Nor fondly deem the real fool confeft,
Because blind Ridicule conceives a jeft;
Before whofe altar Virtue oft' hath bled,
And oft' a deftin'd victim fhall be led :
Lo! Shaftfb'ry rears her high on Reafon's throne,
And loads the flave with honours not her own:
Big fwoln with folly, as her fmiles provoke,
Profanenefs fpawns, pert dunces nurse the joke!
Come, let us join a while this titt'ring crew,
And own the idiot guide for once is true;
Deride our weak forefathers' mufty rule,
Who therefore fmil'd because they faw a fool;
Sublimer logic now adorns our ifle,
We therefore fee a fool because we fmile.
Truth in her gloomy cave why fondly feek?
Lo! gay the fits in Laughter's dimpled cheek;
Contemns each furly academic foe,
And courts the fpruce freethinker and the beau.
Dædalian arguments but few can trace,
But all can read the language of grimace.
Hence mighty Ridicule's all-conqʼring hand
Shall work Herculean wonders thro' the land:
Bound in the magic of her cobweb chain,
You, mighty Warburton! shall rage in vain;
In vain the tracklefs maze of truth you fcan,
And lend th' informing clue to erring man.
No more fhall Reafon boast her pow'r divine,
Her bafe eternal fhook by Folly's mine!
Truth's facred fort th' exploded laugh fhall win,
And coxcombs vanquish Berkley by a grin.
But you, more fage, reject th' inverted rule,
That truth is e'er explor'd by ridicule :
On truth, on falfehood, let her colours fall,
She throws a dazzling glare alike on all;
As the gay prifm but mocks the flatter'd eye,
And gives to ev'ry object ev'ry dye.
Beware the mad advent'rer: bold and blind
She hoifts her fail, and drives with ev'ry wind;
Deaf as the ftorm to finking Virtue's groan,
Nor heeds a friend's deftruction or her own.
Let clear-ey'd Reafon at the helm prefide,
Bear to the wind, or ftem the furious tide;
Then mirth may urge when reafon can explore;
This point the way, that waft us glad to fhore.
Tho' diftant times may rise in Satire's page,
Yet chief 'tis her's to draw the prefent age:
With Wifdom's luftre Folly's fhade contrast,
And judge the reigning manners by the past;
Bid Britain's heroes (awful fhades!) arife,
And ancient honour beam on modern vice;
Point back, to minds ingenuous, actions fair,
Till the fons blush at what their fathers were:
Ere yet 'twas beggary the great to truft,
Ere yet 'twas quite a folly to be just;
When low-born fharpers only dar'd a lie,
Or falfify'd the card, or cogg'd the die ;
Ere Lewdness the ftain'd garb of Honour wore,
Or Chastity was carted for the whore;
Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of Freedom drest,
Or public spirit was the public jest.
Be ever in a juft expreffion bold,
Yet ne'er degrade fair Satire to a scold :
Let no unworthy mien her form debafe,
But let her fmile and let her frown with grace;
In mirth be temp'rate, temp'rate in her spleen,
Nor, while fhe preaches modesty, obscene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a fore,
Nor call his Lordship -
-, her Grace a
The Mufe's charms refiftlefs then affail
When wrapp'd in Irony's transparent veil :
Her beauties half conceal'd the more furprise,
And keener luftre fparkles in her eyes.
Then be your line with fharp encomiums grac'd;
Style Clodius Honourable, Bufa Chafte.
Dart not on Folly an indignant eye:
Whoe'er difcharg'd artillery on a fly?
Deride not Vice; abfurd the thought and vain
To bind the tiger in fo weak a chain.
Nay more; when flagrant crimes your laughter move, The knave exults: to fmile is to approve.
The Mufe's labour then fuccefs fhali crown
When Folly feels her fmile, and Vice her frown.
Know next what measures to each theme belong, And fuit your thoughts and numbers to your fong: On wing proportion'd to your quarry rife, And froop to earth, or foar among the skies. Thus when a modifh folly you rehearse, Free the expreffion, fimple be the verse : In artless numbers paint th' ambitious peer That mounts the box, and fhines a charioteer: In ftrains familiar fing the midnight toil Of camps and fenates difciplin'd by Hoyle; Patriots and chiefs, whofe deep defign invades And carries off the captive king-of Spades! Let Satire here in milder vigour shine, And gaily graceful fport along the line; Bid courtly Fashion quit her thin pretence, And fmile each affectation into fenfe.
