John Dryden

“ Suppose our poet was your foe before,
Yet now, the business of the field is o'er;
'Tis time to let your civil wars alone,
When troops are into winter quarters gone.
Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian;
And you well know, a play's of no religion.
Take good advice, and please yourselves this day;
No matter from what hands you have the play.
Among good fellows every health will pass,
That serves to carry round another glass: 20
When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine,
Though at the mighty monarch you repine,
You grant him still Most Christian in his wine.
Thus far the poet ”

“ Stay a little, Anthony, I'll be with you presently.
[Exit Mood.
Warn. That wicked old man is gone for no good, I'm afraid; would I were fairly quit of him.
[Aside.
Mill. aside.] Tell me no more of Sir Martin, Rose; he wants natural sense, to talk after this rate: but for this Warner, I am strangely taken with him; how handsomely he brought him off!
Enter Moody, with two cudgels.
Mood. Among half a score tough cudgels I had in my chamber, I have made choice of these two, as best able to hold out.
Mill. Alas! poor Warner must be beaten now, for all his wit; would I could bear it for him! ”

“ 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. ”

“ I am for a set-meal, where I may enjoy my full gust; but, when I once fall on, you shall find me a brave man upon occasion.
Luc. 'Tis time we were in our cells. Quick, Hippolita; where's the key?
Hip. Here, in my pocket—No, 'tis in my other pocket:—Ha, 'tis not there neither. I am sure I put it in one of them.
Luc. What should we do, if it should be lost now?
Hip. I have searched myself all over, and cannot find it.
Asca. A woman can never search herself all over; let me search you, sister.
Luc. Is this a time for raillery? Oh, sweet heaven! speak comfort quickly; have you found it? ”

“ And send it flitting to the Trachin court,
The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report:
Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand,
Who begs a vain relief at Juno's hand.—
She said, and scarce awake her eyes could keep,
Unable to support the fumes of sleep;
But fled, returning by the way she went,
And swerved along her bow with swift ascent.
The god, uneasy till he slept again,
Resolved at once to rid himself of pain;
And, though against his custom, called aloud,
Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd;
Morpheus, of all his numerous train, expressed
The shape of man, and imitated best ”

“ What will become of us?
Bel. We must have recourse to our former resolution. Let the ladies retire into the garden-house. And, now I think on it, you gentlemen shall go in with them, and leave me and Maskall to bear the brunt of it.
Mask. Me, sir! I beseech you let me go in with the ladies too; dear Beatrix, speak a good word for me! I protest 'tis more out of love to thy company than for any fear I have.
Bel. You dog, I have need of your wit and counsel. We have no time to deliberate. Will you stay, sir? ”

“ The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull,
With this prophetic blessing—Be thou dull;
Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight
Fit for thy bulk—do anything but write:
Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men, 480
A strong nativity—but for the pen!
Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink,
Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink.
I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain,
For treason botch'd in rhyme will be thy bane;
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck,
'Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck:
Why should thy metre good king David blast? ”

“ And last the Cannons voice that shook the Skies,
And, as it fares in sudden Extasies,
At once bereft us both of Ears and Eyes.
The Naseby, now no longer Englands shame,
But better to be lost in Charles his name,
(Like some unequal Bride in nobler sheets)
Receives her Lord: the joyful London meets
The princely York, himself alone a freight;
The Swift-sure groans beneath great Glouc'sters weight.
Secure as when the Halcyon breeds, with these,
He that was born to drown might cross the Seas.
Heav'n could not own a Providence, and take
The Wealth three Nations ventur'd at a stake. ”

“ Hold, Frances.—
Trice. She's drunk, I warrant her, as any beast. I wonder, woman, you do not consider what a crying sin drunkenness is: Whom do you learn it from in our parish? I am sure you never see me worse.
Isa. Burr and Failer, acknowledge yourselves a couple of recreant knights: Sir Timorous is mine: I have won him in fair field from you.
Const. Give you joy, cousin, give you joy!
Lov. Married!
Isa. And in Diana's grove, boy.
Lov. Why, 'tis fine, by Heaven; 'tis wondrous fine; as the poet goes on sweetly. ”

