TO THE SUPPOSED
AUTHOR of the SPECTATOR.
GN Courts licentious, and a fhameless Stage, How long the War fhall Wit with Virtue wage? Inchanted by this proftituted Fair,
Our Youth run headlong in the fatal Snare;
In height of Rapture clafp unheeded Pains,
And fuck Pollution thro' their tingling Veins.
Thy spotlefs Thoughts unfhock'd the Prieft may hear;
And the pure Veftal in her Bofom wear.
To confcious Blushes and diminish'd Pride,
Thy Glafs betrays what treach'rous Love would hide;
Nor harsh thy Precepts, but infus'd by Stealth,
Pleas'd while they cure, and cheat us into Health.
Thy Works in Chloe's Toilet gain a Part,
And with his Tailor fhare the Fopling's Heart:
Lafh'd in thy fatire, the penurious Cit
Laughs at himself, and finds no harm in Wit:
From Felon Gamefters the raw Squire is free,
And Britain owes her refcu'd Oaks to thee.
His Mifs the frolic Viscount dreads to toast,
Or his third Cure the fhallow Templer boast;
And the rafh Fool who fcorn'd the beaten Road,
Dares quake at Thunder, and confeís his God.
The brainless Stripling, who, expell'd the Town,
Damn'd the stiff College and pedantic Gown,
Aw'd by thy Name, is dumb, and thrice a Week
Spells uncouth Latin and pretends to Greek.
A fantring Tribe! fuch born to wide Eftates,
With yea and no in Senates hold Debates:
At length defpis'd each to his Fields retires,
First with the Dogs, and King amidst the Squires;