JOHN DRYDEN MAC-FLECKNOE OR, A SATIRE ON THE TRUE BLUE PROTESTANT POET T. S. ALL human things are subject to decay, The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, 5 ΙΟ 15 20 But Shadwell never deviates into sense; And seems designed for thoughtless majesty; Even I, a dunce of more renown than they, Was but a prelude to that glorious day, When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way, With well-timed oars, before the royal barge, 40 Swelled with the pride of thy celestial charge; And big with hymn, commander of a host, — The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets tost. Methinks I see the new Arion sail, The lute still trembling underneath thy nail. 45 At thy well-sharpened thumb, from shore to shore, The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar; |