With this laudable view he wrote “Prince Arthur, an Epic Poem,” published in 1695.  The preface contained a furious, though just, diatribe, against the licence of modern comedy, with some personal reflections aimed at Dry den directly.[34] This the poet felt more unkindly, as Sir Richard had, without acknowledgment, availed himself of the hints he had thrown out in the “Essay upon Satire,” for the management of an epic poem on the subject of King Arthur.  He bore, however, the attack, without resenting it, until he was again assailed by Sir Richard in his “Satire upon Wit,” written expressly to correct the dissolute and immoral performances of the writers of his time.  With a ponderous attempt at humour, the good knight proposes, that a bank for wit should be established, and that all which had hitherto passed as current, should be called in, purified in the mint, re-coined, and issued forth anew, freed from alloy.

This satire was published in 1700, as the title-page bears; but Mr. Luttrell marks his copy 23rd November 1699.[35] It contains more than one attack upon our author.  Thus, we are told (wit being previously described as a malady),

  “Vanine, that looked on all the danger past,
  Because he ’scaped so long, is seized at last;
  By p——­, by hunger, and by Dryden bit,
  He grins and snarls, and, in his dogged fit,
  Froths at the mouth, a certain sign of wit.”

Elsewhere the poet complains, that the universities,

      “debauched by Dryden and his crew,
  Turn bawds to vice, and wicked aims pursue.”

Again, p. 14—­

  “Dryden condemn, who taught men how to make,
  Of dunces wits, an angel of a rake.”

But the main offence lies in the following passage:—­

  “Set forth your edict; let it be enjoined,
  That all defective species be recoined;
  St. E—­m—­t and R—­r both are fit
  To oversee the coining of our wit. 
  Let these be made the masters of essay,
  They’ll every piece of metal touch and weigh,
  And tell which is too light, which has too much allay. 
  ’Tis true, that when the coarse and worthless dross
  Is purged away, there will be mighty loss. 
  E’en Congreve, Southerne, manly Wycherly,
  When thus refined, will grievous sufferers be. 
  Into the melting-pot when Dryden comes,
  What horrid stench will rise, what noisome fumes! 
  How will he shrink, when all his lewd allay,
  And wicked mixture, shall be purged away? 
  When once his boasted heaps are melted down,
  A chest-full scarce will yield one sterling crown. 
  Those who will D—­n—­s melt, and think to find
  A goodly mass of bullion left behind,
  Do, as the Hibernian wit, who, as ’tis told,
  Burnt his gilt feather, to collect the gold.
       * * * * *
  But what remains will be so pure, ’twill bear
  The examination of the most severe;
  ’Twill S—­r’s scales, and Talbot’s test abide,
  And with their mark please all the world beside.”