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To whom the noble Hector thus replied: (The pledge of love and other hope of Troy). * That and the rest are in my daily care;
The fearful infant turn’d his head away, But, should I shun the dangers of the war, And on his nurse's neck reclining lay, With scorn the Trojans would reward my His unknown father shunning with affright, pains,
And looking back on so uncouth a sight; And their proud ladies with their sweep- Daunted to see a face with steel o'erspread, ing trains.
And his high plume that nodded o'er his The Grecian swords and lances I can bear;
head. But loss of honor is my only fear.
His sire and mother smild with silent joy, Shall Hector, born to war, his birthright And Hector hasten’d to relieve his boy; 151 yield;
Dismiss'd his burnish'd helm, that shone afar Belie his courage, and forsake the field ? (The pride of warriors, and the pomp of Early in rugged arms I took delight,
war): And still have been the foremost in the Th’illustrious babe, thus reconcil'd, he took; fight:
Hugg'd in his arms, and kiss'd, and thus he With dangers dearly have I bought re
“Parentof gods and men, propitious Jove, And am the champion of my
father's And you bright synod of the pow'rs above;
On this my son your gracious gifts bestow; “And yet my mind forebodes, with sure Grant him to live, and great in arms to grow; presage,
To reign in Troy, to govern with renown, That Troy shall perish by the Grecian rage. To shield the people, and assert the crown: The fatal day draws on, when I must fall, That, when hereafter he from war shall come, And universal ruin cover all.
And bring his Trojans peace and triumph Not Troy itself, tho' built by hands divine,
home, Nor Priam, nor his people, nor his line, Some aged man, who lives this act to see, My mother, nor my brothers of renown, 120 And who in former times remember'd me, Whose valor yet defends th’ unhappy town; May say the son in fortitude and fame Not these, nor all their fates which I fore- Outgoes the mark, and drowns his father's
see, Are half of that concern I have for thee. That at these words his mother may reI see, I see thee in that fatal hour,
joice, Subjected to the victor's cruel pow'r; And add her suffrage to the public voice.” Led hence a slave to some insulting sword, Thus having said, Forlorn, and trembling at a foreign lord; He first with suppliant hands the gods ador'd, A spectacle in Argos, at the loom,
Then to the mother's arms the child restor’d: Gracing with Trojan fights a Grecian room; With tears and smiles she took her son, and Or from deep wells the living stream to
Th' illustrious infant to her fragrant breast. And on thy weary shoulders bring it back: He, wiping her fair eyes, indulg'd her grief, While, groaning under this laborious life, And eas'd her sorrows with this last relief: They insolently call thee Hector's wife; “My wife and mistress, drive thy fears Upbraid thy bondage with thy husband's
Nor give so bad an omen to the day: And from my glory propagate thy shame. Think not it lies in any Grecian's pow'r, This when they say, thy sorrows will To take my life before the fatal hour.
When that arrives, nor good nor bad can With anxious thoughts of former happi
Th’ irrevocable doom of destiny. That he is dead who could thy wrongs Return, and to divert thy thoughts at redress.
home, But I, oppress'd with iron sleep before, There task thy maids, and exercise the Shall hear thy unavailing cries no more.
Employ'd in works that womankind beThen, holding forth his arms, he took his boy
The toils of war and feats of chivalry
At this, for new replies he did not stay, But lac'd his crested helm, and strode away. His lovely consort to her house return'd, And looking often back in silence mourn'd.
Home when she came, her secret woe she
vents, And fills the palace with her loud laments: Those loud laments her echoing maids re
store, And Hector, yet alive, as dead deplore.
POEMS WRITTEN BETWEEN 1693 AND 1696
PROLOGUE, EPILOGUE, AND SONGS FROM LOVE TRIUMPHANT
OR, NATURE WILL PREVAIL
[This tragi-comedy, Dryden's last play, was produced near the close of 1693, or early in 1694 (Malone, I, 1, 213–217, on the authority of Motteux's Gentleman's Journal ; and Letter from Dryden to Walsh, in Scott-Saintsbury edition, xviii, 189), and was published in 1694. It was a failure on the stage.]
