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Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er,
But lived, in Settle's numbers, one day more.19
Now mayors and shrieves all hush'd and satiate lay,
Yet eat, in dreams, the custard of the day;
While pensive poets painful vigils keep,
Sleepless themselves to give their readers sleep.
Much to the mindful queen the feast recalls
What city swans once sung within the walls;
Much she revolves their arts, their ancient plaise,
And sure succession down from Heywood's days.

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She saw, with joy, the line immortal run,
Each sire impress'd and glaring in his son:
So watchful Bruin forms, with plastic care,
Each growing lump, and brings it to a bear.
She saw old Pryn in restless Daniel shine,
And Eusden eke out Blackmore's endless line;

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19 [Of Settle, Heywood, and other authors here introduced, see the notes at the end of the poem.]

She saw slow Philips creep like Tate's poor page,
And all the mighty mad in Dennis rage.

In each she marks her image full express'd,
But chief in Bayes's monster-breeding breast; 20
Bayes, form'd by nature stage and town to bless,
And act, and be, a coxcomb with success.
Dulness with transport eyes the lively dunce,
Rememb'ring she herself was Pertness once.
Now (shame to Fortune!) an ill run at play
Blank'd his bold visage, and a thin third day:
Swearing and supperless the hero sate,

Blasphemed his gods, the dice, and damn'd his fate.
Then gnaw'd his pen, then dash'd it on the ground,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound!
Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there,
Yet wrote and flounder'd on, in mere despair.
Round him much embryo, much abortion lay,21
Much future ode, and abdicated play;

Nonsense precipitate, like running lead,

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That slipp'd through cracks and zig-zags of the head;
All that on Folly Frenzy could beget,

Fruits of dull heat, and sooterkins of wit.

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20 In the former editions thus:

"But chief, in Tibbald's monster-breeding breast;
Sees gods with demons, in strange league engage,
And earth, and heaven, and hell, her battles wage.
She eyed the bard, where supperless he sate;

And pined, unconscious of his rising fate;
Studious he sate, with all his books around,
Sinking from thought to thought," &c.

21 In the former editions thus:

"He roll'd his eyes that witness'd huge dismay,
Where yet unpawn'd, much learned lumber lay;
Volumes, whose size the space exactly filled,
Or which fond authors were so good to gild,
Or where, by sculpture made for ever known,
The page admires new beauties not its own.
Here swells the shelf," &c.

-"round he throws his eyes,

That witness'd huge affliction and dismay."-Milt. b. i.

The progress of a bad poet in his thoughts being (like the progress of the devil in Milton) through a Chaos, might probably suggest this imitation.

Next, o'er his books his eyes began to roll,

In pleasing memory of all he stole,

How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug,

And suck'd all o'er, like an industrious bug.

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Here lay poor Fletcher's half-eat scenes,22 and here
The frippery of crucified Moliere ;

23

There hapless Shakspeare, yet of Tibbald sore,
Wish'd he had blotted for himself before.
The rest on out-side merit but presume,24
Or serve (like other fools) to fill a room;

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22 A great number of them taken out to patch up his plays. 23 "When I fitted up an old play, it was as a good housewife will mend old linen, when she has not better employment."-Life, p. 217, octavo.

24 This library is divided into three parts; the first consists of those authors from whom he stole, and whose works he mangled; the second of such as fitted the shelves, or were gilded for show, or adorned with pictures;

Such with their shelves as due proportion hold,
Or their fond parents dressed in red and gold;
Or where the pictures for the page atone,
And Quarles is saved by beauties not his own.

QUARLES.

Here swells the shelf with Ogilby the great;

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There, stamp'd with arms, Newcastle shines complete :
Here all his suff'ring brotherhood retire,

And 'scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire:

A gothic library! of Greece and Rome

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Well purged, and worthy Settle, Banks, and Broome.
But, high above, more solid learning shone,

The classics of an age that heard of none;

There Caxton slept, with Wynkyn at his side,

One clasp'd in wood, and one in strong cow-hide;

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There, saved by spice, like mummies, many a year,
Dry bodies of divinity appear;

the third class our author calls solid learning, old bodies of divinity, old commentaries, old English printers, or old English translations; all very voluminous, and fit to erect altars to Dulness.

De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,25

And here the groaning shelves Philemon bends.26

Of these twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size, Redeem'd from tapers and defrauded pies,

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Inspired he seizes: these an altar raise :

An hecatomb of pure, unsullied lays
That altar crowns: a folio common-place

Founds the whole pile, of all his works the base:
Quartos, octavos, shape the lessening pyre;
A twisted birth-day ode completes the spire.27
Then he Great tamer of all human art!

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First in my care, and ever at my heart;

Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend,

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With whom my muse began, with whom shall end,28

E'er since Sir Fopling's Periwig was Praise,

To the last honours of the butt and bays: 29

O thou! of business the directing soul;
To this our head like bias to the bowl,30

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25 A very voluminous commentator, whose works, in five vast folios, were printed in 1472.

[He was born in Normandy, of Jewish parents, educated under some learned Rabbis, and for many years devoted to Judaism. He afterwards was converted to Christianity, and became a Cordelier at Verneuil, 1291. He taught with great reputation at Paris, and was made executor to the will of King Philip's Queen. He died in an advanced age, 1340.-Warton.]

26 Philemon Holland, doctor in physic. "He translated so many books that a man would think he had done nothing else; insomuch that he might be called Translator general of his age. The books alone of his turning into English are sufficient to make a country gentleman a complete library."— Winstanley.

27 In the former edition,

"And last, a little Ajax tips the spire."

Ajax, in duodecimo, translated from Sophocles by Tibbald. "A te principium, tibi desinet."-Virg. Ecl. viii.

28

“Ἐκ Διὸς ἀρχώμεσθα, καὶ εἰς Δία λήγετε, Μοῦσαι.”Theoc.
"Prima dicte mihi, summa dicende Camoena."-Hor.

29 A butt of sack is part of the annual recompense of the Laureate, which is now commuted for so much money, (about £100 per annum).

30 [An improvement, as Wakefield remarks, on Dryden's Mac Flecknoe:— "This is that boasted bias of the mind,

By which, one way, to dulness 'tis inclined;
Which makes thy writings lean on one side still,
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will."

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