John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  As it was much in your power to oblige all who could pretend to merit from the public, so it was more in your nature and inclination. If any went ill-satisfied from the treasury, while it was in your lordship’s management, it proclaimed the want of desert, and not of friends: You distributed your master’s favour with so equal hands, that justice herself could not have held the scales more even; but with that natural propensity to do good, that had that treasure been your own, your inclination to bounty must have ruined you. No man attended to be denied: No man bribed for expedition: Want and desert were pleas sufficient. By your own integrity, and your prudent choice of those whom you employed, the king gave all that he intended; and gratuities to his officers made not vain his bounty. This, my lord, you were in your public capacity of high treasurer, to which you ascended by such degrees, that your royal master saw your virtues still growing to his favours, faster than they could rise to you. Both at home and abroad, with your sword and with your counsel, you have served him with unbiassed honour, and unshaken resolution; making his greatness, and the true interest of your country, the standard and measure of your actions. Fortune may desert the wise and brave, but true virtue never will forsake itself. It is the interest of the world, that virtuous men should attain to greatness, because it gives them the power of doing good: But when, by the iniquity of the times, they are brought to that extremity, that they must either quit their virtue or their fortune, they owe themselves so much, as to retire to the private exercise of their honour; — to be great within, and by the constancy of their resolutions, to teach the inferior world how they ought to judge of such principles, which are asserted with so generous and so unconstrained a trial.

  But this voluntary neglect of honours has been of rare example in the world: Few men have frowned first upon fortune, and precipitated themselves from the top of her wheel, before they felt at least the declination of it. We read not of many emperors like Dioclesian and Charles the Fifth, who have preferred a garden and a cloister before a crowd of followers, and the troublesome glory of an active life, which robs the possessor of his rest and quiet, to secure the safety and happiness of others. Seneca, with the help of his philosophy, could never attain to that pitch of virtue: He only endeavoured to prevent his fall by descending first, and offered to resign that wealth which he knew he could no longer hold; he would only have made a present to his master of what he foresaw would become his prey; he strove to avoid the jealousy of a tyrant, — you dismissed yourself from the attendance and privacy of a gracious king. Our age has afforded us many examples of a contrary nature; but your lordship is the only one of this. It is easy to discover in all governments, those who wait so close on fortune, that they are never to be shaken off at any turn: Such who seem to have taken up a resolution of being great; to continue their stations on the theatre of business; to change with the scene, and shift the vizard for another part — these men condemn in their discourses that virtue which they dare not practise: But the sober part of this present age, and impartial posterity, will do right, both to your lordship and to them: And, when they read on what accounts, and with how much magnanimity, you quitted those honours, to which the highest ambition of an English subject could aspire, will apply to you, with much more reason, what the historian said of a Roman emperor, “Multi diutius imperium tenuerunt; nemo fortius reliquit.”

  To this retirement of your lordship, I wish I could bring a better entertainment than this play; which, though it succeeded on the stage, will scarcely bear a serious perusal; it being contrived and written in a month, the subject barren, the persons low, and the writing not heightened with many laboured scenes. The consideration of these defects ought to have prescribed more modesty to the author, than to have presented it to that person in the world for whom he has the greatest honour, and of whose patronage the best of his endeavours had been unworthy: But I had not satisfied myself in staying longer, and could never have paid the debt with a much better play. As it is, the meanness of it will shew; at least, that I pretend not by it to make any manner of return for your favours; and that I only give you a new occasion of exercising your goodness to me, in pardoning the failings and imperfections of,

  My Lord,

  Your Lordship’s

  Most humble, most obliged,

  Most obedient servant,

  John Dryden.

  PROLOGUE.

  This poem was written as far back as 1662, and was then termed a Satire against the Dutch.

  As needy gallants in the scriveners’ hands,

  Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgaged lands,

  The first fat buck of all the season’s sent,

  And keeper takes no fee in compliment:

  The dotage of some Englishmen is such

  To fawn on those who ruin them — the Dutch.

  They shall have all, rather than make a war

  With those who of the same religion are.

  The Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too,

  Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you.

  Some are resolved not to find out the cheat,

  But, cuckold like, love him who does the feat:

  What injuries soe’er upon us fall,

  Yet, still, The same religion, answers all:

  Religion wheedled you to civil war,

  Drew English blood, and Dutchmen’s now would spare:

  Be gulled no longer, for you’ll find it true,

  They have no more religion, faith — than you;

  Interest’s the god they worship in their state;

  And you, I take it, have not much of that.

  Well, monarchies may own religion’s name,

  But states are atheists in their very frame.

  They share a sin, and such proportions fall,

  That, like a stink, ’tis nothing to them all.

  How they love England, you shall see this day;

  No map shews Holland truer than our play:

  Their pictures and inscriptions well we know;

  We may be bold one medal sure to show.

