Injustice and Error in Criticism.
And first, his Injustice appears by his ungentlemanlike exposing me and others by name, upon a scandalous occasion (as he endeavours to make it) without any Injury done by me to him, or ever giving him any provocation, or the Play's any way deserving it. Oh, but he'll say his Conscience urg'd him to do it—No—not a jot; 'twas dear darling Interest, in good faith, as shall hereafter appear; but in the mean time I am planted upon the shoulders of a Gyant, which is the Ingenious Author of the History of Don Quixote; and there indeed he guesses right, tho he knows nothing of him or of his History, as I will prove by and by, yet confidently, and Absolver-like, he ranges his objections under three heads, which are every one malicious and false, viz.
First, The Prophaneness, with respect to Religion and the Holy Scriptures.
Secondly, The Abuse of the Clergy.
Thirdly, The want of Modesty, and Regard to the Audience.
Well, to prove the Prophaneness, he first instances a bold Song of mine, as he calls it, against Providence; four of the last lines of which he is only pleas'd to shew ye.
D. Quix. p. 1. p. 20. But Providence, that form'd the fair
In such a charming skin,
Their outside made its only care,
And never look'd within.
Collier p. 97. Here, says he, the Poet tells ye Providence makes Mankind by halves, huddles up the Soul, and takes the least care of the better Moyety; this is direct blaspheming the Creation, and a Satyr upon God Almighty. Why, now this, I confess, is enough to provoke some heat in a fellow of my Constitution, to hear this Religious Raving; but yet it looks so like Oliver's Porter's in Bedlam, that I will be calm, and patiently holding up my hand, plead Not Guilty—to all of these objections. But first, pray why does he foyst in the word Mankind here to express the Female Sex, when t'other word is so much more proper. I did intend indeed a small Satyr upon Womankind, pursuant to Marcella's Character, and he has vary'd from that word, I suppose, to amuse the Reader—I'll give ye the whole Stanza.
Did coy Marcella own a Soul
As beauteous as her Eyes,
Her Judgment wou'd her Sence controul,
And teach her how to prize.
But Providence, that form'd the fair
In such a charming Skin,
Their outside made its only care,
And never look'd within.
I only rally a pretty coy wench here for her sullen ill nature, without any Satyr on the Deity, or any thing like it; for as to the Blasphemy, as he calls it, by naming the word Providence, 'tis generally intended in Lyrical Poetry for Goddess Nature, or Fortune, as Mr Vanbrooke notes; but never apply'd seriously to the true Deity, but only by Dr Crambo. How often have we this phrase in Poetry, Nature has made her Body charming; see her bright Eyes, the charming gifts of Nature, &c. making use still of the second cause instead of the first, which we yet know to be the original of all. And 'tis no more Blasphemy to say that Providence took more care of a perverse beautiful Womans Body than her Soul, than 'tis to say that the Sun made a gay Tulip flourish in a Garden to delight the Eye, not caring three-pence tho it never smelt so sweet as a Province rose.
But I have a Rigid Critick and a Severe Inquisitor to deal with—He will have a Satyr upon the true Deity, tho I intend nothing of it. And to go on, my next advance he says is to Droll upon the Resurrection; and to prove it, squirts out these two lines, which are pick'd out of twenty—which he thinks are fit for his purpose—
Ibid. Sleep and Indulge thy self with rest,
Nor dream thou e're shalt rise again.
Now you must know this Song was design'd a solemn piece of morality, and sung as a Requiem or Dirge at the Funeral of Ambrosio—A young Gentleman that dy'd for Love of the aforesaid Marcella—You shall have it all, that you may judge what Drolling is in't.
D. Quix. p 20.
(1.)
Sleep, sleep, poor Youth, sleep, sleep in Peace,
Reliev'd from Love, and mortal care,
Whilst we that pine in Life's disease,
Uncertain blest, less happy are.
(2.)
Couch'd in the dark and silent Grave,
No ills of Fate thou now canst fear;
No more shall Tyrant Power inslave,
Or scornful Beauty be severe.
(3.)
Wars, that do fatal storms disperse,
Far from thy happy Mansion keep;
Earthquakes, that shake the Universe,
Can't rock thee into sounder sleep.
(4.)
