by John Dryden
As Armies, unoppos’d, for Prey divide. 940
236
One mighty Squadron with a Side-wind sped,
Through narrow Lanes his cumber’d Fire does haste:
By pow’rful charms of Gold and Silver led,
The Lombard Banquers and the Change to waste.
237
Another backward to the Tow’r would go, 945
And slowly eats his way against the Wind:
But the main body of the marching Foe
Against th’ Imperial Palace is design’d.
238
Now Day appears, and with the day the King,
Whose early Care had robb’d him of his rest: 950
Far off the Cracks of Falling houses ring,
And Shrieks of Subjects pierce his tender Breast.
239
Near as he draws, thick harbingers of Smoke
With gloomy Pillars cover all the place:
Whose little intervals of Night are broke 955
By Sparks, that drive against his Sacred Face.
240
More than his Guards his Sorrows made him known,
And pious Tears, which down his Cheeks did show’r:
The Wretched in his Grief forgot their own;
(So much the Pity of a King has pow’r.) 960
241
He wept the Flames of what he lov’d so well,
And what so well had merited his love:
For never Prince in Grace did more excel,
Or Royal City more in Duty strove.
242
Nor with an idle Care did he behold: 965
(Subjects may grieve, but Monarchs must redress;)
He chears the Fearful and commends the Bold,
And makes Despairers hope for good Success.
243
Himself directs what first is to be done,
And orders all the Succours which they bring: 970
The Helpful and the Good about him run,
And form an Army worthy such a King.
244
He sees the dire Contagion spread so fast
That where it seizes, all Relief is vain:
And therefore must unwillingly lay waste 975
That Country, which would, else, the Foe maintain.
245
The Powder blows up all before the Fire:
Th’ amazed flames stand gather’d on a heap;
And from the precipices-brink retire,
Afraid to venture on so large a leap. 980
246
Thus fighting Fires a while themselves consume,
But streight like Turks, forc’d on to win or die,
They first lay tender Bridges of their fume,
And o’re the Breach in unctuous vapours flie.
247
Part stays for Passage, ‘till a gust of wind 985
Ships o’re their Forces in a shining Sheet:
Part, creeping under ground, their Journey blind,
And, climbing from below, their Fellows meet.
248
Thus to some desert Plain, or old Wood-side,
Dire Night-hags come from far to dance their round: 990
And o’re broad rivers, on their Fiends, they ride,
Or sweep in Clouds above the blasted ground.
249
No help avails: for, Hydra-like, the Fire
Lifts up his Hundred heads to aim his way:
And scarce the wealthy can one half retire, 995
Before he rushes in to share the Prey.
250
The Rich grow suppliant, and the Poor grow proud:
Those offer mighty gain, and these ask more;
So void of pity is th’ ignoble Crowd,
When others Ruin may increase their Store. 1000
251
As those who live by Shores with joy behold
Some wealthy Vessel split or stranded nigh;
And from the Rocks leap down for ship-wrack’d Gold,
And seek the Tempest which the others flie:
252
So these but wait the Owners last despair, 1005
And what’s permitted to the flames invade:
Ev’n from their Jaws they hungry morsels tear,
And, on their backs, the Spoils of Vulcan lade.
253
The days were all in this lost labour spent;
And when the weary King gave place to Night, 1010
His Beams he to his Royal Brother lent,
And so shone still in his reflective Light.
254
Night came, but without darkness or repose,
A dismal Picture of the gen’ral Doom;
Where Souls distracted when the Trumpet blows, 1015
And half unready with their Bodies come.
255
Those who have Homes, when Home they do repair,
To a last Lodging call their wand’ring Friends:
Their short uneasie Sleeps are broke with Care,
To look how near their own Destruction tends. 1020
256
Those who have none, sit round where once it was,
And with full Eyes each wonted Room require:
Haunting the yet warm Ashes of the place,
As murder’d Men walk where they did expire.
257
Some stir up Coals, and watch the Vestal fire, 1025
Others in vain from sight of Ruin run;
And, while through burning Lab’rinths they retire,
With loathing Eyes repeat what they would shun.
258
The most in Feilds like herded Beasts lie down,
To Dews obnoxious on the grassie Floor; 1030
And while their Babes in Sleep their Sorrows drown,
Sad Parents watch the remnants of their Store.
259
While by the Motion of the Flames they guess
What Streets are burning now, and what are near,
An infant waking to the Paps would press, 1035
And meets, instead of Milk, a falling Tear.
260
No thought can ease them but their Sovereign’s Care,
Whose Praise th’ afflicted as their Comfort sing;
Ev’n those, whom Want might drive to just despair,
Think Life a Blessing under such a King. 1040
261
Mean time he sadly suffers in their Grief,
Out-weeps an Hermite, and out-prays a Saint:
All the long night he studies their relief,
How they may be suppli’d, and he may want.
262
O God, said he, thou Patron of my Days, 1045
Guide of my Youth in Exile and Distress!
