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George Gilfillan. + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 100%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-style: italic; font-size: 120%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + <pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Poetical Works of Pope, Vol. II, by Alexander Pope + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poetical Works of Pope, Vol. II + +Author: Alexander Pope + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9601] +First Posted: October 9, 2003 +Last Updated: January 24, 2019 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS OF POPE, VOL. II *** + + + + +Etext produced by Jonathan Ingram, David King and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE POETICAL WORKS OF ALEXANDER POPE + </h1> + <h3> + <i>With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes</i>, + </h3> + <h2> + By The Rev. George Gilfillan. + </h2> + <h3> + VOL. II. + </h3> + <h3> + M.DCCC.LVI. + </h3> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE GENIUS AND POETRY OF POPE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> MORAL ESSAYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> EPISTLE I.—TO SIR RICHARD TEMPLE, LORD + COBHAM. OF THE KNOWLEDGE AND CHARACTERS OF MEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> EPISTLE III.[20]—TO ALLEN LORD BATHURST. + OF THE USE OF RICHES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> EPISTLE IV.—TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL OF + BURLINGTON. OF THE USE OF RICHES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> EPISTLE V. TO MR ADDISON. OCCASIONED BY HIS + DIALOGUES ON MEDALS.[54] </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. SAPPHO TO PHAON. + FROM THE FIFTEENTH OF OVID'S EPISTLES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE FABLE OF DRYOPE.[56] FROM THE NINTH BOOK OF + OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VERTUMNUS AND POMONA, FROM THE FOURTEENTH BOOK + OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE FIRST BOOK OF STATIUS'S THEBAIS. TRANSLATED + IN THE YEAR 1703. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> JANUARY AND MAY. FROM CHAUCER.[58] </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE WIFE OF BATH, HER PROLOGUE. FROM CHAUCER. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL"> PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> A PROLOGUE TO A PLAY FOR MR DENNIS'S BENEFIT, IN + 1733, WHEN HE WAS OLD, BLIND, AND IN GREAT DISTRESS, A LITTLE BEFORE HIS + DEATH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL2"> PROLOGUE TO MR ADDISON'S 'CATO.' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL3"> PROLOGUE TO THOMSON'S 'SOPHONISBA.'[59] </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL4"> PROLOGUE, DESIGNED FOR MR D'URFEY'S LAST PLAY. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL5"> PROLOGUE TO 'THE THREE HOURS AFTER MARRIAGE' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_EPIL"> EPILOGUE TO MR ROWE'S 'JANE SHORE.' DESIGNED FOR + MRS OLDFIELD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> MISCELLANIES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE BASSET-TABLE.[62] AN ECLOGUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> LINES ON RECEIVING FROM THE EIGHT HON. THE LADY + FRANCES SHIRLEY[63] A STANDISH AND TWO PENS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> VERBATIM FROM BOILEAU. UN JOUR DIT UN AUTEUR, + ETC. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION OF MRS HOWE. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> OCCASIONED BY SOME VERSES OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE + OF BUCKINGHAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> MACER: A CHARACTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> SONG, BY A PERSON OF QUALITY, WRITTEN IN THE + YEAR 1733. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> ON HIS GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM, COMPOSED OF + MARBLES, SPARS, GEMS, ORES, AND MINERALS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> ROXANA, OR THE DRAWING-ROOM. AN ECLOGUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES ON A PORTRAIT OF LADY MARY + WORTLEY MONTAGUE, PAINTED BY KNELLER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI, WHEN SHE TOOK LEAVE OF + THE ENGLISH STAGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> UPON THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S HOUSE AT + WOODSTOCK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> VERSES LEFT BY MR POPE. ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME + BED WHICH WILMOT, THE CELEBRATED EARL OF ROCHESTER, SLEPT IN AT ADDERBURY, + THEN BELONGING TO THE DUKE OF ARGYLL, JULY 9, 1739. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> THE CHALLENGE, A COURT BALLAD. TO THE TUNE OF + 'TO ALL YOU LADIES NOW AT LAND.' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THE THREE GENTLE SHEPHERDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> EPIGRAM, ENGRAVED ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG WHICH I + GAVE TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> THE TRANSLATOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> THE LOOKING-GLASS. ON MRS PULTENEY.[81] </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> A FAREWELL TO LONDON IN THE YEAR 1715. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> SANDYS' GHOST;[82] OR, A PROPER NEW BALLAD ON + THE NEW OVID'S METAMORPHOSES: AS IT WAS INTENDED TO BE TRANSLATED BY + PERSONS OF QUALITY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> UMBRA.[85] </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> SYLVIA, A FRAGMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHELSEA. OCCASIONED BY FOUR + SATIRICAL VERSES ON WOMEN WITS, IN 'THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> EPIGRAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> EPIGRAM ON THE FEUDS ABOUT HANDEL AND BONONCINI. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> ON MRS TOFTS, A CELEBRATED OPERA SINGER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> THE BALANCE OF EUROPE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> EPITAPH ON LORD CONINGSBY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> EPIGRAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> EPITAPH ON GAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> EPIGRAM ON THE TOASTS OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB, ANNO + 1716. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> TO A LADY, WITH THE 'TEMPLE OF FAME.' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON CUTTING PAPER. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> ON DRAWINGS OF THE STATUES OF APOLLO, VENUS, AND + HERCULES, MADE FOR POPE BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> ON BENTLEY'S 'MILTON.' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> LINES WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> TO ERINNA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> A DIALOGUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MAN MOUNTAIN,[87] + BY TITTY TIT, POET-LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT. TRANSLATED INTO + ENGLISH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF + GRILDRIG. A PASTORAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> TO MR LEMUEL GULLIVER, THE GRATEFUL ADDRESS OF + THE UNHAPPY HOUYHNHNMS, NOW IN SLAVERY AND BONDAGE IN ENGLAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> MARY GULLIVER TO CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER. AN + EPISTLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> 1740. A FRAGMENT OF A POEM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> THE FOURTH EPISTLE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF + HORACE.[128] </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> EPIGRAM ON ONE WHO MADE LONG EPITAPHS.[129] </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> ON AN OLD GATE. ERECTED IN CHISWICK GARDENS. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> A FRAGMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> TO MR GAY, WHO HAD CONGRATULATED POPE ON + FINISHING HIS HOUSE AND GARDENS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> ARGUS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> PRAYER OF BRUTUS. FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> LINES ON A GROTTO, AT CRUX-EASTON, HANTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER, DEO OPT. MAX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> THE DUNCIAD. IN FOUR BOOKS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> A LETTER TO THE PUBLISHER, OCCASIONED BY THE + FIRST CORRECT EDITION OF THE DUNCIAD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS HIS PROLEGOMENA AND + ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE DUNCIAD: WITH THE HYPERCRITICS OF ARISTARCHUS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> TESTIMONIES OF AUTHORS CONCERNING OUR POET AND + HIS WORKS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> THE DUNCIAD:[234] BOOK THE FIRST. TO DR JONATHAN + SWIFT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> BOOK THE SECOND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> BOOK THE THIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> BOOK THE FOURTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> BY THE AUTHOR. A DECLARATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_APPE"> APPENDIX TO THE DUNCIAD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> INDEX OF PERSONS CELEBRATED IN THIS POEM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FOOT"> FOOTNOTES: </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GENIUS AND POETRY OF POPE. + </h2> + <p> + Few poets during their lifetime have been at once so much admired and so + much abused as Pope. Some writers, destined to oblivion in after-ages, + have been loaded with laurels in their own time; while others, on whom + Fame was one day to "wait like a menial," have gone to the grave + neglected, if not decried and depreciated. But it was the fate of Pope to + combine in his single experience the extremes of detraction and flattery—to + have the sunshine of applause and the hail-storm of calumny mingled on his + living head; while over his dead body, as over the body of Patroclus, + there has raged a critical controversy, involving not merely his character + as a man, but his claims as a poet. For this, unquestionably, there are + some subordinate reasons. Pope's religious creed, his political + connexions, his easy circumstances, his popularity with the upper classes, + as well as his testy temper and malicious disposition, all tended to rouse + against him, while he lived, a personal as well as public hostility, + altogether irrespective of the mere merit or demerit of his poetry. "We + cannot bear a Papist to be our principal bard," said one class. "No Tory + for our translator of Homer," cried the zealous Whigs, "Poets should be + poor, and Pope is independent," growled Grub Street. The ancients could + not endure that a "poet should build an house, but this varlet has dug a + grotto, and established a clandestine connexion between Parnassus and the + Temple of Plutus." "Pope," said others, "is hand-in-glove with Lords + Oxford and Bolingbroke, and it was never so seen before in any genuine + child of genius." "He is a little ugly insect," cried another class; "can + such a misbegotten brat be a favourite with the beautiful Apollo?" "He is + as venomous and spiteful as he is small; never was so much of the 'essence + of devil' packed into such a tiny compass," said another set; "and this, + to be sure, is England's great poet!" Besides these personal objections, + there were others of a more solid character. While all admitted the + exquisite polish and terse language of Pope's compositions, many felt that + they were too artificial—that they were often imitative—that + they seldom displayed those qualities of original thought and sublime + enthusiasm which had formed the chief characteristics of England's best + bards, and were slow to rank the author of "Eloisa and Abelard," with the + creator of "Hamlet," "Othello," and "Lear;" the author of the "Rape of the + Lock" with the author of "Paradise Lost;" the author of the "Pastorals," + with the author of the "Faery Queen;" and the author of the "Imitations of + Horace," with the author of the "Canterbury Tales." On the one hand, + Pope's ardent friends erred in classing him with or above these great old + writers; and on the other, his enemies were thus provoked to thrust him + too far down in the scale, and to deny him genius altogether. Since his + death, his fame has continued to vibrate between extremes. Lord Byron and + Lord Carlisle (the latter, in a lecture delivered in Leeds in December + 1850, and published afterwards) have placed him ridiculously high; while + Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Bowles, have underrated him. It shall be our + endeavour, in our succeeding remarks, to steer a middle course between the + parties. + </p> + <p> + Lord Carlisle commenced his able and eloquent prelection by deploring the + fact, that Pope had sunk in estimation. And yet, a few sentences after, he + told us that the "Commissioners of the Fine Arts" selected Pope, along + with Chaucer, Shakspeare, Spenser, Milton, and Dryden, to fill the six + vacant places in the New Palace of Westminster. This does not substantiate + the assertion, that Pope has sunk in estimation. Had he sunk to any great + extent, the Commissioners would not have dared to put his name and statue + beside those of the acknowledged masters of English poetry. But apart from + this, we do think that Lord Carlisle has exaggerated the "Decline and + Fall" of the empire of Pope. He is still, with the exception, perhaps, of + Cowper, the most popular poet of the eighteenth century. His "Essay on + Man," and his "Eloisa and Abelard," are probably in every good library, + public and private, in Great Britain. Can we say as much of Chaucer and + Spenser? Passages and lines of his poetry are stamped on the memory of all + well-educated men. More pointed sayings of Pope are afloat than of any + English poet, except Shakspeare and Young. Indeed, if frequency of + quotation be the principal proof of popularity, Pope, with Shakspeare, + Young, and Spenser, is one of the four most popular of English poets. In + America, too, Lord Carlisle found, he tells us, the most cultivated and + literary portion of that great community warmly imbued with an admiration + of Pope. + </p> + <p> + What more would, or at least should, his lordship desire? Pope is, by his + own showing, a great favourite with many wherever the English language is + spoken, and that, too, a century after his death. And there are few + critics who would refuse to subscribe, on the whole, Lord Carlisle's + enumeration of the Poet's qualities; his terse and motto-like lines—the + elaborate gloss of his mock-heroic vein—the tenderness of his pathos—the + point and polished strength of his satire—the force and <i>vraisemblance</i> + of his descriptions of character—the delicacy and refinement of his + compliments, "each of which," says Hazlitt, "is as good as an house or + estate"—and the heights of moral grandeur into which he can at times + soar, whenever he has manly indignation, or warm-hearted patriotism, or + high-minded scorn to express. If Lord Carlisle's object, then, was to + elevate Pope to the rank of a classic, it was a superfluous task; if it + was to justify the Commissioners in placing him on a level with Chaucer, + Shakspeare, Spenser, and Milton, our remarks will show that we think it as + vain as superfluous. + </p> + <p> + In endeavouring to fix the rank of a poet, there are, we think, the + following elements to be analysed:—His original genius—his + kind and degree of culture—his purpose—his special faculties—the + works he has written—and the amount of impression he has made on, + and impulse he has given to, his own age and the world. In other words, + what were his native powers, and what has he done, <i>for</i>, <i>by</i>, + and <i>with</i> them? + </p> + <p> + Now, that Pope possessed genius, and genius of a high order, we + strenuously maintain. But whether this amounted to creative power, the + highest quality of the poet, is a very different question. In native + imagination, that eyesight of the soul, which sees in the rose a richer + red, in the sky a deeper azure, in the sea a more dazzling foam, in the + stars a softer and more spiritual gold, and in the sky a more dread + magnificence than nature ever gave them, that beholds the Ideal always + shining through and above the Real, and that lights the poet on to form + within a new and more gorgeous nature, the fresh creation of his own + inspired mind, Pope was not only inferior to Chaucer, Shakspeare, Spenser, + and Milton, but to Young, Thomson, Collins, Burns, Wordsworth, Keats, + Shelley, Byron, Coleridge, and many other poets. His native faculty, + indeed, seems rather fine than powerful—rather timid than daring, + and resembles rather the petal of a rose peeping out into the summer air, + which seems scarce warm enough for its shrinking loveliness, than the + feather of the wing of a great eagle, dipping into the night tempest, + which raves around the inaccessible rock of his birthplace. He was not + eminently original in his thinking. In proof of this, many of those fine + sentiments which Pope has thrown into such perfect shape, and to which he + has given such dazzling burnish, are found by Watson (see the + "Adventurer") in Pascal and others. Shakspeare's wisdom, on the other + hand, can be traced to Shakspeare's brain, and no further, although he has + borrowed the plots of his plays. Who lent Chaucer his pictures, fresh as + dewdrops from the womb of the morning? Spenser's Allegories are as native + to him as his dreams; and if Milton has now and then carried off a load + which belonged to another, it was a load which only a giant's arm could + lift, and which he added to a caravan of priceless wealth, the native + inheritance of his own genius. + </p> + <p> + The highest rank of poets descend on their sublime subjects, like Uriel, + descending alongst his sunbeam on the mountain tops; another order, with + care, and effort, and circumspection, often with + </p> + <p> + 'Labour dire and weary woe,' + </p> + <p> + reach noble heights, and there wave their hats, and dance in astonishment + at their own perseverance and success. So it is with Pope in his + peroration to the Dunciad, and in many other of the serious and really + eloquent passages of his works. They ARE eloquent, brilliant, in + composition faultless; but the intense self-consciousness of their author, + and their visible elaboration, prevent them from seeming or being great. + Of Pope, you say, "He smells of the midnight lamp;" of Dante, boys cried + out on the street, "Lo! the man that was in hell." With the very first + class of poets, artificial objects become natural, the "rod" becomes a + "serpent;" with Pope, natural objects become artificial, the "serpent" + becomes a "rod." Wordsworth makes a spade poetical; Pope would have made + Skiddaw little better than a mass of prose. + </p> + <p> + Let us hear Hazlitt: "Pope saw nature only dressed by art; he judged of + beauty by fashion; he sought for truth in the opinions of the world; he + judged the feelings of others by his own. The capacious soul of Shakspeare + had an intuitive and mighty sympathy with whatever could enter into the + heart of man in all possible circumstances; Pope had an exact knowledge of + all that he himself loved or hated, wished or wanted. Milton has winged + his daring flight from heaven to earth, through Chaos and old Night; + Pope's Muse never wandered in safety, but from his library to his grotto, + or from his grotto into his library, back again. His mind dwelt with + greater pleasure on his own garden than on the garden of Eden; he could + describe the faultless whole-length mirror that reflected his own person, + better than the smooth surface of the lake that reflects the face of + heaven; a piece of cut glass or pair of paste-buckles with more brilliancy + and effect than a thousand dewdrops glittering in the sun. He would be + more delighted with a patent lamp than with the 'pale reflex of Cynthia's + brow,' that fills the sky with the soft silent lustre that trembles + through the cottage window, and cheers the mariner on the lonely wave. He + was the poet of personality and polished life. That which was nearest to + him was the greatest. His mind was the antithesis of strength and + grandeur; its power was the power of indifference. He had none of the + enthusiasm of poetry; he was in poetry what the sceptic is in religion. In + his smooth and polished verse we meet with no prodigies of nature, but + with miracles of wit; the thunders of his pen are whispered flatteries; + its forked lightnings, pointed sarcasms; for the 'gnarled oak,' he gives + us the 'soft myrtle;' for rocks, and seas, and mountains, artificial + grass-plots, gravel-walks, and tinkling rills; for earthquakes and + tempests, the breaking of a flower-pot or the fall of a China jar; for the + tug and war of the elements, or the deadly strife of the passions, + </p> + <p> + "'Calm contemplation and poetic ease.' + </p> + <p> + "Yet within this retired and narrow circle, how much, and that how + exquisite, was contained! What discrimination, what wit, what delicacy, + what fancy, what lurking spleen, what elegance of thought, what pampered + refinement of sentiment!" + </p> + <p> + A great deal of discussion took place, during the famous controversy about + Pope between Bowles and Byron, on the questions—what objects are and + are not fitted for poetic purposes, and whether natural or artificial + objects be better suited for the treatment of the poet. In our life of + Bowles we promised, and shall now proceed to attempt, a short review of + the question then at issue, and which on both sides was pled with such + ingenuity, ardour, and eloquence. + </p> + <p> + The question, professedly that of the <i>province</i>, slides away into + what is the <i>nature</i> of poetry. The object of poetry is, we think, to + show the infinite through the finite—to reveal the ideal in the real—it + seeks, by clustering analogies and associations around objects, to give + them a beautiful, or sublime, or interesting, or terrible aspect which is + not entirely their own. Now, as all objects in comparison with the + infinite are finite, and all realities in comparison with the ideal are + little, it follows that between artificial and natural objects, as fitted + for poetic purposes, there is no immense disparity, and that both are + capable of poetic treatment. Both, accordingly, have become subservient to + high poetic effect; and even the preponderance, whatever it be on the part + of natural objects, has sometimes been equalised by the power of genius, + and artificial things have often been made to wring the heart or awaken + the fancy, as much or more than the other class. Think, for instance, of + the words in Lear, + </p> + <p> + "Prithee, undo this button. Thank you, sir." + </p> + <p> + What more contemptibly artificial than a button? And yet, beating in the + wind of the hysterical passion which is tearing the heart of the poor + dying king, what a powerful index of misery it becomes, and its "undoing," + as the sign of the end of the tragedy, and the letting forth of the great + injured soul, has melted many to tears! When Lady Macbeth exclaims, in + that terrible crisis, + </p> + <p> + "Give me the daggers!"' + </p> + <p> + who feels not, that, although a dagger be only an artificial thing, no + natural or supernatural thing, not the flaming sword of the Cherubim + itself, could seem, in the circumstances, more fearfully sublime. What + action more artificial than dancing, and yet how grand it seems, in Ford's + heroine, who continues to dance on till the ball is finished, while the + news of "death, and death, and death" of friend, brother, husband, are + successively recounted to her—and then herself expires! There seems + no comparison between a diamond and a star, and yet a Shakspeare or a + Schiller could so describe the trembling of a diamond on the brow say of + Belshazzar when the apparition of the writing on the wall disturbed his + impious feast, that it would seem more ideal and more magnificent than a + star "trembling on the hand of God" when newly created, or trembling on + the verge of everlasting darkness, when its hour had come. A slipper seems + a very commonplace object; but how interesting the veritable slipper of + Empedocles, who flung himself into Etna, whose slipper was disgorged by + the volcano, and as a link, connecting the seen with the unseen, the + grassy earth with the burning entrails of the eternal furnace, became + intensely imaginative! A feather in a cap (even though it were an eagle's) + seems, from its position, an object sufficiently artificial; but how + affecting the black plume of Ravenswood floating on the waves which had + engulphed the proud head that once bore it, and which old Caleb took up, + dried, and placed in his bosom! + </p> + <p> + Nor are we sure that there are <i>any</i> objects so small or vulgar but + what genius could extract poetry from them. In Pope's hands, indeed, the + "clouded cane" and the "amber snuff-box" of Sir Plume assume no ideal + aspect; but in Shakspeare's it might have been different; and the highest + order of genius, like true catholicity of faith, counts "nothing common or + unclean." What poetry Burns has gathered up even in "Poosie Nancy's," + which had been lying unsuspected at the feet of beggars, prostitutes, and + pickpockets! What powerful imagination there is in Crabbe's descriptions + of poorhouses, prisons, and asylums; and in Wordsworth's "Old Cumberland + Beggar," who, although he lived and died in the "eye of nature," was + clothed in rags, and had the vulgar, mendicant meal-bag slung over his + shoulders! What pathos Scott extracts from that "black bitch of a boat," + which Mucklebackit, in the frenzy of his grief, accuses for the loss of + his son! Which of the lower animals less poetical or coarser than a swine? + and yet Shakspeare introduces such a creature with great effect in + "Macbeth," in that weird dialogue of the witches— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Where hast thou been, sister?" + "Killing swine." +</pre> + <p> + And Goethe makes it ideal by mingling it with the mad revelry of the + "Walpurgis Night"— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "An able sow, with old Baubo upon her. + Is worthy of glory and worthy of honour." +</pre> + <p> + The whole truth on this vexed question may perhaps be summed up in the + following propositions:—1st, No object, natural or artificial, is <i>per + se</i> out of the province of imagination; 2d, There is no <i>infinite</i> + gulf between natural and artificial objects, or between the higher and + lower degrees of either, as subjects for the idealising power of poetry; + 3d, Ere any object natural or artificial, become poetical, it must be + subjected more or less to the transfiguring power of imagination; and, + 4th, Some objects in nature, and some in art, need less of this + transforming magic than others, and are thus <i>intrinsically</i>, + although not <i>immeasurably</i>, superior in adaptation to the purposes + of poetry. + </p> + <p> + The great point, after all, is, What eye beholds objects, whether natural + or artificial? Is it a poetical eye or not? For given a poet's eye, then + it matters little on what object that eye be fixed, it becomes poetical; + where there is intrinsic poetry—as in mountains, the sea, the sky, + the stars—it comes rushing out to the silent spell of genius; where + there is less—as in artificial objects, or the poorer productions of + nature—the mind of the poet must exert itself tenfold, and shed on + it its own wealth and glory. Now, Pope, we fear, wanted almost entirely + this true second sight. Take, for instance, the "lock" in the famous + "Rape!" What fancy, humour, wit, eloquence, he brings to play around it! + But he never touches it, even <i>en passant</i>, with a ray of poetry. You + never could dream of intertwining it with + </p> + <p> + "The tangles of Neaera's hair," + </p> + <p> + far less with the "golden tresses" and "wanton ringlets" of our primeval + parent in the garden of Eden. Shakspeare, on the other hand, would have + made it a dropping from the shorn sun, or a mad moonbeam gone astray, or a + tress fallen from the hair of the star Venus, as she gazed too intently at + her own image in the calm evening sea. Nor will Pope leave the "lock" + entire in its beautiful smallness. He must apply a microscope to it, and + stake his fame on idealising its subdivided, single hairs. The sylphs are + created by combining the agility of Ariel with the lively impertinence of + the inhabitants of Lilliput. Yet with what ease, elegance, and lingering + love does he draw his petty Pucks, till, though too tiny for touch, they + become palpable to vision! On the whole, had not the "Tempest" and the + "Midsummer Night's Dream" existed before the "Rape of the Lock," the + machinery in it would have proclaimed Pope a man of creative imagination. + As it is, it proves wonderful activity of fancy. Shakspeare's delicate + creations are touched again without crumbling at the touch, clad in new + down, fed on a fresh supply of "honey-dew," and sent out on minor but + aerial errands—although, after all, we prefer Puck and Ariel—not + to speak of those delectable personages, Cobweb, Peaseblossom, and + Mustardseed. Ariel's "oak," in our poet's hands, becomes a "vial"—"knotty + entrails" are exchanged for a "bodkin's eye"—the fine dew of the + "still vexed Bermoothes" is degraded into an "essence;" pomatum takes the + place of poetry; the enchanted lock, of an enchanted isle; and the + transformation of original imagination into ingenious fancy is completed + before your eyes. Let the admirers of Pope, like the worshippers of Cæsar + of old, "beg a <i>hair</i> of him for memory;" for certainly he is more at + home among hairs and curls than in any field where he has chosen to + exercise his powers. + </p> + <p> + About Pope originally there was a small, trivial, and stinted <i>something</i> + which did not promise even the greatness he actually attained. We do not + allude merely to his small stature, remembering that the nine-pin Napoleon + overthrew half the thrones in Europe. But <i>he</i> possessed <i>sana mens + in sano copore</i>, an erect figure, and was "every inch a man," although + his inches were few; while in Pope, both bodily and mentally, there lay a + crooked, waspish, and petty nature. His form too faithfully reflected his + character. He was never, from the beginning to the close of his life, a + great, broad, genial being. There was an unhealthy taint which partly + enfeebled and partly corrupted him. His self-will, his ambition, his + Pariah position, as belonging to the Roman Catholic faith, the feebleness + of his constitution, the uncertainty of his real creed, and one or two + other circumstances we do not choose to name, combined to create a + life-long ulcer in his heart and temper, against which the vigour of his + mind, the enthusiasm of his literary tastes, and the warmth of his heart, + struggled with much difficulty. He had not, in short, the basis of a truly + great poet, either in imagination or in nature. Nor, with all his + incredible industry, tact, and talent, did he ever rise into the "seventh + heaven of invention." A splendid sylph let us call him—a "giant + angel" he was not. + </p> + <p> + His culture, like his genius, was rather elegant than profound. He lived + in an age when a knowledge of the classics, with a tincture of the + metaphysics of the schools, was thought a good average stock of learning, + although it was the age, too, of such mighty scholars as Bentley, Clarke, + and Warlburton. Pope seems to have glanced over a great variety of + subjects with a rapid <i>rechercé</i> eye, not examined any one with a + quiet, deep, longing, lingering, exhaustive look. He was no literary + Behemoth, "trusting that he could draw up Jordan into his mouth." He + became thus neither an ill-informed writer, like Goldsmith, whose + ingenuity must make up for his ignorance, nor one of those <i>doctorum + vatum</i>, those learned poets, such as Dante, Milton, and Coleridge, + whose works alone, according at least to Buchanan, are to obtain the rare + and regal palm of immortality— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "<i>Sola doctorum</i> monumenta vatum + Nesciunt fati imperium severi: + Sola contemnunt Phlegethonta, et Orci + Jura superbi." +</pre> + <p> + That his philosophy was empirical, is proved by his "Essay on Man," which, + notwithstanding all its brilliant rhetoric, is the shallow version of a + shallow system of naturalism. And one may accommodate to him the + well-known saying of Lyndhurst about Lord Brougham, "who would have made a + capital Chancellor if he had had only a little law;" so Pope was very well + qualified to have translated Homer, barring his ignorance of Greek. But + every page of his writings proves a wide and diversified knowledge—a + knowledge, too, which he has perfectly under control—which he can + make to go a great way—and by which, with admirable skill, he can + subserve alike his moral and literary purpose. But the question now arises—What + was his purpose? Was it worthy of his powers? Was it high, holy, and + faithfully pursued? No poet, we venture to say, can be great without a + great purpose. "Purpose is the edge and point of character; it is the + stamp and superscription of genius; it is the direction on the letter of + talent. Character without it is blunt and torpid; talent without it is a + letter which, undirected, goes nowhere; genius without it is bullion, + sluggish, splendid, and uncirculating." Now, Pope's purpose seems, on the + whole, dim and uncertain. He is indifferent to destruction, and careless + about conserving. He is neither an infidel nor a Christian; no Whig, but + no very ardent Tory either. He seems to wish to support morality, but his + support is stumbling and precarious; although, on the other hand, + notwithstanding his frequent coarseness of language and looseness of + allusion, he exhibits no desire to overturn or undermine it. His bursts of + moral feeling are very beautiful (such as that containing the noble lines— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Vice is undone if she forgets her earth, + And stoops from angels to the dregs of birth. + But 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore: + Let greatness own her and she's mean no more. + Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess, + Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless. + In golden chains the willing world she draws, + And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws; + Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, + And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead.") +</pre> + <p> + But they are brief, seem the result of momentary moods rather than the + spray of a strong, steady current; and he soon turns from them to the + expression of his petty chagrins and personal animosities. In satire, he + has not the indomitable pace and deep-mouthed bellow of a Juvenal, + pursuing his object like a bloodhound: he resembles more a half-angry, + half-playful terrier. To obtain a terse and musical expression for his + thought is his artistic purpose, but that of his mind and moral nature is + not so apparent in his poetry. Indeed, we are tempted at times to class + him with his own sylphs in this respect, as well as in the elegance and + swiftness of his genius. They neither belonged to heaven nor hell, but + vibrated between in graceful gyrations. They laughed at, and toyed with, + all things—never rising to dangerous heights, never sinking into + profound abysses—fancying a lock a universe, and a universe only a + larger lock—dancing like evening ephemeræ in the sunbeam, which was + to be their sepulchre, and shutting their tiny eyes to all the solemn + responsibilities, grave uncertainties, and mysterious destinies of human + nature. And so, too often, did their poet. + </p> + <p> + Pope's special faculties are easily seen, and may be briefly enumerated. + Destitute of the highest imagination, and perhaps of constructive power—(he + has produced many brilliant parts, and many little, but no large wholes)—he + is otherwise prodigally endowed. He has a keen, strong, clear intellect, + which, if it seldom reaches sublimity, never fails to eliminate sense. He + has wit of a polished and vigorous kind—less easy, indeed, than + Addison's, the very curl of whose lip was crucifixion to his foe. This + wit, when exasperated into satire, is very formidable, for, like + Addison's, it does its work with little noise. Pope whispers poetic + perdition—he deals in drops of concentrated bitterness—he + stabs with a poisoned bodkin—he touches his enemies into stone with + the light and playful finger of a fairy—and his more elaborate + invectives glitter all over with the polish of profound malignity. His + knowledge of human nature, particularly of woman's heart, is great, but + seems more the result of impish eavesdropping than of that thorough and + genial insight which sympathy produces. He has listened at the keyhole, + not by any "Open Sesame" entered the chamber. He has rather painted + manners than men. His power of simulating passion is great; but the + passion must, in general, be mingled with unnatural elements ere he can + realise it—the game must be putrid ere he can enjoy its flavour. He + has no humour, at least in his poetry. It is too much of an unconscious + outflow, and partakes too much of the genial and the human nature for him. + His fancy is lively and copious, but its poetical products often resemble + the forced fruits of a hothouse rather than those of a natural soil and + climate. His description of Sporus, lauded by Byron as a piece of + imagination, is exceedingly artificial and far-fetched in its figures—a + mere mass of smoked gumflowers. Compare for fancy the speeches of + Mercutio, in "Romeo and Juliet," the "Rape of the Lock," if we would see + the difference between a spontaneous and artificial outpouring of images, + between a fancy as free as fervid, and one lashing itself into + productiveness. His power of describing natural objects is far from + first-rate; he enumerates instead of describing; he omits nothing in the + scene except the one thing needful—the bright poetical gleam or haze + which ought to have been there. There is the "grass" but not the + "splendour"—the "flower" but not the "glory." In depicting + character, it is very different. His likenesses of men and women, so far + as manners, external features, and the contrasts produced by the accidents + of circumstances and the mutation of affairs, are inimitable. His power of + complimenting is superior even to that of Louis XIV. He picks out the one + best quality in a man, sets it in gold, and presents it as if he were + conferring instead of describing a noble gift. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Would you be blest, despise low joys, low gains, + <i>Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains</i>; + Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains." +</pre> + <p> + Pope's language seems as if it were laboriously formed by himself for his + peculiar shape of mind, habits of thought, and style of poetry. Compared + to all English before him, Pope's English is a new although a lesser + language. He has so cut down, shorn, and trimmed the broad old oak of + Shakspeare's speech, that it seems another tree altogether. Everything is + so terse, so clear, so pointed, so elaborately easy, so monotonously + brilliant, that you must pause to remember. "These are the very + copulatives, diphthongs, and adjectives of Hooker, Milton, and Jeremy + Taylor." The change at first is pleasant, and has been generally popular; + but those who know and love our early authors, soon miss their deep + organ-tones, their gnarled strength, their intricate but intense + sweetness, their varied and voluminous music, their linked <i>chains</i> + of lightning, and feel the difference between the fabricator of clever + lines and sparkling sentences, and the former of great passages and works. + In keeping with his style is his versification, the incessant tinkling of + a sheep-bell—sweet, small, monotonous—producing + perfectly-melodious single lines, but no grand interwoven swells and + well-proportioned masses of harmony. "Pope," says Hazlitt, "has turned + Pegasus into a rocking-horse." The noble gallop of Dryden's verse is + exchanged for a quick trot. And there is not even a point of comparison + between his sweet sing-song, and the wavy, snow-like, spirit-like motion + of Milton's loftier passages; or the gliding, pausing, fitful, river-like + progress of Shakspeare's verse; or the fretted fury, and "torrent-rapture" + of brave old Chapman in his translation of Homer; or the rich, + long-drawn-out, slow-swimming, now soft-languishing, and now full-gushing + melody of Spenser's "Faery Queen."—Yet, within his own sphere, Pope + was, as Scott calls him, a "Deacon of his craft;" he aimed at, and + secured, correctness and elegance; his part is not the highest, but in it + he approaches absolute perfection; and with all his monotony of manner and + versification, he is one of the most interesting of writers, and many find + a greater luxury in reading his pages than those of any other poet. He is + the <i>facile princeps</i> of those poetical writers who have written for, + and are so singularly appreciated by, the fastidious—that class who + are more staggered by faults than delighted with beauties. + </p> + <p> + Our glance at his individual works must be brief and cursory. His "Ode to + Solitude" is the most simple and natural thing he ever wrote, and in it he + seems to say to nature, "Vale, longum vale." His "Pastorals" have an + unnatural and luscious sweetness. He has sugared his milk; it is not, as + it ought to be, warm from the cow, and fresh as the clover. How different + his "Rural Life" from the rude, rough pictures of Theocritus, and the + delightfully true and genial pages of the "Gentle Shepherd!" His "Windsor + Forest" is an elegant accumulation of sweet sonnets and pleasant images, + but the freshness of the dew is not resting on every bud and blade. No + shadowy forms are seen retiring amidst the glades of the forest; no Uriels + seem descending on the sudden slips of afternoon sunshine which pierce + athwart the green or brown masses of foliage; and you cannot say of his + descriptions that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Visions, as poetic eyes avow, + Hang on each leaf and cling to every bough." +</pre> + <p> + Shelley studied the scenery of his fine poem, "Alastor," in the same + shades with Pope; but he had, like Jonathan of old, touched his lips with + a rod dipped in poetic honey, and his "eyes were enlightened" to see + sights of beauty and mystery which to the other are denied. Keats could + have comprised all the poetry of "Windsor Forest" into one sonnet or line; + indeed, has he not done so, where, describing his soul following the note + of the nightingale into the far depths of the woods, where she is pouring + out her heart in song, he says— + </p> + <p> + "And with thee fade away into the forest dim?" + </p> + <p> + The "Essay on Criticism" is rather a wonderful, intellectual, and artistic + feat, than a true poem. It is astonishing as the work of a boy of + nineteen, and contains a unique collection of clever and sparkling + sentences, displaying the highest powers of acuteness and assimilation, if + not much profound and original insight or genius. This poem suggests the + wish that more of our critics would write in verse. The music might lessen + the malice, and set off the commonplace to advantage, so that if there + were no "reason," there might be at least "rhyme." His "Lines to the + Memory of an Unfortunate Lady" are too elaborate and artificial for the + theme. It is a tale of intrigue, murder, and suicide, set to a musical + snuff-box! His "Rape of the Lock" we have already characterised. It is an + "Iliad in a nutshell," an Epic of Lilliput, where all the proportions are + accurately observed, and where the finishing is so exact and admirable, + that you fancy the author to have had microscopic eyes. It contains + certainly the most elegant and brilliant badinage, the most graceful + raillery, the most finished nonsense, and one of the most + exquisitely-managed machineries in the language. His "Eloisa and Abelard," + a poem beautiful and almost unequalled in execution, is ill chosen in + subject. He compels you indeed to weep, but you blame and trample on your + tears after they are shed. Pope in this poem, as Shelley in the "Cenci," + has tried to extract beauty from moral deformity, and to glorify + putrefaction. But who can long love to gaze at worms, however well + painted, or will be disposed to pardon the monstrous choice of a dead or + demon bride for the splendour of her wedding-garment? The passion of the + Eloisa and that of the Cenci were both indeed facts; but many facts should + be veiled statues in the Temple of Truth. To do, however, both Pope and + Shelley justice, they touch their painful and shocking themes with extreme + delicacy. "Dryden," well remarks Campbell, "would have given but a coarse + draught of Eloisa's passion." Pope's Epistles, Satires, Imitations, &c., + contain much of the most spirited sense and elegant sarcasm in literature. + The portraits of "Villars" and "Atticus" will occur to every reader as + masterpieces in power, although we deem the latter grossly unjust to a + good and great man. His Homer is rather an adaptation than a translation—far + less a "transfusion" of the Grecian bard. Pope does not, indeed, clothe + the old blind rhapsodist with a bag-wig and sword; but he does all short + of this to make him a fine modern gentleman. Scott, we think, could have + best rendered Homer in his ballad-rhyme. Chapman is Chapman, but he is not + Homer. Pope is Pope, and Hobbes is Hobbes, and Sotheby is Sotheby, and + Cowper is Cowper, each doing his best to render Homer, but none of them is + the grand old Greek, whose lines are all simple and plain as brands, but + like brands pointed on their edges with fire. + </p> + <p> + The "Essay on Man" ought to have been called an "Epigram on Man," or, + better still, should have been propounded as a riddle, to which the word + "Man" was to supply the solution. But an antithesis, epigram, or riddle on + man of 1300 lines, is rather long. It seems so especially as there is no + real or new light cast in it on man's nature or destiny. (We refer our + readers to the notes of Dr Croly's edition for a running commentary of + confutation to the "Essay on Man" distinguished by solid and unanswerable + acuteness of argument.) But such an eloquent and ingenious puzzle as it + is! It might have issued from the work-basket of Titania herself. It is + another evidence of Pope's greatness in trifles. How he would have shone + in fabricating the staves of the ark, or the fringes of the tabernacle! + </p> + <p> + The "Dunciad" is in many respects the ablest, the most elaborate, and the + most characteristic of Pope's poems. In embalming insignificance and + impaling folly he seems to have found, at last, his most congenial work. + With what apparently sovereign contempt, masterly ease, artistic calm, and + judicial gravity, does he set about it! And once his museum of dunces is + completed, with what dignity—the little tyrant that he was!—does + he march through it, and with what complacency does he point to his slain + and dried Dunces, and say, "Behold the work of my hands!" It never seems + to have occurred to him that his poem was destined to be an everlasting + memorial, not only of his enemies, but of the annoyance he had met from + them—at once of his strength in crushing, and his weakness in + feeling, their attacks, and in showing their mummies for money. + </p> + <p> + That Pope deserves, on the whole, the name of "poet," we are willing, as + aforesaid, to concede. But he was the most artificial of true poets. He + had in him a real though limited vein, but did not trust sufficiently to + it, and at once weakened and strengthened it by his peculiar kind of + cultivation. He weakened it as a faculty, but strengthened it as an art; + he lessened its inward force, but increased the elegance and facility of + its outward expression. What he might have attained, had he left his study + and trim gardens, and visited the Alps, Snowdon, or the Grampians—had + he studied Boileau less, and Dante, Milton, or the Bible more—we + cannot tell; but he certainly, in this case, would have left works + greater, if not more graceful, behind him; and if he had pleased his own + taste and that of his age less, he might have more effectually touched the + chord of the heart of all future time by his poetry. As it is, his works + resemble rather the London Colosseum than Westminster Abbey. They are + exquisite imitations of nature; but we never can apply to them the words + of the poet— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O'er England's abbeys bends the sky, + As on its friends, with kindred eye; + For Nature gladly gave them place, + Adopted them into her race, + And granted them an equal date + With Andes and with Ararat." +</pre> + <p> + <i>Read</i>, and admired, Pope must always be—if not for his poetry + and passion, yet for his elegance, wit, satiric force, fidelity as a + painter of artificial life, and the clear, pellucid English. But his + deficiency in the creative faculty (a deficiency very marked in two of his + most lauded poems we have not specified, his "Messiah" and "Temple of + Fame," both eloquent imitations), his lack of profound thought, the + general poverty of his natural pictures (there are some fine ones in + "Eloisa and Abelard"), the coarse and bitter element often intermingled + with his satire, the monotonous glitter of his verse, and the want of + profound purpose in his writings, combine to class him below the first + file of poets. And vain are all attempts, such as those of Byron and Lord + Carlisle, to alter the general verdict. It is very difficult, after a + time, either to raise or depress an acknowledged classic; and Pope must + come, if he has not come already, to a peculiarly defined and strictly + apportioned place on the shelf. He was unquestionably the poet of his age. + But his age was far from being one of a lofty order: it was a low, + languid, artificial, and lazily sceptical age. It loved to be tickled; and + Pope tickled it with the finger of a master. It liked to be lulled, at + other times, into half-slumber; and the soft and even monotonies of Pope's + pastorals and "Windsor Forest" effected this end. It loved to be suspended + in a state of semi-doubt, swung to and fro in agreeable equipoise; and the + "Essay on Man" was precisely such a swing. It was fond of a mixture of + strong English sense with French graces and charms of manner; and Pope + supplied it. It was fond of keen, yet artfully managed satire; and Pope + furnished it in abundance. It loved nothing that threatened greatly to + disturb its equanimity or over-much to excite or arouse it; and there was + little of this in Pope. Had he been a really great poet of the old Homer + or Dante breed, he would have outshot his age, till he "dwindled in the + distance;" but in lieu of immediate fame, and of elaborate lectures in the + next century, to bolster it unduly up, all generations would have "risen + and called him blessed." + </p> + <p> + We had intended some remarks on Pope as a prose-writer, and as a + correspondent; but want of space has compelled us to confine ourselves to + his poetry. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DETAILED CONTENTS + + MORAL ESSAYS— + Epistle I.—Of the Knowledge and Characters of Men + Epistle II.—Of the Characters of Women + Epistle III.—Of the Use of Riches + Epistle IV.—Of the Use of Riches + Epistle V.—Occasioned by his Dialogues on Medals + + TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS— + Sappho to Phaon + The Fable of Dryope + Vertumnus and Pomona + The First Book of Statius's Thebais + January and May + The Wife of Bath + + PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES— + A Prologue to a Play for Mr Dennis's Benefit + Prologue to Mr Addison's 'Cato' + Prologue to Mr Thomson's 'Sophonisba' + Prologue, designed for Mr D'Urfey's Last Play + Prologue to 'The Three Hours after Marriage' + Epilogue to Mr Rowe's 'Jane Shore' + + MISCELLANIES— + The Basset-Table + Lines on receiving from the Right Hon. the Lady Frances Shirley a + Standish and Two Pens + Verbatim from Boileau + Answer to the following Question of Mrs Howe + Occasioned by some Verses of His Grace the Duke of Buckingham + Macer: a Character + Song, by a Person of Quality + On a Certain Lady at Court + On his Grotto at Twickenham + Roxana, or the Drawing-Room + To Lady Mary Wortley Montague + Extemporaneous Lines on a Portrait of Lady Mary Wortley Montague + Lines sung by Durastanti when she took leave of the English Stage + Upon the Duke of Marlborough's House at Woodstock + Verses left by Mr Pope, on his lying in the same bed which Wilmot slept + in at Adderbury + The Challenge + The Three Gentle Shepherds + Epigram, engraved on the Collar of a Dog + The Translator + The Looking-Glass + A Farewell to London + Sandys' Ghost + Umbra + Sylvia, a Fragment + Impromptu to Lady Winchelsea + Epigram + Epigram on the Feuds about Handel and Bononcini + On Mrs Tofts, a celebrated Opera Singer + The Balance of Europe + Epitaph on Lord Coningsby + Epigram + Epigram from the French + Epitaph on Gay + Epigram on the Toasts of the Kit-Kat Club + To a Lady, with 'The Temple of Fame' + On the Countess of Burlington cutting Paper + On Drawings of the Statues of Apollo, Venus, and Hercules + On Bentley's 'Milton' + Lines written in Windsor Forest + To Erinna + A Dialogue + Ode to Quinbus Flestrin + The Lamentation of Glumdalclitch for the Loss of Grildrig + To Mr Lemuel Gulliver + Mary Gulliver to Captain Lemuel Gulliver + 1740, a Fragment of a Poem + The Fourth Epistle of the First Book of Horace + Epigram on one who made long Epitaphs + On an Old Gate + A Fragment + To Mr Gay + Argus + Prayer of Brutus + Lines on a Grotto, at Cruxeaston, Hants + + THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER + + THE DUNCIAD— + A Letter to the Publisher + Martinus Scriblerus, his Prolegomena + Testimonies of Authors + Martinus Scriblerus of the Poem + Recardus Aristarchus of the Hero of the Poem + Book the First + Book the Second + Book the Third + Book the Fourth + Declaration by the Author + + APPENDIX— + I. Preface prefixed to the Five First imperfect Editions + II. A List of Books, Papers, and Verses + III. Advertisement to the First Edition + IV. Advertisement to the First Edition of the Fourth Book + V. Advertisement to the Complete Edition of 1743 + VI. Advertisement printed in the Journals, 1730 + VII. A Parallel of the Characters of Mr Dryden and Mr Pope + + Index of Persons celebrated in this Poem +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MORAL ESSAYS. + </h2> + <p> + The 'Essay on Man' was intended to have been comprised in four books:— + </p> + <p> + The first of which, the author has given us under that title, in four + epistles. + </p> + <p> + The second was to have consisted of the same number:—1. Of the + extent and limits of human reason. 2. Of those arts and sciences, and of + the parts of them, which are useful, and therefore attainable, together + with those which are unuseful, and therefore unattainable. 3. Of the + nature, ends, use, and application of the different capacities of men. 4. + Of the use of learning, of the science of the world, and of wit; + concluding with a satire against the misapplication of them, illustrated + by pictures, characters, and examples. + </p> + <p> + The third book regarded civil regimen, or the science of politics, in + which the several forms of a republic were to have been examined and + explained; together with the several modes of religious worship, as far + forth as they affect society; between which the author always supposed + there was the most interesting relation and closest connexion; so that + this part would have treated of civil and religious society in their full + extent. + </p> + <p> + The fourth and last book concerned private ethics or practical morality, + considered in all the circumstances, orders, professions, and stations of + human life. + </p> + <p> + The scheme of all this had been maturely digested, and communicated to the + Lord Bolingbroke, Dr Swift, and one or two more, and was intended for the + only work of his riper years; but was, partly through ill health, partly + through discouragements from the depravity of the times, and partly on + prudential and other considerations, interrupted, postponed, and, lastly, + in a manner laid aside. + </p> + <p> + But as this was the author's favourite work, which more exactly reflected + the image of his strong capacious mind, and as we can have but a very + imperfect idea of it from the <i>disjecta membra poetae</i> that now + remain, it may not be amiss to be a little more particular concerning each + of these projected books. The first, as it treats of man in the abstract, + and considers him in general under every one of his relations, becomes the + foundation, and furnishes out the subjects, of the three following; so + that— + </p> + <p> + The second book takes up again the first and second epistles of the first + book, and treats of man in his intellectual capacity at large, as has been + explained above. Of this, only a small part of the conclusion (which, as + we said, was to have contained a satire against the misapplication of wit + and learning) may be found in the fourth book of 'The Dunciad,' and up and + down, occasionally, in the other three. + </p> + <p> + The third book, in like manner, reassumes the subject of the third epistle + of the first, which treats of man in his social, political, and religious + capacity. But this part the poet afterwards conceived might be best + executed in an epic poem; as the action would make it more animated, and + the fable less invidious; in which all the great principles of true and + false governments and religions should be chiefly delivered in feigned + examples. + </p> + <p> + The fourth and last book pursues the subject of the fourth epistle of the + first, and treats of ethics, or practical morality; and would have + consisted of many members; of which the four following epistles were + detached portions: the two first, on the characters of men and women, + being the introductory part of this concluding book.—<i>Warburton.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPISTLE I.—TO SIR RICHARD TEMPLE, LORD COBHAM. OF THE KNOWLEDGE AND + CHARACTERS OF MEN. + </h2> + <p> + That it is not sufficient for this knowledge to consider man in the + abstract: books will not serve the purpose, nor yet our own experience + singly, ver. 1. General maxims, unless they be formed upon both, will be + but notional, ver. 10. Some peculiarity in every man, characteristic to + himself, yet varying from himself, ver. 15. Difficulties arising from our + own passions, fancies, faculties, &c., ver. 31. The shortness of life, + to observe in, and the uncertainty of the principles of action in men, to + observe by, ver. 37, &c. Our own principle of action often hid from + ourselves, ver. 41. Some few characters plain, but in general confounded, + dissembled, or inconsistent, ver. 51. The same man utterly different in + different places and seasons, ver. 71. Unimaginable weaknesses in the + greatest, ver. 70, &c. Nothing constant and certain but God and + nature, ver. 95. No judging of the motives from the actions; the same + actions proceeding from contrary motives, and the same motives influencing + contrary actions, ver. 100. II. Yet to form characters, we can only take + the strongest actions of a man's life, and try to make them agree: the + utter uncertainty of this, from nature itself, and from policy, ver. 120. + Characters given according to the rank of men of the world, ver. 135. And + some reason for it, ver. 140. Education alters the nature, or at least + character of many, ver. 149. Actions, passions, opinions, manners, + humours, or principles, all subject to change. No judging by nature, from + ver. 158 to 174. III. It only remains to find (if we can) his ruling + passion: that will certainly influence all the rest, and can reconcile the + seeming or real inconsistency of all his actions, ver. 175. Instanced in + the extraordinary character of Clodio, ver. 179. A caution against + mistaking second qualities for first, which will destroy all possibility + of the knowledge of mankind, ver. 210. Examples of the strength of the + ruling passion, and its continuation to the last breath, ver. 222, &c. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yes, you despise the man to books confined, + Who from his study rails at human kind; + Though what he learns he speaks, and may advance + Some general maxims, or be right by chance. + The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave, + That from his cage cries 'Cuckold,' 'Whore,' and 'Knave,' + Though many a passenger he rightly call, + You hold him no philosopher at all. + + And yet the fate of all extremes is such, + Men may be read, as well as books, too much. 10 + To observations which ourselves we make, + We grow more partial for the observer's sake; + To written wisdom, as another's, less: + Maxims are drawn from notions, those from guess. + There's some peculiar in each leaf and grain, + Some unmark'd fibre, or some varying vein: + Shall only man be taken in the gross? + Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss. + + That each from other differs, first confess; + Next that he varies from himself no less: 20 + Add nature's, custom's, reason's, passion's strife, + And all opinion's colours cast on life. + + Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds, + Quick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds? + On human actions reason though you can, + It may be reason, but it is not man: + His principle of action once explore, + That instant 'tis his principle no more. + Like following life through creatures you dissect, + You lose it in the moment you detect. 30 + + Yet more; the difference is as great between + The optics seeing, as the objects seen. + All manners take a tincture from our own; + Or come discolour'd, through our passions shown; + Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, + Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes. + + Nor will life's stream for observation stay, + It hurries all too fast to mark their way: + In vain sedate reflections we would make, + When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take. 40 + Oft, in the passions' wild rotation toss'd, + Our spring of action to ourselves is lost: + Tired, not determined, to the last we yield, + And what comes then is master of the field. + As the last image of that troubled heap, + When sense subsides, and fancy sports in sleep, + (Though past the recollection of the thought), + Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought: + Something as dim to our internal view, + Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do. 50 + + True, some are open, and to all men known; + Others so very close, they're hid from none; + (So darkness strikes the sense no less than light) + Thus gracious Chandos is beloved at sight; + And every child hates Shylock, though his soul + Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole. + At half mankind when generous Manly raves, + All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them knaves: + When universal homage Umbra pays, + All see 'tis vice, and itch of vulgar praise. 60 + When flattery glares, all hate it in a queen, + While one there is who charms us with his spleen. + + But these plain characters we rarely find; + Though strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind: + Or puzzling contraries confound the whole; + Or affectations quite reverse the soul. + The dull, flat falsehood serves for policy; + And, in the cunning, truth itself's a lie: + Unthought-of frailties cheat us in the wise; + The fool lies hid in inconsistencies. 70 + + See the same man, in vigour, in the gout; + Alone, in company; in place, or out; + Early at business, and at hazard late; + Mad at a fox-chase, wise at a debate; + Drunk at a borough, civil at a ball; + Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall. + + Catius is ever moral, ever grave, + Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave, + Save just at dinner—then prefers, no doubt, + A rogue with venison to a saint without. 80 + + Who would not praise Patricio's<a href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" + id="linknoteref-1">1</a> high desert, + His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart, + His comprehensive head, all interests weigh'd, + All Europe saved, yet Britain not betray'd? + He thanks you not, his pride is in picquet, + Newmarket fame, and judgment at a bet. + + What made (says Montaigne, or more sage Charron<a href="#linknote-2" + name="linknoteref-2" id="linknoteref-2">2</a>) + Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon? + A perjured prince<a href="#linknote-3" name="linknoteref-3" + id="linknoteref-3">3</a> a leaden saint revere, + A godless regent<a href="#linknote-4" name="linknoteref-4" + id="linknoteref-4">4</a> tremble at a star? 90 + The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit, + Faithless through piety, and duped through wit? + Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule, + And just her wisest monarch made a fool? + + Know, God and Nature only are the same: + In man, the judgment shoots at flying game; + A bird of passage! gone as soon as found, + Now in the moon perhaps, now under ground. + + II. In vain the sage, with retrospective eye, + Would from the apparent <i>what</i> conclude the <i>why</i>, 100 + Infer the motive from the deed, and show + That what we chanced was what we meant to do. + Behold! if fortune or a mistress frowns, + Some plunge in business, others shave their crowns: + To ease the soul of one oppressive weight, + This quits an empire, that embroils a state: + The same adust complexion has impell'd + Charles<a href="#linknote-5" name="linknoteref-5" id="linknoteref-5">5</a> to the convent, Philip<a + href="#linknote-6" name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6">6</a> to the field. + + Not always actions show the man: we find + Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind; 110 + Perhaps prosperity becalm'd his breast, + Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east: + Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat, + Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great: + Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, + He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave: + Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise, + His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies. + + But grant that actions best discover man; + Take the most strong, and sort them as you can: 120 + The few that glare, each character must mark, + You balance not the many in the dark. + What will you do with such as disagree? + Suppress them, or miscall them policy? + Must then at once (the character to save) + The plain rough hero turn a crafty knave? + Alas! in truth the man but changed his mind, + Perhaps was sick, in love, or had not dined. + Ask why from Britain Cæsar would retreat? + Cæsar himself might whisper he was beat. 130 + Why risk the world's great empire for a punk?<a href="#linknote-7" + name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7">7</a> + Cæsar perhaps might answer he was drunk. + But, sage historians! 'tis your task to prove + One action, conduct; one, heroic love. + + 'Tis from high life high characters are drawn; + A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn; + A judge is just, a chancellor juster still; + A gownman, learn'd; a bishop, what you will; + Wise, if a minister; but, if a king, + More wise, more learn'd, more just, more everything, 140 + Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, + Born where Heaven's influence scarce can penetrate: + In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like, + They please as beauties, here as wonders strike. + Though the same sun with all-diffusive rays + Blush in the rose, and in the diamond blaze, + We prize the stronger effort of his power, + And justly set the gem above the flower. + + 'Tis education forms the common mind, + Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined. 150 + Boastful and rough, your first son is a squire; + The next a tradesman, meek, and much a liar; + Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave; + Will sneaks a scrivener, an exceeding knave: + Is he a Churchman? then he's fond of power: + A Quaker? sly: A Presbyterian? sour: + A smart free-thinker? all things in an hour. + Ask men's opinions: Scoto now shall tell + How trade increases, and the world goes well; + Strike off his pension, by the setting sun, 160 + And Britain, if not Europe, is undone. + + That gay free-thinker, a fine talker once, + What turns him now a stupid silent dunce? + Some god, or spirit he has lately found; + Or chanced to meet a minister that frown'd. + + Judge we by nature? Habit can efface, + Interest o'ercome, or policy take place: + By actions? those uncertainty divides: + By passions? these dissimulation hides: + Opinions? they still take a wider range: 170 + Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. + + Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, + Tenets with books, and principles with times. + + III. Search, then, the ruling passion: there, alone, + The wild are constant, and the cunning known; + The fool consistent, and the false sincere; + Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here. + This clue once found, unravels all the rest, + The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confess'd. + Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, 180 + Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise: + Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, + Women and fools must like him or he dies; + Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, + The club must hail him master of the joke. + Shall parts so various aim at nothing new? + He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot<a href="#linknote-8" name="linknoteref-8" + id="linknoteref-8">8</a> too. + Then turns repentant, and his God adores + With the same spirit that he drinks and whores; + Enough if all around him but admire, 190 + And now the punk applaud, and now the friar. + Thus with each gift of nature and of art, + And wanting nothing but an honest heart; + Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt; + And most contemptible, to shun contempt; + His passion still to covet general praise, + His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways; + A constant bounty which no friend has made; + An angel tongue, which no man can persuade; + A fool, with more of wit than half mankind, 200 + Too rash for thought, for action too refined; + A tyrant to the wife his heart approves; + A rebel to the very king he loves; + He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, + And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great. + Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule + 'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool. + + Nature well known, no prodigies remain, + Comets are regular, and Wharton plain. + + Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake, 210 + If second qualities for first they take. + When Catiline by rapine swell'd his store; + When Cæsar made a noble dame a whore;<a href="#linknote-9" + name="linknoteref-9" id="linknoteref-9">9</a> + In this the lust, in that the avarice + Were means, not ends; ambition was the vice. + That very Cæsar, born in Scipio's days, + Had aim'd, like him, by chastity at praise. + Lucullus, when frugality could charm, + Had roasted turnips in the Sabine farm. + In vain the observer eyes the builder's toil, 220 + But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. + + In this one passion man can strength enjoy, + As fits give vigour, just when they destroy. + Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, + Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand. + Consistent in our follies and our sins, + Here honest Nature ends as she begins. + + Old politicians chew on wisdom past, + And totter on in business to the last; + As weak, as earnest, and as gravely out, 230 + As sober Lanesborough<a href="#linknote-10" name="linknoteref-10" + id="linknoteref-10">10</a> dancing in the gout. + + Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace + Has made the father of a nameless race, + Shoved from the wall perhaps, or rudely press'd + By his own son, that passes by unbless'd: + Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, + And envies every sparrow that he sees. + + A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; + The doctor call'd, declares all help too late: + 'Mercy!' cries Helluo, 'mercy on my soul! 240 + Is there no hope? Alas! then bring the jowl.' + + The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, + Still tries to save the hallow'd taper's end, + Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, + For one puff more, and in that puff expires. + + 'Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke,' + (Were the last words that poor Narcissa<a href="#linknote-11" + name="linknoteref-11" id="linknoteref-11">11</a> spoke), + 'No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace + Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face: + One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead— 250 + And, Betty, give this cheek a little red.' + + The courtier smooth, who forty years had shined + An humble servant to all human kind, + Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir, + 'If—where I'm going—I could serve you, sir?' + + 'I give and I devise' (old Euclio said, + And sigh'd) 'my lands and tenements to Ned.' + 'Your money, sir?' 'My money, sir, what! all? + Why—if I must'—(then wept)—'I give it Paul.' + 'The manor, sir?'—'The manor! hold,' (he cried), 260 + 'Not that—I cannot part with that'—and died. + + And you, brave Cobham! to the latest breath + Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death: + Such in those moments as in all the past, + + 'Oh, save my country, Heaven!' shall be your last. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS. + + After VER. 86, in the former editions— + + Triumphant leaders, at an army's head, + Hemm'd round with glories, pilfer cloth or bread: + As meanly plunder as they bravely fought, + Now save a people, and now save a groat. + + VER. 129, in the former editions— + + Ask why from Britain Cæsar made retreat? + Cæsar himself would tell you he was beat. + The mighty Czar what moved to wed a punk? + The mighty Czar would tell you he was drunk. + + In the former editions, VER. 208— + + Nature well known, no <i>miracles</i> remain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + EPISTLE II.—TO A LADY. + + OF THE CHARACTERS OF WOMEN. + + Nothing so true as what you once let fall— + 'Most women have no characters at all.' + Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, + And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair. + + How many pictures of one nymph we view, + All how unlike each other, all how true! + Arcadia's Countess, here, in ermined pride, + Is there, Pastora by a fountain side. + Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, + And there, a naked Leda with a swan. 10 + Let then the fair one beautifully cry, + In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye, + Or dress'd in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, + With simpering angels, palms, and harps divine; + Whether the charmer sinner it or saint it, + If folly grow romantic, I must paint it. + + Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! + Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air; + Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it + Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. 20 + + Rufa, whose eye quick glancing o'er the park, + Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark, + Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, + As Sappho's<a href="#linknote-12" name="linknoteref-12" id="linknoteref-12">12</a> diamonds with her dirty smock; + Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, + With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask: + So morning insects that in muck begun, + Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun. + + How soft is Silia! fearful to offend; + The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend: 30 + To her, Calista proved her conduct nice; + And good Simplicius asks of her advice. + Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink, + But spare your censure—Silia does not drink. + All eyes may see from what the change arose, + All eyes may see—a pimple on her nose. + + Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, + Sighs for the shades—'How charming is a park!' + A park is purchased, but the fair he sees + All bathed in tears—'Oh odious, odious trees!' 40 + + Ladies, like variegated tulips, show, + 'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe; + Fine by defect, and delicately weak, + Their happy spots the nice admirer take. + 'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd, + Awed without virtue, without beauty charm'd; + Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes, + Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise; + Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had, + Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; 50 + Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, + As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate. + + Narcissa's<a href="#linknote-13" name="linknoteref-13" id="linknoteref-13">13</a> nature, tolerably mild, + To make a wash, would hardly stew a child; + Has even been proved to grant a lover's prayer, + And paid a tradesman once, to make him stare; + Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, + And made a widow happy, for a whim. + Why then declare good-nature is her scorn, + When 'tis by that alone she can be borne 60 + Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? + A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: + Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, + Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres: + Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns; + And atheism and religion take their turns; + A very heathen in the carnal part, + Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart. + + See Sin in state, majestically drunk; + Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk; 70 + Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, + A teeming mistress, but a barren bride. + What then? let blood and body bear the fault, + Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought: + Such this day's doctrine—in another fit + She sins with poets through pure love of wit. + What has not fired her bosom or her brain— + Cæsar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlemagne? + As Helluo, late dictator of the feast, + The nose of <i>haut goût</i>, and the tip of taste, 80 + Critiqued your wine, and analysed your meat, + Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat; + So Philomedé,<a href="#linknote-14" name="linknoteref-14" + id="linknoteref-14">14</a> lecturing all mankind + On the soft passion and the taste refined, + The address, the delicacy—stoops at once, + And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce. + + Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray; + To toast our wants and wishes, is her way; + Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give + The mighty blessing, 'While we live, to live.' 90 + Then all for death, that opiate of the soul! + Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl. + Say, what can cause such impotence of mind? + A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind. + + Wise wretch! with pleasures too refined to please; + With too much spirit to be e'er at ease; + With too much quickness ever to be taught; + With too much thinking to have common thought: + You purchase pain with all that joy can give, + And die of nothing, but a rage to live. 100 + + Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate, + No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate. + Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends, + Because she's honest, and the best of friends. + Or her, whose life the church and scandal share, + For ever in a passion or a prayer. + Or her, who laughs at hell, but (like her Grace<a href="#linknote-15" + name="linknoteref-15" id="linknoteref-15">15</a>) + Cries, 'Ah! how charming, if there's no such place!' + Or who in sweet vicissitude appears + Of mirth and opium, ratafia and tears, 110 + The daily anodyne, and nightly draught, + To kill those foes to fair ones—time and thought. + Woman and fool are two hard things to hit; + For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit. + + But what are these to great Atossa's<a href="#linknote-16" + name="linknoteref-16" id="linknoteref-16">16</a> mind? + Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind! + Who, with herself, or others, from her birth + Finds all her life one warfare upon earth: + Shines, in exposing knaves, and painting fools, + Yet is whate'er she hates and ridicules. 120 + No thought advances, but her eddy brain + Whisks it about, and down it goes again. + Full sixty years the world has been her trade, + The wisest fool much time has ever made. + From loveless youth to uninspected age, + No passion gratified, except her rage. + So much the fury still outran the wit, + The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit. + Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell, + But he's a bolder man who dares be well. 130 + Her every turn with violence pursued, + Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude: + To that each passion turns, or soon or late; + Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate: + Superiors? death! and equals? what a curse! + But an inferior not dependent? worse! + Offend her, and she knows not to forgive: + Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live: + But die, and she'll adore you—then the bust + And temple rise—then fall again to dust. 140 + Last night, her lord was all that's good and great: + A knave this morning, and his will a cheat. + Strange! by the means defeated of the ends, + By spirit robb'd of power, by warmth of friends, + By wealth of followers! without one distress, + Sick of herself through very selfishness! + Atossa, cursed with every granted prayer, + Childless with all her children, wants an heir. + To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store, + Or wanders, Heaven-directed, to the poor. 150 + + Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design, + Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line; + Some wandering touches, some reflected light, + Some flying stroke alone can hit 'em right: + For how should equal colours do the knack? + Chameleons who can paint in white and black? + + 'Yet Chloe, sure, was form'd without a spot'— + Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. + 'With every pleasing, every prudent part, + Say, what can Chloe<a href="#linknote-17" name="linknoteref-17" + id="linknoteref-17">17</a> want?'—She wants a heart. 160 + She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought; + But never, never reach'd one generous thought. + Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, + Content to dwell in decencies for ever. + So very reasonable, so unmoved, + As never yet to love, or to be loved. + She, while her lover pants upon her breast, + Can mark the figures on an Indian chest; + And when she sees her friend in deep despair, + Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair. 170 + Forbid it, Heaven! a favour or a debt + She e'er should cancel—but she may forget. + Safe is your secret still in Chloe's ear; + But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear. + Of all her dears she never slander'd one, + But cares not if a thousand are undone. + Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead? + She bids her footman put it in her head. + Chloe is prudent—would you, too, be wise? + Then never break your heart when Chloe dies. 180 + + One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen, + Which Heaven has varnish'd out, and made a queen: + The same for ever! and described by all + With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball. + Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will, + And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill. + 'Tis well—but, artists! who can paint or write, + To draw the naked is your true delight. + That robe of quality so struts and swells, + None see what parts of nature it conceals: 190 + The exactest traits of body or of mind, + We owe to models of an humble kind. + If Queensberry to strip there's no compelling, + 'Tis from a handmaid we must take an Helen + From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing + To draw the man who loves his God, or king: + Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail) + From honest Mahomet<a href="#linknote-18" name="linknoteref-18" + id="linknoteref-18">18</a>, or plain Parson Hale.<a href="#linknote-19" + name="linknoteref-19" id="linknoteref-19">19</a> + + But grant, in public men sometimes are shown, + A woman's seen in private life alone: 200 + Our bolder talents in full light display'd; + Your virtues open fairest in the shade. + Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide; + There, none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride, + Weakness or delicacy; all so nice, + That each may seem a virtue, or a vice. + + In men, we various ruling passions find; + In women, two almost divide the kind; + Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey, + The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. 210 + + That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught + Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? + Experience, this; by man's oppression curst, + They seek the second not to lose the first. + + Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; + But every woman is at heart a rake: + Men, some to quiet, some to public strife; + But every lady would be queen for life. + + Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens! + Power all their end, but beauty all the means: 220 + In youth they conquer, with so wild a rage, + As leaves them scarce a subject in their age: + For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; + No thought of peace or happiness at home. + But wisdom's triumph is well-timed retreat, + As hard a science to the fair as great! + Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown, + Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone, + Worn out in public, weary every eye, + Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die. 230 + + Pleasure the sex, as children birds, pursue, + Still out of reach, yet never out of view; + Sure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most, + To covet flying, and regret when lost: + At last, to follies youth could scarce defend, + It grows their age's prudence to pretend; + Ashamed to own they gave delight before, + Reduced to feign it, when they give no more: + As hags hold Sabbaths, less for joy than spite, + So these their merry, miserable night; 240 + Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide, + And haunt the places where their honour died. + + See how the world its veterans rewards! + A youth of frolics, an old age of cards; + Fair to no purpose, artful to no end, + Young without lovers, old without a friend; + A fop their passion, but their prize a sot, + Alive, ridiculous; and dead, forgot! + + Ah, friend! to dazzle let the vain design; + To raise the thought, and touch the heart, be thine! 250 + That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring, + Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing: + So when the sun's broad beam has tired the sight, + All mild ascends the moon's more sober light, + Serene in virgin modesty she shines, + And unobserved the glaring orb declines. + + Oh! bless'd with temper, whose unclouded ray + Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day; + She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear + Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear; 260 + She, who ne'er answers till a husband cools, + Or, if she rales him, never shows she rules; + Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, + Yet has her humour most when she obeys; + Let fops or fortune fly which way they will; + Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille; + Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all, + And mistress of herself though China fall. + + And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, + Woman's at best a contradiction still. 270 + Heaven, when it strives to polish all it can + Its last, best work, but forms a softer man; + Picks from each sex, to make the favourite blest, + Your love of pleasure or desire of rest: + Blends, in exception to all general rules, + Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools: + Reserve with frankness, art with truth allied, + Courage with softness, modesty with pride; + Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new; + Shakes all together, and produces—you. 280 + + Be this a woman's fame: with this unbless'd, + Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest. + This Phoebus promised (I forget the year) + When those blue eyes first open'd on the sphere; + Ascendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with care, + Averted half your parents' simple prayer; + And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf + That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself. + The generous god, who wit and gold refines, + And ripens spirits as he ripens mines, 290 + Kept dross for duchesses, the world shall know it, + To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS. + + VER. 77 in the MS.— + + In whose mad brain the mix'd ideas roll + Of Tall-toy's breeches, and of Cæsar's soul. + + After VER. 122 in the MS.— + + Oppress'd with wealth and wit, abundance sad! + One makes her poor, the other makes her mad. + + After VER. 148 in the MS.— + + This Death decides, nor lets the blessing fall + On any one she hates, but on them all. + Cursed chance! this only could afflict her more, + If any part should wander to the poor. + + After VER. 198 in the MS.— + + Fain I'd in Fulvia spy the tender wife; + I cannot prove it on her, for my life: + And, for a noble pride, I blush no less, + Instead of Berenice, to think on Bess. + Thus while immortal Gibber only sings + (As ——- and H—-y preach) for queens and kings, + The nymph that ne'er read Milton's mighty line, + May, if she love, and merit verse, have mine + + VER. 207 in the first edition— + + In several men we several passions find; + In women, two almost divide the kind. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPISTLE III.<a href="#linknote-20" name="linknoteref-20" + id="linknoteref-20"><small>20</small></a>—TO ALLEN LORD BATHURST. OF + THE USE OF RICHES. + </h2> + <p> + That it is known to few, most falling into one of the extremes, avarice or + profusion, ver. 1., &c. The point discussed, whether the invention of + money has been more commodious, or pernicious to mankind, ver. 21 to 77. + That riches, either to the avaricious or the prodigal, cannot afford + happiness, scarcely necessaries, ver. 89 to 160. That avarice is an + absolute frenzy, without an end or purpose, ver. 113 to 152. Conjectures + about the motives of avaricious men, ver. 121 to 153. That the conduct of + men, with respect to riches, can only be accounted for by the order of + Providence, which works the general good out of extremes, and brings all + to its great end by perpetual revolutions, ver. 161 to 178. How a miser + acts upon principles which appear to him reasonable, ver. 179. How a + prodigal does the same, ver. l99. The due medium, and true use of riches, + ver. 219. The Man of Ross, ver. 250. The fate of the profuse and the + covetous, in two examples; both miserable in life and in death, ver. 300, + &c. The story of Sir Balaam, ver. 339 to the end. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>P</i>. Who shall decide, when doctors disagree, + And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me? + You hold the word, from Jove to Momus given, + That man was made the standing jest of Heaven; + And gold but sent to keep the fools in play, + For some to heap, and some to throw away. + + But I, who think more highly of our kind, + (And, surely, Heaven and I are of a mind) + Opine, that Nature, as in duty bound, + Deep hid the shining mischief under ground: 10 + But when, by man's audacious labour won, + Flamed forth this rival to its sire, the Sun, + Then careful Heaven supplied two sorts of men, + To squander these, and those to hide again. + + Like doctors thus, when much dispute has pass'd, + We find our tenets just the same at last. + Both fairly owning, riches, in effect, + No grace of Heaven or token of the elect; + Given to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil, + To Ward,<a href="#linknote-21" name="linknoteref-21" id="linknoteref-21">21</a> to Waters, Chartres,<a + href="#linknote-22" name="linknoteref-22" id="linknoteref-22">22</a> and the devil. 20 + + <i>B</i>. What nature wants, commodious gold bestows, + 'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows. + + <i>P</i>. But how unequal it bestows, observe, + Tis thus we riot, while who sow it starve: + What nature wants (a phrase I much distrust) + Extends to luxury, extends to lust: + Useful, I grant, it serves what life requires, + But dreadful too, the dark assassin hires: + + <i>B</i>. Trade it may help, society extend. + + <i>P</i>. But lures the pirate, and corrupts the friend. 30 + + <i>B</i>. It raises armies in a nation's aid. + + <i>P</i>. But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd. + In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave; + If secret gold sap on from knave to knave. + Once, we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak,<a href="#linknote-23" + name="linknoteref-23" id="linknoteref-23">23</a> + From the crack'd bag the dropping guinea spoke, + And jingling down the back-stairs, told the crew, + 'Old Cato is as great a rogue as you.' + Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! + That lends corruption lighter wings to fly! 40 + Gold imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things, + Can pocket states, can fetch or carry kings; + A single leaf shall waft an army o'er, + Or ship off senates<a href="#linknote-24" name="linknoteref-24" + id="linknoteref-24">24</a> to a distant shore; + A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro + Our fates and fortunes, as the winds shall blow: + Pregnant with thousands flits the scrap unseen, + And silent sells a king, or buys a queen, + + Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see, + Still, as of old, encumber'd villainy! 50 + Could France or Rome divert our brave designs, + With all their brandies, or with all their wines? + What could they more than knights and squires confound, + Or water all the quorum ten miles round? + A statesman's slumbers how this speech would spoil! + 'Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil; + Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door; + A hundred oxen at your leveë roar.' + + Poor avarice one torment more would find; + Nor could profusion squander all in kind. 60 + Astride his cheese, Sir Morgan might we meet; + And Worldly crying coals<a href="#linknote-25" name="linknoteref-25" + id="linknoteref-25">25</a> from street to street, + Whom, with a wig so wild, and mien so mazed, + Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman crazed. + Had Colepepper's<a href="#linknote-26" name="linknoteref-26" + id="linknoteref-26">26</a> whole wealth been hops and hogs, + Could he himself have sent it to the dogs? + His Grace will game: to White's a bull be led, + With spurning heels, and with a butting head: + To White's be carried, as to ancient games, + Fair coursers, vases, and alluring dames. 70 + Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep, + Bear home six whores and make his lady weep? + Or soft Adonis, so perfumed and fine, + Drive to St James's a whole herd of swine? + Oh filthy check on all industrious skill, + To spoil the nation's last great trade—quadrille? + Since then, my lord, on such a world we fall, + What say you? + + <i>B</i>. Say! Why, take it, gold and all. + + <i>P</i>. What riches give us, let us then inquire: + Meat, fire, and clothes. + + <i>B</i>. What more? + + <i>P</i>. Meat, clothes, and fire. 80 + Is this too little? would you more than live? + Alas! 'tis more than Turner<a href="#linknote-27" name="linknoteref-27" + id="linknoteref-27">27</a> finds they give. + Alas! 'tis more than (all his visions past) + Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last! + What can they give? to dying Hopkins,<a href="#linknote-28" + name="linknoteref-28" id="linknoteref-28">28</a> heirs; + To Chartres, vigour; Japhet,<a href="#linknote-29" name="linknoteref-29" + id="linknoteref-29">29</a> nose and ears? + Can they in gems bid pallid Hippia glow, + In Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below; + Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail, + With all the embroidery plaster'd at thy tail? 90 + They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend) + Give Harpax' self the blessing of a friend; + Or find some doctor that would save the life + Of wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife: + But thousands die, without or this or that, + Die, and endow a college, or a cat.