Blind to ourselves, adopt each foreign Vice,
Another's weakness, int'reft, or caprice.
Each Fool to low Ambition, poorly great,
That pines in fplendid wretchedness of state,
Tir'd in the treach'rous Chafe, would nobly yield,
And, but for Shame, like SYLLA, quit the field:
The Dæmon Shame paints ftrong the ridicule,
And whispers clofe," the World will call you

70

Fool."

Behold, yon Wretch, by impious fashion driv'n, 75 Believes and trembles while he fcoffs at Heav'n. By weakness strong, and bold thro' fear alone, He dreads the fneer by fhallow Coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod ;

To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God.

80

Faith, Juftice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to falfe Fame the captiv'd heart is sold :

IMITATIONS.

VER. 80. To Man a Coward, etc.]

Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,

Qui preche contre un Dieu que dans fon Ame il croit?
Il iroit embraffer la Verité, qu'il voit ;

Mais de fes faux Amis il craint la Raillerie,
Et ne brave ainfi Dieu que par Poltronnerie.

BOILEAU, Ep. iii.

Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd;
Nought could fubdue his Virtue, but his Pride.
Hence chaste Lucretia's Innocence betray'd
Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid.
Thus Virtue finks beneath unnumber'd woes,
When Paffions, born her friends, revolt her foes.

85

Hence SATIRE's pow'r: 'Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild diforders of the heart. 90 She points the arduous height where Glory lies, And teaches mad Ambition to be wife: In the dark bofom wakes the fair defire, Draws good from ill, a brighter flame from fire; Strips black Oppreffion of her gay disguise, And bids the Hag in native horror rise; Strikes tow'ring Pride and lawless Rapine dead, And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head.

Nor boasts the Mufe a vain imagin'd Pow'r,
Tho' oft the mourn thofe ills fhe cannot cure.
The Worthy court her, and the Worthlefs fear;
Who fhun her piercing eye, that eye revere.
Her awful Voice the Vain and Vile obey,

And ev'ry Foe to Wisdom feels her sway.

95

100

Smarts, Pedants, as fhe fmiles, no more are vain; 105 Defponding Fops refign the clouded cane:

Hush'd at her voice, pert Folly's felf is ftill,
And Dulness wonders while fhe drops her quill.
Like the arm'd BEE, with art most subtly true,

From poys'nous Vice she draws a healing dew: 110
Weak are the ties that civil arts can find,

115

To quell the ferment of the tainted mind:
Cunning evades, fecurely wrapt in wiles;
And force ftrong-finew'd rends th' unequal toils:
The stream of vice impetuous drives along,
Too deep for Policy, for Pow'r too strong.
Ev'n fair Religion, Native of the Skies,
Scorn'd by the Crowd, feeks refuge with the Wise;
The Crowd with laughter fpurns her awful train,
And Mercy courts, and Juftice frowns in vain.
But SATIRE's fhaft can pierce the harden'd breast:
She plays a ruling passion on the reft:
Undaunted ftorms the batt'ry of his pride,

120

And awes the Brave that Earth and Heav'n defy'd. When fell Corruption, by her vaffals crown'd, 125 Derides fall'n Justice proftrate on the ground;

IMITATIONS.

VER. 110. From poys'nous Vice, etc] Alluding to thefe Lines of Mr Pope;

In the nice Bee what Art fo fubtly true

From poys'nous Herbs extracts a healing Dew?

Swift to redress an injur'd People's groan,

Bold SATIRE fhakes the Tyrant on her throne;
Pow'rful as Death, defies the fordid train,

And Slaves and Sycophants furround in vain. 130

But with the friends of Vice, the foes of SATIRE, All truth is spleen; all just reproof, Ill-nature.

Well may they dread the Mufe's fatal skill; Well may they tremble when she draws her quill: Her magic quill, that, like ITHURIEL's fpear, 135 Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear: Bids Vice and Folly take their natural fhapes, Turns Ducheffes to ftrumpets, Beaux to apes; Drags the vile Whisp'rer from his dark abode, Till all the Dæmon starts up from the toad.

O fordid maxim, form'd to fcreen the vile,
That true good-nature still must wear a smile!
In frowns array'd her beauties ftronger rife,
When love of Virtue wakes her fcorn of Vice:
Where Justice calls, 'tis Cruelty to fave;
And 'tis the Law's good-nature hangs the Knave.
Who combats Virtue's foe is Virtue's friend:
Then judge of SATIRE's merit by her end:

140

145

150

To Guilt alone her vengeance ftands confin'd,
The object of her love is all Mankind.
Scarce more the friend of Man, the wife must own
Ev'nALLEN's bounteous hand,than SATIRE's frown:
This to chastise, as That to bless, was giv'n;
Alike the faithful Minifters of Heav'n.

160

Oft in unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent : 155 Tho' strong th' example, weak the punishment. They least are pain'd, who merit satire most ; Folly the Laureat's, Vice was Chartres' boast: Then where's the wrong, to gibbet high the name Of Fools and Knaves already dead to fhame? Oft SATIRE acts the faithful Surgeon's part; Gen'rous and kind tho' painful is her art: With caution bold, fhe only ftrikes to heal, Tho' Folly raves to break the friendly steel. Then fure no fault impartial SATIRE knows, 165 Kind ev'n in Vengeance, kind to Virtue's foes. Whofe is the crime, the scandal too be theirs: The Knave and Fool are their own Libellers.