O Thou, whatever Title to thine Ear,
Whether
Tom Jones, Joe Andrews, or what not,
Sound pleasing: thou, to my aspiring Song
Indulgent smile, while to high
Pindus Top,
1
[Page 4]Apex excelse! I volitate, nor frown
5
Elenthical. Of Dunces, and the Tribe
Of Nose-obesate, atramental Sons
I sing: nor PHOEBUS call, but to my Aid
Invoke MELPOMENE, of all the nine
My chief, best Patron; and THALIA, thou,
10
Haste thee from
Avon's Banks, nor cull more Flow'rs
For
Shakespear's Wreath: but help t' assist my Flight;
2
[Page 5]For high on Pegasean Wing, I mean
To soar velocitate. O swifter far
Than fleet the winged Atoms in the Air,
15
When Auster its Euroclydon dilates:
Or when pervading Night excessive pours
The Twilight dun; with archimagic Art,
(A thrice repeated Charm by
Hecate taught!)
The Dame venefic, on a Virgult borne,
20
Or courser stramentitious, Aether Wings.
Thanks to the Power of Verse! lo! now I soar
And lo! the House of Dullness is in view
See tow'ring
Paul's eeclesiastic Dome
Its Head rears altitudinate: O far
25
The meaner emulating Tribe above
Of Spires parochial: so fam'd
Cambria's Hills.
Like
Alps on
Alps, Pelion o'er
Ossa pil'd
4
[Page 7]High as
Olympus, lose in airy Height
Their Heads; as antient as the Pen of Time.
30
There is a Cave fast by the House of Pray'r,
Where
Hebetudo dwells; so low its Site,
That it may merit well speluncal Name.
Its vestibule that gulphy Influx near,
Where the Colluvian Current pouring on,
35
5
[Page 8]Rushing sonorous Falls the hoarse Cascade,
Th' illucid Lapse adown, with Torrent thick
Regurgling lutulent. The Cave within
The torpid Wretch, by igneal Glimmer seen.
6
[Page 9]With
Succubus Canidia, by that Name
40
If rightly she be call'd, sit hov'ring. So
In culmiferous Fields or frondose Woods,
With all their Opulence and native Worth,
Th' Egyptian Tribe itinerant repose
At prandial Noon, and dire mundungus Fume:
45
7
[Page 10]So they the lov'd Nicotian masticate,
Or thro' Shiptonian Syrinx it inhale,
Fumifical: while in her better Hand
The Goddess a Pyxidicule sustains,
And Autographs and Schedals grace her Right.
50
Her daily Lucubrations! Thoughts prelaute!
Thoughts which her meditative Owl inspires.
8
[Page 11]For he, the Sodale of her studious Hours,
Sung ululatious; contemplating deep.
Bright Contemplation! dignate of himself!
55
Illustrious Son of
Hebetudo's Race!
O all ye num'rous Tribe, who in her Cave
Delight to dwell; of you the Muse shall sing.
The Verse as a Mnemosynum accept,
And erst with poplicolal Hand repay.
60
Within this sacred Cave where
Hebes dwells,
In this her sluggish Pomp, her Sons attend;
Each to the nodding Head and beck'ning Eye
Obsequious. Chief, sapient
Bubo first
Stands pendent; in his mounted Carcer held
65
Restrictive. Here he genders Thought on Thought,
As 'tween his Nods meditabundate, Want
And Hunger gaunt awake his bardate Soul.
Ah Miser those who fall in Dulness snare!
More fatal hers than
Circe's Charms of Yore,
70
Which porcufied
Ulysses vagrant train!
Say, Muse, how
Ebenezer, by her Pow'r,
From human Frame into bubonic Form
Fell metamorphos'd (so
Ascalaphus.
Son
Acherontic! by rag'd
Proserpine
75
Was verted hapless) once solertial Smart,
10
[Page 14]He laugh'd and sung; e'er yet
Canidia curst,
Her macerated Corps in Sacell laid;
Where, in the Form of
Vacuum, she dwelt,
And banish'd ev'ry
Golden, Rhyming Thought.
80
Just then, in fatal Hour grave
Hebes woke,
And in her leaden Hand a Crustule bore:
11
[Page 15]Charm more coercive to th' inedial
Goût,
Then noctial Incantation of an Hag,
Than orient Tal'sman or mysterious Cast.
