English satirical poetry from Joseph Hall to Percy B. Shelley 9783111659169, 9783484440012

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E N G L I S H TEXTS Edited by Theo Stemmler

ζ

English Satirical Poetry from Joseph Hall to Percy B. Shelley

Edited by Hermann Fischer

M A X NIEMEYER VERLAG TÜBINGEN 1970

The purpose of this series is to provide students and teachers of English with reliable editions of texts from all periods of English literature, language and culture. Eadi volume contains a representative selection of typical texts and will enable students and teachers to discuss the most important questions arising in university classes on these subjects. Comprehensive bibliographies will facilitate further research.

ISBN 3 484 44001 5 © Max Niemeyer Verlag Tübingen 1970 Alle Redite vorbehalten. Printed in Germany Satz und Drude: Bücherdruck Wenzlaff KG, Kempten Einband von Heinr. Kodi Tübingen

CONTENTS

Preface

1 2 3 4

JOSEPH H A L L

VII

(1574-1656):

Virgidemiarum. [Sixe Bookes, 1597/98], Lib. III. [1597] Prologue. Sat. I JOHN DONNE

(i573?-i63i):

Satyre II [Written 1594? First published 1633] JOHN MARSTON

ι 3

(1576-1634):

The Scourge ofVillanie [1598], Satyre. VIII. Inamorato Curio

6

ANONYMOUS:

Cromwell's Panegyrick [c. 1655-1658]

12

5 ANONYMOUS:

The Dream of the Cabal: A Prophetical Satire. Anno 1672 .

6

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER

An Allusion to Horace (1675): The

(1647-1680): iot!>

Satyr of the Ist Book

14

24

7 ANONYMOUS:

A Dialogue Between the Two Horses [1676]

27

8 ANONYMOUS:

On his Excellent Friend Mr. Andrew Marvell (1678) . . .

9

JOHN OLDHAM

(1653-1683):

The Careless Good Fellow. Written Mará 9, 1680 . . . .

1 0 JOHN DRYDEN

(1631-1700):

Absalom and Acbitophel. A Poem [Published 1681]

11

ALEXANDER POPE

. . .

32 33 35

(1688-1744) '·

An Epistle to Dr.Arbuthnot [Written 1731-34, published

12 13

I7Î5] ALEXANDER POPE

(1688-1744):

63

The Second Satire of Dr. John Donne [Written 1713, published 1735]

73

Svimr (1667-1745) [with additions by A . P O P E ] : The Sixth Satire of the Second Book of Horace [Swift: Written 1714,published 1738; Pope: Written 1737,published 1738]

77

JONATHAN

V

1 4 RICHARD SAVAGE ( I 6 9 7 ? - I 7 4 3 ) :

The Progress of a Divine. A Satire [173 J]

82

I J SAMUEL JOHNSON ( 1 7 0 9 - 1 7 8 4 ) :

The Vanity of Human Wishes. In Imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal [1749] 16

[ANONYMOUS, p r e s u m a b l e a u t h o r s GEORGE C A N N I N G

94

(1770-

1 8 2 7 ) a n d JOHN H O O K H A M FRERE ( 1 7 6 9 - 1 8 4 6 ) ] :

Sapphics. The Friend of Humanity and the [1797]

Knife-Grinder io3

1 7 GEORGE G O R D O N LORD B Y R O N ( 1 7 8 8 - 1 8 2 4 ) :

The Vision of Judgement [1821] 18 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Lines Written During the Castlereagh Administration 19 PERCY

BYSSHE SHELLEY

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

129 130

(1792-1822):

Fragment of a Satire on Satire [ 181 J]

VI

128

(1792-1822):

Sonnet: England in 1819 [1819] 21

[1819]

(1792-1822):

Song to the Men of England [1819] 20 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

106

(1792-1822):

131

Textual Sources

133

Bibliography

13J

PREFACE

T h e present selection o f English satirical poems w a s prepared w i t h the intention of offering - as f a r as w a s possible w i t h i n the given limits - a representative survey of English satire as a litera r y genre as w e l l as a practical weapon in the battles of politics and books. Since the principle of selection w a s thus a mixed one - the idea being to combine the best and best-known pieces w i t h such texts as were thought to be of particular historical interest — the anthology m a y at first sight give the impression of lacking a n y clear method of selection. A p a r t f r o m the double purpose just mentioned, h o w e v e r , there are five points that were considered important in the choice: χ. T o o strict an adherence t o the n a r r o w l y defined genre of formal verse satire, i . e . the type of poem derived f r o m the R o m a n satirists, w o u l d h a v e unduly limited the scope, and thus diminished the interest. O n the other hand, too sweeping a definition of the satirical genre w o u l d h a v e blurred the lines of development and influence, and resulted in a collection too various f o r the present purpose. 2. T h o u g h the selection w a s not confined to the concept of formal verse satire, the v o l u m e had to begin w i t h the rise of that t y p e in Shakespeare's d a y and to end w i t h its dissolution in the R o m a n t i c period. I t is w i t h i n these 230 years that satirical poetry in E n g l a n d had its classical age. A l l that w e n t before w a s written under rather different social and literary conditions, or o n l y prepared the w a y ; all that came after d r e w largely on the "classical" models. 3. A s the poems w e r e t o be printed w i t h o u t annotations it w a s thought necessary t o a v o i d the inclusion of texts which, because of their obscurity, linguistic extravagance or topicality, h a v e become mere specialists' reading. A n exception t o this rule w a s m a d e in the case of seventeenth century political satires. Since D r y d e n ' s Absalom and Achitophel, which is at the same time the peak of seventeenth century satirical art and the best VII

political poem ever written in the language, could by no means be left out, the reader was in any case expected to provide himself with the necessary historical information about Restoration politics; being thus equipped he should not find it too difficult to eludicate the topical allusions in the two longer anti-royalist satires that precede Dryden's master-piece. Andrew Marvell's satires, being both too long and too topical, had to be omitted. A short tribute to his importance as a political poet which is at the same time a fierce satire of his enemies, was, however, included. N o such substitute offering itself in the case of Samuel Butler, that superb satirist could not be represented at all. 4. The editor regrets being obliged to include four texts which are also given in J.Kinsley's and JamesT.Boulton's English Satiric Poetry (London, 1966), the only other cheap anthology of English verse satire available at the moment. As the present volume is designed for use in university classes, the exclusion of these four very famous examples of satiric art would have forced students to buy two anthologies where one should suffice. That the editor regrets even more the many delightful satires he has had to omit for lack of space, goes without saying: only a third of the material prepared for possible publication could finally be included in the volume. 5. A further consideration in the editor's choice was the suitability of the whole collection for university courses. Without anticipating in detail the kind of exercise in literary and historical criticism that the volume may allow, the anthology was arranged in such a way that several meaningful groupings and cross-connections were suggested by the choice of texts. Thus, for instance, three satires of the Romantic period refer to that eternal butt of anti-conservative satires in the early nineteenth century, the "renegade" Robert Southey. Thus, too, John Donne's Second Satire, which deals with the same subject as the subsequent piece by John Marston, i. e. affectation in love-making, was also chosen because it is connected with one of the poems by Pope, which is nothing less than a "versification" of Donne's Second Satire in neo-classic style. "Similitude in dissimilitude", the great principle on which, according to Wordsworth, our taste, our moral feelings, our sexual vili

appetite and, above all, the pleasures of our mind depend, is, to conclude, the basis for this selection. May it yield to its readers the kind of pleasure which Wordsworth had in mind, and as mudi pleasure as the editor had in preparing the volume. Mannheim, October, 1969

Hermann Fischer

( ) : brackets in the original text [ ] : the present editor's additions ( ) : indicate square brackets of the original editor

XX

1

JOSEPH H A L L :

Virgidemiarvm. Lib. III. Prologue.

Some say my Satyrs ouer-loosely flow, Nor hide their gall inough from open show: Not ridle-like obscuring their intent: But packe-staffe plaine vttring what thing they ment: 5 Contrarie to the Roman ancients, 'Whose wordes were short, & darkesome was their sence; Who reads one line of their harsh poesies, Thrise must he take his winde, & breath him thrise. My Muse would follow them that haue forgone, io But cannot with an English pineon, For looke how fan the ancient Comedie Past former Satyrs in her libertie: So farre must mine yeeld vnto them of olde, Tis better too be bad, then be to bold. SAT. I.

Time was, and that was term'd the time of Gold, When world & time were yong, that now are old. (When quiet Saturne swaid the mace of lead, And Pride was yet vnborne, and yet vnbred.) j Time was, that whiles the Automne fall did last, Our hungry sires gap't for the falling mast of the Dodonian okes. Could no vnhusked Akorne leaue the tree, But there was chalenge made whose it might bee. io And if some nice and licorous appetite, Desir'd more daintie dish of rare delite, They scal'd the stored Crab with clasped knee, Till they had sated their delicious eye: Or search'd the hopefull thick's of hedgy-rowes, ι j For bryer-berryes, or hawes, or sowrer sloes: Or when they meant to fare the fin'st of all, They lidkt oake-leaues besprint with hony fall. ι

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As for the thrise three-angled beech-nut shell, Or diesnuts armed huske, and hid kernell, N o Squire durst touch, the law would not afford, Kept for the Court, and for the Kings owne bord. Their royall Plate was clay, or wood, or stone: The vulgar, saue his hand, else had he none. Their onely seller was the neighbour brooke: None did for better care, for better looke. Was then no playning of the Brewers scape, N o r greedie Vintner mixt the strained grape. The kings pauilion, was the grassy greene, Vnder safe shelter of the shadie treene. Vnder each banke men laide their lims along, Not wishing any ease, not fearing wrong: Clad with their owne, as they were made of olde, Not fearing shame, not feeling any cold. But when by Ceres huswifrie and paine, Men learn'd to bury the reuiuing graine: And father Ianus taught the new found vine, Rise on the Eime, with many a friendly twine: And base desire bad men to deluen low, For needlesse mettais: then gan mischiefe grow, Then farewell fayrest age, the worlds best daies, Thriuing in ill, as it in age decaies. Then crept in Pride, and peeuish Couetise: And men grew greedy, discordous and nice. N o w man, that earst Haile-fellow was with beast, Woxe on to weene himselfe a God at least. N o aery foule can take so high a flight, Tho she her daring wings in clouds haue dight: Nor fish can diue so deepe in yeelding Sea, Tho Thetis-self e should sweare her safetie: Nor fearefull beast can dig his caue so lo we, All could he further then Earths center goe: As that the ayre, the earth, or Ocean, Should shield them from the gorge of greedy man. Hath vtmost Inde ought better then his owne? Then vtmost Inde is neare, and rife to gone. O Nature: was the world ordain'd for nought, But fill mans maw, and feede mans idle thought:

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Thy Grandsires words sauord of thriftie Leekes, Or manly Garlicke: But thy fornace reekes Hote steams of wine, and can aloofe descrie The drunken draughts of sweet Autumnitie. They naked went: or clad in ruder hide, Or home-spun Russet, voyd of forraine pride: But thou canst maske in garish gauderie, To suit a fooles far-fetdied liuery. A French head ioynd to necke Italian·. Thy thighs from Germanie, and brest fro Spaine: An Englishman in none, a foole in all, Many in one, and one in seuerall. Then men were men, but now the greater part Bestes are in life, and women are in heart. Good Saturne seife, that homely Emperour, In proudest pompe was not so clad of yore, As is the vndergroome of the Ostlerie, Husbanding it in work-day yeomanrie: Lo the long date of those expired daies, Which the inspired Merlins word foresaies: When dunghill Pesants shall be dight as kings, Then one confusion another brings: Then farewell fairest age, the worlds best daies, Thriuing in ill, as it in age decayes.

2 JOHN DONNE Satyre II

Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this towne, yet there's one state In all ill things so excellently best, That hate, towards them, breeds pitty towards the j Though Poetry indeed be such a sinne As I thinke that brings dearths, and Spaniards in, Though like the Pestilence and old fashion'd love, Ridlingly it catch men; and doth remove Never, till it be sterv'd out; yet their state 10 Is poore, disarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate.

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One, (like a wretch, which at Barre judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him whidi stands next, and cannot reade, And saves his life) gives ideot actors meanes (Starving himselfe) to live by'his labor'd sceanes; As in some Organ, Puppits dance above And bellows pant below, which them do move. One would move Love by rimes; but writchcrafts charms Bring not now their old feares, nor their old harmes: Rammes, and slings now are seely battery, Pistolets are the best Artillerie. And they who write to Lords, rewards to get, Are they not like singers at doores for meat? And they who write, because all write, have still That excuse for writing, and for writing ill. But hee is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw Rankly digested, doth those things out-spue, As his owne things; 'and they are his owne, 'tis true, For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne The meate was mine, th'excrement is his owne. But these do mee no harme, nor they which use T o out-doe Dildoes, and out-usure Jewes; To'out-drinke the sea, to'out-sweare the Letanie; Who with sinnes all kindes as familiar bee As Confessors: and for whose sinfull sake Schoolemen new tenements in hell must make: Whose strange sinnes, Canonists could hardly tell In which Commandements large receit they dwell. But these punish themselves; the insolence Of Coscus onely breeds my just offence, Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches poxe, And plodding on, must make a calfe an oxe) Hath made a Lawyer, whidi was (alas) of late But a scarce Poët; jollier of this state, Then are new benefic'd ministers, he throwes Like nets, or lime-twigs, wheresoere he goes, His title'of Barrister, on every wendi, And wooes in language of the Pleas, and Bench: Ά motion, Lady.' 'Speake Coscus.' 'I'have beene In love, ever since tricésimo' of the Queene,

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Continuali claimes I'have made, injunctions got T o stay m y rivals suit, that hee should not Proceed.' 'Spare mee.' 'In H i l l a r y terme I went, Y o u said, If I returne next size in Lent, I should be in remitter of your grace; In th'interim my letters should take place Of affidavits-' : words, words, which would teare The tender labyrinth of a soft maids eare, More, more, then ten Sclavonians scolding, more Then when winds in our ruin'd Abbeyes rore. When sicke with Poëtrie, 'and possest with muse Thou wast, and mad, I hop'd; but men which chuse L a w practise f o r meere gaine, bold soule, repute Worse then imbrothel'd strumpets prostitute. N o w like an owlelike watchman, hee must walke H i s hand still at a bill, now he must talke I d l y , like prisoners, which whole months will sweare That onely suretiship hath brought them there, A n d to'every suitor lye in every thing, Like a Kings favorite, yea like a K i n g ; Like a wedge in a blocke, wring to the barre, Bearing like Asses, and more shamelesse farre Then carted whores, lye, to the grave Judge; for Bastardy' abounds not in Kings titles, nor Symonie' and Sodomy in Churchmens lives, A s these things do in him; by these he thrives. Shortly ('as the sea) hee' will compasse all our land; From Scots, to Wight; from Mount, to Dover strand. A n d spying heires melting with luxurie, Satan will not joy at their sinnes, as hee. F o r as a thrifty wench scrapes kitdiing-stuffe, A n d barrelling the droppings, and the snuffe, Of wasting candles, which in thirty yeare (Relique-like kept) perchance buyes wedding geare; Peecemeale he gets lands, and spends as mudi time Wringing each Acre, as men pulling prime. I n parchments then, large as his fields, hee drawes Assurances, bigge, as gloss'd civili lawes, S o huge, that men (in our times forwardnesse) A r e Fathers of the Church f o r writing lesse: Í

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These hee writes not; nor for these written payes, Therefore spares no length; as in those first dayes When Luther was profest, he did desire Short Pater nosters, saying as a Fryer Each day his beads, but having left those lawes, Addes to Christs prayer, the Power and glory clause. But when he sells or changes land, he'impaires His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, ses heires, As slily'as any Commenter goes by Hard words, or sense; or in Divinity As controverters, in vouch'd Texts, leave out Shrewd words, which might against them cleare the doubt. Where are those spred woods which cloth'd hertofore Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within dore, Where's th'old landlords troops, and almes? In great hals Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bachanalls Equally' I hate; meanes blesse; in rich mens homes I bid kill some beasts, but no Hecatombs, None starve, none surfet so; But (Oh) we'allow Good workes as good, but out of fashion now, Like old ridi wardrops; but my words none drawes Within the vast reach of th'huge statute lawes.

3 JOHNMARSTON:

The Scourge of Villanie. Satyre. VIII. Inamorato Curio.

Cvrio, aye me! thy mistres Monkey's dead, Alas, alas, her pleasures buried. Goe womans slaue, performe his exequies, Condole his death in mournfull Elegies, j Tut, rather Peans sing Hermaphrodite, For that sad death giues life to thy delight. Sweet fac'd Corinna, daine the riband tie Of thy Cork-shooe, or els thy slaue will die: Some puling Sonnet toles his passing bell, io Some sighing Elegie must ring his knell, Vnlesse bright sunshine of thy grace reuiue His wambling stomack, certes he will diue 6

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Into the whirle-poole of deuouring death, And to some Mermaid sacrifice his breath, Then oh, oh then, to thy eternali shame, And to the honour of sweet Curios name, This Epitaph vpon the Marble stone, Must fayre be grau'd of that true louing one; Heere lyeth hee, hee lyeth beere, that bounc'd, and pitty cryed, The doore not op'd, fell sicke alas, alas fell sicke, and dyed. What Mirmidón, or hard Dolopian, What sauage minded rude Cyclopian, But such a sweet pathetique Paphian Would force to laughter? H o Amphitrion, Thou art no Cuckold, what though loue dallied During thy warres, in faire Alckmenas bed, Yet Hercules true borne, that imbecilitie Of corrupt nature all apparantly Appeares in him, ô foule indignitie, I heard him vow himselfe a slaue to Omphale, Puling (aye mee) 0 valours obloquie! Hee that the inmost nookes of hell did know, Whose nere craz'd prowesse all did ouer-throw, Lies streaking brawnie limmes in weakning bed, Perfum'd, smooth kemb'd, new glaz'd, faire surphuled, O that the boundlesse power of the soule Should be subiected to sudi base controule! Big limm'd Alcides, doffe thy honors crowne Goe spin huge slaue least Omphale should frowne. B y my best hopes, I blush with greefe and shame To broach the peasant basenes of our name. O now my ruder hand begins to quake, To thinke what loftie Cedars I must shake: But if the canker fret the barkes of Oakes, Like humbler shrubs shal equall beare the stroakes Of my respectlesse rude Satyridc hand, Vnlesse the Destin's adamantine band Should tie my teeth, I cannot choose but bite To view Mauortius metamorphiz'd quite To puling sighes, & into (aye me's) state, 7

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With voyce distinct, all fine articulate Lisping, layre saint, my woe compassionate, By heauen thine eye is my soule-guiding fate. The God of wounds, had wont on Cyprian couch To streake himselfe, and with incensing touch To faint his force onely when wrath had end: But now, mong furious garboiles, he doth spend His feebled valour, in tilt and turneing, With wet turn'd kisses, melting dallying. A poxe apon't, that Bacchis name should be The watch-word giuen to the soulderie. Goe troupe to fielde, mount thy obscured fame, Cry out S. George, invoke thy Mistres name; Thy Mistres, and S. George, alarum cry, Weake force, weake ay de that sprouts from luxurie. Thou tedious workmanship of lust-stung lone, Downe from thy skies, enioy our females loue, Some fiftie more Beotian gerles will sue T o haue thy loue, (so that thy back be true.) O now me thinks I heare swart Martins cry Souping along in warrs fain'd maskerie, B y Lais starrie front he'le forth-with die In cluttred blood, his Mistres liuorie. Her fancies colours waues vpon his head, O well fenc'd Albion, mainly manly sped, When those that are Soldadoes in thy state, Doe beare the badge of base, effeminate, Euen on their plumie crests, brutes sensuali, Hauing no sparke of intellectuall. Alack, what hope? when some ranck nasty wench Is subiect of their vowes and confidence? Publius hates vainely to idolatries, And laughs that Papists honor Images, And yet (0 madnes) these mine eyes did see Him melt in mouing plaints, obsequiously Imploring fauour, twining his kind armes, Vsing inchauntments, exorcismes, charmes. The oyle of Sonnets, wanton blandishment, The force of teares, & seeming languishment, Vnto the picture of a painted lasse:

