Of Death, in Tempests, Hurricanes, and Storms,
The Ship in Danger, Master, or the Mate,
Cries, Reef the Sails before it is too late;
We cannot bear ’em in this Stress of Weather,
Up nimbly, Boys, G⸺ d⸺ you, all together.
A Sailor from the Fore-Mast-Top bauls out,
By G⸺ there’ll be no Calm to Day, I doubt;
Then answers one, who’s on the Main-Yard Arm,
Z⸺ds, Lads, as yet we have receiv’d no Harm.
But next another cries, G⸺ d⸺ my Soul,
How cursedly the rotten Bitch do’s rowl!
Whilst here do’s split a Mast, there rent a Sail,
Another swears, by Heav’n the Ship do’s fail:
Some cry, G⸺ rot us, we shall all be drown’d,
The very Storm do’s rage the Compass round;
For steer which Way we will, the Wind do’s blow
Contrary to the Course we strive to go.
But hark! below Deck next a Man do’s speak,
And briskly swears, the Vessel springs a-leak;
Then how the Seamen helter-skelter jump,
To save the Ship and Cargo by the Pump;
Which useless grown, the Master says, I think
The Vessel founders, we begin to sink.
D⸺n ye, hoist out the Long-Boat, Wind defies
Our Art, the Gunhil under Water lies;
Come, leave the Whip-Staff; Lads, make hast, G⸺’s B⸺
Your Luffs nor Ports can do us now no Good.
Mean while the Chaplain, who shou’d for ’em pray,
Instead of praying, swears as fast as they:
And just on drowning, in one hideous Yell,
They curse their Fate, and swim with speed to Hell._
But being got upon firm Land again, as I said before, I was very glad
of visiting the _Irish_ Natives, tho’ they are not yet wholly brought
to a civil Course of Life, thro’ the Fathers inflicting an heavy Curse
on all their Posterity, if ever they should sow Corn, build Houses, or
learn the _English_ Tongue: And the Reason of this inveterate Antipathy
is, because heretofore there being but one Freeholder in a whole County,
which was the Lord himself, the rest held in Villanage; and being
subject to the Lord’s immeasurable Taxations, they had no Encouragement
to build, sow, or plant. _Ireland_ is divided into 4 Provinces; namely,
_Munster_; _Leinster_, where _Stonehenge_ once stood, but by _Magick_
Art _Merlin_ remov’d those ponderous Stones out of this Territory into
_Wiltshire_; _Connaught_, where are some Vines, but rather serving for
Shade than Profit, for in these Parts the Sun entring into _Virgo_,
causeth cold Gales to blow, and in Autumn the Afternoon’s Heat is so
faint and short, that it cannot ripen the Clusters; and _Ulster_, whose
antient Custom in making their King was by taking a white Cow, which his
_Irish_ Majesty must kill, and seeth the same in Water whole, then must
he bath himself therein stark naked; and sitting in the Caldron wherein
it is sod, accompanied with the People round about him, he and they eat
the Flesh, and drink the Broth (much Good may’t do ’em) without Cup, Dish
or Spoon. No sooner was I arriv’d at _Dublin_, but being in Company with
some Collegians of _Trinity-College_ there, which is all the Colleges
their University contains, they to shew their extraordinary Parts to me a
Stranger in a poetick Way, made Verses _ex tempore_, and I to Oblige them
writ off of Hand the following Lines.
_When pious ~Israel~, by ~Jehovah~ blest,
Had been four hundred Years and more opprest,
By haughty ~Pharaoh~’s arbitrary Sway,
Which Doom’d the ~Hebrew~ Vassals to Obey,
It pleas’d the Pow’r of an Almighty Hand
To Scourge a stubborn King, and sinful Land,
With ten afflictions, grievous to a Realm,
Where Pride and Superstition sat at Helm.
Yet Wrath Divine was not so much Display’d,
To make a wise Creator be Obey’d,
But that indulging Heaven kept in store,
For ~Ireland~, a dozen Plagues and more.
Nits make their Youths, before they’re Old, look Grey,
And rampant Lice upon their Bodies Prey;
Their Summer Visiters are Swarms of Fleas,
Which Sting the Females that they can’t have Ease.
