PART II. 170 ARE nobly then: But confcious of your trust, But chief, be fteady in a noble end, And fhew Mankind that Truth has yet a friend. 'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write, As Foplings grin to fhow their Teeth? are white: To brand a doubtful folly with a fmile, O loft to honour's voice, O doom'd to fhame, 175 180 Fell Ravifher, from Innocence to tear b And know, immortal Truth fhall mock thy toil: 190 With caution next, the dang'rous pow'r apply; An eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye: Let SATIRE then her proper object know, 195 200 And ere she strike, be sure she strike a foe. We therefore fee a Fool, because we smile. 205 Lo, gay fhe fits in Laughter's dimpled cheek: 210 Contemns each furly Academic foe, And courts the fpruce Freethinker and the Beau. But all can read the Language of grimace. 220 But you, more fage, reject th' inverted rule, 225 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 Storm to finking Virtue's groan, Nor heeds a Friend's deftruction, or her own. 230 Let clear-ey'd Reason at the helm prefide, Bear to the wind, or ftem the furious tide; 235 Then Mirth may urge, when Reason can explore, 240 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 contrast, And judge the reigning Manners by the past: Bid Britain's Heroes (awful Shades!) arise, And ancient Honour beam on modern Vice: Point back to minds ingenuous, actions fair, 245 Till the Sons blufh at what their Fathers were: Ere yet 'twas beggary the great to trust; Ere yet 'twas quite a folly to be just ; When low-born Sharpers only dar'd a lye, Ere Lewdness the ftain'd garb of Honour wore, Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of Freedom drefs'd; Be ever, in a juft expreffion, bold, Yet ne'er degrade fair SATIRE to a Scold: Let no unworthy mien her form debase, 250 255 In mirth be temp❜rate, temp'rate in her spleen; 260 Deep let her wound, not rankle to a fore, Her beauties half-conceal'd the more furprize, 265 Then be your line with fharp encomiums graed: Style Clodius honourable, Bufa chaste. Dart not on Folly an indignant eye: To bind the Tyger in fo weak a chain. 270 Nay more: when flagrant crimes your laughter move, The Knave exults: to fmile is to approve. The Mufe's labour then fuccefs fhall crown, 275 When Folly feels her smile, and Vice her frown. Know next what Measures to each Theme belong, And fuit your thoughts and numbers to your song: On wing proportion'd to your quarry rise, And ftoop to earth, or foar among the skies. 280 Thus when a modifh folly you rehearse, Free the expreffion, fimple be the verse. |