Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Here you will find the Long Poem The Court of Dulness of poet Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

The Court of Dulness

Her palace plac'd beneath a muddy road, 
And such the influence of the dull abode, 
The carrier's horse above can scarcely drag his load. 
Here chose the goddess her belov'd retreat, 
Which Phoebus tries in vain to penetrate; 
Adorn'd within with shells of small expense, 
(Emblems of tinsel rhyme and trifling sense), 
Perpetual fogs enclose the sacred cave, 
The neighbouring sinks their fragrant odours gave; 
In contemplation here she pass'd her hours, 
Closely attended by subservient powers: 
Bold Profanation with a brazen brow, -- 
Much to this great ally does Dulness owe: 
But still more near the goddess you attend, 
Naked Obscenity! her darling friend. 
To thee for shelter all the dull still fly, 
Pert double meanings e'en at school we try. 
What numerous writers owe their praise to thee, 
No sex -- no age -- is from thy influence free; 
By thee how bright appears the senseless song, 
By thee the book is sold, the lines are strong. 
The heaviest poet, by thy pow'rful aid, 
Warms the brisk youth and charms the sprightly maid; 
Where breathes the mortal who's not prov'd thy force 
In well-bred pun, or waiting-room discourse? 
Such were the chiefs who form'd her gloomy court, 
Her pride, her ornaments, and her support: 
Behind attended such a numerous crowd 
Of quibbles strain'd old rhymes, and laughter loud, 
Throngs that might even make a goddess proud. 
Yet pensive thoughts lay brooding in her breast, 
And fear, the mate of pow'r, her mind oppress'd. 
Oft she revolv'd -- for oh, too well she knew 
What Merlin sung, and part long since prov'd true, 
"When Harry's brows the diadem adorn 
From Reformation Learning shall be born; 
Slowly in strength the infant shall improve, 
The parents' glory and its country's love: 
Free from the thraldom of monastic rhymes, 
In bright progression bless succeeding times; 
Milton free poetry from the monkish chain, 
And Addison that Milton shall explain; 
Point out the beauties of each living page; 
Reform the taste of a degen'rate age; 
Show that true wit disdains all little art, 
And can at once engage and mend the heart; 
Knows even popular applause to gain, 
Yet not malicious, wanton, or profane." 
This prophecy perplex'd her anxious head; 
And, yawning thrice, thus to her sons she said: 
"When such an author honour'd shall appear, 
'Tis plain, the hour of our destruction's near! 
And public rumour now aloud proclaims 
At universal monarchy he aims. 
What to this hero, whom shall we oppose? 
A strong confederacy of stupid foes -- 
Such brave allies as are by nature fit 
To check the progress of o'erflowing wit; 
Where envy and where impudence are join'd 
To contradict the voice of humankind, 
At Dacier's ignorance shall gravely smile, 
And blame the coarseness of Spectator's style; 
Shall swear that Tickell understands not Greek, 
That Addison can't write, nor Walpole speak." 
Fir'd by this project Profanation rose -- 
"One leader, Goddess, let me here propose; 
In a near realm, which owns thy gentle sway, 
My darling son now chants his pleasing lay, 
Trampling on order, decency, and laws, 
And vaunts himself the champion of my cause. 
Him will I bring to teach the callow youth 
To scorn dry morals -- laugh at sacred truth. 
All fears of future reckonings he shall quench, 
And bid them bravely drink and freely wench. 

By his example much, by precept more, 
There learn 'tis wit to swear, and safe to whore. 
* * * * * * 
Mocks Newton's schemes, and Tillotson's discourse, 
And imitates the virtues of a horse. 
With this design to add to his renown, 
He wears the rev'rend dress of band and gown." 
The Goddess, pleas'd, bestow'd a gracious grin, 
When thus does fair Obscenity begin: 
"My humbler subjects are not plac'd so high, 
They joke in kitchens, and in cellars ply; 
Yet one I have, bred in those worthy schools, 
Admir'd by shoals of male and female fools; 
In ballads what I dictate he shall sing, 
And troops of converts to my banners bring. 
Bold in my cause, and most profoundly dull, 
With smooth unmeaning rhymes the town shall lull; 
Shall sing of worms in great Arbuthnot's strain, 
In lewd burlesque the sacred Psalms profane; 
To maids of honour songs obscene address, 
Nor need we doubt his wonderful success. 
Long have I watch'd this genius yet unknown, 
Inspir'd his rhyme, and mark'd him for my own; 
His early youth in superstition bred, 
And monkish legends all the books he read. 
Tinctur'd by these, proceeds his love of rhyme, 
Milton he scorns, but Crambo thinks divine. 
And oh! 'tis sure (our foes confess this truth) 
The old Cambronians yield to this stupendous youth. 
But present want obscures the poet's name, 
Be it my charge to talk him into f