PART III.

HRO' Ages thus has SATIRE keenly fhin'd,

Yet the bright flame from Virtue ne'er had fprung, And Man was guilty ere the Poet fung.

This Mufe in filence joy'd each better Age,

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Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage.
Truth faw her honeft fpleen with new delight,
And bade her wing her fhafts, and urge their flight.
First on the Sons of Greece the prov'd her art,
And Sparta felt the fierce IAMBIC dart 2.
TO LATIUM next, avenging SATIRE flew :
The flaming faulchion rough LUCILIUS drew;
With dauntless warmth in Virtue's caufe 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 :

Hor.

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. Juv. S. i. c Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico Tangit, et admiffus circum præcordia ludit, Callidus excuffo populum fufpendere nafo.

Perf. S. i.

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, cajol'd the foes of fense:

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

In graver ftrains majestic PERSIUS wrote, Big with a ripe exuberance of thought: Greatly fedate, condemn'd a Tyrant's reign, And lafh'd Corruption with a calm difdain.

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.

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But lo! the fatal Victor of Mankind, Swoln Luxury! pale Ruin stalks behind! As countless Infects from the north-east pour, To blaft the Spring, and ravish ev'ry flow'r : So barb'rous Millions fpread contagious death : The fick'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 Mufe's grove:

Wit, Spirit, Freedom, were the fole offence,
Nor aught was held fo dangerous as Senfe.

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At length, again fair Science fhot her ray, Dawn'd in the skies, and spoke returning day. Now, SATIRE, triumph o'er thy flying foe, Now load thy quiver, ftring thy flacken'd bow ! "Tis done See great ERASMUS breaks the fpell, And wounds triumphant Folly in her Cell! (In vain the folemn Cowl surrounds her face, Vain all her bigot cant, her four grimace) With fhame compell'd her leaden throne to quit, And own the force of Reason urg'd by Wit.

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"Twas then plain DONNE in honeft vengeance rofe, His Wit harmonious, tho' his Rhyme was profe: He midft an Age of Puns and Pedants wrote With genuine fenfe, and Roman ftrength of thought.

Yet fcarce had SATIRE well relum'd her flame, (With grief the Muse records her Country's fhamé) Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence, And treach❜rous Wit began her war with Senfe. Then rofe a shameless mercenary train, Whom latest Time shall view with just disdain: A race fantastic, in whofe gaudy line Untutor'd thought, and tinfel beauty fhine; Wit's fhatter'd Mirror lies in fragment's bright, Reflects not Nature, but confounds the fight.

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Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to fing :'

"Twas all his praise to fay," the oddeft thing." 43 Proud for a jest obscene, a Patron's nod,

To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.

Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can fee

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

A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The Pimp of Pow'r, the Prostitute to Gain : 438
Wreaths, that should deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants, vilely thrown:
Unrival'd Parts, the scorn of honest fame;
And Genius rife, a Monument of fhame!

More happy France: immortal BOILEAU there
Supported Genius with a Sage's care :
Him with her love propitious SATIRE blest,
And breath'd her airs divine into his breaft:
Fancy and Senfe to form his line conspire,
And faultlefs Judgment guides the pureft Fire.

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But fee, at length, the British Genius smile,
And show'r her beauties o'er her favour'd Ifle: 450
Behold for POPE the twines the laurel crown,

And centers ev'ry Poet's pow'r in one:
Each Roman's force adorns his various page;
Gay fmiles, collected ftrength, and manly rage. 454

Despairing Guilt and Dulnefs loath the fight,
As Spectres vanish at approaching light :
In this clear Mirror with delight we view
Each Image justly fine, and boldly true:

Here Vice, drag'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree,
Beholds and hates her own deformity:

While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modeft joy furveys her form divine.

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But oh, what thoughts, what numbers (hall I find,
But faintly to exprefs the Poet's mind!
Who yonder Stars effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray ?

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Who paint a God, unless the God infpire?
What catch the Lightning, but the fpeed of fire!
So, mighty POPE, to make thy Genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers
but thy own. 470

Each Mufe for thee with kind contention ftrove,
For thee the Graces left th' IDALIAN grove;
With watchful fondness o'er thy cradle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant tongue.
Next, to her Bard majestic Wisdom came;
The bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame:
With tafte fuperior scorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can fway, or guilty greatnefs bribe;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the ftream, and trifle in the gale:
Sublimer views thy darling Spirit bound;
Thy mighty Voyage was Creation's round;

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