I have been well informed that this work was the labour of full six years of his life, and that he wholly retired himself from all the avocations and pleasures of the world to attend diligently to its correction and perfection; and six years more he intended to bestow upon it, as it should seem by this verse of Statius, which was cited at the head of his manuscript: —
‘Oh mihi bissenos multum vigilata per annos,
Duncia!’
21
Hence also we learn the true title of the poem; which, with the same certainty as we call that of Homer the Iliad, of Virgil the Æneid, of Camöens the Lusiad, we may pronounce could have been, and can be, no other than THE DUNCIAD 22
It is styled heroic, as being doubly so; not only with respect to its nature, which, according to the best rules of the ancients, and strictest ideas of the moderns, is critically such; but also with regard to the heroical disposition and high courage of the writer, who dared to stir up such a formidable, irritable, and implacable race of mortals. 23
There may arise some obscurity in chronology from the names in the poem, by the inevitable removal of some authors, and insertion of others in their niches: for, whoever will consider the unity of the whole design, will be sensible that the poem was not made for these authors, but these authors for the poem. I should judge that they were clapped in as they rose, fresh and fresh, and changed from day to day; in like manner as when the old boughs wither we thrust new ones into a chimney. 24
I would not have the reader too much troubled or anxious, if he cannot decipher them; since, when he shall have found them out, he will probably know no more of the persons than before. 25
Yet we judged it better to preserve them as they are, than to change them for fictitious names; by which the satire would only be multiplied, and applied to many instead of one. Had the hero, for instance, been called Codrus, how many would have affirmed him to have been Mr. T., Mr. E., Sir R. B.? &c., but now all that unjust scandal is saved, by calling him by a name which, by good luck, happens to be that of a real person. 26
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION WITH NOTES, QUARTO, 1729
It will be sufficient to say of this edition, that the reader has here a much more correct and complete copy of the Dunciad than has hitherto appeared. I cannot answer but some mistakes may have slipt into it, but a vast number of others will be prevented by the names being now not only set at length, but justified by the authorities and reasons given. I make no doubt the author’s own motive to use real rather than feigned names, was his care to preserve the innocent from any false application; whereas, in the former editions, which had no more than the initial letters, he was made, by keys printed here, to hurt the inoffensive; and (what was worse) to abuse his friends, by an impression at Dublin. 49
The commentary which attends this poem was sent me from several hands, and consequently must be unequally written; yet will have one advantage over most commentaries, that it is not made upon conjectures, or at a remote distance of time: and the reader cannot but derive one pleasure from the very obscurity of the persons it treats of, that it partakes of the nature of a secret, which most people love to be let into, though the men or the things be ever so inconsiderable or trivial. 50
Of the persons, it was judged proper to give some account: for, since it is only in this monument that they must expect to survive (and here survive they will, as long as the English tongue shall remain such as it was in the reigns of Queen Anne and King George), it seemed but humanity to bestow a word or two upon each, just to tell what he was, what he writ, when he lived, and when he died. 51
If a word or two more are added upon the chief offenders, it is only as a paper pinned upon the breast to mark the enormities for which they suffered; lest the correction only should be remembered, and the crime forgotten. 52
In some articles it was thought sufficient barely to transcribe from Jacob, Curll, and other writers of their own rank, who were much better acquainted with them than any of the authors of this comment can pretend to be. Most of them had drawn each other’s characters on certain occasions; but the few here inserted are all that could be saved from the general destruction of such works. 53
Of the part of Scriblerus I need say nothing: his manner is well enough known, and approved by all but those who are too much concerned to be judges. 54
The imitations of the ancients are added, to gratify those who either never read, or may have forgotten them; together with some of the parodies and allusions to the most excellent of the moderns. If, from the frequency of the former, any man think the poem too much a cento, our poet will but appear to have done the same thing in jest which Boileau did in earnest, and upon which Vida, Fracastorius, and many of the most eminent Latin poets, professedly valued themselves. 55
Advertisement to the First Edition of the Fourth Book of The Dunciad, When Printed Separately in the Year 1742
We apprehend it can be deemed no injury to the author of the three first books of the Dunciad that we publish this fourth. It was found merely by accident, in taking a survey of the library of a late eminent nobleman; but in so blotted a condition, and in so many detached pieces, as plainly showed it to be not only incorrect, but unfinished. That the author of the three first books had a design to extend and complete his poem in this manner, appears from the dissertation prefixed to it, where it is said, that ‘The design is more extensive, and that we may expect other episodes to complete it;’ and, from the declaration in the argument to the third book, that ‘The accomplishment of the prophecies therein would be the theme hereafter of a greater Dunciad.’ But whether or no he be the author of this, we declare ourselves ignorant. If he be, we are no more to be blamed for the publication of it, than Tucca and Varius for that of the last six books of the Æneid, though, perhaps, inferior to the former. 56
If any person be possessed of a more perfect copy of this work, or of any other fragments of it, and will communicate them to the publisher, we shall make the next edition more complete: in which we also promise to insert any criticisms that shall be published (if at all to the purpose), with the names of the authors; or any letters sent us (though not to the purpose) shall yet be printed, under the title of Epistolæ obscurorum virorum; which, together with some others of the same kind, formerly laid by for that end, may make no unpleasant addition to the future impressions of this poem. 57
THREE BOOK DUNCIAD. BOOK THE FIRST.
