About the same time, Dryden resumed, with new courage, the opera of “Albion and Albanius,” which had been nearly finished before the death of Charles.  This was originally designed as a masque, or emblematical prelude to the play of “King Arthur;” for Dryden, wearied with the inefficient patronage of Charles, from whom he only “received fair words,” had renounced in despair the task of an epic poem, and had converted one of his themes, that of the tale of Arthur, into the subject of a romantic drama.  As the epic was to have been adapted to the honour and praise of Charles and his brother, the opera had originally the same political tendency.  “Albion and Albanius” was a sort of introductory masque, in which, under a very thin veil of allegory, first, the restoration of the Stuarts to the throne, and, secondly, their recent conquest over their Whig opponents, were successively represented.  The death of Charles made little alteration in this piece:  it cost but the addition of an apotheosis; and the opera concluded with the succession of James to the throne, from which he had been so nearly excluded.  These topics were however temporary; and, probably from the necessity of producing it while the allusions were fresh and obvious, “Albion and Albanius” was detached from “King Arthur,” which was not in such a state of forwardness.  Great expense was bestowed in bringing forward this piece, and the scenery seems to have been unusually perfect; particularly, the representation of a celestial phenomenon, actually seen by Captain Gunman of the navy, whose evidence is quoted in the printed copies of the play.[1] The music of “Albion and Albanius” was arranged by Grabut, a Frenchman, whose name does not stand high as a composer.  Yet Dryden pays him some compliments in the preface of the piece, which were considered as derogatory to Purcel and the English school, and gave great offence to a class of persons at least as irritable as their brethren the poets.  This, among other causes, seems to have injured the success of the piece.  But its death-blow was the news of the Duke of Monmouth’s invasion, which reached London on Saturday, 13th June 1685, while “Albion and Albanius” was performing for the sixth time:  the audience broke up in consternation, and the piece was never again repeated.[2] This opera was prejudicial to the company, who were involved by the expense in a considerable debt, and never recovered half the money laid out.  Neither was it of service to our poet’s reputation, who had, on this occasion, to undergo the gibes of angry musicians, as well as the reproaches of disappointed actors and hostile poets.  One went so far as to suggest, with some humour, that probably the laureate and Grabut had mistaken their trade; the forming writing the music, and the latter the verse.