“ Miscellaneous Poet—As a Translator—As a Prose Author—As a Critic.
If Dryden received but a slender share of the gifts of fortune, it was amply made up to him in reputation. Even while a poet militant upon earth, he received no ordinary portion of that applause, which is too often reserved for the "dull cold ear of death." He combated, it is true, but he conquered; and, in despite of faction, civil and religious, of penury, and the contempt which follows it, of degrading patronage, and rejected solicitation, from 1666 to the year of his death, the name of Dryden was first in English literature. ”

“ The Poet's gain is ne'er beyond his day.
But with the Parson 'tis another case,
He, without holiness, may rise to grace.
The Poet has one disadvantage more,
That if his play be dull, he's damn'd all o'er,
Not only a damn'd blockhead, but damn'd poor. 20
But dulness well becomes the sable garment;
I warrant that ne'er spoil'd a Priest's perferment:
Wit's not his business, and as wit now goes,
Sirs, 'tis not so much yours as you suppose,
For you like nothing now but nauseous beaux.
You laugh not, gallants, as by proof appears,
At what his beauship says, but what he wears ”

“ Poor Elkanah Settle seemed raised up like another Mordecai to poison the peace and disturb the false self-satisfaction of Dryden,—raised up, rather—shall we say?—to wean the poet from a sphere where his true place and power were not, and to prepare him for other stages, where he was yet destined far more powerfully to play his part. At all events, this should have been his inference from the success of Settle. It should have taught him that a scene where a pitiful poetaster, backed by mob-favour and the word of a Rochester, could eclipse his glory, was no scene for him ”

“ Let me alone, I'll cudgel him away;
But I abhor so villainous a shape.
Jup. Take it, I charge thee on thy duty, take it;
Nor dare to lay it down, till I command.
I cannot bear a moment's loss of joy.—
Night appears above in a chariot.
Look up, the Night is in her silent chariot,
And rolling just o'er Thebes: Bid her drive slowly, [22]
Or make a double turn about the world;
While I drop Jove, and take Amphitryon's dress,
To be the greater, while I seem the less.
[Exit Jupiter.
Merc. [To Night.] Madam Night, a good even to you! Fair and softly, I beseech you, madam ”

“ He had done more than any man to create a literary class. It was his resolve to live by his pen that first raised literature into a profession. In the stead of gentlemen amusing a curious leisure with works of fancy, or Dependants wringing bread by their genius from a patron's caprice, Dryden saw that the time had come for the author, trusting for support to the world of readers, and wielding a power over opinion which compensates for the smallness of his gains. But he was not only the first to create a literary class; he was the first to impress the idea of literature on the English mind. ”

“ For once I will not stand with you. [Exit Warner.] 'Tis a sweet gentlewoman, this Mrs Millisent, if you can get her.
Sir Mart. Let me alone for plotting.
L. Dupe. But by your favour, sir, 'tis not so easy; her father has already promised her; and the young gentleman comes up with them: I partly know the man—but the old squire is humoursome; he's stout, and plain in speech, and in behaviour; he loves none of the fine town tricks of breeding, but stands up for the old Elizabeth way in all things. This we must work upon.
Sir Mart. Sure you think you have to deal with a fool, cousin? ”

“ Merc. There is an act of oblivion should be passed too.
Phæd. Let him begin to remember quarrels, when he dares; now I have him under my girdle, I'll cap verses with him to the end of the chapter.
Enter Amphitryon, and Guards.
Amph. [To Gripus.] At the last I have got possession without your lordship's warrant.—Phædra, tell Alcmena I am here.
Phæd. I'll carry no such lying message: you are [94] not here, and you cannot be here; for, to my knowledge, you are above with my lady, in the chamber.
Amph. All of a piece, and all witchcraft!—Answer me precisely: dost thou not know me for Amphitryon? ”