With all the Charms of Peace possest,
Secur'd from Life's tormentor, Pain:
Sleep and indulge thy self with rest,
Nor dream thou e're shall rise again.
(5.)
Past are the Pangs of fear and doubt,
The Sun is from the Dial gone,
The Sands are sunk, the Glass is out,
The folly of the Farce is done.
Now will I be judg'd by any reasonable Man, if these words comparatively are not fitter for an Anthem than a Droll, but the Reformers way of doing me Justice, is to take bits and morsels out of things, that for want of the connexion, they may consequently appear ridiculous, as here he does. Again, in his third objection against my third Song, where he says— Ibid. I, (that is in my own person) make a jest of the Fall, rail at Adam and Eve; and then Oliver's Porter, raving again, says, I burlesque the Conduct of God Almighty; now, pray judge whether it ought to be Constru'd so or no. This Song is suppos'd to be made and sung by Gines de Passamonte, a most notorious Atheistical Villain, who, as he is going Chain'd to the Galleys, is redeem'd from them by Don Quixot in his frantick fit; after which, being extreamly pleas'd at the success, he, to make his deliverer merry, entertains him with this Vindication of a Rogue, which is indeed a Satyr upon Humanity in general. I will add agen to our Criticks morsel, for he notes but the four first lines in a place, and give ye one whole Stanza.
When the World first knew Creation,
A Rogue was a Top profession;
When there were no more
In all Nature but four,
There were two of 'em in Transgression.
And the seeds are no less
Since that we may guess,
But have in all Ages bin growing apace;
And Lying and Thieving,
Craft, Pride and Deceiving,
Rage, Murder and Roaring,
Rape, Incest and Whoring,
Branch out from Stock, the rank Vices in vogue,
And make all Mankind one Gigantical Rogue.
And so on: Now tho I grant this might be look'd on as prophane in it self, without application, yet when spoken by one of his character, whom I design to expose, it is no more than natural Character, and has so little the quality of Prophaneness, that my impartial Reader will find a very good Moral in it, by the odious representation of such Atheistical impudence; yet our good natur'd Critick makes me the Prophaner. He, cramm'd full of wonderful Justice, makes me the Vice my self, that only act the true duty of a Poet, and hold up the Glass for others to see their Vices in, but his Malice will not be Authentick with every one, no more than his next Addle Criticism, upon my using the word Redeemer will bear the Test; for he that will argue that that word may not be innocently spoken in Temporal Matters, because it is sometimes us'd as a Divine Attribute, will prove himself rather a Coxcomb than a Casuist: And yet for only this poor word the Cat with Nine Tails are up again, and the Inquisitor in a rage cries out, Collier, p. 198. these insolencies are too big for the Correction of a Pen. Very fine, what horrible correction this deserves, is easily judg'd, and I believe 'twill be own'd too, that if Doctor Absolution (when the charitable Prelates good Nature and Purse got him out of his Stone Apartment yonder, into which his bigotted obstinacy and not his tender Conscience had thrown him) did not think him his Redeemer, and thank him as his Redeemer, he does not only deserve Correction for his wicked ingratitude, (which especially in one of his Coat, is an immoral Cheat upon Heaven) but to have the same punishment that another of his Coat and Kidney lately had, for a Cheat upon the Government and People.
But to go on: In the next place he finds fault with my making sport with Hell, and recites six Lines, which are made of Dogril Stuff, on purpose by the Duke's Servants, who, for his diversion, Acting a kind of Farce are to fright Sancho with Goblings and Furies—but to shew his own Wit in the first Onset here, he has notably made the two first Lines half nonsence.
Collier, p. 198. Appear ye fat Fiends that in Limbo do groan,
That were, when in flesh, the same Souls as his own.
Instead of ——that wore when in flesh, &c.
You that always in Lucifer's Kitchin reside,
'Mongst Sea-coal and Kettles, and grease newly Try'd,
That pamper'd each day with the Garbidge of Souls,
Broil Rashers of Fools for a Break-fast on Coals.
