, they cannot deny him to have been an exact knower
of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents.
of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents.
Dryden - Complete
_ Sosia, come back.
_Sos. _ No, I thank you; you may whistle me long enough; a beaten dog
has always the wit to avoid his master.
_Merc. _ I permit thee to be Sosia again.
_Sos. _ 'Tis an unfortunate name, and I abandon it: he that has an itch
to be beaten, let him take it up for Sosia;--What have I said now! I
mean for me; for I neither am nor will be Sosia.
_Merc. _ But thou may'st be so in safety; for I have acknowledged myself
to be god Mercury.
_Sos. _ You may be a god, for aught I know; but the devil take me if
ever I worship you, for an unmerciful deity as you are.
_Merc. _ You ought to take it for an honour to be drubbed by the hand of
a divinity.
_Sos. _ I am your most humble servant, good Mr God; but, by the faith of
a mortal, I could well have spared the honour that you did me. But how
shall I be sure that you will never assume my shape again?
_Merc. _ Because I am weary of wearing so villainous an outside.
_Sos. _ Well, well; as villainous as it is, here's old Bromia will be
contented with it.
_Brom. _ Yes, now I am sure that I may chastise you safely, and that
there's no god lurking under your appearance.
_Sos. _ Ay; but you had best take heed how you attempt it; for, as
Mercury has turned himself into me, so I may take the toy into my head,
and turn myself into Mercury, that I may swinge you off condignly.
_Merc. _ In the mean time, be all my witnesses, that I take Phædra for
my wife of the left hand; that is, in the nature of a lawful concubine.
_Phæd. _ You shall pardon me for believing you, for all you are a god;
for you have a terrible ill name below; and I am afraid you'll get a
footman, instead of a priest, to marry us.
_Merc. _ But here's Gripus shall draw up articles betwixt us.
_Phæd. _ But he's damnably used to false conveyancing. Well, be it so;
for my counsel shall over-look them before I sign--Come on, Gripus,
that I may have him under black and white.
[_Here_ GRIPUS _gets ready pen, ink, and paper_.
_Merc. _ With all my heart, that I may have thee under black and white
hereafter.
_Phæd. _ [_To_ GRIPUS. ] Begin, begin--Heads of articles to be made, &c.
betwixt Mercury, god of thieves----
_Merc. _ And Phædra, queen of gypsies. ----_Imprimis_, I promise to buy
and settle upon her an estate, containing nine thousand acres of land,
in any part of Boeotia, to her own liking.
_Phæd. _ Provided always, that no part of the said nine thousand acres
shall be upon, or adjoining to, Mount Parnassus; for I will not be
fobbed off with a poetical estate.
Merc. _Memorandum_, that she be always constant to me, and admit of no
other lover.
Phæd. _Memorandum_, unless it be a lover that offers more; and that the
constancy shall not exceed the settlement.
Merc. _Item_, that she shall keep no male servants in her house:
_Item_, no rival lap-dog for a bedfellow: _Item_, that she shall never
pray to any of the gods.
_Phæd. _ What, would you have me an atheist?
_Merc. _ No devotion to any he-deity, good Phædra.
_Brom. _ Here's no provision made for children yet.
_Phæd. _ Well remembered, Bromia; I bargain that my eldest son shall be
a hero, and my eldest daughter a king's mistress.
_Merc. _ That is to say, a blockhead, and a harlot, Phædra.
_Phæd. _ That's true; but who dares call them so? Then, for the younger
children--But now I think on't, we'll have no more, but Mass and Miss;
for the rest would be but chargeable, and a burden to the nation.
_Merc. _ Yes, yes; the second shall be a false prophet: he shall have
wit enough to set up a new religion, and too much wit to die a martyr
for it.
_Phæd. _ O what had I forgot? there's pin-money, and alimony, and
separate maintenance, and a thousand things more to be considered, that
are all to be tacked to this act of settlement.
_Sos. _ I am a fool, I must confess; but yet I can see as far into a
mill-stone as the best of you. I have observed, that you women-wits
are commonly so quick upon the scent, that you often over-run it:
now I would ask of Madam Phædra, that in case Mr Heaven there should
be pleased to break these articles, in what court of judicature she
intends to sue him?
_Phæd. _ The fool has hit upon't:--Gods, and great men, are never to be
sued, for they can always plead privilege of peerage; and therefore
for once, monsieur, I'll take your word; for, as long as you love me,
you'll be sure to keep it: and, in the mean time, I shall be gaining
experience how to manage some rich cully; for no woman ever made her
fortune by a wit.
_It thunders; and the company within doors_, AMPHITRYON, ALCMENA,
POLIDAS, _and_ TRANIO, _all come running out, and join with the
rest, who were on the stage before_.
_Amph. _ Sure 'tis some god; he vanished from our sight,
And told us, we should see him soon return.
_Alcm. _ I know not what to hope, nor what to fear.
A simple error is a real crime,
And unconsenting innocence is lost.
_A second peal of Thunder. After which_, JUPITER _appears in a Machine_.
_Jup. _ Look up, Amphitryon, and behold, above,
The impostor god, the rival of thy love;
In thy own shape see Jupiter appear,
And let that sight secure thy jealous fear.
Disgrace, and infamy, are turned to boast;
No fame, in Jove's concurrence, can be lost:
What he enjoys, he sanctifies from vice,
And, by partaking, stamps into a price,
'Tis I who ought to murmur at my fate,
Forced by my love my godhead to translate;
When on no other terms I could possess,
But by thy form, thy features, and thy dress.
To thee were given the blessings that I sought,
Which else, not all the bribes of heaven had bought,
Then take into thy arms thy envied love,
And, in his own despite, triumph o'er Jove.
_Merc. _ Amphitryon and Alcmena both stand mute, and know not how to
take it. [_Aside. _
_Sos. _ Our sovereign lord Jupiter is a sly companion; he knows how to
gild a bitter pill. [_Aside. _
_Jup. _ From this auspicious night shall rise an heir,
Great like his sire, and like his mother fair:
Wrongs to redress, and tyrants to disseize;
Born for a world that wants a Hercules.
Monsters, and monster-men he shall engage,
And toil, and struggle, through an impious age.
Peace to his labours shall at length succeed; }
And murmuring men, unwilling to be freed, }
Shall be compelled to happiness, by need. }
[JUPITER _is carried back to Heaven_.
_Omnes. _ We all congratulate Amphitryon.
_Merc. _ Keep your congratulations to yourselves, gentlemen. 'Tis a nice
point, let me tell you that; and the less that's said of it the better.
Upon the whole matter, if Amphitryon takes the favour of Jupiter in
patience, as from a god, he's a good heathen.
_Sos. _ I must take a little extraordinary pains to-night, that my
spouse may come even with her lady, and produce a squire to attend on
young Hercules, when he goes out to seek adventures; that, when his
master kills a man, he may stand ready to pick his pockets, and piously
relieve his aged parents. --Ah, Bromia, Bromia, if thou hadst been as
handsome and as young as Phædra! --I say no more, but somebody might
have made his fortunes as well as his master, and never the worse man
neither.
For, let the wicked world say what they please,
The fair wife makes her husband live at ease:
The lover keeps him too; and but receives,
Like Jove, the remnants that Amphitryon leaves.
'Tis true, the lady has enough in store,
To satisfy those two, and eke two more:
In fine, the man, who weighs the matter fully,
Would rather be the cuckold than the cully. [_Exeunt. _
EPILOGUE,
SPOKEN BY PHÆDRA.
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 the lily hand,
Jove was her humble servant at command;
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.
You teaze your cuckolds, to their face torment 'em;
But Jove gave his new honours to content him,
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, }
To get young godlings; and so mend our breed. }
KING ARTHUR:
OR,
THE BRITISH WORTHY.
A
DRAMATIC OPERA.
* * * * *
----_hîc alta theatris
Fundamenta locant,--scenis decora alta futuris. _ VIRG. Æn. 1.
_Purpurea intexti tollant aulæa Britanni. _ Georg. 3.
----_Tanton' placuit concurrere motu,
Jupiter, æterna gentes in pace futuris! _ Æneid. 12.
----_Et celebrare domestica facta. _ HOR.
KING ARTHUR.
The Seventeenth century was still familiar with
----Whate'er resounds,
In fable or romance, of Uther's son,
Begirt with British and Armoric knights.
