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Bland and familiar to the throne he came,

Led up the youth, and call'd the Goddefs Dame.

Then thus: From prieftcraft happily fet free,
Lo! every finish'd fon returns to thee:

First flave to words, then vaffal to a name,
Then dupe to party; child and man the fame;
Bounded by Nature, narrow'd still by art,
A trifling head, and a contracted heart.



Thus bred, thus taught, how many have I seen, 505
Smiling on all, and fmil'd on by a queen?
Mark'd out for honours, honour'd for their birth,
To thee the most rebellious things on earth:
Now to thy gentle fhadow all are shrunk,
All melted down in penfion or in punk!
So K*, fo B** fneak'd into the grave,
A monarch's half, and half a harlot's flave.
Poor W** nipt in folly's broadest bloom,
Who praises now? his chaplain on his tomb.
Then take them all, oh take them to thy breaft! 515
Thy Magus, Goddess! fhall perform the reft.

With that a wizard old his
cup extends,
Which whofo taftes forgets his former friends,
Sire, ancestors, himself. One cafts his eyes
Up to a star, and like Endymion dies :
A feather, fhooting from another's head,
Extracts his brain, and principle is fled;
Loft is his God, his country, ev'ry thing,
And nothing left but homage to a king!
The vulgar herd turn off to roll with hogs,
To run with hories, or to hunt with dogs;

E 3




v. 517. his cup---Which whofo tafles, &c.] The cup of Self-love, which caufes a total oblivion of the obligations of friendship or honour; and of the fervice of God or our country; all facrificed to vain glory, court worship, or the yet meaner confiderations of lucre and brutal pleafures. From ver. 520 to 528.


v. 518. Which whojo tafles, forgets his former friends,

Sire, &c.] Homer of the Nepenthe, Odyfs. IV.
Αὐτίκ ὰρ εἰς οἶνον βαλε φάρμακον, ἔνθεν ἔπινον
Νηπενθές τ' ἀχολόν τε κακῶν ἐπιληθον ἁμάνων.

But, fad example! never to efcape
Their infamy, ftill keep the human shape.
But the, good Goddess, fent to every child
Firm Impudence, or Stupefaction mild;
And ftraight fucceeded, leaving Shame no room,
Cibberian forehead, or Cimmerian gloom.

Kind Self-conceit to fome her gla's applies,
Which no one looks in with another's eyes:
But as the flatt'rer or dependent paint,
Beholds himself a patriot, chief, or faint.

On others' int'reft her gay liv'ry flings, Int'reft, that waves on party colour'd wings: Turn'd to the fun, fhe cafts a thousand dyes, And, as the turns, the colours fall or rife.

Others the Syren Sifters warble round, And empty heads confole with empty found. No more, alas! the voice of Fame they hear, The balm of Dulness trickling in their ear. Great C**, H**, P**, R**, K*, Why all your toils? your fons have learn'd to fing. How quick Ambition hastes to ridicule ! The fire is made a peer, the fon a fool.

On fome a priest fuccinct in amice white
Attends; all flesh is nothing in his fight!
Beeves, at his touch, at once to jelly turn,
And the huge boar is fhrunk 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 feve and verdeur of the vine.
What cannot copious facrifice atone?

Thy truffles, Perigord! thy hams, Bayonne !
With French libation, and Italian ftrain,
Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hay's ftain.










v. 560. Bladen---Hays. Names of gamefters. Bladen is a black man. Robert Knight, Cafhier of the South fea Company, who fled from England in 1720, (afterwards pardoned in 1742.) Thefe lived with the utmost magnificence at Paris, and kept open tables, frequented by perfons of the first quality of England, and even by princes of the blood

of France.

Knight lifts the head; for what are crouds undone,
To three effential partridges in one?
Gone every blush, and filent all reproach,
Contending princes mount them in their coach.

Next bidding all draw near on bended knces,
The Queen confers her titles and degrees.
Her children firft of more diftinguifh'd fort,
Who ftudy Shakespeare at the Inns of Court,
Impale a glow-worm, or vertú profefs,
Shine in the dignity of F. R. S.

Some, deep Free-mafons, join the filent race,
Worthy to fill Pythagoras's place:

Some botanifts, or florifts at the leaft,
Or iffue members of an annual feast.
Nor paft the meaneft unregarded, one
Rofe a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.
The laft, nor leaft in honour or applaufe,
Ifis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws.

