Chapter IX: Epilogue: Written by Mr Dryden1 (1)

SPOKEN BY MRS COOK.

Much time and trouble this poor play has cost;
And, 'faith, I doubted once the cause was lost.
Yet no one man was meant, nor great, nor small;
Our poets, like frank gamesters, threw at all.
They took no single aim:--
But, like bold boys, true to their prince, and hearty,
Huzza'd, and fired broadsides at the whole party.
Duels are crimes; but, when the cause is right,
In battle every man is bound to fight.
For what should hinder me to sell my skin, }
Dear as I could, if once my hand were in? }
_Se defendendo_ never was a sin. }
'Tis a fine world, my masters! right or wrong,
The Whigs must talk, and Tories hold their tongue.
They must do all they can,
But we, forsooth, must bear a christian mind;
And fight, like boys, with one hand tied behind;
Nay, and when one boy's down, 'twere wond'rous wise,
To cry,--box fair, and give him time to rise.
When fortune favours, none but fools will dally; }
Would any of you sparks, if Nan, or Mally, }
Tip you the inviting wink, stand, shall I, shall I? }
A Trimmer cried, (that heard me tell this story)
Fie, mistress Cook, 'faith you're too rank a Tory!
Wish not Whigs hanged, but pity their hard cases;
You women love to see men make wry faces.--
Pray, sir, said I, don't think me such a Jew;
I say no more, but give the devil his due.--
Lenitives, says he, suit best with our condition.--
Jack Ketch, says I, is an excellent physician.--
I love no blood.--Nor I, sir, as I breathe;
But hanging is a fine dry kind of death.--
We Trimmers are for holding all things even.--
Yes; just like him that hung 'twixt hell and heaven.--
Have we not had men's lives enough already?--
Yes, sure: but you're for holding all things steady.
Now since the weight hangs all on one side, brother,
You Trimmers should, to poize it, hang on t'other.
Damned neuters, in their middle way of steering,
Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red-herring:
Not Whigs, nor Tories they; nor this, nor that;
Not birds, nor beasts; but just a kind of bat:
A twilight animal, true to neither cause,
With Tory wings, but Whigish teeth and claws[2].

Footnotes:
1. There is in Mr Bindley's collection another Epilogue, which appears
to have been originally subjoined to the "Duke of Guise." It is
extremely coarse; and as the author himself suppressed it, the
editor will not do his better judgment the injustice to revive it.

2. The Trimmers, a body small and unpopular, as must always be the
case with those, who in violent times declare for moderate and
temporising measures, were headed by the ingenious and politic
Halifax. He had much of the confidence, at least of the countenance
of Charles, who was divided betwixt tenderness for Monmouth, and
love of ease, on the one hand, and, on the other, desire of
arbitrary power, and something like fear of the duke of York.
Halifax repeatedly prevented each of these parties from subjugating
the other, and his ambidexter services seem to have been rewarded
by the sincere hatred of both. In 1688 was published a vindication
of this party, entitled, "the Character of a Trimmer;" and his
opinion of,--I. The laws of government. II. Protestant Religion.
III. Foreign affairs. By the Hon. Sir William Coventry.

THE

VINDICATION:

OR, THE

PARALLEL

OF THE

FRENCH HOLY LEAGUE,

AND THE

ENGLISH LEAGUE AND COVENANT,

TURNED INTO A SEDITIOUS LIBEL AGAINST THE KING

AND HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS,

BY

THOMAS HUNT,

AND THE AUTHORS OF THE REFLECTIONS UPON THE

PRETENDED PARALLEL IN THE PLAY CALLED

THE DUKE OF GUISE.

_Turno tempus erit magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta: et cum spolia ista, diemque
Oderit.--_

VINDICATION OF THE DUKE OF GUISE.

It was easy to foresee, that a play, which professed to be a _broadside_ discharged at the whole popular party, would not long remain uncensured. The satire being derived from a historical parallel of some delicacy, offered certain facilities of attack to the critics. It was only stretching the resemblance beyond the bounds to which Dryden had limited it, and the comparison became odious, if not dangerous. The whig writers did not neglect this obvious mode of attack, now rendered more popular by the encroachment lately attempted by the court upon the freedom of the city, whose magistrates had been exposed to ridicule in the play.

Our readers cannot but remember, that, in order to break the spirit of the city of London, a writ of _quo warranto_ was issued against the incorporation, by which was instituted a vexatious and captious inquiry into the validity of the charter of London. The purpose of this process was to compel the city to resign their freedom and immunities into the king's hands, and to receive a new grant of them, so limited, as might be consistent with the views of the crown, or otherwise to declare them forfeited. One Thomas Hunt, a lawyer of some eminence, who had been solicitor for the Viscount Stafford when that unfortunate nobleman was tried for high treason, and had written upon the side of the tories, but had now altered his principles, stepped forward upon this occasion as the champion of the immunities of the city of London[1]. The ludicrous light in which the sheriffs are placed, during the scene with Grillon in the third act, gave great offence to this active partizan; and he gives vent to his displeasure in the following attack upon the author, and the performance.

