How can he show his manhood, if you bind him
To box, like boys, with one hand tied behind him?
This is plain levelling of wit; in which
The poor has all the advantage, not the rich.
The blockhead stands excused, for wanting sense;
And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.
Yet, though the stage's traffic is undone,
Still Julian's interloping trade goes on:
Though satire on the theatre you smother,
Yet, in lampoons, you libel one another.
The first produces, still, a second jig;

You whip them out, like school-boys, till they gig;
And with the same success, wet readers guess,
For every one still dwindles to a less;

And much good malice is so meanly drest,

That we would laugh, but cannot find the jest.
If no advice your rhyming rage can stay,
Let not the ladies suffer in the fray:
Their tender sex is privileged from war;
'Tis not like knights, to draw upon the fair.
What fame expect you from so mean a prize?
We wear no murdering weapons, but our eyes.
Our sex, you know, was after yours designed :
The last perfection of the Maker's mind;

Heaven drew out all the gold for us, and left your dross

behind.

Beauty for valour's best reward he chose;

35

Peace, after war; and after toil, repose.

Hence, ye profane, excluded from our sights;

And, charmed by day with honour's vain delights,

I'm thinking (and it almost makes me mad)
How sweet a time those heathen ladies had.
Idolatry was even their gods' own trade :

They worshipped the fine creatures they had made.
Cupid was chief of all the deities,

And love was all the fashion in the skies.

When the sweet nymph held up her lily hand,
Jove was her humble servant at command;

5

*Julian was a low fellow, a hawker of lampoons and coarse ballads. A poem addressed to him under the title "A Familiar Epistle to Mr. Julian, Secretary to the Muses," appears in the "Miscellany Poems" (vol. vi. edition of 1716), being ascribed to Dryden, there cannot be a doubt incorrectly. See p. 298.

The sense has been spoilt here by most editors, including Scott and R. Bell, changing we into our.

The treasury of heaven was ne'er so bare
But still there was a pension for the fair.
In all his reign, adultery was no sin;
For Jove the good example did begin.

Mark, too, when he usurped the husband's name,
How civilly he saved the lady's fame.

The secret joys of love he wisely hid;

But you, sirs, boast of more than e'er you did.

ΙΟ

15

You tease your cuckolds, to their face torment 'em :

But Jove gave his new honours to content 'em,
And, in the kind remembrance of the fair,
On each exalted son bestowed a star.
For these good deeds, as by the date appears,
His godship flourished full two thousand years.
At last, when he and all his priests grew old,
The ladies grew in their devotion cold;
And that false worship would no longer hold.
Severity of life did next begin;

And always does, when we no more can sin.
That doctrine, too, so hard in practice lies,
That the next age may see another rise.
Then, pagan gods may once again succeed:
And Jove or Mars be ready, at our need,

20

25

30

To get young godlings, and so mend our breed.

PROLOGUE TO “MISTAKES, OR THE FALSE REPORT."*

1690.

Enter MR. BRIGHT.

Gentlemen, we must beg your pardon; here's no Prologue to be had to-day. Our new play is like to come on without a frontispiece; as bald as one of you young beaux without your periwig. I left our young poet snivelling and sobbing behind the scenes, and cursing somebody that has deceived him.

Enter MR. BOWEN.

Hold your prating to the audience: here's honest Mr. Williams just come in, half mellow, from the Rose Tavern. He swears he is inspired with claret, and will come on, and that extempore too, either with a prologue of his own, or something like one. O here he comes to his trial, at all adventures; for my part, I wish him a good deliverance. [Exeunt MR. BRIGHT and MR. BOWEN,

Enter MR. WILLIAMS.

Save ye, sirs, save ye! I am in a hopeful way.

I should speak something, in rhyme, now for the play:
But the deuce take me, if I know what to say!
I'll stick to my friend the author, that I can tell ye,
To the last drop of claret in my belly.

5

This was a tragi-comedy of which Joseph Harris, the comedian, was the ostensible author; it is a piece of no merit.

So far I'm sure 'tis rhyme—that needs no granting:

And, if my verses' feet stumble-you see my own are wanting.
Our young poet has brought a piece of work,

In which though much of art there does not lurk,

It may hold out three days, and that's as long as Cork.

