ARGUMENT TO BOOK THE FIRST.

WARTON.

THE proposition, the invocation, and the inscription. Then the original of the great empire of Dulness, and cause of the continuance thereof. The beloved seat of the goddess is described, with her chief attendants and officers, her functions, operations, and effects. Then the poem hastes into the midst of things, presenting her on the evening of a lord mayor's day, revolving the long succession of her sons, and the glories past and to come. She fixes her eye on Tibbald to be the instrument of that great event which is the subject of the poem. He is described pensive in his study, giving up the cause, and apprehending the period of her empire from the old age of the present monarch Settle: wherefore debating whether to betake himself to law or politics, he raises an aitar of proper books, and (making first his solemn prayer and declaration) purposes thereon to sacrifice all his unsuccessful writings. As the pile is kindled, the goddess beholding the flame from her seat, flies in person, and puts it out, by casting upon it the poem of Thule. She forthwith reveals herself to him, transports him to her temple, unfolds her arts, and initiates him into her mysteries; then announcing the death of Settle that night, anoints, and proclaims him successor.

BOOK I.

Books and the man I sing, the first who brings
The Smithfield Muses to the ear of kings.
Say, great Patricians! (since yourselves inspire
These wond'rous works: so Jove and Fate require)
Say from what cause, in vain decry'd and curst,
Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first.
In eldest time, e'er mortals writ or read,
E'er Pallas issu'd from the thund'rer's head,
Dulness o'er all possess'd her ancient right,
Daughter of Chaos and eternal Night:
Fate in their dotage this fair ideot gave,
Gross as her sire, and as her mother grave,
Laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind,
She rul'd, in native anarchy, the mind.

Still her old empire to confirm, she tries,
For, born a goddess, Dulness never dies.

To hatch a new Saturnian age of lead.
Here pleas'd behold her mighty wings out-spread,

A

yawning ruin hangs and nods in air;
Where wave the tatter'd ensigns of Rag-fair,
Keen, hollow winds howl thro' the bleak reccss,
Here in one bed two shiv'ring sisters lye,
Emblem of music caus'd by emptiness.
The Cave of Poverty and Poetry.

This, the great mother dearer held than all
The clubs of quidnuncs, or her own Guildhall.
Here stood her opium, here she nurs'd her owls,
And destin'd here the imperial seat of fools.
Hence springs each weekly Muse, the living boast
Of Curl's chaste press, and Lintot's rubric post,
Hence hymning Tyburn's elegiac lay,
Hence the soft sing-song on Cecilia's day,
Sepulchral lyes, our holy walls to grace,
And new-year odes, and all the Grubstreet race.
'Twas here in clouded majesty she shone;
Four guardian virtues, round, support her throne;
Fierce champion Fortitude, that knows no fears
Of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears:
Calm Temperance, whose blessings those partake
Who hunger, and who thirst, for scribbling sake:
Prudence, whose glass presents th' approaching
jayl:

Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale;
Where, in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs,
And solid pudding against empty praise.

Here she beholds the Chaos dark and deep,
Where nameless somethings in their causes sleep,
Till genial Jacob, or a warm third-day
Call forth each mass, a poem, or a play:
How hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie,
How new-born Nonsense first is taught to cry,
Maggots half-form'd, in rhyme exactly meet,
And learn to crawl upon poetic feet.
Here one poor word a hundred clenches makes,
And ductile Dulness new meanders takes;
There motley images her fancy strike,
Figures ill-pair'd, and similies unlike.
She sees a mob of metaphors advance,
Pleas'd with the madness of the mazy dance:
How Tragedy and Comedy embrace;
How Farce and Epic get a jumbled race;
How Time himself stands still at her command,
Realms shifts their place, and ocean turns to land.
Here gay description Egypt glads with show'rs,
Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flow'rs;
Glitt'ring with ice here hoary bills are seen,
There painted vallies of eternal green,
On cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

All these and more, the cloud-compelling queen Beholds thro' fogs, that magnify the scene: She, tinsell'd o'er in robes of varying hues, With self-applause her wild creation views, Sees momentary monsters rise and fall, And with her own fools-colours gilds them all.

'Twas on the day, when Thorold, rich and grave, Like Cimon triumph'd both on land and wave:

faces)

Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er,
But liv'd, in Settie's numbers, one day more.
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 aits, their ancient praise,
And sure succession down from Heywood's days.
She saw with joy the line immortal run,
Fach sire imprest and glaring in his son ;
So watchful Bruin forms with plastic care
Fach growing lump, and brings it to a bear.
She saw old Pryn in restless Daniel shine,
And Eusden eke out Blackmore's endless line;
She saw slow Philips creep like Tate's poor page,
And all the mighty mad in Dennis rage.

