His honour'd meaning Dulness thus exprest; "He wins this patron who can tickle best."

He chinks his purse, and takes his seat of state: With ready quills the dedicators wait, 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, 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 Phoebus, in despair, 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 wondrous pow'r of noise. To move, to raise, to ravish ev'ry heart, With Shakespear's nature, or with Johnson's art, 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 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, 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,
Sound forth, my brayers, and the welkin rend."
As when the long-ear'd 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;
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, as from lab'ring lungs th' enthusiast blows,
High sounds, attempted to the vocal nose.
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;
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.
VOL. XII.

All hail him victor in both gifts and song, 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,
The king of dykes! than whom no sluice of mud
With deeper sable blots the silver flood.
"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,
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."
In naked majesty Oldmixon stands,
And Milo-like, surveys his arms and hands,
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,
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 clos'd, and op'd no more. All look, all sigh, and call on Smedley lost; 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 sablér streams,
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 :
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 scull,
Furious he sinks, precipitately dull.
Whirlpools and storms his circling arm invest,
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.

Sudden, a burst of thunder shook the flood:
Lo Smedley rose in majesty of mud!
Shaking the horrours of his ample brows,
And each ferocious feature grim with ooze.
Greater he looks, and more than mortal stares;
Then thus the wonders of the deep declares.

First he relates, how sinking to the chin,
Smit with his mien, the mud-nymphs suck'd him in:
How young Lutetia, softer than the down,
Nigrina black, and Merdamante brown,
Vy'd for his love in jetty bow'rs below,
As Hylas fair was ravish'd long ago.

Then sung, how shown him by the nut-brown maids

A branch of Styx here rises from the shades,
That tinctur'd as it runs with Lethe's streams,
And wafting vapours from the land of dreams,
(As under seas Alphæus' secret sluice
Bears Pisa's offering to his Arethuse)
Pours into Thames: Each city bowl is full
Of the mixt wave, and all who drink grow dull.
How to the banks where bards departed doze,
They led him soft; how all the bards arose,

The rev'rend flamen in his lengthen'd dress.
Slow moves the goddess from the sable flood,
(Her priest preceding) thro' the gates of Lud.
Her critics there she summons, and proclaims
A gentler exercise to close the games.

"Here you! in whose grave heads, as equal scales,
I weigh what author's heaviness prevails;
Which most conduce to sooth the soul in slumbers,
My Henley's periods, or my Blackmore's numbers?
Attend the trial we propose to make:

If there be man who o'er such works can wake,
Sleep's all-subduing charms who dares defy,
And boasts Ulysses' ear with Argus' eye,
To him we grant our amplest pow'rs to sit
Judge of all present, past, and future wit,
To cavil, censure, dictate, right or wrong,
Full, and eternal privilege of tongue."

[came,
Three Cambridge sophs and three pert Templars
The same their talents, and their tastes the same,
Each prompt to query, answer, and debate,
And smit with love of poesy and prate,
The pond'rous books two gentle readers bring,
The heroes sit; the vulgar form a ring.
The clam'rous crowd is hush'd with mugs of mum,
Till all tun'd equal, send a gen'ral hum.
Then mount the clerks, and in one lazy tone,
Thro' the long, heavy, painful page, drawl on;
Soft creeping, words on words, the sense compose,
At ev'ry line, they stretch, they yawn, they doze.
As to soft gales top-heavy pines bow low

[lies

Their heads, and 1.ft them as they cease to blow;
Thus oft they rear, and oft the head decline,
As breathe, or pause, by fits, the airs divine:
And now to this side, now to that, they nod,
As verse, or prose, infuse the drowzy god.
Thrice Budgel aim'd to speak, but thrice supprest
By potent Arthur, knock'd his chin and breast.
Toland and Tindal, prompt at priests to jeer,
Yet silent bow'd to Christ's no kingdom here.
Who sate the nearest, by the words o'ercome
Slept first, the distant nodded to the hum.
Then down are roll'd the books; stretch'd o'er 'em
Each gentle clerk, and mutt'ring seals his eyes.
As what a Dutchman plumps into the lakes,
One circle first, and then a second makes,
What Dulness dropt among her sons imprest
Like motion, from one circle to the rest;
So from the mid-most the nutation spreads
Round, and more round, o'er all the sea of heads.
At last Centlivre felt her voice to fail,
Motteux himself unfinish'd left his tale,
Boyer the state, and Law the stage gave o'er,
Nor Kelsey talk'd, nor Naso whisper'd more;
Norton, from Daniel and Ostræa sprung,
Bless'd with his father's front, and mother's tongue,
Hung silent down his never-blushing head;
And all was hush'd, as folly's self lay dead.

