750

In vain mankind the hot-brain'd fools decries,
No branding censures can unveil his eyes;
With impudence the laurel they invade,
Resolv'd to like the monsters they have made.
Virgil, compar'd to them, is flat and dry,
And Homer understood not poetry;
Against their merit if this age rebel,
To future times for justice they appeal.
But, waiting till mankind shall do 'em right,
And bring their works triumphantly to light,
Neglected heaps we in by-corners lay,

760

Where they become to worms and moths a prey;
Forgot, in dust and cobwebs let 'em rest,
Whilst we return from whence we first digress'd.
The great success which tragic writers found,
In Athens first the Comedy renown'd.
Th' abusive Grecian there, by pleasing ways,
Dispers'd his nat'ral malice in his plays;
Wisdom and virtue, honor, wit, and sense,
Were subject to buffooning insolence:
Poets were publicly approv'd, and sought,
That vice extoll'd, and virtue set at naught;
And Socrates himself, in that loose age,
Was made the pastime of a scoffing stage.
At last the public took in hand the cause,
And cur'd this madness by the pow'r of laws;
Forbade at any time, or any place,

770

To name the person, or describe the face.
The stage its ancient fury thus let fall,
And comedy diverted without gall;
By mild reproofs recover'd minds diseas'd,
And, sparing persons, innocently pleas'd.
Each one was nicely shown in this new glass, 780
And smil'd to think he was not meant the ass:
A miser oft would laugh the first, to find
A faithful draught of his own sordid mind;
And fops were with such care and cunning writ,
They lik'd the piece for which themselves did
sit.

You then that would the comic laurels wear,
To study nature be your only care:
Whoe'er knows man, and by a curious art
Discerns the hidden secrets of the heart;
He who observes and naturally can paint
The jealous fool, the fawning sycophant,
A sober wit, an enterprising ass,
A humorous Otter, or a Hudibras, -
May safely in these noble lists ingage,
And make 'em act and speak upon the stage.
Strive to be natural in all you write,

790

And paint with colors that may please the sight.

800

Nature in various figures does abound,
And in each mind are diff'rent humors found;
A glance, a touch, discovers to the wise,
But every man has not discerning eyes.
All-changing time does also change the mind,
And diff'rent ages diff'rent pleasures find:
Youth, hot and furious, cannot brook delay;
By flattering vice is eas'ly led away;
Vain in discourse, inconstant in desire;
In censure, rash; in pleasures, all on fire.
The manly age does steadier thoughts enjoy ;
Pow'r and ambition do his soul employ:
Against the turns of fate he sets his mind,
And by the past the future hopes to find.
Decrepit age, still adding to his stores,

810

For others heaps the treasure he adores; In all his actions keeps a frozen pace; Past times extols, the present to debase: Incapable of pleasures youth abuse,

In others blames what age does him refuse.
Your actors must by reason be controll'd;
Let young men speak like young, old men like
old;

830

Observe the town, and study well the court, 820
For thither various characters resort:
Thus 't was great Jonson purchas'd his renown,
And in his art had borne away the crown;
If, less desirous of the people's praise,
He had not with low farce debas'd his plays;
Mixing dull buffoon'ry with wit refin'd,
And Harlequin with noble Terence join'd.
When in The Fox I see the tortoise hiss'd,
I lose the author of The Alchymist.
The comic wit, borne with the smiling air,
Must tragic grief and pompous verse forbear;
Yet may he not, as on a market place,
With bawdy jests amuse the populace.
With well-bred conversation you must please,
And your intrigue unravel'd be with ease;
Your action still should reason's rules obey,
Nor in an empty scene may lose its way.
Your humble style must sometimes gently rise,
And your discourse sententious be and wise;
The passions must to nature be confin'd,
And scenes to scenes with artful weaving join'd.
Your wit must not unseasonably play,
But follow bus'ness, never lead the way.
Observe how Terence does this error shun;
A careful father chides his am'rous son:
Then see that son, whom no advice can move,
Forget those orders, and pursue his love:
'Tis not a well-drawn picture we discover;
'Tis a true son, a father, and a lover.
I like an author that reforms the age,
And keeps the right decorum of the stage;
That always pleases by just reason's rule:
But for a tedious droll, a quibbling fool,
Who with low nauseous bawdry fills his plays,
Let him be gone, and on two trestles raise
Some Smithfield stage, where he may act his
pranks,

840

850

And make Jack Puddings speak to mountebanks.

