Smith.
Faith, Mr. Bayes, if you were doom’d to be hang’d, whatever you were fated to, ’twould give you but small comfort.
Bayes.
Never trouble your head with that, Mr. Smith, mind the business in hand.
Not so her young; their Linsy-woolsy line,
Was Hero’s make, half humane, half Divine.
Smith.
Certainly these Hero’s, half Humane, half Divine, have very little of the Mouse their Mother.
Bayes.
Gadsokers! Mr. Iohnson, does your Friend think I mean nothing but a Mouse, by all this? I tell thee, Man, I mean a Church, and these young Gentlemen her Sons, signifie Priests, Martyrs and Confessors, that were hang’d in Oats’s Plot. There’s an excellent Latin Sentence, which I had a mind to bring in, Sanguis Martyrum semen Ecclesiae, and I think I have not wrong’d it in the Translation.
Of these a slaughter’d Army lay in Blood,
Whose sanguine Seed encreas’d the sacred Brood;
She multipli’d by these, now rang’d alone,
And wander’d in the Kingdoms once her own.
Smith.
Was She alone when the sacred Brood was encreased.
Bayes.
Why thy Head’s running on the Mouse again; but I hope a Church may be alone, tho the Members be encreased, mayn’t it?
Iohns.
Certainly Mr. Bayes, a Church which is a difusive Body of Men, can much less be said to be alone.
Bayes.
But are you really of that Opinion? Take it from me, Mr. Iohnson, you are wrong; however to oblige you, I’le clap in some Simile or other, about the Children of Israel, and it shall do.
Smith.
Will you pardon me one word more, Mr. Bayes? What could the Mouse (for I suppose you mean her now) do more then range in the Kingdoms, when they were her own?
Bayes.
Do? why She reign’d; had a Diadem, Scepter and Ball, till they depos’d her.
Smith.
Now her Sons are so encreas’d, She may try t’other pull for’t.
Bayes.
I gad, and so She may before I have done with Her; it has cost me some pains to clear Her Title. Well, but Mum for that, Mr. Smith.
The common Hunt, She timorously past by,
For they made tame,disdain’d Her company;
They grin’d, She in a fright tript o’re the Green,
For She was lov’d, whereever She was seen.
Iohns.
Well said little Bayes, I’faith the Critick must have a great deal of leasure, that attacks those Verses.
Bayes.
I gad, I’le warrant him, who ere he is, offendet solido; but I go on.
The Independent Beast.
Smith.
Who is that Mr. Bayes?
Bayes.
Why a Bear: Pox, is not that obvious enough?
In groans Her hate exprest.
Which I gad, is very natural to that Animal. Well! there’s for the Independent: Now the Quaker; what do you think I call him?
Smith.
Why, A Bull, for ought I know.
Bayes.
A Bull! O Lord! A Bull! no, no, a Hare, a quaking Hare. — Armarillis, because She wears Armour, ’tis the same Figure; and I am proud to say it, Mr. Iohnson, no man knows how to pun in Heroics but my self. Well, you shall hear.
She thought, and reason good, the quaking Hare
Her cruel Foe, because She would not swear,
And had profess’d neutrality.
Iohns.
A shrew’d Reason that, Mr. Bayes; but what Wars were there?
Bayes.
Wars! why there had bin bloody Wars, tho they were pretty well reconcil’d now. Yet to bring in two or three such fine things as these, I don’t tell you the Lyon’s Peace was proclaim’d till fifty pages after, tho ’twas really done before I had finish’d my Poem.
Next Her, the Buffoon Ape his body bent,
And paid at Church a Courtier’s complement.
That Gauls somewhere; I gad I can’t leave it off, tho I were cudgel’d every day for it.
The-brisl’d Baptist Boar, impure as he.
Smith.
As who?
Bays.
As the Courtier, let ’em e’n take it as they will, I gad, I seldom come amongst ’em.
Was whiten’d with the foam of Sanctity.
