The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 08

SCENE I.--_Lopez's House.

Chapter 3111,655 wordsPublic domain

_Enter_ SANCHO, LOPEZ, DALINDA. CARLOS _meeting them_.

_Carl._ Give you joy, Mr Bridegroom and Mrs Bride; you see I have accepted your invitation.

_San._ And thou art welcome, as a witness of my triumph.

_Carl._ I could tell tales that would spoil your appetite, both to your dinner and your bride.--You think you are married to a vast fortune.

_Dal._ A better, perhaps, than you imagine.

_Lop._ For, if Sancho looks into his writings, he'll find that my estate was mortgaged to his father.

_San._ Then would I had looked into my writings, before I had looked so far into your daughter.

_Dal._ My father's fortune will be yours at last; and I have but redeemed it for you.

_San._ I'm sure I'm married without redemption!

_Carl._ You must take the good and the bad together; he that keeps a tame cat must be content to be scratched a little.

_Dal._ The count's sister, I hope, has claws for you too.

_Carl._ That was invented only in hopes of you, Dalinda; though now I thank my stars that I have missed you: for two wits without fortunes would be like two millstones without corn betwixt them; they would only grind upon one another, and make a terrible noise, but no meal would follow.

_Enter a Nurse, leading a Boy and Girl._

_Nurse._ Madam, here are two poor orphans, that, hearing you are married, come to dine with you.

_Dal._ [_Aside._] My two bastards! I am undone: what shall I do with them?

_Lop._ [_Aside._] The devil take my damned grand-children for their unseasonable visit.

_San._ Welcome, welcome: They're come a mumming[60] to grace my wedding, I'll warrant you.

_Carl._ I begin to suspect they come to sup and lodge, as well as dine here.

_Lop._ [_To Nurse._] There's two pistoles for you; take them away, and bring them again to-morrow morning.

_Nurse._ Thank your honour.--Come away, children; but first I must deliver a note to this gentleman.--Don Carlos, I am sure you remember me. [_Gives him a Note._

_Carl._ Did not you wait on Donna Leonora, the Conde's sister?

_Nurse._ Have you forgotten Ynez, the faithful trustee of your affection? Read your letter; there's better news than you deserve.

[CARLOS _reads his Letter to himself_.

_Dal._ [_To Nurse._] Steal away, dear nurse, while he's reading, and there's more money for you:--fear not, you shall be duly paid; for I am married to one who can provide for them.

_Nurse._ [_To her._] Well, I'll keep your credit; but remember. [_Exit Nurse, with the Children._

_Carl._ [_After Reading._] Poor loving creature, she is e'en too constant; I could never have expected this from her.--Look you here, you shall see I have no reason to envy your fortune, Sancho.--[_Looks about him._] How now, what's become of the nurse and the two children?

_Dal._ They would have been but too troublesome guests, and are gone away.

_Carl._ By your favour, I shall make bold to call them back again.

[_Exit_ CARLOS.

_Dal._ [_To_ LOP.] Oh barbarous villain! he'll discover all.

_Lop._ The best on't is, you're already married.

_Dal._ But we have not consummated. I could have so wheedled Mr Bridegroom to-night, that ere to-morrow morning he should have forgiven me.

_Re-enter_ CARLOS, _with Nurse and Children_.

_Carl._ Come, nurse, no more mincing matters; your lady's orders in my letter must be obeyed: I must find a father and mother for the children in this company.

_San._ Whose pretty children are these, Carlos, that you are to provide for?

_Carl._ E'en your bride's, Sancho, at your service.-- Children, do your duty to your mother.

_Children._ [_Kneeling._] Mamma, your blessing.

_San._ Hey day, what's here to do? Are these the issue of your body, Madam Bride?

_Carl._ Yes; and they are now your children by the mother's side. The late Conde presents his service to you, with these two pledges of his affection to your wife.

_San._ Is it even thus, Dalinda?

_Lop._ Christian patience, son-in-law.

_San._ Christian patience! I say pagan fury. This is enough to make me turn Jew again, like my father of Hebrew memory.

_Carl._ You may make your assault, colonel, without danger; the breach is already made to your hands.

_San._ Ay, the devil take him that stormed it first!

_Carl._ Speak well of the dead.

_Dal._ [_Kneeling._] And forgive the living!

_San._ Oh Dalinda! no more Dalinda, but Dalilah the Philistine! Could you find none but me to practise on?

_Carl._ Sooner upon you than upon any man; for nature has put a superscription upon a fool's face, and all cheats are directed thither.

_Lop._ There's no recalling what's past and done.

_San._ You never said a truer word, father-in-law; 'tis done, indeed, to my sorrow.

_Carl._ If you could undo it, Sancho, it were something; but, since you cannot, your only remedy is to do it again.

_San._ That's true; but the memory of that damned Conde is enough to turn one's stomach to her. Do you remember what a devilish hunch back he had, when you and I played him?

_Carl._ For that reason you may be sure she'll loath the thought of him.

_San._ Do you think so, Carlos?

_Dal._ How can I do otherwise, when I have in my arms so handsome, so sweet, and so charming a cavalier as you?

_San._ Well, I am--I know not howish; she has a delicious tongue of her own, and I begin to mollify.

_Carl._ Do, Sancho: Faith, you've held it out too long, in conscience, for so slight a quarrel; this is nothing among great ladies, man. How many fathers have I known, that have given their blessings to other men's children? Come, bless them, bless them, honest daddy--Kneel down, children.

_Children._ [_Kneeling._] Your blessing, papa.

[_Children cry._

_San._ It goes against the grain to give it them.

_Carl._ For shame, Sancho, take them up; you'll break their pretty hearts else: 'twould grieve a man's soul to see them weep thus.

_San._ Ay, they learnt that trick of their mother; but I cannot be obdurate, the fault was none of theirs, I'm sure. [_Crying._] Heaven e'en bless you, and I'll provide for you; nay, and it shall go hard but I'll get you some more play-fellows, if your mother be as fruitful as she used to be.

_Lop._ Why this is as it should be.

_Dal._ Heaven reward you; and I'll study obedience to you.

_San._ They say, children are great blessings; if they are, I have two great blessings ready gotten to my hands.

_Carl._ For your comfort, marriage, they say, is holy.

_San._ Ay, and so is martyrdom, as they say; but both of them are good for just nothing, but to make an end of a man's life.

_Lop._ Cheer up, son-in-law: your children are very towardly, you see they can ask blessing already.

_Dal._ If he does not like them, he may get the next himself.

_Carl._ I will not trouble the company with reading my letter from the dead count's sister; 'tis enough to tell you, that I loved her once, and forsook her, because she was then no fortune. But she has been kinder to me than I deserve; and has offered me her brother's estate in dowry with her.

_Dal._ Which I hope you will accept.

_Carl._ Yes, and release you of a certain promise to me, without explaining.--She only recommended to me her brother's children by Dalinda: and I think I have taken a decent care in providing them a rich father.

_San._ I always loved a harlot, and, now I have one of my own, I'll e'en take up with her; for my youth is going, and my days of whoring, I mean emphatical whoring, are almost over. But for once, we'll have a frolick; come, offspring, can either of you two dance?

_1 Child._ Yes, forsooth, father, and my sister can sing too, like an angel.

_San._ Then foot it featly; that you may say hereafter you remember when your mother was first married, and danced at her wedding.

_Carl._ Hold a little;--you may remember too, Madam Bride, that I promised you an epithalamium. 'Twas meant a satire; but fortune has turned it to a jest. I have given it to the musicians, and brought them along with me; strike up, gentlemen.

