John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  He shew’d the way, perverting first my Sense: 10

  In Malice witty, and with Venom fraught,

  He makes me speak the Things I never thought.

  Compute the Gains of his ungovern’d Zeal;

  Ill sutes his Cloth the Praise of Railing well!

  The World will think that what we loosly write, 15

  Tho’ now arraign’d, he read with some delight;

  Because he seems to chew the Cud again,

  When his broad Comment makes the Text too plain,

  And teaches more in one explaining Page,

  Than all the double Meanings of the Stage. 20

  What needs he Paraphrase on what we mean?

  We were at worst but Wanton; he’s Obscene.

  I, nor my fellows, nor my Self excuse;

  But Love’s the Subject of the Comick Muse:

  Nor can we write without it, nor would you 25

  A Tale of only dry Instruction view;

  Nor Love is always of a vicious Kind,

  But oft to virtuous Acts inflames the Mind,

  Awakes the sleepy Vigour of the Soul,

  And, brushing o’er, adds Motion to the Pool. 30

  Love, studious how to please, improves our Parts,

  With polish’d Manners, and adorns with Arts.

  Love first invented Verse, and form’d the Rhime,

  The Motion measur’d, harmoniz’d the Chime;

  To lib’ral Acts inlarg’d the narrow-Soul’d, 35

  Soften’d the Fierce, and made the Coward Bold:

  The World when wast, he Peopled with increase,

  And warring Nations reconcil’d in Peace.

  Ormond, the first, and all the Fair may find

  In this one Legend to their Fame design’d, 40

  When Beauty fires the Blood, how Love exalts the Mind.

  IN that sweet Isle, where Venus keeps her Court,

  And ev’ry Grace, and all the Loves resort;

  Where either Sex is form’d of softer Earth,

  And takes the bent of Pleasure from their Birth; 45

  There liv’d a Cyprian Lord, above the rest

  Wise, Wealthy, with a num’rous Issue blest.

  But as no Gift of Fortune is sincere,

  Was only wanting in a worthy Heir:

  His eldest Born a goodly youth to view 50

  Excell’d the rest in Shape, and outward Shew;

  Fair, Tall, his Limbs with due Proportion join’d,

  But of a heavy, dull, degenerate Mind.

  His Soul bely’d the Features of his Face;

  Beauty was there, but Beauty in disgrace. 55

  A clownish Mien, a Voice with rustick sound,

  And stupid Eyes, that ever lov’d the Ground.

  He looked like Nature’s Error; as the Mind

  And Body were not of a Piece design’d,

  But made for two, and by mistake in one were join’d. 60

  The ruling Rod, the Father’s forming Care,

  Were exercis’d in vain, on Wit’s despair;

  The more inform’d the less he understood,

  And deeper sunk by flound’ring in the Mud.

  Now scorn’d of all, and grown the publick Shame, 65

  The people from Galesus changed his name,

  And Cymon call’d, which signifies a Brute;

  So well his Name did with his Nature sute.

  His Father, when he found his Labour lost,

  And Care employ’d that answer’d not the Cost, 70

  Chose an ungrateful Object to remove,

  And loath’d to see what Nature made him love;

  So to his Country-Farm the Fool confin’d:

  Rude Work well suted with a rustick Mind.

  Thus to the Wilds the sturdy Cymon went, 75

  A Squire among the Swains, and pleas’d with Banishment.

  His Corn, and Cattle, were his only Care,

  And his supreme Delight a Country-Fair.

  It happen’d on a Summers Holiday,

  That to the Greenwood-shade he took his way; 80

  For Cymon shunn’d the Church, and us’d not much to Pray.

  His Quarter Staff, which he cou’d ne’er forsake,

  Hung half before, and half behind his Back.

