John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  POSTSCRIPT.

  This preface being wholly written before the death of my late royal master, (quem semper acerbum, semper honoratum, sic dii voluistis, habebo) I have now lately reviewed it, as supposing I should find many notions in it, that would require correction on cooler thoughts. After four months lying by me, I looked on it as no longer mine, because I had wholly forgotten it; but I confess with some satisfaction, and perhaps a little vanity, that I found myself entertained by it; my own judgment was new to me, and pleased me when I looked on it as another man’s. I see no opinion that I would retract or alter, unless it be, that possibly the Italians went not so far as Spain, for the invention of their operas. They might have it in their own country; and that by gathering up the shipwrecks of the 227 Athenian and Roman theatres, which we know were adorned with scenes, music, dances, and machines, especially the Grecian. But of this the learned Monsieur Vossius, who has made our nation his second country, is the best, and perhaps the only judge now living. As for the opera itself, it was all composed, and was just ready to have been performed, when he, in honour of whom it was principally made, was taken from us.

  He had been pleased twice or thrice to command, that it should be practised before him, especially the first and third acts of it; and publicly declared more than once, that the composition and choruses were more just, and more beautiful, than any he had heard in England. How nice an ear he had in music, is sufficiently known; his praise therefore has established the reputation of it above censure, and made it in a manner sacred. It is therefore humbly and religiously dedicated to his memory.

  It might reasonably have been expected that his death must have changed the whole fabric of the opera, or at least a great part of it. But the design of it originally was so happy, that it needed no alteration, properly so called; for the addition of twenty or thirty lines in the apotheosis of Albion, has made it entirely of a piece, This was the only way which could have been invented, to save it from botched ending; and it fell luckily into my imagination; as if there were a kind of fatality even in the most trivial things concerning the succession: a change was made, and not for the worse, without the least confusion or disturbance; and those very causes, which seemed to threaten us with troubles, conspired to produce our lasting happiness.

  PROLOGUE

  Full twenty years, and more, our labouring stage

  Has lost, on this incorrigible age:

  Our poets, the John Ketches of the nation,

  Have seemed to lash ye, even to excoriation;

  But still no sign remains; which plainly notes,

  You bore like heroes, or you bribed like Oates. —

  What can we do, when mimicking a fop,

  Like beating nut-trees, makes a larger crop?

  ‘Faith, we’ll e’en spare our pains! and, to content you,

  Will fairly leave you what your Maker meant you.

  Satire was once your physic, wit your food;

  One nourished not, and t’other drew no blood:

  We now prescribe, like doctors in despair,

  The diet your weak appetites can bear.

  Since hearty beef and mutton will not do,

  Here’s julep-dance, ptisan of song and show:

  Give you strong sense, the liquor is too heady;

  You’re come to farce, — that’s asses milk, — already.

  Some hopeful youths there are, of callow wit,

  Who one day may be men, if heaven think fit;

  Sound may serve such, ere they to sense are grown,

  Like leading-strings, till they can walk alone. —

  But yet, to keep our friends in countenance, know,

  The wise Italians first invented show;

  Thence into France the noble pageant past:

  ’Tis England’s credit to be cozened last.

  Freedom and zeal have choused you o’er and o’er;

  Pray give us leave to bubble you once more;

  You never were so cheaply fooled before:

  We bring you change, to humour your disease;

  Change for the worse has ever used to please:

  Then, ’tis the mode of France; without whose rules,

  None must presume to set up here for fools.

  In France, the oldest man is always young,

  Sees operas daily, learns the tunes so long,

  Till foot, hand, head, keep time with every song:

  Each sings his part, echoing from pit and box,

  With his hoarse voice, half harmony, half pox.

  Le plus grand roi du monde is always ringing,

  They show themselves good subjects by their singing:

  On that condition, set up every throat;

  You whigs may sing, for you have changed your note.

