No More Learning

How could his forfeit on mankind take place?
Or how could heavenly justice damn us all,
Who ne'er consented to our father's fall?
Then kings are slaves to those whom they command,
And tenants to their people's pleasure stand.
Add, that the power, for property allowed,
Is mischievously seated in the crowd;
For who can be secure of private right,
If sovereign sway may be dissolved by might?
Nor is the people's judgment always true:
The most may err as grossly as the few;
And faultless kings run down by common cry,
For vice, oppression, and for tyranny.
What standard is there in a fickle rout,
Which, flowing to the mark, runs faster out?
Nor only crowds but Sanhedrims may be
Infected with this public lunacy,
And share the madness of rebellious times,
To murder monarchs for imagined crimes.
If they may give and take whene'er they please,
Not kings alone, the Godhead's images,
But government itself, at length must fall
To nature's state, where all have right to all.
Yet, grant our lords, the people, kings can make,
What prudent men a settled throne would shake?
For whatsoe'er their sufferings were before,
That change they covet makes them suffer more.
All other errors but disturb a state;
But innovation is the blow of fate.
If ancient fabrics nod, and threat to fall,
To patch their flaws, and buttress up the wall,
Thus far 'tis duty: but here fix the mark;
For all beyond it is to touch the ark.
To change foundations, cast the frame anew,
Is work for rebels, who base ends pursue;
At once divine and human laws controul,
And mend the parts by ruin of the whole.
The tampering world is subject to this curse,
To physic their disease into a worse.
Now what relief can righteous David bring?
How fatal 'tis to be too good a king!
Friends he has few, so high the madness grows;
Who dare be such must be the people's foes.
Yet some there were, even in the worst of days;
Some let me name, and naming is to praise.
In this short file Barzillai[276] first appears;
Barzillai, crowned with honour and with years.
Long since, the rising rebels he withstood
In regions waste beyond the Jordan's flood:[277]
Unfortunately brave to buoy the state;
But sinking underneath his master's fate:
In exile with his godlike prince he mourned;
For him he suffered, and with him returned.
The court he practised, not the courtier's art:
Large was his wealth, but larger was his heart,
Which well the noblest objects knew to choose,
The fighting warrior, and recording muse.
His bed could once a fruitful issue boast;
Now more than half a father's name is lost.
His eldest hope, with every grace adorned,
By me, so heaven will have it, always mourned,
And always honoured, snatched in manhood's prime
By unequal fates, and providence's crime:[278]
Yet not before the goal of honour won, }
All parts fulfilled of subject and of son: }
Swift was the race, but short the time to run. }
Oh narrow circle, but of power divine,
Scanted in space, and perfect in thy line!
By sea, by land, thy matchless worth was known,
Arms thy delight, and war was all thy own:
Thy force infused the fainting Tyrians[279] prop'd,
And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stop'd.
Oh ancient honour! Oh unconquered hand,
Whom foes unpunished never could withstand!
But Israel was unworthy of his name:[280]
Short is the date of all immoderate fame. [281]
It looks as heaven our ruin had designed,
And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind.
Now, free from earth, thy disencumbered soul
Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starry pole:
From thence thy kindred legions may'st thou bring,
To aid the guardian angel of thy king.
Here stop, my muse; here cease thy painful flight;
No pinions can pursue immortal height:
Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no more,
And tell thy soul she should have fled before:
Or fled she with his life, and left this verse
To hang on her departed patron's hearse?
Now take thy steepy flight from heaven, and see
If thou canst find on earth another he:
Another he would be too hard to find;
See then whom thou canst see not far behind.
Zadoc the priest,[282] whom, shunning power and place,
His lowly mind advanced to David's grace.
With him the Sagan[283] of Jerusalem,
Of hospitable soul, and noble stem;
Him of the western dome,[284] whose weighty sense
Flows in fit words, and heavenly eloquence.
The prophet's sons, by such example led,
To learning and to loyalty were bred:
For colleges on bounteous kings depend,
And never rebel was to arts a friend.
To these succeed the pillars of the laws;
Who best can plead, and best can judge a cause.
Next them a train of loyal peers ascend;
Sharp-judging Adriel,[285] the muses friend,
Himself a muse: in Sanhedrim's debate,
True to his prince, but not a slave of state:
Whom David's love with honours did adorn,
That from his disobedient son were torn.
Jotham, of piercing wit, and pregnant thought,[286]
Endued by nature, and by learning taught,
To move assemblies, who but only tried
The worse a-while, then chose the better side:
Nor chose alone, but turned the balance too;
So much the weight of one brave man can do.
Hushai, the friend of David in distress;
In public storms, of manly stedfastness;[287]
By foreign treaties he informed his youth,
And joined experience to his native truth.
His frugal care supplied the wanting throne;
Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own:
'Tis easy conduct when exchequers flow,
But hard the task to manage well the low;
For sovereign power is too depressed or high,
When kings are forced to sell, or crowds to buy.
Indulge one labour more, my weary muse,
For Amiel; who can Amiel's praise refuse? [288]
Of ancient race by birth, but nobler yet
In his own worth, and without title great:
