  If ever anything, call’d a Poem, deserv’d a severe Reflection, that of Absalom and Achitophel may justly contract it. For tho’ Lines can never be purg’d from the dross and filth they would throw on others (there being no retraction that can expiate the conveying of persons to an unjust and publick reproach); yet the cleansing of their fames from a design’d pollution, may well become a more ingenious Pen than the Author of these few reflections will presume to challenge. To epitomize which scandalous Phamphlet (unworthy the denomination of Poesy) no eye can inspect it without a prodigious amazement; the abuses being so gross and deliberate, that it seems rather a Capital or National Libel, than personal exposures, in order to an infamous detraction. For how does he character the King, but as a broad figure of scandalous inclinations, or contriv’d unto such irregularities, as renders him rather the property of Parasites and Vice, than suitable to the accomplishment of so excellent a Prince? Nay, he forces on King David such a Royal resemblance, that he darkens 56 his sanctity in spite of illuminations from Holy Writ. Next (to take as near our King as he could) he calumniates the Duke of Monmouth with that height of impudence, that his Sense is far blacker than his Ink, exposing him to all the censures that a Murderer, a Traytor, or what a Subject of most ambitious evil can possibly comprehend: and it is some wonder, that his Lines also had not hang’d him on a Tree, to make the intended Absalom more compleat. As to my Lord Shaftsbury (in his collusive Achitophel), what does he other than exceed Malice it self? or that the more prudent deserts of that Peer were to be so impeach’d before hand by his impious Poem, as that he might be granted more emphatically condign of the Hangman’s Ax; And which his Muse does in effect take upon her to hasten. And if the season be well observ’d, when this Adulterate Poem was spread, it will be found purposely divulg’d near the time when this Lord, with his other Noble Partner, were to be brought to their Tryals. And I suppose this Poet thought himself enough assur’d of their condemnation; at least, that his Genius had not otherwise ventur’d to have trampled on persons of such eminent Abilities, and Interest in the Nation. A consideration, I confess, incited my Pen (its preceding respect being paid to the Duke of Monmouth) to vindicate their Reputations where I thought it due. 57 And some are not a little mistaken in their judgments of persons, if any Kingdom has at this time Two men of their Dignity, of more extraordinary Understandings: Which may (ifwell consider’d) be some inducement to their future preservation and esteem. As I have endeavour’d chiefly to clear their abuse, so I have pass’d divers considerable persons, under as malign inclinations of this Author’s; conceiving, that what I have said for the Principals, may remove such smaller prejudices as are on the value of others on the same concern. His most select and pecuniary Favourites, I have but barely touch’d, in respect his praise includes a concomitant reprehension, if well apprehended. Besides, I was unwilling to discourage any, that for the future may desire to be admir’d by him according to their liberality. A method, that perhaps may in time set up some Merchants of Parnassus, where the Indies of Fame seem lately discover’d, and may be purchas’d per Centum, according to modern example. As to the Character of Amiel, I confess my Lines are something pointed, the one reason being, that it alludes much to a manner of expression of this Writer’s, as may be seen by the marginal Notes; and a second will be soon allowed. The figure of Amiel has been so squeez’d into Paint, that his soul is seen in spite of the Varnish. And none will deny, but it is as easie to send Truth backward, as it is to spur Falsities egregiously forward, and might have caus’d any Asse, as knowing as Balaam’s, to have rebuk’d such a Poet as will needs 58 prophecy against the sense of Heaven and Men. But I have enough of this Amiell, as well as of his Muse, unless that by his means it occasions a further account. And for what is mine here, It will at worst contract censure, in respect it is a brief reflection on a very large Libel. And tho’ I believe it did not cost (tho’ that be not offer’d for an excuse) the tenth part of the time of the other. As to my Preface, I was willing that he should find, that this smaller work has some Nose.—Tho’ I am no more bound to have my Face known by it, than he is willing to obscure his by a Nameless Preamble. 59
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| We’ll tell you how his Court he now doth make, And what choice Things and Persons he doth take, That Lines for Guinnys might more liquorish speak. | } |
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Which late discover’d its Judaick Trance:
Where Absalon’s in English Colours di’d,
That in a Duke, a Traitor might be spi’d.
Or Heaven on him did Graces so bestow,
As only could confer their Pageant Show;
Giving his Glories no more fast Renown,
Than with more Honour to be taken down:
Like Victimes by some Sacrificers drest,
Must fall adorn’d, which then they pity least.
But fear not Monmouth, if a Libel’s quill,
Would dregs of Venom on thy Vertue spill;
Since no desert so smoothly is convey’d,
As next it’s Fame, no canker’d Patch is laid;
Thou didst no Honour seek, but what’s thy due,
And such Heaven bids thee not relinquish too.
Whilst it’s Impressions so oblig’d thy Task,
As leave from Earth thy Soul declin’d to ask.
If this thy Error were, what Influ’nce can
Excuse the Duty of more wilfull Man;
With such whose Figures shew that squinting Paint,
Whence peeps a Mungril Babylonish Saint.
