MODERN VIRTUE. A SATIRE.

MODERN VIRTUE . A SATIRE . " LET venal annals boast a Caesar's reign , " When Rome's great genius hugg'd th' imperial chain , " Freedom , gay Goddess , glads our happier isle , " Peace smooths her brow , as Plenty decks her smile ; " In every son th' inspirer lives confess'd , " And lights up all the patriot in his breast , " Breathes the same social warmth from soul to soul , " Till widening Nature pants but for a whole . " Shines he in life's meridian beam display'd , " Or gives his milder virtues to the shade ; " Glares the proud ribbon , nods the martial crest , " Or flaunt the tatters on his motly vest ; " The godlike Briton fills his every sphere " Without a frailty , and without a fear . " If rich : Bright image of the Eternal Mind , " His opening bosom takes in all mankind ; " Where'er he comes , Health triumphs o'er Disease , " Hope glads Despair , and Anguish melts to ease . " Is Knowledge his ? He lends his every art , " To rear the genius , and to mould the heart ; " Fondly pursues with Boyle's auspicious blaze " Truth thro' her masques , and Nature thro' her maze ; " To heedless Justice gives the well-poiz'd scale , " And raises Commerce as he guides the sail . " Is power his orb ? He lives but to defend ; " The statesman only dignifies the friend : " Disarms Oppression , prunes Ambition's wing , " And stifles Faction ere she darts her sting ; " Enriches every coffer but his own , " And shields the cottage while he guards the throne ; " Sees at his nod our plunder'd rights restor'd , " And Europe trembling when he grasps the sword . " Thus sung the Muse when Fancy vigorous ran , And warm'd the youth , ere Reason form'd the man ; Life thro' Opinion's false perspective seen , With mimic beauty glow'd in every scene ; Dress'd in an angel's visionary form , Vice aim'd to please , and Madness learn'd to charm : Rebellion soften'd into public love , And each enormous villain seem'd a Jove . Doubly deceiv'd , what Lelius could I find To chase the phantoms , or to free the mind ? No Lelius came , no Seraph lent his aid , No pitying Genius whisper'd in the glade . It chanc'd that Virtue heard th' untutor'd lays , Still madly lisping with the voice of praise ; She heard , as thro' the mall the Goddess stray'd , When the gay world had peopled all the shade , Mild as the softness of a vernal sky , Youth flush'd her cheek , while caution arm'd her eye ; Half loose majestic flow'd her azure vest , A spotless ruby bled upon her breast , At every step kind Nature felt her power , Soft blew the zephyr , and soft sprung the flower ; A brighter freshness hung on every green , And a new Eden stole upon the scene , Awhile she paus'd , and with a frown survey'd The mingling swarm of tatters and brocade . When , as the Goddess wav'd th' ethereal spear , Pride dropt her smile , and Artifice her tear ; Lust threw aside Religion's borrow'd grace , A leering Satyr gloated in her face ; The prude , who fainted at the name of vice , Now hugg'd the bottle , and now grasp'd the dice ; While tortur'd with the town's obscener ail , A Saint stood melting o'er a luscious tale . Here , the bribe glitter'd in a Courtier's hand ; There , the grave Patriot bellow'd — for a wand : Full in his eye th' enchanting object hung , And dying Freedom gasp'd upon his tongue . All who to Drury's deadly stews resort , Rob at the Change , or plunder in the Court , Stripp'd of their masques in wild disorder rose , One with a halter , one without a nose ; So oddly mix'd , so excellently ill , Such motly spectres of Quevedo's hell ; They'd make a Jesuit quit the absolving chair , A brothel tremble , and a conclave stare . So when , where Bedlam's air-dress'd visions dwell , Tom stalks a straw-crown'd monarch in his cell ; Just as he soars tremendous to a God , And the wing'd thunder only waits his nod ; Shudd'ring , he hears his keeper's surly tone , He hears , and horror wraps his tott'ring throne ; Crowns drop their lustre , scepters lose their awe , Robes fly to rags , and empires sink to straw . " Learn hence , fair Virtue cry'd , mistaken youth , " What various monsters wear the guise of Truth . " Deck'd with each grace , immortal Merit shews " The cheek that reddens , and the soul that glows ; " With heaven's own image beaming in his eye , " Man smiles a dagger , and he looks a lie . " She spoke , and lo ! the long-misguided fire , With every number , slept along the lyre . Say then , my friend ! whose virtues are my pride , Whose candour soothes me , while thy precepts guide ; Thou whose quick eye has look'd thro' every age , View'd every scene , and studied every sage ; Say , shall I praise th' escutcheon's proud record , When a lost Brutus sinks into a lord ? With fulsome sing-song after shadows run , And still mistake a meteor for a sun ? Shall I be silent , while from day to day Bellville in bagnios revels life away ; Flagitious drops the majesty of power In the mad mischiefs of the midnight hour ; No flatterer left to daub , no friend to aid , By strumpets plunder'd , and by wits betray'd ? Rous'd at the thought , keen Satire spurns her