The Sanhedrim long time as chief he ruled,
Their reason guided, and their passion cooled:
So dexterous was he in the crown's defence,
So formed to speak a loyal nation's sense,
That, as their band was Israel's tribes in small,
So fit was he to represent them all.
Now rasher charioteers the seat ascend,
Whose loose careers his steady skill commend:
They, like the unequal ruler of the day,
Misguide the seasons, and mistake the way;
While he, withdrawn, at their mad labours smiles,
And safe enjoys the sabbath of his toils.
These were the chief; a small but faithful band }
Of worthies, in the breach who dared to stand, }
And tempt the united fury of the land. }
With grief they viewed such powerful engines bent,
To batter down the lawful government.
A numerous faction, with pretended frights,
In Sanhedrims to plume the legal rights;
The true successor from the court removed;
The plot, by hireling witnesses, improved.
These ills they saw, and, as their duty bound,
They shewed the king the danger of the wound;
That no concessions from the throne would please,
But lenitives fomented the disease:
That Absalom, ambitious of the crown,
Was made the lure to draw the people down:
That false Achitophel's pernicious hate
Had turned the plot to ruin church and state:
The council violent, the rabble worse;
That Shimei taught Jerusalem to curse.
With all these loads of injuries opprest,
And long revolving in his careful breast
The event of things, at last, his patience tired,
Thus, from his royal throne, by heaven inspired,
The god-like David spoke; with awful fear
His train their Maker in their master hear. [289]
Thus long, have I by native mercy swayed,
My wrongs dissembled, my revenge delayed;
So willing to forgive the offending age;
So much the father did the king assuage.
But now so far my clemency they slight,
The offenders question my forgiving right. [290]
That one was made for many, they contend;
But 'tis to rule; for that's a monarch's end.
They call my tenderness of blood, my fear;
Though manly tempers can the longest bear.
Yet since they will divert my native course,
'Tis time to shew I am not good by force.
Those heaped affronts, that haughty subjects bring,
Are burdens for a camel, not a king.
Kings are the public pillars of the state,
Born to sustain and prop the nation's weight:
If my young Sampson will pretend a call
To shake the column, let him share the fall:[291]
But oh, that yet he would repent and live!
How easy 'tis for parents to forgive!
With how few tears a pardon might be won
From nature, pleading for a darling son!
Poor, pitied youth, by my paternal care
Raised up to all the height his frame could bear!
Had God ordained his fate for empire born,
He would have given his soul another turn:
Gulled with a patriot's name, whose modern sense
Is one that would by law supplant his prince;
The people's brave, the politician's tool;
Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
Whence comes it, that religion and the laws
Should more be Absalom's than David's cause?
His old instructor, ere he lost his place,
Was never thought endued with so much grace.
Good heavens, how faction can a patriot paint!
My rebel ever proves my people's saint.
Would they impose an heir upon the throne?
Let Sanhedrims be taught to give their own.
A king's at least a part of government;
And mine as requisite as their consent:
Without my leave a future king to chuse,
Infers a right the present to depose.
True, they petition me to approve their choice;
But Esau's hands suit ill with Jacob's voice.
My pious subjects for my safety pray;
Which to secure, they take my power away.
From plots and treasons heaven preserve my years,
But save me most from my petitioners! [292]
Unsatiate as the barren womb or grave;
God cannot grant so much as they can crave.
What then is left, but with a jealous eye
To guard the small remains of royalty?
The law shall still direct my peaceful sway,
And the same law teach rebels to obey:
Votes shall no more established power controul,--
Such votes, as make a part exceed the whole
No groundless clamours shall my friend remove,
Nor crowds have power to punish ere they prove;
For Gods and god-like kings their care express,
Still to defend their servants in distress
Oh, that my power to saving were confined! }
Why am I forced, like heaven, against my mind, }
To make examples of another kind? }
Must I at length the sword of justice draw?
Oh curst effects of necessary law!
How ill my fear they by my mercy scan!
Beware the fury of a patient man.
Law they require, let law then shew her face;
They could not be content to look on grace,
Her hinder parts, but with a daring eye,
To tempt the terror of her front, and die.
By their own arts 'tis righteously decreed,
Those dire artificers of death shall bleed.
Against themselves their witnesses will swear,[293]
'Till, viper like, their mother-plot they tear;
And suck for nutriment that bloody gore,
Which was their principle of life before.
Their Belial with their Beelzebub will fight;
Thus on my foes, my foes shall do me right:
Nor doubt the event; for factious crowds engage,
In their first onset, all their brutal rage.
Then let them take an unresisted course;
Retire, and traverse, and delude their force:
But when they stand all breathless, urge the fight,
And rise upon them with redoubled might:
For lawful power is still superior found;
When long driven back, at length it stands the ground.
He said; the Almighty, nodding, gave consent,
And peals of thunder shook the firmament.
Henceforth a series of new time began,
The mighty years in long procession ran;
Once more the god-like David was restored,
And willing nations knew their lawful lord.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 221: Charles II. See note I. ]

