In vain the trackless maze of truth you scan,
And lend th' informing clue to erring man.
No more shall Reason boast her pow'r divine,
Her base eternal shook by Folly's mine!
Truth's sacred fort th' exploded laugh shall win,
And coxcombs vanquish Berkeley by a grin.
But you, more sage, reject th' inverted rule,
That truth is e'er explor'd by ridicule :
On truth, on falsehood, let her colours fall,
She throws a dazzling glare alike on all;
As the gay prism but mocks the flatter'd eye,
And gives to ev'ry object ev'ry dye.
Beware the mad advent'rer: bold and blind
She hoists her sail, and drives with ev'ry wind;
Deaf as the storm to sinking Virtue's groan,
Nor heeds a friend's destruction or her own.
Let clear-ey'd Reason at the helm preside,
Bear to the wind, or stem the furious tide;
Then mirth may urge when reason can explore;
This point the way, that waft us glad to shore.
Tho' distant times may rise in Satire's page, Yet chief 'tis her's to draw the present age: With Wisdom's lustre Folly's shade 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,
Till the sons blush 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 lie,
Or falsify'd the card, or cogg'd the die;
Ere lewdness the stain'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 just expression bold,
Yet ne'er degrade fair Satire to a scold:
Let no unworthy mien her form debase,
But let her smile and let her frown with grace;
In mirth be temp'rate, temp'rate in her spleen,
Nor, while she preaches modesty, obscene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a sore,
Nor call his Lordship ·
her Grace a.
The Muse's charms resistless then assail
When wrapp'd in Irony's transparent veil :
Her beauties half-conceal'd the more surprise,
And keener lustre sparkles in her eyes.
Then be your line with sharp encomiums grac'd;
Style Clodius Honourable, Bufa Chaste.
Dart not on folly an indignant eye :
Whoe'er discharg'd artillery on a fly?
Deride not Vice; absurd the thought and vain
To bind the tiger in so weak a chain.
Nay more; when flagrant crimes your laughter move, The knave exults: to smile is to approve.
The Muse's labours then success shall crown
When folly feels her smile, and Vice her frown.
Know next what measures to each theme belong,
And suit your thoughts and numbers to your song:
On wing proportion'd to your quarry rise,
And stoop to earth, or soar among the skies.
Thus when a modish folly you rehearse,
Free the expression, simple be the verse:
In artless numbers paint th' ambitious peer
That mounts the box, and shines a charioteer :
In strains familiar sing the midnight toil
Of camps and senates disciplin❜d by Hoyle;
Patriots and chiefs, whose deep design invades
And carries off the captive king-of Spades!
Let Satire here in milder vigour shine,
And gaily graceful sport along the line;
Bid courtly Fashion quit her thin pretence,
And smile each affectation into sense.
Not so when Virtue, by her guards betray'd, Spurn'd from her throne, implores the Muses' aid; When crimes, which erst in kindred darkness lay, Rise frontless, and insult 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 sold,
And traitors barter liberty for gold;
When fell Corruption dark and deep, like Fate,
Saps the foundation of a sinking state;
When giant Vice and Irreligion rise
On mountain'd falsehoods to invade the skies;
Then warmer numbers glow thro' Satire's page,
And all her smiles are darken'd into rage;
On eagle wings she gains Parnassus' height,
Not lofty Epic soars 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' assumes a gentler mien,
And beams on Virtue's friends a smile serene:
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 see unconquer'd Merit shine;
Where bursting glorious with departing ray
True genius gilds the close of Britain's day :
With joy she sees 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 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;
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,
Beset with faithless precipices round:
Truth be your guide; disdain Ambition's call;
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.
Nor think the Muse by Satire's law confin'd; 345
She yields description of the noblest kind.
Inferior art the landscape may design,
And paint the purple ev'ning in the line:
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