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So Authors say, and this we fill embrace;
But who can wilness this in Adam's Cafe?
Their Frailties were alike, both Pardon need,
Tho' more Excuses for the WOMAN plead,
Since willingly the Fiend did her deceive,
(c) And did she not Adam, by your Leave?
Yet happy was this Sin to Human Race,
The Spring of endless Joy, the Source of Grace.
Himself deceiv'd, the
And felt in Men Redeem'd the threatned wound.
Nor would High GOD, Al-knowing, and Atl-wise,
Who pierces Nature with unflumb’ring Eyes,
Had He in WOMAN feen whar Men record,
Deem'd her a Lodging fuited to aur LORD,
Or planted in that Sex whence Sin began,
A Second Tree of Life, and rais'd immortal MAN.
(d) O LADY, full of Excellence and Grace!
O dear Renewer of a ruin'd Race!
What Prophet, or what Angel will inspire
My glowing Heart, and touch my Lips with Fire?
No lower Praise can with thy Blessings vie,
No Human Voice attempt a Song so high.
(c) This whole Line fands as in the Original,
(d) In this Address to the Virgin MARY, the Poet goes much further than I durft; he attributes to her the Power of forgiving Sins, &c. as the Romijlo Church maintains.
Ye Sons of MEN, for Her alone revere
The facred Sex with Wonder, Love, and Fear.
If farther we in Holy Writ proceed, More Miracles of Female Truth we read. The Son of GOD, abandon'd, and forlorn, Left by his Friends, and to his Foes a Scorn, While some his Person Aed, and some deny d; Tet WOMAN, constant WOMAN! never lyedi Then sacred Faith from ev'ry Bosome flowit, In Woman lodg’d-(e) she was the CHURCH ALONE, She felt his Agonies, his. Wounds, his Thirst, Last left him dying, met him rising First:
O Magadlen ! O holy sainted Maid!
O Strength Divine in Weakness more display'd !
Scornful of Life for thy Celestial KING,
O fairest Jewel in the Martyr's Ring!
What Hoft of Converts by thy Faith were led!
How didst thou living dye, and triumph dead!
Yet construe, Sirs, aright what I intend, I not the Virgin, but the Saint commend: Trust me, it never enter'd once my Head, To be the Patron of a barren Bed.
(e) The Learned are defird to see whether this Do&trine be *r*?; it is certainly very much to the Honour of the Women.
I ever was, and will be ftill a Foe
To Hearts of Ice, and chilly Breasts of Snow.
The Church may praise the Virtues of a Nun,
But I cannot,
and I am only one.
Now hold this Truce, and once in CUPID trust,
All I have said of Woman-kind is just.
No vulgar Incense courts their Beauties here,
The Servile Sacrifice of Fools that fear;
Nor flatt'ring. Song, ambitious to ensnare,
By pow'rful Numbers, the deluded Fair.
Their Features with impartial Hand I ftrike;
And draw the Picture beautiful, yet like, .
That when the Sex the juft Resemblance see,
of what they are, or what they ought to be,
They may the Traet of Honour still maintain,
Nor only by their Charms, but Virtue Reign;
O Virtue, brightest Pow'r, O Guest Divine!
When WOMAN's Bosome is thy facred Shrine:
Pride Aies thy Presence; Pride, that teaches how
To form the Gate, and falsify the Brow:
Pride, that allows the Praise of Fools to pass
With the fond Fair, and proves it by her Glass :
With the sweet Guest, nor Folly dwells, nor Sin,
But all is just without, and pure within.
Thus then We purpose by Our Sov'reign Will, (And We have sworn our Purpose to fulfil)
Let all our Ministers attend our Nod,
And thus perform the Sentence of their GOD;
Put these False' Mên, our Rebel Foes to Flight,
And banish them for ever from our Sight.
Let them unpity'd and despairing Rove,
Nor dare again approach the Court of Love.
On Pain of our Displeasure, none presume,
Or to defer, or mitigate their Doom.
Givin at Our Court, where, wonderful to tell!
Millions and Millions of true Loyers dwell.
See that, at full Our Warrant you obey,
Thus written in the Lusty Month of MA Y.
Na Bank of Flowe’rs on a Summer's Day,
Inviting and Undrest,
In her bloom of Years bright CELI A lay,
With Love and Sleep opprest;
When a youthful Swain with admiring Eyes
Wilh'd he might the fair Nymph surprize,
With a fa, la, la, fa, la, fa, but fear'd approaching Spies.
As he gaz'd, a gentle Breeze arose,
Which fand her Robes aside,
And the sleeping Nymph did those Charms disclose
which waking she would hide;
Then his Breath grew short, and his Heart beat high,
And he long’d to touch what he chanc'd to fpy,
With a fa, la, &c. but durft not ftill draw nigh.