The works of John Dryden Illustrated with notes, historical, critical, and explanatory, and a life of the author, by Sir Walter Scott |
 | IX. |
 |
| THE MEDAL.
|
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV, XV. |
 | The works of John Dryden |  |
411
THE MEDAL.
A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION.
Per Graium populos, mediæque per Elidis urbem
Ibat ovans; Divumque sibi poscebat honores.
Ibat ovans; Divumque sibi poscebat honores.
433
UPON THE AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWING POEM.
Once more our awful poet arms, to engageThe threat'ning hydra-faction of the age;
Once more prepares his dreadful pen to wield
And every muse attends him to the field:
By art and nature for this task designed,
Yet modestly the fight he long declined;
Forbore the torrent of his verse to pour,
Nor loosed his satire till the needful hour:
His sovereign's right, by patience half betrayed,
Waked his avenging genius to its aid.
Blest muse, whose wit with such a cause was crowned,
And blest the cause that such a champion found;
With chosen verse upon the foe he falls,
And black sedition in each quarter galls;
Yet, like a prince with subjects forced to engage,
Secure of conquest, he rebates his rage;
His fury not without distinction sheds,
Hurls mortal bolts but on devoted heads:
To less infected members gentle found,
Or spares, or else pours balm into the wound.
Such generous grace the ungrateful tribe abuse,
And trespass on the mercy of his muse;
Their wretched dogg'rel rhymers forth they bring,
To snarl and bark against the poet's king:
A crew that scandalise the nation more
Than all their treason-canting priests before!
On these he scarce vouchsafes a scornful smile,
But on their powerful patrons turns his style:
A style so keen, as even from faction draws
The vital poison, stabs to the heart their cause.
Take then, great bard, what tribute we can raise;
Accept our thanks, for you transcend our praise.
434
TO THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWING POEM, AND THAT OF ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.
Thus pious ignorance, with dubious praise,
Altars of old, to gods unknown, did raise:
They knew not the loved Deity, they knew
Divine effects a cause divine did shew:
Nor can we doubt, when such these numbers are,
Such is their cause, though the worst muse shall dare
Their sacred worth in humble verse declare.
As gentle Thames, charmed with thy tuneful song,
Glides in a peaceful majesty along;
No rebel stone, no lofty bank, does brave
The easy passage of his silent wave;
So, sacred poet, so thy numbers flow,
Sinewy, yet mild, as happy lovers woo;
Strong, yet harmonious too, as planets move,
Yet soft as down upon the wings of love.
How sweet does virtue in your dress appear!
How much more charming, when much less severe!
Whilst you our senses harmlessly beguile,
With all the allurements of your happy style;
You insinuate loyalty with kind deceit,
And into sense the unthinking many cheat:
So the sweet Thracian, with his charming lyre,
Into rude nature virtue did inspire;
So he the savage herd to reason drew,
Yet scarce so sweet, so charmingly, as you.
Oh that you would, with some such powerful charm,
Enervate Albion to just valour warm!
Whether much-suffering Charles shall theme afford,
Or the great deeds of godlike James's sword;
Again fair Gallia might be ours, again
Another fleet might pass the subject main;
Another Edward lead the Britons on,
Or such an Ossory as you did moan:
While in such numbers you, in such a strain,
Inflame their courage, and reward their pain.
Altars of old, to gods unknown, did raise:
They knew not the loved Deity, they knew
Divine effects a cause divine did shew:
Nor can we doubt, when such these numbers are,
Such is their cause, though the worst muse shall dare
Their sacred worth in humble verse declare.
As gentle Thames, charmed with thy tuneful song,
Glides in a peaceful majesty along;
No rebel stone, no lofty bank, does brave
The easy passage of his silent wave;
So, sacred poet, so thy numbers flow,
Sinewy, yet mild, as happy lovers woo;
Strong, yet harmonious too, as planets move,
Yet soft as down upon the wings of love.
