See all her progeny, illustrious sight!

Behold, and count them, as they rise to light. 130 As Berecynthia, while her offspring vie In homage to the mother of the sky, Surveys around her, in the bless'd abode, An hundred sons, and every son a god; Not with less glory mighty Dulness crown'd, Shall take through Grub Street her triumphant round; And her Parnassus glancing o'er at once, Behold an hundred sons, and each a dunce.

'Mark first that youth who takes the foremost place, And thrusts his person full into your face. 140 With all thy father's virtues bless'd, be born!

And a new Cibber shall the stage adorn.

'A second see, by meeker manners known, And modest as the maid that sips alone; From the strong fate of drams if thou get free, Another D'Urfey, Ward! shall sing in thee.

Thee shall each ale-house, thee each gill-house mourn, And answering gin-shops sourer sighs return.

'Jacob, the scourge of grammar, mark with awe,[358]

Nor less revere him, blunderbuss of law. 150 Lo Popple's brow, tremendous to the town, Horneck's fierce eye, and Roome's[359] funereal frown.

Lo, sneering Goode,[360] half-malice and half-whim, A fiend in glee, ridiculously grim.

Each cygnet sweet, of Bath and Tunbridge race, Whose tuneful whistling makes the waters pass: Each songster, riddler, every nameless name, All crowd, who foremost shall be damn'd to fame.

Some strain in rhyme; the Muses, on their racks, Scream like the winding of ten thousand jacks; 160 Some, free from rhyme or reason, rule or check, Break Priscian's head and Pegasus's neck; Down, down the 'larum, with impetuous whirl, The Pindars, and the Miltons of a Curll.

'Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph[361] to Cynthia howls, And makes night hideous--answer him, ye owls!

'Sense, speech, and measure, living tongues and dead, Let all give way--and Morris may be read.

Flow, Welsted, flow! like thine inspirer, beer; Though stale, not ripe; though thin, yet never clear; 170 So sweetly mawkish, and so smoothly dull; Heady, not strong; o'erflowing, though not full.

'Ah Dennis! Gildon ah! what ill-starr'd rage Divides a friendship long confirm'd by age?

Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, But fool with fool is barbarous civil war.

Embrace, embrace, my sons! be foes no more!

Nor glad vile poets with true critics' gore.

'Behold yon pair,[362] in strict embraces join'd; How like in manners, and how like in mind! 180 Equal in wit, and equally polite, Shall this a Pasquin, that a Grumbler write?

Like are their merits, like rewards they share, That shines a consul, this commissioner.

'But who is he, in closet close y-pent, Of sober face, with learned dust besprent?

Right well mine eyes arede the myster wight, On parchment scraps y-fed, and Wormius hight.[363]

To future ages may thy dulness last, As thou preserv'st the dulness of the past! 190

'There, dim in clouds, the poring scholiasts mark, Wits, who, like owls, see only in the dark, A lumberhouse of books in every head, For ever reading, never to be read!

'But where each science lifts its modern type, History her pot, divinity her pipe, While proud philosophy repines to show, Dishonest sight! his breeches rent below; Embrown'd with native bronze, lo! Henley[364] stands, Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands. 200 How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue!

How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung!

Still break the benches, Henley! with thy strain, While Sherlock, Hare, and Gibson[365] preach in vain.

O great restorer of the good old stage, Preacher at once, and zany of thy age!

O worthy thou of Egypt's wise abodes, A decent priest, where monkeys were the gods!

But fate with butchers placed thy priestly stall, Meek modern faith to murder, hack, and maul; 210 And bade thee live to crown Britannia's praise, In Toland's, Tindal's, and in Woolston's days.[366]

'Yet O! my sons, a father's words attend (So may the fates preserve the ears you lend): 'Tis yours a Bacon or a Locke to blame, A Newton's genius, or a Milton's flame: But O! with One, immortal One dispense, The source of Newton's light, of Bacon's sense.

Content, each emanation of his fires That beams on earth, each virtue he inspires, 220 Each art he prompts, each charm he can create, Whate'er he gives, are given for you to hate.

Persist, by all divine in man unawed, But, "Learn, ye Dunces! not to scorn your God."'

Thus he, for then a ray of reason stole Half through the solid darkness of his soul; But soon the cloud return'd--and thus the sire: 'See now, what Dulness and her sons admire!

See what the charms that smite the simple heart Not touch'd by Nature, and not reach'd by art.' 230

His never-blushing head he turn'd aside, (Not half so pleased when Goodman prophesied), And looked, and saw a sable sorcerer[367] rise, Swift to whose hand a winged volume flies: All sudden, Gorgons hiss, and dragons glare, And ten-horn'd fiends and giants rush to war.

