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Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft

And fhelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth;
There, undisturb'd by folly, and appriz'd
How great the danger of disturbing her,
To mufe in filence, or at least confine
Remarks that gall fo many to the few
My partners in retreat. Difguft conceal'd
Is oft-times proof of wisdom, when the fault
Is obftinate, and cure beyond our reach.

Domeftic happiness, thou only blifs. Of Paradife that has furviv'd the fall!

Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure,
Or, tafting, long enjoy thee; too infirm,
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets
Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup.
Thou art the nurse of virtue-in thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth fhe is,

Heav'n-born, and deftin'd to the skies again. Thou art not known where pleafure is ador'd, 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-tried love, Joys that her ftormy raptures never yield. Forfaking thee, what fhipwreck have we made Of honour, dignity, and fair renown!

Till prostitution elbows us afide

In all our crowded streets; and fenates feem
Conven'd for purposes of empire lefs

Than to release th' adultrefs from her bond.
Th' adultrefs! what a theme for angry verfe!
What provocation to th' indignant heart
That feels for injur'd love! but I difdain
The naufeous tafk to paint her as fhe is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame!
No-let her pass, and, chariotted along

In guilty fplendour, 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 unfmirch'd,
And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to own.
Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time,
Not to be pafs'd: and fhe, that had renounc'd
Her fex's honour, was renounc'd herself
By all that priz'd it; not for prud'ry's fake,
But dignity's, refentful of the wrong.

'Twas hard, perhaps, on here and there a waif,
Defirous to return, and not receiv'd;

But was an wholesome rigour in the main,

And taught th' unblemish'd to preserve with care

That purity, whofe lofs was loss of all.

Men, too, were nice in honour in those days,

And judg'd offenders well. Then he that sharp'd, And pocketted a prize by fraud obtain'd,

Was mark'd and fhunn'd as odious. He that fold

His country, or was flack when she requir'd

His ev'ry nerve in action and at ftretch,

Paid, with the blood that he had bafely spar'd,
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, (good-natur'd age!)
That they are fafe, finners of either fex,
Tranfgrefs what laws they may. Well drefs'd, well bred,
Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough

To país 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 she admits
The worth of what fhe mimics with fuch care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applause;
But she has burnt her mafk, 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 charg'd, when I withdrew
To feek a tranquil death in distant shades.
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 scars.

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 those
My former partners of the peopled scene;
With few affociates, and not wishing 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 chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd
And never won. Dream after dream enfues;

And still they dream that they shall still fucceed,
And still are disappointed. Rings the world

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