"They have already condemned the charter and city, and have executed
the magistrates in effigy upon the stage, in a play called "The Duke
of Guise," frequently acted and applauded; intended most certainly,
to provoke the rabble into tumults and disorder. The Roman priest
had no success, (God be thanked,) when he animated the people not to
suffer the same sheriffs to be carried through the city to the
Tower, prisoners. Now the poet hath undertaken, for their being
kicked three or four times a-week about the stage to the gallows,
infamously rogued and rascalled, to try what he can do towards
making the charter forfeitable, by some extravagancy and disorder of
the people, which the authority of the best governed cities have not
been able to prevent, sometimes under far less provocations.

"But this ought not to move the citizens, when he hath so
maliciously and mischievously represented the king, and the king's
son, nay, and his favourite the duke too, to whom he gives the worst
strokes of his unlucky fancy.

"He puts the king under the person of Henry III. of France, who
appeared in the head of the _Parisian_ massacre; the king's son
under the person of the Duke of Guise, who concerted it with the
Queen-mother of France, and was slain in that very place, by the
righteous judgment of God, where he and his mother had first
contrived it.

"The Duke of Guise ought to have represented a great prince, that
had inserved to some most detestable villany, to please the rage, or
lust, of a tyrant.

"Such great courtiers have been often sacrificed, to appease the
furies of the tyrant's guilty conscience, to expiate for his sin,
and to atone the people.

"Besides, that a tyrant naturally stands in fear of ministers of
mighty wickedness; he is always obnoxious to them, he is a slave to
them, as long as they live they remember him of his guilt, and awe
him. These wicked slaves become most imperious masters: they drag
him to greater evils for their own impunity, than they first
perpetrated for his pleasure, and their own ambition.

"But such are best given up to public justice, but by no means to be
assassinated. Until this age, never before was an assassination
invited, commended, and encouraged upon a public theatre.

"It is no wonder that _Trimmers_ (so they call men of some
moderation of that party) displease them; for they seem to have
designs for which it behoves them to know their men; they must be
perfectly wicked, or perfectly deceived; of the Catiline make; bold,
and without understanding; that can adhere to men that publicly
profess murders, and applaud the design.

"Caius Cæsar (to give unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's) was in
the Catiline conspiracy; and then the word was, _he that is not for
us is against us;_ for the instruments of wickedness must be men
that are resolute and forward, and without consideration; or they
will deceive the design, and relent when they enterprize.

"But when he was made dictator, and had some pretences, and a
probability by means less wicked and mischievous to arrive at the
government, his words were, _he that is not against us is with us._
But to Pompey only it belonged, and to his cause, or the like cause,
to the defenders of ancient established governments, of the English
monarchy and liberties, to say, they that are not with us are
against us. _In internecino bello,_ in attacks upon government,
_medii pro hostibus habentur,_ neutral men are traitors, and assist,
by their indifferency, to the destruction of the government. As many
as applaud this play, ought to be put under sureties of the peace;
and yet not one warrant, that we hear of yet, granted by the Lord
Chief Justice.

"But it is not a Duke of Guise to be assassinated, a turbulent,
wicked, and haughty courtier; but an innocent and gentle prince, as
well as brave, and renowned for noble achievements: a prince, that
hath no fault, but that he is the king's son; and the best too of
all his sons; such a son, as would have made the best of emperors
happy.

"Except it be, that the people honour him and love him, and every
where publicly and loudly show it: But this they do, for that the
best people of England have no other way left to show their loyalty
to the king, and love to their religion and government, in long
intervals of Parliament, than by prosecuting his son, for the sake
of the king and his own merit, with all the demonstrations of the
highest esteem.

"But he hath not used his patron Duke much better; for he hath put
him under a most dismal and unfortunate character of a successor,
excluded from the crown by act of state for his religion, who fought
his way to the crown, changed his religion, and died by the hand of
a Roman assassinate.

"It is enough to make his great duke's courage quail, to find
himself under such an unlucky and disastrous representation, and
thus personated; besides, he hath offered a justification of an act
of exclusion against a popish successor, in a Protestant kingdom, by
remembering what was done against the king of Navarre.

"The Popish religion, in France, did, _de facto,_ by act of state,
exclude a Protestant prince, who is under no obligation, from his
religion, to destroy his Popish subjects.

"Though a Popish prince is, to destroy his Protestant subjects.

"A Popish prince, to a Protestant kingdom, without more, must be the
most insufferable tyrant, and exceed the character that any story
can furnish for that sort of monster: And yet all the while to
himself a religious and an applauded prince; discharged from the
tortures that ordinarily tear and rend the hearts of the most cruel
princes, and make them as uneasy to themselves as they are to their
subjects, and sometimes prevail so far as to lay some restraints
upon their wicked minds.

"But this his patron will impute to his want of judgment; for this
poet's heroes are commonly such monsters as Theseus and Hercules
are, renowned throughout all ages for destroying.

"But to excuse him, this man hath forsaken his post, and entered
upon another province. To "The Observator"[2] it belongs to confound
truth and falsehood; and, by his false colours and impostures, to
put out the eyes of the people, and leave them without
understanding.

"But our poet hath not so much art left him as to frame any thing
agreeable, or _verisimilar_, to amuse the people, or wherewith to
deceive them.

"His province is to corrupt the manners of the nation, and lay waste
their morals; his understanding is clapt, and his brains are
vitiated, and he is to rot the age.

