The Dunciad: An heroic poem. In three books.

Table of contents

- [frontispiece]

- [titlepage]

- THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.

- [halftitle]

- THE DUNCIAD. BOOK the FIRST.

- THE DUNCIAD. Book the SECOND.

- THE DUNCIAD. Book the THIRD.

- [publishersadvertisement]

FINIS.

- P. & R. Arthur

- 〈…〉

- Dennis's Works

- 〈…〉

- Cibber's Plays

DUBLIN; Printed; LONDON; Reprinted for A. Dodd THE DUNCIAD.

THE DUNCIAD. AN Heroic Poem.

IN THREE BOOKS.

DUBLIN, Printed, LONDON Reprinted for A. DODD. 1728.

THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.

IT will be found a true observation, tho' somewhat surprizing, that when any scandal is vented against a man of the highest distinction and character either in the State or in Literature, the publick in general afford it a most quiet reception, and the larger part accept it as favourably as if it were some kindness done to themselves: Whereas if a known scoundrel or blockhead chance to be but touch'd upon, a whole legion is up in Arms, and it becomes the common Cause of all Scriblers, Booksellers, and Printers whatsoever.

Not to search too deeply into the reason hereof, I will only observe as a Fact, that every week for these two Months past, the town has been persecuted with Pamphlets, Advertisements, Letters, and weekly Essays, not only against the Wit and Writings, but against the Character and Person, of Mr. Pope. And that of all those men who have received pleasure from his Writings (which by modest computation may be about a hundred thousand in these Kingdoms of England and Ireland, not to mention Jerscy, Guernsey, the Orcades, those in the New world, and Foreigners who have translated him into their languages) of all this number, not a man hath stood up to say one word in his defence.

The only exception is the Author of the following Poem, who doubtless had either a better insight into the grounds of this clamour, or a better opinion of Mr. Pope's integrity, join'd with a greater personal love for him, than any other of his numerous friends and admirers.

Further, that he was in his peculiar intimacy, appears from the knowledge he manifests of the most private Authors of all the anonymous pieces against him, and from his having in this Poem attacked no man living, who had not before printed and published against this particular Gentleman.

How I became possest of it, is of no concern to the Reader; but it would have been a wrong to him, had I detain'd this publication: since those Names which are its chief ornaments, die off daily so fast, as must render it too soon unintelligible. If it provoke the Author to give us a more perfect edition, I have my end.

Who he is, I cannot say, and (which is great pity) there is certainly nothing in his style and manner of writing, which can distinguish, or discover him. For if it bears any resemblance to that of Mr. P. 'tis not improbable but it might be done on purpose, with a view to have it pass for his. But by the frequency of his allusions to Virgil, and a labour'd, (not to say affected, shortness, in imitation of him, I should think him more an admirer of the Roman Poet than of the Grecian, and in that, not of the same taste with his Friend.

I have been well inform'd, that this work was the labour of full six years of his life, and that he retired himself entirely from all the avocations and pleasures of the world, to attend diligently to its correction and perfection; and six years more he intended to bestow upon it, as it should seem by this verse of Statius, which was cited at the head of his manuscript.

Oh mihi bissenos multum vigilata per annos,

Duncia!—

Hence also we learn the true Title of the Poem; which with the same certainty as we call that of Homer the Iliad, of Virgil the Aeneid, of Camoens the Lusiad, of Voltaire the Henriad, we may pronounce could have been, and can be no other, than‘THE DUNCIAD.’

It is styled Heroic, as being doubly so; not only with respect to its nature, which according to the best Rules of the Ancients and strictest ideas of the Moderns, is critically such; but also with regard to the Heroical disposition and high courage of the Writer, who dar'd to stir up such a formidable, irritable, and implacable race of mortals.

The time and date of the Action is evidently in the last reign, when the office of City Poet expir'd upon the death of Elkanah Settle, and he has fix'd it to the Mayoralty of Sir Geo. Tho_+ld. But there may arise some obscurity in Chronology from the Names in the Poem, by the inevitable removal of some Authors, and Insertion of others, in their Niches. For whoever will consider the unity of the whole design, will be sensible, that the Poem was not made for these Authors, but these Authors for the Poem. And I should judge they were clapp'd in as they rose, fresh and fresh, and chang'd from day to day, in like manner as when the old boughs wither, we thrust new ones into a chimney.

I would not have the reader too much troubled or anxious, if he cannot decypher them; since when he shall have found them out, he will probably know no more of the Persons than before.

Yet we judg'd it better to preserve them as they are, than to change them for fictitious names, by which the Satyr would only be multiplied; and applied to many instead of one. Had the Hero, for instance, been called Codrus, how many would have affirm'd him to be Mr. W_+ Mr. D_+ Sir R_+ B_+, &c. but now, all that unjust scandal is saved, by calling him Theobald, which by good luck happens to be the name of a real person.

I am indeed aware, that this name may to some appear too mean, for the Hero of an Epic Poem? But it is hoped, they will alter that opinion, when they find, that an Author no less eminent than la Bruyere, has thought him worthy a place in his Characters.

Voudriez vous, THEOBALDE, que je crusse que vous êtes baisse? que vous n'êtes plus Poete, ni bel esprit? que vous êtes presentement aussi Mauvais juge de tout genre d'Ouvrage, que Mechant Auteur? Votre air libre & presumptueux me rassure, & me persuade tout le contraire. &c. Characteres, Vol. I. de la Societe & de la Conversation, pag. 176. Edit. Amst. 1720.

THE DUNCIAD IN THREE BOOKS.

THE DUNCIAD.
BOOK the FIRST.

BOOKS and the man I sing, the first who brings

The Smithfield muses to the ears of kings.

Say great Patricians! (since yourselves inspire

These wond'rous works; so Jove and fate require!)

Say from what cause, in vain decry'd and curst,

Still [†] Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first?

In eldest time, e'er mortals writ or read,

E'er Pallas issued from the Thund'rer's head,

Dulness o'er all possess'd her antient right,

Daughter of Chaos and eternal Night:

Fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave,

Gross as her, sire, and as her mother grave,

Laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind,

She rul'd, in native anarchy, the mind.

Still her old empire to confirm, she tries,

For born a Goddess, Dulness never dies.

Where wave the tatter'd ensigns of Rag-Fair,

A yawning ruin hangs and nods in air;

Keen, hollow winds howl thro' the bleak recess,

Emblem of music caus'd by emptiness:

Here in one bed two shiv'ring sisters lye,

The cave of Poverty and Poetry.

This, the Great Mother dearer held than all

The clubs of Quidnunc's, or her own Guild-hall:

Here stood her Opium, here she nurs'd her Owls,

And destin'd here th' imperial seat of fools.

Hence springs each weekly muse, the living boast

Of C_+l's chaste press, and L_+t's rubric post;

Hence hymning Tyburn's elegiac lay,

Hence the soft sing-song on Cecilia's day,

Sepulchral lyes our holy walls to grace,

And New-year-Odes, and all the Grubstreet race.

'Twas here in clouded majesty she shone;

Four guardian Virtues, round, support her throne;

Fierce champion Fortitude, that knows no fears

Of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears:

Calm Temperance, whose blessings those partake

Who hunger, and who thirst for scribling sake:

Prudence, whose glass presents th' approaching jayl;

Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale;

Where in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs,

And solid pudding against empty praise.

Here she beholds the Chaos dark and deep,

Where nameless somethings in their causes sleep,

'Till genial Jacob, or a warm third-day

Calls forth each mass, a poem or a play.

How hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie;

How new-born nonsense first is taught to cry;

Maggots half-form'd, in rhyme exactly meet,

And learn to crawl upon poetic feet.

Here one poor Word a hundred clenches makes,

And ductile dulness new meanders takes;

There motley Images her fancy strike,

Figures ill-pair'd, and Similes unlike.

She sees a mob of Metaphors advance,

Pleas'd with the madness of the mazy dance:

How Tragedy and Comedy embrace;

How Farce and Epic get a jumbled race;

How Time himself stands still at her command,

Realms shift their place, and Ocean turns to land.

Here gay Description Aegypt glads with showers,

Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flowers;

Glitt'ring with ice here hoary hills are seen,

Fast by, fair vallies of eternal green,

On cold December fragrant chaplets blow,

And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

All these and more, the cloud-compelling Queen

Beholds thro' fogs, that magnify the scene;

She, tinfel'd o'er in robes of varying hues,

With self-applause her wild creation views,

Sees momentary monsters rise and fall,

And with her own fools-colours gilds them all.

'Twas on the day, when [†] Tho_+d, rich and grave,

Like [‡] Cimon triumph'd both on land and wave,

(Pomps without guilt, of bloodless swords and maces,

Glad chains, warm furs, broad banners, and broadfaces)

Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er,

Yet liv'd, in Settle's numbers, one day more.

Now May'rs and Shrieves in pleasing flumbers lay,

And eat in dreams the custard of the day:

But pensive poets painful vigils keep;

Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.

Much to her mind the solemn feast recalls,

What city-Swans once sung within the walls,

Much she revolves their arts, their antient praise,

And sure succession down from [*] Heywood's days.

She saw with joy the line immortal run,

Each sire imprest and glaring in his son;

So watchful Bruin forms with plastic care

Each growing lump, and brings it to a Bear.

She saw in N_+n all his father shine,

And E_+n eke out Bl_+ 's endless line;

She saw slow P_+s creep like T_+te's poor page,

And furious D_+n foam in Wh_+ 's rage.

In each, she marks her image full exprest,

But chief, in Tibbald's monster-breeding breast,

Sees Gods with Daemons in strange league ingage,

And [†] earth, and heav'n, and hell, her battels wage!

She ey'd the Bard where supperless he fate,

And pin'd, unconscious of his rising fate;

Studious he sate, with all his books around,

Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound?

Plung'd for his sense, but found no bottom there:

Then writ, and flounder'd on, in mere despair.

He roll'd his eyes that witness'd huge dismay,

Where yet unpawn'd, much learned lumber lay,

Volumes, whose size the space exactly fill'd;

Or which fond authors were so good to gild;

Or where, by Sculpture made for ever known,

The page admires new beauties, not its own.

Here swells the shelf with Ogleby the great,

There, stamp'd with arms, Newcastle shines compleat,

Here all his suff'ring brotherhood retire,

And 'scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire;

A Gothic Vatican! of Greece and Rome

Well-purg'd, and worthy W_+y, W_+s, and Bl_+

But high above, more solid Learning shone,

The Classicks of an age that heard of none;

There Caxton slept, with Wynkin at his side,

One clasp'd in wood, and one in strong cow-hide:

There sav'd by spice, like mummies, many a year,

Old Bodies of philosophy appear:

De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,

And there, the groaning Shelves Philemon bends.

Of these twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size,

Redeem'd from tapers and defrauded pyes,

Inspir'd he seizes: These an altar raise:

An hecatomb of pure, unsully'd lays

That altar crowns; a folio Common-place

Founds the whole pyle, of all his works the base:

Quarto's, octavo's, shape the lessening pyre,

And last, a [†] little Ajax tips the spire.

Then he▪ Great Tamer of all human art!

First in my care, and nearest at my heart!

Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend,

With whom my muse began, with whom shall end!

Oh thou! of business the directing soul,

To human heads like byass to the bowl,

Which as more pond'rous makes their aim more true,

Obliquely wadling to the mark in view.

O ever gracious to perplex'd mankind!

Who spread a healing mist before the mind,

And, lest we err by wit's wild, dancing light,

Secure us kindly in our native night.

Ah! still o'er Britain stretch that peaceful wand,

Which lulls th' Helvetian and Batavian land,

Where 'gainst thy throne if rebel Science rise,

She does but show her coward face and dies:

There, thy good scholiasts with unweary'd pains

Make Horace flat, and humble Maro's strains;

Here studious I unlucky Moderns save,

Nor sleeps one error in its father's grave,

Old puns restore, lost blunders nicely seek,

And crucify poor Shakespear once a week.

For thee I dim these eyes, and stuff this head,

With all such reading as was never read;

For thee supplying, in the worst of days,

Notes to dull books, and Prologues to dull plays;

For thee explain a thing 'till all men doubt it,

And write about it, Goddess, and about it;

So spins the silkworm small its slender store,

And labours, 'till it clouds itself all o'er.