<a href="#linknote-30" + name="linknoteref-30" id="linknoteref-30">30</a> + To some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate, + T' enrich a bastard, or a son they hate. + + Perhaps you think the poor might have their part? + Bond<a href="#linknote-31" name="linknoteref-31" id="linknoteref-31">31</a> damns the poor, and hates them from his heart: 100 + The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule, + That 'every man in want is knave or fool:' + 'God cannot love' (says Blunt, with tearless eyes) + 'The wretch he starves'—and piously denies: + But the good bishop, with a meeker air, + Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care. + + Yet, to be just to these poor men of pelf, + Each does but hate his neighbour as himself: + Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides + The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides. 110 + + <i>B</i>. Who suffer thus, mere charity should own, + Must act on motives powerful, though unknown. + + <i>P</i>. Some war, some plague, or famine, they foresee, + Some revelation hid from you and me. + Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found, + He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound. + What made directors cheat in South-sea year? + To live on venison<a href="#linknote-32" name="linknoteref-32" + id="linknoteref-32">32</a> when it sold so dear. + Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys? + Phryne foresees a general excise.<a href="#linknote-33" + name="linknoteref-33" id="linknoteref-33">33</a> 120 + Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum? + Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum. + + Wise Peter<a href="#linknote-34" name="linknoteref-34" id="linknoteref-34">34</a> sees the world's respect for gold, + And therefore hopes this nation may be sold: + Glorious ambition! Peter, swell thy store, + And be what Rome's great Didius<a href="#linknote-35" name="linknoteref-35" + id="linknoteref-35">35</a> was before. + + The crown of Poland, venal twice an age, + To just three millions stinted modest Gage. + But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold, + Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold. 130 + Congenial souls! whose life one avarice joins, + And one fate buries in the Asturian mines. + + Much-injured Blunt!<a href="#linknote-36" name="linknoteref-36" + id="linknoteref-36">36</a> why bears he Britain's hate? + A wizard told him in these words our fate: + 'At length corruption, like a general flood, + (So long by watchful ministers withstood) + Shall deluge all; and avarice creeping on, + Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun, + Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks, + Peeress and butler share alike the box, 140 + And judges job, and bishops bite the town, + And mighty dukes pack cards for half-a-crown. + See Britain sunk in lucre's sordid charms, + And France revenged of Anne's and Edward's arms!' + 'Twas no court-badge, great scrivener! fired thy brain, + Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain: + No, 'twas thy righteous end, ashamed to see + Senates degenerate, patriots disagree, + And nobly wishing party-rage to cease, + To buy both sides, and give thy country peace. 150 + + 'All this is madness,' cries a sober sage: + But who, my friend, has reason in his rage? + 'The ruling passion, be it what it will, + The ruling passion conquers reason still.' + Less mad the wildest whimsy we can frame, + Than even that passion, if it has no aim; + For though such motives folly you may call, + The folly's greater to have none at all. + + Hear, then, the truth: ''Tis Heaven each passion sends, + And different men directs to different ends. 160 + Extremes in Nature equal good produce, + Extremes in man concur to general use.' + Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow? + That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow, + Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, + Through reconciled extremes of drought and rain. + Builds life on death, on change duration founds, + And gives the eternal wheels to know their rounds. + + Riches, like insects, when conceal'd they lie, + Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. 170 + Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, + Sees but a backward steward for the poor; + This year a reservoir, to keep and spare; + The next a fountain, spouting through his heir, + In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst, + And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst. + + Old Cotta shamed his fortune and his birth, + Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth: + What though (the use of barbarous spits forgot) + His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot? 180 + His court with nettles, moats with cresses stored, + With soups unbought and salads bless'd his board? + If Cotta lived on pulse, it was no more + Than Brahmins, saints, and sages did before; + To cram the rich was prodigal expense, + And who would take the poor from Providence? + Like some lone Chartreux stands the good old Hall, + Silence without, and fasts within the wall; + No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor sound, + No noontide-bell invites the country round: 190 + Tenants with sighs the smokeless towers survey, + And turn the unwilling steeds another way: + Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er, + Curse the saved candle, and unopening door; + While the gaunt mastiff growling at the gate, + Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat. + + Not so his son; he mark'd this oversight, + And then mistook reverse of wrong for right. + (For what to shun will no great knowledge need, + But what to follow, is a task indeed). 200 + Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise, + More go to ruin fortunes, than to raise. + What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine, + Fill the capacious squire, and deep divine! + Yet no mean motive this profusion draws, + His oxen perish in his country's cause; + 'Tis George and Liberty that crowns the cup, + And zeal for that great house which eats him up. + The woods recede around the naked seat, + The silvans groan—no matter—for the fleet; 210 + Next goes his wool—to clothe our valiant bands, + Last, for his country's love, he sells his lands. + To town he comes, completes the nation's hope, + And heads the bold train-bands, and burns a pope. + And shall not Britain now reward his toils, + Britain, that pays her patriots with her spoils? + In vain at court the bankrupt pleads his cause, + His thankless country leaves him to her laws. + + The sense to value riches, with the art + To enjoy them, and the virtue to impart, 220 + Not meanly, nor ambitiously pursued, + Not sunk by sloth, nor raised by servitude: + To balance fortune by a just expense, + Join with economy, magnificence; + With splendour, charity; with plenty, health; + Oh teach us, Bathurst! yet unspoil'd by wealth! + That secret rare, between the extremes to move + Of mad good-nature and of mean self-love. + + <i>B</i>. To worth or want well-weigh'd, be bounty given, + And ease, or emulate, the care of Heaven; 230 + (Whose measure full o'erflows on human race) + Mend Fortune's fault, and justify her grace. + Wealth in the gross is death, but life, diffused; + As poison heals, in just proportion used: + In heaps, like ambergris, a stink it lies, + But well-dispersed, is incense to the skies. + + <i>P</i>. Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats? + The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that cheats. + Is there a lord, who knows a cheerful noon + Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon? 240 + Whose table, wit, or modest merit share, + Unelbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or player? + Who copies yours, or Oxford's better part,<a href="#linknote-37" + name="linknoteref-37" id="linknoteref-37">37</a> + To ease the oppress'd, and raise the sinking heart? + Where'er he shines, O Fortune! gild the scene, + And angels guard him in the golden mean! + There, English bounty yet awhile may stand, + And honour linger ere it leaves the land. + + But all our praises why should lords engross? + Rise, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross:<a href="#linknote-38" + name="linknoteref-38" id="linknoteref-38">38</a> 250 + Pleased Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, + And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. + Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? + From the dry rock who bade the waters flow? + Not to the skies in useless columns toss'd, + Or in proud falls magnificently lost, + But clear and artless pouring through the plain + Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. + Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? + Whose seats the weary traveller repose? 260 + Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise? + 'The Man of Ross,' each lisping babe replies. + Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread! + The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread: + He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state, + Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate: + Him portion'd maids, apprenticed orphans bless'd, + The young who labour, and the old who rest. + Is any sick? the Man of Ross relieves, + Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives. 270 + Is there a variance? enter but his door, + Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more. + Despairing quacks with curses fled the place, + And vile attorneys, now a useless race. + + <i>B</i>. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue + What all so wish, but want the power to do! + Oh say, what sums that generous hand supply? + What mines, to swell that boundless charity? + + <i>P</i>. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, + This man possess'd—five hundred pounds a-year. 280 + Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze! + Ye little stars, hide your diminish'd rays! + + <i>B</i>. And what? no monument, inscription, stone? + His race, his form, his name almost unknown? + + <i>P</i>. Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, + Will never mark the marble with his name: + Go, search it there,<a href="#linknote-39" name="linknoteref-39" + id="linknoteref-39">39</a> where to be born and die, + Of rich and poor makes all the history; + Enough, that virtue fill'd the space between; + Proved, by the ends of being, to have been. 290 + When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend + The wretch who, living, saved a candle's end: + Shouldering God's altar a vile image stands, + Belies his features, nay, extends his hands; + That live-long wig which Gorgon's self might own, + Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.<a href="#linknote-40" + name="linknoteref-40" id="linknoteref-40">40</a> + Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend! + And see what comfort it affords our end! + + In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, + The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung, 300 + On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw, + With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw, + The George and Garter dangling from that bed + Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, + Great Villiers<a href="#linknote-41" name="linknoteref-41" + id="linknoteref-41">41</a> lies—alas! how changed from him, + That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim! + Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove, + The bower of wanton Shrewsbury,<a href="#linknote-42" name="linknoteref-42" + id="linknoteref-42">42</a> and love; + Or just as gay, at council, in a ring + Of mimick'd statesmen, and their merry king. 310 + No wit to flatter, left of all his store; + No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. + There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, + And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends. + + His Grace's fate sage Cutler<a href="#linknote-43" name="linknoteref-43" + id="linknoteref-43">43</a> could foresee, + And well (he thought) advised him, 'Live like me.' + As well his Grace replied, 'Like you, Sir John? + That I can do, when all I have is gone.' + Resolve me, Reason, which of these is worse, + Want with a full, or with an empty purse? 320 + Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd, + Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd? + Cutler saw tenants break, and houses fall; + For very want he could not build a wall. + His only daughter in a stranger's power; + For very want he could not pay a dower. + A few gray hairs his reverend temples crown'd, + 'Twas very want that sold them for two pound. + What even denied a cordial at his end, + Banish'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend? 330 + What but a want, which you perhaps think mad, + Yet numbers feel—the want of what he had! + Cutler and Brutus, dying, both exclaim, + 'Virtue! and Wealth! what are ye but a name!' + + Say, for such worth are other worlds prepared + Or are they both in this their own reward? + A knotty point! to which we now proceed. + But you are tired—I'll tell a tale— + + <i>B</i>. Agreed. + + <i>P</i>. Where London's column,<a href="#linknote-44" name="linknoteref-44" + id="linknoteref-44">44</a> pointing at the skies + Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; 340 + There dwelt a citizen of sober fame, + A plain good man, and Balaam was his name; + Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth; + His word would pass for more than he was worth. + One solid dish his week-day meal affords, + An added pudding solemnised the Lord's: + Constant at church, and 'Change; his gains were sure, + His givings rare, save farthings to the poor. + + The devil was piqued such saintship to behold, + And long'd to tempt him like good Job of old: 350 + But Satan now is wiser than of yore, + And tempts by making rich, not making poor. + + Roused by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds sweep + The surge, and plunge his father in the deep; + Then lull against his Cornish lands they roar, + And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore. + + Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks, + He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes: + 'Live like yourself,' was soon my Lady's word; + And, lo! two puddings smoked upon the board. 360 + + Asleep and naked as an Indian lay, + An honest factor stole a gem away: + He pledged it to the knight; the knight had wit, + So kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit. + Some scruple rose, but thus he eased his thought— + 'I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat; + Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice— + And am so clear, too, of all other vice.' + + The Tempter saw his time; the work he plied; + Stocks and subscriptions pour on every side, 370 + Till all the demon makes his full descent + In one abundant shower of cent, per cent.; + Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole, + Then dubs director, and secures his soul. + + Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit, + Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit; + What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit, + And God's good providence, a lucky hit. + Things change their titles, as our manners turn: + His counting-house employ'd the Sunday-morn; 380 + Seldom at church ('twas such a busy life) + But duly sent his family and wife. + There (so the devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide, + My good old lady catch'd a cold, and died. + + A nymph of quality admires our knight; + He marries, bows at court, and grows polite: + Leaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair) + The well-bred cuckolds in St James's air: + First, for his son a gay commission buys, + Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies: 390 + His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife; + She bears a coronet and pox for life. + In Britain's senate he a seat obtains, + And one more pensioner St Stephen gains. + My lady falls to play; so bad her chance, + He must repair it; takes a bribe from France; + The House impeach him; Coningsby harangues; + The court forsake him—and Sir Balaam hangs: + Wife, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own, + His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown: 400 + The devil and the king divide the prize, + And sad Sir Balaam curses God, and dies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS. + + After VER. 50, in the MS.— + + To break a trust were Peter bribed with wine, + Peter! 'twould pose as wise a head as thine. + + VER. 77, in the former edition— + + Well then, since with the world we stand or fall, + Come, take it as we find it, gold and all. + + After VER. 218 in the MS.— + + Where one lean herring furnish'd Cotta's board, + And nettles grew, fit porridge for their lord; + Where mad good-nature, bounty misapplied, + In lavish Curio blazed awhile and died; + There Providence once more shall shift the scene, + And showing H——y, teach the golden mean. + + After VER. 226, in the MS.— + + That secret rare with affluence hardly join'd, + Which W——n lost, yet B——y ne'er could find; + Still miss'd by vice, and scarce by virtue hit, + By G——'s goodness, or by S——'s wit. + + After VER. 250 in the MS— + + Trace humble worth beyond Sabrina's shore, + Who sings not him, oh, may he sing no more! + + VER. 287, thus in the MS.— + + The register enrolls him with his poor, + Tells he was born and died, and tells no more. + Just as he ought, he fill'd the space between; + Then stole to rest, unheeded and unseen. + + VER. 337, in the former editions— + + That knotty point, my lord, shall I discuss + Or tell a tale!—A tale.—It follows thus. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPISTLE IV.—TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL OF BURLINGTON. OF THE USE OF + RICHES. + </h2> + <p> + The vanity of expense in people of wealth and quality. The abuse of the + word 'taste,' ver. 13. That the first principle and foundation, in this as + in every thing else, is good sense, ver. 40. The chief proof of it is to + follow nature, even in works of mere luxury and elegance. Instanced in + architecture and gardening, where all must be adapted to the genius and + use of the place, and the beauties not forced into it, but resulting from + it, ver. 50. How men are disappointed in their most expensive + undertakings, for want of this true foundation, without which nothing can + please long, if at all; and the best examples and rules will but be + perverted into something burdensome or ridiculous, ver. 65 to 92. A + description of the false taste of magnificence; the first grand error of + which is to imagine that greatness consists in the size and dimension, + instead of the proportion and harmony of the whole, ver. 97; and the + second, either in joining together parts incoherent, or too minutely + resembling, or in the repetition of the same too frequently, ver. 105, + &c. A word or two of false taste in books, in music, in painting, even + in preaching and prayer, and lastly in entertainments, ver. 133, &c. + Yet Providence is justified in giving wealth to be squandered in this + manner, since it is dispersed to the poor and laborious part of mankind, + ver. 169 [recurring to what is laid down in the 'Essay on Man,' ep. ii. + and in the epistle preceding this, ver. 159, &c.] What are the proper + objects of magnificence, and a proper field for the expense of great men, + ver. 177, &c.; and finally, the great and public works which become a + prince, ver. 191, to the end. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ + To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy: + Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste + His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can taste? + Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats; + Artists must choose his pictures, music, meats; + He buys for Topham<a href="#linknote-45" name="linknoteref-45" + id="linknoteref-45">45</a> drawings and designs, + For Pembroke statues, dirty gods, and coins; + Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne<a href="#linknote-46" + name="linknoteref-46" id="linknoteref-46">46</a> alone, + And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane. 10 + Think we all these are for himself? no more + Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore. + + For what has Virro painted, built, and planted? + Only to show how many tastes he wanted. + What brought Sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste? + Some demon whisper'd, 'Visto! have a taste.' + Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool, + And needs no rod but Ripley<a href="#linknote-47" name="linknoteref-47" + id="linknoteref-47">47</a> with a rule. + See! sportive fate, to punish awkward pride, + Bids Bubo<a href="#linknote-48" name="linknoteref-48" id="linknoteref-48">48</a> build, and sends him such a guide: 20 + A standing sermon, at each year's expense, + That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence! + + You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse, + And pompous buildings once were things of use. + Yet shall (my lord) your just, your noble rules + Fill half the land with imitating fools, + Who random drawings from your sheets shall take, + And of one beauty many blunders make; + Load some vain church with old theatric state, + Turn arcs of triumph to a garden-gate; 30 + Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all + On some patch'd dog-hole eked with ends of wall; + Then clap four slices of pilaster on't, + That, laced with bits of rustic, makes a front. + Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar, + Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door; + Conscious they act a true Palladian part. + And if they starve, they starve by rules of art. + + Oft have you hinted to your brother peer, + A certain truth, which many buy too dear: 40 + Something there is more needful than expense, + And something previous even to taste—'tis sense: + Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, + And though no science, fairly worth the seven: + A light, which in yourself you must perceive; + Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give. + + To build, to plant, whatever you intend, + To rear the column, or the arch to bend, + To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot; + In all, let Nature never be forgot. 50 + But treat the goddess like a modest fair, + Nor overdress, nor leave her wholly bare; + Let not each beauty everywhere be spied, + Where half the skill is decently to hide. + He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, + Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds. + + Consult the genius of the place in all; + That tells the waters or to rise, or fall; + Or helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale, + Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; 60 + Calls in the country, catches opening glades, + Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades; + Now breaks, or now directs, the intending lines; + Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs. + + Still follow sense, of every art the soul, + Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, + Spontaneous beauties all around advance, + Start even from difficulty, strike from chance; + Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow + A work to wonder at—perhaps a Stowe. 70 + + Without it, proud Versailles! thy glory falls; + And Nero's terraces desert their walls: + The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make, + Lo! Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake: + Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain, + You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again. + Even in an ornament its place remark, + Nor in an hermitage set Dr Clarke.<a href="#linknote-49" + name="linknoteref-49" id="linknoteref-49">49</a> + Behold Villario's ten years' toil complete; + His quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet; 80 + The wood supports the plain, the parts unite, + And strength of shade contends with strength of light; + A waving glow the blooming beds display, + Blushing in bright diversities of day, + With silver-quivering rills meander'd o'er— + Enjoy them, you! Villario can no more; + Tired of the scene parterres and fountains yield, + He finds at last he better likes a field. + + Through his young woods how pleased Sabinus stray'd, + Or sat delighted in the thickening shade, 90 + With annual joy the reddening shoots to greet, + Or see the stretching branches long to meet! + His son's fine taste an opener vista loves, + Foe to the Dryads of his father's groves; + One boundless green, or flourish'd carpet views, + With all the mournful family of yews; + The thriving plants, ignoble broomsticks made, + Now sweep those alleys they were born to shade. + + At Timon's villa<a href="#linknote-50" name="linknoteref-50" + id="linknoteref-50">50</a> let us pass a day, + Where all cry out, 'What sums are thrown away!' 100 + So proud, so grand; of that stupendous air, + Soft and agreeable come never there. + Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught + As brings all Brobdignag before your thought. + To compass this, his building is a town, + His pond an ocean, his parterre a down: + Who but must laugh, the master when he sees, + A puny insect, shivering at a breeze! + Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around! + The whole a labour'd quarry above ground; 110 + Two Cupids squirt before: a lake behind + Improves the keenness of the northern wind. + His gardens next your admiration call, + On every side you look, behold the wall! + No pleasing intricacies intervene, + No artful wildness to perplex the scene; + Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, + And half the platform just reflects the other. + The suffering eye inverted nature sees, + Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees; 120 + With here a fountain, never to be play'd; + And there a summer-house, that knows no shade; + Here Amphitritè sails through myrtle bowers; + There gladiators fight, or die in flowers; + Unwater'd see the drooping sea-horse mourn, + And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn. + + My lord advances with majestic mien, + Smit with the mighty pleasure, to be seen: + But soft—by regular approach—not yet— + First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat; 130 + And when up ten steep slopes you've dragg'd your thighs, + Just at his study-door he'll bless your eyes. + + His study! with what authors is it stored? + In books, not authors, curious is my lord; + To all their dated backs he turns you round: + These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound. + Lo! some are vellum, and the rest as good + For all his lordship knows, but they are wood. + For Locke or Milton 'tis in vain to look, 140 + These shelves admit not any modern book. + + And now the chapel's silver bell you hear, + That summons you to all the pride of prayer: + Light quirks of music, broken and uneven, + Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven. + On painted ceilings you devoutly stare, + Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre, + On gilded clouds in fair expansion lie, + And bring all Paradise before your eye. + To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite, + Who never mentions hell<a href="#linknote-51" name="linknoteref-51" + id="linknoteref-51_">51</a> to ears polite. 150 + + But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call; + A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall: + The rich buffet well-colour'd serpents grace, + And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face. + <a href="#linknote-52" name="linknoteref-52" + id="linknoteref-52_">52</a> + Is this a dinner? this a genial room? + No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb. + A solemn sacrifice, perform'd in state, + You drink by measure, and to minutes eat. + So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear + Sancho's dread doctor<a href="#linknote-53" name="linknoteref-53" + id="linknoteref-53">53</a> and his wand were there. 160 + Between each act the trembling salvers ring, + From soup to sweet-vine, and God bless the king. + In plenty starving, tantalised in state, + And complaisantly help'd to all I hate, + Treated, caress'd, and tired, I take my leave, + Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve; + I curse such lavish cost, and little skill, + And swear no day was ever pass'd so ill. + + Yet hence the poor are clothed, the hungry fed; + Health to himself, and to his infants bread 170 + The labourer bears: what his hard heart denies, + His charitable vanity supplies. + + Another age shall see the golden ear + Imbrown the slope, and nod on the parterre, + Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd, + And laughing Ceres reassume the land. + + Who then shall grace, or who improve the soil?— + Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle. + 'Tis use alone that sanctifies expense, + And splendour borrows all her rays from sense. 180 + + His father's acres who enjoys in peace, + Or makes his neighbours glad, if he increase: + Whose cheerful tenants bless their yearly toil, + Yet to their lord owe more than to the soil; + Whose ample lawns are not ashamed to feed + The milky heifer and deserving steed; + Whose rising forests, not for pride or show, + But future buildings, future navies, grow: + Let his plantations stretch from down to down, + First shade a country, and then raise a town. 190 + + You, too, proceed! make falling arts your care, + Erect new wonders, and the old repair; + Jones and Palladio to themselves restore, + And be whate'er Vitruvius was before: + Till kings call forth the ideas of your mind, + (Proud to accomplish what such hands design'd.) + Bid harbours open, public ways extend, + Bid temples, worthier of the god, ascend; + Bid the broad arch the dangerous flood contain, + The mole projected break the roaring main; 200 + Back to his bonds their subject sea command, + And roll obedient rivers through the land; + These honours, peace to happy Britain brings, + These are imperial works, and worthy kings. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATION. + + After VER. 22 in the MS.— + + Must bishops, lawyers, statesmen have the skill + To build, to plant, judge paintings, what you will? + Then why not Kent as well our treaties draw, + Bridginan explain the gospel, Gibs the law? +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPISTLE V. TO MR ADDISON. OCCASIONED BY HIS DIALOGUES ON MEDALS.<a + href="#linknote-54" name="linknoteref-54" id="linknoteref-54"><small>54</small></a> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + See the wild waste of all-devouring years! + How Rome her own sad sepulchre appears, + With nodding arches, broken temples spread! + The very tombs now vanish'd, like their dead! + Imperial wonders raised on nations spoil'd + Where mix'd with slaves the groaning martyr toil'd: + Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods, + Now drain'd a distant country of her floods: + Fanes, which admiring gods with pride survey, + Statues of men, scarce less alive than they! 10 + Some felt the silent stroke of mouldering age, + Some hostile fury, some religious rage, + Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire, + And Papal piety, and Gothic fire. + Perhaps, by its own ruins saved from flame, + Some buried marble half-preserves a name; + That name the learn'd with fierce disputes pursue, + And give to Titus old Vespasian's due. + + Ambition sigh'd: she found it vain to trust + The faithless column, and the crumbling bust: 20 + Huge moles, whose shadow stretch'd from shore to shore, + Their ruins perish'd, and their place no more! + Convinced, she now contracts her vast design, + And all her triumphs shrink into a coin. + A narrow orb each crowded conquest keeps, + Beneath her palm, here sad Judæa weeps. + Now scantier limits the proud arch confine, + And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine; + A small Euphrates through the piece is roll'd, + And little eagles wave their wings in gold. 30 + + The medal, faithful to its charge of fame, + Through climes and ages bears each form and name: + In one short view subjected to our eye + Gods, emperors, heroes, sages, beauties, lie. + With sharpen'd sight, pale antiquaries pore, + The inscription value, but the rust adore. + This the blue varnish, that the green endears, + The sacred rust of twice ten hundred years! + To gain Pescennius one employs his schemes, + One grasps a Cecrops in ecstatic dreams. 40 + Poor Vadius,<a href="#linknote-55" name="linknoteref-55" id="linknoteref-55">55</a> long with learned spleen devour'd. + Can taste no pleasure since his shield was scour'd: + And Curio, restless by the fair one's side, + Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride. + + Theirs is the vanity, the learning thine: + Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories shine; + Her gods, and god-like heroes rise to view, + And all her faded garlands bloom anew. + Nor blush, these studies thy regard engage; + These pleased the fathers of poetic rage; 50 + The verse and sculpture bore an equal part, + And Art reflected images to Art. + + Oh! when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, + Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame? + In living medals see her wars enroll'd, + And vanquish'd realms supply recording gold? + Here, rising bold, the patriot's honest face; + There, warriors frowning in historic brass: + Then future ages with delight shall see + How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree; 60 + Or in fair series laurell'd bards be shown, + A Virgil there, and here an Addison. + Then shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine) + On the cast ore, another Pollio, shine; + With aspect open, shall erect his head, + And round the orb in lasting notes be read, + 'Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, + In action faithful, and in honour clear; + Who broke no promise, served no private end, + Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend; 70 + Ennobled by himself, by all approved, + And praised, unenvied, by the Muse he loved.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. SAPPHO TO PHAON. FROM THE FIFTEENTH OF OVID'S + EPISTLES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Say, lovely youth, that dost my heart command, + Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand? + Must then her name the wretched writer prove, + To thy remembrance lost, as to thy love? + Ask not the cause that I new numbers choose, + The lute neglected and the lyric Muse; + Love taught my tears in sadder notes to flow, + And tuned my heart to elegies of woe, + I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn + By driving winds the spreading flames are borne! 10 + Phaon to Ætna's scorching fields retires, + While I consume with more than Ætna's fires! + No more my soul a charm in music finds; + Music has charms alone for peaceful minds. + Soft scenes of solitude no more can please; + Love enters there, and I'm my own disease. + No more the Lesbian dames my passion move, + Once the dear objects of my guilty love; + All other loves are lost in only thine, + Ah, youth ungrateful to a flame like mine! 20 + Whom would not all those blooming charms surprise, + Those heavenly looks, and dear deluding eyes! + The harp and bow would you like Phoebus bear, + A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear; + Would you with ivy wreath your flowing hair, + Not Bacchus' self with Phaon could compare: + Yet Phoebus loved, and Bacchus felt the flame, + One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame; + Nymphs that in verse no more could rival me, + Than e'en those gods contend in charms with thee. 30 + The Muses teach me all their softest lays, + And the wide world resounds with Sappho's praise. + Though great Alcaeus more sublimely sings, + And strikes with bolder rage the sounding strings, + No less renown attends the moving lyre, + Which Venus tunes, and all her loves inspire. + To me what nature has in charms denied, + Is well by wit's more lasting flames supplied. + Though short my stature, yet my name extends + To heaven itself, and earth's remotest ends. 40 + Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame + Inspired young Perseus with a generous flame; + Turtles and doves of different hues unite, + And glossy jet is pair'd with shining white. + If to no charms thou wilt thy heart resign, + But such as merit, such as equal thine, + By none, alas! by none thou canst be moved, + Phaon alone by Phaon must be loved! + Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ, + Once in her arms you centred all your joy: 50 + No time the dear remembrance can remove, + For, oh! how vast a memory has love! + My music, then, you could for ever hear, + And all my words were music to your ear. + You stopp'd with kisses my enchanting tongue, + And found my kisses sweeter than my song, + In all I pleased, but most in what was best; + And the last joy was dearer than the rest. + Then with each word, each glance, each motion fired, + You still enjoy'd, and yet you still desired, 60 + Till, all dissolving, in the trance we lay, + And in tumultuous raptures died away. + The fair Sicilians now thy soul inflame; + Why was I born, ye gods, a Lesbian dame? + But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boast + That wandering heart which I so lately lost; + Nor be with all those tempting words abused, + Those tempting words were all to Sappho used. + And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains, + Have pity, Venus, on your poet's pains! 70 + Shall fortune still in one sad tenor run, + And still increase the woes so soon begun? + Inured to sorrow from my tender years, + My parents' ashes drank my early tears: + My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame, + Ignobly burn'd in a destructive flame: + An infant daughter late my griefs increased, + And all a mother's cares distract my breast, + Alas! what more could Fate itself impose, + But thee, the last, and greatest of my woes? 80 + No more my robes in waving purple flow, + Nor on my hand the sparkling diamonds glow; + No more my locks in ringlets curl'd diffuse + The costly sweetness of Arabian dews, + Nor braids of gold the varied tresses bind, + That fly disorder'd with the wanton wind: + For whom should Sappho use such arts as these? + He's gone, whom only she desired to please! + Cupid's light darts my tender bosom move; + Still is there cause for Sappho still to love: 90 + So from my birth the Sisters fix'd my doom, + And gave to Venus all my life to come; + Or, while my Muse in melting notes complains, + My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains. + By charms like thine, which all my soul have won, + Who might not—ah! who would not be undone? + For those Aurora Cephalus might scorn, + And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn. + For those might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's sleep; + And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep; 100 + Venus for those had rapt thee to the skies; + But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes. + Oh scarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy! + Oh useful time for lovers to employ! + Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race, + Come to these arms, and melt in this embrace! + The vows you never will return, receive; + And take, at least, the love you will not give. + See, while I write, my words are lost in tears! + The less my sense, the more my love appears. 110 + Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu, + (At least to feign was never hard to you) + 'Farewell, my Lesbian love,' you might have said; + Or coldly thus, 'Farewell, O Lesbian maid!' + No tear did you, no parting kiss receive, + Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve. + No lover's gift your Sappho could confer, + And wrongs and woes were all you left with her. + No charge I gave you, and no charge could give, + But this, 'Be mindful of our loves, and live.' 120 + Now by the Nine, those powers adored by me, + And Love, the god that ever waits on thee, + When first I heard (from whom I hardly knew) + That you were fled, and all my joys with you, + Like some sad statue, speechless, pale, I stood, + Grief chill'd my breast, and stopp'd my freezing blood; + No sigh to rise, no tear had power to flow, + Fix'd in a stupid lethargy of woe: + But when its way the impetuous passion found, + I rend my tresses, and my breast I wound: 130 + I rave, then weep; I curse, and then complain; + Now swell to rage, now melt in tears again. + Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame, + Whose first-born infant feeds the funeral flame. + My scornful brother with a smile appears, + Insults my woes, and triumphs in my tears; + His hated image ever haunts my eyes; + 'And why this grief? thy daughter lives!' he cries. + Stung with my love, and furious with despair, + All torn my garments, and my bosom bare, 140 + My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim; + Such inconsistent things are love and shame! + 'Tis thou art all my care and my delight, + My daily longing, and my dream by night; + Oh night more pleasing than the brightest day, + When fancy gives what absence takes away, + And, dress'd in all its visionary charms, + Restores my fair deserter to my arms! + Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine, + Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine: 150 + A thousand tender words I hear and speak; + A thousand melting kisses give and take: + Then fiercer joys, I blush to mention these, + Yet, while I blush, confess how much they please. + But when, with day, the sweet delusions fly, + And all things wake to life and joy but I, + As if once more forsaken, I complain, + And close my eyes to dream of you again: + Then frantic rise, and like some Fury rove + Through lonely plains, and through the silent grove; 160 + As if the silent grove, and lonely plains, + That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains. + I view the grotto, once the scene of love, + The rocks around, the hanging roofs above, + That charm'd me more, with native moss o'ergrown, + Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone; + I find the shades that veil'd our joys before; + But, Phaon gone, those shades delight no more. + Here the press'd herbs with bending tops betray + Where oft entwined in amorous folds we lay; 170 + I kiss that earth which once was press'd by you, + And all with tears the withering herbs bedew. + For thee the fading trees appear to mourn, + And birds defer their songs till thy return: + Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie, + All but the mournful Philomel and I: + With mournful Philomel I join my strain, + Of Tereus she, of Phaon I complain. + + A spring there is, whose silver waters show, + Clear as a glass, the shining sands below: 180 + A flowery lotus spreads its arms above, + Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove; + Eternal greens the mossy margin grace, + Watch'd by the sylvan genius of the place. + Here as I lay, and swell'd with tears the flood, + Before my sight a watery virgin stood: + She stood and cried, 'O you that love in vain! + Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main; + There stands a rock, from whose impending steep + Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep; 190 + There injured lovers, leaping from above, + Their flames extinguish, and forget to love. + Deucalion once with hopeless fury burn'd, + In vain he loved, relentless Pyrrha scorn'd: + But when from hence he plunged into the main, + Deucalion scorn'd, and Pyrrha loved in vain. + Haste, Sappho, haste, from high Leucadia throw + Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!' + She spoke, and vanish'd with the voice—I rise, + And silent tears fall trickling from my eyes. 200 + I go, ye nymphs! those rocks and seas to prove; + How much I fear, but ah, how much I love! + I go, ye nymphs! where furious love inspires: + Let female fears submit to female fires. + To rocks and seas I fly from Phaon's hate, + And hope from seas and rocks a milder fate. + Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow, + And softly lay me on the waves below! + And thou, kind Love, my sinking limbs sustain, + Spread thy soft wings, and waft me o'er the main, 210 + Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood profane! + On Phoebus' shrine my harp I'll then bestow, + And this inscription shall be placed below: + 'Here she who sung, to him that did inspire, + Sappho to Phoebus consecrates her lyre; + What suits with Sappho, Phoebus, suits with thee: + The gift, the giver, and the god agree.' + + But why, alas! relentless youth, ah, why + To distant seas must tender Sappho fly? + Thy charms than those may far more powerful be, 220 + And Phoebus' self is less a god to me. + Ah! canst thou doom me to the rocks and sea, + Oh far more faithless and more hard than they? + Ah! canst thou rather see this tender breast + Dash'd on these rocks than to thy bosom press'd? + This breast which once, in vain, you liked so well; + Where the Loves play'd, and where the Muses dwell. + Alas! the Muses now no more inspire; + Untuned my lute, and silent is my lyre. + My languid numbers have forgot to flow, 230 + And fancy sinks beneath a weight of woe. + Ye Lesbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames, + Themes of my verse, and objects of my flames, + No more your groves with my glad songs shall ring, + No more these hands shall touch the trembling string: + My Phaon's fled, and I those arts resign; + (Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!) + Return, fair youth! return, and bring along + Joy to my soul, and vigour to my song: + Absent from thee, the poet's flame expires; 240 + But ah! how fiercely burn the lover's fires? + Gods! can no prayers, no sighs, no numbers move + One savage heart, or teach it how to love? + The winds my prayers, my sighs, my numbers bear, + The flying winds have lost them all in air! + Oh when, alas! shall more auspicious gales + To these fond eyes restore thy welcome sails? + If you return—ah, why these long delays? + Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays. + Oh launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain; 250 + Venus for thee shall smooth her native main. + Oh launch thy bark, secure of prosperous gales; + Cupid for thee shall spread the swelling sails. + If you will fly—(yet ah! what cause can be, + Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?) + If not from Phaon I must hope for ease, + Ah, let me seek it from the raging seas: + To raging seas unpitied I'll remove, + And either cease to live, or cease to love! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FABLE OF DRYOPE.<a href="#linknote-56" name="linknoteref-56" + id="linknoteref-56"><small>56</small></a> FROM THE NINTH BOOK OF OVID'S + METAMORPHOSES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She said, and for her lost Galanthis sighs; + When the fair consort of her son replies: + 'Since you a servant's ravish'd form bemoan, + And kindly sigh for sorrows not your own, + Let me (if tears and grief permit) relate + A nearer woe, a sister's stranger fate. + No nymph of all Oechalia could compare + For beauteous form with Dryope the fair, + Her tender mother's only hope and pride, + (Myself the offspring of a second bride). 10 + This nymph, compress'd by him who rules the day, + Whom Delphi and the Delian isle obey, + Andraemon loved; and, bless'd in all those charms + That pleased a god, succeeded to her arms. + + 'A lake there was with shelving banks around, + Whose verdant summit fragrant myrtles crown'd. + These shades, unknowing of the fates, she sought, + And to the Naiads flowery garlands brought: + Her smiling babe (a pleasing charge) she press'd + Within her arms, and nourish'd at her breast. 20 + Not distant far, a watery lotus grows; + The spring was new, and all the verdant boughs, + Adorn'd with blossoms, promised fruits that vie + In glowing colours with the Tyrian dye: + Of these she cropp'd, to please her infant son, + And I myself the same rash act had done: + But, lo! I saw (as near her side I stood) + The violated blossoms drop with blood; + Upon the tree I cast a frightful look; + The trembling tree with sudden horror shook. 30 + Lotis the nymph (if rural tales be true) + As from Priapus' lawless lust she flew, + Forsook her form, and, fixing here, became + A flowery plant, which still preserves her name. + + 'This change unknown, astonish'd at the sight, + My trembling sister strove to urge her flight; + And first the pardon of the nymphs implored, + And those offended sylvan powers adored: + But when she backward would have fled, she found + Her stiffening feet were rooted in the ground: 40 + In vain to free her fasten'd feet she strove, + And as she struggles only moves above; + She feels th' encroaching bark around her grow + By quick degrees, and cover all below: + Surprised at this, her trembling hand she heaves + To rend her hair; her hand is fill'd with leaves: + Where late was hair, the shooting leaves are seen + To rise, and shade her with a sudden green. + The child Amphissus, to her bosom press'd, + Perceived a colder and a harder breast, 50 + And found the springs, that ne'er till then denied + Their milky moisture, on a sudden dried. + I saw, unhappy! what I now relate, + And stood the helpless witness of thy fate; + Embraced thy boughs, thy rising bark delay'd, + There wish'd to grow, and mingle shade with shade. + + 'Behold Andraemon and th' unhappy sire + Appear, and for their Dryope inquire: + A springing tree for Dryope they find, + And print warm kisses on the panting rind, 60 + Prostrate, with tears their kindred plant bedew, + And close embrace as to the roots they grew. + The face was all that now remain'd of thee, + No more a woman, nor yet quite a tree; + Thy branches hung with humid pearls appear, + From every leaf distils a trickling tear; + And straight a voice, while yet a voice remains, + Thus through the trembling boughs in sighs complains: + + '"If to the wretched any faith be given, + I swear by all th' unpitying powers of Heaven, 70 + No wilful crime this heavy vengeance bred; + In mutual innocence our lives we led: + If this be false, let these new greens decay, + Let sounding axes lop my limbs away, + And crackling flames on all my honours prey. + But from my branching arms this infant bear, + Let some kind nurse supply a mother's care: + And to his mother let him oft be led, + Sport in her shades, and in her shades be fed: + Teach him, when first his infant voice shall frame 80 + Imperfect words, and lisp his mother's name, + To hail this tree, and say, with weeping eyes, + 'Within this plant my hapless parent lies:' + And when in youth he seeks the shady woods, + Oh! let him fly the crystal lakes and floods, + Nor touch the fatal flowers; but, warn'd by me, + Believe a goddess shrined in every tree. + My sire, my sister, and my spouse, farewell! + If in your breasts or love or pity dwell, + Protect your plant, nor let my branches feel 90 + The browsing cattle or the piercing steel. + Farewell! and since I cannot bend to join + My lips to yours, advance at least to mine. + My son, thy mother's parting kiss receive, + While yet thy mother has a kiss to give. + I can no more; the creeping rind invades + My closing lips, and hides my head in shades: + Remove your hands, the bark shall soon suffice + Without their aid to seal these dying eyes." + + 'She ceased at once to speak and ceased to be, 100 + And all the nymph was lost within the tree; + Yet latent life through her new branches reign'd, + And long the plant a human heat retain'd.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VERTUMNUS AND POMONA, FROM THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign; + Of all the virgins of the sylvan train + None taught the trees a nobler race to bear, + Or more improved the vegetable care. + To her the shady grove, the flowery field, + The streams and fountains no delights could yield: + 'Twas all her joy the ripening fruits to tend, + And see the boughs with happy burdens bend. + The hook she bore instead of Cynthia's spear, + To lop the growth of the luxuriant year, 10 + To decent forms the lawless shoots to bring, + And teach th' obedient branches where to spring. + Now the cleft rind inserted grafts receives, + And yields an offspring more than nature gives; + Now sliding streams the thirsty plants renew, + And feed their fibres with reviving dew. + + These cares alone her virgin breast employ, + Averse from Venus and the nuptial joy. + Her private orchards, wall'd on every side, + To lawless sylvans all access denied. 20 + How oft the satyrs and the wanton fauns, + Who haunt the forests or frequent the lawns, + The god whose ensign scares the birds of prey, + And old Silenus, youthful in decay, + Employ'd their wiles and unavailing care + To pass the fences, and surprise the fair! + Like these, Vertumnus own'd his faithful flame, + Like these, rejected by the scornful dame. + To gain her sight a thousand forms he wears; + And first a reaper from the field appears: 30 + Sweating he walks, while loads of golden grain + O'ercharge the shoulders of the seeming swain: + Oft o'er his back a crooked scythe is laid, + And wreaths of hay his sunburnt temples shade: + Oft in his harden'd hand a goad he bears, + Like one who late unyoked the sweating steers: + Sometimes his pruning-hook corrects the vines, + And the loose stragglers to their ranks confines: + Now gathering what the bounteous year allows, + He pulls ripe apples from the bending boughs: 40 + A soldier now, he with his sword appears; + A fisher next, his trembling angle bears: + Each shape he varies, and each art he tries, + On her bright charms to feast his longing eyes. + + A female form at last Vertumnus wears, + With all the marks of reverend age appears, + His temples thinly spread with silver hairs: + Propp'd on his staff, and stooping as he goes, + A painted mitre shades his furrow'd brows. + The god in this decrepid form array'd 50 + The gardens enter'd, and the fruit survey'd; + And, 'Happy you!' he thus address'd the maid, + 'Whose charms as far all other nymphs outshine, + As other gardens are excell'd by thine!' + Then kiss'd the fair; (his kisses warmer grow + Than such as women on their sex bestow) + Then, placed beside her on the flowery ground, + Beheld the trees with autumn's bounty crown'd. + An elm was near, to whose embraces led, + The curling vine her swelling clusters spread: 60 + He view'd her twining branches with delight, + And praised the beauty of the pleasing sight. + + 'Yet this tall elm, but for this vine,' he said, + 'Had stood neglected, and a barren shade; + And this fair vine, but that her arms surround + Her married elm, had crept along the ground. + Ah, beauteous maid! let this example move + Your mind, averse from all the joys of love. + Deign to be loved, and every heart subdue! + What nymph could e'er attract such crowds as you? 70 + Not she whose beauty urged the Centaur's arms, + Ulysses' queen, nor Helen's fatal charms. + Ev'n now, when silent scorn is all they gain, + A thousand court you, though they court in vain— + A thousand sylvans, demigods, and gods, + That haunt our mountains and our Alban woods. + But if you'll prosper, mark what I advise, + Whom age and long experience render wise, + And one whose tender care is far above + All that these lovers ever felt of love, 80 + (Far more than e'er can by yourself be guess'd) + Fix on Vertumnus, and reject the rest: + For his firm faith I dare engage my own: + Scarce to himself, himself is better known. + To distant lands Vertumnus never roves; + Like you, contented with his native groves; + Nor at first sight, like most, admires the fair: + For you he lives; and you alone shall share + His last affection, as his early care. + Besides, he's lovely far above the rest, 90 + With youth immortal, and with beauty bless'd. + Add, that he varies every shape with ease, + And tries all forms that may Pomona please. + But what should most excite a mutual flame, + Your rural cares and pleasures are the same. + To him your orchard's early fruits are due; + (A pleasing offering when 'tis made by you) + He values these; but yet, alas! complains + That still the best and dearest gift remains. + Not the fair fruit that on yon branches glows 100 + With that ripe red th' autumnal sun bestows; + Nor tasteful herbs that in these gardens rise, + Which the kind soil with milky sap supplies; + You, only you, can move the god's desire: + Oh crown so constant and so pure a fire! + Let soft compassion touch your gentle mind: + Think, 'tis Vertumnus begs you to be kind: + So may no frost, when early buds appear, + Destroy the promise of the youthful year; + Nor winds, when first your florid orchard blows, 110 + Shake the light blossoms from their blasted boughs!' + + This, when the various god had urged in vain, + He straight assumed his native form again: + Such, and so bright an aspect now he bears, + As when through clouds th' emerging sun appears, + And thence exerting his refulgent ray, + Dispels the darkness, and reveals the day. + Force he prepared, but check'd the rash design; + For when, appearing in a form divine, + The nymph surveys him, and beholds the grace 120 + Of charming features and a youthful face, + In her soft breast consenting passions move, + And the warm maid confess'd a mutual love. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FIRST BOOK OF STATIUS'S THEBAIS. TRANSLATED IN THE YEAR 1703. + </h2> + <p> + Oedipus, King of Thebes, having, by mistake, slain his father Laius, and + married his mother Jocasta, put out his own eyes, and resigned his realm + to his sons Eteocles and Polynices. Being neglected by them, he makes his + prayer to the fury Tisiphone, to sow debate betwixt the brothers. They + agree at last to reign singly, each a year by turns, and the first lot is + obtained by Eteocles. Jupiter, in a council of the gods, declares his + resolution of punishing the Thebans, and Argives also, by means of a + marriage betwixt Polynices and one of the daughters of Adrastus, King of + Argos. Juno opposes, but to no effect; and Mercury is sent on a message to + the shades, to the ghost of Laius, who is to appear to Eteocles, and + provoke him to break the agreement. Polynices, in the meantime, departs + from Thebes by night, is overtaken by a storm, and arrives at Argos, where + he meets with Tydeus, who had fled from Calydon, having killed his + brother. Adrastus entertains them, having received an oracle from Apollo + that his daughters should be married to a boar and a lion, which he + understands to be meant by these strangers, by whom the hides of those + beasts were worn, and who arrived at the time when he kept an annual feast + in honour of that god. The rise of this solemnity, he relates to his + guests; the loves of Phoebus and Psamathe, and the story of Choroebus. He + inquires, and is made acquainted with their descent and quality. The + sacrifice is renewed, and the book concludes with a hymn to Apollo.—<i>P</i>. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fraternal rage, the guilty Thebes' alarms, + Th' alternate reign destroy'd by impious arms, + Demand our song; a sacred fury fires + My ravish'd breast, and all the Muse inspires. + O goddess! say, shall I deduce my rhymes + From the dire nation in its early times, + Europa's rape, Agenor's stern decree, + And Cadmus searching round the spacious sea? + How with the serpent's teeth he sow'd the soil, + And reap'd an iron harvest of his toil? 10 + Or how from joining stones the city sprung, + While to his harp divine Amphion sung? + Or shall I Juno's hate to Thebes resound, + Whose fatal rage th' unhappy monarch found? + The sire against the son his arrows drew, + O'er the wide fields the furious mother flew, + And while her arms a second hope contain, + Sprung from the rocks, and plunged into the main. + + But wave whate'er to Cadmus may belong, + And fix, O Muse! the barrier of thy song 20 + At Oedipus—from his disasters trace + The long confusions of his guilty race: + Nor yet attempt to stretch thy bolder wing, + And mighty Caesar's conquering eagles sing; + How twice he tamed proud Ister's rapid flood, + While Dacian mountains stream'd with barbarous blood; + Twice taught the Rhine beneath his laws to roll, + And stretch'd his empire to the frozen pole; + Or, long before, with early valour strove + In youthful arms t' assert the cause of Jove. 30 + And thou, great heir of all thy father's fame, + Increase of glory to the Latian name! + Oh! bless thy Rome with an eternal reign, + Nor let desiring worlds entreat in vain. + What though the stars contract their heavenly space, + And crowd their shining ranks to yield thee place; + Though all the skies, ambitious of thy sway, + Conspire to court thee from our world away; + Though Phoebus longs to mix his rays with thine, + And in thy glories more serenely shine; 40 + Though Jove himself no less content would be + To part his throne, and share his heaven with thee: + Yet stay, great Cæsar! and vouchsafe to reign + O'er the wide earth, and o'er the watery main; + Resign to Jove his empire of the skies, + And people heaven with Roman deities. + + The time will come when a diviner flame + Shall warm my breast to sing of Cæsar's fame; + Meanwhile, permit that my preluding Muse + In Theban wars an humbler theme may choose: 50 + Of furious hate surviving death she sings, + A fatal throne to two contending kings, + And funeral flames, that, parting wide in air, + Express the discord of the souls they bear: + Of towns dispeopled, and the wandering ghosts + Of kings unburied in the wasted coasts; + When Dirce's fountain blush'd with Grecian blood, + And Thetis, near Ismenos' swelling flood, + With dread beheld the rolling surges sweep + In heaps his slaughter'd sons into the deep. 60 + + What hero, Clio! wilt thou first relate? + The rage of Tydeus, or the prophet's fate? + Or how, with hills of slain on every side, + Hippomedon repell'd the hostile tide? + Or how the youth, with every grace adorn'd, + Untimely fell, to be for ever mourn'd? + Then to fierce Capaneus thy verse extend, + And sing with horror his prodigious end. + + Now wretched Oedipus, deprived of sight, + Led a long death in everlasting night; 70 + But while he dwells where not a cheerful ray + Can pierce the darkness, and abhors the day, + The clear reflecting mind presents his sin + In frightful views, and makes it day within; + Returning thoughts in endless circles roll, + And thousand Furies haunt his guilty soul: + The wretch then lifted to th' unpitying skies + Those empty orbs from whence he tore his eyes, + Whose wounds, yet fresh, with bloody hands he strook, + While from his breast these dreadful accents broke: 80 + + 'Ye gods! that o'er the gloomy regions reign, + Where guilty spirits feel eternal pain; + Thou, sable Styx! whose livid streams are roll'd + Through dreary coasts, which I though blind behold; + Tisiphone! that oft hast heard my prayer, + Assist, if Oedipus deserve thy care. + If you received me from Jocasta's womb, + And nursed the hope of mischiefs yet to come; + If, leaving Polybus, I took my way + To Cyrrha's temple, on that fatal day 90 + When by the son the trembling father died, + Where the three roads the Phocian fields divide; + If I the Sphynx's riddles durst explain, + Taught by thyself to win the promised reign; + If wretched I, by baleful Furies led, + With monstrous mixture stain'd my mother's bed, + For hell and thee begot an impious brood, + And with full lust those horrid joys renew'd; + Then, self-condemn'd to shades of endless night, + Forced from these orbs the bleeding balls of sight; 100 + Oh, hear! and aid the vengeance I require, + If worthy thee, and what thou might'st inspire! + My sons their old, unhappy sire despise, + Spoil'd of his kingdom, and deprived of eyes; + Guideless I wander, unregarded mourn, + Whilst these exalt their sceptres o'er my urn: + These sons, ye gods! who with flagitious pride + Insult my darkness and my groans deride. + Art thou a father, unregarding Jove! + And sleeps thy thunder in the realms above? 110 + Thou Fury! then some lasting curse entail, + Which o'er their children's children shall prevail; + Place on their heads that crown, distain'd with gore, + Which these dire hands from my slain father tore; + Go! and a parent's heavy curses bear; + Break all the bonds of nature, and prepare + Their kindred souls to mutual hate and war. + Give them to dare, what I might wish to see, + Blind as I am, some glorious villany! + Soon shalt thou find, if thou but arm their hands, 120 + Their ready guilt preventing thy commands: + Couldst thou some great proportion'd mischief frame, + They'd prove the father from whose loins they came.' + + The Fury heard, while on Cocytus' brink + Her snakes, untied, sulphureous waters drink; + But at the summons roll'd her eyes around, + And snatch'd the starting serpents from the ground. + Not half so swiftly shoots along in air + The gliding lightning or descending star; + Through crowds of airy shades she wing'd her flight, 130 + And dark dominions of the silent night; + Swift as she pass'd the flitting ghosts withdrew, + And the pale spectres trembled at her view: + To th' iron gates of Tenarus she flies, + There spreads her dusky pinions to the skies. + The day beheld, and, sickening at the sight, + Veil'd her fair glories in the shades of night. + Affrighted Atlas on the distant shore + Trembled, and shook the heavens and gods he bore. + Now from beneath Malea's airy height 140 + Aloft she sprung, and steer'd to Thebes her flight; + With eager speed the well-known journey took, + Nor here regrets the hell she late forsook. + A hundred snakes her gloomy visage shade, + A hundred serpents guard her horrid head; + In her sunk eyeballs dreadful meteors glow: + Such rays from Phoebe's bloody circle flow, + When, labouring with strong charms, she shoots from high + A fiery gleam, and reddens all the sky. + Blood stain'd her cheeks, and from her mouth there came 150 + Blue steaming poisons, and a length of flame. + From every blast of her contagious breath + Famine and drought proceed, and plagues and death. + A robe obscene was o'er her shoulders thrown, + A dress by Fates and Furies worn alone. + She toss'd her meagre arms; her better hand + In waving circles whirl'd a funeral brand: + A serpent from her left was seen to rear + His flaming crest, and lash the yielding air. + But when the Fury took her stand on high, 160 + Where vast Cithæron's top salutes the sky, + A hiss from all the snaky tire went round: + The dreadful signal all the rocks rebound, + And through th' Achaian cities send the sound. + Oete, with high Parnassus, heard the voice; + Eurotas' banks remurmur'd to the noise; + Again Leucothoë shook at these alarms, + And press'd Palærmon closer in her arms. + Headlong from thence the glowing Fury springs, + And o'er the Theban palace spreads her wings, 170 + Once more invades the guilty dome, and shrouds + Its bright pavilions in a veil of clouds. + Straight with the rage of all their race possess'd, + Stung to the soul, the brothers start from rest, + And all their Furies wake within their breast: + Their tortured minds repining Envy tears, + And Hate, engender'd by suspicious fears: + And sacred thirst of sway, and all the ties + Of nature broke; and royal perjuries; + And impotent desire to reign alone, 180 + That scorns the dull reversion of a throne: + Each would the sweets of sovereign rule devour, + While Discord waits upon divided power. + + As stubborn steers, by brawny ploughmen broke, + And join'd reluctant to the galling yoke, + Alike disdain with servile necks to bear + Th' unwonted weight, or drag the crooked share, + But rend the reins, and bound a different way, + And all the furrows in confusion lay: + Such was the discord of the royal pair 190 + Whom fury drove precipitate to war. + In vain the chiefs contrived a specious way + To govern Thebes by their alternate sway: + Unjust decree! while this enjoys the state, + That mourns in exile his unequal fate, + And the short monarch of a hasty year + Foresees with anguish his returning heir. + Thus did the league their impious arms restrain, + But scarce subsisted to the second reign. + + Yet then no proud aspiring piles were raised, 200 + No fretted roofs with polish'd metals blazed; + No labour'd columns in long order placed, + No Grecian stone the pompous arches graced: + No nightly bands in glittering armour wait + Before the sleepless tyrant's guarded gate; + No chargers then were wrought in burnish'd gold, + Nor silver vases took the forming mould; + Nor gems on bowls emboss'd were seen to shine, + Blaze on the brims, and sparkle in the wine— + Say, wretched rivals! what provokes your rage? 210 + Say, to what end your impious arms engage? + Not all bright Phoebus views in early morn, + Or when his evening beams the west adorn, + When the south glows with his meridian ray, + And the cold north receives a fainter day; + For crimes like these, not all those realms suffice, + Were all those realms the guilty victor's prize! + + But Fortune now (the lots of empire thrown) + Decrees to proud Eteocles the crown: + What joys, O tyrant! swell'd thy soul that day, 220 + When all were slaves thou couldst around survey, + Pleased to behold unbounded power thy own, + And singly fill a fear'd and envied throne! + + But the vile vulgar, ever discontent, + Their growing fears in secret murmurs vent; + Still prone to change, though still the slaves of state, + And sure the monarch whom they have, to hate; + New lords they madly make, then tamely bear, + And softly curse the tyrants whom they fear. + And one of those who groan beneath the sway 230 + Of kings imposed, and grudgingly obey, + (Whom envy to the great, and vulgar spite, + With scandal arm'd, th' ignoble mind's delight) + Exclaim'd—'O Thebes! for thee what fates remain, + What woes attend this inauspicious reign? + Must we, alas! our doubtful necks prepare + Each haughty master's yoke by turns to bear, + And still to change whom changed we still must fear? + These now control a wretched people's fate + These can divide, and these reverse the state: 240 + E'en fortune rules no more—O servile land, + Where exiled tyrants still by turns command! + Thou sire of gods and men, imperial Jove! + Is this th' eternal doom decreed above? + On thy own offspring hast thou fix'd this fate + From the first birth of our unhappy state, + When banish'd Cadmus, wandering o'er the main, + For lost Europa search'd the world in vain, + And, fated in Boeotian fields to found, + A rising empire on a foreign ground, 250 + First raised our walls on that ill omen'd plain + Where earth-born brothers were by brothers slain? + What lofty looks th' unrivall'd monarch bears! + How all the tyrant in his face appears! + What sullen fury clouds his scornful brow! + Gods! how his eyes with threatening ardour glow! + Can this imperious lord forget to reign, + Quit all his state, descend, and serve again? + Yet who, before, more popularly bow'd? + Who more propitious to the suppliant crowd? 260 + Patient of right, familiar in the throne, + What wonder then? he was not then alone. + Oh wretched we! a vile, submissive train, + Fortune's tame fools, and slaves in every reign! + + 'As when two winds with rival force contend, + This way and that the wavering sails they bend, + While freezing Boreas and black Eurus blow, + Now here, now there, the reeling vessel throw; + Thus on each side, alas! our tottering state + Feels all the fury of resistless fate, 270 + And doubtful still, and still distracted stands, + While that prince threatens, and while this commands.' + + And now th' almighty Father of the gods + Convenes a council in the bless'd abodes. + Far in the bright recesses of the skies, + High o'er the rolling heavens, a mansion lies, + Whence, far below, the gods at once survey + The realms of rising and declining day, + And all th' extended space of earth, and air, and sea. + Full in the midst, and on a starry throne, 280 + The Majesty of heaven superior shone: + Serene he look'd, and gave an awful nod, + And all the trembling spheres confess'd the god. + At Jove's assent the deities around + In solemn state the consistory crown'd. + Next a long order of inferior powers + Ascend from hills, and plains, and shady bowers; + Those from whose urns the rolling rivers flow, + And those that give the wandering winds to blow: + Here all their rage and ev'n their murmurs cease, 290 + And sacred silence reigns, and universal peace. + A shining synod of majestic gods + Gilds with new lustre the divine abodes: + Heaven seems improved with a superior ray, + And the bright arch reflects a double day. + The monarch then his solemn silence broke, + The still creation listen'd while he spoke; + Each sacred accent bears eternal weight, + And each irrevocable word is fate. + + 'How long shall man the wrath of Heaven defy, 300 + And force unwilling vengeance from the sky? + O race confederate into crimes, that prove + Triumphant o'er th' eluded rage of Jove! + This wearied arm can scarce the bolt sustain, + And unregarded thunder rolls in vain: + Th' o'erlabour'd Cyclops from his task retires, + Th' AEolian forge exhausted of its fires. + For this, I suffer'd Phoebus' steeds to stray, + And the mad ruler to misguide the day, + When the wide earth to heaps of ashes turn'd, 310 + And Heaven itself the wandering chariot burn'd: + For this my brother of the watery reign + Released the impetuous sluices of the main; + But flames consumed, and billows raged in vain. + Two races now, allied to Jove, offend; + To punish these, see Jove himself descend. + The Theban kings their line from Cadmus trace, + From godlike Perseus those of Argive race. + Unhappy Cadmus' fate who does not know, + And the long series of succeeding woe? 320 + How oft the Furies, from the deeps of night, + Arose, and mix'd with men in mortal fight; + Th' exulting mother stain'd with filial blood, + The savage hunter and the haunted wood? + The direful banquet why should I proclaim, + And crimes that grieve the trembling gods to name? + Ere I recount the sins of these profane, + The sun would sink into the western main, + And, rising, gild the radiant east again. + Have we not seen (the blood of Laius shed) 330 + The murdering son ascend his parent's bed, + Through violated nature force his way, + And stain the sacred womb where once he lay? + Yet now in darkness and despair he groans, + And for the crimes of guilty fate atones; + His sons with scorn their eyeless father view, + Insult his wounds, and make them bleed anew. + Thy curse, O OEdipus! just Heaven alarms, + And sets th' avenging Thunderer in arms. + I from the root thy guilty race will tear, 340 + And give the nations to the waste of war. + Adrastus soon, with gods averse, shall join + In dire alliance with the Theban line; + Hence strife shall rise, and mortal war succeed; + The guilty realms of Tantalus shall bleed: + Fix'd is their doom. This all-remembering breast + Yet harbours vengeance for the tyrant's feast.' + + He said; and thus the queen of heaven return'd: + (With sudden grief her labouring bosom burn'd) + 'Must I, whose cares Phoroneus' towers defend, 350 + Must I, O Jove! in bloody wars contend? + Thou know'st those regions my protection claim, + Glorious in arms, in riches, and in fame: + Though there the fair Egyptian heifer fed, + And there deluded Argus slept and bled: + Though there the brazen tower was storm'd of old, + When Jove descended in almighty gold! + Yet I can pardon those obscurer rapes, + Those bashful crimes disguised in borrow'd shapes; + But Thebes, where, shining in celestial charms, 360 + Thou cam'st triumphant to a mortal's arms, + When all my glories o'er her limbs were spread, + And blazing lightnings danced around her bed; + Cursed Thebes the vengeance it deserves may prove— + Ah! why should Argos feel the rage of Jove? + Yet since thou wilt thy sister-queen control, + Since still the lust of discord fires thy soul, + Go, raze my Samos, let Mycene fall, + And level with the dust the Spartan wall; + No more let mortals Juno's power invoke, 370 + Her fanes no more with Eastern incense smoke, + Nor victims sink beneath the sacred stroke! + But to your Isis all my rights transfer, + Let altars blaze and temples smoke for her; + For her, through Egypt's fruitful clime renown'd, + Let weeping Nilus hear the timbrel sound. + But if thou must reform the stubborn times, + Avenging on the sons the fathers' crimes, + And from the long records of distant age + Derive incitements to renew thy rage; 380 + Say, from what period then has Jove design'd + To date his vengeance? to what bounds confined? + Begin from thence, where first Alpheus hides + His wandering stream, and through the briny tides + Unmix'd to his Sicilian river glides. + Thy own Arcadians there the thunder claim, + Whose impious rites disgrace thy mighty name; + Who raise thy temples where the chariot stood + Of fierce Oenomaüs, defiled with blood; + Where once his steeds their savage banquet found, 390 + And human bones yet whiten all the ground. + Say, can those honours please? and canst thou love + Presumptuous Crete, that boasts the tomb of Jove? + And shall not Tantalus's kingdoms share + Thy wife and sister's tutelary care? + Reverse, O Jove! thy too severe decree, + Nor doom to war a race derived from thee; + On impious realms and barbarous kings impose + Thy plagues, and curse them with such sons<a href="#linknote-57" + name="linknoteref-57" id="linknoteref-57">57</a> as those.' + + Thus in reproach and prayer the queen express'd 400 + The rage and grief contending in her breast; + Unmoved remain'd the ruler of the sky, + And from his throne return'd this stern reply: + ''Twas thus I deem'd thy haughty soul would bear + The dire, though just revenge which I prepare + Against a nation thy peculiar care: + No less Dione might for Thebes contend. + Nor Bacchus less his native town defend; + Yet these in silence see the Fates fulfil + Their work, and reverence our superior will: 410 + For by the black infernal Styx I swear, + (That dreadful oath which binds the Thunderer) + 'Tis fix'd, th' irrevocable doom of Jove; + No force can bend me, no persuasion more. + Haste then, Cyllenius, through the liquid air; + Go, mount the winds, and to the shades repair; + Bid hell's black monarch my commands obey, + And give up Laius to the realms of day, + Whose ghost yet shivering on Cocytus' sand + Expects its passage to the further strand: 420 + Let the pale sire revisit Thebes, and bear + These pleasing orders to the tyrant's ear; + That, from his exiled brother, swell'd with pride + Of foreign forces and his Argive bride, + Almighty Jove commands him to detain + The promised empire, and alternate reign: + Be this the cause of more than mortal hate; + The rest, succeeding times shall ripen into fate.' + + The god obeys, and to his feet applies + Those golden wings that cut the yielding skies; 430 + His ample hat his beamy locks o'erspread, + And veil'd the starry glories of his head. + He seized the wand that causes sleep to fly, + Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye; + That drives the dead to dark Tartarean coasts, + Or back to life compels the wandering ghosts. + Thus through the parting clouds the son of May + Wings on the whistling winds his rapid way; + Now smoothly steers through air his equal flight, + Now springs aloft, and towers th' ethereal height: 440 + Then wheeling down the steep of heaven he flies, + And draws a radiant circle o'er the skies. + + Meantime the banish'd Polynices roves + (His Thebes abandon'd) through the Aonian groves, + While future realms his wandering thoughts delight, + His daily vision, and his dream by night; + Forbidden Thebes appears before his eye, + From whence he sees his absent brother fly, + With transport views the airy rule his own, + And swells on an imaginary throne. 450 + Fain would he cast a tedious age away, + And live out all in one triumphant day. + He chides the lazy progress of the sun, + And bids the year with swifter motion run: + With anxious hopes his craving mind is toss'd + And all his joys in length of wishes lost. + + The hero then resolves his course to bend + Where ancient Danaus' fruitful fields extend; + And famed Mycene's lofty towers ascend; + (Where late the sun did Atreus' crimes detest, 460 + And disappear'd in horror of the feast). + And now by chance, by fate, or furies led, + From Bacchus' consecrated caves he fled, + Where the shrill cries of frantic matrons sound, + And Pentheus' blood enrich'd the rising ground; + Then sees Cithaeron towering o'er the plain, + And thence declining gently to the main; + Next to the bounds of Nisus' realm repairs, + Where treacherous Scylla cut the purple hairs; + The hanging cliffs of Scyron's rock explores, 470 + And hears the murmurs of the different shores; + Passes the strait that parts the foaming seas, + And stately Corinth's pleasing site surveys. + + 'Twas now the time when Phoebus yields to night, + And rising Cynthia sheds her silver light; + Wide o'er the world in solemn pomp she drew + Her airy chariot, hung with pearly dew: + All birds and beasts lie hush'd; sleep steals away + The wild desires of men, and toils of day, + And brings, descending through the silent air, 480 + A sweet forgetfulness of human care. + Yet no red clouds, with golden borders gay, + Promise the skies the bright return of day; + No faint reflections of the distant light + Streak with long gleams the scattering shades of night: + From the damp earth impervious vapours rise, + Increase the darkness, and involve the skies. + At once the rushing winds with roaring sound + Burst from th' Æolian caves, and rend the ground; + With equal rage their airy quarrel try, 490 + And win by turns the kingdom of the sky; + But with a thicker night black Auster shrouds + The heavens, and drives on heaps the rolling clouds, + From whose dark womb a rattling tempest pours, + Which the cold north congeals to haily showers. + From pole to pole the thunder roars aloud, + And broken lightnings flash from every cloud. + Now smokes with showers the misty mountain-ground, + And floated fields lie undistinguish'd round; + Th' Inachian streams with headlong fury run, 500 + And Erasinus rolls a deluge on; + The foaming Lerna swells above its bounds, + And spreads its ancient poisons o'er the grounds: + Where late was dust, now rapid torrents play, + Rush through the mounds, and bear the dams away: + Old limbs of trees, from crackling forests torn, + Are whirl'd in air, and on the winds are borne: + The storm the dark Lycæan groves display'd, + And first to light exposed the sacred shade. + Th' intrepid Theban hears the bursting sky, + Sees yawning rocks in massy fragments fly, + And views astonish'd, from the hills afar, + The floods descending, and the watery war, 510 + That, driven by storms, and pouring o'er the plain, + Swept herds, and hinds, and houses to the main. + Through the brown horrors of the night he fled, + Nor knows, amazed, what doubtful path to tread; + His brother's image to his mind appears, + Inflames his heart with rage, and wings his feet with fears. + + So fares the sailor on the stormy main, 520 + When clouds conceal Bootes' golden wain, + When not a star its friendly lustre keeps, + Nor trembling Cynthia glimmers on the deeps; + He dreads the rocks, and shoals, and seas, and skies, + While thunder roars, and lightning round him flies. + + Thus strove the chief, on every side distress'd; + Thus still his courage with his toils increased: + With his broad shield opposed, he forced his way + Through thickest woods, and roused the beasts of prey + Till he beheld, where from Larissa's height, 530 + The shelving walls reflect a glancing light: + Thither with haste the Theban hero flies; + On this side Lerna's poisonous water lies, + On that Prosymna's grove and temple rise: + He pass'd the gates which then unguarded lay, + And to the regal palace bent his way; + On the cold marble, spent with toil, he lies, + And waits till pleasing slumbers seal his eyes. + + Adrastus here his happy people sways, + Bless'd with calm peace in his declining days; 540 + By both his parents of descent divine, + Great Jove and Phoebus graced his noble line: + Heaven had not crown'd his wishes with a son, + But two fair daughters heir'd his state and throne. + To him Apollo (wondrous to relate! + But who can pierce into the depths of fate?) + Had sung—'Expect thy sons on Argos' shore, + A yellow lion and a bristly boar.' + This, long revolved in his paternal breast, + Sat heavy on his heart, and broke his rest; 550 + This, great Amphiaraus! lay hid from thee, + Though skill'd in fate and dark futurity. + The father's care and prophet's art were vain, + For thus did the predicting god ordain. + + Lo, hapless Tydeus, whose ill-fated hand + Had slain his brother, leaves his native land, + And, seized with horror, in the shades of night, + Through the thick deserts headlong urged his flight: + Now by the fury of the tempest driven, + He seeks a shelter from th' inclement heaven, 560 + Till, led by fate, the Theban's steps he treads, + And to fair Argos' open court succeeds. + + When thus the chiefs from different lands resort + To Adrastus' realms and hospitable court, + The king surveys his guests with curious eyes, + And views their arms and habit with surprise. + A lion's yellow skin the Theban wears, + Horrid his mane, and rough with curling hairs: + Such once employ'd Alcides' youthful toils, + Ere yet adorn'd with Nemea's dreadful spoils. 570 + A boar's stiff hide, of Calydonian breed, + Oenides' manly shoulders overspread; + Oblique his tusks, erect his bristles stood, + Alive, the pride and terror of the wood. + + Struck with the sight, and fix'd in deep amaze, + The king th' accomplish'd oracle surveys, + Reveres Apollo's vocal caves, and owns + The guiding godhead, and his future sons. + O'er all his bosom secret transports reign, + And a glad horror shoots through every vein: 580 + To heaven he lifts his hands, erects his sight, + And thus invokes the silent queen of night: + + 'Goddess of shades! beneath whose gloomy reign + Yon spangled arch glows with the starry train; + You who the cares of heaven and earth allay + Till nature, quicken'd by th' inspiring ray, + Wakes to new vigour with the rising day: + O thou who freest me from my doubtful state, + Long lost and wilder'd in the maze of fate, + Be present still, O goddess! in our aid; 590 + Proceed, and firm those omens thou hast made. + We to thy name our annual rites will pay, + And on thy altars sacrifices lay; + The sable flock shall fall beneath the stroke, + And fill thy temples with a grateful smoke. + Hail, faithful Tripos! hail, ye dark abodes + Of awful Phoebus; I confess the gods!' + + Thus, seized with sacred fear, the monarch pray'd; + Then to his inner court the guests convey'd, + Where yet thin fumes from dying sparks arise, 600 + And dust yet white upon each altar lies, + The relics of a former sacrifice. + The king once more the solemn rites requires, + And bids renew the feasts and wake the fires. + His train obey; while all the courts around + With noisy care and various tumult sound. + Embroider'd purple clothes the golden beds; + This slave the floor, and that the table spreads; + A third dispels the darkness of the night, + And fills depending lamps with beams of light; 610 + Here loaves in canisters are piled on high, + And there in flames the slaughter'd victims fly. + Sublime in regal state Adrastus shone, + Stretch'd on rich carpets on his ivory throne; + A lofty couch receives each princely guest; + Around, at awful distance, wait the rest. + + And now the king, his royal feast to grace, + Acestis calls, the guardian of his race, + Who first their youth in arts of virtue train'd, + And their ripe years in modest grace maintain'd; 620 + Then softly whisper'd in her faithful ear, + And bade his daughters at the rites appear. + When from the close apartments of the night + The royal nymphs approach, divinely bright, + Such was Diana's, such Minerva's face; + Nor shine their beauties with superior grace, + But that in these a milder charm endears, + And less of terror in their looks appears. + As on the heroes first they cast their eyes, + O'er their fair cheeks the glowing blushes rise; 630 + Their downcast looks a decent shame confess'd, + Then on their father's reverend features rest. + + The banquet done, the monarch gives the sign + To fill the goblet high with sparkling wine, + Which Danaus used in sacred rites of old, + With sculpture graced, and rough with rising gold: + Here to the clouds victorious Perseus flies, + Medusa seems to move her languid eyes, + And, e'en in gold, turns paler as she dies: + There from the chase Jove's towering eagle bears, 640 + On golden wings, the Phrygian to the stars; + Still as he rises in th' ethereal height, + His native mountains lessen to his sight, + While all his sad companions upward gaze, + Fix'd on the glorious scene in wild amaze; + And the swift hounds, affrighted as he flies, + Run to the shade, and bark against the skies. + + This golden bowl with generous juice was crown'd, + The first libation sprinkled on the ground; + By turns on each celestial power they call; 650 + With Phoebus' name resounds the vaulted hall. + The courtly train, the strangers, and the rest, + Crown'd with chaste laurel, and with garlands dress'd, + While with rich gums the fuming altars blaze, + Salute the god in numerous hymns of praise. + + Then thus the king: 'Perhaps, my noble guests, + These honour'd altars, and these annual feasts + To bright Apollo's awful name design'd, + Unknown, with wonder may perplex your mind. + Great was the cause: our old solemnities 660 + From no blind zeal or fond tradition rise; + But saved from death, our Argives yearly pay + These grateful honours to the god of day. + + 'When by a thousand darts the Python slain, + With orbs unroll'd lay covering all the plain, + (Transfix'd as o'er Castalia's streams he hung, + And suck'd new poisons with his triple tongue), + To Argos' realms the victor god resorts, + And enters old Crotopus' humble courts. + This rural prince one only daughter bless'd, 670 + That all the charms of blooming youth possess'd; + Pair was her face, and spotless was her mind, + Where filial love with virgin sweetness join'd: + Happy! and happy still she might have proved, + Were she less beautiful, or less beloved! + But Phoebus loved, and on the flowery side + Of Nemea's stream the yielding fair enjoy'd. + Now, ere ten moons their orb with light adorn, + Th' illustrious offspring of the god was born; + The nymph, her father's anger to evade, 680 + Retires from Argos to the sylvan shade; + To woods and wilds the pleasing burden bears, + And trusts her infant to a shepherd's cares. + + 'How mean a fate, unhappy child! is thine! + Ah! how unworthy those of race divine! + On flowery herbs in some green covert laid, + His bed the ground, his canopy the shade, + He mixes with the bleating lambs his cries, + While the rude swain his rural music tries, + To call soft slumbers on his infant eyes. 690 + Yet ev'n in those obscure abodes to live + Was more, alas! than cruel fate would give; + For on the grassy verdure as he lay, + And breathed the freshness of the early day, + Devouring dogs the helpless infant tore, + Fed on his trembling limbs, and lapp'd the gore. + Th' astonish'd mother, when the rumour came, + Forgets her father, and neglects her fame; + With loud complaints she fills the yielding air, + And beats her breast, and rends her flowing hair; 700 + Then, wild with anguish, to her sire she flies, + Demands the sentence, and contented dies. + + 'But, touch'd with sorrow for the deed too late, + The raging god prepares t' avenge her fate. + He sends a monster horrible and fell, + Begot by Furies in the depths of hell. + The pest a virgin's face and bosom bears; + High on her crown a rising snake appears, + Guards her black front, and hisses in her hairs: + About the realm she walks her dreadful round, 710 + When Night with sable wings o'erspreads the ground, + Devours young babes before their parents' eyes, + And feeds and thrives on public miseries. + + 'But generous rage the bold Choroebus warms, + Choroebus, famed for virtue as for arms. + Some few like him, inspired with martial flame, + Thought a short life well lost for endless fame. + These, where two ways in equal parts divide, + The direful monster from afar descried, + Two bleeding babes depending at her side, 720 + Whose panting vitals, warm with life, she draws, + And in their hearts imbrues her cruel claws. + The youths surround her with extended spears; + But brave Choroebus in the front appears; + Deep in her breast he plunged his shining sword, + And hell's dire monster back to hell restored. + Th' Inachians view the slain with vast surprise, + Her twisting volumes, and her rolling eyes, + Her spotted breast, and gaping womb, imbrued + With livid poison and our children's blood. 730 + The crowd in stupid wonder fix'd appear, + Pale ev'n in joy, nor yet forget to fear. + Some with vast beams the squalid corse engage, + And weary all the wild efforts of rage. + The birds obscene, that nightly flock'd to taste, + With hollow screeches fled the dire repast; + And ravenous dogs, allured by scented blood, + And starving wolves, ran howling to the wood. + + 'But fired with rage, from cleft Parnassus' brow + Avenging Phoebus bent his deadly bow, 740 + And hissing flew the feather'd fates below: + A night of sultry clouds involved around + The towers, the fields, and the devoted ground: + And now a thousand lives together fled; + Death with his scythe cut off the fatal thread, + And a whole province in his triumph led. + + 'But Phoebus, ask'd why noxious fires appear, + And raging Sirius blasts the sickly year, + Demands their lives by whom his monster fell, + And dooms a dreadful sacrifice to hell. 750 + + 'Bless'd be thy dust, and let eternal fame + Attend thy manes, and preserve thy name, + Undaunted hero! who, divinely brave, + In such a cause disdained thy life to save, + But view'd the shrine with a superior look, + And its upbraided godhead thus bespoke: + "With piety, the soul's securest guard, + And conscious virtue, still its own reward, + Willing I come, unknowing how to fear, + Nor shalt thou, Phoebus, find a suppliant here: 760 + Thy monster's death to me was owed alone, + And 'tis a deed too glorious to disown. + Behold him here, for whom, so many days, + Impervious clouds conceal'd thy sullen rays; + For whom, as man no longer claim'd thy care, + Such numbers fell by pestilential air! + But if th' abandon'd race of human kind + From gods above no more compassion find; + If such inclemency in heaven can dwell, + Yet why must unoffending Argos feel 770 + The vengeance due to this unlucky steel? + On me, on me, let all thy fury fall, + Nor err from me, since I deserve it all: + Unless our desert cities please thy sight, + Or funeral flames reflect a grateful light. + Discharge thy shafts, this ready bosom rend, + And to the shades a ghost triumphant send; + But for my country let my fate atone; + Be mine the vengeance, as the crime my own!" + + 'Merit distress'd, impartial heaven relieves: 780 + Unwelcome life relenting Phoebus gives; + For not the vengeful power, that glow'd with rage, + With such amazing virtue durst engage. + The clouds dispersed, Apollo's wrath expired, + And from the wondering god th' unwilling youth retired. + Thence we these altars in his temple raise, + And offer annual honours, feasts, and praise; + These solemn feasts propitious Phoebus please; + These honours, still renew'd, his ancient wrath appease. + + 'But say, illustrious guest, (adjoin'd the king) 790 + What name you bear, from what high race you spring? + The noble Tydeus stands confess'd, and known + Our neighbour prince, and heir of Calydon: + Relate your fortunes, while the friendly night + And silent hours to various talk invite.' + + The Theban bends on earth his gloomy eyes, + Confused, and sadly thus at length replies:— + 'Before these altars how shall I proclaim + (O generous prince!) my nation or my name, + Or through what veins our ancient blood has roll'd? 800 + Let the sad tale for ever rest untold! + Yet if, propitious to a wretch unknown, + You seek to share in sorrows not your own, + Know then from Cadmus I derive my race, + Jocasta's son, and Thebes my native place.' + + To whom the king (who felt his generous breast + Touch'd with concern for his unhappy guest) + Replies—'Ah! why forbears the son to name + His wretched father, known too well by fame? + Fame, that delights around the world to stray, 810 + Scorns not to take our Argos in her way. + Ev'n those who dwell where suns at distance roll, + In northern wilds, and freeze beneath the pole, + And those who tread the burning Libyan lands, + The faithless Syrtes, and the moving sands; + Who view the western sea's extremest bounds, + Or drink of Ganges in their eastern grounds; + All these the woes of Oedipus have known, + Your fates, your furies, and your haunted town. + If on the sons the parents' crimes descend, 820 + What prince from those his lineage can defend? + Be this thy comfort, that 'tis thine t' efface, + With virtuous acts, thy ancestors' disgrace, + And be thyself the honour of thy race. + But see! the stars begin to steal away, + And shine more faintly at approaching day; + Now pour the wine; and in your tuneful lays + Once more resound the great Apollo's praise.' + + 'O father Phoebus! whether Lycia's coast + And snowy mountains thy bright presence boast: 830 + Whether to sweet Castalia thou repair, + And bathe in silver dews thy yellow hair; + Or pleased to find fair Delos float no more, + Delight in Cynthus and the shady shore; + Or choose thy seat in Ilion's proud abodes, + The shining structures raised by labouring gods: + By thee the bow and mortal shafts are borne; + Eternal charms thy blooming youth adorn: + Skill'd in the laws of secret fate above, + And the dark counsels of almighty Jove, 840 + 'Tis thine the seeds of future war to know, + The change of sceptres and impending woe, + When direful meteors spread through glowing air + Long trails of light and shake their blazing hair. + Thy rage the Phrygian felt, who durst aspire + T' excel the music of thy heavenly lyre; + Thy shafts avenged lewd Tityus' guilty flame, + Th' immortal victim of thy mother's fame; + Thy hand slew Python, and the dame who lost + Her numerous offspring for a fatal boast. 