THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.
[]IT will be found a true obſervation, tho' ſomewhat ſurprizing, that when any ſcandal is vented againſt a man of the higheſt diſtinction and character either in the State or in Literature, the publick in general afford it a moſt quiet reception, and the larger part accept it as favourably as if it were ſome kindneſs done to themſelves: Whereas if a known ſcoundrel or blockhead chance to be but touch'd upon, a whole legion is up in Arms, and it becomes the common Cauſe of all Scriblers, Bookſellers, and Printers whatſoever.
Not to ſearch too deeply into the reaſon hereof, I will only obſerve as a Fact, that every week for theſe two Months paſt, the town has been perſe⯑cuted [iv] with Pamphlets, Advertiſements, Letters, and weekly Eſſays, not only againſt the Wit and Writings, but againſt the Character and Perſon, of Mr. Pope. And that of all thoſe men who have received pleaſure from his Writings (which by modeſt computation may be about a hundred thouſand in theſe Kingdoms of England and Ire⯑land, not to mention Jerſcy, Guernſey, the Orcades, thoſe in the New world, and Foreign⯑ers who have tranſlated him into their languages) of all this number, not a man hath ſtood up to ſay one word in his defence.
The only exception is the Author of the follow⯑ing Poem, who doubtleſs had either a better in⯑ſight into the grounds of this clamour, or a bet⯑ter opinion of Mr. Pope's integrity, join'd with a greater perſonal love for him, than any other of his numerous friends and admirers.
Further, that he was in his peculiar intima⯑cy, appears from the knowledge he manifeſts of the moſt private Authors of all the anonymous pieces againſt him, and from his having in this Poem attacked no man living, who had not be⯑fore printed and publiſhed againſt this particular Gentleman.
How I became poſſeſt of it, is of no concern to [v] the Reader; but it would have been a wrong to him, had I detain'd this publication: ſince thoſe Names which are its chief ornaments, die off dai⯑ly ſo faſt, as muſt render it too ſoon unintelligible. If it provoke the Author to give us a more per⯑fect edition, I have my end.
Who he is, I cannot ſay, and (which is great pity) there is certainly nothing in his ſtyle and manner of writing, which can diſtinguiſh, or diſcover him. For if it bears any reſemblance to that of Mr. P. 'tis not improbable but it might be done on purpoſe, with a view to have it paſs for his. But by the frequency of his alluſions to Virgil, and a labour'd, (not to ſay affected, ſhortneſs, in imitation of him, I ſhould think him more an admirer of the Roman Poet than of the Grecian, and in that, not of the ſame taſte with his Friend.
I have been well inform'd, that this work was the labour of full ſix years of his life, and that he retired himſelf entirely from all the avocations and pleaſures of the world, to attend diligently to its correction and perfection; and ſix years more he intended to beſtow upon it, as it ſhould ſeem by this verſe of Statius, which was cited at the head of his manuſcript.
[vi] Oh mihi biſſenos multum vigilata per annos,
Duncia!—
Hence alſo we learn the true Title of the Poem; which with the ſame certainty as we call that of Homer the Iliad, of Virgil the Aeneid, of Camoens the Luſiad, of Voltaire the Henriad, we may pronounce could have been, and can be no other, than‘THE DUNCIAD.’
It is ſtyled Heroic, as being doubly ſo; not only with reſpect to its nature, which ac⯑cording to the beſt Rules of the Ancients and ſtricteſt ideas of the Moderns, is critically ſuch; but alſo with regard to the Heroical diſpoſition and high courage of the Writer, who dar'd to ſtir up ſuch a formidable, irritable, and implacable race of mortals.
The time and date of the Action is evident⯑ly in the laſt reign, when the office of City Poet expir'd upon the death of Elkanah Set⯑tle, and he has fix'd it to the Mayoralty of Sir Geo. Tho [...]ld. But there may ariſe [vii] ſome obſcurity in Chronology from the Names in the Poem, by the inevitable removal of ſome Authors, and Inſertion of others, in their Niches. For whoever will conſider the unity of the whole deſign, will be ſenſible, that the Poem was not made for theſe Authors, but theſe Authors for the Poem. And I ſhould judge they were clapp'd in as they roſe, freſh and freſh, and chang'd from day to day, in like manner as when the old boughs wither, we thruſt new ones into a chimney.
I would not have the reader too much trou⯑bled or anxious, if he cannot decypher them; ſince when he ſhall have found them out, he will probably know no more of the Perſons than before.
Yet we judg'd it better to preſerve them as they are, than to change them for fictitious names, by which the Satyr would only be mul⯑tiplied; and applied to many inſtead of one. Had the Hero, for inſtance, been called Co⯑drus, how many would have affirm'd him to be Mr. W [...] Mr. D [...] Sir R [...] B [...], &c. but now, all that unjuſt ſcandal is ſaved, by calling him Theobald, which by good luck happens to be the name of a real perſon.
[viii] I am indeed aware, that this name may to ſome appear too mean, for the Hero of an Epic Poem? But it is hoped, they will alter that opinion, when they find, that an Author no leſs eminent than la Bruyere, has thought him worthy a place in his Characters.
Voudriez vous, THEOBALDE, que je cruſſe que vous êtes baiſſe? que vous n'êtes plus Poete, ni bel eſprit? que vous êtes pre⯑ſentement auſſi Mauvais juge de tout genre d'Ouvrage, que Mechant Auteur? Votre air libre & preſumptueux me raſſure, & me per⯑ſuade tout le contraire. &c. Characteres, Vol. I. de la Societe & de la Converſation, pag. 176. Edit. Amſt. 1720.
THE DUNCIAD.
BOOK the FIRST.
[1]BOOKS and the man I ſing, the firſt who brings
The Smithfield muſes to the ears of kings.
Say great Patricians! (ſince yourſelves inſpire
Theſe wond'rous works; ſo Jove and fate require!)
Say from what cauſe, in vain decry'd and curſt,
Still
† Dunce the ſecond reigns like Dunce the firſt?In eldeſt time, e'er mortals writ or read,
E'er Pallas iſſued from the Thund'rer's head,
[2] Dulneſs o'er all poſſeſs'd her antient right,
Daughter of Chaos and eternal Night:
Fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave,
Groſs as her, ſire, and as her mother grave,
Laborious, heavy, buſy, bold, and blind,
She rul'd, in native anarchy, the mind.
Still her old empire to confirm, ſhe tries,
For born a Goddeſs, Dulneſs never dies.
Where wave the tatter'd enſigns of Rag-Fair,
A yawning ruin hangs and nods in air;
Keen, hollow winds howl thro' the bleak receſs,
Emblem of muſic caus'd by emptineſs:
Here in one bed two ſhiv'ring ſiſters lye,
The cave of Poverty and Poetry.