Fired by the splendid fictions which romancers had raised on the
basis of Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Welsh traditions, Milton had
designed the exploits of King Arthur for the subject of his lofty epic
strain. What we have lost, in his abandoning the theme, can only be
estimated by the enthusiastic tone into which he always swells, when
he touches upon the "shores of old romance. " The sublime glow of his
imagination, which delighted in painting what was beyond the reach
of human experience; the dignity of his language, formed to express
the sentiments of heroes and of immortals; his powers of describing
alike the beautiful and terrible; above all, the justice with which
he conceived and assigned to each supernatural agent a character as
decidedly peculiar, as lesser poets have given to their human actors,
would have sent him forth to encounter such a subject with gigantic
might. Whoever has ventured, undeterred by their magnitude, upon the
old romances of "Lancelot du Lac," "Sir Tristrem," and others, founded
on the achievements of the Knights of the Round Table, cannot but
remember a thousand striking Gothic incidents, worthy subjects of the
pen of Milton. What would he not have made of the adventure of the
Ruinous Chapel, the Perilous Manor, the Forbidden Seat, the Dolorous
Wound, and many others susceptible of being described in the most
sublime poetry! Even when that sun had set, Arthur had yet another
chance for immortality; for Dryden repeatedly expressed his intention
to found an epic poem upon his history. Our poet, it may be guessed,
was too much in the trammels of French criticism, to have ventured
upon a style of composition allied to the Gothic romance. His poem
would probably have been formed upon the model of the ancients, which,
although more classical and correct, might have wanted the force,
which reality of painting and description never fails to give to epic
narrative. Arthur, in such a poem, would, like Rinaldo, have reminded
us of Achilles; and the sameness of a copy would have been substituted
for the spirit of a characteristic original. But, had Dryden executed
his intended plan, we should have found picturesque narrative
detailed in the most manly and majestic verse, and interspersed with
lessons teaching us to know human life, maxims proper to guide it,
and sentiments which ought to adorn it. In the Knight's Tale, and in
Dryden's other narrative poems, we see enough to induce us to regret
the sordid negligence, or avarice, which withheld from him the means
of decent support, while employed upon the promised task. But Arthur,
as a sort of counterpoise to his extravagant reputation during the
middle ages, was doomed, in the seventeenth century, to be reluctantly
abandoned by Milton and Dryden; and to be celebrated by the pen of
Blackmore.
It is probable, that, when Dryden abandoned all thoughts of a larger
work, he adapted the intended subject to the following opera, and
converted the Genii of the kingdoms, by whom the supernatural
machinery of the epic was to have been conducted, into the lighter and
simpler device of airy and earthy spirits, whose idea the Rosicrucian
philosophy had long rendered popular and familiar. There is no attempt
to avail himself of any fragments of Arthur's romantic renown. He
is not, in this drama, the formidable possessor of Excalibar, and
the superior of the chivalry of the Round Table; nor is Merlin the
fiend-born necromancer, of whom antiquity related and believed so
many wonders. They are the prince and magician of a beautiful fairy
tale, the story of which, abstracted from the poetry, might have been
written by Madame D'Aunois. At the same time, the obvious advantages of
an appeal to the ancient prejudices, which our author has neglected,
are supplied from the funds of his own genius. The incidents, being
intended more for the purpose of displaying machinery, and introducing
music and dances, than with any reference to the rules of the drama,
are abundantly fantastic and extravagant; but the poet has supported
them with wonderful address. The blindness of Emmeline, and the
innocence with which she expresses her conception of visible objects,
gives her character an interest often wanting in what may be called the
heroine of a play, whose perfections generally raise her so far beyond
mere mortal excellence, as to render superfluous all human sympathy.
The scene in which Emmeline recovers her sight, when well represented,
never fails to excite the most pleasing testimony of interest and
applause. The machinery is simple, and well managed: the language and
ministry of Grimbald, the fierce earthy dæmon, are painted with some
touches which arise even to sublimity. The conception of Philidel, a
fallen angel, retaining some of the hue of heaven, who is touched with
repentance, and not without hope of being finally received, is an idea,
so far as I know, altogether original. Klopstock has since introduced
a similar character into sacred poetry[10]. The principal incident
in "King Arthur" is copied, in almost every circumstance, from the
adventures of Rinaldo in the haunted grove on Mount Olivet[11], which
makes also the subject of an Italian opera.
From what is mentioned in the author's preface, we may conceive
the disadvantages under which "King Arthur" was finally brought
forward. It was written originally for the conclusion of the reign
of Charles II, and the political masque of "Albion and Albanius" was
often rehearsed before him, as the prologue to "King Arthur. " We may
therefore conclude, that the piece, as originally written, had a
strong political tendency, and probably abounded with these ingenious
parallels, by which Dryden, with dexterity far exceeding that of every
other writer, could draw, from remote or distant events, a moral
directly applicable to those of his own time. But the Revolution,
while it ruined our author's prospects, imposed a cautious restraint
upon his muse; and therefore, as he himself states, he was obliged to
deprive his play of many beauties, not to offend the present times, or
displease a government by which he had hitherto been protected, or at
least endured. Thus, our author was obliged to convert an ingenious,
and probably highly poetical political drama, into a mere fairy tale,
as totally divested as possible of any meaning beyond extravagant
adventure. How much the drama must have suffered in this transformation
is easy to judge, from the spirit with which all Dryden's political
pieces are composed; and from recollecting with what reluctance he must
have gone through alterations, that were to deprive the play of what
was intended to have been its principal merit. This is the disadvantage
of which the poet had already complained:
How can he show his manhood, when 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 want of sense,
And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.
_Prologue to Amphitryon. _
Under all these disadvantages, "King Arthur" was received with great
applause, at its first appearance; was often repeated, and continues to
be occasionally represented, being the only one of Dryden's numerous
plays which has retained possession of the stage. Some part of its
success was doubtless owing to the music, of which Dr Burney gives the
following account in his "History of Music:"
"Of the music in "King Arthur," I shall say but little, as it has
been lately revived, well performed, and printed. If ever it could,
with truth, be said of a composer, that he had _devancé son siecle_,
Purcell is entitled to that praise; as there are movements in many of
his works which a century has not injured, particularly the duet in
"King Arthur," "Two Daughters of this Aged Stream," and "Fairest Isle,
all Isles excelling," which contain not a single passage that the
best composers of the present times, if it presented itself to their
imagination, would reject. " vol. iii. p. 492.
The dances, which were composed by the famous Priest, did not disgrace
the music and poetry; and the company, according to Downes, were well
rewarded for the time and expence they had bestowed on "King Arthur. "
This opera was acted and printed in 1691.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 8: The author alludes to some popular tales of the day, or
perhaps of former; but the editor confesses himself unable to trace the
reference. ]
[Footnote 9: The infamous Scroggs, and several of Charles the Second's
judges, had huffed, and roared, and ranted, and domineered, over the
unfortunate victims, who suffered for the Popish Plot; and had been
equally partial to prerogative, when the king's party attained a
decided ascendancy. ]
[Footnote 10: The author acknowledges, with gratitude, the opinion of
his "first and best patroness, the duchess of Monmouth," which, to the
author of "Absalom and Achitophel," must have excited a strange mixture
of recollections and emotions. The judgment of that accomplished lady
alleged the fairy kind of writing, which depends only on the force of
imagination, as the grounds for liking a piece which has that chiefly
to recommend it. ]
[Footnote 11: Tasso's "Gierusaleme Liberata. "]
TO THE
MARQUIS OF HALIFAX[12].
* * * * *
MY LORD,
This poem was the last piece of service which I had the honour to do
for my gracious master King Charles II. ; and, though he lived not to
see the performance of it on the stage, yet the Prologue to it, which
was the opera of "Albion and Albanius," was often practised before him
at Whitehall, and encouraged by his royal approbation. It was indeed
a time which was proper for triumph, when he had overcome all those
difficulties which, for some years, had perplexed his peaceful reign:
but, when he had just restored his people to their senses, and made
the latter end of his government of a piece with the happy beginning
of it, he was on the sudden snatched away from the blessings and
acclamations of his subjects, who arrived so late to the knowledge of
him, that they had but just time enough to desire him longer, before
they were to part with him for ever. Peace be with the ashes of so
good a king! Let his human frailties be forgotten, and his clemency
and moderation (the inherent virtues of his family) be remembered with
a grateful veneration by three kingdoms, through which he spread the
blessings of them. And, as your lordship held a principal place in his
esteem, and, perhaps, the first in his affection, during his latter
troubles, the success which accompanied those prudent counsels cannot
but reflect an honour on those few who managed them, and wrought out,
by their faithfulness and diligence, the public safety. I might dilate
on the difficulties which attended that undertaking, the temper of
the people, the power, arts and interest of the contrary party, but
those are all of them invidious topics,--they are too green in our
remembrance, and he, who touches on them, _Incedit per ignes suppositos
cineri doleso. _ But, without reproaching one side to praise another, I
may justly recommend to both those wholesome counsels, which, wisely
administered, and as well executed, were the means of preventing a
civil war, and of extinguishing a growing fire which was just ready
to have broken forth among us. So many wives, who have yet their
husbands in their arms; so many parents, who have not the number of
their children lessened; so many villages, towns and cities, whose
inhabitants are not decreased, their property violated, or their wealth
diminished,--are yet owing to the sober conduct, and happy results of
your advice. If a true account may be expected by future ages from the
present, your lordship will be delivered over to posterity in a fairer
character than I have given; and be read, not in the preface of a play,
(whose author is not vain enough to promise immortality to others, or
to hope it for himself,) but in many pages of a chronicle, filled with
praises of your administration. For, if writers be just to the memory
of King Charles II.