Words adapted only to Sancho's Clownship, course Breeding, and Kitchin Profession, and with no more intent of Impiety in them, than if one should put on a Devils Vizard to play with a Child, does he note again as horrible Prophaneness, and says he does me no wrong in't; now if he insists that Hell is too serious a thing to ridicule, why, perhaps, I think so too, in its Intense quality; but to act a Goblin, a Ghost, a Frog, or a Fury, and to sing to a Country Clown of such Bugbear matters, only to cause a little Diversion in a Noblemans House, has always been very customary, especially at Festivals, and far from being thought to ridicule the main matter. The Absolver, to turn back a little, affirms indeed, That Collier, p. 189. those that bring Devils upon the stage, can hardly believe them any where else; but I can give an instance, that our famous Ben Johnson, who I will believe had a Conscience as good as the Doctors, and who liv'd in as Pious an Age, in his Comedy call'd the Vid. Devil's an Ass, p. 9. Devil's an Ass, makes his first Scene a Solemn Hell, where Lucifer sits in State with all his Privy-Council about him: and when he makes an under Pug there beaten and fool'd by a Clod-pated Squire and his wanton Wife, the Audience took the Representation morally, and never keck'd at the matter. Nay, Milton, tho' upon his secred Subject, comes very near the same thing too; but we must not laugh at silly Sancho, nor put on a Devils face to fright him, but we must be disciplin'd; nay, more, Presented for it. Here, tho' I digress a little, I cannot forbear telling some, that were too busie in doing that Office, that 'tis more easie to accuse our Writings for Blasphemous, than to prove them to be so. To detect us indeed fairly, and prove it upon us, would deserve severe Chastisement; but if it be mistake, and our reputations are injur'd by Rashness and Injustice, or Ignorance, reflection upon it is at least reasonable, and just reproof I think not improper. But to go on; my next fault is the Ass that's brought upon the Stage in the Epilogue, with two lines alluding to Balaam's.
And as 'tis said a Parlous Ass once spoke,
When Crab-tree Cudgel did his rage provoke, &c.
Here he says, Collier, p. 199. I brought the Ass in only to laugh at the Miracle: Not I, truly, I had no such intention upon my word; I brought the Ass in, and Dogget upon him, only to make the Audience laugh at his figure at the end of the Play, as well as they had at the beginning; but I believe if I had put an Absolver upon his back, giving him a Blessing, it would have been more divertive by half; but let him alone, the next horrible Crime is, I meddle with Churchmen, and there my Collier, p. 200. malice makes me, he says, lay about me like a Knight Errant; but I believe I shall prove, for all the modesty he pretends to, that his malice is more in reference to Poets, than ever mine was to Churchmen. Well, my Second Part begins, he says, with Devil's being brought upon the Stage, who cries, As he hopes to be sav'd; and Sancho warrants him a good Christian. Now this is a ridiculous mistake, for this Devil is only a Butler, and a Jest of his Giants, the witty Author of the History of Don Quixot, where one of the Duke's Servants acting a Devils Part to fright the Knight and Squire, blunders it out before he is aware, and Sancho hearing it, as foolishly replies. This would be humorously witty now with any one but our Critick; but he's resolv'd to see double, as he does presently again with my deep-mouth'd swearing which he says is frequent, tho he has quoted none on't, and therefore the Reader is not oblig'd to believe him. But then I have made the Curate Perez assist at the ridiculous Ceremony of Don Quixot; I have so—what then?—but I have made him have wit enough, however, to know Don Quixot for a Madman; but then Sancho, by way of Proverb, tells him, Ah—Consider dear Sir, no Man is born wise: to which briskly replies the Doctor, Collier, Ibid. What if he were born wise, he might be bred a Fool. Faith, no Doctor: and to be free with ye, (en Raillere) as you have been with me, must beg leave to tell ye, If you had been born wise enough to be a Reformer, your Breeding could never have made ye Fool enough to be an Absolver; I mean in a Case like you know what; but let us proceed. The next is a swinger, and his Lash cuts even to the blood: for here Sancho, full of innocent simplicity, says, A Bishop is no more than another Man, without Grace and good Breeding. To which he presently darts out, Ibid. I must needs say, if the Poet had any share of either of these Qualities, he would be less bold with his Superiors, and not give his Clowns the liberty to Droll thus heavily upon a solemn Character. Why, faith, now this is very hard, I have known a Country Wench name a Bishop in the Burning-too of a Hasty-Pudding, and never heard that any of the Reverend took it ill, because it was a Common Saying, and below their notice. But poor Sancbo, or rather indeed Sancho's Poet, my self, must be corrected for it, tho the Phrase be Moral, and no more than an honest truth: But come, since it must be so, let me ask the doctor why he does not shew me an example for this himself, and Practice better before he Accuses; for let the Reader look into his Desertion Discuss'd (for he shall find that I have trac'd him through all his Writings) and page the 3d you will find him, I think, somewhat more guilty of this fault than I have been, for there you'll
