Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

  She bids him wait her to the sacred Dome;

  Well-pleas’d he enter’d, and confess’d his home:

  So spirits, ending their terrestrial race,

  Ascend, and recognize their native place:

  Raptur’d, he gazes round the dear retreat,

  And in sweet numbers celebrates the seat.

  Here to her Chosen all her works she shows;

  Prose swell’d to verse, Verse loitring into prose:

  How random thoughts now meaning chance to find,

  Now leave all memory of sense behind;

  How Prologues into Prefaces decay,

  And those to Notes are fritter’d quite away:

  How Index-learning turns no student pale,

  Yet holds the eel of science by the Tail:

  How, with less reading than makes felons ‘scape;

  Less human genius than God gives an ape,

  Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or Greece,

  A past, vamp’d, future, old, reviv’d, new piece,

  ‘Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Congreve, and Corneille,

  Can make a C…r, Jo…n, or O…ll.

  The Goddess then, o’er his anointed head,

  With mystic words the sacred Opium shed;

  And lo! her Bird (a monster of a fowl!

  Something betwixt a H… and Owl)

  Perch’d on his crown. All hail! and hail again

  My son! the promis’d land expects thy reign.

  Know Settle, cloy’d with custard and with praise,

  Is gather’d to the Dull of antient days,

  Safe, where no criticks damn, no duns molest,

  Where G…n, B…, and high-born H… rest!

  I see a King! who leads my chosen sons

  To lands that flow with clenches and with puns:

  ‘Till each fam’d theatre my empire own,

  Till Albion, as Hibernia, bless my throne.

  I see! I see! — Then rapt, she spoke no more.

  God save King Tibbald! Grubstreet alleys roar.

  So when Jove’s block descended from on high,

  (As sings thy great fore-father, Ogilby,)

  Hoarse thunder to its bottom shook the bog,

  And the loud nation croak’d, God save King Log!

  End of the first Book.

  THREE BOOK DUNCIAD. BOOK THE SECOND.

  THE sons of Dulness meet: an endless band

  Pours forth, and leaves unpeopled half the land,

  A motley mixture! in long wigs, in bags,

  In silks, in crapes, in garters, and in rags;

  From drawing rooms, from colleges, from garrets,

  On horse, on foot, in hacks, and gilded chariots,

  All who true Dunces in her cause appear’d,

  And all who knew those Dunces to reward.

  Now herald hawker’s rusty voice proclaims

  Heroic prizes, and advent’rous Games;

  In that wide space the Goddess took her stand

  Where the tall May-pole once o’erlook’d the Strand;

  But now (so ANNE and Piety ordain)

  A Church collects the saints of Drury-lane.

  With authors, stationers obey’d the call;

  The field of glory is a field for all;

  Glory, and gain, th’ industrious tribe provoke,

  And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke.

  A Poet’s Form she sets before their eyes,

  And bids the nimblest racer seize the prize;

  No meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin,

  In a dun night-gown of his own loose skin;

  But such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise,

  Twelve starving bards of these degen’rate days.

  All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair,

  She form’d this image of well-bodied air,

  With pert flat eyes she window’d well its head,

  A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead,

  And empty words she gave, and sounding strain;

  But senseless, lifeless! Idol void and vain!

  Never was dasht out, at one lucky hit,

  A fool, so just a copy of a wit;

  So like, that criticks said and courtiers swore,

  A wit it was, and call’d the phantom, M….

  All gaze with ardour: some, a Poet’s name,

  Others, a sword-knot and lac’d suit inflame:

  But lofty L…t in the circle rose;

  “This prize is mine; who tempt it, are my foes:

  “With me began this genius, and shall end:

  He spoke, and who with L…t shall contend?

  Fear held them mute. Alone, untaught to fear,

  Stood dauntless C…l. “Behold that rival here!

  “The race by vigor, not by vaunts is won;

  “So take the hindmost Hell. — He said, and run.

