listened, men in prison or exile who are waiting: fortune, liberty, life was at stake. The thing is to strike the nail on the head, hard, not gracefully. The public must recognize the characters, shout their names as they recognize the portraits, applaud the attacks which are made upon them, rail at them, hurl them from the high rank which they covet. Dryden passes them all in review: "In the first rank of these did Zimri[462] stand, A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome: Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. Blest madman, who could every hour employ With something new to wish or to enjoy! Railing and praising were his usual themes; And both, to show his judgment, in extremes: So over-violent, or over-civil, That every man with him was God or devil. In squandering wealth was his peculiar art; Nothing went unrewarded but desert. Beggared by fools whom still he found too late, He had his jest, and they had his estate. He laugh'd himself from Court; then sought relief By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief: For spite of him, the weight of business fell On Absalom and wise Achitophel; Thus wicked but in will, of means bereft, He left not faction, but of that was left.... "Shimei,[463] whose youth did early promise bring Of zeal to God and hatred to his King; Did wisely from expensive sins refrain And never broke the Sabbath but for gain: Nor ever was he known an oath to vent, Or curse, unless against the government." Against these attacks their chief, Shaftesbury, made a stand; when accused of high treason he was declared not guilty by the grand jury, in spite of all the efforts of the court, amidst the applause of a great crowd; and his partisans caused a medal to be struck, bearing his face, and boldly showing on the reverse London Bridge and the Tower, with the sun rising and shining through a cloud. Dryden replied by his poem of the "Medal," and the violent diatribe overwhelmed the open provocation: "Oh, could the style that copied every grace And plow'd such furrows for an eunuch face, Could it have formed his ever-changing will, The various piece had tired the graver's skill! A martial hero first, with early care, Blown like a pigmy by the winds, to war; A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man, So young his hatred to his Prince began. Next this (how wildly will ambition steer!) A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear; Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold, He cast himself into the saint-like mould, Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain, The loudest bag-pipe of the squeaking train."