[Footnote 222: Queen Catherine. See note II. ]

[Footnote 223: First edit. _this_. ]

[Footnote 224: Duke of Monmouth. See note III. ]

[Footnote 225: First edit. _with_. ]

[Footnote 226: Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. See note IV. ]

[Footnote 227: Note V. ]

[Footnote 228: Cromwell. ]

[Footnote 229: Richard Cromwell. ]

[Footnote 230: Charles II. ]

[Footnote 231: Here, Flanders or Holland; afterwards Scotland. ]

[Footnote 232: London. ]

[Footnote 233: Roman Catholics. ]

[Footnote 234: First edit. _and_. ]

[Footnote 235: Note VI. ]

[Footnote 236: A sneer at the doctrine of transubstantiation, which our
author afterwards attempted to defend. ]

[Footnote 237: Note VII. ]

[Footnote 238: Shaftesbury. See note VIII. ]

[Footnote 239: Note IX. ]

[Footnote 240: Note X. ]

[Footnote 241: First edit. _A patron's_. The next twelve lines were
added after the first edition. See Introduction. ]

[Footnote 242: Note XI. ]

[Footnote 243: Note XII. ]

[Footnote 244: First edit. _Shuts up_. ]

[Footnote 245: The land of exile, more particularly Brussels, where
Charles long resided. ]

[Footnote 246: Dover. ]

[Footnote 247: King of France. ]

[Footnote 248: France. ]

[Footnote 249: Note XIII. ]

[Footnote 250: James Duke of York, whose exclusion, as a Catholic, was
warmly urged in the House of Commons. ]

[Footnote 251: Note XIV. ]

[Footnote 252: The allusion is to the Republic, who acknowleged God
alone for their king, but were dispossessed by Cromwell, here, as
formerly, called Saul. ]

[Footnote 253: First edit. _'Tis_. ]

[Footnote 254: Note XV. ]

[Footnote 255: First edit. _Prevail_. ]

[Footnote 256: Note XVI. ]

[Footnote 257: A thrifty and frugal doctrine, not forgotten by the
reformers of our own day. ]

[Footnote 258: Note XVII. ]

[Footnote 259: The dissenting clergymen, expelled by the Act of
Conformity. ]

[Footnote 260: The Duke of Buckingham. See note XVIII. ]

[Footnote 261: Balaam, the earl of Huntingdon; Caleb, lord Gray of
Wark; Nadab, lord Howard of Escrick. Note XIX. XX. XXI. ]

[Footnote 262: Sir William Jones. See note XXII. ]

[Footnote 263: Slingsby Bethel, one of the sheriffs of London. See note
XXIII. ]

[Footnote 264: Note XXIV. ]

[Footnote 265: He wrote a treatise on the Interest of Princes. ]

[Footnote 266: Titus Oates. See note XXV. ]

[Footnote 267: Note XXVI. ]

[Footnote 268: Oates pretended to have taken his degree of doctor at
Salamanca. See note XXVII. Also vol. VII. p. 164. ]

[Footnote 269: Sir Edmondbury Godfrey. See Note XXVIII. ]

[Footnote 270: First edit. --Dissembling joy. ]

[Footnote 271: France and Holland. ]

[Footnote 272: Duchess of Portsmouth, mistress to Charles II. ]

[Footnote 273: Note XXIX. ]

[Footnote 274: Thomas Thynne, Esq. See note XXX. ]

[Footnote 275: Note XXXI. ]

[Footnote 276: The Duke of Ormond. See note XXXII. ]

[Footnote 277: In Ireland. ]

[Footnote 278: The Earl of Ossory. See note XXXIII. ]

[Footnote 279: Alluding to Lord Ossory's services in the Dutch war
against the French. ]

[Footnote 280: First edit, _birth_. ]

[Footnote 281: First edit, _worth_. ]

[Footnote 282: Note XXXIV. ]

[Footnote 283: Note XXXV. ]

[Footnote 284: Note XXXVI. ]

[Footnote 285: Note XXXVII. ]

[Footnote 286: Note XXXVIII. ]

[Footnote 287: Note XXXIX. ]

[Footnote 288: Note XL. ]

[Footnote 289: Note XLI. ]

[Footnote 290: Note XLII. ]

[Footnote 291: The four following lines were added after the first
edition. See Introduction. ]

[Footnote 292: Note XLIII. ]

[Footnote 293: Note XLIV. ]




NOTES ON ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.


Note I.

_Michal, of royal blood, the crown did wear,
A soil ungrateful to the tiller's care. _--P. 217.

Queen Catherine of Portugal, the wife of Charles II. , resembled the
daughter of Saul in the circumstance mentioned in the text. She was
plain in her person, and consequently possessed little influence over
her gallant husband. She was, however, always treated by him with
decent civility; and indeed, when persecuted by the popular party,
experienced his warmest protection. Her greatest fault was her being
educated a Catholic; her greatest misfortune, her bearing the king no
children; and her greatest foible an excessive love of dancing. It
might have occurred to the good people of these times, that loving a
ball was not a capital sin, even in a person whose figure excluded her
from the hopes of gracing it; that a princess of Portugal must be a
Catholic, if she had any religion at all; and, finally, that to bear
children, it is necessary some one should take the trouble of getting
them.
But these obvious considerations did not prevent her being
grossly abused in the libels of the times,[294] and very nearly made a
party in Dr Titus Oates' Appendix to his Original Plot.


Note II.

_Not so the rest; for several mothers bore
To god-like David several sons before. _--P. 217.

Charles left a numerous family of illegitimate children by his various
mistresses. Besides the Duke of Monmouth to be presently mentioned,
he had a daughter by Lady Shannon, and the Earl of Plymouth by Mrs
Catherine Pegge; by the Duchess of Cleveland he had the Dukes of
Cleveland, Gratton, and Northumberland, and three daughters; by Mrs
Eleanor Gwyn he had the Duke of St Alban's, and James Beauclerk; the
Duchess of Portsmouth bore him the Duke of Richmond and Lennox: with a
daughter by Mrs Mary Davies, the king's children amounted to the number
of eight sons and five daughters.


