THROUG
HROUGH Ages thus has SATIRE keenly shin'd,
The Friend to Truth, to Virtue, and Mankind : Yet the bright flame from Virtue ne'er had sprung, And Man was guilty ere the Poet fung.
This Muse in filence joy'd each better Age,
Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage.
Truth faw her honest spleen with new delight,
And bade her wing her shafts, and urge their flight.
First on the Sons of Greece fhe prov'd her art,
And Sparta felt the fierce IAMBIC dart *.
TO LATIUM next, avenging SATIRE flew :
The flaming faulchion rough LuCILIUS † drew
With dauntless warmth in Virtue's caufe engag'd,
And conscious Villains trembled as he rag'd.
Then sportive HORACE † caught the gen❜rous fire For SATIRE's bow refign'd the founding lyre:
* "Archilochum proprio rabies armavit Iambo."
t "Enfe velut ftricto quoties Lucilius ardens
Infremuit, rubet auditor cui frigida mens eft
Criminibus, tacita fudant præcordia culpa."
"Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
Tangit, et admiffus circum præcordia ludit,
Callidus excuffo populum fufpendere nafo."
Each arrow polifh'd in his hand was feen,
And, as it grew more polifh'd, grew more keen.
His art, conceal'd in ftudy'd negligence,
Politely fly, cajol'd the foes of fense:
He feem'd to fport and trifle with the dart,
But while he fported, drove it to the heart.
In graver ftrains majestic PERSIUS wrote,
Big with a ripe exuberance of thought:
Greatly fedate, contemn'd a Tyrant's reign,
And lafh'd Corruption with a calm disdain.
More ardent eloquence, and boundless rage,
Inflame bold JUVENAL's exalted page,
His mighty numbers aw'd corrupted Rome,
And swept audacious Greatness to its doom;
The headlong torrent thund'ring from on high,
Rent the proud rock that lately brav❜d the sky.
But lo! the fatal Victor of Mankind!
Swoln Luxury!-pale Ruin ftalks behind!
As countless Infects from the north-east pour,
To blaft the Spring, and ravage ev'ry flow'r :
So barb'rous Millions fpread contagious death:
The fick❜ning Laurel wither'd at their breath.
Deep Superftition's night the skies o'erhung,
Beneath whose baleful dews the Poppy sprung.
No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love,
But Dulness nodded in the Mufe's grove:
Wit, Spirit, Freedom, were the fole offence,
Nor aught was held fo dangerous as Sense.
At length, again fair Science fhot her ray, Dawn'd in the skies, and spoke returning day. Now, SATIRE, triumph o'er thy flying foe, Now, load thy quiver, ftring thy flacken'd bow! 'Tis done!-See, great ERASMUS breaks the spell, 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 Reafon urg'd by Wit.
'Twas then plain DONNE in honest vengeance rose,
His Wit harmonious, tho' his Rhyme was profe:
He 'midst an age of Puns and Pedants wrote
With genuine sense, and Roman ftrength of thought.
Yet fcarce had SATIRE well relum'd her flame,
(With grief the Mufe records her Country's fhame,)
Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence,
And treach'rous Wit began her war with Sense.
Then rofe a fhameless mercenary train,
Whom latest Time fhall view with just disdain:
A race fantastic, in whofe gaudy line
Untutor❜d thought, and tinfel beauty shine;
Wit's fhatter'd Mirror lies in fragments bright,
Reflects not Nature, but confounds the sight.
Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to fing :
'Twas all his praise to say," the oddest thing.
Proud for a jeft obscene, a Patron's nod,
To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.
Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can fee
Th' extremes of wit and meannefs join'd in Thee! Flames that could mount, and gain their kindred skies, Low creeping in the putrid fink of vice ;
A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The Pimp of Pow'r, the Prostitute to Gain :
Wreaths that should deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants vilely thrown:
Unrival'd parts, the fcorn of honest fame;
And Genius rise, a Monument of shame!
More happy France: immortal BOILEAU there
Supported Genius with a Sage's care:
Him with her love propitious SATIRE bleft,
And breath'd her airs divine into his breast:
Fancy and Senfe to form his line conspire,
And faultlefs Judgment guides the pureft Fire.
But fee at length the British Genius fmile,
And fhow'r her bounties o'er her favour'd Ifle: 450
Behold for POPE fhe twines the laurel crown,
And centers ev'ry Poet's pow'r in one :
Each Roman's force adorns his various page,
Gay fmiles, corrected strength, 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 juftly fine, and boldly true:
Here Vice, dragg'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree, Beholds and hates her own deformity: 7
While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modest joy furveys her form divine.
But oh, what thoughts, what numbers fhall I find,
But faintly to exprefs the Poet's mind!
Who yonder Star's effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?
Who paint a God, unless the God inspire?
What catch the Lightning, but the fpeed of fire?
So, mighty POPE, to make thy Genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers-but thy own. 470
Each Mufe for thee with kind contention ftrove,
For thee the Graces left th' IDALIAN grove;
With watchful fondness o'er thy cradle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant-tongue.
Next, to her Bard majestic Wisdom came;
The Bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame :
With taste superior scorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can sway, or guilty Greatness bribe;
At Fancy's call, who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the stream, and trifle in the gale:
Sublimer views thy daring Spirit bound;
Thy mighty Voyage was Creation's round;
Intent new Worlds of Wisdom to explore,
And bless Mankind with Virtue's facred ftore;
A nobler joy than Wit can give, impart;
And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic Wit shoots momentary fires,
And, like a Meteor, while we gaze, expires:
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