"I've often heard him swear--he'll stand _'em all_: "If he refuse me, I have still another, "I'll _hammer_ him conjointly with my B----r; "But sure the _Laureat Harp_ must tune a Strain, "New mended by a late _V----e C--mb--n_; "For he, to give his Due unto the _Devil_, "Was always to us Folks of Fashion civil." Resolv'd at once, he tweaks the Monarch's Nose, The Monarch snor'd--new Streams from _Dulness_ rose. Close to his Ear he lays his dimpled Cheek, And in soft Accents speaks, or seem'd to speak, "Dear _Laureate_, rouse, the Enemy's at Hand, "Another DUNCIAD travels round the Land, "Whence all the sole Proprietors of Trash, "Thy Friends and mine, most justly fear the Lash. Vain are his Efforts--yet again he tries, "Thy _Odes_!--oh save thy _Odes_!--dear _Laureat_ rise; "If not for _Odes_--yet for _Love's Riddle_ wake-- "Nor that?--thy _Careless Husband_'s then at Stake. All wou'd not do--his soft Distress preferr'd, Nor the great Mother, nor the _Laureat_ heard; For on her Lap so _daintily_ he lay, His Senses, breath'd into her, stole away; All Aims at a Recovery were vain, Till she vouchsaf'd to breathe them back again. "One gentle Imprecation more and then, "He cries, Farewel the _Laureat_ and his _Pen_: "Thy Country calls, if thou resign'st thy Sense, "Yet rouse to be a Man of Consequence. "Who calls thee _Dunce_, abuses too thy K--g, "Whose Praises, by thy Place, thou'rt bound to sing; "O! grant me Aid, assume the pleasing Task, "In thy _Nonjuror_'s fav'rite Name I ask. Thrice groan'd the _Ompha_, and in Thunder spoke, The Blast his Sense return'd, and Slumber broke; _Nonjure!_ That Word alone unbinds the Charms, For _Party_-Dulness always sounds to _Arms_; Upstarts the Sire--"Mistake me not, he cries, "Whoever says I was asleep------he lies; "You know, my L--d, how I my Wits exert, "How always pleasing, and how always pert; "I know your Grief, before the Cause is told; "Then here my Pen in Readiness I hold. "Since by Desire I enter thus the Lists, "I vow Revenge--know, COLLEY ne'er desists: "Then I'll pursue him with my latest Breath, "Nor drop _this Pen_ 'till quite _benum'd_ with _Death_. High on the Muses _Pegasus_ DAN P--PE Mounts _full of Spirit_, nor vouchsafes to stoop, But hears the Murmurs of the Dull upborn, Low empty Curses, or vain stingless Scorn; One Dash strikes all the mean Revilers down, As sure as JOVE should swear by ACHERON: Whether his _Person_ be their standing Jest, Or his _Religion_ suits their Libels best; Whether the _Author_ forms his crude Designs, As the _deserted Bookseller_ repines, Who, after all his _Boasts_, is tumbled by, And looks at D----LEY with an evil Eye; Or if their standing Topics, _Spleen_ and _Spite_, _A Jesuit_,----an _Atheist_,----_Jacobite_. In all their hard-strain'd Labours, squeez'd by Bits, Mark well the Triumph of these wou'd-be Wits;