No more, alas! the voice of Fame they hear,
The balm of Dulness trickling in their ear.
Great C**, H**, P**, R**, K*,

545

Why all your toils? your sons have learn'd to sing. How quick Ambition hates 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!
Beeves at his touch, at once to jelly turn,
And the huge boar is shrunk into an urn:
The board, with spacious miracles, he loads,
Turns hares to larks, and pigeons into toads.
Another (for in all what one can shine?)
Explains the seve and verdeur of the vine.
What cannot copious sacrifice atcne?

Thy truffles, Perigord thy hams, Bayonne !
With French libation, and Italian strain,

550

553

Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hays's stain.

560

Knight lifts the head; for what are crowds undone,

To three essential partridges in one?

Gone ev'ry 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.

REMARKS.

566

v. 560. ---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.

Her children first of more distinguish'd sort,
Who study Shakespeare at the Inns of Court,
Impale a glow-worm, or vertu profess,

Shine in the dignity of F. R. S.

570

Some, deep Free-masons, 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 past the meanest unregarded, one
Rose a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.
The last, not least in honour or applause,
Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws.

575

Then, blessing all, Go, children of my care!
To practise now from theory repair.
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 leads the race;
From stage to stage the licens'd Earl may run,
Pair'd with his fellow-charioteer, the Sun;
The learned Baron butterflies design,

Or draw to silk Arachne's subtle line;
The Judge to dance his brother serjeant call!
The Senator at cricket urge the ball;
The Bishop stow (pontific luxury!)
An hundred souls of turkeys in a pye;
The sturdy Squire to Gallic masters stoop,
And drown his lands and manors in a soup.

Volume IV.

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583

-500

Others import yet nobler arts from France,
Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.
Perhaps more high some daring son may soar,
Proud to my list to add one monarch more;
And, nobly conscious princes are but things
Born for first ministers, as slaves for kings,
Tyrant supreme! shall three estates commend,
And make one mighty Dunciad of the land!

бос

More she had spoke, but yawn'd---All Nature nods:

605

What mortal can resist the yawn of gods?
Churches and Chapels instantly it reach'd;
(St. James's first, for leaden G--- preach'd;)
Then catch'd the Schools; the Hall scarce kept

awake;

610

The Convocation gap'd, but could not speak:
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;
Ev'n Palinurus nodded at the helm:

The vapour mild o'er each Committee crept;
Unfinish'd treaties in each office slept;

And chiefless Armies doz'd out the campaign;
And Navies yawn'd for orders on the main.
O Muse! relate, (for you can tell alone,
Wits have short memories, and dunces none)
Relate who first, who last, resign'd to rest;
Whose heads she partly, whose completely blest;
What charms could faction, what ambition lull,
The venal quiet, and intrance the dull;

615

620

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 pow'r.

625

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,

635

The sick'ning stars fade off the ethereal plain;

As Argus's eyes, by Hermes' wand opprest,

Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest;

Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is night.
See sculking Truth to her old cavern fled,
Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head!

640

IMITATIONS.

v. 621. Relate who first, who last, resign'd to rest: Whose beads she parily, whose completely blest.] "Quem telo primum, quem postremum aspera Virg. Dejicis? aut quot humi, morientia corpora fundis ?5Virg.

66

v. 637. As Argus' eyes, &c.]

"Et quamvis sopor est oculorum parte receptus,
"Parte tamen vígilat----
"Vidit Cyllenius omnes
"Succubuisse oculos," &c.

Ovid. Met. II:

Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before,
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.
Physic of Metaphysic begs defence,

645

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 restor❜d;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:

Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;
And universal Darkness buries All,

655

VARIATIONS.

.643. In the former edit. it stood thus:
Philosophy, that reach'd the heav'ns before,
Shrinks to her hidden cause, and is no more.

And this was intended as a censure of the Newtonian philosophy. For the Poet had been misled by the prejudices of foreigners, as if that philosophy had recurred to the ocult qualities of Aristotle. This was the idea he received of it from a man educated much abroad, who had read every thing, but every thing superficially. Had his excellent Friend, Dr. A. been consulted in this matter, it is certain that so unjust a reflection had never discredited so noble a Satire. When I hinted to him how he had been imposed upon, he changed the lines with great pleasure, into a compliment (as they now stand) on that divine genius, and a satire on the folly by which he, the Poet himself, had been misled.

END OF THE DUNCIAD,