Poetical Works of Pope, Vol. II
Alexander Pope

Part 6 out of 8

takes him to a mount of vision, from whence he shows him the past
triumphs of the empire of Dulness, then the present, and lastly the
future: how small a part of the world was ever conquered by science, how
soon those conquests were stopped, and those very nations again reduced
to her dominion: then distinguishing the island of Great Britain, shows
by what aids, by what persons, and by what degrees it shall be brought
to her empire. Some of the persons he causes to pass in review before
his eyes, describing each by his proper figure, character, and
qualifications. On a sudden the scene shifts, and a vast number of
miracles and prodigies appear, utterly surprising and unknown to the
king himself, till they are explained to be the wonders of his own reign
now commencing. On this subject Settle breaks into a congratulation, yet
not unmixed with concern, that his own times were but the types of
these. He prophesies how first the nation shall be overrun with farces,
operas, and shows; how the throne of Dulness shall be advanced over the
theatres, and set up even at Court; then how her sons shall preside in
the seats of arts and sciences; giving a glimpse, or Pisgah-sight, of
the future fulness of her glory, the accomplishment whereof is the
subject of the fourth and last book.

But in her temple's last recess enclosed,
On Dulness' lap the anointed head reposed.
Him close the curtains round with vapours blue,
And soft besprinkles with Cimmerian dew.
Then raptures high the seat of sense o'erflow,
Which only heads refined from reason know.
Hence, from the straw where Bedlam's prophet nods,
He hears loud oracles, and talks with gods:
Hence the fool's Paradise, the statesman's scheme,
The air-built castle, and the golden dream, 10
The maid's romantic wish, the chemist's flame,
And poet's vision of eternal fame.

And now, on Fancy's easy wing convey'd,
The king descending, views the Elysian shade,
A slip-shod sibyl led his steps along,
In lofty madness meditating song;
Her tresses staring from poetic dreams,
And never wash'd, but in Castalia's streams.
Taylor,[348] their better Charon, lends an oar,
(Once swan of Thames, though now he sings no more.) 20
Benlowes,[349] propitious still to blockheads, bows;
And Shadwell nods the poppy[350] on his brows.
Here, in a dusky vale where Lethe rolls,
Old Bavius sits,[351] to dip poetic souls,
And blunt the sense, and fit it for a skull
Of solid proof, impenetrably dull:
Instant, when dipp'd, away they wing their flight,
Where Brown and Mears[352] unbar the gates of light,
Demand new bodies, and in calf's array
Rush to the world, impatient for the day. 30
Millions and millions on these banks he views,
Thick as the stars of night, or morning dews,
As thick as bees o'er vernal blossoms fly,
As thick as eggs at Ward in pillory.[353]

Wond'ring he gazed: when, lo! a sage appears,
By his broad shoulders known, and length of ears,
Known by the band and suit which Settle[354] wore
(His only suit) for twice three years before:
All as the vest appear'd the wearer's frame,
Old in new state--another, yet the same. 40
Bland and familiar as in life, begun
Thus the great father to the greater son:

'Oh born to see what none can see awake!
Behold the wonders of the oblivious lake.
Thou, yet unborn, hast touch'd this sacred shore;
The hand of Bavius drench'd thee o'er and o'er.
But blind to former as to future fate,
What mortal knows his pre-existent state?
Who knows how long thy transmigrating soul
Might from Boeotian to Boeotian roll? 50
How many Dutchmen she vouchsafed to thrid?
How many stages through old monks she rid?
And all who since, in mild benighted days,
Mix'd the owl's ivy with the poet's bays.
As man's meanders to the vital spring
Roll all their tides, then back their circles bring;
Or whirligigs, twirl'd round by skilful swain,
Suck the thread in, then yield it out again:
All nonsense thus, of old or modern date,
Shall in thee centre, from thee circulate. 60
For this our queen unfolds to vision true
Thy mental eye, for thou hast much to view:
Old scenes of glory, times long cast behind,
Shall, first recall'd, rush forward to thy mind:
Then stretch thy sight o'er all thy rising reign,
And let the past and future fire thy brain.

'Ascend this hill, whose cloudy point commands
Her boundless empire over seas and lands.
See, round the poles where keener spangles shine,
Where spices smoke beneath the burning line, 70
(Earth's wide extremes), her sable flag display'd,
And all the nations cover'd in her shade!

'Far eastward cast thine eye, from whence the sun
And orient science their bright course begun;
One god-like monarch[355] all that pride confounds,
He whose long wall the wandering Tartar bounds;
Heavens! what a pile! whole ages perish there,
And one bright blaze turns learning into air.

'Thence to the south extend thy gladden'd eyes;
There rival flames with equal glory rise, 80
From shelves to shelves see greedy Vulcan roll,
And lick up all their physic of the soul.[356]

'How little, mark! that portion of the ball,
Where, faint at best, the beams of science fall:
Soon as they dawn, from Hyperborean skies
Embodied dark, what clouds of Vandals rise!
Lo! where Maeotis sleeps, and hardly flows
The freezing Tanais through a waste of snows,
The North by myriads pours her mighty sons,
Great nurse of Goths, of Alans, and of Huns! 90
See Alaric's stern port! the martial frame
Of Genseric! and Attila's dread name!
See the bold Ostrogoths on Latium fall;
See the fierce Visigoths on Spain and Gaul!
See, where the morning gilds the palmy shore,
(The soil that arts and infant letters bore,)
His conquering tribes the Arabian prophet draws,
And saving ignorance enthrones by laws.
See Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep,
And all the western world believe and sleep. 100

'Lo! Rome herself, proud mistress now no more
Of arts, but thundering against heathen lore;
Her gray-hair'd synods damning books unread,
And Bacon trembling for his brazen head.
Padua, with sighs, beholds her Livy burn,
And ev'n the Antipodes Virgilius mourn.
See, the cirque falls, the unpillar'd temple nods,
Streets paved with heroes, Tiber choked with gods:
Till Peter's keys some christen'd Jove adorn,
And Pan to Moses lends his pagan horn; 110
See graceless Venus to a virgin turn'd,
Or Phidias broken, and Apelles burn'd.

'Behold yon isle, by palmers, pilgrims trod,
Men bearded, bald, cowl'd, uncowl'd, shod, unshod,
Peel'd, patch'd, and piebald, linsey-woolsey brothers,
Grave mummers! sleeveless some, and shirtless others.
That once was Britain--happy! had she seen
No fiercer sons, had Easter never been.[357]
In peace, great goddess, ever be adored;
How keen the war, if Dulness draw the sword! 120
Thus visit not thy own! on this bless'd age
Oh spread thy influence, but restrain thy rage.

'And see, my son! the hour is on its way
That lifts our goddess to imperial sway;
This favourite isle, long sever'd from her reign,
Dove-like she gathers to her wings again.
Now look through Fate! behold the scene she draws!
What aids, what armies to assert her cause!
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 Æschylus 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


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--

Woolston, the scourge of scripture, mark with awe!
And mighty Jacob, blunderbuss of law!

VER. 151. Lo Popple's brow, &c. In the former edition--

Haywood, Centlivre, glories of their race,
Lo Horneck's fierce, and Roome's funereal face.

VER. 157. Each songster, riddler, &c. In the former edition--

Lo Bond and Foxton, every nameless name.

