PART II. ARE nobly then: But confcious of your DAR trust, As ever warm and bold, be ever just : Nor court applause in these degen'rate days : 170 But chief, be steady in a noble end, And fhew mankind that Truth has yet a friend. 'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write, 175 As Foplings grin to show their teeth are white: To brand a doubtful folly with a smile, Or madly blaze unknown defects, is vile: 180 O loft to honour's voice, O doom'd to fhame, That name, than liberty, than life more dear! With rage retorted, wing the deadly dart; 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 And ere she strike, be fure fhe ftrike a foe. 205 We therefore see a Fool, because we smile. And courts the spruce Freethinker and the Beau. Dadalian arguments but few can trace, Hence mighty Ridicule's all-conqu❜ring hand 215 you scan, But you, more fage, reject th' inverted rule, 225 230 Beware the mad Advent'rer: bold and blind 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 present Age: 240 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 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 falfify'd the card, or cogg'd the dye; Ere Lewdnefs the ftain'd garb of Honour wore, Or Chastity was carted for the Whore ; Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of Freedom dress'd; Or public Spirit was the public jeft, 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 But let her smile, and let her frown with grace: In mirth be temp'rate, temp'rate in her spleen; - The Mufe's charms refiftlefs then affail, Her beauties half conceal'd, the more furprize, 266 Then be your line with sharp encomiums grac'd : Style Clodius honourable, Bufa chaste. Dart not on Folly an indignant eye: 270 Who e'er discharg'd Artillery on a Fly? move, The Knave exults: to fimile is to approve. |