The London-Spy Compleat In Eighteen Parts By the Author of the Trip to Jamaica [i.e. Edward Ward] |
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| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. | PART XVIII. |
 | The London-Spy Compleat In Eighteen Parts |  |
XVIII. PART XVIII.
The Description of Mr. Dryden's Funeral, together with the manner of his Death. His Elegy. Some Passages of Hackney Coachmen in Quarrelling. Of the Mob Conducting home a Prize-Fighting Gladiator. A Character of a Prize-Fighter, in Verse. Of two Astrologers going to Law. Of the Vanity of Astrologers, and Astrology in Verse. The End of their Suit.
421
To the Pious Memory of the most Subline and Accurate Mr. John Dryden.
To those blest unknown distant Regions, where
Great Pindar, Homer, and sweet Virgil Live,
The Immortal DRYDEN's fled; and justly there,
His Nervous Poems does with theirs compare,
Whilst more discerning Gods to Him the Lawrel. give.
Great Pindar, Homer, and sweet Virgil Live,
The Immortal DRYDEN's fled; and justly there,
His Nervous Poems does with theirs compare,
Whilst more discerning Gods to Him the Lawrel. give.
May Envy let His Dust in Quiet Sleep:
And Fame Eternal in his Volumes dwell:
Whilst Chaucer's Sacred Tomb his Ashes keep,
Ages shall o'er his Golden Writings Weep:
And thus the melting Force of his strong Lines shall feel.
And Fame Eternal in his Volumes dwell:
Whilst Chaucer's Sacred Tomb his Ashes keep,
Ages shall o'er his Golden Writings Weep:
And thus the melting Force of his strong Lines shall feel.
Great was his Learning, and Sublime his Thoughts,
Powerful his Numbers, Matchless was his Wit:
Num'rous his Excellencies, few his Faults:
And those he plac'd as Foils and Beauty-Spots,
To give more sprightly Lustre to the Lines he Writ.
Powerful his Numbers, Matchless was his Wit:
Num'rous his Excellencies, few his Faults:
And those he plac'd as Foils and Beauty-Spots,
To give more sprightly Lustre to the Lines he Writ.
422
His Soul was sure some God wrap't up in Clay,
From Heaven descended, to Inform Mankind:
Whose mighty Genius did no Time delay:
But most Industriously Improv'd each day,
To shew the World the Beauties of his fruitful Mind.
From Heaven descended, to Inform Mankind:
Whose mighty Genius did no Time delay:
But most Industriously Improv'd each day,
To shew the World the Beauties of his fruitful Mind.
No Ancient Muse in Greece or Room e'er bred,
Could Sweeter, or more God-like Strains impart:
The Heav'nly Soul's unborn that can Exceed
Those soft Enchantments in his Verse we Read:
Where we find Nature heighten'd with the purest Art.
Could Sweeter, or more God-like Strains impart:
The Heav'nly Soul's unborn that can Exceed
Those soft Enchantments in his Verse we Read:
Where we find Nature heighten'd with the purest Art.
Envious Competitors, the worst of Foes,
His Pen hath Conquer'd, that they can't but own
He so excell'd in Poetry and Prose,
That each great Task indisputably shows,
None was like him inspir'd; his Equal's yet unknown.
His Pen hath Conquer'd, that they can't but own
He so excell'd in Poetry and Prose,
That each great Task indisputably shows,
None was like him inspir'd; his Equal's yet unknown.
The chiefest Glory of his Native Land,
Whose Soul such large Angelick Gifts possest,
'Twas hard to think that any Humane Hand,
Could such Bold Stroaks, such Lofty Flights command;
Yet harder to determine what he Writ was best.
Whose Soul such large Angelick Gifts possest,
'Twas hard to think that any Humane Hand,
Could such Bold Stroaks, such Lofty Flights command;
Yet harder to determine what he Writ was best.