How sweet does virtue in your dress appear!
How much more charming, when much less severe!
Whilst you our senses harmlessly beguile,
With all the allurements of your happy style;
You insinuate loyalty with kind deceit,
And into sense the unthinking many cheat:
So the sweet Thracian, with his charming lyre,
Into rude nature virtue did inspire;
So he the savage herd to reason drew,
Yet scarce so sweet, so charmingly, as you.
435
Enervate Albion to just valour warm!
Whether much-suffering Charles shall theme afford,
Or the great deeds of godlike James's sword;
Again fair Gallia might be ours, again
Another fleet might pass the subject main;
Another Edward lead the Britons on,
Or such an Ossory as you did moan:
While in such numbers you, in such a strain,
Inflame their courage, and reward their pain.
Let false Achitophel the rout engage,
Talk easy Absalom to rebel rage;
Let frugal Shimei curse in holy zeal,
Or modest Corah more new plots reveal;
Whilst constant to himself, secure of fate,
Good David still maintains the royal state;
Though each in vain such various ills employs,
Firmly he stands, and even those ills enjoys;
Firm as fair Albion 'midst the raging main,
Surveys encircling danger with disdain.
In vain the waves assault the unmoved shore,
In vain the winds with mingled fury roar,
Fair Albion's beauteous cliffs shine whiter than before.
Talk easy Absalom to rebel rage;
Let frugal Shimei curse in holy zeal,
Or modest Corah more new plots reveal;
Whilst constant to himself, secure of fate,
Good David still maintains the royal state;
Though each in vain such various ills employs,
Firmly he stands, and even those ills enjoys;
Firm as fair Albion 'midst the raging main,
Surveys encircling danger with disdain.
In vain the waves assault the unmoved shore,
In vain the winds with mingled fury roar,
Fair Albion's beauteous cliffs shine whiter than before.
Nor shalt thou move, though hell thy fall conspire,
Though the worse rage of zeal's fanatic fire,
Thou best, thou greatest of the British race,
Thou only fit to fill great Charles his place.
Ah wretched Britons! ah too stubborn isle!
Ah stiff-necked Israel on blest Canaan's soil!
Are those dear proofs of heaven's indulgence vain,
Restoring David and his gentle reign?
Is it in vain thou all the goods dost know,
Auspicious stars on mortals shed below,
While all thy streams with milk, thy lands with honey flow?
No more, fond isle! no more thyself engage,
In civil fury, and intestine rage,
No rebel zeal thy duteous land molest,
But a smooth calm soothe ever peaceful breast,
While in such charming notes divinely sings
The best of poets, of the best of kings.
Though the worse rage of zeal's fanatic fire,
Thou best, thou greatest of the British race,
Thou only fit to fill great Charles his place.
Ah wretched Britons! ah too stubborn isle!
Ah stiff-necked Israel on blest Canaan's soil!
Are those dear proofs of heaven's indulgence vain,
Restoring David and his gentle reign?
Is it in vain thou all the goods dost know,
Auspicious stars on mortals shed below,
While all thy streams with milk, thy lands with honey flow?
No more, fond isle! no more thyself engage,
In civil fury, and intestine rage,
No rebel zeal thy duteous land molest,
But a smooth calm soothe ever peaceful breast,
While in such charming notes divinely sings
The best of poets, of the best of kings.
436
THE MEDAL.
Of all our antic sights and pageantry,
Which English idiots run in crowds to see,
The Polish Medal bears the prize alone;
A monster, more the favourite of the town
Than either fairs or theatres have shown.
Never did art so well with nature strive,
Nor ever idol seemed so much alive;
So like the man, so golden to the sight,
So base within, so counterfeit and light.
One side is filled with title and with face;
And, lest the king should want a regal place,
On the reverse a Tower the town surveys,
O'er which our mounting sun his beams displays.
