Classic Poem

TO MY INGENIOUS FRIEND, MR. HENRY HIGDEN, ESQ.

ON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL

The Grecian wits, who satire first began,
Were pleasant pasquins on the life of man:
At mighty villains, who the State oppress'd,
They durst not rail; perhaps, they laugh'd at least,
And turn'd 'em out of office with a jest.
No fool could peep abroad, but ready stand
The drolls, to clap a bauble in his hand.
Wise legislators never yet could draw
A fop within the reach of common law;
For posture, dress, grimace, and affectation,
Tho' foes to sense, are harmless to the nation.
Our last redress is dint of verse to try,
And satire is our Court of Chancery.
This way took Horace to reform an age
Not bad enough to need an author's rage.
But yours, who liv'd in more degen'rate times,
Was forc'd to fasten deep, and worry crimes.
Yet you, my friend, have temper'd him so well,
You make him smile in spite of all his zeal:
An art peculiar to yourself alone,
To join the virtues of two styles in one.
O! were your author's principle receiv'd,
Half of the lab'ring world would be reliev'd;
For not to wish, is not to be deceiv'd.
Revenge would into charity be chang'd,
Because it costs too dear to be reveng'd:
It costs our quiet and content of mind,
And when 'tis compass'd, leaves a sting behind.
Suppose I had the better end o' th' staff,
Why should I help th' ill-natur'd world to laugh?
'T is all alike to them, who gets the day;
They love the spite and mischief of the fray.
No: I have cur'd myself of that disease;
Nor will I be provok'd, but when I please:
But let me half that cure to you restore;
You gave the salve, I laid it to the sore.
Our kind relief against a rainy day,
Beyond a tavern, or a tedious play,
We take your book, and laugh our spleen away.
If all your tribe (too studious of debate)
Would cease false hopes and titles to create,
Led by the rare example you begun,
Clients would fail, and lawyers be undone.