Not so when Virtue, by her guards betray'd, Spurn'd from her throne, implores the Mufes' aid; When crimes, which erft in kindred darkness lay, 295 Rife frontless, and infult the eye of day ; Indignant Hymen veils his hallow'd fires, And white-rob'd Chastity with tears retires: When rank Adult'ry on the genial bed, Hot from Cocytus, rears her baleful head; When private faith and public trust are fold, And traitors barter liberty for gold;
When fell Corruption dark and deep, like Fate,
Saps the foundation of a finking state;
When giant Vice and Irreligion rife
On mountain'd falfehoods to invade the skies;
Then warmer numbers glow thro' Satire's page,
And all her fmiles are darken'd into rage;
On eagle wings the gains Parnaffus' height,
Not lofty Epic foars a nobler flight:
Then keener indignation fires her eye;
Then flash her lightnings, and her thunders fly:
Wide and more wide her flaming bolts are hurl'd,
Till all her wrath involves the guilty world.
Yet Satire oft' affumes a gentler mien, And beams on Virtue's friends a fmile ferene: She wounds reluctant, pours her balm with joy, Glad to commend where worth attracts her eye: But chief when virtue, learning, arts, decline, She joys to fee unconquer'd Merit shine; Where, bursting glorious with departing ray, True genius gilds the clofe of Britain's day: With joy the fees the stream of Roman art From Murray's tongue flow purer to the heart; Sees Yorke to fame e'er yet to manhood known, 325 And just to ev'ry virtue but his own;
Hears unftain'd Cam with gen'rous pride proclaim
A fage's, critic's, and a poet's name;
Beholds where Widcombe's happy hills afcend,
Each orphan'd art and virtue find a friend;
To Hagley's honour'd shade directs her view,
And culls each flower to form a wreath for you.
But tread with cautious step this dang'rous ground,
Befet with faithless precipices round:
Truth be your guide; disdain Ambition's call; 335
And if you fall with Truth you greatly fall.
'Tis Virtue's native luftre that must shine;
The poet can but fet it in his line:
And who, unmov'd with laughter, can behold
A fordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?
Let real merit then adorn your lays,
For thame attends on prostituted praife;
And all your wit, your most diftinguish'd art,
But makes us grieve you want an honest heart.
Nor think the Mufe by Satire's law confin'd; 345 She yields defcription of the noblest kind. Inferior art the landscape may defign, And paint the purple evʼning in the line : Her daring thought effays a higher plan; Her hand delineates paffion, pictures man. And great the toil the latent foul to trace, To paint the heart, and catch internal grace; By turns bid Vice or Virtue strike our eyes, Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwell rise;
Now, with a touch more facred and refin'd,
Call forth a Chefterfield's or Lonidale's mind.
Here fweet or strong may ev'ry colour flow,
Here let the pencil warm, the canvas glow;
Of light and fhade provoke the noble itrife,
And wake each striking feature into life.
TERO' ages thus has Satire keenly fhin'd,
The friend to truth, to virtue, and mankind:
Yet the bright flame from virtue ne'er had sprung,
Aud man was guilty ere the poet fung.
This Mufe in filence joy'd each better age,
Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage:
Truth faw her honeft ipleen with new delight,
And bade her wing her thafts and urge their flight.
Firft on the fons of Greece the prov'd her art,
And Sparta felt the fierce Iambic dart:
To Latium next avenging Satire flew ;
The flaming falchion rough Lucilius drew,
With dauntless warmth in Virtue's caufe engag'd,
And confcious villains trembled as he rag'd.
Then fportive Horace caught the gen'rous fire,
For Satire's bow refign'd the founding lyre;
Each arrow polish'd in his hand was feen,
And as it grew more polish'd grew more keen.
His art, conceal'd in ftudy'd negligence,
Politely fly, cajoll'd the foes of fenfe:
He feem'd to fport and trifle with the dart,
But while he fported drove it to the heart.
In graver ftrains majeltic Perfius wrote,
Big with a ripe exuberance of thought;
Greatly fedate, contemn'd a tyrant's reign,
And lafh'd Corruption with a calm disdain.
More ardent eloquence and boundless rage
Inflame bold Juvenal's exalted page;
His mighty numbers aw'd corrupted Rome,
And fwept audacious Greatnefs to its doom:
The headlong torrent, thund'ring from on high,
Rent the proud rock that lately brav'd the sky.
|