[_The Dance is first, then the Song, the last Words of which are sung while the Company is going out, and the Musick plays before them._

SONG.

BY MR CONGREVE.

_How happy's the husband, whose wife has been tried! Not damned to the bed of an ignorant bride! Secure of what's left, he ne'er misses the rest, But where there's enough, supposes a feast; So, foreknowing the cheat, He escapes the deceit, And, in spite of the curse, resolves to be blest._

II.

_If children are blessings, his comfort's the more, Whose spouse has been known to be fruitful before; And the boy that she brings ready made to his hand, May stand him instead, for an heir to his land, Should his own prove a sot, When he's lawfully got, As whene'er 'tis so, if he don't I'll be hanged._

SONG

FOR A GIRL.

_Young I am, and yet unskilled How to make a lover yield: How to keep, or how to gain, When to love, and when to feign._

II.

_Take me, take me, some of you, While I yet am young and true; Ere I can my soul disguise, Heave my breasts, and roll my eyes._

III.

_Stay not till I learn the way, How to lie, and to betray: He that has me first is blest, For I may deceive the rest._

IV.

_Could I find a blooming youth, Full of love, and full of truth, Brisk, and of a jaunty mien, I should long to be fifteen._ [Exeunt.

_A Royal Chamber is discovered by drawing the former Scene_; VERAMOND, GARCIA, XIMENA, VICTORIA CELIDEA, _with a full Train of Courtiers and Guards: amongst the Crowd_, RAMIREZ _disguised with some of his Party_.

_Vera._ [_To_ VICT.] No more delays, but go.

_Xim._ This is inhuman, To press her to a marriage made by force. At least allow yourself and her this day, That each of you may think, and one may change.

_Vera._ You mean, the times or accidents may change, And leave her for Alphonso.

_Xim._ Your enemies are but without your gates, And soon they may return: Forbear for fear.

_Vera._ The sooner then I must prevent the effect of their return. What now remains, but to complete my vows, And sacrifice to vengeance!

_Xim._ Your own daughter!

_Vera._ Even her, myself, and all the world together.

_Vict._ Can you refuse me one poor day to live?

_Vera._ Obey me, and be blest; if not, accurst. A father's curse has wings, remember that; Through this world and the next it will pursue thee, And sink thee down for ever.

_Vict._ 'Tis enough, I know how far a daughter owes obedience; But duty has a bound like other empires: It reaches but to life, for all beyond it Is the dominion of another world, Where you have no command.-- For you, Don Garcia, You know the power a mistress ought to have; But, since you will be master, take your hour, The next is mine.

_Gar._ I grant the debt of service which I owe you; But 'tis a sum too vast to pay at sight. If now you call it in, I must be bankrupt To all my future bliss.

_Vict._ I find by you, The laws of love are like the laws of heaven; All know, but few will keep them.--To the temple, Where I myself am victim.

_Enter_ ALPHONSO, _unarmed; all seem amazed_.

_ Alph._ Stay, Veramond.

_Vera._ Alphonso here! then all my hopes are blasted; The town is his, and I once more a slave. [_Aside._

_Alph._ Dismiss thy fears, and tremble not, old man; I neither come with purpose, nor with power, To avenge my wrongs, but single, and unarmed. This head is necessary to thy peace, And to Victoria's violated vows, Who, while I live, can never be Don Garcia's. Take then this odious life; securely take it, And glut thy vengeance with Alphonso's blood. Behold the man, who forced thee in thy strength, In thy imperial town made thee a captive. Now give thy fury scope; revenge the affront, And show more pity not to spare my life, Than I, in sparing thine.

_Xim._ [_To_ CEL.] Oh boundless courage, or extreme despair!

_Cel._ [_To her._] I tremble for the event; see, the king reddens. The fear which seized him at Alphonso's sight, And left his face forsaken of his blood, Is vanished now; And a new tide returns upon his cheeks, And rage and vengeance sparkle in his eyes.

_Vera._ [_Aside._] All things are hushed; no noise is in the streets, Nor shouts of soldiers, nor the cries of matrons, To speak a town in plunder.--Then I take A traitor's counsel once, and thou shalt die. [_To_ _Alph._ Condemned by thy own sentence, go to death; Nor shall thy seeming generosity, And feigned assurance, save thee: 'tis despair, To see thy frustrate hopes, that brought thee hither, To meet my just revenge.

_Alph._ Yes, I will die, because I chuse to die; Which had I not desired, I had not come Unarmed, unguarded, and alone, to tempt Thy known ingratitude, and barbarous hate. Boast not the advantage which thou hold'st of me, But know thyself for what thou art,--no more Than the mean minister of my despair.

_Vera._ Whether to heaven's justice, or thy choice, I owe this happy hour of sweet revenge, I'll not be wanting to the wished occasion.

_Vict._ You shall not die alone, my dear Alphonso, Though much I blame this desperate enterprize. You should have staid, to see The event of what I promised to perform; For, had I been so base to be another's, That baseness might have cured your ill-placed love. But this untimely rashness makes you guilty, Both of your fate, and mine.

_Alph._ While I believed My life was precious to my dear Victoria, I valued and preserved it for her sake: But when you broke from your deliverer's arms. To put yourself into a tyrant's power, I threw a worthless, wretched being from me. Abandoned first by you.

_Vict._ Oh cruel man! Where, at what moment did that change begin, With which you tax my violated vows? I left your lawless power, to put myself Into a father's chains, my lawful tyrant. If this be my upbraided crime, even this, On that occasion, would I do once more: But could I, with my honour, safe have staid In your dear arms, bear witness, heaven and earth, Nor threats, nor force, nor promises, nor fears, Should take me from your love.

_Alph._ Oh, I believe you.-- Vanish my fears, and causeless jealousies! Live, my Victoria, for yourself, not me, But let the unfortunate Alphonso die; My death will glut your cruel father's rage. When I am gone, and his revenge complete, Pity, perhaps, may seize a parent's mind, To free you from a hated lover's arms.

_Cel._ [_To_ XIM.] Speak, mother, speak; my father gives you time; He stands amazed, irresolute, and dumb, Like the still face of heaven before a storm;-- Speak and arrest the thunder, ere it rolls.

_Xim._ I stand suspected; but you, Celidea, The favourite of his heart, his darling child, May speak, and ought: your interest is concerned; For, if Alphonso die, your hopes are lost. I see your father's soul, like glowing steel, Is on the anvil; strike, while yet he's hot: Turn him, and ply him; set him strait betimes, Lest he for ever warp.

_Cel._ I fear, and yet would speak; but will he hear me?

_Xim._ For what is all this silence, but to hear? Bring him but to calm reasoning, and he's gained.

_Cel._ Then heaven inspire my tongue!---- Sir, royal sir!---- He hears me not; he lifts not up his eyes, But, fixed upon the pavement, looks the way That points to death.-- [_She pulls him._ Oh hear me, hear me, father! Have you forgot that dear indulgent name, Never before in vain pronounced by me?

_Vera._ Ha! who disturbs my thoughts?

_Cel._ [_Kneeling._] 'Tis Celidea.-- Alas, I would relieve you, if I durst: If ever I offended, even in thought, Or made not your commands The bounds of all my wishes and desires, Bid me be dumb, or else permit me speech.

_Vera._ Oh rise, my only unoffending child, Who reconciles me to the name of father! Speak then;--but not for her, and less for him.

_Cel._ Perhaps I would accuse them, not defend; For both are guilty, dipt in equal crimes, And are obnoxious to your justice both.

_Vera._ True, Celidea; thou confirm'st my sentence. 'Tis just Alphonso die.