The word, pronounced aloud by shrieval voice,
Lætamur, which, in Polish, is Rejoice;
The day, month, year, to the great act are joined,
And a new canting holiday designed;
Five days he sat for every cast and look,
Four more than God to finish Adam took.
But who can tell what essence angels are?
Or how long heaven was making Lucifer?
Oh, could the style that copied every grace,
And ploughed such furrows for an eunuch face,
Could it have formed his ever-changing will,
The various piece had tired the graver's skill!
A martial hero first, with early care,
Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war;
A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man;
So young his hatred to his prince began.
Next this,—how wildly will ambition steer!
A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear;
Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold,
He cast himself into the saint-like mould;
Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain,
The loudest bagpipe of the squeaking train.
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes,
His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise.
There split the saint; for hypocritic zeal
Allows no sins but those it can conceal:
Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope;
Saints must not trade, but they may interlope:
The ungodly principle was all the same;
But a gross cheat betrays his partner's game.
Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and slack;
His nimble wit outran the heavy pack;
Yet still he found his fortune at a stay,
Whole droves of blockheads choking up his way;
They took, but not rewarded, his advice;
Villain and wit exact a double price.
Power was his aim; but thrown from that pretence,
The wretch turned loyal in his own defence,
And malice reconciled him to his prince.
Him, in the anguish of his soul, he served;
Rewarded faster still than he deserved.
Behold him now exalted into trust;
His counsel's oft convenient, seldom just;
Even in the most sincere advice he gave,
He had a grudging still to be a knave.
The frauds, he learned in his fanatic years,
Made him uneasy in his lawful gears;
At best, as little honest as he could,
And, like white witches, mischievously good;
To his first bias longingly he leans,
And rather would be great by wicked means.
Thus framed for ill, he loosed our triple hold;
Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold.
From hence those tears, that Ilium of our woe!
Who helps a powerful friend, forearms a foe.
What wonder if the waves prevail so far,
When he cut down the banks that made the bar?
Seas follow but their nature to invade;
But he, by art, our native strength betrayed:
So Samson to his foe his force confest,
And, to be shorn, lay slumbering on her breast.
But when this fatal counsel, found too late,
Exposed its author to the public hate;
When his just sovereign by no impious way
Could be seduced to arbitrary sway;
Forsaken of that hope, he shifts his sail,
Drives down the current with a popular gale,
And shows the fiend confessed without a veil.
He preaches to the crowd, that power is lent,
But not conveyed, to kingly government;
That claims successive bear no binding force;
That coronation oaths are things of course;
Maintains the multitude can never err;
And sets the people in the papal chair.
The reason's obvious,—interest never lies;
The most have still their interest in their eyes;
The power is always theirs, and power is ever wise.
Almighty crowd! thou shortenest all dispute;
Power is thy essence, with thy attribute!
Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay;
Thou leap'st o'er all eternal truths in thy pindaric way!
Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide,
When Phocion and when Socrates were tried;
As righteously they did those dooms repent;
Still they were wise, whatever way they went:
Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run;
To kill the father, and recall the son.
Some think the fools were most as times went then,
But now the world's o'erstocked with prudent men.
The common cry is even religion's test,—
The Turk's is at Constantinople best,
Idols in India, Popery at Rome,
And our own worship only true at home;
And true but for the time, 'tis hard to know
How long we please it shall continue so;
This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns;
So all are God-almighties in their turns.
A tempting doctrine, plausible and new;
What fools our fathers were, if this be true!
Who, to destroy the seeds of civil war,
Inherent right in monarchs did declare;
And, that a lawful power might never cease,
Secured succession to secure our peace.
Thus property and sovereign sway at last
In equal balances were justly cast;
But this new Jehu spurs the hot-mouthed horse,
Instructs the beast to know his native force,
To take the bit between his teeth, and fly
To the next headlong steep of anarchy.