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I saw him court his Mistres looking-glasse, Worship a busk-poynt, (whidi in secrecie I feare was conscius of strange villanie.) I saw him crouch, deuote his liuelihood, Sweare, protest, vow pesant seruitude Vnto a painted puppet, to her eyes I heard him sweare his sighes to sacrifice, But if he get her itch-allaying pinne, O sacred relique, straight he must beginne To raue out-right, then thus. Celestiali blisse, Can heauen grant so riò a grace as thisf Touch it not (by the Lord Sir) tis dittine, It once beheld her radiant eyes bright shine: Her haire imbrac'd it, 6 thrice happie prick That there was thron'd, and in her haire didst sticke. Kisse, blesse, adore it Publius, neuer linne, Some sacred vertue lurketh in the pinne. O frantici fond pathétique passion ! 1st possible such sensuali action Should clip the wings of contemplation? O can it be the spirits function, The soule not subiect to dimension, Should be made slaue to reprehension Of craftie natures paint? Fie, can our soule Be vnderling to such a vile controule? Saturio wish'd him selfe his Mistres buske, That he might swêetly lie, and softly luske Betweene her pappes, then must he haue an eye At eyther end, that freely might discry Both hills and dales. But out on Phrigio, That wish'd he were his Mistres dog, to goe And licke her milke-white fist, ô prettie grace, That prettie Phrigio begs but Pretties place. Parthenophell, thy wish I will omit, So beastly tis I may not vtter it. But Punicus, of all I'le beare with thee, That faine would'st be thy Mistres smug Munkey, Here's one would be a flea, (iest comicall) Another his sweet Ladies verdingall To clip her tender breedi; Another he

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Her siluer-handled fanne would gladly be, Here's one would be his Mistres neck-lace faine, To clip her faire, and kisse her azure vaine. Fond fooles, well wish'd, and pittie but should bee, For beastly shape to brutish soutes agree. If Lauras painted lip doe daine a kisse To her enamor'd slaue, ô heauens blisse (Straight he exclaimes) not to be match'd with thisl Blaspheming dolt, goe three-score sonnets write Vpon a pictures kisse, ô rauing spright! I am not saplesse, old, or rumatick, N o Hipponax mishapen stigmatick, That I should thus inueigh gainst amorous spright Of him whose soule doth turne Hermaphrodite, But I doe sadly grieue, and inly vexe To view the base dishonors of our sexe. Tush, guildes Doues, when Gods to force foule rapes, Will turne themselues to any brutish shapes. Base bastard powers, whom the world doth see Trans-form'd to swine for sensuali luxurie; The sonne of Saturne is become a Bull, To crop the beauties of some female trull, N o w , when he hath his first wife Metim sped, And fairely chok'd, least foole gods should be bred Of that fond Mule. Themis his second wife Hath turn'd away, that his vnbrideled life Might haue more scope. Yet last his sisters loue Must satiate the lustfull thoughts of loue. N o w doth the lecher in a Cuckowes shape Commit a monstrous and incestuous rape. Thrice sacred gods, and ô thrice blessed skies Whose orbes includes such vertuous deities! What should I say? Lust hath confounded all, The bright glosse of our intellectuall Is fouly soyl'd. The wanton wallowing In fond delights, and amorous dallying, Hath dusk'd the fairest splendour of our soule: Nothing now left, but carkas, lothsome, foule. For sure, if that some spright remained still, Could it be subiect to lewd Lais will?

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Reason by prudence in her function Had wont to tutor all our action. Ay ding with precepts of philosophy Our feebled natures imbecilitie: But now affection, will, concupiscence, Haue got o're Reason chiefe preheminence, Tis so, els how, how should such basenes taint As force it be made slaue to natures paint? Me thinkes the spirits Pegase Fantasie Should hoise the soule from sudi base slauery, But now I see, and can right plainly show From whence such abiect thoughts & actions grow. Our aduerse body, beeing earthly, cold, Heauie, dull, mortali, would not long infold A stranger inmate, that was backward still To all his dungie, brutish, sensuali will: N o w here-vpon our Intellectuall, Compact of fire all celestiali, Invisible, immortali, and diuine, Grewe straight to scorne his Land-lordes muddy slime. And therefore now is closely slunke away (Leauing his smoakie house of mortali clay)

19 j Adorn'd with all his beauties lineaments And brightest iemms of shining ornaments. His parts diuine, sacred, spirituali Attending on him, leauing the sensuali Base hangers on, lusking at home in slime, 200 Such as wont to stop port Esqueline. N o w doth the body ledde with sencelesse will, (The which in reasons absence ruleth still) Raue, talke idlie, as't were some deitie Adoring female painted puppetry 20 j Playing at put-pin, doting on some glasse (Which breath'd but on his falsed glosse doth passe) Toying with babies, and with fond pastime Some childrens sport, deflowring of chast time, Imploying all his wits in vaine expence, 2 1 0 Abusing all his organons of sence. Returne, returne, sacred Synderesis, II

Inspire our trundks, let not such mud as this Pollute vs still. Awake our lethargie, Raise vs from out our brain-sicke foolerie. 4

ANONYMOUS:

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Cromwell's Panegyrick.

Shall Presbyterian Bells ring Cromwels praise, While we stand still and do no Trophyes raise Unto his lasting name? Then may we be Hung like the Bells for our dependencie. Well may his Nose, that is Dominicali, Take pepper in't, to see no Pen at all Stir to applaud his merits, who hath lent Sudi valour, to erect a Monument Of lasting praise; whose name shall never dye, While England has a Church, or Monarchy. He whom the laurell'd Army home did bring Riding triumphant o're his conquer'd King, He is the Generals Cypher now; and when Hee's joyn'd to him, he makes that One a Ten. The Kingdoms Saint; England no more shall stir To cry St. George, but now St. Oliver. Hee's The Realm Ensign; and who goes to wring His Nose, is forc'd to cry, God save the King. He that can rout an Army with his name, And take a City, ere he views the same: His Souldiers may want bread, but n'ere shall fear (While hee's their General,) the want of Beer; No Wonder they wore Bayes, his Brewing fat {Helicon-like) make Poets Laureat. When Brains in those Castalian liquors swim, We sing no Heathenish Pean, but a Hymne; And that by th'Spirit too, for who can chuse But sing Hosanna to this King of Jewes? Tremble you Scotish Zealots, you that han't Freed any Conscience from your Covenant: That for those bal'd Appellatives of Cause, Religion, and the Fundamental Laws, Have pull'd the old Episcopacy down,

And as the Miter, so you'le serve the Crown. 3 j You that have made the Cap to th' Bonnet vaile And made the Head a Servant to the Taile. And you curst spawne of Publican; that sit In every County, as a plague to it; That with your Yeomen Sequestrating Knaves, 40 Have made whole Counties beggerly, and Slaves. You Synod, that have sate so long to know Whether we must believe in God, or no; You that have torn the Church, and sate t'impaire The Ten Commandements, the Creed, the Prayer; 45 And made your honors pull down Heavens glory, While you set up that Calfe, your Directory: We shall no wicked Jews-ear'd Elders want, This Army's built of Churches Militant: These are new Tribes of Levi; for they be 50 Clergy, yet of no Universitie. Pull down your Crests, for every bird shall gather, From your usurping back, a stollen feather. Your great Lay Levite, whose great Margent tires The patient Reader, while he blots whole quires, j 5 N a y reams with Treason; and with Nonsence too, To justifie what e're you say or do: Whose circumcised ears are hardly grown Ripe for another Persecution: He must to Scotland for another paire; 60 For he will lose these, if he tarry here. Surges that Reverend Presbydean of Pauls, Must (with his Poundage) leave his Cure of Souls, And into Scotland trot, that he may pick Out of that Kirk, a nick-nam'd Bishoprick. 65 The Protean Hypocrites, that will ne're burn, Must here, or else at Tyburn take a turn. And Will, the Conqueror in a Scotish dance Must lead his running Army into France. Or he and's Juncto among those Crews 70 In Holland build a Synagogue of Jewes, And spread Rebellion; Great Alexander Fears not a Pillory, like this Commander. And Bedlam John, that at his Clerks so raves,

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Using them not like servants, but like slaves. 75 He that so freely rail'd against his Prince, Call'd him dissembling subtile Knave, and since Has stil'd the whole Army Bankrupts; said, that none Of their Estates were equal to his own: He that was by a strong Ambition led 80 To set himself upon the Cities head: But when he has restor'd his both-side fees, Hee'l be as poor, or they as ridi as hee's. And that still-gaping Tophet Goldsmiths Hall, With all his Furies, shall to ruine fall. 8 J Wee'l be no more gull'd by that Popish story, But shall reach Heav'n without that Purgatory: What Honour does he merit? what Renown? By whom all these Oppression are pull'd down. And sudi a Government is like to be 90 In Church and State, as eye did never see: Magicians hold, hee'l set up Common-prayer; Looking in's face they find the Rubrick there. His Name shall never dye by fire nor floud, But in Church-windows stand, where Pictures stood. 95 And if his Soul lothing that house of clay, Shall to another Kingdom march away, Under some Barnes floor his bones shall lye, Who Churches did, and Monuments defie: Where the rude Thrasher with much knocking on, 100 Shall wake him at the Resurrection. And on his Grave since there must be no Stone, Shall stand this Epitaph; That he has none.

5 ANONYMOUS:

Anno 1672

The Dream of the Cabal:

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Prophetical Satire.

As t'other night in bed I thinking lay How I my rent should to my landlord pay, Since corn, nor wool, nor beast would money make, Tumbling perplex'd, these thoughts kept me awake: j "What will become of this mad world?" quoth I. 14

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What's its disease? What is its remedy? Where will it issue? Whereto does it tend? Some ease to misery 'tis to know its end." Till servants dreaming, as they us'd to do, Snor'd me asleep. I fell a-dreaming too. Methought there met the grand Cabal of seven (Odd numbers, some men say, do best please Heaven). When sat they were and doors were all fast shut, I secret was behind the hangings put. Both hear and see I could, but he that there Had plac'd me bade me have as great a care Of stirring as my life, and, ere that out From thence I came, resolv'd should be my doubt: What would become of this mad world, unless Present designs were cross'd with ill success? An awful silence there was held some space, Till, trembling, thus began one call'd his Grace: "Great Sir, your government for first twelve years Has spoil'd the monarchy and made our fears So potent on us that we must change quite The old foundations and make new, wrong or right. For too great mixture of democracy Within this government allay'd must be, And no allay like nulling parliaments, O'th' people's pride and arrogance the vents, Factious and saucy, disputing royal pleasure, Who your commands by their own humors measure. For king in barnacles and to th'rack-staves ti'd You must remain, if these you will abide." So spake the long blue ribbon; then a second, Though not so tall, yet quite as wise is redson'd, Did thus begin: "Great Sir, you are now on A tender point much to be thought upon, And thought on only, for by ancient law 'Tis death to mention what my Lord foresaw. His trembling show'd it, wherefore I'm so bold To advise its standing, lest it should be told We did attempt to diange it; for so much Our ancestors secur'd it, that to toudi, Like sacred Mount, 'tis death, and sudi a trick 15

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I no ways like to make tongue break my neck." Thus said, he sat. Then Lord of northern tone, In gall and guile a second unto none, Enraged rose, and, chol'ric, thus began: "Dread Majesty, male beam of fame, a son Of th' hundred-and-tenth monarch of the nore. De'il split the weam of th'lowne that spoke afore! Shame faw the crag of that ill-manner'd Lord That 'nent his King durst speak so f a w a word! And aw my saul right weel the first man meant, De'il hoop his lugs that loves a parliament! Twa houses aw my saul are twa too mickle. They'll gar the laird shall ne'er have more a prickle, Na siller get to gie the bonny lass : But full as good be born without a tarse. Ten thousand plagues light on his crag that 'gin To make you be but third part of a king. De'il take my saul, I'll ne'er the matter mince, I'd rather subject be than sike a prince. To hang and burn and slay und draw and kill And measure aw things by my own guid will Is gay dominion; a checkmate I hate Of men or laws, it looks so like a state." This eager, well-meant zeal some laughter stirr'd, Till, nose half-plush, half-flesh, the inkhorn Lord Crav'd audience thus: "Grave Majesty divine (Pardon that Cambridge title I make mine), We now are enter'd on the great'st debate That can concern your throne and royal state. His Grace hath so spoke all, that we who next Speak after can but comment on his text. Only 'tis wonder at this sacred board Should sit 'mongst us a Magna Charta lord, A peer of old rebellious barons' breed, Worst and great'st enemies to royal seed. But to proceed: well was it urg'd by's Grace Such liberty was giv'n for twelve years' space That are by pass'd; there's now necessity Of new foundations, if safe you'll be. What travail, charge, and art (before was set

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This Parliament) we had, you can't forget; How forc'd to court, cajole, and bribe, for fear They wrong should run, e'er since they have been here; What diligence, what study day and night, Was on us, and what care to keep them right! Wherefore, if good you can't make Parliament, On whom such costs, such art and pains were spent, And moneys, all we had for them to do, Since we miss that, 'tis best dismiss them too. 'Tis true, this House the best is you can call, But, in my judgment, best is none at all." "Well mov'd!" the whole Cabal cri'd, "Parliaments Are clogs to princes and their brave intents." One did object, 'twas against majesty T'obey the people's pleasure. Another he Their inconvenience argues, and that neither Close their designs were, nor yet speedy either. Whilst thus confused chatter'd the Cabal, And many mov'd, none heard, but speak did all, A little bobtail'd Lord, urchin of state, A Praisegod-Barebones-peer whom all men hate, Amphibious animal, half fool, half knave, Begg'd silence and this purblind counsel gave: "Blest and best Monardi that e'er scepter bore, Renown'd for virtue, but for honor more. That Lord spake last has well and wisely shown That parliaments, nor new, nor old, nor none, Can well be trusted longer, for the state And glory of the crown hate all checkmate. That monarchy may from its childhood grow To man's estate, France has taught us how. Monarchy's divine: divinity it shows That he goes backward that not forward goes. Therefore go on, let other kingdoms see Your will's your law: that's absolute monarchy. A mix'd hodge-podge will now no longer do; Caesar or nothing you are brought unto. Strike then, great Sir, 'fore these debates take wind; Remember that Occasion's bald behind. Our game is sure in this, if wisely play'd,

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And sacred votes to the vulgar not betray'd. But if the rumour should once get on wing That we consult to make you abs'lute King, The plebeians' head, the gentry forsooth, They straight would snort and have an aching tooth. Lest they, I say, should your great secrets scent, And you oppose in nulling Parliament, I think it safer and a greater skill To obviate than to o'ercome an ill. For those that head the herd are full as rude, When th' humor takes, as the following multitude. Therefore be quids in your resolves, and when Resolv'd you have, execute quicker then. Remember your great father lost the game By slow proceedings. Mayn't you do the same? An unexpected, unregarded blow Wounds more than ten made by an open foe. Delays do dangers breed; the sword is yours, By law declar'd, what need of other pow'rs? We may unpolitic be judg'd, or worse, If we can't make the sword command the purse. N o art or courtship can the rule so shape Without a force: it must be done by rape, And when 'tis done, to say you cannot help Will satisfy enough the gentle whelp. Fanatics they'll to Providence impute Their thraldom and immediately grow mute, For they, poor pious fools, think the decree Of Heav'n falls on them, though from Hell it be; And when their reason is abas'd to it, They forthwith think't religion to submit, And vainly glorying in a passivs shame, They'll put off man to wear the Christian name. Wherefore to lull 'em, do their hopes fulfill With liberty; they're halter'd at your will. Give them but conventicle-room, and they Will let you steal the Englishman away, And heedless be, till you your nets have spread, And pull'd down conventicles on their head. Militia, then, and parliaments, cashier;

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A formidable standing army rear; They'll mount you up, and up you soon will be. They'll fear, who ne'er did love, your monarchy, And if they fear, no matter for their hate: To rule by law becomes a sneaking state. Lay by all fear, care not what people say, Regard to them will your designs betray. When bite they can't, what hurt can barking do? And, Sir, in time we'll spoil their barking too, Make coffee-clubs talk of more humble things Than state affairs and interest of kings." Thus spake the rigling Peer, when one more grave, That had much less of fool but more of knave, Began: "Great Sir, it gives no small content To hear such zeal for you 'gainst Parliament; Wherefore, though I an enemy no less To parliaments than you yourselves profess, Yet I must also enter my protest 'Gainst these rude rumbling counsels indigest, And, great Sir, tell you, 'tis an harder thing Than they suggest to make you abs'lute king. Old buildings to pull down, believe it true, More danger in it hath than building new, And what shall prop your superstructure till Another you have built that suits your will? An army shall, say they. Content. But stay, From whence shall this new army have its pay? For easy, gentle, government a while Appear must to this kingdom, to beguile The people's minds and make them cry up you, For rasing old and making better new. For taxes with new government all will blame And put the kingdom soon into a flame, For tyranny has no such lovely look To catch men with unless you hide the hook, And no bait hides it more than present ease. Ease but their taxes, then do what you please. Wherefore, all wild debates laid by, from whence Shall money rise to bear this vast expense? For our first thoughts thus well resolved, we i?

