First blunts the point for fear of danger. So nurses sage, as caution works, When children first use knives and forks, For fear of mischief, it is known, To others' fingers or their own, 160 To take the edge off wisely choose, Though the same stroke takes off the use. Thee, Whitehead, thee I now invoke, Sworn foe to Satire's generous stroke, Which makes unwilling Conscience feel, And wounds, but only wounds to heal. Good-natured, easy creature, mild And gentle as a new-born child, Thy heart would never once admit E'en wholesome rigour to thy wit; 170 Thy head, if Conscience should comply, Its kind assistance would deny, And lend thee neither force nor art To drive it onward to the heart. Oh, may thy sacred power control Bach fiercer working of my soul, Damp every spark of genuine fire, And languors, like thine own, inspire! Trite be each thought, and every line As moral and as dull as thine! 180 Poised in mid-air--(it matters not To ascertain the very spot, Nor yet to give you a relation How it eluded gravitation)-- Hung a watch-tower, by Vulcan plann'd With such rare skill, by Jove's command, That every word which, whisper'd here, Scarce vibrates to the neighbour ear, On the still bosom of the air Is borne and heard distinctly there-- 190 The palace of an ancient dame Whom men as well as gods call Fame. A prattling gossip, on whose tongue Proof of perpetual motion hung, Whose lungs in strength all lungs surpass, Like her own trumpet made of brass; Who with an hundred pair of eyes The vain attacks of sleep defies; Who with an hundred pair of wings News from the furthest quarters brings, 200 Sees, hears, and tells, untold before, All that she knows and ten times more. Not all the virtues which we find Concenter'd in a Hunter's[218] mind, Can make her spare the rancorous tale, If in one point she chance to fail; Or if, once in a thousand years, A perfect character appears, Such as of late with joy and pride My soul possess'd, ere Arrow died; 210 Or such as, Envy must allow, The world enjoys in Hunter now; This hag, who aims at all alike, At virtues e'en like theirs will strike, And make faults in the way of trade, When she can't find them ready made. All things she takes in, small and great, Talks of a toy-shop and a state; Of wits and fools, of saints and kings, Of garters, stars, and leading strings; 220 Of old lords fumbling for a clap, And young ones full of prayer and pap; Of courts, of morals, and tye-wigs, Of bears and Serjeants dancing jigs; Of grave professors at the bar Learning to thrum on the guitar, Whilst laws are slubber'd o'er in haste, And Judgment sacrificed to Taste; Of whited sepulchres, lawn sleeves, And God's house made a den of thieves: 230