Page:The Dunciad - Alexander Pope (1743).djvu/148

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Book II.
The Dunciad.
117

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.[I 1] 410
At last Centlivre[R 1] felt her voice to fail,
Motteux himself unfinish'd left his tale,
Boyer the State, and Law the Stage gave o'er,[R 2]
Morgan and Mandevil could prate no more;

Remarks

    dicule indeed there is in every parody; but when the image is transferred from one subject to another, and the subject is not a poem burlesqued (which Scriblerus hopes the reader will distinguish from a burlesque poem) there the ridicule falls not on the thing imitated, but imitating. Thus, for instance, when
    Old Edward's armour beams on Cibber's breast,
    it is, without doubt, an object ridiculous enough. But I think it falls neither on old king Edward, nor his armour, but on his armour-bearer only. Let this be said to explain our Author's Parodies (a figure that has always a good effect in a mock epic poem) either from profane or sacred writers.

  1. Ver. 411. Centlivre] Mrs. Susanna Centlivre, wife to Mr. Centlivre, Yeoman of the Mouth to his Majesty. She writ many Plays, and a Song (says Mr. Jacob, vol. i. p. 32.) before she was seven years old. She also writ a Ballad against Mr. Pope's Homer, before he begun it.
  2. Ver. 413. Boyer the State, and Law the Stage gave o'er,] A. Boyer, a voluminous compiler of Annals, Political Collections, &c.—William Law A.M. wrote with great zeal against the Stage; Mr. Dennis answered with as great: Their books were printed in 1726. Mr. Law affirmed, that "The playhouse is the temple of the Devil; the peculiar pleasure of the Devil; where all they who go, yield to the Devil; where all the laughter is a laughter among Devils; and all who are there are hearing Music in the very Porch of Hell." To which Mr. Dennis replied, that "There is every jot as much difference

Imitations

  1. Ver. 410. O'er all the sea of heads.]
    A waving sea of heads was round me spread,
    And still fresh streams the gazing deluge fed
    .Blackm. Job.