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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 moft subtly true,
From poys'nous Vice she draws a healing dew: 110
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-finewd: rends th’ unequal toils :
The stream of vice impetuous drives along, 115
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 Wife;
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 :
Undaunted storms the batt'ry of his pride,
And awes the Brave that Earth and Heav'n defy’d.
When fell Corruption, by her vassals crown'd, 125
Derides fall’n Justice prostrate on the ground;

I 20

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 110. From poys' nous Vice, etc ) Alluding to these Lines of Mr Pope ;

In the nice Bee what Art so subtly true
From poys'nous Herbs extracts a healing Dew ?

Swift to redress an injur'd People's groan,
Bold SATIRE shakes the Tyrant on her throne;
Pow'rful as Death, defies the fordid train,
And Slaves and Sycophants surround in vain. 130

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 the draws her quill: Her magic quill, that, like ITHURIEL's spear, 135 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 Whisp’rer from his dark abode, Till all the Dæmon starts up from the toad. 140

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 wakes her scorn of Vice : Where Justice calls, 'tis Cruelty to save; 145 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 confin'd,
The object of her love is all Mankind. 150
Scarce more the friend of Man, the wise must own
Ev'nALLEN's bounteous hand, thanSATIRE’s frown:
This to chastise, as That to bless, was giv'n ;
Alike the faithful Ministers of Heav'n.

Oft in unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent : 155 Tho' strong th' example, weak the punishment. They least are pain'd, who merit satire most; Folly the Laureats, Vice was Chartres' boaft: Then where's the wrong, to gibbet high the name Of Fools and Knaves already dead to shame? 160 Oft SATIRE acts the faithful Surgeon's part; Gen'rous and kind tho' 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, 165 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.

D

ARE nobly then: But conscious of your trust,

As ever warm and bold be ever just: 170 Nor court applause in these degen’rate days : The Villain's censure is extorted praise.

But chief, be steady in a noble end, And shew Mankind that Truth has yet a friend. 'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write, 175 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.

180 O loft to honour's voice, O doom'd to shame, Thou Fiend accurs'd, thou Murderer of Fame 1

Fell Ravisher, from Innocence to tear That name, than liberty, than life more dear! Where shall thy baseness meet its just return, 185 Or what repay thy guilt, but endless scorn!

b

And know, immortal Truth fhall mock thy toil:
Immortal Truth shall bid the shaft recoil ;
With rage retorted, wing the deadly dart;
And empty all its Poyson in thy heart,

190

With caution next, the dang’rous pow'r apply; An eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye: Let Satine then her proper object know, And ere she strike, be sure she strike a foe. Nor fondly deem the real fool confest,

195 Because blind Ridicule conceives a jest: Before whose altar Virtue oft hath bled, And oft a destin'd Victim shall be led : Lo, Shaftsb’ry rears her high on Reason's throne, And loads the Slave with honours not her own: 200 Big-swoln with folly, as her smiles provoke, Prophaneness spawns, pert Dunces nurse the joke! Come, let us join a while this tittering crew, And own the Ideot Guide for once is true; Deride our weak forefather's musty rule, 205 Who therefore smild, 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 fits in Laughter's dimpled cheek: 210

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