Thy Soul’s Religion’s Prop, and Native Grace,
Rome, (fears its onsets) looking on the place;
What Altitude can more exalt thy Praise,
Tho best Devotion should thy Trophies raise,
And ’tis perhaps from thy Diviner Bliss,
That some may fear their Souls are seen amiss.
As what so high does Emulation mount,
As Greatness when surpass’d on Heaven’s Account;
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’Twas but to be more great in doing well;
And must rebate the worst that Fates intend,
Whilst Heaven and England is at once thy Friend.
This just Encomium, tho too brief it be
To represent thy least Epitome;
And but unto thy larger Figure joyn’d,
As small proportions are from great design’d;
Tho where a line one worth of thine can speak,
It does alone, a Poem’s Greatness make;
Leaving this Hero to his spotless Fame,
(As who besides this Wretch will it blaspheme)
Or in a Libels Allegorick Way,
Men falsely figur’d, to the world convey,
Libels the enormous Forgery of sense,
Stamp’d on the brow of human Impudence;
The blackest wound of Merit, and the Dart,
That secret Envy points against Desert.
The lust of Hatred pander’d to the Eye
T’allure the World’s debauching by a Lie.
Th’rancrous Favourite’s masquerading Guilt,
Imbitt’ring venom where he’d have it spilt.
The Courts depression in a fulsom Praise;
A Test it’s Ignoramus worst conveys,
A lump of Falshood’s Malice does disperse,
Or Toad when crawling on the Feet of Verse.
Fame’s impious Hireling and mean Reward,
The Knave that in his Lines turns up his Card,
Who, tho no Rabby, thought in Hebrew wit,
He forc’d Allusions can closly fit.
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He made a Talmud on his Muses score;
Though hop’d few Criticks will its Genius carp,
So purely Metaphors King David’s Harp,
And by a soft Encomium, near at hand,
Shews Bathsheba Embrac’d throughout the Land.
But this Judaick Paraphrastick Sport
We’ll leave unto the ridling Smile of Court.
Good Heav’n! What timeful Pains can Rhymers take,
When they’d for Crowds of Men much Pen-plot make?
Which long-Beak’d Tales and filch’d Allusions brings,
As much like Truth, as ’tis the Woodcock sings.
What else could move this Poet to purloin
So many Jews, to please the English Swine?
Or was it that his Brains might next dispense
To adapt himself a Royal Evidence?
Or that he’d find for Dugdale’s Wash some Spell,
In stead of once more dipp’d in Winifred’s Well;
And ope his Budget, like Pandora’s Box,
Whence Overt-acts more Protestants should Pox,
Which might the Joyner’s Ghost provoke to rise,
And fright such Tales with other Popish Lies?
But Starr’s or Ignoramus’s may not give
Those Swearers longer swinge by Oaths to live.
A Providence much English Good protects,
And sends Testees to Trade for new Effects;
Which none of the Long-Robe, ’tis hop’d, can aid,
So well by Oaths the Devil’s already paid;
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Or eat up one anothers Perjury,
’Twou’d Pluto strangely pose to find a Third,
Sould he in his a Popish Legion Lard.
A Policy some Poems much embrace,
As is discern’d in Shaftsbury’s Great Case;
Where Verse so vile an Obloquy betray,
As for a Statist-Jew they’d him convey.
Tho hard it is to understand what Spell
Can conjure up in him Achitophel,
Or tax this Peer with an Abused Sense
Of his so deep and apt Intelligence:
A Promptitude by which the Nation’s shown
To be in Thought concurrent with his own.
Shaftsbury! A Soul that Nature did impart
To raise her Wonder in a Brain and Heart;
Or that in him produc’d, the World might know,
She others did with drooping Thought bestow.
As in Mans most perspicuous Soul, we find
The nearest Draught of her Internal Mind,
Tho it appears her highest Act of State,
When Human Conducts she does most compleat,
And place them so, for Mankinds good, that they
Are fit to Guide, where others miss their Way;
It being in Worldly Politiques less Great
To be a Law-maker, than Preserve a State.
In Publick Dangers Laws are unsecure,
As strongest Anchors can’t all Winds endure;
Though ’tis in Exigents the wisest Ease
To know who best can ply when Storms encrease;
Whilst other Prospects, by mistaking Fate,
Through wrong Preventions, more its Bad dilate.
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To ruine such can Evils best amend.
A Thwarting Genius, which our Nation more
Than all its head-strong Evils does deplore;
And shews what violent Movements such inform,
That where a Calm should be, they force a Storm;
As if their Safety chiefly they must prize
In being rid of Men esteem’d more Wise.
To this Great, Little Man, we’ll T’other joyn,
Held Sufferers by one Tripartite Design.
