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In artless numbers paint th’ ambitious Peer
That mounts the box, and shines a Charioteer:
In strains familiar fing the midnight toil 285
Of Camps and Senates disciplin’d by Hayle;
Patriots and Chiefs, whose deep design invades
And carries off the captive King—of Spades!
Let SATIRE here in milder vigour shine,
And gayly graceful sport along the line; 290
Bid courtly fashion quit her thin pretence,
And smile each Affectation into sense.
Not so when Virtue by her Guards betray’d,
Spurn'd from her Throne, implores the Muse's aid:
When crimes, which erst in kindred darkness lay,
Rise frontless, and insult the eye of day; 296
Indignant Hymen veils his hallow'd fires,
And white-rob’d Chastity with tears retires;
When rank Adultery on the genial bed
Hot from Cocytus rears her baleful head: 3oo
When private Faith and public Trust are sold,
And Traitors barter Liberty for Gold:
When fell Corruption dark and deep, like fate,
Saps the foundation of a sinking State:
When Giant-Vice and Irreligion rise, - 395
On mountain’d falsehoods to invade the skies:
Then warmer numbers glow thro’ SATIRE's page,
And all her smiles are darken'd into rage:
On eagle-wing she gains Parnassus’ height, o
Not lofty EPic soars a nobler flight: - 3 Io
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.
Yet SATIRE oft assumes a gentler mien, 315
And beams on Virtue's friends a smile serene:
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 see unconquer'd merit shine; 320
Where bursting glorious, with departing ray,
True Genius gilds the close of Britain's day:
With joy she sees the stream of Roman art
From MURRAY's tongue flow purer to the heart:
Sees YoFKE to Fame, ere yet to Manhood known,
And just to ev’ry Virtue but his own: 326
Hears unstain’d CAM with gen’rous pride proclaim
A SAGE’s, CRITIC’s, and a PoET’s name:
Behold, where WIDcombe's happy hills ascend,
Each orphan'd Art and Virtue find a friend: 339
To HAGLEY’s honour’d Shade directs her view;
And culls each flow'r, to form a Wreath for You.
But tread with cautious step this dangerous ground,
Beset with faithless precipices round: 334
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;
The Poet can but set it in his line:
And who unmov’d with laughter can behold
A sordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold? 34o
Let real Merit then adorn your lays, -
For Shame attends on prostituted praise:
And

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