  View then their falsehoods, rapine, cruelty;

  And think what once they were, they still would be:

  But hope not either language, plot, or art;

  ’Twas writ in haste, but with an English heart:

  And least hope wit; in Dutchmen that would be

  As much improper, as would honesty.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  Captain Gabriel Towerson.

  Mr Beamont,

  Mr Collins,}

  }English Merchants, his Friends.

  Captain Middleton, an English Sea Captain.

  Perez, a Spanish Captain.

  Harman Senior, Governor of Amboyna.

  The Fiscal.

  Harman Junior, Son to the Governor.

  Van Herring, a Dutch Merchant.

  Isabinda, betrothed to Towerson, an Indian Lady.

  Julia, Wife to Perez.

  An English Woman.

  Page to Towerson.

  A Skipper.

  Two Dutch Merchants.

  SCENE — Amboyna.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I. — A Castle on the Sea.

  Enter Harman Senior, the Governor, the Fiscal, and Van Herring: Guards.

  Fisc. A happy day to our noble governor.

  Har. Morrow, Fiscal.

  Van Her. Did the last ships, which came from Holland to these parts, bring us no news of moment?

  Fisc. Yes, the best that ever came into Amboyna, since we set footing here; I mean as to our interest.

  Har. I wonder much my letters then gave me so short accounts; they only said the Orange party was grown strong again, since Barnevelt had suffered.

  Van Her. Mine inform me farther, the price of pepper, and of other spices, was raised of late in Europe.

  Har. I wish that news may hold; but much suspect it, while the English maintain their factories among us in Amboyna, or in the neighbouring plantations of Seran.

  F
isc. Still I have news that tickles me within; ha, ha, ha! I’faith it does, and will do you, and all our countrymen.

  Har. Pr’ythee do not torture us, but tell it.

  Van Her. Whence comes this news?

  Fisc. From England.

  Har. Is their East India fleet bound outward for these parts, or cast away, or met at sea by pirates?

  Fisc. Better, much better yet; ha, ha, ha!

  Har. Now am I famished for my part of the laughter.

  Fisc. Then, my brave governor, if you’re a true Dutchman, I’ll make your fat sides heave with the conceit on’t, ‘till you’re blown like a pair of large smith’s bellows; here, look upon this paper.

  Har. [reading.] You may remember we did endamage the English East-India Company the value of five hundred thousand pounds, all in one year; a treaty is now signed, in which the business is ta’en up for fourscore thousand. — This is news indeed: would I were upon the castle-wall, that I might throw my cap into the sea, and my gold chain after it! this is golden news, boys.

  Van Her. This is news would kindle a thousand bonfires, and make us piss them out again in Rhenish wine.

  Har. Send presently to all our factories, acquaint them with these blessed tidings: If we can ‘scape so cheap, ‘twill be no matter what villanies henceforth we put in practice.

  Fisc. Hum! why this now gives encouragement to a certain plot, which I have been long brewing, against these skellum English. I almost have it here in pericranio, and ’tis a sound one, ‘faith; no less than to cut all their throats, and seize all their effects within this island. I warrant you we may compound again.

  Van Her. Seizing their factories I like well enough, it has some savour in’t; but for this whoreson cutting of throats, it goes a little against the grain, because ’tis so notoriously known in Christendom, that they have preserved ours from being cut by the Spaniards.

  Har. Hang them, base English starts, let them e’en take their part of their own old proverb — Save a thief from the gallows; they would needs protect us rebels, and see what comes to themselves.

  Fisc. You’re i’the right on’t, noble Harman; their assistance, which was a mercy and a providence to us, shall be a judgment upon them.

  Van Her. A little favour would do well; though not that I would stop the current of your wit, or any other plot, to do them mischief; but they were first discoverers of this isle, first traded hither, and showed us the way.

  Fisc. I grant you that; nay more, that, by composition made after many long and tedious quarrels, they were to have a third part of the traffic, we to build forts, and they to contribute to the charge.

  Har. Which we have so increased each year upon them, we being in power, and therefore judges of the cost, that we exact whatever we please, still more than half the charge; and on pretence of their non-payment, or the least delay, do often stop their ships, detain their goods, and drag them into prisons, while our commodities go on before, and still forestall their markets.

  Fisc. These, I confess, are pretty tricks, but will not do our business; we must ourselves be ruined at long run, if they have any trade here; I know our charge at length will eat us out: I would not let these English from this isle have cloves enough to stick an orange with, not one to throw into their bottle-ale.

  Har. But to bring this about now, there’s the cunning.

