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Like Cato, give his little Senate laws,
And fit attentive to his own applause;

While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise-
Who but must laugh, if fuch a man there be?
Who would not weep, if ATTICUS were he!
What tho' my Name ftood rubric on the walls,
Or plaifter'd pofts, with claps, in capitals?
Or fmoaking forth, a hundred hawkers load,
On wings of winds came flying all abroad?
I fought no homage from the Race that write;
I kept, like Asian Monarchs, from their fight:
Poems I heeded (now be-rym'd fo long)




No more than thou, great GEORGE! a birth-day song. I ne'er with wits or witlings pafs'd my days,

To spread about the itch of verfe and praise;


VER.214. ATTICUS] It was a great falfhood, which fome of the Libels reported, that this Character was written after the Gentleman's death; which fee refuted in the Teftimonies prefixed to the Dunciad. But the occafion of writing it was such as he would not make public out of regard to his memory and all that could further be done was to omit the name, in the Edition of his Works. VER. 216. claps, in capitals?] The bills of QuackDoctors and Quack Bookfellers being usually pasted together on the fame pofts.


VER. 218. On wings of winds came flying all abroad?] Hopkins, in the civth Pfalm.



Nor like a puppy, daggled thro' the town,

To fetch and carry fing-fong up and down;


Nor at Rehearsals fweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd,

With handkerchief and orange at my fide;

But fick of fops, and poetry, and prate,


To Bufo left the whole Caftalian state.
Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,
Sate full-blown Bufo, puff'd by ev'ry quill;
Fed with soft Dedication all day long,
Horace and he went hand in hand in fong.
His Library (where bufts of Poets dead
And a true Pindar stood without a head)
Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,

Who firft his judgment afk'd, and then a place:
Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his feat,
And flatter'd ev'ry day, and fome days eat:

Till grown more frugal in his riper days,



He paid fome bards with port, and fome with praise,

To fome a dry rehearsal was affign'd,

And others (harder ftill) he paid in kind.


After 234. in the MS.

To Bards reciting he vouchfaf'd a nod,

And snuff'd their incenfe like a gracious god.


VER. 236.—a true Pindar food without a head] Ridicules the affectation of Antiquaries, who frequently exhibit the headlefs Trunks and Terms of Statues, for Plato, Homer, Pindar, &c. Vide Fulv. Urfin. &c.


Dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh,
Dryden aloue efcap'd this judging eye:
But ftill the Great have kindness in reserve,
He help'd to bury whom he help'd to ftarve.


·May fome choice patron bless each gray goose quill! May ev'ry Bavius have his Bufo still!


So when a Statesman wants a day's defence,
Or Envy holds a whole week's war with Sense,
Or fimple pride for flatt'ry makes demands,

May dunce by dunce be whiftled off my hands!
Bleft be the Great! for those they take away,
And those they left me; for they left me GAY;


Left me to fee neglected Genius bloom,

Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb:

Of all thy blameless life the fole return


My Verfe, and QUEENSB'RY weeping o'er thy urn!

Oh let me live my own, and die so too! (To live and die is all I have to do:)

Maintain a Poet's dignity and ease,

And see what friends, and read what books I please: Above a Patron, tho' I condefcend

Sometimes to call a Minifter my friend.



VER. 248. — help'd to bury] Mr. Dryden, after having liv'd in exigencies, had a magnificent Funeral beftow'd upon him by the contribution of feveral perfons of Quality. P.

VER. 265-tho' I condefcend &c.] He thought it, and he juftly thought it, a condefcenfion in an boneft Man to accept the friendship of any one, how high foever, whofe

I was not born for Courts or great affairs;
I pay my debts, believe, and fay my pray'rs;
Can fleep without a Poem in my head,

Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead.

Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light? Heav'ns! was 1 born for nothing but to write? Has Life no joys for me? or (to be grave)


Have I no friend to ferve, no foul to fave?


"I found him clofe with Swift-Indeed? no doubt

"(Cries prating Balbus) fomething will come out.

'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will.

"No, fuch a Genius never can lie ftill;


After 270. in the MS.

Friendships from youth I fought, and feek them ftill:
Fame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it will.
The World I knew, but made it not my School 2,
And in a course of flatt'ry liv'd no fool.

a By not making the World his School he means, he did not form his fyftem of morality, on the principles or practice of men in business.


conduct in life was governed only on principles of policy: for of what minifters he speaks, may be seen by the character he gives, in the next line, of the Courts they belong to.

VER. 271. Why am I ask'd &c.] This is intended as a reproof of those impertinent complaints, which were perpetually made to him by those who called themfelves his friends, for not entertaining the Town as often as it wanted amusement.—A French writer says well on this occafionDès qu'on eft auteur, il femble qu'on foit aux gages d'un tas de fainéans, pour leur fournir de quoi amufer leur oifiveté.

* C 3


And then for mine obligingly mistakes.

The firft Lampoon Sir Will. or Bubo makes.
Poor guiltless I! and can I chufe but smile,
When ev'ry Coxcomb knows me by my Style?
Curft be the verfe, how well foe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe,
Give Virtue fcandal, Innocence a fear,
Or from the foft-ey'd Virgin steal a tear!
But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
Infults fall'n worth, or Beauty in distress,
Who loves a Lye, lame flander helps about,
Who writes a Libel, or who copies out:
That Fop, whofe pride affects a patron's name,
Yet abfent, wounds an author's honest fame:


After 282. in the MS.

P. What if I fing Augustus, great and good?
A. You did fo lately, was it understood?




P. Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound,
As rumbling D- s or a Norfolk hound;
With GEORGE and FRED'RIC roughen ev'ry verfe,
Then fmooth up all, and CAROLINE rehearse.
A. No-the high task to lift up Kings to Gods
Leave to Court-fermons, and to birth-day Odes.
On themes like thefe, fuperior far to thine,
Let laurell'd Cibber, and great Arnal shine.
P. Why write at all? A. Yes, filence if you keep,
The Town, the Court, the Wits, the Dunces weep.

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