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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 : 30 The Passion ONE, tho' various it
appear, As brighten'd into Hope, or dimm’d by Fear. The lisping Infant, and the hoary Sire, And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire : The charms of Praise the Coy, the Modest woo, 35 And only fly, that Glory may pursue : She, Pow'r resistless, rules the wise 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. 40
Thus Heav'n in Pity wakes the friendly Flame, To urge
Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame : But Man, vain Man, in folly only wise,
Thus still imperious NATURE plies her part;
Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore,
And sure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame,
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 sneer by shallow coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod ; To Man a Coward, and à Brave to God. 80
Faith, Justice, Heav’n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart is sold :
Ver. 80. T. Man a Coward, &c.]
“Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,
Boileau, Ep. üi.
Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato died;
Hence Satire's pow'r: 'tis her corrective part, To calm the wild disorders of the heart.
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; 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 head.
Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin'd pow'r, Tho' oft she mourn those ills she cannot cure. 100 The Worthy court her, and the Worthless fear : Who shun her piercing eye,
eye revere. Her awful voice the Vain and Vile obey, And ev'ry foe to Wisdom feels her sway. Smarts, Pedants, as she smiles, no more are vain; Desponding Fops resign the clouded cane : 106 Hush'd at her voice, pert Folly's self is still, And Dulness wonders while she drops her quill. Like the arm’d BEE, with art most subtly true, From pois'nous Vice she draws a healing dew: 110
“ In the nice Bee what Art so subtly true
Weak are the ties that civil arts can find,
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 she draws her quill; Her magic quill, that, like ITHURIEL's spear, 135 Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear : Bids Vice and Folly take their nat’ral shapes, Turns Dutchesses to strumpets, Beaux to apes ; Drags the vile Whisp’rer from his dark abode, Till all the Demon starts up from the toad. 140
O sordid maxim, form’d to screen the vile, That true good-nature still must wear a smile!
In frowns array'd her beauties stronger rise,
150 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 : 155 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,
165 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,