# The Dunciad/Book 2

THE
DUNCIAD:
Book the Second.
ARGUMENT.
HIGH on a gorgeous seat, that far out-shone Henley's gilt tub, or Fleckno's Irish throne,
Or that where on her Curls the Public pours, All-bounteous, fragrant Grains and Golden show'rs, Great Cibber sate: The proud Parnassian sheer, 5 The conscious simper, and the jealous leer, Mix on his look: All eyes direct their rays On him, and crowds turn Coxcombs as they gaze. His Peers shine round him with reflected grace, New edge their dulness, and new bronze their face. 10 So from the Sun's broad beam, in shallow urns Heav'ns twinkling Sparks draw light, and point their horns. Not with more glee, by hands Pontific crown'd, With scarlet hats wide-waving circled round, Rome in her Capitol saw Querno sit, 15 Thron'd on sev'n hills, the Antichrist of wit. And now the Queen, to glad her sons, proclaims By herald Hawkers, high heroic Games. They summon all her Race: An endless band Pours forth, and leaves unpeopled half the land. 20 A motley mixture! in long wigs, in bags, In silks, in crapes, in Garters, and in rags, From drawing rooms, from colleges, from garrets, On horse, on foot, in hacks, and gilded chariots:
All who true Dunces in her cause appear'd, 25 And all who knew those Dunces to reward.
Amid that area wide they took their stand,
Where the tall may-pole once o'er-look'd the Strand;
But now (so Anne and Piety ordain)
A Church collects the saints of Drury-lane. 30 With Authors, Stationers obey'd the call,
(The field of glory is a field for all.)
Glory, and gain, th'industrious tribe provoke;
And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke.
A Poet's form she plac'd before their eyes, 35 And bade the nimblest racer seize the prize;
No meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin, In a dun night-gown of his own loose skin; But such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise, Twelve starv'ling bards of these degen'rate days.40 All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair, She form'd this image of well-body'd air; With pert flat eyes she window'd well its head; A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead; And empty words she gave, and sounding strain, 45 But senseless, lifeless! idol void and vain! Never was dash'd out, at one lucky hit, A fool, so just a copy of a wit;
So like, that critics said, and courtiers swore, A Wit it was, and call'd the phantom More. 50 All gaze with ardour: Some a poet's name, Others a sword-knot and lac'd suit inflame. But lofty Lintot in the circle rose: "This prize is mine; who tempt it are my foes;
With me began this genius, and shall end." 55 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 hindmost, Hell."———He said, and run.60 Swift as a bard the bailiff leaves behind,
He left huge Lintot, and out-strip'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 wind-mill all his figures spread,65
With arms expanded Bernard rows his state, And left-legg'd Jacob seems to emulate. Full in the middle way there stood a lake, Which Curl's Corinna chanc'd that morn to make: 70 (Such was her wont, 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 bewray'd, 75 Fal'n in the plash his wickedness had laid:
Then first (if Poets aught of truth declare)
The caitiff Vaticide conceiv'd a pray'r.
Hear Jove! whose name my bards and I adore,
As much at least as any God's, or more; 80 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, 85 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; 90 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's, 95 And plac'd it next him, a distinction rare! Oft had the Goddess heard her servant's call, From her black grottos near the Temple-wall, List'ning delighted to the jest unclean Of link-boys vile, and watermen obscene; 100 Where as he fish'd her nether realms for Wit, She oft had 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 105 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; 110 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, 115 And whisk 'em back to Evans, Young, 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. 120 Heav'n rings with laughter: Of the laughter vain, Dulness, good Queen, repeats the jest again. Three wicked imps, of her own Grubstreet choir, She deck'd like Congreve, Addison, and Prior; Mears, Warner, Wilkins run: delusive thought! 125 Breval, Bond, Besaleel, the varlets caught.
Curl stretches after Gay, but Gay is gone, He grasps an empty Joseph for a John: So Proteus, hunted in a nobler shape, Became, when seiz'd, a puppy, or an ape. 130 To him the Goddess: Son! thy grief lay down, And turn this whole illusion on the town: As the sage dame, experienc'd in her trade, By names of Toasts retails each batter'd jade; (Whence hapless Monsieur much complains at Paris 135 Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Maries;) 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. 140
A shaggy Tap'stry, worthy to be spread
On Codrus' old, or Dunton's modern bed;
Instructive work! whose wry-mouth'd portraiture 145 Display'd the fates her confessors endure.
Earless on high, stood unabash'd De Foe,
And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below.
There Ridpath, Roper, cudgell'd might ye view,
The very worsted still look'd black and blue.150
Himself among the story'd chiefs he spies, As from the blanket high in air he flies,
And oh! (he cry'd) what street, what lane but knows,
Our purgings, pumpings, blankettings, and blows?
In ev'ry loom our labours shall be seen, 155 And the fresh vomit run for ever green!
See in the circle next, Eliza plac'd,
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. 160
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 165 "Replenish, not ingloriously, at home."
Osborne and Curl accept the glorious strife,
(Tho' this his Son dissuades, and that his Wife.)
One on his manly confidence relies, One on his vigour and superior size. 170 First Osborne 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, 155 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. Not so from shameless Curl; impetuous spread The stream, and smoking flourish'd o'er his head. 180 So (fam'd like thee for turbulence and horns) Eridanus his humble fountain scorns;
Thro' half the heav'ns he pours th'exalted urn; His rapid waters in their passage burn. Swift as it mounts, all follow with their eyes: 185 Still happy Impudence obtains the prize.