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In other things much sooner shall agree. Join then with Mother Church, whose bosom stands Ope to receive us, stretching forth her hands. Close but this breadi, and she will let you see Her purse as open as her arms shall be; For, sacred Sir (by guess I do not speak), Of poor she'll make you rich, and strong of weak. At home, abroad, no money, no, nor men She'll let you lack; turn but to her again." The Scot could here no longer hold, but cri'd : "De'il take the Pape and all that's on his side, The whore of Rome, that mickle man of sin, Plague take the mother, bairns, and aw the kin! What racks my saul? Must we the holy rood Place in God's Kirk again? Troth, 'tis not guid. I defy the lowne, the De'il, and aw his work! The Pape shall lig no mare in Gods guid Kirk." The Scot with laughter check'd, they all agreed The Lord spake last should in his speech proceed, Which thus he did: "Great Sir, you know 'tis season Salts all the motions that we make with reason, And now a season is afforded us, The best e'er came, and most propitious. Besides the sum the Cath'lics will advance, You know the offers we are made from France, And to have money and no Parliament Must fully answer your design'd intent. And thus without tumultuous noise or huff Of parliaments, you may have money enough, Which, if neglected now, there's none knows when Like opportunities may be had again; For all t'extirpate now combined be Both civil and religious liberty. Thus money you'll have to exalt the Crown, Without stooping majesty to country clown. The Triple League, I know, will be objected, As if that ought by us to be respected! But who to heretics or rebel pay'th The truth engaged to by solemn faith Debaucheth virtue: by those very things,

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The Church profaneth and debaseth kings, As you yourself have admirably shown By burning Solemn Cov'nant, though your own. Faith, justice, truth, plebian virtues be, Look well in them but not in majesty. For public faith is but a public thief, The greatest cheat in Nature's vain belief." The second Lord, though chedk'd, yet did not fear, Impatient grew and could no longer bear, But rose in heat, and that a little rude; The Lord's voice interrupts and for audience su'd: "Great Majesty, authentic authors say, When hand was lifted up Croesus to slay, The father's danger on the dumb son did make Sudi deep impressions that he forthwith spake. Pardon, great Sir, if I, in imitation, Seeing the danger to yourself and nation, Do my resolv'd-on silence also break, Although I see the matter I shall speak Under such disadvantages will lie, It shall exploded be as well as I. But vainly do they boast they loyal are That can't for princes' good reflections bear, Nor will I call compurgators to prove What honor to the crown I've borne with love. My acts have spoken and sufficient are Above whate'er detractors did or dare. Wherefore, great Sir, 'tis ignorance or hate Dictates these counsels you to precipitate. For s a y ' t again I will, not eat my word, N o council's power, no, nor yet the sword Can old foundations alter or make new: Let time interpret who hath spoken true. Those country gentry with their beef and bacon Will show how much you courtiers are mistaken. For parliaments are not of that cheap rate That they will down without a broken pate. And then I doubt you'll find those worthy lords More braves and champions with their tongue than swords. Wherefore, dread Sir, incline not royal ear 21

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To their advice, but safer counsels hear. Stay till these lords have got a crown to lose. And then consult with them whidi way they'll choose. Will you all hazard for their humor's sake, Who nothing have to lose, nothing at stake, And at one game your royal crown expose To gratify the foolish lusts of those Who hardly have subsistence how to live But what your crown and grace to them does give? And one of those bagpudding gentlemen (Except their places) would buy nine or ten. Then why they should thus slight the gentleman, I see no reason, nor think how they can. For had not gentleman done more than lord (I'll boldly say't) you ne'er had been restor'd. But why of armies now, great Sir, must we So fond just now all on the sudden be? What faithful guardians have they been to pow'rs That have employ'd them that you'd make 'em yours? Enough our age, we need not seek the glory Of armies' faith in old or doubtful story. Your father 'gainst the Scots an army rear'd, But soon that army more than Scot he fear'd. He was in haste to raise them, as we are, But to disband them was far more his care. How Scottish army after did betray His trust and person both, I need not say. Rump-Parliament an army rear'd, and they The Parliament that rais'd them did betray. The Lord Protector they set up one hour, The next pull'd down the protectorian pow'r. Your father's block and judges the same troops Did guard; same tongues at death of both made whoops. And will you suffer armies to beguile And give your crown and you to cross and pile? What if a Monck should both swear, lie, and feign, Till he does both your trust and army gain, And you believe his oath and faith is true, But serves himself instead of serving you? Pardon, great Sir, if zeal transports my tongue

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T'express what e'en your greatness don't become. Expose I can't your crown and sacred throat T o the false faith of a common redcoat. Y o u r law your all does fence secure from fears : That kept, what trouble needs of bandoleers? Consider, Sir, 'tis law that makes you King. The sword another to the crown may bring, For force knows no distinction: longest sword Makes peasant prince, lackey above his lord. If that be all that we must have for laws, Y o u r will inferior may be to Jack Straw's, If greater force him follow: there's no right Where law is failing and for will men fight. Best man is he alone whose steel's most strong; Where no law is, there's neither right nor wrong. That fence broke down and all in common laid, Subjects may prince and prince may them invade. See, greatest Sir, how these your throne lay down Instead of making great your royal crown, H o w they divest you of your majesty, For, law destroy'd, you are no more than we. A n d very vain would be the plea of crown, When statute laws and parliaments are down." This Peer proceeded on to show how vain A n holy league would be with Rome again, A n d what dishonor 'twould be to our crowns If we to France give cautionary towns. He's interrupted and bid speak no more By's enraged Majesty, who deeply swore His tongue had so run o'er that he'd take Sudi vengeance on him and example make T o after ages, all which heard should fear T o speak what would displease the royal ear, And bid the Lord that spoke before go on, And silence all should keep till he had done; Who thus his speech resum'd: "If Lord spake last T o interrupt me had not made such haste, I soon had done, for I was come, great Sir, T'advise your sending Dutch ambassador; But mudi it does concern you whom to trust

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W i t h this embassy, f o r none true nor just, Wise, stout, or honorable, nor a friend Should you in any wise resolve to send, Lest any unseen or unlucky chance 370 Should in this w a r befall to us or France. W e m a y that loathed wretch give to the hate O f the people's f u r y , them to satiate. A n d when all's done that can be done b y man, Much must be left to chance, do w h a t y o u can. 375 A n d if you'll make all Christendom y o u r friend, A n d put to Dutch Land League an utter end, Then surely y o u m a y have of men and treasure Enough of both to execute your pleasure." This speech being ended, six of seven agree 380 France shall be l o v ' d and Holland hated be. A l l gone, I w a k ' d and wonder'd w h a t should mean A l l I had heard; methought 'twas more than dream. A n d if Cabal thus serve us Englishmen, 'Tis ten to one but I shall dream again.

6 JOHN WILMOT, Earl of Rochester: A n Allusion to H o r a c e ( 1 6 7 5 ) : The 10 th Satyr of the i s t B o o k Nempe incomposito dixi pede, etc. Well, Sir, 'tis granted I said Dryden's rhymes Were stol'n, unequal, nay dull, many times. What foolish patron is there found of his So blindly partial to deny me this? j But that his plays, embroider'd up and down, With wit and learning justly pleas'd the town, In the same paper I as freely o w n . Y e t having this allow'd, the h e a v y mass That stuffs up his loose volumes must not pass. 10 For by that rule I might as well admit Crowne's tedious scenes for poetry and wit. 'Tis therefore not enough when your false sense Hits the false judgment of an audience O f clapping fools, assembling a vast crowd, ι j Till the throng'd playhouse crack with the dull load. 24

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Though e'en that talent merits in some sort That can divert the rabble and the court, Which blund'ring Settle never could attain, And puzzling Otway labors at in vain. But within due proportion circumscribe Whate'er you -write, that with a flowing tide The style may rise, yet in its rise forbear With useless words t' oppress the weari'd ear. Here be your language lofty, there more light; Your rhetoric with your poetry unite. For elegance* sake sometimes allay the force Of epithets: 'twill soften the discourse. A jest in scorn points out and hits the thing More home than the morosest satire's sting. Shakespeare and Jonson did herein excell And might in this be imitated well, Whom refin'd Eth'rege copies not at all, But is himself a sheer original, Nor that slow drudge in swift Pindaric strains, Flatman, who Cowley imitates with pains, And rides a jaded Muse, whipp'd with loose reins. When Lee makes temp'rate Scipio fret and rave, And Hannibal a whining, am'rous slave, I laugh and wish the hot-brain'd fustian fool In Busby's hands, to be well lash'd at school. Of all our modern wits none seems to me Once to have touch'd upon true comedy But hasty Shadwell and slow Wydierley. Shadwell's unfinish'd works do yet impart Great proofs of force of nature, none of art. With just, bold strokes he dashes here and there, Showing great mastery with little care, And scorns to varnish his good touches o'er To make the fools and women praise 'em more, But Wydierley earns hard what e'er he gains. He wants no judgment nor he spares no pains. He frequently excels, and at the least Makes fewer faults than any of the best. Waller, by nature for the bays design'd, With force and fire and fancy unconfin'd,

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In panegyrics does excel mankind. He best can turn, enforce, and soften things To praise great conquerors or to flatter kings. For pointed satires I would Buckhurst dioose, The best good man with the worst-natur'd muse, For songs and verses mannerly obscene That can stir nature up by springs unseen And without forcing blushes warm the Queen. Sedley has that prevailing gentle art That can with a resistless charm impart The loosest wishes to the chastest heart, Raise such a conflict, kindle sudi a fire, Betwixt declining virtue and desire, Till the poor vanquish'd maid dissolves away In dreams all night, in sighs and tears all day. Dryden in vain tri'd this nice way of wit, For he to be a tearing blade thought fit, But when he would be sharp he still was blunt, To frisk his frolic fancy he'd cry "c !" Would give the ladies a dry, bawdy bob, And thus he got the name of Poet Squab. But to be just, 'twill to his praise be found, His excellencies more than faults abound, Nor dare I from his sacred temples tear That laurel which he best deserves to wear. But does not Dryden find e'en Jonson dull, Fletcher and Beaumont incorrect and full Of lewd lines (as he call them) ; Shakespeare's style Stiff and affected, to his own the while Allowing all the justness that his pride So arrogantly had to these deni'd? And may not I have leave impartially To search and censure Dryden's works and try If those gross faults his choice pen does commit Proceed from want of judgment or of wit; Or if his lumpish fancy does refuse Spirit and grace to his loose slattern muse? Five hundred verses every morning writ Prove you no more a poet than a wit. Sudi scribbling authors have been seen before:

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Mustapha, The English Princes, forty more, Were things perhaps compos'd in half an hour. To write what may securely stand the test Of being well read over, thrice at least Compare each phrase, examine ev'ry line, Weigh ev'ry word, and ev'ry thought refine. Scorn all applause the vile rout can bestow And be content to please those few who know. Canst thou be sudi a vain, mistaken thing To wish thy works might make a playhouse ring With the unthinking laughter and poor praise Of fops and ladies, factious for thy plays? Then send a cunning friend to learn thy doom From the shrewd judges in the drawing room, I've no ambition on that idle score, But say with Betty Morrice, heretofore, When a court lady call'd her Bulkeley's whore, " I please one man of wit, am proud on 't, too! Let all the coxcombs dance to bed to you." Should I be troubl'd when the purblind knight, Who squints more in his judgment than his sight, Picks silly faults and censures what I write? Or when the poor-fed poets of the town, For scraps and coachroom cry my verses down? I lothe the rabble: 'tis enough for me If Sedley, Shadwell, Sheppard, Wydierley, Godolphin, Butler, Buckhurst, Buckingham, And some few more, whom I omit to name, Approve my sense. I count their censure fame.

7 ANONYMOUS: A Dialogue between the Two Horses The Introduction

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Livy tells a strange story can hardly be fellow'd, That a sacrific'd ox, when his guts were out, bellow'd. Phalaris had a bull which, grave authors tell ye, Would roar like a devil with a man in his belly. Friar Bacon had a head that spake, made of brass, And Balaam the prophet was reprov'd by his ass. At Delphos and Rome stocks and stones now and then, sirs, Have to questions return'd oracular answers. All Popish believers think something divine, When images speak, possesses the shrine; But they that faith Catholic ne'er understood, When shrines give answers, say a knave's i'the rood. These idols ne'er spoke, but the miracle's done By the Devil, a priest, a friar, or nun. If the Roman Church, good Christians, oblige ye To believe man and beast have spake in effigie, Why should we not credit the public discourses Of a dialogue lately between the two horses? The horses, I mean, of Wooldiurdi and Charing, Who have told many truths well worth a man's hearing, Since Viner and Osborne did buy and provide 'em For the two mighty monardis that now do bestride 'em. The stately brass stallion and the white marble steed One night came together, by all is agreed, When both the kings, weary of sitting all day, Were stol'n off incognito, each his own way; And that the two jades, after mutual salutes, Not only discours'd, but fell to disputes. The Dialogue

35 W. Quoth the marble white horse, "'Twould make a stone speak To see a Lord Mayor and Lombard Street break: Thy founder and mine to cheat one another, When both knaves agreed to be each other's brother." C. Here Charing broke silence, and thus he went on: 40 "My brass is provok'd as much as thy stone To see Church and State bow down to a whore, And the King's chief minister holding the door; W. To see Dei Gratia writ on the Throne, And the King's wicked life say, God there is none; 28

4í C . That he should be sty I'd Defender o'th' Faith, Who believes not a word the word of God saith; W. That the Duke should turn Papist and that Churdi defy For which his own father a martyr did die. C. Though he hath chang'd his religion, I hope he's so civil jo Not to think his own father is gone to the Devil. W. That bondage and beggary should be brought on a nation By a curs'd House of Commons and a bless'd Restoration; C. To see a white staff make a beggar a lord, And scarce a wise man at a long council-board; j j W. That the bank should be seiz'd, yet the Chequer so poor Lord have mercy and a cross may be set on the door; C. That a million and half should be the revenue, Yet the King of his debts pay no man a penny; W. That a King should consume three kingdoms' estates, 60 And yet all his court be as poor as church rats; C. That of the four seas' dominion and guarding No token should appear but a poor copper farthing. W. Our worm-eaten navy may be laid up at Chatham, Not trade to secure, but for foes to come at 'em. 65 C. And our few ships abroad to become Tripoli's scorn By pawning for victuals their guns at Leghorn; W. That making us slaves by Horse and Foot Guards For restoring the King should be our rewardsC. The basest ingratitude ever was heard, 70 But tyrants ungrateful are always afear'd. W. On seventh Harry's head he that placed the crown Was after rewarded with losing his own. C. That Parliament-men should rail at the Court And get good preferment immediately for't; 7 j W. To the bold-talking members if the bastards you add, What a rabble of rascally Lords have been made! C. That traitors to their country in a brib'd House of Commons Should give away millions at every summons; W. Yet some of those givers such beggarly villains 80 As not to be trusted for twice fifty shillin's ; C. N o wonder that beggars should still be for giving Who out of what's given do get a good living. W. Four knights and a knave, who were publicans made, For selling their conscience were lib'rally paid. 29

8 j C. Then baser the souls of the low-prized sinners, Who vote with the Court for drink and for dinners! W. 'Tis they that brought on us this scandalous yoke Of excising our cups and taxing our smoke. C . But, thanks to the whores who have made the King dogged, 90 For giving no more the rogues are prorogued. W. That a King should endeavor to make a war cease, Which augments and secures his own profit and peace; C. And plenipotentiaries send into France With an addle-headed knight and a lord without brains. 95 W. That the King should send for another French whore, When one already has made him so poor. C. Enough, dear brother! Although we have reason, Yet, truth many times being punish'd for treason, We ought to be wary and bridle our tongue: 100 Bold speaking hath done both man and beast wrong. When the ass too boldly rebuked the prophet, Thou knowest what danger was like to come of it: Though the beast gave his master ne'er an ill word, Instead of a cudgel Balaam wish'd for a sword. 105 W. Truth's as bold as a lion. I am not afraid. I'll prove ev'ry tittle of what I have said. Our riders are absent; who is't that can hear? Let's be true to ourselves; who then need we fear? Where is thy King gone? n o C. To see Bishop Laud. W. To cuckold a scriv'ner mine's in masquerade. On such occasion he oft steals away, And returns to remount about break of day. In ev'ry dark night you are sure to find him 11 j With a harlot got up on my crupper behind him. C. Peace, brother, a while, and calmly consider, What hast thou to say against my royal rider? W. Thy priest-ridden King turn'd desperate fighter For the surplice, lawn sleeves, the cross, and the mitre, 120 Till at last on a scaffold he was left in the lurch B y knaves that cri'd up themselves for the Church, Archbishops and bishops, ardideacons and deansC. Thy King will ne'er fight unless't be for queans! W. He that dies for ceremonies dies like a fool! 30

12 j C. The King on thy back's a lamentable tool! W. The goat and the lion I equally hate, And free men alike value life and estate. Though the father and son be different rods, Between the two scourges we find little odds. 130 Both infamous stand in three kingdom's votes : This for picking our pockets, that for cutting our throats. C. More tolerable are the lion king's slaughters Thanthegoat's makingwhores of ouerwives and our daughters. The debaudi'd and the cruel, sith they equally gall us, 13 j I had rather bear Nero than Sardanapalus. W. One of the two tyrants must still be our case Under all that shall reign of the false Scottish race. C. De Witt and Cromwell had each a brave soul: W. I freely declare, I am for old Noll. 140 Though his government did a tyrant's resemble, He made England great and its enemies tremble. C. Thy rider puts no man to death in his wrath, W. But he's buri'd alive in lust and in sloth. C. What is thy opinion of James Duke of York? 145 W. The same that the frogs had of Jupiter's stork: With the Turk in his head and the Pope in his heart. Father Patrick's disciple will make England smart. If e'er he be King, I know Britain's doom: We must all to the stake, or be converts to Rome. 150 A Tudor! a Tudor! We've had Stuarts enough. None ever reign'd like old Bess in her ruff. C. Her Walsingham could dark counsels unriddle, W. And our Sir Joseph write newsbooks and fiddle. C. Troth, brother, well said, but that's somewhat bitter, ι j 5 W. His perfum'd predecessor was never much fitter; C. Yet we have one Secret'ry honest and wise, W. For that very reason he's never to rise. C. But can'st thou divine when things will be mended? W. When the reign of the line of the Stuarts is ended. 160 C. Then England rejoice, thy redemption draws nigh: Thy oppression together with kingship shall die! Chorus. A commonwealth! a commonwealth! we proclaim to the nation, For the gods have repented the King's Restoration. 31

Conclusion

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If speech of brute animals in Rome's first age Prodigious events did surely presage, Then shall come to pass, all mankind may swear, What two inanimate horses declare. But I should have told you, before the jades parted, Both gallop'd to Whitehall and there horribly farted, Which monarchy's downfall portendeth much more Than all that the beasts had spoken before. If the Delphic Sibyls' oracular speeches (As learned men say) came out of their breeches, Why might not the horses, since words are but wind, Have the spirt of prophecy likewise behind? Though tyrants make laws which they strictly proclaim, To conceal their own crimes and cover their shame, Yet the beasts in the field or the stones in the wall Will publish their faults and proph'sy their fall. When they take from the people the freedom of words, They teach them the sooner to fall to their swords. Let the City drink coffee and quietly groan; They that conquer'd the father won't be slaves to the son. It is wine and strong drink make tumults increase; Choc'late, tea, and coffee are liquors of peace: N o quarrels nor oaths amongst those that drink 'em; 'Tis Bacchus and brewers swear, damn 'em, and sink 'em! Then, Charles, thy edicts against coffee recall: There's ten times more treason in brandy and ale.

8 Anonymous : On his Excellent Friend Mr. Andrew Marvell (1678) Marvell died suddenly of a tertian fever on 18 August 1678. According to a contemporary physician, "an ounce of Peruvian bark would have saved him, but instead of that he was given an opiate." The suddenness of his death gave rise to rumors of poisoning. [p. 436]

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On his Excellent Friend Mr. Andrew Marvell

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While l a z y prelates lean'd their miter'd heads O n d o w n y pillows, lull'd with wealth and pride, (Pretending prophecy, yet nought foresee), Marvell, this island's watchful sentinel, Stood in the gap and bravely kept his post. When courtiers too in wine and riot slept, ' T w a s he th' approach of Rome did first explore, A n d the grim monster, arbitrary p o w ' r , The ugliest giant ever trod the earth, W h o like Goliath march'd before the host. Truth, wit, and eloquence, his constant friends, W i t h swift dispatch he to the main-guard sends. T h ' alarum straight their courage did excite, Which check'd the haughty foes' bold enterprise A n d left them halting between hope and fear. H e like the sacred H e b r e w leader stood, T h e people's surest guide and prophet too. Athens may boast of virtuous Socrates, The chief among the Greeks f o r moral good; R o m e of her orator, whose f a m ' d harangues Foil'd the debauched Antony's designs. W e him, and with deep sorrows w a i l his loss. But whether Fate or A r t untwin'd his thread, Remains in doubt; Fame's lasting register Shall leave his name enroll'd as great as theirs W h o in Philippi f o r their country fell.

9 JOHN OLDHAM: The Careless G o o d Fellow. Written March 9, 1680 Song I.

A pox of this fooling and plotting of late, W h a t a pother and stir has it kept in the state! Let the rabble run mad with suspicions and fears; Let them scuffle and jar till they go by the ears, j Their grievances never shall trouble m y pate, So I can enjoy m y dear bottle at quiet. 33

2. What coxcombs were those who would barter their ease And their necks for a toy, a thin wafer and mass! A t old Tyburn they never had needed to swing i o H a d they been but true subjects to drink and their King. A friend and a bottle is all my design; He has no room for treason that's top-full of wine. 3· I mind not the Members and makers of laws, Let them sit or prorogue as his Majesty please; ι j Let them damn us to woollen-Fll never repine A t my lodging when dead, so alive I have wine. Yet oft in my drink I can hardly forbear To curse them for making my claret so dear. 4· I mind not grave asses who idly debate 20 About right and succession, the trifles of state; We've got a good King already, and he deserves laughter That will trouble his head with who shall come after. Come, here's to his health, and I wish he may be As free from all care and all trouble as we. 5· 2 j What care I how leagues with the Hollander go, Or intrigues betwixt Sidney and Monsieur d'Avaux? What concerns it my drinking if Cassel be sold, If the conqueror take it by storming or gold? Good Bordeaux alone is the place that I mind, 30 And when the fleet's coming I pray for a wind. 6.

