Page:The Dunciad - Alexander Pope (1743).djvu/147

116 As to soft gales top-heavy pines bow low Their heads, and lift them as they cease to blow: Thus oft they rear, and oft the head decline, As breathe, or pause, by fits, the airs divine. And now to this side, now to that they nod, As verse, or prose, infuse the drowzy God. Thrice Budgel aim'd to speak, but thrice supprest By potent Arthur, knock'd his chin and breast. Toland and Tindal, prompt at priests to jeer, Yet silent bow'd to Christ's No kingdom here. Who sate the nearest, by the words o'ercome, Slept first; the distant nodded to the hum. Then down are roll'd the books; stretch'd o'er 'em lies Each gentle clerk, and mutt'ring seals his eyes. As what a Dutchman plumps into the lakes, One circle first, and then a second makes;