Note III.

_Of all the numerous progeny, was none
So beautiful, so brave, as Absalon. _--P. 217.

James Stuart, Duke of Monmouth and Buccleuch, was born at Rotterdam,
9th April, 1649, in the very heat of the civil wars. He was the son of
Charles II. and Mrs Lucy Walters, or Waters, otherwise called Barlow, a
beautiful young lady, of a good Welch family. He was educated privately
in Holland, under the assumed name of James Crofts; and the respect
with which his mother and he were treated by the cavalier, afforded a
foundation for the argument of his adherents, who afterwards contended,
that the king had been privately married to that lady. After the
Restoration, the king sent for this young gentleman to court, where the
royal favour and his own personal and acquired accomplishments soon
made him very remarkable. Of his outward appearance, Count Hamilton,
the gay recorder of the gaieties of the court of Charles, has given
us a most interesting description, which is not belied by portraits
which are still preserved. "Nature," says the count, "perhaps never
formed any thing so perfect as the external graces of his person. "
His face was beautiful; but it was a masculine beauty, unmixed with
any thing weak or effeminate: each feature had its own peculiar and
interesting turn of expression. He had admirable address in all active
exercises, an attractive manner, and an air of princely majesty. Yet
his mental qualities did not altogether support this prepossessing
exterior; or rather his fate plunged him into scenes where more was
necessary than the mind and manners which, in more regular times, would
have distinguished him as an accomplished cavalier in peace and war.
He was married, by the king's interference, to Anne Scott, Countess
of Buccleuch, sole surviving child of Francis, Earl of Buccleuch,
and heiress of the extensive estate which the powerful family she
represented had acquired on the frontiers of Scotland. The young prince
had been previously created Duke of Orkney, a title now changed for
that of Monmouth; and the king, upon his marriage, added to his honours
the dukedom of Buccleuch. Thus favoured at home, he was also fortunate
enough to have an opportunity of acquiring military fame, by serving
two campaigns as a volunteer in Louis XIV. 's army against the Dutch. He
particularly distinguished himself at the siege of Maestricht, where
he led the storming party, took possession of the counterscarp, and
made good his quarters against the repeated and desperate attempts of
the besieged to dislodge him. Monmouth also served a campaign with the
Dutch against the French, in 1678, and is on all hands allowed to have
displayed great personal bravery; especially in the famous attack on
the Duke of Luxemburgh's line before Mons, when the Prince of Orange,
whose judgment can hardly be doubted, formed that good opinion of
his military skill, which he stated when he offered to command the
forces of his father-in-law against the Duke on his last unfortunate
expedition. With that renown which is so willingly conferred upon the
noble and the beautiful, the Duke returned to England, and met with
a distinguished reception from Charles, by whom he was loaded with
favours, as will appear from the following list of his titles and
offices.

He was Duke of Monmouth and Buccleuch; Earl of Doncaster and Dalkeith;
Lord Scott of Tinedale, Whichester, and Eskdale; Lord Great Chamberlain
of Scotland, Lord-Lieutenant of the east Riding of Yorkshire; Governor
of the town and citadel of Kingston upon Hull; Chief Justice in Eyre of
all his Majesty's forests, chases, parks, and warrens on the south side
of the Trent; Lord-General of all his Majesty's land forces; Captain
of his Majesty's Life-guards of horse; Chancellor of the university of
Cambridge; Master of horse to the King; one of the Lords of the Privy
Council, and Knight of the order of the Garter.

Thus highly distinguished by rank, reputation, and royal favour,
he appears for some time to have dedicated himself chiefly to the
pleasures of the court, when an unfortunate quarrel with the Duke of
York, in the rivalry of an intrigue,[295] laid the foundation for
that difference, which was one great means of embroiling the latter
years of Charles's reign, and finally cost Monmouth his head. When his
quarrel with his uncle, whose unforgiving temper was well known, had
become inveterate and irreconcileable, the Duke of Monmouth was led to
head the faction most inimical to the interests of York, and speedily
became distinguished by the name of the Protestant Duke, the dearest
title that his party could bestow. The prospect which now opened itself
before Monmouth was such as might have turned the head of a man of
deeper political capacity. The heir apparent, his personal enemy, had
become the object of popular hatred to such a degree, that the bill,
excluding him from the succession, seemed to have every chance of
being carried through the House of Lords, as it had already passed
the Commons. The rights of the Queen were not likely to interest any
one; and it seems generally to have been believed, however unjustly as
it proved, that Charles was too fond of Monmouth, too jealous of his
brother, and too little scrupulous of ways and means, to hesitate at
declaring this favourite youth his legitimate successor.

