Point back to minds ingenuous, actions fair, Till the Sons blush at what their Fathers were: 245 Ere yet 'twas quite a folly to be just; Ere Lewdness the ftain'd garb of Honour wore, 250 Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of Freedom drefs'd; Or public Spirit was the public jeft. Be ever, in a juft expreffion, bold, Yet ne'er degrade fair SATIRE to a Scold: her Grace a The Mufe's charms refiftlefs then affail, : 255 260 Her beauties half-conceal'd the more furprize, 265 Then be your line with fharp encomiums grac❜d: Dart not on Folly an indignant eye: Who e'er discharg'd Artillery on a Fly? 270 Deride not Vice: Abfurd the thought and vain, Nay more: when flagrant crimes your laughter move, The Mufe's labour then fuccefs fhall crown, 275 When Folly feels her fmile, and Vice her frown. Know next what measures to each Theme belong, And fuit your thoughts and numbers to your fong: On wing proportion'd to your quarry rife, And floop to earth, or foar among the skies. 280 285 290 Bid courtly Fashion quit her thin pretence, Not fo when Virtue by her Guards betray'd, Spurn'd from her Throne, implores the Mufe's aid: When crimes, which erst in kindred darkness lay, Rife frontless, and insult the eye of day; 296 Indignant Hymen veils his hallow'd fires, 300 When private Faith and public Trust are fold, When fell Corruption dark and deep, like fate, rage: On mountain'd falfhoods to invade the fkies: 395 page, 310 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. 315 Yet SATIRE oft affumes a gentler mien, B 320 Sees YORKE to Fame, e'er yet to Manhood known, Hears unftain'd CAM with generous pride proclaim 330 But tread with cautious ftep this dang'rous ground, Befet with faithlefs precipices round: Truth be your guide: difdain Ambition's call; And if you fall with Truth, you greatly fall. 'Tis Virtue's native luftre that must shine; The Poet can but set it in his line : And who unmov'd with laughter can behold 335 A fordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold? But makes us grieve you want an honeft heart. 340 Nor think the Muse by SATIRE's Law confin'd: She yields description of the noblest kind. Inferior art the Landfkip may defign, And paint the purple ev'ning in the line: Her daring thought effays a higher plan; Her hand delineates Paffion, pictures Man. 345 And great the toil, the latent foul to trace, 350 Now with a touch more facred and refin'd, 355 |