After VER. 158 in the first edition followed--

How proud, how pale, how earnest all appear!
How rhymes eternal jingle in their ear!

VER. 197. In the first edition it was--

And proud philosophy with breeches tore,
And English music with a dismal score:
Fast by in darkness palpable enshrined
W---s, B---r, M---n, all the poring kind.

After VER. 274 in the former edition followed--

For works like these let deathless journals tell,
'None but thyself can be thy parallel.'

VER. 295. Safe in its heaviness, etc. In the former edition--

Too safe in inborn heaviness to stray,
And lick up every blockhead in the way.
Thy dragons, magistrates and peers shall taste,
And from each show rise duller than the last;
Till raised from booths, etc.

VER. 323. See, see, our own, &c. In the former edition--

Beneath his reign shall Eusden wear the bays.
Cibber preside Lord Chancellor of plays,
Benson sole Judge of Architecture sit,
And Namby Pamby be preferr'd for wit!
I see the unfinish'd dormitory wall,
I see the Savoy totter to her fall;
Hibernian politics, O Swift! thy doom,
And Pope's, translating three whole years with Broome.
Proceed great days, &c.

VER. 331. In the former edition, thus--

---- O Swift! thy doom,
And Pope's, translating ten whole years with Broome.

_See Life._

After VER. 338, in the first edition, were the following lines--

Then when these signs declare the mighty year,
When the dull stars roll round and re-appear;
Let there be darkness! (the dread Power shall say)
All shall be darkness, as it ne'er were day;
To their first Chaos wit's vain works shall fall,
And universal darkness cover all.



The poet being, in this book, to declare the completion of the
prophecies mentioned at the end of the former, makes a new invocation;
as the greater poets are wont, when some high and worthy matter is to be
sung. He shows the goddess coming in her majesty to destroy order and
science, and to substitute the kingdom of the Dull upon earth; how she
leads captive the Sciences, and silenceth the Muses; and what they be
who succeed in their stead. All her children, by a wonderful attraction,
are drawn about her; and bear along with them divers others, who promote
her empire by connivance, weak resistance, or discouragement of Arts;
such as half-wits, tasteless admirers, vain pretenders, the flatterers
of Dunces, or the patrons of them. All these crowd round her; one of
them offering to approach her, is driven back by a rival, but she
commends and encourages both. The first who speak in form are the
geniuses of the schools, who assure her of their care to advance her
cause, by confining youth to words, and keeping them out of the way of
real knowledge. Their address, and her gracious answer; with her charge
to them and the Universities. The Universities appear by their proper
deputies, and assure her that the same method is observed in the
progress of education. The speech of Aristarchus on this subject. They
are driven off by a band of young gentlemen returned from travel with
their tutors; one of whom delivers to the goddess, in a polite oration,
an account of the whole conduct and fruits of their travels; presenting
to her at the same time a young nobleman perfectly accomplished. She
receives him graciously, and indues him with the happy quality of want
of shame. She sees loitering about her a number of indolent persons
abandoning all business and duty, and dying with laziness: to these
approaches the antiquary Annius, entreating her to make them virtuosos,
and assign them over to him; but Mummius, another antiquary, complaining
of his fraudulent proceeding, she finds a method to reconcile their
difference. Then enter a troop of people fantastically adorned, offering
her strange and exotic presents: amongst them, one stands forth and
demands justice on another, who had deprived him of one of the greatest
curiosities in nature; but he justifies himself so well, that the
goddess gives them both her approbation. She recommends to them to find
proper employment for the indolents before-mentioned, in the study of
butterflies, shells, birds' nests, moss, &c., but with particular
caution not to proceed beyond trifles, to any useful or extensive views
of nature, or of the Author of nature. Against the last of these
apprehensions, she is secured by a hearty address from the minute
philosophers and freethinkers, one of whom speaks in the name of the
rest. The youth thus instructed and principled, are delivered to her in
a body, by the hands of Silenus; and then admitted to taste the cup of
the Magus her high-priest, which causes a total oblivion of all
obligations, divine, civil, moral, or rational. To these her adepts she
sends priests, attendants, and comforters, of various kinds; confers on
them orders and degrees; and then dismissing them with a speech,
confirming to each his privileges, and telling what she expects from
each, concludes with a yawn of extraordinary virtue: the progress and
effects whereof on all orders of men, and the consummation of all, in
the restoration of Night and Chaos, conclude the poem.

Yet, yet a moment, one dim ray of light
Indulge, dread Chaos, and eternal Night!
Of darkness visible so much be lent,
As half to show, half veil the deep intent.
Ye Powers! whose mysteries restored I sing,
To whom Time bears me on his rapid wing,
Suspend a while your force inertly strong,
Then take at once the poet and the song.

Now flamed the dog-star's unpropitious ray,
Smote every brain, and wither'd every bay; 10
Sick was the sun, the owl forsook his bower,
The moon-struck prophet felt the madding hour:
Then rose the seed of Chaos, and of Night,
To blot out order, and extinguish light,
Of dull and venal a new world to mould,
And bring Saturnian days of lead and gold.

She mounts the throne: her head a cloud conceal'd,
In broad effulgence all below reveal'd,
('Tis thus aspiring Dulness ever shines),
Soft on her lap her laureate son reclines. 20

Beneath her foot-stool, Science groans in chains,
And Wit dreads exile, penalties and pains.
There foam'd rebellious Logic, gagg'd and bound,
There, stripp'd, fair Rhetoric languish'd on the ground;
His blunted arms by Sophistry are borne,
And shameless Billingsgate her robes adorn.
Morality, by her false guardians drawn.
Chicane in furs, and Casuistry in lawn,
Gasps, as they straiten at each end the cord,
And dies, when Dulness gives her page the word. 30
Mad Máthesis[380] alone was unconfined,
Too mad for mere material chains to bind,
Now to pure space[381] lifts her ecstatic stare,
Now running round the circle, finds it square.[382]
But held in tenfold bonds the Muses lie,
Watch'd both by Envy's and by Flattery's eye:
There to her heart sad Tragedy address'd
The dagger wont to pierce the tyrant's breast;
But sober History restrain'd her rage,
And promised vengeance on a barbarous age. 40
There sunk Thalia, nerveless, cold, and dead,
Had not her sister Satire held her head:
Nor could'st thou, Chesterfield![383] a tear refuse,
Thou wept'st, and with thee wept each gentle Muse.