Satyr and Praise flow'd Equal from his Pen,
Dramatick Rules no Shakespear ever knew:
The Stately Epich and the Lyrick strain,
In each he had so excellent a Vein,
That from the best of Judges admiration drew.
Dramatick Rules no Shakespear ever knew:
The Stately Epich and the Lyrick strain,
In each he had so excellent a Vein,
That from the best of Judges admiration drew.
423
Great King of-Verse, whose Merit rais'd thee high,
And won thy Brows fresh Lawrel Crowns each Day:
Thy Works Immortal are, and cannot Dye:
Why not thy self exempt from Fate, O why?
Unless the Worlds unworthy of thy longer stay.
And won thy Brows fresh Lawrel Crowns each Day:
Thy Works Immortal are, and cannot Dye:
Why not thy self exempt from Fate, O why?
Unless the Worlds unworthy of thy longer stay.
Or was it cause thy Soul was so Divine,
The Barren Earth could not her Fruits reward;
Or that the Power and Beauty of each Line,
Made thee, the Author, like a Deity shine,
And that the Gods foresaw, like them, thould'st be Ador'd?
The Barren Earth could not her Fruits reward;
Or that the Power and Beauty of each Line,
Made thee, the Author, like a Deity shine,
And that the Gods foresaw, like them, thould'st be Ador'd?
Or did the Slights of an Ingrateful Age,
Hasten th'aspiring Soul to take its Flight;
And leave this Worthless Sublunary Stage,
Where Pride and Lust do Mortal Minds engage,
And keep the Giddy World from doing Merit right?
Hasten th'aspiring Soul to take its Flight;
And leave this Worthless Sublunary Stage,
Where Pride and Lust do Mortal Minds engage,
And keep the Giddy World from doing Merit right?
What call'd thee hence, or whither thou wilt Soar,
None but Eternity it self can tell,
We know for Mankind thou canst do no more,
But Heaven for thee has its best Joys in Store,
To recompence those Tasks thou hast perform'd so well.
None but Eternity it self can tell,
We know for Mankind thou canst do no more,
But Heaven for thee has its best Joys in Store,
To recompence those Tasks thou hast perform'd so well.
Let every Pen more Worthy of the Theme,
Thy Elegy or Epicedium Sing,
The Mournful Verse may equal the Esteem
The Learn'd and Witty shou'd express for them,
Who did to Human Knowledge such Improvements bring.
Thy Elegy or Epicedium Sing,
The Mournful Verse may equal the Esteem
The Learn'd and Witty shou'd express for them,
Who did to Human Knowledge such Improvements bring.
424
Great Soul! No Pen less Powerful than thy own,
Can thy deserv'd Immortal Praise set forth,
Which Time will Magnifie when thou art gone,
As every Age successively comes on:
And to Mankind discover by degrees thy Worth.
Can thy deserv'd Immortal Praise set forth,
Which Time will Magnifie when thou art gone,
As every Age successively comes on:
And to Mankind discover by degrees thy Worth.
Could Dust be sensible within the Grave,
How Joyful would thy Peaceful Neighbours be,
Such Venerable Company to have,
Whose Meritorious Works will surely save
Thy Mem'ry from decay to all Eternity.
How Joyful would thy Peaceful Neighbours be,
Such Venerable Company to have,
Whose Meritorious Works will surely save
Thy Mem'ry from decay to all Eternity.
Chaucer and Cowley, gladly would Receive
Thy Frozen Clay, into their silent Tomb:
Desiring their Applause with yours might Live,
In hopes your Fame Eternity might give
To theirs, and that your Lawrels might together Bloom.
Thy Frozen Clay, into their silent Tomb:
Desiring their Applause with yours might Live,
In hopes your Fame Eternity might give
To theirs, and that your Lawrels might together Bloom.
Since Fate to Wisemens Grief has call'd thee hence:
It justly in thy Absence may be said,
No Grecian Bard e'er show'd such Excellence,
None has so well bestow'd such Reams of Sence,
As the Great Dryden hath; but now, alas, he's Dead.