He seems inspir'd, and talks like Wren or
May;

Of this new portico condemns the face,
And turns the entrance to a better place;
Designs the staircase at the other end.
His friend approves, does for his mason send:
He comes; the doctor's arguments prevail.
In short, to finish this our hum'rous tale,
He Galen's dang'rous science does reject,
And from ill doctor turn good architect.

880

890

In this example we may have our part: Rather be mason ('t is an useful art!) Than a dull poet; for that trade accurst Admits no mean betwixt the best and worst. In other sciences, without disgrace A candidate may fill a second place; But poetry no medium can admit, No reader suffers an indiff'rent wit; The ruin'd stationers against him bawl, And Herringman degrades him from his stall. Burlesque at least our laughter may excite, But a cold writer never can delight. The Counter Scuffle has more wit and art Than the stiff formal style of Gondibert. Be not affected with that empty praise Which your vain flatterers will sometimes raise, And when you read, with ecstasy will say, "The finish'd piece! the admirable play!" Which, when expos'd to censure and to light, Cannot indure a critic's piercing sight.

901

A hundred authors' fates have been foretold,
And Shll's works are printed, but not sold.
Hear all the world; consider every thought;
A fool by chance may stumble on a fault:
Yet, when Apollo does your Muse inspire,
Be not impatient to expose your fire;
Nor imitate the Settles of our times,
Those tuneful readers of their own dull rhymes,
Who seize on all th' acquaintance they can

And stop the passengers that walk the street:
There is no sanctuary you can choose
For a defense from their pursuing Muse.
I've said before, be patient when they blame;
To alter for the better is, no shame.
Yet yield not to a fool's impertinence :
Sometimes conceited sceptics, void of sense,
By their false taste condemn some finish'd part,
And blame the noblest flights of wit and art.
In vain their fond opinions you deride;
With their lov'd follies they are satisfied,
And their weak judgment, void of sense and
light,

Thinks nothing can escape their feeble sight: Their dang'rous counsels do not cure, but wound;

To shun the storm they run your verse aground;

920

And, thinking to escape a rock, are drown'd. Choose a sure judge to censure what you write, Whose reason leads, and knowledge gives you

light,

Whose steady hand will prove your faithful

guide,

920

And touch the darling follies you would hide: He, in your doubts, will carefully advise,

1 The king's architects.

And clear the mist before your feeble eyes.
'Tis he will tell you to what noble height
A generous Muse may sometimes take her
flight;

When, too much fetter'd with the rules of art,
May from her stricter bounds and limits part:
But such a perfect judge is hard to see,
And every rhymer knows not poetry;
Nay some there are, for writing verse extoll'd,
Who know not Lucan's dross from Virgil's gold.
Would you in this great art acquire renown?
Authors, observe the rules I here lay down.
In prudent lessons everywhere abound;
With pleasant join the useful and the sound:
A sober reader a vain tale will slight;
He seeks as well instruction as delight.
Let all your thoughts to virtue be confin'd,
Still off'ring noble figures to our mind:
I like not those loose writers, who employ
Their guilty Muse, good manners to destroy;
Who with false colors still deceive our eyes,
And show us Vice dress'd in a fair disguise.
Yet do I not their sullen Muse approve,
Who from all modest writings banish love;
That strip the playhouse of its chief intrigue,
And make a murderer of Roderigue: *
The lightest love, if decently express'd,
Will raise no vicious motions in our breast.
Dido in vain may weep, and ask relief;
I blame her folly, whilst I share her grief.
A virtuous author, in his charming art,
To please the sense needs not corrupt the heart;
His heat will never cause a guilty fire:

To follow virtue then be your desire.

In vain your art and vigor are express'd;
Th' obscene expression shows th' infected
breast.

