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Hufh'd at her voice, pert Folly's felf is ftill,
And Dulness wonders while the drops her quill.
Like the arm'd BEE, with art most 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, fecurely wrapt in wiles;
And force ftrong-finew'd rends th' unequal toils:
The ftream of vice impetuous drives along,
Too deep for Policy, for Pow'r too ftrong.
Ev'n fair Religion, Native of the Skies,
Scorn'd by the Crowd, feeks refuge with the Wife;
The Crowd with laughter spurns her awful train,
And Mercy courts, and Justice frowns in vain.
But SATIRE's fhaft can pierce the harden'd breaft:
She plays a ruling passion on the reft:

Undaunted ftorms the batt'ry of his pride,

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And awes the Brave that Earth and Heav'n defy'd. When fell Corruption, by her vaffals crown'd, 125 Derides fall'n Juftice proftrate on the ground;

IMITATIONS.

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

In the nice Bee what Art fo fubtly 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 furround in vain.

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But with the friends of Vice, the foes of SATIRE, All truth is spleen; all just reproof, Ill-nature.

Well may they dread the Mufe's fatal skill ́; Well may they tremble when she draws her quill: Her magic quill, that, like ITHURIEL's fpear, 135 Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear: Bids Vice and Folly take their natural shapes, Turns Ducheffes to ftrumpets, Beaux to apes; Drags the vile Whisp'rer from his dark abode, Till all the Dæmon starts up from the toad.

O fordid maxim, form'd to screen the vile,
That true good-nature still must wear a smile!
In frowns array'd her beauties ftronger rife,
When love of Virtue wakes her scorn of Vice:
Where Juftice calls, 'tis Cruelty to fave;
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.
Scarce more the friend of Man, the wife must own
Ev'nALLEN's bounteous hand,than SATIRE's frown:
This to chaftife, as That to blefs, was giv'n;
Alike the faithful Minifters of Heav'n.

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Oft in unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent : 155 Tho' ftrong th' example, weak the punishment. They leaft 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; Gen'rous and kind tho' painful is her art: With caution bold, fhe only strikes to heal, Tho' Folly raves to break the friendly steel. Then fure no fault impartial SATIRE knows, 165 Kind ev'n in Vengeance, kind to Virtue's foes. Whofe is the crime, the fcandal too be theirs : The Knave and Fool are their own Libellers.

PART II.

170

ARE nobly then: But conscious of your truft, As ever warm and bold be ever juft: Nor court applause in these degenʼrate days: The Villain's cenfure is extorted praise.

But chief, be fteady in a noble end,
And shew Mankind that Truth has yet a friend.
'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write,
As Foplings grin to fhow 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 loft to honour's voice, O doom'd to fhame,
Thou Fiend accurs'd, thou Murderer of Fame

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

b

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

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With caution next, the dang'rous pow'r apply; An eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye:

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Let SATIRE then her proper object know,

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And ere fhe ftrike, be fure fhe ftrike a foe.
Nor fondly deem the real fool confeft,
Because blind Ridicule conceives a jest:
Before whofe altar Virtue oft hath bled,
And oft a deftin'd Victim shall be led:
Lo, Shaftfb'ry rears her high on Reason's throne,
And loads the Slave with honours not her own:
Big-fwoln 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,
Who therefore fmil'd, 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 feek?

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Lo, gay fhe fits in Laughter's dimpled cheek: 210