  He trudg’d along unknowing what he sought,

  And whistled as he went, for want of Thought. 85

  By Chance conducted, or by Thirst constrain’d,

  The deep Recesses of the Grove he gain’d;

  Where, in a Plain, defended by the Wood,

  Crept through the matted Grass a Chrystal Flood,

  By which an Alabaster Fountain stood: 90

  And on the Margin of the Fount was laid

  (Attended by her Slaves) a sleeping Maid

  Like Dian and her Nymphs, when, tir’d with Sport,

  To rest by cool Eurotas they resort:

  The Dame herself the Goddess well express’d, 95

  Not more distinguish’d by her Purple Vest,

  Than by the charming Features of her Face,

  And ev’n in Slumber a superiour Grace:

  Her comely Limbs compos’d with decent Care,

  Her Body shaded with a slight Cymarr; 100

  Her Bosom to the view was only bare:

  Where two beginning Paps were scarcely spy’d

  For yet their Places were but signify’d:

  The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows,

  To meet the fanning Wind the Bosom rose; 105

  The fanning Wind, and purling Streams continue her repose.

  The Fool of Nature, stood with stupid Eyes

  And gaping Mouth, that testify’d Surprize,

  Fix’d on her Face, nor cou’d remove his Sight,

  New as he was to Love, and Novice in Delight: 110

  Long mute he stood, and leaning on his Staff,

  His Wonder witness’d with an Ideot laugh;

  Then would have spoke, but by his glimmering Sense

  First found his want of Words, and fear’d Offence:

  Doubted for what he was he should be known, 115

  By his Clown-Accent and his Country-Tone.

  Through the rude Chaos thus the running Light

  Shot the first Ray that pierc’d the Native Night:

  Then Day and Darkness in the Mass were mix’d,

  Till gather’d in a Globe, the Beams were fix’d: 120

  Last shon the Sun who, radiant in his Sphere

  Illumin’d Heav’n, and Earth, and rowl’d around the Year.

  So Reason in this Brutal Soul began:

  Love made him first suspect he was a Man;

  Love made him doubt his broad barbarian Sound; 125

  By Love his want of Words and Wit he found;

  That sense of want prepar’d the future way

  To Knowledge, and disclos’d the promise of a Day.

  What not his Father’s Care, nor Tutor’s Art

  Cou’d plant with Pains in his unpolish’d Heart, 130

  The best Instructor Love at once inspir’d,

  As barren Grounds to Fruitfulness are fir’d;

  Love taught him Shame, and Shame with Love at Strife

  Soon taught the sweet Civilities of Life;

  His gross material Soul at once could find 135

  Somewhat in her excelling all her Kind:

  Exciting a Desire till then unknown,

  Somewhat unfound, or found in her alone.

  This made the first Impression in his Mind,

  Above, but just above, the Brutal Kind. 140

  For Beasts can like, but not distinguish too

  Nor their own liking by reflection know;

  Nor why they like or this, or t’other Face,

  Or judge of this or that peculiar Grace;

  But love in gross, and stupidly admire; 145

  As Flies allur’d by Light, approach the Fire.

  Thus our Man-Beast advancing by degrees

  First likes the whole, then sep’rates wha
t he sees;

  On sev’ral Parts a sev’ral Praise bestows,

  The ruby Lips, the well-proportion’d Nose, 150

  The snowy Skin, in Raven-glossy Hair,

  The dimpled Cheek, the Forehead rising fair,

  And ev’n in Sleep it self a smiling Air.

  From thence his Eyes descending view’d the rest,

  Her plump round Arms, white Hands, and heaving Breast. 155

  Long on the last he dwelt, though ev’ry part

  A pointed Arrow sped to pierce his Heart.

  Thus in a trice a Judge of Beauty grown,

  (A Judge erected from a Country-Clown)

  He long’d to see her Eyes in Slumber hid, 160

  And wish’d his own cou’d pierce within the Lid:

  He wou’d have wak’d her, but restrain’d his Thought,

  And Love new-born the first good Manners taught.

  An awful Fear his ardent Wish withstood,

  Nor durst disturb the Goddess of the Wood; 165

  For such she seem’d by her celestial Face,

  Excelling all the rest of human Race:

  And Things divine, by common Sense he knew,

  Must be devoutly seen at distant view:

  So checking his Desire, with trembling Heart 170

  Gazing he stood, nor would, nor could depart;

  Fix’d as a Pilgrim wilder’d in his way,

  Who dares not stir by Night for fear to stray;

  But stands with awful Eyes to watch the dawn of Day.

