John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Ask what you please, and I will pay the Price:

  The proudest Kerchief of the Court shall rest 245

  Well satisfy’d of what they love the best.

  Plight me thy Faith, quoth she: That what I ask

  Thy Danger over, and perform’d the Task;

  That shalt thou give for Hire of thy Demand;

  Here take thy Oath, and seal it on my Hand; 250

  I warrant thee, on Peril of my Life,

  Thy Words shall please both Widow, Maid, and Wife.

  More Words there needed not to move the Knight,

  To take her Offer, and his Truth to plight.

  With that she spread her Mantle on the Ground, 255

  And first enquiring whether he was bound,

  Bade him not fear, tho’ long and rough the Way,

  At Court he should arrive e’er break of Day

  His Horse should find the way without a Guide.

  She said: With Fury they began to ride, 260

  He on the midst, the Beldam at his Side.

  The Horse, what Devil drove I cannot tell,

  But only this, they sped their Journey well:

  And all the way the Crone inform’d the Knight,

  How he should answer the Demand aright. 265

  To Court they came: The News was quickly spread

  Of his returning to redeem his Head.

  The Female Senate was assembled soon,

  With all the Mob of Women in the Town:

  The Queen sate Lord Chief Justice of the Hall, 270

  And bad the Cryer cite the Criminal.

  The Knight appear’d; and Silence they proclaim,

  Then first the Culprit answer’d to his Name;

  And after Forms of Laws, was last requir’d

  To name the Thing that Women most desir’d. 275

  Th’ Offender, taught his Lesson by the way,

  And by his Counsel order’d what to say,

  Thus bold began; My Lady Liege, said he,

  What all your Sex desire is Soveraignty.

  The Wife affects her Husband to command; 280

  All must be hers, both Mony, House, and Land.

  The Maids are Mistresses ev’n in their Name;

  And of their Servants full Dominion claim.

  This, at the Peril of my Head, I say

  A blunt plain Truth, the Sex aspires to sway, 285

  You to rule all; while we, like Slaves, obey.

  There was not one, or Widow, Maid, or Wife,

  But said the Knight had well deserv’d his Life.

  Ev’n fair Geneura, with a Blush confess’d,

  The Man had found what Women love the best. 290

  Upstarts the Beldam, who was there unseen,

  And Reverence made, accosted thus the Queen.

  My Liege, said she, before the Court arise,

  May I poor Wretch find Favour in your Eyes,

  To grant my just Request: ’Twas I who taught 295

  The Knight this Answer, and inspir’d his Thought.

  None but a Woman could a Man direct

  To tell us Women, what we most affect.

  But first I swore him on his Knightly Troth,

  (And here demand performance of his Oath) 300

  To grant the Boon that next I should desire;

  He gave his Faith, and I expect my Hire:

  My Promise is fulfill’d: I sav’d his Life,

  And claim his Debt, to take me for his Wife.

  The Knight was ask’d, nor cou’d his Oath deny, 305

  But hop’d they would not force him to comply.

  The Women, who would rather wrest the Laws,

  Than let a Sister-Plaintiff lose the Cause,

  (As Judges on the Bench more gracious are,

  And more attent to Brothers of the Bar) 310

  Cry’d, one and all, the Suppliant should have Right,

  And to the Grandame-Hag adjudg’d the Knight.

  In vain he sigh’d, and oft with Tears desir’d

  Some reasonable Sute might be requir’d.

  But still the Crone was constant to her Note; 315

  The more he spoke, the more she stretch’d her Throat.

  In vain he proffer’d all his Goods, to save

  His Body, destin’d to that living Grave.

  The liquorish Hag rejects the Pelf with scorn:

  And nothing but the Man would serve her turn. 320

  Not all the Wealth of Eastern Kings, said she,

  Have Pow’r to part my plighted Love, and me;

  And, Old, and Ugly as I am, and Poor;

  Yet never will I break the Faith I swore;

  For mine thou art by Promise, during Life, 325

  And I thy loving and obedient Wife.