“ Of the poet's father, Erasmus, we know even less than of his other relations. He acted as a justice of peace during the usurpation, and was the father of no less than fourteen children; four sons and ten daughters. The sons were John, Erasmus, Henry, and James; the daughters, Agnes, Rose, Lucy, Mary, Martha, Elizabeth, Hester, Hannah, Abigail, Frances. Such anecdotes concerning them as my predecessors have recovered, may be found in the note. [19]
JOHN DRYDEN, the subject of this memoir, was born at the parsonage house of Oldwinkle All-Saints, on or about the 9th day of August 1631. ”

“ Dryden scoffs at priests and creeds, but his greater poetry is coloured throughout with religion. He plays the rake, but the two pictures which he has painted with all his heart are the pictures of the honest country squire and the poor country parson. He passes his rivals in the grossness of his comedies, he flings himself recklessly into the evil about him because it is the fashion and because it pays. But he cannot sport lightly and gaily with what is foul. He is driven if he is coarse at all to be brutally coarse. ”

“ Whether we judge of the rank which Dryden held in society by the splendour of his titled and powerful friends, or by his connections among men of genius, we must consider him as occupying at this time, as high a station in the very foremost circle as literary reputation could gain for its owner. Independent of the notice with which he was honoured by Charles himself, the poet numbered among his friends most of the distinguished nobility. The great Duke of Ormond had already begun that connection which subsisted between Dryden and three generations of the house of Butler ”

“ One of them, named John, removed from a place called Staff-hill, to Northamptonshire, where he succeeded to the estate of Canons-Ashby, by marriage with the daughter of Sir John Cope. John Dryden was a schoolmaster, a Puritan, and honoured, it is said, with the friendship of the celebrated Erasmus, after whom he named his son, who succeeded to the estate of Canons-Ashby, and, besides becoming a sheriff of the county of Northamptonshire, was created a knight under James I. Sir Erasmus had three sons, the third of whom, also an Erasmus, became the father of our poet. ”

“ In lyrical poetry, Dryden must be allowed to have no equal. "Alexander's Feast" is sufficient to show his supremacy in that brilliant department. In this exquisite production, he flung from him all the trappings with which his contemporaries had embarrassed the ode. The language, lofty and striking as the ideas are, is equally simple and harmonious; without far-fetched allusions, or epithets, or metaphors, the story is told as intelligibly as if it had been in the most humble prose. ”

“ Sir John. Her name, sir, I beseech you.
Warn. For heaven's sake, sir, have a care.
Sir Mart. Thou art such a coxcomb—Her name's Millisent. [14]
Warn. Now, the pox take you, sir, what do you mean?
Sir John. Millisent, say you? That's the name of my mistress.
Sir Mart. Lord! what luck is that now! well, sir, it happened one of her gloves fell down; I stooped to take it up; and, in the stooping, made her a compliment.
Warn. The devil cannot hold him; now will this thick-skulled master of mine tell the whole story to his rival! ”

“ The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand,
Now cannot his unmastered grief sustain,
But yields to rage, to madness, and disdain;
Then snatching out his faulchion,—Thou, said he,
Art mine; Ulysses lays no claim to thee.
O often tried, and ever trusty sword,
Now do thy last kind office to thy lord!
'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show
None but himself, himself could overthrow.—
He said, and with so good a will to die,
Did to his breast the fatal point apply,
It found his heart, a way till then unknown,
Where never weapon entered but his own ”

“ Sir Mart. It may be you have, and it may be you have not, sir; you see I have no mind to satisfy you, sir: What a devil! a man cannot talk a little to his own flesh and blood, but you must be interposing, with a murrain to you.
Mood. Enough of this, good Anthony; this gentleman is to marry your sister.
Sir Mart. He marry my sister! Ods foot, sir, there are some bastards, that shall be nameless, that are as well worthy to marry her, as any man; and have as good blood in their veins.
Sir John. I do not question it in the least, sir.
Sir Mart. 'Tis not your best course, sir; you marry my sister! ”