The Wolf with Belly-gaunt his rough crest rears,
And pricks up. —
Now in one word will I abuse the whole Party most damnably —
and pricks up. —
I gad, I am sure you’l Laugh —
his predestinating Ears
. Prethee Mr. Iohnson, remember little Bays, when next you see a Presbyterian, and take notice if he has not Predestination in the shape of his Ear: I have studied men so long. I’le undertake to know an Arminian, by the setting of his Wig.
His predestinating Ears.
I gad there’s ne’re a Presbyterian shall dare to show his Head without a Border: I’le put ’em to that expence.
Smith.
Pray Mr. Bays, if any of ’em should come over to the Royal Party, would their Ears alter?
Bayes.
Would they? Ay, I gad, they would shed their Fanatical Lugs, and have just such well-turn’d Ears as I have; mind this Ear, this is a true Roman Ear, mine are much chang’d for the better within this two years.
Smith.
Then if ever the Party should chance to fail, you might lose ’em, for what may change, may fall.
Bayes.
Mind, mind —
These fiery Zuinglius,meagre Calvin bred.
Smith.
Those I suppose are some Out-Landish Beasts, Mr. Bayes.
Bayes.
Beasts; a good Mistake! Why they were the chief Reformers, but here I put ’em in so bad Company because they were Enemies to my Mouse, and anon when I am warm’d, I’gad you shall hear me call ’em Doctors, Captains, Horses and Horsemen in the very same Breath. You shall hear how I go on now,
Or else reforming Corah spawn’d this Class,
When opening Earth made way for all to pass.
Iohn.
For all, Mr. Bayes?
Bayes.
Yes, They were all lost there, but some of ’em were thrown up again at the Leman-Lake: as a Catholick Queen sunk at Charing-Cross, and rose again at Queenhith.
The Fox and he came shuffled in the dark,
If ever they were stow’d in Noah’s Ark.
Here I put a Quaere, Whether there were any Socinians before the Flood, which I’m not very well satisfied in? I have been lately apt to believe that the World was drown’d for that Heresy; which among Friends made me leave it.
Quickned with Fire below, these Monsters breed
In Fenny Holland, and in Fruitful Tweed.
Now to write something new and out of the way, to elevate and surprize, and all that, I fetch, you see this Quickning Fire from the Bottom of Boggs and Rivers.
Iohn.
Why, Faith, that’s as ingenious a Contrivance as the Virtuoso’s making a Burning-Glass of Ice.
Bayes.
Why was there ever any such thing? Let me perish if ever I heard of it. The Fancy was sheer new to me; and I thought no Man had reconcil’d those Elements but my self. Well Gentlemen! Thus far I have followed Antiquity, and as Homer has numbred his Ships, so I have rang’d my Beasts. Here is my Boar and my Bear, and my Fox, and my Wolf, and the rest of ’em all against my poor Mouse. Now what do you think I do with all these?
Smith.
Faith I don’t know, I suppose you make ’em fight.
Bayes.
Fight! I’gad I’d as soon make ’em Dance. No, I do no earthly thing with ’em, nothing at all, I’gad: I think they have play’d their Parts sufficiently already; I have walk’d ’em out, show’d ’em to the Company, and rais’d your Expectation. And now whilst you hope to see ’em bated, and are dreaming of Blood and Battels
, they sculk off, and you hear no more of ’em.
Smith.
Why, Faith, Mr. Bayes, now you have been at such expence in setting forth their Characters, it had been too much to have gone through with ’em.
Bayes.
I’gad so it had: And then I’le tell you another thing, ’tis not every one that reads a Poem through. And therefore I fill the first part with Flowers, Figures, fine Language, and all that; and then I’gad sink by degrees, till at last I write but little better than other People. And whereas most Authors creep servilely after the Old Fellows, and strive to grow upon their Readers; I take another Course, I bring in all my Characters together, and let ’em see I could go on with ’em; but I’gad, I wo’nt.
Iohn.
Could go on with ’em Mr. Bayes! there’s no Body doubts that; You have a most particular Genius that way.