chain , Springs with new life , and pants in every vein , On vice , impatient , wreaks her gathering rage , And bids the tyrant bleed thro' all the page . Broods she in purple o'er the venal bar , Struts in a gown , or blazes in a star ? My pen shall trace her out from slave to slave , Nor dares Oblivion screen her in the grave . Come then , ye self-curs'd atheists ! who degrade Truth to a sound , and scripture to a trade ; Ye bearded sycophants ! who life supply With the warm sun-shine of a minion's eye : Ye French editions of a British fool ; Abroad a cypher , and at home a fool ; Ye — FRIEND . Are you mad ? or have you lost all grace ? What , write a satire when you want a place ! Hold , hold , for God's sake , ere your friends bestow A few stout cords ; and send you to Monro Physician to Bethlem hospital . . Would you avoid the pedant's learned sneer ? Awe the pert fop ? or sooth a doctor's ear ? Heedless of all the phantom Sisters play'd , From cloud-topt Pindus to the Latian shade , Pursue deep Science thro' her mazy road , Hunt every page , and crawl from code to code ; Where musty systems solid joy dispense , And wise smiglecius fills the void of sense ; Or proud some more important truths to learn , Dream o'er the labour'd glossaries of Hearn : So you may live , approv'd , perhaps preferr'd , Your wisdom gravely measur'd by your beard . But soft — Your aim's to civilize mankind , To wake each social virtue of the mind ; To strip from Vice the gay disguise of art , And bare the villain lurking in the heart ; For this your grasp the falchion , spread the shield , A pigmy Quixot in the 'listed field . Time was , when satire delicately nice Cou'd rouze each virtue , and cou'd blast each vice ; Truth learn'd to please from Aesop's fabling tongue , And Rome grew virtuous when her Ennius sung . Once lost to goodness , but now lost to shame , We court dishonour , as we laugh'd at fame ; With the same raptures plunge in every crime , Tho' fifty Oldhams stab in every rhime . A native sin each vigorous Frenchman hails , Politely partial to his own Versailles . There , toujours gai , he loves a looser rein ; His Miss , la Contesse , and his wine Champagne . Britain , more generous , every vice provides , That Europe ripens , and that Asia hides . Th' enormous harvest to our ports consign'd Loads every ship , and busies every wind . Soon a vast group of follies croud the shore , As soon they cloy . — Fly hence , and fetch-us more , Quick spread th' impatient sail from pole to pole , Ye zephyrs , waft her ! and ye oceans , roll ! Strike whom you please , and write whate'er you will , Harpax will cheat , and Phillis hide spadille : Hircus in brothels impotently toil , And Verres murder merit with a smile : Murder , secure of same , for vulgar eyes Will still adore him , tho' the good despise ; At his rich coat and gorgeous chariot gaze , And lose at once th' assassin in the blaze . E'en Young himself , distinguish'd , lov'd , carest , Mark'd by each eye , and hugg'd to every breast , Sees he among this vicious race of men One rascal mended when he grasps the pen ? Still at the levee swarms the venal tribe , And still Corruption longs for every bribe . AUTHOR . What then ? If Vice unblushing hears the sage , Shall Reason struggle in the check of age ? Shall Truth shut up in complaisance her heart , Young lend a smile , and Satire drop her dart ? No , let the fiend-like heads of Hydra grow , Rise as he strikes , and double from the blow ; One honest drudge our Hercules has found , To sear the monster sprouting in the wound . Come , come , my friend ; throw off this rising frown , Nor curb my passions while you loose your own . Oft have you bid proud Thraso mend his life , Who kick'd a sister , and who starv'd a wife ; Nay , insolently dar'd to tell her grace , That virtue made a Goddess , not the face . FRIEND . When brisker spirits thro' the bosom roll , And life's mad tumuit rushes on the soul ; Each beardless Cato wings with awkward zeal His little arrow ere he learns to feel ; Fierce as old Appius , apes th' insulting air , Th' uplifted eye-brow , and the lordly stare . So I — But now that age with smooth career Wafts cooler notions on my sixtieth year ; Lost to each hope , each visionary joy , Pomps that disturb , and vanities that cloy ; Heedless what wit's cashier'd , what sool's carest , Who lives an hero , or who lives a jest , I view the world's romantic scene pass by , And stifle all my anger in a sigh . While thus my days steal on the wing of time , Unstain'd by wit , and guiltless of a rhyme , Unnumber'd ills the dreaded Satirist wait , Stand fast , Olympus ! and support him , Fate ! See ! frantic Dulness panting for the war , Grasps the keen spear , and mounts th' imperial car , Shrill clarions sound , attending Furies yell , The length'ning echo howls thro' every cell ; Rous'd by th' inspiring clang , each mighty son , Congenial offspring of his fire , the Hun , Slides from his garret formidably gay , An human vulture darting on his prey . All they whose science loads th' incumber'd stall , Who wound the wainscot , and who daub