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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 every object every dye.



Beware the mad Adventurer: bold and blind
She hoifts her fail, and drives with every 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;


Then Mirth may urge, when Reafon can explore,
This point the way, that waft us glad to shore.

Though diftant Times may rife in Satire's page,

Yet chief 'tis her's to draw the present Age:
With Wifdom's luftre, Folly's fhade contrast,


And judge the reigning Manners by the past:
Bid Britain's Heroes (awful Shades!) arise,
And ancient Honour beam on modern Vice:

Point back to minds ingenuous, actions fair,


Till the Sons 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 Sharpers only dar'd a lye,

Or falfify'd the Card, or cogg'd the Dye;


Ere Lewdness the ftain'd garb of Honour wore,
Or Chastity was carted for the Whore;
Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of Freedom dress'd;
Or public Spirit was the public jeft.


Be ever, in a juít expreffion, bold,

Yet ne'er degrade fair Satire to a Scold:

Let no unworthy mien her form debafe,

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

In mirth be temperate, temperate in her spleen ;
Nor, while the preaches modefty, obfcene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a fore,
Nor call his Lordship

her Grace a―:



The Mufe's charms refiftlefs then affail,
When wrapt in Irony's transparent veil :

Her beauties half-conceal'd the more furprize,


And keener luftre fparkles in her eyes.

Then be your line with fharp encomiums grác'd:
Style Clodius honourable, Bufa chaste.

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 Tiger in fo weak a chain.

Nay more when flagrant crimes your laughter move,
The Knave exults: to fmile, is to approve.
The Mufe's labour then fuccefs fhall crown,
When Folly feels her smile, 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 ftoop to earth, or foar among the skies.
Thus when a modish folly you rehearse,
Free the expreffion, simple be the verse.


In artless numbers paint th' ambitious Peer,
That mounts the box, and fhines a Charioteer :


In ftrains familiar fing the midnight toil
Of Camps and Senates difciplin'd by Hoyle;
Patriots and Chiefs, whose deep design invades,
And carries off the captive King-of Spades!
Let Satire here in milder vigour shine,
And gayly graceful fport along the line;



Bid courtly Fashion quit her thin pretence,

And fmile each Affectation into fenfe.

Not fo when Virtue by her Guards betray'd,
Spurn'd from her Throne, implores the Mufe's aid;
When crimes, which erst in kindred darkness lay, 295
Rife frontlefs, and infult the eye of day;
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:
When private Faith and public Trust are fold,
And Traitors barter Liberty for gold:

When fell Corruption dark and deep, like fate,
Saps the foundation of a finking State :


When Giant-Vice and Irreligion rife,

On mountain'd falfehoods to invade the Skies:

Then warmer numbers glow through Satire's page,

And all her smiles are darken'd into rage:

On eagle-wing the gains Parnaffus' height,
Not lofty Epic foars a nobler flight:
Then keener indignation fires her eye;

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




Yet Satire oft affumes a gentler mien,

And beams on Virtue's friends a smile ferene !

She wounds reluctant; pours her balm with joy;
Glad to commend where worth attracts her eye.
But chief, when Virtue, Learning, Arts decline,
She joys to fee unconquer'd merit shine;
Where bursting glorious, with departing ray,
True Genius gilds the close of Britain's Day:
With joys the fees the ftream of Roman art
From Murray's tongue flow purer to the heart:



Sees Yorke to fame, ere yet to Manhood known, 325 And just to every virtue, but his own;


Hears unftain'd Cam with generous pride proclaim
A Sage's, Critic's, and a Poet's name:
Beholds, where Widcombe's happy hills afcend,
Each orphan'd Art and Virtue find a friend :
To Hagley's honour'd shade directs her view;
And culls each flower to form a Wreath for you.
But tread with cautious ftep this dangerous ground,
Befet with faithlefs precipices round:

Truth be your guide: disdain Ambition's call;


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:

And who unmov'd with laughter can behold

A fordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?
Let real Merit then adorn your lays,


For Shame attends on proffituted praise :
And all your wit, your moft diftinguish'd art,
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 Landscape may defign,
And paint the purple evening in the line:
Her daring thought effays a higher plan;
Her hand delineates Paffion, pictures Man.
And great the toil, the latent foul to trace,

To paint the heart, and catch internal grace;
By turns bid Vice or Virtue strike our eyes,
Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwell rise;
Now, with a touch more facred and refin'd,
Call forth a Chesterfield's or Lonsdale's mind.
Here sweet or strong may every Colour flow,
Here let the pencil warm, the canvafs glow:
Of light and shade provoke the noble strife,
And wake each striking feature into life.






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