In 1678 Oldham left Croydon and was afterwards tutor in two good families; he thought of medicine as a profession, but was always drawn to poetry. The Earl of Kingston made Oldham his guest and friend at Holme Pierrepoint until his death, and would have made him his chaplain if he had entered the Church; but what he thought of the servile gentility of chaplainship as then too commonly understood, he tells in a satire addressed to a friend about to leave the university and come abroad into the world. These are the lines, which form only

PART OF A SATIRE.

Some think themselves exalted to the sky,

If they light in some noble family:

Diet, an horse, and thirty pounds a year,
Besides th' advantage of his lordship's ear,

The credit of the business, and the state,

Are things that in a youngster's sense sound great. Little the unexperienc'd wretch does know

What slavery he oft must undergo,

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When dinner calls, the implement must wait
With holy words to consecrate the meat,
But hold it for a favour seldom known,
If he be deign'd the honour to sit down;
Soon as the tarts appear, Sir Crape, withdraw!
Those dainties are not for a spiritual maw.
Observe your distance, and be sure to stand
Hard by the cistern with your cap in hand,
There for diversion you may pick your teeth
Till the kind voider comes for your relief.

All those high morals which in books we meet;
Easy, as in soft air, there writ they are,
Yet firm, as if in brass they graven were.
Nor is her talent lazily to know
As dull divines and holy canters do;
She acts what they only in pulpits prate,
And theory to practice does translate.
Not her own actions more obey her will,
Than that obeys strict virtue's dictates still :
Yet does not virtue from her duty flow,

Who tho' in silken scarf and cassock drest, Wears but a gayer livery at best.

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But she is good because she will be so.

Her virtue scorns at a low pitch to fly,
'Tis all free choice, nought of necessity:
By such soft rules are saints above confin'd,
Such is the tie which them to good does bind.
The scattered glories of her happy sex
In her bright soul as in their centre mix,
And that which they possess but by retail,
She hers by just monopoly can call,
Whose sole example does more virtues shew,
Than schoolmen ever taught or ever knew.
No act did e'er within her practice fall,
Which for th' atonement of a blush could call;
No word of hers e'er greeted any ear,
But what a saint at her last gasp might hear.
Scarcely her thoughts have ever sullied been
With the least print or stain of native sin;
Devout she is, as holy hermits are,

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Who share their time 'twixt ecstasy and prayer,
Modest, as infant roses in their bloom,
Who in a blush their fragrant lives consume;

So chaste, the dead themselves are only more,
Who lie divorc'd from objects and from power;

For mere board-wages such their freedom sell,
Slaves to an hour, and vassals to a bell;
And if th' enjoyment of one day be stole,
They are but prisoners out upon parole:
Always the marks of slavery remain,

And they, tho' loose, still drag about their chain.
And where's the mighty prospect after all?

A chaplainship serv'd up, and seven years' thrall,
The menial thing perhaps for a reward
Is to some slender benefice preferr'd,
With this proviso bound, that he must wed
My lady's antiquated waiting-maid,
In dressing only skill'd, and marmalade.

Let others who such meannesses can brook, Strike countenance to every great man's look; Let those that have a mind turn slaves to eat. And live contented by another's plate:

I rate my freedom higher, nor will I

For food and raiment truck my liberty.

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The movements that led immediately to the Revolution after the first sharp conflict for the exclusion of James, Duke of York, from the succession to the throne, are expressed vigorously in the literature of the time; in Dryden's "Absalom and Achitophel," Samuel Pordage's "Azaria and Hushai," Dryden's "Medal," Samuel Pordage's "Medal Reversed," and many other pieces upon the endeavour of the king to crush opposition in the person of Lord Shaftesbury. The reasoning on Church questions in Dryden's "Religio Laici," though nominally Protestant, maintained the same principle of authority as the safeguard of unity that he asserted five years later in the "Hind and Panther," when the natural bias of his mind towards that principle of authority which had brought him to the king's side carried him on into sincere Catholicism. Every change in Dryden's mind was natural as that of a ball placed on a high slope, stationary till the impulse came that set it moving, and then true to its one possible course. There is no instance in his life of change against the bias, and he stood firm on the ground to which he at last came, when others, whom none blame for it, varied opinions with the times. After the Revolution John Dryden ceased to be laureate, by his own act, because he would not take the formal oaths required of one who held a post under the crown upon the change of sovereign.

