Already we have conquer'd half the war,
And the less dangerous part is left behind;
Our trouble now is but to make them dare,
And not so great to vanquish as to find.
Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go,
But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more;
A constant trade-wind will securely blow,
And gently lay us on the spicy shore.
MR. DRYDEN AND THE EARL OF MULGRAVE.
How dull and how insensible a beast
Is man, who yet would lord it o'er the rest!
Philosophers and poets vainly strove,
In every age, the lumpish mass to move;
But those were pedants, when compared with these,
Who know not only to instruct, but please.
Poets alone found the delightful way
Mysterious morals gently to convey
In charming numbers; so that as men grew
Pleased with their poems, they grew wiser too.
Satire has always shone among the rest,
And is the boldest way, if not the best,
To tell men freely of their foulest faults,
To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts.
In satire, too, the wise took different ways,
To each deserving its peculiar praise.
Some did all folly with just sharpness blame,
Whilst others laugh'd and scorn'd them into shame.
But of these two the last succeeded best,
As men aim rightest when they shoot in jest.
Yet, if we may presume to blame our guides,
And censure those who censure all besides,
In other things they justly are preferr'd;
In this alone, methinks, the ancients err'd;
Against the grossest follies they declaim;
Hard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game.
Nothing is easier than such blots to hit,
And 'tis the talent of each vulgar wit:
Besides, 'tis labour lost; for who would preach
Morals to Armstrong, or dull Aston teach?
'Tis being devout at play, wise at a ball,
Or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall.
But with sharp eyes those nicer faults to find,
Which lie obscurely in the wisest mind;
That little speck, which all the rest does spoil,
To wash off that would be a noble toil;
Beyond the loose-writ libels of this
Or the forced scenes of our declining stage:
Above all censure, too, each little wit
Will be so glad to see the greater hit,
Who judging better, though concern'd the most,
Of such correction will have cause to boast.
In such a satire all would seek a share,
And every fool will fancy he is there.
Old story-tellers, too, must pine and die,
To see their antiquated wit laid by ;
Like her who miss'd her name in a lampoon,
And grieved to find herself decay'd so soon.
No common coxcomb must be mention'd here,
Nor the dull train of dancing sparks appear,
Nor fluttering officers who never fight:
Of such a wretched rabble who would write?
Much less half wits: that's more against our rules;
For they are fops, the others are but fools.
Who would not be as silly as Dunbar,
As dull as Monmouth, rather than Sir Carr1?
The cunning courtier should be slighted too,
Who with dull knavery makes so much ado;
1 Probably Sir Carr Scrope.
Till the shrewd fool, by thriving too, too fast,
Like Æsop's fox, becomes a prey at last.
Nor shall the royal mistresses be named,
Too ugly, or too easy, to be blamed;
With whom each rhyming fool keeps such a pother,
They are as common that way as the other:
Yet sauntering Charles, between his beastly brace,
Meets with dissembling still in either place,
Affected humour, or a painted face.
In loyal libels we have often told him
How one has jilted him, the other sold him;
How that affects to laugh, how this to weep;
But who can rail so long as he can sleep?
Was ever prince by two at once misled,
False, foolish, old, ill-natured, and ill-bred?
Earnly, and Aylesbury, with all that race
Of busy blockheads, shall have here no place;
At council set, as foils on Dorset's score,
To make that great false jewel shine the more;
Who all that while was thought exceeding wise,
Only for taking pains and telling lies.
But there's no meddling with such nauseous men;
Their very names have tired my lazy pen:
'Tis time to quit this company, and choose
Some fitter subject for a sharper muse.
First, let's behold the merriest man alive
Against his careless genius vainly strive;
Quit his dear ease, some deep design to lay
'Gainst a set time, and then forget the day:
Yet he will laugh at his best friends, and be
Just as good company as Nokes and Lee:
2 Probably Sir John Earnly, chancellor of the exchequer, in the latter part of the reign of Charles II.
But when he aims at reason or at rule,
He turns himself the best to ridicule.
Let him at business ne'er so earnest sit,
Show him but mirth, and bait that mirth with wit,
That shadow of a jest shall be enjoy'd,
Though he left all mankind to be destroy'd.
So cat, transform'd, sat gravely and demure,
Till mouse appear'd and thought himself secure ;
But soon the lady had him in her eye,
And from her friend did just as oddly fly.
Reaching above our nature does no good;
We must fall back to our old flesh and blood:
As by our little Machiavel we find,
That nimblest creature of the busy kind;
His limbs are crippled, and his body shakes,
Yet his hard mind, which all this bustle makes,
No pity of its poor companion takes.
What gravity can hold from laughing out,
To see him drag his feeble legs about,
Like hounds ill-coupled? Jowler lugs him still
Through hedges, ditches, and through all that's ill.
"Twere crime in any man, but him alone,
To use a body so, though 'tis one's own:
Yet this false comfort never gives him o'er, [soar:
That whilst he creeps, his vigorous thoughts can
Alas! that soaring, to those few that know,
Is but a busy grovelling here below.
So men in rapture think they mount the sky,
Whilst on the ground the' entranced wretches lie:
So modern fops have fancied they could fly.
As the new earl, with parts deserving praise,
And wit enough to laugh at his own ways,
Yet loses all soft days and sensual nights,
Kind Nature checks, and kinder Fortune slights;
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