, they cannot deny him to have been an exact knower
of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents. It is true,
his necessities often forced him to vary his counsellors and councils,
and sometimes to employ such persons in the management of his affairs,
who were rather fit for his present purpose than satisfactory to his
judgment: but where it was choice in him, not compulsion, he was master
of too much good sense to delight in heavy conversation; and whatever
his favourites of state might be, yet those of his affection were men
of wit[13]. He was easy with these, and complied only with the former.
But in the latter part of his life, which certainly required to be most
cautiously managed, his secret thoughts were communicated but to few,
and those selected of that sort who were _amici omnium horarum_, able
to advise him in a serious consult, where his honour and safety were
concerned, and afterwards capable of entertaining him with pleasant
discourse, as well as profitable. In this maturest part of his age,
when he had been long seasoned with difficulties and dangers, and was
grown to a niceness in his choice, as being satisfied how few could
be trusted,--and, of those who could be trusted, how few could serve
him,--he confined himself to a small number of bosom friends, amongst
whom the world is much mistaken if your lordship was not first.
If the rewards which you received for those services were only honours,
it rather shewed the necessities of the times, than any want of
kindness in your royal master; and, as the splendour of your fortune
stood not in need of being supported by the Crown, so likewise, in
being satisfied without other recompence, you showed yourself to
be above a mercenary interest, and strengthened that power which
bestowed those titles on you; which, truly speaking, were marks of
acknowledgement more than favour.
But, as a skilful pilot will not be tempted out to sea in suspected
weather, so have you wisely chosen to withdraw yourself from public
business, when the face of heaven grew troubled, and the frequent
shifting of the winds foreshewed a storm. There are times and seasons
when the best patriots are willing to withdraw their hands from the
commonwealth, as Phocion, in his latter days, was observed to decline
the management of affairs; or as Cicero, (to draw the similitude more
home) left the pulpit for Tusculum, and the praise of oratory for the
sweet enjoyments of a private life; and, in the happiness of those
retirements, has more obliged posterity by his moral precepts, than he
did the republic in quelling the conspiracy of Catiline. What prudent
man would not rather follow the example of his retreat, than stay,
like Cato, with a stubborn unseasonable virtue, to oppose the torrent
of the people, and at last be driven from the market-place by a riot
of a multitude, uncapable of counsel, and deaf to eloquence? There
is likewise a portion of our lives, which every wise man may justly
reserve to his own peculiar use, and that without defrauding his native
country. A Roman soldier was allowed to plead the merit of his services
for his dismission at such an age; and there was but one exception to
that rule, which was, an invasion from the Gauls. How far that may work
with your lordship, I am not certain, but I hope it is not coming to
the trial[14].
In the mean time, while the nation is secured from foreign attempts by
so powerful a fleet, and we enjoy, not only the happiness, but even the
ornaments of peace, in the divertisement of the town, I humbly offer
you this trifle, which, if it succeed upon the stage, is like to be the
chiefest entertainment of our ladies and gentlemen this summer. When I
wrote it, seven years ago, I employed some reading about it, to inform
myself out of Beda, Bochartus and other authors, concerning the rites
and customs of the heathen Saxons; as I also used the little skill I
have in poetry to adorn it[15]. But, not to offend the present times,
nor a government which has hitherto protected me, I have been obliged
so much to alter the first design, and take away so many beauties from
the writing, that it is now no more what it was formerly, than the
present ship of the Royal Sovereign, after so often taking down and
altering, is the vessel it was at the first building. There is nothing
better than what I intended, but the music; which has since arrived
to a greater perfection in England than ever formerly; especially
passing through the artful hands of Mr Purcell, who has composed it
with so great a genius, that he has nothing to fear but an ignorant,
ill-judging audience. But the numbers of poetry and vocal music are
sometimes so contrary, that, in many places, I have been obliged to
cramp my verses, and make them rugged to the reader, that they may
be harmonious to the hearer; of which I have no reason to repent me,
because these sorts of entertainments are principally designed for
the ear and eye; and therefore, in reason, my art, on this occasion,
ought to be subservient to his. And, besides, I flatter myself with
an imagination, that a judicious audience will easily distinguish
betwixt the songs wherein I have complied with him, and those in which
I have followed the rules of poetry, in the sound and cadence of the
words. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, there is somewhat still
remaining of the first spirit with which I wrote it; and though I can
only speak by guess, of what pleased my first and best patroness the
Duchess of Monmouth in the reading, yet I will venture my opinion, by
the knowledge I have long had of her Grace's excellent judgment and
true taste of poetry, that the parts of the airy and earthy spirits,
and that fairy kind of writing which depends only upon the force of
imagination, were the grounds of her liking the poem, and afterwards of
her recommending it to the Queen. I have likewise had the satisfaction
to hear, that her majesty has graciously been pleased to peruse the
manuscript of this opera, and given it her royal approbation. Poets,
who subsist not but on the favour of sovereign princes, and of great
persons, may have leave to be a little vain, and boast of their
patronage, who encourage the genius that animates them; and therefore,
I will again presume to guess, that her majesty was not displeased to
find in this poem the praises of her native country, and the heroic
actions of so famous a predecessor in the government of Great Britain
as King Arthur.
All this, my lord, I must confess, looks with a kind of insinuation,
that I present you with somewhat not unworthy your protection; but
I may easily mistake the favour of her majesty for her judgment: I
think I cannot be deceived in thus addressing to your lordship, whom
I have had the honour to know, at that distance which becomes me, for
so many years. It is true, that formerly I have shadowed some part
of your virtues under another name; but the character, though short
and imperfect, was so true, that it broke through the fable, and was
discovered by its native light[16]. What I pretend by this dedication,
is an honour which I do myself to posterity, by acquainting them, that
I have been conversant with the first persons of the age in which I
lived; and thereby perpetuate my prose, when my verses may possibly be
forgotten, or obscured by the fame of future poets. Which ambition,
amongst my other faults and imperfections, be pleased to pardon, in,
MY LORD,
Your Lordship's most obedient servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 12: We have often occasion, in these notes, to mention the
Marquis of Halifax. He was originally Sir George Saville, Baronet;
but, being early characterized by unmatched dexterity in political
intrigue, he successively attained the rank of Viscount, Earl, and, in
1682, Marquis of Halifax. He acted alternately for the people against
the Crown, and for the Crown against the people; for he delighted in
nice and delicate strokes of policy, and in balancing, by a slight but
well-applied exertion, the sinking against the rising faction. Hence
he was accounted the head of the little faction called Trimmers; and
hence his counsels became particularly acceptable to Charles II. , whose
administration he guided, as Lord Privy Seal, during the last years of
that monarch's life. The king had no mind that the high-flying tories
should attain an absolute predominance; for he feared his brother,
who had placed himself at their head, and he loved Monmouth, who
was the object of their most violent hatred. Still less could he be
supposed to favour the whigs, whose ranks contained many determined
republicans. A minister, therefore, whose ingenious and versatile
councils could enable him to check the triumph of the tories, without
too much encouraging the whigs, was a treasure to him,--and just
such a minister was Halifax. Our author therefore dedicates to him,
with great propriety, a piece written for Charles, when Halifax was
his favourite minister; and the subjects of eulogium are chosen with
Dryden's usual felicity. Some allowance must doubtless be made, for
the indispensible obligation which compelled a dedicator to view the
conduct of his patron on the favourable side. Such an unfortunate wight
cannot be reasonably tied down to uniformity of sentiment in different
addresses. The character of Dryden's immediate patron was always his
cue for praise: if he stood forward against a predominant party, he
was necessarily Cato, the most virtuous of men; if he yielded to the
torrent, he was Phocion or Cicero, and Cato was a fool to him. With
the few grains of allowance which his situation required, Dryden's
praise of Halifax is an honest panegyric. It is certain, his wisdom
prevented a civil war in the last years of the reign of Charles, and
indirectly led the way to a bloodless revolution. The age in which
he lived was therefore so far indebted to him, as our author has
elegantly said, for the lives of husbands and of children, for property
unviolated, and wealth undiminished. Nor does the present owe him
less; for, when is it that a government, erected by a party successful
in civil dissention, does not far exceed their just, and even their
original pretensions? The parties had each founded their plea and their
pretensions upon sacred and integral parts of the constitution, as the
contending factions of the Jews occupied, the one the temple, and the
other the palace of Jerusalem. In a civil war, one bulwark or other
must have fallen with the party which it sheltered; and it was only the
Revolution of 1688, which, leaving both whig and tory in full strength,
compelled them mutually to respect the constitutional vantage-ground
assumed by each other. ]
[Footnote 13: Lord Halifax was unquestionably a man of wit; and we have
some tolerable bon mots of his, handed down by his contemporaries.