_Xim._ Forgive her, heaven! she aggravates their faults, And pushes their destruction. [_Aside._

_Cel._ Speak, Alphonso: Can you deny, when royal Veramond, Then thought your father, and by you so deemed, When he required your captive, old Ramirez, And ordered his confinement; did you well Then to controul the pleasure of that king, Under whose just commands you fought and conquered?

_Alph._ I did not well; but heat of boiling youth, And ill weighed honour, made me disobey.

_Vera._ That cause is gained; for he confesses guilt.-- Proceed, most equitable judge, proceed.

_Cel._ [_To_ ALPH.] Next, I reproach you with a worse rebellion: The king's first promise, to Don Garcia made, You dared to oppose; forbade his fair addresses; Then made a ruffian quarrel with that prince; And, last, were guilty of incestuous love. I will not load my sister with consent; But, in strict virtue, listening to a crime, And not rejecting, is itself a crime.

_Vict._ Is this a sister's office? peace, for shame! We loved without transgressing virtue's bounds; We fixed the limits of our tenderest thoughts; Came to the verge of honour, and there stopt: We warmed us by the fire, but were not scorched. If this be sin, angels might love with less, And mingle rays of minds less pure than ours. Our souls enjoyed; but to their holy feasts, Bodies, on both sides, were forbidden guests.

_Cel._ Now help me, father, or our cause is lost; For much I fear their love was innocent.

_Vera._ With my own troops Alphonso seized my person, In my own town, to my perpetual shame. Pass on to that, and strike the traitor dead.

_Cel._ Yes, proud Alphonso, you were banish'd hence; Your father was confined, and doomed to death; The beauty you adored was made another's. How durst you, then, attempt to avenge your wrongs, And force your mistress from your rival's arms, Rather than die contented, as you ought?

_Alph._ Even for those very reasons you allege.

_Xim._ At last I find her drift. [_Aside._

_Vera._ Thou justifiest, and not accusest him.

_Cel._ Patience, good father, and hear out the rest. [_To_ ALPH. Thought you, because you bravely fought and conquered For royal Veramond, nay, saved his life, And set him free when you had conquered him, Only because he was Victoria's father; Thought you for such slight services as these, That he should spare you now? O generous madman, To give your head to one, who ne'er forgave.

_Vera._ Oh, she stings me. [_Aside._

_Cel._ And you, Don Garcia, witness to this truth: You were his hated rival, fairly vanquished, And yet he spared your life.

_Gar._ At your request: I owe it to you both.

_Cel._ That he dismissed my sister, 'twas her fault; I charge it not on him, but 'twas his folly: A capital fool he was, in that last error, For which he justly stands condemned to death. Your sentence, royal sir?

_Vera._ That he should live; Should live triumphant over Veramond, And should live happy in Victoria's love.-- Oh, I have held as long as nature could; Convinced in reason, obstinate in will: I saw the pleader's aim, found her design, I longed to be o'ercome, and yet resisted.-- What have I done against thee, my Alphonso? And what hast thou not done for Veramond?

_Xim._ Oh fortunate event!

_Vict._ Oh happy day!

_Alph._ Oh unexpected bliss, and therefore double!

_Vera._ [_To_ ALPH.] Can you forgive me? yes, I know Alphonso can forgive Victoria's father. But yet, in pity, pardon not too soon; Punish my pride a while, And make me linger for so great a good, Lest ecstasy of joy prevent this blessing, And you, instead of pardon, give me death.

[_He offers to kneel to_ ALPHONSO: ALPHONSO _takes him up, and kneels himself_.

_Alph._ Oh, let me raise my father from the ground!

_Vera._ [_Rising._] 'Tis your peculiar virtue, my Alphonso, Always to raise me up.

_Alph._ Here let me grow, till I obtain your grace. My life has been one universal crime; And you, like heaven, accepting short repentance, Forgive my length of sins.

_Vera._ [_Raising him._] Let us forget from whence offence began. But since, to save my shame, thou wilt be guilty, Impute thy hate for me to sure instinct, That showed thee thy true father in my foe; Now grafted on my stock, be son to both.-- [_Turning to_ GAR.] To you, Don Garcia, next----

_Gar._ Before you speak, Permit me, sir, to assume some little merit In this day's happiness; your promise made Victoria mine----

_Alph._ What then?

_Gar._ Nay, hear me out. He kept his royal word; he gave her me: I lost her, when I fell beneath your sword; Or, if I have a title, I resign it, And make her yours.

_Alph._ I take her, as your gift.

_Gar._ [_To_ VER.] Make me but blest in Celidea's love; She saved my life, and hers it is for ever. 'Tis pity she, who gained another's cause, Should lose her own.

_Vera._ [_Presenting_ CEL.] She's yours.

_Cel._ My joys are full.

_Vict._ And mine o'erflow.

_Alph._ And mine are all a soul can bear, and live.

_Vera._ Then seek we out Ramirez, To make him partner of this happy day, That gives him back his crown and his Alphonso.

_Ram._ Behold me here, unsought, with some few friends. [_Taking off his vizard._ Resolved to save my son, or perish with him, Thus far I traced, and followed him unknown; And here have waited, with a beating heart, To see this blest event.

_Vera._ Just like the winding up of some design, Well-formed, upon the crowded theatre; Where all concerned surprisingly are pleased, And what they wish see done. Lead to the temple: Let thanks be paid; and heaven be praised no less For private union, than for public peace. [_Exeunt._

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY DALINDA.

Now, in good manners, nothing should be said Against this play, because the poet's dead[61]. The prologue told us of a moral here: Would I could find it! but the devil knows where. If in my part it lies, I fear he means To warn us of the sparks behind our scenes. For, if you'll take it on Dalinda's word, 'Tis a hard chapter to refuse a lord. The poet might pretend this moral too,-- That when a wit and fool together woo, The damsel (not to break an antient rule) Should leave the wit, and take the wealthy fool. This he might mean: but there's a truth behind, } And, since it touches none of all our kind } But masks and misses, 'faith, I'll speak my mind. } What if he taught our sex more cautious carriage, And not to be too coming before marriage; For fear of my misfortune in the play, A kid brought home upon the wedding day? I fear there are few Sancho's in the pit, So good as to forgive, and to forget; That will, like him, restore us into favour, And take us after on our good behaviour. Few, when they find the money-bag is rent, Will take it for good payment on content. But in the telling, there the difference is, Sometimes they find it more than they could wish. Therefore be warned, you misses and you masks, Look to your hits, nor give the first that asks. Tears, sighs, and oaths, no truth of passion prove; True settlement, alone, declares true love. For him that weds a puss, who kept her first, I say but little, but I doubt the worst. The wife, that was a cat, may mind her house, } And prove an honest, and a careful spouse; } But 'faith I would not trust her with a mouse. }

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 56: Alluding to the vulgar proverb, "One who is born under a three-penny planet will never be worth a groat."]

[Footnote 57: There would probably occur to the audience of the period, some recollection of the manner in which King James had been treated by Sunderland.]

[Footnote 58: Meaning, that the courtiers, although their eyes be as fatal as those of basilisks, are not subject to the fate of that fabulous serpent, which died if a man beheld it first.]

[Footnote 59: Our author uses the same old word, for a scramble, in the prologue to "The Widow Ranter."

Bauble and cap no sooner are thrown down, But there's a _muss_ of more than half the town.

It occurs frequently in old authors, and particularly in the well known passage in "Anthony and Cleopatra."

----Of late, when I cried ho! Like boys unto a _muss_, kings would start forth, And cry, your will?]

[Footnote 60: This old English word, for a Christmas masquerading frolic, is still used in some parts of England.]

