VER. 29. Close to those walls, &c. In the former edition thus--

Where wave the tatter'd ensigns of Rag-fair,[245]

A yawning ruin hangs and nods in air;[246]

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,[290] 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[291] 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.

BOOK THE SECOND.

ARGUMENT.

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.

High on a gorgeous seat, that far out-shone Henley's gilt tub,[292] or Flecknoe's Irish throne,[293]

Or that where on her Curlls the public pours,[294]

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,[295]

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,[297]

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.[298] 50