Truth's facred Fort th' exploded laugh fhall win;
And Coxcombs vanquish BERKLEY by a grin.

But you, more fage, reject th' inverted rule, 225
That Truth is e'er explor❜d by Ridicule :
On truth, on falsehood let her colours fall,
She throws a dazzling glare alike on all;
As the gay Prism but mocks the flatter'd eye,
And gives to ev'ry object ev'ry dye.

Beware the mad Advent'rer: bold and blind
She hoists her fail, and drives with ev'ry wind;
Deaf as the ftorm to finking Virtue's groan,
Nor heeds a Friend's deftruction, or her own.
Let clear-ey'd Reafon at the helm prefide,
Bear to the wind, or ftem the furious tide;
Then Mirth may urge, when Reason can explore,
This point the way, that waft us glad to fhore.

Tho' diftant Times may rife in SATIRE's page,
Yet chief 'tis Her's to draw the present Age :
With Wisdom's luftre, Folly's shade contrast,
And judge the reigning Manners by the past:
Bid Britain's Heroes (awful Shades!) arise,
And ancient Honour beam on modern Vice:
Point back to minds ingenuous, actions fair,
Till the Sons blufh at what their Fathers were:

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Ere

yet 'twas beggary the great to truft;

Ere yet 'twas quite a folly to be just ;

When low-born Sharpers only dar'd a lie,

Or falfify'd the card, or cogg'd the die;

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Ere Lewdness the ftain'd garb of Honour wore,

Or Chastity was carted for the Whore;

Vice

Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of freedom drefs'd;

Or public Spirit was the public jest.

Be ever, in a juft expreffion, bold,

Yet ne'er degrade fair SATIRE to a Scold:
Let no unworthy mien her form debase,

But let her fmile, and let her frown with grace:
In mirth be temp'rate, temp'rate in her fpleen;
Nor, while fhe preaches modefty, obfcene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a fore,
Nor call his Lordship
her Grace a

The Mufe's charms refistless then affail,

:

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When wrapt in Irony's tranfparent veil :

Her beauties half conceal'd, the more furprize,

And keener luftre fparkles in her eyes.

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Then be your line with sharp encomiums grac'd:
Style Clodius honourable, Bufa chaste.

Dart not on Folly an indignant eye :

Whoe'er discharg'd Artillery on a Fly?

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Deride not Vice: Abfurd the thought and vain,

To bind the Tiger in so 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.

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Know next what Measures to each Theme belong, And fuit your thoughts and numbers to your fong: On wing proportion'd to your quarry rise, And stoop to earth, or foar among the skies. Thus when a modifh folly you rehearse, Free the expreffion, fimple be the verse.

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In artless numbers paint th' ambitious Peer

That mounts the box, and fhines a Charioteer :
In strains familiar fing the midnight toil
Of Camps and Senates difciplin'd by Hoyle;
Patriots and Chiefs, whofe deep defign invades
And carries off the captive King-of Spades!
Let SATIRE here in milder vigour fhine,

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And gayly graceful sport along the line;

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Bid courtly fashion quit her thin pretence,
And fmile each Affectation into fenfe.

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, Rife frontless, and infult the eye of day;

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When fell Corruption, dark and deep, like fate,
Saps the foundation of å finking State:

When Giant-Vice and Irreligion rife,

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On mountain'd falfehoods to invade the fkies:

Then warmer numbers glow thro' SATIRE's page,
And all her fmiles are darken'd into rage:

On eagle-wing fhe gains Parnaffus' height,

Not lofty EPIC foars a nobler flight:

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Then keener indignation fires her eye;

Then flash her lightnings, and her thunders fly;

Wide

Wide and more wide her flaming bolts are hurl'd,
Till all her wrath involves the guilty World.

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Yet SATIRE oft affumes a gentler mien,
And beams on Virtue's friends a fmile ferene :
She wounds reluctant; pours her balm with joy;
Glad to commend where Worth attracts her eye.
But chief, when Virtue, Learning, Arts decline,
She joys to fee unconquer'd merit fhine;
Where bursting glorious, with departing ray,
True Genius gilds the close of Britain's day :
With joy she fees the stream of Roman art
From MURRAY's tongue flow purer to the heart:
Sees YORKE to Fame, ere yet to Manhood known,
And just to ev'ry Virtue but his own:
Hears unftain'd CAM with gen'rous pride proclaim
A SAGE'S, CRITIC's, 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 culls each flow'r, to form a Wreath for You.
But tread with cautious ftep this dangerous ground,
Beset with faithlefs precipices round:

Truth be your guide: disdain Ambition's call;
And if
you fall with Truth, you greatly fall.

'Tis Virtue's native luftre that must shine;

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And all your wit, your most distinguish'd art,

But make us grieve you want an honest heart.

Nor think the Muse by SATIRE's Law confin❜d :
She yields description of the nobleft kind.
Inferior art the Landscape may defign,
And paint the purple ev'ning in the line:
Her daring thought effays a higher plan;

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Her hand delineates Paffion, pictures Man.

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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,

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Call forth a Chesterfield's or LONSDALE's mind.

Here sweet or strong may ev'ry Colour flow:

Here let the pencil warm, the canvass glow:

Of light and shade provoke the noble strife,
And wake each striking feature into life.

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PART