And here are a bundle of faults together—Jodolet, another Priest, is call'd Ibid. holy Cormorant, only because he eats a Turkey, and drinks a Bottle or two of Malaga for his Breakfast; and the Poet is jerk'd because a gormandizing Romish Priest is call'd a Pimp agen; and the Duke's Steward, Manuel, is no witty pleasant fellow, because he calls the Chaplain, whom I mentioned in the beginning of my Preface, and who is, no doubt, the sole occasion of this Gentleman's Pique to me—Mr Cuff-cushion; and because having an insight into his Character, he tells him, Ibid. a Whore is a Pulpit be loves; but my hope is, that my Reader will think him no fool for this, tho the Carper does, who then tells the Chaplain Saygrace, and he supposes prays to God to bless the entertainment of the Devil, tho there is not a word of a Grace spoke at all; and after, when he grows hot, positive, and impertinent, which the Duke his patron being at Table, only bears with, to divert himself, he insolently calls Don Quixot, Don Coxcomb, who justly enrag'd, returns him in this Language: Collier, p. 202. Oh thou vile black Fox, with a Firebrand in thy Tail, thou very priest, thou kindler of all Mischiefs in all Nations, de'e hear, Homily, did not the reverence I bear these Nobles—I would so thrum your Cassock, you Church Vermin—Here now, to shew his Justice he slily stops and gives a dash, so makes it Nonsense, but I shall make bold to piece it out again. Did not the reverence I bear these Nobles, tye up my hands from doing myself Justice, I would so thrum your Cassock you Church Vermin—Now, because my Reader shall find that I have naturally pursu'd the character of this Chaplain, as Don Quixot's Historian has presented him to me, you shall hear what account he gives of him. Here is, says he, Shelton's Translation of the History of D. Quix. Chap. 31. p. 152. a good Character of a poor Pedant; one of them that govern great men's Houses, one of those, that as they are not born Noble, so they know not how to instruct those that are; one of those, that would have great men's Liberality measur'd by the streightness of their own Minds; one of those, that teaching those they govern to be frugal, would make 'em miserable. Now this considerable person as you find him here, who was indeed for his senseless humour of designing to govern—us'd no otherwise than as the Buffoon of the Family—takes upon him to call Don Quixot (whom the Authour imbellishes, with all manner of learning and good sense, bating his whimsical Chimæra of Knight Errantry,) Goodman Dulpate and Don Coxcomb. Well, however the Switcher here has escap'd for his usage of a Gentleman in or near this manner, I believe my Judges will agree, that my Knight was so far from injuring the sawcy Trencherfly, by the reply he give him, that if he had not known and practic'd good breeding, better than the other, he would have broke his head into the bargain. As for his bidding him adieu in Language too prophane and scandalous for our Reformer to relate, is impossible, for he has prov'd often enough the contrary of that in his Book already. But for the Song in the Fourth Act, where the Country Fellow says, Folks never mind now what those black Cattle say: Ibid. He is only suppos'd for another Bumpkin, that amongst the rest of the Parishioners, had found out the Parsons blind side, and so behind his back took occasion to put a joke upon him, as well as the rest in that Satyr mention'd.
And now his third place is to prove my want of Modesty, and regard to the Audience—And here he's chewing his savoury word Smutt agen, and says Collier, p. 203. Sancho and Teresa talk it broad; but since his Modesty has not quoted it, I hope my Reader will believe so well of mine, to think I have not written it; I assure him I don't know of any. And I have prov'd our Reformer can mistake, as he does of Marcellas Epilogue, who Raves, he says, with Raptures of Indecency, when the poor Creature is so cold, after her hot fit, that she rather wants a dram of the Bottle—But now, Bounce, for a full charge of Small Shot; here he has gather'd up a heap of Epithets together, without any words between, or connexion to make 'em sense; and this he says I divert the Ladies with—Snotty nose, filthy vermin in the Beard, Nitty Jerkin, and Louse snapper, with the Letter in the Chamber-pot, and natural evacuation. Why truly this is pretty stuff indeed, as his Ingenuity has put it together—but I hope every one will own, that each of these singly, when they are tagg'd to their sensible phrases, may be proper enough in Farce or Low Comedy; but as he has modell'd 'em, 'tis true they are very frightful—And if I had nothing to sing or say to divert Ladies better than this, I should think my self so despicable, that I would e'en get into the next Plot, amongst his Brother Grumblers—then despairing, do some doughty thing to deserve hanging, and depend upon no other comfort but his Absolution.
