Early in 1682 The Reflections were followed by Samuel Pordage's Azaria and Hushai. Twenty years before Pordage had proved himself the possessor of a certain ingenuity by his feat of turning the philosophy of Jacob Boehme into English-rhymed couplets. There are even a few passable passages in the Mundorum Explicatio. But in this satire of his later years he seems to have lost such cunning as he may once have possessed. The sole merit of the piece is a certain dull restraint of language, an avoidance of the drosser scurrilities. He is very temperate, for instance, in what he says of Dryden:
The falling glory of the Jewish stage.
Sweet was the Muse that did his wit inspire,
Had he not let his hackney Muse for hire.
Zimri, we know, he had no cause to praise,
Because he dubb'd him with the name of Bayes,
Because he durst with his proud wit engage,
And brought his follies on the public stage.
But the next Whig satire to appear has real merits. Settle's Absalom Senior is the one good thing produced by the Whigs in their battle with Dryden. Dryden himself had grudgingly to admit that Settle was something of a poet.
Doeg, though without knowing how or why,
Made still a blundering kind of melody;
Spurred boldly on and dashed through thick and thin,
Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in;
Free from all meaning, whether good or bad
And in a word, heroically mad.
He was too warm on picking-work to dwell,
But fagoted his notions as they fell,
And if they rhymed and rattled, all was well.
This is not altogether just. The verse of Absalom Senior does more than rhyme and rattle; it has a music of its own, and there are passages that are curiously Elizabethan in their conception and execution. Take, for example, this character of the Duke of York, the Absalom Senior of the poem:
The mercy and the clemency divine,
Those sacred sparks, which in mild David shine,
Were all put out and left a starless night.
A long farewell to all that's good and brave!
Not cataracts more headstrong; as the grave
Inexorable; sullen and untuned
As Pride deposed; not Lucifer unthroned
More unforgiving.
It is hardly credible that this should have been written in 1682. It reads like the work of some minor poet in the "giant age before the flood," a contemporary of the grave Lord Brooke. Here again is something no poet of the Restoration has any business to write, a simile in which Settle compares the papist plotter to the alchemist:
Who though he see his bursting limbecks crack,
And at one blast, one fatal minute's wrack,
The forward hope of sweating years expire,
With sad, yet painful, hand new-lights the fire.
Pale, lean and wan, does health, wealth, all consume;
And for the great elixir yet to come
Toils and hopes on.
The poem opens with a history of the ceaseless Catholic efforts, ever since the time of Henry VIII., to recapture England for the old faith. This serves as a preface to the main body of the piece, which deals with the Popish Plot. There is the usual portrait gallery, imitated from Absalom and Achitophel, of the most important figures on either side. This spirited description of Lauderdale is worth quoting: