The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 13Dryden, John
General
The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 13
Dryden, John
Poetry
Borne by six wearied slaves in open view,
Who cancelled an old will, and forged a new;
Made wealthy at the small expence of signing
With a wet seal, and a fresh interlining?
The lady, next, requires a lashing line,
Who squeezed a toad into her husband's wine:
So well the fashionable medicine thrives,
That now 'tis practised even by country wives;
Poisoning, without regard of fame or fear,
And spotted corpse are frequent on the bier.
Wouldst thou to honours and preferments climb?
Be bold in mischief, dare some mighty crime,
Which dungeons, death, or banishment deserves;
For virtue is but dryly praised, and starves.
Great men to great crimes owe their plate embost, }
Fair palaces, and furniture of cost, }
And high commands; a sneaking sin is lost. }
Who can behold that rank old letcher keep
His son's corrupted wife, and hope to sleep?[68]
Or that male-harlot, or that unfledged boy,
Eager to sin, before he can enjoy?
If nature could not, anger would indite
Such woful stuff as I or Sh----ll[69] write.
Count from the time, since old Deucalion's boat,
Raised by the flood, did on Parnassus float,[70]
And, scarcely mooring on the cliff, implored
An oracle how man might be restored;
When softened stones and vital breath ensued,
And virgins naked were by lovers viewed;
What ever since that golden age was done,
What human kind desires, and what they shun;
Rage, passions, pleasures, impotence of will,
Shall this satirical collection fill.
What age so large a crop of vices bore,
Or when was avarice extended more?
When were the dice with more profusion thrown?
The well-filled fob not emptied now alone,
But gamesters for whole patrimonies play;
The steward brings the deeds which must convey
The lost estate: what more than madness reigns,
When one short sitting many hundreds drains,
And not enough is left him to supply }
Board-wages, or a footman's livery? }
What age so many summer-seats did see? }
Or which of our forefathers fared so well,
As on seven dishes at a private meal?
Clients of old were feasted; now, a poor
Divided dole is dealt at the outward door;
Which by the hungry rout is soon dispatched:
The paltry largess, too, severely watched,
Ere given; and every face observed with care,
That no intruding guest usurp a share.
Known, you receive; the crier calls aloud }
Our old nobility of Trojan blood, }
Who gape among the crowd for their precarious food. }
The prætor's and the tribune's voice is heard;
The freedman jostles, and will be preferred;
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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