  Cits and citesses, raise a joyful strain,

  ’Tis a good omen to begin a reign;

  Voices may help your charter to restoring,

  And get by singing, what you lost by roaring.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Mercury.

  Augusta. London.

  Thamesis.

  Democracy.

  Zelota. Feigned Zeal.

  Archon. The General.

  Juno.

  Iris.

  Albion.

  Albanius.

  Pluto.

  Alecto.

  Apollo.

  Neptune.

  Nereids.

  Acacia. Innocence.

  Tyranny.

  Asebia. Atheism, or Ungodliness.

  Proteus.

  Venus.

  Fame.

  A Chorus of Cities.

  A Chorus of Rivers.

  A Chorus of the People.

  A Chorus of Furies.

  A Chorus of Nereids and Tritons.

  A grand Chorus of Heroes, Loves, and Graces.

  THE FRONTISPIECE.

  The curtain rises, and a new frontispiece is seen, joined to the great pilasters, which are seen on each side of the stage: on the flat of each basis is a shield, adorned with gold; in the middle of the shield, on one side, are two hearts, a small scroll of gold over them, and an imperial crown over the scroll; on the other hand, in the shield, are two quivers full of arrows saltyre, &c.; upon each basis stands a figure bigger than the life; one represents Peace, with a palm in one, and an olive branch in the other hand; the other Plenty, holding a cornucopia, and resting on a pillar. Behind these figures are large columns of the Corinthian order, adorned with fruit and flowers: over one of the figures on the trees is the king’s cypher; over the other, the queen’s: over the capitals, on the cornice, sits a figure on each side; one represents Poetry, crowned with laurel, holding a scroll in one hand, the other with a pen in it, and resting on a book; the other, Painting, with a pallet and pencils, &c.: on the sweep of the arch lies one of the Muses, playing on a bass-viol; another of the Muses, on the other side, holding a trumpet in one hand, and the other on a harp. Between these figures, in the middle of the sweep of the arch, is a very large pannel in a frame of gold; in this pannel is painted, on one side, a Woman, representing the city of London, 232 leaning her head on her hand in a dejected posture, showing her sorrow and penitence for her offences; the other hand holds the arms of the city, and a mace lying under it: on the other side is a figure of the Thames, with his legs shackled, and leaning on an empty urn: behind these are two imperial figures; one representing his present majesty; and the other the queen: by the king stands Pallas, (or wisdom and valour,) holding a charter for the city, the king extending his hand, as raising her drooping head, and restoring her to her ancient honour and glory: over the city are the envious devouring Harpies flying from the face of his majesty: By the queen stand the Three Graces, holding garlands of flowers, and at her feet Cupids bound, with their bows and arrows broken, the queen pointing with her sceptre to the river, and commanding the Graces to take off their fetters. Over the king, in a scroll, is this verse of Virgil,

  Discite justitiam, moniti, et non temnere divos.<
br />
  Over the queen, this of the same author,

  Non ignara mali, miscris succurrere disco.

  DECORATIONS OF THE STAGE IN THE FIRST ACT.

  The Curtain rises, and there appears on either side of the Stage, next to the Frontispiece, a Statue on Horseback of Gold, on Pedestals of Marble, enriched with Gold, and bearing the Imperial Arms of England. One of these Statues is taken from that of the late King at Charing-cross; the other from that figure of his present Majesty (done by that noble Artist, Mr. Gibbons) at Windsor.

  The Scene is a Street of Palaces, which lead to the Front of the Royal-Exchange; the great Arch is open, and the view is continued through the open part of the Exchange, to the Arch on the other side, and thence to as much of the Street beyond, as could possibly be taken.

  MERCURY DESCENDS IN A CHARIOT DRAWN BY RAVENS.

  He comes to Augusta and Thamesis. They lie on Couches at a distance from each other in dejected postures; She attended by Cities, He by Rivers.

