Awed, on my bended knees I fell, "What well? what weapon?" (Flavia cries) "But, friend, take heed whom you attack; "You'd write as smooth again on glass, “Athenian queen! and sober charms! "Come, if you'll be a quiet soul, That dares tell neither truth nor lies, I'll list you in the harmless roll Of those that sing of these poor eyes." TO THE AUTHOR OF A POEM ENTITLED "SUCCESSIO,” (ELKANAH SETTLE.] BEGONE, ye critics! and restrain your spite, When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre, Thus thou may'st rise, and in thy daring flight And ponderous slugs move nimbly through the sky. And Chorilus taught Codrus to be dull; 1740. A FRAGMENT OF A POEM. O WRETCHED B-! jealous now of all, C, his own proud dupe, thinks monarchs things Thro' clouds of passion P's views are clear, Impatient sees his country bought and sold, To purge and let thee blood, with fire and sword, Is all the help stern S- would afford. That those who bind and rob thee, would not kill, Good C- hopes, and candidly sits still. Of Ch--s W- who speaks at all, No more than of Sir Harry or Sir Paul? Whose names once up, they thought it was not wrong To lie in bed, but sure they lay too long. G- —r, C—m, B—t, pay thee due regards, Unless the ladies bid them mind their cards. with wit that must And C -d, who speaks so well and writes, Whose wit and must needs equally provoke one, Finds thee, at best, the butt to crack his joke on. As for the rest, each winter up they run, And all are clear, that something must be done. Then urged by C -t, or by C- t stopp'd, and by P Inflamed by P , dropp'd; They follow reverently each wondrous wight, Utter'd a speech, and ask'd their friends to dine; Rise, rise, great W, fated to appear, At length to B kind, as to thy Espouse the nation, you What can thy H Dress in Dutch Though still he travels on no bad pretence, -? -y, H. Or those foul copies of thy face and tongue, Or thy dread truncheon, M.'s mighty peer? P* -n, C., that Roman in his nose alone, Who hears all causes, B, but thy own, Can the light packhorse, or the heavy steer, The plague is on thee, Britain, and who tries -m died. Blotch thee all o'er, and sink Alas! on one alone our all relies, Let him be honest, and he must be wise; Be but a man! unminister'd, alone, school, And free at once the senate and the throne; A's true glory his integrity; Rich with his . in his.. strong, Affect no conquest, but endure no wrong. His public virtue makes his title good. THE DUNCIAD,' IN FOUR BOOKS. PRINTED ACCORDING TO THE COMPLETE COPY FOUND IN THE YEAR 1742; WITH THE PROLEGOMENA OF SCRIBLERUS, AND NOTES. Tandem Phoebus adest, morsusque inferre parantem ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER. I HAVE long had a design of giving some sort of notes on the works of this poet. Before I had the happiness of his acquaintance, I had written a commentary on his Essay on Man, and have since finished another on the Essay on Criticism. There was one already on the Dunciad, which had met with general approbation: but I still thought some additions were wanting (of a more serious kind) to the humorous notes of Scriblerus, and even to those written by Mr. Cleland, Dr. Arbuthnot, and others. I had lately the pleasure to pass some months with the author in the country, where I prevailed upon him to do what I had long desired, and favour me with his explanation of several passages in his works. It happened, that just at that juncture was published a ridiculous book against him, full of personal reflections, which furnished him with a lucky opportunity of improving this poem, by giving it the only thing it wanted, a more considerable hero. He was always sensible of its defect in that particular, and owned he had let it pass with the hero it had, purely for want of a better; not entertaining the least expectation that such an one was reserved for this post, as has since obtained the laurel: but since that had happened, he could no longer deny this justice either to him or the Dunciad. And yet I will venture to say, there was another motive which had still more weight with our author: this person was one, who from every folly (not to say vice) of which another would be ashamed, has constantly derived a vanity: and therefore was the man in the world who would least be hurt by it. W. W. The Dunciad is here reprinted from the last and the only complete edition issued during the life of the author, and approved by him; with the sole addition of the variations in the poem noticed by Warburton in his edition published after the death of Pope. |