152

The Duke of York's Exile Ends.

For him our choices and voices shall hereafter be free,
Whilst each one rejoyces, our noises shall deafen th' raging o' th' Sea:
We'll attend him, befriend him, let Malice vote what it will,
Coyn we 'll lend him, defend him, and we 'll rejoyce in him still.
Then let us no Mirth refrain, since that now he is safe again,
Well having escap'd the Main, from the salt waters set free,1
Then hey! Boys, laugh it and quaff it, and let us merry be.

35

Though the Zealous grow jealous, and create much needless fear,
By which means they'd drill us and will us like themselves to appear;
But no wonder, since Plunder is that at which they do aim,
That the Whigs wander, under Religious Guile, which they shame;
But at last we have found 'em, and from the bottom unwound 'em,
So that each man may sound them, and laugh at the Old Cause,
Which was the ruine and undoing of King and Kingdom's Laws.
Then let's scout 'em and flout 'em, who rail at the Succession,
That would rout Him whom we so esteem, beyond all expression;
Fill [up th'] Claret, who's for it? and let each Bumper go round,
Who doth bar it, or spare it, may he with Goat's Horns be crown'd.
Here's a Health to the Dutchess, grant her long life, health, and
riches,

And a Young Prince is all our wishes, whilst all the Factious repine,

Then come away wi 't, ne'r stay it; Let no man baulk his Wine! [White-letter. No woodcut. Chiefly by Matthew Taubman. Date, May, 1682.]

1 The narrow escape from shipwreck of the Duke in his second journey to Scotland had occurred on the 8th May, 1682, after departure from Yarmouth, when many of his personal attendants and seamen lost their lives, meeting death with a willing heart and loyal cheers. The malicious and false report, of James being more anxious to save his dogs than his friends and crew, is given spitefully in his favourite way by Gilbert Burnet the inaccurate; but is disproved by documentary evidence. See Dalrymple's Memoirs, pp. 68 to 72 of vol. ii., Appendix, 1773; also Sir John Berry's Letter in Jas. S. Clarke's Life of James II., ii. 730. Another Loyal Song, to the same tune, was an attack on the detected RyeHouse Plotters, about December, 1683, entitled "Justice Triumphant: in commendation of Sir George Jeffreys, Lord Chief Justice of England," beginning,

Now the Traytor, King-hater, that glories still in his crime, And every Associator, give thanks, for now it is time. Let the Whigs in the Tower, who thought to make us a prey, Rejoyce, 'tis yet in their power, to keep a Thanksgiving-Day : Loyal Jeffreys is Judge again, let the Brimighams grudge again, Who to Tyburn must trudge amain: Ignoramus we scorn! May Heaven direct him, protect him; Let guilty Traytors mourn! The five verses will be given on a later page, in the Final Monmouth Group.

Iter Boreale: York's Return, 1682.

"When too much plenty, luxury, and ease,

Had surfeited this Isle to a disease;

When noisome blains did its best parts o'er-spread,
And on the rest their dire infection shed;
Our Great Physician, who the Nature knew
Of the Distemper, and from whence it grew,
Fix'd for Three Kingdoms' quiet, Sir, on You.
He cast his searching Eyes o'er all the Frame,
And finding whence before one Sickness came,
How once before our Mischiefs foster'd were,
Knew well your Virtue, and apply'd you there:
Where so your Goodness, so your Justice sway'd,
You but appear'd, and the wild Plague was stay'd.
When, from the filthy Dunghill-faction bred,
New-form'd Rebellion durst rear up its head,
Answer me all: Who struck the Monster dead?

See, see, the injur'd Prince, and bless his Name,
Think on the Martyr from whose loins he came :
Think on the Blood was shed for you before,
And curse the Paracides that thirst for more.
His Foes are yours, then of their wiles beware;

Lay, lay him in your Hearts, and guard him there."

-Thomas Otway's Epilogue to Venice Preserved. 1682.