As from a Cubick Power, or Three-fold Might,
Roots much expand, as Authors prove aright;
But of such Managements we’ll little say,
Or shamm’d Intrigues, for Fame left to convey;
Which may by peeping through a Gown-mans Sleeve,
Tell such grave Tales, Men cannot well believe:
With what for Plots and Trials has been done,
As Whores depos’d, before away they run;
All which was well discern’d by numerous Sense,
Before the Doctors py’d Intelligence,
Who, with some Motley Lawyers, took much care
To gain the Caput of this Knowing Peer;
When after so much Noise, and nothing prov’d,
Heaven thank’d, to Freedom he’s at last remov’d,
Leaving a Low-Bridge Cerberus to try
In what Clerks Pate his monstrous Fee does lie;
Or by the help of Tory-Roger tell
How Sacred Gain-Prerogativ’d should spell.
But these are Thoughts may fit some Pensive Skulls,
Or Men concern’d to bait their several Bulls;
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Tho more he merits than best Verse can show:
Great in his Name, but greater in his Parts,
Judgment sublim’d, with all its strong Deserts;
A Sense above Occasions quick surprize,
That he no Study needs to make him Wise,
Or labour’d Thoughts, that trains of Sinews knit,
His Judgment always twin’d unto his Wit;
That from his clear Discussions Men may know
He does to wonder other Brains out-do.
Whilst they for Notions search they can’t compact,
His Genius fitly stands prepar’d to act.
Admir’d of Man, that in thy Sense alone
So ready dost exalt high Reason’s Throne;
That Men abate Resentments to expect
Thou mayst rise Greater, having past Neglect.
A Sacred Method Kings receive from Heaven,
That still does Cherish, when it has Forgiven;
Which from our Princes Soul so largely flows,
That Mercy’s Channel with his Greatness goes.
No Arbitrary Whispers him can guide
To swell his Rule beyond its genuine Tide:
Whilst other Kings their rugged Scepters see
Eclips’d in his more soft Felicity;
Whose Goodness can all Stress of State remove,
So fitly own’d the Subjects Fear and Love.
| My Verse might here discharge its hasty Flight, As Pencils that attempt Immortal Heighth Droop in the Colours should convey its Light, | } |
Did not this Poet’s Lines upon me call
For some Reflexions on a Lower Fall;
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Obtrudes for Israelites some Seeds of Cham.
And this Inspexion needs no further go
Than where his Pen does most Indulgent show:
And ’tis no wonder if his Types of Sense
Should stroke such Figures as give down their Pence;
A Crime for which some Poets Lines so stretch,
As on themselves they Metaphor Jack Ketch.
Tho small the Varnish is to Humane Name,
Where Cogging Measures rob the truth of Fame.
And more to do his skew’d Encomiums right,
Some Persons speak by him their motly Sight:
Or much like Hudibras, on Wits pretence,
Some Lines for Rhyme, and some to gingle Sense.
Who else would Adriel, Jotham, Hushai, fit,
With loathed Amiell, for a Court of Wit?
For, as Men Squares of Circles hardly find,
Some think these Measures are as odly joyn’d.
What else could Adriell’s sharpness more abuse,
Than headlong dubb’d, to own himself a Muse,
Unless to spread Poetick Honours so
As should a Muse give each St. George’s Show?
A Mode of Glory might Parnassus fit,
Tho our Sage Prince knows few he’d Knight for Wit.
And thus this Freak is left upon the File,
Or as ’tis written in this Poet’s Stile.
Next, as in Course, to Jotham we’ll descend,
Thoughtful it seems which Side he’ll next befriend,
As thinking Brains can caper to and fro,
Before they jump into the Box they’d go.
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When some with busie Fears still forward press;
As ’tis Ambitions oft-deluding Cheat
To tempt Mens aims, secureless of defeat.
Hushai the Compass of th’Exchequer guides,
Propense enough unto the North besides:
As what can steady Stations more allure,
Than such, a Princely Bed does first secure?
Whose Part none are so ignorant to ask,
And does no less employ his Ends and Task.
But quitting these, we must for Prospect pass
To gaping Amiell, as reflects our Glass.
* See his, p. 27. The Him indeed of his own *Western Dome,
So near his praiseful Poet Sense may come:
* See his, p. 28. For *Amiell, Amiell, who cannot endite
Of his Thin Value won’t disdain to write?
The very Him with Gown and Mace did rule
The Sanedrim, when guided by a Fool.
The Him that did both Sense and Reason shift,
That he to gainful Place himself might lift.
The very Him that did adjust the Seed
Of such as did their Votes for Money breed.
The Mighty Him that frothy Notions vents,
In hope to turn them into Presidents.
The Him of Hims, although in Judgment small,
That fain would be the biggest at Whitehall.
The He that does for Justice Coin postpone,
As on Account may be hereafter shown.
If this plain English be, ’tis far from Trick,
Though some Lines gall, where others fawning lick;
Which fits thy Poet, Amiell, for thy Smiles,
If once more paid to blaze thy hated Toils.
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Without Intelligence from Forreign Shore,
Or what Designs Ambassadors contrive,
Or how the Faithless French their Compass guide:
But Lines the busie World too much supply,
Besides th’Effects of evil Poetry,
Which much to Tory-Writers some ascribe,
Though hop’d no Furies of the Whiggish Tribe
Will on their Backs such Lines or Shapes convey,
To burn with Pope, on Great November’s Day.
FINIS.
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