This, the Great Mother dearer held than all
The clubs of Quidnunc's, or her own Guild-hall:
Here ſtood her Opium, here ſhe nurs'd her Owls,
And deſtin'd here th' imperial ſeat of fools.
Hence ſprings each weekly muſe, the living boaſt
Of C [...]l's chaſte preſs, and L [...]t's rubric poſt;
[3] Hence hymning Tyburn's elegiac lay,
Hence the ſoft ſing-ſong on Cecilia's day,
Sepulchral lyes our holy walls to grace,
And New-year-Odes, and all the Grubſtreet race.
'Twas here in clouded majeſty ſhe ſhone;
Four guardian Virtues, round, ſupport her throne;
Fierce champion Fortitude, that knows no fears
Of hiſſes, blows, or want, or loſs of ears:
Calm Temperance, whoſe bleſſings thoſe partake
Who hunger, and who thirſt for ſcribling ſake:
Prudence, whoſe glaſs preſents th' approaching jayl;
Poetic Juſtice, with her lifted ſcale;
Where in nice balance, truth with gold ſhe weighs,
And ſolid pudding againſt empty praiſe.
Here ſhe beholds the Chaos dark and deep,
Where nameleſs ſomethings in their cauſes ſleep,
'Till genial Jacob, or a warm third-day
Calls forth each maſs, a poem or a play.
How hints, like ſpawn, ſcarce quick in embryo lie;
How new-born nonſenſe firſt is taught to cry;
[4] Maggots half-form'd, in rhyme exactly meet,
And learn to crawl upon poetic feet.
Here one poor Word a hundred clenches makes,
And ductile dulneſs new meanders takes;
There motley Images her fancy ſtrike,
Figures ill-pair'd, and Similes unlike.
She ſees a mob of Metaphors advance,
Pleas'd with the madneſs of the mazy dance:
How Tragedy and Comedy embrace;
How Farce and Epic get a jumbled race;
How Time himſelf ſtands ſtill at her command,
Realms ſhift their place, and Ocean turns to land.
Here gay Deſcription Aegypt glads with ſhowers,
Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flowers;
Glitt'ring with ice here hoary hills are ſeen,
Faſt by, fair vallies of eternal green,
On cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harveſts nod beneath the ſnow.
All theſe and more, the cloud-compelling Queen
Beholds thro' fogs, that magnify the ſcene;
[5] She, tinfel'd o'er in robes of varying hues,
With ſelf-applauſe her wild creation views,
Sees momentary monſters riſe and fall,
And with her own fools-colours gilds them all.
'Twas on the day, when
† Tho [...]d, rich and grave,
Like
‡ Cimon triumph'd both on land and wave,
(Pomps without guilt, of bloodleſs ſwords and maces,
Glad chains, warm furs, broad banners, and broadfaces)
Now night deſcending, the proud ſcene was o'er,
Yet liv'd, in Settle's numbers, one day more.
Now May'rs and Shrieves in pleaſing flumbers lay,
And eat in dreams the cuſtard of the day:
But penſive poets painful vigils keep;
Sleepleſs themſelves, to give their readers ſleep.
Much to her mind the ſolemn feaſt recalls,
What city-Swans once ſung within the walls,
Much ſhe revolves their arts, their antient praiſe,
And ſure ſucceſſion down from
* Heywood's days.
[6] She ſaw with joy the line immortal run,
Each ſire impreſt and glaring in his ſon;
So watchful Bruin forms with plaſtic care
Each growing lump, and brings it to a Bear.
She ſaw in N [...]n all his father ſhine,
And E [...]n eke out Bl [...]'s endleſs line;
She ſaw ſlow P [...]s creep like T [...]te's poor page,
And furious D [...]n foam in Wh [...]'s rage.
In each, ſhe marks her image full expreſt,
But chief, in Tibbald's monſter-breeding breaſt,
Sees Gods with Daemons in ſtrange league ingage,
And
† earth, and heav'n, and hell, her battels wage!
She ey'd the Bard where ſupperleſs he fate,
And pin'd, unconſcious of his riſing fate;
Studious he ſate, with all his books around,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vaſt profound?
Plung'd for his ſenſe, but found no bottom there:
Then writ, and flounder'd on, in mere deſpair.
[7] He roll'd his eyes that witneſs'd huge diſmay,
Where yet unpawn'd, much learned lumber lay,
Volumes, whoſe ſize the ſpace exactly fill'd;
Or which fond authors were ſo good to gild;
Or where, by Sculpture made for ever known,
The page admires new beauties, not its own.
Here ſwells the ſhelf with Ogleby the great,
There, ſtamp'd with arms, Newcaſtle ſhines compleat,
Here all his ſuff'ring brotherhood retire,
And 'ſcape the martyrdom of jakes and fire;
A Gothic Vatican! of Greece and Rome
Well-purg'd, and worthy W [...]y, W [...]s, and Bl [...]
But high above, more ſolid Learning ſhone,
The Claſſicks of an age that heard of none;
There Caxton ſlept, with Wynkin at his ſide,
One claſp'd in wood, and one in ſtrong cow-hide:
There ſav'd by ſpice, like mummies, many a year,
Old Bodies of philoſophy appear:
De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,
And there, the groaning Shelves Philemon bends.
[8] Of theſe twelve volumes, twelve of ampleſt ſize,
Redeem'd from tapers and defrauded pyes,
Inſpir'd he ſeizes: Theſe an altar raiſe:
An hecatomb of pure, unſully'd lays
That altar crowns; a folio Common-place
Founds the whole pyle, of all his works the baſe:
Quarto's, octavo's, ſhape the leſſening pyre,
And laſt, a
† little Ajax tips the ſpire.
Then he▪ Great Tamer of all human art!
Firſt in my care, and neareſt at my heart!
Dulneſs! whoſe good old cauſe I yet defend,
With whom my muſe began, with whom ſhall end!
Oh thou! of buſineſs the directing ſoul,
To human heads like byaſs to the bowl,
Which as more pond'rous makes their aim more true,
Obliquely wadling to the mark in view.
O ever gracious to perplex'd mankind!
Who ſpread a healing miſt before the mind,
And, leſt we err by wit's wild, dancing light,
Secure us kindly in our native night.
