THE DUNCIAD

                  Book the Second

    The sons of Dulness meet; An endless band

Pours forth, and leaves unpeopled half the land;

A motley mixture! in long wigs, in bags,

In silks, in crapes, in garters, and in rags;

From drawing rooms, from colleges, from garrets,                 5

On horse, on foot, in hacks, and gilded chariots,

All who true dunces in her cause appear’d,

And all who knew those dunces to reward.

   Now herald hawker's rusty voice proclaims

Heroic prizes, and advent'rous Games;                                   10

In that wide space the Goddess took her stand,

Where the tall May-pole once o'erlook'd the Strand;

But now (so ANNE and Piety ordain)

A Church collects the saints of Drury-lane.

   With authors, stationers obey'd the call,                               15

The field of glory is a field for all;

Glory, and gain, th' industrious tribe provoke,

And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke.

A Poet's form she sets before their eyes,

And bids the nimblest racer seize the prize;                            20

No meagre, muse-rid, mope, adust and thin,

In a dun night-gown of his own loose skin;

But such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise,

Twelve starving bards of these degen'rate days.

All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair,                             25

She form'd this image of well-bodied air,

With pert flat eyes she window'd well its head,

A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead,

And empty words she gave, and sounding strain;

But senseless, lifeless! Idol void and vain!                              30

Never was dashed out, at one lucky hit,

A fool, so just a copy of a wit;

So like, that criticks said and courtiers swore,

A wit it was, and call'd the phantom, More.

   All gaze with ardour: some, a Poet's name,                           35

Others, a sword-knot and lac'd suit inflame:

But lofty Lintot in the circle rose;

“ This prize is mine; who tempt it, are my foes:

“ With me began this genius, and shall end.

He spoke, and who with Lintot shall contend?                        40

   Fear held them mute. Alone, untaught to fear,

Stood dauntless Cur1. “Behold that rival here!

“ The race by vigor, not by vaunts is won;

“ So take the hindmost Hell. – He said, and run.

Swift as a bard the bailiff leaves behind,                                 45

He left huge Lintot, and out-stript the wind.

As when a dab-chick waddles thro' the copse,

On legs and wings, and flies, and wades, and hops;

So lab'ring on, with shoulders, hands, and head,

Wide as windmill all his figure spread,                                   50

With steps unequal Lintot urg'd the race,

And seem'd to emulate great Jacob's pace.

Full in the middle way there stood a lake,

Which Curl's Corinna chanc'd that morn to make,

(Such was her wont, at early dawn to drop                              55

Her evening cates before his neighbour's shop,)

Here fortun'd Curl to slide: loud shout the band,

And L—t, L—t, rings thro' all the Strand.

Obscene with filth the varlet lies bewray'd,

Fal'n in the plash his wickedness had lay'd;                            60

Then first (if Poets ought of truth declare.)

The caitiff Vaticide conceiv'd a prayer.

    Hear Jove! whose name my bards and I adore,

As much at least as any Gods, or more;

And him and his, if more devotion warms,                             65

Down with the * Bible, up with the † Pope's Arms.

* The Bible C—l’s sign

† The Cross-keys L—t’s

   * A place there is, betwixt earth, air and seas,

Where from Ambrosia, Jove retires for ease.

There in his seat two spacious Vents appear,

On this he sits, to that he leans his ear,                                    70

There hears the various vows of fond mankind,

Some beg an eastern, some a western wind:

All vain petitions, sent by winds on high,

With reams abundant this abode supply;

Amus'd he reads, and then returns the bills                             75

Sign'd with that Ichor which from Gods distills.

* See Lucian’s Icaro Menippus

   In office here fair Cloacina stands,

And ministers to Jove with purest hands;

Forth from the heap she pick'd her vot'ry's pray'r,

And plac'd it next him, a distinction rare!                               80

Oft, as he fish'd her nether realms for wit,

The Goddess favour 'd him, and favours yet.

Renew'd by ordure's sympathetic force,

As oil'd with magic juices for the course,

Vig'rous he rises; from th’ effluvia strong                              85

Imbibes new life, and scours and stinks along,

Re-passes Lintot, vindicates the race,

Nor heeds the brown dishonours of his face.

   And now the Victor stretch'd his eager hand,

Where the tall Nothing stood, or seem'd to stand;                   90

A shapeless shade, it melted from his sight,

Like forms in clouds, or visions of the night!

Baffled, yet present ev'n amidst despair,

To seize his papers, Curl, was next thy care;

His papers all, the sportive winds up-lift,                                95

And whisk 'em back to G–, to Y–, to S–.

