Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore,
And drown those Virtues which they fed before, 60
And sure, 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 oppress'd,
We seek our Virtues in each other's breast;
Blind to ourselves, adopt each foreign Vice,
Another's weakness, int rest, or caprice.
Each Fool to low Ambition, poorly great,
That pines in splendid wretchedness of state,
Tir'd in the treach'rous Chace, would nobly yield,
And, but for shame, like SYLLA, quit the field:
The demon Shame paints strong the ridicule,
And whispers close, "The World will call you
Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driv'n, 75 Believes and trembles while he scoffs at Heav'n. By weakness strong, and bold through fear alone, He dreads the sneer by shallow coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod ;
To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God.
Faith, Justice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart is sold
Ver. 80. To Man a Coward, &c.]
"Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,
Qui preche contre un Dieu que dans son Ame il croit?
Il iroit embrasser la Verité, qu'il voit;
Mais de ses faux Amis il craint la Raillerie,
Et ne brave ainsi Dieu que par Poltronnerie.”
Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato died; dead.
Nought could subdue his Virtue, but his Pride.CÍ
Hence chaste Lucretia's Innocence betray'da 85
Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid..
Thus Virtue sinks beneath unnumber'd woes, l
When Passions, borne her friends, revolt her foes.
Hence SATIRE's pow'r: 'tis her corrective part, { To calm the wild disorders of the heart. v pan 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;2
Strips black Oppression 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 heads!
Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin'd pow'r,
Tho' oft she mourn those ills she cannot cure.
The Worthy court her, and the Worthless fear:
Who shun her piercing eye, that eye revere.
Her awful voice the Vain and Vile obey,
And ev'ry foe to Wisdom feels her sway. A
Smarts, Pedants, as she smiles, no more are vain;
Desponding Fops resign the clouded cane:
Hush'd at her voice, pert Folly's self is still,
And Dulness wonders while she drops her quill.l
Like the arm'd BEE, with art most subtly true, b
From pois'nous Vice she draws a healing dew: 110
Ver. 110. From pois'nous l'ice, &c.] Alluding to these lines of Mr. Pope;
In the nice Bee what Art so subtly true
From pois'nous Herbs extracts a healing Dewd
Weak are the ties that civil arts can find,
To quell the ferment of the tainted mind: 3.
Cunning evades, securely wrapt in wiles;
And Force strong sinew'd rends th' unequal toils:
The stream of Vice impetuous drives along,
Too deep for Policy, for Pow'r too strong,
Scorn'd by the Crowd, seeks refuge with the Wise;
The Crowd with laughter spurns her awful train,
And Mercy courts, and Justice frowns in vain. 120
But SATIRE's shaft can pierce the harden'd breast:
She plays a ruling passion on the rests.
Undaunted storms the batt'ry of his pride,
And awes the Brave that Earth and Heav'n defied.
When fell Corruption, by her vassals crown'd, 125
Derides fall'n Justice prostrate 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 sordid train,
And Slaves and Sycophants surround in vain. 130
But with the friends of Vice, the foes of SATIRE,
All truth is spleen; all just reproof, Ill-nature.fr i 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, de135
Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear
Bids Vice and Folly take their natral shapes, s
Turns Dutchesses to strumpets, Beaux to apestort
Drags the vile Whisp'rer from his dark abode,
Till alla theo Demon starts up from the toad. I 19140
O sordid maxim, form'd to screen the vile,
901) VIJG02 02 Ataw 950 907: edf 1,
That true good-nature still must wear a smil
In frowns array'd her beauties stronger rise,
When love of Virtue makes her scorn of Vice:
Where Justice calls, 'tis Cruelty to save;
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 wise must own,
Ev'n ALLEN's bounteous hand, than SATIRE'S frown:
This to chastise, as That to bless, was giv'n;
Alike the faithful Ministers of Heav'n.
Oft in unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent: 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, 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.
DARE nobly then: But conscious of your trust, As ever warm and bold, be ever just:
Nor court applause in these degen'rate days:
The Villain's censure is extorted praise.
But chief, be steady in a noble end,
And shew mankind that Truth has yet a friend.
'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write,
As Foplings grin to shew their teeth are white:
To brand a doubtful folly with a smile,
Or madly blaze unknown defects, is vile :
'Tis doubly vile, when, but to prove your art,
You fix an arrow in a blameless heart.
O lost to honour's voice, O doom'd to shame,
Thou Fiend accurst, thou murderer of Fame!
Fell Ravisher, from Innocence to tear
That name, than liberty, than life more dear!
Where shall thy baseness meet its just return! 185
Or what repay thy guilt, but endless scorn?
And know, immortal Truth shall mock thy toil:
Immortal Truth shall bid the shaft recoil;
With rage retorted, wing the deadly dart;
And empty all its poison in thy heart.
With caution next, the dang'rous pow'r apply;
An eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye:
Let SATIRE then her proper object know,
And ere she strike, be sure she strike a foe.
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