But, above all, base jealousies avoid,
In which detracting poets are employ'd.
A noble wit dares lib'rally commend,
And scorns to grudge at his deserving friend,
Base rivals, who true wit and merit hate,
Caballing still against it with the great,
Maliciously aspire to gain renown

By standing up and pulling others down.
Never debase yourself by treacherous ways,
Nor by such abject methods seek for praise:
Let not your only bus'ness be to write;
Be virtuous, just, and in your friends delight.
'Tis not enough your poems be admir'd;
But strive your conversation be desir'd:"
Write for immortal fame, nor ever choose
Gold for the object of a gen'rous Muse.
I know a noble wit may, without crime,
Receive a lawful tribute for his time;
Yet I abhor those writers who despise
Their honor, and alone their profit prize;
Who their Apollo basely will degrade,
And of a noble science make a trade.
Before kind Reason did her light display.
And government taught mortals to obey,
Men, like wild beasts, did Nature's laws pursane;
They fed on herbs, and drink from rivers drew:
Their brutal force, on lust and rapine bent,
Committed murders without punishment.
Reason at last, by her all-conquering arts,
2 The Cid, translated into English.

Reduc'd these savages and tun'd their hearts; Mankind from bogs, and woods, and caverns calls,

And towns and cities fortifies with walls:
Thus fear of justice made proud rapine cease,
And shelter'd innocence by laws and peace. 1000
These benefits from poets we receiv'd,
From whence are rais'd those fictions since be-
liev'd,

That Orpheus, by his soft harmonious strains,
Tam'd the fierce tigers of the Thracian plains;
Amphion's notes, by their melodious pow'rs,
Drew rocks and woods, and rais'd the Theban
tow'rs:

These miracles from numbers did arise; Since which, in verse Heav'n taught his mysteries,

1010

And by a priest, possess'd with rage divine,
Apollo spoke from his prophetic shrine.
Soon after, Homer the old heroes prais'd,
And noble minds by great examples rais'd;
Then Hesiod did his Grecian swains incline
To till the fields, and prune the bounteous vine.
Thus useful rules were by the poets' aid,
In easy numbers, to rude men convey'd,
And pleasingly their precepts did impart;
First charm'd the ear, and then ingag'd the
heart:

1019

The Muses thus their reputation rais'd,
And with just gratitude in Greece were prais'd.
With pleasure mortals did their wonders see,
And sacrific'd to their divinity;
But want, at last, base flatt'ry entertain'd,
And old Parnassus with this vice was stain'd:
Desire of gain dazzling the poets' eyes,
Their works were fill'd with fulsome flatteries.
Thus needy wits a vile revenue made,
And verse became a mercenary trade.
Debase not with so mean a vice thy art:
If gold must be the idol of thy heart,
Fly, fly th' unfruitful Heliconian strand;
Those streams are not inrich'd with golden
sand:

1030

1040

Great wits, as well as warriors, only gain
Laurels and honors for their toil and pain.
But what? an author cannot live on fame,
Or pay a reck'ning with a lofty name :
A poet to whom fortune is unkind,
Who when he goes to bed has hardly din'd,
Takes little pleasure in Parnassus' dreams,
Or relishes the Heliconian streams.
Horace had ease and plenty when he writ,
And, free from cares for money or for meat,
Did not expect his dinner from his wit.
'Tis true; but verse is cherish'd by the great,
And now none famish who deserve to eat:
What can we fear, when virtue, arts, and sense,
Receive the stars' propitious influence;
When a sharp-sighted prince, by early grants,
Rewards your merits, and prevents your wants?
Sing then his glory, celebrate his fame;
Your noblest theme is his immortal name.
Let mighty Spenser raise his reverend head,
Cowley and Denham start up from the dead;
Waller his age renew, and off'rings bring;
Our monarch's praise let bright-ey'd virgins

sing;