  Swift as a bard the bailiff leaves behind,

  He left huge L…t, and out-stript the wind.

  As when a dab-chick waddles thro’ the copse,

  On legs and wings, and flies, and wades, and hops;

  So lab’ring on, with shoulders, hands, and head,

  Wide as a windmill all his figure spread,

  With steps unequal L…t urg’d the race,

  And seem’d to emulate great Jacob’s pace.

  Full in the middle way there stood a lake,

  Which C…l’s Corinna chanc’d that morn to make,

  (Such was her wont, at early dawn to drop

  Her evening cates before his neighbour’s shop,)

  Here fortun’d C…l to slide: loud shout the band,

  And L…t, L…t, rings thro’ all the Strand.

  Obscene with filth the varlet lies bewray’d,

  Fal’n in the plash his wickedness had lay’d:

  Then first (if Poets ought of truth declare)

  The caitiff Vaticide conceiv’d a prayer.

  Hear Jove! whose name my bards and I adore,

  As much at least as any Gods, or more;

  And him and his, if more devotion warms,

  Down with the Bible, up with the Pope’s Arms.

  A place there is, betwixt earth, air and seas,

  Where from Ambrosia, Jove retires for ease.

  There in his seat two spacious Vents appear,

  On this he sits, to that he leans his ear,

  There hears the various vows of fond mankind,

  Some beg an eastern, some a western wind:

  All vain petitions, sent by winds on high,

  With reams abundant this abode supply;

  Amus’d he reads, and then returns the bills

  Sign’d with that Ichor which from Gods distills.

  In office here fair Cloacina stands,

  And ministers to Jove with purest hands;

  Forth from the heap she pick’d her vot’ry’s pray’r,

  And plac’d it next him, a distinction rare!

  Oft, as he fish’d her nether realms for wit,

  The Goddess favour’d him, and favours yet.

  Renew’d by ordure’s sympathetic force,

  As oil’d with magic juices for the course,

  Vig’rous he rises; from th’ effluvia strong

  Imbibes new life, and scours and stinks along,

  Re-passes L…t, vindicates the race,

  Nor heeds the brown dishonours of his face.

  And now the victor stretch’d his eager hand,

  Where the tall Nothing stood, or seem’d to stand;

  A shapeless shade, it melted from his sight,

  Like forms in clouds, or visions of the night!

  Baffled, yet present ev’n amidst despair,

  To seize his papers, C…l, was next thy care;

  His papers all, the sportive winds up-lift,

  And whisk ‘em back to G…, to Y…, to S….

  Th’ embroider’d suit, at least, he deem’d his prey;

  That suit, an unpay’d Taylor snatch’d away!

  No rag, no sc
rap, of all the beau, or wit,

  That once so flutter’d, and that once so writ.

  Heav’n rings with laughter: Of the laughter vain,

  Dulness, good Queen, repeats the jest again.

  Three wicked imps of her own Grubstreet Choir

  She deck’d like Congreve, Addison, and Prior;

  Mears, Warner, Wilkins run: Delusive thought!

  , , and , the wretches caught.

  C…l stretches after Gay, but Gay is gone,

  He grasps an empty Joseph for a John.

  So Proteus, hunted in a nobler shape,

  Became, when seiz’d, a Puppy or an Ape.

  To him the Goddess. Son, thy grief lay down;

  And turn this whole illusion on the town.

  As the sage dame experienc’d in her trade,

  By names of Toasts retails each batter’d jade,

  (Whence hapless Monsieur much complains at Paris.

  Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Marys)

  Be thine, my stationer! this magic gift;

  C… shall be Prior, and C…n, Swift;

  So shall each hostile name become our own,

  And we too boast our Garth and Addison.

  With that the Goddess (piteous of his case,

  Yet smiling at his ruful length of face)

  Gives him a cov’ring, worthy to be spread

  On Codrus’ old, or ‘s modern bed;

  Instructive work! whose wry-mouth’d portraiture

  Display’d the fates her confessors endure.