Thus the soft gifts of sleep conclude the day, And stretch'd on bulks, as usual, poets lay. Why should I sing what bards the nightly Muse Did slumb'ring visit, and convey to stews:

Who prouder march'd, with magistrates in state,
To some fam'd round-house, ever open gate:
How Laurus lay inspir'd beside a sink,
And to mere mortals seem'd a priest in drink :
While others, timely, to the neighbouring Fleet
(Haunt of the Muses) made their safe retreat.

THE DUNCIAD.

ARGUMENT TO BOOK THE THIRD.

AFTER the other persons are disposed in their proper places of rest, the goddess transports the king to her temple, and there lays him to slumber with his head on her lap: a position of marvellous virtue, which causes all the visions of wild entbusiasts, projectors, politicians, inamoratos, castlebuilders, chymnists, and poets. He is immediately carried on the wings of Fancy to the Elysian shade; where on the banks of Lethe the souls of the dull are dipped by Bavius, before their entrance into this world. There he is met by the ghost of Settle, and by him made acquainted with the wonders of the place, and with those which he is himself destined to perform. He takes him to a Mount of Vision, from whence he shows him the past triumphs of the empire of Dulness, then the present, and lastly the future: How small a part of the world was ever conquered by science, how soon those conquests were stopped, and those very nations again reduced to ber dominion. Then distinguishing the island of Great Britain, shows by what aids, and by what persons, it shall be forthwith brought to her empire. These he causes to pass in review before his eyes, describing each by his proper figure, character, and qualifications. On a sudden the scene shifts, and a vast number of miracles and prodigies appear, utterly surprising and unknown to the king himself, till they are explained to be the wonders of his own reign now commencing. On this subject Settle breaks into a congratulation, yet not unmixed with concern, that his own times were but the types of these. He prophesies how first the nation shall be over-run with farces, operas, and shows; and the throne of Dulness advanced over both the theatres, then how her sons shall preside in the seats of arts and sciences, till in conclusion all shall return to their original chaos: A scene, of which the present action of the Dunciad is but a type or foretaste, giving a glimpse, or Pisgah-sight of the promised fulness of her glory; the accouiplishment whereof will, in all probability, hereafter be the theme of many other and greater Dunciads.

BOOK III.

BUT in her temple's last recess enclos'd,
On Dulness' lap th' anointed head repos'd.
Him close she curtain'd round with vapours blue,
And soft besprinkled with Cimmerian dew.

Then raptures high the seat of sense o'erflow,
Which only heads refin'd from reason know. [nods,
Hence, from the straw where Bedlam's prophet
He hears loud oracles, and talks with gods:
Hence the fool's paradise, the statesman's scheme,
The air-built castle, and the golden dream,
The maid's romantic wish, the chymist's flame,
And poet's vision of eternal fame.

And now, on Fancy's easy wing convey'd,
The king descended to th' Elysian shade.
There, in a dusky vale where Lethe rolls,
Old Bavius sits, to dip poetic souls,
And blunt the sense, and fit it for a scull
Of solid proof, impenetrably dull:
Instant when dipt, away they wing their flight,
Where Brown and Mears unbar the gates of light,
Demand new bodies, and in calf's array,
Rush to the world, impatient for the day.
Millions and millions on these banks he views,
Thick as the stars of night, and morning dews,
As thick as bees o'er vernal blossoms fly,
As thick as eggs at Ward in pillory.

Wond'ring he gaz'd: When lo! a sage appears, By his broad shoulders known, and length of ears, Known by the band and suit which Settle wore, (His only suit) for twice three years before: All as the vest appear'd the wearer's frame, Old in new state, another yet the same. Bland and familiar, as in life, begun Thus the great father to the greater son.

