Or, when rough winter rages, on the foft

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 difturbing 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 wifdom, when the fault
Is obftinate, and cure beyond our reach.

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

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 preferve thy fweets
Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper fheds into thy cryftal 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 pleasure is ador'd, That reeling goddefs with the zoneless waist And wand'ring eyes, ftill leaning on the arm Of novelty, her fickle frail support;

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 less

Than to release th' adultress 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 disdain
The naufeous task to paint her as she is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame!
No:-let her pafs, and, chariotted along

In guilty splendour, shake the public ways;

The frequency of crimes has wafh'd them white!
And verse of mine fhall never brand the wretch,

Whom matrons now, of character unfmirch'd,
And chafte themfelves, are not afham'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 lofs 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 shunn'd as odious. He that fold

His country, or was flack when fhe requir'd

His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,

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 so fair,

So lib'ral in conftruction, and fo rich
In-Chriftian charity, (good-natur'd age!)
That they are fafe, finners of either sex,

Tranfgrefs what laws they may. Well drefs'd, well bred,
Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough

To pafs.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 the mimics with fuch care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applaufe;

But fhe has burnt her mafk, not needed here,
Where vice has fuch allowance, that her shifts
And fpecious femblances have lost 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 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 scars.
With gentle force foliciting the carts,

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 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 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