But the Catholics were so transported with this unexpected happiness,

that they could not refrain from spreading an hundred follies, tending

to connect the queen's pregnancy with the efficacy of the king's faith.

Some said, that the queen's conception took place at the very time

when her mother made a vow to the Lady of Loretto, that her daughter

might by her means have a son: Others attributed it to the queen's

personal influence with Saint Xavier: Others to the intercessions of

the Jesuits, among whom the king had enrolled himself: All ascribed

so happy and unhoped an event to something more than mere natural

causes, and ventured to presage, that the joyful fruit of the queen's

conception would prove a son, since otherwise, it was said, God would

have done his work by halves.[286] It is dangerous for a religious

sect to cry, a miracle! for it is always echoed by their adversaries,

shouting out, an imposture! The same circumstances which induced the

Catholics to believe that this happy event was owing to a peculiar

divine interposition, led the nation to ascribe so unexpected and

opportune an occurrence to artifice and imposition; and they were

prepared to pronounce a birth spurious, which their adversaries had

incautiously pushed to the verge of miraculous.

On the 10th of June, 1688, the prince was born, under circumstances

which ought to have removed all suspicion of imposture. But these

suspicions were too deeply rooted in party prejudices and fears; and it

became a distinguishing mark of a true Protestant, to hold for spurious

the birth of a prince, which took place in the presence of more people

than is either consistent with custom or decency.

In the mean while, public rejoicings, of the most splendid kind,

were solemnized at home and abroad;[287] and the poets flocked with

their addresses of congratulation[288] on the birth of a Prince of

Wales, who was doomed shortly to be distinguished through the English

dominions by the ignominious appellation of Pretender, and abroad, by

the dubious title of Chevalier de St George. It was peculiarly the part

of our author, as poet-laureat, and a good Catholic, to solemnize an

event of so much importance to the king, and those of his religion, and

to bear down, if possible, the popular prejudice by the exertion of his

poetical powers. "Britannia Rediviva" was written, nine days after the

event celebrated, and published accordingly. It is licensed on the 19th

of June.

In this poem, our author assumes the tone and feeling which we

have described as general among the Catholics, upon this happy and

unexpected event. It is less an address of congratulation than a solemn

devotional hymn; and, even considered as such, abounds with expressions

of awful gratitude, rather for a miraculous interposition of heaven

and the blessed saints, than for a blessing conferred through the

ordinary course of nature. Dryden, who knew how to assume every style

that fitted the occasion, writes here in the character of a devout and

grateful Catholic, with much of the _unction_ which marks the hymns of

the Roman church. In English poetry, we have hardly another example of

the peculiar tone which the invocation of saints, and an enthusiastic

faith in the mystic doctrines of the Catholic faith, can give to

poetry. To me, I confess, that communion seems to offer the same

facilities to the poet, which it has been long famous for affording

to the painter; and the "Britannia Rediviva," while it celebrates the

mystic influence of the sacred festivals of the Paraclete and the

Trinity, and introduces the warlike forms of St Michael and St George,

has often reminded me of one of the ancient altar pieces, which it is

impossible to regard without reverence, though presenting miracles

which never happened, or saints who never existed. These subordinate

divinities are something upon which the imagination, dazzled and

overwhelmed by the contemplation of a single Omnipotent Being, can

fairly rest and expand itself. They approach nearer to humanity and

to comprehension; yet are sufficiently removed from both, to have

the full effect of sublime obscurity. Dryden has undoubtedly reaped

considerable advantage from religion in the present poem. It must,

however, be owned, that the effect of these passages is much injured

by the frequent allusion to the deities of classical mythology; and

that Dryden has ranked the gods and goddesses of ancient Rome with the

saints of her modern church, in the same indiscriminate order in which

they are classed in the Pantheon. We have the Giants' War immediately

preceding the miracle wrought on the Shunamite's son; and the serpents

of the infant Hercules are classed in the very sentence with the

dragons of the Apocalypse. On one occasion he has stooped yet lower,

and condescended to pun upon the child's being born on Trinity Sunday,

as promising at least a _trine_ of infant princes.

Still, however, the strain of the poem is, upon the whole, grave and

exalted. Besides the general tone of "Britannia Rediviva," there are

many passages in it deserving the reader's attention. The address

to the queen, beginning, "But you, propitious queen," has all the

smoothness with which Dryden could vary the masculine character of his

general poetry, when he addressed the female sex, and forms a marked

contrast to the more majestic tone of the rest of the piece. It may

indeed be said of Dryden, as he himself says of Virgil, that though he

is smooth where smoothness is required, yet he is so far from affecting

that general character, that he seems rather to disdain it.

The original edition of the "Britannia Rediviva" is in quarto, printed,

as usual, for Tonson, with a motto from the first book of the Georgics,

which is now restored. The concluding lines refer to the death of so

many Catholics by the perjured evidences of Oates and Bedlow:

---- _satis jampridem sanguine nostro

Laomedonteæ luimus_ perjuria _Trojæ._

The word _perjuria_, as well as _Puerum_, in the preceding passage,

are marked by a difference of type; a mode of soliciting the attention

of the reader to a pointed remark or inuendo, which was first used in

Charles II.'s time, and seems to have been introduced by L'Estrange,

who carried it to a most extravagant degree, chequering his Observators

with all manner of characters, from the Roman to the Anglo-Saxon.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 285: The addresses of the grand juries of the counties of

Monmouth, Stafford, Glocester, Yorkshire, &c. &c., all pressed forward

upon this occasion, and are all positive that the blessed hope of the

queen's womb must necessarily prove a son, since the king seemed to

have very little occasion for more daughters. Edmund Arwaker is of the

same opinion, in his poem humbly dedicated to the queen, on occasion of

her majesty's happy conception.]

[Footnote 286: "That which does us most harm with the lords and great

men, is the apprehension of a heretic successor: For as a lord told me

lately, assure me of a Catholic successor, and I assure you I and my

family will be so too. To this purpose the queen's happy delivery will

be of very great moment. Our zealous Catholics do already lay two to

one that it will be a prince. God does nothing by halves, and every

day masses are said upon this very occasion."--_Letter from Father

Petre to Father La Chaise._ This letter is a forgery, but it distinctly

expresses the hopes and apprehensions of both parties.]

[Footnote 287: The most remarkable were celebrated at the Hague, by

the Marquis of Abbeville, his majesty's ambassador there. On one side

of a triumphal arch were the figures of Truth and Justice, with this

inscription: _Veritas et Justitia fulcimentum throni Patris et erunt

mei_: On the other side were Religion and Liberty embracing, with

this motto, _Religio et Libertas amplexatæ erant_. On the portico was

painted the conquest of the dragon by St George, and the delivery

of St Margaret, explained to allude to the liberty of conscience

procured by James's abolition of the test and penal laws. These

decorations, remarkable for their import, and the place in which they

were exhibited, were accompanied with the discharge of fire-works, and

other public rejoicings. There are particular accounts of the splendid

rejoicings at Ratisbon and Paris, &c. &c. in the Gazettes of the

period.]

[Footnote 288: As for example, the poets of Isis, in a collection

called "_Strenæ Natalitiæ in Celsissimum principem.--Oxoni; E Theatro

Shedoniano, 1688_." Consisting of Latin, Greek, Arabic, and Turkish,

pastoral, heroic, and lyrical pieces, on this happy topic.

The following poems are in the Luttrell Collection:

"_Votum pro Principe._

"To the King, upon the Queen's being delivered of a Son; by John Baber,

Esq.

"To the King, on ditto; by William Niven, late master of the music

school of Inverness, in Scotland." Surely the very _ultima_ Thule

of poetry.

"A Congratulatory Poem on ditto, by Mrs Behn.

"A Pindarique Ode on ditto, by Calib Calle."

]

BRITANNIA REDIVIVA.

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 farthest in its northern progress run,[289]

He bended forward, and even stretched the sphere

Beyond the limits of the lengthened year,

To view a brighter sun in Britain born; }

That was the business of his longest morn; }

The glorious object seen, 'twas time to turn.}

Departing spring could only stay to shed}

Her gloomy 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[290] saw the church attend,

The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend;

But when his wonderous octave[291] rolled 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?

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.

Three realms united, and on one bestowed,

An emblem of their mystic union showed;

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;[292] but long be banished 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 thy godlike sire begins.

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;

Thy father's angel, and thy father join,

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 this son an auspice to the new.

Our wants exact at least that moderate stay; }

For, see the dragon[293] winged on his way, }

To watch the travail,[294] 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,

And Jove assert the godhead of his son.

O 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,

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;

Behold, how awfully he walks the round!