850 + In Phlegyas' doom thy just revenge appears, + Condemn'd to Furies and eternal fears; + He views his food, but dreads, with lifted eye, + The mouldering rock that trembles from on high. + + 'Propitious hear our prayer, O power divine! + And on thy hospitable Argos shine; + Whether the style of Titan please thee more, + Whose purple rays th' Achæmenes adore: + Or great Osiris, who first taught the swain + In Pharian fields to sow the golden grain; 860 + Or Mithra, to whose beams the Persian bows, + And pays, in hollow rocks, his awful vows; + Mithra! whose head the blaze of light adorns, + Who grasps the struggling heifer's lunar horns.' +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JANUARY AND MAY. FROM CHAUCER.<a href="#linknote-58" name="linknoteref-58" + id="linknoteref-58"><small>58</small></a> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There lived in Lombardy, as authors write, + In days of old, a wise and worthy knight; + Of gentle manners, as of generous race, + Bless'd with much sense, more riches, and some grace: + Yet, led astray by Venus' soft delights, + He scarce could rule some idle appetites: + For long ago, let priests say what they could, + Weak sinful laymen were but flesh and blood. + + But in due time, when sixty years were o'er, + He vow'd to lead this vicious life no more; 10 + Whether pure holiness inspired his mind, + Or dotage turn'd his brain, is hard to find; + But his high courage prick'd him forth to wed, + And try the pleasures of a lawful bed. + This was his nightly dream, his daily care, + And to the heavenly powers his constant prayer, + Once, ere he died, to taste the blissful life + Of a kind husband and a loving wife. + + These thoughts he fortified with reasons still + (For none want reasons to confirm their will). 20 + Grave authors say, and witty poets sing, + That honest wedlock is a glorious thing: + But depth of judgment most in him appears + Who wisely weds in his maturer years. + Then let him choose a damsel young and fair, + To bless his age, and bring a worthy heir; + To soothe his cares, and, free from noise and strife, + Conduct him gently to the verge of life. + Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore, + Full well they merit all they feel, and more: 30 + Unawed by precepts, human or divine, + Like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join; + Nor know to make the present blessing last, + To hope the future, or esteem the past: + But vainly boast the joys they never tried, + And find divulged the secrets they would hide. + The married man may bear his yoke with ease, + Secure at once himself and Heaven to please; + And pass his inoffensive hours away, + In bliss all night, and innocence all day: 40 + Though fortune change, his constant spouse remains, + Augments his joys, or mitigates his pains. + + But what so pure which envious tongues will spare? + Some wicked wits have libell'd all the fair. + With matchless impudence they style a wife + The dear-bought curse, and lawful plague of life; + A bosom serpent, a domestic evil, + A night invasion, and a midday devil. + Let not the wise these slanderous words regard, + But curse the bones of every lying bard. 50 + All other goods by fortune's hand are given, + A wife is the peculiar gift of Heaven. + Vain fortune's favours, never at a stay, + Like empty shadows, pass, and glide away; + One solid comfort, our eternal wife, + Abundantly supplies us all our life: + This blessing lasts (if those who try say true) + As long as heart can wish—and longer too. + + Our grandsire Adam, ere of Eve possess'd, + Alone, and e'en in Paradise unbless'd, 60 + With mournful looks the blissful scenes survey'd, + And wander'd in the solitary shade. + The Maker saw, took pity, and bestow'd + Woman, the last, the best reserved of God. + + A wife! ah, gentle deities! can he + That has a wife e'er feel adversity? + Would men but follow what the sex advise, + All things would prosper, all the world grow wise. + Twas by Rebecca's aid that Jacob won + His father's blessing from an elder son: 70 + Abusive Nabal owed his forfeit life + To the wise conduct of a prudent wife: + Heroic Judith, as old Hebrews show, + Preserved the Jews, and slew th' Assyrian foe: + At Hester's suit, the persecuting sword + Was sheath'd, and Israel lived to bless the Lord. + + These weighty motives January the sage + Maturely ponder'd in his riper age; + And, charm'd with virtuous joys, and sober life, + Would try that Christian comfort, call'd a wife. 80 + His friends were summon'd on a point so nice + To pass their judgment, and to give advice; + But fix'd before, and well resolved was he; + (As men that ask advice are wont to be). + + 'My friends,' he cried (and cast a mournful look + Around the room, and sigh'd before he spoke), + 'Beneath the weight of threescore years I bend, + And, worn with cares, am hastening to my end: + How I have lived, alas! you know too well, + In worldly follies which I blush to tell, 90 + But gracious Heaven has oped my eyes at last, + With due regret I view my vices past, + And, as the precept of the church decrees, + Will take a wife, and live in holy ease: + But since by counsel all things should be done, + And many heads are wiser still than one; + Choose you for me, who best shall be content + When my desire's approved by your consent. + + 'One caution yet is needful to be told, + To guide your choice: this wife must not be old: 100 + There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, + Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed. + My soul abhors the tasteless dry embrace + Of a stale virgin with a winter face: + In that cold season Love but treats his guest + With beanstraw, and tough forage at the best. + No crafty widows shall approach my bed; + Those are too wise for bachelors to wed. + As subtle clerks by many schools are made, + Twice-married dames are mistresses o' th' trade: 110 + But young and tender virgins, ruled with ease, + We form like wax, and mould them as we please. + + 'Conceive me, sirs, nor take my sense amiss; + 'Tis what concerns my soul's eternal bliss; + Since, if I found no pleasure in my spouse, + As flesh is frail, and who (God help me) knows? + Then should I live in lewd adultery, + And sink downright to Satan when I die: + Or were I cursed with an unfruitful bed, + The righteous end were lost for which I wed; 120 + To raise up seed to bless the powers above, + And not for pleasure only, or for love. + Think not I dote; 'tis time to take a wife, + When vigorous blood forbids a chaster life: + Those that are bless'd with store of grace divine, + May live like saints, by Heaven's consent and mine! + + 'And since I speak of wedlock, let me say + (As, thank my stars, in modest truth I may), + My limbs are active, still I'm sound at heart, + And a new vigour springs in every part. 130 + Think not my virtue lost, though time has shed + These reverend honours on my hoary head: + Thus trees are crown'd with blossoms white as snow, + The vital sap then rising from below. + Old as I am, my lusty limbs appear + Like winter greens, that flourish all the year. + Now, sirs, you know to what I stand inclined, + Let every friend with freedom speak his mind.' + + He said; the rest in different parts divide; + The knotty point was urged on either side: 140 + Marriage, the theme on which they all declaim'd, + Some praised with wit, and some with reason blamed. + Till, what with proofs, objections, and replies, + Each wondrous positive and wondrous wise, + There fell between his brothers a debate: + Placebo this was call'd, and Justin that. + + First to the knight Placebo thus begun, + (Mild were his looks, and pleasing was his tone): + 'Such prudence, sir, in all your words appears, + As plainly proves experience dwells with years! 150 + Yet you pursue sage Solomon's advice, + To work by counsel when affairs are nice: + But, with the wise man's leave, I must protest, + So may my soul arrive at ease and rest, + As still I hold your own advice the best. + + 'Sir, I have lived a courtier all my days, + And studied men, their manners, and their ways; + And have observed this useful maxim still. + To let my betters always have their will. + Nay, if my lord affirm'd that black was white, 160 + My word was this, "Your honour's in the right." + Th' assuming wit, who deems himself so wise + As his mistaken patron to advise, + Let him not dare to vent his dangerous thought; + A noble fool was never in a fault. + This, sir, affects not you, whose every word + Is weigh'd with judgment, and befits a lord: + Your will is mine: and is (I will maintain) + Pleasing to God, and should be so to man; + At least your courage all the world must praise, 170 + Who dare to wed in your declining days. + Indulge the vigour of your mounting blood, + And let gray fools be indolently good, + Who, past all pleasure, damn the joys of sense, + With reverend dulness and grave impotence.' + + Justin, who silent sate, and heard the man, + Thus with a philosophic frown began: + + 'A heathen author, of the first degree, + (Who, though not faith, had sense as well as we), + Bids us be certain our concerns to trust 180 + To those of generous principles and just. + The venture's greater, I'll presume to say, + To give your person, than your goods away: + And therefore, sir, as you regard your rest, + First learn your lady's qualities at least: + Whether she's chaste or rampant, proud or civil, + Meek as a saint, or haughty as the devil; + Whether an easy, fond, familiar fool, + Or such a wit as no man e'er can rule. + 'Tis true, perfection none must hope to find 190 + In all this world, much less in womankind: + But if her virtues prove the larger share, + Bless the kind fates, and think your fortune rare. + Ah, gentle sir, take warning of a friend, + Who knows too well the state you thus commend; + And, spite of all his praises, must declare, + All he can find is bondage, cost, and care. + Heaven knows I shed full many a private tear, + And sigh in silence, lest the world should hear; + While all my friends applaud my blissful life, 200 + And swear no mortal's happier in a wife; + Demure and chaste as any vestal nun, + The meekest creature that beholds the sun! + But, by th' immortal powers, I feel the pain, + And he that smarts has reason to complain. + Do what you list, for me; you must be sage, + And cautious sure; for wisdom is in age: + But at these years to venture on the fair! + By Him who made the ocean, earth, and air, + To please a wife, when her occasions call, 210 + Would busy the most vigorous of us all. + And trust me, sir, the chastest you can choose, + Will ask observance, and exact her dues. + If what I speak my noble lord offend, + My tedious sermon here is at an end.' + + ''Tis well, 'tis wondrous well,' the knight replies, + 'Most worthy kinsman, faith, you're mighty wise! + We, sirs, are fools; and must resign the cause + To heathenish authors, proverbs, and old saws.' + He spoke with scorn, and turn'd another way: 220 + 'What does my friend, my dear Placebo, say?' + + 'I say,' quoth he, 'by Heaven, the man's to blame, + To slander wives, and wedlock's holy name.' + + At this the council rose without delay; + Each, in his own opinion, went his way; + With full consent, that, all disputes appeased, + The knight should marry when and where he pleased. + + Who now but January exults with joy? + The charms of wedlock all his soul employ: + Each nymph by turns his wavering mind possess'd, 230 + And reign'd the short-lived tyrant of his breast; + Whilst fancy pictured every lively part, + And each bright image wander'd o'er his heart. + Thus, in some public forum fix'd on high, + A mirror shows the figures moving by; + Still one by one, in swift succession, pass + The gliding shadows o'er the polish'd glass. + This lady's charms the nicest could not blame, + But vile suspicions had aspersed her fame; + That was with sense, but not with virtue bless'd; 240 + And one had grace that wanted all the rest. + Thus doubting long what nymph he should obey + He fix'd at last upon the youthful May. + Her faults he knew not, love is always blind, + But every charm revolved within his mind: + Her tender age, her form divinely fair, + Her easy motion, her attractive air, + Her sweet behaviour, her enchanting face, + Her moving softness, and majestic grace. + Much in his prudence did our knight rejoice, 250 + And thought no mortal could dispute his choice: + Once more in haste he summon'd every friend, + And told them all their pains were at an end. + 'Heaven, that (said he) inspired me first to wed, + Provides a consort worthy of my bed: + Let none oppose th' election, since on this + Depends my quiet and my future bliss. + + 'A dame there is, the darling of my eyes, + Young, beauteous, artless, innocent, and wise; + Chaste, though not rich; and, though not nobly born, 260 + Of honest parents, and may serve my turn. + Her will I wed, if gracious Heaven so please, + To pass my age in sanctity and ease; + And, thank the powers, I may possess alone + The lovely prize, and share my bliss with none! + If you, my friends, this virgin can procure, + My joys are full, my happiness is sure. + + 'One only doubt remains: full oft, I've heard + By casuists grave, and deep divines averr'd, + That 'tis too much for human race to know 270 + The bliss of heaven above and earth below; + Now, should the nuptial pleasures prove so great, + To match the blessings of the future state, + Those endless joys were ill exchanged for these; + Then clear this doubt, and set my mind at ease.' + + This Justin heard, nor could his spleen control, + Touch'd to the quick, and tickled at the soul. + 'Sir knight,' he cried, 'if this be all you dread, + Heaven put it past your doubt whene'er you wed: + And to my fervent prayers so far consent, 280 + That, ere the rites are o'er, you may repent! + Good Heaven, no doubt, the nuptial state approves, + Since it chastises still what best it loves. + Then be not, sir, abandoned to despair: + Seek, and perhaps you'll find among the fair + One that may do your business to a hair; + Not e'en in wish your happiness delay, + But prove the scourge to lash you on your way: + Then to the skies your mounting soul shall go, + Swift as an arrow soaring from the bow! 290 + Provided still, you moderate your joy, + Nor in your pleasures all your might employ; + Let reason's rule your strong desires abate, + Nor please too lavishly your gentle mate + Old wives there are, of judgment most acute, + Who solve these questions beyond all dispute; + Consult with those, and be of better cheer; + Marry, do penance, and dismiss your fear.' + + So said, they rose, nor more the work delay'd + The match was offer'd, the proposals made. 300 + The parents, you may think, would soon comply + The old have interest ever in their eye. + Nor was it hard to move the lady's mind; + When fortune favours, still the fair are kind. + + I pass each previous settlement and deed, + Too long for me to write, or you to read; + Nor will with quaint impertinence display + The pomp, the pageantry, the proud array. + The time approach'd; to church the parties went, + At once with carnal and devout intent: 310 + Forth came the priest, and bade the obedient wife + Like Sarah or Rebecca lead her life; + Then pray'd the powers the fruitful bed to bless, + And made all sure enough with holiness. + + And now the palace gates are open'd wide, + The guests appear in order, side by side, + And, placed in state, the bridegroom and the bride. + The breathing flute's soft notes are heard around, + And the shrill trumpets mix their silver sound; + The vaulted roofs with echoing music ring, 320 + These touch the vocal stops, and those the trembling string. + Not thus Amphion tuned the warbling lyre, + Nor Joab the sounding clarion could inspire, + Nor fierce Theodamas, whose sprightly strain + Could swell the soul to rage, and fire the martial train. + + Bacchus himself, the nuptial feast to grace, + (So poets sing) was present on the place: + And lovely Venus, goddess of delight, + Shook high her flaming torch in open sight, + And danced around, and smiled on every knight: 330 + Pleased her best servant would his courage try, + No less in wedlock than in liberty. + Full many an age old Hymen had not spied + So kind a bridegroom, or so bright a bride. + Ye bards! renown'd among the tuneful throng + For gentle lays, and joyous nuptial song, + Think not your softest numbers can display + The matchless glories of this blissful day; + The joys are such as far transcend your rage, + When tender youth has wedded stooping age. 340 + + The beauteous dame sat smiling at the board, + And darted amorous glances at her lord. + Not Hester's self, whose charms the Hebrews sing, + E'er look'd so lovely on her Persian king: + Bright as the rising sun in summer's day, + And fresh and blooming as the month of May! + The joyful knight survey'd her by his side, + Nor envied Paris with his Spartan bride: + Still as his mind revolved with vast delight + Th' entrancing raptures of th' approaching night, 350 + Restless he sat, invoking every power + To speed his bliss, and haste the happy hour. + Meantime the vigorous dancers beat the ground, + And songs were sung, and flowing bowls went round. + With odorous spices they perfumed the place, + And mirth and pleasure shone in every face. + + Damian alone, of all the menial train, + Sad in the midst of triumphs, sigh'd for pain; + Damian alone, the knight's obsequious squire, + Consumed at heart, and fed a secret fire. 360 + His lovely mistress all his soul possess'd, + He look'd, he languish'd, and could take no rest: + His task perform'd, he sadly went his way, + Fell on his bed, and loath'd the light of day: + There let him lie; till his relenting dame + Weep in her turn, and waste in equal flame. + + The weary sun, as learnèd poets write, + Forsook th' horizon, and roll'd down the light; + While glittering stars his absent beams supply. + And night's dark mantle overspread the sky. 370 + Then rose the guests, and, as the time required, + Each paid his thanks, and decently retired. + + The foe once gone, our knight prepared t' undress, + So keen he was, and eager to possess; + But first thought fit th' assistance to receive, + Which grave physicians scruple not to give: + Satyrion near, with hot eringoes stood, + Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood, + Whose use old bards describe in luscious rhymes, + And critics learn'd explain to modern times. 380 + + By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress'd, + The room was sprinkled, and the bed was bless'd. + What next ensued beseems not me to say; + 'Tis sung, he labour'd till the dawning day, + Then briskly sprung from bed, with heart so light, + As all were nothing he had done by night, + And sipp'd his cordial as he sat upright. + He kiss'd his balmy spouse with wanton play, + And feebly sung a lusty roundelay: + Then on the couch his weary limbs he cast; 390 + For every labour must have rest at last. + + But anxious cares the pensive squire oppress'd, + Sleep fled his eyes, and peace forsook his breast; + The raging flames that in his bosom dwell, + He wanted art to hide, and means to tell: + Yet hoping time th' occasion might betray, + Composed a sonnet to the lovely May; + Which, writ and folded with the nicest art, + He wrapp'd in silk, and laid upon his heart. + + When now the fourth revolving day was run, 400 + ('Twas June, and Cancer had received the sun), + Forth from her chamber came the beauteous bride; + The good old knight moved slowly by her side. + High mass was sung; they feasted in the hall; + The servants round stood ready at their call + The squire alone was absent from the board, + And much his sickness grieved his worthy lord, + Who pray'd his spouse, attended with her train, + To visit Damian, and divert his pain. + Th' obliging dames obey'd with one consent: 410 + They left the hall, and to his lodging went. + The female tribe surround him as he lay, + And close beside him sat the gentle May: + Where, as she tried his pulse, he softly drew + A heaving sigh, and cast a mournful view! + Then gave his bill, and bribed the Powers divine + With secret vows, to favour his design. + + Who studies now but discontented May? + On her soft couch uneasily she lay: 420 + The lumpish husband snored away the night, + Till coughs awaked him near the morning light. + What then he did, I'll not presume to tell, + Nor if she thought herself in heaven or hell: + Honest and dull in nuptial bed they lay, + Till the bell toll'd, and all arose to pray. + + Were it by forceful destiny decreed, + Or did from chance, or nature's power proceed; + Or that some star, with aspect kind to love, + Shed its selectest influence from above; + Whatever was the cause, the tender dame 430 + Felt the first motions of an infant flame; + Received th' impressions of the love-sick squire, + And wasted in the soft infectious fire. + + Ye fair, draw near, let May's example move + Your gentle minds to pity those who love! + Had some fierce tyrant in her stead been found, + The poor adorer sure had hang'd or drown'd; + But she, your sex's mirror, free from pride, + Was much too meek to prove a homicide. + + But to my tale:—Some sages have defined 440 + Pleasure the sovereign bliss of humankind: + Our knight (who studied much, we may suppose) + Derived his high philosophy from those; + For, like a prince, he bore the vast expense + Of lavish pomp, and proud magnificence: + His house was stately, his retinue gay, + Large was his train, and gorgeous his array. + His spacious garden, made to yield to none, + Was compass'd round with walls of solid stone; + Priapus could not half describe the grace 450 + (Though god of gardens) of this charming place: + A place to tire the rambling wits of France + In long descriptions, and exceed romance: + Enough to shame the gentlest bard that sings + Of painted meadows, and of purling springs. + + Full in the centre of the flowery ground + A crystal fountain spread its streams around, + The fruitful banks with verdant laurels crown'd. + About this spring (if ancient fame say true) + The dapper elves their moonlight sports pursue: 460 + Their pigmy king, and little fairy queen, + In circling dances gamboll'd on the green, + While tuneful sprites a merry concert made, + And airy music warbled through the shade. + + Hither the noble knight would oft repair, + (His scene of pleasure, and peculiar care): + For this he held it dear, and always bore + The silver key that lock'd the garden door. + To this sweet place, in summer's sultry heat, + He used from noise and business to retreat: 470 + And here in dalliance spend the livelong day, + <i>Solus cum sola</i>, with his sprightly May: + For whate'er work was undischarged abed, + The duteous knight in this fair garden sped. + + But ah! what mortal lives of bliss secure? + How short a space our worldly joys endure! + O Fortune! fair, like all thy treacherous kind, + But faithless still, and wavering as the wind! + O painted monster, form'd mankind to cheat + With pleasing poison, and with soft deceit! 480 + This rich, this amorous, venerable knight, + Amidst his ease, his solace, and delight, + Struck blind by thee, resigns his days to grief, + And calls on death, the wretch's last relief. + + The rage of jealousy then seized his mind, + For much he fear'd the faith of womankind. + His wife, not suffer'd from his side to stray, + Was captive kept; he watch'd her night and day, + Abridged her pleasures, and confined her sway. + Full oft in tears did hapless May complain, 490 + And sigh'd full oft; but sigh'd and wept in vain: + She look'd on Damian with a lover's eye; + For oh, 'twas fix'd; she must possess or die! + Nor less impatience vex'd her amorous squire, + Wild with delay, and burning with desire. + Watch'd as she was, yet could he not refrain + By secret writing to disclose his pain; + The dame by signs reveal'd her kind intent, + Till both were conscious what each other meant. + + Ah! gentle knight, what would thy eyes avail, 500 + Though they could see as far as ships can sail? + 'Tis better, sure, when blind, deceived to be, + Than be deluded when a man can see! + + Argus himself, so cautious and so wise, + Was overwatch'd, for all his hundred eyes: + So many an honest husband may, 'tis known, + Who, wisely, never thinks the case his own. + + The dame at last, by diligence and care, + Procured the key her knight was wont to bear; + She took the wards in wax before the fire, 510 + And gave th' impression to the trusty squire. + By means of this some wonder shall appear, + Which, in due place and season, you may hear. + Well sung sweet Ovid, in the days of yore, + What slight is that which love will not explore? + And Pyramus and Thisbe plainly show + The feats true lovers, when they list, can do: + Though watch'd and captive, yet in spite of all, + They found the art of kissing through a wall. + + But now no longer from our tale to stray; 520 + It happ'd, that once, upon a summer's day, + Our reverend knight was urged to amorous play; + He raised his spouse ere matin-bell was rung, + And thus his morning canticle he sung: + + 'Awake, my love, disclose thy radiant eyes! + Arise, my wife, my beauteous lady, rise! + Hear how the doves with pensive notes complain, + And in soft murmurs tell the trees their pain: + The winter's past; the clouds and tempests fly; + The sun adorns the fields, and brightens all the sky. 530 + Fair without spot, whose every charming part + My bosom wounds, and captivates my heart! + Come, and in mutual pleasures let's engage, + Joy of my life, and comfort of my age!' + + This heard, to Damian straight a sign she made + To haste before; the gentle squire obey'd: + Secret and undescried he took his way, + And, ambush'd close, behind an arbour lay. + + It was not long ere January came, + And hand in hand with him his lovely dame; 540 + Blind as he was, not doubting all was sure, + He turn'd the key, and made the gate secure. + + 'Here let us walk,' he said, 'observed by none, + Conscious of pleasures to the world unknown: + So may my soul have joy, as thou, my wife, + Art far the dearest solace of my life; + And rather would I choose, by heaven above! + To die this instant, than to lose thy love. + Reflect what truth was in my passion shown, + When, unendow'd, I took thee for my own, 550 + And sought no treasure but thy heart alone. + Old as I am, and now deprived of sight, + Whilst thou art faithful to thy own true knight, + Nor age, nor blindness rob me of delight. + Each other loss with patience I can bear, + The loss of thee is what I only fear. + + 'Consider then, my lady, and my wife, + The solid comforts of a virtuous life. + As, first, the love of Christ himself you gain; + Next, your own honour undefiled maintain; 560 + And, lastly, that which sure your mind must move, + My whole estate shall gratify your love: + Make your own terms, and ere to-morrow's sun + Displays his light, by heaven, it shall be done! + I seal the contract with a holy kiss, + And will perform, by this—my dear, and this— + Have comfort, spouse, nor think thy lord unkind; + 'Tis love, not jealousy, that fires my mind! + For when thy charms my sober thoughts engage, + And join'd to them my own unequal age, 570 + From thy dear side I have no power to part, + Such secret transports warm my melting heart. + For who that once possess'd those heavenly charms, + Could live one moment absent from thy arms?' + + He ceased, and May with modest grace replied, + (Weak was her voice, as while she spoke she cried): + 'Heaven knows (with that a tender sigh she drew) + I have a soul to save as well as you; + And, what no less you to my charge commend, + My dearest honour will to death defend. 580 + To you in holy church I gave my hand, + And join'd my heart in wedlock's sacred band: + Yet after this, if you distrust my care, + Then hear, my lord, and witness what I swear: + + 'First may the yawning earth her bosom rend, + And let me hence to hell alive descend; + Or die the death I dread no less than hell, + Sew'd in a sack, and plunged into a well, + Ere I my fame by one lewd act disgrace, + Or once renounce the honour of my race. 590 + For know, sir knight, of gentle blood I came; + I loathe a whore, and startle at the name. + But jealous men on their own crimes reflect, + And learn from thence their ladies to suspect: + Else why these heedless cautions, sir, to me + These doubts and fears of female constancy + This chime still rings in every lady's ear, + The only strain a wife must hope to hear.' + + Thus while she spoke a sidelong glance she cast, + Where Damian, kneeling, worshipp'd as she pass'd. 600 + She saw him watch the motions of her eye, + And singled out a pear-tree planted nigh: + 'Twas charged with fruit that made a goodly show, + And hung with dangling pears was every bough. + Thither th' obsequious squire address'd his pace, + And, climbing, in the summit took his place; + The knight and lady walk'd beneath in view, + Where let us leave them and our tale pursue. + + 'Twas now the season when the glorious sun + His heavenly progress through the Twins had run; 610 + And Jove, exalted, his mild influence yields, + To glad the glebe, and paint the flowery fields: + Clear was the day, and Phoebus, rising bright, + Had streak'd the azure firmament with light; + He pierced the glittering clouds with golden streams, + And warm'd the womb of earth with genial beams. + + It so befell, in that fair morning tide, + The fairies sported on the garden side, + And in the midst their monarch and his bride. + So featly tripp'd the light-foot ladies round, 620 + The knights so nimbly o'er the greensward bound, + That scarce they bent the flowers or touch'd the ground. + The dances ended, all the fairy train + For pinks and daisies search'd the flowery plain; + While on a bank reclined of rising green, + Thus, with a frown, the king bespoke his queen: + + ''Tis too apparent, argue what you can, + The treachery you women use to man: + A thousand authors have this truth made out, + And sad experience leaves no room for doubt. 630 + + 'Heaven rest thy spirit, noble Solomon! + A wiser monarch never saw the sun: + All wealth, all honours, the supreme degree + Of earthly bliss, was well bestow'd on thee! + For sagely hast thou said, Of all mankind, + One only just, and righteous, hope to find: + But shouldst thou search the spacious world around, + Yet one good woman is not to be found. + + 'Thus says the king, who knew your wickedness; + The son of Sirach testifies no less. 640 + So may some wild-fire on your bodies fall, + Or some devouring plague consume you all; + As well you view the lecher in the tree, + And well this honourable knight you see: + But, since he's blind and old (a helpless case), + His squire shall cuckold him before your face. + + 'Now by my own dread majesty I swear, + And by this awful sceptre which I bear, + No impious wretch shall 'scape unpunish'd long, + That in my presence offers such a wrong. 650 + I will this instant undeceive the knight, + And in the very act restore his sight: + And set the strumpet here in open view, + A warning to these ladies, and to you, + And all the faithless sex, for ever to be true.' + + 'And will you so,' replied the queen, 'indeed? + Now, by my mother's soul, it is decreed, + She shall not want an answer at her need. + For her, and for her daughters, I'll engage, + And all the sex in each succeeding age; 660 + Art shall be theirs to varnish an offence, + And fortify their crimes with confidence. + Nay, were they taken in a strict embrace, + Seen with both eyes, and pinion'd on the place; + All they shall need is to protest and swear, + Breathe a soft sigh, and drop a tender tear; + Till their wise husbands, gull'd by arts like these, + Grow gentle, tractable, and tame as geese. + + 'What though this slanderous Jew, this Solomon, + Call'd women fools, and knew full many a one; 670 + The wiser wits of later times declare + How constant, chaste, and virtuous women are: + Witness the martyrs who resign'd their breath, + Serene in torments, unconcern'd in death; + And witness next what Roman authors tell, + How Arria, Portia, and Lucretia fell. + + 'But since the sacred leaves to all are free, + And men interpret texts, why should not we? + By this no more was meant than to have shown + That sovereign goodness dwells in Him alone, 680 + Who only Is, and is but only One. + But grant the worst; shall women then be weigh'd + By every word that Solomon hath said + What though this king (as ancient story boasts) + Built a fair temple to the Lord of Hosts; + He ceased at last his Maker to adore, + And did as much for idol gods, or more. + Beware what lavish praises you confer + On a rank lecher and idolater; + Whose reign indulgent God, says Holy Writ, 690 + Did but for David's righteous sake permit; + David the monarch after Heaven's own mind, + Who loved our sex, and honour'd all our kind. + + 'Well, I'm a woman, and as such must speak; + Silence would swell me, and my heart would break. + Know, then, I scorn your dull authorities, + Your idle wits, and all their learned lies: + By heaven, those authors are our sex's foes, + Whom, in our right, I must and will oppose!' + + 'Nay,' quoth the king, 'dear madam, be not wroth; 700 + I yield it up; but since I gave my oath, + That this much-injured knight again should see; + It must be done—I am a king,' said he, + 'And one whose faith has ever sacred been—' + + 'And so has mine' (she said)—'I am a queen: + Her answer she shall have, I undertake; + And thus an end of all dispute I make. + Try when you list; and you shall find, my lord, + It is not in our sex to break our word.' + + We leave them here in this heroic strain, 710 + And to the knight our story turns again; + Who in the garden, with his lovely May, + Sung merrier than the cuckoo or the jay: + This was his song, 'Oh kind and constant be; + Constant and kind I'll ever prove to thee.' + + Thus singing as he went, at last he drew + By easy steps to where the pear-tree grew: + The longing dame look'd up, and spied her love + Full fairly perch'd among the boughs above. + She stopp'd, and sighing, 'O good gods!' she cried, 720 + 'What pangs, what sudden shoots distend my side + Oh for that tempting fruit, so fresh, so green; + Help, for the love of heaven's immortal queen! + Help, dearest lord, and save at once the life + Of thy poor infant, and thy longing wife!' + + Sore sigh'd the knight to hear his lady's cry, + But could not climb, and had no servant nigh: + Old as he was, and void of eyesight too, + What could, alas! a helpless husband do? + 'And must I languish, then, (she said), and die, 730 + Yet view the lovely fruit before my eye? + At least, kind sir, for charity's sweet sake, + Vouchsafe the trunk between your arms to take; + Then from your back I might ascend the tree; + Do you but stoop, and leave the rest to me.' + + 'With all my soul,' he thus replied again, + 'I'd spend my dearest blood to ease thy pain.' + With that his back against the trunk he bent; + She seized a twig, and up the tree she went. + + Now prove your patience, gentle ladies all! 740 + Nor let on me your heavy anger fall: + 'Tis truth I tell, though not in phrase refined; + Though blunt my tale, yet honest is my mind. + What feats the lady in the tree might do, + I pass, as gambols never known to you; + But sure it was a merrier fit, she swore, + Than in her life she ever felt before. + + In that nice moment, lo! the wondering knight + Look'd out, and stood restored to sudden sight. + Straight on the tree his eager eyes he bent, 750 + As one whose thoughts were on his spouse intent; + But when he saw his bosom-wife so dress'd, + His rage was such as cannot be express'd: + Not frantic mothers, when their infants die, + With louder clamours rend the vaulted sky: + He cried, he roar'd, he storm'd, he tore his hair: + 'Death! hell! and furies! what dost thou do there?' + + 'What ails my lord?' the trembling dame replied, + 'I thought your patience had been better tried: + Is this your love, ungrateful and unkind, 760 + This my reward for having cured the blind? + Why was I taught to make my husband see, + By struggling with a man upon a tree + Did I for this the power of magic prove? + Unhappy wife, whose crime was too much love!' + + 'If this be struggling, by this holy light, + 'Tis struggling with a vengeance (quoth the knight): + So Heaven preserve the sight it has restored, + As with these eyes I plainly saw thee whored; + Whored by my slave—perfidious wretch! may hell 770 + As surely seize thee, as I saw too well.' + + 'Guard me, good angels!' cried the gentle May, + 'Pray heaven this magic work the proper way! + Alas, my love! 'tis certain, could you see, + You ne'er had used these killing words to me: + So help me, Fates! as 'tis no perfect sight, + But some faint glimmering of a doubtful light.' + + 'What I have said (quoth he) I must maintain, + For by th' immortal powers it seem'd too plain—' + + 'By all those powers, some frenzy seized your mind 780 + (Replied the dame), are these the thanks I find? + Wretch that I am, that e'er I was so kind!' + She said; a rising sigh express'd her woe, + The ready tears apace began to flow, + And, as they fell, she wiped from either eye + The drops (for women, when they list, can cry). + + The knight was touch'd; and in his looks appear'd + Signs of remorse, while thus his spouse he cheer'd: + 'Madam, 'tis past, and my short anger o'er! + Come down, and vex your tender heart no more: 790 + Excuse me, dear, if aught amiss was said, + For, on my soul, amends shall soon be made: + Let my repentance your forgiveness draw; + By heaven, I swore but what I <i>thought</i> I saw.' + + 'Ah, my loved lord! 'twas much unkind (she cried) + On bare suspicion thus to treat your bride. + But, till your sight's establish'd, for a while, + Imperfect objects may your sense beguile. + Thus, when from sleep we first our eyes display, + The balls are wounded with the piercing ray, 800 + And dusky vapours rise and intercept the day; + So, just recovering from the shades of night, + Your swimming eyes are drunk with sudden light, + Strange phantoms dance around, and skim before your sight. + Then, sir, be cautious, nor too rashly deem; + Heaven knows how seldom things are what they seem! + Consult your reason, and you soon shall find + 'Twas you were jealous, not your wife unkind: + Jove ne'er spoke oracle more true than this, + None judge so wrong as those who think amiss.' 810 + + With that she leap'd into her lord's embrace, + With well-dissembled virtue in her face. + He hugg'd her close, and kiss'd her o'er and o'er, + Disturb'd with doubts and jealousies no more: + Both, pleased and bless'd, renew'd their mutual vows: + A fruitful wife, and a believing spouse. + + Thus ends our tale, whose moral next to make, + Let all wise husbands hence example take; + And pray, to crown the pleasure of their lives, + To be so well deluded by their wives. 820 +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WIFE OF BATH, HER PROLOGUE. FROM CHAUCER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Behold the woes of matrimonial life, + And hear with reverence an experienced wife! + To dear-bought wisdom give the credit due, + And think, for once, a woman tells you true. + In all these trials I have borne a part: + I was myself the scourge that caused the smart; + For, since fifteen, in triumph have I led + Five captive husbands from the church to bed. + + Christ saw a wedding once, the Scripture says, + And saw but one, 'tis thought, in all his days; 10 + Whence some infer, whose conscience is too nice, + No pious Christian ought to marry twice. + + But let them read, and solve me if they can, + The words address'd to the Samaritan; + Five times in lawful wedlock she was join'd, + And sure the certain stint was ne'er defined. + + 'Increase and multiply' was Heaven's command, + And that's a text I clearly understand: + This, too, 'Let men their sires and mothers leave, + And to their dearer wives for ever cleave.' 20 + More wives than one by Solomon were tried, + Or else the wisest of mankind's belied. + I've had myself full many a merry fit, + And trust in heaven I may have many yet; + For when my transitory spouse, unkind, + Shall die and leave his woful wife behind, + I'll take the next good Christian I can find. + + Paul, knowing one could never serve our turn, + Declared 'twas better far to wed than burn. + There's danger in assembling fire and tow; 30 + I grant 'em that; and what it means you know. + The same apostle, too, has elsewhere own'd + No precept for virginity he found: + 'Tis but a counsel—and we women still + Take which we like, the counsel or our will. + + I envy not their bliss, if he or she + Think fit to live in perfect chastity: + Pure let them be, and free from taint or vice; + I for a few slight spots am not so nice. + Heaven calls us different ways; on these bestows 40 + One proper gift, another grants to those; + Not every man's obliged to sell his store, + And give up all his substance to the poor: + Such as are perfect may, I can't deny; + But, by your leaves, divines! so am not I. + + Full many a saint, since first the world began, + Lived an unspotted maid in spite of man: + Let such (a God's name) with fine wheat be fed, + And let us honest wives eat barley bread. + For me, I'll keep the post assign'd by heaven, 50 + And use the copious talent it has given: + Let my good spouse pay tribute, do me right, + And keep an equal reckoning every night; + His proper body is not his, but mine; + For so said Paul, and Paul's a sound divine. + + Know then, of those five husbands I have had, + Three were just tolerable, two were bad. + The three were old, but rich and fond beside, + And toil'd most piteously to please their bride; + But since their wealth (the best they had) was mine, 60 + The rest, without much loss, I could resign: + Sure to be loved, I took no pains to please, + Yet had more pleasure far than they had ease. + + Presents flow'd in apace: with showers of gold + They made their court, like Jupiter of old: + If I but smiled, a sudden youth they found, + And a new palsy seized them when I frown'd. + Ye sovereign wives! give ear, and understand: + Thus shall ye speak, and exercise command; + For never was it given to mortal man 70 + To lie so boldly as we women can: + Forswear the fact, though seen with both his eyes, + And call your maids to witness how he lies. + + Hark, old Sir Paul! ('twas thus I used to say) + Whence is our neighbour's wife so rich and gay + Treated, caress'd, where'er she's pleased to roam— + I sit in tatters, and immured at home. + Why to her house dost thou so oft repair? + Art thou so amorous? and is she so fair? + If I but see a cousin or a friend, 80 + Lord! how you swell and rage, like any fiend! + But you reel home, a drunken beastly bear, + Then preach till midnight in your easy chair; + Cry, Wives are false, and every woman evil, + And give up all that's female to the devil. + If poor (you say), she drains her husband's purse; + If rich, she keeps her priest, or something worse; + If highly born, intolerably vain, + Vapours and pride by turns possess her brain; + Now gaily mad, now sourly splenetic, 90 + Freakish when well, and fretful when she's sick: + If fair, then chaste she cannot long abide, + By pressing youth attack'd on every side; + If foul, her wealth the lusty lover lures, + Or else her wit some fool-gallant procures, + Or else she dances with becoming grace, + Or shape excuses the defects of face. + There swims no goose so gray, but soon or late + She finds some honest gander for her mate. + + Horses (thou say'st) and asses men may try, 100 + And ring suspected vessels ere they buy; + But wives, a random choice, untried they take, + They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake; + Then, nor till then, the veil's removed away, + And all the woman glares in open day. + + You tell me, to preserve your wife's good grace, + Your eyes must always languish on my face, + Your tongue with constant flatteries feed my ear, + And tag each sentence with 'My life! My dear!' + If, by strange chance, a modest blush be raised, 110 + Be sure my fine complexion must be praised. + My garments always must be new and gay, + And feasts still kept upon my wedding day. + Then must my nurse be pleased, and favourite maid: + And endless treats and endless visits paid + To a long train of kindred, friends, allies: + All this thou say'st, and all thou say'st are lies. + + On Jenkin, too, you cast a squinting eye: + What! can your 'prentice raise your jealousy? + Fresh are his ruddy cheeks, his forehead fair, 120 + And like the burnish'd gold his curling hair. + But clear thy wrinkled brow, and quit thy sorrow, + I'd scorn your 'prentice should you die to-morrow. + + Why are thy chests all lock'd? on what design? + Are not thy worldly goods and treasures mine? + Sir, I'm no fool; nor shall you, by St John, + Have goods and body to yourself alone. + One you shall quit, in spite of both your eyes— + I heed not, I, the bolts, the locks, the spies. + If you had wit, you'd say, 'Go where you will, 130 + Dear spouse! I credit not the tales they tell: + Take all the freedoms of a married life; + I know thee for a virtuous, faithful wife.' + + Lord! when you have enough, what need you care + How merrily soever others fare? + Though all the day I give and take delight, + Doubt not, sufficient will be left at night. + 'Tis but a just and rational desire + To light a taper at a neighbour's fire. + There's danger too, you think, in rich array, 140 + And none can long be modest that are gay. + The cat, if you but singe her tabby skin, + The chimney keeps, and sits content within: + But once grown sleek, will from her corner run, + Sport with her tail, and wanton in the sun: + She licks her fair round face, and frisks abroad + To show her fur, and to be catterwaw'd. + + Lo! thus, my friends, I wrought to my desires + These three right ancient venerable sires. + I told 'em, Thus you say, and thus you do; 150 + And told 'em false, but Jenkin swore 'twas true. + I, like a dog, could bite as well as whine, + And first complain'd whene'er the guilt was mine. + I tax'd them oft with wenching and amours, + When their weak legs scarce dragg'd them out of doors + And swore, the rambles that I took by night + Were all to spy what damsels they bedight: + That colour brought me many hours of mirth; + For all this wit is given us from our birth. + Heaven gave to woman the peculiar grace 160 + To spin, to weep, and cully human race. + By this nice conduct and this prudent course, + By murmuring, wheedling, stratagem, and force, + I still prevail'd, and would be in the right, + Or curtain lectures made a restless night. + If once my husband's arm was o'er my side, + 'What! so familiar with your spouse?' I cried: + I levied first a tax upon his need; + Then let him—'twas a nicety indeed! + Let all mankind this certain maxim hold; 170 + Marry who will, our sex is to be sold. + With empty hands no tassels you can lure, + But fulsome love for gain we can endure; + For gold we love the impotent and old, + And heave, and pant, and kiss, and cling, for gold. + Yet with embraces curses oft I mix'd, + Then kiss'd again, and chid, and rail'd betwixt. + Well, I may make my will in peace, and die, + For not one word in man's arrears am I. + To drop a dear dispute I was unable, 180 + E'en though the Pope himself had sat at table: + But when my point was gain'd, then thus I spoke: + 'Billy, my dear, how sheepishly you look! + Approach, my spouse, and let me kiss thy cheek; + Thou shouldst be always thus, resign'd and meek! + Of Job's great patience since so oft you preach, + Well should you practise who so well can teach. + 'Tis difficult to do, I must allow, + But I, my dearest! will instruct you how. + Great is the blessing of a prudent wife, 190 + Who puts a period to domestic strife. + One of us two must rule, and one obey; + And since in man right reason bears the sway, + Let that frail thing, weak woman, have her way. + The wives of all my family have ruled + Their tender husbands, and their passions cool'd. + Fye! 'tis unmanly thus to sigh and groan: + What! would you have me to yourself alone? + Why, take me, love! take all and every part! + Here's your revenge! you love it at your heart. 200 + Would I vouchsafe to sell what nature gave, + You little think what custom I could have. + But see! I'm all your own—nay, hold—for shame! + What means my dear?—indeed, you are to blame.' + + Thus with my first three lords I pass'd my life, + A very woman, and a very wife. + What sums from these old spouses I could raise, + Procured young husbands in my riper days. + Though past my bloom, not yet decay'd was I, + Wanton and wild, and chatter'd like a pie. 210 + In country-dances still I bore the bell, + And sung as sweet as evening Philomel. + To clear my quail-pipe, and refresh my soul, + Full oft I drain'd the spicy nut-brown bowl; + Rich luscious wines, that youthful blood improve, + And warm the swelling veins to feats of love: + For 'tis as sure as cold engenders hail, + A liquorish mouth must have a lecherous tail: + Wine lets no lover unrewarded go, + As all true gamesters by experience know. 220 + + But oh, good gods! whene'er a thought I cast + On all the joys of youth and beauty past, + To find in pleasures I have had my part, + Still warms me to the bottom of my heart. + This wicked world was once my dear delight; + Now, all my conquests, all my charms, good night! + The flour consumed, the best that now I can + Is e'en to make my market of the bran. + + My fourth dear spouse was not exceeding true; + He kept, 'twas thought, a private miss or two: 230 + But all that score I paid—As how? you'll say, + Not with my body, in a filthy way; + But I so dress'd, and danced, and drank, and dined, + And view'd a friend with eyes so very kind, + As stung his heart, and made his marrow fry, + With burning rage and frantic jealousy + His soul, I hope, enjoys eternal glory, + For here on earth I was his purgatory. + Oft, when his shoe the most severely wrung, + He put on careless airs, and sat and sung. 240 + How sore I gall'd him only heaven could know, + And he that felt, and I that caused the woe: + He died, when last from pilgrimage I came, + With other gossips from Jerusalem, + And now lies buried underneath a rood, + Fair to be seen, and rear'd of honest wood: + A tomb, indeed, with fewer sculptures graced + Than that Mausolus' pious widow placed, + Or where enshrined the great Darius lay; + But cost on graves is merely thrown away. 250 + The pit fill'd up, with turf we cover'd o'er; + So bless the good man's soul! I say no more. + + Now for my fifth loved lord, the last and best; + (Kind heaven afford him everlasting rest!) + Full hearty was his love, and I can show + The tokens on my ribs in black and blue; + Yet with a knack my heart he could have won, + While yet the smart was shooting in the bone. + How quaint an appetite in woman reigns! + Free gifts we scorn, and love what costs us pains: 260 + Let men avoid us, and on them we leap; + A glutted market makes provisions cheap. + + In pure goodwill I took this jovial spark, + Of Oxford he, a most egregious clerk. + He boarded with a widow in the town, + A trusty gossip, one dame Alison; + Full well the secrets of my soul she knew, + Better than e'er our parish priest could do. + To her I told whatever could befall: + Had but my husband piss'd against a wall, 270 + Or done a thing that might have cost his life, + She—and my niece—and one more worthy wife, + Had known it all: what most he would conceal, + To these I made no scruple to reveal. + Oft has he blush'd from ear to ear for shame + That e'er he told a secret to his dame. + + It so befell, in holy time of Lent, + That oft a day I to this gossip went; + (My husband, thank my stars, was out of town) + From house to house we rambled up and down, 280 + This clerk, myself, and my good neighbour, Alse, + To see, be seen, to tell, and gather tales. + Visits to every church we daily paid, + And march'd in every holy masquerade; + The stations duly, and the vigils kept; + Not much we fasted, but scarce ever slept. + At sermons, too, I shone in scarlet gay: + The wasting moth ne'er spoil'd my best array; + The cause was this, I wore it every day. + + 'Twas when fresh May her early blossoms yields, 290 + This clerk and I were walking in the fields. + We grew so intimate, I can't tell how, + I pawn'd my honour, and engaged my vow, + If e'er I laid my husband in his urn, + That he, and only he, should serve my turn. + We straight struck hands, the bargain was agreed; + I still have shifts against a time of need: + The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole + Can never be a mouse of any soul. + + I vow'd I scarce could sleep since first I knew him, 300 + And durst be sworn he had bewitch'd me to him + If e'er I slept, I dream'd of him alone, + And dreams foretell, as learned men have shown: + All this I said; but dreams, sirs, I had none: + I follow'd but my crafty crony's lore, + Who bid me tell this lie—and twenty more. + + Thus day by day, and month by mouth we pass'd; + It pleased the Lord to take my spouse at last. + I tore my gown, I soil'd my locks with dust, + And beat my breasts, as wretched widows must. 310 + Before my face my handkerchief I spread, + To hide the flood of tears I did not shed. + The good man's coffin to the church was borne; + Around, the neighbours, and my clerk, too, mourn: + But as he march'd, good gods! he show'd a pair + Of legs and feet so clean, so strong, so fair! + Of twenty winters' age he seem'd to be; + I (to say truth) was twenty more than he; + But vigorous still, a lively buxom dame, + And had a wondrous gift to quench a flame. 320 + A conjuror once, that deeply could divine, + Assured me Mars in Taurus was my sign. + As the stars order'd, such my life has been: + Alas, alas! that ever love was sin! + Fair Venus gave me fire and sprightly grace, + And Mars assurance and a dauntless face. + By virtue of this powerful constellation, + I follow'd always my own inclination. + + But to my tale: A month scarce pass'd away, + With dance and song we kept the nuptial day. 330 + All I possess'd I gave to his command, + My goods and chattels, money, house, and land; + But oft repented, and repent it still; + He proved a rebel to my sovereign will; + Nay, once, by heaven! he struck me on the face; + Hear but the fact, and judge yourselves the case. + + Stubborn as any lioness was I, + And knew full well to raise my voice on high; + As true a rambler as I was before, + And would be so in spite of all he swore. 340 + He against this right sagely would advise, + And old examples set before my eyes; + Tell how the Roman matrons led their life, + Of Gracchus' mother, and Duilius' wife; + And close the sermon, as beseem'd his wit, + With some grave sentence out of Holy Writ. + Oft would he say, 'Who builds his house on sands, + Pricks his blind horse across the fallow lands; + Or lets his wife abroad with pilgrims roam, + Deserves a fool's cap and long ears at home.' 350 + All this avail'd not, for whoe'er he be + That tells my faults, I hate him mortally! + And so do numbers more, I'll boldly say, + Men, women, clergy, regular, and lay. + + My spouse (who was, you know, to learning bred) + A certain treatise oft at evening read, + Where divers authors (whom the devil confound + For all their lies) were in one volume bound: + Valerius whole, and of St Jerome part; + Chrysippus and Tertullian, Ovid's Art, 360 + Solomon's Proverbs, Eloisa's Loves, + And many more than, sure, the Church approves. + More legends were there here of wicked wives + Than good in all the Bible and saints' lives. + Who drew the lion vanquish'd? 'Twas a man: + But could we women write as scholars can, + Men should stand mark'd with far more wickedness + Than all the sons of Adam could redress. + Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies, + And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise. 370 + Those play the scholars who can't play the men, + And use that weapon which they have, their pen: + When old, and past the relish of delight, + Then down they sit, and in their dotage write, + That not one woman keeps her marriage-vow. + (This by the way, but to my purpose now:) + + It chanced my husband, on a winter's night, + Read in this book aloud with strange delight, + How the first female (as the Scriptures show) + Brought her own spouse and all his race to woe; 380 + How Samson fell; and he whom Dejanire + Wrapp'd in th' envenom'd shirt, and set on fire; + How cursed Eriphyle her lord betray'd, + And the dire ambush Clytemnestra laid; + But what most pleased him was the Cretan dame + And husband-bull—Oh, monstrous! fye, for shame! + + He had by heart the whole detail of woe + Xantippe made her good man undergo; + How oft she scolded in a day he knew, + How many pisspots on the sage she threw; 390 + Who took it patiently, and wiped his head: + 'Rain follows thunder,' that was all he said. + + He read how Arius to his friend complain'd + A fatal tree was growing in his land, + On which three wives successively had twined + A sliding noose, and waver'd in the wind. + 'Where grows this plant,' replied the friend, 'oh! where? + For better fruit did never orchard bear: + Give me some slip of this most blissful tree, + And in my garden planted it shall be!' 400 + + Then how two wives their lords' destruction prove, + Through hatred one, and one through too much love; + That for her husband mix'd a poisonous draught, + And this for lust an amorous philtre bought: + The nimble juice soon seized his giddy head, + Frantic at night, and in the morning dead. + + How some with swords their sleeping lords have slain, + And some have hammer'd nails into their brain, + And some have drench'd them with a deadly potion: + All this he read, and read with great devotion. 410 + + Long time I heard, and swell'd, and blush'd, and frown'd; + But when no end of these vile tales I found, + When still he read, and laugh'd, and read again, + And half the night was thus consumed in vain, + Provoked to vengeance, three large leaves I tore, + And with one buffet fell'd him on the floor. + With that my husband in a fury rose, + And down he settled me with hearty blows. + I groan'd, and lay extended on my side; + 'Oh! thou hast slain me for my wealth!' I cried, 420 + 'Yet I forgive thee—take my last embrace—' + He wept, kind soul! and stoop'd to kiss my face: + I took him such a box as turn'd him blue, + Then sigh'd, and cried, 'Adieu, my dear, adieu!' + + But after many a hearty struggle past, + I condescended to be pleased at last. + Soon as he said, 'My mistress and my wife! + Do what you list the term of all your life,' + I took to heart the merits of the cause, + And stood content to rule by wholesome laws; 430 + Received the reins of absolute command, + With all the government of house and land, + And empire o'er his tongue and o'er his hand. + As for the volume that reviled the dames, + 'Twas torn to fragments, and condemn'd to flames. + + Now, Heaven, on all my husbands gone bestow + Pleasures above for tortures felt below: + That rest they wish'd for, grant them in the grave, + And bless those souls my conduct help'd to save! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL" id="link2H_PROL"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUES + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PROLOGUE TO A PLAY FOR MR DENNIS'S BENEFIT, IN 1733, WHEN HE WAS OLD, + BLIND, AND IN GREAT DISTRESS, A LITTLE BEFORE HIS DEATH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As when that hero, who, in each campaign, + Had braved the Goth, and many a Vandal slain, + Lay fortune-struck, a spectacle of woe! + Wept by each friend, forgiven by every foe: + Was there a generous, a reflecting mind, + But pitied Belisarius, old and blind? + Was there a chief but melted at the sight? + A common soldier, but who clubb'd his mite? + Such, such emotions should in Britons rise, + When press'd by want and weakness Dennis lies; 10 + Dennis, who long had warr'd with modern Huns, + Their quibbles routed, and defied their puns; + A desperate bulwark, sturdy, firm, and fierce, + Against the Gothic sons of frozen verse: + How changed from him who made the boxes groan, + And shook the stage with thunders all his own! + Stood up to dash each vain pretender's hope, + Maul the French tyrant, or pull down the Pope! + If there's a Briton then, true bred and born, + Who holds dragoons and wooden shoes in scorn; 20 + If there's a critic of distinguished rage; + If there's a senior who contemns this age: + Let him to night his just assistance lend, + And be the critic's, Briton's, old man's friend. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL2" id="link2H_PROL2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE TO MR ADDISON'S 'CATO.' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, + To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; + To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, + Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: + For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage, + Commanding tears to stream through every age; + Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, + And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. + Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move + The hero's glory, or the virgin's love; 10 + In pitying love, we but our weakness show, + And wild ambition well deserves its woe. + Here tears shall flow from a more generous cause, + Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws: + He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise, + And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes. + Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws, + What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was: + No common object to your sight displays, + But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys, 20 + A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, + And greatly falling with a falling state. + While Cato gives his little senate laws, + What bosom beats not in his country's cause? + Who sees him act, but envies every deed? + Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? + E'en when proud Caesar, 'midst triumphal cars, + The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, + Ignobly vain, and impotently great, + Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state; 30 + As her dead father's reverend image pass'd, + The pomp was darkened, and the day o'ercast; + The triumph ceased, tears gush'd from every eye; + The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by; + Her last good man dejected Rome adored, + And honour'd Caesar's less than Cato's sword. + + Britons, attend: be worth like this approved, + And show you have the virtue to be moved. + With honest scorn the first famed Cato view'd + Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subdued: 40 + Your scene precariously subsists too long + On French translation and Italian song. + Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage, + Be justly warm'd with your own native rage: + Such plays alone should win a British ear, + As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL3" id="link2H_PROL3"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE TO THOMSON'S 'SOPHONISBA.'<a href="#linknote-59" + name="linknoteref-59" id="linknoteref-59"><small>59</small></a> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When Learning, after the long Gothic night, + Fair, o'er the western world, renew'd its light, + With arts arising, Sophonisba rose; + The tragic Muse, returning, wept her woes. + With her th' Italian scene first learn'd to glow, + And the first tears for her were taught to flow: + Her charms the Gallic Muses next inspired; + Corneille himself saw, wonder'd, and was fired. + + What foreign theatres with pride have shown, + Britain, by juster title, makes her own. 10 + When freedom is the cause, 'tis hers to fight, + And hers, when freedom is the theme, to write. + For this a British author bids again + The heroine rise, to grace the British scene: + Here, as in life, she breathes her genuine flame, + She asks, What bosom has not felt the same? + Asks of the British youth—is silence there? + She dares to ask it of the British fair. + To-night our homespun author would be true, + At once to nature, history, and you. 20 + Well pleased to give our neighbours due applause, + He owns their learning, but disdains their laws; + Not to his patient touch, or happy flame, + 'Tis to his British heart he trusts for fame. + If France excel him in one freeborn thought, + The man, as well as poet, is in fault. + Nature! informer of the poet's art, + Whose force alone can raise or melt the heart, + Thou art his guide; each passion, every line, + Whate'er he draws to please, must all be thine. 30 + Be thou his judge: in every candid breast + Thy silent whisper is the sacred test. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL4" id="link2H_PROL4"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE, DESIGNED FOR MR D'URFEY'S LAST PLAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Grown old in rhyme, 'twere barbarous to discard + Your persevering, unexhausted bard; + Damnation follows death in other men, + But your damn'd poet lives and writes again. + The adventurous lover is successful still, + Who strives to please the fair against her will: + Be kind, and make him in his wishes easy, + Who in your own despite has strove to please ye. + He scorn'd to borrow from the wits of yore, + But ever writ, as none e'er writ before. 10 + You modern wits, should each man bring his claim, + Have desperate debentures on your fame; + And little would be left you, I'm afraid, + If all your debts to Greece and Rome were paid. + From this deep fund our author largely draws, + Nor sinks his credit lower than it was. + Though plays for honour in old time he made, + 'Tis now for better reasons—to be paid. + Believe him, he has known the world too long, + And seen the death of much immortal song. 20 + He says, poor poets lost, while players won, + As pimps grow rich, while gallants are undone. + Though Tom the poet writ with ease and pleasure, + The comic Tom abounds in other treasure. + Fame is at best an unperforming cheat; + But 'tis substantial happiness to eat. + Let ease, his last request, be of your giving, + Nor force him to be damn'd to get his living. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL5" id="link2H_PROL5"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE TO 'THE THREE HOURS AFTER MARRIAGE' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Authors are judged by strange capricious rules; + The great ones are thought mad, the small ones fools: + Yet sure the best are most severely fated; + For fools are only laugh'd at, wits are hated. + Blockheads with reason men of sense abhor; + But fool 'gainst fool, is barbarous civil war. + Why on all authors, then, should critics fall? + Since some have writ, and shown no wit at all. + Condemn a play of theirs, and they evade it; + Cry, 'Damn not us, but damn the French, who made it.' 10 + By running goods these graceless owlers gain; + Theirs are the rules of France, the plots of Spain; + But wit, like wine, from happier climates brought, + Dash'd by these rogues, turns English common draught. + They pall Molière's and Lopez' sprightly strain, + And teach dull harlequins to grin in vain. + + How shall our author hope a gentler fate, + Who dares most impudently not translate? + It had been civil, in these ticklish times, + To fetch his fools and knaves from foreign climes; 20 + Spaniards and French abuse to the world's end, + But spare old England, lest you hurt a friend. + If any fool is by our satire bit, + Let him hiss loud, to show you all he's hit. + Poets make characters, as salesmen clothes; + We take no measure of your fops and beaux; + But here all sizes and all shapes you meet, + And fit yourselves, like chaps in Monmouth Street. + + Gallants, look here! this fool's cap<a href="#linknote-60" + name="linknoteref-60" id="linknoteref-60">60</a> has an air, 30 + Goodly and smart, with ears of Issachar. + Let no one fool engross it, or confine + A common blessing: now 'tis yours, now mine. + But poets in all ages had the care + To keep this cap for such as will, to wear. + Our author has it now (for every wit + Of course resign'd it to the next that writ) + And thus upon the stage 'tis fairly thrown;<a href="#linknote-61" + name="linknoteref-61" id="linknoteref-61">61</a> + Let him that takes it wear it as his own. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_EPIL" id="link2H_EPIL"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPILOGUE TO MR ROWE'S 'JANE SHORE.' DESIGNED FOR MRS OLDFIELD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prodigious this! the frail one of our play + From her own sex should mercy find to-day! + You might have held the pretty head aside, + Peep'd in your fans, been serious thus, and cried— + 'The play may pass—but that strange creature, Shore, + I can't—indeed now—I so hate a whore—' + Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull, + And thanks his stars he was not born a fool; + So from a sister sinner you shall hear, + 'How strangely you expose yourself, my dear!' 10 + But let me die, all raillery apart, + Our sex are still forgiving at their heart; + And, did not wicked custom so contrive, + We'd be the best good-natured things alive. + + There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, + That virtuous ladies envy while they rail; + Such rage without, betrays the fire within; + In some close corner of the soul they sin; + Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice, + Amidst their virtues a reserve of vice. 20 + The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns, + Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams. + Would you enjoy soft nights and solid dinners? + Faith, gallants, board with saints, and bed with sinners, + + Well, if our author in the wife offends, + He has a husband that will make amends; + He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving; + And sure such kind good creatures may be living. + In days of old, they pardon'd breach of vows, + Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse: 30 + Plu—Plutarch, what's his name that writes his life? + Tells us, that Cato dearly loved his wife: + Yet if a friend, a night or so, should need her, + He'd recommend her as a special breeder. + To lend a wife, few here would scruple make; + But, pray, which of you all would take her back? + Though with the Stoic chief our stage may ring, + The Stoic husband was the glorious thing. + The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true, + And loved his country—but what's that to you? 40 + Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye, + But the kind cuckold might instruct the city: + There, many an honest man may copy Cato, + Who ne'er saw naked sword, or look'd in Plato. + + If, after all, you think it a disgrace, + That Edward's miss thus perks it in your face; + To see a piece of failing flesh and blood, + In all the rest so impudently good; + Faith, let the modest matrons of the town + Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down. 50 +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISCELLANIES + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BASSET-TABLE.<a href="#linknote-62" name="linknoteref-62" + id="linknoteref-62"><small>62</small></a> AN ECLOGUE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CARDELIA. + + The basset-table spread, the tallier come; + Why stays Smilinda in the dressing-room? + Rise, pensive nymph, the tallier waits for you! + + SMILINDA. + + Ah, madam, since my Sharper is untrue, + I joyless make my once adored Alpeu. + I saw him stand behind Ombrelia's chair, + And whisper with that soft, deluding air, + And those feign'd sighs which cheat the listening fair. + + CARDELIA. + + Is this the cause of your romantic strains? + A mightier grief my heavy heart sustains. 10 + As you by love, so I by fortune cross'd, + One, one bad deal, three Septlevas have lost. + + SMILINDA. + + Is that the grief, which you compare with mine? + With ease, the smiles of Fortune I resign: + Would all my gold in one bad deal were gone! + Were lovely Sharper mine, and mine alone. + + CARDELIA. + + A lover lost, is but a common care; + And prudent nymphs against that change prepare: + The Knave of Clubs thrice lost! Oh! who could guess + This fatal stroke, this unforeseen distress? 20 + + SMILINDA. + + See Betty Lovet! very <i>àpropos</i> + She all the cares of love and play does know: + Dear Betty shall th' important point decide; + Betty, who oft the pain of each has tried; + Impartial, she shall say who suffers most, + By cards' ill usage, or by lovers lost. + + LOVET. + + Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I stay, + Though time is precious, and I want some tea. + + CARDELIA. + + Behold this equipage, by Mathers wrought, + With fifty guineas (a great pen'orth) bought. 30 + See, on the tooth-pick, Mars and Cupid strive; + And both the struggling figures seem alive. + Upon the bottom shines the queen's bright face; + A myrtle foliage round the thimble-case. + Jove, Jove himself, does on the scissors shine; + The metal, and the workmanship, divine! + + SMILINDA. + + This snuff-box,—once the pledge of Sharper's love, + When rival beauties for the present strove; + At Corticelli's he the raffle won; + Then first his passion was in public shown: 40 + Hazardia blush'd, and turn'd her head aside, + A rival's envy (all in vain) to hide. + This snuff-box,—on the hinge see brilliants shine: + This snuff-box will I stake; the prize is mine. + + CARDELIA. + + Alas! far lesser losses than I bear, + Have made a soldier sigh, a lover swear. + And oh! what makes the disappointment hard, + 'Twas my own lord that drew the fatal card. + In complaisance, I took the Queen he gave; + Though my own secret wish was for the Knave. 50 + The Knave won Sonica, which I had chose; + And the next pull, my Septleva I lose. + + SMILINDA. + + But ah! what aggravates the killing smart, + The cruel thought, that stabs me to the heart; + This cursed Ombrelia, this undoing fair, + By whose vile arts this heavy grief I bear; + She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears, + She owes to me the very charms she wears. + An awkward thing, when first she came to town; + Her shape unfashion'd, and her face unknown: 60 + She was my friend; I taught her first to spread + Upon her sallow cheeks enlivening red: + I introduced her to the park and plays; + And, by my interest, Cozens made her stays. + Ungrateful wretch! with mimic airs grown pert, + She dares to steal my favourite lover's heart. + + CARDELIA. + + Wretch that I was, how often have I swore, + When Winnall tallied, I would punt no more? + I know the bite, yet to my ruin run; + And see the folly, which I cannot shun. 70 + + SMILINDA. + + How many maids have Sharper's vows deceived? + How many cursed the moment they believed? + Yet his known falsehood could no warning prove: + Ah! what is warning to a maid in love? + + CARDELIA. + + But of what marble must that breast be form'd, + To gaze on basset, and remain unwarm'd? + When Kings, Queens, Knaves, are set in decent rank; + Exposed in glorious heaps the tempting bank, + Guineas, half-guineas, all the shining train; + The winner's pleasure, and the loser's pain: 80 + In bright confusion open rouleaus lie, + They strike the soul, and glitter in the eye. + Fired by the sight, all reason I disdain; + My passions rise, and will not bear the rein. + Look upon basset, you who reason boast, + And see if reason must not there be lost. + + SMILINDA. + + What more than marble must that heart compose, + Can hearken coldly to my Sharper's vows? + Then, when he trembles, when his blushes rise, + When awful love seems melting in his eyes! 90 + With eager beats his Mechlin cravat moves: + He loves!—I whisper to myself—he loves! + Such unfeign'd passion in his looks appears, + I lose all memory of my former fears; + My panting heart confesses all his charms, + I yield at once, and sink into his arms: + Think of that moment, you who prudence boast; + For such a moment, prudence well were lost. + + CARDELIA. + + At the groom-porter's, batter'd bullies play, + Some dukes at Mary-bone bowl time away. 100 + But who the bowl or rattling dice compares + To basset's heavenly joys, and pleasing cares? + + SMILINDA. + + Soft Simplicetta dotes upon a beau; + Prudina likes a man, and laughs at show. + Their several graces in my Sharper meet; + Strong as the footman, as the master sweet. + + LOVET. + + Cease your contention, which has been too long; + I grow impatient, and the tea's too strong. + Attend, and yield to what I now decide; + The equipage shall grace Smilinda's side: 110 + The snuff-box to Cardelia I decree. + Now leave complaining, and begin your tea. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES ON RECEIVING FROM THE EIGHT HON. THE LADY FRANCES SHIRLEY<a + href="#linknote-63" name="linknoteref-63" id="linknoteref-63"><small>63</small></a> + A STANDISH AND TWO PENS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Yes, I beheld the Athenian queen + Descend in all her sober charms; + 'And take,' she said, and smiled serene, + 'Take at this hand celestial arms: + + 2 'Secure the radiant weapons wield; + This golden lance shall guard desert; + And if a vice dares keep the field, + This steel shall stab it to the heart.' + + 3 Awed, on my bended knees I fell, + Received the weapons of the sky; + And dipp'd them in the sable well, + The fount of fame or infamy. + + 4 'What well? what weapon?' Flavia cries— + 'A standish, steel, and golden pen! + It came from Bertrand's,<a href="#linknote-64" name="linknoteref-64" + id="linknoteref-64">64</a> not the skies; + I gave it you to write again. + + 5 'But, friend, take heed whom you attack; + You'll bring a house (I mean of peers) + Red, blue, and green, nay, white and black, + L—— and all about your ears. + + 6 'You'd write as smooth again on glass, + And run, on ivory, so glib, + As not to stick at fool or ass,<a href="#linknote-65" + name="linknoteref-65" id="linknoteref-65">65</a> + Nor stop at flattery or fib.<a href="#linknote-66" name="linknoteref-66" + id="linknoteref-66">66</a> + + 7 'Athenian queen! and sober charms! + I tell ye, fool, there's nothing in't: + 'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;<a href="#linknote-67" + name="linknoteref-67" id="linknoteref-67">67</a> + In Dryden's Virgil see the print.<a href="#linknote-68" + name="linknoteref-68" id="linknoteref-68">68</a> + + 8 'Come, if you'll be a quiet soul, + That dares tell neither truth nor lies,<a href="#linknote-69" + name="linknoteref-69" id="linknoteref-69">69</a> + I'll list you in the harmless roll + Of those that sing of these poor eyes.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VERBATIM FROM BOILEAU. UN JOUR DIT UN AUTEUR, ETC. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Once (says an author—where I need not say) + Two travellers found an oyster in their way; + Both fierce, both hungry; the dispute grew strong, + While, scale in hand, Dame Justice pass'd along. + Before her each with clamour pleads the laws, + Explain'd the matter and would win the cause. + Dame Justice, weighing long the doubtful right, + Takes, opens, swallows it, before their sight. + The cause of strife removed so rarely well, + 'There,—take' (says Justice) 'take ye each a shell. + We thrive at Westminster on fools like you: + 'Twas a fat oyster—live in peace—adieu.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION OF MRS HOWE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What is prudery? + + 'Tis a bledam, + Seen with wit and beauty seldom. + 'Tis a fear that starts at shadows. + Tis, (no, 'tisn't) like Miss Meadows. + 'Tis a virgin hard of feature, + Old, and void of all good-nature; + Lean and fretful; would seem wise; + Yet plays the fool before she dies. + 'Tis an ugly, envious shrew, + That rails at dear Lepell and you. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OCCASIONED BY SOME VERSES OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, + And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends, + Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, + Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail: + This more than pays whole years of thankless pain; + Time, health, and fortune are not lost in vain, + Sheffield approves, consenting Phoebus bends, + And I and Malice from this hour are friends. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MACER: A CHARACTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When simple Macer, now of high renown, + First sought a poet's fortune in the town, + 'Twas all the ambition his high soul could feel, + To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele. + Some ends of verse his betters might afford, + And gave the harmless fellow a good word. + Set up with these, he ventured on the town, + And with a borrow'd play, out-did poor Crowne. + There he stopp'd short, nor since has writ a tittle, + But has the wit to make the most of little: 10 + Like stunted, hide-bound trees that just have got + Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot. + Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends, + Not of the wits, his foes, but fools, his friends. + + So some coarse country wench, almost decay'd, + Trudges to town, and first turns chambermaid; + Awkward and supple, each devoir to pay, + She flatters her good lady twice a-day; + Thought wondrous honest, though of mean degree, + And strangely liked for her simplicity: + In a translated suit, then tries the town, + With borrow'd pins, and patches not her own: + But just endured the winter she began, + And in four months a batter'd harridan. + Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk, + To bawd for others, and go shares with punk. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SONG, BY A PERSON OF QUALITY, WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1733. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Fluttering, spread thy purple pinions, + Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart, + I a slave in thy dominions; + Nature must give way to art. + + 2 Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, + Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, + See my weary days consuming, + All beneath yon flowery rocks. + + 3 Thus the Cyprian goddess, weeping, + Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth: + Him the boar, in silence creeping, + Gored with unrelenting tooth. + + 4 Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; + Fair Discretion, string the lyre; + Soothe my ever-waking slumbers: + Bright Apollo, lend thy choir. + + 5 Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, + Arm'd in adamantine chains, + Lead me to the crystal mirrors, + Watering soft Elysian plains. + + 6 Mournful cypress, verdant willow, + Gilding my Aurelia's brows, + Morpheus hovering o'er my pillow, + Hear me pay my dying vows. + + 7 Melancholy smooth Maeander, + Swiftly purling in a round, + On thy margin lovers wander, + With thy flowery chaplets crown'd. + + 8 Thus when Philomela, drooping, + Softly seeks her silent mate, + See the bird of Juno stooping; + Melody resigns to fate. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 I know the thing that's most uncommon; + (Envy be silent, and attend!) + I know a reasonable woman, + Handsome and witty, yet a friend. + + 2 Not warp'd by passion, awed by rumour, + Not grave through pride, or gay through folly, + An equal mixture of good humour, + And sensible soft melancholy. + + 3 'Has she no faults, then (Envy says), sir?' + Yes, she has one, I must aver: + When all the world conspires to praise her, + The woman's deaf, and does not hear. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON HIS GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM, COMPOSED OF MARBLES, SPARS, GEMS, ORES, AND + MINERALS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave + Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave; + Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distil, + And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill, + Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow, + And latent metals innocently glow: + Approach! Great Nature studiously behold! + And eye the mine without a wish for gold. + Approach: but awful! lo! the Aegerian grot,<a href="#linknote-70" + name="linknoteref-70" id="linknoteref-70">70</a> + Where, nobly-pensive, St John sate and thought; + Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole, + And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul. + Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor, + Who dare to love their country, and be poor! + + VARIATIONS. + + After VER. 6, in the MS.— + + Yon see that island's wealth, where, only free, + Earth to her entrails feels not tyranny. + + —i.e. Britain is the only place on the globe which feels not tyranny + even to its very entrails. Alluding to the condemnation of criminals to + the mines, one of the inflictions of civil justice in most countries—W. + + VER. 11, in MS. it was thus— + + To Wyndham's breast the patriot passions stole. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROXANA, OR THE DRAWING-ROOM. AN ECLOGUE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Roxana, from the Court returning late, + Sigh'd her soft sorrow at St James's gate: + Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast, + Not her own chairmen with more weight oppress'd: + They curse the cruel weight they're doom'd to bear; + She in more gentle sounds express'd her care. + + 'Was it for this, that I these roses wear? + For this, new-set the jewels for my hair? + Ah, Princess! with what zeal have I pursued! + Almost forgot the duty of a prude. 10 + This king I never could attend too soon; + I miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon. + For thee, ah! what for thee did I resign? + My passions, pleasures, all that e'er was mine: + I've sacrificed both modesty and ease; + Left operas, and went to filthy plays: + <i>Double-entendres</i> shock'd my tender ear; + Yet even this, for thee, I chose to bear: + In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay, + And every joy of life before me lay; 20 + By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd, + The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd: + Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe + Censured my neighbours, and said daily prayer. + Alas, how changed! with this same sermon-mien, + The filthy <i>What-d'ye-call-it</i><a href="#linknote-71" + name="linknoteref-71" id="linknoteref-71">71</a>—I have seen. + Ah, royal Princess! for whose sake I lost + The reputation, which so dear had cost; + I, who avoided every public place, + When bloom and beauty bid me show my face, 30 + Now near thee, constant, I each night abide, + With never-failing duty, by thy side; + Myself and daughters standing in a row, + To all the foreigners a goodly show. + Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin, + And merchants' wives close by your side had been, + Had I not amply fill'd the empty place, + And saved your Highness from the dire disgrace: + Yet Cockatilla's artifice prevails, + When all my duty and my merit fails: 40 + That Cockatilla, whose deluding airs + Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares; + So sunk her character, and lost her fame, + Scarce visited before your Highness came: + Yet for the bedchamber 'tis she you choose, + Whilst zeal, and lame, and virtue you refuse. + Ah, worthy choice; not one of all your train + Which censures blast not, or dishonours stain. + I know the Court, with all its treacherous wiles, + The false caresses, and undoing smiles. 50 + Ah, Princess! learn'd in all the courtly arts, + To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 In beauty or wit, + No mortal as yet + To question your empire has dared; + But men of discerning + Have thought that in learning + To yield to a lady was hard. + + 2 Impertinent schools, + With musty dull rules, + Have reading to females denied: + So Papists refuse + The Bible to use, + Lest flocks should be wise as their guide. + + 3 'Twas a woman at first + (Indeed she was cursed) + In knowledge that tasted delight, + And sages agree + The laws should decree + To the first possessor the right. + + 4 Then bravely, fair dame, + Resume the old claim, + Which to your whole sex does belong; + And let men receive, + From a second bright Eve, + The knowledge of right and of wrong. + + 5 But if the first Eve + Hard doom did receive, + When only one apple had she, + What a punishment new + Shall be found out for you, + Who, tasting, have robb'd the whole tree! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES ON A PORTRAIT OF LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE, PAINTED + BY KNELLER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The playful smiles around the dimpled mouth, + That happy air of majesty and truth, + So would I draw: but, oh! 'tis vain to try, + My narrow genius does the power deny; + The equal lustre of the heavenly mind, + Where every grace with every virtue's join'd: + Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe, + With greatness easy, and with wit sincere; + With just description show the soul divine, + And the whole princess in my work should shine. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI, WHEN SHE TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Generous, gay, and gallant nation, + Bold in arms, and bright in arts; + Land secure from all invasion, + All but Cupid's gentle darts! + From your charms, oh! who would run? + Who would leave you for the sun? + Happy soil, adieu, adieu! + + 2 Let old charmers yield to new; + In arms, in arts, be still more shining: + All your joys be still increasing; + All your tastes be still refining; + All your jars for ever ceasing; + But let old charmers yield to new: + Happy soil, adieu, adieu! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + UPON THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S HOUSE AT WOODSTOCK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'See, sir, here's the grand approach, + This way is for his Grace's coach: + There lies the bridge, and here's the clock, + Observe the lion and the cock, + The spacious court, the colonnade, + And mark how wide the hall is made! + The chimneys are so well design'd, + They never smoke in any wind. + This gallery's contrived for walking, + The windows to retire and talk in; + The council chamber for debate, + And all the rest are rooms of state.' + + 'Thanks, sir,' cried I, ''tis very fine, + But where d'ye sleep, or where d'ye dine? + I find by all you have been telling + That 'tis a house, but not a dwelling.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VERSES LEFT BY MR POPE. ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT, THE + CELEBRATED EARL OF ROCHESTER, SLEPT IN AT ADDERBURY, THEN BELONGING TO THE + DUKE OF ARGYLL, JULY 9, 1739. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 With no poetic ardour fired, + I press the bed where Wilmot lay; + That here he loved, or here expired, + Begets no numbers, grave or gay. + + 2 Beneath thy roof, Argyll, are bred + Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie + Stretch'd out in honour's nobler bed, + Beneath a nobler roof—the sky. + + 3 Such flames as high in patriots burn, + Yet stoop to bless a child or wife; + And such as wicked kings may mourn, + When freedom is more dear than life. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CHALLENGE, A COURT BALLAD. TO THE TUNE OF 'TO ALL YOU LADIES NOW AT + LAND.' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 To one fair lady out of Court, + And two fair ladies in, + Who think the Turk<a href="#linknote-72" name="linknoteref-72" + id="linknoteref-72">72</a> and Pope<a href="#linknote-73" + name="linknoteref-73" id="linknoteref-73">73</a> a sport, + And wit and love no sin; + Come these soft lines, with nothing stiff in, + To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin.<a href="#linknote-74" + name="linknoteref-74" id="linknoteref-74">74</a> + With a fa, la, la. + + 2 What passes in the dark third row, + And what behind the scene, + Couches and crippled chairs I know, + And garrets hung with green; + I know the swing of sinful hack, + Where many damsels cry alack. + With a fa, la, la. + + 3 Then why to Courts should I repair, + Where's such ado with Townshend? + To hear each mortal stamp and swear, + And every speech with 'zounds!' end; + To hear 'em rail at honest Sunderland, + And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland.<a href="#linknote-75" + name="linknoteref-75" id="linknoteref-75">75</a> + With a fa, la, la. + + 4 Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun, + Like Grafton court the Germans; + Tell Pickenbourg how slim she's grown, + Like Meadows<a href="#linknote-76" name="linknoteref-76" id="linknoteref-76">76</a> run to sermons; + To Court ambitious men may roam, + But I and Marlbro' stay at home. + With a fa, la, la. + + 5 In truth, by what I can discern + Of courtiers, 'twixt you three, + Some wit you have, and more may learn + From Court, than Gay or me; + Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet, + To sup with us on milk and quiet. + With a fa, la, la. + + 6 At Leicester Fields, a house full high, + With door all painted green, + Where ribbons wave upon the tie, + (A milliner I mean;) + There may you meet us, three to three, + For Gay can well make two of me. + With a fa, la, la. + + 7 But should you catch the prudish itch + And each become a coward, + Bring sometimes with you Lady Rich, + And sometimes Mistress Howard; + For virgins, to keep chaste, must go + Abroad with such as are not so. + With a fa, la, la. + + 8 And thus, fair maids, my ballad ends; + God send the king safe landing;<a href="#linknote-77" name="linknoteref-77" + id="linknoteref-77">77</a> + And make all honest ladies friends + To armies that are standing; + Preserve the limits of those nations, + And take off ladies' limitations. + With a fa, la, la. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THREE GENTLE SHEPHERDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of gentle Philips<a href="#linknote-78" name="linknoteref-78" + id="linknoteref-78">78</a> will I ever sing, + With gentle Philips shall the valleys ring; + My numbers, too, for ever will I vary, + With gentle Budgell,<a href="#linknote-79" name="linknoteref-79" + id="linknoteref-79">79</a> and with gentle Carey.<a href="#linknote-80" + name="linknoteref-80" id="linknoteref-80">80</a> + Or if in ranging of the names I judge ill, + With gentle Carey, and with gentle Budgell, + Oh! may all gentle bards together place ye, + Men of good hearts, and men of delicacy. + May satire ne'er befool ye, or beknave ye, + And from all wits that have a knack, God save ye! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPIGRAM, ENGRAVED ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG WHICH I GAVE TO HIS ROYAL + HIGHNESS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am His Highness' dog at Kew; + Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you? +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TRANSLATOR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ozell, at Sanger's call, invoked his Muse, + For who to sing for Sanger could refuse? + His numbers such as Sanger's self might use. + Reviving Perrault, murdering Boileau, he + Slander'd the ancients first, then Wycherley; + Which yet not much that old bard's anger raised, + Since those were slander'd most whom Ozell praised. + Nor had the gentle satire caused complaining, + Had not sage Rowe pronounced it entertaining; + How great must be the judgment of that writer, + Who the Plain Dealer damns, and prints the Biter! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LOOKING-GLASS. ON MRS PULTENEY.<a href="#linknote-81" + name="linknoteref-81" id="linknoteref-81"><small>81</small></a> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With scornful mien, and various toss of air, + Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair, + Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain, + She looks ambition, and she moves disdain. + Far other carriage graced her virgin life, + But charming Gumley's lost in Pulteney's wife. + Not greater arrogance in him we find, + And this conjunction swells at least her mind: + Oh could the sire, renown'd in glass, produce + One faithful mirror for his daughter's use! + Wherein she might her haughty errors trace, + And by reflection learn to mend her face: + The wonted sweetness to her form restore, + Be what she was, and charm mankind once more! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A FAREWELL TO LONDON IN THE YEAR 1715. