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, 185

Of sober face, with learned dust besprent?'

'Right well mine eyes arede thy myster wight, On parchment scrapes y-fed, and Wormius hight, To future ages may thy dulness last,

As thou preservest the dulness of the past!
"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, Imbrown'd with native bronze,lo! Henley stands,19 Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands.

REMARKS.

199 lo! Henley stands, &c.] J. Henley, the orator; he preached on the Sundays upon theological matters, and on the Wednesdays upon all other sciences. Each auditor paid one shilling. He declaimed some years against the greatest persons, and occasionally did our author that honour. W.

VIRG. En. VI.

IMITATIONS.

'Illæ autem, paribus quas fulgere cernis in armis,
Concordes animæ'

And in En. v.

'Euryalus, forma insignis viridique juventa,
Nisus amore pio pueri.'

185 But who is he, &c.] VIRG. Æn. VI. questions and an

swers in this manner, of Numa:

'Quis procul ille autem ramis insignis olivæ,

Sacra ferens?-nosco crines, incanaque menta,' &c.

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, preach in
O great restorer of the good old stage, [vain. 204
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;
And bade thee live, to crown Britannia's praise,
In Toland's, Tindal's, and in Woolston's days.
'Yet, oh, 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, oh! 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,
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,

212

But "learn, ye Dunces! not to scorn your God".' 224

201

REMARKS.

-Sherlock,Hare,-Gibson.] Bishops of Salisbury, Chichester, and London; whose Sermons and Pastoral Letters did honour to their country as well as stations.

212 Of Toland and Tindal, see Book ii. ver. 399. Thomas Woolston was an impious madman, who wrote, in a most insolent style, against the miracles of the Gospel.

IMITATIONS.

224 Learn, ye Dunces! not to scorn your God.]
'Discite justitiam moniti, et non temnere divos.'

W.

VIRG. Æn. VI.

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.' His never-blushing head he turn'd aside, (Not half so pleased when Goodman prophesied) And look'd, and saw a sable sorcerer 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: 237 Gods, imps, and monsters, Music, Rage, and Mirth, A fire, a jig, a battle, and a ball,

Till one wide conflagration swallows all.

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. 244
The forests dance, the rivers upward rise,
Whales sport in woods, and dolphins in the
skies; 246

And last, to give the whole creation grace,
Lo! one vast egg produces human race.

REMARKS.

237 These absurdities were actually brought on the stage by Theobald, in his Rape of Proserpine; but they were never encouraged by Cibber.

244 And other planets.]

IMITATIONS.

Solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.'

VIRG. Æn. VI.

246 Whales sport in woods, and dolphins in the skies.] Delphinum sylvis appingit, fluctibus aprum.' HOR.

Joy fills his soul, joy innocent of thought; What power, (he cries) what power these wonders wrought?'

Son, what thou seek'st is in thee! look and find 251
Each monster meets his likeness in thy mind.
Yet wouldst 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; 256
Angel of Dulness, sent to scatter round

Her magic charms o'er all unclassic ground: 258
Yon stars, yon suns, he rears at pleasure higher,
Illumes their light, and sets their flames on fire.
Immortal Rich! how calm he sits at ease, 261
Midst snows of paper, and fierce hail of pease!
And proud his mistress' orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

REMARKS.

261 Immortal Rich!] Mr. John Rich, master of the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, was the first that excelled this way.

W.

PERS.

256 Wings the red lightning, &c.] Like Salmoneus in

En. VI.

258

Dum flammas Jovis, et sonitus imitatur Olympi.
nimbos, et non imitabile fulmen,

Ære et cornipedum pulsu simularat equorum.'

o'er all unclassic ground.] Alludes to Mr. Addison's

verse in the praises of Italy:

'Poetic fields encompass me around,

And still I seem to tread on classic ground.'

As verse 264 is a parody on a noble one of the same author in the Campaign: and ver. 259, 260, on two sublime verses of Dr. Y.

W.

But, lo! to dark encounter in mid air New wizards rise; I see my Cibber there! 266 Booth 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;
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 conferr'd the bays,
To me committing their eternal praise,

Their full-fed heroes, their pacific mayors,
Their annual trophies, and their monthly wars;
Though long my party 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
Shouldst 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,
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,

REMARKS.

266 267 Booth and Cibber were joint managers of the Thea

tre in Drury-laue.