God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways,

The rise of empires, and their fall, surveys;

More, might I say, than with an usual eye, }

He sees his bleeding church in ruins lie, }

And hears the souls of saints beneath his altar cry.}

Already has he lifted high the sign,

Which crowned the conquering arms of Constantine.[295]

The moon[296] grows pale at that presaging sight,

And half her train of stars have lost their light.

Behold another Sylvester,[297] 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;[298]

(The former too was of the British line,)

Has not his healing balm your breaches closed,

Whose exile many sought, and few opposed?[299]

O, did not heaven, by its eternal doom,

Permit those evils, that this good might come?

So manifest, that even the moon-eyed sects

See whom and what this Providence protects.

Methinks, had we within our minds no more

Than that one shipwreck on the fatal Ore,[300]

That only thought may make us think again,

What wonders God reserves for such a reign.

To dream, that chance his preservation wrought,

Were to think Noah was preserved for nought;

Or the surviving eight were not designed

To people earth, and to restore their kind.

When humbly on the royal babe we gaze,

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!

See how the venerable[301] 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-light, that the ungrateful rout

May find no room for a remaining doubt;[302]

Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun,

And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.

Fain[303] would the fiends have made a dubious birth,

Loth to confess the godhead clothed in earth;

But, sickened, after all their baffled lies,

To find an heir apparent in the skies,

Abandoned to despair, still may they grudge,

And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge.

Not great Æneas stood in plainer day,[304]

When the dark mantling mist dissolved away;

He to the Tyrians showed 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.

If our victorious Edward,[305] as they say,

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?

But why 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 this day, and ages hence

Shall wish his birth-day for some future prince.

Great Michael,[306] prince of all the etherial hosts,

And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts;

And thou, the adopted patron[307] of our isle,

With cheerful aspects on this infant smile!

The pledge of heaven, which, dropping from above,

Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love.

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought,[308]

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.[309]}

Then perjured plots,[310] the still impending test,[311]

And worse--[312] but charity conceals the rest.

Here stop the current of the sanguine flood;

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.

Enough of early Saints one womb has given,

Enough increased the family of heaven;[313]

Let them for his and our atonement go,

And, reigning blest above, leave him to rule below.

Enough already has the year foreslowed

His wonted course, the sea has overflowed,

The meads were floated with a weeping spring,

And frightened birds in woods forgot to sing;

The strong-limbed steed beneath his harness faints,

And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints.[314]

When will the minister of wrath give o'er?

Behold him at Araunah's threshing-floor!

He stops, and seems to sheath his flaming brand,

Pleased with burnt incense from our David's hand;[315]

David has bought the Jebusite's abode,

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;[316]

He sanctifies the yet remaining seven.

Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be blest,

And prelude to the realms perpetual rest!

Let his baptismal drops for us atone;[317]

Lustrations for offences not his own:

Let conscience, which is interest ill disguised,[318]

In the same font be cleansed, and all the land baptized.

Unnamed[319] 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?

Or must it be reserved to thought alone?

Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton.[320]

Things worthy silence must not be revealed;

Thus the true name of Rome[321] was kept concealed,

To shun the spells and sorceries of those,

Who durst her infant 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[322] could not hold the god, when Jove was grown.

As Jove's increase,[323] who from his brain was born,

Whom arms and arts did equally adorn,

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:[324]

Food that his inborn courage might controul,

Extinguish all the father 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:

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;

Madness ungovernable, uninspired,

Swift to foretel whatever she desired.

Was it for me the dark abyss to tread,

And read the book which angels cannot read?

How was I punished, when the sudden blast[325]

The face of heaven, and our young sun, o'ercast!

Fame, the swift ill increasing as she rolled,

Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told:

At three insulting strides she stalked the town,

And, like contagion, struck the loyal down.

Down fell the winnowed wheat; but, mounted high,

The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky.

Here black rebellion 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

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 returned, and faith prevailed on fate.

By prayers the mighty blessing was implored,

To prayers was granted, and by prayers restored.

So, ere the Shunamite a son conceived,

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 approached the mournful door,

Ran, prayed, and sent his pastoral staff before,

Then stretched his limbs upon the child, and mourned,

Till warmth, and breath, and a new soul returned.[326]

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 destroyed

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 the 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,

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 pampered blood.

So feeds the mother bird her craving young

With little morsels, and delays them long.

True, this last blessing was a royal feast;

But where's the wedding-garment on the guest?

Our manners, as religion were a dream,

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 sinned, impenitently hard,

And vainly thought the present ark their guard;[327]

But when the haughty Philistines appear, }

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 sinned 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[328] 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.

No force the free-born spirit can constrain,

But charity, and great examples gain.

Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day;

'Tis godlike 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,

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 royal 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, }

That, though the longest day, would soon, too soon be done.}

Let angels' voices with their harps conspire,

But keep the auspicious infant from the choir;

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 beget;

The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet.

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,[329]

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,

Some to be great, some to be gods presumed;

But boundless power, and arbitrary lust,

Made tyrants still abhor the name of just;

They shunned the praise this godlike virtue gives,

And feared a title that reproached their lives.

The power, from which all kings derive their state,

Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate,

Is equal both to punish and reward;

For few would love their God, unless they feared.

Resistless force and immortality

Make but a lame, imperfect deity;

Tempests have force unbounded to destroy,

And deathless being even the damned 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; }

Nor hopes nor fears your steady hand beguile; }

Yourself our balance hold, the world's our isle.}

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 289: The 10th of June.]

[Footnote 290: Whitsunday.]

[Footnote 291: Trinity Sunday, the octave of Whitsunday.]

[Footnote 292: Note I.]

[Footnote 293: Alluding only to the commonwealth party here, and in

other parts of the poem. DRYDEN.--See Note II.]

[Footnote 294: Rev. xii. v. 4.]

[Footnote 295: The Cross.]

[Footnote 296: The Crescent, which the Turks bear for their arms.

DRYDEN. Note III.]

[Footnote 297: The Pope, in the time of Constantine the Great; alluding

to the present Pope. DRYDEN.--See Note IV.]

[Footnote 298: King James II.]

[Footnote 299: Bill of Exclusion.]

[Footnote 300: The Lemmon Ore, on which the vessel of King James was

lost in his return from Scotland. The crew perished, and he himself

escaped with difficulty. See Vol. IX. p. 401.]

[Footnote 301: Venerable is here used in its original sense, as

deserving of veneration. But the epithet has been so commonly connected

with old age, that a modern poet would hardly venture to apply it to an

infant.]

[Footnote 302: Note V.]

[Footnote 303: Alluding to the temptation in the wilderness.]

[Footnote 304:

_Restitit Æneas, clarâque in luce refulsit,

Os, humerosque deo similis; namque ipsa decoram

Cæsariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventæ

Purpureum, et lætos oculis afflarat honores._

Æneid, Lib. I.

]

[Footnote 305: Edward the Black Prince, born on Trinity Sunday.]

[Footnote 306: The motto of the poem explained.]

[Footnote 307: St George.]

[Footnote 308: The great Civil War.]

[Footnote 309: The Fire of London.]

[Footnote 310: The Popish plot.]

[Footnote 311: The Test-act.]

[Footnote 312: The death of the Jesuits, executed for the Plot.]

[Footnote 313: All the queen's former children died in infancy.]

[Footnote 314: The year 1688, big with so many events of importance,

commenced very unfavourably with stormy weather, and an epidemical

distemper among men and cattle.]

[Footnote 315: 1 Kings, chap, xxxiv.]

[Footnote 316: Note VI.]

[Footnote 317: Original sin, supposed to be washed off by baptism.]

[Footnote 318: See "The Hind and the Panther," p. 224.]

[Footnote 319: The prince christened, but not named.]

[Footnote 320: Jehovah, or the name of God, unlawful to be pronounced

by the Jews. DRYDEN.]

[Footnote 321: Some authors say, that the true name of Rome was kept a

secret, _ne hostes incantamentis deos elicerent_. DRYDEN.]

[Footnote 322: Candia, where Jupiter was born and lived secretly.

DRYDEN.]

[Footnote 323: Pallas, or Minerva, said by the poets to have been bred

up by hand. DRYDEN.]

[Footnote 324: The prince had no wet nurse.]

[Footnote 325: The sudden false report of the prince's death. See Note

VII.]

[Footnote 326: 2 Kings, chap. iv.]

[Footnote 327: 1 Samuel, chap. iv. v. 10.]

[Footnote 328: Exodus, chap. xvii. v. 8.]

[Footnote 329: Aristides. See his Life in Plutarch.]

NOTES

ON

BRITANNIA REDIVIVA.

Note I.

_Hail, son of prayers! by holy violence

Drawn down from heaven!_----P. 290.

