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II. PART II.

Dare nobly then: but conscious of your trust,
As ever warm and bold, be ever just:
Nor court applause in these degenerate days:
The villain's censure is extorted praise.
But chief, be steady in a noble end,
And shew mankind that truth has yet a friend.
'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write,
As foplings grin to show their teeth are white:
To brand a doubtful folly with a smile,
Or madly blaze unknown defects, is vile:
'Tis doubly vile, when but to prove your art,
You fix an arrow in a blameless heart.
O lost to honour's voice, O doom'd to shame,
Thou fiend accurs'd, thou murderer of fame!
Fell ravisher, from innocence to tear
That name, than liberty, than life more dear!
Where shall thy baseness meet its just return,
Or what repay thy guilt, but endless scorn!
And know, immortal truth shall mock thy toil:
Immortal truth shall bid the shaft recoil;
With rage retorted, wing the deadly dart;
And empty all its poison in thy heart.
With caution, next, the dang'rous power apply;
An eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye:

325

Let Satire then her proper object know,
And ere she strike, be sure she strikes a foe.
Nor fondly deem the real fool confest,
Because blind Ridicule conceives a jest:
Before whose altar Virtue oft' hath bled,
And oft' a destin'd victim shall be led:
Lo, Shaftsb'ry rears her high on Reason's throne,
And loads the slave with honours not her own:

326

Big-swoln with folly, as her smiles provoke,
Prophaneness spawns, pert dunces nurse the joke!
Come, let us join awhile this tittering crew,
And own the ideot guide for once is true;
Deride our weak forefathers' musty rule,
Who therefore smil'd, because they saw a fool;

327

Sublimer logick now adorns our isle,
We therefore see a fool, because we smile.
Truth in her gloomy cave why fondly seek?
Lo, gay she sits in Laughter's dimpled cheek:
Contemns each surly academic foe,
And courts the spruce free-thinker and the beau.

328

Dædalian arguments but few can trace,
But all can read the language of grimace.
Hence mighty Ridicule's all-conqu'ring hand
Shall work Herculean wonders thro' the land:
Bound in the magick of her cobweb chain,
You, mighty Warburton, shall rage in vain,
In the vain trackless maze of Truth You scan,
And lend th'informing clue to erring man:
No more shall Reason boast her pow'r divine,
Her base eternal shook by Folly's mine!
Truth's sacred fort th'exploded laugh shall win;
And coxcombs vanquish Berkley by a grin.
But you, more sage, reject th'inverted rule,
That Truth is e'er explor'd by Ridicule:
On truth, on falsehood let her colours fall,
She throws a dazzling glare alike on all;
As the gay prism but mocks the flatter'd eye,
And gives to ev'ry object ev'ry dye.
Beware the mad advent'rer: bold and blind
She hoists her sail, and drives with ev'ry wind;
Deaf as the storm to sinking Virtue's groan,
Nor heeds a friend's destruction, or her own.
Let clear-ey'd Reason at the helm preside,
Bear to the wind, or stem the furious tide;
Then mirth may urge, when reason can explore,
This point the way, that waft us glad to shore.
Tho' distant times may rise in Satire's page,
Yet chief 'tis her's to draw the present age:

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With Wisdom's lustre, Folly's shade contrast,
And judge the reigning manners by the past:
Bid Britain's heroes (aweful shades!) arise,
And ancient honour beam on modern vice:
Point back to minds ingenuous, actions fair,
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 lye,
Or falsify'd the card, or cogg'd the dye:
Ere lewdness the stain'd garb of honour wore,
Or chastity was carted for the whore;
Vice flutter'd, in the plumes of freedom dress'd;
Or publick spirit was the publick jest.
Be ever in a just expression bold,
Yet ne'er degrade fair Satire to a scold:
Let no unworthy mien her form debase,
But let her smile, and let her frown with grace:
In mirth be temp'rate, temp'rate in her spleen;
Nor while she preaches modesty, obscene.
Deep let her wound, not rankle to a sore,
Nor call his lordship ---, her grace a ---:
The Muse's charms resistless then assail,
When wrapt in irony's transparent veil:
Her beauties half-conceal'd the more surprize,
And keener lustre sparkles in her eyes.
Then be your line with sharp encomiums grac'd:
Stile Clodius honourable, Bufa chaste.

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Dart not on Folly an indignant eye:
Who e'er discharg'd artillery on a fly?
Deride not Vice: absurd the thought and vain,
To bind the tyger in so weak a chain.
Nay more: when flagrant crimes your laughter move,
The knave exults: to smile is to approve.
The Muse's labour then success shall crown,
When Folly feels her smile, and Vice her frown.
Know next what measures to each theme belong,
And suit your thoughts and numbers to your song:
On wing proportion'd to your quarry rise,
And stoop to earth, or soar among the skies.
Thus when a modish folly you rehearse,
Free the expression, simple be the verse.
In artless numbers paint th'ambitious peer
That mounts the box, and shines a charioteer:
In strains familiar sing the midnight toil
Of camps and senates disciplin'd by Hoyle.
Patriots and chiefs whose deep design invades
And carries off the captive king of—spades!
Let Satire here in milder vigour shine,
And gayly graceful sport along the line;
Bid courtly Fashion quit her thin pretence,
And smile each affectation into sense.
Not so when Virtue by her guards betray'd,
Spurn'd from her throne, implores the Muse's aid;
When crimes, which erst in kindred darkness lay,
Rise frontless, and insult the eye of day;