The Bully of France, that aspires to renown B y dull cutting of throats and vent'ring his own, Let him fight and be damn'd, and make matches and treat To afford the newsmongers and coffeehouse chat. 3 5 He's but a brave wretch, while I am more free, More safe, and a thousand times happier than he. 34

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Come he, or the Pope, or the Devil to boot, Or come faggot and stake, I care not a groat; Never think that in Smithfield I porters will heat: 40 N o , I swear, Mr. Foxe, pray excuse me for that! I'll drink in defiance of gibbet and halter, This is the profession that never will alter.

1 0 JOHN D R Y D E N : A b s a l o m a n d A c h i t o p h e l . A P o e m Si propius stes T e capiet magis T o the Reader

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'Tis not my intention to make an apology for my poem. Some will think it needs no excuse, and others will receive none. The design, I am sure, is honest; but he who draws his pen for one party must expect to make enemies of the other. For w i t and fool are consequents of Whig and Tory, and every man is a knave or an ass to the contrary side. There's a treasury of merits in the Fanatic Church as well as in the Papist; and a pennyworth to be had of saintship, honesty, and poetry for the lewd, the factious and the blockheads. But the longest chapter in Deuteronomy has not curses enough for an anti-Bromingham. M y comfort is, their manifest prejudice to my cause will render their judgment of less authority against me. Y e t if a poem have a genius, it will force its own reception in the world. For there's a sweetness in good verse whidi tickles even while it hurts; and no man can be heartily angry with him who pleases him against his will. The commendation of adversaries is the greatest triumph of a writer because it never comes unless extorted. But I can be satisfied on more easy terms. If I happen to please the more moderate sort, I shall be sure of an honest party; and, in all probability, of the best judges, for the least concerned are commonly the least corrupt. And, I confess, I have laid in for those b y rebating the satire (where justice would allow it) from carrying too sharp an edge. They who can criticize so weakly as to imagine I have done my worst may be convinced, at their own cost, that I can write severely, with more ease, than I can gently. I have but laughed 35

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at some men's follies, when I could have declaimed against their vices; and other men's virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes. And now, if you are a malicious reader, I expect you should return upon me that I affect to be thought more impartial than I am. But, if men are not to be judged by their professions, God forgive you commonwealthsmen for professing so plausibly for the government. You cannot be so unconscionable as to charge me for not subscribing of my name; for that would reflect too grossly upon your own party, who never dare, though they have the advantage of a jury to secure them. If you like not my poem, the fault may, possibly, be in my writing (though 'tis hard for an author to judge against himself). But, more probably, 'tis in your morals, which cannot bear the truth of it. The violent, on both sides, will condemn the character of Absalom as either too favorably, or too hardly drawn. But they are not the violent whom I desire to please. The fault, on the right hand, is to extenuate, palliate and indulge; and, to confess freely, I have endeavored to commit it. Besides the respect which I owe his birth, I have a greater for his heroic virtues, and David himself could not be more tender of the young man's life than I would be of his reputation. But since the most excellent natures are always the most easy, and, as being such, are the soonest perverted by ill counsels, especially when baited with fame and glory, 'tis no more a wonder that he withstood not the temptations of Achitophel than it was for Adam not to have resisted the two devils, the serpent and the woman. The conclusion of the story I purposely forbore to prosecute, because I could not obtain from myself to show Absalom unfortunate. The frame of it was cut out but for a picture to the waist, and, if the draught be so f a r true, 'tis as much as I designed.

Were I the inventor, who am only the historian, I should certainly conclude the piece with the reconcilement of Absalom to David. And who knows but this may come to pass? Things were not brought to an extremity where I left the story. There 60 seems yet to be room left for a composure; hereafter there may only be for pity. I have not so much as an uncharitable wish against Achitophel, but am content to be accused of a goodnatured error, and to hope with Origen that the Devil himself may at last be saved. For which reason, in this poem, he is neither 65 brought to set his house in order, nor to dispose of his person

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afterwards as he in wisdom shall think fit. G o d is infinitelymerciful, and his vicegerent is only not so because he is not infinite. The true end of satire is the amendment of vices by correction. 70 A n d he who writes honestly is no more an enemy to the offender than the physician to the patient when he prescribes harsh remedies to an inveterate disease. For those are only in order to prevent the chirurgeon's work of an ense rescindendum, which I wish not to my very enemies. T o conclude all, if the body 75 politic have any analogy to the natural, in my weak judgment an Act of Oblivion were as necessary in a hot, distempered state as an opiate would be in a raging fever.

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In pious times, ere priestcraft did begin, Before polygamy was made a sin; When man on many multipli'd his kind, Ere one to one was cursedly confin'd; When nature prompted, and no law deni'd Promiscuous use of concubine and bride; Then Israel's monarch, after Heav'n's o w n heart, His vig'rous warmth did variously impart To wives and slaves; and, wide as his command, Scatter'd his Maker's image through the land. Midial, of royal blood, the crown did wear, A soil ungrateful to the tiller's care. N o t so the rest, for sev'ral mothers bore T o godlike D a v i d sev'ral sons before, But since like slaves his bed they did ascend, N o true succession could their seed attend. O f all this num'rous progeny was none So beautiful, so brave as Absalon: Whether, inspir'd by some diviner lust, His father got him with a greater gust; O r that his conscious destiny made w a y By manly beauty to imperial sway. Early in foreign fields he won renown With kings and states alli'd to Israel's crown. In peace the thoughts of w a r he could remove, A n d seem'd as he were only born for love. Whate'er he did was done with so much ease, 37

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In him alone 'twas natural to please. His motions all accompani'd with grace; And Paradise was open'd in his face. With secret joy indulgent David view'd His youthful image in his son renew'd; To all his wishes nothing he deni'd, And made the charming Annabel his bride. What faults he had (for who from faults is free?) His father could not, or he would not see. Some warm excesses, which the law forbore, Were constru'd youth that purg'd by boiling o'er; And Amnion's murder, by a specious name, Was call'd a just revenge for injur'd fame. Thus prais'd and lov'd the noble youth remain'd, While David, undisturb'd, in Sion reign'd. But life can never be sincerely blest: Heav'n punishes the bad, and proves the best. The Jews, a headstrong, moody, murm'ring race As ever tri'd th' extent and stretch of grace; God's pamper'd people whom, debauch'd with ease, N o king could govern, nor no god could please (Gods they had tri'd of ev'ry shape and size That godsmiths could produce, or priests devise). These Adam-wits, too fortunately free, Began to dream they wanted liberty; And when no rule, no precedent was found Of men by laws less circumscrib'd and bound, They led their wild desires to woods and caves, And thought that all but savages were slaves. They who, when Saul was dead, without a blow Made foolish Ishbosheth the crown forgo; Who banish'd David did from Hebron bring, And with a gen'ral shout proclaim'd him king: Those very Jews, who, at their very best, Their humor more than loyalty express'd, N o w wonder'd why so long they had obey'd A n idol monarch which their hands had made; Thought they might ruin him they could create, Or melt him to that golden calf, a state. But these were random bolts; no form'd design,

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Nor int'rest made the factious crowd to join. The sober part of Israel, free from stain, Well knew the value of a peaceful reign; And, looking backward with a wise affright, Saw seams of wounds, dishonest to the sight; In contemplation of whose ugly scars They curs'd the memory of civil wars. The mod'rate sort of men, thus qualifi'd, Inclin'd the balance to the better side; And David's mildness manag'd it so well The bad found no occasion to rebel. But when to sin our bias'd nature leans, The careful Dev'l is still at hand with means; And providently pimps for ill desires: The Good Old Cause reviv'd a plot requires. Plots, true or false, are necessary things To raise up commonwealths, and ruin kings. Th'inhabitants of old Jerusalem Were Jebusites (the town so call'd from them) And theirs the native rightBut when the chosen people grew more strong, The rightful cause at length became the wrong; And ev'ry loss the men of Jebus bore They still were thought God's enemies the more. Thus worn and weaken'd, well or ill content, Submit they must to David's government: Impov'rish'd and depriv'd of all command, Their taxes doubl'd as they lost their land, And, what was harder yet to flesh and blood, Their gods disgrac'd, and burnt like common wood, This set the heathen priesthood in a flame, For priests of all religions are the same: Of whatsoe'er descent their godhead be, Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree, In his defense his servants are as bold As if he had been born of beaten gold. The Jewish rabbins, though their enemies, In this conclude them honest men and wise: For 'twas their duty, all the learned think, T'espouse his cause by whom they eat and drink. 39

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From hence began that Plot, the nation's curse, Bad in itself, but represented worse, Rais'd in extremes, and in extremes decri'd; With oaths affirm'd, with dying vows deni'd. Not weigh'd or winnow'd by the multitude; But swallow'd in the mass, undiew'd and crude. Some truth there was, but dash'd and brew'd with lies, To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise. Succeeding times did equal folly call Believing nothing, or believing all. Th' Egyptian rites the Jebusites embrac'd, Where gods were recommended by their taste. Such sav'ry deities must needs be good As serv'd at once for worship and for food. By force they could not introduce these gods, For ten to one in former days was odds; So fraud was us'd (the sacrificer's trade) Fools are more hard to conquer than persuade. Their busy teachers mingl'd with the Jews, And rak'd for converts e'en the Court and stews: Which Hebrew priests the more unkindly took Because the fleece accompanies the flock. Some thought they God's anointed meant to slay B y guns, invented since full many a day. Our author swears it not; but who can know H o w far the Dev'l and Jebusites may go? This Plot, which fail'd for want of common sense, H a d yet a deep and dang'rous consequence: For, as when raging fevers boil the blood, The standing lake soon floats into a flood, And ev'ry hostile humor, which before Slept quiet in its channels, bubbles o'er: So sev'ral factions from this first ferment Work up to foam, and threat the government. Some by their friends, more by themselves thought wise Oppos'd the pow'r to which they could not rise. Some had in courts been great, and thrown from thence, Like fiends were harden'd in impenitence. Some, by their monarch's fatal mercy grown From pardon'd rebels kinsmen to the throne,

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Were rais'd in pow'r and public office high: Strong bands, if bands ungrateful men could tie. Of these the false Achitophel was first, A name to all succeeding ages curst. For close designs and crooked counsels fit; Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit. Restless, unfix'd in principles and place; In pow'r unpleas'd, impatient of disgrace. A fiery soul which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay. A daring pilot in extremity; Pleas'd with the danger, when the waves went high He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. Great wits are sure to madness near alli'd, And thin partitions do their bounds divide; Else why should he, with wealth and honor blest, Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? Punish a body which he could not please; Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? And all to leave what with his toil he won To that unfeather'd, two-legg'd thing, a son, Got while his soul did huddl'd notions try, And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. In friedship false, implacable in hate; Resolv'd to ruin or to rule the state; To compass this the triple bond he broke, The pillars of the public safety shook, And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke. Then, seiz'd with fear, yet still affecting fame, Usurp'd a Patriot's all-atoning name. So easy still it proves in factious times With public zeal to cancel private crimes. How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, Where none can sin against the people's will; Where crowds can wink, and no offense be known, Since in another's guilt they find their own ! Yet fame deserv'd no enemy can grudge: The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 41

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In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abbethdin With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean. Unbrib'd, unsought, the wretched to redress; Swift of dispatch, and easy of access. O, had he been content to serve the crown With virtues only proper to the gown; Or had the rankness of the soil been freed From codtle, that oppress'd the noble seed; David for him his tuneful harp had strung, And Heav'n had wanted one immortal song. But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land. Achitophel, grown weary to possess A lawful fame and lazy happiness, Disdain'd the golden fruit to gather free, And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. Now, manifest of crimes contriv'd long since, He stood at bold defiance with his Prince; Held up the buckler of the people's cause Against the crown, and skulk'd behind the laws. The wish'd occasion of the Plot he takes; Some circumstances finds, but more he makes. By buzzing emissaries fills the ears Of list'ning crowds with jealousies and fears Of arbitrary counsels brought to light, And proves the King himself a Jebusite. Weak arguments! which yet he knew full well Were strong with people easy to rebel. For, govern'd by the moon, the giddy Jews Tread the same track when she the prime renews; And once in twenty years, their scribes record, By natural instinct they change their lord. Achitophel still wants a chief, and none Was found so fit as warlike Absalon: Not that he wish'd his greatness to create (For politicians neither love nor hate) But for he knew his title not allow'd Would keep him still depending on the crowd ; That kingly pow'r, thus ebbing out, might be Drawn to the dregs of a democracy.

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Him he attempts with studi'd arts to please, And sheds his venom in sudi words as these: "Auspicious Prince! at whose nativity Some royal planet rul'd the southern sky; Thy longing country's darling and desire, Their cloudy pillar and their guardian fire; Their second Moses, whose extended wand Divides the seas, and shows the promis'd land; Whose dawning day in ev'ry distant age Has exercis'd the sacred prophets' rage; The people's pray'r, the glad diviners' theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream! Thee, savior, thee, the nation's vows confess, And, never satisfi'd with seeing, bless. Swift unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim, And stamm'ring babes are taught to lisp thy name. How long wilt thou the gen'ral joy detain, Starve and defraud the people of thy reign? Content ingloriously to pass thy days Like one of virtue's fools that feeds on praise; Till thy fresh glories, which now shine so bright, Grow stale and tarnish with our daily sight. Believe me, royal youth, thy fruit must be Or gather'd ripe, or rot upon the tree. Heav'n has to all allotted, soon or late, Some lucky revolution of their fate; Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill (For human good depends on human will) Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent, And from the first impression takes the bent. But if unseiz'd, she glides away like wind, And leaves repenting folly far behind. Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize, And spreads her locks before her as she flies. Had thus old David, from whose loins you spring, Not dar'd, when fortune call'd him, to be king, At Gath an exile he might still remain, And Heav'n's anointing oil had been in vain. Let his successful youth your hopes engage, But shun th' example of declining age. 43

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Behold him setting in his western skies, The shadows length'ning as the vapors rise. He is not now, as when on Jordan's sand The joyful people throng'd to see him land, Cov'ring the beach, and black'ning all the strand; But, like the Prince of Angels, from his height Comes tumbling downward with diminish'd light; Betray'd by one poor Plot to public scorn (Our only blessing since his curst return) Those heaps of people which one sheaf did bind Blown off and scatter'd by a puff of wind. What strength can he to your designs oppose, Naked of friends, and round beset with foes? If Pharaoh's doubtful succor he should use, A foreign aid would more incense the Jews; Proud Egypt would dissembl'd friendship bring, Foment the war, but not support the King. N o r would the royal party e'er unite With Pharaoh's arm t'assist the Jebusite; Or, if they should, their int'rest soon would break, And with such odious aid make David weak. All sorts of men by my successful arts, Abhorring kings, estrange their alter'd hearts. From David's rule: and 'tis the gen'ral cry, 'Religion, Commonwealth, and Liberty.' If you, as champion of the public good, A d d to their arms a chief of royal blood, What may not Israel hope, and what applause Might such a gen'ral gain by such a cause? Not barren praise alone, that gaudy flow'r Fair only to the sight, but solid pow'r; And nobler is a limited command, Giv'n by the love of all your native land, Than a successive title, long and dark, Drawn from the moldy rolls of Noah's ark."

What cannot praise effect in mighty minds, When flatt'ry soothes, and when ambition blinds! 305 Desire of pow'r, on earth a vicious weed, Yet, sprung from high, is of celestial seed: In God 'tis glory; and when men aspire 44

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'Tis but a spark too much of heav'nly fire. Th' ambitious youth, too covetous of fame, Too full of angels' metal in his frame, Unwarily was led from virtue's ways, Made drunk with honor, and debauch'd with praise. Half loth, and half consenting to the ill (For loyal blood within him struggl'd still) He thus repli'd-"And what pretense have I To take up arms for public liberty? My father governs with unquestion'd right; The faith's defender, and mankind's delight. Good, gracious, just, observant of the laws; And Heav'n by wonders has espous'd his cause. Whom has he wrong'd in all his peaceful reign? Who sues for justice to his throne in vain? What millions has he pardon'd of his foes Whom just revenge did to his wrath expose? Mild, easy, humble, studious of our good; Inclin'd to mercy, and averse from blood. If mildness ill with stubborn Israel suit, His crime is God's beloved attribute. What could he gain his people to betray, Or change his right for arbitrary sway? Let haughty Pharaoh curse with sudi a reign His fruitful Nile, and yoke a servile train. If David's rule Jerusalem displease, The Dog Star heats their brains to this disease. Why then should I, encouraging the bad, Turn rebel and run popularly mad? Were he a tyrant who by lawless might Oppress'd the Jews, and rais'd the Jebusite, Well might I mourn; but nature's holy bands Would curb my spirits and restrain my hands. The people might assert their liberty, But what was right in them were crime in me. His favor leaves me nothing to require, Prevents my wishes, and outruns desire. What more can I expect while David lives? All but his kingly diadem he gives, And that"-But there he paus'd-then sighing said, 45

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"Is justly destin'd for a worthier head. For when my father from his toils shall rest, And late augment the number of the blest, His lawful issue shall the throne ascend, Or the collat'ral line, where that shall end. His brother, though oppress'd with vulgar spite, Yet dauntless and secure of native right, Of ev'ry royal virtue stands possess'd; Still dear to all the bravest and the best. His courage foes, his friends his truth proclaim; His loyalty the King, the world his fame. His mercy e'en th' offending crowd will find, For sure he comes of a forgiving kind. Why should I then repine at Heav'n's decree Which gives me no pretense to royalty? Yet, O, that fate, propitiously inclin'd, H a d rais'd my birth, or had debas'd my mind ! To my large soul not all her treasure lent, And then betray'd it to a mean descent. I find, I find my mounting spirits bold, And David's part disdains my mother's mold. Why am I scanted by a niggard birth? My soul disclaims the kindred of her earth; And, made for empire, whispers me within, 'Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.'" Him stagg'ring so when Hell's dire agent found, While fainting Virtue scarce maintain'd her ground, He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies: "Th' eternal God, supremely good and wise, Imparts not these prodigious gifts in vain: What wonders are reserv'd to bless your reign ! Against your will your arguments have shown Such virtue's only giv'n to guide a throne. Not that your father's mildness I contemn, But manly force becomes the diadem. 'Tis true, he grants the people all they crave, And more perhaps than subjects ought to have; For lavish grants suppose a monarch tame, And more his goodness than his wit proclaim. But when should people strive their bonds to break,

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If not when kings are negligent or weak? Let him give on till he can give no more, The thrifty Sanhédrin shall keep him poor; And ev'ry shekel which he can receive Shall cost a limb of his prerogative. To ply him with new plots shall be my care, Or plunge him deep in some expensive war; Which when his treasure can no more supply, He must with the remains of kingship buy. His faithful friends our jealousies and fears Call Jebusites and Pharaoh's pensioners; Whom when our fury from his aid has torn, He shall be naked left to public scorn. The next successor, whom I fear and hate, My arts have made obnoxious to the state; Turn'd all his virtues to his overthrow, And gain'd our elders to pronounce a foe. His right, for sums of necessary gold, Shall first be pawn'd, and afterwards be sold; Till time shall ever-wanting David draw To pass your doubtful title into law. If not, the people have a right supreme To make their kings; for kings are made for them. All empire is no more than pow'r in trust, Which when resum'd can be no longer just. Succession, for the gen'ral good design'd, In its own wrong a nation cannot bind. If alt'ring that the people can relieve, Better one suffer than a nation grieve. The Jews well know their pow'r: ere Saul they dios God was their king, and God they durst depose. Urge now your piety, your filial name, A father's right, and fear of future fame; The public good, that universal call To which e'en Heav'n submitted, answers all. Nor let his love enchant your gen'rous mind; 'Tis Nature's trick to propagate her kind. Our fond begetters, who would never die, Love but themselves in their posterity. Or let his kindness by th' effects be tri'd,

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Or let him lay his vain pretense aside. God said H e lov'd your father-could He bring A better proof than to anoint him king? It surely show'd He lov'd the shepherd well Who gave so fair a flock as Israel. Would David have you thought his darling son? What means he then to alienate the crown? The name of godly he may blush to bear: 'Tis after God's own heart to cheat his heir. He to his brother gives supreme command; To you a legacy of barren land: Perhaps th' old harp, on which he thrums his lays, Or some dull Hebrew ballad in your praise. Then the next heir, a prince severe and wise, Already looks on you with jealous eyes; Sees through the thin disguises of your arts, And marks your progress in the people's hearts. Though now his mighty soul its grief contains, He meditates revenge who least complains; And, like a lion, slumb'ring in the way, Or sleep dissembling while he waits his prey, His fearless foes within his distance draws, Constrains his roaring and contracts his paws; Till at the last, his time for fury found, He shoots with sudden vengeance from the ground; The prostrate vulgar passes o'er and spares, But with a lordly rage his hunters tears. Your case no tame expedients will afford : Resolve on death, or conquest by the sword, Which for no less a stake than life you draw; And self-defense is nature's eldest law. Leave the warm people no consid'ring time, For then rebellion may be thought a crime. Prevail yourself of what occasion gives, But try your title while your father lives; And, that your arms may have a fair pretense, Proclaim you take them in the King's defense, Whose sacred life each minute would expose To plots from seeming friends and secret foes. And who can sound the depth of David's soul?

