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 fet it in his line :

But makes us grieve you want an honest heart.

Nor think the Muse by SATIRE's Law confin'd:

She yields description of the noblest kind.
Inferior art the Landskip may design,
And paint the purple ev'ning in the line :

346

Her daring thought essays a higher plan;
Her hand delineates Passion, pictures Man.
And great the toil, the latent soul to trace,
To paint the heart, and catch internal grace;
By turns bid Vice or Virtue strike our eyes,

350

Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwel rise;

Now with a touch more facred and refin'd,
Call forth a CHESTERFIELD'Sor LONSDALE's mind.

355

Here sweet or strong 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

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 sung. This Muse in filence joy'd each better Age, 365 Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage. Truth saw her honest spleen with new delight, And bade her wing her shafts, and urge their flight. First on the Sons of Greece she 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 confcious Villains trembled as he rag'd.

NOTES.

370

a Archilocum proprio rabies armavit Iambo. Hor. b Ense velut stricto quoties Lucilius ardens Infremuit, rubet auditor cui frigida mens est Criminibus, tacita sudant præcordia culpa. Juv. S. i Then sportive HORACE caught the gen'rous fire; For SATIRE'S bow resign'd the founding lyre: 376 Each arrow polish'd in his hand was seen, And, as it grew more polish'd, grew more keen.

His art, conceal'd in study'd negligence,

Politely fly, cajol'd the foes of sense:

380

He feem'd to sport and trifle with the dart,

But while he sported, drove it to the heart.

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

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

390

NOTES.

• Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
Tangit, et admiffus circum præcordia ludit,
Callidus excufio populum suspendere nafo. PERS. S. i.

But lo! the fatal Victor of Mankind, Swoln Luxury! - pale Ruin stalks behind ! As countless Insects from the north-east 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. 400 No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love, But Dulness nodded in the Muse's grove : Wit, Spirit, Freedom, were the fole offence, Nor aught was held so dangerous as Sense.

At length, again fair Science shot her ray, 405 Dawn'd in the skies, and spoke returning day. Now, SATIRE, triumph o'er thy flying foe, Now load thy quiver, string thy flacken'd bow! 'Tis done - See, great ERASMUS breaks the spell, And wounds triumphant Folly in her Cell ! (In vain the folemn Cowl surrounds her face, Vain all her bigot cant, her four grimace) With shame compell'd her leaden throne to quit, And own the force of Reason urg'd by Wit.

4.10

414

'Twas then plain DONNE in honest 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 scarce had SATIRE well relum'd her flame, (With grief the Muse records her Country's shame) Ere Britain saw 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 tinsel beauty shine; Wit's shatter'd Mirror lies in fragments bright, Reflects not Nature, but confounds the sight. Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to fing : 'Twas all his praise to say, " the oddest thing." 430 Proud for a jest obscene, 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 could mount, and gain their kindred skies, Low-creeping in the putrid sink of vice: 436 A Muse whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain, The Pimp of Pow'r, the Prostitute to Gain: Wreaths, that should deck fair Virtue's form alone, To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants, vilely thrown: 440