PART I. FATE gave the word; the cruel arrow fped; And POPE lies number'd with the mighty Dead! Refign'd he fell; fuperior to the dart, That quench'd its rage in YOURS and BRITAIN'S Heart: You mourn but BRITAIN, lull'd in rest profound, 5 (Unconscious BRITAIN!) flumbers o'er her wound. Exulting Dulnefs ey'd the fetting Light, And flapp'd her wing, impatient for the Night: And Snake-hung ENVY hiffes o'er his Urn : 'But You, O WARBURTON! whofe eye refin'd 15 Can fee the greatnefs of an honeft mind; Can fee each Virtue and each Grace unite, And tafte the Raptures of a pure Delight; You vifit oft his awful Page with Care, And view that bright Affemblage treafur'd there; 20 You trace the Chain that links his deep defign, In ev'ry Breaft there burns an active flame, 25 30 And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire: She, Pow'r refiftlefs, rules the wife and great; 40 Thus Heav'n in Pity wakes the friendly Flame, To urge Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame: But Man, vain Man, in folly only wife, Rejects the Manna fent him from the Skies: With rapture hears corrupted Paffion's call, Still proudly prone to mingle with the stall. 45 As each deceitful fhadow tempts his view, 50 55 Thus ftill imperious NATURE plies her part; And ftill her Dictates work in ev'ry heart. Each Pow'r that fov'reign Nature bids enjoy, Man may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy. Like mighty rivers, with refiftlefs force The Paffions rage, obstructed in their course; Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore, And drown thofe Virtues which they fed before. 60 65 And fure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame, Our worst of Evils, is perverted Shame. Beneath this load what abject numbers groan, Th' entangled Slaves to folly not their own! Meanly by fashionable fear opprefs'd, We feek our Virtues in each other's breast; Blind to ourselves, adopt each foreign Vice, Another's weakness, int'reft, or caprice. Each Fool to low Ambition, poorly great, That pines in fplendid wretchedness of state, Tir'd in the treach'rous Chafe, would nobly yield, And, but for Shame, like SYLLA, quit the field: 70 The Dæmon Shame paints ftrong the ridicule, Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driv'n, 75 Believes and trembles while he fcoffs at Heav'n. By weakness strong, and bold thro' fear alone, He dreads the fneer by fhallow Coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod; To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God. 80 Faith, Juftice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart is fold: Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd; Nought could fubdue his Virtue, but his Pride. Hence chafte Lucretia's Innocence betray'd Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid. Thus Virtue finks beneath unnumber'd woes, When Paffions, born her friends, revolt her foes. 85 Hence SATIRE's pow'r: "Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild diforders of the heart. IMITATIONS. VER. 80. To Man a Coward, etc.] Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide, Qui preche contre un Dieu que dans fon Ame il croit ? Mais de fes faux Amis il craint la Raillerie, Boileau, Ep. in, ၄၀ She points the arduous height where Glory lies, 95 100 Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin'd Pow'r, Hush'd at her voice, pert Folly's felf is still, 104 From poys'nous Vice she draws a healing dew: 110 IMITATIONS. VER. 110. From poys'nous Vice, etc.] Alluding to these Linee of Mr. Pope; In the nice Bee what Art fo fubtly true From poys'nous Herbs extracts a healing Dew? |