  My Love! Nay, rather my Damnation Thou,

  Said he: Nor am I bound to keep my Vow:

  The Fiend thy Sire has sent thee from below,

  Else how cou’dst thou my secret Sorrows know? 330

  Avaunt, old Witch, for I renounce thy Bed:

  The Queen may take the Forfeit of my Head,

  E’er any of my Race so foul a Crone shall wed.

  Both heard, the Judge pronounc’d against the Knight;

  So was he Marry’d in his own despight; 335

  And all Day after hid him as an Owl,

  Not able to sustain a Sight so foul.

  Perhaps the Reader thinks I do him wrong

  To pass the Marriage-Feast and Nuptial Song:

  Mirth there was none, the Man was a-la-mort, 340

  And little Courage had to make his Court.

  To Bed they went, the Bridegroom and the Bride:

  Was never such an ill-pair’d Couple ty’d.

  Restless he toss’d, and tumbled to and fro,

  And rowl’d, and wriggled further off; for Woe. 345

  The good old Wife lay smiling by his Side,

  And caught him in her quiv’ring Arms, and cry’d,

  When you my ravish’d Predecessor saw,

  You were not then become this Man of Straw;

  Had you been such, you might have scap’d the Law. 350

  Is this the Custom of King Arthur’s Court?

  Are all Round-Table Knights of such a sort?

  Remember I am she who sav’d your Life,

  Your loving, lawful, and complying Wife:

  Not thus you swore in your unhappy Hour, 355

  Nor I for this return employ’d my Pow’r.

  In time of Need I was your faithful Friend;

  Nor did I since, nor ever will offend.

  Believe me, my lov’d Lord, ’tis much unkind;

  What Fury has possessed your alter’d Mind? 360

  Thus on my Wedding-night — Without Pretence —

  Come, turn this way, or tell me my Offence.

  If not your Wife, let Reasons Rule persuade,

  Name but my Fault, amends shall soon be made.

  Amends! Nay, that’s impossible, said he, 365

  What change of Age, or Ugliness can be!

  Or could Medea’s Magick mend thy Face,

  Thou art descended from so mean a Race,

  That never Knight was match’d with such Disgrace.

  What wonder, Madam, if I move my Side, 370

  When, if I turn, I turn to such a Bride?

  And is this all that troubles you so sore!

  And what the Devil cou’dst thou wish me more?

  Ah Benedicite, reply’d the Crone:

  Then cause of just Complaining have you none. 375

  The Remedy to this were soon apply’d,

  Wou’d you be like the Bridegroom to the Bride.

  But, for you say a long descended Race,

  And Wealth, and Dignity, and Pow’r, and Place,

  Make Gentlemen, and that your high Degree 380

  Is much disparag’d to be match’d with me;

  Know this, my Lord, Nobility of Blood

  Is but a glitt’ring, and fallacious Good:

  Th
e Nobleman is he whose noble Mind

  Is fill’d with inborn Worth, unborrow’d from his Kind. 385

  The King of Heav’n was in a Manger laid;

  And took his Earth but from an humble Maid:

  Then what can Birth, or mortal Men bestow,

  Since Floods no higher than their Fountains flow?

  We who for Name, and empty Honour strive, 390

  Our true Nobility from him derive.

  Your Ancestors, who puff your Mind with Pride.

  And vast Estates to mighty Titles ty’d,

  Did not your Honour, but their own advance,

  For Virtue comes not by Inheritance. 395

  If you tralineate from your Father’s Mind,

  What are you else but of a Bastard-kind?

  Do, as your great Progenitors have done,

  And by their virtues prove your self their Son.

  No Father can infuse, or Wit or Grace; 400

  A Mother comes across, and marrs the Race.

  A Grandsire or a Grandame taints the Blood;

  And seldom three Descents continue Good.

  Were Virtue by Descent, a noble Name

  Could never villanize his Father’s Fame: 405

  But, as the first the last of all the Line,

  Wou’d like the Sun ev’n in Descending shine.