1050

1059

Let Dryden with new rules our stage refine,
And his great models form by this design:
But where's a second Virgil, to rehearse
Our hero's glories in his epic verse?
What Orpheus sing his triumphs o'er the main,
And make the hills and forests move again;
Show his bold fleet on the Batavian shore,
And Holland trembling as his cannons roar;
Paint Europe's balance in his steady hand,
Whilst the two worlds in expectation stand
Of peace or war, that wait on his command?
But, as I speak, new glories strike my eyes,
Glories which Heav'n itself does give, and prize,
Blessings of peace; that with their milder rays
Adorn his reign, and bring Saturnian days. 1070
Now let rebellion, discord, vice, and rage,
That have in patriots' forms debauch'd our age,
Vanish, with all the ministers of hell:
His rays their pois'nous vapors shall dispel.
'Tis he alone our safety did create;
His own firm soul secur'd the nation's fate,
Oppos'd to all the boutefeus of the state.
Authors, for him your great indeavors raise;
The loftiest numbers will but reach his praise.
For me, whose verse in satire has been bred,
And never durst heroic measures tread;
Yet you shall see me, in that famous field,
With eyes and voice my best assistance yield;
Offer you lessons that my infant Muse
Learnt, when she Horace for her guide did
choose;

}

1081

[The following verses are reprinted from Poems on Affairs of State, the fourth edition, 1702, where they are headed on the Young Statesman [sic]. By J. Dryden, 1680. The style of this piece is entirely unlike Dryden's; and the sneers at Danby and at Laurence Hyde, created Earl of Rochester in 1681, both of whom he compliments in dedications, are still more emphatically not in his manner. In A New Collection of Poems relating to State Affairs, 1705, this poem is ascribed to the Earl of Rochester [i. e. John Wilmot], who is much more likely to have been its author than is Dryden. Scott, on internal evidence, is "tempted to ascribe" the verses to the Earl of Dorset, whose poem On the Countess of Dorchester they resemble in "the turn of wit and structure of verse." H. C. Foxcroft (Life and Letters of Sir George Savile, Bart., First Marquis of Halifax, vol. i, p. 205) states that Burnet attributes them to the Duke of Buckingham.

In A Collection of Poems on Affairs of State, 1689, there occurs a poem called Young Statesman on the title-page, but headed: A Young Gentleman, desirous to be a Minister of State, thus pretends to qualifie himself. It has nothing in common with the present piece.]

I

CLARENDON had law and sense,

Clifford was fierce and brave;

FROM OVID'S METAMORPHOSES, BOOK XI [So far as the present editor can ascertain, the following piece was first printed in Ovid's Metamorphoses, in fifteen books, Translated by the most Eminent Hands, published by Tonson in 1717. It is assigned to Dryden in the table of contents of this collection, which was edited by Sir Samuel Garth. It was reprinted in the edition of Dryden's Original Poems and Translations, edited by Broughton, and published in 1743.]

THESE Some old man sees wanton in the air,
And praises the unhappy constant pair;
Then to his friend the long-neck'd corm'rant
shows,

The former tale reviving others' woes.
"That sable bird," he cries, "which cuts the
flood

With slender legs, was once of royal blood;
His ancestors from mighty Tros proceed,
The brave Laomedon, and Ganymede,
(Whose beauty tempted Jove to steal the boy,)
And Priam, hapless prince! who fell with

Troy.

Himself was Hector's brother, and (had fate But giv'n his hopeful youth a longer date)

10

Perhaps had rival'd warlike Hector's worth,
Tho' on the mother's side of meaner birth.
Fair Alyxothoe, a country maid,

Bare Esacus by stealth in Ida's shade.
He fled the noisy town and pompous court,
Lov'd the lone hills and simple rural sport,
And seldom to the city would resort.
Yet he no rustic clownishness profess'd,
Nor was soft love a stranger to his breast.
The youth had long the nymph Hesperie woo'd;
Oft thro' the thicket or the mead pursued:
Her haply on her father's bank he spied,
While fearless she her silver tresses dried.
Away she fled: not stags with half such speed
Before the prowling wolf scud o'er the mead;
Not ducks, when they the safer flood forsake,
Pursued by hawks, so swift regain the lake.
As fast he follow'd in the hot career;
Desire the lover wing'd, the virgin fear.
A snake unseen now pierc'd her heedless foot;
Quick thro' the veins the venom'd juices shoot:
She fell, and 'scaped by death his fierce pur-
suit.

30

KING JAMES TO HIMSELF

[The following poem is taken from Poems on Affairs of State, vol. ii, 1703, where it is ascribed to Mr. D- -n. Though the style has little of Dryden's vigor, the piece is in itself not uninteresting.]