the wall , Luxurious rogues , that revel once a week On the rich feast of visto's and ox-cheek ; From the soft lyric to the wretch who squalls The Mint-born ballad at the end of Paul's , Around the flag in martial pomp appear , Curl in the van , and Osborne in the rear . Th' impatient battle joins , and lo ! at once The same wild phrenzy spreads from dunce to dunce , Fir'd with one soul , the shirtless legions run , One hurls a journal , and one darts a pun , In snip-snap prose vindictive lightnings play , And loud hoarse thunders rattle thro' the lay . Quick and more quick , the dire discordant din Rolls thro' each hall , and roars from inn to inn ; Wakes the loud horrors of the wrangling school , Where Priscian bawls , and fool re-echoes fool . But should you all the mighty mad defeat , Who howl in Bedlam , and who stun the Fleet , See the pert critic tremble to engage , Wit blunt her sting , and Envy drop her rage ; Yet can poor Innocence to mercy awe Those deadlier pests , the harpies of the law ? Another P—n shields each worthless lord , Arms the dread scourge , and whets th' avenging sword , Where he , great genius ! throws his letter'd eye , Truth stares a libel , Honesty a lye , Young embryo treasons in each period shine , And fancy'd poisons kill thro' every line . He sure will curb you , tho' my precepts fail , No stoic bullies when he smells a jail , Conscious that Wisdom mounts her throne too late , When doom'd to warble ethics thro' a grate . AUTHOR . Speak you of Claudius ? Let the minion rave , Say Pitt's a fool , and Lyttelton's a knave , Call wit a libel , and yet never see Swords in a brief , or poisons in a fee . But from my soul all scandal I detest , Truth forms my numbers , as she warms my breast , Learns me to triumph o'er a pimp's disdain , And bids me laugh when Claudius threats the chain . What , shall I strive to dignify disgrace ? And hail a patriot less'ning in a place ? Rear the proud trophy on a soldier's grave , Who liv'd a coward , and who dy'd a slave ? Shall I on Vice's pageantry attend , Croud to her car , and at her altars bend ? Rather , where Indian suns their rays unfold , And ripen half Potosi into gold , Let me beneath a Spaniard's insult pine , Crouch to the scourge , and drudge from mine to mine . Yet is there one , my friend ! who shines confest With all that heaven stamps upon the breast , Who , nobly conscious of paternal fire , Feeds the bright blaze , and beams upon his sire . Mine be the task to swell from day to day Th' applauding paean , and the loud huzza ; To bid our sons with filial fondness warm , Eye every grace , and copy every charm ; Explore his purpose , catch his God-like rage , And be the Maltons of another age . My verse , you say , will certainly offend . Who ? Not the man whom Virtue calls her friend . Virtue , like gold , of genuine worth possess'd , Shines out more radiant when she dares the test . Swords arm her bosom , racks her vigour raise , And all hell's fires but give her strength to blaze . Can truth than hurt her ? wound her sacred ear ? Wake the keen pang ? or rouze th' impassion'd tear ? 'Tis true , the selfish mercenary train , Whom honours libel , and whom titles stain , Struck with the face in Satire's mirror shown , Perhaps may tremble , and perhaps may frown . Thanks to their rage , my days will happier flow , And my joys brighten when a knave's my foe . Yet think not that the Muse , to spleen resign'd , Aims monster-like to swallow up mankind , Bids her keen shafts with baleful vengeance fly , Taint the pure breeze , and poison half the sky , Or fond to spread destruction thro' the land , Exults with Nero as she lights the brand ; With honest warmth she wishes to controul Each deadly weed that blossoms on the soul , That wildly vigorous mocks at Virtue's toil , That choaks the scion , and that robs the soil ; But sadly conscious that just heaven has made Each grace to border on its kindred shade ; That in the gem some sullying vein will run , And the disk darken while there shines a sun ; The melting image gains upon her heart , And spite of justice half disarms the dart . Oh ! let me then in Fable's empire rove , Where talks the forest , and where laughs the grove ; Attend the Goddess thro' her airy scene , Her pictures borrow , and her morals glean ; From wolves and lions draw th' instructive tale , And hide the glare of reason in a veil . Blest be the thought . Here guiltless of offence , Dispassion'd Truth may sneer you into sense ; On vicious men her whole artillery play , Sublimely grave or whimsically gay ; Thro' the wide world in moral vision range , Glide thro' the Court , and steal upon the Change ; Lust's rampant empress keenly-ey'd pursue , Or opening in her Paphos , or the stew ; Lethargic Justice on the bench assail , Edge the dull sword , and poise th' unequal scale : With Rabelais' jest display th' officious knave , In life's mad vortex whirling to the grave ; Point at Opinion's self-embroider'd vest , Folly's gay plume , and Pride's enormous crest , Each frenzy mortify , each vice confound , And Self-conviction only feel the wound .