Poverty Nips ’em, Ign’rance is their Guide,
And Sloth in Triumph thro’ their Cabbins ride.
Misery for lazy Lives they Celebrate;
And Loyalty (which proves their Ruin) hate.
Their chiefest Talent much in Nonsense lies;
And honest Principles they all Dispise.
Devotion is a Stranger to their Thoughts,
And small Temptations make their Women Morts.
But that which adds to their intailed Curse,
Is store of Children, but an empty Purse.
Thus, if these are not Plagues enough, may Pox,
And all the Ails which cram’d ~Pandora~’s Box,
Always severely Torture them; and be
The Portion of their wild Posterity._
This Satyr being Truth and Matter of Fact, how well it pleas’d the
_Irish_ Collegians may be easily guess’d, however taking leave of my
learned Company, I went out to look about me in the City, where I star’d
and gap’d around, like our Country Hicks upon the Signs in _London_, the
Monument, or Tombs in _Westminster-Abby_. _Ringsend_ Coaches, so call’d
from a Place of that Name about a Mile or two out of the _Dublinian_
Suburbs, I saw were more numerous than Hackney or Gentlemen’s Coaches;
and which being a sort of Carts made with a Seat before, wherein People
may be jolted 3 or 4 Miles for 2 Pence, your topping City Cuckolds and
their Wives very often ride out of Town in ’em, to make a Demolition of
Cakes and Ale. Being mounted next upon _Lousie-Hill_, and asking whence
the Place deriv’d its Name, some knowing People inform’d me, that an old
Woman once dwelling there, to whom honest St. _Patrick_, a Swineherd, and
tutelary Patron of that Kingdom promis’d to clear that Nation of Lice,
she fell a weeping, and humbly besought the good old Man not to destroy
them, because the Inhabitants had no other Diversion on _Sundays_, than
to sit at home and louse themselves; whereupon her Request being granted,
the _Irish_ enjoy the Company of their native Cattle to this Day, in
Memory of which peculiar Favour this Street ever since bears the Name of
_Lousie-Hill_. At last I rambled into _Smock-Alley_, where the _Irish_
Theatre is situated; Curiosity led me soon into it, when _Dryden_’s
Opera, call’d King _Arthur_, was to be acted, which is a Play I lik’d
well enough, excepting these two Lines in Act I. Scene I.
_On yon proud Towers, before the Day be done,
My glittering Banners shall be wav’d against the setting Sun._
For tho’ the _Greek_ and _Latin_ Poets, in their Compositions, made their
_Hexameter_ or _Heroick_ Verse, compos’d of _Dactyls_ and _Spondees_,
yet always observing to have each Line to end with an _Adonick_ likewise,
it runs smoother than what our Language will with 15 or more Syllables,
for we cannot exceed 10 Feet, or 12 at the most, without offending a
delicate Ear.
Farther, let me observe, that the _Irish_ Stage is now as much cumber’d
as the _English_ Stage, with Inventions not used in former Ages; I mean
with _Opera_’s and _Farce_; the first stupifying the Audience in such
a quivering Manner in their Songs, that the Words and Sense too are
both lost in the Tune: And the other is a Representation of Things not
natural, and is but one, or 3 Acts at most; contrary to the Rule of
dramatick Poetry, which, _Horace_ says in his Book _de Arte Poetica_,
must have no more or less than 5 Acts. As for _Comedy_, it is as much,
nay more corrupted in _Ireland_, than in _England_, _France_ or _Italy_,
in too much admitting the _Mimick_ in the _Drama_: And let me tell you
(tho’ a Pilgrim) that since I am enter’d upon this Discourse, I must
take Notice, that tho’ _Comedy_ is an Imitation of inferior People in
Ridicule, yet ought not the Ridicule to be extravagant, but gracefully
and slightly touch’d, as by _Terence_ in his Pieces. Again, altho
_Comedy_ represents low Persons, yet are they not the meanest, since it
brings eminent Citizens and Magistrates on the Stage; nay, _Plautus_ in
his _Amphytrio_ introduces Gods and Kings, but nevertheless it is a true
_Comedy_, because he hath turn’d the Subject of _Tragedy_ into Ridicule;
and it looks beautiful enough, if the Actors have a Regard to their
Pronunciation and Gesture, according to _Quintilian_’s Rule, in the 11th
Chapter of his First Book which is this: _Debet etiam docere comœdus
quomodo narrandum_, &c. That is, a _Comedian_ ought to teach how we
should speak, with what Authority we should persuade, with what Emotion
Anger should be rais’d, and with what Change of Voice we may excite
Pity: I can’t blame those who spend some Time with the Masters of the
palestrick Art; that is, those who form the Gestures and Motions, teach
how to hold the Arms, and the Hands, that we seem not to be rustick, or
ignorant, to have no unseemly Carriage, no unbecoming Posture of the
Feet, and that the Head and Eyes don’t differ from the other Motions of
the Body. But these Rules are no where strictly observ’d by Players:
Moreover, as the Design of _Comedy_ is to rectify the Manners of Men and
Women, nothing ought to be represented which may vitiate the Audience,
for the People being generally the same, they obstinately retain the most
licentious and obscene Things; especially when they are impiously joyn’d
to Religion. Indeed _Ben Johnson_ is often guilty of this Fault in his
_Volpone_, especially where he brings in Sir _Politick Would be_ talking
thus prophanely to _Peregrine_.