  On the side of Augusta’s Couch are painted towers falling, a Scarlet Gown, and a Gold Chain, a Cap of Maintenance thrown down, and a Sword in a Velvet Scabbard thrust through it, the City Arms, a Mace with an old useless Charter, and all in disorder. Before Thamesis are broken Reeds, Bull-rushes, Sedge, &c. with his Urn Reverst.

  ACT I.

  Mercury Descends.

  Mer. Thou glorious fabric! stand, for ever stand:

  Well worthy thou to entertain

  The God of Traffic, and of Gain,

  To draw the concourse of the land,

  And wealth of all the main.

  But where the shoals of merchants meeting?

  Welcome to their friends repeating,

  Busy bargains’ deafer sound?

  Tongue confused of every nation?

  Nothing here but desolation,

  Mournful silence reigns around.

  Aug. O Hermes! pity me!

  I was, while heaven did smile,

  The queen of all this isle,

  Europe’s pride,

  And Albion’s bride;

  But gone my plighted lord! ah, gone is he!

  O Hermes! pity me!

  Tham. And I the noble Flood, whose tributary tide

  Does on her silver margent smoothly glide;

  But heaven grew jealous of our happy state,

  And bid revolving fate

  Our doom decree;

  No more the King of Floods am I,

  No more the Queen of Albion, she! [These two Lines are sung by Reprises betwixt Augusta and Thamesis.

  Aug. O Hermes! pity me!

  Tham. O Hermes! pity me!}

  }

  }Sung by Aug. and Tham. together.

  Aug. Behold!

  Tham. Behold!

  Aug. My turrets on the ground,

  That once my temples crowned!

  Tham. The sedgy honours of my brows dispersed!

  My urn reversed!

  Merc. Rise, rise, Augusta, rise!

  And wipe thy weeping eyes:

  Augusta! — for I call thee so:

  ’Tis lawful for the gods to know

  Thy future name,

  And growing fame.

  Rise, rise, Augusta, rise.

  Aug. O never, never will I rise,

  Never will I cease my mourning,

  Never wipe my weeping eyes,

  Till my plighted lord’s returning!

  Never, never will I rise!

  Merc. What brought thee, wretch, to this despair?

  The cause of thy misfortune show.

  Aug. It seems the gods take little care

  Of human things below,

  When even our sufferings here they do not know.

  Merc. Not unknowing came I down,

  Disloyal town!

  Speak! didst not thou

  Forsake thy faith, and break thy nuptial vow?

  Aug. Ah, ’tis too true! too true!

  But what could I, unthinking city, do?

  Faction swayed me,

  Zeal allured me,

  Both assured me.

  Both betrayed me!

  Merc. Suppose me sent

  Thy Albion to restore, —

  Can’st thou repent?

  Aug. My falsehood I deplore!

  Tham. Thou seest her mourn, and I

  With all my waters will her tears supply.

  Merc. Then by some loyal deed regain

  Thy long-lost reputation,

  To wash away the stain

  That blots a noble nation,

  And free thy famous town again

  From force of usurpation.

  Chorus of all. We’ll wash away the stain

  That blots a noble nation,

  And free this famous town again

  From force of usurpation.[Dance of the Followers of Mercury.

  Aug. Behold Democracy and Zeal appear;

  She, that allured my heart away,

  And he, that after made a prey.

  Merc. Resist, and do not fear!

  Chorus of all. Resist, and do not fear!

  Enter Democracy and Zeal attended by Archon.

  Democ. Nymph of the city! bring thy treasures,

  Bring me more

  To waste in pleasures.

  Aug. Thou hast exhausted all my store,

  And I can give no more.

  Zeal. Thou horny flood, for Zeal provide

  A new supply; and swell thy moony tide,

  That on thy buxom back the floating gold may glide.

  Tham. Not all the gold the southern sun produces,

  Or treasures of the famed Levant,

  Suffice for pious uses,

  To feed the sacred hunger of a saint!

  Democ. Woe to the vanquished, woe!

  Slave as thou art,

  Thy wealth impart,

  And me thy victor know!