"His endeavours are more happily applied, to extinguish the little
remains of the virtue of the age by bold impieties, and befooling
religion by impious and inept rhymes, to confound virtue and vice,
good and evil, and leave us without consciences.

"And thus we are prepared for destruction.

"But to give the world a taste of his atheism and impiety, I shall
recite two of his verses, as recited upon the stage, viz.

For conscience, and heaven's fear, religious rules,
They are all state-bells to toll in pious fools;

which I have done the rather, that some honest judge, or justice,
may direct a process against this bold impious man; or some honest
surrogate, or official, may find leisure to proceed, _ex officio,_
against him, notwithstanding at present they are so encumbered with
the dissenters.

"Such public blasphemies against religion, never were unpunished in
any country, or age, but this.

"But I have made too long a digression, but that it carries with it
some instructions towards the preserving of the honour of your
august city, viz.

"That you do not hereafter authorise the stage to expose and revile
your great officers, and offices, by the indignities yourselves do
them; whilst the Papists clap their hands, and triumph at your
public disgraces, and in the hopes they conceive thereby of the ruin
of your government, as if that were as sure and certain to them, as
it is to us, without doubt, that they once fired it.

"And further, for that it was fit to set forth to the world, of what
spirit our enemies are, how they intend to attack us; as also, how
bold they are with his majesty, what false and dishonourable
representations they make of him, and present to the world upon a
public theatre; which, I must confess, hath moved me with some
passion."

This angry barrister was not the only adversary whom Dryden had to encounter on this occasion. Thomas Shadwell, a man of some talents for comedy, and who professed to tread in the footsteps of Ben Jonson, had for some time been at variance with Dryden and Otway. He was probably the author of a poem, entitled, "A Lenten Prologue, refused by the Players;" which is marked by Mr Luttrel, 11th April, 1683, and contains the following direct attack on "The Duke of Guise," and the author:

Our prologue wit grows flat; the nap's worn off,
And howsoe'er we turn and trim the stuff,
The gloss is gone that looked at first so gaudy;
'Tis now no jest to hear young girls talk bawdry.
But plots and parties give new matters birth,
And state distractions serve you here for mirth.
At England's cost poets now purchase fame;
While factious heats destroy us, without shame,
These wanton Neroes fiddle to the flame;
The stage, like old rump-pulpits, is become
The scene of news, a furious party's drum:
Here poets beat their brains for volunteers,
And take fast hold of asses by their ears;
Their jingling rhimes for reason here you swallow,
Like Orpheus' music, it makes beasts to follow.
What an enlightening grace is want of bread!
How it can change a libeller's heart, and clear a laureat's head;
Open his eyes, till the mad prophet see
_Plots working in a future power to be!_ (Medal, p. 14.)
Traitors unformed to his second sight are clear.
And squadrons here and squadrons there appear;
Rebellion is the burden of the seer.
To Bayes, in vision, were of late revealed,
_Whig armies, that at Knightsbridge lay concealed;_
And though no mortal eye could see't before,
_The battle just was entering at the door._
A dangerous association, signed by none,
The joiner's plot to seize the king alone.
Stephen with College[3] made this dire compact;
The watchful Irish took them in the fact.
Of riding armed; O traitorous overt act!
With each of them an ancient Pistol sided,
Against the statute in that case provided.
But, why was such a host of swearers pressed?
Their succour was ill husbandry at best.
Bayes's crowned muse, by sovereign right of satire,
Without desert, can dub a man a traitor;
And tories, without troubling law or reason,
By loyal instinct can find plots and treason.

A more formal attack was made in a pamphlet, entitled, "Some Reflections on the pretended parallel in the Play called the Duke of Guise." This Dryden, in the following Vindication, supposes to have been sketched by Shadwell, and finished by a gentleman of the Temple[4]. In these Reflections, the obvious ground of attack, occupied by Hunt, is again resumed. The general indecency of a theatrical exhibition, which alluded to state-transactions of a grave and most important nature; the indecorum of comparing the king to such a monarch as Henry III., infamous for treachery, cruelty, and vices of the most profligate nature; above all, the parallel betwixt the Dukes of Monmouth and Guise, by which the former is exhibited as a traitor to his father, and recommended as no improper object for assassination--are topics insisted on at some length, and with great vehemence.

Our author was not insensible to these attacks, by which his loyalty to the king, and the decency of his conduct towards Monmouth, the king's offending, but still beloved, son, and once Dryden's own patron, stood painfully compromised. Accordingly, shortly after these pamphlets had appeared, the following advertisement was annexed to "The Duke of Guise:"

"There was a preface intended to this play in vindication of it,
against two scurrilous libels lately printed; but it was judged,
that a defence of this nature would require more room than a preface
reasonably could allow. For this cause, and for the importunities of
the stationers, who hastened their impression, it is deferred for
some little time, and will be printed by itself. Most men are
already of opinion, that neither of the pamphlets deserve an answer,
because they are stuffed with open falsities, and sometimes
contradict each other; but, for once, they shall have a day or two
thrown away upon them, though I break an old custom for their sakes,
which was,--to scorn them."