  Fisc. Let me alone awhile; I have it, as I told you, here; mean time we must put on a seeming kindness, call them our benefactors and dear brethren, pipe them within the danger of our net, and then we’ll draw it o’er them: When they’re in, no mercy, that’s my maxim.

  Van Her. Nay, brother, I am not too obstinate for saving Englishmen, ’twas but a qualm of conscience, which profit will dispel: I have as true a Dutch antipathy to England, as the proudest he in Amsterdam; that’s a bold word now.

  Har. We are secure of our superiors there. Well, they may give the king of Great Britain a verbal satisfaction, and with submissive fawning promises, make shew to punish us; but interest is their god as well as ours. To that almighty, they will sacrifice a thousand English lives, and break a hundred thousand oaths, ere they will punish those that make them rich, and pull their rivals down.

  [Guns go off within.

  Van Her. Heard you those guns?

  Har. Most plainly.

  Fisc. The sound comes from the port; some ship arrived salutes the castle, and I hope brings more good news from Holland.

  [Guns again.

  Har. Now they answer them from the fortress.

  Enter Beamont and Collins.

  Van Her. Beamont and Collins, English merchants both; perhaps they’ll certify us.

  Beam. Captain Harman van Spelt, good day to you.

  Har. Dear, kind Mr Beamont, a thousand and a thousand good days to you, and all our friends the English.

  Fisc. Came you from the port, gentlemen?

  Col. We did; and saw arrive, our honest, and our gallant countryman, brave captain Gabriel Towerson.

  Beam. Sent to these parts from our employers of the East India company in England, as general of the voyage.

  Fisc. Is the brave Towerson returned?

  Col. The same, sir.

  Har. He shall be nobly welcome. He has already spent twelve years upon, or near, these rich Molucca isles, and home returned with honour and great wealth.

  Fisc. The devil give him joy of both, or I will for him.[Aside.

  Beam. He’s my particular friend; I lived with him, both at Tencrate, Tydore, and at Seran.

  Van Her. Did he not leave a mistress in these parts, a native of this island of Amboyna?

  Col. He did; I think they call her Isabinda, who received baptism for his sake, before he hence departed.

  Har. ’Tis much against the will of all her friends, she loves your countryman, but they are not disposers of her person; she’s beauteous, rich, and young, and Towerson well deserves her.

  Beam. I think, without flattery to my friend, he does. Were I to chuse, of all mankind, a man, on whom I would rely for faith and counsel, or more, whose personal aid I would invite, in any worthy cause, to second me, it should be only Gabriel Towerson; daring he is, and thereto fortunate; yet soft, and apt to pity the distressed, and liberal to relieve them: I have seen him not alone to pardon foes, but by his bounty win them to his love: If he has any fault, ’tis only that to which great minds can only subject be — he thinks all honest, ‘cause himself is so, and therefore none suspects.

  Fisc. I like him well for that; this fault of his great mind, as Beamont calls it, may give him cause to wish he was more wary, when it shall be too late.

  [Aside.

  Har. I was in some small hope, this ship had been of our own country, and brought back my son; for much about this season I expect him. Good-morrow, gentlemen; I go to fill a brendice to my noble captain’s health, pray tell him so; the youth of our Amboyna I’ll send before, to welcome him.

  Col. We’ll stay, and meet him here. [Exeunt Harman, Fiscal, and Van Herring.

  Beam. I do not like these fleering Dutchmen, they overact their kindness.

  Col. I know not what to think of them; that old fat governor, Harman van Spelt, I have known long; they say he was a cooper in his country, and took the measure of his hoops for tuns by his own belly: I love him not, he makes a jest of men in misery; the first fat merry fool I ever knew, that was ill-natured.

  Beam. He’s absolutely governed by this Fiscal, who was, as I have heard, an ignorant advocate in Rotterdam, such as in England we call a petty-fogging rogue; one that knows nothing, but the worst part of the law, its tricks and snares: I fear he hates us English mortally. Pray heaven we feel not the effects on’t.

  Col. Neither he, nor Harman, will dare to shew their malice to us, now Towerson is come. For though, ’tis true, we have no castle here, he has an awe upon them in his worth, which they both fear and reverence.

  Beam. I wish it so may prove; my mind is a bad prophet to me, and what it does forbode of ill, it seldom fails
to pay me. Here he comes.

  Col. And in his company young Harman, son to our Dutch governor. I wonder how they met.

  Enter Towerson, Harman Junior, and a Skipper.

  Tow. [Entering, to the Skipper.] These letters see conveyed with speed to our plantation. This to Cambello, and to Hitto this, this other to Loho. Tell them, their friends in England greet them well; and when I left them, were in perfect health.

  Skip. Sir, you shall be obeyed.[Exit Skipper.

  Beam. I heartily rejoice that our employers have chose you for this place: a better choice they never could have made, or for themselves, or me.