We have noticed, in the introduction, that the birth of a Prince of

Wales, at a time of such critical importance to the Catholic faith,

was looked upon, by the Papists, as little less than miraculous. Some

talked of the petition of the Duchess of Modena to Our Lady of Loretto;

and Burnet affirms, that, in that famous chapel, there is actually a

register of the queen's conception, in consequence of her mother's

vow. But, in that case, the good duchess's intercession must have been

posthumous; for she died upon the 19th July, and the queen's time

run from the 6th of October. Others ascribed the event to the king's

pilgrimage to St Winifred's Well; and others, among whom was the Earl

of Melfort, suffered their zeal to hurry them into profaneness, and

spoke of the angel of the Lord moving the Bath waters, like the Pool of

Bethsaida. But the Jesuits claimed to their own prayers the principal

merit of procuring this blessing, which, indeed, they had ventured to

prophecy; for, among other devices which that order exhibited to the

English ambassador from James to the Pope, there was, according to Mr

Misson, one of a lily, from whose leaves distilled some drops of water,

which were once supposed, by naturalists, to become the seed of new

lilies: the motto was--_Lachrimor in prolem_--"I weep for children."

Beneath which was the following distich:

_Pro natis, Jacobe, gemis, flos candide regum!

Hos natura tibi si neget, astra dabunt._

For sons, fair flower of kings, why melts thine eye?

The heavens shall grant what nature may deny.

Note II.

_For, see the dragon winged on his way,

To watch the travail, and devour the prey._--P. 291.

"And the dragon stood before the woman, who was ready to be delivered,

for to devour her child, as soon as it was born,"--Revel. xii. 4.

Dryden is at pains, by an original marginal note, which, with others,

is restored in this edition, to explain, that, by this allusion here,

and in other parts of the poem, he meant "the commonwealth's party."

The acquittal of the bishops, on the 17th of June, two days before the

poem was licensed, must have excited a prudential reverence for the

church of England in the moment of her triumph. The poet fixes upon

this commonwealth party therefore, exclusively, the common reports

which had been circulated during the queen's pregnancy, and which are

thus noticed in the (supposititious) letter to Father La Chaise: "As

to the queen's being with child, that great concern goes as well as

we could wish, notwithstanding all the satirical discourses of the

heretics, who content themselves to vent their poison in libels, which,

by night, they disperse in the street, or fix upon the walls. There was

one lately found upon a pillar of a church, that imported, that such a

day thanks should be given to God for the queen's being great with a

cushion. If one of these pasquil-makers could be discovered, he would

but have an ill time on't, and should be made to take his last farewell

at Tyburn."

The usual topics of wit, during the queen's pregnancy, were, allusions

to a cushion, a tympany, &c. &c.; and Partridge, the Protestant

almanack-maker, utters the following predictions:--"That there was some

bawdy project on foot, either about buying, selling, or procuring, a

child or children, for some pious uses." And, again, "Some child is to

be topped upon the lawful heirs, to cheat them out of their right and

estate."--"God preserve the kingdom of England from invasion! for about

this time I fear it in earnest, and keep the Protestants there from

being dragooned."

One single circumstance is sufficient to rout all suspicions thus

carefully infused into the people. It is well known, and is noticed

in one of L'Estrange's papers at the time, that a similar outcry was

raised during a former pregnancy of the queen; but the child proving a

female, there was no use for pushing the calumny any further upon that

occasion.

Note III.

_Already has he lifted high the sign,

Which crowned the conquering arms of Constantine;

The moon grows pale at that presaging sight,

And half her train of stars have lost their light._--P. 292.

The public exercise of the Catholic religion in England is compared

to the miraculous display of the cross, with the motto, _In hoc signo

vinces_; which is said to have appeared to Constantine on the eve of

his great victory.

The war against the Turks, which was now raging in Hungary, seems

to have occupied much of James's attention. He amused himself with

anxiety about the fate of this holy warfare, as he probably thought

it, while his own crown was tottering on his head. In all his letters

to the Prince of Orange, he expresses his wishes for the peace of

Christendom, that the emperor and the Venetians might have leisure to

prosecute the war against the Turks; and conjectures about the taking

of Belgrade, and the progress of the Duke of Lorraine, are very gravely

sent, as interesting matter to the prince, who was anticipating the

conquest of England, and the dethronement of his father-in-law. There

may be something of affectation in this; but, as Dryden takes up

the same tone, it may be supposed to have forwarded James's general

conversation, as well as his letters to the Prince of Orange.--_See_

DALRYMPLE'S _Memoirs_. _Appendix to Book V._

Note IV.

_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._--P. 292.

Dryden talks of the Pope with the respect of a good Catholic.

Nevertheless it happened, by a very odd chance, that, while the throne

of England was held by a Catholic, for the first time during the course

of a century, the chair of St Peter was occupied by Innocent XI. who

acquired the uncommon epithet of the Protestant Pope. He received, with

great coldness, the Earl of Castlemain, whom James sent to Rome as his

ambassador, and refused the only two requests which a king of England

had made to Rome since the days of Henry VIII., although they were only

a dispensation to Petre the king's confessor, to hold a bishopric,

and another to the Mareschal D'Humier's daughter to marry within the

prohibited degrees. Nay, the Pope is said to have privately admitted

the Prince of Orange's envoy to his confidence, while he treated

Castlemaine with so much contempt. The cause of this coldness was the

Pope's quarrel with James's ally, Louis, and his dislike to the order

of Jesuits, by whom the king of England was entirely ruled. In truth,

Innocent XI. was much more anxious to maintain the privileges of the

Roman see against those princes who retained her communion, than to add

England to a flock which was become so mutinous and untractable. He

was, besides, a man of no extended views, and chiefly concerned himself

with managing the papal revenue, involved in debt by a succession of

wasteful pontificates. To this the conversion of England promised no

immediate addition, and, with the narrowness of view natural to his

pursuits, Innocent XI. thought it better to employ his exertions in

realizing an immediate income, than in endeavouring to extend the faith

and authority of the church, by embarking in a design of great doubt

and hazard. He was, therefore, but a very poor representative of Pope

Sylvester. As for the last two lines, they contain, what we seldom

meet with in Dryden's poetry, a compliment not only bombastic, but

unappropriate, and even unmeaning.

Note V.

_Born in broad day-light, that the ungrateful rout

May find no room for a remaining doubt._--P. 293.

In these lines, and the following, where the poet, with indecent

freedom, compares the suspicions entertained of a spurious birth to

the devil's doubts concerning our Saviour's godhead, he alludes to

those circumstances of publicity, which one would have supposed might

have rendered the birth of the prince indisputable. It took place at

ten o'clock in the morning; and eighteen privy counsellors, besides a

number of ladies, were present at the delivery. But the party violence

of the period was so extravagant, as to receive and circulate a variety

of reports, inconsistent with each other, and agreeing only in the

general conclusion, that the child was an imposition upon the nation.

The reasoning of the Bishop of Salisbury, on this point, is admirably

summed up by Smollet.

"On the 10th of June, 1688, the queen was suddenly seized with

labour-pains, and delivered of a son, who was baptized by the name of

James, and declared Prince of Wales. All the Catholics and friends of

James were transported with the most extravagant joy at the birth of

this child; while great part of the nation consoled themselves with

the notion, that it was altogether supposititious. They carefully

collected a variety of circumstances, upon which this conjecture

was founded; and though they were inconsistent, contradictory, and

inconclusive, the inference was so agreeable to the views and passions

of the people, that it made an impression which, in all probability,

will never be totally effaced. Dr Burnet, who seems to have been at

uncommon pains to establish this belief, and to have consulted all the

Whig nurses in England upon the subject, first pretends to demonstrate,

that the queen was not with child; secondly, that she was with child,

but miscarried; thirdly, that a child was brought into the queen's

apartment in a warming-pan; fourthly, that there was no child at all

in the room; fifthly, that the queen actually bore a child, but it

died that same day; sixthly, that it had the fits, of which it died at

Richmond; therefore, the Chevalier de St George must be the fruit of

four different impostures."

Note VI.

_Five months to discord and debate were given._--P. 295.

During the five months preceding the birth of the Chevalier de St

George, James was wholly engaged by those feuds and dissensions which

tended to render irreparable the breach between him and his subjects.