[Footnote 61: See the lines in the prologue,

He dies,--at least to us and to the stage, And what he has, he leaves this noble age.]

PROLOGUE, SONG,

SECULAR MASQUE, & EPILOGUE,

WRITTEN FOR

_THE PILGRIM_.

REVIVED FOR DRYDEN'S BENEFIT, IN 1700.

Our Author's connection with the Theatre only ended with his life. The pieces, which follow, have reference to the performance of "The Pilgrim," a play of Beaumont and Fletcher, which was revived in 1700. Vanburgh, a lively comic writer, who seems to have looked up to Dryden with that veneration which was his due, added some light touches of humour, to adapt this play to the taste of the age. The aged poet himself furnished a Prologue and Epilogue, a Song, and Secular Masque; and, with these additions, the piece was performed for the benefit of Dryden. It seems dubious, whether the kind intentions of Vanburgh and the players actually took effect in favour of our author himself, or in that of his son. It is certain, that, if he did not die before the representation, he did not survive it many weeks, as the play[62] was not published till after his death.

But his lamp burned bright to the close. The Prologue and Epilogue, written within a few weeks of his death, equal any thing of the kind which he ever produced. He combats his two enemies, Blackmore and Collier, with his usual spirit; but with manliness concedes, that they had attacked him in one vulnerable and indefensible particular, where he lay open, less from any peculiar depravity in his own taste, than from compliance with the general licence of the age.

Cibber informs us, that Sir John Vanburgh, who cast the parts, being pleased with the young actor's moderation, in contenting himself with those of the Stuttering Cook, and Mad Englishman, assigned him also the creditable task of speaking the Epilogue, which, as it was so much above the ordinary strain, highly gratified his vanity. Dryden himself, on hearing Cibber recite it, made him the further compliment of trusting him with the Prologue also; an honourable distinction, which drew upon him the jealousy of the other actors, and the indignation of Wilkes in particular. This revival of "The Pilgrim" was also remarkable, as affording Mrs Oldfield, who had been about a year or more a mute on the stage, an opportunity of attracting public attention in the character of Alinda, which suited the want of confidence natural to her inexperience, and in which she afforded that promise of future excellence, which was afterwards so amply fulfilled.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 62: Mr Malone supposes the play to have been acted on the 25th March, 1700; Dryden died on the 1st of May following. The play was advertised for publication in the London Gazette of 17th June, 1700. The following is the full title:--

"The Pilgrim, a Comedy, as it is acted at the Theatre-royal in Drury-lane, written originally by Mr Fletcher, and now very much altered, with several additions; likewise, a Prologue, Epilogue, Dialogue, and Masque, written by the late great poet, Mr Dryden, just before his death, being the last of his works. Printed for Benjamin Tooke, near the Middle Temple Gate, in Fleet-street. 1700."

In the published copy our author is mentioned as dead:--"_Governor_. I hope before you go, sir, you'll share with us an entertainment, the late great poet of our age prepared to celebrate this day." But this, as Mr Malone observes, was probably an addition, after Dryden's death had taken place. Gildon, in his "Comparison between the Stages," seems to say that the play was performed for the benefit of Dryden's _son_; probably, because in his father's extreme illness, or upon his death, his son would naturally draw the profits. On the whole, it seems probable, that Dryden survived the performance of the play; as it is presumable that "The Secular Masque," being intended to solemnise the supposed termination of the century, was brought out as soon as possible in the new year.]

PROLOGUE

THE PILGRIM.

REVIVED FOR OUR AUTHOR'S BENEFIT, ANNO 1700.

How wretched is the fate of those who write! Brought muzzled to the stage, for fear they bite; Where, like Tom Dove[63], they stand the common foe, Lugged by the critic, baited by the beau. Yet, worse, their brother poets damn the play, And roar the loudest, though they never pay. The fops are proud of scandal, for they cry, At every lewd, low character,--That's I. He, who writes letters to himself, would swear, The world forgot him, if he was not there. What should a poet do? 'Tis hard for one } To pleasure all the fools that would be shown; } And yet not two in ten will pass the town. } Most coxcombs are not of the laughing kind; More goes to make a fop, than fops can find. Quack Maurus[64], though he never took degrees In either of our universities[65], Yet to be shown by some kind wit he looks, Because he played the fool, and writ three books. But if he would be worth a poet's pen, He must be more a fool, and write again: For all the former fustian stuff he wrote Was dead-born doggrel, or is quite forgot; His man of Uz, stript of his Hebrew robe, Is just the proverb, and "As poor as Job." One would have thought he could no longer jog; But Arthur was a level, Job's a bog. There though he crept, yet still he kept in sight; But here he founders in, and sinks downright. Had he prepared us, and been dull by rule, Tobit had first been turned to ridicule; But our bold Briton, without fear or awe, O'erleaps at once the whole Apocrypha; Invades the Psalms with rhymes, and leaves no room For any Vandal Hopkins yet to come. But when, if, after all, this godly gear Is not so senseless as it would appear, Our mountebank has laid a deeper train; } His cant, like Merry Andrew's noble vein, } Cat-calls the sects to draw them in again. } At leisure hours in Epic Song he deals, Writes to the rumbling of his coach's wheels[66]; Prescribes in haste, and seldom kills by rule, But rides triumphant between stool and stool. Well, let him go,--'tis yet too early day To get himself a place in farce or play; We know not by what name we should arraign him, For no one category can contain him. A pedant, canting preacher, and a quack, Are load enough to break an ass's back. At last, grown wanton, he presumed to write, } Traduced two kings, their kindness to requite; } One made the Doctor, and one dubbed the Knight.[67] }

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 63: The savage amusement of bear-baiting was much in fashion in England during the seventeenth century. Tom Dove, although equipped with a name not very expressive of his properties, seems to have been a bear of great celebrity. Dryden honours him by another notice in the second Prologue on the Union of the Companies:

They roar so loud, you'd think, behind the stairs, Tom Dove, and all the brotherhood of bears.]

[Footnote 64: Quack Maurus is the noted Sir Richard Blackmore, who, if he was not witty himself, was the cause of more wit in others than most who have favoured the world with their writings. In his Satire against Wit, he had proposed a sort of mint, in which the works of the witty should be purified and re-coined:

'Tis true, that, when the coarse and worthless dross Is purged away, there will be mighty loss: Even Congreve, Southerne, Manly, Wycherly, When thus refined, will grievous sufferers be: Into the melting-pot when Dryden comes, What horrid stench will rise, what noisome! How will he shrink when all his lewd allay And wicked mixture shall be purged away?

In the first edition of the Poem, this lumbering attack upon Dryden concluded with a compliment:

But what remains will be so pure, 'twill bear The examination of the most severe.

But Blackmore, when our author had retaliated upon him in the Preface to the Fables, "finding," says Dr Johnson, "the censure resented, and the civility disregarded, ungenerously omitted the softer part. Such variations discover a writer who consults his passions more than his virtue, and it may be reasonably supposed that Dryden attributes his enmity to its true cause,"--his attack upon Blackmore's fanatic patrons in the city. He had also assailed our author in the Preface to his "Prince Arthur;" which, after a general and bitter complaint of the profligacy of the stage, contains these personal remarks levelled against Dryden. "And there are, among these writers, some who think they might have arisen to the highest dignities in other professions, had they employed their wit in those ways. 'Tis a mighty dishonour and reproach to any man, that is capable of being useful to the world in any liberal or virtuous profession, to lavish out his life and wit in propagating vice and corruption of manners, and in battering from the stage the strongest entrenchments and best works of religion and virtue. Whoever makes this his choice, when the other was in his power, may he go off the stage unpitied, complaining of _neglect_ and _poverty_, the just punishment of his irreligion and folly." This reproach, which touched some very tender points, was not to be tolerated or forgot by Dryden.]