Burnet says, "The liveliness of his imagination was always too hard
for his judgment. A severe jest was preferred by him to all arguments
whatever; and he was endless in consultations; for when, after much
discourse, a point was settled, if he could find a new jest to make
even that which was suggested by himself ridiculous, he could not
hold, but would study to raise the credit of his wit, though it made
others call his judgment in question. " We may not, perhaps, refine
too far in supposing, that the bishop was not always able to estimate
the policy of this subtle statesman. It was more frequently his wish
to avoid taking decisive steps than to recommend them; and what could
more effectually retard violent councils than the conduct remarked by
Burnet, or what argument would have weighed with Charles II. like a
keen jest? ]
[Footnote 14: The Roman veterans were dismissed after twenty years
service; a regulation equally politic and humane. In 1691 a French
invasion, in behalf of King James, appeared not improbable. ]
[Footnote 15: We cannot trace the result of this study any where but
in the song of the Saxon priests; and it did not surely require much
reading to glean up the names of the Saxon deities, which are almost
the only traits of national manners exhibited through the drama. ]
[Footnote 16: Under that of Jotham in "Absalom and Achitophel. "]
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.
Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
When silly plays so savourily go down;
As, when clipped money passes, 'tis a sign
A nation is not over-stocked with coin.
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[17].
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; }
The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too; }
A sign they have but little else to do. }
Bets, at the first, were fool-traps; where the wise,
Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies:
But now they're grown a common trade for all, }
And actions by the new-book rise and fall; }
Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall. }
One policy as far as Lyons carries;
Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris.
Our bets, at last, would even to Rome extend,
But that the pope has proved our trusty friend.
Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money,
Could we insure another Ottoboni[18].
Among the rest there are a sharping set,
That pray for us, and yet against us bet.
Sure heaven itself is at a loss to know
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,
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 17: The ancient game of shovel-board was played by sliding
pieces of money along a smooth table, something on the principle of
billiards. The allusion seems to be the same as if a modern poet had
said, that a feeble player at billiards runs no risk of pocketing his
own ball. The reader will find a variety of passages concerning this
pastime in the notes of the various commentators upon a passage in the
"Merry Wives of Windsor," where Slender enumerates among the contents
of his pocket, when picked by Pistol, "two Edward shovel-boards," that
is, two broad shillings of Edward VI. used for playing at this game. In
some old halls the shovel-board table is still preserved, and sometimes
used. ]
[Footnote 18: Cardinal Ottoboni, a Venetian by birth, succeeded to the
tiara on the death of Innocent XI. , and assumed the name of Alexander
VIII. He was, like his predecessor, an enemy to France, and maintained
the privileges of the Holy See, both in the point of the regale, and
in refusing to grant bulls to those French bishops who had signed the
formulary of 1682, by which the Pope was declared fallible, and subject
to the decrees of a general council. His death took place during the
congress of 1690. It was therefore a recent event when this play was
first represented, and the disposition of his successor, towards the
French or Imperial Courts, was matter of anxious speculation to the
politicians of the day. ]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
_King_ ARTHUR.
OSWALD, _King of_ KENT, _a Saxon, and a Heathen_.
CONON, _Duke of_ CORNWALL, _Tributary to King_ ARTHUR.
MERLIN, _a famous Enchanter_.
OSMOND, _a Saxon Magician, and a Heathen_.
AURELIUS, _Friend to_ ARTHUR.
ALBANACT, _Captain of_ ARTHUR'S _Guards_.
GUILLIMAR, _Friend to_ OSWALD.
EMMELINE, _Daughter of_ CONON.
MATILDA, _her Attendant_.
PHILIDEL, _an Airy Spirit_.
GRIMBALD, _an Earthy Spirit_.
_Officers and Soldiers, Singers and Dancers. _
_SCENE--Kent. _
KING ARTHUR,
OR, THE
BRITISH WORTHY.
ACT I--SCENE I.
_Enter_ CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT.
_Con. _ Then this is the deciding day, to fix
Great Britain's sceptre in great Arthur's hand.
_Aur. _ Or put it in the bold invader's gripe.
Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of Heaven.
_Con. _ In ten set battles have we driven back
These heathen Saxons, and regained our earth.
As earth recovers from an ebbing tide
Her half-drowned face, and lifts it o'er the waves,
From Severn's bank, even to this barren down,
Our foremost men have pressed their fainty rear,
And not one Saxon face has been beheld;
But all their backs and shoulders have been stuck
With foul dishonest wounds; now here, indeed,
Because they have no farther ground, they stand.
_Aur. _ Well have we chose a happy day for fight;
For every man, in course of time, has found
Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.
_Alb. _ But why this day more lucky than the rest?
_Con. _ Because this day
Is sacred to the patron of our isle;
A christian and a soldier's annual feast.
_Alb. _ Oh, now I understand you. This is St George of Cappadocia's
day. Well, it may be so, but faith I was ignorant. We soldiers seldom
examine the rubrick, and now and then a saint may happen to slip by us;
but, if he be a gentleman saint, he will forgive us.
_Con. _ Oswald undoubtedly will fight it bravely.
_Aur. _ And it behoves him well, 'tis his last stake. But what manner of
man is this Oswald? Have you ever seen him? [_To_ ALBANACT.
_Alb. _ Never but once; and that was to my cost too. I followed him too
close, and, to say the truth, somewhat uncivilly, upon a rout; but he
turned upon me, as quick and as round as a chafed boar, and gave me two
licks a-cross the face, to put me in mind of my Christianity.
_Con. _ I know him well; he's free and open-hearted.
_Aur. _ His country's character: that speaks a German.
_Con. _ Revengeful, rugged, violently brave;
And, once resolved, is never to be moved.
_Alb. _ Yes, he's a valiant dog, pox on him!
_Con. _ This was the character he then maintained,
When in my court he sought my daughter's love,
My fair, blind Emmeline.
_Alb. _ I cannot blame him for courting the heiress of Cornwall. All
heiresses are beautiful; and, as blind as she is, he would have had no
blind bargain of her.
_Aur. _ For that defeat in love, he raised this war;
For royal Arthur reigned within her heart,
Ere Oswald moved his suit.
_Con. _ Ay, now, Aurelius, you have named a man;
One, whom, besides the homage that I owe,
As Cornwall's duke, to his imperial crown,
I would have chosen out, from all mankind,
To be my sovereign lord.
_Aur. _ His worth divides him from the crowd of kings;
So born, without desert to be so born;
Men, set aloft to be the scourge of heaven,
And, with long arms, to lash the under-world.
_Con. _ Arthur is all that's excellent in Oswald,
And void of all his faults. In battle brave,
But still serene in all the stormy war,
Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight,
As merciful and kind to vanquished foes,
As a forgiving God. But see, he's here,
And praise is dumb before him.
_Enter King_ ARTHUR, _reading a letter, with Attendants_.
Arth. [_Reading. _] "Go on, auspicious prince, the stars are kind:
Unfold thy banners to the willing wind;
While I, with airy legions, help thy arms;
Confronting art with art, and charms with charms. "
So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt the event,
[
_To_ CONON.
With Heaven and you to friends. Oh noble Conon,
You taught my tender hands the trade of war;
And now again you helm your hoary head,
And, under double weight of age and arms,
Assert your country's freedom and my crown.
_Con. _ No more, my son.
_Arth. _ Most happy in that name!
Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,
You made my plighted bride:
Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,
Unaiming hits, with surest archery,
And innocently kills.
_Con. _ Remember, son,
You are a general; other wars require you,
For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.
_Arth. _ Their infantry embattled, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space,
Covered by their advancing cavalry.
By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror:
The noble Oswald has provoked my envy. --
_Enter_ EMMELINE, _led by_ MATILDA.
Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears,
A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me:
Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight.
_Con. _ Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye.
[_Exit_ CONON.
_Em. _ O father, father, I am sure you're here;
Because I see your voice.
_Arth. _ No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,
Which cannot view the conquest they have made.
Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,
But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,
That see not, when they shine!
_Em. _ What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,
To which you thus compare my eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love:
For, when my father clasps my hand in his,
That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled;
But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,
And something smarts and tickles at my heart.
_Arth. _ Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue,
And only nature speaks what nature thinks! --
Had she but eyes!
_Em. _ Just now you said, I had:
I see them, I have two.
_Arth. _ But neither see.
_Em. _ I'm sure they hear you then:
What can your eyes do more?
_Arth. _ They view your beauties.
_Em. _ Do not I see? You have a face like mine,
Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts,
That heave like mine.
_Arth. _ But you describe a woman;
Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands.
_Em. _ Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one;
For is not seeing, touching with your eyes?
_Arth. _ No; for I see at distance, where I touch not.