331

Indignant Hymen veils his hallow'd fires,
And white-rob'd Chastity with tears retires;
When rank Adultery on the genial bed
Hot from Cocytus rears her baleful head:
When private faith and publick trust are sold,
And traitors barter liberty for gold;
When fell Corruption dark and deep, like Fate,
Saps the foundation of a sinking state:
When giant-vice and irreligion rise,
On mountain'd falsehoods to invade the skies:
Then warmer numbers glow thro' Satire's page,
And all her smiles are darken'd into rage:
On eagle-wing she gains Parnassus' height,
Not lofty Epic soars a nobler flight:
Then keener indignation fires her eye;
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.
Yet Satire oft' assumes a gentler mien,
And beams on Virtue's friends a look serene:
She wounds reluctant, pours her balm and joy,
Glad to commend where merit strikes her eye.
But tread with cautious step this dangerous ground,
Beset with faithless precipices round:
Truth be your guide: disdain Ambition's call;
And if you fall with truth, you greatly fall.
'Tis Virtue's native lustre that must shine:
The poet can but set it in his line:

332

And who unmov'd with laughter can behold
A sordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?
Let real merit then adorn your lays,
For shame a tends on prostituted praise:
And all your wit, your most distinguish'd art
But makes us grieve, you want an honest heart.
Nor think the Muse by Satire's law confin'd:
She yields description of the noblest kind,
Inferior art the landskip may design,
And paint the purple evening in the line:
Her daring thought essays a higher plan;
Her hand delineates passion, pictures man.
And great the toil, the latent soul to trace,
To paint the heart, and catch internal grace;
By turns bid vice or virtue strike our eyes,
Now bid a Wolsey or a Cromwell rise;
Now with a touch more sacred and refin'd,
Call forth a Chesterfield's or Lonsdale's mind.
Here sweet or strong may ev'ry colour flow,
Here let the pencil warm, the canvass glow:
Of light and shade provoke the noble strife,
And wake each striking feature into life.
 

It were to be wished that lord Shaftsbury had expressed himself with greater precision on this subject: however, thus much may be affirmed with truth.

1st, By the general tenor of his essays on Enthusiasm, and the freedom of wit and humour, it appears that his principal design was to recommend the way of ridicule, (as he calls it) for the investigation of truth, and detection of falsehood, not only in moral but religious subjects.

2dly, It appears no less evident, that in the course of his reasonings on this question, he confounds two things which are in their nature and consequences entirely different. These are ridicule and good-humour: the latter acknowledged by all to be the best mediator in every debate; the former no less regarded by most, as an embroiler and incendiary. Tho' he sets out with a formal profession of proving the efficacy of wit, humour, and ridicule, in the investigation of truth, yet by shifting and mixing his terms, he generally slides insensibly into mere encomiums on good-breeding, chearfulness, urbanity, and free enquiry. This indeed keeps something like an argument on foot, and amuses the superficial reader; but to a more observant eye discovers a very comtemptible defect, either of sincerity or penetration.

The question concerning ridicule may be thus not improperly stated, Whether doubtful propositions of any kind can be determined by the application of ridicule? Much might be said on this question; but a few words will make the matter clear to an unprejudiced mind.

The disapprobation or contempt which certain objects raise in the mind of man, is a particular mode of passion. The objects of his passion are apparent falsehood, incongruity, or impropriety of some particular kinds. Thus, the object of fear is apparent danger : the object of anger is apparent injury. But who hath ever dreamt of exalting the passions of fear and anger into a standard or test of real danger and injury? The design must have been rejected as absurd, because it is the work of reason only, to correct and fix the passions on their proper objects. The case is parallel: apparent or seeming falsehoods, &c. are the objects of contempt; but it is the work of reason only, to determine whether the supposed falsehood be real or fictitious. But it is said, “The sense of ridicule can never be mistaken.”—Why, no more can the sense of danger, or the sense of injury.—“What, do men never fear or resent without reason?”—Yes, very commonly: but they as often despise and laugh without reason. Thus before any thing can be determined in either case, reason, and reason only, must examine circumstances, separate ideas, decide upon, restrain, and correct the passion.

Hence it follows, that the way of ridicule, of late so much celebrated, is in fact no more than a species of eloquence; and that too the lowest of all others : so Tully justly calls it, tenuissimus ingenii fructus. It applies to a passion, and therefore can go no farther in the investigation of truth, than any of those arts which tend to raise love, pity, terror, rage or hatred in the heart of man. Consequently, his lordship might have transplanted the whole system of rhetorick into his new scheme, with the same propriety as he hath intorduced the way of ridicule itself. A hopeful project this, for the propagation of truth!

As this seems to be the real nature of ridicule, it hath been generally discouraged by philosophers and divines, together with every other mode of eloquence, when applied to controverted opinions. This discouragement, from what is said above, appears to have been rational and just : therefore the charge laid ageinst divines with regard to this affair by a zealous admirer of Lord Shaftsbury (see a note on the Pleasures of Imagination, Book III.) seems entirely groundless. The distinction which the same author hath attempted with respect to the influence of ridicule, between speculative and moral truths, seems no better founded. It is certain that opinions are no less liable to ridicule than actions. And it is no less certain, that the way of ridicule cannot determine the propriety or impropriety of the one, more than the truth or falsehood of the other; because the same passion of contempt is equally engaged in both cases, and therefore, as above, reason only can examine the circumstances of the action or opinion, and thus fix the passion on its proper objects.

Upon the whole, this new design of discovering truth by the vague and unsteady light of ridicule, puts one in mind of the honest Irishman, who apply'd his candle to the sun-dial in order to see how the night went.