In every breaft there burns an active flame,
The Love of Glory, or the Dread of Shame:
The Paffion One, though various it appear,
As brighten'd into Hope, or dimm'd by Fear.
The lifping Infant, and the hoary Sire,

And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire:
The Charms of Praife the Coy, the Modeft woo,
And only fly, that Glory may purfue

She, Power refiflefs, rules the wife and great;
Bends ev'n reluctant Hermits at her feet;
Haunts the proud City, and the lowly Shade
And fways alike the Sceptre and the Spade.

Thus Heaven in Pity wakes the friendly Flame,
To urge Mankind on Deeds that merit b'ame;
But Man, vain Man, in Folly only wife,
Rejects the Manna fent him from the Skies;
With raptures hears corrupted Paffion's call,
Still proudly prone to mingle with the stall.
As each deceitful Shadow 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 every Praife he pants to gain.

Thus ftill imperious Nature plies her part;
And ftill her Dictates work in every heart.
Each Power that fovereign 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 thofe virtues which they fed before.

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Nor boafts the Mase a wain imagin'd Power,
Though oft the mourns thofe ills the cannot cure. 100
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 every foe to Wiftom feels her fway.

45 Smarts, Pedants, as the (miles, no more are vain; 105
Defponding Fops refign the clouded cane;

Huth'd at her voice, pert Folly's felf is still,
And Dulnefs wonders while the drops her quill.
Like the arm'd Bee, with art moft fubtly true,

59 From poifonous Vice the draws a healing dew: 110
Weak are the ties that civil arts can find,
To quell the ferment of the tainted mind:
Canning evades, fecurely wrapp'd in wiles!

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And fure, the deadliest 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, intereft, or caprice.
Each Fool to low Ambition, poorly great,
That pines in fplendid wretchednefs of state,
Tir'd in the treacherous Chafe, would nobly yield,
And, but for shame, like Sylla, quit the field:
The Dæmon Shame paints ftrong the ridicule,
And whispers close, «The World will call you Fool."

Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driven,
Believes and trembles, while he fcoffs at Heaven.
By weakness strong, and bold through 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,

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And Force, Arong finew'd, rends th' unequal toils;
The ftream of Vice impetuous drives along,
Too deep for Policy, for Power too strong.
Ev'n fair Religion, Native of the skies,
Scorn'd by the Crowd, feeks refuge with the Wife;
The Crowd with laughter (purns her awful train,
And Mercy courts, and Justice frowns in vain.
But Satire's Shaft can pierce the harden'd breast:
She plays a ruling Paffion on the reft:
Undaunted forms the batt'ry of his pride,
And awes the Brave that Earth and Heaven defy'd.
When fell Corruption, by her vaffals crown'd,
Derides fall'n Jugice proftrate on the ground;
Swift to redress an injur'd People's groan,
Bold Satire shakes the Tyrant on her throne;
Powerful as Death, defies the fordid train,
And Slaves and Sycophants furround in vain.

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But with the friends of Vice, the foes of Satire, All truth is Spleen; ail just reproof, Ill-nature.

Well may they dread the Mufe's fatal skill;

Well may they tremble when the draws her quill:
Her magic quill, that, like Ithuriel's (pear,
Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear
Bids Vice and Folly take their natural shapes,
Turns Ducheffes to ftrumpets, Beauxs to apes;
Drags the vile Whisperer 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 ftill must wear a fmile!
In frowns array'd her beauties stronger rife,
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.
85 Who combats Virtue's foe is Virtue's friend;
Then judge of Satire's merit by her end :
To Guilt alone her vengeance ftands confin'd,
The object of her love is all Mankind.

Faith, Juftice, Heaven itself now quit their hold,
When to falfe Fame the captive Hear: is fold:
Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd ;
Nought could fubdue his Virtue, but his Pride.
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, reyolt her foes.

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Nor fondly deem the real fool confeft,
Becaufe blind Kidicule conceives a jeft:
Before whose altar Virtue oft hath bled,
And oft a destin'd victim shall be led :
Lo Shaftsbury rears her high on Reafon's throne,
And loads the Slaye with honours not her own: 200
Big-fwoln with folly, as her fmiles provoke,
Prophanenefs fpawns, pert Dunces nurfe the joke!
Come, let us join a while this tittering crew,
And own the Ideat Guide for once is true;
Deride our weak forefathers' musty rule,
Who therefore fmil'd, because they faw a Fool;
Sublimer logic now adorns our isle,

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Let no unworthy mein her form debase,
But let her fmile, and let her frown with grace:
In mirth be temperate, temperate in her spleen;
Nor, while the preaches modefty, obfcene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a fore,
Nor call his Lordship, her Grace a ----
The Mufe's charms refiftless then affail,
When wrapp'd in Irony's tranfparent veil;
Her beauties half-conceal'd, the more furprife,
And keener luftre fparkles in her eyes.
Then be your line with fharp encomiums grac'd
Style Clodius honourable, Bufa chafte.

