John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  And when they see you slacken, they will stay.

  Sometimes it profits to conceal your End; 820

  Name not your self her Lover, but her Friend.

  How many skittish Girls have thus been caught?

  He prov’d a Lover, who a Friend was thought.

  Sailors by Sun and Wind are swarthy made;

  A tann’d Complexion best becomes their Trade. 825

  ’Tis a Disgrace to Ploughmen to be fair;

  Bluff Cheeks they have, and weather-beaten Hair.

  Th’ ambitious Youth, who seeks an Olive Crown,

  Is Sun-burnt with his daily Toil, and brown.

  But if the Lover hopes to be in Grace, 830

  Wan be his Looks, and meager be his Face.

  That Colour, from the Fair, Compassion draws:

  She thinks you sick, and thinks herself the Cause.

  Orion wander’d in the Woods for Love,

  His Paleness did the Nymphs to Pity move; 835

  His ghastly Visage argu’d hidden Love.

  Nor fail a Night-Cap, in full Health, to wear;

  Neglect thy Dress, and discompose thy Hair.

  All things are decent, that in Love avail.

  Read long by Night, and study to be pale: 840

  Forsake your Food, refuse your needful Rest;

  Be miserable, that you may be blest.

  Shall I complain, or shall I warn you most?

  Faith, Truth, and Friendship in the World are lost;

  A little and an empty Name they boast. 845

  Trust not thy Friend, much less thy Mistress praise:

  If he believe, thou may’st a Rival raise.

  ’Tis true, Patroclus, by no Lust mis-led,

  Sought not to stain his dear Companion’s Bed.

  Nor Pylades Hermione embrac’d; 850

  Ev’n Phædra to Perithous still was chaste.

  But hope not thou, in this vile Age, to find

  Those rare Examples of a faithful Mind.

  The Sea shall sooner with sweet Hony flow;

  Or from the Furzes Pears and Apples grow. 855

  We Sin with Gust, we love by Fraud to gain:

  And find a Pleasure in our Fellows Pain.

  From Rival Foes you may the Fair defend;

  But would you ward the Blow, beware your Friend.

  Beware your Brother, and your next of Kin; 860

  But from your Bosom Friend your Care begin.

  Here I had ended, but Experience finds,

  That sundry Women are of sundry Minds;

  With various Crochets fill’d, and hard to please;

  They therefore must be caught by various Ways. 865

  All things are not produc’d in any Soil;

  This Ground for Wine is proper, that for Oil.

  So ’tis in Men, but more in women-kind:

  Diff’rent in Face, in Manners, and in Mind:

  But wise Men shift their Sails with ev’ry Wind: 870

  As changeful Proteus vary’d oft his Shape,

  And did in sundry Forms and Figures ‘scape;

  A running Stream, a standing Tree became,

  A roaring Lyon, or a bleating Lamb.

  Some Fish with Harpons, some with Darts are strook, 875

  Some drawn with Nets, some hang upon the Hook:

  So turn thy self; and, imitating them,

  Try sev’ral Tricks, and change thy Stratagem.

  One Rule will not for diff’rent Ages hold;

  The Jades grow cunning, as they grow more old. 880

  Then talk not Bawdy to the bashful Maid;

  Bug words will make her Innocence afraid.

  Nor to an ign’rant Girl of Learning speak;

  She thinks you conjure, when you talk in Greek

  And hence ’tis often seen, the Simple shun 885

  The Learn’d, and into vile Embraces run.

  Part of my Task is done, and part to do;

  But here ’tis time to rest my self and you.

  Ovid’s Amours. Book I. Eleg. I.

  FOR mighty Wars I thought to Tune my Lute,

  And make my Measures to my Subject suit.

  Six Feet for ev’ry Verse the Muse design’d:

  But Cupid, laughing, when he saw my Mind,

  From ev’ry Second Verse a Foot purloin’d. 5

  Who gave Thee, Boy, this Arbitrary sway,

  On Subjects, not thy own, Commands to lay,

  Who Phœbus only and his Laws obey?

  ’Tis more absurd than if the Queen of Love

  Should in Minerva’s arms to Battel move; 10

  Or Manly Pallas from that Queen should take

  Her Torch, and o’re the dying Lover shake.

