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.
Pope touches on quite a few themes and uses many formal tools in this one small passage. He suggests that nonsense written by the servants of Dulness is like a child crying, the result of a kind of creative birth. This idea was not uncommon during Pope's time, but Pope lends it a dark air by pairing this image with grotesque images of spawn and maggots. He writes that "Maggots, half-form'd, in rhyme exactly meet": in making less-than-fully formed ideas rhyme, authors trick unintelligent audiences into believing their work is better than it is. This suggests a potential use of verbal irony as Pope writes exclusively in rhyming couplets. However, he also uses wordplay and double meaning to show the layers of complexity within his work even as he mocks those who may use similar methods. "Poetic feet" here is used both to refer to the image of maggots, but also of metric feet used to describe the formal qualities of a poem. He also uses alliteration and consonance in "new-born nonsense" to give the poem a repetitive sound, much like the repetitive writings of plagiarizing writers or many identical maggots gathered together.
Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole;
How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug,
And suck'd all o'er like an industrious bug.
Here lay poor Fletcher's half-eat scenes, and here
The frippery of crucified Molière;
There hapless Shakespeare, yet of Tibbald sore,
Wish'd he had blotted for himself before.
Here, Pope delicately balances the seductive and dark qualities of Dulness in both his diction and form. He switches deftly between disturbing and pleasing imagery. He begins with "his eyes began to roll," conjuring images of death or even possession, but immediately follows this on the next line with "in pleasing memory." We as readers are jolted more strongly out of the unpleasant and into the appealing as a result of shifting into the next line. He also uses short syntactical fragments like "How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd" to again balance the reader between the delicate, polite, and artful, and the rogue, thieving, and disturbing—even within a single line. This goes on as we are met by words like "suck'd," "bug," and "half-eat," and "industrious," "frippery," and "wish'd." Pope elegantly shows the grotesque mix of creative artistic desire with a lack of artfulness and how potentially deadly and hypnotic this plagiarizing can be.
Now thousand tongues are heard in one loud din:
The monker mimics rush discordant in;
'T was chatt'ring, grinning, mouthing, jabb'ring all,
And noise and Norton, brangling and Breval,
Dennis and dissonance, and captious art,
And snipsnap short, and interruption smart,
And demonstration thin, and theses thick,
And Major, Minor, and Conclusion quick.
The discord described by this passage is mimicked in its diction, alliteration, and metrical choices. Alliteration like "monker mimics," "And noise and Norton," "brangling and Breval," "Dennis and dissonance," "snipsnap short," "thin, and theses thick," and "Major, Minor" creates a web of clashing and repeated sounds like one might hear in a rowdy crowd. The words themselves that are selected individually often have sharper and harsher sounds, often using many c's and t's to prevent a smoothing out of the passage so that the illusion of chaos is maintained. Similarly, words that break with traditional iambic metrical feet are used to disrupt what might be a fluid rhythm, such as "discordant," "interruption" and "Conclusion." This passage not only conveys the size and chaos of the gathering, but shows its hold over such a large array of people and figures that each converse and contribute in their own ways, which we can see in the asyndeton of "chatt'ring, grinning, mouthing, jabb'ring all," as well.
Long Chancery Lane retentive rolls the sound,
And courts to courts return it round and round;
Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring hall,
And Hungerford reëchoes bawl for bawl.
This moment is quite clearly about sound, but it also conveys something vital about geography and the literary world in England for Pope. The repetition ("courts to courts," "round and round," "bawl for bawl") used in this section suggests to the reader that there is an echoing quality to the sound, even before the word "reëchoes" appears. Even the word "reëchoes" doubles down on this recurrence by being the repetition of an already repeating sound. The landscape here is given power to direct the sound when we are told the Thames "wafts it thence," suggesting the environment is very much an active part of the literary and intellectual world in England, or lack thereof according to Pope. In addition, the echoes of sound and the circular sense we are given in this section by words like "rolls" and "round and round" show us either that the environment is very small or that it continues to double back onto itself in a circular manner. This tells us as readers that the print world for Pope has a kind of tight-knit interiority. Actions and trends, like those associated with Dulness, can have a tendency to circulate and grow within this community.
Soft creeping words on words the sense compose,
At ev'ry 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,
Here we see critics engaged in a difficult challenge: not falling asleep while the dullest and most laborious works are read aloud. While we as readers are meant to see the critics fighting against sleep, Pope invites us into the challenge by making his own words somnambulatory in nature. The repeated consonance of "s" and "w" sounds and the repeated assonance of "o" sounds make the passage softer and open the mouth much the way a yawn would. Even the reader, who may fight the appeals of Dulness, is forced to mimic sleepiness. Pope suggests that the allure and power of Dulness are difficult to fight, even when mediated by a speaker. The image of air in "blow" and "yawn" and "soft gales" is an image that is not just present here. Pope frequently evokes the symbol of wind, which might be alluding to the winds of Fate. Fate is a repeated concept in The Dunciad, and like the slumber which takes over the Critics and King Cibber, Pope suggests it may be impossible to fight.
But in her temple’s last recess enclosed,
On Dulness’ lap the anointed head reposed.
Him close the curtains round with vapours blue,
And soft besprinkles with Cimmerian dew.