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Perhaps his fear his kindness may control. He fears his brother, though he loves his son, For plighted vows too late to be undone. If so, by force he wishes to be gain'd, Like women's lechery, to seem constrain'd. Doubt not, but when he most affects the frown, Commit a pleasing rape upon the crown. Secure his person to secure your cause: They who possess the prince possess the laws." He said, and this advice above the rest With Absalom's mild nature suited best; Unblam'd of life (ambition set aside) Not stain'd with cruelty, nor puff'd with pride, How happy had he been if Destiny Had higher plac'd his birth, or not so high! His kingly virtues might have claim'd a throne, And bless'd all other countries but his own. But charming greatness since so few refuse, 'Tis juster to lament him than accuse. Strong were his hopes a rival to remove, With blandishments to gain the public love; To head the faction while their zeal was hot, And popularly prosecute the Plot. To farther this, Adiitophel unites The malcontents of all the Israelites, Whose diff'ring parties he could wisely join For sev'ral ends, to serve the same design. The best, and of the princes some were sudi, Who thought the pow'r of monarchy too much; Mistaken men, and patriots in their hearts; Not wicked, but seduc'd by impious arts. By these the springs of property were bent, And wound so high they crack'd the government. The next for int'rest sought t' embroil the state, To sell their duty at a dearer rate; And make their Jewish markets of the throne, Pretending public good to serve their own. Others thought kings an useless heavy load, Who cost too much and did too little good. These were for laying honest David by 49

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On principles of pure good husbandry. With them join'd all th' haranguers of the throng That thought to get preferment by the tongue. Who follow next a double danger bring, Not only hating David, but the King: The Solymaean rout, well-vers'd of old In godly faction, and in treason bold; Cow'ring and quaking at a conqu'ror's sword, But lofty to a lawful prince restor'd; Saw with disdain an Ethnic Plot begun, And scorn'd by Jebusites to be outdone. Hot Levites headed these, who, pull'd before From th' ark which in the Judges' days they bore, Resum'd their cant, and with a zealous cry Pursu'd their old belov'd theocracy; Where Sanhédrin and priest enslav'd the nation, And justifi'd their spoils by inspiration; For who so fit for reign as Aaron's race, If once dominion they could found in grace? These led the pack; though not of surest scent, Yet deepest mouth'd against the government. A num'rous host of dreaming saints succeed Of the true old enthusiastic breed: 'Gainst form and order they their pow'r employ, Nothing to build and all things to destroy. But far more num'rous was the herd of such Who think too little, and who talk too mudi. These, out of mere instinct, they knew not why, Ador'd their fathers' God, and property; And, by the same blind benefit of fate, The Devil and the Jebusite did hate. Born to be sav'd, e'en in their own despite, Because they could not help believing right. Such were the tools-but a whole Hydra more Remains of sprouting heads too long to score. Some of their chiefs were princes of the land; In the first rank of these did Zimri stand. A man so various that he seem'd to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome. Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong;

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Was ev'rything by starts, and nothing long; But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon. Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that di'd in thinking. Blest madman, who could ev'ry hour employ With something new to wish, or to enjoy! Railing and praising were his usual themes, And both (to show his judgment) in extremes. So over-violent, or over-civil That ev'ry man, with him, was God or Devil. In squand'ring wealth was his peculiar art: Nothing went unrewarded but desert. Beggar'd by fools, whom still he found too late, He had his jest, and they had his estate. He laugh'd himself from Court, then sought relief By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief; For, spite of him, the weight of business fell On Absalom and wise Achitophel. Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft, He left not faction, but of that was left. Titles and names 'twere tedious to rehearse Of lords below the dignity of verse. Wits, warriors, commonwealthsmen were the best: Kind husbands and mere nobles all the rest. And, therefore, in the name of dulness be The well-hung Balaam and cold Caleb free. And canting Nadab let oblivion damn, Who made new porridge for the Paschal Lamb. Let friendship's holy band some names assure; Some their own worth, and some let scorn secure. Nor shall the rascal rabble here have place, Whom kings no titles gave, and God no grace. Not bull-fac'd Jonas, who could statutes draw To mean rebellion, and make treason law. But he, though bad, is follow'd by a worse, The wretch who Heav'n's anointed dar'd to curse: Shimei, whose youth did early promise bring Of zeal to God and hatred to his King; Did wisely from expensive sins refrain,

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And never broke the Sabbath, but for gain; N o r ever was he known an oath to vent, Or curse, unless against the government. Thus heaping wealth, by the most ready way Among the Jews, which was to cheat and pray; The City, to reward his pious hate Against his master, chose him magistrate. His hand a vare of justice did uphold; His neck was loaded with a chain of gold. During his office treason was no crime; The sons of Belial had a glorious time: For Shimei, though not prodigal of pelf, Yet lov'd his wicked neighbor as himself. When two or three were gather'd to declaim Against the monarch of Jerusalem, Shimei was always in the midst of them. And, if they curs'd the King when he was by, Would rather curse than break good company. If any durst his factious friends accuse, He pack'd a jury of dissenting Jews, Whose fellow-feeling in the godly cause Would free the sufPring saint from human laws. For laws are only made to punish those Who serve the King, and to protect his foes. If any leisure time he had from pow'r (Because 'tis sin to misemploy an hour) His bus'ness was by writing to persuade That kings were useless, and a clog to trade; And, that his noble style he might refine, N o Rechabite more shunn'd the fumes of wine. Chaste were his cellars, and his shrieval board The grossness of a City feast abhorr'd: His cooks with long disuse their trade forgot; Cool was his kitchen, though his brains were hot. Such frugal virtue malice may accuse, But sure 'twas necessary to the Jews: For towns once burnt such magistrates require As dare not tempt God's Providence by fire. With spir'tual food he fed his servants well, But free from flesh that made the Jews rebel:

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And Moses' laws he held in more account For forty days of fasting in the mount. To speak the rest, who better are forgot, Would tire a well-breath'd witness of the Plot. Yet, Corah, thou shalt from oblivion pass: Erect thyself, thou monumental brass, High as the serpent of thy metal made, While nations stand secure beneath thy shade. What though his birth were base, yet comets rise From earthy vapors ere they shine in skies. Prodigious actions may as well be done By weaver's issue, as by prince's son. This arch-attestor for the public good B y that one deed ennobles all his blood. Who ever ask'd the witnesses' high race Whose oath with martyrdom did Stephen grace? Ours was a Levite, and as times went then, His tribe were God Almighty's gentlemen. Sunk were his eyes, his voice was harsh and loud, Sure signs he neither choleric was nor proud. His long chin prov'd his wit; his saintlike grace A church vermilion, and a Moses' face. His memory, miraculously great, Could plots exceeding man's belief repeat; Which therefore cannot be accounted lies, For human wit could never such devise. Some future truths are mingl'd in his book; But, where the witness fail'd, the prophet spoke. Some things like visionary flights appear; The spirit caught him up, the Lord knows where, And gave him his Rabbinical degree Unknown to foreign university. His judgment yet his mem'ry did excel; Which piec'd his wondrous evidence so well, And suited to the temper of the times, Then groaning under Jebusitic crimes. Let Israel's foes suspect his heav'nly call, And rashly judge his writ apocryphal; Our laws for sudi affronts have forfeits made: He takes his life who takes away his trade. 5Ì

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Where I myself in witness Corah's place, The wretch who did me such a dire disgrace Should whet my memory, though once forgot, To make him an appendix of my Plot. His zeal to Heav'n made him his prince despise, And load his person with indignities; But zeal peculiar privilege affords, Indulging latitude to deeds and words. And Corah might for Agag's murder call In terms as coarse as Samuel us'd to Saul. What others in his evidence did join (The best that could be had for love or coin) In Corah's own predicament will fall, For witness is a common name to all. Surrounded thus with friends of ev'ry sort, Deluded Absalom forsakes the Court; Impatient of high hopes, urg'd with renown, And fir'd with near possession of a crown. Th' admiring crowd are dazzl'd with surprise, And on his goodly person feed their eyes. His joy conceal'd, he sets himself to show, On each side bowing popularly low; His looks, his gestures, and his words he frames, And with familiar ease repeats their names. Thus, form'd by nature, furnish'd out with arts, He glides unfelt into their secret hearts. Then with a kind compassionating look And sighs, bespeaking pity ere he spoke, Few words he said; but easy those and fit, More slow than Hybla drops, and far more sweet. " I mourn, my countrymen, your lost estate; Though far unable to prevent your fate. Behold a banish'd man, for your dear cause Expos'd a prey to arbitrary laws! Yet O! that I alone could be undone, Cut off from empire, and no more a son! N o w all your liberties a spoil are made; Egypt and Tyrus intercept your trade, And Jebusites your sacred rites invade. M y father, whom with rev'rence yet I name,

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Charm'd into ease, is careless of his fame, And, brib'd with petty sums of foreign gold, Is grown in Bathsheba's embraces old; Exalts his enemies, his friends destroys; And all his pow'r against himself employs. He gives, and let him give, my right away; But why should he his own and yours betray? He, only he, can make the nation bleed, And he alone from my revenge is freed. Take then my tears (with that he wip'd his eyes) 'Tis all the aid my present pow'r supplies : N o Court informer can these arms accuse, These arms may sons against their fathers use, And 'tis my wish the next successor's reign May make no other Israelite complain." Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail, But common int'rest always will prevail; And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people's wrongs his own. The crowd (that still believe their kings oppress) With lifted hands their young Messiah bless; Who now begins his progress to ordain With chariots, horsemen, and a num'rous train. From east to west his glories he displays, And, like the sun, the promis'd land surveys. Fame runs before him as the morning star, And shouts of joy salute him from afar; Each house receives him as a guardian god, And consecrates the place of his abode. But hospitable treats did most commend Wise Issadiar, his wealthy western friend. This moving court, that caught the people's eyes And seem'd but pomp, did other ends disguise: Achitophel had form'd it, with intent To sound the depths, and fathom, where it went, The people's hearts; distinguish friends from foes, And try their strength before they came to blows: Yet all was color'd with a smooth pretense Of specious love and duty to their prince. Religion and redress of grievances, 5Í

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T w o names that always cheat and always please, Are often urg'd; and good King David's life Endanger'd by a brother and a wife. Thus in a pageant show a plot is made, And peace itself is war in masquerade. Oh foolish Israel! never warn'd by ill, Still the same bait, and circumvented still! Did ever men forsake their present ease, In midst of health imagine a disease; Take pains contingent mischiefs to foresee, Make heirs for monarchs, and for God decree? What shall we think! can people give away Both for themselves and sons their native sway? Then they are left defenseless to the sword Of each unbounded, arbitrary lord; And laws are vain, by which we right enjoy, If kings unquestion'd can those laws destroy. Yet if the crowd be judge of fit and just, And kings are only officers in trust, Then this resuming cov'nant was declar'd When kings were made, or is for ever barr'd. If those who gave the scepter could not tie B y their own deed their own posterity, H o w then could Adam bind his future race? H o w could his forfeit on mankind take place? Or how could heav'nly justice damn us all Who ne'er consented to our father's fall? Then kings are slaves to those whom they command, And tenants to their people's pleasure stand. Add, that the pow'r for property allow'd Is mischievously seated in the crowd; For who can be secure of private right If sov'reign sway may be dissolv'd by might? N o r is the people's judgment always true: The most may err as grossly as the few; And faultless kings run down, by common cry, For vice, oppression, and for tyranny. What standard is there in a fidile rout Which, flowing to the mark, runs faster out? N o r only crowds, but Sanhédrins may be

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Infected with this public lunacy, And share the madness of rebellious times To murder monardis for imagin'd crimes. If they may give and take whene'er they please, Not kings alone (the Godhead's images) But government itself at length must fall To nature's state, where all have right to all. Yet grant our lords the people kings can make, What prudent men a settl'd throne would shake? For, whatsoe'er their suff'rings were before, That change they covet makes them suffer more. All other errors but disturb a state, But innovation is the blow of fate. If ancient fabrics nod and threat to fall, To patch the flaws and buttress up the wall Thus far 'tis duty, but here fix the mark; For all beyond it is to toudi our ark. To change foundations, cast the frame anew, Is work for rebels, who base ends pursue; At once divine and human laws control, And mend the parts by ruin of the whole. The tamp'ring world is subject to this curse, To physic their disease into a worse. N o w what relief can righteous David bring? How fatal 'tis to be too good a king! Friends he has few, so high the madness grows: Who dare be such must be the people's foes. Yet some there were, e'en in the worst of days; Some let me name, and naming is to praise. In this short file Barzillai first appears; Barzillai, crown'd with honor and with years. Long since the rising rebels he withstood In regions waste, beyond the Jordan's flood. Unfortunately brave to buoy the state, But sinking underneath his master's fate: In exile with his godlike prince he mourn'd; For him he sufier'd, and with him return'd. The Court he practis'd, not the courtier's art; Large was his wealth, but larger was his heart, Which well the noblest objects knew to choose, $7

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The fighting warrior, and recording muse. His bed could once a fruitful issue boast; N o w more than half a father's name is lost. His eldest hope, with ev'ry grace adorn'd, B y me (so Heav'n will have it) always mourn'd, And always honor'd, snatch'd in manhood's prime B ' unequal fates, and Providence's crime; Yet not before the goal of honor won, All parts fulfill'd of subject and of son; Swift was the race, but short the time to run. O narrow circle, but of pow'r divine, Scanted in space but perfect in thy line! B y sea, by land, thy matchless worth was known; Arms thy delight, and war was all thy own. Thy force, infus'd, the fainting Tyrians propp'd, And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stopp'd. O ancient honor! oh unconquer'd hand Whom foes unpunish'd never could withstand! But Israel was unworthy of thy name; Short is the date of all immmod'rate fame. It looks as Heav'n our ruin had design'd, And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind. N o w , free from earth, thy disencumber'd soul Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starry pole. From thence thy kindred legions mayst thou bring To aid the guardian angel of thy King. Here stop, my Muse, here cease thy painful flight; N o pinions can pursue immortal height. Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no more, And tell thy soul she should have fled before; Or fled she with his life, and left this verse To hang on her departed patron's hearse?. N o w take thy steepy flight from Heav'n, and see If thou canst find on earth another he: Another he would be too hard to find; See then whom thou canst see not f a r behind. Zadoc the priest, whom, shunning pow'r and place, His lowly mind advanc'd to David's grace. With him the Sagan of Jerusalem, Of hospitable soul, and noble stem;

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Him of the western dome, whose weighty sense Flows in fit words and heav'nly eloquence. The prophets' sons, by such example led, To learning and to loyalty were bred: For colleges on bounteous kings depend, And never rebel was to arts a friend. To these succeed the pillars of the laws, Who best could plead and best can judge a cause. Next them a train of loyal peers ascend; Sharp-judging Adriel, the Muses' friend, Himself a muse. In Sanhedrin's debate True to his prince, but not a slave of state; Whom David's love with honors did adorn That from his disobedient son were torn. Jotham of piercing wit and pregnant thought, Indu'd by nature, and by learning taught To move assemblies, who but only tri'd The worse awhile, then chose the better side; Nor chose alone, but turn'd the balance tooSo much the weight of one brave man can do. Hushai, the friend of David in distress, In public storms, of manly steadfastness; By foreign treaties he inform'd his youth, And join'd experience to his native truth. His frugal care suppli'd the wanting throne; Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own. 'Tis easy conduct when exchequers flow, But hard the task to manage well the low; For sov'reign pow'r is too depress'd or high When kings are forc'd to sell, or crowds to buy. Indulge one labor more, my weary Muse, For Amiel : who can Amiel's praise refuse? Of ancient race by birth, but nobler yet In his own worth, and without title great; The Sanhédrin long time as chief he rul'd, Their reason guided and their passion cool'd; So dext'rous was he in the crown's defense, So form'd to speak a loyal nation's sense That, as their band was Israel's tribes in small, So fit was he to represent them all. 59

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N o w rasher charioteers the seat ascend, Whose loose careers his steady skill commend: They, like th' unequal ruler of the day, Misguide the seasons and mistake the w a y ; While he withdrawn at their mad labor smiles, And safe enjoys the sabbath of his toils. These were the chief, a small but faithful band Of worthies, in the breach who dar'd to stand, And tempt th' united fury of the land. With grief they view'd such pow'rful engines bent To batter down the lawful government— A num'rous faction, with pretended frights, In Sanhédrins to plume the regal rights, The true successor from the Court remov'd, The Plot by hireling witnesses improv'd. These ills they saw and, as their duty bound, They show'd the King the danger of the wound; That no concessions from the throne would please, But lenitives fomented the disease; That Absalom, ambitious of the crown, Was made the lure to draw the people down; That false Adiitophel's pernicious hate Had turn'd the Plot to ruin Church and State; The Council violent, the rabble worse That Shimei taught Jerusalem to curse. With all these loads of injuries oppress'd, And long revolving in his careful breast Th' event of things, at last his patience tir'd, Thus from his royal throne by Heav'n inspir'd The godlike David spoke. With awful fear His train their Maker in their master hear. "Thus long have I, by native mercy sway'd, My wrongs dissembl'd, my revenge delay'd: So willing to forgive th' offending age, So much the father did the king assuage. But now so far my clemency they slight, Th' offenders question my forgiving right. That one was made for many they contend ; But 'tis to rule, for that's a monarch's end. They call my tenderness of blood my fear,

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Though manly tempers can the longest bear. Yet since they will divert my native course, 'Tis time to show I am not good by force. Those heap'd affronts that haughty subjects bring Are burdens for a camel, not a king. Kings are the public pillars of the state, Born to sustain and prop the nation's weight. If my young Samson will pretend a call To shake the column, let him share the fall. But, O, that yet he would repent and live! H o w easy 'tis for parents to forgive! With how few tears a pardon might be won From nature, pleading for a darling son! Poor piti'd youth, by my paternal care Rais'd up to all the height his frame could bear! Had God ordain'd his fate for empire born, He would have giv'n his soul another turn: Gull'd with a Patriot's name, whose modern sense Is one that would by law supplant his prince; The people's brave, the politician's tool; Never was Patriot yet but was a fool. Whence comes it that religion and the laws Should more be Absalom's than David's cause? His old instructor, ere he lost his place, Was never thought indu'd with so much grace. Good Heav'ns, how faction can a Patriot paint! My rebel ever proves my people's saint. Would they impose an heir upon the throne? Let Sanhédrins be taught to give their own. A king's at least a part of government, And mine as requisite as their consent; Without my leave a future king to dioose Infers a right the present to depose.

True, they petition me t' approve their choice, But Esau's hands suit ill with Jacob's voice. M y pious subjects for my safety pray, Whidi to secure they take my pow'r away. 985 From plots and treasons Heav'n preserve my years, But save me most from my petitioners ! Unsatiate as the barren womb or grave, 61

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God cannot grant so mudi as they can crave. What then is left, but with a jealous eye T o guard the small remains of royalty? The law shall still direct my peaceful sway, And the same law teach rebels to obey. Votes shall no more establish'd pow'r control, Such votes as make a part exceed the whole. N o groundless clamors shall my friends remove, Nor crowds have pow'r to punish ere they prove; For gods and godlike kings their care express Still to defend their servants in distress. O that my pow'r to saving were confin'd! Why am I forc'd, like Heav'n, against my mind, T o make examples of another kind? Must I at length the sword of justice draw? O curst effects of necessary law! How ill my fear they by my mercy scan! Beware the fury of a patient man. Law they require, let Law then show her face; They could not be content to look on Grace, Her hinder parts, but with a daring eye To tempt the terror of her front and die. B y their own arts, 'tis righteously decreed, Those dire artificers of death shall bleed. Against themselves their witnesses will swear, Till viperlike their mother Plot they tear; And suds for nutriment that bloody gore Which was their principle of life before. Their Belial with their Belzebub will fight; Thus on my foes my foes shall do me right. Nor doubt th' event; for factious crowds engage, In their first onset, all their brutal rage. Then let 'em take an unresisted course, Retire, and traverse, and delude their force; But, when they stand all breathless, urge the fight, And rise upon 'em with redoubl'd might; For lawful pow'r is still superior found: When long driv'n bade at length it stands the ground." He said. Th' Almighty, nodding, gave consent, And peals of thunder shook the firmament.

Henceforth a series of new time began, The mighty years in long procession ran: 1030 Once more the godlike David was restor'd, And willing nations knew their lawful lord.

11

ALEXANDER POPE:

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An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot

Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd I said, Tye up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead, The Dog-star rages ! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and Papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. What Walls can guard me, or what Shades can hide? They pierce my Thickets, thro' my Grot they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the Chariot, and they board the Barge. N o place is sacred, not the Church is free, Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the Man of Ryme, Happy! to catch me, just at Dinner-time, Is there a Parson, much be-mus'd in Beer, A maudlin Poetess, a ryming Peer, A Clerk, foredoom'd his Father's soul to cross, Who pens a Stanza when he should engross? Is there, who lock'd from Ink and Paper, scrawls With desp'rate Charcoal round his darken'd walls? All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whose giddy Son neglects the Laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause: Poor Cornus sees his frantic Wife elope, And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope. Friend to my Life, (which did not you prolong, The World had wanted many an idle Song) What Drop or Nostrum can this Plague remove? Or which must end me, a Fool's Wrath or Love? A dire Dilemma! either way I'm sped, If Foes, they write, if Friends, they read me dead.

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Seiz'd and ty'd down to judge, how wretched I ! Who can't be silent, and who will not lye; To laugh, were want of Goodness and of Grace, And to be grave, exceeds all Pow'r of Face. I sit with sad Civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aking head; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel, "Keep your Piece nine years." Nine years! cries he, who high in Drury-lane Lull'd by soft Zephyrs thro' the broken Pane, Rymes e're he wakes, and prints before Term ends, Oblig'd by hunger and Request of friends: "The Piece you think is incorrect: why take it, "I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it." Three things another's modest wishes bound, My Friendship, and a Prologue, and ten Ppund. Pitboleon sends to me: "You know his Grace, " I want a Patron; ask him for a Place." Pitholeon libell'd me-"but here's a Letter "Informs you Sir, 'twas when he knew no better. "Dare you refuse him? Curl invites to dine, "He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine." Bless me! a Packet.-"'Tis a stranger sues, " A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Muse." If I dislike it, "Furies, death and rage!" If I approve, "Commend it to the Stage." There (thank my Stars) my whole Commission ends, The Play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends. Fir'd that the House reject him, "'Sdeath I'll print it "And shame the Fools-your Int'rest, Sir, with Lintot." Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much. "Not Sir, if you revise it, and retouch." All my demurrs but double his attacks, At last he whispers "Do, and we go snacks." Glad of a quarrel, strait I clap the door, Sir, let me see your works and you no more. 'Tis sung, when Midas' Ears began to spring, (Midas, a sacred Person and a King) His very Minister who spy'd them first, (Some say his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst.

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And is not mine, my Friend, a sorer case, When ev'ry Coxcomb perks them in my face? "Good friend forbear! you deal in dang'rous things, "I'd never name Queens, Ministers, or Kings; "Keep close to Ears, and those let Asses prick, "Tis nothing"-Nothing? if they bite and kick? Out with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass, That Secret to each Fool, that he's an Ass: The truth once told, (and wherefore shou'd we lie?) The Queen of Midas slept, and so may I. You think this cruel? take it for a rule, No creature smarts so little as a Fool. Let Peals of Laughter, Codrus! round thee break, Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty Crack. Pit, Box and Gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd, Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting World. Who shames a Scribler? break one cobweb thro', He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew; Destroy his Fib, or Sophistry; in vain, The Creature's at his dirty work again; Thron'd in the Centre of his thin designs; Proud of a vast Extent of flimzy lines. Whom have I hurt? has Poet yet, or Peer, Lost the arch'd eye-brow, or Parnassian sneer? And has not Colly still his Lord, and Whore? His Butchers Henley, his Free-masons Moor? Does not one Table Bavius still admit? Still to one Bishop Philips seem a Wit? Still Sapho-"Ylo\á\ for God-sake-you'll offend: No Names-be calm-learn Prudence of a Friend: " I too could write, and I am twice as tall, "But Foes like these!"-One Flatt'rer's worse than all; Of all mad Creatures, if the Learn'd are right, It is the Slaver kills, and not the Bite. A Fool quite angry is quite innocent; Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.

One dedicates, in high Heroic prose, 1 1 0 And ridicules beyond a hundred foes; One from all Grubstreet will my fame defend, ¿Í

And, more abusive, calls himself my friend. This prints my Letters, that expects a Bribe, And others roar aloud, "Subscribe, subscribe." 11 j

There are, who to my Person pay their court, I cough like Horace, and tho' lean, am short, Ammon's great Son one shoulder had too high, Sudi Ovid's nose, and "Sir! you have an Eye-" G o on, obliging Creatures, make me see 120 All that disgrac'd my Betters, met in me: Say for my comfort, languishing in bed, "Just so immortal Maro held his head:" And when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer dy'd three thousand years ago. I2J

Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipt me in Ink, my Parents', or my own? As yet a Child, nor yet a Fool to Fame, I lisp'd in Numbers, for the Numbers came. I left no Calling for this idle trade, 130 N o Duty broke, no Father dis-obey'd. The Muse but serv'd to ease some Friend, not Wife, To help me thro' this long Disease, my Life, To second, ARBUTHNOT! thy Art and Care, And teach, the Being you preserv'd, to bear. 135

But why then publish? Granville the polite, And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write; Well-natur'd Garth inflam'd with early praise, And Congreve lov'd, and Swift endur'd my Lays; The Courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read, 140 Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head, And St. John's self (great Dry den's friends before) With open arms receiv'd one Poet more. Happy my Studies, when by these approv'd ! Happier their Author, when by these belov'd! 145 From these the world will judge of Men and Books, Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks. Soft were my Numbers, who could take offence While pure Description held the place of Sense? Like gentle Fanny's was my flow'ry Theme, 66

j o A painted Mistress, or a purling Stream. Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill; I wish'd the man a dinner, and sate still: Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret; I never answer'd, I was not in debt: j 5 If want provok'd, or madness made them print, I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint. Did some more sober Critic come abroad? If wrong, I smil'd; if right, I kiss'd the rod. Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, 6o And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense. Comma's and points they set exactly right, And 'twere a sin to rob them of their Mite. Yet ne'r one sprig of Laurel grac'd these ribalds, From slashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds. 6 j Each Wight who reads not, and but scans and spells, Each Word-catcher that lives on syllables, Ev'n such small Critics some regard may claim, Preserv'd in Milton's or in Shakespeare name. Pretty! in Amber to observe the forms 70 Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms; The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the Devil they got there? Were others angry? I excus'd them too; Well might they rage; I gave them but their due. 75 A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find, But each man's secret standard in his mind, That Casting-weight Pride adds to Emptiness, This, who can gratify? for who can guess f The Bard whom pilf'red Pastorals renown, 80 Who turns a Persian Tale for half a crown, Just writes to make his barrenness appear, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a-year He, who still wanting tho' he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left: 8j And he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning: And he, whose Fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not Poetry, but Prose run mad: All these, my modest Satire bad translate,

190 And own'd, that nine such Poets made a Tate. How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe? And swear, not Addison himself was safe. Peace to all sudi! but were there One whose fires True Genius kindles, and fair Fame inspires, 195 Blest with each Talent and each Art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease: Shou'd sudi a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 200 And hate for Arts that caus'd himself to rise; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; 205 Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend, A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend, Dreading ev'n fools, by Flatterers besieg'd, And so obliging that he ne'er oblig'd; Like Cato, give his little Senate laws, 210 And sit attentive to his own applause; While Wits and Templers ev'ry sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise. Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he! 21 j What tho' my Name stood rubric on the walls? Or plaister'd posts, with Claps in capitals? Or smoaking forth, a hundred Hawkers load, On Wings of Winds came flying all abroad? I sought no homage from the Race that write; 220 I kept, like Asian Monardis, from their sight: Poems I heeded (now be-rym'd so long) No more than Thou, great G E O R G E ! a Birth-day Song. I ne'r with Wits or Witlings past my days, To spread about the Itch of Verse and Praise; 225 Nor like a Puppy daggled thro' the Town, To fetch and carry Sing-song up and down; Nor at Rehearsals sweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd, With Handkerchief and Orange at my side: But sick of Fops, and Poetry, and Prate, 68

230 To Bufo left the whole Castaliati State. Proud, as Apollo on his forked hill, Sate full-blown Bufo, puff'd by ev'ry quill; Fed with soft Dedication all day long, Horace and he went hand in hand in song. 235 His Library, (where Busts of Poets dead And a true Pindar stood without a head) Receiv'd of Wits an undistinguish'd race, Who first his Judgment ask'd, and then a Place: Much they extoll'd his Pictures, much his Seat, 240 And flatter'd ev'ry day, and some days eat: Till grown more frugal in his riper days, He pay'd some Bards with Port, and some with Praise, To some a dry Rehearsal was assign'd, And others (harder still) he pay'd in kind. 245 Dry den alone (what wonder?) came not nigh, Dry den alone escap'd this judging eye: But still the Great have kindness in reserve, He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve. May some choice Patron bless each gray goose quill! 2 j 0 May ev'ry Bavius have his Bufo still ! So, when a Statesman wants a Day's defence, Or Envy holds a whole Week's war with Sense, Or simple Pride for Flatt'ry makes demands; May Dunce by Dunce be whistled off my hands! 2 J5 Blest be the Great! for those they take away, And those they left me-For they left me GAY, Left me to see neglected Genius bloom, Neglected die! and tell it on his Tomb; Of all thy blameless Life the sole Return 260 M y Verse, and Q U E E N S B ' R Y weeping o'er thy Urn! Oh let me live my own! and die so too! ("To live and die is all I have to do:") Maintain a Poet's Dignity and Ease, And see what friends, and read what books I please. 265 Above a Patron, tho' I condescend Sometimes to call a Minister my Friend: I was not bofn for Courts or great Affairs, I pay my Debts, believe, and say my Pray'rs, Can sleep without a Poem in my head,

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270 N o r know, if Dennis be alive or dead. Why am I ask'd, what next shall see the light? Heav'ns! was I born for nothing but to write? Has Life no Joys for me? or (to be grave) Have I no Friend to serve, no Soul to save? 275 " I found him close with .SW/P- a Indeed? no doubt" (Cries prating Balbus) "something will come out." 'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will. " N o , such a Genius never can lye still," And then for mine obligingly mistakes 280 The first Lampoon Sir Will, or Bubo makes. Poor guiltless I ! and can I chuse but smile, When ev'ry Coxcomb knows me by my Style? Curst be the Verse, how well soe'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy Man my foe, 285 Give Virtue scandal, Innocence a fear, Or from the soft-ey'd Virgin steal a tear! But he, who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, Insults fal'n Worth, or Beauty in distress, Who loves a Lye, lame slander helps about, 290 Who writes a Libel, or who copies out: That Fop whose pride affects a Patron's name, Yet absent, wounds an Author's honest fame; Who can your Merit selfishly approve, And show the Sense of it, without the Love; 295 Who has the Vanity to call you Friend, Yet wants the Honour injur'd to defend; Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, And, if he lye not, must at least betray: Who to the Dean and silver Bell can swear, 300 And sees at Cannons what was never there: Who reads but with a Lust to mis-apply, Make Satire a Lampoon, and Fiction, Lye. A Lash like mine no honest man shall dread, But all such babling blockheads in his stead. 305 Let Sporns tremble-"What? that Thing of silk, "Sporns, that mere white Curd of Ass's milk? "Satire or Sense alas! can Sporns feel? "Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?" Yet let me flap this Bug with gilded wings,

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310 This painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings; Whose Buzz the Witty and the Fair annoys, Yet Wit ne'er tastes, and Beauty ne'er enjoys, So well-bred Spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the Game they dare not bite. 31 j Eternal Smiles his Emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way, Whether in florid Impotence he speaks, And, as the Prompter breathes, the Puppet squeaks Or at the Ear of Eve, familiar Toad, 320 Half Froth, half Venom, spits himself abroad, In Puns, or Politicks, or Tales, or Lyes, Or Spite, or Smut, or Rymes, or Blasphemies. His Wit all see-saw between that and this, N o w high, now low, now Master up, now Miss, 325 And he himself one vile Antithesis. Amphibious Thing! that acting either Part, The trifling Head, or the corrupted Heart! Fop at the Toilet, Flatt'rer at the Board, N o w trips a Lady, and now struts a Lord. 330 Eve's Tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest, A Cherub's face, a Reptile all the rest; Beauty that shocks you, Parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and Pride that licks the dust. Not Fortune's Worshipper, nor Fashion's Fool, 33 j Not Lucre's Madman, nor Ambition's Tool, Not proud, nor servile, be one Poet's praise That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways; That Flatt'ry, ev'n to Kings, he held a shame, And thought a Lye in Verse or Prose the same: 340 That not in Fancy's Maze he wander'd long, But stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his song: That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end, He stood the furious Foe, the timid Friend, The damning Critic, half-approving Wit, 345 The Coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit; Laugh'd at the loss of Friends he never had, The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad; The distant Threats of Vengeance on his head, The Blow unfelt, the Tear he never shed;

3 j o The Tale reviv'd, the Lye so oft: o'erthrown; T h ' imputed Trash, and Dulness not his own; The Morals blacken'd when the Writings scape; The libel'd Person, and the pictur'd Shape; Abuse on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread, 355 A Friend in Exile, or a Father, dead ; The Whisper that to Greatness still too near, Perhaps, yet vibrates on his SOVEREIGN'S E a r Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past: For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last! 360 "But why insult the Poor, affront the Great?" A Knave's a Knave, to me, in ev'ry State, Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail, Sporus at Court, or Japhet in a Jayl, A hireling Scribler, or a hireling Peer, 365 Knight of the Post corrupt, or of the Shire, If on a Pillory, or near a Throne, H e gain his Prince's Ear, or lose his own. Y e t soft by Nature, more a Dupe than Wit, Sapho can tell y o u how this Man was bit: 370 This dreaded Sat'rist Dennis will confess Foe to his Pride, but Friend to his Distress: So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rym'd for Moor. Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply? 375 Three thousand Suns went down on Welsted's L y e : T o please a Mistress, One aspers'd his life; H e lash'd him not, but let her be his Wife: Let Budget charge low Grubstreet on his quill, A n d write whate'er he pleas'd, except his Will; 380 Let the Two Curls of T o w n and Court, abuse His Father, Mother, Body, Soul, and Muse. Y e t why? that Father held it for a rule It was a Sin to call our Neighbour Fool, That harmless Mother thought no Wife a Whore,385 Hear this! and spare his Family, James More! Unspotted Names! and memorable long, If there be Force in Virtue, or in Song. Of gentle Blood (part shed in Honour's Cause, While yet in Britain Honour had Applause) 72

390 Each Parent sprung-"What Fortune, pray?"-Their own, A n d better got than Besha's from the Throne. Born to no Pride, inheriting no Strife, N o r marrying Discord in a Noble Wife, Stranger to Civil and Religious Rage, 395 The good Man walk'd innoxious thro' his Age. N o Courts he saw, no Suits would ever try, N o r dar'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lye: Un-learn'd, he knew no Schoolman's subtle Art, N o Language, but the Language of the Heart. 400 By Nature honest, by Experience wise, Healthy by Temp'rance and by Exercise: His Life, tho' long, to sickness past unknown, His Death was instant, and without a groan. O h grant me thus to live, and thus to die! 40 j Who sprung from Kings shall know less joy than I. O Friend! may each Domestici Bliss be thine! Be no unpleasing Melancholy mine: Me, let the tender Office long engage T o rodi the Cradle of reposing Age, 410 With lenient Arts extend a Mother's breath, Make Languor smile, and smooth the Bed of Death, Explore the Thought, explain the asking Eye, A n d keep a while one Parent from the S k y ! O n Cares like these if Length of days attend, 41 j M a y Heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my Friend, Preserve him social, chearful, and serence, A n d just as rich as when he serv'd a QUEEN! Whether that Blessing be deny'd, or giv'n, Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.