Not that my pen to criticks was confin'd,

My verse gave ampler lessons to mankind;

So written precepts may successless prove,

But sad examples never fail to move.

As forc'd from wind-guns, lead it self can fly,

And pond'rous slugs cut swiftly thro' the sky;

As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe,

The wheels above urg'd by the load below;

Me, Emptiness and Dulness could inspire,

And were my Elasticity, and Fire.

Had heav'n decreed such works a longer date,

Heav'n had decreed to spare the Grubstreet-state.

But see [*] great Settle to the dust descend,

And all thy cause and empire at an end!

Cou'd Troy be sav'd by any single hand,

His gray-goose-weapon must have made her stand.

But what can I• my Flaccus cast aside,

Take up th' Attorney's (once my better) guide?

Or rob the Roman geese of all their glories,

And save the state by cackling to the Tories?

Yes, to my country I my pen consign,

Yes, from this moment, mighty Mist! am thine,

And rival, Curtius! of thy fame and zeal,

O'er head and ears plunge for the public weal.

Adieu my children! better thus expire

Un-stall'd, unsold; thus glorious mount in fire

Fair without spot; than greas'd by grocer's hands,

Or shipp'd with W_+ to ape and monkey lands,

Or wafting ginger, round the streets to go,

And visit alehouse where ye first did grow.

With that, he lifted thrice the sparkling brand,

And thrice he dropt it from his quiv'ring hand:

Then lights the structure, with averted eyes;

The rowling smokes involve the sacrifice.

The opening clouds disclose each work by turns,

Now flames old [*] Memnon, now Rodrigo burns,

In one quick slash see Proserpine expire,

And last, his own cold Aeschylus took fire.

Then gush'd the tears, as from the Trojan's eyes

When the last blaze sent Ilion to the skies.

Rowz'd by the light, old Dulness heav'd the head,

Then snatch'd a sheet of Thulè from her Bed,

Sudden she flies, and whelms it o'er the pyre;

Down sink the flames, and with a hiss expire.

Her ample presence fills up all the place;

A veil of fogs dilates her awful face,

Great in her charms! as when on Shrieves and May'rs

She looks, and breathes herself into their airs.

She bids him wait her to the sacred Dome;

Well-pleas'd he enter'd, and confess'd his home:

So spirits, ending their terrestrial race,

Ascend, and recognize their native place:

Raptur'd, he gazes round the dear retreat,

And [†] in sweet numbers celebrates the seat.

Here to her Chosen all her works she shows;

Prose swell'd to verse, Verse loitring into prose:

How random thoughts now meaning chance to find,

Now leave all memory of sense behind;

How Prologues into Prefaces decay,

And those to Notes are fritter'd quite away:

How Index-learning turns no student pale,

Yet holds the eel of science by the Tail:

How, with less reading than makes felons 'scape;

Less human genius than God gives an ape,

Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or Greece,

A past, vamp'd, future, old, reviv'd, new piece,

'Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Congreve, and Corneille,

Can make a C_+r, Jo_+n, or O_+ll.

The Goddess then, o'er his anointed head,

With mystic words the sacred Opium shed;

And lo! her Bird (a monster of a fowl!

Something betwixt a H_+ and Owl)

Perch'd on his crown. All hail! and hail again

My son! the promis'd land expects thy reign.

Know Settle, cloy'd with custard and with praise,

Is gather'd to the Dull of antient days,

Safe, where no criticks damn, no duns molest,

Where G_+n, B_+, and high-born H_+ rest!

I see a King! who leads my chosen sons

To lands that flow with clenches and with puns:

'Till each fam'd theatre my empire own,

Till Albion, as Hibernia, bless my throne.

I see! I see!—Then rapt, she spoke no more.

God save King Tibbald! Grubstreet alleys roar.

So when Jove's block descended from on high,

(As sings thy great fore-father, Ogilby,)

Hoarse thunder to its bottom shook the bog,

And the loud nation croak'd, God save King Log!

End of the first Book.

Notes

†
Dryd.
↵

†
Sir Geo. Tho_+
↵

‡
Cimon the famous Athenian general, who obtained a victory by sea, and another by land, on the same day, over the Persians and Barbarians.
↵

*
John Heywood, whose Enterludes were printed in Hen. ViIIth's time.
↵

†
This, I presume, alludes to the extravagancies of the Farces of this author. See book III. vers. 170, &c.
↵

†
In duodecimo, translated from Sophocles.
↵

*
This was the last year of Elkanah Settle's life. He was poet to the city of London, whose business was to compose yearly panegyricks on the Lord Mayor, and verses for the Pageants; but since the abolition of that part of the shows, the employment ceas'd, so that Settle had no successor to that place.
↵

*
Plays and Farces of T_+d.
↵

†
He writ a poem called the Cave of Poverty, printed in 1715.
↵

THE DUNCIAD.
Book the SECOND.

THE sons of Dulness meet: an endless band

Pours forth, and leaves unpeopled half the land,

A motley mixture! in long wigs, in bags,

In silks, in crapes, in garters, and in rags;

From drawing rooms, from colleges, from garrets,

On horse, on foot, in hacks, and gilded chariots,

All who true Dunces in her cause appear'd,

And all who knew those Dunces to reward.

Now herald hawker's rusty voice proclaims

Heroic prizes, and advent'rous Games;

In that wide space the Goddess took her stand

Where the tall May-pole once o'erlook'd the Strand;

But now (so ANNE and Piety ordain)

A Church collects the saints of Drury-lane.

With authors, stationers obey'd the call;

The field of glory is a field for all;

Glory, and gain, th' industrious tribe provoke,

And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke.

A Poet's Form she sets before their eyes,

And bids the nimblest racer seize the prize;

No meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin,

In a dun night-gown of his own loose skin;

But such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise,

Twelve starving bards of these degen'rate days.

All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair,

She form'd this image of well-bodied air,

With pert flat eyes she window'd well its head,

A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead,

And empty words she gave, and sounding strain;

But senseless, lifeless! Idol void and vain!

Never was dasht out, at one lucky hit,

A fool, so just a copy of a wit;

So like, that criticks said and courtiers swore,

A wit it was, and call'd the phantom, M_+.

