Two Lately Publiſh’d.
IF noble B——m, [a] in Metre known,
With Strains has grac’d thee, humble as thy own;
Who [b] G—l—n’s Dullness did for thine discard,
A better Critick, for as bad a Bard!
Not unregarded let this Tribute be,
Tho’ humble, just; well-bred, tho’ paid to Thee.
Parnassian Groves, and Twick’nam Fountains, say,
What Homage to the Bard shall Britain pay!
The Bard! that first, from Dryden’s thrice-glean’d Page,
Cull’d his low Efforts to Poetic Rage;
Nor pillag’d only that unrival’d Strain,
But rak’d for Couplets * Chapman and Duck-Lane,
Has sweat each Cent’ry’s Rubbish to explore,
And plunder’d every Dunce that writ before,
Catching half Lines, till the tun’d Verse went round,
Complete, in smooth dull [c] Unity of Sound;
Who, stealing Human, scorn’d Celestial Fire,
And strung to Smithfield Airs the † Hebrew Lyre;
Who taught declining [d] Wycherley to doze
O’er wire-drawn Sense, that tinkled in the Close,
To lovely F——r impious and obscene,
To mud-born Naiads faithfully unclean;
Whose raptur’d Nonsense, with Prophetick Skill,
First taught that Ombre, which fore-ran Quadrille;
Who from the Skies, propitious to the Fair,
Brought down Cæcilia, and sent ** Cloris there,
Censur’d by W—ke, by A———ry blest,
Prais’d Sw——t in Earnest, and sung Heav’n in Jest,
Here, mov’d by Whim, and there by Envy stung,
Would flatter Ch——s, or would libel ‡ Y——ge,
By F——n left, by Reverend Linguists hated,
Now learns to read the Greek he once translated.
Oh say, to him what Trophies shall be rais’d,
That unprovok’d will strike, and fawn unprais’d!
Each fav’rite Toast who marks, or rising Wit,
To sketch a Satire, that in Time may fit;
Still hopes your Sun-set, while he views your Noon,
And still broods o’er the closely-kept Lampoon;
The lurking Presents o’er the Tomb he paid,
And thus atton’d our British Virgil’s Shade,
A Mushroom * Satire in his Life conceal’d,
Since chang’d to Libel, and in Print reveal’d;
Who lets not † Beauty base Detraction ’scape,
And mocks Deformity with Æsop’s Shape;
Who Cato’s Muse with faithless Sneers belied,
The Prologue father’d, and the Play decried,
On ‡ H——y’s learned Page, dull-sporting trod,
Betray’d his Patrons, and lampoon’d his God;
Translator, Editor, could far out-go
In Homer Ogleby, in Shakespeare R——
O! how burlesqu’d, great Dryden, is thy Strain,
When little Alexander ‖ slays the Slain!
‖ See Dryden’s Ode on St. Cæcilia’s Day.
———Fought all his Battles o’er again;
———And thrice he slew the Slain.
On, mighty Rhimer, haste new Palms to seize,
Thy little, envious, angry Genius teize;
Let thy weak wilful Head, unrein’d by Art,
Obey the Dictates of thy flatt’ring Heart;
Divide a busy, fretful Life between
Smut, Libel, Sing-song, Vanity, and Spleen;
With long-brew’d Malice warm thy languid Page,
And urge delirious Nonsense into Rage;
Let bawdy Emblems, now, thy Hours beguile;
Now, Fustian Epic, aping Virgil’s Stile;
To Virgil like, to Indian Clay as Delf,
Or Pulteney, drawn by Jervase, to Herself:
Rheams heap’d on Rheams, incessant, mayst thou blot,
A lively, trifling, pert, one knows not what!
Form thy light Measures, nimbler than the Wind,
Whilst heavy lingring Sense is left behind;
With all thy Might pursue, and all thy Will,
That unabating Thirst, to scribble still,
Giv’n at thy Birth! the Poetaster’s Gust,
False and unsated as the Eunuch’s Lust!
Illustrious Fops, mean time, o’er-rate thy Lays,
And blooming Critics, as they spell thee, praise:
Blest Coupleteer! by blooming Critics read,
At Toilets ogled, and with Sweetmeats fed:
See, lisping Toilers grace thy Dunciad’s Cause,
And scream their witty Scavenger’s Applause,
While powder’d Wits, and lac’d Cabals rehearse
Thy bawdy Cento, and thy Bead-roll Verse;
Gay, bugled Statesmen on thy Side debate,
And libel’d Blockheads court thee, tho’ they hate.
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Fools of all Kinds their Suffrages impart,
The Fools of Nature, and the Fools of Art.