Hell rises, heaven descends, and dance on earth:[368]

Gods, imps, and monsters, music, rage, and mirth, A fire, a jig, a battle, and a ball, Till one wide conflagration swallows all. 240 Thence a new world to Nature's laws unknown

Breaks out refulgent, with a heaven its own: Another Cynthia her new journey runs, And other planets circle other suns.

The forests dance, the rivers upward rise, Whales sport in woods, and dolphins in the skies; And last, to give the whole creation grace, Lo! one vast egg produces human race.[369]

Joy fills his soul, joy innocent of thought: 249 'What power,' he cries, 'what power these wonders wrought?'

'Son, what thou seek'st is in thee! Look, and find Each monster meets his likeness in thy mind.

Yet would'st thou more? In yonder cloud behold, Whose sarsenet skirts are edged with flamy gold, A matchless youth! his nod these worlds controls, Wings the red lightning, and the thunder rolls.

Angel of Dulness, sent to scatter round Her magic charms o'er all unclassic ground Yon stars, yon suns, he rears at pleasure higher, Illumes their light, and sets their flames on fire. 260 Immortal Rich![370] how calm he sits at ease 'Mid snows of paper, and fierce hail of pease; And proud his mistress' orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

'But, lo! to dark encounter in mid air, New wizards rise; I see my Cibber there!

Booth[371] in his cloudy tabernacle shrined, On grinning dragons thou shalt mount the wind.

Dire is the conflict, dismal is the din, Here shouts all Drury, there all Lincoln's inn; 270 Contending theatres our empire raise, Alike their labours, and alike their praise.

'And are these wonders, son, to thee unknown?

Unknown to thee? These wonders are thy own.

These Fate reserved to grace thy reign divine, Foreseen by me, but ah! withheld from mine.

In Lud's old walls though long I ruled, renown'd Far as loud Bow's stupendous bells resound; Though my own Aldermen conferred the bays, To me committing their eternal praise, 280 Their full-fed heroes, their pacific mayors, Their annual trophies, and their monthly wars; Though long my party[372] built on me their hopes, For writing pamphlets, and for roasting popes; Yet lo! in me what authors have to brag on!

Reduced at last to hiss in my own dragon.

Avert it, Heaven! that thou, my Cibber, e'er Should'st wag a serpent-tail in Smithfield fair!

Like the vile straw that's blown about the streets, The needy poet sticks to all he meets, 290 Coach'd, carted, trod upon, now loose, now fast, And carried off in some dog's tail at last; Happier thy fortunes! like a rolling stone, Thy giddy dulness still shall lumber on, Safe in its heaviness, shall never stray, But lick up every blockhead in the way.

Thee shall the patriot, thee the courtier taste, And every year be duller than the last; Till raised from booths, to theatre, to court, Her seat imperial Dulness shall transport. 300 Already Opera prepares the way, The sure forerunner of her gentle sway: Let her thy heart, next drabs and dice, engage, The third mad passion of thy doting age.

Teach thou the warbling Polypheme[373] to roar, And scream thyself as none e'er scream'd before!

To aid our cause, if Heaven thou can'st not bend, Hell thou shalt move; for Faustus[374] is our friend: Pluto with Cato thou for this shalt join, And link the Mourning Bride to Proserpine. 310 Grub Street! thy fall should men and gods conspire, Thy stage shall stand, ensure it but from fire.[375]

Another aeschylus appears![376] prepare For new abortions, all ye pregnant fair!

In flames, like Semele's, be brought to bed, While opening Hell spouts wild-fire at your head.

'Now, Bavius, take the poppy from thy brow, And place it here! here, all ye heroes, bow!

This, this is he, foretold by ancient rhymes: Th' Augustus born to bring Saturnian times. 320 Signs following signs lead on the mighty year!

See! the dull stars roll round and re-appear.

See, see, our own true Phoebus wears the bays!

Our Midas sits Lord Chancellor of Plays!

On poets' tombs see Benson's titles writ![377]

Lo! Ambrose Philips[378] is preferr'd for wit!

See under Ripley rise a new Whitehall, While Jones' and Boyle's united labours fall;[379]

While Wren with sorrow to the grave descends, Gay dies unpension'd with a hundred friends; 330 Hibernian politics, O Swift! thy fate; And Pope's, ten years to comment and translate.

'Proceed, great days! till Learning fly the shore, Till Birch shall blush with noble blood no more, Till Thames see Eton's sons for ever play, Till Westminster's whole year be holiday, Till Isis' elders reel, their pupils sport, And Alma Mater lie dissolved in port!'

Enough! enough! the raptured monarch cries; And through the Ivory Gate the vision flies. 340

VARIATIONS.

VER. 73. In the former edition--

Far eastward cast thine eye, from whence the sun And orient science at a birth begun.

VER. 149. In the first edition it was--