And who unmov'd with laughter can behold
A fordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?
Let real merit then adorn your lays,
For fhame attends on prostituted praise :
And all your wit, your moft diftinguish'd art
But makes us grieve, you want an honeft heart.
Nor think the Mufe by SATIRE's law confin'd:
She yields description of the noblest kind.
Inferior art the landskip may defign,
And paint the purple evening in the line:
Her daring thought effays a higher plan;
Her hand delineates paffion, picture's man.
And great
the toil, the latent foul to trace,
To paint the heart, and catch internal grace ;
By turns bid vice or virtue ftrike our eyes,
Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwell rife ;
Now with a touch more facred and refin'd,
Call forth a CHESTERFIELD's or LONSDALE's mind.
Here fweet 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 ftriking feature into life.
HR O' ages thus hath SATIRE keenly fhin'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 Mufe in filence joy'd each better age,
Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage.
Truth faw her honest spleen with new delight,
And bade her wing her shafts, and urge their flight.
First on the fons of Greece she prov'd her art,
And Sparta felt the fierce IAMBICK dart b.
TO LATIUM next avenging SATIRE flew :
The flaming faulchion rough LUCILIUS drew;
With dauntless warmth in Virtue's caufe engag'd,
And conscious villains trembled as he rag'd.
Then sportive HORACE caught the generous fire
For SATIRE's bow refign'd the founding lyre:
Each arrow polish'd in his hand was seen,
And as it grew more polish'd, grew more keen.
His art, conceal'd in ftudy'd negligence
Politely fly, cajol'd the foes of fense:
He feem'd to sport and trifle with the dart,
But while he sported, drove it to the heart.
In graver ftrains majestick PERSIUS wrote,
Big with a ripe exuberance of thought:
Greatly fedate, contemn'd a tyrant's reign,
And lash'd corruption with a calm disdain.
• Archilocum proprio rabies armavit lambo.
Enfe velut ftricto quoties Lucilius ardens
Infremuit, rubet auditor cui frigida mens eft
Criminibus, tacita fudant præcordia culpa.
Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
Tangit, & admiffus circum præcordia ludit,
Callidus excuflo populum fufpendere Nafo.
More ardent eloquence, and boundless rage,
Inflame bold JUVENAL's exalted page.
His mighty numbers aw'd corrupted Rome,
And swept audacious greatnefs to its doom;
The headlong torrent thundering from on high,
Rent the proud rock that lately brav'd the sky.
But lo! the fatal victor of mankind,
Swoln Luxury!-Pale Ruin ftalks behind!
As countless infects from the north-east pour,
To blast the spring, and ravage ev'ry flow'r :
So barb'rous millions fpread contagious death:
The fick❜ning laurel wither'd at their breath.
Deep fuperftition's night the fkies o'erhung,
Beneath whose baleful dews the poppy sprung.
No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love,
But Dulnefs nodded in the Mufes' grove:
Wit, fpirit, freedom, were the fole offence,
Nor aught was held fo dangerous as fenfe.
At length, again fair Science fhot her ray,
Dawn'd in the skies, 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 fpell,
And wounds triumphant Folly in her cell!
(In vain the folemn cowl furrounds her face,
Vain all her bigot cant, her fowr grimace)
With fhame compell'd her leaden throne to quit,
And own the force of reafon urg'd by wit.
'Twas then plain DONNE in honeft vengeance rofe, His wit refulgent, tho' his rhyme was profe: He 'midst an age of puns and pedants wrote
With genuine fenfe, and Roman ftrength of thought.
Yet fcarce had SATIRE well relum'd her flame,
(With grief the Muse records her country's fhame)
Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence,
And treach'rous Wit began her war with Senfe.
Then 'rofe a shameless, mercenary train,
Whom latest time shall view with just disdain :
A race fantastick, in whofe 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.
Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can fee
Th' extremes of wit and meanness join'd in thee!
Flames that cou'd mount, and gain their kindred skies,
Low-creeping in the putrid fink of vice:
A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The pimp of pow'r, the proftitute to gain:
Wreaths, that fhou'd deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To ftrumpets, traitors, tyrants, vilely thrown:
Unrival'd parts, the scorn of honest fame ;
And genius rife, a monument of shame!
More happy France: immortal BOILEAU there
Supported genius with a fage's care:
Him with her love propitious SATIRE bleft,
And breath'd her airs divine into his breaft:
Fancy and fenfe to form his line confpire,
And faultlefs judgment guides the purest fire.
But fee, at length, the British Genius fmile,
And fhow'r her bounties o'er her favour'd ifle :
Behold for POPE fhe twines the laurel crown,
And centers ev'ry poet's pow'r in one :
Each Roman's force adorns his various page;
Gay fmiles, collected ftrength, and manly rage.
Defpairing Guilt and Dulness loath the fight,
As spectres vanish at approaching light:
In this clear mirror with delight we view
Each image juftly fine, and boldly true :
Here Vice, drag'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree,
Beholds and hates her own deformity:
While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modeft joy furveys her form divine.
But oh, what thoughts, what numbers fhall I find,
But faintly to exprefs the poet's mind!
Who yonder ftar's effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?
Who paint a god, unless the god infpire ?
What catch the lightning, but the speed of fire?
So, mighty POPE, to make thy genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers
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