[Footnote 65: Blackmore was a commoner of Edmund Hall, Oxford, where he remained thirteen years, and took the degree of Master of Arts on 3d June, 1676; but he did not take his medical degrees there, and appears not to have studied physic regularly, as he was for some time a school-master; when, according to Col. Coddrington,

By nature formed, by want a pedant made, Blackmore at first set up the whipping trade; Next quack commenced, when fierce with pride he swore, That toothache, gout, and corns, should be no more: In vain his drugs, as well as birch he plied, His boys grow blockheads, and his patients died.

Sir Richard Blackmore had his medical diploma from Padua, in Italy; a learned and eminent University, which, like some in my own country, is supposed not to be over scrupulous in conferring honours of this nature.]

[Footnote 66: "Prince Arthur," a heroic poem, in ten books, published in 1695, was written, the author assures us in his Preface, "by such catches and starts, and in such occasional uncertain hours, as his profession afforded, and for the greatest part in coffee-houses, or in passing up and down the streets."]

[Footnote 67: Who was the first of these well-judging monarchs, is hard to say. Blackmore may have had some sort of royal licence for the practice of physic during the reign of Charles or James; but he was not made physician to the Household till the reign of King William, who conferred on him, at the same time, the honour of knighthood; for which that monarch's taste is thus commemorated by Pope:

The hero William, and the martyr Charles, One knighted Blackmore, and one pensioned Quarles.

Blackmore's dulness, or solidity of temper, rendered him absolutely impenetrable to the shafts of ridicule, which were aimed at him from all quarters; and, consoling himself with the excellence of his intentions, he wrote on till the catalogue of his works gave room for Swift's burlesque inscription, to be placed under his picture:

See, who ne'er was, or will be half read, Who first sung Arthur, then sung Alfred(_a_). Praised great Eliza(_b_) in God's anger, Till all true Englishmen cried, hang her: Made William's virtues wipe the bare a--, And hanged up Marlborough in arras;(_c_) Then hissed from earth, grown heavenly quite, Made every reader curse the light(_d_). Mauled human wit in one thick satire(_e_); Next, in three books, spoiled human nature(_f_); Ended Creation(_g_) at a jerk, And of Redemption(_h_) made damned work: Then took his muse at once, and dipped her Full in the middle of the scripture. What wonders there the man grown old did! Sternhold himself he out-sternholded; Made David(_i_) seem so mad and freakish, All thought him just what thought king Achish. No mortal read his Solomon(_k_), But judged R'oboam his own son. Moses(_l_) he served, as Moses Pharoah, And Deborah as she Sisera; Made Jeremy(_m_) full sore to cry, And Job(_n_) himself curse God and die. What punishment shall all this follow? Shall Arthur use him like king Tollo? Shall David as Uriah slay him? Or dexterous Deborah Siserhah him? Or shall Eliza lay a plot, To treat him like her sister Scot? Shall William dubb his better end(_o_)? Of Marlborough serve him like a friend? No, none of these--heaven spare his life, But send him, honest Job--thy wife.

(_a_) _Two Heroic Poems, in folio; twenty books._ (_b_) _A Heroic Poem, in twelve books._ (_c_) _Instructions to a Tapestry Weaver._ (_d_) _Hymn to the Light._ (_e_) _Satire against Wit._ (_f_) _Of the Mature of Man._ (_g_) _Creation, in seven books._ (_h_) _Redemption, in six books._ (_i_) _Translation of all the Psalms._ (_k_) _Canticles and Ecclesiastes._ (_l_) _Canticles, of Moses, Deborah, &c._ (_m_) _The Lamentations._ (_n_) _The whole Book of Job, a Poem, in folio._ (_o_) _Kick him on the breech, not knight him on the shoulder._]

SONG

OF A SCHOLAR AND HIS MISTRESS, WHO, BEING CROSSED BY THEIR FRIENDS, FELL MAD FOR ONE ANOTHER, AND NOW FIRST MEET IN BEDLAM.

In "The Pilgrim," as originally written by Beaumont and Fletcher, one scene is laid in a mad-house, where the humours of the different persons confined are described with some pleasantry. Amongst others is introduced a Scholar, who has solicited dismission from his confinement, and who, after having been carefully examined by two gentlemen, whom his patron had appointed to visit him, is on the point of being discharged as possessed of his perfect understanding. The Dialogue, which follows, probably formed the introduction to our Author's Song.

_1st Gent._ What flaws and whils of weather, Or rather storms, have been aloft these three days! How dark and hot, and full of mutiny, And still grows louder.--

_Mas._ It has been stubborn weather.

_2d Gent._ Strange work at sea: I fear me there's old tumbling.

_1st Gent._ Bless my old uncle's bark! I have a venture.

_2d Gent._ And I more than I'd wish to lose.

_Schol._ Do you fear?

_2nd Gent._ Ha! how he looks!

_Mas._ Nay, mark him better, gentlemen.

_2d Gent._ Mercy upon me! how his eyes are altered!

_Mas._ Now, tell me how you like him; whether now He be that perfect man you credited?

_Schol._ Does the sea stagger ye?

_Mas._ Now ye have hit the nick.

_Schol._ Do ye fear the billows?

_1st Gent._ What ails him? who has stirred him?

_Schol._ Be not shaken, Nor let the singing of the storm shoot through you: Let it blow on, blow on! Let the clouds wrestle, And let the vapours of the earth turn mutinous; The sea in hideous mountains rise, and tumble Upon a dolphin's back! I'll make all tremble, For I am Neptune!

_Mas._ Now, what think ye of him?

_2d Gent._ Alas, poor man!

_Schol._ Your bark shall plow through all, And not a surge so saucy as disturb her. I'll see her safe; my power shall sail before her. Down, ye angry waters all, Ye loud whistling whirlwinds, fall! Down, ye proud waves, ye storms cease; I command ye, be at peace! Fright not with your churlish notes, Nor bruise the keel of bark that floats No devouring fish come nigh, Nor monster in my empery, Once shew his head, or terror bring, But let the weary sailor sing. Amphitrite, with white arms, Strike my lute, I'll sing thy charms.

_Mas._ He must have music now; I must observe him; This fit will grow too full else.

[_Music and Song._]

Here it seems probable the following Mad Song, betwixt the Scholar and his Mistress, was introduced. Probably the Dialogue sustained some alterations in the action, to render the introduction of Phillis more natural; for, in the original, the Scholar, far from having lost his senses by being crossed in love, disclaims acquaintance with the passion during his previous examination.

_1st Gent._ Is there no unkindness You have conceived from any friend or parent, Or scorn from what you loved?

_Schol._ No, truly, sir, I never yet was master of a faith So poor and weak to doubt my friend or kindred; And what love is, unless it be in learning, I think I'm ignorant.

This passage is retained in "The Pilgrim," as altered by Sir John Vanburgh; so that it does not appear what alterations were made, to accommodate the Song to the Scholar's previous appearance. The idea of the character is copied from the story told by the Curate, in the First Chapter of the Second Part of the Adventures of the Knight of La Mancha, and applied by him to the relapse of that doughty champion.

SONG.

MUSIC WITHIN.

_The Lovers enter at opposite Doors, each held by a Keeper._

_Phil._ Look, look, I see--I see my love appear! 'Tis he, 'tis he alone, For like him there is none: 'Tis the dear, dear man, 'tis thee, dear.

