Yet deign to hear the efforts of a Muse,

Whose eye, not wing, his ardent flight pursues :
Intent from this great Archetype to draw

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SATIRE's bright Form, and fix her equal law; Pleas'd if from hence th' unlearn'd may comprehend,

And rev'rence HIS and SATIRE's gen'rous End.
In ev'ry breast there burns an active flame,
The love of Glory, or the dread of Shame:
The Paffion ONE, tho' various it appear,

As brighten'd into Hope, or dimm'd by Fear.
The lisping Infant, and the hoary Sire,

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And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire:
The Charms of Praise the Coy, the Modeft woo, 35
And only fly, that Glory may pursue:

She, Pow'r refiftlefs, rules the wife and great;
Bends ev❜n reluctant Hermits at her feet;
Haunts the proud City, and the lowly Shade,
And sways alike the Sceptre and the Spade.

Thus Heav'n in Pity wakes the friendly Flame,
To urge Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame:
But Man, vain Man, in folly only wife,
Rejects the Manna fent him from the Skies:
With rapture hears corrupted Paffion's call,
Still proudly prone to mingle with the stall.
As each deceitful fhadow tempts his view,
He for the imag'd Subftance quits the true;
Eager to catch the visionary Prize,

In queft of Glory, plunges deep in Vice;

40

45

50

Till

Till madly zealous, impotently vain,

He forfeits ev'ry Praise he pants to gain.

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Thus ftill imperious NATURE plies her part; And still her Dictates work in ev'ry heart. Each Pow'r that sov'reign Nature bids enjoy, Man may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy: Like mighty rivers, with refiftlefs force The Paffions rage, obftructed in their course; Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore, And drown thofe Virtues which they fed before. 60 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 oppress'd, We feek 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 fplendid wretchedness of state,

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70

Tir'd in the treach'rous Chace, would nobly yield,
And, but for fhame, like SYLLA, quit the field:
The demon Shame paints ftrong the ridicule,
And whispers close, "The World will call you
Fool."

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 fneer by fhallow coxcombs thrown;

Dauntless

Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod;
To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God.

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85

90

Faith, Justice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart 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, revolt her foes. Hence SATIRE's pow'r: 'tis her corrective part, To calm the wild disorders of the heart. She points the arduous height where Glory lies, And teaches mad Ambition to be wife: In the dark bofom wakes the fair defire, Draws good from ill, a brighter flame from fire; Strips black Oppreffion of her gay disguise, And bids the Hag in native horror rife; Strikes tow'ring Pride, and lawless Rapine dead, And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head. Nor boasts the Mufe a vain imagin'd pow'r, Tho' oft fhe mourn thofe ills fhe cannot cure.

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100

The

IMITATIONS.

VER. 80. To Man a Coward, &c.]

"Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,

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Qui preche contre un Dieu que dans fon Ame il croit?

"Il iroit embraffer la Verité, qu'il voit;

"Mais de fes faux Amis il craint la Raillerie,

"Et ne brave ainfi Dieu que par Poltronnerie."

BOILEAU, Ep. iii.

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 ev'ry foe to Wisdom feels her sway.
Smarts, Pedants, as fhe fmiles, no more are vain;
Defponding Fops refign the clouded cane:
Hufh'd at her voice, pert Folly's self is still,
And Dulness wonders while fhe drops her quill.
Like the arm'd BEE, with art most fubtly true,
From pois'nous Vice the draws a healing dew:
Weak are the ties that civil arts can find,
To quell the ferment of the tainted mind:
Cunning evades, fecurely wrapt in wiles;
And Force ftrong finew'd rends th' unequal toils:
The stream of Vice impetuous drives along,
Too deep for Policy, for Pow'r too strong,
Ev'n fair Religion, Native of the skies,

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ΓΙΟ

115

Scorn'd by the Crowd, feeks refuge with the Wife; The Crowd with laughter fpurns her awful train, And Mercy courts, and Juftice frowns in vain.

But SATIRE's fhaft can pierce the harden'd breast: She plays a ruling paffion on the rest:

Undaunted storms the batt'ry of his pride,

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And awes the Brave that Earth and Heav'n defy'd.

IMITATIONS.

When

VER. 110. From pois'nous Vice, &c.] Alluding to thefe lines

of Mr. Pope;

"In the mice Bee what Art fo subtly true

"From pois'nous Herbs extracts a healing Dew?"

When fell Corruption, by her vassals crown'd,
Derides fall'n Justice proftrate on the ground;
Swift to redress an injur'd People's groan,
Bold SATIRE fhakes the Tyrant on her throne;
Pow'rful 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; all just reproof, Ill-nature.

Well may they dread the Muse's fatal skill;
Well may they tremble, when fhe draws her quill:
Her magic quill, that, like ITHURIEL's spear,
Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear:
Bids Vice and Folly take their nat❜ral fhapes,
Turns Ducheffes to ftrumpets, Beaux to apes;
Drags the vile Whisp'rer from his dark abode,
Till all the Demon starts up from the toad.

O fordid maxim, form'd to fcreen the vile,
That true good-nature still must wear a smile!
In frowns array'd her beauties ftronger rife,
When love of Virtue makes her fcorn of Vice:
Where Juftice calls, 'tis Cruelty to fave;
And 'tis the Law's good-nature hangs the Knave.

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145

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,

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The object of her love is all Mankind.

Scarce more the friend of Man, the wife muft own,

Ev'n ALLEN's bounteous hand, than SATIRE's frown:
This to chastize, as That to blefs, was giv'n;
Alike the faithful Minifters of Heav'n.

Oft