Th' embroider'd suit, at least, he deem'd his prey;

That suit, an unpaid Taylor snatch'd away!

No rag, no scrap, of all the beau, or wit,

That once so flutter'd, and that once so writ.                          100

   Heav'n rings with laughter: Of the laughter vain,

Dulness, good Queen, repeats the jest again.

Three wicked imps of her own Grubstreet Choir

She deck'd like Congreve, Addison, and Prior;

Mears, Warner, Wilkins run: Delusive thought!                     105

**, ** and **, the wretches caught.

Curl stretches after Gay, but Gay is gone,

He grasps an empty † Joseph for a John.

So Proteus, hunted in a nobler shape,

Became when seiz'd, a Puppy, or an Ape.                              110

† Joseph Gay, a fictitiouse name put by C—l before several Pamphlets.

   To him the Goddess. Son thy grief lay down,

And turn this whole illusion on the town.

As the sage dame, experienc'd in her trade,

By names of Toasts retails each batter' d jade,

(Whence hapless Monsieur much complains at Paris            115

Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Marys)

Be thine, my stationer! this magic gift;

C— shall be Prior, and C—n, Swift;

So shall each hostile name become our own,

And we too boast our Garth and Addison.                             120

   With that the Goddess (piteous of his case,

Yet smiling st his rueful length of face)

Gives him a cov'ring, worthy to be spread

On Codrus' old, or Dunton's modern bed;

Instructive work! whose wry-mouth’d portraiture                 125

Display'd the fates her confessors endure.

Ear-less on high, stood pillory'd Defoe

And Tutchin flagrant from the lash, below:

There kick'd and cudgel'd Ridpath might ye view,

The very worsted still look'd black and blue: 

Himself among the storied chiefs he spies,                            130

As from the blanket high in air he flies,

And oh! (he cry'd) what street, what lane, but knows

Our purgings, pumpings, blanketings and blows?

In ev'ry loom our labors shall be seen,

And the fresh vomit run for ever green!                                 135

   See in the circle next, Eliza plac'd;

Two babes of love close clinging to her waste;

Fair as before her works she stands confess'd,

In flow'r'd brocade by bounteous Kirkall dress'd,

Pearls on her neck, and roses in her hair,                               140

And her fore-buttocks to the navel bare.

The Goddess then: “Who best can send on high

“The salient spout, fair-streaming to the sky:

“His be yon Juno of majestic size,

“With cow-like udders and with ox-like eyes.                        145

“This China-Jordan, let the chief o'ercome

“Replenish, not ingloriously, at home.

   Chetwood and Curl accept the glorious strife,

(Tho’ one his Son dissuades, and one his Wife)

This on his manly confidence relies,                                      150

That on his vigor and superior size.

First Chetwood lean'd against his letter'd post;

It rose, and labour'd to a curve at most:

So Jove's bright bow displays its wat’ry round,

(Sure sign, that no spectator shall be drown'd)                       155

A second effort brought but new disgrace,

For straining more, it flies in his own face;

Thus the small jett which hasty hands unlock,

Spirts in the gard'ner's eyes who turns the cock.

Not so from shameless Curl: Impetuous spread                     160

The stream, and smoaking, flourish'd o'er his head.

So, (famed like thee for turbulence and horns,)

Eridanus his humble fountain scorns,

Thro' half the heav'ns he pours th’ exalted urn;

His rapid waters in their passage burn.                                   165

   Swift as it mounts, all follow with their eyes;

Still happy, Impudence obtains the prize.

Thou triumph'st, Victor of the high-wrought day,

And the pleas'd dame soft-smiling leads away.

Chetwood, through perfect modesty o'ercome,                      170

Crown'd with the Jordan, walks contented home.

   But now for Authors nobler palms remain:

Room for my Lord! three Jockeys in his train;

Six huntsmen with a shout precede his chair;

He grins, and looks broad nonsense with a stare.                   175

His honour'd meaning, Dulness thus exprest.

“He wins this Patron who can tickle best.

   He chinks his purse, and takes his seat of state,

With ready quills the dedicators wait,

Now at his head the dext'rous task commence,                      180

And instant, fancy feels th' imputed sense;

Now gentle touches wanton o'er his face,

He struts Adonis, and affects grimace:

Rolli the feather to his ear conveys,

Then his nice taste directs our Operas:                                  185

** his mouth with Classic flatt'ry opes,

And the puft Orator bursts out in tropes.

But Oldmixon the Poet's healing balm

Strives to extract from his soft, giving palm;

Unlucky Oldmixon! thy lordly master                                    190

The more thou ticklest, gripes his fist the faster.