UNHAPPY I, who once ordain'd did bear
God's justice sword, and his vicegerent here,
Am now depos'd: 'gainst me my children rise;
My life must be their only sacrifice.
Highly they me accuse, but nothing prove;
But this is out of tenderness and love.
They seek to spill my blood; 't is that alone
Must for the nation's crying sins atone.
But careful Heaven forewarn'd me in a dream,
And shew'd me that my dangers were extreme:
The heavenly vision spoke and bid me flee;"
Th' ungrateful wretches were not worthy me.
Alarm'd, I fled at the appointed time;
Thus mere necessity was made my crime.

HYMNS ATTRIBUTED TO DRYDEN

[In 1693 Dryden published in Examen Poeticum a translation of the hymn Veni, Creator Spiritus, which has been printed above, pages 406, 407.

In his edition of Dryden, 1808, Scott printed as Dryden's work two more hymns, which he had received from manuscript sources: see the Scott-Saintsbury edition, vol. i, pp. xvi, 288-290. His account of their origin contains some peculiar inconsistencies: see the article on Dryden by the Rev. H. Leigh Bennett, in the Dictionary of Hymnology, London, 1892. Nevertheless the two hymns have been somewhat rashly accepted as authentic by later editors.

We now turn to a more important matter. After the Reformation, a series of devotional books, under the general title of Primer, was published for the use of English Catholic laymen. These books contained English translations of the Latin church hymns, which were modified from time to time to suit the literary fashions of the day. The Primer of 1706, of which the full title is, The Primer; or, Office of the B. Virgin Mary, revis'd: with a New and Approv'd Version of the Church-Hymns throughout the Year, contains, among the 120 hymns included in it, both Dryden's acknowledged hymn and the two assigned to him by Scott. (This volume is very scarce, and has been inaccessible to the present editor, who draws his information from secondary authorities.) Moreover, these three hymns are linked to others in the collection in such a way as to indicate that, if they are genuine, - as one of them certainly is, nearly the whole body of verse in the Primer of 1706 must be assigned to Dryden. The question of authenticity rests almost entirely on internal evidence.

In a sumptuous, many-volumed edition of Dryden the proper course would be to reprint all the hymns contained in the Primer of 1706, give a thorough dis cussion of the evidence, and let the reader form his own conclusions. In an edition of the present form and scope such a procedure seems out of the question. The present editor reprints only the two hymns published by Scott, and, as a matter of curious interest, preserves Scott's text, which differs somewhat from that of the Primer. Several of the hymns from the Primer are reprinted in the Scott-Saintsbury edition, xviii. 269–281; many more in Annus Sanctus (London, 1884), edited by Mr. Orby Shipley. Discussions of the question of authorship may be found in Annus Sanctus, in an article by Mr. Shipley in the Dublin Review (Oct., 1884; vol. xcv, pp. 245-269), in two articles in the Saturday Review (Aug. 23, Sept. 20, 1884 vol. lviii, pp. 244-246, 370-372), and, most conveniently, in the articles on Dryden and Primers, by the Rev. H. Leigh Bennett, in the Dictionary of Hymnology.]

Thy praises fill the loud apostles' choir;
The train of prophets in the song conspire.
Legions of martyrs in the chorus shine,
And vocal blood with vocal music join.
By these thy church, inspir'd by heavenly art,
Around the world maintains a second part;
And tunes her sweetest notes, O God, to thee,
The Father of unbounded majesty ;
The Son, ador'd copartner of thy seat,
And equal everlasting Paraclete.
Thou King of Glory, Christ, of the most high,
Thou coeternal filial Deity;

20

Thou who, to save the world's impending doom,

Vouchsaf'dst to dwell within a Virgin's womb; Old tyrant Death disarm'd, before thee flew The bolts of heaven, and back the foldings drew,

To give access, and make thy faithful way; From God's right hand thy filial beams display. Thou art to judge the living and the dead; Then spare those souls for whom thy veins have

bled.

30

Hearing the news, and doubting in surprise,
His falt'ring speech in fetter'd accent dies; 10
But Providence, with happy choice,
In thee restor'd thy father's voice.

IV

In the recess of nature's dark abode,
Tho' still inclos'd, yet knewest thou thy God!
Whilst each glad parent told and bless'd
The secrets of each other's breast.