Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  Till at the last she pregnant grew.

  And from her womb, in little time, brought forth

  This monstrous, most detested birth [Libel].

  Of children born with teeth we’ve beard,

  And some, like comets, with a beard,

  Which seem’d to be fore-runners of dire change;

  But never hitherto was seen,

  Born from a Wapping drab, or Shoreditch quean,

  A form like this so hideous and so strange.

  To help whose mother in her pains, there came

  Many a well-known dame.

  The bawd Hypocrisy was there,

  And madam Impudence the fair:

  Dame Scandal with her squinting eyes,

  That loves to set good neighbours at debate,

  And raise commotions in a jealous state,

  Was there, and Malice, queen of far-spread lies,

  With all their train of Frauds and Forgeries.

  But midwife Mutiny, that busy drab,

  That’s always talking, always loud,

  Was she that first took up the babe,

  And of the office most was proud.

  Behold it’s head of horrid form appears:

  To spite the pillory, it had no ears.

  When straight the bawd cried out, ’twas surely kin

  To the blest family of Pryn [see Note IX].

  But Scandal offer’d to depose her word,

  Or oath, the father was a lord [a sarcasm on Lord Rochester].

  The nose was ugly, long and big,

  Broad, and snouty like a pig;

  Which shew’d he would in dunghills love to dig;

  Love to cast stinking satires up in ill-pil’d rhymes,

  And live by the corruptions of unhappy times.

  XIII.

  They promis’d all by turns to take him,

  And a hopeful youth to make him.

  To nurse he straight was sent

  To, a sister-witch, tho’ of another sort,

  One who profess’d no good, nor any meant:

  All day she practis’d charms, by night she hardly slept.

  Yet in the outcasts of a northern factious town,

  A little smoky mansion of her own,

  Where her familiars to her did resort,

  A cell she kept [see Note X]:

  Hell she ador’d, and Satan was her god;

  And many an ugly loathsome toad

  Crawl’d round her walls, and croak’d.

  Under her roof, all dismal, black and smok’d,

  Harbour’d beetles, and unwholesome bats,

  Sprawling nests of little cats:

  All which were imps she cherish’d with her blood,

  To make her spells succeed and good;

  Still at her rivell’d breasts they hung, whene’er mankind

  she curs’d [see Note XII],

  And with these foster-brethren was our monster nurs’d.

  In little time the hell-bred brat

  Grew plump and fat;

  Without his leading-strings could walk,

  And (as the sorceress taught him) talk;

  At seven years old he went to school,

  Where first he grew a foe to rule.

  Never would he learn as taught,

  But still new ways affected, and new methods sought.

  Not that he wanted parts

  T’ improve in letters, and proceed in arts;

  But as negligent as sly,

  Of all perverseness brutishly was full,

  (By nature idle) lov’d to shift and lie,

  And was obstinately dull:

  Till spite of nature, thro’ great pains, the sot,

  (And th’ influence of th’ ill genius of our land)

  At last in part began to understand.

  Some insight in the Latin tongue he got;

  Could smatter pretty well, and write too a plain hand.

  For which his guardians all thought fit,

  In compliment to his most hopeful wit,

  He should be sent to learn the laws,

  And out of the good old, to raise a damn’d new cause.

  XIV.

  In which the better to improve his mind,

  As by nature he was bent

  To search in bidden paths, and things long buried find,

  A wretch’s converse much he did frequent:

  One who this world, as that did him, disown’d,

  And in an unfrequented corner, where

  Nothing was pleasant, hardly healthful, found,

  He led his hated life.

  Needy, and ev’n of necessaries bare.

  No servant had he, children, friend, or wife:

  But of a little remnant, got by fraud,

  (For all ill turns he lov’d, all good detested, and believ’d no god)

  Thrice in a week he chang’d a hoarded groat,

  With which of beggars’ scraps he bought.

  Then from a neighb’ring fountain water got,

  Not to be clean, but slake his thirst.

  He never blest himself, and all things else he curst.

  The cell in which he (tho’ but seldom) slept,

  Lay like a den, uncleans’d, unswept:

  And there those jewels which he lov’d he kept;

  Old worn-out statutes, and records

  Of commons’ privileges, and the rights of lords.

  But bound up by themselves with care were laid

  All the acts, resolves, and orders made

  By the old long Rump-parliament,

  Thro’ all the changes of it’s government:

  From which with readiness he could debate

  Concerning matters of the state,

  All down from godly forty-one, to horrid forty-eight [see Note XII],

  XV.

  His friendship much our monster sought

  By instinct, and by inclination top:

  So without much ado

  They were together brought.

  To him obedience Libel swore, and by him was he taught;

  He learnt of him all goodness to detest;

  To be ashamed of no disgrace:

  In all things, but obedience, to be beast;

  To hide a coward’s heart, and show a hardy face.

