Not those alone who passive own her laws,

85

But who, weak rebels, more advance her cause.
Whate'er of dunce in college or in town
Sneers at another, in toupee or gown ;
Whate'er of mungril no one class admits,
A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.

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,
With-hold the pension, and set up the head;
Or vest dull Flatt'ry 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.

There march'd the bard and blockhead side by side, Who rhym'd for hire, and patronis'd for pride. Narcissus, prais'd with all a parson's pow'r, Look'd a white lily sunk beneath a show'r. There mov'd 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,

Compos'd he stood, bold Benson thrust him by : 10
On two unequal crutches propt he came,

Milton's on this, on that one Johnson's name.
The decent Knight retir'd with sober rage,

Withdrew his hand, and clos'd the pompous page.

But (happy for him as the times went then)
Appear'd Apollo's may'r and aldermen,

On whom three hundred gold-capt youths await,
-To lug the pond'rous volume off in state.

When Dulness, smiling---" Thus revive the wits! But murder first, and mince them all to bits; As erst Medea (cruel, so to save!)

A new edition of old Æson gave;

120

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 thro' holes yourselves have made.
Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone,
A page, a grave, that they can call their own;

125

REMARKS.

v. 115, &c. These four lines were printed in a separate leaf by Mr. Pope, in the last edition which he himself gave of the Dunciad, with directions to the printer to put this leaf into its place, as soon as Sir T. H.'s Shakespeare should be published.

VARIATIONS.

2. 114. What! no respect, he cry'd, for Shakespeare's page?

IMITATIONS.

v. 126. Admire new light, &c.]

"The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, "Letsinnew light through chinks that time has made."

Waller.

But spread, my Sons, your glory thin or thick,
On passive paper, or on solid brick.
So by each bard an alderman shall sit,
A heavy lord shall hang at ev'ry wit,

130

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.

136

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;
His beaver'd brow a birchin garland wears,
Dropping with infants' blood and mothers' tears,
O'er ev'ry vein a shudd'ring horror runs,
Eaton 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,

140

145

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 Samien letter,

Points him two ways, the narrower is the better.
Plac'd at the door of Learning, youth to guide,
We never suffer it to stand too wide.

IMITATIONS.

v. 142. Dropping with infant's blood, &c.]

"First Moloch, horrid king, besmear'd with blood "Of human sacrifice and parents' tears."

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.
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.
There truant Wyndham ev'ry 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 Pult'ney lost!
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 masterpiece of man,

155

160

165

170

Oh (cry'd the Goddess) for some pedant reign!
Some gentle James, 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 counsel to a grammar-school!

176

180

For sure if Dulness sees a grateful day,

'Tis in the shade of arbitrary sway.

O! if my sons may learn one earthly thing,

Teach but that one, sufficient for a king;

186

That which my priests, and mine alone, maintain,
Which, as it dies, or lives, we fall, or reign:
May you, my 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:
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 staunch Polemic, stubborn as a rock,
Each fierce Logician, still expelling Locke,

190

195

200

Came whip and spur, and dash'd thro' thin and thick
On German Crouzaz, and Dutch Burgersdyck.
As many quit the streams that murm'ring fall
To lull the sons of Margret and Clare-hall,
Where Bentley late tempestuous wont to sport
In troubled waters, but now sleeps in Port.
Before them march'd that awful Aristarch;
Plow'd was his front with many a deep remark:
His hat, which never veil'd to human pride,
Walker with rev'rence took, and laid aside.
Low bow'd the rest: he, kingly, did but nod;
So upright Quakers please both man and God.

REMARKS.

205

v. 196.---still expelling 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.