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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DUKE OF GUISE: EPILOGUE: 1 by JOHN DRYDEN

Poet Analysis

First Line: MUCH TIME AND TROUBLE THIS POOR PLAY HAS COST
Last Line: WITH TORY WINGS, BUT WHIGGISH TEETH AND CLAWS.
Subject(s): PLAYS & PLAYWRIGHTS ; POLITICS & GOVERNMENT; DRAMATISTS;
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 book no single Aim: ----
But, like bold Boys, true to their Prince and hearty,
Huzza'd, and fired Broad-sides at the whole Party.
Duels are Crimes; but, when the Cause is right,
In Battel every Man is bound to fight.
For what should hinder Me to sell my Skin,
Dear as I cou'd, if once my Hand were in?
@3Se defendendo@1 never was a Sin.
'Tis a fine World, my Masters, right or wrong,
The Whiggs 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 ty'd 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 @3Nan@1 or @3Mally@1
Tipp'd you th' inviting Wink, stand, shall I, shall I?
A @3Trimmer@1 cry'd (that heard me tell this Story),
Fie, Mistress @3Cooke@1! Faith, you're too rank a Tory!
Wish not Whiggs hang'd, but pity their hard Cases;
You Women love to see Men make wry Faces. --
Pray, Sir, said I, don't think me such a @3Jew@1;
I say no more, but give the Dev'l his due. --
Lenitives, says he, best suit with our Condition.
@3Jack Ketch@1, says I, 's an excellent Physician.
I love no Bloud. -- Nor I, Sir, as I breath;
But hanging is a fine dry kind of Death.
We @3Trimmers@1 are for holding all things even. --
Yes -- just like him that hung 'twixt Hell and Heaven. --
Have we not had Men's Lives enow already?' --
Yes sure: -- but you're for holding all things steddy.
Now since the Weight hangs all on one side, Brother,
You @3Trimmers@1 shou'd, to poize it, hang on t' other.
Damn'd Neuters, in their middle way of steering.
Are neither Fish nor Flesh nor good Red-Herring:
Not Whiggs, 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 Whiggish Teeth and Claws.



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