All gaze with ardour: some, a Poet's name,

Others, a sword-knot and lac'd suit inflame:

But lofty L_+t in the circle rose;

"This prize is mine; who tempt it, are my foes:

"With me began this genius, and shall end:

He spoke, and who with L_+t shall contend?

Fear held them mute. Alone, untaught to fear,

Stood dauntless C_+l. "Behold that rival here!

"The race by vigor, not by vaunts is won;

"So take the hindmost Hell.—He said, and run.

Swift as a bard the bailiff leaves behind,

He left huge L_+t, and out-stript the wind.

As when a dab-chick waddles thro' the copse,

On legs and wings, and flies, and wades, and hops;

So lab'ring on, with shoulders, hands, and head,

Wide as a windmill all his figure spread,

With steps unequal L_+t urg'd the race,

And seem'd to emulate great Jacob's pace.

Full in the middle way there stood a lake,

Which C_+l's Corinna chanc'd that morn to make,

(Such was her wont, at early dawn to drop

Her evening cates before his neighbour's shop,)

Here fortun'd C_+l to slide: loud shout the band,

And L_+t, L_+t, rings thro' all the Strand.

Obscene with filth the varlet lies bewray'd,

Fal'n in the plash his wickedness had lay'd:

Then first (if Poets ought of truth declare)

The caitiff Vaticide conceiv'd a prayer.

Hear Jove! whose name my bards and I adore,

As much at least as any Gods, or more;

And him and his, if more devotion warms,

Down with the [*] Bible, up with the [†] Pope's Arms.

[‡] A place there is, betwixt earth, air and seas,

Where from Ambrosia, Jove retires for ease.

There in his seat two spacious Vents appear,

On this he sits, to that he leans his ear,

There hears the various vows of fond mankind,

Some beg an eastern, some a western wind:

All vain petitions, sent by winds on high,

With reams abundant this abode supply;

Amus'd he reads, and then returns the bills

Sign'd with that Ichor which from Gods distills.

In office here fair Cloacina stands,

And ministers to Jove with purest hands;

Forth from the heap she pick'd her vot'ry's pray'r,

And plac'd it next him, a distinction rare!

Oft, as he fish'd her nether realms for wit,

The Goddess favour'd him, and favours yet.

Renew'd by ordure's sympathetic force,

As oil'd with magic juices for the course,

Vig'rous he rises; from th' effluvia strong

Imbibes new life, and scours and stinks along,

Re-passes L_+t, vindicates the race,

Nor heeds the brown dishonours of his face.

And now the victor stretch'd his eager hand,

Where the tall Nothing stood, or seem'd to stand;

A shapeless shade, it melted from his sight,

Like forms in clouds, or visions of the night!

Baffled, yet present ev'n amidst despair,

To seize his papers, C_+l, was next thy care;

His papers all, the sportive winds up-lift,

And whisk 'em back to G_+, to Y_+, to S_+.

Th' embroider'd suit, at least, he deem'd his prey;

That suit, an unpay'd Taylor snatch'd away!

No rag, no scrap, of all the beau, or wit,

That once so flutter'd, and that once so writ.

Heav'n rings with laughter: Of the laughter vain,

Dulness, good Queen, repeats the jest again.

Three wicked imps of her own Grubstreet Choir

She deck'd like Congreve, Addison, and Prior;

Mears, Warner, Wilkins run: Delusive thought!

_____ , _____ , and _____ , the wretches caught.

C_+l stretches after Gay, but Gay is gone,

He grasps an empty [†] Joseph for a John.

So Proteus, hunted in a nobler shape,

Became, when seiz'd, a Puppy or an Ape.

To him the Goddess. Son, thy grief lay down;

And turn this whole illusion on the town.

As the sage dame experienc'd in her trade,

By names of Toasts retails each batter'd jade,

(Whence hapless Monsieur much complains at Paris.

Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Marys)

Be thine, my stationer! this magic gift;

C_+ shall be Prior, and C_+n, Swift;

So shall each hostile name become our own,

And we too boast our Garth and Addison.

With that the Goddess (piteous of his case,

Yet smiling at his ruful length of face)

Gives him a cov'ring, worthy to be spread

On Codrus' old, or _____ 's modern bed;

Instructive work! whose wry-mouth'd portraiture

Display'd the fates her confessors endure.

Ear-less on high, stood pillory'd D_+

And T_+ flagrant from the lash, below:

There kick'd and cudgel'd R_+ might ye view,

The very worstead still look'd black and blue:

Himself among the storied chiefs he spies,

As from the blanket high in air he flies,

And oh! (he cry'd) what street, what lane but knows

Our purgings, pumpings, blanketings and blows?

In ev'ry loom our labors shall be seen,

And the fresh vomit run for ever green!

See in the circle next, Eliza plac'd;

Two babes of love close clinging to her waste;

Fair as before her works she stands confess'd,

In flow'r'd brocade by bounteous Kirkall dress'd,

Pearls on her neck, and roses in her hair,

And her fore-buttocks to the navel bare.

The Goddess then: "Who best can send on high

"The salient spout, fair-streaming to the sky;

"His be yon Juno of majestic size,

"With cow-like udders, and with ox-like eyes.

"This China-Jordan, let the chief o'ercome

"Replenish, not ingloriously, at home.

Ch_+d and C_+l accept this glorious strife,

(Tho' one his Son dissuades, and one his Wife)

This on his manly confidence relies,

That on his vigor and superior size.

First C_+d lean'd against his letter'd post;

It rose, and labor'd to a curve at most:

So Jove's bright bow displays its watry round,

(Sure sign, that no spectator shall be drown'd)

A second effort brought but new disgrace,

For straining more, it flies in his own face;

Thus the small jett which hasty hands unlock,

Spirits in the gard'ners eyes who turns the cock.

Not so from shameless C_+l: Impetuous spread

The stream, and smoaking, flourish'd o'er his head.

So, (fam'd like thee for turbulence and horns,)

Eridanus his humble fountain scorns,

Thro' half the heav'ns he pours th' exalted urn;

His rapid waters in their passage burn.

Swift as it mounts, all follow with their eyes;

Still happy, Impudence obtains the prize.

Thou triumph'st, Victor of the high-wrought day,

And the pleas'd dame soft-smiling leads away.

