Ye, my pert Sons! who with more Ardour strive, May raise the bastard Issue of a Verse, To wear the wither'd _Bays_, or deck his _Hearse_. Now for six Months had O----D shook the State With _grand Removals_, and _a grand Debate_: _Dunce_ elbow'd _Dunce_, each foremost wou'd advance, But backward fell, as in old _Bayes_'s Dance: When _Dulness_ spread her pow'rful YAWN around, "And Sense and Shame, and Right and Wrong were drown'd, _Enquiry_ ceas'd, and, touch'd by magic Wand, Ev'n _Opposition's_ self was at a Stand; On well-oil'd Hinges creaks the Prison Gate, And _Pains and Penalties_ will come too late. 'Twas Night's high Noon at _P--is_ and the _H--ge_, And _Politics_ had died, but for poor _P--gue_; For why, "The Goddess bade BRITANNIA sleep, "And pour'd her Spirit o'er the Land and Deep." And now the _Scriblers_, motionless and mute, Sit down to count their Gains by the Dispute, To see on which Side Victory hath run; } Like _Mackbeth's Witches_, when the Mischief's done, } They tell ye, that the Battle's _lost_ and _won_: } Contriving whom to _greet_, or whom _disgrace_, As _Gazettes_ speak them _in_ or _out_ of _Place_; For _Panegyrics_ drein their tilted Wit On Peers _new-made_, against the House shall sit, Or saucily appear before their Betters In _sage Advice_, or on an _old Member's Letters_: Thus fate, they waiting the approaching Yawn, Wishing for Sleep till the next _Sessions' Dawn_, When the kind Goddess did her Jaws unclose, She snor'd aloud, and strait a Vapour rose, Unwholsome as the Damps a Collier meets Too often in his subterraneous Pits; For _Dulness_ taints all round her where she breathes, As witness, COLLEY, thy dry blighted Wreaths: Nor cou'd the upward Gasp disperse the Steam, But from below disturb'd her _Consort's_ Dream; Yet from her downy Lap he started not, But mutter'd something thus--as loose of Thought; "He hurts not me--my CÆSAR--Satire--dull, "Why all the World knows I've been long--a F--l; "But now--I'll do't--Yae--ough"--so said, he drops, Salutes his Queen's Effulgence, and thus stops. The Throne where _Dulness_ sate, maintaining Right, Resembled much some Monarch's of the Night, Where gloomy Myrmidons and Punks resort, And snore on Benches round his ample Court. Both there and here, as in the busy World, Lords, Draymen, Linkboys, in Confusion hurl'd; Beneath the Monarch, fond to be employ'd, NARCISSUS lay with _too much_ TULLY cloy'd; As Gluttons gorg'd at City Feasts too soon, Oft get their Naps before the rest lye down; Their heaving Stomachs turn'd at something tart, When others doze, oft make them wildly start: So he--"Why, what a Pax! who'd be a L--d, "If Worth and Merit only Praise afford? "I can't be prais'd as _Poet_, _Wit_, or _P----r_, "But that dem'd _Twick'nam_ Bard my Parts will jeer; "If I can't write myself, here's COLLEY shall;