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before Dryden conformed to the same religion. | to be told, that the ten concluding years of his life, This step has been the cause of much obloquy on in which he wrote for bread, and composed at a cerone side, and has found much excuse on the other; tain rate per line, were those of many of the pieces but if it be considered, from a view of his past life, which have most contributed to immortalise his that, in changing his religious profession, he could name. They were those of his translation of Juvehave had little difficulty to encounter, it will appear nal and Persius; of that of Virgil entire, a work no breach of candour to suppose that his immediate which enriches the English language, and has motive was nothing more than personal interest. greatly promoted the author's fame; of his celeThe reward he obtained from his compliance was an brated Alexander's Feast; and of his Fables, conaddition to his pension of 100 1. per annum. Some taining some of the richest and most truly poetical time after he was engaged in a work which was the pieces which he ever composed. Of these, several longest single piece he ever composed. This was will appear in the subsequent collection of his works. his elaborate controversial poem of "The Hind Nor ought his prose writings to be neglected, and Panther." When completed, notwithstanding which, chiefly consisting of the critical essays preits unpromising subject, and signal absurdity of fixed to his poems, are performances of extraordiplan, such was the power of Dryden's verse, that it nary vigour and comprehension of mind, and afford, was read with avidity, and bore every mark of oc- perhaps, the best specimens of genuine English. cupying the public attention. The birth of a prince called forth a congratulatory poem from Dryden, entitled "Britannia Rediviva," in which he ventured to use a poet's privilege of prophesy, foretelling a commencing era of prosperity to the nation and the church from this auspicious event; but in vain! for the revolution took place within a few months, and the hopes of the party were blasted for

ever.

Dryden was a severe sufferer from the change: his posts and pensions were taken away, and the poetical laurel was conferred upon his insignificant rival, Shadwell. He was now, in advanced life, to depend upon his own exertions for a security from absolute indigence. His faculties were equal to the emergency; and it will surprise some theorists

His

Dryden died of a spreading inflammation in one of his toes, on the first of May, 1700, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, next to the tomb of Chaucer. No monument marked his grave, till a plain one, with his bust, was erected, at the expence of Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. He left behind him three sons, all brought up to letters. own character was cold and reserved, backward in personal advances to the great, and rather heavy in conversation. In fact, he was too much engaged in literature to devote much of his time to society. Few writers of his time delighted so much to approach the verge of prophaneness; whence it may be inferred, that though religion was an interesting topic of discussion to him, he had very little of its spirit in his heart.

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What peace can be, where both to one pretend? (But they more diligent, and we more strong) Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;

For they would grow too powerful were it long.

Behold two nations then, engag'd so far,

That each seven years the fit must shake each land
Where France will side to weaken us by war,
Who only can his vast designs withstand.

See how he feeds th' Iberian with delays,

To render us his timely friendship vain:
And while his secret soul on Flanders preys,
He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.

Such deep designs of empire does he lay

O'er them, whose cause he seems to take in hand; And prudently would make them lords at sea,

To whom with ease he can give laws by land.

This saw our king; and long within his breast
His pensive counsels balanc'd to and fro:
He griev'd the land he freed should be oppress'd,
And he less for it than usurpers do.

His generous mind the fair ideas drew

Of fame and honour, which in dangers lay; Where wealth, like fruit on precipices, grew, Not to be gather'd but by birds of prey

The loss and gain each fatally were great; And still his subjects call'd aloud for war: But peaceful kings, o'er martial people set,

Each other's poize and counterbalance are.

He first survey'd the charge with careful eyes,
Which none but mighty monarchs could maintain;
Yet judg'd, like vapours that from limbecs rise,
It would in richer showers descend again.

At length resolv'd t' assert the watery ball,
He in himself did whole armadoes bring:
Him aged seamen might their master call,
And choose for general, were he not their king.

It seems as every ship their sovereign knows,
His awful summons they so soon obey;
So hear the scaly herd when Proteus blows,
And so to pasture follow through the sea.

