The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume Ii Part 27

Guards are illegal, that drive foes away, As watchful shepherds, that fright beasts of prey.

Kings, who disband such needless aids as these, Are safe--as long as e'er their subjects please: And that would be till next Queen Bess's night: [61]

Which thus grave penny chroniclers indite.

Sir Edmondbury first, in woful wise, 20 Leads up the show, and milks their maudlin eyes.

There's not a butcher's wife but dribs her part, And pities the poor pageant from her heart; Who, to provoke revenge, rides round the fire, And, with a civil conge, does retire: But guiltless blood to ground must never fall; There's Antichrist behind, to pay for all.

The punk of Babylon in pomp appears, A lewd old gentleman of seventy years: Whose age in vain our mercy would implore; 30 For few take pity on an old cast wh.o.r.e.

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, G.o.d 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 d.a.m.n his friends: So G.o.d begins, but still the Devil ends.

What if some one, inspired with zeal, should call, Come, let's go cry, G.o.d save him at Whitehall?

His best friends would not like this over-care, Or think him ere the safer for this prayer.

Five praying saints are by an act allow'd;[62] 50 But not the whole church-militant in crowd.

Yet, should Heaven all the true pet.i.tions drain Of Presbyterians, who would kings maintain, Of forty thousand, five would scarce remain.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 60: '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.]

[Footnote 61: 'Queen Bess's night:' alluding to a procession of the Whigs, carrying party effigies, and a representation of the dead body of Sir E. G.o.dfrey, on the 17th of November, the birthday of Queen Elizabeth.]

[Footnote 62: By the Bartholomew Act not more than five Dissenters were allowed to commune together at one time.]

x.x.xIII.

PROLOGUE TO "THE KING AND QUEEN."[63]

UPON THE UNION OF THE TWO COMPANIES IN 1686.

1 Since faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion, Their penny scribes take care to inform the nation, How well men thrive in this or that plantation:

2 How Pennsylvania's air agrees with Quakers, And Carolina's with a.s.sociators: Both even too good for madmen and for traitors.

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'll say, to us and our vocation?

Only thus much, that we have left our station, And made this theatre our new plantation.

5 The factious natives never could agree; But aiming, as they call'd it, to be free, Those playhouse Whigs set up for property.

6 Some say, they no obedience paid of late; But would new fears and jealousies create; Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the state.

7 Plain sense, without the talent of foretelling, Might guess 'twould end in downright knocks and quelling: For seldom comes there better of rebelling.

8 When men will, needlessly, their freedom barter For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar; There's a d.a.m.n'd word that rhymes to this call'd Charter.

9 But, since the victory with us remains, You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains; If you'll not think us saucy for our pains.

10 Old men shall have good old plays to delight them And you, fair ladies and gallants, that slight them, We'll treat with good new plays; if our new wits can write them.

11 We'll 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, As none but fools or fairies ever play'd; But 'twas, as shopmen say, to force a trade.

13 We've given you tragedies, all sense defying, And singing men, in woful metre dying; This 'tis when heavy lubbers will be flying.

14 All these disasters we well hope to weather; We bring you none of our old lumber hither; Whig poets and Whig sheriffs may hang together.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 63: Two theatrical companies: the Duke's and the King's Houses--both full of every species of abomination--at last united in 1686, and the most profligate poet of the age was fitly chosen to proclaim the banns.]

x.x.xIV.

PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,

SPOKEN BY MR HART, AT THE ACTING OF "THE SILENT WOMAN."

What Greece, when learning flourish'd, only knew, Athenian judges, you this day renew; Here too are annual rites to Pallas done, And here poetic prizes lost or won.

Methinks I see you, crown'd with olives, sit, And strike a sacred horror from the pit.

A day of doom is this of your decree, Where even the best are but by mercy free: A day, which none but Jonson durst have wish'd to see.

Here they, who long have known the useful stage, 10 Come to be taught themselves to teach the age.

As your commissioners our poets go, To cultivate the virtue which you sow; In your Lycaeum first themselves refined, And delegated thence to human-kind.

But as amba.s.sadors, when long from home, For new instructions to their princes come; So poets, who your precepts have forgot, Return, and beg they may be better taught: Follies and faults elsewhere by them are shown, 20 But by your manners they correct their own.

The illiterate writer, empiric-like, applies To minds diseased unsafe, chance remedies: The learn'd in schools, where knowledge first began, Studies with care the anatomy of man; Sees virtue, vice, and pa.s.sions in their cause, And fame from science, not from fortune, draws.

So Poetry, which is in Oxford made An art, in London only is a trade.

There haughty dunces, whose unlearned pen 30 Could ne'er spell grammar, would be reading men.

Such build their poems the Lucretian way; So many huddled atoms make a play; 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, 40 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.

Kings make their poets whom themselves think fit, But 'tis your suffrage makes authentic wit.