_Amyn._ Hark! the winds war, The foaming waves roar: I see a ship afar, Tossing and tossing, and making to the shore. But what's that I view, So radiant of hue, St Hermo, St Hermo[68], that sits upon the sails? Ah! no, no, no. St Hermo never, never shone so bright; 'Tis Phillis! only Phillis can shoot so fair a light; 'Tis Phillis, 'tis Phillis, that saves the ship alone, For all the winds are hushed, and the storm is overblown.

_Phil._ Let me go, let me run, let me fly to his arms.

_Amyn._ If all the fates combine, And all the furies join, I'll force my way to Phillis, and break through the charm.

[_Here they break from their Keepers, run to each other, and embrace._

_Phil._ Shall I marry the man I love? And shall I conclude my pains? Now blessed be the powers above, I feel the blood bound in my veins! With a lively leap it began to move, And the vapours leave my brains.

_Amyn._ Body joined to body, and heart joined to heart, To make sure of the cure, Go, call the man in black, to mumble o'er his part.

_Phil._ But suppose he should stay--

_Amyn._ At worst, if he delay, 'Tis a work must be done; We'll borrow but a day, And the better the sooner begun.

_Cho. of both._ At worst, if he delay, &c.

[_They run out together, hand in hand._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 68: The meteoric appearances, called by sailors in the Mediterranean the Lights of St Elmo, and by the ancients, Castor and Pollux. Their appearance is supposed to presage the safety of the vessel, and the termination of the storm.]

THE

SECULAR MASQUE.

The moral of this emblematical representation is sufficiently intelligible. By the introduction of the deities of the chace, of war, and of love, as governing the various changes of the seventeenth century, the poet alludes to the sylvan sports of James the First, the bloody wars of his son, and the licentious gallantry which reigned in the courts of Charles II. and James his successor.

James I. was inordinately attached to the sports of the chace: it was indeed the only manly passion which our British Solomon ever manifested; his dress was of the forest-green, and his only severity was in executing the game-laws[69]. Able hunters were the bribes by which the English courtiers endeavoured to secure his favour[70], while he was yet but king of Scotland; and, in England, his perpetual hunting expeditions were censured by his prelates[71], and their oppressive duration deprecated by his subjects, who, to render their complaints more palatable, contrived, upon one occasion, to make a favourite hound convey a hint of the burthen, which his long residence at a hunting seat imposed upon the neighbourhood[72]. Even in the most advanced state of his age and imbecility, when unable to sit on horseback without assistance, he contrived to pursue the chace by being laced or tied up in his saddle! When we add to this vehement passion for hunting, the spirit of extravagant dissipation, which discharged itself "in shows, sights, and banquetings, from morn to eve[73]," where even the ladies abandoned their sobriety, the age of James might well be characterised, as in the Masque,

A very merry, dancing, drinking, Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.

To show how justly the middle part of the seventeenth century was characterised, as under the influence of Mars, we have only to mention the great civil war, which so long ravaged the whole kingdom.

The manners of the court of Charles II., so notoriously dissolute and licentious, when, as our author says in the Epilogue,

Whitehall the naked Venus first revealed,

amply vindicate Dryden for placing the period in which they were fashionable under the dominion of the queen of Cyprus.

The moral, by which the whole masque is winded up, was sadly true. The frivolity of James the First's sports would have been admitted by the sapient monarch himself--

His sport had a beast in view.

But it is less credible, were it not a historical fact, that the wars of Charles the First "brought nothing about;" since royal prerogative, and popular encroachment, far from being adjusted by so many years bloodshed, were as much themes of mutual dissention betwixt the Court and the House of Commons in the reign of Charles II. as during that of his father. But so bloody a lesson was not entirely lost. The contending parties at the Revolution lived too near that eventful period, not to be aware of the direful consequences of civil war, and thence, by mutual concession, were determined to avoid the repetition of similar calamities. The nation gained by the compromise; for freedom is always benefited by the equal balance of contending factions, and as certainly suffers by the decided ascendancy of either.

A thousand lampoons bear witness, that, during the reign of Venus, under the auspices of Charles II. her

----Lovers were all untrue.

The modern reader will find the most decent, and, at the same time, the most lively record of their infidelities, in Count Hamilton's _Memoires du Compte de Grammont_.

From the "Secular Masque" being performed in the beginning of the year 1700, it appears, that, by a blunder, or rather confusion of ideas, the century was supposed to terminate with 1699; in other words, a hundred years were considered as accomplished when the hundredth was just commenced:--an error of calculation which, though it could not puzzle a horse-jockey, who, if he was to ride twenty miles, would hardly think he had accomplished the match by riding nineteen, did, nevertheless, find patrons in the year 1800, though hardly any of such account as Dryden.

The original music of the Masque was very much approved. It is mentioned in the Travels of John Buncle. Mr Malone believes Daniel Purcel to have been the composer. It was set anew by Dr Boyce, and afterwards revived with success at Drury-Lane in 1749. The hunting song was long popular.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 69: "Nay, I dare boldly say, one man might with more safety have killed another, than a rascal deer: but if a stag had been known to have miscarried, and the author fled, a proclamation, with a description of the party, had been presently penned by the Attorney-general, and the penalty of his Majesty's high displeasure (by which was understood the Star-Chamber) threatened against all that did abet, comfort, or relieve him. Thus satirical, or, if you please, tragical, was this sylvan prince against deer-killers, and indulgent to men-slayers. But, lest this expression should be thought too poetical for an historian, I shall leave him dressed to posterity in the colours I saw him in the next progress after his inauguration; which was as green as the grass he trod on, with a feather in his cap, and a horn, instead of a sword, by his side: how suitable to his age, calling, or complexion, I leave others to judge from his pictures; he owning a countenance not in the least semblable to any my eyes ever met with, besides an host, dwelling in Amt-hill, formerly a shepherd, and so metaphorically of the same profession."--_Osborne's Traditional Memorials_, § 17.]

[Footnote 70: "I have sent the kyng," says Thomas Randolph, in a letter to the infamous Archibald Douglas, "two hunting men, very good and skillful, with one footman, that can whoop, hollow, and cry, that all the trees in Falkland will quake for fear. Pray the king's majesty to be merciful to the poor bucks." _Murdin's State Papers_, vol. ii. p. 558.]

[Footnote 71: The archbishop of York, in a remarkable letter to Lord Cranbourne, expresses his wish for "more moderation in the lawful exercise of hunting, both that poor men's corn may be less spoiled, and other his Majesty's subjects more spared." To this Lord Cranbourne answers, courtier-like, that, as it was a praise in the good Emperor Trajan, to be disposed to such manlike and active recreations, so it ought to be a joy to the English to behold a prince, of so able a constitution, promising long life and a numerous progeny. _Lodge's Illustrations of English History_, vol. iii. pp. 251, 263]

[Footnote 72: "There is no news we hear, but a reasonable pretty jest is spoken that happened at Royston.--There was one of the king's special hounds, called Jowler, missing one day; the king was much displeased that he was wanted, notwithstanding went a hunting. The next day, when they were in the field, Jowler came in among the rest of the hounds; the king was told of him, and was very glad, and, looking on him, spied a paper about his neck, and in the paper was written--'Good Mr Jowler,--We pray you speak to the king, for he hears you every day, and so doth he not us; that it will please his Majesty to go back to London, for else the country will be undone. All our provision is spent already, and we are not able to entertain him longer.' It was taken for a jest, and so passed over, for his Majesty intends to lye there yet a fortnight." _Lodge's Illustrations_, vol. iii. p. 245. There is also in the _Nugæ Antiquæ_, a most singular letter of the king's, praying God to thank the master of the horse, for providing him such fair well shaped horse, and such a fine pretty kennel of young hounds. Vol. i. p. 394.]