The resolution, thus announced, did not give universal satisfaction to our author's friends; one of whom published the following remonstrance, which contains some good sense, in very indifferent poetry:

_An Epode to his worthy Friend_ JOHN DRYDEN, _to advise him not to
answer two malicious Pamphlets against his Tragedy called_ "The
Duke of Guise." (_Marked by Luttrel, 10 March, 1683/4._)

Can angry frowns rest on thy noble brow
For trivial things;
Or, can a stream of muddy water flow
From the Muses' springs;
Or great Apollo bend his vengeful bow
'Gainst popular stings?
Desist thy passion then; do not engage
Thyself against the wittols of the age.

Should we by stiff Tom Thimble's faction fall,
Lord, with what noise
The Coffee throats would bellow, and the Ball
O' the Change rejoice,
And with the company of Pinner's Hall
Lift up their voice!
Once the head's gone, the good cause is secure;
The members cannot long resist our power.

Crop not their humours; let the wits proceed
Till they have thrown
Their venom up; and made themselves indeed
Rare fops o'ergrown:
Let them on nasty garbage prey and feed,
Till all is done;
And, by thy great resentment, think it fit
To crush their hopes, as humble as their wit.

Consider the occasion, and you'll find
Yourself severe,
And unto rashness much more here inclined,
By far, than they're:
Consider them as in their proper kind,
'Tween rage and fear,
And then the reason will appear most plain,--
A worm that's trod on will turn back again.

What if they censure without brain or sense,
'Tis now the fashion;
Each giddy fop endeavours to commence
A reformation.
Pardon them for their native ignorance,
And brainsick passion;
For, after all, true men of sense will say,--
Their works can never parallel thy play.

'Twere fond to pamper spleen, 'cause owls detest
The light of day;
Or real nonsense, which endures no test,
Condemns thy play.
Lodge not such petty trifles in thy breast,
But bar their sway;
And let them know, that thy heroic bays
Can scorn their censure, as it doth their praise.

Think not thy answer will their nice reclaim,
Whose heads are proof
Against all reason, and in spite of shame
Will stand aloof;
'Twould cherish further libels on thy fame,
Should these thee move.
Stand firm, my Dryden, maugre all their plots,
Thy bays shall flourish when their ivy rots.

But if you are resolved to break your use,
And basely sin,
In answer; I'll be sworn some haggard muse
Has you in her gin;
Or in a fit you venture to abuse
Your Polyhymn',
You may serve him so far: But if you do,
All your true friends, sir, will reflect on you.

The remonstrance of this friendly poet was unavailing; Dryden having soon after published the following Vindication.

Footnotes:
1. "A Defence of the Charter and Municipal Rights of the City of
London, and the Rights of other Municipal Cities and Towns of
England. Directed to the Citizens of London, by Thomas Hunt.

_Si populus vult decipi, decipiatur._

London, printed, and to be sold, by Richard Baldwin." 4to, pages
46.

Wood informs us, that Thomas Hunt, the author, was educated at
Queen's College, Cambridge, and was esteemed a person of quick
parts, and of a ready fluency in discourse, but withal too pert and
forward. He was called to the bar, and esteemed a good lawyer. In
1659 he became clerk of the assizes at Oxford circuit, but was
ejected from the office at the Restoration, to his great loss, to
make room for the true owner. He wrote, "An Argument for the
Bishops' right of judging in capital Cases in Parliament, &c.;" for
which he expected (says Anthony) no less than to be made lord chief
baron of the exchequer in Ireland. But falling short of that
honourable office, which he too ambitiously catched at, and
considering the loss of another place, which he unjustly possessed,
he soon after appeared one of the worst and most inveterate enemies
to church and state that was in his time, and the most malicious,
and withal the most ignorant, scribbler of the whole herd; and was
thereupon stiled, by a noted author, (Dryden, in the following
Vindication,) _Magni nominis umbra_. Hunt also published, "Great
and weighty Considerations on the Duke of York, &c." in favour of
the exclusion. He had also the boldness to republish his high
church tract in favour of the bishops' jurisdiction, with a whig
postscript tending to destroy his own arguments.--_Ath. Ox._ II, p.
728.

2. A tory paper, then conducted with great zeal, and some
controversial talent, by Sir Roger L'Estrange.

3. Alluding to the fate of Stephen College, the Protestant joiner; a
meddling, pragmatical fellow, who put himself so far forward in the
disputes at Oxford, as to draw down the vengeance of the court. He
was very harshly treated during his trial; and though in the toils,
and deprived of all assistance, defended himself with right English
manliness. He was charged with the ballad on page 6. and with
coming to Oxford armed to attack the guards. He said he did not
deny he had pistols in his holsters at Oxford; to which Jefferies
answered, indecently, but not unaptly, he "thought a chissel might
have been more proper for a joiner." Poor College was executed; a
vengeance unworthy of the king, who might have apostrophised him as
Hamlet does Polonius:

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell;
I took thee for thy betters--take thy fortune.
Thou findst, to be too busy is some danger.

4. Anthony Wood is followed by Mr Malone in supposing, that Hunt
himself is the Templar alluded to. But Dryden seems obviously to
talk of the author of the Defence, and the two Reflectors, as three
separate persons. He calls them, "the sputtering triumvirate, Mr
Hunt, and the two Reflectors;" and again, "What says my lord chief
baron (i.e. Hunt) to the business? What says the livery-man
Templar? What says Og, the king of Basan (i.e. Shadwell) to it?"
The Templar may be discovered, when we learn, who hired a
livery-gown to give a vote among the electors.

