The Rape of the Lock and Other Major Writings: Poems and Other Writings (Penguin Classics)

by Alexander Pope

  And well dissembled em’rald on his hand,

  False as his gems, and cankered as his coins,

  350 Came, crammed with capon, from where Pollio dines.

  Soft, as the wily fox is seen to creep,

  Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep,

  Walk round and round, now prying here, now there,

  So he; but pious, whispered first his pray’r:

  ‘Grant, gracious Goddess! grant me still to cheat,

  O may thy cloud still cover the deceit!

  Thy choicer mists on this assembly shed,

  But pour them thickest on the noble head.

  So shall each youth, assisted by our eyes,

  360 See other Caesars, other Homers rise;

  Through twilight ages hunt th’ Athenian fowl

  Which Chalcis gods, and mortals call an owl;

  Now see an Attys, now a Cecrops clear,

  Nay, Mahomet! the pigeon at thine ear;

  Be rich in ancient brass, though not in gold,

  And keep his Lares, though his house be sold;

  To headless Phoebe his fair bride postpone,

  Honour a Syrian prince above his own;

  Lord of an Otho, if I vouch it true;

  370 Blest in one Niger, till he knows of two.’

  Mummius o’erheard him; Mummius, Fool-renowned,

  Who like his Cheops stinks above the ground,

  Fierce as a startled Adder, swelled and said,

  Rattling an ancient sistrum at his head:

  ‘Speak’st thou of Syrian princes? Traitor base!

  Mine, Goddess! mine is all the hornèd race.

  True, he had wit, to make their value rise;

  From foolish Greeks to steal them, was as wise;

  More glorious yet, from barb’rous hands to keep,

  380 When Sallee rovers chased him on the deep.

  Then taught by Hermes, and divinely bold,

  Down his own throat he risked the Grecian gold;

  Received each demigod with pious care,

  Deep in his entrails – I revered them there;

  I bought them, shrouded in that living shrine,

  And at their second birth, they issue mine.’

  ‘Witness great Ammon! by whose horns I swore,

  (Replied soft Annius) this our paunch before

  Still bears them, faithful; and that thus I eat,

  390 Is to refund the medals with the meat.

  To prove me, Goddess! clear of all design,

  Bid me with Pollio sup, as well as dine:

  There all the learn’d shall at the labour stand,

  And Douglas lend his soft, obstetric hand.’

  The Goddess smiling seemed to give consent;

  So back to Pollio, hand in hand, they went.

  Then thick as locusts black’ning all the ground,

  A tribe, with weeds and shells fantastic crowned,

  Each with some wond’rous gift approached the Pow’r,

  400 A nest, a toad, a fungus, or a flow’r.

  But far the foremost, two, with earnest zeal,

  And aspect ardent to the Throne appeal.

  The first thus opened: ‘Hear thy suppliant’s call,

  Great Queen, and common Mother of us all!

  Fair from its humble bed I reared this Flow’r,

  Suckled and cheered with air, and sun, and show’r,

  Soft on the paper ruff its leaves I spread,

  Bright with the gilded button tipped its head,

  Then throned in glass, and named it CAROLINE:

  410 Each maid cried, charming! and each youth, divine!

  Did Nature’s pencil ever blend such rays,

  Such varied light in one promiscuous blaze?

  Now prostrate! dead! behold that Caroline:

  No maid cries, charming! and no youth, divine!

  And lo the wretch! whose vile, whose insect lust

  Laid this gay daughter of the spring in dust.

  Oh punish him, or to th’ Elysian shades

  Dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.’

  He ceased, and wept. With innocence of mien

  420 Th’ accused stood forth, and thus addressed the Queen:

  ‘Of all th’ enamelled race, whose silv’ry wing

  Waves to the tepid zephyrs of the spring,

  Or swims along the fluid atmosphere,

  Once brightest shined this child of heat and air.

  I saw, and started from its vernal bow’r

  The rising game, and chased from flow’r to flow’r.

  It fled, I followed; now in hope, now pain;

  It stopped, I stopped; it moved, I moved again.

  At last it fixed, ’twas on what plant it pleased,

  430 And where it fixed, the beauteous bird I seized:

  Rose or carnation was below my care;

  I meddle, Goddess! only in my sphere.

  I tell the naked fact without disguise,

  And, to excuse it, need but show the prize

  Whose spoils this paper offers to your eye,

  Fair ev’n in death! this peerless Butterfly.’

  ‘My sons! (she answered) both have done your parts:

  Live happy both, and long promote our arts.

  But hear a mother, when she recommends

  440 To your fraternal care, our sleeping friends.

  The common soul, of Heav’n’s more frugal make,

  Serves but to keep fools pert, and knaves awake:

  A drowsy watchman, that just gives a knock,

  And breaks our rest, to tell us what’s o’clock.

  Yet by some object ev’ry brain is stirred;

  The dull may waken to a hummingbird;

  The most recluse, discreetly opened, find

  Congenial matter in the cockle-kind;

  The mind, in metaphysics at a loss,

  450 May wander in a wilderness of moss;

  The head that turns at superlunar things,

  Poised with a tail, may steer on Wilkins’ wings.