When, lo! a harlot form[384] soft sliding by,
With mincing step, small voice, and languid eye:
Foreign her air, her robe's discordant pride
In patchwork fluttering, and her head aside:
By singing peers upheld on either hand,
She tripp'd and laugh'd, too pretty much to stand; 50
Cast on the prostrate Nine a scornful look,
Then thus in quaint recitative spoke:

'O Cara! Cara! silence all that train:
Joy to great Chaos! let division reign:[385]
Chromatic[386] tortures soon shall drive them hence,
Break all their nerves, and fritter all their sense:
One trill shall harmonise joy, grief, and rage,
Wake the dull church, and lull the ranting stage;[387]
To the same notes thy sons shall hum, or snore,
And all thy yawning daughters cry, Encore! 60
Another Phoebus, thy own Phoebus, reigns,
Joys in my jigs, and dances in my chains.
But soon, ah soon, rebellion will commence,
If music meanly borrows aid from sense:
Strong in new arms, lo! giant Handel stands,
Like bold Briareus, with a hundred hands;
To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes,
And Jove's own thunders follow Mars's drums.
Arrest him, empress; or you sleep no more'--
She heard, and drove him to the Hibernian shore. 70

And now had Fame's posterior trumpet blown,
And all the nations summon'd to the throne.
The young, the old, who feel her inward sway,
One instinct seizes, and transports away.
None need a guide, by sure attraction led,
And strong impulsive gravity of head;
None want a place, for all their centre found,
Hung to the goddess, and cohered around.
Not closer, orb in orb, conglobed are seen
The buzzing bees about their dusky queen. 80

The gathering number, as it moves along,
Involves a vast involuntary throng,
Who, gently drawn, and struggling less and less,
Roll in her vortex, and her power confess.
Not those alone who passive own her laws,
But who, weak rebels, more advance her cause.
Whate'er of dunce in college or in town
Sneers at another, in toupée or gown;
Whate'er of mongrel no one class admits,
A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits. 90

Nor absent they, no members of her state,
Who pay her homage in her sons, the great;
Who, false to Phoebus, bow the knee to Baal;
Or, impious, preach his word without a call.
Patrons, who sneak from living worth to dead,
Withhold the pension, and set up the head;
Or vest dull flattery in the sacred gown;
Or give from fool to fool the laurel crown.
And (last and worst) with all the cant of wit,
Without the soul, the Muse's hypocrite. 100

There march'd the bard and blockhead, side by side,
Who rhymed for hire, and patronised for pride.
Narcissus,[388] praised with all a parson's power,
Look'd a white lily sunk beneath a shower.
There moved Montalto with superior air;
His stretch'd-out arm display'd a volume fair;
Courtiers and patriots in two ranks divide,
Through both he pass'd, and bow'd from side to side;
But as in graceful act, with awful eye
Composed he stood, bold Benson[389] thrust him by: 110
On two unequal crutches propp'd he came,
Milton's on this, on that one Johnston's name.
The decent knight[390] retired with sober rage,
Withdrew his hand, and closed the pompous page.
But (happy for him as the times went then)
Appear'd Apollo's mayor and aldermen,
On whom three hundred gold-capp'd youths await,
To lug the ponderous volume off in state.

When Dulness, smiling--'Thus revive the wits!
But murder first, and mince them all to bits; 120
As erst Medea (cruel, so to save!)
A new edition of old Aeson gave;
Let standard authors, thus, like trophies borne,
Appear more glorious as more hack'd and torn.
And you, my critics! in the chequer'd shade,
Admire new light through holes yourselves have made.
Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone,
A page, a grave, that they can call their own;
But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick,
On passive paper, or on solid brick. 130
So by each bard an alderman[391] shall sit,
A heavy lord shall hang at every wit,
And while on Fame's triumphal car they ride,
Some slave of mine be pinion'd to their side.'

Now crowds on crowds around the goddess press,
Each eager to present the first address.
Dunce scorning dunce beholds the next advance,
But fop shows fop superior complaisance.
When, lo! a spectre rose, whose index-hand
Held forth the virtue of the dreadful wand; 140
His beaver'd brow a birchen garland wears,
Dropping with infants' blood and mothers' tears.
O'er every rein a shuddering horror runs;
Eton and Winton shake through all their sons.
All flesh is humbled, Westminster's bold race
Shrink, and confess the genius of the place:
The pale boy-senator yet tingling stands,
And holds his breeches close with both his hands.

Then thus: 'Since man from beast by words is known,
Words are man's province, words we teach alone, 150
When reason doubtful, like the Samian letter,[392]
Points him two ways, the narrower is the better.
Placed at the door of Learning, youth to guide,
We never suffer it to stand too wide.
To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence,
As fancy opens the quick springs of sense,
We ply the memory, we load the brain,
Bind rebel wit, and double chain on chain,
Confine the thought, to exercise the breath,
And keep them in the pale of words till death. 160
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er design'd,
We hang one jingling padlock on the mind:
A poet the first day he dips his quill;
And what the last? a very poet still.
Pity! the charm works only in our wall,
Lost, lost too soon in yonder House or Hall.[393]
There truant Wyndham every Muse gave o'er,
There Talbot sunk, and was a wit no more!
How sweet an Ovid, Murray was our boast!
How many Martials were in Pulteney lost! 170
Else sure some bard, to our eternal praise,
In twice ten thousand rhyming nights and days,
Had reach'd the work, the all that mortal can,
And South beheld that master-piece of man.'[394]

'Oh (cried the goddess) for some pedant reign!
Some gentle James,[395] to bless the land again;
To stick the doctor's chair into the throne,
Give law to words, or war with words alone,
Senates and courts with Greek and Latin rule,
And turn the council to a grammar school! 180
For sure, if Dulness sees a grateful day,
'Tis in the shade of arbitrary sway.
Oh! if my sons may learn one earthly thing,
Teach but that one, sufficient for a king;
That which my priests, and mine alone, maintain,
Which as it dies or lives, we fall or reign:
May you, may Cam and Isis, preach it long!
"The right divine of kings to govern wrong."'

Prompt at the call, around the goddess roll
Broad hats, and hoods, and caps, a sable shoal: 190
Thick and more thick the black blockade extends,
A hundred head of Aristotle's friends.
Nor wert thou, Isis! wanting to the day,
Though Christ-church long kept prudishly away.
Each stanch polemic, stubborn as a rock,
Each fierce logician, still expelling Locke,[396]
Came whip and spur, and dash'd through thin and thick
On German Crousaz,[397] and Dutch Burgersdyck.
As many quit the streams[398] that murmuring fall
To lull the sons of Margaret and Clare-hall, 200
Where Bentley late tempestuous wont to sport
In troubled waters, but now sleeps in port.[399]
Before them march'd that awful Aristarch!
Plough'd was his front with many a deep remark:
His hat, which never vail'd to human pride,
Walker with reverence took, and laid aside.
Low bow'd the rest: he, kingly, did but nod;
So upright Quakers please both man and God.
'Mistress! dismiss that rabble from your throne:
Avaunt! is Aristarchus yet unknown? 210
Thy mighty scholiast, whose unwearied pains
Made Horace dull, and humbled Milton's strains.
Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain,
Critics like me shall make it prose again.
Roman and Greek grammarians! know your better,
Author of something yet more great than letter;[400]
While towering o'er your alphabet, like Saul,
Stands our digamma,[401] and o'ertops them all.

''Tis true, on words is still our whole debate,
Disputes of _me_ or _te_, of _aut_ or _at_, 220
To sound or sink in _cano_, O or A,
Or give up Cicero[402] to C or K.
Let Freind[403] affect to speak as Terence spoke,
And Alsop never but like Horace joke:
For me, what Virgil, Pliny, may deny,
Manilius or Solinus[404] shall supply:
For Attic phrase in Plato let them seek,
I poach in Suidas[405] for unlicensed Greek.
In ancient sense if any needs will deal,
Be sure I give them fragments, not a meal; 230
What Gellius or Stobaeus hash'd before,
Or chew'd by blind old scholiasts o'er and o'er,
The critic eye, that microscope of wit,
Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit:
How parts relate to parts, or they to whole,
The body's harmony, the beaming soul,
Are things which Kuster, Burman, Wasse shall see,
When Man's whole frame is obvious to a flea.