Oh born to see what none can see awake! Behold the wonders of th' oblivious lake, Thou, yet unborn, hast touch'd this sacred shore; The hand of Bavius drench'd thee o'er and o'er. But blind to former, as to future fate, What mortal knows his pre-existent state? Who knows how long, thy transmigrating soul Might from Boeotian to Baotian roll! How many Dutchmen she vouchsaf'd to thrid ? How many stages thro' old monks she rid? And all who since, in mild benighted days, Mix'd the owl's ivy with the poet's bays? As man's meanders to the vital spring Roll all their tides, then back their circles bring; Or whirligigs, twirl'd round by skilful swain, Suck the thread in, then yield it out again : All nonsense thus, of old or modern date, Shall in thee center, from thee circulate. For this, our queen unfolds to vision true Thy mental eye, for thou hast much to view : Old scenes of glory, times long cast behind Shall first recall'd, rush forward to thy mind; Then stretch thy sight o'er all her rising reign, And let the past and future fire thy brain. "Ascend this hill, whose cloudy point commands Her boundless empire over seas and lands. See round the poles where keener spangles shine, Where spices smoke beneath the burning line, (Earth's wide extremes) her sable flag display'd; And all the nations cover'd in her shade! "Fareastward cast thine eye, from whence the Sun And orient-science at a birth begun. One god-like monarch all that pride confounds, He, whose long wall the wand'ring Tartar bounds. Heav'ns! what a pile? whole ages perish there : And one bright blaze turns learning into air.

"Thence to the south extend thy gladden'd eyes; There rival flames with equal glory rise, From shelves to shelves see greedy Vulcan roll, And lick up all their physic of the soul.

"How little, mark! that portion of the ball, Where, faint at best, the beams of science fall; Soon as they draw, from Hyperborean skies, Embody'd dark, what clouds of Vandals rise! Lo where Mæotis sleeps, and hardly flows The freezing Tanais thro' a waste of snows, The north by myriads pours her mighty sons, Great nurse of Goths, of Alans, and of Huns. See Alaric's stern port! the martial frame Of Genseric! and Attila's dread name!

'See, the bold Ostrogoths on Latium fall; See, the fierce Visigoths on Spain and Gaul. See, where the morning gilds the palmy shore (The soil that arts and infant letters oore) His conqu'ring tribes th' Arabian prophet draws, And saving ignorance enthrones by laws.

ee Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep; And all the western world believe and sleep.

"Lo Rome herself, proud mistress now no more Of arts, but thund'ring against heathen lore; Her gray-hair'd synods damning books unread, And Bacon trembling for his brazen head; Padua with sighs behold her Livy burn, And ev'n th' Antipodes Virgilius mourn. See, the cirque falls, th' unpillar'd temple nods, Streets pav'd with heroes, Tyber choak'd with gods: Till Peter's keys some christen'd Jove adorn, And Pan to Moses lends his pagan born; See graceless Venus to a virgin turn'd, Or Phidias broken, and Apelles burn'd.

"Behold yon isle, by palmers, pilgrims trod, Men bearded, bald, cowl'd, uncowl'd, shod, unshod, Peel'd, patch'd, and pyebald, lins-y-woolsey brothers,

[others. Grave mummers! sleeveless some, and shirtless That once was Britain-Happy! had she scen No fiercer sons, had Easter never been! In peace, great goddess, ever be ador'd; How keen the war, if Dulness draw the sword? Thus visit not thy own! on this blest age Oh spread thy influence, but restrain thy rage. "And see! my son, the hour is on its way, That lifts our goddess to imperial sway; This fav'rite isle, long sever'd from her reign, Dove like, she gathers to her wings again. Now look thro' fate! behold the scene she draws! What aids, what armies, to assert her cause? See all her progeny, illustrious sight! Behold, and count them, as they rise to light. As Berecynthia, while her off-spring vie In homage, to the mother of the sky, Surveys around her in her blest abode A hundred sons, and every son a god : Not with less glory mighty Dulness crown'd Shall take thro' Grubstreet her triumphant round, And her Parnassus glancing o'er at once, Behold a hundred sons, and each a dunce.

"Mark first that youth who takes the foremost And thrusts his person full into your face. [place, With all thy father's virtues blest, be born! And a new Cibber shall the stage adorn.