BOOKS and the man I sing, the first who brings
The Smithfield muses to the ears of kings.
Say great Patricians! (since yourselves inspire
These wond’rous works; so Jove and fate require!)
Say from what cause, in vain decry’d and curst,
Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first?
In eldest time, e’er mortals writ or read,
E’er Pallas issued from the Thund’rer’s head,
Dulness o’er all possess’d her antient right,
Daughter of Chaos and eternal Night:
Fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave,
Gross as her, sire, and as her mother grave,
Laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind,
She rul’d, in native anarchy, the mind.
Still her old empire to confirm, she tries,
For born a Goddess, Dulness never dies.
Where wave the tatter’d ensigns of Rag-Fair,
A yawning ruin hangs and nods in air;
Keen, hollow winds howl thro’ the bleak recess,
Emblem of music caus’d by emptiness:
Here in one bed two shiv’ring sisters lye,
The cave of Poverty and Poetry.
This, the Great Mother dearer held than all
The clubs of Quidnunc’s, or her own Guild-hall:
Here stood her Opium, here she nurs’d her Owls,
And destin’d here th’ imperial seat of fools.
Hence springs each weekly muse, the living boast
Of C…l’s chaste pre
ss, and L…t’s rubric post;
Hence hymning Tyburn’s elegiac lay,
Hence the soft sing-song on Cecilia’s day,
Sepulchral lyes our holy walls to grace,
And New-year-Odes, and all the Grubstreet race.
‘Twas here in clouded majesty she shone;
Four guardian Virtues, round, support her throne;
Fierce champion Fortitude, that knows no fears
Of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears:
Calm Temperance, whose blessings those partake
Who hunger, and who thirst for scribling sake:
Prudence, whose glass presents th’ approaching jayl;
Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale;
Where in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs,
And solid pudding against empty praise.
Here she beholds the Chaos dark and deep,
Where nameless somethings in their causes sleep,
‘Till genial Jacob, or a warm third-day
Calls forth each mass, a poem or a play.
How hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie;
How new-born nonsense first is taught to cry;
Maggots half-form’d, in rhyme exactly meet,
And learn to crawl upon poetic feet.
Here one poor Word a hundred clenches makes,
And ductile dulness new meanders takes;
There motley Images her fancy strike,
Figures ill-pair’d, and Similes unlike.
She sees a mob of Metaphors advance,
Pleas’d with the madness of the mazy dance:
How Tragedy and Comedy embrace;
How Farce and Epic get a jumbled race;
How Time himself stands still at her command,
Realms shift their place, and Ocean turns to land.
Here gay Description Aegypt glads with showers,
Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flowers;
Glitt’ring with ice here hoary hills are seen,
Fast by, fair vallies of eternal green,
On cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.
All these and more, the cloud-compelling Queen
Beholds thro’ fogs, that magnify the scene;
She, tinfel’d o’er in robes of varying hues,
With self-applause her wild creation views,
Sees momentary monsters rise and fall,
And with her own fools-colours gilds them all.
‘Twas on the day, when Tho…d, rich and grave,
Like Cimon triumph’d both on land and wave,
(Pomps without guilt, of bloodless swords and maces,
Glad chains, warm furs, broad banners, and broadfaces)
Now night descending, the proud scene was o’er,
Yet liv’d, in Settle’s numbers, one day more.
Now May’rs and Shrieves in pleasing flumbers lay,
And eat in dreams the custard of the day:
But pensive poets painful vigils keep;
Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.
Much to her mind the solemn feast recalls,
What city-Swans once sung within the walls,
Much she revolves their arts, their antient praise,
And sure succession down from Heywood’s days.
She saw with joy the line immortal run,
Each sire imprest and glaring in his son;
So watchful Bruin forms with plastic care
Each growing lump, and brings it to a Bear.
She saw in N…n all his father shine,
And E…n eke out Bl…’s endless line;
She saw slow P…s creep like T…te’s poor page,
And furious D…n foam in Wh…’s rage.
In each, she marks her image full exprest,
But chief, in Tibbald’s monster-breeding breast,
Sees Gods with Daemons in strange league ingage,
And earth, and heav’n, and hell, her battels wage!
She ey’d the Bard where supperless he fate,
And pin’d, unconscious of his rising fate;
Studious he sate, with all his books around,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound?
