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With rapture hears corrupted Paffion's call,
Still proudly prone to mingle with the ftall,
As each deceitful fhadow tempts his view,
He for the imag'd Subftance quits the true;
Eager to catch the vifionary Prize,
In quest of Glory plunges deep in Vice;
'Till madly zealous, impotently vain,
He forfeits ev'ry Praise he pants to gain.



Thus ftill imperious NATURE plies her part;
And still her Dictates work in ev'ry heart.
Each Pow'r that fov'reign Nature bids enjoy,
Man may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy,
Like mighty rivers, with refiftless force

The Paffions rage, obftructed in their course;
Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore,
And drown those Virtues which they fed before. 60


And fure, the deadlieft Foe to Virtue's flame,
Our worst of Evils, is perverted Shame.
Beneath this load what abject numbers groan,
Th' entangled Slaves to folly not their own!
Meanly by fashionable fear opprefs'd,

We feek our Virtues in each other's breaft;
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 Chace, 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 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 purfues the path Spinoza trod; To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God.


Faith, Juftice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to falfe Fame the captiv'd heart is fold: Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd; Nought could fubdue his Virtue, but his Pride.


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 chafte 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.



Hence SATIRE's pow'r: 'Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild disorders of the heart. 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 difguife, And bids the Hag in native horror rise; Strikes tow'ring Pride and lawlefs Rapine dead, And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head.

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Nor boafts the Mufe a vain imagin'd Pow'r,
Tho' oft fhe mourn those 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 fway.
Smarts, Pedants, as fhe fmiles, no more are vain; 105
Defponding Fops refign the clouded cane :

Hufh'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 moft fubtly true,
From pois'nous Vice fhe draws a healing dew: 110
Weak are the ties that civil arts can find,
To quell the ferment of the tainted mind:
Cunning evades, fecurely wrapt in wiles;
And Force ftrong-finew'd rends th' unequal toils:
The ftream 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 Wife;
The Crowd with laughter fpurns her awful train,
And Mercy courts, and Juftice frowns in vain. 180
But SATIRE's fhaft can pierce the harden'd breast:
She plays a ruling Paffion on the reft:
Undaunted ftorms the batt'ry of his pride,

And awes the Brave that Earth and Heav'n defy'd.
When fell Corruption, by her vaffals crown'd, 125

Derides fall'n Juftice proftrate on the ground;
Swift to redrefs 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.



VER. 110. From pois'nous Vice, etc.] Alluding to these

Lines of Mr. Pope;

"In the nice Bee what Art so subtly true

"From pois'nous Herbs extracts a healing Dew?

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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 natʼral shapes, Turns Ducheffes to ftrumpets, Beaux to apes; Drags the vile Whifp'rer from his dark abode, 'Till all the Dæmon starts up from the toad.


O fordid maxim, form'd to skreen the vile, That true good-nature still muft wear a smile! In frowns array'd her beauties stronger rise, When love of Virtue wakes her fcorn of Vice: Where Juftice 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: To Guilt alone her vengeance stands confin'd, The object of her love is all Mankind. Scarce more the friend of Man, the wife muft own, Ev'n ALLEN's bounteous hand, than SATIRE's frown: This to chaftife, as That to blefs, was giv'n; Alike the faithful Minifters of Heav'n.



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