Hence SATIRE's pow'r : 'tis her corrective part To calm the wild disorders of the heart. She points the arduous height where glory lies, In the dark bosom wakes the fair desire, Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin'd pow'r, Though oft she mourns those ills she cannot cure. The worthy court her, and the worthless fear; Who shun her piercing eye, that eye revere. Her awful voice the vain and vile obey, And every foe to wisdom feels her sway. Smarts, pedants, as she smiles, no more are vain ; Desponding fops resign the clouded cane: 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: Weak are the ties that civil arts can find, To quell the ferment of the tainted mind : Cunning evades, securely wrapt in wiles; And Force strong-sinew'd rends th' unequal toils : The stream of vice impetuous drives along, Too deep for policy, for pow'r too strong. Ev'n fair Religion, native of the skies, Scorn'd by the crowd, seeks refuge with the wise; Undaunted mounts the battery of his pride, And awes the Brave, that earth and heav'n defy'd. 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 Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear: Bids Vice and Folly take their natural shapes, Turns duchesses to strumpets, beaux to apes; Drags the vile whisperer from his dark abode, 'Till all the daemon starts up from the toad. 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, Scarce more the friend of man, the wise must own, Oft on unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent: Though strong th' example, weak the punishment. They least are pain'd, who merit SATIRE most; Folly the Laureate's, Vice was Chartres' boast; Then where's the wrong, to gibbet high the name Of fools and knaves already dead to shame? Oft' SATIRE acts the faithful surgeon's part; Generous and kind, though 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, 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, PART II. DARE nobly then: but conscious of your trust, But chief, be steady in a noble end, O lost to honor's voice, O doom'd to shame, That name, than liberty, than life more dear! And empty all its poison in thy heart. With caution, next, the dang'rous power apply; An eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye: Let SATIRE then her proper object know, Lo, Shaftsb'ry rears her high on Reason's throne, We therefore see a fool, because we smile. And courts the spruce free-thinker and the beau, But all can read the language of grimace. |