To see this fleet upon the ocean move,

Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies; And Heaven, as if there wanted lights above, For tapers made two glaring comets rise.

Whether they unctuous exhalations are,

Fir'd by the Sun, or seeming so alone; Or each some more remote and slippery star, Which loses footing when to mortals shown:

Or one, that bright companion of the Sun,
Whose glorious aspect seal'd our new-born king;
And now, a round of greater years begun,

New influence from his walks of light did bring.

Victorious York did first with fam'd success,

To his known valour make the Dutch give place: Thus Heaven our monarch's fortune did confess, Beginning conquest from his royal race.

But since it was decreed, auspicious king,

In Britain's right that thou shouldst wed the main, Heaven, as a gage, would cast some precious thing, And therefore doom'd that Lawson should be slain.

Lawson amongst the foremost met his fate,

Whom sea-green Sirens from the rocks lament: Thus as an offering for the Grecian state,

He first was kill'd who first to battle went.

Their chief blown up in air, not waves, expir'd, To which his pride presum'd to give the law: The Dutch confess'd Heaven present, and retir'd, And all was Britain the wide ocean saw.

To nearest ports their shatter'd ships repair,
Where by our dreadful cannon they lay aw'd:
So reverently men quit the open air,

When thunder speaks the angry gods abroad.

And now approach'd their fleet from India fraught,
With all the riches of the rising Sun :
And precious sand from southern climates brought,
The fatal regions where the war begun.

Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, [bring:
Their way-laid wealth to Norway's coasts they
There first the North's cold bosom spices bore,
And Winter brooded on the eastern Spring.

By the rich scent we found our perfum'd prey,
Which, flank'd with rocks, did close in covert lie:
And round about their murdering cannon lay,
At once to threaten and invite the eye.

Fiercer than cannon, and than rocks more hard, The English undertake th' unequal war : Seven ships alone, by which the port is barr'd, Besiege the Indies, and all Denmark dare.

These fight like husbands, but like lovers those : These fain would keep, and those more fain enjoy: And to such height their frantic passion grows,

That what both love, both hazard to destroy.

Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball,
And now their odours arm'd against them fly:
Some preciously by shatter'd porcelain fall,
And some by aromatic splinters die.

And though by tempests of the prize bereft,
In Heaven's inclemency some ease we find :
Our foes we vanquish'd by our valour left,
And only yielded to the seas and wind.

Nor wholly lost we so deserv'd a prey;

For storms, repenting, part of it restor❜d: Which, as a tribute from the Baltic sea,

The British ocean sent her mighty lord.

Go, mortals, now and vex yourselves in vain

For wealth, which so uncertainly must come : When what was brought so far, and with such pain, Was only kept to lose it nearer home.

The son, who twice three months on th' ocean tost,
Prepar❜d to tell what he had pass'd before,
Now sees in English ships the Holland coast,
And parents' arms, in vain, stretch'd from the shore.

This careful husband had been long away,
Whom his chaste wife and little children mourn:
Who on their fingers learn'd to tell the day
On which their father promis'd to return.

Such are the proud designs of human-kind,
And so we suffer shipwreck every where!
Alas, what port can such a pilot find,

Who in the night of Fate must blindly steer!

The undistinguish'd seeds of good and ill,
Heaven in his bosom from our knowledge hides:
And draws them in contempt of human skill,
Which oft for friends mistaken foes provides.

Let Munster's prelate ever be accurst,

In whom we seek the German faith in vain: Alas, that he should teach the English first, That fraud and avarice in the church could reign!

Happy, who never trust a stranger's will,
Whose friendship's in his interest understood!
Since money given but tempts him to be ill,
When power is too remote to make him good.

Till now, alone the mighty nations strove;

The rest, at gaze, without the lists did stand; And threatening France, plac'd like a painted Jove, Kept idle thunder in his lifted hand.

That eunuch guardian of rich Holland's trade,
Who envies us what he wants power t' enjoy;
Whose noiseful valour does no foe invade,
And weak assistance will his friends destroy.

