Confesses and obeys thy power. 160 But come not with that easy mien By which you won the lively Dean; Nor yet assume that strumpet air Which Rabelais taught thee first to wear; Nor yet that arch ambiguous face Which with Cervantes gave thee grace; But come in sacred vesture clad, Solemnly dull, and truly sad! Far from thy seemly matron train Be idiot Mirth, and Laughter vain! 170 For Wit and Humour, which pretend At once to please us and amend, They are not for my present turn; Let them remain in France with Sterne. Of noblest City parents born, Whom wealth and dignities adorn, Who still one constant tenor keep, Not quite awake, nor quite asleep; With thee let formal Dulness come, And deep Attention, ever dumb, 180 Who on her lips her finger lays, Whilst every circumstance she weighs, Whose downcast eye is often found Bent without motion to the ground, Or, to some outward thing confined, Remits no image to the mind, No pregnant mark of meaning bears, But, stupid, without vision stares; Thy steps let Gravity attend, Wisdom's and Truth's unerring friend; 190 For one may see with half an eye, That Gravity can never lie, And his arch'd brow, pull'd o'er his eyes, With solemn proof proclaims him wise. Free from all waggeries and sports, The produce of luxurious courts, Where sloth and lust enervate youth, Come thou, a downright City-Truth: The City, which we ever find A sober pattern for mankind; 200 Where man, in equilibrio hung, Is seldom old, and never young, And, from the cradle to the grave, Not Virtue's friend nor Vice's slave; As dancers on the wire we spy, Hanging between the earth and sky. She comes--I see her from afar Bending her course to Temple-Bar; All sage and silent is her train, Deportment grave, and garments plain, 210 Such as may suit a parson's wear, And fit the headpiece of a mayor. By Truth inspired, our Bacon's force Open'd the way to Learning's source; Boyle through the works of Nature ran; And Newton, something more than man, Dived into Nature's hidden springs, Laid bare the principles of things, Above the earth our spirits bore, And gave us worlds unknown before. 220 By Truth inspired, when Lauder's[204] spite O'er Milton east the veil of night, Douglas arose, and through the maze Of intricate and winding ways, Came where the subtle traitor lay, And dragg'd him, trembling, to the day; Whilst he, (oh, shame to noblest parts, Dishonour to the liberal arts, To traffic in so vile a scheme!) Whilst he, our letter'd Polypheme,[205] 230 Who had confederate forces join'd, Like a base coward skulk'd behind. By Truth inspired, our critics go To track Fingal in Highland snow, To form their own and others' creed From manuscripts they cannot read.