In cach she marks her image full exprest,
But chief, in Tibbald's monster-breeding breast;
Sees gods with demons in strange league engage,
And Earth, and Heav'n, and Hell, her battles wage.
She cy'd the bard, where supperles he sate,
And pin'd, unconscious of his rising fate;
Studious he sate, with all his books around,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound!
Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there;
Then writ, and founder'd on, in were despair.
He roil'd his eyes that witness'd huge dismay,
Where yet unpawn'd, much learned lumber lay:
Volumes, whose size the space exactly fill'd,
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 with Ogilby the great:
There, stamp'd with arms, Newcastle shines com-
Here all his suffring brotherhood retire,
And 'scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire;
A Gothic Vatican! of Greece aud Rome
Well purg'd, and worthy Withers, Quarles, and
Blome.

[plete:

But high above, more solid learning shone,
The classics of an age that heard of none;
There Caxton slept, with Wynkin at his side,
One clasp'd in wood, and one in strong cow-hide,
There say'd by spice, like mummies, many a year,
Old bodies of philosophy appear:

De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,
And here, the eroaning shelves Philemon bends.
Of these, twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size,
Redee:n'd from tapers and defrauded pyes,
Inspir'd he seizes: these an altar raise :
An hecatomb of pure, unsully'd lays
That altar crowns: a folio common place
Founds the whole pyle, of all his works the base;
Quartos, octavos, shape the less'ning pyre;
And last, a little Ajax tips the spire.

Then he. "Great tamer of all human' art!
First in my care, and nearest at my heart:
Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend,
With whom my Muse began, with whom shall end!
O thou, of business the directing soul,
To human heads like biass to the bowl,
Which as more pond'rous makes their aim more true,
Obliquely waddling to the mark in view.
O over gracious to perplex'd mankind!
Who spread a healing inst before the mind,

Secure us kindly in our native night.

Ah! still o'er Britain stretch that peaceful wand,
Which lulls th' Helvetian and Batavian land;
Where rebel to thy throne if Science rise,
She does but show her coward face and dies;
There, thy good scholiasts with unweary'd pains
Make Horace flat, and humble Maro's strains :
Here studious I unlucky moderns save,
Nor sleeps one errour in its father's grave,
Old puns restore, lost blunders nicely seek,
And crucify poor Shakespear once a week.
For thee I din these eyes, and stuff this head,
With all such reading as was never read;
For thee supplying, in the worst of days,
Notes to dull books, and prologues to dull plays;
For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it,
And write about it, goddess, and about it;
So spins the silk-worm small its slender store,
And labours, till it clouds itself all o'er.
Not that my quill to critiques was confin'd,
My verse gave ampler lessons to mankind;
So gravest precepts may successless prove,
But sad examples never fail to move.
As fore'd from wind-guns, lead itself can fly,
And pond'rous slugs cut swiftly thro' the sky:
As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe,
The wheels above urg'd by the load below;
Me, Emptiness and Dulness could inspire,
And were my elasticity and fire.

Had Heav'n decreed such works a longer date,
Heav'n had decreed to spare the Grubstreet-state.
But see great Settle to the dust descend,
And all thy cause and empire at an end!
Cou'd Troy be sav'd by any single hand,
His grey-goose weapon must have made her stand.
But what can I? my Flaccus cast aside,
Take up th' attorney's (once my better) guide?
Or rob the Roman geese of all their glories,
And save the state by cackling to the Tories?
Yes, to my country I my pen consign,
Yes, from this moment, mighty Mist! am thine,
And rival, Curtius! of thy fame and zeal,
O'er head and ears plunge for the public weal.
Adieu, my children! better thus expire
Unstall'd, unsold, thus glorious mount in fire
Fair without spot; than greas'd by grocer's hands,
Or ship'd with Ward to Ape-and-monkey lands,
Or wafting ginger, round the streets to go,
And visit alehouse where ye first did grow."

With that he lifted thrice the sparkling brand,
And thrice he dropt it from his quiv'ring hand:
Then lights the structure, with averted eyes;
The rowling smokes involve the sacrifice.
The opening clouls disclose each work by turns,
Now flames old Memnon, now Rodrigo burns,
In one quick flash see Proserpine expire,
And last, his own cold Eschylus took fire.
Then gush'd the tears, as from the Trojan's eyes
When the last blaze sent Ilion to the skies.

Rouz'd by the light, old Dulness heav'd the

head;

Then snatch'd a sheet of Thule from her bed,
Sudden she flies, and whelms it o'er the pyre,
Down sink the flames, and with a hiss expire.
Her ample presence fills up all the place;
A veil of fogs dilates her awful face :
Great in her charms! as when on shrieves and

may'rs

She looks, and breathes herself into their airs,

With me began this genius, and shall end.”
He spoke, and who with Lintot shall contend!