Who me unfriended brought’st by wondrous ways,
The Kingdom of my Fathers to possess:
263
Be thou my Judge, with what unwearied Care
I since have labour’d for my People’s good; 1050
To bind the Bruises of a Civil War,
And stop the Issues of their wasting Blood.
264
Thou, who hast taught me to forgive the Ill,
And recompense, as Friends, the Good misled:
If Mercy be a Precept of thy Will, 1055
Return that Mercy on thy Servants head.
265
Or, if my heedless Youth has stept astray,
Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand;
On me alone thy just Displeasure lay,
But take thy Judgments from this mourning Land. 1060
266
We all have sinn’d, and thou hast laid us low,
As humble Earth from whence at first we came:
Like flying Shades before the Clouds we shew,
And shrink like Parchment in consuming Flame.
267
O let it be enough what thou hast done; 1065
When spotted Deaths ran arm’d thro’ every Street,
With poison’d Darts whi
ch not the Good could shun,
The Speedy could out-flie, or Valiant meet.
268
The living few, and frequent Funerals then,
Proclaim’d thy Wrath on this forsaken place: 1070
And now those few, who are return’d agen,
Thy searching Judgments to their dwellings trace.
269
O pass not, Lord, an absolute Decree,
Or bind thy Sentence unconditional:
But in thy Sentence our Remorse foresee, 1075
And, in that foresight, this thy Doom recall.
270
Thy Threatings, Lord, as thine thou maist revoke:
But, if immutable and fix’d they stand,
Continue still thy self to give the stroke,
And let not Foreign-foes oppress Thy Land. 1080
271
Th’ Eternal heard, and from the Heav’nly Quire
Chose out the Cherub with the flaming Sword:
And bad him swiftly drive th’ approaching Fire
From where our Naval Magazins were stor’d.
272
The blessed Minister his Wings displai’d, 1085
And like a shooting Star he cleft the night;
He charg’d the Flames, and those that disobey’d
He lash’d to duty with his Sword of light.
273
The fugitive Flames, chastis’d, went forth to prey
On pious Structures, by our Fathers rear’d; 1090
By which to Heav’n they did affect the way,
Ere Faith in Church-men without Works was heard.
274
The wanting Orphans saw with watry Eyes
Their Founders Charity in Dust laid low,
And sent to God their ever-answer’d cries, 1095
(For he protects the Poor, who made them so.)
275
Nor could thy Fabrick, Paul’s, defend thee long,
Though thou wert Sacred to thy Makers praise:
Though made Immortal by a Poet’s Song,
And Poets Songs the Theban walls could raise. 1100
276
The daring Flames peep’t in, and saw from far
The awful Beauties of the Sacred Quire:
But, since it was prophan’d by Civil War,
Heav’n thought it fit to have it purg’d by fire.
277
Now down the narrow Streets it swiftly came, 1105
And, widely opening, did on both sides prey:
This benefit we sadly owe the Flame,
If only Ruin must enlarge our way.
278
And now four days the Sun had seen our Woes;
Four nights the Moon beheld th’ incessant fire; 1110
It seem’d as if the Stars more sickly rose,
And farther from the feav’rish North retire.
279
In th’ Empyrean Heav’n (the Bless’d abode,)
The Thrones and the Dominions prostrate lie.
Not daring to behold their angry God: 1115
And an hush’d silence damps the tuneful Sky.
280
At length th’ Almighty cast a pitying Eye,
And Mercy softly touch’d his melting Breast:
He saw the Towns one half in Rubbish lie,
And eager flames drive on to storm the rest. 1120
281
An hollow chrystal Pyramid he takes,
In firmamental Waters dipt above;
Of it a broad Extinguisher he makes
And hoods the Flames that to their quarry strove.
282
The vanquish’d Fires withdraw from every place, 1125
Or, full with feeding, sink into a sleep:
Each household Genius shows again his face,
And, from the hearths, the little Lares creep.
283
Our King this more than natural change beholds;
With sober Joy his heart and eyes abound: 1130
To the All-good his lifted hands he folds,
And thanks him low on his redeemed ground.
284
As when sharp Frosts had long constrain’d the earth,
A kindly Thaw unlocks it with mild Rain,
And first the tender Blade peeps up to birth, 1135
And streight the Green fields laugh with promis’d grain:
285
By such degrees the spreading Gladness grew
In every heart, which Fear had froze before:
The standing Streets with so much joy they view,
That with less grief the Perish’d they deplore. 1140
286
The Father of the People open’d wide
His Stores, and all the Poor with Plenty fed:
Thus God’s Anointed God’s own place suppli’d,
And fill’d the Empty with his daily Bread.
287
This Royal bounty brought its own Reward, 1145
And, in their Minds, so deep did print the sense;
That if their Ruins sadly they regard,
Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence.
