Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DUKE OF GUISE: PROLOGUE, by JOHN DRYDEN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DUKE OF GUISE: PROLOGUE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Our play's a parallel; the holy league
Last Line: Pull down the master, and set up the man.
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; England; Nations; Plays & Playwrights ; Politics & Government; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; English; Dramatists


OUR Play's a Parallel: The Holy League
Begot our Cov'nant; Guisards got the Whigg:
Whate'er our hot-brain'd Sheriffs did advance
Was like our Fashions, first produc'd in France;
And, when worn out, well scourg'd, and banish'd there,
Sent over, like their godly Beggars, here.
Cou'd the same Trick, twice play'd, our Nation gull?
It looks as if the Devil were grown dull;
Or serv'd us up in Scorn his broken Meat,
And thought we were not worth a better Cheat.
The fulsome Cov'nant, one wou'd think in Reason,
Had given us all our Bellys-full of Treason;
And yet, the Name but chang'd, our nasty Nation
Chaws its own Excrement, th' Association.
'Tis true, we have not learn'd their pois'ning way,
For that's a mode but newly come in play;
Besides, Your Drug's uncertain to prevail,
But your True Protestant can never fail
With that compendious Instrument, a Flail.
Go on, and bite, ev'n though the Hook lies bare,
Twice in one Age expel the lawful Heir,
Once more decide Religion by the Sword;
And purchase for us a new Tyrant Lord.
Pray for your King, but yet your Purses spare;
Make Him not Two-Pence richer by your Prayer.
To show you love Him much, chastise Him more,
And make Him very Great, and very Poor.
Push Him to Wars, but still no Pence advance;
Let Him lose England, to recover France.
Cry Freedom up with Popular noisie Votes,
And get enough to cut each other's Throats,
Lop all the Rights that fence your Monarch's Throne;
For fear of too much Pow'r, pray leave Him none.
A noise was made of Arbitrary Sway;
But in Revenge, you Whiggs have found a way,
An Arbitrary Duty now to pay.
Let His own Servants turn, to save their stake,
Glean from His Plenty, and His Wants forsake;
But let some Judas near His Person stay,
To swallow the last Sop, and then betray.
Make London independant of the Crown; 41
A Realm a part; the Kingdom of the Town.
Let Ignoramus juries find no Traytors,
And Ignoramus Poets scribble Satyrs.
And, that your meaning none may fail to scan,
Do what in Coffee-houses you began;
Pull down the Master, and Set up the Man.





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