85
By learn'd
Genethliac made. Ah! luckless! Ah!
He took and eat; and from that Moment sunk
Mancipial Immolation to her Will.
And now, whene'er the Coenal Hour is nigh,
Behold her potent Wand, her Paxil, waves
And he, in Cell sublime, a Bird of Night,
Screams hideous, or, in Dormitation mounts
Aquiline Wings, and in Etherial Space
Builds castral Edifices: Or he's pent,
[Page 16]In Shape Mustelar, to the Goddess' Use
Subservient; or, perverted into Form
Anicular, he verrates coenal Trash.
With miscellaneous Art; cracks kernell'd Nuts
12
[Page 17]Or mumbles Grace twice o'er; and grinning shews
His toothless Gums. Ah void of Pow'r to hurt!
106
Next him, as next in Erudition taught,
From
Oxon's fam'd Gymnasial lo! he comes;
For whom, on
Isis' Banks, first founding Fame
The
Student's, Honour, circumclangor'd wide
With Buccination: metamorphos'd now,
105
13
Rostrate th' ingenial
Cloac: Labour vile!
Or, in Theristral, femininely clad,
Assist the Trump of Fame debilitate
With Garrulations; while sage
Bubo dreams
110
Of Domes Chimaeric; Domes too dearly bought!
For here no stipend Earth, nor Art piles up
The sculptur'd Stone, nor glow enflaming Kilns.
14
[Page 19]To dense the conculated Clay; and yet
For this, he shares the Cibals of the Day.
115
The next Inhabitant of
Hebes Cave!
Third fav'rite Son!
Frigidio calls my Song,
Whose worth thro' Fame's loud retrovent respires.
Behold, with gloomy Brow, contracted Frown,
In hypocondriac cephalalgiac vext,
120
He sits contristate; manducating Thoughts
15
Pollution braccial,
oviparous Care
Him deep affects. O say, celestial Muse,
From what fell Cause this cacatural Woe
125
Her darling Child befell. So will'd the Fates,
That in accursed Hour, on vile Intent.
Smack'em, a hostile and mischievous Wight,
Enter'd this Cavern of
Cimmerian Gloom,
16
[Page 21]And, with Combustion dire, he mouthed out
130
Verbose, stentorian Execrations, big
With Fate portentous and terrific Wrath.
Frigidio shiver'd with gelatic Fear;
And thro' th' intestine Cavern Murmurs roar'd.
Direful Presage of some descending III!
135
Which now to fly (but who from Fate can fly?)
17
The Lasanon's no more. Fate inbenign!
In Deflagration blazing! see it sink
In Cinefaction. Dire Amazement! ah!
140
His Fears irrupt deorsate; while alas!
Distain'd, he sends Effluvias baleful round:
As when the Son of Excrement and Night,
High on his merdose Vehicle uprear'd,
Attaints the Breeze nocturnal: violent,
145
18
The Nose inflating: till by slow Degrees
The ambient Air itself edulcorates,
And in
Euthanasy the Stench decays.
O fam'd
Carnan, thou Prototype of
Curl,
150
Be this thy Fate: the superfluent Pan
T' evacuate, or with thy Hands immers'd
19
[Page 24]In the lutulent Flood, to pict or gild
Thy rubrick Post; till like horreal Valve
It beam refulgent.
155
But hark! what Clamours strike the Tympanum
20
[Page 25]Auricular! Remains there ought as yet
Amid this Cave within the Muses' lore!
A calamarian Crowd in Limbo lo!
Like the fam'd
Naiads, rage, with curved Arm,
160
In monomachial War, and cruel Strife.
Those, chiefly, who by
Smack'em's potent Hand
Late fell inglorious.
Dunciadus, thou
Thou
Entity, of universal Fame,
21
[Page 26]Thou greatest Crocodile, and greater yet
165
Illustrious
Woodville! Ha! what do I see?
Our eastern
Bramin raise his virile Hoar
Most venerable, with each motley Scribe
Magirist, Student, Disputant, what not?
22
[Page 27]Muse shut the Scene, the Soul enslaving Scene
170
Or
Hebetudo's potent Wand will make
Ev'n me to nod.