288
But so may he live long, that Town to sway,
Which by his Auspice they will nobler make, 1150
As he will hatch their Ashes by his stay,
And not their humble Ruins now forsake.
289
They have not lost their Loyalty by Fire;
Nor is their Courage or their Wealth so low,
That from his Wars they poorly would retire, 1155
Or beg the Pity of a vanquish’d Foe.
290
Not with more Constancy the Jews of old,
By Cyrus from rewarded Exile sent,
Their Royal City did in Dust behold,
Or with more vigour to rebuild it went. 1160
291
The utmost Malice of their Stars is past,
And two dire Comets, which have scourg’d the Town
In their own Plague and Fire have breath’d their last,
Or, dimly, in their sinking sockets frown.
292
Now frequent Trines the happier lights among, 1165
And high rais’d Jove from his dark Prison freed,
(Those Weights took off that on his Planet hung,)
Will gloriously the new-laid Works succeed.
293
Me-thinks already, from this Chymick flame,
I see a city of more precious mold: 1170
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With Silver pav’d, and all divine with Gold.
294
Already labouring with a mighty fate,
She shakes the Rubbish from her mounting Brow,
And seems to have renew’d her Charters date, 1175
Which Heav’n will to the death of time allow.
295
More great than human now, and more August,
New deified she from her Fires does rise:
Her widening Streets on new Foundations trust,
And, opening, into larger parts she flies. 1180
296
Before, she like some Shepherdess did shew,
Who sate to bathe her by a River’s side;
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught the beauteous Arts of Modern pride.
297
Now, like a Maiden Queen, she will behold, 1185
From her high Turrets, hourly Sutors come:
The East with Incense, and the West with Gold,
Will stand, like Suppliants, to receive her Doom.
298
The silver Thames, her own domestick Floud,
Shall bear her Vessels, like a sweeping Train, 1190
And often wind (as of his Mistress proud,)
With longing eyes to meet her Face again.
299
The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine,
The glory of their Towns no more shall boast,
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And Sein, that would with Belgian Rivers join, 1195
Shall find her Lustre stain’d, and Traffick lost.
300
The vent’rous Merchant who design’d more far,
And touches on our hospitable Shore,
Charm’d with the Splendour of this Northern Star,
Shall here unlade him, and depart no more. 1200
301
Our pow’rful Navy shall no longer meet,
The wealth of France or Holland to invade:
The beauty of this Town without a Fleet,
From all the World shall vindicate her Trade.
302
And, while this fam’d Emporium we prepare, 1205
The British Ocean shall such Triumphs boast,
That those, who now disdain our Trade to share,
Shall rob like Pyrats on our wealthy Coast.
303
Already we have conquer’d half the War,
And the less dang’rous part is left behind: 1210
Our Trouble now is but to make them dare,
And not so great to Vanquish as to Find.
304
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, 1215
And gently lay us on the Spicy shore.
MAC FLECKNOE
Among Dryden’s greatest achievements are his satiric verse, including his mock-heroic MacFlecknoe, a more personal product of his Laureate years. This lampoon was circulated in manuscript as an attack on the playwright Thomas Shadwell. Dryden’s main goal in the work was to “satirize Shadwell, ostensibly for his offenses against literature but more immediately we may suppose for his habitual badgering of him on the stage and in print.”
Written about 1678, the poem was not published until 1682 and was the outcome of a series of disagreements between Shadwell and Dryden. Their quarrel developed from disagreements over the genius of Ben Jonson, especially as Shadwell believed Dryden undervalued Jonson’s poetry. Shadwell and Dryden were separated not only by literary grounds, but also by political ones as Shadwell was a Whig, while Dryden was an outspoken supporter of the Stuart monarchy.
MacFlecknoe illustrates Shadwell as the heir to a kingdom of poetic dullness, represented by his association with Richard Flecknoe, an earlier poet Dryden disliked, but he does not use belittling techniques to satirise him, opting instead for a much subtler approach. The multiplicity of allusions to 17th Century literary works and to classic Greek and Roman literature, with which the poem is riddled, demonstrates Dryden’s complex approach to satire and the fact that he satirises his own work shows his mastery over and respect towards the mock-heroic style in which the poem is written.
The satire begins in the tone of an epic work, presenting Shadwell’s defining characteristic as dullness, just as every epic hero has a defining characteristic: Odysseus’ is cunning; Achilles’ is wrath; the hero of Spenser’s The Faerie Queene is of holiness; whilst Satan in Paradise Lost has the defining characteristic of pride. Therefore, Dryden subverts the theme of the defining characteristic by giving Shadwell a negative characteristic as his only virtue. Dryden uses the mock-heroic through his use of the heightened language of the epic to treat the trivial subjects such as poorly written and largely dismissible poetry. The juxtaposition of the lofty style with unexpected nouns such as ‘dullness’ provides an ironic contrast and makes the satiric point by the obvious disparity. In this, it works at the verbal level, with the language being carried by strong compelling rhythms and rhymes.