12 ALEXANDER POPE: The Second Satire of Dr. John Donne Yes; thank my stars! as early as I knew This Town, I had the sense to hate it too: Y e t here, as ev'n in Hell, there must be still One Giant-Vice, so excellently ill, j That all beside one pities, not abhors; 73

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A s who knows Sapho, smiles at other whores. I grant that Poetry's a crying sin; It brought (no doubt) th' Excise and Army in: Catch'd like the plague, or love, the Lord knows how, But that the cure is starving, all allow. Y e t like the Papists is the Poets state, Poor and disarm'd, and hardly worth your hate. Here a lean Bard, whose w i t could never give Himself a dinner, makes an Actor live: The Thief condemn'd, in law already dead, So prompts, and saves a Rogue w h o cannot read. Thus as the pipes of some carv'd Organ move, The gilded Puppets dance and mount above, H e a v ' d by the breath th' inspiring Bellows blow; T h ' inspiring Bellows lie and pant below. One sings the Fair; but Songs no longer move, N o Rat is rhym'd to death, nor Maid to love: In Love's, in Nature's spite, the siege they hold, A n d scorn the Flesh, the Dev'l, and all but Gold. These write to Lords, some mean reward to get, A s needy Beggars sing at doors for meat. Those write because all write, and so have still Excuse for writing, and for writing ill. Wretched indeed ! but far more wretched yet Is he who makes his meal on others wit: 'Tis diang'd no doubt from what it was before, His rank digestion makes it wit no more : Sense, past thro' him, no longer is the same, For food digested takes another name. I pass o'er all those Confessors and Martyrs W h o live like S - t t - n , or who die like Chartres, Out-cant old Esdras, or out-drink his Heir, Out-usure Jews, or Irishmen out-swear; Wicked as Pages, w h o in early years A c t Sins which Prisca's Confessor scarce hears: E v ' n those I pardon, for whose sinful sake Schoolmen new tenements in Hell must make; O f whose strange crimes no Canonist can tell In what Commandment's large contents they dwell. One, one man only breeds my just offence;

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Whom Crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave impudence: Time, that at last matures a Clap to Pox, Whose gentle progress makes a Calf an O x , A n d brings all natural events to pass, Hath made him an Attorney of an Ass. N o young Divine, new-benefic'd, can be More pert, more proud, more positive than he. What further could I wish the Fop to do, But turn a Wit, and scribble verses too? Pierce the soft lab'rinth of a Lady's ear With rhymes of this per Cent, and that per Year? Or court a Wife, spread out his wily parts, Like nets or lime-twigs, for rich Widows hearts? C a l l himself Barrister to ev'ry wench, A n d wooe in language of the Pleas and Bench? Language, which Boreas might to Auster hold, More rough than forty Germans when they scold. Curs'd be the Wretch! so venal and so vain; Paltry and proud, as drabs in Drury-lane. 'Tis such a bounty as was never known, If Peter deigns to help you to your own: What thanks, what praise, if Peter but supplies! A n d what a solemn face if he denies ! Grave, as when Pris'ners shake the head, and swear 'Twas only Suretyship that brought 'em there. His Office keeps your Parchment-Fates entire, H e starves with cold to save them from the Fire; For you, he walks the streets thro' rain or dust, For not in Chariots Peter puts his trust; For you he sweats and labours at the Laws, Takes G o d to witness he affects your Cause, A n d lyes to every Lord in every thing, Like a King's Favourite-or like a King. These are the talents that adorn them all, From wicked Waters ev'n to g o d l y -

N o t more of Simony beneath black Gowns, N o r more of Bastardy in heirs to Crowns. In shillings and in pence at first they deal, A n d steal so little, few perceive they steal; 8 j Till like the Sea, they compass all the land, 75

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From Scrots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand. And when rank Widows purchase luscious nights, Or when a Duke to Jansen punts at White's, Or City heir in mortgage melts away, Satan himself feels far less joy than they. Piecemeal they win this Acre first, then that, Glean on, and gather up the whole Estate: Then strongly fencing ill-got wealth by law, Indentures, Cov'nants, Articles they draw; Large as the Fields themselves, and larger far Than Civil Codes, with all their glosses, are: So vast, our new Divines, we must confess, Are Fathers of the Church for writing less. But let them write for You, each Rogue impairs The Deeds, and dextrously omits, ses Heires: No Commentator can more slily pass O'er a learn'd, unintelligble place; Or, in Quotation, shrewd Divines leave out Those words, that would against them clear the doubt. So Luther thought the Paternoster long, When doom'd to say his Beads and Evensong: But having cast his Cowle, and left those laws, Adds to Christ's prayer, the Pow'r and Glory clause. The Lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient Woods, that shaded all the ground? We see no new-built Palaces aspire, No Kitchens emulate the Vestal Fire. Where are those Troops of poor, that throng'd of yore The good old Landlord's hospitable door? Well, I could wish, that still in lordly domes Some beasts were kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs, That both Extremes were banish'd from their walls, Carthusian Fasts, and fulsome Bacchanals; And all mankind might that just mean observe, In which none e'er could surfeit, none could starve. These, as good works 'tis true we all allow; But oh! these works are not in fashion now: Like rich old Wardrobes, things extremely rare, Extremely fine, but what no man will wear. Thus much I've said, I trust without offence;

Let no Court-Sycophant pervert my sense, Nor sly Informer watch these words to draw Within the reach of Treason, or the Law. S W I F T [with additions by A L E X A N D E R The Sixth Satire of the Second Book of Horace

1 3 JONATHAN

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I've often wish'd that I had clear For life, six hundred pounds a year, A handsome House to lodge a Friend, A River at my garden's end, A Terras-walk, and half a Rood Of Land, set out to plant a Wood. Well, now I have all this and more, I ask not to increase my store; But here a Grievance seems to lie, All this is mine but till I die; I can't but think 'twould sound more clever, To me and to my Heirs for ever. If I ne'er got, or lost a groat, By any Trick, or any Fault; And if I pray by Reason's rules, And not like forty other Fools: As thus, "Vouchsafe, oh gracious Maker! "To grant me this and t' other Acre: "Or if it be thy Will and Pleasure "Direct my Plow to find a Treasure:" But only what my Station fits, And to be kept in my right wits. Preserve, Almighty Providence! Just what you gave me, Competence: And let me in these Shades compose Something in Verse as true as Prose; Remov'd from all th' ambitious Scene, Nor puff'd by Pride, nor sunk by Spleen. In short, I'm perfectly content, Let me but live on this side Trent·. Nor cross the Channel twice a year, To spend six months with Statesmen here. 77

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I must by all means come to town, 'Tis for the Service of the Crown, "Lewis, the Dean will be of use, "Send for him up, take no excuse. The toil, the danger of the Seas; Great Ministers ne'er think of these; Or let it cost five hundred pound, No matter where the money's found; It is but so much more in debt, And that they ne'er consider'd yet. "Good Mr. Dean go change your gown, "Let my Lord know you've come to town. I hurry me in haste away, Not thinking it is Levee-day; And find his Honour in a Pound, Hemm'd by a triple Circle round, Chequer'd with Ribbons blue and green; How should I thrust my self between? Some Wag observes me thus perplext, And smiling, whispers to the next, " I thought the Dean had been too proud, "To justle here among a croud." Another in a surly fit, Tells me I have more Zeal than Wit, "So eager to express your love, "You ne'er consider whom you shove, "But rudely press before a Duke. I own, I'm pleas'd with this rebuke, And take it kindly meant to show What I desire the World should know. I get a whisper, and withdraw; When twenty Fools I never saw Come with Petitions fairly penn'd, Desiring I would stand their friend. This, humbly offers me his CaseThat, begs my int'rest for a PlaceA hundred other Men's affairs Like Bees are humming in my ears. "Tomorrow my Appeal comes on, "Without your help the Cause is gone-

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The Duke expects my Lord and you, About some great Affair, at T w o "Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind, " T o get my Warrant quickly sign'd: "Consider, 'tis my first request.— Be satisfy'd, I'll do my best:Then presently he falls to teize, " Y o u may for certain, if you please; "I doubt not, if his Lordship k n e w And, Mr. Dean, one word from y o u 'Tis (let me see) three years and more, (October next it will be four) Since HARLEY bid me first attend, A n d chose me for an humble friend; Wou'd take me in his Coach to chat, A n d question me of this and that; As, "What's o'clock?" And, "How's the Wind?" "Who's Chariot's that we left behind? O r gravely try to read the lines Writ underneath the Country Signs; Or, " H a v e you nothing new to-day "From Pope, from Parnel, or from G a y ? Such tattle often entertains M y Lord and me as far as Stains, As once a week we travel down T o Windsor, and again to Town, Where all that passes, inter nos, Might be proclaim'd at Charing-Cross. Y e t some I know with envy swell, Because they see me us'd so well: " H o w think you of our Friend the Dean? "I wonder what some people mean; " M y Lord and he are grown so great, " A l w a y s together, tête à tête, "What, they admire him for his jokes"See but the fortune of some Folks! There flies about a strange report O f some Express arriv'd at Court, I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet, A n d catediis'd in ev'ry street.

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"You, Mr Dean, frequent the great; "Inform us, will the Emp'ror treat? "Or do the Prints and Papers lye? Faith, Sir, you know as much as I. "Ah Doctor, how you love to jest? "'Tis now no secret-I protest 'Tis one to me-" Then tell us, pray, "When are the Troops to have their pay? And, tho' I solemnly declare I know no more than my Lord Mayor, They stand amaz'd, and think me grown The closest mortal ever known. Thus in a sea of folly toss'd, My choicest Hours of life are lost; Yet always wishing to retreat, Oh, could I see my Country Seat! There, leaning near a gentle Brook, Sleep, or peruse some ancient Book, And there in sweet oblivion drown Those Cares that haunt the Court and Town. O charming Noons! and Nights divine! Or when I sup, or when I dine, My Friends above, my Folks below, Chatting and laughing all-a-row, The Beans and Bacon set before 'em, The Grace-cup serv'd with all decorum: Each willing to be pleas'd, and please, And even the very Dogs at ease! Here no man prates of idle things, How this or that Italian sings, A Neighbour's Madness, or his Spouse's, Or what's in either of the Houses: But something mudi more our concern, And quite a scandal not to learn: Which is the happier, or the wiser, A man of Merit, or a Miser? Whether we ought to diuse our Friends, For their own Worth, or our own Ends? What good, or better, we may call, And what, the very best of all?

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Our Friend Dan Prior told, (you know) A Tale extreamly a propos: Name a Town Life, and in a trice, He had a Story of two Mice. Once on a time (so runs the Fable) A Country Mouse, right hospitable, Receiv'd a Town Mouse at his Board, Just as a Farmer might a Lord. A frugal Mouse upon the whole, Yet lov'd his Friend, and had a Soul; Knew what was handsome, and wou'd do't, On just occasion, coûte qui coûte. He brought him Bacon (nothing lean) Pudding, that might have pleas'd a Dean; Cheese, such as men in Suffolk make, But wish'd it Stilton for his sake; Yet to his Guest tho' no way sparing, He eat himself the Rind and paring. Our Courtier scarce could touch a bit, But show'd his Breeding, and his Wit, He did his best to seem to eat, And cry'd, "I vow you're mighty neat. "As sweet a Cave as one shall see! " A most Romantic hollow Tree! "A pretty kind of savage Scene! "But come, for God's sake, live with Men: "Consider, Mice, like Men, must die, "Both small and great, both you and I: "Then spend your life in Joy and Sport, "(This doctrine, Friend, I learnt at Court.)

The veriest Hermit in the Nation May yield, God knows, to strong Temptation. 18 j A w a y they come, thro' thick and thin, To a tall house near Lincoln's-Inn: ('Twas on the night of a Debate, When all their Lordships had sate late.) Behold the place, where if a Poet 190 Shin'd in Description, he might show it, Tell how the Moon-beam trembling falls And tips with silver all the walls: 81

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Palladian walls, Venetian doors, Grotesco roofs, and Stucco floors: But let it (in a word) be said, The Moon was up, and Men a-bed, The Napkins white, the Carpeured: The Guests withdrawn had left the Treat, And down the Mice sate, tête à tête. Our Courtier walks from dish to dish, Tastes for his Friend of Fowl and Fish; Tells all their names, lays down the law, "Que ça est bon! Ah goûtez ça! "That Jelly's rich, this Malmsey healing, "Pray dip your Whiskers and your Tail in". Was ever such a happy Swain? He stuffs and swills, and stuffs again. "I'm quite asham'd-'tis mighty rude "To eat so much-but all's so good. " I have a thousand thanks to give" M y Lord alone knows how to live". N o sooner said, but from the Hall Rush Chaplain, Butler, Dogs and all: " A Rat, a Rat! clap to the doorThe Cat comes bouncing on the floor. O for the Heart of Homer's Mice, Or Gods to save them in a trice! (It was by Providence, they think, For your damn'd Stucco has no chink) "An't please your Honour, quoth the Peasant, "This same Dessert is not so pleasant: "Give me again my hollow Tree! " A Crust of Bread, and Liberty.

14 RICHARD SAVAGE: The Progress of a Divine. A Satire All priests are not the same be understood; Priests are like other folks, some bad some good. What's vice or virtue sure admits no doubt; Then, Clergy! with church mission or without, 82

j When good or bad annex we to your name, The greater honour or the greater shame. Mark how a country Curate once could rise, Tho' neither learn'd nor witty, good nor wise! Of innkeeper or butcher if begot, io At Cam or Isis bred, imports it not. A servitor he was-Of hall or college? Ask not-to neither credit is his knowledge. Four years thro' foggy ale yet made him see Just his neck-verse to read and take degree, ι j A gown with added sleeves he now may wear, While his round cap transforms into a square. Him, quite unsconc'd, the butt'ry book shall own, At pray'rs, tho' ne'er devout, so constant known. Let testimonials then his worth disclose! 20 He gains a cassock, beaver, and a rose. A Curate now, his furniture review, A few old sermons and a bottle-screw! " A CurateP-Where? His name," cries one, "recite; "Or tell me this-Is pudding his delight? 2 j "Why, our's loves pudding-Does he so?—'tis he! • " A servitor!-Sure Curii will find a key." His Alma Mater now he quite forsakes, She gave him one degree, and two he takes: He now the hood and sleeve of Masters wears; 30 "Doctor!" quoth they,-and, lo! a scarf he bears; A swelling, rushing, glossy scarf !-yet he By peer unqualify'd as by degree. This Curate learns church-dues and law to tease, When time shall serve for tithes and surplice-fees; 3 j When 'scapes some portion'd girl from guardian's pow'r, He the snug license gets for nuptial hour, And, rend'ring vain her parents' prudent cares, To Sharper weds her, and with Sharper shares. Let babes of poverty convulsive lie, 40 N o bottle waits tho' babes unsprinkled die. Half-office serves the fun'ral, if it bring N o hope of scarf, of hatband, gloves, or ring. 83

Does any wealthy fair desponding lie, With scrup'lous conscience, tho' she knows not why? 45 Would cordial counsel make the patient well? Our priest shall raise the vapours, not dispel. His cant some orphan's piteous case shall bring; He bids her give the widow's heart to sing: He pleads for age in want; and, while she lingers, jo Thus snares her charity with bird-lime fingers. N o w in the patron's mansion see the wight Factious for pow'r-a son of Levi right! Servile to 'squires, to vassals proud his mien, As Codex to inferior clergy seen. 55 He flatters till you blush; but when withdrawn, 'Tis his to slander, as't was his to fawn. He pumps for secrets, pries o'er servants' ways, And, like a meddling priest, can mischief raise, And from such mischief thus can plead desert6o 'Tis all my patron's int'rest at my heart.Deep in his mind all wrongs from others live; None more need pardon, and none less forgive.

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At what does next his erudition aim? To kill the footed and the feather'd game: Then this apostle, for a daintier dish, With line or net shall plot the fate of fish. In kitchen what the cookmaid calls a cot, In cellar with the butler brother sot. Here, too, he corks, in brewhouse hops the beer; Bright in the hall his parts at Whist appear; Dext'rous to pack, yet at all cheats exclaiming: The Priest has av'rice, av'rice itch of gaming, And gaming fraud.-But fair he strikes the ball, And at the plain of billiard pockets all. At tables now!-But, oh! if gammon'd there, The startling Echoes learn like him to swear! Tho' ne'er at authors in the study seen, At bowls sagacious master of the green. A connoisseur as cunning as a fox To bet on racers or on battling cocks; To preach o'er beer, in boroughs to procure

Voters to make the 'squire's election sure; For this where clowns stare, gape, and grin, and bawl, Free to buffon his function to 'em all. 8 5 When the clod justice some horse-laugh would raise, Foremost the dullest of dull jokes to praise; To say or unsay at his patron's nod, To do the will of all-save that of God. His int'rest the most servile part he deems, 90 Yet mudi he sways where mudi to serve he seems; He sways his patron, rules the lady most, And as he rules the lady rules the roast. Old tradesmen must give way to new-his aim Extorted poundage, once the steward's claim. 95 Tenants are rais'd, or, as his pow'r increases, Unless they fine to him renew no leases. Thus tradesmen, servants, tenants, none are free; Their loss and murmur are his gain and glee. Lux'ry he loves; but, like a priest of sense, 100 Ev'n lux'ry loves not at his own expense. Tho' harlot passions wanton with his will, Yet av'rice is his wedded passion still. See him with napkin o'er his band tuck'd in, While the rich grease hangs glist'ning on his chin; 10 j Or as the oil from Aaron's beard declines, Ev'n to his garment-hem soft-trickling shines! He feeds and feeds, swills soup, and sucks up marrow; Swills, sucks, and feeds, till leadi'rous as a sparrow. Thy pleasure, Onan! now no more delights, 1 1 0 The lone amusement of his chaster nights. He boasts-(let ladies put him to the rest) Strong back, broad shoulders, and a well-built chest. With stiff'ning nerves now steals he fly away, Alert, warm, chuckling, ripe for am'rous play; 1 1 y Ripe to caress the lass he once thought meet A t church to chide when penanc'd in a sheet: He pants the titillating joy to prove, The fierce short sallies of luxurious love.

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Not fair Cadiere and Confessor than they 120 In straining transport more lascivious lay. Conceives her womb while eadi so melts and thrills? He plies her now with love, and now with pills: N o more falls penance cloth'd in shame upon her, These kill her embryo and preserve her honour. 12 j

Riches, love, pow'r, his passions then we own; Can he court pow'r and pant not for renown? Fool, wise, good, wicked-all desire a name; Than him young heroes burn not more for fame. While about ways of heav'n the schoolmen jar, 130 (The church re-echoing to the wordy war) The ways of earth he (on his horse astride) Can with big words contest, with blows decide; He dares some carrier charg'd with cumb'rous load, Disputes, dismounts, and boxes, for the road. 13 j

Y e hooting Boys! "Oh! well play'd, Parson!" cry: "Oh! well play'd, Parson!" hooting vales reply. Winds waft it to cathedral domes around ! Cathedral domes from inmost choirs resound !

Te man has many meritorious ways; 140 He'll smoke his pipe, and London's prelate praise. His public pray'rs, his oaths for George declare; Yet mental reservation may forswear; For, safe with friends, he now, in loyal stealth, Hiccups, and, stagg'ring, cries-"King Jemmy's health." 14 j God's word he preaches now, and now profanes; N o w swallows camels, and at gnats now strains. He pities men who, in unrighteous days, Read, or, what's worse, write poetry and plays. He readeth not what any author saith, ι jo The more his merit in implicit faith. Those who a jot from Mother Church recede, He damns like any Athanasian creed. He rails at Hoadley: so can zeal possess him, He's orthodox as G-bs-n's self-God bless him! 155

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Sweeps off th'incumbent now of Fat-goose living. He seeks his patron's lady, finds the fair, And for her int'rest first prefers his pray'r."You pose me not," said she, "tho' hard the task, "Tho* husbands seldom give what wives will ask. "My Deary does not yet to think incline "How oft' your nest you feather, Priest, from mine. "This pin-money, tho' short, has not betray'd, "Nor jewels pawn'd, nor tradesmen's bills unpaid; "Mine is the female fashionable skill, "To win my wants by cheating at Quadrille. "You bid me with prim look the world delude; "Nor sins my Priest demurer than his prude. "Least thinks my Lord you plant the secret horn, "That your's his hopeful heir so newly born. "'Tis mine to tease him first with jealous fears, "And thunder all my virtue in his ears: "My virtue rules unquestion'd-Where's the cue "For that which governs him to govern you? " I gave you pow'r the family complain; " I gave you love; but all your love is gain. "My int'rest, wealth-for these alone you burn; "With these you leave me, and with these return: "Then, as no truant wants excuse for play, "'T was duty-duty call'd you far away, "The sick to visit-some miles off to preach: "—You come not but to sudt one like a leach."

Thus lady-like she wanders from the case, Keeps to no point, but runs a wild-goose chase. 18 j She talks, and talks-to him her words are wind, For Fat-goose living fills alone his mind. He leaves her, to his patron warm applies"But, Parson, mark the terms;" his patron cries. "Yon' door you held for me and handmaid Nell, 190 "The girl now sickens, and she soon will swell. "My spouse has yet no jealous odd conjecture; "Oh! shield my morning rest from curtain-lecture. "Parson! take breeding Nelly quick to wife, "And Fat-goose living then is your's for life." 87

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Patron and spouse thus mutually beguil'd, Patron and Priest thus own each other's child; Smock Simony agreed ¡-Thus, Curate! rise, Tho' neither learn'd nor witty, good nor wise.

