« הקודםהמשך »
Was there a Chief but melted at the Sight?
groan, And shook the stage with Thunders all his own! Stood up to dash each vain PRETENDER’s hope, Maul the French Tyrant, or pull down the Pope! If there's a Briton then, true bred and born, 19 Who holds Dragoons and wooden shoes in scorn;
N o T E s. VER. 7. Was there a Chief, etc.] The fine figure of the Commander in that capital Picture of Belisarius at Chiswick, supplied the Poet with this beautiful idea
VER. 12. Their Quibbles routed, and defy'd their Puns ;) See Dunciad, Note on v. 63. B. I.
VER. 13. A desp’rate Bulwark, etc.] See Duncial, Note on V, 268. B. II.
Ver. 16. And hook the Stage with Thunders all his own!] See Dunciad, Note on v. 226. B. II.
VER. 17. Stood up to dab, etc.) See Dunciad, Note on v. 173. B. III.
Ver. 18. Maul the French Tyrant-] See Dunciad, Note ON V. 413. B. II.
Ibid. or pull down the Pope!) See Dunciad, Note on v. 63.
If there's a Critic of distinguish'd rage ;
NOTE s. Ver. 21. If there's a critic of difinguish'd rage.] See Dun. ciad, Notes on v. 106. B. I.
M A CER:
CH A R A C T E R.
HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown,
First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town, Twas all th’ Ambition his high foul could feel, To wear red Stockings, and to dine with Steel. Some Ends of verse his betters might afford, 5 And
gave the harmless fellow a good word. Set
up with these, he ventur'd on the Town, And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crown. There he stop'd short, nor since has writ a tittle, But has the wit to make the most of little : Like stunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got Sufficient Sap at once to bear and rot. Now he begs Verse, and what he gets commends, Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends.
14 Sosome coarse Country Wench, almost decay'd, Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid;
Aukward and supple, each devoir to pay;
24 Now nothing left, but wither’d, pale, and shrunk, To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.
To Mr. JOHN MOORE, AUTHOR of the celebrated Worm
OW much, egregious Moore, are we,
Deceiv'd by shews and forms ! Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee,
All Humankind are Worms.
Man is a very Worm by birth;
Vile, Reptile, weak, and vain! A while he crawls
the earth, Then Ihrinks to earth again.
That Woman is a Worm, we find
E’er since our Grandame's evil;
That ancient Worm, the Devil.
The Learn'd themselves we Book-worms name,
The Blockhead is a Slow-worm; The Nymph whose tail is all on fame,
Is aptly term'd a Glow-worm :