[Footnote 73: See the _Nugæ Antiquæ_. In vol. i. p. 349. of Mr Park's excellent edition, Sir John Harrington gives the following extraordinary account of one of King James's revels with Christian IV. of Denmark.--"One day a great feast was held, and, after dinner, the representation of Solomon his Temple, and the coming of the queen of Sheba, was made (or, as I may better say) was meant to have been made, before their majesties, by device of the earl of Salisbury and others. But, alas! as all earthly things do fail to poor mortals in enjoyment, so did prove our presentment hereof. The ladie, who did play the queen's part, did carry most precious gifts to both their majesties; but, forgetting the steps arising to the canopy, overset her caskets into his Danish majesties lap, and fell at his feet, though I rather think it was in his face. Much was the hurry and confusion; clothes and napkins were at hand to make all clean. His majesty then got up, and would dance with the queen of Sheba, but he fell down and humbled himself before her, and was carried to an inner chamber, and laid upon a bed of state, which was not a little defiled with the presents of the queen, which had been bestowed on his garments; such as wine, cream, jelly, beverage, cakes, spices, and other good matters. The entertainment and show _went forward_, and most of the presenters _went backward_, or fell down: wine did so occupy their upper chambers. Now did appear, in rich dresses, Hope, Faith, and Charity: Hope did essay to speak, but wine rendered her endeavours so feeble, that she withdrew, and _hoped_ the king would excuse her brevity: Faith was then left all alone, for I am certain she was not joined with good works, and left the court in a staggering condition: Charity came to the king's feet, and seemed to cover the multitude of sins her sisters had committed; in some sort she made obeisance, and brought gifts, but said she would return home again, as there was no gift which heaven had not already given his majesty. She then returned to Hope and Faith, who were both sick, and spewing in the lower hall. Next came Victory, in bright armour, and presented a rich sword to the king, who did not accept it, but put it by with his hand, and by a strange medley of versification, did endeavour to make suit to the king. But Victory did not triumph long; for, after much lamentable utterance, she was led away like a silly captive, and laid to sleep on the outer steps of the anti-chamber. Now did Peace make entry, and strove to get foremost to the king; but I grieve to tell how great wrath she did discover unto those of her attendants, and, much contrary to her semblance, most rudely made war with her olive-branch, and laid on the pates of those who did oppose her coming. I have much marvelled at these strange pageantries; and they do bring to my remembrance what past of this sort in our queen's days, of which I was sometime a humble presenter and assistant, but I ne'er did see such lack of good order, discretion, and sobriety, as I have now done. I have passed much time in seeing the royal sports of hunting and hawking, where the manners were such as made me devise the beasts were pursuing the sober creation, and not man, in quest of exercise and food. I will now, in good sooth, declare to you, who will not blab, that the gun-powder fright is got out of all our heads, and we are going on hereabouts as if the devil was contriving every man should blow up himself by wild riot, excess, and devastation of time and temperance."--_Ibid. Letter from Sir John Harrington to Mr Secretary Barlow, 1606._]

THE

SECULAR MASQUE.

_Enter_ JANUS.

_Janus._ Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace; An hundred times the rolling sun Around the radiant belt has run In his revolving race. Behold, behold, the goal in sight, Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight.

_Enter_ CHRONOS, _with a Scythe in his hand, and a Globe on his back; which he sets down at his entrance_.

_Chronos._ Weary, weary of my weight, Let me, let me drop my freight, And leave the world behind. I could not bear, Another year, The load of humankind.

_Enter_ MOMUS, _laughing_.

_Momus._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! well hast thou done, To lay down thy pack, And lighten thy back, The world was a fool, e'er since it begun; And since neither Janus, nor Chronos, nor I, Can hinder the crimes, Or mend the bad times, 'Tis better to laugh than to cry.

Cho. of all three. _'Tis better to laugh than to cry._

_Janus._ Since Momus comes to laugh below, Old Time begin the show, That he may see, in every scene, What changes in this age have been.

_Chronos._ Then, goddess of the silver bow, begin.

[_Horns, or hunting-music, within._]

_Enter_ DIANA.

_Dia._ With horns and with hounds, I waken the day, And hie to the woodland-walks away; I tuck up my robe, and am buskined soon, And tie to my forehead a wexing moon. I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox, And chace the wild goats o'er summits of rocks; With shouting and hooting we pierce through the sky, And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry.

Cho. of all. _With shouting and hooting we pierce through the sky, And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry._

_Janus._ Then our age was in its prime:

_Chronos._ Free from rage,

_Diana._ ----And free from crime.

_Momus._ A very merry, dancing, drinking, Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.

Cho. of all. _Then our age was in its prime, Free from rage, and free from crime; A very merry, dancing, drinking, Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time._

[_Dance of_ DIANA'S _Attendants._]

_Enter_ MARS.

_Mars._ Inspire the vocal brass, inspire; The world is past its infant age: Arms and honour, Arms and honour, Set the martial mind on fire, And kindle manly rage. Mars has looked the sky to red; And Peace, the lazy God,[74] is fled. Plenty, peace, and pleasure fly; The sprightly green, In woodland-walks, no more is seen; The sprightly green has drunk the Tyrian dye.

Cho. of all. _Plenty, peace, &c._

_Mars._ Sound the trumpet, beat the drum; Through all the world around, Sound a reveillé, sound, sound, The warrior god is come.

Cho. of all. _Sound the trumpet, &c._

_Momus._ Thy sword within the scabbard keep, And let mankind agree; Better the world were fast asleep, Than kept awake by thee. The fools are only thinner, With all our cost and care; But neither side a winner, For things are as they were.

Cho. of all. _The fools are only, &c._

_Enter_ VENUS.

_Venus._ Calms appear, when storms are past; Love will have his hour at last: Nature is my kindly care; Mars destroys, and I repair; Take me, take me, while you may, Venus comes not every day.

Cho. of all. _Take her, take her, &c._

_Chronos._ The world was then so light, I scarcely felt the weight; Joy ruled the day, and Love the night. But, since the queen of pleasure left the ground,[75] I faint, I lag, And feebly drag The ponderous orb around.

_Momus._ All, all of a piece throughout; Thy chace had a beast in view; [_Pointing to_ DIANA. Thy wars brought nothing about; [_To_ MARS. Thy lovers were all untrue. [_To_ VENUS.

_Janus._ 'Tis well an old age is out,

_Chronos._ And time to begin a new.

Cho. of all. _All, all of a piece throughout; Thy chace had a beast in view:-- Thy wars brought nothing about;-- Thy lovers were all untrue.-- 'Tis well an old age is out, And time to begin a new._ [Dance of Huntsmen, Nymphs, Warriors, and Lovers.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 74: The first edition, and some others, have _Good_; but I prefer _God_, as the more poetical reading.]

[Footnote 75: There seems here to be a secret allusion to the exile of the beautiful queen of James II., so much admired by the Tory poets of the time.]

EPILOGUE

THE PILGRIM.

This epilogue bears chiefly reference to the violent controversy, which, about this time, arose between the favourers of the drama and Jeremy Collier, who, in 1698, published "A short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage;"--"I believe," says Johnson, "with no other view, than religious zeal, and honest indignation.[76] He was formed for a controvertist; with sufficient learning, with diction vehement and pointed, though often vulgar and incorrect, with unconquerable pertinacity, with wit in the highest degree keen and sarcastic, and with all those powers exalted and invigorated by just confidence in his cause.