  ‘O! would the sons of men once think their eyes

  And Reason giv’n them but to study Flies!

  See Nature in some partial narrow shape,

  And let the Author of the Whole escape:

  Learn but to trifle; or, who most observe,

  To wonder at their Maker, not to serve.’

  ‘Be that my task (replies a gloomy Clerk,

  460 Sworn foe to Myst’ry, yet divinely dark;

  Whose pious hope aspires to see the day

  When Moral Evidence shall quite decay,

  And damns implicit faith, and holy lies,

  Prompt to impose, and fond to dogmatize).

  Let others creep by timid steps, and slow,

  On plain Experience lay foundations low,

  By common sense to common knowledge bred,

  And last, to Nature’s Cause through Nature led.

  All-seeing in thy mists, we want no guide,

  470 Mother of Arrogance, and Source of Pride!

  We nobly take the high priori Road,

  And reason downward, till we doubt of God:

  Make Nature still encroach upon his plan,

  And shove him off as far as e’er we can;

  Thrust some mechanic cause into his place,

  Or bind in matter, or diffuse in space.

  Or, at one bound o’er-leaping all his laws,

  Make God Man’s image, Man the final Cause,

  Find Virtue local, all Relation scorn,

  480 See all in Self, and but for self be born:

  Of naught so certain as our Reason still,

  Of naught so doubtful as of Soul and Will.

  Oh hide the God still more! and make us see

  Such as Lucretius drew, a god like thee:

  Wrapt up in Self, a god without a thought,

  Regardless of our merit or default.

  Or that bright Image to our fancy draw,

  Which Theocles in raptured visio
n saw,

  While through Poetic scenes the Genius roves,

  490 Or wanders wild in academic groves;

  That NATURE our Society adores,

  Where Tindal dictates, and Silenus snores.’

  Roused at his name, up rose the boozy sire,

  And shook from out his pipe the seeds of fire;

  Then snapped his box, and stroked his belly down:

  Rosy and rev’rend, though without a gown.

  Bland and familiar to the throne he came,

  Led up the Youth, and called the Goddess Dame.

  Then thus: ‘From priestcraft happily set free,

  500 Lo! ev’ry finished son returns to thee.

  First slave to words, then vassal to a name,

  Then dupe to party; child and man the same:

  Bounded by Nature, narrowed still by Art,

  A trifling head, and a contracted heart.

  Thus bred, thus taught, how many have I seen,

  Smiling on all, and smiled on by a Queen.

  Marked out for honours, honoured for their birth,

  To thee the most rebellious things on earth:

  Now to thy gentle shadow all are shrunk,

  510 All melted down, in pension, or in punk!

  So Kent, so Berkeley sneaked into the grave,

  A monarch’s half, and half a harlot’s slave.

  Poor Warwick nipped in Folly’s broadest bloom,

  Who praises now? his chaplain on his tomb.

  Then take them all, oh take them to thy breast!

  Thy Magus, Goddess! shall perform the rest.’

  With that, a WIZARD OLD his Cup extends,

  Which whoso tastes, forgets his former friends,

  Sire, ancestors, himself. Once casts his eyes

  520 Up to a Star, and like Endymion dies;

  A Feather shooting from another’s head

  Extracts his brain, and Principle is fled,

  Lost is his God, his country, ev’ry thing;

  And nothing left but homage to a King!

  The vulgar herd turn off to roll with hogs,

  To run with horses, or to hunt with dogs;

  But, sad example! never to escape

  Their infamy, still keep the human shape.

  But she, good Goddess, sent to ev’ry child

  530 Firm Impudence, or Stupefaction mild;

  And strait succeeded, leaving shame no room,

  Cibberian forehead, or Cimmerian gloom.

  Kind Self-conceit to some her glass applies,

  Which no one looks in with another’s eyes:

  But as the flatt’rer or dependant paint,

  Beholds himself a Patriot, chief, or saint.

  On others Int’rest her gay liv’ry flings,

  Int’rest, that waves on parti-coloured wings:

  Turned to the sun, she casts a thousand dyes,

  540 And, as she turns, the colours fall or rise.

  Others the syren sisters warble round,

  And empty heads console with empty sound.

  No more, alas! the voice of Fame they hear,

  The balm of Dullness trickling in their ear.

  Great Cowper, Harcourt, Parker, Raymond,

  King, Why all your toils? your sons have learned to sing.

  How quick Ambition hastes to ridicule!

  The sire is made a peer, the son a fool.

  On some, a priest succinct in amice white

  550 Attends; all flesh is nothing in his sight!

  Beeves, at his touch, at once to jelly turn,

  And the huge boar is shrunk into an urn:

  The board with specious miracles he loads,

  Turns hares to larks, and pigeons into toads.

  Another (for in all what one can shine?)

  Explains the sève and verdeur of the vine.

  What cannot copious sacrifice atone?

  Thy truffles, Perigord! thy hams, Bayonne!

  With French libation, and Italian strain,

  560 Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hays’s stain.

  Knight lifts the head, for what are crowds undone

  To three essential partridges in one?