Offended that we fought without his leave,

He takes this time his secret hate to show: Which Charles does with a mind so calm receive, As one that neither seeks nor shuns his foe.

With France, to aid the Dutch, the Danes unite:
France as their tyrant, Denmark as their slave.
But when with one three nations join to fight,
They silently confess that one more brave.

Lewis had chas'd the English from his shore;
But Charles the French as subjects does invite:
Would Heaven for each some Solomon restore,
Who, by their mercy, may decide their right!

Were subjects so but only by their choice,

And not from birth did forc'd dominion take, Our prince alone would have the public voice; And all his neighbours' realms would deserts make.

He without fear a dangerous war pursues, Which without rashness he began before: As honour made him first the danger choose, So still he makes it good on virtue's score.

The doubled charge his subjects' love supplies, Who in that bounty to themselves are kind : So glad Egyptians see their Nilus rise,

And in his plenty their abundance find.

With equal power he does two chiefs create,
Two such as each seem'd worthiest when alone;
Each able to sustain a nation's fate,

Since both had found a greater in their own.

Both great in courage, conduct, and in fame,
Yet neither envious of the other's praise;
Their duty, faith, and interest too the same,
Like mighty partners equally they raise.

The prince long time had courted Fortune's love,
But once possess'd did absolutely reign:
Thus with their Amazons the heroes strove,
And conquer'd first those beauties they would gain.

The duke beheld, like Scipio, with disdain,

That Carthage, which he ruin'd, rise once more; And shook aloft the fasces of the main,

To fright those slaves with what they felt before.

Together to the watery camp they haste,

Whom matrons passing to their children show: Infants' first vows for them to Heaven are cast, And future people bless them as they go.

With them no riotous pomp, nor Asian train,
To infect a navy with their gaudy fears;
Ta make siow fights, and victories but vain :
But war severely like itself appears.

Diffusive of themselves, where'er they pass,
They make that warmth in others they expect:
Their valour works like bodies on a glass,
And does its image on their men project.

Our fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear, In number, and a fam'd commander, bold : The narrow seas can scarce their navy bear,

Or crowded vessels can their soldiers hold.

The duke, less numerous, but in courage more,
On wings of all the winds to combat flies:
His murdering guns a loud defiance roar,
And bloody crosses on his flag-staffs rise.

Both furl their sails, and strip them for the fight;
Their folded sheets dismiss the useless air:
Th' Elean plains could boast no nobler sight,
When struggling champions did their bodies bare.

Borne each by other in a distant line,

The sea-built forts in dreadful order move:

So vast the noise, as if not fleets did join,

But lands unfix'd, and floating nations strove.

Now pass'd, on either side they nimbly tack; Both strive to intercept and guide the wind: And, in its eye, more closely they come back, To finish all the deaths they left behind.

On high-rais'd decks the haughty Belgians ride,
Beneath whose shade our humble frigates go:
Such port the elephant bears, and so defy'd
By the rhinoceros her unequal foe.

And as the built, so different is the fight:

Their mounting shot is on our sails design'd; Deep in their hulls our deadly bullets light,

And through the yielding planks a passage find.

Our dreaded admiral from far they threat,

Whose batter'd rigging their whole war receives : All bare, like some old oak which tempests beat, He stands, and sees below his scatter'd leaves.

Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter sought;

But he who meets all danger with disdain, Ev'n in their face his ship to anchor brought, And steeple-high stood propt upon the main.

At this excess of courage, all amaz'd,

The foremost of his foes awhile withdraw: With such respect in enter'd Rome they gaz'd, Who on high chairs the godlike fathers saw.

And now, as where Patroclus' body lay,

Here Trojan chiefs advanc'd, and there the Greek; Ours o'er the duke their pious wings display,

And theirs the noblest spoils of Britain seek.

Meantime his busy mariners he hastes,

His shatter'd sails with rigging to restore; And willing pines ascend his broken masts, Whose lofty heads rise higher than before.

Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow,
More fierce th' important quarrel to decide:
Like
swans, in long array his vessels show,
Whose crests advancing do the waves divide.

They charge, recharge, and all along the sea
They drive, and squander the huge Belgian filcet
Berkeley alone, who nearest danger lay,

Did a like fate with lost Creusa meet.

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He said, nor needed more to say: with haste
To their known stations cheerfully they go;
And all at once, disdaining to be last,
Solicit every gale to meet the foe.

Nor did th' encourag'd Belgians long delay,
But bold in others, not themselves, they stood:
So thick, our navy scarce could steer their way,
But seem'd to wander in a moving wood.

Our little fleet was now engag'd so far,
That like the sword-fish in the whale they fought:
The combat only seem'd a civil war, [wrought:
Till through their bowels we our passage

Never had valour, no not ours, before

Done aught like this upon the land or main,
Where not to be o'ercome was to do more
Than all the conquests former kings did gain.

The mighty ghosts of our great Harries rose,

And armed Edwards look'd with anxious eyes, To see this fleet among unequal foes, [should rise. By which Fate promis'd them their Charles

Meantime the Belgians tack upon our rear, [send: And raking chace-guns through our sterns they Close by, their fire-ships, like jackals, appear,

Who on their lions for the prey attend.

Silent, in smoke of cannon they come on:

Such vapours once did fiery Cacus hide : In these the height of pleas'd revenge is shown, Who burn contented by another's side.

Sometimes from fighting squadrons of each fleet, Deceiv'd themselves, or to preserve some friend, Two grappling Etnas on the ocean meet,

And English fires with Belgian flames contend.

Now at each tack our little fleet grows less; [main: And, like maim'd fowl, swim lagging on the Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess,

While they lose cheaper than the English gain.

Have you not seen, when, whistled from the fist,
Some falcon stoops at what her eye design'd,
And with her eagerness the quarry miss'd
Straight flies at check, and clips it down the wind?

The dastard crow, that to the wood made wing, And sees the groves no shelter can afford, With her loud kaws her craven kind does bring, Who safe in numbers cuff the noble bird.

Among the Dutch thus Albemarle did fare:
He could not conquer, and disdain'd to fly;
Past hope of safety, 'twas his latest care,
Like falling Cæsar, decently to die.

Yet pity did his manly spirit move,

To see those perish who so well had fought : And generously with his despair he strove, Resolv'd to live till he their safety wrought.

Let other Muses write his prosperous fate,

Of conquer'd nations tell, and kings restor❜d : But mine shall sing of his eclips'd estate, Which, like the Sun's, more wonders does afford.

He drew his mighty frigates all before,

On which the foe his fruitless force employs:
His weak ones deep into his rear he bore
Remote from guns, as sick men from the noise.

His fiery cannon did their passage guide,
And following smoke obscur'd them from the foe;
Thus Israel, safe from the Egyptian's pride,
By flaming pillars and by clouds did go,

Elsewhere the Belgian force we did defeat,

But here our courages did theirs subdue: So Xenophon once led that fam'd retreat,

Which first the Asian empire overthrew.

The foe approach'd; and one for his bold sin
Was sunk; as he that touch'd the ark was slain;
The wild waves master'd him and suck'd him in,
And smiling eddies dimpled on the main.

This seen, the rest at awful distance stood :

As if they had been there as servants set To stay, or to go on, as he thought good, And not pursue but wait on his retreat.

So Libyan huntsmen, on some sandy plain,
From shady coverts rous'd, the lion chase:
The kingly beast roars out with loud disdain,
And slowly moves, unknowing to give place.

But if some one approach to dare his force,
He swings his tail, and swiftly turns him round:
With one paw seizes on his trembling horse,

And with the other tears him to the ground.

Amidst these toils succeeds the balmy night; Now hissing waters the quench'd guns restore; And weary waves withdrawing from the fight,

Lie lull'd and panting on the silent shore.