The arbitrary attacks upon the privileges of Magdalen College, and

of the Charter-House, fell nearly within this period. Above all, the

petition of the seven bishops against reading the Declaration of

Indulgence, their imprisonment, their memorable trial and acquittal,

had all taken place since the month of April; and it is well known

to what a state of violent opposition the nation had been urged by a

train of arbitrary acts of violence, so imprudently commenced, and

perversely insisted in. Dryden, like other men of sense, probably began

to foresee the consequences of so violent and general irritation; and

expresses himself in moderate and soothing language, both as to the

past and future. Nothing is therefore dropt which can offend the church

of England. Perhaps they may have been spared by the royal command;

for it seems, as is hinted by a letter from Halifax to the Prince of

Orange, that, not finding his expectations answered by the dissenters,

whom he had so greatly favoured of late, James entertained thoughts of

returning to his old friends, the High-churchmen; "but the truth is,"

his lordship adds, "the Papists have of late been so hard and fierce

upon them, that the very species of those formerly mistaking men is

destroyed; they have so broken that loom in pieces, that they cannot

now set it up again to work upon it."--DALRYMPLE'S _Memoirs_. Appendix

to Book V.

Note VII.

----_When the sudden blast,

The face of heaven, and our young sun, o'ercast,

Fame, the swift ill increasing as she rolled,

Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told._--P. 297.

There was, Dryden informs us, a report of the prince's death, to which

he alludes. James, in a letter to the Prince of Orange, dated June 12,

mentions the birth of his son on the Sunday preceding, and adds, "the

child was somewhat ill this last night, of the wind, and some gripes,

but is now, blessed be God, very well, and like to have no returns

of it, and is a strong boy." About this illness, Burnet tells the

following gossipping story: "That night, one Hemings, a very worthy

man, an apothecary by his trade, who lived in St Martin's Lane, the

very next door to a family of an eminent Papist, (Brown, brother to

the Viscount Montacute, lived there;) the wall between his parlour and

their's being so thin, that he could easily hear any thing that was

said with a louder voice, he (Hemings) was reading in his parlour late

at night, when he heard one come into the neighbouring parlour, and

say, with a doleful voice, the Prince of Wales is dead: Upon which a

great many that lived in the house came down stairs very quick. Upon

this confusion he could not hear any thing more; but it was plain they

were in a great consternation. He went with the news next morning to

the bishops in the Tower. The Countess of Clarendon came thither soon

after, and told them, she had been at the young prince's door, but

was denied access: she was amazed at it; and asked, if they knew her:

they said, they did; but that the queen had ordered, that no person

whatsoever should be suffered to come in to him. This gave credit to

Hemings' story; and looked as if all was ordered to be kept shut up

close, till another child was found. One, that saw the child two days

after, said to me, that he looked strong, and not like a child so newly

born."

The poem of Dryden plainly proves, that such a report was so far

from being confined among the Catholics, that it was spread over

all the town; and what the worthy Mr Hemings over-heard in his next

neighbour's, the Papist's, might probably have been heard in any

company in London that evening, although the mode of communication

would doubtless have been doleful or joyous, according to the party and

religion of the news-bearer.

PROLOGUES

AND

EPILOGUES.

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.

The prologue of the English drama was originally, like that of the

ancients, merely a kind of argument of the play, instructing the

audience concerning those particulars of the plot, which were necessary

in order to understand the opening of the piece. That this might be

done more artificially, it was often spoken in the character of some

person connected with the preceding history of the intrigue, though

not properly one of the _dramatis personæ_. But when increasing

refinement introduced the present mode of opening the action in the

course of the play itself, the prologue became a preliminary address

to the audience, bespeaking their attention and favour for the piece.

The epilogue had always borne this last character, being merely an

extension of the ancient "_valete et plaudite_;" an opportunity seized

by the performers, after resigning their mimic characters, to pay their

respects to the public in their own, and to solicit its approbation

of their exertions. By degrees it assumed a more important shape, and

was indulged in descanting upon such popular topics as were likely to

interest the audience, even though less immediately connected with the

actor's address of thanks, or the piece they had been performing. Both

the prologue and epilogue had assumed their present character so early

as the days of Shakespeare and Jonson.

With the revival of dramatic entertainments, after the Restoration,

these addresses were revived also; and a degree of consequence seems

to have been attached to them in that witty age, which they did not

possess before, and which has not since been given to them. They were

not only used to propitiate the audience; to apologize for the players,

or poet; or to satirize the follies of the day, which is now their

chief purpose; but they became, during the collision of contending

factions, vehicles of political tenets and political sarcasm, which

could, at no time, be insinuated with more success, than when clothed

in nervous verse, and delivered with all the advantages of elocution

to an audience, whose numbers rendered the impression of poetry and

eloquence more contagious.

It is not surprising that Dryden soon obtained a complete and absolute

superiority in this style of composition over all who pretended to

compete with him. While the harmony of his verse gave that advantage

to the speaker, which was wanting in the harsh, coarse, broken measure

of his contemporaries, his powers of reasoning and of satire left them

as far behind in sense as in sound. This superiority, and the great

influence which he had in the management of the theatre, made it usual

to invoke his assistance in the case of new plays; many of which he

accordingly furnished either with prologues or epilogues. The players

also had recourse to him upon any remarkable occasion; as, when a new

house was opened; when the theatre was honoured by a visit from the

king or duke; when they played at Oxford, during the public acts;

or, in short, in all cases when an occasional prologue was thought

necessary to grace their performance.

The collection of these pieces, which follows, is far from being the

least valuable part of our author's labours. The variety and richness

of fancy which they indicate, is one of Dryden's most remarkable

poetical attributes. Whether the theme be, the youth and inexperience

or the age and past services, of the author; the plainness or

magnificence of a new theatre; the superiority of ancient authors, or

the exaltation of the moderns; the censure of political faction, or

of fashionable follies; the praise of the monarch, or the ridicule

of the administration; the poet never fails to treat it with the

liveliness appropriate to verses intended to be spoken, and spoken

before a numerous assembly. The manner which Dryden assumes, varies

also with the nature of his audience. The prologues and epilogues,

intended for the London stage, are written in a tone of superiority,

as if the poet, conscious of the justice of his own laws of criticism,

rather imposed them upon the public as absolute and undeniable,

than as standing in need of their ratification. And if he sometimes

condescends to solicit, in a more humble style, the approbation of the

audience, and to state circumstances of apology, and pleas of favour,

it is only in the case of other poets; for, in the prologues of his

own plays, he always rather demands than begs their applause; and if

he acknowledges any defects in the piece, he takes care to intimate,

that they are introduced in compliance with the evil taste of the age;

and that the audience must take the blame to themselves, instead of

throwing it upon the writer. This bold, style of address, although it

occasionally drew upon our author the charge of presumption, was,

nevertheless, so well supported by his perception of what was just

in criticism, and his powers of defending even what was actually

wrong, that a miscellaneous audience was, in general, fain to submit

to a domination, as successfully supported as boldly claimed. In the

Oxford prologues, on the other hand, the audience furnished by that

seat of the Muses, as of more competent judgment, are addressed with

more respectful deference by the poet.[330] He seems, in these, to lay

down his rules of criticism, as it were under correction of superior

judges; and intermingles them with such compliments to the taste and

learning of the members of the university, as he disdains to bestow

upon the motley audience of the metropolis. In one style, the author

seems dictating to scholars, whose conceit and presumption must be

lowered by censure, to make them sensible of their own deficiencies,

and induce them to receive the offered instruction; in the other, he

seems to deliver his opinions before men, whom he acknowledges as his

equals, if not his superiors, in the arts of which he is treating. And

although Brown has very grossly charged Dryden with having affected,

for the university, an esteem and respect, which he was far from really

feeling; and with having exposed its members, in their turn, to the

ridicule of the London audience, whom he had stigmatized in his Oxford

prologues as void of taste and judgment; it is but fair to state, that

nothing can be produced in proof of such an accusation.[331] In another

respect, the reader may remark a pleasing difference between the London

prologues and epilogues, and those spoken at Oxford. The licence

of the times permitted, and even exacted from an author, in these

compositions, the indulgence of an indelicate vein of humour; which,

however humiliating, is, in general, successful in a vulgar or mixed

audience, as turning upon subjects adapted to the meanest capacity.

This continued even down to our times; for, till very lately, it was

expected by the mobbish part of the audience, that they should be

indemnified for the patience with which they had listened to the moral

lessons of a tragedy, by the indecency of the epilogue. In Dryden's

time, this coarse raillery was carried to great excess; but our author,

however culpable in other compositions, is, generally speaking, more

correct than his contemporaries in his prologues and epilogues. In the

Oxford pieces, particularly, where the decorum of manners, suited to

that mother of learning, required him to abstain from all licentious

allusion, Dryden has given some excellent specimens of how little he

needed to rely upon this obvious and vulgar aid, for the amusement of

his audience. Upon the whole, it will be difficult to find pieces of

this occasional nature so interesting and unexceptionable as those

spoken at Oxford. They are, as they ought to be, by far the most

laboured and correct which our author gave to the stage. It may not be

improper to add, that the players were only permitted to visit Oxford

during the Public Acts, which were frequently celebrated on occasions

of public rejoicing. They acted, it would appear, in a Tennis-court,

fitted up as an occasional theatre; and the prologues and epilogues

of Dryden tended doubtless greatly to conciliate the favour of an

audience, consisting of all that was learned in the generation then

mature, and all that was hopeful in that which was rising to succeed it.

