Complete Works of Matthew Prior

by Matthew Prior

  Porter, To which You may add, the Charges of your Funeral not paid; Your Son unable to sustain the Sovereignty Six Months; The Lives and Fortunes of all England Presented to him in Addresses, now wrapping up Anchovies or lining old Trunks, and the Subscribers Ashamed of their own hands. Your Counsellors heads upon Westminster-Hall; The Royal Family Restored; and Public matters turned again into the Antient Channel. Your own dear Carcase hanged at Tyburn; and your quondam Subjects striving who can most emphatically curse your Memory!

  Oliver, Who is this that seems to know my Affairs so well, and is so familiar with my Person? by the length of his Ear, and the sulleness of his brow it should be my old Porter. Tis he indeed, and glad am I to find One here that I can command, hark you Sirrah! make way for me thro that Croud, and tell those chattering Ghosts who I am.

  Porter, Who You were, Friend, but who you are no Ghost alive will mind. Your stem look, and your vultus regibus usq Porter. I will as far as you may merit that respect, and you in your turn shal render me the same justice: The condition of this Obligation being such, I do not doubt but that I shal have the preference at least by all impartial Judges. truces will fright no body here. In short, Sir, that Levelling Act which your Friends above could never obtain, has been long since made a Fundamental Law here. In these Kingdoms we are all Equal.

  Oliver. Show me at least some respect for what I have been.

  Oliver. To begin then, I raised my self from a Private Person to the dignity of a Prince.

  Porter. And from being your Porter I made my self a Prophet.

  Oliver. I was General of the Army, head of the Parliament, and Supreme Master of the Three Kingdoms.

  Porter. I was Senior Inhabitant of old Bethlem, Prince of the Planets, and absolute Disposer of every thing I saw or thought of.

  Oliver. Tis true thou wert for many Years, locked up in a little Cell, separated from the World by Iron-barrs, and no other Furniture about thee but the torn leaves of three or four Bibles, and had not I all this while Splendor and Magnificence, Gardens, Parks and Palaces?

  Porter. And is it not as true that I had every thing which I desired or wanted? My Potage well dressed, my Straw fresh, and my Coverlet clean, whilst in the midst of the Plunder of three Nations you were always in Necessity, and every week laying new Taxes upon an Opprest People for the support of an Awkward ill founded greatness; & whilst you were tearing & Confounding the best Libraries in England, did not I pick up those Leaves you spoke of, which were both the furniture of my room, and the Comfort of my Life.

  Oliver. But before thou earnest to this happy station Friend wert thou ever seen or heard of otherwise than as my Domestic Servant, till thy brains run a Wool gathering, and then thou gottest into these strange Whims of Preaching and Prophecying.

  Porter. And did not I serve you faithfully till I saw you cheated every Man you had to do with, till you turned those Officers out of the Army who had prefered you, and made use of your Parliamentary Power against those very Persons who intrusted you with it. I learned to Preach from you, and indeed am obliged to You for the very Distemper that made me turn Prophet. I imitated you. I looked upon you as my Idol till running from your Door with my Staff in my hand one Thirtieth of January, I shal never forget the day, I saw you Order Your Master to be brought out of the Window, and Murdered at his own Palace gate. I confess when you cutt of[f] the Kings head you turned mine into the bargain.

  Oliver. Uncommon circumstances must attend great Actions. Pax quaritur bello was my Motto, yet sure I made a glorious figure. The Commons of England prostrate before my Throne, the Peers mingled in the Croud with them, or submissively retired to Plant Cabbages at their own Country Seats, Citizens and Courtiers Conducing me with Acclamations thro Cheapside, Ambassadors sent from the greatest Princes in Europe to beg my friendship, or soften my Resentments, and the Pope himself trembling for fear that having nothing else to do I might send my Fleets to Plunder Loretta, or Destroy Civita Vechia.