'Ah, think not, mistress! more true Dulness lies
In Folly's cap, than Wisdom's grave disguise; 240
Like buoys, that never sink into the flood,
On Learning's surface we but lie and nod.
Thine is the genuine head of many a house,
And much divinity[406] without a [Greek: Nous].
Nor could a Barrow work on every block,
Nor has one Atterbury spoil'd the flock.
See! still thy own, the heavy cannon roll,
And metaphysic smokes involve the pole.
For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head
With all such reading as was never read: 250
For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it,
And write about it, goddess, and about it:
So spins the silk-worm small its slender store,
And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.

'What though we let some better sort of fool
Thrid every science, run through every school?
Never by tumbler through the hoops was shown
Such skill in passing all, and touching none.
He may indeed (if sober all this time)
Plague with dispute, or persecute with rhyme. 260
We only furnish what he cannot use,
Or wed to what he must divorce, a Muse:
Full in the midst of Euclid dip at once,
And petrify a genius to a dunce;[407]
Or, set on metaphysic ground to prance,
Show all his paces, not a step advance.
With the same cement, ever sure to bind,
We bring to one dead level every mind.
Then take him to develop, if you can,
And hew the block off,[408] and get out the man. 270
But wherefore waste I words? I see advance
Whore, pupil, and laced governor from France.
Walker! our hat,'--nor more he deign'd to say,
But, stern as Ajax' spectre,[409] strode away.

In flow'd at once a gay embroider'd race,
And tittering push'd the pedants off the place:
Some would have spoken, but the voice was drown'd
By the French horn, or by the opening hound.
The first came forwards,[410] with an easy mien,
As if he saw St James's[411] and the queen; 280
When thus the attendant orator begun:
'Receive, great empress! thy accomplish'd son:
Thine from the birth, and sacred from the rod,
A dauntless infant! never scared with God.
The sire saw, one by one, his virtues wake:
The mother begg'd the blessing of a rake.
Thou gav'st that ripeness which so soon began,
And ceased so soon--he ne'er was boy nor man;
Through school and college, thy kind cloud o'ercast,
Safe and unseen the young Æneas pass'd: 290
Thence bursting glorious, all at once let down,
Stunn'd with his giddy 'larum half the town.
Intrepid then, o'er seas and lands he flew:
Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too.
There all thy gifts and graces we display,
Thou, only thou, directing all our way,
To where the Seine, obsequious as she runs,
Pours at great Bourbon's feet her silken sons;
Or Tiber, now no longer Roman, rolls,
Vain of Italian arts, Italian souls: 300
To happy convents, bosom'd deep in vines,
Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines:
To isles of fragrance, lily-silver'd vales,[412]
Diffusing languor in the panting gales:
To lands of singing or of dancing slaves,
Love-whispering woods, and lute-resounding waves.
But chief her shrine where naked Venus keeps,
And Cupids ride the lion of the deeps;[413]
Where, eased of fleets, the Adriatic main
Wafts the smooth eunuch and enamour'd swain, 310
Led by my hand, he saunter'd Europe round,
And gather'd every vice on Christian ground;
Saw every court, heard every king declare
His royal sense of operas or the fair;
The stews and palace equally explored,
Intrigued with glory, and with spirit whored;
Tried all hors-d'oeuvres, all liqueurs defined,
Judicious drank, and greatly-daring dined;[414]
Dropp'd the dull lumber of the Latin store,
Spoil'd his own language, and acquired no more; 320
All classic learning lost on classic ground;
And last turned air, the echo of a sound!
See now, half-cured, and perfectly well-bred,
With nothing but a solo in his head;
As much estate, and principle, and wit,
As Jansen, Fleetwood, Cibber[415] shall think fit;
Stolen from a duel, follow'd by a nun,
And, if a borough choose him, not undone;
See, to my country happy I restore
This glorious youth, and add one Venus more. 330
Her too receive (for her my soul adores),
So may the sons of sons of sons of whores
Prop thine, O empress! like each neighbour throne,
And make a long posterity thy own.'
Pleased, she accepts the hero, and the dame
Wraps in her veil, and frees from sense of shame.

Then look'd, and saw a lazy, lolling sort,
Unseen at church, at senate, or at court,
Of ever-listless loiterers that attend
No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend. 340
Thee, too, my Paridel![416] she marked thee there,
Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair,
And heard thy everlasting yawn confess
The pains and penalties of idleness.
She pitied! but her pity only shed
Benigner influence on thy nodding head.
But Annius,[417] crafty seer, with ebon wand,
And well-dissembled emerald on his hand,
False as his gems, and canker'd as his coins,
Came, cramm'd with capon, from where Pollio dines. 350
Soft, as the wily fox is seen to creep,
Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep,
Walk round and round, now prying here, now there,
So he; but pious, whisper'd first his prayer.

'Grant, gracious goddess! grant me still to cheat,[418]
Oh may thy cloud still cover the deceit!
Thy choicer mists on this assembly shed,
But pour them thickest on the noble head.
So shall each youth, assisted by our eyes,
See other Caesars, other Homers rise; 360
Through twilight ages hunt the Athenian fowl,[419]
Which Chalcis gods, and mortals call an owl,
Now see an Attys, now a Cecrops[420] clear,
Nay, Mahomet! the pigeon at thine ear;
Be rich in ancient brass, though not in gold,
And keep his Lares, though his house be sold;
To headless Phoebe his fair bride postpone,
Honour a Syrian prince above his own;
Lord of an Otho, if I vouch it true;
Bless'd in one Niger, till he knows of two.' 370

Mummius[421] o'erheard him; Mummius, fool-renown'd,
Who like his Cheops[422] stinks above the ground,
Fierce as a startled adder, swell'd, and said,
Rattling an ancient sistrum at his head;

'Speak'st thou of Syrian prince?[423] Traitor base!
Mine, goddess! mine is all the hornèd race.
True, he had wit to make their value rise;
From foolish Greeks to steal them was as wise;
More glorious yet, from barbarous hands to keep,
When Sallee rovers chased him on the deep. 380
Then, taught by Hermes, and divinely bold,
Down his own throat he risk'd the Grecian gold,
Received each demi-god, with pious care,
Deep in his entrails--I revered them there,
I bought them, shrouded in that Irving shrine,
And, at their second birth, they issue mine.'

'Witness, great Ammon![424] by whose horns I swore,
(Replied soft Annius) this our paunch before
Still bears them, faithful; and that thus I eat,
Is to refund the medals with the meat. 390
To prove me, goddess! clear of all design,
Bid me with Pollio sup, as well as dine:
There all the learn'd shall at the labour stand,
And Douglas[425] lend his soft, obstetric hand.'

The goddess smiling seem'd to give consent;
So back to Pollio, hand in hand, they went.

Then thick as locusts blackening all the ground,
A tribe, with weeds and shells fantastic crown'd,
Each with some wondrous gift approach'd the power,
A nest, a toad, a fungus, or a flower. 400
But far the foremost, two, with earnest zeal,
And aspect ardent, to the throne appeal.

The first thus open'd: 'Hear thy suppliant's call,
Great queen, and common mother of us all!
Fair from its humble bed I rear'd this flower,
Suckled, and cheer'd, with air, and sun, and shower;
Soft on the paper ruff its leaves I spread,
Bright with the gilded button tipp'd its head;
Then throned in glass, and named it Caroline:[426]
Each maid cried, charming! and each youth, divine! 410
Did Nature's pencil ever blend such rays,
Such varied light in one promiscuous blaze?
Now prostrate! dead! behold that Caroline:
No maid cries, charming! and no youth, divine!
And lo, the wretch! whose vile, whose insect lust
Laid this gay daughter of the spring in dust.
Oh, punish him, or to th' Elysian shades
Dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.'
He ceased, and wept. With innocence of mien,
Th' accused stood forth, and thus address'd the queen: 420

'Of all th' enamell'd race, whose silvery wing
Waves to the tepid zephyrs of the spring,
Or swims along the fluid atmosphere,
Once brightest shined this child of heat and air.
I saw, and started, from its vernal bower,
The rising game, and chased from flower to flower;
It fled, I follow'd; now in hope, now pain;
It stopp'd, I stopp'd; it moved, I moved again.
At last it fix'd; 'twas on what plant it pleased,
And where it fix'd, the beauteous bird I seized: 430
Rose or carnation was below my care;
I meddle, goddess! only in my sphere.
I tell the naked fact without disguise,
And, to excuse it, need but show the prize;
Whose spoils this paper offers to your eye,
Fair ev'n in death! this peerless butterfly.'

'My sons! (she answer'd) both have done your parts:
Live happy both, and long promote our arts.
But hear a mother, when she recommends
To your fraternal care our sleeping friends. 440
The common soul, of Heaven's more frugal make,
Serves but to keep fools pert and knaves awake:
A drowsy watchman, that just gives a knock,
And breaks our rest, to tell us what's a clock.
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 _séve_ 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 vertú 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,

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.


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.



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

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,





It will be found a true observation, though somewhat surprising, that
when any scandal is vented against a man of the highest distinction and
character, either in the state or in literature, the public in general
afford it a most quiet reception; and the larger part accept it as
favourably as if it were some kindness done to themselves: whereas, if a
known scoundrel or blockhead but chance to be touched upon, a whole
legion is up in arms, and it becomes the common cause of all scribblers,
booksellers, and printers whatsoever.

Not to search too deeply into the reason hereof, I will only observe as
a fact, that every week for these two months past, the town has been
persecuted with pamphlets, advertisements, letters, and weekly essays,
not only against the wit and writings, but against the character and
person of Mr Pope. And that of all those men who have received pleasure
from his works, which by modest computation may be about a hundred
thousand in these kingdoms of England and Ireland (not to mention
Jersey, Guernsey, the Orcades, those in the new world, and foreigners
who have translated him into their languages), of all this number not a
man hath stood up to say one word in his defence.

The only exception is the author of the following poem, who, doubtless,
had either a better insight into the grounds of this clamour, or a
better opinion of Mr Pope's integrity, joined with a greater personal
love for him, than any other of his numerous friends and admirers.

Further, that he was in his peculiar intimacy, appears from the
knowledge he manifests of the most private authors of all the anonymous
pieces against him, and from his having in this poem attacked no man
living, who had not before printed or published some scandal against
this gentleman.

How I came possessed of it is no concern to the reader; but it would
have been a wrong to him had I detained the publication, since those
names which are its chief ornaments die off daily so fast, as must
render it too soon unintelligible. If it provoke the author to give us a
more perfect edition, I have my end.

Who he is I cannot say, and (which is a great pity) there is certainly
nothing in his style and manner of writing which can distinguish or
discover him: for if it bears any resemblance to that of Mr Pope, 'tis
not improbable but it might be done on purpose, with a view to have it
pass for his. But by the frequency of his allusions to Virgil, and a
laboured (not to say affected) shortness in imitation of him, I should
think him more an admirer of the Roman poet than of the Grecian, and in
that not of the same taste with his friend.

I have been well informed, that this work was the labour of full six
years of his life, and that he wholly retired himself from all the
avocations and pleasures of the world, to attend diligently to its
correction and perfection; and six years more he intended to bestow upon
it, as it should seem by this verse of Statius, which was cited at the
head of his manuscript--

'Oh mihi bissenos multum vigilata per annos,

Hence, also, we learn the true title of the poem; which, with the same
certainty as we call that of Homer the Iliad, of Virgil the Aeneid, of
Camoens the Lusiad, we may pronounce, could have been, and can be no
other than


It is styled heroic, as being doubly so: not only with respect to its
nature, which, according to the best rules of the ancients, and
strictest ideas of the moderns, is critically such; but also with regard
to the heroical disposition and high courage of the writer, who dared to
stir up such a formidable, irritable, and implacable race of mortals.

There may arise some obscurity in chronology from the names in the poem,
by the inevitable removal of some authors, and insertion of others in
their niches. For whoever will consider the unity of the whole design,
will be sensible that the poem was not made for these authors, but these
authors for the poem. I should judge that they were clapped in as they
rose, fresh and fresh, and changed from day to day; in like manner as
when the old boughs wither, we thrust new ones into a chimney.

I would not have the reader too much troubled or anxious, if he cannot
decipher them; since when he shall have found them out, he will probably
know no more of the persons than before.

Yet we judged it better to preserve them as they are, than to change
them for fictitious names; by which the satire would only be multiplied,
and applied to many instead of one. Had the hero, for instance, been
called Codrus, how many would have affirmed him to have been Mr T., Mr
E., Sir R. B., &c.; but now all that unjust scandal is saved by calling
him by a name, which by good luck happens to be that of a real person.



Reflections Critical and Satirical on a late Rhapsody, called an Essay
on Criticism. By Mr Dennis. Printed by B. Lintot, price 6d.

A New Rehearsal, or Bayes the Younger; containing an Examen of Mr Rowe's
plays, and a word or two on Mr Pope's Rape of the Lock. Anon. [By
Charles Gildon]. Printed for J. Roberts, 1714, price 1s.

Homerides, or a Letter to Mr Pope, occasioned by his intended
translation of Homer. By Sir Iliad Doggrel. [Tho. Burnet and G. Ducket,
Esquires]. Printed for W. Wilkins, 1715, price 9d.

Aesop at the Bear Garden; a Vision, in imitation of the Temple of Fame.
By Mr Preston. Sold by John Morphew, 1715, price 6d.

The Catholic Poet, or Protestant Barnaby's Sorrowful Lamentations; a
Ballad about Homer's Iliad. By Mrs Centlivre and others, 1715, price 1d.

An Epilogue to a Puppet Show at Bath, concerning the said Iliad. By
George Ducket, Esq. Printed by E. Curll.

A Complete Key to the What-d'ye-call-it? Anon. [By Griffin, a player,
supervised by Mr Th---]. Printed by J. Roberts, 1715.

A True Character of Mr P. and his Writings, in a Letter to a Friend.
Anon. [Dennis]. Printed for S. Popping, 1716, price 3d.

The Confederates, a Farce. By Joseph Gay. [J. D. Breval]. Printed for R.
Burleigh, 1717, price 1s.

Remarks upon Mr Pope's Translation of Homer; with Two Letters concerning
the Windsor Forest, and the Temple of Fame. By Mr Dennis. Printed for E.
Curll, 1717, price 1s. 6d.

Satires on the Translators of Homer, Mr P. and Mr T. Anon. [Bez.
Morris]. 1717, price 6d.

The Triumvirate; or, a Letter from Palaemon to Celia at Bath. Anon.
[Leonard Welsted]. 1711, folio, price 1s.

