In the kind of
expectation raised, and in the extreme difficulty of adequately meeting
this expectation, there was pretty much the same challenge offered to
Dryden as was offered, somewhere about the same time, to a British
ambassador when dining with his political antagonists. One of these--the
ambassador of France--had proposed to drink his master, Louis XIV., under
the character of the sun, who dispensed life and light to the whole
political system. To this there was no objection; and immediately, by way
of intercepting any further draughts upon the rest of the solar system,
the Dutch ambassador rose, and proposed the health of their high
mightinesses the Seven United States, as the moon and six [1] planets, who
gave light in the absence of the sun. The two foreign ambassadors,
Monsieur and Mynheer, secretly enjoyed the mortification of their English
brother, who seemed to be thus left in a state of bankruptcy, 'no funds'
being available for retaliation, or so they fancied. But suddenly our
British representative toasted _his_ master as Joshua, the son of
Nun, that made the sun and moon stand still. All had seemed lost for
England, when in an instant of time both her antagonists were checkmated.
Dryden assumed something of the same position. He gave away the supreme
jewels in his exchequer; apparently nothing remained behind; all was
exhausted. To Homer he gave A; to Virgil he gave B; and, behold! after
these were given away, there remained nothing at all that would not have
been a secondary praise.
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