[9] Ah! ſtill o'er Britain ſtretch that peaceful wand,
Which lulls th' Helvetian and Batavian land,
Where 'gainſt thy throne if rebel Science riſe,
She does but ſhow her coward face and dies:
There, thy good ſcholiaſts with unweary'd pains
Make Horace flat, and humble Maro's ſtrains;
Here ſtudious I unlucky Moderns ſave,
Nor ſleeps one error in its father's grave,
Old puns reſtore, loſt blunders nicely ſeek,
And crucify poor Shakeſpear once a week.
For thee I dim theſe eyes, and ſtuff this head,
With all ſuch reading as was never read;
For thee ſupplying, in the worſt of days,
Notes to dull books, and Prologues to dull plays;
For thee explain a thing 'till all men doubt it,
And write about it, Goddeſs, and about it;
So ſpins the ſilkworm ſmall its ſlender ſtore,
And labours, 'till it clouds itſelf all o'er.
Not that my pen to criticks was confin'd,
My verſe gave ampler leſſons to mankind;
So written precepts may ſucceſsleſs prove,
But ſad examples never fail to move.
[10] As forc'd from wind-guns, lead it ſelf can fly,
And pond'rous ſlugs cut ſwiftly thro' the sky;
As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe,
The wheels above urg'd by the load below;
Me, Emptineſs and Dulneſs could inſpire,
And were my Elaſticity, and Fire.
Had heav'n decreed ſuch works a longer date,
Heav'n had decreed to ſpare the Grubſtreet-ſtate.
But ſee
* great
Settle to the duſt deſcend,
And all thy cauſe and empire at an end!
Cou'd Troy be ſav'd by any ſingle hand,
His gray-gooſe-weapon muſt have made her ſtand.
But what can I [...] my Flaccus caſt aſide,
Take up th' Attorney's (once my better) guide?
Or rob the Roman geeſe of all their glories,
And ſave the ſtate by cackling to the Tories?
Yes, to my country I my pen conſign,
Yes, from this moment, mighty Miſt! am thine,
[11] And rival, Curtius! of thy fame and zeal,
O'er head and ears plunge for the public weal.
Adieu my children! better thus expire
Un-ſtall'd, unſold; thus glorious mount in fire
Fair without ſpot; than greas'd by grocer's hands,
Or ſhipp'd with W [...] to ape and monkey lands,
Or wafting ginger, round the ſtreets to go,
And viſit alehouſe where ye firſt did grow.
With that, he lifted thrice the ſparkling brand,
And thrice he dropt it from his quiv'ring hand:
Then lights the ſtructure, with averted eyes;
The rowling ſmokes involve the ſacrifice.
The opening clouds diſcloſe each work by turns,
Now flames old
* Memnon, now
Rodrigo burns,
In one quick ſlaſh ſee Proſerpine expire,
And laſt, his own cold Aeſchylus took fire.
Then guſh'd the tears, as from the Trojan's eyes
When the laſt blaze ſent Ilion to the skies.
[12] Rowz'd by the light, old Dulneſs heav'd the head,
Then ſnatch'd a ſheet of Thulè from her Bed,
Sudden ſhe flies, and whelms it o'er the pyre;
Down ſink the flames, and with a hiſs expire.
Her ample preſence fills up all the place;
A veil of fogs dilates her awful face,
Great in her charms! as when on Shrieves and May'rs
She looks, and breathes herſelf into their airs.
She bids him wait her to the ſacred Dome;
Well-pleas'd he enter'd, and confeſs'd his home:
So ſpirits, ending their terreſtrial race,
Aſcend, and recognize their native place:
Raptur'd, he gazes round the dear retreat,
And
† in ſweet numbers celebrates the ſeat.
Here to her Choſen all her works ſhe ſhows;
Proſe ſwell'd to verſe, Verſe loitring into proſe:
How random thoughts now meaning chance to find,
Now leave all memory of ſenſe behind;
[13] How Prologues into Prefaces decay,
And thoſe to Notes are fritter'd quite away:
How Index-learning turns no ſtudent pale,
Yet holds the eel of ſcience by the Tail:
How, with leſs reading than makes felons 'ſcape;
Leſs human genius than God gives an ape,
Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or Greece,
A paſt, vamp'd, future, old, reviv'd, new piece,
'Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Congreve, and Corneille,
Can make a C [...]r, Jo [...]n, or O [...]ll.
The Goddeſs then, o'er his anointed head,
With myſtic words the ſacred Opium ſhed;
And lo! her Bird (a monſter of a fowl!
Something betwixt a H [...] and Owl)
Perch'd on his crown. All hail! and hail again
My ſon! the promis'd land expects thy reign.
Know Settle, cloy'd with cuſtard and with praiſe,
Is gather'd to the Dull of antient days,
Safe, where no criticks damn, no duns moleſt,
Where G [...]n, B [...], and high-born H [...] reſt!
[14] I ſee a King! who leads my choſen ſons
To lands that flow with clenches and with puns:
'Till each fam'd theatre my empire own,
Till Albion, as Hibernia, bleſs my throne.
I ſee! I ſee!—Then rapt, ſhe ſpoke no more.
God ſave King Tibbald! Grubſtreet alleys roar.
So when Jove's block deſcended from on high,
(As ſings thy great fore-father, Ogilby,)
Hoarſe thunder to its bottom ſhook the bog,
And the loud nation croak'd, God ſave King Log!
End of the firſt Book.
THE DUNCIAD.
Book the SECOND.
[15]THE ſons of Dulneſs meet: an endleſs band
Pours forth, and leaves unpeopled half the land,
A motley mixture! in long wigs, in bags,
In ſilks, in crapes, in garters, and in rags;
From drawing rooms, from colleges, from garrets,
On horſe, on foot, in hacks, and gilded chariots,
All who true Dunces in her cauſe appear'd,
And all who knew thoſe Dunces to reward.
[16]Now herald hawker's ruſty voice proclaims
Heroic prizes, and advent'rous Games;
In that wide ſpace the Goddeſs took her ſtand
Where the tall May-pole once o'erlook'd the Strand;
But now (ſo ANNE and Piety ordain)
A Church collects the ſaints of Drury-lane.
With authors, ſtationers obey'd the call;
The field of glory is a field for all;
Glory, and gain, th' induſtrious tribe provoke,
And gentle Dulneſs ever loves a joke.
A Poet's Form ſhe ſets before their eyes,
And bids the nimbleſt racer ſeize the prize;
No meagre, muſe-rid mope, aduſt and thin,
In a dun night-gown of his own looſe skin;
But ſuch a bulk as no twelve bards could raiſe,
Twelve ſtarving bards of theſe degen'rate days.
All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair,
She form'd this image of well-bodied air,
With pert flat eyes ſhe window'd well its head,
A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead,
[17] And empty words ſhe gave, and ſounding ſtrain;
But ſenſeleſs, lifeleſs! Idol void and vain!