Dart not on Folly an indignant eye;

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Who e'er difcharg'd Artillery on a Fly?
Deride not Vice; Abfurd the thought and vain,
To bind the Tiger in fo weak a chain.
Nay more; when flagrant crimes your laughter move,
The Knave exults: to fmile, is to approve.
The Mufe's labour then fuccefs fhall crown,
When Folly feels her fmile, and Vice her frown.

275

Know next what measures to each Theme belong,
And fuit your thoughts and numbers to your fong
On wing proportion'd to your quarry rife,
And ftoop to earth, or foar among the skies.
Thus when a modish folly you rehearse,

Free the expreffion, fimple be the verfe.
In artless numbers paint th' ambitious Peer,
That mounts the box, and shines a Charioteer:
In ftrains familiar fing the midnight toil
Of Camps and Senates difciplin'd by Hoyle;
Patriots and Chiefs, whofe deep defign invades,
Aed carries off the captive King-of Spades!
Let Satire here in milder vigour shine,
And gayly graceful fport along the line;
Bid courtly paffion quit her thin pretence,
And fmile each Affectation into fenfe.

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She wounds reluctant pours her balm with joy;
Glad to commend where worth attracts her eye.
Butchief, when Virtue, Learning, Arts decline,
She joys to fee unconquer'd merit shine;
Where bursting glories, with departing ray,
True Genius gilds the clofe of Britain's Day:
With joy fhe fees the stream of Roman art,
From Murray's tongue flow purer to the heart:
Sees York to fame, ere yet to Manhood known, 325
And just to every virtue, but his own;

Hears unftain'd Cam with generons pride proclaim,
A Sage's, Critic's, and and a Poet's name :
Beholds, where Widcombe's happy hills afcend,
Each orphan'd Art and Virtue find a friend:
To Hagley's honour'd shade directs her view;
And cuils each flower to form a Wreath for you.

330

But tread with cautious fteps this dangerous ground,
Befet with faithlefs precipices round

Truth be your guide: difdain Ambition's call; 335
And if you fall with Truth, you greatly fall.
'Tis Virtue's native luftre that must shine;
The Poet can but fet it in his line:
And who unmov'd with laughter can behold
A fordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?
Let real Merit then adorn your lays,
For fhame attends on prostituted praife
And all your wit, your moft diftinguish'd art,
But makes us grieve you want an honeft heart.

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Nor think the Mufe by Satire's Law confin'd: 345
She yields defcription of the noblest kind.
Inferior art the Landscape may design,
And paint the purple evening in the line:
Her daring thought effays a higher plan;
Her hand delieneates Paffion, pictures Man.
290 And great the toil, the latent foul to trace,
To paint the heart, and catch internal grace;
By turns bid Vice or Virtue ftrike our eyes,
Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwell rife;
Now, with a touch more facred and refin'd,
Call forth a Chesterfield's or a Lonsdale's mind.
Here fweet or ftrong may every Colour flow,
Here let the pencil warm, the canvass glow:
Of light and fhade provoke the noble ftrife,
And wake each ftriking feature into life.

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Not fo when Virtue by her Guards betray'd,
Spurn'd from her Throne, implores the Mufe's aid;
When crimes, which erft in kindred darknefs lay, 295
Rife frontlefs, and infult the eye of day;
Indignant Hymen veils his hallow'd fires,
And white-rob'd Chastity with tears retires;
When rank Adultery on the genial bed
Hot from Cocytus rears her baleful head:
When private Faith and public Trust are fold,
And Traitors barter Liberty for gold:
When fell Corruption dark and deep, like fate,
Saps the foundation of a ficking State:
When Giant-Vice and Irreligion rife,
On mountain'd falfehoods to invade the fkies:
Then warmer numbers glow through Satire's page,
And all her fmiles are darken'd into rage:
On eagle-wing the gains Parnaffus' height,
Not lofty Epic foars a nobler flight:
Then Keener indignation fires her eye;
Then flash her lightnings, and her thunders fly;
Wide and more wide her flaming bolts are hurl'd,
Till all her wrath involves the guilty World.

Yet Satire oft affumes a gentler mien,
And beams on Virtue's friends a smile ferene !

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PART III.

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The Hiftory of Satire. Roman Satirifts, Lucilia., Horace, Perfius, Juvenal, ver. 357, &c. Caufes of the Decay of Literature, particularly_of_Satire, ver. 389. Revival of Satire, 401. Erafmus one of its principal Reftorers, ver. 405. Donne, ver. 411. The Abufe of Satire in England, during the licentious Reign of Charles II. ver. 415. Dryden,. ver. 429. The true Ends of Satire pursued by Boileau in-France, ver. 439. and by Mr. Pope in England, ver. 445.

365 Wit's fhattered Mirror lies in fragments bright,
Reflects not Nature, but confounds the fight.
Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to fing;
'Twas all his praise to say "the oddest thing." 430
Proud for a jest obscene, a Patron's nod,
To martyr Virtue; or blafpheme his God.

This Mufe in filerce joy'd each better Age,
Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage.
Truth faw her honeft fpleen with new delight,
And bade her wing her hafts, and urge their flight.
First on the Sons of Greece the prov'd her art,
And Sparta felt the fierce Iambic dart.
To Latium next, avenging Satire flew :

The flaming falchion rough Lucilius drew;

And confcious Villains trembled as he rag`d.