Too happy England, if our good we knew,
Would we possess the freedom we pursue!
The lavish government can give no more;
Yet we repine, and plenty makes us poor.
God tried us once; our rebel fathers fought;
He glutted them with all the power they sought,
Till, mastered by their own usurping brave,
The free-born subject sunk into a slave.
We loathe our manna, and we long for quails;
Ah, what is man, when his own wish prevails!
How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill,
Proud of his power, and boundless in his will!
That kings can do no wrong, we must believe;
None can they do, and must they all receive?
Help, heaven! or sadly we shall see an hour,
When neither wrong nor right are in their power!
Already they have lost their best defence,
The benefit of laws, which they dispense;
No justice to their righteous cause allowed,
But baffled by an arbitrary crowd;
And medals graved their conquest to record,
The stamp and coin of their adopted lord.
Which English idiots run in crowds to see,
The Polish Medal bears the prize alone;
A monster, more the favourite of the town
Than either fairs or theatres have shown.
437
Nor ever idol seemed so much alive;
So like the man, so golden to the sight,
So base within, so counterfeit and light.
438
And, lest the king should want a regal place,
On the reverse a Tower the town surveys,
O'er which our mounting sun his beams displays.
439
Lætamur, which, in Polish, is Rejoice;
The day, month, year, to the great act are joined,
And a new canting holiday designed;
Five days he sat for every cast and look,
Four more than God to finish Adam took.
But who can tell what essence angels are?
Or how long heaven was making Lucifer?
Oh, could the style that copied every grace,
And ploughed such furrows for an eunuch face,
Could it have formed his ever-changing will,
The various piece had tired the graver's skill!
440
Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war;
A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man;
So young his hatred to his prince began.
Next this,—how wildly will ambition steer!
A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear;
441
He cast himself into the saint-like mould;
Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain,
The loudest bagpipe of the squeaking train.
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes,
His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise.
442
Allows no sins but those it can conceal:
Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope;
Saints must not trade, but they may interlope:
The ungodly principle was all the same;
But a gross cheat betrays his partner's game.
Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and slack;
His nimble wit outran the heavy pack;
Yet still he found his fortune at a stay,
Whole droves of blockheads choking up his way;
They took, but not rewarded, his advice;
Villain and wit exact a double price.
Power was his aim; but thrown from that pretence,
The wretch turned loyal in his own defence,
And malice reconciled him to his prince.
443
Rewarded faster still than he deserved.
Behold him now exalted into trust;
His counsel's oft convenient, seldom just;
Even in the most sincere advice he gave,
He had a grudging still to be a knave.
The frauds, he learned in his fanatic years,
Made him uneasy in his lawful gears;
At best, as little honest as he could,
And, like white witches, mischievously good;
To his first bias longingly he leans,
And rather would be great by wicked means.
Thus framed for ill, he loosed our triple hold;
Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold.
444
Who helps a powerful friend, forearms a foe.
What wonder if the waves prevail so far,
When he cut down the banks that made the bar?
Seas follow but their nature to invade;
But he, by art, our native strength betrayed:
So Samson to his foe his force confest,
And, to be shorn, lay slumbering on her breast.
But when this fatal counsel, found too late,
Exposed its author to the public hate;
When his just sovereign by no impious way
Could be seduced to arbitrary sway;
445
Drives down the current with a popular gale,
And shows the fiend confessed without a veil.
446
But not conveyed, to kingly government;
447
That coronation oaths are things of course;
Maintains the multitude can never err;
And sets the people in the papal chair.
The reason's obvious,—interest never lies;
The most have still their interest in their eyes;
The power is always theirs, and power is ever wise.
Almighty crowd! thou shortenest all dispute;
Power is thy essence, with thy attribute!
Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay;
Thou leap'st o'er all eternal truths in thy pindaric way!
Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide,
When Phocion and when Socrates were tried;
As righteously they did those dooms repent;
Still they were wise, whatever way they went:
Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run;
To kill the father, and recall the son.