Ch_+d, through perfect modesty o'ercome,

Crown'd with the Jordan, walks contented home.

But now for Authors nobler palms remain:

Room for my Lord! three Jockeys in his train;

Six huntsmen with a shout precede his chair;

He grins, and looks broad nonsense with a stare.

His honour'd meaning, Dulness thus exprest.

"He wins this Patron who can tickle best."

He chinks his purse, and takes his seat of state,

With ready quills the Dedicators wait,

Now at his head the dext'rous task commence,

And instant, fancy feels th' imputed sense;

Now gentle touches wanton o'er his face,

He struts Adonis, and affects grimace:

R_+ the feather to his ear conveys,

Then his nice taste directs our Operas:

_____ his mouth with Classic flatt'ry opes,

And the puft Orator bursts out in tropes.

But O_+ the Poet's healing balm

Strives to extract from his soft, giving palm;

Unlucky O_+ ! thy lordly master

The more thou ticklest, gripes his fist the faster.

While thus each hand promotes the pleasing pain,

And quick sensations skip from vein to vein,

A youth unknown to Phoebus, in despair,

Puts his last refuge all in Heav'n in Pray'r.

What force have pious vows? the Queen of Love

His Sister sends, her vot'ress, from above.

As taught by Venus, Paris learnt the art

To touch Achilles' only tender part,

Secure, thro' her, the noble prize to carry,

He marches off, his Grace's Secretary.

Now turn to diff'rent sports (the Goddess cries)

And learn, my sons, the wond'rous pow'r of Noise.

To move, to raise, to ravish ev'ry heart,

With Shakespear's nature, or with Johnson's art,

Let others aim: 'Tis yours to shake the soul

With Thunder rumbling from the mustard-bowl,

With horns and trumpets now to madness swell,

Now sink in sorrows with a tolling Bell.

Such happy arts attention can command,

When fancy flags, and sense is at a stand:

Improve we these. Three Cat-calls be the bribe

Of him, whose chatt'ring shames the Monkey tribe;

And his this Drum, whose hoarse heroic base

Drowns the loud Clarion of the braying Ass.

Now thousand tongues are heard in one loud din,

The Monkey-mimicks rush discordant in;

'Twas chatt'ring, grinning, mouthing, jabb'ring all,

And R_+, and railing, Brangling, and B_+,

D_+s and Dissonance; And captious art,

And snip-snap short, and interruption smart.

Hold (cry'd the Queen) ye all alike shall win,

Equal your merits, equal is your din;

But that this well-disputed game may end,

Sound forth my Brayers, and the welkin rend.

As when the long-ear'd, milky mothers wait

At some sick miser's triple-bolted gate,

For their defrauded, absent foals they make

A moan so loud, that all the Guild awake:

So sighs Sir G_+t, starting at the bray

From dreams of millions, and three groats to pay.

So swells each Windpipe; Ass intones to Ass,

Harmonic twang! of leather, horn, and brass:

Such as from lab'ring lungs th' Enthusiast blows,

High sounds, attempted to the vocal nose.

But far o'er all sonorous Bl_+ 's strain,

Walls, steeples, skies, bray back to him again:

In Tot'nham fields, the brethren with amaze

Prick all their ears up, and forget to graze;

Long Chanc'ry-lane retentive rolls the sound,

And courts to courts return it round and round;

Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring hall,

And H_+d re-ecchoes, bawl for bawl.

All hail him victor in both gifts of Song,

Who sings so loudly, and who sings so long.

This labor past, by Bridewell all descend,

(As morning pray'r and flagellation end.)

To where Fleetditch with disemboguing streams

Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames,

The King of Dykes! than whom, no sluice of mud

With deeper sable blots the silver flood.

'Here strip my children! here at once leap in!

'Here prove who best can dash thro' thick and thin,

'And who the most in love of dirt excel,

'Or dark dexterity of groping well.

'Who flings most mud, and wide pollutes around

'The stream, be his the _____ Journals, bound.

'A pig of lead to him who dives the best;

'A peck of coals a-piece shall glad the rest.

In naked majesty great D_+ stands,

And, Milo-like, surveys his arms and hands:

Then sighing, thus, "And am I now threescore?

"Ah why, ye Gods! should two and two make four?

He said, and climb'd a stranded Lighter's height,

Shot to the black abyss, and plung'd down-right.

The senior's judgment all the crowd admire,

Who but to sink the deeper, rose the higher.

Next E_+ div'd; slow circles dimpled o'er

The quaking mud, that clos'd and ope'd no more:

All look, all sigh, and call on E_+ lost;

E_+ in vain resounds thro' all the coast.

H_+ try'd the next, but hardly snatch'd from sight,

Instant buoys up, and rises into light;

He bears no token of the sabler streams,

And mounts far off, among the swans of Thames.

Far worse unhappy D_+r succeeds,

He search'd for coral, but he gather'd weeds.

True to the bottom, _____ and _____ creep,

Long-winded both, as natives of the deep,

This only merit pleading for the prize,

Nor everlasting Bl_+ this denies.

But nimbler W_+d reaches at the ground,

Circles in mud, and darkness all around,

No crab more active, in the dirty dance,

Downward to climb, and backward to advance;

He brings up half the bottom on his head,

And boldly claims the Journals and the Lead.

Sudden, a burst of thunder shook the flood,

Lo E_+ rose, tremendous all in mud!

Shaking the horrors of his fable brows,

And each ferocious feature grim with ooze.

Greater he looks, and more than mortal stares;

Then thus the wonders of the deep declares,

First he relates, how smking to the chin,

Smit with his mien, the Mudnymphs suck'd him in,

How young Lutetia softer than the down,

Nigrina black, and Merdamante brown,

Vy'd for his love in jetty bow'rs below;

As Hylas fair was ravish'd long ago.

Then sung how, shown him by the nutbrown maids

A branch of Styx here rises from the Shades,

That tinctur'd as it runs with Lethe's streams,

And wafting vapors from the Land of Dreams,

(As under seas Alphaeus' sacred sluice

Bears Pisa's offerings to his Arethuse)

Pours into Thames: Each City-bowl is full

Of the mixt wave, and all who drink grow dull.