  Gone ev’ry blush, and silent all reproach,

  Contending princes mount them in their coach.

  Next bidding all draw near on bended knees,

  The Queen confers her Titles and Degrees.

  Her children first of more distinguished sort,

  Who study Shakespeare at the Inns of Court,

  Impale a Glow-worm, or Vertù profess,

  570 Shine in the dignity of F. R. S.

  Some, deep Freemasons, join the silent race

  Worthy to fill Pythagoras’s place;

  Some Botanists, or Florists at the least,

  Or issue members of an annual feast.

  Nor past the meanest unregarded, one

  Rose a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.

  The last, not least in honour or applause,

  Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws.

  Then blessing all, ‘Go Children of my care!

  580 To Practice now from Theory repair.

  All my commands are easy, short, and full:

  My Sons! be proud, be selfish, and be dull.

  Guard my prerogative, assert my throne:

  This nod confirms each privilege your own.

  The cap and switch be sacred to his Grace;

  With staff and pumps the Marquis lead the race;

  From stage to stage the licensed Earl may run,

  Paired with his fellow-charioteer the Sun;

  The learned Baron butterflies design,

  590 Or draw to silk Arachne’s subtle line;

  The judge to dance his brother sergeant call;

  The Senator at cricket urge the ball;

  The Bishop stow (pontific luxury!)

  An hundred souls of turkeys in a pie;

  The sturdy Squire to Gallic masters stoop,

  And drown his lands and manors in a soup.

  Others import yet nobler arts from France,

  Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.

  Perhaps more high some daring son may soar,

  600 Proud to my list to add one monarch more;

  And nobly conscious, princes are but things

  Born for First Ministers, as slaves for kings,

  Tyrant supreme! shall three Estates command,

  And MAKE ONE MIGHTY DUNCIAD OF THE LAND!’

  More she had spoke, but yawned – all Nature nods:

  What mortal can resist the yawn of gods?

  Churches and chapels instantly it reached

  (St James’s first, for leaden Gilbert preached);

  Then catched the Schools; the Hall scarce kept awake;

  610 The Convocation gaped, but could not speak.

  Lost was the Nation’s Sense, nor could be found,

  While the long solemn unison went round.

  Wide, and more wide, it spread o’er all the realm;

  Ev’n Palinurus nodded at the helm;

  The vapour mild o’er each Committee crept;

  Unfinish’d treaties in each office slept,

  And chiefless armies dozed out the campaign,

  And navies yawned for orders on the main.

  O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone,

  620 Wits have short memories, and Dunces none)

  Relate, who first, who last resigned to rest;

  Whose heads she partly, whose completely blessed;

  What charms could Faction; what Ambition lull,

  The Venal quiet, and entrance the Dull;

  Till drowned was Sense, and Shame, and Right, and Wrong –

  O sing, and hush the nations with thy song!

  * * * * * *

  In vain, in vain, – the all-composing Hour

  Resistless falls: The Muse obeys the Pow’r.

  She comes! she comes! the sable Throne behold

  630 Of Night primaeval, and of Chaos old!

  Before
her, Fancy’s gilded clouds decay,

  And all its varying rainbows die away.

  Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires,

  The meteor drops, and in a flash expires,

  As one by one, at dread Medea’s strain,

  The sick’ning stars fade off th’ethereal plain;

  As Argus’ eyes by Hermes’ wand opprest

  Closed one by one to everlasting rest;

  Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,

  640 Art after Art goes out, and all is night.

  See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,

  Mountains of Casuistry heaped o’er her head!

  Philosophy, that leaned on Heav’n before,

  Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.

  Physic of Metaphysic begs defence,

  And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense!

  See Mystery to Mathematics fly!

  In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.

  Religion blushing veils her sacred fires,

  650 And unawares Morality expires.

  Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine;

  Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine!

  Lo! thy dread Empire, CHAOS! is restored;

  Light dies before thy uncreating word:

  Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall,

  And universal darkness buries all.

  FINIS

  PROSE WRITINGS

  FROM THE PREFACE TO THE ILIAD

  Homer is universally allowed to have had the greatest invention1 of any writer whatever. The praise of judgement Virgil has justly contested with him, and others may have their pretensions as to particular excellencies; but his invention remains yet unrivalled. Nor is it a wonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest of poets, who most excelled in that which is the very foundation of poetry. It is the invention that in different degrees distinguishes all great geniuses; the utmost stretch of human study, learning, and industry, which masters everything besides, can never attain to this. It furnishes Art with all her materials, and without it judgement itself can at best but steal wisely. For Art is only like a prudent steward that lives on managing the riches of Nature. Whatever praises may be given to works of judgement, there is not even a single beauty in them but is owing to the invention; as in the most regular gardens, however Art may carry the greatest appearance, there is not a plant or flower but is the gift of Nature. The first can only reduce the beauties of the latter into a more obvious figure, which the common eye may better take in and is therefore more entertained with. And perhaps the reason why most critics are inclined to prefer a judicious and methodical genius to a great and fruitful one is because they find it easier for themselves to pursue their observations through an uniform and bounded walk of Art than to comprehend the vast and various extent of Nature.