But, for this play-(which, till I have done, we show not.)
What may be its fortune-by the Lord-I know not.
This I dare swear, no malice here is writ;
'Tis innocent of all things-even of wit.
He's no high-flyer-he makes no sky-rockets,
His squibs are only levelled at your pockets;
And if his crackers light among your pelf,

You are blown up; if not, then he's blown up himself.

ΙΟ

15

By this time, I'm something recovered of my flustered madness:
And now, a word or two in sober sadness.

Ours is a common play; and you pay down

20

A common harlot's price-just half-a-crown.

You'll say, I play the pimp, on my friend's score;

But since 'tis for a friend, your gibes give o'er,

For many a mother has done that before.

25

How's this? you cry: an actor write?—we know it;

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO "KING ARTHUR, OR THE BRITISH WORTHY." +

*

1691.

PROLOGUE.

SURE there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
When silly plays so savourly go down;
As, when clipped money passes, 'tis a sign
A nation is not over-stocked with coin.

See "The Hind and the Panther," part 3, line 759, and note.

"King Arthur, or the British Worthy," called by Dryden "a dramatic opera,' was produced at the Theatre Royal in 1691. The music was by Purcell, and the opera was a great success. Dryden had often meditated an epic poem on King Arthur, but the necessity, as he has himself said, of working for subsistence, and probably even more his nature, which made him work impulsively and under excitement, prevented the fulfilment of his design. This opera had been originally composed, like "Albion and Albanius," at the end of Charles II.'s reign: it was much changed before it was produced in the reign of William and Mary.

1 Savourly, printed savourily by Scott. Mr. R. Bell has turned it into favourably.

Happy is he, who in his own defence
Can write just level to your humble sense;
Who higher than your pitch can never go;
And doubtless he must creep who writes below.
So have I seen, in hall of knight or lord,
A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board;
He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks,
Secured by weakness not to reach the box.
A feeble poet will his business do,
Who, straining all he can, comes up to you:
For, if you like yourselves, you like him too.
An ape his own dear image will embrace;
An ugly beau adores a hatchet face:
So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature,
Are led by kind to admire your fellow-creature.
In fear of which, our house has sent this day,
To insure our new-built vessel, called a play;

No sooner named, than one cries out,-These stagers

Come in good time, to make more work for wagers.
The town divides, if it will take or no ;

40

If these would have their prayers be heard, or no;

For, in great stakes, we piously suppose,

Men pray but very faintly they may lose.

Leave off these wagers; for, in conscience speaking,

The city needs not your new tricks for breaking :
And if you, gallants, lose, to all appearing,

45

You'll want an equipage for volunteering;

While thus, no spark of honour left within ye,

When you should draw the sword, you draw the guinea.

From fops, and wits, and cits, and Bow-street beaux :

* This Epilogue was spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle, an actress of great beauty and unblemished

character.

Some from Whitehall, but from the Temple more :
A Covent-Garden porter brought me four.
I have not yet read all; but, without feigning,
We maids can make shrewd guesses at your meaning.
What if, to show your styles, I read them here?
Methinks I hear one cry, "O Lord, forbear!

No, Madam, no; by Heaven, that's too severe."
Well then, be safe-

But swear henceforward to renounce all writing,
And take this solemn oath of my inditing,-
As you love ease, and hate campaigns and fighting.
Yet, faith, 'tis just to make some few examples:
What if I showed you one or two for samples?
Here one desires my ladyship to meet

At the kind couch above in Bridges-street.

5

10

15

[Pulls out one.

Oh sharping knave! that would have-you know what,
For a poor sneaking treat of chocolate.

19

Now, in the name of luck, I'll break this open, [Pulls out

My overplus of love shall be for you.

"Madam, I swear your looks are so divine, [Reads. 30 "When I set up, your face shall be my sign;

66

Though times are hard-to show how I adore you, "Here's my whole heart, and half a guinea for you.

66

But, have a care of beaux; they're false, my honey;
And, which is worse, have not one rag of money."
See how maliciously the rogue would wrong ye!

But I know better things of some among ye.

My wisest way will be to keep the stage,
And trust to the good nature of the age:
And he that likes the music and the play
Shall be my favourite gallant to-day.

35

40

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO "CLEOMENES, OR THE SPARTAN HERO."*

1692.

PROLOGUE.

I THINK, or hope at least, the coast is clear;
That none but men of wit and sense are here;

The tragedy of "Cleomenes" was first represented in May 1692. There had been some delay in bringing it out; Queen Mary, who was acting as Regent during William's absence in Ireland,