  At length awaking, Iphigene the fair 175

  (So was the Beauty call’d who caus’d his Care)

  Unclos’d her eyes, and double Day reveal’d,

  While those of all her Slaves in Sleep were seal’d.

  The slavering Cudden, prop’d upon his Staff,

  Stood ready gaping with a grinning Laugh, 180

  To welcome her awake, nor durst begin

  To speak, but wisely kept the Fool within.

  Then she: What make you Cymon here alone?

  (For Cymon’s name was round the Country known,

  Because descended of a noble Race, 185

  And for a Soul ill sorted with his Face.)

  But still the Sot stood silent with Surprize,

  With fix’d regard on her new open’d Eyes,

  And in his Breast receiv’d th’ invenom’d Dart,

  A tickling Pain that pleas’d amid the Smart. 190

  But conscious of her Form, with quick distrust

  She saw his sparkling Eyes, and fear’d his brutal Lust:

  This to prevent, she wak’d her sleepy Crew,

  And rising hasty took a short Adieu.

  Then Cymon first his rustick Voice essay’d, 195

  With proffer’d Service to the parting Maid

  To see her safe; his Hand she long deny’d,

  But took at length, asham’d of such a Guide.

  So Cymon led her home, and leaving there,

  No more wou’d to his Country Clowns repair, 200

  But sought his Father’s House, with better Mind,

  Refusing in the Farm to be confin’d.

  The Father wonder’d at the Son’s return,

  And knew not whether to rejoice or mourn;

  But doubtfully receiv’d, expecting still 205

  To learn the secret Causes of his alter’d Will.

  Nor was he long delay’d: the first Request

  He made, was, like his Brothers to be dress’d,

  And, as his Birth requir’d, above the rest.

  With ease his Sute was granted by his Syre, 210

  Distinguishing his Heir by rich Attire:

  His Body thus adorn’d, he next design’d

  With lib’ral Arts to cultivate his Mind;

  He sought a Tutor of his own accord,

  And study’d Lessons he before abhorr’d. 215

  Thus the Man-Child advanc’d, and learned so fast,

  That in short time his Equals he surpass’d:

  His brutal Manners from his Breast exil’d,

  His Mien he fashion’d, and his Tongue he fil’d;

  In ev’ry Exercise of all admir’d, 220

  He seem’d, nor only seem’d but was inspir’d:

  Inspir’d by Love, whose Business is to please;

  He Rode, he Fenc’d, he moved with graceful Ease,

  More fam’d for Sense, for courtly Carriage more,

  Than for his brutal Folly known before. 225

  What then of alter’d Cymon shall we say,

  But that the Fire which choak’d in Ashes lay,

  A Load too heavy for his Soul to move,

  Was upward blown below, and brush’d away by Love?

  Love made an active Progress through his Mind, 230

  The dusky Parts he clear’d, the gross refin’d;

  The drowsy wak’d; and as he went impress’d

  The Maker’s Image on the human Beast.

  Thus was the Man amended by Desire,

  And, tho’ he lov’d perhaps with too much Fire, 235

  His Father all his Faults with Reason scan’d,

  And lik’d an error of the better Hand;

  Excus’d th’ excess of Passion in his Mind,

  By Flames too fierce, perhaps too much refin’d:

  So Cymon, since his Sire indulg’d his Will, 240

  Impetuous lov’d, and would be Cymon still;

  Galesus he disown’d, and chose to bear

  The Name of Fool confirm’d, and Bishop’d by the Fair.

  To Cipseus by his Friends his Sute he mov’d,

  Cipseus the Father of the Fair he lov’d: 245

  But he was pre-ingag’d by former Ties,

  While Cymon was endeav’ring to be wise

  And Iphigene, oblig’d by former Vows,

  Had giv’n her Faith to wed a Foreign Spouse:

  Her Sire and She to Rhodian Pasimond, 250

  Tho’ both repenting, were by Promise bound,

  Nor could retract; and thus, as Fate decreed,

  Tho’ better lov’d, he spoke too late to speed.