Fear held them mute. Alone untaught to fear
Stood dauntless Curl, "Behold that rival here!
The race by vigour, not by vaunts is won;
So take the bindmost, Hell!"He said and run.
Swift as a bard the bailiff leaves behind,
He left huge Lintot, and out-stripp'd the wind.
As when a dab-chick waddles thro' the copse,
On feet, and wings, and flies, and wades, and
hops;

So lab'ring on, with shoulders, hands, and head,
Wide as a windmill all his figure spread,
With legs expanded Bernard urg'd the race,
And seem'd to emulate great Jacob's pace.
Full in the middle way there stood a lake,
Which Curl's Corinna chanc'd that morn to make:
(Such was her won't, at early dawn to drop
Her evening cates before his neighbour's shop,)
Here fortun'd Curl to slide; loud shout the band,
And Bernard! Bernard ! rings thro' all the Strand.
Obscene with filth the miscreant lies bewrayed,
Fali'n in the plash his wickedness had laid:
Then first (if poets aught of truth declare)
The caitiff vaticide couceiv'd a prayer.

Hear, Jove! whose name my bards and I adore,
As much at least as any god's, or more;
And him and his if more devotion warms,
Down with the Bible, up with the Pope's Arms.

A place there is, betwixt earth, air, and seas, Where from Ambrosia, Jove retires for ease. There in his seat two spacious vents appear, On this he sits, to that he leans his ear, And hears the various vows of fond mankind, Some beg an eastern, some a western wind: All vain petitions, mounting to the sky, With reams abundant this abode supply; Amus'd he reads, and then returns the bills Sign'd with that ichor which from Gods distils. In office here fair Cloacina stands, And ministers to Jove with purest hands; Forth from the heap she pick'd her vot'ry's pray'r, And plac'd it next him, a distinction rare! (Oft, as he fish'd her nether realms for wit, The goddess favour'd him, and favours yet) Renew'd by ordure's sympathetic force, As oil'd with magic juices for the course, Vig'rous he rises, from th' effluvia strong Imbibes new life, and scours and stinks along : Re-passes Lintot, vindicates the race, Nor heeds the brown dishonours of his face.

And now the victor stretch'd his eager hand Where the tall nothing stood, or seem'd to stand; A shapeless shade, it melted from his sight, Like forms in clouds, or visions of the night! To seize his papers, Curl, was next thy care; His papers light, fly diverse, tost in air: Songs, sonnets, epigrams the winds uplift, And whisk 'em back to Evans, Younge, and Swift. Th' embroider'd suit, at least, he deem'd his prey; That suit, an unpay'd taylor snatch'd away No rag, no scrap, of all the beau or wit, That once so flutter'd, and that once so writ. Heaven rings with laughter: of the laughter vain,

་

Dulness, good queen, repeats the jest again. Three wicked imps of her own Grub-street choir, She deck'd like Congreve, Addison, and Prior; Mears, Warner, Wilkins run: delusive thought! Breval, Besale, Bond, the varlets caught.

Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Marys)
Be thine, my stationer! this magic gift;
Cook shall be Prior, and Concanen, Swift:
So shall each hostile name become our own,
And we too boast our Garth and Addison.”
With that, she gave him (piteous of his case,
Yet smiling at his rueful length of face)
A shaggy tap'stry, worthy to be spread
On Codrus' old, or Dunton's modern bed;
Instructive work! whose wry-mouth'd portraiture
Display'd the fates her confessors endure.
Farless on high, stood unabash'd Defoe,
And Tuchin flagrant from the scourge, below:
There Ridpath, Roper, cudgell'd might ye view,
The very worsted still look'd black and blue:
Himself among the storied chiefs he spies,
As from the blanket high in air he flies,
"And oh!" (he cry'd)" what street, what lane but
Our purgings, pumpings, blanketings, and blows?
In ev'ry loom our labours shall be seen,
And the fresh vomit run for ever green!"

See in the circle next, Eliza plac'd,

[knows

Two babes of love close clinging to her waist;
Fair as before her works she stands confess'd,
In flow'rs and pearls by bounteous Kirkall dress'd.
The goddess then: "Who best can send on high
The salient spout, far-streaming to the sky:
His be yon Juno of majestic size,
With cow-like udders, and with ox-like eyes.
This China jordan, let the chief o'ercome
Replenish, not ingloriously, at home."

Chapman and Curl accept the glorious strife,
(Tho' one his son dissuades, and one his wife)
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,
(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 jet which hasty hands unlock,
Spirts in the gard'ner's eyes who turns the cock
Not so from shameless Curl; impetuous spread
The stream, and smoaking, flourish'd o'er hie
head.

So, (fam'd like thee for turbulence and horns,)
Eridanus his humble fountain scorns;
Thro' half the heaven's he pours th' exalted urn;
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, leadst away.
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;
He grins, and looks broad nonsense with a stare.