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Dear, damn'd, distracting town, farewell! + Thy fools no more I'll tease: + This year in peace, ye critics, dwell, + Ye harlots, sleep at ease! + + 2 Soft B——s and rough C——s, adieu! + Earl Warwick, make your moan, + The lively H——k and you + May knock up whores alone. + + 3 To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd + Till the third watchman's toll; + Let Jervas gratis paint, and Frowde + Save threepence and his soul. + + 4 Farewell, Arbuthnot's raillery + On every learnèd sot; + And Garth, the best good Christian he, + Although he knows it not. + + 5 Lintot, farewell! thy bard must go; + Farewell, unhappy Tonson! + Heaven gives thee for thy loss of Rowe, + Lean Philips and fat Johnson. + + 6 Why should I stay? Both parties rage; + My vixen mistress squalls; + The wits in envious feuds engage; + And Homer (damn him!) calls. + + 7 The love of arts lies cold and dead + In Halifax's urn; + And not one Muse of all he fed + Has yet the grace to mourn. + + 8 My friends, by turns, my friends confound, + Betray, and are betray'd: + Poor Y——r's sold for fifty pounds, + And B——ll is a jade. + + 9 Why make I friendships with the great, + When I no favour seek. + Or follow girls seven hours in eight?— + I need but once a week. + + 10 Still idle, with a busy air, + Deep whimsies to contrive; + The gayest valetudinaire, + Most thinking rake alive. + + 11 Solicitous for others' ends, + Though fond of dear repose; + Careless or drowsy with my friends. + And frolic with my foes. + + 12 Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, + For sober studious days! + And Burlington's delicious meal, + For salads, tarts, and pease! + + 13 Adieu to all but Gay alone, + Whose soul, sincere and free, + Loves all mankind, but flatters none, + And so may starve with me. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SANDYS' GHOST;<a href="#linknote-82" name="linknoteref-82" + id="linknoteref-82"><small>82</small></a> OR, A PROPER NEW BALLAD ON THE + NEW OVID'S METAMORPHOSES: AS IT WAS INTENDED TO BE TRANSLATED BY PERSONS + OF QUALITY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Ye Lords and Commons, men of wit + And pleasure about town, + Read this, ere you translate one bit + Of books of high renown. + + 2 Beware of Latin authors all! + Nor think your verses sterling, + Though with a golden pen you scrawl, + And scribble in a berlin: + + 3 For not the desk with silver nails, + Nor bureau of expense, + Nor standish well japann'd, avails + To writing of good sense. + + 4 Hear how a ghost in dead of night, + With saucer eyes of fire, + In woeful wise did sore affright + A wit and courtly squire. + + 5 Rare imp of Phoebus, hopeful youth! + Like puppy tame that uses + To fetch and carry, in his mouth, + The works of all the Muses. + + 6 Ah! why did he write poetry, + That hereto was so civil; + And sell his soul for vanity + To rhyming and the devil? + + 7 A desk he had of curious work, + With glittering studs about; + Within the same did Sandys lurk, + Though Ovid lay without. + + 8 Now, as he scratch'd to fetch up thought, + Forth popp'd the sprite so thin, + And from the keyhole bolted out, + All upright as a pin. + + 9 With whiskers, band, and pantaloon, + And ruff composed most duly, + This squire he dropp'd his pen full soon, + While as the light burnt bluely. + + 10 'Ho! Master Sam,' quoth Sandys' sprite, + 'Write on, nor let me scare ye! + Forsooth, if rhymes fall not in right, + To Budgell seek, or Carey. + + 11 'I hear the beat of Jacob's<a href="#linknote-83" name="linknoteref-83" + id="linknoteref-83">83</a> drums, + Poor Ovid finds no quarter! + See first the merry P——<a href="#linknote-84" + name="linknoteref-84" id="linknoteref-84">84</a> comes + In haste without his garter. + + 12 'Then lords and lordlings, squires and knights, + Wits, witlings, prigs, and peers: + Garth at St James's, and at White's + Beats up for volunteers. + + 13 'What Fenton will not do, nor Gay, + Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan, + Tom Burnet, or Tom D'Urfey may, + John Dunton, Steele, or any one. + + 14 'If Justice Philips' costive head + Some frigid rhymes disburses: + They shall like Persian tales be read, + And glad both babes and nurses. + + 15 'Let Warwick's Muse with Ashurst join, + And Ozell's with Lord Hervey's, + Tickell and Addison combine, + And Pope translate with Jervas. + + 16 'L—— himself, that lively lord, + Who bows to every lady, + Shall join with F—— in one accord, + And be like Tate and Brady. + + 17 'Ye ladies, too, draw forth your pen; + I pray, where can the hurt lie? + Since you have brains as well as men, + As witness Lady Wortley. + + 18 'Now, Tonson, list thy forces all, + Review them, and tell noses: + For to poor Ovid shall befall + A strange metamorphosis; + + 19 'A metamorphosis more strange + Than all his books can vapour'— + 'To what (quoth squire) shall Ovid change?' + Quoth Sandys, 'To waste paper.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + UMBRA.<a href="#linknote-85" name="linknoteref-85" id="linknoteref-85"><small>85</small></a> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Close to the best known author Umbra sits, + The constant index to old Button's wits, + 'Who's here?' cries Umbra: 'Only Johnson.'<a href="#linknote-86" + name="linknoteref-86" id="linknoteref-86">86</a>—'Oh! + Your slave,' and exit; but returns with Rowe: + 'Dear Rowe, let's sit and talk of tragedies;' + Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies. + Then up comes Steele: he turns upon his heel, + And in a moment fastens upon Steele; + But cries as soon, 'Dear Dick, I must be gone, + For, if I know his tread, here's Addison.' + Says Addison to Steele, ''Tis time to go:' + Pope to the closet steps aside with Rowe. + Poor Umbra, left in this abandon'd pickle, + E'en sits him down, and writes to honest Tickell. + + Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam; + Know, sense, like charity, 'begins at home.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SYLVIA, A FRAGMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sylvia my heart in wondrous wise alarm'd + Awed without sense, and without beauty charm'd: + But some odd graces and some flights she had, + Was just not ugly, and was just not mad: + Her tongue still ran on credit from her eyes, + More pert than witty, more a wit than wise: + Good-nature, she declared it, was her scorn, + Though 'twas by that alone she could be borne: + Affronting all, yet fond of a good name; + A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: + Now coy, and studious in no point to fall, + Now all agog for D——y at a ball: + Now deep in Taylor, and the Book of Martyrs, + Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres. + + Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; + But every woman's in her soul a rake. + Frail, feverish sex; their fit now chills, now burns: + Atheism and superstition rule by turns; + And a mere heathen in the carnal part, + Is still a sad good Christian at her heart. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHELSEA. OCCASIONED BY FOUR SATIRICAL VERSES ON WOMEN + WITS, IN 'THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In vain you boast poetic names of yore, + And cite those Sapphos we admire no more: + Fate doom'd the fall of every female wit; + But doom'd it then, when first Ardelia writ. + Of all examples by the world confess'd, + I knew Ardelia could not quote the best; + Who, like her mistress on Britannia's throne, + Fights and subdues in quarrels not her own. + To write their praise you but in vain essay; + E'en while you write, you take that praise away: + Light to the stars the sun does thus restore, + But shines himself till they are seen no more. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPIGRAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Bishop, by his neighbours hated, + Has cause to wish himself translated: + But why should Hough desire translation, + Loved and esteem'd by all the nation? + Yet, if it be the old man's case, + I'll lay my life I know the place: + 'Tis where God sent some that adore Him, + And whither Enoch went before him. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPIGRAM ON THE FEUDS ABOUT HANDEL AND BONONCINI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Strange! all this difference should be + 'Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON MRS TOFTS, A CELEBRATED OPERA SINGER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, + As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus along: + But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride, + That the beasts must have starved, and the poet have died. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALANCE OF EUROPE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now Europe balanced, neither side prevails; + For nothing's left in either of the scales. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPITAPH ON LORD CONINGSBY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here lies Lord Coningsby—be civil! + The rest God knows—perhaps the Devil. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPIGRAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come; + Knock as you please, there's nobody at home. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sir, I admit your general rule, + That every poet is a fool: + But you yourself may serve to show it, + That every fool is not a poet. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPITAPH ON GAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Well, then, poor G—— lies under ground! + So there's an end of honest Jack. + So little justice here he found, + 'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPIGRAM ON THE TOASTS OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB, ANNO 1716. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Whence deathless 'Kit-cat' took its name, + Few critics can unriddle: + Some say from 'pastrycook' it came, + And some, from 'cat' and 'fiddle.' + + 2 From no trim beaux its name it boasts, + Gray statesmen, or green wits; + But from this pell-mell pack of toasts + Of old 'cats' and young 'kits.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO A LADY, WITH THE 'TEMPLE OF FAME.' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What's fame with men, by custom of the nation, + Is call'd, in women, only reputation: + About them both why keep we such a pother? + Part you with one, and I'll renounce the other. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON CUTTING PAPER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Pallas grew vapourish once, and odd; + She would not do the least right thing, + Either for goddess or for god, + Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor sing. + + 2 Jove frown'd, and 'Use (he cried) those eyes + So skilful, and those hands so taper; + Do something exquisite and wise—' + She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut paper. + + 3 This vexing him who gave her birth, + Thought by all heaven a burning shame; + What does she next, but bids, on earth, + Her Burlington do just the same. + + 4 Pallas, you give yourself strange airs; + But sure you'll find it hard to spoil + The sense and taste of one that bears + The name of Saville and of Boyle. + + 5 Alas! one bad example shown, + How quickly all the sex pursue! + See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown + Between John Overton and you! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON DRAWINGS OF THE STATUES OF APOLLO, VENUS, AND HERCULES, MADE FOR POPE + BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What god, what genius did the pencil move, + When Kneller painted these? + 'Twas friendship, warm as Phoebus, kind as Love, + And strong as Hercules. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON BENTLEY'S 'MILTON.' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Did Milton's prose, O Charles! thy death defend? + A furious foe unconscious proves a friend. + On Milton's verse did Bentley comment? Know, + A weak officious friend becomes a foe. + While he but sought his author's fame to further, + The murderous critic has avenged thy murther. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade, + Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours! + Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd, + And gently press'd my hand, and said, 'Be ours!— + Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse: + At Court thou mayst be liked, but nothing gain; + Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose; + And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO ERINNA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Though sprightly Sappho force our love and praise, + A softer wonder my pleased soul surveys, + The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays. + So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight, + All mild appears the moon's more sober light; + Serene, in virgin majesty she shines, + And, unobserved, the glaring sun declines. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DIALOGUE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + POPE. + Since my old friend is grown so great, + As to be Minister of State, + I'm told, but 'tis not true, I hope, + That Craggs will be ashamed of Pope. + + CRAGGS. + Alas! if I am such a creature, + To grow the worse for growing greater; + Why, faith, in spite of all my brags, + 'Tis Pope must be ashamed of Craggs. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MAN MOUNTAIN,<a href="#linknote-87" + name="linknoteref-87" id="linknoteref-87"><small>87</small></a> BY TITTY + TIT, POET-LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT. TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In amaze + Lost I gaze! + Can our eyes + Reach thy size! + May my lays + Swell with praise, + Worthy thee! + Worthy me! + Muse, inspire + All thy fire! 10 + Bards of old + Of him told. + When they said + Atlas' head + Propp'd the skies: + See! and believe your eyes! + + See him stride + Valleys wide, + Over woods, + Over floods! 20 + When he treads, + Mountains' heads + Groan and shake: + Armies quake: + Lest his spurn + Overturn + Man and steed, + Troops, take heed! + Left and right, + Speed your flight! 30 + Lest an host + Beneath his foot be lost! + + Turn'd aside + From his hide + Safe from wound, + Darts rebound. + From his nose + Clouds he blows: + When he speaks, + Thunder breaks! 40 + When he eats, + Famine threats! + When he drinks, + Neptune shrinks! + Nigh thy ear + In mid air, + On thy hand + Let me stand; + So shall I, + Lofty poet! touch the sky. 50 +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG. A PASTORAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care, + She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair: + No British miss sincerer grief has known, + Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown. + She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread, + And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed; + Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall + Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall. + In peals of thunder now she roars, and now + She gently whimpers like a lowing cow: 10 + Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears: + Her locks dishevell'd, and her flood of tears, + Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain, + When from the thatch drips fast a shower of rain. + + In vain she search'd each cranny of the house, + Each gaping chink impervious to a mouse. + 'Was it for this (she cried) with daily care + Within thy reach I set the vinegar, + And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide, + While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied; 20 + Where twined the silver eel around thy hook, + And all the little monsters of the brook? + Sure in that lake he dropp'd; my Grilly's drown'd.' + She dragg'd the cruet, but no Grildrig found. + + 'Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast! + But little creatures enterprise the most. + Trembling, I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw, + Nay, mix with children as they play'd at taw, + Nor fear the marbles as they bounding flew; + Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you! 30 + + 'Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? + Who from a page can ever learn the truth? + Versed in Court tricks, that money-loving boy + To some lord's daughter sold the living toy; + Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, + As children tear the wings of flies away. + From place to place o'er Brobdignag I'll roam, + And never will return, or bring thee home. + But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind? + How then thy fairy footsteps can I find? 40 + Dost thou bewilder'd wander all alone + In the green thicket of a mossy stone; + Or, tumbled from the toadstool's slippery round, + Perhaps all maim'd, lie grovelling on the ground? + Dost thou, embosom'd in the lovely rose, + Or, sunk within the peach's down, repose? + Within the kingcup if thy limbs are spread, + Or in the golden cowslip's velvet head, + Oh show me, Flora, 'midst those sweets, the flower + Where sleeps my Grildrig in the fragrant bower! 50 + + 'But ah! I fear thy little fancy roves + On little females, and on little loves; + Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse, + The baby playthings that adorn thy house, + Doors, windows, chimneys, and the spacious rooms, + Equal in size to cells of honeycombs: + Hast thou for these now ventured from the shore, + Thy bark a bean-shell, and a straw thy oar? + Or in thy box, now bounding on the main, + Shall I ne'er bear thyself and house again? 60 + And shall I set thee on my hand no more, + To see thee leap the lines, and traverse o'er + My spacious palm? Of stature scarce a span, + Mimic the actions of a real man? + No more behold thee turn my watch's key, + As seamen at a capstan anchors weigh? + How wert thou wont to walk with cautious tread, + A dish of tea, like milkpail, on thy head! + How chase the mite that bore thy cheese away, + And keep the rolling maggot at a bay!' 70 + + She spoke; but broken accents stopp'd her voice, + Soft as the speaking-trumpet's mellow noise: + She sobb'd a storm, and wiped her flowing eyes, + Which seem'd like two broad suns in misty skies. + Oh, squander not thy grief; those tears command + To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland: + The plenteous pickle shall preserve the fish, + And Europe taste thy sorrows in a dish. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO MR LEMUEL GULLIVER, THE GRATEFUL ADDRESS OF THE UNHAPPY HOUYHNHNMS, NOW + IN SLAVERY AND BONDAGE IN ENGLAND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To thee, we wretches of the Houyhnhnm band, + Condemn'd to labour in a barbarous land, + Return our thanks. Accept our humble lays, + And let each grateful Houyhnhnm neigh thy praise. + + O happy Yahoo! purged from human crimes, + By thy sweet sojourn in those virtuous climes, + Where reign our sires; there, to thy country's shame, + Reason, you found, and virtue were the same. + Their precepts razed the prejudice of youth, + And even a Yahoo learn'd the love of truth. 10 + + Art thou the first who did the coast explore? + Did never Yahoo tread that ground before? + Yes, thousands! But in pity to their kind, + Or sway'd by envy, or through pride of mind, + They hid their knowledge of a nobler race, + Which own'd, would all their sires and sons disgrace. + + You, like the Samian, visit lands unknown, + And by their wiser morals mend your own. + Thus Orpheus travell'd to reform his kind, + Came back, and tamed the brutes he left behind. 20 + + You went, you saw, you heard; with virtue fought, + Then spread those morals which the Houyhnhnms taught. + Our labours here must touch thy generous heart, + To see us strain before the coach and cart; + Compell'd to run each knavish jockey's heat! + Subservient to Newmarket's annual cheat! + With what reluctance do we lawyers bear, + To fleece their country clients twice a year! + Or managed in your schools, for fops to ride, + How foam, how fret beneath a load of pride! 30 + Yes, we are slaves—but yet, by reason's force, + Have learn'd to bear misfortune, like a horse. + + Oh would the stars, to ease my bonds, ordain, + That gentle Gulliver might guide my rein! + Safe would I bear him to his journey's end, + For 'tis a pleasure to support a friend. + But if my life be doom'd to serve the bad, + Oh! mayst thou never want an easy pad! + + HOUYHNHNM. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MARY GULLIVER TO CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER. AN EPISTLE. + </h2> + <p> + The captain, some time after his return, being retired to Mr Sympson's in + the country, Mrs Gulliver, apprehending from his late behaviour some + estrangement of his affections, writes him the following expostulatory, + soothing, and tenderly complaining epistle:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Welcome, thrice welcome, to thy native place!— + What, touch me not? what, shun a wife's embrace? + Have I for this thy tedious absence borne, + And waked, and wish'd whole nights for thy return? + In five long years I took no second spouse; + What Redriff wife so long hath kept her vows? + Your eyes, your nose, inconstancy betray; + Your nose you stop, your eyes you turn away. + 'Tis said, that thou shouldst 'cleave unto thy wife;' + Once thou didst cleave, and I could cleave for life. 10 + Hear, and relent! hark how thy children moan! + Be kind at least to these; they are thy own: + Behold, and count them all; secure to find + The honest number that you left behind. + See how they pat thee with their pretty paws: + Why start you? are they snakes? or have they claws? + Thy Christian seed, our mutual flesh and bone: + Be kind at least to these; they are thy own. + + Biddel,<a href="#linknote-88" name="linknoteref-88" id="linknoteref-88">88</a> like thee, might farthest India rove; + He changed his country, but retain'd his love. 20 + There's Captain Pannel,<a href="#linknote-89" name="linknoteref-89" + id="linknoteref-89">89</a> absent half his life, + Comes back, and is the kinder to his wife; + Yet Pannel's wife is brown compared to me, + And Mrs Biddel sure is fifty-three. + + Not touch me! never neighbour call'd me slut: + Was Flimnap's dame more sweet in Lilliput? + I've no red hair to breathe an odious fume; + At least thy consort's cleaner than thy groom. + Why then that dirty stable-boy thy care? + What mean those visits to the sorrel mare? 30 + Say, by what witchcraft, or what demon led, + Preferr'st thou litter to the marriage-bed? + + Some say the devil himself is in that mare: + If so, our Dean shall drive him forth by prayer. + Some think you mad, some think you are possess'd, + That Bedlam and clean straw will suit you best. + Vain means, alas, this frenzy to appease! + That straw, that straw, would heighten the disease. + + My bed (the scene of all our former joys, + Witness two lovely girls, two lovely boys), 40 + Alone I press: in dreams I call my dear, + I stretch my hand; no Gulliver is there! + I wake, I rise, and, shivering with the frost, + Search all the house; my Gulliver is lost! + Forth in the street I rush with frantic cries; + The windows open, all the neighbours rise: + 'Where sleeps my Gulliver? Oh tell me where!' + The neighbours answer, 'With the sorrel mare!' + + At early morn I to the market haste 50 + (Studious in everything to please thy taste); + A curious fowl and 'sparagus I chose + (For I remember'd you were fond of those); + Three shillings cost the first, the last seven groats; + Sullen you turn from both, and call for oats. + Others bring goods and treasure to their houses, + Something to deck their pretty babes and spouses: + My only token was a cup-like horn, + That's made of nothing but a lady's corn. + 'Tis not for that I grieve; oh, 'tis to see + The groom and sorrel mare preferr'd to me! 60 + + These, for some moments when you deign to quit, + And at due distance sweet discourse admit, + 'Tis all my pleasure thy past toil to know; + For pleased remembrance builds delight on woe. + At every danger pants thy consort's breast, + And gaping infants squall to hear the rest. + How did I tremble, when, by thousands bound, + I saw thee stretch'd on Lilliputian ground! + When scaling armies climb'd up every part, + Each step they trod I felt upon my heart. 70 + But when thy torrent quench'd the dreadful blaze, + King, queen, and nation staring with amaze, + Full in my view how all my husband came, + And what extinguished theirs increased my flame. + Those spectacles, ordain'd thine eyes to save, + Were once my present; love that armour gave. + How did I mourn at Bolgolam's decree! + For when he sign'd thy death, he sentenced me. + When folks might see thee all the country round + For sixpence, I'd have given a thousand pound. 80 + Lord! when the giant babe that head of thine + Got in his mouth, my heart was up in mine! + When in the marrow-bone I see thee ramm'd, + Or on the house-top by the monkey cramm'd, + The piteous images renew my pain, + And all thy dangers I weep o'er again. + But on the maiden's nipple when you rid, + Pray Heaven, 'twas all a wanton maiden did! + Glumdalclitch, too! with thee I mourn her case: + Heaven guard the gentle girl from all disgrace! 90 + Oh may the king that one neglect forgive, + And pardon her the fault by which I live! + Was there no other way to set him free? + My life, alas! I fear, proved death to thee. + + Oh teach me, dear, new words to speak my flame! + Teach me to woo thee by thy best loved name! + Whether the style of Grildrig please thee most, + So call'd on Brobdignag's stupendous coast, + When on the monarch's ample hand you sate, + And halloo'd in his ear intrigues of state; 100 + Or Quinbus Flestrin more endearment brings, + When like a mountain you look'd down on kings: + If ducal Nardac, Lilliputian peer, + Or Glumglum's humbler title soothe thy ear: + Nay, would kind Jove my organs so dispose, + To hymn harmonious Houyhnhnm through the nose, + I'd call thee Houyhnhnm, that high-sounding name; + Thy children's noses all should twang the same; + So might I find my loving spouse of course + Endued with all the virtues of a horse. 110 +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 1740. A FRAGMENT OF A POEM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O Wretched B——,<a href="#linknote-90" name="linknoteref-90" + id="linknoteref-90">90</a> jealous now of all, + What god, what mortal shall prevent thy fall? + Turn, turn thy eyes from wicked men in place, + And see what succour from the patriot race. + C——,<a href="#linknote-91" name="linknoteref-91" + id="linknoteref-91">91</a> his own proud dupe, thinks monarchs things + Made just for him, as other fools for kings; + Controls, decides, insults thee every hour, + And antedates the hatred due to power. + + Through clouds of passion P——'s<a href="#linknote-92" + name="linknoteref-92" id="linknoteref-92">92</a> views are clear; + He foams a patriot to subside a peer; 10 + Impatient sees his country bought and sold, + And damns the market where he takes no gold. + + Grave, righteous S——<a href="#linknote-93" name="linknoteref-93" + id="linknoteref-93">93</a> jogs on till, past belief, + He finds himself companion with a thief. + + To purge and let thee blood with fire and sword, + Is all the help stern S——<a href="#linknote-94" + name="linknoteref-94" id="linknoteref-94">94</a> would afford. + + That those who bind and rob thee would not kill, + Good C——<a href="#linknote-95" name="linknoteref-95" + id="linknoteref-95">95</a> hopes, and candidly sits still. + + Of Ch—-s W——<a href="#linknote-96" name="linknoteref-96" + id="linknoteref-96">96</a> who speaks at all, + No more than of Sir Har—y or Sir P——.<a + href="#linknote-97" name="linknoteref-97" id="linknoteref-97">97</a> 20 + Whose names once up, they thought it was not wrong + To lie in bed, but sure they lay too long. + + G—-r, C—-m, B—-t,<a href="#linknote-98" + name="linknoteref-98" id="linknoteref-98">98</a> pay thee due regards, + Unless the ladies bid them mind their cards. + with wit that must + And C—-d<a href="#linknote-99" name="linknoteref-99" + id="linknoteref-99">99</a> who speaks so well and writes, + Whom (saving W.) every S. <i>harper bites</i>, + must needs, + Whose wit and ... equally provoke one, + Finds thee, at best, the butt to crack his joke on. + + As for the rest, each winter up they run, + And all are clear, and something must be done. 30 + Then urged by C—-t,<a href="#linknote-100" name="linknoteref-100" + id="linknoteref-100">100</a> or by C—-t stopp'd, + Inflamed by P——,<a href="#linknote-101" name="linknoteref-101" + id="linknoteref-101">101</a> and by P—— dropp'd; + They follow reverently each wondrous wight, + Amazed that one can read, that one can write: + So geese to gander prone obedience keep, + Hiss, if he hiss, and if he slumber, sleep. + Till having done whate'er was fit or fine, + Utter'd a speech, and ask'd their friends to dine; + Each hurries back to his paternal ground, + Content but for five shillings in the pound, 40 + Yearly defeated, yearly hopes they give, + And all agree Sir Robert cannot live. + + Rise, rise, great W——,<a href="#linknote-102" + name="linknoteref-102" id="linknoteref-102">102</a> fated to appear, + Spite of thyself a glorious minister! + Speak the loud language princes ... + And treat with half the ... + At length to B—— kind as to thy ... + Espouse the nation, you ... + + What can thy H—-<a href="#linknote-103" name="linknoteref-103" + id="linknoteref-103">103</a> ... + Dress in Dutch ... 50 + + Though still he travels on no bad pretence, + To shew ... + + Or those foul copies of thy face and tongue, + Veracious W——<a href="#linknote-104" name="linknoteref-104" + id="linknoteref-104">104</a> and frontless Young;<a href="#linknote-105" + name="linknoteref-105" id="linknoteref-105">105</a> + Sagacious Bub,<a href="#linknote-106" name="linknoteref-106" + id="linknoteref-106">106</a> so late a friend, and there + So late a foe, yet more sagacious H——?<a href="#linknote-107" + name="linknoteref-107" id="linknoteref-107">107</a> + Hervey and Hervey's school, F——, H—-y,<a + href="#linknote-108" name="linknoteref-108" id="linknoteref-108">108</a> H—-n<a + href="#linknote-109" name="linknoteref-109" id="linknoteref-109">109</a> + Yea, moral Ebor,<a href="#linknote-110" name="linknoteref-110" + id="linknoteref-110">110</a> or religious Winton. + How! what can O—-w,<a href="#linknote-111" name="linknoteref-111" + id="linknoteref-111">111</a> what can D——, + The wisdom of the one and other chair, 60 + N——<a href="#linknote-112" name="linknoteref-112" + id="linknoteref-112">112</a> laugh, or D—-s<a href="#linknote-113" + name="linknoteref-113" id="linknoteref-113">113</a> sager, + Or thy dread truncheon M——'s<a href="#linknote-114" + name="linknoteref-114" id="linknoteref-114">114</a> mighty peer? + What help from J——'s<a href="#linknote-115" + name="linknoteref-115" id="linknoteref-115">115</a> opiates canst thou draw, + Or H—-k's<a href="#linknote-116" name="linknoteref-116" + id="linknoteref-116">116</a> quibbles voted into law? + + C——,<a href="#linknote-117" name="linknoteref-117" + id="linknoteref-117">117</a> that Roman in his nose alone, + Who hears all causes, B——,<a href="#linknote-118" + name="linknoteref-118" id="linknoteref-118">118</a> but thy own, + Or those proud fools whom nature, rank, and fate + Made fit companions for the sword of state. + + Can the light packhorse, or the heavy steer, + The sowzing prelate, or the sweating peer, 70 + Drag out, with all its dirt and all its weight, + The lumbering carriage of thy broken state? + Alas! the people curse, the carman swears, + The drivers quarrel, and the master stares. + + The plague is on thee, Britain, and who tries + To save thee, in the infectious office <i>dies</i>. + The first firm P—-y soon resign'd his breath, + Brave S—-w<a href="#linknote-119" name="linknoteref-119" + id="linknoteref-119">119</a> loved thee, and was lied to death. + Good M-m-t's<a href="#linknote-120" name="linknoteref-120" + id="linknoteref-120">120</a> fate tore P—-th<a href="#linknote-121" + name="linknoteref-121" id="linknoteref-121">121</a> from thy side, + And thy last sigh was heard when W—-m<a href="#linknote-122" + name="linknoteref-122" id="linknoteref-122">122</a> died. 80 + + Thy nobles sl—-s,<a href="#linknote-123" name="linknoteref-123" + id="linknoteref-123">123</a> thy se—-s<a href="#linknote-124" + name="linknoteref-124" id="linknoteref-124">124</a> bought with gold + Thy clergy perjured, thy whole people sold. + An atheist [symbol] a [symbol]'s ad ... <a href="#linknote-125" + name="linknoteref-125" id="linknoteref-125">125</a> + Blotch thee all o'er, and sink ... + + Alas! on one alone our all relies, + Let him be honest, and he must be wise, + Let him no trifler from his school, + Nor like his ... still a ... + Be but a man! unminister'd, alone, + And free at once the senate and the throne; 90 + Esteem the public love his best supply, + A [symbol]'s<a href="#linknote-126" name="linknoteref-126" + id="linknoteref-126">126</a> true glory his integrity: + Rich <i>with</i> his ... <i>in</i> his ... strong, + Affect no conquest, but endure no wrong. + Whatever his religion<a href="#linknote-127" name="linknoteref-127" + id="linknoteref-127">127</a> or his blood, + His public virtue makes his title good. + Europe's just balance and our own may stand, + And one man's honesty redeem the land. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FOURTH EPISTLE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.<a href="#linknote-128" + name="linknoteref-128" id="linknoteref-128"><small>128</small></a> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Say, St John, who alone peruse + With candid eye the mimic Muse, + What schemes of politics, or laws, + In Gallic lands the patriot draws! + Is then a greater work in hand, + Than all the tomes of Haines's band? + 'Or shoots he folly as it flies? + Or catches manners as they rise?' + Or urged by unquench'd native heat, + Does St John Greenwich sports repeat? 10 + Where (emulous of Chartres' fame) + E'en Chartres' self is scarce a name. + + To you (the all-envied gift of heaven) + The indulgent gods, unask'd, have given + A form complete in every part, + And, to enjoy that gift, the art. + + What could a tender mother's care + Wish better, to her favourite heir, + Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours, + A stock of health, and golden showers, 20 + And graceful fluency of speech, + Precepts before unknown to teach? + + Amidst thy various ebbs of fear, + And gleaming hope, and black despair, + Yet let thy friend this truth impart, + A truth I tell with bleeding heart, + (In justice for your labours past) + That every day shall be your last; + That every hour you life renew + Is to your injured country due. 30 + + In spite of fears, of mercy spite, + My genius still must rail, and write. + Haste to thy Twickenham's safe retreat, + And mingle with the grumbling great; + There, half-devoured by spleen, you'll find + The rhyming bubbler of mankind; + There (objects of our mutual hate) + We'll ridicule both church and state. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPIGRAM ON ONE WHO MADE LONG EPITAPHS.<a href="#linknote-129" + name="linknoteref-129" id="linknoteref-129"><small>129</small></a> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Friend, for your epitaphs I'm grieved, + Where still so much is said; + One half will never be believed, + The other never read. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON AN OLD GATE. ERECTED IN CHISWICK GARDENS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O gate, how cam'st thou here? + <i>Gate</i>. I was brought from Chelsea last year, + Batter'd with wind and weather. + Inigo Jones put me together; + Sir Hans Sloane + Let me alone: + Burlington brought me hither. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A FRAGMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What are the falling rills, the pendant shades, + The morning bowers, the evening colonnades, + But soft recesses for th' uneasy mind + To sigh unheard in, to the passing wind! + So the struck deer, in some sequester'd part, + Lies down to die (the arrow in his heart); + There hid in shades, and wasting day by day, + Inly he bleeds, and pants his soul away. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO MR GAY, WHO HAD CONGRATULATED POPE ON FINISHING HIS HOUSE AND GARDENS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Ah, friend! 'tis true—this truth you lovers know— + In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, + In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes + Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens: + Joy lives not here, to happier seats it flies, + And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes. + + 'What are the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade, + The morning bower, the evening colonnade, + But soft recesses of uneasy minds, + To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds? + So the struck deer in some sequester'd part + Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart, + He, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day, + Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away.' +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ARGUS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When wise Ulysses, from his native coast + Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss'd, + Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone, + To all his friends, and even his queen unknown: + Changed as he was with age, and toils, and cares, + Furrow'd his reverend face, and white his hairs, + In his own palace forced to ask his bread, + Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed, + Forgot of all his own domestic crew; + The faithful dog alone his rightful master knew: + Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay, + Like an old servant now cashier'd, he lay; + Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man, + And longing to behold his ancient lord again. + Him when he saw he rose, and crawl'd to meet, + ('Twas all he could) and fawn'd and kiss'd his feet, + Seized with dumb joy: then falling by his side, + Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PRAYER OF BRUTUS. FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Goddess of woods, tremendous in the chase, + To mountain wolves and all the savage race, + Wide o'er th' aerial vault extend thy sway, + And o'er th' infernal regions void of day. + On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate, + In what new station shall we fix our seat? + When shall we next thy hallow'd altars raise, + And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise? +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES ON A GROTTO, AT CRUX-EASTON, HANTS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here shunning idleness at once and praise, + This radiant pile nine rural sisters<a href="#linknote-130" + name="linknoteref-130" id="linknoteref-130">130</a> raise; + The glittering emblem of each spotless dame, + Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame; + Beauty which nature only can impart, + And such a polish as disgraces art; + But Fate disposed them in this humble sort, + And hid in deserts what would charm a court. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER, DEO OPT. MAX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Father of all! in every age, + In every clime adored, + By saint, by savage, and by sage, + Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! + + 2 Thou great First Cause, least understood: + Who all my sense confined + To know but this, that Thou art good, + And that myself am blind; + + 3 Yet gave me, in this dark estate, + To see the good from ill; + And, binding nature fast in fate, + Left free the human will.<a href="#linknote-131" name="linknoteref-131" + id="linknoteref-131">131</a> + + 4 What conscience dictates to be done, + Or warns me not to do, + This, teach me more than hell to shun, + That, more than heaven pursue. + + 5 What blessings thy free bounty gives, + Let me not cast away; + For God is paid when man receives; + T' enjoy is to obey. + + 6 Yet not to earth's contracted span + Thy goodness let me bound, + Or think Thee Lord alone of man, + When thousand worlds are round: + + 7 Let not this weak, unknowing hand + Presume Thy bolts to throw, + And deal damnation round the land, + On each I judge Thy foe. + + 8 If I am right, Thy grace impart, + Still in the right to stay; + If I am wrong, oh teach my heart + To find that better way! + + 9 Save me alike from foolish pride, + Or impious discontent, + At ought Thy wisdom has denied. + Or ought Thy goodness lent.<a href="#linknote-132" + name="linknoteref-132" id="linknoteref-132">132</a> + + 10 Teach me to feel another's woe, + To hide the fault I see; + That mercy I to others show, + That mercy show to me. + + 11 Mean though I am, not wholly so, + Since quicken'd by Thy breath; + Oh, lead me, wheresoe'er I go, + Through this day's life or death! + + 12 This day, be bread and peace my lot: + All else beneath the sun, + Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not, + And let Thy will be done. + + 13 To Thee, whose temple is all space, + Whose altar, earth, sea, skies! + One chorus let all being raise! + All Nature's incense rise! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DUNCIAD. IN FOUR BOOKS. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A LETTER TO THE PUBLISHER, OCCASIONED BY THE FIRST CORRECT EDITION OF THE + DUNCIAD. + </h2> + <p> + It is with pleasure I hear that you have procured a correct copy of 'The + Dunciad,' which the many surreptitious ones have rendered so necessary; + and it is yet with more, that I am informed it will be attended with a + commentary; a work so requisite, that I cannot think the author himself + would have omitted it, had he approved of the first appearance of this + poem. + </p> + <p> + Such notes as have occurred to me I herewith send you: you will oblige me + by inserting them amongst those which are, or will be, transmitted to you + by others; since not only the author's friends but even strangers appear + engaged by humanity, to take some care of an orphan of so much genius and + spirit, which its parent seems to have abandoned from the very beginning, + and suffered to step into the world naked, unguarded, and unattended. + </p> + <p> + It was upon reading some of the abusive papers lately published, that my + great regard to a person, whose friendship I esteem as one of the chief + honours of my life, and a much greater respect to truth, than to him or + any man living, engaged me in inquiries, of which the enclosed notes are + the fruit. + </p> + <p> + I perceived that most of these authors had been (doubtless very wisely) + the first aggressors. They had tried till they were weary, what was to be + got by railing at each other; nobody was either concerned or surprised, if + this or that scribbler was proved a dunce. But every one was curious to + read what could be said to prove Mr Pope one, and was ready to pay + something for such a discovery; a stratagem which, would they fairly own + it, might not only reconcile them to me, but screen them from the + resentment of their lawful superiors, whom they daily abuse, only (as I + charitably hope) to get that <i>by</i> them, which they cannot get <i>from</i> + them. + </p> + <p> + I found this was not all. Ill success in that had transported them to + personal abuse, either of himself, or (what I think he could less forgive) + of his friends. They had called men of virtue and honour bad men, long + before he had either leisure or inclination to call them bad writers; and + some had been such old offenders, that he had quite forgotten their + persons as well as their slanders, till they were pleased to revive them. + </p> + <p> + Now what had Mr Pope done before to incense them? He had published those + works which are in the hands of everybody, in which not the least mention + is made of any of them. And what has he done since? He has laughed, and + written 'The Dunciad.' What has that said of them? A very serious truth, + which the public had said before, that they were dull; and what it had no + sooner said, but they themselves were at great pains to procure, or even + purchase, room in the prints to testify under their hands to the truth of + it. + </p> + <p> + I should still have been silent, if either I had seen any inclination in + my friend to be serious with such accusers, or if they had only meddled + with his writings; since whoever publishes, puts himself on his trial by + his country. But when his moral character was attacked, and in a manner + from which neither truth nor virtue can secure the most innocent; in a + manner which, though it annihilates the credit of the accusation with the + just and impartial, yet aggravates very much the guilt of the accusers; I + mean by authors without names; then I thought, since the danger was common + to all, the concern ought to be so; and that it was an act of justice to + detect the authors, not only on this account, but as many of them are the + same who, for several years past, have made free with the greatest names + in Church and State, exposed to the world the private misfortunes of + families, abused all, even to women, and whose prostituted papers (for one + or other party, in the unhappy divisions of their country) have insulted + the fallen, the friendless, the exiled, and the dead. + </p> + <p> + Besides this, which I take to be a public concern, I have already + confessed I had a private one. I am one of that number who have long loved + and esteemed Mr Pope; and had often declared it was not his capacity or + writings (which we ever thought the least valuable part of his character), + but the honest, open, and beneficent man, that we most esteemed, and loved + in him. Now if what these people say were believed, I must appear to all + my friends either a fool, or a knave; either imposed on myself, or + imposing on them; so that I am as much interested in the confutation of + these calumnies as he is himself. + </p> + <p> + I am no author, and consequently not to be suspected either of jealousy or + resentment against any of the men, of whom scarce one is known to me by + sight; and as for their writings, I have sought them (on this one + occasion) in vain, in the closets and libraries of all my acquaintance. I + had still been in the dark if a gentleman had not procured me (I suppose + from some of themselves, for they are generally much more dangerous + friends than enemies) the passages I send you. I solemnly protest I have + added nothing to the malice or absurdity of them; which it behoves me to + declare, since the vouchers themselves will be so soon and so + irrecoverably lost. You may in some measure prevent it, by preserving at + least their titles, and discovering (as far as you can depend on the truth + of your information) the names of the concealed authors. + </p> + <p> + The first objection I have heard made to the poem is, that the persons are + too obscure for satire. The persons themselves, rather than allow the + objection, would forgive the satire; and if one could be tempted to afford + it a serious answer, were not all assassinates, popular insurrections, the + insolence of the rabble without doors, and of domestics within, most + wrongfully chastised, if the meanness of offenders indemnified them from + punishment? On the contrary, obscurity renders them more dangerous, as + less thought of: law can pronounce judgment only on open facts; morality + alone can pass censure on intentions of mischief; so that for secret + calumny, or the arrow flying in the dark, there is no public punishment + left, but what a good writer inflicts. + </p> + <p> + The next objection is, that these sort of authors are poor. That might be + pleaded as an excuse at the Old Bailey for lesser crimes than defamation + (for 'tis the case of almost all who are tried there), but sure it can be + none: for who will pretend that the robbing another of his reputation + supplies the want of it in himself? I question not but such authors are + poor, and heartily wish the objection were removed by any honest + livelihood. But poverty is here the accident, not the subject: he who + describes malice and villany to be pale and meagre, expresses not the + least anger against paleness or leanness, but against malice and villany. + The apothecary in Romeo and Juliet is poor; but is he therefore justified + in vending poison? Not but poverty itself becomes a just subject of + satire, when it is the consequence of vice, prodigality, or neglect of + one's lawful calling; for then it increases the public burden, fills the + streets and highways with robbers, and the garrets with clippers, coiners, + and weekly journalists. + </p> + <p> + But admitting that two or three of these offend less in their morals than + in their writings, must poverty make nonsense sacred? If so, the fame of + bad authors would be much better consulted than that of all the good ones + in the world; and not one of a hundred had ever been called by his right + name. + </p> + <p> + They mistake the whole matter: it is not charity to encourage them in the + way they follow, but to get them out of it; for men are not bunglers + because they are poor, but they are poor because they are bunglers. + </p> + <p> + Is it not pleasant enough to hear our authors crying out on the one hand, + as if their persons and characters were too sacred for satire; and the + public objecting on the other, that they are too mean even for ridicule? + But whether bread or fame be their end, it must be allowed, our author, by + and in this poem, has mercifully given them a little of both. + </p> + <p> + There are two or three who, by their rank and fortune, have no benefit + from the former objections, supposing them good; and these I was sorry to + see in such company. But if, without any provocation, two or three + gentlemen will fall upon one, in an affair wherein his interest and + reputation are equally embarked, they cannot, certainly, after they have + been content to print themselves his enemies, complain of being put into + the number of them. + </p> + <p> + Others, I am told, pretend to have been once his friends. Surely they are + their enemies who say so, since nothing can be more odious than to treat a + friend as they have done. But of this I cannot persuade myself, when I + consider the constant and eternal aversion of all bad writers to a good + one. + </p> + <p> + Such as claim a merit from being his admirers, I would gladly ask, if it + lays him under a personal obligation? At that rate, he would be the most + obliged humble servant in the world. I dare swear for these in particular, + he never desired them to be his admirers, nor promised in return to be + theirs: that had truly been a sign he was of their acquaintance; but would + not the malicious world have suspected such an approbation of some motive + worse than ignorance in the author of the Essay on Criticism? Be it as it + will, the reasons of their admiration and of his contempt are equally + subsisting, for his works and theirs are the very same that they were. + </p> + <p> + One, therefore, of their assertions I believe may be true—'That he + has a contempt for their writings.' And there is another, which would + probably be sooner allowed by himself than by any good judge beside— + 'That his own have found too much success with the public.' But as it + cannot consist with his modesty to claim this as justice, it lies not on + him, but entirely on the public, to defend its own judgment. + </p> + <p> + There remains what in my opinion might seem a better plea for these people + than any they have made use of. If obscurity or poverty were to exempt a + man from satire, much more should folly or dulness, which are still more + involuntary; nay, as much so as personal deformity. But even this will not + help them: deformity becomes an object of ridicule when a man sets up for + being handsome; and so must dulness when he sets up for a wit. They are + not ridiculed because ridicule in itself is, or ought to be, a pleasure, + but because it is just to undeceive and vindicate the honest and + unpretending part of mankind from imposition, because particular interest + ought to yield to general, and a great number who are not naturally fools + ought never to be made so, in complaisance to a few who are. Accordingly + we find that in all ages, all vain pretenders, were they ever so poor or + ever so dull, have been constantly the topics of the most candid + satirists, from the Codrus of Juvenal to the Damon of Boileau. + </p> + <p> + Having mentioned Boileau, the greatest poet and most judicious critic of + his age and country, admirable for his talents, and yet perhaps more + admirable for his judgment in the proper application of them, I cannot + help remarking the resemblance betwixt him and our author, in qualities, + fame, and fortune, in the distinctions shown them by their superiors, in + the general esteem of their equals, and in their extended reputation + amongst foreigners; in the latter of which ours has met with the better + fate, as he has had for his translators persons of the most eminent rank + and abilities in their respective nations. But the resemblance holds in + nothing more than in their being equally abused by the ignorant pretenders + to poetry of their times, of which not the least memory will remain but in + their own writings, and in the notes made upon them. What Boileau has done + in almost all his poems, our author has only in this: I dare answer for + him he will do it in no more; and on this principle, of attacking few but + who had slandered him, he could not have done it at all, had he been + confined from censuring obscure and worthless persons, for scarce any + other were his enemies. However, as the parity is so remarkable, I hope it + will continue to the last; and if ever he shall give us an edition of this + poem himself, I may see some of them treated as gently, on their + repentance or better merit, as Perrault and Quinault were at last by + Boileau. + </p> + <p> + In one point I must be allowed to think the character of our English poet + the more amiable. He has not been a follower of fortune or success; he has + lived with the great without flattery—been a friend to men in power, + without pensions, from whom, as he asked, so he received no favour but + what was done him in his friends. As his satires were the more just for + being delayed, so were his panegyrics; bestowed only on such persons as he + had familiarly known, only for such virtues as he had long observed in + them, and only at such times as others cease to praise, if not begin to + calumniate them—I mean, when out of power or out of fashion. A + satire, therefore, on writers so notorious for the contrary practice, + became no man so well as himself; as none, it is plain, was so little in + their friendships, or so much in that of those whom they had most abused—namely, + the greatest and best of all parties. Let me add a further reason, that, + though engaged in their friendships, he never espoused their animosities; + and can almost singly challenge this honour, not to have written a line of + any man, which, through guilt, through shame, or through fear, through + variety of fortune, or change of interests, he was ever unwilling to own. + </p> + <p> + I shall conclude with remarking, what a pleasure it must be to every + reader of humanity to see all along, that our author in his very laughter + is not indulging his own ill-nature, but only punishing that of others. As + to his poem, those alone are capable of doing it justice, who, to use the + words of a great writer, know how hard it is (with regard both to his + subject and his manner) <i>vetustis dare novitatem, obsoletis nitorem, + obscuris lucem, fastiditis gratiam</i>.—I am + </p> + <p> + Your most humble servant, + </p> + <p> + WILLIAM CLELAND.<a href="#linknote-133" name="linknoteref-133" + id="linknoteref-133"><small>133</small></a> ST JAMES'S, <i>Dec</i>. 22, + 1728. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS HIS PROLEGOMENA AND ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE DUNCIAD: WITH + THE HYPERCRITICS OF ARISTARCHUS. + </h2> + <h3> + DENNIS, REMARKS ON PR. ARTHUR. + </h3> + <p> + I cannot but think it the most reasonable thing in the world to + distinguish good writers, by discouraging the bad. Nor is it an + ill-natured thing, in relation even to the very persons upon whom the + reflections are made. It is true, it may deprive them, a little the + sooner, of a short profit and a transitory reputation; but then it may + have a good effect, and oblige them (before it be too late) to decline + that for which they are so very unfit, and to have recourse to something + in which they may be more successful. + </p> + <h3> + CHARACTER OF MR P., 1716. + </h3> + <p> + The persons whom Boileau has attacked in his writings have been for the + most part authors, and most of those authors, poets: and the censures he + hath passed upon them have been confirmed by all Europe. + </p> + <h3> + GILDON, PREF. TO HIS NEW REHEARSAL. + </h3> + <p> + It is the common cry of the poetasters of the town, and their fautors, + that it is an ill-natured thing to expose the pretenders to wit and + poetry. The judges and magistrates may, with full as good reason, be + reproached with ill-nature for putting the laws in execution against a + thief or impostor. The same will hold in the republic of letters, if the + critics and judges will let every ignorant pretender to scribbling pass on + the world. + </p> + <h3> + THEOBALD, LETTER TO MIST, JUNE 22, 1728. + </h3> + <p> + Attacks may be levelled either against failures in genius, or against the + pretensions of writing without one. + </p> + <h3> + CONCANEN, DED. TO THE AUTHOR OF THE DUNCIAD. + </h3> + <p> + A satire upon dulness is a thing that has been used and allowed in all + ages. + </p> + <p> + Out of thine own mouth will I judge thee, wicked scribbler. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TESTIMONIES OF AUTHORS CONCERNING OUR POET AND HIS WORKS. + </h2> + <h3> + M. SCRIBLERUS LECTORI S. + </h3> + <p> + Before we present thee with our exercitations on this most delectable poem + (drawn from the many volumes of our Adversaria on modern authors) we shall + here, according to the laudable usage of editors, collect the various + judgments of the learned concerning our Poet: various indeed, not only of + different authors, but of the same author at different seasons. Nor shall + we gather only the testimonies of such eminent wits as would of course + descend to posterity, and consequently be read without our collection; but + we shall likewise, with incredible labour, seek out for divers others, + which, but for this our diligence, could never, at the distance of a few + months, appear to the eye of the most curious. Hereby thou may'st not only + receive the delectation of variety, but also arrive at a more certain + judgment, by a grave and circumspect comparison of the witnesses with each + other, or of each with himself. Hence also, thou wilt be enabled to draw + reflections, not only of a critical, but a moral nature, by being let into + many particulars of the person as well as genius, and of the fortune as + well as merit, of our author: in which, if I relate some things of little + concern peradventure to thee, and some of as little even to him, I entreat + thee to consider how minutely all true critics and commentators are wont + to insist upon such, and how material they seem to themselves, if to none + other. Forgive me, gentle reader, if (following learned example) I ever + and anon become tedious: allow me to take the same pains to find whether + my author were good or bad, well or ill-natured, modest or arrogant; as + another, whether his author was fair or brown, short or tall, or whether + he wore a coat or a cassock. + </p> + <p> + We purposed to begin with his life, parentage, and education: but as to + these, even his cotemporaries do exceedingly differ. One saith,<a + href="#linknote-134" name="linknoteref-134" id="linknoteref-134"><small>134</small></a> + he was educated at home; another,<a href="#linknote-135" + name="linknoteref-135" id="linknoteref-135"><small>135</small></a> that he + was bred at St Omer's by Jesuits; a third,<a href="#linknote-136" + name="linknoteref-136" id="linknoteref-136"><small>136</small></a> not at + St Omer's, but at Oxford; a fourth,<a href="#linknote-137" + name="linknoteref-137" id="linknoteref-137"><small>137</small></a> that he + had no University education at all. Those who allow him to be bred at home + differ as much concerning his tutor: one saith,<a href="#linknote-138" + name="linknoteref-138" id="linknoteref-138"><small>138</small></a> he was + kept by his father on purpose; a second,<a href="#linknote-139" + name="linknoteref-139" id="linknoteref-139"><small>139</small></a> that he + was an itinerant priest; a third,<a href="#linknote-140" + name="linknoteref-140" id="linknoteref-140"><small>140</small></a> that he + was a parson; one<a href="#linknote-141" name="linknoteref-141" + id="linknoteref-141"><small>141</small></a> calleth him a secular + clergyman of the Church of Rome; another,<a href="#linknote-142" + name="linknoteref-142" id="linknoteref-142"><small>142</small></a> a monk. + As little do they agree about his father, whom one<a href="#linknote-143" + name="linknoteref-143" id="linknoteref-143"><small>143</small></a> + supposeth, like the father of Hesiod, a tradesman or merchant; another,<a + href="#linknote-144" name="linknoteref-144" id="linknoteref-144"><small>144</small></a> + a husbandman; another,<a href="#linknote-145" name="linknoteref-145" + id="linknoteref-145"><small>145</small></a> a hatter, &c. Nor has an + author been wanting to give our Poet such a father as Apuleius hath to + Plato, Jamblichus to Pythagoras, and divers to Homer, namely, a demon: For + thus Mr Gildon<a href="#linknote-146" name="linknoteref-146" + id="linknoteref-146"><small>146</small></a>: 'Certain it is, that his + original is not from Adam, but the Devil; and that he wanteth nothing but + horns and tail to be the exact resemblance of his infernal Father.' + Finding, therefore, such contrariety of opinions, and (whatever be ours of + this sort of generation) not being fond to enter into controversy, we + shall defer writing the life of our Poet, till authors can determine among + themselves what parents or education he had, or whether he had any + education or parents at all. + </p> + <p> + Proceed we to what is more certain, his Works, though not less uncertain + the judgments concerning them; beginning with his Essay on Criticism, of + which hear first the most ancient of critics— + </p> + <h3> + MR JOHN DENNIS. + </h3> + <p> + 'His precepts are false or trivial, or both; his thoughts are crude and + abortive, his expressions absurd, his numbers harsh and unmusical, his + rhymes trivial and common:—instead of majesty, we have something + that is very mean; instead of gravity, something that is very boyish; and + instead of perspicuity and lucid order, we have but too often obscurity + and confusion.' And in another place: 'What rare numbers are here! Would + not one swear that this youngster had espoused some antiquated Muse, who + had sued out a divorce from some superannuated sinner, upon account of + impotence, and who, being poxed by her former spouse, has got the gout in + her decrepid age, which makes her hobble so damnably.'<a + href="#linknote-147" name="linknoteref-147" id="linknoteref-147"><small>147</small></a> + </p> + <p> + No less peremptory is the censure of our hypercritical historian, + </p> + <h3> + MR OLDMIXON. + </h3> + <p> + 'I dare not say anything of the Essay on Criticism in verse; but if any + more curious reader has discovered in it something new which is not in + Dryden's prefaces, dedications, and his Essay on Dramatic Poetry, not to + mention the French critics, I should be very glad to have the benefit of + the discovery.'<a href="#linknote-148" name="linknoteref-148" + id="linknoteref-148"><small>148</small></a> + </p> + <p> + He is followed (as in fame, so in judgment) by the modest and + simple-minded + </p> + <h3> + MR LEONARD WELSTED, + </h3> + <p> + who, out of great respect to our poet not naming him, doth yet glance at + his essay, together with the Duke of Buckingham's, and the criticisms of + Dryden, and of Horace, which he more openly taxeth: 'As to the numerous + treatises, essays, arts, &c., both in verse and prose, that have been + written by the moderns on this ground-work, they do but hackney the same + thoughts over again, making them still more trite. Most of their pieces + are nothing but a pert, insipid heap of common-place. Horace has even, in + his Art of Poetry, thrown out several things which plainly shew he thought + an Art of Poetry was of no use, even while he was writing one.'<a + href="#linknote-149" name="linknoteref-149" id="linknoteref-149"><small>149</small></a> + </p> + <p> + To all which great authorities, we can only oppose that of + </p> + <h3> + MR ADDISON. + </h3> + <p> + 'The Art of Criticism (saith he), which was published some months since, + is a master-piece in its kind. The observations follow one another, like + those in Horace's Art of Poetry, without that methodical regularity which + would have been requisite in a prose writer. They are some of them + uncommon, but such as the reader must assent to, when he sees them + explained with that ease and perspicuity in which they are delivered. As + for those which are the most known and the most received, they are placed + in so beautiful a light, and illustrated with such apt allusions, that + they have in them all the graces of novelty, and make the reader, who was + before acquainted with them, still more convinced of their truth and + solidity. And here give me leave to mention what Monsieur Boileau has so + well enlarged upon in the preface to his works—that wit and fine + writing doth not consist so much in advancing things that are new, as in + giving things that are known an agreeable turn. It is impossible for us, + who live in the latter ages of the world, to make observations in + criticism, morality, or any art or science, which have not been touched + upon by others; we have little else left us but to represent the common + sense of mankind in more strong, more beautiful, or more uncommon lights. + If a reader examines Horace's Art of Poetry, he will find but few precepts + in it which he may not meet with in Aristotle, and which were not commonly + known by all the poets of the Augustan age. His way of expressing and + applying them, not his invention of them, is what we are chiefly to + admire.' + </p> + <p> + 'Longinus, in his Reflections, has given us the same kind of sublime which + he observes in the several passages that occasioned them: I cannot but + take notice that our English author has, after the same manner, + exemplified several of the precepts in the very precepts themselves.' He + then produces some instances of a particular beauty in the numbers, and + concludes with saying, 'that there are three poems in our tongue of the + same nature, and each a master-piece in its kind—the Essay on + Translated Verse, the Essay on the Art of Poetry, and the Essay on + Criticism.'<a href="#linknote-150" name="linknoteref-150" + id="linknoteref-150"><small>150</small></a> + </p> + <p> + Of WINDSOR FOREST, positive is the judgment of the affirmative + </p> + <h3> + MR JOHN DENNIS, + </h3> + <p> + 'That it is a wretched rhapsody, impudently writ in emulation of the + Cooper's Hill of Sir John Denham.<a href="#linknote-151" + name="linknoteref-151" id="linknoteref-151"><small>151</small></a> The + author of it is obscure, is ambiguous, is affected, is temerarious, is + barbarous.'<a href="#linknote-152" name="linknoteref-152" + id="linknoteref-152"><small>152</small></a> + </p> + <p> + But the author of the Dispensary, + </p> + <h3> + DR GARTH, + </h3> + <p> + in the preface to his poem of Claremont, differs from this opinion: 'Those + who have seen these two excellent poems of Cooper's Hill and Windsor + Forest—the one written by Sir John Denham, the other by Mr Pope—will + shew a great deal of candour if they approve of this.' + </p> + <p> + Of the Epistle of ELOISA, we are told by the obscure writer of a poem + called Sawney, 'That because Prior's Henry and Emma charmed the finest + tastes, our author writ his Eloise in opposition to it, but forgot + innocence and virtue: if you take away her tender thoughts and her fierce + desires, all the rest is of no value.' In which, methinks, his judgment + resembleth that of a French tailor on a villa and gardens by the Thames: + 'All this is very fine, but take away the river and it is good for + nothing.' + </p> + <p> + But very contrary hereunto was the opinion of + </p> + <h3> + MR PRIOR + </h3> + <p> + himself, saying in his Alma— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'O Abelard! ill-fated youth, + Thy tale will justify this truth. + But well I weet thy cruel wrong + Adorns a nobler poet's song: + Dan Pope, for thy misfortune grieved, + With kind concern and skill has weaved + A silken web; and ne'er shall fade + Its colours: gently has he laid + The mantle o'er thy sad distress, + And Venus shall the texture bless,'<a href="#linknote-153" + name="linknoteref-153" id="linknoteref-153">153</a> &c. +</pre> + <p> + Come we now to his translation of the ILIAD, celebrated by numerous pens, + yet shall it suffice to mention the indefatigable + </p> + <h3> + SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE, KT., + </h3> + <p> + who (though otherwise a severe censurer of our author) yet styleth this a + 'laudable translation.'<a href="#linknote-154" name="linknoteref-154" + id="linknoteref-154"><small>154</small></a> That ready writer, + </p> + <h3> + MR OLDMIXON, + </h3> + <p> + in his forementioned essay, frequently commends the same. And the painful + </p> + <h3> + MR LEWIS THEOBALD + </h3> + <p> + thus extols it: 'The spirit of Homer breathes all through this + translation.—I am in doubt whether I should most admire the justness + to the original, or the force and beauty of the language, or the sounding + variety of the numbers: but when I find all these meet, it puts me in mind + of what the poet says of one of his heroes, that he alone raised and flung + with ease a weighty stone, that two common men could not lift from the + ground; just so, one single person has performed in this translation what + I once despaired to have seen done by the force of several masterly + hands.'<a href="#linknote-155" name="linknoteref-155" id="linknoteref-155"><small>155</small></a> + Indeed, the same gentleman appears to have changed his sentiment in his + Essay on the Art of Sinking in Reputation (printed in Mist's Journal, + March 30, 1728,) where he says thus:—'In order to sink in + reputation, let him take into his head to descend into Homer (let the + world wonder, as it will, how the devil he got there), and pretend to do + him into English, so his version denote his neglect of the manner how.' + Strange variation! We are told in + </p> + <h3> + MIST'S JOURNAL, JUNE 8, + </h3> + <p> + 'That this translation of the Iliad was not in all respects conformable to + the fine taste of his friend, Mr Addison; insomuch that he employed a + younger Muse in an undertaking of this kind, which he supervised himself.' + Whether Mr Addison did find it conformable to his taste or not, best + appears from his own testimony the year following its publication, in + these words: + </p> + <h3> + MR ADDISON, FREEHOLDER, NO. 40. + </h3> + <p> + 'When I consider myself as a British freeholder, I am in a particular + manner pleased with the labours of those who have improved our language + with the translations of old Greek and Latin authors.—We have + already most of their historians in our own tongue, and what is more for + the honour of our language, it has been taught to express with elegance + the greatest of their poets in each nation. The illiterate among our own + countrymen may learn to judge from Dryden's Virgil of the most perfect + epic performance. And those parts of Homer which have been published + already by Mr Pope, give us reason to think that the Iliad will appear in + English with as little disadvantage to that immortal poem.' + </p> + <p> + As to the rest, there is a slight mistake, for this younger Muse was an + elder: nor was the gentleman (who is a friend of our author) employed by + Mr Addison to translate it after him, since he saith himself that he did + it before.<a href="#linknote-156" name="linknoteref-156" + id="linknoteref-156"><small>156</small></a> Contrariwise that Mr Addison + engaged our author in this work appeareth by declaration thereof in the + preface to the Iliad, printed some time before his death, and by his own + letters of October 26, and November 2, 1713, where he declares it his + opinion that no other person was equal to it. + </p> + <p> + Next comes his Shakspeare on the stage: 'Let him (quoth one, whom I take + to be + </p> + <h3> + MR THEOBALD, MIST'S JOURNAL, JUNE 8, 1728,) + </h3> + <p> + publish such an author as he has least studied, and forget to discharge + even the dull duty of an editor. In this project let him lend the + bookseller his name (for a competent sum of money) to promote the credit + of an exorbitant subscription.' Gentle reader, be pleased to cast thine + eye on the proposal below quoted, and on what follows (some months after + the former assertion) in the same journalist of June 8. 'The bookseller + proposed the book by subscription, and raised some thousands of pounds for + the same: I believe the gentleman did not share in the profits of this + extravagant subscription. + </p> + <p> + 'After the Iliad, he undertook (saith + </p> + <h3> + MIST'S JOURNAL, JUNE 8, 1728,) + </h3> + <p> + the sequel of that work, the Odyssey; and having secured the success by a + numerous subscription, he employed some underlings to perform what, + according to his proposals, should come from his own hands.' To which + heavy charge we can in truth oppose nothing but the words of + </p> + <p> + MR POPE'S PROPOSAL FOR THE ODYSSEY, (PRINTED BY J. WATTS, JAN. 10, 1724.) + </p> + <p> + 'I take this occasion to declare that the subscription for Shakspeare + belongs wholly to Mr Tonson: And that the benefit of this proposal is not + solely for my own use, but for that of two of my friends, who have + assisted me in this work.' But these very gentlemen are extolled above our + poet himself in another of Mist's Journals, March 30, 1728, saying, 'That + he would not advise Mr Pope to try the experiment again of getting a great + part of a book done by assistants, lest those extraneous parts should + unhappily ascend to the sublime, and retard the declension of the whole.' + Behold! these underlings are become good writers! + </p> + <p> + If any say, that before the said proposals were printed, the subscription + was begun without declaration of such assistance, verily those who set it + on foot, or (as their term is) secured it, to wit, the Right Honourable + the Lord Viscount Harcourt, were he living, would testify, and the Right + Honourable the Lord Bathurst, now living, doth testify the same is a + falsehood. + </p> + <p> + Sorry I am, that persons professing to be learned, or of whatever rank of + authors, should either falsely tax, or be falsely taxed. Yet let us, who + are only reporters, be impartial in our citations, and proceed. + </p> + <h3> + MIST'S JOURNAL, JUNE 8, 1728. + </h3> + <p> + 'Mr Addison raised this author from obscurity, obtained him the + acquaintance and friendship of the whole body of our nobility, and + transferred his powerful interests with those great men to this rising + bard, who frequently levied by that means unusual contributions on the + public.' Which surely cannot be, if, as the author of The Dunciad + Dissected reporteth, 'Mr Wycherley had before introduced him into a + familiar acquaintance with the greatest peers and brightest wits then + living.' + </p> + <p> + 'No sooner (saith the same journalist) was his body lifeless, but this + author, reviving his resentment, libelled the memory of his departed + friend; and, what was still more heinous, made the scandal public.' + Grievous the accusation! unknown the accuser! the person accused no + witness in his own cause; the person, in whose regard accused, dead! But + if there be living any one nobleman whose friendship, yea, any one + gentleman whose subscription Mr Addison procured to our author, let him + stand forth that truth may appear! <i>Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, sed + magis amica veritas</i>. In verity, the whole story of the libel is a lie. + Witness those persons of integrity, who, several years before Mr Addison's + decease, did see and approve of the said verses, in nowise a libel but a + friendly rebuke sent privately in our author's own hand to Mr Addison + himself, and never made public, till after their own journals and Curll + had printed the same. One name alone, which I am here authorised to + declare, will sufficiently evince this truth, that of the Eight Honourable + the Earl of Burlington. + </p> + <p> + Next is he taxed with a crime (in the opinion of some authors, I doubt, + more heinous than any in morality) to wit, plagiarism, from the inventive + and quaint-conceited + </p> + <h3> + JAMES MOORE SMITH, GENT. + </h3> + <p> + 'Upon reading the third volume of Pope's Miscellanies, I found five lines + which I thought excellent; and happening to praise them, a gentleman + produced a modern comedy (the Rival Modes) published last year, where were + the same verses to a tittle. These gentlemen are undoubtedly the first + plagiaries that pretend to make a reputation by stealing from a man's + works in his own life-time, and out of a public print.'<a + href="#linknote-157" name="linknoteref-157" id="linknoteref-157"><small>157</small></a> + Let us join to this what is written by the author of the Rival Modes, the + said Mr James Moore Smith, in a letter to our author himself, who had + informed him, a month before that play was acted, Jan. 27, 1726-7, that + 'these verses, which he had before given him leave to insert in it, would + be known for his, some copies being got abroad. He desires, nevertheless, + that since the lines had been read in his comedy to several, Mr P. would + not deprive it of them,' &c. Surely if we add the testimonies of the + Lord Bolingbroke, of the lady to whom the said verses were originally + addressed, of Hugh Bethel, Esq., and others, who knew them as our + author's, long before the said gentleman composed his play, it is hoped + the ingenuous that affect not error will rectify their opinion by the + suffrage of so honourable personages. + </p> + <p> + And yet followeth another charge, insinuating no less than his enmity both + to Church and State, which could come from no other informer than the said + </p> + <h3> + MR JAMES MOORE SMITH. + </h3> + <p> + 'The Memoirs of a Parish Clerk was a very dull and unjust abuse of a + person who wrote in defence of our religion and constitution, and who has + been dead many years.'<a href="#linknote-158" name="linknoteref-158" + id="linknoteref-158"><small>158</small></a> This seemeth also most untrue, + it being known to divers that these memoirs were written at the seat of + the Lord Harcourt in Oxfordshire, before that excellent person (Bishop + Burnet's) death, and many years before the appearance of that history of + which they are pretended to be an abuse. Most true it is that Mr Moore had + such a design, and was himself the man who pressed Dr Arbuthnot and Mr + Pope to assist him therein; and that he borrowed those memoirs of our + author, when that history came forth, with intent to turn them to such + abuse. But being able to obtain from our author but one single hint, and + either changing his mind, or having more mind than ability, he contented + himself to keep the said memoirs, and read them as his own to all his + acquaintance. A noble person there is, into whose company Mr Pope once + chanced to introduce him, who well remembereth the conversation of Mr + Moore to have turned upon the 'contempt he had for the work of that + reverend prelate, and how full he was of a design he declared himself to + have of exposing it.' This noble person is the Earl of Peterborough. + </p> + <p> + Here in truth should we crave pardon of all the foresaid right honourable + and worthy personages, for having mentioned them in the same page with + such weekly riff-raff railers and rhymers, but that we had their + ever-honoured commands for the same; and that they are introduced not as + witnesses in the controversy, but as witnesses that cannot be + controverted; not to dispute, but to decide. + </p> + <p> + Certain it is, that dividing our writers into two classes, of such who + were acquaintance, and of such who were strangers to our author; the + former are those who speak well, and the other those who speak evil of + him. Of the first class, the most noble + </p> + <h3> + JOHN DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM + </h3> + <p> + sums up his character in these lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'And yet so wondrous, so sublime a thing, + As the great Iliad, scarce could make me sing, + Unless I justly could at once commend + A good companion, and as firm a friend; + One moral, or a mere well-natured deed, + Can all desert in sciences exceed.'<a href="#linknote-159" + name="linknoteref-159" id="linknoteref-159">159</a> + + So also is he deciphered by the honourable + + SIMON HARCOURT. + + 'Say, wondrous youth, what column wilt thou choose, + What laurell'd arch, for thy triumphant Muse? + Though each great ancient court thee to his shrine, + Though every laurel through the dome be thine. + Go to the good and just, an awful train! + Thy soul's delight.'<a href="#linknote-160" name="linknoteref-160" + id="linknoteref-160">160</a> + + Recorded in like manner for his virtuous disposition and gentle bearing, + by the ingenious + + MR WALTER HART, + + in this apostrophe: + + 'Oh! ever worthy, ever crown'd with praise! + Bless'd in thy life, and bless'd in all thy lays. + Add, that the Sisters every thought refine, + And even thy life be faultless as thy line. + Yet Envy still with fiercer rage pursues, + Obscures the virtue, and defames the Muse. + A soul like thine, in pain, in grief, resign'd, + Views with just scorn the malice of mankind.' + +</pre> + <p> + The witty and moral satirist, DR EDWARD YOUNG, wishing some check to the + corruption and evil manners of the times, calleth out upon our poet to + undertake a task so worthy of his virtue: + </p> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Why slumbers Pope, who leads the Muses' train, + Nor hears that Virtue, which he loves, complain?'<a href="#linknote-162" + name="linknoteref-162" id="linknoteref-162">162</a> + + MR MALLET, + + in his epistle on Verbal Criticism: + + 'Whose life, severely scann'd, transcends his lays; + For wit supreme is but his second praise.' + + MR HAMMOND, + + that delicate and correct imitator of Tibullus, in his Love Elegies, + Elegy xiv.: + + 'Now, fired by Pope and Virtue, leave the age, + In low pursuit of self-undoing wrong, + And trace the author through his moral page, + Whose blameless life still answers to his song.' + + MR THOMSON, + + in his elegant and philosophical poem of the Seasons: + + 'Although not sweeter his own Homer sings, + Yet is his life the more endearing song.' + + To the same tune also singeth that learned clerk of Suffolk, + + MR WILLIAM BROOME. + + 'Thus, nobly rising in fair Virtue's cause, + From thy own life transcribe the unerring laws.'<a href="#linknote-163" + name="linknoteref-163" id="linknoteref-163">163</a> + + And to close all, hear the reverend Dean of St Patrick's: + + 'A soul with every virtue fraught, + By patriots, priests, and poets taught. + Whose filial piety excels + Whatever Grecian story tells. + A genius for each business fit, + Whose meanest talent is his wit,' &c. +</pre> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Let us now recreate thee by turning to the other side, and showing his + character drawn by those with whom he never conversed, and whose + countenances he could not know, though turned against him: first again, + commencing with the high-voiced and never-enough quoted + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR JOHN DENNIS, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + who, in his 'Reflections on the Essay on Criticism,' thus describeth him, + 'A little affected hypocrite, who has nothing in his mouth but candour, + truth, friendship, good-nature, humanity, and magnanimity. He is so great + a lover of falsehood, that, whenever he has a mind to calumniate his + cotemporaries, he brands them with some defect which is just contrary to + some good quality for which all their friends and their acquaintance + commend them. He seems to have a particular pique to people of quality, + and authors of that rank. He must derive his religion from St Omer's.' But + in the character of Mr P. and his writings (printed by S. Popping, 1716), + he saith, 'Though he is a professor of the worst religion, yet he laughs + at it;' but that 'nevertheless he is a virulent Papist; and yet a pillar + for the Church of England.' + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Of both which opinions + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR LEWIS THEOBALD + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + seems also to be; declaring, in Mist's Journal of June 22, 1718—'That, + if he is not shrewdly abused, he made it his practice to cackle to both + parties in their own sentiments.' But, as to his pique against people of + quality, the same journalist doth not agree, but saith (May 8, 1728)— + 'He had, by some means or other, the acquaintance and friendship of the + whole body of our nobility.' + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + However contradictory this may appear, Mr Dennis and Gildon, in the + character last cited, make it all plain, by assuring us, 'That he is a + creature that reconciles all contradictions; he is a beast, and a man; a + Whig, and a Tory; a writer (at one and the same time) of Guardians and + Examiners;<a href="#linknote-164" name="linknoteref-164" + id="linknoteref-164"><small>164</small></a> an assertor of liberty, and of + the dispensing power of kings; a Jesuitical professor of truth, a base and + a foul pretender to candour.' So that, upon the whole account, we must + conclude him either to have been a great hypocrite, or a very honest man; + a terrible imposer upon both parties, or very moderate to either. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Be it as to the judicious reader shall seem good. Sure it is, he is little + favoured of certain authors, whose wrath is perilous: for one declares he + ought to have a price set on his head, and to be hunted down as a wild + beast.<a href="#linknote-165" name="linknoteref-165" id="linknoteref-165"><small>165</small></a> + Another protests that he does not know what may happen; advises him to + insure his person; says he has bitter enemies, and expressly declares it + will be well if he escapes with his life.<a href="#linknote-166" + name="linknoteref-166" id="linknoteref-166"><small>166</small></a> One + desires he would cut his own throat, or hang himself.<a + href="#linknote-167" name="linknoteref-167" id="linknoteref-167"><small>167</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But Pasquin seemed rather inclined it should be done by the Government, + representing him engaged in grievous designs with a lord of Parliament, + then under prosecution.<a href="#linknote-168" name="linknoteref-168" + id="linknoteref-168"><small>168</small></a> Mr Dennis himself hath written + to a minister, that he is one of the most dangerous persons in this + kingdom;<a href="#linknote-169" name="linknoteref-169" id="linknoteref-169"><small>169</small></a> + and assureth the public, that he is an open and mortal enemy to his + country; a monster, that will, one day, shew as daring a soul as a mad + Indian, who runs a-muck to kill the first Christian he meets.<a + href="#linknote-170" name="linknoteref-170" id="linknoteref-170"><small>170</small></a> + Another gives information of treason discovered in his poem.<a + href="#linknote-171" name="linknoteref-171" id="linknoteref-171"><small>171</small></a> + Mr Curll boldly supplies an imperfect verse with kings and princesses.<a + href="#linknote-172" name="linknoteref-172" id="linknoteref-172"><small>172</small></a> + And one Matthew Concanen, yet more impudent, publishes at length the two + most sacred names in this nation, as members of the Dunciad.<a + href="#linknote-173" name="linknoteref-173" id="linknoteref-173"><small>173</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + This is prodigious! yet it is almost as strange, that in the midst of + these invectives his greatest enemies have (I know not how) borne + testimony to some merit in him. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR THEOBALD, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + in censuring his Shakspeare, declares, 'He has so great an esteem for Mr + Pope, and so high an opinion of his genius and excellencies, that, + notwithstanding he professes a veneration almost rising to idolatry for + the writings of this inimitable poet, he would be very both even to do him + justice, at the expense of that other gentleman's character.'<a + href="#linknote-174" name="linknoteref-174" id="linknoteref-174"><small>174</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR CHARLES GILDON, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + after having violently attacked him in many pieces, at last came to wish + from his heart, 'That Mr Pope would be prevailed upon to give us Ovid's + Epistles by his hand, for it is certain we see the original of Sappho to + Pliaon with much more life and likeness in his version, than in that of + Sir Car Scrope. And this,' he adds, 'is the more to be wished, because in + the English tongue we have scarce anything truly and naturally written + upon love.'<a href="#linknote-175" name="linknoteref-175" + id="linknoteref-175"><small>175</small></a> He also, in taxing Sir Richard + Blackmore for his heterodox opinions of Homer, challengeth him to answer + what Mr Pope hath said in his preface to that poet. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR OLDMIXON + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + calls him a great master of our tongue; declares 'the purity and + perfection of the English language to be found in his Homer; and, saying + there are more good verses in Dryden's Virgil than in any other work, + excepts this of our author only.'<a href="#linknote-176" + name="linknoteref-176" id="linknoteref-176"><small>176</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + THE AUTHOR OF A LETTER TO MR CIBBER + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + says, 'Pope was so good a versifier [once], that, his predecessor, Mr + Dryden, and his cotemporary, Mr Prior, excepted, the harmony of his + numbers is equal to anybody's. And that he had all the merit that a man + can have that way.'<a href="#linknote-177" name="linknoteref-177" + id="linknoteref-177"><small>177</small></a> And + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR THOMAS COOKE, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + after much blemishing our author's Homer, crieth out— + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + 'But in his other works what beauties shine, While sweetest music dwells + in every line! These he admired—on these he stamp'd his praise, And + bade them live to brighten future days.'<a href="#linknote-178" + name="linknoteref-178" id="linknoteref-178"><small>178</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + So also one who takes the name of + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + H. STANHOPE, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + the maker of certain verses to Duncan Campbell,<a href="#linknote-179" + name="linknoteref-179" id="linknoteref-179"><small>179</small></a> in that + poem, which is wholly a satire on Mr Pope, confesseth— + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + ''Tis true, if finest notes alone could show (Tuned justly high, or + regularly low) That we should fame to these mere vocals give, Pope more + than we can offer should receive: For when some gliding river is his + theme, His lines run smoother than the smoothest stream,' &c. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MIST'S JOURNAL, JUNE 8, 1728. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Although he says, 'The smooth numbers of the Dunciad are all that + recommend it, nor has it any other merit,' yet that same paper hath these + words: 'The author is allowed to be a perfect master of an easy and + elegant versification. In all his works we find the most happy turns and + natural similes, wonderfully short and thick sown.' + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Essay on the Dunciad also owns (p. 25) it is very full of beautiful + images. But the panegyric which crowns all that can be said on this poem + is bestowed by our laureate, + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR COLLEY CIBBER, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + who 'grants it to be a better poem of its kind than ever was writ:' but + adds, 'it was a victory over a parcel of poor wretches, whom it was almost + cowardice to conquer.—A man might as well triumph for having killed + so many silly flies that offended him. Could he have let them alone, by + this time, poor souls! they had all been buried in oblivion.'<a + href="#linknote-180" name="linknoteref-180" id="linknoteref-180"><small>180</small></a> + Here we see our excellent laureate allows the justice of the satire on + every man in it but himself, as the great Mr Dennis did before him. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The said + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR DENNIS AND MR GILDON, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + in the most furious of all their works (the forecited Character, p. 5), do + in concert confess, 'That some men of good understanding value him for his + rhymes.' And (p. 17), 'That he has got, like Mr Bayes in the Rehearsal + (that is, like Mr Dryden), a notable knack at rhyming, and writing smooth + verse.' + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Of his Essay on Man, numerous were the praises bestowed by his avowed + enemies, in the imagination that the same was not written by him, as it + was printed anonymously. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Thus sang of it even + </p> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BEZALEEL MORRIS. + + 'Auspicious bard! while all admire thy strain, + All but the selfish, ignorant, and vain; + I, whom no bribe to servile flattery drew, + Must pay the tribute to thy merit due: + Thy Muse, sublime, significant, and clear, + Alike informs the soul, and charms the ear,' &c. +</pre> + <p> + </p> + <p> + And + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR LEONARD WELSTED + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + thus wrote<a href="#linknote-181" name="linknoteref-181" + id="linknoteref-181"><small>181</small></a> to the unknown author, on the + first publication of the said Essay:—'I must own, after the + reception which the vilest and most immoral ribaldry hath lately met with, + I was surprised to see what I had long despaired—a performance + deserving the name of a poet. Such, sir, is your work. It is, indeed, + above all commendation, and ought to have been published in an age and + country more worthy of it. If my testimony be of weight anywhere, you are + sure to have it in the amplest manner,' &c. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Thus we see every one of his works hath been extolled by one or other of + his most inveterate enemies; and to the success of them all, they do + unanimously give testimony. But it is sufficient, <i>instar omnium</i>, to + behold the great critic, Mr Dennis, sorely lamenting it, even from the + Essay on Criticism to this day of the Dunciad! 'A most notorious + instance,' quoth he, 'of the depravity of genius and taste, the + approbation this essay meets with.'<a href="#linknote-182" + name="linknoteref-182" id="linknoteref-182"><small>182</small></a> 'I can + safely affirm, that I never attacked any of these writings, unless they + had success infinitely beyond their merit. This, though an empty, has been + a popular scribbler. The epidemic madness of the times has given him + reputation.'<a href="#linknote-183" name="linknoteref-183" + id="linknoteref-183"><small>183</small></a> 'If, after the cruel treatment + so many extraordinary men (Spencer, Lord Bacon, Ben. Jonson, Milton, + Butler, Otway, and others) have received from this country, for these last + hundred years, I should shift the scene, and show all that penury changed + at once to riot and profuseness, and more squandered away upon one object + than would have satisfied the greater part of those extraordinary men, the + reader to whom this one creature should be unknown would fancy him a + prodigy of art and nature, would believe that all the great qualities of + these persons were centred in him alone. But if I should venture to assure + him that the people of England had made such a choice, the reader would + either believe me a malicious enemy and slanderer, or that the reign of + the last (Queen Anne's) ministry was designed by fate to encourage fools.'<a + href="#linknote-184" name="linknoteref-184" id="linknoteref-184"><small>184</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But it happens that this our poet never had any place, pension, or + gratuity, in any shape, from the said glorious queen, or any of her + ministers. All he owed, in the whole course of his life, to any court, was + a subscription, for his Homer, of £200 from King George I., and £100 from + the Prince and Princess. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + However, lest we imagine our author's success was constant and universal, + they acquaint us of certain works in a less degree of repute, whereof, + although owned by others, yet do they assure us he is the writer. Of this + sort Mr Dennis<a href="#linknote-185" name="linknoteref-185" + id="linknoteref-185"><small>185</small></a> ascribes to him two farces, + whose names he does not tell, but assures us that there is not one jest in + them; and an imitation of Horace, whose title he does not mention, but + assures us it is much more execrable than all his works.