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the word : the crucl arrow sped ; And Pope lies number'd with the mighty Dead! Refign'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,

(Unconscious Britain !) Numbers o'er her wound.
Exulting Dulness ey'd the setting Light,
And Alapp'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


Can see the greatness of an honest mind;
Can fee 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,

pour new lustre on the glowing Line.
Yet deign to hear the efforts of a Muse,
Whose eye, not wing, his ardent Aight pursues:
Intent from this great Archetype to draw

25 Satire's bright Form, and fix her equal Law;


B 2


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 Passion One, though various it appcar, 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 refiftless, 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,

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 still imperious Nature plies her part; And still her Di&tates work in every heart, Each Power that sovereign Nature bids enjoy,

55 Man may corrupt, but Man can ne’er destroy.

To urge



Like mighty rivers, with resistless force
The Passions 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 oppress’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 wretchedneís 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,
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 Fame the captiv’d Heart is sold : Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd; Nought could fubdue 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 finks 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 wise:
In the dark borom wakes the fair desire,
Draws good from ill, a brighter Aame from fire :
Strips black Oppression of her gay disguise,

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

Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin’d Power,
Though oft she mourns those ills the cannot cure.
The Worthy court her, and the Worthless fear ;
Who fun her piercing eye, that

eye revere.
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 fhe draws a healing dew:
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-linew'd rends th' unequal toils :
The stream of Vice impetuous drives along,
deep for Policy, for Power too strong.




Ev'n fair Religion, Native of the skies,
Scorn'd by the Crowd, feeks 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 :
Undaunted storms the battery of his pride,
And awes the Brave that Earth and Heaven defy'd.
When fell Corruption, by her vassals crown'd, 125
Derides fall’n Justice prostrate 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. 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 she 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 Dutchesses to strumpets, Beaux to apes ; Drags the vile Whisperer 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, B 4


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