Plung’d for his sense, but found no bottom there:
Then writ, and flounder’d on, in mere despair.
He roll’d his eyes that witness’d huge dismay,
Where yet unpawn’d, much learned lumber lay,
Volumes, whose size the space exactly fill’d;
Or which fond authors were so good to gild;
Or where, by Sculpture made for ever known,
The page admires new beauties, not its own.
Here swells the shelf with Ogleby the great,
There, stamp’d with arms, Newcastle shines compleat,
Here all his suff’ring brotherhood retire,
And ‘scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire;
A Gothic Vatican! of Greece and Rome
Well-purg’d, and worthy W…y, W…s, and Bl…
But high above, more solid Learning shone,
The Classicks of an age that heard of none;
There Caxton slept, with Wynkin at his side,
One clasp’d in wood, and one in strong cow-hide:
There sav’d by spice, like mummies, many a year,
Old Bodies of philosophy appear:
De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,
And there, the groaning Shelves Philemon bends.
Of these twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size,
Redeem’d from tapers and defrauded pyes,
Inspir’d he seizes: These an altar raise:
An hecatomb of pure, unsully’d lays
That altar crowns; a folio Common-place
Founds the whole pyle, of all his works the base:
Quarto’s, octavo’s, shape the lessening pyre,
And last, a little Ajax tips the spire.
Then he▪ Great Tamer of all human art!
First in my care, and nearest at my heart!
Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend,
With whom my muse began, with whom shall end!
Oh thou! of business the directing soul,
To human heads like byass to the bowl,
Which as more pond’rous makes their aim more true,
Obliquely wadling to the mark in view.
O ever gracious to perplex’d mankind!
Who spread a healing mist before the mind,
And, lest we err by wit’s wild, dancing light,
Secure us kindly in our native night.
Ah! still o’er Britain stretch that peaceful wand,
Which lulls th’ Helvetian and Batavian land,
Where ‘gainst thy throne if rebel Science rise,
She does but show her coward face and dies:
There, thy good scholiasts with unweary’d pains
Make Horace flat, and humble Maro’s strains;
Here studious I unlucky Moderns save,
Nor sleeps one error in its father’s grave,
Old puns restore, lost blunders nicely seek,
And crucify poor Shakespear once a week.
For thee I dim these eyes, and stuff this head,
With all such reading as was never read;
For thee supplying, in the worst of days,
Notes to dull books, and Prologues to dull plays;
For thee explain a thing ‘till all men doubt it,
And write about it, Goddess, and about it;
So spins the silkworm small its slender store,
And labours, ‘till it clouds itself all o’er.
Not that my pen to criticks was confin’d,
My verse gave ampler lessons to mankind;
So written precepts may successless prove,
But sad examples never fail to move.
As forc’d from wind-guns, lead it self can fly,
And pond’rous slugs cut swiftly thro
’ the sky;
As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe,
The wheels above urg’d by the load below;
Me, Emptiness and Dulness could inspire,
And were my Elasticity, and Fire.
Had heav’n decreed such works a longer date,
Heav’n had decreed to spare the Grubstreet-state.
But see great Settle to the dust descend,
And all thy cause and empire at an end!
Cou’d Troy be sav’d by any single hand,
His gray-goose-weapon must have made her stand.
But what can I•my Flaccus cast aside,
Take up th’ Attorney’s (once my better) guide?
Or rob the Roman geese of all their glories,
And save the state by cackling to the Tories?
Yes, to my country I my pen consign,
Yes, from this moment, mighty Mist! am thine,
And rival, Curtius! of thy fame and zeal,
O’er head and ears plunge for the public weal.
Adieu my children! better thus expire
Un-stall’d, unsold; thus glorious mount in fire
Fair without spot; than greas’d by grocer’s hands,
Or shipp’d with W… to ape and monkey lands,
Or wafting ginger, round the streets to go,
And visit alehouse where ye first did grow.
With that, he lifted thrice the sparkling brand,
And thrice he dropt it from his quiv’ring hand:
Then lights the structure, with averted eyes;
The rowling smokes involve the sacrifice.
The opening clouds disclose each work by turns,
Now flames old Memnon, now Rodrigo burns,
In one quick slash see Proserpine expire,
And last, his own cold Aeschylus took fire.
Then gush’d the tears, as from the Trojan’s eyes
When the last blaze sent Ilion to the skies.
Rowz’d by the light, old Dulness heav’d the head,
Then snatch’d a sheet of Thulè from her Bed,
Sudden she flies, and whelms it o’er the pyre;
Down sink the flames, and with a hiss expire.
Her ample presence fills up all the place;
A veil of fogs dilates her awful face,
Great in her charms! as when on Shrieves and May’rs
She looks, and breathes herself into their airs.
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 49