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Blind to ourselves, adopt each foreign Vice,
Behold, yon Wretch, by impious fashion driv'n, 75 Believes and trembles while he scoffs at Heav'n. By weakness strong, and bold thro' fear alone, He dreads the fncer by fhallow Coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod; To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God. 80
Faith, Justice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart is fold:
Ver. 80. T. Man a Coward, etc.)
Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,
BOILEAU, Ep. iii.
Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd ;
85 Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid. Thus Virtue finks beneath unnumber'd woes, When Paffions, born her friends, revolt her foes.
Hence SATIRE's pow'r: 'Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild disorders of the heart.
90 She points the arduous height where Glory lies, And teaches mad Ambition to be wise: In the dark bosom wakes the fair desire, Draws good from ill, a brighter flame from fire ; Strips black Oppreffion of her gay disguise, 95 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 Muse a vain imagin’d Pow'r, Tho'oft the mourn those ills she cannot cure. 100 The Worthy court her, and the Worthless 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 fway. Smarts, Pedants, as she smiles, no more are vain; 105 Desponding Fops resign the clouded cane :
Hush'd at her voice, pert Folly's self is still,
Ver. 110. From poys’nous Vice, etc ) Alluding to these
In the nice Bee what Art fo subtly true
Swift to redress an injur'd People's groan,
But with the friends of Vice, the foes of SATIRE, All truth is spleen; all just reproof, Ill-nature.
Well may they dread the Muse's fatal skill ; Well may they tremble when she draws her quill:Her magic quill, that, like ITHURIEL's spear, 135 Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear: Bids Vice and Folly take their natural shapes, Turns Duchesses to strumpets, Beaux to apes ; Drags the vile Whispårer from his dark abode, Till all the Dæmon starts up from the toad.
O sordid maxim, form'd to screen the vile, That true good-nature still must wear a smile! In frowns array'd her beauties stronger rise, When love of Virtue wakes her scorn of Vice : Where Justice calls, 'tis Cruelty to save; 145 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 :
To Guilt alone her vengeance ftands confind,
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 shame? 160 Oft SATIRE acts the faithful Surgeon's part; Gen'rous and kind tho' painful is her art: With caution bold, she only strikes to heal, Tho' Folly raves to break the friendly steel. Then sure no fault impartial SATIRE knows, 165 Kind ev’n in Vengeance, kind to Virtue's foes. Whose is the crime, the scandal too be theirs : The Knave and Fool are their own Libellers.