Thou triumph'st, Victor of the high-wrought day, And the pleas'd dame, soft-smiling, lead'st away. Osborne, thro' perfect modesty o'ercome, Crown'd with the Jordan, walks contented home.190 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. His Honour's meaning Dulness thus exprest,195 "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 dextrous task commence, And, instant, fancy feels th' imputed sense; 200 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, 205 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.210 While thus each hand promotes the pleasing pain,
And quick sensations skip from vein to vein;
A youth unknown to Phœbus, in despair, Puts his last refuge all in heav'n and pray'r. What force have pious vows! The Queen of Love 215 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. 220 Now turn to diff'rent sports (the Goddess cries)
And learn, my sons, the wond'rous 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 225 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. 230 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: 235 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, 240 And Demonstration thin, and Theses thick,
And Major, Minor, and Conclusion quick.
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, 245 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; 250 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 labring lungs th' Enthusiast blows, 255 High Sound, attemp'red to the vocal nose; Or such as bellow from the deep Divine; There Webster! peal'd thy voice, and Whitfield! thine. But far o'er all, sonorous Blackmore's strain; Walls, steeples, skies, bray back to him again. 260
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, 265 And Hungerford re-echoes bawl for bawl.
All hail him victor in both gifts of song,
Who sings so loudly, and who sings so long.
This labour past, by Bridewell all descend, (As morning pray'r, and flagellation end) 270
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, 275 "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,280 "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 three-score? 285 "Ah why, ye Gods! should two and two make four?" He said, and clim'd a stranded lighter's height,
Shot to the black abyss, and plung'd down-right.
The Senior's judgment all the crowd admire, Who but to sink the deeper, rose the higher. 290 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,295
He buoys up instant, and returns to light:
He bears no token of the sabler 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: 300
If perseverance gain the Diver's prize,
Not everlasting Blackmore this denies:
No noise, no stir, no motion can'st thou make,
Th'unconscious stream sleeps o'er thee like a lake.
Next plung'd a feeble, but a desp'rate pack,305 With each a sickly brother at his back:
Sons of a Day! just buoyant on the flood,
Then number'd with the puppies in the mud.
Ask ye their names? I could as soon disclose 310 The names of these blind puppies as of those.
Fast by, like Niobe (her children gone)
Sits Mother Osborne, stupify'd to stone!
And Monumental Brass this record bears,
"These are,—ah no! these were, the Gazetteers!"
Not so bold Arnall; with a weight of skull, 315 Furious he dives, precipitately dull.
Whirlpools and storms his circling arm invest,
With all the might of gravitation blest.
No crab more active in the dirty dance,320 Downward to climb, and backward to advance.
He brings up half the bottom on his head,
And loudly claims the Journals and the Lead. The plunging Prelate, and his pond'rous Grace,
With holy envy gave one Layman place.
When lo! a burst of thunder shook the flood. 325 Slow rose a form, in majesty of Mud; Shaking the horrors of his sable brows,
And each ferocious feature grim with ooze.
Greater he looks, and more than mortal stares:
Then thus the wonders of the deep declares.330 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, 335 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, 340 (As under seas Alphæus' secret sluice
Bears Pisa's off'rings to his Arethuse)
Pours into Thames: and hence the mingled wave
Intoxicates the pert, and lulls the grave:
Here brisker vapours o'er the Temple creep, 345 There, all from Paul's to Aldgate drink and sleep.
Thence to the banks where rev'rend Bards repose,
They led him soft; each rev'rend Bard arose;
And Milbourn chief, deputed by the rest, Gave him the cassock, surcingle, and vest. 350 "Receive (he said) these robes which once were mine,
"Dulness is sacred in a sound divine."
He ceas'd, and spread the robe; the crowd confess
The rev'rend Flamen in his lengthen'd dress.
Around him wide a sable Army stand,355 A low-born, cell-bred, selfish, servile band,
Prompt or to guard or stab, to saint or damn,
Heav'n's Swiss, who fight for any God, or Man.
Thro' Lud's fam'd gates, along the well-known Fleet Rolls the black troop, and overshades the street,360 'Till show'rs of Sermons, Characters, Essays,
In circling fleeces whiten all the ways:
So clouds replenish'd from some bog below,
Mount in dark volumes, and descend in snow. Here stopt the Goddess; and in pomp proclaims 365 A gentler exercise to close the games.
"Ye Critics! in whose heads, as equal scales,
"I weigh what author's heaviness prevails; "Which most conduce to sooth the soul in slumbers, My H———ley's periods, or my Blackmore's numbers;370 "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 sit375 "Judge of all present, past, and future wit;
"To cavil, censure, dictate, right or wrong,
"Full and eternal privilege of tongue."
Three College Sophs, and three pert Templars came,
The same their talents, and their tastes the same; 380 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 fit, the vulgar form a ring.
The clam'rous crowd is hush'd with mugs of Mum, 385 '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. 390
As to soft gales top-heavy pines bow low Their heads, and lift 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,395 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. 400 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 lies Each gentle clerk, and mutt'ring seals his eyes. As what a Dutchman plumps into the lakes, 405 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. 410 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,
Morgan and Mandevil could prate no more;
Norton, from Daniel and Ostrœa sprung, 415 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.420
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 Henley lay inspir'd beside a sink, 425 And to mere mortals seem'd a Priest in drink:
While others, timely, to the neighb'ring Fleet
(Haunt of the Muses) made their safe retreat.
The End of the Second Book.
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Remarks
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Imitations
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