   While thus each hand promotes the pleasing pain,

And quick sensations skip from ve?n to vein,

A youth unknown to Phœbus. in despair,

Puts his last refuge all in Heav'n in Pray'r.                             195

What force have pious vows? the Queen of Love

His Sister sends, her votress, from above.

As taught by Venus, Paris learnt the art

To touch Achilles' only tender part,

Secure, thro' her, the noble prize to carry,                              200

He marches off, his Grace's Secretary.

   Now turn to different sports (the Goddess cries)

And learn, my sons, the wond'rous pow'r of Noise.

To move, to raise, to ravish ev'ry heart,

With Shakespear’s nature, or with Johnson's art,

Let others aim: 'Tis yours to shake the soul                           205

With Thunder rumbling from the mustard-bowl,

With horns and trumpets now to madness swell,

Now sink in sorrows with a tolling Bell.

Such happy arts attention can command,

When fancy flags, and sense is at a stand:                              210

Improve we these. Three Cat-calls be the bribe

Of him, whose chatt’ring shames the Monkey tribe;

And, his this Drum, whose hoarse heroic base

Drowns the loud Clarion of the braying Ass.

   Now thousand tongues are heard in one loud din,                215

The Monkey-mimicks rush discordant in;

'Twas chatt'ring, grinning, mouthing, jabb'ring all,

And R—, and railing, Brangling, and B—,

D–s and Dissonance: and captious Art,

And snip-snap short, and Interruption smart.                         220

Hold (cry'd the Queen) ye all alike shall win,

Equal your merits.' equal is your din;

But that this well-disputed game may end,

Sound forth my Brayers, and the welkin rend.

   As when the long-ear'd milky mothers wait                         225

At some sick miser's triple-bolted gate,

For their defrauded, absent foals they make

A moan so loud, that all the Guild awake:

So sighs Sir Gilbert, starting at the bray

From dreams of millions, and three groats to pay.                 230

So swells each Windpipe; Ass intones to Ass,

Harmonic twang! Of leather, horn, and brass:

Such, as from lab'ring lungs th' Enthusiast blows,

High sounds, attemp’red to the vocal nose.

But far o'er all, sonorous Blackmore’s strain,                                    235

Walls, steeples, skies, bray back to him again:

In Tot'nham fields, the brethren with amaze

Prick all their ears up, and forget to graze;

Long Chanc'ry-lane retentive rolls the sound,

And courts to courts return it round and round;                                 240

Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring hall,

And Hungerford re-ecchoes, bawl for bawl.

All hail him victor in both gifts of Song,

Who sings so loudly, and who sings so long.

   This labor past, by Bridewell all descend,                            245

(As morning pray'r and flagellation end.)

To where Fleetditch with disemboguing streams

Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames,

The King of Dykes! than whom, no sluice of mud

With deeper sable blots the silver flood.                                250

‘Here strip my children! here at once leap in!

‘Here prove who best can dash thro' thick and thin,

‘And who the most in love of dirt excel,

‘Or dark dexterity of groping well.

‘Who flings most mud, and wide pollutes around                  255

‘The stream, be his the Weekly Journals, bound.

‘A pig of lead to him who dives the best;

‘A peck of coals a-piece shall glad the rest.

   In naked majesty great Dennis stands,

And Milo-like, surveys his arms and hands,                           260

Then sighing, thus. “And I am now threescore?

“Ah why, ye Gods! should two and two make four?

He said, and climb'd a stranded Lighter's height,

Shot to the black abyss, and plung'd down-right.

The senior's judgement all the crowd admire,                        265

Who but to sink the deeper, rose the higher.

   Next Eusden div'd; slow circles dimpled o'er

The quaking mud, that clos'd, and ope'd no more:

All look, all sigh, and call on Eusden lost;

Eusden in vain resounds thro' all the coast.                            270

   Hill try'd the next, but hardly snatch’d from sight,

Instant bouys up, and rises into light;

He bears no token of the sabler streams,

And mounts far off, among the swans of Thames.

   Far worse unhappy Diaper succeeds,                                   275

He search’d for coral, but he gather 'd weeds.

   True to the bottom, Roome and Whatley creep,

Long-winded both, as natives of the deep,

This only merit pleading for the prize,
Nor everlasting Blackmore this denies:                                              280

   But nimbler Welsted reaches at the ground,

Circles in mud, and darkness all around,

No crab more active in the dirty dance,

Downward to climb, and backward to advance;

He brings up half the bottom on his head,                              285

And boldly claims the Journals and the Lead.

   Sudden a burst of thunder shook the flood,

Lo Eusden rose, tremendous all in mud!