Never was daſht out, at one lucky hit,
A fool, ſo juſt a copy of a wit;
So like, that criticks ſaid and courtiers ſwore,
A wit it was, and call'd the phantom, M [...].
All gaze with ardour: ſome, a Poet's name,
Others, a ſword-knot and lac'd ſuit inflame:
But lofty L [...]t in the circle roſe;
"This prize is mine; who tempt it, are my foes:
"With me began this genius, and ſhall end:
He ſpoke, and who with L [...]t ſhall contend?
Fear held them mute. Alone, untaught to fear,
Stood dauntleſs C [...]l. "Behold that rival here!
"The race by vigor, not by vaunts is won;
"So take the hindmoſt Hell.—He ſaid, and run.
Swift as a bard the bailiff leaves behind,
He left huge L [...]t, and out-ſtript the wind.
As when a dab-chick waddles thro' the copſe,
On legs and wings, and flies, and wades, and hops;
[18] So lab'ring on, with ſhoulders, hands, and head,
Wide as a windmill all his figure ſpread,
With ſteps unequal L [...]t urg'd the race,
And ſeem'd to emulate great Jacob's pace.
Full in the middle way there ſtood a lake,
Which C [...]l's Corinna chanc'd that morn to make,
(Such was her wont, at early dawn to drop
Her evening cates before his neighbour's ſhop,)
Here fortun'd C [...]l to ſlide: loud ſhout the band,
And L [...]t, L [...]t, rings thro' all the Strand.
Obſcene with filth the varlet lies bewray'd,
Fal'n in the plaſh his wickedneſs had lay'd:
Then firſt (if Poets ought of truth declare)
The caitiff Vaticide conceiv'd a prayer.
Hear Jove! whoſe name my bards and I adore,
As much at leaſt as any Gods, or more;
And him and his, if more devotion warms,
Down with the
* Bible, up with the
† Pope's Arms.[19] ‡ A place there is, betwixt earth, air and ſeas,
Where from Ambroſia, Jove retires for eaſe.
There in his ſeat two ſpacious Vents appear,
On this he ſits, to that he leans his ear,
There hears the various vows of fond mankind,
Some beg an eaſtern, ſome a weſtern wind:
All vain petitions, ſent by winds on high,
With reams abundant this abode ſupply;
Amus'd he reads, and then returns the bills
Sign'd with that Ichor which from Gods diſtills.
In office here fair Cloacina ſtands,
And miniſters to Jove with pureſt hands;
Forth from the heap ſhe pick'd her vot'ry's pray'r,
And plac'd it next him, a diſtinction rare!
Oft, as he fiſh'd her nether realms for wit,
The Goddeſs favour'd him, and favours yet.
Renew'd by ordure's ſympathetic force,
As oil'd with magic juices for the courſe,
Vig'rous he riſes; from th' effluvia ſtrong
Imbibes new life, and ſcours and ſtinks along,
[20] Re-paſſes L [...]t, vindicates the race,
Nor heeds the brown diſhonours of his face.
And now the victor ſtretch'd his eager hand,
Where the tall Nothing ſtood, or ſeem'd to ſtand;
A ſhapeleſs ſhade, it melted from his ſight,
Like forms in clouds, or viſions of the night!
Baffled, yet preſent ev'n amidſt deſpair,
To ſeize his papers, C [...]l, was next thy care;
His papers all, the ſportive winds up-lift,
And whisk 'em back to G [...], to Y [...], to S [...].
Th' embroider'd ſuit, at leaſt, he deem'd his prey;
That ſuit, an unpay'd Taylor ſnatch'd away!
No rag, no ſcrap, of all the beau, or wit,
That once ſo flutter'd, and that once ſo writ.
Heav'n rings with laughter: Of the laughter vain,
Dulneſs, good Queen, repeats the jeſt again.
Three wicked imps of her own Grubſtreet Choir
She deck'd like Congreve, Addiſon, and Prior;
Mears, Warner, Wilkins run: Deluſive thought!
[...], [...], and [...], the wretches caught.
[21] C [...]l ſtretches after Gay, but Gay is gone,
He graſps an empty
† Joſeph for a
John.So Proteus, hunted in a nobler ſhape,
Became, when ſeiz'd, a Puppy or an Ape.
To him the Goddeſs. Son, thy grief lay down;
And turn this whole illuſion on the town.
As the ſage dame experienc'd in her trade,
By names of Toaſts retails each batter'd jade,
(Whence hapleſs Monſieur much complains at Paris.
Of wrongs from Ducheſſes and Lady Marys)
Be thine, my ſtationer! this magic gift;
C [...] ſhall be Prior, and C [...]n, Swift;
So ſhall each hoſtile name become our own,
And we too boaſt our Garth and Addiſon.
With that the Goddeſs (piteous of his caſe,
Yet ſmiling at his ruful length of face)
Gives him a cov'ring, worthy to be ſpread
On Codrus' old, or [...]'s modern bed;
[22] Inſtructive work! whoſe wry-mouth'd portraiture
Diſplay'd the fates her confeſſors endure.
Ear-leſs on high, ſtood pillory'd D [...]
And T [...] flagrant from the laſh, below:
There kick'd and cudgel'd R [...] might ye view,
The very worſtead ſtill look'd black and blue:
Himſelf among the ſtoried chiefs he ſpies,
As from the blanket high in air he flies,
And oh! (he cry'd) what ſtreet, what lane but knows
Our purgings, pumpings, blanketings and blows?
In ev'ry loom our labors ſhall be ſeen,
And the freſh vomit run for ever green!
See in the circle next, Eliza plac'd;
Two babes of love cloſe clinging to her waſte;
Fair as before her works ſhe ſtands confeſs'd,
In flow'r'd brocade by bounteous Kirkall dreſs'd,
Pearls on her neck, and roſes in her hair,
And her fore-buttocks to the navel bare.
The Goddeſs then: "Who beſt can ſend on high
"The ſalient ſpout, fair-ſtreaming to the sky;
[23] "His be yon Juno of majeſtic ſize,
"With cow-like udders, and with ox-like eyes.
"This China-Jordan, let the chief o'ercome
"Repleniſh, not ingloriouſly, at home.
Ch [...]d and C [...]l accept this glorious ſtrife,
(Tho' one his Son diſſuades, and one his Wife)
This on his manly confidence relies,
That on his vigor and ſuperior ſize.
Firſt C [...]d lean'd againſt his letter'd poſt;
It roſe, and labor'd to a curve at moſt:
So Jove's bright bow diſplays its watry round,
(Sure ſign, that no ſpectator ſhall be drown'd)
A ſecond effort brought but new diſgrace,
For ſtraining more, it flies in his own face;
Thus the ſmall jett which haſty hands unlock,
Spirits in the gard'ners eyes who turns the cock.
