THRO' ages thus hath SATIRE keenly shin'd,
The friend to truth, to virtue, and mankind:
Yet the bright flame from virtue ne'er had sprung,
And man was guilty ere the poet sung.
This Muse in silence joy'd each better age,
Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into rage.
Truth saw her honest spleen with new delight,
And bade her wing her shafts, and urge their flight.
First on the sons of  she prov'd her art,
And  felt the fierce IAMBICK dart.
To LATIUM next avenging SATIRE flew:
The flaming faulchion rough LUCILIUS drew;
With dauntless warmth in Virtue's cause engag'd,
And conscious villains trembled as he rag'd.