Without the least offence to either
They freely deal in all together,

And equally abhor to quit

This world for both, or both for it:

And when they pawn and damn their souls,
They are but pris'ners on paroles.

*

There are no bargains driv'n;

Nor marriages, clapp'd up in heav'n,
And that's the reason, as some guess,
There is no heav'n in marriages;

Two things that naturally press

Too narrowly, to be at ease:

Their bus'ness there is only love,

Which marriage is not like, t' improve;
Love that's too generous t' abide

To be against its nature ty'd;
For where 'tis of itself inclin'd,

It breaks loose when it is confin'd,
And like the soul, its harborer,
Debarred the freedom of the air,
Disdains against its will to stay,

And struggles out, and flies away:
And therefore never can comply,
T'endure the matrimonial tie,
That binds the female and the male,
Where th' one is but the other's bail;
Like Roman jailers, when they slept,
Chain'd to the prisoners they kept.

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35

ENG. POEMS- 7

Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first Love,

And looking back, at that short space,
Could see a glimpse of His bright face;
When on some gilded cloud, or flower,
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A sev'ral sin to every sense,
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!

That I might once more reach that plain
Where first I left my glorious train;
From whence th' enlightened spirit sees
That shady city of palm-trees.
But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way!
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.

I

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JOHN DRYDEN

1631-1700

MAC FLECKNOE

ALL human things are subject to decay,
And, when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was called to empire, and had governed long;
In prose and verse was found without dispute,
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
This agèd prince, now flourished in peace,
And blessed with issue of a large increase,
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the state;
And, pondering which of all his sons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit,
Cried, ''Tis resolved! for nature pleads, that he
Should only rule, who most resembles me.
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dulness from his tender years;
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he,
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity.
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense;
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems designed for thoughtless majesty;
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain,
And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.