Charles Montague, who was to be a foremost statesman of the Whigs, first earned his credit as a wit by fulsome verses on the death of Charles II., at the beginning of whose reign he had been born. He was fourth son of the Hon. George Montague, of Harton, in Northamptonshire, and grandson to the first Earl of Manchester. At Westminster School he formed a strong friendship with George Stepney, known afterwards as a poet, and became, in the year 1682, his fellow-student in Trinity College, Cambridge. On the death of Charles II., in February, 1685, Charles Montague contributed the following poem to the book of condolence and congratulation presented by the University to James II. :—

ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOST SACRED MAJESTY KING CHARLES II.

Farewell, great Charles, monarch of blest renown, The best good man that ever fill'd a throne; Whom Nature, as her highest pattern, wrought, And mix'd both sexes' virtues in one draught: Wisdom for councils, bravery in war,

His youth for valorous patience was renown'd,
Like David, persecuted first, then crown'd.
Lov'd in all courts, admir'd where'er he came,
At once our nation's glory and its shame :
They blest the isle where such great spirits dwell,
Abhorr'd the men that could such worth expel.
To spare our lives, he meekly did defeat
Those Sauls whom wand'ring asses made so great;
Waiting till Heaven's election should be shown,
And the Almighty should his unction own.
And own He did-His powerful arm display'd,
And Israel, the belov'd of God, obey'd;
Call'd by his people's tears, he came, he eas'd
The groaning nation, the black storms appeas'd;
Did greater blessings, than he took, afford,
England itself was, more than he, restor❜d.
Unhappy Albion, by strange ills opprest,
In various fevers toss'd, could find no rest;
Quite spent and wearied, to his arms she fled,
And rested on his shoulders her fair bending head.

In conquests mild, he came from exile kind,
No climes, no provocations, chang'd his mind;
No malice show'd, no hate, revenge, or pride,
But rul'd as meekly as his father died;
Eas'd us from endless wars, made discords cease;
Restor'd to quiet, and maintain'd in peace,

A mighty series of new time began,
And rolling years in joyful circles ran.
Then wealth the city, bus'ness fill'd the port,
To mirth our tumults turn'd, our wars to sport,
Then learning flourish'd, blooming arts did spring,
And the glad Muses prun'd their drooping wing.
Then did our flying towers improvement know,
Who now command as far as winds can blow;
With canvas wings round all the globe they fly,
And, built by Charles's art, all storms defy,
To ev'ry coast with ready sails are hurl'd,
Fill us with wealth, and with our fame the world.
From whose distractions seas do us divide,
Their riches here in floating castles ride;
We reap the swarthy Indian's sweat and toil,
Their fruit, without the mischiefs of their soil,
Here in cool shades their gold and pearls receive,
Free from the heat which does their lustre give;
In Persian silks eat Eastern spice, secure
From burning fluxes and their calenture;
Under our vines upon the peaceful shore,
We see all Europe toss'd, hear tempests roar,
Rapine, sword, wars, and famine rage abroad,
While Charles their host, like Jove from Ida, aw'd,
Us from our foes, and from ourselves did shield,
Our towns from tumults, and from arms the field.
For when bold factions Goodness could disdain,
Unwillingly he us'd a straiter rein:

In the still gentle voice he lov'd to speak,
But could with thunder harden'd rebels break.

Yet though they wak'd the laws, his tender mind
Was undisturb'd, in wrath severely kind.
Tempting his power, and urging to assume,
Thus Jove in love did Semele consume.

Firmer he stands, and boldly keeps the field,

Showing stout minds, when unprovok'd, are mild. So when the good man made the crowd presume,

He show'd himself, and did the king assume;

For goodness in excess may be a sin,
Justice must tame, whom Mercy cannot win.
Thus winter fixes the unstable sea,

And teaches restless water constancy,

Which, under the warm influence of bright days,

The fickle motion of each blast obeys.
To bridle factions, stop rebellion's course,
By easy methods vanquish without force,
Relieve the good, bold stubborn foes subdue,
Mildness in wrath, meekness in anger shew,
Were arts great Charles's prudence only knew.
To fright the bad, thus awful thunder rolls;
While the bright bow secures the faithful souls.