_Em. _ If you can see so far, and yet not touch,
I fear you see my naked legs and feet
Quite through my clothes.
_Sos. _ No, I thank you; you may whistle me long enough; a beaten dog
has always the wit to avoid his master.
_Merc. _ I permit thee to be Sosia again.
_Sos. _ 'Tis an unfortunate name, and I abandon it: he that has an itch
to be beaten, let him take it up for Sosia;--What have I said now! I
mean for me; for I neither am nor will be Sosia.
_Merc. _ But thou may'st be so in safety; for I have acknowledged myself
to be god Mercury.
_Sos. _ You may be a god, for aught I know; but the devil take me if
ever I worship you, for an unmerciful deity as you are.
_Merc. _ You ought to take it for an honour to be drubbed by the hand of
a divinity.
_Sos. _ I am your most humble servant, good Mr God; but, by the faith of
a mortal, I could well have spared the honour that you did me. But how
shall I be sure that you will never assume my shape again?
_Merc. _ Because I am weary of wearing so villainous an outside.
_Sos. _ Well, well; as villainous as it is, here's old Bromia will be
contented with it.
_Brom. _ Yes, now I am sure that I may chastise you safely, and that
there's no god lurking under your appearance.
_Sos. _ Ay; but you had best take heed how you attempt it; for, as
Mercury has turned himself into me, so I may take the toy into my head,
and turn myself into Mercury, that I may swinge you off condignly.
_Merc. _ In the mean time, be all my witnesses, that I take Phædra for
my wife of the left hand; that is, in the nature of a lawful concubine.
_Phæd. _ You shall pardon me for believing you, for all you are a god;
for you have a terrible ill name below; and I am afraid you'll get a
footman, instead of a priest, to marry us.
_Merc. _ But here's Gripus shall draw up articles betwixt us.
_Phæd. _ But he's damnably used to false conveyancing. Well, be it so;
for my counsel shall over-look them before I sign--Come on, Gripus,
that I may have him under black and white.
[_Here_ GRIPUS _gets ready pen, ink, and paper_.
_Merc. _ With all my heart, that I may have thee under black and white
hereafter.
_Phæd. _ [_To_ GRIPUS. ] Begin, begin--Heads of articles to be made, &c.
betwixt Mercury, god of thieves----
_Merc. _ And Phædra, queen of gypsies. ----_Imprimis_, I promise to buy
and settle upon her an estate, containing nine thousand acres of land,
in any part of Boeotia, to her own liking.
_Phæd. _ Provided always, that no part of the said nine thousand acres
shall be upon, or adjoining to, Mount Parnassus; for I will not be
fobbed off with a poetical estate.
Merc. _Memorandum_, that she be always constant to me, and admit of no
other lover.
Phæd. _Memorandum_, unless it be a lover that offers more; and that the
constancy shall not exceed the settlement.
Merc. _Item_, that she shall keep no male servants in her house:
_Item_, no rival lap-dog for a bedfellow: _Item_, that she shall never
pray to any of the gods.
_Phæd. _ What, would you have me an atheist?
_Merc. _ No devotion to any he-deity, good Phædra.
_Brom. _ Here's no provision made for children yet.
_Phæd. _ Well remembered, Bromia; I bargain that my eldest son shall be
a hero, and my eldest daughter a king's mistress.
_Merc. _ That is to say, a blockhead, and a harlot, Phædra.
_Phæd. _ That's true; but who dares call them so? Then, for the younger
children--But now I think on't, we'll have no more, but Mass and Miss;
for the rest would be but chargeable, and a burden to the nation.
_Merc. _ Yes, yes; the second shall be a false prophet: he shall have
wit enough to set up a new religion, and too much wit to die a martyr
for it.
_Phæd. _ O what had I forgot? there's pin-money, and alimony, and
separate maintenance, and a thousand things more to be considered, that
are all to be tacked to this act of settlement.
_Sos. _ I am a fool, I must confess; but yet I can see as far into a
mill-stone as the best of you. I have observed, that you women-wits
are commonly so quick upon the scent, that you often over-run it:
now I would ask of Madam Phædra, that in case Mr Heaven there should
be pleased to break these articles, in what court of judicature she
intends to sue him?
_Phæd. _ The fool has hit upon't:--Gods, and great men, are never to be
sued, for they can always plead privilege of peerage; and therefore
for once, monsieur, I'll take your word; for, as long as you love me,
you'll be sure to keep it: and, in the mean time, I shall be gaining
experience how to manage some rich cully; for no woman ever made her
fortune by a wit.
_It thunders; and the company within doors_, AMPHITRYON, ALCMENA,
POLIDAS, _and_ TRANIO, _all come running out, and join with the
rest, who were on the stage before_.
_Amph. _ Sure 'tis some god; he vanished from our sight,
And told us, we should see him soon return.
_Alcm. _ I know not what to hope, nor what to fear.
A simple error is a real crime,
And unconsenting innocence is lost.
_A second peal of Thunder. After which_, JUPITER _appears in a Machine_.
_Jup. _ Look up, Amphitryon, and behold, above,
The impostor god, the rival of thy love;
In thy own shape see Jupiter appear,
And let that sight secure thy jealous fear.
Disgrace, and infamy, are turned to boast;
No fame, in Jove's concurrence, can be lost:
What he enjoys, he sanctifies from vice,
And, by partaking, stamps into a price,
'Tis I who ought to murmur at my fate,
Forced by my love my godhead to translate;
When on no other terms I could possess,
But by thy form, thy features, and thy dress.
To thee were given the blessings that I sought,
Which else, not all the bribes of heaven had bought,
Then take into thy arms thy envied love,
And, in his own despite, triumph o'er Jove.
_Merc. _ Amphitryon and Alcmena both stand mute, and know not how to
take it. [_Aside. _
_Sos. _ Our sovereign lord Jupiter is a sly companion; he knows how to
gild a bitter pill. [_Aside. _
_Jup. _ From this auspicious night shall rise an heir,
Great like his sire, and like his mother fair:
Wrongs to redress, and tyrants to disseize;
Born for a world that wants a Hercules.
Monsters, and monster-men he shall engage,
And toil, and struggle, through an impious age.
Peace to his labours shall at length succeed; }
And murmuring men, unwilling to be freed, }
Shall be compelled to happiness, by need. }
[JUPITER _is carried back to Heaven_.
_Omnes. _ We all congratulate Amphitryon.
_Merc. _ Keep your congratulations to yourselves, gentlemen. 'Tis a nice
point, let me tell you that; and the less that's said of it the better.
Upon the whole matter, if Amphitryon takes the favour of Jupiter in
patience, as from a god, he's a good heathen.
_Sos. _ I must take a little extraordinary pains to-night, that my
spouse may come even with her lady, and produce a squire to attend on
young Hercules, when he goes out to seek adventures; that, when his
master kills a man, he may stand ready to pick his pockets, and piously
relieve his aged parents. --Ah, Bromia, Bromia, if thou hadst been as
handsome and as young as Phædra! --I say no more, but somebody might
have made his fortunes as well as his master, and never the worse man
neither.
For, let the wicked world say what they please,
The fair wife makes her husband live at ease:
The lover keeps him too; and but receives,
Like Jove, the remnants that Amphitryon leaves.
'Tis true, the lady has enough in store,
To satisfy those two, and eke two more:
In fine, the man, who weighs the matter fully,
Would rather be the cuckold than the cully. [_Exeunt. _
EPILOGUE,
SPOKEN BY PHÆDRA.
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 the lily hand,
Jove was her humble servant at command;
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.
You teaze your cuckolds, to their face torment 'em;
But Jove gave his new honours to content him,
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, }
To get young godlings; and so mend our breed. }
KING ARTHUR:
OR,
THE BRITISH WORTHY.
A
DRAMATIC OPERA.
* * * * *
----_hîc alta theatris
Fundamenta locant,--scenis decora alta futuris. _ VIRG. Æn. 1.
_Purpurea intexti tollant aulæa Britanni. _ Georg. 3.
----_Tanton' placuit concurrere motu,
Jupiter, æterna gentes in pace futuris! _ Æneid. 12.
----_Et celebrare domestica facta. _ HOR.
KING ARTHUR.
The Seventeenth century was still familiar with
----Whate'er resounds,
In fable or romance, of Uther's son,
Begirt with British and Armoric knights.
