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Soon as they draw, from Hyperborean skies,
Lo Rome herself, proud mistress now no more
Behold yon' isle, by palmers, pilgrims trod, 105 Men bearded, bald, cowl'd, uncowl'd, shod, unshod, Peel'd, patch'd, and pyebald, linsey-woolsey brothers, Grave mummers ! sleeveless some, and shirtless others. That once was Britain - Happy ! had she seen No fiercer sons, had Easter never been ! 110 In peace, great Goddess, ever be ador'd; How keen the war, if Dulness draw the sword ! Thus visit not thy own! on this blest age Oh spread thy influence, but restrain thy rage.
And see, my Son! the hour is on its way, 115 That lifts our Goddess to imperial sway; . . This fav’rite isle, long sever'd from her reign, Dove-like, she gathers to her wings again. Now look thro' fate! behold the scene she draws ! What aids, what armies, to assert her cause ? 120 See all her progeny, illustrious sight! Behold, and count them, as they rise to light. As Berecynthia, while her offspring vye In homage to the mother of the sky, Surveys around her in the blest abode
125 An hundred sons, and ev'ry son a god : Not with less glory mighty Dulness crown’d, . Shall take thro' Grub-street her triumphant round; And her Parnassus glancing o'er at once, Behold an hundred sons, and each a dunce. 130
Mark first that youth who takes the foremost place, And thrusts his person full into your face. CC3
With all thy father's virtues blest, be born!' :
A second see, by meeker manners known,
Lo next two slip-shod muses traipse along, In lofty madness, meditating song, With tresses staring from poctic dreams, And never wash’d, but in Castalia's streams : Haywood, Centlivre, glories of their race ! 145 Lo Horneck’s fierce, and Room's funereal face; Lo sneering Goode, half malice and half whim, A fiend in glee, ridiculously grim. Jacob, the scourge of grammar, mark with awe, Nor less revere him, blunderbuss of law. 150 Lo Bond and Foxton, ev'ry nameless name, All crowd, who foremost shall be damn’d to fame. Some strain in rhyme ; the muses, on their racks, Scream like the winding of ten thousand jacks: Some free from rhyme or reason, rule or check, 155 Break Priscian's head, and Pegasus's neck ; Down, down they larum, with impetuous whirl, The Pindars, and the Miltons of a Curl.
Silence, ye Wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls, And makes night hideous-Answer him ye Owls !
Sense, specch, and measure, living tongues and dead, Let all give way—and Morris may be read.
Flow, Welsted, flow! like thine inspirer, Beer, Tho’stale, not ripe ; tho' thin, yet never clear ; So sweetly mawkish, and so smoothly dull ; 165 Heady, not strong ; and foaming, tho' not full.
Ah Dennis ! Gildon ah! what ill-starr'd rage Divides a friendship long confirm’d by age ? Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, But fool with fool is barb'rous civil war. 170 Embrace, embracë, my Sons! be foes no more! Nor glad vile poets with true critics gore.
Behold yon pair, in strict embraces join'd;
“ But who is he, in closet close y pent,
185 As thou preserv’st the dulness of the past !
There, dim in clouds, the poring scholiasts mark, · Wits, who like owls see only in the dark,
A lumberhouse of books in ev'ry head,
Yet oh, my Sons! a father's words attend: " (So may the Fates preserve the ears you lend) 210 "Tis yours, a Bacon or a Locke to blame, A Newton's genius, or a Milton's flame ; But O! with one, immortal One dispense, The source of Newton's light, of Bacon's sense ! Content, each emanation of his fires
215 That beams on earth, each virtue he inspires,