_Prettyman._ Well, Tom, I hope shortly we shall have another coin for thee; for now the wars are coming on, I shall grow to be a man of metal. _Bayes._ O, you did not do that half enough. _Johnson._ Methinks he does it admirably. _Bayes._ I, pretty well, but he does not hit me in't, he does not top his part. _Thimble._ That's the way to be stamped yourself, Sir, I shall see you come home like an angel for the king's evil, with a hole bored through you. _Bayes._ There he has hit it up to the hilt. How do you like it now, gentlemen? is not this pure wit? _Smith._ 'Tis snip snap, Sir, as you say, but methinks not pleasant nor to the purpose, for the play does not go on. The plot stands still. _Bayes._ Why, what the devil is the plot good for but to bring in fine things. Dryden could scarcely be expected to remain silent under the blow here aimed at his plays. An opportunity for revenge soon presented itself, when he undertook to compose a political satire upon Monmouth and his intrigues. Some say that this remarkable poem was written at the command of Charles. It had a great success, five editions being sold within the year--one cause of its popularity being its novel character. The idea of introducing Scriptural impersonations into a poem was new or nearly so, and very successful. Monmouth had already been called Absalom, and as the King (David) was very fond of him, it was desirable to place his shortcomings to the account of his advisers, represented by Achitophel. The way in which Dryden handled his adversaries may be understood from such passages as:-- "Levi, thou art a load: I'll lay thee down And show rebellion bare, without a gown; Poor slaves in metre, dull and addle-pated Who rhime below e'en David's psalms translated." Doeg is another enemy:-- "'Twere pity treason at his door to lay Who makes heaven's gate a lock to its own key. Let him rail on, let his invective muse Have four and twenty letters to abuse, Which, if he jumbles to one line of sense Indict him of a capital offence." This satire led to some replies, which Dryden crushed in his "Mac Flecnoe," a poem named after an Irish priest--an inferior poet--who, but for this notice, would never have been known to posterity. Shadwell was the man really aimed at; Mac Flecnoe exclaims:-- "Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he Who stands confirmed in full stupidity, The rest to some faint meaning make pretence But Shadwell never deviates into sense."[58] After much in the same strain, he finishes with:-- "Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame In keen iambics, but mild anagram. Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command Some peaceful province in acrostic land, There thou mayest wings display and altars raise, And torture one poor world ten thousand ways."