These in thy threadbare Farce shall Beauties show,
Shall praise thy ribald Mirth, and maudlin Woe;
Praise ev’n thy imitating Chaucer’s Tales,
And call that merry * Temple, Fame’s Versailles:
Thy ‡ Shepherd-Song with Rapture they shall see,
Which rivals Philips, as Banks rivals Lee;
Thy † Guernsey and Barbados Wreath shall own,
Where Durfey ne’er was read, nor Settle known;
That Wreath, that Name, which thro’ both Worlds is gone,
Which Doctor [e] Y—— applauds, and Prestor John.
Lo! as Anchises, to the Goddess-born,
So I the Worthies, that thy Page adorn,
Point out to Thee.——See ‖ here ****
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The Prelate! next, exil’d by cruel Fates,
Who plagues all Churches, and confounds all States;
With Treasons past perplex’d, and present Cares;
A Fop in Rhime, and Bungler in Affairs.
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And here! a Groupe of Brother Quill-men see,
Co-witlings all, and Demi-bards like Thee;
Such whom the Muse shall pass with just Disdain,
Nor add one Trophy to thy mottly Train:
But Quack Arb——t shall Oblivion blot,
That puzzling, plodding, prating, pedant Scot!
The grating Scribler! whose untun’d Essays
Mix the Scotch Thistle with the English Bays,
By either Phœbus pre-ordain’d to Ill,
The Hand prescribing, or the flattering Quill,
Who doubly plagues, and boasts two Arts to kill!
’Midst this vain Tribe, that aid thy setting Ray,
The Muse shall view, but spare ill-faced G—y:
Poor [f] G—y, who loses most when most he wins.
And gives his Foes his Fame, and bears their Sins;
Who more by Fortune than by Nature curst,
Yields his best Pieces, and must own Thy worst.
Thus prop’d, thy Head with Grub-street Zephyrs tainted,
By [g] Rich recorded, and by J—— painted;
J——! who so refin’d a Rake is reckon’d,
He breaks all [h] Sinai’s Laws, except the Second:
Thus prais’d, thus drawn, t’extend thy Projects try,
Leave the Blue * Languish, and the Crimson Sigh;
Leave the gay Epithets that Beauty crown,
White ** Whitylinda, and Brownissa Brown;
Forget awhile [i] Belinda and the Sun;
Forget the Fights of Stand, and Flights of Run:
No more let Ombre’s Play inspire thy Vein,
Nor strow with Captive Kings the † Velvet Plain;
| Omit awhile the Silver Peal to ring, Nor talk dulcissant, nor mellifluous sing, Nor hang suspended, nor adherent cling. |
But haste to mount Immortal Envy’s Throne,
To crush all Merit, that disputes thy own;
For thou wert born to damp each rising Name,
And hang, like Mildews, on the Growth of Fame;
Fame’s fairest Blossoms let thy Rancour blast,
Bane of the modern Laurel, like the past;
While stupid Riot stands in Humour’s Place,
And bestial Filth, Humanity’s Disgrace,
Low Lewdness, unexcited by Desire,
And all great †† Wilmot’s Vice, without his Fire.
At length, when banish’d Pallas shall withdraw,
And Wit’s made Treason by the Popian Law;
When minor Dunces cease, at length, their Strife,
And own thy Patent to be dull for Life;
By Tricks sustain’d, in Poet-craft compleat,
Retire triumphant to thy Twick’nam Seat;
That Seat! the Work of [k] half-paid drudging Br——me,
And call’d by joking Tritons, Homer’s Tomb:
There to stale, stol’n, stum Crambo bid adieu,
And sneer the Fops, that thought thy Crambo new;
There, like the Grecian Chief, on whom thy Song
Has well reveng’d unhappy Priam’s Wrong;
Waste, in thy hidden Cave, the Festive Day,
With mock Machaon, and Patroclus G——
Sleep, [l] Sleep in Peace the Works, for Wapping born!
No more thy Cuckoo Note shall wake the Morn;
In Ease, and Avarice, and aukward State,
The Fool of Fortune, shalt thou hail thy Fate;
Slumbring in Quiet o’er Lampoons half writ,
Which, ripe in Malice, only wait for Wit.
So when Vanessa yielded up her Charms,
The blest Cadenus languish’d in her Arms;
High, on a Peg, his unbrush’d Beaver hung,
His Vest unbutton’d, and his God unsung;
Raptur’d he lies; Deans, Authors are forgot,
Wood’s Copper Pence, and Atterbury’s Plot;
For her he quits the Tythes of Patrick’s Fields,
And all the Levite to the Lover yields.
