"Such public blasphemies against religion, never were unpunished in
any country, or age, but this.

"But I have made too long a digression, but that it carries with it
some instructions towards the preserving of the honour of your
august city, viz.

"That you do not hereafter authorise the stage to expose and revile
your great officers, and offices, by the indignities yourselves do
them; whilst the Papists clap their hands, and triumph at your
public disgraces, and in the hopes they conceive thereby of the ruin
of your government, as if that were as sure and certain to them, as
it is to us, without doubt, that they once fired it.

"And further, for that it was fit to set forth to the world, of what
spirit our enemies are, how they intend to attack us; as also, how
bold they are with his majesty, what false and dishonourable
representations they make of him, and present to the world upon a
public theatre; which, I must confess, hath moved me with some
passion."

This angry barrister was not the only adversary whom Dryden had to
encounter on this occasion. Thomas Shadwell, a man of some talents for
comedy, and who professed to tread in the footsteps of Ben Jonson, had
for some time been at variance with Dryden and Otway. He was probably
the author of a poem, entitled, "A Lenten Prologue, refused by the
Players;" which is marked by Mr Luttrel, 11th April, 1683, and
contains the following direct attack on "The Duke of Guise," and the
author:

Our prologue wit grows flat; the nap's worn off,
And howsoe'er we turn and trim the stuff,
The gloss is gone that looked at first so gaudy;
'Tis now no jest to hear young girls talk bawdry.
But plots and parties give new matters birth,
And state distractions serve you here for mirth.
At England's cost poets now purchase fame;
While factious heats destroy us, without shame,
These wanton Neroes fiddle to the flame;
The stage, like old rump-pulpits, is become
The scene of news, a furious party's drum:
Here poets beat their brains for volunteers,
And take fast hold of asses by their ears;
Their jingling rhimes for reason here you swallow,
Like Orpheus' music, it makes beasts to follow.
What an enlightening grace is want of bread!
How it can change a libeller's heart, and clear a laureat's head;
Open his eyes, till the mad prophet see
_Plots working in a future power to be!_ (Medal, p. 14.)
Tr