Not ſo from ſhameleſs C [...]l: Impetuous ſpread
The ſtream, and ſmoaking, flouriſh'd o'er his head.
So, (fam'd like thee for turbulence and horns,)
Eridanus his humble fountain ſcorns,
[24] Thro' half the heav'ns he pours th' exalted urn;
His rapid waters in their paſſage burn.
Swift as it mounts, all follow with their eyes;
Still happy, Impudence obtains the prize.
Thou triumph'ſt, Victor of the high-wrought day,
And the pleas'd dame ſoft-ſmiling leads away.
Ch [...]d, through perfect modeſty o'ercome,
Crown'd with the Jordan, walks contented home.
But now for Authors nobler palms remain:
Room for my Lord! three Jockeys in his train;
Six huntſmen with a ſhout precede his chair;
He grins, and looks broad nonſenſe with a ſtare.
His honour'd meaning, Dulneſs thus expreſt.
"He wins this Patron who can tickle beſt."
He chinks his purſe, and takes his ſeat of ſtate,
With ready quills the Dedicators wait,
Now at his head the dext'rous task commence,
And inſtant, fancy feels th' imputed ſenſe;
[25] Now gentle touches wanton o'er his face,
He ſtruts Adonis, and affects grimace:
R [...] the feather to his ear conveys,
Then his nice taſte directs our Operas:
[...] his mouth with Claſſic flatt'ry opes,
And the puft Orator burſts out in tropes.
But O [...] the Poet's healing balm
Strives to extract from his ſoft, giving palm;
Unlucky O [...]! thy lordly maſter
The more thou tickleſt, gripes his fiſt the faſter.
While thus each hand promotes the pleaſing pain,
And quick ſenſations skip from vein to vein,
A youth unknown to Phoebus, in deſpair,
Puts his laſt refuge all in Heav'n in Pray'r.
What force have pious vows? the Queen of Love
His Siſter ſends, her vot'reſs, from above.
As taught by Venus, Paris learnt the art
To touch Achilles' only tender part,
Secure, thro' her, the noble prize to carry,
He marches off, his Grace's Secretary.
[26] Now turn to diff'rent ſports (the Goddeſs cries)
And learn, my ſons, the wond'rous pow'r of Noiſe.
To move, to raiſe, to raviſh ev'ry heart,
With Shakeſpear's nature, or with Johnſon's art,
Let others aim: 'Tis yours to ſhake the ſoul
With Thunder rumbling from the muſtard-bowl,
With horns and trumpets now to madneſs ſwell,
Now ſink in ſorrows with a tolling Bell.
Such happy arts attention can command,
When fancy flags, and ſenſe is at a ſtand:
Improve we theſe. Three Cat-calls be the bribe
Of him, whoſe chatt'ring ſhames the Monkey tribe;
And his this Drum, whoſe hoarſe heroic baſe
Drowns the loud Clarion of the braying Aſs.
Now thouſand tongues are heard in one loud din,
The Monkey-mimicks ruſh diſcordant in;
'Twas chatt'ring, grinning, mouthing, jabb'ring all,
And R [...], and railing, Brangling, and B [...],
D [...]s and Diſſonance; And captious art,
And ſnip-ſnap ſhort, and interruption ſmart.
[27] Hold (cry'd the Queen) ye all alike ſhall win,
Equal your merits, equal is your din;
But that this well-diſputed game may end,
Sound forth my Brayers, and the welkin rend.
As when the long-ear'd, milky mothers wait
At ſome ſick miſer's triple-bolted gate,
For their defrauded, abſent foals they make
A moan ſo loud, that all the Guild awake:
So ſighs Sir G [...]t, ſtarting at the bray
From dreams of millions, and three groats to pay.
So ſwells each Windpipe; Aſs intones to Aſs,
Harmonic twang! of leather, horn, and braſs:
Such as from lab'ring lungs th' Enthuſiaſt blows,
High ſounds, attempted to the vocal noſe.
But far o'er all ſonorous Bl [...]'s ſtrain,
Walls, ſteeples, skies, bray back to him again:
In Tot'nham fields, the brethren with amaze
Prick all their ears up, and forget to graze;
Long Chanc'ry-lane retentive rolls the ſound,
And courts to courts return it round and round;
[28] Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring hall,
And H [...]d re-ecchoes, bawl for bawl.
All hail him victor in both gifts of Song,
Who ſings ſo loudly, and who ſings ſo long.
This labor paſt, by Bridewell all deſcend,
(As morning pray'r and flagellation end.)
To where Fleetditch with diſemboguing ſtreams
Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames,
The King of Dykes! than whom, no ſluice of mud
With deeper ſable blots the ſilver flood.
'Here ſtrip my children! here at once leap in!
'Here prove who beſt can daſh thro' thick and thin,
'And who the moſt in love of dirt excel,
'Or dark dexterity of groping well.
'Who flings moſt mud, and wide pollutes around
'The ſtream, be his the [...] Journals, bound.
'A pig of lead to him who dives the beſt;
'A peck of coals a-piece ſhall glad the reſt.
In naked majeſty great D [...] ſtands,
And, Milo-like, ſurveys his arms and hands:
[29] Then ſighing, thus, "And am I now threeſcore?
"Ah why, ye Gods! ſhould two and two make four?
He ſaid, and climb'd a ſtranded Lighter's height,
Shot to the black abyſs, and plung'd down-right.
The ſenior's judgment all the crowd admire,
Who but to ſink the deeper, roſe the higher.
Next E [...] div'd; ſlow circles dimpled o'er
The quaking mud, that clos'd and ope'd no more:
All look, all ſigh, and call on E [...] loſt;
E [...] in vain reſounds thro' all the coaſt.
H [...] try'd the next, but hardly ſnatch'd from ſight,
Inſtant buoys up, and riſes into light;
He bears no token of the ſabler ſtreams,
And mounts far off, among the ſwans of Thames.
Far worſe unhappy D [...]r ſucceeds,
He ſearch'd for coral, but he gather'd weeds.
True to the bottom, [...] and [...] creep,
Long-winded both, as natives of the deep,
[30] This only merit pleading for the prize,
Nor everlaſting Bl [...] this denies.
But nimbler W [...]d reaches at the ground,
Circles in mud, and darkneſs all around,
No crab more active, in the dirty dance,
Downward to climb, and backward to advance;
He brings up half the bottom on his head,
And boldly claims the Journals and the Lead.
