  I. I know you, and I must confess From Sence so Celebrated, and so True, Wit so Uncommon, and so New, As that which alwaies shines in You; I cou'd expect no less. 'Tis Great, 'tis Just, 'tis Noble all! Right Spirit of the Original; No scatter'd Spark, no glimmering Beams, As in some Pieces here and there, Through a dark Glade of Duller Numbers gleams. But 'tis all Fire! all Glittering every where Grateful Instruction that can never fail, To Please and Charm, even while you Rail. By Arts thus Gentle and Severe The Powers Divine first made their Mortals Wise; The soft Reproach they did with Reverence bear; While they Ador'd the GOD that did Chastize, II. Perhaps there may be found some Carping Wit, May blame the Measures of thy Lines, And cry,—Not so the Roman Poet writ; Who drest his Satyr in more lofty Rhimes. But thou for thy Instructor Nature chose, That first best Principle of Poetry; And to thy Subject didst thy Verse dispose, While in Harmonious Union both agree. Had the Great Bard thy Properer Numbers view'd, He wou'd have lay'd his stiff Heroicks by, And this more Gay, more Airy Path pursu'd, That so much better leads to Ralliery. And he fatigues and toyles in vain With Rigid Labours, breaks his Brain, That has Familiar Thought in lofty Numbers drest. III. True to his Sense and to his Charming Wit, Thou every where hast kept an equal Pace: All his Brisk Turns exactly hit, Justly maintain'd his Humour and his Grace: And with the Language hast not chang'd the Face: Great Juvenal in every Line, True Roman still o're all does shine; But in the Brittish Garb appears most fine. IV. Long did the Learned Author search to find The Vice and Vanity of Humane-kind: Long he observ'd, nor did observe in vain; In every differing Humour found Even there where Virtue did abound, Some mortal Frailties reign. Philosophers he saw were Proud Of dull-affected Poverty: Senators cringing to the Crowd For trifling Popularity: The Judge reviles the Criminal at Bar, And now because old Ages Ice Has chill'd the Ardour of his willing Vice, Snarles at those Youthful Follies which he cannot shun. From the vain-keeping 'Squire, and Cully'd Lord; The fawning Courtier, States-man's Broken Word: Down to the flattering, Jilting Curtizan, And the more faithless couzening Citizen, The Tricks of Court and State to him were known; And all the Vices veil'd beneath the Gown, From the Sharp Pulpit to the Blunted Stall, He knew, and gently did reproach them all. V. If Rome that kept the lesser World in awe, Wanted a Juvenal to give them Law, How much more we who stockt with Knave and Fool, Have turn'd the Nation into Ridicule. The dire Contagion spreads to each degree Of Wild Debauchery. The mad Infected Youth make haste To day their Fortunes, Health, and Reason waste: The Fop, a tamer sort of Tool Who dresses, talks, and loves, by Rule; Has long for a Fine Person past. Blockheads will pass for Wits, and Write, And some for Brave, who ne'r could Fight. Women for Chaste, whose knack of Cant Boasts of the Virtues that they want: Cry Faugh—at Words and Actions Innocent, And make that naughty that was never meant: That vain-affected Hypocrite shall be In Satyr sham'd to Honest Sense by Thee. 'Tis Thou, an English Juvenal, alone, To whom all Vice, and every Vertue's known: Thou that like Judah's King through all hast past, And found that all's but Vanity at last; 'Tis you alone the Discipline can use, Who dare at once be bold, severe, and kind; Soften rough Satyr with thy gentler Muse, And force a Blush at least, where you can't change the Mind. A. Behn. |
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