No double-entendres, which you sparks allow, To make the ladies look they know not how; Simply as 't were, and knowing both to
gether, Seeming to fan their faces in cold weather. But here's a story, which no books relate, Coin'd from our own old poet's addle-pate. The fable has a moral, too, if sought; But let that go; for, upon
second thought, He fears but few come hither to be taught. Yet if you will be profited, you may; And he would bribe you too, to like his play. He dies, at least to us, and to the stage, And what he has he leaves this noble age. He leaves you, first, all plays of his inditing, The whole estate which he has got by writ
ing. The beaux
think this nothing but
SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON
As when some treasurer lays down the stick, Warrants are sign'd for ready money thick, And many desperate debentures paid, Which never had been, had his lordship
stay'd; So now, this poet, who forsakes the stage, Intends to gratify the present age. One warrant shall be sign’d for every man; All shall be wits that will, and beaux that can: Provided still, this warrant be not shown, And you be wits but to yourselves alone; Provided, too, you rail at one another, For there's no one wit will allow a brother; Provided, also, that you spare this story, Damn all the plays that e'er shall come be
They'll find it something, the testator
says; For half their love is made from scraps
of plays. To his worst foes he leaves his honesty, That they may thrive upon't as much as he. He leaves his manners to the roaring boys, Who come in drunk, and fill the house with
noise. He leaves to the dire critics of his wit, His silence and contempt of all they writ. To Shakespeare's critic, be bequeaths the
curse, To find his faults, and yet bimself make
worse; A precious reader in poetic schools, Who by his own examples damns his rules. Last, for the fair, he wishes you may be, From your
dull critics, the lampooners, free. Tho' he pretends no legacy to leave you, An old man may at least good wishes give
you. Your beauty names the play; and may it
prove, To each, an omen of Triumphant Love !
If one by chance prove good in half a score,
your pains; Here 's nothing you will like; no fustian
scenes, And nothing, too, of - you know what he
SONG OF JEALOUSY
Now, in good manners, nothing should be
said Against this play, because the poet's dead. The prologue told us of a moral here: Would I could find it! but the Devil knows
where. If in my part it lies, I fear he means To warn
us of the sparks behind our
scenes. For, if you 'll take it on Dalinda's word, 'Tis a hard chapter to refuse a lord. The poet might pretend this moral too, That, when a wit and fool together woo, no The damsel (not to break an ancient rule) Should leave the wit, and take the wealthy
fool. This he might mean: but there's a truth
behind, And, since it touches none of all our kind But masks and misses, faith, I 'll speak
What if he taught our sex more cautious
carriage, And not to be too coming before mar
riage; For fear of my misfortune in the play, A kid brought home upon the wedding
day? I fear there are few Sanchos in the pit, 20 So good as to forgive, and to forget; That will, like him, restore us into favor, And take us after on our good behavior. Few, when they find the money-bag is
rent, Will take it for good payment on content. But in the telling, there the difference is, Sometimes they find it more than they could
wish. Therefore be warn’d, you misses and you
masks, Look to your hits, nor give the first that
asks. Tears, sighs, and oaths, no truth of passion
prove; True settlement, alone, declares true love. For him that weds a puss, who kept her
first, I say but little, but I doubt the worst. The wife that was a cat may mind her
house, And prove an honest, and a careful spouse; But, faith, I would not trust her with a
Young I am, and yet unskill'd
Take me, take me, some of you, While I yet
young and true;
Ere I can my soul disguise,
But what we gain'd in skill we lost in Heave my breasts, and roll my eyes.
Our builders were with want of genius III
curst; Stay not till I learn the way,
The second temple was not like the first: How to lie, and to betray:
Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length; He that has me first, is blest,
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength. For I may deceive the rest.
Firm Doric pillars found your solid base;
space: Could I find a blooming youth,
Thus all below is strength, and all above Full of love, and full of truth, Brisk, and of a jaunty mien,
In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise; I should long to be fifteen.
He mov'd the mind, but had not power to
Great Jonson did by strength of judgment TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR.
please; CONGREVE, ON HIS COMEDY Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants CALL'D THE DOUBLE-DEALER
In differing talents both adorn'd their age; [This play by Congreve was first acted in
One for the study, t'other for the stage: November, 1693 (Malone, I, 1, 229; on the
But both to Congreve justly shall subauthority of Motteux's Gentleman's Journal).
mit, Of it Dryden writes as follows in a letter to Walsh : " His [Congreve's] Double Dealer is
One match'd in judgment, both o'ermatch'd
in wit. much censurd by the greater part of the Town: and is defended onely by the best
In him all beauties of this age we see, judges, wbo, you know, are commonly the Etherege his courtship, Southerne's pufewest yet it gets ground daily, and has al
rity, ready been acted Eight times." (Scott-Saints- The satire, wit, and strength of Manly bury edition, xviii, 189, 190.) To the first
30 ) edition of the play, published in 1694, he pre- All this in blooming youth you have fixed the following fine poem, which shows his
achiev'd, critical appreciation of the comedy and his
Nor are your foil'd contemporaries griev'd. personal affection for its author. Congreve
So much the sweetness of your manners fulfilled the charge laid upon him in the last lines, by editing an edition of Dryden's dra
move, matic works, published in 1717.]