Under such favourable circumstances, it is no wonder that Monmouth gave
way to the dictates of ambition; and while he probably conceived that
he was only giving his father an opportunity to manifest his secret
partiality, he became more and more deeply involved in the plots of
Shaftesbury, whose bustling and intriguing spirit saw at once the use
to be made of Monmouth's favour with the king, and popularity with
the public. From that time, their union became close and inseparable;
even while Shaftesbury was yet a member of the king's administration.
Their meetings were conducted with a secrecy and mystery which
argued their importance. According to Carte, they were held at Lord
Shaftesbury's and Charleton's houses, both parties coming in private,
and in hackney coaches. Some of Monmouth's partizans had even the
boldness to assert the legitimacy of their patron, to prepare for his
supplanting the Duke of York. When the insurrection of the Covenanters
broke out in Scotland, Monmouth was employed against them, a duty
which he executed with fidelity and success. He completely defeated
the insurgents in the battle of Bothwell Bridge, and returned to
the court in all the freshness of his laurels. This was in the year
1679, and Monmouth's good fortune had then attained its summit. He
was beloved by the people, general of all the forces both in England
and Scotland; London was at the devotion of Shaftesbury, the Duke of
York banished to Brussels, and universally detested on account of
his religion. At this important moment Charles fell ill of a fever
at Windsor. Had he died it is very probable that Monmouth would have
found himself in a condition to agitate successfully a title to the
crown. But either the king's attachment to the Catholic religion, in
the profession of which he finally died, or his sense of justice and
hereditary right occasioned an extraordinary alteration of measures
at this momentous crisis. The Duke of York was summoned from abroad,
arrived at Windsor, and by his presence and activity at once resumed
that ascendance over Charles, which his more stern genius had always
possessed, and animated the sunken spirit of his own partizans. By a
most sudden and surprising revolution, York was restored to all his
brother's favour. For although he was obliged to retire to Scotland
to avoid the fury of the exclusionists, yet a sharper exile awaited
his rival Monmouth, who, deprived of all his offices, was sent into
the foreign banishment from which his uncle had just been recalled.
Accordingly he retired to Holland, where he was courteously received by
the States; and where Charles himself appears to have been desirous,
that his darling son should find an honourable asylum. Meanwhile the
factions waxed still more furious; and Shaftesbury, whose boast it was
to "ride in the whirlwind and direct the storm," utterly embroiled
the kingdom, by persuading Monmouth to return to England without
licence from his father, and to furnish an ostensible head to that
body of which the wily politician was himself the soul. This conduct
deeply injured Monmouth in his father's favour, who refused to see
him; and, by an enquiry and subsequent declaration made openly in
council, and published in the Gazette, endeavoured to put an end to
his hopes, by publicly declaring his illegitimacy. Wonderful as it may
seem, this avowal was ascribed to the king's fear for his brother;
and two daring pamphlets were actually published, to assert the
legitimacy of Monmouth, against the express and solemn declaration of
his father. [296] Monmouth himself, by various progresses through the
kingdom, with an affectation of popularity which gained the vulgar
but terrified the reflecting, above all, by a close alliance with the
Machiavel, Shaftesbury, shewed his avowed determination to maintain his
pretensions against those of the lawful successor. This was the state
of parties in 1681, when "Absalom and Achitophel" first appeared.

The permission of so sharp a satire against the party of Monmouth,
though much qualified as to his individual person, plainly shewed the
king's intention to proceed with energy against the country party.
Monmouth, in the midst of one of those splendid journies which he had
made to display his strength, was arrested at Stafford, September
20, 1682, and obliged to enter bail for his peaceable deportment and
appearance when called on, to answer any suit against him by the
king. In the mean while, the dubious and mysterious cabal, called the
Rye-house Plot, was concocted by two separate parties, moving in some
degree towards the same point, but actuated by very different motives,
adopting different modes of conduct, and in their mutual intrigues
but slightly connected with each other. It appears certain, that
Monmouth utterly abominated the proposal of Rumbold, and those who
made the assassination of the King and Duke of York the groundwork of
their proposed insurrection. It is equally certain, that, with Sidney
and Russell, he engaged in plans of reformation, or revolution, of
that dubious description, which might have turned out good or evil,
according to their power of managing the machine they were about to
set in motion; a power almost always over-rated till the awful moment
of experiment. Upon the discovery of these proceedings, Monmouth
absconded, but generously signified to Lord Russell his determination
to surrender himself if it could serve his friend; an offer which
Russell, with the same generosity, positively rejected.

Notwithstanding the discovery which involved perhaps a charge of high
treason, the king was so much convinced of Monmouth's innocence, so
far as the safety of his person was concerned, that the influence
of Halifax, who always strove to balance the power of the Duke of
York by that of his nephew, procured him an opportunity of being
restored to the king's favour, for which the minister had little
thanks from the heir of the crown. [297] But Monmouth, by an excess of
imprudence, in which, however, he displayed a noble spirit, forfeited
the advantages he might have obtained at this crisis. Although he
signed an acknowledgment of his guilt, in listening to counsels which
could not be carried into effect, without a restraint on the king's
person; he would not, on reflection, authorize the publication of a
declaration, which must have had a fatal influence on the impending
trial of his friends. He demanded it back, and received it; but
accompanied with an order to leave the kingdom. He obeyed, and remained
in honourable banishment in Holland, till after the accession of James
II. to the throne. There is room to believe, that Monmouth would never
have disturbed his uncle, had James not evinced a desire to follow
him with vengeance even into his retreat. Wellwood has published a
letter from him, in which he says, ambition is mortified within him,
and expresses himself determined to live in retirement. But when the
King insisted on the Prince of Orange driving him out of Holland, and
proceeded to take measures to exclude him from Brussels, he appears to
have become desperate. Even yet he prepared to retire to Sweden, but
he was surrounded by fugitives from England and Scotland, who, as is
always the case, represented the nation as agitated by their passions,
and feeling for their individual oppression: Argyle, in particular,
and the Scottish exiles, fired by the aggressions on their liberty
and religion, anticipated a more warm support than they afterwards
experienced.