Fired by the splendid fictions which romancers had raised on the
basis of Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Welsh traditions, Milton had
designed the exploits of King Arthur for the subject of his lofty epic
strain. What we have lost, in his abandoning the theme, can only be
estimated by the enthusiastic tone into which he always swells, when
he touches upon the "shores of old romance. " The sublime glow of his
imagination, which delighted in painting what was beyond the reach
of human experience; the dignity of his language, formed to express
the sentiments of heroes and of immortals; his powers of describing
alike the beautiful and terrible; above all, the justice with which
he conceived and assigned to each supernatural agent a character as
decidedly peculiar, as lesser poets have given to their human actors,
would have sent him forth to encounter such a subject with gigantic
might. Whoever has ventured, undeterred by their magnitude, upon the
old romances of "Lancelot du Lac," "Sir Tristrem," and others, founded
on the achievements of the Knights of the Round Table, cannot but
remember a thousand striking Gothic incidents, worthy subjects of the
pen of Milton. What would he not have made of the adventure of the
Ruinous Chapel, the Perilous Manor, the Forbidden Seat, the Dolorous
Wound, and many others susceptible of being described in the most
sublime poetry! Even when that sun had set, Arthur had yet another
chance for immortality; for Dryden repeatedly expressed his intention
to found an epic poem upon his history. Our poet, it may be guessed,
was too much in the trammels of French criticism, to have ventured
upon a style of composition allied to the Gothic romance. His poem
would probably have been formed upon the model of the ancients, which,
although more classical and correct, might have wanted the force,
which reality of painting and description never fails to give to epic
narrative. Arthur, in such a poem, would, like Rinaldo, have reminded
us of Achilles; and the sameness of a copy would have been substituted
for the spirit of a characteristic original. But, had Dryden executed
his intended plan, we should have found picturesque narrative
detailed in the most manly and majestic verse, and interspersed with
lessons teaching us to know human life, maxims proper to guide it,
and sentiments which ought to adorn it. In the Knight's Tale, and in
Dryden's other narrative poems, we see enough to induce us to regret
the sordid negligence, or avarice, which withheld from him the means
of decent support, while employed upon the promised task. But Arthur,
as a sort of counterpoise to his extravagant reputation during the
middle ages, was doomed, in the seventeenth century, to be reluctantly
abandoned by Milton and Dryden; and to be celebrated by the pen of
Blackmore.
It is probable, that, when Dryden abandoned all thoughts of a larger
work, he adapted the intended subject to the following opera, and
converted the Genii of the kingdoms, by whom the supernatural
machinery of the epic was to have been conducted, into the lighter and
simpler device of airy and earthy spirits, whose idea the Rosicrucian
philosophy had long rendered popular and familiar. There is no attempt
to avail himself of any fragments of Arthur's romantic renown. He
is not, in this drama, the formidable possessor of Excalibar, and
the superior of the chivalry of the Round Table; nor is Merlin the
fiend-born necromancer, of whom antiquity related and believed so
many wonders. They are the prince and magician of a beautiful fairy
tale, the story of which, abstracted from the poetry, might have been
written by Madame D'Aunois. At the same time, the obvious advantages of
an appeal to the ancient prejudices, which our author has neglected,
are supplied from the funds of his own genius. The incidents, being
intended more for the purpose of displaying machinery, and introducing
music and dances, than with any reference to the rules of the drama,
are abundantly fantastic and extravagant; but the poet has supported
them with wonderful address. The blindness of Emmeline, and the
innocence with which she expresses her conception of visible objects,
gives her character an interest often wanting in what may be called the
heroine of a play, whose perfections generally raise her so far beyond
mere mortal excellence, as to render superfluous all human sympathy.
The scene in which Emmeline recovers her sight, when well represented,
never fails to excite the most pleasing testimony of interest and
applause. The machinery is simple, and well managed: the language and
ministry of Grimbald, the fierce earthy dæmon, are painted with some
touches which arise even to sublimity. The conception of Philidel, a
fallen angel, retaining some of the hue of heaven, who is touched with
repentance, and not without hope of being finally received, is an idea,
so far as I know, altogether original. Klopstock has since introduced
a similar character into sacred poetry[10]. The principal incident
in "King Arthur" is copied, in almost every circumstance, from the
adventures of Rinaldo in the haunted grove on Mount Olivet[11], which
makes also the subject of an Italian opera.
From what is mentioned in the author's preface, we may conceive
the disadvantages under which "King Arthur" was finally brought
forward. It was written originally for the conclusion of the reign
of Charles II, and the political masque of "Albion and Albanius" was
often rehearsed before him, as the prologue to "King Arthur. " We may
therefore conclude, that the piece, as originally written, had a
strong political tendency, and probably abounded with these ingenious
parallels, by which Dryden, with dexterity far exceeding that of every
other writer, could draw, from remote or distant events, a moral
directly applicable to those of his own time. But the Revolution,
while it ruined our author's prospects, imposed a cautious restraint
upon his muse; and therefore, as he himself states, he was obliged to
deprive his play of many beauties, not to offend the present times, or
displease a government by which he had hitherto been protected, or at
least endured. Thus, our author was obliged to convert an ingenious,
and probably highly poetical political drama, into a mere fairy tale,
as totally divested as possible of any meaning beyond extravagant
adventure. How much the drama must have suffered in this transformation
is easy to judge, from the spirit with which all Dryden's political
pieces are composed; and from recollecting with what reluctance he must
have gone through alterations, that were to deprive the play of what
was intended to have been its principal merit. This is the disadvantage
of which the poet had already complained:
How can he show his manhood, when 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 want of sense,
And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.
_Prologue to Amphitryon. _
Under all these disadvantages, "King Arthur" was received with great
applause, at its first appearance; was often repeated, and continues to
be occasionally represented, being the only one of Dryden's numerous
plays which has retained possession of the stage. Some part of its
success was doubtless owing to the music, of which Dr Burney gives the
following account in his "History of Music:"
"Of the music in "King Arthur," I shall say but little, as it has
been lately revived, well performed, and printed. If ever it could,
with truth, be said of a composer, that he had _devancé son siecle_,
Purcell is entitled to that praise; as there are movements in many of
his works which a century has not injured, particularly the duet in
"King Arthur," "Two Daughters of this Aged Stream," and "Fairest Isle,
all Isles excelling," which contain not a single passage that the
best composers of the present times, if it presented itself to their
imagination, would reject. " vol. iii. p. 492.
The dances, which were composed by the famous Priest, did not disgrace
the music and poetry; and the company, according to Downes, were well
rewarded for the time and expence they had bestowed on "King Arthur. "
This opera was acted and printed in 1691.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 8: The author alludes to some popular tales of the day, or
perhaps of former; but the editor confesses himself unable to trace the
reference. ]
[Footnote 9: The infamous Scroggs, and several of Charles the Second's
judges, had huffed, and roared, and ranted, and domineered, over the
unfortunate victims, who suffered for the Popish Plot; and had been
equally partial to prerogative, when the king's party attained a
decided ascendancy. ]
[Footnote 10: The author acknowledges, with gratitude, the opinion of
his "first and best patroness, the duchess of Monmouth," which, to the
author of "Absalom and Achitophel," must have excited a strange mixture
of recollections and emotions. The judgment of that accomplished lady
alleged the fairy kind of writing, which depends only on the force of
imagination, as the grounds for liking a piece which has that chiefly
to recommend it. ]
[Footnote 11: Tasso's "Gierusaleme Liberata. "]
TO THE
MARQUIS OF HALIFAX[12].
* * * * *
MY LORD,
This poem was the last piece of service which I had the honour to do
for my gracious master King Charles II. ; and, though he lived not to
see the performance of it on the stage, yet the Prologue to it, which
was the opera of "Albion and Albanius," was often practised before him
at Whitehall, and encouraged by his royal approbation. It was indeed
a time which was proper for triumph, when he had overcome all those
difficulties which, for some years, had perplexed his peaceful reign:
but, when he had just restored his people to their senses, and made
the latter end of his government of a piece with the happy beginning
of it, he was on the sudden snatched away from the blessings and
acclamations of his subjects, who arrived so late to the knowledge of
him, that they had but just time enough to desire him longer, before
they were to part with him for ever. Peace be with the ashes of so
good a king! Let his human frailties be forgotten, and his clemency
and moderation (the inherent virtues of his family) be remembered with
a grateful veneration by three kingdoms, through which he spread the
blessings of them. And, as your lordship held a principal place in his
esteem, and, perhaps, the first in his affection, during his latter
troubles, the success which accompanied those prudent counsels cannot
but reflect an honour on those few who managed them, and wrought out,
by their faithfulness and diligence, the public safety. I might dilate
on the difficulties which attended that undertaking, the temper of
the people, the power, arts and interest of the contrary party, but
those are all of them invidious topics,--they are too green in our
remembrance, and he, who touches on them, _Incedit per ignes suppositos
cineri doleso. _ But, without reproaching one side to praise another, I
may justly recommend to both those wholesome counsels, which, wisely
administered, and as well executed, were the means of preventing a
civil war, and of extinguishing a growing fire which was just ready
to have broken forth among us. So many wives, who have yet their
husbands in their arms; so many parents, who have not the number of
their children lessened; so many villages, towns and cities, whose
inhabitants are not decreased, their property violated, or their wealth
diminished,--are yet owing to the sober conduct, and happy results of
your advice. If a true account may be expected by future ages from the
present, your lordship will be delivered over to posterity in a fairer
character than I have given; and be read, not in the preface of a play,
(whose author is not vain enough to promise immortality to others, or
to hope it for himself,) but in many pages of a chronicle, filled with
praises of your administration. For, if writers be just to the memory
of King Charles II.