  He taught him to call government a clog,

  But to bear beatings like a dog:

  T’have no religion, honesty, or sense,

  But to profess them all for a pretence.

  Fraught with these morals, he began

  To complete him more for man:

  Distinguish’d to him in an hour

  ‘Twixt Legislative and Judicial Power;

  How to frame a Commonwealth,

  And Democracy by stealth;

  To palliate it at first, and cry

  ’Twas but a well-mixt Monarchy.

  And Treason Salus Populi;

  Into rebellion to divide the nation,

  By fair Committees of Association;

  How by a lawful means to bring

  In arms against himself the King,

  With a distinguishing old trick,

  ‘Twixt persons Natural, and Politic [see Note XIII];

  How to make faithful servants traitors,

  Thorough-pac’d rebels legislators,

  And at last troopers adjutators.

  Thus well-inform’d, and furnish’d with enough

  Of such like wordy canting stuff,

  Our blade set forth, and quickly grew

  A leader in a factious crew.

  Where’er he came, ’twas be first silence broke,

  And swell’d with ev’ry work he spoke:

  By which becoming saucy grace,

  He gain’d authority and place:

  By many for preferments was thought fit,

  For talking treason without fear or wit:

  For opening failings in the state:

  For loving noisy and unsound debate.

  And wearing of a mystical green ribband in his hat
[see Note XIV].

  XVI.

  Thus, like Alcides in his lion’s skin,

  He very dreadful grew;

  But, like that Hercules when love crept in,

  And th’ hero to his distaff drew,

  His foes that found him saw he was but man:

  So when my faithless Clio by her snare

  Had brought him to her arms, and I surpris’d him there,

  At once to hate and scorn him I began;

  To see how foolishly she had drest,

  And for diversion trick’d the beast.

  He was poetry all o’er,

  On ev’ry side, behind, before:

  About him nothing could I see,

  But party-colour’d poetry.

  Painter’s advices, letanies,

  Ballads, and all the spurious excess

  Of ills that malice could devise,

  Or ever swarm’d from a licentious press,

  Hung round about him like a spell:

  And in his own hand too was writ

  That worthy piece of modern wit,

  The Country’s late Appeal [see Note XV].

  But from such ills when will our wretched state

  Be freed? and who shall crush this serpent’s head?

  ’Tis said we may in ancient legends read

  Of a huge dragon, sent by fate

  To lay a sinful kingdom waste:

  So thro’ it all he rang’d, devouring as he past,

  And each day with a virgin broke his fast [see Note XVI]:

  Till wretched matrons curs’d their wombs,

  So hardly was their loss endur’d:

  The lovers all despair’d, and sought their tombs

  In the same monster’s jaws, and of their pains were cur’d.

  Till, like our monster too, and with the same

  Curst ends, to the metropolis he came.

  His cruelties renew’d again,

  And ev’ry day a maid was slain.

  The curse thro’ ev’ry family had past;

  When to the sacrifice at last

  Th’ unhappy monarch’s only child must bow:

  A royal daughter needs must suffer then, a Royal Brother now.

  XVII.

  On him this dragon Libel needs will prey;

  On him has cast

  His sordid venom, and profan’d

  With spurious verse his spotless fame;

  Which shall for ever stand

  Unblemish’d, and to ages last,

  When all his foes lie buried in their shame.

  Else tell me why (some prophet that is wise)

  Heaven took such care

  To make him ev’ry thing that’s rare.

  Dear to the heart, desirous to the eyes?

  Why do all good men bless him as he goes?

  Why at his presence shrink his foes?

  Why do the brave all strive his honour to defend?

  Why thro’ the world is be distinguish’d most

  By titles, which but few can boast,

  A most just master, and a faithful friend?

  One who never yet did wrong

  To high or low, to old or young?

  Of him what orphan can complain?

  Of him what widow make her moan?

  But such as wish him here again,

  And miss his goodness now he’s gone.

  If this be (as I am sure ’tis) true,

  Then pr’ythee, prophet, tell me too,

  Why lives he in the world’s esteem,

  Not one man’s foe? and why then are not all men friends with him [see Note XVII]?

  XVIII.

  Whene’er his life was set at stake

  For his ungrateful country’s sake,

  What dangers or what labours did he ever shun?

  Or what wonders has not done?

  Watchful all night, and busy all the day,

  (Spreading his fleet in sight of Holland’s shore)

  Triumphantly ye saw his flags and streamers play.

  Then did the English lion roar,

  Whilst the Belgian couchant lay [see Note XVIII].

  Big with the thoughts of conquest and renown,

  Of Britain’s honour, and his own,

  To them he like a threading comet shin’d,

  Rough as the sea, and furious as the wind:

  But constant as the stars that never move;

  Or as women would have love.

  The trembling genius of their state

  Look’d out, and straight shrunk back his head,

  To see our daring banners spread.

