Sublimer logick now adorns our ifle,
We therefore fee a fool, because we smile.
Truth in her gloomy cave why fondly feek?
Lo, gay fhe fits in Laughter's dimpled cheek:
Contemns each furly academic foe,

And courts the fpruce free-thinker and the beau.

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than any of thofe arts which tend to raise love, pity, terror, rage or hatred in the heart of man. Confequently, his lordShip might have transplanted the whole fyftem of rhetorick into his new fcheme, with the fame propriety as he hath introduced the way of ridicule itself. A hopeful project this, for the propagation of truth!

As this feems to be the real nature of ridicule, it hath been generally discouraged by philofophers and divines, together with every other mode of eloquence, when applied to controverted opinions. This difcouragement, from what is Jaid above, appears to have been rational and just: there fore the charge laid against divines with regard to this affair by a z alous admirer of Lord Shaftíbury (fee a note on the Pleafures of Imagination, Book III.) feems entirely groundlefs. The diftinction which the fame author hath attempted with refpect to the influence of ridicule, between speculative and moral truths, feems no better founded. It is certain that opinions are no lefs liable to ridicule than actions. And it is no lefs certain, that the way of ridicule cannot determine. the propriety or impropriety of the one, more than the truth or falfehood of the other; because the fame paffion of contempt is equally engaged in both cafes, and therefore, as above, reafon only can examine the circumstances of the action or opinion, and thus fix the paffion on its proper objects.

Upon the whole, this new defign of difcovering truth by the vague and unfteady light of ridicule, puts one in mind of the honeft Irishman, who apply'd his candle to the fundial in order to fee how the night went.

X 4

Dadalian

Dadalian arguments but few can trace,
But all can read the language of grimace.
Hence mighty Ridicule's all-conqu’ring hand
Shall work Herculean wonders thro' the land:
Bound in the magick of her cobweb chain,
You, mighty WARBURTON, fhall rage in vain,
In vain the trackless maze of Truth You scan,
And lend th' informing clue to erring man:
No more fhall Reason boast her pow'r divine,
Her base eternal fhook by Folly's mine!

Truth's facred fort th' exploded laugh shall win;
And coxcombs vanquish BERKLEY by a grin.

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But you, more fage, reject th' inverted rule,
That Truth is e'er explor'd by Ridicule :
On truth, on falfehood let her colours fall,
She throws a dazzling glare alike on all;
As the gay prifm but mocks the flatter'd eye,
And gives to ev'ry object ev'ry dye.
Beware the mad advent'rer: bold and blind
She hoifts her fail, and drives with ev'ry wind ;
Deaf as the ftorm to finking Virtue's groan,
Nor heeds a friend's deftruction, or her own.
Let clear-ey'd Reason at the helm prefide,
Bear to the wind, or ftem the furious tide;

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Then mirth may urge, when reason can explore,
This point the way, that waft us glad to fhore.

Tho' diftant times may rife in SATIRE's page, Yet chief 'tis her's to draw the present age:

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With

With Wisdom's luftre, Folly's fhade contrast,
And judge the reigning manners by the past:
Bid Britain's heroes (aweful fhades !) arise,
And ancient honour beam on modern vice
Point back to minds ingenuous, actions fair,

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Till the fons blush at what their fathers were:

Ere yet 'twas beggary the great to trust;

Ere yet 'twas quite a folly to be just ;
When low-born fharpers only dar'd a lye,
Or falfify'd the card, or cogg'd the dye:

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Ere lewdness the stain❜d garb of honour wore,

Or chastity was carted for the whore ;

Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of freedom dress'd;

Or publick spirit was the publick jest.

Be ever in a juft expreffion bold,

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Yet ne'er degrade fair SATIRE to a scold:

Let no unworthy mien her form debase,

But let her smile, and let her frown with grace:

In mirth be temp'rate, temp'rate in her spleen;
Nor while fhe preaches modefty, obscene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a fore,
Nor call his lordship
her grace a

The Mufe's charms refistless then affail,

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Dart not on Folly an indignant eye : Who e'er discharg'd artillery on a fly?

Deride not Vice: abfurd the thought and vain,

To bind the tyger in fo weak a chain.

Nay more: when flagrant crimes your laughter move,
The knave exults: to fmile is to approve.

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The Mufe's labour then fuccefs fhall crown,

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When Folly feels her fmile, and Vice her frown.

Know next what measures to each theme belong, And fuit your thoughts and numbers to your fong: On wing proportion'd to your quarry rise,

And stoop to earth, or foar among the skies.
Thus when a modifh folly you rehearse,

Free the expreffion, fimple be the verse.

In artless numbers paint th' ambitious peer

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That mounts the box, and fhines a charioteer :
In ftrains familiar fing the midnight toil
Of camps and fenates difciplin'd by Hoyle.
Patriots and chiefs whofe deep design invades
And carries off the captive king of Spades!
Let SATIRE here in milder vigour fhine,

And gayly graceful sport along the line;

Bid courtly Fashion quit her thin pretence,
And fmile each affectation into sense.

Not fo when Virtue by her guards betray'd,
Spurn'd from her throne, implores the Mufe's aid;
When crimes, which erft in kindred darkness lay,
Rife frontlefs, and infult the eye of day;

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Indignant

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:

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When private faith and publick trust are fold,
And traitors barter liberty for gold :

When fell Corruption dark and deep, like Fate,
Saps the foundation of a finking ftate:

When giant-vice and irreligion rise,

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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 Parnaffus' height,
Not lofty EPIC foars a nobler flight:
Then keener indignation fires her eye;

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Then flash her lightnings, and her thunders fly;
Wide and more wide her flaming bolts are hurl'd,
Till all her wrath involves the guilty world.

Yet SATIRE oft' affumes a gentler mien,
And beams on Virtue's friends a look ferene :
She wounds reluctant, pours her balm with joy,
Glad to commend where merit strikes her eye.
But tread with cautious ftep this dangerous ground,
Befet with faithlefs precipices round:
Truth be your guide: difdain Ambition's call;
And if you fall with truth, you greatly fall.

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'Tis Virtue's native luftre that must shine :

The poet can but fet it in his line :

And