Yet by some object every brain is stirr'd; The dull may waken to a humming-bird; The most recluse, discreetly open'd, find Congenial matter in the cockle-kind; The mind in metaphysics at a loss, May wander in a wilderness of moss;[427] 450 The head that turns at super-lunar things, Poised with a tail, may steer on Wilkins' wings.[428]

'Oh! would the sons of men once think their eyes And reason given them but to study flies!

See nature in some partial narrow shape, And let the Author of the whole escape: Learn but to trifle; or, who most observe, To wonder at their Maker, not to serve.'

'Be that my task' (replies a gloomy clerk, Sworn foe to mystery, yet divinely dark; 460 Whose pious hope aspires to see the day When moral evidence[429] shall quite decay, And damns implicit faith, and holy lies, Prompt to impose, and fond to dogmatise:) 'Let others creep by timid steps and slow, On plain experience lay foundations low, By common sense to common knowledge bred, And last, to Nature's cause through Nature led: All-seeing in thy mists, we want no guide, Mother of arrogance, and source of pride! 470 We nobly take the high priori road,[430]

And reason downward, till we doubt of God: Make Nature still[431] encroach upon his plan; And shove him off as far as e'er we can: Thrust some mechanic cause into his place; Or bind in matter, or diffuse in space.[432]

Or, at one bound o'erleaping all his laws, Make God man's image, man the final cause, Find virtue local, all relation scorn, See all in self, and but for self be born: 480 Of nought so certain as our reason still, Of nought so doubtful as of soul and will.

O! hide the God still more! and make us see, Such as Lucretius drew, a God like thee: Wrapt up in self, a God without a thought, Regardless of our merit or default.

Or that bright image[433] to our fancy draw, Which Theocles[434] in raptured vision saw, While through poetic scenes the genius roves, Or wanders wild in academic groves; 490 That Nature our society adores,[435]

Where Tindal dictates, and Silenus[436] snores.'

Roused at his name, up rose the bousy sire, And shook from out his pipe the seeds of fire; Then snapt his box, and stroked his belly down: Rosy and reverend, though without a gown.

Bland and familiar to the throne he came, Led up the youth, and call'd the goddess dame.

Then thus: 'From priestcraft happily set free, Lo! every finish'd son returns to thee: 500 First, slave to words,[437] then vassal to a name, Then dupe to party; child and man the same; Bounded by nature, narrow'd still by art, A trifling head, and a contracted heart; Thus bred, thus taught, how many have I seen, Smiling on all, and smiled on by a queen?[438]

Mark'd out for honours, honour'd for their birth, To thee the most rebellious things on earth: Now to thy gentle shadow all are shrunk, All melted down in pension or in punk! 510 So K----, so B---- sneak'd into the grave, A monarch's half, and half a harlot's slave.

Poor W----,[439] nipp'd in folly's broadest bloom, Who praises now? his chaplain on his tomb.

Then take them all, oh, take them to thy breast!

Thy Magus, goddess! shall perform the rest.'

With that, a wizard old his cup extends, Which whoso tastes forgets his former friends, Sire, ancestors, himself. One casts his eyes Up to a star, and like Endymion dies: 520 A feather, shooting from another's head, Extracts his brain, and principle is fled; Lost is his God, his country, everything; And nothing left but homage to a king![440]

The vulgar herd turn off to roll with hogs, To run with horses, or to hunt with dogs; But, sad example! never to escape Their infamy, still keep the human shape.

But she, good goddess, sent to every child Firm Impudence, or Stupefaction mild; 530 And strait succeeded, leaving shame no room, Cibberian forehead, or Cimmerian gloom.

Kind Self-conceit to some her glass applies, Which no one looks in with another's eyes: But as the flatterer or dependant paint, Beholds himself a patriot, chief, or saint.

On others Interest her gay livery flings, Interest, that waves on party-colour'd wings: Turn'd to the sun, she casts a thousand dyes, And, as she turns, the colours fall or rise. 540

Others the Syren sisters warble round, And empty heads console with empty sound.

No more, alas! the voice of fame they hear, The balm of Dulness[441] trickling in their ear.

Great C----, H----, P----, R----, K----, Why all your toils? your sons have learn'd to sing.

How quick ambition hastes 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! 550 Beeves, at his touch, at once to jelly turn, And the huge boar is shrunk into an urn: The board with specious miracles he loads,[442]

Turns hares to larks, and pigeons into toads.