<a + href="#linknote-186" name="linknoteref-186" id="linknoteref-186"><small>186</small></a> + The Daily Journal, May 11, 1728, assures us 'He is below Tom D'Urfey in + the drama, because (as that writer thinks) the Marriage-Hater Matched, and + the Boarding School, are better than the What-d'-ye-call-it,' which is not + Mr P.'s, but Mr Gay's. Mr Gildon assures us, in his New Rehearsal, p. 48, + 'That he was writing a play of the Lady Jane Grey;' but it afterwards + proved to be Mr Howe's. We are assured by another, 'He wrote a pamphlet + called Dr Andrew Tripe,'<a href="#linknote-187" name="linknoteref-187" + id="linknoteref-187"><small>187</small></a> which proved to be one Dr + Wagstaff's. Mr Theobald assures us in Mist of the 27th April, 'That the + Treatise of the Pro-found is very dull, and that Mr Pope is the author of + it.' The writer of Gulliveriana is of another opinion, and says, 'The + whole, or greatest part, of the merit of this treatise must and can only + be ascribed to Gulliver.'<a href="#linknote-188" name="linknoteref-188" + id="linknoteref-188"><small>188</small></a> (Here, gentle reader! cannot I + but smile at the strange blindness and positiveness of men, knowing the + said treatise to appertain to none other but to me, Martinus Scriblerus.) + We are assured, in <i>Mist</i> of June 8, 'That his own plays and farces + would better have adorned the Dunciad than those of Mr Theobald, for he + had neither genius for tragedy nor comedy;' which, whether true or not, is + not easy to judge, inasmuch as he hath attempted neither—unless we + will take it for granted, with Mr Cibber, that his being once very angry + at hearing a friend's play abused was an infallible proof the play was his + own, the said Mr Cibber thinking it impossible for a man to be much + concerned for any but himself: 'Now let any man judge,' saith he, 'by this + concern, who was the true mother of the child?'<a href="#linknote-189" + name="linknoteref-189" id="linknoteref-189"><small>189</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But from all that hath been said, the discerning reader will collect, that + it little availed our author to have any candour, since, when he declared + he did not write for others, it was not credited; as little to have any + modesty, since, when he declined writing in any way himself, the + presumption of others was imputed to him. If he singly enterprised one + great work, he was taxed of boldness and madness to a prodigy;<a + href="#linknote-190" name="linknoteref-190" id="linknoteref-190"><small>190</small></a> + if he took assistants in another, it was complained of, and represented as + a great injury to the public.<a href="#linknote-191" name="linknoteref-191" + id="linknoteref-191"><small>191</small></a> The loftiest heroics, the + lowest ballads, treatises against the State or Church, satires on lords + and ladies, raillery on wits and authors, squabbles with booksellers, or + even full and true accounts of monsters, poisons, and murders; of any + hereof was there nothing so good, nothing so bad, which hath not at one or + other season been to him ascribed. If it bore no author's name, then lay + he concealed; if it did, he fathered it upon that author to be yet better + concealed: if it resembled any of his styles, then was it evident; if it + did not, then disguised he it on set purpose. Yea, even direct oppositions + in religion, principles, and politics, have equally been supposed in him + inherent. Surely a most rare and singular character! Of which, let the + reader make what he can. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Doubtless most commentators would hence take occasion to turn all to their + author's advantage; and, from the testimony of his very enemies, would + affirm that his capacity was boundless, as well as his imagination; that + he was a perfect master of all styles, and all arguments; and that there + was in those times no other writer, in any kind, of any degree of + excellence, save he himself. But as this is not our own sentiment, we + shall determine on nothing, but leave thee, gentle reader, to steer thy + judgment equally between various opinions, and to choose whether thou wilt + incline to the testimonies of authors avowed, or of authors concealed—of + those who knew him, or of those who knew him not. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + P. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS OF THE POEM. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + This poem, as it celebrateth the most grave and ancient of things, Chaos, + Night, and Dulness; so is it of the most grave and ancient kind. Homer + (saith Aristotle) was the first who gave the form, and (saith Horace) who + adapted the measure, to heroic poesy. But even before this, may be + rationally presumed from what the ancients have left written, was a piece + by Homer, composed of like nature and matter with this of our poet. For of + epic sort it appeareth to have been, yet of matter surely not unpleasant, + witness what is reported of it by the learned Archbishop Eustathius, in + Odyss. x., and accordingly Aristotle, in his Poetic, chap, iv., does + further set forth, that as the Iliad and Odyssey gave example to tragedy, + so did this poem to comedy its first idea. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + From these authors also it should seem that the hero or chief personage of + it was no less obscure, and his understanding and sentiments no less + quaint and strange (if indeed not more so), than any of the actors of our + poem. Margites was the name of this personage, whom antiquity recordeth to + have been Dunce the first; and surely, from what we hear of him, not + unworthy to be the root of so spreading a tree and so numerous a + posterity. The poem therefore celebrating him was properly and absolutely + a Dunciad; which, though now unhappily lost, yet is its nature + sufficiently known by the infallible tokens aforesaid. And thus it doth + appear that the first Dunciad was the first epic poem, written by Homer + himself, and anterior even to the Iliad or Odyssey. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Now, forasmuch as our poet had translated those two famous works of Homer + which are yet left, he did conceive it in some sort his duty to imitate + that also which was lost; and was therefore induced to bestow on it the + same form which Homer's is reported to have had, namely, that of epic + poem; with a title also framed after the ancient Greek manner, to wit, + that of Dunciad. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Wonderful it is that so few of the moderns have been stimulated to attempt + some Dunciad! since, in the opinion of the multitude, it might cost less + pain and oil than an imitation of the greater epic. But possible it is + also, that, on due reflection, the maker might find it easier to paint a + Charlemagne, a Brute, or a Godfrey, with just pomp and dignity heroic, + than a Margites, a Codrus, or a Flecknoe. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + We shall next declare the occasion and the cause which moved our poet to + this particular work. He lived in those days, when (after Providence had + permitted the invention of printing as a scourge for the sins of the + learned) paper also became so cheap, and printers so numerous, that a + deluge of authors covered the land; whereby not only the peace of the + honest unwriting subject was daily molested, but unmerciful demands were + made of his applause, yea of his money, by such as would neither earn the + one nor deserve the other. At the same time, the licence of the press was + such, that it grew dangerous to refuse them either: for they would + forthwith publish slanders unpunished, the authors being anonymous, and + skulking under the wings of publishers, a set of men who never scrupled to + vend either calumny or blasphemy, as long as the town would call for it. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Now our author,<a href="#linknote-192" name="linknoteref-192" + id="linknoteref-192"><small>192</small></a> living in those times, did + conceive it an endeavour well worthy an honest satirist to dissuade the + dull and punish the wicked, the only way that was left. In that + public-spirited view he laid the plan of this poem, as the greatest + service he was capable (without much hurt, or being slain) to render his + dear country. First, taking things from their original, he considereth the + causes creative of such authors—namely, dulness and poverty; the one + born with them, the other contracted by neglect of their proper talents, + through self-conceit of greater abilities. This truth he wrappeth in an + allegory<a href="#linknote-193" name="linknoteref-193" id="linknoteref-193"><small>193</small></a> + (as the construction of epic poesy requireth), and feigns that one of + these goddesses had taken up her abode with the other, and that they + jointly inspired all such writers and such works. He proceedeth to show + the qualities they bestow on these authors,<a href="#linknote-194" + name="linknoteref-194" id="linknoteref-194"><small>194</small></a> and the + effects they produce;<a href="#linknote-195" name="linknoteref-195" + id="linknoteref-195"><small>195</small></a> then the materials, or stock, + with which they furnish them;<a href="#linknote-196" name="linknoteref-196" + id="linknoteref-196"><small>196</small></a> and (above all) that + self-opinion<a href="#linknote-197" name="linknoteref-197" + id="linknoteref-197"><small>197</small></a> which causeth it to seem to + themselves vastly greater than it is, and is the prime motive of their + setting up in this sad and sorry merchandise. The great power of these + goddesses acting in alliance (whereof as the one is the mother of + industry, so is the other of plodding) was to be exemplified in some one + great and remarkable action:<a href="#linknote-198" name="linknoteref-198" + id="linknoteref-198"><small>198</small></a> and none could be more so than + that which our poet hath chosen, viz., the restoration of the reign of + Chaos and Night, by the ministry of Dulness their daughter, in the removal + of her imperial seat from the city to the polite world; as the action of + the Æneid is the restoration of the empire of Troy, by the removal of the + race from thence to Latium. But as Homer singing only the wrath of + Achilles, yet includes in his poem the whole history of the Trojan war; in + like manner our author hath drawn into this single action the whole + history of Dulness and her children. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A person must next be fixed upon to support this action. This phantom in + the poet's mind must have a name:<a href="#linknote-199" + name="linknoteref-199" id="linknoteref-199"><small>199</small></a> He + finds it to be ——; and he becomes, of course, the hero of the + poem. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The fable being thus, according to the best example, one and entire, as + contained in the proposition, the machinery is a continued chain of + allegories, setting forth the whole power, ministry, and empire of + Dulness, extended through her subordinate instruments, in all her various + operations. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + This is branched into episodes, each of which hath its moral apart, though + all conducive to the main end. The crowd assembled in the second book + demonstrates the design to be more extensive than to bad poets only, and + that we may expect other episodes of the patrons, encouragers, or + paymasters of such authors, as occasion shall bring them forth. And the + third book, if well considered, seemeth to embrace the whole world. Each + of the games relateth to some or other vile class of writers: the first + concerneth the Plagiary, to whom he giveth the name of More; the second + the libellous Novelist, whom he styleth Eliza; the third, the flattering + Dedicator; the fourth, the bawling Critic, or noisy Poet; the fifth, the + dark and dirty Party-writer; and so of the rest; assigning to each some + proper name or other, such as he could find. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + As for the characters, the public hath already acknowledged how justly + they are drawn: the manners are so depicted, and the sentiments so + peculiar to those to whom applied, that surely to transfer them to any + other or wiser personages would be exceeding difficult: and certain it is, + that every person concerned, being consulted apart, hath readily owned the + resemblance of every portrait, his own excepted. So Mr Cibber calls them + 'a parcel of poor wretches, so many silly flies;' but adds, 'our author's + wit is remarkably more bare and barren whenever it would fall foul on + Cibber, than upon any other person whatever.'<a href="#linknote-200" + name="linknoteref-200" id="linknoteref-200"><small>200</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The descriptions are singular, the comparisons very quaint, the narration + various, yet of one colour. The purity and chastity of diction is so + preserved, that in the places most suspicious, not the words but only the + images have been censured, and yet are those images no other than have + been sanctified by ancient and classical authority (though, as was the + manner of those good times, not so curiously wrapped up), yea, and + commented upon by the most grave doctors and approved critics. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + As it beareth the name of Epic, it is thereby subjected to such severe + indispensable rules as are laid on all neoterics—a strict imitation + of the ancients; insomuch that any deviation, accompanied with whatever + poetic beauties, hath always been censured by the sound critic. How exact + that imitation hath been in this piece, appeareth not only by its general + structure, but by particular allusions infinite, many whereof have escaped + both the commentator and poet himself; yea, divers by his exceeding + diligence are so altered and interwoven with the rest, that several have + already been, and more will be, by the ignorant abused, as altogether and + originally his own. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + In a word, the whole poem proveth itself to be the work of our author when + his faculties were in full vigour and perfection, at that exact time when + years have ripened the judgment without diminishing the imagination; which + by good critics is held to be punctually at forty. For at that season it + was that Virgil finished his Georgics; and Sir Richard Blackmore at the + like age composing his Arthurs, declared the same to be the very <i>acmè</i> + and pitch of life for epic poesy—though since he hath altered it to + sixty, the year in which he published his Alfred.<a href="#linknote-201" + name="linknoteref-201" id="linknoteref-201"><small>201</small></a> True it + is, that the talents for criticism—namely, smartness, quick censure, + vivacity of remark, certainty of asseveration, indeed all but acerbity—seem + rather the gifts of youth than of riper age. But it is far otherwise in + poetry; witness the works of Mr Rymer and Mr Dennis, who, beginning with + criticism, became afterwards such poets as no age hath paralleled. With + good reason, therefore, did our author choose to write his essay on that + subject at twenty, and reserve for his maturer years this great and + wonderful work of the Dunciad. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + P. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + RICARDUS ARISTARCHUS OF THE HERO OF THE POEM. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Of the nature of Dunciad in general, whence derived, and on what authority + founded, as well as of the art and conduct of this our poem in particular, + the learned and laborious Scriblerus hath, according to his manner, and + with tolerable share of judgment, dissertated. But when he cometh to speak + of the person of the hero fitted for such poem, in truth he miserably + halts and hallucinates. For, misled by one Monsieur Bossu, a Gallic + critic, he prateth of I cannot tell what phantom of a hero, only raised up + to support the fable. A putrid conceit! As if Homer and Virgil, like + modern undertakers, who first build their house, and then seek out for a + tenant, had contrived the story of a war and a wandering, before they once + thought either of Achilles or Æneas. We shall therefore set our good + brother and the world also right in this particular, by assuring them, + that, in the greater epic, the prime intention of the Muse is to exalt + heroic virtue, in order to propagate the love of it among the children of + men; and, consequently, that the poet's first thought must needs be turned + upon a real subject meet for laud and celebration; not one whom he is to + make, but one whom he may find, truly illustrious. This is the <i>primum + mobile</i> of his poetic world, whence everything is to receive life and + motion. For this subject being found, he is immediately ordained, or + rather acknowledged, a hero, and put upon such action as befitteth the + dignity of his character. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But the Muse ceaseth not here her eagle-flight. For sometimes, satiated + with the contemplation of these suns of glory, she turneth downward on her + wing, and darts with Jove's lightning on the goose and serpent kind. For + we may apply to the Muse, in her various moods, what an ancient master of + wisdom affirmeth of the gods in general: 'Si Dii non irascuntur impiis et + injustis, nec pios utique justosque diligunt. In rebusenim diversis, aut + in utramque partem moveri necesse est, aut in neutram. Itaque qui bonos + diligit, et malos odit; et qui malos non odit, nec bonos diligit. Quia et + diligere bonos ex odio malorum venit; et malos odisse ex bonorum caritate + descendit.' Which, in our vernacular idiom, may be thus interpreted: 'If + the gods be not provoked at evil men, neither are they delighted with the + good and just. For contrary objects must either excite contrary + affections, or no affections at all. So that he who loveth good men must + at the same time hate the bad; and he who hateth not bad men cannot love + the good; because to love good men proceedeth from an aversion to evil, + and to hate evil men from a tenderness to the good.' From this delicacy of + the Muse arose the little epic, (more lively and choleric than her elder + sister, whose bulk and complexion incline her to the phlegmatic), and for + this some notorious vehicle of vice and folly was sought out, to make + thereof an example. An early instance of which (nor could it escape the + accurate Scriblerus) the father of epic poem himself affordeth us. From + him the practice descended to the Greek dramatic poets, his offspring, + who, in the composition of their tetralogy, or set of four pieces, were + wont to make the last a satiric tragedy. Happily one of these ancient + Dunciads (as we may well term it) is come down unto us amongst the + tragedies of the poet Euripides. And what doth the reader suppose may be + the subject thereof? Why, in truth, and it is worthy observation, the + unequal contention of an old, dull, debauched buffoon Cyclops, with the + heaven-directed favourite of Minerva; who, after having quietly borne all + the monster's obscene and impious ribaldry, endeth the farce in punishing + him with the mark of an indelible brand in his forehead. May we not then + be excused, if for the future we consider the epics of Homer, Virgil, and + Milton, together with this our poem, as a complete tetralogy, in which the + last worthily holdeth the place or station of the satiric piece? + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Proceed we therefore in our subject. It hath been long, and, alas for + pity! still remaineth a question, whether the hero of the greater epic + should be an honest man? or, as the French critics express it, <i>un + honnête homme</i>:<a href="#linknote-202" name="linknoteref-202" + id="linknoteref-202"><small>202</small></a> but it never admitted of any + doubt, but that the hero of the little epic should be just the contrary. + Hence, to the advantage of our Dunciad, we may observe how much juster the + moral of that poem must needs be, where so important a question is + previously decided. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But then it is not every knave, nor (let me add) every fool, that is a fit + subject for a Dunciad. There must still exist some analogy, if not + resemblance of qualities, between the heroes of the two poems, and this in + order to admit what neoteric critics call the parody, one of the liveliest + graces of the little epic. Thus, it being agreed that the constituent + qualities of the greater epic hero are wisdom, bravery, and love, from + whence springeth heroic virtue; it followeth that those of the lesser epic + hero should be vanity, impudence, and debauchery, from which happy + assemblage resulteth heroic dulness, the never-dying subject of this our + poem. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + This being confessed, come we now to particulars. It is the character of + true wisdom to seek its chief support and confidence within itself, and to + place that support in the resources which proceed from a conscious + rectitude of will. And are the advantages of vanity, when arising to the + heroic standard, at all short of this self-complacence? Nay, are they not, + in the opinion of the enamoured owner, far beyond it? 'Let the world (will + such an one say) impute to me what folly or weakness they please; but till + wisdom can give me something that will make me more heartily happy, I am + content to be gazed at.'<a href="#linknote-203" name="linknoteref-203" + id="linknoteref-203"><small>203</small></a> This, we see, is vanity + according to the heroic gauge or measure; not that low and ignoble species + which pretendeth to virtues we have not, but the laudable ambition of + being gazed at for glorying in those vices which everybody knows we have. + 'The world may ask (says he) why I make my follies public? Why not? I have + passed my time very pleasantly with them.'<a href="#linknote-204" + name="linknoteref-204" id="linknoteref-204"><small>204</small></a> In + short, there is no sort of vanity such a hero would scruple, but that + which might go near to degrade him from his high station in this our + Dunciad—namely, 'Whether it would not be vanity in him to take shame + to himself for not being a wise man?'<a href="#linknote-205" + name="linknoteref-205" id="linknoteref-205"><small>205</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Bravery, the second attribute of the true hero, is courage manifesting + itself in every limb; while its correspondent virtue in the mock hero is + that same courage all collected into the face. And as power when drawn + together must needs have more force and spirit than when dispersed, we + generally find this kind of courage in so high and heroic a degree, that + it insults not only men, but gods. Mezentius is, without doubt, the + bravest character in all the Æneis. But how? His bravery, we know, was a + high courage of blasphemy. And can we say less of this brave man's, who, + having told us that he placed 'his <i>summum bonum</i> in those follies, + which he was not content barely to possess, but would likewise glory in,' + adds, 'If I am misguided, 'tis nature's fault, and I follow her.'<a + href="#linknote-206" name="linknoteref-206" id="linknoteref-206"><small>206</small></a> + Nor can we be mistaken in making this happy quality a species of courage, + when we consider those illustrious marks of it which made his face 'more + known (as he justly boasteth) than most in the kingdom,' and his language + to consist of what we must allow to be the most daring figure of speech, + that which is taken from the name of God. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Gentle love, the next ingredient in the true hero's composition, is a mere + bird of passage, or (as Shakspeare calls it) summer-teeming lust, and + evaporates in the heat of youth; doubtless, by that refinement, it suffers + in passing through those certain strainers which our poet somewhere + speaketh of. But when it is let alone to work upon the lees, it acquireth + strength by old age, and becometh a lasting ornament to the little epic. + It is true, indeed, there is one objection to its fitness for such a use: + for not only the ignorant may think it common, but it is admitted to be + so, even by him who best knoweth its value. 'Don't you think,' argueth he, + 'to say only a man has his whore,<a href="#linknote-207" + name="linknoteref-207" id="linknoteref-207"><small>207</small></a> ought + to go for little or nothing? Because <i>defendit numerus</i>; take the + first ten thousand men you meet, and I believe you would be no loser if + you betted ten to one that every single sinner of them, one with another, + had been guilty of the same frailty.'<a href="#linknote-208" + name="linknoteref-208" id="linknoteref-208"><small>208</small></a> But + here he seemeth not to have done justice to himself: the man is sure + enough a hero who hath his lady at fourscore. How doth his modesty herein + lessen the merit of a whole well-spent life: not taking to himself the + commendation (which Horace accounted the greatest in a theatrical + character) of continuing to the very dregs the same he was from the + beginning, + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + ... 'Servetur ad imum Qualis ab incepto processerat' ... + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But here, in justice both to the poet and the hero, let us further remark, + that the calling her his whore implieth she was his own, and not his + neighbour's. Truly a commendable continence! and such as Scipio himself + must have applauded. For how much self-denial was exerted not to covet his + neighbour's whore? and what disorders must the coveting her have + occasioned in that society where (according to this political calculator) + nine in ten of all ages have their concubines! + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + We have now, as briefly as we could devise, gone through the three + constituent qualities of either hero. But it is not in any, or in all of + these, that heroism properly or essentially resideth. It is a lucky result + rather from the collision of these lively qualities against one another. + Thus, as from wisdom, bravery, and love, ariseth magnanimity, the object + of admiration, which is the aim of the greater epic; so from vanity, + impudence, and debauchery, springeth buffoonery, the source of ridicule, + that 'laughing ornament,' as he well termeth it,<a href="#linknote-209" + name="linknoteref-209" id="linknoteref-209"><small>209</small></a> of the + little epic. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + He is not ashamed (God forbid he ever should be ashamed!) of this + character, who deemeth that not reason, but risibility, distinguisheth the + human species from the brutal. 'As nature,' saith this profound + philosopher, 'distinguished our species from the mute creation by our + risibility, her design must have been by that faculty as evidently to + raise our happiness, as by our <i>os sublime</i> (our erected faces) to + lift the dignity of our form above them.'<a href="#linknote-210" + name="linknoteref-210" id="linknoteref-210"><small>210</small></a> All + this considered, how complete a hero must he be, as well as how happy a + man, whose risibility lieth not barely in his muscles, as in the common + sort, but (as himself informeth us) in his very spirits! and whose <i>os + sublime</i> is not simply an erect face, but a brazen head, as should seem + by his preferring it to one of iron, said to belong to the late king of + Sweden!<a href="#linknote-211" name="linknoteref-211" id="linknoteref-211"><small>211</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But whatever personal qualities a hero may have, the examples of Achilles + and Aeneas show us, that all those are of small avail without the constant + assistance of the gods—for the subversion and erection of empires + have never been adjudged the work of man. How greatly soever, then, we may + esteem of his high talents, we can hardly conceive his personal prowess + alone sufficient to restore the decayed empire of Dulness. So weighty an + achievement must require the particular favour and protection of the great—who, + being the natural patrons and supporters of letters, as the ancient gods + were of Troy, must first be drawn off and engaged in another interest, + before the total subversion of them can be accomplished. To surmount, + therefore, this last and greatest difficulty, we have, in this excellent + man, a professed favourite and intimado of the great. And look, of what + force ancient piety was to draw the gods into the party of Aeneas, that, + and much stronger, is modern incense, to engage the great in the party of + Dulness. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Thus have we essayed to portray or shadow out this noble imp of fame. But + now the impatient reader will be apt to say, if so many and various graces + go to the making up a hero, what mortal shall suffice to bear his + character? Ill hath he read who seeth not, in every trace of this picture, + that individual, all-accomplished person, in whom these rare virtues and + lucky circumstances have agreed to meet and concentre with the strongest + lustre and fullest harmony. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The good Scriblerus indeed—nay, the world itself—might be + imposed on, in the late spurious editions, by I can't tell what sham hero + or phantom; but it was not so easy to impose on him whom this egregious + error most of all concerned. For no sooner had the fourth book laid open + the high and swelling scene, but he recognised his own heroic acts; and + when he came to the words— + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + 'Soft on her lap her laureate son reclines,' + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + (though laureate imply no more than one crowned with laurel, as befitteth + any associate or consort in empire), he loudly resented this indignity to + violated majesty—indeed, not without cause, he being there + represented as fast asleep; so misbeseeming the eye of empire, which, like + that of Providence, should never doze nor slumber. 'Hah!' saith he, 'fast + asleep, it seems! that's a little too strong. Pert and dull at least you + might have allowed me, but as seldom asleep as any fool.'<a + href="#linknote-212" name="linknoteref-212" id="linknoteref-212"><small>212</small></a> + However, the injured hero may comfort himself with this reflection, that + though it be a sleep, yet it is not the sleep of death, but of + immortality. Here he will live<a href="#linknote-213" + name="linknoteref-213" id="linknoteref-213"><small>213</small></a> at + least, though not awake; and in no worse condition than many an enchanted + warrior before him. The famous Durandarte, for instance, was, like him, + cast into a long slumber by Merlin, the British bard and necromancer; and + his example, for submitting to it with a good grace, might be of use to + our hero. For that disastrous knight being sorely pressed or driven to + make his answer by several persons of quality, only replied with a sigh—'Patience, + and shuffle the cards.'<a href="#linknote-214" name="linknoteref-214" + id="linknoteref-214"><small>214</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But now, as nothing in this world, no, not the most sacred or perfect + things either of religion or government, can escape the sting of envy, + methinks I already hear these carpers objecting to the clearness of our + hero's title. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + It would never (say they) have been esteemed sufficient to make an hero + for the Iliad or Aeneis, that Achilles was brave enough to overturn one + empire, or Aeneas pious enough to raise another, had they not been + goddess-born, and princes bred. What, then, did this author mean by + erecting a player instead of one of his patrons (a person 'never a hero + even on the stage,'<a href="#linknote-215" name="linknoteref-215" + id="linknoteref-215"><small>215</small></a>) to this dignity of colleague + in the empire of Dulness, and achiever of a work that neither old Omar, + Attila, nor John of Leyden could entirely bring to pass? + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + To all this we have, as we conceive, a sufficient answer from the Roman + historian, <i>Fabrum esse suae quemque fortunae</i>: That every man is the + smith of his own fortune. The politic Florentine, Nicholas Machiavel, + goeth still further, and affirmeth that a man needeth but to believe + himself a hero to be one of the worthiest. 'Let him (saith he) but fancy + himself capable of the highest things, and he will of course be able to + achieve them.' From this principle it follows, that nothing can exceed our + hero's prowess; as nothing ever equalled the greatness of his conceptions. + Hear how he constantly paragons himself; at one time to Alexander the + Great and Charles XII of Sweden, for the excess and delicacy of his + ambition;<a href="#linknote-216" name="linknoteref-216" + id="linknoteref-216"><small>216</small></a> to Henry IV of France for + honest policy;<a href="#linknote-217" name="linknoteref-217" + id="linknoteref-217"><small>217</small></a> to the first Brutus, for love + of liberty;<a href="#linknote-218" name="linknoteref-218" + id="linknoteref-218"><small>218</small></a> and to Sir Robert Walpole, for + good government while in power.<a href="#linknote-219" + name="linknoteref-219" id="linknoteref-219"><small>219</small></a> At + another time, to the godlike Socrates, for his diversions and amusements;<a + href="#linknote-220" name="linknoteref-220" id="linknoteref-220"><small>220</small></a> + to Horace, Montaigne, and Sir William Temple for an elegant vanity that + maketh them for ever read and admired;<a href="#linknote-221" + name="linknoteref-221" id="linknoteref-221"><small>221</small></a> to two + Lord Chancellors, for law, from whom, when confederate against him at the + bar, he carried away the prize of eloquence;<a href="#linknote-222" + name="linknoteref-222" id="linknoteref-222"><small>222</small></a> and, to + say all in a word, to the right reverend the Lord Bishop of London + himself, in the art of writing pastoral letters.<a href="#linknote-223" + name="linknoteref-223" id="linknoteref-223"><small>223</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Nor did his actions fall short of the sublimity of his conceit. In his + early youth he met the Revolution<a href="#linknote-224" + name="linknoteref-224" id="linknoteref-224"><small>224</small></a> face to + face in Nottingham, at a time when his betters contented themselves with + following her. It was here he got acquainted with old Battle-array, of + whom he hath made so honourable mention in one of his immortal odes. But + he shone in courts as well as camps. He was called up when the nation fell + in labour of this Revolution;<a href="#linknote-225" name="linknoteref-225" + id="linknoteref-225"><small>225</small></a> and was a gossip at her + christening, with the bishop and the ladies.<a href="#linknote-226" + name="linknoteref-226" id="linknoteref-226"><small>226</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + As to his birth, it is true he pretended no relation either to heathen god + or goddess; but, what is as good, he was descended from a maker of both.<a + href="#linknote-227" name="linknoteref-227" id="linknoteref-227"><small>227</small></a> + And that he did not pass himself on the world for a hero as well by birth + as education was his own fault: for his lineage he bringeth into his life + as an anecdote, and is sensible he had it in his power to be thought he + was nobody's son at all:<a href="#linknote-228" name="linknoteref-228" + id="linknoteref-228"><small>228</small></a> And what is that but coming + into the world a hero? + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But be it (the punctilious laws of epic poesy so requiring) that a hero of + more than mortal birth must needs be had, even for this we have a remedy. + We can easily derive our hero's pedigree from a goddess of no small power + and authority amongst men, and legitimate and install him after the right + classical and authentic fashion: for like as the ancient sages found a son + of Mars in a mighty warrior, a son of Neptune in a skilful seaman, a son + of Phoebus in a harmonious poet, so have we here, if need be, a son of + Fortune in an artful gamester. And who fitter than the offspring of Chance + to assist in restoring the empire of Night and Chaos? + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + There is, in truth, another objection, of greater weight, namely, 'That + this hero still existeth, and hath not yet finished his earthly course. + For if Solon said well, that no man could be called happy till his death, + surely much less can any one, till then, be pronounced a hero, this + species of men being far more subject than others to the caprices of + fortune and humour.' But to this also we have an answer, that will (we + hope) be deemed decisive. It cometh from himself, who, to cut this matter + short, hath solemnly protested that he will never change or amend. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + With regard to his vanity, he declareth that nothing shall ever part them. + 'Nature (saith he) hath amply supplied me in vanity—a pleasure which + neither the pertness of wit nor the gravity of wisdom will ever persuade + me to part with.'<a href="#linknote-229" name="linknoteref-229" + id="linknoteref-229"><small>229</small></a> Our poet had charitably + endeavoured to administer a cure to it: but he telleth us plainly, 'My + superiors perhaps may be mended by him; but for my part I own myself + incorrigible. I look upon my follies as the best part of my fortune.'<a + href="#linknote-230" name="linknoteref-230" id="linknoteref-230"><small>230</small></a> + And with good reason: we see to what they have brought him! + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Secondly, as to buffoonery, 'Is it (saith he) a time of day for me to + leave off these fooleries, and set up a new character? I can no more put + off my follies than my skin; I have often tried, but they stick too close + to me; nor am I sure my friends are displeased with them, for in this + light I afford them frequent matter of mirth, &c., &c.'<a + href="#linknote-231" name="linknoteref-231" id="linknoteref-231"><small>231</small></a> + Having then so publicly declared himself incorrigible, he is become dead + in law (I mean the law Epopoeian), and devolveth upon the poet as his + property, who may take him and deal with him as if he had been dead as + long as an old Egyptian hero; that is to say, embowel and embalm him for + posterity. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Nothing therefore (we conceive) remaineth to hinder his own prophecy of + himself from taking immediate effect. A rare felicity! and what few + prophets have had the satisfaction to see alive! Nor can we conclude + better than with that extraordinary one of his, which is conceived in + these oraculous words, 'My dulness will find somebody to do it right.'<a + href="#linknote-232" name="linknoteref-232" id="linknoteref-232"><small>232</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + 'Tandem Phoebus adest, morsusque inferre parantem Congelat, et patulos, ut + erant, indurat hiatus.'<a href="#linknote-233" name="linknoteref-233" + id="linknoteref-233"><small>233</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + BY AUTHORITY. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + By virtue of the Authority in Us vested by the Act for subjecting poets to + the power of a licenser, we have revised this piece; where finding the + style and appellation of King to have been given to a certain pretender, + pseudo-poet, or phantom, of the name of Tibbald; and apprehending the same + may be deemed in some sort a reflection on Majesty, or at least an insult + on that Legal Authority which has bestowed on another person the crown of + poesy: We have ordered the said pretender, pseudo-poet, or phantom, + utterly to vanish and evaporate out of this work: And do declare the said + Throne of Poesy from henceforth to be abdicated and vacant, unless duly + and lawfully supplied by the Laureate himself. And it is hereby enacted, + that no other person do presume to fill the same. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + THE DUNCIAD:<a href="#linknote-234" name="linknoteref-234" + id="linknoteref-234"><small>234</small></a> BOOK THE FIRST. TO DR JONATHAN + SWIFT. + </h2> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + ARGUMENT. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The proposition, the invocation, and the inscription. Then the original of + the great empire of Dulness, and cause of the continuance thereof. The + college of the goddess in the city, with her private academy for poets in + particular; the governors of it, and the four cardinal virtues. Then the + poem hastes into the midst of things, presenting her, on the evening of a + Lord Mayor's day, revolving the long succession of her sons, and the + glories past and to come. She fixes her eye on Bayes to be the instrument + of that great event which is the subject of the poem. He is described + pensive among his books, giving up the cause, and apprehending the period + of her empire: after debating whether to betake himself to the Church, or + to gaming, or to party-writing, he raises an altar of proper books, and + (making first his solemn prayer and declaration) purposes thereon to + sacrifice all his unsuccessful writings. As the pile is kindled, the + goddess, beholding the flame from her seat, flies and puts it out by + casting upon it the poem of Thulè. She forthwith reveals herself to him, + transports him to her temple, unfolds her arts, and initiates him into her + mysteries; then announcing the death of Eusden the poet laureate, anoints + him, carries him to court, and proclaims him successor. + </p> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The mighty mother, and her son, who brings<a href="#linknote-235" + name="linknoteref-235" id="linknoteref-235">235</a> + The Smithfield Muses<a href="#linknote-236" name="linknoteref-236" + id="linknoteref-236">236</a> to the ear of kings, + I sing. Say you, her instruments, the great! + Called to this work by Dulness, Jove, and Fate;<a href="#linknote-237" + name="linknoteref-237" id="linknoteref-237">237</a> + You by whose care, in vain decried and cursed, + Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first: + Say, how the goddess<a href="#linknote-238" name="linknoteref-238" + id="linknoteref-238">238</a> bade Britannia sleep, + And pour'd her spirit o'er the land and deep. + + In eldest time, ere mortals writ or read, + Ere Pallas issued from the Thunderer's head, 10 + Dulness o'er all possess'd her ancient right, + Daughter of Chaos<a href="#linknote-239" name="linknoteref-239" + id="linknoteref-239">239</a> 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,<a href="#linknote-240" + name="linknoteref-240" id="linknoteref-240">240</a> + She ruled, in native anarchy, the mind. + + Still her old empire<a href="#linknote-241" name="linknoteref-241" + id="linknoteref-241">241</a> to restore she tries, + For, born a goddess, Dulness never dies. + O thou! whatever title please thine ear, + Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver!<a href="#linknote-242" + name="linknoteref-242" id="linknoteref-242">242</a> 20 + Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air, + Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy-chair, + Or praise the court, or magnify mankind,<a href="#linknote-243" + name="linknoteref-243" id="linknoteref-243">243</a> + Or thy grieved country's copper chains unbind; + From thy Boeotia though her power retires, + Mourn not, my Swift, at ought our realm acquires. + Here pleased behold her mighty wings outspread + To hatch a new Saturnian age of lead. + + Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, + And laughs to think Monro would take her down, 30 + Where o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand,<a href="#linknote-244" + name="linknoteref-244" id="linknoteref-244">244</a> + Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand, + One cell there is, conceal'd from vulgar eye, + The cave of Poverty and Poetry. + Keen, hollow winds howl through the bleak recess, + Emblem of music caused by emptiness. + Hence bards, like Proteus long in vain tied down, + Escape in monsters, and amaze the town. + Hence Miscellanies spring, the weekly boast + Of Curll's chaste press, and Lintot's rubric post:<a href="#linknote-247" + name="linknoteref-247" id="linknoteref-247">247</a> 40 + Hence hymning Tyburn's elegiac lines,<a href="#linknote-248" + name="linknoteref-248" id="linknoteref-248">248</a> + Hence Journals, Medleys, Merc'ries, Magazines: + Sepulchral lies,<a href="#linknote-249" name="linknoteref-249" + id="linknoteref-249">249</a> our holy walls to grace, + And new-year odes,<a href="#linknote-250" name="linknoteref-250" + id="linknoteref-250">250</a> and all the Grub Street race. + + In clouded majesty here Dulness 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 scribbling sake: 50 + Prudence, whose glass presents the approaching jail: + 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,<a href="#linknote-251" name="linknoteref-251" + id="linknoteref-251">251</a> or a warm third day, + Call 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, 60 + Maggots half-form'd in rhyme exactly meet, + And learn to crawl upon poetic feet. + Here one poor word an 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, + Pleased with the madness of the mazy dance; + How Tragedy and Comedy embrace; + How Farce and Epic<a href="#linknote-252" name="linknoteref-252" + id="linknoteref-252">252</a> get a jumbled race; 70 + How Time himself stands still at her command, + Realms shift their place, and ocean turns to land. + Here gay Description Egypt glads with showers, + Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flowers; + Glittering with ice here hoary hills are seen, + There painted valleys of eternal green; + In cold December fragrant chaplets blow, + And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow. + + All these, and more, the cloud-compelling queen + Beholds through fogs that magnify the scene. 80 + She, tinsell'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,<a href="#linknote-253" name="linknoteref-253" + id="linknoteref-253">253</a> when Thorold rich and grave, + Like Cimon, triumphed both on land and wave: + (Pomps without guilt, of bloodless swords and maces, + Glad chains,<a href="#linknote-254" name="linknoteref-254" + id="linknoteref-254">254</a> warm furs, broad banners, and broad faces.) + Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er, + But lived, in Settle's numbers, one day more.<a href="#linknote-255" + name="linknoteref-255" id="linknoteref-255">255</a> 90 + Now mayors and shrieves all hushed and satiate lay, + Yet eat, in dreams, the custard of the day; + While pensive poets painful vigils keep, + Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep. + Much to the mindful queen the feast recalls + What city swans once sung within the walls; + Much she revolves their arts, their ancient praise, + And sure succession down from Heywood's<a href="#linknote-256" + name="linknoteref-256" id="linknoteref-256">256</a> days. + She saw, with joy, the line immortal run, + Each sire impress'd and glaring in his son: 100 + So watchful Bruin forms, with plastic care, + Each growing lump, and brings it to a bear. + She saw old Pryn in restless Daniel<a href="#linknote-257" + name="linknoteref-257" id="linknoteref-257">257</a> shine, + And Eusden<a href="#linknote-258" name="linknoteref-258" + id="linknoteref-258">258</a> eke out Blackmore's endless line; + She saw slow Philips creep like Tate's<a href="#linknote-259" + name="linknoteref-259" id="linknoteref-259">259</a> poor page, + And all the mighty mad in Dennis rage.<a href="#linknote-260" + name="linknoteref-260" id="linknoteref-260">260</a> + + In each she marks her image full express'd, + But chief in Bayes's monster-breeding breast; + Bayes formed by nature stage and town to bless, + And act, and be, a coxcomb with success. 110 + Dulness with transport eyes the lively dunce, + Remembering she herself was pertness once. + Now (shame to Fortune!<a href="#linknote-261" name="linknoteref-261" + id="linknoteref-261">261</a>) an ill run at play + Blank'd his bold visage, and a thin third day; + Swearing and supperless the hero sate, + Blasphemed his gods, the dice, and damn'd his fate. + Then gnaw'd his pen, then dash'd it on the ground, + Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound! + Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there, + Yet wrote and floundered on, in mere despair. 120 + Round him much embryo, much abortion lay, + Much future ode, and abdicated play; + Nonsense precipitate, like running lead, + That slipp'd through cracks and zig-zags of the head; + All that on Folly Frenzy could beget, + Fruits of dull heat, and sooterkins of wit. + Next, o'er his books his eyes began to roll, + In pleasing memory of all he stole, + How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug, + And suck'd all o'er, like an industrious bug. 130 + Here lay poor Fletcher's half-eat scenes,<a href="#linknote-262" + name="linknoteref-262" id="linknoteref-262">262</a> and here + The frippery of crucified Molière; + There hapless Shakspeare, yet of Tibbald<a href="#linknote-263" + name="linknoteref-263" id="linknoteref-263">263</a> sore, + Wish'd he had blotted<a href="#linknote-264" name="linknoteref-264" + id="linknoteref-264">264</a> for himself before. + The rest on outside merit but presume, + Or serve (like other fools) to fill a room; + Such with their shelves as due proportion hold, + Or their fond parents dress'd in red and gold; + Or where the pictures for the page atone, + And Quarles is saved by beauties not his own. 140 + Here swells the shelf with Ogilby the great;<a href="#linknote-265" + name="linknoteref-265" id="linknoteref-265">265</a> + There, stamp'd with arms, Newcastle shines complete:<a href="#linknote-266" + name="linknoteref-266" id="linknoteref-266">266</a> + Here all his suffering brotherhood retire, + And 'scape the martyrdom of Jakes and fire: + A Gothic library! of Greece and Rome + Well purged, and worthy Settle, Banks, and Broome.<a href="#linknote-267" + name="linknoteref-267" id="linknoteref-267">267</a> + + But, high above, more solid learning shone, + The classics of an age that heard of none; + There Caxton<a href="#linknote-268" name="linknoteref-268" + id="linknoteref-268">268</a> slept, with Wynkyn at his side, + One clasp'd in wood, and one in strong cow-hide; 150 + There, saved by spice, like mummies, many a year, + Dry bodies of divinity appear: + De Lyra<a href="#linknote-269" name="linknoteref-269" id="linknoteref-269">269</a> there a dreadful front extends, + And here the groaning shelves Philemon<a href="#linknote-270" + name="linknoteref-270" id="linknoteref-270">270</a> bends. + + Of these, twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size, + Redeem'd from tapers and defrauded pies, + Inspired he seizes: these an altar raise: + An hecatomb of pure, unsullied lays + That altar crowns: a folio common-place + Founds the whole pile, of all his works the base: 160 + Quartos, octavos, shape the lessening pyre: + A twisted birth-day ode completes the spire. + + Then he: Great tamer of all human art! + First in my care, and ever at my heart; + Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend, + With whom my Muse began, with whom shall end, + E'er since Sir Fopling's periwig<a href="#linknote-271" + name="linknoteref-271" id="linknoteref-271">271</a> was praise, + To the last honours of the butt and bays: + O thou! of business the directing soul; + To this our head, like bias to the bowl, 170 + Which, as more ponderous, made its aim more true, + Obliquely waddling to the mark in view; + Oh, ever gracious to perplexed mankind, + Still spread a healing mist before the mind; + And, lest we err by wit's wild dancing light, + Secure us kindly in our native night. + Or, if to wit a coxcomb make pretence, + Guard the sure barrier between that and sense; + Or quite unravel all the reasoning thread, + And hang some curious cobweb in its stead! 180 + As, forced from wind-guns, lead itself can fly, + And ponderous slugs cut swiftly through the sky; + As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe, + The wheels above urged by the load below: + Me Emptiness and Dulness could inspire, + And were my elasticity and fire. + Some demon stole my pen (forgive the offence) + And once betrayed me into common sense: + Else all my prose and verse were much the same; + This, prose on stilts; that, poetry fallen lame. 190 + Did on the stage my fops appear confined? + My life gave ampler lessons to mankind. + Did the dead letter unsuccessful prove? + The brisk example never fail'd to move. + Yet sure, had Heaven decreed to save the state, + Heaven had decreed these works a longer date. + Could Troy be saved by any single hand, + This gray-goose weapon must have made her stand. + What can I now my Fletcher cast aside, + Take up the Bible, once my better guide? 200 + Or tread the path by venturous heroes trod, + This box my thunder, this right hand my god? + Or chair'd at White's amidst the doctors sit, + Teach oaths to gamesters, and to nobles wit? + Or bidst thou rather party to embrace? + (A friend to party thou, and all her race; + 'Tis the same rope at different ends they twist; + To Dulness Ridpath is as dear as Mist.<a href="#linknote-272" + name="linknoteref-272" id="linknoteref-272">272</a>) + Shall I, like Curtins, desperate in my zeal, + O'er head and ears plunge for the common weal? 210 + Or rob Rome's ancient geese<a href="#linknote-273" name="linknoteref-273" + id="linknoteref-273">273</a> of all their glories, + And, cackling, save the monarchy of Tories? + Hold—to the minister I more incline; + To serve his cause, O queen! is serving thine. + And see! thy very gazetteers give o'er, + Ev'n Ralph repents, and Henley writes no more. + What then remains? Ourself. Still, still remain + Cibberian forehead, and Cibberian brain. + This brazen brightness, to the squire so dear; + This polish'd hardness, that reflects the peer: 220 + This arch absurd, that wit and fool delights; + This mess, tossed up of Hockley-hole and White's; + Where dukes and butchers join to wreathe my crown, + At once the bear and fiddle<a href="#linknote-274" name="linknoteref-274" + id="linknoteref-274">274</a> of the town. + + O born in sin, and forth in folly brought! + Works damn'd, or to be damn'd (your father's fault)! + Go, purified by flames, ascend the sky, + My better and more Christian progeny! + Unstain'd, untouch'd, and yet in maiden sheets; + While all your smutty sisters walk the streets. 230 + Ye shall not beg, like gratis-given Bland,<a href="#linknote-275" + name="linknoteref-275" id="linknoteref-275">275</a> + Sent with a pass, and vagrant through the land; + Nor sail with Ward<a href="#linknote-276" name="linknoteref-276" + id="linknoteref-276">276</a> to ape-and-monkey climes, + Where vile Mundungus trucks for viler rhymes: + Not sulphur-tipp'd, emblaze an ale-house fire; + Not wrap up oranges, to pelt your sire! + Oh, pass more innocent, in infant state, + To the mild limbo of our father Tate:<a href="#linknote-277" + name="linknoteref-277" id="linknoteref-277">277</a> + Or peaceably forgot, at once be blest + In Shadwell's bosom with eternal rest! 240 + Soon to that mass of nonsense to return, + Where things destroyed are swept to things unborn. + + With that, a tear (portentous sign of grace!) + Stole from the master of the sevenfold face: + And thrice he lifted high the birth-day brand, + And thrice he dropp'd it from his quivering hand; + Then lights the structure with averted eyes: + The rolling smoke involves the sacrifice. + The opening clouds disclose each work by turns, + Now flames the Cid, and now Perolla burns; 250 + Great Caesar roars, and hisses in the fires; + King John in silence modestly expires: + No merit now the dear Nonjuror claims, + Moliere's<a href="#linknote-278" name="linknoteref-278" id="linknoteref-278">278</a> old stubble in a moment flames. + Tears gush'd again, as from pale Priam's eyes + When the last blaze sent Ilion to the skies. + + Roused by the light, old Dulness heaved the head, + Then snatch'd a sheet of Thulè<a href="#linknote-279" name="linknoteref-279" + id="linknoteref-279">279</a> from her bed, + Sudden she flies, and whelms it o'er the pyre; + Down sink the flames, and with a hiss expire. 260 + + 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 mayors + She looks, and breathes herself into their airs. + She bids him wait her to her sacred dome: + Well pleased he enter'd, and confessed his home. + So, spirits ending their terrestrial race, + Ascend, and recognise their native place. + This the great mother dearer held than all + The clubs of quidnuncs, or her own Guildhall: 270 + Here stood her opium, here she nursed her owls, + And here she plann'd the imperial seat of fools. + + Here to her chosen all her works she shows; + Prose swell'd to verse, verse loitering into prose: + How random thoughts now meaning chance to find, + Now leave all memory of sense behind: + How prologues into prefaces decay, + And these to notes are fritter'd quite away: + How index-learning turns no student pale, + Yet holds the eel of science by the tail: 280 + 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, revived, new piece, + 'Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Shakspeare, and Corneille, + Can make a Cibber, Tibbald,<a href="#linknote-280" name="linknoteref-280" + id="linknoteref-280">280</a> or Ozell.<a href="#linknote-281" + name="linknoteref-281" id="linknoteref-281">281</a> + + 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 Heidegger<a href="#linknote-282" name="linknoteref-282" + id="linknoteref-282">282</a> and owl,) 290 + Perch'd on his crown. 'All hail! and hail again, + My son! the promised land expects thy reign. + Know, Eusden thirsts no more for sack or praise; + He sleeps among the dull of ancient days; + Safe, where no critics damn, no duns molest, + Where wretched Withers, Ward, and Gildon<a href="#linknote-283" + name="linknoteref-283" id="linknoteref-283">283</a> rest, + And high-born Howard,<a href="#linknote-284" name="linknoteref-284" + id="linknoteref-284">284</a> more majestic sire, + With fool of quality completes the quire, + Thou, Cibber! thou, his laurel shalt support, + Folly, my son, has still a friend at Court. 300 + Lift up your gates, ye princes, see him come! + Sound, sound, ye viols, be the cat-call dumb! + Bring, bring the madding bay, the drunken vine; + The creeping, dirty, courtly ivy join. + And thou! his aide-de-camp, lead on my sons, + Light-arm'd with points, antitheses, and puns. + Let Bawdry, Billingsgate, my daughters dear, + Support his front, and Oaths bring up the rear: + And under his, and under Archer's wing, + Gaming<a href="#linknote-285" name="linknoteref-285" id="linknoteref-285">285</a> and Grub Street, skulk behind the king. 310 + Oh! when shall rise a monarch all our own, + And I, a nursing mother, rock the throne; + 'Twixt prince and people close the curtain draw, + Shade him from light, and cover him from law; + Fatten the courtier, starve the learnèd band, + And suckle armies, and dry-nurse the land: + Till senates nod to lullabies divine, + And all be sleep, as at an ode of thine.' + + She ceased. Then swells the chapel-royal<a href="#linknote-286" + name="linknoteref-286" id="linknoteref-286">286</a> throat: + God save King Cibber! mounts in every note. 320 + Familiar White's, God save King Colley! cries; + God save King Colley! Drury lane replies: + To Needham's quick the voice triumphal rode, + But pious Needham<a href="#linknote-287" name="linknoteref-287" + id="linknoteref-287">287</a> dropp'd the name of God; + Back to the Devil<a href="#linknote-288" name="linknoteref-288" + id="linknoteref-288">288</a> the last echoes roll, + And Coll! each butcher roars at Hockley-hole. + + So when Jove's block descended from on high + (As sings thy great forefather Ogilby<a href="#linknote-289" + name="linknoteref-289" id="linknoteref-289">289</a>), + Loud thunder to its bottom shook the bog, + And the hoarse nation croak'd, God save King Log! +</pre> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS. + + VER. 1. The mighty mother, &c. In the first edition it was thus— + + Books and the man I sing, the first who brings + The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings. + Say, great patricians! since yourselves inspire + These wondrous works (so Jove and Fate require) + Say, for what cause, in vain decried and cursed, + Still—- + + After VER. 22, in the MS.— + + Or in the graver gown instruct mankind, + Or silent let thy morals tell thy mind. + + But this was to be understood, as the poet says, <i>ironicè</i>, like the 23d + verse. + + VER. 29. Close to those walls, &c. In the former edition thus— + + Where wave the tatter'd ensigns of Rag-fair,<a href="#linknote-245" + name="linknoteref-245" id="linknoteref-245">245</a> + A yawning ruin hangs and nods in air;<a href="#linknote-246" + name="linknoteref-246" id="linknoteref-246">246</a> + Keen hollow winds howl through the bleak recess, + Emblem of music caused by emptiness; + Here in one bed two shivering sisters lie, + The cave of Poverty and Poetry. + + VER. 41 in the former lines— + + Hence hymning Tyburn's elegiac lay, + Hence the soft sing-song on Cecilia's day. + + VER. 42 alludes to the annual songs composed to music on St Cecilia's + Feast. + + VER. 85 in the former editions— + + 'Twas on the day—when Thorald,<a href="#linknote-290" + name="linknoteref-290" id="linknoteref-290">290</a> rich and grave. + + VER. 108. But chief in Bayes's, &e. In the former edition thus— + + But chief, in Tibbald's monster-breeding breast; + Sees gods with demons in strange league engage, + And earth, and heaven, and hell her battles wage. + She eyed the bard, where supperless he sate, + And pined, unconscious of his rising fate; + Studious he sate, with all his books around, + Sinking from thought to thought, &c— + + VER. 121. Round him much embryo, &c. In the former editions thus— + + 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, &c.— + + VER. 146. In the first edition it was— + + Well-purged, and worthy W—y, W—s, and Bl—-. + + VER. 162. A twisted, &c. In the former edition— + + And last, a little Ajax<a href="#linknote-291" name="linknoteref-291" + id="linknoteref-291">291</a> tips the spire. + + VER. 177. Or, if to wit, &c. In the former edition— + + Ah! still o'er Britain stretch that peaceful wand, + Which lulls th' Helvetian and Batavian land; + Where rebel to thy throne if science rise, + She does but show her coward face, and dies: + There thy good scholiasts with unwearied 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 Shakspeare once a week. + For thee supplying, in the worst of days. + Notes to dull books, and prologues to dull plays; + Not that my quill to critics was confined, + My verse gave ampler lessons to mankind; + So gravest precepts may successless prove. + But sad examples never fail to move. + As, forced from wind-guns, &c. + + VER. 195. Yet sure had Heaven, &c. In the former edition— + + Had Heaven decreed such works a longer date, + Heaven had decreed to spare the Grub Street state. + But see great Settle to the dust descend, + And all thy cause and empire at an end! + Could Troy be saved, &c.— + + VER. 213. Hold—to the minister. In the former edition— + + Yes, to my country I my pen consign + Yes, from this moment, mighty Mist! am thine. + + VER. 225. O born in sin, &c. In the former edition— + + Adieu, my children! better thus expire + Unstall'd, unsold; thus glorious mount in fire, + Fair without spot; than greased by grocer's hands, + Or shipp'd with Ward to ape-and-monkey lands, + Or wafting ginger, round the streets to run, + And visit ale-house, where ye first begun, + With that he lifted thrice the sparkling brand, + And thrice he dropp'd it, &c.— + + VER. 250. Now flames the Cid, &c. In the former edition— + + Now flames old Memnon, now Rodrigo burns, + In one quick flash see Proserpine expire, + And last, his own cold Aeschylus took fire. + Then gushed the tears, as from the Trojan's eyes, + When the last blaze, &c. + + After VER. 268, in the former edition, followed these two lines— + + Raptured, he gazes round the dear retreat, + And in sweet numbers celebrates the seat. + + VER. 293. Know, Eusden, &c. In the former edition— + + Know, Settle, cloy'd with custard and with praise, + Is gather'd to the dull of ancient days, + Safe where no critics damn, no duns molest, + Where Gildon, Banks, and high-born Howard rest. + I see a king! who leads my chosen sons + To lands that flow with clenches and with puns: + Till each famed 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! Grub Street alleys roar. + So when Jove's block, &c. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + BOOK THE SECOND. + </h2> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + ARGUMENT. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The king being proclaimed, the solemnity is graced with public games and + sports of various kinds; not instituted by the hero, as by Aeneas in + Virgil, but for greater honour by the goddess in person (in like manner as + the games Pythia, Isthmia, &c., were anciently said to be ordained by + the gods, and as Thetis herself appearing, according to Homer, Odyss. + xxiv., proposed the prizes in honour of her son Achilles). Hither flock + the poets and critics, attended, as is but just, with their patrons and + booksellers. The goddess is first pleased, for her disport, to propose + games to the booksellers, and setteth up the phantom of a poet, which they + contend to overtake. The races described, with their divers accidents. + Next, the game for a poetess. Then follow the exercises for the poets, of + tickling, vociferating, diving: The first holds forth the arts and + practices of dedicators; the second of disputants and fustian poets; the + third of profound, dark, and dirty party-writers. Lastly, for the critics, + the goddess proposes (with great propriety) an exercise, not of their + parts, but their patience, in hearing the works of two voluminous authors, + one in verse, and the other in prose, deliberately read, without sleeping: + the various effects of which, with the several degrees and manners of + their operation, are here set forth; till the whole number, not of critics + only, but of spectators, actors, and all present, fall fast asleep; which + naturally and necessarily ends the games. + </p> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + High on a gorgeous seat, that far out-shone + Henley's gilt tub,<a href="#linknote-292" name="linknoteref-292" + id="linknoteref-292">292</a> or Flecknoe's Irish throne,<a + href="#linknote-293" name="linknoteref-293" id="linknoteref-293">293</a> + Or that where on her Curlls the public pours,<a href="#linknote-294" + name="linknoteref-294" id="linknoteref-294">294</a> + All-bounteous, fragrant grains and golden showers, + Great Cibber sate: the proud Parnassian sneer, + The conscious simper, and the jealous leer, + Mix on his look: all eyes direct their rays + On him, and crowds turn coxcombs as they gaze. + His peers shine round him with reflected grace, + New edge their dulness, and new bronze their face. 10 + So from the sun's broad beam, in shallow urns + Heaven's twinkling sparks draw light, and point their horns. + + Not with more glee, by hands Pontific crown'd, + With scarlet hats wide-waving circled round, + Rome in her Capitol saw Querno sit,<a href="#linknote-295" + name="linknoteref-295" id="linknoteref-295">295</a> + Throned on seven hills, the Antichrist of wit. + + And now the queen, to glad her sons, proclaims + By herald hawkers, high heroic games. + They summon all her race: an endless band + Pours forth, and leaves unpeopled half the land. 20 + 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. + + Amid that area wide they took their stand, + Where the tall maypole once o'er-looked the Strand, + But now (so Anne and piety ordain) + A church collects the saints of Drury Lane. 30 + + With authors, stationers obey'd the call, + (The field of glory is a field for all). + Glory and gain the industrious tribe provoke; + And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke. + A poet's form she placed before their eyes, + And bade 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 starveling bards of these degenerate days. 40 + 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; + And empty words she gave, and sounding strain, + But senseless, lifeless! idol void and vain! + Never was dash'd out, at one lucky hit,<a href="#linknote-297" + name="linknoteref-297" id="linknoteref-297">297</a> + A fool, so just a copy of a wit; + So like, that critics said, and courtiers swore, + A wit it was, and call'd the phantom More.<a href="#linknote-298" + name="linknoteref-298" id="linknoteref-298">298</a> 50 + + All gaze with ardour: some a poet's name, + Others a sword-knot and laced suit inflame. + But lofty Lintot<a href="#linknote-299" name="linknoteref-299" + id="linknoteref-299">299</a> 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 Lintot shall contend? + Fear held them mute. Alone, untaught to fear, + Stood dauntless Curll:<a href="#linknote-300" name="linknoteref-300" + id="linknoteref-300">300</a> 'Behold that rival here! + The race by vigour, not by vaunts is won; + So take the hindmost Hell.' He said, and run. 60 + Swift as a bard the bailiff leaves behind, + He left huge Lintot, and out-stripp'd the wind. + As when a dab-chick waddles through the copse + On feet and wings, and flies, and wades, and hops: + So labouring on, with shoulders, hands, and head, + Wide as a wind-mill all his figure spread, + With arms expanded Bernard rows his state, + And left-legg'd Jacob<a href="#linknote-301" name="linknoteref-301" + id="linknoteref-301">301</a> seems to emulate. + Full in the middle way there stood a lake, + Which Curll's Corinna<a href="#linknote-302" name="linknoteref-302" + id="linknoteref-302">302</a> chanced that morn to make: 70 + (Such was her wont, at early dawn to drop + Her evening cates before his neighbour's shop,) + Here fortuned Curll to slide; loud shout the band, + And Bernard! Bernard! rings through all the Strand. + Obscene with filth the miscreant lies bewray'd, + Fallen in the plash his wickedness had laid: + Then first (if poets aught of truth declare) + The caitiff vaticide conceived a prayer: + 'Hear, Jove! whose name my bards and I adore, + As much at least as any god's, or more; 80 + And him and his if more devotion warms, + Down with the Bible, up with the Pope's arms.'<a href="#linknote-303" + name="linknoteref-303" id="linknoteref-303">303</a> + + A place there is, betwixt earth, air, and seas,<a href="#linknote-304" + name="linknoteref-304" id="linknoteref-304">304</a> + 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, + And hears the various vows of fond mankind; + Some beg an eastern, some a western wind: + All vain petitions, mounting to the sky, + With reams abundant this abode supply; 90 + Amused he reads, and then returns the bills + Sign'd with that ichor which from gods distils. + + In office here fair Cloacina stands, + And ministers to Jove with purest hands. + Forth from the heap she pick'd her votary's prayer, + And placed it next him, a distinction rare! + Oft had the goddess heard her servant's call, + From her black grottos near the Temple-wall, + Listening delighted to the jest unclean + Of link-boys vile, and watermen obscene; 100 + Where as he fish'd her nether realms for wit, + She oft had favour'd him, and favours yet. + Renew'd by ordure's sympathetic force, + As oil'd with magic juices for the course, + Vigorous he rises; from the effluvia strong + Imbibes new life, and scours and stinks along; + Repasses Lintot, 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; 110 + A shapeless shade, it melted from his sight, + Like forms in clouds, or visions of the night. + To seize his papers, Curll, was next thy care; + His papers light, fly diverse, toss'd in air; + Songs, sonnets, epigrams the winds uplift, + And whisk them back to Evans, Young, and Swift.<a href="#linknote-305" + name="linknoteref-305" id="linknoteref-305">305</a> + The embroider'd suit at least he deem'd his prey, + That suit an unpaid tailor snatch'd away. + No rag, no scrap, of all the beau, or wit, + That once so flutter'd, and that once so writ. 120 + + Heaven rings with laughter: of the laughter vain, + Dulness, good queen, repeats the jest again. + Three wicked imps, of her own Grub Street choir, + She deck'd like Congreve, Addison, and Prior; + Mears, Warner, Wilkins run: delusive thought! + Breval, Bond, Bezaleel,<a href="#linknote-306" name="linknoteref-306" + id="linknoteref-306">306</a> the varlets caught. + Curll stretches after Gay, but Gay is gone, + He grasps an empty Joseph<a href="#linknote-307" name="linknoteref-307" + id="linknoteref-307">307</a> for a John: + So Proteus, hunted in a nobler shape, + Became, when seized, a puppy, or an ape. 130 + + To him the goddess: 'Son! thy grief lay down, + And turn this whole illusion on the town:<a href="#linknote-308" + name="linknoteref-308" id="linknoteref-308">308</a> + As the sage dame, experienced 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 Maries;) + Be thine, my stationer! this magic gift; + Cook shall be Prior,<a href="#linknote-309" name="linknoteref-309" + id="linknoteref-309">309</a> and Concanen, Swift: + So shall each hostile name become our own, + And we too boast our Garth and Addison.' 140 + + With that she gave him (piteous of his case, + Yet smiling at his rueful length of face<a href="#linknote-310" + name="linknoteref-310" id="linknoteref-310">310</a>) + A shaggy tapestry, worthy to be spread + On Codrus' old, or Dunton's modern bed;<a href="#linknote-311" + name="linknoteref-311" id="linknoteref-311">311</a> + Instructive work! whose wry-mouth'd portraiture + Display'd the fates her confessors endure. + Earless on high, stood unabash'd Defoe, + And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below.<a href="#linknote-312" + name="linknoteref-312" id="linknoteref-312">312</a> + There Ridpath, Roper,<a href="#linknote-313" name="linknoteref-313" + id="linknoteref-313">313</a> cudgell'd might ye view, + The very worsted still look'd black and blue. 150 + Himself among the storied chiefs he spies,<a href="#linknote-314" + name="linknoteref-314" id="linknoteref-314">314</a> + As, from the blanket, high in air he flies, + And oh! (he cried) what street, what lane but knows + Our purgings, pumpings, blanketings, and blows? + In every loom our labours shall be seen, + And the fresh vomit run for ever green! + + See in the circle next, Eliza<a href="#linknote-315" name="linknoteref-315" + id="linknoteref-315">315</a> placed, + Two babes of love close clinging to her waist; + Fair as before her works she stands confess'd, 159 + In flowers and pearls by bounteous Kirkall<a href="#linknote-316" + name="linknoteref-316" id="linknoteref-316">316</a> dress'd. + The goddess then: 'Who best can send on high + The salient spout, far-streaming to the sky; + 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.' + + Osborne<a href="#linknote-317" name="linknoteref-317" id="linknoteref-317">317</a> and Curll accept the glorious strife, + (Though this his son dissuades, and that his wife;) + One on his manly confidence relies, + One on his vigour and superior size. 170 + First Osborne lean'd against his letter'd post; + It rose, and labour'd to a curve at most. + So Jove's bright bow displays its watery round + (Sure sign, that no spectator shall be drown'd), + A second effort brought but new disgrace, + The wild meander wash'd the artist's face: + Thus the small jet, which hasty hands unlock, + Spurts in the gardener's eyes who turns the cock. + Not so from shameless Curll; impetuous spread + The stream, and smoking flourish'd o'er his head. 180 + So (famed like thee for turbulence and horns) + Eridanus his humble fountain scorns; + Through half the heavens he pours the 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 pleased dame, soft-smiling, lead'st away. + Osborne, through perfect modesty o'ercome, + Crown'd with the Jordan, walks contented home. 190 + + 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's meaning Dulness thus express'd, + '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 the imputed sense; 200 + Now gentle touches wanton o'er his face, + He struts Adonis, and affects grimace: + Rolli<a href="#linknote-318" name="linknoteref-318" id="linknoteref-318">318</a> the feather to his ear conveys, + Then his nice taste directs our operas: + Bentley<a href="#linknote-319" name="linknoteref-319" id="linknoteref-319">319</a> his mouth with classic flattery opes, + And the puff'd orator bursts out in tropes. + But Welsted<a href="#linknote-320" name="linknoteref-320" + id="linknoteref-320">320</a> most the poet's healing balm + Strives to extract from his soft, giving palm; + Unlucky Welsted! thy unfeeling master, + The more thou ticklest, gripes his fist the faster. 210 + + 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 Heaven and prayer. + What force have pious vows! The Queen of Love + Her sister sends, her votaress, from above. + As taught by Venus, Paris learn'd the art + To touch Achilles' only tender part; + Secure, through her, the noble prize to carry, + He marches off, his Grace's secretary. 220 + + 'Now turn to different sports (the goddess cries), + And learn, my sons, the wondrous power of noise. + To move, to raise, to ravish every heart, + With Shakspeare's nature, or with Jonson's art, + Let others aim: 'tis yours to shake the soul + With thunder rumbling from the mustard bowl,<a href="#linknote-321" + name="linknoteref-321" id="linknoteref-321">321</a> + 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. 230 + Improve we these. Three cat-calls be the bribe + Of him whose chattering shames the monkey tribe: + And his this drum whose hoarse heroic bass + Drowns the loud clarion of the braying ass.' + + Now thousand tongues are heard in one loud din: + The monkey-mimics rush discordant in; + 'Twas chattering, grinning, mouthing, jabbering all, + And noise and Norton, brangling and Breval,<a href="#linknote-322" + name="linknoteref-322" id="linknoteref-322">322</a> + Dennis and dissonance, and captious art, + And snip-snap short, and interruption smart, 240 + And demonstration thin, and theses thick, + And major, minor, and conclusion quick. + 'Hold' (cried the queen) 'a cat-call each shall win; + Equal your merits! equal is your din! + But that this well-disputed game may end, + Sound forth, nay 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; 250 + Sore sighs Sir Gilbert, 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 labouring lungs the enthusiast blows, + High sound, attemper'd to the vocal nose, + Or such as bellow from the deep divine; + There, Webster!<a href="#linknote-323" name="linknoteref-323" + id="linknoteref-323">323</a> peal'd thy voice, and, Whitfield!<a + href="#linknote-324" name="linknoteref-324" id="linknoteref-324">324</a> thine. + But far o'er all, sonorous Blackmore's strain; + Walls, steeples, skies, bray back to him again. 260 + In Tottenham fields, the brethren, with amaze, + Prick all their ears up, and forget to graze; + 'Long Chancery Lane retentive rolls the sound, + And courts to courts return it round and round; + Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring hall, + And Hungerford re-echoes bawl for bawl. + All hail him victor in both gifts of song, + Who sings so loudly, and who sings so long. + + This labour past, by Bridewell all descend, + (As morning prayer, and flagellation end)<a href="#linknote-325" + name="linknoteref-325" id="linknoteref-325">325</a> 270 + To where Fleet-ditch with disemboguing streams + Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames, + The king of dikes! 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 through thick and thin,<a href="#linknote-326" + name="linknoteref-326" id="linknoteref-326">326</a> + And who the most in love of dirt excel, + Or dark dexterity of groping well. + Who flings most filth, and wide pollutes around + The stream, be his the weekly journals<a href="#linknote-327" + name="linknoteref-327" id="linknoteref-327">327</a> bound; 280 + A pig of lead to him who dives the best; + A peck of coals a-piece<a href="#linknote-328" name="linknoteref-328" + id="linknoteref-328">328</a> shall glad the rest.' + + In naked majesty Oldmixon stands,<a href="#linknote-329" + name="linknoteref-329" id="linknoteref-329">329</a> + And, Milo-like, surveys his arms and hands; + 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 plunged downright. + The senior's judgment all the crowd admire, + Who but to sink the deeper, rose the higher. 290 + + Next Smedley dived;<a href="#linknote-330" name="linknoteref-330" + id="linknoteref-330">330</a> slow circles dimpled o'er + The quaking mud, that closed, and oped no more. + All look, all sigh, and call on Smedley lost; + 'Smedley!' in vain, resounds through all the coast. + + Then Hill<a href="#linknote-331" name="linknoteref-331" id="linknoteref-331">331</a> essay'd; scarce vanish'd out of sight, + He buoys up instant, and returns to light: + He bears no token of the sable streams, + And mounts far off among the swans of Thames. + + True to the bottom, see Concanen creep, + A cold, long-winded, native of the deep: 300 + If perseverance gain the diver's prize, + Not everlasting Blackmore this denies: + No noise, no stir, no motion can'st thou make, + The unconscious stream sleeps o'er thee like a lake. + + Next plunged a feeble, but a desperate pack, + With each a sickly brother at his back:<a href="#linknote-332" + name="linknoteref-332" id="linknoteref-332">332</a> + Sons of a day! just buoyant on the flood, + Then number'd with the puppies in the mud. + Ask ye their names? I could as soon disclose + The names of these blind puppies as of those. 310 + Fast by, like Niobe (her children gone) + Sits Mother Osborne,<a href="#linknote-333" name="linknoteref-333" + id="linknoteref-333">333</a> stupified to stone! + And monumental brass this record bears, + 'These are,—ah no! these were, the gazetteers!'<a href="#linknote-334" + name="linknoteref-334" id="linknoteref-334">334</a> + + Not so bold Arnall;<a href="#linknote-335" name="linknoteref-335" + id="linknoteref-335">335</a> with a weight of skull, + Furious he dives, precipitately dull. + Whirlpools and storms his circling arm invest, + With all the might of gravitation bless'd. + No crab more active in the dirty dance, + Downward to climb, and backward to advance. 320 + He brings up half the bottom on his head, + And loudly claims the journals and the lead. + + The plunging Prelate,<a href="#linknote-336" name="linknoteref-336" + id="linknoteref-336">336</a> and his ponderous Grace, + With holy envy gave one layman place. + When, lo! a burst of thunder shook the flood, + Slow rose a form, in majesty of mud: + Shaking the horrors of his sable brows, + And each ferocious feature grim with ooze. + Greater he looks, and more than mortal stares: + Then thus the wonders of the deep declares. 330 + + First he relates, how sinking to the chin, + Smit with his mien, the mud-nymphs suck'd him in: + How young Lutetia, softer than the down, + Nigrina black, and Merdamante brown, + Vied for his love in jetty bowers below, + As Hylas fair was ravish'd long ago. + Then sung, how, shown him by the nut-brown maids; + A branch of Styx here rises from the shades, + That, tinctured as it runs with Lethe's streams, + And wafting vapours from the land of dreams, 340 + (As under seas Alpheus' secret sluice + Bears Pisa's offerings to his Arethuse,) + Pours into Thames: and hence the mingled wave + Intoxicates the pert, and lulls the grave: + Here brisker vapours o'er the Temple creep, + There, all from Paul's to Aldgate drink and sleep. + + Thence to the banks where reverend bards repose, + They led him soft; each reverend bard arose; + And Milbourn<a href="#linknote-337" name="linknoteref-337" + id="linknoteref-337">337</a> chief, deputed by the rest, + Gave him the cassock, surcingle, and vest. 350 + 'Receive (he said) these robes which once were mine, + Dulness is sacred in a sound divine.' + + He ceased, and spread the robe; the crowd confess + The reverend Flamen in his lengthen'd dress. + Around him wide a sable army stand, + A low-born, cell-bred, selfish, servile band, + Prompt or to guard or stab, to saint or damn, + Heaven's Swiss, who fight for any god, or man. + Through Lud's famed gates,<a href="#linknote-338" name="linknoteref-338" + id="linknoteref-338">338</a> along the well-known Fleet + Rolls the black troop, and overshades the street, 360 + Till showers of sermons, characters, essays, + In circling fleeces whiten all the ways: + So clouds replenish'd from some bog below, + Mount in dark volumes, and descend in snow. + Here stopp'd the goddess; and in pomp proclaims + A gentler exercise to close the games. + + 'Ye critics! in whose heads, as equal scales, + I weigh what author's heaviness prevails, + Which most conduce to soothe the soul in slumbers, + My Henley's periods, or my Blackmore's numbers, 370 + Attend the trial we propose to make: + If there be man, who o'er such works can wake, + Sleep's all-subduing charms who dares defy, + And boasts Ulysses' ear with Argus' eye; + To him we grant our amplest powers to sit + Judge of all present, past, and future wit; + To cavil, censure, dictate, right or wrong, + Full and eternal privilege of tongue.' + + Three college Sophs, and three pert Templars came, + The same their talents, and their tastes the same; 380 + Each prompt to query, answer, and debate, + And smit with love of poesy and prate. + The ponderous books two gentle readers bring; + The heroes sit, the vulgar form a ring. + The clamorous crowd is hush'd with mugs of mum, + Till all, tuned equal, send a general hum. + Then mount the clerks, and in one lazy tone + Through the long, heavy, painful page drawl on; + Soft creeping, words on words, the sense compose, + At every line they stretch, they yawn, they doze. 390 + 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 drowsy god. + Thrice Budgell aim'd to speak,<a href="#linknote-339" name="linknoteref-339" + id="linknoteref-339">339</a> but thrice suppress'd + By potent Arthur, knock'd his chin and breast. + Toland and Tindal,<a href="#linknote-340" name="linknoteref-340" + id="linknoteref-340">340</a> prompt at priests to jeer, + Yet silent bow'd to Christ's no kingdom here.<a href="#linknote-341" + name="linknoteref-341" id="linknoteref-341">341</a> 400 + Who sate the nearest, by the words o'ercome, + Slept first; the distant nodded to the hum. + Then down are roll'd the books; stretch'd o'er 'em lies + Each gentle clerk, and, muttering, seals his eyes, + As what a Dutchman plumps into the lakes, + One circle first, and then a second makes; + What Dulness dropp'd among her sons impress'd + Like motion from one circle to the rest; + So from the midmost the nutation spreads + Round and more round, o'er all the sea of heads. 410 + At last Centlivre<a href="#linknote-342" name="linknoteref-342" + id="linknoteref-342">342</a> felt her voice to fail, + Motteux<a href="#linknote-343" name="linknoteref-343" id="linknoteref-343">343</a> himself unfinished left his tale, + Boyer the state, and Law the stage gave o'er,<a href="#linknote-344" + name="linknoteref-344" id="linknoteref-344">344</a> + Morgan<a href="#linknote-345" name="linknoteref-345" id="linknoteref-345">345</a> and Mandeville<a + href="#linknote-346" name="linknoteref-346" id="linknoteref-346">346</a> could prate no more; + Norton,<a href="#linknote-347" name="linknoteref-347" id="linknoteref-347">347</a> from Daniel and Ostroea sprung, + Bless'd with his father's front and mother's tongue, + Hung silent down his never-blushing head; + And all was hush'd, as Polly's self lay dead. + + Thus the soft gifts of sleep conclude the day, + And stretch'd on bulks, as usual, poets lay. 420 + Why should I sing what bards the nightly Muse + Did slumbering visit, and convey to stews; + Who prouder march'd, with magistrates in state, + To some famed round-house, ever open gate! + How Henley lay inspired beside a sink, + And to mere mortals seem'd a priest in drink; + While others, timely, to the neighbouring Fleet + (Haunt of the Muses!) made their safe retreat? +</pre> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS. + + VER. 207 in the first edition— + + But Oldmixon the poet's healing balm, &c. + + After VER. 298 in the first edition, followed these— + + Far worse unhappy D—-r succeeds, + He searched for coral, but he gather'd weeds. + + VER. 399. In the first edition it was— + + Collins and Tindal, prompt at priests to jeer. + + VER. 413. In the first edition it was— + + T—-s and T—— the Church and State gave o'er, + Nor —— talk'd nor S—— whisper'd more. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + BOOK THE THIRD. + </h2> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + ARGUMENT. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + After the other persons are disposed in their proper places of rest, the + goddess transports the king to her temple, and there lays him to slumber + with his head on her lap; a position of marvellous virtue, which causes + all the visions of wild enthusiasts, projectors, politicians, inamoratos, + castle-builders, chemists, and poets. He is immediately carried on the + wings of Fancy, and led by a mad poetical Sibyl, to the Elysian shade; + where, on the banks of Lethe, the souls of the dull are dipped by Bavius, + before their entrance into this world. There he is met by the ghost of + Settle, and by him made acquainted with the wonders of the place, and with + those which he himself is destined to perform. He takes him to a mount of + vision, from whence he shows him the past triumphs of the empire of + Dulness, then the present, and lastly the future: how small a part of the + world was ever conquered by science, how soon those conquests were + stopped, and those very nations again reduced to her dominion: then + distinguishing the island of Great Britain, shows by what aids, by what + persons, and by what degrees it shall be brought to her empire. Some of + the persons he causes to pass in review before his eyes, describing each + by his proper figure, character, and qualifications. On a sudden the scene + shifts, and a vast number of miracles and prodigies appear, utterly + surprising and unknown to the king himself, till they are explained to be + the wonders of his own reign now commencing. On this subject Settle breaks + into a congratulation, yet not unmixed with concern, that his own times + were but the types of these. He prophesies how first the nation shall be + overrun with farces, operas, and shows; how the throne of Dulness shall be + advanced over the theatres, and set up even at Court; then how her sons + shall preside in the seats of arts and sciences; giving a glimpse, or + Pisgah-sight, of the future fulness of her glory, the accomplishment + whereof is the subject of the fourth and last book. + </p> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But in her temple's last recess enclosed, + On Dulness' lap the anointed head reposed. + Him close the curtains round with vapours blue, + And soft besprinkles with Cimmerian dew. + Then raptures high the seat of sense o'erflow, + Which only heads refined 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, 10 + The maid's romantic wish, the chemist's flame, + And poet's vision of eternal fame. + + And now, on Fancy's easy wing convey'd, + The king descending, views the Elysian shade, + A slip-shod sibyl led his steps along, + In lofty madness meditating song; + Her tresses staring from poetic dreams, + And never wash'd, but in Castalia's streams. + Taylor,<a href="#linknote-348" name="linknoteref-348" id="linknoteref-348">348</a> their better Charon, lends an oar, + (Once swan of Thames, though now he sings no more.) 20 + Benlowes,<a href="#linknote-349" name="linknoteref-349" id="linknoteref-349">349</a> propitious still to blockheads, bows; + And Shadwell nods the poppy<a href="#linknote-350" name="linknoteref-350" + id="linknoteref-350">350</a> on his brows. + Here, in a dusky vale where Lethe rolls, + Old Bavius sits,<a href="#linknote-351" name="linknoteref-351" + id="linknoteref-351">351</a> to dip poetic souls, + And blunt the sense, and fit it for a skull + Of solid proof, impenetrably dull: + Instant, when dipp'd, away they wing their flight, + Where Brown and Mears<a href="#linknote-352" name="linknoteref-352" + id="linknoteref-352">352</a> unbar the gates of light, + Demand new bodies, and in calf's array + Rush to the world, impatient for the day. 30 + 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 Ward in pillory.<a href="#linknote-353" + name="linknoteref-353" id="linknoteref-353">353</a> + + Wond'ring he gazed: when, lo! a sage appears, + By his broad shoulders known, and length of ears, + Known by the band and suit which Settle<a href="#linknote-354" + name="linknoteref-354" id="linknoteref-354">354</a> wore + (His only suit) for twice three years before: + All as the vest appear'd the wearer's frame, + Old in new state—another, yet the same. 40 + 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 the 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 + Might from Boeotian to Boeotian roll? 50 + How many Dutchmen she vouchsafed to thrid? + How many stages through 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 meanders to the vital spring + Roll all their tides, then back their circles bring; + 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. 60 + 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 thy 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, 70 + (Earth's wide extremes), her sable flag display'd, + And all the nations cover'd in her shade! + + 'Far eastward cast thine eye, from whence the sun + And orient science their bright course begun; + One god-like monarch<a href="#linknote-355" name="linknoteref-355" + id="linknoteref-355">355</a> all that pride confounds, + He whose long wall the wandering Tartar bounds; + Heavens! what a pile! whole ages perish there, + And one bright blaze turns learning into air. + + 'Thence to the south extend thy gladden'd eyes; + There rival flames with equal glory rise, 80 + From shelves to shelves see greedy Vulcan roll, + And lick up all their physic of the soul.<a href="#linknote-356" + name="linknoteref-356" id="linknoteref-356">356</a> + + 'How little, mark! that portion of the ball, + Where, faint at best, the beams of science fall: + Soon as they dawn, from Hyperborean skies + Embodied dark, what clouds of Vandals rise! + Lo! where Maeotis sleeps, and hardly flows + The freezing Tanais through a waste of snows, + The North by myriads pours her mighty sons, + Great nurse of Goths, of Alans, and of Huns! 90 + See Alaric's stern port! the martial frame + Of Genseric! and Attila's dread name! + 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 conquering tribes the Arabian prophet draws, + And saving ignorance enthrones by laws. + See Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep, + And all the western world believe and sleep. 100 + + 'Lo! Rome herself, proud mistress now no more + Of arts, but thundering against heathen lore; + Her gray-hair'd synods damning books unread, + And Bacon trembling for his brazen head. + Padua, with sighs, beholds her Livy burn, + And ev'n the Antipodes Virgilius mourn. + See, the cirque falls, the unpillar'd temple nods, + Streets paved with heroes, Tiber choked with gods: + Till Peter's keys some christen'd Jove adorn, + And Pan to Moses lends his pagan horn; 110 + See graceless Venus to a virgin turn'd, + Or Phidias broken, and Apelles burn'd. + + 'Behold yon isle, by palmers, pilgrims trod, + Men bearded, bald, cowl'd, uncowl'd, shod, unshod, + Peel'd, patch'd, and piebald, linsey-woolsey brothers, + Grave mummers! sleeveless some, and shirtless others. + That once was Britain—happy! had she seen + No fiercer sons, had Easter never been.<a href="#linknote-357" + name="linknoteref-357" id="linknoteref-357">357</a> + In peace, great goddess, ever be adored; + How keen the war, if Dulness draw the sword! 120 + Thus visit not thy own! on this bless'd 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 favourite isle, long sever'd from her reign, + Dove-like she gathers to her wings again. + Now look through 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. 