, they cannot deny him to have been an exact knower
of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents. It is true,
his necessities often forced him to vary his counsellors and councils,
and sometimes to employ such persons in the management of his affairs,
who were rather fit for his present purpose than satisfactory to his
judgment: but where it was choice in him, not compulsion, he was master
of too much good sense to delight in heavy conversation; and whatever
his favourites of state might be, yet those of his affection were men
of wit[13]. He was easy with these, and complied only with the former.
But in the latter part of his life, which certainly required to be most
cautiously managed, his secret thoughts were communicated but to few,
and those selected of that sort who were _amici omnium horarum_, able
to advise him in a serious consult, where his honour and safety were
concerned, and afterwards capable of entertaining him with pleasant
discourse, as well as profitable. In this maturest part of his age,
when he had been long seasoned with difficulties and dangers, and was
grown to a niceness in his choice, as being satisfied how few could
be trusted,--and, of those who could be trusted, how few could serve
him,--he confined himself to a small number of bosom friends, amongst
whom the world is much mistaken if your lordship was not first.
If the rewards which you received for those services were only honours,
it rather shewed the necessities of the times, than any want of
kindness in your royal master; and, as the splendour of your fortune
stood not in need of being supported by the Crown, so likewise, in
being satisfied without other recompence, you showed yourself to
be above a mercenary interest, and strengthened that power which
bestowed those titles on you; which, truly speaking, were marks of
acknowledgement more than favour.
But, as a skilful pilot will not be tempted out to sea in suspected
weather, so have you wisely chosen to withdraw yourself from public
business, when the face of heaven grew troubled, and the frequent
shifting of the winds foreshewed a storm. There are times and seasons
when the best patriots are willing to withdraw their hands from the
commonwealth, as Phocion, in his latter days, was observed to decline
the management of affairs; or as Cicero, (to draw the similitude more
home) left the pulpit for Tusculum, and the praise of oratory for the
sweet enjoyments of a private life; and, in the happiness of those
retirements, has more obliged posterity by his moral precepts, than he
did the republic in quelling the conspiracy of Catiline. What prudent
man would not rather follow the example of his retreat, than stay,
like Cato, with a stubborn unseasonable virtue, to oppose the torrent
of the people, and at last be driven from the market-place by a riot
of a multitude, uncapable of counsel, and deaf to eloquence? There
is likewise a portion of our lives, which every wise man may justly
reserve to his own peculiar use, and that without defrauding his native
country. A Roman soldier was allowed to plead the merit of his services
for his dismission at such an age; and there was but one exception to
that rule, which was, an invasion from the Gauls. How far that may work
with your lordship, I am not certain, but I hope it is not coming to
the trial[14].
In the mean time, while the nation is secured from foreign attempts by
so powerful a fleet, and we enjoy, not only the happiness, but even the
ornaments of peace, in the divertisement of the town, I humbly offer
you this trifle, which, if it succeed upon the stage, is like to be the
chiefest entertainment of our ladies and gentlemen this summer. When I
wrote it, seven years ago, I employed some reading about it, to inform
myself out of Beda, Bochartus and other authors, concerning the rites
and customs of the heathen Saxons; as I also used the little skill I
have in poetry to adorn it[15]. But, not to offend the present times,
nor a government which has hitherto protected me, I have been obliged
so much to alter the first design, and take away so many beauties from
the writing, that it is now no more what it was formerly, than the
present ship of the Royal Sovereign, after so often taking down and
altering, is the vessel it was at the first building. There is nothing
better than what I intended, but the music; which has since arrived
to a greater perfection in England than ever formerly; especially
passing through the artful hands of Mr Purcell, who has composed it
with so great a genius, that he has nothing to fear but an ignorant,
ill-judging audience. But the numbers of poetry and vocal music are
sometimes so contrary, that, in many places, I have been obliged to
cramp my verses, and make them rugged to the reader, that they may
be harmonious to the hearer; of which I have no reason to repent me,
because these sorts of entertainments are principally designed for
the ear and eye; and therefore, in reason, my art, on this occasion,
ought to be subservient to his. And, besides, I flatter myself with
an imagination, that a judicious audience will easily distinguish
betwixt the songs wherein I have complied with him, and those in which
I have followed the rules of poetry, in the sound and cadence of the
words. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, there is somewhat still
remaining of the first spirit with which I wrote it; and though I can
only speak by guess, of what pleased my first and best patroness the
Duchess of Monmouth in the reading, yet I will venture my opinion, by
the knowledge I have long had of her Grace's excellent judgment and
true taste of poetry, that the parts of the airy and earthy spirits,
and that fairy kind of writing which depends only upon the force of
imagination, were the grounds of her liking the poem, and afterwards of
her recommending it to the Queen. I have likewise had the satisfaction
to hear, that her majesty has graciously been pleased to peruse the
manuscript of this opera, and given it her royal approbation. Poets,
who subsist not but on the favour of sovereign princes, and of great
persons, may have leave to be a little vain, and boast of their
patronage, who encourage the genius that animates them; and therefore,
I will again presume to guess, that her majesty was not displeased to
find in this poem the praises of her native country, and the heroic
actions of so famous a predecessor in the government of Great Britain
as King Arthur.
All this, my lord, I must confess, looks with a kind of insinuation,
that I present you with somewhat not unworthy your protection; but
I may easily mistake the favour of her majesty for her judgment: I
think I cannot be deceived in thus addressing to your lordship, whom
I have had the honour to know, at that distance which becomes me, for
so many years. It is true, that formerly I have shadowed some part
of your virtues under another name; but the character, though short
and imperfect, was so true, that it broke through the fable, and was
discovered by its native light[16]. What I pretend by this dedication,
is an honour which I do myself to posterity, by acquainting them, that
I have been conversant with the first persons of the age in which I
lived; and thereby perpetuate my prose, when my verses may possibly be
forgotten, or obscured by the fame of future poets. Which ambition,
amongst my other faults and imperfections, be pleased to pardon, in,
MY LORD,
Your Lordship's most obedient servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 12: We have often occasion, in these notes, to mention the
Marquis of Halifax. He was originally Sir George Saville, Baronet;
but, being early characterized by unmatched dexterity in political
intrigue, he successively attained the rank of Viscount, Earl, and, in
1682, Marquis of Halifax. He acted alternately for the people against
the Crown, and for the Crown against the people; for he delighted in
nice and delicate strokes of policy, and in balancing, by a slight but
well-applied exertion, the sinking against the rising faction. Hence
he was accounted the head of the little faction called Trimmers; and
hence his counsels became particularly acceptable to Charles II. , whose
administration he guided, as Lord Privy Seal, during the last years of
that monarch's life. The king had no mind that the high-flying tories
should attain an absolute predominance; for he feared his brother,
who had placed himself at their head, and he loved Monmouth, who
was the object of their most violent hatred. Still less could he be
supposed to favour the whigs, whose ranks contained many determined
republicans. A minister, therefore, whose ingenious and versatile
councils could enable him to check the triumph of the tories, without
too much encouraging the whigs, was a treasure to him,--and just
such a minister was Halifax. Our author therefore dedicates to him,
with great propriety, a piece written for Charles, when Halifax was
his favourite minister; and the subjects of eulogium are chosen with
Dryden's usual felicity. Some allowance must doubtless be made, for
the indispensible obligation which compelled a dedicator to view the
conduct of his patron on the favourable side. Such an unfortunate wight
cannot be reasonably tied down to uniformity of sentiment in different
addresses. The character of Dryden's immediate patron was always his
cue for praise: if he stood forward against a predominant party, he
was necessarily Cato, the most virtuous of men; if he yielded to the
torrent, he was Phocion or Cicero, and Cato was a fool to him. With
the few grains of allowance which his situation required, Dryden's
praise of Halifax is an honest panegyric. It is certain, his wisdom
prevented a civil war in the last years of the reign of Charles, and
indirectly led the way to a bloodless revolution. The age in which
he lived was therefore so far indebted to him, as our author has
elegantly said, for the lives of husbands and of children, for property
unviolated, and wealth undiminished. Nor does the present owe him
less; for, when is it that a government, erected by a party successful
in civil dissention, does not far exceed their just, and even their
original pretensions? The parties had each founded their plea and their
pretensions upon sacred and integral parts of the constitution, as the
contending factions of the Jews occupied, the one the temple, and the
other the palace of Jerusalem. In a civil war, one bulwark or other
must have fallen with the party which it sheltered; and it was only the
Revolution of 1688, which, leaving both whig and tory in full strength,
compelled them mutually to respect the constitutional vantage-ground
assumed by each other. ]
[Footnote 13: Lord Halifax was unquestionably a man of wit; and we have
some tolerable bon mots of his, handed down by his contemporaries.