  In fields as well may Cynthia sow the Corn,

  Or Ceres wind in Woods the Bugle Horn.

  As well may Phœbus quit the trembling String, 15

  For Sword and Shield; and Mars may learn to Sing.

  Already thy Dominions are too large;

  Be not ambitious of a Foreign Charge.

  If thou wilt Reign e’re all, and ev’ry where,

  The God of Musick for his Harp may fear. 20

  Thus when with soaring Wings I seek Renown,

  Thou pluck’st my Pinnions, and I flutter down.

  Cou’d I on such mean Thoughts my Muse employ,

  I want a Mistress or a Blooming Boy.

  Thus I complain’d: his Bow the Stripling bent, 25

  And chose an Arrow fit for his Intent.

  The Shaft his purpose fatally pursues;

  Now, Poet, there’s a Subject for thy Muse.

  He said, (too well, alas, he knows his Trade,)

  For in my Breast a Mortal Wound he made. 30

  Far hence, ye proud Hexameters, remove,

  My Verse is pac’d and tramel’d into love.

  With Myrtle Wreaths my thoughtful brows inclose,

  While in unequal Verse I sing my Woes.

  Ovid’s Amours. Book I. Eleg. IV.

  To his Mistress, whose Husband is invited to a Feast with them. The Poet instructs her how to behave herself in his Company.

  YOUR husband will be with us at the Treat;

  May that be the last Supper he shall Eat.

  And am poor I, a Guest invited there,

  Only to see, while he may touch the Fair?

  To see you Kiss and Hug your nauseous Lord, 5

  While his leud Hand descends below the Board?

  Now wonder not that Hippodamia’s Charms,

  At such a sight, the Centaurs urg’d to Arms;

  That in a rage they threw their Cups aside,

  Assail’d the Bridegroom, and wou’d force the Bride. 10

  I am not half a Horse, (I would I were:)

  Yet hardly can from you my Hands forbear.

  Take then my Counsel; which observ’d, may be

  Of some Importance both to you and me.

  Be sure to come before your Man be there; 15

  There’s nothing can be done; but come howe’re.

  Sit next him (that belongs to Decency;)

  But tread upon my Foot in passing by.

  Read in my Looks what silently they speak,

  And slily, with your Eyes, your Answer make. 20

  My Lifted Eye-brow shall declare my Pain;

  My Right-Hand to his fellow shall complain;

  And on the Back a Letter shall design;

  Besides a Note that shall be Writ in Wine.

  When e’re you think upon our last Embrace, 25

  With your Fore-finger gently touch your Face.

  If any Word of mine offend my Dear,

  Pull, with your Hand, the Velvet of your Ear.

  If you are pleas’d with what I do or say,

  Handle your Rings, or with your Fingers play. 30

  As Suppliants use at Altars, hold the Boord,

  Whene’re you wish the Devil may take your Lord.

  When he fills for you, never touch the Cup;

  But bid th’ off
icious Cuckold drink it up.

  The Waiter on those Services employ; 35

  Drink you, and I will snatch it from the Boy:

  Watching the part where your sweet Mouth hath been,

  And thence, with eager Lips, will suck it in.

  If he, with Clownish Manners, thinks it fit

  To taste, and offer you the nasty Bit, 40

  Reject his greazy Kindness, and restore

  Th’ unsav’ry Morsel he had chew’d before.

  Nor let his Arms embrace your Neck, nor rest

  Your tender Cheek upon his hairy Breast.

  Let not his Hand within your Bosom stray, 45

  And rudely with your pretty Bubbies play.

  But above all, let him no Kiss receive;

  That’s an Offence I never can forgive.

  Do not, O do not that sweet Mouth resign,

  Lest I rise up in Arms, and cry, ’Tis mine. 50

  I shall thrust in betwixt, and void of Fear

  The manifest Adult’rer will appear.

  These things are plain to Sight; but more I doubt

  What you conceal beneath your Petticoat.

  Take not his Leg between your tender Thighs, 55

  Nor, with your Hand, provoke my Foe to rise.

  How many Love-Inventions I deplore,

  Which I, my self, have practis’d all before?