130 + As Berecynthia, while her offspring vie + In homage to the mother of the sky, + Surveys around her, in the bless'd abode, + An hundred sons, and every son a god; + Not with less glory mighty Dulness crown'd, + Shall take through Grub Street her triumphant round; + And her Parnassus glancing o'er at once, + Behold an hundred sons, and each a dunce. + + 'Mark first that youth who takes the foremost place, + And thrusts his person full into your face. 140 + With all thy father's virtues bless'd, be born! + And a new Cibber shall the stage adorn. + + 'A second see, by meeker manners known, + And modest as the maid that sips alone; + From the strong fate of drams if thou get free, + Another D'Urfey, Ward! shall sing in thee. + Thee shall each ale-house, thee each gill-house mourn, + And answering gin-shops sourer sighs return. + + 'Jacob, the scourge of grammar, mark with awe,<a href="#linknote-358" + name="linknoteref-358" id="linknoteref-358">358</a> + Nor less revere him, blunderbuss of law. 150 + Lo Popple's brow, tremendous to the town, + Horneck's fierce eye, and Roome's<a href="#linknote-359" + name="linknoteref-359" id="linknoteref-359">359</a> funereal frown. + Lo, sneering Goode,<a href="#linknote-360" name="linknoteref-360" + id="linknoteref-360">360</a> half-malice and half-whim, + A fiend in glee, ridiculously grim. + Each cygnet sweet, of Bath and Tunbridge race, + Whose tuneful whistling makes the waters pass: + Each songster, riddler, every nameless name, + All crowd, who foremost shall be damn'd to fame. + Some strain in rhyme; the Muses, on their racks, + Scream like the winding of ten thousand jacks; 160 + Some, free from rhyme or reason, rule or check, + Break Priscian's head and Pegasus's neck; + Down, down the 'larum, with impetuous whirl, + The Pindars, and the Miltons of a Curll. + + 'Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph<a href="#linknote-361" + name="linknoteref-361" id="linknoteref-361">361</a> to Cynthia howls, + And makes night hideous—answer him, ye owls! + + 'Sense, speech, and measure, living tongues and dead, + Let all give way—and Morris may be read. + Flow, Welsted, flow! like thine inspirer, beer; + Though stale, not ripe; though thin, yet never clear; 170 + So sweetly mawkish, and so smoothly dull; + Heady, not strong; o'erflowing, though not full. + + 'Ah Dennis! Gildon 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 barbarous civil war. + Embrace, embrace, my sons! be foes no more! + Nor glad vile poets with true critics' gore. + + 'Behold yon pair,<a href="#linknote-362" name="linknoteref-362" + id="linknoteref-362">362</a> in strict embraces join'd; + How like in manners, and how like in mind! 180 + 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. + + 'But who is he, in closet close y-pent, + Of sober face, with learned dust besprent? + Right well mine eyes arede the myster wight, + On parchment scraps y-fed, and Wormius hight.<a href="#linknote-363" + name="linknoteref-363" id="linknoteref-363">363</a> + To future ages may thy dulness last, + As thou preserv'st the dulness of the past! 190 + + 'There, dim in clouds, the poring scholiasts mark, + Wits, who, like owls, see only in the dark, + A lumberhouse of books in every head, + For ever reading, never to be read! + + 'But where each science lifts its modern type, + History her pot, divinity her pipe, + While proud philosophy repines to show, + Dishonest sight! his breeches rent below; + Embrown'd with native bronze, lo! Henley<a href="#linknote-364" + name="linknoteref-364" id="linknoteref-364">364</a> stands, + Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands. 200 + How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue! + How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung! + Still break the benches, Henley! with thy strain, + While Sherlock, Hare, and Gibson<a href="#linknote-365" + name="linknoteref-365" id="linknoteref-365">365</a> preach in vain. + O great restorer of the good old stage, + Preacher at once, and zany of thy age! + O worthy thou of Egypt's wise abodes, + A decent priest, where monkeys were the gods! + But fate with butchers placed thy priestly stall, + Meek modern faith to murder, hack, and maul; 210 + And bade thee live to crown Britannia's praise, + In Toland's, Tindal's, and in Woolston's days.<a href="#linknote-366" + name="linknoteref-366" id="linknoteref-366">366</a> + + 'Yet O! my sons, a father's words attend + (So may the fates preserve the ears you lend): + 'Tis yours a Bacon or a Locke to blame, + A Newton's genius, or a Milton's flame: + But O! with One, immortal One dispense, + The source of Newton's light, of Bacon's sense. + Content, each emanation of his fires + That beams on earth, each virtue he inspires, 220 + Each art he prompts, each charm he can create, + Whate'er he gives, are given for you to hate. + Persist, by all divine in man unawed, + But, "Learn, ye Dunces! not to scorn your God."' + + Thus he, for then a ray of reason stole + Half through the solid darkness of his soul; + But soon the cloud return'd—and thus the sire: + 'See now, what Dulness and her sons admire! + See what the charms that smite the simple heart + Not touch'd by Nature, and not reach'd by art.' 230 + + His never-blushing head he turn'd aside, + (Not half so pleased when Goodman prophesied), + And looked, and saw a sable sorcerer<a href="#linknote-367" + name="linknoteref-367" id="linknoteref-367">367</a> rise, + Swift to whose hand a winged volume flies: + All sudden, Gorgons hiss, and dragons glare, + And ten-horn'd fiends and giants rush to war. + Hell rises, heaven descends, and dance on earth:<a href="#linknote-368" + name="linknoteref-368" id="linknoteref-368">368</a> + Gods, imps, and monsters, music, rage, and mirth, + A fire, a jig, a battle, and a ball, + Till one wide conflagration swallows all. 240 + Thence a new world to Nature's laws unknown + + Breaks out refulgent, with a heaven its own: + 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.<a href="#linknote-369" + name="linknoteref-369" id="linknoteref-369">369</a> + + Joy fills his soul, joy innocent of thought: 249 + 'What power,' he cries, 'what power these wonders wrought?' + 'Son, what thou seek'st is in thee! Look, and find + Each monster meets his likeness in thy mind. + Yet would'st thou more? In yonder cloud behold, + Whose sarsenet skirts are edged with flamy gold, + A matchless youth! his nod these worlds controls, + Wings the red lightning, and the thunder rolls. + Angel of Dulness, sent to scatter round + Her magic charms o'er all unclassic ground + Yon stars, yon suns, he rears at pleasure higher, + Illumes their light, and sets their flames on fire. 260 + Immortal Rich!<a href="#linknote-370" name="linknoteref-370" + id="linknoteref-370">370</a> 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. + + 'But, lo! to dark encounter in mid air, + New wizards rise; I see my Cibber there! + Booth<a href="#linknote-371" name="linknoteref-371" id="linknoteref-371">371</a> in his cloudy tabernacle shrined, + On grinning dragons thou shalt mount the wind. + Dire is the conflict, dismal is the din, + Here shouts all Drury, there all Lincoln's inn; 270 + 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 reserved to grace thy reign divine, + Foreseen by me, but ah! withheld from mine. + In Lud's old walls though long I ruled, renown'd + Far as loud Bow's stupendous bells resound; + Though my own Aldermen conferred the bays, + To me committing their eternal praise, 280 + Their full-fed heroes, their pacific mayors, + Their annual trophies, and their monthly wars; + Though long my party<a href="#linknote-372" name="linknoteref-372" + id="linknoteref-372">372</a> built on me their hopes, + For writing pamphlets, and for roasting popes; + Yet lo! in me what authors have to brag on! + Reduced at last to hiss in my own dragon. + Avert it, Heaven! that thou, my Cibber, e'er + Should'st wag a serpent-tail in Smithfield fair! + Like the vile straw that's blown about the streets, + The needy poet sticks to all he meets, 290 + Coach'd, carted, trod upon, now loose, now fast, + And carried off in some dog's tail at last; + Happier thy fortunes! like a rolling stone, + Thy giddy dulness still shall lumber on, + Safe in its heaviness, shall never stray, + But lick up every blockhead in the way. + Thee shall the patriot, thee the courtier taste, + And every year be duller than the last; + Till raised from booths, to theatre, to court, + Her seat imperial Dulness shall transport. 300 + Already Opera prepares the way, + The sure forerunner of her gentle sway: + Let her thy heart, next drabs and dice, engage, + The third mad passion of thy doting age. + Teach thou the warbling Polypheme<a href="#linknote-373" + name="linknoteref-373" id="linknoteref-373">373</a> to roar, + And scream thyself as none e'er scream'd before! + To aid our cause, if Heaven thou can'st not bend, + Hell thou shalt move; for Faustus<a href="#linknote-374" + name="linknoteref-374" id="linknoteref-374">374</a> is our friend: + Pluto with Cato thou for this shalt join, + And link the Mourning Bride to Proserpine. 310 + Grub Street! thy fall should men and gods conspire, + Thy stage shall stand, ensure it but from fire.<a href="#linknote-375" + name="linknoteref-375" id="linknoteref-375">375</a> + Another Æschylus appears!<a href="#linknote-376" name="linknoteref-376" + id="linknoteref-376">376</a> prepare + For new abortions, all ye pregnant fair! + In flames, like Semele's, 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! + This, this is he, foretold by ancient rhymes: + Th' Augustus born to bring Saturnian times. 320 + Signs following signs lead on the mighty year! + See! the dull stars roll round and re-appear. + See, see, our own true Phoebus wears the bays! + Our Midas sits Lord Chancellor of Plays! + On poets' tombs see Benson's titles writ!<a href="#linknote-377" + name="linknoteref-377" id="linknoteref-377">377</a> + Lo! Ambrose Philips<a href="#linknote-378" name="linknoteref-378" + id="linknoteref-378">378</a> is preferr'd for wit! + See under Ripley rise a new Whitehall, + While Jones' and Boyle's united labours fall;<a href="#linknote-379" + name="linknoteref-379" id="linknoteref-379">379</a> + While Wren with sorrow to the grave descends, + Gay dies unpension'd with a hundred friends; 330 + Hibernian politics, O Swift! thy fate; + And Pope's, ten years to comment and translate. + + 'Proceed, great days! till Learning fly the shore, + Till Birch shall blush with noble blood no more, + Till Thames see Eton's sons for ever play, + Till Westminster's whole year be holiday, + Till Isis' elders reel, their pupils sport, + And Alma Mater lie dissolved in port!' + + Enough! enough! the raptured monarch cries; + And through the Ivory Gate the vision flies. 340 +</pre> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS. + + VER. 73. In the former edition— + + Far eastward cast thine eye, from whence the sun + And orient science at a birth begun. + + VER. 149. In the first edition it was— + + Woolston, the scourge of scripture, mark with awe! + And mighty Jacob, blunderbuss of law! + + VER. 151. Lo Popple's brow, &c. In the former edition— + + Haywood, Centlivre, glories of their race, + Lo Horneck's fierce, and Roome's funereal face. + + VER. 157. Each songster, riddler, &c. In the former edition— + + Lo Bond and Foxton, every nameless name. + + After VER. 158 in the first edition followed— + + How proud, how pale, how earnest all appear! + How rhymes eternal jingle in their ear! + + VER. 197. In the first edition it was— + + And proud philosophy with breeches tore, + And English music with a dismal score: + Fast by in darkness palpable enshrined + W—-s, B—-r, M—-n, all the poring kind. + + After VER. 274 in the former edition followed— + + For works like these let deathless journals tell, + 'None but thyself can be thy parallel.' + + VER. 295. Safe in its heaviness, etc. In the former edition— + + Too safe in inborn heaviness to stray, + And lick up every blockhead in the way. + Thy dragons, magistrates and peers shall taste, + And from each show rise duller than the last; + Till raised from booths, etc. + + VER. 323. See, see, our own, &c. In the former edition— + + Beneath his reign shall Eusden wear the bays. + Cibber preside Lord Chancellor of plays, + Benson sole Judge of Architecture sit, + And Namby Pamby be preferr'd for wit! + I see the unfinish'd dormitory wall, + I see the Savoy totter to her fall; + Hibernian politics, O Swift! thy doom, + And Pope's, translating three whole years with Broome. + Proceed great days, &c. + + VER. 331. In the former edition, thus— + + —— O Swift! thy doom, + And Pope's, translating ten whole years with Broome. + + <i>See Life.</i> + + After VER. 338, in the first edition, were the following lines— + + Then when these signs declare the mighty year, + When the dull stars roll round and re-appear; + Let there be darkness! (the dread Power shall say) + All shall be darkness, as it ne'er were day; + To their first Chaos wit's vain works shall fall, + And universal darkness cover all. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + BOOK THE FOURTH. + </h2> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + ARGUMENT. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The poet being, in this book, to declare the completion of the prophecies + mentioned at the end of the former, makes a new invocation; as the greater + poets are wont, when some high and worthy matter is to be sung. He shows + the goddess coming in her majesty to destroy order and science, and to + substitute the kingdom of the Dull upon earth; how she leads captive the + Sciences, and silenceth the Muses; and what they be who succeed in their + stead. All her children, by a wonderful attraction, are drawn about her; + and bear along with them divers others, who promote her empire by + connivance, weak resistance, or discouragement of Arts; such as half-wits, + tasteless admirers, vain pretenders, the flatterers of Dunces, or the + patrons of them. All these crowd round her; one of them offering to + approach her, is driven back by a rival, but she commends and encourages + both. The first who speak in form are the geniuses of the schools, who + assure her of their care to advance her cause, by confining youth to + words, and keeping them out of the way of real knowledge. Their address, + and her gracious answer; with her charge to them and the Universities. The + Universities appear by their proper deputies, and assure her that the same + method is observed in the progress of education. The speech of Aristarchus + on this subject. They are driven off by a band of young gentlemen returned + from travel with their tutors; one of whom delivers to the goddess, in a + polite oration, an account of the whole conduct and fruits of their + travels; presenting to her at the same time a young nobleman perfectly + accomplished. She receives him graciously, and indues him with the happy + quality of want of shame. She sees loitering about her a number of + indolent persons abandoning all business and duty, and dying with + laziness: to these approaches the antiquary Annius, entreating her to make + them virtuosos, and assign them over to him; but Mummius, another + antiquary, complaining of his fraudulent proceeding, she finds a method to + reconcile their difference. Then enter a troop of people fantastically + adorned, offering her strange and exotic presents: amongst them, one + stands forth and demands justice on another, who had deprived him of one + of the greatest curiosities in nature; but he justifies himself so well, + that the goddess gives them both her approbation. She recommends to them + to find proper employment for the indolents before-mentioned, in the study + of butterflies, shells, birds' nests, moss, &c., but with particular + caution not to proceed beyond trifles, to any useful or extensive views of + nature, or of the Author of nature. Against the last of these + apprehensions, she is secured by a hearty address from the minute + philosophers and freethinkers, one of whom speaks in the name of the rest. + The youth thus instructed and principled, are delivered to her in a body, + by the hands of Silenus; and then admitted to taste the cup of the Magus + her high-priest, which causes a total oblivion of all obligations, divine, + civil, moral, or rational. To these her adepts she sends priests, + attendants, and comforters, of various kinds; confers on them orders and + degrees; and then dismissing them with a speech, confirming to each his + privileges, and telling what she expects from each, concludes with a yawn + of extraordinary virtue: the progress and effects whereof on all orders of + men, and the consummation of all, in the restoration of Night and Chaos, + conclude the poem. + </p> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yet, yet a moment, one dim ray of light + Indulge, dread Chaos, and eternal Night! + Of darkness visible so much be lent, + As half to show, half veil the deep intent. + Ye Powers! whose mysteries restored I sing, + To whom Time bears me on his rapid wing, + Suspend a while your force inertly strong, + Then take at once the poet and the song. + + Now flamed the dog-star's unpropitious ray, + Smote every brain, and wither'd every bay; 10 + Sick was the sun, the owl forsook his bower, + The moon-struck prophet felt the madding hour: + Then rose the seed of Chaos, and of Night, + To blot out order, and extinguish light, + Of dull and venal a new world to mould, + And bring Saturnian days of lead and gold. + + She mounts the throne: her head a cloud conceal'd, + In broad effulgence all below reveal'd, + ('Tis thus aspiring Dulness ever shines), + Soft on her lap her laureate son reclines. 20 + + Beneath her foot-stool, Science groans in chains, + And Wit dreads exile, penalties and pains. + There foam'd rebellious Logic, gagg'd and bound, + There, stripp'd, fair Rhetoric languish'd on the ground; + His blunted arms by Sophistry are borne, + And shameless Billingsgate her robes adorn. + Morality, by her false guardians drawn. + Chicane in furs, and Casuistry in lawn, + Gasps, as they straiten at each end the cord, + And dies, when Dulness gives her page the word. 30 + Mad Máthesis<a href="#linknote-380" name="linknoteref-380" + id="linknoteref-380">380</a> alone was unconfined, + Too mad for mere material chains to bind, + Now to pure space<a href="#linknote-381" name="linknoteref-381" + id="linknoteref-381">381</a> lifts her ecstatic stare, + Now running round the circle, finds it square.<a href="#linknote-382" + name="linknoteref-382" id="linknoteref-382">382</a> + But held in tenfold bonds the Muses lie, + Watch'd both by Envy's and by Flattery's eye: + There to her heart sad Tragedy address'd + The dagger wont to pierce the tyrant's breast; + But sober History restrain'd her rage, + And promised vengeance on a barbarous age. 40 + There sunk Thalia, nerveless, cold, and dead, + Had not her sister Satire held her head: + Nor could'st thou, Chesterfield!<a href="#linknote-383" + name="linknoteref-383" id="linknoteref-383">383</a> a tear refuse, + Thou wept'st, and with thee wept each gentle Muse. + + When, lo! a harlot form<a href="#linknote-384" name="linknoteref-384" + id="linknoteref-384">384</a> soft sliding by, + With mincing step, small voice, and languid eye: + Foreign her air, her robe's discordant pride + In patchwork fluttering, and her head aside: + By singing peers upheld on either hand, + She tripp'd and laugh'd, too pretty much to stand; 50 + Cast on the prostrate Nine a scornful look, + Then thus in quaint recitative spoke: + + 'O Cara! Cara! silence all that train: + Joy to great Chaos! let division reign:<a href="#linknote-385" + name="linknoteref-385" id="linknoteref-385">385</a> + Chromatic<a href="#linknote-386" name="linknoteref-386" id="linknoteref-386">386</a> tortures soon shall drive them hence, + Break all their nerves, and fritter all their sense: + One trill shall harmonise joy, grief, and rage, + Wake the dull church, and lull the ranting stage;<a href="#linknote-387" + name="linknoteref-387" id="linknoteref-387">387</a> + To the same notes thy sons shall hum, or snore, + And all thy yawning daughters cry, Encore! 60 + Another Phoebus, thy own Phoebus, reigns, + Joys in my jigs, and dances in my chains. + But soon, ah soon, rebellion will commence, + If music meanly borrows aid from sense: + Strong in new arms, lo! giant Handel stands, + Like bold Briareus, with a hundred hands; + To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes, + And Jove's own thunders follow Mars's drums. + Arrest him, empress; or you sleep no more'— + She heard, and drove him to the Hibernian shore. 70 + + And now had Fame's posterior trumpet blown, + And all the nations summon'd to the throne. + The young, the old, who feel her inward sway, + One instinct seizes, and transports away. + None need a guide, by sure attraction led, + And strong impulsive gravity of head; + None want a place, for all their centre found, + Hung to the goddess, and cohered around. + Not closer, orb in orb, conglobed are seen + The buzzing bees about their dusky queen. 80 + + The gathering number, as it moves along, + Involves a vast involuntary throng, + Who, gently drawn, and struggling less and less, + Roll in her vortex, and her power confess. + Not those alone who passive own her laws, + But who, weak rebels, more advance her cause. + Whate'er of dunce in college or in town + Sneers at another, in toupée or gown; + Whate'er of mongrel no one class admits, + A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits. 90 + + Nor absent they, no members of her state, + Who pay her homage in her sons, the great; + Who, false to Phoebus, bow the knee to Baal; + Or, impious, preach his word without a call. + Patrons, who sneak from living worth to dead, + Withhold the pension, and set up the head; + Or vest dull flattery in the sacred gown; + Or give from fool to fool the laurel crown. + And (last and worst) with all the cant of wit, + Without the soul, the Muse's hypocrite. 100 + + There march'd the bard and blockhead, side by side, + Who rhymed for hire, and patronised for pride. + Narcissus,<a href="#linknote-388" name="linknoteref-388" + id="linknoteref-388">388</a> praised with all a parson's power, + Look'd a white lily sunk beneath a shower. + There moved Montalto with superior air; + His stretch'd-out arm display'd a volume fair; + Courtiers and patriots in two ranks divide, + Through both he pass'd, and bow'd from side to side; + But as in graceful act, with awful eye + Composed he stood, bold Benson<a href="#linknote-389" name="linknoteref-389" + id="linknoteref-389">389</a> thrust him by: 110 + On two unequal crutches propp'd he came, + Milton's on this, on that one Johnston's name. + The decent knight<a href="#linknote-390" name="linknoteref-390" + id="linknoteref-390">390</a> retired with sober rage, + Withdrew his hand, and closed the pompous page. + But (happy for him as the times went then) + Appear'd Apollo's mayor and aldermen, + On whom three hundred gold-capp'd youths await, + To lug the ponderous volume off in state. + + When Dulness, smiling—'Thus revive the wits! + But murder first, and mince them all to bits; 120 + As erst Medea (cruel, so to save!) + A new edition of old Aeson gave; + Let standard authors, thus, like trophies borne, + Appear more glorious as more hack'd and torn. + And you, my critics! in the chequer'd shade, + Admire new light through holes yourselves have made. + Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone, + A page, a grave, that they can call their own; + But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick, + On passive paper, or on solid brick. 130 + So by each bard an alderman<a href="#linknote-391" name="linknoteref-391" + id="linknoteref-391">391</a> shall sit, + A heavy lord shall hang at every wit, + And while on Fame's triumphal car they ride, + Some slave of mine be pinion'd to their side.' + + Now crowds on crowds around the goddess press, + Each eager to present the first address. + Dunce scorning dunce beholds the next advance, + But fop shows fop superior complaisance. + When, lo! a spectre rose, whose index-hand + Held forth the virtue of the dreadful wand; 140 + His beaver'd brow a birchen garland wears, + Dropping with infants' blood and mothers' tears. + O'er every rein a shuddering horror runs; + Eton and Winton shake through all their sons. + All flesh is humbled, Westminster's bold race + Shrink, and confess the genius of the place: + The pale boy-senator yet tingling stands, + And holds his breeches close with both his hands. + + Then thus: 'Since man from beast by words is known, + Words are man's province, words we teach alone, 150 + When reason doubtful, like the Samian letter,<a href="#linknote-392" + name="linknoteref-392" id="linknoteref-392">392</a> + Points him two ways, the narrower is the better. + Placed at the door of Learning, youth to guide, + We never suffer it to stand too wide. + To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence, + As fancy opens the quick springs of sense, + We ply the memory, we load the brain, + Bind rebel wit, and double chain on chain, + Confine the thought, to exercise the breath, + And keep them in the pale of words till death. 160 + Whate'er the talents, or howe'er design'd, + We hang one jingling padlock on the mind: + A poet the first day he dips his quill; + And what the last? a very poet still. + Pity! the charm works only in our wall, + Lost, lost too soon in yonder House or Hall.<a href="#linknote-393" + name="linknoteref-393" id="linknoteref-393">393</a> + There truant Wyndham every Muse gave o'er, + There Talbot sunk, and was a wit no more! + How sweet an Ovid, Murray was our boast! + How many Martials were in Pulteney lost! 170 + Else sure some bard, to our eternal praise, + In twice ten thousand rhyming nights and days, + Had reach'd the work, the all that mortal can, + And South beheld that master-piece of man.'<a href="#linknote-394" + name="linknoteref-394" id="linknoteref-394">394</a> + + 'Oh (cried the goddess) for some pedant reign! + Some gentle James,<a href="#linknote-395" name="linknoteref-395" + id="linknoteref-395">395</a> to bless the land again; + To stick the doctor's chair into the throne, + Give law to words, or war with words alone, + Senates and courts with Greek and Latin rule, + And turn the council to a grammar school! 180 + For sure, if Dulness sees a grateful day, + 'Tis in the shade of arbitrary sway. + Oh! if my sons may learn one earthly thing, + Teach but that one, sufficient for a king; + That which my priests, and mine alone, maintain, + Which as it dies or lives, we fall or reign: + May you, may Cam and Isis, preach it long! + "The right divine of kings to govern wrong."' + + Prompt at the call, around the goddess roll + Broad hats, and hoods, and caps, a sable shoal: 190 + Thick and more thick the black blockade extends, + A hundred head of Aristotle's friends. + Nor wert thou, Isis! wanting to the day, + Though Christ-church long kept prudishly away. + Each stanch polemic, stubborn as a rock, + Each fierce logician, still expelling Locke,<a href="#linknote-396" + name="linknoteref-396" id="linknoteref-396">396</a> + Came whip and spur, and dash'd through thin and thick + On German Crousaz,<a href="#linknote-397" name="linknoteref-397" + id="linknoteref-397">397</a> and Dutch Burgersdyck. + As many quit the streams<a href="#linknote-398" name="linknoteref-398" + id="linknoteref-398">398</a> that murmuring fall + To lull the sons of Margaret and Clare-hall, 200 + Where Bentley late tempestuous wont to sport + In troubled waters, but now sleeps in port.<a href="#linknote-399" + name="linknoteref-399" id="linknoteref-399">399</a> + Before them march'd that awful Aristarch! + Plough'd was his front with many a deep remark: + His hat, which never vail'd to human pride, + Walker with reverence took, and laid aside. + Low bow'd the rest: he, kingly, did but nod; + So upright Quakers please both man and God. + 'Mistress! dismiss that rabble from your throne: + Avaunt! is Aristarchus yet unknown? 210 + Thy mighty scholiast, whose unwearied pains + Made Horace dull, and humbled Milton's strains. + Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain, + Critics like me shall make it prose again. + Roman and Greek grammarians! know your better, + Author of something yet more great than letter;<a href="#linknote-400" + name="linknoteref-400" id="linknoteref-400">400</a> + While towering o'er your alphabet, like Saul, + Stands our digamma,<a href="#linknote-401" name="linknoteref-401" + id="linknoteref-401">401</a> and o'ertops them all. + + ''Tis true, on words is still our whole debate, + Disputes of <i>me</i> or <i>te</i>, of <i>aut</i> or <i>at</i>, 220 + To sound or sink in <i>cano</i>, O or A, + Or give up Cicero<a href="#linknote-402" name="linknoteref-402" + id="linknoteref-402">402</a> to C or K. + Let Freind<a href="#linknote-403" name="linknoteref-403" + id="linknoteref-403">403</a> affect to speak as Terence spoke, + And Alsop never but like Horace joke: + For me, what Virgil, Pliny, may deny, + Manilius or Solinus<a href="#linknote-404" name="linknoteref-404" + id="linknoteref-404">404</a> shall supply: + For Attic phrase in Plato let them seek, + I poach in Suidas<a href="#linknote-405" name="linknoteref-405" + id="linknoteref-405">405</a> for unlicensed Greek. + In ancient sense if any needs will deal, + Be sure I give them fragments, not a meal; 230 + What Gellius or Stobaeus hash'd before, + Or chew'd by blind old scholiasts o'er and o'er, + The critic eye, that microscope of wit, + Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit: + How parts relate to parts, or they to whole, + The body's harmony, the beaming soul, + Are things which Kuster, Burman, Wasse shall see, + When Man's whole frame is obvious to a flea. + + 'Ah, think not, mistress! more true Dulness lies + In Folly's cap, than Wisdom's grave disguise; 240 + Like buoys, that never sink into the flood, + On Learning's surface we but lie and nod. + Thine is the genuine head of many a house, + And much divinity<a href="#linknote-406" name="linknoteref-406" + id="linknoteref-406">406</a> without a [Greek: Nous]. + Nor could a Barrow work on every block, + Nor has one Atterbury spoil'd the flock. + See! still thy own, the heavy cannon roll, + And metaphysic smokes involve the pole. + For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head + With all such reading as was never read: 250 + For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, + And write about it, goddess, and about it: + So spins the silk-worm small its slender store, + And labours till it clouds itself all o'er. + + 'What though we let some better sort of fool + Thrid every science, run through every school? + Never by tumbler through the hoops was shown + Such skill in passing all, and touching none. + He may indeed (if sober all this time) + Plague with dispute, or persecute with rhyme. 260 + We only furnish what he cannot use, + Or wed to what he must divorce, a Muse: + Full in the midst of Euclid dip at once, + And petrify a genius to a dunce;<a href="#linknote-407" + name="linknoteref-407" id="linknoteref-407">407</a> + Or, set on metaphysic ground to prance, + Show all his paces, not a step advance. + With the same cement, ever sure to bind, + We bring to one dead level every mind. + Then take him to develop, if you can, + And hew the block off,<a href="#linknote-408" name="linknoteref-408" + id="linknoteref-408">408</a> and get out the man. 270 + But wherefore waste I words? I see advance + Whore, pupil, and laced governor from France. + Walker! our hat,'—nor more he deign'd to say, + But, stern as Ajax' spectre,<a href="#linknote-409" name="linknoteref-409" + id="linknoteref-409">409</a> strode away. + + In flow'd at once a gay embroider'd race, + And tittering push'd the pedants off the place: + Some would have spoken, but the voice was drown'd + By the French horn, or by the opening hound. + The first came forwards,<a href="#linknote-410" name="linknoteref-410" + id="linknoteref-410">410</a> with an easy mien, + As if he saw St James's<a href="#linknote-411" name="linknoteref-411" + id="linknoteref-411">411</a> and the queen; 280 + When thus the attendant orator begun: + 'Receive, great empress! thy accomplish'd son: + Thine from the birth, and sacred from the rod, + A dauntless infant! never scared with God. + The sire saw, one by one, his virtues wake: + The mother begg'd the blessing of a rake. + Thou gav'st that ripeness which so soon began, + And ceased so soon—he ne'er was boy nor man; + Through school and college, thy kind cloud o'ercast, + Safe and unseen the young Æneas pass'd: 290 + Thence bursting glorious, all at once let down, + Stunn'd with his giddy 'larum half the town. + Intrepid then, o'er seas and lands he flew: + Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too. + There all thy gifts and graces we display, + Thou, only thou, directing all our way, + To where the Seine, obsequious as she runs, + Pours at great Bourbon's feet her silken sons; + Or Tiber, now no longer Roman, rolls, + Vain of Italian arts, Italian souls: 300 + To happy convents, bosom'd deep in vines, + Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines: + To isles of fragrance, lily-silver'd vales,<a href="#linknote-412" + name="linknoteref-412" id="linknoteref-412">412</a> + Diffusing languor in the panting gales: + To lands of singing or of dancing slaves, + Love-whispering woods, and lute-resounding waves. + But chief her shrine where naked Venus keeps, + And Cupids ride the lion of the deeps;<a href="#linknote-413" + name="linknoteref-413" id="linknoteref-413">413</a> + Where, eased of fleets, the Adriatic main + Wafts the smooth eunuch and enamour'd swain, 310 + Led by my hand, he saunter'd Europe round, + And gather'd every vice on Christian ground; + Saw every court, heard every king declare + His royal sense of operas or the fair; + The stews and palace equally explored, + Intrigued with glory, and with spirit whored; + Tried all hors-d'oeuvres, all liqueurs defined, + Judicious drank, and greatly-daring dined;<a href="#linknote-414" + name="linknoteref-414" id="linknoteref-414">414</a> + Dropp'd the dull lumber of the Latin store, + Spoil'd his own language, and acquired no more; 320 + All classic learning lost on classic ground; + And last turned air, the echo of a sound! + See now, half-cured, and perfectly well-bred, + With nothing but a solo in his head; + As much estate, and principle, and wit, + As Jansen, Fleetwood, Cibber<a href="#linknote-415" name="linknoteref-415" + id="linknoteref-415">415</a> shall think fit; + Stolen from a duel, follow'd by a nun, + And, if a borough choose him, not undone; + See, to my country happy I restore + This glorious youth, and add one Venus more. 330 + Her too receive (for her my soul adores), + So may the sons of sons of sons of whores + Prop thine, O empress! like each neighbour throne, + And make a long posterity thy own.' + Pleased, she accepts the hero, and the dame + Wraps in her veil, and frees from sense of shame. + + Then look'd, and saw a lazy, lolling sort, + Unseen at church, at senate, or at court, + Of ever-listless loiterers that attend + No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend. 340 + Thee, too, my Paridel!<a href="#linknote-416" name="linknoteref-416" + id="linknoteref-416">416</a> she marked thee there, + Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair, + And heard thy everlasting yawn confess + The pains and penalties of idleness. + She pitied! but her pity only shed + Benigner influence on thy nodding head. + But Annius,<a href="#linknote-417" name="linknoteref-417" + id="linknoteref-417">417</a> crafty seer, with ebon wand, + And well-dissembled emerald on his hand, + False as his gems, and canker'd as his coins, + Came, cramm'd with capon, from where Pollio dines. 350 + Soft, as the wily fox is seen to creep, + Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep, + Walk round and round, now prying here, now there, + So he; but pious, whisper'd first his prayer. + + 'Grant, gracious goddess! grant me still to cheat,<a href="#linknote-418" + name="linknoteref-418" id="linknoteref-418">418</a> + Oh may thy cloud still cover the deceit! + Thy choicer mists on this assembly shed, + But pour them thickest on the noble head. + So shall each youth, assisted by our eyes, + See other Caesars, other Homers rise; 360 + Through twilight ages hunt the Athenian fowl,<a href="#linknote-419" + name="linknoteref-419" id="linknoteref-419">419</a> + Which Chalcis gods, and mortals call an owl, + Now see an Attys, now a Cecrops<a href="#linknote-420" + name="linknoteref-420" id="linknoteref-420">420</a> clear, + Nay, Mahomet! the pigeon at thine ear; + Be rich in ancient brass, though not in gold, + And keep his Lares, though his house be sold; + To headless Phoebe his fair bride postpone, + Honour a Syrian prince above his own; + Lord of an Otho, if I vouch it true; + Bless'd in one Niger, till he knows of two.' 370 + + Mummius<a href="#linknote-421" name="linknoteref-421" id="linknoteref-421">421</a> o'erheard him; Mummius, fool-renown'd, + Who like his Cheops<a href="#linknote-422" name="linknoteref-422" + id="linknoteref-422">422</a> stinks above the ground, + Fierce as a startled adder, swell'd, and said, + Rattling an ancient sistrum at his head; + + 'Speak'st thou of Syrian prince?<a href="#linknote-423" + name="linknoteref-423" id="linknoteref-423">423</a> Traitor base! + Mine, goddess! mine is all the hornèd race. + True, he had wit to make their value rise; + From foolish Greeks to steal them was as wise; + More glorious yet, from barbarous hands to keep, + When Sallee rovers chased him on the deep. 380 + Then, taught by Hermes, and divinely bold, + Down his own throat he risk'd the Grecian gold, + Received each demi-god, with pious care, + Deep in his entrails—I revered them there, + I bought them, shrouded in that Irving shrine, + And, at their second birth, they issue mine.' + + 'Witness, great Ammon!<a href="#linknote-424" name="linknoteref-424" + id="linknoteref-424">424</a> by whose horns I swore, + (Replied soft Annius) this our paunch before + Still bears them, faithful; and that thus I eat, + Is to refund the medals with the meat. 390 + To prove me, goddess! clear of all design, + Bid me with Pollio sup, as well as dine: + There all the learn'd shall at the labour stand, + And Douglas<a href="#linknote-425" name="linknoteref-425" + id="linknoteref-425">425</a> lend his soft, obstetric hand.' + + The goddess smiling seem'd to give consent; + So back to Pollio, hand in hand, they went. + + Then thick as locusts blackening all the ground, + A tribe, with weeds and shells fantastic crown'd, + Each with some wondrous gift approach'd the power, + A nest, a toad, a fungus, or a flower. 400 + But far the foremost, two, with earnest zeal, + And aspect ardent, to the throne appeal. + + The first thus open'd: 'Hear thy suppliant's call, + Great queen, and common mother of us all! + Fair from its humble bed I rear'd this flower, + Suckled, and cheer'd, with air, and sun, and shower; + Soft on the paper ruff its leaves I spread, + Bright with the gilded button tipp'd its head; + Then throned in glass, and named it Caroline:<a href="#linknote-426" + name="linknoteref-426" id="linknoteref-426">426</a> + Each maid cried, charming! and each youth, divine! 410 + Did Nature's pencil ever blend such rays, + Such varied light in one promiscuous blaze? + Now prostrate! dead! behold that Caroline: + No maid cries, charming! and no youth, divine! + And lo, the wretch! whose vile, whose insect lust + Laid this gay daughter of the spring in dust. + Oh, punish him, or to th' Elysian shades + Dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.' + He ceased, and wept. With innocence of mien, + Th' accused stood forth, and thus address'd the queen: 420 + + 'Of all th' enamell'd race, whose silvery wing + Waves to the tepid zephyrs of the spring, + Or swims along the fluid atmosphere, + Once brightest shined this child of heat and air. + I saw, and started, from its vernal bower, + The rising game, and chased from flower to flower; + It fled, I follow'd; now in hope, now pain; + It stopp'd, I stopp'd; it moved, I moved again. + At last it fix'd; 'twas on what plant it pleased, + And where it fix'd, the beauteous bird I seized: 430 + Rose or carnation was below my care; + I meddle, goddess! only in my sphere. + I tell the naked fact without disguise, + And, to excuse it, need but show the prize; + Whose spoils this paper offers to your eye, + Fair ev'n in death! this peerless butterfly.' + + 'My sons! (she answer'd) both have done your parts: + Live happy both, and long promote our arts. + But hear a mother, when she recommends + To your fraternal care our sleeping friends. 440 + The common soul, of Heaven's more frugal make, + Serves but to keep fools pert and knaves awake: + A drowsy watchman, that just gives a knock, + And breaks our rest, to tell us what's a clock. + Yet by some object every brain is stirr'd; + The dull may waken to a humming-bird; + The most recluse, discreetly open'd, find + Congenial matter in the cockle-kind; + The mind in metaphysics at a loss, + May wander in a wilderness of moss;<a href="#linknote-427" + name="linknoteref-427" id="linknoteref-427">427</a> 450 + The head that turns at super-lunar things, + Poised with a tail, may steer on Wilkins' wings.<a href="#linknote-428" + name="linknoteref-428" id="linknoteref-428">428</a> + + 'Oh! would the sons of men once think their eyes + And reason given them but to study flies! + See nature in some partial narrow shape, + And let the Author of the whole escape: + Learn but to trifle; or, who most observe, + To wonder at their Maker, not to serve.' + + 'Be that my task' (replies a gloomy clerk, + Sworn foe to mystery, yet divinely dark; 460 + Whose pious hope aspires to see the day + When moral evidence<a href="#linknote-429" name="linknoteref-429" + id="linknoteref-429">429</a> shall quite decay, + And damns implicit faith, and holy lies, + Prompt to impose, and fond to dogmatise:) + 'Let others creep by timid steps and slow, + On plain experience lay foundations low, + By common sense to common knowledge bred, + And last, to Nature's cause through Nature led: + All-seeing in thy mists, we want no guide, + Mother of arrogance, and source of pride! 470 + We nobly take the high priori road,<a href="#linknote-430" + name="linknoteref-430" id="linknoteref-430">430</a> + And reason downward, till we doubt of God: + Make Nature still<a href="#linknote-431" name="linknoteref-431" + id="linknoteref-431">431</a> encroach upon his plan; + And shove him off as far as e'er we can: + Thrust some mechanic cause into his place; + Or bind in matter, or diffuse in space. + Or, at one bound o'erleaping all his laws, + Make God man's image, man the final cause, + Find virtue local, all relation scorn, + See all in self, and but for self be born: 480 + Of nought so certain as our reason still, + Of nought so doubtful as of soul and will. + O! hide the God still more! and make us see, + Such as Lucretius drew, a God like thee: + Wrapt up in self, a God without a thought, + Regardless of our merit or default. + Or that bright image<a href="#linknote-433" name="linknoteref-433" + id="linknoteref-433">433</a> to our fancy draw, + Which Theocles<a href="#linknote-434" name="linknoteref-434" + id="linknoteref-434">434</a> in raptured vision saw, + While through poetic scenes the genius roves, + Or wanders wild in academic groves; 490 + That Nature our society adores,<a href="#linknote-435" + name="linknoteref-435" id="linknoteref-435">435</a> + Where Tindal dictates, and Silenus<a href="#linknote-436" + name="linknoteref-436" id="linknoteref-436">436</a> snores.' + + Roused at his name, up rose the bousy sire, + And shook from out his pipe the seeds of fire; + Then snapt his box, and stroked his belly down: + Rosy and reverend, though without a gown. + Bland and familiar to the throne he came, + Led up the youth, and call'd the goddess dame. + Then thus: 'From priestcraft happily set free, + Lo! every finish'd son returns to thee: 500 + First, slave to words,<a href="#linknote-437" name="linknoteref-437" + id="linknoteref-437">437</a> then vassal to a name, + Then dupe to party; child and man the same; + Bounded by nature, narrow'd still by art, + A trifling head, and a contracted heart; + Thus bred, thus taught, how many have I seen, + Smiling on all, and smiled on by a queen?<a href="#linknote-438" + name="linknoteref-438" id="linknoteref-438">438</a> + Mark'd out for honours, honour'd for their birth, + To thee the most rebellious things on earth: + Now to thy gentle shadow all are shrunk, + All melted down in pension or in punk! 510 + So K——, so B—— sneak'd into the grave, + A monarch's half, and half a harlot's slave. + Poor W——,<a href="#linknote-439" name="linknoteref-439" + id="linknoteref-439">439</a> nipp'd in folly's broadest bloom, + Who praises now? his chaplain on his tomb. + Then take them all, oh, take them to thy breast! + Thy Magus, goddess! shall perform the rest.' + + With that, a wizard old his cup extends, + Which whoso tastes forgets his former friends, + Sire, ancestors, himself. One casts his eyes + Up to a star, and like Endymion dies: 520 + A feather, shooting from another's head, + Extracts his brain, and principle is fled; + Lost is his God, his country, everything; + And nothing left but homage to a king!<a href="#linknote-440" + name="linknoteref-440" id="linknoteref-440">440</a> + The vulgar herd turn off to roll with hogs, + To run with horses, or to hunt with dogs; + But, sad example! never to escape + Their infamy, still keep the human shape. + But she, good goddess, sent to every child + Firm Impudence, or Stupefaction mild; 530 + And strait succeeded, leaving shame no room, + Cibberian forehead, or Cimmerian gloom. + + Kind Self-conceit to some her glass applies, + Which no one looks in with another's eyes: + But as the flatterer or dependant paint, + Beholds himself a patriot, chief, or saint. + + On others Interest her gay livery flings, + Interest, that waves on party-colour'd wings: + Turn'd to the sun, she casts a thousand dyes, + And, as she turns, the colours fall or rise. 540 + + Others the Syren sisters warble round, + And empty heads console with empty sound. + No more, alas! the voice of fame they hear, + The balm of Dulness<a href="#linknote-441" name="linknoteref-441" + id="linknoteref-441">441</a> trickling in their ear. + Great C——, H——, P——, R——, K——, + Why all your toils? your sons have learn'd to sing. + How quick ambition hastes to ridicule! + The sire is made a peer, the son a fool. + + On some, a priest succinct in amice white + Attends; all flesh is nothing in his sight! 550 + Beeves, at his touch, at once to jelly turn, + And the huge boar is shrunk into an urn: + The board with specious miracles he loads,<a href="#linknote-442" + name="linknoteref-442" id="linknoteref-442">442</a> + Turns hares to larks, and pigeons into toads. + Another (for in all what one can shine?) + Explains the <i>séve</i> and <i>verdeur</i> of the vine.<a + href="#linknote-443" name="linknoteref-443" id="linknoteref-443">443</a> + What cannot copious sacrifice atone? + Thy truffles, Perigord! thy hams, Bayonne! + With French libation, and Italian strain, + Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hays's stain.<a href="#linknote-444" + name="linknoteref-444" id="linknoteref-444">444</a> 560 + Knight lifts the head; for what are crowds undone + To three essential partridges in one? + Gone every blush, and silent all reproach, + Contending princes mount them in their coach. + + Next bidding all draw near on bended knees, + The queen confers her titles and degrees. + Her children first of more distinguish'd sort, + Who study Shakspeare at the Inns of Court, + Impale a glow-worm, or vertú profess, + Shine in the dignity of F.R.S. 570 + Some, deep freemasons, join the silent race, + Worthy to fill Pythagoras's place: + Some botanists, or florists at the least, + Or issue members of an annual feast. + Nor pass'd the meanest unregarded; one + Rose a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.<a href="#linknote-445" + name="linknoteref-445" id="linknoteref-445">445</a> + The last, not least in honour or applause, + Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws. + + Then, blessing all, 'Go, children of my care! + To practice now from theory repair. 580 + All my commands are easy, short, and full: + My sons! be proud, be selfish, and be dull. + Guard my prerogative, assert my throne: + This nod confirms each privilege your own. + The cap and switch be sacred to his grace; + With staff and pumps the marquis lead the race; + From stage to stage the licensed earl may run, + Pair'd with his fellow-charioteer the sun; + The learned baron butterflies design, + Or draw to silk Arachne's subtile line;<a href="#linknote-446" + name="linknoteref-446" id="linknoteref-446">446</a> 590 + The judge to dance his brother sergeant call;<a href="#linknote-447" + name="linknoteref-447" id="linknoteref-447">447</a> + The senator at cricket urge the ball; + The bishop stow (pontific luxury!) + An hundred souls of turkeys in a pie; + The sturdy squire to Gallic masters stoop, + And drown his lands and manors in a soup. + Others import yet nobler arts from France, + Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.<a href="#linknote-448" + name="linknoteref-448" id="linknoteref-448">448</a> + Perhaps more high some daring son may soar, + Proud to my list to add one monarch more; 600 + And nobly conscious, princes are but things + Born for first ministers, as slaves for kings, + Tyrant supreme! shall three estates command, + And MAKE ONE MIGHTY DUNCIAD OF THE LAND!' + + More she had spoke, but yawn'd—All Nature nods: + What mortal can resist the yawn of gods? + Churches and chapels instantly it reach'd; + (St James's first, for leaden Gilbert<a href="#linknote-449" + name="linknoteref-449" id="linknoteref-449">449</a> preach'd;) + Then catch'd the schools; the Hall scarce kept awake; + The Convocation gaped, but could not speak; 610 + Lost was the nation's sense, nor could be found, + While the long solemn unison went round: + Wide, and more wide, it spread o'er all the realm; + Even Palinurus nodded at the helm: + The vapour mild o'er each committee crept; + Unfinish'd treaties in each office slept; + And chiefless armies dozed out the campaign; + And navies yawn'd for orders on the main.<a href="#linknote-450" + name="linknoteref-450" id="linknoteref-450">450</a> + + O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone, + Wits have short memories, and dunces none,) 620 + Relate, who first, who last resign'd to rest; + Whose heads she partly, whose completely bless'd; + What charms could faction, what ambition, lull, + The venal quiet, and entrance the dull; + 'Till drown'd was sense, and shame, and right, and wrong— + O sing, and hush the nations with thy song! + + In vain, in vain,—the all-composing hour + Resistless falls: the Muse obeys the power. + She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold + Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old! 630 + Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, + And all its varying rainbows die away. + Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, + The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. + As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, + The sick'ning stars fade off the ethereal plain; + As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppress'd, + Closed one by one to everlasting rest; + Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, + Art after art goes out, and all is night. 640 + See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,<a href="#linknote-451" + name="linknoteref-451" id="linknoteref-451">451</a> + Mountains of casuistry heap'd o'er her head! + Philosophy, that lean'd on heaven before, + Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. + Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, + And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! + See Mystery to Mathematics fly! + In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. + Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, + And unawares Morality expires. 650 + Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; + Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! + Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; + Light dies before thy uncreating word: + Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; + And universal darkness buries all. +</pre> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS. + + VER. 114— + + 'What! no respect, he cried, for Shakspeare's page?' + + VER. 441. The common soul, &c. In the first edition, thus— + + Of souls the greater part, Heaven's common make, + Serve but to keep fools pert, and knaves awake; + And most but find that sentinel of God, + A drowsy watchman in the land of Nod. + + VER. 643. In the former edition, it stood thus— + + Philosophy, that reach'd the heavens before, + Shrinks to her hidden cause, and is no more. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + BY THE AUTHOR. A DECLARATION. + </h2> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Whereas certain haberdashers of points and particles, being instigated by + the spirit of pride, and assuming to themselves the name of critics and + restorers, have taken upon them to adulterate the common and current sense + of our glorious ancestors, poets of this realm, by clipping, coining, + defacing the images, mixing their own base alloy, or otherwise falsifying + the same; which they publish, utter, and vend as genuine: The said + haberdashers having no right thereto, as neither heirs, executors, + administrators, assigns, or in any sort related to such poets, to all or + any of them: Now we, having carefully revised this our Dunciad,<a + href="#linknote-452" name="linknoteref-452" id="linknoteref-452"><small>452</small></a> + beginning with the words 'The Mighty Mother,' and ending with the words + 'buries all,' containing the entire sum of one thousand seven hundred and + fifty-four verses, declare every word, figure, point, and comma of this + impression to be authentic: And do therefore strictly enjoin and forbid + any person or persons whatsoever, to erase, reverse, put between hooks, or + by any other means, directly or indirectly, change or mangle any of them. + And we do hereby earnestly exhort all our brethren to follow this our + example, which we heartily wish our great predecessors had heretofore set, + as a remedy and prevention of all such abuses. Provided always, that + nothing in this Declaration shall be construed to limit the lawful and + undoubted right of every subject of this realm, to judge, censure, or + condemn, in the whole or in part, any poem or poet whatsoever. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Given under our hand at London, this third day of January, in the year of + our Lord one thousand seven hundred thirty and two. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Declarat' cor' me, JOHN BARBER, Mayor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_APPE" id="link2H_APPE"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + APPENDIX TO THE DUNCIAD. + </h2> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + I.—PREFACE + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + PREFIXED TO THE FIVE FIRST IMPERFECT EDITIONS OF THE DUNCIAD, IN THREE + BOOKS, PRINTED AT DUBLIN AND LONDON, IN OCTAVO AND DUODECIMO, 1727. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + It will be found a true observation, though somewhat surprising, that when + any scandal is vented against a man of the highest distinction and + character, either in the state or in literature, the public 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 but chance to be touched upon, a whole legion + is up in arms, and it becomes the common cause of all scribblers, + booksellers, and printers whatsoever. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + 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 + persecuted 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 + works, which by modest computation may be about a hundred thousand in + these kingdoms of England and Ireland (not to mention Jersey, Guernsey, + the Orcades, those in the new world, and foreigners who have translated + him into their languages), of all this number not a man hath stood up to + say one word in his defence. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The only exception is the author of the following poem, who, doubtless, + had either a better insight into the grounds of this clamour, or a better + opinion of Mr Pope's integrity, joined with a greater personal love for + him, than any other of his numerous friends and admirers. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Further, that he was in his peculiar intimacy, 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 before printed or published some scandal against this gentleman. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + How I came possessed of it is no concern to the reader; but it would have + been a wrong to him had I detained the publication, since those names + which are its chief ornaments die off daily so fast, as must render it too + soon unintelligible. If it provoke the author to give us a more perfect + edition, I have my end. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Who he is I cannot say, and (which is a 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 Pope, '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 laboured + (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. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + I have been well informed, that this work was the labour of full six years + of his life, and that he wholly retired himself 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— + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + 'Oh mihi bissenos multum vigilata per annos, Duncia!' + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + 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, we may pronounce, could have been, and can be no other + than + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + THE DUNCIAD. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + It is styled heroic, as being doubly so: not only with respect to its + nature, which, according 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 dared to stir up + such a formidable, irritable, and implacable race of mortals. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + There may arise 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. I should judge that they were clapped in as they + rose, fresh and fresh, and changed from day to day; in like manner as when + the old boughs wither, we thrust new ones into a chimney. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + I would not have the reader too much troubled or anxious, if he cannot + decipher them; since when he shall have found them out, he will probably + know no more of the persons than before. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Yet we judged it better to preserve them as they are, than to change them + for fictitious names; by which the satire would only be multiplied, and + applied to many instead of one. Had the hero, for instance, been called + Codrus, how many would have affirmed him to have been Mr T., Mr E., Sir R. + B., &c.; but now all that unjust scandal is saved by calling him by a + name, which by good luck happens to be that of a real person. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + II.—A LIST OF BOOKS, PAPERS, AND VERSES, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + IN WHICH OUR AUTHOR WAS ABUSED, BEFORE THE PUBLICATION OF THE DUNCIAD; + WITH THE TRUE NAMES OF THE AUTHORS. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Reflections Critical and Satirical on a late Rhapsody, called an Essay on + Criticism. By Mr Dennis. Printed by B. Lintot, price 6d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A New Rehearsal, or Bayes the Younger; containing an Examen of Mr Rowe's + plays, and a word or two on Mr Pope's Rape of the Lock. Anon. [By Charles + Gildon]. Printed for J. Roberts, 1714, price 1s. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Homerides, or a Letter to Mr Pope, occasioned by his intended translation + of Homer. By Sir Iliad Doggrel. [Tho. Burnet and G. Ducket, Esquires]. + Printed for W. Wilkins, 1715, price 9d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Aesop at the Bear Garden; a Vision, in imitation of the Temple of Fame. By + Mr Preston. Sold by John Morphew, 1715, price 6d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Catholic Poet, or Protestant Barnaby's Sorrowful Lamentations; a + Ballad about Homer's Iliad. By Mrs Centlivre and others, 1715, price 1d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Epilogue to a Puppet Show at Bath, concerning the said Iliad. By George + Ducket, Esq. Printed by E. Curll. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Complete Key to the What-d'ye-call-it? Anon. [By Griffin, a player, + supervised by Mr Th—-]. Printed by J. Roberts, 1715. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A True Character of Mr P. and his Writings, in a Letter to a Friend. Anon. + [Dennis]. Printed for S. Popping, 1716, price 3d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Confederates, a Farce. By Joseph Gay. [J. D. Breval]. Printed for R. + Burleigh, 1717, price 1s. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Remarks upon Mr Pope's Translation of Homer; with Two Letters concerning + the Windsor Forest, and the Temple of Fame. By Mr Dennis. Printed for E. + Curll, 1717, price 1s. 6d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Satires on the Translators of Homer, Mr P. and Mr T. Anon. [Bez. Morris]. + 1717, price 6d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Triumvirate; or, a Letter from Palaemon to Celia at Bath. Anon. + [Leonard Welsted]. 1711, folio, price 1s. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Battle of Poets, an Heroic Poem. By Thomas Cooke. Printed for J. + Roberts. Folio, 1725. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Memoirs of Lilliput. Anon. [Eliza Haywood]. Octavo, printed in 1727. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Essay on Criticism, in Prose. By the Author of the Critical History of + England [J. Oldmixon]. Octavo, printed 1728. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Gulliveriana and Alexandriana; with an ample Preface and Critique on Swift + and Pope's Miscellanies. By Jonathan Smedley. Printed by J. Roberts. + Octavo, 1728. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Characters of the Times; or, an Account of the Writings, Characters, &c., + of several Gentlemen libelled by S—— and P—-, in a late + Miscellany. Octavo, 1728. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Remarks on Mr Pope's Rape of the Lock, in Letters to a Friend. By Mr + Dennis. Written in 1724, though not printed till 1728. Octavo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + VERSES, LETTERS, ESSAYS, OR ADVERTISEMENTS, IN THE PUBLIC PRINTS. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + British Journal, Nov. 25, 1727. A Letter on Swift and Pope's Miscellanies. + [Writ by M. Concanen]. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, March 18, 1728. A Letter by Philo-mauri. James Moore Smith. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + <i>Ibid</i>. March 29. A Letter about Thersites; accusing the author of + disaffection to the Government. By James Moore Smith. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Mist's Weekly Journal, March 30. An Essay on the Arts of a Poet's Sinking + in Reputation; or, a Supplement to the Art of Sinking in Poetry. [Supposed + by Mr Theobald]. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, April 3. A Letter under the name of Philo-ditto. By James + Moore Smith. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Flying Post, April 4. A Letter against Gulliver and Mr P. [By Mr + Oldmixon.] + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, April 5. An Auction of Goods at Twickenham. By James Moore + Smith. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Flying Post, April 6. A Fragment of a Treatise upon Swift and Pope. By + Mr Oldmixon. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Senator, April 9. On the same. By Edward Roome. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, April 8. Advertisement by James Moore Smith. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Flying Post, April 13. Verses against Dr Swift, and against Mr P—-'s + Homer. By J. Oldmixon. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, April 23. Letter about the Translation of the Character of + Thersites in Homer. By Thomas Cooke, &c. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Mist's Weekly Journal, April 27. A Letter of Lewis Theobald. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, May 11. A Letter against Mr P. at large. Anon. [John + Dennis]. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + All these were afterwards reprinted in a pamphlet, entitled, A Collection + of all the Verses, Essays, Letters, and Advertisements, occasioned by Mr + Pope and Swift's Miscellanies, prefaced by Concanen, Anonymous, octavo, + and printed for A. Moore, 1728, price 1s. Others of an elder date, having + lain as waste paper many years, were, upon the publication of the Dunciad, + brought out, and their authors betrayed by the mercenary booksellers (in + hope of some possibility of vending a few), by advertising them in this + manner:—"The Confederates, a Farce. By Captain Breval (for which he + was put into the Dunciad). An Epilogue to Powell's Puppet Show. By Colonel + Ducket (for which he is put into the Dunciad). Essays, &c. By Sir + Richard Blackmore. (N.B.—It was for a passage of this book that Sir + Richard was put into the Dunciad)." And so of others. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + AFTER THE DUNCIAD, 1728. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Essay on the Dunciad, octavo. Printed for J. Roberts. [In this book, p. + 9, it was formally declared, 'That the complaint of the aforesaid libels + and advertisements was forged and untrue; that all mouths had been silent, + except in Mr Pope's praise; and nothing against him published, but by Mr + Theobald.'] + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Sawney, in Blank Verse, occasioned by the Dunciad; with a Critique on that + Poem. By J. Ralph [a person never mentioned in it at first, but inserted + after]. Printed for J. Roberts, octavo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Complete Key to the Dunciad. By E. Curll. 12mo, price 6d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Second and Third Edition of the same, with Additions, 12mo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Popiad. By E. Curll. Extracted from J. Dennis, Sir Richard Blackmore, + &c. 12mo, price 6d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Curliad. By the same E. Curll. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Female Dunciad. Collected by the same Mr Curll. 12mo, price 6d. With + the Metamorphosis of P. into a Stinging Nettle. By Mr Foxton. 12mo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Metamorphosis of Scriblerus into Snarlerus. By J. Smedley. Printed for + A. Moore, folio, price 6d. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Dunciad Dissected. By Curll and Mrs Thomas. 12mo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Essay on the Tastes and Writings of the Present Times. Said to be writ + by a Gentleman of C. C. C. Oxon. Printed for J. Roberts, octavo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Arts of Logic and Rhetoric, partly taken from Bouhours, with New + Reflections, &c. By John Oldmixon. Octavo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Remarks on the Dunciad. By Mr Dennis. Dedicated to Theobald. Octavo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Supplement to the Profund. Anon. By Matthew Coucanen. Octavo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Mist's Weekly Journal, June 8. A long Letter, signed W. A. Writ by some or + other of the Club of Theobald, Dennis, Moore, Concanen, Cooke, who for + some time held constant weekly meetings for these kind of performances. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, June 11. A Letter signed Philoscriblerus, on the name of + Pope. Letter to Mr Theobald, inverse, signed B. M. (Bezaleel Morris) + against Mr P—-. Many other little Epigrams about this time in the + same papers, by James Moore, and others. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Mist's Journal, June 22. A Letter by Lewis Theobald. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Flying Post, August 8. Letter on Pope and Swift. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Daily Journal, August 8. Letter charging the Author of the Dunciad with + Treason. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Durgen: A Plain Satire on a Pompous Satirist. By Edward Ward, with a + little of James Moore. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Apollo's Maggot in his Cups. By E. Ward. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Gulliveriana Secunda. Being a Collection of many of the Libels in the + Newspapers, like the former Volume, under the same title, by Smedley. + Advertised in the Craftsman, Nov. 9, 1728, with this remarkable promise, + that '<i>any thing</i> which <i>any body</i> should send as Mr Pope's or + Dr Swift's should be inserted and published as theirs.' + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Pope Alexander's Supremacy and Infallibility Examined, &c. By George + Ducket and John Dennis. Quarto. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Dean Jonathan's Paraphrase on the Fourth Chapter of Genesis. Writ by E. + Roome. Folio. 1729. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Labeo. A Paper of Verses by Leonard Welsted, which after came into <i>One + Epistle</i>, and was published by James Moore, quarto, 1730. Another part + of it came out in Welsted's own name, under the just title of Dulness and + Scandal, folio, 1731. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + There have been since published— + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Verses on the Imitator of Horace. By a Lady (or between a Lady, a Lord, + and a Court-squire). Printed for J. Roberts. Folio. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Epistle from a Nobleman to a Doctor of Divinity, from Hampton Court + (Lord H—-y). Printed for J. Roberts. Folio. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Letter from Mr Cibber to Mr Pope. Printed for W. Lewis in Covent Garden. + Octavo. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + III.—ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION—WITH NOTES, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + IN QUARTO, 1729. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + It will be sufficient to say of this edition, that the reader has here a + much more correct and complete copy of the Dunciad than has hitherto + appeared. I cannot answer but some mistakes may have slipped into it, but + a vast number of others will be prevented by the names being now not only + set at length, but justified by the authorities and reasons given. I make + no doubt the author's own motive to use real rather than feigned names, + was his care to preserve the innocent from any false application; whereas, + in the former editions, which had no more than the initial letters, he was + made, by Keys printed here, to hurt the inoffensive, and (what was worse) + to abuse his friends, by an impression at Dublin. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The commentary which attends this poem was sent me from several hands, and + consequently must be unequally written; yet will have one advantage over + most commentaries, that it is not made upon conjectures, or at a remote + distance of time: and the reader cannot but derive one pleasure from the + very obscurity of the persons it treats of, that it partakes of the nature + of a secret, which most people love to be let into, though the men or the + things be ever so inconsiderable or trivial. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Of the persons it was judged proper to give some account; for since it is + only in this monument that they must expect to survive (and here survive + they will, as long as the English tongue shall remain such as it was in + the reigns of Queen Anne and King George), it seemed but humanity to + bestow a word or two upon each, just to tell what he was, what he writ, + when he lived, and when he died. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + If a word or two more are added upon the chief offenders, it is only as a + paper pinned upon the breast, to mark the enormities for which they + suffered; lest the correction only should be remembered, and the crime + forgotten. In some articles it was thought sufficient barely to transcribe + from Jacob, Curll, and other writers of their own rank, who were much + better acquainted with them than any of the authors of this comment can + pretend to be. Most of them had drawn each other's characters on certain + occasions; but the few here inserted are all that could be saved from the + general destruction of such works. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Of the part of Scriblerus, I need say nothing; his manner is well enough + known, and approved by all but those who are too much concerned to be + judges. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Imitations of the Ancients are added, to gratify those who either + never read, or may have forgotten them; together with some of the parodies + and allusions to the most excellent of the Moderns. If, from the frequency + of the former, any man think the poem too much a Cento, our poet will but + appear to have done the same thing in jest which Boileau did in earnest; + and upon which Vida, Fracastorius, and many of the most eminent Latin + poets, professedly valued themselves. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + IV.—ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE + DUNCIAD, + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + WHEN PRINTED SEPARATELY IN THE YEAR 1742. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + We apprehend it can be deemed no injury to the author of the three first + books of the Dunciad that we publish this fourth. It was found merely by + accident in taking a survey of the library of a late eminent nobleman; but + in so blotted a condition, and in so many detached pieces, as plainly + showed it to be not only incorrect, but unfinished. That the author of the + three first books had a design to extend and complete his poem in this + manner appears from the dissertation prefixed to it, where it is said that + the design is more extensive, and that we may expect other episodes to + complete it; and from the declaration in the argument to the third book, + that the accomplishment of the prophecies therein would be the theme + hereafter of a greater Dunciad. But whether or no he be the author of + this, we declare ourselves ignorant. If he be, we are no more to be blamed + for the publication of it than Tucca and Varius for that of the last six + books of the Aeneid, though perhaps inferior to the former. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + If any person be possessed of a more perfect copy of this work, or of any + other fragments of it, and will communicate them to the publisher, we + shall make the next edition more complete: in which we also promise to + insert any criticisms that shall be published (if at all to the purpose) + with the names of the authors; or any letters sent us (though not to the + purpose) shall yet be printed under the title of <i>Epistolae Obscurorum + Virorum</i>; which, together with some others of the same kind formerly + laid by for that end, may make no unpleasant addition to the future + impressions of this poem. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + V.—ADVERTISEMENT TO THE COMPLETE EDITION of 1743. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + I have long had a design of giving some sort of Notes on the works of this + poet. Before I had the happiness of his acquaintance, I had written a + commentary on his Essay on Man, and have since finished another on the + Essay on Criticism. There was one already on the Dunciad, which had met + with general approbation; but I still thought some additions were wanting + (of a more serious kind) to the humorous notes of Scriblerus, and even to + those written by Mr Cleland, Dr Arbuthnot, and others. I had lately the + pleasure to pass some months with the author in the country, where I + prevailed upon him to do what I had long desired, and favour me with his + explanation of several passages in his works. It happened that just at + that juncture was published a ridiculous book against him, full of + personal reflections, which furnished him with a lucky opportunity of + improving this poem, by giving it the only thing it wanted—a more + considerable hero. He was always sensible of its defect in that + particular, and owned he had let it pass with the hero it had purely for + want of a better; not entertaining the least expectation that such an one + was reserved for this post as has since obtained the Laurel: but since + that had happened, he could no longer deny this justice either to him or + the Dunciad. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + And yet I will venture to say, there was another motive which had still + more weight with our author. This person was one who from every folly (not + to say vice) of which another would be ashamed has constantly derived a + vanity; and therefore was the man in the world who would least be hurt by + it. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + W. W. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + VI.—ADVERTISEMENT PRINTED IN THE JOURNALS, 1730. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Whereas, upon occasion of certain pieces relating to the gentlemen of the + Dunciad, some have been willing to suggest, as if they looked upon them as + an abuse: we can do no less than own it is our opinion, that to call these + gentlemen bad authors is no sort of abuse, but a great truth. We cannot + alter this opinion without some reason; but we promise to do it in respect + to every person who thinks it an injury to be represented as no wit, or + poet, provided he procures a certificate of his being really such, from + any three of his companions in the Dunciad, or from Mr Dennis singly, who + is esteemed equal to any three of the number. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + VII.—A PARALLEL OF THE CHARACTERS OF MR DRYDEN AND MR POPE, + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + AS DRAWN BY CERTAIN OF THEIR CONTEMPORARIES. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR DRYDEN—HIS POLITICS, RELIGION, MORALS. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + MR DRYDEN is a mere renegado from monarchy, poetry, and good sense<a + href="#linknote-453" name="linknoteref-453" id="linknoteref-453"><small>453</small></a>—a + true republican son of monarchical Church<a href="#linknote-454" + name="linknoteref-454" id="linknoteref-454"><small>454</small></a>—a + republican atheist.<a href="#linknote-455" name="linknoteref-455" + id="linknoteref-455"><small>455</small></a> Dryden was from the beginning + an [Greek: alloprosallos], and I doubt not will continue so to the + last.[456] + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + In the poem called Absalom and Achitophel are notoriously traduced, the + King, the Queen, the Lords and Gentlemen, not only their honourable + persons exposed, but the whole nation and its representatives notoriously + libelled. It is <i>scandalum magnatum</i>, yea of majesty itself.<a + href="#linknote-457" name="linknoteref-457" id="linknoteref-457"><small>457</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + He looks upon God's gospel as a foolish fable, like the Pope, to whom he + is a pitiful purveyor.<a href="#linknote-458" name="linknoteref-458" + id="linknoteref-458"><small>458</small></a> His very Christianity may be + questioned.<a href="#linknote-459" name="linknoteref-459" + id="linknoteref-459"><small>459</small></a> He ought to expect more + severity than other men, as he is most unmerciful in his own reflections + on others.<a href="#linknote-460" name="linknoteref-460" + id="linknoteref-460"><small>460</small></a> With as good a right as his + holiness, he sets up for poetical infallibility.<a href="#linknote-461" + name="linknoteref-461" id="linknoteref-461"><small>461</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR DRYDEN ONLY A VERSIFIER. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + His whole libel is all bad matter, beautified (which is all that can be + said of it) with good metre.<a href="#linknote-462" name="linknoteref-462" + id="linknoteref-462"><small>462</small></a> Mr Dryden's genius did not + appear in any thing more than his versification, and whether he is to be + ennobled for that only is a question.<a href="#linknote-463" + name="linknoteref-463" id="linknoteref-463"><small>463</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR DRYDEN'S VIRGIL. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Tonson calls it Dryden's Virgil, to show that this is not that Virgil so + admired in the Augustaean age; but a Virgil of another stamp, a silly, + impertinent, nonsensical writer.<a href="#linknote-464" + name="linknoteref-464" id="linknoteref-464"><small>464</small></a> None + but a Bavius, a Maevius, or a Bathyllus carped at Virgil; and none but + such unthinking vermin admire his translator.<a href="#linknote-465" + name="linknoteref-465" id="linknoteref-465"><small>465</small></a> It is + true, soft and easy lines might become Ovid's Epistles or Art of Love; but + Virgil, who is all great and majestic, &c., requires strength of + lines, weight of words, and closeness of expressions—not an ambling + muse running on carpet-ground, and shod as lightly as a Newmarket racer. + He has numberless faults in his author's meaning, and in propriety of + expression.<a href="#linknote-466" name="linknoteref-466" + id="linknoteref-466"><small>466</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR DRYDEN UNDERSTOOD NO GREEK NOR LATIN. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + Mr Dryden was once, I have heard, at Westminster school. Dr Bushby would + have whipped him for so childish a paraphrase.<a href="#linknote-467" + name="linknoteref-467" id="linknoteref-467"><small>467</small></a> The + meanest pedant in England would whip a lubber of twelve for construing so + absurdly.<a href="#linknote-468" name="linknoteref-468" + id="linknoteref-468"><small>468</small></a> The translator is mad, every + line betrays his stupidity.<a href="#linknote-469" name="linknoteref-469" + id="linknoteref-469"><small>469</small></a> The faults are innumerable, + and convince me that Mr Dryden did not, or would not understand his + author.<a href="#linknote-470" name="linknoteref-470" id="linknoteref-470"><small>470</small></a> + This shows how fit Mr D. may be to translate Homer! A mistake in a single + letter might fall on the printer well enough, but [Greek: eichor] for + [Greek: ichor] must be the error of the author. Nor had he art enough to + correct it at the press.<a href="#linknote-471" name="linknoteref-471" + id="linknoteref-471"><small>471</small></a> Mr Dryden writes for the court + ladies. He writes for the ladies, and not for use.<a href="#linknote-472" + name="linknoteref-472" id="linknoteref-472"><small>472</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The translator puts in a little burlesque now and then into Virgil, for a + ragout to his cheated subscribers.<a href="#linknote-473" + name="linknoteref-473" id="linknoteref-473"><small>473</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR DRYDEN TRICKED HIS SUBSCRIBERS. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + I wonder that any man, who could not but be conscious of his own unfitness + for it, should go to amuse the learned world with such an undertaking! A + man ought to value his reputation more than money; and not to hope that + those who can read for themselves will be imposed upon, merely by a + partially and unseasonably celebrated name.<a href="#linknote-474" + name="linknoteref-474" id="linknoteref-474"><small>474</small></a> <i>Poetis + quidlibei audendi</i> shall be Mr Dryden's motto, though it should extend + to picking of pockets.<a href="#linknote-475" name="linknoteref-475" + id="linknoteref-475"><small>475</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + NAMES BESTOWED ON MR DRYDEN. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Ape.—A crafty ape dressed up in a gaudy gown—whips put into + an ape's paw, to play pranks with—none but apish and papish brats + will heed him.<a href="#linknote-476" name="linknoteref-476" + id="linknoteref-476"><small>476</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Ass.—A camel will take upon him no more burden than is sufficient + for his strength, but there is another beast that crouches under all.<a + href="#linknote-477" name="linknoteref-477" id="linknoteref-477"><small>477</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Frog.—Poet Squab endued with Poet Maro's spirit! an ugly croaking + kind of vermin, which would swell to the bulk of an ox.<a + href="#linknote-478" name="linknoteref-478" id="linknoteref-478"><small>478</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Coward.—A Clinias or a Damaetas, or a man of Mr Dryden's own + courage.<a href="#linknote-479" name="linknoteref-479" id="linknoteref-479"><small>479</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Knave.—Mr Dryden has heard of Paul, the knave of Jesus Christ; + and, if I mistake not, I've read somewhere of John Dryden, servant to his + Majesty.<a href="#linknote-480" name="linknoteref-480" id="linknoteref-480"><small>480</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Fool.—Had he not been such a self-conceited fool.<a + href="#linknote-481" name="linknoteref-481" id="linknoteref-481"><small>481</small></a>—Some + great poets are positive blockheads.<a href="#linknote-482" + name="linknoteref-482" id="linknoteref-482"><small>482</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Thing.—So little a thing as Mr Dryden.<a href="#linknote-483" + name="linknoteref-483" id="linknoteref-483"><small>483</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR POPE—HIS POLITICS, RELIGION, MORALS. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + MR POPE is an open and mortal enemy to his country, and the commonwealth + of learning.<a href="#linknote-484" name="linknoteref-484" + id="linknoteref-484"><small>484</small></a> Some call him a Popish Whig, + which is directly inconsistent.<a href="#linknote-485" + name="linknoteref-485" id="linknoteref-485"><small>485</small></a> Pope, + as a papist, must be a Tory and High-flyer.<a href="#linknote-486" + name="linknoteref-486" id="linknoteref-486"><small>486</small></a> He is + both a Whig and Tory.<a href="#linknote-487" name="linknoteref-487" + id="linknoteref-487"><small>487</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + He hath made it his custom to cackle to more than one party in their own + sentiments.<a href="#linknote-488" name="linknoteref-488" + id="linknoteref-488"><small>488</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + In his miscellanies, the persons abused are—the King, the Queen, his + late Majesty, both Houses of Parliament, the Privy Council, the Bench of + Bishops, the Established Church, the present Ministry, &c. To make + sense of some passages, they must be construed into royal scandal.<a + href="#linknote-489" name="linknoteref-489" id="linknoteref-489"><small>489</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + He is a popish rhymester, bred up with a contempt of the Sacred Writings.<a + href="#linknote-490" name="linknoteref-490" id="linknoteref-490"><small>490</small></a> + His religion allows him to destroy heretics, not only with his pen, but + with fire and sword; and such were all those unhappy wits whom he + sacrificed to his accursed popish principles.<a href="#linknote-491" + name="linknoteref-491" id="linknoteref-491"><small>491</small></a> It + deserved vengeance to suggest that Mr Pope had less infallibility than his + namesake at Rome.<a href="#linknote-492" name="linknoteref-492" + id="linknoteref-492"><small>492</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR POPE ONLY A VERSIFIER. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The smooth numbers of the Dunciad are all that recommend it, nor has it + any other merit.<a href="#linknote-493" name="linknoteref-493" + id="linknoteref-493"><small>493</small></a> It must be owned that he hath + got a notable knack of rhyming and writing smooth verse.<a + href="#linknote-494" name="linknoteref-494" id="linknoteref-494"><small>494</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR POPE'S HOMER. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + The Homer which Lintot prints does not talk like Homer, but like Pope; and + he who translated him, one would swear, had a hill in Tipperary for his + Parnassus, and a puddle in some bog for his Hippocrene.<a + href="#linknote-495" name="linknoteref-495" id="linknoteref-495"><small>495</small></a> + He has no admirers among those that can distinguish, discern, and judge.<a + href="#linknote-496" name="linknoteref-496" id="linknoteref-496"><small>496</small></a> + He hath a knack at smooth verse, but without either genius or good sense, + or any tolerable knowledge of English. The qualities which distinguish + Homer are the beauties of his diction and the harmony of his + versification. But this little author, who is so much in vogue, has + neither sense in his thoughts nor English in his expressions.<a + href="#linknote-497" name="linknoteref-497" id="linknoteref-497"><small>497</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR POPE UNDERSTOOD NO GREEK. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + He hath undertaken to translate Homer from the Greek, of which he knows + not one word, into English, of which he understands as little.<a + href="#linknote-498" name="linknoteref-498" id="linknoteref-498"><small>498</small></a> + I wonder how this gentleman would look, should it be discovered that he + has not translated ten verses together in any book of Homer with justice + to the poet, and yet he dares reproach his fellow-writers with not + understanding Greek.<a href="#linknote-499" name="linknoteref-499" + id="linknoteref-499"><small>499</small></a> He has stuck so little to his + original as to have his knowledge in Greek called in question.<a + href="#linknote-500" name="linknoteref-500" id="linknoteref-500"><small>500</small></a> + I should be glad to know which it is of all Homer's excellencies which has + so delighted the ladies, and the gentlemen who judge like ladies.<a + href="#linknote-501" name="linknoteref-501" id="linknoteref-501"><small>501</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + But he has a notable talent at burlesque; his genius slides so naturally + into it, that he hath burlesqued Homer without designing it.<a + href="#linknote-502" name="linknoteref-502" id="linknoteref-502"><small>502</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + MR POPE TRICKED HIS SUBSCRIBERS. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + 'Tis indeed somewhat bold, and almost prodigious, for a single man to + undertake such a work; but 'tis too late to dissuade by demonstrating the + madness of the project. The subscribers' expectations have been raised in + proportion to what their pockets have been drained of.<a + href="#linknote-503" name="linknoteref-503" id="linknoteref-503"><small>503</small></a> + Pope has been concerned in jobs, and hired out his name to booksellers.<a + href="#linknote-504" name="linknoteref-504" id="linknoteref-504"><small>504</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <h3> + NAMES BESTOWED ON MR POPE. + </h3> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Ape.—Let us take the initial letter of his Christian name, and + the initial and final letters of his surname, viz., A P E, and they give + you the same idea of an ape as his face,<a href="#linknote-505" + name="linknoteref-505" id="linknoteref-505"><small>505</small></a> &c. + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + An Ass.—It is my duty to pull off the lion's skin from this little + ass.<a href="#linknote-506" name="linknoteref-506" id="linknoteref-506"><small>506</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Frog.—A squab short gentleman—a little creature that, like + the frog in the fable, swells, and is angry that it is not allowed to be + as big as an ox.<a href="#linknote-507" name="linknoteref-507" + id="linknoteref-507"><small>507</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Coward.—A lurking, way-laying coward.<a href="#linknote-508" + name="linknoteref-508" id="linknoteref-508"><small>508</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Knave.—He is one whom God and nature have marked for want of + common honesty.<a href="#linknote-509" name="linknoteref-509" + id="linknoteref-509"><small>509</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Fool.—Great fools will be christened by the names of great poets, + and Pope will be called Homer.<a href="#linknote-510" + name="linknoteref-510" id="linknoteref-510"><small>510</small></a> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + A Thing.—A little abject thing.<a href="#linknote-511" + name="linknoteref-511" id="linknoteref-511"><small>511</small></a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + INDEX OF PERSONS CELEBRATED IN THIS POEM. + </h2> + <p> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE FIRST NUMBER SHOWS THE BOOK; THE SECOND, THE VERSE. + + Ambrose Philips, i. 105; iii. 326. + Attila, iii. 92. + Alaric, iii. 91. + Alma Mater, iii. 388. + Annius, an antiquary, iv. 347. + Arnall, William, ii. 315. + Addison, ii. 124, 140. + Atterbury, iv. 246. + + Blackmore, Sir Richard, i. 104; ii. 268. + Bezaleel Morris, ii. 126; iii. 168. + Banks, i. 146. + Broome, ibid. + Bond, ii. 126. + Brown, iii. 28. + Bladen, iv. 560. + Budgel, Esq., ii. 337. + Bentley, Richard, iv. 201. + Bentley, Thomas, ii. 205. + Boyer, Abel, ii. 413. + Bland, a gazetteer, i. 231. + Breval, J. Durant, ii. 126, 238. + Benlowes, iii. 21. + Bavius, ibid. + Burmannus, iv. 237. + Benson, William, Esq., iii. 325; iv. 110. + Burgersdyck, iv. 198. + Boeotians, iii. 50. + Bruin and Bears, i, 101. + Bear and Fiddle, i. 224. + Burnet, Thomas, iii. 179. + Bacon, iii. 215. + Barrow, Dr, iv. 245. + + Cibber, Colley, Hero of the Poem, passim. + Cibber, sen., i. 31. + Cibber, jun., iii. 139, 326. + Caxton, William, i. 149. + Curll, Edm., i. 40; ii. 3, 58, 167, &c. + Cooke, Thomas, ii. 138. + Concanen, Matthew, ii. 299, + Centlivre, Susannah, ii. 411. + Caesar in Aegypt, i. 251. + Chi Ho-am-ti, Emperor of China, iii. 75. + Crousaz, iv. 198. + Codrus, ii. 144. + Congreve, ii. 124. + Chesterfield, iv. 43. + + Defoe, Daniel, i. 103; ii. 147. + Defoe, Norton, ii. 415. + De Lyra, or Harpsfield, i. 153. + Dennis, John, i. 106; ii. 239; iii. 173. + Dunton, John, ii. 144. + D'Urfey, iii. 146. + Dutchmen, ii. 405; iii. 51. + Doctors, at White's, i. 203. + Douglas, iv. 394. + Ducket, iii. 179. + + Eusden, Laurence, Poet Laureate, i. 104. + Evans, Dr, ii. 116 + + Flecknoe, Richard, ii. 2. + Faustus, Dr, iii. 233. + Fleetwood, iv. 326. + Freemasons, iv. 576. + French Cooks, iv. 553. + + Gay, ii. 127; iii. 330. + Gildon, Charles, i. 296. + Goode, Barn., iii. 153. + Goths, iii. 90. + Gazetteers, i. 215; ii. 314. + Gregorians and Gormogons, iv. 575. + Garth, ii. 140. + Genseric, iii. 92. + Gordon, Thomas, iv. 492. + + Holland, Philemon, i. 154. + Hearne, Thomas, iii. 185. + Horneck, Philip, iii. 152. + Haywood, Eliza, ii. 157, &c. + Howard, Edward, i. 297. + Henley, John, the Orator, ii. 2, 425; iii. 199, &c. + Huns, iii. 90. + Heywood, John, i. 98. + Harpsfield, i. 153. + Hays, iv. 560. + Heidegger, i. 290. + + John, King, i. 252. + James I., iv. 176. + Jacob, Giles, iii. 149. + Janssen, a gamester, iv. 326. + Jones, Inigo, iii. 328. + Johnston, iv. 112. + + Knight, Robert, iv. 561. + Kuster, iv. 237. + Kirkall, ii. 160. + + Lintot, Bernard, i. 40; ii. 53. + Laws, William, ii. 413. + Log, King, i. lin. ult. + Locke, iii. 215. + + More, James, ii. 50, &c. + Morris, Bezaleel, ii. 126; iii. 168. + Mist, Nathaniel, i. 208. + Milbourn, Luke, ii. 349. + Mahomet, iii. 97. + Mears, William, ii. 125; iii. 28. + Motteux, Peter, ii. 412. + Monks, iii. 52. + Mandevil, ii. 414. + Morgan, ibid. + Montalto, iv. 105. + Mummius, an antiquary, iv. 371. + Milton, iii. 216. + Murray, iv. 169. + + Newcastle, Duchess of, i. 141. + Nonjuror, i. 253. + Newton, iii. 216. + + Ogilby, John, i. 141, 328. + Oldmixon, John, ii. 283. + Ozell, John, i. 285. + Ostrogoths, iii. 93. + Omar, the Caliph, iii. 81. + Owls, i. 271, 290; iii. 54. + Owls, Athenian, iv. 362. + Osborne, bookseller, ii. 167. + Osborne, mother, ii. 312. + + Prynne, William, i. 103. + Philips, Ambrose, i. 105; iii. 326. + Paridel, iv. 341. + Prior, ii. 124-138. + Popple, iii. 151. + Pope, iii. 332. + Pulteney, iv. 170. + + Quarles, Francis, i. 140. + Querno, Camillo, ii. 15. + + Ralph, James, i. 216; iii. 165. + Roome, Edward, iii. 152. + Ripley, Thomas, iii. 327. + Ridpath, George, i. 208; ii. 149. + Roper, Abel, ii. 149. + Rich, iii. 261. + + Settle, Elkanah, i. 90, 146; iii. 37. + Smedley, Jonathan, ii. 291, &c. + Shadwell, Thomas, i. 240; iii. 22. + Scholiasts, iv. 231. + Silenus, iv. 492. + Sooterkins, i. 126. + Swift, i. 19; ii. 116, 138; iii. 331. + Shaftesbury, iv. 488. + + Tate, i. 105, 238. + Theobald, or Tibbald, i. 133, 286. + Tutchin, John, ii. 148. + Toland, John, ii. 399; iii. 212. + Tindal, Dr, ii. 399; iii. 212; iv. 492. + Taylor, John, the Water-Poet, iii. 19. + Thomas, Mrs, ii. 70. + Tonson, Jacob, i. 57; ii. 68. + Thorold, Sir George, i. 85. + Talbot, iv. 168. + + Vandals, iii. 86. + Visigoths, iii. 94. + + Walpole, late Sir Robert, praised by our author, ii. 314 + Withers, George, i. 296. + Wynkyn de Worde, i. 149 (or 140), + Ward, Edw. i. 233; ii. 34. + Webster, ii. 258. + Whitfield, ibid. + Warner, Thomas, ii. 125. + Wilkins, ibid. + Welsted, Leonard, ii. 207; iii. 170. + Woolston, Thomas, iii. 212. + Wormius, iii. 188. + Wasse, iv. 237. + Walker, Hat-bearer to Bentley. iv. 206, 273. + Wren, Sir C., iii. 329. + Wyndham, iv. 167. + + Young, Ed., ii. 116. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_FOOT" id="link2H_FOOT"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + </p> + <h2> + FOOTNOTES: + </h2> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Patricio:' Lord + Godolphin.