Shaking the horrors of his sable brows,

And each ferocious feature grim with ooze.                           290

Greater he looks, and more than mortal stares;

Then thus the wonders of the deep declares.

   First he relates, how sinking to the chin,

Smit with his mien, the Mudnymphs suck'd him in,

How young Lutetia softer than the dawn,                              295

Nigrina black, and Merdamante brown,

Vy'd for his love in jetty bow'rs below;

As Hylas fair was ravish’d long ago.

Then sung, how shown him by the nutbrown maids,

A branch of Styx here rises from the Shades,                         300

That tinctur'd as it runs, with Lethe's streams,

And wafting vapours from the Land of Dreams,

(As under seas Alphæus' sacred sluice

Bears Pisa's offerings to his Arethuse)

Pours into Thames: Each city-bowl is full                             305

Of the mixt wave, and all who drink grow dull.

How to the banks where bards departed doze,

They led him soft; how all the bards arose;

Taylor, sweet bird of Thames, majestic bows,

And Shadwell nods the poppy on his brows;                         310

While Milbourn there, deputed by the rest,

Gave him the cassock, surcingle, and vest;

And “Take (he said) these robes which once were mine,

“Dulness is sacred in a sound Divine.

   He ceas’d, and show'd the robe; the crowd confess             315

The rev'rend Flamen in his lengthen'd dress.

Slow mov'd the Goddess from the silver flood,

(Her Priest preceding) thro' the gates of Lud.

Her Criticks there she summons, and proclaims

A gentler exercise to close the games.                                    320

   Hear you! in whose grave heads, a equal scales,

I weigh what author's heaviness prevails,

Which most conduce to sooth the soul in slumbers,

My Henley‘s periods, or my Blackmore‘s numbers?

Attend the trial we propose to make:                                      325

If there be man who o'er such works can wake,

Sleep's all-subduing pow'r who dares defy,

And boasts Ulysses' ear with Argus' eye;

To him we grant our amplest pow’rs to sit

Judge of all present, past, and future wit,                               330

To cavil, censure, dictate, right or wrong,

Full, and eternal privilege of tongue.

   Three Cambridge Sophs and three pert Templars came,

The same their talents, and their tastes the same;

Each prompt to query, answer, and debate,                            335

And smit with love of poesy and prate.

The pond'rous books two gentle Readers bring;

The heroes sit; the vulgar form a ring.

The clam'rous crowd is hush'd with mugs of Mum,

'Till all tun'd equal, send a general hum.                                340

Then mount the Clerks; and in one lazy tone,

Thro’ the long, heavy, painful page, drawl on,

Soft creeping words on words the sense compose,

At ev'ry line, they stretch, they yawn, they doze.

As to soft gales top-heavy pines bow low                              345

Their heads, and lift them as they cease to blow,

Thus oft they rear, and oft the head decline,

As breathe, or pause, by fits, the airs divine:

And now to this side, now to that, they nod,

As verse, or prose, infuse the drowzy God.                            350

Thrice Budgel aim'd to speak, but thrice supprest

By potent Arthur, knock’d his chin and breast.

Collins and Toland, prompt at priests to leer,

Yet silent bow'd to Christ's-no-kingdom here.

Who sate the nearest, by the words o'ercome                         355

Slept first, the distant nodded to the hum.

Then down are roll'd the books; stretch'd o'er 'em lies

Each gentle clerk, and mutt'ring seals his eyes.

As what a Dutchman plumps into the lakes,

One circle first, and then a second makes,                             360

What Dulness dropt among her sons imprest

Like motion, from one circle to the rest;

So, from the mid-most the nutation spreads

Round, and more round, o'er all the sea of heads.

At last Centlivre felt her voice to fail,                                                365

And * * * himself unfinish'd left his Tale,

Travers and Trap the church and state gave o'er,

Nor * * * talk'd, nor Selkirk whisper'd more;

Ev'n Norton, gifted with his mother’s tongue,

Tho' born at Wapping, and from Daniel sprung,                    370

Ceas'd his loud bawling breath, and dropt the head;

And all was hush'd, as Folly’s self lay dead.

   Thus the soft gifts of Sleep conclude the day,

And stretch'd on bulks, as usual, Poets lay.

Why should I sing what bards the Nightly Muse                   375

Did slumbring visit, and convey to stews?

Or prouder march'd, with magistrates in state,

To some fam'd round-house, ever open gate!

How Eusden lay inspired beside a sink,

And to mere mortals seem'd a Priest in drink?                       380

All others timely, to the neighbouring Fleet

(Haunt of the Muses) made their safe retreat.

           End of the Second Book