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Such is thy glory, Charles, thy lasting name
Brighter than our proud neighbour's guilty fame;
More noble than the spoils that battles yield,
Or all the empty triumphs of the field.
'Tis less to conquer than to make wars cease,
And without fighting awe the world to peace.
For proudest triumphs from contempt arise;
The vanquish'd first the conqueror's arms despise.
Won ensigns are the gaudy marks of scorn,
They brave the victor first, and then adorn:
But peaceful monarchs reign like gods; while none 110
Dispute, all love, bless, reverence their throne.
Tigers and bears, with all the savage host,

May boldness, strength, and daring conquest boast;
But the sweet passions of a generous mind
Are the prerogative of human-kind.
The god-like image on our clay impress'd,
The darling attribute which Heaven loves best,
In Charles, so good a man and king, we see
A double image of the Deity.

Oh! had he more resembled it! oh, why
Was he not still more like, and could not die!
Now do our thoughts alone enjoy his name,
And faint ideas of our blessing frame.

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In Thames, the ocean's darling, England's pride,
The pleasing emblem of his reign does glide:
Thames, the support and glory of our isle,
Richer than Tagus or Egyptian Nile,
Though no rich sand in him, no pearls are found,
Yet fields rejoice, his meadows laugh around;
Less wealth his bosom holds, less guilty stores,
For he exhausts himself t' enrich the shores;
Mild and serene the peaceful current flows,
No angry foam, no raging surges knows:
No dreadful wreck upon his banks appears,
His crystal stream unstain'd by widows' tears,
His channel strong and easy, deep and clear;
No arbitrary inundations sweep

The ploughman's hopes and life into the deep;
The even waters the old limits keep;
But oh! he ebbs, the smiling waves decay,
(For ever, lovely stream, for ever stay!)
To the black sea his silent course does bend,
Where the best streams, the longest rivers, end.
His spotless waves there undistinguish'd pass,
None see how clear, how bounteous, sweet, he was.
No difference now (though late so much) is seen
'Twixt him, fierce Rhine, and the impetuous Seine.

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This poem procured for Montague an invitation to town from the Earl of Dorset and Sir Charles Sedley, by whom it had been admired; the Earl of Dorset was active afterwards as a promoter of the Revolution. When Dryden's "Hind and Panther" appeared, in 1687, it was promptly followed by a lively and witty caricature in the manner of Buckingham's "Rehearsal," "The Hind and the Panther Transvers'd to the Story of the Country Mouse and the City Mouse." The writers were Charles Montague and Matthew Prior, two or three years younger, whom the Earl of Dorset had discovered as a clever Westminster boy reading Horace in the "Rummer Tavern," kept by the lad's uncle and guardian, Samuel Prior. It was, as we have seen, one mark of a gentleman in those days to be prompt in recognition of good wit, and liberal in its encouragement. The Earl of Dorset, therefore, sent Matthew Prior, at his own cost, to St. John's College, Cambridge, in the same year in which Montague entered at Trinity.

In the year of the Revolution, three collections were made "of the Newest and most Ingenious Poems, Satyrs, Songs, &c., against Popery and Tyranny relating to the Times." One example of contemptuous irony will suffice to show how low the king had fallen, when he was trusting to the support of an armed force on Hounslow Heath, in the year before he was held to have vacated the throne :

HOUNSLOW HEATH.

Near Hampton Court there lies a Common,
Unknown to neither man nor woman;
The Heath of Hounslow it is styled:

Which never was with blood defiled,

Though it has been of war the seat,
Now three campaigns, almost complete.

Here you may see Great James the Second, (The greatest of our kings he's reckoned!) A hero of such high renown,

Whole nations tremble at his frown;

And when he smiles men die away,

In transports of excessive joy.

A prince of admirable learning!

Quick wit! of judgment most discerning!
His knowledge in all arts is such,

No monarch ever knew so much :

Not that old blust'ring king of Pontus,1
Whom men call learnéd, to affront us,
With all his tongues and dialects
Could equal him in all respects;

1 Mithridates Eupator, according to Cicero the greatest monarch who ever ruled. He spoke fluently the languages of twenty-five nations; he also invented a famous antidote against poison, of which he took a dose every morning, and which was called after him, Mithridatium. Serenus Samonicus says that when Pompey took the baggage of this famous king he was surprised to find that his antidote consisted only of twenty leaves of rue, a little salt, two walnuts, and two figs. The medicine called Mithridate in later time was made up from such a prescription as might drive a modern druggist mad. There were various proportions of about fifty vegetable gums, seeds, and juices to be made up into an electuary with clarified honey and the best canary.

