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The learned Baron butterflies design,
Or draw to silk Arachne's subtile line ; 590
The Judge' to dance his brother serjeant call!
The Senator at cricket urge the ball;
The Bishop stow (pontific luxury!)
An hundred souls of turkeys in a pye ;
The sturdy Squire to Gallic masters stoop, 595
And drown bis lands and manors in a soup.
Others import yet nobler arts from France,
Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.
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
Börn for first ministers, as slaves for kings,
Tyrant supreme ! shalt three estates command,
And make one mighty Dunciad of the land! [nods:

More she had spoke, but yawn'd--All Nature
What mortal cán resist

yawn of gods? 606
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 gàpid, 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 ;
Ev'n Palinurus nodded at the helm :
The vapour mild o'er each Committee crept; 615
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,) 620 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 intrance the dull; Till drown'd was Sense, and Shame, and Right, and Wrong

625 sing, and hush the nations with thy song!

*

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*

*

635

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 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's 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.

640 See sculking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head !

IMITATIONS.
D. 521. Relate who first, who lase, resign'd to test :

Whose heads she partly, whose completely blest. ]
Quem telo primum, quein postremum aspera Virgo
"Dejicis? aut quot humi, morientia corpora fundis!' Virg.

Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before,
Shrinks to ber second cause, and is no more.
Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, 645
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense !
See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Religion, blushing, veils ber 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 restord;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; 635
And universal Darkness buries All.

IMITATIONS.
1. 6.7. As Argus' eyes, &c.]

Et quamvis sopor est oculorum parte receptus,
• Parte tamen vigilat..
...Vidit Cyllenius omne
• Succubuisse oculos,' &c.

Ovid. Met. II.
VARIATIONS.
6.643.) In the former edit. it stood thus:

Philosophy, that reach'd the heav'ns before,

Slirinks to her hidden cause, and is no more. And this was intended as a censure of the Newtonian philosoph. For the Poet had been misied by the prejudices of foreigners, as it that philosophy hari recurred io the ocult qualities of Aristotie. 'This was the idea he received of it from a man educated much abroad, who had read every thing, but every thing superficia.it. Had his excellent Friend, Dr. A. been consulted in this matter, it is certain that so unjust a reflection had never discredited so noble a Satire. When 1 hinted to him how he had been impused upon, he changed the lines with great pleasure, into a coinpaiment (as they now stand) on that divine genies, and a satire un the folly by which he, the Poet himself, had been mislet.

END OF THE BUNCIAD,

BY THE AUTHOR, A DECLARATION.

WHEREAS certain Haberdashers of Points and Particles, being instigated by the spirit of Pride, and assum. ing 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, exe. cutors, administrators, assigns, or in any sort related to such Poets, to all or any of them: Now We, having carefully revised this our Dunciad, * beginning with the word's, 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 ruthentic . and do therefore strictly enjoin and forbid any berson or persons whatsoever to erase, reverse, put between 200ks, or by any other means, directly or indirectly, change ir mangle any of them. And we do hereby earnestly exe fort all our brethren to follow this our example, which we heartily wish our great Predecessors, had heretofore.

* Read thus confidently, instead of “beginning with the words : books, and ending with the word flies," as formerly it stood: tad also, “ containing the entire sum of one thousand seven. hundred and fifty-four verses," instead of one thousand and welve lines ;" such being the initial and final words, and sucu he true and entire conieats of the Poemi.

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set, as a remedy and prevention of all such abuses. Previded 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 condeniti, ir 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.

Thou art to know, Reader! that the first edition thereof, like that of Milton, was never seen by the Author, (though living and pot blind:) the editor himself confessed as much in his pretace, and no two poems were ever published in so arbitrary 3 minner. The editor of this had as boldly suppressed whele passages, yea the entire last book, as the editor of Paradise Lost added and auginented. Milton himself gave but ten books, his editor teelte; this Author gave four books, his editor only three. But we have happily done justice to both; and presume we shall live, in tres our last labor, as long as in any of our others. Bent.cz.

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