HRO' Ages thus has SATIRE keenly fhin'd, The Friend to Truth, to Virtue, and Mankind: Yet the bright flame from Virtue ne'er had fprung, And Man was guilty ere the Poet fung.
This Mufe in filence 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 fhafts, and urge their flight.
First on the Sons of Greece fhe prov'd her art,
And Sparta felt the fierce IAMBIC darta.
TO LATIUM next, avenging SATIRE flew :
The flaming falchion rough LUCILIUS b drew;
With dauntless warmth in Virtue's caufe engag'd,
And confcious Villains trembled as he rag'd.
Then fportive HORACE caught the gen'rous fire; For SATIRE's bow refign'd the founding lyre :
2 Archilochum proprio rabies armavit Iambo.
b 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 polish'd in his hand was feen,
And, as it grew more polifh'd, grew more keen.
His art, conceal'd in study'd negligence,
Politely fly, cajol'd the foes of fenfe:
He feem'd to fport and trifle with the dart,
But while he sported, drove it to the heart,
In graver ftrains majeftic PERSIUS wrote, Big with a ripe exuberance of thought: Greatly fedate, contemn'd a Tyrant's reign, And lafh'd corruption with a calm difdain.
More ardent eloquence, and boundlefs rage,
Inflame bold JUVENAL's exalted page,
His mighty numbers aw'd corrupted Rome,
And fwept 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 stalks 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 fkies o'erhung,
Beneath whofe baleful dews the Poppy fprung.
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 Senfe.
At length, again fair Science shot her ray,
Dawn'd in the fkies, 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 shame compell'd her leaden throne to quit,
And own the force of Reason 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 fenfe, 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 rose a shameless mercenary train, 419 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 fight.
Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to fing:
"Twas all his praife to fay," the oddcft thing."
Proud for a jest 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 meanness join'd in Thee! Flames that could mount, and gain their kindred fkies,
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 : 434
Wreaths, that should deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants, vilely thrown:
Unrival'd Parts, the fcorn of honeft fame;
And Genius rife, 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, 445 And fhow'r her bounties o'er her favour'd Ifle: 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, collected ftrength, and manly rage.
Despairing Guilt and Dulness loath the fight, 451
As Spectres vanifh at approaching light:
In this clear Mirror with delight we view
Each image juftly fine, and boldly true:
Here Vice, drag'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree,
Beholds and hates her own deformity:
While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modeft joy furveys her form divine.
But oh, what thoughts, what numbers fhall I find,
But faintly to express the Poet's mind!
Who yonder Star's effulgence can difplay,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray ?
Who paint a God, unlefs the God infpire?
What catch the Lightning, but the speed of fire?
So, mighty POPE, to make thy Genius known, 455
All pow'r is weak, all numbers-but thy own.
Each Mufe for thee with kind contention strove,
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 majeftic Wisdom came;
The bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame:
With tafle fuperior fcorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can fway, or guilty greatnefs bribe;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the fiream, and trifle in the gale:
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