Popebot

Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal Darkness buries all.

Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restor'd; Light dies before thy uncreating word:

Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine!

Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires.

See Mystery to Mathematics fly! In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.

Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense!

Philosophy, that lean'd on Heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.

See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of casuistry heap'd o'er her head!

Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, Art after Art goes out, and all is night.

As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand opprest, Closed one by one to everlasting rest;

As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain;

Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.

Before her Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away.

She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old!

In vain, in vain--the all-composing hour Resistless falls; the Muse obeys the power.

Till drown'd was Sense, and Shame, and Right, and Wrong; O sing, and hush the nations with thy song!

What charms could Faction, what Ambition lull, The venal quiet, and entrance the dull,

Relate who first, who last, resign'd to rest; Whose heads she partly, whose completely blest;

O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone, Wits have short memories, and Dunces none),

And chiefless armies dozed out the campaign; And navies yawn'd for orders on the main.

The vapour mild o'er each committee crept; Unfinish'd treaties in each office slept;

Wide, and more wide, it spread o'er all the realm; Ev'n Palinurus nodded at the helm:

Lost was the Nation's sense, nor could be found, While the long solemn unison went round:

Then catch'd the Schools; the Hall scarce kept awake; The Convocation gaped, but could not speak.

Churches and chapels instantly it reach'd (St. James's first, for leaden Gilbert preach'd);

More she had spoke, but yawn'd--All nature nods: What mortal can resist the yawn of Gods?

Tyrant supreme! shall three estates command, And make one mighty Dunciad of the land!'

And nobly-conscious, Princes are but things Born for first Ministers, as slaves for Kings,

Perhaps more high some daring son may soar, Proud to my list to add one monarch more;

Others import yet nobler arts from France, Teach Kings to fiddle, and make Senates dance.

The sturdy Squire to Gallic masters stoop, And drown his lands and manors in a soup.

The Bishop stow (pontific luxury!) A hundred souls of turkeys in a pie;

The Judge to dance his brother sergeant call; The Senator at cricket urge the ball:

The learned Baron butterflies design, Or draw to silk Arachne's subtle line;

From stage to stage the licens'd Earl may run, Pair'd with his fellow charioteer, the sun;

The cap and switch be sacred to His Grace; With staff and pumps the Marquis leads the race;

Guard my Prerogative, assert my Throne: This nod confirms each privilege your own.

All my commands are easy, short and full: My sons! be proud, be selfish, and be dull.

Then, blessing all, 'Go children of my care! To practice now from theory repair.

The last, not least in honour or applause, Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws.

Nor past the meanest unregarded; one Rose a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.

Some Botanists, or florists at the least, Or issue members of an annual feast.

Some, deep Freemasons, join the silent race, Worthy to fill Pythagoras's place:

Impale a glow-worm, or Vert profess, Shine in the dignity of F. R. S.

Her children first of more distinguish'd sort, Who study Shakespeare at the Inus of Court,

Next bidding all draw near on bended knees, The Queen confers her Titles and Degrees.

Gone ev'ry blush, and silent all reproach, Contending Princes mount them in their coach.

Knight lifts the head; for, what are crowds undone, To three essential partridges in one?

With French libation, and Italian strain, Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hays's stain,

What cannot copious sacrifice atone? Thy truffles, Prigord, thy hams, Bayonne,