Page:The Dunciad - Alexander Pope (1743).djvu/108

Book II. Or that where on her Curls the Public pours, All-bounteous, fragrant Grains and Golden show'rs, Great Cibber sate: The proud Parnassian sheer, The conscious simper, and the jealous leer, Mix on his look: All eyes direct their rays On him, and crowds turn Coxcombs as they gaze. His Peers shine round him with reflected grace, New edge their dulness, and new bronze their face. So from the Sun's broad beam, in shallow urns Heav'ns twinkling Sparks draw light, and point their horns. Not with more glee, by hands Pontific crown'd, With scarlet hats wide-waving circled round, Rome in her Capitol saw Querno sit, Thron'd on sev'n hills, the Antichrist of wit. And now the Queen, to glad her sons, proclaims By herald Hawkers, high heroic Games. They summon all her Race: 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: