There march'd the bard and blockhead, side by side, Who rhymed for hire, and patronised for pride. Narcissus,[388] praised with all a parson's power, Look'd a white lily sunk beneath a shower. There moved Montalto with superior air; His stretch'd-out arm display'd a volume fair; Courtiers and patriots in two ranks divide, Through both he pass'd, and bow'd from side to side; But as in graceful act, with awful eye Composed he stood, bold Benson[389] thrust him by: 110 On two unequal crutches propp'd he came, Milton's on this, on that one Johnston's name. The decent knight[390] retired with sober rage, Withdrew his hand, and closed the pompous page. But (happy for him as the times went then) Appear'd Apollo's mayor and aldermen, On whom three hundred gold-capp'd youths await, To lug the ponderous volume off in state. When Dulness, smiling--'Thus revive the wits! But murder first, and mince them all to bits; 120 As erst Medea (cruel, so to save!) A new edition of old Aeson gave; Let standard authors, thus, like trophies borne, Appear more glorious as more hack'd and torn. And you, my critics! in the chequer'd shade, Admire new light through holes yourselves have made. Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone, A page, a grave, that they can call their own; But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick, On passive paper, or on solid brick. 130 So by each bard an alderman[391] shall sit, A heavy lord shall hang at every wit, And while on Fame's triumphal car they ride, Some slave of mine be pinion'd to their side.' Now crowds on crowds around the goddess press, Each eager to present the first address. Dunce scorning dunce beholds the next advance, But fop shows fop superior complaisance. When, lo! a spectre rose, whose index-hand Held forth the virtue of the dreadful wand; 140 His beaver'd brow a birchen garland wears, Dropping with infants' blood and mothers' tears. O'er every rein a shuddering horror runs; Eton and Winton shake through all their sons. All flesh is humbled, Westminster's bold race Shrink, and confess the genius of the place: The pale boy-senator yet tingling stands, And holds his breeches close with both his hands.