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PART I. Of the End and Efficacy of Satire. The

Love of Glory and Fear of Shame universal, ver. 29.

This Passion, implanted in Man as a Spur to Virtue,

is generally perverted, ver. 41. And thus becomes

the Occasion of the greatest Follies, Vices, and Mi-

series, ver. 61. It is the work of Satire to rectify

this Passion, to reduce it to its proper Channel, and

to convert it into an Incentive to Wisdom and Virtue,

ver. 89. Hence it appears that Satire may influence

those who defy all Laws Human and Divine, ver. 99.

An Objection answered, ver. 131.

PART II. Rules for the Conduct of Satire. Justice

and Truth its chief and essential Property, ver. 169.

Prudence in the Application of Wit and Ridicule,

whose Province is, not to explore unknown, but to

enforce known Truths, ver. 191. Proper Subjects

of Satire are the Manners of present Times, ver. 239.

Decency of Expression recommended, ver. 255. The

different Methods in which Folly and Vice ought to

be chastised, ver. 269. The Variety of Style and

Manner which these two Subjects require, ver. 277.

The Praise of Virtue may be adınitted with Propriety,

ver. 315. Caution with regard to Panegyric, ver.

329. The Dignity of true Satire, ver. 341.

PART III. The History of Satire. Roman Satirists,

Lucilius, Horace, Perfius, Juvenal, ver. 357, &c.

Causes of the Decay of Literature, particularly of Sa-

tire, ver. 389. Revival of Satire, 401. Erasmus one

of its principal Restorers, ver. 405. Donne, ver. 411.

The Abuse of Satire in England, during the licen-

tious Reign of Charles II. ver. 415. Dryden, ver.

429. The true Ends of Satire pursued by Boileau

in France, ver. 439. and by Mr. Pope in England,

ver. 445




ATE gave

the word : the cruel arrow sped ; FA

And Pope lies number'd with the mighty Dead! Resign’d he fell ; superior to the dart, That quench'd its rage in Yours and Britain's Heart: You mourn: but Britain, lull’d in rest profound,

5 (Unconscious Britain !) Numbers o'er her wound. Exulting Dulness ey'd the setting Light, And flapp'd her wing, impatient for the Night: Rous'd at the signal, Guilt collects her train, And counts the Triumphs of her growing reign : With inextinguishable rage they burn : And Snake-hung Envy hisses o'er his Urn : Th’envenom'd Monsters fpit their deadly foam, To blast the Laurel that surrounds his Tomb. But You, O Warburton! whose

eye refin'd

15 Can see the greatness of an honest mind; Can see each Virtue and each Grace unite, And taste the Raptures of a pure Delight; You visit oft his awful Page with Care, And view that bright assemblage treasur'd there; You trace the Chain that links his deep design, And pour new lustre on the glowing Line. Yet deign to hear the efforts of a Muse, Whose eye, not wing, his ardent Alight pursues: Intent from this great Archetype to draw Satire's bright Form, and fix her equal Law;




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Pleas'd if from hence th' unlearn'd may comprehend, And reverence His and Satire's generous End.

In every breast there burns an active fame, The Love of Glory, or the Dread of Shame :

30 The Passion One, though various it appear, As brighten'd into Hope, or dimm'd by Fear. The lisping Infant, and the hoary Sire, And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire : The Charms of Praise the Coy, the Modest woo, 35 And only fly, that Glory may pursue: She, Power resistless, rules the wise and great ; Bends ev'n reluctant Hermits at her feet; Haunts the proud City, and the lowly Shade, And sways alike the Sceptre and the Spade. 40

Thus Heaven in Pity wakes the friendly Flame, To urge Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame : But Man, vain Man, in Folly only wise, Rejects the Manna sent him from the Skies : With raptures hears corrupted Passion's call, 45 Still proudly prone to mingle with the stall. As each deceitful Shadow tempts his view, He for the imag’d Substance quits the true; Eager to catch the visionary Prize, In quest of Glory plunges deep in Vice; Till madly zealous, impotently vain, He forfeits every Praise he pants to gain.

Thus ftill imperious Nature plies her part; And still her Dictates work in every heart, Each Power that sovereign Nature bids enjoy, 55 Man may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy.


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Like mighty rivers, with restless force
The Pasions rage, obstructed in their course;
Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore,
And drown those Virtues which they fed before. 60

And sure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame,
Our worst of Evils, is perverted Shame.
Beneath this load, what abject numbers groan,
Th’entangled Slaves to folly not their own!
Meanly by fashionable fear opprefs'd,
We seek our Virtues in each other's breast;
Blind to ourselves, adopt each foreign Vice,
Another's weakness, interest, or caprice.
Each Fool to low Ambition, poorly great,
That pines in splendid wretchedness of state, 70
Tir'd in the treacherous Chace, would nobly yield,
And, but for shame, like Sylla, quit the field :
The Dæmon Shame paints strong the ridicule,
And whispers close, “ The World will call you Fool.”

Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driven, 75 Believes and trembles, while he scoffs at Heaven. By weakness strong, and bold through fear alone, He dreads the sneer by shallow Coxcombs thrown ; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod; To man a Coward, and a Brave to God.

80 Faith, Justice, Heaven itself now quit their hold, When to false Faine the captiv’d Heart is sold : Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd; Nought could subdue his Virtue, but his Pride. Hence chaste Lucretia's Innocence betray'd Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid,




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Thus Virtue sinks beneath unnumber'd woes,
When Passions, born her friends, revolt her foes.

Hence Satire's power: 'Tis her corrective part,
To calm the wild disorders of the heart.

She points the arduous height where Glory lies,
And teaches mad Ambition to be wife :
In the dark bosom wakes the fair desire,
Draws good froin ill, a brighter flame from fire :
Strips black Oppression of her gay disguise,

And bids the Hag in native horror rise;
Strikes towering Pride and lawlefs Rapine dead,
And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head.

Nor boasts the Muse à vain imagin'd Power,
Though oft she mourns those'ills she cannot cure.

The Worthy court her, and the Worthless fear;
Who shun her piercing eye,

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; 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, fecurely wrapt in wiles !
And Force strong-linew'd rends th' unequal toils :
The stream of Vice impetuous drives along, 115
Too deep for Policy, for Power too strong.

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