We cannot envy you, because we love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw WELL then, the promis'd hour is come at A beardless consul made against the law; last;
And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome, The present age of wit obscures the past: Tho he with Hannibal was overcome. Strong were our sires, and as they fought Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame, they writ,
And scholar to the youth he taught be Conqu’ring with force of arms, and dint of wit;
O that your brows my laurel bad susTheirs was the giant race, before the flood;
tain'd; And thus, when Charles return'd, our em- Well had been depos’d, if you
had pire stood.
reign'd! Like Janus he the stubborn soil manur'd, The father had descended for the son; With rules of husbandry the rankness For only you are lineal to the throne. cur'd;
Thus, when the state one Edward did Tam'd us to manners, when the stage was depose, rude;
A greater Edward in his room arose. And boist'rous English wit with art in- But now, not I, but poetry is curst; dued.
For Tom the Second reigns like Tom the Our age was cultivated thus at length,
But let 'em not mistake my patron's part, other writers for the volume were Addison, Nor call his charity their own desert. Congreve, Prior, Dennis, Yalden, and Charles Yet this I prophesy: thou shalt be seen
Dryden, the poet's son. A second edition of (Tho' with some short parenthesis be
the volume, with the same title, but with many tween)
changes in the contents, appeared in 1708; and High on the throne of wit; and, seated
a third, with title-page reading, The Fourth
Part of Miscellany Poems Publish'd by Mr. there,
Dryden, and with further changes in the conNot mine — that's little – but thy laurel tents, in 1716. Tonson did not carry out his
plan of an Annual Miscellany, perhaps because Thy first attempt an early promise made; Dryden, now busy with his Virgil, was unable That early promise this has more than to give him further help. A fifth part of the paid.
series appeared, however, in 1704, after Dryden's So bold, yet so judiciously you dare,
death; and a sixth in 1709 : second editions of That your least praise is to be regular.
these last two volumes were printed in 1716. Time, place, and action, may with pains be
Dryden reprinted his version of The Third
Book of Virgil's Georgics, with very slight wrought;
changes, in his complete Virgil. It is therefore But genius must be born, and never can be omitted at this point. taught.
The epistle To Sir Godfrey Kneller was probThis is your portion; this your native ably written as an acknowledgment of a paintstore;
ing of Shakespeare, copied from the well-known Heav'n, that but once was prodigal be- Chandos portrait, which Kneller had presented fore,
to Dryden : see line 73 below. It was reprinted To Shakespeare gave as much; she could
in the folio Poems and Translations, 1701, with not give him more.
the omission of lines 91-94, 115–123, 164, 165 Maintain your post: that's all the fame
of the Miscellany text, and with some minor changes of reading. It is at least doubtful
whether these alterations were due to Dryden For 't is impossible you should proceed. himself. The present text follows that of the Already I am worn with cares and age, Miscellany.] And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage; Unprofitably kept at Heav'n's expense, ONCE I beheld the fairest of her kind: I live a rent-charge on his providence: (And still the sweet idea charms my mind:) But you, whom ev'ry Muse and Grace True, she was dumb; for Nature gaz'd so adorn,
long, Whom I foresee to better fortune born, Pleas'd with her work, that she forgot her Be kind to my remains; and O defend,
tongue, Against your judgment, your departed | But, smiling, said : “She still shall gain the friend!
prize; Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, I only have transferr'd it to her eyes." But shade those laurels which descend to Such are thy pictures, Kneller: such thy you;
skill, And take for tribute what these lines ex- That Nature seems obedient to thy will; press:
Comes out, and meets thy pencil in the You merit more; nor could my love do less. draught;
Lives there, and wants but words to speak
her thought. TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER
At least thy pictures look a voice; and we
Imagine sounds, deceiv'd to that degree, (Early in 1694 (see letter from Dryden to We think 't is somewhat more than just to Walsh, Scott-Saintsbury edition, xviii, 191) Tonson published a volume entitled, The An
Shadows are but privations of the light; nual Miscellany for the Year 1694, being the Fourth Part of Miscellany Poems, which is commonly Yet, when we walk, they shoot before the referred to as the Fourth Miscellany. To this
sight; Dryden contributed only a translation of The
With us approach, retire, arise, and fall; Third Book of Virgil's Georgics and the follow- Nothing themselves, and yet expressing all. ing epistle To Sir Godfrey Kneller. Among the Such are thy pieces, imitating life