I remember, being lately at St. James's, this very part of the Doctors Book was read or rather spelt out to me, with tickling satisfaction, by one whose Wit and good Manners are known to be just of the same weight, who, since he can be merry so easily, he shall laugh at some of the Reformers Hotch-potch too, as I have mingled it for him. Collier's Epithetes.
Collier, p. 257. Jewish Tetragramaton, Stigian Frogs, reeking Pandæmoniums, Debauch'd Protagonists, Nauseous Ribaldry, Ranting Smutt, Abominable Stench, Venus and St George Juliana, the Witch and the Parson of Wrotham, with the admirable Popish story of the Woman that went to the Play-House and brought home the Devil with her—And the Devil's in't indeed, if this charming Rhetorick of his, (since he calls mine so) especially joyn'd with that fine story from Tertullian, don't divert the Ladies as well as t'other; for 'tis very like a Catholick miracle you must know, and the top wit of it is, that when the Parson is Conjuring, he asks the Devil how he durst attack a Christian? who, like an admirable Joker as he was, answers, I have done nothing but what I can justify, for I seiz'd her upon my own ground. Now let the Devil be as witty as he can, I am sure the story, maugre Tertullian's Authority, or the Doctor's either, is confounded silly, and downright nonsense, what credit soever it has with him for its likeness to Jesuiticism. And now I think I have prov'd too, that a Clergy man can speak nonsense, pass it for humour too, and gratify his ease and his malice at once, without a Poet's putting his into his Mouth. And since we have been speaking of quibbling, I shall digress a little to entertain the Reader on that subject. Our Critick rallies Mr Dryden's Sancho in Love Triumphant, for saying, dont provoke me, I'm mischievously bent, to which Carlos a man of sense replys, Collier, p. 170. nay you are bent enough in conscience, but I have a bent Fist for Boxing; Here says he (smartly) you have a brace of quibbles started in a line and a half—Very true, you have so—But suppose quibbling or punning—but I think this is call'd punning—Is this Gentlemans humour—if so, being a Soldier, I don't see it calls his sense in question at all—but now pray let's see, how our Critick manages a quibble, with a blunder tack'd to the Tail on't, in the page before, there, in the aforesaid Play, Celidea in a passion cries,
Collier, p. 68. Great Nature break thy Chain that links together
The Fabrick of this Globe, and make a Chaos,
Like that within my Soul—
Now, says the Doctor, keen as a Razor, if she had call'd for a Chair, instead of a Chaos, tripp'd off, and kept her folly to herself, the woman had been wiser. Calling for a Chair instead of a Chaos is an extreme pretty Quibble truly—but if the Critick had let the Chair-men have tripp'd off with her, instead of doing it herself as she sat in a Chair, I'm sure the blunder had been sav'd, and I think he had exprest himself a little wiser than he has—And come, now my hand's in, let's parallel Mr Dryden with our Reformer a little longer—Church-men (says Benducar in Don Sebastian,
Collier, p.104. Tho they Itch to govern all,
Are silly, woful awkward Politicians,
They make lame mischiefs, tho they meant it well.
So much the better, says he, for tis a sign they are not beaten to the trade—Oh, that's a mistake, Doctor, they may be beaten to the Trade, and yet be bunglers—And proceeding:
Ibid. Their Interest is not finely drawn, and hid,
But Seams are coursely bungled up, and seen.
