Chapter 21

'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 _seve_ and _verdeur_ of the vine.[443] What cannot copious sacrifice atone? Thy truffles, Perigord! thy hams, Bayonne! With French libation, and Italian strain, Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hays's stain.[444] 560 Knight lifts the head; for what are crowds undone To three essential partridges in one? Gone every blush, and silent all reproach, Contending princes mount them in their coach.

Next bidding all draw near on bended knees, The queen confers her titles and degrees. Her children first of more distinguish'd sort, Who study Shakspeare at the Inns of Court, Impale a glow-worm, or vertu profess, Shine in the dignity of F.R.S. 570 Some, deep freemasons, join the silent race, Worthy to fill Pythagoras's place: Some botanists, or florists at the least, Or issue members of an annual feast. Nor pass'd the meanest unregarded; one Rose a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.[445] The last, not least in honour or applause, Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws.

Then, blessing all, 'Go, children of my care! To practice now from theory repair. 580 All my commands are easy, short, and full: My sons! be proud, be selfish, and be dull. Guard my prerogative, assert my throne: This nod confirms each privilege your own. The cap and switch be sacred to his grace; With staff and pumps the marquis lead the race; From stage to stage the licensed earl may run, Pair'd with his fellow-charioteer the sun; The learned baron butterflies design, Or draw to silk Arachne's subtile line;[446] 590 The judge to dance his brother sergeant call;[447] The senator at cricket urge the ball; The bishop stow (pontific luxury!) An hundred souls of turkeys in a pie; The sturdy squire to Gallic masters stoop, And drown his lands and manors in a soup. Others import yet nobler arts from France, Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.[448] Perhaps more high some daring son may soar, Proud to my list to add one monarch more; 600 And nobly conscious, princes are but things Born for first ministers, as slaves for kings, Tyrant supreme! shall three estates command, And MAKE ONE MIGHTY DUNCIAD OF THE LAND!'

More she had spoke, but yawn'd--All Nature nods: What mortal can resist the yawn of gods? Churches and chapels instantly it reach'd; (St James's first, for leaden Gilbert[449] preach'd;) Then catch'd the schools; the Hall scarce kept awake; The Convocation gaped, but could not speak; 610 Lost was the nation's sense, nor could be found, While the long solemn unison went round: Wide, and more wide, it spread o'er all the realm; Even Palinurus nodded at the helm: The vapour mild o'er each committee crept; Unfinish'd treaties in each office slept; And chiefless armies dozed out the campaign; And navies yawn'd for orders on the main.[450]

O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone, Wits have short memories, and dunces none,) 620 Relate, who first, who last resign'd to rest; Whose heads she partly, whose completely bless'd; What charms could faction, what ambition, lull, The venal quiet, and entrance the dull; 'Till drown'd was sense, and shame, and right, and wrong-- O sing, and hush the nations with thy song!

In vain, in vain,--the all-composing hour Resistless falls: the Muse obeys the power. She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old! 630 Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off the ethereal plain; As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppress'd, Closed one by one to everlasting rest; Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, Art after art goes out, and all is night. 640 See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,[451] Mountains of casuistry heap'd o'er her head! Philosophy, that lean'd on heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! See Mystery to Mathematics fly! In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. 650 Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.

VARIATIONS.

VER. 114--

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

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

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

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

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

BY THE AUTHOR.

A DECLARATION.

Whereas certain haberdashers of points and particles, being instigated by the spirit of pride, and assuming to themselves the name of critics and restorers, have taken upon them to adulterate the common and current sense of our glorious ancestors, poets of this realm, by clipping, coining, defacing the images, mixing their own base alloy, or otherwise falsifying the same; which they publish, utter, and vend as genuine: The said haberdashers having no right thereto, as neither heirs, executors, administrators, assigns, or in any sort related to such poets, to all or any of them: Now we, having carefully revised this our Dunciad,[452] beginning with the words 'The Mighty Mother,' and ending with the words 'buries all,' containing the entire sum of one thousand seven hundred and fifty-four verses, declare every word, figure, point, and comma of this impression to be authentic: And do therefore strictly enjoin and forbid any person or persons whatsoever, to erase, reverse, put between hooks, or by any other means, directly or indirectly, change or mangle any of them. And we do hereby earnestly exhort all our brethren to follow this our example, which we heartily wish our great predecessors had heretofore set, as a remedy and prevention of all such abuses. Provided always, that nothing in this Declaration shall be construed to limit the lawful and undoubted right of every subject of this realm, to judge, censure, or condemn, in the whole or in part, any poem or poet whatsoever.

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

Declarat' cor' me, JOHN BARBER, Mayor.

APPENDIX TO THE DUNCIAD.

I.--PREFACE

PREFIXED TO THE FIVE FIRST IMPERFECT EDITIONS OF THE DUNCIAD, IN THREE BOOKS, PRINTED AT DUBLIN AND LONDON, IN OCTAVO AND DUODECIMO, 1727.

THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.

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, Duncia!'

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

THE DUNCIAD.

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.

II.--A LIST OF BOOKS, PAPERS, AND VERSES,

IN WHICH OUR AUTHOR WAS ABUSED, BEFORE THE PUBLICATION OF THE DUNCIAD; WITH THE TRUE NAMES OF THE AUTHORS.

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.

VERSES, LETTERS, ESSAYS, OR ADVERTISEMENTS, IN THE PUBLIC PRINTS.

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 Smith.

_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 Oldmixon.]

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 Dennis].

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.

AFTER THE DUNCIAD, 1728.

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.