“And further, for that it was fit to set forth to the world, of what spirit our enemies are, how they intend to attack us; as also, how bold they are with his majesty, what false and dishonourable representations they make of him, and present to the world upon a public theatre; which, I must confess, hath moved me with some passion.”

This angry barrister was not the only adversary whom Dryden had to encounter on this occasion.  Thomas Shadwell, a man of some talents for comedy, and who professed to tread in the footsteps of Ben Jonson, had for some time been at variance with Dryden and Otway.  He was probably the author of a poem, entitled, “A Lenten Prologue, refused by the Players;” which is marked by Mr Luttrel, 11th April, 1683, and contains the following direct attack on “The Duke of Guise,” and the author: 

  Our prologue wit grows flat; the nap’s worn off,
  And howsoe’er we turn and trim the stuff,
  The gloss is gone that looked at first so gaudy;
  ’Tis now no jest to hear young girls talk bawdry. 
  But plots and parties give new matters birth,
  And state distractions serve you here for mirth. 
  At England’s cost poets now purchase fame;
  While factious heats destroy us, without shame,
  These wanton Neroes fiddle to the flame;
  The stage, like old rump-pulpits, is become
  The scene of news, a furious party’s drum: 
  Here poets beat their brains for volunteers,
  And take fast hold of asses by their ears;
  Their jingling rhimes for reason here you swallow,
  Like Orpheus’ music, it makes beasts to follow. 
  What an enlightening grace is want of bread! 
  How it can change a libeller’s heart, and clear a laureat’s head;
  Open his eyes, till the mad prophet see
  Plots working in a future power to be! (Medal, p. 14.)
  Traitors unformed to his second sight are clear. 
  And squadrons here and squadrons there appear;
  Rebellion is the burden of the seer. 
  To Bayes, in vision, were of late revealed,
  Whig armies, that at Knightsbridge lay concealed;
  And though no mortal eye could see’t before,
  The battle just was entering at the door.
  A dangerous association, signed by none,
  The joiner’s plot to seize the king alone. 
  Stephen with College[3] made this dire compact;
  The watchful Irish took them in the fact. 
  Of riding armed; O traitorous overt act! 
  With each of them an ancient Pistol sided,
  Against the statute in that case provided. 
  But, why was such a host of swearers pressed? 
  Their succour was ill husbandry at best. 
  Bayes’s crowned muse, by sovereign right of satire,
  Without desert, can dub a man a traitor;
  And tories, without troubling law or reason,
  By loyal instinct can find plots and treason.