  Porter. And while you made all this Bustle you were a Slave to your own Apprehensions, suspicious of every body that came near You. You durst not stir out without a Coat of Mail under your Cloaths, nor sleep a nights without a Pair of Pistols loaded by your Bed side. When you shot the Captain to appease the Mutiny in the Army your hand trembled more than a Highway mans while his tongue has the insolence to demand a Purse, and when you were just going to kill Moreland, who slept Dogs-sleep, while you tola your Mid-night Secrets to Thurlo, You were more afraid of a young Clark than he could possibly be of an inraged Tyrant. In short you doubted of your Title of Protestor, and I rested assured in mine of Prophet. My Mind was divested of all those doubts and fears, which continually disturbed yours. I cursed my Enemies but never feared or indeed knew them. I excommunicated or blest as I thought proper, and when the Palace of Bethlem, from whence I sent out my Sovereign Edicts, was on fire, I forbid the People under Pain of my Displeasure to quench the flames; told them the day of Judgment was come, and this was the time when the World must be Purged by fire, and so unconcerned I read on. The Pope dreaded your Fleets at Loretto and Civita Vechia did you say? No, no, it was I that humbled that high Priest of Baal. I bombarded his Spiritual strongholds with my Anathamas, I confounded the whore of Babylon, the Scarlet Tyrant, Seven heads, ten horns, Gog and Magog.

  Oliver. Grant me Patience and I will yet argue meekly with thy whimsical Person, Observe me friend, my Power was real, your Authority was only imaginary, I did actually fight in the field, Preached loudly in the Church, and talked vehemently in the Parliament. Thousands of People can witness that they submitted to me at Dundalk, were Edified by me at Oxford, and frighted out of their wits at St. Stephens Chappel, whilst you only fancyed —

  Porter. Look You Noll, Witnesses may help a Man to recover his Estate in Westminster-Hall, but can do nothing towards making him happy in the enjoyment of it. That sort of Testimony must come from within. You fought you say, and were really victorious, it may be so; I prophecied and fancyed my self inspired. But as to the Satisfaction that arose to either of us from our different ways of Acting or thinking we Our Selves are the only Judges.

  Oliver. Pough prythee this is frantic stuff, I appeal to the whole World.

  Porter. It is right Philosophy, Master, what signifies appealing to the World, the Appeal would come too late now, while we were yet alive You suffered a thousand troubles and Vexations whicn you hid from the World, to which you are now so fond of Appealing, and I proclaimed to that World the raptures and Pleasures I enjoyed in endeavoring to convert it.

  Oliver. But again those who disobeyed me felt the Effects of my Anger in the loss of their Fortunes and Estates.

  Porter. And those who contradicted me fell under the weight of my Curses. Now while I thought my Censurera had as terrible an Effect as you knew your Arms had, I enjoyed as ample Vengeance as ever you did.

  Oliver. A pleasant Droll this, so that to Act or not to Act is just the same thing.

  Porter. To Act, or think one Acts, is just the same, Now how often do we think we Act, when we have lain stil, and how often in our thought do we jumble things together that never Existed in the same time and Place, and consequently were not, at least were not as we imagined them. In a Dream and without as much as once turning your Self in your bed have not you as really, that is as apparently fought the Battle at Marston Moor, hectored your Crop-ear’d Brethren at Westminster, or thrown Cusheons at your favorites heads in Spring Garden, as if you had been in these Places? The next Morning waking you have thought your self deceived, and so neglected and forgot those Ideas. But if you will imagine your life to have been that Dream —

  Oliver. Oh very well then I never did possess any thing but only thought that I possessed (this Fellow is extremely whimsical).

  Porter. Aye, most certainly my quondam Lord Protestor, what we do in life is but to think we possess, and the strength and impulse of that thought does the rest; As the livelyness of that Idea decays or changes, the thing it self is not worth a Straw, hence i
t happens that the same objects that attract now, to morrow become indifferent, and the next day [grow] odious. A greater Philosopher Noll than either You or I, states the matter thus; It is not the thing it self, says he, that Pleases or Disquiets a Man, but the Opinion he conceives of the thing; Now I will go a little further with You, and convince you that Pleasure or trouble being only the different Effects of your own thought, it does not signify three Pence if what you have a fancy for, or dislike, has its intrinsic Value or not. Nay if it be in the World or no: What you see in a glass is only the Effect of an impression formed in your own Brain, yet it may either Please or put you out of Humour; the sound that you hear is nothing else, but a determined motion of common Air; Yet a Flute delights, a Trumpet startles and a Bell stuns You. Does not the Lover imagine charms in his Mistresses face, which no body else ever found, and which indeed She never Possessed. Did not Don Quixot (one of Our Predecessors) sigh many years for Dulcinia, whom he never saw: What think You of the Poets, who hold long Discourses with the Muses and Goddesses, while they believe in their Conscience there never were such People upon Earth. Your Mathematicians, who Plague themselves first, and their Correspondents afterwards with the Produce only of lines and Angles which never did or will Exist. And your System-Makers and Worldwrights that as any idle Evening lies upon their hands stamp an infinite number of New Stars or People a Million or two of Earths.