How to the banks where bards departed doze,

They led him soft; how all the bards arose;

Taylor, sweet bird of Thames, majestic bows,

And Sh_+ nods the poppy on his brows;

While M_+n there, deputed by the rest,

Gave him the cassock, surcingle, and vest;

And "Take (he said) these robes which once were mine,

"Dulness is sacred in a sound Divine.

He ceas'd, and show'd the robe; the crowd confess

The rev'rend Flamen in his lengthen'd dress.

Slow mov'd the Goddess from the silver flood,

(Her Priest preceding) thro' the gates of Lud.

Her Criticks there she summons, and proclaims

A gentler exercise to close the games.

Hear you! in whose grave heads, as equal scales,

I weigh what author's heaviness prevails,

Which most conduce to sooth the soul in slumbers,

My H_+ 's periods, or my Bl_+ 's numbers?

Attend the trial we propose to make:

If there be man who o'er such works can wake,

Sleep's all-subduing pow'r who dares defy,

And boasts Ulysses' ear with Argus' eye;

To him we grant our amplest pow'rs to fit

Judge of all present, past, and future wit,

To cavil, censure, dictate, right or wrong,

Full, and eternal privilege of tongue.

Three Cambridge Sophs and three pert Templars came,

The same their talents, and their tastes the same;

Each prompt to query, answer, and debate,

And smit with love of poesie and prate.

The pond'rous books two gentle Readers bring;

The heroes sit; the vulgar form a ring.

The clam'rous crowd is hush'd with mugs of Mum,

'Till all tun'd equal, send a general hum.

Then mount the Clerks; and in one lazy tone,

Thro' the long, heavy, painful page, drawl on,

Soft creeping words on words the sense compose,

At e'vry line, they stretch, they yawn, they doze.

As to soft gales top-heavy pines bow low

Their heads, and lift them as they cease to blow,

Thus oft they rear, and oft the head decline,

As breathe, or pause, by fits, the airs divine.

And now to this side, now to that, they nod,

As verse, or prose, infuse the drowzy God.

Thrice B_+l aim'd to speak, but thrice supprest

By potent Arthur, knock'd his chin and breast.

C_+s and T_+d, prompt at Priests to jeer,

Yet silent bow'd to Christ's no kingdom here.

Who sate the nearest, by the word's o'ercome

Slept first, the distant nodded to the hum.

Then down are roll'd the books; stretch'd o'er 'em¦lies

Each gentle clerk, and mutt'ring seals his eyes.

As what a Dutchman plumps into the lakes,

One circle first, and then a second makes,

What dulness dropt among her sons imprest

Like motion, from one circle to the rest;

So from the mid-most the nutation spreads

Round, and more round, o'er all the sea of heads.

At last C_+re felt her voice to fail,

And _____ himself unfinish'd left his Tale.

T_+s and T_+ the church and state gave o'er,

Nor _____ talk'd, nor S_+ whisper'd more.

Ev'n N_+n, gifted with his mother's tongue,

Tho' born at Wapping, and from Daniel sprung,

Ceas'd his loud bawling breath, and dropt the head;

And all was hush'd, as Folly's self lay dead.

Thus the soft gifts of Sleep conclude the day,

And stretch'd on bulks, as usual, Poets lay.

Why should I sing what bards the Nightly Muse

Did slumbring visit, and convey to stews?

Or prouder march'd, with magistrates in state,

To some fam'd round-house, ever open gate!

How E_+ lay inspir'd beside a sink,

And to mere mortals seem'd a Priest in drink?

All others timely, to the neighbouring Fleet

(Haunt of the Muses) made their safe retreat.

End of the Second Book.

Notes

*
The Bible C_+l's
〈◊〉
.

↵

†
The Cross-keys L_+t's.
↵

‡
See Lucian's Icaro-Menippus.
↵

†
Joseph Gay, a fictitious name put by C_+l before several Pamphlets.
↵

THE DUNCIAD.
Book the THIRD.

BUT in her Temple's last recess inclos'd,

On Dulness' lap th' Anointed head repos'd.

Him close she curtain'd round with vapors blue,

And soft besprinkled with Cimmerian dew.

Then Raptures high the seat of sense o'erflow,

Which only heads refin'd from reason know:

Hence from the straw where Bedlam's Prophet nods,

He hears loud Oracles, and talks with Gods;

Hence the Fool's paradise, the Statesman's scheme,

The air-built Castle, and the golden Dream,

The Maids romantic wish, the Chymists flame,

And Poets vision of eternal fame.

And now, on Fancy's easy wing convey'd,

The King descended to th' Elyzian shade.

There in a dusky vale where Lethe rolls,

Old Bavius sits, to dip poetic souls,

And blunt the sense, and fit it for a skull

Of solid proof, impenetrably dull.

Instant when dipt, away they wing their flight,

Where [*] Brown and Mears unbar the gates of Light,

Demand new bodies, and in Calf's array

Rush to the world, impatient for the day.

Millions and millions on these banks he views,

Thick as the Stars of night, or morning dews,

As thick as bees o'er vernal blossoms fly,

As thick as eggs at W_+d in pillory.

Wond'ring he gaz'd: When lo! a Sage appears,

By his broad shoulders known, and length of ears,

Known by the band and suit which Settle wore,

(His only suit) for twice three years before.

All as the Vest, appear'd the wearers frame,

Old in new state, another, yet the same.

Bland and familiar as in life, begun

Thus the great Father to the greater Son.

Oh! born to see what none can see awake!

Behold the wonders of th' Oblivious Lake.

Thou, yet unborn, hast touch'd this sacred shore,

The hand of Bavius drench'd thee o'er and o'er.

But blind to former, as to future, Fate,

What mortal knows his pre-existent state?

Who knows how long, thy transmigrating soul

Did from Boeotian to Boeotian roll?

How many Dutchmen she vouchsaf'd to thrid?

How many stages thro' old Monks she rid?

And all who since, in mild benighted days,

Mix'd the Owl's ivy with the Poet's bays?

As Man's maeanders to the vital spring

Roll all their tydes, then back their circles bring;

Or whirligigs, twirl'd round by skilful swain,

Suck the thread in, then yield it out again:

All nonsense thus, of old or modern date,

Shall in thee centre, from thee circulate.