Sudden, a burſt of thunder ſhook the flood,
Lo E [...] roſe, tremendous all in mud!
Shaking the horrors of his fable brows,
And each ferocious feature grim with ooze.
Greater he looks, and more than mortal ſtares;
Then thus the wonders of the deep declares,
Firſt he relates, how ſmking to the chin,
Smit with his mien, the Mudnymphs ſuck'd him in,
How young Lutetia ſofter than the down,
Nigrina black, and Merdamante brown,
[31] Vy'd for his love in jetty bow'rs below;
As Hylas fair was raviſh'd long ago.
Then ſung how, ſhown him by the nutbrown maids
A branch of Styx here riſes from the Shades,
That tinctur'd as it runs with Lethe's ſtreams,
And wafting vapors from the Land of Dreams,
(As under ſeas Alphaeus' ſacred ſluice
Bears Piſa's offerings to his Arethuſe)
Pours into Thames: Each City-bowl is full
Of the mixt wave, and all who drink grow dull.
How to the banks where bards departed doze,
They led him ſoft; how all the bards aroſe;
Taylor, ſweet bird of Thames, majeſtic bows,
And Sh [...] nods the poppy on his brows;
While M [...]n there, deputed by the reſt,
Gave him the caſſock, ſurcingle, and veſt;
And "Take (he ſaid) theſe robes which once were mine,
"Dulneſs is ſacred in a ſound Divine.
He ceas'd, and ſhow'd the robe; the crowd confeſs
The rev'rend Flamen in his lengthen'd dreſs.
[32] Slow mov'd the Goddeſs from the ſilver flood,
(Her Prieſt preceding) thro' the gates of Lud.
Her Criticks there ſhe ſummons, and proclaims
A gentler exerciſe to cloſe the games.
Hear you! in whoſe grave heads, as equal ſcales,
I weigh what author's heavineſs prevails,
Which moſt conduce to ſooth the ſoul in ſlumbers,
My H [...]'s periods, or my Bl [...]'s numbers?
Attend the trial we propoſe to make:
If there be man who o'er ſuch works can wake,
Sleep's all-ſubduing pow'r who dares defy,
And boaſts Ulyſſes' ear with Argus' eye;
To him we grant our ampleſt pow'rs to fit
Judge of all preſent, paſt, and future wit,
To cavil, cenſure, dictate, right or wrong,
Full, and eternal privilege of tongue.
Three Cambridge Sophs and three pert Templars came,
The ſame their talents, and their taſtes the ſame;
[33] Each prompt to query, anſwer, and debate,
And ſmit with love of poeſie and prate.
The pond'rous books two gentle Readers bring;
The heroes ſit; the vulgar form a ring.
The clam'rous crowd is huſh'd with mugs of Mum,
'Till all tun'd equal, ſend a general hum.
Then mount the Clerks; and in one lazy tone,
Thro' the long, heavy, painful page, drawl on,
Soft creeping words on words the ſenſe compoſe,
At e'vry line, they ſtretch, they yawn, they doze.
As to ſoft gales top-heavy pines bow low
Their heads, and lift them as they ceaſe to blow,
Thus oft they rear, and oft the head decline,
As breathe, or pauſe, by fits, the airs divine.
And now to this ſide, now to that, they nod,
As verſe, or proſe, infuſe the drowzy God.
Thrice B [...]l aim'd to ſpeak, but thrice ſuppreſt
By potent Arthur, knock'd his chin and breaſt.
C [...]s and T [...]d, prompt at Prieſts to jeer,
Yet ſilent bow'd to Chriſt's no kingdom here.
Who ſate the neareſt, by the word's o'ercome
Slept firſt, the diſtant nodded to the hum.
[34] Then down are roll'd the books; ſtretch'd o'er 'em⯑lies
Each gentle clerk, and mutt'ring ſeals his eyes.
As what a Dutchman plumps into the lakes,
One circle firſt, and then a ſecond makes,
What dulneſs dropt among her ſons impreſt
Like motion, from one circle to the reſt;
So from the mid-moſt the nutation ſpreads
Round, and more round, o'er all the ſea of heads.
At laſt C [...]re felt her voice to fail,
And [...] himſelf unfiniſh'd left his Tale.
T [...]s and T [...] the church and ſtate gave o'er,
Nor [...] talk'd, nor S [...] whiſper'd more.
Ev'n N [...]n, gifted with his mother's tongue,
Tho' born at Wapping, and from Daniel ſprung,
Ceas'd his loud bawling breath, and dropt the head;
And all was huſh'd, as Folly's ſelf lay dead.
Thus the ſoft gifts of Sleep conclude the day,
And ſtretch'd on bulks, as uſual, Poets lay.
Why ſhould I ſing what bards the Nightly Muſe
Did ſlumbring viſit, and convey to ſtews?
[35] Or prouder march'd, with magiſtrates in ſtate,
To ſome fam'd round-houſe, ever open gate!
How E [...] lay inſpir'd beſide a ſink,
And to mere mortals ſeem'd a Prieſt in drink?
All others timely, to the neighbouring Fleet
(Haunt of the Muſes) made their ſafe retreat.
End of the Second Book.
THE DUNCIAD.
Book the THIRD.
[36]BUT in her Temple's laſt receſs inclos'd,
On Dulneſs' lap th' Anointed head repos'd.
Him cloſe ſhe curtain'd round with vapors blue,
And ſoft beſprinkled with Cimmerian dew.
Then Raptures high the ſeat of ſenſe o'erflow,
Which only heads refin'd from reaſon know:
Hence from the ſtraw where Bedlam's Prophet nods,
He hears loud Oracles, and talks with Gods;
Hence the Fool's paradiſe, the Stateſman's ſcheme,
The air-built Caſtle, and the golden Dream,
[37] The Maids romantic wiſh, the Chymiſts flame,
And Poets viſion of eternal fame.
And now, on Fancy's eaſy wing convey'd,
The King deſcended to th' Elyzian ſhade.
There in a dusky vale where Lethe rolls,
Old Bavius ſits, to dip poetic ſouls,
And blunt the ſenſe, and fit it for a skull
Of ſolid proof, impenetrably dull.
Inſtant when dipt, away they wing their flight,
Where
* Brown and
Mears unbar the gates of Light,
Demand new bodies, and in Calf's array
Ruſh to the world, impatient for the day.
Millions and millions on theſe banks he views,
Thick as the Stars of night, or morning dews,
As thick as bees o'er vernal bloſſoms fly,
As thick as eggs at W [...]d in pillory.
Wond'ring he gaz'd: When lo! a Sage appears,
By his broad ſhoulders known, and length of ears,
[38] Known by the band and ſuit which Settle wore,
(His only ſuit) for twice three years before.
