John Dryden 是18世紀英國文學的泰斗 引領風騷一世紀
他建立起18世紀英國文學品味標準 所追求的 ancient 和 nature 成為那時代的主軸

文學是 imitation of nature ，透過修辭的技巧進行模仿
Satire 是文學家擅長的高招 口不出惡言 殺人不見血
Satire 的特質在於
1.exaggeration - boldness of figures 對人物的誇飾
2.incongruit - 呈現相當的落差、不協調
經由這兩項element 發現 truth

Satire 區分為
1.verse Satire - 其中尚有一種 mock heroic
2.prose Satire

譬如 格列弗遊記 其實是 Satire 並不單純是兒童文學

閱讀 John Dryden - http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng211/john_dryden_macflecnoe_.htm
- http://www.luminarium.org/eightlit/dryden/

【附記】
在教學評鑑前夕，系主人語重心長的說了一席話。
一個教學認真，要求嚴格的教授，被大學生的評鑑可能是超乎想像的險惡！
一個上課內容花俏，多看影片的教授，可能贏得很多大學生的青睞，獲得較高等級的評價。
系主任說，學習最大的樂趣往往在於 困思衡慮 豁然開朗 之後 知識深度的獲得。
信哉！此言。
大學生已身在知識的最高殿堂 尚且如此膚淺 足為可悲！

From- http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/745.html

John Dryden (1631-1700)

Mac Flecknoe
A Satire upon the True-blue Protestant Poet T.S.

1All human things are subject to decay, 2And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey: 3This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young 4Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long: 5In prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute 6Through all the realms of Non-sense, absolute. 7This aged prince now flourishing in peace, 8And blest with issue of a large increase, 9Worn out with business, did at length debate 10To settle the succession of the State: 11And pond'ring which of all his sons was fit 12To reign, and wage immortal war with wit; 13Cry'd, 'tis resolv'd; for nature pleads that he 14Should only rule, who most resembles me: 15Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, 16Mature in dullness from his tender years. 17Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he 18Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity. 19The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, 20But Shadwell never deviates into sense. 21Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, 22Strike through and make a lucid interval; 23But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray, 24His rising fogs prevail upon the day: 25Besides his goodly fabric fills the eye, 26And seems design'd for thoughtless majesty: 27Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain, 28And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign. 29Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee, 30Thou last great prophet of tautology: 31Even I, a dunce of more renown than they, 32Was sent before but to prepare thy way; 33And coarsely clad in Norwich drugget came 34To teach the nations in thy greater name. 35My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung 36When to King John of Portugal I sung, 37Was but the prelude to that glorious day, 38When thou on silver Thames did'st cut thy way, 39With well tim'd oars before the royal barge, 40Swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge; 41And big with hymn, commander of an host, 42The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd. 43Methinks I see the new Arion sail, 44The lute still trembling underneath thy nail. 45At thy well sharpen'd thumb from shore to shore 46The treble squeaks for fear, the basses roar: 47Echoes from Pissing-Alley, Shadwell call, 48And Shadwell they resound from Aston Hall. 49About thy boat the little fishes throng, 50As at the morning toast, that floats along. 51Sometimes as prince of thy harmonious band 52Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand. 53St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time, 54Not ev'n the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme: 55Though they in number as in sense excel; 56So just, so like tautology they fell, 57That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore 58The lute and sword which he in triumph bore 59And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more. 60Here stopt the good old sire; and wept for joy 61In silent raptures of the hopeful boy. 62All arguments, but most his plays, persuade, 63That for anointed dullness he was made.
64 Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind, 65(The fair Augusta much to fears inclin'd) 66An ancient fabric, rais'd t'inform the sight, 67There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight: 68A watch tower once; but now, so fate ordains, 69Of all the pile an empty name remains. 70From its old ruins brothel-houses rise, 71Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys. 72Where their vast courts, the mother-strumpets keep, 73And, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep. 74Near these a nursery erects its head, 75Where queens are form'd, and future heroes bred; 76Where unfledg'd actors learn to laugh and cry, 77Where infant punks their tender voices try, 78And little Maximins the gods defy. 79Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here, 80Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear; 81But gentle Simkin just reception finds 82Amidst this monument of vanish'd minds: 83Pure clinches, the suburbian muse affords; 84And Panton waging harmless war with words. 85Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known, 86Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne. 87For ancient Decker prophesi'd long since, 88That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, 89Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense: 90To whom true dullness should some Psyches owe, 91But worlds of Misers from his pen should flow; 92Humorists and hypocrites it should produce, 93Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce.
94 Now Empress Fame had publisht the renown, 95Of Shadwell's coronation through the town. 96Rous'd by report of fame, the nations meet, 97From near Bun-Hill, and distant Watling-street. 98No Persian carpets spread th'imperial way, 99But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay: 100From dusty shops neglected authors come, 101Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum. 102Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby there lay, 103But loads of Shadwell almost chok'd the way. 104Bilk'd stationers for yeoman stood prepar'd, 105And Herringman was Captain of the Guard. 106The hoary prince in majesty appear'd, 107High on a throne of his own labours rear'd. 108At his right hand our young Ascanius sat 109Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state. 110His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace, 111And lambent dullness play'd around his face. 112As Hannibal did to the altars come, 113Sworn by his sire a mortal foe to Rome; 114So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain, 115That he till death true dullness would maintain; 116And in his father's right, and realm's defence, 117Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense. 118The king himself the sacred unction made, 119As king by office, and as priest by trade: 120In his sinister hand, instead of ball, 121He plac'd a mighty mug of potent ale; 122Love's kingdom to his right he did convey, 123At once his sceptre and his rule of sway; 124Whose righteous lore the prince had practis'd young, 125And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung, 126His temples last with poppies were o'er spread, 127That nodding seem'd to consecrate his head: 128Just at that point of time, if fame not lie, 129On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly. 130So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook, 131Presage of sway from twice six vultures took. 132Th'admiring throng loud acclamations make, 133And omens of his future empire take. 134The sire then shook the honours of his head, 135And from his brows damps of oblivion shed 136Full on the filial dullness: long he stood, 137Repelling from his breast the raging god; 138At length burst out in this prophetic mood:
139 Heavens bless my son, from Ireland let him reign 140To far Barbadoes on the Western main; 141Of his dominion may no end be known, 142And greater than his father's be his throne. 143Beyond love's kingdom let him stretch his pen; 144He paus'd, and all the people cry'd Amen. 145Then thus, continu'd he, my son advance 146Still in new impudence, new ignorance. 147Success let other teach, learn thou from me 148Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. 149Let Virtuosos in five years be writ; 150Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit. 151Le