aching conscience gives their tongue the lie.

Even in the worst of men the n.o.blest 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; 640 No hour of his in fruitless ease destroy'd, But on the n.o.blest 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 superst.i.tion they complain, And Jebusitic worship in his reign: With such alarms his foes the crowd deceive, With dangers fright, which not themselves believe.

Since nothing can our sacred rites remove, 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; 660 They grudge G.o.d's t.i.thes, 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 compa.s.s 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 rights, and then his own; His dear-gain'd conquests cheaply to despoil, And reap the harvest of his crimes and toil.

We grant his wealth vast as our ocean's sand, And curse its fatal influence on our land, Which our bribed Jews so numerously partake, That even an host his pensioners would make. 690 From these deceivers our divisions spring, Our weakness, and the growth of Egypt's king; These, with pretended friendship to the state, Our crowds' suspicion of their prince create; Both pleased and frighten'd with the specious cry, 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: 700 Thus our forefathers' crooked paths are trod-- We trust our prince no more than they their G.o.d.

But all in vain our reasoning prophets preach, To those whom sad experience ne'er could teach, Who can commence new broils in bleeding scars, And fresh remembrance of intestine wars; When the same household mortal foes did yield, And brothers stain'd with brothers' blood the field; When sons' cursed steel the fathers' gore did stain, And mothers mourn'd for sons by fathers slain! 710 When thick as Egypt's locusts on the sand, Our tribes lay slaughter'd through the promised land, Whose few survivors 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, Which, till obtain'd, they cease affairs of state, And real dangers waive for groundless hate.