Poems on Affairs of State

The Stage has been, and yet improv'd shall rise,
Instructive to your Ears and to your Eyes;
Tho factious Pens industrious to their Shame,
Against its Precepts, and its Use declaim;
Well knowing that Our Scenes Their Vice expose,
And Comedy put down, Rebellion rose.

Thus 'twas in Cromwel's Regicidal Days,
Th' Usurper could not bear the Stings of Plays;
Goodness they taught, when Goodness he'd abuse,
And with the Sovereign was exil'd the Muse:
And thus 'twould be again, were Cromwel's Friends
Suffer'd once more to gain their hateful Ends;
Religion with the Drama would decline,
And things Immoral elbow things Divine.

Oh! were he here, that's made the Party's Scribe,
With all the starvling Authors of the Tribe,
Aw'd by your Charms, his Scandal he'd disown,
And humbly for Offences past atone;
As in this Circle, beauteous to the View,
He might see Virtues shine in seeing you;
Tho now he Prynn and Calvin weekly gleans,
And damns his Paper to condemn our Scenes.

E'en let the Fool go on, and snarling grin,
And turn Reformer when he's sunk in Sin;

373

Like Holy Cheats in Times of Forty One,
Who with Heav'n's Name their hellish War begun,
Profanely call'd upon all piercing Eyes,
To see 'em against Heav'n's Vicegerent rise;
As from his Pen Sedition falls in Show'rs,
His Character's so low, 'twill heighten ours.

Yet shall the Wretch not unregarded rail,
Bloated and gorg'd with Impudence and Ale;
But to be fam'd for what he is, be shewn
As Monsters are expos'd to all the Town:
For he can none but Monsters Tempers share,
That starts not to calumniate what is fair;
That slights the Beauteous, and defames the Great,
By calling where you sit, the Devil's Seat.

How can this be the Place the Scribler means?
I see no Presbyterian at our Scenes,
No Commonwealths-man with Geneva Grace,
And all the Saints assembled in his Face.
Hold, let me see—not one in all the Pit—
Except some eighteen Pennymen of Wit—
Sure all the Malice he profusely vents,
Aims at the Tipling-houses he frequents;
Where Smoke, and Derby, Oaths and Nonsense reign,
Fit Places for a Saint of Godly strain;
Where Anarchy confus'dly takes its Seat,
And he sees that in Little, he would see in Great.

It must be so, for nothing else could make
So mean, so scandalous and empty Rake,
So void of Sense, impertinent and dull,
With all the Party's Vacancy of Skull,
That ne'er admitted Modesty or Wit,
Or the least Interval of Learning bit;
That pores o'er Statutes, Statutes to pervert,
And shew his want of Nature and of Art.

You that are here can the best Answers make,
An Audience flings the Scoundrel on his Back;
In a full House his Ignorance will be shown,
And the Malignant's weak Endeavours known:

374

And a full House is in his Audience gain'd,
That lessens Arguments by him maintain'd;
Tho he persists malicious in his Tongue,
And steals from Regicides that justly hung.

Let him write on, your Favour's our Defence,
Well knows the Fool to wage a War with Sense,
To strike at what does base Rebellion blame,
And pays the Regal Throne the Regal Claim;
In your Support we no Assistance want,
Nor dread the wooden Tool with wooden Plant;
Punish'd is he with Scarcity of Brains,
And Penury of Goodness for his Pains:
Just like a Fiend, who in Distraction lies,
And curses Heav'n to which he cannot rise;
As in your Smiles all Goodness he surveys,
And sinks himself beyond the reach of Praise.

University of Virginia Library

The Epilogue upon the Observator.