the Corps, and set it before the Door.  It cannot be easily imagin’d what grief, shame, and confusion seized this unhappy Family.  They begged a Day’s Respite, which was granted.  Mr. Charles wrote a very handsome Letter to Lord Jeffreys, who returned it with this cool Answer, “He knew nothing of the Matter, and would be troubled no more about it.”  He then addressed the Lord Halifax and Bishop of Rochester, who were both too justly tho’ unhappily incensed, to do anything in it.  In this extream Distress, Dr. Garth, a man who entirely lov’d Mr. Dryden, and was withal a Man of Generosity and great Humanity, sends for the Corps to the College of Physicians in Warwick Lane, and proposed a Funeral by Subscription, to which himself set a most noble example.  Mr. Wycherley, and several others, among whom must not be forgotten Henry Cromwell, Esq., Captain Gibbons, and Mr. Christopher Metcalfe, Mr. Dryden’s Apothecary and intimate Friend (since a Collegiate Physician), who with many others contributed most largely to the Subscription; and at last a Day, about three weeks after his Decease, was appointed for the Interment at the Abbey.  Dr. Garth pronounced a fine Latin Oration over the Corps at the College; but the Audience being numerous, and the Room large, it was requisite the Orator should be elevated, that he might be heard.  But as it unluckily happen’d there was nothing at hand but an old Beer-Barrel, which the Doctor with much good-nature mounted; and in the midst of his Oration, beating Time to the Accent with his Foot, the Head broke in, and his Feet sunk to the Bottom, which occasioned the malicious Report of his Enemies, “That he was turned a Tub-Preacher.”  However, he finished the Oration with a superior grace and genius, to the loud Acclamations of Mirth, which inspir’d the mix’d or rather Mob-Auditors.  The Procession began to move, a numerous Train of Coaches attended the Hearse:  But, good God! in what Disorder can only be express’d by a Sixpenny Pamphlet, soon after published, entitled “Dryden’s Funeral.”  At last the Corps arrived at the Abbey, which was all unlighted.  No Organ played, no Anthem sung; only two of the Singing boys preceded the Corps, who sung an Ode of Horace, with each a small candle in their Hand.  The Butchers and other Mob broke in like a Deluge, so that only about eight or ten Gentlemen could gain Admission, and those forced to cut the Way with their drawn Swords.  The Coffin in this Disorder was let down into Chaucer’s Grave, with as much confusion, and as little Ceremony, as was possible; every one glad to save themselves from the Gentlemen’s Swords, or the Clubs of the Mob.  When the Funeral was over, Mr. Charles sent a Challenge to Lord Jeffreys, who refusing to answer it, he sent several others, and went often himself, but could neither get a Letter deliver’d, nor Admittance to speak to him, that he resolved, since his Lordship refused to answer him like a Gentleman, he would watch an Opportunity to meet him, and fight off hand, tho’ with all the Rules of Honour; which his Lordship hearing, left the Town, and Mr. Charles could never have the satisfaction to meet him, tho’ he sought it till his death with the utmost Application.’