The Battle of Poets, an Heroic Poem. By Thomas Cooke. Printed for J.
Roberts. Folio, 1725.

Memoirs of Lilliput. Anon. [Eliza Haywood]. Octavo, printed in 1727.

An Essay on Criticism, in Prose. By the Author of the Critical History
of England [J. Oldmixon]. Octavo, printed 1728.

Gulliveriana and Alexandriana; with an ample Preface and Critique on
Swift and Pope's Miscellanies. By Jonathan Smedley. Printed by J.
Roberts. Octavo, 1728.

Characters of the Times; or, an Account of the Writings, Characters,
&c., of several Gentlemen libelled by S---- and P---, in a late
Miscellany. Octavo, 1728.

Remarks on Mr Pope's Rape of the Lock, in Letters to a Friend. By Mr
Dennis. Written in 1724, though not printed till 1728. Octavo.


British Journal, Nov. 25, 1727. A Letter on Swift and Pope's
Miscellanies. [Writ by M. Concanen].

Daily Journal, March 18, 1728. A Letter by Philo-mauri. James Moore

_Ibid_. March 29. A Letter about Thersites; accusing the author of
disaffection to the Government. By James Moore Smith.

Mist's Weekly Journal, March 30. An Essay on the Arts of a Poet's
Sinking in Reputation; or, a Supplement to the Art of Sinking in Poetry.
[Supposed by Mr Theobald].

Daily Journal, April 3. A Letter under the name of Philo-ditto. By James
Moore Smith.

Flying Post, April 4. A Letter against Gulliver and Mr P. [By Mr

Daily Journal, April 5. An Auction of Goods at Twickenham. By James
Moore Smith.

The Flying Post, April 6. A Fragment of a Treatise upon Swift and Pope.
By Mr Oldmixon.

The Senator, April 9. On the same. By Edward Roome.

Daily Journal, April 8. Advertisement by James Moore Smith.

Flying Post, April 13. Verses against Dr Swift, and against Mr P---'s
Homer. By J. Oldmixon.

Daily Journal, April 23. Letter about the Translation of the Character
of Thersites in Homer. By Thomas Cooke, &c.

Mist's Weekly Journal, April 27. A Letter of Lewis Theobald.

Daily Journal, May 11. A Letter against Mr P. at large. Anon. [John

All these were afterwards reprinted in a pamphlet, entitled, A
Collection of all the Verses, Essays, Letters, and Advertisements,
occasioned by Mr Pope and Swift's Miscellanies, prefaced by Concanen,
Anonymous, octavo, and printed for A. Moore, 1728, price 1s. Others of
an elder date, having lain as waste paper many years, were, upon the
publication of the Dunciad, brought out, and their authors betrayed by
the mercenary booksellers (in hope of some possibility of vending a
few), by advertising them in this manner:--"The Confederates, a Farce.
By Captain Breval (for which he was put into the Dunciad). An Epilogue
to Powell's Puppet Show. By Colonel Ducket (for which he is put into the
Dunciad). Essays, &c. By Sir Richard Blackmore. (N.B.--It was for a
passage of this book that Sir Richard was put into the Dunciad)." And so
of others.


An Essay on the Dunciad, octavo. Printed for J. Roberts. [In this book,
p. 9, it was formally declared, 'That the complaint of the aforesaid
libels and advertisements was forged and untrue; that all mouths had
been silent, except in Mr Pope's praise; and nothing against him
published, but by Mr Theobald.']

Sawney, in Blank Verse, occasioned by the Dunciad; with a Critique on
that Poem. By J. Ralph [a person never mentioned in it at first, but
inserted after]. Printed for J. Roberts, octavo.

A Complete Key to the Dunciad. By E. Curll. 12mo, price 6d.

A Second and Third Edition of the same, with Additions, 12mo.

The Popiad. By E. Curll. Extracted from J. Dennis, Sir Richard
Blackmore, &c. 12mo, price 6d.

The Curliad. By the same E. Curll.

The Female Dunciad. Collected by the same Mr Curll. 12mo, price 6d. With
the Metamorphosis of P. into a Stinging Nettle. By Mr Foxton. 12mo.

The Metamorphosis of Scriblerus into Snarlerus. By J. Smedley. Printed
for A. Moore, folio, price 6d.

The Dunciad Dissected. By Curll and Mrs Thomas. 12mo.

An Essay on the Tastes and Writings of the Present Times. Said to be
writ by a Gentleman of C. C. C. Oxon. Printed for J. Roberts, octavo.

The Arts of Logic and Rhetoric, partly taken from Bouhours, with New
Reflections, &c. By John Oldmixon. Octavo.

Remarks on the Dunciad. By Mr Dennis. Dedicated to Theobald. Octavo.

A Supplement to the Profund. Anon. By Matthew Coucanen. Octavo.

Mist's Weekly Journal, June 8. A long Letter, signed W. A. Writ by some
or other of the Club of Theobald, Dennis, Moore, Concanen, Cooke, who
for some time held constant weekly meetings for these kind of

Daily Journal, June 11. A Letter signed Philoscriblerus, on the name of
Pope. Letter to Mr Theobald, inverse, signed B. M. (Bezaleel Morris)
against Mr P---. Many other little Epigrams about this time in the same
papers, by James Moore, and others.

Mist's Journal, June 22. A Letter by Lewis Theobald.

Flying Post, August 8. Letter on Pope and Swift.

Daily Journal, August 8. Letter charging the Author of the Dunciad with

Durgen: A Plain Satire on a Pompous Satirist. By Edward Ward, with a
little of James Moore.

Apollo's Maggot in his Cups. By E. Ward.

Gulliveriana Secunda. Being a Collection of many of the Libels in the
Newspapers, like the former Volume, under the same title, by Smedley.
Advertised in the Craftsman, Nov. 9, 1728, with this remarkable promise,
that '_any thing_ which _any body_ should send as Mr Pope's or Dr
Swift's should be inserted and published as theirs.'

Pope Alexander's Supremacy and Infallibility Examined, &c. By George
Ducket and John Dennis. Quarto.

Dean Jonathan's Paraphrase on the Fourth Chapter of Genesis. Writ by E.
Roome. Folio. 1729.

Labeo. A Paper of Verses by Leonard Welsted, which after came into _One
Epistle_, and was published by James Moore, quarto, 1730. Another part
of it came out in Welsted's own name, under the just title of Dulness
and Scandal, folio, 1731.

There have been since published--

Verses on the Imitator of Horace. By a Lady (or between a Lady, a Lord,
and a Court-squire). Printed for J. Roberts. Folio.

An Epistle from a Nobleman to a Doctor of Divinity, from Hampton Court
(Lord H---y). Printed for J. Roberts. Folio.

A Letter from Mr Cibber to Mr Pope. Printed for W. Lewis in Covent
Garden. Octavo.


IN QUARTO, 1729.

It will be sufficient to say of this edition, that the reader has here a
much more correct and complete copy of the Dunciad than has hitherto
appeared. I cannot answer but some mistakes may have slipped into it,
but a vast number of others will be prevented by the names being now not
only set at length, but justified by the authorities and reasons given.
I make no doubt the author's own motive to use real rather than feigned
names, was his care to preserve the innocent from any false application;
whereas, in the former editions, which had no more than the initial
letters, he was made, by Keys printed here, to hurt the inoffensive, and
(what was worse) to abuse his friends, by an impression at Dublin.