  The Doom was past, the Ship already sent

  Did all his tardy Diligence prevent: 255

  Sigh’d to her self the fair unhappy Maid,

  While stormy Cymon thus in secret said:

  The time is come for Iphigene to find

  The Miracle she wrought upon my Mind:

  Her Charms have made me Man, her ravish’d Love 260

  In rank shall place me with the Bless’d above.

  For mine by Love, by Force she shall be mine,

  Or Death, if Force should fail, shall finish my Design.

  Resolv’d he said: And rigg’d with speedy Care

  A Vessel strong, and well equipp’d for War. 265

  The secret Ship with chosen Friends he stor’d,

  And bent to die, or conquer, went aboard.

  Ambush’d he lay behind the Cyprian Shore,

  Waiting the Sail that all his Wishes bore;

  Nor long expected, for the following Tide 270

  Sent out the hostile Ship and beauteous Bride.

  To Rhodes the Rival Bark directly steer’d,

  When Cymon sudden at her Back appear’d,

  And stop’d her Flight: Then standing on his Prow

  In haughty Terms he thus defy’d the Foe: 275

  Or strike your Sails at Summons, or prepare

  To prove the last Extremities of War.

  Thus warn’d, the Rhodians for the Fight provide;

  Already were the Vessels Side by Side,

  These obstinate to save, and those to seize the Bride. 280

  But Cymon soon his crooked Grapples cast,

  Which with tenacious hold his Foes embrac’d.

  And arm’d with Sword and Shield, amid the Press he pass’d.

  Fierce was the Fight, but hast’ning to his Prey,

  By force the furious Lover freed his way: 285

  Himself alone dispers’d the Rho
dian Crew,

  The Weak disdain’d, the Valiant overthrew;

  Cheap Conquest for his following Friends remain’d,

  He reap’d the Field, and they but only glean’d.

  His Victory confess’d, the Foes retreat, 290

  And cast their Weapons at the Victor’s Feet.

  Whom thus he chear’d: O Rhodian Youth, I fought

  For Love alone, nor other Booty sought;

  Your Lives are safe; your Vessel I resign.

  Yours be your own, restoring what is mine: 295

  In Iphigene I claim my rightful Due,

  Rob’d by my Rival, and detain’d by you:

  Your Pasimond a lawless Bargain drove,

  The Parent could not sell the Daughters Love;

  Or if he cou’d, my Love disdains the Laws, 300

  And like a King by Conquest gains his Cause;

  Where Arms take place, all other Pleas are vain;

  Love taught me Force, and Force shall Love maintain.

  You, what by Strength you could not keep, release,

  And at an easy Ransom buy your Peace. 305

  Fear on the conquer’d Side soon sign’d th’ Accord,

  And Iphigene to Cymon was restor’d:

  While to his Arms the blushing Bride he took,

  To seeming Sadness she compos’d her Look;

  As if by Force subjected to his Will, 310

  Tho’ pleas’d, dissembling, and a Woman still.

  And, for she wept, he wip’d her falling Tears,

  And pray’d her to dismiss her empty Fears;

  For yours I am, he said, and have deserv’d

  Your Love much better, whom so long I serv’d, 315

  Than he to whom your formal Father ty’d

  Your Vows; and sold a Slave, not sent a Bride.

  Thus while he spoke, he seiz’d the willing Prey,

  As Paris bore the Spartan Spouse away:

  Faintly she scream’d, and ev’n her Eyes confess’d 320

  She rather would be thought, than was distress’d.

  Who now exults but Cymon in his Mind?

  Vain hopes and empty Joys of human Kind,

  Proud of the present, to the future blind!

  Secure of Fate, while Cymon plows the Sea, 325

  And steers to Candy with his conquer’d Prey,

  Scarce the third Glass of measur’d Hours was run,

  When like a fiery Meteor sunk the Sun,

  The Promise of a Storm; the shifting Gales

  Forsake by Fits and fill the flagging Sails: 330

  Hoarse Murmurs of the Main from far were heard,

  And Night came on, not by degrees prepar’d,

  But all at once; at once the Winds arise,

  The Thunders roul, the forky Lightning flies

  In vain the Master issues out Commands, 335

  In vain the trembling Sailors ply their Hands;