While Pope draws heavily on the religious imagery of the Greeks and early Romans, referencing the likes of Jove, Venus, Cupid, and so on, he also refers to important Christian figures throughout his poem. Sometimes, these issues are faced head-on, but in this passage, we see a much subtler reference to a familiar Christian image. Here, the newly appointed King Cibber rests on the lap of Dulness. The image of the Virgin Mary holding Christ is one we see frequently, both in images of the Madonna and Child and in those following his crucifixion, like the Pieta. Not only is the new King Cibber, here representing Christ the King, resting on her lap, but his head is "anointed." This could reference baptism, the anointing of Christ by God, or the crown of thorns Jesus wore. One of the most definitive hints that Pope is making this reference, however, is the third line. Dulness wraps the new king in "vapours blue." Blue is not a color that appears very frequently in The Dunciad, unlike red or gold. Blue is a color representing divinity and the Virgin Mary is almost always depicted shrouded in blue and even wrapping the baby Jesus in her blue garments.
Yet, yet a moment, one dim ray of light
Indulge, dread Chaos, and eternal Night!
Of darkness visible so much be lent,
As half to show, half veil the deep intent.
These are the lines which begin Book IV of The Dunciad. The first line, much like the first line of Book III, is odd because it begins with a contradiction or qualifier: "yet." We feel as readers that we are being dropped into the action. No longer do the books operate as clearly distinct sections, but as the Chaos of Dulness seems to draw inexorably and inevitably closer to ruling Pope's England, we too are left to handle the "chaos" as the books blur together and their beginnings feel increasingly more like the middle of the action. This, also, is a different invocation than those we have seen so far. While the speaker has called on a Muse in Book I and even addressed a "you" (though whether this "you" is the reader or someone else is unclear), we have yet to see the speaker address Chaos and eternal Night until now. This may be another way of signaling that the danger is imminent enough now to be addressed directly, rather than simply symbolically. The speaker seems to appeal to Chaos using language it understands by asking it to "indulge," a habit to which Chaos is already prone. It is a successful invocation that allows the speaker enough room to create the largest book in Pope's mock-heroic yet. The speaker shows that a moment of light can only seek to make the darkness more terrifying, and it is this dichotomy of light and dark, clarity and haziness, that Pope uses frequently to instill discomfort in his audience. Techniques like this are why The Dunciad is thought of as a much darker and more ominous mock-epic than Pope's most famous work, The Rape of the Lock.
The gath'ring number, as it moves along,
Involves a vast involuntary throng,
Who gently drawn, and struggling less and less,
Roll in her vortex, and her power confess.
Not those alone who passive own her laws,
But who, weak rebels, more advance her cause:
Whate'er of mongrel no one class admits,
A Wit with Dunces, and a Dunce with Wits.
One of the fears that Pope clearly expresses in this mock-heroic is the growing swell of "dull" material and the idea that dull material produces more dull material in an endless and perhaps neverending cycle. This passage conveys this not only through imagery but by using rhetorical devices as well. The first four lines are written so as to pick up more clauses that cut through the basic components of the sentence. This creates the sense of gathering and growth as one progresses, much the way the lines describe the picking up of unsuspecting people. The last line, "A Wit with Dunces, and a Dunce with Wits," also invokes a kind of infinite reinforcement by using a rhetorical device known as chiasmus. Chiasmus is a rhetorical or literary figure in which words, grammatical constructions, or concepts are repeated in reverse order, in the same or a modified form. This creates a kind of connection or even cross-contamination for the reader that taps into the very fear that Pope feels. The creation of a strong intellectual life in England produces an even stronger intellectual life; the opposite, Pope illustrates, is also true.
Yet by some object ev'ry brain is stirr'd;
The dull may waken to a Humming-bird;
The most recluse, discreetly open'd, find
Congenial matter in the Cockle king;
The mind, in metaphysics at a loss,
May wander in a wilderness of Moss;
These lines, spoken by the Goddess of Dulness, include one very rare moment in The Dunciad, and that is the breaking of the perfectly rhymed couplets largely written in iambic pentameter. "The most recluse, discreetly open'd, find / Congenial matter in the Cockle king" does not rhyme and supples an eleven-syllable line, rather than a ten-syllable line. This couplet immediately follows a warning that the "dull may waken to a Humming-bird," as though this line were a test of the reader's own dullness and sensitivity to a text which has remained so constant in form up until this moment. We are then plunged immediately back into this comforting and familiar rhythm, however, as if the Goddess were trying to ensure her audience stayed dull. Pope writes these last two lines to be full of soothing "m" and "w" sounds, letters that even reflect each other visually, as if to make the most consistent and non-disruptive language possible, both to the ear and to the eye. We are told by Dulness in the poem's form that if we are "lost" or confused by this brief change, we can simply find comfort again in the predictable.
"O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone,
Wits have short memories, and Dunces none),
Relate who first, who last, resign'd to rest;
Whose heads she partly, whose completely blest;
What charms could Faction, what Ambition lull,
The venal quiet, and entrance the dull,
Till drown'd was Sense, and Shame, and Right, and Wrong;
O sing, and hush the nations with thy song!"
These lines, which come near the end of the Dunciad, signal an interesting change in the poem that we have not yet seen. Beginning with an apostrophe, "O Muse!," which now, unlike the apostrophe at the poem's start, feels much more helpless and desperate, it then sets up a poetic tone that is quite different. It asks for clarification and understanding of how Dulness has done what she has done with her powers. The narrative voice we are given up until this point is a third-person omniscient voice that seems to know all and is able to move between mythical and real-world spaces with ease. Previously, the speaker has been withholding, but never unknowing. Now we are faced with an inherent contradiction presented by Pope's poem. If Dulness has drowned "Sense, and Shame, and Right, and Wrong" for the figures in this story, how can a speaker that fervently believes in these principles, as Pope clearly does, understand their actions or what has befallen them. While the speaker may illustrate and decry these things in a satirical voice, eventually even this voice must admit that there is a small gap in their understanding. Once again, we see Pope juggling extremes, and this is evident even in these lines like "Relate who first, who last, resign'd to rest," but we are given no definitive answer.