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 2 (<a href="#linknoteref-2">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Charron:' an imitator of + Montaigne.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 3 (<a href="#linknoteref-3">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Perjured prince:' Louis + XI. of France. See 'Quentin Durward'.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 4 (<a href="#linknoteref-4">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Godless regent:' Philip + Duke of Orleans, Regent of France in the minority of Louis XV., a believer + in judicial astrology, though an unbeliever in all religion.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 5 (<a href="#linknoteref-5">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Charles:' Charles V.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 6 (<a href="#linknoteref-6">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Philip:' Philip II. in the + battle of Quintin.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 7 (<a href="#linknoteref-7">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Punk:' Cleopatra.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 8 (<a href="#linknoteref-8">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Wilmot:' Earl of + Rochester.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-9" id="linknote-9"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 9 (<a href="#linknoteref-9">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Noble dame a whore:' the + sister of Cato, and mother of Brutus.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-10" id="linknote-10"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 10 (<a href="#linknoteref-10">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Lanesborough:' an + ancient nobleman, who continued this practice long after his legs were + disabled by the gout. Upon the death of Prince George of Denmark, he + demanded an audience of the Queen, to advise her to preserve her health + and dispel her grief by dancing.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-11" id="linknote-11"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 11 (<a href="#linknoteref-11">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Narcissa:' Mrs Oldfield, + the actress.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-12" id="linknote-12"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 12 (<a href="#linknoteref-12">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sappho:' Lady M. W. + Montague.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-13" id="linknote-13"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 13 (<a href="#linknoteref-13">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Narcissa:' Duchess of + Hamilton.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-14" id="linknote-14"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 14 (<a href="#linknoteref-14">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Philomede:' Henrietta, + younger Duchess of Marlborough, to whom Congreve left the greater part of + his fortune.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-15" id="linknote-15"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 15 (<a href="#linknoteref-15">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Her Grace:' Duchess of + Montague.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-16" id="linknote-16"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 16 (<a href="#linknoteref-16">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Atossa:' Sarah, Duchess + of Marlborough.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-17" id="linknote-17"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 17 (<a href="#linknoteref-17">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Chloe:' Mrs Howard, + afterwards Countess of Suffolk.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-18" id="linknote-18"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 18 (<a href="#linknoteref-18">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Mahomet:' servant to the + late king, said to be the son of a Turkish pasha, whom he took at the + siege of Buda, and constantly kept about his person—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-19" id="linknote-19"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 19 (<a href="#linknoteref-19">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Parson Hale;' Dr Stephen + Hale, not more estimable for his useful discoveries as a natural + philosopher, than for his exemplary life and pastoral charity as a parish + priest.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-20" id="linknote-20"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 20 (<a href="#linknoteref-20">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Epistle III.:' this + epistle was written after a violent outcry against our author, on a + supposition that he had ridiculed a worthy nobleman merely for his wrong + taste. He justified himself upon that article in a letter to the Earl of + Burlington; at the end of which are these words: 'I have learnt that there + are some who would rather be wicked than ridiculous; and therefore it may + be safer to attack vices than follies. I will therefore leave my betters + in the quiet possession of their idols, their groves, and their high + places; and change my subject from their pride to their meanness, from + their vanities to their miseries; and as the only certain way to avoid + misconstructions, to lessen offence, and not to multiply ill-natured + applications, I may probably, in my next, make use of real names instead + of fictitious ones.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-21" id="linknote-21"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 21 (<a href="#linknoteref-21">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ward:' John Ward of + Hackney, Esq., member of Parliament, being prosecuted by the Duchess of + Buckingham, and convicted of forgery, was first expelled the House, and + then stood in the pillory on the 17th of March 1727.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-22" id="linknote-22"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 22 (<a href="#linknoteref-22">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Chartres:' see a former + note.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-23" id="linknote-23"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 23 (<a href="#linknoteref-23">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The patriot's cloak:' + this is a true story, which happened in the reign of William III. to an + unsuspected old patriot, who coming out at the back-door from having been + closeted by the king, where he had received a large bag of guineas, the + bursting of the bag discovered his business there.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-24" id="linknote-24"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 24 (<a href="#linknoteref-24">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ship off senates:' + alludes to several ministers, counsellors, and patriots banished in our + times to Siberia, and to that more glorious fate of the Parliament of + Paris, banished to Pontoise in the year 1720.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-25" id="linknote-25"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 25 (<a href="#linknoteref-25">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Coals:' some misers of + great wealth, proprietors of the coal-mines, had entered at this time into + an association to keep up coals to an extravagant price, whereby the poor + were reduced almost to starve, till one of them, taking the advantage of + underselling the rest, defeated the design. One of these misers was worth + ten thousand, another seven thousand a-year.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-26" id="linknote-26"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 26 (<a href="#linknoteref-26">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Colepepper:' Sir William + Colepepper, Bart., a person of an ancient family and ample fortune, + without one other quality of a gentleman, who, after ruining himself at + the gaming table, passed the rest of his days in sitting there to see the + ruin of others; preferring to subsist upon borrowing and begging, rather + than to enter into any reputable method of life, and refusing a post in + the army which was offered him.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-27" id="linknote-27"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 27 (<a href="#linknoteref-27">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Turner:' a miser of the + day.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-28" id="linknote-28"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 28 (<a href="#linknoteref-28">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Hopkins:' a citizen + whose rapacity obtained him the name of Vulture Hopkins.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-29" id="linknote-29"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 29 (<a href="#linknoteref-29">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Japhet:' Japhet Crook, + alias Sir Peter Stranger, was punished with the loss of those parts, for + having forged a conveyance of an estate to himself.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-30" id="linknote-30"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 30 (<a href="#linknoteref-30">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Endow a college or a + cat:' a famous Duchess of Richmond, in her last will, left considerable + legacies and annuities to her cats.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-31" id="linknote-31"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 31 (<a href="#linknoteref-31">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bond:' the director of a + charitable corporation.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-32" id="linknote-32"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 32 (<a href="#linknoteref-32">return</a>)<br /> [ 'To live on venison:' in + the extravagance and luxury of the South-sea year, the price of a haunch + of venison was from three to five pounds.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-33" id="linknote-33"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 33 (<a href="#linknoteref-33">return</a>)<br /> [ 'General excise:' many + people, about the year 1733, had a conceit that such a thing was intended, + of which it is not improbable this lady might have some intimation.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-34" id="linknote-34"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 34 (<a href="#linknoteref-34">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Wise Peter:' an attorney + who made a large fortune.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-35" id="linknote-35"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 35 (<a href="#linknoteref-35">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Rome's great Didius:' a + Roman lawyer, so rich as to purchase the Empire when it was set to sale + upon the death of Pertinax.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-36" id="linknote-36"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 36 (<a href="#linknoteref-36">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Blunt:' one of the first + projectors of the South-sea scheme.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-37" id="linknote-37"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 37 (<a href="#linknoteref-37">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Oxford's better part:' + Edward Harley, Earl of Oxford—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-38" id="linknote-38"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 38 (<a href="#linknoteref-38">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The Man of Ross:' the + person here celebrated, who, with a small estate, actually performed all + these good works, and whose true name was almost lost (partly by the title + of the Man of Ross, given him by way of eminence, and partly by being + buried without so much as an inscription) was called Mr John Kyrle. He + effected many good works, partly by raising contributions from other + benevolent persons. He died in the year 1724, aged 90, and lies interred + in the chancel of the church of Ross, in Herefordshire.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-39" id="linknote-39"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 39 (<a href="#linknoteref-39">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Go search it there:' the + parish register.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-40" id="linknote-40"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 40 (<a href="#linknoteref-40">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Eternal buckle takes in + Parian stone:' the poet ridicules the wretched taste of carving large + periwigs on bustos, of which there are several vile examples in the tombs + at Westminster and elsewhere.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-41" id="linknote-41"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 41 (<a href="#linknoteref-41">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Great Villiers lies:' + this lord, yet more famous for his vices than his misfortunes, after + having been possessed of about L.50,000 a-year, and passed through many of + the highest posts in the kingdom, died in the year 1687, in a remote inn + in Yorkshire, reduced to the utmost misery.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-42" id="linknote-42"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 42 (<a href="#linknoteref-42">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Shrewsbury:' the + Countess of Shrewsbury, a woman abandoned to gallantries. The earl, her + husband, was killed by the Duke of Buckingham in a duel; and it has been + said, that during the combat she held the duke's horse in the habit of a + page.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-43" id="linknote-43"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 43 (<a href="#linknoteref-43">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Cutler:' a notorious + miser.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-44" id="linknote-44"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 44 (<a href="#linknoteref-44">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Where London's column:' + the monument, built in memory of the fire of London, with an inscription, + importing that city to have been burnt by the Papists.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-45" id="linknote-45"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 45 (<a href="#linknoteref-45">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Topham:' a gentleman + famous for a judicious collection of drawings.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-46" id="linknote-46"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 46 (<a href="#linknoteref-46">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Hearne:' the + antiquarian.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-47" id="linknote-47"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 47 (<a href="#linknoteref-47">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ripley:' this man was a + carpenter, employed by a first minister, who raised him to an architect, + without any genius in the art; and after some wretched proofs of his + insufficiency in public buildings, made him comptroller of the Board of + Works.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-48" id="linknote-48"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 48 (<a href="#linknoteref-48">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bubo:' Bubb Doddington, + who had just finished a mansion at Eastbury.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-49" id="linknote-49"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 49 (<a href="#linknoteref-49">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Dr Clarke:' Dr S. + Clarke's busto placed by the Queen in the Hermitage, while the doctor duly + frequented the court.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-50" id="linknote-50"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 50 (<a href="#linknoteref-50">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Timon's villa:' Cannons, + the estate of Lord Chandos. See Life.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-51" id="linknote-51"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 51 (<a href="#linknoteref-51">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Verrio or Laguerre:' + Verrio (Antonio) painted many ceilings, &c., at Windsor, Hampton + Court, &c; and Laguerre at Blenheim Castle, and other places.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-52" id="linknote-52"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 52 (<a href="#linknoteref-52">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Who never mentions + hell:' this is a fact; a reverend Dean, preaching at court, threatened the + sinner with punishment in 'a place which he thought it not decent to name + in so polite an assembly.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-53" id="linknote-53"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 53 (<a href="#linknoteref-53">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sancho's dread doctor:' + see 'Don Quixote,' chap, xlvii.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-54" id="linknote-54"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 54 (<a href="#linknoteref-54">return</a>)<br /> [ This was originally + written in the year 1715, when Mr Addison intended to publish his book of + medals; it was sometime before he was Secretary of State; but not + published till Mr Tickell's edition of his works; at which time the verses + on Mr Craggs, which conclude the poem, were added, viz., in 1720.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-55" id="linknote-55"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 55 (<a href="#linknoteref-55">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Vadius:' see his + history, and that of his shield, in the 'Memoirs of Scriblerus,' ch. ii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-56" id="linknote-56"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 56 (<a href="#linknoteref-56">return</a>)<br /> [ Alemena, mother of + Hercules, is after his death here recounting her misfortunes to Iole, who + replies by narrating the transformations of her sister Dryope.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-57" id="linknote-57"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 57 (<a href="#linknoteref-57">return</a>)<br /> [ Such sons: Eteocles and + Polynices.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-58" id="linknote-58"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 58 (<a href="#linknoteref-58">return</a>)<br /> [ The Marchantes Tale. + Written at sixteen or seventeen years of age.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-59" id="linknote-59"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 59 (<a href="#linknoteref-59">return</a>)<br /> [ The first part of this + prologue was written by Pope, the conclusion by Mallet.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-60" id="linknote-60"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 60 (<a href="#linknoteref-60">return</a>)<br /> [ Shows a cap with ears.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-61" id="linknote-61"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 61 (<a href="#linknoteref-61">return</a>)<br /> [ Flings down the cap, and + exit.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-62" id="linknote-62"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 62 (<a href="#linknoteref-62">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Basset-Table:' only this + of all the Town Eclogues was Mr Pope's, and is here printed from a copy + corrected by his own hand. The humour of it consists in this, that the one + is in love with the game, and the other with the sharper—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-63" id="linknote-63"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 63 (<a href="#linknoteref-63">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The Lady Frances + Shirley:' a lady whose great merit Mr Pope took a real pleasure in + celebrating.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-64" id="linknote-64"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 64 (<a href="#linknoteref-64">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bertrand's:' a famous + toy-shop at Bath.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-65" id="linknote-65"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 65 (<a href="#linknoteref-65">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Fool or ass:' 'The + Dunciad.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-66" id="linknote-66"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 66 (<a href="#linknoteref-66">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Flattery or fib:' the + 'Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-67" id="linknote-67"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 67 (<a href="#linknoteref-67">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Arms:' such toys being + the usual presents from lovers to their mistresses.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-68" id="linknote-68"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 68 (<a href="#linknoteref-68">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Print:' when she + delivers Aeneas a suit of heavenly armour.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-69" id="linknote-69"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 69 (<a href="#linknoteref-69">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Truth nor lies:' if you + have neither the courage to write satire, nor the application to attempt + an epic poem. He was then meditating on such a work.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-70" id="linknote-70"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 70 (<a href="#linknoteref-70">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Algerian grot:' alluding + to Numa's projecting his system of politics in this grot, assisted, as he + gave out, by the goddess Aegeria.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-71" id="linknote-71"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 71 (<a href="#linknoteref-71">return</a>)<br /> [ 'What-d'ye-call-it:' a + comedy by Gay.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-72" id="linknote-72"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 72 (<a href="#linknoteref-72">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Turk:' Ulrick, the + Turk.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-73" id="linknote-73"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 73 (<a href="#linknoteref-73">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Pope:' the author.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-74" id="linknote-74"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 74 (<a href="#linknoteref-74">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bellenden, Lepell, and + Griffin:' ladies of the Court of the Princess Caroline.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-75" id="linknote-75"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 75 (<a href="#linknoteref-75">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Blunderland:' Ireland.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-76" id="linknote-76"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 76 (<a href="#linknoteref-76">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Meadows:' see verses to + Mrs Howe.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-77" id="linknote-77"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 77 (<a href="#linknoteref-77">return</a>)<br /> [ 'God send the king safe + landing:' this ballad was written anno 1717.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-78" id="linknote-78"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 78 (<a href="#linknoteref-78">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Philips:' Ambrose + Philips.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-79" id="linknote-79"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 79 (<a href="#linknoteref-79">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Budgell:' Eustace + Budgell.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-80" id="linknote-80"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 80 (<a href="#linknoteref-80">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Carey:' Henry Carey.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-81" id="linknote-81"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 81 (<a href="#linknoteref-81">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Mrs Pulteney:' the + daughter of John Gumley of Isleworth, who acquired his fortune by a glass + manufactory.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-82" id="linknote-82"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 82 (<a href="#linknoteref-82">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sandys:' George Sandy's, + the old, and as yet unequalled, translator of Ovid's Metamorphoses.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-83" id="linknote-83"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 83 (<a href="#linknoteref-83">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Jacob's:' old Jacob + Tonson, the publisher of the Metamorphoses.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-84" id="linknote-84"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 84 (<a href="#linknoteref-84">return</a>)<br /> [ 'P——:' + perhaps Pembroke.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-85" id="linknote-85"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 85 (<a href="#linknoteref-85">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Umbra:' intended, it is + said, for Ambrose Philips.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-86" id="linknote-86"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 86 (<a href="#linknoteref-86">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Only Johnson:' Charles + Johnson, a second-rate dramatist.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-87" id="linknote-87"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 87 (<a href="#linknoteref-87">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The Man Mountain:' this + Ode, and the three following pieces, were produced by Pope on reading + 'Gulliver's Travels.'] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-88" id="linknote-88"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 88 (<a href="#linknoteref-88">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Biddel:' name of a sea + captain mentioned in Gulliver's Travels.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-89" id="linknote-89"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 89 (<a href="#linknoteref-89">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Pannel:' name of a sea + captain mentioned in Gulliver's Travels.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-90" id="linknote-90"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 90 (<a href="#linknoteref-90">return</a>)<br /> [ 'B——:' + Britain.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-91" id="linknote-91"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 91 (<a href="#linknoteref-91">return</a>)<br /> [ 'C——:' + Cobham.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-92" id="linknote-92"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 92 (<a href="#linknoteref-92">return</a>)<br /> [ 'P——'s: + Pulteney's.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-93" id="linknote-93"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 93 (<a href="#linknoteref-93">return</a>)<br /> [ 'S——:' + Sandys.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-94" id="linknote-94"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 94 (<a href="#linknoteref-94">return</a>)<br /> [ 'S——:' + Shippen.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-95" id="linknote-95"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 95 (<a href="#linknoteref-95">return</a>)<br /> [ 'C——:' + Perhaps the Earl of Carlisle.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-96" id="linknote-96"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 96 (<a href="#linknoteref-96">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ch—-s W——:' + Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-97" id="linknote-97"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 97 (<a href="#linknoteref-97">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sir Har-y or Sir P——:' + Sir Henry Oxenden or Sir Paul Methuen.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-98" id="linknote-98"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 98 (<a href="#linknoteref-98">return</a>)<br /> [ 'G—-r, C—-m, + B—-t:' Lords Gower, Cobham, and Bathurst.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-99" id="linknote-99"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 99 (<a href="#linknoteref-99">return</a>)<br /> [ 'C—-d:' + Chesterfield.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-100" id="linknote-100"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 100 (<a href="#linknoteref-100">return</a>)<br /> [ 'C—-t:' Lord + Carteret.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-101" id="linknote-101"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 101 (<a href="#linknoteref-101">return</a>)<br /> [ 'P——:' + William Pulteney, created in 1742 Earl of Bath.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-102" id="linknote-102"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 102 (<a href="#linknoteref-102">return</a>)<br /> [ 'W——:' + Walpole.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-103" id="linknote-103"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 103 (<a href="#linknoteref-103">return</a>)<br /> [ 'H——:' + either Sir Robert's brother Horace, who had just quitted his embassy at + the Hague, or his son Horace, who was then on his travels.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-104" id="linknote-104"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 104 (<a href="#linknoteref-104">return</a>)<br /> [ 'W——:' W. + Winnington.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-105" id="linknote-105"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 105 (<a href="#linknoteref-105">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Young:' Sir William + Young.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-106" id="linknote-106"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 106 (<a href="#linknoteref-106">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bub:' Dodington.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-107" id="linknote-107"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 107 (<a href="#linknoteref-107">return</a>)<br /> [ 'H——:' + probably Hare, Bishop of Chicester.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-108" id="linknote-108"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 108 (<a href="#linknoteref-108">return</a>)<br /> [ 'F——, H—-y:' + Fox and Henley.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-109" id="linknote-109"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 109 (<a href="#linknoteref-109">return</a>)<br /> [ 'H—-n:' Hinton.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-110" id="linknote-110"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 110 (<a href="#linknoteref-110">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ebor:' Blackburn, + Archbishop of York, and Hoadley, Bishop of Winchester.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-111" id="linknote-111"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 111 (<a href="#linknoteref-111">return</a>)<br /> [ 'O—-w:' Onslow, + Speaker of the House of Commons, and the Earl of Delawar, Chairman of the + Committees of the House of Lords.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-112" id="linknote-112"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 112 (<a href="#linknoteref-112">return</a>)<br /> [ 'N——:' + Newcastle.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-113" id="linknote-113"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 113 (<a href="#linknoteref-113">return</a>)<br /> [ 'D——'s + sager:' Dorset; perhaps the last word should be <i>sneer</i>.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-114" id="linknote-114"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 114 (<a href="#linknoteref-114">return</a>)<br /> [ 'M——'s:' + Duke of Marlborough.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-115" id="linknote-115"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 115 (<a href="#linknoteref-115">return</a>)<br /> [ 'J——'s:' + Jekyll.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-116" id="linknote-116"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 116 (<a href="#linknoteref-116">return</a>)<br /> [ 'H—-k's:' + Hardwick.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-117" id="linknote-117"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 117 (<a href="#linknoteref-117">return</a>)<br /> [ 'C——:' + probably Sir John Cummins, Lord Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-118" id="linknote-118"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 118 (<a href="#linknoteref-118">return</a>)<br /> [ 'B——:' + Britain.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-119" id="linknote-119"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 119 (<a href="#linknoteref-119">return</a>)<br /> [ 'S—-w:' Earl of + Scarborough.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-120" id="linknote-120"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 120 (<a href="#linknoteref-120">return</a>)<br /> [ 'M-m-t's:' Marchmont.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-121" id="linknote-121"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 121 (<a href="#linknoteref-121">return</a>)<br /> [ 'P—-th:' + Polwarth, son to Lord Marchmont.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-122" id="linknote-122"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 122 (<a href="#linknoteref-122">return</a>)<br /> [ 'W—-m:' Wyndham.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-123" id="linknote-123"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 123 (<a href="#linknoteref-123">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sl—-s:' slaves.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-124" id="linknote-124"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 124 (<a href="#linknoteref-124">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Se—-s:' + senates.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-125" id="linknote-125"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 125 (<a href="#linknoteref-125">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ad....:' + administration.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-126" id="linknote-126"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 126 (<a href="#linknoteref-126">return</a>)<br /> [ King's.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-127" id="linknote-127"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 127 (<a href="#linknoteref-127">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Religion:' an allusion + perhaps to Frederick Prince of Wales.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-128" id="linknote-128"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 128 (<a href="#linknoteref-128">return</a>)<br /> [ 'First Book of Horace:' + attributed to Pope.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-129" id="linknote-129"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 129 (<a href="#linknoteref-129">return</a>)<br /> [ The person here meant + was Dr Robert Friend, head master of Westminster School.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-130" id="linknote-130"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 130 (<a href="#linknoteref-130">return</a>)<br /> [ The Misses Lisle.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-131" id="linknote-131"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 131 (<a href="#linknoteref-131">return</a>)<br /> [ There occurred here + originally the following lax stanza:— + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Can sins of moment claim the rod + Of everlasting fires?] +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-132" id="linknote-132"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 132 (<a href="#linknoteref-132">return</a>)<br /> [ And that offend great + nature's God, Which nature's self inspires.—See Boswell's + 'Johnson.'] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-133" id="linknote-133"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 133 (<a href="#linknoteref-133">return</a>)<br /> [ This gentleman was of + Scotland, and bred at the university of Utrecht, with the Earl of Mar. He + served in Spain under Earl Rivers. After the peace, he was made one of the + Commissioners of the Customs in Scotland, and then of Taxes in England, in + which having shewn himself for twenty years diligent, punctual, and + incorruptible, though without any other assistance of fortune, he was + suddenly displaced by the minister in the sixty-eighth year of his age, + and died two months after, in 1741.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-134" id="linknote-134"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 134 (<a href="#linknoteref-134">return</a>)<br /> [ Giles Jacob's Lives of + Poets, vol. ii. in his Life.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-135" id="linknote-135"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 135 (<a href="#linknoteref-135">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Reflections on + the Essay on Criticism.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-136" id="linknote-136"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 136 (<a href="#linknoteref-136">return</a>)<br /> [ Dunciad Dissected, p. + 4.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-137" id="linknote-137"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 137 (<a href="#linknoteref-137">return</a>)<br /> [ Guardian, No. 40.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-138" id="linknote-138"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 138 (<a href="#linknoteref-138">return</a>)<br /> [ Jacob's Lives, &c. + vol. ii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-139" id="linknote-139"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 139 (<a href="#linknoteref-139">return</a>)<br /> [ Dunciad Dissected, p. + 4.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-140" id="linknote-140"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 140 (<a href="#linknoteref-140">return</a>)<br /> [ Farmer P—- and + his Son.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-141" id="linknote-141"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 141 (<a href="#linknoteref-141">return</a>)<br /> [ Dunciad Dissected.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-142" id="linknote-142"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 142 (<a href="#linknoteref-142">return</a>)<br /> [ Characters of the + Times, p. 45.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-143" id="linknote-143"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 143 (<a href="#linknoteref-143">return</a>)<br /> [ Female Dunciad, p. + ult.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-144" id="linknote-144"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 144 (<a href="#linknoteref-144">return</a>)<br /> [ Dunciad Dissected.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-145" id="linknote-145"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 145 (<a href="#linknoteref-145">return</a>)<br /> [ Roome, Paraphrase on + the 4th of Genesis, printed 1729.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-146" id="linknote-146"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 146 (<a href="#linknoteref-146">return</a>)<br /> [ Character of Mr Pope + and his Writings, in a Letter to a Friend, printed for S. Popping, 1716, + p. 10. Curll, in his Key to the Dunciad (first edition, said to be printed + for A. Dodd), in the 10th page, declared Gildon to be author of that + libel; though in the subsequent editions of his Key he left out this + assertion, and affirmed (in the Curlliad, p. 4 and 8) that it was written + by Dennis only.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-147" id="linknote-147"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 147 (<a href="#linknoteref-147">return</a>)<br /> [ Reflections, Critical + and Satirical, on a Rhapsody called An Essay on Criticism. Printed for + Bernard Lintot, 8vo.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-148" id="linknote-148"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 148 (<a href="#linknoteref-148">return</a>)<br /> [ Essay on Criticism in + prose, 8vo, 1728, by the author of the Critical History of England.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-149" id="linknote-149"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 149 (<a href="#linknoteref-149">return</a>)<br /> [ Preface to his Poems, + p.18, 53.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-150" id="linknote-150"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 150 (<a href="#linknoteref-150">return</a>)<br /> [ Spectator, No. 253.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-151" id="linknote-151"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 151 (<a href="#linknoteref-151">return</a>)<br /> [ Letter to B. B. at the + end of the Remarks on Pope's Homer, 1717.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-152" id="linknote-152"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 152 (<a href="#linknoteref-152">return</a>)<br /> [ Printed 1728, p. 12.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-153" id="linknote-153"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 153 (<a href="#linknoteref-153">return</a>)<br /> [ Alma, canto 2.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-154" id="linknote-154"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 154 (<a href="#linknoteref-154">return</a>)<br /> [ In his Essays, vol. i., + printed for E. Curll.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-155" id="linknote-155"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 155 (<a href="#linknoteref-155">return</a>)<br /> [ Censor, vol. ii. n. + 33.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-156" id="linknote-156"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 156 (<a href="#linknoteref-156">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>Vide</i> preface to + Mr Tickel's translation of the first book of the Iliad, 4to. Also <i>vide</i> + Life.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-157" id="linknote-157"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 157 (<a href="#linknoteref-157">return</a>)<br /> [ Daily Journal, March + 18, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-158" id="linknote-158"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 158 (<a href="#linknoteref-158">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid, April 3, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-159" id="linknote-159"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 159 (<a href="#linknoteref-159">return</a>)<br /> [ Verses to Mr Pope on + his translation of Homer.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-160" id="linknote-160"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 160 (<a href="#linknoteref-160">return</a>)<br /> [ Poem prefixed to his + works.] + </p> + + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-162" id="linknote-162"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 162 (<a href="#linknoteref-162">return</a>)<br /> [ Universal Passion, + Satire i.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-163" id="linknote-163"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 163 (<a href="#linknoteref-163">return</a>)<br /> [ In his Poems, and at + the end of the Odyssey.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-164" id="linknote-164"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 164 (<a href="#linknoteref-164">return</a>)<br /> [ The names of two weekly + papers.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-165" id="linknote-165"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 165 (<a href="#linknoteref-165">return</a>)<br /> [ Theobald, Letter in + Mist's Journal, June 22, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-166" id="linknote-166"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 166 (<a href="#linknoteref-166">return</a>)<br /> [ Smedley, Preface to + Gulliveriana, p. 14, 16.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-167" id="linknote-167"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 167 (<a href="#linknoteref-167">return</a>)<br /> [ Gulliveriana, p. 332.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-168" id="linknote-168"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 168 (<a href="#linknoteref-168">return</a>)<br /> [ Anno 1723.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-169" id="linknote-169"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 169 (<a href="#linknoteref-169">return</a>)<br /> [ Anno 1729.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-170" id="linknote-170"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 170 (<a href="#linknoteref-170">return</a>)<br /> [ Preface to Remarks on + the Rape of the Lock, p. 12, and in the last page of that treatise.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-171" id="linknote-171"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 171 (<a href="#linknoteref-171">return</a>)<br /> [ Pages 6, 7 of the + Preface, by Concanen, to a book entitled, A Collection of all the Letters, + Essays, Verses, and Advertisements occasioned by Pope and Swift's + Miscellanies. Printed for A. Moore, 8vo, 1712.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-172" id="linknote-172"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 172 (<a href="#linknoteref-172">return</a>)<br /> [ Key to the Dunciad, + third edition, p. 18.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-173" id="linknote-173"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 173 (<a href="#linknoteref-173">return</a>)<br /> [ A list of persons, + &c., at the end of the forementioned Collection of all the Letters, + Essays, &c.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-174" id="linknote-174"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 174 (<a href="#linknoteref-174">return</a>)<br /> [ Introduction to his + Shakspeare Restored, in 4to, p. 3.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-175" id="linknote-175"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 175 (<a href="#linknoteref-175">return</a>)<br /> [ Commentary on the Duke + of Buckingham's Essay, 8vo, 1721, p. 97, 98.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-176" id="linknote-176"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 176 (<a href="#linknoteref-176">return</a>)<br /> [ In his prose Essay on + Criticism.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-177" id="linknote-177"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 177 (<a href="#linknoteref-177">return</a>)<br /> [ Printed by J. Roberts, + 1742, p. 11.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-178" id="linknote-178"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 178 (<a href="#linknoteref-178">return</a>)<br /> [ Battle of Poets, folio, + p. 15.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-179" id="linknote-179"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 179 (<a href="#linknoteref-179">return</a>)<br /> [ Printed under the title + of the Progress of Dulness, duodecimo, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-180" id="linknote-180"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 180 (<a href="#linknoteref-180">return</a>)<br /> [ Cibber's Letter to Mr + Pope, p. 9, 12.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-181" id="linknote-181"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 181 (<a href="#linknoteref-181">return</a>)<br /> [ In a letter under his + hand, dated March 12, 1733.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-182" id="linknote-182"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 182 (<a href="#linknoteref-182">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Preface to his + Reflections on the Essay on Criticism.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-183" id="linknote-183"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 183 (<a href="#linknoteref-183">return</a>)<br /> [ Preface to his Remarks + on Homer.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-184" id="linknote-184"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 184 (<a href="#linknoteref-184">return</a>)<br /> [ Remarks on Homer, p. 8, + 9.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-185" id="linknote-185"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 185 (<a href="#linknoteref-185">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid, p. 8.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-186" id="linknote-186"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 186 (<a href="#linknoteref-186">return</a>)<br /> [ Character of Mr Pope, + p. 7.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-187" id="linknote-187"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 187 (<a href="#linknoteref-187">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid, p. G.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-188" id="linknote-188"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 188 (<a href="#linknoteref-188">return</a>)<br /> [ Gulliver, p. 886.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-189" id="linknote-189"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 189 (<a href="#linknoteref-189">return</a>)<br /> [ Cibber's Letter to Mr. + Pope, p. 19.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-190" id="linknote-190"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 190 (<a href="#linknoteref-190">return</a>)<br /> [ Burnet Homerides, p. 1 + of his Translation of the Iliad.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-191" id="linknote-191"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 191 (<a href="#linknoteref-191">return</a>)<br /> [ The London and Mist's + Journals, on his undertaking of the Odyssey.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-192" id="linknote-192"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 192 (<a href="#linknoteref-192">return</a>)<br /> [ Vide Bossu, Du Poeme + Epique, ch. viii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-193" id="linknote-193"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 193 (<a href="#linknoteref-193">return</a>)<br /> [ Bossu, chap. vii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-194" id="linknote-194"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 194 (<a href="#linknoteref-194">return</a>)<br /> [ Book i. ver. 32, &c.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-195" id="linknote-195"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 195 (<a href="#linknoteref-195">return</a>)<br /> [ Ver. 45 to 54.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-196" id="linknote-196"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 196 (<a href="#linknoteref-196">return</a>)<br /> [ Ver. 57 to 77.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-197" id="linknote-197"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 197 (<a href="#linknoteref-197">return</a>)<br /> [ Ver. 80.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-198" id="linknote-198"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 198 (<a href="#linknoteref-198">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid, chap, vii., + viii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-199" id="linknote-199"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 199 (<a href="#linknoteref-199">return</a>)<br /> [ Bossu, chap. viii. Vide + Aristot. Poetic, chap. ix.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-200" id="linknote-200"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 200 (<a href="#linknoteref-200">return</a>)<br /> [ Cibber's Letter to Mr + Pope, pp. 9, 12, 41.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-201" id="linknote-201"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 201 (<a href="#linknoteref-201">return</a>)<br /> [ See his Essays.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-202" id="linknote-202"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 202 (<a href="#linknoteref-202">return</a>)<br /> [ Si nil Heros Poëtique + doit être un honnête homme. Bossu, du Poême Epique, lib. v. ch. 5.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-203" id="linknote-203"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 203 (<a href="#linknoteref-203">return</a>)<br /> [ Dedication to the Life + of C. C.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-204" id="linknote-204"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 204 (<a href="#linknoteref-204">return</a>)<br /> [ Life, p. 2, 8vo + edition.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-205" id="linknote-205"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 205 (<a href="#linknoteref-205">return</a>)<br /> [ Life, ibid.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-206" id="linknote-206"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 206 (<a href="#linknoteref-206">return</a>)<br /> [ Life, p. 23, 8vo.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-207" id="linknote-207"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 207 (<a href="#linknoteref-207">return</a>)<br /> [ Alluding to these lines + in the Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot: + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'And has not Colley still his lord and whore, + His butchers, Henley, his freemasons, Moore?'] +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-208" id="linknote-208"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 208 (<a href="#linknoteref-208">return</a>)<br /> [ Letter to Mr Pope, p. + 46.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-209" id="linknote-209"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 209 (<a href="#linknoteref-209">return</a>)<br /> [ P. 31.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-210" id="linknote-210"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 210 (<a href="#linknoteref-210">return</a>)<br /> [ Life, p. 23, 24.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-211" id="linknote-211"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 211 (<a href="#linknoteref-211">return</a>)<br /> [ Letter, p. 8.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-212" id="linknote-212"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 212 (<a href="#linknoteref-212">return</a>)<br /> [ Letter, p. 53.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-213" id="linknote-213"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 213 (<a href="#linknoteref-213">return</a>)<br /> [ Letter, p. 1.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-214" id="linknote-214"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 214 (<a href="#linknoteref-214">return</a>)<br /> [ Don Quixote, Part ii. + book ii. ch. 22.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-215" id="linknote-215"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 215 (<a href="#linknoteref-215">return</a>)<br /> [ See Life, p. 148.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-216" id="linknote-216"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 216 (<a href="#linknoteref-216">return</a>)<br /> [ Life, p. 149.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-217" id="linknote-217"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 217 (<a href="#linknoteref-217">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 424.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-218" id="linknote-218"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 218 (<a href="#linknoteref-218">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 366.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-219" id="linknote-219"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 219 (<a href="#linknoteref-219">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 457.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-220" id="linknote-220"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 220 (<a href="#linknoteref-220">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 18.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-221" id="linknote-221"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 221 (<a href="#linknoteref-221">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 425.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-222" id="linknote-222"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 222 (<a href="#linknoteref-222">return</a>)<br /> [ pp. 436, 437.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-223" id="linknote-223"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 223 (<a href="#linknoteref-223">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 52.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-224" id="linknote-224"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 224 (<a href="#linknoteref-224">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 47.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-225" id="linknote-225"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 225 (<a href="#linknoteref-225">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 57.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-226" id="linknote-226"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 226 (<a href="#linknoteref-226">return</a>)<br /> [ pp. 58, 59.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-227" id="linknote-227"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 227 (<a href="#linknoteref-227">return</a>)<br /> [ A statuary.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-228" id="linknote-228"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 228 (<a href="#linknoteref-228">return</a>)<br /> [ Life, p. 6.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-229" id="linknote-229"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 229 (<a href="#linknoteref-229">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 424.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-230" id="linknote-230"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 230 (<a href="#linknoteref-230">return</a>)<br /> [ p. 19.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-231" id="linknote-231"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 231 (<a href="#linknoteref-231">return</a>)<br /> [ Life, p. 17.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-232" id="linknote-232"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 232 (<a href="#linknoteref-232">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 243, 8vo + edition.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-233" id="linknote-233"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 233 (<a href="#linknoteref-233">return</a>)<br /> [ Ovid, of the serpent + biting at Orpheus's head.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-234" id="linknote-234"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 234 (<a href="#linknoteref-234">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The Dunciad:' <i>sic</i> + MS. It may well be disputed whether this be a right reading. Ought it not + rather to be spelled Dunceiad, as the etymology evidently demands? Dunce + with an <i>e</i>, therefore Dunceiad with an <i>e</i>? That accurate and + punctual man of letters, the restorer of Shakespeare, constantly observes + the preservation of this very letter <i>e</i>, in spelling the name of his + beloved author, and not like his common careless editors, with the + omission of one, nay, sometimes of two <i>e's</i> (as Shakspear), which is + utterly unpardonable. 'Nor is the neglect of a single letter so trivial as + to some it may appear; the alteration whereof in a learned language is an + achievement that brings honour to the critic who advances it; and Dr + Bentley will be remembered to posterity for his performances of this sort, + as long as the world shall have any esteem for the remains of Menander and + Philemon.'—<i>Theobald</i>. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + This is surely a slip in the learned author of the foregoing note, there + having been since produced by an accurate antiquary, an autograph of + Shakspeare himself, whereby it appears that he spelled his own name + without the first <i>e</i>. And upon this authority it was, that those + most critical curators of his monument in Westminster Abbey erased the + former wrong reading, and restored the true spelling on a new piece of old + Egyptian granite. Nor for this only do they deserve our thanks, but for + exhibiting on the same monument the first specimen of an edition of an + author in marble; where (as may be seen on comparing the tomb with the + book), in the space of five lines, two words and a whole verse are + changed, and it is to be hoped will there stand, and outlast whatever hath + been hitherto done in paper; as for the future, our learned sister + University (the other eye of England) is taking care to perpetuate a total + new Shakspeare, at the Clarendon press.—<i>Bentl</i>. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + It is to be noted, that this great critic also has omitted one + circumstance: which is, that the inscription with the name of Shakspeare + was intended to be placed on the marble scroll to which he points with his + hand; instead of which it is now placed behind his back, and that specimen + of an edition is put on the scroll, which indeed Shakspeare hath great + reason to point at.—<i>Anon</i>. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + Though I have as just a value for the letter <i>e</i> as any grammarian + living, and the same affection for the name of this poem as any critic for + that of his author, yet cannot it induce me to agree with those who would + add yet another <i>e</i> to it, and call it the Dunceiade; which being a + French and foreign termination, is no way proper to a word entirely + English and vernacular. One <i>e</i>, therefore, in this case is right, + and two <i>e's</i> wrong. Yet, upon the whole, I shall follow the + manuscript, and print it without any <i>e</i> at all; moved thereto by + authority (at all times, with critics, equal, if not superior to reason). + In which method of proceeding, I can never enough praise my good friend, + the exact Mr Thomas Hearne; who, if any word occur which to him and all + mankind is evidently wrong, yet keeps he it in the text with due + reverence, and only remarks in the margin <i>sic</i> MS. In like manner we + shall not amend this error in the title itself, but only note it <i>obiter</i>, + to evince to the learned that it was not our fault, nor any effect of our + ignorance or inattention.—<i>Scriblerus</i>. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + This poem was written in the year 1726. In the next year, an imperfect + edition was published at Dublin, and reprinted at London in twelves; + another at Dublin, and another at London in octavo; and three others in + twelves the same year. But there was no perfect edition before that of + London in quarto; which was attended with notes. We are willing to + acquaint posterity, that this poem was presented to King George the Second + and his queen by the hands of Sir Robert Walpole, on the 12th of March + 1728-9.—<i>Schol. Vet</i>. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + It was expressly confessed in the preface to the first edition, that this + poem was not published by the author himself. It was printed originally in + a foreign country. And what foreign country? Why, one notorious for + blunders; where finding blanks only instead of proper names, these + blunderers filled them up at their pleasure. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + The very hero of the poem hath been mistaken to this hour; so that we are + obliged to open our notes with a discovery who he really was. We learn + from the former editor, that this piece was presented by the hands of Sir + Robert Walpole to King George II. Now the author directly tells us, his + hero is the man + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'who brings + The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + And it is notorious who was the person on whom this prince conferred the + honour of the laurel. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + It appears as plainly from the apostrophe to the great in the third verse, + that Tibbald could not be the person, who was never an author in fashion, + or caressed by the great; whereas this single characteristic is sufficient + to point out the true hero, who, above all other poets of his time, was + the peculiar delight and chosen companion of the nobility of England, and + wrote, as he himself tells us, certain of his works at the earnest desire + of persons of quality. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + Lastly, the sixth verse affords full proof; this poet being the only one + who was universally known to have had a son so exactly like him, in his + poetical, theatrical, political, and moral capacities, that it could + justly be said of him, + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 'Still Dunce the second reign'd like Dunce the first.'—<i>Bentl</i>.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-235" id="linknote-235"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 235 (<a href="#linknoteref-235">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Her son who brings,' + &c. Wonderful is the stupidity of all the former critics and + commentators on this work! It breaks forth at the very first line. The + author of the critique prefixed to Sawney, a poem, p. 5, hath been so dull + as to explain 'the man who brings,' &c., not of the hero of the piece, + but of our poet himself, as if he vaunted that kings were to be his + readers—an honour which though this poem hath had, yet knoweth he + how to receive it with more modesty. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + We remit this ignorant to the first lines of the Aeneid, assuring him that + Virgil there speaketh not of himself but of Aeneas: + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris + Italiam, fato profugus, Lavinaque venit + Littora: multum ille et terris jactatus et alto,' &c. +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + I cite the whole three verses, that I may by the way offer a conjectural + emendation, purely my own, upon each: First, <i>oris</i> should be read <i>aris</i>, + it being, as we see, Aen. ii. 513, from the altar of Jupiter Hercaeus that + Aeneas fled as soon as he saw Priam slain. In the second line I would <i>flatu</i> + for <i>fato</i>, since it is most clear it was by winds that he arrived at + the shore of Italy. <i>Jactatus</i>, in the third, is surely as improperly + applied to <i>terris</i>, as proper to <i>alto</i>. To say a man is tossed + on land, is much at one with saying, he walks at sea. <i>Risum teneatis, + amici</i>? Correct it, as I doubt not it ought to be, <i>vexatus</i>.—<i>Scriblerus</i>.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-236" id="linknote-236"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 236 (<a href="#linknoteref-236">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The Smithfield Muses.' + Smithfield was the place where Bartholomew Fair was kept, whose shows, + machines, and dramatical entertainments, formerly agreeable only to the + taste of the rabble, were, by the hero of this poem and others of equal + genius, brought to the theatres of Covent Garden, Lincolns-Inn-Fields, and + the Haymarket, to be the reigning pleasures of the court and town. This + happened in the reigns of King George I. and II. See Book iii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-237" id="linknote-237"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 237 (<a href="#linknoteref-237">return</a>)<br /> [ 'By Dulness, Jove, and + Fate:' <i>i.e.</i>, by their judgments, their interests, and their + inclinations.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-238" id="linknote-238"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 238 (<a href="#linknoteref-238">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Say how the goddess,' + &c. The poet ventureth to sing the action of the goddess; but the + passion she impresseth on her illustrious votaries, he thinketh can be + only told by themselves.—<i>Scribl. W</i>.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-239" id="linknote-239"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 239 (<a href="#linknoteref-239">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Daughter of Chaos,' + &c. The beauty of this whole allegory being purely of the poetical + kind, we think it not our proper business, as a scholiast, to meddle with + it, but leave it (as we shall in general all such) to the reader, + remarking only that Chaos (according to Hesiod's [Footnote Greek: + Theogonia]), was the progenitor of all the gods.—<i>Scriblerus</i>.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-240" id="linknote-240"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 240 (<a href="#linknoteref-240">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Laborious, heavy, + busy, bold,' &c. I wonder the learned Scriblerus has omitted to + advertise the reader, at the opening of this poem, that Dulness here is + not to be taken contractedly for mere stupidity, but in the enlarged sense + of the word, for all slowness of apprehension, shortness of sight, or + imperfect sense of things. It includes (as we see by the poet's own words) + labour, industry, and some degree of activity and boldness—a ruling + principle not inert, but turning topsy-turvy the understanding, and + inducing an anarchy or confused state of mind. This remark ought to be + carried along with the reader throughout the work; and without this + caution he will be apt to mistake the importance of many of the + characters, as well as of the design of the poet. Hence it is, that some + have complained he chooses too mean a subject, and imagined he employs + himself like Domitian, in killing flies; whereas those who have the true + key will find he sports with nobler quarry, and embraces a larger compass; + or (as one saith, on a like occasion)— + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Will see his work, like Jacob's ladder, rise, + Its foot in dirt, its head amid the skies.'—<i>Bentl</i>.] +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-241" id="linknote-241"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 241 (<a href="#linknoteref-241">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Still her old empire + to restore.' This restoration makes the completion of the poem. <i>Vide</i> + Book iv.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-242" id="linknote-242"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 242 (<a href="#linknoteref-242">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Drapier, Bickerstaff, + or Gulliver!' the several names and characters he assumed in his + ludicrous, his splenetic, or his party-writings; which take in all his + works.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-243" id="linknote-243"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 243 (<a href="#linknoteref-243">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Or praise the court, + or magnify mankind:' <i>ironicè</i>, alluding to Gulliver's + representations of both. The next line relates to the papers of the + Drapier against the currency of Wood's copper coin in Ireland, which, upon + the great discontent of the people, his Majesty was graciously pleased to + recall.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-244" id="linknote-244"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 244 (<a href="#linknoteref-244">return</a>)<br /> [ 'By his famed father's + hand:' Mr Caius-Gabriel Cibber, father of the poet laureate. The two + statues of the lunatics over the gates of Bedlam Hospital were done by + him, and (as the son justly says of them) are no ill monuments of his fame + as an artist.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-245" id="linknote-245"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 245 (<a href="#linknoteref-245">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bag-fair' is a place + near the Tower of London, where old clothes and frippery are sold—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-246" id="linknote-246"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 246 (<a href="#linknoteref-246">return</a>)<br /> [ 'A yawning ruin hangs + and nods in air:'—Here in one bed two shivering sisters lie, The + cave of Poverty and Poetry.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-247" id="linknote-247"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 247 (<a href="#linknoteref-247">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Curll's chaste press, + and Lintot's rubric post:' two booksellers, of whom, see Book ii. The + former was fined by the Court of King's Bench for publishing obscene + books; the latter usually adorned his shop with titles in red letters.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-248" id="linknote-248"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 248 (<a href="#linknoteref-248">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Hence hymning Tyburn's + elegiac lines:' it is an ancient English custom for the malefactors to + sing a psalm at their execution at Tyburn, and no less customary to print + elegies on their deaths, at the same time, or before.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-249" id="linknote-249"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 249 (<a href="#linknoteref-249">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sepulchral lies:' is a + just satire on the flatteries and falsehoods admitted to be inscribed on + the walls of churches, in epitaphs, which occasioned the following + epigram:— + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Friend! in your epitaphs, I'm grieved, + So very much is said: + One-half will never be believed, + The other never read.'—W.] +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-250" id="linknote-250"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 250 (<a href="#linknoteref-250">return</a>)<br /> [ 'New-year odes:' made + by the poet laureate for the time being, to be sung at Court on every + New-Year's Day, the words of which are happily drowned in the voices and + instruments.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-251" id="linknote-251"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 251 (<a href="#linknoteref-251">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Jacob:' Tonson, the + well-known bookseller.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-252" id="linknote-252"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 252 (<a href="#linknoteref-252">return</a>)<br /> [ 'How farce and epic—how + Time himself,' allude to the transgressions of the unities in the plays of + such poets. For the miracles wrought upon time and place, and the mixture + of tragedy and comedy, farce and epic, see Pluto and Proserpine, Penelope, + &c., if yet extant.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-253" id="linknote-253"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 253 (<a href="#linknoteref-253">return</a>)<br /> [ ''Twas on the day, when + Thorold rich and grave, like Cimon, triumph'd:' viz., a Lord Mayor's day; + his name the author had left in blanks, but most certainly could never be + that which the editor foisted in formerly, and which no way agrees with + the chronology of the poem.—<i>Bentl</i>. The procession of a lord + mayor is made partly by land, and partly by water. Cimon, the famous + Athenian general, obtained a victory by sea, and another by land, on the + same day, over the Persians and Barbarians.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-254" id="linknote-254"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 254 (<a href="#linknoteref-254">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Glad chains:' The + ignorance of these moderns! This was altered in one edition to gold + chains, showing more regard to the metal of which the chains of aldermen + are made than to the beauty of the Latinism and Graecism—nay, of + figurative speech itself: <i>Loetas segetes</i>, glad, for making glad, + &c.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-255" id="linknote-255"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 255 (<a href="#linknoteref-255">return</a>)<br /> [ 'But lived, in Settle's + numbers, one day more:' a beautiful manner of speaking, usual with poets + in praise of poetry, in which kind nothing is finer than those lines of Mr + Addison:— + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng, + I look for streams immortalised in song, + That lost in silence and oblivion lie, + Dumb are their fountains, and their channels dry; + Yet run for over by the Muses' skill, + And in the smooth description murmur still.—P. +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + Settle was poet to the city of London. His office was to compose yearly + panegyrics upon the lord mayors, and verses to be spoken in the pageants. + But that part of the shows being at length frugally abolished, the + employment of city-poet ceased, so that upon Settle's demise there was no + successor to that place.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-256" id="linknote-256"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 256 (<a href="#linknoteref-256">return</a>)<br /> [ John Heywood, whose + interludes were printed in the time of Henry VIII.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-257" id="linknote-257"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 257 (<a href="#linknoteref-257">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Daniel Defoe,' a man + in worth and original genius incomparably superior to his defamer.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-258" id="linknote-258"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 258 (<a href="#linknoteref-258">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And Eusden eke out,' + &c.: Laurence Eusden, poet laureate. Mr Jacob gives a catalogue of + some few only of his works, which were very numerous. Mr Cook, in his + Battle of Poets, saith of him— + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Eusden, a laurell'd bard, by fortune raised, + By very few was read, by fewer praised.'—P.] +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-259" id="linknote-259"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 259 (<a href="#linknoteref-259">return</a>)<br /> [ Nahum Tate was poet + laureate, a cold writer, of no invention; but sometimes translated + tolerably when befriended by Mr Dryden. In his second part of Absalom and + Achitophel are above two hundred admirable lines together of that great + hand, which strongly shine through the insipidity of the rest. Something + parallel may be observed of another author here mentioned.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-260" id="linknote-260"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 260 (<a href="#linknoteref-260">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Dennis rage:' Mr John + Dennis was the son of a sadler in London, born in 1657. He paid court to + Mr Dryden; and having obtained some correspondence with Mr Wycherly and Mr + Congreve, he immediately obliged the public with their letters. He made + himself known to the Government by many admirable schemes and projects, + which the ministry, for reasons best known to themselves, constantly kept + private.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-261" id="linknote-261"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 261 (<a href="#linknoteref-261">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Shame to Fortune:' + because she usually shows favour to persons of this character, who have a + threefold pretence to it.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-262" id="linknote-262"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 262 (<a href="#linknoteref-262">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Poor Fletcher's + half-eat scenes:' a great number of them taken out to patch up his plays.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-263" id="linknote-263"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 263 (<a href="#linknoteref-263">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Tibbald:' this + Tibbald, or Theobald, published an edition of Shakspeare, of which he was + so proud himself as to say, in one of Mist's journals, June 8, 'That to + expose any errors in it was impracticable.' And in another, April 27, + 'That whatever care might for the future be taken by any other editor, he + would still give above five hundred emendations, that shall escape them + all.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-264" id="linknote-264"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 264 (<a href="#linknoteref-264">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Wish'd he had + blotted:' it was a ridiculous praise which the players gave to Shakspeare, + 'that he never blotted a line.' Ben Jonson honestly wished he had blotted + a thousand; and Shakspeare would certainly have wished the same, if he had + lived to see those alterations in his works, which, not the actors only + (and especially the daring hero of this poem) have made on the stage, but + the presumptuous critics of our days in their editions—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-265" id="linknote-265"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 265 (<a href="#linknoteref-265">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ogilby the great:' + 'John Ogilby was one who, from a late initiation into literature, made + such a progress as might well style him the prodigy of his time! sending + into the world so many large volumes. His translations of Homer and Virgil + done to the life, and with such excellent sculptures. And (what added + great grace to his works) he printed them all on special good paper, and + in a very good letter.'—Winstanly, Lives of Poets.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-266" id="linknote-266"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 266 (<a href="#linknoteref-266">return</a>)<br /> [ 'There, stamp'd with + arms, Newcastle shines complete:' Langbaine reckons up eight folios of the + Duchess of Newcastle's works, which were usually adorned with gilded + covers, and had her coat of arms upon them.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-267" id="linknote-267"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 267 (<a href="#linknoteref-267">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Worthy Settle, Banks, + and Broome:' the poet has mentioned these three authors in particular, as + they are parallel to our hero in his three capacities—1. Settle was + his brother laureate—only, indeed, upon half-pay, for the city + instead of the court; but equally famous for unintelligible flights in his + poems on public occasions, such as shows, birth-days, &c.; 2. Banks + was his rival in tragedy (though more successful) in one of his tragedies, + the Earl of Essex, which is yet alive: Anna Boleyn, the Queen of Scots, + and Cyrus the Great, are dead and gone. These he dressed in a sort of + beggar's velvet, or a happy mixture of the thick fustian and thin prosaic; + exactly imitated in Perolla and Isidora, Caesar in Egypt, and the Heroic + Daughter; 3. Broome was a serving-man of Ben Jonson, who once picked up a + comedy from his betters, or from some cast scenes of his master, not + entirely contemptible.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-268" id="linknote-268"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 268 (<a href="#linknoteref-268">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Caxton:' a printer in + the time of Edward IV., Richard III., and Henry VII.; Wynkyn de Worde, his + successor, in that of Henry VII. and VIII.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-269" id="linknote-269"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 269 (<a href="#linknoteref-269">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Nich. de Lyra:' or + Harpsfield, a very voluminous commentator, whose works, in five vast + folios, were printed in 1472.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-270" id="linknote-270"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 270 (<a href="#linknoteref-270">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Philemon Holland:' + doctor in physic. 'He translated so many books, that a man would think he + had done nothing else; insomuch that he might be called translator general + of his age. The books alone of his turning into English are sufficient to + make a country gentleman a complete library.'—Winstanly.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-271" id="linknote-271"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 271 (<a href="#linknoteref-271">return</a>)<br /> [ 'E'er since Sir + Fopling's periwig:' the first visible cause of the passion of the town for + our hero, was a fair flaxen full-bottomed periwig, which, he tells us, he + wore in his first play of the Fool in Fashion. It attracted, in a + particular manner, the friendship of Col. Brett, who wanted to purchase + it.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-272" id="linknote-272"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 272 (<a href="#linknoteref-272">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ridpath—Mist:' + George Ridpath, author of a Whig paper, called the Flying Post; Nathanael + Mist, of a famous Tory journal.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-273" id="linknote-273"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 273 (<a href="#linknoteref-273">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Rome's ancient geese:' + relates to the well-known story of the geese that saved the Capitol; of + which Virgil, Aen. VIII. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Atque hic auratis volitans argenteus anser + Porticibus, Gallos in limine adesse canebat.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + A passage I have always suspected. Who sees not the antithesis of <i>auratis</i> + and <i>argenteus</i> to be unworthy the Virgilian majesty? And what + absurdity to say a goose sings? <i>canebat</i>. Virgil gives a contrary + character of the voice of this silly bird, in Ecl. ix. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... 'argutos interstrepere anser olores.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + Read it, therefore, <i>adesse strepebat</i>. And why <i>auratis porticibus</i>? + does not the very verse preceding this inform us, + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Romuleoque recens horrebat regia culmo.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + Is this thatch in one line, and gold in another, consistent? I scruple not + (<i>repugnantibas omnibus manuscriptis</i>) to correct it <i>auritis</i>. + Horace uses the same epithet in the same sense.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-274" id="linknote-274"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 274 (<a href="#linknoteref-274">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bear and Fiddle:' see + 'Butler's Hudibras.'] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-275" id="linknote-275"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 275 (<a href="#linknoteref-275">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Gratis-given Bland—Sent + with a pass.' It was a practice so to give the Daily Gazetteer and + ministerial pamphlets (in which this Bland, Provost of Eton, was a + writer), and to send them post-free to all the towns in the kingdom.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-276" id="linknote-276"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 276 (<a href="#linknoteref-276">return</a>)<br /> [ 'With Ward, to + ape-and-monkey climes.' Edward Ward, a very voluminous poet in Hudibrastic + verse, but best known by the London Spy, in prose. He has of late years + kept a public-house in the City (but in a genteel way), and with his wit, + humour, and good liquor (ale) afforded his guests a pleasurable + entertainment, especially those of the High-Church party. Jacob, Lives of + Poets, vol. ii., p. 225. Great number of his works were yearly sold into + the plantations. Ward, in a book called Apollo's Maggot, declared this + account to be a great falsity, protesting that his public-house was not in + the City, but in Moorfields.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-277" id="linknote-277"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 277 (<a href="#linknoteref-277">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Tate, Shadwell:' two + of his predecessors in the Laurel.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-278" id="linknote-278"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 278 (<a href="#linknoteref-278">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The dear Nonjuror, + Moliere's old stubble:' a comedy threshed out of Moliere's Tartuffe, and + so much the translator's favourite, that he assures us all our author's + dislike to it could only arise from disaffection to the government: + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Qui meprise Cotin, n'estime point son roi, + Et n'a, selon Cotin, ni Dieu, ni foi, ni loi.'—Boil. +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + He assures us, that 'when he had the honour to kiss his Majesty's hand + upon presenting his dedication of it, he was graciously pleased, out of + his royal bounty, to order him two hundred pounds for it. And this he + doubts not grieved Mr P.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-279" id="linknote-279"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 279 (<a href="#linknoteref-279">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Thulè:' An unfinished + poem of that name, of which one sheet was printed many years ago, by Amb. + Philips, a northern author. It is a usual method of putting out a fire to + cast wet sheets upon it. Some critics have been of opinion that this sheet + was of the nature of the asbestos, which cannot be consumed by fire: but I + rather think it an allegorical allusion to the coldness and heaviness of + the writing.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-280" id="linknote-280"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 280 (<a href="#linknoteref-280">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Tibbald:' Lewis + Tibbald (as pronounced) or Theobald (as written) was bred an attorney, and + son to an attorney (says Mr Jacob) of Sittenburn, in Kent. He was author + of some forgotten plays, translations, and other pieces. He was concerned + in a paper called the Censor, and a Translation of Ovid. 'There is a + notorious idiot, one hight Whachum, who, from an under-spur-leather to the + law, is become an under-strapper to the play-house, who hath lately + burlesqued the Metamorphoses of Ovid by a vile translation, &c. This + fellow is concerned in an impertinent paper called the Censor.' Dennis, + Rem. on Pope's Hom. pp. 9, 10.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-281" id="linknote-281"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 281 (<a href="#linknoteref-281">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ozell:' 'Mr John Ozell + (if we credit Mr Jacob) did go to school in Leicestershire, where somebody + left him something to live on, when he shall retire from business. He was + designed to be sent to Cambridge, in order for priesthood; but he chose + rather to be placed in an office of accounts in the city, being qualified + for the same by his skill in arithmetic, and writing the necessary hands. + He has obliged the world with many translations of French plays.' Jacob, + Lives of Dram. Poets, p. 198.—P. Mr Jacob's character of Mr Ozell + seems vastly short of his merits, and he ought to have further justice + done him, having since fully confuted all sarcasms on his learning and + genius, by an advertisement of September 20, 1729, in a paper called the + Weekly Medley, &c. 'As to my learning, this envious wretch knew, and + everybody knows, that the whole bench of bishops, not long ago, were + pleased to give me a purse of guineas, for discovering the erroneous + translations of the Common Prayer in Portuguese, Spanish, French, Italian, + &c. As for my genius, let Mr Cleland show better verses in all Pope's + works than Ozell's version of Boileau's Lutrin, which the late Lord + Halifax was so pleased with, that he complimented him with leave to + dedicate it to him, &c. Let him show better and truer poetry in the + Rape of the Lock than in Ozell's Rape of the Bucket (La Secchia Rapita). + And Mr Toland and Mr Gildon publicly declared Ozell's translation of Homer + to be, as it was prior, so likewise superior to Pope's. Surely, surely, + every man is free to deserve well of his country.'—John Ozell. We + cannot but subscribe to such reverend testimonies as those of the bench of + bishops, Mr Toland, and Mr Gildon.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-282" id="linknote-282"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 282 (<a href="#linknoteref-282">return</a>)<br /> [ 'A heidegger:' a + strange bird from Switzerland, and not (as some have supposed) the name of + an eminent person who was a man of parts, and, as was said of Petronius, + <i>arbiter elegantiarum</i>.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-283" id="linknote-283"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 283 (<a href="#linknoteref-283">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Gildon:' Charles + Gildon, a writer of criticisms and libels of the last age, bred at St + Omer's with the Jesuits; but renouncing Popery, he published Blount's + books against the divinity of Christ, the Oracles of Reason, &c. He + signalised himself as a critic, having written some very bad plays, abused + Mr Pope very scandalously in an anonymous pamphlet of the Life of Mr + Wycherly, printed by Curll; in another, called the New Rehearsal, printed + in 1714; in a third, entitled the Complete Art of English Poetry, in two + volumes, and others.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-284" id="linknote-284"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 284 (<a href="#linknoteref-284">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Howard:' Hon. Edward + Howard, author of the British Princes, and a great number of wonderful + pieces, celebrated by the late Earls of Dorset and Rochester, Duke of + Buckingham, Mr Waller, &c.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-285" id="linknote-285"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 285 (<a href="#linknoteref-285">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Under Archer's wing—Gaming:' + when the statute against gaming was drawn up, it was represented that the + king, by ancient custom, plays at hazard one night in the year; and + therefore a clause was inserted, with an exception as to that particular. + Under this pretence, the groom-porter had a room appropriated to gaming + all the summer the court was at Kensington, which his Majesty, + accidentally being acquainted of, with a just indignation prohibited. It + is reported the same practice is yet continued wherever the court resides, + and the hazard table there open to all the professed gamesters in town. + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Greatest and justest sovereign! know ye this? + Alas! no more, than Thames' calm head can know + Whose meads his arms drown, or whose corn o'erflow.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + DONNE to QUEEN ELIZ.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-286" id="linknote-286"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 286 (<a href="#linknoteref-286">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Chapel-royal:' the + voices and instruments used in the service of the chapel-royal being also + employed in the performance of the Birth-day and New-year Odes.—<i>P</i>.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-287" id="linknote-287"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 287 (<a href="#linknoteref-287">return</a>)<br /> [ 'But pious Needham:' a + matron of great and peculiar fame, and very religious in her way.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-288" id="linknote-288"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 288 (<a href="#linknoteref-288">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Back to the Devil:' + the Devil Tavern in Fleet Street, where these odes are usually rehearsed + before they are performed at court.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-289" id="linknote-289"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 289 (<a href="#linknoteref-289">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ogilby—God save + King Log:' See Ogilby's Aesop's Fables, where, in the story of the Frogs + and their King, this excellent hemistich is to be found.