The more miscellaneous prologues and epilogues of Dryden are not

without interest. In ridiculing the vices or follies of the age, they

often touch upon circumstances illustrative of manners; and certainly,

though the modern theatres of the metropolis are so ill regulated,

as nearly to exclude modest females from all the house, except the

private boxes, their decorum is superior to that of their predecessors.

If we conceive the boxes filled with women, whose masks levelled

all distinction between the woman of fashion and the courtezan; the

galleries crowded with a rabble, more ferocious and ignorant than

its present inmates; the pit occupied by drunken bullies, whose

quarrels perpetually interrupted the performers, and often ended in

bloodshed, and even murder, upon the spot; we shall have occasion to

congratulate ourselves upon being at least in the way of reformation.

These enormities of his time, Dryden has pointed out, and censured in

his strong and nervous satire. It is to be regretted, that his painting

is often coarse, and sometimes intentionally licentious; although,

as has been already observed, more seldom so than that of most of

his contemporaries. The historical antiquary may also glean some

observations on the state of parties, from those pieces which turn upon

the politics of the day; and there occur numerous hints, which may be

useful to an historian of the drama. Thus the Prologues and Epilogues

form no improper supplement to Dryden's historical poetry.

It remains to say, that all these prologues and epilogues were,

according to the custom of that time, printed on single leaves, or

broadsides, as they are called, and sold by the hawkers at the door

of the theatres. Some of these, but very few, have been preserved by

Mr Luttrell, in the collection belonging to Mr Bindley. If a set of

them existed, I think it probable they would be found to contain many

variations from those editions, which the more mature reflection of

the author gave to the world in the Miscellanies. But the loss is the

less to be lamented, as, in general, the original editions which I have

seen are not only more inaccurate, but coarser and more licentious,

than those which Dryden finally adopted. In the original prologue

of Circe, which is printed in this edition, for example, the reader

will find, that, in place of the well-known apology for an author's

first production, by an appeal to those of Shakespeare, Fletcher,

and Jonson, his youth is only made the subject of some commonplace

raillery. Indeed, so little value did Dryden himself set upon these

occasional effusions before they were collected, and so little did he

consider them as entitled to live in the recollection of the public,

that, on one occasion at least, but probably upon several, he actually

transferred the same prologue from one new play to another. Thus he

reclaimed, from his adversary Shadwell's play of "The True Widow,"

the prologue which he had furnished, and affixed it to the "Widow

Ranter" of Mrs Behn. Sometimes also he laid under contribution former

publications of his own, which he supposed to be forgotten, in order to

furnish out one of these theatrical prefaces. Thus the satire against

the Dutch furnishes the principal part of the prologue and epilogue to

"Amboyna."

Inaccurate as they seem to have been, the original editions might have

proved useful in arranging the prologues and epilogues according

to their exact dates, which, where they are not attached to any

particular play, can now only be assigned from internal evidence. But

absolute accuracy in this point, though no doubt desirable if it can

be obtained, does not appear to be a point of any serious moment; and,

after having bestowed considerable pains, the Editor will neither

be much ashamed, nor inconsolably sorry, to find, that some of the

prologues and epilogues have been misplaced in the order which he has

adopted.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 330: Our author's several modes of coaxing or bullying the

audience in the prologues, are ridiculed in the "Rehearsal;" where

Bayes says, "You must know there is in nature but two ways of making

very good prologues;--the one is, by civility, by insinuation, good

language, and all that to ---- a ---- in a manner steal your plaudit

from the courtesy of the auditors: the other, by making use of some

certain personal things, which may keep a hank upon such censuring

persons as cannot otherwise, egad, in nature, be hindered from being

too free with their tongues."]

[Footnote 331: The following is the statement of the accusation in

Tom's peculiar style, being a sort of cant jargon, not void of low

humour:

"_Bayes._ Now, there being but three remarkable places in the whole

island; that is, the two universities, and the great metropolitan city;

I shall, consequently, confine my discourse only to them: But, first

of all, I must tell you, that I am altogether of my Lord Plausible's

opinion in the "Plain Dealer;" if I chance to commend any place, or

order of men, out of pure friendship, I choose to do it before their

faces; and if I have occasion to speak ill of any person or place,

out of a principle of respect and good manners, I do it behind their

backs. You cannot imagine, Mr Crites, when I visit either of the

two universities, in my own person, or by my commissioners of the

playhouse, how much I am taken with a college life: Oh, there's nothing

like a cheese cut out into farthings! and my Lord Mayor, amidst all

his brutal city luxury, does not dine half so well as a student upon

a single chop of rotten roasted mutton; nay, I can scarce prevail

with myself, for a month or two after, to eat my meat on a plate,

so great a respect have I for a university trencher; and then their

conversation is so learned, and withal so innocent, that I could sit a

whole day together at a coffee-house to hear them dispute about _actus

perspicui_, and _forma misti_. From this beginning I naturally fall a

railing at London, with as much zeal as a Buckingham-shire grazier, who

had his pocket picked at a Smithfield entertainment; or a country lady,

whose obsequious knight has spent his estate among misses, vintners,

and linen-drapers; and then I tell my audience, that a man may walk

farther in the city to meet a true judge of poetry, than ride his horse

on Salisbury Plain to find a house.

London likes grossly, but this nicer pit

Examines, fathoms, all the depths of wit.

You see here, Mr Crites, that scholars won't take Alderman Duncomb's

leaden halfpence for Irish half crowns, while dull Londoner swallows

every thing; and takes it with as little consideration, as a true

Romanist takes a spiritual dose of relicts, that are sealed up with the

council of Trent's coat-of-arms.

_Eugen._ How was that, Mr Bayes, about the council of Trent? Pray, let

us hear it again.

_Bayes._ Gad forgive me for't!--it dropt from me ere I was aware; but I

shall in time wear off this hitching in my gait, and walk in Catholic

trammels as well as the best of them; nature, I must confess, is not

overcome on the sudden--But let me see, gentlemen, whether I have any

more lines to our last purpose; oh, here they are!

Poetry, which is in Oxford made

An art, in London only is a trade.

Our poet, could he find forgiveness here,

Would wish it rather than a plaudit there.

You are sensible, without question, how little beholden the city is to

me, when I am upon my progress elsewhere. But 'tis a comfort that this

peremptory humour does not continue long upon me; for, as I have the

grace to disown my mother-university, with a jug in one hand, and a

link in the other, when I am at Oxford,--

Thebes did his green unknowing years engage;

He chuses Athens in his riper age.

So, when I am got amongst my honest acquaintance here in Covent-Garden,

I disown both the sisters, and make myself as merry as a grig, with

their greasy trenchers, rusty salt-sellers, and no napkins, with their

everlasting drinking, and no intervals of fornication to relieve it.

In fine, I make a great scruple of it, whether it be possible for a

man to write sound heroics, and make an accomplished thorough-paced

wit, unless he comes to refine and cultivate himself at London;

unless be knows how many stories high the houses are in Cheapside

and Fleet-street; is acquainted with all the gaming ordinaries about

town, and the rates of porters and hackney-coachmen; has shot the

bridge; seen the tombs at Westminster; heard the Wooden-head speak; can

tell you where the insuring-office is kept; and which of the twelve

companies has the honour of precedence."

_The Reasons for Mr Bayes changing his Religion_, p. 10.

]

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN

THE FIRST DAY OF THE KING'S HOUSE ACTING AFTER THE FIRE.

_In January_, 1671-2, _the play-house in Drury-Lane_, _occupied by

the King's company_, _took fire_, _and was entirely destroyed_, _with

fifty or sixty adjoining houses_, _which were either involved in

the conflagration_, _or blown up to stop its progress_. _During the

rebuilding of this theatre, the King's servants acted in the old

house in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. The following Prologue announces

the distressed situation of the company on their retreat to this

temporary asylum. The sixth couplet alludes to the recent desertion

of the Lincoln's-Inn theatre, by the rival company, called the

Duke's, who were now acting at one in Dorset Gardens, splendidly

fitted up under the direction of Sir William D'Avenant._

So shipwrecked passengers escaped 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 desart 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

Is but a nobler name for charity.

Your own provisions furnish out our feasts,

While you, the founders, make yourselves the guests.