Monmouth, thus driven upon his fate, set sail with three ships; landed
at Lyme with hardly an hundred followers; and, such was the magic of
his popularity, soon found himself at the head of a considerable force.
He baffled the Duke of Albemarle who attempted to coop him up at Lyme,
and, advancing to Taunton took upon him fatally the title of King. At
length, he surprised the Earl of Feversham, James's general, in his
entrenchments near Bridgewater; and the native stubborn valour of his
followers nearly proved too much for the discipline of the veterans,
whom they attacked. The cowardice of Lord Grey,[298] who fled with the
cavalry, led to a total defeat and much slaughter among Monmouth's
forces. Still more fell a sacrifice to the bloody zeal of the brutal
Jefferies. The Duke himself was taken in his flight; and, depressed
by fatigue and disappointment, shewed some symptoms of weakness,
inconsistent with his former character. He solicited his life by
submissive letters to James, and, at length, obtained an interview with
the king. But James forgot the noble, though homely popular saying,

A king's face
Should give grace.

With the natural sternness of his character, he only strove to extort
from Monmouth a disavowal of his legitimacy, and a confession of his
accomplices. To the former the Duke submitted; but, when urged to
the latter, rose from the posture of supplication, and retorted with
dignity the reproaches of James. When he returned to the Tower, he
wrote a letter to the king, supposed to contain a secret, the revealing
of which might have purchased his life. This letter he intrusted to
Captain Scott of Dumbarton's regiment, a descendant of the family of
Harden, and, consequently, related to the Duchess of Monmouth. The
famous Blood is said to have compelled Scott to deliver up the letter,
and carried it to Sunderland, who destroyed it. [299]

The Duke of Monmouth, finding all efforts to procure a pardon
ineffectual, met death with great resolution. He smiled on the guards
who surrounded the scaffold, and whom in his better days he had
commanded; bowed to the populace, who expressed by sighs and tears
their interest in his fate; and submitted to his doom. His death was
cruelly prolonged by the hesitation of the executioner, who, after
several ineffectual strokes of the axe, threw it down, and could
scarcely be prevailed on to finish his bloody work. The execution took
place on the 15th of July, 1685.

It would be difficult, were it here necessary, to draw a character of
the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth. His qualities and accomplishments
were fitted for times more gentle than those in which he lived,
where he might be compared to a pleasure barge struggling against a
hurricane. In gentler times, he had proved a successful leader in
war; and in peace, what the reviver of tragedy has aptly stiled, "An
honoured courtly gentleman. " _Count Basil_. Act I. Scene II.


Note IV.

_And made the charming Annabel his bride. _--P. 218.

Anne, Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, a lady of high spirit, great
beauty, and unimpeachable honour. We have had repeated occasion
to mention her in the course of these notes. She was reckoned the
richest heiress in Europe; as, upon the death of her elder sister,
Anne Countess of Buccleuch, wife of Walter Earl of Tarras, she
succeeded to the extensive land estate of that family. Charles made
this advantageous match for his son, by the intervention of the young
lady's mother, the Countess of Wemyss. The Duchess of Buccleuch
was a distinguished protectress of poetical merit, and evinced her
discriminating taste, by early selecting Dryden as the object of her
patronage; she cultivated the friendship of the Duke of York, and
established an intimacy between him and her husband, which paved the
way for the advancement of the latter. [300] When by an occasional
rivalry they quarrelled, and became irreconcileable enemies, she still
opposed her prudence to the precipitate counsels of Monmouth's worse
advisers. It is probable her influence saved his life, by determining
him to make a timely confession, concerning all he knew of the
Rye-house conspiracy, upon condition, it was not to be used against
his friends. When he imprudently retracted that confession, her advice
prevailed on him to offer a renewal of it. [301] Their last interview
before the Duke's execution, is thus narrated in a MS. now before me.

"His behaviour all the time was brave and unmoved, and, even during
the last conversation and farewell with his lady and children, which
was the movingest scene in the world, and which no bye-standers could
see without melting in tears, he did not shew the least concerndness.
He declared before all the company, how averse the duchess had been to
all his irregular courses, and that she had never been uneasy to him
on any occasion whatsoever, but about women, and his failing of dutie
to the late king. And that she knew nothing of his last designe, not
having heard from himself a year before, which was his own fault, and
noe unkindness in her, because she knew not how to direct her letters
to him. In that, he gave her the kyndest character that could be, and
begged her pardon of his many failings and offences to her, and prayed
her to continue her kyndness and care to her poore children. At this
expression she fell down on her knees, with her eyes full of teares,
and begged him to pardon her if ever she had done any thing to offend
and displease him; and embracing his knees, fell into a swoon, out
of which they had much adoe to raise her up in a good while after. A
little before, his children were brought to him, all crying about him;
but he acquitted himself of these last adewes with much composure,
shewing nothing of weakness and unmanliness. " _Account of the Actions
and Behaviour of the Duke of Monmouth, from the time he was taken to
his Execution, in a letter, dated July 16, 1685, MS_. , in the Duke of
Buccleuch's library.

