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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 flame,
The Love of Glory, or the Dread of Shame :
The Paffion One, though various it
As brighten'd into Hope, or dimm'd by Fear.
The lifping Infant, and the hoary Sire,

appear,

And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire:

The Charms of Praise the Coy, the Modeft woo,
And only fly, that Glory may pursue:

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She, Power refiftlefs, rules the wife 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.

Thus Heaven in Pity wakes the friendly Flame,
To urge Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame:
But Man, vain Man, in Folly only wife,
Rejects the Manna fent him from the Skies :
With raptures hears corrupted Paffion's call,
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 vifionary Prize,
In queft 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,
Man may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy.

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Like

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

And fure, the deadlieft 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 feek 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 fplendid wretchedness of state,
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,

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And whispers close, " The World will call you Fool."
Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driven,
Believes and trembles, while he fcoffs at Heaven.
By weakness strong, and bold through fear alone,
He dreads the fneer by shallow Coxcombs thrown ;
Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod;

To man a Coward, and a Brave to God.

Faith, Justice, Heaven itself now quit their hold,
When to falfe Fame the captiv'd Heart is fold:
Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd;
Nought could fubdue his Virtue, but his Pride.
Hence chafte Lucretia's Innocence betray'd
Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid,
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Thus

Thus Virtue finks beneath unnumber'd woes,
When Paffions, born her friends, revolt her foes.
Hence Satire's power: 'Tis her corrective part,
To calm the wild diforders of the heart.
She points the arduous height where Glory lies,
And teaches mad Ambition to be wife:
In the dark bofom wakes the fair defire,
Draws good from ill, a brighter flame from fire:
Strips black Oppreffion 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 boafts the Muse à vain imagin'd Power,
Though oft fhe mourns thofe ills fhe cannot cure.
The Worthy court her, and the Worthless fear;
Who fhun 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 fhe fmiles, no more are vain; 105
Defponding Fops refign the clouded cane:

Hush'd at her voice, pert Folly's self is still,
And Dulness wonders while fhe drops her quill.
Like the arm'd Bee, with art moft fubtly 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!

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And Force ftrong-finew'd rends th' unequal toils:
The stream of Vice impetuous drives along,

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Too deep for Policy, for Power too ftrong.

Ev'n

Ev'n fair Religion, Native of the skies,

Scorn'd by the Crowd, feeks refuge with the Wife;
The Crowd with laughter fpurns 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 Paffion on the rest:
Undaunted ftorms the battery of his pride,

And awes the Brave that Earth and Heaven defy'd.
When fell Corruption, by her vaffals crown'd,
Derides fall'n Juftice proftrate on the ground;
Swift to redress an injur'd People's groan,
Bold Satire shakes the Tyrant on her throne;
Powerful as Death, defies the fordid train,
And Slaves and Sycophants furround in vain.

But with the friends of Vice, the foes of Satire,
All truth is Spleen; all juft reproof, Ill-nature.
Well may they dread the Mufe's fatal skill;
Well may they tremble when the draws her quill:
Her magic quill, that, like Ithuriel's fpear,
Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear:
Bids Vice and Folly take their natural shapes,
Turns Dutcheffes to ftrumpets, Beaux to apes;
Drags the vile Whisperer 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 stronger rise,
When love of Virtue wakes her fcorn of Vice:
Where Juftice calls, 'tis Cruelty to fave;
And 'tis the Law's good-nature hangs the Knave,

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Who

Who combats Virtue's foe is Virtue's friend;

Then judge of Satire's merit by her end :
To Guilt alone her vengeance stands confin'd,
The object of her love is all Mankind.

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Scarce more the friend of Man, the wife muft own,
Ev'n Allen's bounteous hand, than Satire's frown:
This to chastise, as That to blefs was giv'n;.
Alike the faithful Ministers of Heaven.

Oft in unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent ;

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Though ftrong th' example, weak the punishment.

They least are pain'd, who merit Satire most :
Folly the Laureat's, Vice was Chartres' boaft:
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, fhe only strikes to heal :
Though folly raves to break the friendly steel.
Then fure no fault impartial Satire knows,
Kind ev'n in Vengeance, kind to Virtue's foes.
Whofe is the crime, the scandal too be theirs ;
The Knave and Fool are their own Libellers,

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PART

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