All as the Veſt, appear'd the wearers frame,
Old in new ſtate, another, yet the ſame.
Bland and familiar as in life, begun
Thus the great Father to the greater Son.
Oh! born to ſee what none can ſee awake!
Behold the wonders of th' Oblivious Lake.
Thou, yet unborn, haſt touch'd this ſacred ſhore,
The hand of Bavius drench'd thee o'er and o'er.
But blind to former, as to future, Fate,
What mortal knows his pre-exiſtent ſtate?
Who knows how long, thy tranſmigrating ſoul
Did from Boeotian to Boeotian roll?
How many Dutchmen ſhe vouchſaf'd to thrid?
How many ſtages thro' old Monks ſhe rid?
And all who ſince, in mild benighted days,
Mix'd the Owl's ivy with the Poet's bays?
As Man's maeanders to the vital ſpring
Roll all their tydes, then back their circles bring;
[39] Or whirligigs, twirl'd round by skilful ſwain,
Suck the thread in, then yield it out again:
All nonſenſe thus, of old or modern date,
Shall in thee centre, from thee circulate.
For this, our Queen unfolds to viſion true
Thy mental eye, for thou haſt much to view:
Old ſcenes of glory, times long caſt behind,
Shall firſt recall'd, ruſh forward to thy mind;
Then ſtretch thy ſight o'er all her riſing reign,
And let the paſt and future fire thy brain.
Aſcend this
* hill, whoſe cloudy point commands
Her boundleſs Empire over ſeas and lands.
See round the Poles where keener ſpangles ſhine,
Where ſpices ſmoke beneath the burning Line,
(Earths wide extreams) her fable flag diſplay'd;
And all the nations cover'd in her ſhade!
Far Eaſtward caſt thy eye, from whence the Sun
And orient Science at a birth begun.
One man immortal all that pride confounds.
He, whoſe long Wall the wand'ring Tartar bounds.
[40] * Heav'ns! what a pyle? whole ages periſh there:
And one bright blaze turns Learning into air.
Thence to the South as far extend thy eyes;
There rival flames with equal glory riſe,
From ſhelves to ſhelves
† ſee greedy
Vulcan roll,
And lick up all their Phyſick of the Soul.
How little, ſee! that portion of the ball,
Where faint at beſt the beams of ſcience fall!
Againſt her throne, from Hyperborean skies,
In dulneſs ſtrong, th' avenging Vandals riſe;
Lo where Moeotis ſleeps, and hardly flows
The freezing Tanais thro' a waſte of ſnows,
The North by myriads pours her mighty ſons,
Great nurſe of Goths, of Alans, and of Huns.
See Alaric's ſtern port, the martial frame
Of Genſeric, and Attila's dread name!
[41] See! the bold Oſtrogoths on Latium fall;
See! the fierce Viſigoths on Spain and Gaul.
See! where the morning gilds the palmy ſhore,
(The ſoil that arts and infant letters bore)
His conq'ring tribes th' Arabian prophet draws.
And ſaving Ignorance enthrones by Laws.
See Chriſtians, Jews, one heavy ſabbath keep;
And all the Weſtern World believe and ſleep.
Lo Rome herſelf, proud miſtreſs now no more
Of arts, but thund'ring againſt Heathen lore;
Her gray-hair'd Synods damning books unread,
And Bacon trembling for his brazen Head.
Lo ſtatues, temples, theatres o'erturn'd,
Oh glorious ruin! and [...] burn'd.
See'ſt thou an Iſle, by Palmers, Pilgrims trod,
Men bearded, bald, cowl'd, uncowl'd, ſhod, unſhod,
Peel'd, patch'd, and pieball'd, linſey-woolſey brothers
Grave mummers, ſleeveleſs ſome, and ſhirtleſs others.
[42] That once was Britain—Happy! had ſhe ſeen
No fiercer ſons, had
* Eaſter never been.
In peace, great Goddeſs! ever be ador'd;
How keen the war, if dulneſs draw the ſword?
Thus viſit not thy own! on this bleſt age
Oh ſpread thy Influence, but reſtrain thy Rage!
And ſee my ſon, the hour is on its way
That lifts our Goddeſs to imperial ſway:
This fav'rite Iſle, long ſever'd from her reign,
Dove-like, ſhe gathers to her wings again.
Now look thro' Fate! behold the ſcene ſhe draws!
What aids, what armies, to aſſert her cauſe!
See all her progeny, illuſtrious ſight!
Behold, and count them as they riſe to light.
As Berecynthia, while her offspring vye
In homage, to the mother of the sky,
Surveys around her in the bleſt abode
A hundred ſons, and ev'ry ſon a God:
[43] Not with leſs glory mighty Dulneſs crown'd,
Shall take thro' Grubſtreet her triumphant round,
And all Parnaſſus glancing o'er at once,
Behold a hundred ſons, and each a dunce.
Mark firſt the youth who takes the foremoſt place
And-thruſts his perſon full into your face.
With all thy Father's virtues bleſt, be born!
And a new C [...]r ſhall the ſtage adorn.
See yet a younger, by his bluſhes known,
And modeſt as the maid who ſips alone.
From the ſtrong fate of drams if thou get free,
Another Durfey, [...] ſhall ſing in thee.
For thee each Ale-houſe, and each Gill-houſe mourn,
And anſw'ring Gin-ſhops ſowrer ſighs return.
Behold yon pair, in ſtrict embraces join'd;
How like their manners, and how like their mind!
Fam'd for good nature, B [...] and for truth,
D [...] for pious paſſion to the youth.
[44] Equal in wit, and equally polite,
Shall this a Paſquin, that a Grumbler write;
Like are their merits, like rewards they ſhare,
That ſhines a Conſul, this Commiſſioner.
Ah D [...] , G [...] ah! what ill-ſtarr'd rage
Divides a friendſhip long confirm'd by age?
Blockheads with reaſon wicked wits abhor,
But fool with fool is barb'rous, civil war.
Embrace, embrace my Sons! be foes no more!
Nor glad vile Poets with true Criticks gore.
See next two ſlip-ſhod Muſes traipſe along,
In lofty madneſs meditating ſong,
With treſſes ſtaring from poetic dreams,
And never waſh'd, but in Caſtalia's ſtreams.
H [...] and T [...] , glories of their race!
Lo H [...]ck's fierce, and M [...]'s rueful face!
W [...]n, the ſcourge of Scripture, mark with awe!
And mighty J [...]b Blunderbus of Law!