Of all mankind beside, fate had some care, }

But for poor Wit no portion did prepare, }

'Tis left a rent-charge to the brave and fair.}

You cherished it, and now its fall you mourn,

Which blind unmannered zealots make their scorn,

Who think that fire a judgment on the stage,

Which spared not temples[332] in its furious rage.

But as our new-built city rises higher, }

So from old theatres may new aspire, }

Since fate contrives magnificence by fire.}

Our great metropolis does far surpass

Whate'er is now, and equals all that was:

Our wit as far does foreign wit excel,

And, like a king, should in a palace dwell.

But we with golden hopes are vainly fed,

Talk high, and entertain you in a shed:

Your presence here, for which we humbly sue,

Will grace old theatres, and build up new.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 332: St Paul's, and other churches, were consumed in the

great fire, then a recent event.]

PROLOGUE

FOR

THE WOMEN, WHEN THEY ACTED AT THE OLD THEATRE, LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS.

_Female performers were first introduced after the Restoration.

They became speedily acceptable to the court and the public.

The dramatic poets were in so many ways indebted to them, that

occasional exertions, dedicated to their benefit, as I presume the

following to have been, were but a suitable return for various

favours received. Our author's intimacy with the beautiful

Mrs Reeves particularly called forth his talents in behalf of

these damsels, distressed as they must have been by the unlucky

burning of the theatre in Drury-Lane. The Prologue occurs in the

Miscellanies; but is, I know not why, omitted by Derrick in his

edition of Dryden's poems._

Were none of you, gallants, e'er driven so hard,

As when the poor kind soul was under guard,

And could not do't at home, in some by-street

To take a lodging, and in private meet?

Such is our case; we can't appoint our house,

The lovers' old and wonted rendezvous,

But hither to this trusty nook remove;

The worse the lodging is, the more the love.

For much good pastime, many a dear sweet hug,

Is stolen in garrets, on the humble rug.

Here's good accommodation in the pit;

The grave demurely in the midst may sit,

And so the hot Burgundian[333] on the side,

Ply vizard mask, and o'er the benches stride:

Here are convenient upper boxes too, }

For those that make the most triumphant show;}

All that keep coaches, must not sit below. }

There, gallants, you betwixt the acts retire,

And, at dull plays, have something to admire:

We, who look up, can your addresses mark,

And see the creatures coupled in the ark:

So we expect the lovers, braves, and wits;

The gaudy house with scenes[334] will serve for cits.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 333: That is, the consumer of Burgundy, or drunken bully of

the day.]

[Footnote 334: Dorset-Garden theatre, where the Duke's company acted

various shewy pieces, directed by D'Avenant.]

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN AT

THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE,

MARCH 26, 1674.

_The Drury-Lane theatre, after being burned in_ 1671-2, _was rebuilt

upon a plan furnished by Sir Christopher Wren_, _who superintended

the execution_. _It is said to have been most admirably planned,

but spoiled by some injudicious alterations in the course of

building. The following Prologue informs us, that the exterior

decorations were plain and simple in comparison to those of the

rival house in Dorset Gardens, which, as repeatedly noticed, had

been splendidly fitted up under the direction of D'Avenant, noted

for his attachment to stage pomp and shew. It appears that Charles

II., who was possessed of considerable taste, and did not disdain

to interest himself in the affairs of the drama, had himself

recommended to the King's company, the simplicity and frugality of

scenery and ornament to which the poet alludes. The other house

were not unapt to boast of the superior splendour which is here

conceded to them. In the epilogue to_ "_Psyche_" _the actors boast_,

----Gallants, you can tell,

No foreign stage can ours in pomp excel;

And here none e'er shall treat you half so well.

Poor players have this day such splendour shown,

Which yet but by great monarchs has been done.

_D'Avenant, by whom the Duke's company were long directed, was the

first who introduced regular scenery upon a public stage. His drama

of the "Siege of Rhodes" seems to have been the first exhibited

with these decorations._--See MALONE'S Account of the English

Stage."

A plain-built house, after so long a stay,

Will send you half unsatisfied away;

When, fallen from your expected pomp, you find

A bare convenience only is designed.

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 the chear.

Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown, }

And a plain suit, since we can make but one, }

Is better than to be by tarnished gawdry known.}

They, who are by your favours wealthy made,

With mighty sums may carry on the trade;

We, broken bankers, half destroyed 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 beg--to live;

Unable to support their vast expence,

Who build and treat with such magnificence,

That, like the ambitious monarchs of the age,

They give the law to our provincial stage.

Great neighbours enviously promote excess,

While 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 allowed,

We in our plainness may be justly proud;

Our Royal Master willed it should be so;

Whate'er he's pleased to own, can need no show:

That sacred name gives ornament and grace,

And, like his stamp, makes basest metal 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 famished Frenchmen hither drive,

And laugh at those upon whose alms they live:

Old English authors vanish, and give place

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, }

Keep time, cry, _Bon!_ and humour the cadence.}

Well, please yourselves; but sure 'tis understood,

That French machines have ne'er done England good.[335]

I would not prophecy our house's fate;

But while vain shows and scenes you over-rate,

'Tis to be feared----

That, as a fire the former house o'erthrew,

Machines and tempests[336] will destroy the new.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 335: St André, the famous ballet dancer, composed dances

for many operas about this time, which were probably performed by his

light-footed countrymen, at Dorset-Gardens.]

[Footnote 336: "In 1673, the 'Tempest, or the Enchanted Island,'

made into an opera by Mr Shadwell, having all new in it, as scenes,

machines, &c.: one scene painted with myriads of ærial spirits; and

others flying away with a table furnished with fruits, sweetmeats, and

all sorts of viands, just when Duke Trinculo and his company were going

to dinner. All things were performed so admirably well, that not any

succeeding opera could get any money."--_Roscius Anglicanus_, p. 34.

Shadwell had also, about this time, produced his opera of "Psyche,"

which, with the "Tempest" and other pieces depending chiefly upon shew

and scenery, were acting in Dorset-Garden, when this Prologue was

written. In order to ridicule these splendid exhibitions, the company

at Drury-Lane brought forward parodies on them, such as the "Mock

Tempest," "Psyche Debauched," &c. These pieces, though written in the

meanest style by one Duffet, a low buffoon, had a transient course of

success.]

EPILOGUE

ON

THE SAME OCCASION.

Though what our Prologue said was sadly true,}

Yet, gentlemen, our homely house is new, }

A charm that seldom fails with wicked you. }

A country lip may have the velvet touch; }

Though she's no lady, you may think her such: }

A strong imagination may do much. }

But you, loud sirs, who through your curls look big,

Critics in plume and white vallancy wig,

Who, lolling, on our foremost benches sit,

And still charge first, the true forlorn of wit;

Whose favours, like the sun, warm where you roll,

Yet you, like him, have neither heat nor soul;

So may your hats your foretops never press,

Untouched your ribbons, sacred be your dress;

So may you slowly to old age advance,

And have the excuse of youth for ignorance;

So may fop-corner full of noise remain,

And drive far off the dull, attentive train;

So may your midnight scourings happy prove,

And morning batteries force your way to love;

So may not France your warlike hands recal,

But leave you by each others swords to fall,[337]

As you come here to ruffle vizard punk,

When sober rail, and roar when you are drunk.

But to the wits we can some merit plead,

And urge what by themselves has oft been said:

Our house relieves the ladies from the frights

Of ill-paved streets, and long dark winter nights;

The Flanders horses from a cold bleak road,

Where bears in furs dare scarcely look abroad;[338]

The audience from worn plays and fustian stuff,

Of rhime, more nauseous than three boys in buff.[339]

Though in their house the poets' heads[340] appear,

We hope we may presume their wits are here.

The best which they reserved they now will play, }

For, like kind cuckolds, though we've not the way }

To please, we'll find you abler men who may. }

If they should fail, for last recruits we breed }

A troop of frisking monsieurs to succeed: }

You know the French sure cards at time of need. }

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 337: This seems to be an allusion to the recent death of

Mr Scroop; a man of fortune, who, about this time, was stabbed in

the theatre at Dorset-Gardens by Sir Thomas Armstrong, afterwards

the confidential friend of the Duke of Monmouth. Langbaine says, he

witnessed this real tragedy, which happened during the representation

of "Macbeth," as altered and revised by D'Avenant in 1674. Mr Scroop

died immediately after his removal into a neighbouring house.]

[Footnote 338: Alluding to the recent establishment in

Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, then separated from the city by a large vacant

space.]

[Footnote 339: "The three boys in buff," were, I believe, the three

Bold Beauchamps in an old ranting play:

"The three bold Beauchamps shall revive again,

And, with the London Prentice, conquer Spain."

