In virtue's cause, to draw a daring pen Defend the good, encounter wicked men: Freely to praise the virtues of the few; And boldly censure the degen'rate crew: Scorning, with equal justice, to deride The poor man's worth, or sooth the great one's pride: All this was once good-nature thought, not ill: Nay, some there are so odd to think so still. Old-fashion'd souls! — Your men of modern taste Are with new virtue, new politeness, grac'd. Good-nature now has chang'd her honest face, For smiling flatt'ry, compliment, grimace: Fool grins at fool, each coxcomb owns his brother, And thieves and sharpers compliment each other. To such extent good-nature now is spred, To be sincere is monstrously ill-bred: An equal brow to all is now the vogue; And complaisance goes round from rogue to rogue. If this be good — 'tis gloriously true, The most ill-natur'd man alive — is You.