Some think the fools were most as times went then,
But now the world's o'erstocked with prudent men.
The common cry is even religion's test,—
The Turk's is at Constantinople best,
Idols in India, Popery at Rome,
And our own worship only true at home;
And true but for the time, 'tis hard to know
How long we please it shall continue so;
This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns;
So all are God-almighties in their turns.
448
What fools our fathers were, if this be true!
Who, to destroy the seeds of civil war,
Inherent right in monarchs did declare;
And, that a lawful power might never cease,
Secured succession to secure our peace.
Thus property and sovereign sway at last
In equal balances were justly cast;
But this new Jehu spurs the hot-mouthed horse,
Instructs the beast to know his native force,
To take the bit between his teeth, and fly
To the next headlong steep of anarchy.
Too happy England, if our good we knew,
Would we possess the freedom we pursue!
The lavish government can give no more;
Yet we repine, and plenty makes us poor.
God tried us once; our rebel fathers fought;
He glutted them with all the power they sought,
Till, mastered by their own usurping brave,
The free-born subject sunk into a slave.
We loathe our manna, and we long for quails;
Ah, what is man, when his own wish prevails!
How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill,
Proud of his power, and boundless in his will!
That kings can do no wrong, we must believe;
None can they do, and must they all receive?
Help, heaven! or sadly we shall see an hour,
When neither wrong nor right are in their power!
Already they have lost their best defence,
The benefit of laws, which they dispense;
No justice to their righteous cause allowed,
But baffled by an arbitrary crowd;
And medals graved their conquest to record,
The stamp and coin of their adopted lord.
449
The man, who laughed but once to see an ass
Mumbling to make the cross-grained thistles pass,
Might laugh again to see a jury chaw
The prickles of unpalatable law.
The witnesses, that leech-like lived on blood,
Sucking for them were med'cinally good;
But when they fastened on their festered sore,
Then justice and religion they forswore;
Their maiden oaths debauched into a whore.
Thus men are raised by factions, and decried,
And rogue and saint distinguished by their side;
They rack even Scripture to confess their cause,
And plead a call to preach in spite of laws.
But that's no news to the poor injured page,
It has been used as ill in every age;
And is constrained with patience all to take,
For what defence can Greek and Hebrew make?
Happy, who can this talking trumpet seize;
They make it speak whatever sense they please!
'Twas framed at first our oracle, to enquire;
But since our sects in prophecy grow higher,
The text inspires not them, but they the text inspire.
London, thou great emporium of our isle,
O thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Nile!
How shall I praise or curse to thy desert?
Or separate thy sound from thy corrupted part?
I called thee Nile; the parallel will stand;
Thy tides of wealth o'erflow the fattened land;
Yet monsters from thy large increase we find,
Engendered on the slime thou leav'st behind.
Sedition has not wholly seized on thee,
Thy nobler parts are from infection free.
Of Israel's tribes thou hast a numerous band,
But still the Canaanite is in the land;
Thy military chiefs are brave and true,
Nor are thy disenchanted burghers few;
The head is loyal which thy heart commands,
But what's a head with two such gouty hands?
The wise and wealthy love the surest way,
And are content to thrive and to obey.
But wisdom is to sloth too great a slave;
None are so busy as the fool and knave.
Those let me curse; what vengeance will they urge,
Whose ordures neither plague nor fire can purge;
Nor sharp experience can to duty bring,
Nor angry heaven, nor a forgiving king!
In gospel-phrase their chapmen they betray;
Their shops are dens, the buyer is their prey:
The knack of trades is living on the spoil;
They boast even when each other they beguile.
Customs to steal is such a trivial thing,
That 'tis their charter to defraud their king.
All hands unite of every jarring sect;
They cheat the country first, and then infect.
They for God's cause their monarchs dare dethrone,
And they'll be sure to make his cause their own.