With dauntless warmth in Virtue's caufe engag'd,

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Ill-fated Dryden who unmov'd can fee
Th' extremes of wit and meanness join'd in Thee?
Flames that could mount, and gain the kindred skies,436

Then fportive Horace caught the generous fire; 375 Low creeping in the putrid fink of vice;

For Satire's bow refign'd the founding lyre;
Each arrow polish'd in his hand was feen,

And, as it grew more polish'd, grew more keen.
His art, conceal'd in ftudy'd negligence,
Politely fly, cajol'd the foes of fenfe;
He feem'd to fport and trifle with the dart,
But, while he fported, drove it to the heart.

In graver ftrains majestic Perfius wrote,
Big with a ripe exuberance of thought:
Grearly fedate, contemn'da Tyrant's reign,
And lafh'd Corruption with a calm difdain.
More ardent Eloquence, and boundless rage,
Inflame boid Juvenal's exalted page.
His mighty numbers aw'd corrupted Rome,
And fwept audacious greatness to its doom;
The headlong torrent, thundering from on high,
Rent the proud rock that lately brav'd the sky.

But lol the fatal Victor of Mankind,
Swoln Luxury!-pale Ruin ftalks behind!
As countless Infects from the north-east pour;
To blast the Spring, and ravage every flower;
So barbarous Millions fpread contagious death:
The fickening Laurel wither'd at their breath.
Deep Superftition's night the skies o'erhung,
Beneath whofe baleful dews the Poppy (prung.
No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love,
But Dulnefs nodded in the Mufe's grove;
Wit, Spirit, Freedom, were the fole offence,
Nor aught was held fo dangerous as Senfe.

At length, again fair Science shot her ray,
Dawn'd in the fkies, and fpoke returning day.
Now, Satire, triumph o'er thy flying foe,
Now load thy quiver, ftring thy flacken'd bow!
'Tis done-See great Erafmus breaks the fpell,
And wounds triumphant Folly in her Cell!
(In vain the folemn Cowl furrounds her face,
Vain all her bigot cant, her four grimace)
With fhame compell'd her leaden throne to quit,
And own the force of Reason urg'd by Wit.

A Mufe whom Wifdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The Pimp of Power, the Prostitute to Gain:
Wreaths, that fhould deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants, vilely thrown: 443
380 Unrival'd Parts, the fcorn of honeft fame;
And Genius rife, à Monument of thame

More happy France; immortal Boileau there
Supported Genius with a Sage's care:
385 Him with her love propitious Satire bleft,
And breath'd her airs divine into his breast;
Fancy and Senfe to form his line tonfpire,
And faultless Judgment guides the pureft Fire.

390

But fee, at length, the British Genius (mile.
And shower her bounties o'er her favour'd Ifle: 450
Behold for Pope the twines the laurel crown,
And centres every Poet's power in one :
Each Roman's force adorns his various page;
395 Gay files, collected Arength, and manly rage.
Despairing Guilt and Dulness loath the fight,
As Spectres vanish at approaching light;
In this clear Mirror with delight we view
Each Image juftiy fine, and boldly true;
400 Here Vice dragg'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree,
Beholds and hates her own deformity;
While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modeft joys furveys her form divine.
But oh, what thoughts, what numbers thall I find,
But faintly to exprefs the Poet's mind!

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405 Who yonder Stars' effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?
Who paint a God, unless the God infpire?
What catch the lightning, but the speed of fire?
So, mighty Pope, to make thy Genius known,
All
power is weak, all numbers but thy own. 47
Each Mufe for thee with kind contention ftrove,
For thee the Graces left th' Idalian grove;
With watchful fondness o'er thy craddle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant tongue.
Next to her Bard majestic Wisdom came;
The bard enraptur'd caught the heavenly flame:
With taste fuperior fcorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can fway, or guilty greatness bribe;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the ftream, and trifle in the gale
Sublimer views thy daring Spirit bound;
Thy mighty Voyage was Creation's round;
Intent new Worlds of Wifdom to explore,
And blefs Mankind with Virtue's facred flore
A nobler joy than Wit can give, impart;
And pour a moral tranfpart o'er the heart.

"Twas then plain Donne in honest vengeance rofe,
His Wit harmonious, though his Rhyne was profe
He 'midit an Age of Puns and Pedants wrote
With genuine fenfe, and Roman ftrength of thought.

Yet fearce had Satire well relum'd her flame,
(With grief the Muferecords her Country's fhame) 420
Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commerce,
And treacherous Wit began her war with Senfe.
Then rofe a fhameless mercenary train,
Whom latest Time fhall view with just difdain :
A race antaftic, in whofe gaudy line
Untuter'd thought and tinfel beauty. shine:

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Urge, urge thy power, the black attempt confound,
And dash the finoaking Cenfer to the ground.
Thus aw'd to fear, inftructed Bards may fee
That guilt is doom'd to fink in Infamy.

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