"A second see, by meeker manners known, And modest as the maid that sips alone; From the strong fate of drams if thou get free, Another Durfey, Ward! shall sing in thee. Thee shall each ale-house, thee each gill-house mourn,

And answering gin-shops sourer sighs return. "Lo next two slip-shod Muses traipse along, In lofty madness, meditating song,

With tresses staring from poetic dreams,
And never wash'd, but in Castalia's streams:
Haywood, Centlivre, glories of their race!
Lo Horneck's fierce, and Room's funereal face;
Lo sneering Goode, half malice and half whim,
A fiend in glee, ridiculously grim.
Jacob, the scourge of grammar, mark with awe,
Nor less revere bin, blunderbuss of law.
Lo Bond and Faxton, ev'ry nameless name,
All crowd, who foremost shall be damn'd to fame.
Some strain in rhyme; the Muses, on their racks,
Scream like the winding of ten thousand jacks:
Some free from rhyme or reason, rule or check,
Break Priscian's head, and Pegasus's neck;
Down, down they larum, with impetuous whirl,
The Pindars, and the Miltons of a Curl.

[howls,

"Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cinthia And makes night bideous-Answer him ye owls! "Sense, speech, and measure, living tongues, and Let all give way-and Morris may be read. [dead, Flow, Welsted, flow! like thine inspirer, beer, Tho' stale, not ripe; tho' thin, yet never clear; So sweetly mawkish, and so smoothly dull; Heady, not strong; and foaning, tho' not full.

66

Ah Denais! Gildon ah! what ill-starr'd rage Divides a friendship long confirm'd by age? Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, But fool with fool is barb'rous civil war. Embrace, embrace my sons! be foes no more! Nor glad vile poets with true critics gore.

As thou preserv'st the dulness of the past! [mark,
There, dim in clouds, the poring scholiasts
Wits, who like owls see only in the dark,
A lumberhouse of books in ev'ry head;
For ever reading, never to be read!

"But, where each science lifts its modern type,
Hist'ry her pot, Divinity his pipe,
While proud Philosophy repines to show,
Dishonest sight! his breeches rent below;
Imbrown'd with native bronze, lo Henley stands,
Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands.
How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue!
How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung.
Still break the benches, Henley! with thy strain,
While Kennet, Hare, and Gibson preach in vain.
Oh great restorer of the good old stage,
Preacher at once, and zany of thy age!
Oh worthy thou of Egypt's wise abodes,
A decent priest, where monkeys were the gods!.
But fate with butchers plac'd thy priestly stall,
Meek modern faith to murder, hack, and mawl;
And bade thee live, to crown Britannia's praise,
In Toland's, Tindal's, and in Woolston's days.
"Yet oh my sons! a father's words attend:
(So may the fates preserve the ears you lend)
'Tis yours, a Bacon or a Locke to blame,
A Newton's genius, or a Milton's flame:

But O! with One, immortal One dispense,
The source of Newton's light, of Bacon's sense!
Content, each emanation of his fires

That beams on Earth, each virtue he inspires,
Each art he prompts, each charm be can create,
Whate'er he gives, are giv'n for you to hate.
Persist, by all divine in man unaw'd,
But learn, ye dunces! not to scorn your God.”
Thus he, for then a ray of reason stole
Half thro' the solid darkness of his soul;
But soon the cloud return'd—and thus the sire:
"See now, what Dulness and her sons admire!
See what the charms that smite the simple heart,
Not touch'd by nature, and not reach'd by art.”
He look'd, and saw a sable sorc'rer rise,
Swift to whose hand a winged volume flies:
All sudden, Gorgons hiss, and dragons glare,
And ten-horn'd fiends and giants rush to war.
Hell rises, Heav'n descends, and dance on Earth,
Gods, imps, and monsters, music, rage, and mirth,
A fire, a jigg, a battle, and a ball,
Till one wide confiagration swallows all.
Thence a new world to Nature's laws unknown,
Breaks out refulgent, with a heav'n its own.
Another Cynthia her new journey runs,
And other planets circle other suns:
The forests dance, the rivers upward rise,
Whales sport in woods, and dolphins in the
skies;

And last, to give the whole creation grace,
Lo! one vast egg produces human race.
Joy fills his soul, joy innocent of thought:
"What pow'r," he cries, "what power these won-
ders wrought?"