Whether the plotting Jesuit laid the plan
Of murdering kings, or the French Puritan,
Our sacrilegious sects their guides outgo,
And kings and kingly power would murder too.
What means their traitorous combination less,
Too plain to evade, too shameful to confess!
But treason is not owned when 'tis descried;
Successful crimes alone are justified.
The men, who no conspiracy would find,
Who doubts, but, had it taken, they had joined,—
Joined in a mutual covenant of defence,
At first without, at last against, their prince?
If sovereign right by sovereign power they scan,
The same bold maxim holds in God and man:
God were not safe, his thunder could they shun,
He should be forced to crown another son.
Thus, when the heir was from the vineyard thrown,
The rich possession was the murderers' own.
In vain to sophistry they have recourse;
By proving theirs no plot, they prove 'tis worse,
Unmasked rebellion, and audacious force;
Which, though not actual, yet all eyes may see,
'Tis working in the immediate power to be;
For from pretended grievances they rise,
First to dislike, and after to despise;
Then, cyclop-like, in human flesh to deal,
Chop up a minister at every meal;
Perhaps not wholly to melt down the king,
But clip his regal rights within the ring.
From thence to assume the power of peace and war,
And ease him, by degrees, of public care:
Yet, to consult his dignity and fame,
He should have leave to exercise the name,
And hold the cards while commons played the game.
For what can power give more than food and drink,
To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
These are the cooler methods of their crime,
But their hot zealots think 'tis loss of time;
On utmost bounds of loyalty they stand,
And grin and whet like a Croatian band,
That waits impatient for the last command.
Thus outlaws open villainy maintain;
They steal not, but in squadrons scour the plain;
And if their power the passengers subdue,
The most have right, the wrong is in the few.
Such impious axioms foolishly they show,
For in some soils republics will not grow:
Our temperate isle will no extremes sustain
Of popular sway, or arbitrary reign;
But slides between them both into the best,
Secure in freedom, in a monarch blest;
And though the climate, vexed with various winds,
Works through our yielding bodies on our minds,
The wholesome tempest purges what it breeds,
To recommend the calmness that succeeds.
Mumbling to make the cross-grained thistles pass,
Might laugh again to see a jury chaw
The prickles of unpalatable law.
The witnesses, that leech-like lived on blood,
Sucking for them were med'cinally good;
But when they fastened on their festered sore,
Then justice and religion they forswore;
Their maiden oaths debauched into a whore.
Thus men are raised by factions, and decried,
And rogue and saint distinguished by their side;
They rack even Scripture to confess their cause,
And plead a call to preach in spite of laws.
But that's no news to the poor injured page,
It has been used as ill in every age;
450
For what defence can Greek and Hebrew make?
Happy, who can this talking trumpet seize;
They make it speak whatever sense they please!
'Twas framed at first our oracle, to enquire;
But since our sects in prophecy grow higher,
The text inspires not them, but they the text inspire.
London, thou great emporium of our isle,
O thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Nile!
How shall I praise or curse to thy desert?
Or separate thy sound from thy corrupted part?
I called thee Nile; the parallel will stand;
Thy tides of wealth o'erflow the fattened land;
Yet monsters from thy large increase we find,
Engendered on the slime thou leav'st behind.
Sedition has not wholly seized on thee,
Thy nobler parts are from infection free.
Of Israel's tribes thou hast a numerous band,
But still the Canaanite is in the land;
Thy military chiefs are brave and true,
Nor are thy disenchanted burghers few;
The head is loyal which thy heart commands,
But what's a head with two such gouty hands?
The wise and wealthy love the surest way,
And are content to thrive and to obey.
But wisdom is to sloth too great a slave;
None are so busy as the fool and knave.
451
Whose ordures neither plague nor fire can purge;
Nor sharp experience can to duty bring,
Nor angry heaven, nor a forgiving king!