  Oliver. Why I think these People as mad as ever you were, and that they deserve as much to be locked up. But you dont compare these notional Gentlemen with Heroes and Conquerors, who by superior sense direct, or by Victorious Arms subdue the rest of Mankind. We seek for things Solid and Visible, and what you desire by your own Confession exists only in meer Speculation.

  Porter. Master, take my word for it my Speculations are real, and your Desires but Chimerical. You would have what never happened to any even from the result of his own thought, Peace with Ambition, and tranquillity founded upon injustice. I was pleased with Hope in Prophecy and happyness in expectation. You were never satisfyed with the Present. I always anticipated and even enjoyed the future. To amuse you no longer, Master, every Mortal Man is mad more or less. The Lover quo ad hanc, the Miser quo ad hoc, but the Ambitious Man quo ad Omnia. Pray observe those miserable People whom you call Heroes, how they go about roaring and crying like spoiled Children for every thing they see, throwing away their own, and desiring other Peoples goods, never contented with the Common and easy use of things, and stil drawing new troubles upon themselves from the inconsistency and perverseness of their own Projects. What think you of Pompey and Cæsar, one could bear no Superior, the t’other no Equal, pretty Fellows! and upon this each plagued that part of the World where he was. Both by turns ruined their own Country, and got themselves Murdered. What do You talk of being locked up? that same Cæsar was more confined in Gallia, Alexander in Asia and you in the three Kingdoms You Usurped, than ever I was in Bethlem; For it is not the situation of the body but the mind, my most worthy friend, that either restrains a Man, or gives him liberty.

  Oliver. Ha! there is some sort of Sense in what this Fellow said last, I find he has his lucid intervalle. I’l humor him a little in his own way: And so friend as you were saying every Man is Mad, but in a different manner, and upon some Particular objects.

  Porter. Most certainly, and all we great Men are more emphatically mad than other People. When you Preached your head was as hott as an Oven, Mahomed, in his Extacys had the falling Sickness, and to tell you truth in the middle of my Prophecys, I was now and then tyed down to my good behavior.

  Oliver. I was therefore Mad, but not so mad as you.

  Porter. Excuse me, Sir, I never said or thought any thing like that. You were ten times madder, so mad that no Man durst either Advise or tye you. You had brought things to that miserable pass that your Counsellors all dreaded and your Divines all flattered You, so you run wild about the Streets threatning yet terrified, Vexing and vexed. A little bit of Gravel stopt in your Kidneys took away the Relish you had for all the Earth, which you possessed from Dover-Cliff to the Isles of Orkney, and a kind Feaver gave you some relief by taking You out of the World, to which you were a Burthen. There is indeed one difference [between] You Public Madmen, and we sedentary Gentlemen if we happen to be a little erased about Love, Learning or Religion while you are ravaging Nations, and setting the World on fire. You find others bit with the same Tarantula, who second your fury, partake of the Plunder and justify your Error. Yee all Herd together, and it is a very hard thing to catch one of You, but we are fewer in number, divided, unarmed, and different in our Principles. If the least disturbance happens from any impetuosity of our temper the Neighborhood has an Eye upon Us, and away we are hurried the next dark Night to Morefields or Hodgdon. In truth whether from the fear or weakness of Mankind, I shal not argue, but you have commonly the Majority on your Side, which as your Excellency very well knows, is no smal advantage in England.

  Oliver. Hark you friend, dont talk so loud, yonder stand a Knot of Shabby Fellows, whom I dont like, they seem to Eves-drop.

  Porter. O They are very honest Gentlemen take my word for it. There is Diogenes, Epictetus, Peter Aretine, and Guy Patin. Every Man you must know brings a Piece of his former Madness down hither with him. These Philosophers are all reasoning. I’ll bring you acquainted with them, their Discourses may be very Edifying to You.

  Oliver. No prythee show me where are the Conquerors and Heroes you named just now, I had rather go to them.

