[187] In the London Gazette, No. 3557, Thursday, December 14, 1699, it is mentioned, that a proclamation for preventing and _punishing_ immorality and profaneness, had been issued out on the 11th instant. We know, by the experience of our own time, the justice of Dryden’s observation. [188] Not at St James’ Church, but at the Chapel Royal. The pews, it seems, were raised to prevent the devotions of the maids of honour from any distractions in time of service. But the ballad maliciously supposes, that the intention was to confine the sun-beams of their eyes to the preacher, Bishop Burnet. The ballad itself may be found Vol. X. p. 270. [189] This poem is a banter upon the interest which the nobility took in the disputes between the Dury-Lane theatre, where Skipwith was manager, and that in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, of which Betterton was sovereign. The “Island Princess” of Fletcher had been converted into a sort of opera, by Peter Motteux, and acted at Drury-Lane in 1699. The peculiar taste of Rich for every thing that respected show and machinery is well known. The CONFEDERATES, or the First Happy Day of the ISLAND PRINCESS. Ye vile traducers of the female kind, Who think the fair to cruelty inclined, Recant your error, and with shame confess Their tender care of Skipwith[190] in distress: For now to vindicate this monarch’s right, The Scotch and English equal charms unite; In solemn leagues contending nations join, And Britain labours with the vast design. An opera with loud applause is played, Which famed Motteux in soft heroics made; And all the sworn Confederates resort, To view the triumph of their sovereign’s court. In bright array the well-trained host appears; Supreme command brave Derwentwater[191] bears; And next in front George Howard’s bride[192] does shine, The living honour of that ancient line. The wings are led by chiefs of matchless worth; Great Hamilton,[193] the glory of the North, Commands the left; and England’s dear delight, The bold Fitzwalter[194] charges on the right. The Prince, to welcome his propitious friends, A throne erected on the stage ascends. He said:--Blest angels! for great ends designed, The best, and sure the fairest, of your kind, How shall I praise, or in what numbers sing Your just compassion of an injured king? Till you appeared, no prospect did remain, My crown and falling sceptre to maintain; No noisy beaus in all my realm were found; No beauteous nymphs my empty boxes crowned: But still I saw, O dire heart-breaking woe! My own sad consort[195] in the foremost row. But this auspicious day new empire gives; And if by your support my nation lives, For you my bards shall tune the sweetest lays, Norton[196] and Henley[197] shall resound your praise; And I, not last of the harmonious train, Will give a loose to my poetic vein.