Bayes.
Oh! Dear Sir, You are mighty obliging: But I must needs say at a Fable or an Emblem I think no Man comes near me, indeed I have studied it more than any Man. Did you ever take notice, Mr. Iohnson, of a little thing that has taken mightily about Town, a Cat with a Top-knot?
Iohn.
Faith, Sir, ’tis mighty pretty, I saw it at the Coffee-House.
Bayes.
’Tis a Trifle hardly worth owning; I was t’other Day at Will’s throwing out something of that Nature; and I’gad, the hint was taken, and out came that Picture; indeed the poor Fellow was so civil to present me with a dozen of ’em for my Friends, I think I have one here in my Pocket; would you please to accept it Mr Iohnson?
Iohn.
Really ’tis very ingenious.
Bayes.
Oh Lord! Nothing at all, I could design twenty of ’em in an Hour, if I had but witty Fellows about me to draw ’em. I was proffer’d a Pension to go into Holland, and contrive their Emblems. But hang ’em they are dull Rogues, and would spoil my Invention. But come, Gentlemen, let us return to our Business, and here I’le give you a delicate description of a Man.
Smith.
But how does that come in?
Bayes.
Come in? very naturally. I was talking of a Wolf and that supposes a Wood, and then I clap an Epithet to’t, and call it a Celtic Wood: Now when I was there, I could not help thinking of the French Persecution, and I’gad from all these Thoughts I took occasion to rail at the French King, and show that he was not of the same make with other Men, which thus I prove.
The Divine Blacksmith in th’ Abyss of Light,
Yawning and lolling with a careless beat,
Struck out the mute Creation at a Heat.
But he work’d hard to Hammer out our Souls,
He blew the Bellows, and stir’d up the Coals;
Long time he thought and could not on a sudden
Knead up with unskim’d Milk this Reas’ning Pudding:
Tender, and mild within its Bag it lay
Confessing still the softness of its Clay,
And kind as Milk-Maids on their Wedding-Day.
Till Pride of Empire, Lust, and hot Desire
Did over-boile him, like too great a Fire,
And understanding grown, misunderstood,
Burn’d Him to th’ Pot, and sour’d his curdled Blood.
Iohn.
But sure this is a little prophane, Mr. Bayes.
Bayes.
Not at all: do’s not Virgil bring in his God Vulcan working at the Anvil?
Iohn.
Ay Sir, but never thought his Hands the fittest to make a Pudding.
Bayes.
Why do you imagin Him an Earthly dirty Blacksmith? ‘Gad you make it prophane indeed. I’le tell you there’s as much difference betwixt ’em, I’gad as betwixt my Man and Milton’s. But now, Gentlemen, the Plot thickens, here comes my t’other Mouse, the City Mouse.
A spotted Mouse, the prettiest next the White,
Ah! were her Spots wash’d out, as pretty quite,
With Phylacteries on her Forehead spred,
Crozier in Hand, and Miter on her Head.
Three Steeples Argent on her Sable Shield.
Liv’d in the City, and disdain’d the Field.
Iohn.
This is a glorious Mouse indeed! but, as you have dress’d her, we do’nt know whether she be Iew, Papist or Protestant.
Bayes.
Let me embrace you, Mr. Iohnson, for that; you take it right. She is a meer Babel of Religions, and therefore she’s a spotted Mouse here, and will be a Mule presently. But to go on.
This Princess —
Smith.
What Princess, Mr. Bayes?
Bayes.
Why this Mouse, for I forgot to tell you, an Old Lyon made a left Hand Marriage with her Mother, and begot on her Body Elizabeth Schism, who was married to Timothy Sacriledg, and had Issue Graceless Heresy. Who all give the same Coat with their Mother, Three Steeples Argent, as I told you before.
This Princess tho estrang’d from what was best,
Was least Deform’d, because Reform’d the least.
There’s De and Re as good I’gad as ever was.
