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Without thin Decency held up to view,
Naked she stalks o'er law and gospel too.
Our matrons lead such examplary lives,

Men sigh in vain for none, but for their wives;
Who marry to be free, to range the more,
And wed one man to wanton with a score.
Abroad too kind, at home 'tis stedfast hate,
And one eternal tempest of debate.
What foul eruptions from a look most meek!
What thunders bursting from a dimpled cheek!
Their passions bear it with a lofty hand!
But then their reason is at due command.
Is there whom you detest, and seek his life?
Trust no soul with the secret---but his wife.
Wives wonder that their conduct I condemn,
And ask what kindred is a spouse to them?

What swarms of am'rous grandmothers I see!
And misses, ancient in iniquity!

380

390

What blasting whispers, and what loud declaiming!
What lying, drinking, bawding, swearing, gaming!
Friendship so cold, such warm incontinence,
Such griping av'rice, such profuse expense,
Such dead devotion, such a zeal for crimes,
Such licens'd ill, such masquerading times,
Such venal faith, such misapply'd applause,
Such flatter'd guilt, and such inverted laws,
Such dissolution thro' the whole I find,
'Tis not a world, but chaos of mankind.

400

Since Sundays have no balls, the well-dress'd belle Shines in the pew, but smiles to hear of hell,

And casts an eye of sweet disdain on all
Who listen less to C---ns than St. Paul.
Atheists have been but rare: since Nature's birth,
Till now, she-Atheists ne'er appear'd on earth.
Ye men of deep researches! say, whence springs
This daring character in tim'rous things?
Who start at feathers, from an inscect fly,
A match for nothing---but the Deity.

But, not to wrong the fair, the Muse must own,
In this pursuit they court not Fame alone,
But join to that a more substantial view,
"From thinking free, to be free agents too."

410

They strive with their own hearts, and keep them In complaisance to all the fools in Town.

[down,

O how they tremble at the name of prude!
And die with shame at thought of being good!
For what will Artimis, the rich and gay,
What will the wits, that is, the coxcombs, say?
They Heav'n defy, to earth's vile dregs a slave,
Thro' cowardice most execrably brave.

With our own judgments durst we to comply,
In virtue should we live, in glory die.

421

Rise then, my Muse! in honest fury rise;

They dread a satire who defy the skies.

430

Atheists are few: most nymphs a Godhead own,

And nothing but his attributes dethrone.

From Atheists far, they stedfastly believe
God is, and is almighty--
---to forgive.
His other excellence they 'll not dispute;
But mercy, sure is his chief attribute.
Shall pleasures of a short duration chain
A lady's soul in everlasting pain?

Will the great Author us poor worms destroy,
For now and then a sip of transient joy?

440

No, he's for ever in a smiling mood;

He's like themselves, or how could he be good? And they blaspheme who blacker schemes suppose--Devoutly thus Jehovah they depose,

The pure! the just! and set up, in his stead,

A deity that's perfectly well-bred.

"Dear T---1---n! be sure the best of men; "Nor thought he more than thought great Origen. "Tho' once upon a time he misbehav'd,

"Poor Satan! doubtless he 'll at length be sav'd. 450 "Let priests do something for their one in ten; "It is their trade; so far they 're honest men. "Let them cant on, since they have got the knack, "And dress their notions, like themselves, in black; Fright us with terrors of a world unknown, "From joys of this, to keep them all their own. "Of earth's fair fruits, indeed, they claim a fee; "But then they leave our untith'd virtue free. "Virtue's a pretty thing to make a show; "Did ever mortal write like Rochefocault?"

460

Thus pleads the devil's fair apologist,
And, pleading, safely enters on his list.
Let angel-forms angelic truths maintain,
Nature disjoins the beauteous and profane.
For what's true beauty but fair Virtue's face ?
Virtue made visible in outward grace?

She, then that's haunted with an impious mind.
The more she charms, the more she shocks mankind.
But charms decline: the fair long vigils keep:
They sleep no more! Quadrille has murder'd Sleep.
"Poor K---p! cries Livia; I have not been there 471
These two nights; the poor creature will despair.
I hate a crowd---but to do good, you know---
"And people of condition should bestow."
Convinc'd, o'ercome, to K----p's grave matron's run,
Now set a daughter, and now stake a son;
Let health, fame, temper, beauty, fortune fly,
And beggar half their race---thro' charity.
Immortal were we, or else mortal quite,
I less should blame this criminal delight;
But since the gay assembly's gayest room
Is but an upper story to some tomb,
Methinks we need not our short beings shun,
And, thought to fly, contend to be undone.
We need not buy our ruin with our crime,
And give eternity to murder time.

450

'Shakespeare.

The love of gaming is the worst of ills;
With ceaseless storms the blacken'd soul it fills;
Inveighs at Heav'n, neglects the ties of blood,
Destroys the pow'r and will of doing good;
Kills health, pawns honour, plunges in disgrace,
And, what is still more dreadful---spoils your face.
See yonder set of thieves that live on spoil,
The scandal and the ruin of our isle!
And see, (strange sight!) amid that ruffian band,
A form divine high wave her snowy hand,
That rattles loud a small enchanted box,

490

Which, loud as thunder, on the board she knocks: And as fierce storms, which earth's foundation shook, From Æolus's cave impetuous broke,

500

From this small cavern a mix'd tempest flies,
Fear, rage, convulsion, tears, oaths, blasphemies!
For men, I mean,---the fair discharges none;
She (guiltless creature!) swears to Heav'n alone.
See her eyes start! cheeks glow! and muscles swell!
Like the mad maid in the Cumean cell.

Thus that divine one her soft nights employs!
Thus tunes her soul to tender nuptial joys!
And when the cruel morning calls to bed,
And on her pillow lays her aching head,
With the dear images her dreams are crown'd,
The die spins lovely, or the cards go round;
Imaginary ruins charm her still:

Her happy lord's cuckolded by Spadil;

510

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