Truth be your guide: disdain Ambition's call; 335

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 fordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?
Let real Merit then adorn your lays,

340

For Shame attends on prostituted praise :
And all your wit, your most distinguish'd art
But makes us grieve you want an honest heart.
Nor think the Mufe by SATIRE's Law confin'd:
She yields defcription of the nobleft kind.
Inferior art the Landskip may design,

And paint the purple ev'ning in the line :
Her daring thought essays a higher plan;
Her hand delineates Paffion, pictures Man.
And great the toil, the latent foul to trace,
To paint the heart, and catch internal grace;
By turns bid Vice or Virtue strike our eyes,
Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwel rise ;

Now with a touch more facred and refin’d,

346

350

355

Call forth aCHESTERFIELD's or LONSDALE's mind.

Here sweet or ftrong may ev'ry Colour flow:

Here let the pencil warm, the canvass glow:

Of light and shade provoke the noble strife,

And wake each striking feature into life.

360

T

PART III.

HRO' Ages thus hath 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,

365

Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage.
Truth faw her honeft fpleen with new delight,
And bade her wing her shafts, and urge their flight.
First on the Sons of Greece the prov'd her art,
And Sparta felt the fierce IAMBICK darta.
TO LATIUM next, avenging SATIRE flew:
The flaming faulchion rough LuCILIUS drew;
With dauntless warmth in Virtue's cause engag❜d,
And conscious Villains trembled as he rag'd.

NOTES.

370

a Archilocum proprio rabies armavit Iambo. HOR.

b Enfe velut ftricto quoties Lucilius ardens

Infremuit, rubet auditor cui frigida mens eft

Criminibus, tacita fudant præcordia culpa. Juv. S. i.

Then sportive HORACE caught the gen'rous fire; For SATIRE's bow refign'd the founding lyre: 376 Each arrow polish'd in his hand was seen,

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 fenfe:

He feem'd to fport and trifle with the dart,
But while he fported, drove it to the heart.

380

In graver ftrains majestick PERSIUS wrote, Big with a ripe exuberance of thought: Greatly fedate, contemn'd a Tyrant's reign, 385 And lafh'd corruption with a calm difdain.

More ardent eloquence, and boundless rage,
Inflame bold JUVENAL's exalted page,
His mighty numbers aw'd corrupted Rome,
And fwept audacious Greatnefs to its doom;
The headlong torrent thund'ring from on high,
Rent the proud rock that lately brav'd the sky.

NOTES.

Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
Tangit, et admiffus circum præcordia ludit,

390

Callidus excuffo populum fufpendere nafo. PERS, S. i.

But lo! the fatal Victor of Mankind,
Swoln Luxury!-pale Ruin ftalks behind!

As countless Infects from the north-eaft pour, 395
To blast the Spring, and ravage ev'ry flow'r:
So barb'rous Millions spread 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.

400

405

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 fhame compell'd her leaden throne to quit, And own the force of Reason urg'd by Wit.

410

414

'Twas then plain DONNE in honeft vengeance rose, His Wit harmonious, tho' his Rhyme was profe:

He 'midst an Age of Puns and Pedants wrote
With genuine sense, and Roman strength of thought.

421

425

Yet fcarce had SATIRE well relum'd her flame, (With grief the Muse records her Country's shame) Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence, And treach❜rous Wit began her war with Sense. Then rose a shameless mercenary train, Whom latest Time shall view with just disdain: A race fantastick, in whose 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 oddest thing." Proud for a jeft obfcene, a Patron's nod, To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.

430

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 skies, Low-creeping in the putrid fink of vice:

436 A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain, The Pimp of Pow'r, the Proftitute to Gain: Wreaths, that should deck fair Virtue's form alone, To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants, vilely thrown: 440