_And then, for your Religion, profess none;
But wonder at the Diversity of all._ Act 4. Sc. 1.
Also _Ben Johnson_ in his _Alchymist_ so much dishonours his Maker, as to
suffer the most tremendous Name of God to be made so vile and cheap, as
to be us’d often as an expletive Particle to prevent a Chasme, or make up
a Gap in a Sentence, that it may run more smoothly; as appears by some of
his Persons thus speaking.
_God’s Will then, Queen of Fairies
On with your Tire; and, Doctor, with your Robes.
Let’s dispatch him for God’s sake._ Act 3. Sc. 3.
_Fore God,
She is a delicate Dab chick! I must have her._ Act 4. Scen. 2.
As for _Tragedies_, those are the most perfect ones in which there are
_Peripeties_, that is, Revolutions, Changes of Fortune, and Remembrances,
as in the _Oedipus_ of _Sophocles_, the first _Tragedy_ of all Antiquity,
where in the 3d Scene of the 4th Act, the _Peripetie_, or Change of
one Fortune into another, is contrary to what was expected, in the Man
that comes from _Corinth_ to acquaint _Oedipus_ of the Death of King
_Polybius_. I shall not take Notice of the Duration of the Representation
of a _Play_, which ought not to exceed the Space of a natural Day;
but observe, that the Sect of the _Peripateticks_ believing neither
_Providence_ nor _fatal Necessity_, but imputes all Accidents to Chance,
the antient tragick _Poets_ chose rather to follow the Opinion of the
_Stoicks_, who acknowledge a _Providence_ and fatal Necessity; as very
well perceiving, that that was the only Means to preserve the _Theatre_,
those wonderful Surprizes, which are produc’d by Accidents that seem
fortuitous, and yet nevertheless have Causes assign’d to them, which are
certain. Again, it is to be noted, that the _Prologue_ should be plac’d
before the Play; but _Plautus_ hath took the Liberty of the _Greeks_, in
placing the Prologue in the Play, as particularly in the first Act of his
_Miles gloriosus_, and after the first Act in _Cistellaria_; however,
as I hint above, this Custom ought not to be follow’d by any prudent and
regular Poet; and therefore _Terence_ hath took Care not to be guilty of
so great a Fault. The _Catastrophe_ of a Play must be happy or fatal;
but _Euripides_ has made his Pieces to have a miserable one, wherefore
he appears to be the most tragical of all the _Poets_. Now the Use of
Machines, which makes the Gods and Goddesses appear upon the Stage, is
founded on the generally received Opinion of the _Ethnichs_, who suppose
the Gods can see all things, and take Care of Men; for if there were
none but _Epicureans_ in the World, the Machines would be ridiculous,
or not suffer’d, because they would directly thwart their Opinion, in
affirming the Gods lead a quiet Life, free from all Sorts of Care, and
if _Nature_ sometimes doth those Things which seem miraculous, the Gods
take no Notice of it, and don’t interrupt their Pleasure. By the Way
also I must note, that the Imitation of Lightning and Thunder may be
put into the Number of the Machines, and also that furious Storm, which
makes the unravelling of the second _Oedipus_ in _Sophocles_; for altho’
_Jupiter_ doth not appear, yet ’tis he who sends that Tempest, during
which _Oedipus_ is buried: And from hence I infer, that Machines may be
employ’d, not only out of, but also in the Action of Tragedy, provided
there be an absolute Necessity for them.