It justly in thy Absence may be said,
No Grecian Bard e'er show'd such Excellence,
None has so well bestow'd such Reams of Sence,
As the Great Dryden hath; but now, alas, he's Dead.
For such an Universal Loss sustain'd,
May the like Sorrow thro' the World be shown;
Let every thing in Nature be Constrain'd
To Weep, let full-charg'd Clouds assistance lend,
And Flaming Orbs above their Fiery Tears drop down.
May the like Sorrow thro' the World be shown;
Let every thing in Nature be Constrain'd
To Weep, let full-charg'd Clouds assistance lend,
And Flaming Orbs above their Fiery Tears drop down.
427
[Bred up in th'Fields near Lincolns-Inn]
Bred up in th'Fields near Lincolns-Inn,
Where Vinegar Reigns Master;
The forward Youth does there begin,
A Broken-Head to Lose or Win,
For Shouts or for a Plaister.
Where Vinegar Reigns Master;
The forward Youth does there begin,
A Broken-Head to Lose or Win,
For Shouts or for a Plaister.
For North, or West, he does Contend,
Sometimes his Honour Loses,
Next Night his Credit is regain'd,
Thus Fights till barden'd in the End,
To Bloody Cuts and Bruises.
Sometimes his Honour Loses,
Next Night his Credit is regain'd,
Thus Fights till barden'd in the End,
To Bloody Cuts and Bruises.
When at his Weapons grown expert,
By Bangs and rough Instruction,
To make a Tryal of his Heart,
At Sharps he doth himself exert,
And Dallies with Destruction.
By Bangs and rough Instruction,
To make a Tryal of his Heart,
At Sharps he doth himself exert,
And Dallies with Destruction.
Proud of his Courage and his Skill,
No Champion can out-Brave him,
He dares to Fight, yet Scorns to Kill,
He Guards so Well, and Lives so Ill,
That few know where to have him.
No Champion can out-Brave him,
He dares to Fight, yet Scorns to Kill,
He Guards so Well, and Lives so Ill,
That few know where to have him.
He Glories in his Wounds and Scars,
Like any Flanders Souldier,
And as one Talks of Forreign Wars,
The t'other Boasts of Hockly Jars,
Wherein no Man was bolder.
Like any Flanders Souldier,
And as one Talks of Forreign Wars,
The t'other Boasts of Hockly Jars,
Wherein no Man was bolder.
428
He Fought before some Duke or Lord,
With hardy Tom the Weaver:
And Cut him off the Stage at Sword,
The Duke his Manhood to reward,
Presented him a Beaver.
With hardy Tom the Weaver:
And Cut him off the Stage at Sword,
The Duke his Manhood to reward,
Presented him a Beaver.
With Lies he tells his Bloody Feats,
And Bounces like a Bully,
Tho' all his Prizes were but Cheats,
Yet when he with a Coward meets,
He knows he has a Cully.
And Bounces like a Bully,
Tho' all his Prizes were but Cheats,
Yet when he with a Coward meets,
He knows he has a Cully.
Thus backs in Jest, and finds at best,
But little Money coming,
And when his Youthful Days are pass,
His only Refuge is at last,
To follow Theft, or Bumming.
But little Money coming,
And when his Youthful Days are pass,
His only Refuge is at last,
To follow Theft, or Bumming.
433
[Little their Learning, less their Sence]
Little their Learning, less their Sence,
Who put in Stars such Confidence,
As think those Senseless Bodies can
Govern the Life and Fate of Man.
How can we boast our state is free,
If under such Necessity,
That Beings quite inanimate,
The will of Men shou'd actuate?
And unlearn'd Dunces shou'd foretell,
Who shall do ill, or who do well?
Predict our Fortunes, when 'tis known
The Jugler ne'er could tell his own?
If they such mighty things could do,
As prove their blind Conjectures true,
And make it manifest in Print,
Wise men might think there's something in't.