THE

VINDICATION

OF

THE DUKE OF GUISE.

In the year of his majesty's happy Restoration, the first play I undertook was the "Duke of Guise;" as the fairest way, which the Act of Indemnity had then left us, of setting forth the rise of the late rebellion; and by exploding the villainies of it upon the stage, to precaution posterity against the like errors.

As this was my first essay, so it met with the fortune of an unfinished piece; that is to say, it was damned in private, by the advice of some friends to whom I shewed it; who freely told me, that it was an excellent subject; but not so artificially wrought, as they could have wished; and now let my enemies make their best of this confession.

The scene of the Duke of Guise's return to Paris, against the king's positive command, was then written. I have the copy of it still by me, almost the same which it now remains, being taken verbatim out of Davila; for where the action is remarkable, and the very words related, the poet is not at liberty to change them much; and if he will be adding any thing for ornament, it ought to be wholly of a piece. This do I take for a sufficient justification of that scene, unless they will make the pretended parallel to be a prophecy, as well as a parallel of accidents, that were twenty years after to come.[1] Neither do I find, that they can suggest the least colour for it in any other part of the tragedy.

But now comes the main objection,--why was it stopt then? To which I shall render this just account, with all due respects to those who were the occasion of it.

Upon a wandering rumour (which I will divide betwixt malice and mistake) that some great persons were represented, or personated in it, the matter was complained of to my Lord Chamberlain; who, thereupon, appointed the play to be brought to him, and prohibited the acting of it until further order; commanding me, after this, to wait upon his lordship; which I did, and humbly desired him to compare the play with the history, from whence the subject was taken, referring to the first scene of the fourth act, whereupon the exception was grounded, and leaving Davila (the original) with his lordship. This was before midsummer; and about two months after, I received the play back again from his lordship, but without any positive order whether it should be acted or not; neither was Mr Lee, or myself, any way solicitous about it. But this indeed I ever said, that it was intended for the king's service; and his majesty was the best judge, whether it answered that end or no; and that I reckoned it my duty to submit, if his majesty, for any reason whatsoever, should deem it unfit for the stage. In the interim, a strict scrutiny was made, and no parallel of the great person designed, could be made out. But this push failing, there were immediately started some terrible insinuations, that the person of his majesty was represented under that of Henry the Third; which if they could have found out, would have concluded, perchance, not only in the stopping of the play, but in the hanging up of the poets. But so it was, that his majesty's wisdom and justice acquitted both the one, and the other; and when the play itself was almost forgotten, there were orders given for the acting of it.

This is matter of fact; and I have the honour of so great witnesses to the truth of what I have delivered, that it will need no other appeal. As to the exposing of any person living, our innocency is so clear, that it is almost unnecessary to say, it was not in my thought; and, as far as any one man can vouch for another, I do believe it was as little in Mr Lee's. And now since some people have been so busy as to cast out false and scandalous surmises, how far we two agreed upon the writing of it, I must do a common right both to Mr Lee and myself, to declare publicly, that it was at his earnest desire, without any solicitation of mine, that this play was produced betwixt us. After the writing of OEdipus, I passed a promise to join with him in another; and he happened to claim the performance of that promise, just upon the finishing of a poem,[2] when I would have been glad of a little respite before the undertaking of a second task. The person, that passed betwixt us, knows this to be true; and Mr Lee himself, I am sure, will not disown it; So that I did not "seduce him to join with me," as the malicious authors of the Reflections are pleased to call it; but Mr Lee's loyalty is above so ridiculous a slander. I know very well, that the town did ignorantly call and take this to be my play; but I shall not arrogate to myself the merits of my friend. Two-thirds of it belonged to him; and to me only the first scene of the play; the whole fourth act, and the first half, or somewhat more, of the fifth.

The pamphleteers, I know, do very boldly insinuate, that, "before the acting of it, I took the whole play to myself; but finding afterwards how ill success it had upon the stage, I threw as much of it as possibly I could upon my fellow." Now here are three damned lies crowded together into a very little room; first, that I assumed any part of it to myself, which I had not written; wherein I appeal, not only to my particular acquaintance, but to the whole company of actors, who will witness for me, that, in all the rehearsals, I never pretended to any one scene of Mr Lee's, but did him all imaginable right, in his title to the greater part of it. I hope I may, without vanity, affirm to the world, that I never stood in need of borrowing another man's reputation; and I have been as little guilty of the injustice, of laying claim to any thing which was not my own. Nay, I durst almost refer myself to some of the angry poets on the other side, whether I have not rather countenanced and assisted their beginnings, than hindered them from rising.[3] The two other falsities are, the "ill success of the play," and "my disowning it." The former is manifestly without foundation; for it succeeded beyond my very hopes, having been frequently acted, and never without a considerable audience; and then it is a thousand to one, that, having no ground to disown it, I did not disown it; but the universe to a nutshell that I did not disown it for want of success, when it succeeded so much beyond my expectation. But my malignant adversaries are the more excusable for this coarse method of breaking in upon truth and good manners, because it is the only way they have to gratify the genius and the interest of the faction together; and never so much pains taken neither, to so very, very little purpose. They decry the play, but in such a manner, that it has the effect of a recommendation. They call it "a dull entertainment;" and that is a dangerous word, I must confess, from one of the greatest masters in human nature, of that faculty. Now I can forgive them this reproach too, after all the rest; for this play does openly discover the original and root of the practices and principles, both of their party and cause; and they are so well acquainted with all the trains and mazes of rebellion, that there is nothing new to them in the whole history. Or what if it were a little insipid, there was no conjuring that I remember in "Pope Joan;" and the "Lancashire Witches" were without doubt the most insipid jades that ever flew upon a stage; and even these, by the favour of a party, made a shift to hold up their heads.[4] Now, if we have out-done these plays in their own dull way, their authors have some sort of privilege to throw the first stone; but we shall rather chuse to yield the point of dulness, than contend for it, against so indisputable a claim.