But many of our modern _Dramatists_ have not exactly observ’d the
aforesaid Discourse, or kept themselves strictly to the Unity of
Action, Time, and Place. For _Shakespear_ in his Tragedy of _Othello_,
the _Moor_ of _Venice_, makes the Duration of what he represents to
be above 3 Weeks or a Month; I think the Representation of his Play
begins in _Italy_, whence his black General went to _Cyprus_, an Island
on the Coast of _Syria_, and to which he could not well arrive under a
Fortnight, according as the Storm he met with held longer or shorter. The
Absurdities and Blunders of this illiterate _Poetaster_ being so many,
that whatever he writ was not worth acting in _Bartholomew_ Fair, I shall
only take Notice of the little Knowledge he had in _Astronomy_, when in
Act 1. Scen. 2. he says,
_For do but stand upon the foaming Shore,
The chiding Billows seem to pelt the Clouds,
The Wind shake Surge, with high and monst’rous Main,
Seems to cast Water on the burning Bear,
And quench the Guards of the ever-fired Pole._
In these Lines I reckon he hath given a false _Epithet_ to the _Bear_,
which ought to have been _lesser_ instead of _burning_, by talking of
the _Guards_ presently after, which are the two foremost Stars in _Ursa
minor_, whereof that which is in the Shoulder of this Constellation, hath
Longitude 128 Degrees, 23 Minutes, and North Latitude 72 Degrees, 40
Minutes, insomuch that being nearest of all the Northern Constellations
to the North Pole, I wonder how there can be any extraordinary Heat
within the frigid Zone. Also in the same Play he supposes the Soul to
be the Production of some mortal Substance, according to these Words of
_Emilia_, Act 5. Scen. 1.
_If he say so, may his pernicious Soul
Rot half a Grain a-day._
But _Shakespear_ being no Scholar, I suppose he had so little Skill
in _Rhetorick_, that by a _Synecdoche_ he did not put a _Whole_ for a
Part, as _Virgil_ do’s _Anima_ for _Homo_, in describing the Funeral of
_Polydorus_, in _Æneid. lib. 3_. The Faults of this same _Poetaster_ are
not a few also in his _Tragedy_, call’d _Hamlet_, Prince of _Denmark_; in
which he is mighty drolling, particularly where he tells an old Woman’s
Story of the Cocks crowing always at _Christmas_, in Act 1. Scen. 1.
_It faded at the Crowing of the Cock.
Some say, that ever ’gainst that Season comes,
Wherein our Saviour’s Birth is Celebrated,
This Bird of dawning singeth all Night long,
And then, they say, no Spirit dares stir abroad,
The Nights are wholsome; then no Plannets strike,
No Fairy takes, no Witch hath Power to Charm,
So hallow’d and so gracious is that Time._
Truly Mr. _Lee_ was in my Opinion, the most exact of all our modern
_Dramatists_ in his Plays; but yet he is not without his Irregularities
and Foibles, especially in religious Matters, of which we shall only
take notice of this in his _Tragedy_ call _Theodosius_, or the Force of
Love, where, in Act 3. Scen. 1. he represents the Emperor _Theodosius_
a hopeful Convert, when at the sight of _Athenais_ he makes one of the
Articles of the Christian Faith a _Simile_ for his Cod-piece Passion in
these Words,
_What hinders now but in spite of Rules
I burst thro’ all the Bands of Death that hold me,
And fly with such a haste to that Appearance,
As bury’d Saints shall make at the last Summons._
In Mr. _Lee_’s Tragedy call’d the Rival Queens, or the Death of
_Alexander_ the Great, in Act 1. Scen. I. he makes _Polyperchon_ give a
Description of Hell after the _Christian_ Manner; for tho’ it was the
_Theology_ of the _Grecians_ to believe a future State, yet it does not
occur to my Memory that I ever read they allotted any Punishment to the
Wicked by Fire, as he intimates in these Lines.