Another (for in all what one can shine?) Explains the _seve_ and _verdeur_ of the vine.[443]

What cannot copious sacrifice atone?

Thy truffles, Perigord! thy hams, Bayonne!

With French libation, and Italian strain, Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hays's stain.[444] 560 Knight lifts the head; for what are crowds undone To three essential partridges in one?

Gone every 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.

Her children first of more distinguish'd sort, Who study Shakspeare at the Inns of Court, Impale a glow-worm, or vertu profess, Shine in the dignity of F.R.S. 570 Some, deep freemasons, 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 pass'd the meanest unregarded; one Rose a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.[445]

The last, not least in honour or applause, Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws.

Then, blessing all, 'Go, children of my care!

To practice now from theory repair. 580 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 lead the race; From stage to stage the licensed earl may run, Pair'd with his fellow-charioteer the sun; The learned baron butterflies design, Or draw to silk Arachne's subtile line;[446] 590 The judge to dance his brother sergeant call;[447]

The senator at cricket urge the ball; The bishop stow (pontific luxury!) An hundred souls of turkeys in a pie; The sturdy squire to Gallic masters stoop, And drown his lands and manors in a soup.

Others import yet nobler arts from France, Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.[448]

Perhaps more high some daring son may soar, Proud to my list to add one monarch more; 600 And nobly conscious, princes are but things Born for first ministers, as slaves for kings, Tyrant supreme! shall three estates command, And MAKE ONE MIGHTY DUNCIAD OF THE LAND!'

More she had spoke, but yawn'd--All Nature nods: What mortal can resist the yawn of gods?

Churches and chapels instantly it reach'd; (St James's first, for leaden Gilbert[449] preach'd;) Then catch'd the schools; the Hall scarce kept awake; The Convocation gaped, but could not speak; 610 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; Even Palinurus nodded at the helm: The vapour mild o'er each committee crept; Unfinish'd treaties in each office slept; And chiefless armies dozed out the campaign; And navies yawn'd for orders on the main.[450]

O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone, Wits have short memories, and dunces none,) 620 Relate, who first, who last resign'd to rest; Whose heads she partly, whose completely bless'd; What charms could faction, what ambition, lull, The venal quiet, and entrance the dull; '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 power.

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, The sick'ning stars fade off the ethereal plain; As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppress'd, Closed one by one to everlasting rest; Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, Art after art goes out, and all is night. 640 See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,[451]

Mountains of casuistry heap'd o'er her head!

Philosophy, that lean'd on heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.

Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, 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 restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.

VARIATIONS.

VER. 114--

'What! no respect, he cried, for Shakspeare's page?'

VER. 441. The common soul, &c. In the first edition, thus--

Of souls the greater part, Heaven's common make, Serve but to keep fools pert, and knaves awake; And most but find that sentinel of God, A drowsy watchman in the land of Nod.

VER. 643. In the former edition, it stood thus--

Philosophy, that reach'd the heavens before, Shrinks to her hidden cause, and is no more.

BY THE AUTHOR.

A DECLARATION.

Whereas certain haberdashers of points and particles, being instigated by the spirit of pride, and assuming to themselves the name of critics and restorers, have taken upon them to adulterate the common and current sense of our glorious ancestors, poets of this realm, by clipping, coining, defacing the images, mixing their own base alloy, or otherwise falsifying the same; which they publish, utter, and vend as genuine: The said haberdashers having no right thereto, as neither heirs, executors, administrators, assigns, or in any sort related to such poets, to all or any of them: Now we, having carefully revised this our Dunciad,[452]

beginning with the words 'The Mighty Mother,' and ending with the words 'buries all,' containing the entire sum of one thousand seven hundred and fifty-four verses, declare every word, figure, point, and comma of this impression to be authentic: And do therefore strictly enjoin and forbid any person or persons whatsoever, to erase, reverse, put between hooks, or by any other means, directly or indirectly, change or mangle any of them. And we do hereby earnestly exhort all our brethren to follow this our example, which we heartily wish our great predecessors had heretofore set, as a remedy and prevention of all such abuses.

Provided always, that nothing in this Declaration shall be construed to limit the lawful and undoubted right of every subject of this realm, to judge, censure, or condemn, in the whole or in part, any poem or poet whatsoever.

Given under our hand at London, this third day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred thirty and two.

Declarat' cor' me, JOHN BARBER, Mayor.