Heav'n born and destined to the fkies again. Thou art not known where pleasure is adored, That reeling goddefs with the zoneless waist And wand'ring eyes, ftill leaning on the arm Of novelty, her fickle frail fupport;
For thou art meek and conftant, hating change, And finding in the calm of truth-tied love Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. Forfaking thee, what shipwreck have we made Of honor, dignity, and fair renown,
'Till prostitution elbows us afide
In all our crowded streets, and fenates feem
Convened for purposes of empire lefs,
Than to release th' adultrefs from her bond.
Th' adultrefs! what a theme for angry verse,
What provocation to th' indignant heart
That feels for injured love! but I disdain
The nauseous tafk to paint her as she is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame.
No. Let her pass, and chariotted along
In guilty fplendor, fhake the public ways;
The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white.
And verfe of mine fhall never brand the wretch,
Whom matrons now of character unfinirch'd
And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own.
Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time
Not to be pafs'd. And she that had renounced
Her fex's honor, was renounced herself
By all that priz'd it; not for prud'ry's fake,
But dignity's, resentful of the wrong.
'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif
Defirous to return and not received,
But was an wholesome rigor in the main,
And taught th' unblemish'd to preserve with care That purity, whofe lofs was lofs of all.
Men too were nice in honor in those days,
And judg'd offenders well. And he that sharp'd,
And pocketted a prize by fraud obtain'd,
Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that fold
His country, or was flack when fhe required
His ev'ry nerve in action and at ftretch,
Paid with the blood that he had bafely spared
The price of his default. But now, yes, now,
We are become fo candid and fo fair,
So lib'ral in conftruction, and fo rich
In christian charity, a good-natur'd age!
That they are fafe, finners of either sex,
Tranfgrefs what laws they may. Well drefs'd, well
Well equipaged, is ticket good enough
To pass us readily through ev'ry door.
Hypocrify, deteft her as we may,
(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet)
May claim this merit ftill, that the admits
The worth of what the mimics with fuch care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applause;
But he has burnt her mask not needed here,
Where vice has fuch allowance, that her shifts
And fpecious femblances have loft their use.
I was a ftricken deer that left the herd Long fince; with many an arrow deep infixt
My panting fide was charged when I withdrew
To feek a tranquil death in diftant fhades.
There was I found by one who had himself
Been hurt by th' archers. In his fide he bore
And in his hands and feet the cruel fcars.
With gentle force foliciting the darts
He drew them forth, and heal'd and bade me live.
Since then, with few affociates, in remote
And filent woods I wander, far from thofe
My former partners of the peopled scene,
With few affociates, and not wifhing more.
Here much I ruminate, as much I may,
With other views of men and manners now
Than once, and others of a life to come.
I fee that all are wand'rers, gone aftray
Each in his own delufions; they are loft
In chace of fancied happiness, ftill wooed
And never won. Dream after dream enfues, Pod?
And still they dream that they fhall ftill fucceed,
And still are disappointed; rings the world
With the vain ftir. I fum up half mankind,
And add two-thirds of the remainder half,
And find the total of their hopes and fears
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay
As if created only like the fly
That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon
To fport their feason and be seen no more.
The reft are fober dreamers, grave and wife,
And pregnant with discov'ries new and rare.
Some write a narrative of wars and feats
Of heroes little known, and call the rant
An history. Defcribe the man, of whom
His own coævals took but little note,
And paint his perfon, character and views,
As they had known him from his mother's womb.
They difentangle from the puzzled skein
In which obfcurity has wrapp'd them up,
The threads of politic and fhrewd defign
That ran through all his purposes, and charge
His mind with meanings that he never had,
|