"Thus qualified, and thus incited, he walked forth to battle, and assailed, at once, most of the living writers, from Dryden to Durfey. His onset was violent. Those passages which, while they had stood single, had passed with little notice, when they were accumulated and exposed together, excited horror. The wise and the pious caught the alarm; and the nation wondered why it had so long suffered irreligion and licentiousness to be openly taught at the public charge."--_Life of Congreve._

Dryden had his personal share of rough treatment in this indiscriminate attack upon dramatic profligacy. But it is creditable to him, that, whatever his feelings of resentment might be, he was too much conscience-struck to attempt a defence of what was really indefensible. "I shall say the less of Mr Collier, because in many things he has taxed me justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts and expressions of mine, which can be truly argued of obscenity, profaneness, or immorality, and retract them. If he be my enemy, let him triumph; if he be my friend, as I have given him no personal occasion to be otherwise, he will be glad of my repentance. It becomes me not to draw my pen in the defence of a bad cause, when I have so often drawn it for a good one." _Preface to the Fables._

This candid avowal, and the coincidence of their political sentiments, (for Collier was a rigid Non-juror,) did not save Dryden from some oblique thrusts in an Answer published by Collier to the Vindications of Congreve and Vanburgh, who, less patient or prudent than our poet, had stepped forward to assert the correctness of their dramatic writings. These passages in the "Defence of the Short View," which was published in 1699, seem to have incited our poet to put himself upon his defence, or at least to offer the best apology he could, by throwing upon the gay court of Charles the scandal of importing the open profligacy, which the poet insists had corrupted the stage, instead of being derived from thence. Lord Lansdowne, in a prologue to the "Jew of Venice," when revived, took the freedom to dissent from Dryden and Collier; and, by exculpating both the theatre and court, to throw the whole blame upon the public at large:

Each in his turn, the poet and the priest, Have viewed the stage, but like false prophets guessed The man of zeal, in his religious rage, Would silence poets and reduce the stage; The poet, rashly to get clear, retorts On kings the scandal, and bespatters courts. Both err: for, without mincing, to be plain, The guilt's your own of every odious scene; The present time still gives the stage its mode; The vices, that you practise, we explode. We hold the glass, and but reflect your shame, Like Spartans, by exposing to reclaim. The scribbler, pinched with hunger, writes to dine, And to your genius must conform his line; Not lewd by choice, but merely to submit: Would you encourage sense, sense would be writ.

There is, in every case of this kind, much partial accusation. The court, stage, and public at large, have a mutual action and re-action on the manners of each other. If the habits of a court be licentious, the poet will hardly venture to paint them noble and innocent; but it will depend upon the extent which that licence has attained amongst his audience at large, whether he represents the courtly vices in gay, or in disgusting and odious colours. In any case, the dramatist, who degrades himself by indecency, has little personal apology; for, if he has condescended to blot his pages with filth, it avails but little where he has gathered it.

Collier's attack on the stage was attended with good consequences, which that active disputant lived to witness: indecencies were no longer either fashionable or tolerated; and, by degrees, the ladies began to fill the boxes at a new play, without either the necessity of wearing masks, or the risk of incurring censure. Later times have carried this laudable restraint still farther; till, at last, if we have lost almost all the wit of our predecessors, we at least have retained none of their licentiousness.

The following verses appear upon Dryden's death, in the "State Poems," vol. iii. founded upon his controversy with Sir Richard Blackmore and Collier, which so immediately preceded that event:

John Dryden enemies had three, Sir Dick, old Nick, and Jeremy: The doughty knight was forced to yield, The other two have kept the field; But had his life been something holier, He'd foiled the Devil and the Collier.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 76: The facetious Joe Haines, who is mentioned at the end of the epilogue, assigned another motive for this assault: "The clergy and the actors are both moral menders by profession," said the wag; "and you know two of a trade can never agree."--_Cibber's Apology._]

EPILOGUE

THE PILGRIM.

Perhaps the parson stretched a point too far, When with our theatres he waged a war. He tells you, that this very moral age Received the first infection from the stage; But sure, a banished court, with lewdness fraught, The seeds of open vice, returning, brought. Thus lodged, (as vice by great example thrives,) It first debauched the daughters and the wives. London, a fruitful soil, yet never bore So plentiful a crop of horns before. The poets, who must live by courts, or starve, Were proud, so good a government to serve; And, mixing with buffoons and pimps prophane, Tainted the stage for some small snip of gain: For they, like harlots, under bawds profest, Took all the ungodly pains, and got the least. Thus did the thriving malady prevail; The court its head, the poets but the tail. The sin was of our native growth, 'tis true; The scandal of the sin was wholly new. Misses there were, but modestly concealed; Whitehall the naked Venus first revealed, Who standing as at Cyprus in her shrine, The strumpet was adored with rites divine. Ere this, if saints had any secret motion, 'Twas chamber-practice all, and close devotion. I pass the peccadillos of their time; Nothing but open lewdness was a crime. A monarch's blood was venial to the nation, Compared with one foul act of fornication[77]. Now, they would silence us, and shut the door That let in all the bare-faced vice before. As for reforming us, which some pretend, } That work in England is without an end; } Well may we change, but we shall never mend. } Yet, if you can but bear the present stage, We hope much better of the coming age. What would you say, if we should first begin } To stop the trade of love behind the scene, } Where actresses make bold with married men? } For while abroad so prodigal the dolt is, Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is. In short, we'll grow as moral as we can, Save, here and there, a woman or a man; But neither you, nor we, with all our pains, Can make clean work; there will be some remains, While you have still your Oates[78] and we our Haines[79].

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 77: The rigour of the republicans against female frailty, was of a piece with their general hypocrisy. It was, however, carried much farther in Scotland, where open adultery was declared by statute a capital crime. That act is still unrepealed, and may remind the reader of a verse I have somewhere read:

Beware, ye knights on British ground, Beware, ye dames so free; Full many a neck so straight and round On gallows stretched might be.]

[Footnote 78: The infamous Oates fared, at the Revolution, not so well as he wished, though much better than he deserved. James II. by the extreme cruelty of the punishment, which Jefferies doomed, and he suffered to be inflicted, contrived to excite the public commiseration even in favour of this miscreant, whose forsworn tongue had occasioned more murders than the dagger of the most sanguinary bravo. After the Revolution he obtained a pardon, or rather remission of his inhuman sentence, to be imprisoned during life, and pilloried five times every year. He was also admitted to the comforts of a pension of L.400 a-year. But, although he bestirred himself to obtain a reversal of his judgement for perjury, and wrote an abusive pamphlet, entitled, a "Picture of the late King James," and dedicated to King William, that cool-headed monarch, and his sagacious council, would never restore him to a capacity of bearing evidence. The Earl of Danby, now Duke of Leeds, who had experienced the danger of his swearing capacity, would consent to the reversal in no other sense, than that, having been condemned to be scourged from Newgate to Tyburn, he should now be scourged back from Tyburn to Newgate. Dryden, therefore, without fear of offence, might venture a stroke of satire at this once formidable person.]

[Footnote 79: The allusion seems to be partly to Bryan Haines, the Tory evidence against Shaftesbury and College, a fellow almost as infamous as Oates; but chiefly, by way of equivoque, to the wicked wag Jee Haines, the comedian, who, amongst other pranks, chose, during the reign of James II., to become Roman Catholic. Whether he took this step from any serious prospect of advantage, or to throw ridicule on the new converts, is somewhat dubious; at least his apostacy was not founded upon conviction for, after the Revolution, he abjured the errors of Popery, spoke a penitentiary prologue, and reconciled himself to the church and theatre of England.]

THE END OF THE EIGHTH VOLUME.

Edinburgh: Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

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