Abbildungen der Seite


Like Cato, give his little Senate laws,
And fit attentive to his own applause;
While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise-
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be ?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he !

What tho'my Name ftood rubric on the walls,
Or plaister'd posts, with claps, in capitals ? 216
Or smoaking forth, a hundred hawkers load,
On wings of winds came flying all abroad?
I sought no homage from the Race that write;
I kept, like Asian Monarchs, from their fight :
Poems I heeded (now be-rym'd so long)
No more than thou, great GEORGE! a birth-day song.
I ne'er with wits or witlings pass'd my days,
To spread about the itch of verse and praise ;



Ver.214. Atticus] It was a great falfhood, which some of the Libels reported, that this Character was written after the Gentleman's death; which fee refuted in the Testimonies prefixed to the Dunciad. But the occasion of writing it was such as he would not make public out of regard to his memory: and all that could further be done was to omit the name, in the Edition of his Works, P.

VER. 216. claps, in capitals?] The bills of QuackDoctors and Quack Booksellers being usually pafted together on the same posts.

VER. 218. On wings of winds came Aying all abroad?] Hopkins, in the ciyth Pfalm.



Nor like a puppy, daggled thro' the town,
To fetch and carry fing-fong up and down; 225
Nor at Rehearsals sweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd,
With handkerchief and orange at my fide ;
But fick of fops, and poetry, and prate,
To Bufo left the whole Caftalian state.

Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,
Sate full-blown Bufo, puff’d by ev'ry quill;
Fed with soft Dedication all day long,
Horace and he went hand in hand in song.
His Library (where busts of Poets dead

235 And a true Pindar stood without a head) Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race, Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place : Much they extolld his pictures, much his feat, And flatter'd ev'ry day, and some days eat : 240 Till grown more frugal in his riper days, He paid fome bards with port, and some with praise, To fome a dry rehearsal was assign'd, And others (harder still) he paid in kind.

After Ý 234. in the MS.

To Bards reciting he vouchsaf'd a nod,
And snuff'd their incense like a gracious god.

Notes. Ver. 236.--a true Pindar food without a head] Ridi. cules the affectation of Antiquaries, who frequently eshibit the headless Trunks and Terms of Statues, for Plato, Homer, Pindar, &c. Vide Fulu. Urfin. &c.


Dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh, 245
Dryden alove escap'd this judging eye:
But still the Great have kindness in reserve,
He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve.

May some choice patron bless each gray goofe quill! May ev'ry Bavius have his Bufo ftill!

250 So when a Statesman wants a day's defence, Or Envy holds a whole week's war with Sense, Or fimple pride for Aatt'ry inakes demands, May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands! Bleft be the Great! for those they take away, 255 And those they left me; for they left me GAY; Left me to fee neglected Genius bloom, Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb : Of all thy blameless life the sole return

259 My Verse, and QUEENSB'R Y Weeping o'er thy urn!

Oh let me live my own, and die fo too! (To live and die is all I have to do :) Maintain a Poet's dignity and ease, And see what friends, and read what books I please : Above a Patron, tho' I condescend

265 Sometimes to call a Minister my friend.

Notes Ver. 248. --- help'd to bury] Mr. Dryden, after having liv'd in exigencies, had a magnificent Funeral bestow'd upon him by the contribution of several persons of Quality. P.

Ver. 265.--tho' I condescend &c.] He thought it, and he justly thought it, a condescension in an honest Man to accept the friendship of any one, how high foever, whose


I was not born for Courts or great affairs ;
I pay my debts, believe, and say my pray’rs;
Can sleep without a Poem in my head,
Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead.

Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light ? Heav'ns! was 1 born for nothing but to write ? Has Life no joys for me? or (to be grave) Have I no friend to serve, no soul to fave? 274 ". I found him close with Swift - Indeed ? no doubt " (Cries prating Balbus) something will come out. 'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will. “ No, such a Genius never can lie ftill;

After x 270. in the MS.

Friendships from youth I fought, and seek them ftill:
Fame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it will.
The World I knew, but made it not my School a,

And in a course of flatt'ry liv'd ro fool. a By not making the World his School he means, he did not form his system of morality, on the principles or practice of men in business.

Notes. conduct in life was governed only on principles of policy: for of what ministers he speaks, may be seen by the character he gives, in the next line, of the Courts they belong to.

Ver. 271. Why am I ask'd &c.] This is intended as a reproof of those impertinent complaints, which were perpetually made to him by those who called themselves his friends, for not entertaining the Town as often as it wanted amusement. - A French writer says well on this occafionDès qu'on eft auteur, il semble qu'on soit aux gages d'un tas de fainéans, pour leur fournir de quoi amuser leur oisiveté.



And then for mine obligingly mistakes
The first Lampoon Sir Will. or Bubo makes.
Poor guiltless I! and can I chuse but smile,
When ev'ry Coxcomb knows me by my Style?

Curft be the verse, how well foe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe,
Give Virtue scandal, Innocence a fear,
Or from the soft-ey'd Virgin steal a tear !
But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
Insults fall’n worth, or Beauty in distress,
Who loves a Lye, lame slander helps about,
Who writes a Libel, or who copies out:
That Fop, whose pride affects a patron's name,
Yet abfent, wounds an author's honest fame:


After x 282. in the MMS.
P. What if I fing Augustus, great and good ?
A. You did fo lately, was it understood ?
P. Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound,

As rumbling Das or a Norfolk hound;
With GEORGE and FRED'Ric roughen ev'ry verse,

Then smooth up all, and CAROLINE rehearse."
A. No- the high tak to lift up Kings to Gods

Leave to Court-scrmons, and to birth-day Odes.
On themes like these, superior far to thine,

Let laurellid Cibber, and great Arnal shine.
P. Why write at all :- A. Yes, filence if you keep,

The Town, the Court, the Wits, the Dunces weep.

« ZurückWeiter »