But "matters of state (it seems) are canvassed on the stage, and things of the gravest concernment there managed;" and who were the aggressors, I beseech you, but a few factious, popular hirelings, that by tampering the theatres, and by poisoning the people, made a play-house more seditious than a conventicle; so that the loyal party crave only the same freedom of defending the government, which the other took beforehand of exposing and defaming it. There was no complaint of any disorders of the stage, in the bustle that was made (even to the forming of a party) to uphold a farce of theirs.[5] Upon the first day, the whole faction (in a manner) appeared; but after one sight of it, they sent their proxies of serving-men and porters, to clap in the right of their patrons; and it was impossible ever to have gotten off the nonsense of three hours for half-a-crown, but for the providence of so congruous an audience. Thus far, I presume, the reckoning is even, for bad plays on both sides, and for plays written for a party. I shall say nothing of their poets' affection to the government; unless upon an absolute and an odious necessity. But to return to the pretended Parallel.

I have said enough already to convince any man of common sense, that there neither was, nor could be, any Parallel intended; and it will farther appear, from the nature of the subject; there being no relation betwixt Henry the Third and the Duke of Guise, except that of the king's marrying into the family of Lorraine. If a comparison had been designed, how easy had it been either to have found a story, or to have invented one, where the ties of nature had been nearer? If we consider their actions, or their persons, a much less proportion will be yet found betwixt them; and if we bate the popularity, perhaps none at all. If we consider them in reference to their parties, the one was manifestly the leader; the other, at the worst, is but misled. The designs of the one tended openly to usurpation; those of the other may yet be interpreted more fairly; and I hope, from the natural candour and probity of his temper, that it will come to a perfect submission and reconcilement at last. But that which perfectly destroys this pretended Parallel is, that our picture of the Duke of Guise is exactly according to the original in the history; his actions, his manners, nay, sometimes his very words, are so justly copied, that whoever has read him in Davila, sees him the same here. There is no going out of the way, no dash of a pen to make any by-feature resemble him to any other man; and indeed, excepting his ambition, there was not in France, or perhaps in any other country, any man of his age vain enough to hope he could be mistaken for him.[6] So that if you would have made a Parallel, we could not. And yet I fancy, that where I make it my business to draw likeness, it will be no hard matter to judge who sate for the picture. For the Duke of Guise's return to Paris contrary to the king's order, enough already has been said; it was too considerable in the story to be omitted, because it occasioned the mischiefs that ensued. But in this likeness, which was only casual, no danger followed. I am confident there was none intended; and am satisfied that none was feared. But the argument drawn from our evident design is yet, if possible, more convincing. The first words of the prologue spake the play to be a Parallel, and then you are immediately informed how far that Parallel extended, and of what it is so: "The Holy League begot the Covenant, Guisards got the Whig, &c." So then it is not, (as the snarling authors of the Reflections tell you) a Parallel of the men, but of the times; a Parallel of the factions, and of the leaguers. And every one knows that this prologue was written before the stopping of the play. Neither was the name altered on any such account as they insinuate, but laid aside long before, because a book called the Parallel had been printed, resembling the French League to the English Covenant; and therefore we thought it not convenient to make use of another man's title.[7] The chief person in the tragedy, or he whose disasters are the subject of it, may in reason give the name; and so it was called the "Duke of Guise." Our intention therefore was to make the play a Parallel betwixt the Holy League, plotted by the house of Guise and its adherents, with the Covenant plotted by the rebels in the time of king Charles I. and those of the new Association, which was the spawn of the old Covenant.

