Quick from her cell shall maddening Envy start. Then shalt thou find, but find, alas! too late, How vain is worth! how short is glory's date! Then shalt thou find, whilst friends with foes conspire, To give more proof than virtue would desire, 50 Thy danger chiefly lies in acting well; No crime's so great as daring to excel. Whilst Satire thus, disdaining mean control, Urged the free dictates of an honest soul, Candour, who, with the charity of Paul, Still thinks the best, whene'er she thinks at all, With the sweet milk of human kindness bless'd, The furious ardour of my zeal repress'd. Canst thou, with more than usual warmth she cried, Thy malice to indulge, and feed thy pride; 60 Canst thou, severe by nature as thou art, With all that wondrous rancour in thy heart, Delight to torture truth ten thousand ways, To spin detraction forth from themes of praise, To make Vice sit, for purposes of strife, And draw the hag much larger than the life, To make the good seem bad, the bad seem worse, And represent our nature as our curse? Doth not humanity condemn that zeal Which tends to aggravate and not to heal? 70 Doth not discretion warn thee of disgrace, And danger, grinning, stare thee in the face, Loud as the drum, which, spreading terror round, From emptiness acquires the power of sound? Doth not the voice of Norton[120] strike thy ear, And the pale Mansfield[121] chill thy soul with fear? Dost thou, fond man, believe thyself secure Because thou'rt honest, and because thou'rt poor? Dost thou on law and liberty depend? Turn, turn thy eyes, and view thy injured friend. 80 Art thou beyond the ruffian gripe of Power, When Wilkes, prejudged, is sentenced to the Tower? Dost thou by privilege exemption claim, When privilege is little more than name? Or to prerogative (that glorious ground On which state scoundrels oft have safety found) Dost thou pretend, and there a sanction find, Unpunish'd, thus to libel human-kind When poverty, the poet's constant crime, Compell'd thee, all unfit, to trade in rhyme, 90 Had not romantic notions turn'd thy head, Hadst thou not valued honour more than bread; Had Interest, pliant Interest, been thy guide, And had not Prudence been debauch'd by Pride, In Flattery's stream thou wouldst have dipp'd thy pen, Applied to great and not to honest men; Nor should conviction have seduced thy heart To take the weaker, though the better part. What but rank folly, for thy curse decreed, Could into Satire's barren path mislead, 100 When, open to thy view, before thee lay Soul-soothing Panegyric's flowery way? There might the Muse have saunter'd at her ease, And, pleasing others, learn'd herself to please; Lords should have listen'd to the sugar'd treat, And ladies, simpering, own'd it vastly sweet; Rogues, in thy prudent verse with virtue graced, Fools mark'd by thee as prodigies of taste,