In gospel-phrase their chapmen they betray;
Their shops are dens, the buyer is their prey:
The knack of trades is living on the spoil;
They boast even when each other they beguile.
Customs to steal is such a trivial thing,
That 'tis their charter to defraud their king.
All hands unite of every jarring sect;
They cheat the country first, and then infect.
They for God's cause their monarchs dare dethrone,
And they'll be sure to make his cause their own.
Whether the plotting Jesuit laid the plan
Of murdering kings, or the French Puritan,
Our sacrilegious sects their guides outgo,
And kings and kingly power would murder too.
What means their traitorous combination less,
Too plain to evade, too shameful to confess!
But treason is not owned when 'tis descried;
Successful crimes alone are justified.
The men, who no conspiracy would find,
Who doubts, but, had it taken, they had joined,—
Joined in a mutual covenant of defence,
At first without, at last against, their prince?
452
The same bold maxim holds in God and man:
God were not safe, his thunder could they shun,
He should be forced to crown another son.
Thus, when the heir was from the vineyard thrown,
The rich possession was the murderers' own.
In vain to sophistry they have recourse;
By proving theirs no plot, they prove 'tis worse,
Unmasked rebellion, and audacious force;
Which, though not actual, yet all eyes may see,
'Tis working in the immediate power to be;
For from pretended grievances they rise,
First to dislike, and after to despise;
Then, cyclop-like, in human flesh to deal,
Chop up a minister at every meal;
Perhaps not wholly to melt down the king,
But clip his regal rights within the ring.
From thence to assume the power of peace and war,
And ease him, by degrees, of public care:
453
He should have leave to exercise the name,
And hold the cards while commons played the game.
For what can power give more than food and drink,
To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
These are the cooler methods of their crime,
But their hot zealots think 'tis loss of time;
On utmost bounds of loyalty they stand,
And grin and whet like a Croatian band,
That waits impatient for the last command.
Thus outlaws open villainy maintain;
They steal not, but in squadrons scour the plain;
And if their power the passengers subdue,
The most have right, the wrong is in the few.
Such impious axioms foolishly they show,
For in some soils republics will not grow:
Our temperate isle will no extremes sustain
Of popular sway, or arbitrary reign;
But slides between them both into the best,
Secure in freedom, in a monarch blest;
454
Works through our yielding bodies on our minds,
The wholesome tempest purges what it breeds,
To recommend the calmness that succeeds.
But thou, the pander of the people's hearts,
O crooked soul, and serpentine in arts,
Whose blandishments a loyal land have whored,
And broke the bonds she plighted to her lord;
What curses on thy blasted name will fall,
Which age to age their legacy shall call!
For all must curse the woes that must descend on all.
Religion thou hast none: thy mercury
Has passed through every sect, or theirs through thee.
But what thou givest, that venom still remains,
And the poxed nation feels thee in their brains.
What else inspires the tongues, and swells the breasts,
Of all thy bellowing renegado priests,
That preach up thee for God, dispense thy laws,
And with thy stum ferment their fainting cause;
Fresh fumes of madness raise, and toil and sweat,
To make the formidable cripple great?
Yet should thy crimes succeed, should lawless power
Compass those ends thy greedy hopes devour,
Thy canting friends thy mortal foes would be,
Thy God and theirs will never long agree;
For thine, if thou hast any, must be one,
That lets the world and humankind alone;
A jolly god, that passes hours too well,
To promise heaven, or threaten us with hell;
That unconcerned can at rebellion sit,
And wink at crimes he did himself commit.
A tyrant theirs; the heaven their priesthood paints
A conventicle of gloomy, sullen saints;
A heaven, like Bedlam, slovenly and sad,
Fore-doomed for souls with false religion mad.
O crooked soul, and serpentine in arts,
Whose blandishments a loyal land have whored,
And broke the bonds she plighted to her lord;
What curses on thy blasted name will fall,
Which age to age their legacy shall call!