But this parallel is plain, that the exclusion of the lawful heir was the main design of both parties; and that the endeavours to get the lieutenancy of France established on the head of the League, is in effect the same with offering to get the militia out of the king's hand (as declared by parliament,) and consequently, that the power of peace and war should be wholly in the people. It is also true that the tumults in the city, in the choice of their officers, have had no small resemblance with a Parisian rabble: and I am afraid that both their faction and ours had the same good lord. I believe also, that if Julian had been written and calculated for the Parisians, as it was for our sectaries, one of their sheriffs might have mistaken too, and called him Julian the Apostle.[8] I suppose I need not push this point any further; where the parallel was intended, I am certain it will reach; but a larger account of the proceedings in the city may be expected from a better hand, and I have no reason to forestall it.[9] In the mean time, because there has been no actual rebellion, the faction triumph in their loyalty; which if it were out of principle, all our divisions would soon be ended, and we the happy people, which God and the constitution of our government have put us in condition to be; but so long as they take it for a maxim, that the king is but an officer in trust, that the people, or their representatives, are superior to him, judges of miscarriages, and have power of revocation, it is a plain case, that whenever they please they may take up arms; and, according to their doctrine, lawfully too. Let them jointly renounce this one opinion, as in conscience and law they are bound to do, because both scripture and acts of parliament oblige them to it, and we will then thank their obedience for our quiet, whereas now we are only beholden to them for their fear. The miseries of the last war are yet too fresh in all men's memory; and they are not rebels, only because they have been so too lately. An author of theirs has told us roundly the west-country proverb; _Chud eat more cheese, and chad it;_ their stomach is as good as ever it was; but the mischief on't is, they are either muzzled, or want their teeth. If there were as many fanatics now in England, as there were christians in the empire, when Julian reigned, I doubt we should not find them much inclined to passive obedience; and, "Curse ye Meroz"[10] would be oftener preached upon, than "Give to Cæsar," except in the sense Mr Hunt means it.

Having clearly shewn wherein the parallel consisted, which no man can mistake, who does not wilfully, I need not justify myself, in what concerns the sacred person of his majesty. Neither the French history, nor our own, could have supplied me, nor Plutarch himself, were he now alive, could have found a Greek or Roman to have compared to him, in that eminent virtue of his clemency; even his enemies must acknowledge it to be superlative, because they live by it. Far be it from flattery, if I say, that there is nothing under heaven, which can furnish me with a parallel; and that, in his mercy, he is of all men the truest image of his Maker.

Henry III. was a prince of a mixed character; he had, as an old historian says of another, _magnas virtutes, nec minora vitia;_ but amongst those virtues, I do not find his forgiving qualities to be much celebrated. That he was deeply engaged in the bloody massacre of St Bartholomew, is notoriously known; and if the relation printed in the memoirs of Villeroy be true, he confesses there that the Admiral having brought him and the queen-mother into suspicion with his brother then reigning, for endeavouring to lessen his authority, and draw it to themselves, he first designed his accuser's death by Maurevel, who shot him with a carbine, but failed to kill him; after which, he pushed on the king to that dreadful revenge, which immediately succeeded. It is true, the provocations were high; there had been reiterated rebellions, but a peace was now concluded; it was solemnly sworn to by both parties, and as great an assurance of safety given to the protestants, as the word of a king and public instruments could make it. Therefore the punishment was execrable, and it pleased God, (if we may dare to judge of his secret providence,) to cut off that king in the very flower of his youth, to blast his successor in his undertakings, to raise against him the Duke of Guise, the complotter and executioner of that inhuman action, (who, by the divine justice, fell afterwards into the same snare which he had laid for others,) and, finally, to die a violent death himself, murdered by a priest, an enthusiast of his own religion.[11] From these premises, let it be concluded, if reasonably it can, that we could draw a parallel, where the lines were so diametrically opposite. We were indeed obliged, by the laws of poetry, to cast into shadows the vices of this prince; for an excellent critic has lately told us, that when a king is named, a hero is supposed;[12] it is a reverence due to majesty, to make the virtues as conspicuous, and the vices as obscure, as we can possibly; and this, we own, we have either performed, or at least endeavoured. But if we were more favourable to that character than the exactness of history would allow, we have been far from diminishing a greater, by drawing it into comparison. You may see, through the whole conduct of the play, a king naturally severe, and a resolution carried on to revenge himself to the uttermost on the rebellious conspirators. That this was sometimes shaken by reasons of policy and pity, is confessed; but it always returned with greater force, and ended at last in the ruin of his enemies. In the mean time we cannot but observe the wonderful loyalty on the other side; that the play was to be stopped, because the king was represented. May we have many such proofs of their duty and respect! but there was no occasion for them here. It is to be supposed, that his majesty himself was made acquainted with this objection; if he were so, he was the supreme and only judge of it; and then the event justifies us. If it were inspected only by those whom he commanded, it is hard if his own officers and servants should not see as much ill in it as other men, and be as willing to prevent it; especially when there was no solicitation used to have it acted. It is known that noble person,[13] to whom it was referred, is a severe critic on good sense, decency, and morality; and I can assure the world, that the rules of Horace are more familiar to him, than they are to me. He remembers too well that the _vetus comædia_ was banished from the Athenian theatre for its too much licence in representing persons, and would never have pardoned it in this or any play.

What opinion Henry III. had of his successor, is evident from the words he spoke upon his deathbed: "he exhorted the nobility," says Davila, "to acknowledge the king of Navarre, to whom the kingdom of right belonged; and that they should not stick at the difference of religion; for both the king of Navarre, a man of a sincere noble nature, would in the end return into the bosom of the church, and the pope, being better informed, would receive him into his favour, to prevent the ruin of the whole kingdom." I hope I shall not need in this quotation to defend myself, as if it were my opinion, that the pope has any right to dispose of kingdoms; my meaning is evident, that the king's judgment of his brother-in-law, was the same which I have copied; and I must farther add from Davila, that the arguments I have used in defence of that succession were chiefly drawn from the king's answer to the deputies, as they may be seen more at large in pages 730, and 731, of the first edition of that history in English. There the three estates, to the wonder of all men, jointly concurred in cutting off the succession; the clergy, who were managed by the archbishop of Lyons and cardinal of Guise, were the first who promoted it; and the commons and nobility afterwards consented, as referring themselves, says our author, to the clergy; so that there was only the king to stand in the gap; and he by artifice diverted that storm which was breaking upon posterity.

