Light, light that Ajax prayed for, now has come,
And poetasters hence may read their doom!
O Grant us, sweetly, Grant, thy gentle roar,
And pigs shall squeal, and asses bray no more![F]
Great Criticus! illustrious lord of song!
To thee a double wreath shall e'er belong:
The Critics' cypress and the Poet's bay
Shall twine in love to deck thy brow for aye;
For far o'er Dunciad's heroes shall thou reign,
And ne'er shalt lose that honored seat again.