The commentary which attends this poem was sent me from several hands,
and consequently must be unequally written; yet will have one advantage
over most commentaries, that it is not made upon conjectures, or at a
remote distance of time: and the reader cannot but derive one pleasure
from the very obscurity of the persons it treats of, that it partakes of
the nature of a secret, which most people love to be let into, though
the men or the things be ever so inconsiderable or trivial.

Of the persons it was judged proper to give some account; for since it
is only in this monument that they must expect to survive (and here
survive they will, as long as the English tongue shall remain such as it
was in the reigns of Queen Anne and King George), it seemed but humanity
to bestow a word or two upon each, just to tell what he was, what he
writ, when he lived, and when he died.

If a word or two more are added upon the chief offenders, it is only as
a paper pinned upon the breast, to mark the enormities for which they
suffered; lest the correction only should be remembered, and the crime
forgotten. In some articles it was thought sufficient barely to
transcribe from Jacob, Curll, and other writers of their own rank, who
were much better acquainted with them than any of the authors of this
comment can pretend to be. Most of them had drawn each other's
characters on certain occasions; but the few here inserted are all that
could be saved from the general destruction of such works.

Of the part of Scriblerus, I need say nothing; his manner is well enough
known, and approved by all but those who are too much concerned to be

The Imitations of the Ancients are added, to gratify those who either
never read, or may have forgotten them; together with some of the
parodies and allusions to the most excellent of the Moderns. If, from
the frequency of the former, any man think the poem too much a Cento,
our poet will but appear to have done the same thing in jest which
Boileau did in earnest; and upon which Vida, Fracastorius, and many of
the most eminent Latin poets, professedly valued themselves.



We apprehend it can be deemed no injury to the author of the three first
books of the Dunciad that we publish this fourth. It was found merely by
accident in taking a survey of the library of a late eminent nobleman;
but in so blotted a condition, and in so many detached pieces, as
plainly showed it to be not only incorrect, but unfinished. That the
author of the three first books had a design to extend and complete his
poem in this manner appears from the dissertation prefixed to it, where
it is said that the design is more extensive, and that we may expect
other episodes to complete it; and from the declaration in the argument
to the third book, that the accomplishment of the prophecies therein
would be the theme hereafter of a greater Dunciad. But whether or no he
be the author of this, we declare ourselves ignorant. If he be, we are
no more to be blamed for the publication of it than Tucca and Varius for
that of the last six books of the Aeneid, though perhaps inferior to the

If any person be possessed of a more perfect copy of this work, or of
any other fragments of it, and will communicate them to the publisher,
we shall make the next edition more complete: in which we also promise
to insert any criticisms that shall be published (if at all to the
purpose) with the names of the authors; or any letters sent us (though
not to the purpose) shall yet be printed under the title of _Epistolae
Obscurorum Virorum_; which, together with some others of the same kind
formerly laid by for that end, may make no unpleasant addition to the
future impressions of this poem.


I have long had a design of giving some sort of Notes on the works of
this poet. Before I had the happiness of his acquaintance, I had written
a commentary on his Essay on Man, and have since finished another on the
Essay on Criticism. There was one already on the Dunciad, which had met
with general approbation; but I still thought some additions were
wanting (of a more serious kind) to the humorous notes of Scriblerus,
and even to those written by Mr Cleland, Dr Arbuthnot, and others. I had
lately the pleasure to pass some months with the author in the country,
where I prevailed upon him to do what I had long desired, and favour me
with his explanation of several passages in his works. It happened that
just at that juncture was published a ridiculous book against him, full
of personal reflections, which furnished him with a lucky opportunity of
improving this poem, by giving it the only thing it wanted--a more
considerable hero. He was always sensible of its defect in that
particular, and owned he had let it pass with the hero it had purely for
want of a better; not entertaining the least expectation that such an
one was reserved for this post as has since obtained the Laurel: but
since that had happened, he could no longer deny this justice either to
him or the Dunciad.

And yet I will venture to say, there was another motive which had still
more weight with our author. This person was one who from every folly
(not to say vice) of which another would be ashamed has constantly
derived a vanity; and therefore was the man in the world who would least
be hurt by it.

W. W.


Whereas, upon occasion of certain pieces relating to the gentlemen of
the Dunciad, some have been willing to suggest, as if they looked upon
them as an abuse: we can do no less than own it is our opinion, that to
call these gentlemen bad authors is no sort of abuse, but a great truth.
We cannot alter this opinion without some reason; but we promise to do
it in respect to every person who thinks it an injury to be represented
as no wit, or poet, provided he procures a certificate of his being
really such, from any three of his companions in the Dunciad, or from Mr
Dennis singly, who is esteemed equal to any three of the number.




MR DRYDEN is a mere renegado from monarchy, poetry, and good
sense[453]--a true republican son of monarchical Church[454]--a
republican atheist.[455] Dryden was from the beginning an [Greek:
alloprosallos], and I doubt not will continue so to the last.[456]

In the poem called Absalom and Achitophel are notoriously traduced, the
King, the Queen, the Lords and Gentlemen, not only their honourable
persons exposed, but the whole nation and its representatives
notoriously libelled. It is _scandalum magnatum_, yea of majesty

He looks upon God's gospel as a foolish fable, like the Pope, to whom he
is a pitiful purveyor.[458] His very Christianity may be
questioned.[459] He ought to expect more severity than other men, as he
is most unmerciful in his own reflections on others.[460] With as good a
right as his holiness, he sets up for poetical infallibility.[461]


His whole libel is all bad matter, beautified (which is all that can be
said of it) with good metre.[462] Mr Dryden's genius did not appear in
any thing more than his versification, and whether he is to be ennobled
for that only is a question.[463]


Tonson calls it Dryden's Virgil, to show that this is not that Virgil so
admired in the Augustaean age; but a Virgil of another stamp, a silly,
impertinent, nonsensical writer.[464] None but a Bavius, a Maevius, or a
Bathyllus carped at Virgil; and none but such unthinking vermin admire
his translator.[465] It is true, soft and easy lines might become Ovid's
Epistles or Art of Love; but Virgil, who is all great and majestic, &c.,
requires strength of lines, weight of words, and closeness of
expressions--not an ambling muse running on carpet-ground, and shod as
lightly as a Newmarket racer. He has numberless faults in his author's
meaning, and in propriety of expression.[466]


Mr Dryden was once, I have heard, at Westminster school. Dr Bushby would
have whipped him for so childish a paraphrase.[467] The meanest pedant
in England would whip a lubber of twelve for construing so
absurdly.[468] The translator is mad, every line betrays his
stupidity.[469] The faults are innumerable, and convince me that Mr
Dryden did not, or would not understand his author.[470] This shows how
fit Mr D. may be to translate Homer! A mistake in a single letter might
fall on the printer well enough, but [Greek: eichor] for [Greek: ichor]
must be the error of the author. Nor had he art enough to correct it at
the press.[471] Mr Dryden writes for the court ladies. He writes for the
ladies, and not for use.[472]

The translator puts in a little burlesque now and then into Virgil, for
a ragout to his cheated subscribers.[473]


I wonder that any man, who could not but be conscious of his own
unfitness for it, should go to amuse the learned world with such an
undertaking! A man ought to value his reputation more than money; and
not to hope that those who can read for themselves will be imposed upon,
merely by a partially and unseasonably celebrated name.[474] _Poetis
quidlibei audendi_ shall be Mr Dryden's motto, though it should extend
to picking of pockets.[475]