For this, our Queen unfolds to vision true

Thy mental eye, for thou hast much to view:

Old scenes of glory, times long cast behind,

Shall first recall'd, rush forward to thy mind;

Then stretch thy sight o'er all her rising reign,

And let the past and future fire thy brain.

Ascend this [*] hill, whose cloudy point commands

Her boundless Empire over seas and lands.

See round the Poles where keener spangles shine,

Where spices smoke beneath the burning Line,

(Earths wide extreams) her fable flag display'd;

And all the nations cover'd in her shade!

Far Eastward cast thy eye, from whence the Sun

And orient Science at a birth begun.

One man immortal all that pride confounds.

He, whose long Wall the wand'ring Tartar bounds.

[*] Heav'ns! what a pyle? whole ages perish there:

And one bright blaze turns Learning into air.

Thence to the South as far extend thy eyes;

There rival flames with equal glory rise,

From shelves to shelves [†] see greedy Vulcan roll,

And lick up all their Physick of the Soul.

How little, see! that portion of the ball,

Where faint at best the beams of science fall!

Against her throne, from Hyperborean skies,

In dulness strong, th' avenging Vandals rise;

Lo where Moeotis sleeps, and hardly flows

The freezing Tanais thro' a waste of snows,

The North by myriads pours her mighty sons,

Great nurse of Goths, of Alans, and of Huns.

See Alaric's stern port, the martial frame

Of Genseric, and Attila's dread name!

See! the bold Ostrogoths on Latium fall;

See! the fierce Visigoths on Spain and Gaul.

See! where the morning gilds the palmy shore,

(The soil that arts and infant letters bore)

His conq'ring tribes th' Arabian prophet draws.

And saving Ignorance enthrones by Laws.

See Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep;

And all the Western World believe and sleep.

Lo Rome herself, proud mistress now no more

Of arts, but thund'ring against Heathen lore;

Her gray-hair'd Synods damning books unread,

And Bacon trembling for his brazen Head.

Lo statues, temples, theatres o'erturn'd,

Oh glorious ruin! and _____ burn'd.

See'st thou an Isle, by Palmers, Pilgrims trod,

Men bearded, bald, cowl'd, uncowl'd, shod, unshod,

Peel'd, patch'd, and pieball'd, linsey-woolsey brothers

Grave mummers, sleeveless some, and shirtless others.

That once was Britain—Happy! had she seen

No fiercer sons, had [*] Easter never been.

In peace, great Goddess! ever be ador'd;

How keen the war, if dulness draw the sword?

Thus visit not thy own! on this blest age

Oh spread thy Influence, but restrain thy Rage!

And see my son, the hour is on its way

That lifts our Goddess to imperial sway:

This fav'rite Isle, long sever'd from her reign,

Dove-like, she gathers to her wings again.

Now look thro' Fate! behold the scene she draws!

What aids, what armies, to assert her cause!

See all her progeny, illustrious sight!

Behold, and count them as they rise to light.

As Berecynthia, while her offspring vye

In homage, to the mother of the sky,

Surveys around her in the blest abode

A hundred sons, and ev'ry son a God:

Not with less glory mighty Dulness crown'd,

Shall take thro' Grubstreet her triumphant round,

And all Parnassus glancing o'er at once,

Behold a hundred sons, and each a dunce.

Mark first the youth who takes the foremost place

And-thrusts his person full into your face.

With all thy Father's virtues blest, be born!

And a new C_+r shall the stage adorn.

See yet a younger, by his blushes known,

And modest as the maid who sips alone.

From the strong fate of drams if thou get free,

Another Durfey, _____ shall sing in thee.

For thee each Ale-house, and each Gill-house mourn,

And answ'ring Gin-shops sowrer sighs return.

Behold yon pair, in strict embraces join'd;

How like their manners, and how like their mind!

Fam'd for good nature, B_+ and for truth,

D_+ for pious passion to the youth.

Equal in wit, and equally polite,

Shall this a Pasquin, that a Grumbler write;

Like are their merits, like rewards they share,

That shines a Consul, this Commissioner.

Ah D_+ , G_+ ah! what ill-starr'd rage

Divides a friendship long confirm'd by age?

Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor,

But fool with fool is barb'rous, civil war.

Embrace, embrace my Sons! be foes no more!

Nor glad vile Poets with true Criticks gore.

See next two slip-shod Muses traipse along,

In lofty madness meditating song,

With tresses staring from poetic dreams,

And never wash'd, but in Castalia's streams.

H_+ and T_+ , glories of their race!

Lo H_+ck's fierce, and M_+ 's rueful face!

W_+n, the scourge of Scripture, mark with awe!

And mighty J_+b Blunderbus of Law!

Lo thousand thousand, ev'ry nameless name,

All crowd, who foremost shall be damn'd to fame;

How proud! how pale! how earnest all appear!

How rhymes eternal gingle in their ear!

Pass these to nobler sights: Lo H_+ stands

Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands,

How honey'd nonsense trickles from his tongue!

How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung!

Still break the benches, H_+ with thy strain,

While K_+ , Br_+, W_+ preach in vain

Round him, each Science by its modern type

Stands known; Divinity with box and pipe,

And proud Philosophy with breeches tore,

And English Musick with a dismal score:

While happier Hist'ry with her comrade Ale,

Sooths the sad series of her tedious tale.

Fast by, in darkness palpable inshrin'd

W_+s, B_+r, M_+n, all the poring kind,

A lumberhouse of Books in every head,

Are ever reading, and are never read.

But who is he, in closet close y-pent,

With visage from his shelves with dust besprent?

Right well mine eyes arede that myster wight,

That wonnes in haulkes and hernes, and H_+ he hight.

To future ages may thy dulness last,

As thou preserv'st the dulness of the past!

But oh! what scenes, what miracles behind?

Now stretch thy view, and open all thy mind.

He look'd, and saw a sable * seer arise,

Swift to whose hand a winged volume flies.

All sudden, gorgons hiss, and dragons glare,

And ten horn'd fiends, and giants, threaten war.

Hell rises, heav'n descends, to dance on earth:

Gods, monsters, furies, musick, rage and mirth;

A fire, a jig, a battel, and a ball,

'Till one wide conflagration swallows all.