Then, bleffing all, Go, children of my care!
To practife now from theory repair.

All my commands are eafy, thort, and full;
My fons! be proud, be felfish, and be dull.
Guard my prerogative, affert my throne:
This nod confirms each privilege your own.
The cap and witch be facred to his Grace;
With staff and pumps the Marquis leads the race;

From ftage to ftage the licens'd Earl may run,
Pair'd with his fellow-charioteer, the Sun;
The learned Baron butterflies defign,






Or draw to filk Arachne's fubtile line;
The Judge to dance his brother ferjeant call;
The Senator at cricket urge the ball;
The Bishop ftow (pontific luxury!)
An hundred fouls of turkeys in a pye;


The sturdy Squire to Gallic matters floop,
And drown his lands and manors in a foup.
Others import yet nobler arts from France,
Teach kings to fiddle, and make fenates dance.
Perhaps more high fome daring fon may foar,
Proud to my lift to add one monarch more;




And, nobly confcious, princes are but things
Born for first minifters, as flaves for kings;
Tyrant fupreme! fhall three eftates command,
And make one mighty Dunciad of the land!


More fhe had spoke, but yawn'd-All Nature nods: What mortal can refift the yawn of gods? Churches and Chapels inftantly it reach'd; (St. James's first, for leaden G- preach'd :) Then catch'd the Schools; the Hall scarce kept awake; The Convocation gap'd, but could not speak : Loft was the Nation's fenfe, nor could be found, While the long folemn unifon went round:


Wide, and more wide, it spread o'er all the realm;
E'en Palinurus nodded at the helm:

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

And chieflefs Armies doz'd out the campaign;
And Navies yawn'd for orders on the main.

'O Mufe! relate, (for you can tell alone,
Wits have short memories, and dunces none,)
Relate who firft, who laft, refign'd to reft;
Whose heads the partly, whofe completely, bleft;
What charms could faction, what ambition lull,
The venal quiet, and intrance the dull;



Till drown'd was Senfe, and Shame, and Right, and Wrong

O fing, and hush the nations with thy fong!





In vain, in vain-the all-compofing hour
Refiftlefs falls; the Mufe obeys the pow'r.
She comes! fhe comes! the fable throne behold
Of night primeval, and of Chaos old!
Before her Fancy's gilded clouds decay,
And all its varying rainbows die away.
Wit fhoots in vain its momentary fires,
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.


v. 621. Relate who first, who last, refign'd to reft: Whofe heads the partly, whofe completely bleft.]




"Quem telo primum, quem poftremum afpera Virgo
"Dejicis? aut quot humi, morientia corpora fundis !


As one by one, at dread Medea's ftrain,
The fick'ning ftars fade off the ethereal plain;
As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand opprelt,
Clos'd one by one to everlasting reft;
Thus at her felt approach, and fecret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is night.
See fculking Truth to her old cavern fled,
Mountains of Cafuiftry heap'd o'er her head!
Philofophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before,
Shrinks to her fecond caufe, and is no more.
Phyfic of Metaphyfic begs defence,

See Myftery to Mathematics fly!




And Metaphyfic calls for aid on Senfe!

In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.

Religion, blushing, veils her facred fires,

And unawares Morality expires.


Nor Public flame, nor Private, dares to fhine;

Nor human spark is left, nor glimple Divine!
Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is reftor'd;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:

Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; 655
And univerfal Darkness buries All.


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

Et quamvis fopor eft oculorum parte receptus,
"Parte tamen v.gilat

"Vidit Cyllenius omnes

"Succubuiffe oculos," &c.


v. 643.] In the former edit. it flood thus:

Philofophy, that reach'd the heav'ns before,
Shrinks to her hidden caufe, and is no more.

Ovid, Met. II.

And this was intend. d as a cenfure of the Newtonion philofophy. For
the Poet had been mifled by the prejudices of foreigners, as if that phi-
lofophy had recurred to the ocult qualities of Ariftotle. This was the
idea he received of it from a man educated much abroad, who had read
every thing, but every thing fuperficially. Had his excellent friend, Dr.
A. been confulted in this matter, it is certain that fo unjust a reflection
had never difcredited fo noble a Satire. When I hinted to him how he
had been impofed upon, he changed the lines with great pleafure, into a
compliment (as they now stand) on that divine genius, and a fatire on the
folly by which he, the Poet hijfelf, had been misled.


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