Instead of that, their Prophecies,
To one true word, have twenty Lies;
And what by guess they do foretell,
Each Prudent Man foresees as well.
Who put in Stars such Confidence,
434
Govern the Life and Fate of Man.
How can we boast our state is free,
If under such Necessity,
That Beings quite inanimate,
The will of Men shou'd actuate?
And unlearn'd Dunces shou'd foretell,
Who shall do ill, or who do well?
Predict our Fortunes, when 'tis known
The Jugler ne'er could tell his own?
If they such mighty things could do,
As prove their blind Conjectures true,
And make it manifest in Print,
Wise men might think there's something in't.
Instead of that, their Prophecies,
To one true word, have twenty Lies;
And what by guess they do foretell,
Each Prudent Man foresees as well.
For Fools to think the Sun or Moon,
Can help 'em to a stollen Spoon,
Or that to ease the Losers Grief,
The Planets will declare the Thief;
The Novice may as well believe,
The Scissors turning with the Slieve,
As pin their Faith on Conj'rers Dreams,
Of Planets, Houses, and their Schemes:
Which the Fox seems to put in use,
Only to colour his abuse,
And keep the Clients thoughts in Play,
Till he has study'd what to say;
And tho' an Art he does profess,
Yet chiefly what he says is Guess,
By which be does Fools Pockets pick,
Who think him Cunning as Old-Nick.
The Truth he tells 'em is no more,
Than what be sifts from them before,
Who Aw'd by his affected Look,
And Scrawles within his Conj'ring Book,
Forget the insight they have gi'n-him,
And think at last the Devil's in him.
Can help 'em to a stollen Spoon,
Or that to ease the Losers Grief,
The Planets will declare the Thief;
The Novice may as well believe,
The Scissors turning with the Slieve,
As pin their Faith on Conj'rers Dreams,
Of Planets, Houses, and their Schemes:
Which the Fox seems to put in use,
Only to colour his abuse,
And keep the Clients thoughts in Play,
Till he has study'd what to say;
And tho' an Art he does profess,
Yet chiefly what he says is Guess,
By which be does Fools Pockets pick,
Who think him Cunning as Old-Nick.
435
Than what be sifts from them before,
Who Aw'd by his affected Look,
And Scrawles within his Conj'ring Book,
Forget the insight they have gi'n-him,
And think at last the Devil's in him.
A Wag that had sustain'd a Loss,
And coming to a VVizards House,
Some nasty Sloven or else Slut,
Had at his Threshold eas'd a Gut,
The Conj'rer coming to the Door,
In mighty Passion Curs'd and Swore,
That if he knew who 'twas laid it,
He'd make 'em Rue the Day they did it,
Nay, says the Man, if you've no way,
To tell who did your Door bewray,
I'll e'en again put up my Purse,
For you can't help me to my Horse.
Would all like him consider right,
They'd bid Astrology good Night.
And coming to a VVizards House,
Some nasty Sloven or else Slut,
Had at his Threshold eas'd a Gut,
The Conj'rer coming to the Door,
In mighty Passion Curs'd and Swore,
That if he knew who 'twas laid it,
He'd make 'em Rue the Day they did it,
Nay, says the Man, if you've no way,
To tell who did your Door bewray,
I'll e'en again put up my Purse,
For you can't help me to my Horse.
Would all like him consider right,
They'd bid Astrology good Night.
437
[When Conjurers their Purses draw]
When Conjurers their Purses draw,And like two Blockheads go to Law;
They show by such Expensive VVars,
There's little VVisdom in the Stars;
And that they Act, who know the Heavens,
Like us, by Sixes, and by Sevens;
For if one VVizard had foreseen,
The other should the Battle win,
He'd cry'd Peccavi, and not come
Before a Judge to know his Doom;
I think from thence the VVorld may see,
They know by th'Stars no more than we.
| The London-Spy Compleat In Eighteen Parts | |