The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence,
And all the well-whipt cream of courtly sense,
That first was H-vy's, F-'s next, and then
The S-te's, and then H-vy's once again.
O come, that easy, Ciceronian style,
So Latin, yet so English all the while,
As, tho' the pride of Middleton and Bland,
All boys may read, and girls may understand!
Then might I sing, without the least offence,
And all I sung should be the nation's sense :
Or teach the melancholy muse to mourn,
Hang the sad verse on Carolina's urn,
And hail her passage to the realms of rest,
All parts perform'd, and all her children blest!
So-Satire is no more-I feel it die-

No Gazetteer more innocent than I.

And let, a God's-name, ev'ry fool and knave
Be grac'd through life, and flatter'd in his grave.
F. Why so? if Satire knows its time and place,
You still may lash the greatest-in disgrace:
For merit will by turns forsake them all ;
Would you know when? exactly when they fall.
But let all satire in all changes spare
Immortal S-k, and grave De-re.
Silent and soft, as saints remove to heav'n,
All ties dissolv'd, and ev'ry sin forgiv'n,
These may some gentle ministerial wing
Receive, and place for ever near a king!

There, where no passion, pride, or shame transport,
Lull'd with the sweet nepenthe of a court;

There, where no father's, brother's, friend's, disgrace Once break their rest, or stir them from their place :

But past the sense of human miseries,

All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;

No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,

Save when they lose a question, or a job.

FROM THE DUNCIAD, BOOK IV.

Oh (cried the goddess) for some pedant reign!
Some gentle James, 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!
For sure, if dulness sees a grateful day,
'Tis in the shade of arbitrary sway.

O! 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, my 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: Thick and more thick the black blockade extends, A hundred head of Aristotle's friends.

Nor wert thou, Isis! wanting to the day,

(Tho' Christ-church long kept prudishly away)

Each staunch polemic, stubborn as a rock,

Each fierce logician, still expelling Locke,

Came whip and spur, and dash'd through thin and thick
On German Crousaz, and Dutch Burgersdyck.

As many quit the streams that murm'ring fall
To lull the sons of Margaret and Clare-hall,
Where Bentley late tempestuous wont to sport
In troubled waters, but now sleeps in port.
Before them march'd that awful aristarch;
Plow'd was his front with many a deep remark:
His hat, which never veil'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?

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:
While towering o'er your alphabet like Saul
Stands our digamma, and o'ertops them all.
'Tis true, on words is still our whole debate,
Dispute of me or te, of aut or at,

To sound or sink in cano, O or A,
Or give up Cicero to C or K.

Let Freind affect to speak as Terence spoke,
And Alsop never but like Horace joke:
From me, what Virgil, Pliny may deny,
Manilius or Solinus shall supply:
For Attic phrase in Plato let them seek,
I poach in Suidas for unlicens'd Greek.
In ancient sense if any needs will deal,
Be sure I give them fragments, not a meal;
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.

CONCLUSION OF THE DUNCIAD.

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 G—— preach'd)

Then catch'd the schools; the hall scarce kept awake; The convocation gap'd, but could not speak :

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;
Ev'n Palinurus nodded at the helm:

The vapour mild o'er each committee crept ;
Unfinish'd treaties in each office slept ;

And chiefless armies doz'd out the campaign;
And navies yawn'd for orders on the main.
O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone,
Wits have short memories, and dunces none),
Relate, who first, who last resign'd to rest;
Whose heads she partly, whose completely, blest;
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 pow'r.
She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold
Of Night primæval and of Chaos old!
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 th' ethereal plain;
As Argus' eyes by Hermes' wand opprest,
Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest;
Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is night.
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,
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.

For public flame, nor private, dares to shine;
Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine!
Lo! thy dread empire, CHAOS! is restor❜d;
Light dies before thy uncreating word;
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall,

And universal darkness buries all.