An Ape.--A crafty ape dressed up in a gaudy gown--whips put into an
ape's paw, to play pranks with--none but apish and papish brats will
heed him.[476]

An Ass.--A camel will take upon him no more burden than is sufficient
for his strength, but there is another beast that crouches under

A Frog.--Poet Squab endued with Poet Maro's spirit! an ugly croaking
kind of vermin, which would swell to the bulk of an ox.[478]

A Coward.--A Clinias or a Damaetas, or a man of Mr Dryden's own

A Knave.--Mr Dryden has heard of Paul, the knave of Jesus Christ; and,
if I mistake not, I've read somewhere of John Dryden, servant to his

A Fool.--Had he not been such a self-conceited fool.[481]--Some great
poets are positive blockheads.[482]

A Thing.--So little a thing as Mr Dryden.[483]


MR POPE is an open and mortal enemy to his country, and the commonwealth
of learning.[484] Some call him a Popish Whig, which is directly
inconsistent.[485] Pope, as a papist, must be a Tory and
High-flyer.[486] He is both a Whig and Tory.[487]

He hath made it his custom to cackle to more than one party in their own

In his miscellanies, the persons abused are--the King, the Queen, his
late Majesty, both Houses of Parliament, the Privy Council, the Bench of
Bishops, the Established Church, the present Ministry, &c. To make sense
of some passages, they must be construed into royal scandal.[489]

He is a popish rhymester, bred up with a contempt of the Sacred
Writings.[490] His religion allows him to destroy heretics, not only
with his pen, but with fire and sword; and such were all those unhappy
wits whom he sacrificed to his accursed popish principles.[491] It
deserved vengeance to suggest that Mr Pope had less infallibility than
his namesake at Rome.[492]


The smooth numbers of the Dunciad are all that recommend it, nor has it
any other merit.[493] It must be owned that he hath got a notable knack
of rhyming and writing smooth verse.[494]


The Homer which Lintot prints does not talk like Homer, but like Pope;
and he who translated him, one would swear, had a hill in Tipperary for
his Parnassus, and a puddle in some bog for his Hippocrene.[495] He has
no admirers among those that can distinguish, discern, and judge.[496]
He hath a knack at smooth verse, but without either genius or good
sense, or any tolerable knowledge of English. The qualities which
distinguish Homer are the beauties of his diction and the harmony of his
versification. But this little author, who is so much in vogue, has
neither sense in his thoughts nor English in his expressions.[497]


He hath undertaken to translate Homer from the Greek, of which he knows
not one word, into English, of which he understands as little.[498] I
wonder how this gentleman would look, should it be discovered that he
has not translated ten verses together in any book of Homer with justice
to the poet, and yet he dares reproach his fellow-writers with not
understanding Greek.[499] He has stuck so little to his original as to
have his knowledge in Greek called in question.[500] I should be glad to
know which it is of all Homer's excellencies which has so delighted the
ladies, and the gentlemen who judge like ladies.[501]

But he has a notable talent at burlesque; his genius slides so naturally
into it, that he hath burlesqued Homer without designing it.[502]


'Tis indeed somewhat bold, and almost prodigious, for a single man to
undertake such a work; but 'tis too late to dissuade by demonstrating
the madness of the project. The subscribers' expectations have been
raised in proportion to what their pockets have been drained of.[503]
Pope has been concerned in jobs, and hired out his name to


An Ape.--Let us take the initial letter of his Christian name, and the
initial and final letters of his surname, viz., A P E, and they give you
the same idea of an ape as his face,[505] &c.

An Ass.--It is my duty to pull off the lion's skin from this little

A Frog.--A squab short gentleman--a little creature that, like the frog
in the fable, swells, and is angry that it is not allowed to be as big
as an ox.[507]

A Coward.--A lurking, way-laying coward.[508]

A Knave.--He is one whom God and nature have marked for want of common

A Fool.--Great fools will be christened by the names of great poets, and
Pope will be called Homer.[510]

A Thing.--A little abject thing.[511]





Ambrose Philips, i. 105; iii. 326.
Attila, iii. 92.
Alaric, iii. 91.
Alma Mater, iii. 388.
Annius, an antiquary, iv. 347.
Arnall, William, ii. 315.
Addison, ii. 124, 140.
Atterbury, iv. 246.

Blackmore, Sir Richard, i. 104; ii. 268.
Bezaleel Morris, ii. 126; iii. 168.
Banks, i. 146.
Broome, ibid.
Bond, ii. 126.
Brown, iii. 28.
Bladen, iv. 560.
Budgel, Esq., ii. 337.
Bentley, Richard, iv. 201.
Bentley, Thomas, ii. 205.
Boyer, Abel, ii. 413.
Bland, a gazetteer, i. 231.
Breval, J. Durant, ii. 126, 238.
Benlowes, iii. 21.
Bavius, ibid.
Burmannus, iv. 237.
Benson, William, Esq., iii. 325; iv. 110.
Burgersdyck, iv. 198.
Boeotians, iii. 50.
Bruin and Bears, i, 101.
Bear and Fiddle, i. 224.
Burnet, Thomas, iii. 179.
Bacon, iii. 215.
Barrow, Dr, iv. 245.

Cibber, Colley, Hero of the Poem, passim.
Cibber, sen., i. 31.
Cibber, jun., iii. 139, 326.
Caxton, William, i. 149.
Curll, Edm., i. 40; ii. 3, 58, 167, &c.
Cooke, Thomas, ii. 138.
Concanen, Matthew, ii. 299,
Centlivre, Susannah, ii. 411.
Caesar in Aegypt, i. 251.
Chi Ho-am-ti, Emperor of China, iii. 75.
Crousaz, iv. 198.
Codrus, ii. 144.
Congreve, ii. 124.
Chesterfield, iv. 43.

Defoe, Daniel, i. 103; ii. 147.
Defoe, Norton, ii. 415.
De Lyra, or Harpsfield, i. 153.
Dennis, John, i. 106; ii. 239; iii. 173.
Dunton, John, ii. 144.
D'Urfey, iii. 146.
Dutchmen, ii. 405; iii. 51.
Doctors, at White's, i. 203.
Douglas, iv. 394.
Ducket, iii. 179.

Eusden, Laurence, Poet Laureate, i. 104.
Evans, Dr, ii. 116

Flecknoe, Richard, ii. 2.
Faustus, Dr, iii. 233.
Fleetwood, iv. 326.
Freemasons, iv. 576.
French Cooks, iv. 553.

Gay, ii. 127; iii. 330.
Gildon, Charles, i. 296.
Goode, Barn., iii. 153.
Goths, iii. 90.
Gazetteers, i. 215; ii. 314.
Gregorians and Gormogons, iv. 575.
Garth, ii. 140.
Genseric, iii. 92.
Gordon, Thomas, iv. 492.

Holland, Philemon, i. 154.
Hearne, Thomas, iii. 185.
Horneck, Philip, iii. 152.
Haywood, Eliza, ii. 157, &c.
Howard, Edward, i. 297.
Henley, John, the Orator, ii. 2, 425; iii. 199, &c.
Huns, iii. 90.
Heywood, John, i. 98.
Harpsfield, i. 153.
Hays, iv. 560.
Heidegger, i. 290.


Back to Full Books