Her daring thought essays a higher plan; 350 355 Call forth a Chesterfield's or Lonsdale's mind. 360 PART III. THRO' 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, 365 Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage: 370 With dauntless warmth in Virtue's cause engag'd, Then sportive Horace caught the gen❜rous fire, 376 Politely sly, cajoll'd the foes of sense: He seem'd to sport and trifle with the dart, 380 385 390 Greatly sedate, contemn'd a tyrant's reign, At length again fair Science shot her ray, 395 405 410 (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: 416 He, 'midst an age of puns and pedants, wrote With genuine sense and Roman strength of thought. 425 Yet scarce had Satire well relum'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 :" 430 Proud for a jest obscene, a patron's nod, To martyr Virtue, or blaspheme his God, Ill-fated Dryden! who unmov'd can see 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; A Muse whom wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain; 445 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 breast: Fancy and sense to form his line conspire, And faultless judgment guides the purest fire. But see at length, the British Genius smile, And show'r her bounties o'er her favour'd isle: 450 Behold for Pope she twines the laurel crown, And centres ev'ry poet's pow'r in one! Each Roman's force adorns his various page, Gay smiles, collected strength, and manly rage. Despairing Guilt and Dulness loath the sight, As spectres vanish at approaching light: In this clear mirror with delight we view Each image justly fine and boldly true: 455 Here Vice, dragg'd forth by Truth's supreme decree, While self-seen Virtue in the faithful line 460 |