THE lines quoted above, as our motto, are from the beginning of

one among the many Poems hailing the Duke of York's return from Scotland, and the special Epilogue was spoken to him at the Theatre which bore his name and patronage, in Dorset Gardens, "The Duke's House," on April 21st, 1682. The Duke's Return from Scotland was commented on in many loyal poems by Nat Lee, by Richard Duke, and in addresses at the Theatre. Among such are those beginning "All you, who this day's Jubilee attend," by Thomas Otway, addressed to the Duchess of York; "Come then at last, while anxious Nations weep," is by Nat Lee: and "In those cold regions which no Summers chear," is by John Dryden. We have already mentioned the long Heroic Poem on the Duke of York's Return from Scotland, 1682, by Matthew Taubman, and give his song on our p. 170, referring to the recent Shipwreck.

There had always been a devoted band of admirers " through thick and thin" of the Duke, during his absence, which had been a virtual exile, and if they could do little to show their loyalty save tossing off a bumper with good wishes for his health and ultimate succession to his rights, we doubt not their sincerity. It would have been safer to drink to Shaftesbury, and the wine or beer might have been little affected by the change of toast, but every Cavalier would have spurned such a suggestion indignantly. So they "toasted the Gentleman in Scotland's Health," even thus:

:

154

L'

Loyal Healths to the Duke of York.

A Health.

Et th' ambitious soar high on the wings of Renown,
And mount like blind Birds, to come tumbling down;
Let Lover's pale face his sick fortune declare,

Let traitorous Statesmen the Rabble ensnare:
Wine's all my Ambition, my Love, and my Care.
In Brimmers each man shall drink Loyally round,
Till his Fancie's in th' air, and himself on the ground.
Our Hats down before us for Pillows we'll fling,
Where Punies shall sleep, whilst the Able do sing,
"All health, all health to the Duke and the King!"

The Return of the Duke was celebrated in a Catch. which alludes both to Jack Presbyter and to Sixteen-Hundred-and-Forty-One :

Health to the Duke, A Catch.

Sincentht then be hung'd for Politick Priggs.

Ince the Duke is Return'd, wee 'll defie all the Whigs,

Both Presbyter Jack, and all the whole Crew,
That lately design'd Forty-One to renew.
Make room for the Men that never deny'd

To God save the King!" and the Duke!" they reply'd ;

Whose Loyalty ever was fixt with that zeal

Of voting down Schism, and proud Common-weal.
Then bring up a Pottle, we'll Huzza the Glass,

And drink off a Bottle, each man in his place:

'Tis a health to the Duke, Boy, give me my measure!
The fuller the glass is, the greater the pleasure.

:

Six distinct poems holding the same title of Iter Boreale are known to us, and it may be well to here mark their distinctions.

1. The earliest of these is by Richard Corbet, Bishop successively of Oxford and of Norwich, who died in 1635. His Iter Boreale begins,

Four Clerks of Oxford, Doctors two, and two
That would be Doctors, . . . Etcetera.

2.-Next Iter Boreale, longest, and most ambitious of the group, is that one "attempting something upon the successful and matchless March of the Lord General George Monk, from Scotland to London [during] the last winter; Veni, Vidi, Vici, etc." It was printed for George Thomason (the shrewd and loyal collector of the unrivalled store of King's Pamphlets), on St. George's Day, April 23rd, 1660, five weeks before the Restoration. The poem was written by the Rev. Dr. Thomas Wild, concerning whom we shall have much to write in a later volume. The original quarto issue of ten leaves is in our private collection at Molash (a gift from Miss De Vaynes); also the reprint in Wild's Poems. It begins thus:

Six distinct Poems entitled Iter Boreale.

The Day is broke! Melpomene is gone;
Hag of my Fancy, let me now alone
Night-mare my Soul no more. Go, take thy flight,
Where Traytors' Ghosts keep an eternal Night.
Fly to Mount Caucasus, and bear thy part
With the black Fowl that tears Prometheus' heart
For his bold Sacriledge. Go, fetch the groans
Of defunct Tyrants, with them croke thy tones!
Go, see Alecto with her flaming whip

How she firks Nol, and makes old Bradshaw skip :
Go, make thy self away! thou shalt no more
Choak up my Standish with the blood and gore
Of English Tragedies: I now will chuse

The merriest of the Nine to be my Muse. Etcetera.