  How oft have I been forc’d the Robe to lift

  In Company; to make a homely shift 60

  For a bare Bout, ill huddled o’re in hast,

  While o’re my side the Fair her Mantle cast.

  You to your Husband shall not be so kind;

  But, lest you shou’d, your Mantle leave behind.

  Encourage him to Tope; but Kiss him not, 65

  Nor mix one drop of Water in his Pot.

  If he be Fuddled well, and Snores apace

  Then we may take Advice from Time and Place.

  When all depart, when Complements are loud,

  Be sure to mix among the thickest Crowd 70

  There I will be, and there we cannot miss,

  Perhaps to Grubble, or at least to Kiss

  Alas, what length of Labour I employ,

  Just to secure a short and transient Joy!

  For Night must part us: and when Night is come, 75

  Tuck’d underneath his Arm he leads you Home.

  He locks you in; I follow to the Door,

  His Fortune envy, and my own deplore.

  He kisses you, he more than kisses too;

  Th’ outrageous Cuckold thinks it all his due. 80

  But, add not to his Joy, by your consent,

  And let it not be giv’n, but only lent.

  Return no Kiss, nor move in any sort;

  Make it a dull and a malignant Sport.

  Had I my Wish, he shou’d no Pleasure take, 85

  But slubber o’re your Business for my sake.

  And what e’re Fortune shall this Night befal,

  Coax me to-morrow, by forswearing all.

  Ovid’s Amours. Book II. Eleg. XIX.

  IF for thy self thou wilt not watch thy Whore,

  Watch her for me, that I may love her more.

  What comes with ease, we nauseously receive,

  Who, but a Sot, wou’d scorn to love with leave?

  With hopes and fears my Flames are blown up higher; 5

  Make me despair, and then I can desire.

  Give me a Jilt to tease my Jealous mind;

  Deceits are Vertues in the Female kind.

  Corinna my Fantastick humour knew,

  Play’d trick for trick, and kept her self still new: 10

  She, that next night I might the sharper come,

  Fell out with me, and sent me fasting home;

  Or some pretence to lye alone would take,

  Whene’er she pleas’d her head and teeth wou’d ake:

  Till having won me to the highest strain, 15

  She took occasion to be sweet again.

  With what a Gust, ye Gods, we then imbrac’d!

  How every kiss was dearer than the last!

  Thou whom I now adore, be edify’d,

  Take care that I may often be deny’d. 20

  Forget the promis’d hour, or feign some fright,

  Make me lye rough on Bulks each other Night.

  These are the Arts that best secure thy reign,

  And this the Food that must my Fires maintain.

  Gross easie Love does like gross diet, pall, 25

  In squeasie Stomachs Honey turns to Gall.

  Had Danae not been kept in brazen Tow’rs,

  Jove had not thought her worth his Golden Show’rs.

  When Juno to a Cow turn’d Io’s Shape,

  The Watchman helpt her to a second Leap 30

  Let him who loves an easie Whetstone Whore.

  Pluck leaves from Trees, and drink the Common Shore.

  The Jilting Harlot strikes the surest blow,

  A truth which I by sad Experience know.

  The kind poor constant Creature we despise, 35

  Man but pursues the Quarry while it flies.

  But thou dull Husband of a Wife too fair,

  Stand on thy Guard, and watch the pretious Ware;

  If creaking Doors, or barking Dogs thou hear,

  Or Windows scratcht, suspect a Rival there. 40

  An Orange-wench wou’d tempt thy Wife abroad;

  Kick her, for she’s a Letter-bearing Bawd;

  In short, be Jealous as the Devil in Hell;

  And set my Wit on work to cheat thee well.

  The sneaking City Cuckold is my Foe, 45

  I scorn to strike, but when he Wards the blow.

  Look to thy hits, and leave off thy Conniving,

  I’ll be no Drudge to any Wittall living;

  I have been patient, and forborn thee long,

  In hope thou wou’dst not pocket up thy wrong: 50

  If no Affront can rouse thee, understand

  I’ll take no more Indulgence at thy hand.

  What, ne’er to be forbid thy House, and Wife!

  Damn him who loves to lead so dull a life.

  Now I can neither sigh, nor whine, nor pray, 55

  All those occasions thou hast ta’ne away.

  Why art thou so incorrigibly Civil?

  Doe somewhat I may wish thee at the Devil.

  For shame be no Accomplice in my Treason,

  A Pimping Husband is too much in reason. 60

  Once more wear horns, before I quite forsake her,

  In hopes whereof I rest thy Cuckold-maker.

  From Juvenal

  Juvenal: The First Satyr

  ARGUMENT of the first Satyr

  The Poet gives us first a kind of humorous Reason for his Writing: That being provok’d by hearing so many ill Poets rehearse their Works, he does himself Justice on them, by giving them as bad as they bring. But since no man will rank himself with ill Writers, ’tis easie to conclude, that if such Wretches cou’d draw an Audience, he thought it no hard matter to excel them, and gain a greater esteem with the Publick. Next he informs us more openly, why he rather addicts himself to Satyr, than any other kind of Poetry. And here he discovers that it is not so much his indignation to ill Poets, as to ill Men, which has prompted him to write. He therefore gives us a summary and general view of the Vices and Follies reigning in his time. So that this first Satyr is the natural Groundwork of all the rest. Herein he confines himself to no one Subject, but strikes indifferently at all Men in his way: In every following Satyr he has chosen some particular Moral which he wou’d inculcate; and lashes some particular Vice or Folly, (An Art with which our Lampooners are not much acquainted.) But our Poet being desirous to reform his own Age, and not daring to attempt it by an Overt act of naming living Persons, inveighs onely against those who were infamous in the times immediately preceding his, whereby he not only gives a fair warning to Great Men, that their Memory lies at the mercy of future Poets and Historians, but als
o with a finer stroke of his Pen, brands ev’n the living, and personates them under dead mens Names.

  I have avoided as much as I cou’d possibly the borrowed Learning of Marginal Notes and Illustrations, and for that reason have Translated this Satyr somewhat largely. And freely own (if it be a fault) that I have likewise omitted most of the Proper Names, because I thought they wou’d not much edifie the Reader. To conclude, if in two or three places I have deserted all the Commentators, ’tis because I thought they first deserted my Author, or at least have left him in so much obscurity, that too much room is left for guessing.

  The First Satyr

  STILL shall I hear, and never quit the Score,

  Stun’d with hoarse Codrus Theseid, o’re and o’re?

  Shall this man’s Elegies and t’other’ Play

  Unpunish’d Murther a long Summer’s day?

  Huge Telephus, a formidable page, 5

  Cries Vengeance; and Orestes’s bulky rage,

  Unsatisfy’d with Margins closely writ,

  Foams o’re the Covers, and not finish’d yet.

  No Man can take a more familiar note

  Of his own Home, than I of Vulcan’s Grott, 10

  Or Mars his Grove, or hollow winds that blow

  From Ætna’s top, or tortur’d Ghosts below.

  I know by rote the Fam’d Exploits of Greece;

  The Centaurs fury, and the Golden Fleece;

  Through the thick shades th’ Eternal Scribler bauls; 15

  And shakes the Statues on their Pedestals.

  The best and worst on the same Theme employs

  His Muse, and plagues us with an equal noise.

  Provok’d by these Incorrigible Fools,

  I left declaiming in pedantick Schools; 20

  Where, with Men-boys, I strove to get Renown,

  Advising Sylla to a private Gown.

  But, since the World with Writing is possest,

  I’ll versifie in spite; and do my best

  To make as much waste Paper as the rest. 25

  But why I lift aloft the Satyrs Rod,

  And tread the Path which fam’d Lucilius trod,

  Attend the Causes which my Muse have led:

  When Sapless Eunuchs mount the Marriage-bed,

  When Mannish Mevia, that two-handed Whore, 30

  Astride on Horse-back hunts the Tuscan Boar;

  When all our Lords are by his Wealth outvy’d,

  Whose Razour on my callow-beard was try’d;

  When I behold the Spawn of conquer’d Nile

  Crispinus both in Birth and Manners vile, 35

  Pacing in pomp, with Cloak of Tyrian dye,

  Chang’d oft a day for needless Luxury;