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This on his manly confidence relies,
That on his vigour and superior size.
First Chapman lean'd against his letter'd post;
It rose, and labour'd to a curve at most.
So Jove's bright bow displays its wat'ry round, 165
(Sure sign, that no spectator shall be drown'd)
A second effort brought but new disgrace,
The wild Meander wash'd the artist's face :
Thus the small jett, which hasty hands unlock,
Spirts in the gard'ner's eyes who turns the cock. 170
Not so from shameless Curl; impetuous spread
The stream, and smoaking flourish'd o'er his head.
So, (fam'd like thee for turbulence and horns,)
Eridanus his humble fountain scorns ;
Thro' half the heav'ns he pours th' exalted urn; 175
His rapid waters in their

passage

burn. Swift as it mounts, all follow with their eyes ; Still happy impudence obtains the prize. Thou triumph’st, victor of the high-wrought day, And the pleas'd dame, soft-smiling, leads away. 180 Chapman, thro' perfect modesty o'ercome, Crown'd with the Jordan, walks contented home.

But now for authors nobler palms remain ; Room for my Lord! three jockeys in his train : Six huntsmen with a shout precede his chair ; 185 He grins, and looks broad nonsense with a stare. His honour'd meaning Dulness thus exprest; “ He wins this patron, who can tickle best."

BB

He

VOL. IV.

200

He chinks his purse, and takes his seat of state : With ready quills the dedicators wait,

190 Now at his head the dext’rous task commence, And instant, fancy feels th' imputed sense ; Now gentle touches wanton o'er his face, He struts Adonis, and affects grimace : Rolli the feather to his ear conveys,

195 Then his nice taste directs our operas : Bentley his mouth with classic flatt’ry opes, And the puff'd orator bursts out in tropes. But Welsted most the poet's healing balm Strives to extract, from his soft, giving palm ; Unlucky Welsted! thy unfeeling master, The more thou ticklest, gripes his fist the faster.

While thus each hand promotes the pleasing pain, And quick sensations skip from vein to vein, A youth unknown to Phæbus, in despair, 205 Puts his last refuge all in heav'n and pray’r. What force have pious vows ? the Queen of Love His sister sends, her vot’ress, from above. As taught by Venus, Paris learnt the art To touch Achilles' only tender part ; Secure, thro' her, the noble prize to carry, He marches off, his Grace's secretary.

Now turn to diff'rent sports (the Goddess cries), And learn, my Sons, the wond'rous power of noise. To move, to raise, to ravish ev'ry heart,

215 With Shakespear's nature, or with Johnson's art,

Let

210 220

Let others aim : 'Tis yours to shake the soul
With thunder rumbling from the mustard bowl,
With horns and trumpets now to madness swell,
Now sink in sorrows with a tolling bell,
Such happy arts attention can command,
When fancy flags, and sense is at a stand.
Improve we these. Three cat-calls be the bribe,
Of him, whose chatt'ring shames the monkey tribe,
And his this drum, whose hoarse heroic base 225
Drowns the loud clarion of the braying ass.

Now thousand tongues are heard in one loud din :
The monkey-mimics rush discordant in: .
'Twas chatt'ring, grinning, mouthing, jabb'ring all,
And noise, and Norton, brangling, and Breval, 230
Dennis, and dissonance; and captious art,
And snip-snap short, and interruption smart.'
Hold (cry'd the Queen) a cat-call each shall win,
Equal your merits ! equal is your din!
But that this well-disputed game may end, 235
Sound forth, my Brayers, and the welkin rend.

As when the long-ear's milky mothers wait At some sick miser's triple-bolted gate, For their defrauded, absent foals they make A moan so loud, that all the guild awake ; 240 Sore sighs Sir Gilbert, starting, at the bray, From dreams of millions, and three groats to pay! So swells each wind-pipe ; ass intones to ass, Harmonic twang, of leather, horn, and brass ;

Such

B B 2

Such, as from lab'ring lungs th' enthusiast blows,
High sounds, attempted to the vocal nose ; 246
But far o'er all, sonorous Blackmore's strain ;
Walls, steeples, skies, bray back to him again :
In Tot'nam fields, the brethren with amaze,
Prick all their ears up, and forget to graze ; 250
Long Chanc'ry-lane retentive rolls the sound,
And courts to courts return it round and round :
Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring hall,
And Hungerford re-echoes bawl for bawl.
All hail him victor in both gifts of song, 255
Who sings so loudly, and who sings so long.

This labour past, by Bridewell all descend,
(As morning-pray'r, and flagellation end)
To where Fleet-ditch with disemboguing streams
Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames, 260
The king of dykes ! than whom no sluice of mud
With deeper sable blots the silver flood.
6. Here strip my children! here at once leap in!
Here

prove who best can dash thro' thick and thin, And who the most in love of dirt excel,

265
Or dark dexterity of groping well.
Who flings most filth, and wide pollutes around
The stream, be his the weekly journals bound;
A pig of lead to him who dives the best :
A peck of coals a-piece shall glad the rest." 270

In naked majesty Oldmixon stands,
And Milo-like, surveys his arms and hands,

Then

Then sighing, thus. “ And am I now threescore?
Ah why, ye Gods! should two and two make four?"
He said, and climb'd a stranded lighter's height, 275
Shot to the black abyss, and plung'd down-right.
The senior's judgment all the croud admire,
Who but to sink the deeper, rose the higher.

Next Smedley div’d; slow circles dimpled o’er
The quaking mud, that closd, and op'd no more.
All look, all sigh, and call on Smedley lost; 281
Smedley in vain resounds thro' all the coast,
Then *

essay'd; scarce vanish'd out of sight, He buoys up instant, and returns to light : He bears no token of the sabler streams, 285 And mounts far off

among

the swans of Thames.
True to the bottom, see Concanen creep,
A cold, long-winded, native of the deep!
If perseverance gain the diver's prize,
Not everlasting Blackmore this denies :

290 No noise, no stir, no motion canst thou make, Th' unconscious flood sleeps o'er thee like a lake.

Not so bold Arnall; with a weight of skull,
Furious he sinks, precipitately dull.
Whirlpools and storms his circling arm invest,

295
With all the might of gravitation blest.
No crab more active in the dirty dance,
Downward to climb, and backward to advance.
He brings up half the bottom on his head,
And loudly claims the journals and the lead.

300 Sudden,

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