The Moon shone clear on the becalmed flood,' Where, while her beams like glittering silver play, Upon the deck our careful general stood,

And deeply mus'd on the succeeding day.

"That happy Sun," said he, "will rise again,
Who twice victorious did our navy see:
And I alone must view him rise in vain,
Without one ray of all his star for me.

"Yet, like an English general will I die,

And all the ocean make my spacious grave: Women and cowards on the land may lie; The sea's a tomb that 's proper for the brave."

Restless he pass'd the remnant of the night,

Till the fresh air proclaim'd the morning nigh: And burning ships, the martyrs of the fight, With paler fires beheld the eastern sky.

But now, his stores of ammunition spent,
His naked valour is his only guard :
Pare thunders are from his dumb cannon sent,
And solitary guns are scarcely heard.

Thus far had Fortune power, he forc'd to stay,
Nor longer durst with Virtue be at strife:
This is a ransom Albemarle did pay,
For all the glories of so great a life.

For now brave Rupert from afar appears,
Whose waving streamers the glad general knows :
With full-spread sails his eager navy steers,

And every ship in swift proportion grows.

The anxious prince had heard the cannon long, And from that length of time dire omens drew Of English overmatch'd, and Dutch too strong, Who never fought three days, but to pursue.

Then, as an eagle, who with pious care

Was beating widely on the wing for prey, To her now silent eiry does repair,

And finds her callow infants forc'd away :

Stang with her love, she stoops upon the plain,
The broken air loud whistling as she flies :
She stops and listens, and shoots forth again,
And guides her pinions by her young ones' cries.

With such kind passion hastes the prince to fight,
And spreads his flying canvass to the sound:
Him, whom no danger, were he there, could fright,
Now absent every little noise can wound.

As in a drought the thirsty creatures cry,

And gape upon the gather'd clouds for rain: And first the martlet meets it in the sky,

And with wet wings joys all the feather'd train :

With such glad hearts did our despairing men Salute th' appearance of the prince's fleet; And each ambitiously would claim the ken, That with first eyes did distant safety meet.

The Dutch, who came like greedy hinds before, To reap the harvest their ripe ears did yield, Now look like those, when rolling thunders roar, And sheets of lightning blast the standing field.

Full in the prince's passage, hills of sand,

And dangerous flats in secret ambush lay, Where the false tides skim o'er the cover'd land, And seamen with dissembled depths betray.

The wily Dutch, who like fall'n angels fear'd This new Messiah's coming, there did wait, And round the verge their braving vessels steer'd, To tempt his courage with so fair a bait.

But he unmov'd contemns their idle threat, Secure of fame whene'er he please to fight: His cold experience tempers all his heat,

And inbred worth doth boasting valour slight.

Heroic virtue did his actions guide,

And he the substance, not th' appearance, chose: To rescue one such friend, he took more pride, Than to destroy whole thousands of such foes.

But when approach'd, in strict embraces bound, Rupert and Albemarle together grow:

He joys to have his friend in safety found,

Which he to none but to that friend would owe.

The cheerful soldiers, with new stores supply'd,
Now long to execute their spleenful will :
And, in revenge for those three days they try'd,
Wish one, like Joshua's, when the Sun stood still.

Thus reinforc'd, against the adverse fleet,

Still doubling ours, brave Rupert leads the way: With the first blushes of the morn they meet,

And bring night back upon the new-born day.

His presence soon blows up the kindling fight,
And his loud guns speak thick like angry men:
It seem'd as slaughter had been breath'd all night,
And Death new pointed his dull dart again.

The Dutch too well his mighty conduct knew, And matchless courage, since the former fight: Whose navy like a stiff-stretch'd cord did show, Till he bore in and bent them into flight.

The wind he shares, while half their fleet offends
His open side, and high above him shows:
Upon the rest at pleasure he descends,
And doubly harm'd he double harms bestows.

Behind the general mends his weary pace,
And sullenly to his revenge he sails:
So glides some trodden serpent on the grass,
And long behind his wounded volume trails.

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