Then a new world to nature's laws unknown,

Refulgent rises, with a heav'n its own:

Another Cynthia her new journey runs,

And other planets circle other suns:

The forests dance, the rivers upward rise,

Whales sport in woods, and dolphins in the skies;

And last, to give the whole creation grace,

Lo! one vast Egg produces human race.

Silent the monarch gaz'd; yet ask'd in thought

What God or Daemon all these wonders wrought?

To whom the Sire: In yonder cloud, behold,

Whose sarcenet skirts are edg'd with flamy gold,

A godlike youth: See Jove's own bolts he flings,

Rolls the loud thunder, and the light'ning wings!

Angel of Dulness, sent to scatter round

Her magic charms on all unclassic ground:

Yon stars, yon suns, he rears at pleasure higher,

Illumes their light, and sets their flames on fire.

Immortal R_+ch! how calm he sits at ease,

Mid snows of paper, and fierce hail of pease?

And proud his mistress' orders to perform,

Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

But lo! to dark encounter in mid air

New wizards rise: here B_+th, and C_+r there.

B_+th in his cloudy tabernacle shrin'd,

On grinning dragons C_+r mounts the wind:

Dire is the conflict, dismal is the din,

Here shouts all Drury, there all Lincoln's-Inn;

Contending Theatres our empire raise,

Alike their labours, and alike their praise.

And are these wonders, Son, to thee unknown?

Unknown to thee? These wonders are thy own.

These Fate reserv'd to grace thy reign divine,

Foreseen by me, but ah! with-held from mine.

In Lud's old walls tho' long I rul'd renown'd,

Far as loud Bow's stupendous bells resound;

Tho' my own Aldermen conferr'd my bays,

To me committing their eternal praise,

Their full-fed Heroes, their pacific May'rs,

Their annual trophies, and their monthly wars:

Tho' [†] long my Party built on me their hopes,

For writing Pamphlets, and for roasting Popes

(Different our parties, but with equal grace

Our Goddess smiles on Whig and Tory race,

'Tis the same rope at sev'ral ends they twist,

To Dulness, Ridpath is as dear as Mist.)

Yet lo! in me what Authors have to brag on!

Reduc'd at last to hiss in my own dragon.

Avert it, heav'n! that thou or C_+r e'er

Should wag two serpent tails in Smithfield sair.

Like the vile straw that's blown about the streets,

The needy Poet sticks to all he meets,

Coach'd, carted, trod upon, now loose, now fast,

In the Dog's tail his progress ends at last.

Happier thy fortunes! like a rolling stone

Thy giddy dulness still shall lumber on,

Safe in its heaviness, can never stray,

And licks up every blockhead in the way.

Thy dragons _____ and _____ shall taste,

And from each show rise duller than the last:

'Till rais'd from Booths to Theatre, to Court,

Her seat imperial Dulness shall transport.

(Already, Opera prepares the way,

The sure fore-runner of her gentle sway.)

To aid her cause, if heav'n thou canst not bend,

Hell thou shalt move; for Faustus is thy friend:

Pluto with Cato thou for her shalt join,

And link the Mourning-Bride to Proserpine.

Grubstreet! thy fall should men and Gods conspire,

Thy stage shall stand, ensure it but from Fire.

Another Aeschylus appears! prepare

For new [*] Abortions, all ye pregnant fair!

In flames like Semeles be brought to bed,

While opening Hell spouts wild-fire at your head.

Now Bavius take the poppy from thy brow,

And place it here! here all ye Heroes bow!

This, this is He, foretold by ancient rhymes,

Th' Augustus, born to bring Saturnian times!

Beneath his reign, shall E_+n wear the bays,

C_+r preside, Lord Chancellor of Plays,

B_+ sole judge of Architecture sit,

And A_+e P_+s be preferr'd for Wit!

I see th' unfinish'd Dormitory wall!

I see the Savoy totter to her fall!

The sons of Isis reel! the towns-mens sport;

And Alma Mater all dissolv'd in Port!

Then, when these signs declare the mighty Year,

When the dull Stars roll round, and re-appear;

Let there be darkness! (the dread pow'r shall say)

All shall be darkness, as it ne'er were Day;

To their first Chaos Wit's vain works shall fall,

And universal Dulness cover all!

No more the Monarch could such raptures bear▪

He wak'd, and all the Vision mix'd with air.

Notes

*
Booksellers.
↵

*
Heav'ns!
↵

*
Ho-am-ti. Emperor of China, the same who built the great wall between China and Tartary, destroyed all the books and learned men of that empire.
↵

†
The Caliph, Omar I. having conquer'd Aegypt, caus'd his General to burn the Ptolomaean library, on the gates of which was this inscription, Medicine Anintae.
↵

*
Wars in England anciently, about the right time of celebrating Easter.
↵

†

Settle was once famous for party papers, but very uncertain in his political principles. He was employ'd to hold the pen in the Character of a popish successor, but afterwards printed his Narrative on the contrary side.

He managed the ceremony and pageants at the burning of a famous Pope, and was at length employ'd in making the machinery at Bartholomew fair, where, in his old age he acted in a dragon of leather of his own invention.

↵

*
It is reported of Aeschylus that when his Tragedy of the Eumenides was acted, the audience were so terrified that the children fell into fits, and the bigbelly'd women miscarry'd. T_+d is translating this Author.
↵

Speedily will be Published The PROGRESS Of DULNESS, AN Historical POEM. By an Eminent Hand. Price 1s. 6d.

Information about this book

Title statement

The Dunciad: An heroic poem. In three books.

Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3671

ID [isbn10]

1106006704

ID [isbn13]

9781106006707

ID [TCP]

K023025.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3314388315

ID [ECLL]

0660300100

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The Dunciad: An heroic poem. In three books., Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744.. [2],viii,[2],51,[1]p. : ill. ; 12⁰. [London] :: Dublin, printed, London re-printed for A. Dodd,. 1728.. [Anonymous. By Alexander Pope.] [There was no earlier Dublin edition.] [With a half-title.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [Foxon, P764] [Griffith, 198] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT5537.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2p5.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

This electronic text file was keyed from page images and partially proofread for accuracy. Character capture and encoding have been done following the guidelines of the ECCO Text Creation Partnership, which correspond roughly to the recommendations found in Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file.