Vicars (poor Wights!) for lost impropriation, 200 Rue, tho' good Protestants, the Reformation. Preferr'd from curate, see our souls' protector N o murm'ring vicar but rejoicing Rector! Not hir'd by laymen nor by laymen shown, Church-lands now theirs, and tithes no more his own 20 j

His patron can't revoke but may repent; To bully now, not please, our Parson's bent. When from dependence freed (such priestly will!) Priests soon treat all, but first their patrons, ill.

Vestries he rules-Ye Lawyers! hither d r a w 2 1 0 He snacks—his people deep are plung'd in law! N o w these plague those, this parish now sues that For burying or maintaining foundling brat. N o w with churchwardens cribs the rev'rend thief From workhouse-pittance and collection-brief; 215 N a y , sacramental alms purloins as sure, And ev'n at altars thus defrauds the poor. Poor folks he'll shun, but pray by rich if ill, And watch, and watch-to slide into their will; Then pop, perchance, in consecrated wine, 220 What speeds the soul he fits for realms divine. Why could not London this good parson gain? Before him sepulchres had rent in twain. Then had he learn'd with sextons to invade, And strip with sacrilegious hands the dead; 22 j To tear off rings ere yet the finger rots, To part them, for the vesture-shroud cast lots; H a d made dead sculls for coin, the chymist's share, The female corpse the surgeon's purdias'd ware, And peering view'd when for dissection laid, 230 That secret place which Love has sacred made.

Grudge, Heroes! not your heads in stills inclos'd; Grudge not, ye Fair! your parts ripp'd up expos'd; As strikes the choice anatomy our eyes, As here dead sculls in quick'ning cordials rise, 23 j From Egypt thus a rival traffic springs, Her vended mummies thus were once her kings; The line of Ninus now in drugs is roll'd, And Ptolemy's himself for balsam sold. Volumes unread his library compose, 240 Gay shine their gilded backs in letter'd rows: Cheap he collects-his friends the dupes are known; They buy, he borrows, and each book's his own. Poor neighbours earn his ale, but earn it dear, His ale he traffics for a nobler cheer; 24 j For mugs of ale some poach-no game they spare, Nor pheasant, partridge, woodcock, snipe, nor hare. Some plunder fishponds, others (ven'son thieves) The forest ravage, and the Priest receives. Let Plenty at his board then lacky serve! 2 j o No-tho' with Plenty Penury will starve. He deals with London fishmongers-his books Swell in accompts with poult'rers and with cooks. Wide and more wide his swelling fortune flows, Narrower and narrower still his spirit grows. 2ji

His servants-hard has Fate their lot decreed ; They toil like horses, like diamelions feed: Sunday, no sabbath, is in labour spent, And Christmas renders 'em as lean as Lent. Him long nor faithful services engage; 260 See 'em dismiss'd in sickness or in age. His wife, poor Nelly! leads a life of dread, N o w beat, now pinch'd on arms, and now in bread. If decent powder deck th' adjusted hair, If modish silk for once improve her air, 2 6 j Her with past faults thus shocks his cruel tone, (Faults, tho' from thence her dowry now his own)"Thus shall my purse your carnal joys procure? 89

All dress is nothing but a harlot's lure. "Sackcloth alone your sin should, penanc'd, wear, 270 " Y o u r locks uncomb'd, with ashes sprinkled stare. "Spare diet thins the blood-if more you crave, "'Tis mine my viands and your soul to save. "Blood must be drawn not swell'd-then strip, and dread "This waving horsewhip circling o'er my head! 275 "Be your's the blubb'ring lip and whimp'ring eye! "Frequent this lash shall righteous stripes supply. "What, squall you? call no kindred to your aid! " Y o u wedded when no widow, yet no maid. "Did law Mosaic now in force remain, 280 "Say to what father durst you then complain? "What had your virtue witness'd? well I know " N o bridal sheets could virgin token show; "Elders had sought but miss'd the signing red, "And law then, Harlot! straight had ston'd you dead." 285

Nor former vice alone her pain insures, Nelly for present virtue much endures; For, lo! she charms some wealthy am'rous squire, Her spouse would let her, like his mare, for hire. 'Twere thus no sin should love her limbs employ; 290 Be his the profit and be her's the joy! This when her chastity or pride denies, His words reproach her, and his kicks chastise. At length in childbed she, with broken heart, Tips off-poor Soul!-Let her in peace depart; 295 He mourns her death who did her life destroy; He weeps, and weeps-Oh! how he weeps-for joy; Then cries, with seeming grief, "Is Nelly dead? " N o more with woman creak my couch or bed !" 'Tis true, he spouse nor doxy more enjoys; 300 Women farewell! he lusts not-but for boys. This Priest, ye Clergy! not fictitious call; Think him not form'd to represent ye all. Should Satire quirks of vile attornies draw, Say, would that mean to ridicule all law? 30 j Describe some murd'ring quack with want of knowledge, 90

Would true physicians cry-You mean the college? Bless'd be your cloth !-But if in him't is curst, 'Tis as best things corrupted are the worst. But lest with keys the guiltless Curii defame, 310 Be publish'd here-Melchisedeck his name ! Of Oxford too, but her strict terms have dropp'd him, And Cambridge, ad eundem, shall adopt him. Of arts now master him the hood confirms; 'Scap'd are his exercises, 'scap'd his terms; 31 j See the degree of Doctor next excite! The scarf he once usurp'd becomes his right. A Doctor! could he disputants refute? Not so-first compromis'd was the dispute. At Fat-goose living seldom he resides; 320 A curate there small pittance well provides. See him at London studiously profound, With bags of gold, not books, encompass'd round ! He from the broker how to jobb discerns; He from the scriv'ner art of us'ry learns; 325 How to let int'rest run on int'rest knows, And how to draw the mortgage, how foreclose; Tenants and boroughs bought with monstrous treasure, Elections turn obedient to his pleasure: Like St-bb-ng let him country mobs support, 330 And then, like St-bb-ng, crave a grace at court! He sues, he teases, and he perseveres; Not blushless Henley less abash'd appears: His impudence, of proof in ev'ry trial, Kens no polite, and heeds no plain denial. 33 j A spy, he aims by others' fall to rise; Vile as Iscariot U—n, betrays, belies; And say, what better recommends than this, Lo! Codex greets him with a holy kiss; Him thus instructs in controversial stuff, 340 Him who ne'er argu'd but with kick and cuff. My Weekly Miscellany be your lore; Then rise at once the champion of diurch-pow'r! The trick of jumbling contradictions know,

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In church be high, in politics seem low: 345 Seek some antagonist, then wound his name; The better still his life the more defame: Quote him unfair, and in expression quaint Force him to father meanings never meant. Learn but mere names, resistless is your page, 350 For these enchant the vulgar, those enrage. Name Church, that mystic spell shall mobs command, Let Heretic each reas'ning Christian brand: C r y Schismatic, let men of conscience shrink! C r y Infidel, and who shall dare to think? 355 Invoke the Civil pow'r, not sense, for aid; Assert, not argue; menace, not persuade; Shew Discord and her fiends would save the nation, But her call Peace, her fiends a Convocation! B y me and Webster finish'd thus at school, 360 Last for the pulpit learn this golden rule! Detach the sense, and pother o'er the text, And puzzle first yourself, your audience next. Ne'er let your doctrine ethic truth impart; Be that as free from morals as your heart: 365 Say faith without one virtue shall do well, But without faith all virtues doom to hell! What is this faith? not what (as Scripture shows) Appeals to reason when't would truth disclose; This against reason dare we recommend; 370 Faith may be true, yet not on truth depend. 'Tis mystic light-a light which shall conceal, A revelation which shall not reveal. If faith is faith't is orthodox-In brief, Belief not orthodox is not belief; 375 And who has not belief pronounce him plain N o Christian-Codex bids you this maintain. Thus with much wealth, some jargon, and no grace, To seat Episcopal our Doctor trace! Codex, deceiving the superior ear, 380 Procures the Congé (much miscall'd) d'Elire. (Let this the force of our fine precept tell, That faith without one virtue shall do well.)

The Dean and Chapter daring not t' inquire, Elect him-Why?-to shun a premunire. 385 Within, without, be tidings roll'd around, Organs within and bells without resound. Lawn-sleev'd and mitred, stand he now confest: See Codex consecrate- a solemn jest! The wicked's pray'rs prevail n o t — P a r d o n me, 390 Who for your Lordship's blessing b e n d — n o knee.

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Like other Priests, when to small fees you fend 'em, Let ours hold Fat-goose living in commendami A n officer who ne'er his king rever'd, For trait'rous toasts and cowardice cashier'd: A broken 'pothecary, once renown'd For drugs that poison'd half the country round, From whom warm girls, if pregnant ere they marry, Take physic, and for honour's sake miscarry: A lawyer fam'd for length'ning bills of cost, While mudi he plagu'd mankind, his clients most, T o lick up ev'ry neighbour's fortune known, A n d then let Lux'ry lick up all his own: A Cambridge soph, who once for wit was held Esteem'd, but vicious, and for vice expell'd, With parts his Lordship's lame ones to support In well-tim'd sermons, fit to cant at court, O r accurately pen (a talent better!) His Lordship's senate speech and past'ral letter: These four, to purify from sinful stains, This Bishop first absolves, and then ordains: His chaplains these! and each of rising knows Those righteous arts by which their patron rose.

See him Lord Spiritual! dead-voting seated; H e soon (tho' ne'er to heav'n) shall be translated. 415 Would now the mitre circle Rundle's crest? See him with Codex ready to protest! Thus holy, holy, holy Bishop rise, Tho' neither learn'd nor witty, good nor wise! Think not these lays, y e Clergy! would abuse; 420 Thus, when these lays commenc'd, premis'd the Muse—

All priests are not the same be understood; Priests are like other folk, some bad some good. The good no sanction give the wicked's fame, N o r with the wicked share the good in shame. 42 j Then, wise Freethinkers! cry not smartly thus— Is the Priest work'd?—the Poet's one of us! Freethinkers, bigots, are alike to me, For these misdeem half-thinking thinking free; Those speculative without speculation, 430 Call myst'ry and credulity salvation. Let us believe with reason, and, in chief, Let our good works demonstrate our belief. Faith without virtue never shall do well, And never virtue without faith excell.

15 SAMUEL JOHNSON: The Vanity of Human Wishes. In Imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal

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Let observation, with extensive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru; Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, And watch the busy scenes of crowded life; Then say, how hope and fear, desire and hate O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate; Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride To tread the dreary paths, without a guide, As treach 'rous phantoms in the mist delude, Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good; How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice, Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice; How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd, When vengeance listens to the fool's request, Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart, Each gift of nature, and each grace of art; With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, With fatal sweetness elocution flows, Impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rful breath, And restless fire precipitates on death. But, scarce observ'd, the knowing and the bold

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Fall in the gen'ral massacre of gold; Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfin'd, And crowds with crimes the records of mankind; For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws, For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws; Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys, The dangers gather as the treasures rise. Let hist'ry tell where rival kings command, And dubious title shakes the madded land, When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, How mudi more safe the vassal than the lord; Low sculks the hind beneath the rage of power, And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower, Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, Though confiscation's vultures hover round. The needy traveller, serene and gay, Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy; Increase his riches, and his peace destroy; N o w fears, in dire vicissitude, invade, The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade; Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief, One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief. Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails, And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales : Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, Th' insidious rival, and the gaping heir. Once more, Democritus, arise on earth, With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth, See motley life in modern trappings dress'd, And feed with varied fools th' eternal jest: Thou, who could'st laugh where want enchain'd caprice, Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece; Where wealth, unlov'd, without a mourner died; And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws, And senates heard, before they judg'd a cause; How would'st thou shake at Britain's modish tribe,

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Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe? Attentive truth and nature to descry, And pierce each scene with philosophick eye; To thee were solemn toys, or empty show, The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe: All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain. Sudi was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind, Renew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind; How just that scorn, ere yet thy voice declare, Search ev'ry state, and canvass ev'ry pray'r. XJnnumber'd suppliants crowd preferment's gate, Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great; Delusive fortune hears th' incessant call, They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall. On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend, Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end. Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door Pours in the morning worshipper no more; For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, To growing wealth the dedicator flies; From ev'ry room descends the painted face, That hung the bright palladium of the place; And, smok'd in kitchens, or in auctions sold, To better features yields the frame of gold; For now no more we trace in ev'ry line Heroick worth, benevolence divine: The form, distorted, justifies the fall, And detestation rids th' indignant wall. But will not Britain hear the last appeal, Sign her foes' doom, or guard her fav'rites' zeal? Through freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings, Degrading nobles and controling kings; Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, And ask no questions but the price of votes; With weekly libels and septennial ale, Their wish is full to riot and to rail.

In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand, 100 Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand; To him the diurch, the realm their pow'rs consign, 96

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Trough him the rays of regal bounty shine; Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows, His smile alone security bestows, Still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r, Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r; Till conquest, unresisted, ceas'd to please, And rights, submitted, left him none to seize. At length his sov'reign frowns-the train of state Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; N o w drops, at once, the pride of awful state, The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate, The regal palace, the luxurious board, The liv'ried army, and the menial lord. With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, He seeks the refuge of monastick rest: Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine? Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, On weak foundations raise th' enormous weight? Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow, With louder ruin to the gulfs below? What gave great Villiers to th' assassin's knife, And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life? What murder'd Wentworth, and what exil'd Hyde, By kings protected, and to kings allied? What but their wish indulg'd in courts to shine, And pow'r too great to keep, or to resign? When first the college rolls receive his name, The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame; Through all his veins the fever of renown Spreads from the strong contagion of the gown; O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread, And Bacon's mansion trembles o'er his head. Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth, 97

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And virtue guard thee to the throne of truth! Yet, should thy soul indulge the gen'rous heat Till captive science yields her last retreat; Should reason guide thee with her brightest ray, And pour on misty doubt resistless day; Should no false kindness lure to loose delight, Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright; Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain, And sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain; Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; Should no disease'thy torpid veins invade, Nor melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; Yet hope not life, from grief or danger free, Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee: Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters, to be wise; There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the gaol. See nations, slowly wise and meanly just, To buried merit raise the tardy bust. If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end. Nor deem, when learning her last prize bestows, The glitt'ring eminence exempt from woes; See, when the vulgar scape, despis'd or aw'd, Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. From meaner minds though smaller fines content, The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent; Mark'd out by dang'rous parts, he meets the shodk, And fatal learning leads him to the block: Around his tomb let art and genius weep, But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and sleep. The festal blazes, the triumphal show, The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, The senate's thanks, the gazette's pompous tale, With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd; For such the steady Romans shook the world; For sudi, in distant lands, the Britons shine,

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And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine; This pow'r has praise, that virtue scarce can warm, Til fame supplies the universal charm. Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game, Where wasted nations raise a single name; And mortgag'd states, their grandsires' wreaths regret, From age to age in everlasting debt; Wreaths whidi, at last, the dear-bought right convey To rust on medals, or on stones decay. On what foundation stands the warriour's pride, How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, N o dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; N o joys to him pacifick sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; Behold surrounding kings their pow'rs combine, And one capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; "Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain, On Moscow's walls till Gothids standards fly, And all be mine beneath the polar sky." The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait; Stern famine guards the solitary coast, And winter barricades the realm of frost; He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay ; Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day: The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not chance, at length, her errour mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destin'd to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, 99

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To point a moral, or adorn a tale. All times their scenes of pompous woes afford, From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. In gay hostility and barb'rous pride, With half mankind embattl'd at his side, Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, And starves exhausted regions in his w a y ; Attendant flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er, Till counted myriads sooth his pride no more; Fresh praise is try'd till madness fires his mind, The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind, N e w pow'rs are claimed, new pow'rs are still be stow'd, Till rude resistance lops the spreading god; The daring Greeks deride the martial show, And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; Th' insulted sea, with humbler thoughts, he gains; A single skiff to speed his flight remains; Th' incumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast Through purple billows and a floating host. The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour, Tries the dread summits of Cesarean pow'r, With unexpected legions bursts away, And sees defenceless realms receive his s w a y ; Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms, The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms; From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; The baffled prince, in honour's flatt'ring bloom Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom, His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, And steals to death from anguish and from shame. Enlarge my life with multitude of days!

In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays; Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, That life protracted is protacted woe. Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, 260 And shuts up all the passages of joy; In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour,

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The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r; With listless eyes the dotard views the store, He views, and wonders that they please no more; N o w pall the tasteless meats, and joyless wines, And luxury with sighs her slave resigns. Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain, Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: N o sounds, alas! would touch th' impervious ear, Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near; N o r lute nor lyre his feeble pow'rs attend, N o r sweeter musick of a virtuous friend; But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, Perversely grave, or positively wrong. The still returning tale, and ling'ring jest, Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest, While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring sneer, And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; The watchful guests still hint the last offence; The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, Improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill, And mould his passions till they make his will. Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; But unextinguish'd av'rice still remains, And dreaded losses aggravate his pains; He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands, His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. But grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime; An age that melts with unperceiv'd decay, And glides in modest innocence away; Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, Whose night congratulating conscience cheers; The gen'ral fav'rite as the gen'ral friend; Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? Yet e'en on this her load misfortune flings, To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; N e w sorrow rises as the day returns, 101

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A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. N o w kindred merit fills the sable bier, N o w lacerated friendship claims a tear; Year chases year, decay pursues decay, Still drops some joy from with'ring life away; New forms arise, and diff'rent views engage, Superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage, Till pitying nature signs the last release, And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. But few there are whom hours like these await, Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate. From Lydia's monarch should the search descend, B y Solon caution'd to regard his end, In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driv'ller and a show. The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face; Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring; And Sedley curs'd the form that pleas'd a king. Y e nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise; Whom joys with soft varieties invite, B y day the frolick, and the dance by night; Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, And ask the latest fashion of the heart; What care, what rules, your heedless charms shall save, Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? Against your fame with fondness hate combines, The rival batters, and the lover mines. With distant voice neglected virtue calls, Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls; Tir'd with contempt, she quits the slipp'ry reign, And pride and prudence take her seat in vain. In crowd at once, where none the pass defend, The harmless freedom, and the private friend. The guardians yield, by force superiour ply'd: To int'rest, prudence; and to flatt'ry, pride. Here beauty falls, betray'd, despis'd, distress'd,

And hissing infamy proclaims the rest. Where then shall hope and fear their objects find? Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? 345 Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, N o cries invoke the mercies of the skies? Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain 3 jo Which heav'n may hear; nor deem religion vain. Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to heav'n the measure and the choice. Safe in his pow'r; whose eyes discern afar The secret ambush of a specious pray'r; 355 Implore his aid, in his decisions rest, Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best. Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires. Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind. 3 6o Obedient passions, and a will resign'd; For love, which scarce collective man can fill; For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat: 365 These goods for man the laws of heav'n ordain; These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain; With these celestial wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find. 16

presumable authors G E O R G E C A N N I N G and Sapphics. The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder

ANONYMOUS,

JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE:

Friend of Humanity."' "Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going? Rough is the road, your wheel is out of orderBleak blows the blast: your hat has got a hole in't, So have your breedies! 5 "Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike103

-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day "Knives and Scissars to grind O ! " "Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives? ι o Did some ridi man tyrannically use you? Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? Or the attorney? "Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or Covetous parson, for his tithes distaining? ι j Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little All in a lawsuit? "(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your 20 Pitiful story." Knife-Grinder.

"Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir, Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle. 2 j "Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-Stocks for a vagrant. "I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in 30 A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; But for my part, I never love to meddle With politics, sir." Friend of Humanity.

"/ give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned firstWretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance3 j Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, Spiritless outcast!" CKicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.) 104