Now is that Work compleat, that mighty Work,
Which dignate in insculptur'd Brass to shine,
Or macrocolum typ'd, so long shall live
175
As the didascal Sage the virgult Shakes
In Vapulations Let no Censor then
Deem this a Song of Folly, or austere,
23
Stygmatize, with
Hyberbation Name.
182
But if fond Regard fot modern Verse,
Deserve
Exsibilation, or the Frown
Of quaint Derision. If 'tis so let loose,
The Storm of
Momus, I can bear it all.
O thou, whatever Name sound easy,
Jones, Andrews,
or what else may please you;
Do thou look pleasant on my Rhime.
While
Pindus Top, high Top! I climb.
[Page 4]Of Dunces, which the Verse supposes
The Sons of Ink with snotty Noses,
I sing: nor call our Rhyming Domine,
But beg my fav'rite Wench MELPOMENE
(My surest Friend of all the Nine)
To lend a Hand to this Design.
And leave, thou,
Thaly, Avon's Shore
Nor Rosemary cull for
Shakespear more
[Page 5]But help my Trot around
Parnassus,
Swift on your ambling Nag
Pegasus,
Swifter than scamper Snow or Sleet,
When Seaman's Plague drives on the Fleet,
Or when at Night, by Magic wrought,
Of three times three by
Hecate taught,
Witches on Wisps of Straw their Bums stick,
Or ride like Devils astride a Broom-stick.
[Page 6]G-d bless the Muse—I thank her now
I mount and Dullness' Cellar view.
Look where the Church of great St.
Paul
Rears up its losty Head so tall,
Above the Parish Churches all.
So
notified Welch Mountains high,
Rear up their Heads above the Sky.
Alps, Alps, and
Pelion Ossa pile,
The Lord knows how many hundred Mile;
[Page 7]But by the nearest; Guess that's giv'n
Within Hop, Step, and Jump of Heav'n;
Stand, lost in Clouds and Fogs and Rime,
As antient as the Pen of Time.
Now by this Church there is a Cellar,
Where Goddess
Dullness is the Dweller;
So very
low, that it may well
Deserve the Title of a Cell.
Its Groundfil a Stone's Throw or more,
From where the rushing
common Shore
[Page 8]Runs bubbling down the muddy Place,
Roaring with Dirt and Nastiness,
Within this Cellar, scarce discern'd
By Cinders into Embers burn'd,
[Page 9]There hov'ring sits the
Humdrum Wretch
With
Canid; call'd (if right) a Witch:
As in Corn Fields, or leasy Woods,
With all their Chattles and their Goods,
The wandering Gypsies sit them down,
And smoke their Dinner Pipe at Noon,
Or suck short Pipe, as
Shipton did,
While in the Goddess better Hand,
A 'bacco Box is at Command;
And the waste Book of common Place,
And written Sheets her left doth grace,
Her daily Works of Candle Light,
Works which her screech Owl doth indite:
Was us'd to hoot, to please the Goddess:
In a brown Study always gone,
Oh ever worthy
Dullness Son!
O you, whoe'er delight to dwell
Within the Threshold of her Cell;
Of you, the Muse her Song shall tell:
And as the Time may serve repay.
Within the Cell where
Dullness Lives,
Constant each Son attendance gives;
Let her but nod or wink her Eyes,
Whip, Presto, in a Trice, he flies.
Here, chief, her Owl, sedate and Sage,
Stands hanging, in his mounted Cage:
While Thoughts succeed, in nodding Fits,
As musing in the Dumps he sits,
And Hunger jogs and wakes his Wits.
Her charms more fatal are than
Circe's,
That made, of old, such horrid Work,
And turn'd
Greek Sailors into Pork!
Say Muse, how, 'cause it hap'd to please her,
From human Form poor
Ebenezer
(For some vile End which she had purpos'd)
Into an Owl was metamorphos'd.
As once was serv'd the tatling son,
Ascalaphus,
of Acheron.
[Page 14]Late witty,
Smart, he laugh'd and sung;
E'er curst
Conidia on him hung,
Who, meagre, in his Pocket crept
And there in form of nothing slept;
Whence ev'ry golden Cross she banish'd,
And ev'n the Sound of Chinking vanish'd.
Then
Dullness shew'd, in Hour accurs'd,
Within her leaden Hand a Crust;
[Page 15]More pow'rful o'er the hungry Stomach
Than nightly Charm the Witches do make?
