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Beware the mad Adventʼrer: bold and blind
She hoifts her fail, and drives with ev'ry wind;
Deaf as the storm to finking Virtue's groan,
Nor heeds a Friend's destruction, 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 Reason can explore,
This point the way, that waft us glad to shore.

Tho' diftant Times may rife in SATIRE's page,
Yet chief 'tis her's to draw the prefent Age:
With Wisdom's luftre, Folly's fhade contraft,
And judge the reigning Manners by the paft:
Bid Britain's Heroes (awful Shades!) arife,
And ancient Honour beam on modern Vice:
Point back to minds ingenuous, actions fair,

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Till the Sons 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 Sharpers only dar'd a lye,

Or falfify'd the Card, or cogg'd the Dye;

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Ere Lewdness the ftain'd garb of Honour wore,

Or Chastity was carted for the Whore ;

Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of Freedom drefs'd;
Or public Spirit was the public jeft.

Be ever, in a juft expreffion, bold,

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Yet ne'er degrade fair SATIRE to a Scold:

Let no unworthy mien her form debafe,

But let her smile, and let her frown with grace;

In mirth be temp'rate, temp'rate in her spleen;

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Nor, while the preaches modefty, obscene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a fore,
Nor call his Lordship —, her Grace a
The Mufe's charms refiftless then affail,
When wrapt in Irony's tranfparent veil :

Her beauties half-conceal'd the more furprise,
And keener luftre sparkles in her eyes.

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Then be your line with sharp encomiums grac❜d:
Style Clodius honourable, Bufa chaste.

Dart not on Folly an indignant eye:

Who e'er discharg'd Artillery on a Fly?

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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 fhall crown,
When folly feels her fmile, and Vice her frown.

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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 stoop to earth, or foar among the skies. Thus when a modish folly you rehearse,

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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 Senates 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 gayly graceful fport along the line;

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Bid courtly Fashion quit her thin pretence,

And fmile each Affectation into sense.

Not fo when Virtue by her Guards betray'd, Spurn'd from her Throne, implores the Mufe's aid; When crimes, which erft in kindred darkness lay, 295 Rife frontlefs, and infult the eye of day;

Indignant Hymen veils his hallow'd fires,
And white-rob❜d Chastity with tears retires;
When rank Adultery on the genial bed
Hot from Cocytas rears her baleful head:
When private Faith and public Truft 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-wing fhe gains Parnasus' 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.

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Yet SATIRE oft affumes a gentler mien,
And beams on Virtue's friends a smile 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 fhine;
Where bursting glorious, with departing ray,
True Genius gilds the close of Britain's Day:
With joys fhé fees the ftream of Roman art
From MURRAY's tongue flow purer to the heart:
Sees YORKE to Fame, ere yet to Manhood known, 325
And just to ev'ry virtue, but his own;

Hears unftain'd CAM with gen'rous pride proclaim
A SAGE'S, CRITIC's, and a POET's name:
Beholds, where WIDCOMBE's happy hills afcend,
Each orphan'd Art and Virtue find a friend :

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TO HAGLEY'S honour'd shade directs her view;
And culls each flow'r to form a Wreath for You.

But tread with cautious ftep this dangerous ground Befet with faithlefs precipices round:

Truth be your guide: difdain Ambition's call;
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 :

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And who unmov'd with laughter can behold

A fordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?

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Let real Merit then adorn your lays,

For Shame attends on prostituted praise :

And all your wit, your most diftinguish'd art,
But makes us grieve you want an honest heart.

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Nor think the Mufe by SATIRE's Law confin'd: She yields description of the noblest kind. Inferior art the Landscape may defign, And paint the purple ev'ning 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 art and catch internal grace; By turns bid Vice or Virtue strike our eyes, Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwell rife ; Now with a touch more facred and refin'd,

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Call forth a CHESTERFIELD's or LONSDALE's mind.

Here fweet or strong may ev'ry Colour flow,
Here let the pencil warm, the canvafs glow:
Of light and fhade provoke the noble ftrife,

And wake each striking feature into life.

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PART III.

THRO' Ages thus has SATIRE keenly frin'd,
The Friend to Truth, to Virtue, and Mankind:
Yet the bright flame from Virtue ne'er had sprung,
And Man was guilty ere the Poet fung.
This Muse in filence joy'd each better Age,
Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage.
Truth faw her honeft fpleen with new delight,

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And bade her wing her fhafts, and urge their flight.
Firft on the Sons 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 cause engag'd,
And confcious Villains trembled as he rag'd.

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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 seen,
And, as it grew more polish'd, grew more keen.
His art, conceal'd in ftudy'd negligence,
Politely fly, cajol'd the foes of fense:

He feem'd to sport and trifle with the dart,
But while he sported, drove it to the heart.

a Archilochum proprio rabies armavit Iambo.
b Enfe velut ftricto quoties Lucilius ardens
Infremuit, rubet auditor cui frigida mens eft
Criminibus, tacita fudant præcordia culpa.
Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
Tangit, et admiffus circum præcordia ludit,
Callidus excuffo populum fufpendere nafo.

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HOR.

Juv. S. i.

PERS. S. i.

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