_Tho’ the Earth yawn so wide,
That all the Labours of the Deep were seen,
And ~Alexander~ stood on the other Side,
I’d leap the burning Ditch to give him Death,
Or sink my self for ever._
And in Act 4. Scen. I. he introduces _Cassander_ speaking so prophanely,
that it must rather vitiate the Audience than make them virtuous.
_’Tis nobler far to be a King of Hell,
To Head infernal Legions, Chiefs below,
To let ’em loose for Earth, to call ’em in,
And take Account of what dark Deeds are done,
Than be a Subject God in Heav’n unblest,
And without Mischief have eternal Rest._
As for Mr. _Shadwell_, he hath mixt his Tragedy call’d the _Libertine_
with so much Comedy, that the Play is rather tragi-comical than tragical;
tho’ there is Blood enough spilt in it which might, with good Husbandry,
serve very well for two or three Tragedies: But to make Don _John_ the
Libertine talk of a Soul in Act I. when an Atheist believes no such Thing
existing in a Man, it is very absurd, as you may see in the following
Lines, which plainly describe the Person’s Character.
_Let’s on, and live the nobler Life of Sense;
To all the Powers of Love and mighty Lust,
In spite of formal Fops I will be just.
What Ways soe’er conduce to my Delight,
My Sense instructs me, I must think ’em right.
On, on my Soul, and make no Stop in Pleasure,
They’re dull insipid Fools, who live by Measure._
Was I to criticise on all the Errors occurring in the _Greek_, _Latin_
and _English_ Dramatists, I should swell my Criticisms to a Bulk
exceeding these swelling Expressions of _Seneca_, in the first Act of his
_Hercules Oetæus_, whom he makes to speak in these bragging, bouncing,
and ranting Strains.
_Vel si times ne terra concipiat feras,
Properet malum quodcunque dum terra Herculem
Habet, videtque.
Da, da tuendos Jupiter saltem deos:
Illa licebit fulmina parte auferas,
Ego quam tuebor: sive glacialem polum,
Seu me tueri fervidam partem jubes,
Hac esse superos parte securos puta._
By these Lines we plainly see how miserable _Jupiter_ must be, who cannot
be safe from wild Beasts without an _Hercules_; and then again how little
and weak the _Poet_ makes the Gods, in representing them to stand in Need
of Human Help: But the tragick _Poets_ do very often err in this Manner,
by extolling Things above Nature. Moreover, altho’ some Morality may be
learnt by the Judicious either from tragick or comick Writers, yet there
are none of the dramatick Poets but what have too much Immorality and
Prophaness in their Writings; and hence it follows that either _Tragedy_
or _Comedy_, as being a Representation of Things, must be of a more
pernicious Consequence than an _Epick_ Poem, which is only a Recitation.
A dramatick _Poet_ must make the Person which he brings on the Stage to
speak exactly to the Character which he or she represents: Thus whether
the Person that represents another, is to act the Part of a Tyrant,
Adulterer, Villain, Drunkard, or any other wicked profligate Wretch, as
the Humour of such Persons must be represented always the same, without
any Variety, the Representation of such notorious Crimes may be of an
ill Consequence to green Heads; and especially in being Spectators
of such Plays, which treat of those Subjects whose Stories are taken
from, or belonging to Hell. Farthermore there is as much Buffoonry and
Drollery acted on the _Irish_ Stage as on the _English_ Stage, as having
_Harlequins_ shewing _Merry-Andrew_’s Tricks; _Scaramouches_ jumping into
Barrels; Dame _Ragonda_ skipping about with 9 Brats at her Heels; or a
brainless Fellow, who has more Grimace than Sense, riding upon an Ass,
which (I’m sure) is false Heraldry to put Metal upon Metal.