Then eastern Tal'sman or strange Scrawls
On the learn'd Fortune-teller's Walls!
He took and eat—Lord bless my Eyes!
And fell her slavish Sacrifice.
And now, whene'er he wants a Supper,
She waves her pow'rful 'Bacco-stopper,
And he, aloft; a screech Owl, screams!
Or gets into his tantrum Dreams;
Fancies himself an Eagle there,
And raises Castles in the Air;
He serves the Goddess's intent.
Or else, in an old Woman seen,
Sweeps Rubbish for a
Magazine.
[Page 17]Cracks Nuts that have been crack'd before,
Or, toothless, mumbles Grace twice o'er.
Next him, who next in Point of Knowledge is,
Brought up in one of
Oxon's Colleges,
For whom, on
Isis' Banks the Strumpet
Fame founded
Student thro' her Trumpet,
Now turn'd into a
Jack-daw chatters.
Or in the
Jakes of Genius spatters;
Helps Fame to sound a louder Note;
While the wise screech Owl, in
Chimaera,
Builds mighty Castles; bought too dear, Ah!
For here no Ground-Rent is requir'd,
Nor Carvers Work to be admir'd,
Nor Glow the Brick-kilns piping hot,
To bake the Clay trod under foot:
And yet by this his Dinner's got.
[Page 19]Next Dullness' third and fav'rite Son,
Frigidio, bids the Verse go on.
Frigidio fam'd, whose great Renown
Fame loudly, farts about the Town.
See, down i' th' Mouth, with Brow contracted,
With Head-ach and the Hip-distracted,
He sits i' th' Dumps; so ruminating
As thoughtless Cows do when they're eating.
An Egg; fresh laid, his Bum bewitches.
For what, O heav'nly Muse! pray tell,
This shitten Curse her Child befell.
So luck would have't, in evil Hour,
Smack'em, a wicked Son of a Whore,
Enter'd the darksome Cave, and told 'em,
He'd make the House too hot to hold 'em.
[Page 21]Roar'd, curst and swore, and play'd the Devil,
Still threatn'ing some approaching Evil.
Just then
Frigidio's Blood ran cold,
And down his Guts loud Grumbles roll'd,
That some descending Evil spoke,
Which now (but who can help ill Luck!)
He finds the Close-stool Refuge gone.
Amid the Fire behold it blazing,
To Cinders burnt. Ah! most amazing!
Now all his Fears behind burst out,
And he besmear'd, stinks all about:
As when
Tom Turdman, on his Cart,
Poisons the Night with filthy Art;
Perfumes the Nostrils violent;
Till the Air cleansing by Degrees,
The gently dying Stink decays.
Thou Type of
Curl! O fam'd
Carnan!
Be thou the Safeguard of the Pan,
If any future Force attempt it;
And when 'tis full, take care to empt it,
Or dip thy Fingers in the Flood,
And paint and gild with native Mud.
Shall like a shitten Barn-door shine.
But hark! what Noise is this I hear?
What else remains that's Worth my Care?
[Page 25]A Crowd of Scribblers yon, in Limbo,
Like Oyster Nymphs, with Arms a-kimbo,
Lunge with sharp-pointed Pens, as cruel
As pale-fac'd Beaux do in a Duel.
Those chiefly who of late, notorious
Knock'd under
Smack'em's Arm inglorious,
Dunciadus, Entity, whose Name is
So universal, and so famous
The greatest, and thou
Woodville greater.
But who the Duce!
marry and Amen!
Our Eastern venerable
Bramin!
Old Father grey Beard's whiten'd Locks
'Mong
Students, Disputants, and Cooks.
[Page 27]Muse shut the Scene▪ and drop the Curtain,
Or, even, I shall sleep for certain.
Now is that mighty Work compleat,
That should, on Brass, be 'graven neat
Or printed on the Royal Sheet:
Where lasting Worth shall be admir'd
Till Masters are with Flogging tir'd,
Then let no snarling Critic dream
A Trump'ry-Ballad is my Theme,
[Page 28]Or call (because they think they're wife)
This
Fustian; me, a
Fustianizer;
But if a Love for modern Verse
Deserve th' unluky Play'rs Curse;
Or to be laugh'd at be its Merit.
Laugh and be pox'd, for I can bear it.
FINIS.