  Zeal. And me thy victor know.

  Resistless arms are in my hand,

  Thy bars shall burst at my command,

  Thy tory head lie low.

  Woe to the vanquished, woe!

  Aug. Were I not bound by fate

  For ever, ever here,

  My walls I would translate

  To some more happy sphere,

  Removed from servile fear.

  Tham. Removed from servile fear.

  Would I could disappear,

  And sink below the main;

  For commonwealth’s a load,

  My old imperial flood

  Shall never, never bear again.

  A commonwealth’s a load,

  Our old imperial flood,

  Shall never, never, never, bear again.}

  }

  }Thames. and Aug. together.

  Dem. Pull down her gates, expose her bare;

  I must enjoy the proud disdainful fair.

  Haste, Archon, haste

  To lay her waste!

  Zeal. I’ll hold her fast

  To be embraced!

  Dem. And she shall see

  A thousand tyrants are in thee,

  A thousand thousand more in me!

  Archon. to Aug. From the Caledonian shore

  Hither am I come to save thee,

  Not to force or to enslave thee,

  But thy Albion to restore:

  Hark! the peals the people ring,

  Peace, and freedom, and a king.

  Chorus. Hark! the peals the people ring,

  Peace, and freedom, and a king.

  Aug. and Tham. To arms! to arms!

  Archon. I lead the way!

  Merc. Cease your alarms!

  And stay, brave Archon, stay!

  ’Tis doomed by fate’s decree,

  ’Tis doomed that Albion’s dwelling,

  All other isles excelling,

  By peace shall happy be.

  Archon. What then remains for me?

  Merc. Take my caduceus! Take this awful wand,

  With this the infernal ghosts I can command,

  A
nd strike a terror through the Stygian land.

  Commonwealth will want pretences,

  Sleep will creep on all his senses;

  Zeal that lent him her assistance,

  Stand amazed without resistance. [Archon touches Democracy with a Wand.

  Dem. I feel a lazy slumber lays me down:

  Let Albion, let him take the crown.

  Happy let him reign,

  Till I wake again.[Falls asleep.

  Zeal. In vain I rage, in vain

  I rouse my powers;

  But I shall wake again,

  I shall, to better hours.

  Even in slumber will I vex him;

  Still perplex him,

  Still incumber:

  Know, you that have adored him,

  And sovereign power afford him,

  We’ll reap the gains

  Of all your pains,

  And seem to have restored him.[Zeal falls asleep.

  Aug. and Tham. A stupifying sadness

  Leaves her without motion;

  But sleep will cure her madness,

  And cool her to devotion.

  A double Pedestal rises: on the Front of it is painted, in Stone-colour, two Women; one holding a double-faced Vizor; the other a Book, representing Hypocrisy and Fanaticism; when Archon has charmed Democracy and Zeal with the Caduceus of Mercury, they fall asleep on the Pedestal, and it sinks with them.

  Merc. Cease, Augusta! cease thy mourning,

  Happy days appear;

  God-like Albion is returning

  Loyal hearts to chear.

  Every grace his youth adorning,

  Glorious as the star of morning,

  Or the planet of the year.

  Chor. Godlike Albion is returning, &c.

  Merc. to Arch. Haste away, loyal chief, haste away,

  No delay, but obey;

  To receive thy loved lord, haste away.[Ex. Arch.

  Tham. Medway and Isis, you that augment me,

  Tides that increase my watery store,

  And you that are friends to peace and plenty,

  Send my merry boys all ashore;

  Seamen skipping,

  Mariners leaping,

  Shouting, tripping,

  Send my merry boys all ashore!

  A dance of Watermen in the King’s and Duke’s Liveries.

  The Clouds divide, and Juno appears in a Machine drawn by Peacocks; while a Symphony is playing, it moves gently forward, and as it descends, it opens and discovers the Tail of the Peacock, which is so large, that it almost fills the opening of the Stage between Scene and Scene.