These Lines, says he, are an Illustration taken from a Taylor. They are so, but what Justice is it in him to lessen 'em, whose own flights are ten times more ridiculous: For example, talking just before of tumbling the Elements together, he says, Collier, p. 158. and since we have shewn our skill of Vaulting on the High Ropes, a little Tumbling on the Stage may not do amiss for variety. And now I will refer my self to the severest Critick of his party, whether an Illustration taken from a Taylor is not better than one taken from a Vagabond Rope-dancer, or Tumbler, forty times over; but his sense and way of Writing he thinks will infallibly overcome censure; not with me I assure him, to confirm it I must remark him once more, and then my digression shall end. He tells ye Cleora, in the Tragedy of Cleomenes, is not very charming, her part is to tell you, her Child suck'd to no purpose.
Cleomenes. It pull'd and pull'd but now, but nothing came;
At last it drew so hard that the Blood follow'd,
And that red Milk I found upon its Lips,
Which made me swoon for fear.
There, says he, is a description of sucking for ye: And then like another Devil of a Joker runs on, truly one would think the Muse on't were scarcely wean'd—Very likely; and here I warrant he thinks his Witty Criticism, as safely hous'd now as a Thief in a Mill, as the old Saw has it, did not his plaguee want of Memory now and then contrive to disgrace him; or if you turn to the thirty fourth page of his Lampoon, as Mr Vanbrooke calls it, after he has been comparing a fine young Lady to a Setting-bitch-teacher.
Lower yet—down, down, and after he has been bringing forth a Litter of Mr. Congreeves Epithetes, as he calls them, Collier, p. 34. soothing softness, sinking Ease, wafting Air, thrilling Fears, and incessant scalding Rain, all Crude, just as he did mine before, without any connexion of sense to 'em: He tells ye more plain in troth than wittily, that Ibid,. they make the Poem look like a Bitch overstock'd with Puppies, and suck the sense almost to Skin and Bone. For a Child to suck the Mother till the Blood follows, I think is not unreasonable, but for a Litter of Epithetes to suck the sense of a Poem to the Skin and Bone, is such Fustian stuff that nothing but a Creature, only fit for a Sucking-bottle, could be Author of—And now I think if he has given me any Crocus Metallorum, I am even with him with a Dose of Jollop, and can whisk too from one Play to another
Mary the Buxom, he says now swears faster 'tis false, and I deny it, she is so far from swearing fast, that she does not (rude as her character is) swear at all, unless the poor interjection I'cod—by his Authority can be made an Oath; and then if you'll peruse him on, here is a whole page and half upon this hint, Collier, p. 204. That the Ladies must have left their Wits and Modesties behind them that came, and lik'd her Words or Actions; and that her Nastiness, and dirty Conversation, is a Midnight Cart, or a Dunghil, instead of an Ornamental Scene. Now you don't find out our Gentlemans malicious meaning by this, but I shall inform ye. He says, I'm sorry the Ladies brought their Wits and Modesties with them, that came to see this Character; and yet all the whole Town can witness, that as many of the Ladies as could get into the Play-House came thither, to wait upon Her late Majesty of Sacred Memory, who did me that honour only for my benefit; and who was of so nice a Temper, relating to Modesty, that if so much as a hint had been given her by those had seen it before, of such a thing as Immodesty, she had never came, much less had been diverted, as she was, when she did come; but this I take as striking at her through my sides; and I think, to use his own words, Collier, p. 206. is above the Correction of the Pen. The next is such senseless malice, or ignorance, that it deserves a hoot; he finds Manuel in Don Quixot (playing in his Farce for the Dukes diversion) addressing to the Dutchess in this manner, in a Jargon of Phrase made ridiculous on purpose: Vid. Shelton's Translation of Don Quixot, p. 205. Illustrious beauty, I must desire to know whether the most purifidiferous Don Quixot of the Manchissima, and the Squireiferous Pancha, be in this Company or no. To whom Sancho replies, imitating, as he thinks this fine stile, Why lookee, forsooth, without any more flourishes, the Governor Pancha is here, and Don Quixotissimo too, therefore, most Afflictedissimous Matronissima, speak what you Willissimus, for we are all ready to be your Servitorissimus. And this now he inserts as my own Invention and manner of Stile, which is taken verbatim from the History of Don Quixot, and is by all those that can judge of humour, very pleasant and fit for that purpose. Now if he has never read that History, his ignorance has abus'd me; and if he has, his impudence has, of which us perceiv'd he has Stock enough, for presently he worries me for saying, in my Epistle Dedicatory to the Duchess of Ormond, That Collier, p. 207. I date my good fortune from her prosperous influence, and says 'tis Astrological. I don't know whether it has that sort of Learning in't or no, but 'tis as good sense as when he says, like a Wag as he is, that the Ladies fancy is just Collier, p. 92. slip-stocking high, and she seems to want sense more than her Break-fast. Fancy slip-stocking high? no, no, the merry Grig must mean her pretty Leg was seen so high, for the Master of Art, I beg pardon of the rest that their Title is scandaliz'd, could never mean such Nonsence as t'other sure.