]

[Footnote 340: Some part of the ornaments of D'Avenant's scenes

probably presented the portraits of dramatic writers.]

PROLOGUE

TO

THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1674.

SPOKEN BY MR HART.

_Hart, who had been a captain in the civil wars, belonged to

the King's company. He was an excellent actor, and particularly

celebrated in the character of Othello. He left the stage,

according to Cibber, on the union of the companies in_ 1686. _But it

appears from a paper published in a note on the article_ "_Betterton_"

_in the_ Biographia, _that he retired in_ 1681, _upon receiving a

pension from Dr D'Avenant_, _then manager of the Duke's company_,

_who in this manner bought off both Hart and Kynaston_, _and greatly

weakened the opposite set_.

Poets, your subjects, have their parts assigned,

To unbend, and to divert their sovereign's mind;

When tired with following nature, you think fit

To seek repose in the cool shades of wit,

And, from the sweet retreat, with joy survey

What rests, and what is conquered, of the way.

Here, free yourselves from envy, care, and strife,

You view the various turns of human life;

Safe in our scene, through dangerous courts you go,

And, undebauched, the vice of cities know.

Your theories are here to practice brought,

As in mechanic operations wrought;

And man, the little world, before you set,

As once the sphere of crystal[341] shewed the great.

Blest sure are you above all mortal kind,

If to your fortunes you can suit your mind;

Content to see, and shun, those ills we show,

And crimes on theatres alone to know.

With joy we bring what our dead authors writ,

And beg from you the value of their wit:

That Shakespeare's, Fletcher's, and great Jonson's claim,

May be renewed from those who gave them fame.

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,

The greatest judges still can pardon most.

Poets must stoop, when they would please our pit,

Debased even to the level of their wit;

Disdaining that, which yet they know will take,

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 what should be, beyond what is, extends.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 341: Its properties are thus described by Spenser:

It vertue had to show in perfect sight

Whatever thing was in the world contained,

Betwixt the lowest earth and heaven's height,

So that it to the looker appertained.

Whatever foe had wrought, or friend designed,

Therein discovered was ne ought mote pass,

Ne ought in secret from the same remained,

Forthy it round, and hollow-shaped was,

Like to the world itself, and seemed a world of glass.

Such was the glassy globe that Merlin made,

And gave unto King Ryence for his guard.

_Fairy Queen_, Book iii. Canto 2.

]

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN

AT OXFORD, BY MRS MARSHALL.

_The date of this Epilogue is fixed by that of Bathurst's

vice-chancellorship_, _which lasted from 3d October_, 1673, _to 9th

October_ 1675.

Oft has our poet wished, this happy seat

Might prove his fading muse's last retreat:

I wondered 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 e'en you, while the vext world we show,

Your peace to value more, and better know?

'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;[342]

Bathurst, a name the learned with reverence know,

And scarcely more to his own Virgil owe;

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 antient hospitality there rests }

In yours, as dwelt in the first Grecian breasts, }

Whose kindness was religion to their guests. }

Such modesty did to our sex appear, }

As, had there been no laws, we need not fear, }

Since each of you was our protector here. }

Converse so chaste, and so strict virtue shown,

As might Apollo with the muses own.

Till our return, we must despair to find

Judges so just, so knowing, and so kind.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 342: Ralph Bathurst, thus highly distinguished by our author,

was a distinguished character of the age. He was uncle to Allen, the

first Lord Bathurst. He was born in 1620, and bred to the church, but

abandoned divinity for the pursuit of medicine, which he practised

until the Restoration, when he resumed his clerical character. In 1663

he became head of Trinity college, Oxford, into the court and chapel

of which he introduced the beauties of classical architecture, to

rival, if it were possible, the magnificence of the Gothic edifices

by which it is surrounded. In 1673, he had the honour to be appointed

vice-chancellor; an office which he retained for two years. During

his execution of this duty he is said to have reformed many abuses

which had crept into the university; and by liberal benefactions

added considerably to the prosperity of literature. Anthony Wood, who

had some private reason for disliking him, and who, moreover, was as

determined an enemy to the fair sex as ever harboured in a cloister,

picked a quarrel with Bathurst's wife, as he could find no reasonable

fault with the vice-chancellor himself. "Dr Bathurst took his place

of vice-chancellor; a man of good parts, and able to do good things;

but he has a wife that scorns that he should be in print; a scornful

woman! scorns that he was dean of Wells: no need of marrying such a

woman, who is so conceited, that she thinks herself fit to govern a

college, or university."--Perhaps the countenance given by Bathurst

to the theatre, for which Dryden here expresses his gratitude, might

not tend to conciliate the good will of Anthony, who quarrelled

with his sister-in-law by refusing to treat her to the play. But it

agreed well with the character of Bathurst, who was not only a patron

of literature in all its branches, but himself an excellent Latin

poet, as his verses prefixed to Hobbes' "Leviathan," fully testify;

and as good an English poet as most of his contemporaries. He died

in his eighty-fourth year, 1704. Warton has given us the following

character of his Latin compositions, for which Dryden has celebrated

him so highly: "His Latin orations are wonderful specimens of wit and

antithesis, which were the delight of his age. They want, upon the

whole, the purity and simplicity of Tully's eloquence, but even exceed

the sententious smartness of Seneca, and the surprising turns of Pliny.

They are perpetually spirited, and discover an uncommon quickness of

thought. The manner is concise and abrupt, but yet perspicuous and

easy: His allusions are delicate, and his observations sensible and

animated; his sentiments of congratulation, or indignation, are equally

forcible: his compliments are most elegantly turned, and his satire is

most ingeniously severe. These compositions are extremely agreeable to

read, but, in the present improvement of classical taste, not so proper

to be imitated."--_Life of Bathurst, prefixed to his Literary Remains,

published under the inspection of Mr Warton._]

ORIGINAL

PROLOGUE TO CIRCE,

BY

DR CHARLES D'AVENANT, 1675.

_Dr Charles D'Avenant, the author of "Circe," was son of the

Rare Sir William D'Avenant, whom he succeeded as manager of the

Duke's company. He practised physic in Doctor's Commons, which

he afterwards abandoned for politics. He became a member of

Parliament, and inspector of the exports and imports, of which

office he died possessed in_ 1714. _He wrote many tracts upon

political subjects, especially those connected with the revenue.

"Circe," his only drama, is an opera, to which Bannister composed

the music. Besides the Prologue by our author, it was honoured by

an Epilogue by the famous Rochester, and thus graced was received

favourably. It contains some good writing, considering it was

composed at the age of nineteen; a circumstance alluded to in the

following Prologue. The original Prologue is from the 4to edition

of "_Circe_," _London_, 1677. _It was afterwards much improved, or

rather entirely re-written, by our author._

Were you but half so wise as you're severe,

Our youthful poet should not need to fear;

To his green years your censures you would suit,

Not blast the blossom, but expect the fruit.

The sex, that best does pleasure understand,

Will always chuse to err on t'other hand.

They check not him that's aukward in delight,

But clap the young rogue's cheek, and set him right.

Thus heartened well, and fleshed upon his prey,

The youth may prove a man another day.

For your own sakes, instruct him when he's out,

You'll find him mend his work at every bout.

When some young lusty thief is passing by, }

How many of your tender kind will cry,-- }

"A proper fellow! pity he should die! }

He might be saved, and thank us for our pains,

There's such a stock of love within his veins."

These arguments the women may persuade,

But move not you, the brothers of the trade,

Who, scattering your infection through the pit, }

With aching hearts and empty purses sit, }

To take your dear five shillings worth of wit. }

The praise you give him, in your kindest mood,

Comes dribbling from you, just like drops of blood;

And then you clap so civilly, for fear

The loudness might offend your neighbour's ear,

That we suspect your gloves are lined within,

For silence sake, and cotton'd next the skin.

From these usurpers we appeal to you,

The only knowing, only judging few;

You, who in private have this play allowed,

Ought to maintain your suffrage to the crowd.

The captive, once submitted to your bands,

You should protect from death by vulgar hands.

PROLOGUE TO CIRCE,

AS CORRECTED BY DRYDEN.

Were you but half so wise as you're severe,

Our youthful poet should not need to fear;

To his green years your censures you would suit,

Not blast the blossom, but expect the fruit.

The sex, that best does pleasure understand,

Will always choose to err on t'other hand.

They check not him that's aukward in delight,

But clap the young rogue's cheek, and set him right.

Thus heartened well, and fleshed upon his prey,

The youth may prove a man another day.