Lo thouſand thouſand, ev'ry nameleſs name,
All crowd, who foremoſt ſhall be damn'd to fame;
[45] How proud! how pale! how earneſt all appear!
How rhymes eternal gingle in their ear!
Paſs theſe to nobler ſights: Lo H [...] ſtands
Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands,
How honey'd nonſenſe trickles from his tongue!
How ſweet the periods, neither ſaid nor ſung!
Still break the benches, H [...] with thy ſtrain,
While K [...] , Br [...], W [...] preach in vain
Round him, each Science by its modern type
Stands known; Divinity with box and pipe,
And proud Philoſophy with breeches tore,
And Engliſh Muſick with a diſmal ſcore:
While happier Hiſt'ry with her comrade Ale,
Sooths the ſad ſeries of her tedious tale.
Faſt by, in darkneſs palpable inſhrin'd
W [...]s, B [...]r, M [...]n, all the poring kind,
A lumberhouſe of Books in every head,
Are ever reading, and are never read.
[46] But who is he, in cloſet cloſe y-pent,
With viſage from his ſhelves with duſt beſprent?
Right well mine eyes arede that myſter wight,
That wonnes in haulkes and hernes, and H [...] he hight.
To future ages may thy dulneſs laſt,
As thou preſerv'ſt the dulneſs of the paſt!
But oh! what ſcenes, what miracles behind?
Now ſtretch thy view, and open all thy mind.
He look'd, and ſaw a ſable * ſeer ariſe,
Swift to whoſe hand a winged volume flies.
All ſudden, gorgons hiſs, and dragons glare,
And ten horn'd fiends, and giants, threaten war.
Hell riſes, heav'n deſcends, to dance on earth:
Gods, monſters, furies, muſick, rage and mirth;
A fire, a jig, a battel, and a ball,
'Till one wide conflagration ſwallows all.
Then a new world to nature's laws unknown,
Refulgent riſes, with a heav'n its own:
[47] Another Cynthia her new journey runs,
And other planets circle other ſuns:
The foreſts dance, the rivers upward riſe,
Whales ſport in woods, and dolphins in the skies;
And laſt, to give the whole creation grace,
Lo! one vaſt Egg produces human race.
Silent the monarch gaz'd; yet ask'd in thought
What God or Daemon all theſe wonders wrought?
To whom the Sire: In yonder cloud, behold,
Whoſe ſarcenet skirts are edg'd with flamy gold,
A godlike youth: See Jove's own bolts he flings,
Rolls the loud thunder, and the light'ning wings!
Angel of Dulneſs, ſent to ſcatter round
Her magic charms on all unclaſſic ground:
Yon ſtars, yon ſuns, he rears at pleaſure higher,
Illumes their light, and ſets their flames on fire.
Immortal R [...]ch! how calm he ſits at eaſe,
Mid ſnows of paper, and fierce hail of peaſe?
And proud his miſtreſs' orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the ſtorm.
[48] But lo! to dark encounter in mid air
New wizards riſe: here B [...]th, and C [...]r there.
B [...]th in his cloudy tabernacle ſhrin'd,
On grinning dragons C [...]r mounts the wind:
Dire is the conflict, diſmal is the din,
Here ſhouts all Drury, there all Lincoln's-Inn;
Contending Theatres our empire raiſe,
Alike their labours, and alike their praiſe.
And are theſe wonders, Son, to thee unknown?
Unknown to thee? Theſe wonders are thy own.
Theſe Fate reſerv'd to grace thy reign divine,
Foreſeen by me, but ah! with-held from mine.
In Lud's old walls tho' long I rul'd renown'd,
Far as loud Bow's ſtupendous bells reſound;
Tho' my own Aldermen conferr'd my bays,
To me committing their eternal praiſe,
Their full-fed Heroes, their pacific May'rs,
Their annual trophies, and their monthly wars:
[49] Tho'
† long my Party built on me their hopes,
For writing Pamphlets, and for roaſting Popes
(Different our parties, but with equal grace
Our Goddeſs ſmiles on Whig and Tory race,
'Tis the ſame rope at ſev'ral ends they twiſt,
To Dulneſs, Ridpath is as dear as Miſt.)
Yet lo! in me what Authors have to brag on!
Reduc'd at laſt to hiſs in my own dragon.
Avert it, heav'n! that thou or C [...]r e'er
Should wag two ſerpent tails in Smithfield ſair.
Like the vile ſtraw that's blown about the ſtreets,
The needy Poet ſticks to all he meets,
Coach'd, carted, trod upon, now looſe, now faſt,
In the Dog's tail his progreſs ends at laſt.
Happier thy fortunes! like a rolling ſtone
Thy giddy dulneſs ſtill ſhall lumber on,
Safe in its heavineſs, can never ſtray,
And licks up every blockhead in the way.
[50] Thy dragons [...] and [...] ſhall taſte,
And from each ſhow riſe duller than the laſt:
'Till rais'd from Booths to Theatre, to Court,
Her ſeat imperial Dulneſs ſhall tranſport.
(Already, Opera prepares the way,
The ſure fore-runner of her gentle ſway.)
To aid her cauſe, if heav'n thou canſt not bend,
Hell thou ſhalt move; for Fauſtus is thy friend:
Pluto with Cato thou for her ſhalt join,
And link the Mourning-Bride to Proſerpine.
Grubſtreet! thy fall ſhould men and Gods conſpire,
Thy ſtage ſhall ſtand, enſure it but from Fire.
Another Aeſchylus appears! prepare
For new
* Abortions, all ye pregnant fair!
In flames like Semeles be brought to bed,
While opening Hell ſpouts wild-fire at your head.
Now Bavius take the poppy from thy brow,
And place it here! here all ye Heroes bow!
[51] This, this is He, foretold by ancient rhymes,
Th' Auguſtus, born to bring Saturnian times!
Beneath his reign, ſhall E [...]n wear the bays,
C [...]r preſide, Lord Chancellor of Plays,
B [...] ſole judge of Architecture ſit,
And A [...]e P [...]s be preferr'd for Wit!
I ſee th' unfiniſh'd Dormitory wall!
I ſee the Savoy totter to her fall!
The ſons of Iſis reel! the townſ-mens ſport;
And Alma Mater all diſſolv'd in Port!
Then, when theſe ſigns declare the mighty Year,
When the dull Stars roll round, and re-appear;
Let there be darkneſs! (the dread pow'r ſhall ſay)
All ſhall be darkneſs, as it ne'er were Day;
To their firſt Chaos Wit's vain works ſhall fall,
And univerſal Dulneſs cover all!
No more the Monarch could ſuch raptures bear▪
He wak'd, and all the Viſion mix'd with air.
FINIS.