century;[45] a Dialogue in the Madhouse between two Distracted Lovers; and a Prologue and Epilogue.  The Secular Masque contains a beautiful and spirited delineation of the reigns of James I., Charles I., and Charles II., in which the influence of Diana, Mars, and Venus, are supposed to have respectively predominated.  Our author did not venture to assign a patron to the last years of the century, though the expulsion of Saturn might have given a hint for it.  The music of the Masque is said to have been good; at least it is admired by the eccentric author of John Buncle.[46] The Prologue and Epilogue to “The Pilgrim,” were written within twenty days of Dryden’s death; [47] and their spirit equals that of any of his satirical compositions.  They afford us the less pleasing conviction, that even the last fortnight of Dryden’s life was occupied in repelling or retorting the venomed attacks of his literary foes.  In the Prologue, he gives Blackmore a drubbing which would have annihilated any author of ordinary modesty; but the knight[48] was as remarkable for his powers of endurance, as some modern pugilists are said to be, for the quality technically called bottom.  After having been “brayed in a mortar,” as Solomon expresses it, by every wit of his time, Sir Richard not only survived to commit new offences against ink and paper, but had his faction, his admirers, and his panegyrists, among that numerous and sober class of readers, who think that genius consists in good intention.[49] In the Epilogue, Dryden attacks Collier, but with more courteous weapons:  it is rather a palliation than a defence of dramatic immorality, and contains nothing personally offensive to Collier.  Thus so dearly was Dryden’s preeminent reputation purchased, that even his last hours were embittered with controversy; and nature, over-watched and worn out, was, like a besieged garrison, forced to obey the call to arms, and defend reputation even with the very last exertion of the vital spirit.

The approach of death was not, however, so gradual as might have been expected from the poet’s chronic diseases.  He had long suffered both by the gout and gravel, and more lately the erysipelas seized one of his legs.  To a shattered frame and a corpulent habit, the most trifling accident is often fatal.  A slight inflammation in one of his toes, became, from neglect, a gangrene.  Mr. Hobbes, an eminent surgeon, to prevent mortification, proposed to amputate the limb; but Dryden, who had no reason to be in love with life, refused the chance of prolonging it by a doubtful and painful operation.[50] After a short interval, the catastrophe expected by Mr. Hobbes took place, and, Dryden not long surviving the consequences, left life on Wednesday morning, 1st May 1700, at three o’clock.  He seems to have been sensible till nearly his last moments, and died in the Roman Catholic faith, with submission and entire resignation to the divine will; “taking of his friends,” says Mrs. Creed, one of the sorrowful number, “so tender and obliging a farewell, as none but he himself could have expressed.”