"Son! what thou seck'st is in thee. Look, and find Each monster meets his likeness in thy mind. Yet would'st thou more? In yonder cloud behold, Whose sarcenet skirts are edg'd with flamy guld, A matchless youth! His nod these worlds controls, Wings the red lightning, and the thunder rolls. Angel of Dulness, sent to scatter round Her magic charms o'er all unclassic ground: Yon stars, yon suns, he rears at pleasure higher, Illumes their light, and sets their flames on fire. Immortal Rich! how calm he sits at ease Mid snows of paper, and fierce hail of pease; And proud his mistress' orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. "But lo! to dark encounter in mid air New wizards rise: here Booth, and Cibber there: Booth in his cloudy tabernacle shrin`d, On grinning dragons Cibber mounts the wind: Dire is the conflict, dismal is the din, Here shouts all Drury, there all Lincoln's Inn; Contending theatres our empire raise, Alike their labours, and alike their praise.

"And are these wonders, son, to thee unknown? Unknown to thee? these wonders are thy own. For works like these let deathless journals tell, 'None but thyself can be thy parallel.' These, fate reserv'd to grace thy reign divine, Foreseen by me, but ah! withheld from mine. In Lud's old walls tho' long I rul'd renown'd, Far, as loud Bow's stupendous bells resound; Tho' my own aldermen conferr'd my bays, To me committing their eternal praise, Their full-fed heroes, their pacific may'rs, Their annual trophies, and their monthly wars: Tho' long my party built on me their hopes, For writing pamphlets, and for roasting popes;

(Diff'rent our parties, but with equal grace
The goddess smiles on Whig and Tory race,
'Tis the same rope that several ends they twist,
To Dulness, Ridpath is as dear as Mist.)
Yet lo! in me what authors have to brag on!
Reduc'd at last to hiss in my own dragon.
Avert it, Heav'n! that thou or Cibber e'er
Should wag two serpent-tails in Smithfield fair.
Like the vile straw that's blown about the streets,
The needy poet sticks to all he meets,
Coach'd, carted, trod upon, now loose, now fast,
And carry'd off in some dog's tail at last.
Happier thy fortunes! like a rolling stone,
Thy giddy dulness still shall lumber on,
Safe in its heaviness can never stray,
And licks up every blockhead in the way.
Thy dragons magistrates and peers shall taste,
And from each show rise duller than the last;
Till rais'd from booths to theatre, to court,
Her seat imperial, Dulness shall transport.
Already opera prepares the way,

The sure fore-runner of her gentle sway.

To aid her cause, if Heav'n thou canst not bend,
Hell thou shalt move; for Faustus is thy friend:
Pluto with Cato thou for her shalt join,
And link the Mourning Bride to Proserpine.
Grub-street! thy fall should men and gods conspire,
Thy stage shall stand, ensure it but from fire:
Another Eschylus appears! prepare
For new abortions, all ye pregnant fair!
In flames, like Semele's, be brought to bed,
While opening Hell spouts wild-fire at your head.
"Now Bavius take the poppy from thy brow,
And place it here here all ye heroes bow!
This, this is he, foretold by ancient rhymes:
Th' Augustus, born to bring Saturnian times :
Beneath his reign, shall Eusden wear the bays,
Cibber preside, lord-chancellor of plays.

[year;

Benson sole judge of architecture sit,
And Ambrose Philips be preferr'd for wit!
While naked mourns the dormitory wall,
And Jones' and Boyle's united labours fall,
While Wren with sorrow to the grave descends,
Gay dies unpension'd with a hundred friends,
Hibernian politicks, O Swift, thy fate,
And Pope's whole years to comment and translate.
"Proceed great days! till learning fly the shore,
Till birch shall blush with noble blood no more,
Till Thames see Eton's sons for ever play,
Till Westminster's whole year be holiday;
Till Isis' elders reel, their pupils sport;
And Alma Mater lye dissolv'd in port!
"Signs following signs lead on the mighty
See the dull star roll round and re-appear.
She comes the cloud-compelling pow'r behold!
With night primeval, and with chaos old.
Lo! the great anarch's ancient reign restor'd;
Light dies before her uncreating word.
As one by one, at dread Medæa'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 sculking Truth in her old cavern lye,
Secur'd by mountains of heap'd casuistry:
Philosophy, that touch'd the heav'ns before,
Shrinks to her hidden cause, and is no more :
See Physic beg the Stagyrite's defence!
See Metaphysic call for aid on sense!
See Mystery to mathematics fly;

In vain they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Thy hand, great Dulness! lets the curtain fall,
And universal darkness buries all."

G. WOODFALL, Printer, Paternoster-row, London.