  Take Fire, and bear it to the darkest House

  Betwixt King Arthur’s Court and Caucasus,

  If you depart, the Flame shall still remain, 410

  And the bright Blaze enlighten all the Plain;

  Nor, till the Fewel perish, can decay,

  By Nature form’d on Things combustible to prey.

  Such is not Man, who mixing better Seed

  With worse, begets a base, degenerate Breed: 415

  The Bad corrupts the Good, and leaves behind

  No trace of all the great Begetter’s Mind.

  The Father sinks within his Son, we see,

  And often rises in the third Degree;

  If better Luck, a better Mother give: 420

  Chance gave us being, and by Chance we live.

  Such as our Atoms were, ev’n such are we,

  Or call it Chance, or strong Necessity.

  Thus, loaded with dead weight, the Will is free.

  And thus it needs must be: For Seed conjoin’d 425

  Lets into Nature’s Work th’ imperfect Kind:

  But Fire, th’ enliv’ner of the general Frame,

  Is one, its Operation still the same.

  Its Principle is in it self: While ours

  Works, as Confederate’s War, with mingled Pow’rs: 430

  Or Man, or Woman, which soever fails;

  And, oft, the Vigour of the Worse prevails.

  Æther with Sulphur blended alters hue,

  And casts a dusky gleam of Sodom blue.

  Thus in a Brute, their ancient Honour ends, 435

  And the fair Mermaid in a Fish descends:

  The Line is gone; no longer Duke or Earl;

  But by himself degraded turns a Churl.

  Nobility of Blood is but Renown

  Of thy great Fathers by their Virtue known, 440

  And a long trail of Light, to thee descending down.

  If in thy Smoke it ends, their Glories shine;

  But Infamy and Villanage are thine.

  Then what I said before, is plainly show’d,

  That true Nobility proceeds from God: 445

  Nor left us by Inheritance, but giv’n

  By Bounty of our Stars, and Grace of Heaven.

  Thus from a Captive Servius Tullus rose,

  Whom for his Virtues, the first Romans chose:

  Fabritius from their Walls repell’d the Foe, 450

  Whose noble Hands had exercis’d the Plough.

  From hence, my Lord, and Love, I thus conclude,

  That tho’ my homely Ancestors were rude,

  Mean as I am, yet I may have the Grace

  To make you Father of a generous Race: 455

  And Noble then am I, when I begin,

  In Virtue cloath’d, to cast the Rags of Sin:

  If Poverty be my upbraided Crime,

  And you believe in Heav’n; there was a time,

  When He, the great Controller of our Fate 460

  Deign’d to be Man, and lived in low Estate:

  Which he who had the World at his dispose,

  If Poverty were Vice, wou’d never choose.

  Philosophers have said, and Poets sing,

  That a glad Poverty’s an honest Thing. 465

  Content is Wealth, the Riches of the Mind;

  And happy He who can that Treasure find,

  But the base Miser starves amidst his Store,

  Broods on his Gold, and griping still at more

  Sits sadly pining, and believes he’s Poor. 470

  The ragged Beggar, tho’ he wants Relief,

  Has not to lose, and sings before the Thief.

  Want is a bitter, and a hateful Good,

  Because its Virtues are not understood.

  Yet many Things, impossible to Thought, 475

  Have been by Need to full Perfection brought:

  The daring of the Soul proceeds from thence,

  Sharpness of Wit, and active Diligence:

  Prudence at once, and Fortitude it gives,

  And if in patience taken mends our Lives; 480

  For ev’n that Indigence that brings me low

  Makes me my self and Him above to know.

  A Good which none would challenge, few would choose,

  A fair Possession, which Mankind refuse.

  If we from Wealth to Poverty descend, 485

  Want gives to know the Flatt’rer from the Friend.

  If I am Old, and Ugly, well for you,

  No leud Adult’rer will my Love pursue;

  Nor Jealousy, the Bane of marry’d Life,

  Shall haunt you, for a wither’d homely Wife: 490

  For Age, and Ugliness, as all agree,

  Are the best Guards of Female Chastity.

  Yet since I see your Mind is Worldly bent,

  I’ll do my best to further your Content.