The Duchess of Monmouth's turn of mind, and her aversion to her
husband's political intrigues, lead me to imagine, that Dryden
sketched out her character under that of Marmoutiere in "the Duke
of Guise;" whose expostulations with her lover apply exactly to the
situation of this noble pair. If the Duke of Monmouth entertained a
causeless jealousy of the intimacy of York with his lady, as the Duke
of Buckingham seems to hint,[302] something like an allusion to this
circumstance may be traced in the suspicions of Guise, and vindication
of Marmoutiere. [303]

The Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth survived the catastrophe of her
husband many years; during which she was resolute in asserting her
right to be treated as a princess of the blood. She had two surviving
sons by Monmouth; one of whom carried on the line of Buccleuch, and the
other was created Earl of Deloraine. She was married a second time, in
1688, to Lord Cornwallis, by whom she had two surviving daughters. The
Duchess died in 1732, in the eighty-first year of her life. King James
made her Grace and her family a gift of all her original property, so
far as forfeited by the Duke of Monmouth's condemnation.


Note V.

_And Amnon's murder, by a specious name,
Was called a just revenge for injured fame. _--P. 218.

There is a libel among the State Poems, relating to some obscure fray,
in which the duke of Monmouth and some of his brothers appear to have
been concerned. This was probably one of the youthful excesses alluded
to. [304] But Amnon's murder seems to refer to the more noted assault
upon sir John Coventry, which the reader may take in the words of
Andrew Marvell.

"But an accident happened, which had like to have spoiled all. Sir
John Coventry having moved (in the house of commons) for an imposition
on the play houses, sir John Berkenhead, to excuse them, said they
had been of great service to the king. Upon which, sir John Coventry
desired that gentleman to explain "whether he meant the men or women
players? "[305] Hereupon it is imagined, that the house adjourning
from Tuesday, before, till Thursday after Christmas day, on the very
Tuesday night of the adjournment, twenty-five of the duke of Monmouth's
troop,[306] and some few foot, laid in wait from ten at night, till
two in the morning, and as he returned from the Cock, where he supped,
to his own house, they threw him down, and with a knife cut off almost
all the end of his nose; but company coming, made them fearful to
finish it; so they marched off. Sir Thomas Sands, lieutenant of the
troop, commanded the party, and Obrian, the earl of Inchequin's son,
was a principal actor. The court hereupon sometimes thought to carry
it with a high hand, and question sir John for his words, and maintain
the action; sometimes they flagged in their councils. However, the
king commanded sir Thomas Clarges, and sir W. Pulteney, to release
Wroth, and Lake, who were two of the actors, and taken. But the night
before the house met, they surrendered (to) him again. The house being
but sullen the next day, the court did not oppose adjourning for some
days longer, till it was filled. Then the house went upon Coventry's
business, and voted that they would go upon nothing else whatever, till
they had passed a bill, as they did, for Sands, Obrian, Parry, and
Reeves, to come in by the sixteenth of February, or else be condemned,
and never to be pardoned, but by an express act of parliament, and
their names therein inserted, for fear of being pardoned in some
general act of grace. Farther, all such actions, for the future, on any
man, felony without clergy; and who shall otherwise strike or wound any
parliament man, during his attendance, or going or coming, imprisonment
for a year, treble damages, and incapacity. The bill having in some
few days been despatched to the lords, the house has since gone on in
grand committee upon the first 800,000l. bill, but are not yet half
way. But now the lords, instead of the sixteenth of February, put
twenty-five days after the king's royal assent, and that registered in
their journal; they disagree in several other things, but adhere in
that first which is material. So that, in this week, the houses will be
in danger of splitting, without much wisdom or force. For, considering
that sir Thomas Sands was the very person sent to Clarges and Pulteney,
that Obrian was concealed in the duke of Monmouth's lodgings, that
Wroth and Lake were bailed at sessions, by order from Mr Attorney, and,
that all persons and things are perfectly discovered, that act will not
be passed without great consequence. " Letter from Andrew Marvel, to
William Romsden, in _Marvel's Works_, Vol. I. p. 413.

This aggression led to what, from the name of the sufferer, is called
the Coventry act, making cutting, and maiming the person, with intent
to disfigure it, felony without benefit of clergy. A satirical ballad
on this subject, called the Haymarket Hectors, was written by Andrew
Marvel, which may be found in his works, and, with some variations, in
the third vol. of the State poems. It has very little wit, to atone for
a great deal of grossness.


Note VI.

_From hence began that plot, the nation's curse;
Bad in itself, but represented worse:
Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried;
With oaths affirmed, with dying vows denied. _--P. 220.

