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Strikes towering Pride, and lawless Rapine dead,
And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head.

Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagined power,
Tho' oft she mourn 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.

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Smarts, pedants, as she smiles, no more are vain; 105
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 poisonous 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 wrapp'd in wiles;

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And Force, strong sinew'd, rends th' unequal toils:
The stream of vice impetuous drives along,
Too deep for policy, for power too strong.
Even fair Religion, native of the skies,
Scorn'd by the crowd, seeks refuge with the wise;
The crowd with laughter spurns her awful train,
And Mercy courts, and Justice frowns in vain.
But SATIRE'S shaft can pierce the harden'd breast:
She plays a ruling passion on the rest;

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Undaunted storms the battery of his pride,

And awes the Brave that earth and heaven defied.

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When fell Corruption by her vassals crown'd,
Derides fall'n Justice prostrate on the ground,
Swift to redress an injured people's groan,
Bold SATIRE shakes the tyrant on her throne;

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 110. From poisonous vice, &c.] Alluding to these lines of Mr.

Pope :

In the nice bee what art so subtly true

From poisonous herbs extracts a healing dew?

Powerful as Death, defies the sordid train,

And slaves and sycophants surround in vain.

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 demon 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,
When love of virtue makes her scorn of vice:
Where Justice calls, 'tis cruelty to save;
And 'tis the law's good-nature hangs the knave.
Who combats virtue's foe is virtue's friend:
Then judge of SATIRE'S merit by her end:

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To Guilt alone her vengeance stands confined,

The object of her love is all mankind.

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Scarce more the friend of Man, the wise must own,

Even ALLEN's bounteous hand, than SATIRE's frown:

This to chastise, as that to bless, was given;

Alike the faithful ministers of Heaven.

Oft in unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent:

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Though strong th' example, weak the punishment.

They least are pain'd, who merit Satire most;

Folly the Laureat'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;
Though folly raves to break the friendly steel.

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Then sure no fault impartial SATIRE knows,
Kind even in vengeance, kind to Virtue's foes.
Whose is the crime, the scandal too be theirs :
The knave and fool are their own libellers.

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PART II.

DARE nobly then: but conscious of your trust,
As ever warm and bold, be ever just:
Nor court applause in these degenerate days:
The villain's censure is extorted praise.

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But chief, be steady in a noble end,
And show mankind that truth has yet a friend.
'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write,
As foplings grin to show their teeth are white.
To brand a doubtful folly with a smile,
Or madly blaze unknown defects, is vile:
'Tis doubly vile, when, but to prove your art,
You fix an arrow in a blameless heart.
O lost to honour's voice, O doom'd to shame,
Thou fiend accursed, thou murderer of fame!
Fell ravisher, from Innocence to tear
That name, than liberty, than life more dear!
Where shall thy baseness meet its just return?
Or what repay thy guilt, but endless scorn?
And know, immortal truth shall mock thy toil:
Immortal truth shall bid the shaft recoil;

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With rage retorted, wing the deadly dart,

And empty all its poison in thy heart.

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With caution next, the dangerous power apply;

An eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye:

Let SATIRE then her proper object know,

And ere she strike, be sure she strike a foe;

Nor fondly deem the real fool confess'd,
Because blind Ridicule conceives a jest ;
Before whose altar virtue oft hath bled,
And oft a destined victim shall be led.
Lo, Shaftesbury rears her high on reason's throne,
And loads the slave with honours not her own.

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Big-swoln with folly, as her smiles provoke,
Profaneness spawns, pert dunces nurse the joke!
Come, let us join awhile this tittering crew,

And now the idiot guide for once is true ;

Deride our weak forefathers' musty rule,

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Who therefore smiled, because they saw a fool;

Sublimer logic now adorns our isle,

We therefore see a fool, because we smile.

Truth in her gloomy cave why fondly seek?
Lo, gay she sits in Laughter's dimple cheek,

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Shall work Herculean wonders through the land.
Bound in the magic of her cobweb chain,
You, mighty WARBURTON, shall rage in vain;
In vain the trackless maze of truth you scan,
And lend th' informing clue to erring man.
No more shall reason boast her power divine,
Her base eternal shook by folly's mine;
Truth's sacred fort th' exploded laugh shall win,
And coxcombs vanquish BERKLEY by a grin.

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But you, more sage, reject th' inverted rule,

That truth is e'er explored by ridicule :
On truth, on falsehood let her colours fall,

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She throws a dazzling glare alike on all;

As the gay prism but mocks the flatter'd eye,
And gives to every object every dye.

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Beware the mad adventurer: bold and blind
She hoists her sail, and drives with every wind;
Deaf as the storm to sinking virtue's groan,
Nor heeds a friend's destruction, or her own.
Let clear-eyed reason at the helm preside,
Bear to the wind, or stem the furious tide;
Then mirth may urge, when reason can explore,
This point the way, that waft us glad to shore.
Though distant times may rise in SATIRE'S page,
Yet chief 'tis hers to draw the present age;
With wisdom's lustre, folly's shade 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;

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Ere yet 'twas quite a folly to be just;
When low-born sharpers only dared a lie,
Or falsified the card, or cogg'd the die;

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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 public spirit was the public jest.

Be ever, in a just expression, 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 temperate, temperate in her spleen;

Nor, while she preaches modesty, obscene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a sore,
Nor call his Lordship

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The Muse's charms resistless then assail,
When wrapp'd in Irony's transparent veil:

Her beauties half conceal'd, the more surprize,
And keener lustre sparkles in her eyes.

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