And now drawing near to an end, his malice grows more plainly to a head, by endeavouring to lessen my Credit with my Patron Mr. Montague, whose generous Candor and good Nature to me, and indeed to us all, he perhaps has heard of, for here our modest and moral Critick, has either mistaken the words, or found out a slip of the Press, which because it happens to be Nonsence, he has very gladly exposed for mine; 'tis in my Epistle to my aforesaid Patron, thus: Collier, p. 207. Had your Eyes shot the haughty Austerity upon me of a right Courtier, your valued minutes had never been disturbed with dilatory Trifles of this nature; but my heart, on dull Consideration of your Merit, had supinely wish'd you Prosperity at a distance. Mine in my Copy was written [due Consideration] but Doctor Crambo will have you believe, I consider'd so little to write the t'other; but now I will hold twenty Stubble Geese to the same number of Tithe Pigs, whenever he is preferr'd to be a Curate again, that I make my Patron smile more at my Entertainment of him at his own Cost, than ever he did at his quoting my dull Consideration, which no body but the dull Absolver could imagine a Man with any Brains could write. And to prove I have yet a few, I will try to Paraphrase upon his Farewel to me, the Translation in Verse, but the Reader shall have his first.
Collier, I like an Author that Reforms the Age,
And keeps the right Decorum of the Stage;
That always pleases by Just Reason's Rule;
But for a tedious Droll, a quibbling Fool,
Who with low nauseous Bawdry fills his Plays,
Let him be gone, and on two Tressels raise
Some Smithfield Stage, where he may act his Pranks,
And make Jack Puddings speak to Mountebanks.
Your humble Servant good Doctor—Well, now for me.
I like a Parson, that no Souls does Lurch,
And keeps the true Decorum of the Church;
That always preaches by Just Reason's Rule;
But for a Hypocrite, a Canting Fool,
Who, cramm'd with Malice, takes the Rebels side,
And would, for Conscience, palm on us his Pride,
* A Savage kind of People in the West of England. Let him, for Stipend, to the *Gubbins sail,
And there Hold-forth for Crusts and Juggs of Ale.
And so much by way of Prose, I shall only now give the Reformer a little further Advice, in return of his, in my Lyrical way, which is in a Fable of A Dog and an Otter; and to turn his own words upon him, the Citation may possibly be of some service to him, for if not concern'd in the Application, he may at least be precaution'd by the Moral. I find he knows I can sing to other Peoples sense, I'll try now if I can make him sing to mine: And when he Diverts, or is Diverted with Vox, then, Preterea nihil.
[* ]Transcriber's Footnote: "Chaucer"
Neither of the quoted passages is by Chaucer. The first is from The Plowman's Tale, written about 1380 and traditionally attributed to Chaucer:
Of freres I have tolde before,
In a makynge of a Crede.
And yet I coulde tell worse and more,
But men wolde weryen it to rede.
Flee frõ the prese & dwell with sothfastnes
Suffise to thee thy good though it be small,
For horde hath hate and climyng ticklenesse
Praise hath enuy, and weall is blinde in all
Fauour no more, then thee behoue shall.
Rede well thy self that others well canst rede,
And trouth shall the deliuer it is no drede.
Maxims and Reflections
UPON
PLAYS
(In Answer to a Discourse, Of the Lawfullness
and Vnlawfullness of PLAYS. Printed
Before a late PLAY Entituled,
BEAVTY in DISTRESS.)
Written in FRENCH by
the Bp. of MEAVX.
And now made ENGLISH.
The PREFACE By another HAND.
LONDON,
Printed for R. Sare, at Grays-Inn Gate, in
Holborne. 1699.