The Papist plot, like every criminal and mysterious transaction, where
accomplices alone can give evidence, is involved in much mystery.
It is well known, that the zeal for making proselytes, with all its
good and all its evil consequences, is deeply engrafted upon the
catholic faith. There can be no doubt, from Coleman's correspondence,
that there was in agitation, among the Catholics, a grand scheme to
bring about the conversion of the British kingdoms to the Romish
religion. Much seemed to favour this in the reign of Charles II. The
king, though a latitudinarian, was believed addicted to the religion
of those countries which had afforded him refuge in his adversity,
and the Duke of York was an open and zealous Papist. From the letters
of his secretary Coleman, it is obvious, that hopes were entertained
of eradicating the great northern heresy; and the real existence of
intrigues carried on with this purpose, unfortunately gave a colour
to the monstrous and absurd falsehoods which the witnesses of the
plot contrived to heap together. It is probable, that Oates, by whom
the affair was first started, knew nothing, but by vague report and
surmise, of the real designs of the Roman catholic party; since he
would otherwise have accommodated his story better to their obvious
interests. The catholics might gain much by the life of Charles; but
a plot to assassinate him, would have been far from placing them an
inch nearer their point, even supposing them to escape the odium of
so horrible a crime. The Duke, it was true, was nearest in blood; but
his succession to the throne, had the king been taken off by those
of his sect, would have been a very difficult matter, since the very
suspicion of such a catastrophe had nearly caused his exclusion. But
when the faction involved the king also in the plot, which Oates
positively charges upon him in his last publication, and thereby
renders him an accessory before the fact to an attempt on his own life,
the absurdity is fully completed. Even according to the statement of
those who suppose that Charles had irritated the Roman catholics, by
preferring his ease and quiet to their interest and his own religious
feelings, his situation appears ludicrously distressing. For, on the
one hand, he incurred the hatred of those who called themselves the
Protestant party, for his obstinacy in exposing himself to be murdered
by the papists; and, on the other hand, he was to be assassinated by
the catholics, for not doing what, according to this supposition,
he himself most wished to do. It would be far beyond our bounds, to
notice the numberless gross absurdities to which Oates and the other
witnesses deposed upon oath. It may appear almost incredible, in the
present day, how such extravagant fictions should be successfully
palmed upon the deluded public; but at that time there was not the
same ready communication by the press, which now allows opportunity to
canvass an extraordinary charge as soon as it is brought forward. The
public at large had no means of judging of state matters, but from
the bribed libellers of faction, and the haranguers in coffee-houses,
who gave what colour they pleased to the public news of the day. [307]
Besides, the catholics had given an handle against themselves, by their
own obscure intrigues; and it was impossible to forget the desperate
scheme of the Gunpowder Plot, by which they had resolved to cut off
the heresy in the time of King James. The crime of the fathers was, in
this case, visited on the children; for no person probably would, or
could, have believed in the catholic plot of 1678, had not the same
religious sect meditated something equally desperate in 1606. It is
true, the gunpowder conspiracy was proved by the most unexceptionable
testimony; and the plot in Charles' time rested on the oaths of a few
boldfaced villains, who contradicted both themselves and each other;
but still popular credulity was prepared to believe any thing charged
on a sect, who had shown themselves so devoted to their religious
zeal, and so little scrupulous about means to gratify it. Another main
prop of the Catholic plot was the mystery in which it was involved. If
inconsistencies were pointed out, or improbabilities urged, the answer
was, that the discovery had not yet reached the bottom of the plot.
Thus the disposition of the vulgar to believe the atrocious and the
marvellous, was heightened by the stimulus of ungratified curiosity,
and still impending danger. "Every new witness," says North, "that came
in, made us start--now we shall come to the bottom. And so it continued
from one witness to another, year after year, till at length it had
no bottom but in the bottomless pit. "[308] Thus, betwixt villainy and
credulity, the spirits of the people were exasperated and kept afloat,
till the bloodhounds of the plot, like those formerly used in pursuit
of marauders, had drenched their scent, and annihilated their powers of
quest in the best blood in the kingdom.

The unfortunate victims, whose lives were sworn away by Oates and his
accomplices, died averring their innocence; but the infuriated people
for some time gave little credit to this solemn exculpation; believing
that the religion of the criminals, or at least the injunctions of
their priests, imposed on them the obligation of denying, with their
last breath, whatever, if confessed, could have prejudiced the catholic
cause. As all high wrought frenzies are incapable of duration, that
of the Roman catholic plot decayed greatly after the execution of the
venerable Stafford. The decent and manly sobriety of his demeanour on
the scaffold, the recollection of how much blood had been spilled,
and how much more might be poured out like water, excited the late
and repentant commiseration of the multitude: His protestations of
innocence were answered by broken exclamations of "God bless you,
my lord! we believe you. " And after this last victim, the Popish
plot, like a serpent which had wasted its poison, though its wreaths
entangled many, and its terrors held their sway over more, did little
effectual mischief. Even when long lifeless, and extinguished, this
chimera, far in the succeeding reigns, continued, like the dragon slain
by the Red-cross Knight, to be the object of popular fear, and the
theme of credulous terrorists:

Some feared, and fled; some feared, and well it fained.
One, that would wiser seem than all the rest,
Warned him not touch; for yet, perhaps, remained
Some lingering life within his hollow breast;
Or, in his womb might lurk some hidden nest
Of many dragonettes, his fruitful seed;
Another said, that in his eyes did rest
Yet sparkling fire, and bade thereof take heed;
Another said, he saw him move his eyes indeed.


Note VII.

_Some thought they God's anointed meant to slay
By guns, invented since full many a day. _--P. 221.

The author alludes to the wonderful project to assassinate the king
by Pickering and Groves, to which Oates bore testimony. Pickering, a
man in easy circumstances, and whom religious zeal alone induced to
murder his sovereign, was to have 30,000 masses; and Groves, a more
mercenary ruffian, was to be recompensed with a sum, which, reckoning
at a shilling a mass, should be an equivalent in money. But this scheme
misgave, because, according to the evidence, the conscientious and
opulent Mr Pickering had furnished himself for the exploit with an old
pistol, the cock whereof was too loose to hold a flint. Another time
they were to come to Windsor, to execute their bloody purpose with
sword and dagger; but could find no better conveyance than miserable
hack horses, one of which became lame, and disconcerted the expedition.
Such at least was the apology made by Oates for their not appearing,
when a party were, upon his information, stationed to apprehend them.


Note VIII.

_Of these, the false Achitophel was first.