For all must curse the woes that must descend on all.
Religion thou hast none: thy mercury
Has passed through every sect, or theirs through thee.
But what thou givest, that venom still remains,
And the poxed nation feels thee in their brains.
What else inspires the tongues, and swells the breasts,
Of all thy bellowing renegado priests,
455
And with thy stum ferment their fainting cause;
Fresh fumes of madness raise, and toil and sweat,
To make the formidable cripple great?
456
Compass those ends thy greedy hopes devour,
Thy canting friends thy mortal foes would be,
Thy God and theirs will never long agree;
457
That lets the world and humankind alone;
A jolly god, that passes hours too well,
To promise heaven, or threaten us with hell;
That unconcerned can at rebellion sit,
And wink at crimes he did himself commit.
A tyrant theirs; the heaven their priesthood paints
A conventicle of gloomy, sullen saints;
A heaven, like Bedlam, slovenly and sad,
Fore-doomed for souls with false religion mad.
Without a vision, poets can foreshow
What all but fools, by common sense, may know:
If true succession from our isle should fail,
And crowds profane, with impious arms, prevail,
Not thou, nor those thy factious arts engage,
Shall reap that harvest of rebellious rage,
With which thou flatterest thy decrepit age.
The swelling poison of the several sects,
Which, wanting vent, the nation's health infects,
Shall burst its bag, and, fighting out their way,
The various venoms on each other prey.
The presbyter, puffed up with spiritual pride,
Shall on the necks of the lewd nobles ride;
His brethren damn, the civil power defy,
And parcel out republic prelacy.
But short shall be his reign; his rigid yoke,
And tyrant power, will puny sects provoke;
And frogs and toads, and all the tadpole train,
Will croak to heaven for help from this devouring crane.
The cut-throat sword and clamorous gown shall jar,
In sharing their ill-gotten spoils of war;
Chiefs shall be grudged the part which they pretend;
Lords envy lords, and friends with every friend
About their impious merit shall contend.
The surly commons shall respect deny,
And jostle peerage out with property.
Their general either shall his trust betray,
And force the crowd to arbitrary sway;
Or they, suspecting his ambitious aim,
In hate of kings shall cast anew the frame,
And thrust out Collatine, that bore their name.
What all but fools, by common sense, may know:
If true succession from our isle should fail,
And crowds profane, with impious arms, prevail,
Not thou, nor those thy factious arts engage,
Shall reap that harvest of rebellious rage,
With which thou flatterest thy decrepit age.
The swelling poison of the several sects,
Which, wanting vent, the nation's health infects,
Shall burst its bag, and, fighting out their way,
The various venoms on each other prey.
458
Shall on the necks of the lewd nobles ride;
His brethren damn, the civil power defy,
And parcel out republic prelacy.
But short shall be his reign; his rigid yoke,
And tyrant power, will puny sects provoke;
And frogs and toads, and all the tadpole train,
Will croak to heaven for help from this devouring crane.
The cut-throat sword and clamorous gown shall jar,
In sharing their ill-gotten spoils of war;
Chiefs shall be grudged the part which they pretend;
Lords envy lords, and friends with every friend
About their impious merit shall contend.
The surly commons shall respect deny,
And jostle peerage out with property.
Their general either shall his trust betray,
And force the crowd to arbitrary sway;
459
In hate of kings shall cast anew the frame,
And thrust out Collatine, that bore their name.
Thus, inborn broils the factions would engage,
Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting vengeance overtook our age;
And our wild labours, wearied into rest,
Reclined us on a rightful monarch's breast.
Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting vengeance overtook our age;
And our wild labours, wearied into rest,
Reclined us on a rightful monarch's breast.
------ Pudet hæc opprobria, vobis
Et dici potuisse, et non potuisse refelli.
Et dici potuisse, et non potuisse refelli.
| The works of John Dryden | |