In general satire, every man perceives
A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves;
But name th’ offence, and you absolve the rest,
And point the dagger at a single breast.
“Yet are there sinners of a class so low,
That you with safety may the lash bestow;
Poachers, and drunkards, idle rogues, who feed
At others’ cost, a mark’d correction need:
And all the better sort, who see your zeal,
Will love and reverence for their pastor feel;