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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 stood 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 Afian Monarchs, from their fight : 220
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 ;

Notes. 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 see refuted in the Testimonies prefixed to the Dunciad. But the occafion 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 pasted together on the same posts.

Ver. 218. On wings of winds came fying all abroad?] Hopkins, in the civih Pralm. :


Nor like a puppy, daggled thro' the town,
To fetch and carry sing-long up and down ; 225
Nor at Rehearsals sweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd,
With handkerchief and orange at my side ;
But fick of fops, and poetry, and prate,
To Bufo left the whole Gaftalian 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 alk'd, and then a place : Much they extoll d his pictures, much his seat, 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 affign’d, And others (harder still) he paid in kind.

After x 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] Ridicules the affectation of Antiquaries, who frequently exhi. bit the headless Trunks and Terms of Statues, for Plato, Homer, Pindar, &c. Vide Fulv. Urfin. &c.

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

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

So when a Statesman wants a day's defence,
Or Envy holds a whole week's war with Sense,
Or simple pride for flatt'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 see neglected Genius bloom,
Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb:
Of all thy blameless life the sole return

259 My Verse, and QueensB’RY 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 up. on 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 honeft 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.

270 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 save? 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. 6. No, such a Genius never can lie still ;

After x 270. in the MS.

Friendships from youth I sought, and seek them ftill:
Fame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it will.
The World I knew, but made it not my School 2,
And in a course of flatt'ry liv'd no fool.

By not making the World bis 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 minifters 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 occasion Dès qu'on est 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 chufe but smile,
When ev'ry Coxcomb knows me by my Style?

Curst 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 absent, wounds an author's honeft fame:


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

As rumbling D-s or a Norfolk hound;
With Georgs 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-lermons, and to birth-day Odes.
On themes like these, superior far to thine,

Let laurell'd 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,

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