  Whilst in their harbours they

  Like batten’d monsters welt’ring lay:

  The winds, when our’s they’d kiss’d, scorn’d with their flags to play. —

  But drooping like their captains’ hearts,

  Each pendant, ev’ry streamer hung;

  The seamen seem’d t’have lost their arts:

  Their ships at anchors now, of which we had heard them boast,

  With ill-furl’d sails, and rattlings loose, by ev’ry billow tost.

  Lay like neglected harps, untun’d, unstrung;

  Till at the last, provok’d with shame,

  Forth from their dens the baited foxes came:

  Foxes in council, and in fight too grave;

  Seldom true, and now not brave.

  They bluster’d out the day with shew of fight,

  And run away in the good-natured night.

  XIX.

  A bloody battle next was fought,

  And then in triumph home a welcome fleet he brought,

  With spoils of victory, and glory fraught.

  To him then ev’ry heart was open, down

  From the great man to the clown;

  In him rejoic’d, to him inclin’d:

  And as his health round the glad board did pass.

  Each honest fellow cried, Fill full my glass!

  And shew’d the fullness of his mind.

  No discontented vermin of ill times

  Durst then affront him but in show;

  Nor libel dash him with his dirty rhymes:

  Nor may he live in peace that does it now.

  And whose heart would not wish so too,

  That had but seen

  When his tumultuous misled foes

  Against him rose,

  With what heroic grace

  He chose the weight of wrong to undergo?

  No tempest on his brow, unalter’d in his face,

  True witness of the innocence within.

  But when the messengers did mandates bring

  For his retreat to foreign land,

  Since sent from the relenting hand

  Of the most loving Brother, kindest King [see Note XIX],

  If in his heart regret did rise,

  It never ‘scap’d his tongue or eyes;

  With steady virtue ’twas allay’d,

  And like a mighty conqu’ror, he obey’d.

  XX.

  It was a dark and gloomy day,

  Sad as the bus’ness, sullen too,

  As proud men, when in vain they woo,

  Or soldiers cheated of their pay.

  The court, where pleasures us’d to flow,

  Became the scene of mourning and of woe.

  Desolate was ev’ry room,

  Where men for news and bus’ness use to come.

  With folded arms and down-cast eyes men walk’d

  In corners, and with caution talk’d.

  All things prepar’d, the hour drew near

  When he must part: his last short time was spent

  In leaving blessings on his children dear.

  To them with eager haste and love he went:

  The eldest first embrac’d,

  As new-born day in beauty bright,

  But sad in mind as deepest night.

  What tend’rest hearts could say, betwixt them past;

  Till grief too close upon them crept:

  So sighing h
e withdrew, she turn’d away and wept.

  Much of the father in his breast did rise,

  When on the next he fix’d his eyes,

  A tender infant in the nurse’s arms,

  Full of kind play and pretty charms.

  And as to give the farewell kiss he near it drew,

  About his manly neck two little arms it threw;

  Smil’d in his eyes, as if it begg’d his stay,

  And look’d kind things it could not say.

  XXI.

  But the great pomp of grief was yet to come.

  Th’ appointed time was almost past,

  Th’ impatient tides knock’d at the shore, and bid him haste

  To seek a foreign home.

  The summons he resolv’d t’obey;

  Disdaining of his suff’ring to complain.

  Tho’ ev’ry step seem’d trod with pain:

  So forth he came, attended on his way

  By a sad lamenting throng,

  That blest him, and about him bung:

  A weight his gen’rous heart could hardly bear;

  But for the comfort that was near,

  His beauteous mate, the fountain of his joys,

  That fed his soul with love;

  The cordial that can mortal pains remove,

  To which all worldly blessings else are toys.

  I saw them ready for departure stand,

  Just when approach’d the monarch of our land,

  And took the charming mourner by the hand.

  T’ express all noblest offices he strove,

  Of royal goodness, and a brother’s love.

  Then down to the shore-side,

  Where, to convey them, did two royal barges ride,

  With solemn pace they past:

  And there so tenderly embrac’d,

  All griev’d by sympathy to see them part,

  And their kind pains touch’d each bystander’s heart [see Note XX].

  Then hand in hand the pitied pair

  Turn’d round, to face their fate:

  She, ev’n amidst afflictions, fair;

  He, tho’ opprest, still great.

  Into th’ expecting boat with haste they went;

  Where, as the troubled fair one to the shore some wishes sent,

  For that dear pledge she had left behind,

  And as her passion grew too mighty for her mind,

  She of some tears her eyes beguil’d;

  Which, as upon her cheek they lay,

  The happy hero kiss’d away;

  And, as she wept, blush’d with disdain, and smil’d.

  Straight forth they launch into the high-swoln Thames:

  The well-struck oars lave up the yielding streams.

  All fix’d their longing eyes, and wishing stood,

  Till they were got into the wider flood;

  Till lessen’d out of sight, and seen no more:

  Then sigh’d, and turn’d into the hated shore.

  NOTES.

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