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-290" id="linknote-290"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 290 (<a href="#linknoteref-290">return</a>)<br /> [ Sir George Thorald, + Lord Mayor of London in the year 1720.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-291" id="linknote-291"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 291 (<a href="#linknoteref-291">return</a>)<br /> [ 'A little Ajax:' in + duodecimo, translated from Sophocles by Tibhald.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-292" id="linknote-292"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 292 (<a href="#linknoteref-292">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Henley's gilt tub:' + the pulpit of a dissenter is usually called a tub; but that of Mr Orator + Henley was covered with velvet, and adorned with gold. He had also a fair + altar, and over it is this extraordinary inscription, 'The Primitive + Eucharist.' See the history of this person, book iii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-293" id="linknote-293"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 293 (<a href="#linknoteref-293">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Flecknoe's Irish + throne:' Richard Flecknoe was an Irish priest, but had laid aside (as + himself expressed it) the mechanic part of priesthood. He printed some + plays, poems, letters, and travels.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-294" id="linknote-294"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 294 (<a href="#linknoteref-294">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Or that whereon her + Curlls the public pours:' Edmund Curll stood in the pillory at Charing + Cross, in March 1727-8. 'This,' saith Edmund Curll, 'is a false assertion. + I had, indeed, the corporal punishment of what the gentlemen of the long + robe are pleased jocosely to call mounting the rostrum for one hour; but + that scene of action was not in the month of March, but in February' + (Curliad, 12mo, p. 19). And of the history of his being tossed in a + blanket, he saith—'Here, Scriblerus! thou leeseth in what thou + assertest concerning the blanket—it was not a blanket, but a rug,' + p. 25. Much in the same manner Mr Cibber remonstrated, that his brothers + at Bedlam, mentioned book i., were not brazen, but blocks; yet our author + let it pass unaltered, as a trifle that no way altered the relationship.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-295" id="linknote-295"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 295 (<a href="#linknoteref-295">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Rome in her Capitol + saw Querno sit:' Camillo Querno was of Apulia, who, hearing the great + encouragement which Leo X. gave to poets, travelled to Rome with a harp in + his hand, and sung to it twenty thousand verses of a poem called Alexias. + He was introduced as a buffoon to Leo, and promoted to the honour of the + laurel—a jest which the court of Rome and the pope himself entered + into so far as to cause him to ride on an elephant to the Capitol, and to + hold a solemn festival on his coronation, at which it is recorded the poet + himself was so transported as to weep for joy.[296: He was ever after a + constant frequenter of the pope's table, drank abundantly, and poured + forth verses without number. Paulus Jovius, Elog. Vir. doct. chap. lxxxii. + Some idea of his poetry is given by Fam. Strada, in his Prolusions.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-296" id="linknote-296"> </a> + </p> + + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-297" id="linknote-297"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 297 (<a href="#linknoteref-297">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Never was dash'd out, + at one lucky hit:' our author here seems willing to give some account of + the possibility of Dulness making a wit (which could be done no other way + than by chance). The fiction is the more reconciled to probability, by the + known story of Apelles, who being at a loss to express the foam of + Alexander's horse, dashed his pencil in despair at the picture, and + happened to do it by that fortunate stroke.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-298" id="linknote-298"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 298 (<a href="#linknoteref-298">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And call'd the phantom + More:' Curll, in his Key to the Dunciad, affirmed this to be James Moore + Smith, Esq., and it is probable (considering what is said of him in the + Testimonies) that some might fancy our author obliged to represent this + gentleman as a plagiary, or to pass for one himself. His case, indeed, was + like that of a man I have heard of, who, as he was sitting in company, + perceived his next neighbour had stolen his handkerchief. 'Sir,' said the + thief, finding himself detected, 'do not expose me, I did it for mere + want; be so good but to take it privately out of my pocket again, and say + nothing.' The honest man did so, but the other cried out, 'See, gentlemen, + what a thief we have among us! look, he is stealing my handkerchief!'—P.— + Moore was a notorious plagiarist.—It appears from hence, that this + is not the name of a real person, but fictitious. More, from [Greek: + moros], stultus, [Greek: moria], stultitia, to represent the folly of a + plagiary. Thus Erasmus, <i>Admonuit me Mori cognomen tibi, quod tam ad + Moriae vocabulum accedit quam es ipse a re alienus</i>. Dedication of + Moriae Encomium to Sir Tho. More; the farewell of which may be our + author's to his plagiary, <i>Vale, More! et moriam tuam gnaviter defende</i>. + Adieu, More! and be sure strongly to defend thy own folly! Scribl.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-299" id="linknote-299"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 299 (<a href="#linknoteref-299">return</a>)<br /> [ 'But lofty Lintot:' we + enter here upon the episode of the booksellers, persons whose names being + more known and famous in the learned world than those of the authors in + this poem, do therefore need less explanation. The action of Mr Lintot + here imitates that of Dares in Virgil, rising just in this manner to lay + hold on a bull. This eminent bookseller printed the Rival Modes + before-mentioned.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-300" id="linknote-300"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 300 (<a href="#linknoteref-300">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Stood dauntless + Curll:' we come now to a character of much respect, that of Mr Edmund + Curll. As a plain repetition of great actions is the best praise of them, + we shall only say of this eminent man, that he carried the trade many + lengths beyond what it ever before had arrived at; and that he was the + envy and admiration of all his profession. He possessed himself of a + command over all authors whatever; he caused them to write what he + pleased; they could not call their very names their own. He was not only + famous among these; he was taken notice of by the state, the church, and + the law, and received particular marks of distinction from each. It will + be owned that he is here introduced with all possible dignity: he speaks + like the intrepid Diomede; he runs like the swift-footed Achilles; if he + falls, 'tis like the beloved Nisus; and (what Homer makes to be the chief + of all praises) he is favoured of the gods; he says but three words, and + his prayer is heard; a goddess conveys it to the seat of Jupiter: though + he loses the prize, he gains the victory; the great mother herself + comforts him, she inspires him with expedients, she honours him with an + immortal present (such as Achilles receives from Thetis, and Aeneas from + Venus) at once instructive and prophetical: after this he is unrivalled + and triumphant. The tribute our author here pays him is a grateful return + for several unmerited obligations. Many weighty animadversions on the + public affairs, and many excellent and diverting pieces on private + persons, has he given to his name. If ever he owed two verses to any + other, he owed Mr Curll some thousands. He was every day extending his + fame, and enlarging his writings: witness innumerable instances; but it + shall suffice only to mention the Court Poems, which he meant to publish + as the work of the true writer, a lady of quality; but being first + threatened, and afterwards punished for it by Mr Pope, he generously + transferred it from her to him, and ever since printed it in his name. The + single time that ever he spoke to C. was on that affair, and to that happy + incident he owed all the favours since received from him: so true is the + saying of Dr Sydenham, 'that any one shall be, at some time or other, the + better or the worse for having but seen or spoken to a good or bad man.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-301" id="linknote-301"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 301 (<a href="#linknoteref-301">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Left-legged Jacob:' + Jacob Tonson.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-302" id="linknote-302"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 302 (<a href="#linknoteref-302">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Curll's Corinna:' this + name, it seems, was taken by one Mrs T——, who procured some + private letters of Mr Pope, while almost a boy, to Mr Cromwell, and sold + them without the consent of either of those gentleman to Curll, who + printed them in 12mo, 1727. He discovered her to be the publisher, in his + Key, p. 11. We only take this opportunity of mentioning the manner in + which those letters got abroad, which the author was ashamed of as very + trivial things, full not only of levities, but of wrong judgments of men + and books, and only excusable from the youth and inexperience of the + writer.—P.—See Life.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-303" id="linknote-303"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 303 (<a href="#linknoteref-303">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Down with the Bible, + up with the Pope's Arms:' the Bible, Curll's sign; the Cross-keys, + Lintot's.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-304" id="linknote-304"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 304 (<a href="#linknoteref-304">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Seas:' see Lucian's + Icaro-Menippus, where this fiction is more extended.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-305" id="linknote-305"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 305 (<a href="#linknoteref-305">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Evans, Young, and + Swift:' some of those persons whose writings, epigrams, or jests he had + owned.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-306" id="linknote-306"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 306 (<a href="#linknoteref-306">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bezaleel:' Bezaleel + Morris was author of some satires on the translators of Homer, with many + other things printed in newspapers. 'Bond wrote a satire against Mr P——. + Capt. Breval was author of the Confederates, an ingenious dramatic + performance to expose Mr P., Mr Gay, Dr Arb., and some ladies of quality,' + says Curll, Key, p. 11.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-307" id="linknote-307"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 307 (<a href="#linknoteref-307">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Joseph:' Joseph Gay, a + fictitious name put by Curll before several pamphlets, which made them + pass with many for Mr Gay's.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-308" id="linknote-308"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 308 (<a href="#linknoteref-308">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And turn this whole + illusion on the town:' it was a common practice of this bookseller to + publish vile pieces of obscure hands under the names of eminent authors.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-309" id="linknote-309"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 309 (<a href="#linknoteref-309">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Cook shall be Prior:' + the man here specified wrote a thing called the Battle of the Poets, in + which Philips and Welsted were the heroes, and Swift and Pope utterly + routed. He also published some malevolent things in the British, London, + and Daily journals; and at the same time wrote letters to Mr Pope + protesting his innocence. His chief work was a translation of Hesiod, to + which Theobald wrote notes and half-notes, which he carefully owned.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-310" id="linknote-310"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 310 (<a href="#linknoteref-310">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Rueful length of + face:' 'the decrepit person or figure of a man are no reflections upon his + genius; an honest mind will love and esteem a man of worth, though he be + deformed or poor. Yet the author of the Dunciad hath libelled a person for + his rueful length of face!'—Mist's Journal, June 8. This genius and + man of worth, whom an honest mind should love, is Mr Curll. True it is he + stood in the pillory, an incident which would lengthen the face of any man + though it were ever so comely, therefore is no reflection on the natural + beauty of Mr Curll. But as to reflections on any man's face or figure Mr + Dennis saith excellently: 'Natural deformity comes not by our fault; 'tis + often occasioned by calamities and diseases, which a man can no more help + than a monster can his deformity. There is no one misfortune and no one + disease but what all the rest of mankind are subject to. But the deformity + of this author is visible, present, lasting, unalterable, and peculiar to + himself. 'Tis the mark of God and nature upon him, to give us warning that + we should hold no society with him, as a creature not of our original, nor + of our species; and they who have refused to take this warning which God + and nature have given them, and have, in spite of it, by a senseless + presumption, ventured to be familiar with him, have severely suffered, + &c. 'Tis certain his original is not from Adam, but from the Devil,' + &c.—Dennis, Character of Mr P., octavo, 1716. Admirably it is + observed by Mr Dennis against Mr Law, p. 33, 'That the language of + Billingsgate can never be the language of charity, nor consequently of + Christianity.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-311" id="linknote-311"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 311 (<a href="#linknoteref-311">return</a>)<br /> [ 'On Codrus' old, or + Dunton's modern bed:' of Codrus the poet's bed, see Juvenal, describing + his poverty very copiously, Sat. iii. ver. 103, &c. John Dunton was a + broken bookseller, and abusive scribbler. He wrote Neck or Nothing, a + violent satire on some ministers of state; a libel on the Duke of + Devonshire, and the Bishop of Peterborough, &c.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-312" id="linknote-312"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 312 (<a href="#linknoteref-312">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And Tutchin flagrant + from the scourge:' John Tutchin, author of some vile verses, and of a + weekly paper called the Observator. He was sentenced to be whipped through + several towns in the west of England, upon which he petitioned King James + II. to be hanged. When that prince died in exile, he wrote an invective + against his memory, occasioned by some humane elegies on his death. He + lived to the time of Queen Anne.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-313" id="linknote-313"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 313 (<a href="#linknoteref-313">return</a>)<br /> [ 'There Ridpath, Roper:' + authors of the Flying-post and Post-boy, two scandalous papers on + different sides, for which they equally and alternately deserved to be + cudgelled, and were so.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-314" id="linknote-314"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 314 (<a href="#linknoteref-314">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Himself among the + storied chiefs he spies:' the history of Curll's being tossed in a blanket + and whipped by the scholars of Westminster is well known.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-315" id="linknote-315"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 315 (<a href="#linknoteref-315">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Eliza:' Eliza Haywood. + This woman was authoress of those most scandalous books called the Court + of Carimania, and the New Utopia.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-316" id="linknote-316"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 316 (<a href="#linknoteref-316">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Kirkall:' the name of + an engraver. Some of this lady's works were printed in four volumes in + 12mo, with her picture thus dressed up before them.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-317" id="linknote-317"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 317 (<a href="#linknoteref-317">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Osborne, Thomas;' a + bookseller in Gray's Inn, very well qualified by his impudence to act this + part; and therefore placed here instead of a less deserving predecessor. + This man published advertisements for a year together, pretending to sell + Mr Pope's subscription books of Homer's Iliad at half the price. Of which + books he had none, but cut to the size of them (which was quarto) the + common books in folio, without copperplates, on a worse paper, and never + above half the value.—P. This was the man Johnson knocked down.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-318" id="linknote-318"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 318 (<a href="#linknoteref-318">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Rolli:' Paolo Antonio + Rolli, an Italian poet, and writer of many operas in that language, which, + partly by the help of his genius, prevailed in England near twenty years. + He taught Italian to some fine gentlemen, who affected to direct the + operas.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-319" id="linknote-319"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 319 (<a href="#linknoteref-319">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bentley:' this applies + not to Richard but to Thomas Bentley, his nephew, and a small imitator of + his great uncle.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-320" id="linknote-320"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 320 (<a href="#linknoteref-320">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Welsted:' Leonard + Welsted, author of the Triumvirate, or a Letter in verse from Palaemon to + Celia at Bath, which was meant for a satire on Mr P. and some of his + friends about the year 1718.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-321" id="linknote-321"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 321 (<a href="#linknoteref-321">return</a>)<br /> [ 'With thunder rumbling + from the mustard bowl:' the old way of making thunder and mustard were the + same; but since it is more advantageously performed by troughs of wood + with stops in them. Whether Mr Dennis was the inventor of that + improvement, I know not; but it is certain that being once at a tragedy of + a new author, he fell into a great passion at hearing some, and cried, + ''Sdeath! that is <i>my</i> thunder.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-322" id="linknote-322"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 322 (<a href="#linknoteref-322">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Norton:' see ver. 417.—J. + Durant Breval, author of a very extra-ordinary Book of Travels, and some + poems.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-323" id="linknote-323"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 323 (<a href="#linknoteref-323">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Webster:' the editor + of a newspaper called the Weekly Miscellany.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-324" id="linknote-324"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 324 (<a href="#linknoteref-324">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Whitfield:' the great + preacher—what a contrast to his satirist!] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-325" id="linknote-325"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 325 (<a href="#linknoteref-325">return</a>)<br /> [ 'As morning prayer, and + flagellation end:' it is between eleven and twelve in the morning, after + church service, that the criminals are whipped in Bridewell. This is to + mark punctually the time of the day: Homer does it by the circumstance of + the judges rising from court, or of the labourers' dinner; our author by + one very proper both to the persons and the scene of his poem, which we + may remember commenced in the evening of the Lord-mayor's day. The first + book passed in that night; the next morning the games begin in the Strand; + thence along Fleet Street (places inhabited by booksellers); then they + proceed by Bridewell towards Fleet-ditch; and, lastly, through Ludgate to + the City and the temple of the goddess.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-326" id="linknote-326"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 326 (<a href="#linknoteref-326">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Dash through thick and + thin—love of dirt—dark dexterity:' the three chief + qualifications of party-writers: to stick at nothing, to delight in + flinging dirt, and to slander in the dark by guess.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-327" id="linknote-327"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 327 (<a href="#linknoteref-327">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The weekly journals:' + papers of news and scandal intermixed, on different sides and parties, and + frequently shifting from one side to the other, called the London Journal, + British Journal, Daily Journal, &c., the concealed writers of which + for some time were Oldmixon, Roome, Arnall, Concanen, and others; persons + never seen by our author.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-328" id="linknote-328"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 328 (<a href="#linknoteref-328">return</a>)<br /> [ 'A peck of coals + a-piece:' our indulgent poet, whenever he has spoken of any dirty or low + work, constantly puts us in mind of the poverty of the offenders, as the + only extenuation of such practices. Let any one but remark, when a thief, + a pickpocket, a highwayman, or a knight of the post are spoken of, how + much our hate to those characters is lessened, if they add a needy thief, + a poor pickpocket, a hungry highwayman, a starving knight of the post, + &c.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-329" id="linknote-329"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 329 (<a href="#linknoteref-329">return</a>)<br /> [ 'In naked majesty + Oldmixon stands:' Mr John Oldmixon, next to Sir Dennis the most ancient + critic of our nation.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-330" id="linknote-330"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 330 (<a href="#linknoteref-330">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Next Smedley dived:' + the person here mentioned, an Irishman, was author and publisher of many + scurrilous pieces, a weekly Whitehall journal, in the year 1722, in the + name of Sir James Baker; and particularly whole volumes of Billingsgate + against Dr Swift and Mr Pope, called Gulliveriana and Alexandriana, + printed in octavo, 1728.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-331" id="linknote-331"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 331 (<a href="#linknoteref-331">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Aaron Hill:' see + life.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-332" id="linknote-332"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 332 (<a href="#linknoteref-332">return</a>)<br /> [ 'With each a sickly + brother at his back: sons of a day, &c:' these were daily papers, a + number of which, to lessen the expense, were printed one on the back of + another.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-333" id="linknote-333"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 333 (<a href="#linknoteref-333">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Osborne:' a name + assumed by the eldest and gravest of these writers, who at last, being + ashamed of his pupils, gave his paper over, and in his age remained + silent.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-334" id="linknote-334"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 334 (<a href="#linknoteref-334">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Gazetteers:' temporary + journals, the ephemerals of the then press, the spawn of the minister of + the hour, 'born and dying with the <i>foul</i> breath that made them.'] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-335" id="linknote-335"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 335 (<a href="#linknoteref-335">return</a>)<br /> [ 'William Arnall:' bred + an attorney, was a perfect genius in this sort of work. He began under + twenty with furious party-papers; then succeeded Concanen in the 'British + Journal.' At the first publication of the 'Dunciad,' he prevailed on the + author not to give him his due place in it, by a letter professing his + detestation of such practices as his predecessor's. But since, by the most + unexampled insolence, and personal abuse of several great men, the poet's + particular friends, he most amply deserved a niche in the temple of + infamy: witness a paper, called the 'Free Briton;' a dedication entitled, + 'To the genuine blunderer,' 1732, and many others. He wrote for hire, and + valued himself upon it; not indeed without cause, it appearing that he + received 'for Free Britons, and other writings, in the space of four + years, no less than ten thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven pounds, six + shillings, and eight pence, out of the Treasury.' But frequently, through + his fury or folly, he exceeded all the bounds of his commission, and + obliged his honourable patron to disavow his scurrilities.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-336" id="linknote-336"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 336 (<a href="#linknoteref-336">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The plunging prelate:' + Bishop Sherlock.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-337" id="linknote-337"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 337 (<a href="#linknoteref-337">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And Milbourn:' Luke + Milbourn, a clergyman, the fairest of critics, who, when he wrote against + Mr Dryden's Virgil, did him justice in printing at the same time his own + translations of him, which were intolerable.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-338" id="linknote-338"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 338 (<a href="#linknoteref-338">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Lud's famed gates:' + 'King Lud, repairing the city, called it after his own name, Lud's Town; + the strong gate which he built in the west part he likewise, for his own + honour, named Ludgate. In the year 1260, this gate was beautified with + images of Lud and other kings. Those images in the reign of Edward VI. had + their heads smitten off, and were otherwise defaced by unadvised folks. + Queen Mary did set new heads upon their old bodies again. The 28th of + Queen Elizabeth, the same gate was clean taken down, and newly and + beautifully builded, with images of Lud and others, as afore.' Stowe's + Survey of London.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-339" id="linknote-339"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 339 (<a href="#linknoteref-339">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Thrice Budgell aim'd + to speak:' famous for his speeches on many occasions about the South Sea + Scheme, &c. 'He is a very ingenious gentleman, and hath written some + excellent Epilogues to Plays, and one small piece on Love, which is very + pretty.' Jacob, Lives of Poets, vol. ii. p. 289. But this gentleman since + made himself much more eminent, and personally well known to the greatest + statesmen of all parties, as well as to all the courts of law in this + nation.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-340" id="linknote-340"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 340 (<a href="#linknoteref-340">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Toland and Tindal:' + two persons, not so happy as to be obscure, who wrote against the religion + of their country. Toland, the author of the Atheist's liturgy, called + 'Pantheisticon,' was a spy, in pay to Lord Oxford. Tindal was author of + the 'Rights of the Christian Church,' and 'Christianity as Old as the + Creation.' He also wrote an abusive pamphlet against Earl S——, + which was suppressed, while yet in MS., by an eminent person, then out of + the ministry, to whom he showed it, expecting his approbation: this doctor + afterwards published the same piece, <i>mutatis mutandis</i>, against that + very person.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-341" id="linknote-341"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 341 (<a href="#linknoteref-341">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Christ's no kingdom + here:' this is said by Curll, Key to Dunc., to allude to a sermon of a + reverend Bishop (Hoadley).—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-342" id="linknote-342"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 342 (<a href="#linknoteref-342">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Centlivre:' Mrs + Susanna Centlivre, wife to Mr Centlivre, Yeoman of the Mouth to his + Majesty. She wrote many plays, and a song (says Mr Jacob, vol. i. p. 32) + before she was seven years old. She also wrote a ballad against Mr Pope's + Homer, before he began it.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-343" id="linknote-343"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 343 (<a href="#linknoteref-343">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Motteux:' translator + of Don Quixote.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-344" id="linknote-344"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 344 (<a href="#linknoteref-344">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Boyer the state, and + Law the stage gave o'er:' A. Boyer, a voluminous compiler of annals, + political collections, &c.—William Law, A.M., wrote with great + zeal against the stage; Mr Dennis answered with as great.—P. William + Law was an extraordinary man. His 'Serious Call' made Dr Johnson + religious. He became mystical in his views.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-345" id="linknote-345"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 345 (<a href="#linknoteref-345">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Morgan:' a writer + against religion.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-346" id="linknote-346"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 346 (<a href="#linknoteref-346">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Mandeville:' the + famous author of the 'Fable of the Bees.'] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-347" id="linknote-347"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 347 (<a href="#linknoteref-347">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Norton:' Norton Defoe, + natural offspring of the famous Daniel. He edited the 'Flying Post,' and + was a detractor of Pope.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-348" id="linknote-348"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 348 (<a href="#linknoteref-348">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Taylor:' John Taylor, + the water-poet, an honest man, who owns he learned not so much as the + Accidence—a rare example of modesty in a poet! + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'I must confess I do want eloquence, + And never scarce did learn my Accidence; + For having got from <i>possum</i> to <i>posset</i>, + I there was gravell'd, could no further get.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + He wrote fourscore books in the reign of James I. and Charles I., and + afterwards (like Edward Ward) kept an ale-house in Long-Acre. He died in + 1654.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-349" id="linknote-349"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 349 (<a href="#linknoteref-349">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Benlowes:' a country + gentleman, famous for his own bad poetry, and for patronising bad poets, + as may be seen from many dedications of Quarles and others to him. Some of + these anagrammed his name, Benlowes, into Benevolus; to verify which, he + spent his whole estate upon them.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-350" id="linknote-350"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 350 (<a href="#linknoteref-350">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And Shadwell nods the + poppy:' Shadwell took opium for many years, and died of too large a dose, + in the year 1692.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-351" id="linknote-351"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 351 (<a href="#linknoteref-351">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Old Bavius sits:' + Bavius was an ancient poet, celebrated by Virgil for the like cause as + Bayes by our author, though not in so Christian-like a manner: for + heathenishly it is declared by Virgil of Bavius, that he ought to be hated + and detested for his evil works; <i>qui Bavium non odit</i>; whereas we + have often had occasion to observe our poet's great good nature and + mercifulness through the whole course of this poem. Scribl.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-352" id="linknote-352"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 352 (<a href="#linknoteref-352">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Brown and Mears:' + booksellers, printers for anybody.—The allegory of the souls of the + dull coming forth in the form of books, dressed in calf's leather, and + being let abroad in vast numbers by booksellers, is sufficiently + intelligible.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-353" id="linknote-353"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 353 (<a href="#linknoteref-353">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ward in pillory:' John + Ward of Hackney, Esq., member of parliament, being convicted of forgery, + was first expelled the House, and then sentenced to the pillory on the + 17th of February 1727. Mr Curll (having likewise stood there) looks upon + the mention of such a gentleman in a satire as a great act of barbarity. + Key to the Dunc., 3d edit. p. 16. And another author reasons thus upon it: + Durgen., 8vo, pp. 11, 12, 'How unworthy is it of Christian charity to + animate the rabble to abuse a worthy man in such a situation? What could + move the poet thus to mention a brave sufferer, a gallant prisoner, + exposed to the view of all mankind? It was laying aside his senses, it was + committing a crime, for which the law is deficient not to punish him! nay, + a crime which man can scarce forgive or time efface! Nothing surely could + have induced him to it but being bribed by a great lady,' &c. (to whom + this brave, honest, worthy gentleman was guilty of no offence but forgery, + proved in open court). But it is evident this verse could not be meant of + him, it being notorious that no eggs were thrown at that gentleman. + Perhaps, therefore, it might be intended of Mr Edward Ward, the poet, when + he stood there.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-354" id="linknote-354"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 354 (<a href="#linknoteref-354">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Settle:' Elkanah + Settle was once a writer in vogue, as well as Cibber, both for dramatic + poetry and politics.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-355" id="linknote-355"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 355 (<a href="#linknoteref-355">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Monarch:' Chi + Ho-am-ti, Emperor of China, the same who built the great wall between + China and Tartary, destroyed all the books and learned men of that empire.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-356" id="linknote-356"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 356 (<a href="#linknoteref-356">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Physic of the soul:' + the caliph, Omar I., having conquered Egypt, caused his general to burn + the Ptolemaean library, on the gates of which was this inscription, + [Greek: PSYCHES IATREION], the Physic of the soul.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-357" id="linknote-357"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 357 (<a href="#linknoteref-357">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Happy!—had + Easter never been:' wars in England anciently, about the right time of + celebrating Easter.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-358" id="linknote-358"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 358 (<a href="#linknoteref-358">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Jacob, the scourge of + grammar, mark with awe:' this gentleman is son of a considerable maltster + of Romsey in Southamptonshire, and bred to the law under a very eminent + attorney; who, between his more laborious studies, has diverted himself + with poetry. He is a great admirer of poets and their works, which has + occasioned him to try his genius that way. He has wrote in prose the Lives + of the Poets, Essays, and a great many law-books, The Accomplished + Conveyancer, Modern Justice, &c.' Giles Jacob of himself, Lives of + Poets, vol. i. He very grossly, and unprovoked, abused in that book the + author's friend, Mr Gay.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-359" id="linknote-359"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 359 (<a href="#linknoteref-359">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Horneck and Roome:' + these two were virulent party-writers, worthily coupled together, and one + would think prophetically, since, after the publishing of this piece, the + former dying, the latter succeeded him in honour and employment. The first + was Philip Horneck, author of a Billingsgate paper called The High German + Doctor. Edward Roome was son of an undertaker for funerals in Fleet + Street, and wrote some of the papers called Pasquin, where by malicious + innuendos he endeavoured to represent our author guilty of malevolent + practices with a great man then under prosecution of Parliament. Of this + man was made the following epigram: + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'You ask why Roome diverts you with his jokes, + Yet if he writes, is dull as other folks? + You wonder at it. This, sir, is the case, + The jest is lost unless he prints his face.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + Popple was the author of some vile plays and pamphlets. He published + abuses on our author in a paper called the Prompter.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-360" id="linknote-360"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 360 (<a href="#linknoteref-360">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Goode:' an ill-natured + critic, who wrote a satire on our author, called The Mock Aesop, and many + anonymous libels in newspapers for hire.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-361" id="linknote-361"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 361 (<a href="#linknoteref-361">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ralph:' James Ralph, a + name inserted after the first editions, not known to our author till he + writ a swearing-piece called Sawney, very abusive of Dr Swift, Mr Gay, and + himself. These lines allude to a thing of his, entitled Night, a Poem. + This low writer attended his own works with panegyrics in the journals, + and once in particular praised himself highly above Mr Addison, in + wretched remarks upon that author's account of English Poets, printed in a + London journal, September 1728. He was wholly illiterate, and knew no + language, not even French. Being advised to read the rules of dramatic + poetry before he began a play, he smiled and replied, 'Shakspeare wrote + without rules.' He ended at last in the common sink of all such writers, a + political newspaper, to which he was recommended by his friend Arnall, and + received a small pittance for pay.—P. B. Franklin seems to have + thought that his friend Ralph was alluded to here. See his Autobiography.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-362" id="linknote-362"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 362 (<a href="#linknoteref-362">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Behold yon pair:' one + of these was author of a weekly paper called The Grumbler, as the other + was concerned in another called Pasquin, in which Mr Pope was abused with + the Duke of Buckingham and Bishop of Rochester. They also joined in a + piece against his first undertaking to translate the Iliad, entitled + Homerides, by Sir Iliad Doggrel, printed 1715.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-363" id="linknote-363"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 363 (<a href="#linknoteref-363">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Wormius hight:' let + not this name, purely fictitious, be conceited to mean the learned Olaus + Wormius; much less (as it was unwarrantably foisted into the surreptitious + editions) our own antiquary, Mr Thomas Hearne, who had no way aggrieved + our poet, but, on the contrary, published many curious tracts which he + hath to his great contentment perused.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-364" id="linknote-364"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 364 (<a href="#linknoteref-364">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Lo! Henley stands,' + &c.: J. Henley, the orator; he preached on the Sundays upon + theological matters, and on the Wednesdays upon all other sciences. Each + auditor paid one shilling. He declaimed some years against the greatest + persons, and occasionally did our author that honour.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-365" id="linknote-365"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 365 (<a href="#linknoteref-365">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sherlock, Hare, + Gibson:' bishops of Salisbury, Chichester, and London, whose Sermons and + Pastoral Letters did honour to their country as well as stations.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-366" id="linknote-366"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 366 (<a href="#linknoteref-366">return</a>)<br /> [ Of Toland and Tindal, + see book ii. Thomas Woolston was an impious madman, who wrote in a most + insolent style against the miracles of the Gospel, in the year 1726, &c.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-367" id="linknote-367"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 367 (<a href="#linknoteref-367">return</a>)<br /> [ 'A sable sorcerer:' Dr + Faustus, the subject of a set of farces, which, lasted in vogue two or + three seasons, in which both playhouses strove to outdo each other for + some years.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-368" id="linknote-368"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 368 (<a href="#linknoteref-368">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Hell rises, Heaven + descends, and dance on earth:' this monstrous absurdity was actually + represented in Tibbald's Rape of Proserpine.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-369" id="linknote-369"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 369 (<a href="#linknoteref-369">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Lo! one vast egg:' in + another of these farces, Harlequin is hatched upon the stage, out of a + large egg.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-370" id="linknote-370"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 370 (<a href="#linknoteref-370">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Immortal Rich:' Mr + John Rich, master of the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, was the first + that excelled this way.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-371" id="linknote-371"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 371 (<a href="#linknoteref-371">return</a>)<br /> [ Booth and Cibber were + joint managers of the Theatre in Drury Lane.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-372" id="linknote-372"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 372 (<a href="#linknoteref-372">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Though long my party:' + Settle, like most party-writers, was very uncertain in his political + principles. He was employed to hold the pen in the character of a popish + successor, but afterwards printed his narrative on the other side. He had + managed the ceremony of a famous pope-burning on Nov. 17, 1680, then + became a trooper in King James's army, at Hounslow Heath. After the + Revolution he kept a booth at Bartholomew Fair, where, in the droll called + St George for England, he acted in his old age in a dragon of green + leather of his own invention; he was at last taken into the Charter-house, + and there died, aged sixty years.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-373" id="linknote-373"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 373 (<a href="#linknoteref-373">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Polypheme:' he + translated the Italian Opera of Polifemo, but unfortunately lost the whole + gist of the story. The Cyclops asks Ulysses his name who tells him his + name is Noman. After his eye is put out, he roars and calls the brother + Cyclops to his aid: they inquire who has hurt him? he answers Noman; + whereupon they all go away again. Our ingenious translator made Ulysses + answer, 'I take no name,' whereby all that followed became unintelligible. + Hence it appears that Mr Gibber (who values himself on subscribing to the + English translation of Homer's Iliad) had not that merit with respect to + the Odyssey, or he might have been better instructed in the Greek + Punology.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-374" id="linknote-374"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 374 (<a href="#linknoteref-374">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Faustus, Pluto,' &c.: + names of miserable farces, which it was the custom to act at the end of + the best tragedies, to spoil the digestion of the audience.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-375" id="linknote-375"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 375 (<a href="#linknoteref-375">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ensure it but from + fire:' in Tibbald's farce of Proserpine, a corn-field was set on fire; + whereupon the other play-house had a barn burned down for the recreation + of the spectators. They also rivalled each other in showing the burnings + of hell fire, in Dr Faustus.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-376" id="linknote-376"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 376 (<a href="#linknoteref-376">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Another Æschylus + appears:' it is reported of Æschylus, that when his tragedy of the Furies + was acted, the audience were so terrified that the children fell into + fits, and the big-bellied women miscarried.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-377" id="linknote-377"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 377 (<a href="#linknoteref-377">return</a>)<br /> [ 'On poets' tombs see + Benson's titles writ:' W——-m Benson (surveyor of the buildings + to his Majesty King George I.) gave in a report to the Lords, that their + house and the painted-chamber adjoining were in immediate danger of + falling. Whereupon the Lords met in a committee to appoint some other + place to sit in, while the house should be taken down. But it being + proposed to cause some other builders first to inspect it, they found it + in very good condition. The Lords, upon this, were going upon an address + to the king against Benson for such a misrepresentation; but the Earl of + Sunderland, then secretary, gave them an assurance that his Majesty would + remove him, which was done accordingly. In favour of this man, the famous + Sir Christopher Wren, who had been architect to the Crown for above fifty + years, who built most of the churches in London, laid the first stone of + St Paul's, and lived to finish it, had been displaced from his employment + at the age of nearly ninety years.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-378" id="linknote-378"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 378 (<a href="#linknoteref-378">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ambrose Philips:' 'he + was,' saith Mr Jacob, 'one of the wits at Button's, and a justice of the + peace.'—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-379" id="linknote-379"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 379 (<a href="#linknoteref-379">return</a>)<br /> [ 'While Jones' and + Boyle's united labours fall:' at the time when this poem was written, the + banqueting-house of Whitehall, the church and piazza of Covent Garden, and + the palace and chapel of Somerset House, the works of the famous Inigo + Jones, had been for many years so neglected as to be in danger of ruin. + The portico of Covent Garden church had been just then restored and + beautified at the expense of the Earl of Burlington, who, at the same + time, by his publication of the designs of that great master and Palladio, + as well as by many noble buildings of his own, revived the true taste of + architecture in this kingdom.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-380" id="linknote-380"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 380 (<a href="#linknoteref-380">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Mad Máthesis:' + alluding to the strange conclusions some mathematicians have deduced from + their principles, concerning the real quantity of matter, the reality of + space, &c.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-381" id="linknote-381"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 381 (<a href="#linknoteref-381">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Pure space:' i.e. pure + and defaecated from matter. 'Ecstatic stare:' the action of men who look + about with full assurance of seeing what does not exist, such as those who + expect to find space a real being.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-382" id="linknote-382"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 382 (<a href="#linknoteref-382">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Running round the + circle, finds it square:' regards the wild and fruitless attempts of + squaring the circle.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-383" id="linknote-383"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 383 (<a href="#linknoteref-383">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Nor couldst thou,' + &c.: this noble person in the year 1737, when the act aforesaid was + brought into the House of Lords, opposed it in an excellent speech (says + Mr Cibber), 'with a lively spirit, and uncommon eloquence.' This speech + had the honour to be answered by the said Mr Cibber, with a lively spirit + also, and in a manner very uncommon, in the 8th chapter of his Life and + Manners.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-384" id="linknote-384"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 384 (<a href="#linknoteref-384">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Harlot form:' the + attitude given to this phantom represents the nature and genius of the + Italian Opera; its affected airs, its effeminate sounds, and the practice + of patching up these operas with favourite songs, incoherently put + together. These things were supported by the subscriptions of the + nobility. This circumstance, that Opera should prepare for the opening of + the grand sessions, was prophesied of in book iii. ver. 304, + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Already Opera prepares the way, + The sure forerunner of her gentle sway.' +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <h3> + P. W.] + </h3> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-385" id="linknote-385"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 385 (<a href="#linknoteref-385">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Division reign:' + alluding to the false taste of playing tricks in music with numberless + divisions, to the neglect of that harmony which conforms to the sense, and + applies to the passions. Mr Handel had introduced a great number of hands, + and more variety of instruments into the orchestra, and employed even + drums and cannon to make a fuller chorus; which proved so much too manly + for the fine gentlemen of his age, that he was obliged to remove his music + into Ireland. After which they were reduced, for want of composers, to + practise the patch-work above mentioned.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-386" id="linknote-386"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 386 (<a href="#linknoteref-386">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Chromatic:' that + species of the ancient music called the Chromatic was a variation and + embellishment, in odd irregularities, of the diatonic kind. They say it + was invented about the time of Alexander, and that the Spartans forbad the + use of it, as languid and effeminate.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-387" id="linknote-387"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 387 (<a href="#linknoteref-387">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Wake the dull church, + and lull the ranting stage:' i.e. dissipate the devotion of the one by + light and wanton airs; and subdue the pathos of the other by recitative + and sing-song.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-388" id="linknote-388"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 388 (<a href="#linknoteref-388">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Narcissus:' Lord + Hervey.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-389" id="linknote-389"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 389 (<a href="#linknoteref-389">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bold Benson:' this man + endeavoured to raise himself to fame by erecting monuments, striking + coins, setting up heads, and procuring translations of Milton; and + afterwards by as great passion for Arthur Johnston, a Scotch physician's + version of the Psalms, of which he printed many fine editions. See more of + him, book iii. v. 325.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-390" id="linknote-390"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 390 (<a href="#linknoteref-390">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The decent knight:' + Sir Thomas Hanmer, who was about to publish a very pompous edition of a + great author, at his own expense.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-391" id="linknote-391"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 391 (<a href="#linknoteref-391">return</a>)<br /> [ 'So by each bard an + alderman,' &c.: alluding to the monument of Butler erected by Alderman + Barber.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-392" id="linknote-392"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 392 (<a href="#linknoteref-392">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The Samian letter:' + the letter Y, used by Pythagoras as an emblem of the different roads of + Virtue and Vice.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 'Et tibi quae Samios diduxit litera ramos.'—Pers. P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-393" id="linknote-393"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 393 (<a href="#linknoteref-393">return</a>)<br /> [ 'House or Hall:' + Westminster Hall and the House of Commons.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-394" id="linknote-394"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 394 (<a href="#linknoteref-394">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Master-piece of man:' + viz., an epigram. The famous Dr South declared a perfect epigram to be as + difficult a performance as an epic poem. And the critics say, 'An epic + poem is the greatest work human nature is capable of.'—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-395" id="linknote-395"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 395 (<a href="#linknoteref-395">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Gentle James:' Wilson + tells us that this king, James I., took upon himself to teach the Latin + tongue to Carr, Earl of Somerset; and that Gondomar, the Spanish + ambassador, would speak false Latin to him, on purpose to give him the + pleasure of correcting it, whereby he wrought himself into his good + graces.—P. W. See Fortunes of Nigel.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-396" id="linknote-396"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 396 (<a href="#linknoteref-396">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Locke:' in the year + 1703 there was a meeting of the heads of the University of Oxford to + censure Mr Locke's Essay on Human Understanding, and to forbid the reading + it. See his Letters in the last edit.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-397" id="linknote-397"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 397 (<a href="#linknoteref-397">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Crousaz:' see Life.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-398" id="linknote-398"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 398 (<a href="#linknoteref-398">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The streams:' the + River Cam, running by the walls of these colleges, which are particularly + famous for their skill in disputation.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-399" id="linknote-399"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 399 (<a href="#linknoteref-399">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sleeps in port:' viz., + 'now retired into harbour, after the tempests that had long agitated his + society.' So Scriblerus. But the learned Scipio Maffei understands it of a + certain wine called port, from Oporto a city of Portugal, of which this + professor invited him to drink abundantly. Scip. Maff., <i>De + Compotationibus Academicis</i>.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-400" id="linknote-400"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 400 (<a href="#linknoteref-400">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Letter:' alluding to + those grammarians, such as Palamedes and Simonides, who invented single + letters. But Aristarchus, who had found out a double one, was therefore + worthy of double honour.—Scribl. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-401" id="linknote-401"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 401 (<a href="#linknoteref-401">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Digamma:' alludes to + the boasted restoration of the Aeolic digamma, in his long-projected + edition of Homer. He calls it something more than letter, from the + enormous figure it would make among the other letters, being one gamma set + upon the shoulders of another.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-402" id="linknote-402"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 402 (<a href="#linknoteref-402">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Cicero:' grammatical + disputes about the manner of pronouncing Cicero's name in Greek.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-403" id="linknote-403"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 403 (<a href="#linknoteref-403">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Freind—Alsop:' + Dr Robert Freind, master of Westminster school, and canon of Christ-church—Dr + Anthony Alsop, a happy imitator of the Horatian style.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-404" id="linknote-404"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 404 (<a href="#linknoteref-404">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Manilius or Solinus:' + some critics having had it in their choice to comment either on Virgil or + Manilius, Pliny or Solinus, have chosen the worse author, the more freely + to display their critical capacity.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-405" id="linknote-405"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 405 (<a href="#linknoteref-405">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Suidas, Gellius, + Stobaeus:' the first a dictionary-writer, a collector of impertinent facts + and barbarous words; the second a minute critic; the third an author, who + gave his common-place book to the public, where we happen to find much + mince-meat of old books.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-406" id="linknote-406"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 406 (<a href="#linknoteref-406">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Divinity:' a word much + affected by the learned Aristarchus in common conversation, to signify + genius or natural acumen. But this passage has a further view: [Greek: + Nous] was the Platonic term for mind, or the first cause, and that system + of divinity is here hinted at which terminates in blind nature without a + [Greek: Nous].—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-407" id="linknote-407"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 407 (<a href="#linknoteref-407">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Petrify a genius:' + those who have no genius, employed in works of imagination; those who + have, in abstract sciences.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-408" id="linknote-408"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 408 (<a href="#linknoteref-408">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And hew the block + off:' a notion of Aristotle, that there was originally in every block of + marble a statue, which would appear on the removal of the superfluous + parts.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-409" id="linknote-409"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 409 (<a href="#linknoteref-409">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Ajax' spectre:' see + Homer Odyss. xi., where the ghost of Ajax turns sullenly from Ulysses the + traveller, who had succeeded against him in the dispute for the arms of + Achilles.—Scribl. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-410" id="linknote-410"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 410 (<a href="#linknoteref-410">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The first came + forwards:' this forwardness or pertness is the certain consequence, when + the children of Dulness are spoiled by too great fondness of their parent.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-411" id="linknote-411"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 411 (<a href="#linknoteref-411">return</a>)<br /> [ 'As if he saw St + James's:' reflecting on the disrespectful and indecent behaviour of + several forward young persons in the presence, so offensive to all serious + men, and to none more than the good Scriblerus.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-412" id="linknote-412"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 412 (<a href="#linknoteref-412">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Lily-silver'd vales:' + Tube roses.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-413" id="linknote-413"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 413 (<a href="#linknoteref-413">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Lion of the deeps:' + the winged Lion, the arms of Venice.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-414" id="linknote-414"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 414 (<a href="#linknoteref-414">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Greatly-daring dined:' + it being, indeed, no small risk to eat through those extraordinary + compositions, whose disguised ingredients are generally unknown to the + guests, and highly inflammatory and unwholesome.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-415" id="linknote-415"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 415 (<a href="#linknoteref-415">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Jansen, Fleetwood, + Cibber:' three very eminent persons, all managers of plays; who, though + not governors by profession, had, each in his way, concerned themselves in + the education of youth, and regulated their wits, their morals, or their + finances, at that period of their age which is the most important—their + entrance into the polite world.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-416" id="linknote-416"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 416 (<a href="#linknoteref-416">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Paridel:' the poet + seems to speak of this young gentleman with great affection. The name is + taken from Spenser, who gives it to a wandering courtly squire, that + travelled about for the same reason for which many young squires are now + fond of travelling, and especially to Paris.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-417" id="linknote-417"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 417 (<a href="#linknoteref-417">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Annius:' the name + taken from Annius the Monk of Viterbo, famous for many impositions and + forgeries of ancient manuscripts and inscriptions, which he was prompted + to by mere vanity, but our Annius had a more substantial motive. Annius, + Sir Andrew Fontaine.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-418" id="linknote-418"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 418 (<a href="#linknoteref-418">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Still to cheat:' some + read skill, but that is frivolous, for Annius hath that skill already; or + if he had not, skill were not wanting to cheat such persons.—Bentl. + P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-419" id="linknote-419"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 419 (<a href="#linknoteref-419">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Hunt the Athenian + fowl:' the owl stamped on the reverse on the ancient money of Athens.—P. + W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-420" id="linknote-420"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 420 (<a href="#linknoteref-420">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Attys and Cecrops:' + the first king of Athens, of whom it is hard to suppose any coins are + extant; but not so improbable as what follows, that there should be any of + Mahomet, who forbad all images, and the story of whose pigeon was a + monkish fable. Nevertheless, one of these Annius's made a counterfeit + medal of that impostor, now in the collection of a learned nobleman.—P. + W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-421" id="linknote-421"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 421 (<a href="#linknoteref-421">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Mummius:' this name is + not merely an allusion to the mummies he was so fond of, but probably + referred to the Roman General of that name, who burned Corinth, and + committed the curious statues to the captain of a ship, assuring him, + 'that if any were lost or broken, he should procure others to be made in + their stead,' by which it should seem (whatever may be pretended) that + Mummius was no virtuoso.-P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-422" id="linknote-422"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 422 (<a href="#linknoteref-422">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Cheops:' a king of + Egypt, whose body was certainly to be known, as being buried alone in his + pyramid, and is therefore more genuine than any of the Cleopatras. This + royal mummy, being stolen by a wild Arab, was purchased by the consul of + Alexandria, and transmitted to the Museum of Mummius; for proof of which + he brings a passage in Sandys's Travels, where that accurate and learned + voyager assures us that he saw the sepulchre empty, which agrees exactly + (saith he) with the time of the theft above mentioned. But he omits to + observe that Herodotus tells the same thing of it in his time.—P. + W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-423" id="linknote-423"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 423 (<a href="#linknoteref-423">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Speak'st thou of + Syrian princes:' the strange story following, which may be taken for a + fiction of the poet, is justified by a true relation in Spon's Voyages. + Vaillant (who wrote the History of the Syrian Kings as it is to be found + on medals) coming from the Levant, where he had been collecting various + coins, and being pursued by a corsair of Sallee, swallowed down twenty + gold medals. A sudden bourasque freed him from the rover, and he got to + land with them in his belly. On his road to Avignon, he met two + physicians, of whom he demanded assistance. One advised purgations, the + other vomits. In this uncertainty he took neither, but pursued his way to + Lyons, where he found his ancient friend, the famous physician and + antiquary Dufour, to whom he related his adventure. Dufour first asked him + whether the medals were of the higher empire? He assured him they were. + Dufour was ravished with the hope of possessing such a treasure—he + bargained with him on the spot for the most curious of them, and was to + recover them at his own expense.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-424" id="linknote-424"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 424 (<a href="#linknoteref-424">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Witness, great Ammon:' + Jupiter Ammon is called to witness, as the father of Alexander, to whom + those kings succeeded in the division of the Macedonian Empire, and whose + horns they wore on their medals.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-425" id="linknote-425"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 425 (<a href="#linknoteref-425">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Douglas:' a physician + of great learning and no less taste; above all, curious in what related to + Horace, of whom he collected every edition, translation, and comment, to + the number of several hundred volumes.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-426" id="linknote-426"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 426 (<a href="#linknoteref-426">return</a>)<br /> [ 'And named it + Caroline:' it is a compliment which the florists usually pay to princes + and great persons, to give their names to the most curious flowers of + their raising. Some have been very jealous of vindicating this honour, but + none more than that ambitions gardener, at Hammersmith, who caused his + favourite to be painted on his sign, with this inscription—'This is + <i>my</i> Queen Caroline.'—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-427" id="linknote-427"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 427 (<a href="#linknoteref-427">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Moss:' of which the + naturalists count I can't tell how many hundred species.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-428" id="linknote-428"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 428 (<a href="#linknoteref-428">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Wilkins' wings:' one + of the first projectors of the Royal Society, who, among many enlarged and + useful notions, entertained the extravagant hope of a possibility to fly + to the moon; which has put some volatile geniuses upon making wings for + that purpose.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-429" id="linknote-429"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 429 (<a href="#linknoteref-429">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Moral evidence:' + alluding to a ridiculous and absurd way of some mathematicians in + calculating the gradual decay of moral evidence by mathematical + proportions; according to which calculation, in about fifty years it will + be no longer probable that Julius Caesar was in Gaul, or died in the + senate-house.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-430" id="linknote-430"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 430 (<a href="#linknoteref-430">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The high priori road:' + those who, from the effects in this visible world, deduce the eternal + power and Godhead of the First Cause, though they cannot attain to an + adequate idea of the Deity, yet discover so much of him as enables them to + see the end of their creation, and the means of their happiness; whereas + they who take this high priori road (such as Hobbes, Spinoza, Descartes, + and some better reasoners) for one that goes right, ten lose themselves in + mists, or ramble after visions, which deprive them of all right of their + end, and mislead them in the choice of the means.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-431" id="linknote-431"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 431 (<a href="#linknoteref-431">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Make Nature still:' + this relates to such as, being ashamed to assert a mere mechanic cause, + and yet unwilling to forsake it entirely, have had recourse to a certain + plastic nature, elastic fluid, subtile matter, &c.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-433" id="linknote-433"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 433 (<a href="#linknoteref-433">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bright image:' bright + image was the title given by the later Platonists to that vision of nature + which they had formed out of their own fancy, so bright that they called + it [Greek: Autopton Agalma], or the self-seen image, i. e., seen by its + own light. This <i>ignis fatuus</i> has in these our times appeared again + in the north; and the writings of Hutcheson, Geddes, and their followers, + are full of its wonders. For in this <i>lux borealis</i>, this self-seen + image, these second-sighted philosophers see everything else.—Scribl. + W. Let it be either the Chance god of Epicurus, or the Fate of this + goddess.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-434" id="linknote-434"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 434 (<a href="#linknoteref-434">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Theocles:' thus this + philosopher calls upon his friend, to partake with him in these visions: + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'To-morrow, when the eastern sun + With his first beams adorns the front + Of yonder hill, if you're content + To wander with me in the woods you see, + We will pursue those loves of ours, + By favour of the sylvan nymphs: +</pre> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + and invoking, first, the genius of the place, we'll try to obtain at least + some faint and distant view of the sovereign genius and first beauty.' + Charact. vol. ii. p. 245.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-435" id="linknote-435"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 435 (<a href="#linknoteref-435">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Society adores:' see + the Pantheisticon, with its liturgy and rubrics, composed by Toland.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-436" id="linknote-436"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 436 (<a href="#linknoteref-436">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Silenus:' Silenus was + an Epicurean philosopher, as appears from Virgil, Eclog. vi., where he + sings the principles of that philosophy in his drink. He is meant for one + Thomas Gordon.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-437" id="linknote-437"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 437 (<a href="#linknoteref-437">return</a>)<br /> [ 'First, slave to + words:' a recapitulation of the whole course of modern education described + in this book, which confines youth to the study of words only in schools, + subjects them to the authority of systems in the universities, and deludes + them with the names of party distinctions in the world,—all equally + concurring to narrow the understanding, and establish slavery and error in + literature, philosophy, and politics. The whole finished in modern + free-thinking; the completion of whatever is vain, wrong, and destructive + to the happiness of mankind, as it establishes self-love for the sole + principle of action.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-438" id="linknote-438"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 438 (<a href="#linknoteref-438">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Smiled on by a queen:' + i.e. this queen or goddess of Dulness.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-439" id="linknote-439"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 439 (<a href="#linknoteref-439">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Mr Philip Wharton, who + died abroad and outlawed in 1791.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-440" id="linknote-440"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 440 (<a href="#linknoteref-440">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Nothing left but + homage to a king:' so strange as this must seem to a mere English reader, + the famous Mons. de la Bruyère declares it to be the character of every + good subject in a monarchy; 'where,' says he, 'there is no such thing as + love of our country; the interest, the glory, and service of the prince, + supply its place.'—De la République, chap. x.—P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-441" id="linknote-441"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 441 (<a href="#linknoteref-441">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The balm of Dulness:' + the true balm of Dulness, called by the Greek physicians [Greek: + Kolakeia], is a sovereign remedy against inanity, and has its poetic name + from the goddess herself. Its ancient dispensators were her poets; and for + that reason our author, book ii. v. 207, calls it the poet's healing balm; + but it is now got into as many hands as Goddard's Drops or Daffy's Elixir.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-442" id="linknote-442"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 442 (<a href="#linknoteref-442">return</a>)<br /> [ 'The board with + specious miracles he loads:' these were only the miracles of French + cookery, and particularly pigeons <i>en crapeau</i> were a common dish.—P. + W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-443" id="linknote-443"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 443 (<a href="#linknoteref-443">return</a>)<br /> [ '<i>Séve</i> and <i>verdeur</i>:' + French terms relating to wines, which signify their flavour and poignancy.—P. + W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-444" id="linknote-444"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 444 (<a href="#linknoteref-444">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Bladen—Hays:' + names of gamesters. Bladen is a black man. Robert Knight, cashier of the + South Sea Company, who fled from England in 1720 (afterwards pardoned in + 1742). These lived with the utmost magnificence at Paris, and kept open + tables frequented by persons of the first quality of England, and even by + princes of the blood of France.—P. W. The former note of 'Bladen is + a black man,' is very absurd. The manuscript here is partly obliterated, + and doubtless could only have been, Wash blackmoors white, alluding to a + known proverb.—Scribl. P. W. Bladen was uncle to Collins the poet. + See our edition of 'Collins.'] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-445" id="linknote-445"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 445 (<a href="#linknoteref-445">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Gregorian, Gormogon:' + a sort of lay-brothers, slips from the root of the freemasons.—P. + W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-446" id="linknote-446"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 446 (<a href="#linknoteref-446">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Arachne's subtile + line:' this is one of the most ingenious employments assigned, and + therefore recommended only to peers of learning. Of weaving stockings of + the webs of spiders, see the Phil. Trans.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-447" id="linknote-447"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 447 (<a href="#linknoteref-447">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Sergeant call:' + alluding perhaps to that ancient and solemn dance, entitled, A Call of + Sergeants.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-448" id="linknote-448"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 448 (<a href="#linknoteref-448">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Teach kings to + fiddle:' an ancient amusement of sovereign princes, viz. Achilles, + Alexander, Nero; though despised by Themistocles, who was a republican. + 'Make senates dance:' either after their prince, or to Pontoise, or + Siberia.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-449" id="linknote-449"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 449 (<a href="#linknoteref-449">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Gilbert:' Archbishop + of York, who had attacked Dr King, of Oxford, a friend of Pope's.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-450" id="linknote-450"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 450 (<a href="#linknoteref-450">return</a>)<br /> [ Verses 615-618 were + written many years ago, and may be found in the state poems of that time. + So that Scriblerus is mistaken, or whoever else have imagined this poem of + a fresher date.—P. W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-451" id="linknote-451"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 451 (<a href="#linknoteref-451">return</a>)<br /> [ 'Truth to her old + cavern fled:' alluding to the saying of Democritus, that Truth lay at the + bottom of a deep well, from whence he had drawn her; though Butler says, + he first put her in, before he drew her out.—W.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-452" id="linknote-452"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 452 (<a href="#linknoteref-452">return</a>)<br /> [ Read thus confidently, + instead of 'beginning with the word books, and ending with the word + flies,' as formerly it stood. Read also, 'containing the entire sum of one + thousand seven hundred and fifty-four verses,' instead of 'one thousand + and twelve lines;' such being the initial and final words, and such the + true and entire contents of this poem. Thou art to know, reader! that the + first edition thereof, like that of Milton, was never seen by the author + (though living and not blind). The editor himself confessed as much in his + preface; and no two poems were ever published in so arbitrary a manner. + The editor of this had as boldly suppressed whole passages, yea the entire + last book, as the editor of Paradise Lost added and augmented. Milton + himself gave but ten books, his editor twelve; this author gave four + books, his editor only three. But we have happily done justice to both; + and presume we shall live, in this our last labour, as long as in any of + our others.—Bentl.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-453" id="linknote-453"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 453 (<a href="#linknoteref-453">return</a>)<br /> [ Milbourn on Dryden's + Virgil, 8vo, 1698, p. 6.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-454" id="linknote-454"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 454 (<a href="#linknoteref-454">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 38.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-455" id="linknote-455"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 455 (<a href="#linknoteref-455">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 192.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-456" id="linknote-456"> </a> + </p> + + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-457" id="linknote-457"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 457 (<a href="#linknoteref-457">return</a>)<br /> [ Whip and Key, 4to, + printed for R. Janeway, 1682, preface.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-458" id="linknote-458"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 458 (<a href="#linknoteref-458">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-459" id="linknote-459"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 459 (<a href="#linknoteref-459">return</a>)<br /> [ Milbourn, p. 9.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-460" id="linknote-460"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 460 (<a href="#linknoteref-460">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 176.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-461" id="linknote-461"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 461 (<a href="#linknoteref-461">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 39.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-462" id="linknote-462"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 462 (<a href="#linknoteref-462">return</a>)<br /> [ Whip and Key, preface.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-463" id="linknote-463"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 463 (<a href="#linknoteref-463">return</a>)<br /> [ Oldmixon, Essay on + Criticism, p. 84.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-464" id="linknote-464"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 464 (<a href="#linknoteref-464">return</a>)<br /> [ Milbourn, p. 2.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-465" id="linknote-465"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 465 (<a href="#linknoteref-465">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 35.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-466" id="linknote-466"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 466 (<a href="#linknoteref-466">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. pp. 22, 192.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-467" id="linknote-467"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 467 (<a href="#linknoteref-467">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 72.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-468" id="linknote-468"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 468 (<a href="#linknoteref-468">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 203.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-469" id="linknote-469"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 469 (<a href="#linknoteref-469">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid, p. 78.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-470" id="linknote-470"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 470 (<a href="#linknoteref-470">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid, p. 206.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-471" id="linknote-471"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 471 (<a href="#linknoteref-471">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 19.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-472" id="linknote-472"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 472 (<a href="#linknoteref-472">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 144, 190.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-473" id="linknote-473"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 473 (<a href="#linknoteref-473">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 67.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-474" id="linknote-474"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 474 (<a href="#linknoteref-474">return</a>)<br /> [ Milbourn, p. 192.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-475" id="linknote-475"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 475 (<a href="#linknoteref-475">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 125.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-476" id="linknote-476"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 476 (<a href="#linknoteref-476">return</a>)<br /> [ Whip and Key, preface.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-477" id="linknote-477"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 477 (<a href="#linknoteref-477">return</a>)<br /> [ Milbourn, p. 105.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-478" id="linknote-478"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 478 (<a href="#linknoteref-478">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 11.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-479" id="linknote-479"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 479 (<a href="#linknoteref-479">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 176.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-480" id="linknote-480"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 480 (<a href="#linknoteref-480">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 57.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-481" id="linknote-481"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 481 (<a href="#linknoteref-481">return</a>)<br /> [ Whip and Key, preface.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-482" id="linknote-482"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 482 (<a href="#linknoteref-482">return</a>)<br /> [ Milbourn, p. 34.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-483" id="linknote-483"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 483 (<a href="#linknoteref-483">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 35.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-484" id="linknote-484"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 484 (<a href="#linknoteref-484">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Remarks on the + Rape of the Lock, preface, p. xii.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-485" id="linknote-485"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 485 (<a href="#linknoteref-485">return</a>)<br /> [ Dunciad Dissected.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-486" id="linknote-486"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 486 (<a href="#linknoteref-486">return</a>)<br /> [ Preface to + Gulliveriana.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-487" id="linknote-487"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 487 (<a href="#linknoteref-487">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis, Character of Mr + P.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-488" id="linknote-488"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 488 (<a href="#linknoteref-488">return</a>)<br /> [ Theobald, Letter in + Mist's Journal, June 22, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-489" id="linknote-489"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 489 (<a href="#linknoteref-489">return</a>)<br /> [ List at the end of a + Collection of Verses, Letters, Advertisements, 8vo, printed for A. Moore, + 1728, and the preface to it, p. 6.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-490" id="linknote-490"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 490 (<a href="#linknoteref-490">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Remarks on + Homer, p. 27.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-491" id="linknote-491"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 491 (<a href="#linknoteref-491">return</a>)<br /> [ Preface to + Gulliveriana, p. 11.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-492" id="linknote-492"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 492 (<a href="#linknoteref-492">return</a>)<br /> [ Dedication to the + Collection of Verses, Letters, &c., p. 9.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-493" id="linknote-493"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 493 (<a href="#linknoteref-493">return</a>)<br /> [ Mist's Journal of June + 8, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-494" id="linknote-494"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 494 (<a href="#linknoteref-494">return</a>)<br /> [ Character of Mr P. and + Dennis on Homer.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-495" id="linknote-495"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 495 (<a href="#linknoteref-495">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Remarks on + Pope's Homer, p. 12.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-496" id="linknote-496"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 496 (<a href="#linknoteref-496">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid. p. 14.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-497" id="linknote-497"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 497 (<a href="#linknoteref-497">return</a>)<br /> [ Character of Mr P., p. + 17, and Remarks on Homer, p. 91.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-498" id="linknote-498"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 498 (<a href="#linknoteref-498">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Remarks on + Homer, p. 12.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-499" id="linknote-499"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 499 (<a href="#linknoteref-499">return</a>)<br /> [ Daily Journal, April + 23, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-500" id="linknote-500"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 500 (<a href="#linknoteref-500">return</a>)<br /> [ Supplement to the + Profund, preface.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-501" id="linknote-501"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 501 (<a href="#linknoteref-501">return</a>)<br /> [ Oldmixon, Essay on + Criticism, p. 66.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-502" id="linknote-502"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 502 (<a href="#linknoteref-502">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Remarks, p. + 28.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-503" id="linknote-503"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 503 (<a href="#linknoteref-503">return</a>)<br /> [ Homerides, p. 1, &c.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-504" id="linknote-504"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 504 (<a href="#linknoteref-504">return</a>)<br /> [ British Journal, Nov. + 25, 1727.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-505" id="linknote-505"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 505 (<a href="#linknoteref-505">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis, Daily Journal, + May 11, 1728.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-506" id="linknote-506"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 506 (<a href="#linknoteref-506">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis, Remarks on + Homer, Preface.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-507" id="linknote-507"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 507 (<a href="#linknoteref-507">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis's Remarks on the + Rape of the Lock, preface, p. 9.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-508" id="linknote-508"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 508 (<a href="#linknoteref-508">return</a>)<br /> [ Character of Mr P., p. + 3.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-509" id="linknote-509"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 509 (<a href="#linknoteref-509">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-510" id="linknote-510"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 510 (<a href="#linknoteref-510">return</a>)<br /> [ Dennis, Remarks on + Homer, p. 37.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + <a name="linknote-511" id="linknote-511"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 511 (<a href="#linknoteref-511">return</a>)<br /> [ Ibid, p. 8.] + </p> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <h3> + END OF POPE'S WORKS. + </h3> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p class="foot"> + </p> + <pre> + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Poetical Works of Pope, Vol. II, by Alexander Pope + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS OF POPE, VOL. 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