155

[=The Regicides

It is by no means without merit, although stilted in diction. Sir Walter Scott characterized it as being " written in a harsh and barbarous style, filled with clenches and ear-wickets, as the time called them; which, having been in fashion in the reigns of James I. and his unfortunate son, were revived after the Restoration." (Scott's Dryden, xv. 296.)

3.-Iter Boreale, the Second Part, relating to the Progress of the Lord General Monk. To the tune of, When first the Scottish Wars began. Printed for Henry Broome, 1660. It is in the Bagford Collection, III. 16, and begins,

Good people all, hark to my call! I'll tell you all, etc.

These two, Nos. 2 and 3, will be given unmutilated in our forthcoming Ballads and Songs of the Civil War, Part Fifth.

4.-Iter Boreale his Country Clown; or, The Country Scourg'd for their Barbarism to the Citizens. London: printed for the Author, 1665. It refers to the misadventures of those called the Runawayes" who fled from London during the affliction of the Great Plague. (In the Society of Antiquaries Library.) It begins, Not a hard Bed i' th' Country to procure.

5.-Iter Boreale, in folio sheets, is in our private Collection; reprinted as one of the Loyal Poems and Satyrs upon the Times, since the beginning of the Salamanca Plot: Written by several Hands. Collected by M[atthew] T[aubman], 1685. The original belongs to December of the year 1682. Given entire later. Begins, After long-practis'd Malice in the South,

Brutus (the people's Ear, the people's Mouth)

At length most prudently has sally'd forth, . . Etcetera.

6.-The Roxburghe Ballad here to be reprinted, entitled, Iter Boreale; or, Tyburn in Mourning for the Loss of a Saint. Written by J. D. A New Song, to the tune of, Now the Tories that glories in Royal Jemmy's Return [given already on p. 151]. 1682. It begins, Behold great Heaven's Protection!

156

The jaded J.D. poets: not John Dryden.

The author is declared to be "J. D." Not improbably the publisher desired that people should believe this J. D. to be John Dryden, and thus a better sale might be secured, for "Glorious John " was at the height of his popularity at this time, and in the full flush of his genius. We must for the present leave undecided the answer to such a question as "Who was this J. D.?" We cannot possibly accept John Dryden as the veritable author of this "Tyburn in Mourning." There was a John Danvers, a Royalist, who wrote "The Royal Oake" account of Charles II.'s escape, in 1660. Another J. D. wrote a Poem in 1664 on the two Yew-Trees representing Giants at the Physic-Gardens, Oxford: which poem we mentioned in Bagford Ballads, p. 814; where we identified the author as John Drope, M.A., Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. (Not having been included among our reproductions from the Bagford Collection, it will be given in the present volume.) It was reprinted in this same year, 1682, and begins, "Although no brandisht Cherubins are here." Another J. D. signs the lively Cavalier ditty entitled, "The Lover's Mad Fits and Fancies," beginning, "I doat, I doat, but am a Sot to show it." (Given already by the present Editor in his Bagford Ballads, p. 516.) There was also a "J. D., Minister in Surrey," who figures in State Poems, iii. 94; and Jonathan Dryden, cousin of " glorious John." Jonah Deacon should be named. These are the chief wearers of the initials J. D.

Slingsby Bethel, the Independent and Republican Exclusionist, appears to be the special "Saint" mourned over, as escaping the national collar at Tyburn. He had all the bitter spite, the narrow-minded and money-grubbing niggardliness befitting an extreme Sectary. "After riches poured in upon him, his œconomy was much the same as before. Parsimony was so habitual to him that he knew not how to relax into generosity upon proper occasions; and he was generally censured for being too frugal in his entertainments when he was Sheriff of London." John Oldham gibbets him, "like stingy Bethel save, and grudge yourself the charges of a grave." Dryden rebukes his miserly habits, showing him as the cursing Shimei of Absalom and Achitophel:

Chaste were his cellars, and his Shrieval Board

The grossness of a City Feast abhorr'd.
His Cooks with long disuse their trade forgot;

Cool was his Kitchen, though his brains were hot.

620

Slingsby Bethel fled to Holland before 22nd July, 1682. (See p. 165, and later pages, our introduction to "Another Iter Boreale.")