But being as soon tir’d of _Dublin_, as a _Drury-Lane_ Strumpet is
of Beetle and Punny in _Bridewell_, I left that lewd Town to visit
the Country; accordingly I went to _Manooth_, a Town in the County of
_Kildare_, where I saw nothing memorable, but an old Castle much ruinated
by the famous Usurper _Oliver Cromwell_, of inglorious Memory. Hence I
went to _Kilcock_, a Mile beyond which is a Stone-Mill, said to be built
by the Devil; and truly by its strange Contrivance, I’m apt to believe
it may be the Workmanship of some infernal Artist. Four Miles forward is
_Clenard_, on the Skirts of which Town is a Bridge over the River _Boyn_;
memorable for the entire Defeat King _William_ gave his Royal Competitor
for the Diadem of three Kingdoms. Hence I went to _Mullingar_; and from
thence to _Balimore_, otherwise call’d _Balimore-Lough-Sunderland_,
or _Sivedelie_, in the County of _West-Meath_; but how improper the
Derivation is in one Respect, as well as incredulous in another, I leave
to your judicious Sense to determine; for _Bali_ signifies a Town in the
_Bogtrotters Jargon_, and _More_, great; which _Epithet_ is not at all
suitable to this Place, when there are scarce 40 Houses in it. But then
again to name it _Sunderland_, or _Sivedelie_, which signifies a Beetle
to beat wet Linnen, the Accident I am going to recite, methinks could
not impose upon the Faith of any but a _Papist_, who makes Traditions an
essential Part of his _Credo_; for as I was inform’d by some dwelling
here, there goes a Story of a Maid, living in former Ages, when a Grove
grew where this Lough now is, on the North Side of the Town, with a small
Brook running thro’ it; and one Day washing in this solitary Place,
and accidentally dropping her Beetle into the Water, the Trees in the
Grove instantly vanished, and the Ground became a large Lough: Thus
by giving too much Credulity to a Lie, this Town begot a Name as long
as a _Spanish_ Nobleman’s. In the Church-Yard here I took Notice of a
Grave-stone, on which was this insignificant Inscription: _Pray for the
Soul of Major ~John Duneel~, who departed the 6th of ~November~, 1694;
as also for his Wife ~Elizabeth Jones~; and his Sons ~Henry~, ~William~
and ~Richard~, who caused this Tomb to be made, ~Anno Domini~ 1696._
And under it carv’d _J. H. S._ the Initial Letters of, _Iesus Hominum
Salvator_. Not far from this is another Grave stone over a Miller, with
all the chief Tools of his thieving Occupation carv’d thereon: And this
Mode I saw was pretty customary among Tradesmen in many Church-Yards in
this Kingdom.
Next I went to _Athlone_, a Town not only situated in the two
Provinces of _Leinster_ and _Connought_, but also in the two Counties
of _West-Meath_ and _Roscommon_. The _Shannon_, the largest River in
_Ireland_, running from North to South, divides it into two Parts;
over which is a Stone Bridge, containing seven Arches, built by old
Queen _Bess_; and on it is cut out a Man and Dog with this Inscription.
_~Robarts Damport~ Was Overseer of this Workys._ Indeed, the Matter is
not so material as to be worthy of communicating it to the Publick, but
only to let my Readers see their antient way of Spelling, which is not
much different from the modern _Orthography_ now in use among ’em; and to
delineate the Arrogancy of this petty Officer, who, because _Alexander_
the Great respected his Horse _Bucephalus_, attempted to immortalize his
_Irish_ Cur too. Hence I went to _Balidagon_, a little Village six Miles
from _Athlone_; but whence this Place takes its Name I cant imagine,
unless a Remnant of the cursed _Philistines_ made their Escape from the
Slaughtering _Israelites_, by Swimming over the Sea; and settling in
this bye Country, they dedicated these Receptacles of Poverty to their
Monstrous God, _Dagon_. Proceeding onwards on my Pilgrimage, I went
to _Balinasloe_; the People of which small Town are so Zealous, that
rather than want a House of Devotion, they assemble in a little Cabbin,
where a Bank is raised for the Bog-trotting Congregation to sit on; and
such an awkward Pulpit, Desk, and Communion-Table is bestow’d on the
poor _Levite_, that it would puzzle Ingenuity to fathom the Depth of
humane Fancy for their true Description: However, taking some Pity and
Compassion on these godly Wretches, before I left ’em I compil’d for them
the following Stanza’s, call’d
The _Irish_ LITANY.