His two and twenty languages Were trifles, if compar'd to his,

Jargons, which we esteem but small; English and French are worth 'em all.

What though he had some skill in physic,
Could cure the dropsy or the phthisic;
Perhaps, was able to advise one

To 'scape the danger of rank poison,

And could prepare an antidote

Should carry 't off, though down your throat?

These are but poor mechanic arts,

Inferior to Great James his parts;

Shall he be set in the same rank

With a pedantic mountebank?

He's master of such eloquence,

Well-chosen words, and weighty sense;

That he ne'er parts his lovely lips,

But out a trope or figure slips;

And, when he moves his fluent tongue,

Is sure to ravish all the throng;

And every mortal that can hear,

Is held fast prisoner by the car.

His other gifts we need but name, They are so spread abroad by fame, His faith, his zeal, his constancy, Aversion to all bigotry!

His firm adhering to the laws,

By which he judges every cause,
And deals to all impartial justice,

In which the subject's greatest trust is!
His constant keeping of his word,
As well to peasant as to lord;
Which he no more would violate,
Than he would quit his regal state;
Who has not his least promise broke,
Nor contradicted what he spoke!
His governing the brutal passions,

With far more rigour than his nation's :
Would not be sway'd by 's appetite,

Were he to gain an empire by 't!

From hence does flow that chastity,

Temperance, love, sincerity,

And unaffected piety,

That just abhorrence of ambition,

Idolatry, and superstition,

Which through his life have shin'd so bright,

That nought could dazzle their clear light!
These qualities we'll not insist on,

Because they all are duties Christian;

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Who perished not by sword or bullet,

But melted gold poured down the gullet. Heroes of old were only fam'd

For having millions kill'd or maim'd;

For being the instruments of fate,

In making nations desolate;

For wading to the chin i' th' blood

Of those that in their passage stood,

And thought the point they had not gain'd
While any foe alive remain'd.

Our monarch, by more gentle rules,
Has prov'd the ancients arrant fools:
He only studies and contrives
Not to destroy, but save men's lives;
Shows all the military skill,

Without committing aught that's ill.
He'll teach his men, in warlike sport,
How to defend or storm a fort;
And, in heroic interlude,

Will act the dreadful scene of Bude.
Here Lorrain storms, the vizier dies,
And Brandenburg routs the supplies;
Bavaria there blows up their train,
And all the Turks are took or slain;
All this perform'd with no more harm
Than loss of simple gunner's arm:
And, surely, 'tis a greater good

To teach men war than shed their blood.

Now pause, and view the army royal, Compos'd of valiant souls and loyal; Not rais'd (as ill men say) to hurt ye, But to defend or to convert ye: For that's the method now in use, The faith Tridentine to diffuse. Time was the Word was powerful; But now 'tis thought remiss and dull: Has not that energy and force Which is in well-arm'd foot and horse. Thus, when the faith has had mutation, We change its way of propagation: So Mahomet, with arms and terrors, Spread over half the world his errors.

Here daily swarm prodigious wights,
And strange variety of sights,

As ladies lewd, and foppish knights,
Priests, poets, pimps, and parasites;
Which now we'll spare, and only mention
The hungry bard that writes for pension;
Old Squab,1 (who's sometimes here, I'm told)
That oft has with his prince made bold,
Call'd the late king a sant'ring cully,
To magnify the Gallic bully;
Who lately put a senseless banter

Upon the world, with Hind and Panther,
Making the beasts and birds o' th' wood
Debate, what he ne'er understood,

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The noise whereof is spread so far, Was nothing, to what's practis'd here;

Though carried on for forty year
'Gainst Pompey, Sylla, and Lucullus,
High-sounding names, brought in to gull us:
In which the Romans lost more men
Than one age could repair again;

1 Old Squab. Dryden. Shallow contempt, in their own day or after it, little affects the reputation earned by a man of genius who has dealt faithfully, according to his light, with the essentials of his time. Dryden is Dryden, though the author of this doggrel called him "Old Squab," and supposed him to have written wretched poetry. Words. worth is Wordsworth, and the master poet of our century, though Byron found a clever way of writing him down an idiot, and the author of the second Peter Bell gave him for epitaph-

"Here lies W. W., who never more will trouble yoa, trouble you."