  And therefore of two Gifts in my dispose, 495

  Think e’er you speak, I grant you leave to choose:

  Wou’d you I should be still Deform’d, and Old,

  Nauseous to Touch, and Loathsome to Behold;

  On this Condition, to remain for life

  A careful, tender and obedient Wife, 500

  In all I can contribute to your Ease,

  And not in Deed, or Word, or Thought displease?

  Or would you rather have me Young and Fair,

  And take the Chance that happens to your share?

  Temptations are in Beauty, and in Youth, 505

  And how can you depend upon my Truth?

  Now weigh the Danger with the doubtful Bliss,

  And thank your self, if ought should fall amiss.

  Sore sigh’d the Knight, who this long Sermon heard;

  At length considering all, his Heart he chear’d, 510

  And thus reply’d, My Lady, and my Wife,

  To your wise Conduct I resign my Life:

  Choose you for me, for well you understand

  The future Good and Ill, on either Hand:

  But if an humble Husband may request, 515

  Provide, and order all Things for the best;

  Your’s be the Care to profit, and to please:

  And let your Subject-Servant take his Ease.

  Then thus in Peace, quoth she, concludes the Strife,

  Since I am turn’d the Husband, you the Wife: 520

  The Matrimonial Victory is mine,

  Which having fairly gain’d, I will resign;

  Forgive if I have said, or done amiss,

  And seal the Bargain with a Friendly Kiss:

  I promis’d you but one Content to share. 525

  But now I will become both Good, and Fair.

&nbs
p; No Nuptial Quarrel shall disturb your Ease,

  The Business of my Life shall be to please:

  And for my Beauty that, as Time shall try;

  But draw the Curtain first, and cast your Eye. 530

  He look’d, and saw a Creature heav’nly Fair,

  In bloom of Youth, and of a charming Air.

  With Joy he turn’d, and seiz’d her Iv’ry Arm;

  And like Pygmalion found the Statue warm.

  Small Arguments there needed to prevail, 535

  A Storm of Kisses pour’d as thick as Hail.

  Thus long in mutual Bliss they lay embraced,

  And their first Love continu’d to the last:

  One Sun-shine was their Life; no Cloud between;

  Nor ever was a kinder Couple seen. 540

  And so may all our Lives like their’s be led;

  Heav’n send the Maids young Husbands, fresh in Bed:

  May Widows Wed as often as they can,

  And ever for the better change their Man.

  And some devouring Plague pursue their Lives, 545

  Who will not well be govern’d by their Wives.

  The Character of a Good Parson

  Imitated from Chaucer and Inlarg’d

  A PARISH-PRIEST was of the Pilgrim-Train;

  An Awful, Reverend, and Religious Man.

  His Eyes diffus’d a venerable Grace,

  And Charity it self was in his Face.

  Rich was his Soul, though his Attire was poor; 5

  (As God had cloath’d his own Embassador;)

  For such, on Earth, his bless’d Redeemer bore.

  Of Sixty Years he seem’d; and well might last

  To Sixty more, but that he liv’d too fast;

  Refin’d himself to Soul, to curb the Sense; 10

  And made almost a Sin of Abstinence.

  Yet, had his Aspect nothing of severe,

  But such a Face as promis’d him sincere.

  Nothing reserv’d or sullen was to see,

  But sweet Regards; and pleasing Sanctity: 15

  Mild was his Accent, and his Action free.

  With Eloquence innate his Tongue was arm’d;

  Tho’ harsh the Precept, yet the Preacher charm’d;

  For, letting down the golden Chain from high,

  He drew his Audience upward to the Sky: 20

  And oft, with holy Hymns, he charm’d their Ears

  (A Musick more melodious than the Spheres.)

  For David left him, when he went to rest,

  His Lyre; and after him, he sung the best.

  He bore his great Commission in his Look: 25

  But sweetly temper’d Awe, and soften’d all he spoke.

  He preach’d the Joys of Heav’n and Pains of Hell;

  And warn’d the Sinner with becoming Zeal;

  But on Eternal Mercy lov’d to dwell.

  He taught the Gospel rather than the Law: 30