She in a Masquerade of Mirth and Love,
Mistook the Bliss of Heaven for Bacchinals above,
And grub’d the Thorns beneath our tender Feet,
To make the Paths of Paradise more sweet.
There’s a Jolly Mouse for you, let me see any Body else that can shew you such another. Here now have I one damnable severe reflecting Line, but I want a Rhime to it, can you help me Mr. Iohnson.
She —
Humbly content to be despis’d at Home,
Iohn.
Which is too narrow Infamy for some.
Bayes.
Sir, I thank you, now I can go on with it.
Whose Merits are diffus’d from Pole to Pole,
Where Winds can carry, and where Waves can rowl.
Iohn.
But does not this reflect upon some of your Friends, Mr. Bayes?
Bayes.
’Tis no matter for that, let me alone to bring my self off. I’le tell you, lately I writ a damn’d Libel on a whole Party, sheer Point and Satyr all through, I’gad. Call’d ’em Rogues, Dogs, and all the Names I could think of, but with an exceeding deal of Wit; that I must needs say. Now it happen’d before I could finish this Peice, the Scheme of Affairs was altered, and those People were no longer Beasts: Here was a Plunge now: Should I lose my Labour, or Libel my Friend? ’Tis not every Body’s Talent to find a Salvo for this: But what do me I but write a smooth delicate Preface, wherein I tell them that the Satyr was not intended to them, and this did the Business.
Smith.
But if it was not intended to them against whom it was writ, certainly it had no meaning at all.
Bayes.
Poh! There’s the Trick on’t. Poor Fools, they took it, and were satisfied: And yet it maul’d ’em damnably I’gad.
Smith.
Why Faith, Mr. Bayes, there’s this very Contrivance in the Preface to Dear Ioys Iests.
Bayes.
What a Devil do you think that I’d steal from such an Author? Or ever read it?
Smith.
I can’t tell, but you sometimes read as bad. I have heard you quote Reynard the Fox.
Bayes.
Why there’s it now; take it from me, Mr. Smith, there is as good Morality, and as found Precepts, in the delectable History of Reynard the Fox, as in any Book I know, except Seneca. Pray tell me where in any other Author could I have found so pretty a Name for a Wolf as Isgrim? But prithee, Mr. Smith, give me no more trouble, and let me go on with my Mouse.
One Evening, when she went away from Court,
Levee’s and Couchee’s past without resort.
There’s Court Language for you; nothing gives a Verse so fine a turn as an Air of good Breeding.
Smith.
But methinks the Levee’s and Couchee’s of a Mouse are too great, especially when she is walking from Court to the cooler Shades.
Bayes.
>
I’gad now have you forgot what I told you that she was a Princess. But pray mind; here the two Mice meet.
She met the Country Mouse, whose fearful Face
Beheld from far the common watering Place,
Nor durst approach —
Smith.
Methinks, Mr. Bayes, this Mouse is strangely alter’d, since she fear’d no Danger.
Bayes.
Godsokers! Why no more she does not yet fear either Man or Beast: But, poor Creature, she’s afraid of the Water, for she could not swim, as you see by this.
Nor durst approach, till with an awful Roar
The Soveraign Lyon had her fear no more.
But besides, ’tis above thirty Pages off that I told you she fear’d no Danger; and I’gad if you will have no variation of the Character, you must have the same thing over and over again; ’tis the Beauty of Writing to strike you still with something new. Well, but to proceed.
But when she had this sweetest Mouse in view,
Good Lord, how she admir’d her Heavenly Hiew!
Here now to show you I am Master of all Stiles, I let my self down from the Majesty of Virgil, to the Sweetness of Ovid.
Good Lord, how she admir’d her Heavenly Hiew!
What more easy and familiar! I writ this Line for the Ladies: The little Rogues will be so fond of me to find I can yet be so tender. I hate such a rough unhewen Fellow as Milton, that a Man must sweat to read Him; I’gad you may run over this and be almost asleep.
Complete Works of Matthew Prior Page 49