  Ear-less on high, stood pillory’d D…

  And T… flagrant from the lash, below:

  There kick’d and cudgel’d R… might ye view,

  The very worstead still look’d black and blue:

  Himself among the storied chiefs he spies,

  As from the blanket high in air he flies,

  And oh! (he cry’d) what street, what lane but knows

  Our purgings, pumpings, blanketings and blows?

  In ev’ry loom our labors shall be seen,

  And the fresh vomit run for ever green!

  See in the circle next, Eliza plac’d;

  Two babes of love close clinging to her waste;

  Fair as before her works she stands confess’d,

  In flow’r’d brocade by bounteous Kirkall dress’d,

  Pearls on her neck, and roses in her hair,

  And her fore-buttocks to the navel bare.

  The Goddess then: “Who best can send on high

  “The salient spout, fair-streaming to the sky;

  “His be yon Juno of majestic size,

  “With cow-like udders, and with ox-like eyes.

  “This China-Jordan, let the chief o’ercome

  “Replenish, not ingloriously, at home.

  Ch…d and C…l accept this glorious strife,

  (Tho’ one his Son dissuades, and one his Wife)

  This on his manly confidence relies,

  That on his vigor and superior size.

  First C…d lean’d against his letter’d post;

  It rose, and labor’d to a curve at most:

  So Jove’s bright bow displays its watry round,

  (Sure sign, that no spectator shall be drown’d)

  A second effort brought but new disgrace,

  For straining more, it flies in his own face;

  Thus the small jett which hasty hands unlock,

  Spirits in the gard’ners eyes who turns the cock.

  Not so from shameless C…l: Impetuous spread

  The stream, and smoaking, flourish’d o’er his head.

  So, (fam’d like thee for turbulence and horns,)

  Eridanus his humble fountain scorns,

  Thro’ half the heav’ns he pours th’ exalted urn;

  His rapid waters in their passage burn.

  Swift as it mounts, all follow with their eyes;

  Still happy, Impudence obtains the prize.

  Thou triumph’st, Victor of the high-wrought day,

  And the pleas’d dame soft-smiling leads away.

  Ch…d, through perfect modesty o’ercome,

  Crown’d with the Jordan, walks contented home.

  But now for Authors nobler palms remain:

  Room for my Lord! three Jockeys in his train;

  Six huntsmen with a shout precede his chair;

  He grins, and looks broad nonsense with a stare.

  His honour’d meaning, Dulness thus exprest.

  “He wins this Patron who can tickle best.”

  He chinks his purse, and takes his seat of state,

  With ready quills the Dedicators wait,

  Now at his head the dext’rous task commence,

  And instant, fancy feels th’ imputed sense;

  Now gentle touches wanton o’er his face,

  He struts Adonis, and affects grimace:

  R… the feather to his ear conveys,

  Then his nice taste directs our Operas:

  his mouth with Classic flatt’ry opes,

  And the puft Orator bursts out in tropes.

  But O… the Poet’s healing balm

  Strives to extract from his soft, giving palm;

  Unlucky O…! thy lordly master

  The more thou ticklest, gripes his fist the faster.

  While thus each hand promotes the pleasing pain,

  And quick sensations skip from vein to vein,

  A youth unknown to Phoebus, in despair,

  Puts his last refuge all in Heav’n in Pray’r.

  What force have pious vows? the Queen of Love

  His Sister sends, her vot’ress, from above.

  As taught by Venus, Paris learnt the art

  To touch Achilles’ only tender part,

  Secure, thro’ her, the noble prize to carry,

  He marches off, his Grace’s Secretary.

  Now turn to diff’rent sports (the Goddess cries)

  And learn, my sons, the wond’rous pow’r of Noise.

  To move, to raise, to ravish ev’ry heart,

  With Shakespear’s nature, or with Johnson’s art,

  Let others aim: ‘Tis yours to shake the soul

  With Thunder rumbling from the mustard-bowl,

  With horns and trumpets now to madness swell,

  Now sink in sorrows with a tolling Bell.

