Perch'd on his crown. "All hail! and hail again,
My son the promis'd land expects thy reign.
Know, Eusden thirsts no more for sack or praise;
He sleeps among the dull of ancient days;
Safe, where no critics damn, no duns molest,
Where wretched Withers, Ward, and Gildon rest,
And high-born Howard, more majestic sire,
With Fool of Quality completes the quire.
Thou, Cibber! thou, his Laurel shalt support;
Folly, my son, has still a friend at Court.
Lift up your gates, ye Princes, see him come!
Sound, sound, ye viols, be the cat-call dumb!
Bring, bring the madding bay, the drunken vine;
The creeping, dirty, courtly ivy join.

REMARKS.

295

300

Ver. 296. Gildon] Charles Gildon, a writer of criticisms and libels of the last age, bred at St. Omer's with the Jesuits; but renouncing popery, he published Blount's books against the Divinity of Christ, the Oracles of Reason, &c. He signalized himself as a critic, having written some very bad Plays; abused Mr. P. very scandalously in an anonymous pamphlet of the Life of Mr. Wycherley, printed by Curl; in another, called the New Rehearsal, printed in 1714; in a third, entitled the Complete Art of English Poetry, in two volumes; and others -P.

Ver. 297. Howard,] Hon. Edward Howard, author of the British Princes, and a great number of wonderful pieces, celebrated by the late Earls of Dorset and Rochester, Duke of Buckingham, Mr. Waller, &c. -P.

Ver. 301. Lift up your gates,] I know not what can excuse this very profane allusion to a sublime passage in the Psalms; which was added to the last edition of the Dunciad in four books; and this too under the

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 293. Know, Eusden, &c.] In the former Edd.

Know, Settle, cloy'd with custard and with praise,
Is gather'd to the dull of ancient days,

Safe, where no critics damn, no duns molest,

Where Gildon, Banks, and high-born Howard rest.

I see a King! who leads my chosen sons

To lands that flow with clenches and with puns:
Till each fam'd theatre my empire own;

Till Albion, as Hibernia, bless my throne!

I see! I see!

Then rapt she spoke no more,

God save King Tibbald! Grub-street alleys roar.
So when Jove's block, &c.-W.†

And thou, his Aid-de-camp, lead on my sons,
Light-arm'd with Points, Antitheses, and Puns.
Let Bawdry, Billingsgate, my daughters dear,
Support his front, and Oaths bring up the rear:
And under his, and under Archer's wing,
Gaming and Grub-street skulk behind the King.
O! when shall rise a Monarch all our own,
And I, a nursing mother, rock the throne;
"Twixt Prince and people close the curtain draw,
Shade him from light, and cover him from law;
Fatten the courtier, starve the learned band,

305

310

315

And suckle armies, and dry-nurse the land:
Till Senates nod to lullabies divine,

And all be sleep, as at an Ode of thine.”

She ceas'd. Then swells the Chapel-royal throat: God save king Cibber! mounts in ev'ry note.

REMARKS.

320

auspices and direction of Dr. Warburton. So again in Book iii. ver. 126. And also again Book iv. ver. 562,

"Dove-like she gathers to her wings again."

And in the Arguments, he talks of giving a Pisgah-sight of the future fulness of her Glory; and even of sending Priests, and Comforters.—

Warton.

Ver. 309, 310. under Archer's wing,- -Gaming, &c.] When the Statute against gaming was drawn up, it was represented that the King, by ancient custom, plays at Hazard one night in the year; and therefore a clause was inserted, with an exception as to that particular. Under this pretence, the Groom-porter had a room appropriated to gaming all the summer the Court was at Kensington, which his Majesty accidentally being acquainted of, with a just indignation prohibited. It is reported the same practice is yet continued wherever the Court resides, and the Hazard Table there open to all the professed Gamesters in Town.

"Greatest and justest Sov'REIGN, know you this?
Alas! no more than Thames' calm head can know
Whose meads his arms drown, or whose corn o'erflow."

Donne to Queen Eliz.-P.†

This practice has been laid aside for many years.-Warton. Ver. 319. Chapel-royal] The voices and instruments used in the service of the Chapel-royal being also employed in the performance of the Birthday and New-year Odes.-P.†

II.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 311. O! when shall rise a Monarch, &c.] Boileau, Lutrin, Chant

"Helas! qu'est devenu ce tems, cet heureux tems,

Où les Rois s'honoroient du nom de Fainéans ;" &c.-P.†

Familiar White's, God save king Colly! cries;
God save king Colly! Drury-lane replies;
To Needham's quick the voice triumphal rode,
But pious Needham dropt the name of God;
Back to the Devil the last echoes roll,
And Coll! each Butcher roars at Hockley-hole.

So when Jove's block descended from on high, (As sings thy great forefather, Ogilby,)

Loud thunder to its bottom shook the bog,

325

And the hoarse nation croak'd, God save King Log!

REMARKS.

Ver. 324. But pious Needham] A Matron of great fame, and very religious in her way; whose constant prayer it was, that she might "get enough by her profession to leave it off in time, and make her peace with God." But her fate was not so happy; for being convicted, and set in the pillory, she was (to the lasting shame of all her great friends and votaries) so ill used by the populace, that it put an end to her days. — P.† Ver. 325. Back to the Devil] The Devil Tavern in Fleet Street, where these Odes are usually rehearsed before they are performed at Court.— P.t

Upon which a Wit of those times made this Epigram :
"When Laureates make Odes, do you ask of what sort?
Do you ask if they're good, or are evil?

You may judge-From the Devil they come to the Court,
And go from the Court to the Devil.”—W.

Ver. 328. Ogilby,)-God save King Log !] See Ogilby's Esop's Fables, where, in the story of the Frogs and their King, this excellent hemistic is to be found.

Our author manifests here, and elsewhere, a prodigious tenderness for the bad writers. We see he selects the only good passage, perhaps, in all that ever Ogilby writ; which shows how candid and patient a reader he must have been.

But how much all indulgence is lost upon these people may appear from the just reflection made on their constant conduct and constant fate, in the following Epigram:

"Ye little Wits, that gleam'd a while,

When Pope vouchsaf'd a ray,

Alas! depriv'd of his kind sinile,
How soon ye fade away!

"To compass Phoebus' car about,

Thus empty vapours rise;

Each lends his cloud, to put him out,
That rear'd him to the skies.

"Alas! those skies are not your sphere;

There he shall ever burn:

Weep, weep, and fall! for Earth ye were,
And must to Earth return.”—P.

VOL. III.

Q

THE

DUNCIA D.

BOOK THE SECOND.