Volume 11 — EPISTLE THE ELEVENTH.
Reading edition
TO
HENRY HIGDEN, Esq.
ON HIS TRANSLATION OF
THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL.
Henry Higden was a member of the honourable society of the Middle Temple, and during the reigns of James II. and William III. held some rank among the wits of the age. He wrote a play called "Sir Noisy Parrot, or the Wary Widow," represented in 1693, which seems to have been most effectually damned; for in the preface the author complains, that "the theatre was by faction transformed into a bear-garden, hissing, mimicking, ridiculing, and cat-calling." I mention this circumstance, because amongst the poetical friends who hastened to condole with Mr Higden on the bad success of his piece, there is one who attributes it to the influence of our author over the inferior wits at Will's coffee-house.[50] But it seems more generally admitted, as the cause of the downfall of the "Wary Widow," that the author being a man of a convivial temper, had introduced too great a display of good eating and drinking into his piece; and that the actors, although Mr Higden complains of their general negligence, entered into these convivial scenes with great zeal, and became finally incapable of proceeding in their parts.[51] The prologue was written by Sir Charles Sedley, in which the following lines seem to be levelled at Dryden's critical prefaces:
But against old, as well as new, to rage, Is the peculiar phrenzy of this age; Shakespeare must down, and you must praise no more Soft Desdemona, or the jealous Moor. Shakespeare, whose fruitful genius, happy wit, Was framed and finished at a lucky hit; The pride of nature, and the shame of schools, Born to create, and not to learn from rules, Must please no more. His bastards now deride Their father's nakedness, they ought to hide; But when on spurs their Pegasus they force, Their jaded muse is distanced in the course.
If the admirers of Dryden were active in the condemnation of Higden's play, the offence probably lay in these verses.
It seems likely that Higden's translation, of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal, which I have never seen, was printed before Dryden published his own version, in 1693; consequently, before the damnation of the "Wary Widow," acted in the same year, which seems to have been attended with a quarrel between Dryden and the author. It is therefore very probable, that this Epistle should have stood earlier in the arrangement: but, having no positive evidence, the Editor has not disturbed the former order.
EPISTLE THE ELEVENTH.
T he Grecian wits, who satire first began, Were pleasant Pasquins on the life of man; } { At mighty villains, who the state opprest, { They durst not rail, perhaps; they lashed, at least, { And turned them out of office with a jest. No fool could peep abroad, but ready stand The drolls to clap a bauble[52] in his hand. Wise legislators never yet could draw A fop within the reach of common law; For posture, dress, grimace, and affectation, Though foes to sense, are harmless to the nation. Our last redress is dint of verse to try, And satire is our court of chancery. This way took Horace to reform an age, Not bad enough to need an author's rage: But yours,[53] who lived in more degenerate times, Was forced to fasten deep, and worry crimes. Yet you, my friend, have tempered him so well, You make him smile in spite of all his zeal; An art peculiar to yourself alone, To join the virtues of two styles in one. } { Oh! were your author's principle received, { Half of the labouring world would be relieved; { For not to wish is not to be deceived. Revenge would into charity be changed, Because it costs too dear to be revenged; It costs our quiet and content of mind, And when 'tis compassed leaves a sting behind. Suppose I had the better end o'the staff, Why should I help the ill-natured world to laugh? 'Tis all alike to them, who get the day; They love the spite and mischief of the fray. No; I have cured myself of that disease; Nor will I be provoked, but when I please: But let me half that cure to you restore; You give the salve, I laid it to the sore. } { Our kind relief against a rainy day, { Beyond a tavern, or a tedious play, { We take your book, and laugh our spleen away. If all your tribe, too studious of debate, Would cease false hopes and titles to create, Led by the rare example you begun, Clients would fail, and lawyers be undone.