With joy she sees the stream of Roman art
From MURRAY's tongue flow purer to the heart:
Sees YORKE to Fame, ere yet to Manhood known,
And just to ev'ry Virtue but his own :
326
Hears unstain'd CAM with gen'rous pride proclaim
A SAGE'S, CRITIC's, and a POET's name :
Behold, where WIDCOMBE's happy hills ascend,
Each orphan'd Art and Virtue find a friend : 330
To HAGLEY's honour'd Shade directs her view;
And culls each flow'r, to form a Wreath for You.
Buttread with cautious step this dangerous ground,
Beset 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 lustre that must shine;

The Poet can but set it in his line:

And who unmov'd with laughter can behold
A sordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?
Let real Merit then adorn your lays,

For shame attends on prostituted praise :
And all your wit, your most distinguish'd art,
But makes us grieve you want an honest heart.

340

Nor think the Muse by SATIRE's Law confin'd:

She yields description of the noblest kind.
Inferior art the Landscape may design,

346

And paint the purple ev'ning in the line:
Her daring thought essays a higher plan;
Her hand delineates Passion, pictures Man.
And great the toil, the latent soul to trace,
To paint the heart, and catch internal grace;
By turns bid Vice or Virtue strike our eyes,
Now bid a Wolsey, or a Cromwell rise ;

350

Now with a touch more sacred and refin'd,

355

Call forth a CHESTERFIELD's or LONSDALE's mind.
Here sweet or strong may ev'ry Colour flow :
Here let the pencil warm, the canvas glow :
Of light and shade provoke the noble strife,

And wake each striking feature into life.

360

PART III.

365

THROUGH Ages thus has SATIRE keenly shin'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 sung. This Muse in silence joy'd each better Age, Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage. Truth saw her honest spleen with new delight, And bade her wing her shafts, and urge their flight. First on the Sons of Greece she prov'd her art, And Sparta felt the fierce IAMBIC dart.1 TO LATIUM next, avenging SATIRE flew : The flaming faulchion rough LUCILIUS drew; With dauntless warmth in Virtue's cause engag'd, And conscious Villains trembled as he rag'd.

370

Then sportive HORACE3 caught the gen'rous fire; For SATIRE's bow resign'd the sounding lyre: 376 Each arrow polish'd in his hand was seen, And, as it grew more polish'd, grew more keen. His art conceal'd in study'd negligence, Politely sly, cajol'd the foes of sense:

NOTES.

380

"Archilochum proprio rabies armavit Iambo." Hor. "Ense velut stricto quoties Lucilius ardens Infremuit, rubet auditor, cui frigida mens est Criminibus, tacita sudant præcordia culpa." Juv. S. i.

3 "Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico

Tangit, et admissus circum præcordia ludit,

Callidus excusso populum suspendere naso."-Pers. S. i.

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

;

385

390

In graver strains majestic PERSIUS wrote, Big with a ripe exuberance of thought: Greatly sedate, contemn'd a Tyrant's reign, And lash'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 swept audacious Greatness to its doom The headlong torrent thund'ring from on high, Rent the proud rock that lately brav'd the sky. But lo! the fatal Victor of Mankind! Swoln Luxury!-pale Ruin stalks behind! As countless Insects from the north-east pour, 395 To blast the Spring, and ravage ev'ry flow'r : So barb'rous Millions spread contagious death: The sick ning Laurel wither'd at their breath. Deep Superstition's night the skies o'erhung, Beneath whose baleful dews the Poppy sprung. 400 No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love, But Dulness nodded in the Muse's grove : Wit, Spirit, Freedom, were the sole offence, Nor aught was held so dangerous as Sense.

405

At length, again fair Science shot her ray, Dawn'd in the skies, and spoke returning day. Now, SATIRE, triumph o'er thy flying foe, Now, load thy quiver, string thy slacken'd bow! 'Tis done!-See, great ERASMUS breaks the spell, And wounds triumphant Folly in her cell! 410 (In vain the solemn Cowl surrounds her face, Vain all her bigot cant, her sour grimace,)

With shame compell'd her leaden throne to quit,
And own the force of Reason urg'd by Wit.

'Twas then plain DONNE in honest vengeance rose,
His Wit harmonious, tho' his Rhyme was prose :
He 'midst an age of Puns and Pedants wrote
With genuine sense, and Roman strength of thought.

417

425

Yet scarce had SATIRE well resum'd her flame, (With grief the Muse records her Country's shame,) Ere Britain saw the foul revolt commence, 421. And treach'rous Wit began her war with Sense. Then rose a shameless mercenary train, Whom latest Time shall view with just disdain : A race fantastic, in whose gaudy line Untutor❜d thought, and tinsel beauty shine; Wit's shatter'd Mirror lies in fragments bright, Reflects not Nature, but confounds the sight. Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to sing: 'Twas all his praise to say, "the oddest thing." Proud for a jest obscene, a Patron's nod, To martyr Virtue, or blaspheme his God.

Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can see

431

Th' extremes of wit and meanness join'd in Thee! Flames that could mount, and gain their kindred skies, Low creeping in the putrid sink of vice;

436

A Muse whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The Pimp of Pow'r, the Prostitute to Gain :
Wreaths that should deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants vilely thrown:
Unrivall'd parts, the scorn of honest fame;
And Genius rise, a Monument of shame!

441

More happy France: immortal BOILEAU there

Supported Genius with a Sage's care: