The Works of Hildebrand Jacob ... Containing Poems on Various Subjects, and Occasions; With the Fatal Constancy, a Tragedy; and Several Pieces in Prose. The Greatest Part Never Before Publish'd |
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| II. |
| III. | EPISTLE III.
Reasons for not writing Satire. |
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 | The Works of Hildebrand Jacob |  |
EPISTLE III. Reasons for not writing Satire.
To R. D. Esq;
Write
Satires! no good, moral Friend,
Whom Man's Disorders so offend!
How shou'd I think, the Race to mend,
When Horace, Pope, and Young in vain
Of their Enormities complain?
Can my low Voice e'er pierce the Croud!
Alas! their Follies are too loud!
Bid me go wash the Negro white,
Or read without my Lamp at night:
My weak Advice will not go down,
Besides, I find their Faults my own:
Physic from me wou'd Men endure,
Who my own self cou'd never cure!
Whom Man's Disorders so offend!
How shou'd I think, the Race to mend,
When Horace, Pope, and Young in vain
Of their Enormities complain?
109
Alas! their Follies are too loud!
Bid me go wash the Negro white,
Or read without my Lamp at night:
My weak Advice will not go down,
Besides, I find their Faults my own:
Physic from me wou'd Men endure,
Who my own self cou'd never cure!
But let's suppose, that I cou'd write,
The World from their Offences fright,
Wise, serious in earnest grow,
And tell them, all they ought, to know;
I still, well meaning Friend, have thought
This Preaching never worth a Groat,
One might as well lay down, and sleep;
The Roots are fix'd, the Stains lye deep.
I judge from all I've seen, or read
Of Mortals now Alive, or Dead,
That Vanities were still the same,
And Man had still this Itch to blame.
The World from their Offences fright,
Wise, serious in earnest grow,
And tell them, all they ought, to know;
I still, well meaning Friend, have thought
This Preaching never worth a Groat,
One might as well lay down, and sleep;
The Roots are fix'd, the Stains lye deep.
I judge from all I've seen, or read
Of Mortals now Alive, or Dead,
That Vanities were still the same,
And Man had still this Itch to blame.
110
Yet might we ev'ry Folly glean,
And purge, my Friend, the Lepers clean,
Some think, the Cure wou'd do more harm,
And that their Errors keep them warm.
And purge, my Friend, the Lepers clean,
Some think, the Cure wou'd do more harm,
And that their Errors keep them warm.
Better, they cry, to steal away
One's Mantle in a frosty Day,
Than thus inhumanly succeed:
Of all our Follies we have need;
Our Vanities, however great,
Scarce serve us, to support our Fate:
Shou'd we behold our selves undress'd
No Creatures wou'd be more distress'd!
One's Mantle in a frosty Day,
Than thus inhumanly succeed:
Of all our Follies we have need;
Our Vanities, however great,
Scarce serve us, to support our Fate:
Shou'd we behold our selves undress'd
No Creatures wou'd be more distress'd!
For all these Reasons I refuse,
To tempt, good Friend, my wanton Muse,
In Satire her low Flight to prove,
Contented still to sing of Love.
To tempt, good Friend, my wanton Muse,
In Satire her low Flight to prove,
Contented still to sing of Love.
| The Works of Hildebrand Jacob | |