court. Seated in his particular armchair, on the balcony in summer, by
the fire in winter, he discoursed on topics current in the literary
world, pronounced his verdict of praise or condemnation, and woe to the
unfortunate upon whom the latter fell. A week before Christmas, in 1679,
as Dryden was walking home from an evening of this sort, he was waylaid
by masked ruffians in Rose Alley and was beaten to unconsciousness. The
attack was supposed to have been incited by Rochester, who smarted under
an anonymous satire mistakenly attributed to Dryden.

Though wrongly accused of this particular satire, it was not long before
he did turn his attention to that department of verse. It was the time
of the restless dissent of the Whigs from the succession of James; and
in 1681 Dryden launched _Absalom and Achitophel_, one of the most
brilliant satires in our language, against Shaftesbury and his
adherents, who were inciting Monmouth to revolt. He found an admirable
parallel in Absalom's revolt from his father David, and he sustained the
comparison. The Scriptural names concealed living characters, and
Shaftesbury masked as Achitophel, the evil counsellor, and Buckingham as
Zimri. Feeling ran high. Shaftesbury was arrested and tried, but was
acquitted, and his friends struck off a medal in commemoration. In 1682,
therefore, came Dryden's second satire, the _Medal_. These two political
satires called forth in the fevered state of the times a host of
replies, two of the most scurrilous from the pens of Shadwell and
Settle. Of these two poor Whigs the first was drawn and quartered in
_MacFlecnoe_, while the two were yoked for castigation in Part II. of
_Absalom and Achitophel_, which appeared in 1682. Dryden possessed
preeminently the faculty for satire. He did not devote himself
exclusively to an abstract treatment, nor, like Pope, to bitter
personalities; he blends and combines the two methods most effectively.
Every one of his brisk, nervous couplets carries a sting; every distich