  Porter. O they are very far from this quiet part of the Grove, quite a t’other side the River. You may find them there with Spartacus, Massenellio, and Jack-Cade, making of Dirt-Pyes, or playing at Cudgells, for it is not absolutely true what the Poets say of Lethe waters that they make us forget all we have done, they only cool our Passions and calm the heat of our Mondane distempers. Every [one] Acts in jest here, what he did in the t’other World in earnest. You may exercise among the Heroes without blowing up Citadelle and destroying whole Countries, You may study among the Law givers without being stark wild about Ordonances and Proclamations, As I can talk upon Calvins Predestination, the Popes Constitution, or any other Theological point without fishing for Leviathans or slaying Behemoths. But you must previously I tell You take a Course of these Lethe waters for Six Months at least, for, amongst Friends you are very far gone.

  Oliver. To make me forget any thing of my greatness, I tell Thee I wont gargle my mouth with a drop of it, Mercy on me, how extremely Mad is this Fellow.

  Porter. Glory, glory! how far beyond all Cure is my quondam Master.

  The Examiner. No 6. Thursday 7. 1710.

  THE Collective Body of the Whigs have already engrossed our Riches; and their Representatives, the Kit-Cat, have pretended to make a Monopoly of our Sense. Thus it happens, that Mr. P — r, by being expelled the Club, ceases to be a

  Poet; and Sir Harry F — e becomes one, by being admitted into it. ’Tis here that Wit and Beauty are decided by Plurality of Voices: The Child’s Judgment shall make H — y pass for a Fool; and Jabob’s Indulgence shall preserve Lady H — t from the Tallow-Candle.

  It is the Misfortune of our Athens, like that of antient Greece, to be governed by a Set Number of Tyrants: The Works of learned Men are weighed here by the unerring Ballance of Party, and he is sure to be most ingenious in his Writings, who is, in their Phrase, most thorough-paced in his Politics. Treelooby kept the general Applause for a whole Winter; while poor Phaedra could scarce get into the Theatre, ‘till she had thrown herself at the Feet of one of these Reguli. It was in this Mint that a curious Piece of poetical Workmanship was lately wrought, and, by the Masters of the Company, allowed as current and authentic Coin. Notwithstanding which Stamp of Authority, a Critic, unknown to me, has presumed to make some Observations upon this Performance; both which, I hope Dr. Bentley will excuse me for publishing, since this is such Poetry as he has never found among the Greek or Latin Writers.

  MATTHEW PRIOR

  To the Ea
rl of GODOLPHIN.

  WHILST weeping Europe bends beneath her Ills,

  And where the Sword destroys not, Famine kills;

  Our Isle enjoys, by your successful Care,

  The Pomp of Peace amidst the Woes of War.

  So much the Public to your Prudence owes,

  You think no Labours long for our Repose:

  Such Conduit, such Integrity are shown,

  There are no Coffers empty but your own.

  From mean Dependance Merit you retrieve;

  Unask’d you offer, and unseen you give.

  Your Favour, like the Nile, Increase bestows,

  And yet conceals the Source from whence it flows:

  So pois’d your Passions are, we find no Frown,

  If Funds oppress not, and if Commerce run.

  Taxes diminish’d, Liberty entire,

  Those are the Grants your Services require.

  Thus far the State-Machine wants no Repair,

  But moves in matchless Order by your Care:

  Free from Confusion, settled and serene,

  And, like the Universe, by Springs unseen.

  But now some Star, sinister to our Prayers,

  Contrives new Schemes, and calls you from Affairs.

  No Anguish in your Looks, nor Cares appear,

  But how to teach the unpractis’d Crew to Steer.

  Thus, like some Victim, no Constraint you need,

  To expiate their Offence, by whom you bleed.

  Ingratitude’s a Weed in every Clime,

  It thrives too fast at first, but fades in Time.

  The God of Day, and your own Lot’s the same,

  The Vapours you have rais’d, obscure your Flame.

  But though you suffer, and a while retreat,

  Your Globe of Light looks larger as you set.

  A Letter to the EXAMINER.

  I SEND you these Verses enclosed, which I have read with great Attention; and from the Character of the Patron, as well as of the Poet, with no ordinary Inclination to be pleased. But so dull am I, that there does not appear, to my Apprehension, either Poetry, Grammar, or Design in the Composition. The whole seems to be, as the sixth Editor of the Dispensary happily expresses it,