  Such happy arts attention can command,

  When fancy flags, and sense is at a stand:

  Improve we these. Three Cat-calls be the bribe

  Of him, whose chatt’ring shames the Monkey tribe;

  And his this Drum, whose hoarse heroic base

  Drowns the loud Clarion of the braying Ass.

  Now thousand tongues are heard in one loud din,

  The Monkey-mimicks rush discordant in;

  ‘Twas chatt’ring, grinning, mouthing, jabb’ring all,

  And R…, and railing, Brangling, and B…,

  D…s and Dissonance; And captious art,

  And snip-snap short, and interruption smart.

  Hold (cry’d the Queen) ye all alike shall win,

  Equal your merits, equal is your din;

  But that this well-disputed game may end,

  Sound forth my Brayers, and the welkin rend.

  As when the long-ear’d, milky mothers wait

  At some sick miser’s triple-bolted gate,

  For their defrauded, absent foals they make

  A moan so loud, that all the Guild awake:

  So sighs Sir G…t, starting at the bray

  From dreams of millions, and three groats to pay.

  So swells each Windpipe; Ass intones to Ass,

  Harmonic twang! of leather, horn, and brass:

  Such as from lab’ring lungs th’ Enthusiast blows,

  High sounds, attempted to the vocal nose.

  But far o’er all sonorous Bl…’s strain,

  Walls, steeples, skies, bray back to him again:

  In Tot’nham fields, the brethren with amaze

  Prick all th
eir ears up, and forget to graze;

  Long Chanc’ry-lane retentive rolls the sound,

  And courts to courts return it round and round;

  Thames wafts it thence to Rufus’ roaring hall,

  And H…d re-ecchoes, bawl for bawl.

  All hail him victor in both gifts of Song,

  Who sings so loudly, and who sings so long.

  This labor past, by Bridewell all descend,

  (As morning pray’r and flagellation end.)

  To where Fleetditch with disemboguing streams

  Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames,

  The King of Dykes! than whom, no sluice of mud

  With deeper sable blots the silver flood.

  ‘Here strip my children! here at once leap in!

  ‘Here prove who best can dash thro’ thick and thin,

  ‘And who the most in love of dirt excel,

  ‘Or dark dexterity of groping well.

  ‘Who flings most mud, and wide pollutes around

  ‘The stream, be his the Journals, bound.

  ‘A pig of lead to him who dives the best;

  ‘A peck of coals a-piece shall glad the rest.

  In naked majesty great D… stands,

  And, Milo-like, surveys his arms and hands:

  Then sighing, thus, “And am I now threescore?

  “Ah why, ye Gods! should two and two make four?

  He said, and climb’d a stranded Lighter’s height,

  Shot to the black abyss, and plung’d down-right.

  The senior’s judgment all the crowd admire,

  Who but to sink the deeper, rose the higher.

  Next E… div’d; slow circles dimpled o’er

  The quaking mud, that clos’d and ope’d no more:

  All look, all sigh, and call on E… lost;

  E… in vain resounds thro’ all the coast.

  H… try’d the next, but hardly snatch’d from sight,

  Instant buoys up, and rises into light;

  He bears no token of the sabler streams,

  And mounts far off, among the swans of Thames.

  Far worse unhappy D…r succeeds,

  He search’d for coral, but he gather’d weeds.

  True to the bottom, and creep,

  Long-winded both, as natives of the deep,

  This only merit pleading for the prize,

  Nor everlasting Bl… this denies.

  But nimbler W…d reaches at the ground,

  Circles in mud, and darkness all around,

  No crab more active, in the dirty dance,

  Downward to climb, and backward to advance;

  He brings up half the bottom on his head,

  And boldly claims the Journals and the Lead.

  Sudden, a burst of thunder shook the flood,

  Lo E… rose, tremendous all in mud!

  Shaking the horrors of his fable brows,