Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Your Sex, Lucinda, other Theams should choose,
And not impose such hardships on a Muse,
Who ne'r durst venture, yet on nobler flights,
Than those which every common Rhimer writes;

Feilds, flowry Meadows, shady Woods and Groves,
The Nymphs diversions, and the Shepherds Loves.
But now you bid me change an Idle tale,
To stretch my Voice and use my self to Rail.
A thousand wrongs provoke me to the Fight,
And what is more, Lucinda bids me write,
My Coward Muse yet durst not trust her wings,
And only what she can with safety, sings;
She knows that Satire is a dangerous course,
And calls for wit, sublimity and force.
That ev'ry Scribler ought not to engage,
To fall on vice with despicable rage;
For vertue suffers by the vain pretence,
When Fools affect to draw in its defence;
When such as by their Spleen and Choller fir'd,
On every Whim shall think themselves Inspir'd.

Who rob, the Markets, Billingsgate and stews,
Of names, and terms, and Curses which they use,
Or furnish'd by their breeding with enough
Of such base matter and Plebeian stuff,
Publish their senseless Ribaldry for Rage,
And pass the cheat on a believing Age.
Thus we have known a strange uneasy fool,
Come snarling up to Town from Country School,
Fall on the World with Impudence and Noise,
And as much freedom as he Whipt his Boys;
None in his Brutal passion he could spare,
Ev'n Vertues self his insolence must bear,
Nor aw'd, nor temper'd, by a form so bright,
He grew incens'd and sickn'd at the sight;
Disgorg'd his fury and devulg'd his shame,
The Mob approv'd it, and the Sot had Fame.

You know, Lucinda, we by Satire mean,
No course Lampoon uncivil or obscene,
Where a vile Wit shall nauseous railing use,
Or to his passion prostitute his Muse;
A Libeller might then pretend to sense,
Whose only property is Impudence;
Then common Whores for scolding we should praise.
And Carmen have a Title to the Bayes,
No—Satire will in brighter Colours shine,
Her form is Dreadful, but 'tis all Divine,
In her true shape, she always will appear,
Just and Impartial as she is severe;
The Court and State to her Remarks be long,
She will but seldom touch a private wrong,
Unless th' Example should be understood,
Or private Errors threaten publick good.
But where of Late in England can we find,
A Pard of such a vast extended mind?

Who, scorning Loss of fortune or of blood,
Dares venture boldly for the common good;
Whose Genius, fits him for the great design,
Where strength with Grace and Majesty shall joyn;
One justly raving, and Correctly Mad,
To raise the Good and Mortify the Bad?
Since Dryden will, or must not speak at least,
There are None now, None like to be possest,
No Pens rise up in Injur'd merits cause,
And Mine must never be the first that draws.
Let Love be still the subject of my Song,
For Love's the proper business of the Young,
Ah! suffer me to tread the beaten ways,
Where I find pleasure, if I meet no praise.