Your Ben and Fletcher, in their first young flight,

Did no Volpone, nor no Arbaces write;[343]

But hopped about, and short excursions made }

From bough to bough, as if they were afraid, }

And each was guilty of some Slighted Maid.[344] }

Shakespeare's own muse her Pericles first bore;[345]

The Prince of Tyre was elder than the Moor:

'Tis miracle to see a first good play;

All hawthorns do not bloom on Christmas-day.[346]

A slender poet must have time to grow,

And spread and burnish as his brothers do.

Who still looks lean, sure with some pox is curst,

But no man can be Falstaff-fat at first.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 343: Characters in Jonson's "Volpone," and Fletcher's "King

and no King," which plays are justly held the master-pieces of these

authors.]

[Footnote 344: The "Slighted Maid" was a contemporary drama, written

by Sir Richard Stapylton, of which Dryden elsewhere takes occasion

to speak in terms of contempt. See the _Parallel betwixt Poetry and

Painting_.]

[Footnote 345: This opinion seems to be solely founded on the

inferiority of "Pericles," to the other plays of Shakspeare; an

inferiority so great, as to warrant very strong doubts of its being the

legitimate offspring of his muse at all.]

[Footnote 346: Alluding to the legend of the Glastonbury thorn,

supposed to bloom on Christmas day.]

EPILOGUE

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY

THE LADY HEN. MAR. WENTWORTH.

WHEN CALISTO WAS ACTED AT COURT, IN 1675.

"_Calisto, or the Chaste Nymph_," _was a masque written by John

Crowne, who, by the interference of Rochester, was employed to

compose such an entertainment to be exhibited at court, though this

was an encroachment on the office of Dryden, the poet laureat.

The principal characters were represented by the daughters of the

Duke of York, and the first nobility. The Lady Mary, afterwards

Queen, to whom the masque was dedicated, acted Calisto; Nyphe was

represented by the Lady Anne, who also succeeded to the throne;

Jupiter, by Lady Harriot Wentworth; Psecas, by Lady Mary Mordaunt;

Diana, by Mrs Blague, and Mercury by Mrs Sarah Jennings, afterwards

Duchess of Marlborough. Among the attendant nymphs and dancers were

the Countesses of Pembroke and of Derby, Lady Catharine Herbert,

Mrs Fitzgerald, and Mrs Fraser. The male dancers were the Duke

of Monmouth, Viscount Dunblaine, Lord Daincourt, and others of

the first quality. Although the exhibition of this masque, which

it was the privilege of his office to have written, must have

been somewhat galling to Dryden, we see that he so far suppressed

his feelings as to compose the following Epilogue, which, to his

farther mortification, was rejected, through the interference of

Rochester._

_The Lady Henrietta Maria Wentworth, Baroness of Nettlested, who

acted the part of Jupiter on the present occasion, afterwards

adapted her conduct to that of Calisto, and became the mistress of

the Duke of Monmouth. He was so passionately attached to her, that

upon the scaffold he vindicated their intercourse by some very warm

and enthusiastic expressions, and could by no means be prevailed on

to express any repentance of it as unlawful. This lady died about

a year after the execution of her unfortunate lover_, _in_ 1685.

_Her mother, Lady Wentworth, ordered a monument of L._ 2000 _value

to be erected over her in the church of Teddington, Bedfordshire._

As Jupiter I made my court in vain;

I'll now assume my native shape again.

I'm weary to be so unkindly used,

And would not be a God, to be refused.

State 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.

'Tis here that sovereign power admits dispute;

Beauty sometimes is justly absolute.

Our sullen Cato's, 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.

These peaceful triumphs with your cares you bought,

And from the midst of fighting nations brought.[347]

You only hear it thunder from afar,

And sit, in peace, the arbiter of war:

Peace, the loathed manna, which hot brains despise,

You 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 godlike line,

Whose morning rays, like noontide, strike and shine;[348]

Whom you to suppliant monarchs shall dispose,

To bind your friends, and to disarm your foes.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 347: The war between France and the confederates was now

raging on the Continent.]

[Footnote 348: The glorious nymphs, afterwards Queens Anne and Mary,

both lived to exclude their own father and his son from the throne.

Derrick, I suppose, alluded to this circumstance, when in the next line

he read _supplant_ for _suppliant_ monarchs.]

EPILOGUE

TO THE

MAN OF MODE; OR SIR FOPLING FLUTTER.

BY

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE, 1676.

_This play, which long maintained a high degree of reputation

on the stage, presents us with the truest picture of what was

esteemed good breeding and wit in the reign of Charles II. All

the characters, from Dorimant down to the Shoemaker, were either

really drawn from the life, or depicted so accurately according

to the manners of the times, that each was instantly ascribed to

some individual. Sir Fopling Flutter, in particular, was supposed

to represent Sir George Hewit, mentioned in the Essay on Satire,

and who seems to have been one of the most choice coxcombs of

the period. A very severe criticism in the_ Spectator, _pointing

out the coarseness as well as the immorality of this celebrated

performance, had a great effect in diminishing its popularity. The

satire being in fact personal, it followed as a matter of course,

that the Prologue should disclaim all personality, that being an

attribute to be discovered by the audience, but not avowed by

the poet. Dryden has accomplished this with much liveliness, and

enumerates for our edification the special fopperies which went

to make up a complete fine gentleman in_ 1676--_differing only in

form from those required in_ 1806, _excepting that the ancient beau

needed, to complete his character, a slight sprinkling of literary

accomplishment, which the modern has discarded with the "_sacred

periwig_."_

Most modern wits such monstrous fools have shown,

They seem not of heaven's making, but their own.

Those nauseous Harlequins in farce may pass;

But there goes more to a substantial ass:

Something of man must be exposed to view,

That, gallants, they 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!

So brisk, so gay, so travelled, so refined,

As he took pains to graff upon his kind.

True fops help nature's work, and go to school,

To file and finish God Almighty's fool.

Yet none Sir Fopling him, or him can call;

He's knight o' the shire, and represents ye all.

From each he meets he culls whate'er he can;

Legion's his name, a people in a man.

His bulky folly gathers as it goes,

And, rolling o'er you, like a snow-ball, grows.

His various modes from various fathers follow;

One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow;

His sword-knot this, his cravat that designed;

And this the yard-long snake he twirls behind.

From one the sacred periwig he gained,

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.

As for his songs, the ladies' dear delight,

These sure he took from most of you who write.

Yet every man is safe from what he feared;

For no one fool is hunted from the herd.

EPILOGUE

TO

MITHRIDATES, KING OF PONTUS.

BY

MR N. LEE, 1678.

_This, as appears from the Prologue preserved in the Luttrell

collection, was the first play acted in the season_, 1698-9. _It has,

like all Lee's productions, no small share of bombast, with some

strikingly beautiful passages._

You've seen a pair of faithful lovers die; }

And much you care; for most of you will cry, }

'Twas a just judgment on their constancy. }

For, heaven be thanked, we live in such an age,

When no man dies for love, but on the stage:

And e'en those martyrs are but rare in plays;

A cursed sign how much true faith decays.

Love is no more a violent desire;

'Tis a mere metaphor, a painted fire.

In all our sex, the name examined well,

'Tis pride to gain, and vanity to tell.

In woman, 'tis of subtle interest made;

Curse on the punk, that made it first a trade!

She first did wit's prerogative remove,

And made a fool presume to prate of love.

Let honour and preferment go for gold,

But glorious beauty is not to be sold;

Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate so high,

That nothing but adoring it should buy.

Yet the rich cullies may their boasting spare;

They purchase but sophisticated ware.

'Tis prodigality that buys deceit,

Where both the giver and the taker cheat.

Men but refine on the old half-crown way;

And women fight, like Swissers, for their pay.

PROLOGUE

TO

THE TRUE WIDOW, 1679.

At this period Shadwell and our author were on such good terms, that

Dryden obliged him with the following Prologue to the "True Widow;" a

play intended to display the humours of various men of the town. Thus

we have in the Dramatis Personæ,--

"_Selfish._ A coxcomb, conceited of his beauty, wit, and breeding,

thinking all women in love with him, always admiring and talking to

himself.

_Old Maggot._ An old, credulous fellow; a great enemy to wit, and a

lover of business for business-sake.

_Young Maggot._ His nephew: an inns-of-court man, who neglects law,

and runs mad after wit, pretending much to love, and both in spite of

nature, since his face makes him unfit for one, and his brains for the

other.

_Prig._ A coxcomb, who never thinks or talks of any thing but dogs,

horses, hunting, hawking, bowls, tennis, and gaming; a rook, a most

noisy jockey.

_Lump._ A methodical coxcomb, as regular as a clock, and goes as true

as a pendulum; one that knows what he shall do every day of his life by

his almanack, where he sets down all his actions before-hand; a mortal

enemy to wit."

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