The crown was then reduced to the lowest ebb of its authority; and the king, in a manner, stood single, and yet preserved his negative entire; but if the clergy and nobility had been on his part of the balance, it might reasonably be supposed, that the meeting of those estates at Blois had healed the breaches of the nation, and not forced him to the _ratio ultima regum_, which is never to be praised, nor is it here, but only excused as the last result of his necessity. As for the parallel betwixt the king of Navarre, and any other prince now living, what likeness the God of Nature, and the descent of virtues in the same channel have produced, is evident; I have only to say, that the nation certainly is happy, where the royal virtues of the progenitors are derived on their descendants.[14]

In that scene, it is true, there is but one of the three estates mentioned; but the other two are virtually included; for the archbishop and cardinal are at the head of the deputies: And that the rest are mute persons every critic understands the reason, _ne quarta loqui persona laboret_. I am never willing to cumber the stage with many speakers, when I can reasonably avoid it, as here I might. And what if I had a mind to pass over the clergy and nobility of France in silence, and to excuse them from joining in so illegal, and so ungodly a decree? Am I tied in poetry to the strict rules of history? I have followed it in this play more closely than suited with the laws of the drama, and a great victory they will have, who shall discover to the world this wonderful secret, that I have not observed the unities of place and time; but are they better kept in the farce of the "Libertine destroyed?"[15] It was our common business here to draw the parallel of the times, and not to make an exact tragedy. For this once we were resolved to err with honest Shakespeare; neither can "Catiline" or "Sejanus," (written by the great master of our art,) stand excused, any more than we, from this exception; but if we must be criticised, some plays of our adversaries may be exposed, and let them reckon their gains when the dispute is ended. I am accused of ignorance, for speaking of the third estate, as not sitting in the same house with the other two. Let not those gentlemen mistake themselves; there are many things in plays to be accommodated to the country in which we live; I spoke to the understanding of an English audience. Our three estates now sit, and have long done so, in two houses; but our records bear witness, that they, according to the French custom, have sate in one; that is, the lords spiritual and temporal within the bar, and the commons without it. If that custom had been still continued here, it should have been so represented; but being otherwise, I was forced to write so as to be understood by our own countrymen. If these be errors, a bigger poet than either of us two has fallen into greater, and the proofs are ready, whenever the suit shall be recommenced.

Mr Hunt, the Jehu of the party, begins very furiously with me, and says, "I have already condemned the charter and city, and have executed the magistrates in effigy upon the stage, in a play called the Duke of Guise, frequently acted and applauded, &c.[16]"

Compare the latter end of this sentence with what the two authors of the Reflections, or perhaps the Associating Club of the Devil-tavern[17] write in the beginning of their libel:--"Never was mountain delivered of such a mouse; the fiercest Tories have been ashamed to defend this piece; they who have any sparks of wit among them are so true to their pleasure, that they will not suffer dulness to pass upon them for wit, nor tediousness for diversion; which is the reason that this piece has not met with the expected applause: I never saw a play more deficient in wit, good characters, or entertainment, than this is."

For shame, gentlemen, pack your evidence a little better against another time. You see, my lord chief baron[18] has delivered his opinion, that the play was frequently acted and applauded; but you of the jury have found _Ignoramus_, on the wit and the success of it. Oates, Dugdale and Turberville, never disagreed more than you do; let us know at last, which of the witnesses are true Protestants, and which are Irish[19]. But it seems your authors had contrary designs: Mr Hunt thought fit to say, "it was frequently acted and applauded, because," says he, "it was intended to provoke the rabble into tumults and disorder." Now, if it were not seen frequently, this argument would lose somewhat of its force. The Reflector's business went another way; it was to be allowed no reputation, no success; but to be damned root and branch, to prevent the prejudice it might do their party: accordingly, as much as in them lay, they have drawn a bill of exclusion for it on the stage. But what rabble was it to provoke? Are the audience of a play-house, which are generally persons of honour, noblemen, and ladies, or, at worst, as one of your authors calls his gallants, men of wit and pleasure about the town[20],--are these the rabble of Mr Hunt? I have seen a rabble at Sir Edmundbury Godfrey's night, and have heard of such a name as true Protestant meeting-houses; but a rabble is not to be provoked, where it never comes. Indeed, we had one in this tragedy, but it was upon the stage; and that's the reason why your Reflectors would break the glass, which has shewed them their own faces. The business of the theatre is to expose vice and folly; to dissuade men by examples from one, and to shame them out of the other. And however you may pervert our good intentions, it was here particularly to reduce men to loyalty, by shewing the pernicious consequences of rebellion, and popular insurrections. I believe no man, who loves the government, would be glad to see the rabble in such a posture, as they were represented in our play; but if the tragedy had ended on your side, the play had been a loyal witty poem; the success of it should have been recorded by immortal Og or Doeg[21], and the rabble scene should have been true Protestant, though a whig-devil were at the head of it.