Burnet says, "The liveliness of his imagination was always too hard
for his judgment. A severe jest was preferred by him to all arguments
whatever; and he was endless in consultations; for when, after much
discourse, a point was settled, if he could find a new jest to make
even that which was suggested by himself ridiculous, he could not
hold, but would study to raise the credit of his wit, though it made
others call his judgment in question. " We may not, perhaps, refine
too far in supposing, that the bishop was not always able to estimate
the policy of this subtle statesman. It was more frequently his wish
to avoid taking decisive steps than to recommend them; and what could
more effectually retard violent councils than the conduct remarked by
Burnet, or what argument would have weighed with Charles II. like a
keen jest? ]
[Footnote 14: The Roman veterans were dismissed after twenty years
service; a regulation equally politic and humane. In 1691 a French
invasion, in behalf of King James, appeared not improbable. ]
[Footnote 15: We cannot trace the result of this study any where but
in the song of the Saxon priests; and it did not surely require much
reading to glean up the names of the Saxon deities, which are almost
the only traits of national manners exhibited through the drama. ]
[Footnote 16: Under that of Jotham in "Absalom and Achitophel. "]
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.
Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
When silly plays so savourily go down;
As, when clipped money passes, 'tis a sign
A nation is not over-stocked with coin.
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[17].
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; }
The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too; }
A sign they have but little else to do. }
Bets, at the first, were fool-traps; where the wise,
Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies:
But now they're grown a common trade for all, }
And actions by the new-book rise and fall; }
Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall. }
One policy as far as Lyons carries;
Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris.
Our bets, at last, would even to Rome extend,
But that the pope has proved our trusty friend.
Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money,
Could we insure another Ottoboni[18].
Among the rest there are a sharping set,
That pray for us, and yet against us bet.
Sure heaven itself is at a loss to know
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,
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 17: The ancient game of shovel-board was played by sliding
pieces of money along a smooth table, something on the principle of
billiards. The allusion seems to be the same as if a modern poet had
said, that a feeble player at billiards runs no risk of pocketing his
own ball. The reader will find a variety of passages concerning this
pastime in the notes of the various commentators upon a passage in the
"Merry Wives of Windsor," where Slender enumerates among the contents
of his pocket, when picked by Pistol, "two Edward shovel-boards," that
is, two broad shillings of Edward VI. used for playing at this game. In
some old halls the shovel-board table is still preserved, and sometimes
used. ]
[Footnote 18: Cardinal Ottoboni, a Venetian by birth, succeeded to the
tiara on the death of Innocent XI. , and assumed the name of Alexander
VIII. He was, like his predecessor, an enemy to France, and maintained
the privileges of the Holy See, both in the point of the regale, and
in refusing to grant bulls to those French bishops who had signed the
formulary of 1682, by which the Pope was declared fallible, and subject
to the decrees of a general council. His death took place during the
congress of 1690. It was therefore a recent event when this play was
first represented, and the disposition of his successor, towards the
French or Imperial Courts, was matter of anxious speculation to the
politicians of the day. ]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
_King_ ARTHUR.
OSWALD, _King of_ KENT, _a Saxon, and a Heathen_.
CONON, _Duke of_ CORNWALL, _Tributary to King_ ARTHUR.
MERLIN, _a famous Enchanter_.
OSMOND, _a Saxon Magician, and a Heathen_.
AURELIUS, _Friend to_ ARTHUR.
ALBANACT, _Captain of_ ARTHUR'S _Guards_.
GUILLIMAR, _Friend to_ OSWALD.
EMMELINE, _Daughter of_ CONON.
MATILDA, _her Attendant_.
PHILIDEL, _an Airy Spirit_.
GRIMBALD, _an Earthy Spirit_.
_Officers and Soldiers, Singers and Dancers. _
_SCENE--Kent. _
KING ARTHUR,
OR, THE
BRITISH WORTHY.
ACT I--SCENE I.
_Enter_ CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT.
_Con. _ Then this is the deciding day, to fix
Great Britain's sceptre in great Arthur's hand.
_Aur. _ Or put it in the bold invader's gripe.
Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of Heaven.
_Con. _ In ten set battles have we driven back
These heathen Saxons, and regained our earth.
As earth recovers from an ebbing tide
Her half-drowned face, and lifts it o'er the waves,
From Severn's bank, even to this barren down,
Our foremost men have pressed their fainty rear,
And not one Saxon face has been beheld;
But all their backs and shoulders have been stuck
With foul dishonest wounds; now here, indeed,
Because they have no farther ground, they stand.
_Aur. _ Well have we chose a happy day for fight;
For every man, in course of time, has found
Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.
_Alb. _ But why this day more lucky than the rest?
_Con. _ Because this day
Is sacred to the patron of our isle;
A christian and a soldier's annual feast.
_Alb. _ Oh, now I understand you. This is St George of Cappadocia's
day. Well, it may be so, but faith I was ignorant. We soldiers seldom
examine the rubrick, and now and then a saint may happen to slip by us;
but, if he be a gentleman saint, he will forgive us.
_Con. _ Oswald undoubtedly will fight it bravely.
_Aur. _ And it behoves him well, 'tis his last stake. But what manner of
man is this Oswald? Have you ever seen him? [_To_ ALBANACT.
_Alb. _ Never but once; and that was to my cost too. I followed him too
close, and, to say the truth, somewhat uncivilly, upon a rout; but he
turned upon me, as quick and as round as a chafed boar, and gave me two
licks a-cross the face, to put me in mind of my Christianity.
_Con. _ I know him well; he's free and open-hearted.
_Aur. _ His country's character: that speaks a German.
_Con. _ Revengeful, rugged, violently brave;
And, once resolved, is never to be moved.
_Alb. _ Yes, he's a valiant dog, pox on him!
_Con. _ This was the character he then maintained,
When in my court he sought my daughter's love,
My fair, blind Emmeline.
_Alb. _ I cannot blame him for courting the heiress of Cornwall. All
heiresses are beautiful; and, as blind as she is, he would have had no
blind bargain of her.
_Aur. _ For that defeat in love, he raised this war;
For royal Arthur reigned within her heart,
Ere Oswald moved his suit.
_Con. _ Ay, now, Aurelius, you have named a man;
One, whom, besides the homage that I owe,
As Cornwall's duke, to his imperial crown,
I would have chosen out, from all mankind,
To be my sovereign lord.
_Aur. _ His worth divides him from the crowd of kings;
So born, without desert to be so born;
Men, set aloft to be the scourge of heaven,
And, with long arms, to lash the under-world.
_Con. _ Arthur is all that's excellent in Oswald,
And void of all his faults. In battle brave,
But still serene in all the stormy war,
Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight,
As merciful and kind to vanquished foes,
As a forgiving God. But see, he's here,
And praise is dumb before him.
_Enter King_ ARTHUR, _reading a letter, with Attendants_.
Arth. [_Reading. _] "Go on, auspicious prince, the stars are kind:
Unfold thy banners to the willing wind;
While I, with airy legions, help thy arms;
Confronting art with art, and charms with charms. "
So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt the event,
[
_To_ CONON.
With Heaven and you to friends. Oh noble Conon,
You taught my tender hands the trade of war;
And now again you helm your hoary head,
And, under double weight of age and arms,
Assert your country's freedom and my crown.
_Con. _ No more, my son.
_Arth. _ Most happy in that name!
Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,
You made my plighted bride:
Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,
Unaiming hits, with surest archery,
And innocently kills.
_Con. _ Remember, son,
You are a general; other wars require you,
For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.
_Arth. _ Their infantry embattled, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space,
Covered by their advancing cavalry.
By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror:
The noble Oswald has provoked my envy. --
_Enter_ EMMELINE, _led by_ MATILDA.
Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears,
A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me:
Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight.
_Con. _ Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye.
[_Exit_ CONON.
_Em. _ O father, father, I am sure you're here;
Because I see your voice.
_Arth. _ No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,
Which cannot view the conquest they have made.
Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,
But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,
That see not, when they shine!
_Em. _ What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,
To which you thus compare my eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love:
For, when my father clasps my hand in his,
That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled;
But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,
And something smarts and tickles at my heart.
_Arth. _ Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue,
And only nature speaks what nature thinks! --
Had she but eyes!
_Em. _ Just now you said, I had:
I see them, I have two.
_Arth. _ But neither see.
_Em. _ I'm sure they hear you then:
What can your eyes do more?
_Arth. _ They view your beauties.
_Em. _ Do not I see? You have a face like mine,
Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts,
That heave like mine.
_Arth. _ But you describe a woman;
Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands.
_Em. _ Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one;
For is not seeing, touching with your eyes?
_Arth. _ No; for I see at distance, where I touch not.
_Em. _ If you can see so far, and yet not touch,
I fear you see my naked legs and feet
Quite through my clothes.
